Just something I came up with today inspired by my best friend haha. I mean to continue it.

Try and enjoy :)

1: Sergeant

The phone was ringing. I heard it crying out to me from the other room as I sketched in a few more details on my paper, trying to ignore the repeating noise. My mind quickly went through possibilities of who might be calling. Was it my mother? Did someone need my help? Was this an emergency call? Even the tiniest chance that it could be something important led me to resign my work and get to my feet. Sock clad feet carried me into the "living room" of my cozy apartment. I glanced at the caller ID before punching in the green OK button, and was trying to understand why a hospital would be phoning me as I answered.


"Good morning, is this Ms. Sidney Mosley?"

"That it is."

"This is Dr. Cramer from UPMC hospital; would you happen to know a man named Ian Gallagher?"

My heart skipped a few beats, like it always did when I heard his name. Memories flooded out through the wall I had built to hold them back. "Yes, I do know him." My mind had already narrowed it down and acknowledged that this was my Ian, otherwise the hospital wouldn't have known to call me up.

"Well, if you didn't know, he's an army sergeant whom I have in my care. He was knocked out hard with flying debris and unfortunately it has done damage to his brain."

What? Where did this come from? I held my breath, attempting to keep my cool until I heard the entire diagnosis. "And that leaves him where?" I asked.

"Luckily, it isn't severe brain damage. Ian has what we call amnesia. This can be overcome with memory tests, depending on how serious it is. He could possibly be stuck like this for the rest of his life. His family is with him now, and that was in efforts to get him to remember them… only…"

"Only what?" I demanded, as he had drifted the sentence off.

"The only person we can get him to remember is you," he said.

I froze. What? Why? I haven't seen Ian in years… why would he remember me now? "What do you mean exactly?" My brain didn't comprehend.

The man sighed a little. I heard subtle background voices. "Ian Gallagher, twenty-three, Caucasian man, five foot eleven, one hundred and seventy three pounds, blond, and blue eyed," he recited. The recollection of his presence washed over me. "This man woke up from the accident saying your name. He was sent to a hospital which deemed him unable to go back into action and they proceeded to send him to us, where his family could see him more easily. As of yet, he still only remembers you clearly, and wants you to come see him."


"That would be best, he's awake just now. You're not far away?"

"No, I'm not. I'll be there in about ten minutes."

After I'd gotten off the phone with the doctor I numbly reached for my coat and keys. I turned out the lights in all three rooms and pulled my boots on before stepping out of the apartment and locking it. It was noticeably colder in the hallway, and I refrained from using the handrail to the stairs because it was cold metal. My old Aveo sat parked at the side of the building, seeming to shiver in the biting chill.

My high school life with Ian came trickling back to me. We had been in the same grade, he was a little older than me, but we quickly became good friends. I had just moved in town, the new kid was always exciting to students, but he treated me like an old friend. He had been my best friend for about a year before he had asked me out. That was eleventh grade.

It all seemed so childish from my matured point of view, but I couldn't lie to myself about my feelings now. After all, he had been the one to break up with me, not the other way around.

I had driven myself to the hospital without any problems and parked successfully. How would he treat me now? I had so many more questions I could ask myself, but it had been more than ten minutes. I had run out of time. Decidedly I left my safe haven of the warm car and forced my legs to move toward the main entrance.

It smelled like sanitizer and plastic inside, the normal scent of hospitals. I had always hated the aroma, as I'd spent so much time already in such buildings. My childhood was lived in and out of hospitals, visiting my dying father.

"Ms. Mosley?" I nodded to the woman at the desk. "They're expecting you in room 208. Just take the elevator over there. The room will be on your left when you come up."

"Thanks," I answered, following her instructions.

I took each step very deliberately; unsure of what I would say or how I would act. I knew his family quite well through our short lived relationship, and I had spoken to his younger brother Mark just last month—we talked of the things we had in common, such as favorite movies and games.

"Sidney? Oh my Gosh, Sidney's here." I only had to look to my left as I stepped out of the elevator to see the tall, lean figure of Mark running over to me. He wrapped me up in his long arms that had me lost in his chest and sweater. "I'm so glad you're here," he told me.

I smiled into the fabric. "It's good to see you again Mark."

He let me go and kept me at an arm's length to look me over. "You haven't changed much at all." Leaving one hand on my shoulder, he turned us both to the aging couple sitting on a cushioned bench not far away. As we walked over to them I noticed their distance from each other—so I supposed things were still unwell between the divorced two.

"Hey there kiddo," Mr. Gallagher greeted me, getting to his feet and pulling me into a crunching embrace. Father like son, the grip of an army man was strong. "How've ya been?"

"Oh… peachy," I smiled for him. Inside me, turmoil and confusion raged, and at this point I just wanted to be alone with Ian. "How are you guys? I miss being with all of you."

"We're fine, but we've missed you too," Mr. Gallagher answered. His divorced wife said nothing, and when she looked at me there was no feeling in her eyes.

A collective silence came over all of us slowly, and my feet seemed to turn into lead blocks pointed in the direction of room 208. Mark nudged my arm, and then fully helped me into the room, closing the door behind me.

Horror and worry and hate bled into my mind and heart. Ian was battered up with enough marks and bandages for ten men. His eyes were closed, so I took the moment to sneak over to the stool beside his bed, and sat there, reuniting myself with his safe presence. I then sighed, which came out much louder than I'd thought it would. Ian's eyes flashed open, ready and alert, I thought he might try to sit up and prepared myself. But his eyes merely rested on me, and the expression I had missed so much returned to his face.

"Sidney," he sighed.

"Ian," I replied.

"It was all an accident... this..."

"How are you feeling?" This was all that really mattered to me.

"Um… I'm okay. My cuts are a tad sore, but I can stand," he smiled a little. "If only I could remember people, especially my family. I mean, besides you, I remember everything about you."

Was that reassuring to me? Maybe not.

"Sidney, I don't know what to do. I don't know those people out there," he said, almost painfully, gesturing to the door and hallway. "I can't go back to my station until I'm fully recovered, but I'm not even sure I want to when I can't recall half of the guys I worked with."

"What do you want me to do? Ian, we've been separated for a long time; I'm not sure what you're asking of me."

I watched his face closely as he thought and decided what he wanted. I knew at this point that I would do practically anything for him, but I wasn't going to say that out loud.

"I know I've put you through a lot in the past, but I'd rather not go home with people I don't know—err, don't remember." My heart jumped and tripped as I understood what he wanted. "I hate to put such an immense weight on you… but you're all I have right now… at least mentally. I would feel so much more comfortable relearning about these people with you, whom I know."

Casting a glance down at the floor, I swallowed and my mind quickly sped through the loveliness it would be to have him close. I pinned that floating free thought down before it got the best of me. "When are you free to go home?"

It was like I'd already said yes. "In about a week," he said, holding that calculating look on his face. "They want to watch my progress and see that I am fully healthy and ready to go back, but besides painkillers and therapists they can't do much for me. I'd rather not deal with therapists either."

"I see. We'd have to review what you do remember."

"Our past, with blotchy memories of my family… pieces. Everything about you is still apparent in my mind… strangely enough; my education, some friends—though those are blurry. That's about it."

"Well, Ian. We're adults. We make our own choices. If it would make you feel more comfortable…" Oh goodness, I'm going to say it, aren't I? "…you can stay with me."

His probing gaze held mine for a moment and he waited to watch the silence between us. "Are you sure? I know it's been a long time…"

I smiled. "You're my best friend. Of course I'm sure."