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.
.-