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Chapter One
"How do you plan to justify the helicopter?" she asked, waving one of the larger expense forms in his general direction without actually looking at him. She was finding it easier to hold her temper if she didn't see his reactions. Heavy sigh. "Transportation?" He drew out the syllables as if English were her second language. And that damned pencil tapping was really starting to get on her nerves. "There were a number of other options, and---" tap tap tap "Mulder, you are driving me insane. Put. The pencil. Down." He looked blankly at the yellow number two in his hand, then snapped it neatly in half and lay the pieces on his desk. Silence descended for a long moment. "Scully, go home." "Excuse me?" She honestly thought she must have misheard him. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his eyes with both fists. "I'll finish the report. Go home and forget about this place for a few days." Leave it to Mulder to switch gears in the middle of an argument. Off balance now as well as irritated, she could only blink at him for a moment. "And what would you be doing while I'm having this relaxing weekend?" His gave her a weary smile. "Rethinking my career choices." "That's not funny." "Wasn't meant to be." He stood up and stretched until his back popped. "Have dinner with your mom. Go shopping. Forget I exist for a few days." He came over to her desk and perched one hip on the edge. "I'm serious, Scully. We will kill each other if we stay in this room much longer." "The thought has crossed my mind." "And mine." He picked up the file she was working on and took it back to his desk. "I'll see you Monday." They had already come perilously close to letting this intrude on their personal relationship. He was right about them needing a little distance. She shut off her laptop and slipped it into its case. Mulder was already making notes on a legal pad, referring to the folder he'd taken from her. She paused at the door. "Call me if you need anything." "Night, Scully." He didn't look up and, after a moment, she closed the door softly behind her. An hour later, she was in peach-scented bubbles up to her chin, sipping merlot to a Chopin sonata when the phone rang. She switched the wine to her left hand and picked up the cordless from the floor next to the tub with her right. It was Mulder, of course. "Just wanted to make sure you got home okay." He still sounded tired, but the tension was ebbing. She smiled for the first time in days. "I'm soaking in a hot tub. Are you home?" "Just got here. The report's on Skinner's desk." He yawned in her ear. "Go to bed. You're asleep on your feet." He chuckled. "Shows how much you know. My feet are on the coffee table and my butt is on the couch." "Bed, Mulder." She tried to sound stern, but her mood had lightened too much. "That's where I'm headed. I'm just working up the energy to make it that far." Another yawn. "Night, Scully." "Good night, Mulder." She clicked off and let her head drift back against the porcelain rim. Suddenly, a weekend without him felt more like a penance than a break. Happily, the time flew by. Saturday was taken up with cleaning and laundry and long-neglected errands. On Sunday, she followed Mulder's advice and spent the day with her mother. Mulder made no attempt to contact her. It wasn't until she was getting ready for work Monday morning that she allowed herself to wonder why. * * * Basement office Finding the office dark and empty at this time of day was nearly unprecedented. Coupled with his silence over the weekend, it was enough to drive her straight to the phone. His voice mail picked up on the third ring, and she told herself he had just overslept. He was probably in the shower, rushing to catch up with the clock. She made a pot of coffee and sat down to read her emails. Twenty minutes later, he still hadn't arrived. She called again and left a message. Ten minutes after that, she was on her way out the door. She called twice more from her car on the way to his apartment, her worry mounting with each unanswered ring. She parked in front of his building and got out of the car, glancing automatically at his windows. Mulder was standing at the living room window. Concern warred with embarrassment, and she thought seriously of driving back to the office before she made an even bigger fool of herself. Concern won out. She walked calmly into the building, waited for the elevator and strolled to his door. It was locked. She tried the knob again, certain that he'd seen her coming. "Mulder, open the door." Pause. "Mulder, come on. Let me in." She knocked, as if that would be harder to ignore than her pleas. She was digging her keys out when the door opened. Mulder stood looking at her with the oddest expression on his face. He said nothing for a moment, making no move to let her in. "Mulder, are you all right? What happened? You didn't come to work and I was worried." She was babbling and she knew it, but he was behaving so strangely. "Mulder?" He seemed to study her face. "Do you know me?" "Cute, Mulder," she quipped, moving to step around him into the apartment. Then something in his eyes brought her up short and made her heart begin to pound. He was looking at her without a hint of recognition. And he was not smiling. "Is that my name?" It slammed into her with the force of a bullet. "You're not kidding." He shook his head. "No. I'm not." She took him by the arm and led him carefully to the couch. "Sit down." He obeyed wordlessly, and she sat down on the coffee table in front of him. When she reached for his face to examine his eyes, he jerked away. She understood why, but it still felt like a slap. She lowered her hands and leaned back. "I'm sorry. I'm a doctor and I would like to make sure you're okay." His wary expression tore at her heart. "I feel fine, I just can't remember anything." She took a breath. "Do you know how you got here?" He startled her with a chuckle. "I assume I have a mother somewhere, but I suppose you mean here here. I woke up on this couch. Before that, I have no idea." It was so Mulder that she wanted to cry. "How did you feel when you first woke up? This is important, Mulder. Think about it before you answer." He was quiet for a long moment. "Normal. I felt normal." "No dizziness? Pain?" She reached up carefully, waiting for him to nod his acceptance before touching him. His skin was warm and dry, but not feverish. His pupils were even. "No, nothing. For a moment, I thought I was just foggy from sleeping too long. But then..." He shrugged. There were no bumps on his head, no signs of trauma. The size of his pupils would seem to rule out drugs, but there was only one way to be sure. "You need to go to the hospital. I can't do a thorough examination here, and there is obviously something very wrong. We need to find out what happened." He was nodding before she'd even finished speaking. "You'll go with me?" "I'll take you, Mulder." It bothered him when she used his name, she could see it in his eyes. "I'll take you." "I'd like to clean up first." He did look as if he'd spent the whole weekend on the couch: rumpled clothes, jaw dark with stubble, hair sticking up all over his head. "Not yet, M--," she censored herself, but not quickly enough. "Not yet. There may be trace evidence on your clothes." Mulder glanced down at himself as if he expected to see it. He looked at her. "Evidence of what?" "Of what happened to you." She held out her hand, and he took it without hesitation. But when she looked into his eyes, she found no trace of him there. * * * George Washington Univ Hospital 10:30 am Mulder not only agreed to be examined in the ER, he paced the waiting room until his name was called. An orderly led them to a treatment room where Mulder resumed his pacing. Scully sat down in a molded plastic chair next to the gurney and watched him. "You need to relax, Mul--" She swallowed the last syllable as Mulder stopped pacing and looked at her. "You have to call me something, right? I guess Mulder's as good as any." He offered a little half-smile. "Mulder's a great deal better than most," she whispered, touched by the little boy bravado she knew so well. The door opened to admit a man in blue scrubs. He smiled at Scully and held his hand out to Mulder. "I'm Dr. Lawry. And you?" They shook hands, and Lawry motioned for him to sit on the gurney. "That's the question," Mulder replied dryly. Lawry produced a penlight and flashed it in Mulder's eyes. "Dr. Scully says that you woke up this morning unable to remember anything. Is that right?" He put the penlight in his shirt pocket and stood back, arms folded over his chest. "I don't remember anything." "Who's the president of the United States?" "W." The doctor chuckled. "And what's today's date?" "Saturday, July 5, 2003." Lawry picked up the chart and made a note. "How old are you? When's your birthday?" Mulder's calm veneer was showing cracks. "I don't know," came out with a definite growl underneath. "I know this is frustrating, Mr. Mulder, but we have to establish the extent of the amnesia. I'm going to order a CT scan to rule out brain injury, though I see no indication that you're suffering from one." Lawry's tone was stern, but he patted Mulder's shoulder kindly. "You need to be patient with us while we do our jobs." Mulder looked slightly chastised as the doctor left the room, and Scully felt an overwhelming urge to hug him. She settled for coming over to stand next to him. It hadn't escaped her notice that, amnesia or no, he still seemed calmer when she was near. "You doing okay, Mulder?" He scrubbed at his face with both hands. "If I've been worse, I'm not sure I want to remember." He dropped his hands and looked at her. "He called you Dr. Scully. Is that how you know me?" The misery in his eyes made her forget her own for a moment. "We're... We work together. We've been friends for a long time." "We work together? Where?" "The F.B.I." His eyes widened. "You're kidding." She shook her head. "You're a Special Agent with the F.B.I., and we're partners." Mulder was impressed. "I carry a gun?" She had to smile at that. "When you haven't lost it. Or dropped it." "So, I'm clumsy as well as Special?" He managed to smile, too. "You have your moments." The door opened and a young man in green scrubs came in pushing a wheelchair. "Hop aboard, Mr. Mulder. We're going to get your head CT." "I'll see you when you get back." She gave his hand a pat. Mulder hopped down from the table and settled into the waiting transportation. He gave her a thumbs up as the man wheeled him out of the room. It was the first time she'd been alone since this nightmare began, and reaction now set in with a vengeance. Her legs felt like rubber, and she barely made it back to the plastic chair. The CT scan was a precaution. He had no symptoms of physical damage, but there was still the possibility that this had been caused by a cerebral event of some kind. She actually found herself hoping for an aneurysm. At least that could be treated. The alternative was even more disturbing: that someone had done this to him, or that he had unknowingly done it to himself. His symptoms had more in common with emotional trauma, a kind of hysterical amnesia, than with anything physical. To treat that might take years, if it would even respond to treatment. Or maybe that seemingly indestructible spirit had simply reached its limit. His mother's death was only a few months in the past. The answers he'd finally uncovered regarding his sister's disappearance, while unsatisfying for Scully personally, seemed to have been enough for him. His quest was over. What if it had been all that was holding him together? His teasing comments Friday night came back to her. From this new perspective, their implication was chilling. A young woman poked her head into the room. "Dr. Scully? There's a phone call for you." She'd told no one where they were going. The hospital must have contacted the bureau. She followed the woman out into the hall. Of course, it was Skinner. "Yes, sir. I was waiting for more definite news before I called you. Mulder is having a CT scan, and we'll know more after the results are interpreted." "What's his condition?" "He has a kind of amnesia." She brought him up to date with the few facts at her disposal. "I will be staying here with him until we have some answers." She heard papers being shuffled on the other end of the line. Skinner cleared his throat. "Keep me apprised." "Yes, sir." She replaced the receiver and leaned back against the wall. The phone was in a small enclosure, affording her privacy to compose herself. Somehow, telling their boss had given it all a reality that took her by surprise. Mulder was back in the treatment room when she returned, lying on the gurney with his eyes closed. Thinking he'd fallen asleep, she moved quietly to the chair and carried it over next to him. "How long before we hear anything?" His eyes were still closed, but he'd turned his head toward her. "It could be awhile. Go ahead and rest." He sighed and nestled his head against the pillow. His left hand lay at his side, palm up. She touched his curled fingers, smiling when they wrapped around hers. She was nodding off herself when Lawry coughed pointedly from the foot of Mulder's bed. She hadn't even heard the door open. "The CT is clean. I think the next logical step is to have him evaluated by a psychiatrist." "*Him* is capable of taking part in this discussion." Mulder opened his eyes and sat up, his arms resting on his raised knees. "So, you think I'm pretending I can't remember?" "Not consciously, no. I believe that you can't remember, I just don't find a physical cause. What does that leave?" Lawry's arms were crossed over his chest, his feet braced apart. Defying them to come up with an argument against such irrefutable logic. It left a great many things, Scully knew. Not many of them within the realm of conventional medicine. She stood up. "You're releasing him." She hadn't meant it as a question, but the doctor apparently took it as one. "I'd prefer that he spoke with our psychiatric resident. The longer he's in this state, the harder it may be to treat." Mulder waved both hands. "Once again, could we stop referring to me in the second person when I'm right here?" Scully turned her attention fully to him. "Do you want to talk with the psychiatrist, Mulder? It's up to you." She shot the doctor a glance that dared him to dispute her. He simply nodded. "I want to get out of here." Lawry shrugged. "It's your choice. I'll sign you out." Mulder scooted off the gurney and brushed the lint from his trousers. "I had the distinct impression that you have an alternative treatment in mind." Whatever else may have happened to him, the man was as observant as ever. "I think we need to approach this like any other investigation. If we can find out what happened to you, we might be able to reverse it." "I hear a 'but'." The thought had only just occurred to her. "I just wonder if you're going to wish we'd left well enough alone." Continued in Chapter 2 
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