Chapter Text
“Fit? Can you hear me? Fit?”
The voice echoed, the reverberations slithering through the fuzzy haze enveloping Fit’s brain.
Yeah, I can hear you.
Fit tried to respond, but his mouth felt like lead. His eyes worked a little bit better, but after pushing them open a crack he was blinded by fluorescent lighting.
God, his head hurt. And his arm. And most of his body, if he was being honest.
What’s going on?
He felt a hand on his shoulder and forced his eyes open again, body still too heavy to do much more than blink. But as the world slowly became focused, he managed to concentrate on the man gripping his arm.
He had shoulder-length hair pulled back into a messy bun, a blue Pac-Man hoodie, and a generally disheveled appearance. He could confidently say he’d never seen the man in his life, he would remember such a pretty, expressive face, but his dark eyes held pure, open relief. It almost confused Fit more than the unfamiliar setting.
Fit had so many questions- who are you, where am I?- basic stuff like that. But before he could voice any of them, he was cut off by the man wrapping him in a crushing hug, his voice spilling over with sheer relief.
“Fitchi! You’re awake!”
His hold was so tight Fit couldn’t breathe, but he was still too weak and dazed to do anything but process the contact. Then the hug was gone as quickly as it had arrived, and the man was backing toward the door, still staring at Fit as if he were a miracle.
“I- I’ll be right back, Fit, I have to go get- get Bagi-”
With that, he was gone.
…that was weird. Who was that guy?
Taking in his surroundings with all the machines, equipment, and blank white walls, Fit would guess he was at a hospital. That would explain the conspicuous pain and general sense of off-ness. But why he was there, he wasn’t sure.
Fit thought back to the last thing he remembered, trying to piece together any possible series of events. An argument, yelling, and then storming out of the tent with a growl of anger while Spreen stared at him with open hatred. Then nothing, just a conspicuous gap. It only made Fit even more confused, and the lingering fuzz in his head didn’t help. Maybe Spreen had done something? But unlikely, Fit was a lot stronger and would win in any sort of fight.
The door clicked open, and a woman with white hair and a clipboard entered. The man from earlier was behind her, the two whispering in voices too quiet for Fit to hear. The woman, presumably the doctor, pulled up a seat to the side of the bed and pressed a button on the side to bring him to a sitting position. Considerate of her, Fit supposed, since there was no way he’d be able to hold himself up for any period and he preferred to be at eye level.
“Fit, you’re awake! How are you feeling?”
Fit shrugged. At least he understood this , an after-injury checkup was a common factor in any facility he’d ever visited. Not that he knew what the injury was, but it was a step in the right direction.
“Like crap. My head hurts. And my arm feels weird.”
He looked down at it in search of answers, but there was nothing.
Just… empty space.
And a stump, heavily bandaged, that moved a little bit as he tried to flex his fingers.
Oh… Oh, no, no, no.
A wave of panic roared to life in Fit’s chest, and his breathing caught as an invisible weight fell onto his lungs. He could feel his brain slowing back down, struggling to understand. This wasn’t possible.
It has to be a bad dream. This can’t be happening. Please, no.
The doctor’s voice broke through the rush of his thoughts.
“Fit? Is everything okay?”
And Fit tried, he really did. But despite all of his self-control his voice came out faint and afraid.
“My arm…”
The man sat down at the end of the bed, squeezing Fit’s existing hand a bit in a useless attempt to provide comfort. Fit flinched away from the touch, too panicked to control his instinctive response. The doctor spoke up, pulling Fit’s eyes back to her and causing him to forget the man’s actions for the moment.
“It’s okay! Your prosthetic just got really crushed, and it hurt you. But the stitches will be out soon, and it will be fine!”
The other man nodded, piping up.
“Your prosthetic is at home, Fitch. I haven’t finished fixing it, you know? But it should- should be done by the time you are- are good to wear it.”
Fit scowled to hide his fear, feeling the woman shrink back at his glare. Prosthetic? What were these people on ?
“This isn’t funny. What. Happened?”
The man didn’t recoil from the deadly expression. A part of Fit’s brain registered how odd that was, but the majority was focused purely on answers.
“A car accident. You’ve been here for three- three days. We didn’t know if-” his voice dropped a bit “-we didn’t know if you’d wake up.”
Fit nodded curtly, then stopped because it made the ache in his head even worse.
“So, I lost my arm in the car accident?”
The tide of panic had subsided just a bit upon a plausible explanation, but the exchanged look of shock between the man and the doctor brought it back with new force. When the man responded, he looked a bit concerned.
“What do you mean? You- you lost your arm when you were still in the army- it was, like, ten years ago? I think? Eleven, maybe?”
“Sorry, what?”
Fit’s voice came out even sharper, and he couldn’t blame either of them for flinching back. But the man at the end of the bed just looked even more worried, if that was possible, which made Fit more nervous in turn. This time when he spoke he didn’t bother moderating his tone, just volume. Yelling at a doctor never ended well.
“What do you mean, eleven years ago?”
The acid filling his voice burned the other man, causing him to flinch back and shrink into himself. Fit almost felt bad for the guy. Almost.
“You- with the explosion, and the attack-”
He fidgeted with the strings of his hoodie, looking uncertain for the first time.
“Don’t- don’t you remember?”
Fit attempted to cross his arms, forgetting about the whole situation for a moment. His stomach flipped as he abruptly registered the empty space, and he settled for a scowl to mask his dismay.
“No, I don’t. Now can someone please explain what’s happening, for pete’s sake?”
The man exchanged a look with the doctor, and she gave him a look of warning. Then she tapped her pen on her clipboard and began talking.
“You were in a car accident. It resulted in a severe concussion, multiple bruises and minor cuts, and your stump was injured due to your prosthetic being crushed.”
Fit growled with frustration. They still weren’t answering his question.
“But I didn’t have a stump. I had an arm. What happened to it?”
The doctor froze for half a second. Fit hadn’t known a silence could be so loud.
“Uh… So, uh, let me get this straight. You are saying that- that you had an arm? Or at least before the accident?”
“The accident I don’t remember, yes.”
“And you have… no memory of losing it?”
“No. I just told you that.”
Fit’s annoyance was still dripping from the words, he was sure. But better than the panic still roiling in his stomach. Something wasn’t right.
The doctor paused, thinking, worry creasing across her face.
“What is the last thing you remember, Fit?”
Fit sighed, surely this was obvious.
“Arguing with my base partner. Something stupid, I think about what to have for dinner. And then I left, ‘cause he was getting on my nerves. That’s it.”
The man hesitated, hand twitching as if he was about to reach for Fit again, but the irritated look the bald man gave in response stopped him in his tracks.
“ What ?”
“I- I think I know what memory you were- you are talking about. But it was a while ago, and-”
Fit snorted, cutting him off. Who was this guy anyway? Because he definitely was not a medical professional, and certainly not an expert on Fit’s own freaking memories.
“No, it wasn’t. It was three days ago, according to you.”
He frowned.
“And anyway, even if it did happen a long time ago, how would you know? I’ve never seen you before in my life.”
The man physically recoiled, mouth slightly open in shock.
“What? B-butt Fit-”
The doctor put a hand on the man’s arm, silencing any other questions and directing his now watery eyes towards her.
“Pac, por que voçe não vai e brincar com os meninos?”
Whatever she said caused him to roughly shake his head, desperation clear on his face. Fit not recognizing him was clearly a big deal, and the idea sent another shiver of worry down his spine.
“Bagi, eu não posso deixá-lo. Não agora.”
“Pac, escuta. Eu preciso falar com ele. Você não pode ajudá-lo agora.”
The man’s face slipped even further, and she put a hand on his shoulder.
“Ramon e Richas estão nervosos- vá dizer a eles que ele está acordado. Eles precisam do pai.”
The man hung his head, ceding the point. Then he glanced at Fit, twisting his fingers.
“Ele- Ele vai ficar bem?”
The doctor paused, then sighed.
“Eu não sei. Mas nós vamos tentar.”
The man nodded, looking defeated, and left, but not without looking back at Fit one last time, face full of grief. Then he was gone.
The woman switched back to English, her voice full of false cheer. The bald man glared at her for leaving him out of whatever had just happened, but she ignored it and held up her clipboard.
“Okay, so, I’m going to ask you a few questions, okay? It’s just protocols.”
Bull. It has something to do with the questions Fit was asking and the man’s weird reaction, that much was clear.
“Great. But can someone tell me what’s going on, please?”
She sighed as though the weight of the world was on her shoulders.
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out, and these will help me, I think. What’s your name?”
Fit ignored the shiver of worry at the thought that the doctor was just as confused as he was, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes to alleviate the headache from the lighting.
“Fit. Fit EmCee.”
“And how old are you?”
“22.”
A pause, a scratch on the clipboard.
“What is today?”
Fit frowned, thinking it over.
“That guy said three days, so I guess July twenty-first?”
The doctor made another note.
“And the year?”
“2013.”
“Can you spell the word ‘world’ backward for me?”
Fit rolled his head back down to face her and opened his eyes again, thinking for a moment.
“D-L-R-O-W.”
The doctor set down the clipboard, looking directly into Fit’s eyes. This was where they were going off-book, obviously. Fit tamped down his rising fear, repeating to himself over and over that this was all supposedly to help him. If he lashed out now his odds of getting listened to would plummet.
“What’s the last thing you remember?”
“I already told you. Arguing with my base partner, about dinner. Whether or not to have rice, maybe? And then I just walked out.”
“And that’s the last thing you remember?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing else?”
“No.”
The doctor sighed.
“Okay. And this would have been on July eighteen, 2013? Three days ago?”
Fit rolled his eyes at the worried look on her face as she scanned her notes.
“Yes, and yes.”
She then pulled a phone out of her pocket, swiping it open to a photo app and showing Fit a picture of the man from earlier, plus two kids, all beaming at whoever was taking the picture.
“Do you know who these people are?”
A long pause. Fit didn’t know who they were, that much was certain. But he was also pretty sure that he was supposed to, judging by the look in her eyes. If he said he didn’t, what would she think?
But the thing was, if Fit did lie, he wouldn’t ever know what was wrong. And that scared him far more than the thought of painful tests and endless questions.
So Fit shook his head, and sealed his fate.
“No. I’ve never seen them before. Well, that guy was here earlier, obviously. But before that, no.”
The doctor bit her lip, eyes fading out of focus for a moment before pulling herself together. Fit knew he’d said something wrong again, but it was the truth. There was a heavy pause as the doctor scanned the clipboard.
“So, what’s my diagnosis?”
She paused, tapping her pen against the clipboard, then looked back up at him with resignation.
“Fit, what would you think if I told you that it’s 2024?”
Fit snorted.
“I’d say you’re crazy.”
She didn’t look surprised, just sad and resigned.
“Then how do I convince you that it’s true?”
Fit shrugged, trying to act casual, but he could feel the fear renewing its churning in his gut and panic threatening to burst its dams.
“Show me it somewhere, I guess. But a reliable source, like a newspaper.”
The doctor nodded and left the room. Fit waited patiently, and within a minute she returned holding something in her hands. A calendar. She handed it to him and waited while he flipped through it.
Sure enough, the calendar was for the year 2024. Days were crossed out in an orderly fashion. Different hands had written down work parties, birthdays, and other events. Little scribbles in the margins marked where someone got bored or troublesome. The pictures on the top were of varying dogs with their owners. Some had silly faces drawn on them or were colored over entirely. Holidays were either marked off by a smile or a frowny face, depending, Fit guessed, on whether or not that person had the day off.
And of course, the final touch, all in varying pens. January had been black. Today, June 6th, was the first open square after a line of red x-es.
It was all very convincing, Fit had to admit. But he couldn’t accept that he’d lost so much time, it was too much.
So, Fit laughed.
“That’s fake. You changed the date or something. Marked off all the days, had your friends draw scribbles or something. But you had me for a second!”
The doctor shook her head, looking defeated. A deadly calm mask slipped over Fit’s face, and his veins turned to ice. There was no way. He didn’t trust this lady enough to believe her.
But, he did trust his intuition.
And it was saying that she was telling the truth.
“That’s impossible.”
“I wish it was.”
The woman seemed very sympathetic, and it only made Fit even more angry. Who was she to force such news upon him with such little care?
“Your memories will likely recover in time, but I believe you are suffering from some form of trauma-induced amnesia. It’s not unheard of.”
Fit chuckled again, a broken sound. Honestly, with his luck, it made perfect sense. The doctor smiled bitterly with him.
“Will I get my memories back?”
She nodded.
“Yes, I think so. Hopefully, we can do something to help.”
After a moment of contemplative silence, with Fit trying to process the information that he’d lost ten years, the woman jumped up. She was suddenly full of maniac energy and speaking a mile a minute.
“Okay! I have to go and get a different doctor, I think. They will have more questions for you, they will know more than me. Before I go get him, do you have any more questions? Or do you need any water or anything?”
Fit started to shake his head, then paused as a little thought surfaced. A question that scared him more than a little bit, but needed to be asked.
“Who was the guy in here earlier? He was acting super concerned. Gave me a hug, which was weird. Plus, you showed me the picture. Should I know him?”
The doctor’s smile slipped, and she responded as if the words hurt her. As if not wanting to break Fit’s brain.
As if it hadn’t already shattered.
“That was Pac.”
She paused as if gathering the words, and Fit waited patiently.
“He’s your husband.”