They’d stopped and picked up Chinese take out on the way back to her apartment after apprehending the suspect in Philadelphia.
He had thought, a few times during the car ride back, that it was almost as though Maggie Scully hadn’t died earlier, and that it was like any other case.
The only sign she was showing that the event had, in fact, happened, was that she kept fingering that quarter that she’d put around her neck.
A sigh from her brought him out of his thoughts, as he pulled onto the side street that would lead her to the apartment she escaped to after she left.
Yet another thing they were somehow able to pretend had never happened, for the most part.
“I think this is the perfect evening for a fire,” she mused, still looking out the window, through the streams of rain that were making their way towards the ground.
He nodded and bit his tongue. “Tis,” he glanced over at her as he pulled into a parking space in front of her building.
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