Beyond Fragile (0/8) by Leyla Harrison Important Note to the Archivists: Please archive this separately as "Beyond Fragile". Thank you. Summary: Scully is assaulted by a stranger and Mulder struggles to help her deal with the aftermath. Rating: Section one rated NC-17 for depictions of an explicit rape; all subsequent sections rated a strong R for subject matter and language. Spoilers: Very minor spoliers for the first three seasons, and you can assume that this story is sometime after Melissa's death. However, this story exists in a universe where there is no cancer and no infertility. Other than that, though, there shouldn't be anything in here that you don't already know about. Also: I have changed one important fact -- in my world, Scully lives in Bethesda, Maryland, not Annapolis. It's inconcievable to me, anyhow, that she would drive that far to work every day. Every other location detail should be correct. Disclaimer: If I owned Mulder and Scully, I would be rich by now. Unfortunately, I'm poor, so you know what that means. Chris Carter probably wouldn't like what I'm doing to his characters. Oh well. Any characters you don't recognize are my creation and belong to me. Alas, they won't make me rich like Mulder and Scully would. Classification: SA, MSR to develop later on Archive/Distribution: Anywhere, as long you ask me first and as long as my name stays on it. Author's Notes (and these are going to be slightly long, so bear with me...): This story was originally written back in October of 1995 at a point in time where the subject matter was still rather new to fanfiction. As a matter of fact, I don't recall seeing any rape stories on the archives before this point. Now, however, there are an astounding number of stories that tackle this particular subject, and there have been numerous threads on the newsgroup regarding rape and domestic violence stories that you had to be living under a rock to have missed. I don't know how many of you reading this now were around when I posted the original Fragile. I wrote that story, then its sequel, and finally its prequel. Confused? So was I when I went browsing on my hard drive. I decided to put this story right, once and for all. I wasn't thrilled with a lot of what I wrote back then. My writing style has changed a lot in the last two years; personal events have shaped and changed me as a writer as well as personally. So I decided to edit it. Then I decided that editing was not enough. So I decided to do a re-write. What you've got now is a story that has been completely overhauled. In addition, there are new sections that weren't in the original story -- things that I wasn't able to add for a number of reasons. I'm more educated on the topic of rape now, and so those scenes and situations had to be added. Oh, yeah, and I decided to do everyone a favor and edit as well. The bad grammar and any typos are gone. At least I hope they are. Why am I doing this, you may wonder? I think that unfortunately, we live in an age where rape is used as a plot device and I don't particularly like that. I also think that was my motivation in writing Fragile in the first place. I wanted people to understand that having Scully get raped shouldn't be used as a way for writers to get Mulder and Scully together, and that (unfortunately) even the strongest woman on earth might have to deal with this in her lifetime. The original version of this story got a lot of feedback from people who have been raped or know someone who has. I think that the more we face these kinds of issues head on, the more we are able to decrease their power. I know that writing this two years ago helped me face some demons that I'm finally putting to rest with this re-write. I hope that it can do the same for others. There is an element of MSR in this story. I'm not using the topic of rape as a plot device to bring Mulder and Scully together. I don't agree with those kind of stories. When rape happens, a woman's life is affected completely, and her relationships are included in that. That's why I'm inclding the MSR in this story -- to show the effect rape has on all relationships, including sexual ones. In my mind, and in the fanfiction stories I've written, Mulder and Scully have always been attracted to each other, and I'm exploring here what a rape would do to their relationship, which currently has a high degree of sexual tension in it. Mulder and Scully's union is not being written as a way for them to seek comfort because of the rape. Acknowledgements: There is no way in hell I could have done this alone. Writing this story was like fearing giving birth to a big, ugly, hairy monster. Amazingly enough, it's done and what came out was much better than I expected. A lot of people provided emotional support and I thank them for it. Thank you also to Mary Ann for technical information, to Angie who provided a lot of feedback about some of the really emotionally gut wrenching stuff, but most of all, one person read this and edited it and dealt with me even though I was an incredible pain in the ass. Thank you, Miki, for your expertise; for understanding; for being so patient; and for sticking with me and with this story. Somewhere out there a young woman exists who made it through some horrific things and managed to come out strong. This one is for AF, who decided to not be a victim anymore. One last thing: Feedback. Send it. That said, let's move along. I'm planning on posting about one part a day. Please e-mail me for missing parts. Beyond Fragile (1/8) by Leyla Harrison Disclaimer and all related info is in part 0. This is just story. **NOTE**: This section is rated a strong NC-17 for a graphic rape and violence. ******* DANA SCULLY'S APARTMENT BETHESDA, MARYLAND Dana Scully finished washing the last of the dishes from dinner and headed into her bathroom, brushed her teeth and surveyed her appearance in the mirror critically. You need more than a good night's sleep, she thought wryly. You need a vacation, Dana. Her eyes were tired around the edges. Too much work. Too much chasing after little green men. Gray men. People who could see dead people. Mysterious occurrences that had no earthly explanation. Whatever. There had been too much of it. She needed a break. She methodically walked around the apartment and turned the lights off, casting shadows across the living room. She paused in the darkness and looked out the window. It was snowing. The street was quiet. Nice night, she thought to herself. For a moment she wished that she had someone to share it with. Someone to cozy up in front of the fireplace with. She wished occasionally that she had a life -- a real one. It was all work and no play. No relaxation. All work and no play made Dana a very dull girl. Not to mention a very lonely one. The evening had been a success only because she had enjoyed its simplicity. That basically meant that she had managed to sift through her mail, pay some bills, eat dinner and watch a movie she had rented without the interruption of a phone call from Mulder. The calls were always the same: he was always asking her to go running off somewhere on some half-cocked mission of his, trying to prove that there were signs of intelligent life in the universe other than humans; trying to find his sister, trying to generally be the FBI's number one loose cannon and succeeding. Mulder. She shook her head and chuckled aloud. As much as he could get on her nerves, she had to admit that she loved working with him. He challenged her, which was unusual because most people bored her. Scully usually got bored with other people within ten minutes of meeting them. Truth be told, she would rather be with Mulder on one of his crazy UFO hunts than with her family or with one of the few friends she had left. She'd never let Mulder know *that*, though. His ego would swell to enormous proportions, and it was large enough as it was. She headed for the bedroom, where she changed into her oldest pair of sweats. She left the light on by the nightstand and set her alarm for the morning. It was only 9pm. Dinner and a movie and she still was in bed early. Pathetic. Yet amazing. I'll bet I can even sneak in a little reading before I fall asleep, she mused happily, and picked up the book that was on her bedside table. It had been sitting there for a month and she still hadn't had time to even open it. She was just getting comfortable in bed when the phone rang. "You've *got* to be kidding me," she muttered, picking up the cordless phone by her bed. "Hello?" "Hey, Scully, it's me." "Mulder." Of course it's Mulder. Might as well put the book back where it was. Mentally Scully wondered where they were headed to this time. What kind of clothes would she need to bring. Where the hell had she tossed her carry-on suitcase the last time she came home? The back of her closet in the bedroom? Under her bed? "Who else?" She could hear the lighthearted tone, but she knew him well enough to hear exhaustion underneath it. "What's going on, Mulder?" she asked, almost exasperated. She had wanted to get through just one night without him. Just one night in her own bed. Was that so much to ask? "Who said there has to be something wrong? I'm just calling to offer my services to you tomorrow to drive you in to work." "Since when do I need a chauffeur?" "Since the Weather Channel predicted that there was going to be about ten inches of snow tonight. And I know how you hate to drive in the snow." There was a short silence, during which Scully listened to the soft sounds of the television on Mulder's end of the phone. Mulder had two passions when it came to television -- his porn collection and the Weather Channel. More proof that he was a very strange man indeed. Scully sighed. He wasn't being condescending. He was right. She hated driving in the snow. And the traffic. That was going to make her miserable in the morning. Scully hated it when Mulder was right. He *was* being incredibly sincere - offering to pick her up, even though it was out of his way. Scully sighed again. "Is that a yes?" Scully sighed a third time, indicating that she was giving in. "I'll see you around 7:30, Mulder," she answered. "You bring the car, I'll supply the coffee." Mulder chuckled softly into the phone, a low rumbling noise that comforted her. "See you in the morning, Scully." Scully hung up the phone and looked at the clock. 9:14. She realized that her eyes were heavy. Good God, Dana, she scolded herself. 9:14 and you're ready to pass out. She set the book down on the nightstand. Maybe I'll try it again tomorrow, provided that I'm not trapped at the Bureau building overnight because of some blizzard. Or, of course, Mulder would find the one and only flight that was flying out of Washington despite the snow and she would be in some small town in the middle of nowhere and she would be slicing and dicing the body of some person that she didn't know and didn't want to know anything about. She used to love her job. Now, for the hundredth time, Scully wondered why her job was so depressing. Telling herself that six o'clock would be there before she knew it, Scully took off her glasses and turned off the light. ***** Sometime in the middle of the night, Scully was awakened by the sound of a thump. A dream? No. A thump, a muffled thump, but a thump nonetheless. She rolled over in bed, refusing to open her tired eyes. She waited with her eyes closed, listening. It sounded like it came from the apartment across the hall, or maybe from the apartment above her, but she couldn't be sure. She opened her eyes reluctantly and checked the clock. 12:55am. Scully was normally a very light sleeper, and could go back to sleep without any trouble, but she closed her eyes and found that she was still awake. She got out of bed to get a glass of water from the bathroom and looked out the bedroom window as she passed it. The snow was falling much more heavily than it had been when she went to bed. At least six inches were on the ground already. The cars parked along her street looked like they had marshmallow fluff on top of them. Ten bucks says Mulder will be late, she shook her head ruefully. She crawled back in bed, and having heard no more noises, fell asleep almost immediately. ***** Although she wasn't sure what it was, it was definitely a different noise that woke Scully the second time. She opened her eyes again, glancing over at the nightstand to look at the clock. 2:19am. Her eyes were so tired. Her body ached. Although she was a light sleeper, her building was very quiet and she therefore didn't often wake up in the night, so twice in one night was very unusual for her. I really *do* need a vacation, she thought idly, then closed her eyes again. She was about to drift back off to sleep when she realized that when she looked at the clock, her gun was not on the nightstand where she always left it. Her eyes flew open. There was a man standing next to her bed. Gasping, she struggled to sit up, but he was on the bed and on top of her in an instant, pushing her back against the pillows, his hands digging roughly into her shoulders. "Don't move, bitch," he muttered, and Scully could feel the icy cold of a knife blade against her throat. "Don't move or make a sound or I'll cut your throat." She nodded her head, just barely, to let him know that she understood. His hand reached for the blankets, pulling them off her. Oh God. She knew what was coming. "I have money...jewelry..." she said quickly, her words tumbling out of her mouth. She knew it was pointless to try to bribe him. As a trained agent, she knew that her best chance of not getting hurt was to simply let him do what he was going to do. "I said, shut up. I don't want your fucking money." He was completely on top of her now, straddling her hips, pulling at her sweatpants. "Please," she stammered, afraid to move too much, for fear that the knife he held at her throat would slip and cut her. "Please, don't do this." He removed the knife from her throat and jabbed it in her direction as he talked. "Listen to me. I want you to stop looking at me and shut the fuck up." Scully stole a last glance at him before looking away. Stay calm, she ordered herself. Remember his face. Memorize it. It was dark in the room, but she had seen him. She had caught his features from the streetlight that spilled in from the window, imprinting them into her memory. In some corner of her mind, she doubted that she would ever forget what he looked like. The sound of his zipper was unbearably loud in the quiet room. He was yanking at her sweatpants again, pulling them down past her knees, leaving her legs open to the night air. She felt goosebumps rise on her skin. Scully could feel his erection against her thigh. Oh God, she prayed. God, if you can hear me, please... He yanked at her underwear, pulling them down brutally, the elastic burning her sensitive inner thighs. She cried out. "Shut up!" he hissed, slapping her. "I'm sorry," she stuttered. She could feel his fingers probing her, and she stared at him. He slapped her again, harder this time. Her cheek stung. "Shut your fucking eyes, bitch." She felt his erection beginning to push into her. "You're not wet at all, are you?" he said, his mouth at her ear. "That's OK. I can fuck you just fine like this." Scully winced at his words, at the pain and utter violation of him entering her, hard and cold. He moved his body against her, and she could feel his abdomen against hers. It was upsetting and somehow intimate and her body rebelled. She opened her eyes, gasped, and for a moment, fought him, trying to push him off of her. His fist came down on her face once, twice. He clawed at her, trying to hold her still. "Stop that. Stop that." Finally he gripped her chin with his hand and jerked the knife up so that the tip of it was touching her throat again. "You're gonna shut up. You're gonna shut up or I'm gonna push this into your throat and I'm gonna kill you." The blows and his threats quieted her. Scully watched the shadows from the window play across the ceiling. He was pushing at her, moving in and out of her, and she bit down on her lower lip to keep from crying out. She tasted blood, but wasn't sure if it was from him hitting her or from her biting down so hard. Don't think about it. Don't. It's not happening. But she could feel it. Happening. Fine, she thought angrily. Let him do it. Get it over with. Then find the gun and... He smacked her again, dragging her back into reality. "Come on, you bitch!" he growled at her. She looked at his face. He was breathing heavily and his eyes were wild, his hair falling over his forehead. Terrified by what she saw in his eyes, she pulled her glance away and back to the ceiling. Silent tears slipped down her face. The only noise in the room was that of his body slapping against hers. Then Scully heard it. A siren. She almost wept with relief. He heard it too, and stopped for a moment. Scully tried to ignore the sensation of him still inside her. "Fuck." He pulled out of her harshly, and she let out a whimper. He was off the bed in a second and out of the bedroom, leaving her there alone. Scully didn't move. She waited. She listened. She heard him in her living room. She waited for what seemed like ages. She didn't hear anything. Was he gone? Could it be over that quickly? Carefully, she sat up in bed. Her body ached everywhere. She managed to stand up and went to the window, and saw a man in the street, running, slipping in the snow. An ambulance, the cause of the siren that had scared him off, turned the corner near Scully's house. She managed to find her underwear, bunched up in the blankets, and put them back on. She pulled her sweatpants back on and went into the living room. The window was open. He was gone. She closed the window. Realizing her teeth were clattering, she made her way back into the bathroom and found her robe and put it on, wrapping it around her carefully. She looked in the mirror. Her face was bloody and swollen. She carefully got a washcloth and with trembling hands, moistened it and brought it to her face. She cleaned up the blood as best she could. Tears were still streaming down her face. Her whole body was shaking. Shock, she realized. She was going into shock. She stumbled back into the bedroom, leaving the light on in the bathroom, and looked around. Her gun was on the dresser, not on the nightstand. She realized dimly that she had left it there when she had gotten home from work. He hadn't even seen it when he came in. She blindly went from room to room, turning on all the lights, illuminating the entire apartment. Then she came back into the bedroom and stared at the bed. She couldn't sit down on it. Not after he had raped her in that bed. Scully ached to get right into the shower. To scrub that man's smell off of her. To be able to wash herself off. She knew she couldn't. She had to call Mulder. God. Mulder. Scully sat down right there on the floor of the bedroom and began to sob. Her body heaved from the force of the emotion, and she tried uselessly to calm herself down. Mulder, she thought. She had to call Mulder. He'd help her. A moment of panic and shame swept over her. She didn't want him to see her. Not like this. Not after... Not after that bastard, that *fucking* bastard, raped me. She never used language like that. She didn't want Mulder to see her like this. But she needed him, she realized desperately. She made it to her feet again, shakily, and picked up the phone. With trembling fingers she dialed the number she knew by heart. It rang twice before Mulder's groggy voice answered. "Yeah, hello." Just the sound of his voice brought the tears back. She struggled to fight them as she heard him say hello again. "Mulder?" she managed to get out, her voice thick. "Yeah, Scully, what's wrong?" His voice was still sleepy. She hated herself for having woken him up. It was so rare that he slept anyhow. "Mulder, can you come over here?" She could barely get the words out. "Scully, what's wrong?" He sounded like he was waking up. She paused, swallowing hard. She couldn't say it over the phone. "Please, Mulder." She closed her eyes tightly. She balanced the phone between her chin and her shoulder and pressed her fingertips into the corners of her eyes to keep the tears from leaking out. "Please." She tried to force urgency into her voice, because what if he didn't feel like coming over? Then what would she do? "I'm on my way," he answered, his voice sharp, and before he could say anything more, she hung up the phone. She made her way into the living room. She didn't want to be in that bedroom anymore. She crawled onto the couch and pulled a blanket over her body. She was still shaking. Still cold. She felt the stickiness between her legs. Her face throbbed with pain. As a doctor, she knew she couldn't do anything. Not until she was examined. As a woman, she knew that she felt like she wanted to die. She sat on the couch and waited for Mulder to get there. He'll be here soon, she told herself. He's on his way. Hang on. Mulder's coming over. It'll be fine. CONTINUED IN PART 2 Beyond Fragile (2/8) by Leyla Harrison *************** Mulder threw a sweater on over the t-shirt he was wearing and pulled on jeans and boots. Outside, the falling snow made the streets treacherous. He had intended to drive cautiously but in the end, he allowed the car to skid a few times in his urgency to get to Scully's apartment. He was worried. He was more than worried -- he was terrified of what he would find when he got there. She sounded so...frightened. In his haste to get to her, he thought about the fact that he had never heard her sound like that before. He pulled up in front of her building and parked the car. From outside he could see that every light in her apartment was on. Something was wrong. Very wrong. He sprinted into the building. He knocked on her door softly. It was, after all, still very early in the morning. There was no need to disturb anyone else in the building. He could hear her approach the door, then pause, then she finally unlocked it and opened it. Mulder stared at her as if he had never seen her before. She was wearing a white terrycloth bathrobe and her hair was unkempt. Her face looked as though it had been through ten rounds. Her lip was bleeding, and the skin under her eye was swollen and beginning to bruise. Her other eye was puffy. There was a long, dark scratch down the side of her left cheek, and she seemed to have been crying a great deal. Even through his shock, Mulder saw that her shoulders were slumped in defeat. "What the hell...?" She gestured him inside, not touching him, shutting and locking the door behind him. "Mulder--" "Scully, what the hell happened to you?" he asked. "Who did this?" His rage was building swiftly. He tamped down on it in order to not cause her any further distress. Scully stood before him, silent, unable to speak, it seemed. She closed her eyes and shook her head slightly, almost imperceptibly. Mulder knew her. He had known her long enough to know that it meant she was trying to keep from crying. "Scully, what happened?" he repeated. She finally opened her eyes and fixed him with a look. A look that was darker than any of the horrors they had ever seen together. Mulder suddenly knew exactly what she was going to say. He held back a gasp as the realization hit him. "Someone broke in. I was sleeping." Her words were coming out stiffly, almost mechanically. "He raped me. I need you to take me to the hospital." Mulder felt his heart start beating again, faster, until his body was practically trembling from its pounding. He instinctively reached for her but she backed away. He had seen this before. The investigator in him came to the surface and pushed his emotions aside. "Did you shower?" he asked, and she shook her head mutely. "OK, let's get you to the hospital. Do you want to get dressed?" "I'm already dressed," she told him. She untied the robe and for a brief moment Mulder was terrified that she would have nothing on underneath but bruises and cuts. He had seen enough photos of sexual assault victims in his life. He didn't think he could stand to see Scully that way. But instead she revealed a pair of sweats and a t-shirt underneath. "This is what I was wearing...I guess I should leave it on." He nodded. At least he didn't have to see the bruises that he suspected were under her clothes. He could feel nausea building in the pit of his stomach like acid. He pushed those feelings aside. Right now he had to think about Scully. Not what bruises and abrasions were beneath her clothes. Mulder didn't want to let himself imagine her sleeping. He didn't want to imagine her like that. But despite his refusal to think about it, an image of her was still seeping into his mind. Scully sleeping, looking peaceful while someone crept in, held her down.... Mulder closed off his mind to that. He helped her get her shoes and coat in silence, and followed her to the front door. Scully seemed to be fading on him, both physically and emotionally. She stopped speaking altogether; instead nodding and shaking her head when he asked her the simplest questions. Her actions were stiff and her eyes were beginning to glaze over. He was more worried about her with every passing minute. "You OK, Scully?" Mulder asked, immediately regretting the question. He knew she wasn't OK. But she nodded and let him lock the door behind them. He helped her into the car and then shut the door for her. As he went around the car to get in on his side, he felt his rage building again. Mulder took a moment before he got into the car to try to clear his head. He and Scully had a way of communicating silently. It was one of the things that made them such good partners. He didn't want Scully picking up on his increasingly violent thoughts. She needed him to be strong. He got into the car. Scully eyes were fixed straight ahead, somewhere beyond the windshield and she continued to stare into the blackness of the night after he started the car and pulled away. They drove in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Mulder cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Scully, did he have a weapon?" She didn't even turn her head towards him. "A knife," she answered. Her tone was completely flat, and it shut him up for the rest of the drive. He pulled up in front of the emergency room and helped her out of the car. Her teeth began to chatter, and her body was trembling. She swayed a bit as she stood, and he instinctively put an arm around her. "Is this OK?" he asked softly. He didn't want to touch her if she didn't want him to, but she looked up at him, her eyes filling with fresh tears, and nodded. Mulder felt his throat tighten and he swallowed hard. He held her close to his body, praying that he was warming her. "Come on, let's get you inside. It's cold out here." Once inside, Mulder steered Scully toward the first person they saw, a female resident whose name tag identified her as Dr. Angela Wilson. Mulder pulled out his badge and spoke in low tones. He identified himself and Scully and quickly gave the doctor a description of the situation. God bless her, Mulder thought. She got them through the registration procedures in record time and then led them back to a private exam room and called for a nurse to help Scully. "Agent Mulder?" Dr. Wilson motioned for him to leave the room with her. "Let's step outside so Dana can get changed." Mulder looked at Scully for the OK. For the first time since he had arrived at her apartment, he could see naked fear in her eyes. It shook him to the core. Dana Scully was not afraid of much. "I'll be right back," he promised, nodding at her. Her eyes held his for a beat. Then she nodded back. He followed the doctor back to the counter. "I've had our charge nurse call the police. They'll have to come down and take her statement. I'm assuming she wants to report this?" "You'll have to ask her," Mulder responded. He glanced at his watch. It had only been 40 minutes since Scully had called him. He felt like hours, even days, had passed. "Well, we'll examine her, and go through the rape kit. If she wants someone from the Rape Crisis Center, we can have them come down to talk to her. Then she can talk to the police, if that's what she wants." Dr. Wilson looked at him pointedly. "She called you after the rape?" For the first time, Mulder realized that her tone was a bit condescending. "We're partners," he said, realizing instantly what she was thinking. "And friends," he added. "You can stay with her?" she asked, and Mulder nodded. He went back to the exam room and knocked. A voice from inside told him to come in. Scully was lying on the gurney, slightly propped up. The two pillows under her head served only to emphasize her smallness. Her eyes were closed but she opened them when Mulder came in, watching him silently. Scully had changed into a hospital gown, and he could see the two bags that were holding her clothes as evidence. The nurse took her blood pressure, marked it down on a sheet, and checked the gash on her cheek. "Dr. Wilson will be back in a few minutes to examine you," she said, and left them alone. Mulder stood close to the gurney where Scully was covered with a blanket. Her eyes were still red and puffy. She must have been crying again. God. He prayed that this would not break her. He had seen what the trauma of rape had done to women. The thought of that happening to Scully was a lead weight pressing on his chest. It ached painfully. He felt like he wanted to cry. "I'm OK, you know," Scully said to him, as if reading his mind. But her voice trembled, betraying her words. He knew she was lying, and he knew it. For God's sakes, she had been violated. She was trying to be strong. For him. For herself. She didn't want to be weak. In this case, though, he thought that it was perfectly appropriate for her to acknowledge that she needed someone else to take care of her. He could see from her face that she wanted to say more to him, but couldn't. "Scully," he said to her, taking her hand gently in his, "you don't have to put up such a brave front." He was trying to give her the okay to talk to him, to open up. But he didn't know what else to say. His own thoughts and feelings were hopelessly jumbled and he didn't know what to do. At his words, Scully's face twisted a bit and she started to cry. "Do you know what he did?" she mumbled through her tears. He was terrified to hear what she was going to say next. He was scared of what those words would do to him. He knew that she needed to get this out of her system, but he wasn't sure how he was going to stand it. There was a part of him that didn't want to hear what she was going to say. It would create a picture in his mind. And that picture would haunt him forever. Just like her face would from when she opened the door to him just under an hour ago. Scully started to cry harder. "Oh, Mulder," she sobbed, and he reached across the gurney and held her. She clung to him like a lost child as he stroked her hair and let her cry. He closed his eyes, feeling his eyes getting moist. I wasn't there. I wasn't there to protect her, he thought bitterly. It was killing him. CONTINUED IN PART 3 Beyond Fragile (3/8) by Leyla Harrison ************ WASHINGTON HOSPITAL CENTER WASHINGTON, D.C. MEDICAL EXAMINATION NOTES Patient Name: Dana Katherine Scully Patient is a 32 year old white female (occupation: FBI agent and forensic pathologist) who presents to the Emergency Room with a chief complaint of sexual assault. Medical history: Patient claims to have had no significant prior medical history. Patient is not currently taking any medications and denies any drug allergies. Gynecological history: Patient states that last PAP smear was performed seven months ago and was normal. Patient is not currently sexually active and is not using any contraceptives. Patient states that menstrual periods are regular. Last menstrual period is reported to have begun ten days ago. Since the incident, patient has not changed clothing, bathed or washed or urinated. Patient states that the assailant did not use lubricant or a condom. Physical Exam: Patient was draped with a sterile sheet and entire body was examined for abrasions, bruises, swelling and lacerations. Examination revealed contusions on her lower lip, and bruising around both eyes. A long gash consistent with a fingernail was evident on her left facial area. Bruises were present along both shoulders and on both upper arms and wrists. Three small bruises were noted on inner thighs appearing to be consistent with fingermarks. Patient stated that there was no fellatio and no rectal penetration. Pelvic exam: Gynecological examination was performed as per rape kit. No signifigant bruising or tearing was noticed in the vagina. However, there was evidence of what appears to be forceful penetration. Wood's Lamp was placed over the body but no evidence of semen on the external parts of the body were noted, with the exception of small amounts of what appear to be semen were noted on the inner thighs and were bagged, labeled and sent to the forensic laboratory. Laboratory specimens were obtained according to standard procedure as follows: For forensic laboratory: Hair specimens (pubic and head hair), pulled from the root Saliva was obtained and sent for samples Clothing was bagged and turned over to the Police Department Two blood specimens (purple top tube) Fingernail scrapings For hospital laboratory: GC culture (cervix, urethra, rectum) obtained and marked as appropriate Chlamydia culture (cervix, urethra, rectum) obtained and marked as appropriate Urinalysis HIV test Patient received a high dose estrogen pill (morning after pill), adminstered by this physician. Patient was advised that although cultures were obtained for STDs, she should have recultures taken four to six weeks from now. For prevention of venereal disease, patient was given Ampicillin 3.5 gm orally, along with Probenecid 1gm orally. Patient was give a prescription for Doxycycline 100 mg and given instructions that it is to be taken orally twice a day, for seven days. Patient was also offered the opportunity to receive pregnancy testing at her follow up exam. Emotional condition: Patient was withdrawn, at times tearful. Volunteer from Rape Crisis Center was called in to speak with patient and was with patient during physical examination. Patient was accompanied to the Emergency Room by her partner, FBI Agent Fox Mulder, who was not with patient during examination at her request. Patient did speak at length with Rape Crisis Volunteer. Officer Parkhurst from DC Metropolitan Police and Officer Darrow from Montgomery County Police Department in Maryland were also here to question patient and spoke with patient at length. Impression: Examination is consistent with patient's chief complaint of sexual assault. Patient was given follow up appointment with this physician for three days from now. Patient discharged from ER in fair condition accompanied by her partner. ******** DANA SCULLY'S APARTMENT BETHESDA, MARYLAND It had been two days since the rape, and Mulder hadn't left Scully alone for a minute. Not even one second. He stayed with her at her apartment. Took a personal leave of absence, just as she did. Nothing mattered except that she needed him. Mulder slept on her couch. He shopped for groceries. Scully had insisted on leaving every light on in the apartment at all hours of the day and night, and he didn't argue with her. At night, she slept in her room with the door open, with almost every light in the apartment blazing brightly. Neither one of them got a lot of sleep. Scully spent most of the the nights awake, crying softly. And since Mulder had held her in the emergency room, Scully hadn't let him touch her. She still hadn't told him the details of her assault. She had talked to the police, the doctor, the nurse and the rape crisis volunteer. But not to him. She had talked to everyone but him. Part of him was upset, upset that she would feel comfortable talking to everyone else. She should feel more comfortable with *me* than with anyone else, he thought. But in a strange way he understood her reticence to reveal details about the rape to him. They had always been close. The actual retelling of the rape would not only require a huge amount of trust on Scully's part, but an enormous amount of courage from Mulder. He would have to sit quietly and listen to the things she would have to say. And there was a part of his mind that wasn't sure if he wanted to hear those things. He didn't know if he could stand it. He knew it was selfish, but he was scared. He wasn't just scared. He was paralyzed with fear. Then it happened on the third night after the rape. Mulder had made himself comfortable in Scully's apartment during the three days that he was there and was amazed at how at ease he felt there with her despite the reason for his extended visit. He felt peaceful around her things and in most parts of her house. Her house was warm and comforting compared to his cold and sterile apartment. Of course there was one room that didn't feel completely comforting. He had a hard time going into her bedroom, knowing what had happened there. He couldn't imagine how *she* was doing, considering that she was actually sleeping -- or trying to -- in there. Mulder was flipping channels on the TV with the volume down low in the living room. It was late, very late, when he thought he heard something. Mulder muted the TV and listened. He could definitely hear something. He could hear the sounds of Scully having another nightmare. They were sounds he was getting used to. Mulder got up from the couch and headed into the bedroom. He found her thrashing about on the bed, her eyes closed, her face twisted in a heartbreaking contortion of pain and terror. She was making the sounds that Mulder had gotten accustomed to -- the wordless sobbing that made his chest ache and his throat tighten. Since he had started staying there, he usually would go right to her, sitting beside her on the bed, not touching her at all. He would wait for her to come out of it and wake up, her body drenched in sweat. He hoped that his presence beside her would somehow calm her. He prayed that just being by her side would slow her breathing, ease her terrified gasps for air, and calm the blue eyes that darted around the room, looking for the face of an attacker who wasn't there. This time Mulder stood and watched her from the doorway of the bedroom. Scully. She was his partner. His friend. She was the one who had kept him sane through all of the insanity, the one who had believed in him when no one else did, the one who could look at him and somehow communicate silently with him when verbal communication was impossible. This wasn't just hurting him. It was ripping him apart inside. For the last three days he sensed that she ached for comfort but was terrified to have him touch her. Finally he crossed the room to her bed and sat down, took her by both shoulders, gently shaking her. He knew that she didn't want physical contact, but he didn't want her to be trapped in the nightmare anymore. Mulder knew all about nightmares. He was unlucky enough to dream lucidly. He knew how it felt to be in one, to know that it was just a dream, and yet be unable to wake himself up. Mulder shook her a little more, careful not to be too forceful. She struggled in his grasp, but didn't wake up. Mulder pulled her into a sitting position. "Scully," he spoke quietly, "come on, wake up. It's just a dream." Her struggling turned to frantic flailing. Her hands flew up to protect herself instinctively. Her wordless cries became sentences. "Don't touch me!" she cried, and opened her eyes. Mulder could hear pure fear in her voice. Even though she opened her eyes and looked right at him, she didn't stop struggling. She started hitting him, throwing punches at his face, his chest. "Scully, it's me!" He tried to dodge the blows as best he could. "Scully!" She kept hitting him, crying, until finally she had no strength left. Her arms fell weakly, and her gasps became large, wracking sobs. Mulder pulled her to him without thinking. He could feel her heart pounding in her chest, pressed against his. Her tears were dampening the material of his shirt, and he realized that his own face was wet with tears as well. He had known that this would come. He knew that eventually she would crack from the inner pain she was feeling. It was why he had stayed with her. He'd wanted to make sure that he would be there when it happened. "Mulder," she cried, pulling away from him slightly so that she could look at him. "I tried to stop him. I tried!" Her voice was that of a terrified child's. He nodded. He knew. Scully was no weakling. He had seen her take down suspects twice her size. She had always been able to defend herself. From the sketchy explanation she gave him, he asssumed that she had been sleeping, then awakened from a deep sleep to find a man leaning over her with a knife. How could she possibly have defended herself? There was no way she could have done anything to prevent what happened to her. He knew that. But the guilt she felt -- as if she should have somehow been able to stop him -- was natural for someone in her situation. "I tried to make him stop, Mulder. But he had a knife, Mulder. He held it right here." She put her hand to her throat to show him. Her tears were still falling, but she let them go and kept talking. "He pulled my sweats off." It was going too fast. Suddenly she was telling him things he wasn't sure he was prepared to hear. Mulder wanted to stop her. He didn't think he could stand to hear it without going ballistic. The counselor from the rape crisis center said that eventually she would want to talk. Mulder should give her time. Not pressure her. Be patient with her. Be willing to listen to anything she wanted to say. He had forgotten to ask how the hell he should try to deal with the fact that as soon as Scully started talking, he knew he would want to go out and find the bastard and smash his fucking skull in. "Then what?" Mulder tried to keep his voice as even as possible. He didn't want her to hear the tears in his voice. Not to mention the anger. Or the fear. He definitely didn't want her to see the fear he was trying to hide. "He was hard. He had an erection." Her breathing was getting more labored now, and her eyes were darting around the room again, almost as if she expected him to be there. "Scully, you're safe," he reminded her. His words sounded small and useless to his ears. "He just pushed into me. I was dry...it hurt." She sounded like a little girl describing skinned knees after a fall on pavement. She looked at Mulder and her eyes focused on his face. "Mulder, he was inside me." "I know, Scully." Her tears had slowed and her voice was slipping into a flat monotone. "He raped me," she said. "For about 15 minutes. He couldn't come. I think he was angry at me for that. Like it was my fault." No, Scully, none of it was your fault. None of it, Mulder thought. Pain stabbed through him like a hot poker. "He hit me. Punched me in the face." She was awash in tears again. "Why, Mulder?" He realized he was crying as well. "I don't know, Dana," he said, and she collapsed against his chest again, sobbing. He held her. It was almost a relief to know that she was finally letting him hold her, letting him comfort her. Dana, he thought, I called her Dana. Why? He called her Dana because this was not the Scully he knew. Mulder held her tighter. "I'm not going to let anyone hurt you ever again," he said against her hair, meaning it. It was partially his fault anyhow. They had been going over some old paperwork that night. Beneath her controlled exterior, he had sensed that she was slightly anxious, somehow apprehensive about going home alone. It was something that no one but Mulder would have noticed because only Mulder knew her that well. Ever since her sister had been killed she occasionally got that way. Anxious. Tense. Just slightly off-kilter. That night he was going to do something entirely non-Mulder-like and ask her if she wanted to grab a bite of dinner with him, but changed his mind. He didn't feel comfortable asking her. Mulder knew how much Scully valued her privacy -- her personal space. She wouldn't appreciate it if he treated her any differently than he normally would have before her sister's death. She wanted him to treat her as he always did. With professionalism. God knew she had a hard enough time dealing with everyone else at work. Mulder knew that Scully had never had it easy in the Bureau. She was, as she had told him once in a rare moment of sharing, a woman in the boy's club. But she was just as good an agent as most of the men in the Bureau were, if not better. And that often made the male agents angry. Of course Mulder was a little biased, but he knew that there wasn't a better partner -- or human being -- out there than Scully. She had been graced with superior intelligence, incredible intuition, a brilliant scientific analytical mind, and classic beauty. As good as those qualities were, though, they did nothing but haunt her at work. The male agents all wanted to get her into bed, and at the same time resented her because she was just as smart as they were and was able to go the distance in field work just as well as they could. And she didn't fare well with the female agents, either. Male and female agents alike gossiped about her almost more than they did about Mulder. They all whispered behind her back. Mulder had overheard a few of the things that had been said about her. Dana Scully, the bitch. Frigid. Mrs. Spooky. At the beginning, Mulder wondered if Scully knew that all of this went on. He had long ago decided that she had a pretty good idea. He knew how she dealt with it. She buried herself in the basement. She was becoming more and more like Mulder all the time. As far as defending herself went, Mulder knew damn well that Scully could take care of herself. Which was why he never told her about his occasional surveillance of her. She would kill him if she knew what he was doing. Sometimes Mulder would follow her home without telling her. He would park his car across the street, watching her walk from her car to the front door, taking small satisfaction from the fact that she didn't know what he was doing. He would watch until she had got inside her apartment and turned the lights on. He would watch her shadows through the windows, making sure that there was only one shadow, making sure that no one was in the apartment with her, and then he would head home. But not that night, not the night of the rape. Mulder had gotten a headache that afternoon, and that night was distracted by thoughts of going home, taking some Tylenol and watching a premiere movie on the Playboy channel if he was up for it. So he left her to go home alone. He had called her to ask her if he could drive her to work in the morning, and she had sounded fine. Just fine. Everything was fine. Mulder took his Tylenol, felt better, watched his movie, fell asleep, and then Scully fell asleep, and then some asshole broke into her apartment and raped her and beat her up. And if only he had done something differently that night, damn it, if only he hadn't been so stupid and selfish about the fucking movie, if he had taken her out for dinner, if he had done something, anything differently, maybe, just maybe, this wouldn't have happened to her. Rationally, Mulder knew that there was no way that he could have prevented what had happened to Scully. It was that realization that was destroying him. For a moment Mulder pondered his on-going attraction to Scully. There were times when he had caught himself staring at her when he thought she wasn't paying attention. There were times when he invaded her personal space just so that he could be close to her. There were other times when he fantasized about her, what kissing her lips would feel like, what making love to her would feel like. There were times when he was alone, when he would touch himself until his body convulsed, and at those times, he saw only her face, gasped only her name. Those thoughts were tormenting his conscience now. They made him feel sick. He had always known that one of the reasons he trusted Scully so much -- aside from the fact that she had put herself on the line for him more times than he could count -- was that he loved her. It was something he had always known. It was just beginning to dawn on him exactly how much and what this meant. He felt the slight stirrings of arousal now, just thinking of all the times he had looked at her and wanted her. Wanted her heart. Wanted her body as well, sometimes wanting nothing more than to be buried inside her, whispering into her hair things he had never said to any of the many faceless women he had slept with in his elusive search for satisfaction that he knew began and ended only with Dana Scully. He cursed himself for his shitty timing. Scully's tears were slowing. "I'm so tired," she whispered. "Come on, why don't you lie down?" Mulder suggested gently, pushing his own thoughts away and helping her to curl back up into her blankets. He stood up to go back to the couch. "Mulder, wait," she called to him when he was at the doorway. "Mulder?" "Yeah?" "Could you...stay in here?" Her request was timid. How many times have I fantasized about hearing her to ask me that? he thought, and then winced. How could I have these thoughts, now, of all times? Mulder wondered if there was such a thing as a mental rapist and tried not to shudder. He thanked God that she couldn't know what he was thinking about. "Sure, Scully. Let me go get the blankets." His voice was calm, his face betraying nothing. He went back into the living room and carried a blanket and a pillow back into the bedroom, setting up a makeshift bed on the floor. "Mulder?" "Yeah?" "Do you think...could you sleep up here? With me?" He took a deep breath. What should he say? No, Scully, I really don't think that's a good idea because I'm feeling kind of horny right now? He hated himself for even thinking it. "Whatever you want," he answered instead, and moved his pillows up to the other side of her bed. "I think....I think I'll turn the light off," she finally stammered softly. "I feel safe, knowing you're here." Christ. You'd throw me out, Scully, if you knew what I was thinking, he thought, and closed his eyes. "Thanks, Mulder," her sleepy voice replied. "You're welcome," he answered, and turned his face into the pillow. ****** As the morning sun shone brightly in through the window, Mulder opened his eyes. Scully was next to him, on her side, her body curled so that when she opened her eyes he would be the first thing she would see. Her eyes were closed now though, and her face was peaceful. Mulder breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, she had slept. Maybe having been able to talk to him, at least a little, the previous night, had helped her. Mulder carefully extracted himself from the blankets and moved into the living room, trying not to make any noise. He gazed at her from the doorway of her room for a few moments, then quietly shut the door. He went into the living room and sat down on the couch, running his hand through his hair. He was grateful for the sleep. It had helped him get his own thoughts together. There was the small problem of his suddenly reawakening feelings for Scully. Even though he was a law enforcement officer and knew about the effects of rape, he never knew them as up close and personal as he was getting to know them now. He wanted and needed to be there for Scully as her partner. And, more importantly, as her friend. She had a lot of healing to do, and he would do anything he could to help her. But why was it that the rape had suddenly stirred his feelings of desire for her? He wasn't sure. He was sure of one thing, though. Something that had been an issue before, but now was going to be more critical. Trust. Mulder knew that Scully trusted him more than anyone else in her life. He would never do anything to breach that trust. He trusted her above anyone else as well. Before Scully had come along, Mulder had never dreamed of trusting someone so much, putting so many of his feelings out in the open. Over the last few days Mulder had realized something. Trust was now going to become more important than ever before. And, of course, there was the small problem that somewhere along the line, Mulder had fallen in love with Scully. When he had arrived at her door to find her beaten, as he watched her in the emergency room, and as he watched her as she struggled through her nightmares, he was slowly realizing that the feelings that he had for Scully had been romantic for some time. He just hadn't allowed himself to dwell on them up until now. Wonderful timing, he thought angrily. Wait until she gets raped to figure all of this out. He knew that there was no way that he could talk to her about all of this. He knew she loved him. He had known that for some time. If he had any doubts that she loved him, they were erased after the incident with Modell. After that, he knew that her feelings for him were more than friendly. More than just partners. He had seen the love in her eyes; heard it in her voice. OK, Mulder, he told himself as he went into the kitchen to start the coffee, pack it up. Now isn't the time for this shit. He spooned coffee into the filter and poured water in. Somehow he had managed to keep his love for Scully hidden, even from himself. It had been easy enough to hide, he thought wryly, and now it was just going to have to go back to its hiding place. The coffee began to brew, and Mulder went back to the bedroom, opening the door softly, walking over to the bed and sitting down where he had been sleeping. Her auburn hair was fanned out across the pillow. The bruising around her eye was entering its final stages and was greenish-purple. The gash on her face had scabbed, and her lip was still red where it had been cracked open. She's still the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, he thought, absentmindedly brushing a strand of her hair off her forehead. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, but the words felt strange even in his mind. He leaned down to kiss her forehead lightly. Her skin was warm. As he lifted his head, Scully stirred. Her eyes fluttered open. "Mulder?" "Good morning," he replied. "I smell coffee," she said, sitting up. Her hair was tousled from a long, deep sleep. "How are you feeling?" "Better, if you can believe it," she said, and from the tone of her voice, he did believe it. "Mulder, I was thinking..." The jangling of the phone interrupted her. She picked up the cordless on her bedside table. "Hello?" Mulder watched her face, listened as her responses got colder and more unaffected. "Yes, I understand. Yes, I will." She hung up the phone and stared at him. The frozen look that had temporarily disappeared when she woke up was back. "Scully, what is it?" "They caught him. They want me to come down to the station to identify him." There was no question of who she was talking about. Mulder had a fleeting thought that if he managed to get his hands on Scully's rapist, the police would have to identify the remains. "Do you want me to come with you?" he asked. She nodded. "I also have to go to the doctor today. Follow up," she said, and he nodded at her. "We can stop at the police station on the way there." Mulder nodded. "Whatever you want, Scully." CONTINUED IN PART 4 Beyond Fragile (4/8) by Leyla Harrison ***** MONTGOMERY COUNTY POLICE DEPARTMENT BETHESDA, MARYLAND SEX CRIMES DIVISION As they entered the police station, Mulder was struck by the fact that for once they were there in an unofficial capacity. The lineup, which they were so used to seeing, would almost be like a new experience for them. A detective named Darrow met them at the desk. Mulder vaguely remembered him from the Emergency Room. He led them into the identification room, explaining the procedure on the way. He was a big burly Irishman and explained everything to Scully carefully. He seemed to have taken a liking to Scully, a kind of fatherly protection for which Mulder was grateful. "Now, Agent Scully, I want you to be very sure when you look at these men," Darrow told her kindly. "Try and remember exactly what he looked like. I know it was dark, and I know you were scared, but try to remember." Mulder looked at her face and knew from her expression that she remembered perfectly. Scully took the chair that was offered to her and Mulder sat next to her. She reached for his hand, and although surprised, Mulder took it, squeezing it gently for support. Then the men were led in on the other side of the two-way mirror. Five men walked in and lined up, staring blankly at them. Mulder looked them over, each of the five. Which one of them had broken into Scully's apartment and violated her? Which one was he? Scully's eyes went methodically from one to the next, carefully, one at a time, not jumping ahead. On the fourth man, her eyes froze. She tensed in her chair. Mulder squeezed her hand gently. "Number four. That's him," she nodded at his form through the glass, her voice breaking slightly. Detective Darrow came around to stand next to her. "You're sure?" Scully closed her eyes briefly, letting the memories in for only a moment. He was on top of her, staring her down, his face a mix of anger and revulsion. She could feel him inside her, fucking her, shoving at her, hitting her whenever she cried out. His eyes were dark and he was about five eleven, she had guessed, and his dark brown hair was parted off to the right. While it was happening she tried to distract herself by applying her FBI training. Looking for details to memorize. His voice echoed in her head. With her eyes closed she could almost feel his body slapping against hers again. Involuntarily, a shudder passed through her body. She opened her eyes. Number four was six feet according to the height marks on the wall behind him, and his hair was parted to the right, just as she remembered. His eyes were black as coal. Dark. Dangerous. She looked at the man in the lineup, knowing he had no way of knowing it was her behind the mirror. And yet he seemed to be looking right at her. Staring right into her. "That's him," she said again, her voice a little stronger now. She looked at Mulder. "That's him." Mulder stood up and walked to the mirror, looking at the man. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't hear what Darrow was saying to Scully. All he could think about was going into the room and smashing his face in. Mulder wanted to beat him until he was bloodied and battered, the way Scully was that night. He wanted to kill the son of a bitch. Scully's presence behind him startled him. "His name is Michael Coleman. He's a computer analyst for a company in Annapolis. Married. Has two kids. He was arrested once about ten years ago for assaulting a woman in DC, but the charges were dropped." Married? Kids? Mulder tried to fathom this man, Scully's rapist, tucking his little children into bed at night, reading them bedtime stories, going back to the master bedroom and making love to his wife, kissing her as she fell asleep, then getting up in the morning to put on a suit and tie and take his briefcase and his coffee into the car to make the drive to work. It didn't make sense. Why the hell would this man commit this kind of violent crime? "I'm ready to go now," Scully said, touching his arm lightly. Mulder turned around and faced her. "Let's go," he said, his face calm, revealing nothing about what he had been thinking. Mulder and Scully walked out of the room. Her steps were slower than his. She walked close to him, though, and eventually once they were outside of the building he tentatively put his arm around her as they walked. Without saying anything, Scully leaned her body into his gratefully. She was exhausted. Doctor's office. Then home, Scully thought. She wanted nothing more than to sleep. To forget. Scully watched absentmindedly as the raindrops beaded on Mulder's windshield as they headed for the doctor's office. Since leaving the police station, she had fallen into a strange trance, in which she saw very little and thought about even less. She was only dimly aware of Mulder's presence in the car next to her. Her mind was still stuck on the image of her rapist's face, glaring back at her through the two-way mirror, leaning over her as he hit her, held her down onto the bed, raped her. Michael Coleman. She wasn't remembering it as a participant anymore, but as a witness. She could clearly see everything that was happening to her from a different angle. And this angle was so different that it seemed surreal, more frightening. His name was Michael Coleman. The name meant nothing to her. Yet his face haunted her. An involuntary shiver passed through her. "Are you cold?" Mulder asked her, shaking her from her thoughts. She looked at him, realizing that she was in the car, that she was safe, that Mulder was there. Realizing, suddenly, that she wasn't alone. "A little," she said, trying to sound as normal as possible. She knew that was impossible. Nothing about her felt normal. Even her voice sounded different to her ears. Mulder turned the heat up and they drove the rest of the way in silence. It struck Scully how much time they had spent in silence since her rape. And as she looked over at Mulder, she wondered for the first time what he thought about during those silences. He thinks I'm screwed up, she thought. He thinks I'm fragile. He's afraid to talk to me, to touch me. He's afraid I'll break, like glass. Scully had never thought of herself like this before, but she suddenly imagined herself, a little Scully-statue, made of glass, shattering into a hundred pieces. It was obvious what Mulder was feeling for her. She had rolled over the night before and reached out for him in bed, and although it was not something she was used to doing, she had felt at ease almost immediately. But she wasn't stupid. She had felt him, his erection hard against her leg. And she had felt him shift his body quickly so she wouldn't feel it. A part of her had been terrified and shocked by his arousal. How could he be aroused, considering the situation? But at the same time there was a part of her that was astounded in a wonderful way, amazed that he could be aroused by her, damaged as she was. It was strange, because she had known in her heart that she had been in love with him for some time now. It was something she would never admit to him. There was no room for a romance between them in their lives. The X-Files took up too much space, too much time and too much energy for them to have anything other than the comfortable relationship -- the partnership -- that they already had. She wasn't sure if she could call it a friendship. But it was something. Something very powerful. But it didn't mean she hadn't thought about the relationship between them becoming more than what it already was. She had -- many times. She had thought about Mulder as more than a friend and partner so often that she couldn't keep track of it anymore. But she trusted Mulder so much that she couldn't deal with thinking of him as anything else, especially not now, not after the rape. Although, she thought idly, it would be so nice... Especially now. Scully knew that her response was partially because of the trauma she was experiencing. She knew, had known for a long time, that she was in love with him. And she was grateful -- grateful for his love, even if he couldn't express how he really felt. The devotion he was showing her was more than enough for her. It always had been before. She watched at him as he drove. She had no idea what he was thinking. His face was completely unreadable. She had no way of knowing the thoughts of murderous revenge that were flooding through his body. His thoughts were so powerful that his grip on the steering wheel had become tighter, his jaw set and his eyes locked on the road in order to keep his feelings tightly reined in. ****** DR. ANGELA WILSON'S OFFICE WASHINGTON, D.C. Inside the examining room at the doctor's office, Scully was grateful for the cotton gown instead of one of those flimsy paper things. She changed quickly and sat on the table, looking around the small room. Even before all this had happened, she had never liked going to the doctor. The old saying was true -- doctors make the worst patients. This, of course, was different. Scully was dreading getting back up in the stirrups, her legs open, her body exposed, yet again. Dr. Wilson came into the room. "Hi, Dana," she greeted her patient warmly. Scully nodded. The doctor was carrying Scully's medical file which was filled with papers. Stuffed, no doubt, with police documents, medical exam forms, and other evidence that could be used later in court, Scully thought. Her mind went over all the things they told her in the emergency room a few days before, and the fear and anxiety that she had been able to temporarily put aside was back in an instant. Sexually transmitted diseases. Pregnancy. HIV. Jesus, what if this man gave her HIV? She felt goosebumps rise on her skin. "How are you feeling?" Dr. Wilson asked. Scully swallowed hard. It felt as if there were a vise around her throat, tightening slowly, taking away the precious oxygen that she needed to breathe. She had pushed these thoughts away days before. Dealing with the rape itself and the nightmares and the panic attacks was terrifying enough without the threat of the medical ramifications of what had been done to her. "I'm fine," Scully finally managed to say, trying to get rid of the lump in her throat. The doctor did a quick examination of her bruises and lacerations. "You seem to be healing up well physically. How are you doing emotionally?" Scully almost burst into tears. Oh, God, I can't deal with this. I can't. I just can't handle this. "Does it get easier?" she asked in a small voice. Dr. Wilson nodded and her face softened as she touched Scully's hand. "It does. I promise you." Her face held a look of concern, and a look of -- no it couldn't be, Scully thought. But it was. Understanding. Scully let out the deep breath that she didn't realize she had been holding. "The police called me today and asked for your records to be sent over because they arrested a suspect. It's standard for them to get medical tests done on him as well. We're going to get semen samples and blood typing for DNA to see if it matches the trace evidence that we found on you. We're going to also test him for the same sexually transmitted diseases we tested you for." The doctor flipped through Scully's chart. "Are you going to take a pregnancy test now?" Scully asked. "Yes, if you want me to." Dr. Wilson answered. Scully nodded mutely, her fears starting to get the better of her. Her mind was now racing. Pregnant. With this man's baby. She couldn't imagine anything worse than conceiving a child through rape. Oh, God, what would she do if she was pregnant? Scully knew that although she wasn't a devout Catholic anymore, and considered herself to be pro-choice, she still had a hard time with the concept of herself having an abortion. Although she knew under the horrific circumstances that it would be the only thing to do, it wouldn't make it any easier. And she could be carrying HIV, and God knew what else. Her head was starting to swim, and she looked down at the floor, putting her hands over her eyes. ****** Mulder looked up from his magazine to hear the nurse calling him. "Mr. Mulder?" she asked. He nodded. "Miss Scully would like you to come in. Could you please come with me?" Mulder dropped the magazine quickly and followed her. In the exam room, Scully was sitting on the table, wearing a thin white cotton gown. Her upper arms were covered with bruises, faded to ugly purple and green from where she must have been held down. He hadn't seen those before. She had worn long sleeves ever since she had come home. Now he knew why. She hadn't wanted him to see these marks. Dr. Wilson was standing on one side of the exam room. Scully's head was in her hands, and she was crying. Mulder hurried to her side and put an arm around her protectively. "What's going on?" he asked in a low voice. "Scully, what's wrong?" he asked her. Scully looked up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Mulder, I could be pregnant!" "Dana, we can run a pregnancy test. You also took the morning after pill in the ER, which decreases your chances of becoming pregnant," Dr. Wilson tried to soothe her. "I want to go," Scully sobbed softly, "I want to go home." He helped her stand. "Dana, please, stay until we can draw some blood," Dr. Wilson practically pleaded with her. Scully sniffled and nodded. "All right," she said, "but then I'm leaving." Dr. Wilson called for a nurse, and she came in and wrapped a tourniquet around her upper arm. Mulder saw Scully wince at the pain, and was ashamed that he had to turn his head away when the needle went in. "We'll run the pregnancy test, and we'll have the results in the morning. The HIV testing won't be back until tomorrow as well, and you'll have to be re-tested every three months for the first year," the doctor explained. She scribbled something on a pad, then ripped off the top two sheets and handed them to Scully. "This is for AZT. It's simply a preventative measure. We also give it hospital employees when they've been stuck by a needle. And this one," she said, indicating the final sheet of paper, "is for a sedative." Scully took the prescriptions silently. "I know you think I don't care, Dana," the doctor said, "but I do. I know that you're having a rough time. Try to go home and get some rest." The doctor and the nurse left the room, leaving Mulder and Scully alone. She had stopped crying. "I just want to go home," Scully said again, not looking up at him. "I'll wait outside while you get dressed," he said, and reached out to touch her shoulder gently. Scully visibly shrank back from him. Shit, he thought, are we back to this? Mulder smiled at her weakly, in case she looked up, but she didn't. He left the room and stood in the hall. Leaning his back up against the wall, he closed his eyes. Scully hadn't told her family what had happened. She had called her mother, but told her that she was sick and wasn't up for company. She had told Skinner that she had the flu and was dehydrated, although he wasn't sure if she had taken any measures to make sure that her case wasn't cross-filed to the FBI. Sooner or later, she would have to go back to work. And she would have to face her family. Somehow, she had to pull it together. And soon. Why the hell did she want to keep this a secret? Why? He knew her mother would be nothing but supportive. He knew that Skinner wouldn't tell anyone. He was starting to feel like he wasn't doing enough for her, and in a way, he was starting to feel like he was in over his head and he wanted someone to help him carry the burden of what had happened to her. It didn't lessen how much he cared about her. He just felt like he needed help knowing how to deal with this and how to actually be a help to Scully at the same time. Scully came out of the exam room a few minutes later and they silently walked to the car. It was now raining heavily, but Mulder deliberately measured his steps slowly so that Scully could keep up with him. They stopped at a pharmacy and Mulder turned off the car. "Why don't you let me run in and fill those for you." "I can do it myself," she said, and got out of the car without saying anything else. He watched her walk through the door and then punched the steering wheel angrily. As a psychologist, Mulder knew that Scully was going to move forward and backward in her emotional progress before things started to get better, but the fact that she put barriers up again made him frustrated all the same. A few minutes later she returned and got into the car. Mulder looked at her but didn't start the car. "Did you get them filled?" he asked. "Let's go, Mulder," she said, "I'm freezing." "Scully, did you fill the prescriptions?" She looked at him pointedly. "Why are you interrogating me?" "I'm not," he protested. Scully turned and stared out of the car window, silent. "Scully," he began, but she cut him off. "Someone in there was looking at me. They saw that I had been beaten up," she said, still not looking at him. "Who cares what anyone thinks?" Mulder snapped, his voice raised, and Scully whipped around in her seat to look at him, her eyes blazing. "I care, Mulder," she shouted at him. "I care!" "Did you fill the prescription for the sedative?" "No," she said sharply. "Why the hell not?" "I don't need a fucking sedative!" she practically yelled. "What I need to is to forget that this ever happened! I need to stop worrying that I'm going to get pregnant. That I'm going to get HIV or God knows what else!" Mulder didn't think he had ever seen her so enraged. He was partially relieved to see Scully having such a strong reaction, even though it was catching him off guard. "The morning after pill assures that you won't get pregnant. They gave you that in the ER." "But I wasn't on *any* birth control. My chances of getting pregnant are high. I can't face it, Mulder. I can't face being pregnant. Not this way. What the hell would I do?" Scully sounded desperate. He put his hand on her leg, then drew it away when she looked up at him. Even though he understood her reticence to being touched, it still frustrated him. There was only so much concern he could show with his eyes. He wanted to be able to touch her, and he wanted to tell her why. "I'm sorry," he said, "I was just trying to show you, you know, tell you...." He paused, unsure of his words, "that I care about you. I was trying to comfort you. That's all I've been trying to do." "I know," she said, looking up at him, her eyes filling with tears. The anger was gone. "I just don't know what I'm doing, Mulder. I don't know anything right now." His anger for her rapist came to the surface again when he saw her tears. It was his fault, he thought. He pushed down the white hot feeling in his throat and put one hand up to gently stroke her face. "I'm sorry I yelled at you," he whispered. "I'm so sorry, Dana." Michael Coleman, Mulder thought, I hope you know what you're in for. You sick bastard. ****** Back at Scully's apartment, Mulder went to the bathroom and shut the door behind him. He looked at himself in the mirror. He felt like he had aged a year in the last few days. There was so much to think about. Scully's rapist was in jail. Mulder was in love with her. There could be a few very disturbing medical repurcussions from what that bastard did to her. Wonderful. Mulder needed to hold her, and he couldn't. He couldn't touch her. He couldn't hold her close to his body without her being terrified. Why now, he wondered? Why not a year ago? Why did these feelings have to surface now? Now that he had a little more time to think about it, he understood a little more about Scully's fears about the medical consequences of the rape. Her Catholic upbringing would likely make it hard for her emotionally to have an abortion, even though Mulder thought that even the most devout Catholic would probably forgive Scully for aborting a baby that was created in such a violent way. Trying to distract himself from his thoughts, he opened the medicine cabinet without thinking and looked inside. He saw a case of birth control pills. The date on the prescription was almost two years old. He saw the standard medicine cabinet items--cotton balls, Tylenol, a thermometer. He glanced, interested, at the apricot facial mask. He wondered if that was the source of the sweet smell of her skin. He closed the medicine cabinet and looked down at the counter. Scully's toothbrush, and his own. Toothpaste. A bar of soap. A bottle of perfume. He picked that up and smelled it. Closing his eyes, he could smell her, wearing the perfume. The bottle was almost empty. He quickly memorized the name of it, reminding himself to buy her another bottle. He looked in the mirror again, rubbed his eyes. He was so tired. ***** In the bedroom, Scully had changed into sweats. She sat down on the edge of her bed and pulled her feet up under her. She should feel safe in this place, in her home. But she didn't. Even with Mulder here, there was still a part of her that was frightened. There was so much for her to absorb, to deal with. She didn't know where to start. Pregnancy. Disease. Reputation. She hadn't thought about that one. Eventually she would have to go back to work, and then... Oh, God, she thought, my reputation at the Bureau will be destroyed. Everyone will know that I couldn't defend myself. What kind of FBI agent am I if I can't even defend myself? Everyone will know that I can't protect myself. Somehow, she understood that she was having a natural emotional response to what had happened to her. She had seen other rape victims and seen what they had gone through. But she couldn't help but feel like a woman, not just an FBI agent. They'll think that I need Mulder to protect me. Mulder will think that he has to protect me. He'll think I won't be able to do anything alone. She closed her eyes and laid down, trying to calm herself, trying to relax on the softness of the bed. The bed. The scene of the crime. She thought that maybe she could recall the events of that night without losing it. Go over it in her head. Make it less terrifying. Yes, she could do that. She could remember every detail vividly, from the moment she woke up to the sense that someone was standing over her to when he heard a siren outside -- which had turned out to be an ambulance and not a police cruiser -- and got scared and left. As soon as she had realized there was someone there, she had scrambled to get her gun from the bedside table, which wasn't there anyway, but he was faster than her and had climbed on top of her, straddling her body with his legs, pinning her arms down. He hit her in the face, hard enough to stun her but not hard enough to knock her unconscious. Held the knife to her throat, whispering threats of using it if she didn't stay quiet. She realized that no matter how much she prayed, that he was going to rape her anyhow, and that there was nothing she could do about it. He pulled at her sweats, yanked viciously at the waistband of them. She felt the elastic burning her skin, and she knew then that there was going to be no stopping him. She could see it in his eyes. Feel it in the hardness of his erection pressing into her groin. It wasn't working. She couldn't do it. Couldn't go through it again. She sat up, lifting her head. The panic was back. Her breathing, came in sharp gasps. Her heart raced. Her hands were prickling and clammy and she felt like she was going to vomit. She tried to get up, but her legs were trembling so badly that she knew she would fall if she tried. "Mulder." Her voice was low. "Mulder!" Louder this time. He came running into the room, having heard her terrified cry from the bathroom, and came to her side immediately. "It's OK, Scully," he said soothingly. "I'm right here. Nothing's going to happen to you. You're safe." The phone rang. Scully jumped, startled, and then whimpered. "Please, Mulder, can you answer it?" He nodded and reached for the cordless. "Hello? Yes, Detective Darrow." Scully shook her head, indicating that she didn't want to talk to him. "Can I take a message for her?" Scully watched his face, trying to calm herself. "You've got to be kidding." Mulder's tone was stunned, angry. "No, I'll call you back. Thanks." He hung up the phone. "What is it?" Scully asked him, terrified of what his answer would be. "They let him go," Mulder told her, trying to remain calm himself for Scully's sake. "What?" Scully asked, her voice anguished. "He was released on $100,000 bail. They don't think he'll run. They told him not to leave the area." "They told him not to leave the area?" Shock and terror pulsed through her body. "Mulder, he could come over here and..." "He's not going to get near you," Mulder said firmly. "He won't get into this house." "Oh, God, Mulder. He could come back here! He could -- " Her voice was rising, panic infused through it. "No, Scully, he won't," he assured her. I'm not letting you out of my sight for one second, Mulder thought. He'll be dead before he touches you again. Scully closed her eyes. "This won't end, will it?" she asked. It came out more a statement than a question. Mulder helped her lie down on the bed and he sat down next to her, stroking her hair and her forehead. He whispered to her softly, soothingly. Finally, after almost an hour, she fell asleep. He got up, went into the living room to check the locks on the front door. He checked all the windows. He checked his gun, making sure that the clip was fully loaded. He went back into the bedroom and sat down on the other side of the bed, next to Scully, and watched her. Scully awoke a few times. She tossed and turned in her sleep, whimpering softly. The nightmares were back. He wanted to hold her, but couldn't bring himself to take her in his arms. He watched her, knowing that she was going through incredible pain, and that he was not able to help her. As he watched her, the pain within him surfaced, and he finally understood why he felt it. Anything that hurt her, hurt him. Mulder felt his throat getting tight, and his chest ached from unshed tears. He cleared his throat softly, trying not to wake her, but didn't succeed. Scully stirred, opening her eyes to look at him. She saw him sitting there, on the bed beside her, his face filled with sadness. She realized suddenly how lucky she was to have him in her life. "Mulder," she whispered, "thank you for being here." His eyes filled with tears, and he didn't try to stop them from falling. Scully sat up and he hugged her tightly to him, crying softly. "I'm sorry I wasn't here that night," he managed to get out, but she quieted him. "You can't watch over me every second," she answered. "I don't blame *you* for what happened to me." He pulled from their embrace to look her in the eye. "I feel like I let you down," he confessed. She shook her head, her eyes filled with disbelief. "Why?" she asked. "Because I couldn't protect you. Because it happened, and I didn't protect you." "Mulder," she said, feeling her own tears coming back, "you couldn't. It's not your fault, for God's sake." "I know," he said, his tears slowing. "But it doesn't stop me from thinking that I should have been here. If I had been here..." She shook her head. "You couldn't be here, Mulder, and that's not your fault. It happened. I have to deal with it." "No, Scully," he answered her with conviction. "We're going to deal with it. I'm here for you. Whatever you need." She squeezed her eyes shut, keeping the tears at bay. When she opened them again, she smiled at him weakly. "I love you so much," she blurted out without thinking. She immediately clapped a hand over her mouth, stunned that she had said what she said. "Oh, God," she cried out, her words muffled by her hand. She couldn't look at him. He took her hands, one at a time, gently, in his. "It's OK," he murmured to her. "I know." He was silent for a long time. She finally looked up at him. Minutes had passed. "We're going to get through this," she said tentatively, and he nodded, seeing the potential hope on her face that maybe she could in fact get through it. It gave him faith. "And you're going to be fine," he added. "You always are, Scully." CONTINUED IN PART 5 Beyond Fragile (5/8) by Leyla Harrison FBI HEADQUARTERS WASHINGTON, D.C. Three days had passed since Scully had seen the doctor and Michael Coleman had been questioned by the police. The DNA testing came back. Michael Coleman's semen matched the traces that had been found on Scully's body. The police had gone to arrest him, but he took off out the back door and escaped on foot. He was on the run. Despite all of this, Scully finally went back to work. Her bruises were almost gone, and on the surface, at least, she was almost back to her old self. Underneath, her demons were hard at work. Mulder made sure the agents only worked on paperwork, reports -- anything that would keep them in the basement, where he could keep an eye on her. And where no one else would see her, just in case she wasn't ready to be under the microscope of public scrutiny. Mulder watched her, trying to be surreptitious, but he wasn't sure that it was working. Scully kept shooting glances back at him. He couldn't tell if she was irritated or amused with him. Mulder had stopped sleeping at her apartment the day before. His last night there was the same day that the locksmith came by. The locksmith installed two new locks on the front door and more on all the windows at Scully's insistence. Mulder left that night with her promise that she would call if she needed him, and that if she called, he would come right over, no questions asked. Mulder knew she was putting on a front at work. He could see the dark circles under her eyes and knew that she hadn't been sleeping enough. The phone in the office rang, startling them both. Mulder answered it. "Yes, sir. We can be up there --" Mulder paused, then glanced at Scully. "Oh. Yes, sir, I'll tell her." He hung up the phone and Scully looked at him, one eyebrow arched. "Skinner wants to talk to you. Alone." Scully took a deep breath and looked down at her desk. "Do you think he knows?" she asked quietly, not looking up. "I don't know, Scully," Mulder answered her honestly. There was a long moment of silence and then finally Scully pushed her chair back and put her jacket on, her ID badge swinging slightly. Scully Battle Mode, Mulder thought absently. "I'll be back as soon as I can," she said, heading for the office door. "Scully." Mulder said her name just as she was about to cross the threshold. Scully turned and looked at him. "Yes?" "I'll be thinking about you. Hang in there." Mulder could have kicked himself. What a stupid thing to say. I'll be thinking about you? But Scully surprised him when the corners of her mouth actually lifted into a half smile. "Thanks, Mulder." ***** Scully stood outside Skinner's office for a moment before going in, brushing back her hair nervously with her fingertips and taking a few slow, deep breaths. Finally, she pushed open the door to his secretary's office. "Agent Scully," Skinner's secretary looked up from her computer. "Assistant Director Skinner is expecting you. Go on in." "Thank you." Scully went into Skinner's office. He was at his desk going over some files. He looked up when Scully walked in. "Agent Scully." His tone was neutral, as always. "Please have a seat." Scully couldn't help it. She was nervous. She crossed the carpet and took the chair she always took, sitting down and trying to appear as calm as possible. "Is something wrong, sir?" "I think I should be asking you the same question, Agent Scully." There was a long moment of silence as they regarded each other. Skinner lifted a file from his desk and held it in his hand. "This was forwarded to me this morning. It's from the Bethesda PD." Scully nodded, knowing what it was, and unsure of what to say. "Last time I checked, Agent Scully, any assault on a officer of the law, especially a Bureau officer, is a federal offense. Is there a reason why you didn't report your assault through the proper channels?" He wasn't interrograting her. Just asking. "Sir, I...I don't know what to say," Scully faltered. "Since the assault was somewhat...personal in nature, I thought it best to be kept within the confines of the local authorities. They are pursuing the case." Skinner set the file down again and stood up, taking his glasses off. He walked around his desk and paced nearby, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Scully fought the urge to turn around to look at him. Having him out of her range of sight was making her slightly uneasy. "You and I both know, Agent Scully, that the case might be solved more rapidly with the assistance of Federal resources." "Sir, I don't know what to say," she said honestly. "I just thought..." She closed her eyes for a moment. "I don't know what I thought." Her voice had softened a great deal. She let out a deep breath, not sure of what else to say. Skinner was next to her and reached out to touch her shoulder. Scully's eyes jerked open and she jumped in her seat. "I'm sorry," he said quickly, softly. His apology was genuine. He came over and sat next to her, in the chair that Mulder usually sat in. "I didn't mean to frighten you, Agent Scully." "I'm fine, sir." Skinner was silent for a moment. "The fact is, Agent Scully, that you lied to me when you told me that you had the flu. And then I get this report on my desk...it takes me out of the loop, which is a feeling I don't like." "I'm sorry, sir. I don't know what to say." Scully was feeling increasingly foolish. She should have told Skinner at the very least, even if she hadn't wanted to report it as a Bureau matter. She knew that it was a mistake, but at the time she hadn't been thinking straight. She didn't want anyone to know what had happened to her. Keeping it from Skinner, from the Bureau -- that just went along with that. Now she was regretting her irrational behavior. Skinner rested his arms on his knees, leaning slightly closer to her. "Agent Scully. I'm very sorry that you were...that this happened to you. I would like to pursue this as a Bureau matter only because I would like to ensure that the person who is responsible for this crime is caught quickly and punished to the fullest extent of the law." His voice was low, and Scully could sense a protective tone in his voice. She had never heard that from him before. "In no way do I want anyone here at the Bureau to find out about this. This is a very private matter and I understand that." Scully nodded. "Agent Scully, I would like it very much if you would trust me in this matter." He wasn't issuing his usual orders. He was asking. She stared at him. Could this be the same Assistant Director Skinner she thought she knew? No. This was Walter Skinner. Human being. "Please," he said. Scully felt her eyes filling with tears. She cleared her throat, and nodded her head. "All right," she managed to get out. Skinner nodded his head too, looking down and back up at her. "Is there anything that you need?" he asked. "Time off?" He was still leaning in towards her, very slightly, his face gentle, his expression comforting. "No," Scully answered, trying to pull herself together. "I'm fine, sir." "If you need any time off because of this, just let me know. I'll take care of it." "Thank you, sir. Thank you." Skinner stood up and went back to his desk, putting his glasses back on. Then he looked over at Scully. "That will be all, Agent Scully." His tone was back to business. Back to being AD Skinner. Scully got up, smoothed out her skirt. "Thank you again, sir." Skinner nodded at her, and she left his office. ***** Scully looked exhausted when she got back to the office. "It wasn't that bad," she told Mulder. She knew that what would be bad was what she had to do over lunch that afternoon. She had to tell her mother. Scully was nervous. Her mother had been through so much. But she owed her mother the truth, regardless of whatever her fears were. It was her mother, after all. She was going to support her no matter what happened. The lunch went as well as could be expected, Scully reported back to Mulder later in the day. She said that Margaret Scully had dissolved in tears. There wasn't much more the woman could bear. To lose her husband and her daughter, to have thought that Scully was dead, and now this. But she said that her mother was supportive, as Scully had expected her to be. The phone rang again that afternoon. Scully was closer to it. She answered it and spoke for a few moments. "Really?" she asked, her voice sounding genuinely better than Mulder had heard it since the rape. "Thank you so much." She hung up the phone and turned to face Mulder. "I'm not pregnant." She was smiling broadly. "And the initial HIV test was negative, as were the other cultures." Mulder crossed the office and hugged her impulsively, and he was thrilled that she didn't push him away. In fact, she hugged him back. "Of course," she said as he released her, "I have to be re-tested, but at least the first tests came back negative. That's a good thing." "Damn right," Mulder agreed. We should celebrate, he thought. He wanted to take Scully somewhere -- to dinner, anywhere. Just somewhere that didn't have anything to do with work for a change. Somewhere nice, so that she knew how happy he was for her. But Scully didn't say anything about celebrating, and so Mulder stayed quiet. It's too soon anyway, he told himself. Maybe in a week or so. Mulder went upstairs to the vending machines about an hour later to get a can of soda. "Want one?" he asked Scully before he left, but she shook her head. "I'm in the middle of this expense report," she said, pointing at it. "When you get back you'll have some explaining to do, Mulder." Her voice was cheerful, almost light -- she was back to the light banter that they did so well, and it thrilled Mulder. It seemed like the old Scully was resurfacing. "Then I'll make sure to hurry back," he said, throwing her a smile and gathering some loose change from his pencil drawer. ***** When Mulder returned, he found Scully with her head down on her desk. He rushed to her side, kneeling down to get closer to her level. He touched her arm hesitantly. She didn't draw back. "Scully? What's wrong?" She lifted her head and stared out into a dark corner of the office. For a minute, she didn't answer him. Her eyes were distant and unfocused. "He's dead," she finally said. Mulder breathed deeply. Dead? Not caught? "He raped a woman in Virginia," Scully answered, turning to look directly at him. "Someone heard her screaming and called the police. When the police got there, they chased him...they told him to drop his weapon and it looked like he pulled a gun on them. One of the officers fired at him and killed him. He didn't have a gun. Just a knife." Scully's voice was flat as she recited all the facts and then she repeated, dully, "He's dead." "When did this happen?" "Early this morning," Scully answered. "The woman was pregnant. Her first child. She miscarried early this morning." "Jesus," Mulder breathed. Scully got up and headed for the coat rack, taking her coat and putting it on. "Where are you going?" he asked. "I just need some air," she replied. Mulder got up and hurried over to her before she got out the door. He took her arm. "Scully--" She turned around to look at him. "I'm OK. I really am. I mean, I wanted him caught, you know? Punished. But I guess knowing that he's dead..." she trailed off. Mulder couldn't answer. He couldn't tell Scully that he was glad the man was dead. His only regret was that he wasn't the one who'd pulled the trigger. "I'm just going to get out of here for a while. I'll be fine." "You sure? Do you want me to go with you?" She pondered this for a moment, and then shook her head. "No, really, I'm fine. I just need to get some air." Mulder hugged her. Scully relaxed into his arms easily, closing her eyes. What a day this had been for her. He stroked her hair gently, thinking about everything she had gone through since the rape. He was continually amazed by her strength. It was one of the things he loved about her. And maybe, someday, there would be a chance for them. He knew that he could wait, though. He would wait for her for as long as she needed. He released her after kissing the top of her head softly. "Drive carefully," he said to her and smiled. She smiled back. "Thank you for everything," she said, her voice a little unsteady. "I don't know if I thanked you before." "You did." "Well, thanks again. Thank you." Her voice was definitely wavering on the brink of tears now. But she was controlling it well. "Anytime, Scully." She hugged him again impulsively, quickly. She was up on tiptoe, whispering in his ear. "Thank you for not thinking I was fragile. I love you." And then she let him go, and she left the office without letting him say another word. ****** FAIRFAX HOSPITAL FAIRFAX, VIRGINIA ROOM 316 Scully stood outside the door of the room for a good five minutes. She didn't know if she had the right to be there, to even do what she was thinking of doing. She hadn't intended to come to the hospital when she left the FBI building, but after 20 minutes of driving around aimlessly, she had ended up there, realizing it must have been where she wanted to go in the first place. Finally she knocked softly on the door and entered the room. The woman lying on the bed was about Scully's age, with dark blond hair. Her name was Allison Westfall. She had an IV with fluids and a blood trasfusion piggybacked in through the same line. Scully had looked at her chart in the hall and noted that her hemoglobin was very low, likely from all the blood she had lost from the miscarriage. The woman's skin was chalky white, except for the dark bruises on her face and arms. Her eyes were open, and she stared at Scully. "Who are you?" she asked. It was obvious she had been crying. "My name is Dana Scully. I just wanted to talk to you," she began. "Are you a doctor?" Allison asked. "Yes," Scully replied, "but that's not why I'm here. I'm here because....the same man who raped you last night raped me as well." Allison turned her head towards the window. Scully looked at the floor, wishing for a moment that it would swallow her whole. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have bothered you," she apologized, and turned to leave. "No, wait," Allison said, turning her head back to Scully. She was crying, large tears falling down her cheeks, but no sounds came from her lips. Her face was still. "Please, sit down." Scully came to her bedside and sat down in a chair that was pulled close to the bed. "I'm assuming you know about my baby?" she asked. Scully nodded. "My husband...he was away on business. He's on his way back. The police called him." Scully couldn't understand what Allison was feeling. She was married, having a normal domestic life. She had been pregnant, and now the baby that had been growing in her was gone. She couldn't imagine the pain. Then Scully stopped and reminded herself why she had come in the first place. She *did* understand. "If I can help, in any way, please..." she stammered. Scully realized that she was crying silently. Scully reached her hand out and Allison looked at her for a moment. Then she reached her hand over the edge of the hospital bed and took Scully's hand and squeezed it gently. Scully squeezed back. CONTINUED IN PART 6 Beyond Fragile (6/8) by Leyla Harrison FBI HEADQUARTERS WASHINGTON, DC ONE MONTH LATER Scully entered the office to find Mulder mulling over a file. "Anything interesting?" she asked him. "Not a thing, unless you feel like going to Tampa to check out a reported UFO sighting." Scully hadn't gone anywhere that required an overnight stay since the rape, choosing instead to work on cases in the Metro DC area. Mulder didn't think that he could convince her to take on a case that was outside the area, and so he pushed aside X-Files and shelved cases that weren't within a hundred miles of DC. He knew what her answer would be. He knew she would say no. "When do we leave?" she asked, her voice light. Mulder could hear the forced casualness in her tone, but he didn't care. She was making an effort. She was trying to get her life back to the way it was before. Mulder stood up and smiled broadly at her for the first time in ages. "Tomorrow morning. There's a 7am flight. I can pick you up if you want." "Just like old times," Scully murmured softly, so softly that Mulder almost didn't hear her. Mulder nodded imperceptibly. Scully was not focused on him and was very obviously thinking about something else -- about a time when having him pick her up on the way to the airport was routine; about a time when everything was routine. He didn't want to disturb her thoughts. He would love to have that routine back himself. **** SLEEP-EASY MOTEL TAMPA, FLORIDA Mulder opened his eyes. For the first time in ages, he had been sleeping peacefully. Scully had the adjoining room to him, just like it used to be. The neon hotel sign was blinking slowly and steadily through the thin curtains of his window. What woke him? A noise. He wasn't sure what it was. Noisy hotel guests from the floor above him? No. It was Scully. Mulder turned on his side, feeling the old exhaustion creep in. He listened. She was crying. Was she awake? He got up and padded across the room as quietly as possible to the door that connected their rooms. He leaned his ear to the cool surface and held his breath. "No..." Her voice was filled with pain, both physical and emotional. "No..." Another moan. Mulder closed his eyes. He would do anything to take her pain away. Anything. But it just wouldn't fucking go away. Mulder reached for the doorknob to open the portal that would bring him into Scully's world. Please, Scully, he prayed, let it be unlocked. Please trust me enough to have left it unlocked. It was unlocked. The doorknob turned easily in his hand. The door opened with a soft swish as the bottom edge dragged across the carpet. Mulder left the door open and crept to Scully's bedside, where she tossed and turned in her bed. How many times had she come and watched him while he was moaning like this? Mulder had left his door unlocked time and time again over the years they worked together. Mulder knew that Scully couldn't have slept through all of his nightmares. She must have come into his hotel room and lingered at his side just as he was doing now with her. What did she do? Did she smooth her cool hand over his forehead? Did she whisper soft comforting words to him? Mulder only remembered two times that he had woken up to find Scully next to him, but he knew that it had happened more often than that. He would sometimes smell faint traces of her perfume lingering in his room the next morning. He stood there now, helplessly, not knowing what to do to lessen her distress. The rape was moving farther and farther into her past, yet it continued to wreak havok in her mind while she was awake -- and even more so while she was asleep. Mulder knelt beside the bed, found her hand tangled in the sheets and reached for it, lacing his fingers through hers, squeezing lightly. "It's OK, Scully," he whispered awkwardly, hoping that it would soothe her soft groaning. Scully's eyes snapped open and Mulder froze, holding her hand still, his eyes locked on her face. "Hi," he said softly. Scully's mouth stayed open, her lips forming an O, her breath caught in her throat. "What are you doing in here?" "You were having a nightmare. Your door was unlocked -- " Mulder struggled for an explanation. Scully closed her mouth. "You left your door unlocked." Scully nodded. "Bad dream?" Mulder asked. Her head went up and down again. Scully pushed herself up onto her elbows, but Mulder stopped her by dropping her hand and gently pushing her back down on the bed, careful not to be forceful in any way. "Lie still," he said softly. "Let me help you get back to sleep." He closed his eyes for a moment, cursing himself for how badly that had come out and how it had sounded. He opened his eyes again to find Scully looking at him with a strange mixture of gratitude and sympathy. "Thank you," she said. Her voice was steady, but Mulder could swear he saw tears glistening in her eyes. There was a long moment of silence. Mulder moved to release Scully's hand but she tightened her grip around his fingers and so he held on, too. "Can you...come up here?" she asked. Mulder hesitated. Just like before. Just after the rape. She wanted him close by. So she could feel safe. "Just until I fall asleep," she amended. Mulder wordlessly got up from where he knelt on the floor. Scully scooted over in the double bed and Mulder crawled in beside her, careful not to let his body touch hers. Her back was to him and he stared at her shoulders, her neck, her hair. In the moonlight her skin was pale white, her pajamas pale blue. "Mulder?" she asked, then turned over to face him. Their faces were inches apart. There was a moment of stillness, of silence, where they said nothing and simply breathed in each other's breath. Then Scully reached for him, pulled him closer, and kissed him. Her mouth touched his lightly at first, hesitantly. He sought her lips gently, feeling the warmth of them against his own. He wrapped his arms around her waist, carefully, slowly pulling her to him. She responded by wrapping her arms around his neck, kissing him with less hesitance, with more passion. And he returned the kiss. After all the years they had both spent dreaming, fantasizing about this moment, it was now upon them. The hotel room, the case -- hell, everything -- faded away as they kissed, as they explored each others lips and mouths. Scully sighed against him, and he reached his arms up, his hands catching her face, holding her face, moving down to her neck, caressing her there, feeling the smooth skin of her neck-- Scully suddenly reacted violently, tearing her lips from his and shoving him away as if he were on fire. "Don't touch me like that!" she cried, and Mulder backed away, frightened. "Scully!" Mulder was shocked by her reaction. "Scully--" Her face was contorted with pain and rage, and fear. She was trembling visibly, on the verge of tears. "Scully--" Mulder tried again. "No!" she cried, and pushed him even farther away, her breathing fast and erratic. Mulder got up and watched her warily. He was torn -- he wanted to comfort her but was unable to get close to.the bed. He didn't want to upset her any more than she already was. He knew exactly what was going on. Flashbacks. The counselor from the rape crisis center had talked to him about them. She had warned Mulder that they could take weeks, months, even years to surface, but that when they did, they would be terrifying for both Scully and whoever was around her. She was right. Scully had buried her face in the pillow for a long moment, sobbing uncontrollably. She finally looked up at him. "Mulder," she managed to get out between tears, "please, help me." ****** They were on the first plane back to DC in the morning. Mulder knew that Scully didn't want to go back, but he wanted her somewhere safe, somewhere she could talk to someone. Someone who knew how to help her with what she was going through. Mulder pulled up in front of Scully's apartment building and turned off the engine. She got out of the car, shouldered her overnight bag from the backseat and closed the door. She went over to the driver's side and regarded Mulder through the open window. She had dark circles under her eyes and she seemed to be glad to be home. "Do you want me to walk you in?" he asked. She shook her head. "I have an appointment with one of the crisis workers at noon," she told him. "When I'm done, I'll meet you at the office." "Scully, you don't have to come in today. Take the rest of the day off --" "I don't need to. I'll be in when I'm finished, Mulder. I'm fine." Mulder bit down on the word. Scully turned and walked up towards her building without another word. Mulder watched her until she was in the building, then put his head down wearily on the steering wheel. His eyes were tired. His head ached. What the hell were they doing? What the hell was he doing? God, he knew he shouldn't have kissed her. He should have stopped her. There was no way that she was ready for something like that. He knew that she was trying to be strong. He knew that she was trying to get back to her old self, the Scully that was fine all the time, the Scully that didn't need Mulder to walk her in, or to hold her hand. But he knew that expecting her to do that -- to be that person -- was damn near impossible for her now. She was still recovering from the assault. It was a process that took time, that took emotional strength and courage. It wasn't just something that she could just forget about and move on. As much as she wanted to just push the feelings down below the surface, she couldn't. And neither could he. ****** "You kissed him?" Jeannine asked. She was the crisis worker who had counseled Scully in the emergency room the night of her rape. Scully nodded miserably. "You mentioned that there had been an...attraction between you two long before the rape." "Yes," she said, bowing her head for a moment, then lifting it back up. "I don't know why I did it. I don't know." "You kissed him because you were attracted to him, Dana. There's nothing wrong with that. You have every right to be attracted to someone -- and someone has the right to be attracted to you back. There's nothing wrong with that. It doesn't mean that he's going to force you to do anything." "I know. It wasn't Mulder I thought was going to rape me. It was him. It was like I saw his face. I felt his body pressed up against mine. It was like it was happening all over again." Scully bit her lip. "Maybe I'm not ready for this...with Mulder." "Maybe you're not. You need to move at a pace that seems right for you. You need to determine that for yourself. And it sounds like Mulder is willing to move at whatever pace you want." Scully bowed her head. "He's been wonderful." "So give yourself time. Give yourself space, if that's what you need. From what you've said, it sounds like Mulder will wait for you. For you to be ready. In the meantime, there's something I think you should think about." ***** "Mulder." Mulder balanced the phone on his shoulder, aimlessly doodling meaningless designs on a piece of paper. It was past three and Scully still hadn't come in. He'd started to worry about her. "Mulder, it's me." Mulder lifted his head. "Scully. How are you?" A pause. "I'm fine, Mulder." "OK," he said, not sure of what to say next. Silence. "I'm not going to come back in today." "OK," Mulder said. "I'm going to take a few days off." Silence again. Mulder wanted to say something, but he wasn't sure which words to use. "I've already let Skinner know." "Scully, are you all right?" The words tumbled from his lips before he could stop them. He knew that she was closing her eyes, biting back tears that formed as soon as she thought he thought she couldn't take care of herself. "I'm fine, Mulder," she said, her voice strong, surprising him. "I just need some time, you know...time to think." Mulder nodded his head stupidly -- stupidly because he knew she couldn't see him. "If you need anything, Scully -- " "I'll call you, Mulder. You'll be the first one. The only one." She hung up the phone before he could reply to that. She wasn't angry. She just needed some control back. Mulder put the receiver down and tried to remember what it was like to work without her. CONTINUED IN PART 7 Beyond Fragile (7/8) by Leyla Harrison TWO DAYS LATER CONFERENCE ROOM 108 GEORGETOWN UNIVERSITY HOSPITAL Scully quietly slipped into the room and sat down in one of the plastic chairs that was arranged in a loose circle. Conversation in the room stopped. Ten pairs pairs of eyes focused on her. Scully swallowed nervously. "Glad you made it, Dana." Jeannine's face was the only one Scully recognized. Scully smiled at her, grateful for the familiarity. "This is Dana, everyone." There were murmurs of hellos. Scully looked at everyone and nodded hello back. "Feel free to jump in anytime, Dana. In the meantime, Christina, why don't you go on with what you were saying." Scully suddenly noticed one more face she recognized. Allison Westfall. The young woman who had lost her child, the other woman that Michael Coleman had raped. Scully caught her eye. Allison's were wary, but she tipped her head slightly to one side, acknowledging Scully, and conversation picked up again. **** It had been an interesting way to spend the afternoon. Scully had never been to a support group before, and although she had felt somewhat uncomfortable at first, she was considering going back. She put the key in the top lock of her door and turned it, hearing the deadbolt turn. She twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open. A light was on the living room. She could see a light on in the kitchen as well, and she heard water running. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and she felt her heart rate quicken. Oh, God, someone's in my apartment. Panic rushed through her like roaring rapids. She let her purse strap slide off her shoulder and it fell to the floor softly as she drew her gun from the holster at the back of her waistband. Scully slowly advanced into the apartment, toward the kitchen. She could see Michael Coleman's face in front of her, as she had opened her eyes that night to find him over her bed. This time, I'm going to surprise whoever this fucker is, she thought, but her actions were not as sure as her desires. The gun trembled in her hand. The water stopped, and she could hear someone walking across the kitchen tile floor. Come on, she prodded herself. Just walk in there. She tightened her grip on the gun and took a deep breath before going around the corner. "Freeze!" she screamed, tightening her finger on the trigger, ready to shoot. In front of her, Mulder spun around and dropped the glass mixing bowl he was holding. It shattered on the floor at his feet. "Scully, it's me!" he yelled. "Oh my God! Jesus Christ!" she swore, lowering her gun, trying to get her breathing back to normal. Her heart was pounding so hard that she could feel it pulsing painfully in every vein in her body. So close, she thought, closing her eyes for a brief moment. I almost shot him. She opened her eyes and looked Mulder over. "What the hell are you doing here?" "I was trying to make you dinner," Mulder murmured apologetically, looking down at the glass shards at his feet. "Surprise." Scully felt like kicking herself. With a quick glance around the kitchen, she could see pasta beginning to boil on the stove and the simmering pot of sauce on the other burner. In her fear, she hadn't noticed the tempting aroma of the herbs and spices. The surprise meal, the broken glass, and the knowledge that she had almost shot Mulder were almost completely overwhelming. Scully could feel hot tears prick behind her eyelids, but she pushed them back. Mulder sensed her agitation, and came to her and hugged her. Once his arms were around her, he gently slipped the gun from her hand. She had only been back to work for a few weeks since they'd returned from Florida. "Why don't you get changed," he suggested, releasing her, "and I'll finish making dinner." Scully looked helplessly at the broken glass on the floor. "I'll get it, don't worry." Mulder gave her a gentle push in the direction of the bedroom. After her panic attack in the hotel room in Tampa, her visits to the rape crisis counselor had seemed to make her more at ease. Until, he thought as he watched her head for her bedroom, she had almost shot him just a few minutes ago. He was worried about her -- about them. ****** Scully emerged from her bedroom fifteen minutes later, feeling better. She had changed into jeans and a loose cabled sweater and had cried silently in the bathroom for a few minutes, then washed her face, feeling the comfort of the cool water on her skin. She had pressed a washcloth on her eyes, willing the puffiness to go away. She didn't want Mulder to know that she had been crying, although she suspected he would notice anyhow. The powerful smell of the spaghetti sauce drew her toward the table. Mulder had set the table, but there was no soft music, no candles. Scully gratefully blessed whatever it was that had kept Mulder from adding those touches to the evening. He had somehow known that it would have made her more uneasy. As Scully looked up, Mulder appeared as if by magic in the doorway. In one hand he held a bowl of spaghetti, and the other held a pottery bowl. Scully could see the red sauce steaming from it. He stopped when he saw her. "Could you grab the wine from the kitchen?" he asked, trying to sound casual. Scully nodded and returned a moment later, pouring the wine into two glasses as Mulder spooned the piping hot spaghetti onto two plates. Being here with Mulder, in this kind of setting, felt almost unbelieveable to her. When did this all happen? She and Mulder, sharing dinner on their off-duty time. "Since when did you learn how to cook?" she asked him suspiciously. He smiled back at her. "I know how to cook one thing," he admitted. "My mom taught me how to make her spaghetti sauce." He lifted his glass of wine to toast hers. "What are we toasting?" she asked. Mulder paused. "Having you back at work," he answered finally, smiling, and was relieved when she smiled back. They clinked glasses and Mulder watched her sip thoughtfully. "Dinner smells good," she informed him. "It tastes as good as it smells," he said confidently. Across the table, Scully was trying to be calm. Her hands were shaking and she wasn't sure if Mulder had seen the glass shaking as they'd toasted. She was nervous -- the dinner, the fact that she almost shot Mulder -- it was all making her just a little jumpy. She hoped that the food would relax her. **** "Dinner was incredible," Scully said as she helped Mulder put the last dishes away. "Thank you," he smiled at her, turning off the water, "for not expecting the worst." She smiled back, putting the dish towel away. "Can I get you something? Another glass of wine?" she asked. Scully didn't know what to do, what to say to him. Part of her knew exactly where this was leading, and although she knew that Mulder wouldn't have planned it that way, she knew that he wasn't against it, either. And in her heart, she knew she wasn't, either. Mulder nodded, but she assumed that he didn't want the wine. He wanted her. And she knew from the tone of her question she wasn't just asking about wine. He took a few casual steps toward her. It made her heart quicken, but not from fear. From excitement. He touched her face with one hand. Scully felt his warm hands smoothing the skin of her face. She let him advance towards her more, her back up against the sink. He kissed her this time, gently, carefully, letting his lips move over hers in a soft rhythm. Scully felt her arms slip up around his neck. Mulder found his emotions conflicting wildly. He knew that when they were in Tampa she'd had such terrible anxiety, and yet she was kissing him now, very obviously wanting what he wanted. He was incredibly aroused from the gentle touch of her hands moving down his back, and terrified that she was going to have a flashback and panic. He reluctantly broke their kiss and studied her face. "Why did you stop?" she asked, a little breathless, her face slightly flushed. "Because I want to be sure that you want to do this." Scully paused and thought about it. Then she smiled tenderly at him. "Mulder, I've wanted to do this for longer than you can imagine." "I don't know about that," he replied, smiling back. "I want you to stay tonight," Scully told him. "Are you sure?" "Mulder, I want you to stay. I know *you* want to stay." Mulder nodded, helpless to deny it. "Good. Then it's settled. You're staying." Scully took his hand and led him into the bedroom. Mulder looked around the room, recalling the last time he'd been in it. He pushed those dark memories aside. Tonight, they would create new ones. He kissed her again, feeling her respond to him. Scully was tugging at his shirt, trying to pull it from the waist of his jeans, succeeding and then slipping her cool hands onto his skin. He gasped at her touch. "Scully..." Mulder looked at her sweater and Scully nodded her approval. Mulder pulled the material up and over her head. She was wearing a plain white bra underneath, and he breathed in deeply at the sight of her breasts, held safely within the confines of its cups. He ran his fingers over the straps, sliding them down, never once taking his eyes away from hers. He reached behind her and undid the clasp, pulling the bra away from her body, and breathed in deeply at the sight of her breasts. Her beautiful breasts. Her helped her onto the bed, unbuttoning her jeans and tugging them down off her hips, pulling her underwear with them. She helped him by pushing them down, past her calves and ankles, kicking them off the rest of the way. She was now nude before him, and although her face looked up at him with love, her body trembled terribly. Mulder quickly stripped off his shirt and jeans and crawled back under the covers with her, pressing the length of his body against hers, trying to soothe her with his presence. "It's OK, Scully. It's OK. It's me. It's me." He repeated his words over and over, softly, breathing them directly into her ear, until her body calmed. Mulder gently kissed the skin at the base of her neck, then kissed her chin, her mouth, her eyelids. She sighed and moved against him. He could feel her body gradually relax. He silently thanked a God he was starting to believe in for helping Scully to trust him with this, the most intimate thing in the world for her. And it was intimate. It was more intimate than any other sexual experience he'd ever had. Making love to Scully was going to be incredible -- he knew that. And he had waited for her for so long. He would have waited a lifetime, if that was how long she needed to deal with the trauma of her rape. Mulder ran his hands over her body, taking the time to explore everything. Slowly, slowly. Her back. The small of her back curved in and he touched his fingertips to that small space, feeling her hips and the cheecks of her ass flare out. He ran his hands over each cheek, squeezing them gently, not wanting to hurt her, not wanting to startle her or frighten her. He moved his hands over her breasts, yes, finally, her breasts. Scully gasped as the sensations pulsed through her body. Mulder was being very, very gentle with her, and she silently thanked him for it. It was making her arousal stronger, and her feelings of fear began to slip away. She could feel how incredibly sensitive she was to his touch. Mulder brushed her nipples with the tips of his fingers, just barely. Scully felt a new wave of arousal flow thorough her body, and a spark of fear. She jerked her eyes open. It's Mulder. Mulder. He won't hurt me. He bent his head to suck on one of her nipples, gently, carefully, his tongue making small circles around them and then back and over the sensitive tip, making her sigh and grasp his arms and his shoulder tightly, sighing and moaning his name. Mulder slipped one hand down between her legs, carefully, gradually pushing them apart, moving his fingers through the soft tufts of curly hair to touch her. He was thrilled to find her wet. Scully heard herself cry out softly at the touch. "Mulder," she gasped into his ear. Scully looked up and saw Mulder smiling at her, watching her body moving under his touch. She could feel him touching her, felt him causing her body to arch and move, felt him causing her to say his name over and over again. She wanted him inside her. She couldn't wait. The pleasure within her was building to a fever pitch and her breathing grew more labored. "Mulder--" "Shhh, Scully, it's OK..." Scully hitched and tried to catch her breath and found that she couldn't. There was a jerk, a snap in what she was seeing and she blinked rapidly, trying to clear her line of sight. It was as if she had been yanked from her own body and placed at the side of the bed, hovering over it slightly. She could see what was going on below her. She was writhing under Mulder's touch. It was incredibly erotic; he was taking special care to make it easy for her -- less frightening for her. He lifted himself up just as she was beginning to come. Positioned himself over her body. He was going to enter her. Oh, God, she was naked and vulnerable. His hair suddenly darkened, his build changed. His movements, before so tender and gentle, were becoming rough. Scully blinked rapidly a few times, and she was back on the bed, coming, moaning, and he was on top of her, his fingers gone, and she felt him forcing himself into her. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut for a moment, trying to make her body stop responding to him, but it was impossible. She couldn't stop the orgasm as it built, pushing her over the edge, and she moaned and cried out as it did. Scully opened her eyes as she felt him push deep within her. Mulder was gone. Michael Coleman's face was above hers. His mouth was twisted into an evil smile, and he was laughing. "You're coming for me now, aren't you, bitch?" he asked, and Scully screamed. "God, no, please, stop!" Mulder moved to Scully's side immediately. What the hell happened? She had started to come and she had closed her eyes, and Mulder had assumed that it was from pleasure. He had moved to cradle her, wanting her to open her eyes after the orgasm was over, to see that he was there, that she was safe. He had done all of that, knowing that once she had calmed down, they would resume making love. He hadn't even come close to entering her. Mulder quickly realized that she was imagining that he had pushed into her, that he was raping her, just like Michael Coleman did. Maybe she was even thinking that it *was* Michael Coleman on the bed with her. "Stop, Mulder, God, stop, please!" she cried, but her words were beginning to disappear, her very *self* was starting to fade. Her hands balled up over her eyes and she was sobbing in loud, terrified wails. "Scully, it's me, I'm here," Mulder repeated over and over. His heart was pounding in terror. He wrapped the sheet around his own body and the blanket around hers, trying to make her feel safer, to feel as if she could have some sense of protection from the rapist who was only in her head, behind her closed eyelids. "I'm here. It's OK. You're fine," he repeated, holding her carefully, lightly stroking her forehead as she sobbed wordlessly. ******* A few hours later, Scully opened her eyes. Through her hazy vision she could see that she was still in her bed, with Mulder curled up next to her, one arm protectively around her waist. As she blinked, Mulder stirred next to her, kissing her forehead lightly. "Hi," he said softly. "How are you doing?" Scully wrapped her arms tighter around his waist. She could feel immediately that he was wearing his jeans. Last thing she remembered, he had been naked. She had been as well. She found she was now wearing a long t-shirt that came down past her waist. "How did I get this on?" she asked, bewildered and still fearful. "I found it in one of your drawers. I figured...you wouldn't want to wake up with no clothes on." Scully nodded gratefully. She closed her eyes, pushing her face into the pillow, trying to hide the tears. It was too late. Mulder had seen them. And he had seen the embarrassment and shame she was trying to keep from him as well. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice muffled. Mulder lightly rubbed her back, keeping his arm around her supportively. "There's nothing to be sorry about." She drew her face up to look at him, her tearstained cheeks flushed. "But, Mulder--" "There's nothing to be sorry about," he repeated, firmly. "It's OK." Scully put her face back into the pillow. There were no tears left for her to cry. When Mulder tried to pull her up so that he could hold her more fully, she let him. ***** Ten months had passed. Scully continued to go to talk to the counselor from the Rape Crisis Center, and she continued to go to the support group, gradually opening up more and more, talking about the rape, about what had happened to her. Mulder had willingly moved in with her when she asked him only a month after the first time they had tried to make love. He attended the support group for partners of victims of sexual assault that was sponsored by the Crisis Center. Scully's nightmares had resumed with alarming frequency soon after the first time they had tried to make love, but were once more on the decline. Occasionally she would have a particularly terrifying episode and would wake up screaming, but Mulder would be there to hold her and calm her and help her fall back asleep. For the first few months, Mulder had continued paying rent for his apartment, although he had moved all of his things -- books and clothes and his small array of furniture and knick knacks -- into Scully's place. At first Mulder had been hesitant to bring over his strange collection of personal belongings. After all, he felt as if they hardly fit in to the decor at Scully's place. But she had insisted upon him having his own things there so that he would have to keep running back and forth between apartments. Mulder and Scully finally made love for the first time almost seven months after the first time they'd tried. Afterwards, Mulder held Scully tightly in his arms, kissed the top of her head, and lazily traced patterns on her back with one finger. "You OK?" he asked. "Uh-huh," she mumbled. "Scully, look at me." Scully turned to look at him. He expected the tears, the trembling, the vivid flashbacks that were so real to her and still so unfathomable to him. He knew all about having flashbacks -- just not the kind she was having. Scully's face was lit by a smile. A smile. Her eyes were brimming with tears, but for once Mulder knew that they were not from fear. "I pushed him out," Scully murmured. "Out of my head." "Good for you," Mulder said, prouder of her than he had ever been before. He had known that this day would come. He knew that she would still have the flashbacks when they made love, but he was hoping, as she did, that with this breakthrough, the occurrences might be less. "I don't know why you stay with me," Scully had said to him one night a few hours after calming down from a flashback. "Because I love you," Mulder answered simply. "Thank you for being so good to me," she whispered as they were about to drift off to sleep that night. "You know, you're not fragile," he murmured back to her. "You make yourself strong, Scully. You're the only one who can do it. And you're doing it. Remember that." Mulder kissed her now, kissing the tears of happiness that fell on her cheeks. CONTINUED IN PART 8 Beyond Fragile (8/8) by Leyla Harrison CONFERENCE ROOM 108 GEORGETOWN UNIVERSITY HOSPITAL TWO YEARS LATER Dana Scully opened the door to the conference room that was used for the support groups she'd been attending off and on for nearly two years. For some reason over the past few months, she had felt an increasing need to attend them again more regularly, and had found the support and understanding from the other women there to be somehow more helpful now than it had been right after her rape. Scully scanned the room quickly. There were a few faces that she knew, and she nodded her head in hello to them. Then she saw Allison Westfall, sitting alone in a corner. Scully went to her side immediately. "Allison, how are you?" she asked. She had last seen Allison in a hospital in Virginia four months ago. She had been hospitalized for a suicide attempt. After the first time that Scully had seen her at the support group, Allison had stopped coming. She had spent the better part of the time since her rape occurred denying her feelings about what it was that had destroyed her marriage -- and a good part of her life and sanity. Scully was more than a little surprised to see her here. "Hi, Dana," Allison greeted her, glad to see a familiar face. "I'm okay." "I'm a little surprised to see you here," Scully confessed. Allison nodded. "You know, I was thinking a lot about what you said the last time I saw you. About how healing only happens when you're ready to open yourself up to look at the things that have hurt you." "I said that?" Scully asked. "God, I sound so preachy. It's terrible," she chuckled softly. "No," Allison answered, "it's not. It got me thinking. For the last three and a half years now I've been ignoring and pushing down all my feelings about what happened, and it tore me apart. And you know what? I'm tired of doing it. I'm tired of being a victim." Scully nodded. She understood the feeling. "I've been going to a few different support groups, trying to find one that I feel comfortable with. I was here last week. It felt good...to talk about things. To open up. Scary, but good." Scully nodded again. "I wasn't here last week, but I'm glad you came back. It's a good group. It's got to make it much easier to have someone here that you already know, someone you know will already be supportive, being here...it makes all the difference." Scully paused and studied Allison thoughtfully. "The thing I hated the most is that I expected most people to treat me differently when they found out that I'd been raped. Like any little thing they said was going to hurt me, or break me. I started realizing that not everyone acts that way. I don't wear a sign that says that I was raped. Not everyone knows. And I also realized that even if they do know, that they don't think I was weak. They see that I've been strong to have gotten through it. It's taken me a long time to realize it, but I *am* strong. And I've been able to find certain people in my life who realize it too." Allison nodded, her eyes filling with tears. "That's exactly it. That's it." He voice held a certain trace of admiration and wonder, amazed that she'd found someone who *understood* what she was going through. Scully reached out and took Allison's hand, squeezing it. She closed her eyes for a moment as she silently thanked Mulder for his love and support. She could have done it alone. But as it turned out, she didn't have to. Thanks to Mulder. For what he'd shown her. Shown her about what she already knew. She was strong, damn it. But thanks to him, she wasn't alone. END *************************************************** "We all have a dark side; it's bullshit to say that we don't. At some point we're going to have to face that." --Sarah McLachlan