Author's Note: Well, I got this out pretty quick I think, even if I took the time to write more than one chapter of my OUATIM fic. With any luck, the next chapter will be just as fast in coming.

Author's thanks at end.

Mort was progressing nicely in Carly's opinion. He's been installed in his new room for nearly three weeks now, and in that time, he'd progressed from ignoring everyone in favor of staring at a blank piece of paper, to ignoring everyone in favor of reading. Anti-social behavior wasn't uncommon for someone in his position, so Carly let it slide, pulling Toby out of his overnight duties and cutting back her own hours until she spent two hours a day with him. Now and then she and Toby would stay to eat dinner with him, maintaining light conversation between themselves about current events so Mort would have some knowledge about what was going on in the outside world. Newspapers would have rendered the same results, but Mort refused to touch anything that didn't have a binding.

He also refused to eat anything but peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, corn chips, and soda. He refused to wear shoes. While he kept himself impeccably clean, he left his clothes lying around until they were nothing but masses of wrinkles, and ran his hands through his hair so many times that it practically stood on end. And he still wasn't talking.

Carly just let these idiosyncrasies slide though. Everyone, as a friend of hers in college had been fond of saying, had autistic tendencies. Some people just had more than others. And this was particularly true of people as obviously traumatized as Rainey.

There was one area she pushed him in however, and that was the matter of his windows. Whether he liked it or not, she was going to make him acclimated to seeing the outside world. It was the middle of May with June fast approaching, and she wanted nothing more than to be able to take him outside one of these days. Or at least be able to watch him look outside. It was true that this place was a refuge for those who needed it, but in her mind, it had never been meant as a jail. Seeking sanctuary was one thing, but ignoring the entire world was unacceptable as well as unhealthy. As his doctor, she couldn't allow this to go on indefinitely. But for today, letting him sleep alone was enough progress. The windows could wait until next week.

Since it was a Friday afternoon, she spent several hours in the staff room trying to finish up reports that she didn't want to take home with her. With her brother getting married, had somehow gotten roped into being a bridesmaid. Why anyone wanted her in the wedding party, she couldn't tell, but the small bit of her sense of familial duty that hadn't been totally and completely destroyed by alcohol and time insisted she not turn her brother and his fiancée down. Which meant that no matter what, she had to be free tomorrow to go to a fitting for her dress.

It's not that I don't love my family, she thought as she stared blankly at the blinking cursor. It's just that I love them more when they're not around to tempt me to argue with them. A sigh escaped her at the same time she reached up to rub her eyes. At least Mother won't be there to loudly proclaim just how many pounds she thinks I could stand to lose before the wedding. Of course, to be fair to her mother, she hadn't seen Carly since Christmas two years and thirty pounds ago.

"Hey, doc."

The interruption from Toby was welcome. "What are you still doing here, Toby? It's a Friday night, and you don't have to spend it working. I thought you had a hot date."

"I do, but not until 8:30. She wanted time to get cleaned up after her shift at the nursing home."

"Nursing home?" Carly just raised an eyebrow. Toby laughed.

"She's finishing her last few weeks of internship, and she thinks old people are cute. I think she's cute. Anyway, I wanted to see if you'd do something for me."

"No. If its more paperwork just so you can go see your chickadee, the answer is no." Carly pretended to glare ferociously.

"Well, its not really paperwork, per se –"

"Then what is it, and why do I have to do it?"

"Progress report." Toby handed several papers over. "I've filled out most of it, gotten the signatures I need from Dr. Holshack and the nurse that's been overseeing me. I just need to get some comments and a signature from you since you're the doctor I've been working with the most."

"Fine." She took the papers and glanced through them. "Do you need this today, or will Monday be alright?" There was only an hour left in her workday, and she'd be damned before she stayed after to finish paperwork. That kind of stuff did not earn overtime.

"No, Monday will be fine. I just have to get it in before the last Monday of the month."

"Alright." Carly put the papers in her clipboard under a psych evaluation she'd started on a patient she was about ready to turn loose on the world. Or at least on the family he'd been driving crazy with excessive OCD. "Have a good weekend then."

"You too, doc." He was out the door before he could hear Carly's small snort of amusement. Her weekend was going to be anything but fun.

It was nearly seven before Carly escaped to the parking lot and her car. The longer she'd stayed to finish her work, the more people had come into the staff room to interrupt her. The worst interruption by far had been when Steve had come in with the last person she'd wanted to see. Mick Lawley.

She knew it was unreasonable to feel as if the man was stalking her – especially since she hadn't seen hide nor hair of him since Rainey's move – but his presence irritated her. He was just too confident and too good-looking for her well-being. The irritating devil's advocate in the back of her head asked if she wasn't simply irritated because the man reminded her of her ex-husband. To be truthful, Carly had to say yes. Dan had always made her feel as if he were morally and intellectually superior to her as well. Her psychologist – yes, she knew the irony of that – had said it was her own insecurities that had driven her to drink and caused her to think that she was lacking in some way. That may have been true nine years ago when she'd been a fresh divorcee, but hadn't she matured since then?

No, it was just Lawley that she didn't like. It was as simple as that.

As her first approach for avoiding unwanted conversation was ignoring the rest of the world, Carly pushed her glasses up on her nose and stared at her laptop, busily typing away. The men stayed on the other side of the room, not sparing her a glance as they talked intently in low voices. She could only guess what the topic was.

"Dr. Beckham knows more about that than I would . . ."

"Getting bitter, Steve-o?" she muttered, focusing even more of her attention on the screen in front of her. Any sort of conversation about her controversial patient would guarantee that she'd leave later than she wanted to, and not only that, give her enough frustration that she'd have to hit the gym to work it off. That was not at all in keeping with her idea of a work-free, stress-free, conflict-free evening. However, her comment was ill-advised if a confrontation was what she truly wanted to avoid.

"For your information, Beckham, I was managing Rainey just fine – "

"You had him so doped up on meds that he wouldn't have known if there had been an earthquake and the ceiling fell in on him." So much for ignoring them. "You were medicating, not doctoring, and you know it." Her voice was matter of fact and emotionless. This was something they'd been over dozens of times before with other patients, so she didn't care to expend the energy this time.

"With criminally insane patients, the standard procedure is to –"

"I know what the procedure is, Steve. I know that it is not to let patients while away three months in a haze while –"

"Rainey was lucid. That's all that's required."

"Rainey didn't know if he was a man or a turnip." This acerbic comment made Lawley snort for some reason, as if he were trying to hide laughter.

"You're in no position to judge, Beckham. You've never treated anyone interred on the third floor."

"And that makes me incompetent?" She didn't like the way Lawley's eyes grew interested at Steve's mention of her lack of experience with people in Mort's legal standing. "I've treated people with symptoms extremely similar to Rainey's more times than I can count in the past eight years, Steve. I'm tenured, just as you are, even if I do think you missed something on Rainey's initial diagno–"

"Nonsense. Marchman himself agreed with me." Steve's face was turning red with anger.

"Marchman never observed Rainey for any amount of time. He has more important things to do, apparently."

"Oh, so not even he can do things well enough to please you?"

Ok, that was personal. " Dr. Marchman," she said in an icy tone, "is a generation removed from us. The things he learned to earn his doctorate are at times drastically different than what we were taught. And while he's kept up with all the new discoveries and advances, he's still stuck firmly in that old school way of thinking."

"You make it sound as if he's still yearning to perform lobotomies, Beckham."

"I make it sound like the truth. Just because you don't like it, that doesn't mean its going to go away. And yes, that still means I think you missed something."

"Well, why don't you enlighten us, doctor?"

Ohh. . . The smug look on Steve's face and the way he crossed his arms over his chest made her suddenly furious. So what if she had been a woman in a man's profession eight years ago? The world was changing, and chauvinist pigs like him were going to have to get used to that. "Psychotic depression bordering on schizophrenia with a dash of post-traumatic stress disorder thrown in for seasoning." She threw Steve's own words back at him, reading from Rainey's folder. Lawley was forgotten. "Psychotic depression is characterized by anxiety, agitation, hypochondria, insomnia, physical immobility, constipation, and cognitive impairment. PTSD by flashbacks of the traumatic event, a loss of emotional and relational ties, a heightened state of awareness, and panic attacks. Schizophrenia is manifested in hallucinations, delusions, and disordered speech/thoughts, etc. In none of your own diagnoses is there any mention of violence. Nowhere. In fact, I don't think Rainey is even capable of committing violence against anyone. He got a paper cut once and he fainted. Is that the reaction of a hardened criminal?"

"What are you suggesting, Dr. Beckham?" This question came from Lawley since Steve seemed to be speechless in anger.

"I'm suggesting that no one go around speculating what my patient may have done until he can at least converse like a normal person." To her great surprise, Lawley looked as if he were actually listening to her. Steve had recovered during her small speech however, and he looked like he was out for blood.

"Has it ever occurred to you that Rainey killed those men just because he's a heartless beast?" Carly slowly turned her head towards her colleague. His suggestion was so . . . unexpected . . . that she felt really and truly livid. It'd been a long time since anyone had gotten under her skin enough to make her feel that way. "Because that's what the jury is going to see as soon as your man goes to trial, big pitiful eyes or not. And he's going to fry," Steve continued coolly as he walked to the table and leaned into her face. "Which means, oh educated one, that you will have failed miserably. How does that feel?"

Her answer was to swing out with her right fist and catch him painfully in the sternum. Steve gasped in pain and backed off as she got up from her chair ready to try that again. Before she could swing, however, Lawley caught her from behind and held her back. Unable to reach Steve and unwilling to humiliate herself by struggling uselessly against the ADA, Carly merely hissed, "You're a sham, Steve. You don't care about people. All you care about is the position and the dubious glory of getting to spout your 'professional' opinion at gullible juries. You could cure a case of depression if it came up and bit you in the a– "

"I think that's enough, Dr. Beckham," Lawley cut her off. "I believe Dr. Wright is bright enough not to press the matter. Or assault charges." He must have done something because Steve abruptly turned on his heel and left the room, brushing past a figure all three of them had overlooked until now. "Can I help you?" Lawley asked the dark-haired man, only letting Carly go once the door had closed behind Steve.

As if I were going to go after him, she thought disdainfully, straightening the shoulders of her blouse. Ignoring the lawyer, she turned her attention to the man she'd identified as soon as she'd seen. "Hello, Michael. Can I help you?"

"Are . . . are you alright, Dr. Beckham?"

"Yes, thank you for asking." Despite her lingering anger, Carly pulled on her professional mask. "Have you missed your bus again?"

"Yes . . . yes, doctor. I . . . I was working in the potting shed. I . . . I didn't see the time."

"Alright. Why don't you go out to the lobby and I'll call you a cab, okay?"

"Thank . . . thank you, Dr. Beckham. Will . . . will you call the house?"

"Yes. Now go on." Michael did as he was told, and Carly was left along with Lawley. "I hope you're pleased with yourself," she muttered, going to her computer and pushing send. Her report would print in the office and would eventually make its way to Dr. Holshack's desk. As for the other few things she'd wanted to get done before leaving, they could wait until next week. All she wanted to do now was go to the gym and smash a racquetball around for an hour or so.

"Pleased? Pleased with what? My inside scoop on office politics?" Carly just rolled her eyes as she packed her things. "Why do I get the feeling, Dr. Beckham, that you're determined to think the worst of me?"

"Because if I do, I won't be disappointed."

"Look, I'm just doing my job, same as you."

"No. Not same as me." Packed, she slung her bag over her shoulder and turned to look down her nose at the man standing across the room from her. "I'm in the business of helping people, not locking them up and throwing away the key. Or seeing that they do get fried."

"That's not fair. First of all, Maine doesn't have a death penalty, and second, I help bring closure to the families of victims of violent crime. I'd say that's helping people."

"The good of the many instead of the few. If the State spent more time focusing on individuals rather than injured parties, perhaps you wouldn't have to try so many cases where violent crime is involved."

"Ah, but then I'd be out of a job." He grinned.

Is he flirting?! The idea was unfathomable, so she shoved it out of her mind. "You could always become a divorce lawyer. Then you'd never run out of work. Good-night, Mr. Lawley."

"You're going home?" he asked as he followed her from the room.

"I don't see that it's any of your business."

"I'm just trying to be friendly." He caught up with her and walked at her side. Carly couldn't speed up without making it appear that he was disturbing her.

"I don't want to be friends with you." When is he going to take the hint?

"Alright, then how about I'm trying to bum a ride off you?"

"Alright, then I'll call you a cab as well."

"How about coffee. There's a place a few blocks from here called –"

"No thank you." She had to admit he was persistent. "Aren't you supposed to be working? And wouldn't this be considered trying to influence a witness?"

"I'm not on the clock, and you're determined not to be influences, so it's alright. How about a beer if you don't want coffee?"

"I don't drink."

"How about –"

"No. Stop asking." Carly poked her head into the office, asked one of the night staff to call a cab for Michael, then went out the main doors.

"Why –"

"Now you're stalking me. Please take 'no' as a serious answer, and leave me alone."

"Fine. Just one piece of business first –"

"I thought you weren't working."

"Well, I won't be if you don't stop interrupting me." Carly rolled her eyes and got her keys out of her purse. Lawley apparently took this as some form of consent. "I just wanted to let you know that your boss is keeping my office updated on Rainey's progress. So when he's ready to talk, I'll be around."

"Thanks for the warning," Carly drawled. "Now, I really must get home and feed my cat."

"Your cat? No husband? Or kids?"

"I'm divorced, if you really need to know. Now –"

"That has nothing to do with kids."

"That is none of your business. Good-night." Carly got into her car and reached for the door. She wasn't actually quick enough to close it before Lawley did for her. Once more rolling her eyes, she threw her stuff into the seat next to her, and started the engine. Lawley backed up as she backed out, and she refused to spare him another glance as she sped out of the parking lot.

Unfortunately for Steve, Carly was right about his ability to quickly get a handle on cases. That was why he had been called to the institute late Sunday night. One of his patients who was suffering from insomnia due to their anxiety over some nightterrors, had fallen asleep and promptly thought they were being attacked by chainsaw-wielding manic zombies and had attacked an orderly with a hanger. The poor teen had been so disturbed that the night nurse had called Steve to come console the girl.

He hadn't been pleased. Night terrors were some of the worse cases to treat from a psychological point of view. Medication was easy once the right one was found, but since the patient could never remember anything more than the generalities of what had scared them to death, there wasn't much actual counseling that could be done. And on top of that, the patient was a thirteen-year-old girl who was prone to hysteria, especially after midnight. So when Steve finally got to leave the clinic at three to grab another two hours of sleep before his workday, he was not a happy camper. Too bad for him, his day was about to get much worse.

There were guards who patrolled the grounds of Briar Ridge, but they were predictable and relied on their cameras inside the building. If they didn't see anything wrong inside, then they only strolled around the building two or three times a night, and when Steve was leaving, they had just returned from one such jaunt. The night was cold, and Steve pulled a pair of earmuffs up, cursing the sudden drop in what had been pleasantly spring-like temperatures. Between the earmuffs and his own curses, he never heard the rustling in the bushes that indicated that someone was coming up behind him.

His struggle was brief. Instead of spending part of his monthly paycheck on gym dues, he'd always opted for using the money to take sweet young things with no real ambition out for expensive dinners. His assailant on the other hand – while shorter than his victim – was used to physical labor, and had surprise on his side. In the scuffle, Steve was knocked unconscious. His body was dragged across the front lawn and through the gardens behind the clinic.

Steve didn't have to worry about getting enough sleep for his rotation the next morning.

What the hell? Slowing her car to stop, Carly rolled down her window and felt a sense of unease overcome her as the uniformed cop came up to her.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but you're going to have to turn around. Only hospital employees are being allowed on the grounds at this time."

"I am an employee," Carly said shortly, wondering if the tags in her windshield were invisible. It was then she remembered that she still hadn't gotten around to adding this year's to the set. That was probably the reason for the skeptical look she was getting now. Luckily for him, he didn't dismiss her out of hand.

"Name, ma'am?"

"Dr. Carly Beckham." This guy is going to let me through or I'm was going to do something drastic. She crushed that thought, knowing it was only a display of her irritation from a weekend of forcing herself to involve herself in mindless chatter.

"I'm going to need to see some current state ID, ma'am." Grumbling, Carly dug through her purse and found a pay-stub. Her ID was in her locker, but at least this proved that the same people signed both their checks.

Her evidence earned her a raised eyebrow, but at least the officer let her through. When she asked what was going on, he simply shook his head and walked on to the car behind her. Pig, she savagely thought as she parked her car and gathered her things.

At the front door there was a legion of blue-coated officers searching a small area of grass just to the right of the walkway. She was once again stopped and asked for ID. If one of the orderlies hadn't been watching from the glass doors to vouch for her, Carly didn't think she would have made it in.

"What the hell is going on?" Carly asked when she found Leo in the break room. She was sitting there with Todd, both of them with untouched cups of coffee in front of them. "Why are the police searching the front lawn with a fine-toothed comb?" Carly repeated when no one seemed inclined to answer her first question.

"Someone attacked Dr. Wright last night," Leo finally answered. "He's dead."

"What?" Carly sat down hard in a chair, shaking her head when Leo tried to offer her coffee too. "How?"

Leo shot a look at Todd, who simply shook his head. "Someone tried to open up his head with a garden claw," she answered when the old man declined to. "Right to the face. Todd was the one who found him."

Too stunned to saw anything, Carly reached over and rested a hand on Todd's arm, unable to imagine how he felt. That garden was his pride and joy. A place of life, he was fond of saying. Everything was laid out so that no plants were competing for sun, or shade, or water. Weeds were ruthlessly pulled before they could choke the life out of anything else. It was a place of peace. Todd had been known to ban people who even so much as had an argument in his botanical kingdom. In fact, it'd been Carly and Steve who'd been the last ones banned in the fall of the previous year for arguing over a patient's care. He must be devastated, she thought as Todd just slowly shook his head.

"Do we know anything?"

"No. Just that whoever did it knew when the guards came by, and that they used gardening gloves. The police aren't even sure if Dr. Wright was an intentional victim or just convenient."

It was rude to speak ill of the dead, but Carly couldn't help saying, "Steve was never convenient in his entire life."

"Carly –"

"I know," she said, chagrined. "That was inappropriate. Do they suspect anyone here at the hospital?" When Leo just looked at her out of sad eyes, Carly grew alarmed. "What? What aren't you telling me?" Just then the doors to the break room flew open and Toby stood panting in the doorway. There was no need to ask her question again. "Oh god. Mort."

There were no time for good-byes as Carly jumped up from the table and ran out the door, Toby passing off her coat and ID. When this was all settled, she would have to quiz him about how he knew her locker combination, but right now there was no time. The duo raced towards the elevator, yelling for the nurse inside to hold the doors. They used the short ride to catch their breath, and when they stepped out onto the second floor, Carly's sense of urgency had turned into icy professionalism. These men were going to be very sorry for intruding on her patient.

"Doc, we have to –"

Carly shot her young protégé a quelling look, and continued her deliberate pace. These men were going to fear her, by god, and that wouldn't be achieved by rushing in as a mass of hair and righteous anger.

"Excuse me, ma'am, you can't go any further."

Carly stopped and looked at the officer, letting her eyes show him that she was clearly unimpressed with what she saw. "If I were down at your precinct, I would most likely listen to that order," she said crisply, "but I'm not. You are in my precinct, as it were, and I outrank you." Without another word, she passed the man. As he followed, she swore it was for the mere purpose of being annoying.

"Ma'am!"

"That's doctor," she corrected, rounding on him. "And as such, any business I have here is more important than yours. Unless you are declaring a state of marshal law in what is basically a mental ward, and unless you know more about my job than I do, I suggest you do not try to stop me."

"But –"

"But nothing." She straightened her shoulders and looked down her nose at him. "I suggest you get on with your job and allow me to do the same. Good-morning, officer." Grabbing Toby's sleeve, she towed him after her.

"You're going to have to teach me how to do that someday," he muttered under his breath as he noticed the that the guard had gone back to his corner.

"It's easy. Just convince everyone that you're heartless." They turned another corner and Carly had to force herself not to stop at the sight of hospital guards and orderlies arguing with uniformed policemen. "Good god, they're turning this into a circus," she muttered, stalking forward.

One of the hospital staff noticed her. "Dr. Beckham! They're –"

"They're only half the problem," she said in a voice quiet enough that everyone had to stop to listen to her. "I want everyone here – including officers – who has other duties to disperse immediately. This is a hospital, not a circus. I will not stand here as you upset this entire wing. Now get." Half the hospital people and a few officers left, albeit the police didn't look happy at listening to her. She didn't give a damn. "How many of you were actually told to stand here and waste time?" Two officers raised their hands. "Alright. I want four orderlies to stand here as well, just in case I need you. Everyone else, whether you were told to be here or not, may leave."

"Ma'am –"

"I am no a ma'am. I'm a doctor. A doctor who would very much like to know what business you have here disturbing patients." She rounded on the hapless sergeant. "If you would like to complain about my dictatorial behavior, you may go downstairs to the main office and use the phones."

"My captain –"

"Your captain may call my boss and complain. Here," she handed over one of her business cards, "now you have a name. Don't make me ask you to leave again." Dodging this second to last hurdle, Carly walked up to Rainey's door and was stopped by the two officers standing there.

"I'm sorry, doctor, but we can't allow you to interrupt an interrogation."

"If there is an interrogation going on in there, I'm pressing charges against all of you for unduly harassing my patient. You'd best hope that there is no 'interrogation' happening." The orderlies she'd asked to stay leaned forward, an obvious sign that she had much more support than they did. "You're going to let me in now, and you're going to stay outside. Furthermore, if I require the assistance of these orderlies, you will let them in without fuss, and not involve yourself with anything that is happening in that room. Understood?"

"Yes, doctor."

Not caring which man had answered, Carly pushed her way into the room and once again froze.

Why were these men here asking questions? Mort didn't like it. They were loud. Demanding. He didn't know the answers to anything they were asking.

They shouldn't be here. He knew the faces of the people who worked here. His writer's eye had seen a common gentleness in the eyes of the people who worked in this place where he was. These men didn't have it. They shouldn't be here.

Agitated, he paced around the room like a caged lion. So loud. Their words filled the room and left him with no escape. When he tried to write 'Go away' on a paper, they took it from him. They wouldn't let him rest. Their words . . . their words . . . They caged him in, restricting him. They were so ugly. Ugly words with ugly meanings. They accused, and pointed fingers, and the questions.

Don't know. Don't know. Don't know, don't know, don't know don't know don't know. Don'tknowdon'tdon'tknowdon'tknow. . .

Mort clasped his hands over his ears and huddled on his bed. Still they didn't stop. He could feel the panic and an ugly feeling building up to match their ugly words. No! Not that feeling. He didn't like it. Where was the woman-who-wasn't-Amy? People were scared of her. He'd seen it. Make them go away. Away! The men closed in and Mort could feel his panic building.

Not again. He didn't want to forget again.

"Do you enjoy stealing candy from babies as well?" Carly asked. Her appearance had apparently gone unnoticed, because the two detectives twirled around.

"Who're you?" the man on the right demanded, taking in her coat and ID.

"I'm the woman who's going to bust your asses. Do you have any idea how many laws you're breaking right now?"

"You're interfering in an investigation –"

How many people was she going to have to interrupt today? "Unless you have physical evidence that places my patient at the crime scene without a shadow of a doubt, you're harassing a man who doesn't possess the psychological skills to even understand what you're asking him. Not only that, but what you're doing wouldn't be tolerated by anyone who was in any condition to stand up for their civil rights, you're possibly undoing months of intense work, and pissing me off."

"Look lady, if he wanted to look after his civil rights, he should have asked for a lawyer."

"Mr. Rainey hasn't spoken since December." From the corner of her eye, she saw papers scattered across the floor by the table. One or two of them had scribbles on them. Mort tried to communicate with them.

" – common sense to question a man suspect in several –"

"You bastards," she hissed. "Leave now or I won't be held responsible for what happens next."

"Threatening a officer is a federal offense, doctor. I suggest –"

"I suggest that you listen to the lady. She's got a mean right hook." This time the interruption didn't come from Carly, but from Lawley who was looking rumpled enough to have simply rolled out of bed and come straight to the hospital. "Moreover, Dr. Beckham is correct about the laws you're violating. Tell your captain that I'll be by to speak to her later this afternoon."

"Beckham?" The way the detective's eyes lit up disturbed Carly immensely. "According to witnesses, there was a lot of bad blood –"

"Enough!" Startled, Carly looked at Lawley. He looked upset for the first time since she'd met him. "I'll ensure that Dr. Beckham drops by for a talk as well. Now vamoose and let the lady do her job."

The men grudgingly left. Lawley went with them, and part of Carly was tempted to follow to see if he was going to chew them out, but her responsibility held her back. Mort was curled up in the fetal position on his bed, hands over his ears, eyes shut. Moving slowly and deliberately, Carly sat down on the foot of his bed, waiting for him to look up. He was trembling with shock and stress, and she hated those men. Rainey was ultimately very gentle. They'd had no right to come in here and upset him this badly. His recovery from this could take days, if not weeks.

"Hello, Mort," she called softly. "It's Dr. Beckham. I'm sorry those men upset you, but they're gone now." The only visible response was a cessation of his trembling, but she did notice that he had a light-colored crayon in his hand. "I'm going to get some paper, alright? I'm not leaving. Not until you're feeling better." It was the work of a few seconds to grab a paper and bring it back to the bed.

"Mort? Do you know what they were asking you?" No response. "Alright. That's alright. It's not important anyway. What I need for you to do is to tell me if you're okay. I have a paper, and I want you to write on it." Still moving slowly because she didn't want to alarm him, Carly sat the paper in his lap. "Mort . . . how are you?"

Minutes ticked by and Carly just sat and watched her patient. Pressing him for answers wouldn't gain results, and he probably found the silence most welcome. Rainey was a quiet man, always in his stockinged feet and taking care not to bump into things. Even alone, he didn't seem to take pains to fill the silence with the sounds of the living. Carly understood that need for silence to some extent, but for Rainey it seemed to be another refuge. It was harmless; she'd let it stand for a bit longer.

Finally though, Mort picked up the paper. Without once looking at her, he wrote the word "ugly" on the paper.

"Ugly? You feel ugly?" she asked gently. "Where? How?"

-Tap, tap, tap, tap- The crayon bounced off the paper as he considered whether to answer or not. After several minutes he did. Inside. Bad feelings.

"Bad feelings? Was it those men? Did they disturb you?"

Away

"They are away, Mort. I made them leave. I won't let them come back unless you want them to."

No.

"Alright then. They'll stay away. I'll make sure to leave orders with the staff that no one is supposed to come in and see you unless you say. Is that a good idea?" He shrugged. "Well, we'll try it. Do you want me to stay?" No reply. "Would you like me to leave?" He looked around the room. "Alright. I'm going to go then. I'll make sure Toby comes in and visits you soon. How does that sound?" Either he didn't care, or he was no longer paying any attention to her.

Standing, Carly straightened her coat and automatically reached for the clipboard she hadn't had time to grab. "Right. I'll see you later, Mort." His hand twitched in his lap, the fingers moving as if in parting.

Author Thanks: As always, thanks for actually reading, and more specifically, Spoofmaster (wow – if you're up at 1 am doing homework, you're a much more dedicated student than I ever was, and you're getting way too much work from your teachers. I lodge a e-protest for you.); Wayward Slinky (I agree – Mort's robe is great. I knew I had to let it guest star. Oh, and I'm caught up!!!! grins); HumiliatedGrape (It was that image of Mort holding his things that kept the chapter going as long as it did. When I start a chapter, I think of where I want to finish, and that was it. In the book, Amy was nicer than she was in the movie – I'd go so far as to say she was likable – which is why I try to portray her that way. And yes, Ted is an ass. Thanks for catching that wrong name again. I'm getting really close to finishing that fic, so I guess I was just eager to go write another chapter of it.); Dawnie-7 (I'm glad you approve of Mort's pace of recovery. It's hard sometimes to balance my plot and the reality of how long it'd take to recover from such a thorough mental breakdown, but apparently I'm doing alright so far.); Sparrow Lover (I don't think Shooter is going to show up in this story, but I can't really be sure. I'm sure Mort wasn't expecting him either. Thanks for catching that mix-up with Tom and Greg. Wrote Tom just a few times too often there. :P); A Cheerful Reader (Well, I'm glad that I sound convincing even if I have no idea what I'm talking about. Who says TV and fiction books aren't educational? ); Nithke (But I like the poultry allusions. They're cute. I know what you mean about short chapters. I'm always left looking at the screen and wondering where the rest is. Instead of updating every other day, I think some authors could wait a week and put out a real chapter. Of course, I think most that are prone to such behavior aren't really writing strong characters either. Just in case that ticked anyone off, I'm sorry if I offend. That's just my opinion, and I'm not saying that applies to everyone. Whew, had to get the disclaimer in there. I keep calling Carly Tess because half my mind is always plotting out what's going to happen next in my OUATIM fic. I gotta stop that. Carly has always been Carly though. There was never another option for a name.); CaptainJackSparrowsGirl (claps I'm glad you have your own copy of SW now. That's a very nice thing to have. And you're right, you must wait for future chapters for more information. And I'm just getting started. evil grin); normal human being (lol – glad you approved of all the Mort. And yes, the whole Carly/Tess thing drives me absolutely insane each time I do it. I have no idea what an Aberystwyth Experience is, but I'm guessing it doesn't have much to do with marauding Welshmen. shrugs); Stalfan125 (heh – I had a teacher in school whose name was Stahl. It was a fun class. Anyway, I'm glad you're enjoying this story. That makes it worthwhile for me.); quick29 (Thanks. It's going to be awhile though before Mort opens up and talks. A long while. I've got plans. ); Depp-Lover49 (You sound like Dr. Seuss. It'll be a chapter or two I think before Mort makes it outside, but I'm going to get him there. It's going to happen.)