Title- Gain Control Again

Author- Dame Flame and pepsicolagurl

Rating- PG13 for now. It could change, depending on our moods and our fights...sorry, discussions.

Disclaimer- See Chapter One. But the cigarettes are no longer available in the lawsuit. The price went up again.

Author's Notes- (from Dame Flame) This one's for pepsicolagurl (Julia) and her grandma (Julia). Now I know where your stubbornness comes from. I've got my fingers crossed for both of you. Let's hope the beginning of 2005 is just a minor bump in the road of a great year. Aside from that, enjoy and let us know what you think. This chapter is a little longer than normal. There was just too much to write, and we couldn't break up this bit of it.

Spoilers- From Lost Son on. But you knew that already, if you've made it this far.

Gain Control Again
Chapter Six

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

Horatio took a deep breath as the phone began to ring, waiting for the other line to be picked up. "May I please speak to Abigail Speedle?" he asked as soon as the ringing stopped.

"That would be me," a female voice answered.

He stiffened slightly. How in the hell was he supposed to go about this? "Ma'am, this is Lieutenant Horatio Caine, from the Miami-Dade crime lab. I was your son's supervisor."

"I remember," she said softly. The pain was still raw, he could tell. He knew. He had gone through the same thing himself, a number of times, but the people he had lost before in his life never came back. There was no happy ending for them. There was for Speedle. "Does this have to do with the court case? I understand that it doesn't start for a few months."

"No, no, this doesn't have anything to do with the case. It has to do with Speed, however." He cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair, trying to make himself as comfortable as possible. It wasn't helping in the least. "Recently, it's been brought to our attention that there have been a few problems at Jackson Memorial Hospital. They've lost or misplaced a number of their patients in the past few months."

"Yes, I've seen the story on CNN. Just this morning, in fact. What...what does that have to do with...Timothy?"

It was still hard for her to say his name, he realized. He could understand that, as well. Well, ma'am, Jackson Memorial is where Speed was taken when he was...he was injured in the line of duty. He was originally taken to the emergency room there, and then up to surgery. We were told that he didn't make it through surgery, that he was unstable to begin with, and no matter what they tried, they just couldn't..."

"I remember," she said shortly.

Ah, that word was being tossed around again. It seemed so ironic that everyone was remembering that day, remembering what happened, remembering their feelings, and the one person that needed to remember couldn't. As Speedle would have said, if he was acting like Speedle, fate was giving them a kick in the ass. The mild cursing was one thing that Horatio could never break him off, although the young man managed to keep it under control whenever he had been talking to witnesses. "It turns out that...that Speed...was one of those patients that they misplaced."

Silence greeted him on the other end. It would take her awhile to process the information, he knew that. They still hadn't managed to, and they had seen him with their own eyes. But he wasn't surprised at the reaction that he got from her. "That's a very sick joke that you're making, Lieutenant." Her voice was cold, but he could still hear the emotion. She was about to cry. He heard that.

"Please, ma'am, don't hang up," he answered earnestly. "This isn't a joke. I'm serious. This is fact. We've performed tests, a fingerprint test. They match." He was so desperate to have her believe him.

"Just a moment please," and now her voice sounded mechanical. He waited, drumming his fingers on the surface of his desk, for a good five minutes. When she came back on the line, she wasn't alone. "I think my husband should hear this. I've asked him to listen in on the other line."

"Of course. I completely understand, ma'am."

It was a male voice, roughened by years of smoking cigars or cigarettes. Horatio was betting on the former. "Lieutenant, if what you say is true, and trust us, we want nothing more than to believe that you're telling the truth, why didn't Timothy contact someone?"

He frowned. "That's where it gets complicated, sir. There was another man that was shot that day, and we believe that he was in surgery as well. There must have been some sort of mix-up, because that man was the one that ended up being buried. Speed was in the hospital. He went through the surgery with flying colors. The only problem was, when he woke up, he didn't know who he was, and the hospital staff couldn't tell him. Tim Speedle had died, after all, and the homeless man that died in surgery never had a name, as far as they knew. He still doesn't know who he is."

That announcement was met with a surprised shout of laughter from Speedle's father. "Amnesia, you mean. That happens in movies and books, not real life."

"I can understand your hesitancy, Mr. Speedle. I couldn't believe it myself when he called. He's been living with an older woman that he met at the hospital, and when the news story broke in Miami, she asked him to call. If it wouldn't have been for her, we may never have known that he was still alive. And let me assure you again, this is your son. One of our investigators took his fingerprints, and ran them against the department database. He ran them against Tim Speedle's fingerprints only, and they came back with a ninety nine percent match. There's no coincidence that can explain that happening. It's not possible."

"You're sure?" his mother asked, her voice strained. "You're sure that it's him? He's said that he's Timothy."

"No, ma'am. He still doesn't...we only found out today. A few hours ago, to be precise. He's still confused. He doesn't know who he is. The woman he's with has given him a name, one that he responds to, but the entire time we were talking to him, we referred to him by his real name. He's beginning to recognize the fact that it's him. But he has no idea who Tim Speedle was. He doesn't have any memories of his life. It's called dissociative amnesia. It's caused by a traumatic event." He paused, taking a deep breath. "I know that it sounds hard to believe, but trust me, I've spoken nothing but the truth."

It was his father that spoke. "I hope you understand that we won't truly believe this, until we get to speak to our son. Until then...can you set that up for us, Lieutenant?"

"I can do better than that. I can give you his number."

The news that Tim Speedle was still alive went over, not surprisingly, not well with the entire Miami-Dade crime lab. Horatio had informed the day shift, and let them do the dirty work of spreading the news. When he had made his announcement, it had been met with guffaws of disbelieving laughter, shakes of the head, and one very angry woman named Valera asking where the hell he got off making a joke like that. He hadn't brought Speedle with him, not wanting to put the young man through what he had just done. After every little bit of the story had been analyzed and processed by the group, they had all left, shaking their heads, wondering what the hell was going on. Tim Speedle was supposed to be dead.

The autopsy that Alexx performed no longer had to be kept quiet. The whispers were heard throughout the lab about the body in the casket, about why no one knew that it wasn't Speedle laying in there. That alone had quieted down the criminalists, save for Ryan, who had privately asked the question to Horatio when they both had a free moment. The answer hadn't surprised him. There had been certain instructions that had been laid out by Speedle, written almost a year after he had started at the lab. No autopsy, no open casket, to be done as quickly as possible. Horatio had had a sinking feeling that the instructions were because of his mode of transportation, not so much what could happen to him in the line of duty.

It had been a week since Speedle had left Miami and flew back home to New York state, to meet with his parents and younger brother again. Horatio didn't blame them, there were some things that a phone call just didn't make up for. The press still hadn't learned of the recent developments, but he knew that it wouldn't be long until they did. He scoured the newspapers every morning before work, watched the news when he got home, but there was nothing mentioned other than small developments about the case.

Sarah O'Reilly had been informed that they had identified her father's body, and the funeral was to take place in a few days. The entire day shift of criminalists, plus Alexx, had told her that they would be there, if only for the fact that if she hadn't brought her problem to their attention, they might never have known that Tim was still alive and somewhat well.

He sighed and leaned back on his couch, closing his eyes, allowing the near silence of his house to calm him down. They were working themselves into a frenzy over the Jackson Memorial case, and hitting nothing but brick walls along the way. Nurses didn't remember anything, doctors barely had time to talk to them, and the medical students didn't bother returning their calls half the time. They were still missing two victims: an eighty year old woman, and a middle-aged man. And there was always the nagging worry that there could be more victims than those that they knew of.

Horatio's problem was parallel to the case, but not necessarily part of it. Any time that they went over the evidence, or lack thereof, in the case, he kept thinking of Tim Speedle, in the hospital, confused as to who he was, not knowing where he belonged. And worst of all, he kept thinking about that day in June, when they thought that they had lost him.

"-repeat, we have an officer down. We need EMS now," he barked into the phone, and then thumbed the button to cut off the dispatcher, dropping the phone on the tile floor. It shattered. It didn't matter. He turned back to Speedle, his eyes sweeping the trembling man, lingering on the tear in his dark blue button down. "I'm sorry," he murmured, before he took the handkerchief out of his pocket and folded it, pressing it against the bleeding wound. He was relieved to hear the hiss of pain that came from Speedle, but with the hiss came a flow of blood from his mouth. Internal bleeding. Not good, Horatio thought. "Stay with me, Speed," he commanded him.

Whatever the man tried to say to him, he couldn't understand. His struggle for words brought forth a strangled cough, spraying the warm blood over Horatio's shirt. Didn't matter. He had plenty. But he saw the fear in his brown eyes, and bit down on the inside of his cheek, refusing to react to it. He saw the pain written on his face, saw the unshed tears in his eyes.

This was wrong. He knew something was going to happen, something bad, when he had seen Speedle settle his hand on the butt of his gun. Should have pushed him out of the way. Should have taken the bullet for him.

He was struggling for breath now, his chest heaving in a strange pattern. He could feel the weakening beat of his heart beneath his hands. The blood just wouldn't stop coming, and he applied more pressure. Didn't help. Broke a rib. Didn't matter. Had to save him. "Breathe slowly, Speed. In and out. Slow," he told him.

Another choke. Another spray of blood. This time it landed on his face.

"You're fine. You're going to be fine."

The ambulance pulled up then.

He took in a ragged breath and opened his eyes, reaching for the thick bottomed glass on the table. Scotch and soda wouldn't make everything go away, but it would pleasantly numb the memories for awhile. Two drinks, and he would be able to go about the evening without having to relive the shooting, without having the relive the pain of not having Tim Speedle in the lab anymore.

The knock that sounded on his door surprised him, enough that he put the glass back down a little harder than he had anticipated. Standing up, he went to answer the door, even more surprised to see the woman standing there. With her blonde head bowed, and her hands playing with the ties of her plain dark grey hooded sweatshirt, Calleigh Duquense looked like a child more than anything. She raised her head to look at him and smiled, but it wavered and disappeared quickly. "I know you said that if I needed anything, I could call, but I took it one step further. I hope you don't mind," she began hesitantly.

Her answer came when he moved aside and waved for her to enter. She did, kicking off her sandals and following him to the living room, where she sat next to him on the couch, her legs curled under her. "You talked to Speed today, didn't you?" he asked.

"I got off the phone with him about two hours ago," she told him, sighing lightly. "I understand everything that Alexx told us, about the personality change and everything, but it's so hard to hear his voice and know that whoever that is talking to me isn't him. It's not him at all. It doesn't sound the slightest bit like him." She looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers. "He was telling me about how his brother was showing him around the town, where he went to high school, where he would hang out with friends. And he sounded excited about it. How often did you actually hear Tim get excited about something?"

Horatio nodded. "I got the same thing from him the other day. It's almost like he's manic." He reached for his drink, not bothering to offer one to Calleigh. She would have refused, anyway. "Alexx thinks that he's using those things to occupy himself so that he doesn't have to remember. He says that he wants to remember, but...deep down, he wants to hide behind the confusion."

"That, also, doesn't sound like the Tim Speedle we knew." She leaned her head against the back of his couch, her body turned so that she was facing him. "Did you hear what happened when Eric took him to see his motorcycle?"

"Eric had his motorcycle?" he asked, mildly interested.

She moved her head in a nod, hair falling over one shoulder. "His father told us that we could do whatever we wanted with it. Keep it, sell it, didn't matter. Eric kept it. He didn't have the heart to sell it, and I didn't have the heart to take it. Anyway, the day before he left, Eric took him into the garage to show it to him, hoping that it would trigger some sort of memory. He looked at Eric's truck instead, and thought it might have been his. When he told him that the motorcycle was his, he got defensive, saying that he would never own something like that."

"Maybe that has something to do with it," he mused, taking another sip of scotch.

"I don't think so. I think it just has something to do with Tim Speedle, and if he remembers the motorcycle, he has to remember the person who owned it." Now her hands were picking at the jeans she was wearing. "I talked to that psychiatrist this morning. He basically told me the same things that Alexx did. Keep him calm, show him around, but don't mention the lab or what he did there. It's not like he asks about it anymore, anyway."

Horatio turned his head to look at her. "I think he's beginning to catch on to us. He knows that we're not going to mention it, so he's not going to. That's the reason I wanted to work with him. Not because of his schooling, or because what Megan told me, but because of his intuitiveness. I've never seen or heard him be so blissfully ignorant before, though."

"I couldn't stand it, listening to him. I stayed on the phone until he was done, but...I don't know if I can keep doing this. It's only been a week and a half of him being alive, and I don't know if I can keep pretending like nothing happened. Like he wasn't gone for three months." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I just don't know anymore. It's like someone's taken my life and thrown it into a Cuisinart. He was dead, so Ryan was there. Now he's alive."

He chanced a look at her and saw her haunted eyes. "It will get better," he told her.

"They say that it has to get worse before it can get better."

"I don't listen to 'they'. It will get better." Funny thing was, he didn't believe it himself.