Blood of the Innocent

Sequel to False Praises
by Lucy

The chase had ended on the back streets of a quiet neighborhood in the residential part of Cascade. Jim and Blair had been in the lead, Brown and Rafe right on their tails, as they tracked the suspect for a series of murders who had become more than a suspect when he'd turned and fled from Jim's questions.

"All right, Johnson, get the hell out of the car!" Jim was shouting, crouched behind the safety of his truck, aiming his pistol dead on the driver's side of the rear windshield.

Blair was ducked inside the car itself. "Can you see him, Jim?" he whispered when there was no response to Jim's command.

"No," Jim hissed, his eyes glued for any gesture. Johnson must be sprawled out on the floorboard- his head couldn't be seen at all. Neither could the other passenger of the car, the woman who'd been with him- his wife, Jim thought he was remembering right.

Brown and Rafe quickly hopped out of their own car and crouched as they ran their way to Jim's side. "What the hell, man? You said this was just a few routine questions," Brown's eyes never moved for them car in front of them, his gun hand never wavered.

"It was," Jim answered. Rafe and Brown had been following behind the Sentinel- Jim and Blair had invited the two other Major Crimes detectives for a beer after work, and they decided to tag along on this last stop. No more that ten minutes, Ellison had assured them.

But no, Jim had gotten two questions about before the man had unexpectedly panicked, diving into the car where his wife sat waiting, and peeling away, leaving them no recourse but to follow.

"Alright, Rafe, Brown, cover me, I'm going to see what this asshole is doing."

"Careful, Jim." Blair couldn't stop the reflexive warning from coming out.

"Sure, Chief. When am I not?" Jim grinned and started forward cautiously.

Brown and Rafe stood side by side, alert to the slightest hint of movement from the car.

Jim creapt forward, his heart racing. Man, this was ridiculous. Why this creep thought he had to run.... Jim should be enjoying a beer and some stale chips with his friends right now, not-

Bam!

"Jim!" Blair jumped out of the car as the gunshot rang out.

Ahead of him, Jim Ellison lost his balance as his left leg twisted underneath him, and he fell ungracefully to the ground.

Brown jumped up. "Where the hell did it come from?" he asked frantically. They'd been watching that car.

"I don't know," Rafe started forward with him, and the two men moved with the thoughtless synchronicity that came from being long-time partners, splitting apart, Brown moving to Jim's side, Rafe moving around to the other side of the car.

Brown peered into the tinted windows, alert, almost expecting the sound of a shot, the flash of hot pain. "Jim, where is he?" he hissed to the detective who was struggling to get to his feet.

"Didn't see," Jim answered breathlessly, his eyes too bright with pain.

Brown reached over to help him up.

And there it was- the roar of a gun shot.

"Shit!" Brown couldn't feel the familiar jerk, the numbness, on his own body, and he immediately looked to Jim. No, he was fine.

"Blair!" Jim's thought immediately, illogically turned to his Guide, and he whirled to face the truck, sucking in a breath when he put weight down on the leg that was oozing blood.

Blair was running from the truck, his face alight with relief when Jim turned to him.

"Henri?" It was a hushed word, an almost frightened sound.

"Rafe?" Brown looked across the car to see his partner standing there, gazing at the now-opened door, his gun still pointed, frozen.

"Noooo!" A sudden, inhuman cry sounded from the car, and Tavon Johnson, alive and unarmed, sprang out, lunging himself at the still detective.

Rafe didn't even try to fight back.

"You bastard!" Johnson knocked the stiff officer to the ground, and was ready to rear back and deal the first of many blows, when a hand of iron clamped onto his arm.

He looked up into the furious face of Henri Brown. "Don't. Do. That."

Johnson froze for a moment, then yanked his arm away, staggering to his feet and going back to the car.

Brown helped Rafe stand up. "What the hell just happened?"

Rafe's eyes were still glued to the car, his mouth moving soundlessly.

Brown glanced back to where Johnson had gone, and shock filled his dark features. "Oh, no."

Johnson's young wife lay half-out of the car, blood pooling aroung her head, her eyes wide and unseeing.

Johnson had fallen to his knees beside her, and was touching her arm. "Sheryl? Baby, can you hear me?" His eyes were wide, tears coursing down his face.

"I shot her," Rafe spoke finally, his voice sounding distant. "I shot her," he repeated, in shock.

"Shit." Jim Ellison had gone to the two men to see what was happening, and his eyes found the dead woman. As Blair neared his side, he turned, grasping the younger man by the arm and turning him away firmly. "You don't need to see this, Chief."

Johnson looked up at the frozen face of the man who'd fired. "You killed her!" he gasped in between sobs. "She didn't do anything, you bastard. And you killed her!"

"No," Rafe took a step back, shaking his head. "No, no. I thought she was...I couldn't see the..." He turned to Brown for help.

Henri shook his head slightly. "Don't say anything, partner. The ambulance is coming."

Jim came over to their side, quickly taking in the white face and glistening eyes of the young detective. "Rafe, why don't you go over to the truck and sit with Blair until the ambulance gets here."

Rafe blinked, his eyes going back to the innocent face of the young wife he had accidently killed. He turned and shuffled towards the truck without a word.

Jim and Brown exchanged looks. This was bad. This was really bad.







"Rafe, maybe you'd better just stay home tomorrow."

The words still echoed in his mind. Along with other words, other images. Not just Simon showing up at the scene of the shootout, not just Simon telling him he wasn't welcome back at the station tomorrow.

No. Other images. Like Brown's face when he saw what Rafe had done. Brown's soft, "Oh, no." Jim's reaction. Rafe clearly remembered the words, "You don't need to see this, Chief," as Jim had directed the younger man away from the scene of the crime.

And, of course, he saw Johnson's tear-stained face, heard the sobs, saw the open eyes of that woman, saw the blood pooling around her.

How was he ever going to live with himself?





"We've got bad news, Brown."

"What else?" Henri replied dully. Simon and Jim had been in the captain's office confering for almost an hour, and they emerged going straight for Henri's desk.

Jim let out a slow breath. "Johnson isn't our killer."

"What?"

"He has a rock-hard alibi for two of the four murders. It wasn't him. We were chasing an innocent man."

"Fuck," Henri stood abruptly, almost knocking his chair to the floor behind him. "Man, what else can go wrong?"

"They found a gun in the car, Brown. It can be argued that maybe Rafe saw that gun, maybe the woman was even holding it."

"And if you tell me you can find a judge or jury who would believe that, I'll start feeling better." Brown retorted as he paced nervously. "Damn it. I have to call Rafe."

"Um, maybe you shouldn't do that." Simon spoke up.

Brown looked over at him. "Why not?"

"He's probably feeling bad enough right now."

"Yeah, stuck in his apartment, told he wasn't welcome back at work. I'd be feeling pretty damned bad."

Simon glared, his concern for one of his men momentarily fading under a sudden defensiveness. "Look, Henri, I did what I had to. All we need is a firm confirmation that Johnson's going to press charges, and Rafe is outta here. You know that."

"He's out of-" Brown stopped his pacing. "But...he gets a trial, Simon. He didn't kill that woman out of cold blood."

"I know that, you know that. But, like you said, if we could get a judge and jury to believe it..." Simon shrugged.

"There's got to be something we can..."

"We'll fight this, H. All the way. This was an accident, just a horrible accident, and we won't let Rafe go down for it without a fight. Bu there's only so much we'll be able to do. None of us saw exactly what happened. This is gonna turn out to be a case of Rafe's word against Johnson's, probably."

And Rafe's feeling so damned guilty right now that he'd probably just confess to everything and tell them to throw away the key. Henri almost growled in frustration.

Blair stood from his quiet seat over at Jim's desk. "There are some things we can do, right, Jim?"

Jim shrugged. "There was a gun in the Johnson's car, on the floor of the front seat. That's suspisious, but again, Johnson could say anything. With our luck he probably has a permit for the damn thing and a receipt from where he bought it. The guy might turn out to be clean as a whistle."

The four men fell into silence.





The knock on the door drug Rafe out of his lethargic stupor. He rose from the couch heavily and went to the door, opening in a crack. "What?"

A familiar pair of blue eyes blinked at him, a familar grin lighting the hallway. "Hi. Can I come in for a few?"

Rafe sighed. "Sure."

Blair walked past the detective into the apartment, trying to hide his surprise at Rafe's appearance. He had only seen Rafe at work, or out for the night- he was used to the young man looking perfect, in his stylish outfits and perfectly coiffed hair.

But Rafe was a mess now. He looked like he hadn't shaved for a couple of days, he was wearing an old pair of sweats and a t-shirt, his hair wasn't even brushed. "So, how you been, man? It's too quiet at the station without you."

Rafe blinked at Blair as he returned to the couch and dropped down on it. "Too quiet? With you and Ellison still there? I doubt it."

Noting that Rafe had avoided his first question, Blair tried again. "How are you?"

"Dandy." Rafe's eyes followed the observer's energetic pacing. "What're you doing here?"

Blair's steps faltered. "Oh, I dunno. We're friends, right? I just figured I'd see how you were."

Friends. That was a laugh. Blair wasn't his friend. Blair was a shining example of everything Rafe had ever done wrong. Blair was the grad student genius observer who saw more action on the force than Rafe did. Blair was a man who would never have fired a gun at an innocent woman just because he'd thought he saw...

"Uh, yeah. Well, I'm fine. Henri keeps me filled in on the news. That pizza joint down the street keeps me from starving. I'm frigging great, Sandburg."

Blair stopped his movements altogether, looking down at Rafe with a frown. "Can we ease up on the self-pity here, Rafe? There's no need to be-"

"Self pity? Ease up on..." Rafe's face was suddenly furious as he leaped up and closed the space to Blair in two steps. Grabbing the observer by the arm, Rafe dragged him back to the door. "Thanks for stopping by, Blair. You've helped a lot. Now get the hell out of my home."

"Whoa!" Blair's eyes were wide with surprise. "Hang on, Rafe. I didn't mean to get you upset. Look, we have to talk, all right?"

"Yeah? About what? Simon send you here to question me or something?" It would figure that Simon would choose to send Blair.

"No, man. Look," Blair twisted out of Rafe's reach and stood framed in the doorway. "There's more going on here than this shooting, Rafe, and I know it."

"You know what? What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you. You were acting strange before this even happened."

Rafe paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean...you've got a problem with me, Rafe. I know it. You act like you don't, but you do. And I want to know what it is I did that upset you, cause I can't figure it out." Blair's eyes were determined. He wasn't going to leave without a straight answer.

Rafe looked into those eyes and recognized the set in the stubborn grad student's jaw. He turned abruptly and headed back in to the living room, throwing himself back onto the sofa.

Blair accepted his moves as an invitation to come back in, so he did, shutting the door behind him firmly. "Come on, Rafe. Just tell me what's wrong with you."

Rafe mumbled something under his breath, so low Blair couldn't make it out. "What?"

"It sounds stupid," Rafe repeated, only slightly louder.

The sudden change in Rafe's behavior surprised Blair. He'd been ready to tear his arm off a second ago, now he just sounded tired and a little ashamed. "Anything that's bothering you so much isn't stupid, man."

Rafe glanced over at him, his eyes hooded. "You mean that?"

"Of course. We're friends. You can tell me anything."

The detective blew out a breath. "See? That's just the problem."

Blair blinked. "What?"

"You're so...nice."

"I don't get it, Rafe."

"I've really been trying hard not to like you, Blair. It should be so easy, but then you go and say something nice, and I can't."

Concern and trepidation filled Blair's voice and bearing in equal amounts. "Wait a sec, here. Why are you trying not to like me?"

"It would just make things easier, you know? If I could think you were some kind of manipulative, scheming guy who was forcing your way in to the station, that would mean maybe this wasn't all my fault. Maybe you were to blame, too." Rafe glanced up at Blair.

The younger man was frowning in confusion, not following the arguments at all.

Rafe saw the frown, but not the confusion, and turned away quickly. "I know you're not, Blair. You're not manipulative, or scheming, and the reason why Simon wanted you on that case instead of me is because he knew you would get the job done, and I wouldn't. It's just...well, it's hard to accept that it's all me, you know?"

"No," Blair said slowly. "I don't. What are you...what case are you talking about?" His mind went back to the most recent cases that he and Rafe might have both been involved in...and then hit on the bullseye with one quick memory. "Rainier," he said quietly.

Rafe nodded, embarrassment still alight in his features.

"You think Simon put us on that case because he didn't think you could do it?" Blair interpreted in shock.

"Aren't many other explainations, are there?" Rafe retorted quietly.

Blair paused. Yes, there was one good explaination. But it wasn't his to share with Rafe. "Look, man, I really don't like leaving you here in the middle of this conversation, but I've gotta talk to Jim about something important."

Rafe waved his hand without looking up at the young man. "Go on."

Blair heard the despondence in his voice and frowned. He really should stay and work this out, but he couldn't. Because it wouldn't get worked out, not in a way Rafe would believe, unless he and Jim came to some fast decisions about their own secrets.





"Come on, Blair. Put the damned trail mix or whatever you're getting in a bowl and get your butt back here."

Blair stuck his tongue out over his shoulder at Jim. "This isn't trail mix, I'll have you know. Everything I eat isn't some hippie stereotype for you to make fun of."

"So what is it?"

"Granola." Blair set the small bowl down at the center of the table and grinned at the other four men.

Jim chuckled slightly, then reached past the bowl to grab a handful of pretzels.

"All right, all right. Can we play?" Simon looked over his shrinking pile of money with a resigned sigh.

"Yeah. Brown, your deal."

Henri Brown silently dealt the cards out.

Blair felt his smile cracking at the edges. This wasn't a good idea, he found himself thinking for the sixth time that hour. Rafe wasn't up to this, Henri was a stiff wreck. Simon and Jim could only pretend to be jovial for so long. But none of them had been willing to call off their weekly card game because of what was happening at the station. Blair had doubted Rafe would show, but he had, smiling stiffy and holding out a case of beer. He'd even shaved and over-dressed for the occasion, Blair noted with a slight brightening of his spirits.

"So. Tell me about that lawyer that's hounding you."

The air around the table suddenly felt thick with tension. Blair almost cursed- could Rafe have broken his long silence with anything worse?

Brown tried to smile as he studied his hand. "That guy is a total jerk, man. You're lucky you don't have to deal with him. He walks like he's got a copy of the Constitution stuck up his ass."

"I know. He's been to the apartment a few times."

"What?" Any pretense of a smile dropped, and Brown turned a darkened expression to his partner.

Rafe shrugged, ignoring everyone's looks. "I'm the defendant, right? He's got to talk to me."

"Defendant my ass. You're not guilty of a thing, Rafe."

"She's dead, H. I'm guilty of that."

Blair tensed, exchanging looks with Simon and Jim. This sucked. This hadn't been the way Blair wanted this night to go.

Simon spoke up finally, seeing Brown was momentarily speechless. "Listen, Rafe, you shot her, we know that. But we know you, too. And you wouldn't have shot her without a reason. Tell me I'm wrong."

Rafe shrugged heavily. "I don't know, Simon."

"Great, is that what you're telling that lawyer?" Brown glared, frustrated.

Rafe glanced over at him, then turned back to his cards. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up. Sorry, guys."

There was a pause as the men shuffled in their seats, rearranged their cards, cleared their throats slightly.

Finally Jim threw his hand down. "This is ridiculous. Rafe, we have to talk about this."

Blair stood, letting his own cards drop and walking out of the room.

Rafe looked after him with a frown, then back at Jim, taking the young man's departure in the wrong way. "That's why we shouldn't talk about this, Jim."

"Come on, Rafe. We're talking about your life here."

"Yeah. And? My life, Simon. Not any of yours. I'm the one who has to see that woman's face every time I shut my eyes. Nothing that lawyer could do could possibly be any worse than that."

Before anyone could respond, Blair came back into the room, a six-pack of beer and a yellow legal pad in his hands. "All right, guys. One more session, now that everyone's here and the topic's been addressed?"

Henri and Simon both put down their own cards with finality. "Why not?" Simon shrugged and grabbed a beer.

Rafe looked around at them in confusion. "What do you mean? What session?"

"We've been slinging around a few ideas about that day, but there really isn't much we could do. Maybe you can help us out here." Brown clapped a hand on his temporarily ex-partner. Rafe didn't return his enthusiasm. "I don't see how it could help."

Blair set the tablet on the table and started flipping through pages of notes. "Don't be a wet blanket, Rafe. Now, Henri, you said you were tracking down the clues that had made us suspect Johnson of being our murderer in the first place. Find anything interesting?"

"Interesting, sure." Henri sat back, ignoring his partner's confused gaze. "Not particularly useful. We first got a phone tip, of the most dependable kind."

"Anonymous?" Jim replied with a grin.

"Thank God for em," Brown answered. "Anyway, caller said some strange things started happening in that house the same time the murders happened. Lots of after-hours time in the back yard, or leaving and coming back in the middle of the night. Nothing major. But we also found Johnson's number in two of the victims' wallets. Nothing to take to court."

"Simon, what about his alibi?"

"Rock hard. The night of the second of the murders, he was at a weekly bowling game. Scored pretty high that night. Third one he was working late, and had a few coworkers there to vouch for him."

"All right, so we know it wasn't Johnson." Jim frowned. "What else we got?"

Blair checked his notes. "Jim, you were gonna check out the position of the gun in the car, right? To see why it might have been out instead of in a glove compartment Johnson said they always kept it in."

"Right. And do I have my ideas about that, let me tell you." Jim saw Blair's mouth open to protest, and he held up a hand. "I know, I know. No ideas, just facts. Well, fact is, anything could have happened. But the glove compartment wasn't open, which means it hadn't fallen out by accident. They had it deliberately in hand. And it was on the ground on the passenger's side, which could mean one very important thing."

Simon spoke up now. "On that note. I did some checking into Sheryl Johnson's background. Unfortunately, it's clean. Her father and brother were both murdered, but it appears to be gang-related. We do know she was actively involved in gangs as a teenager, but for all intents and purposes she was out of it years ago."

"But that means she was probably very familiar with guns. And maybe even used them a few times in her life, right?"

Rafe sat up straighter now. "Wait a minute-"

"Right. But Johnson's lawyer would call that drawing at straws if we tried to introduce it in court, and he'd be right."

"Except," Brown kept the string of thought going. "That she also has no alibi for where she might have been during any of the four murders." His announcement was met with a brief silence.

Simon spoke up finally. "Is that a fact or a guess?"

Brown shrugged. "As fact as it can get without being able to talk to her. No one she knew, coworkers, friends, family, no one saw her any of those nights. And on all four nights Johnson himself was away from home, and she wasn't with him. That's all we know for sure."

"Whoa, guys, hang on. Are you trying to suggest that that woman was a kill-"

"All right." Blair cut Rafe's incredulous question off. "We were thinking it might turn in this direction," the observer informed the other men. "So Jim went back and did a little of his own research."

"Right. I looked at the forensics reports on the murders- the location of the knife wounds, the force of entry. And I talked long and hard to that new guy down in forensics, Weaver? About what it could mean." He paused.

"Just spit it out, Jim," Simon growled.

Jim grinned. "Well, again, nothing we could prove beyond reasonable doubt, but the damage to the victims is consistent with what a smaller person with your average arm strength would be able to inflict."

"Yes!" Henri sat up, beaming. "So there's the answer."

"But...what are...you can't...I, uh..."

"I agree with Rafe's well-articulated objection," Blair commented with a grin at the stunned detective. "None of this proves she killed those people, none of it proves she was any danger the day she was killed. We need something else. We need a first-hand report."

Rafe found four pairs of eyes suddenly focussed on him, and he visibly shrank. "What? I told you, I don't really even know what happened."

"Come on, Rafe. I know you don't want to think about it, but you've got to tell us everything."

"I TOLD you-"

"If you can't go through it with us, how're you gonna go through it in a court room?"

"Because there won't be any court room," Rafe retored angrily.

"Who, partner. You're not thinking of splitting, are you? Cause let me be the first to tell you-"

"No. I'm not. I'm gonna plead guilty."

"WHAT?!?" a chorus of three voices yelled in response.

Rafe seemed to curl further into himself. "I'm pleading guilty," he repeated, his voice smaller. "I killed her. I'm guilty."

"No! Not a chance in hell I'll let you do that, Rafe."

Rafe faced Simon squarely. "There's nothing you can do to-"

"Just tell us what you remember, Rafe. Tell us what happened, and we'll see."

"No. There's no point."

"Don't be a martyr, partner. There's no god damned reason for you to sacrifice yourself."

"What do you remember, Rafe?" Blair's quiet voice asked steadily underneath the louder voices around him.

Rafe blinked. "I...I can't...I don't know...."

"How can you just roll over and accept this? It was an accident, Rafe!" Jim's angry voice blared out again.

"What do you remember?" Blair asked again, softly, meeting Rafe's eyes.

Rafe found himself thinking back, against his will, as the men around him continued to rail.

"After all the work we've done, you're gonna give up?"

"We're fighting this, Rafe. Whether you want us to or not."

"She had the gun."

"We're not letting you...." Jim trailed off, his eyes going to Rafe.

Rafe blinked over at Blair, their gazes still locked. "I didn't say anything, cause it was so quick, and I figured I was just trying to give myself an out, you know? But she did. She had that gun in her hand. She was gonna shoot....someone. She was gonna shoot...Johnson."

"What?"

"I don't know why. But I saw it, I acted without thinking."

"Why would she try and shoot her own husband?"

Blair didn't break from Rafe's tortured gaze. "He stopped the car. He was gonna give them both up. She must not have been happy with that."

"She...she was the killer?" Rafe didn't seem to believe it as he finally blinked his eyes away from the man across from him and looked around at the others.

"Seems likely." Simon reached over and picked up Blair's notepad. "It's the only thing that makes sense."

Rafe held his hand out, almost timidly, and Simon handed the pad across to him.

He looked at it for a long time, flipping pages almost aimlessly, but studying every word.

Brown's description of their bull sessions was a little underexaggerated, Rafe saw quickly. They hadn't just been slinging around ideas. There were pages and pages of details, dozens of people interviewed- from residents of the neighborhood where the shooting had taken place to people who had known Johnson, and then his wife, at any time that night have been revelant. They had reinterviewed the few witnesses from the murders, doctors, forensic specialists. They had sketched out diagrams of the shooting itself, the postition of the gun, the wounds on the victims' bodies and how consistent they could have been to Johnson's stats. Every detail had been covered, and then covered again, until there was nothing left.

Feeling a surge of emotion going through him, Rafe looked up at the faces of the men around him. "This must have taken..."

"Weeks. Well, two. Every day since the shootout. We didn't forget about you, Rafe." Jim assured the younger man.

"You did all this for me?" Rafe's voice was barely above a whisper.

"Sure." Blair glanced around at the others. "You were in trouble. We had to help."

"Why?" Rafe seemed genuinelly confused.

Brown turned a frown to his partner. "What do you mean, why? We couldn't do anything else."

"But...but you don't need me. You have Blair. Right? And Jim. I mean..."

Blair spoke up now, his eyes burning with the unresolved feelings his last talk with Rafe had brought out in him. "That's bullshit, Rafe, and you know it." Surprised at the rare curse, the men all eyed the observer.

"Nobody can take your place here. And Jim and I can't fill it ourselves. I don't know why you would think that we could, or that we'd even want to."

Simon turned sharp eyes to the man. "Is that what you think, Rafe?"

He shrugged stiffly. "I don't...I mean, at Rainier, when Blair told me-" He stopped, and drew in a breath. "I'm a fuck-up, Simon. I couldn't get that damn case solved, and you had to put Jim and Blair in. And Blair isn't a cop. I mean...well, I don't know what I mean. I guess I mean that if you would actually send in a civilian to take over for me, you must have known what a lousy job I was doing. Or..." he blew out a breath in frustration. "God, I dunno. I thought you finally all realized that I don't deserve to be here." Blair was the only one who wasn't stunned by that stuttered admission. "Why would you think any of that?" Simon asked finally.

"At Rainier-"

"Enough about Rainier," Blair cut in. "You can't convince us you're worthless and bring up Rainier. You solved that case, Rafe, and we all know it." "But-"

"He's right. You really think we could have just walked in, taken a look around, and figured out that that girl was a killer? You had to find a witness, tie him up, and tell me where to find him, remember? It was my own stupid fault for being so dense I let them give me credit. It was a really shitty thing to do to you, and if I had known it had bothered you so much, I would have said something a lot sooner."

Rafe stared at him as though not comprehending what he'd said. At the touch of a hand on his shoulder, he turned and met his partner's eyes, surprised to see the depths of concern and shock visible on his face.

"How could you think that we wouldn't want you there?" Brown asked quietly. "How could you think I...Rafe, we gotta get a few things straight here." He glanced over at Blair, Jim, and Simon, obviously wondering if he should vent his emotions in their presence. But after the briefest pause he continued. "You're my best friend, Rafe. My partner. And, let's face it, we weren't exactly born to be soul mates."

Rafe smiled slightly at that. It was true. The younger, headstrong, insecure Rafe and careless, easygoing, confident Brown were a strange choice as friends. In fact, the first few times they'd worked together, sparks had flown between them- and not affectionate sparks. But they had grown closer and closer over the next few years, and were now as inseperable as brothers.

Brown kept going, interrupting Rafe's flood of memories. "I wouldn't be anything out there if you weren't with me, man, you gotta know that. Sure, you're a little annoying sometimes, but if you think for a minute that I'd want anyone else at all, including Hairboy and his grumpy friend over there, by my side instead of you, you're out of your mind."

"Oh, I see. So I'm just the best of bad options, is that it?"

"No!" Henri sat up quickly. "That's not what I..." He trailed off when he saw the twinkle that had reappeared in Rafe's eyes, and relaxed. "Man. You're lucky I'm feeling so warm and fuzzy right now, or I'd knock you on your ass."

Rafe smiled slightly. "You could try, homeboy."

"And you think you could stop me? Dream on, Marky Mark."

"Ahem. Are you two done bonding yet?" Simon raised his eyebrows at the two men.

"Maybe. Why?" Brown asked, slinging an arm around his friend's shoulder.

"I think we need to go and interview a certain husband who probably knew more about his wife than he let on."

"And we should go talk to a certain lawyer and make sure he's aware of the charges we're going to press on Johnson, for lying about what happened the day of the shooting." Jim added.

"And we need to see about dusting off Rafe here and getting him back to work." Brown threw in.

"Oh. Hmm, do we really have to do that so soon? You know, I could use another day or two off."

"Please. Another day of sitting on your out of shape ass? I don't think so. Not if I gotta depend on you to cover my butt."

"Out of shape? Look, old man, you don't know..."

Blair beamed over at Jim as the two men kept their affectionate argument going. He and Jim had talked about it. They had been prepared -- uncertain, but ready -- to tell all, to let Rafe and Brown in on the secret that so few people knew, if that had been the only way to restore order and peace among the four of them. But they had gotten around it again, thankfully. Rafe had only needed to see proof of his importance in their lives -- now he'd seen that.

Maybe some day it would become ineviteble to tell them the entire truth. Maybe one day they would finally get a little too suspicious, or Blair, Jim, or Simon would slip up and say one word too many. But for now, everything was safe.

"-and anyway, it's not like the years have been kind to you, you chubby bastard."

"All muscle, I'll have you know."

"Please. Muscle and a good bit of Deb's cooking."

"Jealous, Lonely One?"

"Of you? Dream on, man."

Yep. Blair sat back with a sigh, popping a handful of granola in his mouth as he grinned at the two bickering men. Everything was back to normal. And though there were still secrets being kept, and most likely there were still doubts being harbored, at least this group- this family- was still together.