Work Text:
Myosotis (/ˌmaɪ.əˈsoʊtɪs/; from the Greek: “mouse’s ear”, after the leaf) is a genus of flowering plants in the family Boraginaceae (or Cynoglossum family) that are commonly called forget-me-nots.
There are two versions of how this flower attained the name that it bears, how the bright blue flowers became so symbolic;
1. In a German legend, God named all the plants when a tiny unnamed one cried out, “Forget-me-not, O Lord!” God replied, “That shall be your name.” Another legend tells when the Creator thought he had finished giving the flowers their colours, he heard one whisper “Forget me not!” There was nothing left but a very small amount of blue, but the forget-me-not was delighted to wear such a light blue shade.
and;
2. In 15th-century Germany, it was supposed that the wearers of the flower would not be forgotten by their lovers. Legend has it that in medieval times, a knight and his lady were walking along the side of a river. He picked a posy of flowers, but because of the weight of his armor he fell into the river. As he was drowning he threw the posy to his loved one and shouted “Forget-me-not.” It was often worn by ladies as a sign of faithfulness and enduring love.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“I’m only going to keep on forgetting,” Jason can’t stop the tears, and neither can Tim, as he desperately clutches at Jason’s hand.
“I know. It’s okay.” But Jason is already shaking his head,
“No, it’s not. It’s not okay!” His whole body is shaking then, the sobs rolling out of him like an avalanche, and Tim can do nothing, nothing but hold him and whisper to him and stroke his hair.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“They’re my favourites.”
“Oh, really?” Tim feigns surprise, “What luck, eh?” He moves around the bed as Jason sits up, putting the sandwich and drink on the table for him. Jason laughs, reaching for them as Tim takes the seat beside the bed.
“Yeah, anyway man, thanks for the food.” Jason is quick to unwrap it, the whole ordeal effortless for him, and he pauses just before taking a bite, squinting at the sandwich.
“…Everything alright?” Tim asks, when it seems like Jason isn’t going to eat the sandwich in his hands. Jason looks over to him suddenly, eyebrows up a little in surprise.
“Oh, yeah.” He takes a bite, finally, savouring the taste. “These are my favourites, you know.” He gets out between mouthfuls, and Tim can only nod and smile, because yeah, he knows.
“Thanks for the grub,” Jason says again, putting down the empty sandwich wrapper. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, getting rid of any crumbs. “I’m Jason, by the way. Who’re you?”
Tim tries not to wince, tries not to let the smile slip from his face or become too strained. “Tim,” He clears his throat, “My name’s Tim.”
“Well,” Jason says, unscrewing the lid from the drink, “It’s nice to meet you, Tim.” He takes a sip, before offering some to Tim. Tim shakes his head,
“No, thanks. I’m allergic to Ribena.” Jason nods in understanding, taking the bottle back.
“Ah, right. That’s a damn shame, this is good stuff. My favourite, you know- we are in a hospital, so if you wanted to try some, I could always call a nurse…” He trails off, winking at Tim. Tim can’t help but laugh, because that was such a Jason thing. But Tim couldn’t, even if he wanted. Mostly because Jason probably won’t remember to call the nurse.
“Thank you, but really, I’m fine.” Tim relaxes back into the chair, because for now, the tension he had previously felt has disappeared. Jason shrugs, taking another sip.
“Suit yourself.”
Moments pass in silence, neither really saying anything. Jason has put on the television, and sits listening to the news. The reporter is talking about some foreign crisis, but it would be a lie to say Tim is paying attention.
“I’ve always wanted to visit there,” Jason says wistfully, breaking the silence. Tim takes a moment to look at Jason, before looking at the TV, to where he wishes to travel.
Oh.
Italy.
Tim almost cries. It’s not the first time something like this has happened, and he’s damn sure it won’t be the last.
“You’ve been there,” Tim murmurs quietly, unable to bring himself to look at Jason.
“I have?” The bamboozlement is clear in Jason’s voice. Tim nods. “When?”
“September 25th, 1996.” Tim thinks he probably shouldn’t say the next part, but as he fiddles with the ring on his finger, he can’t help but to. “Our honeymoon.”
“I- I don’t remember.” And Jason sounds so terrified, so small and aghast and alone, that Tim can’t help but smile up at him. It’s a pained and damaged smile, a little melancholic, bittersweet, but still a smile. It’s still the man he loved. The man he loves.
“It’s okay. I don’t really remember it either,” That’s a lie, a damned lie, “We spent most of it drunk.” Not a lie.
“So… We’re married?” Tim nods, and Jason nods back, and it kind of goes on like that for a while, until one of them cracks and starts laughing. “Do you have any photos?” He does. Tim moves slowly toward the bed, sitting beside Jason, who subtlety makes more room for him. He pulls out his phone, and flicks through the images until he finds the ones he needs; picnics, weddings, parties, bowling, jogging- but they all have one thing in common; the two of them.
He lets Jason flick through it at a leisurely pace. They’re in no rush.
“I’m not a very good bowler,” Jason admits eventually, seemingly struck by that photo. Tim wonders – but refuses to indulge in hope – if it has sparked some memory for him.
“No, you’re not.” Tim agrees, “You gutter it practically every time.” Jason laughs, handing the phone back.
“Thanks. Really, you’re very pretty. Why did you marry me?” It was such an honest question, that it took Tim completely by surprise.
“I suppose,” He says eventually, blushing slightly and looking at anywhere but Jason, “It’s because you call me pretty. Every day.”
“I do?” Tim nods, still not looking at him. “Good. You deserve it.”
They sit on the bed for a few more hours, talking and flicking through more pictures, and Tim doesn’t dare ask if Jason is remembering anything. But then visiting hours are over, and Tim has to leave Jason.
“I won’t forget you, Tim.” Jason vows, and Tim smiles, albeit a rather weak one.
“I know.” Tim says, squeezing Jason’s hand. Jason pulls away then, leans over to his bedside table, plucks out a lone blue flower. He hands it to Tim, who takes it without a word. This is routine to him.
“You’ll come back tomorrow, right?” Jason seems genuinely afraid that he won’t. Tim uses the hand not holding the flower to stroke Jason’s hair and plants a kiss on his forehead.
“Of course I will.” I’ll bring you some more flowers, too.
He leaves the hospital room then, trying not to cry, still clutching the flower. He can feel Jason’s eyes on him. He says goodbye to the nurses, gives a small wave to the doctors, nods to the receptionists. He walks out the hospital, sits inside his car. He puts the flower with its brothers, in the Styrofoam cup filled with water in his cup holder.
And he drives away, and as he drives, he cries, the tears rolling silently down his cheeks, his eyes leaving the roads every minute or so to look down at the flowers taking up room in his car.
He hasn’t forgotten Jason. And he hopes Jason hasn’t forgotten him.