Fox saw her come in out of the corner of his eye on Monday morning. Turning his head, he watched her take off her large black coat and hang it on the back of her chair. His eyes traveled over her, taking in her knee high black boots, dark plum tights, thigh length black dress and oversized bulky, black cardigan.

Her red hair was piled up in its usual bun, but was held in place by a hair stick he had not seen in awhile, the one with a decorative sword handle that always brought on a Princess Bride quote battle, both of them eventually laughing hysterically.

He longed to say something to engage her, but remained silent, observing her as she readied her workspace for the day. She turned on her computer with a sigh and walked over to the coffee pot as she waited for the computer to wake up.

Two black mugs with his logo, Fox Mulder Photography, were filled with coffee. To one she added two creams and one sugar, the other remaining black. She stirred them both, though she did not need to, her silver and black bracelets clinking together softly.

Rinsing the plastic spoon, she set it back into the rainbow colored mug he had brought back from the Pride parade in June where he had taken pictures. Sighing again, she walked over to his desk and set down his mug of coffee.

"Good morning," she said quietly, not meeting his eyes.

"Good morning, Dana. Thank you," he replied and then she did look at him and he drew in a breath as she turned back to her desk.

Though it had been brief, it was long enough for him to see that her eyes were red rimmed and puffy. He clenched his jaw, anger rising to the surface as he watched her sit down and open the appointment book on her screen.

That fucking asshole had made her cry again. He was such a piece of shit, not worth her tears and her heartache.

"The first client should be here in half an hour, Anna Struck and her daughter. I think she said it's for new headshots," Dana said quietly, and he now noticed how stuffy she sounded.

Such a fucking prick.

"Thanks," he said with a nod, trying to relax and not let her hear his anger. "Hopefully it will be quick and easy this time, but you know how she can be."

He waited to see how she would react. Anna Struck was a rather controlling client whom they had both vented about over a glass of wine many times after the studio had closed.

But that was before Tom. Before her red, puffy eyes. Before he worried about her every night when she left his studio.

"Yeah," she answered, barely above a whisper.

He sighed and continued to watch her, observing the droop in her shoulders.

"You okay?" he dared to ask, knowing very well that she was not. He saw her stiffen, pausing in her movements.

"I'm fine," she said, her tone clipped. "I'll… I'll go get the studio set up for the shoot."

"Dana…" he said, softly imploring her, but she ignored him, quickly walking to the studio, her boots clicking across the hardwood floor, the door closing softly behind her.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he muttered, shaking his head with a sigh. He rolled his neck as he leaned back in his chair, chastising himself for asking, but he needed to know.

He had to know.

She had come into the studio six months ago on a whim, interested in his photography, and had walked out with a job.

It had been a day when two appointments had overlapped and he was panicking to get them finished without one of the parties leaving in anger. The Carters were in for their annual family pictures and the Fosters had a new baby and were in for their first professional pictures to celebrate her arrival. He had offered them some snacks, apologizing that they would have to wait.

He had taken the Carters into the studio, cursing himself for his mistake. Fifteen minutes into it, he had heard crying in the lobby and then silence. Knowing the Fosters must have given up on him and left, he had resigned himself to finishing the task at hand with the Carter's, all while composing a lengthy apology email in his head to the Fosters.

When he had shot the last photo, he had told the Carters to take their time joining him in the lobby, their children needing to change out of their fancy clothes.

Expecting to find the lobby empty, what he had found instead had shocked him.

There sat the Fosters, the mother calmly nursing the baby beneath a light pink cover up as the father searched through the diaper bag looking frazzled. Their toddler, three-year-old Brynn, sat on the floor beside a young woman with beautiful wavy red hair. She had a book open and was reading to her in a silly voice, Brynn laughing happily and asking for more.

Fox had stood stock still looking at them, until the redheaded woman had raised her head and grinned at him, which had propelled him forward. He had apologized profusely and Mr. Foster had waved him off with an understanding smile, claiming life with a toddler and a newborn had altered his idea of patience and to please not worry about it.

Ten minutes later, he had the Fosters in the studio, the entire shoot one of the easiest he had ever done. Brynn had been easygoing and followed directions well, happy to show off her new baby sister and her beautiful purple and gold fairy dress.

When he had finished their shoot, he had escorted them out and found the redheaded woman was still in the lobby looking at a magazine. Again she had smiled as he had said his goodbyes to the Fosters, Brynn waving her lollipop at him.

As soon as the door had shut, he had turned to the woman and she rose from the dark gray couch in the waiting area. She had grinned and stepped toward him with an outstretched hand, the nails of which were painted black with multicolored glitter.

"You can thank me now," she had said and he had raised his eyebrows in surprise as he had clasped her hand.

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh, so close," she had teased. "I was looking for thank you. Go on, give it another go."

He had laughed and nodded as he cleared his throat.

"Thank you," he had said, shaking her hand and then letting it go. "Who are you?"

"Your new assistant. Which you desperately need, from what I've seen…" she had stated, crossing her arms and tilting her head to the side.

"Hmm, interesting name," he had mused, liking her instantly. "Kind of long, but…" She had laughed, rolled her eyes, and shaken her head.

"My name is Dana."

"Oh, that will be much easier to remember. It's nice to meet you, Dana."

"Yes, it is."

And thus had been the beginning of a partnership he had not known he was missing.

She had been there less than a week before things had begun to change. The studio had been rearranged and organized to her liking. She had decluttered and cleaned, double checking everything she did was okay with him. She had gone through his large and messy appointment book with a tsk and transferred it all to the new computer he bought for her. Everything had been color coded with time blocked between appointments for a quick break or lunch. He had been working on his own, running on empty most days, and suddenly he had time to breathe and focus on his work.

She had been exactly what he had been needing and by the end of the second week, he had fallen for her.

It would have been hard not to, if he was honest. She was beautiful, kind, sarcastic and sassy, quick and eager to learn and help. She also made him laugh and feel he could trust someone again. How could he not fall in love with her?

They had gotten along very well, finding they had similar senses of humor and personalities. Hanging out most nights after they closed the studio for the day, they had shared a drink and talked about the clients they had seen, along with nearly everything else. He had been working up the nerve to ask her to dinner for weeks, not sure how she would respond, when she had first brought him up.

Tom.

She had met him at a friend's party and they had hit it off right away. He was tall and funny, telling her stories that had made her laugh so hard, she had choked on the vodka she had been drinking and it came out her nose, burning like a bitch.

He had swept her off her feet, giving her gifts and taking her to nice dinners and clubs, always with VIP treatment. One such dinner had been at his family's country club, which she had described in detail, down to the dishes and silverware, smiling dreamily. She had admitted to him though, that she had felt slightly out of place compared to the other women there, her style of dress not quite right, but she would get it right for the next time.

That had been one of the first red flags for Fox.

The way she had told him the story, it sounded like Tom, whose name he could only picture in snide and sarcastic italics, had not exactly been forthcoming about the location of the date, thus leaving her unprepared for the evening. When he had said as much, certain this man was bad for her, she had laughed and dismissed it as him simply forgetting to tell her.

But to Fox, it had not been funny. She seemed to not see the signs the way he had and he worried about her.

Their times together after work became obsolete as she now left as soon as the day was over, calling a cheery goodnight as she quickly ran out the door to meet Tom for something.

Had Fox been jealous? Sure as shit he had been, but it was more than that.

He had begun to notice a change in her mannerisms and how she dressed since meeting Tom. He knew people changed when in a relationship. Hell, he himself had done so when dating Tiffany three years back.

After that train wreck of a relationship had ended, with his heart and ego broken and ten thousand dollars in debt, he had promised himself to be more vigilant and aware of others. He kept his guard up and was wary of everything until it was proven he did not have to be otherwise.

When he had begun to see similar signs in Dana's relationship, the way she changed her hair and dress from the rather eclectic outfits she wore, which Fox had always looked forward to seeing, to ones that were more mainstream, he had tried to say something.

"Oh…" she had said, fiddling with the buttons on the thin lilac cardigan she wore over an equally thin floral summer dress in the middle of winter. "I'm just trying something new. Tom said…."

At the mention of his name, Fox had bristled and stopped listening. Anything Tom had to say, he did not want to hear because Tom was an asshole and no one needed to know what assholes had to say.

What he had done instead, was make sure the studio was warm, despite running hot himself and feeling sweaty throughout appointments. He had seen her shiver once in that dress, which had not been appropriate for the weather outside, and that had been enough to keep the studio at a comfortable temperature for her.

Tom had come in one rainy afternoon, surprising both of them. Dana had hurriedly jumped up and gone to him, hugging him hello. She had introduced them and Fox had watched the way Tom sized him up, keeping his arm possessively around Dana as he had. She had looked uncomfortable, her eyes flitting between them often, but she had said nothing.

"I thought I'd take you to lunch," Tom had stated, looking at Fox, as though daring him to say something. "We could go somewhere nice. You look… good. We should celebrate."

"Oh," Dana had said, glancing at Fox. "We already had lunch and there's an appointment scheduled in ten minutes."

"But you're not the photographer, babe. You don't need to be here. We'll go get something to eat. I'm hungry and you can get a drink. Come on." He had grabbed her hand and started for the door.

"I'm sorry, but I can't. I need to… help with the shoot," she had said, stopping him and looking back at Fox. "Right?"

He had looked at her and then Tom who waited with a knowing smile on his face. Fox had wanted to punch him, knock that smile clean off, but he had remained calm and exhaled a slow breath.

"I could spare you," he had said and Tom had grinned as Fox's hands clenched into fists.

"See? He doesn't need you. Let's go, babe."

"I didn't say I didn't need her. I said I could spare her. For this appointment only. I need her for the next one, which is in an hour."

"Then we'll see you in an hour," Tom had said, putting his arm around Dana, his hand placed just beneath her breast, which had made Fox clench his jaw. Dana had wiggled slightly, her cheeks flushing, but Tom did not seem to notice or care.

They had left and for ten minutes, Fox had paced, his anger palpable. He had sworn more in those minutes than any in his life, the Tiffany timeline included when he had held pages visual proof of the monetary damage she had done to him.

He had gone over the words Tom had said that needled at him. Telling her she looked… good, with that pause in between his words. As though she had not looked good in her dark jeans and maroon turtleneck, her hair in a long ponytail.

And celebrate? Celebrate what? That she had met his approval when he decided to stop by unannounced? As though he had needed to make sure she was living up to his standards even when he was not around?

"What a FUCKING asshole," he had said, shaking his head and exhaling out a growl.

He had already not been keen on Tom and by the time he had calmed enough that he hoped the Klines did not notice his anger, he hated him.

His anger had been in check, but had ramped up again when Dana had not returned by the agreed upon hour. Fifteen minutes into the next session, she had come into the studio, flustered and apologetic, smiling at the client and avoiding Fox's eyes. She had on a new dark gray sweater, one that was larger and not as form fitting. Her hair had been pulled back differently than when she had left, neater and tidier, and pinned up in a bun and his hatred for Tom grew.

That had been the beginning of a strain on his friendship with Dana. He had accepted her apology, for it had not been her fault, but he felt a shift begin.

Tom had begun to call at lunch time, Dana leaving the lobby to take the call, forgoing her food to speak to him, pacing around outside shivering, even though she wore her coat.

Fox's hatred for him grew even more and he had become short with her, which he knew was unfair, but he could not help.

They discussed only work, speaking in short sentences with only pertinent information. He had hated pulling away from her, especially as he felt it began to bleed into the pictures he took, never finding them to his satisfaction. The clients had been happy though and that was what mattered most, even if he had felt the pictures were heavy and wrong.

Recently, he had caught her crying, or having just finished and trying to hide it. After that first gray sweater, she had begun to wear rather drab dark clothing that was too big for her and her hair was nearly always in a bun. Her work was not suffering, but he knew she was, though she would not speak to him about it.

Tom had begun to call more often and when she answered, Fox could hear anger in his words before she stepped outside. He would watch her pacing, trying to speak, but knowing he was cutting her off and not allowing her to do so.

When she came inside, she would go into the bathroom for a few minutes. They would not speak of it when she came out, sniffling and sad. He hated the pressing silence in the room where they used to tease one another and laugh.

Then, on Friday he had arrived at the studio to a voicemail saying she was feeling sick and needed to take the day off. He had not called her back, sending a text instead that he hoped she felt better soon. He knew she was not sick, but he would not pry, her life being her own.

But he had seethed internally the entire day and been less cheerful and patient with clients. He had drunk a bottle of vodka to numb his pain when he got home and had woken up with a raging headache on Saturday afternoon and felt hungover well into Sunday, from the alcohol and his worry.

A crash from the studio pulled him abruptly from his thoughts and he stood up, walking quickly across the room. Opening the door, he saw a large wooden bowl had broken into four pieces.

"I'm sorry," Dana said, glancing at him as she bent to pick them up. "It slipped out of my hands."

"It's okay. It's just a bowl."

"Which you use all the time. I'll buy you another one."

"You don't have to do that," he said, shaking his head and sighing as he closed his eyes.

"I want to. It was my fault and I… ow!"

He opened his eyes and saw her holding her right hand and looking at her fingers.

"What happened?"

"I got a splinter. Christ, that hurts," she said with a moan.

"Come on, I'll get it out."

"I can do it."

"Dana…"

He sighed as he put out his hand to her and she looked up at him. Placing her left hand into his, he pulled her gently to her feet and led her to his work table.

"Sit down."

"Fox, it's-"

"Stop. Just… let me help you," he said, harsher than he had intended and he exhaled, shaking his head.

He saw her glance at him quickly as he picked up his optivisor. Placing it on his head, he pulled it down and turned on the light, reaching for her hand.

"Should have it out soon," he said, looking at her hand and easily finding the splinter in her index finger. "Yeah, it should be quick." He opened the drawer and took out the tweezers he kept there along with some alcohol wipes.

"I can do it. I don't need you-" she said, trying to take the tweezers from him, but he held tight to them.

"Hey," he said, raising his head and looking into her eyes, which were huge through the magnified lenses. "I said that I got it. Just… just sit still. Jesus…" He shook his head and looked back down at her hand.

"Okay, Mr. Skipperdoo," she said quietly, her shoulders drooping.

"What?" he asked, looking at her again, frowning and blinking in confusion. "Who?"

"Nothing," she said, her lips twitching as she tried not to smile. "I'll… I'll show you later." He blinked again and this time she did smile slightly, something he had not seen in a while and his frown deepened as he returned to his task.

He used an alcohol wipe on her finger, apologizing when she hissed from it stinging and used another on the tweezers. Holding her finger, he took his time, working at getting the splinter out as gently as he could.

"Hmm," she winced and he apologized again. She sniffled and he looked up in surprise to find big tears sliding down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?" he asked, pushing his visor up to see her easier. "I didn't think I-"

"It's not that. You didn't hurt me," she said, wiping her cheeks and taking a shaky breath. "You're being so nice to me. I don't deserve it."

"What? Why would you-"

"I've been so awful to you recently," she whispered, sniffling again. "I'm sorry. Sorry for how things have been. For how I've treated you."

"Dana," he said, still holding her finger gently. "You have nothing-"

"We broke up. Or I broke up with him," she whispered, looking down and sighing. "You were right about him and I didn't listen." He watched her lip quiver, large tears spilling from her eyes, and his heart ached for her.

"Dana, I-"

"Hello!" a voice called from the lobby.

"Shit, that's Mrs. Struck," he whispered, groaning as he looked at his watch. "She still has ten minutes until her appointment. Why is she always so goddamn early?"

"Anyone hooooome?" Mrs. Struck called out and Fox rolled his eyes as Dana sniffled, wiping her eyes again.

"We'll be with you in a minute, Mrs. Struck. Just taking care of something."

"Oh, it's not a problem, hon. I know we're a little early. We'll just make ourselves at home out here," she called back, laughing her obnoxious loud laugh and Fox shook his head in annoyance. She really had a way of getting on his nerves.

"Fox, I can do it," Dana said in a quiet voice. "You need to-"

"She can wait. This can't." He stared at her, nodding as he pulled the visor back down, signaling the end of the discussion, and continued working to get the splinter from her finger.

Reaching the tip of it, he squeezed the tweezers and pulled as she gasped. Placing it on the alcohol wipe, he nodded as he inspected it.

"There. All done." He rubbed her finger softly, looking to be sure the splinter was in fact completely gone. "Yeah. I got it." He took the visor off and turned off the light, setting it back onto the table.

"Thank you," she whispered, rubbing her finger.

"You're welcome."

She looked up at him and sighed before standing up and walking to the bathroom and he closed his eyes briefly. He wiped the tweezers and put them away, threw out the trash, and carefully cleaned up the broken bowl. With a glance back at the bathroom, he sighed as he left the studio to greet Mrs. Struck.

The rest of the morning was busy with appointments, not allowing time to talk. Dana left for the post office and to run other errands at lunch time, leaving him time alone to think about the fact that she broke up with Tom.

He was exceedingly happy to hear it, but he was still worried about her. Worried how Tom had taken it and if she was safe from him. He did not believe he was ever physically abusive, but verbally for certain. He changed her, made her feel bad about herself, and for that, Fox hoped he suffered greatly.

To the pain. Forever.

The fucker.

Suddenly, he had an idea and he hurried through his slice of leftover pizza and opened a new file on his computer.

If he worked fast enough, he could have it done before Dana returned.