~~~
The Darkest Hour
by agent myers
~~~
 
 
 
 
 

John Doggett pulled up next to the curb and put the
truck in park.  He turned to Monica, his partner and
date for the night.

"Thanks for dinner, John." Monica said with a soft
smile.  John returned the smile.

"No problem.  Maybe we'll do it again."

Monica nodded.  "Sounds great."

They sat in silence for the moment, and Monica almost
asked him if he had any plans for the weekend.  But
she remembered that they'd had that conversation
before, and what followed hadn't been an enjoyable
weekend...for either of them.

John had been nervous about asking Monica out, so he
nonchalantly asked her to 'get some food.'  But he'd
taken her to a nice Italian place, bought a good
bottle of wine, and paid for the entire meal.  He
wondered just how much longer he could keep hiding his
true feelings about his partner.  He'd already decided
that he wasn't bold enough to just come out and say
it.  He would never find the words and he'd end up
looking like a stuttering idiot.  So, he decided to
wait for the right moment, and just kiss her.  One
kiss would say it all, or at least get the ball
rolling.  After that, if she felt the same way,
telling her what was on his mind wouldn't be a
problem.

The possibility had occurred to him that she might
reject him when he tried to kiss her, or worse yet,
she'd allow him to kiss her, and then tell him that
she 'doesn't think of him that way.'  He'd even had
nightmares about it.  But his ability to judge people
was pretty decent - he thought anyway - and he had a
feeling that her affection for him matched what he
felt for her.

But he didn't think that tonight would be the night to
find out.

"Well..." Monica said, smiling.  "Guess I better get
going."  She opened the truck's passenger door.

"Uh, Monica-" John began.  She stopped and looked at
him.  "I was thinkin' about catchin' a movie tomorrow.
 But...don't really wanna go by myself."  He paused
and smiled.  "Go with me?"

Monica beamed at him.  "Sure, John.  That sounds fun."

John grinned.  "Great."  Monica hopped out of the
truck and said:

"See you tomorrow night?"

John nodded.  "Yeah."

And with that, she shut the door, and walked up to her
building's front door.  John made sure she got in
okay, and then drove away.  His smile quickly dropped
off.

"Stupid!" he yelled at no one.

He slammed his fist against the steering wheel.  At
this rate, he'd never tell her how he felt.  He'd
never get enough balls to kiss her.  And then what?
She's a beautiful girl, she'll meet someone, John
thought.  And she'll rattle on and on about what a
good 'friend' you are.

He sighed loudly as he merged onto the highway.
 

***

Monica kicked off her shoes beside her front door.
She locked the door behind her, and spotted her gun
belt hanging on the coat rack.  She picked it up.  She
had a lock box for her weapon, and had used it
religiously until she'd come to D.C.  Now, she'd
gotten into the habit of taking it to the bedroom with
her, so it would be handy when she got dressed in the
morning.  Sometimes, she would just leave it hanging
wherever she got the urge to take it off.  Now where
was that box?

Nevermind.  She sighed and laid it down on the table
and went into the bedroom.  She stripped her clothes
off and piled them up in an empty laundry basket, and
slipped on a plain white t-shirt.  She slept in the
buff in the summer time, but she liked a little
covering when it was chilly outside.

After answering the call of nature, Monica washed her
face and thought about John.  Was she wrong in
thinking that he had feelings for her?  Had she
misjudged him?  He was so confusing when it came to
this love business.  Actually, Monica thought, it's
kind of sweet.  But at the same time she just wished
that he'd come out with it.

Maybe he doesn't want you like that, Monica thought to
herself.  Maybe it's just a friendship and nothing
more, and that's why he hasn't said - or done -
anything about it.

Monica sighed and decided to sleep on it.  They were
going out again tomorrow night, which would make four
nights in the past two weeks.  At least when she went
out with him, she could pretend they were an item to
other people, Monica thought smiling.  She turned off
her bathroom light and headed for the bedroom.  She
got into bed and switched off the lamp.

Her last conscious thoughts were of her partner's blue
eyes.
 

***
 

Monica awoke.  She didn't get up, nor did she even
open her eyes.  But she lay there, and tried to
remember what exactly had awoken her.  She lay still
in the darkness of her bedroom.

After several minutes, she hadn't heard anything.  She
turned onto her back.

And that was when she began to feel uneasy.  Her
stomach ached, and she had a dreadful feeling
suddenly, like the way you feel when you wake from a
bad nightmare.  But she hadn't been dreaming.  She had
barely been asleep.  Her eyes opened slowly.

A man was standing next to her bed.

Monica gasped and struggled to get away.  But the
blankets restricted her, and at once the man leapt
onto her, and pressed the barrel of a gun into her
forehead.  Fear seized her body, and her limbs
suddenly felt like lead.  She stared at the figure
that was holding her down with wide, fearful eyes.

"Don't make a sound." His voice said, in a flat,
merciless tone.  She did as he said, if only for the
sheer fact that there was a gun pressed against her
head.

The gun, she now realized, was hers.

The man watched her for a moment that was too long.
What does he want? Monica thought.  She memorized his
appearance.  About 6'8", medium build.  Black jeans,
black long-sleeve shirt, black ski mask.  His hair was
dark brown, she thought.  His hands were covered with
gloves.

Suddenly, he threw the covers off Monica's body.
Monica felt the terror come over her in great waves as
she realized his intent.

He grabbed her wrists and held them above her.  On
instinct, she resisted, and she felt the back of his
hand against her cheek.  The gun pressed harder.  Her
cheek stung.

"Don't fight me, bitch, or you'll die.  I
promise...you'll die."  His tone was full of hatred.

She froze.  He held her arms above her head, and this
time she did not fight him.  She felt sick to her
stomach as he ripped at her panties and pulled up her
t-shirt.  His gloved hands roamed over her body,
softly at first, and then roughly.  It felt like an
eternity.  Maybe he only planned on assaulting
her...maybe he wouldn't go any farther.

She was not so lucky.  She watched in horror as he
grabbed at his own jeans.  She looked away, but
couldn't ignore the sound of his zipper, or the sound
of his labored breath.

Tears streamed down her face.  "Please, don't do
this!" she begged.  He hit her again, and this time
she tasted blood.  She whimpered.

"I said SHUT UP!"

And then he forced her legs apart, and crawled between
them.  She could feel his erect penis touching her
leg.  But before he went any further, he stopped, and
pulled something out of his pocket.  A condom.  He
ripped the package open with his teeth, and slid the
condom on with one hand.

He entered her without warning, and without mercy.  He
felt like a knife blade ripping into her body.  She
cried out as he forced his way in, thrusting against
her.

'I'm being raped.' Monica realized, and tears flooded
her eyes, making her field of vision blurry and
distorted.

After more than a minute of this, she went numb.  The
only sensation she could feel was his hips as they
crashed into her.  There would be bruises there, on
her bottom and between her legs, and also on her
wrists.  She was terrified beyond any of her worst
nightmares, and she could do nothing.

Her head fell to the side and she looked away.  She
wanted to leave her body, to go within her own mind
and hide there until this was over.  She tried to
think about other things.  Little baby William, John,
her parents back in Mexico City...but it was useless.
She was painfully aware and alert.  She cried as he
slammed into her, over and over.  And suddenly, she
felt nothing but rage.  She hated this man.  This man
that was hurting her.  She wanted to kill him.  In a
split second, she decided that she would stop this.
She had to stop him.

He was unprepared for the moment when Monica ripped
one of her hands free.  She clawed at the gun, and
managed to move it away from her head.  She brought
one leg up and forced him to withdraw from her.  He
growled at her as they struggled with the gun.  He
squeezed the trigger, and Monica moved her head out of
the way just in time to feel the gun fire into the
pillow.

The sound was muffled by the pillow, but still loud.
Monica's left ear rang from the deafening sound, but
it wouldn't be permanent.  Her attacker jumped off of
her, apparently afraid that someone had heard the
shot.  He pulled his pants up as he fled the room,
taking the gun with him.

Monica heard the door shut.

He was gone.

It was over.

Her mind and her body were frozen.  She lay still,
just breathing, for nearly ten minutes after she had
heard her door shut.  Tears flooded her eyes and her
mind reeled with the images that she knew would be
forever embedded in her mind.

She cried softly as shock turned to panic.

'My God.' she thought.  'I've just been raped.'

Then, the possibility that he might come back struck
her.  Panic became terror.  She slowly got up from the
bed, and there wasn't a part of her that didn't hurt.
She shook like a leaf.  She sobbed in the darkness as
she looked at her bed.  There was a bullet hole in her
pillow.  Suddenly she was afraid of the dark, and she
switched on her bedroom lamp.

She went cautiously into the living room.  Although no
one seemed to be there, she looked around as though
someone might jump from the shadows at any moment to
attack her again.  She switched on the living room
lamp, then the overhead light.  Then the kitchen.
Then the bathroom.  She ran frantically to every room
in her apartment, and turned on every light.

'What do I do?' she thought, as tears poured from her
eyes, as her lip throbbed and her wrists ached.  She
needed help.  And there was only one person she could
call.

John.

She found her cell phone on the kitchen table.  Her
hands trembled as she dialed the numbers she knew by
heart.  But, just as she was about to press the 'send'
button, she stopped.  How could she let John see her
like this?  She was afraid and she was hysterical.
She couldn't think straight.  She swallowed and found
her mouth very dry.  Then she pressed the 'send'
button.  It began to ring.

"Hello?"  said John's sleepy voice.

There was a pause before Monica responded.

"John...?"

Several miles away, John sat up in bed.

"Monica?"

She choked back her tears.  "Yeah.  It's me." she said
in a tiny voice.  John knew immediately that something
was wrong.

"Are you okay, Monica?  What is it?"

She shook her head, but he couldn't see it.  He could
only hear her choppy breath, and her crying.

"John..." she paused again.  Her voice was a small and
frightened whimper.  "Someone broke in."

John's breath left him.  "Oh, Christ, Monica...are you
okay?"

She didn't say.  She didn't want to tell him what that
man had done to her.

"C-Could you just...come over here?"

Now it was John's turn to panic.

"Yeah, of course Monica.  I'll be there as fast as I
can."

Monica nodded again.  "Okay...okay."  And she hung up
the phone, just as she burst into tears.  Miles away,
John stared at his phone.  Then he threw the covers
off, and began groping around for clothing.  He left
his house less than two minutes later.
 

***
 

When John pulled in front of Monica's building, the
first thing he noticed was her lights.  Every single
light was on.  Her third floor apartment stood like a
beacon in the quiet, dark neighborhood.

He practically sprinted up the stairs, ignoring the
ancient elevator altogether.

His mind reeled with questions, and he couldn't stop
thinking about all the possible things that could have
happened.  He didn't want to think about those
possibilities, because none of them were good.  He
concentrated on finding her apartment.  He knocked on
her door.

When no one answered, he knocked again.  Nothing.

"Monica?"

Hearing nothing, he became frantic.  He grabbed his
keys out of his pocket and found the one with the 'M'
written on it in permanent marker.  He had come by the
key when Monica had been in the hospital.  He unlocked
the door, and pushed it open.

"Monica?" He called again.  He drew his weapon.

"Back here." said a tiny voice.  He holstered his gun,
and followed the voice to the hallway.

Monica sat on the floor, slumped against the wall.
Her legs were curled up around her.  She was wearing a
plain white t-shirt.  When she looked up at him, he
saw that there were cuts on her face.  Her nose was
bloody, there was a cut above her eye, and her cheeks
were red, the early stage of bruising.  His mouth
dropped open and his heart felt as if it stopped.  He
went and crouched next to her.

"God, Monica...what happened?"

She pulled her legs closer to her.  New tears began to
pour out of her eyes, and then she started to sob.

"A man broke in.  I was sleeping.  He had a gun." she
said.  "He...he raped me, John."

John's heart broke into a million pieces.  He couldn't
breathe for a moment.  He hadn't even considered the
possibility on his way over, because he just hadn't
wanted to.

"Oh...my God." He said.  He looked up at her.  Her lip
trembled.  She bowed her head in what seemed like
shame.

"I...I couldn't stop him..."

John shook his head.  No...she wasn't going to feel
responsible for this.  He opened his arms up, and
reached for her.  He was surprised when she went rigid
and pulled away.

Jesus.  She was afraid of *him*.

He stared in disbelief.  She looked up into his eyes.
"I...I just can't let anyone touch me right now."

He wanted so badly to comfort her.  He wanted to wrap
her up in his arms and make it all go away...except he
knew nothing could.  He ached to hold her though, and
to try and make her feel safe.  It was as much for her
benefit as it was for his.  Her pain was his pain.

She continued to cry, holding her hand against her
mouth.  She wanted to go to John, to let his
comforting arms enfold her, to dull the ache.  But if
anyone touched her right now, she felt that she would
go into hysterics.  She replayed the last thirty
minutes in her head.  She couldn't believe what had
happened.  She was an FBI agent, for Christ's sake.
She had handled plenty of men that were larger, more
dangerous than her attacker...why couldn't she stop
him from raping her?

She hugged her arms around her body to fend off the
cold shivers.  She felt dirty.  It felt like she could
never be clean again.

"I...have to take a shower." Monica said.

John sighed and looked at Monica sympathetically.  "I
know you want to, Monica.  But I can't let you.  You
have to let me take you to the Police station."

She looked up at him, ready to argue, but she realized
he was right.  The man who did this to her would never
be caught if she didn't file a report and begin the
investigation.  She nodded numbly and wiped some of
the blood away from her nose.  She felt so ashamed to
have John see her this way, and to let anyone else see
her like this would be mortifying.  She slowly got up
off the floor, and felt her bruised areas throb with
pain.

"Is this what you were wearing?"

She nodded.

"Would you like to put on some jeans or something?"

She nodded again.  "I'll get them for you." he said,
looking towards the bedroom.  He knew that's where the
rape must have occurred.  He went into the bedroom,
and felt his stomach turn when he looked at the bed.
There was an indention in the sheets where he must
have held her down.  There was blood from her nose on
the pillow.  And then John saw the condom wrapper and
felt even sicker.

'At least she was protected.' he thought to himself,
even though he had probably used the condom to avoid
having his identity discovered rather than to protect
Monica.  And then something else caught his eye.  The
pillow.  There was a hole in it, which could only be
made by a bullet, because the edges of the hole were
black.

Anger filled him.  He wished like hell that he could
have this man alone.  He would hurt him as he had hurt
Monica, and then he'd probably put a bullet in him.
Lord knows that, if he was to be caught and sent to
jail, he could be out in a matter of years.  All it
takes is good behavior and a convincing speech to the
parole board.

He swallowed hard and went back to his task.

He opened her closet and found a pair of blue jeans
first, but then decided to get a pair of loose-fitting
running pants.  Probably more comfortable for her, he
thought.  At the last minute, he decided to grab
several outfits.  He took t-shirts, sweatpants, jeans
and a sweatshirt.  Then he went to her chest of
drawers.  He felt a little awkward, but he grabbed
pairs of underwear that she would probably find
comfortable.  He ignored the little thongs and
g-strings.  He took several pairs of socks too.  He
folded everything into a nice pile, and took it to the
kitchen and found a paper bag to put it all in.  He
planned on taking her to his house.  He found it
inconceivable that she would want to come back to this
apartment after what had happened.

Monica sat like a zombie at the kitchen table.  She
stared at the floor.  Again, John felt that pang of
restlessness that ached to reach out to her.  But he
knew that she would come to him when she was ready.
With a forced smile, he handed her the running pants
and a pair of socks.  She muttered a small 'thank you'
and took them.  She slipped them on.

"Anything else you need?" he asked.

She nodded.  "I need my running shoes.  And, if you
wouldn't mind...my bra." she said sheepishly.

He would have blushed if the situation had not been so
grim.  But now all he felt was a duty.  He went off to
the bedroom again and found her shoes.  And then he
opened her drawers until he found where she kept her
lingerie.  He was a bit startled to find that she
owned lots of it, things that went beyond just a
simple bra.  When he realized his mind was going off
in the wrong direction, he cut off those thoughts
completely.  He found lacy bras, more practical ones,
and then a black sport-type Nike bra that looked as
though it had been worn a lot more than the others.

"The black Nike one, Monica?"

"Yes, please."

He grabbed it up and went back out to the living room.
 Monica was at the table still, but she was crying
again.  Grief hit John's chest like a hammer.  He
knelt down beside her.

"What can I do?" He asked her.  He felt his emotions
starting to come through, and he knew he would start
to cry to if he had to watch her for one more second
without holding her.  It broke his heart.

"I don't know, John."  She looked down at her knees
again.

"If you want to talk, I'll listen."

She nodded, but didn't say anything.  She just wasn't
ready.

"Here." he said softly, and handed her the bra.  She
slipped her arms inside her shirt and put the bra on
with incredible ease.  Then she took the shoes, and
slipped her feet into them.  John tied them for her.
She smiled slightly.

"Thanks."

He shrugged.

"I'm ready."

He nodded.  "Okay.  We should probably take your purse
along...or do you even have one?"  He asked, looking
around.

"I have one, but all my identification is in with my
badge.  It's over there, on the kitchen counter."
John went over and picked it up, and slipped it into
his back pocket.

"What about your gun?"

Monica swallowed hard and felt the tears come again.

"He has it," she said softly.  "He used my gun."

John bit his lip and tucked her bag of clothes under
her arm.  He walked back over to her and held his hand
out.  "Let's go.  Let's get this done with so you can
get some rest."

She looked up at him, and then down at his
outstretched hand.  Reluctantly, she took it and stood
up.  He led her to the door, and helped her with her
jacket.  They left together without a word.

The drive over was completely silent.  Monica stared
blankly out of the window, and John fixed his eyes on
the road ahead.  He went over the night's events in
his mind.  Their 'date' had been enjoyable.  He took
her home.  It all seemed like so long ago now.  He
wanted to tell her how he felt about her then.  He
wanted to show her by kissing her.  But he hadn't, and
she had gone to her apartment alone.  If he had told
her, then maybe they would have spent the night
together.  And then the rape would never have
happened.  It was all his fault.  He was to blame.

Was that why she wasn't talking to him?  Was that why
she avoided his touch?  Because she blamed him?
Knowing Monica, though, she wouldn't blame him.  But
it didn't matter because he blamed himself.

They pulled into the parking lot of the police
station.  She didn't move when he turned off the car.
She just kept staring out of the window.  He got out
of the car and went around to open her door.  Monica
felt as if she was in a fog, and any attempt to break
out of it would only make her think about the rape.

The next few hours were unpleasant for Monica.

John spoke in quiet tones to the officers and told
them what had happened.  One of the officers asked
Monica to come with him, so he could take her
statement about the incident.

"Are you her husband?" the officer asked.

He hesitated.  "No...but..."

The officer smiled.  "You can wait for your friend
over there in the waiting room, then."

He was about to argue, but didn't.  They led Monica
away, talking softly to her.  She glanced at John as
they led her into a bright room.
 

***
 

"I know this is difficult for you, but we need to have
some information from you to begin our case.  The more
information you give us, the easier it is to catch
these criminals."  The female officer said with a
smile.

Monica nodded.

"Okay.  Let's begin with your full name."

Monica swallowed.  "Monica Luina Reyes."  The officer
wrote it down and then went on to ask her what her age
was, where she was born, her parents names, her
current address, her social security number and other
pertinent information.

"Place of employment?"

Monica sighed.  "Federal Bureau of Investigation."

The officer looked up and seemed surprised.  "And your
position there?"

"Special Agent."

The officer stared at her for a moment.  "Wow.  That's
impressive."

Monica shrugged.  All that training, Monica thought,
and it didn't help me prevent a man from raping me.
Even though she was wrong, she felt that's what the
officer was implying.  She was embarrassed.

"Okay, Ms. Reyes...let's talk about what happened
tonight.  Give me as much information as you can."

Monica took a deep breath and looked down at her
hands.

"I was sleeping.  I guess a noise woke me up, but I
didn't think much of it.  When I opened my eyes, there
was a man standing next to my bed.  I tried to get
away, but he...jumped on me and held me down."

The officer nodded, and made notes.

"What can you tell me about the man who did this?"

"He was dressed all in black.  His face was covered by
one of those cloth ski masks.  I couldn't see anything
but his eyes, and I couldn't make out a color.  His
hands were covered by gloves."

The officer jotted down the information.  "Did he say
anything to you?"

She nodded.  "He told me not to make a sound, and that
if I fought him, he'd kill me."

"He had a weapon?"

"Yes, a gun.  It...it was my gun.  I left it on my
dining room table when I went to bed.  I should have
put it away, but I was too tired.  I don't know how he
knew that I would have a gun...maybe he had another
weapon with him but decided to use my gun when he saw
it...I don't know." Monica said, rubbing her eyes.
"He took it with him when he left." she added.

The officer nodded her head again, and turned the page
in her notebook.  "Alright, Ms. Reyes.  I'll need to
ask you some questions about the rape...they might be
difficult to answer, but I urge you to give me as much
information as possible so that we can catch this guy.
 Okay?"

Monica nodded.

"Was there actual penetration?  Did his penis go
inside you?"

"Yes." Monica answered.

"Did he ejaculate?"

Tears formed in Monica's eyes again, as she relived
the experience.  "I...I don't think so.  He was
wearing a condom."

"He wore a condom?"

"Yes."

The officer nodded.  "Well, that's good news...that
means that you won't have to worry about disease or
pregnancy."

Monica shrugged.  "He only used a condom so that it
would make it harder to find him."

The officer nodded.  "Yes, that's true, but at least
it's one less thing that you have to deal with." she
said.  "It's sounding more and more like this attack
was planned, Ms. Reyes."

"I know." Monica said.  "I know there's not much to go
on, either."

The officer sighed and placed her hand over Monica's
hand.  "We'll do everything possible."

Monica looked up into the eyes of the female officer.
Her sympathetic eyes made Monica feel better, if only
a little bit.  She smiled, despite all of the pain she
felt.

"Okay...can you tell me what caused the attacker to
run away?"

Monica nodded.  "I got pissed, basically.  I just
couldn't let him keep getting off on hurting me.  I
was ready to die to stop him."  She paused.  "I got
one hand free and moved the gun away from my face.
Then I somehow got one of my legs out from underneath
him so I could shove him away, forcing him to
withdraw.  Then the gun went off -  I don't know if he
was trying to shoot me or it was an accident - but he
must have got worried that someone heard the shot and
would call the police.  He ran out."

The officer was nodding again.  "You're very brave,
Monica."

"Thanks," Monica said, "but I think I was just crazy.
A couple inches to the left and I wouldn't be sitting
here."

The officer jotted down some more information, and
then looked back up at Monica.

"One more thing...do you know how he gained access to
your apartment?  Did you have the doors locked?"

Monica nodded.  "Yes, the doors were locked.  I know
he didn't come in through a window or anything.  He
must have come through the door, but I'm not sure
how."

The officer wrote this down.

"Okay, Monica.  I think that about does it.  What
we're going to do now is take your clothing for
evidence and see if we can gather any information from
them.  We're going to have some people in your
apartment to investigate the scene.  Is there someone
you can stay with tonight?"

"Yes...my partner, John."

"Okay, good.  We're going to send you down to the
hospital to make sure you don't have any injuries, and
we'll have a gynecologist check you out and take some
samples, just to make sure that we don't miss
anything."

"Okay."
 

***
 

Two hours later, Monica and John left the hospital.
John had been going crazy waiting for her.  As they
drove back to John's house in Falls Church, Monica
didn't have much to say.  It was nearly five a.m.  The
sun was beginning to show itself on the horizon, and
birds began their cheerful chirping.

John helped Monica into the house.

"Want some tea?" John asked, knowing that Monica
wasn't much of a coffee drinker.

Monica shook her head.  "Water would be great,
though."

John went off to the kitchen and filled a glass of
water while Monica waited on the couch.  She was
exhausted, but she dreaded going to sleep, if she even
could sleep.  There wasn't one thing that she couldn't
associate with the attack.  Everything made her think
of the terrible experience.  It was one of those times
in life that she wished she could just push the
fast-forward button and get through it.

John came back with the water and handed it to her.
She smiled.

"Thanks, John.  Thanks for taking care of me tonight."

"It's nothing."

Monica drank some of the water and set the glass down
on the coffee table.

"Could I take a shower?"

He'd nearly forgotten.  "Yeah...sure.  You can use the
big bathroom.  It's a lot cleaner than mine...trust
me.  You can sleep in my room, if you want, or you can
sleep in Luke's room.  It's, uh...still got a lot of
his things in there, but I've kind of converted it
into a guest room." John said, hoping that she
wouldn't think that he was implying that they sleep in
the same bed...although he would like it that way.

Monica nodded.  "Luke's room would be fine.  I know
that nothing's really going to get my mind off what
happened tonight, but I know that I couldn't have
slept in my own bed.  I don't know how I'll ever go
back there.  I guess I'll have to move or something."

"Don't think about that now." John said.  "We'll work
it out together.  You're free to stay here as long as
you want.  I like having you here anyway.  Makes *me*
feel better."

Monica smiled, and so did John.  Then he showed her to
Luke's old room, and the bathroom.  He gave her fresh
towels, and even found some shampoos and things that
were better suited for women than his cheap
one-size-fits-all bottle of shampoo.

When she went into the bathroom, John said, "Just call
me if you need anything."  And he had meant it.  When
he heard the water running, he went into the guest
room and placed some of her clothes on the bed.  He
turned the heat up just slightly so that it would be
warm enough, and went to his own bedroom to lie down
while she took a shower.

His heart ached for her.  He had no experience that he
could compare with hers, but he could imagine what it
must be like.  He'd never worked many rape cases in
his time with NYPD, so he didn't have much to offer
her.  He would just have to be there for her.  After
all, he did love her, and he considered himself to
blame for her attack, albeit indirectly.  In all
fairness, he couldn't have foreseen that it would have
happened, but he didn't think that he'd ever forgive
himself for not telling her the truth when he had the
chance.  He could have told her everything, and even
if she rejected him, at least she would know.

Now that was all gone.  He couldn't tell her he was in
love with her now.  She had too many other things to
deal with, too many emotional demons to face.  It
would probably take years for her to feel secure
enough to want a romantic relationship, and maybe even
longer to feel comfortable in an intimate
relationship.  And chances were good that she never
would be right again sexually.  He felt bad, but not
for himself.  Only for her.  The thought that she
might never be able to have sex again without thinking
of that *bastard* made him ill.

John sighed and closed his eyes.  He knew she'd be in
the shower for a long time.
 

***
 

Monica stood in the shower for nearly thirty minutes
without moving.  She just let the hot water massage
her muscles, which ached with tension.  She was so
tired, yet so tense.  She hoped that the shower would
help her sleep.

Finally, she grabbed the soap and went to work.  She
washed all of the places that he had touched her at
least ten times.  After a half an hour, she stopped,
realizing that all the soap in the world wouldn't make
her feel clean again.  She washed her hair and got out
of the shower.

She turned the fan on to take the steam out of the
room as she dried herself off.  When the mirror had
cleared, she began to comb her hair.  And suddenly she
found herself staring at her reflection.  It was the
first time she'd been able to survey her own wounds
from the attack.  Her face was bruised and cut, her
wrists were also bruised.  Her eyes were bloodshot and
tired-looking.  She had a nasty scrape on her stomach
that she didn't remember getting.  It stung when she
touched it.

She didn't recognize this woman.

Just mere hours before, she had been a confident,
self-reliant woman.  She held a prestigious job with
the federal government.  She owned her own apartment,
she took care of herself.  There wasn't much in the
world that scared her.  Now all that was different.
Her confidence was shattered.  Self-reliance?  She
couldn't bear the thought of being alone.  And
everything scared her, especially the sight of her own
reflection.  She began to cry.

John knocked softly on the bathroom door.

"Monica?  I set some clothes out for you on the bed in
the spare room.  Want anything to eat?

"No, John...thank you, though."  She said, and then
opened the door, wrapped in the oversized towel.  John
looked into her eyes, and saw the tears there.  But he
had been expecting that.  He gave her a reassuring
smile and led her into the bedroom.  The clothes were
there as he had promised.  He left her alone in the
room to change.  When she had slipped on a pair of
sweatpants and a t-shirt, she went to find John
downstairs.  She found him drinking a cup of tea and
staring out of his window at the sunrise.

She smiled softly and made her way over to him.  Even
though she had not asked for it, he had made her a cup
of tea.  She picked it up and sipped it, then set it
down again.  She couldn't help but yawn as she looked
at the sunrise.

"Tired?"

She nodded.

"Think you can sleep?"

She nodded again.  "I think so.  I feel pretty drowsy
after that shower."

He looked at her.  Her face was cut and bruised, but
she still looked beautiful.  Her eyes were so sad,
though.

Monica could sense that he wanted and needed to
comfort her.  And she needed it as well.  She stepped
closer to him, and laid her head on his chest.  She
heard him sigh as he wrapped his arms around her.
They stayed locked in each other's arms for a long
moment.  Then she looked up at him.

"I feel so unsure of myself, John.  Like I'm a
different person than I was yesterday."

He stroked her cheek.  "I know this is gonna be tough
on you.  But I'll be there every step of the way."

"I couldn't do it without you." she said to him.

He shook his head.  "I think you're strong enough.
But you don't have to be strong all the time."

A tear slid down her cheek.  "What if I can never be
strong again?"  John wiped the tear away and stroked
her cheek.

"You will be.  But until then, I'll be here."
 

***
 

She woke from the nightmare and looked around the room
as if she expected her attacker to be there.  She knew
when she fell asleep that she would have the dreams,
that not even in sleep could she escape the fear.

Monica rubbed her eyes and thought of Data, the
android character on Star Trek and how he could turn
his emotions on and off at his will.  She wished she
could do that now, and simply walk through the next
few months of her life feeling no emotion, but healing
from her experience.

Of course, that was impossible.

She wanted John.  She remembered his kind words
earlier, his comforting touch.  She thought that when
he touched her, she would only be able to feel her
attacker's arms, holding her down.  But John's embrace
was like a warm, comfortable blanket, and she longed
for that now.  She threw the covers off of her.

John's door was open.  She watched him sleep for a
moment, and then walked over to the bed.  She slid
underneath the sheets next to him.  No words were
spoken as he moved closer to her and put his arms
around her.

At that moment, Monica knew she would sleep the rest
of the day.  She felt safe.
 

***
 

"I'm glad you decided to come today, Monica.  Many
victims are reluctant to see a counselor after this
sort of thing."

Monica smiled at Dr. Crist, a motherly woman in her
late forties.

"You seem to be in good spirits, despite your ordeal."
Dr. Crist said, smiling softly.  "That's wonderful if
you truly are in good spirits, but I don't want you to
think that you have to be."

The smile dropped off Monica's face.  It was true; she
didn't really want to smile.  She only came her to
talk, and she didn't really want to do that, either.

"So, how are you feeling today, Monica?  Use as many
words or phrases as you'd like to describe it."

Monica folded her hands neatly in front of her, and
thought for a moment.

"Scared."

"That's understandable.  Anything else?"

"I'm scared that I'll never be normal again.  That
I'll never really get over this.  That I'll never be
the person I was."

Dr. Crist nodded.  "That's a very common concern.
When something like this happens, many women feel that
they have lost all control over their own life.  They
become afraid of everything, and everyone.  You're
probably finding that you can't complete a simple task
without thinking of the attack?"

Monica nodded.  "I can't do anything without relating
it somehow to the...incident."

Dr. Crist made a note on her clipboard.  "These
feelings, Monica, are very normal.  And, while it may
be hard for you to realize it, it does get easier.
Every day it gets easier."

Monica shook her head.  "It *hasn't* been getting
easier, though.  I can't sleep...I can't eat...I can't
even brush my teeth without crying."  Monica bowed her
head, feeling the familiar stinging behind her eyes.
She wished that she could just get through one damn
hour without crying.

"It's only been two days, Monica.  You can't expect to
heal this quickly.  But it will come.  Little by
little, you'll begin to take control of your fears,
your emotions...and your life.  A lot of women feel
like they have to recover in the shortest time
possible, and they often fail, leaving them feeling
even worse.  First off, you need to realize that it
takes time - unfortunately, a long time - to work
through this kind of trauma."

A tear rolled down Monica's face.  "I just want my
life back."

Dr. Crist nodded.  "I know.  You wish that you could
be the person you were before this happened.  Probably
a very confident, empowered woman, judging from your
line of work.  Independent, I'm guessing as well.
You're not used to relying on anyone, are you?"

Monica shook her head.

"It's difficult to change that if it's something that
made you happy.  But if I can give one piece of advice
to follow, it's to accept help when it's offered.
From me, from others you have been through this,
family, friends...anyone that's willing to help you
take some of the burden off your shoulders.  Talking
about your situation to those who care about you may
be difficult for you, but you will find a great
release in getting this off your shoulders and letting
others help you deal."

Monica nodded, although there was really only one
person in her life that she could feel comfortable
discussing this with, and that was John.  But she knew
she'd even have a hard time talking to him.

"May I suggest something to you, Monica?"

Monica nodded, feeling slightly numb.

"There's a support group for women who have been
raped.  It meets every Tuesday and Thursday at the
South Presbyterian Church, but you don't have to go to
every session if you don't want to.  The group is a
kind of haven for the women who attend it.  It gives
them a chance to open up and discuss their experiences
without having much to fear from reaction.  In
addition to our sessions, I think you might benefit
from this group."

Monica thought on this for a moment.  "Maybe...maybe
I'll go.  What time do they meet?"

"Seven o'clock.  It usually lasts an hour and a half
to two hours." Dr. Crist said, scribbling the address
down on the back of a business card.  She handed it to
Monica.  She stared at the card.

Rape Survivors.  South Presbyterian Church, 2301 S.
Malone.  Tues. & Thurs., 7pm.

"Can I offer you another piece of advice?" Dr. Crist
asked.

Monica nodded.

"I don't know if your religious, Monica, but prayer
also helps."

"Thanks." Monica said.  "I probably would have
forgotten that."
 

***
 

Monica climbed into the seat of John's pickup, where
he had been anxiously waiting for her.

"How was it?" John asked, expecting to hear the worst.

"Actually, it was better than I had expected.  I...I
do kind of feel better.  I think I'll keep seeing
her."

John smiled and waited for Monica to get her seatbelt
on before he drove off.  "That's great, Mon.  Lord
knows she's got to be better to talk to than me."

Monica shook her head.  "You've been wonderful, John.
I mean that.  No doctor could replace you."  John
smiled gratefully at this, and reached over to take
Monica's hand.  He squeezed it.

"Thanks.  That means a lot to me." He said.

They went quiet for a few moments, and Monica wished
that she could think of something else to talk about,
but it was impossible.  Her mind had been so filled
with all that had happened; she barely remembered what
they had been doing at work the day before the rape.

"I think I'll be going to a support group." Monica
said suddenly.

John nodded without taking his eyes off the road.
"Sounds like a good thing."

Monica nodded, and went back to being quiet, nearly
the whole way back to John's house.  She felt so
comfortable with him, she felt that she was doing him
wrong somehow, by not telling him what was on her
mind.  Nothing he didn't know about, really, she just
felt like talking suddenly.  Telling him the things
she had been able to tell the police officer, and the
counselor.  Maybe more.  Someone to share the burden
with, she remembered.

"I want to talk about what happened that night."  She
said.  John turned to look at her.  "I want to tell
you."

About that time, they were pulling in front of John's
house.  He put the truck in park and turned off the
ignition.  "We should go inside first." John said.

They walked in together, and Monica sat down on the
couch.  John took off his jacket and laid it aside,
and then sat down beside her.

He knew she'd want to talk about it eventually.  And
as much as he wanted to be there for her, to endure
the pain with her, it scared him to death.  He knew it
was selfish, and in the end, he would listen to every
word she had to say.  He only wished that he could
make it all go away, make it not true.  But that would
never happen.

"Tell me everything."

She looked up at him with bright, tear-filled eyes.
How he hated to see her suffer.  She spoke in quiet
tones.  Her eyes drifted off as she remembered.

"It was so humiliating.  I've never...felt so
powerless.  I know that I can physically dominate most
any man - I have a weapon, and I have defense training
- and yet, there was nothing I do to stop him."

John shook his head.  "He had a gun, Monica.  You
can't blame yourself for not fighting him.  It could
have cost you your life."

She nodded, although hesitantly.  "I know."

Monica wiped tears away from her eyes.  "He was so
rough, John.  And I was...dry, you know?  But he
didn't care, of course.  And he...touched me with his
hands - I thought I was going to be sick."

She glanced down at her hands before going silent
again.  Then she went to tears again, and covered her
face with her hands.  John touched her shoulder
gently, and Monica let herself be taken in by his
arms.

"Damnit..." John muttered.

Monica looked up at him.  "What, John?"

John hesitated for a moment before he said:  "This is
all my fault."

Monica looked surprised, and shook her head.  "How can
you say that, John?  Don't say that.  How could it
possibly be your fault?"

"It is."

Monica continued shaking her head, but had to wonder
what he was talking about.

"If I had...done things differently that night...if
I'd...said what I wanted to say - you wouldn't have
been alone that night."

"John...what do you mean?"

John sighed deeply, and looked down at the ground.  "I
wanted to kiss you."

Monica bit her lip.

"I wanted to tell you how I felt about you...I just
couldn't say the words.  But, if I had...maybe
things...good things...would have happened that
night."

Monica smiled slightly at John's admission, and then
said:

"You thought that...if you had told me that we would
have slept together."

John nodded.  "Well, maybe."

Monica couldn't help it.  Her smile widened.  "I would
have liked that, John."

John looked up at her, and then released the breath he
was holding.  He took her hand and squeezed it.  They
regarded each other for a moment, contemplating what
they had just said to one another.

"I can't believe I just told you that." John said
nervously, and then chuckled.  "But...I'm afraid now,
that I've just given you something else to think
about...another problem to deal with."

Monica squeezed John's hand again.  "No, John.  I've
wanted to hear you say that for a long time.  It's
just going to be...difficult for me to think about
anything...romantic right now.  And God forbid,
anything sexual."

John nodded his head.  "I shouldn't have unloaded this
on you, Monica."

Monica smiled.  "Don't say that, John.  If anything,
you've given me great hope.  Like...like I have
something to work for."

Later that night, Monica slipped into John's bedroom
for the third night since the rape.  Just like the
previous two nights, he didn't say a word.  He let her
crawl into bed beside him, and he wrapped his arms
around her gratefully.  Only this time, it felt
different, to both of them.  They slept in each
other's arms, not just as friends and partners, but as
two people who loved each other.
 

***
 

Monday morning, John Doggett sat in Assistant Director
Skinner's office.  His face was tired from lack of
sleep, but also with dread.  He was anxious about
telling Skinner what had happened to Monica, for fear
of compromising her privacy.  Still, it had to be
done.

Skinner noticed that John was not wearing his usual
suit and tie, but faded jeans and a plain gray
t-shirt.

"You wanted to see me, Agent Doggett?" A.D. Skinner
said, sitting down at his desk.

"Yes, Sir.  I need to request a leave of absence, for
both Agent Reyes and myself."

Skinner folded his hands together.  "Alright...but may
I ask why both of you need a leave?"

John swallowed hard and sighed.  "Monica
was...attacked on Friday night." he began.

Skinner's eyes narrowed.  "Attacked?"

John nodded.  "She was raped, Sir."

Shock burst over the A.D.'s expression.  "My God.  Is
she alright?"

John shrugged.  "As well as can be expected.  She's
staying with me."

Skinner reflected on this for a moment.  "Do they know
who did this?"

John shook his head, no.  "They've got nothing so far.
 There wasn't much left in the way of evidence."

Skinner nodded, his face still showing shock.  "I
can't believe this.  I feel...terrible for her."

"You're not the only one."

Skinner nodded in acknowledgement when he saw John's
expression.  "I'd like the FBI to be involved in this
case, John."

John looked up, but didn't seem surprised by the
A.D.'s suggestion.  "Monica may not be comfortable
with that."

"We can be discreet."

"I don't think she would want anyone to know about
this...especially Deputy Director Kersh, and A.D.
Follmer."

Skinner took this into consideration.  "I can't
promise anything, but I'll try and keep them out of
this as long as I can.  It's nothing against the local
P.D...I just think that we can't afford to take the
bureau's resources for granted...for Agent Reyes'
sake."

John nodded in agreement.  "I want to know everything
that you find."

"Of course."  Skinner said.  "And I'll make this my
first priority, Agent Doggett."

"Thank you, Sir." John said, and then got up from his
chair, and began walking to the door.

"Agent Doggett?"

John turned.

"Take care of her."

John nodded slowly, and then left the office.

The drive home was a much-needed break for John.  He
hadn't slept much in the last few days, and all of his
efforts were concentrated on Monica.  He'd barely had
a moment to take a shower.

Of course, he wouldn't have had it any other way.  He
needed to help her.  To think of doing anything else
was impossible.

He hadn't been gone long, but he worried that she
would feel uneasy about being alone in his house, even
though he'd personally locked every door himself, and
it was a bright Monday morning.  She had insisted that
he go alone, that he could use a break from her.  She
told him she was going to soak in the bath for a
while, and try to read.  Something to take her mind
off of 'things'.

She was being so brave.  She'd had her ups and downs
over the past seventy-two hours, going from soft
smiles to silent crying in the bathroom.

But he was waiting for the big one.

She would be hysterical.  She would cry and scream and
feel like the pain was going to destroy her.  Her
vocal chords wouldn't be able to express the anguish
she would feel.  She would collapse to the floor, and
she would feel like giving up.

But she wouldn't give up.

And then, the healing could begin.

He knew all about despair.  The weeks after his son's
death, it was all he'd known.  But he'd gotten through
it, and he knew that Monica would too.

He pulled in front of his house, and quickly went
inside.  He announced his presence as he walked
through the door.  Monica heard him, and walked down
the stairs slowly.  Her hair was wet from her bath,
and she was dressed in sweatpants and one of John's
USMC t-shirts.  He noticed her tear-stained cheeks
immediately.

"Hi..." she said to him.  She stopped just in front of
him.  She had been crying again, but he was used to
that by now.

"Monica...what's wrong?"

She shook her head.  "It's so stupid."

He lifted her chin up to meet her eyes.  "What?"

She sniffed.  "The UPS man came to deliver a package
to you.  I saw him out of the window.  He rang the
doorbell, and I..." she shook her head.  "I couldn't
open the door.  I was too afraid."

She bowed her head.  It was hard for her to be like
this...so weak.  He opened his arms out to her, and
she didn't hesitate.  She needed the hug.

He held her tightly and smoothed her hair back.  "It's
no big deal, Monica.  It's natural to feel that way."

"Am I always going to be like this, John?"

"'Course not."

She sighed, feeling better now that he was home.
"What did Skinner say?" she asked.  She hadn't wanted
John to tell anyone about her...situation, but seeing
as though it was Monday morning and they were not at
their desks, Monica knew that they owed their superior
an explanation.  She also knew that she would need
some time off work.  And so did John, for the time
being.

"It upset him a lot, I think.  He wants the bureau
involved in your case."

Monica pulled away from John.  "What?  I thought we
were going to keep this between us and Skinner only?"
 

John looked at her.  This was the reaction he had
hoped not to get.  "He's going to try and keep
it...discreet.  But Monica...we can't just NOT take
advantage of the bureau's resources.  That would be
insane.  I'm sorry." John said, feeling that maybe he
had not done the right thing in telling Skinner.

Monica turned away.  "He'll have to tell Kersh and
Follmer...Jesus, John...the whole damn bureau's going
to know about this."  Monica hung her head in shame,
even though she knew there was nothing that *she* had
to be ashamed of.  She also knew that letting the FBI
take over her case was the best thing that she could
do to catch the man who had done this to her.  She
sighed as John put his hands on her shoulders and
began massaging them.

"It's going to be alright, okay?" John said to her.
It was all he could say.  He couldn't guarantee that
Kersh and Follmer wouldn't know about this, nor could
he say that a half a dozen people in the bureau that
would be investigating the crime wouldn't know who she
was and what had happened to her.  But what could he
do about it?  Was he supposed to stand idly by and
wait for the local PD to find this guy?
 
 
 

***
 

"He came in through the window.  I heard it break."

The woman, who's nametag said 'Rachel', sobbed as she
spoke to the group.  She took a moment before she went
on.  Monica sat across from her and listened.

"I was too afraid to get out of my bed...I just laid
there...hoping he'd take what he wanted and leave.
But he came into my room.  He held me down.  He had a
knife."

Rachel put her hand over her mouth and cried.  "I
thought it would never end.  It must have been thirty
minutes.  I couldn't even feel the lower part of my
body anymore.  Finally, when he was done, he left.  I
called the police."  She paused as she tried to
contain her tears again, but failed.  "He gave me
hepatitis."

Monica closed her eyes and sighed.

The leader of the group, a lovely blonde woman named
Sara, spoke gently to Rachel:

"That must be very hard for you, Rachel.  Having to
cope with the attack as well as a disease.  But know
that we will be here for you, whenever you need us."

Rachel nodded gratefully and wiped her eyes.  Then,
she looked over at Monica.  "Wanna tell your story,
Monica?"

Monica straightened, and looked around at the group.

"This is only her first group." Sara said, and then
looked at Monica.  "You don't have to, if you don't
want to.  Most people just watch and listen for a few
sessions.  That's fine."

Monica shook her head.  "That's okay.  I'll...I'll
share."  Monica said, and swallowed as she looked
around at the waiting group members.  She told herself
that they had heard it all before, and that nothing
she could say would be new to them.  She looked down.

"I was sleeping.  A sound woke me I guess.  I
just...opened my eyes, and there he was.  He pointed a
gun at my head.  It was my gun."

They all listened intently.

"I'm a Special Agent with the FBI, that's why I have a
gun.  But that night, I didn't put it away.  Since I'd
moved to D.C., I haven't been putting it away at all.
And he got it.  He raped me at gunpoint."

No one said a word for a moment, until Sara spoke up.
"You're angry with yourself, aren't you?"

Monica looked up.  "With myself?"

Sara nodded.  "You feel that...you should have been
able to stop him, because your an FBI agent?  You feel
like it was almost your fault that you were raped
because you think you should have been able to stop
him."

Monica thought on this for a moment.  "Well...yes...I
should have been able to stop him."

"But he had a gun." said one woman from the group.

"...and you were sleeping.  You weren't prepared."
said another.

"It wasn't your fault, Monica."

Monica looked around at the faces that stared at her.
Sara smiled at her.  "You can't blame yourself,
Monica.  And just because this happened to you doesn't
mean that you're any less than you were before."

Tears came to Monica's eyes, and she knew that she had
not made a mistake coming here.
 

***
 

Two weeks later, things were pretty much the same for
Monica.  She still had trouble sleeping, and every
night she would come to John's bedroom.  And every
night he would let her crawl in next to him, and they
never spoke of it.

The investigation hadn't turned up much.  There just
weren't any clues left behind at the scene.  John and
Skinner both had a hard time believing that they might
not ever catch this man, but still they refused to
give up.  Skinner made phone calls and reviewed
information every day, hoping for some kind of break.

John returned to work, staying only a few hours each
morning.  Cases were slow anyway, and there wasn't
much else that John could think of besides Monica and
her state of affairs.  Most of the time he spent in
the office was reviewing her case.  So far, Skinner
and Doggett had been able to keep Kersh and Follmer
from finding out about the rape.

Monica had felt better once the second week winded
down.  She started to go outside again, taking short
walks.  She had thought about calling her mother many
times since the incident, but decided against it.  Her
mother would take it hard, and insist that she come up
to Virginia to see her, and Monica didn't want that.
Not because she didn't want to see her mother, but
because she didn't want her mother to be troubled
about her.  She was such a worrier anyway.

Emotionally, Monica was improving.  She cried less,
and started eating more.  The nightmare still came,
almost every night in fact, but they had lessened in
intensity.  When she woke up from one of these dreams,
she found that she could simply just go back to sleep,
most of the time.  When she couldn't, she'd lie awake
and watch John.

She thought about her relationship with him a lot
during those times, when she would watch him sleep.
She imagined that she was in his bed because she was
his wife, because he was her husband.  This made her
smile.  She fantasized that this was her home that she
shared with John, and that just down the hall, one or
two children lay sleeping in their beds.  A boy and a
girl, perhaps.  The boy would have John's eyes and a
few missing baby teeth; the girl would have Monica's
sleek, dark hair and good complexion.  They would go
places on some warm Saturday, strapped in their
mini-van, and when the kids got out of control, Mom
would threaten to turn the car around if they didn't
stop it right now, and boy would they get it when
their father got home.

When Monica imagined the man she would hopefully marry
someday, she always compared her fantasy man to John
Doggett.  John was caring, honest and trustworthy.  He
had never talked down to Monica, even when it was
clear that he thought her ways of thinking were
ludicrous.  He had always been there for her, when she
needed help on a case and when she just needed to have
a quiet drink with a friend.  He was obsessed with
justice, obsessed with always doing the right thing,
even if it meant going out of his way.  And, though it
was somewhat shallow, she never could ignore his
masculine good looks, his well-trimmed body, or his
strong, but sexy voice.

And those blue eyes.

She knew that he must have been a good husband and
father, even though she'd never really witnessed it
herself.  She did know that he had loved his son more
than anything else in the world.  She had never asked
John about his separation from his wife, but she knew
that they had divorced six months after Luke's death.
Statistically, Monica knew that a lot of marriages go
bad when the death of a child occurs, especially when
it's an only child, and that fact made her believe
that losing Luke was probably the reason for their
divorce.  Maybe someday he would tell her about it.

She compared every man she met to John, and found each
and every one of them severely lacking.  Only one man
possessed all of the qualities that John Doggett
possessed, and that was John Doggett.  That was when
she realized that she was in love with him, and she
had spent many nights trying to figure out a way to
tell him.

Of course, she'd never gotten the courage, and now a
relationship with him seemed so far away.  But she
would never give up hope.
 

***
 

Before the receptionist could stop him, Assistant
Director Follmer burst into Skinner's office.

"Just when the hell did you plan on telling me about
this?" Follmer demanded.  He tossed a file onto
Skinner's desk, and the A.D. looked up at him.
Skinner recognized the file; it was the file on
Monica's rape.  He didn't open it.

Skinner took off his glasses and laid them on the
desktop.  "They didn't want you to know about it,
Assistant Director.  That is why you weren't told
about it."

Brad Follmer squinted.  "They?"

Skinner cleared his throat.  "Agent Reyes and Agent
Doggett."

Follmer glared at the mention of John's name.  His
jealousy of the man was no secret to anyone.  "What's
Doggett got to do with this?"

Skinner cocked his head to the side.  "Doggett's
been...caring for Reyes since the incident two weeks
ago.  She's been staying with him."

Follmer clenched his jaw and nodded.  There wasn't
much he could say about it.

"I have asked you, Assistant Director, to keep me
informed of all cases investigated by the unit.  Do
you recall?"

Skinner shook his head and looked annoyed.  "This
isn't an X-File, Follmer.  This is a rape case."

"I'm well aware of that, Assistant Director, but this
involves one of our agents and you are using our
bureau's resources to solve this case."

Skinner glared.  "Would you rather we let the local
P.D. handle it?  And risk letting Reyes' attacker go
free?"

Follmer shook his head.  "Of course not, but-"

"Why don't you just admit that you're pissed off
because you weren't the one she called for help?"

"What?" Follmer demanded.

Skinner stood up.  "I'm well aware of your history
with Agent Reyes, and your resentment for John
Doggett, and so is Agent Reyes, which is precisely why
you were not told about this."

The two men stared at each other.

"That is ludicrous and irrelevant.  I have nothing
against Agent Doggett.  But I do care for Agent Reyes
and I am offended that you have not involved me in
this case."

Skinner sighed.  He knew that Follmer would never
openly admit his bitterness towards Doggett, but it
didn't matter.  He had to involve him now that he
knew.

"Fine," Skinner said, "but Reyes would prefer to keep
Deputy Director Kersh out of this...can you handle
that?"

Follmer glared but nodded reluctantly.

"Good."  Skinner said.  "You and I can start going
over our findings tomorrow."
 

***
 

When Monica awoke at eight o'clock in the morning,
John was gone.

He left a note, saying that he'd be back around noon
with lunch.  Monica sighed and got out of bed.  She'd
been having the dreams again, always the same every
night.  Sometimes they weren't bad, other times they
were especially vivid, and she would wake up with
tense muscles, and tears in her eyes.

By the time she'd showered and made herself a cup of
tea, she'd shaken off the nightmare.  Though it was
always there, in the back of her mind, she found it
easier and easier each day.  She had decided that she
would go back to work as soon as the cut on her face
was completely healed.  That was the best way to avoid
unwanted questions.

The phone rang about nine, and it was John on the
other end.  They spoke for a few minutes, and John
asked her how she had slept.  When she told him it was
'the usual', he sighed and asked her if she'd like to
catch a movie later.  She replied that she would.  As
soon as Monica hung up the phone, the doorbell rang.

Monica froze, but forced herself to go to the door and
see who was there.  She looked out the side window,
and was surprised to see Brad Follmer on the doorstep.
 She sighed heavily and opened the door.

"Monica."  Brad said with a smile.

"Brad." Monica returned, faking a smile.

Follmer searched her eyes for a moment, and then said:

"I just dropped by to...see how you were doing."

Inwardly, Monica just wanted to shut the door in his
face, but rudeness wasn't one of her better traits.

"Come in, Brad."

Follmer stepped through the open door of John's home,
and looked around.  He looked as though he could
comment on the house, since it was a pretty nice
place, but he didn't.  He turned around to face
Monica, but didn't say anything to her.  It was the
first time she'd seen Brad Follmer a loss for words.

"I'm okay, Brad." Monica said, rolling her eyes.

Follmer bit his lip.  "I...I just heard last night.  I
couldn't sleep.  I thought about it all night."

"I'm really okay.  I'm...dealing with it."

The pair went silent for a moment, until Follmer
quietly asked:

"Why didn't you call me, Monica?"

Monica looked downward.  Why?  Why does he have to do
this, she thought.  She sighed heavily and cursed
herself for opening that door.

"Because...because you're not...a part of my life
anymore, Brad."

He looked hurt, and she somewhat regretted what she
had said.  "I'm sorry."

He shook his head, and looked back up at her.  "I care
about you.  I just...want to help you, that's all."

She smiled.  "I appreciate that, Brad.  But I've
got...support here.  He's taking good care of me." she
said gently.

Follmer looked saddened.  "I'm glad to know that."

"You don't have to worry, okay?"

He nodded.  They regarded each other for a short
while.

"Well...I guess I'll...get back to the office.  But if
you need anything...anything at all...just call me."
He said.  She smiled at him, and told him 'thanks'.
She saw him to the door, and he stepped out onto the
porch.  Before he walked away, he turned around and
looked as though he may say something to her.  But he
didn't.  He smiled weakly and walked to his car.

Monica closed the door gently behind her as she went
back into the house.  Later, when John came home, she
didn't tell him about her visitor.
 

***
 

It was happening again.

He came to her every night.  She was alone, and back
in her apartment.  She would hear the door open, she
would hear his footsteps as they approached her
bedroom door.  She would wait in fear for him to stand
over her bed.  She couldn't move.  She couldn't speak.
 She could only watch in horror as he climbed on top
of her and began ripping her clothes away.

And he would rape her, over and over again.  His hands
would roam over her body, and he would say things to
her.  And then he would laugh.  He laughed at her, for
not having the strength to stop him.  And when he was
finally finished using her, he would press the gun
against her forehead.

"Wake up, Monica." he said.

She struggled, as his arms closed tightly around her.
The more she fought him, the tighter he held her.  She
finally began to scream, and to cry.

"Stop!  Stop it!  Get your hands off me!" she cried.

"Monica...wake up!"

Finally, Monica's eyes flew open, and she realized
that she was not in her apartment, alone, but in
John's bedroom.  It was his arms that held her.  She
began to sob as he held her.

"Shh...it's okay, Monica...it's okay..."

She turned over in the bed.  She had to see his face,
to know that it was really him.  His concerned blue
eyes looked back at her.  Tears streamed down her
face.  John sat up slightly in the bed, and pulled her
to him.  She went to him without reluctance, and
sobbed uncontrollably.

He rocked gently, and let her cry.

"It's just a dream...you're safe...you're okay." He
said soothingly, as he smoothed her hair away from her
face.

After several minutes, her crying subsided.  The dream
was the worst so far, even just after the attack.  She
held tightly onto John, and let his comforting arms
soothe away the nightmare.  John lay back down
finally, and hoped that Monica would fall back asleep,
this time without the dreams.

But Monica couldn't sleep.  She didn't want to.  She
felt safe here, in his arms, and to go to sleep again
would mean to leave them.  She looked up at him.

He looked down at her lovingly, trying to channel all
of the emotion he felt for her in one expression.  The
words he had said before had not been enough.  It
would never be enough.  He fell more and more in love
with her each day, even when each day that he woke
next to her, he realized that she could not love him
in return - not until she had healed.  But he would
never give up.  He would wait as long as it took.

But she looked at him in the most unusual way.

Monica was powerless to stop herself.  Something
inside her craved him so deeply.  She reached up with
her hand and touched his face.  He flinched slightly
in surprise.  But he didn't stop her when she moved
closer and kissed him softly and slowly on the lips.

It was a long, passionate kiss, like most first kisses
are.  But once Monica had tasted his lips, she began
to lose herself.  Her nightmares disappeared.  She
only wanted to feel his warm lips again, and then
again.  Her hand moved down his neck, down his arm to
his chest.  Likewise, his hands began to make their
way down to the dip of her waist, her hip.  Monica
sighed.  His touch felt good to her, it felt right.
Her hand traveled down his stomach.  John shivered
slightly as he felt her fingertip slide across the
length of his erect penis.  His desire for her was
immeasurable.  He inhaled as his hand brushed against
the inside of her thigh.

Monica's eyes flew open, and she moved quickly out of
John's reach.  He sat up in the bed and stared at her,
confused for a moment.  But he quickly realized his
mistake.  He lowered his head and sighed.

"Jesus, Monica...I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have...I
didn't think..."

Monica shook her head and looked very frustrated.
"No, John...." she ran a hand through her hair.  "It
wasn't your fault.  You couldn't have known
that...that would make me uncomfortable.  I guess *I*
didn't even know." she said, and then placed her hand
on his arm to reassure him.  He nodded, but there was
sadness in his eyes.

"I don't want it to be like this for you.  Even
if...even if it wasn't me touching you, Monica.  I
hate to think that you'll always be like this."

She sighed again, something she did a lot lately.
"I'm sure...this...will be hard for awhile, but...I
can't see it going on forever.  I mean...do you know
how long I've wanted to be in bed with you?"

Monica laughed softly and John grinned.

"I think maybe we should have stopped at kissing...for
now." she said, and moved closer to him.  They lay
down together, and Monica laid her head on John's
shoulder.  After a few minutes, John spoke:

"You know...I've wanted to be in bed with you a LOT
longer than you've wanted to be in bed with me."

Monica snorted.  "Whatever.  You didn't even know I
existed in the beginning."

"Not true."

"Please.  You were obsessed with Agent Scully.  Admit
it."

John rolled his eyes.  "Oh, God.  Yes, I was concerned
for her and her son...doesn't mean that I was obsessed
with her.  She's got another man's baby, for cryin'
out loud."

Monica smiled.  "If she were the last woman on earth,
would you sleep with her?"

John grinned.  "Well...yeah..."  Monica gasped.

"But not if you were here."  John said.  "Scully's a
beautiful woman, but not really my type."

Monica looked up at him.  "What's your type?"

"Well, Scully's kind of...technical sometimes.  Dry.
I don't think she really knows how to have a good
time.  Of course, that's gotta be Mulder's fault.  I
like a woman who always keeps me guessing.  Keeps me
on my toes, so I never know what to expect.  I like a
little bit of craziness mixed in with a small amount
of practicality."

Monica shook her head.  "So, you like women who are
*completely* different from yourself."

John gasped.  "I know how to have a good time."

Monica gave him a sly look.  "So do I."  John grinned
back at her and narrowed his eyes.

"Aren't I supposed to be the horny one?"

Monica laughed.  "Not really.  You're past your sexual
prime...I'm just getting to mine."

John nodded with a smirk.  "I'll show you who's past
their prime."
 

***
 

When A.D. Skinner arrived at his office on Wednesday
morning, an anxious Brad Follmer was waiting for him.
He had files in his hands, and he looked like hell.
His tie was missing, and the top buttons of his
once-crisp white shirt were open.  His hair was
disheveled and his eyes were bloodshot.  He leapt from
his chair when he saw Skinner come into the reception
area of his office.

"A.D. Skinner!  I've got some things to show you,
things I've been going over." He said, walking
alongside Skinner into his office.

"What did you find?" Skinner asked, setting down his
briefcase.  Follmer spread the files out over his
desk.

"Previous rapes that may be connected to Monica's."
Follmer said.  Skinner looked up at him.

"Have you been here all night, Follmer?"  He asked.
Follmer hadn't been expecting that question, but he
answered Skinner:

"Well, yes."

Skinner blinked and took one of the files.  Follmer
pointed to the picture of a woman in the file.

"This is MaryAnn Reynolds.  She was raped two months
ago by a man fitting the same vague description that
Agent Reyes gave.  And here are four more women that
have been attacked since then.  And one more attack
last night." Follmer said, handing Skinner the files.
Skinner looked perturbed as he examined them.

"What makes you think that all these attacks are
related?"  Skinner asked.  "It's true that the
descriptions are all similar, but such is the case for
most rape cases."

Follmer nodded.  "I know, but I think it has something
to do with these women's chosen professions."

"Profession?"  Skinner repeated.

Follmer opened the files.  "This woman, MaryAnn
Reynolds, was a judge.  Another woman, Brook Coleman,
was a lawyer.  This woman," Follmer said, pointing to
another picture, "was a detective.  And the woman that
was attacked last night was a doctor."

Skinner took off his glasses.  "You think this man
raped these women because they have...important jobs?"

Follmer nodded.  "I think this man is somehow obsessed
with women who hold high-ranking positions in the
community, and that's how he chooses his victims.  I'm
no profiler, either, but I'm guessing that this guy
would be some kind of blue-collar average guy.  Maybe
one of them turned him down for a date or something."

Skinner sat back in his chair.  "I'm impressed."

"Thank you, Assistant Director." Follmer said, giving
him a tired, but triumphant smile.  Skinner gathered
all of the files together and picked up the phone.

"I'm going to call Agent Doggett and fill him in on
this."  Skinner said, and then looked at Follmer.
"And you need to go home and get some sleep."

Follmer nodded and left the office without argument.
 

***
 

John sat Monica down on the couch and then sat beside
her.

"We may have a break in the case." He said gently.

"What did you find out?" Monica asked.

John folded his hands together nervously.  "I think we
may be dealing with a serial rapist who chooses his
victims based on what kind of work they do.  A.D.
Follmer dug up files on rapes in the past two months.
All the women gave the same description of the man
that you gave, and they all held high-ranking jobs.
Lawyers, cops, doctors..."

"Have they arrested anyone yet?" Monica asked, cutting
John off.  John paused.

"No.  But I think that we might not be too far from an
arrest now that we know what this guy is up to." John
said.  But Monica gave a frustrated sigh.  John put
his hand on her arm.

"We're close.  We'll get him."
 

***
 

The next morning, Doggett, Skinner and Follmer
gathered together around the conference table and
discussed the case.  They had little to go on as far
as DNA, and any recognizable features of the attacker.
 He had simply planned it too well.

"How did he get in?" Follmer asked.  "That wasn't on
the report."

"He came in the through the only door.  There was no
broken windows...in fact, they were all locked since
the last tenant lived there, and getting up and down
the fire escape wouldn't be too easy."  John said,
looking at Follmer.

"Exactly how did he come through the door?" Skinner
asked.

"Well," Doggett answered, "it looks like the door was
either unlocked, or jimmied."

"Or opened with a key." Skinner said.  The two men
looked at him.

Follmer nodded.  "Picking a lock takes time, and Agent
Reyes' apartment had two separate locks that she
claims were both locked when she went to bed."

John thought on this for a moment.  "So, you think
someone used a key to get in?"

Follmer shrugged.  "If you were going to plan a rape,
you'd want to be able to get in the easiest way
possible.  Somehow, this man may have gotten a key to
her apartment."

John nodded.  "I think I'll go talk to the building's
maintenance man.  Ask him if he's was missing a key to
the place."  He picked up his jacket and headed out
the door.

He knew the drive by heart, because he'd been to her
apartment many times since she'd moved there.  He
called Monica on the way to her apartment to fill her
in on what was happening.  John truly believed that
they were close to catching the man who had hurt
Monica, and so many other women.  He fantasized about
catching him.  He fantasized about hurting him.

John went through the front door, and followed the
signs to the basement.  It was dimly lit and smelled
funny, the way most old buildings do.  He found the
right door and knocked on it.  No one answered the
door.  He knocked again...nothing.

He became frustrated.  When it came to solving cases,
John was not a patient man.  He tried the doorknob,
and found the door unlocked.  He peered around the
corner.  No one was down there, so he went inside the
maintenance room and closed the door behind him.

Once inside, he took a quick look around.  He wasn't
sure what he was looking for.  The room held all the
standard equipment that a maintenance keeper might
have.  Lots of tools, spare light bulbs, cleaning
equipment.  John spied a box on the wall that was
halfway open.  He found keys to every apartment in
that box, every apartment except the one Monica lived
in.

John began to have the feeling that he was getting
somewhere.

He searched through some papers on a modest, cluttered
desk, but found nothing that interested him.  What he
really needed was to talk to the maintenance man
himself, and find out why Monica's key was missing
from the box.  Perhaps someone had stolen it.
However, he couldn't wait around all day to see if
he'd come back.  He decided to leave.  As he walked
towards the door, he nearly tripped over a loose board
in the creaky, wooden floor.

John looked down.  The board that stuck up was a
little bowed, and it wasn't nailed down.  He thought
it was odd that the floor was wooden in the first
place, since it should have been unfinished foundation
beneath him.  He bent over and pried the board from
its spot.  When he lifted it out of its place, he
received a shock.

The wood floor was about six inches above the
unfinished concrete floor.  Sitting on the concrete
foundation beneath the wood floor, was Monica's gun.
Next to the gun, was a single key.  John's eyes grew
wide with astonishment.

He picked up the gun and looked at it to be sure.  He
turned it over and read the number on the underside of
the barrel.

The numbers matched Monica's badge number.
 

***
 

Darren Provatti jiggled the doorknob of the
maintenance room, and found it locked.  He thought it
was odd, because he hadn't remembered locking it
before he left for a late lunch.  He shrugged and
pulled his keys from his pocket, and unlocked the
door.  He walked in the room thinking of the toilet in
208 that he still needed to finish before the
afternoon was over.  He was caught off guard by the
strong hands that slammed him against the wall and
held him tightly against it.

John Doggett put his gun against Provatti's head.  His
anger would get the best of him if he let it, and he
couldn't let it.  John just looked at him, and held
the gun against his head.  Provatti's eyes were wide
as quarters.

"What the hell is this?" Provatti asked, in a nervous
voice.

John Doggett pressed the gun harder and got very close
to Provatti.

"You like rapin' sleeping women?  You sick fuck?"

Provatti didn't respond.  His mouth dropped open and
he breathed anxiously.

"You like rapin' my partner?  My friend?"  John
demanded.  He gritted his teeth and clenched his jaw.
His finger held the trigger of the weapon that was
pointed at Provatti.

"I don't know what you're talkin' about!" Provatti
cried.  John pressed the gun so hard against him that
he cried out in pain.  "Jesus, man!  You're hurtin'
me!"

John didn't let up.  He slammed Provatti's head
against the hard foundation wall.

"I should kill you." John threatened, and cocked his
weapon.  Provatti shook with fear.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, man...I don't know what you're
talkin' about...please!" Provatti cried out.

John put his knee in the man's back and held the gun
up for Provatti to see.

"Then what's this?" John demanded of him.  Provatti
shook his head.  Sweat dripped into his eyes.

"I never seen it before." Provatti said.  John
responded by shoving his knee into the other man's
spine.  Provatti cried out in pain.  John punched him
then, right in the kidney.  Provatti sank against the
wall but John held him up.

"I'm not gonna stop until I get a confession." John
said, anger blazing in his eyes.  He felt out of
control, he felt nothing but rage.  But he had meant
what he said.  He punched Provatti again in the
kidney.  The man cried out in extreme agony.

"Stop!  Stop, please...." Provatti begged.  "I did it,
okay!  Just stop...please!"

John Doggett pulled out a pair of cuffs and slapped
them on Provatti's wrists.  He tightened them
mercilessly.

"You're goin' to prison." John told the other man.
Provatti stared blankly at nothing as John dragged him
out of the room.
 

***
 

Later that evening, a tired John Doggett walked
through his front door.  Monica was already standing,
waiting to hear the news.

John took off his jacket.  "His fingerprints were all
over the gun.  And he's confessed." He told Monica,
looking up at her.  Tears flooded to her eyes and fell
down her cheeks.  He reached out for her and she went
to him.  The relief they both felt was incredible, and
they shared a much-needed hug.

"It's over." He said to the woman in his arms, as he
smoothed back her hair.
 

***

Monica hung up the phone and made a few notes in her
report.  She closed the file with a sigh and laid it
with the others.  She watched the screen saver on her
computer for a few moments.

It felt good to be back at work, she thought, despite
the small mountain of paperwork that needed her
attention.  John had been handing most of the field
cases, and none of them were X-Files anyway.  After a
week of being back at work, Monica was beginning to
feel a little more like herself.

She still went to group religiously, and saw her
therapist once a week.  Dr. Crist was very optimistic
about Monica's mental condition.  The nights were
still very long for Monica, and the nightmares still
came, but they didn't frighten her the way they used
to.  She still found it impossible to go places alone
at night, but she knew that she would get over that in
time, too.

If she owed her recovery to anyone but herself, it was
John.  He couldn't analyze her condition the way a
doctor could, and he couldn't relate the way the other
women in the group did, but he was undoubtedly the one
who had saved her.  He had been there for her weakest
times, her darkest hour.  He had comforted her the way
that no other person in the world could have.  And he
had helped her find the man who hurt her.  But most
importantly, he had loved her.  He had loved her in
every way possible, no matter how damaged she had
become.  His love overwhelmed her, and it made her
realize that all things truly are possible.

Their relationship moved along slowly, cautiously.
They did not make love, but their relationship was
full of intimacy that they both knew would soon bring
them to sex.  There was no hurry, Monica thought,
although it was hard not to act on her yearning when
every night he lay next to her in bed.  But she would
know when the time was right.

For now, she had the trial to think about.  She wasn't
worried about the outcome...there was certainly enough
evidence against Darren Provatti to get a conviction
and a tough sentence.  But Monica knew that it would
be difficult to stand before the court and tell her
story while the man who had raped her stood less than
ten feet away.  She had never seen his face.  She
imagined him as some kind of horrible monster, but he
wasn't.  He was just a man, a man with a very
disturbed and sick mind.

Her testimony would be hard, but there was one thought
that gave her satisfaction, and it was that Darren
Provatti's horrible deeds would be brought to light,
professed to every ear in the courtroom.  And that
every eye will look on him with disgust as the bailiff
leads him from the courtroom, back to his cell where
he will spend a very long, hard sentence.
 
 

***
 

John stood at a distance on the courthouse steps.  He
watched Monica as she spoke to one of the other rape
victims, and hugged her.  The woman was crying.  John
smiled when Monica looked up at him from over the
woman's shoulder.  When the two women parted, Monica
walked slowly over to John.  They sat down on the
steps together.  Monica's face showed a mixture of
emotion.

"How are you feelin'?" John asked her, taking her hand
discreetly.

Monica sighed.  "I don't know." she said, shaking her
head.  "I feel happy that Provatti's behind bars, but
I still feel...kind of depressed.  Like I'm just not
sure if all those years in prison is going to make up
for what he's done to me, and all of the others.  You
know?"

John nodded.  "I know exactly what you mean." he said.
 "But I also believe that this guy Provatti'll really
get what he deserves in prison, if you get what I'm
sayin'."

Monica smiled and nodded her head.  The pair sat in
silence for a moment, until Monica spoke:

"I guess this means I have to start living my life
again.  Time to stop being afraid." she said.

John nodded, but didn't say anything.  He watched
Monica's hair blow in the breeze, and then looked down
at the ground.

"Monica...I want you to move in with me." John said.
Monica's head shot up and looked at him.

"Permanently, I mean." John added.  He looked back at
her, and they regarded each other.  Monica searched
his eyes.

"You want me to live with you?  Why?"

John squeezed her hand and looked back down at the
concrete steps.  "Because I love you.
Because...because I think of you leaving my house and
my heart breaks."

Monica, always the crier, felt tears form in her eyes.
"I know you're not ready for...some things.  But I can
wait.  I wanna take care of you." John said, and
finally looked back up at her.  His eyes were so
sincere.  Monica threw her arms around him and kissed
him, right there in front of the courthouse.  She
cried, but then she began to laugh.

Laughter through tears.  Her favorite emotion.
 

***
 

One week later, Monica moved out of her apartment.
She had thought herself very fortunate to get a place
so nice, but when she took the last box out, she
didn't look back.

On her way back to John's house, she stopped off at
the Post Office to fill out a change of address form.
She had done this a few times in her life, but never
had it made her so happy.  She didn't even mind the
wait at the Post Office.

When she walked through the door of her new, permanent
home, John was waiting for her.  He had a bottle of
Merlot and two glasses waiting for her.  They toasted
to Monica moving in.  And then they toasted to the
future.

That night, John and Monica made slow, passionate
love.  The dreams did not come for Monica that night.
 

***

One year later...
 

Monica sat in the circle with the other eight women.
Some of their faces were blank; some of them were
tired and some just plain scared.  Their painful
journey had only just begun.  They were recent victims
of rape, and Monica knew, as she sat among them, that
they had a long way to go.

But this was Monica's last group.

"I've come here tonight, for my last group, so that I
can share with you how I've dealt with rape." Monica
said, speaking in a strong, proud voice.

"The road is very long, and it hurts most of the time.
 But you can't give up.  Because if you don't give up,
then he can never hurt you again.  Take back your
lives.  Don't let anyone break your spirit or make you
feel hopeless.  I won't lie to you, you can't ever be
the person you were before this happened to you.  You
can't put this away and make like it never happened.
Because it did, and you are a different person then
you once were."

Monica paused.  "But they say, that which does not
kill us makes us stronger.  And I truly believe that."

From just beyond the doorway, John listened to his
fiancé talk to the other members of the group.  He
smiled as she began to talk about love, about it's
power to heal all wounds.  Monica had once told John
that he had saved her.  But what Monica did not
realize was that she had saved him.

John thought about the future.  He wasn't afraid of
the future anymore.  When he had lost a marriage and a
son, his future was uncertain and frightening.  And
the first time he met Monica Reyes, he never would
have guessed that this quirky, over-imaginative woman
would someday bring him so much happiness.  She made
him happy when she accepted his proposal of marriage,
and she had brought him unbelievable joy when she told
him that she wanted to have children with him.  Now,
instead of dreading the passing of his youth, he
looked forward to days to come.

John was deep in thought and smiling like a fool when
Monica joined him in the hallway.  She put her arms
around his waist and kissed him fervently.

"Ready to go?"

John nodded.  Monica looked at him strangely, because
it looked as though he might cry any moment.

"Are you alright, John?"

He nodded his head and sighed, his eyes searching
hers.  He opened his mouth to speak, and said softly,

"I just can't wait for you to be my wife."
 
 
 

~fin
 
 

One look at love and you may see
It weaves a web over mystery,
All ravelled threads can rend apart
For hope has a place in the lover's heart.
Hope has a place in a lover's heart.

~Enya  "Hope Has A Place"
 
 
 
 

** Author's Notes:  I can't really tell you what
inspired me to write a story about rape.  I didn't
have a personal experience that I wanted to channel
into my story, nor am I sick in the head.  To me, I
guess it's more a need to explore how Doggett and
Reyes' relationship would survive and develop under
the most extreme of trials.  I'm also a fan of
all-around torture and angst, and in that same
respect, comfort.  It's not about the rape, really,
but how Doggett comforts and takes care of Reyes that
I love to write about.

Also, I wrote an MSR rape story years ago that I
believe, even to this day, was some of my best work in
fanfiction.  Unfortunately, my hard drive crashed
before I had a chance to get it on the web.  And to
make matters worse, I didn't back it up on disk.
Stupid, I know.  I could never even have begun to
recreate it.  It was novel-length and full of thoughts
and dialogue that had simply come to me as I wrote.
Once the moment passes, I lose it, and unless it's on
the screen already, it's gone for good.  So I didn't
even try.  But it's been a few years, so I thought I
would try it with Doggett and Reyes.  I hope it's as
good as the one I lost, or better.  Thoughts and
opinions are welcome at tred2@yahoo.com, but please do
not write and express your distaste for rape stories.
It's in the header, and I feel that I have clearly
explained all of my reasons for writing this story.

I made up Monica's middle name, Luina.  I don't know
if her middle name has ever been mentioned, and I'm
too lazy to do the research, frankly.  I just thought
it fit.

I'm not a psychologist so I have no idea what
questions or advice they would REALLY give, so I took
a stab at it.  On the same token, I am not a cop, a
lawyer or a judge.....I don't know how the court
procedure works, which is one of the reasons I left
out the court proceedings.  Also, I didn't really
think it was very relevant to this
Doggett-and-Reyes-centered story.

I hope you enjoyed the story!  Comments, questions and
screams of outrage gleefully accepted at
tred2@yahoo.com.