So… I'm going to try something slightly different from what I have been doing in the first part of this chapter. It will start out in third person point of view for a bit and then I'll go back to normal, kay kay? Oh and no more bold print from now on…. It kinda bothers my eyes when I read it, you know what I mean?

Also- and I don't normally do this- here are some of unexpected sabotage's reviews that just had me in tears for some reason:

"I hope Ron dies…" –Chapter 12

"Ron, jump out that window." –Chapter 15

"It's not too late Ron, you can still kill yourself." Chapter 17

I find his hatred of Ron morbidly funny for some reason. Keep up the reviews!

Chapter 23: The Scar

Tom Welling leaned against the kitchen counter in Hermione's apartment and stared blankly into the fridge. It was just past 4 a.m. and he couldn't get to sleep; so, naturally, he turned to the refrigerator for junk food and sugary juice drinks. Hermione's stock of the following did not disappoint. He was understandably overwhelmed at the stacks of JELL-O, chocolate bars, Coca-Cola, Ben and Jerry's, apple pies, yogurts, pizzas, cheese cubes, and juice cocktails that were crammed into her fridge and freezer.

"How the hell does she stay so skinny?" He muttered, still undecided on what to snack on.

Her behavior lately had him asking a lot of questions as he tried to drift off to sleep with Hermione snuggled up next to him.

Why does she want me to sleep over?

What made her suddenly drop our 'taking it slow' agreement?

Who had she gone to see in London anyway and why was it so urgent?

All he knew at the end of the internal questionnaire was that he simply couldn't sleep with all these doubts and wonders. He waiting until she was sleeping soundly before stealthily getting up from her bed and creeping into the kitchen. He had stopped in the doorway of her bedroom and gazed back at her one more time. Hermione lay on her right side curled up slightly in her black nightgown. Her wavy highlighted brunette hair flowed down her back and her bangs framed her face even as she slept. She was having a good dream; he could tell by the slight smile on her lips. Tom sighed and turned away, having finally made his decision.

She was hiding something from him and he'd confront her about it later.

He chewed on his lower lip as he thought of all the things a woman like Hermione could have to hide. She had said Kristin threatened to expose information on her to the public, but he had never considered it as a big deal. He was naively expecting her to tell him by now. He had finally settled on some applesauce when he heard it; a loud terrified whisper coming from the bedroom.

"Tom… please… stop it!"

Tom frowned and shut the utensil drawer he'd been rifling through.

Is she dreaming about me or another Tom?

"You're hurting me!" She whimpered and then sobbed.

Not hesitating, he walked briskly back to the bedroom where Hermione slept. Her dream had quickly turned sour. He could tell by glancing at her.

Hermione had completely flipped over in her sleep. She lay on her stomach, trembling and crying. When Tom sat down next to her, he realized that her legs were locked together and she was clutching her hands together so tightly that blood had been drawn.

"Jesus! 'Mione, it's okay!" He gasped, throwing the applesauce and spoon noisily onto the nightstand.

She only cried harder into the sheets.

"I-I-I-I'm sorry! Please! G-ge-get OFF!"

"Nobody's touching you, sweetie" He whispered, confused.

It had become clear that touching her right now was the worst thing to do, so he resisted the strong urge to gather her in his arms.

An unmistakable, drawn out moan of pain escaped her lips as he gawked down at her quaking form.

"The baby! Think of t-t-the baby!" She whispered weakly.

Tom's eyes widened and he leaned back, realization dawning on him. She wasn't dreaming, she was having a graphic flashback; a flashback of being assaulted. He snapped out of his horrified stupor and began to act. Abandoning his original plan of letting her cry it out, he gently pulled her up by her trembling arms. Hermione gasped at the contact and began to struggle harder, actually screaming this time.

"NO!" Hermione sobbed out loud while pounding at him with her fists. "Stop touching me you pig!"

He clutched onto her tightly, with eyes blurring over with tears of anger. Eventually, she hugged him back, smearing her blood on his neck and shirt.

"W-W-WHY? Why are you d-doing this t-t-to me?" She hiccupped into Tom's shoulder.

"It's over. It's okay." He sighed into her ear.

Still blinking back his tears of pure rage, he shifted his arm and began to massage her left shoulder. Slowly, her breathing returns to normal and she's fast asleep in his arms again. Once he realizes this, Tom leans her gently back to examine the leathery skin on her shoulder that his hand kept brushing past. His eyes had to squint at first but he then suppressed his gasp of horror when he finally deciphered the marks.

It was a big, ugly number 57.

Right at that moment, it all made sense. She never wore anything sleeveless, always changed by herself, and became very skittish when someone touched her shoulder, particularly men. Tom's eyes teared up again and he brushed a stray strand of hair out of her face before clutching her limp form tight to him.

"Hermione, why didn't you tell me?" He whispered quietly into her hair.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Bacon…? Why do I smell bacon?

I wasn't even fully awake when the smell hit my nose. The delicious scent had drifted through the bedroom door and was attacking my nostrils. I sigh heavily before slowly sitting upright and gazing out the window. It's really early; sun is just barely peeking over the Canadian Rockies.

Oh well, I'm already up. Might as well get my ass out of bed and eat something.

I can't even remember the last time I ate a complete meal.

Yawning, I stand and make my way to the bedroom door, scooting into bunny slippers as I go. Walking down the short hallway to the kitchen, I can hear the bacon sizzling in addition to the amazing aroma it gives off. I pause and lean against the archway near the fridge and study the scene before me.

Tall, dark, and handsome is slaving over the stove, flipping bacon and cracking eggs like nobody's business; I dare say he'd put Ron's mum to shame with his fast flipping. All the while, there is sweat on his brow and a determined look on his face. But most importantly, he hasn't noticed me yet.

Seeing that I hate being ignored, I clear my throat after a minute of watching the record-breaking breakfast being cooked.

He pauses in mid-flip to turn and see who made the noise.

"Are ya' hungry, big guy?" I ask, smirking and gesturing to the stacks of bacon, eggs, and pancakes piled by the stove.

"Something like that…." He mutters and walks over to me after flopping the last of the bacon onto a plate.

I am pulled into a tight hug once he reaches where I stand in the archway. After a long moment, we pull apart slightly to look into each other's eyes.

Worry. Sadness. Concern. Those are the first things I see when I gaze into those baby blue eyes. Upon looking closer, I also detect a hint of anger; it's a small amount, but it's here.

I take a deep breath and kiss him firmly on the lips. His response is so gentle and tender that I nearly pull away; it's like he's afraid of hurting me or scaring me away all of a sudden.

I don't like it.

In between kisses and breaths of air, he utters those four words that no girl EVER wants to hear.

"We…." Smooch. "….need…." Kiss. "….to…." Deep breath. "….talk."

I groan and flop my head onto his shoulder in response.

"Yeah, I figured that much out."

"How could you tell?"

I pull my head back up and look back up at him.

"If I recall correctly, one of the first little fun facts you revealed about yourself is that you spiral into cooking overdrive when something is really bugging you."

No answer; just a grim stare and an almost smile.

"C'mon." Tom mutters, headed straight for the breakfast table and dragging me with him. "Sit here, I'll grab you some food."

I plop down in the nearest chair and wait, trying to think of all the possible reasons that we could be having the dreaded "Talk". After what feels like an eternity, a cup of coffee and a loaded plate of breakfast food is set down before me. He walks to the other side of the table and sits down directly across from me. I feel that pair of blue eyes boring into my skull but I don't look up; I sit there and push the scrambled eggs around with my fork like I prevent this conversation from ever happening by ignoring him.

Yeah right.

"Hermione, please look at me." He requests quietly, drumming his fingers on the table top impatiently.

I gulp- stealthily so that he doesn't notice- and do as he says.

He nods a 'Thank you' before continuing.

"Do you remember what happened last night?"

I frown for a split-second before my eyes widen and my left hand shoots up to cover my mouth.

Did we… no that's not… WE CAN'T HAVE!

"Did we have sex?" I whisper in horror.

"Now, Honey, just loo-"

"Thomas John Patrick Welling!" I cut him off. "Yes or no; did we have sex?"

He blinks a few times and sighs. I open my mouth to speak again, but he holds his hand up to silence me.

"Just… look at your hands."

I look… and am instantly confused.

My palms are wrapped in itchy white gauze and they reek of sweat; I am amazed I didn't even notice until he told me.

"Oh my God." I gasp loudly.

Standing up, I dash for the junk drawer for a pair of scissors. He gets up and comes after me. I have the scissors in my hand and am about two seconds away from slicing the bandages off when that familiar, warm hand grasps my scissor-welding hand.

"Let me help you; you're panicking and you're just going to hurt yourself more if you try to do that on your own…."

"My bloody hands are bandaged! Of course I'm a little panicky you-"

The words are cut short by a passionate and calming kiss. My heart melts and I drop the scissors, wrapping both arms around his neck. I pull away too soon, in desperate need of oxygen, and fall against him.

"Better?"

"Loads."

"Gonna let me help?"

"Yes sir."

I squeak as he hoists me onto the countertop nearest the stove. I stretch both hands out in front of me, palms facing up, and wait patiently. He snips the knot used to secure each bandage and then unravels each hand at the same time. The blood becomes visible even before the bandages are completely removed. I gulp and stare at the deep yet tiny cuts that have been dug into my palms.

"Who did this? What happened?" I say without tearing my gaze from my bloody palms.

"You did." Tom murmurs as he gently takes hold of my hands.

"You were having a flashback."

My head snaps up from my hands to look up at him.

"A very vivid, intense, and terrifying flashback."

I bite my lip as he gazes down at me with incredible intensity.

Dear Lord, how did he figure it out?

"Who is this Tom, and why did he rape you?"

"God, please don't say that word." I beg as he says it.

Too late; it's now all I can think about.

rape rape rape RAPE RAPE!

"But that's exactly what happened." He replies coarsely. "Some sick bastard took advantage of you and last night you were dreaming about it. I heard everything."

He looks torn between being lividly pissed and scooping me up and comforting me.

"You weren't supposed to find out this way."

My voice cracks as I say it. He stares into my soul, clearly still trying to figure me out.

"How was I supposed to?" A hurt expression accompanies the question.

"I don't know!" I'm crying now. "Not from overhearing a graphic nightmare, that's for sure."

He looks incredibly puzzled and hurt now. In a heartbeat he's wrapped me in his embrace. I lean into him and hug him back, still atop the counter.

"Mione, why on Earth are you crying like this?"

I hesitate before I answer; mainly because I'm trying to calm myself down and form a coherent sentence.

"Because I'm just waiting for you to decide that I'm damaged goods and walk out of my life like I always picture a guy doing if he should find out what happened to me." I choke out quickly.

My face is pressed into his once white shirt; not only have my tears stained it, but it's now smeared with the blood from my hands because I'm hugging him back.

Short pause… and then;

"I'm not making any judgments until I hear the full story; and even then, I'm not going to just walk out on you."

I sniffle one last time before pulling out of the hug to look at him. I smile and wipe a tear from my eye and then continue.

"The full story?"

"Full story."

"All of it?"

"Yes ma'am."

I point at the chair he was sitting in earlier.

"You better sit down, because this WILL take a while."