Disclaimer: I don't own. You don't sue. That about covers it I think.

Notes: Yes, I know. Less than 20 days to my examination and here I am posting another fic. Well, I need to de-stress from all the studying, savvy? So this fic is just for fun, a light piece for everyone to enjoy. May or may not be shippy, depending on how the inspiration flows...and on the reviews I get, of course.

Hope everyone enjoys. Flames will be used to toast marshmallows, and spam will be fed to my dog...but consrtuctive critiscism is welcome.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

A Light in Dark Places

Chapter 1 – The Discovery

"Stop it, Tiger. It isn't funny!"

"Don't be a spoilsport." The bigger boy rolled his eyes and grinned. "It'll be fun."

"Stop it!"

"I said -"

"You'll hurt him!"

"Shut up!"

Tiger raised his hand. The silver blade of the knife flashed as he whipped it up into the air – and let it fall.

Blood spurted, spraying over the faces of the three boys gathered there. Tiger grimaced and scrubbed at his face with his sleeve. The other boy scrambled backwards, looking horrified. The third, the one who had been beseeching Tiger to stop, gave a little, half-hysterical cry as he fell back onto his butt.

"No!"

"Shut up! You'll wake everyone!"

Tiger's warning came too late. Lights flashed on in the houses nearby, and voices started calling out, asking who was there and what was going on. The big boy flung himself on the smaller boy, smothering him, calling to his friend to help.

"Hold him, Rico!"

Rico staggered forward, blood still staining his face, to grab hold of the smaller boy, who struggled hard, trying his best to wriggle free.

"Let go -"

Shouts. A siren filled the air. Tiger and Rico both glanced at each other, then both hauled the smaller boy up, bodily carrying him, and fled.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

This was different, and a very welcome difference it was too, Detective Mac Taylor decided as he stepped out of his car and headed towards Detective Don Flack, who was just exiting the hospital entrance. Usually Mac would be stepping under the crime scene tape by now, but today's call had required his presence not at a scene, but at a hospital.

"Hey, Mac," Flack greeted him. "Vic's upstairs in his room, thought I'd meet you and walk you up."

Mac nodded, and asked, "What exactly is the situation here, Flack? You didn't say much over the phone."

"Wanted to tell you in person," Flack explained, leading the way slightly as they walked. Both of them entered the empty hospital elevator and Flack hit the button for the third floor.

"A 12-year-old boy was found dumped in the hospital dumpster out back," Flack said in between dings as they ascended each floor. "An intern taking out the trash found him, and he brought the boy in as soon as he realized that the kid was alive. The hospital staff treated him for his wounds, and as soon as he woke, they called us in."

Mac frowned. The elevator doors opened, and Flack led the way out into the hallway, guiding Mac towards a room at the end of the hall.

"Why exactly did they call us?" he wanted to know. "Why not call Child Services, or the boy's parents?"

"Because Child Services is backed up," the cop answered, "And the kid was beaten up so badly that he had amnesia. The doctor said it's probably temporary, but right now the boy can't remember much of anything – not his name, nor his address, or how to contact his parents." Flack stopped, and knocked lightly on a brown door, in a shade painted to match the walls of the hallway they were in. Mac vaguely wondered why they always painted hallways that color, but pushed the thought aside to ask, "So -?"

"So," Flack answered, "All the boy remembers – despite not knowing his name and what not – is that he witnessed a man being murdered somewhere in New York."

Mac stopped. Flack grinned and held up a hand as the CSI moved to get his cell phone out of his pocket.

"I already called Lindsey and Danny and put them on the Dumpster where the kid was found," he assured Mac. "I took the intern's statement, and I figured you'd want to be with me when I interviewed the kid. It's why I called you."

Slightly surprised that Flack had anticipated his actions and taken care of everything for him, Mac nonetheless nodded, and managed a slight smile.

"All right, Flack," he said, his warm tone the closest thing to a "well done" that the cop would get. "Lead on, MacDuff."

Flack grinned and opened the door.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

The door opened, and he looked up as two men walked into the room. Both were tall, dark, and for some reason he automatically knew that they were policemen. One of them, who had striking blue eyes, showed a badge to the nurse who had been looking after him.

"I'm Detective Flack, and this is Detective Taylor," he introduced himself and his companion. "We're here to talk to the boy."

He looked up. In his mind, something clicked.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

The first thing Mac noticed was that the room was small, with a single white hospital bed next to the window, and a bedside table with a pitcher of water and a glass beside the bed. The nurse straightened at Flack's announcement, and the boy who was sitting up in the bed looked up.

Straight at Mac.

There was nothing special about this boy physically, Mac reflected, studying him quietly, with his trained investigator's eye. The boy had slightly curly dark hair, expressive brown eyes – well, the left one was brown, anyway, the right eye was covered by a bandage – and he sported a plaster cast from his left wrist to his elbow. Bruises peppered his pale arms and body, as well as a ring of dark purple that surrounded his left eye. His lip was cracked and bloody, and his nose had a bit of gauze stuck to it – to protect and hold his stitches together, after surgery on his fractured nose.

He had been beaten up badly, the detective realized.

The nurse nodded to Flack, and turned to the boy with a gentle smile on her face.

"You'll be safe with these men," she murmured, and the boy nodded. His good eye glowed suddenly as he looked up at her.

"I remember," he said, in a soft, yet clear, voice. The blonde glanced down at him, startled.

"You remember -?" she questioned.

He nodded, one dark curl falling over his bandaged eye in his enthusiasm. "I remember my name!"

Flack stepped forward, notebook in hand, pen poised. "You do? That's great! So, what is it?"

The boy turned, and Mac was once again the recipient of his intense gaze. He opened his mouth, winced a little as the movement jostled his nose, but went on determinedly, "My name is Taylor. That's all. That's all I remember. Just Taylor."

Flack looked slightly disappointed - he'd been hoping for a last name as well - but he wrote it down nevertheless. Taylor relapsed into silence, his gaze moving to the crease patterns of his bed sheets as the nurse murmured congratulations and gave him a brief hug before she moved to go out. Mac nodded to her as she closed the door behind her, then turned his attention on the boy.

"Taylor," he began, and the boy looked up. Mac smiled. As gently as the nurse had, he said, "Don't worry, we'll go slow. You'll remember in time. For now, let's start with what you can remember – the reason we're here."

Their gazes locked. Taylor hesitated, but then nodded.

"I – I'll try."

It was all they could ask for. Pulling up a chair, Mac let Flack start.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

It was frustrating from the word 'go'. Taylor, it turned out, remembered nothing but the actual murder scene itself. He didn't know the names of the killers, nor of the victim. He only remembered the event itself, and even that wasn't really helpful.

"I remember being with two boys," Taylor said softly, each word carefully enunciated. He wasn't really supposed to be talking so soon after his nose had been operated on, but he clearly wanted to help. "We're in a sort of…garden shed. There are some broken flower pots in the corner, and some tools in another corner. I remember…a man. He's asleep on some old sacks, and he looks really dirty and grubby – like he's homeless, or something. I remember that I wanted to go out before he woke up, but one of the boys – a really big boy, maybe around 15-years-old – he tells me to wait. And then he takes out a big knife, and - " Taylor paused, alternately frowning and wincing as he tried to remember.

Mac waited, but Flack asked, "Did he stab the man?"

Taylor winced, trying not to frown as he thought. "No. He said he was going to, though. I remember telling him not to…we started arguing. He brought the knife up, and let it drop. I remember I started yelling, and he jumped me, and so did the other boy…" His eye lit up. "It was night!"

"Night?" repeated Flack. He nodded.

"Night. Because I remember the rest of the neighborhood was in darkness - one of the streetlights was broken. But when I started kicking up a fuss, they had to make me shut up cause people were waking up, shouting and everything." He frowned, then added, "I don't remember anything else…"

"No, but it's good. It'll help us sort out a timeline," Mac said, encouragingly.

Flack turned to a new page in his notebook and nodded, agreeing with Mac. "Can you describe the boys who were with you?"

Taylor hesitated. "You mean, to a sketch artist?"

"Well…" Mac nodded, "It would be easier than just sending out an APB based on a vocal description, yes."

The boy looked away for a moment. His right fist slowly opened out, flexing each finger, before clenching it again. Finally, he nodded.

"I can try. I don't know that I'll be any good, but I'll try to describe them."

"Good." Mac got to his feet. "As soon as the doctor gives you the green light, we'll bring you down to the station to talk to our artist. For now, Detective Flack will stay with you while you rest up and try to remember, all right?"

The boy looked up at him. "Why? Where are you going?"

The ex-Marine jerked his thumb towards the door, his expression mildly apologetic. "There's a crime scene downstairs that I need to see to. Don't worry, Flack will take care of you."

"Yeah, I will." The lanky detective made himself comfortable in the chair. "We'll talk, won't we, Taylor?"

Taylor's brown eyes flashed for a moment with something like fear, but then he looked away. Mac figured that the kid had probably memorized the creases in his sheets by now. Glancing at Flack, both scientist and cop exchanged glances before he picked up his kit and headed out. In the hallway, Mac pulled out his cell phone and made a call to Jane Parsons in DNA. There was a certain young boy he wanted her to process.

For now, he would just see how Lindsey and Danny were doing with the dump site crime scene.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

Well? Should I continue? Should I stop? Be it 'nay' or be it 'yea', please drop me a review! As I said before, constuctive critiscism is welcomed, but flames and spam will be laughed at.

Please say "Jack Sparrow's hat" in your review if you have taken the time to read my author's notes.

Random quote of the day: "Where's my jar of dirt???"

Kudos! - especially to those who know where that quote came from:)

RK9.