Chapter Text
It happens on a Sunday night near the end of January.
A cold and wet winter’s night. Everything looks all smudged and diluted and grey. There’s not even a hint of greenery anywhere yet, it’s all dirty slush from the last big snowfall and mushy leaves and everything just looks down right miserable to be honest.
Becky gets the call just after six in the evening. She doesn’t recognise the number but she answers it anyway and thank God she does. She doesn’t really register most of the information that she is told, just the important parts: Charlotte’s been in an accident, it’s serious and she should get to the hospital as quickly as she can.
Charlotte. Accident. Serious. Hospital.
So she does go to the hospital.
When she gets there she wishes she hadn’t.
*****
Becky is exhausted – physically and mentally and emotionally. Her legs are crossed as she sits on the uncomfortable plastic seat in the dreary hospital waiting room; her hands are loosely clasped together, resting on her stomach. Her eyes are open but there’s no movement in them.
In fact, there is no movement at all as the time passes. No head shake, no twitching of her thumbs or fingers, no tiny adjustments of her legs, no shifting or rocking, nothing, except the unavoidable reaction of blinking her eyes.
She’s been in this position for the last two hours, simply staring at the wall, as though if she stares at it for long enough she will magically be transported elsewhere, preferably back in time so that she can avoid this whole excruciating disaster from happening in the first place.
Her legs should have cramped by now. Her feet should be tingly with hundreds of pins and needles. Her neck should be stiff from the lack of movement, but she looks as comfortable and as stress free as a woman sitting in her own home.
But while her body is still her mind is frantic. She pictures her mind as a little cartoon who is running around with sparks and smoke coming from their feet because they are traveling too quickly.
Charlotte.
Accident.
Serious.
Hospital.
Retrograde amnesia.
Becky’s heard of it but she doesn’t know much of anything about it. It’s something you hear on tv shows or the movies, it’s not something that happens to the people you love. There had been a sadness to the doctor’s voice as he had explained to them, his voice carrying the echo of the loss that Becky currently feels.
Becky feels like she is underwater, everything is fuzzy and distant, as if it is happening to someone else other than her.
The dull ache inside of her almost cuts her adrift, unmoored from everything that really matters, an unforgiving tide that won’t retreat.
“Becky!” She startles a little at the sound of her name but not enough to pull her attention away from the spot she’s staring at on the wall. There are voices on the peripheral of her hearing field and she can hear machines faintly beeping away continuously somewhere close by too.
Becky’s not sure what to say. She’s not sure if she can actually say what she needs to anyway because if she says it out loud then that makes it real and she wishes desperately that it wasn’t. If there was just some way she could rewind…
“Becky, what the hell is going on?”
Sasha crouches so that she’s eye level with Becky and Becky finally tears her attention away from the wall and onto her best friend. She can see the concern painted on Sasha’s face, eyes coloured by genuine fear and confusion.
Becky stops thinking for a moment and then says: “Hey. What’s going on? Charlotte doesn’t know who I am, that’s what is going on.”
“Don’t be stupid, Becky.”
“Sasha.” Becky takes in a breath and exhales noisily; it’s one of those secret friend signals that tells people who know her that they should pay very close attention to what she is about to say. “I’m not fuckin’ around. She doesn’t know who I am and for what it’s worth she doesn’t remember who you are either,” Becky adds with a nod to Bayley who is standing behind Sasha with her arms wrapped around herself.
Sasha waits for more but in the end Becky simply stops speaking. The gesture is artlessly executed, as if Becky is simply going through a checklist of what to say.
Say hey. Deliver the bad news. Close up. End the conversation.
Sasha closes her eyes and bites down on her cheek as her stomach plummets through the floor, the blood in her veins running cold and sending a zip through her whole body. She’s always been good at passive aggressive game play but when it comes to Becky she struggles for some reason.
“Her memory is gonna come back right? She’s gonna remember?”
“They don’t know,” Becky utters slowly. “It might, it might not. Who knows? But right now she hasn’t a clue who I am.”
“Have you seen her yet?” Bayley asks, her voice melodic and lovely, so at odds with Becky’s own.
“Nah, I don’t know what am supposed to say or do. Her parents are in there with her right now.”
Sasha is too tired and worried to keep pushing this massive rock up the hill. She moves onto the seat next to Becky and puts an arm around Becky’s shoulders. “Then you need to make her remember you, Becky.”
“Yeah,” Bayley agrees, “when did you ever run away from a challenge?”
The attempt to make Becky smile falls flat on its face but she appreciates it nonetheless. It’s also true on some levels, she’s always been a stubborn ass and running away from challenges isn’t really her thing. Becky is the one that would stand up and face the Devil if necessary.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re right,” Becky snaps at them, “I’ll just go and build a fucking time machine, shall I? So that none of this happens.”
She bites her tongue the second the words leave her mouth, but it is too late to take them back. It’s easy to be angry, but as she looks between her two best friends she feels the fight go out of her, feels the emotion swell in her gut, her chest, her throat and then she’s shivering against Sasha.
She tries to take some deep breaths because someone had once told her that it is supposed to be calming. That someone is a fucking moron because all it does is make her heart pound harder and her stomach flip flop like she’s on some sort of roller coaster, and in a way she probably is but it’s not the enjoyable kind that’s for sure.
So Becky looks at her current predicament and she sets herself apart from it. She sees it, identifies it, and examines it. She isolates it. She even challenges it.
You against me? Keep dreaming. She builds walls. She builds walls and forces the pain behind them and then she moves the walls inward, compressing the pain, crushing it, limiting it and she knows she will beat it eventually too.
“I need to see her,” Becky eventually murmurs and Sasha’s hand that is currently massaging the base of Becky’s neck comes to a stop.
“You do. I’m sure her parents would like that too.”
Becky knows she has legs. She can see them filling out her black faded jeans, but they don’t want to move and she can’t really blame them. She takes a moment to compose herself, to school her features into an expression that doesn't scream ‘I am totally lost’.
“I can do this,” Becky says.
“Course you can,” Sasha agrees. “You’re Becky Lynch. You can do anything.”
*****
There’s an awful feeling of dread when she steps into Charlotte’s room but when she speaks her voice is steadier than she expected it to be. “Charlotte?”
Charlotte’s sitting up in bed – awake - and caught in amongst a maze of wires. There are small bruises and cuts peppering her skin and there’s a vicious looking bruise underneath her eye that Becky swears has gotten darker in the time she’s been in the room. Charlotte’s left arm is in a sling and on the other arm there’s a little circular bandage in the crook of her elbow where a needle has obviously extracted blood.
Becky’s chest feels too tight like her lungs are unable to expand properly. She can feel them burning as she takes a breath in. She can feel the sharp stab of pain in her stomach and chest flutter up into her throat and she swallows it down quickly as Charlotte’s voice vibrates around in her head.
“Becky, right?” Charlotte’s voice is hoarse but it’s still her voice and Becky would recognise that voice anywhere. “My dad keeps telling me about you. He’s right, it’s the hair that gives you away.”
There’s a painful silence as the harsh reality of their situation embeds itself further into the very foundations of their lives. Becky’s not even sure if she’s still even breathing as her lungs are still burning. She bites the inside of her cheek so hard that she’s pretty sure she feels the skin split.
Charlotte’s eyes stay on her and Becky attempts to smile but it comes out more like a grimace and it certainly doesn’t reach her eyes in the way that it normally does when she smiles at Charlotte. Becky wills herself to move, she sends a silent message to her brain telling it to make her feet move and they eventually do. She finds herself moving towards Charlotte and drawing a chair up alongside the edge of the bed.
“Yeah, I’m Becky.”
In amongst the chaos of the bed, Charlotte looks fragile and vulnerable and Becky feels sick, and although she hasn’t eaten in hours she feels the contents of her stomach press up against her throat.
“And we’re…” Charlotte stops, gazing into space, the dreary hospital lights above them dancing in her eyes as she tries to draw the details out of the black. “And we’re together?”
Becky has never felt more out of place in her life and it’s awkward, oh it’s so awkward. And that’s the part that hurts right now because things with Charlotte have never been awkward. They have connected in the shallows and in the deep. And there’s absolutely no preparation for this kind of thing, you know? No manual or guide for your reactions.
And Becky can’t exactly lie to her. She knows this can’t be easy for Charlotte either and the last thing she wants to do right now is make anything worse. She can see the confusion in Charlotte’s face, flickering in and away again like a fire that doesn’t want to go out.
“Yeah, we’re together,” Becky says, the quietness of the room makes her words sound so much louder and she cringes.
“Do you have a second name?” Charlotte asks and there’s a glint in her eyes that Becky recognises: Charlotte’s amused for some reason.
“Lynch.”
“Becky Lynch,” Charlotte repeats. She holds Becky’s name like a precious artifact: historic, sentimental, strange but beautiful. “I like it. It suits you.”
“That’s not so bad then.”
“You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?” Charlotte asks, but not in a way that’s unkind, it’s more curious than anything else and Becky supposes she’d be curious too if she was the one in Charlotte’s shoes.
“I’ll figure it out,” Becky answers, “I - we - always do.”
“Are you going to tell me that I'm a Lynch too… or?”
Becky shakes her head once, bites down on her lip and reaches for Charlotte’s free hand, looking up for consent first which is freely given with a slight tilt of Charlotte’s head. The air is thick and spiky with electricity. Becky can taste it, all metallic and coppery, it’s like when you’ve left the dentist after having work done on your teeth and you’re left with that odd taste in your mouth. She glances up and finds Charlotte staring at her: once and then twice.
“How did I meet you?” Charlotte asks.
“Sasha introduced us after I bugged her about you for a few weeks.”
“And we… we got together after that?”
Becky lets out a shaky breath that morphs into an awkward laugh. “Nah, took a bit of time before that happened.”
It would have been easier climbing Mount Everest than it was getting Charlotte to agree to go out with her. Becky had wrongly – she’ll have you know – got the reputation for being a bit of a player and Charlotte, in the early days, had never really let go of that, always afraid of getting too close in case Becky had burned her. It had taken Becky a few months and a lot of patience before Charlotte had eventually given her a chance.
Becky had initially tried the traditional tested route of buying Charlotte flowers – that hadn’t worked. She’d then suggested a dinner and the movies – that hadn’t worked either. She’d then tried not talking to Charlotte in the hope that Charlotte would reach out to her instead – that certainly hadn’t worked.
And then, on a spur of the moment idea one Saturday, she’d driven over to Charlotte’s house and asked her if she’d wanted to go to the new giant arcade in the city because apparently they sold the best milkshakes and Becky had really wanted to try one. Charlotte had agreed and Becky nearly tripped over her own feet when they walked to her car.
“An arcade and milkshakes? Seriously?” Charlotte sounds completely scandalised at the thought.
“Seriously,” Becky confirms with an easy smile. “They also had this obstacle course that was aimed more at kids than adults but we had a go and I beat you and you were in a right mood with me-"
“That actually sounds like me.”
“So I… so I kissed you and that was it.”
“How long have we been together, Becky?”
The world around Charlotte looks different. It is no longer a place she really understands. It’s like a foreign city has risen up around her and changed the landscape of things completely.
And there’s a hint of fear in Charlotte’s voice like she doesn’t really want to know the answer and the question stops Becky mid smile. Charlotte's words are even handed on the surface but it is clear that Charlotte is wounded by all of this too and that’s understandable, Becky thinks. Charlotte wouldn’t be human if she wasn’t wounded by all of this.
Because how the hell would you feel if you woke up and were told you’d lost a litany of memories? People, places, events and stories all gone like they weren’t even there in the first place.
“Just over three years,” Becky answers honestly.
Charlotte’s thumb swipes across Becky’s hand and Becky wonders if her answer has sparked some sort of recognition in Charlotte. When her eyes flicker up towards Charlotte there’s an expression that flits across her face that looks halfway between relief and worry.
“I don’t remember,” Charlotte admits in a tone that sounds a lot like sorrow, “I have no idea who you are but this –"
Charlotte’s words sting. Actually, it’s more than that, they hurt like a bitch. Becky feels the giant wave that’s been following her over the last few hours build higher and steeper to blacken the sky in her world, she feels the crest wobble and begin to spill over, she feels its great weight crashing down on her with the whole weight of the ocean behind it.
What the hell is she going to do?
“What about this?”
Charlotte’s lips are pressed tight and her face looks strained, as if she’s trying to pull memories out of a dark hole. Eventually, she shakes her head, and her breath catches in her throat. She’s been holding it in, trying to force an answer out, but all she manages is: “I don’t know, I can’t explain it.”
*****
She knows there’s something wrong the minute she rounds the door to Charlotte’s hospital room a week later. There’s no friendly smile or wave sent her way, there’s nothing except silence.
Charlotte looks sad and weighed down. But there’s something else there, hidden behind the anguish, Becky can see it. Charlotte seems confused somehow, as if totally uncertain of herself, the expression so out of place on the person that Becky knows. She half smiles at Becky eventually but the anguish doesn’t go away. It is anchored in her eyes, in the crescent of her mouth and it feels like it has spread like the roots of a tree.
And her Charlotte is still there, Becky knows that. She just needs to find a way to bring her to the surface again, to reach out a hand and grab on tight so that she can pull Charlotte back into the version of this life they have made and created together.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
Becky automatically adjusts the pillow behind Charlotte’s head and she fluffs up the blanket on the bed so that everything is where it should be and Charlotte is comfortable.
“It’s nothing.”
“I know you remember, so tell me.”
Becky thinks this is what it must feel like to learn a new instrument only in this instance she feels like a piano player, she has the memory of Charlotte ingrained in her fingertips but she’s now learning a new complex song that she’ll have to listen to five or six times before she really gets it because there’s notes and keys she hadn’t anticipated.
“It’s just so messed up,” Charlotte states bluntly, “Sasha and Bayley visited me earlier and I could tell they were telling me things I’ve already been told, I could hear it in their voice and it’s just so infuriating. I feel like I’m letting them down which is ridiculous because I don't remember Bayley either –"
“You’re not,” Becky interrupts quickly. “You’re not letting anyone down, Charlotte.”
“You want to know something weird?” Charlotte asks.
Becky can only look at her.
“I don’t dream anymore.”
The change of direction surprises Becky for a second. “What d’you mean?”
“I mean, I don’t have them anymore. Not once since this happened.”
“Not one?”
“Nothing. Or nothing I remember, anyway. It’s like…” Charlotte exhales, her body shrinking, as if punctured, and her eyes are pained like she’s going to cry. “It’s like that part of me is gone too.”
A heavy silence settles around them and Becky searches for something to say, something that might comfort her, but she can’t think of anything substantial. Charlotte puts her hand out then and she looks uneasy, like she’s not sure Becky will take it but Becky does, as always.
And then Charlotte does begin to cry.
You see that’s the thing about feelings, they have to come out and they’ll find a way whether it’s through actions or words or emotions, they’ll find the release switch somehow.
Becky lifts her up slightly, so she’s in a sitting position and then there’s an arm around Charlotte’s back and waist, holding her up. Charlotte lets herself cry and not because she wants to but because she physically and emotionally can’t help it. Her body shakes and Becky holds her tighter. There are circles being rubbed on her back and then there are fingers combing through her hair. Charlotte feels her muscles relax and her stomach unclench as Becky’s fingers continue to move through her hair: it is soothing and consoling all at the same time.
“You’re gonna remember, y’know,” Becky finally remarks after a few minutes. “I know you will.”
Charlotte looks up through wet eyelashes and there’s a determination to Becky’s face, as if what she’s said is a guarantee rather than a hope and prayer.
“I can’t explain it even though I wish I could but you’re different.”
“Course I am, Charlotte.” Becky smiles and Charlotte can’t help but laugh, even if it’s a little false.
“It’s like… I’ve seen so many people over the last week. People I remember, the doctors, then the people I don’t remember and then there’s you, it’s not as scary when you’re with me but I can’t explain why.”
Becky rests her chin on Charlotte’s shoulder, their bodies are pressed closely together and it’s nothing sexual but Becky’s body comes back to life at the closeness. There’s a big part of her that wants to cry. She’s missed this more than words can ever explain but she also knows they really need to keep boundaries because Charlotte is confused enough and this will probably make it worse.
Instead of crying, Becky does the opposite. She smiles.
“We’re gonna get through this, Charlotte. We’re just gonna need a little patience.”
The following day when Becky returns, Charlotte is smiling again.
*****
“Hey.”
No response.
“Hello?” Becky says, louder.
No sound at all. No static and no immediate background noise.
Becky sits forward on the couch.
More silence.
“Charlotte?”
“Becky, it’s me.”
“I know,” Becky answers gently, “you okay?”
“I needed to speak to you. I know it’s late and I’m sorry but-"
“Charlotte, what’s wrong?”
More silence. For a second, all Becky can hear is the slight crackle of Charlotte’s breath against the mouthpiece. Then, finally, she speaks again.
“I don’t know. I just know that you’re the one I need to speak to.”
Becky feels the tears begin to roll down the side of her face at the sound of Charlotte’s voice. If she’d taken the time to write down ten things that might happen during a phone call tonight with Charlotte, crying probably wouldn’t have made it onto the list. And even if it had, she’d have predicted it would be Charlotte.
Becky tastes the saltiness of her tears on her lips as she reaches a shaky hand behind her head and rubs at her neck. She swallows the lump of panic just as her fingers brush over the base of her throat. She lifts her hand and uses her palm to wipe away the tears.
“We can talk, Charlotte. No worries.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything, you know that.”
“What was our first date like? I mean, I know you took me to an arcade,” Charlotte says the word like it is a thorn in her mouth and Becky can’t help but smile, “but what was our proper first date like?”
Becky thinks back to their first official date and honestly? It had turned into a bit of a shambles. But she’d figured out two things that night: one, Charlotte couldn’t dance to save her life and two, Charlotte was the person that Becky was going to end up with. End of story.
“It was… interesting.”
“Interesting? That’s another phrase for bad, isn’t it?” Charlotte asks.
“Nah, it wasn’t bad at all. But you’re gonna tell me about that first date when you remember.”
“Trying to give me motivation?” Charlotte jokes.
“It’s a cracking story, Charlotte. I’ll be right here waitin’ when you’re ready to tell me it.”
They talk for another hour and Charlotte feels herself begin to settle. The anxiety that has been swirling around her stomach has begun to fade and she can feel herself becoming tired. Becky is like a calm body of water that she can swim in while forgetting about all the carnage that is going on around her.
Life has a way of binding you to certain people. You’re bound to people and places, whether you like it or not, and it doesn’t really matter if you fight it, or if something attempts to come in between it, or you’re in an accident and your memory decides to go on an untimely vacation, you’re always drawn to them and that’s all there is to it.
Charlotte is beginning to understand that notion when it comes to Becky Lynch.