and now you don’t know who you are, but i won’t give up on you. Who: The Finch brothers. What: Two brothers after recovery. Where: Their estate. When: Evening, backdated to early December. Rating: Tame. Status: Complete.
Evander had resumed his routine a few days prior, arriving at work promptly after healing to avoid criticism from Royse, or worse, Cerelia. His armor was returned to his room at the end of his workday; discarding the austere helm, the man inside bore an expression knitted with concern, a turtle exposed under its shell.
In the wake of the younger Finch’s return and the elder’s recovery, the Rue Vermillion estate ought to have joined the rest of Emillion’s festive spirits. But their victory was hollow. The man returned to the family did not remember the “Theodore Finch” that they raised, that they watched grow from childhood.
So Evander stood outside the sitting room, watching the stern figure of his brother through the door ajar. Knocking on the frame, the older man pushed the opening wider with his elbow. His mouth opened and closed, stumbling not on a childhood stutter but on the confusion of what to call his own blood. Evan settled for clearing his throat.
“Brother,” he called, the faintest trace of a question in his tone.
Theo turned from his seat near the windows. Evidently engrossed with the worn book in his hands, something given to him earlier in the day by Lady Finch (an old favorite of his or so it had been proclaimed as) he gazed up to the older man with an alien expression. His own characteristic fumbling and aggravation at dealing with Evander was set aside now, and only polite recognition and attention was afforded. Theo set the book aside and stood up.
He would’ve been grateful for his brother’s recovery, he thought, had the knight remembered it. Now he knew of such circumstances only through the words of others. A feeling of shame had webbed inside his chest at the news, making home around his heart whenever Theo found himself approached by the topic--as it was here, now. He stood across the room, hands in pockets and wondered if he had a right to stride across the floor, to embrace the man as the way brothers do, when all of his memories of their relation had been stomped out like embers of a trounced fire.
“Aye,” he said at last. “Need something?” Setting the book aside on the nearest table, he began to step forward across the room. The light of an earnest afternoon sun set across his shoulders in heavy blades, leaving long shadows to trail along the floor before him.
“Nothing,” came Evan’s answer, forcing his voice into neutral, pressing down on hesitation and worry. A hand reached up to scratch the back of his neck. “Checking in, is all.”
Theo made a rough sound in the back of his throat in response and found himself mirroring the other man’s gesture despite himself. He struggled to find a suitable way to alleviate his brother’s concern and found little to suit this desire. While the healers continued to work ceaselessly to find a way to jar his memory, hardly any real progress had been made thus far. A matter of frustration for all, he had retreated to this room in particular as a way to calm himself and reflect.
“Busy?” He ventured, without thinking of anything more clever. With one large hand he gestured to a pair of chairs. “Could sit for a while.”
“Not busy, no.” The elder brother hesitated before nodding and taking Theo’s offer.
He cleared his throat as he settled into the large chair. He gripped the armrest, one thumb rubbing a den in the side. (Perhaps the brothers had been running in the house when Allaine wasn’t looking years ago; or perhaps one of their aunts and uncles had horsed around in this room as children. Evander didn’t remember the details.) He waved two fingers, hand still on the armrest, to gesture the younger Finch to sit.
“How goes?”
Theo followed suit, taking up the large open chair opposite his brother and attempting to settle in. He wondered to himself if the two had sat here often. If this particular room held any precious memories (all seemed more precious now that he’d lost them), or even sour ones at that. He frowned and thought hard on the question.
“It goes,” he said dourly. “I spend most time with the healers. Mother visited earlier.”
Feeling ill at ease when considering his progress, or lack thereof, Theo looked up at his brother and tried for a better topic. “Your day?”
“Work. The usual,” Evander shrugged. If his younger brother could remember “the usual,” which the judge did not expect him to. He scratched the bottom of his chin. The pair fell into silence, one that brought no comfort, that crawled up his spine.
“And what of Mother? She say anything of n—note?” It was rare that the orator casted aside his tactics to hide stuttering, but what was a mask to a brother who did not remember him?
Theo had frowned in confusion, wondering to himself what “the usual” was in regards to his brother’s duties, but had failed to ask further on the matter. Shame crept through him for his inability to remember, but he allowed his mind to focus instead on what he could recall. He drew in a deep breath and shifted around uncomfortably in his chair as he began to speak.
“Many things,” he said. “Family history. Some of it was of you and I.”
His mother had offered a number of old tales, likely in hope that they would aid in his recovery, from details of the previous year to sordid adventures of her two sons as young boys. Theo had hung onto words, having nothing else as yet to cling to.
She was a patient, kind woman, he had decided. So unlike his remote and practically mysterious father, who had said little to him in comparison. “Must be difficult for her,” he grumbled awkwardly.
“It is,” Evander nodded, glancing to heirloom curtains that hung over tall windows. He gripped the armrests tighter before relaxing, gulping down a lump as he mulled over Theo’s words. “She tries her best, Brother.” And here he avoided calling the fighter by name, as though he believed the man would not answer to it. It reminded him painfully of the night conversation he had with his associate when boths thieves peeled away masks and revealed to be more than business.
“Stories didn’t jog a memory at all?” he asked, making sure to keep his tone line, to relieve pressure from his brother. (But there was a weight on Evan’s shoulders he chose to ignore).
“Aye, not yet,” he admitted in a deep rumble, as Theo’s eyes were cast elsewhere about the room. Another difficult admission.
When next he raised his voice to speak, however, it was with the hope perhaps to alleviate the gloom that had quickly begun to settle. With so much time spent at the estate as a necessity of his condition, it was Theo’s growing wish not to become a spectre that haunted the entirety of his kin (or an inescapable burden).