Work Text:
She opened her eyes.
She stared at the smooth ceiling above her, feeling fuzzy and disoriented. She was lying on the floor for some reason, and when she tried to sit up, a debilitating pain sheared down her back. She gasped and breathed hard, her arms trembling.
She looked around the room - it looked like a pristine café, with clean Formica-topped tables, overbright fluorescent lights, and shining vinyl booths. She didn't know why, but something about that struck her as wrong. Two men were slumped in one of the booths, opposite each other, construction workers of sorts.
She frowned, trying to think through the fog in her head, and experienced a moment of dulled panic when she realised she didn't remember her own name or where she was. She glanced down at herself; there was a nametag on her chest, pinned to what looked like a uniform.
Ashley, she mouthed. Ashley.
She gritted her teeth and crawled her way slowly to the counter, the pain throbbing down her back every time she moved. She was perspiring by the time she managed to pull herself up. She paused, leaning on the counter and simply breathed, feeling shivery and weak.
After a moment, she straightened enough to look at the two men in the booth. One of them was big and blond with bold, stark features. "Hey," she called, her voice hoarse and harsh in the silence of the café. "Are you okay? Hey!" she repeated.
The men started awake. They looked around, confused, and blinked at each other. Then their expressions seemed to clear, and they slid out of the booth and got up. They glanced at her on their way past to the door, and one of them pulled something out of his pocket and -
The next thing she knew, she was leaning against the counter and swaying slightly. She blinked and looked around, feeling groggy and disoriented. She was alone in what looked like a pristine café, but nothing about it looked familiar - and then a sudden pain spasmed down her back, almost keeling her over. She gasped, clinging to the counter for several long moments until she thought she could risk moving.
She realised, somewhat indifferently, that she couldn't remember her name either. She glanced at the ghost of her reflection in the front window, but the young woman who looked back didn't look any more familiar than the café. She looked down at herself dully; a nametag was pinned to what looked like a uniform.
"Ashley," she said.
She supposed it was her name, but she felt nothing about it.
By the time she managed to change out of her uniform and lock up the place, she'd figured out that she should probably go to the hospital. She stopped several drunken passersby, asking them for directions until she found herself in the reception area of the nearest clinic. She didn't think she made much sense when she tried to explain what had happened, but the nurse behind the counter forwarded her to a doctor who took a look at her back and then forwarded her to a scan.
The best explanation the doctor could give was that it looked as though she'd been hit by a localised explosion in her back. It had burned her skin and fractured the bones in her shoulder blade. He asked her a lot of questions, and she couldn't answer them. All she could say was that she'd suddenly found herself alone, leaning against the counter in an all-night café with no memory of who she was or how she'd got there - although she figured she was a waitress and her name was Ashley.
There were more tests and questions, and then the doctor advised that she stay for the night and in the morning they'd see if they could find out who she was or her family.
She nodded indifferently. It wasn't as if she remembered any other place to go to.