can you pls do this promp plssss: layla harrison met scully by chance in revival time and found out they were broken up.
Didn’t I put that in Visitor? I did!
The routine is easy to pick up again, even after all his shiftless, drifting purgatory. His life falls into place like a needle into a groove. He works, and it's hard, but it's satisfying. He meets a few of the other agents, who all seem competent enough. Leyla Harrison comes by one day, looking a little more world-weary than the bright-eyed young agent he remembers.
"I heard you were back," she says shyly.
"That's what they say," he tells her, shaking her hand.
"And Agent Scully?" she asks.
"She's back too," Mulder says. "Check forensics. You might catch her between classes."
"And the X-Files?" Harrison asks, a tinge of hope in her voice.
Mulder shakes his head. "No plans to reopen the division at this time," he says.
"That's too bad," Harrison says earnestly. "The two of you did important work."
"I hope that will be true whether or not we're tackling the cases nobody else wants," he says, letting it be a joke.
"It's good to see you, Agent Mulder," she says.
"You too, Agent Harrison," he tells her. "Thank you for all your support. It means a lot to know that someone was on our side."
She nods, flashing him a heartfelt smile, and clips away in the direction of the lab. He hopes that Scully will be kind to her. He thinks of Antarctica: his memory is a flat white blur of numbness except for the bundle of Scully in his arms. They must have gotten to the Snowcat. They must have made their way back, rumbling over the ice. But the only thing he can see clearly in his mind is Scully's face, bleary and pale, framed by the hood of his coat, her eyes and her nose and her lips red from the cold. The rest of it is a blur until he woke up in the hospital, panicking because he couldn't feel her weight next to him.
It's strange how these things come and go. He flexes his toes inside his shoes to banish the remembered ache. He'd risked frostbite, the doctors told him, and it was a miracle he hadn't lost any fingers or toes to the ice and the damp. But she'd needed his socks. He would have traded all his toes to keep her warm and safe.
He's riddling his way through a profile when a cup of coffee appears on the edge of his desk. He looks up and Scully is there. The tiniest smile plays about her lips. Blink and you'll miss it, he thinks, and wonders if anyone else would even see it.
"I hear you sent Agent Harrison my way," she says.
He leans back and stretches a little in his chair. "I don't kick puppies, Scully."
"Hmm," she says. "Well. It was nice to see her."
"Your number two fan," he says, picking up the coffee. "Maybe number three if we count Skinner."
She raises an eyebrow at him. "Thank you."
"It's nice to be appreciated," he tells her. "Did you have any trouble finding me?"
"I just followed the trail of sunflower seeds," she says, lifting her coffee to her lips to hide the fact that she's smiling again. He inclines his head in recognition of the point.
"Were you going to come and see me, if Harrison hadn't come along?" he asks, and it's easier than it would have been before. His existence doesn't hinge upon her answer.
"I was," she says. "It's hard to find the time."
He gazes up at her and raises his own eyebrow in a parody of her expression.
She sighs and drops her eyes to the ground. "It would be easy," she says, lifting her head with that particular gravity, "to fall back into old habits."
"Yes," she says, her eyes on his now. "So I put it off. But I'm here."
"You are," he agrees. They look at each other for a long moment. She looks away first, at the pictures on his desk.
"Mulder," she says, and just his name contains multitudes: reproach, fondness, wistfulness, irritation.
"Just somebody I used to work with," he says. "She's my physician and my friend."
She squints at him slightly. "You know better than that."
"It isn't in a heart-shaped frame," he points out. "Nobody's going to look that closely."
"That's a relief," she says. "No more bugs in my pen."
"Or your wall socket," he says, "and no cameras in the ceiling."
"Some days I don't know how we survived," she says.
"We were saved by good works," he tells her. "Or maybe some measure of grace. We kept the faith."
"We did," she says. "However strangely."
"I always thought heaven would be a little better lit than this," he jokes.
"If there's anything I've learned from my years working with you, Mulder, it's that one should always expect the unexpected," she says, and checks her watch. "I've got to get back."
"See you around," he says, tinting it with a question.
"I'm sure you will," she tells him, and then she's gone. He watches her weave her way across the office floor, striding firmly over the dingy carpet. Her hair seems redder again; it draws his eye like a beacon. He sips at his coffee and lets it heat him from the inside out. All the years later and she's still keeping him warm. It's enough, for today. He turns back to his file.
