In her opinion, he's a fool if he thinks there's a version of him she doesn't want. (Never mind the apparent evidence of this house. Scully has, frankly, lost interest in her future self's opinions on the matter.) By now he's become familiar; the changes in him aren't jarring, just hints at stories she doesn't fully know-- old and new scars, hard-earned muscles. It's a promise that for a while at least, they can grow old together.

She makes a soft, needy noise at the feel of him beneath her, shifting slightly in his lap, intentionally dragging the soft satin of her stolen pyjamas over him. Without breaking the kiss, she unhooks a few buttons on her top.