Tomorrow’s gonna Hurt

Sequel to The Line Between
by Lucy

He could just wheel away. Somewhere where they would never catch him. Somewhere where this sadistic man in front of him wouldn't be able to torture his helpless body anymore. He could put the pedal to the metal -- so to speak -- and get the hell out of there.

"Come on, van Ryj, five more."

Rafe's face was red, his expression was pained, his body was covered in sweat. But he somehow managed to raise his right leg again. Five more, though? Guy had to be nuts.

"That's it, man. I'm done."

"Are you kidding? I've seen eighty year old women been paralyzed for years who could give me at least five more than that."

"Yeah? Get them in here and make them do this. I said I'm done."

"Awww, poor baby. Gotta muscle cramp? Got a sore leg? Tell daddy all about it."

Rafe couldn't help a chuckle. "Oh, shut up."

"Make me, copper. Come on, get off the mat and catch me, huh?"

"You know, you've got a sick sense of humor."

"Which you wouldn't have to put up with if you'd just give me five more."

"Tomorrow, Jack."

The therapist studied Rafe's exhausted face, then nodded finally. "Yeah, tomorrow. You better not be getting my hopes up for nothing, though."

"Oh, I wouldn't do that. Not after all the loving kindness you've shown me." Rafe grinned wryly.

Jack returned it. "You cops are such babies," he grumbled good-naturedly as he held out a hand to pull Rafe to a sitting position. "Can you do this or you need me?"

Rafe's smile vanished. "My legs, man, they're wiped out."

Jack accepted the plea for help and bundled Rafe up expertly, lifting his almost dead weight and seating him back in his wheelchair.

Just like that, the young detective's semi-good mood was blown. He quietly said his goodbye to the therapist and wheeled his way back to his room on his own.

His next dealing with another human being wasn't for a few hours, when he had to go see the damn psychiatrist they set him up with. So for now he would go and lay down and feel sorry for himself. As he had for the last two weeks solid.

He didn't even see why they sent him to the shrink. He could sit there wheeling his chair towards his room, and go through every question and answer the woman would ask and he would give. He'd tell her honestly how helpless and pathetic he felt, and she'd tell him there was no reason, he was only going through what anyone would in his situation, he'd recover, blah blah blah. And he'd listen to her with that crookedly thoughtful expression he'd perfected recently, and agree with everything. Then go back to his room and feel sorry for himself some more. That's how it went.

He just hoped Henri or Simon didn't stop by again today. All he needed was to waste one of his patented yeah-I-hear-you-I-AM-gonna-be-fine-no-this-isn't-getting-to-me-at-all looks on someone who wouldn't buy it. Or maybe Jim and Blair would stop by out of the blue the way they had a few times now, and there'd be those great seconds of small talk, minutes of silence. Seconds of small talk, more uncomfortable minutes of silence. Then Rafe would send them away, feigning sleepiness or something, and pretend not to notice the relief on Jim's face as they took off.

He just wanted to wheel away from it all. Hardy har har.

Injury humor, another of his great sure-I'm-fine devices. Oh, Rafe could LAUGH at himself, he must be all right.

Yep. Fine and dandy.

So what was with the need to fool all the people into thinking he was okay? Rafe had a feeling. The shrink would probably label it a defense mechanism if he ever told her. And maybe it was a pointless one, maybe he didn't have to bother. But for other people, even his friends, dealing with him in a wheelchair, going to the hospital to visit him, it must have been a lot of aggravation. If they had to deal with him feeling sorry for himself, or being angry or depressed, they wouldn't even bother.

So he had to play the good host. Had to entertain his guests so they would keep coming. Because as much as he played the act in front of them, if they didn't come he would be miserable.

Well, more miserable than he was.

Ughh. Self pity. Henri was right, it wasn't a very attractive thing.

Rafe got his door opened relatively easily, and wheeled his way in through the door before he saw the man sitting there. A stranger.

"Whoa. Who are you?"

"Detective?" The man stood immediately when Rafe came in, and he faced the invalid officer squarely, his face pale. "My name's Sean Phillips."

Rafe studied him back. The guy looked like he was about to fall over. "Yeah?"

Sean gulped. "I was....I was...." He stopped, took a deep breath, then blurted suddenly, "I answered your partner's call for backup when you were shot."

Rafe froze. "You..."

The other man saw the look on his face and nodded. "I was the one. I got his call, and I didn't send the ambulance."

Rafe swallowed. "Why would you come here?" he asked after a minute, dully.

"To tell you how sorry I am. Your captain called me in, he bitched me out in front of everyone. And I felt real bad, but then when they figured out that you were innocent, that you hadn't shot those cops, I....I just had to come and face you. To apologize."

Rafe nodded quietly. "Get out."

Sean blinked. "What?"

"Get the hell out of my room. Get out of my sight, get away from this hospital. Now."

"Listen, detective. You have to believe I'm sorry about this. I lost my job already, I'm trying to make amends."

Rafe trembled visibly in his seat. "You wanna make amends," he repeated hoarsely. "Fine. When you take a bullet in the back, you call me for help." He blinked suddenly blurry eyes, fighting back angry tears. Why the hell did this have to happen today? "You know what I'd do?" he asked once he was sure his voice would stay level. "I'd send you the god damned ambulance. And then let you live with yourself. Get the hell out of my room."

Sean gulped forcibly, but started to move past Rafe towards the door.

"What the hell-"

Rafe turned in his chair to see Henri Brown standing at the door behind him, staring back at Sean in shock.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm leaving, okay?" Sean tried to move past Rafe's partner, but Brown was a wall.

"You've got some nerve showing up here, you piece of-"

"Brown, let him go." Rafe's voice trembled, and he drew in a breath.

Henri faced him, and saw the angry, hurt look on his face. And got that much more angry. "Why would you come here? You wanna see what good work you did?"

"Henri-"

Sean's face went even paler. "What do you want from me? I'm leaving, okay? I'll never set foot in here again. Is that what you want?"

Brown glowered. "I'll tell you what I want."

"Henri, can it!"

"Rafe, look-"

"No. Phillips, you get out of here. Henri, let him out."

Brown stepped aside, but kept glaring at the man until he was gone. Only when Sean was out of sight did he turn back to his partner. "I can't believe that little-"

"Henri."

"What?"

"Get out of here."

Brown frowned, startled. "What?"

"Leave me alone. I don't want to deal with anybody today."

"Aww, come on, Rafe. It's me, your partner."

"Henri, please." Rafe drew in another slow breath, barely controlling himself. "Go."

Henri stood firm. "No. You don't need to be alone right-"

"Get out!" Control was gone, Rafe's voice was a shout. "Leave me the hell alone! Now!"

Henri shook his head quickly.

Rafe grabbed the wheels of the chair and spun himself to where he was facing his partner completely, edging forward. "So now you want to stick around, huh? That's just fucking great, Brown. Where were you when I needed you, huh? Where were you when the guns were going off? Just get out of here."

A new voice appeared on the scene, just as Henri was starting to back out. "All right, detective, that's enough!"

Rafe glared as Simon appeared in the doorway.

"You get mad all you want, Rafe, but take it out on people that deserve it. Brown saved your life, and don't even think about forgetting that."

Rafe could feel the hot tears threatening, and he willed himself to keep them in. "I don't want to see anybody, all right? Get out, both of you, before I call the nurse and have you thrown out."

Simon blinked in shock, and he and Brown exchanged dark looks. When Henri finally spoke, his voice was defeated. "All right, Rafe. We're leaving."

That was all. The two men slowly left the room, shutting the door behind them.

Once that barrier was shut, Rafe's self-control vanished. It all hit him -- the physical exhaustion of the therapy, the constant pain, the shock at seeing Sean Phillips. The fury at himself over what he'd just done to two of the only friends he had left. The bitter tears forced themselves out, and Rafe was unable to fight them any longer.





"Blair, do we really have to do this right now?"

The observer shot his friend a frown. "Jim, you heard what Simon said. You know how upset Rafe is. You don't wanna take an hour out of your life to pay the man a visit?"

Jim didn't have to face his partner. Sure, he felt guilty about his reluctance. But he was still reluctant. "It just doesn't seem like we do much good, you know?"

"It doesn't matter. Come on, man, you've spent a lot of time in hospitals. Don't you feel better when someone else is around?"

"Sometimes," Jim confessed. "And sometimes I just want to be left alone. Going by what Simon said, Rafe probably wants to be alone right now."

Blair stopped and faced his friend. "Jim, this is really not good. If you don't want to be here, you probably shouldn't keep coming."

Jim looked away, a twist of guilt on his face. "Look. It's not like I don't care what happens to Rafe, you know that. He's a friend. This is just...so weird. I never know what to say to the guy."

"Just talk to him. He's your friend."

"Yeah, I know." Jim sighed.

"All right, look, half-hearted help is ever worse than no help at all. If Rafe thinks you're just pitying him coming here, you shouldn't even come."

"But-"

"No buts, man. Go home, go to the station. I'll call you when I want to leave, okay?"

Jim faced his partner. Blair was angry, but he was understanding. "Blair, I'm trying here."

"I know. But it's not good enough."

Jim drew back, hurt and doing a bad job trying not to show it.

"Hey, don't take it badly. You're not that great an actor, big deal." Blair sighed. "Just go. I'll call you in a few hours."

Jim nodded finally, and reluctantly turned to leave. "Hey, Chief?"

Blair, heading for Rafe's room, turned back automatically. "Yeah?"

Jim hesitated, but started slowly. "If it was you in there, I wouldn't be so-"

Blair cut him off, his smile fading. "Don't say it, Jim. That doesn't help anything." Makes it worse, he thought to himself, but didn't voice it.

Jim seemed to read it in his expression, though, and he turned away without another word, his shoulders slumped as he trudged towards the door.

Blair sighed, turning back and heading to the familiar door. Jim was right in a way. If it was him in here, it would be easier to force himself to come spend so many hours there. Easier. But it wasn't hard now, not really. Rafe was a good friend of Blair's. They had a lot of things in common -- the youngest men in the office, Blair had been the new boy on the block until Rafe had shown up and had to take over the position. Maybe it was only for that reason -- that Blair had already been there for a few months before Rafe came in -- but the dapper detective had always treated Blair with more respect than the others. Even Jim, who still called him 'kid' and gave those condescending looks when Blair went off on a tangent. Not Rafe, though. It was nice, working with someone who took you seriously. It had endeared the new detective to Blair almost before he was endeared to his own partner.

They had also had quite a few nights on the town, staying out when all the old guy detectives were already in bed, drawing women by the droves and partying the way Blair never had in college. It was fun.

So yeah, it was easy for Blair to come and spend time with his friend now that he was in trouble. And it kind of hurt that it wasn't easy for Jim.

But that was silly.

Blair sighed as he saw the door down the hall. It was already open. Strange, all the guys were at work that day. Maybe Rafe had some ladies paying him a visit. Hmm. Could be promising.

But no. As Blair approached, a man strode through the open door. Older, maybe fifty, a sour look on his face. He brushed past Blair without a word, and strode down the hall to the elevators.

Blair raised his eyebrows and went to the still-open door. He leaned in and knocked quietly.

Rafe started at the noise. "Blair! Hey, what're you doing here?"

"Came for a visit. I guess I'm not the only one. Who was the guy that just left?"

Rafe's smile wavered. "Nobody, really," he said after a minute. "So come in. Sit down, tell me how things are."

So Blair talked. He was used to it -- he was good at it. Talking on and on about things that happened at the station, the U, Rafe wanted to hear it all. He craved stories about life outside that room like a parched man craved water.

But at some point, maybe an hour into their conversation, he noticed that Rafe's eyes were unfocussed. He was lost somewhere, his mind a million miles from what Blair was saying.

"So then Jim turned to Henri and said that maybe if they took the guy out for ice cream and cookies he'd talk. So they went to the circus, and Jim dressed up and got out of the clown car and pointed right at the suspect in the audience, and aimed his clown gun at him, and....Huh. You know, Rafe, I have the feeling you're not paying attention." No reaction. "Rafe?"

"What?" He blinked over at Blair. "Oh. I'm sorry, man. Guess I kinda faded out for a minute there."

"Uh huh. Hey, are you okay?"

"Me? Sure." Rafe's face automatically got that rueful yet hoping expression that he always got when someone asked him how he was.

Blair had learned to see through the look days ago, but hadn't called his friend on it yet. Now seemed like the time. "Hey, don't plaster that mask on your face. If something's wrong, tell me."

A flash of something like disappointment came and went, and Rafe sighed. "It's nothing, Blair. I'm just thinking about something else."

"Is it that man who was here earlier?"

"No," Rafe said too quickly.

"Oh, come on, man. Who was it?" His eyes grew as he ventured a guess. "Your father?"

Rafe twisted his head to stare out the window, a little too fast.

Blair let him be silent for a long minute. Rafe's father. Wow. As long as they had been friends, Rafe hadn't talked about his family too often. His mother sometimes. His sister, even more. But never his father. Blair had just assumed the guy was dead. He spoke quietly. "I guess you two don't get along all that well."

A bitter laugh. "You could say that."

"So what was he doing here?"

Rafe blew out a breath, an explosion of air. "How the hell do I know? I don't see the guy or talk to him in years, he shows up in my fucking hospital room to get smug over what a disaster I've turned my life into, then goes stomping off. I don't know why he came here. I don't really care. I just hope he's gone."

Blair was taken aback, more by the dark emotion in Rafe's voice, a deep, buried pain seeping out. "I'm sorry, man," he said quietly. "I didn't know."

"Oh, don't apologize. It's ridiculous. I'm a grown man, why the hell am I still worried about what daddy says?"

Blair refused to return his bitter smile. "Don't dismiss it like that, Rafe. Half of who we are as adults comes from what happened to us as children. Fathers are a big influence, man."

"How the hell would you know?"

Blair drew back as if struck.

Rafe was immediately contrite. "Aww, man, I didn't mean that, Blair. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Blair replied quietly, his eyes going down to his lap.

"No, it isn't. It was a dumbass, insensitive thing to say. I'm sorry, Blair, really."

Blair could hear in his voice that he meant it, but he still didn't meet his friend's eyes. "Don't worry about it. You're right, I shouldn't lecture you on fathers when I never knew mine."

"Dammit, Blair, that's not what I meant. Really."

He looked up now, curious. "What did you mean?"

Rafe shook his head quickly.

"C'mon, Rafe. Who else are you going to talk to?"

"Not you, Blair."

"Why not? I thought you trusted me. I thought we were friends."

Rafe couldn't have missed the injury reappearing in the observer's voice. "I do trust you, and you're one of the best friends I've got. That's why I don't wanna..."

"What?"

Rafe blew out a defeated breath. "I don't wanna tell you. Because you are a friend, and you visit me a lot, and you don't act like it's a punishment or something to be here. And if I sit here and complain about my problems, you're..." His voice grew quiet. "You're not gonna want to come any more."

Blair's mouth dropped open. "Is that what you think?" Suddenly, Rafe's behavior in the hospital so far made a lot more sense. The different masks he would put on in front of them to hide his emotions, his artificial cheerfulness, his rush to get anything his friend's wanted. "You think we won't come if you don't make it easy on us?"

Rafe was quiet for a minute. "I guess so."

"That's ridiculous."

"Is it?" Hazel eyes met blue ones, challenging. "You mean if I sat here every time you came and whined about my legs and the therapy and my piece of shit father you'd hang around and listen to it?"

Blair didn't look away. "Rafe, I'm here for you, man. If I only wanted to see you cheerful and happy, I'd wait until you were out. I wouldn't come see you in the hospital. We care about you, man. All of us. If something's wrong, we wanna know about it. Even if there's nothing we can do, just to let you get some of this off your chest."

Rafe studied the fervent young man. "You mean that?"

"Why is that so hard for you to believe?"

Under the concerned gaze of his friend, Rafe's mask slipped away, and he could only watch it fall, and could only listen to his own voice as he started talking. "Because no one's ever done that for me before."

"Done what? Cared about you?" Blair spoke almost dubiously.

"Yeah," Rafe answered simply, his voice getting quieter by the minute.

Blair drew in a breath, seeing the slumped shoulders, the haggard expression. Rafe was telling him the truth -- at least the way he saw it.

"But...come on. What about your family? Your friends?"

"Like who? You ever seen any family or friends in here when you come? Just you guys. And you work with me, you sort of have to come, don't you?" The words tumbled out of him before he could stop himself. "I mean, when Jim or Simon come, I can practically see their thoughts, every time they check their watch, or look at the door, or ask me if I'm tired yet. They're here out of some weird sense of moral obligation. Simon's my boss, Jim works with me. They're doing what they have to do. It's different with you and Henri, and I can't risk losing that by spouting all my stupid pathetic problems to you. Please, Blair, just let it drop."

Blair's eyes were wide. "Why would you even think that?" he asked slowly, shocked.

"Cause. It's true, isn't it? I'm used to it, Blair, you don't have to pretend my feelings are gonna get hurt or something. I know what I am, okay?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You don't think I know how ridiculous I look to other people? Some dumb immigrant trash hiding under designer clothes and a badge? I'm not like you, Blair. You're smart, you're about to get your PhD, you've got...I mean, people just stop and listen to you. You can make them care. I can't, I never could. You're the kind of guy people like. I'm the kind people put up with. I know that. I KNOW it." He rubbed a hand over his eyes, wiping away both sleepiness and emotion. "Look, Blair. You're nice to me, I don't know why, but you are. Henri's...well, Henri's the best friend I could want. I don't really know why he sticks with me either, but I'm glad he does. I threw him out of here the other day, he tell you that? Told him I didn't want to deal with him. And the next day...he came back, man. Just strolled in grinning and asking me if I wanted anything, same as always." Rafe managed a smile at the memory.

Blair took the oppurtunity of the silence that fell briefly to study his friend. He was shocked -- there were no other words to describe it. All the time he had known Rafe, he had suspected the guy was a little more insecure than he should be, but he never suspected that this was what Rafe thought to himself every day. Who had done this to him, Blair couldn't help but wonder. Why would anyone want to do this to another person? "Rafe-"

"Blair, please. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say all that. Why don't you just get out of here, okay? I appreciate the visit, really. but I'm kind of tired right now."

"No. After everything you just dumped out, you want me to go?" Blair shook his head firmly. "Not gonna happen. We have to talk about this, Rafe."

"Nothing to talk about. I said I was sorry, I shouldn't have unloaded on you, but-"

"Why not?"

Rafe blinked. "What?"

"Why shouldn't you have unloaded on me? I'm your friend."

Rafe shook his head sadly.

"What?" Blair challenged. "You don't think I'm your friend?"

"Blair, you're a nice guy. Really nice. I've seen you go out of your way to avoid hurting people. And you work with me, and you let me come out at night with you sometimes. And it's nice of you to do that. But you don't have to call yourself my friend."

"Call myself..." Could he really believe all this? Was he that far gone?

"Especially not now." Rafe looked down at himself, lying limp in the bed, and laughed. "Man, if I was nothing before, this makes me...what? There aren't words."

"You're not nothing!" Blair was getting frustrated.

"Sure I am," Rafe replied easily. "I always have been. And now my father made the trip out here just to remind me, in case I'd forgotten it somehow."

Blair sat up with a jerk. He saw the flash in Rafe's eyes, the despondency in his tone. His father! Somehow that bastard was responsible for this. But how? How was it possible to wreck another man's mind so much, to ruin his self-esteem telling him things that obviously weren't true? How could Rafe not see himself as so many other people saw him? Blair studied the handsome face and shook his head in amazement. "You know, I get so jealous of you sometimes."

Rafe looked up, surprised. "What?"

Blair smiled wryly. "It's true, man. When we go to clubs or bars, and you just...man, you've got it. You know? The look, and the confidence, and the women go nuts over you. You stroll around like some kind of runway model, and to top it off, you're nice. No, not just nice. Rafe, you say you've seen me go out of my way to avoid hurting people. But you do the same thing. You've got the biggest heart of all the guys in that office. I've seen the way these crimes affect you sometimes, I see that you try to hide it around the other guys. But I can see it 'cause it's what I see in the mirror every day." He drew in a breath. "I don't know what you went through to make you think so low about yourself. I don't know what that...father of yours did. But you can't look at yourself in the mirror and see nothing. How can you? Everyone else sees so much more."

Rafe blinked bright eyes, but his head was shaking almost absently.

"Look, what do I have to gain saying that unless I really mean it? Name one thing I could gain. And don't give me that nice-guy crap again. Being a nice guy doesn't mean lying to people to spare their feelings. Not to me."

"This is all...real nice of you, Blair. But I really am kinda tired. And you've given me a lot to think about." Rafe coupled the soft words with another of his patented looks -- the wow-maybe-things-really-will-be-okay-if-I-work-at-it face that he had upgraded for his counselors and therapists.

Blair saw the mask slide cleanly into place, and he released a frustrated, angry breath. He wasn't getting anywhere, that was for sure. Wherever these insecurities of Rafe's came from, they went a lot deeper than Blair could delve. So he stood slowly, reluctantly, thinking that maybe it was still early enough to have a few words with whoever Rafe's counselor was.

When he heard the door shut behind Blair, Rafe laid back in his bed. He hadn't been lying -- he was tired. But he wouldn't be going to sleep anytime soon. Not with the painful throbbing in his back or the cramps in his legs, or the voice inside of him, the one that had been there since before he could remember. His father's voice, sometimes. Sometimes his own. The one that came to him whenever he thought he had a chance at being happy, for a while, at least. And quickly reminded him who and what he was, and brought him back down to the level where he belonged.

Rafe wanted to throw something. But his arms were too tired from wheeling himself around all day. So he laid back, clenching his fists, hoping that Blair forgot all about this conversation and stopped trying to convince him he was something he wasn't.

"Blair, what the hell is wrong with you tonight? You've been in a pissy mood since I picked you up at the hospital."

"Just leave it alone, Jim." Blair continued his pace without interruption.

"Come on, Chief. Aren't you the one who's always telling me that keeping negative energy in is bad?" Jim smiled slightly from his spot in the kitchen.

"It's just...just infuriating, man. He's falling apart, and nobody's doing a thing to help him. He's always alone in the damn room, and now his stupid father came back just to make him feel even worse. I just wish there was something I could do."

Jim set down the spoon he'd been using to stir the tomato sauce he was preparing for dinner, and turned down the heat. Stepping into the living room, he could see how deep Blair's frustration was even as the younger man paced deliberately away from him. "Blair, tell me what happened."

"What do you care?" Blair snapped back, then stopped his pacing, immediately facing him. "Sorry, Jim. Man, I'm just so frustrated."

"Yeah? Get it off your chest, partner."

Blair shook his head. "There's no way to describe it. You had to be there, listening to Rafe talking. It's unbelievable, the things he thinks about himself. And I talked to his counselor, and she doesn't have a clue. She says the therapy's going well, that Rafe's recovering just fine. She says if he really thinks what he told me, he may be suffering from, like, post-traumatic stress disorder or something. And it's no wonder. I talked to the therapist working with him, and the guys says that he tells Rafe every day that there's a good chance he'll never be what he was. He may or may not get back on his feet, and he'll maybe never be able to do his job the same again. The guy said he has to tell him that, 'cause it's true. But Jesus, that's probably the only thing he hears. His legs are shot to hell, and he has to deal with that. But he's got the doctors telling him he's never gonna recover, his father showing up to tell him that he's nothing, and he thinks the only reason anyone comes to see him is out of some kind of moral obligation. And I don't have a single clue how to convince him differently."

Jim watched the younger man pace, waving his arms with angry energy. As his tirade finished, he threw himself into the couch and sat fuming.

Troubled by the display in his normally calm roommate, Jim came over slowly and sat beside him. "Chief...are you all right?"

"I'm fine! This isn't about me, man."

"Okay, calm down. It's bad, Blair, I agree with you. But what exactly do you think we can do to help?"

"I don't know!"

"Hey, calm down. We'll think of something."

Blair glared over at him. "Oh, that easy, huh?"

Jim gave a slight smile. "Sure. Look who it is, here. When has there ever been a problem the two of us couldn't solve?"

Blair rolled his eyes. "This one is a little different. It's not about criminals, or out-of-whack senses. It's, like, emotional, you know? And I'm not really good at dealing with that."

"Are you kidding? Blair, you're the most open man I know. You underestimate yourself."

"I hope so."

Jim sighed. "Listen, why don't we get on the horn to Simon. Better yet, Henri. They'd help us think of a way to bolster our buddy's ego."

"He WHAT? That piece of shit. That filthy, goddamned South African shithole. Who the hell does he-"

"Henri. Easy. Back down, man, he's not here."

Brown was beyond mad. "He's lucky he's not here. I'd be tempted to let my Beretta tell him what I think of him."

"Easy, detective." Simon's voice was more official in tone.

It seemed to make Henri remember who he was with. "I'm sorry, guys, but....damn."

"What do you know about Mr. van Rij, anyway?"

"Enough to know he doesn't deserve being called mister. He deserves to be thrown in a god damned-"

"Brown?"

"Sorry." Henri looked around the loft. "I just can't believe the son of a....I mean, I can't believe he would show up." He took a breath, facing his fellow officers. "Look, Rafe's past is kind of spotted. I don't know how much of it I should tell you. It's his story."

Blair faced him squarely. "The last thing he's gonna do is tell us about his past, when he thinks we don't even want to hear him say his back hurts."

"I know. It took him forever to even tell me any of it. I can't give you guys details he may not want you to have. You understand, right?"

Blair let out a breath, disappointed, but he nodded. "Sure we do. Could you give us a Reader's Digest version?"

Henri shrugged, sitting down heavily on the sofa next to Joel and Jim. "Alright. Well, Rafe's the oldest of his brothers and sisters. He was about nine when... So one day, before the family came to America, there was a...well, he'd have to tell you the details. Anyway, it got pretty violent in the town he was living in. They were pretty much dirt poor, so they lived in a really bad part of this city. And one day this huge riot breaks out. He doesn't even remember what it was about. And his mother and father had to find a hospital when he got a bullet in the leg. So Rafe was watching over the younger kids, and some of the rioters broke in." Henri paused. "He didn't give me details, but by the time his mother got back to the house, everything they owned of any value was gone, and two of the kids were dead."

Blair drew in a breath, shocked. If anyone had told this about his apparently easy-going friend a week ago, he wouldn't have believed it.

"So the dad gets kicked out of the hospital when they can't pay the bill because all their stuff's been stolen, and they have to go stay with relatives until he saved up anough to get them all to America. And this whole time he blames Rafe for what happened. Every time he saw him, he'd say something about it. Kept telling Rafe he should have put himself in front of the bullet that killed his brothers, he should have been the one dead, stuff like that. And his mom, she's too whipped by the guy to argue with him, and it sounded to me like the two sisters he had left agreed with his dad. I don't know, he left a lot of blank space in the story."

"Holy shit." Jim glanced over at his Guide, and they traded a dark look.

Henri laughed slightly. "That's not even the worst part."

Joel answered now, hushed. "You're kidding."

"Well, the dad finally gets enough money, right? And the whole family is off to the airport. And a few hours later, Rafe shows up back at his uncle's house. Wouldn't say a word about why he was still there, but the uncle thought somehow he'd gotten turned around or something, so he drove him back to the airport and put him on the next plane."

"You think his father left him there on purpose?" Simon asked sharply.

"I know he did. He told Rafe he'd never be worth the price of the ticket." Henri paused, gritting his teeth. "So when Rafe's plane lands, he doesn't even try to find out where his family went. He took the little money he'd saved up and started a new life for himself."

There was a quiet pause in the spacious living room, and Blair found himself standing and going to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator automatically and grabbed a beer, and then just stood there, lost in thought.

This was what they had to try and erase from Rafe's head? This horrible story?

It was too much. There was no way that any words Blair or Henri or anyone else could say would start to diminish the effects of his childhood.

"Hey, Chief?"

Blair blinked over at Jim, who was standing back, studying his carefully. "Yeah? Sorry. Just thinking."

"Figure anything out?" Jim was half-joking, giving a smile he didn't really feel.

"Nope. Nothing at all. There's nothing we can do, Jim. He needs, like, psychiatric help or something."

"You were hoping for a quick, one-time fixit?"

Blair smiled ruefully. "Yeah, I think I was."

"Sorry, Blair, but I don't think I have to remind you that life just doesn't work that way sometimes."

Cascade's Major Crimes department was unbeaten at solving crimes, at putting clues together, sniffing out criminals (so to speak). But the emotional problem they were faced with now was beyond all of them. So from an unsuccessful talk session at the loft, they headed for the hospital together, unsure of what they could say, but ready to offer at least a show of support to their downed friend, and hope it helped.

They went up the familiar journey to Rafe's room, and as they were headed down the hall, in a group, Blair suddenly held them up by stopping in his tracks.

"What's wrong?"

Blair was staring ahead. "That's him. He's back."

Five pairs of eyes suddenly locked on the older man heading slowly down the corridor to Rafe's room.

And suddenly Brown bolted, almost knocked Blair over as he pushed past and barrelled down the hallway. The remaining four men followed him quickly.

"Hey!" Brown shouted to stop the man as his hand reached for the knob of the door.

The older man turned, surprised at the shout, even more surprised to see that it was directed at him. He watched Henri running up. "Do I know you?" He spoke with an accent even more sharply pronounced than Rafe's.

"No, but I know you, you bastard. Get the hell away from that door."

A flash of anger twisted his features. "Who do you think you are to speak to me that way?"

"Don't even worry about that. All you gotta worry about is the fact that if your hand doesn't leave that knob, it's gonna leave your body, you got me?"

"Henri?" Simon caught up to the detective and grabbed his shoulder. "Back off. This isn't the way to handle this."

"Bull shit. He's not going back in there."

The hand left the knob, but it was more from anger than obedience. "Excuse me, but just who are you people?"

Blair had caught up, at the end of the group, and he immediately moved past Joel and Jim to stand at Brown's other side, in case Rafe's parter lost it completely.

Simon answered the man. "My name's Simon Banks. I'm the Captain at Major Crimes at the Cascade PD. Rafe works for me."

The older van Rij paused, a look of understanding flashing in his eyes. "You're my son's friends, are you?"

"Don't call him that."

The man looked at Henri in surprise. "What should I call him?"

Henri took a step closer, feeling two hands immediately coming to his shoulders. "You gave up the right to call him your son when you left him at an airport in Pretoria. You gave him up. That means no visitation rights. You don't get to see him, not now, not ever."

"What goes on within my family," He spoke with measured words. "is our business and no one else's."

"He's not part of your family anymore, you son of a bitch. We're his family now, and we'll stop you from going in there and feeding him more of your shit if we have to arrest you."

"You can't arrest-"

"I'll find a way," Brown cut him off grimly.

Anger deeper by the second smoldered in the eyes that looked so much like their downed friend's. "Let me tell you men something about your friend."

Simon wanted to say something to stop him. The man was going to be digging himself deeper with anything he had to say. But he didn't. He let van Rij have all the rope he needed.

"He is a weak coward. He is responsible for the deaths of two innocent children." His eyes gleamed, as though anticipating the reactions from these men at what he was sure was news to them. "He was too frightened to save his brothers' lives, and the powers that be have gotten their revenge by striking him down now."

Henri leapt at the man without a pause, but Simon, anticipating the move, clamped his hand around him tightly, holding him back with all of his strength.

But no one anticipated Blair.

Striding forward, furious, Blair stopped a foot away from the man, his warm blue eyes for once a cold steel. "Coward? He was a coward? Who was it that left him alone? Who left a child to protect children? Who was it that deserted his family because of an injured leg? Who left a nine year old to do his job, and then blamed that child when armed rioters made it into his home? You...you're lower than a coward, you come here when he is helpless and alone and face him. You're scum, and Henri's right. You get the hell out of here now, and hope he doesn't even know you came, or we'll track you down and find some way to wreck your life the way you wrecked his."

There was movement at his side, and Blair glanced over to see Jim, looking down at him with eyes that held surprise, but also respect and even pride.

Simon had released Brown, and the two men came up alongside their friends, effectively barricading the hall.

The man turned abruptly, but found himself face to face with Joel Taggart, who had slipped behind them in the commotion. He turned back to the speakers in the group, opened his mouth to speak.

"Don't." Simon cut him off before he could say anything. "Don't say a damned word. You're talking about one of my best men, one of the best I've ever had. And you're talking about him now, when he's been put in the hospital by other people who thought the wrong things about him. He doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve to be here at all, and he really does not deserve you showing up. We're gonna help him get out of here. We'll help try and make amends for what happened, and we're gonna make sure you don't show up here again. We can't go back and erase his memories of you, which is a damned shame, but we're gonna see to it you don't do anything else to hurt him. Anything at all. So all you need to say is that you're never gonna try and see him again. Ever."

There was a tense pause. Van Rij looked around at the grim faces surrounding him. His gaze carried over to the side, to where the small desk at the edge of the hallway sat, and his eyes grew in sudden surprise.

Simon followed his gaze almost unwillingly, and he let out a breath when he saw what had caught the man's attention.

Rafe. In his chair. Watching the proceedings as if he's been there from the start.

Must be coming back from therapy, Simon thought with dismay.

The older Van Rij stepped towards him suddenly. "Son, you tell these men-"

But a vice on his arm stopped him. "Get out of here."

He turned back to face Henri Brown. "You get your hand-"

"Get the hell out!"

The shout came from behind him. He faced his son again, jerking his hand out of Brown's grasp.

And without another word, he spun on his heel and broke past Jim and Blair to stride towards the exit.

Henri immediately went to his partner's side. "Hey, man, I'm sorry you had to hear-"

Rafe's eyes were wide with surprise at himself. "I yelled at him."

Brown stopped, studying him uncertainly. "Yeah. You did."

"I think...." Rafe looked over at the staff of Major Crimes, his face reflecting his wonder, and then back to Henri. "I think I've wanted to do that for a long time."

Henri smiled bitterly. "I know I have."

As the other men started to approach the pair, Rafe's eyes went back to them, and his voice lowered even more. "I didn't deserve that, guys."

"Bull shit." Simon spoke with no uncertainty. "What you don't deserve is that piece of....that...him. You don't deserve a lot of things that have happened to you. But especially," He leaned down to meet the younger man's eyes steadily. "Youdon't deserrve to go through things like this alone. No more, you hear me, detective? No more keeping things from us. We ARE your family, Rafe. Don't ever forget that."

Rafe's eyes gleamed. "I'll try, sir."

"Sir?"

A smile lit his face. "I'll try, Simon."

"That's better." Simon straightened. "Just don't try that at the station."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"Let's get you back to your room, huh?" Henri took the rear handles of the chair.

"I can push myself, thank you very much."

The sound of the joke in Rafe's tone made Brown relax more than anything else. "Oh, yeah? Maybe I should launch you down the hall, see which side you land on."

"Sure, H. It's all fun and games until the crippled guy lands on his ass."

"Crippled? Please, how heartless do you think we are? You're not crippled. If you were, we'd probably send you down a flight of stairs."

"Yuk yuk."

Blair beamed at the two men as they steered past him and into the room. He let the others trail them in before picking up the rear. Quick fixit? No, he wasn't naive enough to think that. But this was about as good a start as he could have hoped for.

Blair went in to the crowded room, looking around at his 'family' with an idiotic grin he couldn't shake, content that things were going to work out.