Everything is warm; even the hard tile at her back has lost all its chill, and the heat of his hand between her legs is the only thing that really matters.

"Oh--" it's warbling and broken, the pressure of his palm just right, his voice murmuring against her raising goosebumps down her neck. This is as close to perfect, she thinks, as anything could be-- it's better than perfect, just off-kilter enough to be real rather than fantasy.

She wants it to last forever-- but all things must end.

"Mulder," she pleads, clutching at his shoulders and urging him on until her whole body tenses-- until she slumps into his arms, face pressed against his chest, the water still beating down upon them both.