You will not be left alone

Sequel to Kinks in the System
by Lucy

Due to its length this story has been cut to three parts.

Go to Part 2
Go to Part 3

Rafe van Ryj strolled down the street cheerfully, and he really didn't know why he was so happy. Well, it was his lunch break, which meant he got out of the station for an hour, which always made him happy. But Henri was stuck at the station -- with Jim taking the day off, they had to stagger their lunches so someone would be in the office. And Rafe hated eating alone.

Yet, he was happy. Headed towards his favorite downtown deli, he was practically whistling. He smiled at people passing him by, took in their second and third looks with an internal grin. Yeah, he was looking good today, he had to admit. Wearing a new outfit -- he had a date that night, and knew he wouldn't have time to go change after work. Hair impeccable, self-confident smile he'd studied in mirrors for hours trying to perfect. He knew he looked like any of the other yuppie business guys taking their lunch breaks, and that knowledge made him secure.

Secure. Hmmm.

Strange the things one thinks to oneself when one's alone. That was why Rafe didn't like being alone. Even for a walk down the street.

But hey, so it did make him feel secure. So he liked knowing that when people saw him, they saw the image he passed off and nothing else. They didn't see the dirt-poor home he'd grown up in, they didn't see his mother and father drinking and fighting themselves to death. They didn't see the clumsy, uncertain young detective who was never sure if he was good enough to justify other people depending on him for their safety.

Nope, they saw a handsome, happy, reasonably well-off man. And even though it was all a lie, it made Rafe feel better.

He strolled casually, his eyes going to the nearby buildings and streets as though he were a tourist. He had perfected the art of appearing to be...present...every moment of the day. He had found by observing that when most people walked, they did it with a sort of vacant, blank, forward stride, and it was pretty boring to watch. Only a few people ever caught his attention -- they were the ones who smiled, who nodded at people, who looked around like they were really living the moment, not just making their way to the next moment.

So he imitated, and knew it garnered him even more looks.

Rafe was comfortable being stared at. He had worked hard to perfect the image he presented, and having it taken in and appreciated by other people made the work worth it.

There were only a few times he felt uncomfortable being watched. When he really wasn't at his best -- when he knew his feet were dragging or his clothes were rumpled or his smile was too forced, he worried that the eyes were staring right through the charade.

There were also certain looks he didn't like. Most people looked at him wistfully -- envious of his carefree attitude or handsome bearing, or picturing him across from them in a candelit restaurant. He liked those looks, although it made him a bit sad for people who didn't realize just how easy it was to turn themselves into exactly what Rafe was.

But occasionally he got other kinds of stares. Sometimes it wasn't just plain, humble attraction he saw, but a darker, lascivious desire- possessive instead of wishful. This one he got from men most of the time -- women were usually too shy or self-conscious to have such lustful thoughts outright. Men, though, there were times when men would look at him and he would crawl out of his skin. He got the feeling that the starer would be waiting around the next corner to jump him. It was unnerving, and it made his fragile mask of self-confidence melt away.

If he had seen the look directed at him from across the street, he would have turned tail and run for the hills.



The tall, gaunt, white haired man was blatantly staring -- disbelief, rage, desire, hatred, all fighting for dominance in his expression. He looked as though he were staring at a dead man, one he hadn't liked particularly much, though had sufficient attraction for.

Which was exactly what he was doing. Staring at a dead man.

The last time this white-haired gentleman had seen the policeman now strolling down the street, he had been sprawled on a white carpet, battered and bruised, and pumping out his life's blood from a bullet in the chest. He had been dying.

So why was he now walking into a corner deli like he didn't have a care in the world?

The white-haired man debated for a moment whether to cross the street and walk right up to the man...Ralf? Had that been his name. Ralf...something. How could he have forgotten? Easy. Ralf was a dead man, you didn't have to remember the names of the dead, even those dead who had betrayed you and made you lose your foothold in the city you were born in.

He decided not to cross, squinting instead through the window as Ralf greeted the man behind the counter like an old friend, ordered his food, and left with bag in hand.

He debated following, but hesitated, crossing the street instead, watching to make sure Ralf wasn't taking any looks back. He slowly went in to the deli, quickly painting a harried expression on his face. He went to the man behind the counter, jumping in front of a customer. "Excuse me, I was hoping to catch a friend of mine here. He usually has lunch right about now. He's a policeman, well-dressed...you know who I mean?"

"Rafe?" The man grinned. "He just left. If you hurry, you can catch him before he gets to the station."

"Thanks." The white-haired man left the deli.

Rafe. That was better than Ralf. Less common, more identifiable. How many cops named Rafe could there be in this city?

As he walked back across the street towards his car, the thoughts in his head were churning.

Officer Rafe had ruined almost two years of work for him. Rafe had infiltrated his group, brought the police running to his safe house. And now he had had the audacity to survive and threaten to ruin the white-haired man's return to his city.

He would have to be stopped. No question about it. He would have to be gotten rid of. He was the only one in this city who could identify the white-haired man, he was the only one who could ruin things.

Besides, he still had to pay.

In a way, the white-haired man was glad he had survived. Killing him had been such a hurried, last-minute, unsatisfying thing to do. Something that had come from thinking the police were about to be knocking on his door. Now, now that they thought he was gone, now that Rafe was the unsuspecting one, he could take his time. Do it right.

Before he continued his work to reestablish himself in this city, he would destroy Mr. Rafe. And this time he would do it right.



"Hey, Summer, turn the music down, huh?"

Summer poked her head in the door. "Aww, Jim, I was just getting in to it."

Jim, lounging on his bed with an old paperback in hand, grimaced, but there was a twinkle in his eyes. "Just when I thought I'd prefer anything over Sandburg's jungle music, you prove me wrong."

She straightened indignantly. "Look, these are classics, alright? Andrew Lloyd Webber. Sondheim. The greats. You should learn to appreciate them."

He laughed. "You're forgetting who you're talking to here. I'm a cop, a flatfoot, a tough guy, remember? Tough guys don't listen to Les Miserables."

"Oh? Hmm. What about Miss Saigon? There are plenty of tough guys in that one." She saw his exaggerated frown and grinned. "Besides, copper, some of your coworkers down at Testosterone Central like this music, too."

"Yeah? Like who?" He was dubious.

"Mr. Rafe van Ryj, for one."

"Rafe? Likes corny Broadway show tunes?"

"Yeah, he does. So there."

Jim shrugged. "So go over to his place and you guys can listen to this together."

She raised an eyebrow, leaning on the door frame with arms crossed. "Don't tempt me, old man."

Jim shot to his feet. "Oh, that's it. That's all I'm taking from you. Get over here."

She danced out of the doorway and down the stairs quickly. "Catch me if you can, gramps."

He growled and went down after her. "Darn it, get back here. You shouldn't be running in your condition."

She laughed, slowing down. "My condition. I love the way you say that, like I've got some kind of disease." Her hand went to her slightly rounded belly reflexively.

He closed the distance between them quickly. "Sometimes I think you do."

"Excuse me?"

"Some kind of disease of the brain. Makes you want to listen to Phantom of the Opera, and convinces you you'll be happy with some old geezer like me."

She rolled her eyes with a sigh, reaching out for him. "Let's not take what I say too seriously, huh? Okay, so you're a little older than me."

Jim took her hand, entwining his fingers through hers. A little? He was about fifteen years older than she was, and he had a hard time forgeting that sometimes.

"Stop it, Jim. You're thinking negative thoughts, I can see it in your eyes."

"Sorry. It's a reflex." He shrugged. "You're just a kid, Sum. You've got your whole life ahead of you."

She grimaced. "You do realize you're being absurd, don't you?"

"Sometimes yeah. Sometimes I think you'd be happier with someone like...Blair."

"Blair?" She laughed out loud. "That's pretty gross. It'd be like dating my brother."

"Don't pretend you miss my point. If not Blair...well, hey, you and Rafe could sing beautiful show tunes together."

She laughed harder. "You're kidding, and I'm glad. You were getting way too serious for a few minutes there."

"What's the joke, Sum? I know you think it's funny, but I can't help it." He shrugged.

"Yeah, but...Rafe?"

"Why not? He's a young guy, I guess he's good looking."

"Sure, but I don't think we're compatible, you know?"

"You guys don't get along?" Jim was puzzled.

"Sure we do. He's a pal."

"So what's with the laughter?"

A disbelieving smile flitted over her face. "Are you really trying to pawn me off onto one of your friends?"

He met her eyes. "Of course not. But --"

"No buts. Sheesh, Jim, after all the two of us have gone through...the fact that you're still having doubts about me is a little less than inspiring, you know?"

"Not doubts," he argued quickly.

"No?" Her smile was gone now, and she looked at him seriously. "Fine. Then do me a favor. Think about it for a minute, really hard. Do you honestly think, knowing me, that I would be happier with anyone else in the world?"

He studied her, obediently taking the time to think about it. He knew exactly how he would feel if she ever did take him up on his offer to go find happiness in other pastures. He knew how much it would devestate him. Never mind the fact that she was five months pregnant with his daughter. If she were to go away...well, the loss would be staggering, and he didn't think he was exaggerating at all when he said that.

But how would she feel? Really. That was tougher to guess. He had to silence the constant voice inside of him, that little doubt that said she deserved better. That voice convinced him sometimes that yes, she really would be happier somewhere else.

Ignoring that, though, he concentrated on her. On what he knew about her.

And a moment later, a smile creased his face. "No. I guess not."

She relaxed. "Thank God!"

His smile grew, the tension draining out of him quickly. "It's just hard to believe sometimes, you know? I can never figure out what I did right to deserve being happy."

"Being happy? Jim, everyone deserves that. What you have to figure out is what miracles you accomplished in a past life to deserve ME."

He chuckled. "That too."

She reached out and hugged him tightly, breathing a contented sigh onto his neck. And she pulled away just as quickly. "Now that that's settled, I think we left Evita somewhere in the second act, right?"

He groaned. "Aww, come one. We just had a moment. Doesn't that deserve silence or something?"

"Nope. That deserves big, grand, epiphany-type music." She started back for the stairs, but glanced back at him with a quiet laugh. "Rafe." She shook her head.

He followed her, now at ease enough to ask. "All right, what's with Rafe? You know something I don't?"

"I can't believe you would even --" She stopped abruptly, and glanced back at him. "Hang on. You really don't know, do you?"

"Know what?"

"Aw, man. Guys are so dense."

"What do you-" Jim stopped as the front door opened beneath them.

"Hey, all. I'm home!"

"Evening, dear. Have a good day at the office?" he called back down.

Blair's chuckle reached his ears easily. "Sure, Jim. Fantastic day. Teaching bored kids who don't give a crap, and listening to boring lectures by professors that don't give a crap. One hundred percent party." He spoke in a normal voice, knowing Jim would hear.

As the sounds of some song about Argentina crying wafted out of his room, Jim rolled his eyes and turned, starting down the stairs. "Your turn on dinner tonight, Chief."

"I know, I know." Blair was heading for his room. "You order the pizza, I'll sign the check."

"Say, Blair?"

After dropping his books on his bed, Blair came back out to the living room, headed for the kitchen. "Yeah?"

"You know what's so funny about me suggesting Summer and Rafe get together?"

Blair stopped midstride. He turned a surprised look to Jim, opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again. He went into the kitchen finally. "Man, you two have the weirdest conversations."

"Look who's talking."

"I can think of a lot of funny things about that, yeah."

"No, I mean something specific. About Rafe. Is he engaged or something and I just didn't hear about it?"

Blair grinned and offered Jim a beer from the fridge. Jim nodded and Blair grabbed another bottle, heading for the table, where he sat with a tired sigh. "Where did all this come from?"

Jim shrugged. "We were talking --"

"Which translates into, one of you was having a crisis of confidence, and the other was knocking some sense into them. Right?"

"Uh. Yeah. Kind of."

Blair chuckled, but didn't say anything.

"So I was...you know, kinda listing some other guys she could...you know."

"Jim, Jim, Jim. You're not too old, your job's not too dangerous, you're not too tall, you're not too funny looking, you weren't born under the wrong sign. You're not any of the things you were thinking today, and I hope she managed to convince you of that this time."

"I think she did." Jim grinned. "But that's not the point."

"And the point is? What, that you suggested Rafe and she laughed?"

"Pretty much."

Blair took a swallow from his bottle. "I'd have laughed too."

"Why?"

"Because." Blair shrugged. "Rafe's gay."

Jim almost lost his beer. "Rafe's WHAT??"

"Gay. Homosexual. Queer. A friend of Dorothy. Not straight." Blair saw the confusion still evident on his friend's face. "C'mon, Jim, you know this song. A man who is attracted in ways not fraternal to other men. Someone who-"

"Bull shit." Jim shook his head with a grin.

"You asked."

"And you're kidding. You're kidding, Blair. You expect me to believe...come on."

"What? I'm surprised you don't know already."

"Yeah, Jim." Summer appeared in the kitchen. "You'd think you would have overheard a conversation or something. He's always talking about that new guy he's seeing...Joe."

"Joe? Joe is a GUY?"

Blair laughed. "Not short for Joanne, Jim. Short for Joseph."

Jim stared between the two of them for a long moment. Finally he shook his head. "Bull shit," he said again, less convinced of himself this time.

"Believe what you want, man." Blair glanced up at Summer. "So, how was your day? Aside from playing nursemaid to Jim's fragile ego."

She grinned. "Oh, it wasn't that bad. I think I'm getting claustrophobic, though. I've got to get out of this place more often."

He sat up. "Oh, hey. That reminds me. There's a surprise party being planned for Joel. Henri came by the U, told me to tell you that Deb's been trying to reach you to help her plan it. Apparently you guys aren't answering the phone." Blair raised his eyebrows.

She held up her hands. "Not on purpose. I keep the stereo kinda loud, though. Blame Jim, he's the one with satellite dishes for ears."

Blair smiled up at her. "You could pretend not to be so focused on each other you don't remember to even check the messages."

"Spare me the lecture, Blair. So what did Deb say?"

"This is gonna be a woman thing. Apparently she doesn't think us guys can keep a secret. So you'll have to ask her the details."

She grinned. "Yes! A mission! A reason to get out of bed! A party!"

"Yeah, but....GAY?"

The two of them stopped their chatter and looked at Jim. He was still staring, incredulous.

"Hi, Jim. Welcome to the nineties. We're glad you stopped by."

Jim stared at his partner. "Rafe?"

Summer grinned over at Blair. "He's cute when he's speechless, isn't he?"

"I dunno," Blair responded thoughtfully. "Let's ask Rafe."

The pair laughed.

Jim blinked, turning the idea over in his head. Rafe. Gay.

Rafe. The chic, living magazine-cover of a cop who...

Oh, hey.

"He does dress really well," Jim pondered out loud. "But...but he's had girlfriends. I've known some of them. Some of them work at the station."

Blair sighed. "All right, Jim, you wanna talk about this? Rafe explained it to me this way. You remember that case we had a few months back, when the Feds tried to sneak Rafe into that group of rapists that hung out at Legends?"

Jim nodded quickly. That one was hard to forget. Not only was it Jim's chance to see his partner dressed like the quintessential leather fetishist, but it had also ended in Rafe and Blair getting kidnapped, and Rafe coming alarmingly close to dying after being shot in the chest. "Sure."

"I think it kind of knocked some things into perspective for Rafe. He told me he's been in denial for a long time. He was overcompensating with all the girlfriends. It wasn't until he had to go undercover that he had his first real contact with the gay community." Blair shrugged. "It's easy to figure out. There's this tribe in Africa, related to the Maori, that makes each one of it's warrior men sleep with another man at least once, just to help them make --"

"Whoa, Chief. Travel back to America for a minute. You're saying being kidnapped by serial rapists made Rafe realize he was one of them?"

"Oh, that is so not it. Before we got kidnapped. He said it occurred to him when he was first at that club. He went off to dance, see, and he told me later that it was great, that he felt really at home there, with the people, with the lifestyle, you know? Tell me you understand this, Jim. I'd hate to find out you're close-minded about this kind of thing."

"I...well, I..." Jim shrugged. "It's hard to imagine. Rafe."



"Hey, Jim, you got the paperwork on the Smith case?" Jim blinked up at Rafe. "Um. No, gave it to Simon."

"Darn. Thanks anyway." Rafe turned and headed for the back office.

Jim watched him go, knowing he was staring, feeling bad for doing it, but unable to control himself. He almost expected the man to be moving differently now. Swaying his hips when he walked or something. It was ridiculous, yeah, but Jim didn't have much experience with this sort of thing.

"Jim?" Blair's quiet voice reached his ears.

Jim turned a guilty face to his Guide. "What?"

"Stop looking at him like that. Geez. He's not gonna look any different now that you know more about him."

Jim cleared his throat slightly and faced his paperwork. "I didn't think he would."

"Yeah, right. You're the classic self-conscious straight guy, Jim. Let me save you some time and ease your mind a little bit. Rafe isn't gonna show up for work in a dress or wearing make-up, he's not gonna break out into some Liza Minelli tune for no reason. And he doesn't want you just because you're a guy. Okay?" Blair's eyes were locked to Jim.

"Relax, Chief. It's taking me a little while to get used to the whole thing, that's all. Believe it or not, I've had gay friends before."

Blair's eyebrows shot up. "Yeah, but there's a difference between meeting a man you know is gay and facing a long-time friend who's come out of the closet. Trust me on this."

"Speaking from experience? Not just Rafe, huh?" "Nope," Blair chuckled slightly. "I never told you about Wyler Evans, did I?"

"Wyler? Name sounds familiar. Weren't you tutoring him or something?"

Blair nodded. "Yeah. He's been in classes with me since my second year at Rainier. I've known him for a long time. We weren't best friends or anything, but we'd go out for a beer after class sometimes. So this one night, maybe six months ago, he turns to me in this bar and tells me he needs advice. He says he's got this new relationship, and wants to tell his mother about it, but he's scared. I say, oh, really? What is she, sixteen years old? Another race? What? He says no, she's a he." Blair shook his head with a grin. "So first thing I think is, oh, shit, I'm sitting at a bar sharing drinks with this gay man who's talking about a new relationship. Of course I assume he's talking about me. So I start stammering that I'm flattered, but I never had any pull that way, et cetera."

"Uh huh. And? He took a step back, right? Didn't try to force you in to anything."

Blair laughed. "Jim, he wasn't even talking about me. He'd had this boyfriend for weeks. He laughed at me, told me not to flatter myself. Made me feel like an idiot, 'cause of course he was right. I had automatically assumed he would want me. Don't know why, I don't feel that way with every woman I meet." He shrugged. "I think it's something about men. We're so conscious about our sexuality. Obsessed, you know?" Blair's voice was speeding up, excited, and his hands began waving -- lecture mode. "Everything about it. We're afraid to let other guys watch us in the bathroom cause we're worried about our size, right? And we're always bragging more than we have to about when we do score on a date, and we're like SO obsessed with homosexuality."

Jim laughed somewhat. "I wouldn't say obsessed, Chief."

"Sure we are. Maybe one percent of straight men in the world are truly comfortable around a guy they know is gay. 'Cause they're always thinking, what if he wants me? What if he makes a move? What if -- heaven forbid -- I actually respond to it? It shakes men up, y'know?" Jim found himself thinking it was ridiculous. But he suddenly caught himself as his eyes went surreptitiously around the room to make sure no one was listening in on him and his partner talking.

Huh. Maybe he was self-conscious after all.

"Look at us, man." Blair was still going, his eyes bright with the same energy he put into his lectures in class. The same energy that he had when he told his countless stories. The energy that made people who wouldn't have given the story an ounce of attention coming from anyone else stare in fascination until Blair was through talking. "Here we are, we're roommates, we're best friends, we're partners. You told me yourself once that people see us and they think we're together, you know? And that freaked me out, remember? Me, Mr. Openminded."

Jim remembered that conversation. "Yeah." He had laughed at Blair for getting so upset when Jim told him there were rumors the two of them were a couple, but he'd felt the same reaction when he had first heard those rumors.

"So you see, it's almost ingrained in men now to be obsessed with-"

"Blair, I hate to interrupt your dissertation on male sexual habits, but..." Jim smiled up at Rafe as he came over to them from Simon's office.

"Jim, Blair, you guys remember this witness who saw the guys dumping Smith in that alley?"

"Sure. Homeless man, real funny guy." Blair grinned at the memory. That was one witness he'd liked talking to.

"Yeah, well. I think he's a little more involved than you think he is."

Jim was watching Rafe's face as he talked. "What? Oh, um. I mean, why do you say that?" Rafe's brow furrowed. "You okay, Jim?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Okay. Well, the guy's turned up as a witness again. Same alley, same MO. We're talking serial attack here."

Jim winced. "Shit."

Rafe nodded his agreement. Smith hadn't just been attacked. He'd been beaten badly, and there was evidence of rape. "Just turned up yesterday. And your homeless man was stopped at the scene. He came up with another story about the same van and a bunch of men, but he didn't want to talk this time."

"So he was just found at the scene? Again?" Jim's eyes narrowed.

"Looks like it. You said you knew where this guy liked to pass his time?"

Blair spoke up with a frown. "He spends some nights at the shelter on Fifth, he told me." He was disappointed -- that guy had been so much fun. "But I hope you're wrong about this."

"I don't." Rafe remarked flatly. "If we're right, and we get this guy to talk, we've got our attackers before they can hit again."

Blair saw the tightness in his face and knew Rafe was thinking about the similar cases months ago, the ones that had led to him being approached by the FBI about going undercover.

Jim seemed to notice it, too. "Rafe, you want us to take this one? We've already got a bead on the witness, we can trade you and H for this convenience store killing we just got." Rafe seemed to relax in front of his eyes. "Uh, hey, if you really want it. I'll check with Simon." He bolted back towards the office.

Blair turned to Jim with a frown. "Um, look, man, that was real nice of you and all, but I don't know if I really want to work on this either."

Jim frowned. "I didn't think you would." Blair still shuddered sometimes when he thought about what had almost happened to him in the lush house the kidnappers had dragged Rafe and him to those months ago. "And I hate to sound insensitive here, Chief, but Rafe's probably had more nightmares about it than you have."

Blair nodded slowly, unhappy. "I know. And I still owe him. He almost died, Jim. Because he saved me from being...I mean, yeah. Sure. No problem."

"Yes, problem. And I'm sorry about it. I'll keep you as far from it as I can." Jim took a glance at the file Rafe had left behind on his desk. "It's probably not the same guys, Blair," he said quietly as he took in the report on the first victim. He made sure to hold the folder so Blair couldn't get a glimpse at the crime scene photos.

"Probably not." Blair wasn't convinced, but he shrugged, trying to be casual. "Well, either way, why don't you finish typing that report already so we can get out of here?"

Jim set the file aside quickly. "If you're in such a hurry, why don't you type it yourself?"

"Can't. Simon might see. You know what he said about me doing all the paperwork."

"Yeah, yeah." Jim turned his fragmented thoughts back to the computer screen, pecking away at the keyboard again with the two-fingered method that drove Sandburg up the wall.

He stopped after a minute and looked over at his partner. "Does Henri know?" "Know what?" Blair met his eyes, then smiled somewhat. " About Rafe. Oh, man, you are obsessed, aren't you? Sure, Henri knows. Henri's probably known longer than Rafe has."

Jim shook his head with a sigh. "Go figure. What about Simon?"

Blair laughed. "I don't know, Jim. I didn't stop to ask everyone if they knew the details of Rafe's sex life."

"Oh. Yeah. Guess not." Jim turned back to the screen after a minute. Yeah, this was gonna take some getting used to.





Summer looked up over the book she was reading when her two loftmates returned from work. "Hey, you two. How's the exciting world of crime-fighting?"

"Don't ask," Blair muttered as he went straight to his room.

Immediately concerned, Summer dropped her book and stood, going to Jim. "What happened?"

Jim grabbed her in a quick hug and gave her a greeting kiss. "We just got a monster of a case. Nothing I wanna bring home with me."

She nodded. "All right. Just...tell me if you ever need to, okay?" He smiled. "Sure. Say, how about the three of us going out for dinner tonight?"

Her eyebrows shot up. "It's your night to pay. As long as you remember that, we're cool."

"Just let me hop in the shower."

"Sure." She squeezed his arm and let him by, her eyes going to Blair's room. After a moment of debating, she went to the closed door and knocked.

"Yeah?"

"Can I come in for a sec?"

Blair opened his door a moment later. "Hey. Sorry about being antisocial."

She smiled slightly. "No problem. Everyone has their days. Hard day at work, huh?"

"You can say that again. And we haven't even started." Blair sighed, going back over to his bed and flopping onto his back.

"Jim's gonna take us out to eat," she said after a minute.

"Oh? Good. I'm not ready to handle another one of his 'stews'."

She grinned. "So we're gonna forget about work and have some fun, right?"

There was a pause, and he sat up suddenly. "Right." "Good." She held out a hand.

He took it and stood quickly. The two of them headed out of his room just as the phone rang.

Summer held up a hand to stop Blair and went to pick it up. "Ellison, Sandburg, and Associates. How may I direct your call?...Oh, hi, Rafe. You'll never...what?" Her smile vanished. "Yeah. Hang on." She handed the phone to Blair silently.

He came over and took it quickly. "Rafe?"

"Blair." The young detective sounded breathless. "I need some help. I can't reach Henri, and Simon's gone, and I don't know who else to call. I didn't want you to get involved, but I need some-"

"Whoa, slow down. What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"Blair, it's...I think I'm being followed. I think it's...well, someone I don't really want to see. I don't want to go home, in case they follow me, but I don't know where else to go."

"Where are you?" Blair asked immediately, hearing the tight fear in Rafe's voice.

"Downtown, on Main. Payphone by the gas station."

"Good. Get somewhere....hey, you know that Chinese place on the corner? You should be able to see it from where you are."

"Wok This Way?"

Blair grimaced. "Yeah. Not my idea of fine dining, but we were about to go eat anyway. Why don't we meet you there in ten minutes or so?"

Rafe breathed into the phone. "Thanks, Blair. I'm probably being stupid but-"

"No problem. Just get in that restaurant and stay there." Blair hung up and went to the foot of the stairs. "Jim?" he called up. "We gotta go!"

"I heard, be there in a minute."

Blair turned and met Summer's confused, apprehensive expression. "He's okay. It's probably nothing."

She relaxed slightly. "Hope you're right."

Jim started down the steps quickly. "Let's go. Even if this is nothing, the guy's scared. His heart was going a mile a minute."

Summer grabbed her jacket, and they went out the door without another word.





"Hey, guys." Rafe was looking a little more relaxed when they stepped into the restaurant a few minutes later.

"Rafe. You okay?" Jim went right up to the younger man, ignoring the hostess with the garish kimono.

"Yeah. I think...well, hey, you mind if I join you for dinner?"

"Sure, come on." Jim could see the tension that still remained in Rafe's body, and knew the man didn't want to be alone right then.

Once the four of them were seated and waiting for their drinks, Jim faced him squarely. "All right, you wanna tell us what happened?"

Rafe shrugged. "There was this car following me. I was sure I was just being paranoid, but I made a few circles around Main and he stuck with me. Stopped at a red light and got a pretty good look at the driver through the rear view mirror." He frowned. "I thought I recognized the guy, but I don't know. Once I stopped at the gas station to call you, he must have left."

"So who did you think it was?"

Rafe's eyes went to Blair suddenly, and he paused. "Uh, nobody really. Just someone I met a long time ago."

Jim frowned. "Rafe, if this is for real, we have a right to know who it was."

"I know, I know. I just...well, this new case has been bringing up some bad memories, and I'm thinking now I might have just imagined the guy there."

Jim looked from Rafe to Blair, and saw a sudden understanding dawning in the eyes of the Guide. "This was somebody from that Legends case?"

Rafe nodded reluctantly.

"This is serious, Rafe." Jim glanced over at Blair and saw the pale, unhappy knowledge in his eyes. "We've got a new case that has the same MO, and now you're being followed by one of the guys that got away."

"I said I could have just imagined it, Jim," Rafe protested.

"Do you think that's what it was?" Jim retorted.

Rafe hesitated, thinking back, then shuddered slightly. "No. I think it was him."

"It was that white-haired guy, wasn't it?" Blair asked quietly.

Rafe nodded. "Yeah. I don't even know what his name was."

"Eugene Melton," Jim said quietly.

"What?" Two pairs of eyes turned to him.

"Eugene Melton. At least, that's the name of the man who owned the house they took you to. I looked it up after the FBI got out of our hair."

Rafe and Blair looked at each other, then back at their menus silently.

"Um." Beside Rafe, Summer cleared her throat slightly. "I really hate to be a wet blanket here, but the guy is gone, right?"

"I think so," Rafe replied quietly.

"Okay. So why don't we enjoy our food right now, then you can come back to the loft with us and we'll get serious there."

Jim looked across the table at her, then nodded slightly. "You definitely shouldn't go to an empty apartment if this guy is back and knows you survived his attack."

"Good. Decided. No more talk about this guy." Summer was stubborn. "There've got to be other things we can talk about."

There was silence for a moment.

"Oh, this is great. Three guys looking at me like I just killed their dog, and nobody wants to say anything. Fine, you know what? I have to go to the little girl's room. When I get back, be talking about something else, huh?" She stood without a word.

"Hang on, Sum. I'll walk ya. Need to powder my nose." Blair smiled crookedly and stood with her, and the two headed off for the bathrooms.

Jim sighed. "This stinks."

"Yeah," Rafe nodded his agreement.

The two men were quiet for a long moment.

Jim tried to distance his mind from the case, but sitting across from Rafe now, he could only think of one other topic. "So. Uh. How's Joe?"

Rafe grinned slightly. "Fine, really good."

Jim cleared his throat slightly. "What does..uh, what does he do?" This was as good a time as any to see if Blair and Summer were pulling his leg.

Rafe's eyes grew, and he studied Jim for a minute. "He...he's an intern over at Cascade General."

Jim realized then that Rafe hadn't quite come out of the closet to everyone yet. He hadn't thought Jim knew. Sure enough, thinking back to when Jim had heard Rafe talk about the mysterious Joe, he couldn't remember every having heard a single pronoun. It was always Joe this or Joe that, never he or she. Jim assuming Jo was short for Joanne was no accident.

And now Rafe's eyes were on him, studying his reaction. Jim gave him a small smile. "Just tell me you guys don't go to Legends together."

Rafe chuckled slightly, nervously. "Nope. Haven't set foot in the place. It's not one of the most respectable of the clubs around here, believe it or not."

"I believe it." Jim relaxed slightly.

"So...so you're okay with this, right?"

Jim shrugged. "It took me a little by surprise. I wish I'd heard it from you, but yeah. It's fine with me."

Rafe grinned, relieved. "Not that I didn't want to tell you. But...I dunno. You're kinda stiff sometimes, Jim."

"Stiff?" Jim raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah. Summer told me about you trying to censor her musical choices."

"Oh, come on. Just because I don't like Broadway doesn't mean I'm stiff."

"No. You're stiff because you're stiff. The music thing just proves the point."

Jim threw the young man a challenging look. "You wanna see stiff? I can be stiff. Ask Blair, he's seen me stiff before. Ask Henri."

"Oh, Jim, c'mon. H filled me in on what an asshole you used to be. I didn't know you then, but it's beside the point. However you used to be, the important thing is you're stiff now. You've got to learn to lighten up." "Oh? And you and Summer are gonna teach me by forcing me to listen to Rodgers and Hammerstein?"

"Not at all. But I could help." Rafe got a mischevious look on his face. "You ever see The Birdcage?"

"Yeah." Jim's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"You remember that scene where he's learning to act like a man?"

Jim laughed out loud. "Rafe, if you tell me you're about to teach me to act like a woman..."

Rafe grinned. "No, not a woman. Just not a big tightass macho cop."

Jim's eyes gleamed with humor. "You're forgetting, Rafe. I pulled an undercover stint at Legends once myself."

He shot out of his chair suddenly, walking towards the middle of the dining room, hips swaying and hands held out, working like he was on a runway. He spun gracefully and came sashaying back to the table, lifting a hand and snapping his finger in Rafe's face. "So there, girlfriend."

Rafe was hysterical with laughter as Jim sat back down primly. "Oh my God, to be a camera!"

Jim laughed himself, seeing that the remaining tension had left his friend, and turned back to examine the rest of the restaurant. He was almost disappointed that Blair was nowhere in sight to catch the performance. That would have shown him who the tightass was.





Gene Melton watched the two men with narrowed eyes. He sat in the shadows in the back booth, his gaze never leaving the table on the other side of the room. He had seen the long-haired man, recognized him as the other cop, the one who was helping Rafe maintain his cover. But that man didn't bother him. He had been scared out of his mind those months ago. He had run for help when Rafe had assisted with his escape.

No, looking at the curly-haired officer didn't bother Melton. But he watched the remaining two men with interest. The long-haired one had left with the woman sitting with them, and the two men were now alone, sitting across from each other. Gene watched them talking and laughing together, and saw the larger man's sudden prance around the room and Rafe's enthusiastic reaction with narrowed eyes.

So Rafe had come out of the closet to his cop buddies. And this must be his new man. Better than the leather queen he'd tried to pass the other officer off as. Actually not bad at all, if a little too macho for Gene's taste.

A grim smile flitted over Melton's features, and he stood quickly, making his way across the restaurant and to the door before Rafe could look over and see him there.

Stepping out into the night air, Melton set off with a purpose. He had calls to make, friends to gather together.

His plan now required twice as much effort as he thought it was going to.



Two days later --

"Summer, come on!"

"Will you hold your horses? It's not my fault you slept in."

Jim stood impatiently outside the bathroom door. "I'm gonna be late, Simon's gonna fire me, I'm not going to be able to support my wife and child, we're all gonna die of hunger on the streets. Is that really what you want?"

"Oh, dear lord. Get in here." Summer swung the door open, marching past him into the living room.

Jim grinned back at her. "Thank you, darling."

"Knock it off." She sounded grouchy, but suddenly broke into her thousand-watt smile. "I liked it just then when you called me your wife. Sounded nice."

Jim paused in the middle of shutting the door. "Are you trying to sweet talk me?"

"Not any more than you were."

Jim grinned. "Good. You know, once we actually go through this ceremony, you're gonna get sick of being referred to as my wife."

She fluttered her eyebrows. "Never, sweet cheeks."

Jim growled and came at her. "Sweet cheeks?" He wrapped his arms around her waist and looked down at her fondly. "Isn't there a certain amount of time we have to be together before you can use ridiculous nicknames?"

She laughed. "According to who?"

A blur of motion suddenly went springing behind them, and the bathroom door was slammed shut.

Jim wheeled around. "Dammit, Blair! It was my turn."

"Sorry, sweet cheeks," Blair called back as the sounds of the shower coming on reached his ears. "First come first serve."

Jim looked down at Summer. "Thanks heaps."

Wide eyes blinked up at him. "It's not my fault the place only has one bathroom. You're the man of the house, why don't you do some remodelling?"

"Everything has to be my fault," Jim complained, breaking away and heading for the kitchen. "We don't pick up the phone, blame the guy who's supposed to be able to hear it. We're late for work? Blame Jim for not knocking down a wall and putting in a second bathroom."

"Oh, stop griping. You know you love taking care of the two of us." She followed on his heels. "Besides, once young Harriet is born, you'll have another person to watch. You have to get your practice in."

Jim grimaced. "Harriet? No way in hell."

"Well? The only thing you've suggested so far is Jamie, and don't think I didn't notice that it's the closest female version of Jim Jr. there is."

"And? I suppose you want to name her Evita."

Summer rolled her eyes and sat down, watching him scramble around grabbing breakfast ingredients. "Not a chance. Evita Ellison?"

"Harriet Ellison?" Jim remarked just as distastefully.

"All right, Harriet's out. We've got to decide on something, though. The kid's probably developed ears by now, it's gonna hurt her feelings if she hears we haven't named her yet."

"What about Grace? Grace Ellison."

"Your mother's name? I dunno. Maybe."

Jim grinned suddenly. "Oh, hell. I've got the perfect name. Autumn."

"Autumn and Summer? No way."

He heaved a sigh. "Well, fine. We've only got four more months to think of something, though."

"I'm sure us two creative people will be able to make it under the wire."



"Well, why can't you name her after your best friend in the world?"

"Simon's a boy's name."

"Ha ha."

Jim glanced at the passnger side of the truck. "Blair Ellison? You want my daughter to go through life with the name Blair?"

Blair turned a wounded look to him. "Okay. Why not...Sandburg? You can call her Sandy."

"No, Chief."

"Chief! Chief Ellison." Blair grinned.

Jim laughed.

"You have no sense of imagination, man."

Jim pulled the truck into a parking space and turned off the engine. He sat for a minute, blinking out at the dim lights of the parking garage, before opening his door.

Blair climbed out and went to his partner's side quickly. "Wanna play hooky, Jim? Nobody's seen us yet."

Jim hesitated, wishing for a moment that he could consider the idea seriously. "Sorry, Blair. You're only here for the morning, right?"

"Yeah. Brown's taking me to the U around noon, when he leaves to pick up Cliff."

"Oh, that's right." Jim followed Blair into the elevator and pressed the button. "Today's the big driving test, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Poor H," Jim remarked, remembering Henri complaining about his son's driving lessons.

Blair grinned. "That's gonna be you in sixteen years."

Jim laughed slightly, but it faded.

Sixteen years. He'd be...too old. Summer and Blair would be about his age, his daughter would be learning to drive. And he'd be nursing home fodder.

"Aww, man, what's crawled up your butt this time? Why the frown, Jim?"

"Nothing." Jim stared at the shut doors in front of him.

Blair studied his friend for a long moment, then turned forward. "Why are you even worrying about this? I don't get it. You've never been this absorbed in your age before."

Surprised Blair had read his thoughts so well, it took Jim a minute to respond. "I don't know, Blair. I never had to think about it long-term before."

"You're worried over nothing," Blair remarked firmly as the elevator doors swung open.

"Jim, Blair!" Henri came over to them the second they stepped out of the elevator. "This was not a good day for you guys to be late. We got another victim this morning, and it's serious."

Jim cursed under his breath. "Who was it this time?"

Henri blew out a breath. "Guy named Joe Whitfield."

Jim blinked. Henri was too serious. "Joe Whitfield? Should that be familiar to me?"

"Not as familiar as it is to Rafe," Brown replied flatly.

Blair drew in a breath. "You mean that's Rafe's Joe?"

"Yeah. And that's not all. I'm taking you guys to the crime scene."

Jim looked around for Rafe, but the young detective was nowhere in sight. "Yeah, let's get over there."





The apartment was nice, well-furnished, classy. Wall to wall plush carpeting that was stained with blood. And light-blue walls smeared with a message. Two words, spray-painted in huge letters. 'You're next.'

Behind him, there was a choked sound, and Jim turned immediately to face Blair. "Hey, Chief, how you doing? You know you can wait outside."

Blair was pale, but determined. "No, man. This is our case. This was Rafe's friend. If I can help, I have to be here."

"Fine. But I'm going to uncover the body, you don't need to see that. Why don't you go out and see if anyone knows where Rafe is?"

Blair nodded shakily, not questioning the ploy to get him out of the room. He backed out quickly.

Only when Jim was sure he was gone did he go over to the white sheet on the floor. He nodded to the medic, and held his breath as the man drew back the sheet.

Oh, hell.

Jim almost took a step back, but he controlled himself, crouching down beside the corpse.

Looking down at the body, Jim still had no idea what Joe Whitfield looked like. His face was one large bruise, his hair was stained with red. He was naked under the sheet, and his body was...destroyed. Jim could think of no other word for it.

Jim stood up shakily, nodding to the medic to cover the body again. He would go through the apartment with his senses, and if he could find absolutely nothing to help, only then would he examine that body more closely.

"Jim?"

He turned at the voice, and saw his captain standing solemnly in the doorway. "Simon."

Simon looked down at the sheet for a minute, then shuddered slightly. He gestured for Jim to come to him.

Which he did, quickly, concerned by the almost haunted look in his friend's eyes. "What happened?"

"Rafe found him," Simon said simply.

"Damn. Where is he?"

"The hospital. He was...he didn't take it well."

Jim let out a vehement oath.

Simon nodded his agreement. "Look, if you don't need him, I'm gonna send Blair over there to stay with him. You and Brown can handle this, can't you?"

Jim hesitated. "Yeah, but..."

"What?"

"Don't send Blair alone. These men are probably watching Rafe."

"He'll be with me, don't worry."

Jim's frown deepened. If Simon was going, Rafe really must have been in bad shape. "All right. Just be careful, huh?"

Simon nodded. "You, too. And Jim? Whatever you have to do to catch these men...do it. Anything you have to do."

Jim turned back to face the room as Simon left. Henri Brown had come in while they were talking, and Jim moved to his side. "H?"

Brown turned dark eyes to him. "Yeah?"

"This case is ours. Rafe and Blair aren't getting near it."

Brown nodded his agreement. "They're already too damn close." He nodded up at the scrawled words on the wall. "That's meant for Rafe, Jim."

"I know." Jim drew in a breath and faced Brown squarely. "I'm gonna tell you some things, Brown. I'm telling you cause I don't want to have to depend on Blair this time around. And I want these guys."

Brown returned his gaze squarely. "What?"

Jim paused. This was it -- the moment of truth. And he hadn't thought about it for a second. His instincts told him to trust Brown, and he listened to them. "There's a reason Blair first came to work with me, a special reason. I know this is gonna sound nuts, Henri, but you have to listen to me."

"Hang on. Does this have something to do with how you can hear and see things no one else can? And why Blair's the only one who can stop you from having those fade-outs you get sometimes?"

Jim nodded, surprised. "Yeah."

"Spare me the whole story, Jim. I think Rafe and I have figured most of it out on our own. I don't know why you're like that, or what Blair is to you, but it doesn't matter. Just turn those senses of yours on high and let's find these bastards."







He had slipped. When he had walked in to Joe's apartment, he'd been expecting a breakfast date. He'd found...

Well, he found what he found. And it had slipped him up. He had forgotten to maintain his cover, his tight mask. He had called Simon, Henri, the ambulance, and now he couldn't remember what he'd said to a single one of them. He knew when Simon had shown up on Joe's doorstep, he was a wreck. He had cried, he had shouted, he had been so out of control Simon had sent him with the ambulance that came, calling for another one to pick up Joe's body.

Joe's body.

'You're next.'

It had all been so clear to Rafe. His mind focused on the few sharp images over and over again- the white-haired face staring straight back at him through the rear-view mirror of his car. The crime scene photos that had been a warning to him. Joe's body, the message scrawled on the walls.

It hadn't been either sight that had made him lose it, though. What had done it was picturing what his boyfriend's last few minutes must have been like. Rafe could remember well enough the cold and complete lack of pity from the men who had tried to kill him. There would have been a lot of them this time. They would have raped Joe, then beat him, then probably raped him more. It wasn't like it had been with Rafe, after all. This time they'd had time to do the job right.

And finally, maybe, they shot him. Just suddenly raised a gun and fired, the way they had with Rafe. And left him there to die. But Joe really had died. Joe didn't have people coming to his rescue, he didn't have Jim or Henri or Blair. Only Rafe. And Rafe hadn't been enough.

He wondered if Joe ever realized, lying there bleeding to death, whose fault it had all been.





"Blair, why don't you get home?"

Blair stirred in his chair, blinking up at Simon. "Oh. Um, I don't know. Is he..."

Simon glanced over at the door to Rafe's bedroom. It had been shut without a sound for almost an hour now. "He's probably sleeping. You want me to take you home?"

"Leave him alone?" Blair shook his head quickly. He couldn't forget the image of Rafe's red-rimmed, emotionless eyes. He was in no condition to be by himself.

"Look, Jim's bringing Henri by in a few minutes. He won't be alone for long."

"When Jim gets here, we'll go." Blair settled back again stubbornly.

Simon nodded after a minute, and took a seat on the small couch. He rubbed his face wearily, his eyes going to the closed door yet again.

Blair watched him. "Simon. I can stay here. Go on and get home."

Simon looked back at him. "No can do. I promised Jim you'd be with me."

Blair smiled somewhat. "You're my keeper now? Great. Jim's delegating mother-hendom to everyone."

"Why haven't they come after you?" Simon asked abruptly, more to himself than to Blair.

Blair frowned, hearing his own thoughts spoken aloud. "I don't know. I know why they'd have more of a grudge against Rafe than me, but Melton's got to know I could identify him." Simon grimaced. "Maybe he doesn't care." He thought for a minute, his mind going back to the body of Rafe's friend. "These men are cruel, Blair. Maybe this is only about revenge."

"God, I hope not."

Simon nodded his agreement.

There was silence, broken by the sounds of footsteps approaching the door.

Immediately alert, the two men stood, Simon drawing his gun quickly.

"It's us, Chief."

Blair went to the door quickly and let his partner in. "Hi, Jim. Henri."

Jim's eyes went right to the closed doorway. "Is Rafe..."

"He's all right." Blair shrugged. "You could tell better than I could right now." His mouth shut abruptly, his eyes going to Henri as though just remembering he was standing there.

Henri saw the stark look and smiled tightly. "A day ago you could have told me that was a slip of the tongue."

Jim saw Blair's confusion. "I told Henri, Chief."

Wide blue eyes faced the Sentinel. "You told him..."

"Everything. Actually, I only filled in what he and Rafe hadn't already guessed." Jim shrugged. "We were being stupid to think we could fool them for so long."

"I guess so." Blair's surprised eyes went back to Henri. "So...wow. So you know."

Henri faced Jim. "Tell us. Is Rafe okay?"

Jim stretched out his hearing, past the shut door and into the bedroom. He frowned. "His heart's racing pretty fast. A nightmare, maybe?"

Henri went to the door immediately, knocking quietly. "Hey, Rafe?"

Rafe answered clearly, not sounding the least like he'd been sleeping. "Henri."

"Can I come in, partner?"

"Sure."

Henri opened the door a crack, and peered in at his friend.

Rafe was sitting on his bed, back against the wall, knees drawn up to his chest. He was calm, looking back at Brown. "How'd the investigation go?"

"Hey, let's skip that for now, huh?"

"No. How did it go?"

Henri paused, but reported finally. "Jim found a couple of things. We know how many there were, that's about it."

Rafe blinked, but showed no real response. "Cliff pass his test?"

It took Brown a minute to register the sudden change of subject, and he studied his partner closely. "I didn't take him, Rafe."

The younger man looked down at his watch. "You have time. DMV doesn't close until five."

Henri came further in to the room. "Rafe, it's not important right now."

"Sure it is. Cliff's been talking about it for weeks. Why don't you take him?"

"Hey, Rafe?" Jim stuck his head in the door, concern pinching his features. Rafe's heart was still beating way too fast, even as he sat there calmly. "We're out here if you need anything, man."

Rafe unraveled himself slowly and stood. He walked past Henri and Jim and into the living room, looking out at Simon and Blair before actually responding to Jim's words. "I need to be alone. For a while. If nobody minds."

Simon shook his head. "Sorry, Rafe. I know it's been a bad day, but you can't be alone. It's not safe."

Rafe seemed to think about that. He nodded slowly. "Fine. But I can't handle the crowd right now. Simon, you and Blair get out of here. You've been babysitting me for a few hours already. Henri, go take Cliff to get his test. Jim..."

Jim spoke quickly. "I have no problem hanging around, Rafe. Or you could come back to the loft."

Back to the happy loft with the happy engaged couple and their happy roommate. "No thanks."

Jim shrugged. "Then I'll stay here. I can cook you some dinner."

Henri's eyes were still on Rafe, worried. "Are you sure you're gonna be all right?"

Rafe shrugged. "You could...uh, you could come back. After the test. Tell me what happened?"

Hnri didn't need to hear the request in Rafe's voice- he would probably have come anyway. "Sure."



The sound of the telephone ringing aroused Blair from his stupor. "'lo?"

"Chief?" Jim's voice was amused. "You're not dozing in front of your laptop again, are you?"

Blair blinked around at the living room, seeing the static on the television set, and the screensaver lit up on his computer screen. He closed the laptop with a sheepish smile. "No, of course not."

"Uh huh. Listen, I'm gonna crash here tonight. Can you get to the station okay tomorrow morning?"

"Yeah, no problem. Simon's already arranged to come get me." Blair rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, sitting up straighter. "How's Rafe doing?"

"Better," Jim spoke like he believed it. Blair relaxed slightly. "He's feeling really guilty, but I think he'll be all right."

"Good."

"Yeah. Look, tell Summer I'm sorry about all this."

Blair smiled crookedly. "You think she needs an apology? Actually, she wants to come see him tomorrow morning, if it's okay with Rafe."

"Hang on, I'll ask."

Blair waited, listening to the quiet muffled voices on the other side of the phone line.

"Blair?"

"Yeah?"

"Rafe says he'd like her to come. Hey, and could you ask her to bring by some clothes for me? I'm not sure Rafe's style really suits me."

Blair could tell Jim was saying it where Rafe could hear, and hoped the remark had garnered at least a smile from the upset young man. "No problem. See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Night, Chief."

"Night, Jim."



Jim smiled over at Rafe somewhat. "All right, business taken care of. What say we hit the sack? Got a lot of work to do tomorrow."

Rafe nodded. "Is...are you still..."

"The case is mine and Henri's." Jim informed him. "You and Blair are too involved."

Rafe thought about that for a minute, and was surprised at his own reaction. He should want to find these men, to make sure they paid for what they did to...Joe. Instead he only felt a relieved, empty feeling. "Thanks, Jim. Are you okay out here?"

Jim grinned, throwing himself on the old couch. "Are you kidding? This is better than the one at the loft."

Rafe nodded and started back for his room.

Jim's smile faded as Rafe went out of his sight. He was still moving around like a zombie. Just because Rafe was now smiling at his jokes and responding to his questions, Jim knew that didn't mean he was getting over his shock.

Rafe emerged a minute later, cradling a blanket and pillow in his arms. "Here you go." His movements were awkward as he handed the items to Jim.

"Thanks." Jim threw the pillow by the arm of the couch, and faced Rafe. "Listen, you need anything, just let me know, okay? You have a nightmare, want a hand to hold, don't be proud, okay?"

Rafe's eyebrows shot up, and he nodded slowly. "Okay. Thanks, Jim. For everything."

"Anytime," Jim threw back easily.

Rafe started back towards his room, but paused, turning back to face Jim. "Can we...I mean, are you..." He frowned. "Could we maybe talk for a few minutes?"

Jim sat up. "Sure. Anything you need, remember?"

The younger man nodded and came back towards the couch. "I..." He hesitated, self-conscious. "It's just that I don't want to talk to H about it, and there's really no one else...here."

"Rafe. Don't apologize for it. If you need to talk, talk."

Rafe smiled gratefully and moved to sit on the couch.

A knock on the door stopped him.

"You expecting someone?"

Rafe shook his head silently.

The knock sounded again. "Hey, Rafe?" A friendly enough voice called.

Rafe's brow creased. "Who is it?" he answered back.

"It's me. Come on, let me in."

There was a pause as Rafe tried to identify the voice.

"Look, Rafe, I just heard about Joe. Please, let me in."

Rafe's expression vanished, and he moved to the door, realizing it must be one of Joe's friends. He'd been introduced to a few of them, even had them over. But he wouldn't know their voices. He opened the door silently.

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