I wrote this last summer and I liked it then, but I've gone off it somewhat
since. If anyone has any suggestions then I'd love to hear them. My email is
.

Title: Holding On
Author: Heavenly Creature
Rating: NC17 for some nasty stuff.
Classification: SRA
Keywords: Rape. Pre-xf Scully/other slash.

Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully and siblings etc. aren't mine

I want to thank Kix, who has helped me so much with this
story - your advice was invaluable. Thank-you so much :)

This is dedicated to my best friend Renee - if it
wasn't for you, I wouldn't even be here. You keep me
going. I love you!

                      Holding On
                 By Heavenly Creature

I'm sorry.

I think I should explain.

I've never told another living soul this story before
now, so understand how difficult this is for me.

It all started that night in Lucas Wood. It was one of
the most frightening nights of my life, but also one of
the greatest; I met one of the best friends I've ever
known.

It had started off as an adventure. I had followed
Melissa into the woods where she and her friends were
camping out. She had let me stay when she discovered me
- it was too late for me to walk back on my own - but
she was pretty pissed with me, and insisted I stay away
from her and her friends.

It was dark and quiet when it happened.

The candles they had lit were long burned out, and I
could only sense that I was no longer alone, curled up
against a tree.

People were sleeping all around me, but nobody seemed to
wake when I called. Nobody was going to wake up. It was
like a dream where you try to run but your feet are like
molten wax, sinking into the floor.

"Don't move." The voice whispered, close to my face, and
I was too afraid to disobey. "Don't make a sound." A
strong hand clamped over my mouth. "Now just relax."

I felt a second hand on my leg, running up, up...
pulling on my shorts and taking my panties off with
them. I felt dizzy and sick - why was no-one else awake?

A finger probed between my legs, and I wanted to die. I
squirmed violently, desperately but pointlessly
attempting to escape. It was hopeless, and I was
starting to realise that.

"You're okay," the voice told me. Why didn't I believe
it? "Just stay still and quiet and you won't get
hurt."

The hand moved away from my mouth, and I just sat
there shaking, waiting. I heard the unmistakable noise
of a zipper, and realised that the worst I could have
feared was about to happen.

He pulled me by the legs so that I was lying closer to
him, and pushed my thighs apart. I was whimpering now,
but trying desperately to be quiet so that I wouldn't
get hurt. He'd said if I was quiet, he wouldn't hurt me.

He tore into my dry opening. I had to bite my lip to
stop myself from wailing out loud. Tears ran down my
cheeks, and the pressure of stopping the sobbing made my
head ache.

"See?. . . . ... . .You're. . .. fine.... . . ."

He thrust in and out of me mercilessly. It was so very
painful. I thought it might last forever. I thought
maybe I was condemned to a hellish life pressed up
against this tree.

And just when it seemed that there would be no hope of
escape, I opened my eyes and saw candlelight.

It was close-by - there was somebody standing there
beside us!

"Hey!" the figure said, and the guy pinning me down
stopped moving, looked up.

"Shit.. aw shit..." He pulled out of me, cursing and
fumbling. I was still too afraid to move or speak.

It was only when he had disappeared through the trees
that I curled up into a ball and wept. I felt sick and
violated - in a way, it had not yet ended. The night air
was cool against my bare legs and I felt vulnerable and
helpless, which I've always hated.

The candle was set on one of the long roots, and I felt
someone crouch beside me. "Are you okay?"

I looked up and into the eyes of the person who had
saved me. The most captivating eyes I had ever seen in
my life. The eyes of my hero.

"Thank-you," I squeaked. It was all I could manage.

"My name's Heather." She handed me my panties. "Here."
I nodded and sniffled, taking them and pulling them
back up my bloodstreaked legs with trembling hands. "Is
there anything I can do to help?" Heather asked softly.
"Do you want me to take you home?"

"Uh-huh," I snivelled. Take me anywhere. I'd rather be
anywhere than here.

Heather reached out a hand and I accepted it, feeling
finally safe - or at least a step closer to safety.

We walked along in silence. I probably shouldn't have,
but I was trying not to cry my eyes out. I've always
found it easier to show my emotions to strangers -
people who don't have any past experience of me, and may
never even see me again. But there was something inside
me that didn't want Heather to see me as hopeless.

We reached my home, and although I was dying to get into
bed and curl up forever, I was reluctant to face my
family.

I turned to Heather. "You won't tell Melissa?" I
pleaded. "Or my parents. You won't tell them?"

Heather's brow crinkled, but she nodded. "I won't tell a
soul. I don't even know Melissa all that well anyway."
She carefully placed a hand on my arm. I think she
expected me to reject it, shrug it off, but I found it
comforting. "You want me to stay with you, or do you
want to be alone?"

The thought of being alone again scared me. Even in my
warm, safe bed. I've had a million nightmares in that
bed.

"Do you mind if you stay?" I asked her, feeling foolish
and embarrassed.

She shook her head and smiled warmly.

She stayed that night and I managed to sleep. The next
days... weeks... were difficult. I stupidly didn't tell
anyone - I don't think it would have been any easier to
cope with my mother worrying and my father angry. I
couldn't handle the thought.

Having Heather was a lifeline. Without her, I really
don't know what I would have done. She was two years
older than me - about the same age as Melissa - and
when you're fourteen, things like that really make a
difference. But with Heather, it didn't. She was the
best friend I'd ever had.

She would stay the night and we wouldn't sleep, we'd be
so busy laughing and talking - she made it easier to
forget the pain I'd felt.

"I almost kissed a boy once," I told her - instantly
regretting how naive I must have sounded. I didn't know
that she had never been kissed either.

She turned over in the bed next to me, and faced me.
"Tell me about it," she said.

I smiled faintly. "It's not that interesting..."

"No come on - tell me."

My smile broadened. "It was last summer. We were
staying in my uncle's beachhouse down by the sea. He -
the boy, Peter - was staying nearby. We met on the
beach one day, and got talking, and then he walked me
home."

"But he didn't kiss you?"

I shook my head. "Bill opened the door, looking all
menacing. He was only goofing, but Peter ran off, and I
went home the next day. I never saw him again. It was
all Bill's fault. God, I hated him for that."

Heather shook her head. "At least you *have* a brother
to hate." She shifted around and lay on her back,
staring at my ceiling. "I don't have anyone."

"Well, you can hate my brothers all you want," I told
her.

"I nearly had a sister," Heather said, a deflated smile
on her face. "When I was nine, my mom was pregnant. We
were all so happy, my mom and dad and me. They were
worried I was going to be jealous of the new baby, but
I knew I wouldn't be. I couldn't wait to have someone
who would look up to me, and who I could look after."
She sighed. "But then my mom and the baby both died
when she was about seven months in."

I frowned. "I'm sorry."

She shrugged. "It was a long time ago." She gave a
small sniff. "I was so sure the baby was going to be a
girl. A little sister who could borrow my clothes and
come in and sleep in my bed when she had nightmares."
There was a pause. "After mom died, they told us the
baby was a boy. I felt as though I lost a sister as
well as a brother, and my mom."

I felt awful for her. I didn't really know what to say.
I slid an arm around her. "I could never cope with
that," I told her. "I think you're very brave."

"Well, like I said - it was a long time ago." She
snuggled closer to me and wrapped her arm around my
waist in return.

I yawned. It was early morning by this time, and I
hadn't slept in almost twenty hours. I fell asleep as
soon as I closed my eyes.

When I woke up, Heather was still sleeping beside me,
still returning my embrace. She looked pretty and
peaceful; with her blonde hair spread over the pillow
and her face uncreased by the smile she always wore,
she looked like an angel. Normally if one of my friends
was beautiful, I envied and admired them; but I didn't
feel that way towards Heather. I felt almost proud of
her. She was beautiful and she was *my* friend.

That was the first morning when my rape wasn't my
immediate thought on waking.

Summer ended, and we walked home from school together
through the crisp brown leaves, laughing at the other
girls who were trying to control their hair in the
wind. We didn't care - Heather said it made us look
like dishevelled angels when our hair was untidy

"I can't *wait* until summer," I said with a shiver.

"Yeah! We've gotta go to the beachhouse and search for
Peter!"

I giggled. "He was Canadian."

Heather shrugged. "He could still be there."

"Yeah, and you're a natural blonde." I tugged playfully
on what were genuine blonde curls, and ran off before
she could return the favour.

It felt great to be outside and running - it was so
long since I'd felt this free and happy. I slipped in
some leaves, and Heather gave me a good pummelling when
she caught up; but after fighting with Charlie and
Bill, she seemed like a pussy cat.

"I'm blonde!" she giggled, rubbing leaves into my hair.
I pulled a tongue and fought back, only to get more
dirty and wet than I already was. My mom was *not*
pleased.

I stayed over at Heather's house, the day before
Christmas Eve that same year. Her dad was great. He was
an artist, and one of the funniest people I've ever
met. He made pumpkin pie every holiday, because it was
the only dish he knew how to make - but *boy* was he
good at it! It put my Gramma's pie to shame.

Heather showed me their family album. There were pages
and pages of photographs which dated back to before she
was born.

"This is my mom," she said, pointing to one of the
photos. "She was beautiful, wasn't she?"

I nodded. "You look so much like her."

Heather smiled. "Thank-you. I think I inherited my
father's crooked looks though."

He threw us a glance from the kitchen table and
grinned. Heather grinned back.

We went through each and every page - watching her
mother grow more and more pregnant, and then holding an
angelic little baby Heather in her arms.

I giggled, watching Heather grow up as the album went
on.

"Oh! Here..." she suddenly stopped and pulled back the
plastic cover, freeing one of the photographs from the
sticky page surface. "You can have this. That's okay,
isn't it Dad? It's the same one in the frame at the top
of the stairs."

"Yeah, that's fine," he told her, and she handed me the
picture. It was Heather, aged about eight or nine,
standing proudly in their garden, with her pregnant
mother sitting on the lawn behind her, and her father
crouching nearby, smiling so broadly. "This was just
before she died," Heather told me. "It was a lovely
summer."

I took the photo and was instantly mesmirised by it.
They looked like a television family - so perfect
together, so unbelievably happy. I wondered if my
family photographs looked like that to other people.

"Thank-you," I told her, giving her a hug.

"That's okay. I want you to have it."

I didn't know if she knew that she had already given me
all the gifts I could ever wish for. She had saved me
in every possible way; the gift of my safety - and
sanity - was invaluable.

We ate dinner, and then Heather and I went out carol
singing. We were exceptionally bad.

On Christmas morning I scrambled downstairs - it was
still so exciting for me. I always loved Christmas.
We opened our presents under the tree, and I fought
with Charlie, and got in Bill and Melissa's way, and
had a great time.

I hugged my mom tightly. "Happy Christmas." I told her.

"Happy Christmas to you, too!" She kissed my cheek.
"Oooh, I haven't seen you like this for ages, Dana.
Your father and I were worried about you for a while
but I think you're okay, now. Aren't you?"

She was searching for reassurance, and so I gave it to
her. "Yes, mom. I'm fine."

"There's still one present left for you down there,
honey."

I peeked back at the tree.

"I know. It's from Heather. I'm going to open it in my
room."

My mom nodded and I ran off to get the gift. "Come
downstairs when your grandparents get here!" she called
after me.

"Yeah!" I shut my bedroom door and scrambled to my bed.

I unwrapped my present slowly and carefully, trying not
to tear the wrapping. I was *dying* to see what she had
given me, but I was enjoying the anticipation too much
to hurry myself.

I peeled back the paper and pulled out the box which
was inside.

It had my name written on the top in Heather's perfect
handwriting. It made me smile just seeing her writing.
I opened the box, and found inside, cushioned in
polystyrene beads, a tall snowglobe.

I read the note attached -

'Dad helped me make this.
It's you and me! (in case that wasn't obvious)
All my love,
Heather.'

I smiled and shook the globe. Tiny crystals fell all
around the two figurines - two girls holding hands. One
short with red hair, the other taller, with blonde
curls.

I phoned Heather immediately. "Omigod.. I can't believe
you MADE that! I love it!"

"Well, my dad helped," she said modestly.

"I don't care! I think it's fantastic. Did you open my
gift?"

"Oh yes! Yes I did! Oh, Dana it's wonderful!!!" I had
bought her a journal - the most beautiful and expensive
I could find. "I'll write in it *every day*," she
promised.

"Listen, Heather, can I come around later? I have to
stay while my family visit, but I'll be free by six
o'clock."

"That'd be great! Dad made pie."

"I can't wait."

"See you later, then!"

"Sure. Bye now!"

I hung up the phone, and waited impatiently through
meetings with my grandparents until my mom finally told
me I could go.

I slumped back on to Heather's bed. "I *loooove*
Christmas," I said.

"Yeah, me too."

"I can't believe how fast the year's gone."

"Mmm, I know." She slumped down beside me.

"I really love the snowglobe, y'know."

"I love my journal."

"I'm glad. Can I play with your hair?"

"Sure." She slid off the bed and I started to comb her
soft curls with her ebony hairbrush. I loved the way her
hair smelt. I mean, it was just a popular brand of
shampoo, but on her it smelt different. "My dad said you
can stay here tonight, if you like."

"I'd love to." I scooped her hair up into a high pony
tail. "I can borrow pajamas, right?"

"Of course."

I loved borrowing her clothes. None of them fit me, of
course, but it made me think of the sister she never
had, and I felt that, in my own way, I was helping her
as much as she helped me.

I had realised a long time ago that the moment she
saved me, she had become my guardian angel.

I had to love her and she had to love me, because we
were the only people who could keep each other sane. We
were the only people who could keep each other holding
on.

We stayed awake almost all night. A lot of the time, we
weren't talking, just looking at the Christmas candles
and decorations which hung all around Heather's room.

I started to cry. This happened a lot when I was on my
own in bed. I would think about that night in Lucas Wood
and I'd feel so empty and hurt, and even though I knew I
had been stronger than I needed to be, I felt bad about
letting it out.

Heather stroked my hair, gently. She knew why I was
crying, and I knew she knew. "It is okay to cry, Dana,"
she whispered softly.

I didn't know what to say to her. I wanted to tell her
how much she had helped, and that I was glad she was my
friend, and a million other things which were suddenly
rushing through my head in a burst of pain and bright
light. The words wouldn't come.

"I just wish I could have helped you sooner. I keep
tormenting myself - telling myself I should have heard
you... helped you..."

I thought I would die. "If you hadn't been there I would
have had a total *breakdown*. Please don't ever think
badly of yourself on that night." I buried my head in
her shoulder and wished I was somebody else.

"Wouldn't it be wonderful," Heather said, "if we were
both different people."

I was too tired and upset to point out the strange
coincidence.

"Just to be somewhere else..." She sighed.

"I know," I squeaked, muffled against her neck.

"Oh, please don't cry, Dana."

She held me so tightly, I couldn't return her embrace
hard enough. I never wanted to let go, and that was the
moment that I realised.

Heather was not only my guardian angel, my best friend,
my sister - she was my everything.

I didn't just love her.

I was hopelessly, helplessy, deeply in love with her.

I cried myself to sleep in her arms that Christmas
night.

Winter ended, and spring began late. I had lived with my
secret for nearly five months when Heather's seventeenth
birthday came around.

I bought her a gold chain with a cross, like the one I
had received on my birthday a few months previously.

It had surprised me to learn that our friendship had not
much changed - we were as close as we ever been, and not
as uncomfortable as I had feared.

Nothing mattered to me any more, except her. It didn't
bother me that she wasn't in love with me, because I
just loved being in her company so much. I was her best
friend every bit as much as she was mine.

The best times were the nights.

Heather's father worked in his basement until the early
hours of the morning, and we used to light her candles
and have seances under her windchimes. It was all
ridiculous, we knew; but deep down we felt that as long
as we remained children, we were safer from pain.

Adults face pain and worry every day; the death of a
loved one, or a man following them down a dark alley -
if we stayed indoors and played like babies, we were
partly shielded from that.

When our games had finished, we climbed into her bed and
talked until we slept. That was the grown-up part. It's
okay to be grown-up when you're safe in bed. And of
course, I just loved the proximity. I loved knowing she
was *mine*.

"Heather?" I said lazily, my eyes drooping closed.

"Mmmm?" she yawned.

"Never mind." I just liked saying her name.

Her fingers grasped the thin gold pendant around my
neck, smoothing the cross with warm fingers. "You're an
airhead," she told me affectionately.

"I know." I would have agreed if she'd told me she was
the pope.

I could have reached up and kissed her so easily, if I
thought there was a snowball's chance in hell that she
wouldn't reject me. I *could* have kissed her, but she
beat me to it.

I was so shocked I didn't know what to do. This was
Heather. This was *my* Heather kissing *me*.

Virgin lips taste so sweet, pressed gently together for
the first time.

She sucked softly on my bottom lip, grazing it ever so
gently with her teeth. *My* Heather, I thought. Her
fingers loosened their grip on my necklace, and she
pressed her palm flat against my sternum, her thumb and
first finger making a 'v' at the base of my neck.

Her hand moved to cup my barely-grown breasts - I so
innocently mirrored her action, and deepened the kiss. I
was so sexually innocent then, despite everything I had
been through. I just knew that if I felt so happy when
she touched me, then she must feel the same.

It was all so insane, so unexpected. So grown-up. It was
both frightening and wonderful, bizarre and exciting.

I moved from her mouth and kissed her jaw, her throat.
I loved the softness of her skin. My arms slid to the
more familiar territory of her waist, and settled to
nestle my head under her chin.

"I love you," she softly whispered, pressing her cheek
against my head.

"Mmm. You too." I was falling asleep, despite the
growing excitement.

"See you in the morning."

"Yeah." My eyes slid closed and I was asleep.

"And now Heather is back?" Mulder scratched his jaw
thoughtfully.

Scully nodded. "I haven't seen her since the end of '79.
November, I think it was. Her father died and she moved
away."

Mulder looked at the floor, and Scully sighed. "I just
thought I should explain." She smiled. "I didn't want
you to think it was about you." She stood, finding her
purse.

He had moved to kiss her. She was looking at the floor
now, but she could still see the expression on his face
as it moved closer and closer to her own.

If it had been yesterday, there would have been no
guilt. But now Heather was back and there was nothing
she could do to control herself. She had to do what her
heart told her.

"I understand," he said shakily, rising and hugging her
tight. "Good luck." He paused a second before gingerly
kissing her cheek.

"Thank-you Mulder." And she left, mentally preparing
herself for a reunion with a dishevelled angel.

deborah_rooster@hotmail.com

There's a sequel in the working, if you want to read it.
Let me know!

.

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