She moves, and so does he, making a noise almost like speech as he tries to pull her closer. Mostly asleep, and then less so, and then the scent of her hair - that's the thing that pulls his eyes open, slightly disoriented by it. It takes him a moment, comfortable as he is, to realize his arm's draped over her waist, the line of her body dangerously close to his. Mulder can't remember the last time he's been so comfortable, and it's because he's breathing down Scully's neck.

(It could be worse, he'll think later. The blood could have rushed somewhere besides his head, in that moment of realization.)

"Sorry," he mumbles in a voice still half-smothered by sleep, his mouth a little too close to her ear. And then it occurs to him that that's probably making things worse, and he lets go of her, rolling away so he can clamber to his feet.