Title- Gain Control Again
Authors- Dame Flame and pepsicolagurl
Rating- PG13.
Disclaimer- See Chapter One. It's a personal favorite.
Author's Notes- We're heading into the home stretch of this story. It's our tenth chapter. We're going to throw a party. Anyone want to bring the dip? And how many chapters are left? Well, if you all would stop asking us questions about stuff we never wrote...nah, just kidding. You all are the ones that are making the story better from our original version. But again, who's bringing the dip? And if you're wondering, we're conveniently leaving out the part about Speedle's best friend dying, because some things just sound a little cliche. That's another fic for another time. And remember, non-'shipper story. Don't blame us for what happened at the end of this chapter. We weren't in control. It wrote itself. Enjoy and let us know what you think.
Nonnie- (from pepsicolagurl) You know, I don't know the deal about making Tim rich. I guess the idea that his dad owns a chain of restaurants (yes, we actually read the CBS bio on him. Shame on us for doing our research) kind of brings that to mind, but the reason that we chose that backstory for him is because, in a way, it makes the character a little more complex. Here's this guy who works his ass off every day to put people behind bars, to protect the innocent...whatever warm and fuzzy thought you want to put in there, and in reality, he could be sitting on his ass doing nothing, or riding his motorcycle about town...well, that and neither of us are exactly rolling in the dough (hello, movie theater employee. Would you like some fake butter on your popcorn?), so it's always fun to write rich people. The backstory comes into play in this story, and the sequel that we've started writing. You should get more answers than from this little thing.
Spoilers- We know, we know. If you've gotten this far into the story, you're well-versed in this. We promise to stop.
Gain Control Again
Chapter Ten
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
It hadn't been a completely sleepless night. She had managed to catch a few hours in the waiting room, despite the ever present noise. She had woken up, curled uncomfortably in the chair, with Speedle's jacket tucked around her. He had been sitting next to her, a cup of cold coffee by his side, eyes puffy from lack of sleep. They still hadn't had an available bed for Mary, and she still hadn't woken up.
She left him only after he promised to call her cell phone if anything happened while she was at work. She made a quick stop at home to shower and change her clothes, before showing up at the lab with five minutes to spare, her long hair still damp. She breezed into the break room, and poured herself a cup of coffee, spying the figure in the corner. "Morning, Ryan."
"You know, most people look better after they get some sleep. You just look even more exhausted."
She sighed. "I was at the hospital all night. Tim's Mary is back in there, with low blood sugar. They're still trying to wake her up." She shook her head, as if to remove the thought from her mind, and chanced a smile at him. "So, after this cup of coffee, are you ready to go find our missing woman?"
The young man frowned, and started to reach out a hand to lay on her arm, but thought twice about it. They had worked together for awhile, but not long enough. He didn't get the same exemption from personal touching like Eric Delko and Horatio Caine did. "You know, if you'd rather go back to the hospital and stay with...Detective Speedle, that's fine. I'm sure that I can handle this."
A smile appeared on her face at his words, but it didn't look right with the dark circles under her reddened eyes. "I'm sure that you can, Ryan, but Horatio assigned both of us to work on the victims side of the case. That means you and me. Besides, I'm fine. Nothing that a few cups of coffee throughout the day won't cure." The smile remained, a touch brighter this time. "Besides, this feels like the home stretch of the case. There's nothing like the high you get when you solve something like this. Give me ten minutes, and I'll meet you out in the garage."
"You sure?" he asked.
"I'm sure."
He yawned, and brought a hand up to rub his eyes, barely recognizing the now blurry form of a doctor. "Mr. Speedle?" he heard. He was getting used to the name, and his head popped up almost immediately.
"Right here," he said with a bit of a wave. The doctor came over to him, and then took the seat beside him, the same one that Calleigh had occupied the night before. "So, have you moved her yet, or am I going to be stuck in the waiting room for the rest of my natural life?" He realized, a little late, how harsh his words sounded. "Sorry," he offered.
The doctor didn't bother to comment. "You're not a family member of Mrs. Stevens, are you?"
Speedle shook his head. "No, I'm not. I just...take care of her. Look, as far as I know, Mary doesn't have any family. Her husband died quite a few years ago, and as for her son, I don't have a clue whether he's alive or dead, but if he is breathing, the jerk never bothered even calling her. I'm the closest thing she has to family right now." And that much was true, he knew that. No one, outside of a few concerned neighbors, came over to see her or telephoned her. That's why it didn't seem so surprising that she had asked him to live with her. She was lonely.
"Look, I'm not supposed to tell you this-"
"For Christ's sake, someone has to know. If something serious happened, who the hell do you think would be making the decisions? I live with her. I see her every day. She trusts me."
The doctor blinked a few times, surprised at the outburst. "If you would let me finish, I was going to tell you that I have no choice but to inform you about what's going on. You have to understand, Mr. Speedle, there are no decisions to be made regarding Mrs. Stevens. She has a living will, and we have to abide by the rules set out by it."
Speedle frowned, eyes narrowing. "What do you mean? Diabetes is controllable. It's not like you need a living will for that."
"Cancer, unfortunately, isn't controllable. At least, not the cancer that Mrs. Stevens was diagnosed with earlier this year. She's known for almost nine months that it was terminal. There's absolutely nothing that we can do for her. She never told you?" He could only shake his head in response. "The initial assessment was right, she had been in a diabetic coma, but her body is shutting down on her. She's giving up. Unfortunately, there's nothing that we can do to keep her going."
(grandma isn't here anymore, timothy)
(where did she go)
(she died. when someone lived for a very long time, they die. don't you remember when patches went away and didn't come back. that's just like grandma)
(but...i liked grandma)
"Can I at least see her? Stay with her?" he rasped.
The doctor nodded his consent. "Of course. There was a very brief time last night when she regained consciousness. The nurse said that she was asking for 'Tim'. That's you, right?"
"She didn't ask for Marshall?" He received a shake of the head and directions to the trauma room that they had left her in. His mind was swimming, bouncing between the past and the present, as he staggered his way into the room, spying the chair that a nurse had left next to the bed. He knew that if she was asking for him as Tim, she knew that she wasn't going to leave the hospital. He sank down into the chair and reached forward, resting his hand against hers. She didn't move.
He was determined to stay with her to the end, but he knew from the look on the doctor's face that it wouldn't be long. His eyes moved to the machines beside her, noting the numbers that stood for her pulse and blood oxygen levels with a clinical coldness. Neither of the numbers were too encouraging. "I don't know what to say, Mary," he told her quietly, looking back at her face. She looked older, more vulnerable than when they had first met. "I never got to say goodbye to grandmother on my father's side. I liked her. You reminded me of her." He didn't know where that information came from, but he knew that somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind, he had brought back a memory of him at a very young age.
The numbers on the machines changed. They dropped a little more.
(timothy, you're fourteen. she's your grandmother. the least you can do is stay with her for a little while. talk with her)
(why, because you can't be bothered, mom? she doesn't know who i am. she just keeps babbling)
(she's my mother. don't you dare talk about her like that. if you talk about her like that, i can only imagine how you talk about me)
(you wouldn't want to know)
He cleared his throat at the new memory, remembering the day a little too well. If he remembered correctly, and he was sure that he did, it was the same day that his mother had slapped him because he had said something inappropriate. It had been the beginnings of teenager rebellion, but he would never forget the look on her face afterwards, the tears in her shocked eyes as she realized that she had just hit her son. And he had gone in to see his grandmother on his mother's side, but he hadn't enjoyed it. She kept confusing him for other people, never figuring out just who he was, and making him uncomfortable. It hadn't been long after that day that she had died. He had been almost happy that he was able to wash his hands of the visits to her. Afterwards, he had been sickened by his response.
Leaning forward, he placed a kiss on Mary's forehead. It was a gesture that he had never been able to offer either of his grandmothers.
She saw him in front of her apartment building before he saw her. "Tim?" she asked hesitantly, looking at the stooped figure. He turned to face her, and her eyes automatically dropped down to the burning cigarette between his fingers. "You don't smoke," she told him, frowning.
"Well, today's as good a day as any to start," he countered, using his thumb to flick away the ash. He looked awfully practiced at the movement. She knew, from the past few years that she worked with him, that he hadn't smoked in that time period, but she knew nothing about what he had done before that. "Aren't you going to ask why I'm here? What I did today?"
Something told Calleigh not to bring it up. She tried to change the subject instead. "Well, on the good news front, we have a break in the case. We think we've identified a medical student that seems to be involved in a number of the cases. There's nothing we can do until tomorrow, though, so we've-"
"I don't give a shit about the case, Calleigh," he told her roughly, taking a last drag on the cigarette before throwing the butt away with a flick on his wrist. "I don't give a shit about any missing people. I don't give a shit about medical students, and I really don't give a shit about hospitals. Do you think that about covers it?"
She was put off with the tone, not the words, that he used, until she noticed his reddened eyes. She finally understood that they weren't that color because of lack of sleep. "Mary?" she asked softly.
"About three hours ago. Long enough for me to pick up the habit again." He smirked. "She had cancer. Never thought to tell me, though. I don't blame her. She just wanted someone to talk to, until she died. At least I managed to give her that much."
Sighing, she bowed her head. "Tim, I'm so sorry-"
"Don't tell me how sorry you are, okay? You don't know me," he rasped to her. "I don't want to talk about it."
Her head snapped back up, quick enough to see a sudden shine of tears in his eyes before he blinked them away. "All right. I won't ask you anything about it, then," she answered him, her voice taking on a softer tone. She was being cautious, and she couldn't help but think it was the same tone of voice that she used whenever she spoke to victims. He was a victim, no matter how much he didn't want to admit it.
He laughed now. "Don't give me that 'I understand' bullshit, either. I don't want to hear it, Calleigh. Let me make the decisions for once. I'm not going to let you push me to do anything I don't want to, whether it's bring up whatever memories of my life that I have, or if it's..." He stopped, unable to say her name. "I'm making the decisions," he repeated, before reaching for her. She was too surprised, at first, to register her surprise at being grabbed by the upper arms and pulled towards him, his lips landing on hers roughly.
She moved her hands until they were laying flat against his chest and gave him that hardest shove she could. "What the hell is your problem?" she yelled, glaring at him. "I understand that you're not having the best day, but that doesn't give you the right-"
"Yeah, I don't want to talk about that, either."
He turned and began to walk away.
She did nothing to stop him.