From: cucumberspy Date: 16 Jan 2002 11:50:06 -0800 Subject: FIC: Lethe Source: atxc TITLE: Lethe AUTHOR: cucumberspy@yahoo.com SUMMARY: Post John Doe. It's a curious thing to be uncertain of one's own mind. ______________________________________ Lethe by cucumberspy Scully knows people who can blot up memory, bleach it out. The first time she sees John in too-hot San Antonio, she says, "Around," and reaches up to touch the back of his neck. He twitches when her fingers palpate his cervical vertabrae. He turns back before she is done. "I remember, Dana," he says. "You should be x-rayed," she replies, smoothing her hands at her sides. "You might have hairline fractures, and they could infect and abscess." She says nothing of implants, but he must know that she will search for them anyhow. "I remember everything," he says again. "And it wasn't anything like what happened to you." She meets his eyes. Scully knows how doubt can repossess one in seconds. She knows that some memories slowly fade into white noise, unimportant and filtered out. She's read of encoding, engrams, and episodic memory. But she knows the other hollowness, like being stripped naked, or missing a tooth. She watches him scratch a line of dried blood from his left forearm and wonders if he will read dictionary pages, trying to recall if he never could spell 'necessary' right the first time. She wonders if he will buy peaches from Giant and leave them on his kitchen table until they're syrupy with rot, because he can't remember if he was always indifferent to peaches. Maybe every slip of memory will be tainted, mistrusted, scrutinized; had that been another unnoticed larceny, or did he merely forget? Did he never remember his 10th grade history teacher's name? Did he know the color of his grandmother's eyes? Had he somehow already forgotten if his son preferred the lime Skittles? She thinks of saying, "Yes, of course you remember, but maybe you'll open strawberry jam packets in restaurants and think to yourself, 'Did I like red before?'" He frowns, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have--" "No," she says. "It's, it's fine. You'll be fine, Agent Doggett." She cups an awkward hand over his shoulder. "Just get some x-rays done, okay?" She leaves quickly. . From the American College Dictionary: Le-the (lee'thee), n. 1. Gk. Myth. a river in Hades, whose water caused forgetfulness of the past in those who drank of it. 2. forgetfulness; oblivion. [t. L. t. Gk.: lit. forgetfulness] feedback me? cucumberspy@yahoo.com