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Mulder held her naked body against his own and couldn’t stop thinking how they both changed. How her edges sharped as his softened with age. Her soft curves turned into sharp outlines, a streamlined femininity. She was a sports car he’d want if he was still in his 40’s. She was infinitely beautiful then, now, and she’ll still be one day, when red turns to starlight and they both turn into pencil drawings.
She slept against his side, slender leg hooked over his thighs, keeping him safe in case someone tried to tear them apart.
He knew her dreams, countless times woken in the middle of the night by her snuggling into the safety of his arms. Countless nights when he whispered into her ear in the midnight language of half sleep, the language that had no word for lie, only love and reassurance they both needed, equally.
When did it start? Who called whom first in the dead of night? The language of pauses between words carried through a telephone cord, the small brushes of hands and fingers, then finally spoken promises, until one fateful night, she gave him the dictionary of her thighs and breasts and mouth, and he read her whole, determined to lean her by heart.
There might have been times when he lost her, but he never forgot. Maybe they wouldn’t have more kids, but they still had each other, and things were working again, he felt the pull almost constantly, to hold her, dive into her, taste the honey that was Scully and her hot center. Be there to whisper in her ear the truths they both knew and needed to hear repeated.
He held her close and wrote a letter to himself on her bare shoulder.
Never again will he let them grow apart. Their future was here, now.