Disclaimer: I do not own Torchwood or The X-Files, or any character of either franchise. I am only borrowing them for
entertainment purposes and I will return them in moderately good condition.
Notes: Still set pre-Season One in Torchwood. Set during Season One of the X-Files, directly following 'Deep Throat.'
Warnings: This story contains spoilers for 'Deep Throat.'
"They're here aren't they?" Mulder had asked, calling out to the man who had warned him away from this case in the first
place; this case that had led to nowhere. A week ago he and Scully had gone to investigate a missing test pilot and he had
nothing to show for it but a blurry photograph of a UFO.
He wanted answers, needed answers.
"Mr. Mulder, they've been here for a long, long time," was the only answer he received before he was left alone on the
racetrack. It wasn't near enough to satisfy his curiosity.
As soon as the mysterious man was out of sight, Mulder began to run again. Running was easy, simple. All you had to do was
keep moving, keep breathing. You didn't need to think. All you had to do was keep your legs going, to follow the lines of the
Mulder loved running. It was a simple way to wind down when he was feeling too wired to sleep. It calmed him when he
needed calming. It wasn't doing much good now though. Now, he couldn't stop his mind from chasing the elusive clues that
would lead him nowhere.
The Budahas case was closed. There was no investigation anymore. That alone galled him. But worse than all of that, was the
fact that his own memories had been stolen from him. Even a week later he still couldn't remember how he had gotten to Ellens
Air Base, not to mention anything he had done or seen while there. All he could remember was being driven out to the gate,
passing that man who had claimed earlier to be a reporter, and then climbing into the car with Scully. Trying to think of
anything else, to remember even one detail, gave him a headache.
So he ran, following the track until his lungs burned and his legs felt like jelly. He slowed to a stop and leaned over, bracing his
hands on his knees as he panted heavily.
"Can't say I'm not loving the view!" came an overly cheerful voice.
Mulder stood up abruptly and spun, hand automatically reaching for a gun that wasn't on his hip. He stared at the man in front
of him in sheer disbelief. Just how many mysterious visitors would he be forced to endure today?
Standing at the edge of the track, looking impossibly nonchalant - even in his out-of-date clothing - was someone Mulder hadn't
laid eyes on since before he'd been partnered with Scully. To be honest, he'd thought that he'd never see the man again.
"Jack, isn't it?" Mulder said by way of a greeting. He didn't like that this man had so easily sneaked up on him, especially since
he stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb.
"You've remembered me," the man grinned widely. "I'm flattered."
Mulder flinched, the words stinging like a barb. Had it been an intentional insult, a reference to his recent bout of memory loss?
Deciding he didn't care one way or the other, Mulder turned to leave.
A hand clamped down on his shoulder. Mulder spun and slapped the other man's hand off of him. Jack raised his hands into
the air, a contrite expression on his face. "A poor choice of words on my part. I didn't mean anything by it."
Huffing out an annoyed breath, Mulder stepped a few paces back. He wanted to keep a distance between them. He didn't trust
this man in the least. "What do you want?" he asked.
The casual smile was back on Jack's face. "Is that any way to greet a concerned friend?"
"Is that what you are?"
"I'm hurt, Agent Mulder," Jack replied, placing a hand over his heart and pouting just a little. "I come all the way across the
ocean just to see how you're doing and this is the gratitude I get?"
Mulder's mind latched onto only one fact. "Across the ocean?" he asked. He remembered Jack mentioning before that the
company he worked for was based overseas, but he hadn't been able to question it then. Their meeting had been so brief. Now
maybe he could get some answers. He wouldn't hold his breath over it though. He had the feeling that Jack was well practiced
in keeping secrets, especially his own.
Jack only smiled at him in an enigmatic way. A simple shift had that expression turning into one of concern. "I heard you ran
into a little trouble on your last case. How are you, Mulder?"
"How am I?" Mulder snapped back. He turned abruptly and took a couple steps away, then swiftly turned back again,
frustration bubbling up inside of him.
Like air escaping a punctured balloon, the anger simply seeped away. Mulder was tired now, utterly drained. He ran a
surprisingly shaky hand through his hair, expelling a breath. He didn't know what to do anymore. He dropped to the ground
and pulled his knees in close. Bracing his elbows on his knees, he buried his face in his hands, fingers clenching into his hair.
"Just leave me alone," Mulder croaked.
There was a rustle of fabric and the press of warmth against his side. He didn't look, but he knew that Jack was sitting beside
him now. An arm drew over his back, hand pressing lightly to his shoulder. "I know how you feel," Jack said, his voice
Mulder jerked his face from his palms, looking at Jack with incredulity. "I had my memories stolen from me," he bit out. "How
can you possibly know how I feel?"
There was something in Jack's eyes, a shadowed flicker of pain and hurt. In that moment, Mulder had no doubt that Jack
understood perfectly well. What was Jack involved in? Who did he work for? Mulder wasn't entirely sure that he wanted the
answers to those questions.
"Two years," Jack said, breaking eye contact and looking out across the track. He draped his one arm over his own knees in a
casual manner, his other still curled around Mulder. "I used to work for this agency. It's not important who they are. One day
I woke up and I'm missing two years of my life. All the memories gone, erased, by my employers. It's been a long time since
then and I still don't know what they took, what I did during that time, or why it was taken away from me. For all I know, I
could have hurt people." He turned to face Mulder then, his expression serious. "They took one day from you. Imagine losing
seven hundred and twenty-nine more."
Mulder dropped his gaze, letting out a breath. He couldn't imagine losing so much time, so many memories; bad enough the day
he couldn't remember. "Sorry," he mumbled, putting his forehead to his knees.
Jack patted him on the back. "Just wanted to give you a little perspective," he said.
Mulder looked up at him. One day didn't seem like much when compared to two years. "It's just ... that I can't remember."
"I know how you feel."
Mulder believed him this time. He nodded, having nothing else to say.
Jack pushed himself to his feet and brushed the dirt from his coat. He looked back at Mulder, smiling again. "Don't let this one
setback detract you from your goals, Agent Mulder. You have a lot of potential." He held out his hand.
Mulder chuckled then. He accepted the help to his feet. "Still trying to recruit me, Jack?"
"I never give up." His smile turned flirtatious while his eyes raked up and down Mulder's body. "Especially when I see
something I want."
Mulder drew away, shaking his head. He was more amused with the flirting than offended. "I'm happy where I am."
Jack shrugged. "I hear you've got yourself a partner. A pretty redhead by all accounts. No wonder you're so set on staying. I
would too with perks like that."
"Scully would probably shoot you if you called her a perk."
Jack's grin widened. "Oh, feisty. I like a challenge. And you, my dear Fox, are the best challenge I've come across in quite
awhile. I'll wear you down eventually."
"I'm sure you'll try." Mulder turned to head in the opposite direction.
He was stopped by Jack's boisterous voice announcing, "I really do love that look." Mulder looked back just in time to catch the
sly wink before Jack turned and left.
An enigma, that's what Jack was. As the man disappeared from sight, Mulder realized that he still didn't know anything else
about the man, or the company he represented.
To Be Continued ...
(I'll write more when I think of it)
Author's Note: Origin of the title. Anamnesis is a noun.
Meaning: the recollection or remembrance of the past; reminiscence.