Title- Gain Control Again

Authors- Dame Flame and pepsicolagurl

Rating- PG13 for now.

Disclaimer- See Chapter One. It got two thumbs up (we're guessing, we haven't heard back from Ebert and Roeper yet).

Author's Notes- Oi. That's all we've got to say. We should have named this "The Jackson Memorial Saga." That and, enjoy and let us know what you think!

Kuroi Neko-kun- (and every else) Again, we apologize for the use of notes like this, but we still can't see the damned email things on this site. But hey, on the bright side, pepsicolagurl got her speakers working for her computer again. How long will it take to regain his memory? Without giving too much away, let's just say that the next few chapters are going to be interesting. This isn't going to be an epic length story, but remember, it doesn't end when he remembers his previous life. There's always that pesky thing called "aftermath". And yes, it's official, we're already working on the companion piece to this. sigh It never ends.

Spoilers- From...yeah, we all know by now. Just call it the whole series from now on.

Gain Control Again
Chapter Nine

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

He waited until the sun set before he went out to water her small front garden. He had been informed, the first day that she had asked him to water her flowers, that he was never to water when the sun was up, for fear of burning her plants. He didn't mind doing it after sunset. Mary was inside, eating dinner at this time, and he had already raced through his, something that he found interesting. He wondered if he always ate that fast, or if it was something that had just developed recently. It was a thought that he had frequently.

Readjusting the spray on the nozzle, he directed the water towards the last corner, watching the purple flowers tremble under the weight of the water. Even he had to admit that his flashes of voices, although it was usually his own, had been coming more and more frequently. There were times that he would touch a glass and get the strangest image of it being grimy with some sort of black dust. Mary was a devout watcher of Law and Order, and he had no problem figuring out that it had been fingerprint powder that he had been thinking of. He also knew it was next to impossible to get it out of someone's clothes. And then there had been that strange dream last night, the one that he could barely remember, but one that he knew had to do with his previous life.

He sighed as he turned off the hose and recoiled it, putting it back on its holder on the side of the house, before going back in through the kitchen entrance. He stopped long enough to wash his hands, and picked up a tea towel, drying them as he walked into the living room. "Mary? Are you-" He stopped short when he saw her head turned away from him, her eyes closed. He smiled when he realized that she had fallen asleep, after eating only half of the dinner he had made for her. Moving the tray out of the way, he turned down the television and went to pick up her plate, when he noticed how pale she was. It seemed like every bit of makeup she had put on that morning had faded away. "Mary?" he asked, a little louder.

When she didn't respond, he crouched down next to her and touched her hand. Still nothing. He moved quickly, opening up the doors of the end table next to her chair, and sighed when he saw the small pile of white pills. "Why do you do this?" he asked softly, before reaching for the phone. He gave the information to the 911 dispatcher, covering her with a blanket at the same time. There had been a few times that he had caught her not taking her pills, which were meant to keep her blood sugar at a certain level. It had been the reason that she had in the hospital when they had first met. He didn't know if it was stubbornness or just forgetfulness, but he had tried to keep an eye on her in the mornings and in the evening, when she was supposed to take them. Obviously, he thought to himself as he replaced the phone, he didn't do a good enough job.

It was a long fifteen minutes until the ambulance pulled up. He directed the paramedics to the living room and stood back, silent, watching as they strapped her onto a stretcher and took her out. When he was told what hospital they would most likely be taking her to, he nodded and closed the door after them, going immediately into Mary's room to pack her a bag with all of the things that she wouldn't be able to go without. With that done, he went back into the living room and dug out the pills she hadn't taken, dumping them on the table and counting them up. She hadn't taken them for almost five days. That was pretty serious.

He knew that even if he left now, he wouldn't be able to see her for awhile. Instead, he decided to clean up, scraping off both of their plates and washing up the dishes they had used throughout the day. That and a quick clean of the counters ate up twenty minutes. That was more than enough time. Besides, he couldn't wait any longer. He called for a taxi and took her things with him out onto the porch, waiting for the car to pull up.

When it did, he climbed in and gave him the name of the hospital, suppressing a shudder at the thought of going back to Jackson Memorial.

Ryan leaned back in his chair and regarded everything in the layout room. The medical files, although an interesting read, didn't give them much information on who could have made the numerous amount of mistakes. The count of victims had gone from four (including Speedle), to six, thanks to a few long distance calls from concerned families. They had positively identified two (again, including Speedle), and now, they had hit a brick wall. Part of that wall was built by the doctors and nurses at Jackson Memorial. They couldn't or wouldn't discuss their patients, and still weren't much help.

He looked up when the door opened, and Calleigh walked in, her hands blissfully free of any more files for him to look through. "You busy?" she asked, looking over his shoulder at the legal pad that he had been writing on.

"Frustrated, but not busy," he offered. "I was going over the victimology again, to see if we missed anything. I don't think that night shift is too pleased with me taking over the room, but they can deal with it. What have you been up to?"

"Making so many phone calls that my poor ears will never recover. I think that I may have come up with a lead, but since we're working together on this, I wanted to run it past you first." He appreciated the gesture, especially since she had more experience than he did at the job. It was never far from his mind that he was still the new kid on the block, working with people that had been around that block a few times. "I was thinking about one of the victims in particular. Sandra Kinsey."

She waited as he rifled through the pages of the notes, ending on one. "Eighty-five year old woman, ended up at Jackson Memorial because of a fall at home. What about her?"

Calleigh smiled. "I got off the phone with the paramedics that took her in. It only took awhile to track them down. Apparently, she was quite the little spitfire. They remember her pretty well, because of her insisting that while there might be something wrong with her hip, there was nothing wrong with her mind, and that they were being awfully condescending to her." She shook her head. "Her medical file was never accessed at the hospital, as far as we can tell, but that doesn't mean much. But it gave me an idea."

"You're not thinking..."

"I am. Look, all the hospitals in Miami have the phone numbers for all the state-funded extended care homes. Let's just say, for the moment, that she broke her hip. The paramedics were pretty sure of that. There would be no reason for her to stay in the hospital the entire time that it would take for her hip to heal."

Ryan nodded. "It would cost too much to keep her there, and hospitals always have a close eye on the budgets and overheads. Besides, with a hospital as busy as Jackson Memorial, they never have enough beds for all their patients. I was there earlier today, and there must have been ten people parked in the hallways, and that was just near the emergency room. Sandra Kinsey doesn't have any family out here, she's a retiree."

Her nod matched his. "Exactly. I have a list of state-funded homes that they could have sent her to. If she was sent to one, an ambulance didn't take her. They have no records of taking someone from a hospital to a home. I find it a little hard to believe that they would just send her off in a taxi."

"You have too much faith in people," he countered. "I know it seems pointless to start calling the places tonight. It's almost-" he paused the check his watch. "Well, it's late. But I'll start in on the list, see what I can dig up. Even if we do find her, there's nothing that we'll be able to do until tomorrow morning. There's one bright side to this." She tilted her head in question. "If her mind is as good as she claimed it is, she should have no problem remembering what the doctors and nurses looked like. She may be able to identify them for us."

"Great minds think alike," she told him. "We can divide the list, and get to work."

He shook his head and stretched. "No, like you said, you've been on the phone for most of the day. I can handle this."

Calleigh was about to protest when his face flushed with embarrassment, due to the protesting sound from his stomach. "Make you a deal. I'll go find something for us to eat, and you get started on that list. When I get back, I'll help you." He smiled his thanks as she left, and reached for the phone.

It was almost eleven at night when she finally let herself into her apartment. The overtime had been worth it, however, because between her and Ryan, they had found four women that matched the description of Sandra Kinsey. They made plans to head to the state-funded homes first thing in the morning, when they went back to work. She kicked off her shoes with a sigh and made her way through her dark apartment, only bothering to turn on the light in the hood over her stove as she dug in the fridge for a bottle of water.

The ringing phone caught her off guard, and she grinned good-naturedly at her surprise before reaching for it. "Hello?"

"Calleigh? It's me," a familiar voice said. "I'm sorry to bother you so late, but..."

She cradled the phone against her shoulder. "Don't worry about it, Tim. I just got home." She paused. "Where are you? Unless Mary turned up the television again, you sound like you're at a party."

"The hospital, actually. Jackson Memorial."

She felt the dread hit her much as a cold wave would have. "Oh, God, are you okay? Did something happen?"

"I'm fine," he told her with a chuckle. There was no humor in it. "Mary's here, though. Diabetic shock. She wasn't taking her pills, and I didn't know. She's still hasn't regained consciousness. They're not sure that she will," he added. His voice was so soft, so low. She heard the emotion in his words, and closed her eyes. "I'm going to stay here with her. I just wanted to let you know, in case you tried to get ahold of me."

"Would you like me to come down there? I can be out the door in five minutes." Just long enough to change her clothes and wash her face, she thought to herself. "Tim? Are you still there?"

It took him awhile to answer her. "Yeah, I'm still here. Would you...would you mind coming? I'd like it if you would."

"Of course. I'll be right there. I'll meet you in the waiting room at emergency."

"Please hurry."

And hurry she did. She exchanged the blazer she was wearing for a windbreaker and put her feet in a pair of sandals, not bothering to put on the shoes she had worn to work. She unclipped her badge as she headed for the door and threw it on the couch, taking her purse and keys in one hand, bottle of water in the other. She didn't bother with the elevator, but instead, ran down the stairs and out to her jeep, starting the engine and pulling out in a hurry.

It couldn't be easy for him, she reasoned as she started towards the hospital. Not only the fact that the only person who didn't pressure him to be anyone but who he wanted to be was in the hospital, but the fact that it was the same hospital that had created this whole mess. There was irony in that situation, and it was something that she didn't particularly want to dwell on.

Instead, she got ready to spend a sleepless night before heading back to work in the morning.