"'Go home, Scully,' he mumbles into the crook of his arm.

'I'm not going.' I drag the desk chair over to the couch and sit. "Tell me what happened.'

'It's not what you think.'

'What do I think?'

He rolls onto his back and stares at me through bloodshot eyes. Is he angry? Frustrated? Afraid? I can't read him.

His focus slides to the ceiling. 'You think I need to be rescued.

 

 

 

 

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