learnfromthem | [for Tony] Meeeeemories.

It’s a totally normal day. I wake up (after sleeping in). I feed Lucky. I make a half-assed breakfast of mango and dry cereal with what’s left in my pantry. I curse the fact that I don’t have a coffee maker in my cottage and trudge to the Compound for my first cup of the day. I stop in on Wren, make sure she’s exercised, watered, and fed. I think about going to the beach after I pull in my shift at the Boutique.

Totally normal.

Except for the part where I get smacked with a splitting migraine as I’m meandering down the boardwalk. Wincing, I press the heel of my hand to my forehead, almost doubled-over in pain. I see flashes of memory, the images skipping in my mind’s eye like a scratched up DVD — stuff I don’t remember. Correction: stuff I didn’t remember. There’s this whole other life unraveling in my head. People I’ve never even met suddenly seem as familiar as old friends, as family. Twin versions of the Skrull invasion fight for a place in my own personal timeline, and I’m sure only one of them is even real. I remember a petite brunette girl snacking on a bunny — Alice. Meeting Felix, the first time. Long nights spent with— Spent with—

“Nate.”

A blush creeps over my cheeks as more memories fill in, and it’s too much. It’s too much. I swallow back bile and try to breathe, try to control the rush, slow it down. I gulp down air and focus on my hands, focus on what’s right in front of me, and it helps. It helps. I start breathing easier. Deeper. The pain subsides.

“What.”

I should see a doctor. I should see a shrink, because whatever the futz that was, that wasn’t normal. But it’s not the Clinic my feet carry me towards at full speed. It’s the Scrapyard.

“Hey!” I shout, breathless and woozy. My voice sounds raw. God, I hope he’s here. “Hey! Christian Bale!”

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"How?"

He waved his hand in the air in a loose circle, then snapped his fingers and spun to spot where he'd left the Iron Man helmet. "Not a question you can answer. But you- this complicates the Christian Bale theory, actually. This is like Christian Bale started talking about shark repellant bat-spray."

He picked up the helmet and crossed back to Kate. The increasingly lab-rat Kate, apparently. "Put this on."

"Is this the part where I'm supposed to say, like, 'Holy Multiple Universes, Iron Man!'"

I take the helmet in my hands. It's got a little more heft than I'm expecting, but it beats having greasy fingers in my eyes. Giving Tony one last dubious look, I pull it over my head.

"Woah."

It's... Well, unbelievably cool, is probably the only way to describe it. Facts and figures dance in front of my eyes in the nerdiest light show possible, and the only bits that make sense are the few words written in plain English. None of it really helps my headache, but these are the sacrifices you make in the name of fashion.

"Do I get to wear the rest of the suit, too?"

"Not today," Tony said. "Jarvis, see what you can see. The suit has some physiological measuring," he explained, "maybe it'll see if-"

"What am I looking for, sir?"

"If I knew that, you wouldn't be looking, would you? Just... look. Make sure there's no obvious tumors. Or anything."

This is weird. I always thought Jarvis sounded sort of tinny, but inside the helmet, he's on surround sound. I try to stay still, even if it probably isn't necessary. The display starts to make me dizzy, so I shut my eyes.

They fly right open again at the mention of tumors.

"You don't think I'm dying, do you?"

Even with that slight electronic treatment to my voice, the panic rings through.

"No. ...probably not," Tony said. "The chance that you're dying is- Jarvis?"

"I can find no signs of neurological degeneration, sir."

"Small! See? You're not dying. You're just a weird anomaly. What were you doing when you started remembering things?"

"So reassuring," I mutter, folding my arms.

I pause for a second, then add, "I don't know, walking. It was just a normal day. I wasn't doing anything special, then bam! It was like I got hit with a two-by-four."

"As in the surprise, or actual physical pain? Anything could be relevant," Tony said, standing back. He was a little at a loss as to what to do with his hands. No holographic display to mess with out at the scrapyard, and Jarvis would run his scan from inside the helmet, so he couldn't exactly direct that.

"You have a headache? You look like you had a headache."

"I have a headache."

It's an understatement. I have over a year's worth of new memories cramming into my brain, and more than a couple are overlapping with stuff I know happened.

"So, like, actual physical pain."

"That's... interesting," Tony said. "Probably nothing to worry about. Your actual brain cells don't have any pain receptors so if they were melting you wouldn't feel that directly, so that's not what the headache is."

Tony Stark was not a doctor. (Well, not a medical doctor.) It didn't have anything to do with his bedside manner, but it probably should.

"Great."

I still have my eyes shut. When I open them, it's the same swirl of colorful numbers and readouts. I try to focus on them, but with little idea of what most of it means, it's not that helpful. I look past the numbers at Tony.

"So... what does this mean? Will I keep them?"

I've never heard of people getting memories for a weekend, but who knows with this place.

"No idea," said Tony, with full confidence in the fact that he had no idea. "To both. Normally I'd say- their memories, keep the synaptic links up, sure, no more likely to forget than anything. Here, with these?"

He held his hands up. "Who can say. I'd need to- how do you feel about needles, lab rat?"

I wonder if Jarvis picks up on the fact that my pulse just jumped up a few beats per minute?

"That depends entirely on if they're sterilized and where you're going to put them."

"...your brain, they're going in- where else would they be going?" Tony said, reaching out and indicating with a waggle of his fingers that he was going to pull the helmet off her.

I stand still while he pulls off the helmet, hands instinctively flying to my head once it's off to fix my hair and protect it from any surprise needles.

"You want to stick needles in my brain?!" I take half a step back. "I thought you were supposed to be the cool one!"

"I am, and always will be," Tony said, holding up an emphatic hand, "the cool one. I'm asking, aren't I?"

Guy's got a point. Not that reassuring a point, but a point. With a sigh of relief, I reluctantly let my hands fall back down to my sides and worry my lip between my teeth.

"You called me lab rat," I realize, a little late. The mention of needles had sort of hijacked everything, but now that I have a second to breathe, the old nickname makes me smile. I hesitate, just for a second. I'm not a naturally huggy person, but I've lost enough friends -- more than I even realized, apparently -- to know you should appreciate people while they're still around. I step in to give him a hug, face tucked against his shoulder.

"Sorry I forgot."

"Hey, okay, we're hugging," he said, holding hands stiffly out and then gingerly patting her on the shoulder-blade with one hand, "but, that's my line. Well, except I'd never actually say it, it's what people say my line is."

I drag in a breath and let go after another few seconds, touching the corners of my eyes so I don't cry. I clear my throat, laughing a little.

"You should try it some time. Makes everyone feel better."

[for Tony] Meeeeemories.

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