For CreativeGirl29 and her prompt: Virgil has amnesia and John is taking care of him. John tries their best to help Virgil remember them. This will be my first time writing this trope, so fingers crossed!
It had always been their worst nightmare scenario. Having both main pilots out at the same time due to the same disaster was bad enough. Having Scott still in hospital and Virgil home due to the different nature of their injuries was worse. Having Virgil at home, with little memory of who and what he was, was the stuff of nightmares.
Since the brother most likely to get through to him was unconscious and 500 miles away, John had taken over as de Facto eldest brother. John was smart. John had one of the highest IQ's in history. But he didn't know how to deal with this.
Virgil, right arm still supported in a sling, was currently sitting in the lounge, studying the paintings of his brothers. A small frown was upon his face.
Truth be told, he'd taken the news that he had forgotten everyone reasonably well. When Gordon had mentioned that it must suck right now, Virgil had simply said 'not really. You can't miss something you don't remember.' Gordon had tuned on his heel and left, spending the rest of the day holed up with Alan, while Virgil, horrified when he realised what he had said, tried to apologise for upsetting him. John had taken everything in his stride. He had had to.
The one time, the only time Virgil removed his helmet during a rescue and he gets a head injury. John could do the Math on the probabilities here, but he doesn't have time. Rather, he focuses on what he had learned so that he could help.
Episodic memory is more severely affected than semantic memory, so that the patient may remember words and general knowledge but not specific events in their life. Procedural memory is not typically affected at all.
While there is no actual cure for retrograde amnesia, "jogging" the victim's memory by exposing them to significant articles from their past will often speed the rate of recall.
His hope was that by participating in habits learned long ago Virgil would be prompted to remember. It wasn't a fool-proof way of helping, indeed everything John had read pointed to the fact that his brother would either spontaneously recover or he never would. So John would do everything in his power to help that recovery.
To that end John was about to begin preparing his special spiced hot chocolate that he would serve with marshmallows and sweetened whipped cream along with his chocolate chip muffins, currently in the stove. He kept one eye on his timing while watching Virgil with the other. His brother had been in the living area staring at the paintings for quite a while.
Suddenly, Virgil climbed out of the sunken area and moved directly under the portraits, stopping at Scott's. John held his breath as his brother reached up and touched Scott's cheek. Abruptly Virgil turned away, the small frown now a deep one, and walked over to the window, hands in his pockets and stared across the islands, frown still evident. They both knew that forcing anything wouldn't help, Virgil would just end up with another killer headache. Instead, John joined him and for a couple of minutes they stood side by side watching the water.
They're both startled from their reverie by the alarm going off for John's muffins, and as John turned to leave Virgil quietly asked if he could join him. John nodded, and the two descended together. John removed the muffins and started warming the milk, while Virgil perched on a stool and watched him.
'Three.' John's head shot up. 'Three. You're supposed to put in three scoops of cocoa powder, but I like five.' John grinned to himself. Virgil liked his cocoa as strong as his coffee. 'How about I make these while you direct?' Virgil nodded, and while John's back was turned he reached out to snag a hot muffin. John was ready, though, and smacked his brother's hand with the spoon.
Virgil withdrew his hand sharply, shaking it. 'God, John, what the hell?' Without turning around John smirked. 'You know Grandma's rules. Ask before you take.' Virgil repeated along with John, a matching smile. A small start perhaps. He finished the drinks and carried them out to the balcony while Virgil carried the plate of muffins. They settled down and ate and drank and generally just chilled by the pool. Eventually Virgil drifted off and John smiled softly. He'd remembered Grandma's rules.
Virgil snoozed a couple of hours and was woken up by soft humming. Stealing a glance at the brother seated next to him he could see John was fully engrossed in his data pad, and he took the opportunity to study John's profile. He'd been frustrated that he couldn't remember so much – anything – about a family that was obviously tight-knit.
It was his third day home. The fourth since the accident. Little glimpses here and there were strange yet familiar at the same time. It had been explained to him that his eldest brother, Scott, was still in the hospital, having sustained much more serious injuries trying to protect him, and Virgil had the niggling feeling that a) he should be more upset by this and b) that this was not the first time his brother had done something like this. But it was nothing concrete, just a feeling that was there one minute and gone the next.
He'd looked at the art in the studio and been seriously impressed. Some of it was amazing, and he had been surprised when John had told him it was his. He'd sat at the piano and caressed the keys but not played anything, another skill he had apparently. His room was half bedroom, half workshop, with bits and pieces strewn over one area, and he did know that he was an engineer.
But he hadn't been inspired to touch, to try, to do any of those activities. Rather, he had spent the time with John while John did little activities to help him remember. He was beyond grateful to the man humming beside him.
'You don't like it here, do you?' John's head shot up as Virgil spoke. 'I mean, you don't like being on Earth. Am I right?' Virgil frowned while saying this. He was grateful to John because this was not John's preferred place to be. 'That's right, Virgil. Gravity is not my greatest friend.' Virgil nodded. That tune his brother had been humming was now going around in his head. What was that?
It was no good. He had to know what the tune was and he could think of only one way without asking John outright. Why he didn't want to ask he couldn't say, but it limited his options to this. Virgil got up and went inside to the piano. And started playing.
At first it was halting, the memory of the tune fading in and out, but the more he tried the more it came back to him. Virgil was vaguely aware of John standing behind him, watching, but he was becoming lost in the music. He played the piece again and again until it was smooth. And again, because something was stirring in the back of his mind. Again. Again.
Suddenly a voice joined in, ethereal in quality, almost hauntingly sad. The words were beautiful, but their meaning wasn't important. He played as his brother sang, and Virgil was suddenly transported.
A farmhouse. He was playing the piano. John was singing. Scott was seated on the floor, cross-legged, just in his eyesight. Mom was standing in the doorway, baby in her arms. She had been trying to get the baby to sleep, but he was ill and nothing was working. So Virgil played and John sang and Scott cheered and finally, finally Gordon slept.
The discordant sound of fingers fumbling stopped John singing, and he was next to Virgil in seconds. His brother was crying, silent tears coursing down his cheeks while his hands stayed still on the piano. John nudged him gently and Virgil turned to look at him. Nothing was said, and John reached over and wiped the tears away, breaking the spell. Suddenly John found himself in a bear hug, and although startled at first, he soon hugged back. Virgil didn't hold him long, somehow acutely aware that hugging wasn't John's thing.
He was beginning to remember. It wasn't everything, but it was a start.