The room was dark when he woke. He turned his throbbing head to look at the clock. It said 9:34. He was still exhausted and it seemed like his whole body hurt, but he got up and walked to the window. Parting the drapes, he looked out onto the nighttime street. It was quiet, peaceful. Everything that he did not feel inside. Pulling the drapes closed, he went into the bathroom.

The rest of the apartment was dark as well. He was alone, alone with his thoughts, which could be a very dangerous place to be. He was in a dark place right now, and he wanted to be there alone. But another part of him didn't want to be alone. He went into the kitchen where a pot of fresh coffee was sitting in the maker. He poured himself a cup and got the milk out of the refrigerator. There was another coffee cup sitting on the table. He returned the milk to its place and, taking his cup, walked over to the table. Carefully lowering himself into a chair, he took the second cup and smelled it. Sugar. His partner… He lowered his head onto folded arms and closed his eyes against the pain in his body and his soul.

Eames opened the door, entered the apartment and flipped on the light. She was surprised to see him at the table, and concerned when he didn't move. She set the bag in her arms down on the couch and walked to the table. Gently, she placed her hand on his head and stroked his hair. He stirred, lifting his head to look at her. "If you're going to sleep, you should be in bed," she said quietly as she sat down next to him.

He rubbed his face. "Where'd you go?"

"Just down to the store. I got your prescription filled and picked up some soup and some bread. You were still out cold; I didn't think you'd wake up while I was gone."

"Did you talk to Deakins?"

"Yes. He's worried about you, Bobby. So am I."

"Look, Eames, I'm…fine. "

He got up and laid a hand on her shoulder. He wasn't fine, but he didn't want her to worry. He moved his hand to rest on the side of her face, then let it fall away. Walking off, he headed back to the bedroom. She went into the kitchen and took down a glass from the cabinet. She filled it with water, went into the living room and pulled the pharmacy bag out of the sack she had set on the couch. Ripping it open, she took out the prescription bottle, opened it and dumped two pills into her hand. She closed the bottle, set it on the table and headed back to the bedroom.

Her eyes adjusted to the dark and she crossed the room, sitting on the bed beside him. "Here, take these."

He groaned as he sat up and she placed the pills into one hand and the water in the other. He took the medicine and handed the glass back to her. As he lay back down on the bed, she set the glass on the bedside table and turned her attention back to him. She rested her hand lightly on his bruised chest. "Talk to me, Bobby."

Barely a whisper, her voice sounded like a shout in the dead silence of the room. He sighed. She could hear the pain in his voice. "I killed a man, Eames."

"What choice did you have? He was a cold-blooded killer and he had a gun pointed at you. He didn't hesitate to pull the trigger."

"He was a confused kid."

She pushed her hair back behind her ear and slid up closer to his head. She rested a hand on his cheek. "Bobby, why do you have to own these monsters? Don't you have enough of your own? You can't save them all. Some of them don't want to be saved. It's time for you to realize that." He didn't answer. "Rodney made his choice. You didn't make it for him. Let it go."

"It's not that easy."

"Nothing is easy with you. But you need to move on. There are more people out there for you to put away, more people for you to save from themselves. There are more demons and more victims…We just do the best we can and hope the worst ones never get away. I've been there, remember? We're cops. When someone points a gun in your face, sometimes you have no alternative but to shoot. It's something most of us have to face eventually. We pray it never happens, but when it does, we do what we have to do and we go on. You did exactly what he wanted you to do. What do you think would have happened if you hadn't shot him?" She felt him shrug. "Don't even think I'm going to let you get away with that, Goren. Answer me."

He sighed heavily. "He would have killed someone else."

"Right. He'd already killed eight people. Another two or three would not have mattered. You did your job…to serve and protect…you protected. He would have gone on killing and you know it. He wasn't going to be brought in, by you or anyone else."

She was right, and he knew it. They all had blood on their hands. It came with the job. But Rodney had been a kid. He'd almost talked him down…almost. "I failed on this one, Eames. I almost talked him down. Almost…"

"No, Bobby. You didn't. He was on the edge, and nothing could keep him from going over. Listen to me…" She leaned closer to him. "He knew that when we found him, there would be a showdown. He knew when he dropped that knife, that we were going to take him in alive. He knew you weren't going to kill him…until he drew that gun. He meant to kill you, and he knew that one of us was going to kill him. I don't think he cared if it was you, or me, or one of the others. He knew it was the end of the road. Can you tell me you didn't see that in him?"

No. He'd seen it. He closed his eyes. She leaned over and pressed her cheek against his. "Let it go," she whispered into his ear. "You have enough demons. There was nothing you could do about this one. He wanted to die; you were just the instrument he chose." She kissed his cheek. "Go back to sleep."

She started to sit up, but his hands suddenly slid around her, pulling her back down to him. His mouth covered hers, and he kissed her fiercely. She surrendered to his passion, and his pain. He pulled her onto him, the weight of her body on his flaring the pain in his chest, physical and emotional. But he could feel the darkness lift from his soul. This was a much better place to be.