A/N: This is just a little holiday to-do. I'm not promoting any type of theology nor am I trying to steal anything from the X-Files or Frank Capra. It was just an idea I had while wrapping presents and watching some holiday television. Happy Holidays!

Dec. 24, 11:30 p.m.

Outskirts of Washington D.C.

The hard blowing winds mixed with the heavy snow was the type of weather that would cause most people to hole up in their homes with a cup of hot cocoa, wrapped in blankets and sitting in front of fireplaces.

Or, he reasoned, they would find warmth in loved ones. People significant to their lives who shared that one thing that seemed to connect them, to bind them, offering a special security that could only come with compassion, tenderness and love.

He looked out onto the churning waters of the river below him. The winter weather made the water look treacherous, unforgiving, as the waves crashed against each other and small chunks of ice bobbed up and down in a bitter, aquatic dance.

He never really considered himself empty until tonight. The holidays never bothered him before, but now, as he stood on the very precipice of life itself, he felt the void within him encompass what was left of his soul.

There was nothing left for him. There was never anything for him to begin with. The truth seemed to be more elusive than ever, as if fate itself were playing a practical joke on him and the punchline had turned out to be his sad excuse for an existence. All this time, after all he had fought for, he was still without the answers and everyday presented new questions, adding to his constant frustration.

Then there was the guilt. People had been hurt, people were dead. All because of him. The tears that flooded his troubled, hazel eyes and now streamed down his face were not shed for himself. He cried for the people he had wronged. Who had suffered needlessly.

That thought was what brought him to the bridge. He didn't want them to suffer anymore because of him. This was the best way he knew how to stop it.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. The words kept a steady mantra in his mind as he lifted one, long leg and straddled the bridge railing for a moment, pausing once more to gauge the depth below.

Then he closed his eyes and picked his other foot off of the ground…..

But the sound of tires screeching and the loud bang of the crash as the car hit a tree near the end of the bridge brought Fox Mulder back to reality. He stared at the wreckage that was sputtering 30 feet away from him and unconsciously prayed that no one had been hurt. The car's horn blared into the night.

With quick reflex, his legs swung back over onto the bridge and he ran, sliding here and there in the snow, to the driver's side of the door and yanked it open. He fumbled in his pockets for his cellular phone as the driver of the car moaned and stirred slightly in front of him.

"Be still, sir, I'm calling for an ambulance. You've been in a crash."

Mulder dialed 9-1-1, but to his dismay, his phone blinked "NO SERVICE."

"Damn," he muttered as he felt the man's throat for a pulse. The man wasn't moving and Mulder wasn't finding any sign of life, until, to his surprise, the man sat back and scratched his head.

"I'm fine son," the man said, shifting to get out of the car, despite Mulder's protests to stay still. He was older, perhaps in his 60's and was wearing an old trenchcoat and a fedora. He looked like a detective out of one of those old noir films. "I just hate these infernal contraptions."

For a man who had just been in a doosy of an accident, he was up and around fairly quickly.

"Sir, you've been in a crash, you need to stay still until we can get a rescue unit here." Mulder tried to make the man relax, but the man was having none of it. He got out of the car, stretched and started walking around. Mulder looked at the remains of the white car, which were wrapped around a large tree. He could almost hear Scully now, in her most disciplined tone, her eyebrow arched in skepticism: "Logically, no one could survive that kind of impact."

The thought of her made him wince with regret.

"Why are you so sure she would be better off without you?" Mulder looked at the man incredulously, wondering if he had just heard the question he thought he heard.

"Excuse me?" Mulder asked with obvious confusion.

A cigarette dangled between the man's lips and he reached up to light it. The flame from the match highlighted his features in the dark revealing big brown eyes and a distinguished profile. He almost looked like Bogart himself.

"Miss Scully," the man said,the cigarette still in his mouth. "What makes you think she would be happier if you were dead. I think you've underestimated your importance to her, Mr. Mulder."

Mulder began to wonder if maybe he hadn't been hit in the head himself.

"Do I know you?" he asked, hoping for a mundane answer but not expecting one.

The man in the trenchcoat approached closely, and stood, looking Mulder right in the eye.

"Do I look familiar to you?" he said sarcastically. "Look, I've got a job to do, so I would appreciate it if you could keep the semantics to a minimum."

Warily, Mulder reached for his gun and started backing up. The man just laughed.

"Oh that's rich!" he chuckled, tilting his head back and looking up into the night sky. "He thinks I've come here to kill him when he was about to kill himself. You guys really stuck me with an easy one." He looked back down and stared at Mulder. "I'm here to help you son, but you're making it kinda hard to do that."

Mulder leveled his gun at the man, who, it turn, seemed nonplussed.

"My name is Mel. Whether you believe it or not, Mr. Mulder, there are people who care about you, who don't want you to do what you were about to do before I showed up."

Considering his line of work, the things he encountered, the things he had seen, anyone who knew Fox Mulder well would have thought this conversation would not have phased him. Even he knew it shouldn't, but for some reason, it did.

"Who sent you!" he demanded over his firearm.

The man blew out a puff of smoke and smiled. "The who isn't as important as the why, Mr. Mulder. I'm your guardian angel."