Forget Me Not flowers… they are beautiful. They are bluer than a summer day's sky, their very own sun nestled gently in its core. A black dot like an undilated iris peers into your soul, urging you to remember it. They have a mind of their own and they pop up wherever they so choose. But that's the fun of them, really. You never know what to expect. And you never will get rid of them.

I think I heard that somewhere, sometime ago.

I'm not really sure. I'm not sure of a lot of things lately.

I think I like Forget Me Not flowers because of how blue they are. They are such a pretty blue. They remind me of something close to me; someone warm?

I'm not really sure. I'm not sure of a lot of things lately.

I woke up in a hospital a few days ago and the man in a long, white coat with giant spectacles hanging on his nose said that I'd experience some loss of memory or time. He said I might repeat myself a few times, too, just so my brain can catch up after recovering for such a long time. He said I was out for a few months.

I'm not really sure. I'm not sure of a lot of things lately.

"Chris, you said that already," a soft voice almost whispers to me.

I look over to see who it was. It is the red head again. I'm not sure what her name is, I think I forgot it. If I ever had it. I must have also forgotten she was there, because she looks like she's been waiting for some form of communication for a while now.

I shake my head lightly and feign a small smile. I seem to say a lot of things out loud, too. Another symptom from my head injury. Or maybe that is who I was before all this.

"Come on, you have to eat. You're going to get sick if you don't."

She offers me a small sample of the hospital's delectable vanilla pudding via the flimsiest plastic spoon I've ever seen, but it tastes like crap. I would rather had something heavy and juicy. A steak sounds so good. Red said that I can't have any steak until I recover. She says it's doctor's orders, but I think she is about as full of crap as the vanilla pudding.

Though, I have to admit that she makes it easier to be here. When she walked into the room the first time I opened my eyes, I suddenly felt a weight lift from my chest. The lights were so bright then. I had to squint to open them, and I could barely see anything past the blurry edges and floating blobs above me, but I could hear her hurried footsteps. I remember she yelled at them to get away from me, to give me some air to breath. The doctors say I was struggling too much and they had to sedate me.

I felt groggy for the next two days.

The doctors asked me what my name and date of birth were and I couldn't remember. They had long frowns on their face and they looked at each other as if forming some conspiracy against me. The doctor with the big glasses—I call him Dr. Specs, but he says he'd rather I call him Dr. Col—was the one who told them to back away from me. He seemed to know what he was doing, so when he came into the room the other day, I sat up and listened to him attentively.

Most of what he said I couldn't remember. He repeated it again the next day, but I forgot it once again. He decided to post sticky notes on the foot of my hospital bed by the third day. I kept looking at them trying to remember, trying to make sense of what happened, but nothing stuck. Its day four now and there still isn't a lot sticking in my brain.

I'm not really sure. I'm not sure of a lot of things lately.

I pick up one of the sticky notes, its small adhesive strip sticking to my finger and it feels weird. It kind of grosses me out, so I wave my hand frantically trying to get the stupid yellow thing to fall off. I don't think of just pulling it off with my other hand, but my brain is pretty messed up the way it is, so I'm blaming it on that.

Amidst trying to get the sticky note off my finger, I hear a deep chuckle coming from the doorway of my hospital room. Red is off to find something hardier for me to eat, so it can't be her. I hope she doesn't have that kind of chuckle, anyway.

It is Dr. Specs. He shakes his head, causing his bulky glasses to glint slightly in the strong sun streaming through the window. I give a sheepish grin and finally find the brain cells to pull off the sticky note with my other hand.

"I don't think I'm all there, Doc," I say, looking down at my blanket-covered legs.

"It's what happens when you fall twenty feet into jagged rocks, Chris. You're lucky to be alive and functional at all," he reminds me.

I can't argue with him there, so I look back up and give him an acknowledging nod. He proceeds to explain the sticky notes, but with vague details this time. I tell him I can remember a few things now, like the rushing red water around my head. I remember that I couldn't see for a minute and that I could feel my heart pounding so fast that I could literally feel my ear drums beating against my temples. I don't tell him about my racing heart. I leave that short of intimate detail to myself, if only to keep one secret.

I look back at the sticky notes again while he explains something about my head injuries. I'm not really worried about them since I am alive. It's not like I can remember how I was before, anyway, so there is no point in worrying about who I am now. A strong emotion does pique my senses, however, when he mentions a familiar name. It's a name that has stuck with me from the very moment I recall complete, drug-free consciousness.

Red had mentioned it in my lucid spells, in between doses of Phenobarbital.

Don't ask me why I know what the hell that drug is. It's my brain, I know, but I'm sure as hell not used to it. Not anymore, anyway.

Leon is the name. Leon S. Kennedy. The way she says his name sounds like they are friends. May be we are friends, too.

She says that he found me. He apparently dragged me all the way from the edge of the lake to about fifty feet outside the forest. He must have been one hell of a built guy to be able to carry my sorry ass, considering Red's exclamations. I had "muscles on muscles," I guess. I've shed all that muscle now, though, and she says I'm back to my old self.

Except I'm not myself, because I don't know who I am.

I wanted to ask her if I could see this guy, to thank him for helping me, I just haven't had the chance to actually get a word in edge wise. If it isn't Red breathing down my neck to eat, it's Dr. Specs constantly reminding me of details I will probably never fully remember. Two other people I don't know—one for the morning and one for the afternoon—come in and stick me with needles. On one occasion I asked what they were doing out of pure curiosity and they said they had to run tests on my blood.

Somehow that made me feel really paranoid, but Red insisted I let them do their magic.

I don't think it's the needles or the blood that bothers me. I think it's the fact that they have my blood and could be doing anything with it. As long as they don't stick it back in me, though, I'll live.

I think I was an overly suspicious guy before I lost my memory. I guess I still am.

Now I'm sitting in my horribly uncomfortable bed of crinkly white sheets and harder-than-a-rock pillow, straining my neck to watch a cheap television show that must have aired at least fifty times since its first release. It's one of those types of comedies that everyone laughs at just because it was recorded with added laughter in the background.

The fact that I can remember small things like that makes me kind of irked. I can't remember the really important things in my life, but hey, at least I can recite this television show's one liners until the day I die. Go brain, go…

"Chris, they are serving hamburgers today!" Red chimes in through the doorway. "Come down to the cafeteria and eat some. They have fries!"

The sing song voice she has at the mention of fries should put light into my eyes, but it doesn't. I turn my head to look at her and shrug.

I haven't gotten up from my bed for the past four days, plus the few months I was unconscious. I just don't see a point anymore. Why bother with getting up at all? It's not like I can just continue my old life. Whatever kind of life that was.

"Come on, you love fries."

She seems offended that I don't want to get up from my warm and comfortable bed and walk around an aesthetically unpleasing, giant white mass of a building. There are sick people out in the hallways doing their ritual laps around the hospital to strengthen their muscles and Red thinks she can do the same to me.

But I'm not really sick. I'm just forgetful.

At the sight of her watery blue eyes, I have to give in. She's definitely the younger sister. She has to be with that type of ammo.

My legs are stiffer than boards as my feet touch the cold, glossy floor of my room. I stifle a groan and wait out the uncomfortable feeling. The pressure on my feet is odd at first, as if I'm walking on prickly clouds, but gravity situates my body after a few moments. The feeling of all my muscles stretching makes me want to breathe deeply, but I don't. I just stand there, focusing my vision on the security camera on the wall furthest from my bed. The thing gives me another disturbing sense of lost privacy, but I let it go when I feel Red tug on my arm.

"I bet you are starving."

I think to myself that I should be starving as we slowly walk down the pale hallway, toward the big grey elevators. I haven't eaten much since I woke up and the only nourishment I'd received from the time I was comatose was through a small IV line. My stomach doesn't growl and my mouth doesn't water at the thought of food. The act of sitting down in front of buffet of food sounds less appealing than getting my blood drawn and tested.

I keep going, though. Stretching my legs feels better than I thought it would and I even get Red to let me go down one flight of stairs before she thinks better of it. The rest of the way to the cafeteria is quicker when we use the elevators.

I hate that damn elevator music. It's not actually playing in the elevator, but I can hear it in the back of my skull and it drives me up the wall.

The food in the cafeteria is on par with the vanilla pudding, but no surprise there. Maybe I was a picky eater before I lost my memory. I itched to ask Red, but I had a feeling she wouldn't tell me. Dr. Specs says I should try to remember things on my own first, before someone taints the memory of it. Personal experience and all that.

Now that I am free of my lumpy bed, I feel the need to run outside and look up at the blue sky. I want to find Forget Me Not flowers, mainly. That's something I'm going to do as soon as I get out of here.

I look down at my barely touched meal and feel a pang of guilt when I notice Red's eyes on my jaw. She's making that face again, but my stomach feels like lurching out of my throat at the thought of eating.

I meet her gaze and wave my hand as if to brush the concern away.

"It's alright. I'll get my appetite back soon," I lie to her.

It's a white lie. It is. One of these days I'll get hungry and I'll eat. I'll eat a crap ton, I know I will.

Maybe.

I remember about Leon at the last second as Red gets up to throw our trays away. I hurry to catch up with her and stand next to the trash can as she carefully picks each item up one by one to throw it away. I find that kind of odd, but I can't lose my place, so I quickly clear my throat to get her attention.

"Do you think, I uh… could see Leon?"

Red's eyes widen just slightly, probably a bit surprised to hear me ask for something. A person, at that.

"Uh, I can call him. I'm not sure where he is at the moment, though."

I nod to her a bit too enthusiastically and she clearly notices. She smiles at me, a glint in her eyes.

"It's good that you want to see someone, Chris. You should keep your friends close to you, especially now. The more you're with them, the more you might remember."

Her smile is nearly twice the size from the one she gave me when I finally woke up. It makes my guilt a little more bearable and I consider asking to see this guy more often.

At least he has a name I can remember.

We both arrive at my room and she instantly retrieves her phone from her jacket that has been laid over the back of the same chair for who knows how long now. She constantly visited me while I was under and told me she thought of starting up a permanent residence in my room a few days before I woke up.

That made me really want to laugh, but I held it in for some strange reason.

"Hey, Leon. Sorry if I'm bothering you…" she paced around the room as she spoke, pausing only briefly to hear the man's reply. She broke out in a smile and shook her head. "Oh, sorry, it's Claire. Yeah!"

She turns away from me after that and lowers her voice a little.

I'm a little annoyed she won't let me listen in on her conversation, but I play nice and sit on the bed anyway. The pads of my feet reach the floor just enough for me to feel the cool temperature against them and I focus on that to give her more privacy. If I'm going to be a stickler for it, I might as well give others the same treatment.

Claire is her name, though. Claire, Claire. It's a good name for her. It fits her.

I look up just as she turns around again, phone already in her back pocket as she prepares to answer my question.

"He's actually in town!" She smiles and it makes her words sound extremely happy.

"Good."

I try to smile again, but I start to feel too tired to bother. I lie back down in bed and blanket the covers securely up to my chin.

"Wake me when he gets here, okay?" I ask her, eyes closed.

I think she replies with "no problem," but I'm fast asleep before it fully registers.

When I wake up next, a pair of blue eyes deeper than the Pacific greets me. They remind me so much of flowers, my favorite flowers, that I almost reach out from under the covers to caress them. I think better of it when I realize they are attached to a knowing smirk, a little bit of white teeth showing through.

"Geeze, you look like shit, Redfield," the man says, his smirk unwavering.

My brain takes a moment for me to realize what he says before he starts waving his hand in front of my face.

I rise from bed and stuff the comforter under my arms as I lean forward. I try to clear my throat, but it's too dry and I start to cough slightly. The man with the blue eyes reaches a fingerless gloved hand to the tastelessly pink pitcher beside my bed and pours a healthy helping into a clear plastic cup. He hands it over to me, his eyes soft as he gazes at me.

I imagined Leon to be a big gruff guy with a large beard, somewhat like a lion with a scraggly mane, but this guy was a stick in comparison. He isn't really a stick, though. He's leaner than I am, but in a way that looks athletic. I'd take him for a swimmer, if I didn't know what he really does.

On second thought, I don't really know what he does for a living. I more have a feeling of what he does. Sometimes I look at people and I just feel like I know them. I don't know the words and I can't remember a damn thing about them, but I know the face. The same thing happened with Red. I didn't know who she was or what she did, but I knew she was close to me. The look in her eyes probably stuck that idea in my head.

Leon has very blue eyes.

"You gonna take the cup or am I going to have to pour it down your throat for ya?"

I feel my corners of my lips spread across my face at that comment and I nearly chuckle. I gratefully accept the offer and swallow the entire contents in three large gulps. My throat still felt dry, but the tickle of a cough had ceased.

"Thank you," I say with a surprisingly raspy voice.

I haven't heard much of it, but most times I've said anything, it always sounds different. I'm sure it has to do with how dry my throat is now, but that kind of thing doesn't really make a person feel all that great about who they are. If their voices changes from every sentence, who the hell kind of person could they be?

"You took a pretty heavy fall. Heard your head's screwed."

I nod at him slowly, not looking at him. I'm not upset by the comment, though I feel like I should. It seems rather inappropriately sarcastic at a time like this, but I feel like that must be part of his charm. He definitely has charm.

I look up at him finally after he clears his throat.

"I wanted to thank you for saving me," I tell him.

It sounded a lot less epicene in my head and now I can feel a blush creeping up my neck. First he has to save me from a watery grave and now he has to listen to me thank him like some damsel in distress. Great, Chris. Really. You're new personality is doing wonders for your manhood.

"There is no way I had muscles on muscles, Red. I mean— Claire."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Leon's chuckle catches me off guard and I realize I've said that stupid line out loud. My luck is crap. Crappier than crap. It's vanilla freaking pudding.

If my blush can get any redder, I'm sure it already has.

"Uh, nothing. Just… I mean, I could've died and I'm sure Claire would've been all alone if you hadn't saved me, so I wanted to thank you. I don't really remember who you are or if we were friends, but either way…"

I trail off after slowly losing courage to keep blabbering. This is a mistake. There is no way I'll ever have pride again. Chances are I never had it to begin with, if my current personality has anything to say about it.

All Leon does is chuckle again, but this time deep in his throat. It feels more like he couldn't help it, rather than trying to berate me. I find the audacity to look at him now and his smirk has faded into a soft smile. I can't see his teeth anymore and it makes me a little sad. They are really freaking white teeth.

His eyes stare into mine for what feels like decades. It's a comfortable amount of time, if a little short.

"I'm glad you're okay," he finally says and steps closer to me. He pats me on the shoulder, lightly at first to make sure there are no injuries, and then rougher. He lets his hand linger on my shoulder, his other balled up loosely in a fist as he places on his hip. His leg closet to me is crossed over his other and it makes him look like the coolest person I've ever had the pleasure of meeting.

I can't help but smile at the warmth on my shoulder and I feel okay. I feel good. I feel like I have hope to remember someone. A small glimpse of a memory crosses my mind, but it's too fast for me to see.

I let it go when I feel Leon's hand leave my shoulder.

"I would've come to see you sooner, but France was calling. Same shit, different dirt, ya know?"

I nod at him with a dorky smile because I don't really know what he means. It drops quickly from my face and Leon seems to blink for a second too long, as if saying something in his head.

"Sorry, man. Forgot."

I laugh at the next look he gives me. He keeps saying the stupidest things and it makes me laugh wholeheartedly, lungs filled, and loud. I can't stop my chest from shaking with the laughter and I don't intend to stop it as my head throws back on my crappy ass pillow.

I slowly calm down when I feel a dip in the bed, Leon's body closer to me now. His back is to my side, but he is turned slightly toward me. His smile is back again and it's a little bit more like mine now. It makes me feel better to know I'm not the only one that says stupid things.

"Did, uh…" Leon starts to say, but the words seemingly get caught in his throat and he shakes his head when he can't force them. He must think twice about it because he tries again quickly after. "Have you been awake for a while? Last I heard, you were in a coma or somethin'."

I smile at the blonde male sitting just inches from me. It occurs to me now that he seems uncomfortable. He doesn't get up to move and he doesn't shy away from me, so I'm not sure it's me directly. A few thoughts tumble in my head as I try to answer him with something reassuring, but all I can think to say is the truth.

"Just four days now. The first two were pretty blurry, though. They kept me on sedation until I could finally calm down."

I feel a little embarrassed to tell him about my erratic behavior, but Leon's eyes don't waver from my face and so I take that as a sign that he understands. I keep wondering what happened to me, but the memories don't come.

"I talked to what's his face… with the glasses," he starts and I laugh. His smirk reappears for a minute and then he continues. "Said I'm not supposed to tell you what happened. Not that I really know much about it, myself, but… must suck not knowing."

I look down at my hands. I intertwined my fingers earlier without thinking.

"All I remember is almost drowning and then just straight black," I confess.

For some reason I'm not angry at him for not knowing, even though I was frustrated with both Claire and Dr. Specs for my first day of consciousness. There is something about Leon that I just don't understand. He's the one person that my head remembers, but that doesn't give me a lot of go on.

"You were pretty messed up when I found you."

Leon's voice is low and somewhat strained. I peek out from under my eyelashes to sneak a look at his face, but it is turned away. I lift my head up more to draw his attention back to me.

"I heard you drug my ass fifty feet. That true or is Claire fawning over my hero?" I tease.

A large grin plasters itself on his face and for a second I can't quite imagine ever not seeing it again. He laughs like I did just moments earlier, but he's much more stoic about it. He has this concreteness about him that draws me in. He seems so… together, so finite, so real. So safe.

I smooth my hand over the empty space on my bed to where Leon's hand is supporting himself. I don't mean to do it at first, but as I'm halfway through the action, it's too late to turn back.

Our fingertips bump softly and both of us stay silent for a long time. No eye contact is made, but the air doesn't feel tense. It feels comfortable.

I risk a look at the other man beside me and he does the same. We still don't say anything. We don't smile, we don't move our bodies. We just look at each other and understand. This is comfortable for both of us. This is right.

This is a memory I want to keep for the rest of my life, all other memories be damned.

I'm sure. This is one thing I'm sure about lately.