Author's Note: less than a month! No. Wait. Crap. Yesterday was a month. Shoot. Well, the next chapter should be lots of fun to write, lots of stuff will be happening, and for now I shall be satisfied with all the questions that will doubtlessly be raised due to this chapter. evil grin Go on, go read. shoos away spectators

Author thanks at end.

Just how preposterous and bureaucratic could something as simply as a change of location get? The go-ahead to move Rainey to another ward had come a week ago, but before action could be taken, the politicians and insurance people had to be satisfied that the necessary precautions were being taken, and that enough safeguards had been put in place to mollify even the most paranoid of government insurances agent. And all that had been in addition to inter-agency meetings with administrators, head nurses from both wards, orderlies, etc.

Needless to say, Carly hadn't had much time to spend with her patient. The hours she did spend with him were filled with paperwork, which she didn't hesitate to so in his presence. It reminded her why all the legal B.S. was worth it. Besides, she was really only there to supervise Toby while he got acquainted with Mort.

It was a nuisance – the paperwork, not the observation – but it was necessary. So was watching Toby work with Mort, who would be spending more time with Rainey than she would. It wasn't enough for Rainey to trust just one person, he needed to learn to trust Toby, who was just the first of many to come. And for him to learn to trust, he needed to see that the one familiar person in his limited landscape was comfortable with the newcomer.

I suppose there is a plus side to all this delay and paperwork, Carly thought one afternoon as she sat at the table in the staff room, yet another stack of forms set before her. It gives me time to get his room ready.

And it was true. In the past week, she'd gone to inspect the small room that Rainey would be spending much of his time in. It was a bit larger than the room he was currently in; it had a tiny bathroom with a sink, a toilet, a mirror, and small shower stall – he'd still be using the communal shows for the time being, so the water was turned off – which was a definite improvement. There were also two electrical sockets, a light switch since there wasn't a lights out on the second floor, a small closet and dresser for clothes, a few shelves, etc., not that he possessed anything to fill any space in the room. I'll have to contact Mrs. Rainey and get some of his belongs. Clothes, and books, and whatnot.

But even with all the improvements, there were two features that Carly hadn't liked. The sterile, white walls for one, and the bigger windows. She'd thought the walls were too impersonal, too expectant. They made her want to do something, and she wasn't given to being bothered by someone so small as blank walls. She couldn't say the same for Mort; it was nothing more than a feeling, but she suspected that if some color wasn't put in here, Mort would end up climbing the walls. Or writing on them. And the janitors tended to look down on that.

The large picture windows bothered her the most though. They looked down directly into the vegetable garden she'd help found, and though she enjoyed the view, she'd also seen how Rainey avoided even the small amounts of sunlight than came in through the windows in his current room. She could only imagine what he'd do around these.

So fix it. She'd hunted down the head custodian and quizzed him relentlessly about what it would take to get the walls painted and blinds put up. Joe – who was still upset that she'd made him find a new parking spot, one well away from the custodian's entrance that just happened to be under Mort's room – was unhelpful and told her to talk to the head caretaker. The caretaker was in charge of both facilities and grounds, but was so busy that he usually left the running of both to Joe and Todd respectively. She'd interrupted right in the middle of the inventory and requisition that the state required each quarter, and he'd sent her to talk to Dr. Holshack, who could theoretically do whatever the hell he wanted.

Carly had spent an hour in Adam's office, and he heard her out with a small smile of amusement on his face as she vented her frustrations to him. But even though she'd been whining – his words, not hers – he okayed the renovations. So Rainey's room was painted a warm honey color – ironically called 'Parchment' – and a set blinds had been installed. She was excited about the blinds – they could be raised at the bottom and/or lowered at the top. It was her plan to lower them from the top, an inch at a time, until Rainey grew used to seeing the outside world.

And then she'd take him outside.

But first . . . paperwork. Carly sighed and looked around the windowless, artificially lit room. It was cool, somewhat dingy, and smelled of coffee; one light in the corner was buzzing and flickering on and off in the manner of a fluorescent bulb that was about to go out . . . in another few days. Maybe "outside" isn't such a bad idea, she decided.

Gathering her things, she checked in with Leo to make sure her schedule was clear for the next few hours and to make sure that someone knew where she was if she was needed. Carly had her pager, but it was always smart to make human contact when leaving the building as well. For a single woman well aware of some of the reasons her patients ended up here, it was second nature.

It took a good five minutes to walk the length of the ground floor and escape out a pair of French doors, but she made it with only a few people asking her to stop and talk. Carly had excused herself each time by saying that she was expected outside. It was only a small lie, and she needed to be surrounded by nature, to out of the artificially lit, cooled, and scented building. Life was depressing enough without having to live like that.

She made a bee-line for her willow-shaded bench and made it there in record time. Somewhat more relaxed and able to focus, she pulled out her forms and a pen, and got to work. The sky was incredibly blue, rimed with fluffy white piles of clouds. The grass was blue, the wind was blowing gently, and ducks were quacking on the pond. Carly didn't let any of it distract her, she had too much to do and focus on, but her sub-conscious soaked it up.

It was over an hour later before she was disturbed, and by then it was a welcome interruption.

"Hello . . . hello Dr. Beckham."

Stretching her neck a bit to work out kinks, Carly turned her head to find Michael standing beside her. She truly liked Michael. He was a considerate, gentle person despite what his disorder sometimes caused him to do. "Hello, Michael. How are you?"

"I . . . I saw someone up here. I . . . I remembered this was your favorite. So . . . so I came up. I've . . . I've been waiting for you to visit."

"You should have told me, Michael, and I would have come out sooner." She moved her things to make room for him on the bench. He sat down carefully, as if he wasn't sure if he was supposed to or not. "Are you enjoying your work?"

"I . . . I miss you. But . . . but I like to garden."

"I remember. You and I made that one, didn't we?" She gestured towards the far-off vegetable garden.

"Mister . . . Mister Graham says it was a good idea. He . . . he says you're smart."

"Michael!" she teased, "Don't let him say that. You know it was your idea. You're the one that wanted to get dirty and plant things."

"I . . . I just said I wanted to. You . . . you let me."

It was actually Todd who'd let them, but she wouldn't quibble over that point.

"You're . . . you're busy?"

Carly sighed and thought about that understatement. "I'm in the midst of filling out masses and mounds of paperwork. I have a new patient who's about to be moved to the second floor ward –"

"A . . . a new patient?" Was she imagining things, or was there a hint of unhappiness in his voice? Almost against her will, she remember the tantrum that had followed his discovery that she had seen other patients while she'd treated him. He'd accused her of telling them about him. But she'd thought that he'd come to understand that she had to treat many people. "What's . . . what's their name?"

"You know I can't tell you that, Michael," Tess said slowly but firmly. "It's against the rules."

"Will . . . will you bring them out? To . . . to the garden?"

"Maybe. I'd like to do that. But I don't think he likes outside very much."

"Where's . . . where's he from?"

"Maine." Michael was getting nosy, and she needed to discourage that. "How's the garden this year?"

He readily changed topics. "It's . . . it's early. It's . . . it's spring. We've . . . we've only just started planting."

"Really?"

"Had . . . had to wait for the soil to warm up. It's . . . it's cold in this part of Maine. In . . . in spring."

"Do you have anything planted?" While he'd been in her care, they'd spent many hours talking about gardens and plants and seasons. She remembered those conversations and made use of them now.

"Peas . . . peas, and potatoes, and cabbage, and broccoli. We'll . . . we'll plant beets, and carrots, and tomatoes, and corn later."

"Sounds like you've got big plans." Carly gathered her paperwork, took off her shoes, and set upside down on top of it as a paperweight. Michael would probably want to show her things. He'd always liked getting attention.

"Mister . . . mister Graham let me choose."

"That was nice of Todd. Does he like what you're doing?"

"Do . . . do you want to see?" Carly nodded and stood. "You'll . . . you'll like it."

"I'm sure I will." They walked down the hill towards the more populated areas of the grounds. "Are you going to plant sunflowers?"

"You . . . you like sunflowers," he said, as if pulling the memory forward through many others. "I'll . . . I'll tell Mr. Graham we need to plant some."

"That's alright, Michael. You don't have to."

"They're . . . they're nice. Like . . . like you. I'll . . . I'll tell Mr. Graham."

"If that's what you want to do."

"It . . . it is."

An hour later when someone tracked her down to deal with some mess that had to do with reimbursement for money spent for paint or some such nonsense, Carly was reluctant to go back. It was nice to spend time with patients – not that any of them were presently hers – in such an undemanding environment. All that went on was interaction; there were no tests, no evaluations, no expectations. She talked when someone wanted to talk to her, and pulled weeds in her bare feet when no one did. But the orderly was insistent that she come back and deal with the bureaucrat on the other end of the phone herself, so Carly regretfully bid the out of doors farewell.

She didn't notice that Michael watched her until she disappeared inside the hospital.

She was a nice person. Too good for the people here. She needed to be taken away from all this. From the filth. The disease. The darkness. Before it overtook her.

The wind caught her hair, blowing it out around her shoulders. She was wearing white; her spine was straight and her gait was easy. There was no danger of the wind blowing her away. She was too substantial, too real for that. So very, very real. More than anything else he'd seen.

She was a goddess and he worshiped her. And it was up to him to protect her. He remembered how a shovel, a tool, an axe felt in his hands, and how it'd felt to use it. Not to grow things; not to build things. He understood now why he'd done those things. It was for her. He could do it again to protect her. He'd take her away from all this, take her somewhere where she wouldn't have to deal with those stacks of forms – he'd seen them. And when he got her there, he'd worship her, and she'd know.

She would be grateful.

She would be pure.

She would be his.

"I sent in the receipts," Carly said in a slow, patient voice. "I made copies of them, I included a note explaining what it was for, and the signatures of the hospital administrator, caretaker, and head janitor, saying that the work was authorized." If she didn't get this reimbursement, she'd be over her quarterly budget, and then she'd have accountants tracking her down. Soon after that, things would get ugly.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Beckham, but we don't have any of this on file. But if you fill out form 872-01-357B, and include the signatures of your administrator. . . ."

Carly stopped paying attention all together. She'd already heard and done this, and she'd be damned if she let the state work her into a tail-chasing frenzy. While she was at it, she'd damn every person who worked for the state in any capacity.

"Excuse me? I'm looking for Dr. Beck–" Carly threw up a hand to forestall any more questions. She'd get to them once she'd straightened this mess up.

"I hate to interrupt –" The man started again! She turned and glared at him, pulled the phone away from her ear as if threatening to make him listen to the poor secretary on the other side, then turned her back again.

"Listen. I've already filled out steps A-Q once. You lost the paperwork. I am going to send the copy I made for our own files, and you are going to see to it that it makes it to the right desks for the right signatures, so my budget doesn't get docked next quarter. Thank you for your time." Carly resisted slamming the phone down, but wasn't able to suppress all her irritation. And her interruption was a good enough vessel for her to unleash it on. She had to calm down before she went to visit Rainey, or he'd pick up on her vibes, and the day would lose any promise it had started with.

"How may I help you?"

Encouraged by this polite question after her rude treatment, the man stepped forward, hand extended. "Mick Lawley. I'm looking for a Dr. Beckham?"

Carly didn't like this. The man before her looked like a Fed, and she could only think of one reason someone like that would like to talk to her.

Ignoring his extended hand, she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the counter. "I'm Dr. Beckham."

He looked skeptical. "You're Dr. Charley Beckham."

"I'm Dr. Carly Beckham. And just who are you? Or more precisely, why do you want to talk to me?" She was inordinately pleased by the embarrassment that showed on his clean-shaven face.

"My apologies, doctor. My office must have misheard your receptionist."

Evasion. She hated evasion. "That's all well and good, but that doesn't explain why we're having his conversation."

"Actually, it does," Lawley ginned, setting his briefcase on the table. "I'm actually A.D.A Lawley, and I was wondering if you could help me with some of the specifics of the Rainey case."

That's what she'd been afraid of. Her contract stipulated that she had to assist the State in any cases it chose to prosecute if the defendant was under her care. She was also allowed to talk and assist the patient's lawyer, but that didn't she enjoyed this part of things. The last patient she'd had go to court for had been Michael, in that case there had been no question that he hadn't known what he was in trouble for – t]he same couldn't be said of Rainey. The experience had been so distasteful that she'd avoided being assigned to cases where she might have to repeat it. There were other doctors on staff that enjoyed hearings and court dates, and Carly was glad to leave them to it.

Lawley must have seen some of her feelings over the matter appear on her face, for he was quick to assure her. "I'm not here to headhunt, or witch hunt, or man hunt, or even to start a crusade. I'm just here to get a deposition from you about Mr. Rainey's mental state. I will want to talk to Rainey himself, of course, but –"

"I'd be glad to tell you what I know, Mr. Lawley, but I'm afraid I can't let you talk to my patient. Not that it would do you any good since he hasn't spoken in over months." Some of her exasperation broke through her cool exterior. "And just what do you think you're doing anyway? I thought the case wasn't going to trial for months yet."

"It's not, but Martinson – my boss – is eager to get as much of the case squared away now, before going to trial. He wants to make sure that defense doesn't get Rainey off on a technicality due to negligence on our part."

Once again she pulled her mantle of nonchalance around her. The man in front of her had responded much too quickly to her brief flash of emotion for her to be comfortable. "And just what is your boss going to suggest as a sentence for my patient?" she inquired, to get his attention off her and onto something else. His job for instance.

It was a question she shouldn't have asked. Carly knew the answer before he said anything, just from the serious look on his face. "If it's decided that Rainey was incapable of rational thought at the time when he's accused of murdering one Mr. Tom Greenleaf and Mr. Greg Carstairs, then he'll be sentenced to life in a psychiatric facility in their ward for the criminally insane."

"And if he's not?" She knew, but she wanted to force him to say it.

"Then he'll be sentenced to life imprisonment, with a strong suggestion for the death penalty."

"And why am I talking to you?"

"Because you can either do it willingly, or I can subpoena you. Not to mention that a note will be made in your record that you had to be forced to comply to your contractual obligations."

Note to self – don't antagonize lawyers. They have no sense of humor. "Mr. Lawley, I'd love to talk to you, but I'm afraid that my time for the rest of the day is taken."

"Then come by my office tomorrow –"

"Tomorrow is Saturday, and my day off. I already have plans that can't be changed."

"Then let me talk to Rainey –"

"I already told you," Carly said very softly, "that Rainey isn't to be disturbed at the moment. He's to be moved to the lodger's ward on Monday, and I'd like his schedule to remain the same until then, and for a few weeks after. He's very excitable, and I won't let you disturb him." She could win this time, and they both knew it. "Unless you want to flout my authority with my own patients," which would cause war amid his office and her superiors as they both knew, "then I suggest you be patient and gather your depositions from other sources."

"Or you could have dinner with me."

"What?" How had they gotten from an anything but fond farewell, to a proposition?

"Have dinner with me. We can kill two birds with one stone. You get to relax, and I can get the initial questioning done for my deposition."

"Dinner with the enemy. I'm not sure that sounds like a 'relaxing' time." Carly gathered her things to leave the room.

"I don't have to be your enemy, Dr. Beckham. If Rainey truly deserves to be kept in an institution, then I have no problem ensuring that he stays there. But I need your cooperation to do that."

"What are you suggesting?" she asked, angry indignation coloring her voice. "A little of this hand washes that?" She snorted. "I'm afraid my goodwill isn't for sale at the price of a cheap dinner. You have to earn it."

"I wasn't suggesting anything," Lawley shot back, his own irritation getting the better of him. "I was simply hoping that we could turn what is obviously a painful experience for you, into something a little bit more pleasant. We're going to have to work together on some level whether you like it or not, Dr. Beckham. I 'suggest'," he practically threw the air quotes at her, "that you think about that." He picked up his briefcase. "My office will call later next week to set up an appointment with you."

Carly watched as he left in a huff, vaguely satisfied with herself, and vaguely wondering why she'd been such a cat.

After a half hour of pacing and upbraiding several summer volunteers – candy-stripers – about the state of a meal tray that'd been left in the middle of a corridor, Carly felt that she'd worked off enough of her irritation to go see Mort. She was late, but it was better late than upset. Rainey was still to sensitive to the emotions of others to let him be around her when she was so volatile.

So it was in a slightly better mood that she arrived at the third floor in. She was polite and civil with Betty and Ralph, thinking that she'd have to stop by to see them now and again when she no longer had a reason to come up. They were good people, dedicated to staff and patients alike. Carly might even go so far as to say that she'd miss them.

Toby was waiting outside Mort's door, lounging against the wall and humming some song Carly didn't know under his breath. He grinned when he saw her, and gave her the "hang loose" sign. She grinned. The boy was irrepressible. His upbeat personality was just what Mort needed to be exposed to.

"Dr. B, you're late."

"Yeah, I'll tell you about that later." She stepped back to let Ralph open the door. "Let's go in, shall we?" Following her own advice and leaving Toby to copy her actions, Carly stepped into the room. "Hello, Mort. How are you today?"

Rainey turned towards her, cocked his head, then returned his attention to the blank page of paper before him. As far as Carly – or anyone else who interacted with him – could tell, it was the same blank sheet of paper that had sat in front of him since Monday. She was disappointed that he hadn't written again lately, but then, just having him concentrating on a single thing was a step forward.

"Still stumped? I'm sure Toby would be glad to help you. He talks enough for all of us." Rainey shifted in his chair, imperceptively leaning forward as if to protect his property. "Well, maybe he'll have to make do with another piece of paper, hmm?" That earned her a covert glance in her direction.

"It's all good. My man Mort doesn't mind sharing, now does he?" Toby took the seat next to – but not too close to – Rainey, and pulled over a small stack of paper. "Let me tell you, my girl appreciates all this time I have to sit around and write poems for her. She says they've improved since I've started to spend so much with a real writer." Mort just looked at the younger man and scooted towards the end of the chair that was the farthest away from him. "Aww, you're hurtin' me man. You have to admit that your generous editing of my humble limericks is the reason they're now bearable."

Carly smiled at Toby's approach. While she treated Mort gently, Toby treated him like one of the guys. He didn't speak down to the mute author, instead choosing to treat every monologue as if it were a dialogue. At first Rainey had been put off by this, but he was growing used to it.

"Just tell him to stuff it," she softly advised Mort, brushing the back of his hand with the first two fingers of her right hand. As she drew the hand back, she drew his attention with it, which was what she'd been aiming for.

"Mort, I'm going to get some of your things from . . ." It was probably unwise to say "from the cabin." "From storage. We're going to be moving you to a new room on Monday," he looked suspicious, "and I was wondering if there was anything you wanted. A favorite book? A sweater?" She looked at his perpetually tousled hair. "A brush? A painting?" He stared at her blankly, as if her words were a message he had to slowly and painstakingly translate. "Here." She wrote out her request on a new sheet of paper – the last time she'd tried to use one he'd claimed, he'd flipped out.

Rainey examined her handwriting, tracing several letters and frowning. Carly knew she didn't have the best handwriting in the world, but it was legible. He shouldn't have any difficultly understanding her.

"I don't think he likes the way you make you shorthand 'ands', doc." Carly looked at the paper. She did make her "and" symbols differently than everyone else. Hers were "3's" while everyone else made theirs as "E's". She'd always done it that way, and probably always would. "Habit," she muttered to her male audience, before clearing her throat and repeating her question.

Mort considered it this time, taking nearly a half an hour to come to a conclusion. When he did come to it, it was a bit anti-climatic; he shook his head. No.

Don't look at it as defeat, Carly scolded herself as she watched Mort go back to his staring match with his friend Mr. Blank Page. A month ago, and he wouldn't have even given me that much. He's slowly but surely recovering. The move will help once he adjusts to it. New surrounds. More to engage him.

After talking some sense into herself, Carly also took the time to remind her dissatisfied mind that she'd expected that he wouldn't want to ask for anything. That was why Mrs. Rainey was going to meet her at Mort's cabin tomorrow. Ted was insisting that the house be put on the market, and Carly wanted to get some things for Mort. She also wanted to see the setting for the tragedy that'd sent him to Briar Ridge. If she could get a better sense of his surroundings last fall, then perhaps she'd get some insight into her patient along with some clothes.

Author's Thanks: many thanks to Sternenlicht (I like making people's days. It's fun. I'm glad you find that I'm sticking close to the 'spirit' of Mort, because I'm pretty sure that Johnny was channeling Steven King when he was making that movie. It was so close to the Mort I'd read about. I'm trying to work in more Mort, but there's things I need to get set up and out of the way before I can really get to him. One of the things is the cabin, one is the ADA, and one is the move. I can see the next chapter having a great deal of Mort in it, and I look forward to writing it just as you do to reading it.); FunkyFries (I lime the name! Anyway, I'm so glad that you're loving this. That is one of the perks of posting your work. Carly is a psychiatrist – she can dispense medications. That is one of the differences, right? Thank you for the French. I can't speak it, but I'm impressed by anyone who can speak a second language.); pandagal (More and more better? : P Kidding. Hope this is better too.); Wayward Slinky (in the book it's repeated several times that Mort draws his inspiration for his stories from what's happening around him, people he's met, places he's been. That they are "translated" through his stories into new things, and people, and places. I thought that he'd keep that quirk, and I called on it. It's in character because I did my research. ; ) Woo-hoo! Another Trekkie!); Dawnie-7 (Poor Mort…and I'm not done with him. I'll have to let you have him after the story for comforting…because he's going to need it. looks evil); CleopatraVII (Thanks for taking the time to review, and I hope to hear from you again. I also hope that this satisfied you for the moment.); Nithke (another person using French! Woo-hoo! laughs at the image of Mort as a chick); Spidey-Fan (I'm glad that I'm not going too slow for you. I look at what I've got, I look where Steven King started, and I wonder why I didn't start the story with chapter four. : P); Sparrow Lover (I hope this chapter wasn't a disappointment. Thanks for taking the time to review.); SS (Nothing is ever long enough for you, so I'll stop trying to drag chapters out. I figured you might appreciate Toby too. I know FF loves him. grins Just hope this chapter was good enough for now, and that you eventually got to get to it.); Merrie (I knew you'd like Toby. : D I like Bast too. Typical cat. And I agree; cliffies are the best way to end chapters. ({ evil laugh); Humiliated Grapes (Thanks for the many compliments, and I hope you like this chapter just as much as the rest); A Cheerful Reader (I have no experience and very small amounts of knowledge in the field of mental health. I just know how to do research before writing about something, or at least enough to sound fairly competent. I'm good at bluffing. A stay in the looney bin? That sounds interesting. You'll have to tell me whether I'm way off base or not because I have no clue what I'm talking about when it comes to this hospital's environment.); Spoofmaster (NO! No Mort romance! He's not ready! Sorry, I feel strongly on the subject. I've got a Mortish character in my life, and I know how he'd react to a romance so soon from loosing his wife. But I'm glad that you approve. Some people don't care and only want their fluff. Or smut.); PirateBlackSmith (Wow, I'm glad that you're seeing everything that vividly. I know I'm doing my job if you can. I hope you'd consider this chapter a great one.); Esmeralda Sparrow (I tried. Hope this was soon enough. ); Amy (Wooooow….I'm in awe. Thank you so much for taking that time to write that novel (and I enjoyed every moment of it ) I'm glad that you like my characters and find them to be well-rounded, and thrilled that all my borrowed characters are behaving themselves and staying in character. I admit that I think Amy got short-changed in the movie, but there wasn't time to make anyone but Mort a sympathetic character. I prefer the Amy of the book though, because she seems more conflicted. Movie Amy doesn't seem to give a damn. Book Amy hurts too, if not as much as Mort. As for Amy coming to visit Mort again? I don't know. It might happen. If I was compared to Johnny Depp in your review in terms of being original inside this genre, then I'm more than honored. Thanks. Normal Mort – (long review, lots of points to hit), I think it was David Koepp that pointed out that at the end, the more normal Mort acted, the more insane he really was. Thanks for the compliments to Carly. I was afraid she was a clone of another of my characters at first, but she's developed her own personality, so that's good. I agree with the counts of grammar and spelling. People who don't use what their computer comes with confuse me sometimes. How hard is it to run a spell and grammar check? It's a pet peeve of mine, and I try to make sure I don't make too many mistakes, or I'd be a hypocrite and have to stop complaining. What fun would that be? I hope you enjoyed this chapter very much, and I hope to hear from you again.)