Dream Lovers
by Ariana

His eyes pulled open reluctantly, seeing a darkness that was barely brighter than the oblivion that had finally released him. Cracked and dry lips parted and the air he tried to take stabbed through him. The half-breath left in a gasp and someone else moved in the blackness.

"You're awake."

He nodded slightly, still trying to untangle his mind. A form that was just darker than the rest of the room moved to lean over him. A light touch ghosted over his face, then settled briefly on the humming pain in his chest. The feather brush skipped away and the other one sat carefully on the edge of the bed.

"...where...am...i...?"

The question was nearly inaudible, rasping harshly in a paper-dry throat. His companion laid a hand on his arm. "You're in the hospital, buddy," came the low answer. "Don't try moving, you took a bad hit."

Bad hit. Shot. Right... now he was remembering. The bank, Sandburg, the robbery, the hostages, the sniper, the shot that had finally come - he remembered now.

There were some kind of wintery images mixed up in there too, but they retreated as he grasped after them. "...sandburg...?"

The other man understood. "He's fine, Rafe. All the hostages are. Sandburg's pretty shaken, but otherwise he's okay. He's mad as hell at you for getting yourself almost killed." Irritated worry colored the words, "So am I."

Oh shit, now he recognized the voice. "...sorry...jim..."

He sighed. "Why, Rafe?"

"...had to... get him... to... window..."

"I know that," Jim said, an edge to his tone. "Why the hell didn't you get out of the way?"

Jim was angry and Rafe just wanted to disappear right there. He was angry because his friend had gone and done something even Rafe himself knew was cosmically stupid, and had nearly died. Jim was angry because he'd nearly lost a friend. A friend, no more.

The hope that appeared according to its whim despite his brain's logic was firmly squashed down. Friendship... it was wonderful to have that much with Jim, but he wanted so much more that the desire was very nearly a basic need. Rafe turned his face from Jim. *Go away,* he thought bleakly. *Don't do this to me.*

He heard another sigh, this one of release. "I'm sorry. Here you are, back from the almost dead, and I'm yelling at you." The tone was much lighter and even with his eyes closed in near pitch blackness, Rafe could see the curve of Jim's smile. "Bet you've had better days."

"...better...lives..."

Jim almost snorted. "Don't tell me you're into that karma and reincarnation crap that Sandburg swears to."

He almost shrugged, stopping when fire shot through him. "...whatever...works..."

"Yeah, I suppose." Jim was quiet for a long time. The sullen burn began to subside and Rafe started to relax, listening to the sound of Jim's breathing. His eyes drifted shut as the pain receded in favor of fatigue.

"What pact were you referring to?"

Rafe's eyes snapped open as a spike of adrenalin shot through him. *Pact? How the fuck-*

His mind's babbling came to a screeching halt.

*Oh shit.*

It couldn't be. Was fate that cruel?

"Well?"

Oh yes she was.

"...nothing..."

"Bullshit," the anger was back, tinged with a metallic fear. "You can tell me or I can find out from someone else. Either way, someone *will* tell me why my friend ordered me to shoot him!"

Rafe shook his head slowly. "...i'll...tell...later..." He was too tired and sore to attempt arguing.

The pathetic wheeze of his voice must have lanced past Jim's anger. His tone deflated, "I did it again. Damn." The whispered curse sounded directed at himself rather than Rafe. A light touch fell on his arm and that limb twitched in response. "Anything you need? Water?"

Rafe tried to swallow and couldn't, nodding before realizing Jim couldn't see it. He opened his mouth to try to croak something, but Jim squeezed his arm in response before moving away, "Just a second."

He was back almost immediately, lifting Rafe's head with a gentle hand, helping him drink from the cup he held in the other.

Now, a few of his fantasies *had* included Jim taking care of him, but the reality was far more humiliating than anything else. He'd even prefer Sandburg to be here with him, feeding him like an invalid. Which he was, of course, but that was beside the point.

Rafe was utterly certain also that he looked like hell - like living proof of life after death, to allow a bit of black humor - and was very grateful that the dark room hid him from Jim's view. He turned his mouth from the cup when he'd had enough and Jim pulled it away. Rafe swallowed again, his throat immeasurably relieved by the trickle of chlorinated water.

"What time is it?" he asked, his voice still weak, but clear.

"It's about three in the morning," Jim replied. "It's technically Monday now."

Rafe blinked. The thing at the bank had happened on Friday. "It's been two days?"

"More than that," Jim said, settling back into his chair with a soft exhale. "You've been in and out of consciousness for about a week. The first three days were touch and go in the CCU. Three days where some of us in Major Crimes thought you wouldn't make it." Now the words were laced with weariness, the voice dropping to a whisper he barely heard, "You scared us, Rafe. You almost died." And even more softly, "I almost killed you."

His heart twisted at the pain in those words. "Jim," he whispered, his hand itching to reach out to him. Hesitant surprise blanked his face when the older man took the hand that was offered and held to it like a lifeline.

He'd never considered why the sniper hadn't fired, only gotten angry when he hadn't. How could he have been so stupidly thoughtless, to forget that Jim was often behind a rifle when a sharp eye was needed? Rafe remembered now how upset Jim had been when he'd shot that security guard last year - and that man had been a stranger with a bulletproof vest.

"Don't pull that shit again, Rafe," Jim said hoarsely. "I want you to swear to that right now."

"I can't do that."

Jim's voice hardened again. "You can, and you will."

Rafe shook his head, "No."

"Rafe - "

The smaller man cut him off, "Don't ask me to do something you wouldn't."

A long silence that vibrated with tension followed. It was a low blow, but so was Jim asking him to make that promise. No cop could realistically take a vow like that. Rafe couldn't, and he knew damn well Jim never would.

Rafe let his head roll to one side, suddenly feeling completely drained. Fighting with Jim was something he'd never be up to even if he were in perfect health; his heart simply wouldn't be in it.

"All right!" Jim finally growled, blowing out frustrated air between his teeth. He took a deeper, calming breath, audibly trying to relax. "That was low, Rafe."

"Fair's fair," he whispered.

Another smile, this one more sensed than seen. "You don't know how to fight fair, Rafe."

"No. But I can fake it."

It was an incredibly corny joke, but it made Jim laugh, the soft burst laden with the pent-up worry and anger of seven days. The low chuckle was short, but its deep warmth was among the sexiest sounds Rafe had ever heard.

Microscopic tremors started at his ears, the first lucky recipients of that laugh, and flowed down his neck, over his chest to center and tingle in his groin.

He couldn't see Jim in the darkness, but he didn't need to. He'd memorized every plane and arch of Jim's face a long time ago. It was so easy to imagine the angle of his jaw when Jim tilted his head in *just* that way. The memory of that face, those eyes, that half-grin, startled his heart into a frantic, thudding rhythm. He took a careful breath to steady himself, the desired calm being cruelly sabotaged by his utter embarrassment of the slowly awakening erection.

*Shit. Back from the dead and I'm ready to jump his bones. Or Sandburg's. What the fuck is wrong with me?*

It wasn't that he wanted another man; he'd come to terms with that a long time ago. The problem was that he wanted *two* men.

Two men who didn't want him.

His forehead was beginning to dampen and his attention turned inward to try to referee the internal free-for-all between embarrassed desire and weary despair. The gentle hand on his brow was a shock and his startled inhalation sent a white lance of pain through his chest. He bit back the low groan almost in time.

"Rafe?" The worry was back in full force. "Are you in a lot of pain? I can call the doctor - "

The younger man almost shook his head. The physical pain was bearable, and no drug could really dull the rest. He reconsidered instantly and nodded instead, transmitting agreement through the hand that still rested on his head. It was escapist, but between everything that had happened and the smothering *nearness* of a man he could never have, Rafe was more than willing to opt for temporary oblivion.

The other hand that still held his squeezed. "You got it, buddy," Jim murmured close to him before standing up, his hands slowly drawing away. Rafe heard his steps move away, then the snick and creak of the latch as the door swung inward. The light that spilled in from the hallway was as dim and softened as the graveyard shift at the hospital would have it. His eyes, hypersensitized to darkness, closed against the sting and he turned his head away. He heard Jim speak in low tones to someone, then the steps came back.

"The nurse'll be right back," he said, his voice still hushed in the room. "She wanted to page the doctor before giving you anything."

Rafe just nodded, very carefully.

"Is it bad?"

He almost laughed at the bitter irony. Yes, it was bad, so hard and cold and soul-deep it transcended bad and took pain to a new dimension that Webster had yet to imagine.

And absolutely none of it was physical. Well, only a small part was.

"Not really," he lied.

He could feel the skepticism radiating off Jim, but the other man stayed silent. He heard the quiet creak of the chair as Jim sat down again.

Oddly, he wasn't completely surprised when his good hand was recaptured in a warm grip. "There's something I'd like to try, if that's okay?" Jim asked, his voice once more just above a breath.

Rafe nodded. It was pathetic, but he'd accept anything Jim wanted to do to him. Anything to fuel his desperate fantasies.

A strong thumb began to run in a slow circle in his palm, and Rafe nearly levitated off the bed. All concept of reality collapsed down to the feel and soft sound of Jim's thumb rubbing against his hand. Rafe bit his lip and tried not to squirm. It was totally platonic, and shatteringly erotic at the same time.

*He's touching me, oh my god, he's touching me and it was *his* idea...*

"This is something I learned from Sandburg," Jim said.

Rafe's attention was rudely yanked back up from his cock. "Huh?"

"He's much better at it than I am," Jim went on. "But I think I can do something to help until the doctor gets here."

Rafe's eyes squeezed shut. The image of Blair doing this to Jim - or Jim doing this to Blair - sent alternating waves of arousal and loss through him. The desire, the physical reaction to the almost intimate caress, slammed headfirst into the rush of emotional pain, the ice that was clear and cold and unyielding.

*This means nothing,* he chilled the fire racing through him. *It's nothing. Some odd technique that he picked up from Sandburg. Probably practiced it on him a lot... Hell,* he thought viciously to his libido, *Jim's probably imagining Blair right now.*

Shocked into chatisement, his cock softened almost instantly, shrinking like a stack of dimes. Rafe held off the internal agony with the thin thread of perverse pride that he'd gotten himself -barely- back under control.

*He has no idea - and he'll NEVER have any idea what he does to me. I won't let him know. I won't slip up again.*

Totally unaware of the silent storm, Jim kept rubbing his hand, applying pressure to key points. Acupressure, Rafe finally realized, almost laughing bitterly that someone had finally gotten Jim Ellison to believe in holistic medicine. The only greater shock would be if Jim went down on one knee and swore undying love and burning passion for Rafe.

Ironically enough, he thought wryly, if Jim actually did do that, Rafe would drop dead of a heart attack.

*Then he'd just look down, shrug, and take Sandburg into some private nook so they could boff like bunnies. 'Aw, gee, too bad about Rafe...'*

The fingers in his palm hit a cluster of nerves, and he felt several small muscles in his body obediently stop spasming. The release of the trapped quivers bled away the sharp ache in his chest, and he took a slightly deeper breath. When it came without sending a gray haze over his eyes, he took another one when several other muscles quieted under Jim's ministrations.

With the relief came an instant flood of shame. How could he even consider that Jim was that shallow? The man had managed somehow to stay here, long past visiting hours, just to be here when he woke up. "How... how long have you been here?"

Jim's voice was almost careless enough to fool him. "Since yesterday. Sandburg went home, but," he shrugged, "I had a feeling you'd wake up soon, so I stayed."

Rafe was suddenly sure, even though he couldn't see Jim's face, that he'd see the drawn and shadowed face of a man who'd been here for far longer.

*Wishful thinking, Rafe. You really think he'd lose sleep over someone like you?* came the evil whisper.

Rafe shoved it ruthlessly away. He knew Jim had been here, it was the way Jim was - even if the one he was attending to was an undeserving piece of scum. Or, more simply, *Rafe* might be a bastard, but Jim wasn't.

"I talked to your commander in SWAT."

Then again, maybe he was.

Rafe tensed involuntarily. "Really?" he asked, his voice softer than the rasp of Jim's skin against his.

"Yeah. He said you'd be on the disabled list for a while-"

Actually, knowing Captain Ramirez, he'd probably said something closer to 'useless little white boy.' A slow grin spread over his face; Rick Ramirez had a mouth that belonged to a drill sergeant - and he used it to cover up his deep care of others. The worse the insult, the more concerned Ricky was - and the more creative he got.

"Is that all he said?" Rafe asked, interrupting the rhythm of Jim's massage.

Jim hesitated briefly before the caressing continued, "Well, no."

Rafe heard the frown and nearly burst out laughing. You just had to be under Ricky's command in SWAT to understand him.

"Anyway," Jim continued, a little puzzled by the smile on Rafe's face, "he and Simon got together to discuss you."

Rafe sobered instantly.

"Simon was telling Ramirez that he really missed having you in Major Crimes... Ramirez said that since you were, ah, out of commission-"

*Useless fucking baggage in SWAT* Rafe translated, the smile creeping back.

"-he should transfer your sorry a- uh, transfer you back to Major Crimes."

This time a low, brief laugh did escape.

Jim just hesitated in confusion, then went on, "Simon said he had a ton of stuff you could do - plenty of computer work you could do even from here, and Sandburg said he'd loan you his laptop so you could keep working, doing *something* instead of just vegetating on that sorry little pittance the department calls disability pay-"

"Breathe, Jim," Rafe said, coasting to confusion and back. "Babbling is Sandburg's thing, not yours."

Jim stopped dead, then laughed. "Yeah, you're right." He fell silent again as he continued the massage. Another pressure point was found and more pain was swept aside to fade to a shadow. "Is this helping?"

"Uh, yeah..." It was shameless, but Rafe didn't want Jim to stop. Ever.

Again, he felt Jim smile. "Good. I was afraid maybe I wasn't doing this right."

"You, uh, practice this a lot?" Oh shit, did he actually just say that? Out loud?

Luckily, Jim didn't seem to catch the edge in his voice. Odd, since that edge was slicing the inside of Rafe's throat. "More than I thought I would. Sandburg attracts trouble and injuries like nobody else."

The pain's vice-grip on his chest eased a little more, enough for Rafe to snort, "You're telling *me* that?"

"Just making sure that crack against the floor didn't scramble your brains," Jim teased him.

The other man just smiled faintly, his eyes closing as the fatigue began to creep in again. He didn't fight it, being awake and alert enough for a vague conversation for the few minutes he had been was a miracle in and of itself. "I'm about to drop off here," he murmured in a breath.

"Go ahead," Jim told him. "You need your sleep."

"Just do me a favor, okay?"

"What's that?"

Exhaustion was wrapping around him, fuzzing his mind from the present. He was only half aware of his next words, "Keep talking to me?"

"Okay," was the last word he understood. He clung to awareness as long as he could, anchoring his mind on the feeling of Jim's hand and the low sound of his voice. Eventually, his weariness won the foregone battle and sent him back to sleep.

The sun pounded down, pressing the humid air against his skin as he made his way through the lush green brush. Somewhere far off, several birds competed for territory, their calls echoing discordantly over the forest. High up in a tree, he wasn't sure which one, a monkey was chattering to itself. Or perhaps to him.

A low growl froze him in his tracks. Rafe turned slowly, not daring to move too quickly. That growl sounded like it belonged to something big.

Peering at him from between two fleshy jungle leaves was a pair of burning gold eyes framed by midnight black fur. The leaves parted as the huge cat stepped forward, revealing the head and powerful shoulders of a panther. It watched him, its low growl fading away as it got Rafe's attention.

Rafe wanted to run, but two things kept him from doing so. First, the cat regarded him with curiosity, not aggression. Second, his muscles had frozen in panic and he couldn't have moved even if the panther lunged for him right now. The sweat beading on his face and body now chilled and he shivered. The cat cocked its head to one side, then stepped forward, moving very slowly and carefully. Moving almost as if it was somehow afraid of scaring him.

It paced forward, each step deliberate and controlled. Rafe's legs and body quivered with the confused messages from instinct and rationality.

When the panther's nose touched his bare knee, rationality flashed to vapor and instinct took over. Rafe bolted, crashing blindly through the branches and grasses that slapped against him. He heard a startled cough, then the sounds of a large body barreling through the vegation behind him. His adrenaline sent an incandescent spike through his body and primal fear blanked his brain. He was prey before the hunter, and his body was responding only to the pursuit.

He only slowed when his breath burned in his chest, stopping at last when he no longer heard the panther chasing him. His legs trembled with the strain and he put a steadying hand against a tree trunk, bending over as he gasped to catch his breath. Sweat was pouring off him in rivers now, and he vaguely remembered something he'd read somewhere about dehydration in the wilderness not being a good thing.

Still, when a black jaguar that was perfectly capable of eating you in two bites was chasing after you, you don't hang around to try to reason with it.

When his pulse had slowed enough so he could distinguish the separate beats, he straightened, looking around and listening for any sign of the predator. The good news was that he seemed to have lost the panther. The bad was that he was totally lost in the midst of this jungle.

Not that he really had any idea of where he was or how he'd gotten there to begin with, anyway.

His head snapped up as a new sound lanced through the air. It was a howl - a wolf's howl, his mind identified. Rafe's eyes widened in fear again; panthers hunted alone, but wolves were pack animals.

But the tone of the howl disarmed the immediate panic reaction. The eager note of the hunt wasn't in that voice; the animal sounded like it was crying in pain. Or voicing the agony for one that couldn't.

*Don't do it, Rafe,* his mind warned as his body moved towards the sound. *An injured animal will fuck you up worse than that panther.*

Still, he couldn't just stand by and do nothing. The grief and pain in the cry stabbed into him, and he shushed the voice of survival. If it wasn't that badly hurt, he could still slip away before he was noticed, and if it was seriously injured, it couldn't come after him. At the very least, he might be able to put the poor wolf out of its misery.

The cry had tapered off to a whimper, then a pause as the wolf took a deep breath before howling again. Rafe centered on that sound and let it draw him towards the wolf.

The pitiful cries had faded to whines by the time he got close. He shoved a leafy branch aside and stopped in his tracks, staring at the scene before him.

The wolf was curled up with a shuddering, bloody bundle of fur. The coat was almost pure white where it wasn't streaked with red and the wolf whimpered again as it nuzzled a round ear. A long pink tongue came out to lick the feline face that was contorted in an internal fight to block the pain. The wolf's eyes looked up at him as he dropped to his knees next to the cat.

It was a lioness, he recognized it from watching the Discovery channel. A white lioness, with a spear through her body. The dead-black haft quivered in time to her shivers, the cat's blood rushing out to color her pelt, the wolf and the jungle floor. More blood dripped from the huge, jagged spearhead crowning the shaft, striking her wet pelt with faint *spacks*. His heart twisted as he realized that she was dying.

The wolf's mournful blue eyes looked up at him, and Rafe understood that the wolf knew it too, and was helpless to stop it. He heard a rustle behind him and turned to see the panther sitting beside a tree, watching them with eyes both angry and sad. In this case, it was powerless too.

*What can I do?* he asked them. He looked down at the lioness, reaching out with a shaking hand to stroke the bloodied fur. She shuddered violently again, the motion jarring the spear in her and she mewled a little in pain. The wolf's ears flattened and it whined as it nuzzled her head again.

He never heard the panther approach, only felt its warm shoulder bump his. He turned a startled look at the larger cat as it carefully touched its nose to the spear, then looked back at him. Rafe's hand clenched in the sticky pelt as he understood the black cat's message.

*I can't, it'll kill her.*

The wolf whined again, meeting his eyes as the lioness's shivers intensified. The panther looked back down at her, then up at Rafe. Blue and gold eyes said clearly that she would die if he didn't.

He was no veterinarian, and he had no idea how to treat her injuries even if he didn't think she'd rip his throat out for causing her more pain. He had nothing to stop the bleeding with, and nothing to repair the lacerations. She took a shaky, shallow breath - the closest to a sigh she could manage with that spear through her chest, and the shivers began to fade.

Instead of relaxing, the wolf jumped to its feet, its tail flagging in agitated waves. The panther growled low in its chest, a sound of frustrated denial. Both pairs of eyes burned into his, the plea in their depths far more akin to a command. A command his own nature was echoing.

His hands were moving, despite logic's arguments to the contrary. He *had* to do something, even if it cost the beautiful cat her life. Removing the black spear would probably kill her, but she didn't deserve to die impaled on it.

She opened her eyes as he touched the shaft, the clear blue arrowing into his own hazel, the forgiveness in them making his eyes ache and blur. His hands clenched the spear in fists and he took a deep breath, giving her another moment to brace herself.

Then his muscles tensed, and he jerked the haft out in a single, fluid movement.

The lioness convulsed, her jaw popping as she shrieked. The wolf threw its head back, its howl spiralling up with the panther's wail of shared agony. All three were drowned out by his own scream as he collapsed over her, fire lancing through him.

The black spear was flung away by a sudden jerk of his arm, forgotten as soon as it left his hand. White pain flooded through him, sending his body into violent shudders that matched the throes of the lioness. His hands reached for the gushing hole in her body, his mind only dimly aware that there was a similar flood rushing out of him from a mirroring wound that was suddenly there.

He could feel the wolf anxiously licking his face, the panther nudging him. He didn't care anymore about how close either predator was. Rafe's arms locked around the lioness's body, holding the stilling form close as darkness began to swirl into his mind. Unconsciousness finally kidnapped him just before he noticed a third tongue washing over his neck.

When his eyes blinked open once more, he was staring up at the wolf and the panther. Rafe was lying on the ground, curled fetally on his side. He was shivering and bare, blood coating and drying in streaks on his skin. The lioness was gone.

Confusion rushed through him, rolling over and through the larger, stronger waves of pain. He almost flinched away when the panther approached him, remembering that wounded prey was always the easiest, and the first taken out. To his surprise, the panther nuzzled his neck gently before curling around him, resting its chin on his shoulder. A low purr started in the panther's chest, vibrating against his skin.

The wolf joined them, curving itself in front of him and laying his head on Rafe's hip. The warmth generated between them cradled him and the pain in his body finally began to fade a little. The wolf's blue eyes expanded in his vision, widening to join with the panther's own gold gaze. Both sets grew to block out the jungle, wrapping around him and filling his mind and soul.

//The first step has been taken// a deep voice reverberated all around and inside him. //The next is yet to come.//

*What step?* he wondered as the jungle blurred into mists that vanished around him.

*This is embarrassing.*

It was a pretty mild term, considering the situation. Rafe was lying in bed, propped up with about a hundred pillows. He was wearing only pajama bottoms under the dark green coverlet pulled up to his waist. A steaming bowl of thick soup rested on a tray on his lap.

Had it been up to him, he'd just be lying flat, probably asleep, waking up only occasionally to creep to the bathroom or to the kitchen if he had the strength. The lights would be off, since he'd been too out of it to make use of them, and the only person he'd have to see would be the occasional visitor, although in his frazzled state, only Jordan was likely able to approach the recovering cop without getting his head bitten off.

Well, Jordan and his "nurse" - some people you just *can't* get angry with, especially when they look at you with the Eyes. Not many people had the Eyes, and Rafe was unlucky enough to not only know of more than one - Jordan being the other - but he had a nurse who'd used that look shamelessly to get him to agree to round-the-clock care. Rafe would almost rather have put his Mach 1 in hock to pay for a stranger. Still, the overt concern made him feel a hundred times better, although the inevitablity of certain questions when he was stronger made him feel a hundred times worse in other ways.

He could hear the clink and shuffle in the kitchen -*his* kitchen- as his caretaker puttered around, probably mixing some more fruit juice for him. His hand shook a little with weakness as he picked up the spoon and he resolved to *not* drop the utensil this time. His nurse still didn't quite believe he didn't need to be fed; Rafe intended to prove to him otherwise. He would *not* sit through another feeding without getting violent.

Why the hell couldn't people just ignore him until he was better?

The bullet had gone through his lung, breaking a rib and nicking the aorta before exiting to kill the mercenary. He found out later that Blair had applied pressure instantly, keeping him from dying before the paramedics rushed in from outside. Then, like Jim had said, he had spent three days in the critical care unit and other four fading in and out of awareness.

He stirred the soup idly, the steam wafting up thicker. His thoughts returned to the odd dream he'd had before he was discharged. Before that, the deep, debilitating pain had had a nauseating quality that made him sick just to remember. Afterwards, he'd felt a lot better - cleansed, almost. He'd felt so well that the doctor had finally given in to his nagging and grudgingly agreed to release him a week later.

Of course, Jim hadn't been at all convinced by his chipper attitude, which was perfectly understandable. Nobody really had, when he'd just awakened from a week's worth of near-coma. That disbelief was how he got bullied first into agreeing to an at-home caretaker, then in agreeing to *who* that caretaker was. The nurse was the only thing giving him a sour taste in his mouth and he sipped a mouthful of the soup to wash it away.

The spoon clanked against the bowl as he let his hand fall. He tried not to sigh; breathing still hurt if he wasn't careful. The sounds from the kitchen stopped and he almost had time to groan to himself before his nurse poked his head around the corner.

"Rafe? You doing okay?"

"I'm fine," he reassured the other man.

"You didn't drop that, did you?" Blair's silvery blue eyes were shadowed. "I hope you're not straining yourself."

*No, Mommy. It's been a month already.* He'd just gotten the chest tube taken out two days ago, which made little things like going to the bathroom by oneself *much* easier. Rafe finally had medical permission to bathe himself as well, although Blair offered to keep giving him baths, unaware of how devastating his helping hands were to Rafe's self-control. Sandburg was indescribably helpful when it came to Rafe's limitations, but having him around kept the injured cop on a painful emotional edge. He wasn't having any more disturbing dreams of jaguars and wolves, but the ones about Blair were back in full force.

He nobly restrained himself from snapping. "I'm fine, Sandburg. Just a little tired."

"Ah. Just let me finish up in here and I'll be right back to help you." The smaller man popped out again before Rafe could raise a protest.

*I can't fucking believe this. I thought Jim helping me drink water was humiliating, but Sandburg adds another dimension to the feeling.*

Determined to do this himself, and to prove to Blair that he could, he applied himself to the bowl, working through a few more spoonfuls before Blair got back. The other man was holding a pair of misty glasses full of some pinkish liquid. Rafe tried not to stare as he doggedly took another bite.

"Dare I ask?" he nodded at the glasses. The soup, Blair's creation, was thick and full of beef and chunks of vegetables. Blair had muttered something about losing an argument and that the recipe was Jim's. Rafe was glad; nobody could regain their strength on most of the stuff Jim had told him private horror stories about. The tofu and alfalfa tacos had been among the most normal of the foods the older detective grinned about.

The younger man had practically moved in to take care of him, leaving only for his classes and to help Jim at the station, although he was more or less here 24 hours a day since spring break was upon them. Rafe wasn't quite sure how to feel about Jim's lover spending the lion's share of his time with him, instead of with the man they both loved.

He was certain that Blair's presence was the reason why Jim came over as often as he did. Most times he didn't care, just so long as he got to see the object of his tortured longing. Rafe was grateful, however, that when they were by themselves in the living room or kitchen, they kept whatever they did quiet. Even semi-conscious, he couldn't handle that.

Blair set down one glass on Rafe's tray and took a sip of his before answering. "Just a blend of different fruit juices. Orange, banana, strawberry," his voice dropped suddenly to a mumble, "...and a bit of lemon to jazz it up."

"What was that?" Rafe asked, picking up his glass to take a drink. He tried not to look at that brilliant grin, afraid of the reactions he couldn't control. If only he could stop having those damn dreams...

"Orange, banana, strawberry," Blair's voice dropped to a mutter again, then returned to normal volume, "and lemon."

"Mmm," the sweet juice blossomed in his mouth and Rafe's eyes almost closed. It was fabulous! He could taste the different fruits Blair had mixed in, and there was a hint of something else... something he could almost identify...

"You like it?" Blair asked. The almost anxious tone behind that smile made Rafe instantly suspicious. Another memory laid a ghostly mirror image over Blair's face, his head held at just that angle, and Rafe quickly looked away. The phantom porno scene played out a little longer, tricking responses from muscles that his conscious mind couldn't beg to take orders.

*Damn! Why here and why now? And why Blair?! Why do I daydream about one and nightdream about the other?*

Do you really want an answer to that?

Rafe frowned, deciding he didn't like the sardonic tone that other part of his mind was capable of. *If Sandburg wasn't here, this wouldn't be happening. I'd be in a dreamless coma twenty-three hours out of the day. I wouldn't have to put up with this shit.*

Right. And while you're thinking up miracles and other impossibilities, why not work out the dynamics of having sex with two men at once? Or at least the real-life physiology of what you and Blair were doing in this morning's dream - that looked pretty athletic to me.

Blood rushed to his face. *Shut up!*

Any pleasure he might have gotten from the ensuing silence was wiped away by the smugness of it.

*Aw, great. Not only am I arguing with myself, I just lost the fucking argument.*

Belatedly, he realized that while he was arguing with that other part of himself that was already working out the gymnastics of the aforementioned dream, Blair was still waiting for a response. Aw, hell, what was it? Ah, right, about the juice and did he like it... "Yeeaahh," he said slowly. "I can pick out everything, except for that one thing you won't tell me."

"What?" Blair's eyes went wide with feigned innocence. "I listed everything!"

"And only 80% in an audible tone, now what's the last one?"

"You said you liked it, right?" Blair watched as Rafe brought the glass up to his mouth for another drink.

"Yes, now tell me what else you put in here."

The mischievous grin should had been his first clue, but Rafe was too busy enjoying the fruit juice. "Passionfruit."

Rafe nearly choked. "Umm... *what*?"

Passionfruit, Rafe. You know, passion? That uncontrollable thing you feel that delights in giving totally independant control to your dick? And fruit? Well, do I really need to go there...? That man does subtle very well, hiding hints in plain sight the way he does - what do *you* think that his 'passionfruit' means?

*Nothing.* Rafe thought to himself viciously. *Abso-fucking-lutely nothing!*

Right. Why don't you at least consider the vague possiblity that he might be interested? Just because he's with Jim doesn't mean he's blind. And as for that thing in the locker room, it's not as if he's been anything but caring and attentive, so he *can't* hate you... and doesn't he look *too* innocent, somehow?

"Passionfruit," Blair repeated with that dangerously beautiful smile, taking a drink himself. "Sorry about being ambiguous, but some people don't like it. Gives it an extra poke, doesn't it?"

Mmm, am I the only one who thinks these pants are getting a little small?

*Yes, you are!* Rafe cleared his throat of the juice that had gone down the wrong way. "Uh, yeah," he said hoarsely.

Blair eyed the bowl critically, his lack of acknowledgment of Rafe's reactions making the cop almost believe he was completely innocent. Almost. This was Blair Sandburg, after all. The man had a terrifyingly brilliant mind and a sense of humor that sometimes bordered on the demonic. "You're not done yet, are you? You really need to build your strength up."

He shook his head and picked up the spoon again to continue eating. Blair leaned back in his chair and picked up a book he'd left on the table next to the bed. Partway through the bowl, he felt Blair's eyes on him. The spoon paused on the way to his mouth, his eyes meeting the set that were watching him intently over the edge of the book. "What?"

"Nothing," the teasing had vanished to be replaced with something far more serious. The smile was back, a little more shy now, "I'm just glad you're alive."

"Oh." Rafe didn't quite know what to say to that. He hoped the heat on his face was from the steam drifting up to lightly brush his skin.

Awww...

*Don't you even start* he told himself firmly. *Just knock it off right now.*

Surprisingly, that other part bowed meekly out. Rafe went back to the soup, concentrating on eating so he wouldn't have to see the gaze that Blair was keeping on him. It wasn't quite piercing, but it certainly felt invasive, like the younger man was about to read his soul. And Rafe preferred to spare him the dirty and blackened rag that passed for his heart.

Despite everything that roiled and crashed inside him whenever the subject of either Jim or Blair was brought up, Rafe was glad that he wasn't alone. It was enough, more than enough, for Blair to just be here, away from Jim, taking care of Rafe.

Now if only the disturbing feelings would just go away.

He finished eating in silence, unable to finish the entire bowl. Blair gave up all pretense of reading, nodding with approval when he was finally done. "Good going, you're eating more every day." The look that he swept over Rafe was cheerfully disapproving, "You're still too thin, but we'll work on that. Feel like doing any of your breathing exercises?"

He gave Blair a dark look from under half-lidded eyes as the other man took away the remains of his food. "No."

"Gotta do them anyway."

"Don't want to."

"Too bad," he returned, smiling as they repeated the same exchange, almost word for word that they'd had every day since Rafe's homecoming. Blair had been right there with him since day one, encouraging and nagging him to work and move himself, and supporting and helping him when he couldn't. He did it all with that unflagging energy and sun-bright smile; Rafe wasn't sure if he thoroughly hated Sandburg now, or if he was well and truly in love with him. It was hard to tell, especially when it came to his physical therapy.

He was hardly being ignored by his friends in SWAT and Major Crimes. Nearly every day he had visitors, the well-wishers coming by more frequently in recent days since Blair had judged him 'fit for visitation'. Jim came daily, Brown and Taggert almost as often. A good dozen or so of his fellow snipers had stopped by, and Jordan was a houseguest for a short time during his leave from the Air Force.

Even Captain Ramirez had come by once to see how he was doing, assuring Rafe that his 'vacation' just meant that his skinny white boy ass was going to get ridden even harder when he was back. Rafe's grin had nearly popped out of hiding when Blair had taken offense at the overheard insults and all but chased the gruff commander out with a baseball bat. Rafe was torn between the shock he shared with the former Marine and the sudden burst of laughter that big, tough Ricky Ramirez had thrown his indomitable will against that of a smaller, fiery anthropologist - and lost. Bigtime.

Said fiery anthropologist was impossible to deter from making sure Rafe did the exercises he needed, as Blair proved by taking the tray out and returning with the incentive spirometer. Rafe made a face at the contraption: three clear plastic tubes connected with only a small hole near the top of each one. There was a small ball at the bottom of each one, each one a different weight. A flexible tube was attached to the first of the tubes with the lightest, pale blue ball. His breathing exercises every day included blowing into the spirometer as hard as he could, the air making the balls rise and dance in the tubes. The doctor told him that a normal person could blow hard enough to keep the heaviest, dark blue ball up at the top of its tube for several seconds.

The first time he'd done this, he couldn't even bring the light blue one halfway up. Now, the pale blue was staying up at the top and the medium blue ball trembled three-fourths of the way up its tube before Rafe had to take another breath. Blair had him do that nine more times, then let him stop. "Okay, that's enough for now. You're doing really good, Rafe. Looks like you'll be able to get that last one up in another few days."

Leaning back, a little dizzy from the exertion, he shrugged. Blair took the spirometer and set it on the bedside table, where Rafe could reach it in the morning.

"Okay, I'm going to read for a bit before going to sleep. Do you need your medication, or do you think you can sleep without it?"

He gave the other man a half-grin, "I'm a wimp, Sandburg, I'll take some."

The grin was accepted, appreciated and returned threefold. "Right, sure. You're such a wimp you went and took a bullet saving me and all those other people. Soon as you're all better, we're gonna take you out back and beat the shit out of you."

"Promises, promises."

His eyes drifted halfway shut as he watched his caretaker bring the bottle of painkillers, shaking one out onto his palm and giving it to Rafe with another glass of juice in the other. Blair set about straightening the covers around him while he downed the pill and a third of the juice.

Rafe shook his head when Blair asked him if he needed anything else and slid down with a shallow sigh to go to sleep. He stayed awake for a long while after Blair turned off the light, taking his book with him to the living room. When sleep avoided his tired body, he glanced at the tiny orange bottle, remembering that the codeine his doctor had prescribed was nearly as good at dulling pain as it was at putting him to sleep. Gritting his teeth, he reached over to take a second one. If he slept deeply enough, maybe he wouldn't have any more dreams...

"Rafe," came the whisper. He looked up from his seat on the floor - hardwood, not carpet, so it wasn't his home - to his lover. The part of him that cringed from this during the day was powerless at night against the rest of him that smiled and reached for Blair. The younger man obliged with a hug, trailing his fingertips down Rafe's spine, but pulling away from their kiss too soon. "Things can't go on like this, man."

*Why not?* he wondered. They were alone, he was happy. He'd be a lot happier if Blair would just let Rafe distract him...

"Because it's not fair. It's not fair to Jim, it's not fair to me," the sad curve of his lips softened his words. "And it's not fair to you."

Puzzled and a little hurt, Rafe drew back, bringing his knees up to his chest. He folded his arms around his legs, turning his head away. So it was this now. He'd opened up to someone and gotten kicked in the teeth for it. Again. He couldn't look at Blair. *So, it's over?*

"It has to be," Blair replied, reaching over to tug Rafe towards him. The other man resisted and Blair had to pull hard to get the stiff body to cooperate. "Listen to me, how is this good for us? Think about it, Rafe. How is this good for *you*? It's not, and you'd know that if only you'd stop and-"

*I know!* he growled, cutting off the voice of relentless logic. *But I can't just shut myself off.*

"I'm not asking you to, Rafe. Jesus, anything but-"

*Look, Sandburg, if you're going to leave, then go. If not,* his voice softened as he added with a slow smile of his own, *then I'll do or talk about whatever you want, but not that. I won't interfere with you two. You're happy with him, he's happy with you. That's all that's important.*

"That's all that's important?" the man holding him to his chest repeated slowly. He tilted Rafe's head up, their faces barely an inch apart as he looked into Rafe's eyes. Whatever he read in their depths made his face crease in pained understanding. "Aw, man. I'm not going to leave," he touched his lips to Rafe's, "all I'm saying is that we need to talk."

*Isn't that what we're doing?*

Blair's grin turned warm and dark as Rafe's hands crept around him and pulled them closer. "You know what I mean. And if not, you'll figure it out-"

His words were cut off as a harsh sound flooded the air. Rafe flinched violently, clapped his hands to his ears, the effort not muffling the blaring in the least, and looked around in startlement. His eyes skipped over, then widened in surprise as they returned to touch on the black jaguar hovering at the edge of reality.

*Jim?* he asked, his mind giving that identity to the dream-cat. It looked nothing like the detective, but it *felt* like him. Rafe looked back at Blair, who wasn't reacting at all to the sound. The other man reached up with one hand to brush some hair off his forehead.

"Things aren't always what they seem, Rafe." Blair's face was swimming closer, holding none of the cold rejection he feared. "We-"

"-gotta get outta here, man! Wake up!!"

*Huh?* Rafe blinked his eyes open. Blair's clothes were rumpled and his hair was disarrayed, looking like he'd been awakened out of a sound sleep just before he'd done the same to Rafe. He couldn't quite focus on the clock, but the fuzzy numerals looked like the time was, as Jordan often said, oh-dark-hundred. The sharp clanging was even louder in reality.

"Come *on*," Blair pulled the covers off him, gently, but urgently tugging on Rafe. "We have to get out, the alarm's sounding all over the building."

He didn't even have the presence of mind to manage a bleary curse, hiding his wince as sore muscles pulled sharply. He groaned in pain and protest and let gravity pull him back down so he could keep sleeping.

"C'mon, Rafe. Wake up, get up, let's go!"

*...damn...*

His sleep-fuddled mind couldn't really come up with more than that. Rafe had never been a light sleeper and, even after a full night's rest, had a tendency to walk into furniture until he was fully awake, which was usually an hour later. Still shaky and weak, exhausted from recovery and roused out of a sound, codeine-assisted sleep, he didn't have a chance of remotely appearing awake. His mostly-comatose mind issued orders with a yawn and Blair had to help his body obey them.

The alarm pounded into his head, batting back the sleep-fog that kept rolling in. The klaxon was gaining ground, though his brain cells were still scattered on the crest of the painkillers still in his system. Rafe forced himself to move, knowing that he somehow had to get vertical, but not quite comprehending why.

Once Rafe was sitting up, Blair left his side for just a moment to grab the blue-and-green tartan bathrobe. Rafe blinked owlishly in the spill of light from the hallway. Blair had said 'let's go' and now he was over there. Why was he over there? Was Blair leaving without him?

No. He didn't want that. He struggled to stand, to follow. The weakness that thrummed through his body coalesced, and the watery muscles in his legs gave out nearly the same moment they took his weight.

Blair was just turning back with the robe in his hands. His eyes widened and he lunged as Rafe collapsed. He caught the taller man, but was badly off-balance and ended up falling with him. Blair's breath left in a startled 'oof!' when he landed, hard, on his back, Rafe on top of him.

The impact sent a cold steel spike through Rafe and an involuntary cry of pain tore out of him. Blair's arms were up and around him instantly, "Rafe?" his breathless voice demanded. "Are you hurt? Did anything tear?" When no answer came from the other man, his voice cracked a little. "*Rafe*?!"

Eyes screwed shut, face pressed against Blair's shoulder, he whispered, "M'okay. Just-" Rafe broke off in a gasp as he tried to move and couldn't. "Need... a minute..."

"Oh, man. We haven't got a minute-" Blair shifted to try to get them up and froze when the motion pulled a strangled groan out.

"Stop... please." Rafe was trying to not breathe too hard or deep. His quick, shallow pants washed over Blair's neck and shoulder and his hands were fisted against the angry throbs.

"Okay, okay," the chest under his face rose with a deep, calming sigh. He felt Blair's hands stroke over his back and arms while he fought the sheeting pain back. "Whenever you're ready, just make it soon, okay?"

Rafe almost coughed a laugh, stopping himself just in time. "Why? Wha's the sound?"

"It's a fire alarm, Rafe." Blair moved carefully, rolling them over to ease Rafe to the floor. He probed the angry red tissue with gentle fingers, checking for injuries. The soothing hands belied the undercurrent of panic. "Are you okay? Did anything come open?"

He did a vague internal check, taking an experimental breath. "Don't think so... just *hurts*." Mental faculties were coming back on line, the fuzz of narcotics partially burned away by the white flare. The sullen hum receded into irritated stabs and tense muscles finally began to relax. Rafe blinked again as Blair's words were reprocessed through his central switchboard.

*Fire? Oh shit...*

He tried to move again, and bit back another groan. More of his mind giggled and pirouetted away under the drug-induced haze. Rafe's head fell back, spinning sickly as the world shifted around him. Blair was supporting himself next to him with one arm, the other hand resting lightly on the scars. Rafe willed the vertigo back and tried to lever himself up on arms that trembled with drugged exhaustion. They lost their pitiful strength immediately and only the arm that instantly curved around his shoulders kept him from taking another painful fall. He looked up into Blair's face and froze, his confused mind gasping in surprise.

In the dim backwash of light, the strong features were made softer by shadow. The illumination sank into his eyes, turning them into pools of indigo light. Memory supplied more, an identity. Blair, from his dreams. *His* Blair. He was solid and real and right here, right now...

*You didn't leave.* The thought was flavored with wonder as fantasy and memory fused and imprinted on his world. His hands reached up to touch his lover's face and hair. "Blair," he murmured, smiling as those beautiful eyes widened. Blair's lips parted and Rafe accepted the invitation, drawing him slowly down. There was surprise, but no resistance in the mouth that opened for his.

His eyes rolled up and closed, his fingers threading into the soft mass of hair. His tongue reached up to slip into Blair's mouth, tasting him with each teasing flick. Rafe sighed happily, giving himself over to the dream again. The muffled vibration against his lips sent random darts of heat through him and his body responded to his lover as easily as it always did.

Only one thing disturbed him, and that was that jarring sound that wouldn't go away. It twined into his ears and brain, pushing back the baffled mists slowly as it went.

"Rafe..." Blair said against his lips.

The sound of that voice, the troubled tone laced with desire and urgency, sent a filament of reality into him. *Blair... no, not same... different... locker room...* Memory chilled him with a merciless replay of his assault in the locker room. The kiss broke off as his face dropped away from his lover's, neck muscles forgetting to function and deciding not to care. *Shit, not again... Jim... Blair...*

"M' sorry," he mumbled.

He barely heard Blair's soft response. "I'm not."

Then Blair tilted his face up and kissed him, tilting his jaw open with a thumb on his chin. The slide of that warm, wet tongue against his sent Rafe's mind reeling back into the dark depths of dreams. His lover was back, kissing him deeply and he moaned, arching up towards the body over his. Sharp lances reminded him to not do that, but he ignored them. The velvet bliss left when his breath hitched.

"Rafe," his own name flowed over his lips from the mouth a bare centimeter from his. "Much as I hate to stop, we *really* have to get out of here."

Vaguely aware and not really understanding the words, he nodded. The phantom lover smiled, warming his dream and Rafe melted into the arms around him. Instead of continuing, his Blair got them up, supporting him with arms and whispers of encouragement when the motion sent another series of blades through him.

He looked around, wondering where Jim's Blair was, and forgot when his Blair moved them forward, the first stumbling steps jarring through him and driving out all thoughts of Jim and his Blair. "Wha...?"

"Fire alarm, Rafe, remember?"

Fire, burn, heat, smoke, damage, danger... He had to get his lover out. Wait, his lover was getting him out. What about Jim's Blair? Jim must have already gotten him out...

Supporting his weight fully, Blair half-dragged, half-carried him out to join the throng of residents that were crowded on the sidewalk. Cool, clear air brushed over his face, carrying with it the hot scent of woods, synthetics and metals set ablaze. Reality intruded into his consciousness even more and he glanced up, confused at the gold and scarlet fire and its billowing black column of smoke that faded and blended into the depths of the night sky.

"Come on, sit down," he said, easing Rafe down onto the grass. Blair sank down next to him, leaning against the tree by the curb and bracing himself so the injured man could rest against him. He wrapped his arms around Rafe, holding and comforting at the same time. The sirens of fire trucks were climbing the darkness, the banshee wail getting louder and louder, the threads of police sirens winding through them. "Blair?"

"Just relax, Rafe. We're out, we're okay," his lover assured him. The chest he was cuddled against moved as Blair looked down at him, "Go ahead and go back to sleep."

"'kay," he muttered, turning his face into Blair's neck to yawn and surrender. The codeine helped him tune out all the chaos, relegating it to the 'it's not really happening' corner of his mind. The bathrobe was draped around him and he drifted away, listening to his lover's low voice. The soothing tone changed some time later, and the shift pulled him a little out of the void.

"Hey, Jim."

"Blair, are you okay? Is *he* okay?"

"We're fine, but the building's on its way to well and truly thrashed."

"Yeah, looks like it."

Rafe felt a lock of his hair brush away from his face. Blair asked in a soft voice, "Is he awake?"

There was a pause, then Jim's voice, even softer, "Not really."

Why was Jim here, he had his own Blair. Wait, was this his Jim? The formless protest that made him stir died away. It was the dream again, no more. Jim was in his dream and Rafe smiled a little. *Nice to finally see you here...*

"Oh, man. What are we going to do? We didn't have a chance to get any of his stuff-"

"Do you remember everything he needs?"

"Huh? Well, yeah-"

"Good." His lover shifted under him again and Rafe felt himself being pulled away. He reached out weakly to his Blair and his hands were captured and given a reassuring squeeze. "Did either of you breathe any smoke?"

There was another pause, a hesitation, then Blair said, "No. We- He did fall, but we got out before the fire had gotten much beyond the second floor."

More brief silence as he was carefully walk-carried to a car. To a truck. Jim's truck. Instead of giving words to the minor tension in the air, Jim said, "Ambulance isn't here yet. I want to take him back to the hospital to make sure he's all right."

One of the warm bodies supporting him left and he sagged against the other. Now-familiar arms came up to hold him and he heard Jim's voice, tinged with concern, "Does his medication normally do this to him?"

"No," Blair's voice was puzzled. They moved as Jim helped them both into the truck. "Jim, his apartment's on fire; he can't use it and he couldn't stay at the hospital, even if he wanted to. And you know he doesn't."

"I know," Jim answered as Blair slid onto the seat next to Rafe, settling the injured man in his arms against his shoulder. The door closed with a bang and a few seconds later the other door opened, the truck rocking a little as Jim got in. "You're going to have to tell the doctors what he needs so we can get it, then we're taking him home."

A moment of surprise. Then, "Home?"

"Yeah. Home. He's going to need a place to stay until his place is fixed."

He dimly heard Blair's voice, "Have I told you how wonderful you are?"

Rafe groaned silently, willfully retreating farther into unconsciousness.

"No, I'm not. I'm tired of going to sleep in an empty loft. And waking up alone makes me grouchy."

There was another stretch of silence. Rafe muzzily tried to figure out what his Jim meant by that.

"Okay," he finally, reluctantly admitted after several moments. "I'm worried about him too."

The smile in Blair's voice warmed the air. "I love you, Jim."

Rafe cringed inside at those words, fleeing back to drug-induced oblivion. He'd made a mistake, a horrible mistake. This wasn't his Jim, this wasn't his Blair. This was Jim's Blair, and this was Jim, and Jim was going to be furious when he found out Rafe was having more than impure thoughts about his Blair. Where was his Blair? Where did he go"

Why did his lover leave him alone again?