This idea came from watching the Star Trek: Enterprise episode "Twilight". That episode has been haunting me since I watched it, and when I saw Akiko's contest, it seemed the perfect opportunity to put the plot to good use. So, without further ado, the fic!

Persistence of Memory

by Griffinkhan

Snow was falling, for the second week in a row. A woman stood watching from beneath the eaves of the house as a man about her age sat building a snowman like a little child.

"Don't even think about it," she warned, as he suddenly grabbed a fistful of snow and made to lob it in her direction.

He paused, cocking an eyebrow. "How'd you know I was going to do that?"

"Because you do it every day," she said laughing, snow crystallizing on her cheeks.

He woke warm and safe in bed, which in itself was alarming. What happened to the tattered tent they were using to cross the desert? Had they been attacked? Maybe he'd been knocked unconscious and they'd taken refuge in Suhalla...

He sat up and swung his legs off the narrow quilt-covered bed, his bare feet recoiling as they touched the cold wooden floor. He forced himself to rise from the comforting warmth of the blankets and stood there shivering, taking in his new surroundings. The room didn't look much like an inn. It was bare except for the bed, a small nightstand, and an ancient, hulking chest of drawers standing sentinel in the corner. The walls were painted a light cream, illuminated by the sun through a small window. Snow fell gently beyond the glass.

Snow? he thought. But they were in Gondowan! What was going on?

The blue door creaked open, and a girl with hair that blended with the paint entered. "Oh good, you're up," she said, walking to the bedside. She held a mug of what looked like tea. Her face was lined with creases- worry over him?- and she looked strangely... older than usual.

"Mia ?" he asked, confused and freezing- the thin pajamas he wore did nothing against the cold. "What-"

"Sit back down and drink your tea," she said shortly, handing him the cup. "I'll explain everything. Just please, don't talk for now. I can't take it. Not today."

The desert was boiling, though not nearly as hot as the Lamakan had been. Her ragtag group- seven teenagers, three adults, an elderly gentleman and a young looking man of unknown age- trekked wearily through the sand. Cliffs had prevented them from using their usual mode of transportation, forcing them to make the rest of the trip home on foot. All that kept them going anymore was the knowledge that their journey was almost over.

She should have been more alert, but the desert heat was dulling her senses and she could barely do more than place one foot in front of the other. The shrill shriek and swooping rush of the monster caught her completely off guard. She could do nothing but look up and stare horrified at the creature streaking toward her, fangs and claws outstretched.

"What's the last thing you remember?" she asked him, though he got the distinct feeling she knew the answer already.

"...We were in the desert," he said slowly. "Heading back to Vale..."

She nodded. "What you don't know is what happened afterward... We were attacked by a monster. I don't know what kind. It doesn't really matter. All that does is that you were injured and..." She stopped talking, closing her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said a moment later, opening them again and smiling at him. "It's just so hard to do this today..."

There was a cry to her right, and the next thing she knew someone was shoving her to the ground and out of the monster's path. She fell on her side, tasting gritty sand in her mouth. Her hair escaped from its neat ponytail, falling into her eyes and preventing her from seeing what was happening to her rescuer- but then she didn't need to see because it was all too horribly apparent from the scream above her prone form. Then there was a beating of wings and a sickening crunch behind her, soft fragile flesh colliding with unyielding stone, and the noise rose around her, a feverish cacophony calling, calling a name...

Then someone was stabbing a sword into the monster and someone else was helping her to her feet and suddenly she could see again, see the prone body of her friend and rescuer lying feet behind her, his head smashed against a boulder and blood, blood everywhere, mixing with the red sands of the desert. And the cruel sun, no longer golden, beat down on the blood and the sand and nothing was ever the same again...

"You... you received a very bad head wound in the attack," she continued, and she saw him reach up automatically to his forehead, where a long, jagged scar was still visible. "For a while we thought you might die. But you recovered eventually, except..."

She halted again, her voice beginning to break. "The injury damaged your memory, Isaac. Permanently. You're no longer able to form any new long-term memories, meaning that each night, you forget everything that happened after the accident. ...Each morning, you start all over again."

He was silent for a moment. Then he asked the usual question. "How long has it been?"

"...Ten years ago, today."

She stood before the cold, hard hospital bed, waiting. Waiting for the morning that brought a new glimmer of hope. Waiting for the inevitable disappointment.

The covers stirred, and the golden haired head poked its way out, blue eyes still cloudy with sleep. "Mia?" he asked, looking around. "What happened? Where am I?"

"I've told you that four times already. Don't you remember?" she said, and hoped he wouldn't see her tears.

"I've been helping out as your caretaker ever since," Mia continued. "Your parents helped too, but they died a few years ago, so we moved back here to Imil. It's been a bit more difficult with only you and I, but we've managed."

She looked sideways at him. "I know this is startling to you. It always is. But please, try not to worry about it. That never helps anyone." She stood up. "I'll let you get dressed now. The closet's over there... Pick the green shirt, you wore the blue one yesterday."

It was morning- she was supposed to wake up Isaac, to tell him the story again, to get him out and about today and not sitting and brooding like he tended to do if left to himself. But the room beyond the door- a perfect replica of his old one, destroyed four years before- was empty. Her heart leapt into her throat. He had woken up before her... why hadn't she heard him? Now he was probably wandering around the village, with no idea of what was going on.

Suddenly, there was a cry from somewhere else in the house. Mia jumped- it had come from the sickroom. Dora's room. She darted from the doorway, racing down the hall to find the sickroom door open and Isaac kneeling on the floor beside the bed, tears streaming down his face.

"Mia... Mia..." he stammered through his tears when she approached him. "My mom, she's... she's..." He gestured futilely at the bed. Dora lay perfectly still, her face pale but peaceful, finally having succumbed to the terrible sickness raging through the village. Mia couldn't say she was surprised... she had known Dora was dying for several days, now. The woman just had no fight left in her. Her emotional strength had been drained away over the years, first from the supposed loss of her husband, and then from her son's injury.

"What is going on!" Isaac half shouted, his face awash with confusion and despair. And it was completely understandable. He had just woken up, with no idea where or when he was, and wandered through a strange house only to find his mother dead. Anyone would have reacted badly...

He looked so utterly dejected, sitting on the freezing wooden floor beside the equally frigid body. It was all Mia could do to keep from crying herself. She didn't know what to say, what to do... So she simply knelt down and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly as he cried into her shoulder.

"It's all a bad dream... just a bad dream..." she whispered soothingly, as her friend's sobs slowly died away. And for the first time since the accident, she was glad he wouldn't remember this tomorrow.

He shuffled out of the bedroom, his shirt half unbuttoned, golden hair in its normal tousled disarray. She stood before the sink, rinsing her hands over and over again.

"Where's-" he began.

"The bathroom? It's the second door to your right," she replied, without looking up.

"... Thanks." He moved in that direction, pausing in the doorway. "Your hands are plenty clean by now," he observed.

"Yes. I know," she said, and kept on washing.

"You can't keep denying it, Mia. You're going to have to face this sooner or later."

She turned, away from his calm words and damning logic. "There's still a chance-"

"No, Mia, there isn't. You're just fooling yourself," he said gently. "The damage to his memory is permanent. If you remain here, this cycle will only continue, day after day..."

"Then I'll explain everything again, day after day. He's my friend, Picard! I can't leave him!"

"He's my friend too, Mia," His eyes were glistening now, but he wouldn't cry. He never cried. "He's a friend to all of us. But there comes a time when you must let go-"

"How can you say that?" She was almost screaming now. "Isaac needs us! If we aren't there for him, who will be? Some heartless sanctum worker? He's not insane, Picard! I can't leave him to strangers who'll treat him like he is!"

He was silent, watching her. "It's not his sanity I'm worried about. We've lost one friend already, Mia. We don't want to lose two."

"Isaac is not lost!" she cried.

Yellow eyes bored into blue, then glanced towards the man lying blissfully unaware on the bed in the corner. "He can't appreciate what you're doing for him, Mia..."

"I don't care."

He emerged from the bathroom, his hair now slightly less disheveled. Mia had now left the sink and was bringing out bread and cheese from the pantry. He approached her.

"Can I help?" he asked tentatively, watching her place the objects on the cutting board.

She nodded, pointing to a bowl of peaches on the counter. "You could peel some of those..." she said. "The knives are in the drawer over there."

He retrieved a paring knife and a piece of fruit, standing beside her as she cut the bread. The peaches weren't fresh- they had probably been imported from the south, as Imil's short summers made it impossible to grow anything well. He ignored this, though, peeling the fruit with the same care as if they had come straight from the tree, trying not to lose any of the flesh as he removed the skin. Peaches were his favorite fruit, and judging by their presence Mia knew this. She'd obviously made an effort to have them here for him.

She knew so much about him... and he knew nothing about her at all.

She was in the back room, ironing his beloved blue and gold tunic, when a knock came at the door. It took a minute before she remembered he was in the living room and hurried outside, but by then it was too late.

"Why, hello!" came a cheerful voice from the front steps. "You must be Mia's man... I'm Eva Jones, I live across the road. The whole town's been dying to meet you."

Mia stifled a chuckle as Isaac's confused reply. "Mia's 'man'? I don't really think it's like that, we're just friends..."

The woman at the door continued on, oblivious to the Venus Adept's words. "The neighbors have all been wondering about you," she said. "Mia never seems to let you out of the house much." The undertone in her voice very clearly said, 'And we want to know exactly why you're staying in our village.'

Mia decided it was time to step in before Isaac got too flustered. "Mrs. Jones!" she exclaimed, entering the room and plastering a smile on her face. "So nice to see you again!" She had been dreading this moment, having to explain Isaac's condition to the villagers, but there seemed to be little choice now. If she let the matter sit, rumors would begin flying and she couldn't bear to have Isaac be the subject of that kind of gossip. Mrs. Jones was a busybody but she had a good heart, and once she knew what was going on Mia felt sure she would be sympathetic.

"Isaac, would you mind letting us talk for a few minutes?" she asked, and he nodded, taking one last look at the visitor as he exited the room. Mia waited until he had vanished then turned back to her neighbor.

"Mrs. Jones, there's something you need to know about Isaac..."

There was a knock at the kitchen door, and Mia quickly moved to open it. A stout, smiling middle-aged woman entered the room, bearing a covered basket. "Hello, hello!" she said cheerfully, stepping into the room.

"Good morning!" Mia replied, closing the door and returning the woman's smile. "We were just getting ready to have breakfast... would you like to stay and have some?"

"Oh no, thank you," the woman chirped, placing the basket on the counter. "I just came over to bring you these cookies. They're chocolate chip, Isaac's favorite."

She turned to the blonde Venus Adept. "Good morning, Isaac. I'm Mrs. Jones, from across the street."

He nodded, resisting the urge to reply with 'Nice to meet you.' Who knew how many times this woman had visited, having to introduce herself anew each day.

"Well, I'll see you later this afternoon... That is, if Isaac still wants to come? Isaac, the children have been asking you to come and tell them stories again today. Is that all right?"

Isaac nodded, and Mrs. Jones smiled broadly again. "Thank you so much! The children will be so thrilled..."

Her mother had once told her that ghosts were people who were trapped in their memories, who couldn't seem to move on to the next world for some reason. A ghost would wander, forever stuck in their moment of trauma, or failure, though in reality hundreds of years might pass.

She watched him walk across the room, pausing in all the usual spots, finally pulling the same green bound volume off the shelf and sitting down in the same tattered armchair, unaware that he had repeated these actions hundreds of times over the years. He was a ghost too, she realized. Not quite dead, not quite alive, but trapped in a single moment while the whole world passed him by...

He entered the living room, looking around at the well-worn furniture. How many days had he stood here, in this exact spot, looking out over this room for the first time? And how many days had he stood here wondering about it?

He walked over to the shelf and ran his finger over the spines of the leather-bound volumes, reading each gold embossed title. He paused before a book that looked vaguely interesting, finally reaching out and picking it up. He opened the green cover, glanced at a page, and then retreated to an armchair, poring over the contents.

He had been there a half hour or so when Mia entered the room, coming up behind him and leaning over the back of the chair.

"Why that book?" she asked, after a long pause.

"What?" Isaac asked, looking up. He had become so engrossed with the reading that it had taken several seconds for her question to register.

"You always pick that book. I was just wondering why..."

"...I don't know, really," he admitted. "It's just a history of old Angaran artists. But there's this one picture in here..." He flipped back a few pages, and held the book up. The page was mostly taken up by the replica of a painting, showing a strange scene of clocks that looked like they were made of rubber scattered across a barren landscape. The title below it read 'Persistence of Memory'.

"It just seemed appropriate," he finished, staring at the picture.

She stared as well. "I wonder how you manage to find it, every time..."

He just shrugged.

He was so predictable, it was scary. Unless she consciously tried to change things, every day his routine was the same. Get up, hear the story, eat breakfast, perhaps have a visit from the neighbors... then he'd be depressed for a while, wander aimlessly around the house to get over it, read, wander some more, and then hang around her while she did housework, offering to help her and generally making a nuisance of himself. She knew he just felt guilty about being a burden on her for so long, but it was very annoying to have him constantly underfoot. But then again, what else was there for him to do? It was difficult to start anything constructive when you forgot all about it the next day...

"Anyway, it's about time we headed over to the Sanctum," Mia said, standing up straight. "The kids will be waiting for you." She offered a hand to Isaac, who took it and pulled himself to his feet. He placed the book on a side table and the two left the room, stopping in the hallway to get coats, gloves, and boots to protect themselves from the cold Imilian wind.

They stepped outside, immediately accosted by a light flurry of snowflakes. It was a cold, but peaceful day. The world around them was vast and silent and white, so mush so it seemed like they were the only living creatures for miles. The wooden houses of Imil's residents poked up from their gowns of snowdrifts and icicles along the path. They crunched along the path to the sanctum, leaving a long trail of footprints behind.

"Justin's the Great Healer in the village now, by the way," Mia said, as they carefully skidded over the frozen river. "He offered to give the job to me when we came back here, but I didn't feel it was my right to take it. Besides, I didn't want to leave you alone all day. We've got more than enough money left over from the quest to live off of, and I help out at the item shop from time to time, so we're doing all right."

She halted in front of the sanctum door and knocked. The heavy wood creaked open and the two adepts slipped inside amid a flurry of snowflakes. They stood in the entry hall, stamping snow from their boots onto the stone floor. The blonde haired woman who had opened the door for them pushed it closed again, shutting out the cold.

"Hello, Mia, Isaac," the woman greeted, holding out her arms for their coats. Both gratefully accepted her offer, pulling off the heavy snow covered objects. Isaac couldn't help staring at her as she walked over to place them on a rack. She seemed oddly familiar...

"Hello, Megan," said Mia, smiling. Isaac managed not to jump. This was the little healer apprentice he had met so long ago?

"How are the children doing?" Mia asked, as Megan beckoned the pair to follow her deeper into the sanctum.

"They're as rambunctious as always," the woman laughed. "But it's so wonderful to be here working with them."

"I'm sure they appreciate you as well," Mia said. "It's great of you and Justin to take them in like this."

"Only doing my duty," Megan replied modestly. "I know what it's like to be an orphan. It's only right that I help out others like you helped me when I was younger."

Mia looked down. "I didn't do anything. I abandoned you and Justin to go flouncing off on my own when I should have stayed and took care of you."

Megan shook her head. "We were thirteen years old... We were more than capable of taking care of ourselves. And besides, Mia, you didn't abandon us. You went to save the world. And afterwards, you were... busy. It's completely understandable, and Justin and I got on all right. Don't keep worrying about it."

Megan stopped before the door to an inner chamber and turned the handle. The door swung inward into a warm, well lighted room. It was a cozy living space, furnished with carpet, fireplace, and couches. Five children of varying ages sat cross-legged on the floor, chattering away with a blonde haired man whom Isaac recognized as Justin. Mrs. Jones was also there, in an armchair in the corner, knitting a blue woolen cardigan.

"Mr. Isaac's here!" shouted a little girl with her hair up in pigtails, bouncing up and down in excitement. Justin closed the book he had been reading and looked up, smiling.

"Great to see you, Isaac. The kids have been waiting." He gestured at the children gathered at his feet. "This is Becky, Robert, and John, who are the orphans we're taking care of... and this is Sue and Madeline, who are Mrs. Jones' granddaughters."

"You gonna tell us a story, Mr. Isaac?" said the little boy named Robert, his eyes wide and innocent.

"If you want to hear one," Isaac said, smiling at him. He sat down cross-legged on the rug, and the children crowded around him.

"I wanna hear the one about the dragon!" said John.

"Me too!" said Sue, who was the pigtailed bouncing girl.

"Me three!" shrieked Becky.

"Which dragon are you talking about?" Isaac asked. "There were two, you know."

"The big one!" said John imperiously.

Isaac suppressed a laugh. "All dragons are big."

'I don' wanna hear about dragons," said Madeline. "We always hear about the dragons! I want to hear about something else!"

Isaac looked up at Mia, who was sitting on the couch. "How about I tell you about the first time I visited Imil?" he suggested.

"Sounds boring." Said John, scowling.

"Yeah, Imil is boring," said Sue, making a face.

"There's a battle in it, too," Isaac replied, amused.

"...Ok, then," John conceded. "As long as there's a battle."

"Well, then," Isaac motioned for the children to gather closer. "This took place years and years ago, before some of you were even born, probably..."

The lighthouse stood on the horizon, the red stone barely visible through the howling Proxian blizzard. Beyond even that was the black abyss of the edge of the world, lightning flickering dangerously in its infinite depths.

The eight teenagers and one old man stood freezing, gazing out at their final destination. Felix, Jenna, Sheba, Picard and Kraden huddled on one side, traveling companions sticking together. Ivan, Garet, Isaac, and Mia, separated slightly from the others, stood lost in their own separate thoughts.

Isaac broke the ice, turning to Mia, the closest to him. "Well, looks like this is it..."

"Yeah," she replied, too cold to say much else. She wished they would just get moving again.

He grinned at her. "Just think, Mia, once this is lit... we can go home. We can go home, and everything will be normal again."

And she had smiled, nodded, and believed him.

"Thank you again, Isaac. The children really love your visits," said Megan, as the group stood by the Sanctum exit. Mia and Isaac had their snow gear back on, preparing to return home.

"It's no problem," Isaac said, smiling slightly. "They're cute kids..."

"Yes, well, unfortunately they won't stay that way..." Megan said, laughing. "They're growing up too fast..."

"We'll see you next week, Megan," Mia said, beginning to push open the door. The snow howled outside. It had gotten worse during their two hours in the Sanctum. "You and Justin take care of yourselves!"

"We will!" Megan said, and waved them goodbye as the slipped out the door.

"C'mon, Isaac," Mia said once they were outside, taking his gloved hand in hers. "Let's go home. I'll make us some hot chocolate."

He nodded, and silently followed her through the snow.

It was the fifth anniversary of the accident, and she had almost given up.

She was truly alone now. Isaac's father had finally passed away the previous month, after lingering for a year battling the same illness that had taken his wife. So she was the only one left to take care of Isaac, to explain the past to him each morning and to comfort him each time she told him the life he knew was long gone.

The others wanted to give him to the sanctum workers, who took on the job of watching over those too mentally ill to fend for themselves. It wasn't that they didn't care about their friend anymore... they were just tired of the constant heartache, tired of the endless explanations that would be forgotten the following day. They basically had given him up for dead. They even referred to him in the past tense.

The day had begun like normal. But even he had noticed she was not herself. He had politely avoided talking about it all day, no doubt blaming himself for her depression... something that was not entirely untrue. But no, no, it wasn't his fault. It was hers. Hers, and only hers.

It was just too much. Sometime during the afternoon she broke down completely, and he found her in the kitchen with her head in her arms, sobbing.

"Mia?" he said, but she didn't look up. She couldn't face him, see that scar that had ruined both their lives.

"I c-can't do it anymore, Isaac. I just c-can't," she hiccuped, her voice muffled from its place buried in her arms. "B-but I have to. I have to. It's m-my fault you're like this."

He approached her and gently placed his hands on her shoulders. "It was an accident, Mia. How is it your fault?"

"I-I should have been paying attention... I-I shouldn't have needed you to protect me. T-The monster was attacking, me, not you. It's my fault for being so s-stupid you would have to rescue me!"

He stood up and walked around to the side of the chair, kneeling down. "Mia, look at me, please." So she did, although reluctantly, looking tearfully into his clear blue eyes framed by the jagged scar. "I don't know exactly what happened..." This triggered a fresh burst of tears from her, and he calmly waited for them to subside. "I do know, though," he continued, "That whatever it was, it was not your fault. And I don't like to see you beating yourself up about it. If this is the reason you're staying... because you feel guilty, you don't have to. I... I wouldn't blame you if you left. You're breaking down, I can see that. There's no point in you staying here when I'm never going to get any better..."

He was acting just like them, and that made her cry all the harder. "No! No! You say that now, but t-tomorrow... You'd be lonely, Isaac, l-lonely for the rest of your life. A-and so would I..."

She reached out and looped her arms around his neck, slipping from the chair and onto the floor beside him. "Y-you're my friend, Isaac. I can't leave you. I can't. I can't."

And then suddenly her last inhibitions broke and she sagged against him, her strength entirely gone. He carefully wrapped his arms around her and cradled her, as she had to him only a year before.

"Stay with me, Isaac. Today, tomorrow, forever. Please..." she sobbed into his chest.

"I'll be here," he whispered, stroking her hair. "Don't cry..."

But in the morning, as always, he had gone.

"Goodnight, Isaac," she said, smiling that sad smile as she had all day. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight," he echoed, smiling slightly back. There was an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach, as if he were being sent off to die. But he wasn't dying... more like, being reborn.

"Sleep well," she whispered, tucking the covers around his chin. Then she leaned down and kissed him on the forehead just above his scar, like a mother reassuring a small child against the dangers of the night. Then she slipped silently from the room, closing the door behind her.

And he drifted off to sleep, and the cycle began again.

"How can you do it, Mia?" he had asked one day, after she explained the whole saga once again. "How can you keep on living like this, waking up each morning and knowing I won't remember a thing you've done for me?"

"By remembering it myself," she had answered, and left it at that.

- fin -