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A/N: Thank you so much for your overwhelming response to this story. My muse has returned to me and I am so very grateful. I always love hearing what people think and all those reviews made my day! My job keeps me busy, but I will try to update as frequently as I can.

The first thing he heard when he came to was the insistent whining of a very upset child, underlain by the soft, unmistakable tones of a mother trying to calm it. He kept his eyes closed to hold the terrible headache at bay, but the piercing cries cut through him like the lashings of a whip. He realized only now that the kid wasn't disgruntled or annoyed; it was scared. He listened more closely to the mother's voice and could barely make out what she was murmuring: She was telling her little boy that Daddy would be fine. The words brought it all back to him and his eyes flew open, the lights too bright for him to suppress a groan.

"Welcome back, Sir." He did his best to focus on the EMT standing over him. He was an attractive guy in his forties, blonde hair ruffled and blue eyes alert. His boyish looks didn't seem to go with the web of fine lines around his eyes. Over his shoulder, he could see the Wicked Witch looking everything but wicked or like a witch with her baby in her arms. The little boy had stopped crying and was looking at Andy, his chubby cheeks red and still wet from the tears that had just fallen, but his eyes were bright and observant. They were the same shade of green as Raydor's, he realized even though he didn't remember having ever consciously thought about her eye color before. Raydor sank into an armchair and kissed the child's hairline as she adjusted him in her lap so he could look at Andy. Andy watched her caress the toddler's head, running her hand over it again and again in a steady, soothing motion. The boy visibly calmed down and his eyes were beginning to droop in one of those sudden bouts of sleepiness that were unique to small children. The tension in his body evaporated and he leaned back against his mother's chest, snuggling into her. Andy's memories were still so fuzzy and he really had no idea how he could have missed the gossip that must have come along with the Wicked Witch being knocked-up, but he knew without a doubt that the boy had to be hers. They looked alike and it was clear from the way they were with each other that they were mother and child. There was something else that seemed familiar in the boy, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

The EMT signaled for his attention and helped him sit up on the couch.

"My name is Steve. Do you know where you are?"

Andy nodded and regretted it immediately as his head started throbbing. "Home," he croaked.

The EMT seemed satisfied with his answer. "Do you have any trouble with your eyesight?"

"No," Andy said after a short moment of consideration. "But I have a killer headache."

Steve nodded. "I can imagine. You have quite the bump on the back of your head. I am no forensic expert, but it looks like someone beat you up pretty good. Now, your wife here said that you seemed confused right before you passed out."

Andy rolled his eyes and even that hurt. "Look, buddy, she is not my wife. She is a person from work, not to mention an annoying pain in the ass and I have no idea what she is doing at my place in the middle of the night with some kid I didn't even know she had."

When he looked over at Raydor for some explanation on why the hell she had made the EMT believe that she was his wife or why she was even there in the first place, he found that she was not looking at him. Purposefully so, he was sure. Instead she was looking down at the kid who was now drifting off to sleep. The boy was curled up against her chest and she had one of her hands over his ear. It took Andy a moment, but then he understood that she was making sure he couldn't hear what was being said. The realization made him oddly furious. What was she trying to convey? That she didn't want her kid subjected to the likes of him and to what he had to say? Then why bring it in the first place? Didn't she have a husband or a boyfriend to watch the kid while she was working? Probably not, he thought spitefully. After all, he couldn't imagine a guy being able to stand being around her for any prolonged amount of time. Even if he had been ballsy enough at some point to have knocked her up.

The EMT looked over at the Captain and then back to Andy. When he spoke again, his voice had changed. It was softer somehow, more modulated. He was speaking more slowly, too. The way you would speak to a mentally ill patient, Andy realized. He himself had used that exact tone a hundred times to talk down deranged suspects. But he wasn't deranged, was he? He probably wasn't even drunk.

"Can you tell me who the current president is?" Steve asked.

Andy groaned and rolled his eyes. What did that guy think he was? A fucking imbecile?

"It's George W. Bush, idiot. I have been mugged, but I am not confused, okay?"

He froze when he saw the look in the other man's eyes and for the first time, he began to worry. Panic began to grip him at the sight of Steve's eyebrows that shot up involuntarily. He figured that it wasn't often that the answer to that question caused any surprises.

"What?" he demanded, the urgency in his voice not due to anger but to sheer panic this time.

"Ever heard of Barack Obama?" Steve asked carefully.

"Doesn't ring a bell," Andy replied stubbornly. "Now get out of my house. I'm fine. And you, take your kid and get out of my house as well."

"What is the year, Andrew?" Steve prodded gently. Andy frowned at the tone as well as at the use of his full name, then his mouth went dry.

He wasn't sure what the year was.

This was not a question you usually had to think about before you answered, yet he couldn't form a clear answer in his head. 2005? 2006? 2008?

"What are you implying?" Despite the throbbing pain behind his forehead, Andy tried to get to his feet. "I'm going for a walk and when I get back, I want you out of here. This is my property. As of right now, you are trespassing - both of you - are we clear?"

Steve seemed too calm for Andy's liking as he pulled out his phone. "It is 2015, Andrew, and you're going in for a CT-scan."

It was as if the air was being knocked out of Andy and he fell back into the cushions like a giant rag doll, staring at Steve in dumbfounded silence.

"Are you kidding?" he croaked, but Steve shook his head then walked off to the side in order to be out of Andy's earshot. For the first time, Andy looked around the room and the cold hand that seemed to have closed around his heart squeezed it even harder.

This was definitely his living-room and yet it wasn't. He recognized the set of shelves that lined the other wall and the old armchair, but the couch was new and he had never seen those paintings before. His eyes narrowed as he tried to make out what was on the table next to the armchair. The Wicked Witch followed his gaze but didn't say a thing. She looked drained, almost frightened and didn't make a move to stop him, when he struggled to his feet.

With an agonizing slowness that reminded him of his old grandfather, Andy limped over to the table and knocked the framed picture over before he got a hold of it and was able to lift it up for his inspection. He felt faint at the sight that awaited him. Much worse even than he had felt when he had realized that he had no idea what the year was or who the heck that Obama guy was supposed to be. In the picture he saw himself in some sort of garden on a bright, sunny day. He was wearing a dark suit and a happy smile. But what shocked him most was who the other person in the photo was. There she was, her long hair in soft curls glowing golden in the sunlight, her smile matching his and wearing a simple white sleeveless dress was Captain Sharon Raydor, leaning into his side, her hand over his heart, fingers intertwined with his where two matching golden rings caught the rays of the sun.

He whirled around when he felt a hand on his arm. His whole body was shaking and he felt cold even though his face was burning red hot. He turned to Raydor and found so much pain etched into the lines around her eyes that he almost recoiled. She had left her toddler in the armchair, curled up and fast asleep. Gently, she pried the picture from Andy's hands that he hadn't realized were clenched around the frame and set it back down on the table.

"Andy, something is not right with you," she said slowly, her voice carefully modulated and yet not far from its breaking point. "This is our wedding picture. We were married three years ago."

Andy couldn't stop shaking. He was both panicked and repulsed. While he was beginning to accept the fact that he had somehow lost a good chunk of his most recent memory, he was far from being able to come to terms with the fact that somehow during this time, he had married the Wicked Witch. The one woman who he had hated with pleasure along with the rest of the department for the best part of his career. His eyes drifted to the kid and back to her.

"Who is that?" he asked, his voice husky. Somehow he was still hoping that this was just one big joke or that at least the kid was not part of it. The Captain turned and leaned on the armchair. The fight seemed to have gone out of her at his words. She looked as if she was in actual physical pain.

"That's Patrick Flynn," she said so quietly that he almost couldn't understand her. "I couldn't quite carry him to term, so he was very small when he was born. That's why we have always called him Paddy."

Andy stared at the kid. There was no doubt. He could see now what had seemed so familiar in the little boy before. His eyes were green and his complexion was pale, but his features were those of the Flynn family. In his mind's eye, Andy saw old pictures of himself at that age, saw his other son when he had been a toddler. He didn't understand how he had missed it earlier, how he could have ever not have known.

The boy was his son.

His head was throbbing worse and for a moment, he saw stars. Steve was back, holding on to his arm, asking him to lay down on the stretcher, but he refused, trying to shake him off. This was simply not possible. Maybe he was drunk after all. Maybe it was just a terrible nightmare that he would laugh off as soon as he woke up.

But he didn't wake up. He allowed Steve to help him sit back down on the couch, accepted the glass of water and let his words flow over him without paying any attention to them.

He had a son with the Wicked Witch. He was married to her.

Maybe he did need that CT-scan after all.