Title: ...And It Felt Like A Kiss Author: Noelle Lundgren Rating: R Classification: VA Spoilers: Keywords: Mulder/Scully; Rape Summary: Still in the hospital, Scully reflects on what happened in the office. A follow-up to "With Or Without Consent." Disclaimer: Yes, I know... I stole them *again.* Mr. Carter, take Mulder, Scully, and Skinner home. They probably like it better with you. Note: After "With Or Without Consent," I got quite a bit of mail suggesting, or requesting, or just wondering about a "part 2." "It needs another part to it," and "don't just *leave* it there" people told me again and again. So this (along with "Like A Monster") is for: Jenny, Aileen, Kristine, Marisa, Lore, Monica, Jenny B., Michelle, Gina, Martha, and all the others who wondered about a follow-up. :-) Oh, and if you're one of those who were pissed about "With Or Without Consent," don't read this: I know you can yell, you don't need to prove it. :-) "...And It Felt Like A Kiss" by Noelle Lundgren ((My boyfriend gave me peaches My boyfriend gave me pears My boyfriend gave me fifty cents And kicked me down the stairs...)) She couldn't get comfortable. Sure, it was a hospital bed, so the odds of relaxing weren't exactly in her favor, but she couldn't find a position in which she was enough at ease to even fathom going to sleep. She was used to sleeping on her stomach, and that was the first location she tried. But she realized that lying that way, she couldn't see anyone enter the room, and her arms and legs were placed wrong to help her get up fast. That is, if she had to... ...for whatever reason. She rolled over, onto her back. Now she could see anyone come into or go out of the room, and she could quickly jump to her feet if the need to do so occurred. Despite the bathrobe, and layers of blankets over her, however, she still felt exposed, and unsheltered. Unsafe, she decided. Her whole front was easily accessible if she lay on her back. She rolled again, this time onto her side. No, she resolved right away. She couldn't see a whole side of the room. Scully sat up, and scooted herself back so that her back was up against the wall. She drew her knees into her chest, and wrapped her arms around her legs, as though she were holding a package together. There, she thought. No one can touch me. No one can hurt me. No one can...get inside. You can't sleep like this, she told herself. But she realized that she didn't care. Sleep brought dreams, and dreams would fill her brain and flood her sanity with memories of the 'office incident.' The realization of what had happened had still shocked and scared her. The word for the crime hadn't really dawned on her until after the deed had been done. Of course, she'd anticipated from the moment he'd pressed her against the wall what was going to happen, but thinking about it, and admitting to herself that, yes, it had actually happened, was still quite a shameful experience. Scully was very ashamed of herself, even though a little voice in the back of her head--the same one that told her not to eat too much butter, cream, or cheese--reminded her that none of what had happened was her fault. She couldn't help feeling partially responsible, however, and she was still embarrassed by it. Look at me, Scully thought becoming aware once more of her defensive, cornered-animal-like sitting position. You'd think I was four years old. I'm hiding from the entire world, when there's only one person who... she swallowed, realizing what it was, ...who scares me. ========== Dana Scully could recollect many times in her life when a man had raised his hand to strike her. Most of them were on cases, chasing suspects and whatnot. It was part of the job; she only knew those men by their profiles in the FBI and police files. None of them were people she'd known for four years, none were people she had even the slightest feelings for, and none of them were her friends. He's more than a friend, she instantly corrected herself. Or he had been, at any rate. He had been her partner, her teacher, her student, her friend...and now he was her... what? She couldn't find a word. Nothing that came to mind seemed to fit him. Attacker. That didn't sound at all like him. But, she reminded herself, that's what he'd done. He'd attacked her... ...and somehow, she was unable to hate him for it. Scully shut her eyes. Oh, God, she wanted to so badly. So, so badly she wanted to be able to hate him. She squeezed her eyes shut, remembering what had happened--all the gory little details--and tried so vigorously to hate him. But she couldn't. He hit me! she screamed to herself. He yelled words in my face that I never knew he was capable of saying, he hit me, and he violated me! How could she not hate him? It's not him I hate, she thought next. It's what he did to me. She hated to think that he was capable of doing what he'd done. She hated the act, she hated her injuries, she hated whatever drive or anger had caused him to do this, and she absolutely loathed admitting to herself--and soon to everyone else--that it happened. It bothered her that in a way, she was detaching him from the act; that she was almost covering for him. But what bothered her more was what she kept thinking about his reason for doing what he'd done. That fist in her face had hurt. A lot. And, she remembered, something about it felt like...a kiss. There was something about the words he'd used to assist his mission to destroy her--"You rotten cunt, I told you to shut the fuck up!"--that had the same affect on her as "I love you" might have. The idea that he'd had enough rage and drive and anger to force himself on her was incredible. If he didn't care for me, she thought, I could have never made him that angry. If he didn't love me, he wouldn't get so mad at me. And that, she concluded, was why she hadn't resisted him. It was such a relief to know that he cared that much. It had been painful, and humiliating, and it felt like the world's most passionate kiss. Scully shook her head and moaned, feeling hot tears well up in her eyes. What the hell was wrong with her? How could she be making such a grisly comparison! He hadn't raped her because he loved her! And she hadn't resisted because she was grateful! She hadn't resisted because he probably would have killed her if she had! Why was she thinking this way? Why was she looking for excuses? Why couldn't she just confess that it was what it was, and not try to analyze it. Rape wasn't about love. It was about anger, confusion, and power. And, she thought--fitting another piece into the puzzle--control. It was about anger, power, confusion, and most of all, control. Or in this instance it had been, anyway... ========== She shut her eyes. The entire building must have heard the sound made by her back coming in contact with the office wall. The sound rang in Scully's ears like thunder. He was instantly on top of her, pinning her down, holding her, yelling at her to shut up, that he'd kill her if she screamed. She started to cry. She heard the tearing of cloth as he tore at the clothing below her waist, the sharp scrape in the back of his throat as he breathed, the painful tearing sound of a zipper... And then he was in her. Scully had opened her eyes then, as pain shot up into her stomach. She felt a little sick. But she didn't see his face in front of her as she'd expected to. As though she was standing off to the side, she saw them both. He was breathing out of his mouth, through clinched teeth. She looked afraid, and she was crying. He didn't care. He just pressed harder against her, breaking her physically and mentally. When she blinked, and opened her eyes again, she could feel the wall behind her once more. Every once in a while, he would jam her harder against it. She just tried to absorb the impact, wondering how long it would be before he released her, letting her fall to the floor in a damaged, distressed, ashamed heap... ========== She started when she heard her name. Her eyes snapped open painfully fast, and met those of her boss. "Agent Scully?" Skinner asked again. She tried to push herself back farther on the hospital bed, into the wall, away from him. Something inside her told her she wasn't to trust him; that she was to run far away from him. Why am I retreating from him? she asked herself, remembering Skinner's entrance much earlier, when he'd picked her gun up off the desk and pointed it at her partner. Agent Mulder, let her go... She remembered those words very well. At the moment, she had been frightened, sure that *she* was the one in more trouble, until she realized what was going on. It had struck her as a little odd that Skinner had reacted so calmly and so quickly, especially after what he'd just walked in on. It hadn't shocked him at all? she considered, questioning the likelihood of that theory. No, she thought. There's no way something like that could just not affect someone. But Skinner never showed his emotion anyway, not to mention-- "Are you feeling all right?" he asked her, honestly concerned. Scully, her thoughts interrupted, stuttered for a moment. "I-I...I f-feel fine...I guess." ========== Skinner took a few steps away from Agent Scully's hospital bed. It was probably better for her if he kept his distance right now, Skinner decided. It was likely that she wasn't ready to trust anyone just yet... From the looks of her, no one would have been able to guess right off the bat that she'd just been the victim of a violent rape by her work partner. She looked a little more like she'd been pulled under a train. The whole side of her face had been all bandaged up, and there were random bruises on her arms, legs, and the rest of her body, which she was managing to hide pretty well with the covers and her white bathrobe. Scully was sitting on her bed with her arms pulling her knees to her chest. Skinner hadn't been able to tell when he'd walked in that she was sleeping. It just looked like she was sitting with her head down. Skinner wished he had known that she was asleep; he would have waited to come in. "Your mother has been contacted," Skinner told Scully, who was staring up at him suspiciously. "She's coming to see you." "Shit," Scully whispered, looking away from him. "Oh, shit... *She* didn't have to find out...I don't want to see her *now.* Oh, shit." She suddenly seemed to remember Skinner's presence. She looked up at him, clearing her throat. "I'm sorry, Sir." "It's all right, Agent Scully." He paused. "When you feel you're ready, I would appreciate hearing what happened. From you." She nodded. "Yessir." She suddenly got a had-to-know look on her face. "Sir," she said a little hesitantly. "Agent Mulder--" "He's disappointed and saddened me. Don't worry, Agent Scully," Skinner assured her, clearing his throat. "He'll get what he deserves." She looked down at her feet, wondering what Skinner thought Mulder deserved. Skinner would probably like to see Mulder in the electric chair for this. Of course, that probably wouldn't happen, but... "You won't have to see him for a long time," Skinner assured her. "Thank you, Sir," she whispered, still looking at her feet. ========== The End. ========== I don't know if that was the kind of "resolution" you all wanted, but that's where it ends.