Who will Mourn
by Lucy

"Sandburg, stay back!"

"No way, Jim!" Blair Sandburg ran crouched to the side of his partner, nestled behind the body of the truck.

Jim Ellison barely glanced at him, no surprise coloring his angry reaction to his younger friend's disobedience. "Dammit, Blair."

"Jim, you've been-" Blair cut off, ducking his head automatically when shots rang out and struck the side of the truck. "You've been on your feet for almost two days straight. You're primed for a zone-out. I can't leave you alone."

Jim gritted his teeth, but said nothing, his hands tightening around the barrel of his revolver.

Blair accepted the silence as submission, and took the opportunity to glance around the scene. Two parked cars down, Rafe and Henri were ducked in more or less the same position. The gunman, wherever he was, wasn't discriminating -- he simply fired at them, then fired at Rafe and Brown, and back again. "Who is this guy, Jim?"

"Damned if I know. You guys okay?"

Blair winced at the sudden shout.

"Fine, Jim. Just stay down. Rafe has a bead on this guy."

Jim ducked his head, relaxing somewhat. When he wasn't flexing his Sentinel-sight to shoot, he was only second-best in the department at hitting what he aimed at. Rafe van Rij was definitely first.

Echoing his thoughts were the sudden blast of gunshots from the car twenty feet over. Jim, his hearing dialed down to normal to protect his ears from the blast of the shots, barely made out Rafe's muffled curse, and confirmation that the detective had missed came a second later, when bullets tore into the car they were crouched behind.

Jim flinched with every shot. Rafe must have gotten close -- he was now drawing the man's fire.

Taking that as an advantage, Jim shot Blair a withering look that threatened violence if the Observer disobeyed him again, then he suddenly stood, moving around the truck and running across the street to the building that was the origin of the gunshots.

Blair let out a curse and stood to follow, but the gunman took that moment to redirect his fire -- an equal opportunity sniper once again. Blair ducked to his knees as the truck took a few more rounds, and he curled himself into as small a target as possible. "Man. Oh man oh man. Oh man." He turned to Rafe and Brown, who hadn't seemed to notice Jim's sudden move. "Hey, watch your fire, guys. Jim's gone up there."

Two faces turned his way, and they took in Jim's absence in unhappy surprise. Rafe turned a look to Brown and grumbled something Blair was too far away to hear, but they looked back over at the building with renewed cautiousness.

The almost rythmic, steady firing of the sniper continued for another few seconds, then stopped abruptly.

Blair almost grinned his relief. One guess what had stopped the man from firing.

There were muffled shots, and the grin turned to a flinch. Someone was still firing -- that wasn't good.

The shots were followed by a long silence.

Blair exchanged looks with the other detectives, and as one the three men stood to head for the building.

There was a sudden crash from across the street, and Blair hesitated when he saw a window on the second floor being knocked out. What was going on?

Jim's face appeared in the empty pane. And then he seemed to double over, half out the window.

"Jim?" Blair started across the street recklessly.

A shot rang out, striking the concrete in front of Blair, missing him by maybe two feet.

"Sandburg, get back here!" One of the partners called from behind him.

His eyes on his own partner, Blair hesitated.

Another shot, this one even closer, made his mind up for him, and he turned and went back, maneuvering over so that he ended up beside Rafe and Brown. Breathing heavily, he peeked his head up, watching with the other two men, still uncertain what was happening.

There was another moment of silence, and then Jim started to edge further out the window.

Blair's brow furrowed. Jim was...Jim hadn't been firing those shots. Oh, shit! The sniper was pushing him out-

Confirming his sudden horrified thought, Jim was finally pushed out far enough and gravity took over.

"Jim!!"

It seemed to happen in slow motion. Jim's body went head-first down to the ground two stories below, landing mercifully back-first.

"Jim!!" Blair stood in sudden fear.

A shot rang out, hitting the hood in front of him. Blair was tempted to ignore it, but a hand reached up and pulled him down, rough strength leaving no room for argument. "Jim!" Blair yelled again, keeping his eyes where he could see his friend.

Jim lay still.

Rafe and Brown were exchanging frantic words, but Blair didn't hear a single one. His eyes were locked in horror on the prone body in front of that building, watching with an almost Sentinel-strong concentration for any sign of movement.

Blair's eyes caught on the growing color appearing on Jim's shirt, and he gasped in a breath so hard he almost started coughing. "He's been shot. He's been shot!" He turned to Rafe and Brown, his eyes wild. "He's gonna bleed to death, we've gotta help him!"

Brown stood and aimed, but the moment he was in sight another shot rang out, forcing him to duck back in.

There was silence, filled with only the sound of heavy breathing and Blair's heart pounding, and he rose up enough to see the body. "Jim!" He screamed this time, hoping insanely that the sound of his voice could rouse his partner. The strain caused an instant ache in his throat, but he didn't notice.

The only thing he was aware of was the stillness of the body he culdn't turn away from. "Jim," he repeated quietly, hoarse.

Brown and Rafe exchanged grim looks, now silent, and some kind of agreement seemed to pass between them.

Swiftly, in one smooth motion, Rafe stood, aiming and firing at the same time he stepped away from the cover of the car.

Without giving Blair time to think, Brown grabbed his arm. "Let's get him."

The two men stood and took off across the street, and it didn't occur to Blair once that he was now openly exposed to fire. He was there to help Jim. And Rafe seemed to be effectively distracting their invisible friend in the window.

As fast as was humanly possible, the two men grabbed Jim by his arms and legs and hauled him back to the safety of the parked cars.

Rafe, amazingly still firing, was on the radio, pulling it out of their car so far that the cord was stretched straight. "Repeat, officer down, firing in progress. Send an ambulance over here, damn it!" He yelled into the mic he was holding with one hand, while firing with the other, the panic in his tone belied by the cool look and unswerving aim as he shot. He didn't seem to notice the bullets flying inches from his head.

Brown grabbed him the minute they were safe, pulling him back down. "We got him, Rafe, it's okay."

The young, suavely-dressed detective was trembling as he gripped the mic. "Is the ambulance en route?"

Blair ignored the exchange, ripping the flannel shirt from around his waist and bunching it up, holding it to Jim's stomach. "Jim, you're okay. It's okay. You're gonna be okay. Jim, it's okay." He continued chanting, his voice a murmur, not seeing anything around him.

Jim lay still, eyes shut, face an unnatural shade of pure white. And the blood kept seeping under Blair's hands.

And all they could do was sit and wait for the sirens, and hope the mad gunman across the street didn't start firing again.

The sound of approaching sirens sang like the Hallelujah chorus. It was the one sound that invaded Blair's consciousness as he crouched by his partner, his thin flannel the only thing keeping his life's blood from spilling onto the concrete beneath them.

When the ambulance pulled up, Rafe, still trembling, realized in horror that they hadn't been warned about the sniper, the one possibly still in the window of that building.

A glance at Henri told him that his partner was busy assisting Blair, keeping Jim alive for the medics. A surge of adrenaline forced Rafe to his feet, and he realized he was right to be worried when shots immediately rang out.

The medics who were climbing out of the ambulance ducked and covered at the sound of fire, and Rafe realized that this maniac, whoever he was, was trying to prevent Jim Ellison from getting off of this street alive.

The adrenaline seemed to double, and Rafe flew out into the street, aiming up at the broken window.

A bullet struck the road in front of his feet. Another whizzed past his arm.

He kept his eyes glued to the window, aiming at the slight shadow he could make out. He fired once. The figure jerked out of sight, and for a moment he thought he was successful. But then the face reappeared.

Dammit! What the hell was wrong with him? He'd fired two magazines at this clown, and he was still there.

Rafe felt with detachment as a sudden burning feeling made his shoulder jerk back, and then a deeper burning invaded his side. He made it to the door of the building finally, and went in, hitting the stairs on the right three at a time, not willing to give this maniac time to fire at the medics and Jim again.

Blair didn't release the shirt, even when the medics were at his side. Henri had to pry him off bodily, and even then he didn't go easily.

"Blair? Blair, it's okay. The medics have him." Henri felt the shaking body under his arm and he unselfconsciously pulled the younger man closer, trying to offer some measure of comfort as they watched Jim being moved hurriedly onto a stretcher.

Blair broke away from him suddenly and went up to the medics as they lifted the stretcher into the double doors in the back. "Is he okay? Is he gonna live?"

"Why don't you just drive to the hospital? We'll know better by the time we get him there."

Blair opened his mouth to protest as the doors were shut in his face, but, as the ambulance started to pull away, he turned abruptly and ran to Henri's side. "The hospital."

It ocurred to Henri that something was out of place, but in the rush of adrenaline as the surge of emotion overtaking him, both his own and the emotions of this younger man, he couldn't figure what it was. "Blair, we have to-"

"Please?" Blair's face shown with naked fear. "Henri, please. He could be dying."

The thought spurred Brown into action. "Come on."

They jumped into Brown's car and took off, siren blaring.

Rafe was practically hyperventilating when he got to the top of the stairs. Clutching the revolver in sweaty hands, he gave a count of two before he twisted into the doorway, hands stretching out, eyes and instincts ready for the slightest movement in the dark room.

No movement came, but it only took Rafe a second to realize that none of the windows in this dark room were broken.

He went through the room, empty and dark, so dusty that he could see the particles floating in the sunlight that came through the windows, as thick as fog.

He paused at the doorway, gave another two-count, and jumped into the doorway.

Shit. Empty again. And there was the window, bringing brighter light in. The guy was trying to get out.

Rafe gave a sudden, dark smile. Footprints. Yeah, the dust was really heavy in this building.

He followed the prints even further into the building, his heart still racing, his mind trying not to focus on the thought that he had failed to shoot the guy, and that was why Jim was on his way to the hospital.

Every doorway he came to slowed him down, and he suddenly threw out everything he had learned at the academy and through years of experience, and went through the doors without a pause, just hoping to nab this bastard before he got away.

The prints went out to a hallway, and down another flight of stairs. Rafe cursed, thinking the guy had simply circled around as he came up and left the building. He hit the stairs at a run, flying down and heading for the door.

The gun shot blast seemed twenty times louder inside the confines of that building.

Rafe twisted, falling ungracefully as his leg seemed to collapse beneath him. With an angry expulsion of breath, he forced himself to his feet.

And caught a glimpse of curly orange hair and a very feminine pair of legs running out the door and into the sunlight.





"Jim Ellison! Where is he? You just brought him in a minute ago!"

"Sorry, sir. Just take a seat with everybody else, and we'll call you when we know something."

"No! You don't understand!" Blair's voice seemed to have gone up an octave in panic. "He's dying! He was hurt bad. Come on! Just let me know something!"

The young woman sitting behind the counter stood suddenly, a grim look on her face. "Sir. Do you see the people sitting in this room? They are all, every single one of them, waiting on someone who was brought to emergency. Someone who just may well be dying. And some of them have been here for hours. Now I don't know who you are, but don't go thinking you're so important that you can cut in front of everyone else to find out informatoin I don't even have about someone who's only been here for a minute. Have a seat. I will call you when we know something."

Blair jerked back away from the desk, his eyes wide, uncertain how to respond.

A hand fell on his shoulder. "Easy, Blair. Just calm down, have a seat." Henri saw the frozen fear on his face, and steered him over to one of the plastic chairs, seating him firmly. "I have to go call Simon. Just hang tight, Blair. He'll be all right."

Blair nodded jerkily.

Henri frowned, but saw the kid wasn't going anywhere, and headed for the pay phone.

"Banks."

"Simon, the meeting went bad. Some maniac starting shooting at us from a building, and Jim got hit hard."

"Shit. You at the hospital?"

"Yeah. Blair's a nutcase, I think you may be the only one who can get him to stay calm."

"Yeah, I'll be right there. You and Rafe okay?"

And just like that, Henri froze. A look of indescribable horror filled his dark features. His mouth went slack, his eyes wide with disbelief.

"Brown? Hey, Henri, talk to me."

At the sound of the voice, his heart started beating again. I left him there. Brown didn't say it out loud, of course. Holy shit. I left my partner.

Blair gathered himself together slowly but steadily. The angry, tired voice of the woman heading the counter in the emergency room entrance filled his head, bringing him slowly back down to earth. He blinked around at the waiting room, seeing the huge crowd of people, all looking as though they were in shock, some in tears. He was filled with a sense of shame.

Suddenly he needed someone there, someone to talk to. "Henri?" He looked around. Phone. Henri said he was gonna call Simon, right?

But a look at the payphone revealed that the receiver was hanging off the hook, and there was no detective in sight.

Adrenaline. It did great things sometimes. The body's fight-or-flight reflex was responsible for humanity surviving on this rock as long as it had. Adrenaline could give your body strength it didn't have to battle a fierce situation.

But once it was gone, it was gone. It left behind an overall shakiness, an incredible exhaustion. And sudden feeling in the body, so that every wound or strain suffered under the influence of the rush of adrenaline came to life.

Rafe got himself to the door, practically hopping on one foot, the impact still jarring his leg and bringing a gasp of pain to his lips. His shoulder was burning, and a fire of hazy red was throbbing at his side.

She shot me. She shot me three times. And I didn't get her once.

The sense of failure, of guilt over Jim's injuries, hurt worse than his wounds.

He got to the door and pushed it open with his uninjured arm.

And blinked at the single truck parked on the road across the street.

"Henri?" He said it out loud, quietly, almost in disbelief. Where had they gone? Where the hell was everybody?

Jim's truck was the only thing standing there, and Rafe realized with horror that Henri had gone with Blair to the hospital.

The pain and adrenaline let-down were making his thoughts hazy. He blames me, he thought to himself almost hysterically. They both know it was my fault Jim got shot.

Pulling himself together marginally, he started across the street, but stopped with a groan. His leg was useless, and Jim drove a stick-shift.

Well, so much for driving. He looked up and down the street. Fortunately there was no sign of their attacker. She would have been able to pick him off easy, and God knew if he shot at her he'd probably just miss again.

Rafe drew in a deep breath, forcing himself to think. No way to drive, he couldn't call a cab.

Maybe Henri would come back. Maybe once he heard if Jim was okay he would come back.

Maybe not.

Rafe's thoughts threatened to spin out of control.

Think, Rafe. Come on. You're a cop, think like a cop.

So, thinking like a cop, Rafe turned back and went into the building again, dragging himself with audible cries of pain back up the stairs, ready to go back and search the site of the shootings for evidence to their attacker's identity.

"Blair Sandburg?"

Blair and Simon got to their feet at the same time and raced to the desk. "Yeah?"

The young woman looked even more tired than when Blair had talked to her the first time. "Mr. Ellison is out of surgery."

Blair let out a breath. "Thanks."

"You can go on up, fifth floor. He's still pretty touch and go. You'll have to see his doctor for more details. Oh, and Mr. Sandburg?"

He turned back to her, eyebrows up.

"I'm sorry about before. You got me at a bad moment. I'm lucky I didn't lose my job yelling at you like that."

Blair offered a small smile. "I deserved it, I think."

"No, you didn't." Her eyes burned with self-recrimination. "I see so many emergencies, sometimes it's hard to think of the individuals involved. I'm sorry."

He met her eyes. "It's all right," he said firmly.

She relaxed, giving her own small smile in return.

Simon cleared his throat impatiently, and Blair jumped, turning and racing for the elevators. Simon was right on his tail.

Once they were inside the confines of the lift, there was a shrill ring. Simon pulled his cell phone out quickly. "Banks."

"Simon?"

"Brown? Where the hell are you?"

"Simon, I left Rafe, now I can't find him." The voice was frantic.

"Henri, calm down. What do you mean, you left him?"

Beside Simon, Blair suddenly paled, facing the phone with a sharp intake of air.

"Jim was shot, and Blair was panicking, and he wasn't around, and I guess I..."

"Forgot about him?" Simon finished grimly.

The voice that answered was soft, almost inaudible. "Yeah."

"Where are you now?"

"Back at the site. Jim's truck is still here. I don't know where the hell he would have gone. I swear I didn't see him leave my side, he must have vanished when we were helping Jim. I went up to where the sniper was firing, but there was no sign of anyone. Just-" His voice cracked with nervous frustration. "Just some blood. Rafe must have hit the sniper."

"Damn it. Was Rafe all right?"

"Yeah, far as I know. You think he might have called a cab or something?"

"Could be, if you left him there." Simon spoke the words with more emphasis than was really necessary.

There was a pause. "Simon, I already feel like shit over this."

"Good." Simon frowned into the phone. "You don't leave your partner, Brown."

There was no response.

"Alright." Simon sighed. "Go search the building again real quick, then get your ass over here. If I was Rafe, I'd be headed here. I'd also be madder than hell."

"You've made your point, Captain." Brown's voice was sharp.

Simon winced slightly. One step too far. Brown knew what he did was wrong. "Yeah."

"How's Jim?"

"He's out of surgery, that's all I know. We're on our way up."

"Good. I'll be there in a few. When Rafe comes in, tell him I'm on my way. Tell him not to go anywhere, okay?"

"Officially, Brown, I'm planning to reprimand your ass. Personally, this is between you two."

"Yeah." Brown was quiet for a minute, then came the click signifying he'd hung up.

Simon put his phone back in his jacket with a sigh.

"Aww, man. Simon, you were too hard on him. This was half my fault. No, it was probably mostly my fault."

Simon glared down at the observer. "Look, Blair, you were distracted by your partner being hurt. That's understandable. It's not your job to look after everyone. That's why we send detectives out with partners, so there's someone watching their back. A slip-up like this could have cost a life in another situation."

Blair bit his lower lip, pondering the words. "I shouldn't have made him drive me here," he said finally.

"Sandburg. Last time. This wasn't you. This was all Brown's screw-up here. Look, Rafe'll show up here in a few minutes, pissed off, and whatever apologizing Henri's gonna have to do will be payback enough. This won't happen again, which is all I'm worried about. Now why don't we forget about it and go check on your partner?"

Blair nodded, a small smile appearing. "I'd sure hate to be Henri, though. I'd bet Rafe's got a temper. Sometimes. Doesn't he?" Try as he might, Blair couldn't remember the GQ poster boy as anything other than smiling and earnest.

Simon grinned crookedly. "Between you and me, kid, the guy's a cream puff. He'll be the one trying hardest to make Henri feel better about it."

Rafe was mad as hell.

And he wasn't gonna take it anymore.

Ha ha.

That's it, Rafeman. You are losing your damned mind. It only took three holes in you and the confines of this damned closet to make you go off the deep end.

Rafe hadn't meant to end up in a closet. Really, he hadn't. He was trying to gather some evidence to help nail this chick who shot Jim. And he was coming up nill. So he staggered along, following those footprints again. Studying them. Some voice inside his head told him they may be important. Never mind the fact that looking down that hard made the floor threaten him with flipping over. He had to find a clue.

Small prints. Maybe...six and a half? Seven? He'd laughed at that thought, wondering when he became such an expert on women's shoe sizes.

No unusual tracks, nothing strange about them at all. Still, he had to figure out what that voice was trying to tell him. Somewhere in those swirling tracks was the answer to this whole thing. Maybe everything. Maybe the secret of life lay here in the dust of this abandoned...whatever it was. What was this building, anyway? All there were were large empty rooms.

No, forget that. Look at the shoes. The prints. The answer was there. It had to be.

And, of course, he'd collapsed, losing his balance and reaching out for a wall to keep him upright. And naturally he hadn't hit a wall. He'd hit a door, one that swung open, throwing him down to the ground inside the tight confines of this closet.

He lay there for a minute, thinking about it. And then he'd heard footsteps.

Henri? No, Henri was at the hospital. Oh, shit. Sniper lady.

He'd dragged his legs into the closet, his hands squeezing into fists tightly to avoid crying out, and shut the door quietly.

And now here he was. And who knew how long he'd been in there. He kept reaching for the door, then blacking out and waking up still in that closet.

At least I'm not claustrophobic.

Boy, did he hurt. And he knew dragging himself like that had gotten dust right in his wound, which stung like a thousand wasps all hitting him at once.

What a way to go. Shot by a girl and dying in a closet.

And then, suddenly, he heard a voice, calling his name. He thought it sounded familiar. Then again, he thought the floor kept opening up and trying to eat him, so what he thought wasn't all that dependable right then.

So he kept quiet, and sure enough, no more voices.

Rafe one -- imagination nothing.

Wondering if he was ever gonna get out of that closet, Rafe saw the floor opening up under him again.

Oops. Rafe one -- imagination one. Tie game.

But this time his imagination didn't let up, and he found himself suddenly falling through the floor, into darkness.

"Mr. Ellison is very, very lucky that his back isn't broken. Aside from that, there isn't much I can tell you. The fall you say he took jarred his body badly, and he lost way too much blood out there. We're just going to have to keep an eye on him. I'm sorry I can't tell you anything more."

Blair sank into a chair as Simon asked about looking in on his friend. He couldn't breathe. Jim was hurt. Jim was maybe dying. Jim.

The doctor shut down Simon's request to see Jim, and left the two men, giving Simon nothing else to do but go and sit by the Observer so they could stare at the walls together.

Ughh. What the hell did I have to drink last...

A flash of sudden pain cut off Rafe's musing, and he blinked his eyes open with a gasp of air.

He couldn't see anything. Oh, Christ, he couldn't see-

The closet. He was shut in a closet.

He almost laughed out loud, but his body refused to allow it. God, what a crappy day this had been all around. Shot up, left alone, and now trapped in a small, empty closet, alone with his hysteria.

But no, not hysteria. He was actually thinking, miraculously, a little clearer as he huddled there. He had no idea how long he'd been there, bu he could feel the sticky feeling of liquid all the way down in his shoe, and down his arm, down his side. He raised his free hand and prodded the wounds gingerly, ignoring the flash of pain under the reassurance that at least he wasn't bleeding anymore.

Suddenly cold in the tight confines of the closet, Rafe pulled his jacket closer around him, thanking whatever instinct had made him grab the longest, warmest coat he had on this somewhat mild day.

He had to get out of there. He had to find Henri. His partner was probably worried about him right now.

In the back of his mind, a small voice spoke up. If he's all that worried, why would he have left you here in the first place.

My fault, he argued back. I didn't tell him I was coming over here, I didn't make sure he knew where I was.

The voice argued back, but Rafe was too tired and cold to pay attention.

He had to get out of there. Even if Henri did come back, he'd never think to look for him in here. He had to open that door and get out.

But later. Right then he just wanted to go back to the blackness and sleep for a while.

"Jim?" Blair studied the pale face intently. "Jim? You waking up?"

The eyelids fluttered, but didn't open. Jim let out a low groan.

"Jim? Come on, partner. Open your eyes. Come on!"

"Mmmm.....bair?"

"Yeah, yeah, Jim, it's me." The concern and relief mingled in his voice.

"...go way...doan av'to work tday."

Blair laughed slightly. "You're right, you don't. Open your eyes, Jim, look at me."

Jim's head flopped to one side, but his eyes stayed stubbornly closed.

"Jim?" Blair faltered. Maybe he should just let him rest. He'd been through a lot, after all. And the doctor still refused to give him a garauntee that Jim would make it.

So he sat back with a sigh. "All right, Jim, just go back to sleep." He was quiet for a minute, looking down at the slack face. "Jim, you gotta make it through this." He spoke quietly, more just voicing his thoughts than speaking to his partner. "I don't know how to handle things when you're not there, you know? I mean, a Sentinel without a Guide is pretty confused, but he's still a Sentinel. What am I if something happens to you? It's supposed to be the other way around, Jim. I was supposed to go into that building like a lunatic. I should be in this bed. What were you thinking, taking over my job like that?" He picked absently at a piece of string hanging from the sheet that covered his best friend. "Jim...man, you have to be okay. You can't leave me alone here. Please?"

Jim's eyes fluttered again, and opened fractionally, but Blair didn't seem to notice, focussed on his hands. Jim groaned again, trying to work up enough energy to speak. "...red."

Blair turned back to him immediately. "What?"

"Red," he said somewhat clearer, though his throat was still raspy.

Blair glanced down at himself. "What? My shirt? Yeah, it is. Glad you haven't lost your grasp of the color wheel."

Jim gave him a slight shift in expression that might have been a smile, his eyes opening a little wider. "...you look...look like...stop sign."

Blair laughed. "You're one to talk about fashion, White Socks Ellison."

Jim blinked up at him.

Blair's smile faded quickly. "You gonna be okay, Jim?"

A slight lift of the shoulders signified a shrug. "...think so. And...Blair..." He spoke through heavy breaths, obviously becoming more tired by the second.

"Yeah, Jim?" Blair leaned in, his hand going to his partner's arm.

"...without me," Jim paused. "W'thout me yer still Guide. Still...Shaman. You'd be okay."

Blair shook his head fiercely. "Not happening, Jim. I need you here. A Guide isn't a Guide if there's no Sentinel. And Shaman....man, I still don't really have a clue what I'm supposed to do. I need your help, Jim."

Jim's eyes shut tiredly, but his mouth moved as he tried to reply. Finally he got some air out. "You've got it."

Blair grinned in relief. "Thanks, Jim," he said in a near-whisper. "Now go to sleep, partner. You make it out of this okay, and I'll let you run me through some Shaman tests."

Jim fell back to sleep with a look on his face that was suspiciously close to a grin.

Henri Brown couldn't sleep. Not when he hadn't heard a single thing from Rafe since leaving him at the crime scene.

Maybe he was being absurd, worrying about it. Maybe Rafe really was so ticked off he just wasn't gonna call him. Or answer his own phone. Or call Simon. Or the hospital.

If Rafe was the type to hold a grudge, Brown might have been able to believe that. Maybe. But as it was, he didn't.

And so he climbed out of bed and reached for the phone.

After a few more rings than normal, Simon picked up, bleary. "Banks."

"Simon? Sorry to call so late."

"That you, Brown?"

"Yeah. Look, I'm worried about Rafe. Nobody's heard from him. You think...you think the sniper might have grabbed him?"

Simon seemed suddenly wide awake. "Hell, Brown. I don't know. The crime scene is still blocked off, so it's safe for the night. You went over it pretty carefully, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but I really didn't know what to look for."

"All right. If he doesn't show for work tomorrow we'll send out an APB and get a search going."

Henri sighed. "Nothing else we can do, huh?"

"You could go back and check it out again, if you want. But if you didn't see anything today, you probably aren't gonna find much in the dark."

"I hear you."

There was a pause. "Brown, are you okay?"

"This is all my fault, captain. I can't believe I would-"

"Hey, save it. You've already said it to me, and when Rafe shows up tomorrow safe and sound you'll have to do it all again. So don't worry about it until you have to, okay?"

Oh, sure. Simple. No problem. Henri let out a breath. "Fine. See you tomorrow."

"I'll be stopping by to see Jim, so I won't be there until later. Talk to Joel about setting things up if Rafe doesn't show."

"Got it. Night, Simon."

"Yeah, yeah."

Henri put the receiver down and crawled back into bed. He wished he felt better about the whole thing, but he didn't.

He just hoped wherever Rafe was, he would be safe until morning.

Officer Ray Stanley really hated his job sometimes. It was just boring. Plain, dull, crappy work. Like sitting in a cruiser waiting for a speeder to drive by, or filling out mind-numbing amounts of paperwork.

Or standing here, guarding a crime scene. Nothing going on. Not in the whole neighborhood. And it was already seven in the morning. He should be in bed, or at a bar, or something. Anywhere but here.

"Hey!"

Ray jerked at the shout, and turned to see that a car had parked, and a large black guy was striding towards him. "Sorry, you can't come in here, this is a crime scene."

"Yeah, yeah." The black guy flashed a badge easily. "Henri Brown. You got anything?"

"Nothing at all, sir. I scouted the building, but there's nothing there either. Some bum living in a closet, a coupla other homeless types on the fourth floor. That's about it. I didn't see that they'd disturb nothing, so I let em stay."

The detective twisted his gaze up at the building, a dark look on his face that Ray couldn't have figured out even if he'd wanted to. "All right. Look, I gotta run by the station, then I'll be back and you can get out of here."

Ray smiled more genuinelly at that. "Really? Hey, that's great."

Henri returned his smile with a slight upturn of a corner of his mouth, then turned and headed back for the car.

Damn it. What the hell had happened here yesterday? Where could Rafe have been-

He stopped suddenly, his instincts bellowing at him. Abruptly he turned and jogged back to the uniform. "You said there was some bum living in a closet?"

"Yeah."

"What floor?"

"Second. A few doors down from...hey, where you..."

Henri was already in the building, racing up the stairs. Bum in a closet. There was no good reason to suspect it was Rafe. In fact, it made almost no sense at all. But everything inside of him was telling him to get his ass up there.

He passed the room with the broken window, and started opening doors frantically. "Rafe?"

Nothing. Nothing. Every door he opened, nothing.

Until...

"Rafe?"

But no. There was the dark coat Henri recognized so well. But there was no one in that closet. "Damn it!!"

For three days, nothing. No clues, no ranson demands, no sign of either their mystery sniper or the missing detective.

Henri Brown was at the end of his rope. He didn't go home -- he couldn't. He couldn't face his wife and son and have to tell them that there was no sign of Rafe anywhere. He would force himself to do work. Every case Major Crimes got in, Henri would have something to do with it.

Because, essentially, there was nothing to be done to find Rafe. Nothing at all.

And, eventually, when the station ran out of work, Henri went to the hospital. To visit Jim, mainly, of course. But he still couldn't stop himself from checking the front desk for any John Does brought in.

He was starting to lose it, and he was the only one who didn't realize it.

"Blair, what do you think the chances are that we can keep surviving stuff like this?"

Blair peered at his friend, who was looking down at himself in the bed with a dark frown on his face. "Where's this coming from, Jim?"

"I dunno. But you do realize that most cops in the field only have to fire their guns three or four times their whole career. What do you think that says about us?"

Blair smiled, trying to inject a lighter note into the conversation. "Most anthropologists never have to fire a gun during their careers, but you don't hear me complaining."

Jim glanced over at him, not successfully lightened. "It's bizarre, you know? The things we have to deal with. Like there are people out there plotting strange things to throw our way, and we just keep surviving by the skin of our teeth. Is it a Sentinel thing, or just us?"

Blair sighed, dropping the smile. "I don't know," he said honestly. "Maybe a little of both."

There was a light knock on Jim's door.

"Yeah?" Jim glanced over at the door as Rafe strolled in. "Hey, man. How ya doing?" He turned back to Blair and opened his mouth to carry on the conversation.

Blair was staring at the door, mouth agape.

Jim glanced back to see if Rafe had grown another head when he wasn't-

"Rafe?" Jim jerked to a sitting position. "Rafe, what the hell? Where have you been?"

"Are you okay, man? We've been worried sick!"

Rafe gave them a small smile. "Hi to you too." He came further into the room, moving slowly.

"Where have you been?" Jim demanded again.

Rafe gave an embarrassed smile. "It's a long story."

"Yeah? I was shot in the stomach -- I'm not going anywhere."

The younger man sighed. "Okay. Well....um, I went after that sniper, right? But she got away. I came out and you guys were gone. So I went back up to look for clues, and I guess I sorta fell, and the next thing I know these bums who were living a coupla floors up found me, and they drag me up there and kinda nurse me back to health, right? And now I'm okay, so I thought I'd come by and make sure you were still alive."

Jim blinked -- something about that story was off. "Have you called Simon? Have you talked to Henri? Your partner is driving himself crazy over this."

"Uh, no. I thought of you first. I guess I should call, huh?"

"Yeah, I think you should." Jim shook his head in disbelief.

Rafe looked down at the sheet covering Jim's wound, and cleared his throat slightly. "Look, Jim, I just wanted to...apologize, you know? For you getting shot like that."

"Apologize?"

"Yeah. If I hadn't blown it and missed the sniper, it never would have happened. I'm sorry, man."

"Hey, Jim, have you-" From where he had burst into the half-opened door without knocking, Henri Brown almost tripped over his feet stopping. He stared at the young detective still standing awkwardly by Jim's bed, his jaw hanging somewhere around his belt.

Rafe smiled over at him weakly. "Hey, H. I was just about to call you."

Henri blinked. "Rafe?"

"Yeah?"

"Rafe?" He looked over at Jim, then Blair, as if needing confirmation that he wasn't losing his mind.

"I'm sorry for the vanishing act, H. It wasn't really my fault, mostly."

"Rafe!" Henri burst in and lunged at his partner, grabbing him and hugging him tightly. "God dammit! Where the hell have you been?"

Rafe returned the hug weakly, his face losing all color, a sudden sharp pain reflecting in his eyes that he tried mostly successfully to hide. "It's a long story," he said for the second time, hoping his partner would leave well-enough alone.

Jim was the only one in the room capable of picking up the faint gasp of pain and speeding of the heart. "Rafe, you okay?"

At the question, Brown pulled away from his partner sharply and looked him up and down for wounds.

Rafe pulled away from his grasp and his eyes. "I'm fine. Guess I'm still a little out of it. I haven't eaten in a while."

"What the hell are you wearing?" Brown's voice was almost amused.

Rafe glanced down at himself, at the huge, baggy green pants that barely stayed up on his slim hips and the XXXL holey t'shirt. "Uh...oh. They were presents. Traded my clothes for them."

"Your clothes? You traded Brooks Brothers for that? Rafe, I got a feeling I want to hear this long story."

Rafe got a strange look on his face suddenly. "Um, yeah. Sure, no problem. First I gotta run to the bathroom. H, could you call SImon for me? Tell him I'll be at the station in an hour or so. I'll be back in a minute." He started out the door before anyone could say anything, slowly but steadily.

Henri was still too surprised to follow him. "He tell you what happened?"

Blair shrugged. "He told us some story about bums helping him after he fell, or something. I don't think the guy's making too much sense. Jim, what do you think?" Blair's eyes pierced his friend.

Jim saw in the look that Blair realized he had picked something up with his senses, and wanted a full report. "I think if he took a fall, he wouldn't get bashed in enough to be gone for four days. I think the guy's in pain, and I know he was limping when he left here. He was trying to hide it, but he was limping."

Henri let out a curse. "I'm going after him. Blair, could you call Simon for me?"

"Sure." Blair stood and headed after the detective out of the room.



Rafe gazed at himself in the mirror, trying to convince himself it was the flourescent lighting making him look so haggard. He was relieved, though. He'd feared for a minute that Henri's affection had reopened that wound on his stomach. It hadn't though, he was still okay.

The guys who had picked him up really didn't do a bad job patching him up. Rafe had never suspected that the homeless had their own forms of medication, but if it worked for them, it would be okay for him.

He just hoped he'd get out of the hospital before someone realized something was wrong.

This is penance, he said to himself. Penance for Jim almost dying. Penance for wasting two dozen bullets on one woman and still not hitting her. For-

The door swung open behind him and Henri came in, turning right to him, face pinched in concern. "Hey, man, are you okay?"

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Jim got the feeling you were maybe hurt."

Rafe laughed slightly. "Jim got a feeling?"

Henri replied to the dubious words with a sheepish smile. "Hey, the man talks like what he says makes sense."

"Sometimes, yeah." Rafe turned away from the mirror with a grin. "I guess I should go talk to Simon now. Is he gonna kill me?"

"Kill you?" Henri's smile dropped. "Rafe, this was my fault, this whole thing. When I got Blair to the hospital and realzied I'd left you behind....you don't know how I felt. It was like...man, you should take a swing at me. You should yell, do something. I'm shit, and I know you've gotta be angry."

"You didn't-" Rafe cut himself off.

"What?"

Leave me there on purpose, he wanted to say. But he didn't. If Henri said he hadn't that was good enough for him. "Don't sweat it, H. Things were pretty confusing right then. I shouldn't have run off without making sure you saw me."

Henri opened his mouth to argue, but stopped. "Hey,let's get the hell out of here. We can fight about this on the way to the station."

"Sure."

Henri studied him for another minute. "You are kinda pale. You sure you're okay?"

"Positive."

"Good."

The two men left the restroom and headed back down the hallway. "You know," Henri started out. "JIm and Blair have been-"

Rafe stopped in his tracks, catching a flash of color in his peripheral vision.

"What's wrong?"

Rafe turned and saw that he was right -- a head full of curly orange hair was going down the hall the other way. Towards Jim's room.

"What's going on, Rafe? You know her?"

Rafe started after her, moving slowly, but as fast as he could. Henri followed, still throwing out his questions.

The woman reached Jim's door and her hand came out to grasp the knob.

Now certain, Rafe knew he'd never make it in time to stop her. "Hey," he shouted out instead.

The door opened, but the woman turned towards him.

Rafe met her eyes across the hall. "Remember me?"

Her eyes grew, and she tore away from the door and down the hall.

Rafe cursed, breaking into a run. Every step sent another crashing wave of pain through him, but he ignored it. No way this bitch was getting away twice, no way.

She crashed through the door leading to the stairs, and started down. A second later, Rafe was after her, hearing Henri's voice behind him, making sure Jim was alright.

Rafe's gun came out, and he pounded down the stairs. No repeat performance of last time, damn it.

A shot rang out, echoing loudly in the closed stairwell.

Rafe caught a glimpse of the plaster on the wall a foot away from him splintering down to the ground.

With a determined look in his eyes, he aimed at the moving figure a floor below him and fired.

Damn it! He could have sworn that one would have gotten her, but she was still moving! What the hell was wrong?!?

With a growl of frustration, Rafe aimed again and picked off a shot, going for the leg this time. Anything to slow her down.

Bingo!

He couldn't hide his triumph when she collapsed down the stairs, her leg buckling and sending her tumbling to the next landing.

He sped up, still aimed and ready in case she went for another shot even as she lay there. When he saw the flash of metal coming up, it was all he needed to aim at her arm, returning the favor she;d done him last time they'd seen each other and grazing her shoulder.

She let out a muffled groan, and the gun fell from limp fingers.

Rafe came pounding down, reaching her side and kicking the gun away in case she got any ideas. he grabbed her shirt to haul her to her feet, but he couldn't get a good hold. "...the hell?"

The shirt tore away under his pressures grasp, and he saw the padded black underneath, blinking and taking a moment to figure out what it meant.

A look of shock crossed his face, and he hauled her up carefully. "Were you wearing that yesterday?" he demanded.

The woman swallowed and faced him defiantly.

"Answer me! Were you wearing that yesterday?"

"Y-yes."

He let her go and she sank to the ground. A laugh bubbled out of him before he could help it.

"Rafe?"

"Down here, Henri!"

The pounding footsteps got louder, and Rafe turned a grin to his partner. "She's wearing a vest, man!"

"What?" Relief that his partner was all right coated Henri's tone.

"A vest." Rafe pointed down at the bulletproof garment. "She was wearing it yesterday."

"Yesterday?" Henri's eyes grew and he glared down at the semi-conscious woman. "Is this our sniper?"

"Yeah. She was wearing a vest, H. I didn't miss!"

"What're you talking about?"

Rafe had to pause to catch his breath. The effects of the last few minutes were starting to catch up with his injured body. "I...I'm..." He sagged against the wall, his vision going red. Oh, hell, running like that must have jarred something. "Uh, Henri?"

"What? What's wrong? You ARE hurt, aren't you?"

"Kinda. You think...you think you can..."

"Yeah, I'll be right back." Henri turned and raced through the door to whatever floor they were on, yelling for a doctor.

"...and as soon as I could, I got out of there and came here." Rafe concluded his story with a small shrug.

Simon stared at him in disbelief. "That's...uh, that's quite a tale, Rafe."

Blair chuckled beside him. "You should have heard the one he told us."

"Good news is," Simon replied, addressing the entire room. "That both of our detectives are going to be back at work this week. Other good news is our sniper has pleaded guilty, so no one has to worry about court dates. Turns out she was just some pissed off glory hound who wanted to get in the papers by killing Cascade's most famous detective."

Jim shuddered at that. "She almost did a really good job."

There was a pause at that.

"Um. Yeah, well. Look, you and Rafe just take it easy the next few days. I need Brown and Sandburg at the station, which is why I had the docs put you two in the same room. This way you can keep each other company, and your partners don't have to worry. Just do what the doc says and get your asses back to the station, got it?"

"Yes, sir," the two men mumbled together.

Henri clapped his partner on his good shoulder. "Once you get out of here, we're going to have a nice long talk about what happened, okay?"

Rafe met his eyes, seeing the guilt and pain still reflected there, and nodded seriously. "Yeah, we'll do that.

Blair turned a grin on Simon. "So, Captain. You need me at the station. Is that what you said? I think it is. 'I need Brown and Sandburg at the station' are your exact words, I think."

Simon rolled his eyes. "Hell, Sandburg, of course I need you there."

The open admission made Blair's eyes grow. "You do?"

"Definitely. Otherwise I gotta do all the damn paperwork for you and Ellison, and that's just not gonna happen."

"Come ON, Simon. Just admit I do good work at the station. You really do need me there now. Admit it."

The argument that followed that took the three uninjured men out of the room and down the hall.

Jim and Rafe, left behind, looked at each other for a minute.

Rafe's smile faded slightly as he looked at his injured friend. Should he tell Jim how sorry he was that he was hurt? Should he tell him that he still felt guilty, even knowing that the snipre had been protected against his bullets? He was sorry for not just shooting her in the head and saving Jim's life?

Jim's thoughts were also whirling. Rafe had saved his life. After getting shot three different times and deserted, he made his way here and stopped that woman from trying to kill him a second time. Jim should give the yonger detective his thanks, at least. Should tell him how grateful he was.

"Uh..." Rafe cleared his throat slightly.

Jim nodded readily. "Yeah."

They met each other's eyes for a second, the words passing silently, and Rafe grinned. "Wonder if there's game on."

Jim reached over easily and grabbed the remote for the small tv on the wall. "Only one way to find out."

"Yes! The Bulls!"

"Are you kidding me? Rodman's such a damn flake."

"Flake? He'll win the game."

"You wanna bet?"

"How much?"