I wrote this last summer and I liked it then, but I've gone off it somewhat since. If anyone has any suggestions then I'd love to hear them. My email is . Title: Holding On Author: Heavenly Creature Rating: NC17 for some nasty stuff. Classification: SRA Keywords: Rape. Pre-xf Scully/other slash. Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully and siblings etc. aren't mine I want to thank Kix, who has helped me so much with this story - your advice was invaluable. Thank-you so much :) This is dedicated to my best friend Renee - if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't even be here. You keep me going. I love you! Holding On By Heavenly Creature I'm sorry. I think I should explain. I've never told another living soul this story before now, so understand how difficult this is for me. It all started that night in Lucas Wood. It was one of the most frightening nights of my life, but also one of the greatest; I met one of the best friends I've ever known. It had started off as an adventure. I had followed Melissa into the woods where she and her friends were camping out. She had let me stay when she discovered me - it was too late for me to walk back on my own - but she was pretty pissed with me, and insisted I stay away from her and her friends. It was dark and quiet when it happened. The candles they had lit were long burned out, and I could only sense that I was no longer alone, curled up against a tree. People were sleeping all around me, but nobody seemed to wake when I called. Nobody was going to wake up. It was like a dream where you try to run but your feet are like molten wax, sinking into the floor. "Don't move." The voice whispered, close to my face, and I was too afraid to disobey. "Don't make a sound." A strong hand clamped over my mouth. "Now just relax." I felt a second hand on my leg, running up, up... pulling on my shorts and taking my panties off with them. I felt dizzy and sick - why was no-one else awake? A finger probed between my legs, and I wanted to die. I squirmed violently, desperately but pointlessly attempting to escape. It was hopeless, and I was starting to realise that. "You're okay," the voice told me. Why didn't I believe it? "Just stay still and quiet and you won't get hurt." The hand moved away from my mouth, and I just sat there shaking, waiting. I heard the unmistakable noise of a zipper, and realised that the worst I could have feared was about to happen. He pulled me by the legs so that I was lying closer to him, and pushed my thighs apart. I was whimpering now, but trying desperately to be quiet so that I wouldn't get hurt. He'd said if I was quiet, he wouldn't hurt me. He tore into my dry opening. I had to bite my lip to stop myself from wailing out loud. Tears ran down my cheeks, and the pressure of stopping the sobbing made my head ache. "See?. . . . ... . .You're. . .. fine.... . . ." He thrust in and out of me mercilessly. It was so very painful. I thought it might last forever. I thought maybe I was condemned to a hellish life pressed up against this tree. And just when it seemed that there would be no hope of escape, I opened my eyes and saw candlelight. It was close-by - there was somebody standing there beside us! "Hey!" the figure said, and the guy pinning me down stopped moving, looked up. "Shit.. aw shit..." He pulled out of me, cursing and fumbling. I was still too afraid to move or speak. It was only when he had disappeared through the trees that I curled up into a ball and wept. I felt sick and violated - in a way, it had not yet ended. The night air was cool against my bare legs and I felt vulnerable and helpless, which I've always hated. The candle was set on one of the long roots, and I felt someone crouch beside me. "Are you okay?" I looked up and into the eyes of the person who had saved me. The most captivating eyes I had ever seen in my life. The eyes of my hero. "Thank-you," I squeaked. It was all I could manage. "My name's Heather." She handed me my panties. "Here." I nodded and sniffled, taking them and pulling them back up my bloodstreaked legs with trembling hands. "Is there anything I can do to help?" Heather asked softly. "Do you want me to take you home?" "Uh-huh," I snivelled. Take me anywhere. I'd rather be anywhere than here. Heather reached out a hand and I accepted it, feeling finally safe - or at least a step closer to safety. We walked along in silence. I probably shouldn't have, but I was trying not to cry my eyes out. I've always found it easier to show my emotions to strangers - people who don't have any past experience of me, and may never even see me again. But there was something inside me that didn't want Heather to see me as hopeless. We reached my home, and although I was dying to get into bed and curl up forever, I was reluctant to face my family. I turned to Heather. "You won't tell Melissa?" I pleaded. "Or my parents. You won't tell them?" Heather's brow crinkled, but she nodded. "I won't tell a soul. I don't even know Melissa all that well anyway." She carefully placed a hand on my arm. I think she expected me to reject it, shrug it off, but I found it comforting. "You want me to stay with you, or do you want to be alone?" The thought of being alone again scared me. Even in my warm, safe bed. I've had a million nightmares in that bed. "Do you mind if you stay?" I asked her, feeling foolish and embarrassed. She shook her head and smiled warmly. She stayed that night and I managed to sleep. The next days... weeks... were difficult. I stupidly didn't tell anyone - I don't think it would have been any easier to cope with my mother worrying and my father angry. I couldn't handle the thought. Having Heather was a lifeline. Without her, I really don't know what I would have done. She was two years older than me - about the same age as Melissa - and when you're fourteen, things like that really make a difference. But with Heather, it didn't. She was the best friend I'd ever had. She would stay the night and we wouldn't sleep, we'd be so busy laughing and talking - she made it easier to forget the pain I'd felt. "I almost kissed a boy once," I told her - instantly regretting how naive I must have sounded. I didn't know that she had never been kissed either. She turned over in the bed next to me, and faced me. "Tell me about it," she said. I smiled faintly. "It's not that interesting..." "No come on - tell me." My smile broadened. "It was last summer. We were staying in my uncle's beachhouse down by the sea. He - the boy, Peter - was staying nearby. We met on the beach one day, and got talking, and then he walked me home." "But he didn't kiss you?" I shook my head. "Bill opened the door, looking all menacing. He was only goofing, but Peter ran off, and I went home the next day. I never saw him again. It was all Bill's fault. God, I hated him for that." Heather shook her head. "At least you *have* a brother to hate." She shifted around and lay on her back, staring at my ceiling. "I don't have anyone." "Well, you can hate my brothers all you want," I told her. "I nearly had a sister," Heather said, a deflated smile on her face. "When I was nine, my mom was pregnant. We were all so happy, my mom and dad and me. They were worried I was going to be jealous of the new baby, but I knew I wouldn't be. I couldn't wait to have someone who would look up to me, and who I could look after." She sighed. "But then my mom and the baby both died when she was about seven months in." I frowned. "I'm sorry." She shrugged. "It was a long time ago." She gave a small sniff. "I was so sure the baby was going to be a girl. A little sister who could borrow my clothes and come in and sleep in my bed when she had nightmares." There was a pause. "After mom died, they told us the baby was a boy. I felt as though I lost a sister as well as a brother, and my mom." I felt awful for her. I didn't really know what to say. I slid an arm around her. "I could never cope with that," I told her. "I think you're very brave." "Well, like I said - it was a long time ago." She snuggled closer to me and wrapped her arm around my waist in return. I yawned. It was early morning by this time, and I hadn't slept in almost twenty hours. I fell asleep as soon as I closed my eyes. When I woke up, Heather was still sleeping beside me, still returning my embrace. She looked pretty and peaceful; with her blonde hair spread over the pillow and her face uncreased by the smile she always wore, she looked like an angel. Normally if one of my friends was beautiful, I envied and admired them; but I didn't feel that way towards Heather. I felt almost proud of her. She was beautiful and she was *my* friend. That was the first morning when my rape wasn't my immediate thought on waking. Summer ended, and we walked home from school together through the crisp brown leaves, laughing at the other girls who were trying to control their hair in the wind. We didn't care - Heather said it made us look like dishevelled angels when our hair was untidy "I can't *wait* until summer," I said with a shiver. "Yeah! We've gotta go to the beachhouse and search for Peter!" I giggled. "He was Canadian." Heather shrugged. "He could still be there." "Yeah, and you're a natural blonde." I tugged playfully on what were genuine blonde curls, and ran off before she could return the favour. It felt great to be outside and running - it was so long since I'd felt this free and happy. I slipped in some leaves, and Heather gave me a good pummelling when she caught up; but after fighting with Charlie and Bill, she seemed like a pussy cat. "I'm blonde!" she giggled, rubbing leaves into my hair. I pulled a tongue and fought back, only to get more dirty and wet than I already was. My mom was *not* pleased. I stayed over at Heather's house, the day before Christmas Eve that same year. Her dad was great. He was an artist, and one of the funniest people I've ever met. He made pumpkin pie every holiday, because it was the only dish he knew how to make - but *boy* was he good at it! It put my Gramma's pie to shame. Heather showed me their family album. There were pages and pages of photographs which dated back to before she was born. "This is my mom," she said, pointing to one of the photos. "She was beautiful, wasn't she?" I nodded. "You look so much like her." Heather smiled. "Thank-you. I think I inherited my father's crooked looks though." He threw us a glance from the kitchen table and grinned. Heather grinned back. We went through each and every page - watching her mother grow more and more pregnant, and then holding an angelic little baby Heather in her arms. I giggled, watching Heather grow up as the album went on. "Oh! Here..." she suddenly stopped and pulled back the plastic cover, freeing one of the photographs from the sticky page surface. "You can have this. That's okay, isn't it Dad? It's the same one in the frame at the top of the stairs." "Yeah, that's fine," he told her, and she handed me the picture. It was Heather, aged about eight or nine, standing proudly in their garden, with her pregnant mother sitting on the lawn behind her, and her father crouching nearby, smiling so broadly. "This was just before she died," Heather told me. "It was a lovely summer." I took the photo and was instantly mesmirised by it. They looked like a television family - so perfect together, so unbelievably happy. I wondered if my family photographs looked like that to other people. "Thank-you," I told her, giving her a hug. "That's okay. I want you to have it." I didn't know if she knew that she had already given me all the gifts I could ever wish for. She had saved me in every possible way; the gift of my safety - and sanity - was invaluable. We ate dinner, and then Heather and I went out carol singing. We were exceptionally bad. On Christmas morning I scrambled downstairs - it was still so exciting for me. I always loved Christmas. We opened our presents under the tree, and I fought with Charlie, and got in Bill and Melissa's way, and had a great time. I hugged my mom tightly. "Happy Christmas." I told her. "Happy Christmas to you, too!" She kissed my cheek. "Oooh, I haven't seen you like this for ages, Dana. Your father and I were worried about you for a while but I think you're okay, now. Aren't you?" She was searching for reassurance, and so I gave it to her. "Yes, mom. I'm fine." "There's still one present left for you down there, honey." I peeked back at the tree. "I know. It's from Heather. I'm going to open it in my room." My mom nodded and I ran off to get the gift. "Come downstairs when your grandparents get here!" she called after me. "Yeah!" I shut my bedroom door and scrambled to my bed. I unwrapped my present slowly and carefully, trying not to tear the wrapping. I was *dying* to see what she had given me, but I was enjoying the anticipation too much to hurry myself. I peeled back the paper and pulled out the box which was inside. It had my name written on the top in Heather's perfect handwriting. It made me smile just seeing her writing. I opened the box, and found inside, cushioned in polystyrene beads, a tall snowglobe. I read the note attached - 'Dad helped me make this. It's you and me! (in case that wasn't obvious) All my love, Heather.' I smiled and shook the globe. Tiny crystals fell all around the two figurines - two girls holding hands. One short with red hair, the other taller, with blonde curls. I phoned Heather immediately. "Omigod.. I can't believe you MADE that! I love it!" "Well, my dad helped," she said modestly. "I don't care! I think it's fantastic. Did you open my gift?" "Oh yes! Yes I did! Oh, Dana it's wonderful!!!" I had bought her a journal - the most beautiful and expensive I could find. "I'll write in it *every day*," she promised. "Listen, Heather, can I come around later? I have to stay while my family visit, but I'll be free by six o'clock." "That'd be great! Dad made pie." "I can't wait." "See you later, then!" "Sure. Bye now!" I hung up the phone, and waited impatiently through meetings with my grandparents until my mom finally told me I could go. I slumped back on to Heather's bed. "I *loooove* Christmas," I said. "Yeah, me too." "I can't believe how fast the year's gone." "Mmm, I know." She slumped down beside me. "I really love the snowglobe, y'know." "I love my journal." "I'm glad. Can I play with your hair?" "Sure." She slid off the bed and I started to comb her soft curls with her ebony hairbrush. I loved the way her hair smelt. I mean, it was just a popular brand of shampoo, but on her it smelt different. "My dad said you can stay here tonight, if you like." "I'd love to." I scooped her hair up into a high pony tail. "I can borrow pajamas, right?" "Of course." I loved borrowing her clothes. None of them fit me, of course, but it made me think of the sister she never had, and I felt that, in my own way, I was helping her as much as she helped me. I had realised a long time ago that the moment she saved me, she had become my guardian angel. I had to love her and she had to love me, because we were the only people who could keep each other sane. We were the only people who could keep each other holding on. We stayed awake almost all night. A lot of the time, we weren't talking, just looking at the Christmas candles and decorations which hung all around Heather's room. I started to cry. This happened a lot when I was on my own in bed. I would think about that night in Lucas Wood and I'd feel so empty and hurt, and even though I knew I had been stronger than I needed to be, I felt bad about letting it out. Heather stroked my hair, gently. She knew why I was crying, and I knew she knew. "It is okay to cry, Dana," she whispered softly. I didn't know what to say to her. I wanted to tell her how much she had helped, and that I was glad she was my friend, and a million other things which were suddenly rushing through my head in a burst of pain and bright light. The words wouldn't come. "I just wish I could have helped you sooner. I keep tormenting myself - telling myself I should have heard you... helped you..." I thought I would die. "If you hadn't been there I would have had a total *breakdown*. Please don't ever think badly of yourself on that night." I buried my head in her shoulder and wished I was somebody else. "Wouldn't it be wonderful," Heather said, "if we were both different people." I was too tired and upset to point out the strange coincidence. "Just to be somewhere else..." She sighed. "I know," I squeaked, muffled against her neck. "Oh, please don't cry, Dana." She held me so tightly, I couldn't return her embrace hard enough. I never wanted to let go, and that was the moment that I realised. Heather was not only my guardian angel, my best friend, my sister - she was my everything. I didn't just love her. I was hopelessly, helplessy, deeply in love with her. I cried myself to sleep in her arms that Christmas night. Winter ended, and spring began late. I had lived with my secret for nearly five months when Heather's seventeenth birthday came around. I bought her a gold chain with a cross, like the one I had received on my birthday a few months previously. It had surprised me to learn that our friendship had not much changed - we were as close as we ever been, and not as uncomfortable as I had feared. Nothing mattered to me any more, except her. It didn't bother me that she wasn't in love with me, because I just loved being in her company so much. I was her best friend every bit as much as she was mine. The best times were the nights. Heather's father worked in his basement until the early hours of the morning, and we used to light her candles and have seances under her windchimes. It was all ridiculous, we knew; but deep down we felt that as long as we remained children, we were safer from pain. Adults face pain and worry every day; the death of a loved one, or a man following them down a dark alley - if we stayed indoors and played like babies, we were partly shielded from that. When our games had finished, we climbed into her bed and talked until we slept. That was the grown-up part. It's okay to be grown-up when you're safe in bed. And of course, I just loved the proximity. I loved knowing she was *mine*. "Heather?" I said lazily, my eyes drooping closed. "Mmmm?" she yawned. "Never mind." I just liked saying her name. Her fingers grasped the thin gold pendant around my neck, smoothing the cross with warm fingers. "You're an airhead," she told me affectionately. "I know." I would have agreed if she'd told me she was the pope. I could have reached up and kissed her so easily, if I thought there was a snowball's chance in hell that she wouldn't reject me. I *could* have kissed her, but she beat me to it. I was so shocked I didn't know what to do. This was Heather. This was *my* Heather kissing *me*. Virgin lips taste so sweet, pressed gently together for the first time. She sucked softly on my bottom lip, grazing it ever so gently with her teeth. *My* Heather, I thought. Her fingers loosened their grip on my necklace, and she pressed her palm flat against my sternum, her thumb and first finger making a 'v' at the base of my neck. Her hand moved to cup my barely-grown breasts - I so innocently mirrored her action, and deepened the kiss. I was so sexually innocent then, despite everything I had been through. I just knew that if I felt so happy when she touched me, then she must feel the same. It was all so insane, so unexpected. So grown-up. It was both frightening and wonderful, bizarre and exciting. I moved from her mouth and kissed her jaw, her throat. I loved the softness of her skin. My arms slid to the more familiar territory of her waist, and settled to nestle my head under her chin. "I love you," she softly whispered, pressing her cheek against my head. "Mmm. You too." I was falling asleep, despite the growing excitement. "See you in the morning." "Yeah." My eyes slid closed and I was asleep. "And now Heather is back?" Mulder scratched his jaw thoughtfully. Scully nodded. "I haven't seen her since the end of '79. November, I think it was. Her father died and she moved away." Mulder looked at the floor, and Scully sighed. "I just thought I should explain." She smiled. "I didn't want you to think it was about you." She stood, finding her purse. He had moved to kiss her. She was looking at the floor now, but she could still see the expression on his face as it moved closer and closer to her own. If it had been yesterday, there would have been no guilt. But now Heather was back and there was nothing she could do to control herself. She had to do what her heart told her. "I understand," he said shakily, rising and hugging her tight. "Good luck." He paused a second before gingerly kissing her cheek. "Thank-you Mulder." And she left, mentally preparing herself for a reunion with a dishevelled angel. deborah_rooster@hotmail.com There's a sequel in the working, if you want to read it. Let me know! . Respond to "HC" (heavenlyc@geocities.com) Recommend Holding On (1/1) by HC ------------------------------------ ------------------------------------ Previous: 155 Words or the Shortest Next: Reading Between the Lines Song Fic (1/1)