Spring falls into the room with him, newborn light settling on the hard oak floor. Standing in the open doorway he is silhouetted by the early morning sun, haloed by the light that gambols around their home, chasing away the darkness of the previous months.

He stands clumsily, all loose limbs and awkwardness. The sceptical look that she once saw in his eyes has long since faded, replaced first by respect and then by something that runs much, much deeper. He gazes at her like a lost boy and something inside her melts, as it always has. As it always will.

"Mulder," she says in that tone of voice that tells him her eyebrows are raised. The cool air is fresh on her skin after the chill of winter and she finds herself shivering slightly as she rises, returning his slow smile.

"Here Scully. I got you these." Shyly he proffers daffodils, freshly cut from the garden and yellow like the March sun.

Fifteen years, their first anniversary.