Disclaimer: I do not own the "Touched by an Angel" universe, nor it`s fantastic characters!

All thanks to my Beta, who helped me out with this!

Chapter I

Hearts of Stone

… … …

Tess and Monica were silently standing in front of the window-display at Morrison's TV shop near Main Street. The News coverage on the bombing of a government building near the Jefferson Memorial played on several of the wide-screen TVs on the other side of the glass. There had been found 24 dead and twice as many wounded. However, they were still digging for bodies, and the reporter wore a grave expression on her tired face.

"Oh, Tess." Monica had tears in her eyes as she turned toward the older angel. "How could this happen? Who would do something like this?"

Tess sighed, and her usually strict features softened. "Little Miss Wings, these are dark times we are facing. We must look to the Heavenly Father and seek comfort. But most important of all, we must give to those that really need it."

She stopped herself as the Angel of Death, Andrew, approached them from the other side of the street. He looked almost as devastated as Monica, and as he came to an abrupt halt before them, his forehead creased with sadness.

"Andrew. What a nice suit!" Monica smiled, tears pouring down her pale cheeks.

He almost returned it, before turning to Tess. "I don't know if I can do this, Tess. How can I go through with my assignment when I was just in there, seeing all the suffering… all that pain?" He stopped himself, and swallowed.

"The Father has given you this mission, Angel Boy." She reached for him and brushed invisible dust of the shoulder of his dark suit. "It is in times like these that people need angels the most. And the lamb that needs it the most is the one that we find it the hardest giving it to."

Andrew sighed and turned his face toward Heaven. "Father, tell me what to do?"

… … …

3 weeks later

The Arlington County Jail consisted of two large buildings, with light beige walls and black bars in front of the narrow windows. The parking lot was rather small and Andrew felt a little out of place walking up to the main building. Small dried-up trees were planted in beds near the entrance and he found himself wondering if anyone actually watered them. As he came up to the counter, he leaned toward the glass and the correctional officer sitting inside.

"Hello, my name is Andrew. I am here to see Morgan McKenna."

The short young man went swiftly through his papers, before nodding curtly. "May I see some ID, please? And have your signature here on this form."

Andrew did what was asked of him before another officer came and led him to what looked like a huge cage with two chairs and a table in the middle.

Andrew found it uncomfortably closed, but sat down still. Twisting his thumbs, the angel waited patiently for someone to arrive.

When the inmate entered the room, he found himself caught unprepared, as his new assignment did not at all seem like he had expected. Not at first glance, in any case. Though Andrew was experienced enough to know not to trust the first glance, he wondered. She sat down on the chair on the opposite of him.

The small feminine figure was almost invisible against the cold teal-blue walls and her face had a closed off look to it, like if she wasn't really there. Long dark brown hair fell past her pale face in tangled curls, over narrow shoulders.

"Miss Morgan?" Andrew asked, gently. He wasn't prepared against the compassion he suddenly felt for her. There was something oddly broken in the dark eyes. She looked at him, but didn't see. "My name is Andrew and I am your appointed lawyer. Now I know this is soon, but the trial is today. Because of the media coverage and the extent of this case, they are really gonna make this move fast."

"Whatever." she answered hollowly, while picking at a broken nail on her left index finger.

"Look, if you are gonna plead innocent…" He began, but she interrupted him in a surprisingly sharp tone.

"I'll plead guilty."

He blinked, and sat up straight. "Miss Morgan…"

She interrupted him again, her features going cold and hard right before his eyes, now suddenly looking much more like the kind of person that would belong in that chair.

"Look, Mr. Andrew, I didn't place that bomb in that building, but I made it, and we both know I am guilty of what they are charging me for. So why don't you just leave me the hell alone?"

They stared at each other for several seconds before she looked away, retreating to the same blank gaze she had worn when she had walked through the door behind him. Andrew sighed, and took a quick look at the papers in front of him.

"You told the police about your accomplice?"

She didn't reply.

"I really do wish to help you." His voice was softly pleading, but there was no answer of any kind.

… … …

She was found guilty of first degree murder by the grand jury of Arlington General District Court only a week later. The courtroom was filled with people, and journalists were scrabbling down in their notebooks, taking pictures of the accused. A verdict was reached only an hour after the jury had gathered, and the trial lasted less than three days. When Andrew advised that she let him file an appeal, she refused, and didn't allow the subject to be open for discussion. Andrew, as well as the rest of the individuals in the courtroom, was watching her face during the trial, and not once had she shown any emotion or regret at what her actions had caused. When the prosecutor showed the court grotesque pictures from the bombing site, she didn't as much as flinch.

Now they were back in the same courthouse, waiting for a sentence.

Andrew looked to his side, and saw her draw a deep breath. A frail hand pushed aside a strain of dark hair from the pale face.

The elderly judge ordered the court to be quiet. A few low whispers were heard behind them, before all sounds vanished from the hall. Andrew almost didn't listen to the first part of the speech, but as the judge reached the final sentencing, he realized why he had been given the assignment.

"… Because of the lack of regret and human emotion you have shown this court, and the magnitude of your crimes, I am hereby sentencing you to death by lethal injection. May God have mercy on your soul!"

As he turned back toward the girl, he saw for a small moment, something quite similar to relief as a wave across her face.

It was striking; and at that moment, Andrew understood.

… … …

A month later

Death-row was nothing like the "normal" blocks of the prison. It was very different. The darkness was heavier. The silence lasted longer, and cut more deeply into the inmates. Once or twice, mostly during the night, they would hear crying, or screaming, and sometimes… it was so very different. Even the guards behaved differently. They were nicer. You wouldn't think they ought to be, but they were. The color of the floor in the hallway was nauseating. Seaweed-green. She used to love that color, but as they led her to the new cell, it felt like her insides was coming up through her throat. Despite of it all, she got used to it. Used to everything that was different. The only complaint she really had was that time went so slow in there. It almost appeared to have frozen sometimes. The guards never complained about her, as she kept mostly to her own little world. Sometimes they brought books, and she would take one, just to keep busy. Moving pages with thin fingers and taking in the black letters reaching out from white paper. It kept the minutes going.

"… I hereby sentence you to death by lethal injection."

In a silent corner of her mind, she had been longing to hear those words. This particular corner was one of the few places where she dared to be completely honest with herself, or at all, for that matter. Every time she looked at herself in the reflective surface of the metal sink, the words played like a broken record in the back of her mind. They lulled her to sleep, comforted her against the shadows. In just a matter of months, it would all be over. No more nightmares, no more waking up to invisible ghosts crying in the dead of the darkness. No more pain. The numbness had taken her over and she had let it. There was no fear, nor any anger. She just wanted it all gone. Dying was easy. Living was the real nightmare.

She clamped her eyes shut, hearing hard footsteps from the hallway outside of her cell.

"Hey, McKenna, get up, you have a visitor!"

The high pitched voice belonged to Guard Garret. He was one of the officers that had escorted her to the cell when she first came, and also one of the few that actually seemed to invest any kind of personal energy in the inmates of Death Row. She rose from the bed, and blinked to retrieve the ability to focus her eyes on what was in front of her.

The lawyer, Andrew, came up to the cell and put his hands around two of the bars in the cell door.

"How are you feeling?"

She didn't bother to answer.

"Morgan, I filed your appeal, and they are looking at it, but…"

"I told you not to."

Andrew sighed tiredly. "I know you did, but I don't think you are being honest with yourself about this. Unless we win this appeal, then you will be executed in less than another month."

"Why do you care?" Her voice sounded small and childish, something even she could not avoid to notice.

Andrew tilted his head, and frowned at her. "I care, because I don't think what they said was true."

She just snorted at him, not understanding what he was referring to.

"Morgan, I don't believe that you hold absolutely no regret over what you did…" He paused and moved closer. "… And I don't believe that you actually really understood what you were doing. It's not too late for you. Even if you lose this appeal, there is still something left for you to receive."

"So, I'm not evil, I'm just daft and emotionally challenged, is that how it is?" She wore a wry smile now. It didn't go well with the cold in her eyes. "Yeah, there is something left for me to receive alright. A surgically cleaned needle."

Andrew was a little surprised. Visiting places like this, trying to convince prisoners sentenced to death that they could still have forgiveness, was something he had done numerous times. Mostly they pretended to be tough in the beginning, but as the end drew nearer the fear overwhelmed most, and made them reach after the final comfort only he could give. However, it was rare that they behaved this vehemently at this stage of the process. There wasn't even a hint of fear on her face, and despite her ruined nails, she appeared to be very calm about her own situation. Not happy, but calm. Almost unnaturally so. If she hadn't been on Death Row, he would almost suspect that she was drugging herself with some sort of substance.

"Are you not at all frightened?" he asked softly.

She cocked her head slightly, but the stare she was giving him was very empty. Like an old well, left untended.

"Why should I be?" she asked, voice hollow and low, barely audible.

… … …

This was my first "Touched by an Angel" fanfic, so I would appreciate a little review, with some good`s and bad`s.

Thank you for reading!