AN: So apparently, when President McKinley's wife had seizures at the dinner table, he put a napkin over her face. Seriously, our class just about died laughing. We were watching some documentary, and the narrator was like, OH, HE CARED ABOUT HER SO MUCH, WHEN SHE HAD SEIZURES HE PUT NAPKINS ON HER FACE! Yeah, real sentimental.

Anyway, cutting the crap now. More fluff! And HAPPY FRIDAY! (even though this was updated past midnight... I'VE FAILED. OTL)

PS: HOLY CRAP, this chapter has to do with the title of the fanfic. WHO'DA THUNKIT


Patty tended to only remember the little things.

It had always been tough for her to recall the faces of the Kishin Eggs that harmed them - the ones that got away, that is. Her teammates would struggle to find their foes amidst seas of strangers in vast, unfamiliar territories, and she was rarely of any help, because she hadn't expended the effort it took to commit the terrible people in the world to her memory. She stood by the sides of her allies instead of searching with them and giggled, holding onto their hands and their arms and clinging to their shoulders, laughing and pointing out irrelevant things, because she just couldn't summon up a mental picture of the terrible sinners that had tried to end their lives.

Whenever Maka asked her for the major grade homework assignments she'd lost somewhere within her notebook, Patty would show her a piece of paper with a pig scribbled on it. She'd apologize, because that's what Liz and Kid had taught her to do, and she'd laughingly admit that although she'd sort of listened to the teacher, she'd not only forgotten to take down the assignment, but she'd also forgotten what it was to begin with. Maka would never get mad at her for neglecting to be a good student; she just stopped asking eventually, instead seeking out Kid or Liz and getting the missing work from them.

She didn't remember to commit herself to hatred, and she could never remember what it took to excel in academics. Those things just weren't as important to her as everything else.

No, what Patty did remember were the minor details - the things that gave her life meaning.

She failed to remember most of the days when Black Star bragged loudly to her about his muscular physique. The time she spent socking his abs like a punching bag (as per his request, of course) were forgotten, because he wouldn't even flinch, no matter how much energy she put into each hit. She did, however, remember - very clearly - the day that she had "accidentally" aimed too low. He'd fallen to his knees and curled up like a pill bug, and Patty had laughed about it until she had to gasp for breath to keep from smothering herself in her own mirth. She'd leapt behind Soul once Black Star had recovered and made faces at him from a distance, because she knew that Tsubaki would hold him back no matter what.

The days Ox spent rambling during lunch were just a fact of life, and there was nothing particularly memorable about his speeches for the most part. She did, however, recall the day when Ox had decided to speak a little too loudly while Maka was in a tizzy, with crystal clarity. He had been saying something about his astounding bravery during his last mission while staring pointedly at Kim (the poor girl), and after about five minutes of incessant rambling, Maka had wordlessly loaded her spoon up with pea-laced mashed potatoes and launched it at his shiny head. Needless to say, he returned fire - and he unfortunately mistook Soul as the one that had started the whole ordeal. Confused and angry, Soul had picked up a fistful of steamed green beans and hurled them at Ox, who ducked at the last minute with a triumphant yell. Harv consequently had a lovely new green toupee. In no time at all the food fight escalated, spreading through the cafeteria like a wildfire. That night, Kid had shed tears born from hard labor as he scrubbed the gravy stains out of Liz's top.

And there had been many nights where they stumbled into their home so thoroughly exhausted from missions that they felt ready to pass out on the spot; there was nothing special about those occasions. But her memory eagerly took in the nights when Kid would fall asleep on the couch after insisting that he was not tired, and with Liz's help, she would carry him up the flights of stairs and leave him in his bedroom. She remembered how soft his blankets were against her fingertips, and how his skin was even softer as she brushed her lips against his forehead. Liz would tuck him in like the mother he never had and the mother she'd always been, and they would both whisper their goodnights as they left him to dream.

Patty's brain never retained much at a time, but the people that called her stupid were the real dummies, she figured, because she was the only one that never lost sight of what she truly loved. They were blind to what their souls wanted, and that made them more stupid than she would ever be, even if she never went to another lesson in her life.

For all it was worth, she thought she had the best memory in the world.