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, I’m 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 ‘Amnesia.’
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“Da-y-nuh.” 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 ‘Dana.’ “You’re Dana and I’m… Fox?”
“Well…” the redhead before him hedges, “yes. But you’ve never been a fan of your first name. I’ve always called you ‘Mulder.’”
“Ah.” That’s understandable. It’s a bit of a cringy name. Were his parents hippies or something? It sounds like some kind of hippie name, but he can’t remember… “What about you? I don’t call you Dana, do I? I call you - you’re Scully.”
“Yes! You remember that?” She grins at his use of her name. It’s the first time he has seen her really smile and it takes him aback. Her whole face lights up, taking his breath away.
“Not exactly a memory, more of a feeling. ‘Dana’ just didn’t feel right, if that makes sense.”
“So you don’t remember me?” Her smile fades.
“No. I’m sorry.” He offers lamely. Disappointment and something else - sadness? - flash across her features, but she masks them quickly. She does that a lot. He isn’t 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.
“That’s alright, it will come back to you. The doctor said --”
“I know, that it was probably only temporary. Post-Traumatic Amnesia.” 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 they’re more than that… they’re important to each other. They’re… 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.
“Mulder?” Her hand - in the present - on his shoulder pulls him from his thoughts. “Hey, you okay? You shouldn’t force yourself to remember. You’ll only frustrate yourself. The memories will come back.”
Her eyes are so blue. Their color is familiar, comforting. He’s spent a lot of time looking into her eyes, looking for reassurance there. Looking into her eyes… Is that what he’s missing? Maybe --
“Scully, are we -- are we lovers?”
“N-no.” She’s startled by the question. A faint, adorable blush colors her cheeks. “No, we’re coworkers and friends - close friends - but we’re not...involved...romantically.”
“Ah. Okay.” It’s irrational to be disappointed - he doesn’t even properly remember this woman - but he is anyway.
“What gave you the impression we were?”
“You seemed really relieved when you first saw me awake. Then the way you touched my forehead seemed… I don’t know.” 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.
