Essence of Inhumanity
"Wake up!"
Rafe sputtered into consciousness, breathing in some of the water thrown at his face, and erupting into coughs. His eyes snapped open, and he was suddenly aware of a searing pain in his shoulder and wrists.
Oh. He was tied by his wrists to an exposed pipeline in the old building. No wonder. He was standing on his toes and could still barely touch the ground, and the strain on his shoulders was making the muscles burn.
His eyes went to Friedrich, who stood enraged in front of him. "Oh, great," he couldn't help muttering.
A hand whipped out and slapped him in the face, hard.
He bit back a reaction, facing Friedrich defiantly. "What do you want? Annerl is gone, she's going to bring the police back here. What do you hope to accomplish?"
"Who are you?" Friedrich demanded, ignoring his questions.
"None of your business."
Another slap. Rafe almost laughed. They were going to slap the information out of him?
"What is your name?"
"Wyatt Earp."
Another slap. Well, it was starting to sting.
"Who sent you to us?"
"Give me a break."
Slap.
"Suid-Afrikaan you?"
Rafe didn't reply.
"Antwoord!"
"Wyk duiwel," Rafe spat out defiantly.
Friedrich did not respond well to name-calling. He balled up his fist for the next hit.
Rafe's body twisted, his toes losing their grip on the ground. His shoulders screamed their protest at the movement, and that hurt worse than the sore spot on his jaw. He breathed in raggedly.
"Antwoord," Friedrich hissed again.
"What answers do you want from me?" Rafe retorted.
"Who are you?" Friedrich repeated, enraged.
Rafe mentally shrugged. Why not? "Ek polisie."
Friedrich drew back, startled. "Polisie," he repeated after a minute. He stared at Rafe for a moment, then threw another hard punch, this time into the detective's midsection.
Rafe's breath exploded out of him, his eyes shutting. Oh, that was why not. Great.
"Suit-Afrikaaner polisie jou?"
"Nee," he breathed out. "American."
"Verdomp!"
Rafe's eyes opened gingerly, and he saw with relief that Friedrich had turned away from him, to where another of his men stood. Mikial. "Hy is'n fokkin polisie ofisier. Verdomp Here!" He stood fuming for a second, then turned back to Rafe. "Hy is'n polisie ofisier dood."
Rafe met his eyes without a hint of fear. He'd heard plenty of death threats before, he wasn't about to let this one get to him.
Friedrich held out a hand without looking back at Mikial. Without a word, the lackey grabbed the rifle and handed it over to him. Friedrich approached. "Jou nie polisie is nie, seun. Neimand you, helsem. Ju mof-skaap."
Rafe shut his eyes briefly. He had no idea that hearing the old insults in the old language could hurt so much. Dressed in the rags, his uncle's words fresh in his mind...somehow it seemed fated that he was to live and die Neimand, after all.
Friedrich moved faster than he could follow, driving the stock of the rifle into his stomach. "So'n helsem!" he hissed angrily. "Neimand!"
Rafe sucked in a breath with difficulty, and looked up to see the rifle coming towards his head.
Then there was nothing. *******************
"Come on, Jim. Call. Come on, Jim. Call." Blair paced around the almost empty Major Crimes office, looking down at the phone on Jim's desk with every pass. Okay, so they knew Henri wasn't exactly dying, but Jim could still call Blair back and assure him that the guy was alright.
He was worried, and he couldn't help it. He was worried about Henri getting shot like that, he was worried about the fact that Rafe was missing, and now his partner was unable to help him. He worried about what both his friends were going through.
But his worrying was interrupted by the door into the office opening, and a uniformed officer coming in. "Hello?"
Blair went for him, seeing his hesitant look. "Yeah? Can we do something for you?"
"Uh, is there a Captain Banks here?"
"Nope. You just missed him."
"Damn."
"What's wrong?" Blair asked conversationally, hoping this guy would have some minor problem he could deal with, to get him mind off his worries.
The uniform held the door open and gestured, and a young girl came in shyly. "This," he answered simply.
"Kaptein Banks?" The girl faced Blair with wide eyes.
"No, I'm not-"
"She can't understand you," the uniform interrupted.
Blair looked down at the girl. "Why not?"
"Speaks some kind of funny language."
And Blair knew as certainly as he knew anything else what language she spoke. He hesitated. "Um...Hallo. Ek nee Kaptein Banks. But...um,. hy is...uh. hy is hospitaal."
Blair knew that fragment wasn't a complete sentence, but she understood and looked grateful. "Asseblief, ek moet saam hy."
"Umm. Alright, wat is..damn. Wat is dis. Nee. Damn." He was scanning through every language he knew, trying to pick out the few Afrikaan terms.
She stopped him. "Kenne Ryf?"
"Rafe?" he repeated in surprise.
She nodded enthusiastically. "Ja, is Ryf! Asseblief, Kaptein Banks!"
Blair nodded. "Ja. Hang on." He held up a hand, gesturing for her to wait. "Thanks, man. I can take it from here."
The uniform was staring at him in surprise through the whole exchange. He got control of his jaw again and nodded. "Yeah. Thanks."
Blair went to the phone. *******************
Simon and Jim arrived at the hospital to find that Henri had been moved out of the ER into a private room. The doctor said it was 'just for observation' in case infection set it in. They started to search for the room, but Jim heard his friend's complaining long before they got there.
“I’m fine!” H was saying. When Jim and Simon entered, they noticed that a nurse was fixing his IV line. “Will you stop shooting me up with drugs? I said I’m fine!”
“Officer Brown!” Simon shot out in his most commanding voice, “Stop hassling this nice young lady.”
The nurse blushed. “It’s just for the pain. Make sure he keeps it in.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Henri begrudged as she took her leave.
It was then that they noticed Smola sitting quietly in the corner.
“Mr. Smola,” Jim nodded towards him. “I’m sorry that you had to be in the middle of all this…”
“Have you found the man that did this?” Smola asked, his concern making him again quick-tempered.
“No sir, but we’re investigating the situation."
“I don’t want to hear that. I want to hear that these people are found. I want my daughter back, and I want to get the hell out of this country."
“It’s my fault for getting shot,” Henri spoke up before Smola could revert too far back into his former self. “If I hadn’t of been so stupid, I woulda seen him coming and gotten a clear shot.”
“Did you get a good look?” Jim questioned.
“Mikial Wasamba,” H spat out the name. “Plain as day.”
“What happened? Tell us exactly,” Simon asked as he sat down in the only remaining empty chair, leaving Jim towering above them.
“Well, we were at the hotel,” Henri began. “I had just left Mr. Smola when I heard somebody behind me. I turned around and saw that it was Wasamba. He had a gun pointed in Smola’s back. I drew my weapon and yelled, then he turned around. I guess it startled him, maybe he recognized me from the shelter...I don’t know. Whatever it was, he got spooked and took a shot at me. I took one in the leg, but I tried to get a clear shot at him.” H faltered. “There were just so many people and I couldn’t get a good aim and….”
“It alright H,” Jim assured him. “You protected Mr. Smola and that’s what’s most important.”
“And I’m sure Mr. Smola appreciates it…..don’t you, Mr. Smola?” Simon probed the quieted man.
“Yes," Smola replied, facing Henri. The two men shared a meaningful look. "Thank you.”
Jim noticed the look and wondered at it. Whether it was because he had just taken a bullet for the man or some other strange reason, Smola and Brown seemed to have reached some kind of understanding. He'd be interested in hearing the details some day. For now, he just wondered why they couldn’t ever have a quiet, easy day where one of them didn’t end up shot, beaten, or kidnapped. *******************
Ryf was scared. He had no idea where he was, why he wasn't with his family, or out on the roads. The only time he ever woke up indoors was in his family's house, but the dark room was unfamiliar.
He sat up, and whimpered slightly at the aching pain in his head. It hurt to move, but he did anyway, knowing what kind of dangers met kids like him on the streets. He could have been arrested, or...
His stomach muscles screamed a protest when he tried to stand, and he fell back. He must have been bad. Uncle must have caught him not working and beaten him.
This, at least, was familiar, though he still didn't recognize the room.
It didn't matter. Soon they would have to eat, and they would let Niemand out again.
"Dom," he whispered to himself in reproach. "Seun dom." He had to stop fighting Uncle's rules. He knew father was almost ready to take them all to America. He just had to be good until then.
Stupid boy. He caused trouble for his family, he knew. He made it hard for father and mother, fighting against Uncle's rules like that. He should know better.
He should be dead. Seun dom, making problems when he was living the life his younger brothers should have been living. They would not have been difficult. It was only him, only Neimand.
He curled up on the floor, letting his mind drift away from the mistakes he always made. To....
"America."
His eyes darted towards the door, half-sure someone outside must have heard him utter the forbidden word. When no one came to hit him, he held his breath and whispered it again. "America."
It was his hope. His dream. In America, he could be better for his family. He would not get in so much trouble then. He would work, and make real money. His father would not hate him, his mother would talk to him again. Everything would be alright.
He would not be Neimand, not in America.
Just thinking about it made smile. Father was taking him to America with them. Father could not hate him so much after all. To leave the streets and Uncle and the other children in the city far behind him, to be with his family in a new world. It was more than he could think about for too long. The fantasy made it too hard for him to wake up to the children and the work.
A sound reached his ears suddenly, and he scrambled to sit up as the door opened. He looked down at the ground reflexively, hoping it was mother at the door. Then at least he knew he wouldn't be yelled at.
But whoever opened the door didn't make a sound.
After a few long moments, Neimand slowly, carefully raised his eyes, just enough to make out the face above him before he pulled them back down to the ground. Who was that?
"Hallo, ofisier."
Officer? That man couldn't be talking to Neimand.
With a start, he realized that the man must be an officer, and was telling Neimand how he should have addressed him. He quickly spoke up, quiet and respectful. "Hallo, ofisier meneer."
"Waat?" There was a pause. "In pyn, helsem?"
Neimand heard the familiar insult, and was puzzled. Who would bother asking him if he was in pain or not? No one did before. "Nee," he answered, knowing instinctively to lie.
The voice laughed. "Waat is u naam?"
"Ryf," he answered softly, hoping he would not be hit for giving the true answer. Most people liked to hear him say Neimand.
"Waar woon u?"
Where did he live? Who was this man that he would not know? Neimand frowned, knowing the man couldn't see him. "Verskoon my?"
"Waar woon u?" he repeated, none too gently.
"My familie."
"Jou familie is wie?"
Neimand froze. This man did not know who he was. Perhaps it would mean more to give his uncle's name. After all, Uncle was the one everyone in the town knew. "Gustav Smola."
"Verdomp," the man swore.
Neimand looked up for a split second, confused. Should he ask what was going on, or would he get hit for it? After a moment he decided to ask. "Wat is hierdie?"
"Hou jou bek!"
Neimand looked back down at once, grateful. Being told to shut up was better than being beaten, anyway.
"Bly hier," the man snapped, going out and shutting the door abruptly.
Neimand almost smiled. Stay here? Where else would he go?
The aching in his head had gotten worse through the strange meeting with the man, and he had to lie down again, dizzy.
Almost instantly, a wave of darkness swept over him, and Neimand fell back into a world of dreams. Of America, and what a great land it would be.
Of someone named Henri. Though he wouldn't remember that part when he woke up. *******************
"No, captain. I'm sorry, I have told Officer Brown how much I appreciate what he did, but if anything I'm more convinced now than ever that these men are dangerous and will kill my daughter if I help you."
Simon heaved a breath, wanting to pace around but trapped in this small hospital room with three other men taking up space. "Mr. Smola, I promise you that-"
There was a knock on the cracked door, and a familiar pair of blue eyes peeked in. "Everyone decent?"
Jim grinned at his partner. "What’re you doing here?"
Blair came in, grinning broadly. "We had a guest show up at the station."
"Oh?" Simon spoke up now from his spot against the wall.
"Yep, and if Mr. Smola doesn't mind, I think we need him to play interpreter." He turned towards the door. "Annerl? Come on in." He gestured in case the words weren't understood.
Smola jerked out of his seat like lightning with those words, and as the young, dirty girl entered the room, looking around apprehensively, the older man's demeanor changed completely. His face dropped into a shocked mask for a moment. "Annerl?"
She saw him and a huge smile crossed her face. "Vader!" She launched herself across the room and into his arms
He grabbed her tightly, his eyes tearing. "Anna! My Anna!" He pulled away slightly and studied her face intensely, memorizing every line. "Dankie, Here," he mumbled.
She smiled through her tears, but shook her head. "Nee, vader. Danke Ryf."
"Ryf?" His smile faded slightly.
"Ja."
Blair latched on the word and turned to Simon. "She was talking about Rafe down at the station, but I couldn't understand her. I think she knows what's happened to him."
Simon turned his full attention to the girl. "Smola, can she tell us what happened?"
Smola nodded slightly and looked down at her affectionately and repeated the question in quiet Afrikaans.
She started talking, excited now, and rattled on for a few minutes in the strange language. As Smola listened, his face grew more and more grave.
Finally he turned to Simon. "Your of...er, Ryf...was kidnapped by the same men that took my daughter; you were right about that. They were taken to an old building in the middle of the city. Ryf helped her to escape and told her to come here. She says she is sorry but she could never find that building again." His expression changed into the sharp frown they all remembered. "My Anna is young and scared and in a strange land, Captain."
Simon looked down at the round eyes of the girl and smiled somewhat, covering his disappointment. "I have a son of my own, Smola. I wouldn't force her to do anything she can't do."
Smola nodded. "Alright,"
Simon sighed as he stood up. "Let's get the two of you back to the Station. You can tell me everything that happened. And you, Smola, you're going to answer our questions now?"
Smola hugged his daughter to him as though afraid of letting her go. "Yes, Captain, I can answer anything you want. I'm sorry I couldn't do so before, but I was worried..."
"I understand." Simon turned his attention to his two officers. "Alright, you guys heard all that. We're no closer to finding these guys, but at least we know Rafe's alive somewhere. Jim, figure out a way to track these men to the building.”
As he talked, Annerl was watching him. She turned to her father and whispered, "Kaptein Banks?"
He smiled. "Ja."
She looked at Simon and began speaking again solemnly. "Jou sal jou bes doenom Ryf to help. Asseblief, ek was baie bang, mar hy maak my veilig. Dit wasbaie dapper van hy." She met Simon's eyes, then turned to her father expectantly.
He cleared his throat slightly. "She...she says you have to help Ryf. She...she says she was very scared, but he kept her safe. He was...very brave."
Simon was gratified to see another look new to Smola -- guilt. Apparently he was still revising his opinion of his nephew. "We'll do whatever we can. Rafe is a good man, and a good friend, we won't let him down."
Smola repeated his words to Annerl, who smiled over at the three officers and observer, a sweet, grateful smile that almost made the men blush. "Dankie.Baie Dankie."
"Yes," Smola said, rather than simply repeating her words.
"Thank you, all of you."
Simon ushered them out before it could get any more emotional, leaving the three remaining men in silence. Blair looked towards the door thoughtfully, long after they had gone.
Finally, he turned to the other two, his jaw set. "I want to do it."
"Do what?" Jim asked, gazing over at him.
Blair tenses himself for the explosion. "I want to go in to that shelter tonight."
The explosion didn't come. Jim sighed, almost wearily. "You're out of your mind, Sandburg."
"No," Blair shot back. "I'm not. I'm the only one that can do this."
"How do you figure that?" Jim retorted.
"Look, man. Henri isn't going anywhere, and you used to work down there inVice, right? So that leaves me. I can do this, guys."
"No." Jim's tone left no room for argument.
But Blair made room. "You can't do that, Jim! For God's sake, who else is going to go? How else are we going to find Rafe and catch these guys?"
"I don't know," Jim admitted finally.
Blair smiled in triumph. "Alright then."
"But you're not going."
"Dammit, Jim, stop it! Stop treating me like I'm a baby! I'm thirty years old. I've been working with you for years now. When are you going to realize I can take care of myself? I'm not stupid, okay? Man, we talk about this and talk about it and you always tell me I'm wrong, you don't think I'm helpless, or dumb. But you never, not once, have given me a chance to prove it. This time it's different. Rafe’s my friend, and if I'm the only one who can find him, then I'm going to find him; whether you want me to or not!"
Silence fell. Jim stood after a few minutes of thought, and headed for the door, passing Blair without looking at him. He stopped in the doorway and glanced back.
"I'm going to call Simon, arrange to get you in."
Blair sagged in relief, not replying as Jim left the room and shutting the door behind him. He turned once Jim was gone and sank into the chair Simon had been sitting in.
"Man, I feel like I just ran a marathon." He grinned over at Henri.
The prone detective wasn't smiling back. "This is a bad idea, Blair."
"Oh, man, not you too. Come on, Henri, I can handle this."
Henri shook his head. "This was my gig, Hairboy. My assignment. You can't go in my place." His tone was dark.
Blair's brow furrowed. "Why should it matter whose assignment it was? If you think I can handle it, why is it a problem?"
"No. Don't even ask, it just is. You have to listen to me, Blair." Henri's voice almost cracked, and he paused, taking a deep breath.
Blair studied him for a minute, and quickly decided there was more going on here than he knew. He stood and went to the bed, perching on the edge. "Something up I should know about?"
"I just don't like the idea."
"I don't think you're this upset 'cause you don't like an idea, Henri."
Brown looked up into the open, worried face in front of him, and almost groaned. Just great. For years he'd kept his skeleton safely tucked in the closet. For years he'd gone without telling anybody but his partner and best friend about this demon of his. Now here he was about to bare his soul for the second time in two weeks. What was it with these guys? Acting so worried?
"Alright, Sandburg. I ever tell you I pulled a tour in the Army?" *******************
"Jou kombers en my matras en
daar l^e die ding,
daar l^e die ding,
daar l^e die ding."
Ryf kept singing to himself softly, wondering why he thought of that song. It was something he heard groups of children singing at times, but of course he never joined in. And now, He sang alone, almost smiling ironically at the words.
"I'm with you and you're with me. And so we are all together." Not a song for a boy on his own to be singing. But he couldn't stop, he couldn't let the silence around him go on any longer.
His head felt like it would burst open any minute, but he shut his eyes and kept singing.
This was more than his usual punishment. He had been in here for a long time, and no one but that strange officer had come in to see him.
Funny, the man hadn't looked like an officer, not the way he was dressed. But Neimand knew better than to question it. Uncle should be there soon to fetch him, when he didn't show up to finish his work or clean for the evening meal.
Unless...unless these were the police, and they would make Uncle pay to get him out.
Neimand breathed out shakily at the thought. His uncle would never, ever pay money, he knew that. It would be cheaper to hire one of the other children from the street for a night. He would leave Neimand in there to rot, to never be seen again, like others who had vanished from the streets.
"Ryf," he said to himself quietly, as he always did whenever he got too frightened. "My naam is Ryf."
It didn't help. All he could think of was being left here to die, being found in a back street somewhere by playing children, being laughed at one last time. Stupid Nobody. Dom Neimand, getting himself caught and killed.
"Asseblief, ek bang, asseblief. Laat ek uit," he murmured to himself, sinking against the wall. Please, let me out. Please. I'm scared. Uncle, come get me. Please. *******************
Blair looked around the dingy building. Rafe wasn't the only one that had memories of shelters, although Blair's weren't nearly so grim. Once or twice, when Naomi had been staying with someone and it hadn't worked out, they had to spend a night or two in a place like this, just until she was ready with a new battle plan.
They had always been together, and Naomi had always made sure that no one bothered him. But he still didn't like the places. They were grim, and not just for what they represented.
It wasn't hard to spot Friedrich Schmidt, but Blair couldn't see Wasamba or the other man that was supposed to be with them.
He hunched his shoulders, let his unwashed hair fall into his face, and started forward, dragging his feet a bit. He was playing up the role, he guessed, but he couldn't look that different from anyone else trudging around the room. He noticed that the other people sitting down with their dinner trays gave Schmidt a wide berth, and he followed suit, sitting a table over from him.
"Hi!" a voice that was way too cheerful greeted.
Blair smiled reflexively at the young man sitting down across from him. "Hello."
"You new here?"
Blair shrugged. "Kinda, yeah."
The kid grinned. "We got a lot of new people coming in here lately."
"Oh?"
"Yep. You nicer than most."
Blair grinned slightly, and his eyes went back to Schmidt for a moment, just to ensure he wasn't going anywhere.
"Uh oh," the young man across from him giggled.
"What?"
"You looking at the foreigner. I always tell em, I always say don't, but they do, and then they don't come back."
"What?" Blair took a huge bite of the lumpy white substance that resembled potatoes, eyeing the kid.
"Look, the guy's bad, okay. I told the last guy, he followed him, he's gone. I told guys before, they always look too hard, now they gone. This keeps up, no new guys gonna last, you know?"
"No, I don't know. What are you talking about?"
"The guy bad news. The one you lookin' at. Don't let him see you, okay? You ain't gonna listen to me when I talk, but I'm done talk anyway. Don't let him see you."
"Sure," Blair said agreeably, sticking a corner of only slightly stale bread in his mouth enthusiastically. "I won't let him see me, no problem."
The kid grinned. "I like you. You a good new guy."
"Thanks." *******************
H hobbled into the office, balancing himself on crutches to take the weight off his injured leg. Jim followed closely behind him, matching his slow gait. When H had finally settled behind his desk, Jim pulled up an empty chair.
“Don’t you need to prop it up?” Jim questioned as he got ready to scrounge for a stool or something to prop the leg up on.
“No, just leave it!” H bit off.
“But the doctor said…”
“I SAID LEAVE IT!” H shouted, startling not only Jim but surrounding officers.
“Whoa man,” Jim leaned back into the chair. “What has gotten into you?”
“Like you don’t know,” H said in an exaggerated tone. “You can be a think-headed SOB when you try, you know that?”
Jim’s eyes flared. “I’m going to let that slide since I don’t want to be accused of kicking a man when he’s down.”
“You wouldn’t be the first,” H continued. “I can’t believe I did it again!”
“Did what?” Jim looked puzzled.
“Did what?” H mocked. “Let them down again,” his tone got softer.
“H,” Jim leaned forward in his chair, realizing what he meant. “You saved a man’s life. That is hardly letting anyone down.”
H looked at him, straight in the eye. “And what about Rafe, huh? Are you gonna tell me that I didn’t let him down?”
“We’re going to get him back.”
“We would have had him by now if it weren’t for my stupidity,” H collapsed backwards sighing. “First I let Rafe get in trouble and now…
Jim shuddered, missing Blair more than H could realize. “Sandburg will find him and then we’re going to go out and have a big celebration.”
H laughed. “Hairboy partying, I don’t think that’s a sight I can pass up.”
“I just hope he makes it out ok…” Jim trailed off.
Now it was time for H to assure. “He’s just as hard-headed as Rafe. He’s going to be fine too. They both are.”
“Kind of feels like we failed them though, doesn’t it?” Jim asked soberly.
“We try to be there, but we turn our backs for a second and they’re….”
“Gone,” Jim finished for him.
That night, when the bulk of the people had settled down, Blair found an excuse to hang around the hallway, his eyes staying locked to Friedrich Schmidt.
So when Schmidt did as he was supposed to, finally, and left the shelter through the back, Blair was right behind him. He could thank his years with Jim, and the Sentinel's over-obsessive speeches and directions before he came that night, for being able to follow Schmidt without once being seen.
Part of that, of course, was because Schmidt wasn't looking. The guy never turned around, not once. Was he that sure no one was following him?
Probably.
Blair followed him down the streets of the seedy downtown part of Cascade. Normally, had he been walking these streets, he would have been too nervous to think straight. But then, normally he'd be there because his car broke down, and he'd be carrying everything he owned in his backpack, and invariably it would get stolen. Now, as it was, he didn't have to worry about anyone trying to mug him. One advantage to being a bum.
Friedrich came to a stop in front of one of the buildings, indistinguishable from its neighbors. Blair watched him go in, then debated his next move.
If he was smart, if he had learned anything from his life the last few years, he would have run to call Jim.
But he was nothing if not stupid. Well, no, that wasn't true. He was just tired of having to call Jim. He had told Henri and Jim before coming out tonight that he could handle it, that he was tired of them thinking he was helpless.
So he couldn't exactly go calling for help, could he?
Well, okay, he could. And Jim would come, and they'd get the bad guys, and go home happy. Jim would praise him for doing his job and being responsible enough to call him. And Blair would be absolutely no better off for it.
So Blair slowly made his way towards the building alone. *******************
He didn’t want to be back here, alone. Simon had sent him home and dared him to interfere with the undercover operation. Said he could take care of himself, “he’s a tough kid.” Tough and hard-headed was more like it. He knew that Blair was well-trained and knew how to take care of himself, but he just had to worry.
Jim threw the keys in the basket and made his way to the single remaining beer in the fridge. He didn’t usually drink this early, but he needed something to bide his time. It was much too quiet for him. There was no meditative music, no papers rattling, no Sandburg. He took another swig, blocking out the bad thoughts that were trying to push their way in.
He went over to the mantle. One picture caught his eye and he picked it up. It was of Blair and him out fishing. Where was that taken? At the lake, the river…wherever it was, they were having fun. Sandburg was wearing that stupid fishing hat. Jim chuckled at the memory, what a character!
He replaced the picture to its original place. Sandburg was the first person who broke through. Carolyn couldn’t do it, that’s why she left. His father? Think again. It really didn’t pull the heartstrings when your father was calling you a freak. Steven? Well, he tried, but then again neither one of them put their best effort into it. Then there was Sandburg. He was not the sort of person that you’d think would become a counterpart to Jim Ellison, but he had done a fine job of it. He had become his best friend, his Guide, his brother.
Jim walked over to the couch and collapsed. He had knots of worry in his stomach and he kept seeing Blair lying somewhere dying. What if he was hurt? Or…..dead? No, he couldn’t think that way! Sanburg could hold his own, he’d be fine. But he wasn’t there to protect him. That was his job and he was failing at it. He certainly knew what H was feeling cause he was feeling it triply.
He remained silent, in a dazed half-zone for hours. No one was around to hear, but he let slip one word…
“Chief.” *******************
Neimand was jarred awake by the sound of a voice over his head. "Hey! Seun!"
He sat up before he was consciously aware of what he was doing, instantly bowing his head and awaiting instructions. "Ja, men-" he started to say, but with the suddenness of his movements, and the shock of jerking into consciousness, a wracking pain filled his head, and he cut of with a strangled breath, his hands going to his temple, pressing hard.
"Wat skort?" the voice demanded.
He shook his head helplessly. "Ek weet nie," he gasped out, frightened. He didn't know what was wrong.
"Staan. Nou!"
Neimand instantly struggled to obey, getting to his knees, and trying, really trying to stand up. The room spun around him, and he fell back down to his knees a second later.
"Wat skort daar? Staan!"
He couldn't do it. He shook his head, unable to stop nervous, pained tears from forming. "Ek nie kan nie," he whispered, scared.
A foot lashed out and caught him in the stomach.
He fell backwards ungracefully, whimpering in distress. "Nee. As...asseblief," he begged, his head still throbbing, his hands around his midsection.
Another kick landed on his chest. "So'n helsem." The man accompanied the insult with yet another kick.
Neimand curled up around himself, tears shedding despite his attempts to control them.
The beating stopped, and the man's sharp laughter cut off abruptly.
Neimand could make out noises around him, but he couldn't focus on them, his eyes closed tightly, his body stiff and closed in.
A hand appeared on his shoulder, and he jerked back, whimpering.
"Rafe?"
He started in surprise. His name? His actual name? Said strangely, by an unfamiliar voice.
"Oh, shit. Rafe, are you okay?"
His eyes opened slightly in surprise at the strange words. He looked up into concerned blue eyes and an unfamiliar face. "Wie...wie jou?" he asked in a whisper. *******************
It was like a nightmare, some shit dreamed up by Stephen King just to torture him.
Henri couldn't believe that days after pouring his heart out to Jim Ellison about his past and his fears, he was sitting there living through it. Trapped at the station (because he sure as hell wasn't going to sit this out at his own house), unable to go help. Blair had been sent to do his job. It was just like the Army, just like Mark Jesky taking his place on patrol. Jesky had been shot down, there had barely been enough left of him to bury.
And now Blair had gone to that shelter because Henri had gotten his stupid self shot. And both Sandburg and Rafe's lives were on the line. It wasn't just one. It was both. Two friends. Well, one friend and one...brother. One man he would have given his own life for in a second. If Rafe died because he hadn't been there....If Blair got himself killed taking Henri's place, going undercover when he wasn't even a cop...
Henri wouldn't be able to get through it. It had been hard enough for him to buck himself up after Jesky died, pretend he still felt he deserved to go on living. He couldn't take another one. He couldn't handle being responsible again.
He could practically hear Rafe's voice in his head. "Come on, H. Don't be such a conceited asshole. I can get killed just fine without your help, or your karma, or whatever it is you're worried about. I don't need your help to be a fuck-up."
It wasn't true, of course, but that's what Rafe would say. Henri knew his partner. He knew how good a heart he had, he knew how loyal he was to his friends here. He knew more about him than any other person alive, and Rafe knew more about Henri than anyone.
If something happened to that, if he lost the closest friend he'd ever had in his life, he didn't know what he would do. Rafe was irreplaceable. He was this huge piece of Henri's life.
And now Henri sat on his ass, nursing a hurt leg, waiting for the phone call that would tell him that piece had just been ripped out. Killed. Dead. It disgusted him. He wanted to get up, to be there, to be by his partner's side no matter what. That was where he belonged.
"Rafe," he said quietly in the almost deserted office. "You come through this okay and I'm never letting you out of my sight again, I hope you realize that."
And if he didn't realize it, wherever he was, Henri only hoped he would live to hear the words out loud. *******************
Blair drew in a breath sharply. Oh, this couldn't be good. "Rafe, come on. Snap out of it. It's me, Sandburg."
The wide-eyed, helpless look of the man on the ground didn't fade. "Wie jou?" he asked again, his fear only rising.
Blair looked around anxiously. The unconscious figure sprawled out behind him showed no signs of getting up, which was good. His knuckles were still in pain over hitting the man once. Friedrich and his other friend had left before he went in, which meant this was the perfect time to get away.
But Rafe wasn't cooperating.
"Come on, man. It's me. We have to get you out of here." He desperately scanned his mind for what little of the language he remembered. "Uh...ek. Ekkan...glas...um, eet. Dit maak...my nai...no, shit. Uh, nie. Nie seer nie. Yeah."
The eyes peered at him for a long moment. "Wat?"
"Ek kan glas eet," he repeated, hoping he was saying what he thought he was saying. Neimand looked up at the earnest man, and a small smile came to his lips. "Joukan glas eet?" he repeated. "Yes! Um, ja!"
Neimand laughed softly, but cut off after a second when it caused the pain in his stomach to flare.
Blair gave a crooked smile. No, judging by Rafe's response he wasn't saying the right thing. "Umm. Dammit!" He turned away, scanning his brain desperately. After a minute he gave up, turning back to Rafe. "You’ve got to snap out of it, Rafe. You know me. I don't know what the hell these guys did to you, but you know me. We're friends. We have to get out of here before they get back!"
"Praat u engels," Rafe replied curiously.
"Rafe! It's Blair. You remember me, come on! You remember your partner, Henri? The station, Simon? Jim? Please, Rafe."
"Henri?" Rafe repeated hesitantly, brow furrowed.
"Yes! Henri! Come on, just get up and I'll take you to Henri. Please. Uh, asseblief."
Rafe looked at him, then his eyes went back to the prone man behind him, and his jaw dropped. "Die ofisier. Jou ofisier doodmak!"
"Yeah, whatever. Get up!" Blair tugged at his arm. "Get on your feet! Stand!"
"Staan?"
"Yeah!" He nodded enthusiastically. "I hope," he added after a second. "Staan!"
To his relief, Rafe immediately started to get to his feet. He was obviously in pain and Blair had to help him every step of the way, but he was on his feet and moving towards the door quickly.
They were outside the small room and going towards the door when Rafe collapsed again; his hands going to his head, letting out a small moan. "Ekis spyt. Ek is naar."
Blair let out a curse and crouched down. Rafe's hands went up instinctively, blocking his face with a frightened noise of protest.
Surprised by the sheer terror, Blair realized his movement had been misinterpreted. Rafe actually thought he was going to hit him!
Shaken, he stood again. Finally it occurred to him that he couldn't do this without help. Rafe was too hurt and too...out of it.
And him without his cell phone. Dammit, why had he tried to mount some one-man rescue? Even Jim didn't do that. Most of the time.
Blair thought of the guy he'd left in the room Rafe was in and he turned. He thought about telling Rafe to stay, but God knew he couldn't say it in Afrikaans, and Rafe didn't look like he'd be moving anytime soon anyway.
He headed for the room at a jog, slowing as he got close and approaching the door nervously. To his relief, the figure was still out cold.
‘Wow, I must have a better right hook than I thought.’ It brought a grin to his face as he stooped over and searched the guy quickly.
Yes! Bingo! He pulled out the cell phone and flipped it open, quickly dialing.
"Ellison," came the distant voice.
"Jim, it's me!" Blair was both excited and relieved to hear Jim’s voice.
"What's wrong?" came the instant reply, tinged with worry.
"Look, I'm at this building, 35th and 6th Ave. Schmidt's gone for now, but he'll probably be back and I can't get Rafe out of here alone. He's acting kind of funny, and he's pretty banged up."
"35th and 6th. Got it, Chief. I'll be there in five minutes. Just stay put. If you see Schmidt, get somewhere and hide. I'll find you," Jim swore with intensity.
Blair couldn't stop the smile. "I know you will."
Jim hung up a second later and Blair slipped the phone into his pocket, looking down at the man on the ground. He thought back to the scene that had greeted him when he'd come in. This bastard laughing at Rafe as he kicked him over and over. Rafe huddled, almost crying in pain and fear.
He wanted to return the favor, kick this guy while he was down. He may be unconscious now, but if Blair kicked him hard enough, he'd sure feel it in the morning.
But he couldn't do it. It wasn't his style. So he simply glowered for a minute, then headed back out to where he'd left Rafe.
As he suspected, his friend hadn't moved a muscle. He was still against the wall, on his knees, hands made into fists pressed against his temple. He crouched down beside him, making sure his moves were slow and easy.
He wasn't quite ready to see that fear of being hit back in Rafe's eyes.
"Rafe? Are you okay?"
Hazel eyes opened slowly and looked into his, and Rafe shook his head miserably. "Nee. Nie 'OK'. Asseblief, help my. Ek is naar."
Blair swallowed. "I'll help you, Rafe. I'll try. Can you stand? Staan?"
After a quiet, nervous pause, Rafe's head shook slowly.
Blair bit his lip. "Damn."
"Asseblief."
Rafe's hand came out to clutch at his arm. "Ek is spyt. Spyt! Asseblief."
Spyt? Blair scanned his thoughts for a second.
"Ek is spyt. Ek is spyt huil," Rafe said desperately as tears of pain and confusion fell down his face.
Blair shut his eyes. Spyt. Sorry. He was apologizing. Jesus Christ. This was him as a child. Blair could see it now, in the fear and helplessness. He had thought Rafe had for some reason just slipped backinto the old language, maybe gotten some form of amnesia. But he was back inhis childhood. And now he was apologizing for his tears.
Blair reached out and clasped the hand that was reaching for him, wishing more than anything else right then that he knew how to say don't worry, or you're safe, or anything else that might ease the mind of the little boy he seemed to be staring at.
And suddenly his mind flashed with astonishing clarity on something Annerl had said to them in the hospital room. He mulled it over, inserting the proper pronouns, he hoped, and spoke slowly.
"Rafe...Ek sal my bes doen omjou to help."
Rafe looked at him in surprise. In fact, he stared for such a long time that Blair was sure he'd said something wrong. He searched his mind, but just as fast as it had come, the memory was gone. He couldn't even remember what he'd just said. Dammit!
But Rafe's eyes were more astonished than anything. "Ek glo jou," he said quietly, sounding almost shocked.
Blair had no idea what it meant, but it couldn't be bad. "Ja?"
The hand Blair held suddenly squeezed back powerfully. "Ja. Ja. Dankie! Baiedankie!"
He was almost crying again, but his expression had changed to one of gratitude. Blair shut his eyes in relief, glad he had gotten through somehow, and he made a mental note to go thank that girl when they got out of this.
"Oh, this is a very touching thing," a voice rang out behind him.
Blair shut his eyes for a second, cursing himself for not watching the doors. He turned slowly to see Friedrich Schmidt and his friend Mikial standing there watching them and looking amused. Beside him, Rafe was suddenly tense again, his body shaking with sudden, small tremors.
"Suit-Afrikaner you?" Schmidt's eyes were on Blair.
"Uhh. No," Blair answered honestly.
"But you are police?"
Oh, shit. What was he supposed to say to that? It was obvious they didn't exactly treat police officers well. Jim, your five minutes is up, man. Where are you?
"Hoe my seun helsem is?" Friedrich looked down at Rafe, not surprised at Blair's lack of response.
Rafe gripped Blair's hand tighter. "Nee. Moenie kry kwaad, asseblief."
Friedrich smiled grimly. "Too late for that."
He lofted an old,ancient-looking rifle. Rafe immediately cringed, his hands going over his head in self-preservation. Blair saw the move, and part of Rafe's behavior became clear. It was obvious Rafe's head was aching, but if he had been struck with the rifle, the way it now looked like he had, he probably had some sort of concussion, some head injury that was coupled with the reappearance of this language and culture in his life.
His anger growing, but unable to channel it, Blair spoke quickly. "Who are you guys?"
"That is not for you to know," Friedrich replied simply.
"But I do know. Most of it, anyway. You're Friedrich Schmidt, your friend is Mikial Sambala. You're both active in anti-drug protests in South Africa, you've both been under arrest before for disturbing the peace. But neither of you have violent pasts. You work with a peaceful group called PAGAD, and you've never left your country until now. We were investigating Gustav Smola and his company for suspected drug trafficking because of your PAGAD connections. You killed Gierhake and you tried to kill Smola, just like you tried to hold his daughter for ransom. Best I can figure it, you want to shutdown Smola's company, any way you can. But why? It doesn't make sense. Who would go to all the trouble of hiring you to do this?"
Recovering from his surprise quickly, Schmidt kept the rifle aimed at the observer grimly. "You ask too many questions."
Blair shrugged, acting remarkably unconcerned. "I've been told. So how about it? Who hired you to shut Smola down? And why would they bother flying you here when you could as easily have killed him in Africa?"
"You make a big mistake," Friedrich warned again.
Blair grinned. "I make them all the time. What's one more? Come on, if you're gonna kill us anyway, don't make me die with a bunch of loose ends going around in my head. Who was it? Some opposition businessman? Someone with a grudge against Smola?"
Friedrich glanced behind him at Mikial, but the other man just shrugged. ‘Come on,’ Blair thought to himself, keeping the easy grin on his face. *Come on, classic bad guy blunder. Tell me everything.*
Friedrich spoke suddenly. "No, I don't think we answer any questions. I think we kill."
He raised the rifle and pulled the trigger. Blair barely had time to shut his eyes as the rifle....clicked, and nothing happened. He opened his eyes tentatively to see Friedrich scowling at the weapon.
Instinct moved Blair before he could think about it, and he lunged at Friedrich, aiming his fist at the down-turned face. Friedrich looked up in time to get clipped with the flying hand, and he stumbled back, the rifle clattering to the ground. Blair swooped and picked it up, aiming it at the two men. Before Mikial or Friedrich could recover from their surprise, he was on alert, swinging the rifle back and forth between them.
"Alright, don't move."
Friedrich raised his hands slightly. "The gun is old, ofisier."
"You wanna take a chance?" Blair tensed.
Friedrich shrugged, and launched himself forward. Blair didn't even try to pull the trigger. He pulled his arms back, then swung the rifle forward in an arc. The barrel slammed in to Friedrich's cheek, and he went flying backwards, hitting Mikial and making both men crash to the floor.
Blair blinked, surprised at the damage he'd done, but a second later he recovered and stood above them, holding the rifle like a club. "You wanna try it again?"
Friedrich was almost unconscious. Mikial glared up at him, but didn't move. Blair grinned down at them triumphantly. And from across the room came the sound of applause.
Blair's head snapped up and he saw a familiar form standing there, watching with a smirk. "Jim! Man, it's about time you got here!"
Jim came forward with a grin, pulling out handcuffs. "Looks like you're doing just fine on your own, Chief."
Blair returned the smile, relaxing as Jim kneeled down next to the prone suspects. He watched his partner handcuff the two men together, going through their rights quickly and not exactly gently. Then his thoughts turned back to Rafe, and he turned around quickly.
"Hey, Rafe, you okay?"
Rafe's eyes went to the rifle in his hands, and he couldn't respond. Blair saw the look and quickly dropped the decrepit weapon to the floor.
"Sorry." He crouched down again. "It's okay," he said quietly, soothing the frightened, childlike Rafe.
A shadow fell over them, and he glanced up at Jim's surprised face.
"What's wrong with him?" Jim asked quietly.
"I don't know. He's got some head injuries. We should get him to the hospital fast."
Blair turned back to Rafe, holding out a hand slowly. "Rafe? Ek help."
Rafe looked up at Jim, then back at Blair, and grasped his hand finally.
Blair smiled. "Jim," he said quietly without turning his eyes from Rafe. "Get on his other side and help him."
Together they got their friend up and out of the building quickly, making it to the front seat of Jim's truck without incident.
Jim grabbed his cell phone and pressed the speed dial. "Simon? Yeah, we've got 'em. Rafe's alive, but he's banged up. Need an ambulance and someone to take these assholes in."
He listened for a minute, then hung up.
"Simon's on his way. He’s sending an ambulance."
Blair nodded in relief. They stood outside the truck Rafe was now sitting in. Waiting for the familiar sound of sirens, he couldn't help grinning over at Jim.
"So. Whaddaya think, man? Not too bad for my first time undercover."
Jim turned a mixed glance to him. "Not too bad? You followed a suspect and went in without backup. You almost got yourself and Rafe killed trying to get away..."
Blair raised his eyebrows. "Jim...."
"Alright, alright. Yeah, you did good. You did real good." He shook his head with a smile he couldn't control. "I’m just relieved to have you back in one piece. This doesn't mean you're ever going to do it again, of course."
"Of course not," Blair answered immediately, obviously not believing a word of it.
Jim's head swung towards the end of the street. "Ambulance will be here in five. Is Rafe okay? He looked kind of freaked."
"Yeah." Blair glanced at the truck.
Rafe was sitting in it, stock-still, his eyes huge as he gazed around the interior of the car.
"But hey, I'm just glad he's alive."
Jim reached out and threw an arm around his partner. "I'm glad you both are."
Ellison tightened the grip, pulling Blair closer to him in order to assure himself that his partner was truly safe. Protection didn’t mean he had to always be there. He could turn his back once in a while and the role would still be served.
Blair left Rafe's room nursing a headache and an incredible feeling of hostility, just to find himself confronted with the man he least wanted to see.
"Is my nephew alright?"
Blair was tempted to ask why he cared, but he drew in a calming breath. He didn't have time to yell at this guy, he had to go get Henri and bring him to see his partner. "Look, Smola, he's been hurt pretty badly, okay? He's got a few head injuries, and it looks like he doesn't know where he is or who we are."
Smola's eyes went down to his daughter, who was watching with a hopeful expression on her face. "Can we go in to see him? Anna has been worried."
Blair grimaced, looking down at the girl, wishing there was some polite well to say yeah, she could go in, but Smola shouldn't be allowed within sight of him.
Her wide eyes did him in, though. "I don't see why not. Just don't be surprised if he acts a little different. The doctor says he probably suffered a similar head injury in his childhood, and he's regressed to being about nine years old." He drew in a breath. "Just don't upset him, okay?"
Smola nodded almost distractedly, and started for the door.
Blair watched the older man and his young daughter go in, and had to force himself to turn and leave them alone.
Smola's eyes went to his nephew, and stayed for a long moment without moving.
Ryf didn't look too bad. There was bruises on his face, a bandage on his head, and probably more under the sheets that covered him, but his color was healthy, and his eyes were bright.
When the younger man turned to look at his new visitors, he saw Smola and sat up with a start. "Onkel!" He paled and almost fell back with the sudden movement.
Smola spell broke and he started forward, Annerl's hand clutched in his. "Ryf."
Rafe shook his head miserably. "Nee. Nie Ryf. Ek is Neimand. Ek spyt, onkel. Ek is sleg, ek spyt. Baie dankie vir jou help, onkel. Dankie. Ek spyt. Ek is so'n helsem. Maar ek wees goed, laat hulle asseblief nie seer nie. Asseblief."
Smola took a step back, dropping his daughter's hand. Driven by the force of fear and gratefulness in Rafe's eyes, and the words he was speaking. I'm nobody, uncle. I'm bad, thank you for helping me. I'll be good, just don't let them hurt me again. Please. I'm sorry, please.
The words rang in his ears, and memories swept over him. He could see the nine year old boy, begging just the way he was now. He could see himself hitting the boy if he was late, or didn't work fast enough. He could see himself as he was. The way he had conveniently forgotten he was.
Annerl's eyes were on Rafe, wide and shocked at his words and behavior. Her gaze moved to her father, pale.
"Onkel? Asseblief, Onkel..." Rafe's voice was getting quieter, nervous over his uncle's strange behavior.
Smola shook his head, still moving back. Something very much like guilt and regret stole across his face, as he stared at evidence of his effect on Rafe's childhood.
He turned, without a word to his daughter or nephew, and went out the door, shutting it behind him.
Annerl stared after her father, but turned back to Rafe after a moment. She went to the bed slowly, seeing the lost, abandoned look on the man who had been so brave the last time she'd seen him. "Ryf?"
He shook his head, his eyes on the bed in front of him. "Neimand."
"Nee." She went to his side, confused about his behavior but recognizing it somewhat. "Jou is Ryf."
"Wie jou?" he asked in reply, confused.
"Ek is...vriend."
His eyes grew. "Jou...jou my vriend?" he asked in quiet disbelief.
She swallowed. "Ja." She reached out and grabbed a tense hand in both her smaller ones.
He sniffed loudly, his eyes watering as he looked down at her hands. "Vriend," he said again quietly.
She sat down on the bed beside him, and couldn't think of a single thing to say. He sat back slowly, his face regaining some of it's color. "Wat...wat is jou naam?"
"Annerl," she replied for the second time since meeting him. "Anna."
"Anna." He smiled hesitantly.
There was a pause, and Annerl searched her mind for something to say to her distressed cousin. Finally she gave up and just sat with him.
Until there was a light knock on the door. Annerl turned to again see the long-haired man with kind eyes who had taken her to her father. "Hallo," she said softly.
He smiled. "Hallo. Can we...uh, com?"
Annerl slid of the bed to give him room. "Ja, com. Ryf, dit is-"
Rafe nodded. "Ek weet. Blair."
Blair grinned. "Rafe, there's someone who wants to see you. You remember Henri?"
"Henri?" Rafe's brow creased, thoughtful. It was obvious he knew the name from somewhere. "Ek nie weet nie."
Blair grimaced. No signs of English, but Rafe had at least remembered his name from earlier, so it wasn't as bad as it could have been. He turned. "Uh, Henri, come on in. I don't know if-"
Henri nodded. "You warned me, Blair. He's alive, that's all I've got to see."
Blair stepped out of the doorway and let Henri come in, crutches tucked neatly under his arms.
Rafe sat up abruptly. "Henri? Jou seer!"
Henri broke out into a grin when he saw his partner, even hearing the unfamiliar words. Rafe said his name. Even if he was just repeating what Blair told him his name was, it was a start. "Hi, Rafe. You look good, partner."
Rafe's brow creased. "Part-ner?"
Henri came forward. "Yeah, partner. You may be kinda fuzzy right now, but you'll remember."
Rafe turned to Annerl, confused. "Ek...ek neer Henri, maar..." he shook his head.
She smiled. "Ja, Henri is jou vriend."
He looked back at the man on crutches. "Henri is my vriend. Henri is my part-ner." His eyes grew wide, and he looked at Annerl for approval. "Henri is my partner?"
"Ja."
"Yes!" Henri came up to the side of the bed. "You recognize me, Rafe?"
There was a pause as Rafe stared into Henri's dark eyes, and a flash came over him, his eyes filling with recognition and surprise. "Henri?"
Henri beamed. "Yeah, buddy. It's me."
"Henri..where am I?"
The softly-spoken words caused an eruption in the room. Henri grinned and almost let out a cheer, and behind him, Blair came running forward, crowing happily.
"Where else, man? The hospital," Henri replied, laughing.
"Oh, yeah," Rafe's eyes were confused as he took in his friends' reactions. "Are you guys okay?"
"Are we okay?" Henri asked incredulously.
"What happened to your leg?" Rafe sat up, instantly concerned, but grew pale again and sank back with a groan, his hand going to his bandaged head.
"Whoa, man, take it easy." Henri's laughter stopped, but his grin didn't fade. "How you feeling?"
"My head hurts," Rafe replied honestly. "And I feel like a horse kicked me in the gut. Aside from that, not bad. Were we in a car accident or something?"
Bair came up to Henri's side. "You don't remember?"
"Nope. I remember....um. I remember the Perkins case, I stayed up all night reading over the files...I didn't fall asleep at the wheel or something, did I?"
Blair and Henri exchanged glances. "No, nothing like that. Look, why don't you just rest for now, we'll talk about it later."
Rafe frowned suspiciously, but nodded. "Okay. You sure you're okay?"
Henri grinned again. "I'm fine, partner."
"Good." Rafe settled back, and his eyes went to the girl standing behind his two friends. "Who's that?"
Blair and Henri glanced over at Annerl, then back to Rafe. "Ummm."
Rafe's eyes were on the girl, and once again a bolt of recognition went through them. He froze, staring, as his mind was suddenly filled with the events of the last few days, events he had tried to block out.
He sank back into the bed, his eyes shutting, closing out the images around him.
Henri's bright grin faded. "Rafe? You okay?"
"Yeah," he replied quietly. "Just...can I have some time alone? My-my head's starting to hurt."
Henri turned to Blair. He shot him a meaningful gaze, glancing down at Annerl.
Blair nodded and took the girl by her hand. "Com, Anna."
She glanced back at Rafe, obviously worried, but went without a word.
At the sound of the door shutting, Rafe let out an audible groan, his hand going to his eyes.
Henri cleared his throat softly. "You need anything?"
Rafe's eyes flew open, surprised he was still in the room. "Henri-"
"I'm not leaving, Rafe," Henri replied before he could go on. "If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. I'll sit here and be quiet, but I'm not leaving."
There was a pause as Rafe contemplated arguing, then realized it wouldn't do any good. "You sure you're okay?" he asked finally.
Henri went to the chair beside his bed and sat himself gingerly, setting the crutches against the wall beside him. "I got knicked in the leg, no big deal. Nothing compared to the ulcer I know I've developed thanks to this case."
Rafe glanced over at him questioningly.
Henri smiled somewhat. "You think this was easy for me? I mean, I know you got the hard part of the job, but it ain't a simple thing to let your partner go it alone. I was...uh, well, I was worried. Especially when I showed up the next day and you weren't there, and that kid said the foreigners grabbed you-"
"What kid?" Rafe smiled somewhat. "No, let me guess. Long hair, way too happy?"
Henri returned the smile. "That was him."
"He was right, I should have listened to him." Rafe's grin faded.
Henri shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah. Well, it got me pissed, you know?" He grinned sheepishly. "I..uh, I threw your uncle up against a wall."
"Yeah?" Rafe's smile returned.
"Yeah. And then I took a bullet for him. Go figure. Rafe, you know something....I've talked to the guy. He's...you two should really get together and try to talk things out."
Rafe shook his head automatically. "Not gonna happen, H. And this isn't an issue you wanna push."
Henri wanted to argue, but wasn't quite ready to do anything to upset his partner. "Sure thing, man." He settled back in the chair.
Rafe didn't volunteer any more conversation, and neither did Henri. He was content to sit and keep his partner company. *******************
Rafe demanded to be released by the next day. He asked to be released sooner, but they needed to keep him under observation for his concussion.
Henri argued right alongside him and Jim and Blair were drawn by the argument and put their own two cents in, and the doctors were more or less bullied into agreeing. The four men were headed for the door a short time later.
"You sure you two are okay getting home?" Blair asked.
"Don't worry about us, Sandburg," Henri replied as they went out the door and towards the parking garage.
"Yeah, Chief, let 'em go. I'm hungry."
Blair glanced over at Jim. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"Your night to cook, Darwin." Jim grinned.
Blair gaped at him. "My night to....I was just undercover, Jim! I just made it through a dangerous assignment all by myself and you want me to cook you dinner?"
"House rules are house rules," Jim replied blandly.
Blair glanced over at the other two men. "We'll see you guys later."
Rafe met his eyes. "Blair..."
The observer grinned. "Save it, Rafe. It's nothing you wouldn't have done for me. I'm just glad you're okay."
Rafe looked away from him, but nodded.
"Alright, we're outta here." Blair waved at the two other detectives as he and Jim started off towards the truck, bickering as they went.
Rafe and Brown stood for a moment longer. "Um, Henri?"
"Yeah?"
"How are we getting home?"
"Driving. Unless you wanna walk," Henri shot his partner a grin.
Rafe smiled faintly. "I'm seeing double here, man. And you've got a bullet in your leg. Who gets to drive?"
"Me, of course. You think I'm letting you get behind the wheel of my car?"
"You've got a bullet in your leg."
"My left leg. Don't need the left leg to drive," Henri countered, a joy going through him at the familiar bantering.
But just like that, Rafe's smile dropped, his eyes grew darker, and he nodded. "Alright."
Henri frowned, but led him to the car without a word.
They were halfway to Rafe's apartment when he finally spoke up. "Are you okay?"
"I was released, wasn't I?"
Henri glanced over at his depressed partner. "If you consider practically threatening the doctor to get him to sign a release form being released, yeah. But that's not what I meant, and you know it."
"I really don't want to talk about it, H."
"Alright, alright. Just tell me something. Are you going to be okay? I mean, really. I know you had to have faced a lot the last few days." Henri stopped masking his genuine fear and concern. "Tell me I haven't lost my partner."
Rafe glanced over. "Henri..." He swallowed. "Would it really matter?" He stopped Henri's automatic answer. "Really. You'd get another partner, it's not that hard to find a guy to go drink beers with. Why does it matter what happens to me?"
Henri's brow furrowed. "Rafe, I don't know what you think you learned about yourself the last few days, but I sure as hell learned something about myself. You're not my partner, man. You're not some guy I have beers with. You're..." He hesitated, not sure what he had to say, but realizing that what came out of his mouth would be very important to Rafe. "You're my brother. Not cause we work together, or go out together at night, or anything else. Cause you're you and I'm me, and we fit, you know? If you'd gotten killed, I would have...shit, I don't know. I would have given up. No way would I ever have found anyone else I could be this close to. And I wouldn't want to." He met Rafe's eyes. "You hear me?"
Rafe swallowed. "Henri-"
"Don't argue with me, bro. Just 'cause I'm feeling all sensitive right now doesn't mean I'm gonna listen to your crap, you got it? No matter what you went through before you met me, no matter what you grew up hearing, you're the most important person in my life, and I'm not about to let you weasel out of it."
Rafe was still for a moment, but eventually a smile spread across his face. "Thanks, Henri. I really needed to hear that."
Henri hid his relief with a grin. "No problem." *******************
"So this guy Friedrich Schmidt is being a real hard ass, not answering any questions or saying anything. But Mikial Sambala is spilling his guts." Jim sat on his desk, not even looking at the reports in his hand. "So we've got the name of this extremist South African group, real nativists, who were threatening Smola over his dealings with American companies. They were trying to force him to sever all ties, to make it a purely South African company. Apparently the PAGAD connection these guys had was just part of the set-up, something to make us suspicious of Smola."
"So they kidnapped his daughter to blackmail him?" Blair asked, his tone reflecting his disgust.
"Yeah, and when Smola didn't listen, they killed Gierhake, then tried to kill him."
Henri Brown glanced over at them. "So this whole thing was 'cause some patriotic South Africans didn't want him merging with this American company?"
"Pretty much," Jim replied with a shrug. "I think their idea of patriotism is a little more extreme than ours."
"No argument there." Henri turned back to his work, shaking his head. His eyes strayed to the doorway and he broke into a grin, standing up. "Hey, partner!"
Rafe entered the room slowly, his eyes scanning, He grinned as Henri approached him. "Hey."
"Thought you weren't coming back until tomorrow."
"I'm not. I need to see Blair."
Henri raised his eyebrows, but shrugged. "You're loss. He's in his usual spot."
Rafe headed over, looking distracted. "Blair?"
Blair turned with a grin. "Hey, Rafe. What's up?"
"What is this?" He held up a folded paper that was clutched in his fist, his tone apprehensive.
Blair lit up. "You got the invitation. Great!"
"Yeah, I did. I called the University, they said you gave them my name."
Blair seemed to sense that Rafe wasn't entirely happy. His smile shrank. "Oh. Uh, I figured it would be okay. I'm sorry, man. Do you not want to do it?"
"Blair, I'm not...I'm not a speaker, I wouldn't know what to do."
The smile came back. "Oh, is that what you're worried about? I can help you, no problem. I give lectures all the time."
"Yeah, but....Blair. I just...I can't. I can't do it. You'll have to tell them no."
"Rafe, this is a big event! There're gonna be some of the biggest alumni from Rainier coming to this, the mayor, everybody. Henri told me about the charities you support..." Blair trailed off, glancing behind Rafe at Henri's wildly shaking head. "Um."
Rafe turned and gazed at Henri. "He told you..." He met Henri's eyes for a minute, expressionless, then turned back to Blair.
"This is your chance to help, Rafe. A hundred times more than any donations you could make. There are going to be a lot of different groups there, a lot of speakers. If you really want to help, go, make a speech, and support your cause."
Rafe frowned down at the paper, then back to Blair.
"Ryf?" An excited voice rang out behind him.
He turned and saw Annerl and Gustav Smola, standing near the entrance to Major Crimes. A smile lit his face at his cousin's greeting, and he forgot about Blair, crossing to the door. "Anna." He pulled the young girl into a brief hug.
She grinned up at him. "Dit was baie vriendelik van jou, Ryf. Ek wil dankie."
He shook his head. "Nie te danke nie."
"Ryf."
He turned to his uncle, his smile fading. "Onkel."
"May I speak with you in private, please, nephew?"
Rafe hesitated, but nodded, pulling his uncle away from Annerl and the casually observing eyes of everyone in the office. "What?"
Smola was quiet for a minute, pondering what to say. "Ryf, I know you don't like me. I didn't much like you, either."
"I know," Rafe responded quietly. "You've made it clear."
Smola nodded. "You saved my daughter's life, Ryf. Your friends here are loyal to you, and you do help people in your work. I was not correct in my opinion of you. I have had to watch from afar as your parents and sisters struggled in this country, and you have not attempted to help them."
Rafe held up a hand, silencing the man. "My family...they deserted me, and so I've made no attempts to find out what happened to them. I'm sorry to hear that they're doing so badly. I never wanted them to be unhappy."
"Unhappy? Ryf, they are miserable. Your father is-"
"Uncle, please." Rafe breathed deeply, gathering himself. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a thin envelope. "You know where they are. Give this to them."
Smola opened the envelope and gazed down at the cashier's check. His eyes grew and met his nephew's.
"That's everything I have saved. You can give it to my father. It's enough to get them on their feet."
Smola nodded in surprise. "Ryf, I-"
"On one condition."
His eyebrows shot up. "What is that?"
Rafe drew in a deep breath. "I never want to see or hear from them, or you, ever again," he said steadily.
"Ryf-"
"No, Uncle, listen to me. None of you ever gave me love or devotion, so I'll be damned if I owe them to you. The only thing you ever gave me was a life in this country, so that's what I'm giving back. From now on, I have no family, and you have no nephew. Is that clear?"
"Yes," Smola replied quietly.
"And you tell that to my father."
The older man nodded.
Rafe let out a breath. "That's it. You have no more business in this building. Please, get out."
Smola looked up, and their gazes locked. He broke off the gaze first, turning and heading for his daughter and the door out of Major Crimes.
Rafe exhaled, his shoulders sagging, feeling suddenly exhausted.
His eyes went down to the paper he still held in his hand, inviting him to speak at what was probably the biggest charity event in Cascade's history, and he studied it thoughtfully. *******************
“So,” Jim said, sinking down beside Sandburg on the couch, “You had enough excitement?”
Blair muted the television show he was watching and turned to Jim. “I think I’m set for about a month,” he smiled.
“I’m glad you’re back Chief.”
“You and me both,” Blair admitted. “When I found Rafe and he was still out of it…I was so scared. I started asking myself what I was doing. I’m an Anthropologist, not a cop. I don’t know what got into me…”
“Maybe a need to prove yourself,” Jim added.
Blair looked at his hands, twisting them together. “I don’t know…Maybe that was part of it. It’s just that sometimes I feel pushed aside, like I don’t count as much.”
“Sandburg,” Jim sighed, waiting for Blair to meet his eyes. “You don’t need to prove yourself to me. I know as well as anybody in Major Crimes that you can handle your own. We just don’t like putting you in danger.”
“You mean YOU don’t like putting me in danger right?” Blair questioned.
“Yes, I’ll admit that I’ve got the strongest opposition,” Jim paused. “I just have this need to protect you and when you went in there, I just couldn’t think straight. What if you had gotten hurt or…worse?”
“But I didn’t.”
“And what about next time?” Jim asked.
“No need to worry yourself about that,” Blair said. “There’s not gonna be a next time for a looooong time.”
Ellison laughed. “That’s a relief.”
“Jim, just lighten up on the apron strings ok?” Blair pleaded.
Ellison looked at his partner thoughtfully. “I’ll do that as soon as you get it through that think skull of yours that I trust you. You’re brave and just as hard-headed as I am.”
“Point taken, man,” Blair smiled.
Jim turned back to the television. “Now flip the game on so we can make a wager on tomorrow night’s dinner.”
“You’re on! Jags by 20 or else I make you a gourmet feast!” *******************
"I hate these stuffy, high-class gatherings," Jim Ellison hissed over the table at his partner.
Blair grinned back at him. "No you don't. You know you love putting on a tux and showing off to the ladies."
"Right, Chief. Waltzing around in a room full of rich stiffs dressed in this damned monkey suit is really making my week, you know?"
"Shut up, you two," Simon glared. "It's for charity, Ellison, stop griping. And Sandburg, get that smug grin off your face."
"Yeah, really. What's with the frowns? This is great. And we didn't even have to pay for it." Henri was beaming.
Blair nodded. "Well, every speaker gets a table, and I guess he just wanted us here."
Simon glanced back at his table-mates. "Will all you guys can it? That woman's coming back up."
They all hushed and turned towards the front. 'That woman' was the president of the University and the MC for the evening, bringing up the speakers one by one.
She looked out at the crowd and did her routine; making a rather nervous old joke, asking if everyone was enjoying themselves, etc. And then she got to the point. "Our next speaker is new to the podium, so you'll have to go easy on him. He is a Detective with the Cascade-"
"That's him. This is it!" Henri twisted in his seat, scanning the front of the room excitedly for his partner.
"Shhh," Blair hissed. "The guy's nervous enough, he doesn't need to hear your voice throwing him off."
"Look, Hairboy, he's my partner. I can-"
"Shhhh," Jim voices hushed the two at once.
Rafe cleared his throat slightly as he took his place behind the microphone. His eyes scanned the crowd briefly until he saw the table filled with his co-workers. He relaxed slightly, looking down at the paper he held.
His voice was steady as he started talking; no opening joke, no acknowledgement of the crowd. "George Bernard Shaw once wrote, 'The worst sin towards our fellow creatures is not to hate them, but to be indifferent to them.' He was wrong. The sin of indifference towards another man is wrong, but the worst sin is indifference towards a child. It has been said that people who can must speak up for people who have no voice. All over the world, living on the streets and in slums and shanties, are millions of voiceless faces. I'm here tonight to be the mouthpiece, the voice, for one of these children in particular."
Rafe shifted slightly, his face losing a little of its color. "His name was Neimand." He looked up, almost shyly. "At least, that's what he was called. He grew up in a one-room shanty in South Africa, with a sick mother, a father who drank too much to work, and little brothers and sisters whose chance at survival was practically non-existent. Neimand learned to work before he learned how to dress himself. At age five he would spend long days on the hot streets, peddling wares dug out of dumpsters to a town full of poor people who could little afford to buy them. If he brought home a few pennies, he was allowed to sleep indoors.
"Neimand knew nothing about a better life. He didn't know that there were children in the world who ate hot food that hadn't been discarded by someone else. He didn't know there were schools and playgrounds. He didn't know there were adults who would look at him with anything but disgust or apathy, or children who would not laugh and call him names. He didn't know the meaning of family or security. He had never known an hour where his stomach did not gnaw at him in hunger."
Rafe looked up at the faces in the crowd more often now. There was tightly-controlled emotion in his voice, keeping the faces riveted to him. "All he knew was what he was. He was called Neimand so often that he believed it. Nobody. He wasn't someone to love or to protect. He wasn't human. He was Nobody. But as lonely as Neimand was, it would not have comforted him to know that in every country, on every continent, there were others like him. Millions. The name changed with the country, but the meaning remained. And it remains today. They are Nobody.
"To have nothing is bad, it is a crime. But to be nothing is worse. It is a feeling no one in this room could imagine. It is a crucifying, suffocating, constant pain." There was no missing the depths of feeling in his voice. "It is as crippling as any injury. It can't be ignored, or disposed of. It can't be forgotten, not for a single instant."
Rafe paused in his speech, looking around again, almost surprised that everyone was still there, still watching and listening.
He continued after a moment. "To be able to give each of these children food, and clothing, and medicine, would be wonderful. To give them love and security would be a miracle. But I don't come tonight to ask for those things. Neimand never dares to ask for what he knows he will not get. What we ask for is proof that not everyone in the world is guilty of that worst sin that Shaw spoke of -- indifference. We ask that those of you who do not feel apathy towards these children do your best to help through whatever means you can. If you can open your wallet, or write a check, if you can donate time or clothes or love, if all you can do is talk to people, please, please, don't hesitate for a moment. They can't ask for themselves, they have no voices. I can't show you pictures because these children have no faces. They are the legacy of Neimand. They are the essences of inhumanity. And they need your help."
There was a quiet pause throughout the room. Rafe glanced around and as the grip of the words left him, his face flushed with sudden shyness. He stepped away from the podium, looking to the side for someone to tell him what to do.
H stood up and started clapping, then it was Blair, Jim, Simon. Table by table, the audience arose and started a thunderous applause. Rafe was startled by the reaction, but then a smile crossed his face. He beamed with an inner light, knowing that he had done this deed for all those who were like him. He was no longer Neimand. He was Detective Rafe Van Rij, he was somebody, he was home.
The End
