Despite his best efforts, he’d fallen asleep at Alex’s bedside. Eventually the pain in his neck from being hunched over had gotten to him, and he’d rested his cheek on the scratchy hospital blanket, and time had passed, and he’d slept.

He was slightly delirious, exhausted and emotionally strung out. He had a distant memory of someone moving him, but that may have been a dream. All he knew was, when he woke-- to a gentle but insistent tapping on the window, combined with a sort of squeak that sounded like a dog’s chew toy-- the bed was gone and he was curled up in a chair. His spine lit up with stiffness and pain as he uncurled, slow at first and then jumping up in panic.

The world spun; his chest tightened, and he took one step to run out into the hallway and demand to know what had happened-- but they would’ve woken him, right, if Alex died?

Fuck, he felt terrible. Mother fuck. He’d promised to be there for him and he’d fallen asleep.

He almost fell over, then, but he steadied himself enough to register that the insistant tapping noise (which had grown faster since he woke) was Zelle, pounding on the window. Memo tried to find the spark of happiness that usually accompanied his favorite of Alex’s Pokemon, but despite all his attempts, nothing took.

With numb legs, he crossed the room to the window. With numb fingers, he worked the crank to open it-- just enough for Zelle to get through, lest the whole flock get ideas and come rampaging in.

“Hi, baby girl,” he said, and his voice was hoarse and his throat felt coated in sandpaper, from the screaming and the crying and the throwing up. “It’s good to see you.” The words rang a little hollow.

He jerked a thumb towards the door leading out into the hallway.

“Let’s go find your mom.”

Zelle perched atop his skull was a grounding weight that Memo desperately needed in the absence of holding Alex’s hand. He winced a little when Mavka’s spectral limb brushed his cheek, but he smiled.

“Yeah, kiddo. You should come, too.” He didn’t give a rat’s ass about what other people thought.

He was about to head out into the hallway with his new entourage when a nurse came in. the panic spiked again as she talked.

Her question threw him for a loop. On the one hand, his first defensive reaction was to say no, because, well, it was the truth, sofar as he knew. Alex didn’t know where his sisters were and even if he’d asked Memo wouldn’t have given his parents the time of day. But he immediately felt selfish, afterwards. He searched his memory banks for any other people that may want to know Alex was dying and came up short.

So he goes for the middle ground and gives her the best answer he can come up with at the time:

“No. No other family.” He tries to fight down the panic trying knots in his throat. “I-- how long are you going to keep him? Is he conscious, right now?” Stupid questions. Stupid, stupid questions. But he needed to know-- and, more importantly, Alex needed to know.

“Can I see him?” There’s a run in his voice, an urgency, welling like blood from a wound. “I need to let him know-- he’s not alone.”

Memo really, truly believes in not making life harder for other people. He tries to be as placid and positive as possible, especially with those in the service industry (or, at least, he had tried, until being cut off from all his positive emotions had left him raw and bleeding).

Still, he endeavors to be understanding, to appreciate that the nurse lady is just a messenger, she’s not the one who actually made these decisions, and that the person who did is a lot more knowledgable in these things than Memo, by far.

Mavka slipped behind him and started making noodle arms at the nurse, while Zelle gave a single, wet sniffle. Memo scooped her off his head and held her to his chest, needing the counterweight of reassuring her to reassure himself.

“It’ll be okay, baby girl,” he said, forcing a smile, “he’s been through worse.”

Then he nurse asks who is going to be taking care of Alex immediately following his procedure (whenever that may be).

He doesn’t mean to do it but his eyes turn hard and there’s an anger that rises up within him, not so much bubbling as shooting up, the pressure of two tectonic plates knocking against each other and forming mountain ranges.

“Me.”

It’s not-- not even a question.

The waiting was going to kill him. He was fairly certain that after this he was never going to let Alex out of his sight.

He had a horrible vision of Alex walking into the light to be deleted and he curled up in the chair and cried quietly into his lap.

He drifted in some liminal space between aware and completely detached for a long time, barely aware of the nascent weight of Zelle atop his skull. He kept closing his eyes and being transported back to that horrible place.

The next time he was aware of anything, a team was wheeling Alex back into the room. Memo froze in his chair like a rabbit out of room.

The nurse came over to gently shake him, and Memo imagined she thought he’d fallen asleep. And maybe he had-- but he sure didn’t feel rested. He thanked her after she relayed her information and when it was just them he stood stiffly from his seat and crossed the room.

“Don’t--,” he reached out to very lightly brush Zelle’s prodding fin away from Alex’s face. His tone was exhausted, but not unkind. “He needs to rest. He’s been through a lot.” He swept one arm around the little Phione and pulled her into his chest as he dragged a chair over with the other hand, plopping back down and wincing at the twinge in his back.

“We just gotta give him some time.”

Memo kept Zelle close for personal comfort. Also so she didn’t go poking and prodding Alex while he slept. But mostly because the Phione squish-hug was desperately needed to stop himself from starting to cry again.

When had he become such a fucking baby? He’d never been like this before.

Nothing ever mattered, before, his mind supplements helpfully, as he squeezes his eyes against tears.

Mavka floated in, past the windows, doing his best parade wave at the vast collection of avians perched outside. Memo prayed they stayed out there and didn’t come charging in, breaking windows and causing a big mess. The thought made him smile, despite himself. Just another anxiety to add to the burning pile, keeping the fire high.

He was imagining the sound of shattered glass when Alex spoke. Memo thought, at first, his worst nightmares had come true, and it was the precursor to a flood of birds-- but then Alex spoke again, and Memo held his breath like he was stealing oxygen in the room that Alex would desperately need for his own healing.

“Hey,” he said, soft. He noticed the wincing and got up to flick the lights off before returning to his seat.

“Better?” he asked, watching Alex in the soft, ambient light coming in from the windows.

He wasn’t going to ask him how he felt. He wasn’t. It was a stupid question. He’d just gotten out of surgery-- obviously he felt like shit.

“A while,” he said, voice quiet in the soft light. He set one hand on the bed, not touching Alex but on the side of the blanket, afraid to do any more harm.

“Um… I’ll be honest, I don’t really know.” His tone was apologetic as he reached up to rub at the stiffness in his neck-- though after sitting comatose in the fetal position in a chair for untold hours, the stiffness was everywhere.

“Mav, honey. Get away from the window, please. I don’t want to have close the curtains.”

He was exhausted.