"Well, if it's doctor's orders," he says, and there's an irrepressible brightness to the words as he heads for the stairs. It doesn't feel real, which might be the lack of sleep talking - out of the last forty-eight hours, he's pretty sure he spent around forty-four of them conscious. But it could as easily be the giddiness of Scully wants to stay, I always sleep better when - "I only ignore those when I need a punishment."

Bullshit, Fox, he thinks to himself, pulling off his shirt as he wanders into his bedroom. Their bedroom, for what might be a special one-night engagement, and what might not. There's another room, his other-desk-and-sort-of-guest-bedroom room, where he threw a twin bed in for lazy nights and theoretical visits from...he's never gotten so far as having an answer to that. Not one he's willing to bring up in conversation, at least. And she could sleep in there, if she wanted, but hell, why would she want that?

(Adopted kids can seek out their birth parents once they're eighteen, if Lifetime movies haven't lied to him. William's almost eighteen. At some point, he went to Ikea and bought a twin bed, and sometimes he falls asleep in there, and someday, maybe it'll have a real use. He tries not to think about it.)