Title: Write it Down

Author: L0C, aka Taryn "Jnco" Wander'r

Fandom: Memento (film)

Pairing: Leonard/Dodd

Rating: R

Status: new

Archive: go 'head. Let me know.

Feedback: Gotta pay the piper. modernhepcat@hotmail.com

Series/Sequel: nah, stand-alone.

Disclaimers: Sadly, I don't know who wrote or directed "Memento", it slipped my mind. But it's a great movie, you gotta go see it.

Summary: Leonard tries to write something down before he forgets it.

Warning: Language, violence, implied rape. Un-beta'd.

Notes: If you haven't seen "Memento", it's the story of a man, Leonard, who suffers from a condition in which he has no short-term memory. He forgets everything that happens in about five minutes. All he can remember is that he is looking for the man who raped and murdered his wife.

There is a not-so-important sub-plot scene where Leonard has reason to break into Dodd's apartment. He forgets why he's there and ends up taking a shower, leaving himself open to Dodd's attack. Here's my take on it.

Dodd, by the way, was played by Callum Keith Renee- also known to many adoring fans as Stanley Raymond Kowalski.


Write it Down
by L0C, aka Taryn "Jnco" Wander'r

Oh god, write it down, write it down, come on, concentrate, concentrate, quick, write it down.

I shook the Polaroid picture quickly, come on, develop, develop.

Yes! Thank you. Write it down, write it down. Dodd. D-O-D-D. God, look at him. Look at that bruise. Jesus, did I do that? Yes, of course I did, write it down.

I opened the drawer and slipped Dodd's gun inside, taking out the Gideon bible I found inside. No time to read it religiously, as I had to urge to do, I ripped out a few pages from the back as I swore a quick prayer of guilt. Write it down, concentrate.

How did it start? I was in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet, holding a bottle of wine. I wasn't drunk. I didn't *feel* drunk. I felt grubby. Grubby and dirty. Tired. There was a shower, so what the hell, I stepped inside.

Thank God bathing wasn't something I forgot in the accident; wasn't something I needed tattooed on like everything else. I stared down at myself in the shower, remembering her. How could I forget, her name was tattooed over my flesh, reminders of her death- she is not here anymore, she is all that mattered. Clues of who the murderer was, up and down my arms. Reminders to find him and kill him. And of course, the usual raging hard on I got when I thought of her. When I thought of killing him.

Thank God I didn't forget what to do with a hard on.

Suddenly the shower door was ripped open, and I was greeted with the angry face of a skinny dark-blonde man. Holding an impressive gun.

Who the hell was he?

"Who the hell are you?" I asked, the same way I'm sure I asked everyone.

"You don't remember me? I'm Dodd, you fuck! What the hell are you doing here?" He yelled, forcibly yanking me out of the shower, still naked and dripping wet. "Did Natalie send you?"

Who's Natalie? I didn't have time to voice the question when I ended up on the ground, and he was kicking me, and all I knew was that I didn't like it. So I fought back.

I didn't fight at all, either as a hobby or a necessity, before the accident. I figure I must've gotten into quite a few fights after, `cause if I do say so myself, I was pretty good at it.

Unfortunately, so was he.

I couldn't tell you how long we fought; it must not have been very long if I can still remember it. He smashed my head against the wall; I shattered the glass shower door with his body. Eventually I had him out in the living room, and he was sprawled on the ground, bloody, bruised, panting. And I got his gun.

"What the fuck do you want, man?" Dodd yelled up at me. It suddenly struck me how ridiculous I must look, naked and dripping wet, aiming his gun at him, archaic tattoos on every inch of my body.

And a still raging hard on.

The momentary distraction caused me to glance at myself in a nearby mirror, and there I saw it. Tattooed across my collarbone and down my chest.

John G raped and murdered my wife.

Find him and kill him.

I turned wild eyes to Dodd.

"It was you!"

"What?"

"You're John G! You killed her!"

"What the fuck are you talking about, man?"

"Why else would I be here?" I asked quietly, more myself than anyone else.

I looked down at him, dark blonde hair reddened with blood, bruises forming on his cheekbones. Terrified. On the floor. Like her.

What the hell, I thought. I was already naked and hard.

Suddenly I was on him, punching wildly, breaking a few ribs. "Did you like it, you sick bastard?" I yelled. "Do you think you're gonna like what I'm gonna do to you?"

"I don't what you're talking about-" I struck Dodd across the face and flipped him over, scratching at his belt. "What the fuck are you doing?" He was screaming, wildly, scratching at the carpet, trying to get away. And then I did it. And there was blood. Lots of it. And screaming. Like hers. And other such sensations that I'd rather not go into on the pages of the Gideon bible.

After that he was quiet. He lay there on his stomach, occasionally wracked by a little hitching sob.

I cleaned him up, somewhat, and tied his hands behind his back using his belt. He stared up at me, fevered blue eyes red and teary. Before he said anything I slapped a piece of duct tape over his mouth.

I pushed him over and into the closet. I picked up my Polaroid camera.

"Smile," A flash of light illuminated Dodd's hitching, beaten body. Then I closed the closet door. If only to silence his sobs.

Then I cleaned up, got dressed, wrote his name on his picture. And here I am.

Here I am? Where? Hotel room. Not my hotel room.

What the hell is this? Pages from the bible. I better put those back.

Pictures, pictures…

Who the hell is Dodd?


End.