Title- Gain Control Again

Authors - Dame Flame and pepsicolagurl

Rating- PG13 for language, situations

Disclaimer- See Chapter One.

Author's Note- Have you figured out who "Marshall" is it? Enjoy and let us know what you think!

Spoilers- Lost Son on.

Gain Control Again
Chapter Two

And like a lighthouse you must stand alone
Landmark a safe journey's end
No matter what sea I've been sailing on
I'll always come back home again

Out on the road that lies before me
There are some turns where I will spin
I only hope that you can hold me now
'Til I gain control again

Ryan Wolfe yawned as they pulled into the third and final driveway. "This is the last one?" he asked, rubbing his eyes as the engine was shut off.

"This is the last one," Calleigh repeated, opening her door and slipping out from the driver's seat, closing the door behind her. Ryan followed behind as they made their way up to the door and knocked, waiting for someone to let them in. As soon as it was open, a young woman peeked out at the two of them. Calleigh immediately smiled and raised her badge and identification. "Hi, I'm Calleigh Duquense, and this is Ryan Wolfe. We're both with the Miami-Dade crime lab."

The woman smiled in return. "Of course, please come in." She opened the door for them to enter, at the same time, pushing back an over-excited golden retriever puppy. "Practice baby," she said, when Ryan stooped to rub the dog's head.

"Congratulations," the blonde criminalist said as they were guided to the kitchen. They both accepted the offer of coffee and waited until the woman had finished bustling around and was sitting in front of them. "Mrs. O'Reilly, we understand that your father was in Jackson Memorial in June, correct?"

The woman nodded, and a faint blush came to her cheeks. "Yes, he was. I got a call from the hospital two days after he was admitted. They said that he had been shot." She sighed, and bit her lip, looking away. "Look, I'm not trying to make excuses or anything, but my father was homeless. I know that it probably sounds horrible, what with me living in this house and all, but my husband and I did try to convince him to stay with us. He wouldn't. He said that he lost his job, and he was going to get through this himself. He didn't want help. I just...I can't help wondering..."

When she didn't say anything else, Ryan prompted her. "What is it?" he asked. "We're not here to judge you, Mrs. O'Reilly. That's not our job. Our job is to look at the evidence and try to figure out what happened."

She smiled weakly. "I can't help wondering that if he wasn't homeless, if he had been living with us, this whole problem at the hospital wouldn't have happened. When I did get the call, and went down there to see him...they took me to someone else's room. I didn't know who the young man was, but he certainly wasn't my father."

"I imagine that you asked someone at the hospital about what happened?" Calleigh asked, sipping her coffee.

"Asked? No. I screamed, yelled, and created a nuisance. I blamed it on the hormones." She settled a hand on her bulging stomach. "I wasn't exactly polite about it. Whoever that poor man was, his family didn't know that he was there. When I asked if they had just put him in the same room, the person I was talking to had the nerve to just shrug and say, 'I don't know'. To tell you the truth, I was disgusted."

Ryan frowned. "Did they give you any information on your father, what had happened to him, anything like that?"

She sighed. "Yes and no. They told me that he had been shot. But they also told me that there were an awful lot of gunshot victims coming in that day, including a police officer, and they just couldn't keep up with all of them." Neither of them noticed how Calleigh's face paled slightly for a moment at the mention of an officer involved shooting. "I know that Jackson Memorial is a big hospital, but that doesn't excuse them from making mistakes like this."

"What happened when you asked where he was?"

"They said that they would look into it, but if he wasn't in that room, most likely, he had died, and I should call the morgue to find out, or maybe other hospitals. I didn't bother listening to whatever else they had to say. I stormed out of there and came back here. I've called the hospital a few times, even talked to the president or...whatever you call him, the person that runs the hospital. He's gone as far as offering money now, but I refused to take it. I just want to know what happened to my father."

Calleigh nodded. "Why did you wait so long in contacting the police? Or did you call the morgue beforehand?" If that were true, there might have been some sort of record of the call, she thought to herself.

"I just couldn't believe it. And I know my father. He never liked hospitals. As soon as he would be able to stand, he would have left. My husband went around to all the shelters, any place that he would have stayed. We called all the cheap motels, even called the police stations, to see if they could have put him in there, but it's like he just disappeared. My husband and I talked it over, and we decided to call yesterday. They told us that they would look into it, and now, you're here."

The mood was a little too heavy for Ryan's liking, and he couldn't help chancing a small joke. "I don't suppose your husband's friends call him Radar, do they?"

The woman smiled, even laughing a little. "Yes, they do. I have to admit, I never knew the reference to the name, until a year after we were married. He doesn't look a thing like him, however." She looked over at the front door when the dog started to bark. "He does that whenever someone drives by. We're still trying to break him of that habit. Uh...if you don't mind me asking, what happens now? Some...lieutenant already called to get my permission to obtain my father's medical records."

"That would have been Lieutenant Caine. He's our supervisor at the lab," Calleigh explained. "We'll begin with questioning the hospital staff, but of course, we don't expect much from them, if they were that busy. I don't want to discourage you, but with a missing persons case like this, we can't expect very much. The only evidence that we'll have to go on is statements, and those aren't as reliable as most people think."

"Would it have made a difference if I had called earlier than this?"

Calleigh shook her head. "No, I don't think so. We'll do everything that we can, Mrs. O'Reilly, but I don't want you to get your hopes up. Unfortunately, you may never know what happens, but when we've exhausted every possibility, we'll go through them again, just to make sure that we didn't miss anything."

"Thank you."

He had finished mowing the lawn, and had even taken a shower to rid himself of the sweat that had collected on him under the hot Miami sun. His hair was still damp when he went into the living room, to check on Mary. She was dozing in front of the television, the screen playing on of her judge shows. He smiled and was about to leave her, when a commercial came on, and was interrupted by a breaking news story.

He paused and crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. "We have just been informed that Jackson Memorial has come under investigation, through the Miami-Dade crime lab-"

(god, that sounds familiar)

"Apparently, from May of this year until the present, a number of patients have been registered under the wrong name, or simply disappeared. A number of families-"

(get the statements. hate getting statements like that)

"As of now, there are three missing patients." The names and pictures of each person were flashed across the screen. As that happened, Mary stirred in her chair and looked towards the television, listening to the story as she struggled out of her sleep. They repeated the same thing again, and then went back to her show.

"Marshall?" she began. He knew what she was going to say.

"I know," he said simply.

She looked at him, even going as far as muting the television. That was a rarity in itself. "I think that you should call."

He wanted to say no. He knew that he was stubborn, and he wanted to figure all of this out of himself, but he couldn't help wondering if he did have family in Miami, and they were worried about him. Or friends. He must ,at the very least, have friends out here. He knew the area, so there was no doubt that he lived there for awhile. He probably had a job, a place to live, a life. He wasn't married. There was no ring, and no tan line if a ring had been there before. But someone, out there somewhere in Miami, probably did care for him. "Yeah, it sounds like a good idea. The only thing is, you've been so good to me, Mary. I'm not sure if I want that to end just yet."

She smiled, and it was the answer that he needed. He nodded and went into the guest room, the room that he stayed in, where there was a phone. He picked it up and his fingers hovered above the buttons for a moment. It was almost like his brain was trying to tell him what numbers to press, when he didn't remember the number.

(call H, he'll know what to do)

"Stop it," he muttered to himself, and dialed for the operator instead. He asked for the number for the Miami-Dade crime lab, and waited for the operator to connect him to that number. He tapped a foot on the ground, impatient for someone to pick up, so that he could get this over with. A young woman picked up the phone and for a moment, he could have sworn that he knew that voice, but the feeling was gone before he really realized what it had meant. "Yes, I was wondering if I could talk to the person who's running the investigation on Jackson Memorial. I think I might have some information about that."

It was a long while before the woman spoke again, and he could hear confusion in her voice, maybe hesitancy. "Of course, just a moment," she said softly. He frowned as he was put on hold, and began to tap his foot again. Why was he so damned anxious about this? There was no reason for it. He was about to get the answers that he had struggled with for the past few months.

A good five minutes passed before someone else picked up the phone, and again, he recognized the voice, but didn't know why. "Lieutenant Caine." This time it was a man.

(got your results, H)

"I...uh...think that I have some information about what's happening at Jackson Memorial," he began. "I just saw a news story about it, and they mentioned some names and some pictures. I don't know any of those people, but I think there might be one more person that's missing. Me."

Again, silence. What was it with these people, he wondered. "What makes you think so?" the voice asked him, and now, it wasn't confusion hidden in the tone, but some sort of emotion.

"I was a patient there in June. I had been shot in the chest, and when I woke up, they couldn't tell me who I was. They didn't have any medical files on me, my clothes and wallet were gone, and to tell the truth, I don't even know who I am." He bit his lip. God, that sounded like he was making it up.

"Where are you?" the voice rasped. Yeah, there was some sort of emotion there. He recited the address of Mary's house from memory. "Someone will be there within the hour." And the other voice hung up.

Very slowly, he put the phone down and sighed.

He was going to get his answers now.