It makes her cry out again-- louder, wavering, completely ignoring the fact that her face is right next to his ear. She doesn't care; she's seeing stars, his thick cock dragging against over-sensitive flesh, and she thinks it's possible nothing will ever be this good again. And if that's true, she doesn't even care. He comes inside her and all she can think is how fiercely glad she is-- that she can have this, that she can give this moment to him.

Exhausted, she burrows her face into his neck, sweat-sheened and floating. She could stay here forever, wrapped around him. For all the things that are subtly wrong with this time she's found herself in, Mulder is a lodestone of what's right; in this moment, in an utterly irrational way, everything feels like it makes sense.

She rouses enough when he speaks to pull back to look at him, shooting him a wry smile.

"Not so bad yourself," she says, almost drowsy-- understatement of the century.