CHAPTER 413 DELILAH

CHAPTER 413 DELILAH

After our mission and debriefing, we were off to merry old London. Set up in a nice hotel as reports were written up and Sinister’s bunker was dug through, I hung around for a while. Happy to sightsee and train with Wolverine, I was left on my own most of the time. After simply a day of this I was itching for some action though.





Since Jean, Cyclops, and Wolverine were hoping to find answers on why Sinister was able to use some sort of Sleeper Agent phrase on them, they were distracted. Wolverine would break out of his funk if I pissed him off enough for a fight, but I decided to venture to the new addition to my growing potential Marvel world of women. If Jean wasn’t going to be an all-powerful god for the time being, I might as well shoot for the next best thing.



“Hello,” I said as I kicked in the hospital room door. The girl jumped in fear as I did. She was wearing a nightgown from the hospital as she stood next to the window. “I can see your ass,” I told her. She blushed and covered it up as she turned around. “Window reflection,” I reminded. She blushed more furiously squeaking as she moved to sit on the bed.

“Who are you?” She asked. Her voice was reminiscent of Jeans, but not quite there. Now that I looked at her again she looked a little less like Jean as well. Her freckles more prominent, the hair was cut in a pixie cut. Recently done, I wondered if Xavier was already trying to make it so no one would recognize her. More of his Jedi-mind tricks I decided to ignore it for now.



“I am Weston. The man that saved your life,” I said unashamedly as I stared at her from the foot of her bed.



Her eyes widened then she blushed again. “I think I remember you,” she said.

“Good, you were pretty out of it yesterday,” I said. “So, you really got amnesia?” I had heard it from the nurse earlier. No vaccine scars, medical history, or anything, they were running her prints and DNA through their system to try to get an ID. I doubted they would find anything.



“I...”



“Don’t remember?” I offered. She frowned. “That was a joke,” I said.

“Oh,” she said confused, thinking for a moment. “Oh!” She said surprised, as if she was shocked that she understood it. “That’s...”

“Funny,” I offered.

“I don’t know about funny.”

“Ouch,” I said with a laugh.

“No, I mean, humorous. That’s the word, right?”

“Probably,” I said with a nod. I smiled at her. If Jean was off the table, maybe this girl was more my speed. Around my age at 17 her short hair was a bright red. Her chest obvious in the nightgown she was a big B, small C cup, and if she turned into adult Jean I was sure they would become a perfect C-cup. No real muscle on her, she was pale but cute. There was almost an innocence about her. Her Spiritual Energy not corrupted by the world she was a true blank slate. It was almost nice to feel her with my Observation Haki, a fact that surprised me.



“So... you remember people, places, things, and how to talk? But just have no memories of your experiences?”

She opened her mouth again, then turned her head to the side. “How did you know?”

“I went through the same thing once. Or well sort of going through it technically,” I admitted. “That sucks.” I had the same sort of amnesia in One Piece World. I felt bad for the girl. No memories of parents, siblings, or life goals, she was innocent in all this. “There is only one fix for that while you wait for your memories to come back.”



“There is a way to fix it?” She asked.

“Yep, just create new memories,” I said, lifting up a paper bag in front of her.



“What?” She asked, confused as she took the brown paper bag. She looked inside, confused.



“You just have to make new memories. That way if you never get your memory back, at least you have something to look back fondly on,” I said. “Come on. Get dressed. I’ll take you around town.”

“I thought I was supposed to stay here,” she said.

“Do you want to stay here?” I asked. She opened her mouth. Her Haki showing more and more emotion as she thought for perhaps the first time ever. “Then don’t. It’s your life, newbie. Let’s go start living it.”



—



After giving her guards the slip, I took her to a mall, or whatever they called it in London. Plenty of shops all around. Her eyes sparkled as she ran excited from one thing to another. It was easy to see that Mr. Sinister hadn’t given her a full education. She had no idea what dogs were, and was happily barking at them as they barked at her. Her hands touching everything she ran her hands along bricks as we walked or happily splashed puddles.



Like a little kid, she smiled brightly and stared at everything in wonder. To be honest, it was the cutest thing I had ever seen. Though she was around my age, she took time to appreciate every little thing we ran across. From the horns of cars that she tried to replicate the noise of, to practically peeing herself as she saw her first baby.



For the first time in a long time I didn’t think about training. Simply wanting to see her reaction to everything, I watched her as we made our way from store to park to museum.



“What is this, Weston?” She asked, pointing at a statue of...something.

“It says, Battle of Ego,” I said as I read the nameplate. We were at one museum or another. Honestly I was kind of lost since we walked so much.



“What is that?” She asked, her face scrunching like every time she tried to think.



“Battle of the mind, I think,” I said. “I don’t really understand art. They always say it’s subjective. But also that it can mean anything. Which is flawed reasoning, so in reality no one knows what art is.”

“Ah, I get it,” she said, her hand pointing up as if she had an idea.

“Do you now?” I asked. She often said this to things she didn’t understand.



“Yes, it is ununderstandable,” she said.



“Probably better to say impossible to understand, but I prefer your word,” I said.

“Did I make up that word too?” She asked, perking up.



“You did. I’ll add it to the list,” I said with a laugh as I brought out my phone. Typing it in the notes table it was one of many words she made up. Like one dog she called mumpy, and one person she called perdaughter, since they were a girl and not a son.



“If they can’t walk,” I said. “Or if they’re tired.” I looked down at her as she pulled her hands from her face. “Are you tired?” She blushed again, covering her face once more but nodded up and down. I laughed and she slowly but surely relaxed. Probably the most she had traveled ever, I was surprised she made it this long. As she became more and more comfortable she became less nervous and began enjoying me carrying her. Eventually resting her head on my chest as I walked us around.



Her breath was slowing and she was almost asleep when I found it. “There we are,” I said. She hummed happily, but as I plopped her down in front of the store she yelped.



“What was that for, you big oaf?!” She yelled.

“We are here, madame,” I said.

She looked behind herself. Staring up at the sign she asked, “A music store?”

“Yes. This is its own form of art,” I said as I dragged her inside. There were a few people looking at records here and there. “For as long as man has had language, he has sung about one thing above all others.”

“What is that?” She asked, her eyes wide as she tried to understand what everyone was doing.



“Women,” I said. “If we are going to find you a name. We simply need to find a song that resonates with you.” So we spent the next two hours going through songs. The music store closed, but after a bribe the cashier let us hang out. Once we had the place to ourselves the cashier helped us find what we were looking for. It was fairly easy since most songs about women were named after the person sung about.



“This one,” she said as soon as she started listening to the one hundredth song or so.

“Hey there, Delilah?” I asked. “You’ve barely listened to it.”

“It does not matter,” she said. “This is my name. I can feel it.” Her smile was from ear to ear as she pushed the headphones against her head so she could hear the song better. When the song finished she had tears in her eyes, and was playing it again.



“Woah there. If you’re sure, let’s just buy the CD,” I said. “You can listen to it until you hate it.”

“Really?” She asked, as if there was nothing she would love more in the world. As we left, she hummed the tune happily. CD and player in hand, she raised up her hands at me.



“What?” I asked.

“Carry me,” she said.

“You seem so awake now though,” I said.

“I am very very sleepy, I assure you,” she assured me.



“I don’t know. I’m tired too. Maybe you should carry me,” I retorted.

“No, that is not the way this works,” she said simply. “Carry me... or I shall throw a tantrum like that one child.” She nodded as if that was a sufficient threat.

“Not a tantrum,” I said. Bending down I showed her my back. “Jump on.”

She hesitated but quickly figured it out. Her arms around my neck, I held onto her legs as we headed back to the hospital. Her haki radiating pure joy, I didn’t think someone could be so happy. No worries on her mind, no bad experiences, this girl was truly a blank slate. Everything she did was new, and free, and though I hadn’t set out to, I was actually falling for the girl. Pushing my own worry of her past away, I looked back at her.



“Stop humming that. It’s already stuck in my head,” I said.

“Should I knock it out of your head?” She asked, raising her hand over my head.

“You knock it out and I’ll make you walk,” I threatened.

“Don’t do that. I am a frail girl. Did you forget, I don’t have any memories?” She said, I barked a laugh. Shaking my head there were actual tears in my eyes from how wide I was smiling. “Did you truly forget? Maybe I am contagious.”

“I did not in fact forget. You bring it up about every hour,” I reminded her.

“That doesn’t sound right. That doesn’t sound like me,” she joked. “Perhaps you are remembering incorrectly.”



“Perhaps I am,” I said with a nod. She quieted, her joy only growing from my back. “Do you have some good memories now?” I asked. “Of today?”

“I do...” she mumbled, burying her face in my back to hide her blush.



“Stop wiping your nose on me!” I yelled.

“No,” she said. “It is cold outside, and it keeps dripping.”



“It’s called running,” I said.

“That is not right. You are mistaken. I am pretty sure it is dripping onto your shirt,” she said.

“Oh my god,” I said, feeling her continue to rub her nose on my back. “I will make you walk.”

“No, why must I repeat myself? Did you forget I already said you cannot make me walk. I am a frail amnesiac. And you keep forgetting to call me by my new name, Weston,” she shot back.



I opened my mouth and sighed. “Hey there, Delilah?”



“Yes?” She asked, perking up to move her head near my ear.



“Can you stop fucking rubbing your nose on me?” I asked.

“Fine,” she said. Relaxing to a lower angle. But it didn’t take long for me to feel it again. “It itches now,” she assured. “My hands are full.”

I rolled my eyes but laughed again. Taking the long way back to the hospital, I felt like she was worth the effort in the cold London evening.