I wrote a little something during the Trope-Fest workshop this weekend. I hope to make a full story out of it one day, or at least have other parts, but no promises. For now, Iâm just going to put what I have. Thank you to @frangipanidownunder for the workshop! And all the other participants, I had a lot of fun! @baronessblixen @viceversawrites @markwatneyandensemble @foolishheadstronggirl @pickingoutchinapatterns @iloveurscratchybeard @alabama-metal-man @peacenik0
The prompt for this was âAmnesia.â
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âDa-y-nuh.â Mulder drags the syllables out, rolling them around in his mouth. Something about them feels wrong. It strikes him as funny, in a tragic sort of way, that he knows almost nothing about himself, yet he somehow knows that his partner is not supposed to be âDana.â âYouâre Dana and Iâm⌠Fox?â
âWellâŚâ the redhead before him hedges, âyes. But youâve never been a fan of your first name. Iâve always called you âMulder.ââ
âAh.â Thatâs understandable. Itâs a bit of a cringy name. Were his parents hippies or something? It sounds like some kind of hippie name, but he canât remember⌠âWhat about you? I donât call you Dana, do I? I call you - youâre Scully.â
âYes! You remember that?â She grins at his use of her name. Itâs the first time he has seen her really smile and it takes him aback. Her whole face lights up, taking his breath away.
âNot exactly a memory, more of a feeling. âDanaâ just didnât feel right, if that makes sense.â
âSo you donât remember me?â Her smile fades.
âNo. Iâm sorry.â He offers lamely. Disappointment and something else - sadness? - flash across her features, but she masks them quickly. She does that a lot. He isnât sure how he knows that, he just does. He must be important to her. She is important to him too, he thinks. The ache in his gut, regret and hurt for having disappointed her, tells him that.
âThatâs alright, it will come back to you. The doctor said --â
âI know, that it was probably only temporary. Post-Traumatic Amnesia.â He parrots back some of the phrases he overheard the doctor telling Scully.
Scully. He repeats the name to himself, letting it bounce around his head. There are emotions and memories there, hazy edges of things he cannot quite make out. His brow creases as he tries to reach for something, anything. Scully said they work together - partners at the FBI. But theyâre more than that⌠theyâre important to each other. Theyâre⌠his mind brushes against one of those hazy edges and he gets the briefest flash of a memory - her hands in his. Softness. He tries to focus on the memory to bring the image into focus, but it fades as soon as he pushes. Fuck.
âMulder?â Her hand - in the present - on his shoulder pulls him from his thoughts. âHey, you okay? You shouldnât force yourself to remember. Youâll only frustrate yourself. The memories will come back.â
Her eyes are so blue. Their color is familiar, comforting. Heâs spent a lot of time looking into her eyes, looking for reassurance there. Looking into her eyes⌠Is that what heâs missing? Maybe --
âScully, are we -- are we lovers?â
âN-no.â Sheâs startled by the question. A faint, adorable blush colors her cheeks. âNo, weâre coworkers and friends - close friends - but weâre not...involved...romantically.â
âAh. Okay.â Itâs irrational to be disappointed - he doesnât even properly remember this woman - but he is anyway.
âWhat gave you the impression we were?â
âYou seemed really relieved when you first saw me awake. Then the way you touched my forehead seemed⌠I donât know.â He shrugs. Intimate. The word he is looking for is intimate, but he cannot bring himself to say it. He feels too self-conscious now, wondering if he misinterpreted her touch. So he waves his hand, dismissing his thought, and lets her change the subject.