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Pt. 2
*****

Mulder awoke again, just as dawn was breaking, lunging up in the bed.
His breath was coming harsh and fast, and his head throbbed for a
moment, in time with his heartbeat.  He was also sporting a fairly 
sizable hard-on. Another strange dream. He had been tormented by 
dreams all night. Dreams about he and Scully. Dreams of a sexual 
nature.  He had had sexual dreams about Scully before, fantasies 
even, but these had been different. Disturbing. Almost violent.

He brought a hand up to his eyes, rubbing at their soreness. His 
mouth had that gummy, dry taste, like the morning after an all night 
binge. Except for the fact that he couldn't remember having had 
anything to drink the night before. In fact, he could remember 
little, if anything, of the night before. His mind was fuzzy.

He kicked the covers off and realized with a start that he was naked 
except for his dress socks. What the hell?  He never slept in socks,
and rarely in the buff, he liked pajama bottoms or boxer shorts at 
the very least. This morning was getting stranger and stranger.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and they encountered a 
pile of clothing on the floor. He shook his head.  *Had* he been on a
bender?  He was a slob, that was true, always had been, but he never 
just dropped his clothes by the bed and fell into it naked. With a 
twist of his lips, he thought . He stood, his 
body as weak as a newborn kitten, feeling his head begin to throb
again.

Mulder sighed and bent to scoop up the clothes at his feet, his pants
with his jockeys still inside, and his dress shirt. He dropped the 
pants on the bed and held up the once crisp white shirt. All the 
buttons were missing, the tiny threads that remained evidence that 
they had been torn off. He tossed it on top of the pants and shook 
his head. 

A flash of pale pink on the floor caught his eye and he stepped over 
to it, bending to pick up a torn pair of silk panties. Women's 
panties. He fingered the cool silk in his hands, trying to think. 
His head throbbed violently for a minute, and he closed his eyes at 
the sensation. In his mind he saw himself on his bed, over a woman, 
tearing the panties off of her. The vision lasted only an instant, 
before he could see the woman's face. His eyes popped open, and he 
spun, whipping around to stare at his bed. 

The motion caused a flare of pain on his back, high on his shoulder 
blades. He lifted his arm and awkwardly felt along his skin. 
Scratches?  His breath came faster, and he almost ran into his 
bathroom, turning his back to peer over his shoulder into the mirror.
Long, red, angry looking scratches starting at the top of his back 
and running down about a hand's length. They looked like fingernail 
scratches. 

Jesus. What the hell had he done?

Mulder left the bathroom and moved back to the bed. He sank down 
onto it, his thoughts whirling. He could not remember anything of 
the previous night. He took a deep breath, and concentrated, 
thinking through the entire day...Greeting Scully at the office, 
indulging in their usual morning banter. A meeting with Skinner 
about expense reports. Killing time until lunch, which had been at a
local eatery just around the corner from the Hoover building. 
Killing more time after lunch as Scully had a meeting with the senior
Agent on a case she was assisting on for the VCU to discuss autopsy 
results. Reading through incident reports from crime databases, 
looking for any interesting or unusual occurrences. Joking with 
Scully as they headed to their cars at the end of the day. Fighting 
rush hour traffic. Riding up the elevator, tired beyond belief. 
Bumping into some guy getting out of the elevator. Letting himself 
in the apartment...

His head throbbed again, and he remembered feeling such pain in his 
head that he could barely move. Remembered calling Scully for help.
And that's where things went blank. 

Scully. He would call Scully. She could help him find out what 
happened.

Mulder realized he still held the silk panties balled up in his hand.
He put them down on the bed and then leaned down to peel his socks 
off before rising slowly, cautiously. His head did not throb this 
time, but a dull ache had settled in behind his eyes. He walked over
to his bureau, and opening one of the drawers, he pulled out a pair 
of track pants. He slid them on and went out into the living room. 
His portable phone was on the floor by the coffee table, and he sat 
down on his couch, reaching over to pick it up. He dialed Scully's 
number, shifting until he was sitting with his back against the 
leather. The phone rang twice in his ear before going to her 
machine. He realized he didn't even know what time it was, beyond 
being early, having seen the first rays of dawn streaking the sky. 
He waited for the beep and then said, "Scully, it's me. Call me when
you're up."  He hung up and thought that maybe a shower would help 
clear his mind, maybe get rid of his headache too.

***

After a long, hot shower, Mulder felt somewhat better. He was more 
awake and his headache had nearly dissipated. He dressed in jeans 
and a tee shirt, brushed his teeth and hair, and went into the other 
room to check his machine. No messages. He glanced at the watch he 
had strapped on while dressing, and saw that it was just shy of 7 am.
Scully had told them as they were leaving that she had no plans 
beyond relaxing at home that night, so he did not think it was too 
early to try again. Besides, she was used to him phoning her at all 
hours.

He picked up his phone and dialed her number again, pacing around the
room as he listened to the two rings followed by her voice asking him
to leave a message. He said, "Scully, it's me again. Call me." He 
hung up the phone and put it down on the coffee table. He paced back
and forth on the worn carpet, his gazed flicking from the silent 
phone to his watch to the floor he trod upon. Twice he stopped and 
peered through his blinds at the street outside, slowly getting 
busier as the morning progressed. 

With an exasperated sigh, he snatched the phone up and dialed 
Scully's number again.  She had to be up by now, he knew her. Even 
on the weekends she was usually up early, running errands, cleaning
her apartment, doing laundry.  He got her machine yet again. "Scully,
it's me. Pick up, wouldja?  It's important."  He pressed disconnect
and tossed the phone onto the couch. 

He couldn't stand to just sit here and wait, he had to move. He 
stalked over to his bedroom door, where his leather jacket hung, and
snatched it up, pulling it on roughly. He paused for a second and 
then strode into his bedroom and over to the bed. He picked up the
panties and stuffed them into his pocket. He walked back out and
towards the door, stopping to scoop up his keys and cell phone before
heading out to go to Scully's place.







Scully's Apartment
Georgetown, D.C.


Scully rolled over gingerly, shifting with a grimace as the phone 
rang yet again.  What was that, the third time in less than an hour?
She did not feel like talking to anyone, and was half-certain it was
Mulder. Who was she kidding?  Of course it was Mulder. She wondered
what he could possibly have to say to her. 'Gee, sorry, Scully, got a
little carried away last night. Forgive me?'  The thought of actually
having to talk to him right now twisted her insides, and she brought
her knees up to her stomach to curl in a little ball.

The motion woke all her aches and pains, and she let out a little
moan. She knew she wouldn't be able to go back to sleep now, so she
threw back the covers and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of
the bed. She sat still for a moment, bracing herself, and then stood.
She felt the blood rush, and was light-headed for a moment. After her
long soak last night she had covered herself in heavy flannel 
pajamas, with thick wool socks on her feet, and climbed into bed, 
foregoing dinner, her appetite non-existent. 

Not that she had gotten much sleep, she mused with a grimace. For the
longest time she had lain there in the dark, jumping at sounds, 
seeing shadows, before finally turning the lamp beside her on to its
lowest setting. Just enough to keep her imagination at bay. But 
still, every time she had shut her eyes, her mind had been assaulted
with memories from the night before.

She pushed the thoughts to a corner of her mind. She was not going
to spend the day thinking about it too. She glanced at the clock on
the night table. It was almost 7:30 am. She decided to have a quick
shower, get dressed and go out somewhere. Anywhere. To keep her self
busy so that she had no time to think.

The sudden shrill ring of her cell phone had her jumping slightly.
Her nerves were obviously jangled from the lack of sleep.

The sound seemed to be coming from the pile of clothes still on the
floor where she had dropped them last night and she moved over to 
them, eyeing them with distaste. She should just grab a garbage bag 
and throw them out. The ringing continued, and she reached down and 
picked up her jacket. The phone was in one of the pockets. She pulled
it out and held it in her hand, listening as it rang for endless 
moments. Finally, it stopped. She turned it off and placed it on her
dresser beside her gun. She stared at it for a moment, thinking. She
had forgotten all about it in her haste to get to Mulder last night,
and had not even known it was in her pocket. She shook her head. It
didn't matter now, anyway. She needed to get moving.

With that decided, she grabbed her thick, terry cloth robe from the 
end of the bed and moved into the bathroom. She readied the shower,
shed her pajamas and socks and stepped under the hot spray. She 
stood there, letting the water stream down her body, sighing with 
pleasure as it relaxed her sore, tense muscles, before reaching for
the shampoo bottle. Soon its fragrance filled the room as she washed
and rinsed her hair. A quick wash of her body and she was done.

After drying herself with her large, fluffy towel, she wrapped the 
robe around her body, tying the sash tight. She stepped closer to the
mirror over the sink and picked her brush up off the counter, to 
begin running it through the wet strands of her hair. The motion was
soothing, and somewhat hypnotic. 

There was a faint sound down the hall. She paused, blinking in 
surprise, her hand in mid-stroke. Was that a knock at the door?

The sound came again, a little louder this time. It *was* a knock.
Her heart started to beat faster, fear nearly overwhelming her. She
knew it was Mulder. Her eyes were a little wild as she stared at 
herself in the mirror. What the hell should she do?  He was fully 
capable of pounding on that door for as long as it took for her to 
open it or the landlord to come up and let him in just to stop the 
noise.

The pounding started then. Followed by his voice calling her name.

She cringed and hurried down the hall. She stopped at her door,
rising on tiptoe to peer out the spy hole. Mulder was staring 
directly at it, and said her name again.

His voice was loud, and she could hear it clearly through the wood.
"Scully, I know you're there!  Open up. I need to talk to you!"

Scully lowered herself, one hand coming up to tug the edges of her 
robe closer together, the other going out to unlock the door. She 
took a deep breath, steeling herself, her facial features composed,
and hopefully blank, before turning the knob and pulling the door 
open.

She had to step back as Mulder rushed in. Not only just to get out of
his way, but because she did not think she could handle it if he 
touched her, even if it was in passing. She saw out of the corner of
her eye that he immediately began pacing. She took a moment to shut
the door and lock it again before turning to face him. Her heart had
settled into a steady fast beat, loud in her ears. She took another
deep breath and opened her mouth to speak.

Mulder beat her to it. "Scully, something happened last night. I 
don't know what, but I think...I think it was bad."  His voice was 
lower now, and there was a hint of fear in it. He turned to her then,
and his eyes implored her to help him.

Both his tone and his words stunned her, and she stood there 
silently, mouth still open. Anger began to battle with the fear. What
kind of sick game was this? 

Something must have shown in her eyes, because he came over to her,
saying, "Scully, what is it?"  His arms lifted up as he reached to 
clasp her shoulders.

Scully stepped back quickly to avoid his hands, nearly tripping on
the edge of the rug as she did. She looked down quickly as she heard
his gasp of surprised shock. Her heart was beating triple time now,
and her breath was coming faster, harsher. Seeing his hands coming
at her had reminded her of how he had choked her in punishment for
trying to move away from him, and she had briefly felt like she was
choking again as she remembered. She had let go of her robe as she
stumbled and brought her hand back up to her throat, rubbing it as 
if to soothe the pain away.  She heard her name whispered, and looked
up to meet Mulder's stunned eyes.

***

Mulder had frozen in place as Scully backed away, his hands still 
outstretched towards her. He had seen fear flash in her eyes as he
moved to her, and stopped immediately. He lowered them to his sides
slowly and watched her, seeing her steady herself, looking down to
avoid his gaze. His eyes were drawn to her throat as her hand came
up to rub at it, and he felt a stab of pain in his heart when he saw
bruises stark on her pale flesh. He whispered her name, fear making
his voice tremble, and she looked up at him.

Her eyes met his briefly, before skittering away, flitting about, 
looking at anything but him, and he felt another stab of pain. His
head throbbed then, a reminder of why he had come. But that could 
wait, he had to find out what had happened to Scully, find out why
she was acting so strangely. He cleared his throat and spoke again,
his voice only marginally stronger. "Scully, what happened?  Are you
okay?  Do you need to go see a doctor?"

He started toward her again and watched as she backed away yet again.
He tamped down the automatic surge of anger when she did, and 
stopped, his hands coming out, palms up, in a gesture of surrender
or peace. Something was very wrong.

Strangely, his normally quick mind did not connect the unknown events
of his evening with Scully's bruises and odd reactions. Not then.

Mulder was not surprised when Scully shook her head rapidly, her eyes
huge in her face as she shifted them to meet his briefly. His partner
was a lousy patient, and hated to be sick or hurt. "Okay, Scully, no
doctor," he said, his voice calm, and hopefully soothing. "Can you 
tell me what happened then?"

Her head jerked in another negative shake. He watched as her hand
clenched the hem of her robe together at her neck, like she had been
doing when he first came in. Her other arm was clamped across her 
stomach, and her shoulders were hunched slightly. He realized she
was in a classic defensive position, as if she were shielding herself
or preparing for an attack. The other pieces clicked into place.
Shying from his touch, the anger and fear in her eyes, her alarming
behavior. Scully was waiting for an attack from...him.

Mulder's knees went weak, the blood in his veins icy cold. He 
staggered back from her, until the backs of his legs bumped the arm
of the chair. His hand came out to catch himself on the padded 
surface, and he moved around it to sink down on the cushion. The 
breath he had not been aware he was holding suddenly whooshed from
his lungs, and he saw spots before his eyes. 

His head fell forward, and he brought his hands up to cover his face.
Images assaulted his mind suddenly. Scully crouched before him, her
hands running through his hair, checking his scalp. Scully urging 
him to his feet, leading him into his bedroom. Stumbling into her, 
inhaling her wonderful smell. Grabbing her and kissing her. Pushing
her onto his bed. Tearing her clothes off. Lying on top of her, 
forcing himself on her. Hurting her...

***

Scully could hear Mulder's voice, tinny and far away, saying 
something about a doctor. Did he want her to go to the doctor?  She
panicked, shaking her head frantically, barely able to meet his gaze.
She couldn't go to a doctor, they would find out what happened. 
Everyone would know. Mulder...Mulder would get in trouble.

She heard his voice again, asking her to tell him what happened. She
shook her head once more. None of this made sense. Could he really 
not remember what he had done?

Her hand clutched her robe tightly again, feeling exposed, naked. 
With a start, she remembered that she *was* naked beneath the terry
cloth, and the thought sent a frisson of fear through her. If he got
hold of her, if he pulled at her robe, he would see that she was 
naked. What if he attacked her again? A part of her knew she was 
thinking irrationally, Mulder was not acting violent or aggressive
in the least.  In fact, he was treating her like someone who had been
traumatized. Like she was a victim.

Scully saw Mulder's face blanch, and then he stumbled back, away from
her, almost falling into the armchair. His head dropped into his 
hands and she stared at him, uncertain. She jumped slightly when a 
low, keening sound reached her ears. She sidled a little closer, 
immediately concerned, to watch in surprise as he began to rock back
and forth, his hands leaving his head to cradle his stomach.

"Mulder?" she whispered, her voice low and shaky. It was the first
time she had spoken to him. The first time she had spoken since 
crying out last night as he thrust into her. She was next to the 
chair now, hand hovering just above his shoulder, trembling slightly.

Mulder lifted his head then, turning it to the side to look at her,
and Scully instinctively stepped back, out of reach. She saw him 
flinch at her motion, and his eyes, oh God, his eyes. They looked
tortured. Swimming with pain. Her heart lurched, and she felt her 
own eyes fill with tears. She wanted to go to him so badly, to 
comfort him. To take that look out of his eyes. She forgot her fear,
the pain.

"Mulder," she said again, her voice a little stronger, but still 
husky, her throat aching with unshed tears. "Mulder, what happened?"
she asked. She moved a little closer, to crouch beside the chair, one
hand closing her robe over her bare knees, the other one reaching out
to touch his shoulder fleetingly before laying it on her lap.

She watched as his mouth worked, but no sound came out. He squeezed
his eyes shut, and one lone tear rolled down his cheek. He opened 
them, focusing intently on her face, and this time his voice could be
heard. It was hoarse and guttural, but the words were audible. 
"Scully, I...I hurt you."

Her eyes were wary as she studied him, and her next words were 
guarded, controlled. "Do you remember?"

***

Mulder 's eyes remained on her. He knew the misery was clear on his
face. "Not everything, but...enough," he replied, his voice still 
low. He looked down, no longer able to look in her eyes. To see the
concern and compassion. Concern and compassion for him, the man who
had raped her. "Scully, oh, Jesus, Scully, I raped you!"  The last 
was a tortured cry.

He rose out of the chair quickly, the suddenness of his movement 
obviously startling Scully, who fell back from her crouch beside the
chair, and scuttled backwards awkwardly, staring up at him 
wordlessly. Her eyes were wide, her face paper white.

Mulder stopped immediately, holding his hands out towards her. "Oh,
Jesus, Scully, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"  He backed away slowly, feeling
his heart hammering against his ribs, staring with such naked 
emotion. "Scully?" he asked, when she still hadn't moved. He wanted
to go to her, but was afraid of her reaction.

Finally, she blinked, and got to her feet. He could see she was 
shaking and felt his own body begin to shiver in reaction. "Scully?"
he said again, easing one foot forward slowly, keeping his hands up,
open and visible.

"I'm...okay, Mulder," she said at last. Her hand was clenched tight 
at the neck of her robe again, the other fisted tightly at her side.

He stepped closer when she did not object at his first step, and 
although her lips tightened, she did not tell him to stop. A few 
more steps and he was within an arms length.  He could easily have
stretched his hand out and touched her, but did not. The fact that 
she was letting him close to her was enough for now. "Oh, Scully," he
said softly. "I don't know what happened, what made me do...what made
me do such a horrible thing.  I still don't really remember 
everything. Just bits and pieces."

He saw her body visibly relax, and felt his own tight shoulders 
loosen as well. He watched as her hand slowly unclenched from the 
material at her throat, and smooth down her front. The other hand 
came up to meet it, and she clasped them together. He swallowed 
heavily and gestured her towards the couch. "Can we sit down?" he 
asked gently.

She nodded, one quick jerk of her head, and as she hesitated, Mulder
realized she was waiting for him to go first. So she could keep an 
eye on him, he knew. He went then, and sat down on the edge of the 
sofa, watching expectantly, hopefully. Scully followed more slowly, 
and lowered herself down onto the chair he had vacated. Far enough 
away from him that he would not be able to touch her, and where she 
could jump up and get away if he made any frightening or aggressive
moves. He hurt, watching her behave this way, but was familiar with 
the myriad reactions of a rape victim.

He waited a moment, to make sure she was not going to bolt, before
clearing his throat and beginning. "Last night, after we left work, I
was stuck in traffic, and it took a while to get home." He paused, it
was funny that he could remember these details with such clarity, 
even recalling the driver's face in the black sedan that had nearly 
sideswiped him on the way, but he could not recall the events that 
had occurred after he got home. "I was tired, and I bumped into some
guy as I got off the elevator at my floor."  He stopped again, 
picturing the scene in his head. That man had seemed familiar 
somehow. He sensed Scully shifting nervously on the chair. She was
probably wondering why he had stopped talking. "That guy, Scully, I 
feel like I should know who he is..." He rubbed one hand over his 
brow, he could feel a headache coming on. "My arm and shoulder hurt 
from bumping into the guy, and I went into my apartment, but I felt,
I don't know, antsy, maybe, restless, distracted. I checked my 
messages, looked through my mail, thought about eating but changed my
mind. I got this horrible pain in my head, and I collapsed on the 
couch. I had one thought on my mind, Scully. To call you for help."
He swallowed again, his throat was very dry, had been ever since he 
got up. He longed for a glass of cold water, but did not want to risk
upsetting Scully. "This is where I get kind of fuzzy," he continued.
"I remember hearing you come in, your hands on my head. But I felt 
far away, distant. We went into my bedroom, and I smelled your hair,
Scully, and it smelled so good."

He noticed then that he could smell it again, that unique fragrance
that was Scully. The fresh, clean scent of soap and the exotic, 
fruity mixture of her shampoo, and something more, perfume, maybe, he
did not know. He only knew that he loved that smell. And that his 
body was reacting to it.

Mulder shifted on the sofa, his hands in his lap. Scully had been 
silent through his recitation, although he had seen her eyebrow raise
when he told her about the man he had bumped into. He spoke again. 
"I kissed you...and I was...I was aroused. " He looked away then, he
could not look at her when he said this next part. His voice 
unconsciously lowered with his shame and pain at saying the words.
"I can see myself pushing you on my bed, ripping your clothes off. 
Forcing you...Oh, Jesus, Scully, I raped you!"

He sprang up again, and began pacing. He could not stay still, any 
more than he could look at her. His fists were clenched tight, the
muscles in his neck and shoulders so tense that he walked stiffly. 
He avoided going anywhere near the chair where she still sat, moving
over to stare unseeing out one of her windows.

Her voice, when it reached his ears, was very low, almost a whisper.
"Mulder," she said.

He turned slowly, uncertainly, to see that Scully had risen from the
chair and was staring at him. She was no longer so pale, and in fact,
the color was high on her cheeks. He watched as her mouth opened and
closed a couple of times. She seemed to be struggling to find her 
words.

***

Scully felt cold as she listened to Mulder's reply. Her hands were 
shaking in her lap and she squeezed them together, hoping to still
them. He didn't remember it all, but enough. Listening to his voice,
seeing that he was unable to meet her eyes, she hurt so much. For 
herself, and for Mulder.

Mulder jumped up then, startling her, and she fell back, almost on 
her rear, hands coming out and stopping the contact with the floor
just in time. She could not help it, she immediately backed away, 
using her hands and feet.  Her heart was pounding, almost painfully,
and her breath was panting in and out of her lungs.

She looked up and saw Mulder frozen in place, looking at her, the 
horror and remorse clear on his face. She heard his impassioned 
apology and felt a pang in her heart. She hadn't meant to react that
way, had thought she was calm enough to be near him. But his 
unexpected movement had scared her. And now he was hurting again.

She stood slowly, shivering with the cold, and clenched her robe shut
again with one hand. "I'm...okay, Mulder," she said. She watched as
he moved closer, and tensed slightly. He made no fast moves, and was
soon standing very close. He could have touched her easily, but did
not, and she let herself relax. This is Mulder, she told herself. But
Mulder hurt you, said another voice in her head. No, she told 
herself. Something had been wrong last night, but everything was okay
now. He wont hurt me. She released her hold at her neck, and ran her
hand down the front of her robe, smoothing the material, before 
clasping her other hand.

Mulder gestured toward the couch, asking her if they could sit, and 
she nodded. A part of her held herself back, letting him walk in 
front. Ready to flee? the voice asked. Stop it, she thought, and 
moved behind him, sitting down on the edge of the chair.

Mulder was watching her. He seemed to be waiting for her to do 
something. When she did nothing, he cleared his throat and began 
telling her about his evening, after they had left work. She shifted
uncomfortably when he stopped for a moment and then felt herself 
start, her eyebrow lifting, as he told her about the man he had 
bumped into. Something bothered her about that, but Mulder was still
speaking. She would come back to it after. She listened, and could 
barely contain the tiniest of smiles when he said her hair smelled 
good.  She wanted to tell him that his nose had tickled when he had
breathed in her hair, and had sent a shiver of pleasure through her
body, but she did not. She held silent, and then had to hold her 
breath as he talked of kissing her, and being aroused. A tingle had
shot through her body when he had pressed his erection against her
stomach, and she had been tempted, so very tempted, to push against
it in return. But she had held back, worrying that they were taking
a very big step, too soon. She could also still feel that first kiss,
slightly rough, yes, but it had been incredible, his lips warm and 
firm. Then his tongue had entered her mouth and she had nearly given
in again. The pleasure she had felt had warred with her fear at his
rough handling of her body, his hand on her bottom, sweeping up to
grab the back of her neck. She had begun to be frightened then.

Mulder's next words ripped at her soul. "...Oh, Jesus, Scully, I 
raped you!"

He burst off of the couch and began pacing. The torment in his voice
moved her to tears. She blinked them back, rising from the chair 
slowly. She had to tell him how she had felt, that it wasn't as 
terrible as he imagined. He had raped her, yes, and he had hurt her,
but they could get past this. That had to. She did not know how, but
they would. She whispered his name. "Mulder."