Title: Grief (sequel to "A Sense of Justice")

Author: Diandra Hollman

E-Mail: diandrahollman@yahoo.com

Website: http://agenthollman.topcities.com/main/index.html

Date Finished: 7/28/02

Rating: R

Classification: S A R (C O M E R E...I really need to stop 
          taking so many science classes...)

Keywords: DSR, RAPE, DoggettTorture, DoggettAngst, ScullyAngst

Spoilers: Not if I can help it...

Disclaimer: Agents Holland and Spinelli belong to me. All other 
          characters belong to that mean surfer... ;)

Archive: Sure, just let me know! :)

Summary: Scully can't stay strong forever...

Dedication: To Maria. Can you stop the nagging now?! ;P And, as 
          always, to my dear, sweet, Lisa for always being so 
          supportive and helpful! :)

Author's Notes: This is part eight of the "A Sense of..." 
          series. You will want to read the other parts first 
          before you read this one. You can find them all at:
          http://agenthollman.topcities.com/main/asenseof.html


Grief
By Diandra Hollman

I realize that I have had a horrible tendency to ditch Scully 
frequently in our eight years together - often putting myself 
in great danger, but she could have chosen a better way to 
point that flaw out to me than by pulling the same stunt.

When I finally figured out what she was doing, I tracked down 
Agent Spinelli and got him to take me to Agent Holland's place. 
Spinelli pulled up in front of a very plain-looking house that 
was literally out in the middle of nowhere. 

I turned to Spinelli as I pulled my gun from it's holster. "You 
stay here. Call for backup." 

I crept up to the front door. It had been left open. I entered 
cautiously, my gun held in front of me. I opened my mouth to 
call her name when I heard a scream. I moved quickly to the 
room the noise had come from and stood with my back to the wall 
just outside the door. I took a deep breath and peered around 
the corner carefully. After assuring myself that it was safe, I 
stepped into the doorway with gun raised. 

"FBI!"

Agent Holland picked up a gun he had apparently left sitting 
nearby and pointed it at me, but I had the upper hand. Before 
he had the chance to pull the trigger, I fired. He went down 
immediately. I saw a flash of red hair out of the corner of my 
eye as I moved to check Holland's pulse. I didn't need a 
medical degree to tell me that my bullet had pierced his heart. 

I turned my attention to Scully, who was frantically working to 
un-knot the ropes holding Doggett prisoner. Her trenchcoat was 
draped over his back, only partially covering him. I fished out 
my pocket knife and moved to her side, placing my hand over 
hers to still her efforts. 

"Here," I whispered, and gently pulled her hands away so I 
could cut through the bonds. I vaguely noted that Holland had 
used a very soft rope. Doggett's wrists would be bruised and 
raw from his struggles, but there would be no major damage or 
bleeding.

As I pulled him up off the table and lay him in Scully's lap I 
couldn't help but notice how passive he was. He neither 
resisted me nor helped me; he was just a dead weight in my 
arms. I pulled off my own trenchcoat and covered him with it. 
I felt a twisting pain of sympathy in my gut. For him, for her, 
I don't know which. Probably both. It didn't matter; I didn't 
want to take the time to decipher it just yet. I had more 
important things to do first. 

I stood up and started to move towards the door when I felt 
Scully's hand clutch mine. Her eyes registered so many emotions 
that I couldn't sort them out. But I *did* see gratitude and 
tears. She looked like she was keeping herself from crying 
through sheer willpower. I nodded my understanding and squeezed 
her hand gently before I let go and walked back out the door, 
pulling my cellphone from my pocket. 

I returned to Scully's side to wait for the ambulance. It was 
at that point that Spinelli finally came into the room. I 
watched as he stood over his partner's body, frozen in 
disbelief. 

I thought I could hear him murmur "I had no idea," quietly, as 
if to himself. After a long pause, he shook off his trance and 
looked at me. "Is there anything I can do?"

I could tell he was still reeling with shock, but like Scully, 
he was trying to hold it at bay for the time being. 

"Yeah, why don't you go meet the EMTs when they get here and 
show them into this room?"

He nodded and walked numbly out the door.

I sat beside Scully and watched as she rocked Agent Doggett's 
non-responsive body back and forth, stroking his hair and 
whispering nonsense to him. There was nothing left for me to do 
but be there for her...and wait.

**********
Georgetown Memorial
Two hours later

I found Scully in Doggett's hospital room. Actually, she was in 
the bed with him. His recent trauma seemed to have sent him 
into a catatonic state and Scully hoped her presence and her 
proximity would help bring him back.

She was curled up against him, her head balanced precariously 
on the edge of his pillow, whispering in his ear. I couldn't 
hear her words, but her tone was soothing and tender. Her left 
arm was partially trapped beneath her body, but her left hand 
had managed to wrap itself around his right hand where it lay 
at his side. Her right hand stroked gentle patterns on his 
chest, dipping down every so often to his abdomen. She was the 
picture of a woman desperately trying to get through to her 
lover. Despite her own frazzled nerves she was determined to 
care for him, to help him through this trauma.

I couldn't let her keep doing this. I knew her too well. She 
was very good at bottling up her feelings until they 
overwhelmed her for the purpose of 'being strong' for others. 
She was always so damn hard on herself...

I placed a hand on her upper arm and waited for her to 
acknowledge me. When she did I could almost sense a challenge 
in her eyes. 

/Go ahead,/ they said. /Make me leave./

I bit back a sigh. "Come on," I said softly. "I'll take you 
home."

"No, I think I'll stay here," she said just as softly, her tone 
unyielding. "Thank you," she added hastily. "I'm fine."

"Scully, you need to rest - "

"Spare me the 'think of your baby' speech, Mulder, I'm not in 
the mood," she interrupted.

"It's not the baby I'm worried about right now, Scully." She 
regarded me almost wearily. "Please."

We stared at each other for several long moments. Finally she 
caved in. She looked back at Doggett, stroking his cheek. After 
a long pause, she pressed a soft kiss to his temple and 
whispered something in his ear. 

Then she followed me - reluctantly - out the door.

**********
SCULLY

I was so angry with Mulder. I thought he was treating me like a 
child. He acted as if he didn't trust me to be able to take 
care of myself in a crisis. It was like I had this tape 
continuously looping itself over and over in my mind. It said 
'I'm a grown woman, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of 
myself. I don't need a baby-sitter. I don't need any goddamn 
sympathy. I'm fine.' 

Mulder drove me home and walked up to my apartment with me. I 
wanted to scream at him; tell him to butt the hell out. My 
anger was quickly reaching a boiling point, although I wasn't 
really sure who - or what - I was angry with. I was just mad at 
the world I guess.

But I bit my tongue, keeping myself firmly in check. 

"Do you want me to stay here for a while," he asked.

"No, thank you," I replied snippily. "I'm fine." I flinched 
inwardly at the all-too-frequently-used line. He would never 
buy it.

"Scully..."

I could almost hear the already-fragile thread of sanity snap.

"WHAT, Mulder?! What is it you want? Do you want me to admit 
that I'm not okay? That I feel like I've been just as violated 
as John has? Or do you just want to play the psychologist and 
find out what I'm thinking right now? Well, let me save you the 
trouble; I don't need a fucking babysitter, so GET OUT!" I was 
shouting, but I didn't care. Let the neighbors complain. I just 
wanted the whole world to go away.

"No," he said quietly. "You don't need a babysitter, but I'm 
guessing that right now you *do* need a friend."

I spun around and brought my hands up to cover my ears. I heard 
a muffled voice say "stop it!", but I wasn't sure if it was his 
or mine.

The world tilted crazily beneath me, throwing me off-balance. I 
felt a sharp pain as my knees connected with the wood floor. 
/Good,/ I thought. /I deserve it./

I heard a high-pitch wail - like the sound of a wounded 
animal - before I realized it was coming from me. I covered my 
mouth with both hands, trying frantically to muffle the noise.

My control was slipping away from me and I was helpless to stop 
it.

Hands tried to pry mine away from my face. I lashed out at 
them. GET AWAY FROM ME! JUST GO AWAY! LEAVE ME ALONE! 

The soreness in my throat told me that I had said the words out 
loud. Somewhere, a deep voice answered, but it was so far away 
that all I heard was a jumble of vowels. 

Arms wrapped around me tightly, trapping me against a solid 
body. I struggled against it, pounding my fists against the 
unyielding chest, clawing at the strong arms. LET GO OF ME!

I fought until I no longer had the energy to fight. Then, not 
knowing what else to do, I cried. 

The distant voice grew louder. The words still didn't make 
sense, but they were spoken in Mulder's gentle baritone. 
Mulder. I should have known...

I could feel the storm surrounding me. A cyclone. Everything - 
the whole world - was swirling around me. Every thought and 
emotion that I had refused to deal with was in those brutal 
winds. And then, suddenly, it shifted. I was no longer in the 
calmer eye of the storm, I was being swept up into the 
tempest - and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. 
One cannot stop the forces of nature. 

I leaned into Mulder, burying my face in his shoulder to muffle 
the screams being ripped out of me, only to be lost in the 
violent winds. I clung to him desperately. He was my anchor. If 
I let him go I would be at the mercy of the storm. To be 
hurtled along like a rag doll before finally being thrown 
clear. To land, broken, wherever the cyclone saw fit. 

He returned my bruising grip, holding me tightly. /Don't let 
go,/ I thought frantically. /Please, don't let me go!/

When the storm finally lifted it left me bruised and battered, 
weeping inconsolably in my partner's arms. 

His words came to me then, as if a bad phone connection had 
suddenly cleared up. 

"I've got you Scully. It's okay. You're gonna be okay."

I could finally relax. I knew Mulder would take care of me. I 
realized that I didn't have to worry; he would never let go.

*************
MULDER

I thought I had seen Dana Scully from all angles - good or 
bad - in the last eight years. I'd seen her on the rare 
occasions when she was relaxed and happy. I'd seen her prove 
that she does indeed have a good ole' Irish temper. I'd seen 
her worn out and weary, either from a case or life in general, 
well beyond a reasonable level. I'd even been there for her 
those few times when her professional façade finally cracked 
and she allowed herself to cry in my arms. But I don't think 
I'd ever seen her like this.

She was a mess - there's no better way to put it. She had tried 
to carry John through the whole experience on her back and the 
effort had thrown her into an emotional turmoil, which was only 
multiplied by pregnancy hormones. But I had done my job. I had 
gotten her to let it all out in the open. Now if I could only 
get her to accept that she can't do *everything*...

When she had finally exhausted her tears, she lay quietly in my 
arms, the only indication she was still conscious coming from 
the occasional sniffle.

"Would you like me to stay," I asked again, trying to sound as 
non-oppressive as possible. This time, she nodded silently 
against my shoulder.

It was late and I knew she would be tired, especially after her 
recent outburst, so I carried her into her bedroom and lay her 
on the bed gently. I pulled off her shoes and jacket and folded 
them on a nearby chair. Then I threw my own coat over the back 
and went back to sit on the bed beside her.

She reached her hand out for me and I took it, squeezing 
reassuringly. 

"Are you going to be okay," I asked trying to indicate with 
small gestures that she was still fully clothed. She gave me a 
weary look and I realized the broader meaning of my statement.

"Do you want me to leave while you change clothes," I asked by 
way of clarification. 

"No," she whispered. "S'okay. Top drawer." She indicated the 
dresser on the far wall.

I fetched a soft, well-worn oversized T-shirt out of the drawer 
and handed it to her, averting my eyes while she changed 
clothes. When her rustling movements stopped, I looked back to 
find her curled on her side with the sheets drawn up to her 
chin, her clothes in a rumpled pile at the foot of the bed. 

Not knowing what else to do with them, I folded the clothes 
and set them on her dresser. Then I sat beside her again and 
began combing my fingers through her hair, hoping to lull her 
into sleep. Instead, she turned her head towards me and fixed 
me with her piercing - albeit teary - stare.

"I keep wondering if I'm just deluding myself," she whispered.

"What do you mean?"

She sighed. "To think that it will ever get any better. That 
things will ever be..." She bit her lip and turned her head to 
stare out her bedroom window while she tried to gather her 
thoughts. 

"John once told me I was confusing pity for love. I can't help 
but wonder...maybe I am."

"Scully," I said softly. "It's very likely that you do feel 
pity for him right now, but I wouldn't say that it replaces 
love."

She regarded me warily as I continued. 

"I think you've been falling in love with him for a long time. 
He's certainly in love with you. I saw the way you looked at 
each other - before the rape." She flinched visibly at the 
word. "More often than not, rape ends with the victims death. 
You and I both know that. Maybe the thought of almost losing 
him finally convinced you to take the next step."

"And what's to say that I won't feel the same way after he 
recovers?"

I pause. The phrase "relationships that start under stressful 
conditions never last" flits through my mind, but I'm pretty 
sure it was just a line from a movie I saw once. 

"Some things will probably change, but I think the basic 
structure will still be the same."

"Can you guarantee that?" She asked it in a way that said she 
already knew the answer.

"You know I can't," I say softly. "Every couple deals with 
stress differently. I've read Doggett's file. I'm sure he's 
already told you what happened to his last relationship..."

Scully's forehead wrinkled. "He said he was divorced, but...
what does that have to do with it?"

I groaned inwardly. I had the feeling I had said too much and 
I was going to be regretting it soon. "It happened just after 
his son died," I said simply. I could only make an educated 
assumption that the stress of Luke's death had damaged his 
parent's marriage beyond repair. They certainly wouldn't have 
been the first couple to divorce over the loss of a child.

Scully's eyes clenched shut as I imagined she was picturing the 
inevitable repetition in the history of John Doggett's women. 
Time for a redirection.

"But that doesn't mean the same thing will happen to you two. 
His wife was the one who filed for the divorce. Maybe she 
wasn't strong enough - emotionally - to handle trying to piece 
the marriage back together and move on."

She gave me that wary look again. I tucked a loose strand of 
her hair behind her ear.

"But if there's one thing I know for certain about you, Scully, 
it's that you may be the most stubborn woman I've ever met." 
That got a small giggle out of her, in spite of her tears. "And 
Doggett could very well be worse!" Scully smacked my arm 
lightly, giving me one of her famous eye rolls. "There is no 
doubt in my mind that you two will make it through this," I 
continued seriously.

She gave me a small, tired smile. "Thanks, Mulder."

"Don't mention it," I murmured and leaned over to kiss her 
forehead. "Now go to sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

She closed her eyes, mumbling something that might have been 
"Yeah, okay." 

I stayed with her - stroking her hair - until I was sure she 
had fallen asleep. Then I gathered my coat and headed for the 
door. But I couldn't leave. I stood with my hand on the 
doorknob while my conscience berated me for thinking of 
abandoning Scully after everything that had just happened. She 
was too vulnerable...

I closed the door and pulled the afghan off her living room 
chair, resigned to spend the night on Scully's couch.


END OF PART 8