Scully, of course, looks incredible. It probably cost at least half an hour of staring in the bathroom mirror that morning, but her makeup tastefully accentuates her beauty, her clothing does the same, and the ends of her hair flip in a way that probably requires one of those big curling irons and a paddle brush. The mysterious ways of professional womanhood always look natural on her, despite everything he'd learned about their complexities, back when they were together; when he sees the results, the desire to kiss her hello and reach for her hand is still instinctive.

So he's doing well, but he's not blind. And he tells himself that it's good to be able to see her and be friends with her, to exist a normal social distance apart. If a dull ache still comes with it (Scully left, even Scully left), at least he's not still at rock bottom.

"Great." He takes a sip of his coffee and takes the moment to glance at her hands, like any normal friend making sure his ex didn't get engaged since they last saw each other would do. "I've got some shots I still need to blow up in Photoshop. How's medicine?"