Fic: All I Will Remember (1/4)
I finally finished it!
Title: All I Will Remember
Spoilers: Requiem, Per Manum. Very vague references to some events from season 9.
Category: SRA
Keywords: MSR, AU
Rating: PG-13 in this section, R for violence in one later section
Summary: After Scully returns to Bellefleur to prevent Mulder from being abducted, unexpected events lead the two on a new journey.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or the show.
Feedback: Is love! Drop me a line at pomme_noire [AT] hotmail.com, or leave a comment here.
Archive: That would be great, but please run it by me first.
Author's Note: The beginning idea of this story started out as a dream. Then several months later, missmonkeh's prompt for her winning help_haiti bid gave me the rest of the inspiration I needed to keep going with it, and the word count blossomed! A little over a month past the 'due date', here is the finished fic.
Many thanks are owed to hankmoodyblues for taking the time to read and offer excellent suggestions.
~~
Chapter 1
“Scully! Scully, can you hear me?”
Mulder's voice, laced with desperation, brings me out of unconsciousness. I turn my head toward him, noticing before my eyes open that he must be supporting me. There is an arm behind my head and one holding me to his body. Slowly, I manage to open my eyes. “What... what happened?”
He pushes my hair out of my face before answering. “I'm not totally sure. But I woke up in these woods about a minute ago, a few yards away from you. You looked almost exactly like you looked when you collapsed in Bellefleur a few days ago.” Then he frowns. “Or at least I think it was a few days ago.”
The name of the town reminds me instantly of the purpose of my trip back to Oregon, and the fact that I am in Mulder's arms brings me a feeling of relief. I'd been in time; he's still here. As I come to this realization, I sit up with a little bit of help and look around. Mulder keeps his arms around me loosely. We are in fact in a forest - one that looks totally unfamiliar to me. It doesn't even seem like it could be Bellefleur, since there are very few coniferous trees to be seen. And yet, the last place I can remember being is Oregon. I feel a tingle of unease begin to grow.
“Mulder,” I say, turning to look at him again, “what's the last thing you remember?”
“The Gunmen called and told me you were flying out to Oregon because you had an important discovery about the case that I needed to hear,” Mulder tells me. The anxiety in his expression increases as he continues, “Then I heard that you were rushed to the hospital after your plane landed. I was on my way to see you... and then I don't remember what happened next.”
At this reminder of the stunning news I had received from the doctor, I gasp slightly and put a hand to my stomach. It is still so hard for me to believe.
Of course Mulder notices my gesture, and he tightens his grip on me. “Scully? What's wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong, Mulder,” I say, looking at him. “Or, well-- other than this amnesia that we both seem to have. I can't remember what happened after I went to sleep in my hospital room.”
He doesn't look reassured. “But why did they rush you to the hospital?”
“I felt dizzy again on the plane,” I tell him, “and then I almost passed out when I stood up upon arrival. But it's not because I'm sick.” I cannot hold back a wide smile then. “Mulder, they ran some tests... and it turns out I'm pregnant.”
Mulder stares at me, and I watch as shock and joy slowly dawn on his face. “Scully, you're... they... they were sure?”
“Totally sure.” I am still smiling. “I'm still trying to wrap my mind around it, too, and I can't begin tell you how it's possible. But they ran the tests twice to confirm.”
“Scully,” he breathes. With a huge grin, he envelops me in a powerful hug - and then pulls back suddenly, looking worried. “I-- I won't hurt you, will I?”
I laugh. “No.” I take one of his hands and put it on top of mine, resting on my stomach. “We're fine, Mulder.”
Mulder is focused on our hands for several seconds. Then he looks up at me, awed. “This is... wow, this is amazing, Scully. How far along are you?”
“Just a few weeks,” I inform him. “Probably about four.”
I watch him mentally calculate backward, and then he grins again, and chuckles. “I'm pretty sure I can think of a few candidates for that night.”
“Me, too.” I think my face is getting tired from smiling for so long; it certainly has been a long while since I've been so happy. I barely notice the uneven, cold ground under me as Mulder leans in to give me a long and heartfelt kiss.
When we finally break apart, Mulder clears his throat. His eyes are shining as he moves one hand to rest on my stomach again. He tries to say something but instead just swallows and pulls me to him. I close my eyes and breathe him in for a few long moments. I hadn't really worried that he would react to this news with anything but happiness, but it feels wonderful, anyway. I am so glad that he's here right now... wherever here is.
Almost as if he has heard this last thought, Mulder sighs and reluctantly lets go of me. “Well, I think we should try to figure out where we are.”
“Yeah,” I say with a sigh of my own. He stands up first and I follow, holding onto his hand when the expected dizziness hits me. Thankfully, it does not last long this time.
“You okay?”
“I'll be fine.” I brush myself off and take another look around. We are both in a largish clearing with fairly sparse scatterings of deciduous trees around us. Their leaves are as green as the ones in DC before we left. “At least we can tell not too much time has passed,” I remark, pointing at the nearest maple.
Mulder nods and keeps scanning the area. Then he looks at me and furrows his brow. “Scully, what clothes were you wearing last - I mean, before you were in a hospital gown?”
I look down at myself. The slacks, white blouse, and jacket I am wearing are mine, but... “I don't think I was wearing this on the flight out,” I answer him. “But these are my clothes, I know that.”
“I don't think I was wearing this either, last thing I remember,” Mulder says, looking at his blue long-sleeved sweater and jeans. “But it's mine, too.”
“So,” I say slowly, trying to make sense of this, “we must have gone back to our apartments at least once in the time we can't recall?”
“That would seem to be the case,” Mulder agrees. He rubs a hand across his face. “I don't suppose you have your cell phone with you?”
I quickly check all my pockets and come up empty. “No such luck.” Neither of us have our holsters, either, I notice, unless-- “You don't happen to have your ankle holster, do you, Mulder?”
He shakes his head. “No. At least I'm not the only one who lost my gun this time, though.” I just raise an eyebrow, and he continues, “But I don't have my wallet, either.”
So we are unarmed, have no food or water, and have no means of attempting to contact the outside world. Silence falls, except for faint birdsong and buzzing insects.
Abruptly, Mulder turns to face me. “Wait, Scully - what was the news you were coming out to Oregon to tell me? Maybe that has something to do with what happened to us.”
My heart sinks as I recall what the Gunmen and I discovered. I tell him about the commonality between him and all the previous abduction victims, trying not to panic about our memory loss and its possible connection to this news.
Mulder clenches his jaw, beginning to pace. “So they wanted me, not you. And I would have just walked right into their trap.”
“Mulder.” I stop him with a hand on his shoulder. Meeting his eyes, I tell him, “I'm just glad you didn't.”
He nods once and moves on. “Does that mean we should allow for the possibility that our amnesia is related to an abduction?”
“I suppose it's possible. But it doesn't seem to fit the usual pattern, since we were both returned together in one place, and seemingly not too long after our last memories.”
“And we seem to be in good health,” Mulder adds, giving me a surreptitious once-over.
As opposed to being in a coma, given more implants, or covered with horrific scars, I think, but only nod in response. “I think we should both get a medical exam as soon as we get out of... wherever we are, just in case.”
“I agree,” Mulder says softly.
After a moment, I clear my throat. “Well,” I suggest, “do we pick a direction and start walking, then?”
Mulder gives me a half-smile. “Guess so. Lead on, oh Wise One.”
Shaking my head, I make another brief survey of our surroundings. I decide to start in what should be a westerly direction, based on the sun.
~
We walk for what has to be an hour without much change in the scenery. The terrain is almost completely flat, a fact which we have agreed suggests East Coast or Midwest. The temperature is a little warm; Mulder and I have taken off our jackets, but we are probably already approaching mild dehydration. There has been no sign of a stream or pond as of yet.
I am trying to hide the return of my dizziness from Mulder for the moment. It's no doubt mostly from dehydration, and I don't want him to be any more worried about me than he is. But it has been getting worse and I know I won't be able to conceal it much longer. In fact mere seconds after that thought, I stumble over a protruding root and pitch forward.
Mulder is there in an instant, catching me and bringing me upright. “Whoa, Scully.”
“Sorry,” I mutter, blinking. “I think I'm getting dehydrated.”
He makes sure I'm steady on my feet before letting me go. I see a hint of worry in his expression, but he just says, “Yeah. I hope we come across some water soon.”
We start walking again. The dizziness recedes somewhat, to my relief. Within a few hundred yards, I hear the sound of running water, and Mulder does as well. He smiles and quickens his pace.
I decide it's prudent not to speed up, and so I make it over the very small hill separating us from the creek to see my partner kneeling at the water's edge, scooping it into his mouth.
“How's it taste?”
Mulder looks up at me, and wipes his mouth on his forearm. “Nice and cold.”
I kneel down next to him and bring some water to my mouth. His assessment of the water matches mine, and I have a hard time quenching my thirst slowly as I know I should.
Eventually, we are both sated. I lean back on my heels with a sigh, and then move so I can stretch out my legs. It's only now that we've stopped that I really feel how my feet hurt. The shoes I'm wearing are definitely not for hiking - though at least they are far from my tallest heels.
“I wish we had something we could fill with water,” Mulder remarks. He is leaning back against a tree trunk, legs stretched out in front of him.
“That would be nice,” I say. “Unfortunately, I don't even have an empty plastic bag on me.”
Mulder turns to gaze at the water flowing over the smooth stones. “We could keep following the stream, see where it leads,” he says.
That would mean a change of direction, since it is flowing south. But after all, I consider, I picked west by random. “Sure, let's do that. Why not?”
I get to my feet without any wooziness this time, and we set off. The trees growing alongside the creek provide enough shade that Mulder and I roll down our sleeves, though we still do not put our jackets back on.
After maybe a half hour or so, Mulder's pace slows and he turns to look at me. His expression in the shadow of the trees is hard to decipher.
“What?”
He looks down at the stream and is silent for long enough that I repeat my question. At that he raises his eyes to mine. “Scully, do you want to get married?”
I stare at him, aware that my mouth has probably dropped open.
Mulder takes a step closer to me. “I-- I'm sorry for springing that on you, but... I've been thinking about it, and I don't want you to be worried about my commitment to you, and to our kid.” He takes my hand. “And I want us to be a real family.”
“Oh, Mulder,” I whisper, to keep myself from tears. In some ways, this is not surprising at all - it is a sweet, sincere response I should have expected from this man. I step into his embrace. “I don't doubt you, but thank you for asking. Can I tell you I'll think about it?” My voice is muffled against him.
“That's fine,” Mulder says, sounding a little relieved. He kisses my hair. “Besides, we've got about nine months before he or she is born to unwed parents, right?”
Laughing, I pull away just enough to elbow him in the side. I've certainly been thinking about these issues after hearing the news. I haven't had the chance to tell my mother yet, but I know she'll be much happier for me than she will be disapproving. Of course she'd like it if I did get married. But I'm not going to make that kind of decision just to make her happy. It's something I'll have to think about, and I do appreciate that Mulder asked me.
We continue on our trek, stopping now and then to take a drink from the creek next to us. It's getting toward late afternoon. I untie my jacket from around my waist and put it on. Mulder, seeing this, puts his arm around me and rubs my shoulder. It doesn't bother me that he leaves his arm there.
Mulder is walking closest to the creek, and so it's me who sees the house through the branches off to the left. I stop abruptly and point. “Mulder, look!”
We hurry closer. In the fading light, the house - or cabin, really - appears uninhabited but not abandoned. It's in the middle of a large clearing, and there's a dirt path leading from its front door to the creek.
I turn to look at Mulder, and he shrugs. We walk up to the door and he knocks.
Seconds pass, and there is no sound from inside. Mulder looks at me and shrugs again before turning the knob. The door opens.
“Hello?” Mulder calls. “Anyone here?”
I find a light switch just inside the door and flick it on. Somewhat to my surprise, it actually works, revealing a mostly empty entryway and a spacious sitting room. There are two couches, a bookshelf (full of books), and a fireplace in the corner on the opposite wall.
“Hello?” I call again. There is still no response or sound of movement.
“We should check the rest of the place,” Mulder says as he takes a step inside.
“For whoever lives here, or to see what of theirs we can steal?” I ask dryly, but follow him anyway.
We begin searching the cabin, not that there's that much to search. It only takes about two minutes, and we find little definitive useful information. The only things we discover are a day calendar on the bedside table in the bedroom, which is on May 24 - two days after I flew out to Oregon. There is no way of knowing if it's current, but at least we have somewhere to begin. There is also a receipt in the main room from a sporting goods store in North Carolina... but once again, this does not necessarily mean we're in North Carolina. There is no phone.
With a sigh, Mulder heads for the kitchen. “I'm going to rustle us up something to eat. I don't know about you, but I'm feeling like I've missed some meals.”
“Yeah. I'll be right there.” Even though I'm quite hungry, I head for the bathroom first. Not only do I need to use the facilities, but I'm thinking ahead to a medicine cabinet and some supplies we might need to borrow.
A look in the slightly smudged mirror in the bathroom makes me frown, since it reveals that my necklace is missing. I wonder for a moment when I last knew I had it on - but with the amnesia, I know that trying to figure that out is not likely to turn up any answers. Not for now, at least.
I bring some bandages, a small bottle of Tylenol, and some multivitamins out into the kitchen. They're bound to come in handy if we end up spending more than a day out in the woods, I figure. Mulder, meanwhile, has found bread, sliced roast beef, cheddar cheese, tomatoes, and mayonnaise, and is in the process of making two sandwiches.
“You okay with cheese and tomatoes on your sandwich, Scully?” he asks.
My stomach growls, and I nod in response to his question and his amused expression. “Go easy on the mayo for mine, please.”
He gestures over his shoulder with the knife he's been using to slice the tomatoes, toward the fridge. “You can see what there is to drink in there.”
I walk over and open the door, remarking, “I wish we at least had our wallets so we could leave the owner of this place some money before we leave.”
“Yeah,” Mulder says. “Although with all this perishable food around, it's a safe bet that they weren't planning to be gone for too long.” He pauses. “Maybe we should, um, put a note on the door or something so they don't shoot us when they come back.”
“There's a thought,” I answer. I don't relish the idea of being chased out of the cabin, even though the owner would have every right to be furious. “While I'm standing here, do you want water, lemonade, or beer with your food, Mulder?”
He opens his mouth, and then smiles a little ruefully. “I'll take lemonade, so we can both start getting in the habit.”
It takes a second for his meaning to sink in, and then I return the smile. “You don't have to abstain from alcohol, you know,” I point out.
“I know,” he answers, putting the last slice of bread on each sandwich. “But I figure, you're going to be doing all of the hard work in these next months, so it's a small price to pay.”
“Well, thanks,” I say, getting out the pitcher of lemonade. “I appreciate the gesture.”
Mulder nods. “I'll go write that note. Go ahead and dig in.”
“How about you put the number for the FBI switchboard on there after our names?” I call after him. “If we leave before they get back, at least then they can get reimbursed.”
“Okay,” he yells.
By the time he returns, I have poured us each a glass of lemonade and made a good start on my sandwich. To save my aching feet, I am sitting on one of the wooden bar stools at the counter. Mulder slides onto the one next to me, sighing in satisfaction as soon as he has taken a bite of his meal.
We eat in silence, other than my cautioning Mulder to eat more slowly at the start. I realize we have no real way of knowing when we last ate - though the fact that I was not a lot hungrier than I have been after skipping a meal or two in the past suggests it wasn't too long. The thought is faintly comforting.
“So, Scully,” Mulder says, breaking the silence after he swallows his last mouthful, “any other thoughts about how we ended up in a cabin in the middle of a North Carolina forest - if that is in fact where we are - at least two days after our last memories?”
“Well,” I begin, “the fact that we don't have our weapons, ID, or other personal items strongly suggests there was at least one part of the journey that was against our wills.”
He nods, and then looks chagrined. “Your necklace is gone, too, isn't it?”
Reflexively, I put my hand to my throat. But it's still not there, just as it was a few seconds ago. “Yeah.”
“That necklace has been through a lot,” Mulder says, his eyes lingering on my neck for a moment before turning back to his empty plate. “I... kind of thought we'd always get it back to you.”
I smile and cover his hand with mine. “It's all right, Mulder. Maybe we still have a chance to find it. And if not, I'll live.”
After a pause, he continues, “So you arrived in Oregon, I went to see you at the hospital... and then we go back to DC, and end up in maybe-North Carolina for whatever reason?”
“That seems right, as far as it goes,” I say with a shrug. Then a thought occurs to me. “Mulder, we didn't see any tire tracks or anything other than a foot path outside this cabin, did we?”
“No, we didn't,” Mulder affirms. Then his eyes widen as he makes the same connection as I have. “So we must be within walking distance of some kind of civilization.”
He stands up immediately, and I hold up my hand. “Wait, Mulder - it's almost dark. Should we trust that we're close enough to a town or city to start out into the woods again, or wait until morning?”
“I don't really like the idea of sticking around here, in case the owner comes back,” Mulder says, chewing his lip and looking out the window to the rapidly-darkening forest. “But I don't like the idea of us wandering around outside at night, either.”
I stand, taking both of our plates over to the sink. “Even if there aren't any Moth Men in the area?”
He smiles. “Even so.” Then he yawns. “I think I for one am too tired to do any more hiking today. Maybe we can trespass on this person's hospitality for a few more hours.”
“Sounds fine to me.” I find some dish soap under the sink. “But put our host or hostess's food away first, Mulder.”
“Host, I think,” he remarks, “based on the bedroom.”
I recall the slightly messy, mostly undecorated room from earlier. “You're probably right.”
“Of course I am,” he says as he opens the fridge. I just roll my eyes.
~
Half an hour later, we are getting ready to bed down for the night on the couches in the main room. (I draw the line at sleeping in the cabin owner's bed - or using his toothbrush, although Mulder helpfully points it out before I go into the bathroom again.) Mulder elects to take the couch that has the best view of the door. “Just in case,” he says, not bothering to elaborate. I am too tired to argue, and in fact almost as soon as I am lying down, I begin to drift off. Distantly, I feel Mulder pull the throw blanket over me, and hear him lie down as well.
The sound of heavy footsteps on the front steps penetrates my slumber early the next morning. I do not come fully awake until the door opens, the light turns on, and a man's voice yells, “What in the-- who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my house?”
I sit up, blinking the sleep out of my eyes and fumbling for my gun before I remember I don't have it. Mulder has his hands out and is speaking in a calming tone. “Sir, we're not thieves and we don't want to cause any trouble. We were lost in the woods all day yesterday and came across your cabin. I, um-- I wrote a note and put it on the door...”
As my eyes adjust to the sudden onslaught of light, I see the man set down the paper bag he's holding and turn to look at the piece of white paper taped to the door (which is still open). He takes a few seconds to read it, and then turns back to us. I am standing up by now, a few feet away from Mulder.
“Huh.” The man squints, rubs his hand across the stubble on his chin, and closes the door behind us. “You're FBI agents?”
“Yes, sir,” I tell him. “I'm Special Agent Dana Scully, and this is Special Agent Fox Mulder.”
“And let me guess: you can't show me any ID to prove that.”
Mulder glances at me before answering. “Unfortunately not. Before we... got lost out here, we were apparently kidnapped, and our badges and weapons were taken.”
“'Apparently'?” He hasn't moved since closing the door.
“I know it might sound odd, but yes, we can't be sure,” Mulder says. “We seem to be suffering from some memory loss as well.”
He snorts. “Sounds a little too far-fetched to me,” he says, pulling out a pistol from his waistband. “You can just start moving toward the door, nice and slow.”
Mulder and I raise our hands. My heart is pounding. Even though this man seems more cautious than violent, we're going to have to figure out some way to convince him of the truth of our statements quickly. Meanwhile, I reflect, if I can ignore the return of this dizziness and nausea...
“Sir,” I try, “if you just call that number on the note--”
“I don't have a phone out here,” he interrupts. The gun is still pointed at Mulder, but he gives me a piercing glance. “Memory loss? You really expect me to believe that?”
I sigh. “The last thing I remember is flying from DC to Oregon early on the twenty-second of May. I don't even know what day it is now.”
“Oregon?” the man repeats. He shakes his head. “Well, if you are thieves, you've sure got a crazy story to cover it up. Are you telling me you think you're in Oregon right now?”
“No,” I start to tell him, and then swallow and close my eyes against a wave of nausea. I sway on my feet. Mulder must notice this, because he's at my side when I open them again.
He looks at me in concern. “Scully, are you o--”
“Go ahead and get her to the couch,” the man interrupts again, putting away his gun. “I guess you two aren't dangerous, at least.”
Mulder holds onto my arm and steers me the short distance back to the couch. I swallow again, tasting acid at the back of my throat. I haven't had time to do much research in this area recently, but I can probably assume I have several more weeks of these symptoms to look forward to. “It's nothing serious, Mulder,” I say quietly. I put my hand on my stomach and meet his gaze, raising my eyebrows. It takes a moment, but then his own eyes widen slightly and he nods.
When I look back toward the cabin owner, he has left the room, but returns quickly holding a glass of water. He hands it to me. “Drink it slowly, now.”
In other circumstances, I think as I take the glass, I would consider it amusing to have just been given health-related advice by a man who was recently pointing a gun at my partner and me, and whose house we have just spent the night in without his permission. At the moment, all I can feel is relief as the morning sickness decreases to a bearable level.
“Thank you,” I say, looking up at the man who is still watching me closely.
“Don't mention it,” he replies, a little gruff. “I'm Al, by the way. Al Price.”
He turns to Mulder, who shakes his offered hand and gives him a wry smile. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Price. And we're both sincerely sorry about the circumstances.”
Al nods, and shakes my hand as well. “Well, I need to go put some groceries in the freezer. I'd tell you two to make yourselves at home, but I guess that's not necessary.”
Mulder looks embarrassed. “Is there anything we can do to help?”
“No, no, don't worry about it,” Al says. “You just sit down next to Agent... Scully, was it?”
We watch as he heads for the kitchen with his groceries. As soon as he is out of earshot, Mulder sinks back against the couch. “Wow. That went surprisingly well.”
I shake my head - which isn't a good idea at the moment. “I guess you could say that.”
“Neither of us got shot, right?” Mulder points out. “He only threatened to force us out of here at gunpoint. I say that qualifies as a success.”
“Sure,” I say. Once again, I am distracted by the dizziness, and I put a hand to my mouth.
Mulder appears to be trying not to look worried. “So, uh... is this morning sickness, Scully?”
“Mmhmm.” There is still water left in my glass, but the thought of finishing it makes me even more nauseated. I try to remember what I've read or heard about home remedies.
“What do you need?” Mulder asks. “Water, ginger ale, ice?” It takes me a moment to remember why Mulder asking this kind of question is so darkly familiar - and then I think of the terrible days following each of my cancer treatments. This is not so bad, in comparison.
Al returns just as I make up my mind. “I think... dry crackers, if you have any, Mr. Price?”
“I should,” he says. “Just sit tight for a minute.”
I take shallow breaths through my nose, hoping I can hold it back, but it is no use. I end up sprinting for the bathroom. Mulder is not far behind, and hands me a damp paper towel when I have finished emptying the (very scant) contents of my stomach into the toilet. I use the towel to wipe my face, and sit back for a moment.
“Feel any better?” Mulder's voice is soft.
“Maybe... a little,” I say between breaths. When I look up at his face, the sheer tenderness there is almost enough to bring tears to my eyes. “Thanks, Mulder.”
Before he can respond, our host walks up to the doorway of the bathroom. “I, uh, found some saltine crackers. Will they work?”
“That sounds fine, thank you very much.” I start to stand up, and Mulder offers a hand for support, which I take.
Price watches us for a moment, handing me the sleeve of saltines as I reach the doorway. “This your first time?”
I blink. “My first time doing what?” Throwing up? Hardly.
“Having a baby.”
“I--” Staring at him, I can feel myself flush. I look at Mulder out of the corner of my eye and decide it will probably help Al trust us if I don't bother trying to deny it, since he has already guessed. “Is it really that obvious?”
He shakes his head. “Probably not, but I'm good at reading people.” He points to the saltines and adds, “And my wife ate those almost every morning for the first few months when she was pregnant with our oldest son. Those, and ice cubes.”
I open the package and eat a few as we walk toward the kitchen. It does seem to help my stomach settle... though now I can't help being a little nervous that someone else knows about my pregnancy before I've gotten the chance to tell my mother, even, or Skinner.
“You can tell me to mind my own business,” Al continues, turning to Mulder, “but have you asked her to marry you?”
It's Mulder's turn to blush. “I-- I did ask.” Then he shrugs and looks up with a small smile. “And it would hardly be fair for me to tell you to mind your own business, Mr. Price, considering we ate your food and slept on your couches last night.”
At that, the older man laughs. “Well, I'll give you that. You two are the most polite and the oddest folk I've run into out here in a long time.”
I shoot Mulder an amused look at this assessment. Then I clear my throat. “Speaking of which, can you tell us where 'out here' is, exactly?”
“Oh, that's right,” Al says, with a slight nod. “Your kidnapping. We're in North Carolina, on the northern edge of the Croatan National Forest. Which is not far from the coast, in case you need a little more orientation.”
We absorb that information for a moment.
“And the date is...?” Mulder prompts.
“May 25,” he tells us, and then adds, “2000, if you needed that part, too.”
I raise my eyebrow in amusement. “I think we'd guessed that much, Mr. Price. But thanks.”
So our earlier guesses were correct - but that doesn't help us figure out what happened to us in the two missing days. “Is it far to walk to the nearest town?”
“Not too bad,” Al says. He glances outside, at the clear sky promising a warm day. Yawning, he says, “It shouldn't be hard to find, but I could go with--”
“No, that's all right,” Mulder breaks in. “We've already disrupted your day more than enough, Mr. Price. But if you wanted to point us in the right direction, we would appreciate it.”
“All right.” Al frowns then. “But I'm going to insist on you eating a real meal first, and taking some water with you... and I'll get you some cash to pay for a phone call.”
Mulder and I start to protest almost in unison, but Al holds up a hand. “Nope. I insist. I don't get a lot of company anymore, so even though we started off on the wrong foot, I want to see if my breakfast making skills are still up to par. Consider it a partial repayment on your part for trespassing.”
“That doesn't seem like a very fair way to repay you,” Mulder says, scratching the back of his neck.
Al scoffs. “I'll be the judge of that, Agent Mulder. It's a good excuse for me to have a fancier meal anyway. Now, you two feel free to use the shower or whatever you need while I start breakfast. There are extra towels in the closet right outside the bathroom.”
Meeting my eyes, Mulder shrugs. “Thank you,” I say, and he echoes me.
Our host nods and walks back toward the kitchen. There is a moment of silence, and then Mulder says, “You wanna shower first?”
“That would be nice,” I answer. Despite the fact that I will have to put these same clothes on again afterwards, a shower sounds heavenly at the moment. The nausea seems to have faded completely, for which I am grateful. “Stay out of trouble for a few minutes, okay, Mulder?”
He looks wounded. “I can't believe you would think it necessary to say that to me, Scully.”
Grinning, I shoot back, “And don't eat all the food, either.”
~
In due course, we are both showered, dressed, and fed. Price gives us each a full water bottle, some cash, detailed directions to town, and the address of his post office box. “Just in case you're ever in the area again and you need anything,” he says, and once again waves off our gratitude.
“Please use the phone number we left to contact us if you ever need anything, Mr. Price,” I tell him as we shake hands one more time on his front porch.
“I'll do that,” he promises. “You take care now.”
With a final wave, Mulder and I set off toward the nearest town. It only takes us about ten minutes to reach it. We waste no time finding a pay phone outside the gas station.
Mulder turns to me. “You wanna do the honors, Scully, or shall I?”
“If you find us a good place to eat lunch,” I say, “I'll call Skinner. We're going to be waiting here for a few more hours, I'd bet.”
“Fair enough.”
I use some of the money Mr. Price gave us, and dial Skinner's office. His assistant sounds shocked to hear from me and transfers me through right away.
“Agent Scully,” Skinner says, sounding more tense than usual. “Where are you - and Agent Mulder? You've been missing for almost three days.”
“I know, sir. Agent Mulder is with me. We're in a little town on the northern edge of the Croatan National Forest in North Carolina.” I take a deep breath. “We both woke up in the woods yesterday with no memory of the previous two days, ever since I flew out to Oregon and ended up in the hospital.”
There is a pause. “Are you all right?”
“We seem to be, sir,” I tell him, “other than the amnesia. But we're missing our badges, guns, and wallets, among other personal items.”
“Okay. What's the last thing Agent Mulder remembers?” Skinner asks, and I recall that he was in Bellefleur with Mulder this time.
“He said he got a call that I was coming out there with important news, and then he heard that I was in the hospital and went there. That's it.” I look around the gas station parking lot, making sure that there are no customers very nearby... and try not to think about how paranoid I've become. “Sir, do you have any other insight into what happened? You were in Oregon.”
“Yes, I was,” he says with a sigh. “I went with Mulder to the hospital. He visited you that night, and they let him stay there with you. The next morning...” Skinner trails off, and I have the slightly amazed idea that he might be regaining his composure. “The next morning, you were both gone. The doctor hadn't released you, and no one remembered seeing either of you leave.”
I swallow with difficulty. This does not sound good. And why couldn't I even remember Mulder's visit?
“We're going to figure this out, Scully,” he tells me. “I'll contact the Raleigh office, and I'll be in North Carolina as soon as I can - and then we'll go from there.”
“Thank you, sir.” Before he hangs up, I add hurriedly, “And, um, sir... has my mother been worried?”
Skinner assures me that he will call her right away, and I thank him again before he hangs up.
I put down the receiver and turn around, just in time to see Mulder approaching from across the road. He jogs over. “What'd Skinner say?”
“He said he's on his way,” I report, and then tell him what Skinner told me about the events leading up to our disappearance. “Mulder, whatever happened, I don't understand why we don't remember seeing each other in Oregon at all. Does that mean we were kidnapped right then, out of the hospital?” That would seem to suggest an organized group of some sort.
Mulder looks as disturbed as I feel by this new information, but he shakes his head. “Not necessarily. It's possible that someone warned us that we needed to get out undetected... which would explain us having apparently gone back to our apartments in DC at some point.”
“Yeah, that's true.” If only I could remember anything at all after waiting for Mulder to arrive at that hospital. But there's still nothing. I frown, and shade my eyes as I look at Mulder. “So, did you find us a good place to wait around for a few hours?”
“Well, there's a diner,” Mulder says, “and a very small library right across the street from it.”
I think for a moment. I'm not quite hungry enough to want lunch yet. “Is the library air-conditioned?”
“I didn't go inside,” he answers. “Let's find out.”
The library, as it turns out, is pleasantly cool inside. There are only a few other patrons, but no one gives us a second glance as we enter. I haven't allowed myself to think too much about the fact that whoever or whatever kidnapped us might still be looking for us... but regardless, this place does not seem threatening in the least.
Mulder and I spend an hour browsing through what the library has to offer. Their most recent fiction is almost a year out of date - and Mulder complains about their terrible selection of equally terrible sci-fi movies - but it is only when my stomach growls that I mention lunch to him. He agrees, looking faintly surprised at how much time has passed.
The diner is less pleasant. Though there are several fans inside, there is no A/C, and the lunch menu leaves a great deal to be desired. Still, we're both grateful to Mr. Price for giving us enough money to find something reasonably satisfying. And thankfully, the greasy food does not aggravate my morning sickness.
Just as we're finishing our meal, a black SUV drives up outside, and Skinner gets out of the driver's seat. An unfamiliar agent exits the vehicle from the other side. Mulder sees this at the same time as I do, and hurriedly leaves some cash on the table. “Let's go.”
Skinner's worried expression relaxes slightly as he sees us in front of the diner. “Agents,” he greets us. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine, sir, other than the memory loss I told you about on the phone,” I report, and Mulder nods.
Our boss looks us over, and seems to accept this answer. “If you're ready, Agent Whitaker will take us to the nearest hospital so we can see if the doctors can give you any further insight.” He gestures to the young man who has been standing in the background during this.
Mulder and I get into the back of the SUV and, after a brief conferral, Skinner decides to let Agent Whitaker drive to the hospital. He turns to face us in the vehicle.
“Agent Scully, I contacted your mother and told her you'd been found,” he says.
I meet his eyes. “Thank you, sir.”
There is a pause. Mulder glances toward the agent in the driver's seat and then says, “Sir, were our apartments searched?”
“Yes.” Skinner looks at him questioningly. “There was no evidence of foul play, if that's what you're asking.”
Mulder shakes his head. “No, it's just that Scully and I think we may have returned to our apartments at some point during the period we can't remember, and I was wondering if there was any evidence to suggest that.”
“The lack of signs of forced entry would at least support that idea,” Skinner says, “but what leads you to think you were there?”
He tells Skinner about the change of clothing, and the man nods. “All right. We're going to need to draw up a timeline of what you two and anyone else involved remember, and any clues as to what happened during the days you were missing.”
A thought occurs to me, and I wonder if Mulder or I have already told Skinner about my pregnancy during our lost time. It's possible, I suppose. Even the fact that he hasn't mentioned it certainly doesn't mean he doesn't already know, since he would no doubt understand a need for discretion. I guess I'll find out after the medical exam, I think.
When we arrive at the hospital after a few more minutes of driving, I can feel Mulder steeling himself for the battery of tests that is ahead for both of us. I do likewise. It seems unfair to have to return to the hospital so soon after my admittance in Oregon - but at least we might be able to discover something about what happened to us. I hope.
~
Title: All I Will Remember
Spoilers: Requiem, Per Manum. Very vague references to some events from season 9.
Category: SRA
Keywords: MSR, AU
Rating: PG-13 in this section, R for violence in one later section
Summary: After Scully returns to Bellefleur to prevent Mulder from being abducted, unexpected events lead the two on a new journey.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or the show.
Feedback: Is love! Drop me a line at pomme_noire [AT] hotmail.com, or leave a comment here.
Archive: That would be great, but please run it by me first.
Author's Note: The beginning idea of this story started out as a dream. Then several months later, missmonkeh's prompt for her winning help_haiti bid gave me the rest of the inspiration I needed to keep going with it, and the word count blossomed! A little over a month past the 'due date', here is the finished fic.
Many thanks are owed to hankmoodyblues for taking the time to read and offer excellent suggestions.
~~
Chapter 1
“Scully! Scully, can you hear me?”
Mulder's voice, laced with desperation, brings me out of unconsciousness. I turn my head toward him, noticing before my eyes open that he must be supporting me. There is an arm behind my head and one holding me to his body. Slowly, I manage to open my eyes. “What... what happened?”
He pushes my hair out of my face before answering. “I'm not totally sure. But I woke up in these woods about a minute ago, a few yards away from you. You looked almost exactly like you looked when you collapsed in Bellefleur a few days ago.” Then he frowns. “Or at least I think it was a few days ago.”
The name of the town reminds me instantly of the purpose of my trip back to Oregon, and the fact that I am in Mulder's arms brings me a feeling of relief. I'd been in time; he's still here. As I come to this realization, I sit up with a little bit of help and look around. Mulder keeps his arms around me loosely. We are in fact in a forest - one that looks totally unfamiliar to me. It doesn't even seem like it could be Bellefleur, since there are very few coniferous trees to be seen. And yet, the last place I can remember being is Oregon. I feel a tingle of unease begin to grow.
“Mulder,” I say, turning to look at him again, “what's the last thing you remember?”
“The Gunmen called and told me you were flying out to Oregon because you had an important discovery about the case that I needed to hear,” Mulder tells me. The anxiety in his expression increases as he continues, “Then I heard that you were rushed to the hospital after your plane landed. I was on my way to see you... and then I don't remember what happened next.”
At this reminder of the stunning news I had received from the doctor, I gasp slightly and put a hand to my stomach. It is still so hard for me to believe.
Of course Mulder notices my gesture, and he tightens his grip on me. “Scully? What's wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong, Mulder,” I say, looking at him. “Or, well-- other than this amnesia that we both seem to have. I can't remember what happened after I went to sleep in my hospital room.”
He doesn't look reassured. “But why did they rush you to the hospital?”
“I felt dizzy again on the plane,” I tell him, “and then I almost passed out when I stood up upon arrival. But it's not because I'm sick.” I cannot hold back a wide smile then. “Mulder, they ran some tests... and it turns out I'm pregnant.”
Mulder stares at me, and I watch as shock and joy slowly dawn on his face. “Scully, you're... they... they were sure?”
“Totally sure.” I am still smiling. “I'm still trying to wrap my mind around it, too, and I can't begin tell you how it's possible. But they ran the tests twice to confirm.”
“Scully,” he breathes. With a huge grin, he envelops me in a powerful hug - and then pulls back suddenly, looking worried. “I-- I won't hurt you, will I?”
I laugh. “No.” I take one of his hands and put it on top of mine, resting on my stomach. “We're fine, Mulder.”
Mulder is focused on our hands for several seconds. Then he looks up at me, awed. “This is... wow, this is amazing, Scully. How far along are you?”
“Just a few weeks,” I inform him. “Probably about four.”
I watch him mentally calculate backward, and then he grins again, and chuckles. “I'm pretty sure I can think of a few candidates for that night.”
“Me, too.” I think my face is getting tired from smiling for so long; it certainly has been a long while since I've been so happy. I barely notice the uneven, cold ground under me as Mulder leans in to give me a long and heartfelt kiss.
When we finally break apart, Mulder clears his throat. His eyes are shining as he moves one hand to rest on my stomach again. He tries to say something but instead just swallows and pulls me to him. I close my eyes and breathe him in for a few long moments. I hadn't really worried that he would react to this news with anything but happiness, but it feels wonderful, anyway. I am so glad that he's here right now... wherever here is.
Almost as if he has heard this last thought, Mulder sighs and reluctantly lets go of me. “Well, I think we should try to figure out where we are.”
“Yeah,” I say with a sigh of my own. He stands up first and I follow, holding onto his hand when the expected dizziness hits me. Thankfully, it does not last long this time.
“You okay?”
“I'll be fine.” I brush myself off and take another look around. We are both in a largish clearing with fairly sparse scatterings of deciduous trees around us. Their leaves are as green as the ones in DC before we left. “At least we can tell not too much time has passed,” I remark, pointing at the nearest maple.
Mulder nods and keeps scanning the area. Then he looks at me and furrows his brow. “Scully, what clothes were you wearing last - I mean, before you were in a hospital gown?”
I look down at myself. The slacks, white blouse, and jacket I am wearing are mine, but... “I don't think I was wearing this on the flight out,” I answer him. “But these are my clothes, I know that.”
“I don't think I was wearing this either, last thing I remember,” Mulder says, looking at his blue long-sleeved sweater and jeans. “But it's mine, too.”
“So,” I say slowly, trying to make sense of this, “we must have gone back to our apartments at least once in the time we can't recall?”
“That would seem to be the case,” Mulder agrees. He rubs a hand across his face. “I don't suppose you have your cell phone with you?”
I quickly check all my pockets and come up empty. “No such luck.” Neither of us have our holsters, either, I notice, unless-- “You don't happen to have your ankle holster, do you, Mulder?”
He shakes his head. “No. At least I'm not the only one who lost my gun this time, though.” I just raise an eyebrow, and he continues, “But I don't have my wallet, either.”
So we are unarmed, have no food or water, and have no means of attempting to contact the outside world. Silence falls, except for faint birdsong and buzzing insects.
Abruptly, Mulder turns to face me. “Wait, Scully - what was the news you were coming out to Oregon to tell me? Maybe that has something to do with what happened to us.”
My heart sinks as I recall what the Gunmen and I discovered. I tell him about the commonality between him and all the previous abduction victims, trying not to panic about our memory loss and its possible connection to this news.
Mulder clenches his jaw, beginning to pace. “So they wanted me, not you. And I would have just walked right into their trap.”
“Mulder.” I stop him with a hand on his shoulder. Meeting his eyes, I tell him, “I'm just glad you didn't.”
He nods once and moves on. “Does that mean we should allow for the possibility that our amnesia is related to an abduction?”
“I suppose it's possible. But it doesn't seem to fit the usual pattern, since we were both returned together in one place, and seemingly not too long after our last memories.”
“And we seem to be in good health,” Mulder adds, giving me a surreptitious once-over.
As opposed to being in a coma, given more implants, or covered with horrific scars, I think, but only nod in response. “I think we should both get a medical exam as soon as we get out of... wherever we are, just in case.”
“I agree,” Mulder says softly.
After a moment, I clear my throat. “Well,” I suggest, “do we pick a direction and start walking, then?”
Mulder gives me a half-smile. “Guess so. Lead on, oh Wise One.”
Shaking my head, I make another brief survey of our surroundings. I decide to start in what should be a westerly direction, based on the sun.
~
We walk for what has to be an hour without much change in the scenery. The terrain is almost completely flat, a fact which we have agreed suggests East Coast or Midwest. The temperature is a little warm; Mulder and I have taken off our jackets, but we are probably already approaching mild dehydration. There has been no sign of a stream or pond as of yet.
I am trying to hide the return of my dizziness from Mulder for the moment. It's no doubt mostly from dehydration, and I don't want him to be any more worried about me than he is. But it has been getting worse and I know I won't be able to conceal it much longer. In fact mere seconds after that thought, I stumble over a protruding root and pitch forward.
Mulder is there in an instant, catching me and bringing me upright. “Whoa, Scully.”
“Sorry,” I mutter, blinking. “I think I'm getting dehydrated.”
He makes sure I'm steady on my feet before letting me go. I see a hint of worry in his expression, but he just says, “Yeah. I hope we come across some water soon.”
We start walking again. The dizziness recedes somewhat, to my relief. Within a few hundred yards, I hear the sound of running water, and Mulder does as well. He smiles and quickens his pace.
I decide it's prudent not to speed up, and so I make it over the very small hill separating us from the creek to see my partner kneeling at the water's edge, scooping it into his mouth.
“How's it taste?”
Mulder looks up at me, and wipes his mouth on his forearm. “Nice and cold.”
I kneel down next to him and bring some water to my mouth. His assessment of the water matches mine, and I have a hard time quenching my thirst slowly as I know I should.
Eventually, we are both sated. I lean back on my heels with a sigh, and then move so I can stretch out my legs. It's only now that we've stopped that I really feel how my feet hurt. The shoes I'm wearing are definitely not for hiking - though at least they are far from my tallest heels.
“I wish we had something we could fill with water,” Mulder remarks. He is leaning back against a tree trunk, legs stretched out in front of him.
“That would be nice,” I say. “Unfortunately, I don't even have an empty plastic bag on me.”
Mulder turns to gaze at the water flowing over the smooth stones. “We could keep following the stream, see where it leads,” he says.
That would mean a change of direction, since it is flowing south. But after all, I consider, I picked west by random. “Sure, let's do that. Why not?”
I get to my feet without any wooziness this time, and we set off. The trees growing alongside the creek provide enough shade that Mulder and I roll down our sleeves, though we still do not put our jackets back on.
After maybe a half hour or so, Mulder's pace slows and he turns to look at me. His expression in the shadow of the trees is hard to decipher.
“What?”
He looks down at the stream and is silent for long enough that I repeat my question. At that he raises his eyes to mine. “Scully, do you want to get married?”
I stare at him, aware that my mouth has probably dropped open.
Mulder takes a step closer to me. “I-- I'm sorry for springing that on you, but... I've been thinking about it, and I don't want you to be worried about my commitment to you, and to our kid.” He takes my hand. “And I want us to be a real family.”
“Oh, Mulder,” I whisper, to keep myself from tears. In some ways, this is not surprising at all - it is a sweet, sincere response I should have expected from this man. I step into his embrace. “I don't doubt you, but thank you for asking. Can I tell you I'll think about it?” My voice is muffled against him.
“That's fine,” Mulder says, sounding a little relieved. He kisses my hair. “Besides, we've got about nine months before he or she is born to unwed parents, right?”
Laughing, I pull away just enough to elbow him in the side. I've certainly been thinking about these issues after hearing the news. I haven't had the chance to tell my mother yet, but I know she'll be much happier for me than she will be disapproving. Of course she'd like it if I did get married. But I'm not going to make that kind of decision just to make her happy. It's something I'll have to think about, and I do appreciate that Mulder asked me.
We continue on our trek, stopping now and then to take a drink from the creek next to us. It's getting toward late afternoon. I untie my jacket from around my waist and put it on. Mulder, seeing this, puts his arm around me and rubs my shoulder. It doesn't bother me that he leaves his arm there.
Mulder is walking closest to the creek, and so it's me who sees the house through the branches off to the left. I stop abruptly and point. “Mulder, look!”
We hurry closer. In the fading light, the house - or cabin, really - appears uninhabited but not abandoned. It's in the middle of a large clearing, and there's a dirt path leading from its front door to the creek.
I turn to look at Mulder, and he shrugs. We walk up to the door and he knocks.
Seconds pass, and there is no sound from inside. Mulder looks at me and shrugs again before turning the knob. The door opens.
“Hello?” Mulder calls. “Anyone here?”
I find a light switch just inside the door and flick it on. Somewhat to my surprise, it actually works, revealing a mostly empty entryway and a spacious sitting room. There are two couches, a bookshelf (full of books), and a fireplace in the corner on the opposite wall.
“Hello?” I call again. There is still no response or sound of movement.
“We should check the rest of the place,” Mulder says as he takes a step inside.
“For whoever lives here, or to see what of theirs we can steal?” I ask dryly, but follow him anyway.
We begin searching the cabin, not that there's that much to search. It only takes about two minutes, and we find little definitive useful information. The only things we discover are a day calendar on the bedside table in the bedroom, which is on May 24 - two days after I flew out to Oregon. There is no way of knowing if it's current, but at least we have somewhere to begin. There is also a receipt in the main room from a sporting goods store in North Carolina... but once again, this does not necessarily mean we're in North Carolina. There is no phone.
With a sigh, Mulder heads for the kitchen. “I'm going to rustle us up something to eat. I don't know about you, but I'm feeling like I've missed some meals.”
“Yeah. I'll be right there.” Even though I'm quite hungry, I head for the bathroom first. Not only do I need to use the facilities, but I'm thinking ahead to a medicine cabinet and some supplies we might need to borrow.
A look in the slightly smudged mirror in the bathroom makes me frown, since it reveals that my necklace is missing. I wonder for a moment when I last knew I had it on - but with the amnesia, I know that trying to figure that out is not likely to turn up any answers. Not for now, at least.
I bring some bandages, a small bottle of Tylenol, and some multivitamins out into the kitchen. They're bound to come in handy if we end up spending more than a day out in the woods, I figure. Mulder, meanwhile, has found bread, sliced roast beef, cheddar cheese, tomatoes, and mayonnaise, and is in the process of making two sandwiches.
“You okay with cheese and tomatoes on your sandwich, Scully?” he asks.
My stomach growls, and I nod in response to his question and his amused expression. “Go easy on the mayo for mine, please.”
He gestures over his shoulder with the knife he's been using to slice the tomatoes, toward the fridge. “You can see what there is to drink in there.”
I walk over and open the door, remarking, “I wish we at least had our wallets so we could leave the owner of this place some money before we leave.”
“Yeah,” Mulder says. “Although with all this perishable food around, it's a safe bet that they weren't planning to be gone for too long.” He pauses. “Maybe we should, um, put a note on the door or something so they don't shoot us when they come back.”
“There's a thought,” I answer. I don't relish the idea of being chased out of the cabin, even though the owner would have every right to be furious. “While I'm standing here, do you want water, lemonade, or beer with your food, Mulder?”
He opens his mouth, and then smiles a little ruefully. “I'll take lemonade, so we can both start getting in the habit.”
It takes a second for his meaning to sink in, and then I return the smile. “You don't have to abstain from alcohol, you know,” I point out.
“I know,” he answers, putting the last slice of bread on each sandwich. “But I figure, you're going to be doing all of the hard work in these next months, so it's a small price to pay.”
“Well, thanks,” I say, getting out the pitcher of lemonade. “I appreciate the gesture.”
Mulder nods. “I'll go write that note. Go ahead and dig in.”
“How about you put the number for the FBI switchboard on there after our names?” I call after him. “If we leave before they get back, at least then they can get reimbursed.”
“Okay,” he yells.
By the time he returns, I have poured us each a glass of lemonade and made a good start on my sandwich. To save my aching feet, I am sitting on one of the wooden bar stools at the counter. Mulder slides onto the one next to me, sighing in satisfaction as soon as he has taken a bite of his meal.
We eat in silence, other than my cautioning Mulder to eat more slowly at the start. I realize we have no real way of knowing when we last ate - though the fact that I was not a lot hungrier than I have been after skipping a meal or two in the past suggests it wasn't too long. The thought is faintly comforting.
“So, Scully,” Mulder says, breaking the silence after he swallows his last mouthful, “any other thoughts about how we ended up in a cabin in the middle of a North Carolina forest - if that is in fact where we are - at least two days after our last memories?”
“Well,” I begin, “the fact that we don't have our weapons, ID, or other personal items strongly suggests there was at least one part of the journey that was against our wills.”
He nods, and then looks chagrined. “Your necklace is gone, too, isn't it?”
Reflexively, I put my hand to my throat. But it's still not there, just as it was a few seconds ago. “Yeah.”
“That necklace has been through a lot,” Mulder says, his eyes lingering on my neck for a moment before turning back to his empty plate. “I... kind of thought we'd always get it back to you.”
I smile and cover his hand with mine. “It's all right, Mulder. Maybe we still have a chance to find it. And if not, I'll live.”
After a pause, he continues, “So you arrived in Oregon, I went to see you at the hospital... and then we go back to DC, and end up in maybe-North Carolina for whatever reason?”
“That seems right, as far as it goes,” I say with a shrug. Then a thought occurs to me. “Mulder, we didn't see any tire tracks or anything other than a foot path outside this cabin, did we?”
“No, we didn't,” Mulder affirms. Then his eyes widen as he makes the same connection as I have. “So we must be within walking distance of some kind of civilization.”
He stands up immediately, and I hold up my hand. “Wait, Mulder - it's almost dark. Should we trust that we're close enough to a town or city to start out into the woods again, or wait until morning?”
“I don't really like the idea of sticking around here, in case the owner comes back,” Mulder says, chewing his lip and looking out the window to the rapidly-darkening forest. “But I don't like the idea of us wandering around outside at night, either.”
I stand, taking both of our plates over to the sink. “Even if there aren't any Moth Men in the area?”
He smiles. “Even so.” Then he yawns. “I think I for one am too tired to do any more hiking today. Maybe we can trespass on this person's hospitality for a few more hours.”
“Sounds fine to me.” I find some dish soap under the sink. “But put our host or hostess's food away first, Mulder.”
“Host, I think,” he remarks, “based on the bedroom.”
I recall the slightly messy, mostly undecorated room from earlier. “You're probably right.”
“Of course I am,” he says as he opens the fridge. I just roll my eyes.
~
Half an hour later, we are getting ready to bed down for the night on the couches in the main room. (I draw the line at sleeping in the cabin owner's bed - or using his toothbrush, although Mulder helpfully points it out before I go into the bathroom again.) Mulder elects to take the couch that has the best view of the door. “Just in case,” he says, not bothering to elaborate. I am too tired to argue, and in fact almost as soon as I am lying down, I begin to drift off. Distantly, I feel Mulder pull the throw blanket over me, and hear him lie down as well.
The sound of heavy footsteps on the front steps penetrates my slumber early the next morning. I do not come fully awake until the door opens, the light turns on, and a man's voice yells, “What in the-- who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my house?”
I sit up, blinking the sleep out of my eyes and fumbling for my gun before I remember I don't have it. Mulder has his hands out and is speaking in a calming tone. “Sir, we're not thieves and we don't want to cause any trouble. We were lost in the woods all day yesterday and came across your cabin. I, um-- I wrote a note and put it on the door...”
As my eyes adjust to the sudden onslaught of light, I see the man set down the paper bag he's holding and turn to look at the piece of white paper taped to the door (which is still open). He takes a few seconds to read it, and then turns back to us. I am standing up by now, a few feet away from Mulder.
“Huh.” The man squints, rubs his hand across the stubble on his chin, and closes the door behind us. “You're FBI agents?”
“Yes, sir,” I tell him. “I'm Special Agent Dana Scully, and this is Special Agent Fox Mulder.”
“And let me guess: you can't show me any ID to prove that.”
Mulder glances at me before answering. “Unfortunately not. Before we... got lost out here, we were apparently kidnapped, and our badges and weapons were taken.”
“'Apparently'?” He hasn't moved since closing the door.
“I know it might sound odd, but yes, we can't be sure,” Mulder says. “We seem to be suffering from some memory loss as well.”
He snorts. “Sounds a little too far-fetched to me,” he says, pulling out a pistol from his waistband. “You can just start moving toward the door, nice and slow.”
Mulder and I raise our hands. My heart is pounding. Even though this man seems more cautious than violent, we're going to have to figure out some way to convince him of the truth of our statements quickly. Meanwhile, I reflect, if I can ignore the return of this dizziness and nausea...
“Sir,” I try, “if you just call that number on the note--”
“I don't have a phone out here,” he interrupts. The gun is still pointed at Mulder, but he gives me a piercing glance. “Memory loss? You really expect me to believe that?”
I sigh. “The last thing I remember is flying from DC to Oregon early on the twenty-second of May. I don't even know what day it is now.”
“Oregon?” the man repeats. He shakes his head. “Well, if you are thieves, you've sure got a crazy story to cover it up. Are you telling me you think you're in Oregon right now?”
“No,” I start to tell him, and then swallow and close my eyes against a wave of nausea. I sway on my feet. Mulder must notice this, because he's at my side when I open them again.
He looks at me in concern. “Scully, are you o--”
“Go ahead and get her to the couch,” the man interrupts again, putting away his gun. “I guess you two aren't dangerous, at least.”
Mulder holds onto my arm and steers me the short distance back to the couch. I swallow again, tasting acid at the back of my throat. I haven't had time to do much research in this area recently, but I can probably assume I have several more weeks of these symptoms to look forward to. “It's nothing serious, Mulder,” I say quietly. I put my hand on my stomach and meet his gaze, raising my eyebrows. It takes a moment, but then his own eyes widen slightly and he nods.
When I look back toward the cabin owner, he has left the room, but returns quickly holding a glass of water. He hands it to me. “Drink it slowly, now.”
In other circumstances, I think as I take the glass, I would consider it amusing to have just been given health-related advice by a man who was recently pointing a gun at my partner and me, and whose house we have just spent the night in without his permission. At the moment, all I can feel is relief as the morning sickness decreases to a bearable level.
“Thank you,” I say, looking up at the man who is still watching me closely.
“Don't mention it,” he replies, a little gruff. “I'm Al, by the way. Al Price.”
He turns to Mulder, who shakes his offered hand and gives him a wry smile. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Price. And we're both sincerely sorry about the circumstances.”
Al nods, and shakes my hand as well. “Well, I need to go put some groceries in the freezer. I'd tell you two to make yourselves at home, but I guess that's not necessary.”
Mulder looks embarrassed. “Is there anything we can do to help?”
“No, no, don't worry about it,” Al says. “You just sit down next to Agent... Scully, was it?”
We watch as he heads for the kitchen with his groceries. As soon as he is out of earshot, Mulder sinks back against the couch. “Wow. That went surprisingly well.”
I shake my head - which isn't a good idea at the moment. “I guess you could say that.”
“Neither of us got shot, right?” Mulder points out. “He only threatened to force us out of here at gunpoint. I say that qualifies as a success.”
“Sure,” I say. Once again, I am distracted by the dizziness, and I put a hand to my mouth.
Mulder appears to be trying not to look worried. “So, uh... is this morning sickness, Scully?”
“Mmhmm.” There is still water left in my glass, but the thought of finishing it makes me even more nauseated. I try to remember what I've read or heard about home remedies.
“What do you need?” Mulder asks. “Water, ginger ale, ice?” It takes me a moment to remember why Mulder asking this kind of question is so darkly familiar - and then I think of the terrible days following each of my cancer treatments. This is not so bad, in comparison.
Al returns just as I make up my mind. “I think... dry crackers, if you have any, Mr. Price?”
“I should,” he says. “Just sit tight for a minute.”
I take shallow breaths through my nose, hoping I can hold it back, but it is no use. I end up sprinting for the bathroom. Mulder is not far behind, and hands me a damp paper towel when I have finished emptying the (very scant) contents of my stomach into the toilet. I use the towel to wipe my face, and sit back for a moment.
“Feel any better?” Mulder's voice is soft.
“Maybe... a little,” I say between breaths. When I look up at his face, the sheer tenderness there is almost enough to bring tears to my eyes. “Thanks, Mulder.”
Before he can respond, our host walks up to the doorway of the bathroom. “I, uh, found some saltine crackers. Will they work?”
“That sounds fine, thank you very much.” I start to stand up, and Mulder offers a hand for support, which I take.
Price watches us for a moment, handing me the sleeve of saltines as I reach the doorway. “This your first time?”
I blink. “My first time doing what?” Throwing up? Hardly.
“Having a baby.”
“I--” Staring at him, I can feel myself flush. I look at Mulder out of the corner of my eye and decide it will probably help Al trust us if I don't bother trying to deny it, since he has already guessed. “Is it really that obvious?”
He shakes his head. “Probably not, but I'm good at reading people.” He points to the saltines and adds, “And my wife ate those almost every morning for the first few months when she was pregnant with our oldest son. Those, and ice cubes.”
I open the package and eat a few as we walk toward the kitchen. It does seem to help my stomach settle... though now I can't help being a little nervous that someone else knows about my pregnancy before I've gotten the chance to tell my mother, even, or Skinner.
“You can tell me to mind my own business,” Al continues, turning to Mulder, “but have you asked her to marry you?”
It's Mulder's turn to blush. “I-- I did ask.” Then he shrugs and looks up with a small smile. “And it would hardly be fair for me to tell you to mind your own business, Mr. Price, considering we ate your food and slept on your couches last night.”
At that, the older man laughs. “Well, I'll give you that. You two are the most polite and the oddest folk I've run into out here in a long time.”
I shoot Mulder an amused look at this assessment. Then I clear my throat. “Speaking of which, can you tell us where 'out here' is, exactly?”
“Oh, that's right,” Al says, with a slight nod. “Your kidnapping. We're in North Carolina, on the northern edge of the Croatan National Forest. Which is not far from the coast, in case you need a little more orientation.”
We absorb that information for a moment.
“And the date is...?” Mulder prompts.
“May 25,” he tells us, and then adds, “2000, if you needed that part, too.”
I raise my eyebrow in amusement. “I think we'd guessed that much, Mr. Price. But thanks.”
So our earlier guesses were correct - but that doesn't help us figure out what happened to us in the two missing days. “Is it far to walk to the nearest town?”
“Not too bad,” Al says. He glances outside, at the clear sky promising a warm day. Yawning, he says, “It shouldn't be hard to find, but I could go with--”
“No, that's all right,” Mulder breaks in. “We've already disrupted your day more than enough, Mr. Price. But if you wanted to point us in the right direction, we would appreciate it.”
“All right.” Al frowns then. “But I'm going to insist on you eating a real meal first, and taking some water with you... and I'll get you some cash to pay for a phone call.”
Mulder and I start to protest almost in unison, but Al holds up a hand. “Nope. I insist. I don't get a lot of company anymore, so even though we started off on the wrong foot, I want to see if my breakfast making skills are still up to par. Consider it a partial repayment on your part for trespassing.”
“That doesn't seem like a very fair way to repay you,” Mulder says, scratching the back of his neck.
Al scoffs. “I'll be the judge of that, Agent Mulder. It's a good excuse for me to have a fancier meal anyway. Now, you two feel free to use the shower or whatever you need while I start breakfast. There are extra towels in the closet right outside the bathroom.”
Meeting my eyes, Mulder shrugs. “Thank you,” I say, and he echoes me.
Our host nods and walks back toward the kitchen. There is a moment of silence, and then Mulder says, “You wanna shower first?”
“That would be nice,” I answer. Despite the fact that I will have to put these same clothes on again afterwards, a shower sounds heavenly at the moment. The nausea seems to have faded completely, for which I am grateful. “Stay out of trouble for a few minutes, okay, Mulder?”
He looks wounded. “I can't believe you would think it necessary to say that to me, Scully.”
Grinning, I shoot back, “And don't eat all the food, either.”
~
In due course, we are both showered, dressed, and fed. Price gives us each a full water bottle, some cash, detailed directions to town, and the address of his post office box. “Just in case you're ever in the area again and you need anything,” he says, and once again waves off our gratitude.
“Please use the phone number we left to contact us if you ever need anything, Mr. Price,” I tell him as we shake hands one more time on his front porch.
“I'll do that,” he promises. “You take care now.”
With a final wave, Mulder and I set off toward the nearest town. It only takes us about ten minutes to reach it. We waste no time finding a pay phone outside the gas station.
Mulder turns to me. “You wanna do the honors, Scully, or shall I?”
“If you find us a good place to eat lunch,” I say, “I'll call Skinner. We're going to be waiting here for a few more hours, I'd bet.”
“Fair enough.”
I use some of the money Mr. Price gave us, and dial Skinner's office. His assistant sounds shocked to hear from me and transfers me through right away.
“Agent Scully,” Skinner says, sounding more tense than usual. “Where are you - and Agent Mulder? You've been missing for almost three days.”
“I know, sir. Agent Mulder is with me. We're in a little town on the northern edge of the Croatan National Forest in North Carolina.” I take a deep breath. “We both woke up in the woods yesterday with no memory of the previous two days, ever since I flew out to Oregon and ended up in the hospital.”
There is a pause. “Are you all right?”
“We seem to be, sir,” I tell him, “other than the amnesia. But we're missing our badges, guns, and wallets, among other personal items.”
“Okay. What's the last thing Agent Mulder remembers?” Skinner asks, and I recall that he was in Bellefleur with Mulder this time.
“He said he got a call that I was coming out there with important news, and then he heard that I was in the hospital and went there. That's it.” I look around the gas station parking lot, making sure that there are no customers very nearby... and try not to think about how paranoid I've become. “Sir, do you have any other insight into what happened? You were in Oregon.”
“Yes, I was,” he says with a sigh. “I went with Mulder to the hospital. He visited you that night, and they let him stay there with you. The next morning...” Skinner trails off, and I have the slightly amazed idea that he might be regaining his composure. “The next morning, you were both gone. The doctor hadn't released you, and no one remembered seeing either of you leave.”
I swallow with difficulty. This does not sound good. And why couldn't I even remember Mulder's visit?
“We're going to figure this out, Scully,” he tells me. “I'll contact the Raleigh office, and I'll be in North Carolina as soon as I can - and then we'll go from there.”
“Thank you, sir.” Before he hangs up, I add hurriedly, “And, um, sir... has my mother been worried?”
Skinner assures me that he will call her right away, and I thank him again before he hangs up.
I put down the receiver and turn around, just in time to see Mulder approaching from across the road. He jogs over. “What'd Skinner say?”
“He said he's on his way,” I report, and then tell him what Skinner told me about the events leading up to our disappearance. “Mulder, whatever happened, I don't understand why we don't remember seeing each other in Oregon at all. Does that mean we were kidnapped right then, out of the hospital?” That would seem to suggest an organized group of some sort.
Mulder looks as disturbed as I feel by this new information, but he shakes his head. “Not necessarily. It's possible that someone warned us that we needed to get out undetected... which would explain us having apparently gone back to our apartments in DC at some point.”
“Yeah, that's true.” If only I could remember anything at all after waiting for Mulder to arrive at that hospital. But there's still nothing. I frown, and shade my eyes as I look at Mulder. “So, did you find us a good place to wait around for a few hours?”
“Well, there's a diner,” Mulder says, “and a very small library right across the street from it.”
I think for a moment. I'm not quite hungry enough to want lunch yet. “Is the library air-conditioned?”
“I didn't go inside,” he answers. “Let's find out.”
The library, as it turns out, is pleasantly cool inside. There are only a few other patrons, but no one gives us a second glance as we enter. I haven't allowed myself to think too much about the fact that whoever or whatever kidnapped us might still be looking for us... but regardless, this place does not seem threatening in the least.
Mulder and I spend an hour browsing through what the library has to offer. Their most recent fiction is almost a year out of date - and Mulder complains about their terrible selection of equally terrible sci-fi movies - but it is only when my stomach growls that I mention lunch to him. He agrees, looking faintly surprised at how much time has passed.
The diner is less pleasant. Though there are several fans inside, there is no A/C, and the lunch menu leaves a great deal to be desired. Still, we're both grateful to Mr. Price for giving us enough money to find something reasonably satisfying. And thankfully, the greasy food does not aggravate my morning sickness.
Just as we're finishing our meal, a black SUV drives up outside, and Skinner gets out of the driver's seat. An unfamiliar agent exits the vehicle from the other side. Mulder sees this at the same time as I do, and hurriedly leaves some cash on the table. “Let's go.”
Skinner's worried expression relaxes slightly as he sees us in front of the diner. “Agents,” he greets us. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine, sir, other than the memory loss I told you about on the phone,” I report, and Mulder nods.
Our boss looks us over, and seems to accept this answer. “If you're ready, Agent Whitaker will take us to the nearest hospital so we can see if the doctors can give you any further insight.” He gestures to the young man who has been standing in the background during this.
Mulder and I get into the back of the SUV and, after a brief conferral, Skinner decides to let Agent Whitaker drive to the hospital. He turns to face us in the vehicle.
“Agent Scully, I contacted your mother and told her you'd been found,” he says.
I meet his eyes. “Thank you, sir.”
There is a pause. Mulder glances toward the agent in the driver's seat and then says, “Sir, were our apartments searched?”
“Yes.” Skinner looks at him questioningly. “There was no evidence of foul play, if that's what you're asking.”
Mulder shakes his head. “No, it's just that Scully and I think we may have returned to our apartments at some point during the period we can't remember, and I was wondering if there was any evidence to suggest that.”
“The lack of signs of forced entry would at least support that idea,” Skinner says, “but what leads you to think you were there?”
He tells Skinner about the change of clothing, and the man nods. “All right. We're going to need to draw up a timeline of what you two and anyone else involved remember, and any clues as to what happened during the days you were missing.”
A thought occurs to me, and I wonder if Mulder or I have already told Skinner about my pregnancy during our lost time. It's possible, I suppose. Even the fact that he hasn't mentioned it certainly doesn't mean he doesn't already know, since he would no doubt understand a need for discretion. I guess I'll find out after the medical exam, I think.
When we arrive at the hospital after a few more minutes of driving, I can feel Mulder steeling himself for the battery of tests that is ahead for both of us. I do likewise. It seems unfair to have to return to the hospital so soon after my admittance in Oregon - but at least we might be able to discover something about what happened to us. I hope.
~