Disclaimer: I do not own these characters; they are not of my mind but of that belonging to Chris Carter.

Tuesday December Twelfth

Unknown Cabin

6:27 Pm

Wilting and pale she curled into herself as though she were a dying flower; the beauty spots of freckles becoming dark on her light skin, the decaying spots that make their homes upon the shriveling petals of passing flowers. Her bright hair stood as the only brilliant sign of life, like a last pollen, its luminous yellow stalks bursting forth as its surroundings died. Soon, he decided he would wither away her hope as he had her appearance. For now, however he had to attend to her wounds. Picking her carefully out of the back seat of the Honda, she lay limp in his arms, her right arm lying against her chest as her left lay sprawled out from her body. That hand was bleeding as well, though not as severely; neither the entry nor exit wounds had been great in size. It didn't even need to be bandaged but he did not know the severity of the wound on her right wrist, thoughts of childhood suicide rumors flying through his head. Some of the most crucial and large veins rested just beyond the thin layers of skin and muscle that covered one's wrist. Approaching a large, old cabin composed of mostly rotting wood he kicked the unlocked door open and carried his Angel into his secret home. It was almost as if they were a newly wed couple, he being the bridegroom carrying his new wife over the threshold of their new home. He couldn't help but to laugh to himself. After he was done with her she would never have that chance.

Tuesday December Twelfth

J Edgar Hoover Building

7:45 Pm

"GODDAMNIT SKINNER!" he pounded the desk hard with his fists, the previous white of his knuckles turning red with the impact. Skinner just stared at him, trying not to let his own worry cross the lines of his face as Mulder rubbed a sore hand through his frazzled brown hair. "Theresa a fucking murder on the loose with his sights set right on Scully!" He looked at his shoes and sighed. "Son of a bitch." He said it more as a "damn it" rather than nicknaming Skinner, though he wish he could have.

"Mulder, I told you, I have two agents on her and neither of them have seen her leave the courthouse and they both report that her car is still in the parking lot."

"Yea? Well apparently your agents aren't worth a shit. The trial got out almost six hours ago! What the hell do you think she's doing in there? Drinking tea?" He looked harshly at Skinner and threw himself down into the chair opposite the director's large desk. Removing his cell phone from his coat pocket and dialed her number, getting nothing but a recording asking him to leave a message. He wanted to throw the phone at something and watch it break into a thousand pieces. He considered the shine of Skinner's balding head as a target but decided against it; his cell phone was the only way for her to get a hold of him. Leaning his head in his hands he heaved a deep sigh, his body dieing to let the tension out of his shoulders, though he remained incapable of doing so. "How many people attended this trial?" He looked up at skinner, his hand sliding lazily down his face.

"Around sixty but there's no telling how many members of the press were there waiting for statements."

"Shit"

Loudly the phone that lay previously silent upon skinner's desk rang, sending both men jumping and Mulder out of his seat. Skinner still made it to the phone before him. His eyes immediately shot to Mulder and he nodded into the phone, his brow furrowing in what seemed to be frustration. "Yes….Thank you" He hung up the receiver, his eyes never meeting Mulder's.

"What? Skinner what..?"

"Mulder…They found Scully's jacket in a ditch covered in mud and it's pretty torn up." He finally looked up at Mulder. "It was found across the street from the courthouse, next to an abandoned parking lot."

The agent looked down at his hands, watching his own knuckles turn white as his fists clenched. "How do you…" his voice cracked as his emotions betrayed him. Composing himself he went on. "How do you know it's her jacket?"

"Her badge was tucked into the pocket and its measurements fit her own."

"Is their any chance we could-"

Skinner cut him off, trying to reduce the build up of hope that would undoubtedly try to fit itself into Mulder's mind. "It's to trashed to find any physical evidence… Mulder…I'm sorry."

He stood up forcefully and quick, the chair he had been sitting in toppling over behind him. "That bastard has her and I'm going to kill him, I'm going to blow his brains out before he can even think to harm her." His fists clenched even harder, his nails biting into the worn flesh of his palms. "Mulder wait!" But it was too late; the agent had already stormed out of his office, the room suddenly eerily quiet.

Wednesday December thirteenth

Unknown cabin

12:35 Am

She awoke to a searing pain, the sting radiating through her left shoulder blade in sharp ripples. In a numbing dance with the sting that afflicted her shoulder a dull ache resounded in both her right wrist and left hand. Lifting her head to asses her surroundings she quickly realized an ache was present there too, but remembered this one was drug induced. Looking down at her hands she was confused as to what position she was in. Soon she realized that she stood, bent over at the hips, chest pressed to the top of a stool. Down below her vision she could see thick off-white bands, each tied around her wrists, a tight red bandage around the right. The bands bound her wrists and hands tightly to the bottom columns of the stool, the bands criss-crossing between leg and support beam. Her ankles too were bound to the stool, just on the other side of the dark wood. Suddenly the realization that she was shirtless registered in her mind as well as the feel of a warm body pressed against her backside and hips. Abruptly she let out a cry as a sharper twinge of pain ripped through her back and into her chest, a soft chuckling arising from behind her as she gasped. The soft laugh sent a stream of images into her thoughts. McQueen asking her to dinner. Crossing the street to meet him in a silver Honda. Her reaching into the back seat, one hand resting upon the driver's side chair. The acute pain of a needle being plunged into her hand. The last image of him wrapping her wrist in duct tape and some sort of puffy fabric. The sudden urge to struggle filled her and she began to thrash around, her back arching as far as it could with the binds and her knees twisting against the wood. Suddenly a hard blow came down upon her head, a streak of red, flowing down her ear and into her eyes. It was her own blood but he hadn't hit her hard enough to cause bleeding, it had been from the blade of the knife whose handle he had used to make the blow.

Steadying her breathing she tried once again to assess her surroundings, this time not moving her head as to keep the room from spinning. She was in a dark room, the light of only one window showing dimly against the blank walls that surrounded her. Like a halo, a circular beam hung around her shoulders and head, the light bouncing off of objects in the room. In the corner sat a thick, exposed spring mattress, next to it was a tiny foot stool and lying opposite that was a large silver bucket. The release of pressure from her hips distracted her from further assessment as she finally remembered she had a voice. "McQueen…?" her lips and tongue felt dry and swollen. One of the binds that held her ankles to the stool began to loosen "McQueen…Adam…Where are we?" she tried to keep a solid level of calm in her voice though it was difficult as she felt the other ankle's bind loosen. He wasn't letting her go; he wouldn't have gone this far if he was just going to turn her loose. Now the presence behind her moved to her left and loosened the band holding her left hand.

"Your hands are sooo soft Angel." She felt a tough, calloused hand move over her bare ribs and shoulder. Her skin crawled. He must have felt her shiver. "They really are. It's such a pity to scar them." Now she felt an intense pressure on her left hand, the nails of his fingers biting into the entry and exit wounds the needle had left from its earlier plunge through her hand. Swinging out of his grip she tried to make out his face in the dark. Suddenly a bright light filled her eyes and sent a heavy pounding into motion between her ears.

Moving the flashlight's beam from her line of vision he smiled as her face contorted against the bright light. The Cheshire of his smile only broadened as she slowly opened one ice blue eye, the other still smashed in a squint. Staring into both of her now open eyes he could see the fight and spirit that his Angel possessed. She would not be broken as easily as he had hoped, though the challenge in her gaze assured him that the journey towards shattering her would be all the more fun. Slipping another syringe of tranquillizers from his pocket he stood over her bent body, her bareback and freshly carved wound luminous in the glow of his flashlight. Gently he swept her red locks away from her neck and ear and through her own blood, the needle piercing her alabaster skin just behind her earlobe. She could barely stay awake as he untied her right hand and gently lifted her, leaning her small body against his own muscular chest as he wrapped her exposed breasts and back in heavy gauze. She fell asleep on the old mattress dreaming of Mulder and winged needles.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed! More to come soon. Please tell me what you think.