Eye of the Beholder
by Lucy

This story deals with rape

It was ridiculous. The whole thing. Positively ludicrous.

Detective Rafe van Ryj gazed around the room, holding his drink, smiling in case the woman who'd been talking at him for the last ten minutes actually paused to take a breath and look to see if he was still listening.

He wasn't, of course. He was having a hard enough time hiding his thoughts about what was going on in this room.

Art openings had always been absurd to Rafe. He'd been to quite a few of them in the last few years, and they always struck him as artificial and pointless. Some new artist with sculptures that tried so hard to look like nothing that the something they looked like in the end was incredibly unappealing, tries to meet the rich patrons of the city and fakes enough eccencity that the rich folks, who really ought to have known better, snatched up the hunks of metal, just for the novelty of it.

That people had this much money, so much they actually needed something to waste it on, struck Rafe as being incredibly sad, and almost infuriating.

"-and with abstract art hitting it's peak in the early nineties, we have to delve into new realms, into deeper meanings. And I think that's what the artist has captured here, don't you, Mr. van Ryj? The solemn aura of the piece conflicts with the quality of the workmanship at the base, contrasting the viewer with feelings of both incredible joy and the overwhelming fruitlessness of life. And further, the changing sharpness of the edges seems to represent hidden sharpness in the souls of all people. And if you study the..."

Blah blah blah. Rafe let the woman go on, casting only a brief glance at the piece in question, which looked like the artist started making a pot and it flopped over while it was still wet.

Geez. Rafe himself could ruin basic arts and crafts and put a ten thousand dollar price tag on it. But that would mean going to his own openings, and Rafe was already about to drop dead of boredom.

Only thing that made the night better was watching how his fellow detectives were dealing with it.

It wasn't a security detail, per se. But the mayor himself had expressed a deep interest in the flake whose works were being shown, and when the gallery had received a few threatening letters about that night, good ole mister mayor had demanded some cops attend. And Simon's department had drawn the short straw.

There were Jim and Blair, both dressed in rented tuxes, standing together and in animated conversation about a grate with a half-torn metal frame. Jim was disgusted, and Blair obviously trying to convince his friend of the worth of expressionism in the piece.

Rafe debated going over and telling them that the light fixture above their heads had actually broken, and they were debating the merits of garbage someone had accidently left in the corner. But he didn't. Instead he made a bet with himself about whether they would figure it out for themselves.

Brown was in his own rented monkey suit, over by the wine, taking small, surruptitous sips when Simon wasn't looking. He had stuck by Rafe's side for a while, until it became apparent that Rafe was attracting boring people with endless lines of patter about art, and he had broken out on his own, heading for the refreshments.

Joel and Simon were together, standing on the edge of the room, looking like they were actually scoping out the crowd. Doing police-type work. Go figure.

Rafe was the only one of the group that blended in perfectly. He was the only one who owned his own incredibly top-of-the-line black-tie wear, and he was able to flit in and out of the crowds and conversations with the same airy self-assurance as the rich stiffs in the room. That attracted the people to him, especially, he noted without surprise, the older women, who were probably either widowed or seeking part-time company.

Such was the woman who now stood gesturing grandly at the pot in front of them. "And what's your opinion, Mr. van Ryj?"

Rafe smiled easily, charm dripping off of him. "Mrs. Vanderbilt, you have captured my reflections of the work perfectly. I couldn't hope to add to your concise analysis."

She smiled in pleasure. "I am but a dabbler in art." She tried for modesty and failed miserably. "What is it that you do, Mr. van Ryj?"

"Please, madam, Rafe."

"Rafe. You must call me Gloria."

Rafe smiled at the predictability of the gigolo-seeking woman. "Gloria. I'm a cop."

She blinked. "A...a police officer?"

"Yes."

She clucked. "What a shame. Someone with your obvious taste and style should be nothing less than a...well, you know there are men that don't do anything for a living. The benifits of having a bit of money. I could see you simply enjoying life, not working for it. Does that idea appeal to you?"

That was as close to a direct proposition as Rafe had heard in a while. "I enjoy what I do, Gloria."

"Pity."

"Excuse me, ma'am. Uh, Rafe, Simon wants to see us for a few."

Rafe let Jim take him away with an apoligetic smile.

"You enjoying yourself?" Jim asked quietly, grumpy.

"Sure I am. I was just offered a life of comfort and luxury by the old bag back there. It's a hoot."

Jim shot him a dark look, and then they were by Simon.

"What's up, Cap?"

"We've been here over two hours. you guys see anything funny?"

"Funny? I could start you a list."

"You know what I mean, Jim."

"Nothing suspicious, sir. but I don't really know what to look for. What's out of place at a shindig like this?"

"I've been to these before, Simon. This one's standard. Nothing out of place."

"Alright," Simon sighed. "I'm tired of wasting our time here, but we can't all leave. Which one of you wants to tell your partner you have to hang around?"

"Rafe's in." Jim said quickly. "He's having fun, let him and Brown stay."

"You better not have just said what I just heard, Ellison." Henri Brown came up behind Simon.

Simon glanced over at Blair, who was now in conversation with an older man dressed in garishly tacky colors. The artist? "Fine, we'll let Sandburg stay, he's enjoying himself. Rafe can drive him home."

"Whoa. Simon, you know that idea stinks, don't you?"

"Oh, Jim, stop mothering the kid for one night. What the hell's gonna happen here?"

"Yeah, don't worry about it, Jim. I'll watch the kid."

Jim looked over at Blair, who did look like he was enjoying himself, then over at Brown's hopeful face. "Yeah, I guess so. But Rafe, you get him home before two."

"Blair has a curfew?" Rafe grinned.



Jim ignored him, going to the side of his partner and pulling him away from the artist to talk quietly. Blair seemed surprised, but glanced over at Rafe and tossed him an easy thumbs-up.

Rafe grinned and turned back to Simon and Brown. "I guess you win. Get out of here already."

Nothing short of relief coated Brown's features. "You know I'd stick by you, Rafe, but..."

"Yeah yeah. No problem. At least Blair makes an attempt to mingle."

Brown snorted. "Please. The kid could amuse himself anywhere if he had to."

"You should get tips, oh grumpy one."

"Alright, alright. Can it. Brown, get Joel and let's get the hell out of here."

Rafe watched them go with a grin, and turned back to face the room. Well, he was stuck here. Another few hours, then he could go. Maybe Blair would stick with him, help him fend off the old women.

Blair, as though reading his mind, worked his way through the mingling groups and up to Rafe. "So it's just us?"

"Yeah. Let's stick together, huh?"

Blair nodded with a grimace. "Some woman over there asked me if I'd ever seen the inside of a four story mansion."

Rafe laughed. "So you're fitting in nicely. Come on, let's get a drink."

Jim wasn't sleeping. He was staring at the ceiling, waiting for the door downstairs to open and let in his Guide.

It was horrible, being so worried about another person. He hated to admit that he was so reliant on Blair, and so paranoid about the younger man, that he couldn't sleep when Blair was gone. But that's the way it was. And the only way to change it was to get rid of Blair, so there was no way to change it.

He was humming to himself aimlessly, debating whether or not to just get up and go watch some late late movie when the phone downstairs rang.

Immediately paranoid, Jim jumped up and headed downstairs, getting to the phone on the third ring. "Ellison."

"Jim?"

"Henri? What's up?"

"Rafe dropped off Hairboy yet?"

Jim frowned at the phone. "Not yet. But I gave him until two. Why?"

"Rafe told me he wouldn't put up with the party past one, no matter what Simon said."

Jim glanced at his watch. One thirty. "Huh. Maybe Blair talked him into staying longer."

"Maybe." Brown was unconvinced.

"Look, I'm gonna give them another half hour to show up, and I'll call you."

"Thanks, Jim. You weren't asleep?"

"Were you?" Jim asked with a rueful smile. He knew very well Rafe and Brown were very close, and H would have just as hard a time as Jim sleeping if he was unsure of Rafe's safety.

"Huh. Alright, call me back."

"Sure thing." Jim hung up the phone and settled down on the couch with a sigh. He considered reaching for the remote, but his eyes found his watch and he looked at the minute hand as it slowly crept its way to the next number.

And didn't pull himself out of the zone-out until the sharp ring of the phone broke into his mind sharply.

He blinked, realizing what must have happened with a slight curse. He really needed to get some sleep if he was zoning on his watch.

"Ellison."

"Jim? What's going on over there, man?" It was Brown again.



Jim immediately looked back at his watch, just a glance. Two thirty. "Shit. Sorry. I...must have fallen asleep."

"They aren't there, are they?"

Jim reached out with a sudden twist in his gut and listened for the other heartbeat.

Not there.

"No, they aren't," he said darkly, standing up.

"What's the move?"

"Meet you back at the gallery?"

"Ten minutes." Brown hung up his line quickly.

Jim, still fully dressed, hung up, grabbed his keys, and went out the door in a rush.





He heard the sirens minutes before he reached the gallery, and his heart was jumping into his throat with every beat by the time he pulled up.

There were police cars all over the place, four different ambulances sitting there, firemen.

And a few scattered, formally-dressed people being interviewed by policemen.

Jim jumped out of his car, flashing his badge at the man at the door to the gallery and racing in without a pause.

And stopped in the doorway, frozen.

The place was exactly how he had left it, only...redder.

He turned down his smell before the coppery odor could overwhelm him. There was red everywhere, spurts on the wall, pools on the floor. There were bodies, under sheets, being examined by uniformed medics and cops. Outlines being drawn.

Jim felt his knees going weak, but he kept himself together, going up to a man he recognized from the homicide department. "Hey, John. What happened here?"

"Some maniacs came in and shot up the place. Took out about ten innocent people."

"Shit." Jim caught his breath. Shit. "My partner was here. You seen him...anywhere?" Not under the sheets. Please don't let him be under the sheets.

"Sandburg? No, haven't seen him."

"You know Rafe from my office?"

"The yuppie? Sure." He saw Jim's look. "Not here either."

Could they have left? Just in time?

No. Not with Sandburg involved.

So where the hell were they?

"Jim?!?" Henri Brown's horrified voice broke into Jim's frightened rush of thoughts.

Jim turned and saw him standing there, staring at the sheet-covered bodies. "H, Rafe isn't here. Him or Blair."

"You think they got out?" Henri's voice was as dubious as Jim's thoughts had been.

"We have to find a witness. We have to talk to someone." Jim went out the door, away from the blood, and started over to the huddled group of well-dressed art fans.





There had been six or seven of them. They had come in suddenly, towards the end of the night when most people were already gone. And just started shooting. Only one of them wasn't armed. He had come right into the room and up to one woman in the group, grabbing her and dragging her towards the door.

Two men, they must have been police, went after them. One of them was shot, the witnesses were all sure. The long-haired one, the one who hadn't looked like a cop. The other cop had started shooting back, but the men overpowered them and took off, taking the woman and the cops with them. No one had seen which way they went.



The different statements clouded together in Jim's head. Blair had been shot, and then grabbed. He was being held by a bunch of men who were vicious enough to shoot up a room full of innocent people. He had already been shot. He could be bleeding to death. He could already have died. The men could have killed him.

No one knew who the men were, and no one seemed to know the woman who'd been grabbed. The artist and the owner of the gallery had both been killed in the shooting, which looked deliberate.

Blair was gone. Taken by killers for no obvious reason. Wounded.

Rafe was gone. Taken along with Blair. And some strange woman.

And there was no sign of the smallest clue to tell Jim where to start looking.





Rafe awoke with a pounding headache, and his first thought was to wonder whether he'd gotten completely sauced at the gallery the night before.

It hit him rapidly, though. The gunmen coming in, the innocent crowds being mowed down. A woman grabbed, Rafe starting after them. A bullet fired somewhere behind him. Blair going down.

He had turned to help his friend, and a sudden pain in the back of his head had brought the darkness.

Blair was down.

Rafe's eyes flew open, and he looked to his side. Blair was sprawled on the ground next to him in the dark room, his face pale, his stomach had been loosely bandaged, but blood was still pooling on the ground under him.

Rafe sat up with a jerk, and took a moment to swallow the nausea the sudden movement caused. He scooted himself to his friend's side. "Blair?"

"Are you alright?"

Rafe's face jerked up, and he looked behind him. That woman, the one they had grabbed, sat huddled in the corned of the room. She was young, maybe twenty-one, and gazed at him with an air of cool self-assurance. "You...how long have you...he's bleeding to death. Why didn't you help?"

"I tried. I'm afraid I don't know much about bandaging wounds." She spoke with a lack of emotion that dug into Rafe's nerves.

He didn't comment, turning back to Blair and lifting the bandages on him carefully. "Shit!" He took in the bloody gash with a mix of relief and concern. It could have been worse -- Blair seemed to have been winged. But the wound was still bleeding profusely.

There was a noise to his side, and a door opened, shedding more light into the dim room. "Alright, lady, let's go."

The woman in the corner stood quietly and headed for the door without a word.

"Wait a minute." Rafe squinted, trying to make out the man at the door. "My friend is bleeding to death. He needs a doctor."

The man gave a snort. "Yeah, sure. We'll call an ambulance."

"At least give me something to band-"

The door was shut, the woman gone.

Rafe let out a vehement oath and turned back to Blair. He was confused, angry, and rapidly growing frustrated. But he set his feelings aside, trying to think of a way to keep his friend from dying right in front of him.







Jim laughed at every one of Simon's suggestions that he go home and go to sleep. But the captain didn't let up.

"Look, Jim, go home for a few hours. We're not getting anywhere right now."

Jim shook his head, eyes on the witness statements on the desk. "Forget it, Simon. Blair's gonna need-"

Simon's hand came down suddenly, covering the papers on the desk. He waited until Jim looked up at him finally. "Jim. We've been reading these things for hours. None of the witnesses gave a good enough description of any of those men for a proper ID, and you didn't pick up anything at the crime scene that could help. You're tired, and if you zone out there's no Guide here to bring you back. So go home and get some shut-eye before you collapse."

"I can go back to the gallery, look around for something I might have missed-"

"Jim. Tomorrow you can come back and work for another straight forty-eight hours, but for now you're leaving. Don't make me have to fire you."

Jim allowed himself a small smile. "Empty threat."

"Maybe. But I don't want you sitting here long enough to figure out for sure. Get the hell out of here."

Jim let out a slow breath, and stood. His legs were almost numb, and he realized with a start that he'd been sitting there for hours without moving. He saw the jacket in Simon's hand. "You leaving too?"

Simon nodded tiredly. "For a while, and Brown's been ordered home. Joel's gonna have to cover the investigation for tonight. That's the way it has to be."

Jim glanced over at Henri Brown. The man's characteristic relaxed slouch was gone, replaced by a nervous stiffness and a grim, set face. He was reading over one of the statements even as he was putting on his coat.

Jim reached down finally and pulled his own coat from the back of his chair. He stopped suddenly and looked up at Simon. "Daryl staying with you right now?"

"Not until Friday." Simon studied his friend. "Why do you ask?"

Jim hesitated. "Well, I thought...it's just hard to..."

Simon's voice was gentle. "What is it, Jim?" Jim didn't respond. "You don't want to go home by yourself? I hope that's what it is, cause I was planning on tagging along with you anyway."

"Were you?" Jim met his captain's eyes, his own expression shielded.

"Yeah." Simon replied gruffly. "Someone's got to keep you from zoning on your toothbrush. Besides, if we're together we can get started that much earlier tomorrow."

Jim gave another small, tired smile. "Thanks, Simon," he said sincerely.

"Brown, I've given orders not to let you in the door until ten tomorrow, so don't even try to disobey me by coming earlier."

Brown shot them a look, gave a small nod, and headed stiffly for the elevator alone.

Jim glanced over at Simon. "Let's get out of here, huh?"

Simon set a hand on his friend's shoulder. "We'll get a break, Jim. Tomorrow."

Jim didn't bother reminding the captain that a break tomorrow would be no good at all if Blair died tonight.





"Blair? Come on, man, stay with me here."

"...s'cold in ere."

"Hey, I know. I know it's cold. Just stay awake for a while longer. I promise, we'll get you someplace warm soon." Rafe swallowed his frustrated anger and soothed the student.

"...Jim?"

"It's Rafe. Jim's on his way, Blair." Jim had better god damned well be on his way. "Everything's gonna be fine."

"Rafe...my stomach hurts..."

Rafe shut his eyes briefly. They went through this every time Blair woke up. "I know. But you're gonna be okay, Blair. Really."

The young man squinted up at him, then gave a quiet, pained chuckle. "Rafe...not wearing anything."

Rafe smiled brightly. He didn't know where he pulled that smile from, but he did, for Blair's sake. "Yeah. Go figure."

Blair's eyes shut, then opened halfway. "Tired."

Rafe swallowed. "Maybe you should sleep for a while." He spoke quietly. "Just promise to wake up in the morning."

"Deal." Blair's eyes shut, this time for good. Until the morning, anyway. Hopefully.

Rafe sat back, his smile vanishing. He settled in his usual spot, down by Blair's side, holding his white dress shirt, long ago coated with red, against Blair's side. His dress jacket was slung over Blair's shoulders to keep the student warm in the chilly room. Bare-chested, Rafe was freezing. He was also hungry, and his throat felt like a desert. But he didn't even notice, concentrating on Blair totally. He couldn't let the student die. Blair wasn't a cop, he wasn't supposed to go out like this.

Breaking the silence, the door suddenly opened and the woman walked in. Rafe watched carefully what was becoming a routine. This was the third time they'd taken her out in the time since they'd been there. They would take her for a few hours, bring her back, never speaking a word. She would go to her corner and try and sleep, never responding to Rafe's queries.

He wasn't about to let this one go quietly, though. He jerked stiffly to his feet. "Wait a minute. You have to get a doctor for my friend. He's not gonna last another two days."

The two men stopped in the middle of shutting the door and glanced at each other, remarkably unconcerned. "You mean he's still alive?"

"Look, what is it you men want? He can't incriminate you, he's been unconscious this whole time. Just drop him somewhere he can be found. Please."

"And what do we get out of it?"

"What do you want?" Rafe asked desperately. "Tell me what I can do."

The first man smirked. "We'll think about it." He spoke in a tone that told Rafe they would think about it for a couple of minutes before ignoring the request.

The door was shut.

Rafe, angry, wheeled to the woman, who was settling back in her corner. "What do they want? What do they keep taking you for?"

She looked up at him slowly, and didn't reply.

"No, you're not gonna be quiet this time. Tell me what they want."

"I don't know what to say, officer. I don't know anything that could help."

"Look, my friend is bleeding to death. If he dies because I couldn't think of a way to help him..." Rafe trailed off, his distress shutting his mind down.

She gazed at him impassively. "They are holding me for ransom. I believe they only took you to insure their escape would be successful."

"So they don't care if he dies. Great." Rafe wanted to cry out of rage, but he didn't. He turned and went back to Blair's side, his hand going back to the shirt, holding it in place. That was his position. His life, now. Holding that shirt in place, maing sure Blair didn't bleed to death right in front of him. he should get some sleep, he supposed. But if he let go long enough, Blair would die. And he couldn't let that happen.

Jim would kill him.

The thought almost made Rafe laugh.

He was getting hysterical, that wasn't good. He tried to calm himself, lifting the shirt gingerly to examine Blair's wound. he saw bits of dirt from the ground sticking to the blood, and winced. "Gonna get infected," he said to himself. The thought grounded him finally. "They feeding you out there?" he asked, not even turning to her.

"They haven't yet."

"Figures."

As if hearing the words, the door cracked open, and one of the men strolled in, setting two cups down in front of the woman. "Don't want you to starve to death before we get out money." He left, ignoring Rafe completely.

The woman looked down at the cups for a long moment, then suddenly stood stiffly, lifting one cup and going to Rafe's side. She kneeled down on the other side of Blair's sleeping form, and carefully peeled back the shirt, taking her first look at Blair's injury. She gave a small gasp, and swallowed. "I'm sorry I didn't do more for him."

It took Rafe a minute to figure out she was talking about when he had first awakened in that cell days ago and accused her of letting Blair bleed. "Wouldn't have helped one way or the other. We need a clean rag. We need a damn doctor."

She was quiet for a moment, then reached up slowly, and hesitantly pulled off her own relatively clean blouse. Rafe turned questioning eyes to her, and watched as she dipped the edge of the fabric in the water and started awkwardly cleaning Blair's wound.

"Here, let me." Rafe took the shirt gently out of her hand, then the water. He studied the cup for a moment, ignoring his own parched throat, and slowly, carefully poured the contents over Blair's wound, washing away most of the dried blood around the injury. He started cleaning around it carefully, watching the sleeping face for any sign of consciousness returning to the student.

The woman watched him for a moment, then stood, hands going to her bare arms, hugging herself in the chilly room. She went slowly over to the other cup and picked it up. Some kind of thin stew.

She brought it over to Rafe. "Would you like some?"

Rafe blinked up at her. "In a minute." He finished what little he could do for Blair, then tied the blouse around Blair's waist, positioning it so it covered the wound tightly. He'd stopped bleeding, that was good.

He then turned to the woman and took the cup she still held out. He took a quick swallow of the stew.

Oh, God. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until the food his his mouth. With a regretful sigh, he handed the cup back to the woman. The small amount had done nothing but make his stomach growl more earnestly.

She took a few small sips, and the same reluctant look appeared on her face as she stretched it back out to Rafe. "Will he wake up again?"

Rafe looked down at Blair. "Hopefully."

"Good. He'll be hungry." She waited until Rafe took the cup, and moved again, going to her small corner and settling there, her eyes going to face the wall opposite her.

Suddenly a million questions went through Rafe's head. He didn't even know this woman's name.

But a sudden, sleepy word broke into his thoughts. "...Jim?"

Questions forgotten, he turned back to Blair. His hand went to the sweaty forehead, and he winced at the heat coming off the young man. His fever was getting steadily worse.

"Shhh. It's alright, Blair. Everything's gonna be okay."

Blair's head fell limply to one side, and his ragged breathing grew steady again.

Rafe sighed, his hand going to the make-shift bandage, pressing it carefully to Blair's wound.

Something had to happen, soon. Or Blair would die in front of Rafe's eyes.





Ten million dollars for Katrina Rosenburg.

It was absurd. It was cliched in every sense of the word, and it was the only clue they had to go on.

Absurd because Katrina Rosenberg's father had been killed at the art gallery, deliberately. And now his money was locked up legally until Katrina appeared to claim her inheritence.

A nice inheritence it was, too. Ten million would make a dent in it. But only a dent.

Jim studied the note for the hundredth time since it had arrived at their office that morning. Why was it, he reflected. Why was it that in the movies, typed letters always came from old, rare, traceable typewriters with a letter missing or something, that the cops traced back to the kidnappers? Why didn't he ever get a break like that?

This letter was wholly unremarkable. It was just like any other printed out sheet.

Except for one stain. One stain still being traced. And no, no fingerprints had smudged it.

If this was a movie, the stain would be some kind of rare clay from one section of town, and would lead, again, right to the bad guys.

Jim extended his sense of smell for the third time, but again smelled nothing but ink. Ink and paper.

Ink. Shit. It was an ink stain. An ordinary ink stain.

But wait, it was ink. Which meant it could say something.

It was a message. From Blair. Sure, it looked like an ordinary circular stain, but it was really a code. Blair had gotten it to Jim somehow, and now if he didn't figure out what it meant, Blair would die.

It was writing, maybe. Or a picture of something. Something round. Maybe it was some ancient heiroglyphic that only Blair would know. Or it was a symbol. Or it could be...

Jim zoned.





"What the hell? Come on, Jim, snap out of it. Whatever it is. Hey, Jim? Jim, you there? Simon?"

"What's the...oh, damn. Brown, give me a minute with him."

"What's going on? You gotta change his batteries or something?"

"Brown. Give us. A minute."

"It's okay, Simon," Jim blinked into consciousness as the voices finally invaded his mind. That and Simon's hand on his shoulder brought him blinking out of his zone-out. "Sorry, guess I sort of fell asleep with my eyes open." He gave Brown a weak smile.

"What were you doing, Jim?" Simon spoke gently, rubbing his hand on the back of Jim's neck surruptitiously to keep him fully there.

"Just looking at the damn note again. That stupid ink stain."

"Well, that's it. Day's over for us. Brown, Jim, you guys both get out of here."

"But-" The two men spoke at the same time, and Simon cut them both off with one gesture.

"I've got two men missing here, damn it, and I'm watching two other friends drive themselves into the ground over it. I'm letting you guys handle this, and only this. I'm letting you stay extra hours, and I'm not arguing about a bit of it. So. Argue with me. I dare you." His glare was fierce as he faced down two of his three remaining men.

Jim slammed his hand down on the table, and Brown went sullenly over to his own desk.

"How long was I out? Any idea?" Jim asked Simon quietly.

"I talked to you about thirty minutes ago. Couldn't have been that long."

"Good." At least he didn't waste an entire day staring into space. These damned senses were more trouble than they were worth sometimes.

"G'night guys," Henri dragged himself sullenly past the two men and into the stairwell, looking if nothing else ten times worse than he had yesterday.

Simon looked after the solitary figure, concern for his detective in his eyes. He turned to Jim suddenly. "Hey, do you think we could-"

"I'm right with you." Jim stood and the two of them headed for the stairs. They caught up with the slow-moving man easily. "Hey, H."

Brown glanced back at them. "Wha?"

Simon spoke up. "Jim and I are crashing at his place until this blows over. Helps us get an earlier start. Wanna join us?"

Brown hesitated, then tossed a wan smile back at them. "Yeah, sure. It's kinda hard, you know? I don't like talking to Deb and Cliff about this, cause they've gotten so attached to Rafe, and if something happens to him..." he trailed off with a shrug.

"I know how you feel, Henri." Simon assured him.

The three men shared a quiet moment on the stairs, before starting down and going together to brainstorm, go over facts, and hopefully sleep a little over at the loft.

"Blair, wake up, You've got eat something. Please..." Rafe dropped the hand he had gripped, frustrated to the point of tears springing into his eyes. "This isn't working. He won't wake up."

His companion gave a loud sigh. "Whatever could be taking so long? You would think they would have given in to the demands of the kidnappers by now." Her voice was strained under the light tone.

Rafe didn't turn away from the sleeping face in front of him. Blair's breathing sounded different now, strained, almost. His face had lost even more color, and he was shivering constantly. His wound had reopened the night before, Rafe didn't know how, and now the shirt the woman had offered was just as soiled as Rafe's. Rafe reached for a clammy wrist, and carefully measured out Blair's pulse. Yes, it was getting more thready, quieter.

"He won't live through the night." Rafe spoke the words out loud to himself, and even he could hear the horror and surrender in his voice.

The woman didn't respond for a moment. "He is a good friend of yours?"

Rafe nodded. "I work with him. He's not even really a cop, though, you know? He's a student, he goes to Rainier. This shouldn't be happening to him. And Jim- Jim's his roommate, his partner. God, Jim's gonna be lost if Blair dies. And I don't know what else I can do to help him." The tears spilled over, a couple of them, and Rafe shook his head helplessly.

"Mr....Rafe, is it?"

Rafe nodded silently, eyes staying peeled to Blair's face.

"Are you positive he would die over night?"

"Pretty sure, yeah. He's lost so much blood. I can't stop it, and it's infected, and he hasn't gotten any food or water, and-"

The woman cut him off by standing smoothly and walking past Rafe, going to the door. She pounded on it firmly, then stood waiting.

Rafe listened to the answering silence despondently. "They don't care. There's nothing we can give them that they can't just take anyway."

"You may be wrong about that," she replied steadily, pounding on the door again.

After a moment it opened slowly, and a suspicious eye peered through. "What is it?"

"I have a proposition for you men. May I?"

Rafe blinked wide eyes up at her. She still spoke airily, as though negotiating some business contract. And it worked -- the man swung the door open and let her step outside with him.

The door was shut again, and Rafe couldn't hear a thing.

He drew his eyes back to Blair, and was shocked to see his eyes open. "Blair!"

"Rafe," Blair's voice was horrible, weak and scratchy- he sounded nothing like himself.

Remembering the day-old cup half full of watery stew, Rafe grabbed it. "Hey, Blair, you think you could eat a little something?"

Blair, his eyes surprisingly clear and lucid, shook his head slowly. "Couldn't hold it in. No point now. Rafe, I'm gonna die, right?"

"No. No way in hell, Sandburg. You've got this far, you just have to hang on a while longer."

"Can't. Feel like...fog, taking over. You know?"

Rafe shook his head, hard. "Stop it, Blair. You're not dying here. You're not gonna do that to me."

"Sorry," Blair smiled slightly. "Don't want to."

"Dammit, what's your problem? After all you've been through, you're just gonna roll over and die? In some stupid cell, like this? C'mon, Sandburg. It has no...class." He gave a sharp laugh, which threatened to turn into a sob. "What about Jim, huh? How do you think I'm supposed to tell Jim I just sat here and watched you die?"

Blair's smile faded, and a melancholy tinge appeared in his eyes. "Tell Jim...tell him sorry. Couldn't wait."

"The hell you can't."

"Can't. Rafe, it hurts. It won't stop hurting." Blair shut his eyes.

"Blair!" Rafe was almost yelling, his voice echoing in the empty room.

Blair's eyes opened and he looked up at Rafe. "Sorry. Just gathering my strength," he gave a watery laugh.

"Hell of a funny joke, Blair." Rafe was furious, desperate. "Look, this isn't the way it ends for you, pal. Right? I'm not letting you die in here. There's got to be some-"

The door suddenly swung open again, and the two men Rafe had talked to before strolled in, heading right for the two of them. The first one grinned down at Blair. "Looks like you got yourself a ticket home, cop."

Rafe was too shocked to protest as they lifted Blair's weakened body and carried him out of the cell. He could simply sit there as the door shut behind them. There was nothing to listen to but the silence, and nothing to think about but to wonder what the hell had just happened.

Jim was driving to the gallery. Sure, it would do no good. Sure, he would sniff around and return to the station with tail firmly tucked between legs. But it had to be better than going through reports that told him nothing and talking to witnesses who were even less helpful.

His mind was half on the road, half listening to the police band, and half out in the hemisphere somewhere.

Until the voice came over the radio that changed everything. "Christ, get an ambulance over here. First and Bleeker, now! We've got a wounded...It's....it's Sandburg, damn it. Blair Sandburg."

Jim slammed his foot on the break and stared at the radio for a valuable second in mute shock, then recovered and grabbed the mic. "Say again, you've located Blair Sandburg?"

"Yeah. Where the hell's that ambulance? He's not looking good."

Jim dropped the mic and jammed the gas petal to the ground, turning a sharp left and ignoring the honks behind him as he sped to Bleeker Street and First Avenue.



"He's a lucky man for surviving this long. It'll be up to him if he makes it from here."

Simon breathed out, rubbing the back of his neck tiredly. "Tell us everything, doctor."

"He was shot...days ago, looks like. Which agrees with what you've told me. The wound itself wouldn't have been bad if he had been brought in after the shooting. As it is, the wound had become infected, and he's lost too much blood. He's got a pretty powerful viral infection, and the beginnings of hypothermia and dehydration. Left on his own, he would have died within a few hours."

Jim moaned audibly, but didn't respond.

"Someone took care of him, though. Someone had to have, for him to have survived this long. We've replaced the blood he's lost, patched up his wound, and we're keeping him warm and pumped full of nutrients.That's all we can do. The rest is up to him. He'll be moved into a private room in about ten minutes, and you can see him then."

"Thanks," Simon murmured almost as an afterthought as the man turned and left.

Jim wandered over to a chair and sat, his mind in a daze. He kept flashing over and over again to the scene when he'd arrived at 1st and Bleeker. The two beat cops had stumbled over the body by accident. And when Jim had seen Blair, he was overwhelmed with such concern and anger he couldn't see straight.

They had dumped his body in an alley, in a pile of trash. He had been sprawled there, unconsious, flies buzzing around him. The two cops who'd found him had been nervous about moving him, but Jim wasn't about to let Blair stay like that. He'd lifted the body of his Guide and carried him out to the cleaner sidewalks in the front of the buildings he had been thrown between.

Blair had fallen into consciousness for a few moments as Jim laid him down on the sidewalk, impatiently listening for the ambulance.

"Jim?" His voice had been tinged with disbelief.

Jim tried to smile for his sake, but couldn't. His hands were going to the lumpy make-shift bandage someone had put on him, and checking the wound underneath it. "Chief. How you feeling?"

"Sorry, Jim...was too late..." His words were slurred. "Couldn't hold on...wait for you..."

Jim's heart fell into his feet as he turned his full attention to his partner's face. "You did hang on, Blair. The ambulance is coming. A few more minutes, alright? You can do that, Blair."

Blair had offered up a weak smile. "Was nice to...to see you...one more time..." And then his eyes shut.

"NO!" Jim had screamed it to the heavens, grabbing his best friend's shoulders and trying to shake life back into him. "You're not dying, Blair! Please. PLEASE, Chief, I need you here. Don't do this to me, please."

He was still there, still coaxing and screaming and pleading life back into the younger man, two minutes later when the ambulance finally pulled up. He had let the medics have him without argument for once, well aware that there was nothing else he could do for Blair. And he had followed them to the hospital, siren blaring, heart racing.

Simon and Henri had been there waiting. They had heard the police band too, had heard Jim's voice, and knew enough not to get in his way, to meet them at the hospital instead.

And now here they sat, waiting to see the young man, hoping for some kind of sense to be put to this entire situation.

Simon came over and sat next to Jim, not bothering to say anything, knowing Jim wouldn't respond anyway.

Henri Brown stood to one side, his hands clutching the rags the ambulance medics had pulled off of Blair's wounds- the two dress shirts, red and stiff with dried blood. It was the only thing he had that told him his partner had been alive and with Blair. At some point.



When the woman finally came back to the cell, the method of arriving was a little different than normal. This time the guards led her in themselves, depositing her on the floor against the wall, chuckling to themselves and once again ignoring Rafe's questions as they left.

He waited until the door had slammed shut before facing his cellmate. "Hey, what happened out there?"

She didn't answer, scooting herself stiffly over to her corner.

Rafe blew out a breath. "This is great. Just great." His teeth was chattering, and he made conscious effort to keep them quiet.

Again, no response. She gazed at the wall behind him, her eyes shielded with the same look of aloofness she had had since he'd first seen her.

There was silence for a few minutes, before Rafe stood abruptly, rubbing his arms and pacing in the cold. His thoughts were breaking loose. He was trying to figure out on his own what might have happened, but his mind wasn't obeying. Finally he stopped in midstride and spun to face her. "Just tell me. Is he dead?"

She looked up at him calmly. "No. They let him go."

Relief and disbelief warred with each other. "Are you sure?"

"Quite sure. They have some radio that monitors police frequencies. I was allowed to listen as two officers found him."

Relief won, and Rafe let himself sag against a chilly wall. "Thank God," he breathed out.

"Thank someone," she mumbled quietly.

"What? Hey, what happened, anyway? What did you tell them?"

"Does it really matter, officer?"

Rafe smiled somewhat. Now that he didn't have to worry about Blair anymore, his mind was able to return to some amount of civil normality. "My name is Rafe, okay? Rafe van Ryj."

"Nice to meet you, Rafe. Trina Rosenberg."

Rafe's eyes grew. "You're Katrina Rosenberg? Oh, hell, no wonder they kidnapped you."

She smiled wryly. "Indeed."

"But how do they expect to get money? They shot your father, how could they-"

"They what?" Her head snapped up, suddenly giving him her full attention.

He blinked. "They shot...Oh, hell. You mean you didn't know? They took you out before you could see..."

"See what?" Her voice was icily calm.

"I'm sorry, Miss Rosenberg, I thought you knew. One of these men shot your father, I think specifically. It might not have been fatal, though."

"No," she said quietly. "It had to be. Father would never have let me sit here so long..."

Damn. Rafe silently cursed his lack of tact. "I'm sorry," he said again, in place of any other response.

She looked away from him, turning to the wall. Her mask was still firmly in place, he saw. Still above everything around her.

"Hey, you never answered my question. How did you convince them to let Blair out?"

"It's unimportant, offic...Rafe."

"I just want to know. It's something to talk about, isn't it?"

"No." She faced him squarely. "It is nothing to talk about."

Rafe hesitated, then acquiesced. There was silence for a long time.

Well, this was just great. Stuck in an ice palace with the cold queen herself. It was just the two of them, and God only knew how long they'd be stuck in there, but little daughter of a millionaire didn't want to talk.

He wondered if he could convince her to use whatever she had to get Blair out and let him go too. But no, he couldn't do that. He couldn't leave her like this. If nothing else, he was a cop, and she was one of the people he had sworn to serve and protect.

The door to the cell opened a few minutes later, and the two men strolled in, eying Rafe suspisciously as they crossed over to Katrina. She stiffened as they took her arms and pulled her to her feet, but didn't say anything, or make a move to protest, as they took her out again.

"Blair? Blair, hey, it's me, Jim."

"Jim?" Blair swallowed, trying to get some liquid into his throat. His eyes fluttered open and focused on the pinched face above him. "Jim." It was a relieved sound, almost a sigh.

Jim smiled. "Hey, Chief. Good to see you, too."

"Wha happen? I'm in hospital gain."

"Yeah. Makes you wonder if you should get frequent flyer miles or something, doesn't it?" Jim grinned. "Well, the doc says you're gonna be fine. It was touch and go for a while, but you fought off the infection. You're still on medication, so you're probably a little fuzzy right now. You remember anything?"

"Dying," Blair whispered, blinking hazy eyes at his friend. "Was dying."



Jim's smile cracked, and he swallowed. "Yeah, you were. But you're not anymore. Everything's good."

" S'all I member. Gonna die."

Jim looked up, turning a frown to someone outside Blair's line of vision, then looking back down at him. "It's alright. Don't worry about it right now. Get some sleep, huh? Tomorrow you should be a little clearer."

Blair nodded, and his eyes shut heavily. "Jim?"

Jim leaned in to hear the whispered words. "Yeah, Blair?"

"Glad I dint die. Still have test need to run."

Jim smiled at the sleepy words, and gripped the warm hand of his Guide firmly. "Any tests you want, I promise." He blinked away a sudden blurriness in his vision, and wiped the back of his hand over his eyes roughly. "Go to sleep, Blair."

"'k. 'night Jim."

"Good night, Chief." Jim waited until the hand in his was limp, and the breathing steady, before he released his Guide and straightened up.

"He's gonna be fine, Jim. You know that now, right?" Simon's bright eyes were on his best detective.

"Yeah. He's fine." Jim smiled slightly.

"Good. So can you go home?"

"Not a chance in the world. He's gonna be groggy tomorrow, he'll need me here."

Simon frowned, and glanced down at the peacefully sleeping face framed on the pillow. "Jim, let's talk outside for a minute, huh?"

Jim followed his captain out of the room, shutting the door quietly with one fond look back at Blair. "What's wrong, Simon? He's alright."

"Yeah. And what about you? I need you to go home and get some rest, Jim. We've still got work to do."

Jim shook his head. "When Blair wakes up again, when I know he's lucid, when I'm sure he's okay, then I'll go."

"Jim-"

"No, Simon. This is the second time he's almost died on me. I've got to be here for him, you know that." Simon snapped, his anger raising his voice. "Yeah, Jim. I know that. I also know I've got other detectives in this division, and one of them is still missing. I know Rafe was taken by the same animals that shot Blair and let him laying in some cold room to die. I know Rafe must have sat with the kid constantly, patched him up. He kept Blair alive, Jim. It's time to return the favor and get him the hell out of whatever mess he's still in, you got me?"

Jim swallowed. "Shit. Sorry, Simon. It kinda...slipped my mind, y'know?"

"Yeah, sure. Now you get home, get some sleep. Come back here tomorrow morning and check on the kid, and then get your ass to work and help Brown find his partner."



Katrina Rosenberg was looking worse every time they took her out and brought her back. Not that there was anything physically wrong with her that Rafe could see. She was still only dressed in a black skirt and bra, and he would have able to see any signs of bruises if they were hurting her. But she walked more stiffly, she seemed to go further and further into herself.

Or hell, maybe Rafe was imagining it. He couldn't be sure. After five days in this cold room, with only one more cup of water brought to them to share, his mind was starting to play tricks on him, he was sure. At least he wasn't hungry anymore, he reflected. His stomach had stopped its pointless growling the day before. On top of the sheer boredom of sitting there, and the steadily-growing ill feeling in his chest, he couldn't really be sure of much anymore.

"So, know any good songs?" he asked spontaneausly the afternoon of the fifth day, lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling tiles he'd counted and recounted.

Katrina turned to him, her eyes blank, then looked away again.

"Okay. Up to me, huh? Let's see. It was July when we were put in here, so it's probably close to Christmas now." He snickered. "Want to do a round of Silent Night?"

"Can't you please be quiet?" she asked softly.

"Ahh, life! A response!" Rafe sat up and grinned at her. "I can't believe you're not bored sitting here. What's wrong with a little bit of conversation? Huh?"

She shook her head slightly and looked down at the floor.

"Oooh, yeah. I forgot. Daddy Rosenberg's little girl is too good to talk to us flatfoots, right?"

Her knees came up to her chest, and she buried her face in her arms without a word.

"Too good to even look, huh?"

"Be quiet."

Rafe laughed, a bit hysterically. "Daddy Rosenberg's little girl is confusing herself for one of those big guys with the guns. She thinks she can order me around." There was no response from the woman, who kept her face in her arms, her shoulders shaking slightly. "Aww, come on. Don't you want-"

Rafe stopped. He studied the huddled form on the other side of the small room, and a sudden realization made his hysteria vanish. She was crying. "Oh, hey. I'm sorry. I was just....damn. Are you okay?"

Her face came up then, streaked with tears. "Just be quiet. Why can't you be quiet?"

Rafe would have stood, but he knew his legs were too shaky by then. So he scooted awkwardly across the floor to her. "Come on, Katrina. It's alright. We're gonna be okay."

She laughed bitterly. "And what could possibly make you believe that? We're trapped here. No one knows we're here, father's dead, they'll never get the ransom money. They'll keep on...forever. Until we both die."

"No, it's not gonna be that way. My partner's looking for me. He'll find me, I promise. Somehow they'll track us down."

She shook her head, sniffling. "I just wish I...I wish I knew..."

"What?" he asked gently.

"I wish I had known what was going to happen."

Rafe's brow furrowed. "You mean with your father? I'm sorry he's dead, Trina. I wish I hadn't blurted it out like-"

"No, not my father! Forget my father. If we ever get out of here, I'll think about my father."

Rafe shook his head slightly. She really was cold-hearted. "Alright, so what're you talking about? You wish you knew what was gonna happen?"

"When I...your friend, when he left. And I thought it was..." She shook her head helplessly. "I don't know. Never mind. Can we please stop talking now?"

"Fine with me." Rafe settled against the wall, crossing his arms, wincing at the chill of his hands on his skin.

She sniffled, and looked over at him. Opened her mouth to say something, but thought twice and shut it again.

"What is it?" Rafe snapped out.

"You're...you're a good person."

Taken completely by surprise, Rafe had to think for a minute before the words made sense in his head. He looked over at her. "What?"

"You were so worried about your friend. I've never seen that before. No one's ever been that worried about...I mean, that's why I got him out. That's why I agreed to...But now they still..."

"What?" Rafe asked quietly, seeing the dark look in her eyes. "What's going on out there, Trina?"

She faced the wall, wiped her eyes almost angrily, and drew in a breath.

Rafe studied her in that moment before she started talking, and realized that her masks were all off. She didn't have a trace of detachment or aloofness in her. She was a frightened girl, nothing more.

"They weren't allowed to hurt me," she started quietly. "That's what one of them said. They couldn't put a single bruise on me. I don't know why, especially now. With my father dead, there's no one to worry about...well, that's what they were told by whoever arranged all this. Not to put one bruise on me. But they wanted..." She drew in a breath. "I guess they wanted to take advantage of the fact that there was a woman here." She glanced over at him, but looked away quickly.

Rafe drew in a sharp breath. "They wanted to rape you," he interpreted quietly.

She nodded shakily. "The first time they took me...they were going to. But then one of them said to be careful, because they weren't supposed to bruise me." She looked at him then, her jaw set. "I wasn't going to let them...but there were so many. It wasn't until he said that that I could defend myself. I told them if they tried anything I would fight, and they would have to hurt me. I wouldn't be still, I wouldn't..." She paused. "So they couldn't. I guess they're being paid a lot by this person, whoever it is. They wouldn't risk it."

Rafe swallowed. "So every time they took you out..."

She nodded. "The same thing. They would threaten, I would threaten, over and over again. They kept trying to find different ways to...talk me into it, I guess."

Something clicked in Rafe's mind suddenly. Her telling him that there was something they could give the men to let Blair go, her sudden stiffness. He sucked in a breath, a surge of emotions he couldn't sort out coming over him in a wave. "You let them...to save Blair, you..."

She didn't answer for a moment. "It seemed the only way. Your friend was dying. But they kept..."

"Kept what?" Rafe scooted closer to the girl, wanting to comfort her in some way, but feeling awkward.

"I assume they took my offer as a sign that I was soft-hearted. And so once your friend had been taken away, they..."

Rafe was silent, letting her gather up her nerves.

"They threatened to kill you."

"What?" It was a hoarse, unhappy whisper.

"If I didn't keep letting them. They were going to shoot you and let you bleed to death the way your friend was."

Rafe swallowed convulsively. His thoughts were a blaze, shock and anger and guilt and sympathy rising up in him in equal measures. When the tide swept away, anger and sympathy were left in the wake. "God, Katrina. I had no idea. Every time they...you shouldn't have done that."

"They'll kill you," she said plainly.

"Let them!"

She smiled slightly. "No."

He suddenly remembered every negative thought he'd had about her since they'd been thrown together. Every time he had taken her silence as aloofness, he had interpreted her mask as just another spoiled-rich-girl routine. Thinking that she was cold-hearted.

But before he could think of anything to say to apologize, any way he could express what he was now feeling, the door came swinging open. And the two men came strolling in, grinning.

"No," Rafe spoke before he could stop himself. "No! You're not taking her!"

The men stopped, surprised at the sudden objection. "Who's gonna stop us?"

Rafe tried to get to his feet. He tried with every ounce of strength he could summon.

But his body wouldn't cooperate, and he sagged to the ground. "Please. Just stop doing this."

They moved past him easily and grabbed her. She stood, moving once again without protest.

And now that Rafe knew what was happening, he was horrified. "Katrina, stop! Don't do this again. Let them kill me, damn it! Let them-"

The door was shut, and they were gone.

And Rafe was left in an exhausted, angry, trembling heap on the floor.



"Henri, Jim, get the hell in here!" Simon dove back into his office, leaving the door open as he practically leaped back to the phone receiver.

Brown was in a split second later, followed quickly by Jim. "What you got, Simon?"

Simon listened to the rest of the phone call, and hung up without a word. "We've got a tip."

Brown came forward a step, his eyes blazing. "What?"

"A call to homicide came in a few minutes ago. Someone saying they thought they saw a van dumping off a body in an alley on Bleeker. Saw it pretty good, too."

"And?"

"Homicide traced the liscense plate. We've got an ID on one man, Roger Lovell. Could be one of our guys."

"Got an address?"

Simon handed them a piece of paper. "Get out of here. Call for backup if you need it. Don't try and do this yourselves. I'm not even close to kidding."

Brown and Jim exchanged meaningful looks, and left the office before they had to lie to Simon's face.







Rafe was barely conscious when they brought Katrina back in. He woke up as much as his fuzzy brain allowed, though, and didn't bother protesting or yelling or staggering to his knees in front of his captors. He just lay there until they left, and sat up, facing Katrina, not a clue in his mind about what he would say.

She sat herself heavily, her expression guarded, her eyes going to him.

He made his way over to her, moving as quickly as his numb limbs would allow.

Katrina drew in a breath, on guard, almost frightened as she watched him.

Rafe cleared his scratchy throat, and winced at the pain it caused. He drew in a shaky breath. "I won't let them take you again." He swore it with soft but ferocious sincerity.

She tried to erect one of her masks, tried to pretend she was cool and calm, she was alright. But under his gentle, searching expression, it fell apart, along with the rest of her composure. "Please don't," she whispered in response, her eyes watering.

Rafe opened his arms, and she fell into them, her body suddenly trembling with aching, uncontrollable sobs.







The address they had on Roger Lovell turned out to be a previous, and it took them another day, another long day, to track down were his new residence was. They finally had to call different car shops around the area, to see if they had the van and tag in a database somewhere.

Finally they had tracked the man to a small house on the poorer side of town.

Jim knocked on the door with barely restrained energy. Henri stood directly behind him, and their every ounce of concentration was on the door. Jim knew, he knew with certainty he didn't let Brown in on, that Rafe wasn't there. He heard only a single heartbeat, and it was slow. An old man.

He heard the footsteps shuffling towards the door, and the door creaked open to reveal a white-haired man in maybe his early seventies. The man squinted up at them. "Can I help you?"

"Are you Roger Lovell?" Jim could hear the disappointment in Brown's voice.

"Yessir."

"You own a white van, tag number RT3453?" Jim asked calmly.

The man seemed to wither in front of their eyes. "You lookin for Charlie," he informed them, a hint of sadness in his voice.

"Charlie? Who's Charlie?"

"Grandson. He's got the van, him and his friends. What he done this time?"

"We're investigating a multiple murder and kidnapping."

The man let out an audible moan, but didn't seem too surprised. "Find Charlie. And throw him in jail."

"You know where we can find him?" Henri asked quietly.

"Probly downtown, his friend Stan got an apartment out there."

"Stan? Do you know Stan's last name?"

"Naw. Lives on Montclair, though. Over near Bleeker."

Brown left the porch in a run, and Jim mumbled his thanks before speeding after the man.







"There's nobody here. God dammit!" Henri Brown reached out and slammed a fist into the wall, leaving a sizeable dent as he left the apartment.

Jim followed him slowly. He had known there was no one in the apartment, he was hoping for a clue, something to tell them where these men they were so close to could be. But there was nothing.

They were at a dead end.

"Calm down, H. We'll find em. They've got to come back here eventually."

"No they damn well don't. What's he got to come back for? The place looks cleaned out."

Jim couldn't argue, but he didn't know if the place had really been cleaned out, or if it was in its natural state, half bare and trashed. The building itself was run-down enough, half the apartments were probably empty.

Half the apartments...

Jim slowed his steps, dialing up his hearing and scanning the rooms around them.

Sure enough, there were few things to listen to. A couple fighting, the sounds of a tv in an otherwise silent apartment...

"H, hang on..."

"-just dump him like the other one?"

"He's seen us, Stan, we can't. Let's just take him somewhere and get rid of him for good."

"Come on!" Jim raced down the hallway, going to the nearest cramped stairwell, knowing without looking that Henri was right on his tail.

"Where we going?"

"Got a hunch. Some of these apartments are abandoned."

"I'm with you," Henri cut off further explanation and followed Jim as he went up two flights and then down the hallway.

"Oooh, look, guys, he's still trying to fight. Think we should let him fight his way out this time?"

Jim followed the voice, followed the mocking laughter, to one door, which he burst into without preamble, drawing his revolver as he broke through the old lock.

"What the hell-" One of the man standing around the doorway to a room further into the apartment wheeled and saw the men.

"Cascade PD, you're all under arrest." Jim announced conversationally. "Now back away from that door."

The men obeyed slowly, raising their hands and spreading out away from the open door.

From where he stood, Jim could feel the cold rush of air coming from the room beyond.

Brown burst past him and went up to the room quickly, trusting Jim to watch the men around him as he checked on his partner.

He stopped in the doorway, choked. "Oh my God." He started into the room.

Jim kept his gun trained on the men as he followed Henri with his senses. He could hear the ragged breathing and unsteady heart beats of two people inside that room, he could smell the dried blood.

"Dammit, Jim, get an ambulance over here."

Jim hesitated, not willing to turn his back on these men for a minute. There were only five of them, but he knew what they were capable of.

Brown came out of the room, his eyes blazing fiercely. "Jim? Come on!"

One of the men took advantage of Jim's distraction and Brown's entrance to jump the dark-skinned man, aiming a punch for Brown's jaw.

Brown ducked it easily, and an expression that was something of a smile, and more the look a charging grizzly would give someone who'd hurt a cub, came across his face. The fury in his eyes was impossible to miss. "I'm really glad you gave me the excuse," he gritted out as he launched himself at the man.

All hell broke loose in the room. Jim watched Brown venting his anger and frustration, his rage at finding his partner however he'd found him, on the man, and he watched as the others came to their pal's defense.

Remembering Blair's body dumped on the trash heap, realizing that these men had shot his partner and left him to bleed to death, Jim threw his gun behind him and charged into the fray, blood in his eyes.

The two detectives had almost a weeks worth of frustration and restrained energy behind them, and they made short work of the men. After a minute, four of the men were on the ground, bleeding and groaning, and Brown was dropping the last with a series of vicious hits to his face.

The man fell, but Brown kept at him, kicking him in the stomach as he lay groaning.

Jim stopped the detective before he could kill the man. "Henri, hey. That's enough."

"No, man. It's not." But Henri stopped, breathing heavily, a little of the impotent rage faded from his eyes.

Jim remembered the occupants of the small room, and he stepped over the bodies between him and the doorway. Oh, shit, Rafe wasn't there. Just some man and woman, blinking dead eyes at the doorway.

With an indrawn breath, Jim realized the man was Rafe. He was shirtless, pale as a sheet, and Jim could see ribs poking through his skin, as though he'd dropped fifteen pounds. There was stubble on his face and his lips were tinged blue. He was clinging to the woman, who looked almost as bad off as he was.

The look on the detective's face was what delayed the connection to Jim. He was blank, looking at the doorway with no recognition in his eyes, just a dark, almost feral anger, belied by the weakness as he tried to pull himself up. He said something to Jim, but the words were so mumbled and weak, forced through numb lips, that even Jim's superior hearing couldn't interpret.

"Shit. Brown, are you-" He turned to his friend to see the cell phone already in his hand. He turned back inside and went up to the two people, huddled in one corner. "Rafe, it's Jim. We're getting you out of here."

Rafe responded only by tightening his hold on the woman, who Jim knew had to be Katrina Rosenberg. He mumbled something else and his gaze shifted to the wall. He had to drag his eyes back up to squint at the figure towering above them.

"Shit, H, something's wrong here."

"Ambulance is coming, Jim. We gotta get them out of here."

Jim nodded, already shivering in the cold room. He looked around quickly, and saw the source of the cold. High above their heads, right under the ceiling, was a hole torn clean to the outside of the building, letting in the 40 degree winds from outside. He buried his anger, turning back to H and the two prisoners as Henri tried to reach for his partner.

Rafe reached out a weak arm, batting H's hand away, murmuring louder. Beside him, Katrina Rosenberg held on to Rafe like a drowning woman clutching a life preserver. Her gaze was more lucid, though, as she looked at the two men, who were frozen with indecision about how to move the two.

She realized that the two men were strangers to her, and that fact alone gave her courage to clear her throat and try to speak. "Who'r you?"

"I'm Detective Henri Brown, I'm Rafe's partner." Henri crouched down beside the girl. "We're here to get you out."

The woman nodded slowly, no reaction on her face. She turned her eyes to Rafe and started to stand painfully. Henri reached out to help her, but Rafe himself let out a low growl and moved to intercept his hand.

Confused, Henri turned a pained look to Jim. "What the hell do I do here?"

Jim shook his head with equal helplessness. "I don't know."

But they didn't seem to need help. The woman- Katrina- got to her feet unsteadily, and together she and Rafe got him up. They started limping, achingly slowly, towards the door, and Jim held out an arm, grabbing Henri and getting them both out of the room and out of their way.

Henri watched in stunned silence as the two young people emerged, and Katrina almost tripped over the body of one of the moaning men sprawled in their way. Their two dazed faces looked down at the man, and for a moment Rafe's vision seemed to clear. Gripping Katrina's shoulder for support, he lashed out and kicked the man savagely in his midsection. He almost lost his balance, stumbling, but Katrina had a tight hold, keeping him on his feet.

The two then stepped painfully over the man and kept going towards the door of the apartment.





Brown sat over his partner's hospital bed, his thoughts in turmoil. His mind kept going back to the events of the day before, when they had finally found Rafe and the missing woman. He kept seeing Rafe's blank eyes, his defensive behavior. And he wondered what the hell could have driven his best friend to this in just six days.

He was there when the doctor had given his prognosis, of course.

"Mr. van Ryj and Miss Rosenberg both show signs of severe neglect," The doctor had started out, almost tentatively. Of course, facing down the entire Major Crimes office in one swoop was no picnic for anyone. The doctor had gone through the list- dehydrated, half-starved, and both suffering from hypothermia. He informed them that these symptoms together, especially if the victims were shut up in one room without human contact for a week, would drive anyone a little further inside themselves than was healthy. But he trusted both to recover fully.

Brown only hoped that when his partner's eyes finally opened, he wouldn't see that blank, defensive, hostile stare coming out of them. He didn't know if he could take that look more than once in a lifetime.

"H?"

Brown turned at the whisper, and smiled slightly at the figure in the doorway. "Hi, Hairboy."

Blair, dressed in hospital robe, ducked into the room quickly, glancing back out into the hall to make sure he wasn't seen.

Brown almost laughed. "Sneaking out, huh?"

Blair turned a sheepish grin to him. "Yeah, well, whaddaya expect? I feel better, there's no reason they shouldn't let me out. Besides, I wanted to see him."

Henri shook his head with a smile. Anyone else would have been content, after suffering the kind of injuries Blair had, to lie on their backs for a week and get pampered. Not this kid, though. "Just don't let Jim know I didn't stop you. He'd kill me."

"Sure," Blair replied, distracted now as he approached the bed and looked down at Rafe's sleeping face. "He's gonna be okay, right?"

"Oh, yeah. The doctor says he'll be fine. Should be waking up any time now."

Relief flooded over Blair in a wave that Henri could actually see.

"You mean they didn't tell you he was alright?" Brown couldn't believe Jim would let something like that slip his mind.

"Oh, no. Jim told me. I guess I had to see it to believe it, though." Blair's eyes stayed on the dark-haired face framed on the pillow. "He saved my life, H."

Henri turned his eyes back to his partner. "I heard. "

"I can't really...I mean, the memories are fuzzy, I still can't really see what happened. But they told me everything he had to have done. He cleaned my wound, Henri. I mean, the guy was being starved, and when he got water, he used it to..." Blair shook his head. "Man, I don't know how I can pay somebody back for that kinda thing, you know?"

Henri looked up at the younger man now. "Hey, you think he needs you to pay him back? He knows you'd have done the same thing for him, in a minute."

Blair nodded vaguely. "Yeah. But..."

"But nothin. Don't worry about it, Blair. You're both gonna make it, no problem, that's the only thing that really matters right now."

Blair looked up at Henri now. The other man's use of his real name didn't pass Blair by, nor did the emotions in the detective's eyes.

"You two getting sappy right in front of me?"

Brown's eyes jerked down in surprise at the soft voice. "Rafe!"

His partner smiled sleepily. "Never woulda thought you capable, Brown."

And now Henri Brown relaxed for the first time since yesterday. His partner knew him, he wasn't defensive, or blank. Now Brown knew everything really would be alright. "Damn, Rafe. How you feeling?"

"Tired. Warm," he murmured that word like it was the most miraculous thing in the world. "How're you?"

"A little worried, pal, but nothing that won't go away." Brown reached out and squeezed his friend's hand affectionately.

Rafe's eyes moved to Blair's face, and his smile grew. "I almost didn't believe it, when she said they let you go. I thought for sure you were dead."

"I would've been," Blair stated simply. "If it wasn't for you. You saved my life."

"No," Rafe shook his head slightly. "Not me. She did. She-" And suddenly his peace and sleepy calm were gone. He jerked up to a sitting position, his eyes going wild. "Where is she? Brown, where is she? Is she okay?"

"Whoa, whoa. Easy, partner. You talking about Katrina Rosenberg?"

Rafe nodded jerkily. "Is she alright?"

Brown put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "She's fine. She's laying in one of these beds right now, same as you."

"I have to see her."

"Later, Rafe. Just take it easy for now. You should be up and around tomorrow."

"I have to see her, Brown!" His voice was rising steadily.

Henri saw the look in his eyes now, the defensive, protective look he'd had while keeping his partner away from the girl. "Rafe, calm down, man. Please, just relax. I'll go get a doctor, we'll see if they'll let you in."

Rafe's movements were threatening to dislodge the IV that was still bringing nutrients back into his body. "Henri, please. You don't know what she...what they...I gotta make sure she's alright. She needs me."

Blair came forward to help Henri calm him. "Rafe, she's okay. She's probably sleeping."

"Blair..." Rafe sat back, his eyes dark. "You don't know what she did for us."

"Us?" Blair reached his side, brow furrowed. "What happened?"

"She saved us, both of us. Those men weren't going to let you go, but she..." He swallowed, paler than before.

"She what?" Blair's voice was quiet, almost fearful.

"They couldn't hurt her, not even a bruise, that's what they were told. But they wanted..." He blew out a breath. "She let them rape her," he said in a rush. "So they would let you go where someone could find you. And then so they wouldn't kill me."

Blair was quiet for a long moment, swaying where he stood, blanched. "Oh, my God," he said finally. his voice barely above a whisper.

Rafe met his eyes. "I have to see her, Blair. I have to..." He turned to his partner. "Henri, please."

Brown was sitting in shock, gazing at his partner. Suddenly Rafe and that girl's behavior made sense, suddenly he realized why Rafe had seemed to be unaware of anything but the desire to protect her.

In the pause, he could hear as Blair turned and left the room quickly. "Alright," he said finally. "Can you stand up?"

Rafe nodded and swung off the bed, getting to his feet. Weak, he started sagging, but, as Henri watched, he seemed to pull a reserve of strength out of thin air, and locked his knees, staying upright with visible effort.

"No problem," he said through gritted teeth.

Brown wanted to push him back on the bed and make him sleep -- wanted it so badly he had to physically restrain himself. If Rafe was this desperate, he couldn't deny him what he wanted. At that moment he couldn't have denied his partner anything. "You'll have to bring the IV stand with you-"

Rafe took one look at the needle in his arm and jerked it out, starting for the door.

Brown cursed lightly and followed him. The faster they did this and got him back to bed, the better. "Hang on, pal. I gotta find out which room she's-"

Blair was coming up from down the hall. "This way, H," he hissed, looking around for anyone who was looking at them in suspision.

Brown followed him with an exhaled breath of frustration. Of course Blair wasn't going for a doctor, the kid had been looking for Rosenberg so he could sneak Rafe to see her.

He went along with the two younger men, feeling on one hand like a teenager sneaking out to go on a date, on the other like a man who was endangering his partner's life by going along with this stunt. It was a bad combination, and he came close to stopping right there and dragging Rafe back to his room.

But he heard the scream, and thoughts of turning back vanished as Rafe dug energy out of God knew where and sped towards the door Blair was pointing to.

When Brown got to the door, he stopped alongside Blair. The observer looked utterly miserable, guilty beyond all measure as they peered in to the room.

Rafe had gone right to the side of the girl in the bed, still shaking from her nightmare, sitting up and looking...shattered.

She pulled herself together enough to recognize the man standing over her. "Rafe?" It was a hoarse, hopeful whisper.

Without even a thought, Rafe sat beside her, drawing the trembling girl into his arms. He held her close to his chest.

And she instantly relaxed, her fear and panic melting away.

Behind him, Brown heard approaching footsteps as a nurse came running, drawn by the scream Katrina had let out at the end of her nightmare. He turned and faced the man, knowing somehow that he had to let the two of them be alone.

"Excuse me, sir."

"Hey, hang on. She had a nightmare, it's okay now."

"Please, sir, let me through."

Brown glanced at Blair, and stepped aside reluctantly.

The nurse came in to the room and up to the bed. "Excuse me, what's going on here? Sir, you shouldn't out of your room."

Rafe glanced at the man, a glare flitting over his face, there then gone. He didn't move.

The nurse reached out and took his arm, not ungently. "Sir, please. You have to..." He saw the blood oozing out of Rafe's arm where he had ripped his IV needle out, and he straightened. "Sir, let's go. Now, back to your room."

Rafe gave Brown a helpless look, pleading with eyes.

Brown stepped in quickly. "Hey, just let him stay here for a few minutes. It's not doing any harm."

Katrina in the meantime had seen the arm the nurse was still holding, and her wide eyes went to Rafe's face. "You're bleeding."

Rafe jerked the arm out of the nurse's grasp, and smiled down at her. "It's nothing. I'm okay."

She smiled and nodded, snuggling in closer to him.

"Sir, I don't want to have to get your doctor."

Brown took the man by the arm and led him forcibly out of the room. "Why don't you get out of here?"

"I'm getting the doctor," the nurse snapped.

"Do that." Brown sent him on his way, barricading the door firmly.

The man started down the hall, and Brown tossed a look back into the room. "Rafe, you've only got another minute or two."

Rafe heard his partner, and looked down at Katrina. "Sorry, Trina. Looks like this is just a quick visit."

She pulled away from him, sniffling slightly, now firmly back in control of herself. "Thank you for coming. I've been hoping you were all right."

"Thanks to you, I'm fine." Rafe's smile didn't touch his eyes, which burned with a fierce guilt.

She looked down at the bed. "They're letting me go tomorrow."

"Me, too." He felt the tension in her shoulders and frowned down at her. "Trina? What's wrong?"

"You remember I said back in...that room, that once we were out I would think about my father?"

He swallowed. "Oh. I'm sorry, Trina, really."

"Oh, you didn't kill him. I was just thinking...."

Rafe saw the look in her eyes, and recognized exactly what it meant. It was a look he had seen often in his own reflection in the mirror, one he had trained himself to carefully disguise in front of other people. It was the look of someone who knew they were going to be alone, for a night, a week, whatever. And who wanted more than anything else not to be. "Hey, you know. I was thinking, if you didn't mind, maybe I could take you home tomorrow. I owe you a lot, Trina. And it'll be impossible to ever it back, but I can try, right? Maybe I can cook you dinner tomorrow or something."

She studied him for a long moment. "Rafe..."

Then again, maybe he was seeing signs of loneliness where none were there. Maybe he was projecting his own feelings on her. "I'm sorry, that was too...I didn't...never mind, really. I can understand if you want to-"

"Rafe. You don't owe me anything." She met his eyes, her expression firmly blank. "I don't need you to offer me your company as some form of payment."

He nodded slightly, trying to hide his rush of disappointment. "I was being..." But he stopped again, seeing the studied casualness on her face. And recognizing her cool, well-used mask slipping into place.

He wondered briefly what had made her so conditioned to hiding her feelings from people. "What if I want to? No payment. I wouldn't consider my company a payment for anything anyway." He gave a self-deprecating smile.

Her fragile hold on that cool mask slipped, and a wondering look appeared in her eyes. "You want to? Really?"

Rafe heard a sudden commotion at the door, and realized the nurse had returned with reinforcements. A flash of anger came over him. Why wouldn't everyone leave them alone? He spoke quickly. "I want to. More than anything right now."

She glanced at the doorway and saw the doctor trying to push his way past Rafe's partner. She faced him with an undisguised, genuine smile. "Good," she said simply.

The happy light in her smile made Rafe feel lighter than air for the moment before the doctor reached them.

"Mr. van Ryj, I have to insist you go back to your room. We'll sedate you if necessary to get your IV back in."

Rafe stood easily. "No need. I'll go back, you don't have to push." He and Trina exchanged matching smiles, and he turned and strolled out, past the surprised nurse. Henri came to his side and they walked ahead of the doctor, who was questioning the nurse about his exaggeration of the patient's uncooperation.

"Thanks, Henri," Rafe reached over and gripped his friend's arm, both as an expression of gratitude and a support to help himself stay up and walking. "Where'd Blair go?"

"I think the nurse forced him bodily back to his room." Henri grinned. "Good thing you're both getting out tomorrow. I don't think this hospital could take you both much longer."

"Don't look at me, pal. I just woke up twenty minutes ago."

"And look at the damage you've already done." Henri shook his head with a grin. "So what was that all about, anyway?"

Rafe shrugged, his grin reappearing.

"Oh, lord. Don't tell me you picked her up while you two were being held hostage?"

"I wouldn't say that....exactly."

Henri whistled. "Damn, Rafe. You sure know how to pick em."

"Why do you say that?"

Brown raised his eyebrows. "You even have to ask?"

They reached his doorway, and went in together, followed by the two white-coated men. "Yeah, what's wrong with Trina?"

Henri stopped in his tracks, wide-eyed. "You really don't realize, do you?"

"What, man?" Rafe climbed back into his bed.

"Katrina Rosenberg." Brown stressed the name with a grin.

Rafe shrugged. "I'm not following you here, Brown."

"Rafe. Your new girlfriend is worth about fifty million dollars."

Rafe froze, his mouth dropping open. "Oh. Yeah."

The doctor pushed past Brown bodily. "Alright, Mr. van Ryj. We're getting you a sterilized needle. And if you try and jerk that one out, we'll keep you in here another day. So think about behaving, all right?"

Brown threw his partner a casual wave as he started out of the room. He had to pay a visit to Blair, to call Simon. He had to stop by Katrina Rosenberg's room and somehow think of a way to express how they all felt about the sacrifice she had made for two men she didn't know.