It was 11:21 p.m..

In Georgetown, Scully slept, dreaming of Mulder's hands and mouth running all over
her body, especially that extraordinarily full lower lip of his.

In Alexandria, Mulder dozed fitfully on his couch, beneath the blue glow of his fishtank.
Visions of Scully's petite form writhing under him as he pounded her into her mattress
with all the force of the love he felt for her flitted through his brain.  He woke, feeling
swollen with love and desire, his hand resting just inside the waistband of his sweatpants.

Mulder picked up the phone, then put it back down.  He shouldn't disturb her. 
Scully deserved a normal life, away from him and all the painful memories she
undoubtedly associated with him, like the death of her sister and her abduction.

But his love was too strong to deny; it was time to set it free.  He needed to call her
and tell her.

So he did.