3

They had run every damn medical test in the whole universe on him. They had drawn blood, x-rayed every part of his body, ordered CT-scans and MRTs and whatnot and Andy really wasn't sure whether he had been awake for all of it, but when they offered him to go home, he jumped at the chance. They didn't have all of the test results back yet, but from what it looked like, the doctor said solemnly, he had a concussion from being hit over the head with a blunt object.

Thank you very much, Andy told them, he would have been able to guess that himself without being poked and prodded by medical staff for hours. At least one thing they told him provided some relief: There was no trace of alcohol in his system. Whatever had happened to him out there, he had not fallen off the wagon. He left with the number of a psychiatrist in his pocket, a prescription for the headache and strict orders not to exert himself and to come back the next day for a check-up.

Like hell he would.

The sight that greeted him when he walked through the double doors towards the waiting area felt like even more of a betrayal than the Wicked Witch having taken up residence in his house. There she was again, now in jeans, a white top and a large, warm wraparound sweater, leaning into no one other than Lieutenant Louie Provenza himself. He had his arm around her shoulders and was talking to her in what Andy could tell from the look on his face had to be rather soft tones. The scene playing out in front of him seemed surreal. These two weren't supposed to get along.

When he approached, still limping and kept awake only by the remainder of the earlier bursts of adrenaline in his system, Raydor looked up and got to her feet immediately. In a gesture that was so quick that it seemed almost hectic, she wiped what appeared to be a tear from her eye. Great, now she was getting sentimental on him. She looked smaller without her power suits, he realized, and shorter, too, wearing only a pair of UGG boots that somehow looked odd on her. Her posture was that of a woman in mourning. He recognized the way she hugged herself from the widows of murder victims, found the haunted look in her eyes more familiar than anything else about her.

"Andy, how are you doing?"

It felt strange for her to address him by his first name. Like a violation, but strangely comforting at the same time. Suddenly feeling defensive, he shrugged.

"Bad concussion," he said lightly, focusing on Provenza to pretend that she wasn't here.

"So you really don't remember anything?" Provenza asked. New lines had appeared around his eyes and he looked like the old man that he was. The discovery made Andy's heart feel heavy in his chest with dread and with longing for what he now understood was long lost.

"Lost almost a decade of my life to a big black void, you know. They can't tell how. Just gave me a lot of that shit about the brain being a complicated thing."

Provenza huffed and the familiar display of annoyance made Andy relax a bit. Even though his best friend had become chummy with the Wicked Witch, at least she had not managed to turn him into one of her flying monkeys just yet.

"Did they say whether the memories are going to come back any time soon?" Provenza asked and Andy shrugged again. It seemed like the only appropriate response nowadays that he was a stranger in his own life, the audience to a twisted play he didn't know the script to.

"Psychiatrist is supposed to figure that out." He pulled the business card they had given him from his pocket and crushed it in his fist. The sound of the paper crumbling sounded good. Empowering. "I have no idea what good that is supposed to do, though."

A flash of something he couldn't quite identify appeared on Provenza's face, but before he could get a closer look, it had already gone.

"Why are you being such an asshole?" the old man snarled. Andy was very close to just shrugging like a sullen teenager in response again, but then hesitated.

Why was he being so antagonistic? Before he had a chance to admit that he was scared out of his mind and that being like this was the only thing that held him together, there was a squeal at the end of the hallway from where hurried footsteps approached them. The look in Raydor's eyes told him everything he needed to know, but he turned around anyway, watching Paddy Flynn approach them with small, eager steps that forced the woman he was with to start chasing after him. She was an attractive African American woman around Provenza's age with kind eyes and an air of calm authority.

"Daddy!"

It had been a long time since he had been called that. Nicole and David called him Dad whenever they could be bothered to talk to him. Daddy was for little kids like Paddy. His eyes were wide and happy and he stretched out his arms, ready to be scooped up and cuddled. For a second, Andy wanted to do just that, hold on to the warm little body and give himself to the illusion that he actually knew and loved the kid. It was just too hard to resist a child. He missed that with Nicole and David. He hadn't hugged either of them in a long time.

The kid came closer, but Andy turned away. He didn't know this child and the longer he looked at the boy, the more of Captain Raydor he saw in him. The fair skin, the green eyes, something about the way he carried himself. It was downright spooky.

"Hey, Paddy. Did you have a nice time with Auntie Patrice?" Raydor picked the boy up and settled him on her hip. He was squirming and full of energy, probably eager to explore the unfamiliar surroundings, but she held on to him anyway, almost looking a little desperate.

"Nice time!" Paddy agreed enthusiastically. His fist wound itself into the Captain's long hair and he placed his head against her shoulder. "We had ice-cream, Mommy."

"Did you say thank you to Auntie Patrice?" Raydor asked him and he nodded vigorously.

"He did indeed," the woman named Patrice confirmed. She had a warm voice like good scotch and almost as comforting. God, how he longed for a drink to numb the anxiety that was nagging away at him. "He was being very polite, Sharon, but I think he's getting tired. It's almost afternoon and from what I hear he didn't get a good night's sleep."

For the time being, the boy was distracted by his mother's loving touches and kisses, but Andy knew that sooner or later he would have to deal with him in some measure. With his head pounding the way it was, he preferred it to be later rather than sooner. The thought of his bed seemed like the most appealing thing right now. Maybe a good few hours of sleep would sort all this out. Even though he knew that it probably wouldn't, it was all he could do. There weren't exactly plans to be made if you were traipsing around your own life like a confused time-traveller.

"Well, guys," he announced. "I'm going home to sleep this off."

He consciously avoided the Captain's eyes. "See you later." He turned around to leave, his mind on hailing a cab and going straight home, when he heard Provenza clear his throat behind him. He turned around wearily and found the three of them looking back at him, the kid playing with the Captain's hair contently and examining the silver chair she was wearing around her neck.

"What?" he asked. "I have the headache of the century, Provenza."

Provenza gestured towards the Captain and her son. "They live with you, Flynn. And they are tired, too."

Andy looked over at Raydor and back to Provenza.

"You can't be serious. You might have fallen prey to whatever spell Darth Raydor put on you, but as far as I am concerned, she is our nemesis. You can't expect me to take them home with me!"

"It's their home, too," Patrice said softly. "I can only imagine how hard it must be for you to find yourself in these circumstances but Sharon is your wife and your house is hers and Paddy's home, too."

Andy was sure that the kid had no idea what was going on, but he was clearly beginning to react to the hostile atmosphere, his face becoming tense with impending tears. He looked from him to Raydor who was a second too late in schooling her features.

"I am sure we can sort this out," she said, sounding anything but sure.

"And how?" Andy asked her heatedly. "Are you going to go over the past god knows how many years with me? Tell me everything that happened hoping that it'll trigger my memory so we can live happily ever after?"

Maybe it was the headache that made him act like such a bastard. Or maybe it was the mere idea that he was supposed to be married to Raydor. She wasn't unattractive, he'd never believed that, but literally being in bed with Internal Affairs? He couldn't imagine that in his wildest dreams.

"I'll try and be ahead of you, pack a few bags," Raydor said, her mouth set in a straight line. She now seemed annoyed with him and he could feel himself relax. This was more like it. Normal.

Raydor thanked Provenza and Patrice for their help and hurried down the hallway, but her steps looked slow and heavy, as if she was carrying more weight than that of her toddler. Andy snorted despite himself.

"Hey, asshole. I know you don't remember being Sharon's husband, but there is no reason to be such a jackass."

Andy turned around at Provenza's words and stared at his best friend.

"You teaming up with her now?"

For a moment Provenza looked as if he was about to deck him. Patrice stepped closer to him and placed her hand on his biceps. There was something about the way these two interacted with each other that made Andy stop short.

"Did you find yourself wife number 5?" he snarled and was shocked by the venom in his voice.

Patrice rolled her eyes. "Look, Andy. I know you're not yourself right now. We'll drop you off at home, okay?"

Something inside Andy snapped. Having no idea what had been going on for the past few years, not having known who the president was until a few hours ago, for crying out loud, scared him and when he was scared, he got angry. He was already tired of people taking shit from him because he was a cripple, even if his body would heal. His mind had taken a hit and so they treated him like a terminally ill patient. Lashing out at them, he understood even in his furious stupor, helped him feel more in control of a situation that was so far beyond his control that it hurt to think about it.

"To hell with it. I'm taking a cab!" And with that, he walked off.

/

Home still smelled like home, Andy realized with relief when he walked through the door. Out here, things had been changed as well. The wooden stairs had undergone some serious renovation and the walls were a different color. There was a potted plant in the corner that looked alive, so Raydor was obviously the one caring for it. Driven only by the need to lie down and finally be able to sleep, he stumbled up the stairs, clinging to the banister all the way up. Exhaustion was like a tangible weight, trying to drag him down. Raydor and the kid were probably long gone. Getting a taxi near a hospital at this hour of day had proved tricky and then he had been stuck in traffic for what seemed like ages because the dumb driver had chosen the wrong way.

When he had finally managed to drag his aching body all the way upstairs, he froze in his tracks. Things looked different up here, too. Definitely not worse, yet so different. The bedroom was straight ahead, but despite his exhaustion, he found himself drawn to what had once been the guest room. That kid definitely loved airplanes. There was an intricate model hanging from the ceiling, safely out of reach when it came to little hands, and a few other, more kid-friendly toys were placed on the shelves. Like the boy's pajamas, the sheets were adorned with airplanes, too and there, on the bed in the corner lay his son, sleeping soundly, holding on to a teddy bear so big that they looked almost comical together.

The fight went out of Andy at the sight. Even though he knew that he had just forgotten what had happened, he felt as if he had missed the crucial turning point in his life. He had become a father again, had gotten married again. And now here he was, bare and scared and confused, remembering none of it.

He turned around when he heard a noise from the hallway and found Raydor standing there, arms crossed in front of her body somewhat defensively. He didn't have it in him anymore to be angry with her, so he just walked right past her towards his bedroom.

It was now both of hers, that much was obvious. While most of the other rooms contained items he had bought, mixed with unfamiliar stuff, the bedroom had been changed completely. The bed was new and so was the dresser. Apart from that, the room was almost empty with long, flowing curtains. The combination gave it a tranquil atmosphere that made him want to lay down and fall asleep right away. There was a hint of lavender in the air that reminded him of something and then again did not. His mind was fuzzy. Maybe he would remember in the morning.

He took off his jacket and shoes, then the rest of his clothes, not caring what Raydor would see and dropped it all messily on top of the dresser, purposefully knocking over a photo of them in front of the Eiffel Tower. He collapsed on the bed a minute later, but didn't close his eyes just yet, watching Raydor standing awkwardly in the doorway.

"He was so tired, Andy," she said softly. "He just wanted his bed, so I didn't have the heart to make him leave. I know this is a difficult situation. I know you're injured. We just have to-"

He cut her off, albeit not aggressively. "Stay, why don't you. Just let me sleep." And with that, he pulled the covers over himself and passed out almost immediately.

Andy fell into a dreamless sleep that was as blank and empty as his memory. Wiped clean of a past that wasn't his.