Title- Easy To Forget

Authors- Dame Flame and pepsicolagurl

Rating- PG13 for now. It could change.

Disclaimer- We don't own it. Simple as that. We don't make any money, either.

Author's Notes- This is the sequel to Gain Control Again. If you haven't read that story, we don't suggest reading this. The title, and lyrics below, are from the Blue Rodeo song, 5 Will Get You Six, from the album, Outskirts. pepsicolagurl (Julia) picks the titles for these stories, and she has a thing for Blue Rodeo. That's a Canadian for you. This basically picks up where GCA finished. And still, not a 'shipper story. If there is one, we figure that it'll be the next story. The original story just spawned way too many ideas for us. As for the hypnosis part, trying to do research on the 'net isn't the easiest, and when you have encyclopedias from the sixties...well, that and it's been a long time since pepsicolagurl was hypnotized, and trust me, she does an awesome Michael Jackson impression when she is, crotch grab and all. Anyway, enjoy and let us know what you think!

WARNING- This story is going to be a little darker than the previous one, and there will be some things that may turn your stomach a little. The chapters will be clearly labeled if there if offensive material in them, and the rating will be automatically changed, but we thought that you should be forewarned. If there is something offensive, it'll be labeled much like this one is, with capital letters and all.

Easy To Forget
Chapter One

Insurrections acts just like a prayer
Bad intentions, collar turned against the wind
It's such a simple twist
You just flick the switch
It's so easy to forget a life like this
A life like this

God, he looked like a young boy.

Horatio Caine couldn't help the thought as he looked towards the young man sitting on the couch. His hands were clasped together and tucked between his knees, feet tapping out a beat on the carpeted floor. He frowned for a moment, trying to figure out if it were an actual beat or a random tapping, unable to decide. The man's shoulders were hunched, and he was leaning over, a look of apprehension on his clean shaven face.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?" a voice asked, making both of them look up in surprise. They had both been lost in their own thoughts.

Timothy Speedle took a deep breath, looking towards the psychiatrist, his head bobbing up and down. "Yeah, I'm ready. It's just...if this gives me the answers that I'm looking for, I want this to be over and done with." He bit his lip and looked back down. "I want to remember," he said in a low voice, sending a quick and embarrassed look towards Horatio. "I know that this is a stupid question, but...is it going to hurt?"

"There's a good chance," the doctor answered frankly. They both looked at him like he was crazy. "If we're successful, and we bring back some of your memories, or all of them, there's a good chance that some of them will hurt you, emotionally. It'll be like you're living through all those moments again, and all at once. Physically, you'll feel fine. When I bring you out of it, you'll feel relaxed, and you'll sleep better tonight. You're still not sleeping well, are you?" he asked, taking in the dark circles under Speedle's eyes.

He shook his head, cheeks flushing somewhat. He didn't like all of the attention, but he knew that there was no way around that. He had worked hard in his sessions with the psychiatrist to get to this point, and he just wanted it to be over already. He wanted to know his life, know who he had been before, not just what everyone told him.

"Where do I come in?" Horatio asked, shifting in his chair.

"You were there during the shooting. That's the memory that's causing the repression. If we can get him to remember that day, he may remember the rest of his life. He'll run through the events under the hypnosis, and you're the only person that knows what happened that day. Most likely, Timothy will say what he said that afternoon, and he'll expect to hear your voice answering him. Of course, he may not, but it's better to have you here, just in case." He turned back to Speedle. "Any other questions before we begin?"

He shrugged, swallowing audibly. "What...what if this doesn't work, and I don't remember?"

"We've discussed this before, Timothy. There's a fifty-fifty chance that you'll never remember everything, but you've made such progress that I don't think that will happen. Even if we only bring back the memory from the day you were shot, we've made progress. You know that." They exchanged slow nods.

He smiled nervously. "All right, then. Let's do this."

The doctor smiled briefly. "Get yourself comfortable, Timothy. Sit up, lay down, it doesn't matter. Just get comfortable." They both watched as he shifted in his seat for a moment, before he leaned back and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "Keep your eyes closed, and don't think about what you're about to do. Just relax. You know what to do."

Speedle nodded, concentrating on controlling his breathing. He had been taught the relaxation techniques two weeks before, to prepare him for the day that he was finally put under hypnosis. It was a form of self-hypnosis that he had become well-accomplished at. Before long, he felt as comfortable as he was going to be, the tension drained out of his shoulders, loosening his taut muscles.

"Open your eyes," he was instructed quietly. When he did, he noticed that the lights in the room had been turned off, and all that was left was a single lamp shining on a nearby table. It was just enough light to see everyone, and cause everything else to be cast in shadows. "Now, keep your eyes on the pen. Don't move your eyes from it." Almost serenely, his eyes slid over to where the fountain pen was being held up, and he focused on it, looking at the gold clip that was sparkling in the dim light.

He didn't know how long he had remained looking at the pen, but he knew when it was put down, and he heard the doctor's voice when he spoke next. "What's your full name?"

"Timothy Richard Speedle," he answered. A part of his mind told him that he could refuse to answer if he wanted, treating the entire incident as if it were an experiment, but when he tried not to answer, he did anyway. Somewhat interesting, he thought.

"And how old are you?"

This answer came just as quickly. "Thirty two."

"Close your eyes, Timothy." He responded, his eyes sliding shut slowly, almost languidly. "You were recently shot."

"Yes."

"Do you remember the day that it happened?" Speedle frowned, rather than answered. Horatio shifted in his chair, sitting on the edge of it, as he examined the younger man's face. His brow was furrowed deeply, lips pressed together tightly. He shook his head but didn't say anything. "Timothy, do you remember what happened the day you were shot, back in June of this year?"

The room was silent, the two men staring at Speedle, waiting to see what he was going to say. For a moment, he sat there, clasping his hands together until his fingers turned white. "Yes." His voice was shaky, and it was rough, but it was there. "I remember."

"Where did the shooting take place?" the doctor asked next, looking down at a pad of paper on his lap, where he had written down all the pertinent questions he was going to have to ask.

"McCauley's. A jewelry store. I saw something out of the corner of my eye, some kind of movement." His voice had changed into that detached tone that he had used whenever he was studying or speaking about evidence. Horatio could only shake his head. "I pulled my gun, and aimed, and pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. I...it hurts."

Horatio frowned. He had been told by the psychiatrist the day before that if he were to relive the shooting, the emotions would be the same. He didn't know if he was prepared to hear it all, see the look of pain written on the young man's face, but his voice didn't sound the least bit like it had that day. It sounded wondering...and young. Higher than his normal voice. And he knew then that something was wrong. Something was very wrong. "What happened next, Timothy?" the doctor asked.

No, he had to stop this, Horatio realized. There was just something so wrong about this whole thing, and even though he couldn't put his finger on it, he knew that it had to be stopped. But he couldn't open his mouth and say something. He didn't want to confuse Speedle while he was under hypnosis, but he had to let the psychiatrist know. Before he could, Speedle's next words, sounding something like a roar, made them both jump.

"Don't you dare! Don't touch me!"

He looked agitated. The color had drained from his face, making him look pasty white, and his eyes, which had opened again, were wide with fear and something akin to hatred. He began muttering to himself, rocking back and forth on the couch. His hands forced themselves into fists, which he bounced slowly off of his thighs.

The psychiatrist reacted quickly, and instructed Speedle to close his eyes again, calming him down before bringing him out of the hypnosis. Horatio was on the edge of his seat as Speedle let out a long sigh and opened his eyes, raising a hand to wipe at the sweat that had begun to accumulate on his forehead. "All right, Timothy, what do you remember?"

He frowned. "I remember some of what happened that day," he started, shaking his head. "Did...did I tell you not to touch me?" he asked suddenly, confusion written plainly in his eyes as he directed his gaze towards Horatio.

"No, you never said anything like that," he answered him.

"I don't know where that came from. I've never...I remember some things, but not everything. Can we do it again?"

The psychiatrist shook his head, making a note on his pad before standing up. "No. Not for awhile. I think we need to make some more progress before we try something like that again. It may have been too soon. The shooting isn't the only memory you've repressed in your life, and until we have some idea of what it could be...I don't want to chance it. But we'll try again, soon enough."

But Speedle really didn't want to wait. That was the problem. He could only shake his head through the rest of the conversation, which frankly, he didn't bother to keep track of. He let Horatio lead him out of the office and back down to the parking garage. "Are you going to be okay to drive home?" Horatio asked him, eyeing the man curiously. He had never seen a show of emotion from him like that before, and it unnerved him somewhat.

He nodded. "Yeah, I'll be fine. I just...it helped, you know? I'm starting to remember more, little by little. I know that it wasn't the first time that I was shot at. There was another time, but you were there. I remember sitting in the back of an ambulance, and getting more and more pissed off with every second that they took to check me out." He grinned somewhat. "I wasn't the friendliest person in the world, I take it."

"No, not always."

He nodded, the grin turning into a wry smile. Shades of his old personality coming through again. "Yeah, well...I'm just going to head home. Grab something to eat, get some sleep. He said I would sleep better. That's always a plus."

But he didn't know how wrong those words were.