Title: A Sense of Dignity (sequel to "Reassurances")
Author: Diandra Hollman
E-Mail: diandrahollman@yahoo.com
Website: www.geocities.com/diandrahollman/thex_filesoutlet.html
Rating: R, I guess.
Classification: S A
Keywords: DoggettTorture/Angst, ScullyAngst, rape, 
          Doggett/Scully UST
Spoilers: Absolutely squat
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not mine. Not mine. Not mine. Not mine. 
            Not mine. Not mine. Not mine. I think that's 
            enough now...
Archive: Yep! Just make sure all this info goes with it and 
         e-mail me to let me know where so I can visit.
Summary: Potholes on the road to recovery.
Dedication: I keep forgetting to do this, so I'm gonna try to 
         make up for it now. This is for all my SHODDS sisters, 
         especially Lisa, who pre-reads all my stories and 
         provides continuous support. Thank you so much! ::hugs 
         and kisses:: Also, to all the other lone-readers who 
         have given me feedback to inflate my tiny ego. I love 
         you all!
Author's Notes: This is part three of my DoggettTorture series 
         Part I: A Sense of Security
         Part II: Reassurances
         (More notes at the end of the story).
         


A Sense of Dignity
By Diandra Hollman

(Two days later)
SCULLY:

I knew it would be difficult for me the second I walked into 
Doggett's hospital room and saw him staring out the window 
listlessly. But sooner or later somebody had to inform him of 
his condition and I knew it would probably be easier on him to 
hear it from me. I just wasn't sure if that would be any easier 
on *me*.

I sat in the chair by his bed and reached for his hand. It hurt 
me to see him flinch violently away from my touch, but it 
didn't surprise me. 

I sat awkwardly for a few moments before clearing my throat. 
"They finished running the tests..." I waited for him to 
acknowledge me. His eyes turned toward me disinterestedly. 
"The...assailant wore a condom. If he had anything chances are 
he didn't give it to you." There was no change in his 
expression. I took a deep breath. "That's the good news. The 
bad news is-"

"There's no evidence," he finished for me.

"Well, the doctors and the police haven't found any yet." I 
paused and looked into his eyes hopefully. "Do you remember 
anything at all that-"

"I already told the police all I know," he interrupted. "I 
can't identify him because I never saw anything."

"What about his voice? Do you think you could identify his 
voice?"

He shook his head, frustrated. "He never raised his voice above 
a whisper."

"Okay, well, we'll find him. Don't worry."

He let out a half-hearted snort of disbelief. "Come on, you 
don't think I don't know any better? Unless this guy comes 
forward and says 'I did it' nobody is gonna find him. You've 
got nothing to go on."

I shook my head stubbornly. "I can't accept that." He made a 
sound of disgust and turned back to the window, but I kept 
talking. "There has to be a way. We're just not looking in the 
right places."

"What did they find on the knife," he asked quietly.

I blinked several times and then bowed my head in defeat. 
"There were no fingerprints. He probably wore gloves."

Doggett nodded. "Thank you."

"John," I called softly, trying again to touch him gently.

"Please go."

I felt tears pool in my eyes at his rejection. He didn't want 
my help. There was nothing more I could do for him. I left the 
room before he could see me cry.

********
DOGGETT: 

The police couldn't find any evidence. 

That one thought kept ricocheting back and forth in my head - 
taunting me. No evidence. As if the whole experience hadn't 
been humiliating enough, the man who caused it was not going to 
be caught. I had tried desperately to think of something - 
anything - that I might have seen, heard, felt...nothing. 

I found myself wondering how I would ever feel safe again 
knowing that that man would never be caught. My mind kept 
replaying the last words he'd said to me. /"I'll see you later 
John."/ Who was there to stop him from doing it again? 

I knew I should be glad I had Dana to help me through 
everything. To keep me sane. But for some reason her presence 
just made things more difficult. Part of me recognized my 
feelings towards her as typical of rape victims. I was 
withdrawing emotionally from those closest to me. But I saw it 
as something else. I didn't want to put her or her baby in 
danger. I didn't want to burden her when she was already going 
through so much with her pregnancy. I was closing myself off to 
her in order to protect her.

But a part of me knew I was just kidding myself. I was ashamed. 
I kept thinking about what the man had said - he believed he 
loved me. He had taken the time to figure out more than just 
where I lived and how to get me alone and unprotected.  He knew 
my name. He knew I was an FBI agent. Hell, he probably knew I 
left my gun on the entry table every night when I got home. He 
had been watching me. That thought sent shivers down my spine. 
How long had the man been stalking me? Could I have seen him, 
talked to him, and not realized it? Could he be hanging around 
the hospital unnoticed? 

A couple of agents I vaguely recognized - I probably met them 
at some FBI function - visited me in the hospital. The first 
one was about my height, thin, with blond hair and bright blue 
eyes that held so much enthusiasm and eagerness they reminded 
me of a puppy's. He introduced himself as Agent Holland - "like 
the country". I groaned inwardly. The other agent was only 
slightly shorter than Holland, and much more subdued. In fact, 
everything about him was subdued, from his neatly trimmed brown 
hair and pressed suit to his dull grey eyes. He introduced 
himself as Agent Spinelli. The agents had been assigned to the 
search for my kidnapper. 

"Do you have any ideas who might have done this Agent Doggett," 
Holland asked.

I suddenly thought about my reaction to hearing Mulder's voice 
for the first time. He had sounded so much like the 
kidnapper... /Of course he did,/ I thought. /Everybody sounds 
the same when they whisper!/ 

I shook my head.

"There have been cases of burglars raping their victims just to 
keep them from going to the authorities," Agent Holland 
continued. "Can you think of anybody who might have had a 
reason to keep you quiet?"

Seeing as how the kidnapper had forgone the use of any sort of 
gag - letting me scream my goddamn head off - without a care in 
the world...

"No," I said.

They asked me a few more questions, none of which provided any 
more information than I had already given the police. They 
promised that they would do everything they possibly could to 
find the kidnapper and make sure he was brought to justice. I 
just thanked them politely, knowing full well that they were 
going to be fighting - and more than likely losing - an uphill 
battle.

I sat staring at the ceiling for a long time after they left. I 
knew Mulder would be arriving soon to take his turn at watching 
over me in Scully's place. I made a mental note to have him ask 
if someone could turn down the heat in my room. I was starting 
to feel like I was being roasted on some giant's barbecue.

*******
SCULLY:

I got to the hospital early the next morning. When I got to 
John's room I nearly ran headlong into Mulder.

"Oh, Scully, you're here. I was just going to find a nurse." He 
appeared worried about something.

"What happened," I asked.

"I'm not sure..." he admitted as he led me by the arm into the 
room.

I moved to John's side at once. I felt the bottom of my stomach 
drop in despair as I looked at him. His gown and sheets were 
tangled around his restless body. His face had turned a warm 
shade of red. When he opened his eyes, they had an overly 
bright appearance. I placed my hand on his forehead and then 
moved it down to his cheek. He was burning up.

"How long has he been like this," I asked Mulder.

"He was complaining about feeling too warm when I first got 
here. About an hour later he started babbling about some giant 
and a pig roast and threw off his blanket."

I cooed soft strings of nonsense to John, even though he was 
too delirious to hear - much less understand - me.

Mulder went to find a nurse while I struggled to untangle the 
sheet from John's body and straighten his hospital gown.

Doggett's eyes opened and I watched him struggle to focus on me 
though a fevered haze. I stoked his cheek and whispered "It's 
okay, it's me, Dana. I'm here."

I tried not to take it too hard when he turned his head away 
from me, as if he couldn't stand to even look at me. 

Mulder returned a second later, with nurse in tow. She placed 
an aural thermometer in Doggett's ear. "One hundred and three," 
she announced. She disappeared briefly and returned with the 
necessary fever-reducers...and a catheter. I guess they didn't 
want John to fall and give himself a concussion on the way to 
the bathroom. I felt myself blush as I looked away long enough 
for her to insert it. John gave a long groan as the tube was 
pushed into his bladder. I vaguely noticed Mulder cringing in 
the corner of the room.

Then the nurse leaned over John and spoke slowly and 
distinctly, making sure he could understand. "Are you feeling 
nauseous?"

Doggett shook his head.

"Would you like something to drink?"

He nodded.

"Would you mind if I gave him a cool compress," I asked.

She smiled. "No, go ahead. It couldn't hurt."

The nurse found an unused bedpan and filled it with tepid water 
for me. While I searched for a cloth, she placed a Styrofoam 
pitcher of water on Doggett's hospital tray, poured some into a 
cup and helped him drink a little. 

During all of this I didn't notice that Mulder had quietly 
slipped out of the room.

******
(Later that night)

I had lost track of how many times I had drawn the cloth over 
Doggett's fevered face, neck and chest in a meager attempt to 
bring down his temperature. He had been given a cooling 
blanket, which he had promptly thrown off, complaining that he 
was 'too cold'. The nurses were able to secure the blanket to 
prevent him from throwing it off again, much to his discomfort. 

I spent the next several hours trying to soothe him. When he 
burned with his fever, I sponged his body with cool water. When 
he complained of aches, I massaged his sore muscles gently. 
When he complained of chills, I held him, not knowing what else 
to do for him. I talked to him through it all, not caring 
whether he could hear me or not, needing him to hear my voice 
and understand that I was with him and he was safe.

His eyes had opened briefly once or twice during all of this, 
but I could not see any recognition register on his face when 
he looked at me. That, more than anything else, made me feel 
helpless all over again. 

I dragged the washcloth over his chest and shoulders. He was 
finally asleep, albeit fitfully so. I still whispered to him, 
perhaps needing to reassure myself as much as him.

He began to stir, moaning softly. I was preparing myself for 
another one of his fever-chills or muscle aches when he began 
thrashing. I jumped back, startled, and watched as he fought 
against invisible restraints in the throws of his fever dream. 
His whimper of pain brought me back to reality and stirred me 
into action. I sat with one hip wedged onto the bed beside him and 
leaned over to speak directly in his ear. 

"John...it's all right. You're in a hospital. You're safe now."

He squeezed his eyes tightly shut; his face screwed up in pain. 
I smoothed my hand over his brow and lightly kissed his cheek. 
For the first time since he had dismissed me that morning, I 
heard him speak. 

"Dana," he called in a voice that more suited a lost child than 
a man.

"I'm here, John. It's okay," I murmured as I carefully pulled 
him into my arms. I held him, stroking his back, neck and hair, 
not knowing what else to do. His arms remained at his sides, 
limp. Yet he leaned into me bodily as if seeking my warmth and 
comfort instinctively. I rocked him as a mother would her 
child, feeling the tears forming behind my eyelids and hanging 
precariously, threatening to fall in the next heartbeat.

I couldn't be sure, but at that moment, I thought I heard John 
whisper three words under his breath. "You weren't there..." 

I tightened my arms around him securely, rested my head on his 
shoulder and allowed the tears to fall.

*******
MULDER:
(Two nights later)

He was giving up. There was absolutely no reason for Agent 
Doggett not to recover from a simple fever. Yet his breathing 
had become increasingly labored, prompting doctors to put him 
on oxygen to make it easier for him. His periods of 
consciousness had grown fewer and farther between. Apparently 
he no longer wanted to live, and was letting a simple 
complication like infection slowly kill him.

It got increasingly difficult to pry Scully away from Doggett's 
side, even long enough to eat or sleep. I was beginning to 
worry for her health, not to mention her baby's. Or our 
baby's...I had not quite worked that out in my head yet. Yes, 
I had agreed to be her sperm donor for artificial insemination, 
but the procedure had failed. The thought had entered my mind 
that perhaps this baby was alien, but I refused to believe 
that. I could only hope that somehow the doctors had been 
wrong. Somehow, one little egg had slipped under medical radar 
and latched on. And if that was true, then it obviously 
already had Scully's stubborn determination and my knack for 
surprising people.

A part of me wondered if I was being overprotective of her 
because she was carrying my child. Of course, that's only 
natural, right?

At any rate, it didn't matter since she never listens to me 
anyway. All of my pleas and bribery couldn't get her to move 
from Doggett's side. So I gave up. Instead of taking over for 
her, I helped her, hoping to give her at least a little rest. I 
brought her food so she wouldn't have to leave the room to eat. 
I refilled the bedpan she was dipping the wash rags in when the 
water grew warm and I took over her task of bringing Doggett's 
temperature down when her body finally gave in and she 
practically passed out in her chair.

I just stared at Doggett for a long time after she fell asleep 
that night, trying to figure out what it was in him that 
warranted such devotion from a woman who could hardly be 
accused of wearing her heart on her sleeve. 

"You must really be something, you know that," I asked out 
loud. 

My only answer was the labored rasp of his breathing, but I 
hadn't really expected an answer. 

"Agent Doggett, if you can hear me I want you to know that if 
you die I will personally shock you back to life and kill you 
again." I paused to study his face again, almost expecting to 
get a rise out of him with my declaration. "I'm guessing she 
never told you how she felt about you?"

No response.

"I don't know if you'd ever understand how much Scully means to 
me. She's the only person I trust, and she's the closest thing 
to family I've got now. I would do anything to keep her happy, 
and right now it seems that what makes her happy is you. If you 
died right now, you would be breaking her heart and I'll be 
damned if I'm gonna sit here and watch you do it. You have to 
fight this thing. You can't let it beat you; you can't leave 
her right now before she gets the chance to prove to you that 
I'm right...that she loves you."

Maybe it was just my imagination, but I'd swear I heard his 
breath catch slightly before returning to its steady, uneven 
rhythm.

*********
SCULLY:
(The next morning)

I woke to find Mulder gone and Doggett shifting lethargically 
on the hospital bed. I was glad to see him moving around a 
little. For the last twenty-four hours he had not even opened 
his eyes. I had feared the worst. I only hoped I wasn't seeing 
a calm before the storm phenomena. 

I reached over and stroked his arm, intending to soothe him, 
and froze in shock. His arm was covered in a thin layer of 
perspiration. I moved to stand over him immediately. His entire 
body was soaked with sweat, his gown sticking to his body with 
the moisture. The oxygen mask that covered the lower half of 
his face was fogged with condensation. My hand quickly went to 
his forehead to confirm what I was seeing. His fever had 
broken. 

I closed my eyes and released the breath I hadn't realized I'd 
been holding. I wanted to cry, scream and laugh all at once 
from the intense relief I felt at knowing he would be pulling 
through. I don't think anything could have wiped my smile off 
of my face.

His eyelids twitched and he breathed out a slight moan. I 
cupped his face in my hands and spoke to him softly.

"John? Can you hear me?"

I took his slight grunt to mean 'yes'.

"Can you open your eyes for me," I pleaded.

His eyelids fluttered several times before finally opening to 
reveal a clear, but confused gaze.

"Do you remember where you are?"

His face screwed up as he tried to recall the location. He 
nodded. I didn't bother asking if he remembered what happened. 

"You've been very sick. I thought we were going to lose you for 
a while there." I paused, enjoying the moment. I stroked my 
hand through his damp hair as I finally snapped out of my 
reverie. "Let's get you cleaned up, all right?"

His only response was a slow blink. I kissed his forehead and 
took the bedpan - still filled with water - to the bathroom. I 
refilled it with warm water and located another washcloth.

I brought everything back to his side and, after an awkward 
moment, I untied his gown and pulled it down to his waist. 

I wrung out the new rag and ran it across his shoulders and 
chest. His eyelids began to droop. I grew braver, clasping his 
hand in mine, raising his arm off the bed, and drawing the 
cloth over it with my other hand. He sighed deeply and relaxed 
as I bathed him.

After I had finished, I called for a nurse and went to empty 
the bedpan. The nurse did a routine check on John and then 
brought a dry gown to change him into. I helped her put it on 
him, trying to override any emotions I felt at seeing him naked 
with my doctor's professionalism. The nurse removed the oxygen 
mask and Doggett promptly attempted to speak. I moved closer 
until my ear was mere inches from his lips in order to hear his 
weak whisper.

"Water..."

I grabbed the pitcher siting on his tray table and filled the 
accompanying cup. Then I supported his head with one hand as I 
held the water to his cracked lips. He drank slowly; as if the 
fever had so drained him that swallowing had become a chore. 

I lowered his head back onto the pillow and contented myself 
with stroking his face and petting his hair for an eternal 
minute. 

"Go back to sleep," I whispered. More than anything, he needed 
to rest. We would talk later...we needed to talk.

THE END

Stay tuned for my next installment "Frailty", which will deal 
with emotional healing and "Scully making Doggett feel like a 
man again". :)