Another day. Another failed search for the truth. For her.
The day had been long and hard. To say he was tired was an understatement. He was exhausted. Not just physically, but emotionally and mentally too. He had come so close to something today. Something that felt like it could be a lead to the greater mystery. To solving what happened to his sister that faithful night in Martha's Vineyard.
Mulder leaned his forehead against the door to his apartment as he sighed. It was a practice kept to his weakest points. To the worst of worst days, when the guilt crept back to an unsurmountable level.
Eyes closed tight, he unlocked his door by memory alone, taking one last moment to plea with any and all gods before he opened his eyes.
It was the same old routine. And as always, all his eyes met was his empty apartment.
The old couch, an afghan strewn over the cushions abandoned from his "sleep" the previous night, his worn and loved copy of A Meaning of Murder laying open on the coffee table.
He kew she wouldn't be there, Couldn't possibly be here.
It's been thirty years for Christ's sake.
Yet he couldn't stop that childish hope. The wish that one day she would defy all logic again. But this time by returning to them.
More impulse posting? More than one fic in a month?
Y'all I literally had no memory of writing this fic until I found an old txt to do list on my computer that mentioned it. Anyways, I am absolutely ill about Agent of Chaos. I couldn't find the scene but I swear there's one where he waits outside his room hoping for Samantha to reappear and I just. Need. That.
Idk never written X-Files. Haven't yet watched past season 4. Hope this isn't absolutely atrocious!
Thank you for reading!
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