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Ivy Alexandria does not remember.
She does not remember what she does not remember; this is not unusual. Memories are stored in the brain. This brain is different from her old one. The memories are still there, Ivy is certain, but they are locked and there is no key.
In her dreams, sometimes, one slips through. One, or two, or three, or many. Regardless of what they are, she does not remember when she wakes.
Fragments come through, and she sees them but cannot recall what they are.
A redheaded child, looking at her. Through glass, or a mirror, perhaps. She remembers not what they look like other than the stark, brilliant red hair. They were reading a book, and had raised their head to look at her. Did they smile when they saw her? She didn’t remember.
Another child- perhaps the same one, perhaps a different one- sat in someone’s lap. They pointed at words and pictures in a children’s book, and read them out slowly. Ivy does not know what book it was, who the child was, or who they were reading it to.
She assumed this child was herself. As she did with all the children she saw in her dreams- who else did she know, who possessed such a vibrant shock of fiery hair?
The child in her dreams was not called Ivy- this doesn’t strike her as unusual. She chose the name for herself when she joined the crew. What her old name was, she does not recall.
What it is like to miss someone- Ivy does not know, but she thinks she misses the child. She has said as such to Marius, who suggested perhaps she missed her childhood. Ivy thinks this is right.
It feels similar to the emotion when the others have fun without her; it is the same as the feeling she got when Ashes told her of all they’d done with the Olympians. Ivy was sad she missed it.
But it also felt like when she could not find a book she liked, or when an octokitten becomes lost, or when the others disappear. It feels the same as the sadness she felt when Brian did not return from Fort Galfridian.
But Ivy cannot put her feelings into words, so she does not.
And she misses, and she yearns, for someone who she will never meet and never be. And she mourns, for those she does not know.
Ivy is reorganising the children’s books. This is an activity she enjoys. When the books are organised, the children won’t have to look very hard to find the one they want.
There are no children, Ivy reminds herself. She knows this.
Pausing in her task, Ivy selects one book. One of the ones with bright colours and animal characters, with some moral message about sharing or friends. She stands, and takes the book to her Reading Corner, inlaid with pillows and cushions obtained on their travels. She lays out the book, almost reverently, and she leaves the library.
The first person she finds is Nastya. She sits in a hallway, talking to herself- or, more likely, to Aurora- and throwing a scrunched-up paper ball up, into the air, and catching it, over and over.
Nastya says something, and something inside the ship’s walls clicks methodically. Morse code, Ivy thinks. Nastya laughs, and throws the paper ball at the wall. She pauses her one-sided conversation when she notices Ivy’s presence.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hello,” Ivy says back.
They look at each other for quite a long moment.
“Do you want to read a story?”
Nastya’s face softens. They’ve done this routine before; no-one can figure out why, but sometimes, on a quiet day, Ivy will invite someone to her library. Anyone, it doesn’t matter who.
She’ll take them to her reading corner, sit cross-legged and gently place their head in her lap. She’ll read them a children’s book, and they’ll listen, or ask questions, or turn the pages so Ivy can put her hand in their hair.
“Sure,” Nastya says, standing. “be back later,” she says to the wall.
Ivy takes Nastya’s hand, to which the latter does not protest, and leads her silently to the library.
The door opens itself; they tend to do that when Nastya’s around.
“I’ve chosen a good one today,” Ivy says as they enter.
“That’s exciting,” Nastya replies.
Ivy leads her to her sacred corner, and she sits cross-legged leaning against a pillow. She guides Nastya into her lap- although everyone knows the routine by now, they’ve also learnt that Ivy likes to put them in her lap herself- and hands her a plushie, one Ivy knows Nastya is particularly fond of.
She picks up the book reads out the title, and Nastya makes a comment on one of the animal characters on the front cover.
“I like that little outfit it’s wearing,” she says, “and the cute little hat.”
“It is a rather nice hat,” Ivy replies.
She opens the front cover, and reads the words on the front page. She affects a different voice for each character, and doesn’t even realise she’s done it until she notices how it makes Nastya laugh. She likes that laugh, so she keeps doing it.
“Where’s her hat gone?” Nastya asks at one point, pointing to the character from the front cover. “She’s taken her hat off.”
“They’ve gone indoors,” Ivy explains, “It’s polite to take your hat off when you go inside.”
“Brian doesn’t take his hat off indoors,” says Nastya, “And Marius is always wearing that dumb helmet. And don’t even get me started on the Toy Soldier.”
Ivy smiles fondly, and brushes a hand over Nastya’s hair. “It’s different for them, I think. Their hats make them comfortable.”
“Maybe I should get a hat,” Nastya says idly. Ivy continues reading.
They finish the book- it doesn’t take long, it’s a children’s book after all- and Nastya sits up slowly, but doesn’t stand.
“That was nice,” Nastya says eventually.
“I’m glad you thought so,” Ivy replies. “Would you like something to eat?”
She does this, sometimes, too. Once the book’s over, she’ll ask, are you hungry? Are you thirsty? Tired? Can I do something for you? Would you like to do a puzzle? Go for a walk?
She doesn’t always. Sometimes she smiles silently and lets them go about their day.
“Hm. That would be nice, yeah.” Nastya knows this is how Ivy shows her affection. “You could make me a sandwich?”
“I’ll bring it to you when I’m done,” Ivy says simply, standing to leave for the kitchen.
“Should I stay here?” Nastya asks.
“You can go play if you like,” Ivy replies. “I’ll come find you.”
Nastya lets her leave without commenting on her choice vocabulary before herself emerging from the library a moment later.
Ivy finds Raphaella in the kitchen. Since they don’t eat often, most of the limited food they keep on board is kept in a freezer, which only partially explains why Raphaella is defrosting salami with a Bunsen burner.
“Hello, Raphaella,” Ivy says, announcing her presence.
Raphaella startles, and turns to look. “Oh. Ivy. Good- is it morning? I don’t know.”
“What are you doing?” Ivy asks.
“I’m making a snack,” Raphaella explains, “because Marius kicked me out of my lab. Something about kneecaps. What are you doing?”
“I’m making a sandwich,” Ivy replies, opening the freezer to locate bread. “For Nastya.”
“You should put salami on it,” says Raphaella. “I’m not going to eat all this.”
“Nastya likes salami,” Ivy says, recalling the fact from her internal archive.
Raphaella hums satisfactorily. “Well that’s solved then.”
Ivy searches her mind for what else to put on it- she decides on lettuce and cheese, realises they don’t have lettuce or cheese, and substitutes spinach and aioli.
“Need those heated up?” Raphaella asks, gesturing toward her Bunsen burner.
“No thank you,” Ivy responds. She presses the individual pieces between her hands to warm them- save for the salami, which Raphaella has already taken care of.
Satisfied with her assembled (still slightly frozen) sandwich, she bids Raphaella goodbye and carefully takes the plate down the hallway where she first found Nastya. Sure enough, there she is, whispering quietly to Aurora.
She trails off when she hears Ivy approach, thanking her softly when she’s handed the plate.
Ivy nods. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
And Ivy retreats back to her library to finish organising the children’s books.
“Hello, Ivy,” Brian says.
Ivy looks up. Since he’s in the library, it must mean he was looking for her specifically.
“Brian,” she says, “do you need something?”
Brian nods. “’fraid so. Marius’ in a bit of a mood right now. Figured he could use, er, a friend?”
It took Ivy a moment. “And that’s me?”
“Well, not exactly. He’s asking for Zeze, you know-”
“His guardian,” Ivy interjects. “Why is that me?”
Brian pauses for a moment, then shrugs. “I don’t know. You’re a bit motherly, I suppose.”
Motherly. Something about the thought hurt, an aching familiarity right in the centre of her chest. Your heart, her brain helpfully supplied.
“…am I?” Ivy asks eventually.
“Not always,” Brian says. “Sometimes.”
Ivy mulls over this for a moment. She hates the feeling it’s giving her, but she doesn’t want to let it go. She could be a mother.
“Alright,” she says, her unwavering voice showing no hint of her inner turmoil. “I’ll go see him.”
She rises from her spot in her Reading Corner and finds Marius’ room. The door is locked shut, but a gentle knock to the walls of the Aurora and a simple “Could you let me in?” grants her access.
“Marius?” she says, not wanting to startle him.
He looks up meekly. He’s silent, but there are tears streaming down his face. Ivy gently sits on her bed next to him.
“Are you alright?” she asks, even though the answer’s obvious. Marius sniffs in response. Ivy pulls him into a hug, and when he doesn’t protest she pulls him in closer.
“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” she asks. She has no idea where this gentle script has come from, but it feels right. Having someone wrapped in her arms like this, shushing them softly as she rubs a hand on their back.
Marius shakes his head.
“Why not?” asks Ivy.
Marius wraps his arms around her, and slowly shakes out the words “dunno what’s wrong.”
“Oh.” Ivy’s not sure where to go from here. “That’s probably okay. Maybe you just need to get it out of your system.”
“Probably,” Marius murmurs.
The two sit like that, for how long Ivy can’t say, but eventually Marius sniffs again, and he looks up at her.
“Sorry,” is the first thing he says.
“It’s okay,” she replies.
“I think I just miss my life,” he says softly. “I mean, it sucked. But I miss my Zeze. And my sister.”
Ivy feels something which she registers as surprise. She searches her internal archive, but finds something missing. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”
It’s Marius’ turn to be surprised. “You didn’t?” Ivy shakes her head. “I guess I’ve never spoken about her.”
Ivy’s silent for a moment. “Can you tell me about her?”
Marius snorts a weak laugh. “Why? You just want her records in your archive?”
Ivy doesn’t sense venom in his words, so she responds sincerely. “I’d like to know about her. About why she was important to you.”
Marius laughs again, but his face softens. “Yeah, alright.”
“What was her name?” Ivy asks.
Marius takes a moment. “Dorothea.”
“What was she like?”
And they sit like that, together, on Marius’ bed, until he feels better, and Ivy plants a kiss on his forehead before she leaves.
“What are you, my mother?”
Jonny doesn’t mean anything by it. Ivy had mended his vest for him (she had read a book on sewing and was now determined to do as much sewing as possible) and when she gave it to him, she had asked if she could do anything else for him. Need anything else fixed? She asked, do you want something to eat?
Jonny hadn’t meant anything by it. But when he says it, it hurts. In her ribs, between her lungs, in her heart. Again, her mind supplies. She wants to reach into her own chest and pull the thing out.
“What’s your problem?” Jonny asks crudely.
“Nothing,” Ivy squeaks, in a way which is very unlike her. Jonny doesn’t look concerned- Raphaella says she’s not sure Jonny feels anything other than happiness, irritation and boredom- but something in his face shifts.
“Uh-huh. Okay,” he says. “Where’s… uh, Brian?” He intends it to sound like an afterthought, but it really doesn’t.
“Brig,” Ashes says from the doorway. Ivy startles. She hadn’t heard them come in. This, too, is unlike her.
“Okay, well, I’m going to go… not be here,” Jonny says, standing. He goes to pat Ivy’s shoulder, but hesitates and decides against it. He ducks out of the room, whispering something to Ashes as he does.
Ivy expects them to leave too, but they don’t.
“How’ve you been?” they ask her, pulling a cigar from one of their many pockets.
“Fine,” Ivy says. She’s aware of how strange her voice sounds, but she can’t seem to correct it. “Fine,” she repeats, just as shaky.
“Don’t seem that way,” Ashes says. “You wanna tell me what’s up, bug?”
“Nothing’s up,” Ivy responds defensively. She’s not good with emotions. She isn’t used to them. She doesn’t like them, or how unfamiliar they feel. How they always make her feel as though she’s missing something.
Ashes tips their cigar slightly, tapping it and watching the ash fall to the ground. “Well, you look upset. And something must’a’ set you off.”
Ivy considers for a moment, then moves to lean on the wall next to them.
“Jonny compared me to his mother,” she says. They look at her expectantly. Ivy feels as though she’s meant to keep talking, so she does. “It didn’t feel good.”
Ashes takes another drag from their cigar, then offers it to Ivy. She declines. She’s never liked the burn.
“I guess I get it,” Ashes replies. “I’ve always hated the idea of being a parent. Like, back on Labyrinth, Persephone jokingly suggested we have kids, and it genuinely sounded like the worst idea I’d ever heard. And we live with Jonny.”
Ivy knows Ashes is trying to comfort her, but she doesn’t like what they’re saying. Apparently this is clear on her face, because it only serves to make Ashes look more concerned.
“…that’s not it,” Ivy says eventually. She surprises herself by the certainty in her voice.
Ashes seems equally taken off guard. “Right,” they mutter. “…do you want to have kids, then?”
She considers this. She doesn’t think that’s the answer, no. When she thinks about having a baby, or raising a child, it doesn’t feel like something she wants to do. It feels like… something she’s done before, or something she already knows how to do. It feels familiar, in a way that hurts, and it’s odd, because Ivy doesn’t remember being around many children. None of which she raised. She’s not a mother. She knows this.
She doesn’t have any children. She knows this. Ivy is not a mother. Ivy Alexandria does not have a baby. Not anym-
“Shit- Ivy-” Ashes drops their cigar- still lit, but it poses no real hazard to the metal floor- and brings their hands to cup Ivy’s face. It’s only then she realises she’s crying.
Ashes follows Ivy’s gaze to the cigar on the floor, and they stomp it out before turning their attention back to her. Ivy reluctantly meets their eyes.
Neither of them say anything for a long moment, until Ivy gently removes Ashes’ hands from her face, gives them a weak smile, and leaves. She thinks Ashes is going to call after her, but she doesn’t stay long enough to find out.
She’s not sure where she’s going until she finds herself back at her library. The thread she used to mend Jonny’s vest is still on the desk- but she moves right past it and curls up in her Reading Corner.
As a general rule, Ivy doesn’t typically fall asleep in her Reading Corner. Or, at least, she tries not to. She doesn’t actually need to sleep, but sometimes she dozes off after finishing a particularly nice book. She doesn’t mind, though- it’s nice to wake up in her library.
Now, forgoes her rule outright by collapsing amongst the mass of cushions. She pulls a stuffed strawberry toy close to her chest, and she squeezes her eyes shut to try and stop the tears. It doesn’t work, of course, but she drifts off to sleep regardless.
“Ma?” Someone says. They’re small, and their hair is bright red, just like Ivy’s. Ivy smiles.
“Yes, ----?” she replies. She calls them by a name- but she forgets it as soon as she’s said it.
The child climbs onto her lap. She slots a bookmark between her pages and places her book down, using her hands to steady the child.
“I’m bored,” they tell her. Ivy laughs, but she can’t place what’s funny.
“Why don’t you go read a book, my love?” she suggests. The child sighs.
“I don’t know which book to read,” the child pouts, as if this is the world’s most significant problem.
“Why don’t you go through that bookshelf over there—” Ivy points, and the child follows her finger, “—and pick the first book you see that you haven’t already read.”
The child grins widely- happy with the suggestion- and clambers down.
“Thanks Mama!” they yell as they run off. Ivy feels herself smile fondly, as she watches her own spitting image climb up onto a bookshelf as she so often did herself.
Is it herself she’s watching, through the eyes of another? No- she can’t be, because when she catches sight of a nearby window, it is her own eyes which reflect back. Who is that, then?
They called her Mama. Is that her child? Yes, that’s right. That’s Ivy’s daughter, how could she forget?
Look at her go. She’s getting so tall, now- Ivy doesn’t know how much longer she’ll be able to sit her in her lap and read to her. She’s such a bright and intelligent child. The only thing more precious than Ivy’s books is the little girl who reads them.
Yes, Ivy’s little girl. What was her name again? Ivy can’t recall. She thinks very long, and very hard, but it never comes to her. What a terrible mother Ivy must be, if she can’t even remember her child’s name. She feels herself panicking- what is the name of the baby she held in her arms? What is the name of the toddler for whom she used to spell out the words? What is the name of the child Ivy entrusted with her favourite volume? What is her name? What is her-
At the first hint of noise, Ivy blinks herself awake. She looks up. She’s lying in her Reading Corner, clutching a stuffed toy. Standing about seven feet away from her is Jonny. Neither of them say anything.
Ivy thinks she’s meant to start the conversation, but Jonny beats her to it. “Hi.”
She feels herself smile faintly. “Hello.”
Jonny shifts awkwardly. His arms are crossed and he’s looking off to the side. “Ashes said I hurt your feelings or something. So, um, sorry.”
Ivy thinks, in this moment, that Jonny looks quite childish. The thought feels nice. She tosses the toy aside and pats the empty space on the blanket next to her. After a moment, Jonny gets the message and awkwardly sits next to her.
Ivy dimly recalls that it’s been centuries since he last entered her library, so he likely feels uncomfortable. Feeling oddly lucid, she pulls him into her lap, leaning his head against her chest. He goes stiff, but doesn’t move away, so Ivy sets about massaging his scalp through his hair. She feels him relax, and feels so strangely satisfied.
“Have I ever told you about my daughter?” Ivy says serenely. She’s not sure where this is coming from, but suddenly she feels like talking.
“What?” is all Jonny says.
“She had lovely red hair, just like mine,” Ivy continues, pride swelling in her chest. “And she was so curious, like Raphaella. She wanted nothing more than to understand the human mind. Just like Marius, I suppose.”
“You had a daughter?” Jonny asks incredulously.
“Oh, yes,” Ivy replies. “She was very kind, in the same way Brian is. Rather good with numbers too, like Ashes. She was inventive, like Nastya, and bold like Tim.”
“Suppose she wasn’t like the toy soldier, then?” Jonny says. Ivy can tell he’s aiming for humour.
“Stylish, just like it,” Ivy says with a smile. She removes her hands from Jonny’s head and wraps her arms around him. “You remind me of her, too.”
“Oh.” Jonny places his hands on her forearms, and they sit like that for a while. “What was her name?”
Ivy blinks. What? What was who’s name? Suddenly she can’t remember what they’d been talking about.
“Sorry?” Ivy says.
“What was her name?” Jonny repeats.
Ivy frowns. “…Whose name?”
Jonny hesitates. “Nevermind.”
Ivy sees nothing unusual of it, and it takes her a moment to realise she’s cradling Jonny in her arms. She smiles at the sight of it.
“Say,” she runs one hand over his hair, “would you like to read a story?”