Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They are owned by Chris Carter and Ten Thirteen productions.

He sighed and watched carefully as the breathe puffed into the air. His thoughts were ablaze with her. She had seemed odd the entire day, though it wasn't that odd for Scully to have her weird moments. But this had been a different kind of odd. And then she had kissed him. He felt bad now, thinking of the lie he had told her just before hand. The case he had been so attached to during the day was not his usual oddity. It was more serious. He had been asked, behind Scully's back, to help improve upon the profile of a man she had helped put away years ago. He had at first refused until he had been informed that the man was out of prison on a rampage, the ignition to his storm was rumored to be Scully herself. He shouldn't have left Scully leave by herself but he was too confused to stop her.

It was common for them to exchange comforts, usually an embrace or a soft kiss on the forehead…but only when there was reason. She had kissed him on a whim today and had confused the hell out of him, her actions the whole day confusing as well. It had been easy to tell she had her mind full. Looking at his watch he began to walk quickly through the parking garage of the J Edger Hoover building. From here he was going to go home and work on the profile, for Scully's sake. He wanted it finished and the bastard caught as soon as possible. Sighing once more he stepped into his car and pulled out of the driveway, eyes closely watching his every movement.

Tuesday, December 12

J. Edger Hoover building

He sat watching the clock, its thin black hands turning rhythmically in a beating pattern. Damn it, Scully was an hour and forty five minutes late. Thrusting his hands into his desk and down from the head that they had cradled he stood and stormed out of the office and straight to that of Assistant Director Skinner. Slamming past Skinner's secretary and into is office Mulder quickly blurted out the reasons of his foul entrance. Weaved in between the worrying hollers and curses he managed to get his point across. Skinner sat quietly, eyes intent on Mulder's gaze. As he finished Skinner couldn't help but smiled and roll his eyes at this man's concern for his partner. See Mulder's reaction to this he immediately shoved the smile aside. "Mulder, she's fine."

"There's a goddamned killer on the loose after her and she's two hours late to work and your going to sit here and say she's fine?"

"Mulder, I know where she is."

"What?"

"She's testifying against James Thompson, the man she identified to be the murder in a homicide case about three years ago."

"Are you absolu-"

"Yes, Mulder, she checked in with me this morning before she even left her home. She promised me she would call this evening." He saw the now settled look on the agent's face begin to rise back into a state of concern.

"Don't worry I have two Agents keeping an eye on her, she's safe Mulder. Now get back to work."

"Yes sir." He left the room, tail between his legs. Of course she was fine. She must have forgotten to tell him yesterday, they did seem to ignore each other the whole day…but…he rubbed his cheek with his hand. Assuring himself that she was indeed safe from the monster after her he made his way back to his office.

Tuesday, December twelfth

Scully's apartment

She had once again awoken to music, this time a softer melody. The light tune of a piano the back drop to a duet consisting of a young male voice paired with an even younger female voice, though they could have not been any younger than twenty. The words of this song appealed to her more today, her mind wandering on the day's tasks. She would testify against a killer of women, girls really, or so the authorities supposed. Only one woman had been found; one woman who could not have been much older than the song's female lead, if she had been older at all.

"You just can't relax, And you can't rely, On anyone for anything, So you make your complaints, And all everyone's let you down, You just cant, Ever win, Convinced there's a war on,
It's always everybody versus you, Convinced that your critics are watching, And you've always got something, You've always got something to prove"

"So tie the noose,
And raise the cross,
The martyr's arrived,
A desperate plea for sympathy,
It's all you'll need,

A laundry list of problems,
Doesn't make you interesting,
And never getting help doesn't make you brave,
Not listening to reason doesn't mean that you have faith,
Your just cutting off your nose to spite your face"

The words hung fresh in her mind as she showered and dressed. She might put a man to his death today, or she might lead another into a fit of lifelong misery. The man she was fighting for was Adam McQueen. Age twenty seven. His wife had been murdered by a well known killer she had identified as James Thompson and had proved to be Mrs. McQueen's killer. Taking one last look at herself in the mirror she stepped from her bedroom and into a brand new, horrific day. It's always everybody versus you, Convinced that your critics are watching.

Tuesday, December Twelfth

E.B. Corr court house

11:26 AM

He knew, as soon as she stepped into the room, that no matter how slow and horribly the trial had been going, the down hill inclination was soon change. Though no breath-taking white wings arose from her back he new her as his angel, his savior. She would retrieve for him justice and the peace of deliverance. She had so many other times. She had discovered his lover's killer, proved him to be just that, and had had him arrested. She had then postponed and prolonged his battle, gathering more evidence against his enemy, the monster who had taken his lover's life. Today, she would send the monster away and send the creature to his demise. She would lift a great weight from his shoulders upon her own. This thought made his heart jump. She indeed was his angel, his guardian.

She had revealed this when she had offered her life for his own, standing at his guard, arms outstretched before her, her small hands harvesting the weight of her gun. Upon the unruffling of a last white feather her imagined wings stood elegantly above her shoulders, splaying before him as a shield. In unison to this a sleek metallic barrel was brought to point at the center of her alabaster brow. No trigger would be pulled. He was brought back to reality when his eyes caught her cool icy blue stare.

As their eyes caught the song seemed to flood through her mind like pressurized water, finally breaking through the dike that had held the waves back. Damnit, the song fit his case perfectly. He was only trying to get at the news, he wanted sympathy and nothing but. And he was out to drag her with him through its entirety. This day would be the longest of a grand maze of many. Settling herself into the old wooden Witness bench that sat to the left of the judge, she raised her right hand as she placed the other on a thick, wide copy of the Bible, the gold leaf letters embedded deeply into the leather.

Tuesday December Twelfth

E.B. Corr court house

1:52PM

He stared at her helplessly, her eyes darting to his in sympathy. She was failing him; clipping her own wings and hanging up her halo as though it were a worn, dirtied hat, hung up for the final time. And she knew she was doing it, knew that she was burying him alive in a horrible realization. He could barely catch a gasp of air as his mind began to pound, his brain seeming to be thrown about from temple to temple in his head. Of the conversation he caught only a few words, a certain group becoming more apparent with each question the defense attorney let seep from his mouth. "Not enough sufficient evidence." The words crept to him, over and over, their stale taste staining his tongue and ripping through his ear drums. Suddenly the reality of the situation hit him; the case had been so flimsy, so weak in the way of evidence and now it was crumbling down before him, killing the hopes of justice just as he knew this man had killed his wife. But now his Angel was to blame, it was her fault. She could have searched harder for him, looked into every particle, every bit of damning fiber to nail this man. But she hadn't, she hadn't even tried. His anger flared as she was removed from the stand, the indication that the jury would collect itself and discuss her failure.

Two hours that seemed to pass like years finally ended as the nine men and women who would decide the monsters fate drifted back into the room as though floating. At last as the court settled the jury's leader stood, hands cupped before her stomach and cleared her throat. A sudden hush fell over the court room, all ears tilted to the verdict. The woman's eyes locked onto the judge, her lip quivered with the verbalizations. Not Guilty. His eyes clouded into a daze, his heart and mind not connecting the truth and meaning of the words, the definitions not reaching each other on the pathway of his nervous system. All he could think and see was his angel, a vision of his own strong, steady hands ripping her wings from the gentle curve of her shoulders, the crimson of his relief and her pain staining the once brilliant white a dull and dark pink. Standing, his hands bunched so tightly the white of his knuckles could have matched a sheet of paper, he barely heard the defense attorney's comment. "You fucking bastard."

The attorney turned to him after congratulating his client, the monster. "Excuse me?" he gave him a false look of innocence to add to the sting of the words. He could have strangled him then, atop the attorney's table, his hands tearing at the man's throat.

"You need to watch your words."

"There's no need to do so when one is speaking the truth." the attorney snarled, moving his back once again to McQueen. He would not stand for men with such a presence of filth to demean his wife, to call her a floozy because her body had been found with trace samples of several different men's semen. The attorney seemed to sense his fury and turned around once more to find McQueen's fists clenching at his side. "Take a swing and I'll have you in jail in place of my client's absence."

On this McQueen turned around, storming out of the courtroom and straight through the press that waited outside. That's when he found her, his angel, sitting upon the steps of the courthouse, white wings no longer protruding from her back. It was sick to think of her as his angel now, sick to consider her his savior when really she had damned him. Upon his approach she stood, eyes tracing the marble of the steps atop which she had previously sat. "Mr. McQueen…Adam…I'm so sorry." He heard a slight crack in her voice, though it was not brought on by tears but by nervousness. First fury ran through him then the image of his hands on her throat, his body against her small frame, pushing down on her, squeezing the last breathe from her lungs. Her eyes met his now and he felt an immense flame of anger that her blue eyes could not cool. She would pay. He nodded sadly. "I know it's sudden...but may I take you out to dinner? I mean as a sort of thank you, you know…for trying." He watched as the sympathy in her eyes grew deeper with the conclusion of his sentence, then as a bit of concerned hesitation floated across her gaze. "I would greatly appreciate it."

Nodding in a false note of sadness she agreed. She had known the man he had suspected would not be found guilty, and now he knew as well, though his truth differed from her own.

"May I drive you?" A plan began to unravel in his mind, the clockwork twisting slowly into motion. In the front compartment of the passenger arm rest sat his syringe. He carried it incase of emergencies. The drug calmed him when he had one of his bipolar streaks. If he could get enough into her it could possibly knock her out cold, if not it would render her unable to fight back. She was a small woman and he needed a large dose for his own size; She had to be at least eighty-five pounds lighter than himself. Upon realizing she was preparing to reject his offer he began to insist. He promised to drive her back to her own vehicle and to not seem so gloomy, though it would be hard to do. She denied him the chance at the moment. She would drive herself and follow his vehicle. Thinking quickly, he had to come up with another option to slip into the equation. "Well if you won't grant me the pleasure of driving you can you help me with something? I have a few things I wanted to give to you, you know just articles on the case and such…maybe you could put them into a file or something to help with profiling…? I have a boxful and I'd rather give it to you now instead of forgetting it later."

"Could you bring it to the curb here? It would be simpler for me." her voice caught onto the air as a swift, chilly gust blew past their faces. He watched as her auburn hair swirled up and around her face. Like blood He thought as his desires turned the light red to a deep crimson in his mind's eye.

"It's quite crowded here… may I bring it to your vehicle?" She shook her head back and forth lightly. "No, I would feel more comfortable if you brought it to me here." He lifted a single finger suggesting a moment of wait as he took off in a light sprint. She cursed herself for agreeing to dinner. She didn't like the idea of going with him, but she had already agreed, though purely out of sympathy, she knew what it was like to loose someone so close. She also knew it was better to stay distant from him, that he could have a bought of depression. The idea worsened as she remembered rumor of him being diagnosed as bipolar during the duration of the three year case. Suddenly he reappeared in a sleek silver Honda it window rolling down before her. He looked over at her then to the area behind her. "Look, I'm going to turn around in the lot over there." He pointed to an old, emptied parking lot that sat across from the courthouse, littered with trash. "If you would meet me there I could avoid the press, I don't feel like dealing with those assholes right now." He smiled, trying to do anything to separate her from the crowd. She thought about it for a moment. She was armed and could fight back if he tried to pull anything, thought it was unlikely; he had no criminal record, this she new from numerous background checks preformed on all of the murder's known suspects. Sighing she nodded and began the short trek across the street to the lot as he turned the vehicle around. The silver Honda once again pulled up before her, the tinted window again rolling down.

"Its in the backseat, there's a bag on the side opposite to you and the box is on the side in front of you, I'll get the bag." He unbuckled his seat belt, popped the door locks and got out of the car, pocketing the first syringe as he stepped around the front of the Honda. She opened the door, shaky handed and leaned in for the box as he opened the opposite door. One arm reached around one corner of the box the other holding tensely onto the back of the driver's seat. It was his time to move. With one fluid motion he thrust the long-needled syringe into the hand that held onto the driver's seat and injected the sedative with a swift push of his thumb. A small cry escaped his Angel's lips, making his own curl into a Cheshire grin. He felt, in his own hand, the needle tear through her pale skin, through hard muscle and then back through skin and into fabric. It had gone straight through her left hand. He swiftly took up her right into his left as she began to reach from the box to her weapon. Sensing her next move he cautioned her. "I wouldn't pull it out or move my hand if I were you, Angel." She looked perplexed at his words but listened none the less. "The needle could break off inside of your palm."

"Let go of me." She struggled desperately to keep her eyes focused, her vision blurring objects into smudges. She shook her head, clearing her vision, moving her hand to reach for her gun but it was no use. He had been right it would daze her, but this small amount was not enough to knock her out. Letting go of the syringe that stood erect from her hand he reached into the center compartment of the Honda and removed yet another. This time he overturned the hand he grasped and plunged the needle into the blue veins of her wrist. Now she struggled with that arm, the other seeming to stay dead still. The needle slipped from the vein and out of her skin, though it scraped down her wrist and fell to the ground of the vehicle. He let go of her and pulled the bloodied box over to his side then slammed the door shut, running to her side of the car. He caught her slumping body just as her knees gave way. Slowly he pulled the syringe from her hand and removed her suit jacket. Sitting her upright in the back seat he took hold of her fragile wrist in both of his hands. He needed a bandage and fast before she bled to death. Ripping a shoulder pad from her jacket he tapped it around her wrist with some old duct tape he found under the passenger's seat. Smiling with the joy of taking a prize he stared down as he saw the struggle to stay conscious slip from her eyes.

A/N: Tada. More is to come. I hope you enjoyed!-Qs