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So engrossed was he with his words, which poured through his hand and out the pen onto the page, that he didn't even notice her stop at the doorway of the war room. And she didn't want to bother him for a while, finding entertainment in how his hand glided across the page and his determined expression twitched occasionally in the same manner she saw during combat. Her mind ran about, imagining what kind of world he might be building with his words, though what he saw in his head likely differed far from the worlds she saw.
It was only when he paused to tend to his cramping hand did he notice her. He jumped slightly, shifting to stand up from where he sat in the corner, then let out a deep sigh as he realized who it was. "Thought you knew how to knock," he teased, and it got her to smile slightly.
Farah stepped into the room, arms crossed as she gazed warmly upon him. Her attentive eyes missed no beat when he shifted the pen into a resting angle, seeming unsure whether to shut the little field notebook or not. His fingers repeatedly toyed with the page edges, eyes locked upon hers.
"You are a writer?" Farah decided to ask.
Alex gave a small shrug. "If you want to coin a term to it, yes." He settled on trying to half-cover the notebook with one hand.
Not that Farah had plans to peek at what's inside. She had class. She understood the importance of personal secrets. And so she kept back where she couldn't see. "What do you write?" She wondered.
Alex looked nervous but still answered the question. "It's a diary."
"A diary?" In that case, it was very personal. Farah even took a step back and Alex seemed to understand the message, for the slight tenseness in his shoulders left his body when he realized she couldn't see. "That is quite wonderful," Farah continued, not sure what the best way to compliment was. 'Good for you' seemed too harsh.
"Thanks." Alex shot her back a grin. And yet his eyes didn't quite meet her the same way. Whatever was going on in his head, it was gnawing away at the charisma he fronted so effortlessly for the past few months. Then again, the depressed are the funniest, so the saying went.
"I'll let you get back to writing," she said and uncrossed her arms, taking a step backwards. Alex shifted through the notebook uneasily and Farah turned her back to let him do so without judgement. Hardly had she taken a step when he called her name, making her pause.
"Farah, am I changing?" Alex asked.
The question rubbed her wrong. As innocent as his voice may have sounded to say it, it wasn't a question that fit him. One that shouldn't be asked to anyone, but to someone who knew him for years. Someone who had memories of comparison to draw from.
"Why do you ask?"
Alex shut the notebook, then gestured her to sit next to him. And so she did. "Before I came to Urzikstan," he started. "I was caught in an explosion. Not the one involving the gas. But one before that. My CO told me I was thrown and hit my head, and I think the effects are finally kicking in."
Farah's brain ran through her memories, picking out those she knew who had suffered from explosions and struggled with regular thinking afterwards. Some people who were quiet now screamed, some who were talkative forgot how to speak. Some cried, some laughed, and then there were the ones who were brain dead. It was horrifying enough to see those close to her suffer from the effects. And it worried her what Alex suspected was going on with himself.
"I don't understand," she prodded, gently of course.
"I'm losing my memories," Alex admitted. "It started with minor things, like where I put my equipment or the car keys, stupid things that most people forget. Then I started forgetting names. Not just new people I met, but names of friends I've had for months, sometimes years. I can't even remember my own name."
"It's Alex," Farah said gently.
"That's a codename I picked so at least I have a name."
Farah set her hand upon his shoulder to calm him down. It did little to quench the fear sitting in his lost eyes. Fear of a monster and a battle he couldn't see—and he would lose to—yet still clung on to the dwindling hope that somehow he had a chance at victory.
It was all too familiar for her.
"You remembered my name," she attempted to comfort.
It didn't help. Alex opened the notebook to a page written in frantic chicken scratch. Names lined the page with no coordination nor neatness. In the middle of the right page, John Price's name sat in big letters. And below it was her name, underlined three times over.
"I didn't," he said sadly.
Farah didn't need to see the rest of the diary, knowing what he was keeping wasn't just to help him cope with emotions, but a memory log of 30 or so years crowding one another across the pages. Deep inside, it broke her. Of all the people to be affected the worst by life, why was it always the good ones? Must fate always be so cruel?
The only good that came out of it all: she knew the words to say. She had said them millions of times to the Urzaki soldiers who suffered from the same memory loss.
"You did. You knew my name belongs to me. You could have called me John Price instead."
It worked, even if temporary. He smiled a bit again, and this time his eyes joined in the smile. And that's all Farah needed to dig into more comfort. But not through assurance. Through proof. "Tell me a joke," she encouraged.
Alex was quick. "Why don't scientists trust atoms?"
"Why?"
"They make up everything."
Farah shook her head, smirking. "You have not changed."
"Good. Because I have a whole bag of jokes for you."
Farah rolled her eyes playfully. "Only you would. Tell me them."
It was a horrible idea, encouraging Alex to tell his stupid jokes. While some of them were good, most of them induced facepalms. And yet, in the half-hour he rambled, Alex forgot about his worries, even easing up enough to show her bits and pieces of his diary and recall events he had written down in greater detail than the single line he jotted. She didn't need to tell him the obvious as she poked questions at his adventures. He was still there. And Farah was glad, soaking in all the information possible and storing it deep in her memory and her heart.
She'd help him keep the memories alive.