The conversation before makes a huge difference; he doubts he'd adapt quite as well if this really was Doggett's kid waiting to be born. But as it is, how can he look at her and see anything except life and beauty? He probably hasn't wanted this for her as badly as she's wanted it for herself, but that's only because she's wanted this that much. That she can have it - that he can be here to experience even a sliver of it - seems like the miracle he'd told her to believe in.

Tomorrow, things will probably look worse. But tonight, he can believe in just about anything, most of all Scully.

With a little laugh, he dips his head down, kissing her soundly. She tastes like Chinese food, familiarly so, and his arms slide around her so he can unhook her bra. Muscle memory's taking over, a hand sliding down her bare back, giving her ass a little squeeze. They're both still wearing entirely too many layers, but once his mouth is on hers, he's loath to move away again, even just to pull off his shirt.