*Sorry, it took me so long. You can blame it on me and the computer! It's technologically challenged, as is the author. I tried several different versions of this chapter, and finally settled on the one that has been uploaded.

Many thanks to those who took you time to review it! I hope you like it.

Chapter One- Memory

The noise of the siren was made equal with the noise of the rain smacking into the windshield. The occasional thunder clap couldn't sever Mark from his thoughts. It was eleven o'clock at night. They all spoke nothing. Mark quietly checked Sam's vitals, he still wasn't responding verbally. With his fever, Sam could be close to convulsions. Mark looked across the back seat. Hank sat in the corner of the vehicle, watching his brother.

"All right, Dad." Steve stated, dissolving the silence. "You get out, I'll go park the car."

Mark stepped out of the vehicle, Sam in his arms. Hank hopped out in pursuit of them. The emergency bay doors whooshed open. Mark went directly to Kelly Hughes, draped in a white labcoat. He'd called the pediatrician on his way to the hospital, and explained to her what was wrong. "Hank," Mark started, "I need you to go with nurse Janell, she'll take you to the waiting room."

"No! What about Sammy!?" Hank cried, jerking against the nurse's firmly guiding hand. He felt like he was being chased by some big, huge monster that intended to swallow him up into loneliness. "Sammy!" Hank's fingers were cold, and there was that squirming unrest in his stomach. Sam was gone, away into a trauma room. Hank couldn't take his eyes off the direction his brother, Dr. Sloan, and the other doctor had vanished.

Steve entered the hospital, brushing some of the raindrops from his leather jacket. Assuming his father was already taking care of Sam, Steve went to see how Hank was doing. He sighed, observing the child. He looked tired, a frown taking up residence on his face. A face that Steve's brain now had an idea why it was familiar, though, the answer seemed a bit odd. Hank rested against the armrest of the old couch.

It was cloudy, and smooth; the memory. The house seemed old, but steady. Hank didn't know where he was. He did know he was small, and younger. Quietly, he watched as his father tied his lank shoelaces. A man that Hank treasured. The figure before him had the very same eyes and face as he did. Hank woke up from his empty gaze, when the sight of two other shoes announced the end to his memory. Something that he cherished, and did his best to remember. "Hi."

"Mind if I sit there?" Steve asked, indicating the seat next to Hank.

"Depends."

"What?"

"How much do you have?" Hank inquired.

Steve stared at his innocent, sweet smile, obviously hiding a mischievous streak. "I'm going to keep an eye on you." The officer sat down beside him with mock suspiciousness. Nevertheless, he had questions to ask. "So, Hank, how old are you?"

"Nine."

"That's cool...You okay? Can I get you anything?" Steve offered.

Hank watched a nurse type into a computer. Thinking if he had any needs, he answered. "No, but thanks."

Steve's detective instincts pressed him to ask, and he tried to keep himself from sounding intimidating. "Hank, did you see anything?"

Hank had felt this coming, he began to panic, remembering the awful threat and the guilt that came with it. But he wanted to tell the truth. "See anything?" he repeated nervously. "Where? I...."

Steve sensed his conflict. "Okay." He gazed up at the overhead florescent light. He understood. No bugging until later. But he didn't want the child to suffer alone, to keep it all in his head and isolate himself... not without some support. Gently, he put a hand on Hank's shoulder, hoping in some way to console him. Then he asked another question. "Is there anyone I can call for you?"

Hank had nothing to hold onto. Just Sam. Well, he had his aunt, but she was no fun. And the comforting thought of his Dad. "Uh." He murmured. "Just Katrina, our aunt...she's out, probably getting her toes done." He shuddered.

"Does she have a cellphone?"

"I don't care." Hank stated, emotionless. "And now uncle Gunther's dead." He whined. Unsure about how he felt about him. He had always been busy, so Hank and his brother hardly knew him. That and they had a different baby- sitter every week. He also made them play baseball to keep them out of the way. They hated it. He felt a little guilty about not knowing how to react to his loss. So he kept up a confident disposition, and tried to keep his mind off his worries.

Steve gazed at him, sympathetically. He hated feeling helpless, and he guessed this child did, too.

Hank looked around the waiting room. He observed the walls, they were grubby from the many hands that touched it. Nobody but him and Steve was there. Anxiously, he began to rub his arm. "Do you know how long they'll be in there?"

"No." The detective said, not too eagerly. "What about your Dad?"

"I don't know where he is, either." Hank grinned, but it faded quickly, he tried to keep up a self-assured composure. The detective could tell something was clawing at him. "I don't know much about him...just that my Mom left him."

Steve nodded, understandably. "Do you know his name?"

"Jess." Hank continued to look around, blinking every once in a while. "I have a watch...sometimes I can remember him, and he looks a lot like us."

"A watch?"

"Yes, I don't know, it could be my Dad's." Hank's hand dove into his pockets. "Hold out your hands."

Steve did so, although, he kept wary. A kid like this could pull anything out of those coat pockets. 'Anything', included two used band-aids, a rubber ball, a dog leash, an uncapped marker and an Uno card, and a... "Aw, Hank, sick!"

"Don't worry, it's not mine."

"Not yours? Then who's is it?" Never before had he felt like washing his hands with so much enthusiasm. Steve stared at it with disgust. A piece of post-chewing bubble-gum, it seemed to wink at him.

"Vince Cooper- the biggest bully in my grade- stuck it in my pocket." Hank lamented his recess time tormentor, what really made Hank tick was the fact that his brother was tormented even more unfairly. There were such times where Hank wanted to kick his big, fat... "You're a miracle worker, Officer Sloan! I haven't been able to get that out of there for three days!"

Steve nodded, his focus was spliced in two, the other half of his focus on getting the bubble-gum off. Away. Anywhere, except him. "Excuse me...I'll be right back." He stated and dismissed himself from his seat and headed for the restroom.

Hank watched him go. He gasped, he'd found it! He pulled it out of his right inside breast-pocket. One of the reasons he loved this jacket was that it had many pockets. Hank had placed it in a black, velvet bag. He'd grabbed the bag off of Katrina's dresser. Pulling the mouth of the sack wide-open, he let the wrist-watch slide out onto the palm of his hand. He turned it over to look at the back engraving on it.

-To my dear friend, Jess

-H. Winters

Hank saddened. He wanted so much to be with his Dad. He jiggled the time- piece back in its sack. Then the boy set out, trailing the direction of the officer. Suddenly, a blur of white, caught him like a chameleon tongue catches a fly.

"Going home, Dr. Travis?" Nurse Sarah asked, from the nurses' station.

"Finally!" Jesse called. Sighing as he made the long awaited path to the locker room. A few times, when he was bored, Jesse would travel this path in his mind. The young physician yanked his cubby-hole door open. His mind seemed to fog, as he pulled his lab coat off. He was not a doctor now, he was a achy and tired human being. Never before had gravity so ruthlessly tried to drag him to the linoleum. But, as he did numerous times, he fought it. Jesse jerked his gym bag out of the bottom and snatched his keys. He back-tracked to the door, and was out. Leaving. Going. He had no intention of looking back for a good twelve hours.

Hank followed, with great interest and maybe even joy.

Two minutes' travel brought Jesse and, unbeknownst to him, Hank, to the parking lot. Hank felt a courageous hope swell up in him, with every step the physician took. The man's face, his eyes, his voice. "Daddy?!"

Jesse quickly and smoothly came to a stop. Curiosity and concern made him turn to the location of the cry.

"Daddy?" Hank called, quietly.

Jesse stared at him. Dreaming, delirious? He blinked, seeking some sort of affirmation. Jesse watched the little child, waiting for some indication that he himself was being called. He dropped his bag into his car. Recognition. Briskly, he headed for the boy, stuffing his keys in his pocket as he did so. Suspicious, it was another crazy dream, without fail, he would wake up in the Doctors' lounge. "Hey, buddy. What's wrong?"

"Daddy, don't you remember me? It's Adrian." The lad hinted, speaking a name he hadn't been called in years.

"Adrian." He muttered in his breath. His brisk walk became a trot. Jesse traversed across the roadway and to the exit door, where he stood. "Adrian." He had to be dreaming, he hadn't seen him since...

"Dad?"

Jesse let himself down on one knee, where he was eye-level with the boy. "Adrian...it's you...you remember me?" Adrian shook his head yes. He marveled, running a hand through the boy's blonde hair, peering gingerly into his eyes. Gently, a smile brightened his face, and his tears glittered as they caught the light. They left damp trails down the sides of his face. Finally, he'd found him, or Adrian found him. The child seemed to mirror that same warmth, Adrian reached out to stroke the face that he refused to let leave his mind for six years.

Jesse drew him into a hug. Adrian didn't disappear like a bubble. He didn't vaporize and leave the grasp that longed to hold him. He was there. Jesse felt regret arise and leave him. "Are you okay?...Where's your brother?" he asked.

Adrian tilted his head back to meet his father's eyes. "Inside...he got sick." He informed, dismayed.

"You want to go find out how he's doing?"

Adrian nodded.

Jesse released Adrian from the embrace, and stood. Squeezing his hand, tightly, they accompanied each other back into the hospital.



End of Chapter One