You will not be left Alone
Part 2

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A white-haired man grinned back at him. "Thanks, Rafe."

Rafe was shoved back into the living room, and Gene Melton was followed by a group of friends, all young, respectable-looking men.

Jim immediately went for his gun, which had been tossed on the side table by the couch.

A young blonde by Melton's side raised his arm, tracking Jim's movements. "I wouldn't, if I were you."

Jim froze, staring at the barrel of the gun. Oh, shit.

Melton smiled calmly and faced Rafe, who was pale, expressionless. "Nice to see you again, Rafe. Did you enjoy my present this morning?"

Rafe's only visible reaction was a slight tremor. "Why did you kill him?" he asked quietly.

Melton shrugged casually. "Because, he was your friend."

Rafe's eyes shut briefly.

Jim felt a burst of anger inside of him. "What the hell do you want here?" His voice was a growl.

Melton turned his eyes towards the other policeman. "What do I want?" He seemed to ponder it for a minute. "'Revenge' sounds so petty. Let's just say I want to finish the job we started five months ago." His glittering eyes went back to Rafe.

Jim took a step towards them. "This is a mistake, Melton. We know who you are. You stick around town much longer, you're gonna end up in jail."

"Oh? Then we'll have to wrap this up in a few days time, won't we? Now why don't you both come with us peacefully?"

"Both?" Rafe got out jerkily.

Melton smiled. "Of course. We killed one of your boyfriends, leaving the other alive hardly seems fair."

"Jim? Jim's not..." Rafe glanced over at Jim incredulously.

"Of course he's not." Melton's voice dripped with condescension.

Jim glanced over at Rafe, and shook his head almost imperceptively. Let these men believe whatever they wanted -- Jim and Rafe together would have a better chance than Rafe would alone.

But Rafe didn't acknowledge the look. He knew what these men were capable of, he wouldn't get Jim involved. "Look, you think he'd be sleeping on the couch if he was a boyfriend?"

Gene glanced over at the pillow and cover tossed on the couch, and back up at Jim for a moment. So maybe he wasn't a lover. Rafe's fierce protective tone told Melton as clearly as anything else that they were at least close friends.

Which was good enough for him.

"Both of you, please come with us."

Melton's posse had drawn their own weapons, and Jim found himself facing five determined young yuppies, and he knew without even thinking back to past experience that these men were very serious.





Summer pulled to the small apartment building bright and early. She would surprise Jim, who thought she was a lazy sleeper, by showing up an hour and a half before he was supposed to be at work.

She smiled to herself as she hefted the small backpack out of the passanger seat, and left the car to go into the brick building. She liked Rafe's apartment. It was small, simple, the kind of place she would have had on her own.

Not that she would change the loft she was staying in now for the world, but...

The second door on the second floor, easy to remember. She knocked on the door quietly, wondering if Jim was maybe still asleep. Otherwise he should have heard her coming. "Hey, Jim? It's me."

There was silence.

She frowned slightly. "Jim? Rafe? Open the door, guys."

Another pause.

A dark feeling making it's way unbidden into her stomach, she reached out and tried the door knob.

The door swung open easily. She stepped into the apartment, and took in everything in sight with a rise of confusion. The lights were on. A pillow and cover lay abandoned on the couch, Rafe's door was wide open, revealing an empty bed that didn't seem to have been slept in. "Jim? Rafe?" She called it out hopefully.

And then her eyes caught sight of Jim's gun, sitting on the side table, and her mind suddenly realized that she had reason to be worrying.

She bit down her emotions, and went to Rafe's phone stiffly.





Gene Melton beamed across the table at the handsome face that was now glaring at him. "I have to admit, I saw you walking down the street the other day, and it took me by surprise. I had thought you were long-since dead."

Rafe didn't asnwer.

"At first, I was upset. Angry. But I realize now, seeing you like this," Melton nodded at Rafe's tied hands. "That it's a blessing. A chance to do the job the right way." He glanced over at the other side of the room, where Jim Ellison had been shoved into a chair, and was sitting being watched by two of his men. "I'm a fair man, Rafe. Until you double cross me. And then I'm afraid I get pretty ruthless. I'm looking forward to this more than I have looked forward to anything for a long time."

Rafe swallowed.

"Do you remember that day months ago, Rafe?" Melton asked it as though he were genuinely curious. When Rafe didn't respond, he went on. "I'm sure you do. Your job is dangerous, but I can't imagine you've had many cases like mine, have you? No. So I'm sure you remember what it was you were supposed to have done for me." He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Rafe's eyes grew huge, and his face instinctively went to Jim Ellison, a panic appearing.

Gene chuckled. "You do remember. Good." His hand stretched the short distance between them, and brushed Rafe's face lightly. Rafe pulled away with a jerk. "No, you weren't going to go along. You're no rapist, are you, Rafe?" Gene's voice was softer, his tone almost affectionate. "I'm not sure I admire that quality. There are times when you have to take what you want in life. Take it no matter who struggles, or fights back. I've always lived that way. If I see something that I want, I take it." His eyes crinkled in a smile. "Did you wonder, in that cool police brain of yours, why we made a play for you so fast? Why you only had to play that ridiculous charade in my club one time? It's easy enough. I saw you coming in on the arm of that ridiculous boy, and I wanted you."

The younger man shuddered.

Jim straightened in his chair. Too much was too much. "Hey, you're real tough talking to a guy who's bound and guarded."

Melton barely glanced at him. "Oh, yes. You." He sighed and looked back at Rafe. "He's not really my type, I'm afraid. Not pretty enough." His hand brushed under Rafe's chin. "But I'm sure some of my boys will find him to their liking."

Rafe spoke finally, his voice almost a whisper. "Why don't you let him go?"

"Because. You care about him enough to ask."

Rafe's eyes went to Jim, flashing a deep, unhappy apology.

Jim met his eyes, trying to communicate to the younger man that none of this was his fault.

Melton cleared his throat slightly, and Rafe's eyes went back to him as though drawn. "Don't worry about your friend. Worry about yourself." His smile grew predatory. "We have days and days. No one will ever find us tucked away in this neat little spot, and there is no chance for you to suprise me the way you did last time. It's just us. You and your friend, and my men. I hope you realize how little control you have."

Rafe watched as the man rose from his chair and crossed around the table, going up to Rafe. His eyes flashed briefly up to his men, and Rafe could feel hands grabbing him under his arms and lifting him to his feet heavily.

Melton moved in close, and Rafe struggled against the arms holding him from behind. "I'm afraid today is going to be cut short. I have plans that I'm afraid can't wait. But I wouldn't want to leave you without a taste of what the last few days of your life will be like." His hands moved up to the buttons of Rafe's shirt.

Rafe saw the gleam in his eyes, and his mind's eye was suddenly filled with the gruesome sight of Joe's body, sprawled on his floor, blood pooled around his head and...and between his legs. "No," he said faintly, not quite sure if he was saying in to banish the image, or to chase away the equally frightening face that greeted him when his eyes opened.

Once the shirt was unbuttoned, Melton's hand reached out, touching the scar on his chest, the scar that would never go away -- the one Melton had thought would have killed him. He smiled faintly, and his hand came up, going once again under Rafe's chin. He studied the stunned young face in front of him. "You really are beautiful."

Rafe twisted away, but the hands caught him quickly and held him. He surged, trying to break out of their reach, but footsteps sounded from further back, and suddenly the hands were everywhere, clamping down on him, keeping him still and powerless against the man in front of him.

Jim's heart was pounding -- he waited until the focus of his two guards were on the situation in front of them, then he jumped onto his feet, surging to one side and knocking a distracted young guard to the ground. He wheeled to face the second guard and saw the barrel swinging it's way to him.

Move! his mind screamed. He obeyed, jumping at the man, his bound hands going up and knocking his arm away. He aimed a kick for the exposed midsection, and grunted in satisfaction as the man dropped to his knees.

He turned quickly to face the scene in front of him. And froze.

All eyes were on him, but no one was making a move. Instead, they simply watched, holding Rafe tightly, guns drawn but held casually.

Jim saw exactly what he was supposed to see -- he didn't stand a chance here. The moment he moved closer to their group, Rafe was dead.

Melton hadn't lost his smile. If anything it grew as he saw the realization appear on Jim's face. "I told Rafe the truth -- there is no way out of here. I am not quite stupid enough to leave either of you unguarded. You may as well return to your seat."

Jim was frozen with indecision. Move, Rafe would die. Stay where he was, Rafe would be...

The phrase 'fate worse than death' sprang to his mind.

By that time, however, his two guards had recovered from his brief attack, and were at his side again, hauling him back towards the chair. Melton waved a hand airily, and one of the other men released his hold on Rafe and went to Jim, his eyes glittering with hostility.

"There. Now that you are more properly guarded....where was I?" His eyes returned to Rafe.

Jim's struggle had brought the life back into Rafe's face. Life and anger. What was he doing cowering in front of this man? He was still a police officer, he was to blame for Jim being involved in this, he would sure as hell not sit by and watch Jim fight alone. He forced his muscles to relax, a look of miserable resignation on his face.

And the moment he could feel as the hands holding him responding by easing their holds, he sprang, ripping himself out of their grasp and hurling his body at the source of all his misery.

Melton was caught by surprise, stumbling back and losing his balance as Rafe tackled him in the chest.

When he fell, it was only a foot away from Jim's chair.

Jim felt the cold press of metal at the back of his head, and had to physically force himself to stay in place.

Rafe scrambled to recover his balance, his bound hands going to Melton's neck and wrapping around tightly.

The man turned red and surged, trying to throw Rafe off.

A second later, his men were there, lifting Rafe firmly and throwing him to the ground away from their boss.

Melton accepted the hands that reached out to help him, and he rose, his eyes glittering with a sudden dark rage as he slowly went to Rafe, who was sprawled on the ground on his back. The small smile no longer lit his face, but the dark, cold mercilessness that was left over was just as frightening. He looked up at his men, his voice strained. "Turn him over and hold him." He gritted the words out.

Jim watched, disbelief and horror overtaking him as he watched the flunkies roll Rafe over, moving as though they'd had lots of practice.

Rafe fought wildly, but the hands grasped his hands, his legs, even forcing his head into the ground. And he couldn't move.

He listened to the sound of his own raspy breathing, the hand on his head keeping him from seeing what was happening behind him. There was the sudden feel of new hands around his waist, pulling, and he could feel a sudden draft on his suddenly bare lower back and legs. A new surge of manic energy overtook him, and he fought again, letting out a sharp cry, almost a sob of powerless fear as the pressure of a body settled on top of him. Holy God, this was really happening. They were going to rape him. In front of Jim Ellison.

Jim shut his eyes tightly, feeling the hands holding him in place, the feel of the gun barrel at the back of his head.

The room was filled with a sudden, almost animal scream, and Jim fought against the arms keeping him from helping his friend. It was useless, though, and a sudden sharp pain from the back of his head slowed his movements, making them sluggish.

Unbelieving, almost uncomprehending the horror in front of him, Jim let out his own scream, of rage, pain, helpless fury.

It was lost under the screams from across the room. And the cheers and laughs of the men around them. Jim wanted to dial down his hearing to nothing, to block out the screams as they slowly faded down to hoarse sobs, but it felt like betrayal of his friend. So he forced himself to listen, accepting it as his punishment for not stopping this somehow.

And finally, an eternity later, when Jim's eyes were finally forced open and he looked up to see the grinning, satiated face of Eugene Melton, he wanted nothing more than to kill the man, to rip him apart with his bare hands.

Melton saw the rage, and it seemed to do nothing but feed his own mirth. "I'm afraid I must leave the party for the night, but my men have promised to take as good care of you as they will of Rafe."

Jim felt the hands around him tighten, and saw the faces of the bastards who had held Rafe turning to face him now with grins rivalling their boss's.







Two days passed, and Eugene Melton found himself standing at the doorway to a small, bare white room, looking down at two pairs of lifeless eyes. "I have good news for you."

Neither man responded, but Melton wasn't surprised. Neither man had been responding for the last day. Which was part of the reason why he was now standing there.

"We're going to let you live."

A small response, a stirring of one body, blue eyes that were almost swollen shut slowly turning their way to him.

"We'll be taking you home. My men have been watching the police closely, Rafe, and they've abandoned watching your apartment. So we'll return you there."

The man he was talking to still didn't stir. A voice did rasp out, though. "Why?"

Melton sighed. "Circumstances are forcing me to leave this city," he reported vaguely. "I've thought very hard about what to do about you, Rafe. Your friend here is no concern, but I don't think you've paid enough yet."

The blue eyes shut and the head sank back to the ground with a groan. Rafe still didn't move.

"I've been pondering the slowest, most painful way for you to reach your death. And I've stumbled across someone who can help. His name is George. You'll like him. In fact, if you would just come with me now, Rafe, we'll get this over with and you two can be back home."

Rafe stirred now for the first time, first his head rising, then his body, slowly, with rasps of pain filled breaths. He got himself to his feet somewhat miraculously, and sagged against a white wall.

The blue eyes opened and turned slowly to face him. "Rafe..."

Rafe didn't look down at his friend. He moved slowly, stumbling towards the door, the full knowledge that if he didn't get himself up, Melton would send people in to move him, and he would inevitably suffer for it.

Melton smiled as he passed him going out the door. He turned back to Jim. "Patience, Mr. Ellison. One more hour, and you're free." He shut the door happily, leaving the pair of blue eyes nothing to do but shut again.





"...Rafe? Rafe, wake up."

Jim moved like an ancient man, everything in his body hurt beyond endurance. But he made his way to the side of his friend, and reached out a weak hand to place on the man's shoulder. "Rafe?" His voice wouldn't rise above a croak, and he stopped abruptly, his miniscule amount of energy drained.

He caught his breath and tried to get up again, but fell back. A scream of agony originated in his feet, growing in size and strength as it travelled up his body. What came from his mouth, though, was nothing but a slight whimper.

God, he wanted to be dead. He had no idea it was possible to hurt so much. Mentally, physically. There were no words powerful enough to describe it. And his brain wouldn't function well enough to think of them if there were.

They were in Rafe's living room. It was impossible, but true. The man had kept his word, dumping them unconscious right inside his door.

A phone. He had to get to a phone. He had to get Rafe help.

Rafe. What had they....

Jim dragged himself to the younger man's side, examining him with eyes that kept swimming in and out of focus. He couldn't see what they did to him. Melton had said they were going to kill him, right? But it didn't look like they'd done anything.

Nothing that wasn't already there, anyway.

Phone. Had to get to a phone. Rafe's phone was...

...on the side table. Miles away.

Jim groaned out loud, using the couch as support to drag himself over. He stumbled on his knees and fell to the ground, gasping for breath, for energy. A weak hand came out, and slowly reached over to the base of the table. With a strain that sent shooting pains to a brain that refused to acknowledge any more pain existed, he knocked the table off balance, sending the phone and a small address book onto the floor near his head.

He grabbed the reciever and brought it to his ear shakily, reaching out with the other hand and dialing the first number he could think of.





Blair was in Simon's office, sitting desolately next to Henri Brown, staring once again at the only known pictures of Gene Melton they had. As if it would do any good.

When the phone on Jim's desk rang, Blair sprang to answer it, more to get out of the silent office than because he thought it would do any good. "Ellison's desk."

There was silence for a long moment.

Blair opened his mouth to speak again, when he heard a sound that made his heart stop.

"...Blair....help." It was a pained sob.

"Jim!?!" It wasn't a question, it was more of a shout. "Jim? Where are you? Jim?"

There was silence on the other line.

His heart pounding out of control, Blair turned to Simon's office. "Simon!" It was another shout, frantic.

Simon flew to the door. "Blair, what-"

"Get a trace on this call. Now!" Blair turned back to listen to the silent line, praying that Jim wouldn't hang the phone up before they could get a trace on it.

Simon was in his office and on the phone in a second, and Henri was racing to Blair's side. "What is it?"

"Jim," Blair whispered, his ear glued to the phone, sending up countless silent prayers.

There was too long a silence, before Simon burst out of his office. "Rafe's apartment! I've sent an ambulance, let's go."

They were out the door a second later.





Jim tried to get to his feet as the sounds of footsteps broke through his delerium, but he soon abandoned the effort, helpless tears in his eyes.

There was the sound of the door opening. "Oh God," a choked voice got out. Jim recognized Blair -- he would have known the voice anywhere. He felt a surge of relief that he couldn't seem to express physically.

And then, suddenly, a hand was touching him, and the relief and lucid thoughts vanished, replaced by a sheer panic that had become instinctual in the last two days. He gave a hoarse cry, trying to roll away from the hand. It jerked away from him, leaving Jim Ellison curled almost in a fetal position, eyes staring blankly at the wall, seeing nothing but flashes of the last two days -- of other hands.



Blair burst into tears. He couldn't help it, and he knew it would do nothing to help Jim, but...

He couldn't look at his friend. In the few minutes it took for the ambulance to arrive, he couldn't even look at Jim. What could he do? He couldn't touch him, or Jim would start his heart-shattering cries. He couldn't bring himself to approach the figure again, terrified of hurting him.

But God, what had happened? What had left Jim in this state? What had put those bruises and scars all over him? He was bleeding...everywhere, naked, and huddled inside himself making sounds like a terrified child.

It wasn't his friend. In no way, through no past experiences, was Blair prepared for this. No injuries Jim had ever suffered, and there were many of them, could have made Blair strong enough to handle the man trembling at his feet.

Blair was aware of the fact that Rafe was also there, unconscious, looking if nothing else worse than Jim. He was aware of Brown's voice trying to reach his partner, he was aware of Simon's frantic pacing and quiet, helpless questions. But the only thing his mind would focus on was the body of his Sentinel. The Blessed Protector. The man who represented strength and courage and power.

Now Jim was in trouble. And Blair didn't have the strength to help him. The man who had come to his rescue so many times, who had been fighting so hard to protect Blair from these criminals. Jim had protected Blair all right.

But there had been no one to protect Jim.

He could only stand there, feeling tears sliding down his cheeks, unable to move even to wipe them away.





"Hello?"

"Summer."

"Blair, what's wrong?....Blair....oh, no. Oh, God."

"We found him."

"Blair, tell me. Is he-"

"He's alive."

"....thank god....What's wrong?"

"Just...just come to the hospital. I'll talk to you there."

"...is he...is...?"

"I'll talk to you..."

"Blair, please."

"Just come, Summer. Please. He'll...need you."

"I'll be right there."





If Summer had stopped to think about it, she would probably have bet that speed records were broken on the drive from the loft to the hospital.

But she didn't stop to think. She couldn't. If she let herself think, her mind forced images of Jim's body, injured in a thousand different ways, into her brain. And she couldn't stand it.

Coming in to the hospital, she almost ran right past Simon Banks in her haste. He had to stop her with his voice.

"Summer?"

She wheeled and faced him, her eyes wild. "Simon! Where is he? Where's Jim? Is he..." He approached her carefully. "Come on. I'll take you to him." He led her gently to an elevator, and took a few deep breaths in the time it took for the doors to open. Thankfully, it was empty when they stepped inside. "Talk to me, Simon."

"Jim's pretty bad, Sum. I don't think he's dying, but...he's bad."

She swallowed, her face pale. "What do you mean, bad?"

"He was beaten. Badly, very badly. He seemed to be delirious when we found him, didn't know who we were. He kept..." Simon wiped at his face as though trying to clear the mental image of his friend from his mind. "He's bad."

Summer inhaled sharply. The look on Simon's face, the haunted, glassy eyes, told her everything he couldn't in words. She felt her body tensing, as the fear and helpless worry she'd felt for the last three days rose to the surface, unbidden. Simon faced her with difficulty. "There's something else I should...you should know. About Jim." He drew in a shaky breath, fighting to keep hold over his emotions.

Tears streaked down her face silently as she waited for him to finish.

"He was...they were both..." Simon shook his head, a shudder going through his body.

She reached out to him suddenly. "Shhh." She saw the emotions tearing through the normally stolid man, and it tore her apart thinking about what it could signify. She wouldn't make him destroy his control trying to tell her something she would hear from a doctor soon enough.

He tensed at her embrace, but a second later returned it, hard, his body shaking with emotion.

The doors of the elevator opened finally, revealing the rest of the Major Crimes office standing or sitting around in nervous silence. The sight of their captain one step away from crying like a baby elevated the tension in the room a hundred percent.

Summer, still in control thanks to her continued ignorance about what had happened, steered him out of the elevator and towards the chairs lining the wall. Sitting him down carefully, she turned to face the rest of the room.

Joel. Rhonda. Henri. Blair. All stood watching the two of them in stricken silence. Summer faced them squarely, her mind struggling with difficulty to remain calm. "Is there a doctor I could speak to?" she asked quietly, not willing to give another person there the chance to break down trying to tell her what the situation was.

Blair nodded, his face pale. "Weaver. Should be around." He was more than willing to make someone else tell her what had happened. He was as close to breaking down completely as Simon was.

Summer turned and went to the small desk. "I need to speak to Doctor Weaver," she said quietly.

The nurse was obviously knowledgeable about the entire situation. A sympathetic face nodded. "I'll call her out here."

"No," she said quickly. "Could you take me to her?" Whatever was so horrible, she would face it alone, not make the crowd sitting near have to go through it again.

The nurse nodded and stood, leaving her desk alone to walk Summer down the white hallway.

She stopped and wrapped on a door quietly. It opened a crack and an older woman stuck her face out. "Yes?" "This is a friend of Mr. Ellison, she wants to speak with you." The breach of standard procedure made the doctor's eyebrows go up, but she faced Summer, letting the nurse return to her post. "Are you family?"

Summer breathed in shakily at the darkly solemn look. "I'm his fiancee."

The doctor frowned, coming out of the room and shutting the door before Summer could look beyond into the room. "No one has told you his condition?"

"I know he was...beaten." Summer swallowed. "Nothing else."

The doctor's face was gentle. "Miss...."

"Vance. Summer Vance."

"Summer. Your fiancee has been through a terrible ordeal. Yes, he was beaten, almost to death. He shows signs of severe neglect- he is almost dehydrayted, he hasn't been fed." The woman met her eyes seriously. "Both he and the man he was brought in with were raped. Brutally."

Summer felt her knees sag beneath her, but she dug up a supply of energy, almost angrily, and stayed swaying on her feet. She didn't respond. Couldn't.

"Mr. Ellison has been drifting in and out of consciousness, and he seems-"

"Let me see him." She couldn't believe she got the words out steadily.

The doctor stopped her talking, her sharp eyes going to Summer's. There was a pause, but the woman nodded finally. "For a few minutes. But I should warn you, he-"

Summer pushed past the doctor, opening the door to the room and going in silently. Her eyes went to the face on the pillow, and she breathed deeply for a few long moments.

Then she turned and went to the door, opening it again. The doctor still stood there. "Get Blair Sandburg."

"Pardon me?"

"Blair Sandburg! He's in the waiting room. Get him and bring him here."

The woman frowned. "I really don't see-"

"Do it!" Summer's voice broke, finally, and she pushed the older woman down towards the waiting area.

The doctor went without another word, leaving Summer alone to face the cracked doorway.





Jim woke up slowly, his body feeling numb and stiff. He fought off the wave of panic that immediately threatened to sweep over him, realizing with a start that the ceiling his eyes opened onto was white and tiled.

"Jim? Oh my God, Jim, are you awake?"

Blair.

Jim cleared his raspy throat and tried again. "Blair."

The face of his Guide appeared above him, tense but smiling. "Jim! How are you feeling?"

"Been better," Jim smiled, but a flash of memory swept over him, and the smile vanished without a trace.

Blair saw the reaction. "You had us worried, Jim." He spoke slowly, uncertain of what to say to his ailing friend. "I'm glad you're..." Okay? No, he couldn't say that. Jim obviously wasn't okay. "I'm glad you're here," he settled on finally.

Jim seemed to understand, though. He cleared his throat slightly, squinting up into the dim lights above his head. "Rafe?"

Blair's frown deepened. "He's all right." He could see Jim didn't buy it. "He's still unconcious. But he'll be fine."

Jim suddenly gave a laugh, a harsh, bitter sound that gave Blair goosebumps. "You think so?"

Blair drew in a deep breath, immediately apologetic. "I didn't mean...Jim, I don't..." He shook his head helplessly.

Jim turned his eyes away from his Guide. "Is everyone all right?"

Blair felt a twinge in his heart at the question. Jim was still worried about everyone else. After everything he had... "We're fine. Pretty worried, but it's nothing. Summer left with Simon to go down to the cafeteria. She should be back in a minute."

"No!" Jim's eyes were suddenly wide, back on Blair's face. "Blair, no. Don't let her...no."

Blair frowned. "You don't want to see her?"

Jim hesitated. "I do, but..."

Blair leaned over and put a gentle hand on Jim's arm. "Then what?"

At the touch, Jim flinched, yanking away, his breathing going ragged. He pressed into the bed, trying to get away from the contact.

Blair's hand flew off as if burned. He felt his eyes starting to water again, uncontrollably, at the plain terror on Jim's face.

After a minute, Jim's eyes shut, and he forced his body to relax. He forced his mind to recognize that he was with a friend, and managed to get control of his terror. His eyes squeezed shut, Jim's voice was almost angry when he spoke. "That's what, Blair. I don't want her to see me right now."

Blair shook his head, forcing saliva into his throat. "Jim, she's been in here for the last day. She's seen you."

"Not...not like this." Jim's face slowly let go of it's terror, and his eyes opened again slowly to blink over at Blair. "No," he said again quietly, pleading with his eyes for Blair to understand.

Blair nodded quickly. Summer would be upset, but Jim needed the cooperation more than she did.

Jim relaxed at his acquiessence, and his head fell back onto the pillow.

Blair stood slowly, wiping at his eyes roughly. "Should I...I should go."

"No!" Jim didn't open his eyes. "Please. Stay. Just...don't touch me." His voice was raw.

Blair sat back down quickly. "Whatever you need, Jim. You just tell me." And hope I have the strength to do it.







Henri Brown sat by his partner's bedside, willing him a thousand times over to just open his eyes, just for a minute, so Henri knew there would still be some life behind them. He had to know his partner was still alive, in mind and in body. Only then would he allow himself the luxury of getting angry, and getting even with the unspeakable bastards who had hurt him and Jim.

It wasn't until the second day in the hospital that Rafe did finally wake up. Henri was there, by his side, his mind wandering out in the hemisphere somewhere, when he seemed to register the fact that something was different. He glanced down and saw his partner's hazel eyes.

"Rafe!" He beamed down at the man, remembering what the doctor had told him and fighting the urge to put a comforting hand of greeting on his best friend's arm.

The hazel eyes turned towards the voice, and seemed to widen in recognition.

"Hey, man. We've been worried about you. You know where you are?"

Rafe's eyes floated around the room slowly, and the corner of his mouth lifted faintly.

Brown laughed. "Yeah, one of these rooms again."

The trace of a smile vanished, and Rafe's eyes returned to his partner. After a long moment trying to get control over his muscles, he gasped out a word faintly. "Jim."

Brown's smile wavered. "He's just a coupla rooms down. He's gonna be okay."

Rafe's eyes shut, and his head turned away from Henri.

Brown's expression melted into sheer concern, and he reached a hand out for his partner before catching himself and pausing in indecision. "Hey, Rafe?"

The younger man didn't move.

Brown swallowed heavily. "I'm going to be right here if you need me, partner," he whispered to the unresponsive man.





Summer sat in the waiting room, her eyes on the wall. Jim didn't want to see her. Blair had explained it to her calmly and rationally, and Summer understood. She thought she understood, anyway. And whether she did or not, it stung her more than she would have thought possible.

Jim was hurting, more than he ever had in his life, she was willing to bet. And she was here, so close to him, so close to being able to help. But he wouldn't let her. And it was painful.

But she sat in that waiting room, ready to be by his side in a second the minute he changed his mind. She gave regular bulletins to anyone who came to visit, and when two days had passed and Simon, Joel, and Henri had to leave to return to work, she called them frequently with any updates.

Of course, there weren't many updates to give. Blair filled her in on Jim's condition, and she went in herself to check on Rafe. But Jim was still hidden in a shell, talking to Blair but saying nothing at all, really. And Rafe hadn't said a word since first waking up.

Summer and Rafe were friends. They had gone out a few times, hung around his apartment listening to those show tunes Jim hated so much. But they hadn't gotten all that serious with each other, and Summer wasn't really sure how close she could get to the man while he was like this. She knew Henri was the closest person in the world to him, and he wouldn't talk to Henri either.

It broke her heart, really, to sit out in that waiting room knowing that Jim was in one room trying to be comforted by his partner's presence, and Rafe was in the other alone and uncommunicative.

And then, late into the second night, Rafe's silence was shattered by a nightmare.

Summer had gone to peek in on him before she dozed off herself in that waiting room, and had gone in immediately. His sheet had been tossed to one side, and he lay spread-eagle on the bed, his muscles all contracting tightly, quivering as though he were trying to move but was met with resistance. His face was pale, his mouth opened in a silent scream.

Summer went in and up to his side, her hand going out and stopping an inch away from his shoulder. No contact, especially not after a nightmare. Nothing that could make the visions any more real to the two men, wasn't that what the doctor had said?

"Rafe?" She spoke loudly, hoping to wake the man up without contact. "Rafe? Wake up, please."

His eyes flew open, and looked blankly up at the wall, his body still tense, lost in his own horrible flashbacks.

She kept her distance from him, unsure of what she should do. Call a nurse? No, what would they do? Sedate him, maybe. Trap him in sleep, where only his nightmares would keep him company.

She moved slowly to the side of his bed, sitting hesitantly in the chair. What could she do to reach him?

Nothing.

All she could do was keep him company, the way Blair did Jim, and hope it would somehow reach him and ease his agony a little.

So she sat, her eyes staying on the tense, blank face. And she started humming quietly, wondering if he could hear her at all.

The humming gave way to quiet singing, nothing else coming in to her mind to get through to him. She chose a simple, soft song from a musical Rafe liked, and sang it quietly.

His muscles started to relax, slowly but steadily, and his eyes became slightly less glazed. He cocked his head towards her.

At the silent confirmation that he was listening, she raised her voice slightly. Her eyes filled with tears as she saw the haunted gaze starting to lessen, and she kept singing the song, over and over again, as he relaxed and finally, finally, fell back into a light sleep.

She stopped then, her throat raw as much from emotion as from singing, and she settled down in the chair, knowing she would be spending a lot more time by Rafe's side from now on.





Blair Sandburg's concern and overwhelming fear was slowly fading. Well, the concern didn't fade- wouldn't, he knew. But the fear was. The fear and disbelief and horror were slowly, slowly transforming inside of him.

To anger.

He stared, for hours on end, at the battered face of his partner and best friend, the words the doctor had spoken to fill him in on Jim's condition going through his mind over and over again. Until nothing existed for Blair but what was left of Jim Ellison, and what and who had caused him to end up like this.

Jim was the Sentinel. He was the Watcher, Guardian of the Great City. He had never hurt another person except in defense of the innocent. He had never had a selfish thought if the lives or safety of others were at stake. He had risked his life over and over again, battled every sort of criminal imaginable, saved countless lives. He had suffered injuries in the name of that endless battle to protect the people of Cascade.

And these men, these citizens whose lives had been saved from terrorists and bombs and nerve gas, had destroyed the man who risked his life to protect them.

And for what? For thrills. For cheap pleasure and petty revenge. Some overblown sense of self-worth and fucked up morals had convinced these men it was all right to destroy a man -- two men -- because their plans had been soiled months before.

That such animals existed on the earth was inconceivable, and the longer Blair sat there, keeping the company of a man who couldn't talk about his ordeal, who couldn't sleep through a night without nightmares, the more he wanted to find them, every last one of them, and make them pay for what they did.

And so, when Jim was at last sleeping somewhat peacefully, Blair stood and left the side of his friend for one of the first times, going to the pay phone in the waiting room and calling Simon Banks.

He would be put on this case. Cop or no cop, personal involvement be damned, he would help them catch the bastards, and he would see that they suffered for what they had done.



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