This chapter deals with some subject matter which there is a chance some readers will find disturbing. Mature people only, please. Be warned of sexual references.
MELTING HEARTS DOMESTIC BLISS: Scent of a Woman
Years after the trauma, long after they had first brushed the snow off their jackets and thawed out their sanity again, things had settled into a comfortable routine for the Doggett-Scully family in Atlanta. Without consciously planning it, the foursome's lives had settled into a pleasant domestic monotony. The sun rose and set over the extended family's four houses, and with it each day came the bustle and trivial issues of family life. There were Monica and John's two kids - eleven year old Lily and nine year old Nathan. Lily, the former mute now a smiling and gentle girl on the brink of puberty; her brother a tousel-haired basketball lover with a budding will of his own. Scully and Mulder did not have kids of their own - their house being a refuge of peace and quiet - but were in any case involved daily in the lives of not only Lily and Nathan, but also of Christi and Charlie's three children. Chloe and Lachlan, whose ages mirrored those of their cousins, were both Doggetts by nature, but Catherine, the intellectual and a year older than the rest, was a Scully through and through, and also the one who forced Scully to constantly hide her sense of favouritism.
And yet amongst the school runs, loads of washing, the calls to tie up shoelaces or hurry up and get in the car, there were moments when the skies clouded over, and the sun's rays previously warming their living rooms disappeared behind grey skies and chilly winds. Many times it was the trauma of their pasts which reared its many ugly heads, but as a family they were used to this, and even this had now fallen into a routine. There were hugs, blankets wrapped around shaking shoulders, talks with Deirdre in upstairs bedrooms. In the twelve years since the accident, she had always been available in her profession as a psychologist. She was John's aunt, Anne's sister, but having no family of her own she had become a central part of their lives. She was their stalwart protector, the one who had spent countless hours listening to horrific memories, steadily holding a hand while any one of them poured their heart out. She had never wavered in her professionalism; her expression one of calm understanding and eternal patience as her blue eyes focused on them from behind her glasses.
The fact that Deirdre had never gotten around to seizing a life of her own was something none of them had ever spent too much time thinking about. Scully knew that Deirdre had spent her younger days helping Anne raise John, after Anne had unexpectedly fallen pregnant out of wedlock at the tender age of seventeen. Deirdre's twenties had therefore been lost in a flurry of diapers and babysitting, studying her college textbooks while bottle-feeding her nephew. Whether this had put her off domestic life or whether she had just never gotten around to having one of her own was unknown, but Scully had long accepted it. It was not until one fall twelve years after the accident that the skies once again clouded their lives, and they learned that even Deirdre had her breaking point.
For Scully at least, it felt as if it came out of nowhere. There had been no clues to see it coming. The day before she arrived home to find Deirdre upset, she had appeared fine. She was talkative and sociable, around to share dinner with them at least three times a week. And then on the day the trouble erupted, Scully had walked into Monica's living room, setting her case down and at once seeing Deirdre was quiet in an armchair. This in itself was not unusual, yet there was something strange in the sullen way she was staring at the TV- as though without really seeing it - that had worried Scully. Then too was the fact that she sat there alone, the rest of the family talking in the kitchen. They were only separated by a few metres, but Deirdre was a world away.
As Scully shedded her coat she saw Monica approach and gently take Deirdre's arm to break her reverie. She jumped slightly and then looked up as though surprised to see Monica standing there, brown eyes bearing down in concern.
"I'm fine," Deirdre said, smiling professionally. She got to her feet to prove it, following Monica back to the kitchen to help with the meal. Scully knew it was a lie, but was in no position to press her. Anne could have easily broken down her sister's walls, but for once Anne and Jack were not around, having left for a three day mini-break to the beach house the day before.
"You seem quiet," Scully commented, as she joined them.
Deirdre smiled away her concern. "Just a long day."
Across the room Scully caught Mulder's eyes and knew at once that Deirdre's withdrawn body language had not gone unnoticed by him either. He touched his hand warmly to Deirdre's back as he passed her, in a show of solidarity for whatever trying patient she had endured at her clinic in the city that day. A moment later Christi raised the issue of who would give the two boys a lift to the acquatic centre for their swimming lesson the next day, and the enigma of Deirdre's silence was quickly lost in the onslaught of arrangements.
But then, at that stage they had had no reason to think any differently.
XXX
For Scully, the enigma of Deirdre's behaviour became steadily more puzzling over the following few hours, her suspicion that something was wrong solidifying into certainty. Nothing Deirdre did painted it in a neon sign, but it was evident in the small details which caught Scully's eye: she would participate in conversation but not initiate one, she sighed with a heavy weariness that rarely befell her, and seemed far too absorbed in her meal. The confirmation had come when time marched on and Deirdre failed to make her usual move to drive home and call it a night, instead hanging around with Scully in the kitchen, who was putting away the last plate in a cupboard. Scully realised then that they were alone; the rest of the family out of sight in the living room or having already returned to their own houses for the night.
"Are you sure you're all right?" Scully asked, voice low so the others would not hear.
Deirdre edged closer, casting a guarded glance behind her. When she answered she spoke quietly.
"I wanted to ask your opinion on something."
Her body language indicated she did not want to say any more within earshot of the others, and so with immediate concern Scully nodded, leading Deirdre to slip out the back door and, in the cool moonlight, through the gate in the fence to her and Mulder's silent house. When they were inside they headed automatically upstairs to the spare bedroom, which had long become ground zero for personal conversations with Deirdre. It was there that Scully and Mulder confided in her. The small single bed had borne the weight of twelve years' worth of pain, but never had the pain been Deirdre's.
Scully shut the door behind them and side by side they sat on the bed. During the short trip from next door, Deirdre had recovered her composure, looking as professional and calm as she had always been.
"I just need your professional opinion," Deirdre stated. "It's a matter at work. A patient of mine."
"I'm listening," Scully said, shifting to get comfortable on the lumpy mattress. The bed was only used once a month by Catherine, in her and Scully's precious aunt-niece girls' nights.
"This needs to be just between us. Technically I'm in breach of privacy mentioning this to you at all."
Scully nodded. She saw a look of slight nervousness creep into Deirdre's face and briefly rubbed her knee, willing it away.
"Tell me how I can help," she said.
"It's a male patient of mine," Deirdre started. "He's aged in his mid-forties, single, no ex-wife or kids. He's worked as a mechanic for the last twenty years, seems very quiet, anti-social, internally aggressive. He's been referred to me by his GP, on behalf of his employer. They have concerns about his interactions in the workplace, comments that are considered inappropriate, increasing erratic behaviour and unreliability. I consulted with him for the first time this morning. At this stage I have my suspicions about Bipolar."
Scully nodded along. Nothing so far sounded the least bit unusual in Deirdre's line of work. For the last forty years she had worked with the psychologically ill. She had treated people from all walks of life, and probed every psychiatric disease ever documented.
"What's the problem?" she asked.
Deirdre hesitated, taking an awkward breath and appearing to choose her words carefully while focusing on the beige carpet at their feet. It was as if she hoped to pluck the right words from between the worn threads.
"He exhibited some strange behaviour to examination," she said finally.
"In what way?"
"He volunteered some graphic detail in regards to his sexual desires, his appetites and preferences. Normally it doesn't bother me to discuss a patient's sex life - it's a part of being human. I'm not a sex therapist but I help where I can. But usually when I'm asked to advise or counsel a matter regarding a sexual relationship I'm not dragged into the bed with them."
Scully stared, incredulous and immediately alarmed. She searched for a way she could have misinterpreted Deirdre's words, but found none, and the worst was confirmed in Deirdre's unsettled expression. She instantly put her hand back on Deirdre's knee, and with an effort fought to gain control of her own emotions.
"Are you saying he harassed you?"
Deirdre sighed, removing her glasses and rubbing her tired eyes with one hand.
"He didn't lay a hand on me, if that's what you mean. He didn't come any closer than a handshake at the beginning and end of consultation. But he didn't hold back when it came to complimenting my anatomy, and his eyes spent an inappropriate amount of time on my chest. I sat with my legs crossed for the first five minutes, and I'll admit I didn't realise at first that he was staring straight up my skirt."
Scully stared. She realised her mouth was hanging open slightly, and fought to close it as a thousand questions and concerns fought for attention.
"I told him his comments in relation to me were inappropriate," Deirdre went on. "And after that he toned it down. I don't know if he got the message. But either way I wanted to tell someone, just in case."
Scully nodded. "Of course. I'm glad you did."
There was a momentary pause as they both collected their thoughts.
"Perhaps you should be declining to treat him," Scully ventured.
Deirdre shook her head. "He's in need of treatment. It's the reason he was referred to me. I can't turn away a patient simply because I don't like them."
"Yet his treatment can't be effective unless you develop a good rapport," Scully argued. "If you're uncomfortable or being treated inappropriately then I can't see that being established. He may be better off in the hands of another practitioner. A male psychiatrist, perhaps."
Deirdre sighed. She was quiet for a moment.
"He's probably harmless," she concluded at last.
"I doubt that," Scully said to herself, thinking aloud. "When's your next appointment?"
"Noon on Wednesday," Deirdre answered.
"You don't have to treat someone if your own safety is at risk," Scully said firmly. "There are more appropriate places and situations for him to gain the help he needs. If I were you I'd be putting in a call to the GP, finding a more appropriate arrangement."
Deirdre nodded absently. After a moment she took a deep breath.
"You're probably right. Perhaps I'll call them tomorrow."
"Make sure you do," Scully said gently, rubbing her knee. "In the meantime ... how do you feel? Are you all right?"
In her mind she heard herself asking the question exactly as Deirdre usually asked it of her. Whenever she felt an anxiety attack, whenever a nightmare caught her in its icy chains or the memories eased in during her work day, Deirdre was there, one hand on her knee and asking her to verbalise how she felt. The role reversal felt strange.
"I'm fine I think," Deirdre replied. "Mainly I'm hoping that we can keep this to ourselves. You know what John's like. If he gets wind of it he's likely to dash off, storm his way into my office, pin him down and punch him senseless."
Privately, Scully found herself thinking that it would probably be a good idea. She could not help smiling a little at the thought. Simultaneously she found herself doubting that Deirdre was as fine as she insisted. She was still slightly avoiding Scully's eyes, instead staring morosely at the carpet and wardrobe opposite.
"Why don't you stay here tonight? Have some company."
"No." Deirdre squeezed her knee in thanks, but was already rising to her feet to prove herself. "I should be getting home."
"Are you sure? You're more than welcome to stay. I think it might be a good idea."
"Thanks, but I'm fine," Deirdre said, slipping on her glasses with a smile. "He's not the first man to lust after me, even at my age. But I assure you I won't be giving him any more of my time."
XXX
The Atlanta Mental Health Clinic rented a floor in an old office building two blocks down from the FBI Field Office. Twenty years ago, when Gordon had first started practicing there, it had been little more than one consulting room with a secondhand reception desk. But in recent years the field of psychology and counselling had gained increasing respect from the public, the stigma of mental illness which had rampaged in the early twentieth century had dissolved to the point where no one hesitated to seek guidance through their problems. Victims of depression, crime, trauma, and family issues all found their way to the clinic, and the bustling clinic now hosted nine full-time practitioners. Deirdre was one of those practitioners, his good friend and long-time colleague who had been with him virtually from the start. She was also very successful, and this showed in her six week long waiting list. The only time he had ever seen her slow down was when her nephew John and his three colleagues had crashed in the mountains. He had supported her then, had been the only one she had allowed in through her defences. He remembered vividly sitting on the worn brown couch in her consulting room, his arm around her shoulders as she wearily confided in him horrors beyond anything he had heard before. For a long time he had expected her to resign and retreat to caring for them full-time, but she had succeeded in the impossible, in getting their lives back on track, and had returned to work stronger, wiser, and more of a workaholic than ever before.
Today, his patient was an overweight, middle-aged accountant whose life seemed to falling apart on several fronts. He no longer enjoyed his work - dreading the long days locked into an industry he no longer cared about - his two teenagers were out of control and his marriage was falling apart. Five weeks ago he had hurt his knee, and this had been the proverbial straw which had broken the camel's back. Gordon sat in his chair, listening intently as the man described his latest fight with his wife, until a muffled shout hit his ears.
He stopped, suddenly on high alert. Opposite him his client raised his head, giving a querying look.
"Did you hear that?" Gordon asked him.
The patient looked blank, and Gordon got to his feet, opening his door to the hallway, glancing both ways. Off to his left was the waiting room, a queue building in front of the reception desk, where both secretaries were on the phones. The murmur of the waiting room indicated nothing unusual, but then it hadn't sounded as though it had come from that direction. To his right were doors leading to three other consulting rooms, including Deirdre's, and all were currently occupied. But there was not a sound in that direction, either. Perhaps he had imagined it, he thought. Perhaps it had been a child in the waiting room play corner. He went to shut his door again when he heard an unpleasant thud from behind Deirdre's door.
This time his patient had heard it too. Gordon walked forward and knocked on Deirdre's door.
There was no immediate reply. He knocked again.
"Is everything okay in there?"
To his right another of his colleagues had poked her head out. She looked just as confused and concerned as he felt himself.
He knocked a third time to announce he was going to come in, and cracked the door open. What he saw made him throw it open with a crash into the wall behind.
Deirdre was standing behind her consulting couch, locked from behind in an aggressive full-body hold by her patient. He was tall and strong, and with one hand clamped over her mouth he tilted her head back onto his shoulder. His thick arms were like tree trunks around her thin frame, and she was powerless to pry him off her. As Gordon crashed the door open, the man's other free hand was roughly groping her left breast, and his hungry face was taking pleasure in her terror and his dominance. A small side table was toppled over on the floor, and had evidently been the thump Gordon had heard.
"GET OFF OF HER!" Gordon roared, surging forward to grab an arm. Behind him his own patient rushed forward to assist, his other female colleague taking one glance and rushing to summon help. Between them they managed to pry his arms away, and after a few seconds of wrestling Deirdre pulled herself out of his grasp, stumbling several steps away to the safety of the other side of the couch. In the same moment help arrived from the waiting room, but as Gordon slackened his grip on the man he broke free again, and resisting a citizen's arrest he used his large frame to bulldoze his way back down the hallway and out of sight. Gordon heard the man's thudding feet bolt from the Clinic, and there was a telling thud of the fire escape.
Suddenly there was silence, the room and hallway full of people, all watching Deirdre who was standing in shock, eyes going blankly from one to the next, her body trembling. Gordon glanced her over. Her clothes - her blouse and pants - were completely askew, but he was at least glad that none of the buttons appeared to be undone.
"I'll call the police," his female colleague said, turning to edge her way back through the crowd.
"No," Deirdre said firmly, raising a hand.
Their colleague hesitated.
"Don't," Deirdre reiterated, now trying to avoid the dozen pairs of eyes locked onto her. "I'm fine."
Their receptionist Marianne pointed toward to the phone. "We should -"
"No," Deirdre said again. This time her firmness struck them, and Gordon saw his colleagues' mouths fall closed. No one wanted to start an argument with her, and they settled for catching each other's eyes, searching for a consensus.
Gordon stepped forward and held up a placating hand. "Perhaps if we can just have a moment."
Marianne nodded, as if suddenly realising what a staring crowd they were. She started to wordlessly usher the patients from the waiting room back up the hallway again, until only Gordon and his young female colleague Jayne remained. Gordon shut the door to offer Deirdre some privacy. Jayne was already leading Deirdre to sit down, where she sank with a hand over her eyes. Gordon saw her body was still trembling in shock, as if struggling to absorb what had just happened.
Gordon joined them, sitting down on her coffee table.
"We should call the police," he pressed gently. "They can still catch him."
Deirdre huffed sceptically from behind her hand. "And what? Force it to court so he can get a slap on the wrist? A restraining order and recommendation for psychiatric evaluation?"
Gordon sighed. Though his morals disagreed with not calling for help, he knew she was right in her assessment. He had touched her, but - as far as he could tell - had not physically harmed her. He was known to be psychiatrically ill, and the case would fall over even in the slightest breeze.
"At least let us call an ambulance," Gordon said, watching her shake beneath Jayne's comforting hand. "Let them take a look at you."
Deirdre shook her head without comment.
"I'm calling someone," he insisted.
There was a pause.
"Come on," Jayne said, rubbing her back a little. "A family member?"
At last Deirdre sighed.
"Dana," she said, voice trembling even in those two syllables. "Her number's in my purse."
"All right," Gordon said. He stood up, found her personal bag under her desk, and pulled out her black purse. He knew about Dana Scully, both medical doctor and FBI employee. He just hoped he'd be able to get hold of her.
XXX
Scully marched into the Atlanta Mental Health Clinic, her heels clicking authoriatively against the floor. Her FBI Identification bounced against her chest, and as she hurried through the doors, the crowd of waiting patients parted for her like Moses and the Red Sea. She had been finishing up her last patient in her Wednesday role as an FBI doctor when Gordon had called. He had not told her the full story - only that she had been attacked, but not raped, and the letch had fled into the streets of Atlanta. Scully had snatched up her things and marched straight over. The Clinic receptionist took one glance at her and pointed up the corridor to the consulting rooms. Scully did not even slow down as she continued walking in that direction. She knew where Deirdre's room was, had spent a few consulting hours in there herself.
"Dana," a man said, coming to meet her in the corridor with his hand outstretched. Scully automatically shook it, knowing this man must be Gordon. She had heard Deirdre mention him on occasion, but had never met him herself. He dressed like an old professor whose fashion sense had not moved with the times, but appeared kind and relieved to see her.
"What happened?" Scully asked. She kept her voice low, aware the door to the room was open only a little away, and knowing Deirdre was inside.
"She was attacked by a patient," he explained. "I heard an odd noise, went to investigate, found her trapped in his arms. He had one hand on her mouth, one on her breast before we pried him off. He bolted into the street. She won't let us call the police."
Scully nodded.
"What happened before you interrupted? Has she said?"
Gordon shrugged. "She's not inviting questions."
Scully took a deep breath, getting her bearings. "I'll handle it from here. I'll need to talk to her alone."
He nodded and led her into the room. Scully saw Deirdre on her old brown couch, head resting in one hand. At a glance it appeared she had been quiet for several minutes, and that another woman, much younger, was keeping her company awaiting Scully's arrival. Deirdre did not look up as Scully put her things down and gently edged her way into the room. Gordon summoned the other woman to give them some space, and the two left, closing the door behind them. Scully sat down on the coffee table at Deirdre's knees, carefully reaching a hand to her forearm.
"It's okay," she said, gently easing Deirdre from her hiding place. "It's all right."
Deirdre reluctantly met her eyes, and Scully saw at once she was in shock. Her blue eyes, normally so calm, were almost trembling with the reverberations of the incident. She was dressed only in a white blouse and black pants, but through the blouse Scully could see her tense posture, and she was shivering even though the room was warm. Her wavy, shoulder-length hair was dishevelled from the attack, as if the man had gripped her with it. She glanced at the door, and Scully knew what was on her mind.
"It's all right," Scully said, gently squeezing her arm. "We're alone."
She moved her fingers to Deirdre's wrist, and as she expected found her pulse was in a full sprint. The fact that Deirdre had also not said a word spoke volumes.
"You're in shock," Scully said.
She stood and reached for a colourful throw rug on the back of the couch, and wrapped it snug around Deirdre's trembling shoulders. She rubbed her back and then sat back down, holding one of her hands. It would do no good to delay the inevitable.
"I'm going to ask you some questions," she said gently. "I need you to try your best to answer them. It's just between us. Okay?"
Deirdre nodded. Scully saw she was trying her best to pull herself together, but was struggling in her shock.
"Did he rape you?"
"No," Deirdre said, and she sighed with apparent relief. "No."
Scully nodded. "Did he hit you?"
"No," Deirdre said, taking a steadying breath. "But he was rough."
"Do you have any injuries? Are you in any pain?"
Deirdre shook her head.
"I know he touched you," Scully said gently. "Did his hands go inside your clothes?"
Again, Deirdre slightly shook her head. But her silence indicated to Scully that she had hit a nerve. Scully rubbed her forearm for a moment, then tightened her grip on her hand.
"Can you tell me where he touched you?"
Deirdre avoided her eyes. Scully chose not to rush her.
"All over," Deirdre said, directing the statement at a dusty patch of carpet in the corner of the room. "He was rough."
Scully's sharp mind noted that it was the second time she had said that. She toyed with the idea of persuading her to go to the police - or even a hospital - but discarded the idea as soon as it came. She knew from Deirdre's body language that she would shoot it down immediately. Deirdre was a Doggett by nature, and had the capacity to be every bit as stubborn as her nephew John. Even if Scully forced her to a hospital, she was likely to walk out as soon as Scully's back was turned.
"I'm going to take you home," Scully said. "Do you have any patients booked for this afternoon?"
Deirdre nodded, glancing at the clock.
"I should have started five minutes ago."
She took a deep breath, sitting up so the rug slipped a little. Scully saw where this was going and immediately made to head her off.
"I'm driving you home," Scully said firmly. "I'm going to ask your secretary to reschedule your appointments. I want you to just sit here for a minute while I go make arrangements, and then we're going to walk to your car, and I'm driving you back to my place."
"No," Deirdre said, looking as though there was nothing she wanted to do less. "I can't bear the attention. Not right now."
Scully knew that feeling perfectly well, having experienced it hundreds of times over the last twelve years. She had a powerful love for the family, but it was true that they were fiercely protective of each other, and she knew they would take one look at Deirdre and know something had happened. They would not rest until they knew what, and Deirdre was not ready to take the pressure. All she wanted was to lie down.
"I promise they won't ask any questions," Scully said. "I won't let them. Okay? Not until you're ready."
Deirdre still hesitated.
"And I won't tell them," Scully went on. "Everything you've told me has been in confidence, and I won't breach it."
After another moment, Deirdre finally nodded.
"All right," Scully said. "I'll be right back."
XXX
Scully explained the situation to the secretary Marianne, who nodded that it was no problem and hoped Deirdre would be all right, and then she made her way out into the lift lobby, where she pulled out her cell phone and dialled Monica's number. She answered before the first ring had finished.
"Hey," she said happily.
Scully could hear the fast tapping of a computer keyboard in the background. Monica was evidently absorbed in her full time role as financial manager to the family's wealth. She could picture her with the cell phone wedged between her ear and shoulder, as she focused on the screen through her reading glasses.
"Hey," Scully replied.
"What's the matter?" Monica asked immediately, hearing her depressed tone. "Are you all right?"
The tapping ceased.
"I need a favour," Scully said. "No questions asked."
"Anything," Monica replied, voice laced with concern.
"I need you to call Mulder and John, tell them I won't be coming home from work with them tonight. And before you ask, it's because I'm at Deirdre's clinic, and I'm driving her home to our house. We'll be there in about an hour. When we get there, I don't want anyone asking any questions or forcing her to talk."
Monica's concern suddenly intensified. "What's happened? Is she all right?"
"I can't tell you that," Scully said with a sigh. "But she's not feeling a hundred percent, and the last thing she needs is an inquisition. She needs some space. Make sure everyone knows."
The line was quiet.
"Okay?"
"You're scaring me," Monica complained.
"I need you to trust me, Monica," Scully said.
"I do," Monica said. "But -"
"Thank you," Scully finished, and hit the end call button. Slipping the phone back into her inside pocket, she hurried back to collect Deirdre.
XXX
An hour later when Scully arrived home, she was relieved to find that there was no crowd waiting for them. Monica had evidently spread the word, and the family had chosen to respect Scully's advice. She led Deirdre upstairs to the spare room, knowing she wanted to lie down for a while, and began to turn down the blankets for her, wondering in the back of her mind when she had last changed the sheets. Deirdre had been silent the entire drive home, but Scully knew this was to be expected. She had tried to offer what comfort she could, holding her hand or rubbing her knee as traffic allowed, and had turned on a classical music station, hoping the melodic waltzes of Strauss would relax her. It was hard to tell what Deirdre was feeling, but she took it as good news that she stopped shivering, and though she wasn't keen on conversation, she appeared a lot more relaxed now she was out of the office and away from the scene of the crime. She closed her eyes after ten minutes, and did not open them until they pulled into Scully's garage.
Nevertheless, though she had improved it was clear that she was not her normal self. As Scully finished turning down the blankets and fluffing the pillow, she realised Deirdre had already lowered her pants, beyond caring that the bedroom door was still wide open. Scully elected not to show her concern, instead she was professional as she played along, folding her pants over the armchair and then her blouse when Deirdre stripped it off. Deirdre then laid her watch, necklace and glasses on the nightstand and sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed in her plain bra and underwear.
"I'm fine," Deirdre said. "I just want to lay down for an hour."
"Of course," Scully said. "And you know I'm here if you want to talk. When you're ready."
Deirdre nodded.
Scully had not pushed her to talk yet about what had happened, knowing that she was not ready. The family knew everything there was to know about trauma, and one thing they had all long learned was not to push people into talking before they were ready for it. As a doctor, she knew that Deirdre's mind was overwhelmed with what had just happened, and hence the instinctive urge to lie down and sleep for an hour. She was also curious by Deirdre's lack of hesitation in shedding her clothes. It was almost as if she could feel the stain of his hands on her blouse and pants, and had Scully not folded them over a chair, she speculated that Deirdre would have left them on the floor and not bothered to pick them up ever again.
Running with this theory, she said, "I'll ask Anne for some clothes you can borrow."
"Thanks," Deirdre said, nodding her gratitude.
Knowing now she had guessed right, she added professionally, "Would you like me to find you some clean underwear?"
"No," Deirdre said. "I'm fine." She eyed the clothes on the armchair. "Just throw them out."
Scully nodded. She would not throw them out, but would remove them from her sight.
"I was hoping later I could have a shower," Deirdre ventured. "I've always found there's something therapeutic about hot water."
"Of course," Scully said. "Whenever you're ready. I'll leave you a fresh towel."
After that Deirdre seemed to have exhausted her interest in conversation, and slipped into the bed. She rolled on her side and closed her eyes. Scully stayed for a moment, but after only a few minutes she was sure she was asleep, and she retreated, closing the door behind her.
XXX
In the end, Deirdre slept several hours longer than Scully had expected. Whilst she would normally go next door to Monica's or Christi's to socialise, that afternoon she instead stayed in her own living room. The pretense was so she could work, her real reason so she could keep an eye on Deirdre. She had told Monica and Anne upon arriving home that Deirdre just wanted some space for a while. As she had expected, they had wanted to know what had happened, but Scully informed them she had given her word, and that she would keep it. They had been both worried and a little annoyed at her stonewalling, but had played along. Nevertheless when Scully asked Anne for some clothes Deirdre could borrow, Monica's eyes narrowed in concern in an expression that mirrored her former career as an FBI agent. There were only so many reasons that Deirdre would need a change of clothes, and she was evidently wondering what had happened to those Deirdre had been wearing. As Monica's eyes studied her, Scully had turned away. She felt sometimes as if Monica could read her mind.
Other family members arrived home steadily throughout the afternoon, first Christi and Charlie and the five kids, all home from school, and towards evening Mulder and John. They had all rushed in, with varying degrees of concern and urgency, and had all tried to prise the truth from her. The difference was that when Scully told Mulder, Monica and John that she would not break her word, they understood at once. All of them had shared deep confidences with Deirdre in their treatment over the years, and they knew the weight and meaning of promised silence and discretion. They could not turn down Deirdre when she had asked the same sensitivity of them. Instead, they set up camp in the living room. John removed his tie and flung it over her kitchen bench, and then flopped down on her sofa, socked feet on her coffee table, all with an air of not moving until Deirdre appeared again. Anne, who had been silent with worry since Scully's phone call, perched in an armchair. Though she pretended to take interest in the black and white Western on television, her eyes repeatedly turned toward the top of the stairs. Mulder, after spending several minutes wordlessly studying Scully's body language, elected that he would not worry until he knew what was going on; he tore open a fresh bag of sunflower seeds and cracked one between his teeth. Christi and Charlie could also not help gravitating to where the crowd was, and all in all the only ones who remained carefree were the kids, and Jack. The kids did not know any different, Jack said flatly that it was none of their business unless Deirdre chose to make it their business, and until then they should respect her request for privacy and leave her the hell alone. If anyone wanted him, he would be in his garage, servicing his car.
It wasn't until just after six o'clock that Scully suddenly caught sight of Deirdre. She had slipped out of the spare bedroom, and paused on her way to the bathroom to glance at the crowd waiting for her. She was still only in her lingerie, the clothes Anne had loaned and which Scully had left on the armchair now hanging over her arm. Evidently she had not expected such an audience in the two metres to the bathroom door. She moved so silently, however, that Scully was only one who saw her, and got to her feet to go check on her just as Deirdre disappeared into the bathroom.
When she knocked on the door, Deirdre let her in, looking half amused and half exasperated.
"I see the Swiss Guard are on parade downstairs."
"They're concerned," Scully said. "They want to know what happened."
Deirdre nodded to herself as she laid the change of clothes on the bathroom bench. Scully saw that she looked much better; the sleep had evidently done her good.
"How are you feeling?" Scully asked.
Deirdre shrugged, but it was with a smile as she perched on the edge of the bath beside Scully.
"I feel a lot better actually. I don't know what came over me earlier. Shock, I suppose."
"You know that's normal," Scully said, giving her bare knee a brief squeeze. "Considering what you went through."
She left the statement hanging, an invitation for Deirdre to fill her in. Deirdre, unfortunately, did not seem keen to take her up on it.
"I just want to forget about it."
Scully studied her a moment, assessing the sincerity of this statement. Deirdre's real feelings were evident when she still wouldn't meet her eyes.
"If you're sure," Scully said slowly, "and that's how genuinely feel, then I won't say another word about it. But I don't want you saying that simply because you think it's eaiser to deny your feelings, or too hard to face the concern downstairs. You know that won't work."
Deirdre had been the one who had drummed this into all four of the survivors after the crash. She had forced Scully, in particular, to come clean with her feelings, to express them and deal with them, and not dodge them like an obstacle course. As she said this, she saw Deirdre sigh, knowing she was right. What the man had done evidently bothered her. What bothered her more was the fact that she was bothered by it.
"Look," Scully said, taking her hand. "You haven't told me everything that he did. But I know he touched you, and it's perfectly normal to feel violated. It wasn't only unwelcome, it was a violent assault. It's natural to feel bothered by that. You can't invalidate your feelings."
Deirdre did not react to her words, but Scully was certain she had absorbed them. Silence reigned for a long moment, Deirdre deep in thought, the murmur of discussion and gunshots of the Western distant downstairs.
When Deirdre at last spoke, it was a neutral tone - flat as if looking back on the events with detachment.
"It was the end of the consultation," she said. "It hadn't gone particularly well. I hadn't been keen on seeing him at all, but I hadn't been able to get through to the GP to make other arrangements, and there was no choice but to proceed. But I went in there firm. I kept him on topic, indicated clearly what was off limits. When he grabbed me, it was the end of the consultation, I'd been shaking his hand."
Scully listened intently, holding Deirdre's hand.
"He pinned me behind the couch. He had his hand over my mouth so I couldn't shout for help. It sounds strange, but he really stank. Dirt, sweat and body odour. I couldn't fight him off. He was strong. I'd wondered what he wanted. But then he started touching me. His hand was rough between my legs, groping me. He was talking obscenities in my ear as he felt me, saying how much I needed it, asking when I'd last been fucked. He knew I was single, started speculating about my bedroom habits, whether I pleasure myself. He pulled me back hard against his crotch. And it was erect."
Scully struggled to keep her own feelings in check. She wished now they had called the police immediately.
"He kept talking as his hand went all over me. He groped my buttocks, my breasts, my thighs, mostly between my legs. He told me he was going to fuck me, that I'd enjoy it. He told me in detail. That I wouldn't fight him. That he'd fuck me from behind and afterwards I'd thank him for it." There was a pause. Deirdre's eyes were filled with tears. "I'd known he was ill. I didn't know he was quite that disturbed. If Gordon hadn't come in he would've raped me right then. I probably owe him my life."
Scully had no idea what to say. Shock was reverberating throughout her senses. She was looking at Deirdre through wet eyes.
"And don't start talking about the police again," Deirdre said, with sudden force. "You can force me to go, but I'll refuse to make a statement."
Scully nodded. She understood, even if she didn't agree. The justice system was painful and humiliating for victims of sexual assault. Their emotional pain was often so great that they found it easier to let the perpretrator go than to stand up and give a detailed account in court, to have it stretch on for months as it trundled through the legal system.
She could not force her.
"Okay," she agreed. "But I think the family needs to know. Especially Anne. You can't hide this from them, and their support might help."
Deirdre stared at the tiles on the floor. After a long moment she looked up.
"Maybe later," she said.
"I think you need to," Scully pressed.
Deirdre nodded, but got suddenly to her feet and busied herself with preparing her shower. She slid open the door and grabbed a washcloth.
Scully gave her a firm look. From downstairs came a shout from Nathan as he searched for his Dad.
"Maybe later," Deirdre repeated. "When the kids are in bed."
XXX
Deirdre's shower was long, and in the half hour in which Scully waited downstairs they had prepared the evening meal for the family. Whether the duration of the shower was because Deirdre did in fact find the hot water and steamy bathroom therapeutic, or whether she felt "dirty" after the assault was unknown, but Scully made no issue of it and tried to remain cheerful in spite of everything she had just heard. It was not easy.
When Deirdre did at last poke her head out, hair wet and dressed in her sister's clothes, all five kids were in the living room, and their presence was effective in preventing questions. She also made such a show of sauntering down the stairs with a smile that everyone seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief. The kitchen bench was covered in serving bowls of vegetables, fries and meat. Tonight everyone would help themselves. Scully noticed all the adults in the family were watching Deirdre carefully, but she merely smiled as she joined them.
"You hungry?" Christi greeted, handing her a plate.
"Famished," Deirdre replied.
Beside her Anne's arm went around her sister's shoulders in a silent message that whatever had happened, they were there for her. The crowd lapsed into a conspicuous silence as they watched her, and after an awkward moment Charlie broke the silence, directing his attention to Chloe and asking if she had passed her history test that day.
"I don't know," Chloe shrugged, ignoring him.
"What do you mean you don't know?" Christi asked, backing him up. "The teacher graded it, didn't she?"
"It's not like it matters," Chloe said. "It's just about dead people and stuff."
Monica looked amused. "'Dead people and stuff'?"
The argument waged on, and while Chloe steadily lost ground, Deirdre walked to the sink, grabbing a clean glass and pouring herself a drink of water. John, who had not said a word and had been radiating concern in her direction for the last two minutes, walked up behind her and took her shoulders, intending to give them a bit of a massage.
The effect was instantaneous. Deirdre tensed, turned, and eyes wild, threw him off her, holding up a hand to keep him at bay. John held up his hands innocently and took a step back.
Silence gripped the room. In its throbbing moments, Scully saw horrified understanding creep into the eyes of the adults.
Scully looked to the kids, rounding them up with her eyes.
"Go next door," she ordered.
Lachlan looked at her, annoyed. "Why?"
"Go," Monica ordered.
All five kids were annoyed and did not understand, but they left under Monica and Scully's firm looks.
When they were gone and they heard the tell-tale click of the latch on the side gate, the few seconds felt like forever. Deirdre stood there, eyes now glistening, realising what she had done. John's eyes were equally wet as he stared in horror at what he knew now had to be true. He had wondered before when she had needed to borrow Anne's clothes. Now her reaction left no room for doubt.
"Who did it to you?" he asked He looked simultaneously about to cry on her behalf, and ready to murder whoever she named.
Scully stepped forward and put a careful hand on Deirdre's arm.
"It's not what you think," Scully told them.
"It's not assault?" Jack asked.
Deirdre sighed. She closed her eyes, wishing she just about anywhere else.
"He didn't rape me," she said, lifting her eyes to her stricken sister. "It was just an unwelcome advance."
Monica did not believe this polite take on things for a second, and Scully did not blame her.
"An unwelcome advance?" Monica repeated. "He didn't attack you?"
Deirdre turned away at the words. Anne eased from her shock enough to come stand by her side, very gently putting an arm around her.
John was growing angrier by the second. "What's his name?"
Deirdre did not reply.
"He has a name, right?" John demanded.
Deirdre nodded absently. "Bernard Roach. He's a patient of mine."
John marched for the door.
"John!" Monica called.
"Take care of her," he ordered, and slammed his way out.
"What's he gonna do?" Charlie asked. "String him up from a tree?"
Scully threw a pleading look to Mulder, and he nodded, following John out the door.
"Come sit down," Anne said. Gently, slowly, she led her sister over to Scully's suite, sitting her down with an arm around her shoulders. Anne mouthed something to Christi. Scully did not understand, but Christi nodded and left the room.
"All right," Anne said, as the rest of them sat around them, Monica also with an arm around her. "Tell us everything that happened."
Wearily, Deirdre began to talk.
XXX
Two hour later, Scully made her way over to John and Monica's house, where John, Mulder and Monica had retreated. They had left Deirdre in the hands of Anne, and their sisters Jenny and Carol, whom Christi had summoned by phone. The four were talking intimately, holding Deirdre and listening as she spilled her heart out. Scully had thought it best to leave them alone.
It was late, the neighborhood dark and chilly with the onslaught of nighttime, and Monica and John had already sent their kids upstairs to bed. Sitting around a circular table were Mulder, John and Monica. The table was covered in papers, and Scully wearily sank into the fourth chair, a hand over her eyes.
"We rang the Bureau," John supplied, passing her a paper. "The guy's got a criminal record. Did time for rape fifteen years ago."
"Has two prior restraining orders," Mulder added, passing her more papers. "He was stalking women."
Scully nodded, but could not bear to read all the details. She skimmed the paper and pushed it away again.
"How is she?" Monica asked.
"I'm not sure," Scully admitted. "I think we should leave them to talk for a while. There's not much else we can do."
For a moment there was silence. It was hard to know what had happened to her, and to feel so helpless in its wake. But the best place for Deirdre was with her sisters.
Suddenly the back door opened and Christi and Charlie joined them. Christi found a spare seat and pulled it over, dropping it with a thud on the wooden floor.
"I'm gonna kill him," she said, sweeping a hand back through her fluffy blonde hair. "Twist his balls off."
"Tell us when and I'll be there," Monica said, looking equally as angry.
"We can't do that," Mulder intervened. "If you skirt the law and confront him, you'll only give him power. The attention will be a reward for the act. He may get the urge to complete it. To own her."
Christi closed her eyes.
"She won't go to the police," Charlie said. "We can't force her."
"She doesn't have to go to the police," Scully said. "His GP has a duty of care. He's aware of the criminal record, aware of his mental illness, that's the very reason he was referred to her. All she would need to do is to inform the doctor what happened, and things may very well take their own course. He'll be put in the care of a psychiatrist, someone who has experience dealing with criminal rehabilitation. He may even be institutionalised, get inpatient care."
Christi rolled her eyes. "He doesn't need care, he needs a cattle prod between the legs."
"And castration," Monica agreed.
"So that's it?" John asked helplessly. "We just let him get away with it?"
"What would you prefer?" Scully asked. "Traumatise her by forcing her to take the stand? To tell every detail in court: the feel of his hands, his threats, her turmoil. It'll be dragged through every appeal they have, the same information heard time and again, and at the end of the day, a crime committed under psychaitric illness will lead to time in a specialised institution, not prison itself. And for her, what would have been a bad 48 hours will grow into one traumatic year of her life."
"We could pay him a visit," John suggested darkly.
"You have two kids," Mulder pointed out. "Think of what'll happen if you get arrested on assault charges."
"If won't matter what happened to Deirdre," Charlie added. "You'll discredit the FBI, not to mention yourselves. You're too well-known. And the kids will get dragged in. I won't let it happen."
Scully reflected that there would have been a time when Mulder and Charlie would have grabbed the nearest gun and been the first out the door. But since the accident, and since the birth of the kids, they had both reached a maturity in middle age that led them to reflect before they acted.
"It's Deirdre's call," Scully said. "And whatever she decides is something we'll have to abide by. At the end of the day it's about her sanity."
No one said anything. They all looked depressed.
"There's so much pain in the world," Monica said at last. "All the time. I'm tired of it."
Scully and John both reached over to rub her back.
"She doesn't deserve it," Christi said, shaking her head. "She's done nothing but help people. And all of us ..."
"But after forty years of messing with people's heads, consulting the mentally ill, she was bound to strike a whacko," John said flatly. "In all the tens of thousands she's treated, it was overdue."
"I wouldn't expect that thought to bring her any comfort," Scully said. "But -" She sighed, and looked to Charlie, Mulder and John, hoping they would understand what she next wanted to say, "- Just be gentle with her for a little while. If she prefers not to be touched, don't question it. Her fear of you, of men, may not be rational, but it can't be helped."
John nodded, and a look guilt marred his features.
"I didn't mean to scare her," he said.
"You couldn't have known," Monica said. "None of us did."
They avoided Scully's eyes. She had known, even if she didn't have permission to tell them.
"Have you ever had anyone act like that toward you?" Christi asked seriously. "When you've consulted as a doctor?"
"Nothing quite like that," Scully said. "I've had men find me attractive, but that's not a crime."
"If it ever does happen, tell us straight away," Monica said firmly. "No hanging around leaving us in suspense."
"If anyone ever laid a hand on you, I'd kill 'em," John said flatly. "I don't care how many kids we have."
Scully smiled. She took it as a compliment, reached across the table to touch his hand briefly. The four of them had been through so much together, they would do anything for each other. When she withdrew her hand she laid it on Mulder's, and he held it warmly.
There was a knock on the back door. John tilted his head to get a view of Carol seeking entrance. She was the youngest of the four sisters, blonde like the others, but shorter and with a whacky tom-boyish manner.
"Hey John," she said, letting herself in. "Christi."
There were hugs and kisses for her niece and nephew; they had not had the chance to give proper greetings earlier.
"How is she?" Mulder asked.
"She's all right," Carol said. "He knocked her around, but she's better now she's talked. Laughing a little. We'll stay with her another few hours. But I think she'll be fine. She's tough, and she won't let him get the better of her. She just needed a shoulder."
"Are you sure?" Monica asked.
"Let us handle her," Carol said, squeezing Monica's shoulder. "She'll be fine. We've known her sixty years, there isn't much we can't handle. She -"
Carol suddenly broke off, catching sight of a figure making their way down the stairs. It was Lily, dressed in her favourite purple pyjamas, her brown her ruffled from an unsuccessful effort at sleep.
"Hey, Kiddo!" Carol greeted cheerfully.
Scully knew Carol adored kids, and in a second had swept Lily into a hug, planting a kiss on her head. Lily giggled, and when Carol ler her go, continued around to Monica.
"What are you doing out of bed?" Monica asked, sweeping her hair back affectionately.
Lily was nearly eleven now, but her bond with Monica had not yet dampened with age. She was a tough cool girl during the day, and when around her friends, but when the world wasn't watching, she still loved to crawl into Monica's lap and cuddle a while. The physical umbilical cord between them had been cut, but the psychological one was still intact.
"What's the matter?" Monica cooed, letting Lily sit in her lap, where she leaned her tired head against Monica's shoulder. "Can't sleep?"
"Bed time is bed time," John said firmly.
Lily ignored him.
It had been one of few areas of disagreement in John and Monica's marriage. Monica had no objections in either of her children crawling into her lap for a late night cuddle. Simply, she adored it. John had tried to enforce rules, but the numbers were against him. In the early days, they had argued over Lily coming into their bed, and seeing the effect it had on John and their marriage, Scully had been forced to weigh into the argument and come down on John's side. Anne and Christi had both backed her up. Since then, they did not crawl into bed with her, but neither would Monica order Lily straight back upstairs if she popped out of bed and sought her out for a cuddle.
"Who's the man outside?" Lily asked idly.
"What man?" Monica asked, looking instantly alert.
Lily shrugged. "The man."
"That's Uncle David," Carol supplied. "He's out talking cars with your Grandpa Jack."
David was Carol's husband. After having escorted his wife over to their house, he had felt it tactful to retreat and leave the talking to the women.
But Lily was shaking her head. "It's not Uncle David."
Monica looked on edge, but Mulder beat her to it. He had already jumped up from his chair and gone to the living room window, pulling back the curtain.
"You should be asleep," John said flatly, as he got up to join him. "Not gazin' out windows."
"Nothing there," Mulder reported.
John took a look himself, just to be sure, and found nothing. He looked back toward his daughter, evidently wondering if this was another of her excuses to delay getting sent back to bed. Scully, like John, knew she had an endless supply. I'm thirsty ... there was a noise ... it's too dark ... Whenever Scully was babysitting, she had the same approach as John, and marched them straight back to bed. Mulder, however, took delight in following either child upstairs, and helping them search under the bed, in the closet, or behind the curtain for the monster in question. He even stirred them up further, bringing in a notepad and pretending to take down a description of the intruder. It was hours before they settled again, but Mulder maintained life was too short to not have a little fun.
The back door opened. "Dad!"
It was Catherine. She was also in her pyjamas, her long red hair flowing down her back. She had evidently come from next door in bare feet, as there was dirt on her toes.
"What are you doing out of bed?" Charlie asked firmly.
But Catherine looked white and a little scared. Scully knew immediately something was wrong.
"What's the matter?"
"There's someone at the door," Catherine said, looking nervous.
"What door?" Christi asked.
"Ours," Catherine replied. "I was just getting a drink, and the door handle's twisting."
This was too much of a coincidence, and in a flash Scully had jumped to her feet. She grabbed Catherine's arm and steered her toward Carol.
"Stay here with your Aunt," she said.
She then marched for the front door. The others were all behind her, leaving Carol with the two girls, wary with one arm around each.
XXX
The night was cold and cloudy. With no moonlight, it was hard to see anything for a moment Scully stood on the porch, letting her eyes adjust. There was a lone streetlight several houses away, but the street was mostly dark shadows silhouetted against the night sky.
She stepped hesitantly out onto the front lawn, keeping her eyes peeled in all directions. Not a single leaf or blade of grass was moving. The night was perfectly still.
"I can't see anyone," Mulder said, off to her right.
Scully kept walking. The two girls had obviously seen something. She continued down toward the sidewalk.
Charlie went around to check his own front lawn, where Catherine had seen the prowler turning their front doorknob. He stared for a moment, but the lawn was still.
"There's no one here," Christi said, looking confused.
Suddenly there was a loud shout from John.
"HEY!"
Outside Anne and Jack's house, a shadowy figure broke into a run. John was then running himself, bolting after him.
"FBI! STOP THERE!"
Then they were all running. Mulder, who still worked out regularly, moved to the front of the pack. The man Bernard was fast, but John was faster, and in the length of another housefront, John had leapt on top of him, tackling him to the ground and slamming him over onto his back with law-enforcement precision.
The man looked scared. His eyes were wide as he stared up at the man who had him pinned.
"Are you Bernard Roach?" he demanded.
"Answer him!" Mulder yelled, joining his side. "Are you Bernard Roach?"
Behind them, Scully saw her own front door open, Anne emerging with Deirdre and Jenny at her side. Their eyes widened. Anne kept a protective hand on Deirdre's arm as they made their way down toward them.
Terrified, the man nodded to Mulder's question.
"Then let me introduce myself," John said aggressively. He pulled out his FBI badge and slammed it against Roach's overweight torso. "Special Agent John Doggett. FBI. You picked the wrong family, partner."
Scully put up at hand to Deirdre as she approached, indicating for her to not cross the last few metres. She still felt a duty to her safety, as even under John's force, Bernard's head twisted toward Deirdre in recognition. She looked back at him coldly, giving little away.
"Is it him?" Scully asked.
Deirdre nodded.
"Let's call the police," Scully said. "They can handle it from here."
The others however, had not yet finished.
"What are you doing lurking outside my house?" Monica demanded.
It had been twelve years since she had been a been a member of the FBI, but as she glared hard at him Scully felt it was as if she had never left.
"More to the point," John said aggressively, still keeping him pinned, "what the hell are you doing raping my aunt?"
Bernard spoke with a pathetic whimper. "I -"
"What's that?" Mulder asked.
He stared up in terror. "I didn't!"
Scully felt almost disgusted. The man was a pathetic, overweight coward.
"Thanks only to her colleague," John said. "And when I see my new buddy I'll be buyin' him a beer. But we all know you would've, and that means you're history."
"I say we take him around the corner and trash him," Christi suggested. Her face was menacing.
Across the street, one of their neighbours' porch lights went on, and a young father stepped out with a golf club. He lowered it when he saw who they were, looking relieved.
"That means you're lucky," John said fiercely. "You'd better thank that witness for your life."
He slammed Bernard's head back down against the asphalt.
Scully called over to the man. "Call 911!"
Their neighbour nodded and disappeared.
"But don't be too thankful," Monica added fiercely. "Because when we're finished with you we're going to have your balls as a souvenir."
And with the protection of no longer being an FBI agent, she promptly spat in his face.
Far in the distance sirens began to wail, more porch lights came on, but under Anne's arm, Deirdre was looking almost amused.
XXX
It was hour later before things finally settled, when they finished giving their statements to the local police and had been allowed to retreat back to the comfort of Monica and John's living room. There were hot drinks all around, and the late hour long forgotten, they milled around the kitchen. Their depression of only a few hours' ago had turned to relief, and Deirdre was much happier now that he had been arrested. The only one absent was Monica, who was finishing settling Lily back into bed, and despite walking her upstairs nearly half an hour ago, was yet to reappear.
"I thought you'd find him," Anne said to John. "But not quite that fast."
"He as good as knocked on our door," John replied.
Despite leading the attack, John did not seem overjoyed. On the contrary, his mood was flat and almost disappointed.
"What did you want?" Scully asked, spotting his mood. "More of a challenge?"
John tilted his head thoughtfully to the side, but in the end elected not to take the bait. Instead, he looked to Deirdre, who was content with a mug of coffee in her hands.
"What matters is you're all right," he said.
"Hear hear," Carol agreed.
There was a monentary silence. Outside the wind had picked up.
"I keep telling you to move in," Anne said to Deirdre. "Maybe you should think about it."
"No," Deirdre said politely. "Thanks anyway."
"You're never home," Carol added. "You're always here. You might as well claim a bedroom."
"You'd be more than welcome," Jack said, backing up his wife.
"Thanks," Deirdre said. "But I'd only cramp your style."
"Cramp it how?" Anne asked.
Deirdre gave her a look, her mouth turning up at the corners.
"Oh," Anne said, smiling herself, "Well I suppose it means we'd have to stop having sex on the kitchen table, but I'm sure we'll adjust."
Jack threw her a wink.
The relationship between Anne and Jack never ceased to impress Scully. They had been married well over forty years, yet were still so in love with each other. She knew also they had a very active sex life, and that the mutual sex drive that caused Anne to fall pregnant at seventeen had never quite dimmed.
At that moment Monica finally joined them, coming back down the stairs with an exhausted expression as though she had hiked across the continent in the time she had been gone.
"You were gone a while," Christi observed. "She couldn't settle?"
Mulder looked curious. "Insomnia thy name is Lily?"
Monica did not reply. She moved instead to the fridge, where she grabbed a beer and cracked it open. Lifting it to her lips she guzzled several mouthfuls.
"That bad?" Scully asked.
Monica thudded the beer down and leaned with both hands on the edge of the bench.
"What happened?" John asked.
Monica slowly lifted her gaze. She was smiling in spite of herself.
"She asked me what rape is," she said. "She'd overheard us talking."
Anne worked quickly to stifle her laughter.
"Good Lord. That's one I was never asked. What'd you say?"
"I had to tell her the truth," Monica said desperately. "And I couldn't explain it without explaining sex. I had to explain everything."
Scully fought not to laugh, biting her lip as she rubbed Monica's back in feigned sympathy. Monica took another swig of beer, ignoring everyone's amused grins.
"It may be awkward, Monica," Carol said, who had raised five of her own, "but it's always better coming from you than the schoolyard."
"I know," Monica said, nodding. She looked to John with a teasing smile. "But the next one's yours."
"I remember when I had that talk with Catherine," Christi said, who had done it only a few months before. "Her primary concern was whether Aunt Dana really did it. She couldn't believe that everyone really does it, or that it could possibly be enjoyable."
"She'll learn soon enough," Mulder said, an amused twinkle in his eye.
"She's twelve now," John agreed. "Give it a few years."
"Yeah, I'm in no hurry," Christi said.
There was another brief pause.
"You did tell her it can be a beautiful thing?" Deirdre asked suddenly. "Sex?"
"Yeah," Monica said, nodding. "She didn't ask because she's bothered. She just wanted to know. She's curious."
"Good," Deirdre said, looking relieved.
"Do you know that yourself?" Anne asked seriously.
Deirdre smiled to herself.
"I know that I have a great family," she said. "Second to none."
She rinsed her mug and turned it upside down on the sink.
"I'm going to have a quick word with Lily," she said, heading for the stairs.
Scully knew she was going to make sure that Lily was not bothered by the day's events, and would not develop damaging views on the opposite sex. Possibly she would reassure Lily that she herself was fine.
"Still the professional," Carol said, watching her disappear.
"I'm glad of that," Anne said. "I think she'd be lost without it. And I wouldn't want this one incident to put her off."
"It won't," Christi said. "It's who she is."
There were nods of agreement.
Scully knew now that Deirdre would be fine. She would stay the night, and maybe the next night, but her life would not be compromised. She would return to her work, to her colleagues and friends, to her busy lifestyle, and none of them would have wanted it any other way. It was simply her career which made her happy, and it was this from which she derived the job satisfaction of being the best in the profession. For she was the best. Scully knew that first hand.
"Perhaps we should head off to bed," Scully suggested. It was past midnight.
"You want to show what a beautiful thing it is?" Mulder said, raising one eyebrow.
Scully smiled. She put her mug down in the sink.
"It takes two, Mulder."
She grinned as he immediately started to trail after her. He was a fish on a line, and she caught him every time.
XXX
I thought I was done with this series, but this idea spontaneously sprang into my head this week and I had to find time to write it down. Having said that, I hope no one thinks I'm odd for writing a subject such as this. It's probably partially because of my hatred of how women across the world are sometimes treated, but mainly because I like writing Scully, and loved writing John toward the end. I hope someone perhaps enjoyed it. If you did, I'd love to know. Feedback makes it worthwhile.