The Line Between
by Lucy

Rafe was tired, but humming, in the elevator as the door opened, spilling him into the hubbub that was Major Crimes. He lit up in a smile when he saw the familiar head of dark, curly hair sitting at his desk. "Blair! Great to see you back! How you feeling?"

Blair Sandburg flashed a welcome, if tight, smile in return. "I'm cool. Or, I was until we got in this morning."

Rafe's grin dropped. "Why? What's wrong?"

"Simon's having a cow about something, I don't know. He pulled Henri and Jim in as soon as we got here, they haven't come out yet. Won't tell me anything. This was a bad day to be late, Rafe."

"Uh oh." Rafe's eyes flashed to the windows of Simon's office, and he could make out the figures inside. "Think I should go in?"

"Up to you. Me, I'd wait for Simon. He's not in a good disturb-me mood right now."



"Gotcha." Rafe sauntered over to his desk and threw his jacket down on his chair. Turning back to the Observer, he felt himself relaxing again, all thoughts of Simon and the hushed meeting vanishing. "So, tell me about Belize, man. Before you got hit with the bug, anyway." He stretched, wincing melodramatically at the cricks in his sore back.



Blair grimaced, but a bounciness was in his step as he came energetically to Rafe's side. "It was incredible. I mean, I was only there for a day before I got sick, but it was great. The dig they had going on down there, they were uncovering these great-"

"Is that Rafe I hear out there?"

"Uh oh." At Simon's bellow, Blair went silent. "I think that's your cue."

"Right." Rafe traded a wry smile with the other young man of the Major Crimes office, and made a beeline for Simon's door. He opened it gingerly. "Hi, Simon. Sorry I'm late, but last night was-"

"Where the hell were you yesterday?" Simon barked out in reponse.

Rafe paused, surprised, and glanced over at where his partner and Jim Ellison sat, looking up at him with matching expectant frowns. "Uh...yesterday was my day off, Simon. Was I supposed to be here for something?"

"Just answer the question, detective. Where were you, particularly last night around eleven o'clock?"

Shoving his immediate defensive surprise to the back, he stopped to think about it, then shrugged. "I was at home."

"No, you weren't. Your landlord reported seeing you leave at five till ten."

"My landlord? Simon, what is going on here?"

"Rafe, answer the question."

Rafe faced Henri, who was tense and staring. "What..all right, all right. Ten o'clock was about the time I got that phone call."

"What phone call?"

Rafe blinked at Brown. "Your phone call, man."

Henri sat up. "What? I didn't call you last night, Rafe."

"Sure you did. You told me...c'mon, Brown. This isn't funny." Rafe looked around the room, but nobody was smiling. Rafe snapped. "What the hell is going on here?"

Simon let out a breath. "Last night around ten thirty there was a shootout in the warehouse district. A deal gone sour apparently. We've got three witnesses, neighborhood kids, who say the shooter was selling these local gangland scumbags guns. Deal went sour, shooter killed five men and one innocent kid then made off with most of the weapons and the money. Witnesses say it was a cop."

Rafe grimaced. "Dirty cop? Man, that sucks. So what does this have to do with me? You got some-" He stopped, his jaw going slack, facing Simon squarely.

Simon sat up and gazed straight back at him. "The guns we found were all reported stolen out of the evidence lockers. One gun wasn't. It was dropped by the shooter. We checked the serial, Rafe. It's yours."

Rafe couldn't speak for a minute. Finally he forced air into his lungs. "What? Are you kidding me?"

"Witnesses gave a good description. Young guy, dark hair, well-dressed. And when we checked your house around midnight, you were gone. Now, you wanna tell me what happened last night?"

Rafe shook his head in disbelief. "This is bullshit, Simon. You can't really think I-"

"Rafe, this is already out to the press. The mayor's already on my ass about it. This is major. Now talk to me before IA finds out you're here and is on you before I can help."

"No. No, this is crap. Henri, you can't...." Rafe looked at his partner, his long-time friend, and saw nothing in his cool expression. "Jim, Simon....come on. This is a joke, right?"

Simon stood abruptly, shoving some photographs he was holding in his hands. "Does this look like a joke to you, detective?"

Rafe took the papers instinctively, and gazed down at the photos from the crime scene. There were five bodies, one right on top of the other. Execution, he thought automatically, his mind shuddering revulsion at the thought. And then, the second picture....

Rafe swallowed. Damn, but he hated it when kids got caught in crossfire. This boy couldn't have been much more than ten, and there he was, sprawled, blood pooled, eyes open. "Ah, man," Rafe breathed out.

Simon was glaring. "Now that you realize how much of a joke this isn't, why don't you tell me about last night."

Rafe shook his head in horror, his eyes going from the black and white photos to the face of his boss. "Simon, this is crazy."

Simon's glower softened at the look on the younger man's face. "I know. But it's a mess. I've been dealing with it all night. So far nobody's named any definite names, but we did that gun search on our own. Once IA matches the desription to the serial number, they'll be in here after you. I have to know what happened."

Rafe's mind was racing, going through the events of the night before. His mind returned to the phone call, and his eyes went back over to Brown. "You've got to remember calling me, man. Ten o'clock, remember, I griped about how late it was."

Brown shook his head grimly. "I was at my folks' house with Deb and Cliff until at least ten thirty. Never called you. Sorry, Rafe."

Sorry? Rafe's mind was spinning. Sorry he wouldn't lie to give Rafe an alibi, was that was his partner was saying?

The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that he was the victim of come kind of setup. And going through it in his mind, there wasn't a damned thing he could do to prove it, or to prove his whereabouts the night before.

Stunned, Rafe backed away from the staring eyes. The photos in his hand slipped back down to Simon's desk.

"Where you going, man?" Henri stood quickly.

Rafe gaped at him, seeing in the gesture Henri Brown, his own partner, ready to jump in and arrest him where he stood, ready to swallow the set-up hook, line, and sinker. He backed up against the door, his mind whirling. His hand reached back to turn the knob, and he stumbled out into the office beyond, still shaking his head in disbelief.

"Rafe? Get back in here if you know what's good for you." Simon's voice was rising in anger.

Simon was going to arrest him. Some shootout, some crime he hadn't even known was committed, and Simon would arrest him without a pause.

Rafe watched the three dark figures in the office standing and coming towards the door after him, and he backed up faster.

"Hey, Rafe? What's up, man?"

Blair. Rafe turned and faced the young man. Sandburg would believe him. "Blair..."

Blair stared at the pale face and horrified eyes, and was startled. "What's wrong? What's going on here?" His eyes shifted behind Rafe. "Jim, what's-"

Rafe felt a hand clamp on his shoulder. "Rafe, you might want to get back in the office before this turns bad." Jim didn't sound very friendly.

Simon came out right after him. "C'mon, Rafe. We're trying to help you here. You have to tell us what happened."

Rafe moved away from all of them, eyes wild, like a cornered animal. "You guys are crazy. I didn't do this, you have to know that! Come on, I've worked with you for over two years now. You know me."

Simon nodded. "We know you. But IA doesn't, and it doesn't look good for you. Now, if we're gonna find out who did this and why they're trying to set you up, you have to start talking."

Who set him up. Rafe felt himself relaxing with the words. Thank God, they knew it hadn't been him. They knew it was a setup.

Now all they had to do was figure out what the hell had happened and correct it.



"Come OOOONNNN, Jim! Leave work at the station. It's play time. Literally." Blair giggled as he shouted up the stairs to his partner's room.

Jim didn't sound encouraging. "You want Rafe to fry for some crime he didn't commit, Blair? I need to focus on this, d'you mind?"

"Jim, there's nothing we can do here. And you've been focussed on it for the last twenty-four hours. Time to go relax."



Jim stuck his head down finally to peer at his hyper roommate. "Look, Chief, my idea of relaxing is not going and sitting at some overblown actors trying to make a local writer the next Shakespeare. You want to go? By all means, go. But don't drag me along."

Blair's face fell, and he started up the steps. "Jim, it'll be fun. This is gonna be a great show. And I promised Becky I'd go see it. You need to relax, you need to stop staring at walls trying to think of clues that aren't there, and we need to go out and have fun for one night, damn it!"

Jim blinked over at him. "I don't know, Blair. It's just not my kind of thing. I'll probably start snoring halfway through."

"Then you're coming? Great! I'll call and make sure there're still seats." Blair started back down quickly. "You gonna change out of those jeans? No offense, but I do have to be seen with you, and I have a reputation to maintain."

Jim's laugh reached Blair downstairs. "I don't believe Mr. Thrift Store is worried about his sense of style being offended."



Blair grinned. "This is different," he called as he opened the phone book and started flipping through. "This is the theatre, man. Big time stuff."

"And? People aren't paying to watch us. Mind telling me why we're getting dressed up to go sit in the dark for two hours?"

"Closer to three, probably." Blair threw back.

"Great." Jim shook his head with a sigh and stood quickly, going to his closet.



"At ten minutes before ten o'clock, you claim to have received a telephone call from Detective Henri Brown, your partner. You claim he asked you to drive forty minutes through abandoned highways to meet him at the side of a lake the two of you go visit sometimes. You allege that you drove there, waited for an hour or so, drove back home, and didn't even bother to call him to ask where he was."

"No, I didn't say that. I said my phone was disconnected when I got back home, I couldn't call."

"Your phone just happened to be broken, detective?"

"It's an old building. Old wiring. Things break down a lot."

"And you didn't worry about your partner enough to go to a payphone and find out why he didn't show up?"

"No, I didn't."

"And why is that?"

"Like I said before. Henri likes to plan these little impromptu trips sometimes. And sometimes he falls asleep, or his wife stops him, and he can't call me back. He's done it before."

"And you go out on these three hour trips without a thought?"

"Sure. Most of the time he shows, we have fun. If he doesn't, I stay out there for a while by myself. It's peaceful."

"Assuming we believe you, your partner has said that he placed no phone call to you last night."

"I know that."

"Then how do you explain yourself?"

"I got a phone call. It sounded like Henri, I went along."

"Detective van Ryj, how close are you and Henri Brown?"

"Very close. We're partners."

"You've been partners for years, right?"

"Two and a half, maybe, yeah."

"Have you ever perhaps lied to cover your friend's tracks?"

"What do you-"

"Maybe called him in sick when he wasn't so he could have a day off? Or told his wife he was with you while he went out somewhere? These are things friends do for each other, right?"

"Hang on. I know where you're-"

"Did you think Brown would cover your alibi?"

"Now just hold on."

"You thought he would automatically agree with your story, that's why you used him. That's why you made up some farfetched tale about a late night call and a broken phone, and now that he hasn't played along, you're pretty much in trouble, aren't you?"

"No! That's not what happened. I would never ask Henri to lie for me."

"No?"

"Of course not."

"Well. Maybe you should have. Thanks to your partner's honesty, you have no alibi for the night of the shootout. Unless there's something else you'd like to tell me.....Detective?"

"No. There's nothing else. I've told you everything-"

"Thank you very much. If you would please leave our office and report to your captain, he'll be asking for your badge and gun pending further investigation. Please, don't try to skip town. If you've committed this crime, Detective van Ryj, you can expect that we will nail your ass to the wall and keep you there as an example to other young hotshot cops who think they can make a buck breaking the law."

"Chief?"

"Shut up, Jim."

"Chief. I'm bored."

"Shhhh."

Pause.

"Chief? I'm really bored."

Blair turned exasperated eyes to the seat beside him. "Jim, could you shut up? You've told me twelve thousand three hundred forty seven times that you're bored. I do assimilate things. I'm not bored. Neither is anyone else here. So shut up and suffer, and let us enjoy it."

Jim let out a breath, and watched the action -- or lack thereof -- on the stage for just another minute before he turned his attentions elsewhere. Absently, he stretched his hearing out, aiming backstage of the small theatre.

"Come on, Wyler, you're on in two."

"Someone seen my hair pins?"

"Jesus, Deborah, you've three hundred of them there."

"I need more. Where are my other ones? They were right here during Act One."

"God, this audience sucks tonight, don't they?"

"Yeah, they're kinda quiet."

Jim shook his head with a smile and glanced over at Blair. Sure enough, he was still enraptured, eyes glued to the stage. Jim directed his hearing towards his Guide, and heard the heartbeat -- slightly faster than normal. The breathing -- a little unsteady. "Hey, Chief, you okay?"

"What? Yeah, Jim, stop interrupting the show."

"You're breathing's a little-"

"Jim. Shut. Up."

Jim raised a hand in defeat, but kept his eyes on his partner. Blair was staring. At the stage? No....

Jim grinned. At an actress. One particular actress. Hmmmm. "Is that Becky?"

"What?"

"On the stage."

"No, man. Becky's stage managing."

"So who's that?"

"I don't know. Check your program. And shut up."

Jim looked at the folded up paper in his hand, and shrugged to himself.

"She is cute though, isn't she?"

"What?" Jim glanced back at Blair.

"The actress. The one sitting down. She's cute."

"I guess."

There was a loud shushing from behind them, and Jim faced the front again.

Ten seconds later, he was bored. He let out a deep breath, shifting his large frame in the too-small chair. He turned his hearing over the audience. Lotta shifts, sighs, paper rustling. So he wasn't the only one bored.

Two heartbeats racing, two heavy breathers.

Jim grinned. "Hey, Chief?"

"WHAT?"

"I think there's a couple making out in the back row."

"Oh, come on, Ellison. There's culture in front of you, you're playing peeping tom to the couple in the back? Grow up."

"Sor-"

"And shut up."

"Gotcha."

When Rafe pulled in to work the next day, he found a mass of cold faces greeting him all the way up to the Major Crimes office. Willing himself to believe he was imagining it, he suffered the walk in silence, knowing at least there would be friendly faces to reach him when he got to his desk.

Or not.

"Rafe, get in here." Simon looked tired. Not angry, not cold. Just tired.

Rafe immediately followed him in to his office. "What's up?" he asked a little hesitantly.

"Bad news."

"What else is there?" Rafe mumbled in response.

"Look, the five gang bangers who were shot...."

"Yeah?"

"Were undercover for the 18th precinct vice. They've been trying to nail our cop gunner for a while now."

Rafe sank down into a chair heavily. "Cops. They were cops."

"Looks that way."

"And I'm still suspect number one, huh?" His voice was dull.

Simon hesitated, then nodded. "I don't...."

"What?"

"I don't think they're much looking for anyone else."

Rafe's hands gripped the arms of the chair. "I see. Well. That's it, then. Two days, my life is shot. Great. Just great."

"We don't need that kind of talk right now," Simon answered sternly.

"Yeah? Prove me wrong."

Simon sank down into his own chair. "We're trying," he answered, the exhaustion once again appearing.

"So what am I supposed to do?"

"Nothing. You're not even supposed to be here, Rafe. You're-"

"Suspended, I know. I can't just sit in my apartment, Simon."

There was a knock on the door before Simon could answer. "Yeah?"

Henri Brown stuck his head in. "Sorry, Simon. Rafe, I was wanting to talk to you for a few."

Rafe glanced at Simon, who waved him away quickly. He stood and followed his partner out the door.

"Look, can we get out of here? Go get some lunch?"

Rafe nodded. "Sure."

Brown hesitated, opening his mouth to say something, but turned and went for the elevator without a word. Once they were safely inside and alone, he turned to face Rafe. "Look, man, it may not be a good idea for you to come here."

Rafe's heart sank. "What do you mean?"

"I mean...the word has spread, partner. They know there's a dirty officer, a cop killer, and they know you're the prime suspect. There's bad feelings going around right now, okay?"

"You're saying I'm not safe in the station anymore?" Rafe was incredulous.

"Look, you know what happens when a cop goes dirty. It's the worst thing you can do, at least according to other cops. You know that."

"But I'm not-" He cut himself off, knowing the protestation of innocence would do no good. "They haven't even accused me yet."

"Not officially. But everyone knows that IA is all over you, and they're not asking questions about anyone else. As far as they're concerned, the jury's already come back."

"Great." Rafe shook his head in disbelief. "H, this is nuts! Two days ago...I mean, what the hell happened? Who would try to set me up?"

"Don't worry, Rafe." Brown's hand came up to calm his partner, resting on his shoulder. "We're going to find them. Simon's got me and Jim on this one hundred percent. We'll find out what happened, and clear all this up."

Rafe was quiet for a long moment, then nodded, his eyes glued to his best friend. "Yeah. You will. I trust you."

"It's gonna be fine, man." Henri shot his familiar grin to his partner.

Rafe found himself returning it. "Whatever you say, H."

And then the door opened into the parking garage, and the two friends stepped out, heading right for H's car, which they always took to cruise around when they were working.

"Oh, hang on. I left my wallet in the car, let me go get it."

"Typical." Brown shook his head.

Rafe jogged down the couple of rows and over the few lengths to where his car was parked.

And froze, almost tripping over his feet.

Broken glass, dented fender, hood caved in, spray paint. And the briefest glance confirming his wallet was no longer on the passenger seat.

Rafe stood in mute shock for a moment, before the stunned feeling was replaced by a calm acceptance. Brown was right. This was what happened. He'd been through it once before, years ago. And it had followed him now. Soon they wouldn't be content to damage his car. Soon they would be going into his apartment. Or following him down dark streets. Unless he was cleared of this senseless crime....

He sucked in a breath, and backed away from the car slowly. He would have to deal with it, sooner or later, but for now....

"Hey, you get your wallet?"

Rafe opened the car door and gave his partner a weak smile. "Nope. Must have left it in my other pants."

Brown laughed. "Getting forgetful in your old age, partner."

"Must be." Rafe got in the car and Henri drove his way out of the parking lot quickly.





"Ann Bennett."

"What?" Jim glanced over at his until now silent partner. "Who's that?"

"She played Sarah. The wife. Last night?"

"The play? Oh. What, the actress? What about her?"

"She was great."

Jim blew out a breath. "Blair. We've got maybe another day to prove Rafe's innocent before IA presses formal charges and throws him in jail. I do not have time to listen to you lust after some actress, okay?"

Blair's face fell. "I know, Jim. I'm worried about Rafe too, but I can't stop thinking about her. She was so...great."

"Write her a fan letter. But later. We have to go talk to this witness."

"Are they putting Rafe in a line-up today?"

"Yeah, in a few minutes. We can go down and check it out if you want."

Blair looked down at the crime report on Jim's desk. "You getting anything here?"

Jim frowned down at the papers. "Not a damn thing."

"Alright, let's go."

They stood at the same time the door to Simon's office swung open and the captain stepped out. The three men exchanged looks. "Oh. Eh, you guys going down to the line-up?"

"Yeah. Coming?"

"Wouldn't miss it." Simon's grin was as artificial as they came.

It took a few quick, convincing words to get Simon and his two friends admitted into the room where the witnesses would identify -- or not -- the man they saw that night. Rafe would stand with five other men, all younger, all dark haired, all dressed similarly. That was how it was supposed to go, anyway. Simon could only hope that Internal Affairs wasn't so anxious to make a case that they'd put him in with old men and blondes. It had been known to happen before.

Henri Brown was already standing in the room, watching the door. When his three coworkers walked in, he tossed them a tight smile. "Glad you guys are here. Just wish Rafe knew."

"He will. When these kids can't pick out their man, they'll let him off. And we can tell him then." Simon clapped his officer on the arm. "It's gonna be fine, Brown."

"Yeah, I keep telling him that." Brown seemed unconvinced.

The woman from Internal Affairs who had led them into the room cleared her throat suddenly. "They're going to bring in the first two boys today. The third isn't available to come in until tomorrow, so even if we get two positive IDs, we won't pull Detective van Ryj in until all three have done this. That gived you twenty-four more hours, men. In the meantime, you will stand back there away from these witnesses, and not say a damned word while this is going on, do you hear me?"

Simon glared at her before he could stop himself. "We hear you. We are police officers, remember?"

"Just make sure you remember." She turned suddenly and went to the door. "Alright, Brent, you can come in now."

An eleven year old kid came in, led by an older woman that had to be his mother. The kids eyes went right to the four men standing against the wall, and his eyes grew. "He ain't here."

The woman from IA smiled and turned him to face the glass wall and the empty room beyond. "The men you need to look at will come in here. Are you ready for this?"

Brent shrugged easily. "Yeah, whatever."

Great, Blair couldn't help thinking to himself. He's got the life of a good man in his hands, he says 'yeah, whatever'.

The woman pressed the intercom. "Bring them in."

A door opened in the room beyond, and six men slowly shuffled in. Rafe was standing close to the end, face blank, eyes staring straight ahead as the other men shuffled.

There was a long pause.

"All right, Brent. Look closely. Do you see the man you saw that night?"

The kid glanced up at his mother, then back at the men. He squinted at them for a minute, then nodded. "Yeah. The guy standing under the five. That's him."

"Are you sure?"

"Yep. That's the guy."

"Thank you, Brent." The woman opened the door and gestured for the boy and his mother to leave. She shut it, went over to the intercom. "All right, get them out. Give us a minute, then bring them back in."

The officer watching over the men hurried them out the door.

The woman from Internal Affairs turned to the four men staring in shock at the wall beyond the glass. "You have twenty-four hours, Captain Banks. Then, he's mine."



Blair shifted in his seat uncomfortably. He should be somewhere else. He should be off helping Simon, Jim, and H. He should be keeping Rafe company. Something. Anything besides sitting there watching a play he'd already seen. Just to gawk at the actress again.

But he didn't get up. Intermission came and went, and he was still there. Probably shouldn't be, but he was.

And then, when the end of the show came, he was the first one out of the doors into the theatre lobby. And he spotted his friend Becky, dressed in all-black, on her way into the lobby from a staircase that had to lead to the sound booth of the theatre. "Hey, Beck."

"Hi, Blair. You came back! Did you really like the show that much?"

"Not really," he blurted honestly.

She grinned. "Not many do. This is a slow, boring thing."

"Yeah. Hey, that actress, Ann Bennet?"

"What about her?"

Blair almost flushed as he looked down at his program. "You think you could...you know, introduce us?"

Becky laughed. "You have a crush on an actress, Blair Sandburg?"

He shook his head automatically. "I just thought she was very talented."

"Yeah, sure. Look, Ann usually heads out as soon as she's out of costume. She won't stop and see anyone."

"Oh." He tried to look casual as he shrugged his acceptance.

"But...there is a bar we all meet at usually, Rumors, on Main?"

Blair grinned. "Hey, Beck, I got the sudden uge to buy you a drink."

She laughed. "You're on, Blair. Just let me get these people out of here."

Blair watched her hurry back towards the rear of the theatre, and sighed. He should be helping his friends. He shouldn't be spending the evening at a bar trying to pick up a girl.

He could tell Becky he made a mistake, he has to run. No problem. She'd understand. She was a pal, she would get it.

When Becky came out a few minutes later, she made a beeline for him. "You ready to go?"

Cursing his weak ways, Blair nodded. "Yep. But I may not be able to stay long."

Rafe ignored the phone all night long. He didn't disconnect it, just sat and listened to it ring, over and over again. He'd only had to answer it two different times when he first got home to realize that they were going to be crank calls, all night. Threats, silences, breathing, whatever. Anything to unnerve him.

But he didn't want to be unnerved. He wanted to sit there and stare at the phone, and listen to it ring, until it drove him so nuts he had to go to a psychiatric hospital, where it wouldn't matter if he was convicted of killing these cops or not.

Even that didn't seem to be working for him, though. As he dozed fitfully on his couch, awakened every twenty minutes or so by a new set of rings, Rafe found himself getting, of all things, angry. He hadn't done anything, damn it all. Why should he have to resign himself to this hazing from his fellow officers when he hadn't even done anything this time?

Or had he? It was getting to the point where he almost wasn't sure himself. After he had been told that the two boys who came to the station today identified him positively, he started to think he was already going crazy. He really had driven out to the lake, right? He was sure he had, but that would have meant that he got that phone call from Henri, who was certain he hadn't called him at all.

What the hell was going on here?

Around four in the morning, Rafe was convinced he was going nuts. And when the phone rang, waking him from his dreamless nap, he picked it up. "'lo?"

"Rafe? Why aren't you answering the damned phone?"

"Henri?" Rafe sat up, blinking. "Is that you?"

"Who else?"

"No, I mean, is that REALLY you, or are you not gonna remember this tomorrow?"

There was a slight chuckle. "Don't worry, I'll remember."

"Good. So what's up?"

"Look, man, this is serious. We've got word that there are some...well, some officers. From the 18th. They may be on their way to you."

"What?"

"They're pissed, five of their guys were killed. I don't know how serious this is, but why don't you come over and crash here tonight?"

"You sure?" Rafe reached over and turned on his table lamp, squinting in the sudden light.

"Yeah. They wouldn't come after you at another cop's place. Can I come get you?"

"Give me ten minutes." Rafe hung up quickly, standing on shaky legs and heading into his room to throw some clothes in a bag.

A few minutes later, his phone rang again and he picked it up. "Yeah?"

"It's me. I'm parked in the front, come on down."

Rafe smiled tightly. "What, you don't want to come up and escort me down?"

"I don't think it's necessary, smartass. Just get down here."

"Roger." Rafe hung up and went to the front door, making sure it was locked behind him. Like that would do much good if a rampaging group of detectives came to demolish his house. He headed down the steps and to the door of his apartment.

The call hadn't come from a cell phone.

Rafe paused as the sudden thought came to him. The reception was too....clear. Pay phone, maybe. Like the one next door at the deli. But why wouldn't Brown use his own cell phone?

He hesitated, but shrugged mentally. Could be busted, he could be in Deb's car. Could be any number of things.

Yeah.

Well, whatever it was, that had been Henri's voice.

Right?

"Oh, God, this sucks," Rafe groaned out loud as his paranoid thoughts threatened to send him running back up the stairs. Knowing what Henri would say if he did that, he chuckled to himself nervously. Paranoia never got anybody anything but an ulcer.

He started for the door.

Just as his cell phone rang. He dug it out quickly. "Yeah?"

"Hey, Rafe?"

"Henri, hold your horses. I'm coming out now." He reached the door and pushed it open, affixing a glare to his face in case Henri was watching.

"What are you talking about? Rafe, we've got a tip off about some-"

"Henri?" Rafe caught the flash of movement from the side, at the end of the street. "Where the hell are you parked?"

"What? I'm driving down 1st. Rafe, look, you have to stay-"

Rafe assimilated the words at the same time the car started forward and the muzzle appeared in the window. "Uh, Henri?" He turned back and started for the door.

"What? What's going on?"

The flash of gunfire drowned out any words he might have said, and the searing pain in his back threw the phone out of his hand and his body into the granite stairs.

Henri drove like a lunatic, his hand fumbling with the radio mic. "Repeat, we've got an officer down." he gave Rafe's address to the operator and threw the mic down just as he reached Rafe's building. "Ohhh, hell." he could see the crumpled body of his partner halfway up the stairs going into the building. No one else was in sight.

Henri jumped out of the car and up the stairs. "Rafe?" He took in the pool of blood and the rivulets going down his back, and he gasped in an angry breath. "Rafe? Hang on, man. The ambulance is coming. Just hold on."

Rafe's eyes squinted up at him. "H?" he whispered.

"Hey, Rafe. You're gonna be all right. The ambulance is coming, you're gonna be okay."

"Why'd you call, H?"

Henri took a second to interpret the mumbled words. "I called to warn you, man." He looked up and towards the street, waiting to hear the sound of the ambulance sirens. So far, nothing, but it had only been a minute.

"You called to get me out here. So they could shoot me. Why'd you do that?"

"What? I didn't tell you to come out, Rafe. I was on my way to your place to stay with you. I wouldn't have told you to leave."

Rafe sucked in a breath, his white face covered with a light sheen of sweat. "H?"

"C'mon, Rafe. Just hang on."

"H?"

"What is it? What do you wanna say?"

"Hurts."

"I know." Henri looked up into the dark, silent street. Where the hell were the sirens?

"Henri?"

"Hey, man, maybe you should save your strength. Don't try to talk. It's gonna be okay, Rafe." His eyes still scanning the horizon, Brown mumbled the words. "It's gonna be fine."

Rafe saw his searching look towards the streets, and he coughed slightly. "Henri." He spoke with more and more difficulty as the cloud in his brain threatened to overtake him. "Cop killers don't get an ambulance."

Henri's face jerked down to look at his partner. "What are you..." He suddenly caught his friend's meaning and flinched. "...oh, shit. I'll be right back, Rafe." He stood and raced down to his car, going right to the still-opened front door and reaching for his car phone. He dialed Simon's number out of instinct, forgetting it was four thirty in the morning. "C'mon. C'mon, Simon. Pick up the phone. Come on!" After the fifth ring he hung up, growling in frustration. Dialing again, he half-turned to face his bleeding partner. "Just hang on," he called out. "I'll be back in a minute."

There was no reponse and no movement from the body on the stairs.

And the phone rang a fourth time before a voice sounded in his ear. "Hello."

"Blair!"

"You've reached the home of Jim Ellison and Blair-"

"Shit!" He hung up on the machine, his mind racing. A hand lashed out and banged the steering wheel in anger.

Maybe Rafe had been wrong. The ambulance wouldn't not come, would it? Just because of what Rafe was suspected of doing?



Oh, no. It would show up alright. Just twenty minutes from now when it was too late.

"Dammit!" Henri dialed again, but his shaking fingers in their haste slipped and hit a wrong number. "Fuck!" He screamed the word into the phone as he hung it up and tried it again.

"Banks."

Henri breathed out in relief. Simon was in the office, he should have known. "Simon! Rafe's been shot."

"What? Where are you?"

"Outside his apartment. He got a call...no, it's not important. He's hurt bad."

"Look, just call the ambulance, I'll be there in five."

"I tried that."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't hear a siren." He drew in a harsh breath and repeated Rafe's words grimly. "Cop killers don't get an ambulance."

"God dammit! Can you move him?"

"I think he was shot in the back, I don't know."

There was the briefest pause. "Look, I'm on my way. Me and Ellison will get an ambulance down there if we have to hijack one."

Henri heard the sound of the phone being hung up, and he tossed the phone to the seat, slamming his door and racing back to his partner. "Rafe?"

The hazel eyes were shut.

"Rafe? Simon's coming. You're gonna be okay." Henri sat himself next to his unconscious partner and kept his mantra up until he heard the angels singing in the form of ambulance sirens.

"You hear that? Simon got the ambulance. You're gonna be okay."

Yeah, he was gonna be fine. If it wasn't already too late.

Blair was flying in the clouds as he drove up the street towards Rafe's. He couldn't believe he still had the presence of mind to check in on his friend after the hour he'd just had.

Ann Bennett. She had been...something. Wow. Blair had been surprised to learn that she was just another student, like him, in the theatre department at the U, just doing the community theatre play as a volunteer. He would have thought...well, she should have been on broadway or something.

But she'd been so normal. And so much fun. The minute Becky had introduced the two of them, they'd been locked in conversation. And Blair was still amazed at how easy it had felt. She just...talked. No pressure, no obvious attempts to impress or flirt. She could have been just any other pal of his. It was a nice feeling.

His thoughts were distracted as he neared the apartment and saw the ambulance pulling away from the front of Rafe's building.

Automatically thinking the worst, Blair pressed the gas, parking haphazardly once he was by the apartment building, and shooting out of the car as he saw his partner standing on the steps leading inside. "Jim?"

"Blair?" Jim's head jerked up. "What are you doing here?"

Blair almost stumbled when he saw the pale anger in his partner's face. "I was just gonna stop by and see how Rafe was holding up."

Jim frowned and stood straighter, glancing over to Blair's right.

Blair turned and was surprised to see that he had passed right by Simon and Henri. "What's going..." The brief question was cut off as Blair took in the blood coating Henri's clothing, and the dark looks all around him. "Oh, man," he breathed out. "What happened to him?"

"He was set up. Shot." Brown glanced over at Simon. "Can you two look this over? I want to get to the hospital."

"Yeah. Call me the second you hear anything." Simon's face was grim.

Henri nodded.

Blair glanced over at Jim, meeting his eyes before urning to Henri. "Brown, hang on. I'll drive you." He could see the daze underneath the dark anger in the older detective's eyes, and knew Brown was in no shape to be driving himself around.

"If you're coming, come now," Henri retorted.

Another quick glance at Jim assured Blair his partner approved, and Blair took off back to his car, waiting only long enough for Henri to shut the passenger door before taking off down the road after the fading siren.



When they got to the hospital, Blair pulled crookedly into the first spot he saw and turned the car off quickly. He opened the door to bolt out, ready to burst in and raise hell until they knew how Rafe was doing, but he stopped when Henri didn't move out of his seat.

"H? We're here."

"Yeah."

Blair faced the other man. It wouldn't have taken Jim's Sentinel vision to see the small tremors shaking his body, or the glazed-over expression. "H? You okay?"

Henri blinked. "Stupid question, Sandburg."

"Yeah," Blair acknowledged. "But that's no answer."

"They used me," Brown said suddenly. "Somehow, they made Rafe think it was me on the phone, they got him to go outside and they shot him on the street."

Blair's hand left the door, and he turned uncomfortably. "Henri..." He stopped, realizing he had no idea what he could say.

Brown shook his head, rattled. "The same way he thought I had called him three nights ago. They used me."

Blair was quiet for a minute. "H, this wasn't your fault."

Brown's dubious eyes faced the younger man.

"I'm serious. So they got some guy who sounds like you to call him. So what? If they hadn't used you, they could just as easily have used Simon, or me, or Jim. You wouldn't think it was our fault, would you?"

Brown shook his head slightly. "Hard to know what to think now, Blair."

Blair shoved a stray lock of curls behind his ear restlssly. He wasn't exactly sure how to handle this situation. This was Henri Brown, for God's sake. The man who could be counted on for a smile, for a nice, calm attitude during anything. Easygoing Henri, shaking in shock and rage and who knew what else?

"On the street, Blair." Henri's voice was soft. "In front of his own house. And I was on the phone with him, I heard it happen." He faced Blair squarely, his daze diminishing in sudden anger. "I was in the car, I got to him maybe five minutes after the shooting. There was no one there. No one at all. His neighbors, they just left him there to die."

"They were probably scared," Blair defended almost automatically.

"But they left him there. And then the cops..." Brown's trembling increased somewhat, though with repressed anger or shock Blair couldn't tell. "You know what he said to me? He was laying there bleeding, he saw me looking out for the ambulance I'd called. He said to me, calm as anything, 'cop killers don't get an ambulance.' He knew, Blair. He knew they would get my call, figure out it was his place, and not even bother responding, or not until it was too late, anyway. Because he was accused of killing these cops."

Blair froze, stunned. "But...but they wouldn't do that. Would they? They wouldn't let him die, just because of some accusations-"

"Blair, it took me five minutes to get there after I made the call for help. I was there for another five minutes, nothing. I had to call Simon. He had to force them to come, and even then, four minutes later when the ambulance Simon got did show, there was no sign of another one, the one that was supposed to be there. Fifteen minutes he lay there. Do you know how long that is?"

Blair shook his head in disbelief. "That would be...murder. I can't believe anyone would-"

"Oh, come on! You know what goes on with cops when they think one of their own is dirty. When a cop kills another cop...forget it. There are plenty of guys on the force who'll hear about this tomorrow and wish they were the ones who pulled the trigger."

Blair breathed in sharply.

"Fifteen minutes, Blair. He got shot in the back, he was bleeding..." Henri's voice was starting to waver. "For fifteen minutes. That's a lifetime, man. And he was bleeding...he was bleeding so much. He was hurt bad, Blair, and they left him there. The neighbors, the ambulance, whoever it was that pulled the trigger. They left him there to bleed..." His voice gave out finally, and he drew in a harsh breath, trying to put a harness on his rising emotions.

Blair reached out tentatively and put a hopefully comforting arm on the shuddering shoulder. "He's going to be all right, Henri."

"How do you know? And what if he's not? Because some god damned uniform monitoring the radio connected the address and thought Rafe was a killer who deserved to lay there until he-" Henri cut off, slamming a hand into the dashboard in front of him, furious.

Blair kept the hand tightly clenched to the larger man's shoulder. "Henri, he's gonna be-"

"No! No, he's not!" Henri's eyes squeezed shut. "You didn't see him, Blair. On those stairs, laying in his own blood. He's gonna die, or be paralyzed, or...or..."

Blair sucked in a breath as the shuddering increased with sudden sobs. He stared, almost in amazement, at one thing he never thought he'd see- Henri Brown in tears. "Hey, H. It's gonna be..." No, don't say that. Henri knew too much to be comforted by false words. Blair knew it might very well not be okay.

Henri sucked in a breath, his hands going to his face, trying with almost physical force to stop the tears and get himself under control. He turned his face away from Blair's eyes sharply, and twisted out from under the Observer's hand. With an almost angry motion, he opened the car door, stood swiftly, and slammed it behind him, still half-blinded by his own tears.

Blair quickly got out and moved around the side of the car to his friend. "Henri?"

Brown gestured angrily, moving a few steps away from him.

Blair followed stubbornly. "Henri?" He reached out and grabbed the man in a grip that said he wouldn't be dismissed again so easily.

Brown tried anyway, and turned to face him finally when he proved unshakeable. "What?" he asked loudly.

Blair hesitated, waiting for some semblance of control to return to the detective's face.

In the silence, Brown's eyes, locked on Blair's blue ones, softened slightly.

Blair tried hard to paste a comforting smile to his face, but it didn't even come close. Instead, he just moved his hand from Brown's arm back to his shoulder. "Let's go in and check on your partner."

Brown nodded slowly, and followed Blair as the younger man set off with determination to find out what had happened to their downed friend.

"Nothing. Simon, there's just nothing to find. There could have been tanks rolling over this street and I wouldn't be able to tell. These guys left no clues." Jim's voice was managing to stay level despite the frustration.

Simon put a hand on the man's shoulder, to keep him grounded. "All right, Jim, we'll just have to go about this like cops and not like Sentinels, right?"

Jim sighed wearily. "Yeah. How long they been gone?"

Simon checked his watch. "About an hour. Think Blair will be calling you?"

Jim nodded. "As soon as he knows anything. Meantime, what do we do?"

Simon thought about it for a minute. Jim was right, they really didn't have any clues to go on. None of the phone calls to Rafe's apartment had been long enough to get a trace. All they knew about the caller was that he must have sounded enough like Henri Brown to fool his own partner. None of the neighbors were saying a damned thing.

One guy that sounded like Henri, and then, at the first crime scene, one man who looked like Rafe. Great. They were dealing with a group of impressionists.

Maybe Rafe could give them something else to go on, if he lived.

With that thought came another one, darker, and Simon turned to Jim suddenly. "Meantime. We're going to find out who it was that answered Brown's call for assistance, and we're going to see to it the son of a bitch loses his job."



Heaven was a hospital room? No. Didn't fit. Hell was a hospital room. Yeah, that's more like it. Hell was an eternity of half-drugged almost-pain in the white, septic walls he'd had to stare at far too often in his line of work.

Alone. No Henri by his side, no Simon checking in every five minutes. Definitely hell.

Ahh, well. Henri always used to say that hell would turn out to be an eternity-long Bee Gees concert. At least this was quiet. Kinda peaceful. Granted, it was the kind of peace and quiet that was going to be driving him crazy within...oh, the first few millinia, but that was better than 24 hours of Stayin Alive.

At least they let you keep your sense of humor in hell.

'Cause they don't let you keep your legs. Huh, that was strange. He could feel his arms, his chest. Not his legs. Maybe that was so he couldn't run away. From hell? Could you do that? Did they have to paralyze you to-

Paralyze?

Oh....damn.

Everything came back to the young detective in a rush, and he realized with mixed emotions that he was still very much on the earth. And paralyzed. He couldn't feel his legs. Oh, shit. How much closer to Hell could you come to on earth?

He wanted to shout to someone, to cry, something, but the drugs had his thoughts racing and nothing else on him really functional. So he lay there and thought about it for a long time. One bullet in the spine, that's all it took, right? He should be lucky he wasn't dead. He should be happy.

So why did he have the feeling he wasn't gonna be happy again for a very long time?

"Jason Alexander."

"The actor?"

Jim rolled his eyes. "No, not the actor. The cop. He works for the 18th. He matches Rafe's description almost on the nose."

Blair studied his partner. "Jim, there've gotta be ten guys in every department who match Rafe's description."

"Not really. How many young, dark haired guys do you know in the force who go around in Armani?"

"Huh. You've got a point. So is that our suspect?"

"I don't know. We can't go around questioning a guy because he looks like Rafe. One thing I did find interesting. His long-time girlfriend is an actress."

"An actress. What's your point?"

"My point is, if he needed to find someone who could affect his voice, pretend he was Brown, who better to go to than one of his wife's actor friends?"

Blair nodded thoughtfully. "Could be. So what's the move?"

Jim grinned. "You're going to see a play."

Blair stood at the bar at Rumors, waiting for the theatre group to come in. He'd asked Becky after this last suffering-through of the three hour play he was now forced to admit was actually rather boring, and she confirmed they were all going out tonight.

Quite a lucky coincidence, Donna Cristophar being in the same company Ann Bennet was. Fate, maybe. But now wasn't the time to pursue it. Now was the time to find the SOBs that put Rafe in the hospital with a bullet lodged in his back, and make sure they went down.

The door to the almost-empty bar opened, and a loud, boisterous crowd came pouring through. Blair grinned at the sight of Ann Bennet, but made no move to get up, watching the door for the older actress, the one who he'd identified in the program as being the woman he was looking for.

Uh oh.

Blair saw her coming in, on the arm of a man. Dark haired, wearing a sharp suit. Damn. Jason Alexander was there. Not good for his purposes.

"Hey, Blair." Ann Bennet saw him through the crowd and came at him with a grin.

He relaxed, tearing his eyes away from the couple. "Ann. Show was good tonight."

"Yeah? You must be a glutton for punishment. This is, what, your third time?"

Blair grimaced. "Yeah." Time to bite the bullet, he found himself thinking. If he couldn't talk to Donna directly, he'd at least get a few answers out of Ann, hopefully. "You know that guy over there?"

She followed his gaze and frowned. "Jason? Yeah, why?"

He hesitated, then forged on. "Ann, I work with the Cascade PD. We're investigating a crime right now that could possibly involve Mr. Alexander. I need you to answer a few questions if you can."

"You're a cop?" Her eyes were dubious.

Blair sighed, used to the expression. "Observer. Unofficial."

"Thank God!"

"What?"

She grinned. "That means you didn't suffer through this show because you enjoyed it. I was starting to doubt your sanity."

He chuckled, but his mind suddenly went back to the blood-covered form of Henri Brown, crying in his car, and any senblance of lightness faded from him. "Look, Ann, this is serious. What do you know about this guy?"

She glanced back over at Jason, shrugged, and sat herself on a stool next to him. "Not much. I know he's a cop. I know I don't like him. He's always making sure we all know he's around. He'll come here after the show every night and make a big scene, then vanish. If we stay here long enough, he'll come back eventually and act like he never left. He's a strange guy." Her eyes widened. "Is he a criminal?"

"We don't know yet." He met her eyes seriously. "I think so." He looked back over at Jason, and his eyes narrowed as another man, one from the theatre group, came up and started talking to him. "Who's that?"

"Jamel? He's working lights for us."

Blair frowned. "Oh, really? Does he do any acting?"

"Sure. He just came off of Othello down in Chester before this show."

Blair almost grinned. Here it was, unfolding right in front of his face.

And then his grin faded as both men suddenly looked directly at him. Jason's face creased in a deep frown, and he stood, approaching Blair and Ann grimly.

"Uh oh."

"What?" She turned and saw them coming, and gave him a concerned look.

"Hey Ann! You know your new friend over here is a cop?"

She turned and faced Jamel. "Yeah, sure I do. Just like your friend right there." She nodded at Jason.

Jason glowered at her. "Yeah, but your friend is trying to let a cop killer get away. And five of my friends are dead because of his buddy."

Blair bit back his initial response to that, and forced himself to stare calmly at the man. "My friend is innocent."

"Yeah, right. Look, Ann, why don't you get your dirty friend out of here?"

She stood up, meeting the challenge. "Because we're enjoying ourselves. Why don't you take a hike? Vanish the way you always do."

Jason's eyes moved to her, and almost faster than Blair could follow, his hand came up and slapped her, hard.

Blair flew out of his chair, but before he could come to her aid, she was up and in Jason's face.

"You son of a bitch! How dare you hit me!" Her hand flew up and knocked him across the face.

He stumbled back, more out of surprise than pain, and a dangerous gleam appeared in his eyes.

Blair grabbed Ann's hand before she could do anything else. "Ann, maybe we ought to just get out of here."

Jason glared at the two. "Yeah. Maybe you should."

Ann was flushed with anger, but Blair's hand tightened around hers, and she glanced over at him. She calmed down after a minute, visibly having to force herself. "Yeah. Yeah, sure. Whatever you want, Blair."

He pulled her away from the two men, and through the now-quiet crowd to the door. Once they were outside, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed seven digits instinctively.

"Ellison."

"Jim, we've-"

"Sandburg. You okay?"

Blair almost grinned at Jim's rush to ensure his safety. "Yeah, I'm fine. But I think we've found your guys."

"I'll be there in five minutes."

Blair put his phone away and turned to Ann. "Sorry about all that. I didn't mean to get you in the middle of anything."

She was still glowering. "Asshole. Had it coming. You didn't do anything, Blair. I can't believe the guy would slap me like that."

He almost grinned. "Not half as much as he probably couldn't believe you'd hit him back."

She met his eyes, and smiled somewhat. "He had it coming."

"Yeah, he did." Blair shook his head with a chuckle. "You're something, you know that?"

She grinned. "Let's not get carried away . I'm just a little more butch than is good for me sometimes. Look, you really think Jamel is helping Jason out with whatever it is you think he's done?"

"I can't tell. Maybe." He glanced back at the door to the bar. "This is serious stuff, though. Maybe he doesn't really know exactly what he's doing."

"I hope not. I like Jamel." She glared back at the door. "I used to, anyway."

"So once Jim started working on Jamel, the guy cracked. He says he had no idea what was going on with those phone calls, but Jason was paying him some good money to make them. And now, if nothing else, we have the proof that you wasn't lying about going to the lake that night. We'll just have to wait and see if Jim can find something to stick to Jason."

Rafe echoed his partner's smile with a slightly lifted corner of his mouth. "That's great."

Brown frowned down at him. "C'mon, Rafe, you've got to cheer up here. The doc says you'll get back on your feet eventually. We're building a case against Alexander. Everything's all right, right?"

"Sure. Everything's great." Rafe spoke dully, his eyes going down to the blanket in his lap.

Brown sighed heavily. "Well, partner, you ready to go back to the office? 'Cause Simon's sure to have piles of paperwork you can do."

Rafe was quiet for a minute, then shook his head. "No. I don't wanna go back....like this."

Brown was tempted to commiserate with his partner, but forced a glare to his face instead. "You know, self pity is really ugly on you, man."

Rafe's surprised eyes went back up to Henri's face. "What?"

"You heard me. Yeah, you're in a wheelchair. Yeah, you'll be stuck in the thing for a little while, until they get the bullet out and you can retrain your legs. Big deal. Better people than you have had to go through much worse. Who are you to feel sorry for yourself?"

Rafe shook his head seriously. "That's not it, H. Well, not entirely."

"Then what is it?"

"How am I supposed to go back there? How am I supposed to let those other cops see what they did to me?"

Brown blinked in surprise. "Rafe, Jason is the one that had you shot. You do realize that?"

"Of course I do. But he isn't the one that controls the ambulances. He isn't the one that would have left me there..." He shook his head. "I don't know who it was. And I'm gonna see that person in every face at the station."

Henri grinned inexplicably. "No way, partner. Just because you don't know who it is doesn't mean we don't."

Rafe started. "You do know?"

Henri nodded. "First thing Simon did was see who was directing the ambulances that night. And he didn't go talk to them directly. Not Simon. He sent them a summons to his office. And when this guy did show up the next day, no idea what he was in for, Simon dragged him out in front of everybody in Major Crimes and gave him the most vicious verbal lashing I've ever heard."

Rafe smiled slightly. "I can imagine."

"No," Henri shook his head emphatically. "No, not in your wildest dreams. I could show you slides, I could let you read a full transcript, but you'd still have no clue what it was like. Simon lit into this guy, and everyone in the office was cheering him on. This guy just stood there....oh, man, you should have seen it. He was surprised at first, then sorta indignant about the whole thing. And then he just broke down and blubbered. It was fantastic. And Simon ended it by firing the man. And this guy turns and leaves, and we're all applauding Simon...." He laughed. "It was phenomenal."

Rafe's face finally broke out into a full-fledged smile. "Wow. I wish I'd been there."

"Yeah, me too." Henri's grin faded and he met his partner's eyes. "We're all with you, man. I don't care how many of the cops from the 18th or the uniforms down in Homicide turn their backs. We knew you didn't do it, and we fought for you. So you're coming back to the station, right? For us."

Rafe looked at him in wonder. "Yeah, Henri. Why not?"

Henri grinned down at his partner, relieved that this whole mess was over. Long road ahead, of course, Rafe having to more or less relearn to use his legs again, but Brown knew his partner. Rafe was tough, and he was stubborn. He'd be running after suspects again in a month. And Brown would be right there beside him.

And God help anybody at all who tried to get to his partner...his brother...again.