Interlude: The Forgetter

He had not remembered the name, but he could hear it. He can hear but he does not listen. He hears inside of his head and he listens and listens but the name does not come. He tries to remember what the name is; maybe he tries to remember how to listen. He can hear. Hearing is easy he thinks, and he realizes now that thoughts exist.

In the back of his mind he hears but does not listen and thinks but does not remember. There was a name being called. Yelled. It begged and it seemed so far away.

He thinks.

The thoughts are as far as the voice but the thinking helps find a path forward. The voice wants to be listened to and he has forgotten. He thinks, and so he should have remembered. He forgot how he forgot, but if he can remember how to think he can remember how to remember.

The voice of the girl. Which girl? The younger one? That thought crawls it's way into his mind with nary a source to it. Why was there a younger one? If there was a younger one then there was always an older one. The young call to the old.

The voice calls to the old, and his mind calls on him to remember. But it's so far away, and drowned out by so many other things. He does not forget the hunger or desire. Those he cannot forget; like hearing. Those are done without his mind rolling it around and pushing out what it thinks.

He is barely aware of the taste in his mouth or the slickness of his...what. Of his what? He remembers that he has forgotten what he has. Hands, he wants to think, but they do not fit in the hands of those before him. Those whose bodies he tastes in his mouth. Metallic and full.

Two men, barely more than boys. Two boys. Two boys to go with the two girls, the young and the old. The ones before him did not need protection, but the other boys did. He was to protect them, and these boys dead are new boys.

New boys who others need protection against.

This was good and just and filled his stomach with fullness and warmth. The voice was not warm, but it had been at one point. The air was cold, and the rain was cold, and the voice was cold. It called for someone but he can't remember it.

The taste in his mouth tasted of blood, and there was a time when he tasted this before. Not others blood, but his own. Before there were sharp teeth and before he had forgotten. Words spill from his mouth that he had forgotten.

Words that mix with the blood and he does not think of these words but they appear nonetheless. They were his words.

"Take care of Powder."

Notes from Author (me): Thank you everyone for reading and enjoying this fic as much as I have enjoyed writing it. This is my first foray into fiction writing in this medium but Arcane touched me in a way that I'd not expected it to. I felt I had to write while these thoughts were still in my head.

For any fans of The Expanse this chapter is based loosely on The Investigator Interludes and I thought what a perfect medium to tease what (hopefully) is the catalyst for the sisters healing.