Dreams Into Waking
by Ariana

~~~~~~~~

"...seriously, man?"

Rafe floated in and out of awareness, mostly out. The bits and pieces of beloved voices tugged him in the approximate direction of reality.

"...doesn't bother...?"

"...no..."

The pause let him slip back to dreamless sleep. Jim's voice, warm and soft, started to drag him back.

"...like tasting two whiskies blended together..."

"...oh wow... thought maybe... territorial..."

"...yes i am..."

Rafe's eyelids twitched as a few more veils of unconsciousness were breached. It was enough to feel the coolness of a pillow under his cheek. It didn't smell like his.

"...still, i thought-"

"sssh"

After a long pause, during which Rafe fought back the sticky webs of oblivion, he heard Blair speak again. "What?"

Footsteps now. Slow and careful, coming closer. The echoes of their voices and all the sounds were all too wrong, carrying far too well. **Where am I?**

Then a quiet click and creak of metal. His slowly wakening mind put the sounds together. **Door. Someone's opening a door.**

Where was he? The acoustics were totally wrong for his apartment, and the sounds of Jim and Blair's voices as well as the scent of Blair's hair on the pillow under his face gave him a pretty good idea where he might be. He tried not to wince, to remain apparently unconscious.

"Jim?" Blair's voice, much closer now, was a bare whisper. "Is he waking up?"

The breathing he'd been listening to interrupted to answer, "Yeah. Slowly, but he's waking up."

"Come on, then, let's leave him alone for a little while longer."

Another pause, then the hinges creaked again and two sets of footsteps receded quietly, leaving him to crawl out of or back into sleep. He elected to crawl back in.

"I'm going to head out to the store. Is there anything we need?"

"Nothing that's not already on the list. Maybe you should wait until Rafe's awake and see if he needs anything we don't already have?"

"He's not going to be awake for a while. I need to stretch my legs anyway."

He must have dozed off, because the sound of a door closing jerked him back to alertness. His eyes cracked open, falling on a triangular wooden clock that sat on the nightstand. It had a round face with no numerals, and the artwork was a depiction of a delicately curling wave done in the Japanese style. The part of his mind in charge of accessing obscure knowledge supplied the artist's name, Hokusai.

He narrowed his eyes, trying to focus on the arms to guess what time it might be. It didn't help that his head wasn't straight, but it looked more or less like the time was about seven, although whether that was morning or evening, he couldn't tell.

A tiny creak drew his attention to the door. Blair had eased it open and stuck his head inside. "Hey," he said softly. "How're you doing?"

Rafe took a careful breath. "Not... too bad. Why'm I here?"

"Ah. Well." Blair moved carefully into the room and folded himself down to sit on the floor next to the futon. "Uh, Jim and I thought you'd prefer being here than a hospital. Were we wrong?"

He shook his head, feeling his brain spin lazily inside his skull as he did so. "No, just wondering." Wondering why he was *here* instead of his home, for starters, but since he was close to Jim, he didn't feel like making the effort to figure that out just yet. The effort would come later, he knew, and it was sure to be interesting, but for now, he preferred to not think. Especially when Blair went on.

"It's, uh, well..." he chewed on his lower lip, as if trying to line up his thoughts. "Okay, there's no real delicate way to put this, Rafe. Do you remember last night at all?"

Seeing Blair so reluctant and scattered made him blink. The previous night's events were, for him, secured behind a black velvet curtain of amnesia. What could Blair be talking about?

He made a sound to the negative, frowning when it seemed to make the other man a little more nervous. "Well, um, late last night... actually really early this morning, I guess, ah, a fire broke out in your apartment building-" He broke off as Rafe sucked in a breath convulsively.

His home, gone? No, no, no, no... it couldn't be. That was *his* home, *his* territory. The one and only place in the world that was all his, where he could retreat to and lock the door against the world. It couldn't be gone. His forehead creased when the sudden breath stabbed into his chest.

Blair's eyes widened, "Oh, no, man. It's not that bad at all! Your apartment wasn't burned, but there's a lot of smoke and water damage. The owner said it's gonna be a while before the building's refurbished enough for people to move back in."

"How long?" he demanded, his voice a harsh gasp.

"Um, he said a week or so for your apartment. Some people are gonna get in sooner - they were farther from the origin of the fire. Others are gonna be waiting for a lot longer to move back home." He reached out to rest his palm on Rafe's forehead briefly to get the other man's attention before pulling it away again. "Your home isn't gone, Rafe, it's just out of commission for a while," Blair's mouth quirked in a half-grin. "Kind of like you. A little work and you're both back up to par. It's just gonna take a little effort, that's all."

He'd been absolutely right earlier. He did *not* want to think about any of this. In a brief moment of insanity, he'd gone from being strong to being helpless. From self-sufficient to dependent. From being safe in his solitude to being openly vulnerable in his weakness. And why, oh God, why did he have to be *here* of all places?

He wanted to go back to sleep and wake up when his life decided to move back home, both bags in hand. This shit just wasn't *fair*!

Blair misread the shadows in his face. "It's been almost a full day since you last had any medication. Do you need some?"

His eyes slid closed and he nodded, trying to run from the day that was happening despite the rules of fair play to the contrary. He listened to Blair leave the room and return, listlessly taking the pill and not tasting whatever he'd brought for him to drink with it.

There was a stretch of silence for a while, and Rafe almost forgot Sandburg was there. He remembered immediately when Blair reached out again to touch his forehead, the contact opening his eyes in the dimness. "How's your breathing?" he asked in a low voice.

"Hurts," he replied. That such a basic, *simple* act was so debilitating sparked an instant, irrational rage at his own weakness. He hated this, hated being dependent on anyone, hated being a *burden* on anyone, especially the ones he loved. He wanted to pound his fists against something and howl his frustration, as if the power of his voice alone would drive away the infirmity and make him strong again.

All he could manage right now, however, was a pained crumple of his face and a weak clenching of one hand.

And Blair, so perfectly wonderful and unattainable as he was, heard what he meant as well as what he said and understood both. He ran gentle fingers through Rafe's hair, "Hey, this is only temporary. You'll get over it in no time." He gave a short, humorless laugh, "You saved my life, man. Daeth would have been pretty hard for me to come back from."

"Didn't mean... I mean... shit, Sandburg." Rafe took a careful breath, trying to order his drifting thoughts. "I wouldn't change what I did. I don't want you to think I'd have let..." he trailed off. The image of the woman shot dead for being unable to quiet her crying intruded and as he pushed at it, her face disappeared to be replaced by Sandburg's. Rafe flinched and shoved *that* picture violently away.

Blair jerked his hand from Rafe's head, thinking he'd done something wrong. "Sorry, Rafe."

He shook his head, "No, Blair, not you. Just me." Not Blair, not at all. Always and forever, if something was wrong, it was him. "Just... remembering the bank."

The smile he got was a mix of relief and empathy. "No kidding, man. Jim had to practically slug me to wake me up earlier. He said I'd been yelling in my sleep." His loose curls swayed as he shook his head. "It was bad. Must have been - I couldn't even hear myself. All I was seeing in that dream was you."

"Me?"

Blair nodded, "You. Just like then, except that guy lived. You were on the floor, blood everywhere, except I couldn't get to you to stop it. Every step I took couldn't get me any closer, and," he hesitated, "and you died. And *he* was laughing at me the whole time."

**Oh shit, Blair...** Without thinking, he reached out to him. It surprised Rafe when he saw his fingers touch the other man's hair. He wanted to yank the disobedient hand away, but he couldn't make his arm respond. More surprise further stilled him when Blair leaned into the unintentional caress.

"You've had bad dreams about Jim," Rafe murmured. It wasn't a question; Rafe had had them too.

"All the time," he confessed. "Whenever he's late on a stakeout or we have a near miss on a case. I keep wondering, what if he takes a hit and *doesn't* get up from it? Or what if I'm too slow to help him?"

Rafe nodded, his fingers idly twisting a curl, not fully believing how soft it really was. His voice was quiet with his own remembered dreams, "Or he calls for backup and you're too late because of a traffic jam, of all things."

"Or he's the one being held hostage against you."

"Or you just can't get that warning out of your throat in time..." Rafe blinked away that particular nightmare, where he couldn't warn Jim of the killer behind him. He frowned at the depressingly dark turn their talk had taken.

"Or someone you pissed off goes after him," Blair went on, citing another secret fear.

"Or..." Rafe grinned. "He's wearing a leisure suit."

Blair snorted in surprise. "What?!" His head snapped up, his mouth fighting to keep back startled laughter. He began to lose the battle at the grin on Rafe's face. "Oh, man, tell me I didn't just hear that."

Glad that the somber mood had been cracked, Rafe shrugged, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "What? You've never had that dream? I couldn't sleep for three days after that, it was that horrifying."

The other man leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, "I don't have to dream it, I've *seen* it."

Rafe's mouth fell open, "You're kidding!" The sudden, vivid picture of Jim, bedecked in a pimp's ransom of gold chains in his polyester leisure suit glory, struck him instantly absurd. He tried not to laugh, knowing it would hurt. He failed.

"Scout's honor, man. Two Halloweens ago. I nearly died twice, first from laughing myself sick, then again when he gave me The Look."

Rafe's grin finally bubbled over with the laughter mixing with Blair's own. He knew The Look well, as well as he knew Blair's shameless Eyes.

"I could've been *so* dead, but thank all gods he changed his mind. Went as the Lone Ranger instead."

"I remember," Rafe's mirth had toned down to less-burning chuckles. The pain was finally starting to fade too, thanks to the medication. He thought again of Jim in a leisure suit and his tone was truly thankful. "I'm glad you talked him out of it."

"Snerked him out of it is more like it - I couldn't keep a straight face long enough to say a word."

Rafe could almost feel the seep of codeine into his nerves, bringing with it the sweet euphoria of relief. He smiled at the man sitting next to his bed, the wiry frame shaking a little with silent snickers. His face was alight with more laughter and Rafe wished he could freeze this moment in time to be able to drink in that smile forever.

**I love you.**

He clapped a hand to his mouth, stopping the forbidden words before they could make their way into reality. The sudden movement squeezed his eyes shut and Blair's laughter cut off abruptly, "Rafe?"

"Nothing," he mumbled behind his hand, trusting himself no more. He couldn't hide from the fact any longer. He loved Blair and he loved Jim. Both were equally forever out of reach.

Blair's tone was disbelieving, "What is it?"

"Nothing," he repeated. The codeine made him sick once in a while, especially if he took it on an empty stomach. He could fake that, and hopefully get to sleep before he threw up for real. It wouldn't be too hard, just let his eyes slide closed a little, slump a bit in feigned exhaustion, maybe even go so far as to carefully fake a small yawn...

Blair sighed, "I don't think it's good for you to go to sleep again. You've already been out for a full day." The careful yawn got a reappraising look, "Okay, at least eat something before you pass out."

He nodded, that was only fair. Blair was a hell of a cook anyway, when he took the time to make normal food. Besides, it would keep him from turning his stomach inside out on Blair's bedroom floor. "Okay," he said, slowly lowering the hand over his mouth and giving Blair a wan smile. "Just make sure it's edible."

The smaller man's face brightened as he rose up from the floor with an unconscious grace that sent shivers through Rafe. "Oh, no problem. I promise it'll be edible." Then, as he was closing the door behind him, he added, "To some life forms, at least."

Rafe started to protest, his mouth closing as the door latched. A small grin tugged at his lips at the sounds of Blair laughing to himself as he went to the kitchen. His eyelids drooped a little and he smiled as he turned over to face the wall. The joke would be on Blair, when he came back in and found Rafe fast asleep again.

He'd gotten pretty good at telling time on the numberless clock over the last few hours. Not like it was terribly hard anyway to guess where the three, or the six, for instance, would be. Jim had left for work when the longer hand was at *that* angle, probably at about 7:20. Blair had left the apartment after looking in on Rafe when the longer hand was *there* - probably close to eight a.m.

He glanced at the book on his lap, sighing as he tried toconvince himselfthat yes, he really *did* want to read it.

**It's something out of his dusty collection about the Micala-whoever. No, I don't want to read it.**

He set it aside, trying not to glance at the bottle on the nightstand. He wasn't in any pain now, but taking one of those pills would break up the monotony. Blair had said he'd be gone only for a short while, some thing at the University, and Jim had said he'd only had paperwork to do today.

Except for going to the bathroom, he refused to do anything or go anywhere in their home. It felt too much to him like he was intruding. Which left him with little more to do than think, which he didn't want to do at all. If he wasn't thinking about all of his waterlogged and smoke-blackened stuff, a lot of it irreplaceable or damn expensive, then he was thinking of how much he *didn't* belong here. In their apartment. In their lives.

**Stop it, you're starting to sound pathetic, even to yourself. Blair's right, you'll get over this soon, then it's back to SWAT and making yourself scarce. You can put up with this for just a little while longer.**

His eyes flicked back up to the bottle, then skipped away resolutely. Out of sheer perversity, they landed on the clock and he noted again the time.

The last one he'd had about six a.m., almost six hours ago. Both of the clock's arms were nearly together, bisecting the curling wave right at its crest. Another few minutes, and it'd be time for another one. He was reluctant even to make his way to the kitchen to get something to drink, but he knew better than to try dry-swallowing the noxious pills. Gross just didn't cover them.

Eyes of deep gold-green flicked over the titles that he had no problem reading from across the room. The anthropology, psychology and sociology books got a careless once-over, but his gaze did linger a bit on the ones dealing with spirituality and other more new age topics. He wanted to take a look at those, but hesitated. The one he'd set aside had already been lying on the nightstand; getting up to pick out a book pricked his overdeveloped sense of 'other people's territory'.

Still, his fingers itched for that one on the end there, nearly shoved all the way to the back of the shelf. Something about spirit guides. He found it a little intriguing; rumors about Blair's mother and the kind of upbringing Sandburg likely had had only been confirmed when he overheard Jim and Blair discussing ghosts some time ago. At the time he'd felt like laughing at it, the whole thing had sounded like so much nonsense, but now the idea of a nonphysical world underlying the real one interested him.

Then again, wasn't it normal for shmucks like him, who'd had a close brush with daeth, to speculate on an afterlife? After all, he'd come so close to it already, why not try to learn about what he could be flung into at any time?

It was something he'd thought of a lot when he was a boy, but he hadn't really dwelled on the subject at all for most of his teenage and adult years. Not since his mother had died, anyway. Maybe this near-daeth experience was a sign he should do some more thinking. Maybe a lot more.

That book still held his attention, and his hands crept to the edge of the blanket, about to damn his sensibilities to hell and go *get* the book. His fingers stilled and clenched on the edge of the blankets as the clock chimed softly, the alarm sounding more like an angel's sigh than a jarring call to morning.

He'd set the alarm in case he, ha-ha, got interested in the anthropology book and lost track of time. Even as he turned to look at the clock, the sullen burn began in his chest, sending lancing filaments to his back. He groaned to himself and reached over for the bottle.

Flipping back the covers, he swung his legs over to carefully sit up. Choking one of these down without something to drink with it was *not* an option. He looked down at the bottle in his hand, the hand in his lap, and tried to summon the motivation to get up. The insistent throb gave it to him.

He was halfway to his feet when the realization hit him and he sat back down hard, wincing at the jar.

There hadn't been any pain, well, nothing really serious, until the time for his medication arrived. Then, the pain had gotten more severe all of a sudden. Rafe knew he hadn't done anything to aggravate himself, yet he couldn't deny the slow fire that prodded him to do something about it. That, he suspected, meant the pain was now psychosomatic.

Psychosomatic meant that it was no longer physical, ergo, it was just in his mind. His brain followed the dominoes of logic to a single, frosted word that made him cringe.

Addiction.

**Aw, fuck!**

No *way* was he going to let that happen. A convulsive jerk of his arm flung the bottle away, where it rolled and knocked against the door. Rafe turned away deliberately, pushing away the red knives that doubled their demands. **No.**

The knives responded with a strident stab.

He bit his lip and curled up on his side, facing away from the evil bottle. He willed the pain back, knowing now it was only phantom pain, and that he could deal with. Rafe closed his eyes, determined to out-stubborn the false sensations.

It wasn't his first choice for an afternoon activity, but it gave him something to do while he waited for Blair or Jim to get home. After that, he'd deal with it all later.

Less than five minutes later, five minutes that felt like a leap year, he heard the distant bang of the front door closing. The thud of a backpack on the floor and jangle of keys in a basket heralded Blair's homecoming. His eyes blinked open and he stared at the wall, part of his attention on listening, the rest on trying to make his body shut up.

The door creaked open -**Damn, someone's got to oil that hinge sometime**- and he heard the tap and rattling roll of the bottle as the door knocked it farther into the room. There was a surprised pause and he could practically hear Blair's eyebrows hit his hairline. "Um, Rafe? Are you awake?"

He closed his eyes again, deciding to fake sleep. There was this minor battle he had to fight right now...

Blair came over to the bed and leaned close, Rafe could feel him hovering close to his skin. "Rafe?" he whispered. When the detective didn't answer, he sighed quietly and left, picking up the bottle and setting it with a tap on the desk. His footsteps paused at the door for a second, then the door was slowly shut.

Rafe lost track of time again, shoving the pain back with anger-strengthened will. This was *not* going to control him, he could push it back. The feeling that his body, formerly something he could trust, would *lie* to him like this... It completely pissed him off and that was enough to drive the pain even farther back.

"Heya, Jim."

Rafe almost lost the tenuous hold he had on his concentration. He hadn't heard Jim come in.

Another jangle of keys, apparently Jim was a damn good shot; they went right into the basket to clash with Blair's set. "Get your stuff at the University done?"

"Yeah," Blair's tone was faintly colored with disgust. "I don't even see why they called me in - Admin had the damn grades already."

"Bureaucrats, Chief. Thought you'd learned that by now," Rafe could hear the grin in Jim's voice, confirmed by the exasperated sigh from Blair.

"It just sucks, man, okay? I was away for hours when they didn't really need me at all. What if Rafe needed something?"

"How's he doing?"

"He was asleep when I got home. Haven't checked on him since."

There was a short silence, then Jim said, "I think he's awake now. I'm going to order some chinese food or something, why don't you ask him what he feels like having?"

**Oh, great.**

So he wasn't surprised when the door creaked again. "Hey," Blair murmured, "You awake now?"

"More or less," he said. Rafe rolled over to face Blair in the doorway, then pulled himself into a sitting position. His chest flared sharply and he winced.

The other man was next to him before he was halfway up, helping him the rest of the way. "Damn it, Rafe. Don't do this by yourself if it hurts - let me help."

"It's going to hurt for a while, Sandburg. I'll get over it."

**Unlike some things.**

"Look, the macho thing works on a lot of people. Not me. It's only been a few weeks, man. Chances are that if you're hurting, there's a damn good reason and you shouldn't ignore it. And you sure as hell shouldn't try to strain yourself when your body's telling you it's not a good idea."

**But what if your body's trying to deceive you?** he wondered. "I'm fine, Sandburg. Not one hundred percent, but I'm getting there."

The frown he got clearly said Blair didn't buy it, but all he said was, "Okay. I trust you to let me know if something's really wrong, though. Don't clam up about it. Jim and I are pretty good at reading people, but we can't read minds. This whole friendship thing works best if communication is a two-way street, you know?"

Rafe nodded, but he still had no intention of making himself more of a problem. He did, however, want one little thing. He hoped that it wouldn't be too presumptuous to ask...

Blair's eyebrows drew together as he leaned forward. "What'd you say?"

Rafe mumbled a little more loudly, "Is it okay if I take a shower?"

The thoughtful look flew away and in its wake was Blair's eclipsing grin. "Of course! Hey, whatever you feel like doing is great. I just don't want you to hurt yourself trying to prove something. Anything you need, anything you want, just let me or Jim know."

The detective gave him a grateful look, his face collapsing into the first real smile in a long time. "Thanks."

Blair held up a finger. "Just one thing, though."

The smile faded almost instantly. "What's that?"

"Shave. The scruffy look is *so* not you."

Gratitude returned tenfold. Even if he couldn't have either one, a part of him - the part that probably traced its lineage back to the original peacock - still wanted to look good for them. Or make a valiant attempt at it.

"Need any help?"

Rafe shook his head as he slowly got up. He hesitated while his muscles trembled a little, then relaxed when they didn't give out on him. "No, I've got it." He turned an abashed grin on Blair, "Just been abed too long."

Blair nodded. "Yep. Everyone misses you, Rafe. Even that asshole SWAT captain of yours, I think. He's got a damn strange way of showing it, though."

Rafe grinned. "That's Ricky."

An eloquent shrug. "Whatever. If you're cool with it, then I guess we can be too." He followed Rafe's careful steps to the bathroom just down the hall, doing an admirable job of not hovering. He paused at the doorway. "There's clean towels under the sink and everything you need is either in the shower or the medicine chest. Help yourself, man. Oh, and Jim's got a spare set of sweats you can use until we can rescue some more of your clothes from your apartment. They'll be a little big, but they're clean."

"That does it, Sandburg. You're nominated for godhood."

Blair laughed, "Hey, don't nominate me - Jim volunteered them. I didn't even think about getting you any clothes."

Rafe's grin froze for a split second as a thousand implications rushed into his mind and were just as quickly hustled out. "Jim was voted in a long time ago. Your turn now," he joked, covering up the lapse.

"Hey, if godhood has perks, who am I to say no?" He shrugged and grinned. "If there's a decent dental plan and vacation time, I'm there. Did you want to wait while I get those sweats or did you just want me to leave them in the room?"

Right here, next to the shower, Rafe suddenly couldn't wait to get clean. "Just leave them. I've got to get in there."

Blair laughed. "I know the feeling. Have fun, take as long as you want - Jim's used to not having hot water. Just scream if you need anything."

Rafe nodded, daring to glance at his reflection only after the door was closed and locked. The expression of distaste that crossed his features only worsened the overall effect. Had Blair actually said 'scruffy'? He was being far too kind.

The heavy stubble that dusted over his cheeks and jaw was uneven and rough, his face was lined with exhaustion, and his eyes were red and haunted. Hair was mussed and oily and felt even more disgusting now that he could see it. His mouth felt yucky too, and tasted more or less like it was about to sprout fungus.

He didn't want to think of how his breath was after... after... Rafe paused and thought for a moment. **How long *has* it been since I've brushed my teeth?**

Ugh. His dentist was going to kill him.

Rafe didn't have a toothbrush and wasn't going to even consider using one of the two nestled together in a cup on the sink. His eyes traced idly over the 'I want to believe' logo on the x-files mug and he wondered briefly which man had picked it out. His gaze skipped back up to the toothbrushes and froze there.

His mind registered it a moment later. It was yet *another* reminder that Jim and Blair were together. It was such a little, subtle thing, but no mere roommates that Rafe knew ever let the bristles come into contact like that. Even when he and Jordan had shared an apartment before the latter had joined the Air Force, they'd taken care to keep toothbrushes separate. It was a guy thing. Toothbrushes were just *way* too personal.

He ignored the brushes, their meaning burned neon into his brain, and stole a bit of toothpaste, using his finger to scrub it over his teeth. The attempt was followed up with mouthwash - the best he could do until he got a toothbrush - and he rinsed the cap/cup with hot water after.

Rafe ran his tongue over his teeth quickly and grimaced. It wasn't ideal, but it would do for now. He left the hot water running in the sink and opened the medicine cabinet to get stuff to shave. Muscles pulled and nerves jangled painfully as he stripped off his t-shirt and dropped it to the floor, kicking it aside.

There was a safety razor sitting on the shelf next to a can of gel. For ultra-sensitive skin. Rafe set the can on the sink and took the razor out before closing the cabinet. The razor was one of those older models that had replacement blades and he scrutinized it for several seconds trying to figure out how it worked. Not sure if he wanted to risk an old blade taking the skin of his face off with the unwanted beard, he reached up to open the cabinet again. His eyes left the razor for the mirrored door and he flinched back, recoiling from the reflection he now saw.

Rafe had known, intellectually, that the damage had been bad. There had been several hours of surgery, then the chest tube, the stitches front and back. He'd known he'd have scars, he'd glanced down at himself often enough and seen the results. This was the first time, however, he'd seen the scarring in a mirror, in its full anti-glory. Ugly couldn't cover it.

Starting on the right side of his chest, an angry red scar slashed over his breastbone. That one, he knew, was from the surgery - and he didn't want to see the corresponding one on his back that he was suddenly *aware* of. He could tell where the bullet had entered, the section of the scar above and to the left of his nipple was horribly puckered and all the red tissue was edged with matching dots, the legacy of the recently removed stitches. All in all, it looked like a small explosion with a scarlet lightning bolt cutting across his chest. It was hideous and his jaw clenched hard at the ugliness of it.

Okay, so he wasn't vain enough to think that he was Mr. Universe or anything, but at least he'd never been ashamed of playing basketball shirtless. Logic told him that the scars would fade, would eventually diminish and could even be minimized or erased by cosmetic surgery, but logic's whisper couldn't be heard over the stunned repulsion he felt at the sight.

Good god, and Blair had gotten full view of it, and the back scars too, while at his apartment. Which had to totally blow any chance he'd have -**Right, Rafe. As if!**- right out of the water. And not just with Blair, or even Jim, but with anyone. Who would want someone this disfigured?

All this slammed through his mind in less than three seconds. He blinked, the interruption enabling him to tear his gaze from his reflection and he pulled the door open to banish the reflection. Rafe reached into the cabinet for the razor blades, his eyes preoccupied with the image seared into them. Seeing himself, seeing those scars, made the once-faraway incident suddenly more real. **Jeez. Too close. Too, too close...**

His shaking fingers bumped the tiny box of razor blades, knocking it into the sink. He made a desperate grab out of reflex, catching a few that came out of the box. One blade hit the edge of the sink and clattered to the floor. Rafe dropped the blades he had caught into the basin and leaned that hand on the sink to support himself as he carefully bent down. Three sharp stings answered the pressure on that hand when he picked up the razor from the floor.

**Shit. Figures. If you're going to catch blades, you're going to get cut. Can you say 'duh', Rafe?** He straightened, disgusted with his own carelessness and stopped stone-still.

He was only partway up from his crouch, his face right next to the sink, his nose almost touching the white porcelain. The blades had cut more deeply than he'd first thought. Blood pooled under his hand and ran in an oozing stream down to the drain to be washed away with the water. His eyes widened and dilated as he stared at the fluid in morbid fascination.

Red on white. Like blood on snow... or marble.

The last time his own blood had been right under his face crashed down on him. He dropped heavily to his knees, his eyes closing tight against the deluge of memories. Rafe saw again the hole in the glass, felt the hard punch drive all the air out of his lungs. His injured hand clenched in a bloody fist and the other clamped onto the edge of the sink. His forehead rested against that hand, but he didn't feel it. He was falling again, trying to gasp air into dying lungs.

Knives of white pain lanced through him as he struggled to breathe. His mind began to darken and shut down from lack of air. His heart slammed desperately inside his chest, the sound a distant thunder of hooves. He was dying all over again and nobody could stop it this time. He was all alone, so terribly alone...

The frantic pounding staccato barely crept through the roaring in his ears. The door rattled in its frame. "Rafe!"

Jim's voice, too far away. He was already slipping...

A crash broke through the memory that had sunk its fangs into him. His chest unlocked and air rushed into his lungs in a whooping gasp. With the air came some awareness so he could stomp down hard on his reaction to fight when hands grabbed him and pulled him back from the sink.

His face was tilted up and Jim's eyes, agitated, scared, caring, drilled into his. His mouth was moving, but Rafe couldn't hear the words. He could read Jim's lips, but the words weren't managing to register amid the chaos of his mind. Something else did, though. Something warm that nudged his leg. He glanced down, pulling his chin from Jim's grip to see the oddest thing.

A huge, white cat, the lioness from his dreams, was sitting casually on Jim's bathroom floor.

She looked up at him with eyes almost as blue as Jim's and stretched forward to nuzzle his shoulder. Her low purring transmitted to his skin and sank into him, driving back the internal quakes. With them went the ghosts of the past and his heart finally slowed, the roaring in his ears quieting enough to hear the world around him.

"Rafe? *Rafe?!*" His injured hand was immobile. He glanced away from the lioness to glance curiously at it. A dishtowel had been wrapped around it and Jim was putting pressure on the cuts. Behind him, he saw Blair hovering in the doorway. Both men were watching him with eyes that were nearly panicked. He blinked at them, not understanding at first why.

At the apparent response, Jim's eyes softened a little. The tension still in his face bled into his voice. "Rafe? Can you hear me now?"

Dumbly, he nodded. When did Jim come in? He saw the splintered frame and remains of the lock. Why had he broken the door in? And how the hell did Jim know anything was wrong to begin with?

"I'm... I'm okay," he mumbled, repeating it when the skepticism shone on both faces. "I'm fine now, I just-"

**Fell, bled, died, came back.**

"-fell."

**Fell, bled, died, came back. Fell, bled, died, came back... oh shit...**

He looked back to the lioness, only to see nothing where she'd been. He almost cried out with the loss. He was suddenly scared, terrified, and he wanted her back.

"Rafe?"

"I'm fine," he said again, trying to shake off the last quivers. "I'm just-"

**Losing my fucking mind. Lost my heart, lost my body. Probably managed to drop my soul somewhere along the way and now my sanity's taken a hike...**

"-I'm just not happy about... having to move this slow."

"Bullshit, Rafe," Blair said. "You just had a panic attack. Now whether that was before or after you managed to slice your hand to ribbons doesn't matter-"

Panic attack? He started to shake his head, to deny it. Jim reached over to his other shoulder and squeezed it. "Yes you did. You stopped breathing and your heart was racing. I don't think you even recognized me at first."

Oh great. Yet *another* thing wrong with him. He looked into Jim's eyes, half-expecting, half-searching for signs of impatience, annoyance, or disgust. Anything to indicate that either of them thought that he was more trouble than he was worth.

Jim frowned a little, but only in thoughtful confusion. "Blair, can you go ahead and order dinner?"

The younger man lifted an eyebrow, but nodded and retreated, leaving them alone. Jim turned his attention down to the towel-wrapped hand that both men only now realized was held close to Jim's chest. He began to carefully unwrap it.

"Jim... I'm-"

"Shut up, Rafe."

Rafe blinked. "Huh?"

"You're about to apologize. Don't."

"But-"

Jim gave him The Look. "What part of shut up didn't you understand?"

Rafe shut up.

Jim watched him for a second, waiting to see if he was foolish enough to say something else, then nodded slightly. He looked down at the hand held in his. "You're not going to need stitches," he said. "But these are going to sting for a while." He wrapped the towel over the cuts again and pressed gently.

Rafe watched Jim's ministrations, his mind refusing to acknowledge the immediate 'tender' that popped up. A sudden thought made him grin.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly.

Jim looked at him sharply, took in the grin, and tried to keep a straight face. "That's the only apology you're allowed while you're here. Hope you enjoyed it."

"Oh, I did."

"Good. Now, next time blades are falling, let them drop into the sink. Trust me when I say that shampoo *hurts* when it gets into a cut."

Rafe nodded, "Probably."

Jim checked the cuts again. "Looks like they stopped bleeding. Go ahead and take your shower and we'll bandage them when you're out." He raised his eyes up to capture Rafe's, "And you *did* have a panic attack. It's nothing to be ashamed about, and I'm amazed you waited this long to have it."

Rafe shrugged, "Well, it's important to schedule this stuff out, you know?"

A grin met his sally. "How considerate. Seriously, Rafe, you've been through hell and back and all Blair and I want is for you to let us help you out." The grin widened, "Fight me on this, and I'll have to beat sense into you. Got it?"

The half-joking tone left a full half of seriousness and Rafe believed him. He nodded, "Got it."

"Good. Now bend over."

Rafe almost lost his jaw. "*What*?"

"I told you that shampoo was going to sting, and bandages will only get wet in the shower. Bend over the edge there and I'll wash your hair for you. The rest I think you can handle with one hand, right?"

Hazel eyes blinked. "Um, right. Wrong. Wait. Jim!"

"What?"

"Uh, I, I can do this-"

Jim's hand cut off the rest of the babble about to spill out. "I'm not saying you can't." He reached over to turn on the water, adjusting the knobs until the temperature was to his satisfaction.

"Jim," Rafe tried to say through the hand.

The older man grinned at him. "Shut up and bend over."

Thoroughly confused, Rafe obeyed. Jim redirected the spray to wet his hair, then drizzled the cool shampoo onto Rafe's scalp. Rafe's brain cells rallied, finally, for a protest and he opened his mouth to voice it. The feeble resolve flew away when Jim's fingers buried themselves in his hair, working up the thick lather with massaging circles all over Rafe's scalp. His mouth forgot what he was going to say as every almost-caress sizzled down his spine. **Oh shit, oh no, not here.** He sternly commanded body parts to behave themselves. **Not here, damn it!**

Long-neglected flesh argued, and only the mental promise of full fantasy indulgence *later* got it to obey, for now. Jim rinsed the lather out, running his fingers through Rafe's hair to make sure all the soap came out.

"One more thing, Rafe," Jim murmured next to his ear. "Tell anyone about this soft side of me, and I promise they'll never find your body."

The grin in the tone was obvious. Rafe swallowed a laugh that was almost a groan of arousal. "What soft side?"

"Good boy," Jim purred. He twisted off the water and grabbed a towel to scrub most of the water out of Rafe's hair. "Blair's trained you pretty well."

**He WHAT?**

Rafe's throat was suddenly dry, for some odd reason. "Nothing to do with him. Jack warned me."

"Pendergrast?" Jim's grin turned downwards. "I never could convince that man to keep his mouth shut. What else did he say about me?"

The offhandedness in his voice didn't fool Rafe for a second. Jim was as curious as two cats about what other people said about him. Nobody in Major Crimes ever passed up an opportunity like this and Rafe wasn't about to start. "Uh, nothing."

"Why do I not believe you?"

"Because... you're a suspicious bastard?"

"Besides that."

"Nothing important."

"Tell me."

"I forgot."

"Rafe," Jim growled.

"Jim," Rafe purred, trying to keep his grin from breaking open.

He got a full minute of The Look, before Jim's mouth finally twitched. Rafe's tenuous control slipped and he snickered. The birthing laugh broke Jim's own sternness and he started laughing too. Rafe raked his wet hair back and Jim reached out immediately to ruffle it. "Okay, you win. And unless you want to share that shower, you're doing the rest on your own."

Rafe nodded, trying to not think about taking a shower with Jim... taking turns washing each other... running his hands over that soap-slicked skin, teasing the finely defined muscles... He shook his head sharply to banish the image before he lost control again.

"Jim!" Blair called from the living room. "Tandoori'll be here in twenty."

The other man glanced at the doorway, missing Rafe's grimace at the interruption. He smacked Rafe's shoulder gently, "Hurry up and finish before the food gets here. Blair's got a hollow leg."

He nodded, following Jim's movements as he got up and went to the bathroom door. Jim ran a hand along the damaged frame and Rafe could almost see the blueprints of 'fixing the door' running through his mind. He glanced back at Rafe. "Don't worry about this, I'll keep Blair from barging in on you." His grin turned a little darker. "And, Rafe?"

"Yeah?"

"I *will* find out what Jack told you... one way or another." Jim's smile was slow and evil, and Rafe didn't want to speculate on exactly what kind of persuasion Jim was thinking of.

With that parting shot, he slipped out of the doorway. He left a confused Rafe sitting on the floor next to the tub, shivering from the cold water that dripped onto his shoulders from his hair. **Um... okay.**

~~~~~~~~

The thick book that rested in his lap was a point of interest for his eyes, but his attention was held by the sullen fire in his chest.

**I am not giving in... I am *not* giving in...**

The mental commands weren't working very well.

He tried to focus again on the book, on the sun slanting across his legs propped up on the coffeetable, even on a forbidden fantasy, but on this third day after he'd sworn off the codeine, even mental pictures of Jim weren't helping.

A dull spike pulsed through him, and Rafe set the book aside with a sigh. After dinner the night he'd cut himself, Blair had caught one of Rafe's longing glances at his bookcase and instantly offered. The anthropologist's lips had curved in a slow, sweet smile when Rafe had picked out the book on spirit guides. They'd engaged in some idle discussion on that subject for a few minutes, but Blair had soon left him to read in peace.

The next day, while Jim and Blair were out, he'd finally worked up the nerve to venture out into the living room. He loved the sunny spaciousness of the living room and now spent most of his 'alone' time in there, always with a book or two. The remote control on the coffeetable never got a second look. Daytime TV bored him and reading was his preferred activity anyway.

He rested his head back against the cushions of the couch, trying to pay more attention to how deeply his head sunk into them than how much he was hurting. He set his feet on the floor and tried once again to imagine Jim or Blair... minus clothes...

Still not helping. Damn.

It occurred to him that sitting up might bring some relief. He was just maneuvering himself upright when he heard the steps coming up. His forehead creased in a frown as he listened to the too-heavy tread. A sharp rattling at the door only deepened the frown, and surprise wiped his face clean of expression when the door opened to admit a furious Blair. Rafe blinked in surprise. He'd never seen Blair truly torqued off.

The shorter man turned to slam the door shut. Jim, coming in behind him, caught the door hard in an upraised hand. The two of them stared at each other for a moment, irritated blue meeting enraged sapphire. After a tense moment, Blair turned on his heel and stalked into his room. Rafe could almost see the ire steaming off him.

Jim's jaw clenched and he turned to shut the door a lot more quietly than Blair had intended. The door to Blair's room shut hard and Jim winced. He glanced back at Rafe, embarrassment dusting over the frustration and shrugged a little in apology.

"Um, what happened?" Rafe ventured.

He shook his head. "Nothing," he said tightly and turned away to go silently upstairs to his room.

**What the...?** Rafe looked back at the closed door, then back up at Jim's room, wondering just what the hell happened after they'd left that morning.

Curiosity overrode his normal disinclination to pry and he got up. He looked at the stairs, then back to Blair's room. He wasn't sure if he wanted to try climbing the steps. It would be easier to go talk to Blair...

But that was Jim up there.

Shaking his head, wondering if he had a hidden masochistic streak, he went over to the stairs. Hand on the rail, one foot on the first step, he called up softly, "Jim?"

No answer came from above. He could tell, by the feeling of the silence, that Jim had heard him. Taking no answer as assent, he started up.

The scars had already been stinging, now with the unaccustomed exertion, they were starting to flare and burn. He paused halfway up, taking slow breaths to try to relax. When his pulse had backed off a little, he continued slowly up the rest of the way. He could see Jim lying fully clothed on his bed, hands clasped behind his head, legs crossed together at the ankles. His jacket and holster had been tossed onto a chair. Jim was watching him as he came up, shadows of concern behind the anger.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly.

Rafe gave him a weak grin. "Funny, that's just what I was going to ask you."

Jim shrugged, his eyes going back up to the ceiling. Rafe could see the beginnings of a nasty bruise peeking out from his hairline above his ear. From the looks of it, the rest of the welt hidden under Jim's hair was pretty big. His nerves were alive with curiosity, but he kept quiet. Everyone knew that you could never pry answers out of Jim, he had to give them to you.

"He's mad."

**Oh, really? I hadn't noticed.** Rafe shoved aside the instant sarcasm and asked instead, "Why?"

Jim just shrugged, his eyes still on the ceiling.

Rafe slowly approached and sat down on the edge of the bed. "What happened?"

The other man took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Blue eyes flicked over to look at Rafe, then slid away to stare off into space again. "Nothing out of the ordinary."

Damn, the man could be denser than granite sometimes. "What happened?" Rafe asked again.

"We'd decided to go out to lunch to get a break from the paperwork. Call came over the radio on the way there. Robbery at B of A, just a few blocks away. We went over there."

The other detective nodded. Jim and Blair just seemed to get the worst calls at the worst times. He knew there was more to the story and waited patiently for Jim to go on.

"When we pulled up, the robber figured out someone had hit the silent alarm. He grabbed one of the tellers. I tried to talk him down, managed to get inside before he freaked." Jim paused again and his eyes slid closed. "Sandburg wasn't happy, but all I cared about was that he was staying in the truck. I'd almost had the guy convinced that putting the gun down was a good idea. Then the teller thought he'd be a hero and elbowed him in the stomach.

"I ran in to keep the robber from killing him, got pistol-whipped for it. I went down, he shot at me and missed. I kicked his legs out from under him, got the gun away and arrested him. End of story."

Rafe just stared at him for a long time. Jim finally glanced at him and Rafe asked, "You call that *ordinary*?"

Jim almost smiled. "Well, not ordinary, but shit, Rafe, it's pretty standard for us. I mean, it's like something new and crazy happens every week."

The other man nodded. He had a pretty good idea as to why Blair was so upset. "So what was different about this time?"

"I don't know," Jim said, some of his tension finally flavoring his voice. "We've been through a hell of a lot worse and he picks *now* to flip out-"

"Jim, calm down. There's a reason for this."

"Yeah," he said bitterly. "Rampant immaturity."

"No," Rafe cut him off. He watched Jim for a long moment, his gaze tracing the lines of Jim's face. A lover's fight, he figured. He shouldn't be surprised, and he wasn't really, but what did surprise him was that they let him see it.

It was a vicious slope, starting with fear and pain manifesting as anger. The false emotion would lead to misunderstanding and hurt, then to isolation as both lovers closed off to keep from being hurt more. Misconceptions and insecurities grew into full-fledged fears while mistaken 'facts' became deeply entrenched. Lovers could easily get back together, once they started talking. Or, a tiny rift could be widened by the application of just a *little* wedge. A full split wasn't likely, but it sure could be helped along with just a few well-chosen words...

His own cold logic overrode the irrational hope. **Grow the fuck up, Rafe. He's better for Jim than you could ever be.**

And how could he even consider doing that? It was lower than low, it was the fish shit that drifted to the bottom of the ocean. It was the ocean silt that the fish shit landed on. Blair had given up part of his life to help take care of Rafe, and Jim had opened his home to him. How could that thought have even come up?

Hurting Jim or Blair, or even standing aside to *allow* them to be hurt, was not an option. He pushed away the selfish hope and sighed. He wanted Jim and he wanted Blair. He wanted to love and be loved, but not at that price.

"Jim, remember that shitty day Blair had a month ago?"

Jim frowned some, his face brightening a little in understanding as Rafe tapped his own chest. Rafe nodded in acknowledgement and Jim shook his head slightly, not getting the message. "Yeah?"

"How similar was today?" he asked.

"Not at all."

Rafe gave him a look one might give a slow child. "Think about it, Jim. Bank, hostages, one psycho with a gun, single idiot trying to talk him down... stop me if this is starting to ring a bell."

The 'oh, come ON, now' tone made Jim look at him sharply. Rafe didn't flinch under that glare, only met it with a sardonic eyebrow. Jim's eyes closed and Rafe could see the thoughts trickling through his head. After several long moments, he sighed deeply, "Damn."

With the exhalation, the tension and most of the anger drained out of Jim's body. Rafe's throat ached as he watched that tiny rift close. Part of him wanted to take back those words, to selfishly take advantage of their fight. The rest of him strangled that demon and threw it out the window.

"He's very protective of you, Jim. Maybe moreso than you are about him."

"What?" he could tell Jim didn't quite get the logic. Of course he wouldn't - Jim was tough, certainly. Tough enough to handle just about anything.

It was exactly that confidence that made Blair -and Rafe- worry about him. Jim would, and did, go into dangerous situations to take the hits so others wouldn't. "Jim, you're not immortal, you're not indestructible - Blair doesn't want to see you proven wrong."

Jim gave him an odd look, "I know I'm not-"

"Maybe so, but you don't act that way. Blair has the good sense to duck in a fight. You," he gently touched the bruise on Jim's head, "evidently don't. That's why he's so protective."

Jim inhaled a little and Rafe quickly pulled his hand away. Damn, he'd tried to touch it lightly. "So... what?" Jim asked, "He just finally hit critical mass?"

"Maybe, but I think it's something more than that." Rafe glanced away. "I'm willing to bet that he's thinking of that bank robbery last month, only in his mind, *you're* the one that got hurt."

"He knows that didn't happen," Jim said, but his tone was softly thoughtful.

Rafe studiously kept his gaze fixed on the floor. "It's not his head he's thinking with, Jim. And that's only a little of what he's going to go through if he ever has to see you carried out of a bad situation."

**What'll it do to Jim if you're carried out?** his own words to Blair echoed back to him.

And what would it do to them for Rafe to try to break them up, or to even try to take advantage of a split? He was well and truly in love with both of them. Being in the middle really sucked, sometimes. Especially when having to choose meant he would lose one of them, and Rafe couldn't bear the thought of that.

The idea of acting on his feelings was as painful as the desolation of doing nothing. It was as painful as being here with both of them.

That was why Rafe said, in the most neutral voice he could, "You should go down there and talk to him. Don't let this get any worse."

Jim nodded, his own gaze faraway. "You're right."

"Yeah, I am." Rafe swallowed. "Look, I'm, uh, feeling kinda pent-up here. I'm going to head on out for a little while."

When Jim gave him no response, Rafe glanced at him to see the other man giving him the most *piercing* look he'd ever seen.

He tried not to gulp, unable to tear his gaze away from the eyes that held his captive. "Uh, I'll won't be gone long. Couple of hours at the most." Yeah, a couple of hours was good. Long enough for them to do some serious making up -**making out**- and long enough, maybe, for him to try to feel better about things.

**Yeah, Rafe. Sure.**

He was just about to start squirming under that hawk's gaze when Jim asked, his voice very low, "When did you know about us?"

**Oh, shit. Way to go for subtlety, Rafe.**

"Uh," he stammered, frantically going over a million lies and just as quickly dismissing them. Jim was reading his eyes, his face - for all he knew, his soul too. Jim's ability to pick out a lie was legendary and Rafe knew he didn't have a chance.

"Umm... well..." He closed his eyes to break the hypnotic hold Jim had over him. He kicked his thoughts into alignment, took a deep breath, and opened them again to face Jim. "I've known for a while," he said steadily. "I haven't said anything to anyone."

Those eyes blinked twice, then glanced down. Rafe wondered if Jim was going to explode or not. Jim looked back up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed to sit up. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "I didn't think you had, I just..."

"Jim," Rafe interrupted him. "Later. You've got some serious making up to do." He got up, resolutely ignoring every fiber that screamed at him to get back down *there* with *Jim* and do some making up of his own. Rafe turned away and started down the stairs.

He was almost halfway down, his head still just above the level of the top step when Jim's voice came to him. "Rafe?"

Against his better judgment, he glanced back. Jim was still sitting on the bed, looking at him with eyes that were a hundred times softer than they were ten minutes earlier. He blinked and tried to ignore them, "Yeah?"

"Where are you going?"

"Oh," he shrugged carelessly. "Just out. I think I'll call H and see if he's willing to put up with an invalid for a while."

Jim frowned at him. "You're not an invalid."

"Yes I am, for a little while longer anyway. But pretty soon, I'll be able to kick your ass again."

"What do you mean 'again'?" the frown turned into a sly grin. "You never had the guts to spar with me to begin with."

"Um, well," Rafe grinned back. "Okay, you're right about that. I'd call for back up first. Barring that, I'd cheat. A lot."

**Speaking of 'sparring', don't you need to make yourself scarce?**

"Anyway," he continued, his tone still safely bland. "I'll be gone for a couple of hours. That should be long enough for even you two to, uh, talk things out."

He looked away and started down the stairs again. Jim followed more slowly, watching Rafe with an intensity that made the younger man's neck hairs raise. Something told him that if he didn't leave *now*, he'd regret it.

Bypassing the phone, he went straight to the door. He tugged it open, resisting the impulse to say something smartass like, 'don't wait up for me honey' and quickly slipped out. Jim's, "Hey, aren't you going to call Brown?" was cut off by the door closing.

Rafe leaned against the door and bowed his head. "Go on, Jim," he whispered to himself. "Go to him. Don't come out here..."

His personal deity had to have been listening to the nearly silent prayer, because the steps that started for the door slowed and stopped. Rafe waited until he heard them slowly start away and closed his eyes.

Okay, he'd done his good deed for the day. Why did he feel so bad about it?

He shook his head, mentally smacking himself for feeling things he had no right to, and went downstairs. Fuck calling anyone, he wanted to be alone for a while - as much as Jim and Blair wanted to be together.

He only had a few more days until his apartment was ready for him to go back. Only a few more days where he had to suffer through being a spectator to something he'd give anything to have. He left the apartment building and blinked in the light of the setting sun, then picked a random direction and started walking. Just a few more days.

He could handle that.