“Try and get some sleep.”
He had laughed at her words even as she realized what she had said. His arm had gone around her and she had allowed it, letting him hug her. She had even run her hand through his hair.
But then she had left. He had tucked the sixteenth heart in the drawer. Now he was home with nothing to do. He knew he was lucky to even have a job after what he’d done. Taking Roche out of prison had been foolish, dangerously so. But had he had any choice? Could he have lived with himself without making completely certain that Roche hadn’t hurt Samantha?
He’d put Caitlin in mortal danger. Would she have nightmares for years because of what he had put her through? The man had been killed inches from her. He had killed him inches from her.
Roche hadn’t molested her. At least there was that.
Roche had blown it, but he had known so damn many details. The son of a bitch had been in his head and he still felt dirty because of it. What else had he seen? Mulder shuddered slightly.
He moved straight to the shower, wanting to remove the filth of this case. He tried to visualize it being washed away as the almost too hot water sluiced down his body. Once he had toweled off his body, he pulled on sweatpants – his oldest pair and a t-shirt that had seen too many washings. Who could tell when they started out gray? He wanted the comfort of the familiar right now.
Mulder sank onto the couch. He should be hungry, he couldn’t remember his last meal, but food didn’t sound good right now. He sprawled on the couch, picking up the remote and holding it. Instead of flipping on the TV, he slung his arm over his eyes.
He was going to relive it, over and over. Might as well get used to it. That one section of the last dream, when he had rescued Samantha, had held her in his arms for just an instant . . . Why couldn’t that part have lasted longer? He blinked moisture from his eyes, hell he wasn’t going to cry.
Mulder sighed; he didn’t want to be alone. Too bad he didn’t have the energy to go somewhere. Too bad there was no where to go.
Scully hadn’t believed, but she had supported him - even defended him to Skinner. She hadn’t reported his assault on Roche. For just that moment he had doubted her. He should know better by now, but he had pushed the limits with this case. He was damn lucky she was even speaking to him. He had asked so much of her this time, believing a dream, disturbing a crime scene; hell he’d ditched her again.
He’d been aware of her outrage toward Roche when the son of a bitch had been playing mind games at the prison. Mulder had kept quiet but her automatic defense of him had helped.
Would he ever find the little girl that belonged to that last heart? Scully had said he would, that she ‘knew’ him. She had that kind of confidence in him? He wished he did. He had no where to start, so there was one more family waiting forever with no hope.
He needed to sleep but would that give him any relief? The dreams should be gone; Roche was dead. Right? Would that be enough? He’d dreamed about Samantha for more than twenty years. Good Mulder, really psyche yourself out. Hell, if he weren’t so pitiful it would be funny.
He hated being alone.
He sighed again and pointed the remote toward the TV. Should he turn to the Spice Channel again? For some reason none of those women titillated him like they used to, but at least he wouldn’t be alone, kind of.
The sound of the phone startled him. He scooped up the receiver. “Yeah?”
“Mulder? Is this a bad time?” Scully sounded concerned.
A smile crossed his face. “No. No, this is a good time.”
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Mulder, Scully, the Lone Gunman and Skinner all belong to Chris Carter, 10-13 and Fox. No infringement intended.