It's such a slight difference it should be imperceptible, but she's keenly aware of it. Maybe because Mulder's grasp of personal space with her has always been singular; maybe she's just becoming used to the gravity pregnant women exert on the world, drawing strangers' eyes and making their hands twitch towards the round swell of her.

But before she can worry too much he wraps his arm around her, and she's greedy enough to take the invitation he didn't wholly intend to offer. She can't gracefully scoot closer but she leans her head on him, eyes screwed shut for just a moment against the stinging threat of grateful tears. He's warm and whole, and beneath the sharp hospital soap and faint air of antiseptic he smells like home.

"You have to hand me the remote," she realizes. Drawbacks of carrying someone else around all day-- she doesn't quite bend at the middle.