Disclaimer: I don't own 'em. Just borrowing them because this was never truly resolved. If I could actually make money off this.. Um, well.. This is America, the land of Capitalism. I've put them back, neatly (I think). This was written on the way home one night. (transcribing my own writing--I was on the bus--was an absolute annoyance.)
All feedback can be sent to: LyssJean@yahoo.com

Rating: I would say R. Some sexual ah.. references, and a little language. I will say here and now that if you saw the seasontwo finale, this won't be a problem.

Yes, you *do* have permission to archive this. Enjoy! ----- She gasped as his hand slid up her spine. She felt him move within her, "Finish it," she whimpered, pleading.

"Not yet."

Her hand reached up, caressing his neck, shoulders, face. It came off in her hands.

HE stared back at her, "Surprise, bitch."

"Oh my god. Oh my GOD."

Angie Ramirez dragged herself out of the dream and shook. Nearly sobbing, she curled around her pillow fighting the memories. Fighting him. She could still remember him-it. Her dreams contained him every night. She could still feel his skin next to hers, still feel his mouth on hers. And his surprise, as she took him in her mouth--it was all there.

And it hadn't been him--Rollie.

When he'd stroked her to orgasm the first time, ~No. It wasn't him! It wasn't Rollie! Oh, god...~

She wouldn't cry. She couldn't cry. She thought she'd shatter if she did.

~Need to find him. Keep him from doing this to some other person.~ She staggered off the couch and over to the computer. Logging in, she began another search. For him. And tried to empty her mind of everything else.

"You really should be sleeping, Ange."

She spun, staring at Mira, who was standing in the doorway in her robe.


"Yes." Angie answered.

"Ange, you can't go on like this! It's been two weeks."

"I-I'm fine." She said, turning back to the computer.

"No, you're not fine!" Mira stalked into the room, "You're waking up *every single night* with nightmares about this. You're killing yourself! Angie, you have got to talk to someone. And, you have to talk to Rollie. Explain to him."

"I can't. And I have talked to Rollie. And I'm fine. I'm fine," she half-whispered.

Mira sighed. During the day Angie presented a happy, joking, cheerful face to the world. At night, she fell apart. ~Mentally she's dying. She can fool almost everyone. But Rollie knows.~

"No, you don't talk to Rollie--you joke. It's not the same frigging thing."

Angie stared at her. Strength emanated from Mira. An iron core, wrapped in Teflon. ~I used to be like that.~ she thought, wistfully. Now she was brittle, breakable. Vulnerable. "He knows. He knows about--about." she couldn't say it. Couldn't bring herself to put into words what he'd done to her.

"Yes. I know he does. Why do you think I took you in? Let you stay all this time? I knew you'd be uncomfortable with Rollie, so this was the only solution."

"I--Thank you. Look, I'll pack in the morning, get out of your hair."

"Angie! That's not my point! My point is that you need to talk to someone about this--someone qualified to deal with the aftermath of rape."

"I wasn't raped," Angie objected.

"Yes. You. Were." Mira bit each word off in frustration. "And you need to talk to someone who can help you deal with it."

"Mira, I can't." Angie looked at her, pleadingly.

Mira sighed, "Angie, you have to. You're killing yourself. Slowly but surely, every day I see a little more of the Angela Ramirez I know and care about die. I know Rollie sees it, too."

"Rollie can see it?" Angie looked terribly bothered by that.

"Yes." Mira played her trump card--it was flimsy, but if it worked... "And, if you don't at least *talk* to one of the rape trauma specialists, I'll tell Rollie everything about your dreams."

The fight (what there had been of it) drained out of Angie and her shoulders slumped. "OK. I'll do it. Set up an appointment and I'll talk to one of them. Just, please don't tell Rollie about the nightmares?"

Mira nodded, "I won't--as long as you talk to them at least twice."