Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“the curtains stir. there you are on the bed, like a gift. like a touchable dream.” (carol ann duffy

.-

The first thing Alex processes when he comes too is the throbbing pain that’s pulsing in his head, the second is the abrasively florescent light of the room, and the third is a pair of cornflower eyes that are staring at him with such longing that it borders on scary.

“He’s waking up,” another voice out of frame announces frantically, and it takes a moment for Alex’s groggy mind to recognize it, to place it belonging to June. Suddenly the apprehension that was crawling up his spine fades to comfort. Alex isn’t sure what in holy hell is going on but June’s here, that makes everything a little more sane.

“I’ll grab a nurse,” a voice that Alex can’t discern— one that’s distinctly masculine and distinctly British— announces.

Everything still hurts like hell if Alex’s being honest. The throbbing in his head was a picnic compared to the heaviness weighing on his leg and the pulsing running up and down his side. He recognizes that feeling at least, remembers it from his high school days when some dingus on the opposing lacrosse team would tackle Alex with way too much force, leaving ugly bruises marred against his skin and a sore sort of aching for days on end.

Alex would really like to ask why the fuck his entire left side is inflamed with those sorts of bruises, but he can’t with how his mouth feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton. Thankfully the aforementioned dude with cornflower eyes must understand by the way Alex’s pursing his lips because suddenly he’s thrust out a styrofoam cup and is gingerly pressing the straw to his lips, one hand folded around the back of Alex’s neck.

“Parched are we?” The blonde tries to joke, but his smile is wobbly and hands are shaking as he sets aside the now empty tumbler. Jesus fucking Christ this dude is British too! What the hell Austin?

“Yeah,” Alex rasps, but doesn’t bother to try and pretend as if he’s in the mood for laughing, pleasantries be damned. Everything’s starting to come into focus now, and Alex isn’t quite sure how to even begin gathering his bearings. He figures that sitting up would help, so with a deep inhale he does just that, finally gets a clear view of where exactly he is.

NO surprises here, it’s a fucking hospital room.

It’s painted in muted tones of beige and eggshell, with a monitor keeping track of his heartbeat and an IV pumping liquids into his hand.

“They couldn’t find a proper vein in your forearm,” cornflower eyes explains with a tinkling humor that Alex doesn’t even begin to care understanding.

He flickers his gaze around until he spots her, June. Oh thank God. It’s like all his anxiety suddenly floats out the open window that’s painting her golden once he finally gets a proper look at her, he wasn’t just imagining the recognition. She’s here, she always knows what’s going on with frightening precision.

“What happened,” he asks her, near desperate.

There’s an awkward silence that lapse over the room, composed of a surprised expression that pulls on her face and a sadder one that etches into the blonde’s. But then it passes. June coughs slightly before walking up so that she’s carding a hand in Alex’s hair like she use to do when they were younger.

“It was a drunk driving accident,” she begins to explain softly, tears already beginning to swell in her big eyes. Strangely enough the blonde guy— holy shit Alex needs to figure out his name— stands up to sling an arm around her in comfort, padding her head gingerly as she continues to tell the story about the drunken teen who hit Alex on the slippery streets and how they were all so terrified he’d never wake up again.

And oh!

Of course!

This must be the new boyfriend June was raving about to him and Nora all last week. The first guy she’s dated since her fated break up with Danny once he moved literally across the country. Alex has to give his sister props, this dude is leagues ahead of any of the guys she’s ever dated before— honestly leagues ahead of most dudes. He’s all tawny locks and lithe muscle and like over six god damn feet tall. He looks like a fucking J Crew model and Alex is only slightly petty over it.

“When we got the call Alex,” June stutters over a sob, pulls tight on his hair like she couldn’t help it and he feels so guilty that he made her feel this way.

“I’m sorry bug.”

“Don’t apologize you idiot! I’m just so happy you’re okay!” June bellows, is only stopped by her boyfriend’s lithe arms from tackling Alex full throttle.

“Glad to know she’s been completely cool headed,” Alex jokes, leveling him with a look of fond exasperation. His face in turn is so open and aching that Alex feels like he’s invading on a moment just for the pair of them. June must’ve been a neurotic mess to extremes even he’s never seen if her boyfriend has been this worried about her.

“Oh please, Henry’s been like a thousand times worse!” June crows wetly, brushing away her sniffles with the back of her hand.

Alex rolls his eyes at her dramatics before holding out his hand to the dude, doesn’t think a forced smile really is expected considering that he’s the one in the hospital bed and this guy— well he’s somehow a hotter version of Steve Rogers, which is all types of fucked up if anyone were to ask him.

“Nice to meet you man, June’s been wigging about you for weeks. Erm, ah sorry that this’s how you’re being introduced to the family.”

There goes that pregnant silence again, and Alex is really fucking confused. He didn’t say anything abrasive? Besides, any social faux pas he might’ve committed should probably be excused considering his current predicament. It’s not like when he pelted her homecoming date Freshman year with paintballs after he dropped her off because June was texting him all evening about how boring of a dude he was.

That had made her snort out her genuine, ridiculously loud, laugh. Now, well now it’s all types of awkward and June’s got a confused look splattered all over her face while there’s a painful sort of tension woven into the blonde, Henry’s, posture and his thin lips are pinched and brows are furrowed and nose wrinkled in a way Alex is comfortable enough to admit is kinda precious. But yeah, the dude looks fucking gutted.

What the fuck did Alex say?

“Okay, hah hah bro.” June tries for a chortle, it comes off a little broken and a lot worried. “You’re not funny, so cut it out.”

“What!” Alex demands, now is starting to get real pissy and flustered and just all around bewildered.

“Alex I said cut it out!” June pleas, brown eyes imploring and stance going rigid.

“Cut what out June!”

“Alex,” her boyfriend, Captain America incarnate— well erm minus the accent— sits down now, bores his eyes directly into Alex’s own with such intensity that it makes it so there’s an unnerving pressure that squirms beneath his skin. “Who— Who am I?”

“I don’t know man,” Alex knits his brows together, studies a point over Henry’s shoulder instead, simply unable to handle that sort of searing intensity that he’s got trained on Alex right now. “I mean June said you were an engineering major I think? Did we like already meet or something?”

“Oh,” June deflates, face gone ashen.

“I’m going to find Pez,” Henry says, sounding like a blown out candle, and Alex can’t help but watch him as he slowly rises and putters out the room with careful steps.

“What did I say?” Alex asks, utterly perplexed now. “Did I like do something to him?”

“No, no Alex nothing. You did nothing wrong,” June hurries to assure him, a new round of tears flooding her eyes as she gently lies besides him and tugs Alex’s head into the crook of her neck and shoulder, as if he wasn’t like half a foot taller than her. But it’s grounding, he feels secure in his sister’s arms and all he wants to do is fall asleep again and figure out all these muddled memories later on when he wakes.

Fuck.

What is even going on.

Chapter Text

I crave a love that happens as sweetly
as it was named. If love must be swung,
let it soften. Not split.
— Donte Collins

.-

Sometimes Alex thinks he’s one of the lucky ones, the chosen few that actually know what’s going on around them, because when he was being brought up he knew that the fairytales his first grade teacher would croon to them during story time— the ones about beautiful princesses and courageous knights and emerald roads that lead to magical wonderlands— were all thrumming with truth. Alex grew up with parents who loved one another more than him in all his seven year old naivete could fathom. He saw it in the crooked smile his dad would cast towards his mom when Ellen wasn’t looking. Saw it in the way she would thumb at his cheek dotingly when he would call her a slew of sickeningly sweet pet names, heard it almost every night during dinner when they would lose themselves in laughter and everything felt splendid.

Alex knows that he’s the luckiest still because he learned early on that once upon a time rarely ever ended with happy ever after. In tandem with his learning that soulmates do exist— with the assurance that his parents were that to one another— Alex excepted that more often than not, love wasn’t enough to keep a relationship from crumbling to dust. In fact, Alex reckons that love in the way painted in all those story books— with chirping doves and double rainbows and sparkling skies actin as the backdrop to some epic kiss— was the least important part to any of it. He knows that because after just as often as he witnessed laughter soaked dinners between his parents, he was also stuck between poison coded insults being volleyed from one person to the other, and words that literally trembled with suppressed rage.

He knows that Ellen and Oscar never wanted Alex or June to hear the arguments, the ones that started as spats early on and eventually dissolved into all out brawls by the time they both signed the divorce papers, but it was a ridiculous notion that Alex and June wouldn’t hear it, that they wouldn’t feel the the tension suspended in the air or see the way they would roll their eyes at anything the other said. And yeah, Alex knows that objectively he had it good— he grew up the All American life, complete with a nuclear family and picket fence and even a Rottweiler for a bit before they found out Oscar was terribly allergic. And Alex is thankful for all of that, but it doesn’t mean that things weren’t hard sometimes, doesn’t mean that he didn’t use lacrosse an schoolwork to burrow into when all his emotions became too overwhelming, doesn’t mean that he didn’t feel so very lonely sometimes when he was lying in bed and he could just barely make out the muffled sparring session Ellen and Oscar were having out only a few rooms over.

Sometimes during those nights Alex would quietly pad over to June’s room, and they would listen to which ever sugary pop playlist she’s got queued up while they would take stupid BuzzFeed quizzes or playing a round of Uno. But on others— ones when Alex was just simply too tired of it all— he would opt to just stay in bed and focus on small, minute details, ones that would adequately distract him. Games like estimating how many pages he’s got on his bookshelf before getting up to actually figure it out with his calculator. Usually though he would just sit there, silently reciting to himself old political speeches he’s read so often that he’s got it memorized now. Speeches like Obama’s A More Perfect Union, or the Cross of Gold William Jennings Bryan had recited in the 1896 democratic national convention. Speeches that made Alex’s heart thud and his insides hum with aw, speeches that made a difference, that meant something, something important.

Alex can admit it was stupid, but it helped. He ended up doing it over again when Oscar and Ellen had finally sat them down to tell Alex and June that they were getting a divorce, and after his team lost a particularly embarrassing match. Even remembers doing it when he locked himself in his room for nearly a day and a half when the letter came saying he didn’t get into Stanford. Those speeches— those words crafted by folks who burned their rightful places in the tapestry of time— they became a sort of safety blanket to him, a reminder that Alex is greater than one singular moment. His destiny will be painted with millions upon millions of them, and it’s up to him to mold his story precisely how he envisions it.

One moment can’t decide his fate, only Alex could do that.

He’s unwittingly in the middle of FDR’s first inaugural address when he realizes that he’s doing it again, but he can’t help it, honest. After waking up back in the hospital, no longer in June’s embrace, it felt like he was drowning in all the things he doesn’t know.

There’s a nondescript face— apparently Alex’s doctor if the lab coat is anything to go by— who’s frowning down at him, brows knit like she knows full and well that Alex hasn’t been listening to a singular word she’s been spouting out. Alex hates proving people right, but well, he’d really like to know what the holy fuck is going on. So he just steels his nerves, and forces his mind to go blank before asking the doctor to repeat herself.

“There’s bruising all along your frontal lobe,” she says in a very practiced and very unaffected voice. Alex supposes it’s a trick that all folks in the medical field have mastered in one way or the other, but Jesus, it’s so cold.

“And?” he presses, tries to sit up before he’s gently pushed down by June who’s been vigorously worrying on her bottom lip this entire time. Her boyfriend, Henry, is sitting off to the side, hands clasped in front of him and elbows balanced on his knees. He looks sickly if Alex is being honest. Still abhorrently handsome, but sickly nonetheless.

“What does that mean precisely,” the guy to Alex’s left— the one with pastel pink hair, who was introduced simply as Pez— asks her with knit brows, the only one out of the four sum who’s actually been able to piece a coherent sentence together all afternoon.

Suddenly Alex misses his parents so much. Misses his father’s demanding presence that makes people just give up information to him, even when they’re the opposing council in court. Misses the way his mother radiated fierceness, how she stood with defiance woven into her shoulders, so much so that it would scare any sane person shitless. They would know the exact questions to ask and Alex would feel just that much more tethered. June had assured him that they’re both on the way. Alex thinks it’s taking them both a long fucking time. It’s late summer still, congress is on recess so Ellen’s definitely home, and Oscar’s law firm is in the center of the city, never too far from anywhere around Austin. they should be here by now. Alex is tempted to ask June again, ask her where the fuck they are— or at the very least ask for his God forsaken phone back, but he resists. He reckons that one question at a time would be optimal for now, and he’d really like to hear what the doctor has to say about this predicament he’s found himself within.

“Well first it means he shouldn’t be trying to stand up so quickly like that,” she says pointedly, looking like she might actually start tooting at Alex if he were still in high school.

“Fine,” he bristles in turn, feelingly distinctly like when he was ten and his mother would take away his Nerf guns until he’s finished all his homework.

“Is that all?” June asks hurriedly, still looks like she might topple over with tears at any moment now.

Doctor Bishop’s face actually betrays its impassivity for the first time this whole conversation, and she looks suddenly very tired.

“No,” she says, eyes wandering to the corner towards Henry before snapping back to June. “It also seems that Alexander is suffering some temporary amnesia.”

“Amnesia,” the three others chorus in various tones of disbelief, but Alex stays silent, repeats the word in his own mind, turns the continents around in his head and tries taking them apart and slotting them back together again.

It doesn’t work.

He still is so very confused, and he hates it. He’s always liked knowing all the different facets there was to a situation, figuring out all the various outcomes and planning ten steps ahead. It’s a trick he’s picked up on from watching— idealizing— his mother. It’s what got her to being the first democratic senator from Texas in twenty years and the second ever woman representing the state. But now, now Alex feels like he’s drowning.

He should probably ask the doctor another question— like what this means, and how long it will last. He should probably ask June what the year is and how old he is, if he’s still a upcoming sophomore in TU or not. Admittedly, Alex should be asking a million and one questions, but in a remarkable stroke of uncharacteristic behavior, he just does not.

Alex stays quiet, and his gaze strays back to the corner where Henry’s now rinsing his hands together frantically, looking as if his entire heart has just lodged into his throat. He isn’t sure why, but it stays there, watching him, patiently waiting for him to finally look up.

A breath passes and Henry’s vivid blue eyes finally do so, catching on Alex’s brown ones and it’s like all the fight is just knocked out of him all at once, like he’s baring the weight of the sky and doesn’t have a single clue how to bare it.

“What, ahem. What precisely does this mean?” He asks the doctor, words stammering over one another and moving just so, steadfastly refusing to look at Alex.

“It can vary,” she tells him, back to painting her words in a crisp veneer, and stepping forwards to check all of Alex’s vitals. “Sometimes this lasts only a few days, and others a few years.”

“Years,” Henry repeats in a mangled, horrified sounding voice, face gone ashen. Alex isn’t sure why he cares at all, but wishes he could comfort him all the same, wishes he could tell him that it’ll all be fine, that this is Alex they’re talking about, he never stays down for long. But he doesn’t. Partially because that might be wildly inappropriate to say to the guy he’s still pretty sure is June’s boyfriend, but mostly because he’s afraid that’s a lie, and for some reason Alex would rather not lie to him if he could help it.

“So what?” Alex decides to ask the doctor instead. “Does this mean I’m just suppose to be sitting pretty till I blink my eyes and BAM! Everything comes back to me in like some movie montage type thing?”

“Science is rarely that simple Alexander,” she tells him after marking down his blood pressure. “Especially when it comes to the human mind.”

“Okay? So what? Are you saying I might never get them back?” Alex needles, finally starting to feel properly terrified, can feel his stomach tumble itself into knots and the crescents of his nails biting into his palm.

“Relax,” she advises, breathing in deep and exhales slowly as if to demonstrate. Well fuck that, this isn’t the time for one of Nora’s weird ass yoga trips when she’s stoned.

Oh God Nora!

Where is Nora? How isn’t she here? God damn it, just another question mark to tack onto the mile long list he’s already got for June.

“Who’s to say if your memories will come back or not, or how rapidly or slowly they will return.”

“You! That’s your job! Why they give you the big bucks and the hero status,” Alex hurls, can feel himself begin to shake. He would like to have it marked on the records that he in fact does not do that breathing exercise because his doctor advised, but merely because he felt like it!

“I wish it were that simple,” she says wryly, and Alex is seriously starting to hate her now, knows that it’s unfair and unwarranted but he’s extremely pissy at the moment and she’s currently the first person in his line of sight, perfect reasoning if anyone were to ask him.

“What are the next steps,” pink hair— Pez— asks her before Alex could say something particularly foul and get himself in a black bag for his insolence.

Doctor Bishop smiles at him, like she can appreciate his level head.

“I’m setting him up with our neurologist that specializes in memory loss and the likes, until then I think Alexander should rest. You can answer some of his questions I suppose, but I’d prefer it if you guys kept everything light around him for now.”

Alex doesn’t make a big fuss of it when they all agree, but he’s not happy about staying in the dark for even longer for Christ’s sake, but he’s put in a better mood when the quiet is intruded upon by none other then his parents storming through the doorway, and demanding for Doctor Bishop to repeat everything she had just said after peppering frantic kisses all over Alexander’s face.

The doctor just manages not rolling her eyes, and Alex takes small victories where they come.

Chapter Text

The itch to ask whether I’m still loved; and the itch to say, I love you, half-fearing that the other has forgotten, since the last time I said it.)”
— Susan Sontag

.-

After the divorce— when the foundation of Alex’s entire world finally crumbled and he was forced to hop between house to house depending on Ellen’s Senate schedule while June embarked on her first year at university— Oscar and Ellen thought it was a good idea for Alex to start some sessions with a therapist. (“Just for you to have someone to talk with mijo.” “You don’t have to keep up with it if you don’t want sugar.”) Probably expectedly, Alex barely lasted three meetings with the prick, hating the sensation of being analyzed. As if somehow some random bozo could detangle the cobwebs in his head that Alex’s lived with for all his fifteen years at that point.

He doesn’t know why he’s thinking of Dr Sheffield now, in the middle of the eerily quiet hospital room where one of his hands is thumbing at his crutches and the other is busy composing a list on some paper that was able to be scrounged up from thin air— the perks of having a US senator as a mother he supposes. It’s been a day and a half since Alex woke up, and the first time he’s been alone with his own thoughts ever since. Oscar was needed in a trial for someone seeking asylum, his mother had a role call vote scheduled for noon, and the others went downstairs to raid the cafeteria for any sort of sweets that he’s been craving— but also probably picking up on Alex needing just a moment to gather himself.

Admittedly, the complicated cobwebs plaguing his teenage mind have turned to full on labyrinths that Alex doesn’t have the slightest clue how to begin figuring out. It’s unnerving, no beyond that, it’s fucking terrifying. Alex doesn’t know who he is, doesn’t know how he got here, doesn’t know anything beyond the summer of his Sophomore year at university, and his God damn doctor won’t let anyone tell him as much.

The hand that Alex’s writing with begins to shake, his heart contracting painfully as he tries to catch his breath and settle down. He’s never been good at taking things one step at a time, but that’s all there is for him, and Alex’s never stood idly still, so he stops being irritated at staying in the dark for this long and writes down the list that he’s been contemplating on all day— afraid that if he doesn’t get it out on black and white that he’ll risk forgetting everything all over again.

What I Know
•My Name is Alexander Gabriel Claremont Diaz
•I’m 25 years old
•It’s the year 2020
•I live in Washington DC now
•I have amnesia.
•I hate having amnesia.

Admittedly, it’s a really fucking pathetic list.

He’s about to start shredding it to confetti, frustrated and furious and fed up with this precarious balancing act he’s trying to perform, is only stopped when he hears the door cracking open and spots June walking towards him with a pair of mugs. He doesn’t want to show her how much he’s struggling with this, so he inhales deep and folds the list in half before tucking it out of sight.

“It’s not like how Abuela made it,” she warns lightly as she takes a seat to Alex’s left, chancing a smile at him that Alex can’t return, not even if he tried. “But it’s still hot coco I suppose.”

“Thanks,” he says sincerely, takes a sip and ignores how gross it is for her sake.

“Nora’s just caught a plane from Frankfurt, she hates that she’s not here for you,” June tells him. That makes Alex feel a bit better at the very least, the fact that she’ll be here soon, not how Nora’s obviously worrying over him. Alex hates anyone who thinks he needs to be fret over, he’s never needed anyone’s help before, now’s no different— Memory loss withstanding. That might sound off-putting but it’s true.

“Sounds good.” He doesn’t really know how to talk to June about this without exposing how wrong footed he feels, so Alex braces himself to take another swig of the hospital’s pathetic excuse for hot chocolate to keep his mouth busy.

“The boys are getting some stuff for you since you’ll probably be here at least another week,” she says, fiddling with the hem of her dress.

Alex wants to ask her where his stuff is in this city, what’s home to him here, but he knows June would want to buzz in the doctor first and ask if she’s allowed to. Alex doesn’t want to have to deal with other people quite yet, today’s been especially exhausting and he doesn’t think he’s got the strength to deal with being told no. So he stays quiet and June keeps looking like a kicked puppy and everything continues on feeling like a Lifetime movie— not Alex’s reality.

“We can play a game?” June prods gently, standing up to collect the deck of cards sitting on the television stand. “Maybe it’ll kill time till mom and dad get back and we can get dinner?”

“You think a game’ll help bug?” Alex asks, maybe more pointed than first intended but June takes it in stride.

“You need to do something Alex, you can’t just sit here feeling hopeless.”

“I don’t remember the last five years of my life June!” He’s frustrated and irritated and Alex feels bad for snapping at her, but it’s true. “that’s literally a fifth of my life June! I don’t remember a fifth of my life and no one is telling me shit!”

She ducks her head, cowed. “You know I would tell you everything all at once if I thought it would help. But Dr Bishop says—“

“Fine whatever,” Alex quickly interjects. He hates being rejected, hates not having any other plays to get what he wants. “I’m just gonna take a nap."

“C’mon Alex don’t be difficult about this.”

“I’m not being difficult, I just don’t wanna be tired for when the physical therapist comes around,” Alex lies, unconvincing even to his own ears.

“Alex please,” June’s practically pleading with him now, collapsing back on the chair besides him. “You know that I hate this just as much as you do, you’re my baby brother, I want to help.”

“Then help!” He sits up completely now, hands flying emphatically and eyes probably looking frantic. “Please June, I’m going stir crazy! I need to know what’s going on!” Alex can hear his words catch, the pleading inflection, and it’s enough for June to finally nod, relenting and making it so Alex finally feels some reprieve from the confusion that’s saturated his world ever since waking up.

“You get five questions, and I reserve the right to veto any of them,” she tells him, jaw set and hands fisted in the material of her skirt.

“You’re definitely dad’s kid,” Alex snorts.

“Do you really wanna waste time Alex?” She needles, obviously not happy that she’s breaking the rules for him but does it anyways because she’d do anything for him and he’s never loved having her as his sister more than at this precise moment.

“Okay, okay, let me think,” he raises up his hands in concession, thinks that the first question should probably be helping him gather his bearings. “Why are we in DC? Last I remember I was going to my second year at UT.”

“You only did three semesters there,” she clarifies, cutting a glance to the doorway as if afraid that she’d be caught. “I got an internship working with CNN out in DC and Nora got a job for a campaign so you transferred to Georgetown because you’re needy even if you think otherwise.”

He flips her the bird for that one.

“And Dad?”

“Since we were all there he just decided to move to a different immigration firm in DC to be closer to everyone.”

“That’s really cool, us like sticking together as a family even if they’re not married.” Alex marvels.

“I know,” June nods. “And that’s two.”

“What!” Alex balks. “That was just the second piece to my first question!”

“We can continue arguing about this till the PT comes or you can actually let something go and move on,” June goads, laughter finally spilling over her features after looking so defeated for so long.

“Fine loser, let me actually think about what I want to ask then,” Alex grouses.

“Good call,” June snickers.

Alex glances out the window, can feel the thrumming to life that pulses in the DC streets, the importance and history that’s been made here, and he wonders what significance he has in this place.
“Hmm, well what do I do out here? Like, I graduated— right?”

“Course you did,” she nudges him on the arm, beaming. “God I still wanna strangle you for how neurotic you’ve been leading up to the Bar exam! Like worse than usual!”

“The Bar?” Alex can’t believe he actually took it, and by the looks of June he seems to have even passed.

“That night— when you were hit— we were suppose to meet up to celebrate you getting declared a real live lawyer. We had a huge party and invited a bunch of people and everything,” her grin goes wobbly and eyes begin to water. “We must’ve been waiting for hours until the call came through.”

Alex leans over to squeeze her hand, reminding her that he’s here, alive and breathing, even if not in the most optimal situation.

“I’m sorry.”

“God Alex it was so terrifying getting that call. When Henry’s phone rung we thought it might’ve been Nora trying to figure out when she should Skype in or the people delivering the cake or, or anything else. Not this, never this—“ She pulls out half a dozen tissues before dabbing at her face. Alex wishes he could do something— anything— for her, but he can’t. Alex can’t even move if he’s being honest, it’s like he’s been petrified, like someone had just poured a gallon of ice cold water on him without warning.

“June, why did your boyfriend get the call?”

“Excuse me?” June asks with furrowed brows, swiping away the last of the salty droplets pouring out. “What are you talking about Alex.”

“Henry!” Alex charges, nearly shaking with anticipation for an answer. “You said Henry’s the one who got the call.”

June’s face goes very, very pale.

“Oh.”

“Yeah oh,” Alex stares, totally owlish. June’s starting to become closed off and it’s like he’s grappling for a lifeline. Alex can’t explain it but he feels it in his bones that this guy, Henry, that he’s somehow a major piece to all of this. He doesn’t know what that means, whether it’s good or bad, but he just innately knows that it’s true.

“Why did your boyfriend get the call,” he asks once more.

“Henry’s not my boyfriend Alex,” she says with a voice that wavers and an expression that rings with exhaustion.

“Okay fine whatever, Henry then. June just please answer my question,” Alex begs. “Why did Henry answer the call from the hospital about this. Mom and Dad are my emergency contacts.”

“Veto,” June squawks, sudden and scared and sickly looking.

“No June you don’t get to veto that!” Alex demands, winces when he gets up too quickly and upsets his sprained leg. “June please.”

“Alex Dr Bishop said—“

“June why did Henry get the call!” Alex repeats for the last time, half desperate and half insistent and completely craving to have his suspicions confirmed.

With one final, shakey exhale, June meets his eyes and speaks very quietly. “Alex you’re married.

A million thoughts bubble to the forefront of Alex’s mind, flickering through names and faces and people that ever meant anything to him. He thinks of His first ever college girlfriend, Tay with the brilliant mind and prettiest smile. He thinks of his senior year prom date and how Kelly always knew how to have fun and make Alex laugh. And for a second— even less than that, a fraction of a breath— Alex thinks of Liam’s booming laughter and kind eyes and sure hands before they grew apart and Alex pretended to forget about everything between them.

Alex thinks of these people, the ones who sometimes made his heart flutter, and he can’t imagine marrying any of them.

But no.

It’s because he didn’t marry any of those people.

Alex married Henry. Henry with the golden locks and sky blue eyes and cheekbones that someone could probably use to cut glass. Henry who is a complete stranger to Alex, someone he doesn’t remember meeting beyond yesterday, someone he can’t imagine being promised to for eternity. He must’ve been another person when they met. Someone witty and someone who was effortlessly charismatic and who always had the precisely right thing to say in any situation, someone who liked dudes. Someone who was as bright of a supernova as Henry, someone who could match his gravitational pull.

Someone who isn’t Alex, at least not who Alex is now.

“No.”

June only nods, slow and sure, with her arms crossed against her chest.

“I’m not even gay June.” He says, still utterly disbelieving.

“You identify as bisexual,” she tells him.

Alex flushes, though is immensely grateful how little of a deal it actually is to her.

“But June— I, I don’t even know him! I never wanted to get married, you know that.”

June only shrugs her dainty shoulders, doesn’t have an answer to give. “You proposed to him after like a year and a half of dating and you guys got married only six months after that.”

“That doesn’t sound like me at all.” Alex hurls.

“Five years is a long time Alex,” she says. “You didn’t expect to be making the same decisions you did back when you were still in college, did you?”

It feels like Alex’s stomach just dropped to his toes, that’s the last thing Alex wanted to hear, the reminder that he’s a completely different person now. A person who Henry had fallen in love with.

“What does that mean June?”

“I don’t know,” she admits and they don’t exchange another set of words until the perky PT enters a quarter of an hour later and she excuses herself from the room, a very flabbergasted and queasy Alex in her wake.

“You think we can walk up and down the hall today Alex?” the PT asks obliviously.

“Sure,” Alex says, pretends like he doesn’t feel like he’s about to puke.

.-

The rest of the evening goes on as planned with the family dinner. He and June don’t talk about what’s come to light and their parents are none the wiser. But in truth, Alex can’t get what June said out of his head, can’t stop thinking of Henry. Can’t stop mapping out what he remembers of his face in his mind, or the fact the first thing he saw when he woke up was Henry’s eyes and hands and mouth. Can’t stop fixating on how disappointed Henry will be once he figures out that Alex isn’t the Alex he was married to, that Alex doesn’t even know who that person is if he’s being at all honest.

“Cat got your tongue sweetheart,” Ellen asks him once the boxes of Chinese food is cleaned up and everyone else have left. Her and Oscar are alternating nights on who gets to sleep in his room and it’s her turn to stay over.

“I’m fine,” he tells her, detached sounding even to himself.

“You know everything’ll be alright, don’t you sugar,” Ellen tells him sagely, cards a hand through Alex’s hair with concern twinkling in her gaze.

“What if it isn’t,” Alex argues, knows that his mom can bare it if he talks about the worst case scenario, and he really needs to unload now that it’s just the pair of them here. “Not even Ellen Claremont can bend neurons to her will.”

“You’re short selling me kid,” she goads with a wink.

“Seriously Ma. What if I remember nothing from the passed five years. What if that time will just be a black blob for the rest of my life.”

Ellen clucks her tongue and sits besides him on the bed. "Well then we stay thankful that crash didn’t take your life and we focus on the new memories we’re making now.”

“So what? all that time and struggle and all those moments mean nothing. All of it is irrelevant? It’s just gone.”

“Of course not Alexander. All of that is a part of you.”

“A part I don’t remember,” Alex counters.

“Doesn’t mean it’s not part of your story,” Ellen retorts, unswerving in her conviction that he’s still somehow that persone.

“Yeah, okay.” Alex relents because he doesn’t know what else is left to say.

Ellen smiles at him before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Now kiddo, what you feeling to watch tonight?”

“We’ve still gotta finish Anchorman.”

“Good point. Let me find the remote.”

.-

Alex doesn’t sleep that night.

He lies there in bed listening to Ellen’s light snoring from the corner, and searing holes into the list of what he knows, having added his marriage to Henry to the bottom. It’s so bizarre looking at the addition, he doesn’t think it should fit the ones above it, but it doesn’t feel wrong either. But maybe that’s just hopeful thinking.

The silence is eventually penetrated around midnight by The sound of someone’s muffled footsteps and the curtain in front of their door being slid open, the tension in Alex’s chest growing the moment he glances over and finds that it’s Henry, because of course it is.

“I thought you were all asleep, I’m sorry,” he whispers, dark circles the color of the night sky painted beneath his eyes and a sort of exhaustion threaded through his broad shoulders.

Alex puts a finger to his lips, stutters onto his crutches as smoothly and as quietly as possible before he hobbles into the hall, Henry following suit.

“I’m sorry if I woke you,” he still talks in a hush, looking at Alex like he’s something wondrous, something that enraptures all his attentions, like Alex was worth all the moments he could give.

“’s fine, was up anyways.” Alex tells him, unsure how to interact with him now, how to be in a relationship with another man, and what exactly that entails.

God he could hear Nora’s furious diatribe about how stupid of a thought that is, and how he’s so far up his own ass.

He misses her, and weirdly enough he misses Henry— He doesn’t know what exactly they were to one another, but he misses him. He does. He misses him and he misses the memories they had together. He only wishes he could articulate the thought into words for Henry to comprehend.

“So what’s in the bag?” He asks instead, thinks its safe enough in this little stalemate they’ve got going on.

“A few toiletries and some spare clothing just incase,” Henry says while giving a little jostle to the duffle, he never takes his gaze off of Alex though, and it’s almost unnerving in its intensity. Alex would probably tell him to cut it off if the same fervency wasn’t embedded into his own gaze while he scans over Henry’s fine boned face, the way the pale light of the hospital traces down his elegant features and catches in his bright eyes and tawny curls.

God he’s so beautiful.

“Ahem, I guess you got it from our place?” Alex asks tentatively, watches as the brightness spills over Henry just as quickly as it dies out once Alex explains that June had let the secret slip.

“Oh I see… And how do you feel about that?”

“About being married to you?” Alex asks.

“Yes,” Henry looks so hopeful and so fucking fragile and Alex feels the uncomfortable instinct to wrap his arms around him.

He obviously doesn't do that though, only gives him a nonchalant, one armed shrug.

“I guess I’ll be surprised by a lot of realizations till everything goes back to normal,” Alex says in as gentle of a tone as he could muster.

Henry folds into himself, staring down at his shoes as he mutters his agreement.

“Well, ah the doc kept telling me that to get my memories back as soon as possible they want me to be surrounded by my normal schedule and all my things, I’ll bet that’s some place with you?”

“We’ve got a townhouse near the stadium.” Henry answers, eyes wide like he’s afraid to step on a landmine.

“Okay, cool,” Alex offers him a tepid grin and he swears it’s like he’s offering up all the treasures of the seven seas with the way Henry’s countenance goes elated and his eyes glitter with mirth. “At least I won’t be homeless when I finally get discharged from this place.”

Maybe Alex doesn’t know what’ll happen from here but he thinks he’s made the right decision now, thinks that if there was anything he’d miss from the past five years it would be the boy standing before him now.

“Everything’s how you’ve left it,” Henry says like an oath.

“I’m glad,” Alex answers in truth.

They slowly make it back to his room, and Alex manages to return to bed on his own, but he admits that when he asks Henry to stay the night, and Henry says of course, something warm blossoms deep in his chest.

Chapter Text

“People. People. Endless noise. And I am so tired. And I would like to sleep under trees; red ones, blue ones, swirling passionate ones.“
—Fyodor Dostoevsky
 
 
.-
 
 
They fall into a strange sort of normal in the days following Alex's realization that he was fully married to Henry in a past life.  One that everyone else remembers but is like an intangible dream to him, equal parts hazy and elusive and downright maddening if Alex thinks on it for too long. 
 
Admittedly, it's a strange sort of purgatory. A normal where they share diffident smiles in the early morning when Henry walks into the hospital room carrying a tea for himself and a caramel macchiato for Alex which tastes good enough but definitely is not the frappes he used to chug down with gleeful abandon as a college freshman. A normal where they don't touch under any circumstance, even if Alex catches himself darting his eyes up and down Henry's physique when he's sure the blonde isn't looking. A normal where that makes it so something strange and searing is clenching around his chest every time Henry spots him doing as much, and the tops of his cheeks flush prettily at it and his hands clench like he wants nothing more than to reach over the three feet and five years separating them and lace his fingers through Alex's own in what must be a familiar gesture, something they probably did often, considering the whole exchanging vows thing.
 
And it's cool, it's whatever. It's fine.
 
It's fine when Henry is too reticent to do anything more than smile timidly at Alex, and it's fine when his dad looks put out that Alex doesn't remember the first Christmas he brought Henry back home to the lake house, and it's fine when his Ma doesn't let him read the papers and stories written about his life-threatening accident. And it's totally fine when he looks over from the corner of his eye to find June staring at him with knit brows and her bottom lip worried between her teeth, as if she can't even recognize him anymore.
 
It's fine!
 
Okay, So honestly, it's the most excruciating week of Alex's life, and it doesn't seem to be getting better anytime soon. Exhibit A being the way that even sitting in a room alone with Henry makes it so the air between them goes uncomfortably taut, clogged with memories of what there was, and questions about what there will be and this persistent sensation that they're just trying to fall into step in this hopeless dance they've got going on.
 
Frankly, it sucks.
 
“Shall I call in your lunch order?" Henry asks Alex mildly, looking up from the papers he's brought over like everyday before  for the first time all morning. His eyes are large and owlish beneath his obscenely long lashes, and there's a splatter of ink on his cheek that the afternoon light caresses in an absurdly adorable way. And Alex still thinks this is bizarre, not simply recognizing the attractive attributes accented in the same sex, but free to appreciate it out in the open. No, more than that, even"”encouraged to appreciate it, especially when it comes to Henry. 
 
His husband, Henry.
 
God, Alex wonders how he ever got used to calling this guy his husband, swears that another fifty years could pass, and all his memories returned, and he'd still feel a bit spooked over his good fortune.
 
Snapping out of the revery, Alex only shrugs. "Erm, sure. I'm in the mood for a sandwich I guess."
 
Henry nods. A small, unsure smile curling the ends of his mouth as he gets up to call through to the downstairs kitchen, and Alex tries focussing back on the television, showing Colbert interviewing a senator that apparently is thinking about running for the presidency in the 2020 cycle. Alex doesn't recognize her, so he determines she must be pretty new, younger than the average representative, and she has a quick wit that could nearly keep up with his Ma. So he pulls out the journal he's begun keeping on his bedside table and makes a note to ask her about this senator and her chances at getting the nomination for the open seat. He's begun preferring writing out his thoughts on paper, doesn't quite trust his mind any more.
 
"Ta," Henry says, and Alex gathers that he's finishing up the call.
 
"All right?" Alex asks, more to do with wanting an actual conversation over thinking that anything could actually be wrong.
 
Henry staggers back"” only slightly, but Alex catches it. As if he was shocked that Alex even tried to talk to him. It's the first time he doesn't feel sorry for himself only, but also feels pretty bad for Henry. June and the rest have it pretty easy, he reckons. At least Alex still remembers them, has a relationship that stretches back over two decades. But holy fuck, it must be something completely rattling to wake up one morning and realize the person who's supposed to love you more than all the rest doesn't even remember your middle initial. Hell, didn't even know your first name until he was abruptly told of your history and relationship and marriage.
 
Gazing at Henry now, dappled in sunlight and shoulders stretched wide, Alex thinks that he's carrying on incredibly well.
 
"Ahem," he coughs a couple times before returning to his seat. "Yes, Shirley tells me that they'll be up within the hour with your Philly Steak and crisps. Though I admit I wasn't quite sure what it is when she offered, though it seems like the sort of thing you'd like."
 
Alex can't help the snicker that bubbles out of his lips right then. "British superiority so early in the morning, my good man?"
 
The transformation of Henry's face is instantaneous, the pale, ashen expression going suddenly bright and alert and glittering. And God, Alex could stare at the mirth teeming in his eyes for days on end and probably never get bored.
 
"I still don't know if it's an American talent of eating anything slobbered in grease or if it's just a distinct trait of yours, but considering that June and I have much of the same diet I'm inclined to believe the latter."
 
"Pff," Alex scoffs, arms crossed against his chest. "Please, if I remember anything, it's definitely that June pretends to be on her vegan shit while secretly sneaking in a whole tray's worth of ribs every third Tuesday."
 
It's like a bucket of ice cold water has just been poured over Alex's head when he looks back at Henry, only to find him hunched back in on himself and frowning as if he was in real, physical, pain.
 
"Yes, well it truly is remarkable what sticks in one's memory."
 
Oof, and yeah. That’s like a fucking smack to the face, and Alex is suddenly, excruciatingly pissed off.
 
"'S not my fault I'm this way, Henry," he snaps hotly, notices that this is one of the first times he's used his name since actually waking up from the accident.
 
Henry's brows shoot up and his thin lips straighten into a line. "Of course I know that, Alexander."
 
"Really? Because you've been looking at me all week like I'm either some sorta glass statue perched to fall and shatter, or as if you can fix my brain if you just stare hard enough."
 
"I"” I'm sorry," he stammers. "I didn't mean to make you feel like some sorta side show."
 
Another burst of irritation flares up, making Alex unreasonably angry. But hey, his entire fucking life has been upended, and he doesn't want to hold it in anymore. 
 
He's just so tired, of all of it. Of all the pitying looks and suspended breaths and the counting down until he's normal again, as if he's not really himself. As if he's just a shell, as if this isn't affecting him as much as the rest of the lot.
 
"I'm just sick and tired of the tiptoeing around," he spits.
 
"Alexander, I know, and I'm sorry for"”"
 
"Alex."
 
"Pardon?"
 
"My name. My name's Alex, I've only ever been called Alexander when my parents are pissed at me. It's weird hearing you call me that."
 
Alex is suddenly so sick of himself; he hadn't expected the admonishment to make it so Henry quite literally shutters back right in front of him, looking so fucking defeated.
 
"Oh"” Yes, of course. I'm"”"
 
"For the love of God, don't apologize again," he pleads, wonders why he's still itching for a row even though it hurts him like hell seeing Henry visibly tense up and break down before his eyes. Maybe it's the fact that it makes this real, makes the fact that Henry and him are something"” the best thing"” an actuality. Maybe he wants to just cut the crap and try for broke, try to mend this fracture between them.
 
But the thing is, it's not just a fracture. It's not like a normal argument between husband and husband. It's an obliteration of all they had. And how the fuck are they supposed to move past that?
 
The quiet that settles over them after the outburst is all types of awkward, Henry not even deigning to look at Alex in the eyes.
 
"I think I should give June a ring, see if she's joining us for lunch," he says in a very measured, very precise tone. Not giving anything away. And Alex only nods, half-hearted as he tries to settle back into bed, tries to go back to sleep and forget about this along with all their other memories.
 
 
.-
 
 
Alex is cleared for discharge from the hospital that night.
 
"Like, what. I'm free to go?" he asks, pinning Dr Bishop with a one eyed squint of disbelief.
 
"There's nothing more we can do for you here," she answers, unaffected as she jots down a few more notes in her clipboard. "Your sprained ankle is healing up nicely, and the bruising on your body has gone down considerably."
 
"And the bruising on my son's brain," Ellen shoots back, brisk but with a gentle expression on her face. Alex still marvels at how she can keep such a calm exterior even when she's feeling the most enraged. He wishes it was a trait they shared.
 
Dr Bishop only frowns at her, regretful. "The neurologist says that the healing left is simply Alex regaining his memories, and the best way to do as much is for him to be in a familiar area. Filled with memorabilia from his life, and to return to his typical, day to day schedule."
 
"And that's all we can do?" Alex admits that he's surprised that the question"” quiet and defeated sounding"” comes from where Henry's sitting on the windowsill, the furthest possible place he can be from Alex while remaining in the room. 
 
They still haven't talked since that morning's spat, and there's a new chill that's doused their stilted conversations. Alex doesn't know if he likes it much.
 
"Yes, that's all we can hope for." She moves on to scheduling an appointment to update the neurologist on Alex's condition in three weeks' time, and then tells him to prepare to go back home tomorrow morning at the latest.
 
Alex swallows down any retort he might have in his arsenal, too busy contemplating where and with who home constitutes now.
 
 
.- 
 
 
His parents are both tangled up in work, so when Alex wakes up the next morning it's to the still concerned face of June and the guy with the pink, pastel hair from the first day who came early the next morning to escort him back home, home to Henry.
 
"Bug. Pez," Alex greets with a nod to each of them as he adjusts himself on his crutches, duffle bag slung over his shoulder. He absently notes how their hands suddenly let loose of each other once they notice his eyes land on them, but Alex doesn't press it. Reasons that they'll let him know whatever's going on between them in due time.
 
"Let me," Pez offers as he takes the bag from Alex, smiling shyly. "Haz is out front with the car."
 
"Erm, right." Alex glances over to the wheelchair that June had rolled in, pulling a face.
 
"'S hospital protocol, baby brother," June preens, and Alex is just so fucking thankful that she's actually joking around with him that he doesn't even bother to argue, just takes a seat and lets her literally push him to his apparent reality.
 
"No need for the long face, Alejandro," she crows, smiling all the brighter when Alex answers with a stuck out tongue. "There's a surprise waiting for you back home!"
 
"Please tell me 's not your cooking," he barbs, winces only slightly when June cuffs him on the back of the head in retort.
 
"Shut it you dork." She hisses, and Pez laughs and Alex feels just a bit lighter. That is, until they clamber outdoors and he catches sight of the modest, black Volvo, and can see Henry's exhausted face through the windshield. 
 
"Well. here's going for it," Alex says quietly, trying to ignore the way his stomach has already begun tumbling itself into knots, and his hands have gone clammy and his heart feels like it might just leap from his chest.
 
 
.-
 
 
The ride is silent, punctured by halfhearted conversations about the weather and a single, monumentous  attempt by June to lift up morale by turning up the radio, only to blast an old song that their mom used to play"” dancing around with their dad in the middle of the living room and laughing"” when they were young. A song that is hitting way too close to fucking home for his liking.

Take me back to the night we met
And then I can tell myself
What the hell I'm supposed to do
And then I can tell myself
Not to ride along with you
I had all and then most of you
Some and now none of you
 
It's Henry, suddenly frantic, who silences the song as quickly as it came on. "Ahem, well I reckon we're about here anyhow."
 
He wasn't lying; just as soon as he finishes the statement, they've pulled up into the parking lot of a rather flashy apartment complex. Large and imposing and obviously newly built.
 
"Home sweet home," Alex mutters lowly, but Henry catches it and looks like he's literally dying on the inside.
 
"Quite."
 
"Well, no reason to be sitting around like a bunch of numpties," Pez announces bracingly, climbing out and gesturing for them to follow suit.
 
"He's always been the bravest of us," Henry says, probably to himself, but Alex still hears and selfishly stores away the information to add to his journal later on.
 
 
.-