"Hm," he says, rousing himself from the comfortable stupor he's settled into. Scully on his lap and sunlight on his face, the scent of sex hanging in the air around them - instead of plans, he thinks he could exist in this moment with her forever. (He'd get bored, of course. But right now, he can't fathom that.) "Want to go out or stay in?"

For the movie part, that is. His inclination is staying right here with her, not least because she's much less likely to be interested in getting handsy at a theater. But he's also aware on some level that being confined to the house - any house - is a recipe for losing her. She might not know it, but the truth isn't buried all that deep.

Fortunately, there's no signs of losing her yet, not when casual affection's written all through her touch. Maybe he can keep it up until they get her home. (Maybe, if she stays, it'll just be...different. Somehow, it'll be what it was supposed to be, when she doesn't have to go through all the heartache awaiting her.)