From: Dawn Moore Date: 30 Apr 2002 03:24:42 -0700 Subject: [all-xf] New: "The Darkest Hour" by agent myers (DRR) Source: atxc Title: The Darkest Hour by agent myers Rating: NC-17, for violent and graphic adult content Keywords: Rape (you have been warned), DRF, DRR Summary: "John..." she said, and then paused. Her voice was a small and frightened whimper. "Someone broke in." Spoilers: Just basic Season 8 & 9, no real big ones Disclaimer: They're not mine. Duh. Feedback: I live for it. tred2@yahoo.com Archive: Just ask me. All individuals and archives that I have previously given permission to are welcome to it. Author's Notes: At the end. Recommended listening: "I Shall Believe" by Sheryl Crow, "Angel" by Sarah McLachlan (though it's been done MAAAANY times, it fits), and "Hope Has A Place" by Enya. ~~~ The Darkest Hour by agent myers ~~~ John Doggett pulled up next to the curb and put the truck in park. He turned to Monica, his partner and date for the night. "Thanks for dinner, John." Monica said with a soft smile. John returned the smile. "No problem. Maybe we'll do it again." Monica nodded. "Sounds great." They sat in silence for the moment, and Monica almost asked him if he had any plans for the weekend. But she remembered that they'd had that conversation before, and what followed hadn't been an enjoyable weekend...for either of them. John had been nervous about asking Monica out, so he nonchalantly asked her to 'get some food.' But he'd taken her to a nice Italian place, bought a good bottle of wine, and paid for the entire meal. He wondered just how much longer he could keep hiding his true feelings about his partner. He'd already decided that he wasn't bold enough to just come out and say it. He would never find the words and he'd end up looking like a stuttering idiot. So, he decided to wait for the right moment, and just kiss her. One kiss would say it all, or at least get the ball rolling. After that, if she felt the same way, telling her what was on his mind wouldn't be a problem. The possibility had occurred to him that she might reject him when he tried to kiss her, or worse yet, she'd allow him to kiss her, and then tell him that she 'doesn't think of him that way.' He'd even had nightmares about it. But his ability to judge people was pretty decent - he thought anyway - and he had a feeling that her affection for him matched what he felt for her. But he didn't think that tonight would be the night to find out. "Well..." Monica said, smiling. "Guess I better get going." She opened the truck's passenger door. "Uh, Monica-" John began. She stopped and looked at him. "I was thinkin' about catchin' a movie tomorrow. But...don't really wanna go by myself." He paused and smiled. "Go with me?" Monica beamed at him. "Sure, John. That sounds fun." John grinned. "Great." Monica hopped out of the truck and said: "See you tomorrow night?" John nodded. "Yeah." And with that, she shut the door, and walked up to her building's front door. John made sure she got in okay, and then drove away. His smile quickly dropped off. "Stupid!" he yelled at no one. He slammed his fist against the steering wheel. At this rate, he'd never tell her how he felt. He'd never get enough balls to kiss her. And then what? She's a beautiful girl, she'll meet someone, John thought. And she'll rattle on and on about what a good 'friend' you are. He sighed loudly as he merged onto the highway. *** Monica kicked off her shoes beside her front door. She locked the door behind her, and spotted her gun belt hanging on the coat rack. She picked it up. She had a lock box for her weapon, and had used it religiously until she'd come to D.C. Now, she'd gotten into the habit of taking it to the bedroom with her, so it would be handy when she got dressed in the morning. Sometimes, she would just leave it hanging wherever she got the urge to take it off. Now where was that box? Nevermind. She sighed and laid it down on the table and went into the bedroom. She stripped her clothes off and piled them up in an empty laundry basket, and slipped on a plain white t-shirt. She slept in the buff in the summer time, but she liked a little covering when it was chilly outside. After answering the call of nature, Monica washed her face and thought about John. Was she wrong in thinking that he had feelings for her? Had she misjudged him? He was so confusing when it came to this love business. Actually, Monica thought, it's kind of sweet. But at the same time she just wished that he'd come out with it. Maybe he doesn't want you like that, Monica thought to herself. Maybe it's just a friendship and nothing more, and that's why he hasn't said - or done - anything about it. Monica sighed and decided to sleep on it. They were going out again tomorrow night, which would make four nights in the past two weeks. At least when she went out with him, she could pretend they were an item to other people, Monica thought smiling. She turned off her bathroom light and headed for the bedroom. She got into bed and switched off the lamp. Her last conscious thoughts were of her partner's blue eyes. *** Monica awoke. She didn't get up, nor did she even open her eyes. But she lay there, and tried to remember what exactly had awoken her. She lay still in the darkness of her bedroom. After several minutes, she hadn't heard anything. She turned onto her back. And that was when she began to feel uneasy. Her stomach ached, and she had a dreadful feeling suddenly, like the way you feel when you wake from a bad nightmare. But she hadn't been dreaming. She had barely been asleep. Her eyes opened slowly. A man was standing next to her bed. Monica gasped and struggled to get away. But the blankets restricted her, and at once the man leapt onto her, and pressed the barrel of a gun into her forehead. Fear seized her body, and her limbs suddenly felt like lead. She stared at the figure that was holding her down with wide, fearful eyes. "Don't make a sound." His voice said, in a flat, merciless tone. She did as he said, if only for the sheer fact that there was a gun pressed against her head. The gun, she now realized, was hers. The man watched her for a moment that was too long. What does he want? Monica thought. She memorized his appearance. About 6'8", medium build. Black jeans, black long-sleeve shirt, black ski mask. His hair was dark brown, she thought. His hands were covered with gloves. Suddenly, he threw the covers off Monica's body. Monica felt the terror come over her in great waves as she realized his intent. He grabbed her wrists and held them above her. On instinct, she resisted, and she felt the back of his hand against her cheek. The gun pressed harder. Her cheek stung. "Don't fight me, bitch, or you'll die. I promise...you'll die." His tone was full of hatred. She froze. He held her arms above her head, and this time she did not fight him. She felt sick to her stomach as he ripped at her panties and pulled up her t-shirt. His gloved hands roamed over her body, softly at first, and then roughly. It felt like an eternity. Maybe he only planned on assaulting her...maybe he wouldn't go any farther. She was not so lucky. She watched in horror as he grabbed at his own jeans. She looked away, but couldn't ignore the sound of his zipper, or the sound of his labored breath. Tears streamed down her face. "Please, don't do this!" she begged. He hit her again, and this time she tasted blood. She whimpered. "I said SHUT UP!" And then he forced her legs apart, and crawled between them. She could feel his erect penis touching her leg. But before he went any further, he stopped, and pulled something out of his pocket. A condom. He ripped the package open with his teeth, and slid the condom on with one hand. He entered her without warning, and without mercy. He felt like a knife blade ripping into her body. She cried out as he forced his way in, thrusting against her. 'I'm being raped.' Monica realized, and tears flooded her eyes, making her field of vision blurry and distorted. After more than a minute of this, she went numb. The only sensation she could feel was his hips as they crashed into her. There would be bruises there, on her bottom and between her legs, and also on her wrists. She was terrified beyond any of her worst nightmares, and she could do nothing. Her head fell to the side and she looked away. She wanted to leave her body, to go within her own mind and hide there until this was over. She tried to think about other things. Little baby William, John, her parents back in Mexico City...but it was useless. She was painfully aware and alert. She cried as he slammed into her, over and over. And suddenly, she felt nothing but rage. She hated this man. This man that was hurting her. She wanted to kill him. In a split second, she decided that she would stop this. She had to stop him. He was unprepared for the moment when Monica ripped one of her hands free. She clawed at the gun, and managed to move it away from her head. She brought one leg up and forced him to withdraw from her. He growled at her as they struggled with the gun. He squeezed the trigger, and Monica moved her head out of the way just in time to feel the gun fire into the pillow. The sound was muffled by the pillow, but still loud. Monica's left ear rang from the deafening sound, but it wouldn't be permanent. Her attacker jumped off of her, apparently afraid that someone had heard the shot. He pulled his pants up as he fled the room, taking the gun with him. Monica heard the door shut. He was gone. It was over. Her mind and her body were frozen. She lay still, just breathing, for nearly ten minutes after she had heard her door shut. Tears flooded her eyes and her mind reeled with the images that she knew would be forever embedded in her mind. She cried softly as shock turned to panic. 'My God.' she thought. 'I've just been raped.' Then, the possibility that he might come back struck her. Panic became terror. She slowly got up from the bed, and there wasn't a part of her that didn't hurt. She shook like a leaf. She sobbed in the darkness as she looked at her bed. There was a bullet hole in her pillow. Suddenly she was afraid of the dark, and she switched on her bedroom lamp. She went cautiously into the living room. Although no one seemed to be there, she looked around as though someone might jump from the shadows at any moment to attack her again. She switched on the living room lamp, then the overhead light. Then the kitchen. Then the bathroom. She ran frantically to every room in her apartment, and turned on every light. 'What do I do?' she thought, as tears poured from her eyes, as her lip throbbed and her wrists ached. She needed help. And there was only one person she could call. John. She found her cell phone on the kitchen table. Her hands trembled as she dialed the numbers she knew by heart. But, just as she was about to press the 'send' button, she stopped. How could she let John see her like this? She was afraid and she was hysterical. She couldn't think straight. She swallowed and found her mouth very dry. Then she pressed the 'send' button. It began to ring. "Hello?" said John's sleepy voice. There was a pause before Monica responded. "John...?" Several miles away, John sat up in bed. "Monica?" She choked back her tears. "Yeah. It's me." she said in a tiny voice. John knew immediately that something was wrong. "Are you okay, Monica? What is it?" She shook her head, but he couldn't see it. He could only hear her choppy breath, and her crying. "John..." she paused again. Her voice was a small and frightened whimper. "Someone broke in." John's breath left him. "Oh, Christ, Monica...are you okay?" She didn't say. She didn't want to tell him what that man had done to her. "C-Could you just...come over here?" Now it was John's turn to panic. "Yeah, of course Monica. I'll be there as fast as I can." Monica nodded again. "Okay...okay." And she hung up the phone, just as she burst into tears. Miles away, John stared at his phone. Then he threw the covers off, and began groping around for clothing. He left his house less than two minutes later. *** When John pulled in front of Monica's building, the first thing he noticed was her lights. Every single light was on. Her third floor apartment stood like a beacon in the quiet, dark neighborhood. He practically sprinted up the stairs, ignoring the ancient elevator altogether. His mind reeled with questions, and he couldn't stop thinking about all the possible things that could have happened. He didn't want to think about those possibilities, because none of them were good. He concentrated on finding her apartment. He knocked on her door. When no one answered, he knocked again. Nothing. "Monica?" Hearing nothing, he became frantic. He grabbed his keys out of his pocket and found the one with the 'M' written on it in permanent marker. He had come by the key when Monica had been in the hospital. He unlocked the door, and pushed it open. "Monica?" He called again. He drew his weapon. "Back here." said a tiny voice. He holstered his gun, and followed the voice to the hallway. Monica sat on the floor, slumped against the wall. Her legs were curled up around her. She was wearing a plain white t-shirt. When she looked up at him, he saw that there were cuts on her face. Her nose was bloody, there was a cut above her eye, and her cheeks were red, the early stage of bruising. His mouth dropped open and his heart felt as if it stopped. He went and crouched next to her. "God, Monica...what happened?" She pulled her legs closer to her. New tears began to pour out of her eyes, and then she started to sob. "A man broke in. I was sleeping. He had a gun." she said. "He...he raped me, John." John's heart broke into a million pieces. He couldn't breathe for a moment. He hadn't even considered the possibility on his way over, because he just hadn't wanted to. "Oh...my God." He said. He looked up at her. Her lip trembled. She bowed her head in what seemed like shame. "I...I couldn't stop him..." John shook his head. No...she wasn't going to feel responsible for this. He opened his arms up, and reached for her. He was surprised when she went rigid and pulled away. Jesus. She was afraid of *him*. He stared in disbelief. She looked up into his eyes. "I...I just can't let anyone touch me right now." He wanted so badly to comfort her. He wanted to wrap her up in his arms and make it all go away...except he knew nothing could. He ached to hold her though, and to try and make her feel safe. It was as much for her benefit as it was for his. Her pain was his pain. She continued to cry, holding her hand against her mouth. She wanted to go to John, to let his comforting arms enfold her, to dull the ache. But if anyone touched her right now, she felt that she would go into hysterics. She replayed the last thirty minutes in her head. She couldn't believe what had happened. She was an FBI agent, for Christ's sake. She had handled plenty of men that were larger, more dangerous than her attacker...why couldn't she stop him from raping her? She hugged her arms around her body to fend off the cold shivers. She felt dirty. It felt like she could never be clean again. "I...have to take a shower." Monica said. John sighed and looked at Monica sympathetically. "I know you want to, Monica. But I can't let you. You have to let me take you to the Police station." She looked up at him, ready to argue, but she realized he was right. The man who did this to her would never be caught if she didn't file a report and begin the investigation. She nodded numbly and wiped some of the blood away from her nose. She felt so ashamed to have John see her this way, and to let anyone else see her like this would be mortifying. She slowly got up off the floor, and felt her bruised areas throb with pain. "Is this what you were wearing?" She nodded. "Would you like to put on some jeans or something?" She nodded again. "I'll get them for you." he said, looking towards the bedroom. He knew that's where the rape must have occurred. He went into the bedroom, and felt his stomach turn when he looked at the bed. There was an indention in the sheets where he must have held her down. There was blood from her nose on the pillow. And then John saw the condom wrapper and felt even sicker. 'At least she was protected.' he thought to himself, even though he had probably used the condom to avoid having his identity discovered rather than to protect Monica. And then something else caught his eye. The pillow. There was a hole in it, which could only be made by a bullet, because the edges of the hole were black. Anger filled him. He wished like hell that he could have this man alone. He would hurt him as he had hurt Monica, and then he'd probably put a bullet in him. Lord knows that, if he was to be caught and sent to jail, he could be out in a matter of years. All it takes is good behavior and a convincing speech to the parole board. He swallowed hard and went back to his task. He opened her closet and found a pair of blue jeans first, but then decided to get a pair of loose-fitting running pants. Probably more comfortable for her, he thought. At the last minute, he decided to grab several outfits. He took t-shirts, sweatpants, jeans and a sweatshirt. Then he went to her chest of drawers. He felt a little awkward, but he grabbed pairs of underwear that she would probably find comfortable. He ignored the little thongs and g-strings. He took several pairs of socks too. He folded everything into a nice pile, and took it to the kitchen and found a paper bag to put it all in. He planned on taking her to his house. He found it inconceivable that she would want to come back to this apartment after what had happened. Monica sat like a zombie at the kitchen table. She stared at the floor. Again, John felt that pang of restlessness that ached to reach out to her. But he knew that she would come to him when she was ready. With a forced smile, he handed her the running pants and a pair of socks. She muttered a small 'thank you' and took them. She slipped them on. "Anything else you need?" he asked. She nodded. "I need my running shoes. And, if you wouldn't mind...my bra." she said sheepishly. He would have blushed if the situation had not been so grim. But now all he felt was a duty. He went off to the bedroom again and found her shoes. And then he opened her drawers until he found where she kept her lingerie. He was a bit startled to find that she owned lots of it, things that went beyond just a simple bra. When he realized his mind was going off in the wrong direction, he cut off those thoughts completely. He found lacy bras, more practical ones, and then a black sport-type Nike bra that looked as though it had been worn a lot more than the others. "The black Nike one, Monica?" "Yes, please." He grabbed it up and went back out to the living room. Monica was at the table still, but she was crying again. Grief hit John's chest like a hammer. He knelt down beside her. "What can I do?" He asked her. He felt his emotions starting to come through, and he knew he would start to cry to if he had to watch her for one more second without holding her. It broke his heart. "I don't know, John." She looked down at her knees again. "If you want to talk, I'll listen." She nodded, but didn't say anything. She just wasn't ready. "Here." he said softly, and handed her the bra. She slipped her arms inside her shirt and put the bra on with incredible ease. Then she took the shoes, and slipped her feet into them. John tied them for her. She smiled slightly. "Thanks." He shrugged. "I'm ready." He nodded. "Okay. We should probably take your purse along...or do you even have one?" He asked, looking around. "I have one, but all my identification is in with my badge. It's over there, on the kitchen counter." John went over and picked it up, and slipped it into his back pocket. "What about your gun?" Monica swallowed hard and felt the tears come again. "He has it," she said softly. "He used my gun." John bit his lip and tucked her bag of clothes under her arm. He walked back over to her and held his hand out. "Let's go. Let's get this done with so you can get some rest." She looked up at him, and then down at his outstretched hand. Reluctantly, she took it and stood up. He led her to the door, and helped her with her jacket. They left together without a word. The drive over was completely silent. Monica stared blankly out of the window, and John fixed his eyes on the road ahead. He went over the night's events in his mind. Their 'date' had been enjoyable. He took her home. It all seemed like so long ago now. He wanted to tell her how he felt about her then. He wanted to show her by kissing her. But he hadn't, and she had gone to her apartment alone. If he had told her, then maybe they would have spent the night together. And then the rape would never have happened. It was all his fault. He was to blame. Was that why she wasn't talking to him? Was that why she avoided his touch? Because she blamed him? Knowing Monica, though, she wouldn't blame him. But it didn't matter because he blamed himself. They pulled into the parking lot of the police station. She didn't move when he turned off the car. She just kept staring out of the window. He got out of the car and went around to open her door. Monica felt as if she was in a fog, and any attempt to break out of it would only make her think about the rape. The next few hours were unpleasant for Monica. John spoke in quiet tones to the officers and told them what had happened. One of the officers asked Monica to come with him, so he could take her statement about the incident. "Are you her husband?" the officer asked. He hesitated. "No...but..." The officer smiled. "You can wait for your friend over there in the waiting room, then." He was about to argue, but didn't. They led Monica away, talking softly to her. She glanced at John as they led her into a bright room. *** "I know this is difficult for you, but we need to have some information from you to begin our case. The more information you give us, the easier it is to catch these criminals." The female officer said with a smile. Monica nodded. "Okay. Let's begin with your full name." Monica swallowed. "Monica Luina Reyes." The officer wrote it down and then went on to ask her what her age was, where she was born, her parents names, her current address, her social security number and other pertinent information. "Place of employment?" Monica sighed. "Federal Bureau of Investigation." The officer looked up and seemed surprised. "And your position there?" "Special Agent." The officer stared at her for a moment. "Wow. That's impressive." Monica shrugged. All that training, Monica thought, and it didn't help me prevent a man from raping me. Even though she was wrong, she felt that's what the officer was implying. She was embarrassed. "Okay, Ms. Reyes...let's talk about what happened tonight. Give me as much information as you can." Monica took a deep breath and looked down at her hands. "I was sleeping. I guess a noise woke me up, but I didn't think much of it. When I opened my eyes, there was a man standing next to my bed. I tried to get away, but he...jumped on me and held me down." The officer nodded, and made notes. "What can you tell me about the man who did this?" "He was dressed all in black. His face was covered by one of those cloth ski masks. I couldn't see anything but his eyes, and I couldn't make out a color. His hands were covered by gloves." The officer jotted down the information. "Did he say anything to you?" She nodded. "He told me not to make a sound, and that if I fought him, he'd kill me." "He had a weapon?" "Yes, a gun. It...it was my gun. I left it on my dining room table when I went to bed. I should have put it away, but I was too tired. I don't know how he knew that I would have a gun...maybe he had another weapon with him but decided to use my gun when he saw it...I don't know." Monica said, rubbing her eyes. "He took it with him when he left." she added. The officer nodded her head again, and turned the page in her notebook. "Alright, Ms. Reyes. I'll need to ask you some questions about the rape...they might be difficult to answer, but I urge you to give me as much information as possible so that we can catch this guy. Okay?" Monica nodded. "Was there actual penetration? Did his penis go inside you?" "Yes." Monica answered. "Did he ejaculate?" Tears formed in Monica's eyes again, as she relived the experience. "I...I don't think so. He was wearing a condom." "He wore a condom?" "Yes." The officer nodded. "Well, that's good news...that means that you won't have to worry about disease or pregnancy." Monica shrugged. "He only used a condom so that it would make it harder to find him." The officer nodded. "Yes, that's true, but at least it's one less thing that you have to deal with." she said. "It's sounding more and more like this attack was planned, Ms. Reyes." "I know." Monica said. "I know there's not much to go on, either." The officer sighed and placed her hand over Monica's hand. "We'll do everything possible." Monica looked up into the eyes of the female officer. Her sympathetic eyes made Monica feel better, if only a little bit. She smiled, despite all of the pain she felt. "Okay...can you tell me what caused the attacker to run away?" Monica nodded. "I got pissed, basically. I just couldn't let him keep getting off on hurting me. I was ready to die to stop him." She paused. "I got one hand free and moved the gun away from my face. Then I somehow got one of my legs out from underneath him so I could shove him away, forcing him to withdraw. Then the gun went off - I don't know if he was trying to shoot me or it was an accident - but he must have got worried that someone heard the shot and would call the police. He ran out." The officer was nodding again. "You're very brave, Monica." "Thanks," Monica said, "but I think I was just crazy. A couple inches to the left and I wouldn't be sitting here." The officer jotted down some more information, and then looked back up at Monica. "One more thing...do you know how he gained access to your apartment? Did you have the doors locked?" Monica nodded. "Yes, the doors were locked. I know he didn't come in through a window or anything. He must have come through the door, but I'm not sure how." The officer wrote this down. "Okay, Monica. I think that about does it. What we're going to do now is take your clothing for evidence and see if we can gather any information from them. We're going to have some people in your apartment to investigate the scene. Is there someone you can stay with tonight?" "Yes...my partner, John." "Okay, good. We're going to send you down to the hospital to make sure you don't have any injuries, and we'll have a gynecologist check you out and take some samples, just to make sure that we don't miss anything." "Okay." *** Two hours later, Monica and John left the hospital. John had been going crazy waiting for her. As they drove back to John's house in Falls Church, Monica didn't have much to say. It was nearly five a.m. The sun was beginning to show itself on the horizon, and birds began their cheerful chirping. John helped Monica into the house. "Want some tea?" John asked, knowing that Monica wasn't much of a coffee drinker. Monica shook her head. "Water would be great, though." John went off to the kitchen and filled a glass of water while Monica waited on the couch. She was exhausted, but she dreaded going to sleep, if she even could sleep. There wasn't one thing that she couldn't associate with the attack. Everything made her think of the terrible experience. It was one of those times in life that she wished she could just push the fast-forward button and get through it. John came back with the water and handed it to her. She smiled. "Thanks, John. Thanks for taking care of me tonight." "It's nothing." Monica drank some of the water and set the glass down on the coffee table. "Could I take a shower?" He'd nearly forgotten. "Yeah...sure. You can use the big bathroom. It's a lot cleaner than mine...trust me. You can sleep in my room, if you want, or you can sleep in Luke's room. It's, uh...still got a lot of his things in there, but I've kind of converted it into a guest room." John said, hoping that she wouldn't think that he was implying that they sleep in the same bed...although he would like it that way. Monica nodded. "Luke's room would be fine. I know that nothing's really going to get my mind off what happened tonight, but I know that I couldn't have slept in my own bed. I don't know how I'll ever go back there. I guess I'll have to move or something." "Don't think about that now." John said. "We'll work it out together. You're free to stay here as long as you want. I like having you here anyway. Makes *me* feel better." Monica smiled, and so did John. Then he showed her to Luke's old room, and the bathroom. He gave her fresh towels, and even found some shampoos and things that were better suited for women than his cheap one-size-fits-all bottle of shampoo. When she went into the bathroom, John said, "Just call me if you need anything." And he had meant it. When he heard the water running, he went into the guest room and placed some of her clothes on the bed. He turned the heat up just slightly so that it would be warm enough, and went to his own bedroom to lie down while she took a shower. His heart ached for her. He had no experience that he could compare with hers, but he could imagine what it must be like. He'd never worked many rape cases in his time with NYPD, so he didn't have much to offer her. He would just have to be there for her. After all, he did love her, and he considered himself to blame for her attack, albeit indirectly. In all fairness, he couldn't have foreseen that it would have happened, but he didn't think that he'd ever forgive himself for not telling her the truth when he had the chance. He could have told her everything, and even if she rejected him, at least she would know. Now that was all gone. He couldn't tell her he was in love with her now. She had too many other things to deal with, too many emotional demons to face. It would probably take years for her to feel secure enough to want a romantic relationship, and maybe even longer to feel comfortable in an intimate relationship. And chances were good that she never would be right again sexually. He felt bad, but not for himself. Only for her. The thought that she might never be able to have sex again without thinking of that *bastard* made him ill. John sighed and closed his eyes. He knew she'd be in the shower for a long time. *** Monica stood in the shower for nearly thirty minutes without moving. She just let the hot water massage her muscles, which ached with tension. She was so tired, yet so tense. She hoped that the shower would help her sleep. Finally, she grabbed the soap and went to work. She washed all of the places that he had touched her at least ten times. After a half an hour, she stopped, realizing that all the soap in the world wouldn't make her feel clean again. She washed her hair and got out of the shower. She turned the fan on to take the steam out of the room as she dried herself off. When the mirror had cleared, she began to comb her hair. And suddenly she found herself staring at her reflection. It was the first time she'd been able to survey her own wounds from the attack. Her face was bruised and cut, her wrists were also bruised. Her eyes were bloodshot and tired-looking. She had a nasty scrape on her stomach that she didn't remember getting. It stung when she touched it. She didn't recognize this woman. Just mere hours before, she had been a confident, self-reliant woman. She held a prestigious job with the federal government. She owned her own apartment, she took care of herself. There wasn't much in the world that scared her. Now all that was different. Her confidence was shattered. Self-reliance? She couldn't bear the thought of being alone. And everything scared her, especially the sight of her own reflection. She began to cry. John knocked softly on the bathroom door. "Monica? I set some clothes out for you on the bed in the spare room. Want anything to eat? "No, John...thank you, though." She said, and then opened the door, wrapped in the oversized towel. John looked into her eyes, and saw the tears there. But he had been expecting that. He gave her a reassuring smile and led her into the bedroom. The clothes were there as he had promised. He left her alone in the room to change. When she had slipped on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, she went to find John downstairs. She found him drinking a cup of tea and staring out of his window at the sunrise. She smiled softly and made her way over to him. Even though she had not asked for it, he had made her a cup of tea. She picked it up and sipped it, then set it down again. She couldn't help but yawn as she looked at the sunrise. "Tired?" She nodded. "Think you can sleep?" She nodded again. "I think so. I feel pretty drowsy after that shower." He looked at her. Her face was cut and bruised, but she still looked beautiful. Her eyes were so sad, though. Monica could sense that he wanted and needed to comfort her. And she needed it as well. She stepped closer to him, and laid her head on his chest. She heard him sigh as he wrapped his arms around her. They stayed locked in each other's arms for a long moment. Then she looked up at him. "I feel so unsure of myself, John. Like I'm a different person than I was yesterday." He stroked her cheek. "I know this is gonna be tough on you. But I'll be there every step of the way." "I couldn't do it without you." she said to him. He shook his head. "I think you're strong enough. But you don't have to be strong all the time." A tear slid down her cheek. "What if I can never be strong again?" John wiped the tear away and stroked her cheek. "You will be. But until then, I'll be here." *** She woke from the nightmare and looked around the room as if she expected her attacker to be there. She knew when she fell asleep that she would have the dreams, that not even in sleep could she escape the fear. Monica rubbed her eyes and thought of Data, the android character on Star Trek and how he could turn his emotions on and off at his will. She wished she could do that now, and simply walk through the next few months of her life feeling no emotion, but healing from her experience. Of course, that was impossible. She wanted John. She remembered his kind words earlier, his comforting touch. She thought that when he touched her, she would only be able to feel her attacker's arms, holding her down. But John's embrace was like a warm, comfortable blanket, and she longed for that now. She threw the covers off of her. John's door was open. She watched him sleep for a moment, and then walked over to the bed. She slid underneath the sheets next to him. No words were spoken as he moved closer to her and put his arms around her. At that moment, Monica knew she would sleep the rest of the day. She felt safe. *** "I'm glad you decided to come today, Monica. Many victims are reluctant to see a counselor after this sort of thing." Monica smiled at Dr. Crist, a motherly woman in her late forties. "You seem to be in good spirits, despite your ordeal." Dr. Crist said, smiling softly. "That's wonderful if you truly are in good spirits, but I don't want you to think that you have to be." The smile dropped off Monica's face. It was true; she didn't really want to smile. She only came her to talk, and she didn't really want to do that, either. "So, how are you feeling today, Monica? Use as many words or phrases as you'd like to describe it." Monica folded her hands neatly in front of her, and thought for a moment. "Scared." "That's understandable. Anything else?" "I'm scared that I'll never be normal again. That I'll never really get over this. That I'll never be the person I was." Dr. Crist nodded. "That's a very common concern. When something like this happens, many women feel that they have lost all control over their own life. They become afraid of everything, and everyone. You're probably finding that you can't complete a simple task without thinking of the attack?" Monica nodded. "I can't do anything without relating it somehow to the...incident." Dr. Crist made a note on her clipboard. "These feelings, Monica, are very normal. And, while it may be hard for you to realize it, it does get easier. Every day it gets easier." Monica shook her head. "It *hasn't* been getting easier, though. I can't sleep...I can't eat...I can't even brush my teeth without crying." Monica bowed her head, feeling the familiar stinging behind her eyes. She wished that she could just get through one damn hour without crying. "It's only been two days, Monica. You can't expect to heal this quickly. But it will come. Little by little, you'll begin to take control of your fears, your emotions...and your life. A lot of women feel like they have to recover in the shortest time possible, and they often fail, leaving them feeling even worse. First off, you need to realize that it takes time - unfortunately, a long time - to work through this kind of trauma." A tear rolled down Monica's face. "I just want my life back." Dr. Crist nodded. "I know. You wish that you could be the person you were before this happened. Probably a very confident, empowered woman, judging from your line of work. Independent, I'm guessing as well. You're not used to relying on anyone, are you?" Monica shook her head. "It's difficult to change that if it's something that made you happy. But if I can give one piece of advice to follow, it's to accept help when it's offered. From me, from others you have been through this, family, friends...anyone that's willing to help you take some of the burden off your shoulders. Talking about your situation to those who care about you may be difficult for you, but you will find a great release in getting this off your shoulders and letting others help you deal." Monica nodded, although there was really only one person in her life that she could feel comfortable discussing this with, and that was John. But she knew she'd even have a hard time talking to him. "May I suggest something to you, Monica?" Monica nodded, feeling slightly numb. "There's a support group for women who have been raped. It meets every Tuesday and Thursday at the South Presbyterian Church, but you don't have to go to every session if you don't want to. The group is a kind of haven for the women who attend it. It gives them a chance to open up and discuss their experiences without having much to fear from reaction. In addition to our sessions, I think you might benefit from this group." Monica thought on this for a moment. "Maybe...maybe I'll go. What time do they meet?" "Seven o'clock. It usually lasts an hour and a half to two hours." Dr. Crist said, scribbling the address down on the back of a business card. She handed it to Monica. She stared at the card. Rape Survivors. South Presbyterian Church, 2301 S. Malone. Tues. & Thurs., 7pm. "Can I offer you another piece of advice?" Dr. Crist asked. Monica nodded. "I don't know if your religious, Monica, but prayer also helps." "Thanks." Monica said. "I probably would have forgotten that." *** Monica climbed into the seat of John's pickup, where he had been anxiously waiting for her. "How was it?" John asked, expecting to hear the worst. "Actually, it was better than I had expected. I...I do kind of feel better. I think I'll keep seeing her." John smiled and waited for Monica to get her seatbelt on before he drove off. "That's great, Mon. Lord knows she's got to be better to talk to than me." Monica shook her head. "You've been wonderful, John. I mean that. No doctor could replace you." John smiled gratefully at this, and reached over to take Monica's hand. He squeezed it. "Thanks. That means a lot to me." He said. They went quiet for a few moments, and Monica wished that she could think of something else to talk about, but it was impossible. Her mind had been so filled with all that had happened; she barely remembered what they had been doing at work the day before the rape. "I think I'll be going to a support group." Monica said suddenly. John nodded without taking his eyes off the road. "Sounds like a good thing." Monica nodded, and went back to being quiet, nearly the whole way back to John's house. She felt so comfortable with him, she felt that she was doing him wrong somehow, by not telling him what was on her mind. Nothing he didn't know about, really, she just felt like talking suddenly. Telling him the things she had been able to tell the police officer, and the counselor. Maybe more. Someone to share the burden with, she remembered. "I want to talk about what happened that night." She said. John turned to look at her. "I want to tell you." About that time, they were pulling in front of John's house. He put the truck in park and turned off the ignition. "We should go inside first." John said. They walked in together, and Monica sat down on the couch. John took off his jacket and laid it aside, and then sat down beside her. He knew she'd want to talk about it eventually. And as much as he wanted to be there for her, to endure the pain with her, it scared him to death. He knew it was selfish, and in the end, he would listen to every word she had to say. He only wished that he could make it all go away, make it not true. But that would never happen. "Tell me everything." She looked up at him with bright, tear-filled eyes. How he hated to see her suffer. She spoke in quiet tones. Her eyes drifted off as she remembered. "It was so humiliating. I've never...felt so powerless. I know that I can physically dominate most any man - I have a weapon, and I have defense training - and yet, there was nothing I do to stop him." John shook his head. "He had a gun, Monica. You can't blame yourself for not fighting him. It could have cost you your life." She nodded, although hesitantly. "I know." Monica wiped tears away from her eyes. "He was so rough, John. And I was...dry, you know? But he didn't care, of course. And he...touched me with his hands - I thought I was going to be sick." She glanced down at her hands before going silent again. Then she went to tears again, and covered her face with her hands. John touched her shoulder gently, and Monica let herself be taken in by his arms. "Damnit..." John muttered. Monica looked up at him. "What, John?" John hesitated for a moment before he said: "This is all my fault." Monica looked surprised, and shook her head. "How can you say that, John? Don't say that. How could it possibly be your fault?" "It is." Monica continued shaking her head, but had to wonder what he was talking about. "If I had...done things differently that night...if I'd...said what I wanted to say - you wouldn't have been alone that night." "John...what do you mean?" John sighed deeply, and looked down at the ground. "I wanted to kiss you." Monica bit her lip. "I wanted to tell you how I felt about you...I just couldn't say the words. But, if I had...maybe things...good things...would have happened that night." Monica smiled slightly at John's admission, and then said: "You thought that...if you had told me that we would have slept together." John nodded. "Well, maybe." Monica couldn't help it. Her smile widened. "I would have liked that, John." John looked up at her, and then released the breath he was holding. He took her hand and squeezed it. They regarded each other for a moment, contemplating what they had just said to one another. "I can't believe I just told you that." John said nervously, and then chuckled. "But...I'm afraid now, that I've just given you something else to think about...another problem to deal with." Monica squeezed John's hand again. "No, John. I've wanted to hear you say that for a long time. It's just going to be...difficult for me to think about anything...romantic right now. And God forbid, anything sexual." John nodded his head. "I shouldn't have unloaded this on you, Monica." Monica smiled. "Don't say that, John. If anything, you've given me great hope. Like...like I have something to work for." Later that night, Monica slipped into John's bedroom for the third night since the rape. Just like the previous two nights, he didn't say a word. He let her crawl into bed beside him, and he wrapped his arms around her gratefully. Only this time, it felt different, to both of them. They slept in each other's arms, not just as friends and partners, but as two people who loved each other. *** Monday morning, John Doggett sat in Assistant Director Skinner's office. His face was tired from lack of sleep, but also with dread. He was anxious about telling Skinner what had happened to Monica, for fear of compromising her privacy. Still, it had to be done. Skinner noticed that John was not wearing his usual suit and tie, but faded jeans and a plain gray t-shirt. "You wanted to see me, Agent Doggett?" A.D. Skinner said, sitting down at his desk. "Yes, Sir. I need to request a leave of absence, for both Agent Reyes and myself." Skinner folded his hands together. "Alright...but may I ask why both of you need a leave?" John swallowed hard and sighed. "Monica was...attacked on Friday night." he began. Skinner's eyes narrowed. "Attacked?" John nodded. "She was raped, Sir." Shock burst over the A.D.'s expression. "My God. Is she alright?" John shrugged. "As well as can be expected. She's staying with me." Skinner reflected on this for a moment. "Do they know who did this?" John shook his head, no. "They've got nothing so far. There wasn't much left in the way of evidence." Skinner nodded, his face still showing shock. "I can't believe this. I feel...terrible for her." "You're not the only one." Skinner nodded in acknowledgement when he saw John's expression. "I'd like the FBI to be involved in this case, John." John looked up, but didn't seem surprised by the A.D.'s suggestion. "Monica may not be comfortable with that." "We can be discreet." "I don't think she would want anyone to know about this...especially Deputy Director Kersh, and A.D. Follmer." Skinner took this into consideration. "I can't promise anything, but I'll try and keep them out of this as long as I can. It's nothing against the local P.D...I just think that we can't afford to take the bureau's resources for granted...for Agent Reyes' sake." John nodded in agreement. "I want to know everything that you find." "Of course." Skinner said. "And I'll make this my first priority, Agent Doggett." "Thank you, Sir." John said, and then got up from his chair, and began walking to the door. "Agent Doggett?" John turned. "Take care of her." John nodded slowly, and then left the office. The drive home was a much-needed break for John. He hadn't slept much in the last few days, and all of his efforts were concentrated on Monica. He'd barely had a moment to take a shower. Of course, he wouldn't have had it any other way. He needed to help her. To think of doing anything else was impossible. He hadn't been gone long, but he worried that she would feel uneasy about being alone in his house, even though he'd personally locked every door himself, and it was a bright Monday morning. She had insisted that he go alone, that he could use a break from her. She told him she was going to soak in the bath for a while, and try to read. Something to take her mind off of 'things'. She was being so brave. She'd had her ups and downs over the past seventy-two hours, going from soft smiles to silent crying in the bathroom. But he was waiting for the big one. She would be hysterical. She would cry and scream and feel like the pain was going to destroy her. Her vocal chords wouldn't be able to express the anguish she would feel. She would collapse to the floor, and she would feel like giving up. But she wouldn't give up. And then, the healing could begin. He knew all about despair. The weeks after his son's death, it was all he'd known. But he'd gotten through it, and he knew that Monica would too. He pulled in front of his house, and quickly went inside. He announced his presence as he walked through the door. Monica heard him, and walked down the stairs slowly. Her hair was wet from her bath, and she was dressed in sweatpants and one of John's USMC t-shirts. He noticed her tear-stained cheeks immediately. "Hi..." she said to him. She stopped just in front of him. She had been crying again, but he was used to that by now. "Monica...what's wrong?" She shook her head. "It's so stupid." He lifted her chin up to meet her eyes. "What?" She sniffed. "The UPS man came to deliver a package to you. I saw him out of the window. He rang the doorbell, and I..." she shook her head. "I couldn't open the door. I was too afraid." She bowed her head. It was hard for her to be like this...so weak. He opened his arms out to her, and she didn't hesitate. She needed the hug. He held her tightly and smoothed her hair back. "It's no big deal, Monica. It's natural to feel that way." "Am I always going to be like this, John?" "'Course not." She sighed, feeling better now that he was home. "What did Skinner say?" she asked. She hadn't wanted John to tell anyone about her...situation, but seeing as though it was Monday morning and they were not at their desks, Monica knew that they owed their superior an explanation. She also knew that she would need some time off work. And so did John, for the time being. "It upset him a lot, I think. He wants the bureau involved in your case." Monica pulled away from John. "What? I thought we were going to keep this between us and Skinner only?" John looked at her. This was the reaction he had hoped not to get. "He's going to try and keep it...discreet. But Monica...we can't just NOT take advantage of the bureau's resources. That would be insane. I'm sorry." John said, feeling that maybe he had not done the right thing in telling Skinner. Monica turned away. "He'll have to tell Kersh and Follmer...Jesus, John...the whole damn bureau's going to know about this." Monica hung her head in shame, even though she knew there was nothing that *she* had to be ashamed of. She also knew that letting the FBI take over her case was the best thing that she could do to catch the man who had done this to her. She sighed as John put his hands on her shoulders and began massaging them. "It's going to be alright, okay?" John said to her. It was all he could say. He couldn't guarantee that Kersh and Follmer wouldn't know about this, nor could he say that a half a dozen people in the bureau that would be investigating the crime wouldn't know who she was and what had happened to her. But what could he do about it? Was he supposed to stand idly by and wait for the local PD to find this guy? *** "He came in through the window. I heard it break." The woman, who's nametag said 'Rachel', sobbed as she spoke to the group. She took a moment before she went on. Monica sat across from her and listened. "I was too afraid to get out of my bed...I just laid there...hoping he'd take what he wanted and leave. But he came into my room. He held me down. He had a knife." Rachel put her hand over her mouth and cried. "I thought it would never end. It must have been thirty minutes. I couldn't even feel the lower part of my body anymore. Finally, when he was done, he left. I called the police." She paused as she tried to contain her tears again, but failed. "He gave me hepatitis." Monica closed her eyes and sighed. The leader of the group, a lovely blonde woman named Sara, spoke gently to Rachel: "That must be very hard for you, Rachel. Having to cope with the attack as well as a disease. But know that we will be here for you, whenever you need us." Rachel nodded gratefully and wiped her eyes. Then, she looked over at Monica. "Wanna tell your story, Monica?" Monica straightened, and looked around at the group. "This is only her first group." Sara said, and then looked at Monica. "You don't have to, if you don't want to. Most people just watch and listen for a few sessions. That's fine." Monica shook her head. "That's okay. I'll...I'll share." Monica said, and swallowed as she looked around at the waiting group members. She told herself that they had heard it all before, and that nothing she could say would be new to them. She looked down. "I was sleeping. A sound woke me I guess. I just...opened my eyes, and there he was. He pointed a gun at my head. It was my gun." They all listened intently. "I'm a Special Agent with the FBI, that's why I have a gun. But that night, I didn't put it away. Since I'd moved to D.C., I haven't been putting it away at all. And he got it. He raped me at gunpoint." No one said a word for a moment, until Sara spoke up. "You're angry with yourself, aren't you?" Monica looked up. "With myself?" Sara nodded. "You feel that...you should have been able to stop him, because your an FBI agent? You feel like it was almost your fault that you were raped because you think you should have been able to stop him." Monica thought on this for a moment. "Well...yes...I should have been able to stop him." "But he had a gun." said one woman from the group. "...and you were sleeping. You weren't prepared." said another. "It wasn't your fault, Monica." Monica looked around at the faces that stared at her. Sara smiled at her. "You can't blame yourself, Monica. And just because this happened to you doesn't mean that you're any less than you were before." Tears came to Monica's eyes, and she knew that she had not made a mistake coming here. *** Two weeks later, things were pretty much the same for Monica. She still had trouble sleeping, and every night she would come to John's bedroom. And every night he would let her crawl in next to him, and they never spoke of it. The investigation hadn't turned up much. There just weren't any clues left behind at the scene. John and Skinner both had a hard time believing that they might not ever catch this man, but still they refused to give up. Skinner made phone calls and reviewed information every day, hoping for some kind of break. John returned to work, staying only a few hours each morning. Cases were slow anyway, and there wasn't much else that John could think of besides Monica and her state of affairs. Most of the time he spent in the office was reviewing her case. So far, Skinner and Doggett had been able to keep Kersh and Follmer from finding out about the rape. Monica had felt better once the second week winded down. She started to go outside again, taking short walks. She had thought about calling her mother many times since the incident, but decided against it. Her mother would take it hard, and insist that she come up to Virginia to see her, and Monica didn't want that. Not because she didn't want to see her mother, but because she didn't want her mother to be troubled about her. She was such a worrier anyway. Emotionally, Monica was improving. She cried less, and started eating more. The nightmare still came, almost every night in fact, but they had lessened in intensity. When she woke up from one of these dreams, she found that she could simply just go back to sleep, most of the time. When she couldn't, she'd lie awake and watch John. She thought about her relationship with him a lot during those times, when she would watch him sleep. She imagined that she was in his bed because she was his wife, because he was her husband. This made her smile. She fantasized that this was her home that she shared with John, and that just down the hall, one or two children lay sleeping in their beds. A boy and a girl, perhaps. The boy would have John's eyes and a few missing baby teeth; the girl would have Monica's sleek, dark hair and good complexion. They would go places on some warm Saturday, strapped in their mini-van, and when the kids got out of control, Mom would threaten to turn the car around if they didn't stop it right now, and boy would they get it when their father got home. When Monica imagined the man she would hopefully marry someday, she always compared her fantasy man to John Doggett. John was caring, honest and trustworthy. He had never talked down to Monica, even when it was clear that he thought her ways of thinking were ludicrous. He had always been there for her, when she needed help on a case and when she just needed to have a quiet drink with a friend. He was obsessed with justice, obsessed with always doing the right thing, even if it meant going out of his way. And, though it was somewhat shallow, she never could ignore his masculine good looks, his well-trimmed body, or his strong, but sexy voice. And those blue eyes. She knew that he must have been a good husband and father, even though she'd never really witnessed it herself. She did know that he had loved his son more than anything else in the world. She had never asked John about his separation from his wife, but she knew that they had divorced six months after Luke's death. Statistically, Monica knew that a lot of marriages go bad when the death of a child occurs, especially when it's an only child, and that fact made her believe that losing Luke was probably the reason for their divorce. Maybe someday he would tell her about it. She compared every man she met to John, and found each and every one of them severely lacking. Only one man possessed all of the qualities that John Doggett possessed, and that was John Doggett. That was when she realized that she was in love with him, and she had spent many nights trying to figure out a way to tell him. Of course, she'd never gotten the courage, and now a relationship with him seemed so far away. But she would never give up hope. *** Before the receptionist could stop him, Assistant Director Follmer burst into Skinner's office. "Just when the hell did you plan on telling me about this?" Follmer demanded. He tossed a file onto Skinner's desk, and the A.D. looked up at him. Skinner recognized the file; it was the file on Monica's rape. He didn't open it. Skinner took off his glasses and laid them on the desktop. "They didn't want you to know about it, Assistant Director. That is why you weren't told about it." Brad Follmer squinted. "They?" Skinner cleared his throat. "Agent Reyes and Agent Doggett." Follmer glared at the mention of John's name. His jealousy of the man was no secret to anyone. "What's Doggett got to do with this?" Skinner cocked his head to the side. "Doggett's been...caring for Reyes since the incident two weeks ago. She's been staying with him." Follmer clenched his jaw and nodded. There wasn't much he could say about it. "I have asked you, Assistant Director, to keep me informed of all cases investigated by the unit. Do you recall?" Skinner shook his head and looked annoyed. "This isn't an X-File, Follmer. This is a rape case." "I'm well aware of that, Assistant Director, but this involves one of our agents and you are using our bureau's resources to solve this case." Skinner glared. "Would you rather we let the local P.D. handle it? And risk letting Reyes' attacker go free?" Follmer shook his head. "Of course not, but-" "Why don't you just admit that you're pissed off because you weren't the one she called for help?" "What?" Follmer demanded. Skinner stood up. "I'm well aware of your history with Agent Reyes, and your resentment for John Doggett, and so is Agent Reyes, which is precisely why you were not told about this." The two men stared at each other. "That is ludicrous and irrelevant. I have nothing against Agent Doggett. But I do care for Agent Reyes and I am offended that you have not involved me in this case." Skinner sighed. He knew that Follmer would never openly admit his bitterness towards Doggett, but it didn't matter. He had to involve him now that he knew. "Fine," Skinner said, "but Reyes would prefer to keep Deputy Director Kersh out of this...can you handle that?" Follmer glared but nodded reluctantly. "Good." Skinner said. "You and I can start going over our findings tomorrow." *** When Monica awoke at eight o'clock in the morning, John was gone. He left a note, saying that he'd be back around noon with lunch. Monica sighed and got out of bed. She'd been having the dreams again, always the same every night. Sometimes they weren't bad, other times they were especially vivid, and she would wake up with tense muscles, and tears in her eyes. By the time she'd showered and made herself a cup of tea, she'd shaken off the nightmare. Though it was always there, in the back of her mind, she found it easier and easier each day. She had decided that she would go back to work as soon as the cut on her face was completely healed. That was the best way to avoid unwanted questions. The phone rang about nine, and it was John on the other end. They spoke for a few minutes, and John asked her how she had slept. When she told him it was 'the usual', he sighed and asked her if she'd like to catch a movie later. She replied that she would. As soon as Monica hung up the phone, the doorbell rang. Monica froze, but forced herself to go to the door and see who was there. She looked out the side window, and was surprised to see Brad Follmer on the doorstep. She sighed heavily and opened the door. "Monica." Brad said with a smile. "Brad." Monica returned, faking a smile. Follmer searched her eyes for a moment, and then said: "I just dropped by to...see how you were doing." Inwardly, Monica just wanted to shut the door in his face, but rudeness wasn't one of her better traits. "Come in, Brad." Follmer stepped through the open door of John's home, and looked around. He looked as though he could comment on the house, since it was a pretty nice place, but he didn't. He turned around to face Monica, but didn't say anything to her. It was the first time she'd seen Brad Follmer a loss for words. "I'm okay, Brad." Monica said, rolling her eyes. Follmer bit his lip. "I...I just heard last night. I couldn't sleep. I thought about it all night." "I'm really okay. I'm...dealing with it." The pair went silent for a moment, until Follmer quietly asked: "Why didn't you call me, Monica?" Monica looked downward. Why? Why does he have to do this, she thought. She sighed heavily and cursed herself for opening that door. "Because...because you're not...a part of my life anymore, Brad." He looked hurt, and she somewhat regretted what she had said. "I'm sorry." He shook his head, and looked back up at her. "I care about you. I just...want to help you, that's all." She smiled. "I appreciate that, Brad. But I've got...support here. He's taking good care of me." she said gently. Follmer looked saddened. "I'm glad to know that." "You don't have to worry, okay?" He nodded. They regarded each other for a short while. "Well...I guess I'll...get back to the office. But if you need anything...anything at all...just call me." He said. She smiled at him, and told him 'thanks'. She saw him to the door, and he stepped out onto the porch. Before he walked away, he turned around and looked as though he may say something to her. But he didn't. He smiled weakly and walked to his car. Monica closed the door gently behind her as she went back into the house. Later, when John came home, she didn't tell him about her visitor. *** It was happening again. He came to her every night. She was alone, and back in her apartment. She would hear the door open, she would hear his footsteps as they approached her bedroom door. She would wait in fear for him to stand over her bed. She couldn't move. She couldn't speak. She could only watch in horror as he climbed on top of her and began ripping her clothes away. And he would rape her, over and over again. His hands would roam over her body, and he would say things to her. And then he would laugh. He laughed at her, for not having the strength to stop him. And when he was finally finished using her, he would press the gun against her forehead. "Wake up, Monica." he said. She struggled, as his arms closed tightly around her. The more she fought him, the tighter he held her. She finally began to scream, and to cry. "Stop! Stop it! Get your hands off me!" she cried. "Monica...wake up!" Finally, Monica's eyes flew open, and she realized that she was not in her apartment, alone, but in John's bedroom. It was his arms that held her. She began to sob as he held her. "Shh...it's okay, Monica...it's okay..." She turned over in the bed. She had to see his face, to know that it was really him. His concerned blue eyes looked back at her. Tears streamed down her face. John sat up slightly in the bed, and pulled her to him. She went to him without reluctance, and sobbed uncontrollably. He rocked gently, and let her cry. "It's just a dream...you're safe...you're okay." He said soothingly, as he smoothed her hair away from her face. After several minutes, her crying subsided. The dream was the worst so far, even just after the attack. She held tightly onto John, and let his comforting arms soothe away the nightmare. John lay back down finally, and hoped that Monica would fall back asleep, this time without the dreams. But Monica couldn't sleep. She didn't want to. She felt safe here, in his arms, and to go to sleep again would mean to leave them. She looked up at him. He looked down at her lovingly, trying to channel all of the emotion he felt for her in one expression. The words he had said before had not been enough. It would never be enough. He fell more and more in love with her each day, even when each day that he woke next to her, he realized that she could not love him in return - not until she had healed. But he would never give up. He would wait as long as it took. But she looked at him in the most unusual way. Monica was powerless to stop herself. Something inside her craved him so deeply. She reached up with her hand and touched his face. He flinched slightly in surprise. But he didn't stop her when she moved closer and kissed him softly and slowly on the lips. It was a long, passionate kiss, like most first kisses are. But once Monica had tasted his lips, she began to lose herself. Her nightmares disappeared. She only wanted to feel his warm lips again, and then again. Her hand moved down his neck, down his arm to his chest. Likewise, his hands began to make their way down to the dip of her waist, her hip. Monica sighed. His touch felt good to her, it felt right. Her hand traveled down his stomach. John shivered slightly as he felt her fingertip slide across the length of his erect penis. His desire for her was immeasurable. He inhaled as his hand brushed against the inside of her thigh. Monica's eyes flew open, and she moved quickly out of John's reach. He sat up in the bed and stared at her, confused for a moment. But he quickly realized his mistake. He lowered his head and sighed. "Jesus, Monica...I'm sorry. I shouldn't have...I didn't think..." Monica shook her head and looked very frustrated. "No, John...." she ran a hand through her hair. "It wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known that...that would make me uncomfortable. I guess *I* didn't even know." she said, and then placed her hand on his arm to reassure him. He nodded, but there was sadness in his eyes. "I don't want it to be like this for you. Even if...even if it wasn't me touching you, Monica. I hate to think that you'll always be like this." She sighed again, something she did a lot lately. "I'm sure...this...will be hard for awhile, but...I can't see it going on forever. I mean...do you know how long I've wanted to be in bed with you?" Monica laughed softly and John grinned. "I think maybe we should have stopped at kissing...for now." she said, and moved closer to him. They lay down together, and Monica laid her head on John's shoulder. After a few minutes, John spoke: "You know...I've wanted to be in bed with you a LOT longer than you've wanted to be in bed with me." Monica snorted. "Whatever. You didn't even know I existed in the beginning." "Not true." "Please. You were obsessed with Agent Scully. Admit it." John rolled his eyes. "Oh, God. Yes, I was concerned for her and her son...doesn't mean that I was obsessed with her. She's got another man's baby, for cryin' out loud." Monica smiled. "If she were the last woman on earth, would you sleep with her?" John grinned. "Well...yeah..." Monica gasped. "But not if you were here." John said. "Scully's a beautiful woman, but not really my type." Monica looked up at him. "What's your type?" "Well, Scully's kind of...technical sometimes. Dry. I don't think she really knows how to have a good time. Of course, that's gotta be Mulder's fault. I like a woman who always keeps me guessing. Keeps me on my toes, so I never know what to expect. I like a little bit of craziness mixed in with a small amount of practicality." Monica shook her head. "So, you like women who are *completely* different from yourself." John gasped. "I know how to have a good time." Monica gave him a sly look. "So do I." John grinned back at her and narrowed his eyes. "Aren't I supposed to be the horny one?" Monica laughed. "Not really. You're past your sexual prime...I'm just getting to mine." John nodded with a smirk. "I'll show you who's past their prime." *** When A.D. Skinner arrived at his office on Wednesday morning, an anxious Brad Follmer was waiting for him. He had files in his hands, and he looked like hell. His tie was missing, and the top buttons of his once-crisp white shirt were open. His hair was disheveled and his eyes were bloodshot. He leapt from his chair when he saw Skinner come into the reception area of his office. "A.D. Skinner! I've got some things to show you, things I've been going over." He said, walking alongside Skinner into his office. "What did you find?" Skinner asked, setting down his briefcase. Follmer spread the files out over his desk. "Previous rapes that may be connected to Monica's." Follmer said. Skinner looked up at him. "Have you been here all night, Follmer?" He asked. Follmer hadn't been expecting that question, but he answered Skinner: "Well, yes." Skinner blinked and took one of the files. Follmer pointed to the picture of a woman in the file. "This is MaryAnn Reynolds. She was raped two months ago by a man fitting the same vague description that Agent Reyes gave. And here are four more women that have been attacked since then. And one more attack last night." Follmer said, handing Skinner the files. Skinner looked perturbed as he examined them. "What makes you think that all these attacks are related?" Skinner asked. "It's true that the descriptions are all similar, but such is the case for most rape cases." Follmer nodded. "I know, but I think it has something to do with these women's chosen professions." "Profession?" Skinner repeated. Follmer opened the files. "This woman, MaryAnn Reynolds, was a judge. Another woman, Brook Coleman, was a lawyer. This woman," Follmer said, pointing to another picture, "was a detective. And the woman that was attacked last night was a doctor." Skinner took off his glasses. "You think this man raped these women because they have...important jobs?" Follmer nodded. "I think this man is somehow obsessed with women who hold high-ranking positions in the community, and that's how he chooses his victims. I'm no profiler, either, but I'm guessing that this guy would be some kind of blue-collar average guy. Maybe one of them turned him down for a date or something." Skinner sat back in his chair. "I'm impressed." "Thank you, Assistant Director." Follmer said, giving him a tired, but triumphant smile. Skinner gathered all of the files together and picked up the phone. "I'm going to call Agent Doggett and fill him in on this." Skinner said, and then looked at Follmer. "And you need to go home and get some sleep." Follmer nodded and left the office without argument. *** John sat Monica down on the couch and then sat beside her. "We may have a break in the case." He said gently. "What did you find out?" Monica asked. John folded his hands together nervously. "I think we may be dealing with a serial rapist who chooses his victims based on what kind of work they do. A.D. Follmer dug up files on rapes in the past two months. All the women gave the same description of the man that you gave, and they all held high-ranking jobs. Lawyers, cops, doctors..." "Have they arrested anyone yet?" Monica asked, cutting John off. John paused. "No. But I think that we might not be too far from an arrest now that we know what this guy is up to." John said. But Monica gave a frustrated sigh. John put his hand on her arm. "We're close. We'll get him." *** The next morning, Doggett, Skinner and Follmer gathered together around the conference table and discussed the case. They had little to go on as far as DNA, and any recognizable features of the attacker. He had simply planned it too well. "How did he get in?" Follmer asked. "That wasn't on the report." "He came in the through the only door. There was no broken windows...in fact, they were all locked since the last tenant lived there, and getting up and down the fire escape wouldn't be too easy." John said, looking at Follmer. "Exactly how did he come through the door?" Skinner asked. "Well," Doggett answered, "it looks like the door was either unlocked, or jimmied." "Or opened with a key." Skinner said. The two men looked at him. Follmer nodded. "Picking a lock takes time, and Agent Reyes' apartment had two separate locks that she claims were both locked when she went to bed." John thought on this for a moment. "So, you think someone used a key to get in?" Follmer shrugged. "If you were going to plan a rape, you'd want to be able to get in the easiest way possible. Somehow, this man may have gotten a key to her apartment." John nodded. "I think I'll go talk to the building's maintenance man. Ask him if he's was missing a key to the place." He picked up his jacket and headed out the door. He knew the drive by heart, because he'd been to her apartment many times since she'd moved there. He called Monica on the way to her apartment to fill her in on what was happening. John truly believed that they were close to catching the man who had hurt Monica, and so many other women. He fantasized about catching him. He fantasized about hurting him. John went through the front door, and followed the signs to the basement. It was dimly lit and smelled funny, the way most old buildings do. He found the right door and knocked on it. No one answered the door. He knocked again...nothing. He became frustrated. When it came to solving cases, John was not a patient man. He tried the doorknob, and found the door unlocked. He peered around the corner. No one was down there, so he went inside the maintenance room and closed the door behind him. Once inside, he took a quick look around. He wasn't sure what he was looking for. The room held all the standard equipment that a maintenance keeper might have. Lots of tools, spare light bulbs, cleaning equipment. John spied a box on the wall that was halfway open. He found keys to every apartment in that box, every apartment except the one Monica lived in. John began to have the feeling that he was getting somewhere. He searched through some papers on a modest, cluttered desk, but found nothing that interested him. What he really needed was to talk to the maintenance man himself, and find out why Monica's key was missing from the box. Perhaps someone had stolen it. However, he couldn't wait around all day to see if he'd come back. He decided to leave. As he walked towards the door, he nearly tripped over a loose board in the creaky, wooden floor. John looked down. The board that stuck up was a little bowed, and it wasn't nailed down. He thought it was odd that the floor was wooden in the first place, since it should have been unfinished foundation beneath him. He bent over and pried the board from its spot. When he lifted it out of its place, he received a shock. The wood floor was about six inches above the unfinished concrete floor. Sitting on the concrete foundation beneath the wood floor, was Monica's gun. Next to the gun, was a single key. John's eyes grew wide with astonishment. He picked up the gun and looked at it to be sure. He turned it over and read the number on the underside of the barrel. The numbers matched Monica's badge number. *** Darren Provatti jiggled the doorknob of the maintenance room, and found it locked. He thought it was odd, because he hadn't remembered locking it before he left for a late lunch. He shrugged and pulled his keys from his pocket, and unlocked the door. He walked in the room thinking of the toilet in 208 that he still needed to finish before the afternoon was over. He was caught off guard by the strong hands that slammed him against the wall and held him tightly against it. John Doggett put his gun against Provatti's head. His anger would get the best of him if he let it, and he couldn't let it. John just looked at him, and held the gun against his head. Provatti's eyes were wide as quarters. "What the hell is this?" Provatti asked, in a nervous voice. John Doggett pressed the gun harder and got very close to Provatti. "You like rapin' sleeping women? You sick fuck?" Provatti didn't respond. His mouth dropped open and he breathed anxiously. "You like rapin' my partner? My friend?" John demanded. He gritted his teeth and clenched his jaw. His finger held the trigger of the weapon that was pointed at Provatti. "I don't know what you're talkin' about!" Provatti cried. John pressed the gun so hard against him that he cried out in pain. "Jesus, man! You're hurtin' me!" John didn't let up. He slammed Provatti's head against the hard foundation wall. "I should kill you." John threatened, and cocked his weapon. Provatti shook with fear. "Jesus fuckin' Christ, man...I don't know what you're talkin' about...please!" Provatti cried out. John put his knee in the man's back and held the gun up for Provatti to see. "Then what's this?" John demanded of him. Provatti shook his head. Sweat dripped into his eyes. "I never seen it before." Provatti said. John responded by shoving his knee into the other man's spine. Provatti cried out in pain. John punched him then, right in the kidney. Provatti sank against the wall but John held him up. "I'm not gonna stop until I get a confession." John said, anger blazing in his eyes. He felt out of control, he felt nothing but rage. But he had meant what he said. He punched Provatti again in the kidney. The man cried out in extreme agony. "Stop! Stop, please...." Provatti begged. "I did it, okay! Just stop...please!" John Doggett pulled out a pair of cuffs and slapped them on Provatti's wrists. He tightened them mercilessly. "You're goin' to prison." John told the other man. Provatti stared blankly at nothing as John dragged him out of the room. *** Later that evening, a tired John Doggett walked through his front door. Monica was already standing, waiting to hear the news. John took off his jacket. "His fingerprints were all over the gun. And he's confessed." He told Monica, looking up at her. Tears flooded to her eyes and fell down her cheeks. He reached out for her and she went to him. The relief they both felt was incredible, and they shared a much-needed hug. "It's over." He said to the woman in his arms, as he smoothed back her hair. *** Monica hung up the phone and made a few notes in her report. She closed the file with a sigh and laid it with the others. She watched the screen saver on her computer for a few moments. It felt good to be back at work, she thought, despite the small mountain of paperwork that needed her attention. John had been handing most of the field cases, and none of them were X-Files anyway. After a week of being back at work, Monica was beginning to feel a little more like herself. She still went to group religiously, and saw her therapist once a week. Dr. Crist was very optimistic about Monica's mental condition. The nights were still very long for Monica, and the nightmares still came, but they didn't frighten her the way they used to. She still found it impossible to go places alone at night, but she knew that she would get over that in time, too. If she owed her recovery to anyone but herself, it was John. He couldn't analyze her condition the way a doctor could, and he couldn't relate the way the other women in the group did, but he was undoubtedly the one who had saved her. He had been there for her weakest times, her darkest hour. He had comforted her the way that no other person in the world could have. And he had helped her find the man who hurt her. But most importantly, he had loved her. He had loved her in every way possible, no matter how damaged she had become. His love overwhelmed her, and it made her realize that all things truly are possible. Their relationship moved along slowly, cautiously. They did not make love, but their relationship was full of intimacy that they both knew would soon bring them to sex. There was no hurry, Monica thought, although it was hard not to act on her yearning when every night he lay next to her in bed. But she would know when the time was right. For now, she had the trial to think about. She wasn't worried about the outcome...there was certainly enough evidence against Darren Provatti to get a conviction and a tough sentence. But Monica knew that it would be difficult to stand before the court and tell her story while the man who had raped her stood less than ten feet away. She had never seen his face. She imagined him as some kind of horrible monster, but he wasn't. He was just a man, a man with a very disturbed and sick mind. Her testimony would be hard, but there was one thought that gave her satisfaction, and it was that Darren Provatti's horrible deeds would be brought to light, professed to every ear in the courtroom. And that every eye will look on him with disgust as the bailiff leads him from the courtroom, back to his cell where he will spend a very long, hard sentence. *** John stood at a distance on the courthouse steps. He watched Monica as she spoke to one of the other rape victims, and hugged her. The woman was crying. John smiled when Monica looked up at him from over the woman's shoulder. When the two women parted, Monica walked slowly over to John. They sat down on the steps together. Monica's face showed a mixture of emotion. "How are you feelin'?" John asked her, taking her hand discreetly. Monica sighed. "I don't know." she said, shaking her head. "I feel happy that Provatti's behind bars, but I still feel...kind of depressed. Like I'm just not sure if all those years in prison is going to make up for what he's done to me, and all of the others. You know?" John nodded. "I know exactly what you mean." he said. "But I also believe that this guy Provatti'll really get what he deserves in prison, if you get what I'm sayin'." Monica smiled and nodded her head. The pair sat in silence for a moment, until Monica spoke: "I guess this means I have to start living my life again. Time to stop being afraid." she said. John nodded, but didn't say anything. He watched Monica's hair blow in the breeze, and then looked down at the ground. "Monica...I want you to move in with me." John said. Monica's head shot up and looked at him. "Permanently, I mean." John added. He looked back at her, and they regarded each other. Monica searched his eyes. "You want me to live with you? Why?" John squeezed her hand and looked back down at the concrete steps. "Because I love you. Because...because I think of you leaving my house and my heart breaks." Monica, always the crier, felt tears form in her eyes. "I know you're not ready for...some things. But I can wait. I wanna take care of you." John said, and finally looked back up at her. His eyes were so sincere. Monica threw her arms around him and kissed him, right there in front of the courthouse. She cried, but then she began to laugh. Laughter through tears. Her favorite emotion. *** One week later, Monica moved out of her apartment. She had thought herself very fortunate to get a place so nice, but when she took the last box out, she didn't look back. On her way back to John's house, she stopped off at the Post Office to fill out a change of address form. She had done this a few times in her life, but never had it made her so happy. She didn't even mind the wait at the Post Office. When she walked through the door of her new, permanent home, John was waiting for her. He had a bottle of Merlot and two glasses waiting for her. They toasted to Monica moving in. And then they toasted to the future. That night, John and Monica made slow, passionate love. The dreams did not come for Monica that night. *** One year later... Monica sat in the circle with the other eight women. Some of their faces were blank; some of them were tired and some just plain scared. Their painful journey had only just begun. They were recent victims of rape, and Monica knew, as she sat among them, that they had a long way to go. But this was Monica's last group. "I've come here tonight, for my last group, so that I can share with you how I've dealt with rape." Monica said, speaking in a strong, proud voice. "The road is very long, and it hurts most of the time. But you can't give up. Because if you don't give up, then he can never hurt you again. Take back your lives. Don't let anyone break your spirit or make you feel hopeless. I won't lie to you, you can't ever be the person you were before this happened to you. You can't put this away and make like it never happened. Because it did, and you are a different person then you once were." Monica paused. "But they say, that which does not kill us makes us stronger. And I truly believe that." From just beyond the doorway, John listened to his fianc talk to the other members of the group. He smiled as she began to talk about love, about it's power to heal all wounds. Monica had once told John that he had saved her. But what Monica did not realize was that she had saved him. John thought about the future. He wasn't afraid of the future anymore. When he had lost a marriage and a son, his future was uncertain and frightening. And the first time he met Monica Reyes, he never would have guessed that this quirky, over-imaginative woman would someday bring him so much happiness. She made him happy when she accepted his proposal of marriage, and she had brought him unbelievable joy when she told him that she wanted to have children with him. Now, instead of dreading the passing of his youth, he looked forward to days to come. John was deep in thought and smiling like a fool when Monica joined him in the hallway. She put her arms around his waist and kissed him fervently. "Ready to go?" John nodded. Monica looked at him strangely, because it looked as though he might cry any moment. "Are you alright, John?" He nodded his head and sighed, his eyes searching hers. He opened his mouth to speak, and said softly, "I just can't wait for you to be my wife." ~fin One look at love and you may see It weaves a web over mystery, All ravelled threads can rend apart For hope has a place in the lover's heart. Hope has a place in a lover's heart. ~Enya "Hope Has A Place" ** Author's Notes: I can't really tell you what inspired me to write a story about rape. I didn't have a personal experience that I wanted to channel into my story, nor am I sick in the head. To me, I guess it's more a need to explore how Doggett and Reyes' relationship would survive and develop under the most extreme of trials. I'm also a fan of all-around torture and angst, and in that same respect, comfort. It's not about the rape, really, but how Doggett comforts and takes care of Reyes that I love to write about. Also, I wrote an MSR rape story years ago that I believe, even to this day, was some of my best work in fanfiction. Unfortunately, my hard drive crashed before I had a chance to get it on the web. And to make matters worse, I didn't back it up on disk. Stupid, I know. I could never even have begun to recreate it. It was novel-length and full of thoughts and dialogue that had simply come to me as I wrote. Once the moment passes, I lose it, and unless it's on the screen already, it's gone for good. So I didn't even try. But it's been a few years, so I thought I would try it with Doggett and Reyes. I hope it's as good as the one I lost, or better. Thoughts and opinions are welcome at tred2@yahoo.com, but please do not write and express your distaste for rape stories. It's in the header, and I feel that I have clearly explained all of my reasons for writing this story. I made up Monica's middle name, Luina. I don't know if her middle name has ever been mentioned, and I'm too lazy to do the research, frankly. I just thought it fit. I'm not a psychologist so I have no idea what questions or advice they would REALLY give, so I took a stab at it. On the same token, I am not a cop, a lawyer or a judge.....I don't know how the court procedure works, which is one of the reasons I left out the court proceedings. Also, I didn't really think it was very relevant to this Doggett-and-Reyes-centered story. I hope you enjoyed the story! Comments, questions and screams of outrage gleefully accepted at tred2@yahoo.com.