Only Familiar

"Sir, the 'Simpson's Movie' hardly counts as a movie," laughs Sam as she takes a seat in the commissary.

"Oh, why not?" came Jack's reply, disappointment clear in his voice with just a hint of whining. "It's got the word 'movie' in the title, for crying out loud!"

"I'm sorry, but little yellow figures hardly constitute a movie in my books," she counters as she takes a bite of her pie. "I mean, cut out some useless dialogue and I'm sure they could have made it into a two-part television episode."

He shakes his head and takes a bite from his own piece of pie. "That…You…I cannot believe…" He's speechless with disbelief and waggles his fork in attempt to emphasize his point, earning him a giggle. "You know what? I'm just going to forget you ever said that."

Chapter One

The remnant weight of sleep presses down on me as I open my eyes, and realise only then I've been unconscious. I pull myself upright; it's an easier task than I'd anticipated it'd be.

The next thing I notice is that there are eyes on me. A man stands a distance away, watching me unashamedly. I start to shiver, and yet as I rub my arms I feel it's probably more a self-conscious action rather than for warmth. The man picks up a device and activates it.

"She's awake," he says into it.

And then he's watching me again. I make a point to look away; his eyes are impatient; I don't know him and yet I feel he's waiting for me to meet his unspoken expectations.

I scan the room as quickly as I can, unwilling to remain completely ignorant of my surroundings while still fearful of what I might find them to be. It's one room but the place is huge. The walls to my left are covered in shelves, holding a vast number of intriguing items that I could never hope to understand the function of. Under the shelves stands a long sort of… cabinet… box; gold in colour. I'm not quite sure what it is. Ahead of me, along the back wall, is a cabinet of some description and on it are a hundred bottles and jars, each containing liquids of every colour, that cling to their glass walls with their creepily slimy consistency. Opposite is a chair that sits strangely in the middle of the room granted audience by a panel which stands on a pedestal. It's angled away from me and I can't see it clearly from here but that doesn't matter. Not even my curiosity can completely overwhelm my fear at the moment.

"Where am I?" I say, my voice shaking slightly. As I finally ask, I hope my question is loud enough for the man to hear.

It seems he finds this… amusing, this man watching me. I chance a glance up at him as those three words run through my head at a hundred miles per hour, being questioned and analysed for some sort of misconstrued meaning or joke. But, despite my best efforts and most abstract, cryptic thinking, I can find nothing.

I am sorely tempted to refrain from asking more questions for fear that this man will find it amusing again, but I find the words rise to my lips like bubbles in a cup of water – unstoppable curiosity. "What am I doing here?" What I somehow knew would happen, happens; his smile grows.

Why is he pleased that I can't remember anything?

"What do you think you're doing?" There's a new voice, loud and clear, that comes from somebody who enters the room. "This is a medical bay, not entertainment. Leave at once!" The man seems to wither like a flower in the snow and does as he is bid without question.

That leaves the newcomer.

"Are you alright?" he asks as he comes fully into my sight for the first time.

With me sitting on some kind of stretcher, the newcomer towers above me with his tall, muscled figure. His dark hair is short and a carefully shaped beard grows on his face, as though even it is defined by the sense of authority he emits. His long, black coat floats a little as he walks, revealing a small amount of the red vest embroidered with gold he wore – my knight in shining armour.

Overwhelmed with his presence, I avoid his eyes as much as I had avoided those of the last man and merely nod in response to his question. I feel stupid; in my skin, I feel reasonably tall and strong, but in my mind…

I can't remember…

My strength…Can I use it? Could I use it to protect myself?

I'm still shivering; my spine vibrates with what may as well have been electricity that is constantly flowing through it. No matter how much I try to control it, this feeling – this horrible, uncomfortable feeling that I think I've forced upon myself – I'm unsuccessful.

But, it seems I am far too proud – going how far back, I wonder? – to remain so timid; I make a point to meet the newcomer's eyes. Dark, brown abyss meets me, and I suddenly feel my resolve weaken and the floor steals my gaze once more.

"I'm sorry about him," he says, somewhat empathetically. "I don't think they understand quite what you've been through." He pulled up a chair for himself and sat opposite me.

My heart shudders in my chest; hope pounds in my temples as I tentatively ask, "So…I know you?"

He smiles at me, just a little. "You're very important to me," he says.

I suddenly notice that I've met his eyes once more. "What's your name?" I ask him.

His smile stays the same but his eyes turn sad, and he says, "I'm hoping that one day, you'll be able to remember me by yourself."

I sigh. The hope has turned to a simple headache as I call upon memories that simply refuse to surface.

The newcomer interlocks his fingers. "What do you remember?"

I open my mouth, but nothing emerges; it takes several attempts before I manage a single word. "Nothing."

He closes his eyes and nods, leaning forward a little. "You don't know where you are?"

"No."

"How you came to be here?"

"No?"

"You can't remember any of your family or…" he pauses for a second. "..friends?"

Friends, family? Again, I heave a sigh. "Nothing." Regret fills my voice regardless of how I try to remove it – surely I owed it to the people I loved to remember them? My throat is full. "Can you tell me?"

He thinks for a moment. "Perhaps it would be better to wait until tomorrow," he says. "You've had a lot to take in." I open my mouth – no, it would be better for me to start remembering things now – but he's too quick for me. "A night of rest would do you good." He stands up and returns his chair before moving to the door.

He beckons. "I'll show you to your quarters if you'd like – its far better accommodation, I daresay."

I stand and follow him into the corridor. I try to ignore the lights that cast shadows around the hall, which seem a thousand times too large for simply the two of us. The corridor is otherwise deserted. Several turns later, we come to a halt. We step inside a smaller room, much the same as the corridor but a dead end. Unsure of where we can go next, I look at the floor. The restricted space makes me a little nervous. The man presses several buttons and, with a lurch of my stomach, we've moved. My head snaps up to see what's happening, but it seems I'm too late.

We enter onto almost identical corridors and hallways and I need a second to regain my balance. I turn and look back into the room with awe. "What was that?" I ask, a little breathless.

"That," explains the man, "was the…elevator." He pronounces the word 'elevator' carefully.

Then, we're on our way again.

Several more turns later and we stop once more.

"These are your quarters," says the man. "I'll leave you here and post an attendant outside." A tall, burly figure appears but surely he's not an attendant? I scan him quickly – is that a… gun?

The first man notices where I'm looking and laughs. "I'm afraid we have a history of intruders here," he explains. "All guests must be protected."

I force the corners of my mouth to turn upwards slightly in an attempt to return his humour, and maybe it's just the corridor, but his words ring emptily.

With a swish of his coat, the man bids me goodnight and begins to walk away.

"You'll tell me everything tomorrow?" I stumble on the spot, unsure whether to follow him. He merely nods at me.

He knows me, what I've forgotten! He can tell me – and I'm letting him walk away!

As he disappears from view, so do my ideas of finding answers to the millions of questions that are on the tip of my tongue. My memories… what am I without them? This I ask myself as the door closes behind me.

I suppose the room is comfortable. There's a mirror in the corner, a bed with a mountainous pile of pillows and a table laden with fruit, cheese and bread. My stomach twinges in hunger, but I avoid the food. Instead, I wander idly; there's the same emptiness here as there was the corridor.

In my mind, in this place… In my heart. Hollow.

A moment of cold surprise grabs me; there's an extra figure in the room. It's a moment before I realise that it's only my reflection in a mirror. I move closer to look at myself. Short, blonde hair. Blue eyes. Pale skin.

And wearing a… dress… thing. It's the same colour as my eyes, with the tiniest bit of silver threads woven into the fabric that glitter, laugh, in the flickering light. The bodice fits me snugly and the long sleeves creep down my arms before flaring just a little at the ends. The skirt billows down to the floor until just below my ankles where it lightly skims the floor.

For how long I stare at the dress in the mirror, I'm not sure. And then, as though the idea were a sudden light in the darkness, I realise something.

I hate it.

I unexplainably, unfoundedly, irrevocably hate it. From its impractical (and, quite frankly, more revealing than I'd like) upper to the very bottom that makes me feel as though a single misplaced step might trip me up, I hate it.

Setting my jaw in determination, I force myself to look away from the mirror. I itch uncomfortably in my skin – where did this hate, such a strong, unreasonable feeling, come from? Shouldn't I know the basis of a feeling like that? I pull at my hair, hoping that it might help my memories return, but it does nothing except instigate a headache.

I feel dirty. I feel like a cheat. I'm feeling something that's so strong, but it means nothing to me. It's like breathing, or my heartbeat – I don't need to think about them, they just come naturally. A feeling like hate isn't meant to be like that. It needs to have a reason - yet another thing I baselessly believe.

But without my memories, it doesn't.

I sigh and look at the bed. "Get some rest," Mister Man-Whose-Name-I'm-Supposed-to-Remember had said, but I don't want to lie down. Awaiting me in sleep is emptiness, are all the things I can't remember. And then there's the guard waiting outside...Right now, he scares me more than anybody who could break in.

Alone in this place with a strange man outside and I don't know, well, anything… Now that, the feeling of susceptibility and defenselessness…that I hate.

I sit at the table, but I don't touch the food. Somehow the fear of the emptiness I'll find in sleep has filled the spaces that should have been filled by food. By sitting here I hope that I might keep some night-long vigil to protect myself with strength that may or may not actually exist; I don't want to sleep, but I'm feeling tired – unbelievably tired. Soon I feel my eyelids drooping closed and I lean forward onto the table, using my arms to pillow my head.

It's not long after that, despite my reluctance, sleep claims me.

::Authors notes::

A big shout-out and thanks goes to awesome beta drey'auc475, who managed to find time to edit for me while being extremely busy! n.n

Also, the title is the height of horrible, so any suggestions would be great.

Thanks for reading, and have a really nice day :D