Ian remembers some moments in a way he doesn't remember entire years.

When they figured out he was sick, when he started taking medicine, he had been afraid, terrified, of losing memories.

And he had been right. He had lost some. Not consciously, of course. But sometimes, when he tried to recall where he had spent a certain holiday, or what flavor his last birthday cake had been, he drew a blank.

It made him sad, thinking about what else he must be forgetting that he wasn't ever going to get back.

"That shit happens to everyone, Ian," Mickey had said roughly when he had vocalized his fears. "We just ain't aware of it."

And yet there are things that Ian knows he will never forget. Not because they're special or better, he knows by know that his brain doesn't discriminate, but by the sheer amount of time he's replayed them in his head.

It wasn't something he did on purpose, until it was. Now he knows there are memories he will keep on replaying, as many times as he has to, to make sure they stay.


"You can't eat snow, Ian," an eight-year-old Lip tells his brother sternly.

"Why not?"

"Because you just can't, OK?"

Mickey still has his mother, but Ian and his siblings have never had anyone. They're all waiting for the L, and Ian is licking crumbs of gray snow off his frayed mittens.

"That's gross," Mickey mutters, watching him.

"What?" Ian asks innocently. "My brother made me throw out my good snow."

Mickey glances at Lip, who is standing a couple of meters away from them, digging for god knows what inside the nearest trash can.

"Why don't you get some more?"

Ian makes a face. "He'll just yell at me."

Mickey takes a few steps back, away from his mother, who is too busy trying to wipe a rowdy Mandy's nose to notice what he's doing. He runs under the bridge and grabs some fresh snow, making a ball with his hands. He steps right in front of Ian and smashes it in his face.

"Hey," Ian protests weakly. "Why you do that for?"

Mickey laughs. "Now he can't say anything about you eating it."

Ian grins as he sticks out his tongue to taste the snow around his lips. Mickey looks at him curiously.

"What does it taste like?"

Ian shrugs. "I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"You wanna try it?"

Only they can hear the L coming, and Mickey knows he won't have a chance to grab more. He looks at the snow on Ian's mittens, considering it, but then Ian takes a step toward him and offers his snow-covered cheek.

Mickey licks it without thinking too much about it, and savors the taste in his mouth. He can see what Ian meant, and yet...

He smiles slowly, satisfied. "It's sweet."


Ian shakes his head, trying to rid himself of these thoughts. It's summer now, and it doesn't do anybody any good to be thinking about snow.

He's on his way to the airport, he still has a few hours to kill.

Maybe he'll stop by Fiona's after all.