As I Recall

by boasamishipper

One thing Tully knows for sure was that you couldn't miss what you couldn't even remember.

2. In My Life

Thanks so much for the wonderful response to my last chapter! I hope you like this one too. :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Rat Patrol. Wish I did, though...

As I Recall by boasamishipper

Chapter Two

(*) (*)

There are places I'll remember

All my life, though some have changed

Some forever, not for better

Some have gone and some remain

All these places have their moments

With lovers and friends I still can recall

Some are dead and some are living

In my life, I've loved them all

The Beatles "In My Life"

(*) (*)

Previously on Rat Patrol…

"Is everything alright, Tully?"

"I guess so," Tully says slowly. "Except, well…"

The one in the beret raises his eyebrows; the one with the cowboy hat crosses his arms over his chest. "Except what?"

Tully shrugs. He may as well just say it now. "Except...I don't know who the hell you people are."

Present Day

Sergeant Jack T. Moffitt stares incredulously at Tully, whose face is painfully blank. Out of every reaction he'd been expecting, from pain to just laughing the situation off, he'd never expected this one. "Tully," he says cautiously, "what do you mean; you don't know who we are?" The words weigh heavily on his tongue.

For a moment, Tully studies each of the men carefully, and Moffitt starts to wonder if perhaps the private is playing a joke on them. Maybe that's it. His heartbeat slows a little.

Then Tully's face goes blank again, and he shakes his head slowly. "I'm sorry, it's... I don't know you." Then he pauses again. "Should I?"

Moffitt refuses to believe this is happening. "Yes, of course you should," he says harshly. Tully flinches. The Englishman instantly regrets his words. "Come on, Tully, enough with this ruse." He swallows and smiles weakly.

Tully frowns. "I don't... I'm not... I'm sorry. I just… I don't know you, okay?"

No, it most certainly isn't just okay, he wants to yell. Why would that even be considered 'okay'? Moffitt's heart is hammering in his chest.

Hitch is next to speak up. "But," he stammers, "I..." He looks a bit frightened. "Tully—"

"Who are you?" the private interrupts. "Why... why do you know me and—and I don't?" He coughs into the crook of his elbow before continuing. "What's going on?"

Wouldn't we all like to know? thinks Moffitt darkly. Troy is silent, and the Brit knows that his mind is working furiously to solve this problem. But how does anyone fight a problem they can't see?

The American sergeant speaks up. "Do you—do you at least know who you are, Tully?"

Moffitt and Hitch's eyes flicker back to Tully, who shakes his head. "No, sir," he says quietly.

Sir. Not Sarge. At this point, Moffitt can clearly see that Tully isn't joking. From everything Troy ever had told him, the Englishman knows that Tully had never called Troy "sir", unless it was absolutely necessary. It had always just been Sarge.

Moffitt bites his lip, trying not to curse. "I'll, uh," he says awkwardly, "I'll go and get a doctor." He exits the room, his hands shoved in his pockets.

He returns a few moments later, Tully's doctor at his heels. The room is exactly the same as he had left it; silent and strange, as if he'd stepped into an alternate universe where Tully Pettigrew was an amnesiac.

"I see you're awake then," the doctor says briskly, stepping closer to Tully's bedside. As if in a dream, Troy and Hitch move to the side of the room. "Would it be alright if I asked you a few questions?"

"Yes, sir."

By God. He just can't stand Tully's voice like that, obedient and quiet and mild. It should be sarcastic, yet kind, with a Southern drawl.

Then again, nothing is as it should be right now.

"Do you know your name, rank, and date of birth?"

Tully's cheeks flush bright red. "I, uh," he says, "I know my, um, first name. Right?" he looks over to Troy, Hitch and Moffitt for clarification. Hitch is the only one who nods. "My, um, first name is Tully." He pauses. "I—I don't know anything else, sir. I'm sorry."

"That's alright." The doctor doesn't skip a beat. "Do you know where you are?"

"Uh... I'm in a hospital?"

"Yes," says Dr. Ames. "And the hospital is where?"

Tully's face is blank as a sheet of paper. "I don't know."

"Do you know who the president is, Tully?" asks Dr. Ames. "Or where you're from?"

"No to both, sir."

"How about the year?" When Tully's face is blank, the doctor elaborates. "Let me help you out here, Tully. Is the year 1492, 1776, or 1944?"

Tully looks more embarrassed than Moffitt had ever seen him. He lets out a heavy breath in through his nose and out through his mouth. "It's..." he hesitates. "1776?"

Moffitt suppresses the urge to punch the wall.

"1776." Dr. Ames's calm voice doesn't change. "Last question, Tully, then that's it. Can you tell me who these men are?" He gestures to Troy, Moffitt and Hitch, who wait hopefully.

Tully doesn't skip a beat either. "No, sir," he says softly. "And I don't know who I am either."

(*) (*)

After a few more minutes of questions, the doctor exits the room. Sergeant Sam Troy follows, with Moffitt on his heels. Hitch had decided to stay in Tully's room.

"Doctor," Troy says. "Will his memory come back?"

The doctor sighs, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Sergeant Troy, all I can tell you is there are cases where it's possible. I had feared this would happen since he experienced a hairline fracture in the parietal-occipital area of his cranium—"

"But there's still a chance it's just temporary?" Troy interrupts, hope in his voice.

Dr. Ames purses his lips and nods. "Anything is possible. Nothing is certain in the medical world, Sergeant Troy."

Moffitt speaks up. "Dr. Ames, you said Tully had a hairline fracture to the parietal-occipital region," he says. "Is that what is causing the..." He can't even say it. Dr. Ames knows exactly what the Englishman means, though, and continues.

"Most likely," the doctor replies. He turns to a nurse who happens to be passing by. "Excuse me, Sarah, will you please bring me Private Pettigrew's folder?"

The nurse nods, and a few moments later returns with a brown folder. "Thank you." He opens Tully's folder and takes a quick look at one sheet of paper that Troy can't make out. "Once the fracture heals, the lesion created there will disappear and the synapses will get firing again; therefore allowing his memory to come back. It may be in increments, maybe all at once…but that is theoretically speaking, of course."

Moffitt nods like he knows exactly what the doctor is talking about, which, Troy realizes, he probably does. He sighs. "So what should we do?"

Dr. Ames and Moffitt turn to look at him. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I for one don't intend to keep him here forever," Troy says evenly. "Once his leg heals up, that is. You said it was a clean break, right, Dr. Ames?"

"Yes." The doctor nods. "As for his amnesia, I'd suggest occupational therapy, to help treat it—"

"You misunderstand me," Troy interrupts. "I mean, taking Tully out of here and bringing him back into the desert."

Moffitt's jaw drops slightly. The doctor looks stunned as well.

"Well?" Troy asks. "Won't the familiar surroundings jar his memories back?"

"Troy." Moffitt finally speaks up. "It isn't that simple. Your idea—it's good in essentials, but what if we end up under fire? What if Tully doesn't remember how to fire a gun and gets himself or any of us badly hurt?"

Troy has to admit that Moffitt had a point, but he doesn't want to leave Tully here. "Dr. Ames?" he inquires, looking toward the doctor.

The doctor sighs. "I agree with Sergeant Moffitt," he says. "However, there isn't much that we can do for him here besides the occupational therapy that I suggested earlier. As long as you don't do anything too strenuous, I don't see any problem with eventually taking Private Pettigrew back out onto the desert."

"How long will it take for his leg to heal?" asks Troy, smiling slightly.

"About six weeks, Sergeant Troy."

"Okay," he says. "Okay. And then... then we'll try to help him get his memories back."

(*) (*)

Private Mark Hitchcock leans against the wall of Tully's room, his mind working furiously. He knows that his friend has amnesia. He knows that amnesia has no treatment.

Translated simply, they're screwed.

Tully is staring at the door from his bed, his hands twisting together in his lap. He's muttering something to himself, but Hitch doesn't bother to try and make it out.

After a while, Tully looks over at Hitch, frowning. Surprised, Hitch takes a step back. "What is it?"

"How, um, do you guys know me?" Tully inquires, tilting his head to the side and looking genuinely interested. "I mean, do y'all work with me, are we related..."

Hitch swallows, his throat suddenly incredibly dry. "Yeah," he says. "We—we work together, Tully."

Tully nods gratefully and immediately asks another question. "What did that doctor mean when he said if I knew my rank? What does that mean?"

"It means...it means your position. We're in the army. Your rank is Private." He pauses. "So is mine, actually," he adds weakly.

Tully doesn't seem to notice, or maybe he had and just didn't care. "What's your name?"

Hitch's mouth falls open a little. "It's Hitch," he says after a few moments.

Tully actually laughs. "Is that your first name or your last name?"

Hitch tries not to be peeved. Tully—along with Sarge—had been the one to give him the nickname in the first place. "Neither," he finally says. "My name's Mark Hitchcock. You, Sarge and Doc call me Hitch. So does everyone, really."

Tully nods. "Okay," he says politely.

There's silence in the room. Hitch scratches at something crusty stuck to his hand, unable to think of anything to say.

"I'm going to sleep," Tully says after a moment. He lays back down, but suddenly props himself up on his elbows. "Mind givin' me some privacy, Hitch?"

Hitch nods and starts walking out of the room. Once he's out the door, he looks back into the room and sees Tully shut his eyes, breathing slowly, obviously trying to fall asleep.

"We'll help you get your memories back, Tully," he mutters heavily. "I promise."

(*) (*)

Tully exhales once the man—Hitch, he reminds himself, his name is Hitch—leaves and shuts the door behind him. At least now he can relax.

But he can't.

He can't relax knowing that he's not the same anymore. This he knows for sure. He's definitely not the man he once was, not the man Hitch and the others expect him to be.

Tully knows his first name, but not his last name. He knows he's a private in the army, but he doesn't know which army or which section of it. He knows he works with Hitch and the others, but he doesn't know what he does.

Valid information, he thinks with a frown. It's a little flattering to know they care, but it's mostly just annoying.

He knows that the men are treating him as if he's a china doll for a reason—and deep down Tully knows they'd never do that if the situation was normal, which it clearly isn't.

Is there anything left for him?

There's sleep, and he takes it as long as he can, knowing that when he wakes up again he still won't be the same.

He longs for the unremembered normality, and even deeper down Tully knows that he shouldn't.

Because one thing Tully knows for sure was that you couldn't miss what you couldn't even remember.