He's easily led this morning. As soon as Scully's touching him, the idea that she might stop is beyond the pale; what he wants is her, always and everywhere, the only intimacy that's made sense to him in years. He sits down on the couch, cool against his bare back, and lets her get as close as she wants. An arm wrapped around her, his skin still warm and damp and smelling of her soap, and all is right with the world.

Until she speaks again, that is, and what's wrong comes back into focus. He's too comfortable to be bothered by it right now, letting himself instead luxuriate in the weight of her body leaning against his. It's a rare comfort these days, to be this close to someone else. "I hate to say it, but we might be coming up on a dead end. I don't have much in the way of leads for us."