Chapter Text
Yaz stood by the communal coffee station, her movements mechanical. She watched the dark liquid swirl into the paper cup, the steam rising in lazy ribbons. She stared until the cup was at its brim, the surface tension bowing, threatening to spill over the edge. She stopped it just in time, her thumb steady despite the tremors that had lived in her hands since that night in that Valley.
“Yuck!” Ben’s voice cut through the drone of the waiting room. He stood beside her, looking at his own cup with profound suspicion. “This coffee is not it. It’s like drinking hot, bitter dirt.”
Yaz managed a weak, tight-lipped smile. “Since when do you drink coffee, Ben?”
“Since never,” he admitted, leaning against the counter. “But, you know… I heard it helps with the jitters. With the stress.”
Yaz’s eyes drifted toward the seating area. Brooklynn sat perfectly still, her posture rigid, staring at a blank wall with a neutral expression. She was nursing a cup of the same sludge Yaz held.
“I feel like it only helps Brooklynn,” Yaz murmured, tilting her head toward their friend. “She’s the only one who looks like she isn’t vibrating out of her skin.”
Ben followed her gaze, his expression softening into something heavy. “Don’t let her looks fool you. She’s terrified. Maybe as much as you are. She carries it, Yaz. She blames herself for everything that happened.”
Yaz turned away from the coffee machine, her grip tightening on the paper cup until the seams of it crinkled. “Same with Kenji,” she said softly, glancing at Kenji, who was staring fixedly at his hands, his knuckles white. “I still don’t know why he does that. He thinks he could have done something, just like… like everyone else thinks they could have.”
Ben sighed, the sound rattling in his chest. “That’s the survivor’s curse,Yaz. I’m just glad we made it in time. After everything. Seeing her almost die… it didn’t feel real for a long time.”
“True,” Darius joined them, stepping into their small space. He grabbed an empty cup, his hands shaking slightly. He looked exhausted, the skin beneath his eyes bruised with fatigue. “That moment where she… where she went down. It scared the hell out of me.”
Yaz looked down at her coffee, the dark reflection showing nothing but the distorted ceiling lights. She hated thinking about that night. It had been five weeks, yet the memory played on a loop in her mind—the fire, the earth-shaking thud, and the sickening sound of impact. It hadn’t stopped haunting her for a single hour.
“Yeah, we should be thankful that stegosaurus didn’t impale her,” Ben said, his voice dropping an octave. “That would have been so much worse.”
“It did send her flying into that tree,” Darius muttered, his voice hitching. “It broke her head. The impact, the way she—”
Yaz shot him a look—a sharp, venomous warning. Darius stopped, his face falling as he read the sheer pain in her eyes. “Sorry,” he whispered. “I’ll shut up.”
Silence descended upon them, heavy and suffocating. Just as the tension threatened to snap, a nurse rounded the corner. She held a clipboard, her eyes scanning the group.
“Nublar six?”
The name hit them like a physical blow. Yaz didn’t think; she didn't hesitate. She dropped her coffee into the trash can and broke into a sprint. The stairs were faster than the elevator. She took them two at a time, her lungs burning, her heart hammering against her ribs. She didn't acknowledge the people she nearly plowed over in the hallway; she didn't apologize to the doctors who called out for her to slow down.
She burst into room 402, the door swinging wide and hitting the wall with a hollow thud.
The room was bathed in the harsh, white glare of hospital lights. Her pulse spiked as her gaze landed on the bed. Sammy was there. She was alive. A sob ripped through Yaz’s throat, raw and jagged.
“Wait, not yet!” the attending physician warned, moving toward her.
Yaz ignored him. She crossed the distance in three strides, dropping the facade of strength she’d worn for five weeks. She collapsed into the side of the bed, her arms wrapping around Sammy with a desperation that bordered on violent.
“Sammy!” she choked out, burying her face against the crook of Sammy’s neck. “Oh my god, Sam. You’re okay. You’re okay.”
She felt a strange, chilling stillness beneath her touch. Sammy was thinner now, her skin pale, and her breathing was shallow. Yaz waited for the familiar squeeze, the energetic hug-back that usually accompanied Sammy’s presence, but it didn't come. Instead, she felt a tentative, hesitant movement—small, awkward pats on her back, like someone comforting a stranger they were afraid to offend.
“Ms. Fadoula, there is something you might want to know.” the doctor said, his voice strained.
The rest of the group tumbled into the room behind her, Brooklynn in the lead, Kenji trailing closely.
“Sammy!” Kenji cried out, stepping forward.
“Everyone, please! Quiet!” the doctor commanded, his Italian accent thick with frustration.
Yaz didn't let go. She couldn't. She needed to feel the heartbeat, needed to confirm the survival.
“Everything okay, Doc?” Darius asked, his voice trembling. “She’s awake, right? That’s the good news?”
“She is awake, yes,” the doctor said, glancing at his records. “And she is physically stable. It is a miracle she is alive at all. The blood loss, the trauma to the cranium… it was extensive.” He muttered a few other words in rapid-fire Italian, his face etched with professional sorrow.
“Get to the point.” Kenji snapped, his patience fraying.
The doctor sighed, looking at their expectant, desperate faces. “The damage to the brain was significant. It… it didn’t leave her untouched.” He paused, looking directly at the group. “It led to memory loss.”
The room went deathly silent. The hum of the heart monitor seemed to amplify, a steady beep-beep-beep that suddenly sounded like a countdown.
Yaz felt the cold realization seep into her bones. She slowly shifted, pulling back just enough to look at Sammy’s face. She searched those familiar eyes—the eyes that had been the map of her own world for so long—and her heart shattered into dust.
There was no recognition. There was no warmth. There was only a blank, soft confusion, a polite, distant curiosity that Sammy reserved for people she had just met at a bus stop. The fire, the history, the shared secrets—it was all gone.
Yaz let go, her arms falling to her sides as if they were suddenly filled with lead. She took a step back, her chest constricting.
“Sammy…” Kenji whispered, his hand hovering near the bed rail. “Do you… do you remember me?”
Sammy tilted her head, a soft, helpless furrow appearing between her brows. She opened her mouth, her lips trembling slightly, but no sound came out. She touched the bandage on her head, wincing at the phantom pain, her gaze darting between the faces of the people who had risked their lives for her, seeing only strangers.
“She might need some time to speak again,” the doctor said softly, offering a sympathetic, pitying smile. “It is a process.”
Yaz took another step back, her vision blurring. She looked at the woman she loved—the woman who had held her hand through the worst traumas of her life—and saw a stranger looking back. The weight of the last five weeks, the grief, and the hope she had clung to like a lifeline, all collapsed in one suffocating moment.
“Yaz?” Ben called out, his voice laced with concern.
Yaz didn't answer. She couldn't. She didn't look back at the room, didn't look at the empty shell of their former life. She simply turned and walked out the door, the clinical hallway echoing with the sound of her own breaking heart.
Yaz had retreated to the darkest corner she could find: the narrow, triangular space tucked behind the heavy steel staircase in the service corridor. It was a tomb of shadows, a place where the echoes of the bustling hospital faded into a dull hum. She sat with her knees pulled tight against her chest, her chin buried in the fabric of her worn hoodie. She wasn’t sobbing—her throat hurt from crying—but her chest ached with a hollow, rhythmic throb that kept time with the blinking exit sign nearby.
"Yaz?"
The voice was soft, hesitant, but unmistakable. Ben. She didn’t look up. She couldn’t. If she saw the pity in his eyes, she knew she would shatter, and there was no one here to sweep up the pieces.
"Hey, what are you doing here?" Ben asked. He didn't wait for an answer, he settled onto the linoleum floor beside her, her shoulder brushing against his arm. He was a steady, immovable presence, someone who had learned the hard way how to survive in worlds that wanted to erase them. "You missed some info when you walked out of the room."
Yaz shifted, her gaze fixed on a scuff mark on the floor. "I heard enough."
"The doctor said it’s a temporary thing," Ben continued, his voice adopting that forced, optimistic lilt he used when the stakes were highest. "She’s going to need a lot of help piecing things back together—cognitive therapy, patience, the works. But she’s cleared to leave by next week. We can get her back to a familiar environment. That’s good, right?"
Yaz stayed silent. The words felt like pebbles hitting a frozen lake; they didn’t penetrate.
"I know this is hard," Ben tried again, his tone dropping to something more intimate, more grounded. "Specifically for you. But we’re the Nublar Six! We’ve survived dinosaurs infested islands, corporate conspiracies, and dinosaurs that wanted to tear us limb from limb. We can get through this, too."
Yaz finally lifted her head, though her eyes remained unfocused. Her voice was thin, brittle as autumn glass. "We’re not the Nublar Six anymore, Ben."
Ben frowned, his brows furrowing. "What?"
"Not anymore," she repeated, turning to look at him. Her eyes were rimmed with red, the skin beneath them puffy from the strain. "The group… the dynamic? It died today. Sammy isn't 'her' anymore. She’s a stranger in a hospital bed who looks at me and sees nothing but another stranger. She doesn't see me."
"Just because Sammy can’t remember she’s part of the Nublar Six doesn’t mean she isn’t," Ben countered, his smile faltering as he searched her face for a flicker of resistance. When he found none—only a profound, hollow exhaustion—his warm expression began to drift away, replaced by a flicker of genuine fear.
Yaz leaned back against the concrete wall, closing her eyes. The memories flickered in her mind, uninvited and cruel. She saw the ranch in Texas, the smell of dust and sun-baked leather, the way Sammy’s laugh used to fill the silence of her life.
"I thought… I really thought this was it," Yaz whispered, the words tumbling out in a broken stream. "No more complications. No more life-or-death sprints. No more secrets. Just us. I had a whole future mapped out in my head. We were going back to Texas after this. I was going to help with the house, and buy that calico cat she kept sending me links to. I was going to ask her to marry me. I wanted a life where we didn’t have to run."
She wiped a rogue tear from her cheek with the back of her hand, her motions aggressive, punishing. "But the universe… It's like it’s allergic to my happiness. Every time I get close to something real, it’s ripped away. Maybe this is the final sign. Maybe we aren’t meant to be, Ben. Maybe the story is over."
Ben gasped, a sharp, indignant sound that echoed off the stairwell walls. "How dare you say such a thing!"
Yaz didn’t turn. She stared at the floor, resigned. "It’s easier to walk away than to keep begging for a version of her that doesn't exist anymore."
Ben groaned, a sound of pure frustration. He shifted, maneuvering his body until he was sitting on his knees, forcing himself into her line of sight. He reached out, his hands firm and steady, and grabbed her shoulders. He didn’t shake her, but he held her with a gravity that demanded attention.
"Look at me." he commanded.
Yaz looked.
"You will go out there, and you will do your best to win her back," Ben said, his eyes burning with a ferocity she hadn't seen in a while. "You don't get to decide the story is over just because the first chapter of this new book is a nightmare. You will work, you will wait, and you will remind her of every single reason she fell in love with you in the first place."
"It’s not that simple!" Yaz choked out, her voice rising. "She looks at me like I’m a stranger, Ben. It’s like looking into a mirror and seeing someone else’s reflection."
"I get that it’s hard," Ben said, his voice softening, though the intensity remained. "I’ve had to rewrite my own view of the world a thousand times. But if Sammy is really that important to you—if she is the person you want to build that life with—then you owe it to her, and you owe it to yourself, to try. You don't give up. Ever. That’s not who you are, and that’s certainly not who we are."
The silence stretched between them, heavy and thick. Slowly, the fight drained out of Yaz, replaced by a different kind of ache—a dull, aching spark of hope. She looked at Ben, really looked at him, and saw the remnants of the boy who had once been afraid of everything, now standing as a pillar of unwavering faith.
"She doesn't remember us." Yaz whispered.
"Then tell her the story until she does," Ben said. He pulled her forward, wrapping his arms around her in a tight, protective embrace. He rested his chin on the top of her head. "We’ll get through this. One day at a time. One memory at a time."
Yaz hugged him back, burying her face in the fabric of his shirt. For the first time in days, the suffocating pressure in her chest eased just a fraction. It wouldn't be easy. There would be more nights spent crying in stairwells, more moments of heartbreak when Sammy looked at her with polite, vacant eyes, and more days where she felt like she was drowning in the past.
But as she held onto Ben, she felt the anchor of their shared history. They were the survivors. They were the ones who refused to be erased.
"Okay." she breathed, the word barely audible.
"Okay?" Ben asked, pulling back just enough to look her in the eye.
Yaz took a deep, shaky breath, her gaze hardening into a look of renewed resolve. She stood up, her legs feeling wobbly but solid against the floor. She wiped her eyes one last time, smoothing back her hair.
"Okay." she said again, stronger this time.
She turned toward the hospital corridor, toward the room where the woman she loved was sleeping, waiting for a life she didn't know she possessed. Yaz adjusted her hoodie, squared her shoulders, and took the first step.
She wasn't going to save the world today. She wasn't going to fix the tragedy of the past. But she was going to walk through that door, and she was going to introduce herself to the love of her life, and she was going to start the work of falling in love all over again.
Or at least that’s what she thought.
The moment she stepped inside the room again and saw Sammy, all her courage faded away. It wasn’t the physical injury—Sammy looked remarkably intact, her skin pale but unmarred, her dark hair fanned out against the crisp white pillow. It was the eyes. They were the same eyes, the same shape, the same color, but the recognition that used to live within them was gone. It was a void where a history used to reside.
"There you are!"
The voice belonged to Kenji. He was sitting beside Sammy, looking far more relaxed than the situation warranted. He had a natural charisma, a way of filling a room that usually calmed the group, but today it felt like a performance. He was sitting close to Sammy, not too close, but close enough to claim a territory of comfort.
"I was just introducing us to Sam," Kenji said, his voice light. He turned back to Sammy, gesturing with a casual hand. "The blonde and tall dude is Benjamin. We all call him Ben. And believe it or not, he used to be a twink when he was younger."
Ben, leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed over his broad chest, let out a low groan. "Really? That’s the first thing you tell her about me?"
"It’s a fun fact!" Kenji grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
Sammy giggled. The sound was soft, airy, and it cut through the tension in the room like a knife. It was a genuine sound, unburdened by the trauma of whatever accident had stolen her memories. That giggle made everyone smile, a reflexive release of breath they hadn’t realized they were holding.
"If you’re wondering what kind of relationship you two had," Kenji continued, looking at Sammy, "it was very sibling-like. But not as much as you and I."
Kenji’s smile was infectious, but Yaz stood by the door, her hands shoved deep into the pocket of her hoodie. She watched the interaction with a knot tightening in her stomach.
"Wait until you see Bumpy and her family," Ben said, stepping away from the wall. He looked at Sammy with a gentle expression. "Bumpy is a dinosaur, ankylosaurus to be specific. You used to love her."
Sammy’s eyebrows rose in genuine surprise. "A dinosaur?"
"Yeah," Brooklynn chimed in, her voice soft. "You have a very... unique connection with Bumpy."
Sammy seemed to process this, her gaze drifting to the window. She looked back at the group, her eyes landing on Yaz.
"Oh, last but not least," Kenji said, following Sammy’s gaze. He gestured toward Yaz. "You got your girl, Yasmina. She’s a grumpy old lady."
Kenji’s tone was teasing, but Yaz flinched.
"And, this might surprise you the most," Kenji said, his voice dropping slightly, "but she’s not just a friend. She’s your—"
"Best friend!"
The shout cut Kenji off. Yaz stepped forward, her voice cracking slightly before she steadied it. "I’m your best friend."
The room went still. Everyone looked at her, surprise etched onto their faces. The silence stretched, heavy and awkward. Ben shifted his weight, Brooklynn lowered her gaze, and Darius, who had been quietly observing from the corner, simply looked stunned.
Yaz cleared her throat, the heat rising to her cheeks. She looked away. "I’m your best friend." she repeated, the lie tasting like ash in her mouth.
Kenji blinked, his smile faltering for the first time. "Huh…?" he said, confused.
Ben frowned, stepping closer. "Yaz?"
"It’s better this way, Ben," Yaz whispered, her voice barely audible. She didn’t look at him; she couldn’t bear to see the disappointment in his eyes. She turned her attention back to Sammy, forcing a smile that felt brittle. "We are all your best friends."
Brooklynn shook her head and sighed, a quiet sound of resignation. Ben covered his face with his hand, rubbing his temples as if trying to ward off a headache.
"Okay… yeah," Kenji said, recovering his composure with visible effort. He sounded unsure, his usual confidence shaken by Yaz’s interruption, but he played along. "She’s your best friend."
The tension was palpable, a living thing pacing the room, until a voice cut through it.
"Nice meeting you guys."
Sammy’s voice was raspy, quiet, but clear. It shattered the awkwardness instantly.
Everyone’s eyes widened. They stared at Sammy, who was looking around the room with a mixture of politeness and confusion.
"You can talk!" Darius exclaimed, stepping forward, his hands gesturing wildly.
"Yeah," Sammy said, offering a small, shy smile. "Though my throat is sore."
"Here’s some water." Kenji said quickly, jumping into action. He reached for the small table, grabbing a bottle of water and twisting the cap off with a practiced snap. He handed it to her.
They watched her drink with an intensity that was almost unnerving. It was as if they were waiting for a sign, a flicker of the old Sammy in the way she moved or swallowed. She took a few sips, then stopped, lowering the bottle.
"Can you guys stop looking at me so intensively?" she said, her nose scrunching slightly. "It’s uncomfortable."
The reprimand was so characteristic of the old Sammy that Yaz felt a physical ache in her chest. Immediately, everyone looked away, scattering their gazes to the floor, the ceiling, the window. Sammy watched them for a second longer, then lifted the bottle again and finished the water.
"Good?" Kenji asked, turning back to her as she lowered the bottle.
Sammy nodded. "Yeah."
"Need anything else?" Kenji asked, his voice soft, attentive.
Sammy’s expression shifted, a shadow passing over her face. She looked down at her hands, interlacing her fingers. "My parents." she said quietly.
The words landed like a physical blow, particularly to Yaz. She felt a wave of sadness crash over her, so intense it stole her breath. It was a hollow, aching pity for the girl on the bed who didn’t know that the people she was asking for had turned their backs on her. If only Sammy knew her parents wanted nothing to do with her anymore. If only she knew that the only people who cared were standing in this room.
"There’s an issue with that," Kenji started, his voice taking on a gentle, rehearsed quality.
"Kenji!" Yaz hissed, her eyes snapping to him.
Kenji ignored her. He kept his focus on Sammy, offering a reassuring smile. "Your parents are all the way in America which makes it hard for you to see them since we are in Italy right now."
Yaz let out a long, silent sigh, her shoulders slumping. She had expected him to tell the truth—that they had refused to come. But he had stopped short, opting for a geographical distance rather than an emotional one. It was a lie, but perhaps a kinder one.
"Oh…" Sammy said, the single syllable heavy with disappointment.
Kenji reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder. His touch was warm, grounding. "You’ll see them sooner than you think." he promised.
Sammy looked up at him, and a small smile touched her lips. It was a fragile thing, but it was enough to satisfy Kenji.
He stood up from the bed. "I’ll be right back," he said as he turned to Yaz, his expression hardening slightly. "You and I need to talk."
Yaz watched him walk out of the room. She lingered for a moment, her eyes drifting back to Sammy, who was now looking out the window again. Yaz felt a magnetic pull toward her, a desperate urge to reach out and hold her hand, to tell her everything, to scream that they were more than friends, that they were soulmates. But she didn’t. Instead she turned and followed Kenji out.
The hallway was bright, the fluorescent lights humming overhead. Kenji was standing a few feet away, his arms crossed.
"What is wrong with you?" he hissed the moment she was within earshot. His voice was low but sharp, cutting through the quiet of the corridor.
Yaz stopped, bracing herself. "Kenji, don’t—"
"No, Yaz," he interrupted. "We are not supposed to be lying to her! She deserves to know the truth."
"I am protecting her," Yaz shot back, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and guilt. "She just woke up. She’s scared. Telling her that her parents abandoned her right now? That’s cruel."
"It’s the truth!" Kenji argued, his hands gesturing in frustration. "And that’s not the only lie." He pointed at her. "Best friend? You’re only her best friend? Are you serious? That’s two lies! Who knows how many more lies you’ll tell her."
Yaz flinched as if struck. The accusation hung in the air, sharp and undeniable.
"Kenji, please." she whispered, glancing nervously at the door.
"No," Kenji pressed, his eyes intense. "Just tell her! It might help her. Maybe remembering you—really remembering you—is the key to unlocking everything else. You’re hiding behind a label because you’re scared."
"I’m not scared." Yaz lied, her voice barely audible.
"You are," Kenji said, his voice softening slightly, though his words remained firm. "You’re terrified. But hiding your relationship, hiding what you two were to each other, isn’t kindness. It’s cowardice."
Yaz looked down at the floor, the polished tiles reflecting the harsh light. He was right, of course. Every word out of his mouth was the truth. She wanted to tell Sammy everything. She wanted to hold her face in her hands and say: I’m the love of your life, and you are mine.
But looking at Sammy through the door’s small window, seeing her vulnerability, her fragility, Yaz couldn’t bring herself to risk the one connection she still had. If she told the truth and Sammy rejected her, or worse, didn’t understand, Yaz would lose her completely.
"Give her time," Yaz said, finally meeting Kenji’s gaze. Her eyes were wet, but her jaw was set. "Just a little time."
Kenji stared at her for a long moment, searching her face. He let out a heavy breath, the fight leaving his shoulders.
"Fine," he said quietly. "But the lies are going to pile up, Yaz. And when she finds out the truth—and she will—it’s going to be harder to explain why we hid it."
He didn’t wait for a reply. He turned and walked inside the room, leaving Yaz alone.
Yaz stood there for a moment, her heart racing. She took a deep breath, composing herself, and turned back to the door. Yaz knew that every second she kept the secret was a second she was building a foundation on sand.
But as she reached for the handle, she made a decision. She would be the best friend Sammy needed right now. She would be steady, she would be present, and she would hold her own heart in check until the girl inside that room was strong enough to hear the truth.
She opened the door and walked back in, a smile on her face, ready to pretend.