[Fic] Baby, Please Remember Me Once More - Part One
Title: Baby, Please Remember Me Once More
Author: duckgirlie
Team: ROMANCE!
Prompt: devotion, home.
Summary: “Sorry. I know you? I mean, of course I know you, at least a bit. Your number’s in my wallet. But I don’t know you, not at all.”
Word Count: ~1000 (this part)
Rated: PG
A/N: So, this is not any of the things I'm supposed to be working on. But I am currently somewhat homeless (househunting is hard, y'all), my notes are all packed away, SO THIS IS WHAT YOU ARE GETTING. More parts to come.
Arthur was already in bed when the phone rang.
"Arthur?"
The voice was unfamiliar, which shouldn't happen. This was Arthur's private line, the number he gave out to only a few select people - all people who should know better then to pass it on.
"Who is this?"
"Dr. McKevitt. I'm very sorry to bother you at this time, but we've just admitted a man to Mercy Hospital and this was the only working number we found on him. Even his identification is... unclear."
Arthur sighed and thumped his head back against his pillow. This could only be about Eames.
"Where are you, exactly?"
The doctor rattled off the address and hung up. Arthur sighed again and pulled himself out of bed. Normally, he'd be perfectly fine leaving Eames overnight, but the fact that Eames was obviously out of it enough not to be able to concoct his own cover story, not to mention the doctor was able to sift through his wallet, meant there was every chance Eames was in actual trouble.
He shuffled around his bedroom, getting putting his clothes on and secreting his gun somewhere. Finally, he pulled open his desk. He knew he had those fill-in-the-blanks medical power-of-attorney papers somewhere.
*****
It was only Tuesday, so the emergency room wasn't as busy as it could have been, and Arthur managed to find his way up to internal pretty quickly. Even if acting wasn't really his forte, he could manage to pull of tense and worried without thinking, and that should hopefully be all that was needed right now.
Dr. McKevitt was waiting for him by the nurses’ station, and one look at her face had Arthur trying to ratchet up the ‘worried’ in his face. She smiled at him with that concerned smile all doctors have.
“You must be Arthur.”
“Is he okay?”
“It’s... hard to say.”
She gestured for him to follow her, and a moment later they were outside a private room, it’s door slightly ajar. Arthur looked in through the crack and tried to quickly catalogue what he could see of Eames’ injuries.
Aside from a small bandage on his forehead, and a sling on his left arm, he didn’t look to be in too bad shape.
“I’m afraid the head trauma has lead to a certain degree of memory loss. It’s not complete - he still remembers his name, and some details from when he was younger, but the last ten years at least are wiped out.”
Arthur let himself relax. Eames was obviously playing the amnesia card. Which was bad, in that it meant whoever got the jump on him left him with very few options, but good in that he was still in once piece, and it should be pretty easy to get him out of here.
He tried his best to look concerned again. “Do you think he’ll get them back?”
“Can’t say anything for certain. The brain is a tricky thing. The longer he goes without any returning though, the less likely it is.”
“Can I talk to him?”
“Of course. But I’ll just warn you - he didn’t seem to remember you when I told him I’d called.”
So Eames was obviously still worried whoever was after him was close enough to still grab him - or both of them - if it came to it. Arthur carefully adjusted his shoulder holster under his jacket and followed the doctor into the room.
“David? There’s someone here for you. Arthur? You had his phone number in your wallet?”
Eames looked over at Arthur, and if Arthur didn’t know exactly how good an actor Eames was, he’d be worried. His face was schooled into such a perfect display of open, slightly-confused blankness that it took Arthur a second or two to respond.
He was pretty sure he managed to pull off calm but concerned.
“Hey David. You’ve had an accident?”
“Sorry. I know you? I mean, of course I know you, at least a bit. Your number’s in my wallet. But I don’t know you, not at all.”
Arthur ran through the possibilities in his head. He was using his real name - or his real first name, at least - which wasn’t a good sign. And his natural accent’s intact, which left Arthur with even fewer options - his English accent is nowhere near good enough to last until he gets Eames out of here. So he can’t play a relative. He silently cursed Eames for not coming up with a more improv-friendly cover before he smiled again.
“Of course you know me. We’re... friends.”
He managed to put enough of a spin on the word that it implied about fifty different things without seeming to commit to any of them.
“That’s nice then. Glad to know someone remembers me, even if I don’t remember you.”
Behind him, the doctor coughed slightly.
“I’ll just leave you two alone for a moment, I’m going to get the senior attending.”
The second she was out of the room, Arthur strode over to the bedside and grabbed Eames’ phone off the bedside table, scanning through it quickly to try and figure out who Eames had been working with.
“Jesus, you couldn’t have come up with a better line then ‘Help me, I’ve got amnesia?’ You know I fucking hate having to figure this shit out. I can’t even pretend to be your brother, so it’ll take me at least a day to get you transferred somewhere without raising any eyebrows, and if you think I’m just going to let you lie there and...”
He trailed off when he realised Eames was still staring at him with that same blank look.
“Eames?”
“Was that supposed to mean something?”
“Stop fucking with me, alright? You haven’t left your PASIV unattended, or anything, have you?”
“I’m sorry darling, but I haven’t the faintest clue what you’re talking about.”
A cold, heavy weight settled into Arthur’s stomach.
“Eames, how old are you?”
“They tell me-”
“No, not how old they tell you you are, how old are you?”
Eames smiled sadly for a second. “I’m twenty-three.”
Arthur pulled his phone out of his pocket and send out a text message to a very select group.
CODE RED
two
Author: duckgirlie
Team: ROMANCE!
Prompt: devotion, home.
Summary: “Sorry. I know you? I mean, of course I know you, at least a bit. Your number’s in my wallet. But I don’t know you, not at all.”
Word Count: ~1000 (this part)
Rated: PG
A/N: So, this is not any of the things I'm supposed to be working on. But I am currently somewhat homeless (househunting is hard, y'all), my notes are all packed away, SO THIS IS WHAT YOU ARE GETTING. More parts to come.
Arthur was already in bed when the phone rang.
"Arthur?"
The voice was unfamiliar, which shouldn't happen. This was Arthur's private line, the number he gave out to only a few select people - all people who should know better then to pass it on.
"Who is this?"
"Dr. McKevitt. I'm very sorry to bother you at this time, but we've just admitted a man to Mercy Hospital and this was the only working number we found on him. Even his identification is... unclear."
Arthur sighed and thumped his head back against his pillow. This could only be about Eames.
"Where are you, exactly?"
The doctor rattled off the address and hung up. Arthur sighed again and pulled himself out of bed. Normally, he'd be perfectly fine leaving Eames overnight, but the fact that Eames was obviously out of it enough not to be able to concoct his own cover story, not to mention the doctor was able to sift through his wallet, meant there was every chance Eames was in actual trouble.
He shuffled around his bedroom, getting putting his clothes on and secreting his gun somewhere. Finally, he pulled open his desk. He knew he had those fill-in-the-blanks medical power-of-attorney papers somewhere.
*****
It was only Tuesday, so the emergency room wasn't as busy as it could have been, and Arthur managed to find his way up to internal pretty quickly. Even if acting wasn't really his forte, he could manage to pull of tense and worried without thinking, and that should hopefully be all that was needed right now.
Dr. McKevitt was waiting for him by the nurses’ station, and one look at her face had Arthur trying to ratchet up the ‘worried’ in his face. She smiled at him with that concerned smile all doctors have.
“You must be Arthur.”
“Is he okay?”
“It’s... hard to say.”
She gestured for him to follow her, and a moment later they were outside a private room, it’s door slightly ajar. Arthur looked in through the crack and tried to quickly catalogue what he could see of Eames’ injuries.
Aside from a small bandage on his forehead, and a sling on his left arm, he didn’t look to be in too bad shape.
“I’m afraid the head trauma has lead to a certain degree of memory loss. It’s not complete - he still remembers his name, and some details from when he was younger, but the last ten years at least are wiped out.”
Arthur let himself relax. Eames was obviously playing the amnesia card. Which was bad, in that it meant whoever got the jump on him left him with very few options, but good in that he was still in once piece, and it should be pretty easy to get him out of here.
He tried his best to look concerned again. “Do you think he’ll get them back?”
“Can’t say anything for certain. The brain is a tricky thing. The longer he goes without any returning though, the less likely it is.”
“Can I talk to him?”
“Of course. But I’ll just warn you - he didn’t seem to remember you when I told him I’d called.”
So Eames was obviously still worried whoever was after him was close enough to still grab him - or both of them - if it came to it. Arthur carefully adjusted his shoulder holster under his jacket and followed the doctor into the room.
“David? There’s someone here for you. Arthur? You had his phone number in your wallet?”
Eames looked over at Arthur, and if Arthur didn’t know exactly how good an actor Eames was, he’d be worried. His face was schooled into such a perfect display of open, slightly-confused blankness that it took Arthur a second or two to respond.
He was pretty sure he managed to pull off calm but concerned.
“Hey David. You’ve had an accident?”
“Sorry. I know you? I mean, of course I know you, at least a bit. Your number’s in my wallet. But I don’t know you, not at all.”
Arthur ran through the possibilities in his head. He was using his real name - or his real first name, at least - which wasn’t a good sign. And his natural accent’s intact, which left Arthur with even fewer options - his English accent is nowhere near good enough to last until he gets Eames out of here. So he can’t play a relative. He silently cursed Eames for not coming up with a more improv-friendly cover before he smiled again.
“Of course you know me. We’re... friends.”
He managed to put enough of a spin on the word that it implied about fifty different things without seeming to commit to any of them.
“That’s nice then. Glad to know someone remembers me, even if I don’t remember you.”
Behind him, the doctor coughed slightly.
“I’ll just leave you two alone for a moment, I’m going to get the senior attending.”
The second she was out of the room, Arthur strode over to the bedside and grabbed Eames’ phone off the bedside table, scanning through it quickly to try and figure out who Eames had been working with.
“Jesus, you couldn’t have come up with a better line then ‘Help me, I’ve got amnesia?’ You know I fucking hate having to figure this shit out. I can’t even pretend to be your brother, so it’ll take me at least a day to get you transferred somewhere without raising any eyebrows, and if you think I’m just going to let you lie there and...”
He trailed off when he realised Eames was still staring at him with that same blank look.
“Eames?”
“Was that supposed to mean something?”
“Stop fucking with me, alright? You haven’t left your PASIV unattended, or anything, have you?”
“I’m sorry darling, but I haven’t the faintest clue what you’re talking about.”
A cold, heavy weight settled into Arthur’s stomach.
“Eames, how old are you?”
“They tell me-”
“No, not how old they tell you you are, how old are you?”
Eames smiled sadly for a second. “I’m twenty-three.”
Arthur pulled his phone out of his pocket and send out a text message to a very select group.
CODE RED
two