From: Emania1224 <emania1224@aol.com>
Date: 22 Jul 1999 02:15:39 GMT
Subject: Renaissance (1/?) MSR

Title: Renaissance 
Author:Cat 
E-mail: Emania1224@aol.com
Rating: PG (for now at least)
Category: MSR
Spoilers: FTF; Ascencion (very mild, though...if you've seen it, you'll get it,
if you haven't ::shrug:: then you won't. 
Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance
Summary: What would Scully be like if she didn't know *how* she was supposed to
behave?

Author's Notes:
Okay, so here goes...my first posting on here and I'm pretty much just
following someone elses' example of how to set this up.  I started this story
and then got to the point I was in and saw that there were other stories based
on the same idea.  I haven't read them yet, but I want to know if this is any
good.  So, yes...Feedback is essential!  If I don't get any, then I probably
won't post any more...might not even write in this storyline anymore.  Unless,
of coarse the muses strike me...I know how I want it to end, but I'm stuck on
the middle part.  :{  (SO if I don't...it's on YOUse alls heads!!! <g>)  


So...here it is...I really would appreciate any Feedback on what I'm doing
right ('and wrong' she adds warily) {Sorry, just thought I'd add one final plea
there}
But really, here goes...

++++++++++++++++
Renaissance
by:  Cat
++++++++++++++++
	"Where is she?" I ask again, fighting to keep my patience and very quickly
loosing.  
	"Sir, you don't understand-"
	I interrupt again, taking out my ID and nearly shoving it into her face.  This
is not her fault-she's not doing this on purpose- "Where.  Is.  She?"
"She's in 312, but-" I don't wait for the nurse to finish and bolt for where I
knew the room was located.  "Sir!" she calls out to me in a loud whisper.  
I don't pay any attention to her.  I can't.  All my attention is focused
equally between getting to her and trying not to run with the anxiousness of
it.  It's alright,' I try telling myself.  'It's alright, the worst has passed,
she's here-calm down,'  I try to make my breath even but I don't think I was
even breathing until I saw the room number.  The door was slightly ajar and as
I push it open I almost run head long into the tall burly figure of her eldest
brother.  I think I catch a glimpse of weary sadness in his eyes before it's
replaced by the usual coldness reserved specifically for me.  
He opens his mouth to speak, but I unceremoniously push him aside.  "Don't even
try anything now, Bill-not until I at least see her first."  I don't bother to
wait for an answer and make my way into the room to see her sitting up in bed,
looking away from the door, out the window.  
She's okay.  She looks pale and she's got a white bandage on her forehead and
she's dressed in a shapeless hospital gown, but she's okay.  I think as I see
her there, looking solemnly out the window I finally breathe again.  I smile,
too as she notices my presence in her room and turns her beautiful blue eyes to
mine.  There's confusion in them, this I can tell right away.  And a question. 
A question directed at me.  She was probably going to ask why I had bothered to
come.  She was going to tell me it was a minor concussion and that she was
fine.  'I'm fine.'  That's what she always says, but I always come.  It's like
a familiar dance with us.  A tradition, almost.  
I raise my hand at her as I come into the room, stopping her from speaking and
smile lopsidedly at her.  "I know what you're going to ask," I see her eyebrow
rise in question and my smile gets even wider.  "Why did I bother to come? But
you didn't really think I'd miss this did you?"  Her eyes follow me as I sit in
the chair next to her bed.  Of coarse I wouldn't tell her exactly how worried I
had been when I received the call from the hospital that she was brought in
here, unconscious.  Of coarse I wouldn't tell her how I had somehow stopped
breathing normally at that moment, and not taken another steady breath until I
had walked into this room.  That was part of the tradition as well.  I notice
that she hasn't said a word and lean forward.  "Well, isn't it?" I prompt.
She shakes her head softly.  "Actually, I was going to ask you who you were."
My face falls and I stop breathing again.  "Wh-what?" I stammer.
*******************************************************************************
I watch as the man's handsome face seems to fall apart before my very eyes. 
Could this be my husband?  My boyfriend?  Oh, god, let him be my lover, I pray
silently.  He is gorgeous.  I had noticed that from the moment he walked in. 
His eyes-and those lips-sweet mother, those lips!  Had I ever kissed them? 
They seemed familiar to me somehow.  
But I know if he would have been my boyfriend of husband or lover then he would
have touched me or something of the sort, but he hadn't.  He had seemed so
relieved to see me, but he hadn't made a move to touch me or hold me, like the
people who had been in here before.  What was it?  Bill?  My brother?  And
Maggie?  My mother.  She seemed so worried, and so loving.  They had both
hugged me and kissed me, as soon as they walked in.  I hated having to tell
them I didn't remember them.  That I didn't remember myself.  The doctor had
told me they were coming, that if I wanted I could refuse to see them until I
was ready, but they were my family even if I didn't remember them, and it
warmed me, the love they have for me, even if I can't remember growing up with
them.  
So then, who the Hell was this guy, huh?  There was so much pain in his eyes at
seeing that I didn't recognize him.  Hadn't they told him that I had amnesia? 
Bill has walked back into the room and the man before me turns around angrily
to face him, as if he had caused my amnesia.
"What's happened to her!" he demands.
"We tried to tell you, Mulder-" he hands me a glass of juice I had asked for
and I take it, gratefully drinking it, but still staring at the scene playing
out before me.  Anyone could plainly tell that my brother Bill and this Mulder
guy didn't get along.  The animosity was palpable.  So then why'd they let him
in?  Again, I wonder who this Mulder guy is to me.  
"She doesn't remember me!" Again I hear the hurt in his voice and something
within me echoes his pain, as if my body knew to react this way to him even
though my mind didn't remember to.  Was that even possible?  I shrug mentally. 

"She doesn't remember any of us.  The blow to the head gave her amnesia,
Mulder."  Bill was sad, too, but there was still friction between him and
Mulder.  
Mulder?  What kind of name is Mulder?
Before Mulder could answer, Maggie-my mother, walks back into the room.  She
had gone home, wherever that may be, to get me some clothes.  The doctor had
said I was in Virginia.  He had told me my name, Dana Katherine Scully.  It's a
pretty name.  I like it.  It sounds familiar, like it belongs together.  I see
my mother's eyes light up as they see *Mulder* and she puts the bag with the
clothes on a nearby table and opens her arms to him.  He's tall, but still, he
manages to easily slip into my mother's arms.
"Oh, Fox-thank you for coming-I told the nurse to call you."
*Fox*  God, his mother must have hated him.  His name must be Fox Mulder.  That
would make sense.  I'd call myself Mulder if my name was Fox, too.  The worse
of two evils, right?  But my mother's called him Fox.  Could he be my brother? 
Oh God, please don't let him be my brother.  I don't remember much of the
Bible, but I know those previous thoughts I had about those lips of his have
got to be in there under the category of 'Do Not Do'.  Am I Catholic?  I had
already found the small gold cross around my neck, so it seemed like I was.  
No, I don't think he's my brother.  After all, why would my mother say 'Thank
you for coming?'  Wait.  Why am I trying to find this out, anyway?  Just wait,
girl.  Wait until they tell you!  Jeez.  I've got to stop analyzing things and
just pay attention.  I snap my mind back to the scene unfolding around me. 
Bill is still hovering near my bed and my mother is still carefully soothing
Mulder's back.  Could he be her lover?  I don't need a mirror to know that my
brows are knotting at that prospect.  
"Is it true?" I hear him ask my mother.  I can't pinpoint exactly why, but
there's something in his tone of voice where I know that he's saying it only
for vocal clarification, but he knows it's true.  I wonder-the doctor had told
me that I was a doctor-maybe I'm a psychologist?
My mother nods.  "Yes, Fox-she doesn't remember anything since waking up here
in hospital, and a little of the ride here where she came to once or twice."
The memories come back to me-I would push them away, but they're the only ones
I have-Beggers can't be choosers.  How is it that I can't remember anything
specific about my life, but I can remember old cliches?  Damn, talk about the
impact of television, huh?
My mother separates from *Fox* and brings him close to my bedside.  "Dana,
honey," she looks at me sweetly.  I feel so bad for them.  They're going
through so much.  I'm not going through anything not remembering who I am.  I
know eventually it'll be annoying not having a past, but not being remembered? 
That would be painful.  So, I smile at her.  Some part of her sadness is lifted
from her eyes when I do this.  "Dana, this is Fox William Mulder-he's your
partner."
For a brief second as my eyes settle on his, my mind screams out 'Yesssss!' and
I smile at him, too.  Fox?  Hmm-he certainly looks like one, doesn't he?  The
same kind of hair color, the same intelligent, mischievous eyes.  Not to
mention the color.  Maybe it wasn't such a bad choice for a name after all. 
And of coarse, there's the more colloquial usage-he certainly was a "Fox" in
that sense, too.  Alright.  I know this is not the right moment.  I know it's
not the right time, but I can't help it.  I laugh.  Outright laughter, right in
front of his face.  The picture of it is too funny.  I meet his eyes again and
find them questioning my laughter, but before I can answer him, the rational
part of my brain smacks that playful part down.  Partner in what? And confusion
reigns once more on my face.
"Partner in what?" I ask aloud.
"The FBI," he answers, sober once more.  There's expectancy in his eyes.  
I'm sure my lips must have frowned.  That playful part of me was smacking
itself.  'Damn!'
"The doctor told me I was a doctor," I say seriously.
"You are-but you're in the FBI, too.  Your specialty is forensic pathology."
"So what's your specialty?"  Was that a flirtatious note in my voice?  
His lips curve into a goofy smile.  "A little bit of everything," he answers
playfully.  
His smile is infectious and I return it.  But I can't maintain it for long. 
I'm still on sedatives, and I'm tired.  Some part of my mind (the part that was
trained as a doctor?) tells me that it would still be some time before I can
sleep off all the effects of the drugs.  My mind gets fuzzy and my train of
thought sort of derails.  I think suddenly how sorry I am that I can't do-do
what?  There's such sadness in his eyes, such-guilt?  What could he have had to
do with the concussion on my head?  
He's leaning close to me, but not too close.  I lean forward closer to him and
bring a hand to his cheek.  There's confusion, worry, and something like
pleasant surprise in his eyes as he lifts his hand to touch mine.  Am I this
good at telling everyone's feelings by looking at their eyes?  Or is it just
his?  
"I'm sorry, Mulder," I whisper to him, feeling that I didn't want my family to
hear our conversation and that, for some reason, I couldn't call him Fox,
either.  I notice my mother dragging Bill out of the room out of the corner of
my eye.  
He tries to smile but fails.  "For what, Scully?" 
I knot my eyebrows.  Scully?  Why does he call me Scully?  I let go of his
face.  What the Hell was I thinking?  This man is a confusing mass of
opposites.  His eyes tell me one thing, but his words tell me another.  How
could I actually see the closeness and the feeling in his eyes when he calls me
by my last name?  
I shake my head, wincing a little as the room threatens to turn on it's head
from the sudden movement.  "Just about not remembering-about-" I sigh, closing
my eyes and leaning back into the pillows and sliding myself down. 
"-nothing-forget it."
*******************************************************************************
The sudden change in her, the sudden weariness I heard in her sigh alarmed me
more than the fact that she was suffering from amnesia.  "Scully, are you
alright?" I ask worriedly.
She doesn't answer me, her eyes remain closed and while the sane part of my
mind tells me she's probably asleep, the rest of me screams that something's
wrong.  "Scully? Are you alright?" I repeat.  
I see her slowly shake her head against the pillow.  "No," she answers softly. 
The word surprises me. "It's so hard to open my eyes-" she whispers so softly I
have to lean in to hear her.  This, much more than anything else she's done or
said has convinced me that she's not herself.  I touch her cheek gently,
letting my thumb rub the apple of her cheek softly.
She shifts her head a little further into my palm.  "Mmmm" she hums, smiling
slightly. "Pain killers-tired-" she sighs and I hear the very low beep of the
machine monitoring her pulse slow down steadily as she gives in to sleep.  
*******************************************************************************
She dreamed.  There was a hallway, and there was warmth, there were tears
threatening to fall and-and there was *his* eyes.  Warm honey, molasses in
July-wasn't that a song?  And his lips-his face, the warmth, was it coming from
outside, was it too hot, or was it coming from inside her?  Or from the place
at the nape of her neck where his hand was holding her?  He was so close-her
heart ached-her lips-his breath on her lips in the instant just before-then a
sudden sting-
And suddenly, instantaneously, in the way that one can only do in dreams, she
was somewhere else-an apartment, but she was afraid-she felt violated.  Her
apartment?  Someone was inside-quick, reach for it-now.  NOW.  Get away from
him-reach for it!  But she couldn't.  She reached and reached but she couldn't
get to it-he had her.  He was dragging her back-the deranged look in his
eyes-the blood-hers?  His?  She tried reaching for it again-a gun?  Reaching
for him-where was he?  Why hadn't he come?  She was calling out to him-I need
your help!  I need you!  
"MULDER!!!" she woke up screaming, jerking in the bed and lifted her head too
fast.  The room spun dizzily and she fell back, the incessant, rapid, crazy
beeping in the room mirroring the sound her own heartbeat was making in her
ears.  
He was at her side instantly.  She hadn't known he was in the room, she still
hadn't opened her eyes, but she felt his presence mere seconds before she felt
his arms wrap around her, his voice soothing her ear.  
"It's okay, Dana-" he whispered, rocking her slightly as he cradled her in his
arms.  "I'm here-"
She grabbed at him, sobbing-the helplessness of her dream still haunting her
waking.  The scent all around her-it was him.  How could she not have
remembered her name, but remember his scent?  
"Why do I remember your scent?" she asked aloud, barely above a whisper.
"It's been proven in various medical journals that the sense of smell has one
of the greatest imprints upon the memory nerves," he says calmly, still holding
her, still rocking her.
She opens her eyes and looked up, searching his eyes out.  There he goes again.
 Being the epitome of contrasting signals.  "I remembered something in the
dream-" she spoke quietly.  The room was still in total darkness, only the
requisite nite-lite on somewhere, she was too tired to search it out.  Her
family was gone.  Mulder had apparently been sleeping in an arm chair next to
the bed.  "I'm sorry I woke you."
Mulder laughs and she feels the vibration against his chest.  Neither one of
them had let the other go, had even slackened the grip.  He was no longer
rocking her, though.  "You really don't remember much if you think I was
sleeping."  
He looks down to meet her eyes and there's the warmth-the warmth that was so
familiar-the warmth from the-from her dream-but where?  The memories-that could
have been what she had 'remembered' couldn't it?  But it was a dream and how to
tell what was real and what her subconscious had supplied?  Well, whatever
memories had teased her in her sleep state were fleeting-they were fading,
evaporating like dew on grass.  Only the intense emotions were still there.  
"What did you remember?" Mulder's voice interrupted her thoughts.
She looked up into his eyes again.  "You."
*******************************************************************************
Mulder's eyes widened a little at the tone she had given the word.  It wasn't
like saying she remembered his birthdate or his middle name, it was as if she
were saying she remembered *him*.  He tried to smile.  "What about me?"
Her brows knotted in concentration.  "I don't know-the specifics are gone-but I
remember a feeling.  I remember being-" she pauses and he can feel her
heartbeat speed up a bit.  "-taken-ripped away from you," there's confusion in
her voice.  "I remember feeling helpless, and calling for you-feeling so
powerless I wanted to cry-feeling that I was never going to be able to talk to
you again-it was terrifying-" her words were coming slower and slower, "I kept
reaching-reaching for-it-for-you-"
His heart broke at her words and he choked back his own sobs, fighting to
control his voice enough to speak.  "I'm so sorry, Scully-" he said thickly,
hugging her closer to him.  "I'm so sorry I wasn't there-" he buried his face
in her hair.  
She ran her hand on his arm.  "I don't know how, but I know it wasn't your
fault-and you're here now, aren't you?" She sought out his eyes again.  
He met her eyes.  "Yes."
Something akin to fear, uncertainty, passed her blue eyes as she looked at him.
 "And you won't leave me?" she asked, whispering again.
"Never," he assured her.
She nodded slightly, avoiding sharp movements and settled more comfortably in
his arms.  "Why can't you sleep?" she asked suddenly.
"Strange thing is" he settles himself into a comfortable position against the
head board.  "I never have that problem when we're together."
"Together?" she asked, the pain killers the nurses' had refreshed an hour or so
ago taking their toll again.  She was suddenly too tired to open her eyes to
look at him.  "How exactly are we together, Mulder-" she yawned.  "You confuse
me-"
She was definitely different here.  Definitely not herself.  Or maybe she was
herself.  His psychological training kicked in.  This was Dana Scully without
her natural walls put up by rough knocks in life.  This Dana Scully said
whatever came to her mind.  The first proof of that was when she admitted to
him she wasn't okay.  When she answered no to his question if she was okay. 
Dana Scully FBI Agent would have insisted she was fine until her final
breath-this Dana Scully admitted her feelings.  Just like she had been
admitting them to him all night.  The freer smiles, the honesty, the way she
felt able to hold him-hold onto him.  And now this.  This blunt, outright
question.  
Mulder thought about his answer.  'You? I confuse myself, sometimes.'  He was
spared having to answer however by the steadying of the heart monitor, meaning
she was sound asleep.  He inched a little lower in the bed, raising his feet
onto the mattress as best he could without disturbing her, his arms still
snugly encircling her small frame.  'This is only because I don't want you to
wake up, Scully,' he told her in his mind, closing his eyes, almost half
believing it himself.  Almost.
*******************************************************************************


+++++++++++++++++
Renaissance (2/?)
by:  Cat
+++++++++++++++++

	"Yes, I'm sure," I say for the umpteenth time in a matter of 2 hours.  I turn
to look at my mother.  My mother.  Hmm-I'm getting more used to associating the
term with the woman standing before me, I realize.
	"I swear, you remind me more of your father everyday," Maggie Scully says,
exasperated as she follows me into the apartment I insisted on occupying by
myself.
	I laugh and then stop suddenly.  Alerted to the sudden change in me it seems,
Maggie turns a worried eye and a lends a supportive hand on my arm.  I pat the
hand lovingly.  "It's okay-I just-" I paused, looking into the apartment that
was familiar, yet totally alien.  I shake my head, glad when the dizziness was
conspicuous by it's absence.   I looked at my mother and smile lopsidedly.  "I
got that."
	I watch as my mother's eyes brightened instantly.  "Do you mean-?"
	I raised a hand, effectively stopping her before she could vocalize her raised
hopes.  "No-nothing like that-I can't tell you why, but my first reaction was
to laugh-that's it-no definite memory to pinpoint, just-" I sigh.  "Just the
reaction, like if I do know, but I can't, for the life of me tell you why."
	I sigh again.  I had been right two days ago in thinking that I would
eventually be annoyed at my lack of a memory.  Already I was starting to feel
the irritation pinching at my conscious.  It wasn't so much the not
remembering, it was the itty bitty teasing pieces that I do remember that make
it worse.  Take Mulder for example-   
            I sigh again inwardly, stopping my train of thought as I start
turning on lights. God, would I love to take Mulder- anywhere, actually.  He
spent every moment he could with me in the hospital, making me laugh, telling
me stories about our cases (Of course I noticed that he stayed away from the
bad stuff-he only talked about the funny things, or strange things-but there
must be harsh things shouldn't there?  I mean I am in the FBI?  And a
pathologist no less.  Doesn't that have to do with dead people?  Or diseases? 
It's one of those two, I know it.) and just basically letting me get to know
him again.  I don't know what I had felt for Mulder before the amnesia, but I
know how I feel everytime I see him walk into a room.  My initial reaction to
him hasn't changed-if anything, it's intensified.
What had my relationship been like with Mulder?  He was my partner, yes, but I
sense there was more than that.  No one had mentioned anything about it at the
hospital.  Not even that tall stately man-Skinner?  I smile inwardly at the
memory.  I know that I remember his name only because it reminded me of
'skinny' which reminded me of gangly, which was the total opposite of what the
man himself looked like.  (Had this always been the way my mind worked?)  He
was my boss.  He seemed like he considered himself a friend as well.  A mere
boss didn't really need to be there, did he?  Well, he hadn't said anything
about Mulder.  I got the impression that he was no longer my boss.  God, could
my life be any more confusing?  Bill and my mother had told me that I wasn't
married, I had no kids (although that was another curious thing about their
reaction.  They had behaved rather odd at my question of having children.  It
had finally been Mulder who had answered sadly that I couldn't have any
children.  Even more curios was the fact that I didn't feel anything about not
being able to have any children.  I was feeling too many things right now to be
able to focus on not being able to have any children.  Besides, that was part
of my future wasn't it?  I mean, I'm only-I don't even know how old I am or
when my birthday is.  Okay, so not having a memory is *really* becoming
annoying now.  Something tells me he'd know-Mulder I mean.  How could he only
be my partner and yet know so many things about my personal life?  Would a
normal partner know such things?  Was I reading too much into things?  Did I
*want* to read too much into things?) I got the distinct impression that Bill
blamed Mulder for most of this.  Poor man, it seems that Bill blamed Mulder for
almost everything.  If my potatoes had been even remotely cold, he had glared
at Mulder as if he were the cook responsible.  But, no one-not even the man
himself, had clarified anything about our relationship, and that, more than
when my birthday was or when I had graduated from medical school bothered me. 
I had only one course of action left to me.  
Realizing that I was standing in the middle of my living room doing nothing I
turned to my mother who was watching me from near the door.   "What's with me
and Mulder?" I asked of her.  I watched as a glimmer of something I couldn't
quite place came and went in mother's eyes.  
"I don't think it's my place to say anything about that, dear," she finally
said almost regretfully.
I nodded.  "Okay-that sounds fair-but how about you tell me what I've told you
about us?"
Now I know I saw something in her eyes.  Devilishness?  Mischief?  
"You're friends, Dana-the best of friends-you would and have trusted him with
your life-I've personally bared witness as he's moved heaven and earth to save
you from any sort of danger.  And you?" her eyes sparkled.  "You have
reciprocated in kind.  You've risked more than just your life if there was even
the remote chance that such a risk would save his life.  And yet-" she stopped
herself, turning suddenly to her purse and busying herself with finding and
rescuing her keys from within it's confines.
"And yet?" I prompted.
Maggie Scully looked into my eyes and smiled, clasping the keys in her palm. 
"Are you sure I can't convince you to come home with me?"
Instinctively knowing that my mother had shut down and would say no more about
the previous discussion, I smiled.  "Really, Mom, I'll be fine."
Mom smiled.  "Now you're starting to sound like yourself-" her eyes went back
into *mother mode*.  "But I still don't think you should be staying here by
yourself."
"The doctor said I had to get back to my normal routine as much as possible. 
Anything could trigger my memory back-you heard him.  Besides," I smile.  "I
still remember how to work a phone, and I've got the list you all made me with
all the important phone numbers on it right here," I pats my purse.  "Now,
please-go home-you've had a rough couple of days yourself."
I watched as my mother's eyes went through a various spectrum of emotions,
finally settling on one.  She reached over and hugged me.  Impulsively, my arms
encircled her and they felt comfortable there.  
"I love you, Dana, honey-" she said.
"I know you do-" I separate from her reluctantly to look in her eyes.  "And
even if I don't remember it, I *know* I love you too-" I tap the space where my
heart is.  "-in here."
Silently, no words were necessary, Maggie Scully walks for the door and through
it, turning back one last caring look at me before closing it behind her.
I smiled and took another look at her apartment, now in full light.  It was
decorated simply, but tastefully.  Sparse, even.  It didn't look lived in, but
I wasn't really surprised.   Mother and Mulder both had told me how often I
traveled because of work.  It was neat.  I didn't have any plants or fish, and
again, I wasn't surprised.  I found my way into the bedroom, then into the
bathroom, and practically melted at the sight of the bathtub, my muscles
screaming suddenly in places I know I must have learned about in medical
school, but that now were only making a nuisance of themselves.  'Oh, yeah-' I
thought.  'Now if only I have any bubble bath in this cupboard, it will have to
be love.'  I stopped in mid reach, crouched before the cabinet.  My eyebrows
rise in question.  Where did that come from?  That sounds awfully familiar. 
Now, where have I heard that before?
*******************************************************************************
	I found her sitting at the kitchen table, her hair damp and her feet bare,
staring into nothing.  "Hey, Scully-" I call closing the door behind me. "you
didn't answer me so I-" I stop in mid explanation as her eyes meet mine. 
Instantly, my heart jumps into my throat.  Something's wrong.  Had someone told
her about Emily?  There was something akin to desperation in her eyes.  She had
born the news of her brother and sister's death well enough.  The psychologist
in me knows this is because she can't really feel anything for them since she
doesn't remember them, and the fact that she was sterile she bore in true
Scully form as well, but if someone had told her about Emily-Emily-her only
daughter.  That one could mourn easily, even without remembering it.  That pain
would consume her, I knew.  
	"What is it?"  I neared her and sat across from her.  She watched me silently.
 "What's wrong?"
	"I can't remember what I like to eat," she said simply.
	I know I must have smiled in relief even though I knew that this lack of
knowledge must be a shock to her already bombarded system.  I reached for her
hand on the table and squeezed it reassuringly.  "That's easy-you mostly eat
salads, and yogurt with," I paused and grimaced, "bee pollen, sometimes we'll
have Chinese, although you love Italian Food.  But barbecued ribs with lots and
lots of bar-b-q sauce has got to be one of your favorites.  You don't really
eat them a lot, though because you go into these healthy kicks every so often,
hence the yogurt and," I grimace again, "Bee pollen."
	Her eyes widen in surprise.  Probably surprise at how I knew all this.  What
would I tell her if she asked?  The old Scully I wouldn't have to worry
about-she wouldn't ask because that would be a possible line crossing question
and she would avoid it, but this Scully?  I didn't know.  
	"Bee pollen?" she asks, her eyes narrowing.  "You're kidding, right?"
	I smile openly and lean back in the seat, seeing that the crisis has passed,
for the moment.  I shake my head.  "Nope-bee pollen," I confirm.
	"Bee pollen-" she murmurs, grimacing and absently rubbing the back of her
neck.  Could she remember?  The doctor had said that anything could trigger her
memory.  She looked up at me, a decisive look in her eye I knew too well. 
Maybe she had remembered.  "I'm pretty sure I don't like bees-" she waits
politely while I finish laughing before continuing.  "Hell, I don't think that
even honey appeals to me much-" Again, I laugh and she waits for me to meet her
eyes before continuing.  Then she smiles, a brilliant smile that I know I'll
cherish forever.  A smile like I had never seen Dana Scully lavish on anyone,
and I had made it rear it's beautiful little head.  "*Do* I like bees?"
	I shake my head emphatically.  "Nope-neither one of us likes bees much," I
confirm.  
	Her eyes are smiling when they suddenly widen as a realization dawns on her
features.  "I want pizza," she says happily.  She laughs.  "I want pizza,
Mulder!"
	I nod and stand at mock attention, a shit-eating grin on my face.  "Then pizza
it shall be, my lady!"  I make my way to the living room and to her phone.  I
was halfway through dialing the familiar numbers to the closest pizza delivery
place when I hear her come into the living room, a confused look on her face
once more.
	"Why do you have a key to my apartment?" 
	Her voice lacked accusation.   Actually, it was rather impish in it's tone. 
So of course, I dropped the phone.  "I-" I picked up the phone and started to
redial again.  "You gave it to me-"  How could I explain it-how could I explain
the fact that I had a key to her apartment and she had a key to mine?  My Lord!
 I wasn't even sure how it had happened.  I had to choose my words wisely.  I
didn't want her to get the wrong idea here, I mean-I stopped suddenly, almost
dropping the phone again as my evil half spoke up not for the first time since
Scully's amnesia.  Was I sure I didn't want her to get the wrong idea?  
I shut it up with words.  "We work really late at each other's places a lot of
times, so it was only natural that we have keys-besides, it's easier than
getting a new door every time we're scared something might have happened to the
other when there's no answer.  Plus-" I paused as the line was picked up and
then I was placed on hold.  "You feed my fish when I'm out chasing my fly by
night leads that you so hate."  Good save, Mulder!  It isn't even a complete
lie!  And hey, you even got to give a reason for the ditching her parts.  She
was about to comment when the pizza lady came on the line.  I silenced her with
a raised hand and ordered the pizza.  "30 minutes," I informed her, effectively
changing the subject.  
*******************************************************************************
	There are papers and books and drawers I know I should be looking through. 
Any of it can jog my memory.  But where to start?  I look around my room where
I was still sitting on my bed.  It was 9 a.m. and I had just woken up. 
Skinny-(um-Skinner) had told me that I didn't need to go into work until I felt
right about it.  It all seemed so organized.  My room, I mean.  Nothing was out
of place.  There was no indication of a desk-nothing.  There was a laptop
computer on my bedside table, but that was it.  I stared at the gray little
notebook like machine.  Would I even remember how to work it?  What if I had a
password?  I certainly didn't remember a password.  I feel my lips pucker.  
	I don't want to tackle my computer.  Nope-uh-uh.  
	God, am I always this childish in the morning?  I let myself fall back on my
pillows and snuggle there, trying to close my eyes.  I like my pillows. 
They're the right softness, the right amount of fluff.  My body is still out of
whack somewhat.  I feel like I should be doing something.  Maybe some morning
ritual I perform every morning.  Workout maybe?  I groan inwardly.  Nope.  I
hope not-I'm certainly too tired to.  Why am I so drowsy?  Mulder hadn't left
all that late.  At about midnight he had caught me yawning and excused himself,
leaving me with his cell number in case I needed anything.  
	What had I dreamed about last night?  I can't remember.  
	I'm starting to hone in on the signals my body is sending out.  It's kind of
like hunger, but not really.  I stand up reluctantly and stumble somewhat into
the kitchen, wincing as the sunlight from the bay windows streams in and I
blink rapidly.  I hate those windows.
	Wait-I stop myself and look at them, my eyes getting somewhat accustomed to
the light now.  Do I hate those windows?  Why?  They're very pretty.  So why do
I feel like I don't like them?  Somehow I know there's a bad memory lurking
somewhere around that window.  I shake my head.  'Leave it,' I tell myself.  I
don't want it.  
	"Ah-ha!" I exclaim as I search my cupboards.  "Coffee!" I take the canister
from it's place on the shelf and search out my kitchen for the coffee maker
then I look back to the canister and raise an eyebrow accusingly at it.  Do I
know how to make you, I wonder?  
	I've realized something about amnesia.  Having it is like having all my
memories in a dark room where I can't make anything out.  Every once in a
while, something-a coffee canister or a filter, for example, will shine a light
on the particular memory and it'll be completely clear to me.  Before that
object or thought snaps the light on, though, it's like I'm not even sure the
memory is there.  It's really very annoying.  Never knowing what your internal
flashlight will shine on and what will hide from the light like a skittish
vampire.  
	Vampire?  Texas-why did I suddenly think of Texas?  Texas and a Cowboy
Sheriff-have I ever been to Texas?  Dammit!  I slam the can on the counter. 
It's gone.
	I don't want to be here.  I don't want to get all these flashes by myself!  I
should be strong, I know-I should face this like a woman, and it's not that I
don't want to face it-I know I have to-I just don't want to face it alone. 
It's so-so- lonely.
******************************************************************************
	"Mulder," I say absently into the receiver.  
	"Hi, Mulder-it's Dana."
	Suddenly, she has all my attention.  The strange mutilated corpses of horses
in Missouri doesn't seem all that interesting all of a sudden.  Answer, fool! 
Don't just sit there!  
	"Hey," I answer lamely.  I know she hasn't gotten her memory back because she
announced herself as Dana.  "What's up?"
	She pauses on the line as if uncertain, another un-Scully-like thing.  "Well-"
I can almost see her shifting her position or moving the phone from one ear to
the other.  Her mannerism haven't changed.  At least the mannerisms that she
does absently, without worrying who's watching her.  And these I know like the
back of my own hand.  "Watcha doing?"
	I smile, closing the file and throwing it on the growing pile on my desk. 
"Nothing much," I answer.
	I hear the laughter in her voice-and the relief, too as she realizes that I'm
willing to talk.  As if I'd ever not be willing to talk to you, Scully!  
	"Is that what they pay us for, Mulder?  To do nothing?" she teases.
	God, I liked this teasing Scully.  "Well, it's been a slow week."
	"For you, maybe-" she says, playfully still.
	"Yeah, I guess it's been rather busy for you, huh?" I cradle the phone on my
shoulder and lean back in my chair.  
	I hear her exhale loudly.  "Actually, I'm bored out of my mind.  If I spend
another minute trapped in here, Mulder, I'm going to scream," she says in mock
exasperation. 
	I laugh out loud.  "I'd like to hear that."
	"What?  You'd like to hear me scream, Mulder?" 
	My mouth goes dry and my laughter dies on my throat.  Was that a flirtatious
note I heard in her voice?  I know what I would answer to her if she had her
memory.  I'd play along and make a lewd comment, probably, but to this Scully
what could I say?  She doesn't know our tradition-doesn't remember it.  She
doesn't remember the little dance we dance to.  The Mexican Hat Dance we do
around our true emotions.  
	"Depends on the reason for the scream, I guess," I answer, no laughter in my
voice.  
	"Well," she answers slowly.  "I refuse to let you hear me scream from
exasperation, Mulder-do you want to come pick me up?"
	I look at my watch.  It was nearing noon.  "For lunch?" I ask.
	"Sure-if you want."
	"I'll be there in 20 minutes, Scully."
	"I'll be waiting."
	I could swear we both hung up at the same time.
******************************************************************************
	He must know that I've been watching him throughout most of the time since he
picked me up at the apartment.  He met my eyes as we talked easily through
lunch (where I remembered how much I really did love Italian food- Cannelloni
al Forno-umm, talk about heaven!) and occasionally glanced sideways at me as we
merged into traffic as we left the small restaurant.  But he hadn't said a word
about it.  
I noticed him heading back towards my apartment and stopped him.  "Take me back
with you," I say quietly.
"What?" he asks surprisedly.  
"To the Hoover Building."
"What?" he repeats, alternating between staring at me and the road before him.
"You heard me-take me to the Hoover Building-I'm going back to work."
"Wh-" he stops himself from repeating the word again as he sees my eyebrow
crawl up my forehead.  I can almost see his mind working for another answer. 
"Are you crazy?" he finally decides.
I laugh.  "Nope-just amnesiac." 
"You can't go back to work!" he argues.
"I'm not asking you to take me out on the field, Mulder-but get me back to the
office-I can still manage to type, and my doctor did say that I needed to get
back to my normal routine-"
"You can very well start with your apartment, Scully-"
"I've been with my apartment all morning, Mulder," I interrupt impatiently. 
"I've looked through old pictures, legal documents, passports, everything I
could get my greedy little hands on, and nothing jogged shit."  I stop as
Mulder pulls over on the side of the road so that he could turn full and stare
at me.  There's something about his eyes that I recognize and I have to smile. 
"My mother told me that I spent most of my time at work-that it was a major
part of my life-my apartment feels almost empty-I'm hoping that maybe the
office is more-" I sigh, shrugging.  "I don't know-" I watch his eyes as every
emotion known to man crosses his face and he runs his hand through his hair,
mussing it up in more than one place.  Absently, I reach out and smooth it
down.  The sudden stiffness in his body makes me think that maybe I crossed
some line I wasn't supposed to, but there had been something about the arguing.
 Something almost familiar-something energizing.  
I cross my arms over my chest and stare forward out the windshield.  "I've
already talked to Skinner, Mulder, and if you don't take me to the Hoover
building I'll take a cab there," I say, jutting my chin out defiantly.
I hear him sigh and then the roar of the engine as it comes back to life.  Once
he starts heading in the direction that I somehow know the Hoover Building is,
I relax and loosen my arms from the death grip they had around me.  "Thank you,
Mulder," I say, still looking out the window.  "I didn't want to do this
without you."
I glance at him just in time to catch his eyes on me before he shifts them back
onto the traffic before him.  
And I smile. 
******************************************************************************
++++++++++++++
Renaissance (3/?)
By: Cat
++++++++++++++

I watch her as she looks around the office as if she had never been here
before.  Her eyes linger on the poster on my wall and her lips curl into a
smile.  She meets my eyes and raises an eyebrow.
"It looks so-lived in-You must give me the name of your decorator, Mulder-my
apartment could probably use some-living in-ness-"
I break out laughing.  "Living in-ness?" I ask.
She points a finger accusingly at me, her lips still smiling.  "Look.  I'm
trying to be nice and not call your office a pig-sty, Mulder, so don't push
me."
"It's *our* office, Scully-" I motion her side of it.  She walks over to it and
I can almost see her mind working on making the comparisons between my side and
her side.  
"How do I let you get away with it, Mulder?  I mean, I even made my brother
Charlie pick up his room when we were kids-" 
We both realize what she's said at the same time.  
She falls into her chair.  "Oh My God," she mumbles.  She starts measuring her
breathing.  I near her and crouch down in front of her, placing a hand on hers
reassuringly.  
"Scully?" I prompt after several minutes pass and she hasn't spoken and the
look of complete astonishment is still prevalent on her features.
"It's gone," she whispers.  "I said it without thinking-and then I caught a
quick glimpse of Charlie-" she trails off.  "I know it's Charlie-of Charlie
grumbling as my mother makes him pick up his room because of me-but that's
it-nothing else-" she lowers her face into her hands.  "I hate this-it's like
trying to grab hold of-like trying to remember-I feel like if everything that
went before I woke up in the hospital was all a dream-" I grab hold of her
hands and lower them from her face.  She looks up at me with tears glimmering
in her eyes.  
I smile tenderly at her.  "It's okay-you'll get through this, Scully-you're
strong-" I nod encouragement at her.
She doesn't smile back.  She blinks and the tears that had been threatening to
fall trace a path down her cheeks.  "But I don't remember being strong,
Mulder-I don't remember who I am!" 
I squeeze her hands still in mine.  "You don't need to remember being
strong-You know you're strong-" I reach up to touch her chest where her heart
beats.  "Deep down in there, you still have that strength, Scully-and you know
I'm here to help you."
She's quite as she looks into my eyes, processing my words.  Then something in
her eyes changes.  The look of desperation there is pushed back by the all too
familiar look of determination.  She nods.  "Right.  So help me by giving me
something to do."
I smile quickly and release her hands, standing up and reaching over for the
audio tape of the latest autopsy Scully had performed earlier on that week. 
"This is a tape of an autopsy you did a few days ago-you think you can
transcribe it?" I motion to the computer sitting on her desk.  She takes the
tape and nods, turning around in her chair to face the computer.  She takes a
moment to look around the area and locates the transcribing machine.  She pops
the tape inside and turns to her computer, finding the power button and
switching it on.  
I hadn't been back at my desk for 5 minutes when I hear her sigh exasperatedly.
 
"Mulder?" she calls out.  
I look up at her. "Yeah?"
"What program do I have to use?"  I smile at her and her eyebrow raises again. 
"Say a word and I'll shoot you."
I lean forward in my desk and grin at her.  "You don't remember how to use a
gun, Scully."
"I'm sure it'll come back to me."  She shrugs.  "Or if not, I could always
improvise."
I laugh at the seriousness in her tone.  I bet she would, too.
******************************************************************************
My voice was cold, capable, efficient-unemotional.  The words I was speaking
meant little to me, but my hands flew over the keyboard effortlessly.  It would
seem that I do remember how to type and I could do so rather quickly.  Every so
often I would stop the tape and rewind, then play again.  Not because I
couldn't make out my words, but because I had drifted off into analyzing the
sound of my voice on the tape to catch what I had just said.  
This tape-this voice detailing the weight of a woman's kidneys and the bones in
her neck that had been cracked marking severed vertebrae as the cause of
death-was the only link I had at the moment to the me I was with the whole of
my memories intact.  With all my past and all my life.  Was I always this
constrained, this indifferent?  
But I knew I wasn't.  The voice was imperturbable, passionless, yes.  But
underneath it, I could hear that I was tired.  What had I been doing before
this autopsy?  How much sleep had I had?  Or was I tired not really in the
physical sense, but just tired in general?  Tired of life?  How many times had
I performed autopsies just like this one?  
I stopped the tape and removed the earphones, dropping them onto the table. 
Mulder looked up at the sudden movement, then back down at his file.  Something
told me again that he would know.  Not just about how many times I had
performed autopsies or about what I was doing before I got to that autopsy
bay-but about my feelings in general.  Why did this man know me so well?  Why
did I feel that if I had my memories I would know him just as well?  Granted, I
didn't remember much about FBI partnerships, but I really don't think that
partners are required to know each other so well.  Hell, he has a key to my
apartment-and I have a key to his.  His reasons for this were logical enough,
but not very convincing.  There was more to this.  Of the *very* few things I
was sure of these days, that was definitely one of them.   
He must have felt me staring at him because he looked up and met my eyes.  My
God, he was wearing his glasses.  I loved those glasses.  His eyes were
questioning.  He could read the puzzlement in me, no doubt.  Had he caught the
glimpse of the desire I felt at seeing him with his glasses?  
"Mulder?" I finally speak.
"Hmm?" he answers.
What do I want to ask him?  Of all the questions, which one am I going to ask
him?  "What was I like?" 
He puts the file aside and leans back in his chair, taking off his glasses to
better look at me.  'No, no-not the glasses-don't take off the glasses!' I
silently plead, but of course, he doesn't hear me.  I try and keep my face
serene- emotionless, like the voice on the tape.
 "You're very intelligent-very driven-" he speaks slowly.  
I stop him with a raised hand.  "No-" I shake my head.  "That's the me I hear
on the tape-the me performing the autopsy-but please tell me that that was just
the work me-that I'm not that cold and unfeeling-" I look in his eyes, all
pretense of a serene face gone-my eyes pleading.  "Tell me about the real me?" 
He's silent for a long while and I think he's not going to answer me.  But he
finally does speak.  His voice quiet, almost far away.
"You've had to work hard, Scully, to build a professional manner-it's not easy
being a woman in the FBI and you've had to work doubly hard to earn respect, so
yes, you put on a cool demeanor.  They call you the Ice Queen, but no, that's
not the real you."  He pauses and again, I think that's all he's going to say. 
"The real you is loyal, kind, good-hearted, sympathetic-passionate." 
He's quiet again and I know that this time he doesn't mean to continue.  I can
see it in his eyes, so I lean forward on my desk.  This was a good topic of
conversation and I wasn't ready to let it go just yet.  
"What do I have to be passionate about, Mulder?" I ask softly, careful of my
tone. 
He doesn't meet my eyes.  What exactly I had in mind by this question, I don't
know.  I know I feel something between Mulder and I, but I also knew we had
been working together for something like 6 years now.  Maybe I shouldn't push. 
Maybe there was some agreement we had come to about just this sort of thing.  
"I'm sorry-" I start to mumble but stop when I notice Mulder is speaking.
He clears his throat and tries again.  "I like to think that you're passionate
about our work-about finding the truth."
He looks up at me and I realize that he's chosen his path.  He had the
opportunity and didn't take it.  Maybe he wasn't ready.  Hell, maybe I wasn't
ready either but just didn't remember that I wasn't.  I nodded and picked up
the earphones, putting them back on and switching on the machine again.
"The lack of discoloration around the obviously recent tattoo above her right
breast indicate that it was administered upon the subject post mortem.  Because
of the relative lack of privacy allocated by the crime scene it is most
probable that this was not the actual scene of the murder."  
For the first time since I woke up in that hospital room and the doctor told me
where I had been found and that I'd suffered a concussion, I wondered why I was
where I had been.  I had been mugged.  That was plain as all my money and
credit cards were missing.  My gun-I let the tape run.  They hadn't mentioned
anything about my gun.  How could a trained FBI agent be mugged?  I glanced
over at Mulder.  Should I tell him about this?  He hadn't asked me anything
about what had happened that night.  The doctor hadn't asked me anything.  No
one had.  Maybe I was just being paranoid.  
I stopped the tape and stood up, Mulder looked up at me, raising an eyebrow. 
"What's up?" he asks.
I shrugged.  "I'm going to take a look around-there's something unsettling
about hearing my own voice like this-I-" I shrug again.  
"I understand-you want some company?" he offers.
I smile.  "'S'okay.  I think I'll be able to find my way around."  I look at my
watch.  It was 4 p.m. "At what time do we normally leave?" 
"5 unless we're working on something."
"Are you leaving at 5 today?"
"Depends," he shrugs.
"On?" I ask.
"What time are you leaving?"
I smile back at him.  "I'll see you at 5."
The stench of the formaldehyde was overwhelming and the temperature in the room
was causing my flesh to break out in goosebumps.  I knew why the temperature
had to be so cold.  I knew why the formaldehyde stench was so strong.  I was in
the morgue.  
The doctor had warned me to not force my memory, that it would come back in due
time, but I was starting to get desperate.  There was something about a trained
FBI Agent being mugged and knocked unconscious that didn't sit well with me.  I
thought that maybe looking at this Jane Doe I had been working on might trigger
some memories.  Might maybe tell me what I had done afterwards, so that I could
start to follow my own trail.   
Was this my FBI training kicking in?
******************************************************************************
The doctors had warned me that she would be this way.  It was obvious that she
would be acting this way.  She was getting fragments of memories and feelings
that she didn't know what to do with.  They were out of context, and she must
be feeling as if she were being pulled in all directions.  I had promised her
mother *and* the doctor that I wouldn't try and push her about what she had
been doing when they mugged her.  
The fact that a mugger could get the better of her just wasn't sitting well
with me, but I wasn't going to push her.  I had to let her get her everyday
memories first, and then we'd deal with that night.  It wasn't like she was
going to remember it, anyway.  It might even be the reason for her amnesia. 
The psychologist in me knew this.  But what bothered me most about all this was
the fact that Scully had left her gun in the car.  
An FBI agent never leaves their gun in the car.  
I finally found her in the morgue, in full doctor gear complete with goggles
and paper shower cap covering her hair.  I stood there for a few minutes
watching her as she gingerly examined the skin just above Jane Doe's right
breast where the tattoo still stood.  She seemed to be mumbling to herself
because the recorder wasn't on and she wasn't speaking loud enough to be heard
by the machine should it have been on.  Her eyes were hidden from me by the
glare of the harsh light on the glass of the goggles, but I knew her stance. 
She was confused.  
"Talking to yourself, Scully?" I called from the door.  I had to suppress a
smile as she nearly jumped from her skin.
She jumped back from the corpse and reached behind her in an action that is
drilled into our minds until it becomes inbred-she was reaching for her gun,
even if she didn't know that was what she had been doing.  The fact that she
did this seemed to confuse her even more, but she fought off that emotion and
glared at me.  
"You scared the shit out of me, Mulder!" she exclaimed.  "Don't do that to a
woman picking at a dead body, alright?!"
I tried to sober my smile away but failed miserably.  "Alright, Scully-I
promise."  I held out my hands in surrender.  "What are you doing?" I asked,
coming closer to the table where the body lay.  
She shook her head and neared the body again herself.  "I don't know.  I
thought that if I were to look at the body I had been working on, I might catch
some glimpse-it might-"she sighed.  "I don't know-knock some memories into me."
"And did it?" I ask.
She shrugs.  "I remembered how to put all this stuff on," she motions her
attire.  "I remembered getting sick the first time I had to cut open a dead
body in medical school-" she shrugs again.  "Just flashes."  She leans her
hands on the table and looks at Jane Doe again.  "I had just hoped that I would
get it all back- at once, you know-just-" she snaps her fingers as well as she
can with latex gloves on.  "-like that."
I was about to speak when she reached over for the tattoo again, tracing a
finger along the blue-black lines of the circle and then the triangle within
it.  "What did you find out about this mark?" she asked me.
"Nothing much-I couldn't find anyone who knew what it was supposed to mean. 
There is no record of it anywhere."
"Well, I had found that it was done to the body post mortem so it must have a
special meaning for our killer, don't you think?" she met my eyes.
"That's what we concluded, yes," I agreed.
"What did I do after the autopsy, Mulder?  Was this what I did the day I got
the concussion?" she asks suddenly.
I nod.  "The last thing you did here for the FBI, anyway.  You went home after
dropping off the tape at the office and saying you were exhausted and going
home to take a bath.  Next thing I knew, you mom had the nurse at the hospital
call me to tell me you were there."
She shakes her head.  "Then why did I stop in that alley?" she asks, more to
herself than to me.  
I shrug.  "I wish I knew, Scully," I say honestly.  She's quite as she keeps
staring at the tattoo on our Jane Doe's chest.  I wonder if maybe she's
remembering her own tattoo?  Did she remember getting it?  Now, that was one
memory I hope she never gets back.  Decidedly, she reaches over and snaps off
the glove on her left hand, following it with her right.
"Well, give me 5 minutes to get out of this stuff and we'll head out, alright?"
she meets my eyes.  
"Can't I watch?" I ask before I could stop myself.  'Damnit!  Why did I have to
go there!  Fuck me!'  Me and my big mouth!
Her eyes watch me for a few more minutes as she takes off the glasses and pulls
off the shower cap, her hair cascading from it's binding.  "Only if you promise
to return the favor some day."
It's hard, but I laugh.  "I wouldn't want to gyp you, Scully-I'll wait
outside."
She laughs out loud and stops me from leaving with a hand on my arm.  "Calm
down, G-man-I'm decent under here."  She takes the scrubs off and tosses them
in a nearby bio-waste bin.  "See?" 
She was decent.  Still wearing her slacks and sleeveless satin blouse.  She
picks up her jacket from a locker at the far end and slips it on.   A very
annoying part of me was disappointed that she was, though. 
Very disappointed.
******************************************************************************
"Stop the car, Mulder-STOP!" I almost scream at him as I simultaneously reach
for his arm on the steering wheel.  I hear the tires screech to a halt as the
car stops.  I'm not looking at him, I can't.  I don't want to even think-I
can't think-all I can do is remember.   I get out of the car before he can
speak.
It's all coming back to me.  The way I had stopped the car as I had spotted
the-the-Damn!  The what?  Not now-don't forget now-come on-keep coming!  I near
the mouth of the alley.  Had this been where they found me?  I look around me
in a near frenzy.  I know my eyes are darting around at the back doors to the
various establishments as if I were mad.  Which one is it-which one-?
That one!  I spot it.  On a second floor level, but with easy access through a
fire-escape metal staircase.  I make for the stairs.  
"Scully!" I hear Mulder call out behind me.
Come on, Mulder-trust me-just follow me-no questions right now, okay? I plead
silently as I rush up the stairs.  I finally reach the door and pause. 
Absently I hear Mulder's footsteps on the metal staircase.  This *is* it.  I
know it is-but-something's different.  
"Scully?" Mulder asks.  God, the man isn't even breathless.  He must work out. 
He just ran after me and up a flight of stairs and he wasn't even breathless. 
"What is it?" 
I glance at him and see that he has his gun drawn and is looking from me to the
door.  I want to smile from ear to ear.  He trusted me.  He came after me and
trusted me, even in this state he was willing to back me up.  
"It's okay, Mulder-you can put that away," I motion his gun.  "They're not
here-." I look back at the door, not really knowing how I'm so sure, but sure
none-the-less.  "They're gone."
He puts the gun away out of sight in the holster at his hip.  "You want to tell
me what that was all about?"
I look from his eyes to the door and reach out to touch the mark on the door
where I know the symbol had been.  "I think I saw the symbol on this door the
same as the tattoo on the girl and-that must have been why I was knocked out."
"But you weren't found here, Scully," he points out gently.  
"No-of course not-"
"They wouldn't have left you where they found you-but why didn't they kill
you?"
I shake my head.  "I don't know-maybe they thought they had."
I know he doesn't believe that explanation any more than I do.  I don't need to
remember my FBI training to know that someone who would snap a girl's neck
would know the difference between unconscious and dead.  They left me alive for
a purpose.
"Maybe they didn't want to kill an FBI Agent?" I try again.  "They went through
an awful lot of trouble to make it appear like a mugging."
Mulder nods and I know this correlates more with his own train of thought. 
"Are you sure they're not here?" he asks me.  
I nod silently.  "They probably packed up and left after they hit me."
"But how could they know that you wouldn't remember?" Mulder thinks aloud.
I shrug.  "Maybe they didn't.  Maybe they just hoped that by the time I came to
they'd be long gone."
He nods again pensively.  "Come on-let's get you home-I'll call some people to
find out who owns this building, who it was leased out to and all that great
stuff."  I turn around and he leads me towards the staircase, a hand on the
small of my back.  There's something awfully comforting about that gesture.  
******************************************************************************

++++++++++++++
Renaissance (4/5)
By: Cat
++++++++++++++

I look at the piece of paper with my scribbled writing on it.  I hear the
shower going and I wonder for the hundredth time if I should tell her what I've
found out.  The company that owns the building that Scully had remembered
stopping at owns several other buildings in the warehouse district of town.  It
hadn't been easy finding the information.  It had taken the Gunmen a good 30
minutes of tracking ghost corporations, but they finally did it.  They finally
found the base, and any company that would try to hide itself so much was worth
checking out.  I had checked the logo of the company, and it had nothing to do
with the triangle and circle tattoo on the girl, but it was worth checking out
anyway.  But how could I tell Scully that?  How could I tell Scully that I had
to go there and had to go without her?  I could just go-leave a note and go-but
there was something about ditching her while she was in this state that I
couldn't quite warrant.  I couldn't just ditch her.  Not this time.  Not while
she was in this state.  
"So, what'd you find out?" came her voice from the bedroom doorway.
I look up guiltily and stare open-mouthed at her.  'Breathe, Mulder- breathe-' 
I can't believe that she's standing there, in a white terry-cloth robe.  I
can't help but notice the way it strains a little against her breast as she
towel dries her hair and I certainly can't ignore the small gap of pale skin
that is exposed where the two sides of the robe open.  
"Mulder?" 
Her voice brings my eyes back to her face and I force myself to blink.  What
had she asked me?  "Uh-noth-" my voice is throaty and I stop to clear it. 
"Nothing much-" Was that amusement in her eyes?  She stops drying her hair as
she walks into the room.  Oh, God, Scully, don't-go back inside and put on some
clothes, for God's sake, I plead silently.  She doesn't pay any attention to me
whatsoever, and does exactly the opposite.  She sits on the couch across from
me, folding her legs under her.  Now I had to work hard at not staring at the
patch of leg-skin peeking out from under the soft looking robe.  
"Nothing much?" she queries.  
Damn.  "I found some other addresses for the company that owns the building you
stopped at.  The name of the company is Burning Light, Ltd.  Not much
information on the company, they do research mainly apparently, but have few
licenses to speak of."
"Do they have any other facilities?"
Damn, some part of her would always remember what to ask, wouldn't it?  "Yeah,"
 I answer.
She stares at me for a few minutes and then she speaks and I recognize the
determination in her jaw.  "You're not going alone, Mulder, so don't even
consider it."
I look at her and meet her eyes seriously.  "Scully, you must have enough sense
to know that you can't come with me."
She nods.  "I also have enough sense to know that you won't get bureau consent
or back-up on this one due to the evidence we have or don't have so you're
probably going to try and go alone, and I can't have that, Mulder."
Yep-definitely a determined chin.  Determined shoulders, too.  Damn- how could
she not know her past, but yet know me so damn well?  
"I won't-I promise," I lie.  I definitely couldn't have her in danger.  I mean,
it was dangerous enough when she had full memory of how to work her gun and how
to shoot, but in her current state-there was no way-it was like taking a
civilian out into the field.
"*Bull*shit," Scully says emphatically.  "That's what you always say, Mulder!"
My eyes open wide.  She'd had another recollection.  I open my mouth to comment
on it, but she stops me with a raised hand, unwilling to let me change the
subject.
"Don't try to change the subject, Mulder-I know I just remembered you ditching
me, but I'm not going to let you change the subject.  You are *not* going by
yourself."
"Scully, I've never heard you use such language!" I say, trying to lighten the
mood.
"Maybe that's the problem, Mulder-maybe if I did use language like this I might
get through your thick skull and you might not ditch me as often," she says
seriously, unwilling to bend even one inch.  I'm starting to wonder if maybe
she has remembered everything and is just stringing me along.
I laugh.  "Maybe you're right."  I stand up and, taking the paper with the
address on it, grab for my jacket and overcoat.  
"Where do you think you're going?" she stands up and walks to block the door.
"Move, shortie-don't make me move you." I come close to her, invading her
personal space like she so hates, but she doesn't budge.
"You're gonna have to move me, Mulder, if you want to get out of this
apartment."
"Any other time, Scully, and all you'd have to do is ask-but not tonight."  I
grab hold of her shoulders and lift her easily, moving her out of the way.  She
opens her mouth to protest as I open up the door, but I turn around and stall
her lips by pressing my finger to them.  "Ah-ah-don't, Scully-I'm just going to
take a look, alright?  I promise to call for back-up if I see anyone there.  I
just want to make sure that this isn't a dead end before I call out the troops,
okay?"
She hasn't made a motion to remove my finger from the soft flesh of her lips
and as I lift my sight from them to her eyes I see a flash of something I'm not
certain I know what to do with, so I let her go.  
I leave before she can respond, closing the door behind me, expecting her to
come out after me.  But she doesn't.  
******************************************************************************
That rotten, no good, stinking, base, vile, wicked-
How the hell had I dealt with this before?  
I'm pulling on my jeans, jumping into them with both legs, struggling not to
topple over.  It would be funny if I weren't so pissed off.  I pull on a
t-shirt and tie up my hiking boots.  I pull my hair back in a hasty ponytail
and blow angrily at an errant strand that escapes the bindings.  When I get my
hands on him I'll-I'll- well, I'll do something.  I can't think of what right
now because the possibilities might actually change my anger into something
that I probably might not want to examine if I had all my memories.  But I'll
do something.
Thank God for television.  Why I can't remember a whit about my FBI training,
but I know that I've seen a television police detective once take an imprint of
writing from a notepad by rubbing a pencil over the used pad, I will perhaps
never know.  I pick up the paper where I had written down the information that
Mulder had gotten.  
He thinks he's so smart.  
******************************************************************************
It doesn't look any different than any other inactive warehouse that I've ever
seen.  It isn't as dusty, maybe-as abandoned looking, but it sure doesn't
appear to be in the mainstream either.  The locks are new, no rust on the door
hinges.  There are no symbols on the doors, but it certainly is close enough to
the building Scully found to make transportation between sites conceivable.
Come to think on it, it was close enough to the place where our Jane Doe was
found as well.  
The door isn't open, but with a little insistence it gives way easily enough
and I am inside.  The place looks like it's used primarily for storage.  There
doesn't seem to be a workable order to anything.  There are crates stacked
together with covered furniture sitting side by side with filing cabinets.  I
look around me first, trying to ascertain if anyone is there before I give any
of the articles around me a closer look.  Finding nothing to alarm me I turn to
the large filing cabinets closest to me.  I knock on them once, hearing it echo
inside.  Just like I thought.  Empty.  Now, I really didn't think it would be
that easy, did I?  
I would have to climb the stairs at the far end of the warehouse leading to
what appeared to be an office.  I lift the plastic off the furniture as I pass
it for a quick look.  Medical furniture.  Dentist chairs, operating tables and
the like.  What the hell were these people doing?  
Shit.
There's a noise behind me.  Someone pulled open the door.  I duck behind a
nearby crate and search the area of the door.  
I have to stop myself from hitting the crate in annoyance when I see who it is.
 Damn fool woman!  Why doesn't she *ever* listen?  She's being careful, that
much at least I can give her.  She realizes I'm behind her in enough time to
turn a startled look and open her mouth before I reach out and clamp it shut. 
Her eyes return to normal as she notices that it's me.  I see the recognition
in her eyes and let her go.  
"Are you crazy?  What are you doing here?" I hiss.
"Back-up my ass," she whispers back dryly as she crosses her arms.  
"You've got to get out of here *now*!" I know I'm still hissing, but it doesn't
really matter.  At least I'm keeping myself from throttling her and taking her
out of here physically.  
She smiles smugly.  "It's more dangerous for me out there than in here if you
ask me," she whispers calmly.  "At least you can protect me in here."  
And the woman had the nerve to bat her eyelashes at me.  If I weren't so
pissed, it'd be funny.  
"Fine," I say angrily.  "Then we're leaving."
"Fine," she repeats angrily.  "Then you leave-now that I'm here, I want to see
what's up there."  She points to the office-like room I had just been about to
investigate.  She starts to stalk quietly to the stairs.  She was halfway there
before I finally withhold a growl and follow her.  
Damn fool woman!
 ******************************************************************************
Round one: Dana.  I'd say we're about even now, Mr. Agent Mulder!  Deep inside,
some very deep part of me is trying to scream at me that he's right, but I
don't pay any attention to it.  Two heads have got to be better than 1, I
reason.  Besides, this has got everything to do with me, and very little to do
with his precious X-Files.  
X-Files?  Had he told me that was the name of our division?  I don't think so. 
I think that was another bone-e-fide, honest-to-goodness, recollection. 
They're coming more often now, I realize.  I've found myself several times
reaching for the gun that I know had always rested at the small of my back, but
found not so much as a holster there.  And as I stalk my way across the
warehouse towards the stairs up to the office, I find myself remembering
flashes of my training at Quantico.  
Quantico.  The FBI's main training facility.  I taught pathology there for
awhile.  Pathology-Yes-it was diseases-pathology and-physics? 
Focus, starbuck-
Starbuck-
My eyes water.  Ahab-Daddy-I pause and Mulder almost rams into my back.
"What is it?" I hear him ask in my ear.
Focus, now-they'll be time for that later-focus-
"Nothing."
Keep moving.  You're almost there.  I'm missing something.  I'm missing the
weight of my gun, I feel naked without it.  I still can't be sure I'll know how
to use it-I can't be sure I'll still remember the instincts and not shoot
blindly, but I miss it's weight in my palm.  
That voice inside me is screaming louder now and it's not so easy to ignore it.
 
Focus.
I focus on my breathing.  Hadn't they taught us that at Quantico?  Focus on
your breathing?  In.  Out.  In.  Out.
I've reached the limit.  From here to the stairs is open country.  No crates,
no hiding places from here to the stairs and up it.  Nice vulnerable territory.
 I look back at Mulder almost fearful that he'll see my apprehension.  He's
there at my elbow, waiting for me.  He nods and I nod.  I know what this means.
 We're going to make a dash for it.  He's going to cover me.  I trust him.  I
know he won't let anything happen to me.  
I take one nice, long, deep breath like before you go under water and I have to
fight off the memories of Bill teaching me to swim and Melissa splashing water
in my face.  
Melissa-dead-
Not now-focus-
I count to three and sprint out into the open, hearing Mulder come out seconds
later behind me.  I reach the stairs and skip up them, taking them two by two. 
It's not long when we reach the top and I dash into the doorway, waiting for
Mulder.  Now that I'm relatively safe, I take time to notice that there has
been no movement around us at all so I relax a bit, taking time to glance
around at the windows to see if there was anyone inside the office.  I see no
one so I reach for the door and turn the knob.  It gives easily and I push it
open, careful of squeaks.  
I can feel more than hear Mulder behind me as I inch my way into the cramped
office space.  He closes the door behind me and I focus my attention on the
filing cabinets lining the wall to the left of the door.  I glance at the
computer and my gaze stays fixed on it.
What I find there brings to mind 3 things:  2 good and one bad.  Good: the
computer was on so it would be easy to break into.  Good: at least we're in the
right place.  The screensaver proved that beyond a shadow of a doubt as the
bright red lines made the shape of the triangle within the circle again and
again on a jet black background.  Bad:  The computer was on-meaning whoever was
here was thinking of returning-soon.
"You take the computer, I'll take the files," I say to him as I make my way.
He nods and sits down behind it, moving the mouse and bringing the screen back
into view.  
******************************************************************************
"I've got a list of names here in a spreadsheet program.  Names and numbers," I
tell her after careful examination of the data I found in the "recently used"
list.  Thank God for user friendly computers.  
"What kind of numbers?" she asks.
"Not phone numbers.  8 numbers.  They look like serial numbers of some sort. 
Then there's a column next to that which just has letters."  I shake my head. 
"The letters or the numbers aren't explained."  I scroll further down the list.
 "Wait-the letters column has some with numbers next to them."
"Read one out to me," she says, her head still buried inside the filing
cabinet.  "Start with the name."
"Donnelley," I call out the first one that calls my attention.
She closes one drawer and opens up another, removing a manilla doctor's folder
and opens it up.  "The number?"
"0-5-1-4-1-9-7-8," I call out.  I reach out for a new disk from a pile on the
desk and insert it in the correct drive, copying the information down.  
I look back at her and see her reading through the file quickly, her eyes
finally settling somewhere down the center of the page.  "Repeat that number,
Mulder?"
"0-5-1-4-1-9-7-8"
"0-5-1-4-1-9-7-8," she repeats, then shakes her head.  "No-not
0-5-1-4-1-9-7-8-oh-five, fourteen, nineteen-seventy-eight."  She looks up to
meet my eyes.  "It's a birthdate.  May 14, 1978.  What's the letter?" 
I glance back quickly at the list that was almost done copying and find the
information.  "V," I tell her.
She looks back at the file and shakes her head again.  "It's an organizing
system-My God-Valid-V.  It says Valid in her status box."  She looks up at me.
"Give me another-one with a number next to the letter in the last column."  
I look down the list quickly.  "Fairhaven." 
I wait while she locates the file and then while she pulls it out.  She opens
it up and gasps.  "What's the number and letter?"
"I dash V 101999"  She's quite as she looks at the information on the file. 
"What is it, Scully?"
"I dash V-In-Valid-date of cancellation-October 15, 1999."  She looks up to
meet my eyes.  "It's our Jane Doe, Mulder-" she hands the file over to me so
that I could see the picture provided within it.
It's our Jane Doe, alright.  Amanda Fairhaven.  22.  
I'm pretty sure we make the connection together.  "They're testing these girls
for something and marking the ones that aren't valid from the ones that are."
"They're killing them."
We hear the sound simultaneously, but I'm quicker to reach out and pull Scully
down and against the wall of the office.  I reach up and remove the diskette
from the drive seconds before the bullets start flying.
I meet Scully's eyes.  "Think it's time for back-up?" she asks, her hands to
her ears.  
I wish I could laugh.  Just when Scully's getting my sense of humor and
there're people shooting to kill us out here.  Life's just not fair, is it?
******************************************************************************
I know we can't just stay here.  I can't hear anything beside the deafening
bursts of gunfire above our heads and the shattering of glass and various other
equipment the bullets hits around us.  I know that the shooters will make their
way to the office before they run out of bullets.  I don't have to have my
memory to know that.  It's common sense.  
I come out from under Mulder's arms where he had sheltered me from most of the
raining glass and meet his eyes.  There's fear in them.  Not for the situation,
not for him, but for me.  And I hate my stubbornness.  I had to put him in this
situation and if anything happens to me, he'll blame himself.  He'll blame
himself for not being able to protect me.
I squeeze his arm reassuringly.  "I'm sorry," I whisper.
He puts a finger on my lips, as he takes his gun from it's holster with his
other hand and shakes his head.  I tell him with my eyes that I understand-and
I do.  I know he's accepted my apology-I know he doesn't really blame me at
all.  I'm not really surprised that there's this unspoken understanding between
us.  He motions to the door with the finger he's taken off my lips and I nod my
understanding.  We're going to make a break for it.  Better to be out there in
the open than in here where we're sitting ducks.  
He pushes me slightly forward and I realize that he wants me to go first.  It's
really a no-win situation.  If he goes behind me, he can cover me with the
advantage offered by his height, but I'm the first target they see.  If I go
behind him, I'm exposed without anyone to cover me.  God, I want my gun.  I
remember something suddenly and stop in mid-crawl.  
"Don't you have another gun?" I mouth.
He nods, but looks dubious.  I extend my hand for it.  He shakes his head.  I
extend my hand again.  
"Remember?" he mouths back.  I could lie and say that I do remember how to
shoot it, but I don't.  I shake my head.  So he pushes me forward again without
handing me the gun.  I stop, though and meet his eyes again.
"They don't know," I mouth.  He contemplates this for a few minutes before
maneuvering to reach for the gun at his ankle and handing it to me.  I take it
in my hand, familiarizing myself with the weight of it and turn around,
continuing my crawl towards the door.  
I don't know what I'll do if I'm forced to use it, but I just hope that I'm
not.
******************************************************************************
I'm not quick enough to move her out of the way.  I see the gun trained on
her-I see the man pull the trigger, but I'm not quick enough to move her out of
the way.  I'm only just quick enough to catch her before she falls to the
ground.  I drag her immobile body behind a crate.  I take her pulse.  She's
alive.  She's fainted, but alive, and there's already so much blood.  It's
coming from her arm.  So much blood-I should've been able to stop it-
Dammit!  Shit!  Fuck!  Focus, Mulder, Focus-you can't loose it.  You can't. 
You have to get them away from her.  You have to focus.  Why the hell did you
let her follow you?  You could've made sure she didn't get the address.  How
did she get the address?  You could've taken her out of there forcibly.  You
could've-
No!  Focus-stop wondering-stop staring at the blood beginning to pool around
her as she lay on the floor and focus-it hit her arm-I'm pretty sure it hit her
arm-she'll be okay if I can just focus enough to get them away from her.  I can
beat myself upside the head all I want later-when she's okay-when she's safe-I
have to get her safe-I have to get them away from her!  
It becomes my mantra.  "Focus-get her safe-get them away from her-focus-get her
safe-get them away from her-"  With one final glance at the only woman I'll
ever trust enough to love and the only one I'll ever love enough to trust with
my heart I sprint from our hiding place behind a crate and in the other
direction.  I don't bother with aiming as I point and shoot blindly, rushing to
a crate across the way.  
Come on, fuckers-follow me-shoot at me!  
I feel the bullets whiz past my flesh but I don't let myself register them. 
I'm repeating my mantra again.
"Focus-get her safe-get them away from her-focus-get her safe-get them away
from her-"
I don't know how long it takes me to actually stop and realize that I've been
shot.  It's just a scratch-the bullet just grazed my right side-it doesn't even
hurt-but I stop long enough for them to take direct aim and shoot again.  Some
feral instinct in me knows I've just been targeted and I duck down and away,
but not fast enough to avoid the bullet entirely.  This one catches me in the
shoulder, and consequently while my body goes one way, my gun goes another.  
Dammit!  Shit!  Fuck!
******************************************************************************
He's down.  I see him go down in a haze of blood and sweat, just like I saw him
run from the shelter of the crate and straight out into the open.  And, just
like when I saw him run off, I can do nothing.  The pain is too much for me to
move.  Dammit Dana!  Come on...you must've been shot before.  Come on! 
Remember the pain enough to push it aside!  You've got to push it aside or
they're going to kill him!  They're going to kill Mulder and you can't have
that because you-because you got him into this!  
<*Bull*shit> my inner voice says emphatically.  <You know that's not the
reason-you know the real reason you can't let him die is because you->
I stifle her with a good, safe, bout of pain as I struggle to sit up.  They're
coming in for the kill.  They figure we're both down now, and are coming in
closer for the kill.  There's only two of them.  I had seen them before they
shot me. Or at least two of them left.  Mulder must've gotten someone.  I
hadn't had a chance to fire my gun, but I knew Mulder had, and he must've
gotten at least one of the bastards.  
Sweet Mother of God, there's so much blood.  It's *everywhere*.  The scent of
it is everywhere.  I feel it on my hands and I slide on it as I try to move.  I
feel dizzy suddenly as a bout of nausea fights with an abrupt flash of a memory
for my attention.  I close my eyes and the memory unfurls victorious as the
nausea fades.  
I see myself cleaning up the laboratories after classes in Medical School.  I
got paid a little on the side to do it, but that wasn't the main reason I had
decided to do it.  (Although the extra cash came in handy)  No-I had decided to
do it after the first time I had to perform an autopsy and the pungency of
formaldehyde together with blood had caused me to run straight to the nearest
restroom and kneel before the porcelain god.  I had taken the part time job of
cleaning up the mess of the laboratories to get myself used to the smell of
death and formaldehyde.  My nausea had been a weakness, and I had confronted it
until I could overcome it.  That was the way I treated everything.  When I had
a weakness I confronted whatever I feared, whatever made me weak, I immersed
myself in it until it was so much a part of me that it became my strength.  
Within a few weeks, I had the strongest stomach at the University.  
I draw upon the strength I had developed those few weeks and swallow my lunch
back down my throat.  I look next to me, searching for the gun Mulder had given
me.  It had to be somewhere nearby.  The shock of the bullet entering my flesh
had knocked it out of my hand, but it had to be nearby.  I search for it,
crazed.  
I finally find it.  But it's easily 2 feet away from me and everytime I move I
feel a wave of dizziness and nausea no matter how much I try to fight it off. 
It's no use.  There is no way I'm rushing for that gun.  
I can't call to him.  That much is obvious.  Our attackers didn't seem to be
paying me much heed.  They must see the blood and assume that I'm not much of a
threat.  Hell, I can't be sure that I am, but damn if I'm going to prove them
right.  
The blood!  I never thought I'd say this, but thank God for the blood!  It's
made the floor slippery and I don't have to move much in order to pull myself
across towards the gun.  God, I have to reach it.  I stretch my fingers,
reaching-the blood-the need, the fear-it reminds me-I'd been here before, I'd
been reaching for a gun then too, hadn't I?  But I'd been pulled away-I'd been
reaching for-calling for Mulder, then-
I had to fight a sob escaping my lips as the name came back to me.  Duane
Barry.  
I look over to find both men standing over Mulder.  The one closest to him has
his gun trained on Mulder and is speaking to him.  Mulder's eyes are open,
watching him, but he doesn't have the gun in his hand.  I spot it lying away
from him, just out of reach of his fingers.  I can't hear what the man is
saying, but I see the gun rise just a little as he prepares to fire.  
But I reach the gun this time.  My fingers touch the cold steel.  They're
slippery with blood, but I hold on firmly.  I won't let it go-I can't.  It
isn't me in danger this time-it's Mulder.  I grip the cold steel and sit up as
much as I could, trying not to faint dead away and then, satisfied that I was
as stable in that position as I would be, I stand, precariously,  trying not to
stumble, not to get their attention before I have to.  I still don't remember:
still don't remember how to shoot the gun, how to aim so that I can hit him-I'd
have one good chance before they realized I was still alive.  One chance-
Shit!  The man hears me.  He glances in my direction, not really expecting to
see anything, but I meet his eyes.
It was in his eyes.  It all comes flooding back, but I don't have time to
consciously process it.  My mind shifts into automatic pilot.  It picks and
chooses what it needs and sends the signal to my right hand so that I lift the
gun and shot, hardly aware of what I had done.  The whole process takes all of
3 seconds.  Too little time for the man to call out, to even come out of the
shock of seeing me alive and pointing a gun at him.  Too little time for me to
even realize what I'd done.  Consciously, I was still just staring at the man's
eyes.  
I heard the shout as if it were coming through water, but again, my unconscious
mind understands Mulder's words and responds accordingly, swiveling my body to
face the other man, and pointing the gun in his direction, prepared to shoot. 
Unfortunately, it was right about this moment that my conscious mind realizes
it's had enough, and my unconscious can do little against the wave of
light-headedness. 
The last thing I see before the darkness overtakes me is the man's gun pointing
in my direction.
******************************************************************************

++++++++++++++
Renaissance (5/5)
By: Cat
++++++++++++++

	Of course I know that it's scientifically impossible to shut out light by
closing your eyes tighter, but that doesn't mean I don't try doing it as soon
as I wake up.  Why the Hell was it bothering me so much, anyway.  <Oh!>  What a
headache.  It's going to be one of those days.  I can tell that right away.  I
must have left my shades open last night because I-
	I moan aloud as the pain shoots up my arm when I try to move it to block my
eyes from the pesky light.  Shouldn't have done that-why the hell does my arm
hurt so much, anyway?  It almost feels as if I've been-
"Scully?" 
That was Mulder.  What is Mulder doing in my-
My eyes open abruptly and I moan again as the light hits my brain unimpeded
making the headache flare up in all it's torturous glory.  
I'm not in my room.  This is immediately obvious.  I'm in a hospital bed, in a
hospital room, and of course Mulder was here.  Absurdly, my heart beat quickens
as I remember everything about the encounter at the warehouse.  I fainted
before I could shoot the other man-Mulder!
I attempt to open my eyes, searching for him.  "Mulder?" 
Was that my voice?  It was so hoarse.  From disuse, obviously.  The light still
hurts my eyes-my brain, but I need to open them.  I need to see him, to make
sure he was alright.  But the light makes my head hurt so much.  It's like
fingers of pain wrapping around my brain.  Where had I heard that before?  I'm
having a really hard time deciding which hurts more: the pain in my arm, the
pain in my head, or the light assaulting my closed eyelids.  
Unable to keep my eyes open for more than a few seconds at a time, I reach over
blindly for his hand.  "Mulder?"
I felt his hand firm and warm in mine.  "I'm here, Scully."
Yes, of course he is.  When hasn't he been?  I grip his hand.  "Close the
blinds, Mulder," I whisper, trying to clear my voice.  He releases me and I
immediately see the brightness which had been attempting a very offensive
invasion against my closed eyelids disintegrate and it is replaced by cool
dimness.  I open my eyes carefully, testing out the way the light, or lack
thereof, gets along with my brain.  
I feel his hand in mine once again as his shape comes into view above me.  I
blink a few times to clear my vision and I can see him entirely now.  Oh, can I
see him clearly.  I see him clearer than I've ever seen him.  I smile
reassuringly.  
"How you doing?" I ask huskily.
******************************************************************************
My God, even while she was lying on a hospital bed, her first thought was how
was I doing.  Will this woman never cease to amaze me?  I am so glad she
recognized me when she woke up.  I had been so afraid that she would've lapsed
back into another amnesia.  Maybe forgotten the past few days.  
I show her a bandage on my arm and another one around my middle.  "No broken
bones.  Just scratches," I grin at her.  "How are you doing?" I ask carefully.
	She shrugs-or tries to at any rate.  "I'm fine."
She almost sounded like the old Scully there for a minute.  I raise an eyebrow
at her and squeeze the hand I'm still holding.  "Let's try this again.  How are
you?" I repeat.
She smiles.  "Honestly?"  I nod.  "I feel like a pack of busses used my body
for the arena of a drag race; my head feels like it was used for a Marylin
Manson concert," she swallows visibly, "My throat feels like the Sahara, and I
could really use some juice."
I smile.  God, I'm really going to miss this open Scully when she gets all her
memories back.  I'm sure that once she does, she won't be this open with me. 
All her walls will be back firmly in place and things will go on, business as
usual.  
I stand up in mock salute.  "Your wish is my command."  
"Where you going?"
"To get you some aspirin and some juice-I'm sure I can wrangle some around here
somewhere," I look around the room, but she tugs my hand, making me sit back
down.
"Not yet-first tell me what happened after I fainted in that warehouse."
I lean forward and proceed to explain to her what happened after she had killed
the first man.  "You shot the first guy, the second one you distracted long
enough for me to get my gun and shoot him before he could get a shot out at
you.  I called for back-up and voila!"  
"What about the files we found?"
"There was so much that we hadn't even skimmed the surface of, Scully," I say
excitedly.  "We found all their files, but not all the girls.  They had already
killed 3 other girls, and because of the information in the files, we found 2
other girls marked for cancellation, and 3 other girls so far on the list. 
They don't know anything about what was being done to them.  No clue
what-so-ever.  They all had the same 3 doctors in the city, though.  We're
guessing that it was done through there.  We got 2 of the 3 doctors but one
escaped.  The other two killed themselves while in custody before we could
interrogate them, and there dies our information.  No other contact points or
information was found out about the company, and they don't own any other
companies anywhere in the US.  They've disappeared.  All we can hope is that we
can find the other girls on the list and warn them of what's going on."
I watched as her eyes went soft and distant.  I want to touch her so much it
hurts not to do so.  I'm still holding on to her hand, but it's not enough
suddenly.  I want to caress her cheek.  To brush that hair away from her neck. 
I stand up again before my thoughts can get any more errant and bring her
attention back to me.  
"Now for that juice."  I reluctantly let go of her hand and I start to walk
away, but she stops me before I can go any further by holding on suddenly to my
arm.  
"Mulder?"
I turn back to her, a smile on my face.  She lifts herself up on the elbow of
her good arm a little.  
"Hmm?" I ask.  She looks into my eyes seriously and I wonder what she's going
to speak to me at all. I see her swallow, and I get more worried.  I'm sure she
can feel my pulse starting to race in my wrist where she holds me.  "Scully?"
"I love you, Mulder," she says confidently-seriously.  
My heart stops-flutters alive-soars for a few seconds-then drops back into my
chest.  What can I say to that?  How does she mean that?  I remember a time I
had told her those same words, but she had pushed it aside.  She had thought I
was drugged, but still, she had never brought it up again.  I had assumed she
wasn't interested in pursuing this theme.  
And the Eddie van Blundht incident?  She had been willing to kiss me then.  But
it wasn't really me then, was it?  It was Edward van Blundht, and he had told
her exactly what she wanted to hear.  Like I told her-I am no Edward van
Blundht.  I've never told her what she wants to hear. Would she have let him
seduce her if I hadn't interrupted?  If I had come in a few seconds later, what
would I have found?  I've never been able to find the right words to say to
her-except that time she almost left me-and that time I had spoken more out of
desperation than anything else.  Out of selfishness, but dammit if I didn't
mean every word.  
What would have happened if that damned bee hadn't interrupted? 
I was too unsure of myself, of our relationship to mention these incidents, and
she sure as hell had never made mention of them herself.  Those damn walls of
hers hadn't let her.  But here she was.  She was telling me she loved me.  And
dammit, I couldn't take advantage of her.  She doesn't remember everything I've
done to her.  She's drugged herself.  She doesn't remember who she is.  The
psychologist in me knows that she's made an attachment to me because I have
been the one to offer her the most information about her life-information she
doesn't remember.  
I can't take advantage of her.
So I force myself to smile amiably.  "I know, Scully."  I turn around and walk
out of the room, cursing fate and cursing luck.  If only she had told me this
in full cognizance of herself, I would-I would-
<Stop it, Mulder.>  I tell myself.  <You know it's never gonna happen.  You two
are doomed to forever profess your feelings under the influence or while in
danger of your lives.  It's no use.>  
It would've been so easy to just lean over and kiss her when she said that.  So
easy to tell her I loved her too.  But I knew she would remember this, and she
would be incredibly embarrassed by it when she got all her memories back.  
I just couldn't take advantage of her.
******************************************************************************
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
AUTHOR'S NOTE:  Final segment follows.  
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
We see Mulder as we're trying to get by Mathilda, the bouncer/nurse in charge
on Scully's floor.  
"Hey guys," he greets, slightly dazed.  He glances from Byers' flowers, to
Langley's wrapped package and finally to my box.  
"Hey, Mulder-would you tell Mathilda the Hun, here to let us through?" I ask.
"Huh?" he asks.
I look at his hand, he was holding a Styrofoam cup with a liquid that looked
suspiciously like orange juice.  "A little early for a screwdriver, ain't it,
Mulder?" I ask.
He blinks, as if coming out of a daze.  "What?" he looks at the cup and shakes
his head.  "No-no-this is for Scully."
"Should she be having a screwdriver?" Langley asks.
I swat him across the head.  But Mulder is still half in his stupor state so he
answers him.  
"It's orange juice."
"Hey, Mulder, you alright?" Byers asks him.
"Yeah, I'm fine."
"Now you're sounding like Scully," Langley teases.
"Scully?" Mulder asks, glancing at him as if he didn't remember he was there. 
He was staring to worry me.  He only ever got like this when something was
bothering him.  "Hey, Mulder...is Scully alright?  We came to see her."
He blinks rapidly again, focusing on me, I think for the first time.  "Yeah,
she's alright...she's healing nicely."
"We came as soon as we heard," Byers explains.  "Can we see her?"
"Yeah...Mathilda the Barbarian here doesn't want to let us pass," Langley
motions the large woman staring at us evilly over the counter.  
"Sure, sure..." he waves at the nurse, who doesn't look too pleased, but makes
no further motions to impede our entry.  "Come on...she's over here... but," he
turns back to face us.  "I should warn you...she won't remember you... she lost
her memory a few days ago, and is only remembering pieces of things about her
past."
There are nods all around as he leads us down the hall and knocks on the closed
door.   He peeks through the door and speaks softly.  "Scully?"  She mumbles a
reply to him that we can't hear, but he holds the door open for us.
Okay, so I admit it.  I think Scully's hot.  I've said it from the beginning. 
And sure, my heart beats jumps a little at the thought of seeing her.  But,
hey, I'm not that dense.  I know she'd never be interested in me-not really. 
And if it weren't for Mulder, then I probably wouldn't make half the innuendoes
I do-but Mulder needs me to.  He might not know it, but the look in his eyes
gets more and more intense every time I make some comment about Scully's
beauty.  I figure eventually, I'll wear him down.  Make him admit the way he
feels.  
So hey-I guess I've gotta make sacrifices, right?
Mulder walks in first.  "Hey, Scully-There's some people here to see you."
I take that as our cue to follow him in, so we do and I smile at her, motioning
the box.  I'm about ready to introduce myself when she smiles wryly at me.  
"If you make so much as one comment I deem to be inappropriate about me in a
hospital gown Frohike, I'll sick Mathilda the Bloodthirsty on you!" she warns
playfully.  At least as playfully as I've ever heard Scully be.
I smile and look over at Mulder.  "I guess she remembers us, huh, Spooky?" My
smile almost fades, though, when I see the look of disbelief cross Mulder's
eyes.  What was going on?  He turns back to Scully, almost running to the side
of her bed.
"You remember them?" he asks her somewhat desperately.  
She smiles wickedly at him.  "Sure do."
Mulder's quiet.  "Hey, take it easy, Mulder-don't be jealous she remembered us
and not you-"
"Actually, I have my memory back-" Scully says sweetly.  "Every inch of it." 
She turns another sweet smile at Mulder whose jaw has dropped in a surprise I
can't comprehend.
"Since when?" he asks hoarsely.  
There's something going on here that is not coming through completely to us.  
"The trigger was the man's eyes," she says softly.  "But I didn't have time to
think of it all, until I woke up here-and I saw you."
Okay.  There was definitely something going on here in the undercurrent. 
"Well, hey, we're glad you got your memory, back, right boys?" I ask.  "We've
brought you some stuff."  We move forward with the gifts, and she takes them,
thanking us all, smelling the flowers Byers hands her shyly, and grimacing at
the video of "Faces of Death" that Langley offered.  She raises an eyebrow at
the lingerie I offered and I shrugged nonchalantly.  
This took all of 5 minutes.  I meant to comment on the reasons for the lingerie
when Mulder seemed to snap.  
"So you remember *everything*?" Mulder asks, a bit redundantly if you ask me.
She meets his eyes and nods slowly.  There was a double meaning there
somewhere, I am sure of it.  
I don't have time to examine the thought, though, because Mulder is up and has
pushed us halfway out the door before any of us even realize what's going on. 
"Hey, Mulder, what's up?"
"Thanks for stopping by, I'll call you guys soon-"
I push against him as he shoves us out the door.  "What's the Hell-?"
"Go home, guys."  He turns away from us and enters the room again.  I try to
sneak a peak at what's going on inside the room before the door closes.  I
catch a glimpse of Mulder walking purposefully up to Scully who watches him
come with a strange smile on her face.  He grabs a chair and bringing it close
to her bed, sits on it.  
"Scully, we've got to talk."  I hear him say before the door clicks silently
shut, taking with it any opportunity I may have to hear Scully's answer.
Definitely something going on here.  

<<THE END>>

++++++++++++++++++++
Renaissance:  An Epilogue
By: Cat
++++++++++++++++++++
	
	"I'm so afraid to love you/but more afraid to loose./
               Clinging to a past that doesn't let me choose..."
                  -Sarah McLachlan, "I Remember You"

         I watch him steadily advance on me.  It was now or never and we both
knew it.  
        "Scully, we've got to talk."
         Breathe, Dana...breathe.  I know I can trust this man.  I knew that
the first night of our first case when I dropped my robe and bared my underwear
to him the first night of our first case together, and I knew it 3 days ago,
but I never really knew just how much until I sat here and watched him and I
was able to process all the memories I lost and all my actions while I hadn't
had them.  
My God, I'd practically thrown myself at him more than once and he hadn't taken
advantage of the situation.  He could've easily told me anything and I would
have believed him.  
           Why had I trusted him so completely without even remembering him?  
           I smile to myself.  The answer was so simple and it had come to me
as clear as day when he was about to leave me.  
           Now, the answer to what had prompted me to say it aloud, I'll
perhaps never know.  Maybe it was the way it felt to be this other Dana without
memories.           Maybe it was that I hadn't known pain, or suffering.  
          But actually, maybe I already know the answer.  Maybe I've known it
all along.  With all the walls I had built around my heart throughout my life,
I had attempted to close myself off from pain.  To stop the pain so I could go
on.  At first, I needed to be strong and I couldn't be strong with pain in the
way, but soon it became the only way I knew how to deal, even if I had someone
around who would offer to take some of the load off me for a while.  
         What I hadn't realized, was that somehow...someway...Mulder had made
his way into my heart, passed the walls, but he hadn't crumbled them. 
Everytime he tried to chip away at them, there I would come with the mortar and
build it right back up again.  That night outside his apartment when he told me
I made him whole, he knocked off a huge chunk, alright, and maybe he would've
been able to knock it all down if it wouldn't have been for that damned bee! 
How long can a bee live in your collar, anyway?  
          He hadn't crumbled them and because I hadn't let him crumble them, I
hadn't let myself realize that he had made his way into my heart.  I hadn't
realized that he meant everything to me and that I trusted him more than I
could ever trust myself.  
         That I loved him...
        Love him still.
        "Talk about what, Mulder?" I ask, finally finding my voice again.
        I knew he loved me, I always had.  The question was, what were we going
to do about it, now that he knew I loved him?
        He looked at me, as if at a loss for words.  He brought a chair next to
my bed and sat down, staring at me incredulously.
       "You remember everything?" he asks carefully.
        "We've been through this, I think, Mulder," I say, trying to lighten my
voice.  'Just get to it!' I want to scream.  'Just say it!'  He shakes his head
and I figure maybe he could use a little push.  "What do we need to talk about,
Mulder?" I prompt.
         He meets my eyes, his own wide and almost scared.  He is at a loss for
words, so I decide to help him along.
        "About us, maybe?"  He thinks about this for a few moments, and nods
slowly.  "About what I just said to you before you brought me the juice?" 
Again he nods.  "Well," I fix the sheets covering me, more out of need for
something to do than any real desire to do it.  "Do you have a problem with
what I've said?"  He thinks again and shakes his head almost imperceptibly. 
"Does it surprise you?" I ask softly, meeting his eyes.  He nods, even though I
don't need the physical representation.  I can see the surprise in his eyes.  I
shake my head.  "It shouldn't.  I have for a long time, you know."
He nods again, still incapable of speech.  I extend my arms and he leans into
me, wrapping me up into his arms tenderly.  I know what he's thinking right
now.  I know because I am thinking it myself.  He's thinking what this is going
to do to our professionalism.  The new dangers it presents to us both.  The
same things I asked myself time and again since I confessed my love to him
before he left here.           Things I asked myself after he woke up in this
very hospital after the Bermuda Triangle incident and he told me he loved me.  
          I pull away from him but keep him close.  "Mulder...what you said
after you got back from the Queen Anne...did you mean it?" 
         His eyes soften and he smiles, nodding again slowly.  "Scully...I..."
I stop him with a finger to his lips and smile.  I shake my head at him softly.
 "No more words..." I whisper as I gently lead his lips to mine.  They'll be
time for words later.  

THE END!!!!!!!

Now, that's really the end, folks!  That's it...no more.  I guess you could say
something good happened from my computer crashing!  I had already written
something for the epilogue, but didn't like it much when it crashed.  I was
able to retrieve Renaissance from a kind soul who had kept it and then sent it
back to me and as I was re-reading it, I got inspired to write this little
bit...so...here ya go...the promised little piece of (finally!) MSR.  

Of course, you're more than welcome to mail me and tell me how much you love it
(or hate it!).  I've said it before, and I'll say it again....I thrive on
feedback!