What Would I Do?

Words and Music by William Finn
by Lucy

What would I do
If I had not met you?
Who would I blame my life on?
Once I was told
That all men get what they deserve.
Who the hell then threw this curve?
There are no answers
But who would I be
If you had not been my friend?

You're the only one-
One out of a thousand others-
Only one my child would allow.
When I'm having fun,
You're the one I wanna talk to.
Where have you been?
Where are you now?
There are no answers
But what would I do
If you had not been my friend...

What more can I say?
How am I to face tomorrow
After being screwed out of today?

Tell me what's in store.
Yes I'd beg, or steal, or borrow
If I could you for one hour more.

Who would I be
If I had not loved you?
How would I know what love is?
God only knows.
Too soon I'll remember your faults
Meanwhile though it's tears and shmaltz.
There are no answers
But what would I do
If you had not been my friend?

No simple answers.
But what would I do
If you had not been
My friend.





"Sandburg, stay down!"

That desperate shout was the last thing Blair heard before the sound of the train was over them, passing over their heads with a thunderous rumbling that drove out all other noise.

Fear, shock, the very roar of the freight over them, chased all thoughts out of Blair's head. He gasped in short, loud breaths, feeling the weight of a body on top of him, hoping whoever it was who had jumped to his aid was keeping his head down.

Mowed down by a passing train. It wasn't how he imagined he would end his day, but God knew nothing should surprise him at this point. After being held hostage in elevators, dosed with drugs lacing a slice of pizza, being killed -- really, actually KILLED -- by another Sentinel. Well, nothing should surprise Blair Sandburg anymore. Unfortunately, his capacity for surprise was like his capacity to attract trouble -- seemingly unlimited.

On and on the noise continued. Blair continued to gasp in breaths, his entire universe composed of the noise, the weight on top of him, and the dirt pressed up against his face.

Then the weight was lifted suddenly. Blair froze, suddenly terrified that whichever of his friends had jumped to help him, they had been somehow sucked along with the train. And then he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Blair blinked, prying his eyes open to see the ghostly-white face of Jim Ellison.

"Blair?" The Sentinel greeted his Guide's opening eyes with a relief that seemed to deflate him where he kneeled.

The thunder was still in his ears, and Blair saw his partner mouth his name, but didn't hear it. He drew in a great, sucking breath, his eyes widening in panic as he reached up to clutch at his friend's hand.

"Shhh. Hey, relax, Blair. You probably got the wind knocked out of you. I'm not surprised if you can't hear anything either. Just calm down, it'll pass."

Blair jerked himself up to a sitting position, his hands going to his ears.

"Whoa, Chief." Relieved Sandburg was alright, Jim sat back on his haunches, pulling his Guide's hands down gently. "Calm down. Breathe, Blair. Come on, you're okay."

And Blair could hear Jim's voice now, distantly, somewhere beyond the ringing in his ears. "Jim?" he gasped out.

Jim's face crinkled in a relieved smile. "You...uh, you scared me there, Chief."

"Scared you?" Blair managed a shaky smile.

"Good thing Brown saw you get snagged on the tracks before..." Jim trailed off, shaking his head slightly.

"Henri!" Blair glanced around. "He's the one that saved me? Is he alright?"

"No," Jim commented. He saw Blair's sudden appalled look and went on quickly. "Brown saw you, he was still over by the trucks. He shouted, but he was too far away. Rafe's the one that flattened you. And yeah, actually, I think he's okay."

Blair sagged in relief. "Geez. What the hell happened, Jim?"

"You don't remember?"

Blair almost grinned at the sudden cautious note in Jim's voice. "Yeah, I remember. I remember facing down that guy Davalos, and hearing the train coming, and trying to chase him over the tracks, and then someone flattened me, and that was it."

"You got snagged on a spike that was sticking out, I think." Jim nodded down to a gaping tear in the bottom of Sandburg's jeans. "You were standing there pulling your leg for a few seconds before Brown saw what was wrong."

"Wow," Blair stared over at the tracks, then back to the tear in his jeans. "Wow." He looked up at Jim suddenly. "I could have been killed."

"I know, Chief." Jim gripped his hand to help him up, holding it perhaps a few moments longer than necessary, an unnatural brightness in his eyes. "Just do me a favor and stay away from train tracks for a while, okay?"

"No argument here," Blair followed Jim around a parked and rusting train car, and saw Rafe still sprawled on the ground from where whoever had pulled him off must have dragged him. He was pale, but his eyes were open, gazing up at Henri.

Brown glanced up when he saw the two men approaching, and smiled. "Blair, glad you're okay."

Blair grinned at him. Wasn't often Brown actually called him by his given name. "How's Rafe?"

"Rafe's fine," Rafe answered, his voice unnaturally loud. "Rafe wishes someone would get him off the ground."

Brown chuckled and gripped his hand, pulling him to his feet quickly, coming in close to let the still-shaky Rafe lean on him.

Jim gazed at the two men who'd shared his office at the station for so many years. "You guys saved Blair's life. We owe you."

Brown grinned crookedly. "You'd have done the same," he answered with an easy shrug.

Rafe cleared his throat slightly. "Well. There is one thing you could do."

"Anything," Jim swore firmly.

"Um...could you, maybe, drive me over to Cascade General? I think...I think I'm gonna..." His eyes rolled up in his head and he sagged against Brown.

Jim started to turn, to jog to his car, but he paused when his senses suddenly picked up a familiar coppery smell. He noticed the small pool on the ground the same moment Brown felt the growing stain spreading on his shirt, where Rafe's head was flopped. "Shit!"

"Come on, we've got to get him to the hospital." Brown took off, and Jim quickly turned from the dark red puddle to follow him.



Three years earlier.....



"Taggart, Ellison, Brown. In my office. Sandburg, tag along if you want."

"Gee, can I?" Blair Sandburg rolled his eyes good-naturedly as he stood with his new roommate and followed into Simon Banks' office. The fact that he was 'tagging along' was undermined by the fact that he'd been invited in at all. So far, Captain Banks wasn't exactly warming up to him.

"What's up, Cap?" Henri Brown asked as he plopped into a chair.

Blair liked Henri Brown. He knew the dark-skinned detective wasn't comfortable with the idea of Blair, but he made attempts to be friendly anyway. He even had a pet name for the kid- almost like he belonged there, Blair reflected wryly.

"The new guy's coming in today. Brown, he's yours."

"Simon, I told you, I don't-"

"-want a partner. I know."

"Give him to Ellison."

"Ellison has a partner."

"Who? Hairboy? Come on, Cap, we're talking long-term here. No offense, Sandburg, but you're not planning to stick it out anyway."

Blair only smiled. He'd let it be he and Jim's secret exactly how long he indeed was planning to stick it out.

"Forget it, Brown. You need a partner, he's it. Now, there are a few things you should know about the guy."

"Like what?" Brown's normally slouched, relaxed posture stiffened imperceptively. It wasn't exactly standard to give the department warning speeches about new recruits, was it?

Simon sat behind his desk, glancing over a few papers. "He's practically a rookie, for one. He should still be in blues, but better people than us have decided he should be bumped up a few steps, and sent him here."

"What? Simon, this is a load of crap. You're telling me I'm getting stuck with some kid who doesn't know what he's doing?"

"I didn't say that. He's got the highest arrest rate of his class, he's scored above average on every test we've thrown at him. He's-"

"-here." Blair Sandburg cut off Simon, his gaze going out the window.

The elevator doors had opened, revealing a young, nervous man.

"That him?" Brown asked in surprise.

Simon nodded. "Look, Brown. I've talked to the kid, he's good people. Be fair to him, alright?" "Aww, come on," Brown studied the approaching man dubiously. First off, the guy was dressed like the cover of a department store catalogue, designer everything from the looks of it. He was a pretty boy. Just what Henri needed. The man approached the office, faltering when he looked in to see the faces all turned his way. Simon stood from behind his desk, shot Brown one last warning look, and went over to the door, opening it wide. "Good to see you, detective." The man smiled crookedly. "You too, Captain Banks." "Let me introduce you to the crew," Simon led the young man into his now-cramped office. "Everyone, this is Detective Rafe van Ryj. This is Captain Joel Taggart." Joel jumped up, amiable as always, and shook the young man's hand. "Nice to meet you, Rafe." "Detective Jim Ellison." Jim, amiable as he ever got, gave a wary smile to the newcomer. Looked like he'd be real good in a fight, he found himself thinking sardonically at the man's nervous nod.

"This is Blair Sandburg. He's not a cop, he's a grad student, riding with Ellison for a while."

"Hi." Blair gave the man a careless wave. The poor guy looked like he was about to faint. Blair would have to be sure to take him aside, glad to have someone he could talk to about the undoubtably intimidating experience of being a new guy in this circle of cops.

"And this is Henri Brown, your new partner."

Rafe's eyes clouded over slightly as he took in the last man in Simon's office.

Brown didn't fail to notice the reaction, and he almost found himself glaring. Great, stuck with a fresh-faced pretty boy partner who was probably racist or something. Just what he needed to feed the ulcers he was sure were forming thanks to this job.

"Rafe, come to me if you have any problems. Everyone else, there'd better not be any problems. Now get out there and get to work."





Brown paced the waiting room nervously. Emergency surgery. What kind of BS was that? Rafe had just knocked himself on the head, right? He'd been standing, and talking. He'd even been smiling. Why were they acting like this was more serious that it was? Simon and Joel, Blair and Jim, each sitting in their chairs, talking quietly. They at least knew Rafe was gonna be fine. It would have been hard for Brown to be so sure otherwise.

And he left the waiting room for two minutes- to use the bathroom. That was all. Just a quick in-and-out. Except when he returned the the cluster of policemen gathered in the room, they weren't the same group of guys. Simon and Jim were both on their feet, both with stunned looks on their faces. Blair was slumped in his chair, a hand covering his eyes. And Joel was approaching him with a strange expression on his face.

"What's up?" Brown asked quietly, not wanting to disturb the other guys and their obvious problem, whatever it was.

"Doc came a minute ago." Joel started.

"Yeah?" Brown's heart leaped into his throat, then sank down to his toes. "And?"

Joel blinked, glanced back at the others, then looked down at his shoes. And he spoke the two words that Brown had been dreading to hear. "Rafe's dying."





"Come on, we've got an interview down on 1st, we can swing by the diner next door for lunch."

Rafe blinked up at his new partner, and the thought came into his head again. Why Brown? Of all the people in the world he could have been chosen to partner, why the hell would fate throw Henri Brown back at him?

The two men had hardly said three words to each other all morning, as Brown simply handed over a new casefile and they had gotten down to some heavy-duty research. Now, suddenly, Brown was standing over him, smiling tightly.

Rafe wondered briefly if his sudden appearance had anything to do with that conversation he'd just had with the observer- Sandburg? "Uhh...sure. You know, I think there's a connection between these two killings on Main in the last week," he remarked as he stood.

Brown shot him a dubious look. "Completely different MO for both," he pointed out as they headed for the elevator.

"I know, but I get the feeling that was deliberate. Maybe someone doesn't want us to know they're connected."

"A serial killer who wants to stay hidden? That's not very typical."

"No? Maybe he's not your typical serial killer."

Brown sighed, glancing at the young, handsome man. "Look, Detective-"

"Rafe. We're partners, right? Why be formal?"

"Fine. Rafe." Brown didn't extend him the same courtesy right away, and Rafe seemed to realize it. "I don't know how long you've been out of the Academy, but there's some things you need to learn real fast about life on the job."

His gaze cooling, Rafe cocked an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Don't get testy, I'm saying this for your own good."

The well-dressed new detective gestured grandly. "By all means, Detective Brown, tell me what I need to know."

Henri sighed. The man definitely didn't like him, he was sure of it. Best not to press him too hard the first day, or Simon would think he was deliberatly trying to run off the younger man. "Never mind. Let's just go conduct this interview."

Rafe frowned at the closed elevator doors. This stank. Why did he have to be partners with this guy? Why not anyone else in that room? Even the long-haired student guy. He at least seemed friendly.

This was going to be a long year.





"Dying? Rafe's dying?" Brown blinked, completely taken aback. "Are you kidding? How could he-"

"This is serious, Henri. The doctor said...well, he was hurt pretty badly."

"No, he wasn't," Brown argued stubbornly. He strode past Joel and towards the other men in the room, convinced Joel was exaggerating. "Simon, what's going on?"

Simon glanced back at Joel, saw the man's frown. "H, come on and sit down."

Brown obeyed readily enough, glancing between Simon and Jim as he sat. The two other men came to either side of him and sat themselves. "Henri, Rafe was hit in the head. We're not exactly sure when- maybe he raised up a little too much when that train was passing over them. But he was...his head..." Simon glanced over at Jim, his eyes clouding.

Jim saw his distress. "The doc says Rafe's skull was crushed. He says there's a long gash in the back of his head, and a few shards of bone may have penetrated his brain. They've taken Rafe to surgery already, and there's no way to know if he has any chance of surviving until they see how bad the damage is. But the doctor gives him maybe a thirty percent chance of making it through the operation. And given the position of the wound, maybe a twenty percent chance of coming out anything but a vegetable."

Brown opened his mouth to instantly refute the larger man, but the look in Jim's eyes stopped him for a moment. He cleared his throat and shook his head slightly. "But...he was up. I mean, he was talking to us. How could he be hurt so badly?"

"I don't know, Brown. The doctors are amazed he was capable of saying anything. It's got to be a good sign, though."

Brown looked over at Simon, then turned his eyes out towards the rest of the room. Blair was still slumped in his chair- Joel was now standing over the younger man, a comforting hand on his shoulder, his eyes averted from Brown's.

Suddenly a thought occurred to Henri. He turned quickly to Jim. "Wait a minute. You're serious."

Jim didn't seem surprised at his delayed reaction. "Very serious, Henri."

"You mean Rafe is really...but, how? I mean, no. You've got to be wrong. He won't go down like this, Jim. It's not...I mean, he's too...no, he'll get through it, right?"

"There's a chance." Simon confirmed. "But it doesn't look good."





"What's the story on this witness, anyway?" Rafe was quickly getting tired of the silence coming from the man he was supposed to work with night and day from now on.

"Evans case. Did you see it?"

Rafe frowned. "Don't think you gave it to me."

"Oh. Well, this guy Marvin Evans was shot outside of the liquer store on 1st. It was assumed to be just another drive-by, but the store owner called this morning. He thinks he's being targetted by this gang, and he doesn't know why. We're just supposed to talk to the guy, see how paranoid he is."

"Got it."

There was a silence. Rafe, getting fidgety, turned to Brown, then back to the front. After a minute he turned back to Brown, wanting to say something. The set of the other man's face shut his mouth, though, and he went back once again to gazing out the window.

"You gotta go to the bathroom or something?"

"What? No, I'm fine." He was jumpy, sure. This was his first real case. His first day out of the blues and up in the ranks. He was part of the elite now- Major Crimes. Four other detectives and one student observer made up the entire division. He was part of the group.

But it was hard to feel excited sitting in this car next to Brown's mild contempt.

"Hey, let's eat first. This guy can wait. I didn't have much of a breakfast anyway." Brown still spoke mildly, but with a tone that made it clear he wasn't interested in anything Rafe could contribute to that.

"Whatever," Rafe replied, forcing an equally disinterested note in his voice. Two could play at this game, damn it.

Once they were in the small diner across the street from the liquer store, Rafe decided trying to compete with his partner for the 'most cool' award wouldn't exactly make his day fly by. So he decided once again to attempt a conversation. "So what's the story with that guy Sandburg?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, why would an anthropology student be hanging around a police station?"

Brown shrugged as he gazed at the stained menu in his hands. "He's doing a dissertation on something...closed societies, I dunno. You should just be glad you didn't have to work with Ellison before that kid showed up."

"Why's that?" Rafe asked, setting his own menu down, excited by the actual start of a conversation.

"He was an asshole. The kid's made him lighten up a bit." Brown shrugged.

Then again, maybe not. "Oh," Rafe said after a minute.

There was a long silence, broken only by the appearance of a waitress and two mumbled orders.

"I guess you don't really want me here, do you?" Rafe asked finally, realizing he had nothing to lose by asking- he couldn't make the guy dislike him more than he obviously already did. He must have remembered.... Ugh, no. Bad to even think about that.

Brown shrugged again, looking out the window towards the liquer store.

Rafe kept his eyes on him until he realized that was the only response he was going to make. He blew out a breath in suddenly growing anger and pushed himself away from the table. He stood and crossed over to the payphone on the wall by the door, feeling Brown's eyes on his back. Well, at least now he'd gotten the man's attention.

Brown watched Rafe dial and lean into the phone as he had an obviously hushed conversation with someone. Simon, Brown guessed, and sighed. Well, what could Simon do? It wasn't like Brown was being deliberately rude. Just because he didn't answer all the guy's questions with pep and enthusiasm...well, damn it anyway.

His eyes went to the rest of the diner. Why did he end up eating at crappy places like this so often?

He'd bet Rafe van Ryj didn't eat in dives like this. Not with those designer threads he was wearing.

Rafe van Ryj. Why did that name suddenly seem familiar to him? van Ryj....hmmm.

"Hey! Brown!"

The shout caught Henri by surprise, and he jumped in his seat, turning a glare to his new- however temporary- partner. Rafe had left the phone hanging and was going out the door at a run.

"Shit!" Brown jumped up and went after him, wondering what the hell had possessed the man to-

Oh.

Brown followed Rafe across the street at a dead run. It seemed the owner of the store wasn't being paranoid after all.

Rafe had paused by the door, waiting for Henri to catch up. "There's five of them. They've got the guy behind the counter against the wall," he reported quickly.

Henri nodded. "Alright, be careful." Brown and Rafe pulled their revolvers together and Brown led the way into the store. "Police! Freeze!"

All hell broke loose. One of the young, shabby men immediately started firing, sending Rafe and Brown diving to the ground. The others erupted in a panic, a couple diving to the ground, the one holding the store owner whirling around and holding the pistol he held to the man's head.

"Whoa, whoa, let's calm down here." Brown got to his feet slowly, his gun on the man with the hostage, never wavering.

Rafe stood slightly more shakily, his own gun moving around from man to man.

"Stop right there I swear I'll kill this guy stop I'll shoot." The man was screaming, his eyes wide and glassy.

"Relax, man. No one's gonna kill anyone, alright?" Brown kept his voice calm. "Let's put our guns down and talk about this."

"No way. You cops put your guns down and let us get outta here."

"I can't do that. Come on, you haven't done anything too bad. Stop this now before you go too far."

"Screw you, man. Put the gun down or I'll blow this guy away!"

There was a pause- a stand-off, as the five men on one side and the two cops stared at each other. The tension in the air was almost visible.

And suddenly Rafe started to laugh.

The gunman's eyes jerked to him. "Hey, shut up!"

Rafe tried to stop laughing, but he shook his head helplessly.

Brown eyed him briefly. "Shut up, man, what's wrong with you?" he hissed.

"I'm sorry," Rafe spoke at a normal volume, apparently unconcerned about the panicked gunman. "I just...I just didn't think..." He was laughing too hard to finish.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" the gunman asked, his tone slightly less frantic, more incredulous.

"I'm new to this, sorry." Rafe wiped his eyes with the back of a hand. "I just can't believe we're actually supposed to talk like that."

Brown gaped at him. "Like what?"

"'Police! Freeze!'" Rafe imitated. "'Let's put our guns down and talk.'" He giggled.

"Is he crazy?" the gunman asked Brown.

Feeling like he'd stepped into an episode of the Twilight Zone, Brown found himself shrugging. "I don't know, I just met him today."

Rafe got himself under control, sighing happily. "What a job, huh, Henri?"

"What?!?"

"Well, look at us. A stand-off with a bunch of guys with guns, holding some poor slob hostage. It's a scene from every action movie ever made. And we're living it." Rafe's gun lowered casually as he turned to Brown. "And you know, it ends differently every time. There's no telling how this'll end. I mean, sometimes everybody gets gunned down, right? Sometimes the bad guys make it out to the street and get shot by the cops out there. Most of the time the cops outsmart them, right? Of course, there have been one or two times when the bad guys get away, and it actually takes the cops a few days to track them down, and THEN they have the big gunfight and the bad guys die." Rafe beamed. "Look at us, man. We're living it!"

Brown shut his eyes. "I'm insane. I'm actually going nuts."

"You're both crazy! What the hell kind of cops are you?"

Rafe ambled forward, grin still on his face. "Actually, like I said, I'm new to this. I guess I haven't developed the cop mentality yet, eh? I'm pretty sure Henri over there would agree with that right now."

"Look, don't come any closer. This is too weird." The gunman's hold on his hostage had loosened, but the man seemed frozen in place.

"Sure thing, man." Rafe leaned on the counter casually. "So what's the story here, anyway? If we're all gonna die here, we should at least know what's happening, right?"

The gunman looked over at his partners, then shrugged. "This guy owes us, man. He won't let us in the doors anymore, keeps acting like we're gonna steal from him or something."

Rafe grinned. "Can you blame him?"

"Shit, yeah, man. This ain't uptown, you know? We get it all the time up there. This is our neighborhood, this guy ain't too good to serve us, right?"

"Wait a minute here," Rafe glanced over at Brown. "You guys are pissed because he thinks you're going to rob him, so you're gonna shoot him? That's not very confidence-inspiring, you know?"

Brown saw, finally, in the new detective's eyes, the full knowledge of his actions, the hint of fear. He thought fast- Rafe was trying to throw these guys off, and it was working so far. But he'd need some help if this was to end peacefully.

Brown let out a noisy breath and dropped his hands. "I don't get it either, man. But damned if I want to get shot over it."

Rafe tossed him an easy smile. "No? No. I see your point."

"You guys are gone," the gunman shot his friends a confused almost-smile.

"Hey, I don't wanna get killed my first day on the job. Especially not over some infighting in this neighborhood. You guys deal with it yourselves."

"That's all we wanna do." the man agreed easily.

The liquer store owner looked like he was about to drop dead of shock, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. Brown turned to Rafe. "Well, how bout it, partner? Wanna quit early and get drunk, forget this ever happened?"

Rafe giggled. "Simon would pitch a bitch if he found out."

"Hey, first rule of police work- what the boss don't know won't hurt us."

Rafe grinned. "Good rule. Hey, I'll spring for the drinks if you fake a report."

"You're on."

Rafe turned to the store owner. "You got any champagne, man?"

"Wha...urgghh." the store owner replied intelligently.

"Hey, man, you think you can stop choking him long enough for us to score some drinks?"

The gunman, now totally lost, tossed up his hands. "Why not?" He let the man go.

The store owner, looking like he thought he was dreaming, stumbled over to the cash register.

"So where's the champagne, man?"

The owner automatically stepped around the counter. "Right this way, sir." He sounded very far away.

And that was all the oppurtunity Rafe needed. He grabbed the man and hauled him to the ground.

Henri moved at the same moment, lifting his gun and holding it on the one gunman in a swift move. "Alright, guys, time to give up."

Shocked, taken by surprise, the man blinked. "What is this?"

"An arrest, smart guy. Now put your damned hands up."

"You're crazy."

"Yeah, we're real loonies." Rafe joined Brown, the same smile on his face as he aimed. "Don't make us have to prove how crazy we really are."

The man threw his hands in the air, obviously believing Rafe's implied threat. His friends followed suit.

A few minutes later, a couple of black and whites responded to Brown's call, and the shabby men were on their way to prison.

Rafe and Brown had stayed busy keeping the men in place, and calming the store owner. Finally they were done, leaving the liquer store to breathe in the fresh air in the darkening light.

Rafe glanced over at Brown, wondering what he was thinking. He knew his stunt in that store was dangerous, and foolish, and against everything he'd learned at the academy. He had simply trusted that Brown was smart enough to go along with it, and acted without thinking.

Brown felt his eyes, and turned to study his new partner. After a moment he nodded over to the diner. "We never ate." he said simply.

Rafe sighed. Maybe Brown was just a really quiet guy, maybe that was it. "Sure." He stepped down off the step in front of the door and headed across the street with Brown.

When they were seated again, Brown actually spoke first. "That was insane, Rafe. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, I guess so." Rafe sighed.

"And you're not gonna try stuff like that without talking to me, are you?"

"No, Detective Brown. I'll be sure and run everything past you."

"Good." Brown was silent for a minute.

Rafe turned to the menu. This was his life now, looking at grease-stained menus in diners, waiting for his new partner to speak.

He heard a snicker suddenly, and his eyes went up to see Brown restraining a laugh. "What?"

Henri shook his head. "The look on that guy's face when you asked if you could buy some champagne..." He grinned.

Rafe smiled tentatively. "Hey, you were right there with me. That was good of you, Detective."

Brown's laughter faded suddenly. "You know, I'd tell you to go ahead and call me Henri."

"But." Rafe supplied readily.

"But I don't know. We don't seem to be clicking."

"Clicking? Hey, we did good work back there."

Brown nodded. They had, it was surprising. "That's one thing, but we have some kind of problem, don't we? Something personal?"

Rafe groaned, his eyes shutting briefly. "You remember. I was hoping you wouldn't."

Brown's forehead creased. Remember? "Remember what?"

"You mean you don't? What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you. You don't like me, right? I could see it in Simon's office. You got a problem because I'm black, man?"

Rafe gaped. "Where do you get that? You thought I..." he grinned. "Aw, man."

Brown shrugged. "What else was I supposed to think?"

"Man. You black guys, always shouting about discrimination." Rafe grinned, then suddenly flashed eyes at his partner. "Whoa, hey, I'm sorry. It's just that...well, Ray Johnson was my partner on the beat, you know him?"

"Sure." Ray Johnson was actually a friend of his sister-in-law. Almost too close a friend.

"We kinda joke about that a lot. You know, the whole race thing."

"Is that where I've heard your name? Something Ray said?"

Rafe's eyes went straight to his menu. "Yeah, maybe."

"Huh." Brown studied the man across from him. "So what is it with you, man?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why would anybody in a Brooks Brothers suit want to be a detective, anyway?"

Rafe smiled slightly. "It's a long story."

"What else we gonna talk about sitting here? The decor?"

Rafe laughed. "Some other time, Brown. Ask me again in a few months."

Henri studied the man across from him. Not exactly his prime choice for partners- his prime choice was to not even have a partner. But not as bad as he thought. A few months? Sure, why not. "Henri. We're partners. No need to be formal, right?"

Rafe grinned. "Yeah, sure. Henri."







Henri wondered if they really thought he couldn't hear them.

"He can't just go home. He's gonna be a wreck."

"Well? He can't stay here either."

"Why don't we take him with us?"

"C'mon, Chief, we....oh, hell, you may be right."

Henri stirred finally, ending their hushed conversation. "I'm staying here. Don't worry about it."

Three guilty faces turned to him. "Uh, Henri, I know how you feel, but it's not good. Besides, the doctors said they won't know anything definite until tomorrow morning anyway."

"If he dies, that'll be definite," Henri replied dully.

Jim went right to his side and looked down at him. "H, you won't do anyone any good wearing yourself out here. Trust me, I know. You think every time Blair ends up in here I don't want to give up on everything and stay here with him? You don't think it occurs to me that if he wakes up for two minutes I absolutely have to be here to give him something to hold on to? But it's not practical. I have to leave sometimes, that's the way it is. You have to leave."

Blair came up to his best friend's side, and he and Jim exchanged a warm glance.

It cut into Henri like a knife. "Just get the hell out of here, go whereever you want. I'm not going into work tomorrow either way, Simon already gave me time off. Why should it matter to you if I sit here all night or sit up at my place all night?"

"What about Deborah?"

The mention of his wife twisted the knife in further. "I've talked to her already," Brown said stonily.

Jim sighed. He knew that hadn't been fair. He knew also exactly how Henri felt. "I'm sorry, H. But you realize I have been here. Both of us have." He glanced over at Blair, including him. "It seems like once a week one of us is in here."

Brown raised to his feet, facing Jim firmly. "Yeah, every week. Sandburg sprains an ankle, you get shot in the shoulder. One of you gets drugged or you have one of those freak-outs you get sometimes. Big deal, Jim. How many times have you been dying?" His eyes went to Blair. "Once, that I can recall. Remember your night at the hospital after Blair drowned? That's where I am now, Jim. Talk me into leaving."

Jim almost got angry- it was very unfair for him to bring up Blair's death. But it was also true, Rafe was practically where Blair had been. And if Henri was really as far gone as Jim had been that night, nothing would get him out of that hospital. "You win."

Brown relaxed, sinking back into his chair.

When Jim and Blair left the hospital an hour later, he was still there.





"So are your parents gonna be there, or is it just your own family?"

"Just the wife and kid, sorry."

"No, no. I was just making sure. I mean, you already act like we're married, I was worried meeting your folks was the next step or something."

Brown grinned over at Rafe. "No thank you. I keep hearing about how pretty you are from the chicks around here, but you don't really float my boat, you know?"

"Pretty?" Rafe shot him a look. "Who the heck thinks I'm pretty?"

Henri shrugged and kept walking, an innocent expression posted to his face.

Rafe sighed. "Alright, what time?"

"Seven thirty. Bring some alcohol. I'm sure you'll need it."

"C'mon, H. I'm your partner. How bad can this be?"





"Mr. Brown?"

Henri woke up with a start. He blinked out into the waiting room of the hospital, and cursed. He hadn't meant to fall asleep. He wanted a nap, just a brief rest. How could he have slept through the night when his partner was-

Oh, the doctor. "What? What's wrong?"

The man looked ten times more exhausted than Brown could remember. "The surgery is over."

"And?!?" Brown was in no mood for dramatic pauses.

"And he's lived through the night."

Brown gulped. "What does that mean, exactly?"

"There's no way to tell. He's in a coma."

Shi-i-it. Henri swallowed again- his throat felt drier than it ever had. "What's going to happen?"

"We'll see how long it takes. I won't lie to you, his brain suffered some damage. How much, we can't be sure. There's so much about it that medicine just can't predict. I also won't get your hopes up- he could go one of a hundred ways from here. His life is still in danger. He could die. He could stay in this coma for a long time. He could suffer brain damage to the extent that he can't walk or talk, he won't know who you are. Or he could be almost normal. There's no way to tell, not until it happens."

Brown listened to him calmly. "Can I go see him?"

The doctor opened his mouth for an automatic denial, but thought twice. "Mr. Brown, I'm familiar with your friends, Mr. Ellison and Mr. Sandburg. Can I assume you will be as stubborn as they are with regards to your partner?"

"That's a pretty safe bet." Henri confirmed grimly.

"Alright. As soon as we get him moved into a permanent room, I'll let you in for a few minutes."

Brown nodded his thanks, ignoring the twist of fear that came with the words 'permanent room'.







"Hey, who's this?"

"Cliff, this is Rafe, my partner."

"THIS is your new partner? He's white. You didn't tell me your partner was a white guy."

Rafe blinked down at the kid who'd answered the door, then glanced up at Brown's apoligetic face. Without missing a beat, he strode in. "Hey, H, what's this little black kid answering the door for? This isn't your son, is it?" He looked the kid in the eye, pasting an echo of his distasteful expression on his handsome face. "You never told me your son was black."

The kid, maybe eleven years old, looked confused for a minute. Then a grin broke out on his face. "Hey, man, you alright."

Rafe grinned crookedly. Test number one passed. "Yeah? Just don't lose that hatred, kid. It's good for the soul."

Brown cuffed his young son over the head. "Cliff doesn't hate anybody, do you, Cliff? Just like he doesn't respond to the peer pressure and social stigmas attatched to young men of his race. Right?"

"Sure, dad." Cliff, introductions made and forgotten, ran back inside the house.

Brown grinned at his partner. "I warned you."

"No problem, Henri. Where's the missus?"



Rafe had fit himself into Brown's family right from the start, ending that night by making plans to take Cliff to a movie neither of his parents wanted to see.

And so he had been with them when disaster struck.

They were in the park, Brown was munching on a chicken salad sandwich, watching his son run around with some friends. Rafe and Deb were chatting about something or another. All was right with the world.

And then the sound of screams, and squealing tires, and that world was shattered.

"Henri!" Rafe had been the first one up, his eyes drawn to the scene before the screams reached Henri's ears.

Brown sat up, looking towards the crowd of boys and the now-still car, and he dropped the sandwich, getting to his feet and across the park in a blurry rush.

He stopped at the edge of the crowd, his mind registering the small body on the street, failing to comprehend what it could mean.

A horrified scream from beside him brought him back down to earth, and he and his wife together went to the side of their still son. "Cliff? Cliff, wake up. Open your eyes." Brown kneeled by his son's head.

Rafe watched for the briefest second before running to the nearest payphone and calling the ambulance.

The next few hours were a blur for Brown. He watched through veiled eyes as the ambulance arrived, and his wife climbed in the back with his son. He let Rafe guide him to his car, and sat through the drive to the hospital in stunned silence. Rafe kept up a line of chatter, trying to ease Brown's mind. "Hey, you know the kid's tough. He's gonna be fine, Henri. Really, the car couldn't have been going that fast. He's a fighter, Cliff is. Henri, you with me here? C'mon....Oh, man. Henri, he's fine. He'll be fine." On and on until they reached the hospital.

Deborah Brown met them inside the emergency room, pale but calmed down from her hysteria in the park. "Henri?" she ran to her husband and let him wrap his arms around her silently.

Rafe let the two be alone, going over to the admissions desk. "Hey, you just let a Cliff Brown in here. Any idea when we'll hear something?"

The nurse looked up and smiled warmly at the handsome man in front of her. "I'm sorry, sir. There's no way to tell. If you'll just wait here, we can call you when we know anything."

Rafe sighed and nodded, going over to the chairs and sitting himself, keeping his eyes on Brown and his wife, now talking quietly. He frowned. How in the world had this happened?

Brown wasn't really sure how much time went by before the doctors came to talk to them. It felt like days, but it couldn't have been more than an hour. "Mr. and Mrs. Brown?"

They stood automatically, clutching each other's hand for support. "Yes?"

"Your son is going to be fine."

Henri deflated, his eyes shutting for a moment in silent prayer.

"He got knocked on the head, but not too badly. He'll have to stay here for at least the night for observation, but he's going to be all right."

"Thank you," Brown whispered. He was talking to the doctor, talking to whatever gods were listening. "Can we see him?" Deb asked besdie him.

"Of course. They're moving him to a private room. We can set up a cot for you if you'd like to stay the night with him."

Brown and Deb nodded simultaneausly. Behind them, unnoticed, Rafe slipped out of the waiting room and towards the exit.



Brown sat by his son's bed, holding the smaller hand tightly. Cliff looked like he was sleeping. He practically was, from what the doctors said. The amount of drugs they pumped into him would keep him out until morning.

Deb had gone down to the cafeteria to get them both some coffee. She was handling this better than he was, that was for sure. "Hey, Henri."

Brown looked up. "Rafe," he said tiredly. "I was wondering where you'd gone." He had actually just noticed the detective's dissappearance a few minutes ago.

"How is he?"

"Out like a light." Brown frowned down at his son.

Rafe cleared his throat in the silence and lofted a small bag. "I brought you guys a few things. Change of clothes, toothbrush, y'know. Thought you'd need em, knew you wouldn't want to leave."

Brown glanced over at him. "Thanks," he said quietly.

Rafe came in a few steps awkwardly. "Are you okay?"

"Me? Yeah."

"Make me believe it."

"What?" Brown looked up at him.

Rafe's eyes were serious. "This hit you hard, Henri."

Brown hesitated, studying the man standing beside him. He and Rafe had been partners for a few months now. They were friends. Good friends. But they'd never exactly bonded completely. "I'm alright," he said finally.

Rafe dropped the bag on a chair. "Talk to me, man. I'm your partner, remember?"

Henri shut his eyes briefly, squeezing the limp hand he still held. "It's...it's hard, you know? He's so small. I couldn't do anything for him, I just let that car run right into him."

"Did you? You piece of shit."

Brown blinked bright eyes at him in shock. "What?"

Rafe was deathly serious. "You let that car hit him, did you? Well, you deserve to be here, not him. If that's the case, you should be arrested. I should do it myself." He came forward a step. "On the other hand, if I wasn't imagining things and you were really a hundred yards away, not controlling the damned traffic, than you should stop beating yourself up over something you had no power over."

"It's not that easy, Rafe. It's my biggest fear, you know, that my work will come to visit my family some day. I have nightmares about the people we put away getting out of jail and coming to my house sometime when I'm not there, hurting my family."

"This wasn't your work, Henri. This was a stupid, random accident."

"And that just makes it worse." Henri replied helplessly. "At least if it's the job, I've got some control. Not a lot, but some. How am I supposed to prevent things like this from happening? How can I let him out of the house, knowing everything that's waiting to hurt him?"

Rafe saw tears streaking down his partner's face, and paused. But no, it didn't feel as awkward as he thought it would. He came to the man's side and put a hand on his shoulder. "I can't pretend to know what you're going through. But I do know that it's something all parents go through. You try to shield your kids from the world, and when you find out you can't, I guess it's got to be a pretty bad feeling. But you can't blame yourself. And you can't lock him in the house for the rest of his life."

"I know." Henri said simply, his eyes going down to the closed eyes of the young face on the bed.

"H, he's gonna be okay." Rafe blinked at the boy he'd grown to care for, and he let out a slow breath.

"Would you like some coffee?"

They blinked over at the woman in the doorway. She stood smiling slightly, holding out two steaming cups. "Uh, no thinks, Deb. But I'll sit in here and keep the rugrat company while you guys go talk, how about that?"

Henri shook his head automatically, then turned to his wife. He saw the paleness, the tightness around her eyes, and the forced smile. "All right. Deb, let's go out to the waiting room for a few, huh?"

She nodded, and looked back at Rafe, her eyes bright with gratitude. "Thanks, Rafe."

Henri glanced back at his partner as Rafe took a seat, reaching out for the hand Henri had just released. He smiled slightly, feeling closer to his partner than he ever had.







Rafe woke up two days later.

Henri was sitting by his bedside, where he had been since the doctor first let him in. He was dozing himself, lightly, but the slightest change in the room intruded into his dreams and brought him back to reality. His eyes immedaitely went to the man on the bed, and he sat up straight with a gasp when he saw the bright eyes of his partner. "Rafe!"

The hazel eyes moved over to him slowly, and a faint smile of recognition lit his face.

Brown laughed out loud. "God, Rafe. You scared us." he reached over and pushed the button for the nurse, knowing if he didn't notify the doctor that Rafe was awake, he would be pushing the man one step too far. "How you feeling, partner?"

The smile stayed, and Rafe showed no other reaction to his words, just looking at Henri's face with unblinking eyes.

Concern clouded his happiness. "Rafe? Can you hear me? You understand what I'm saying?"

And now the eyes swung away, focusing on the ceiling, the smile set.

"Oh, God." Henri blinked down at him in the moment before the nurse strode in. "Tell Dr. Mitchell he's awake," Brown said in a whisper, not even looking back at the woman.

"Yes, sir,"

He heard the departing footsteps, but kept his eyes on Rafe's. "Hey, man, talk to me. Look at me. It's your partner, man, it's Henri."

"Alright, Mr. Brown. Don't push him. It's enough for now that he's awake." Mitchell must have been nearby- he strode into the room quickly.

"I don't think he can understand me, doc. He knew who I was, I'm sure of it. But..."

"It's alright. Give him time. We're halfway home already. I never would have thought he'd wake up so fast. He's a tough man, but you can't expect miracles." Mitchel shot him an understanding smile. "Now, I'd like to have a few moments alone with Rafe, why don't you go notify that captain of yours that he woke up?"

Brown nodded automatically and headed for the door. He knew Mitchell was breaking rules letting Brown stay with him, and he did as the man said for fear that he would change his mind.



The next day, Simon, Jim, and Blair charged into the hospital and down to the ward Rafe was staying in with all the subtlety of the proverbial bull in a china shop. Brown's call the day before had brightened spirits at the station, but being told they shouldn't bother coming because the doctor wouldn't let them see him until at least the next day had put them back in a funk. Of course, the next came had come and they were here and ready to demand entry.

Brown met them in the hallway. "Hi, guys."

Jim and Blair exchanged looks. Henri wasn't looking so good. "Hey, H. What's the word?"

Brown sighed, looking like he'd aged ten years and not slept for all ten. "He's still conscious. Slept late last night, but the doc said it was just sleep, nothing to worry about. He..uh. Well, he can't talk. He doesn't really seem to understand what you say to him. He recognizes people, though, which Mitchell says is a good sign. He's got full control of his legs and arms, but doesn't seem to remember how to walk, or how to feed himself." He blew out a breath. "Mitchell says he's halfway home, but that it's a long trip, and the second half is the worst." He tried to smile. "You can go in and see him. Maybe seeing you will trigger something else in him."

Hesitating for the briefest moment, the three officers exchanged looks before following Henri into the room.

Jim stopped in the doorway, his eyes wide. Blair stopped beside him, glancing up and seeing the plain shock in his eyes, and realized Jim must now know how Blair felt every time he saw Jim in a hospital bed.

It was the shock of seeing someone so...large. Rafe was six feet tall, not as bulky as Jim, but close. Curled up in that hospital bed, though, seemed to drain the strength from him. Strength he carried unconsciously, strength most of the men in Major Crimes radiated constantly. It was gone, leaving behind a pale man under a thin sheet, whose eyes were now on them.

Rafe really did seem to recognize them, though, which Blair took as a good sign. His eyes grew, and a goofy smile floated over his face.

"God, he looks like a five-year old," Blair whispered so quietly only Jim would hear him.

The Sentinel looked down at his partner briefly, then back up at Rafe. The man was propped up in the bed, a food tray on his lap, and Jim realized they had interrupted lunch. Not sure he could stand watching Brown feeding his friend like a baby, Jim found himself hoping Henri would forget about it.

Simon broke the strained silence first, coming forward and smiling broadly. "Afternoon, Rafe," he said, his voice slightly louder than normal. "We miss you at the station, buddy."

Rafe's eyes followed him, but his face showed no reaction.

Simon's grin faltered as his words fell on deaf ears. He turned to Henri. "Can he hear what we're saying?"

Brown nodded. "Doc says he has perfect hearing. He just doesn't understand. It's all gibberish."

"Aw, man." Simon looked back over at Rafe's bright smile.

Blair and Jim moved into the room finally. "So what should we do?" Jim asked awkwardly.

Brown shrugged. "Just talk, just be yourselves. I don't know," he sighed. "Tell me what's going on at the station."

So Jim and Blair filled the uncomfortable silence with small talk about cases they were working on, gossip about Joel and Rhonda staying late working alone for three nights in a row, whatever aimless topics they could blabber on about.

It should have been the perfect assignment for Blair, he was the big talker. He could jabber on about anything, right? But he couldn't. His eyes would go over to Rafe's blank, childish expression, and he'd trail off, leaving Jim or Simon to pick up the slack.

Henri saw their distress, and finally cut Jim off mid-sentence. "Alright, maybe you guys should go. We don't want to tire him out, right?"

Jim tried hard not to show his relief at the out. He was concerned, hell, he was petrified over what would happen to Rafe. But he didn't know how to handle him when he was like this. And that hurt. He stood from where he was perched on the side of Rafe's bed. "Alright, Rafe, we'll come back tomorrow for a while, huh?" He pasted a smile on his face.

As they turned to go, Rafe let out the first sound since he'd woken up, a faint whimpering.

Brown turned automatcially. "Rafe? What is it?"

The smile was still in place, though, and Rafe was just staring.

Brown sighed, his hopeful expression vanishing. "I'll walk you guys out."

Simon led the way out of the room, and Blair turned once they were all out, his mouth opened to make an apology.

Brown held up a hand. "You don't have to say anything. I know it's too much."

Jim frowned. "How long is he going to stay like this?"

"Maybe a day, maybe forever." Brown tried to hide the pain that thought caused with a shrug.

Simon clapped the detective on the shoulder. "Are you okay, Henri?"

"Simon, I just want him back. You know?"

"Yeah." Simon frowned over at Jim and Blair, then turned back to him. "Meanwhile, though, you look like shit. I'll come back here when my shift's over, and sit with him. You need to go home, take a shower, eat a real meal."

Brown wanted to protest, he really did, but his exhaustion showed through too plainly. "Alright."

"What's that?" Blair, closest to the door, turned suddenly.

Brown heard the noise too, and strode back into the room, followed quickly by his friends.

Rafe was still sitting there. The smile was still on his face. But the look in his eyes had changed, growing lucid, burning with desperate intensity. And he was clapping his hands.

Brown went over to him with a painful frown and tried to grip his hands to stop him. "Rafe-"

Rafe pulled his hands away with a childish noise of protest, and kept clapping rythmically.

Jim gasped in a breath suddenly. "Do you hear that?"

They turned to him questioningly, and for a moment there was only the sound of Rafe's hands.

Clap clap clap...Clap...Clap...Clap...Clap clap clap.

Over and over again.

Blair furrowed his eyebrows and turned to Jim. "What's wrong?"

"SOS." Jim said in a whisper.

Their eyes immediately went back to Rafe. He kept clapping, over and over again, filling the room with the morse cry of distress.

It broke their hearts, looking at the frozen smile and the awkward clapping, the sight of a man who had lost all control over himself, begging his friends for help in the only way he could.







"Brown! Get down!" Rafe shouted as he ran, bringing his gun up and aiming at the sniper on the roof.

Brown ducked automatically, just as the bullet struck the wall by his head. Dammit! Where the hell was the guy? "Rafe, where are you?"

There was no answer. God dammit! This whole case stunk, right from the beginning. Brown's young church friend, Marvin Charles, had been killed in his home. It appeared to be a race crime, usually something Simon wouldn't give to Brown and Rafe, just in case. But Jim was still in the hospital after his last case, and there was no one else.

But when the white supremacist group they were after had gotten wind of Brown's involvement, he'd become a target. His car had been targetted outside of his house one night, defaced with graffiti, windows shattered. It had scared him badly, but Rafe had come over in the middle of the night and taken his wife and son out of town to his uncle's house, where they would be safe. Now Brown was staying with Rafe, which had led to some strained tempers.

And now here they were, in a shootout with the majority of this group, and there was some damned sniper on a roof targetting Brown.

"Put the damn gun down!" He heard Rafe's shout from a distance.

A gunshot answered the shout.

"Damn!" Brown almost yelled himself in frustration as he got up and ran in a crouch around the corner of the building, trying to find his partner.

Rafe caught sight of him from his spot behind a car. "Brown, get the hell down!"

Henri kept going, spotting the man on the roof, seeing his rifle pointed his way.

There was a shot, and Brown froze, expecting the searing pain of his last battle wound to tear into him.

But no, the shot had been fired by Rafe, who was standing now, drawing the fire from the sniper by exposing himself and firing blindly.

"What are you doing?" Brown shouted.

"They're all after you, H! Get in the damned car and get out of here."

"You're kidding," Brown couldn't believe what he'd just heard.

"They won't kill me, man." Rafe twisted his way over to his partner, running in crooked lines to confuse the gun aimed at him. "I'm one of the master race, don't worry about me!"

"You're a cop, Rafe. They'll kill you in a minute."

Rafe growled in frustration, and changed course suddenly, racing into the building whose rooftop was housing the sniper.

Brown cursed under his breath and stood to follow him, but a shot skimmed past him, driving him back to the ground. "Shit!" he said out loud. "Shit! Rafe." He got to his feet and aimed the gun on to the third story roof.

But a moment later, the sniper spun around and vanished from his sight.

Taking a guess at what had distracted him, Brown cursed and raced towards the building, hoping against hope that the other gang members they were after had run. He banged through the door and saw a staircase to his side. Racing up, he kept his thoughts on his partner, hoping he hadn't done something too stupid.

Before he got to the roof, he heard the shouting.

"-the hell out of here, cop. This doesn't even concern you."

"You're god damned right it does. That's my partner you're shooting at."

"You really like trusting your life some nigger? You'll thank me for this, pal."

"I'm not in the habit of shooting people in cold blood, but use that word again and I'll claim temporary insanity. You know who my captain is, right? I'm sure he'll let it slide." Rafe was furious.

Brown paused by the opened doorway. Bursting out would draw Rafe's attention and put him in danger. He sidled out, his gun pointed right at the man aiming the rifle.

"You're outnumbered, ace. Put the damn gun down." He spoke calmly, to not surprise Rafe.

The rifle immediately pointed at him. "You shouldn't have come up here, nigger."

Rafe growled and started closing the distance between himself and Brown.

Brown couldn't say he was used to such utter hatred from someone else because of what he was, but he had been through it before, even at the academy. So he reacted more calmly. "Put the gun down. We've got you covered. More cops will be arriving any second now."

"Fuck you." The rifle came up, and his finger tightened on the trigger.

Brown saw Rafe from the corner of his eye, and to his surprise his partner kept moving, putting himself deliberately between the two men. "Rafe, get out of the way," Brown hissed.

Rafe didn't react, his gun never wavering. "All right. Let me tell you something about the guy behind me. He's a very good shot. You take aim, you've got me, man. But the second I fall, he's got you. You're dead, and all you've done is kill another white man." He lowered his gun slowly. "You wanna risk it?"

The man paused then. "What the hell is it to you, anyway?"

Rafe could have given a speech about his partner, told the man how much Brown was worth, how important he was to Rafe. But he didn't. He wouldn't share something like that with a piece of shit like this. So he simply said, "It's your call. Take your shot if you want."

The rifle was locked on his chest.

Rafe stood calmly, locking eyes with the man.

Brown couldn't believe what was happening. He quietly, very quietly, took a step to the side, just enough to get a clear shot at the man. Neither of the men noticed, their eyes glued to each other.

A spark lit the man's eye, and his finger closed on the trigger.

"No!" Brown aimed and fired, just as Rafe swept his own gun up, a blur of motion, and fired himself.

The two shots hit the man almost as one, and he fell, rifle clattering harmlessly to the ground.

Rafe lowered his gun slowly, frozen to the spot, not moving as Brown came up beside him. They stared at the dead man on the ground.

Brown glanced over at his partner's pale face. He felt a burst of affection for the man, fondness, and a flood of anger. "That was bad, man," he said quietly.

Rafe nodded slightly. "I think that life-passing-before-your-eyes think is a big crock," he said quietly.

Brown clapped him on the shoulder, his eyes going back to the man. "You know," he said conversationally. "I was aiming for his knee."

Rafe smiled slightly. "So was I."

The man was bleeding in two places, right between his eyes, and straight from the heart. But both men chose not to comment, turning and going side by side down the stairs to await the coming sirens.





Brown did feel better, he had to admit it. A few hours with Deborah and Cliff, a full meal, a shower, a quick nap, and he was a human being again.

He returned to the hospital with Deb and Cliff's full permission. He was keeping them away, at least while Rafe was still...well, incapacitated. But they were almost as worried as he was about Rafe.

He went down the darkened hallway with a sigh. Another long night, but he couldn't feel resentful about it. So many times through the years Rafe had been there for him. No, they had been there for each other. That's what partners were for, right?

Blair greeted him at the door. "Hi, Henri. Feel better?"

"Yeah," he said honestly. "What're you doing here?"

Jim came out after his roommate. "We came right after work."

"Is Simon-"

"Right here," Simon called from inside the room.

Henri went in, took in his sleeping partner, and then noticed the other people in the room.

Joel Taggert smiled wanly. "How you doing, H?"

"Hi, Joel," Brown smiled genuinelly. He hadn't seen Taggert or Rhonda for days.

She echoed the smile. "Can we do anything for you?"

"No thanks, I've got everything I need. Are you staying long?"

Joel frowned. "I can't. We have a training session tonight, the new demo boys."

"I can stay for a while," Rhonda smiled tightly.

Henri went over and took his seat by Rafe's side, looking out at his friends. "Thanks for coming, guys. I know he'd appreciate it."

"We wanted to be here," Joel stated firmly.

That being said, Brown turned to Rafe, keeping his eyes on his partner's closed eyes, and settled down to wait.





Rafe didn't wake up again until the morning. By then, everyone had left, Jim and Blair promising to return early before work.

When he woke up, Brown made sure he was the first thing Rafe saw. A bright smile on his face, he greeted his partner cheerfully. "Morning, pal. Good night?"

Rafe smiled automatically, but it was different this morning. The childish, blank look was gone, replaced by the strained, powerless look he'd had briefly the night before, when he'd tried to pass a message to his friends.

"Hey, that's no way to look. You're getting a vacation here, you should be enjoying it."

Rafe's hand went up suddenly, and touched Brown's mouth lightly. Brown shut up, wondering briefly what was going on in his partner's head.

Then Rafe's hand came down to his own mouth, and he shook his head slightly.

Brown felt a jerk in his chest. "Hey, it's okay. The doc says you maybe won't remember how to talk. You'll get it back, though. You understand what I'm saying?"

There was a pause- a long pause for Henri, who hid his hopes behind the casual question. Then he nodded slightly, his eyes glowing.

Henri grinned, feeling overwhelmed with sudden relief. "You understand! That's great, Rafe. You're gonna be fine, I know you are. The doc didn't even think you'd wake up. He didn't think you'd..." He trailed off, not sure if it was in Rafe's best interest to tell him how close to death he'd been.

Rafe sat up slowly, with Henri's help, and opened his mouth, trying to form a word. After a minute he gave up, shaking his head in frustration.

"Hey, it's okay. We could play charades," Brown grinned, then a thought occurred to him. "Do you think you could write?"

Rafe hesitated, then nodded slightly.

Brown jumped up automatically. "Be right back, partner." He raced out of the room to find something his partner could write with.

He ran right into Mitchel. "Hey, doc, you know where I could find a pen and paper? Rafe thinks he can write."

"He thinks... You mean you're communicating with him now?"

Brown grinned. "He can understand me."

"Listen, maybe I should do a few tests on Rafe. We don't want him to overload himself. Besides, we have proffessionals here who can help him recover, who've helped people like him."

Brown shook his head. "No way. He wants to talk to me, doc."

Mitchell raised his eyebrows. "Only to you?"

"Mostly to me. Just give me a couple of hours with him."

"I..." Mitchell paused. "I should say no, Mr. Brown. You realize that. But his recovery...it's almost too fast, it's shocking. And I get the strange feeling you might have something to do with that. So alright, take your few hours." He dug into his pocket, and pulled out a small pocket notebook and a stub of a pencil. "And good luck."

Brown grinned. "I owe you, doc."

Mitchell smiled slightly. "More than you know."

He went back to the room quickly, and beamed in at Rafe. "Found something. Here ya go." He put the notebook in his partner's hand.

Rafe took the pencil awkwardly, and stared down at the blank sheet for a moment.

Brown cursed suddenly in his head. What if he couldn't write? Brown shouldn't have acted like it was such a big deal-

No, Rafe gripped the pencil tightly and started writing, concentrating totally on the paper, his hand moving slowly.

Breathless, absolutely silent, Brown watched him. He watched the fierce concentration on his face, another twinge of regret coming to him. He never thought he'd see the day his partner, his best friend, would struggle to remember how to write.

Someone cleared their throat quietly behind him, and Brown jumped, turned to the door.

Blair and Jim stood there, looking in. "Is he writing?" Blair asked with a hopeful smile.

"He's trying," Henri confirmed. "He can understand me now, too."

Jim grinned into the room. "That's great!"

Rafe made a sound to get Brown's attention, and he held out the notpad, beaming proudly.

rafevanryj henribrown

Henri almost wanted to cry. He'd written their names. It had taken him five minutes, and the writing reminded him of the old grade school attempts his son had brought home. There were no capital letters and the words ran together messily. But he'd done it.

Blair came over and read the paper, and clapped a hand on Brown's shoulder. "He's gonna be okay, isn't he?" he looked over at Jim as he came and joined them by the bed.

Brown nodded, feeling a catch in his throat. He had to swallow twice before he felt safe to respond. "Yeah, I think he is." His voice caught anyway, and he blinked tearful eyes at his partner's smiling face.

Rafe's smile faded into concern, and he reached over to wipe a tear of Brown's face.

The simple gesture, on top of everything else, was too much for the man. Henri stopped caring that Jim and Blair were in the room, and stopped caring that he was a tough guy, a cop, and tough guys don't cry.

He bawled like a baby.





pleas tellDeb thanks forthe flowers

Brown took the small, sloppy note to his wife himself, Jim and Blair keeping Rafe company during his physical therapy session.

She burst into tears when she read it. "God, Henri, he's bad, isn't he?"

"Shhh. It's not as bad as it seems. Doc Mitchell says he's a miracle already. It's only been a week, and he's almost walking on his own. He seems to remember how to do everything, just slowly. He's still not talking, but that'll come. Simon's already talking about when he's going to come back to work."

She pulled back, looking at him in concern. "Isn't that dangerous?"

Henri frowned. "It's the only thing Rafe talks about. Well, writes about. He always wants to know what's going on at the station. The only time he's really happy is when the guys are there."

She sniffed. "Does he have any family? Anyone else to visit him?"

"Not really." Henri smiled slightly. "You know what Rafe told me the other day? You remember when we first started to work together?"

"As well as I remember anything else that happened three years ago," she replied quietly.

"Well, I had the feeling his name was familiar, right? And he said something once about hoping I hadn't remembered...well, that's all he said. He never did tell me what it was I was supposed to have been remembering. Not until the other day. I woke up, and he had like three sheets of paper full for me to read. And he reminded me."





Brown hated the uniform. Funny how uncomfortable it was. Hadn't looked that bad on the cops he'd seen all his life. If he had known they were all suffering through this hot fabric and constricting design, he wouldn't have blamed them for seeming pissed off all the time.

He also hated the cruiser. He wanted to ride in his own car. And with anyone but this woman by his side.

Ashley Davidson had a chip on her shoulder so large he was surprised she fit in the car. She had gone through a lot at the academy, one of only two women in her class. But she had come at Henri the wrong way when they were first assigned, telling him right off that he should keep his hands and his jokes to his damned self. Which suited him fine- he was married, not that she stopped to find that out.

And then, just to make the day worse, they were going out on some domestic dispute in a part of town whose residents were best described as po' white trash. Not where he wanted to be.

They pulled up to the small, ragged house and climbed out. Brown took a look around the neighborhood. Po white trash. Ugh. And now he had to sit through an hour of some husband and wife shouting at each other about his being out late, or drinking all the beer, or something stupid like that.

And then a gunshot rang out.

Henri immediately ran to the house, followed by Davidson, both drawing their guns. He pounded on the door, hard. "Police! Open the door!"

The door was swung open by a small girl, looking teary-eyed.

Davidson immediately softened, and exchanged a look with Henri. She pulled the girl to her, letting him move past into the house. She whispered a quick comforting word to her before following him.

The living room as trashed, but Henri couldn't have guessed how much of that wasn't attypical in this dark, dirty house.

A woman came out of the small hallway across from them, holding a gun loosely in her hand.

Brown immediately aimed at her. "Put it down, lady. What's going on here?"

She dropped the gun obediently. "I shot him. Arrest me, go ahead."

"Shot who? Why don't you tell me what's happened here?"

She came over slowly, and Brown realized she was staggering slightly. Drunk. At ten in the morning. Jesus Christ.

Davidson came to his side. "I'll talk to her, get an ambulance over her. Why don't you check out the rest of the house?"

Brown nodded tersely, moving past the glassy-eyed woman and down the hallway.

A groan quickly alerted him, and he followed the sound into a small bedroom, where a man was on the ground, hands clasped to his side, doubled over.

Henri went over to him. "Hey, mister, we got an ambulance coming, you're gonna be okay."

"She shot me," the man gritted out. "The bitch shot me. I want her arrested, damn it."

"We're arresting her, don't worry about that. Just stay calm, alright?"

"Bitch," the man groaned out once more before relaxing.

Brown shook his head to himself, thanking God for Debbie and their child. A happy family. Why would anyone let themselves sink down to this?

A sound behind him distracted Brown, and he turned to see a young man standing there. Probably nineteen years old, dressed in old jeans and a faded t-shirt, looking down at the man on the ground in horror.

Brown stood and went over to him. "Hey, don't worry. Your dad's going to be alright."

The young man shook his head, his eyes glittering with some kind of a strange light. He backed up, and went out towards the living room.

Brown wanted to follow, but he had this man to watch over.

Once the ambulance arrived, and the man was safely on his way to be patched up, Brown was free to interview the family.

The woman was still calm, drunkenly telling her story to Davidson. Something about him quitting his last job, his fifth that month, Henri didn't pay close attention. He stayed with the kids- there were four in all. The oldest was the young man he'd seen before, the youngest the four year old girl.

The young man stayed sullenly silent, looking around the house, at the other kids, like he'd never seen them before, shaking his head silently every now and then, Lord knew what kind of thoughts going through his head.

"Brown, we're ready to take Mrs. van Ryj to the station. You through here?"

Henri nodded. Not much interviewing to do when they had a full confession. "Social services here yet?"

"Just got here. We're free to go. And if you don't mind, I'd like to get the hell out of this dump."

Brown saw the younger man's eyes narrow at her as she spoke, but the kid didn't say anything. Brown debated saying something to the children before leaving, but the man from social services came in then and went over to them.

He left, briefly debating whether or not to look into this whole situation more, find out who these people were.

No. They were just another poverty-ruined family, it was becoming too common lately. Poor kids.

Brown forgot about it soon enough, promoted, moved to Major Crimes, never looking back at what he considered the dirties part of his life on the force.





"I never even thought about it. I mean, who would have looked at the detective in the snazzy clothes and seen that poor, bitter kid? He wrote that he was always too embarrassed to remind me, he's tried for the last seven years to forget about his family. He doesn't really even know where they are now. His brothers and sisters were sent to other families, his parents are probably back together and shooting each other up. It's a cycle in places like that."

Deb was quiet, listening to his story in shock. "He's never even hinted..."

"No. But he knew me the minute he first saw me." Henri smiled ruefully. "Who would have thought..." he shook his head.

Deb sighed and curled herself around her husband. "When are you going back?"

"Not until tomorrow. I have to get back to work. It's been a week. I talked to Rafe, he's fine with it."





Rafe threw the pad across the room, his eyes watering in frustration. Henri would know what he wanted. Henri wouldn't be squinting at his writing and trying to read it like it was a foreign language.

The nurse backed off a step. "I'll go get your doctor, Mr. van Ryj." She ducked out of the room quickly.

He sat for a moment, sulking, before he stood slowly and walked stiffly, carefully, across the room to pick up the notebook. He couldn't lose that. It was his only link to the world outside of his head.

"Hey, Rafe, you alright? The nurse left in kind of a rush."

Rafe turned. Blair. He knew the man, he wanted to be able to open his mouth and greet him like any normal person. But he couldn't. It wasn't even worth writing down. God dammit.

Blair saw the tears in his eyes and came forward, his smile fading. "What's wrong, buddy?"

That was something else. It was unconscious- he knew that, but everyone talking to him like a child. Only Henri didn't do it. It was humiliating, and on top of the other humiliations, it was starting to wear his nerves thin. So he ignored the Observer, going back to his bed slowly. His legs seemed to lock halfway across the room, though, and he stood, trying to figure out how to get them moving again.

Blair came to his side. "Hey, you alright? You need some help?"

Rafe shoved him away angrily, and lifted one foot carefully, sliding it forward. There. Left, then right. Easy.

Blair watched him make his way to the bed, and let him sit himself before going over. "Rafe. You have to let people help you. It's nothing to be embarrassed about. You've been through a lot."

Rafe glared up at him, his eyes bright. He lifted the notepad and focussed on it, starting to write. He was shaking, though, and the pencil lead snapped on the paper.

Rafe felt a surge of panic. No lead. No lead, no writing. He was gone, he had no way to talk. He would stop existing, he wouldn't matter.

When the weak man started trembling, Blair hesitated. If this was Jim, he would...damn it, where was Brown? "Rafe? It's okay. We can get you another pencil, alright?"

Rafe looked up at the concerned student, and made a small, impotent noise. How could Blair know, how could he imagine the helplessness, the absolute loss of control? How could he know how infuriating it was to not be able to form a single damned word? Where was Henri? He needed Henri.

Blair sat down beside him, his eyes going to the wall. "What should I do, Rafe?" he asked, quiet, almost more to himself than to the other man. "What can anyone do to help you?"

There was a pause.

"..e..ri."

Blair shook his head. Now he was hearing things.

"-en..enri."

"What?" Blair faced the other man in disbelief. "Did you say...you want Henri? Is that it, Rafe?"

The other man nodded, wonder shining in his eyes.

"Hang on, I'll call him." Blair bolted out of the room, excitement spurring his movements.

Rafe stared after him. How had he done that? No, more important, could he do it again? He tried, focusing on his mouth, forming it into the familar shape that would bring out his partner's name. "-enri. Enri." Close. Not perfect, but close.

He blinked away tears. He said it! He said his partner's name! He wished Blair would come back, anyone would. No, Blair. He had to say something to Blair.

The Observer came running back in a minute later. "Henri's on his way, Rafe. He'll be here in five minutes." He beamed at the other man. "Doctor Mitchell is going to lay an egg! He's already talking about writing a paper about you."

Rafe grabbed Blair's hand, his eyes burning with urgency. He concentrated fiercely on forming his mouth into the right shape, moving his jaws. He got out a sound, but it wasn't close to what he wanted.

"Hey, It's alright. He's coming."

Rafe shook his head quickly. He pointed at Blair firmly.

"You want to say something to me?"

Rafe nodded, and was quiet for a minute, thinking.

Blair looked down at the notebook clutched tightly in Rafe's hand, and debated telling Rafe to write it down. No, he guessed Rafe wanted to do this, that's why he wasn't writing. Same way he wanted to walk on his own. And Blair should-

"Urry."

-let him do..."What?"

Rafe frowned. "Orry."

Blair shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry, I don't know what you're saying." He almost wanted to cry, watching Rafe try so hard.

Rafe nodded and gripped his arm tighter, pointing to Blair's mouth. "...orry."

Blair was quiet for a minute. "Sorry?" he suggested.

Rafe nodded, relaxing finally.

"You're apologizing?" Blair felt like the biggest piece of dirt on the face of the earth. "Why would you apologize to me?"

Rafe sucked in a breath, his eyes shutting briefly as he thought. He pointed at himself. "Maaad." he stretched out with difficulty.

"You got mad. Rafe, you don't have to apoligize for that. I think we're all mad about what happened." Blair blinked watering eyes down at the bed, taking his eyes off Rafe's open face. "God, this whole thing was my stupid fault." He felt a tug on his arm, but he brushed Rafe off. "Yes, it was my fault. That damn train. My stupid jeans got caught, you were trying to save me. That's why you were hurt. You should have let me-"

Rafe clamped a hand over Blair's mouth, and the student finally raised his eyes to look at the ailing man. Rafe was glaring more fiercely than he had before, shaking his head hard. He opened his mouth, but shut it after a moment, wanting to say too much at once. He gripped the notepad, but remembered the broken pencil and dropped it in frustration. He looked around the room, desperate for some way to communicate with the guilty observer.

Blair saw his distress, and felt that much worse. "I'm sorry," he whispered again.

Rafe jerked his eyes back to him, and growled at his own inability. Suddenly he reached out and grabbed Blair, wrapping him in a strong hug.

Blair, taken by surprise, took a moment to relax. He felt Rafe's arms on his back, and blinked back tears. How could Rafe be so forgiving? How could he...but he was, and Blair didn't know how to handle it. He sniffed, returning the hug hard.

"Am I interrupting?" a cheerful voice asked from the door.

Blair broke away from Rafe, turning to see Henri in the door. "Hi, Henri."

"What's up, Blair? Why the call?"

Blair grinned. He hadn't wanted to spoil the surprise for Rafe. He turned back to the wounded man.

Rafe smiled as he realized what Blair was waiting for. He faced his partner and grinned. "Enri," he said happily.

Brown's mouth dropped open, and he came in to the room, going to his partner and gripping him on the shoulder. "Did you just say-"

"Enri," Rafe chirped again.

Henri shook his head with a smile and took Rafe by surprise by leaning down and grabbing him in a hug. "God, partner, that's the greatest thing I've ever heard."

Rafe laughed quietly.

"I think I'll let you two guys talk." Blair stood and headed for the door.

"Bair." Rafe stood slowly, and stumbled his way to the Observer.

Blair saw the look in his eyes, the stern, concerned look, and he smiled. "I'm fine, Rafe. Don't worry about me."

Rafe pointed at himself.

Blair grinned. "Yeah, I guess you're fine too, huh?"

He nodded happily



Rafe rode the elevator nervously, hoping he wasn't making a mistake. Simon had told Brown that Rafe should come in at the end of the week. It was only Tuesday, but he'd been out of the hospital for days, and figured he might as well be sitting on his butt at the station, getting paid. There was always paperwork, and he could type on a keyboard better than he could write right now.

The doors opened and he stepped out, looking around at the full office. Darn, he'd been hoping they would be out. It was midday, lunch time, what were they all doing-

"Rafe!" Brown leaped out of his seat and made a beeline for his partner. "What're you doing here?"

Rafe shrugged. "Got bored." He still spoke slowly, still had to think about it sometimes. But he was determined to return to work. "Talk to Simon?"

"Sure, come on." Brown led him over to Simon's office, past Blair and Jim's broad grins, past Joel and Rhonda's wondering eyes. He knocked on the door. "Simon?"

"What?" Simon barked out, not breaking flow from his conversation on the phone.

Brown grinned back at Rafe, and opened the door, letting Rafe go in first.

Simon looked up when no one said anything, and his mouth fell open. "Oh my God."

Rafe chuckled. "Hi, Captain. I was hoping you...you would have something...for me to do."

Simon hung the phone up without a word to the person on the other side, and leaped out of his chair. "Are you...I mean, damn. Son, you look good!"

Rafe looked down at himself modestly. "New suit," he said with a shrug.

Simon grinned. "We've missed you around here."

"I missed it." Rafe confirmed.

"Alright. Go on out there and get to work." Simon gestured to the door grandly.

Rafe sighed. "Thanks, Simon," he replied sincerely.