You will not be left Alone
Part 3

Go to Part 1
Go to Part 2





Rafe awoke with a start, his eyes sweeping around the room immediately, and relaxing somewhat when he remembered he was now in a hospital.

His eyes caught on the sleeping form curled up awkwardly in the chair beside his bed, and he felt a rush of emotion coming over him. Summer.

He had been trapped in a nightmare last night, he had felt Gene Melton and his men, their hands, their bodies, and then suddenly he heard her voice, and they were gone. She had come in to sing to him.

The kindness of the gesture was more than his brain could assimilate right then, and he turned his eyes from her slowly.

There was a small box on the table on the other side of his bed. A box that hadn't been there the day before. Rafe knew Henri and the others were concerned about his silence, but he really was conscious of everything. And he registered the white box and card under it, wondering which of his friends had left the present for him.

Slowly, painfully he reached out and took the card, opening it with shaking hands, hoping for another small, kind gesture to help ease his thoughts.

The front of the card was a simple flower, no writing, just a cheap greeting card. And on the inside...

Rafe stopped breathing for a long moment. His hands were shaking so badly he almost dropped the card on his lap. Finally, a deep, disbelieving gasp brought oxygen back into his brain, and he read the card again.

'Wondering why you're not dead yet? Your new friend George sends you this present.'

There was no signature, but Gene Melton's presence was attached to the card so much he could almost see it.

Rafe closed the card slowly, his hands trembling so badly he had to fight to get the paper back into the envelope it had come in. George. Melton had taken him to that man, George, before releasing he and Jim. He had said George was going to help kill him. But all he had done was rape him, a couple of times. At that point, Rafe could hardly feel the pain of it, and he had wondered briefly why Melton thought this would destroy his life, after everything else he'd gone through.

His hands moved, reluctant but unstoppable, to the small box, and he lifted it carefully. The lid came off easily and Rafe stared inside in morbid fascination.

A bracelet. A silver bracelet. What was...

Then Rafe lifted it out of the box and saw the writing on it. He held it in front of his eyes, reading the words carefully. Once, then twice, and a third time, but they were always the same.

It was a medical bracelet, one worn in case of accidents to warn medics.

It stated simply that the wearer, George Tilbert, was a carrier of the AIDS virus.

Rafe set the bracelet back in the box slowly, and shut the lid. He rolled onto his side and shut his eyes, hoping sleep would come quickly.









When Summer woke up, Rafe was asleep. He was curled up rather peacefully, and her eyes were drawn to a small white box he held clutched in his hand. Curiosity overtook her, but she pushed it down, knowing whatever present he'd received, it was definitely none of her business.

She stood and stretched, and checked to make sure Rafe was deep in a dreamless sleep before leaving the room quietly to go check on Blair and Jim. She wandered down the few doors that seperated the two men's rooms, and she rapped lightly on the one that led to Jim's room.

There was no answer. She slowly, after a long moment's hesitation, opened the door a crack and peered in. She opened her mouth to call for Blair, so he would come out and fill her in on how Jim was. But she saw quickly that Blair wasn't in the room.

Her eyes found Jim's sleeping figure, and she drew in a breath. It was the first time she'd seen him in days, since he first woke up. And now she was right there, nothing blocking her way.

She stood for a long time. She wanted to go in, wanted it more than she wanted anything else- except maybe a reversal of time and prevention of this ever happening. But Jim didn't want her there. And she wouldn't risk doing anything to make him suffer more than he was.

She was ready to turn and leave, shut the door and bear the silence, when he moved on the bed, letting out a faint groan, and his eyes opened.

She stood frozen, looking through the door she was holding barely open, and looked at him.

His eyes found her quickly, and he tensed.

She couldn't move, to leave or go in further.

"Summer." His voice was quiet.

She drew in a breath that was almost a sob. "I'm sorry," she whispered, turning to spare him her presence any further.

"Please, don't."

She turned back, a hopeful light piercing the tears. "Can I stay?"

He nodded.

Summer stumbled her way to his side, unable to control her tears. She resisted the urge to touch him, grateful enough to just be able to look at him.

Jim was quiet for a long time, looking up at her as she cried, and when he spoke it was still soft. "Summer. We aren't getting married." Her eyes met his in horror. "What?"

He kept tight control over his features. "I'm saying it now so you don't have to."

"So I don't...Jim. Please. Don't do this."

He turned to face the door. "Why not? It will spare you, Summer. Now or later, when you realize I'm right, you won't have to tell me yourself."

"You're wrong. Why would you...."

Jim sat up slowly, his eyes burning. "I'm gone, Sum. I...It's too much to recover from, I don't have it in me. I could be dying, you know."

She breathed in. "The blood tests come back in two days. Don't say it until you know."

"That isn't the point. I'm...God, Sum, look at me." His eyes were filling as he spoke, his hands plucking at the sheet in his lap angrily. "They've ruined me for you. I can't stand for anyone to touch...I can't...I won't be normal. And you shouldn't have to deal with it."

"Let me help you, Jim. Please." His volume rose sharply. "There's no one else here, Summer. You don't have to be noble now, it's just you and me, and I'm telling you you won't want to deal with me. This isn't going away in a day, all right? This might never..." His voice caught.

She was shocked. "Why would you say that? I don't care how long it takes. I don't care..."

"You will. These are words, just words. You can say whatever you like. You might even believe it. But tomorrow, when I'm not any better, you'll see I'm right."

Summer stood, her legs weak, her heart blasting in her chest. "Jim. No."

"Yes." He met her eyes squarely.

She shook her head mutely, her face streaked with tears.

"Just go. Don't make me have to listen to words you don't mean."

She was too shocked to find the words to refute him. She backed up, slowly, going to the door and leaving the dark room. Sobs shook her body the moment she was out of his sight, and she stumbled her way down the hall to the waiting room.

She should never have gone in to see him.





When Blair returned from his long, angry talk with Simon, he found Jim shaking with restrained tears. The anger returned full-force, but concern overrode it. "Jim, what is it? Another nightmare?"

The larger man shook his head. "Summer..."

"What?" Blair managed to keep his voice calm.

"I sent her away. I've lost her, Blair." Jim's eyes found his Guide, a lost look in them. Those men, Melton and his group, they had taken everything from him. His pride, his security. Now his fiancee and unborn child. Blair was all that was left, and Jim was so frightened of losing him he couldn't breathe with the young man in the room.

Blair saw the insecurity and rushed to his friend's side. "Jim, why? Why did you do it?" He was sure to keep his voice free of judgement or negative emotion.

"So I didn't have to hear it from her," he replied honestly.

Blair sat heavily, his eyes moving away from Jim.

"I can't..." Jim spoke hesitantly. "I can't lose you too."

Blair's eyes rose back to him. "You won't." He didn't give a comforting smile, or pat Jim on the arm, or any of the other things he would have done a week ago. He simply said it, honest and direct.

Jim lay back on his bed, utterly exhausted, and his eyes eventually shut in sleep.





When Jim's eyes opened again, it was morning. He had been too drained to even have nightmares, and had actually slept through the rest of the night.

His eyes opened on the sight of Blair standing there with a wheelchair in hands. "Rise and shine, Jim."

Jim took in the smile on the younger man's face, and his mind refused to focus. "What? What's this?"

"I'm taking you for a walk." Blair gestured to the wheelchair. "Let's go, huh? You've got to be tired of staring at these walls."

Jim sat up, confused, but pushed the sheets off of him slowly.

Blair came around to him and hesitantly raised a hand. "Can I...help?"

Jim's mind shuddered, but he nodded slowly. Blair's hand came out and took his arm, gently, helping him to shift over the the wheelchair. Jim flinched at the contact, but bore it long enough to sit down in the chair.

Blair was quiet for a minute after taking his hand away, sucking in his emotions. "All right. Let's get out of here."

Jim was wheeled out into the hallway, and looked around dully as Blair led them to the elevator. "Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise."

Jim's eyebrows shot up, but he didn't respond.

Blair was smiling the entire ride down, but his body was tense, hoping he was doing the right thing. He had gone to find Summer last night, after Jim had fallen asleep, and had a long talk with her. They had arranged this, both terrified about what it would do to Jim, but more terrified of what would happen if Jim got his own way.

He cleared his throat as the elevator doors opened. "Jim, you have a tendency to put words in other people's mouths, you know that?"

"What?" Jim was utterly baffled.

"See, you're the Blessed Protector, right? I mean, you look after us all. But sometimes you go too far, you tell us what's best for us. You may be right, you may be wrong, but you have to let people decide things for themselves. You know?"

Jim shook his head as they were led to a pair of double doors with a sign on the outside. He read it and his eyes narrowed. "Chapel? What are we-"

"Just hang on." Blair pushed the doors open and steered Jim in, his movements wavering as the moment of truth came.

Jim peered in and saw the small group gathered in the chapel. Simon, Henri, Rhonda, Joel, Stephen. His brother, Stephen. Was there. And another man Jim didn't know.

And at the front of the group, Summer stood. She returned his stare with a slight smile that quickly fell. She slowly approached him, and Blair moved away from Jim towards the group, leaving them alone.

Jim's mind was still spinning, and he watched her approach, trapped in his chair.

She walked right up to him, and drew in a deep breath.

"What's going on here?" Jim's voice was hoarse.

"Jim. You're wrong. Everything you said yesterday was wrong. If you need more than words to show you how much I love you, here's more."

Jim blinked over at the group, and saw the clerical collar on the only stranger in the room. He swallowed convulsively and turned back to her.

She was pale, but firm. "I'm not forcing you. I would never do that. But I want this to happen."

He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off.

"I'm assuming, Jim. I'm assuming you are never going to recover from this. I can't help but think you will, some day, but for you, I'll assume you won't. I'm assuming I'll never get to touch you again. I'm assuming you'll never sleep again without nightmares, or be able to function like you were before. I'm assuming that you will need help, constantly, for the rest of your life." She drew in a breath. "Assuming all that, I'm asking you to marry me. Right now."

His voice was flat. "The blood tests..."

"Will come in tomorrow." She shrugged. "Marry me, Jim."

He met her eyes, and saw that she was sincere. Without a word, he broke into sobs.

She crouched down beside him immediately, her face concerned, but true to her word didn't try to touch him. He did it for her, reaching out and grabbing her hand convulsively. Startled at the contact, her eyes shut briefly, and she squeezed his hand for all she was worth.

He pulled his fragile emotions back under reign quickly, and stared at her in disbelief. "You're serious."

She nodded, unable to reply.

He drew in a shuddering breath. "I don't want to condemn you to this, Summer."

She nodded, her eyes glittering. "You're the one calling the shots here, Jim. I'll warn you, though. If you say no, I'll take you back up to your room right now, but I'll never, ever leave you alone. I've committed myself already, and nothing you can say or do will take that away."

He nodded slowly. A sudden burst of rational thought invaded his mind, and he wondered why it was that the happiest moments in life were filled with tears.



Negative.

Jim felt almost glad as he sat there after the doctor had left. He held his new wife's hand as she cried her happiness, and was actually able to return Blair's relieved grin. He sent up prayers of thanks to whatever gods were responsible. Yesterday he had taken his first step towards recovery, accepting Summer's proposal. And now he was taking the second, being told he wasn't dying, he wasn't even sick. He was going to live.

He was going to be fine. His tests were all negative. And though his body still shuddered, his mind still spun out of control sometimes, and he was certain he would never, ever feel clean again, he knew at least that life would go on.





Positive.

Rafe sat alone.

His only slow reaction to the words confirming Gene Melton's condemning him to death was to pull out a small white box, take out a silver medical bracelet, and fasten it around his wrist.





Blair was able to smile again. But his anger hadn't faded. If anything, it had grown. Jim was going to be all right. Eventually, somehow, through work and struggle and who knows what kind of hardships, he would be okay.

But if they had had their way, he wouldn't. He would be dead right now.

Blair didn't know who to be mad at. Gene Melton was a distant figure, and until he was caught, Blair had to find another way to express his anger.

The night after Jim's blood tests had come back, Blair was there with him when a nightmare, somehow the worst one yet, shattered his sleep.

Jim had erupted in powerful sobs. He had been so sure he was going to recover, but the reality of the nightmares and pain that would never go away had struck him.

And through him, Blair.

Once Jim finally returned to sleep, Blair left his room, too furious to sit still. The waiting room was dark and quiet, and Blair paced angrily, wishing there was someone to take his rage out on.

Henri Brown emerged from the room further down the hall, and saw Blair's emotional pacing. He went right up to the young Observer, concerned. "Blair, what's wrong? Is Jim okay?"

"No, he's not!" Blair blew up, facing the man. "He's never going to be okay, Henri. Those god damned rapist bastards made sure of that."

Henri nodded his understanding at the anger he was confronted with. "Blair, I know how you feel, but you have-"

"You know how I feel? How the hell could you know?"

His eyes narrowed, confused. "Blair, I care about Jim too. And Rafe...God, Rafe is my partner, how could I not-"

"Fuck Rafe!" Blair was out of control. "Rafe is another gay bastard who probably enjoyed what he got. Don't you dare compare that to what Jim went through!"

Henri's mouth dropped open, shocked to his core. "What did you say?" he asked quietly, dangerously.

Blair shut his hand into a fist, ready to fight. "You heard me."

But Henri, surprisingly, was calm enough to take a step back. "Rafe was just as hurt as Jim was, Blair. And if you ever tell him you think differently-"

"Hurt? Jim was hurt. Jim was an innocent man they forced themselves on."

"And what does that make Rafe?" Henri choked out.

"The one who got Jim involved in the first place."

"Blair. You'd better think about what you're saying. Rafe-"

"Deserved what he got."

Silence.

Deathly silence.

Down the hall, Rafe's door, opened a minute earlier, shut again slowly.

Henri Brown studied the red, wild face in front of him, and it took every ounce of strength, every fragment of control he had ever had, to keep him where he was. "Blair. You're upset. It's a good thing I realize that. You've been with Jim all this time, so you don't know what Rafe has gone through. You think because Rafe's gay he wanted what he got? He enjoyed it? He..." Henri got control over his wavering voice. "Deserved it?"

Blair was silent, staring.

"You think because that's the way he has sex with his boyfriends, it didn't hurt when it was forced on him?"

Blair swallowed, hard. His mind was blown in a million directions, but he felt the anger fading, and the unbelievable guilt and horror over his own words coming over him. He drew in a breath, shaking his head helplessly. "No," he said in a whisper. "My God. No, no I don't. I never would...God, Henri, I think I'm going crazy. Why would I even say..."

Henri relaxed, grateful now that he hadn't given in to his instincts and beat the anger out of Blair. "I understand, Blair. But please, I can't control myself like that again, so don't ever, ever say anything like that again."

Blair nodded silently, and when Henri finished his interrupted exit, he fell into a plastic chair, his face burying itself in his hands.





The next day, Summer left Jim's side only to check on Rafe. She hadn't forgotten her concern for the other detective, and she knew that Henri had had to go to work this morning, so Rafe would be alone.

When she got to his room, she found an empty bed.





Doctor Mary Weaver summoned Rafe's friends together after a search of the entire hospital confirmed the young man was nowhere to be found. They gathered in Jim's room, and Blair and Summer sat perched on either side of Jim as Simon and Henri crowded around them.

Weaver stood holding a square envelope that had been found in the room Rafe had abandoned. "A patient's right to privacy is something I feel very strongly about. When blood tests come in, we tell the patient, and anyone they approve. Mr. Van Ryj chose not to tell anyone else. He of course has been reported to the Board of Health, and they would have let you know, Captain Banks."

Henri drew a deep breath and voiced the unspoken question that was now in everyone's minds. "Are you telling us that Rafe's tests were positive?"

She nodded bluntly. "His disappearance concerns me, which is the only reason I'm telling you. He is HIV positive."

"Oh my God." Simon's hoarse whisper was the only sound in the room.

Weaver looked down at the envelope in her hand, and scanned the room. "Which one of you is Blair?"

Blair started, pale. "Me. Why?"

"You didn't know, and I understand that. But it seems Mr. Van Ryj may have misinterpreted something you said. I'm hoping telling you this will help you find the young man and get him back where he's safe." She held the card out to Blair.

He took it in a shaking hand and pulled out the small card. He opened it. "'Wondering why you're not dead yet? Your new friend George sends you this present.'" He read it, confused.

"George was one of the men responsible for his condition, right?"

Jim was the one to respond. "Yeah. He was...I think he was the last one to...to attack him."

"But he didn't attack you?" Weaver met his eyes.

Jim shook his head silently.

"And your test was negative."

Jim paled as she realized what the doctor meant. Horrified, he spoke choppily. "Melton said...said he found a way to kill him. Slowly and painfully."

Weaver flushed dark red. "I hope you police officers find this man. I hope you find him and make him pay for what he did to that young man."

Blair was aghast. "Melton had a man with AIDS rape him...for revenge?"

Simon put a comforting hand on the younger man's arm, but his eyes were blazing.

Blair took a deep breath. "What does this have to do with me?" he asked, lofting the card.

She looked at him sympathetically. "The back of the card..."

Blair turned the card over. Rafe had scrawled a few words there. He read it, and the card fell from numb fingers. "No. Oh, no."

The card landed on it's face, and the words were now visible to everyone.

'Blair was right, I deserve this. I'm sorry Jim.'







Two days later, a man with no identification on his body except a small medical bracelet was walking the streets of a city north of Cascade. He walked hunched over, dead to the world, staring blankly ahead.

Rafe was through with everything. He was tired of thinking, tired of bringing misery to everyone he cared about. And he was through being looked at. He had stopped by a small second-hand store, picked up jeans and a plain t-shirt, simple, inconspicous items he didn't have in his spiffy wardrobe. He let his hair get swept and blown by the wind, he let his face grow dark with stubble. He kept his eyes on the ground.

But he still felt eyes on him. Everywhere he went, everyone he saw. Gave him looks. God, why? Why were they still looking? He wasn't wearing his mask anymore, he was just...him. But they still looked. They still pointed, whispering and giggling with their girlfriends, or simply threw him second looks as he passed.

Every single eye that went over him burned into his mind. It was horrible of people to be so blatant. To show their attraction so obviously. It was horrible of people to be attracted. It was the worst feeling in the world, to be stared at, to be wanted. To have people who knew nothing about you watching you with desire in their eyes.

More than anything, he wanted to be ugly. He wanted to be so unappealing that people turned away from him. To be repulsive, so he knew for certain that none of these people would want to do what Gene Melton and his men had done.

So he didn't stop. He didn't eat or sleep. He went down the streets of the city -- whereever it was. He had just taken a cab as far away from Cascade as he could, using every last dollar he had. But it didn't work. He got weaker, his steps got slower, but the looks kept coming.

And finally, when it got to be too much, when he saw Melton's lecherous smile on every face that turned his way, Rafe stumbled his way to the first big, anonymous brick building he saw, made his way to the back of the building, and collapsed. Where hopefully he wouldn't ever be found.





"Did you see this?" Simon threw the paper down on Jim's desk, in front of Blair Sandburg's exhausted form.

Blair blinked at the headline wearily, but woke up fast when he read it. "What the hell?"

Simon sat down at Blair's usual chair. "I don't know where it came from, how it got out. But they don't mention his name, and don't say he's out there missing somewhere."

Blair picked up the article and scanned it. Yeah, they told it all. How a police officer had been taken by a group of criminals and almost killed. And how they had infected the man with AIDS through rape. It did give Gene Melton's name, lord knows how they got it, and had a picture of him, gaunt and smiling, right on the front page.

He set it down after a minute. "This may be good, Simon."

"Yeah, might be. It'll help us track down Melton, hopefully, if someone recognizes the picture. But..." Simon didn't need to finish, he knew.

Blair nodded. But it wouldn't help them find Rafe.

Simon sighed. "Look, Blair, go home. Get some sleep. Jim's going with you tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah," Blair confirmed. Jim was supposed to be home resting, but he was worried about the detective's disappearance, and when Blair went tomorrow to nearby cities, to check hospitals and clinics and anywhere else he could think of, Jim was planning to go along.

Simon stood, reaching out and grasping Blair's arm, hauling him out of the chair. "Go home. You won't be any good tomorrow if you're exhausted."

Blair looked down at the names and addresses on the papers in front of him. Every single person Rafe had ever known, just about. He had spent the day calling every one of them, looking for some hint of where Rafe might have gone. Dead ends. All of them.

"Blair." Simon faced him squarely. "I know you think it's your fault Rafe left."

"Of course I do. Why shouldn't I?" Blair answered back angrily.

"Look, driving yourself crazy over it won't help anyone, you hear me? You're all wearing yourselves out."

Blair took in Simon's bloodshot eyes and tight muscles, and wanted to point out that the captain wasn't exactly being responsible either. But he didn't. He didn't have to.

"I know, I know. I'm just as bad. This thing has us all on the edge." Simon rubbed his eyes wearily. "Tell you what, I'll go home and sleep if you do."

Blair nodded finally. "I guess you're right. I just wish...I was so stupid, Simon. You should have heard me. I said that Rafe deserved what he got. I said he probably enjoyed it. It's unforgivable."

Simon frowned. "Did you mean it?" he asked quietly.

"Of course not," Blair replied, shocked. "I was...I was angry, and tired, and I guess I just had to blame somebody."

"Then it's not unforgivable. It's understandable. Rafe overheard and he split, yeah. He shouldn't have done that. He should have told us about the blood test, he should have talked to Henri or me before he decided to vanish." Simon saw Blair's guilty eyes, and sighed. "Listen, we're gonna find him. He can't have gone too far, he didn't have much money with him. He'll be weak. We'll find him, Blair. And then you can apoligize all you want. Until then, don't worry about it so much you exhaust yourself to the point of making another stupid mistake, all right?"

"Yeah." Blair reached down and grabbed his jacket. "Yeah. Thanks, Simon." He left stiffly.

Simon watched him go with a frown. He knew Blair wouldn't ever forgive himself. He knew that if anything happened to Rafe out there, Blair would kill himself stressing over it. Not that Simon could blame him much.

Simon himself felt guilty. What could he have done? If he had been a little more present at that hospital, if he had been a little gentler with his men over the years, would Rafe have trusted him enough to talk to him instead of running off? Should Simon have known something like this was coming? Someone should have, that was for sure.

But they couldn't do anything about it now. They had to find him, they had to make amends. Until then, they could only search. Search for Rafe, search for Gene Melton, search for every single bastard responsible for his department, his friends, being so fragmented.





Mark Phillips peeked in the door of the hospital room, his frown apparent. George Tilbert was waking up. This might not be pretty.

"George?"

The man's eyes swung towards him, but he didn't respond.

"Mr. Tilbert?"

The hazel eyes narrowed in confusion, then a light sparked in them and he glanced down at the bracelet he wore, the one that had alerted the doctors to his condition. He cleared his throat painfully. "Where am I?"

"West Side General. You passed out in an alley downtown. Do you remember what happened?"

The man shook his head slightly.

"Mr. Tilbert, you're not from Hildersburg, are you?"

"Where?"

"The city we're in now. Hildersburg, Washington."

The man laughed slightly. "I've never even heard of it."

Mark smiled somewhat. "I'm not surprised. Where are you from?"

An automatic response made him open his mouth, but he shut it again after a minute. "I don't remember."

Mark Phillips' eyes narrowed. "You don't remember."

"Who're you? A doctor?"

"I'm a counselor, Mr. Tilbert. I've worked with AIDS patients for quite a few years now."

The hazel eyes shut slowly, then opened again, the light gone. "Oh."

Mark studied the man. "Do you want to tell me what's going on, Mr. Tilbert? We seem to be having trouble finding your medical records."

A bitter smile flitted over the face, then was gone. "No thanks. Just tell me which way's the door."

The counselor moved over to the side of his bed and sat. "Can't do that, George." His eyes met the strangers'. "Or do you want to tell me what your real name is?"

"Real name?"

"Mr. Tilbert...whoever you are. You're obviously not George Tilbert. I'd be willing to bet you haven't been HIV positive long enough to have that bracelet made, have you?"

The eyes widened. "How'd you-"

"Years, Mr...I've worked with AIDS patients for years. I can tell."

"Uh huh." The man's eyes closed again, opening with more difficulty. "Look, I don't need a counselor, all right? I don't need to be here. Just let me..." He trailed off, forcing his eyes back open.

Mark Phillips watched the man without a word as he drifted to sleep. This was going to be one of the interesting cases, he knew it.





Blair pulled the truck to a stop in front of the station, his eyes huge. "What the-"

Jim frowned beside him. "I don't know, Chief, but let's not get into the middle of it."

There must have been hundred of men and women standing outside the station. Must of them seemed to be in uniform- police officers. A few weren't, but Jim could see detective badges and guns in holsters.

And then suddenly he saw the door to the station opening and Simon coming out. "Whoa, hang on. There's Simon."

Blair and Jim watched as Simon saw the truck through the crowd, and immediately made his way over to them, a disbelieving smile on his face.

Blair opened his door and let Simon come up. "What the hell's going on here?"

Simon shook his head in disbelief. "Jim, Blair, you're looking at probably every single off duty officer in three counties. They showed up this morning, a parade."

"For what?"

Simon faced Blair. "You remember that article yesterday?"

Blair's eyes grew and he studied the crowd.

Simon grinned. "They're here to help. They came to show their support for Rafe, to arrange a manhunt to catch Melton."

Blair let out a low whistle. "Wow."

Simon nodded. "Yeah, that's what I said." His smile faded. "Too bad Rafe isn't here to see it." He held up a hand before Blair could insert another guilty apology. "Look, I've got one group of detectives in on Rafe's disappearance. They're gonna scan most of the nearby cities. You two are gonna take the east, Devere County. Got it?"

Blair and Jim exchanged a look. "Yeah. We'll call you around noon."

Simon gave a crooked smile. "Phones might be busy, but you can try."

Blair shut the door again as Simon headed back to wade through the crowd. He glanced over at Jim. "This is incredible."

Jim nodded. "Let's just hope it does some good."



Going to the AIDS ward of West Side General, the two detectives from Cascade's northern precinct had no idea what the man looked like that they were searching for. They could only ask to check to records, to make sure no one named Rafe Van Ryj was anywhere nearby.

And when a young man sitting on a bed in one of the rooms saw the two men go passed the open door, he breathed a sigh of relief that it was no one he knew.

As long as he was George Tilbert, he was safe.





Blair called the station every hour on the hour once he and Jim had searched Devere County thoroughly for their missing friend.

Every hour he got more bad news, and every hour he grew more and more frustrated.

The next morning the crowd was back, different police officers volunteering their day off to help their wounded comrade-in-arms find his attacker. And Simon sent another small group of selected detectives on the search for Rafe.

He shouldn't have been surprised when the papers the day after that reported that Rafe was missing. Again, his name hadn't gotten out, but Rafe was the most popular victim in Washington that week, and they only had to report that the valiant detective had disappeared.

That day, twice as many police showed up, and a few civilians arrived to offer their help.





"So, what? You want me to talk?"

Mark Phillips almost smiled at the belligerent young man. "Listen, George." He was calling him that now only because he still wouldn't give his real name. "That's what these things are for."

Rafe glanced around the room, where the other young men sat staring. "I don't get why you're doing this. I have no insurance, I've got nothing."

"This is a clinic, George. Free to the public. And I'm doing it because you're as much a victim as anyone else in this room, and I don't think you realize it."

Rafe blew out a breath and faced the other men. A counseling session. Great. Just what he needed. "Look, it's not like I'm gonna live long enough for this to do any good, right?"

Disapproving sounds came from the men around him.

Mark sighed. "George, I'm going to let the rest of this group introduce themselves, and you can make up your own mind about that."

The men dutifully went around the circle, making introductions. Giving their names and how long they'd been positive.

Rafe took it in in surprise. Years. Some of these men had been positive for almost ten years. And they didn't even look sick.

Mark smiled at his reactions. "Your turn," he cued when the circle got to him.

He cleared his throat. "Uh...my name is...George." He saw Mark's frown, but went on. "I've been positive for about a week and a half."

Understanding faces replaced the disapproving stares, and Rafe found himself suddenly a part of the group.

Mark took up the litany. "And I'm Mark Phillips, positive for about five years now." He smiled at Rafe's shocked face. "George, what you are is a newbie, so I'm gonna tell you this simply, and hope you hear me. You're not dying of AIDS. You are living with HIV. I know, it sounds corny, but look around you. In this room is over a hundred years of survival with the virus. Some people aren't so lucky, I'll tell you that honestly. But if you take care of yourself, if you fight this thing and don't act like you're already dead, survival isn't even questionable. There are advances in medications, therapy...HIV is not a death sentence anymore. I have patients who have lived with it for seventeen or eighteen years." He smiled sincerely. "Now, what is it you do?"

"I'm...uh..." Rafe stammered for a response.

"George. You're with friends here. If you want to remain anonymous in name, that's fine. But we all have stories to tell, you're not alone."

Rafe took in the faces around him, and nodded slowly. "I'm a cop," he said in response.

"You want to tell us your story?"

Rafe looked back at the young counselor. "You first."

Mark heard the challenge and shrugged. "Well, if no one here minds sitting through it again..." He shot a smile to the other men in the group. They responded in easy laughs. "Okay. Well, let's see. I was dating a man I'd seen for about six years. Roger. We were married -- or as close as we could be to it, and happy, you know? So one day he slips and falls down some steps, and scratches his knee. But it won't stop bleeding. So I try and help bandage him up, and must have cut my own hand on some bit of rock or something. We take him to the hospital when his knee just keeps bleeding and bleeding. They test his blood, find the virus. Which he gave to me through that tiny scratch on my hand." Mark shook his head with a rueful smile. "Goes to show you never can tell, huh?"

Rafe drew in a breath. "What happened to him?"

"Died. Pretty soon after that, actually." Mark faced Rafe squarely. "That's it for me...George."

Rafe looked down at his hands, swallowing before he spoke. "My name is Rafe." He directed that straight to Mark, and was rewarded with a warm smile before his gaze returned to his fidgeting hands. "I was...I was kidnapped by a group of rapists I had come into contact with months ago. Their leader...he had a grudge, I guess." He gave a bitter smile. "He had a man, George Tilbert," he lofted the bracelet. "Rape me to infect me with the virus."

Mark's smile vanished. He suddenly understood every bit of anger the young man had. But he didn't think about it too hard before it suddenly occured to him that this story sounded very familiar.





"No! He's not anywhere, Simon! We've checked every single hospital and clinic, every train and bus station, every airport. He's vanished. No one's heard the name Rafe Van Ryj anywhere." Blair was pacing, wild.

Simon glanced over at Jim, and the two exchanged concerned looks. Blair was getting worse, driving himself to the point of collapse over this. "Blair, listen."

"No! I'm done listening! It's not doing a thing to help-"

He was interrupted by the ring of Simon's phone. The captain groaned out loud and picked up the phone. "Banks."

"Is this Simon Banks?"

"Yeah. Who's this?"

"Captain, my name is Mark Phillips. I..uh, I'm not really sure I should be calling you. But I saw your name in the paper, and I thought you'd like to know..."

"Know what?" Simon asked tiredly, shrugging over at Jim and Blair.

"Does the name Rafe mean anything to you?"

"Rafe?" Simon sat up straight. He'd gotten several tips, anonymous clues about his missing detective, but no one had given his name to the press.

Blair stopped in his tracks, wheeling to face the phone.

"Yeah. He works for you?"

"You know where he is?"

"He's checked into West Side General. I'm working with him."

"West Side?" Simon's brow furrowed. He knew West Side had been checked out.

"He..he was admitted with no identification. Under the name George Tilbert."

Simon's eyes shut briefly. That man George's name had definitely not been told to anyone. This was for real. "Thank you for calling me. Could you keep him there until we show up?"

"I'll try."

Simon hung the phone up and stood. "Brown!" he shouted into the office.

Henri Brown came into the office stiffly. "Yeah?"

Simon grinned over at Jim and Blair. Here was at last the chance to wipe the dead look from Henri's eyes. "Let's go to West Side General and pick up your partner, huh?"





"So what do you think, Rafe? Are you ready to go back and try and live with this thing?"

Rafe watched Mark moving around his room, wondering why the counselor was so tense. "I don't know."

"It's understandable to be hesitant. One session in a hospital with other patients isn't going to turn your life around. I realize that. You'll have moments where you're going along minding your own business, and it'll suddenly occur to you that you're dying. You'll have days, maybe weeks, at a time where you hate people around you, the ones who can't know what it's like to be where you are, the ones who have retirements to plan and children and...it gets frustrating. But you're coping right now, and hopefully you'll continue to cope. And if you need anything, you can always call me. Any time. And I mean that."

Rafe looked down at the card Mark had already given him, then back up at the counselor's open face. Mark was quite a man, he'd decided. Rafe wasn't quite sure how he'd done it, but he'd gotten him to open up about his story, admit things to Mark and the rest of that group that he hadn't fully admitted to himself yet.

And when Mark looked at him, it was with friendly eyes. A look Rafe thought he could handle. "You may be right. I don't know. I can't..."

"Why don't you just go back to...where ever it is you're from? Throw that chain around your wrist in the river, and get back to your own life." Mark spoke quietly.

Rafe shook his head. So he was accepting the reality of his prognosis. He had taken that step. He wasn't ready to face his former friends, to face Jim Ellison, and deal with them as well.

He couldn't face Blair Sandburg. He couldn't face looking at the open, honest, friendly young student who must have been speaking the truth when he said that Rafe deserved all of this. "No. I'll go...somewhere else."

Mark's frown deepened. "Don't you have friends? A job?"

"I did. This has kind of changed everything, you know?"

"For you or for them?"

Rafe looked over at the man, and shrugged after a minute. "Both. Look, it's a long, gruesome story, even worse than what I told you in that session. You don't want to know."

"Pretend I do."

"No. It's just too hard, okay? I'll make a life somewhere, I promise. Just not back in Cascade."

"Why?"

Rafe blew out a breath. "Because. I hurt everyone I knew there. I was to blame for the same thing that happened to me happening to a good friend of mine. I deserve this, all right?" He raised the bracelet he still kept around his wrist. "I deserve it."

"No you don't."

Rafe spun at the familiar voice, and found himself staring at a crowd of people outside his door, first and foremost a very pale Blair Sandburg. He turned dark eyes on Mark, knowing now why the counselor had been pushing so hard. "You..."

Mark nodded, a strange look in his eyes, like he wasn't sure yet whether or not to regret calling Rafe's friends.

"Rafe?"

The young detective faced Blair. "Look...I...you shouldn't have come."

Blair shook his head and took a step forward. "I was wrong, Rafe. You overheard what had to be the most hateful, and furthest from true, thing that's ever come out of my mouth. I was defending Jim, and it had me so crazed I couldn't see the truth about you." Blair drew in a breath. "Anyway, I was wrong. I knew it the moment I said it. I know there's no way to make it up to you, but if I drive you away from Cascade, I'll never forgive myself."

Rafe frowned, his head shaking in argument. "I don't think you were wrong, Blair."

"Of course he was wrong." Jim Ellison spoke up now, moving to the side of his partner. "Nobody deserves this, Rafe. Especially not you."

Confused, Rafe met the eyes of the man he had put through so much.

"You really don't get it, do you? What if it had been the other way around? What if those men were criminals from my past, and you got hurt as a result. Would you really blame me for it?"

"Of course not." Rafe shrugged. "You would, though."

Jim smiled slightly. "Yeah, I would. And I'd be just as wrong. You fought hard to protect me. You did more than most people would have done to try and keep me safe. I owe you for that."

"Owe me?" Rafe shook his head, incredulous. "Jim, I killed you. Me and those men, they've sentenced us both to death. How can you stand it? I know you have better ears than most people, how can you listen to your own heart beat, knowing it's filling you with poison? How can you not hate me?"

Jim drew in a breath, glancing over at Blair. "Oh, Rafe....nobody...nobody told you."

"Told me what?"

"I don't have it." Jim spoke quietly, unsure of how the younger man would react. Jim was sure he himself would be angry for having drawn the short stick, all alone.

Rafe's mouth dropped open, and he stared. "You don't...you were negative?"

"It was only George, Rafe. And he didn't touch me."

A sound that was almost a sob came from the younger man. "Oh my God. Jim, I was-" He swallowed, hard. "I was sure you were dying too."

"No." Jim's mind was racing. God, Rafe had to hate him now. Jim was fine, he was recovering, he wasn't sick. He had a young wife, a daughter on the way, he had everything that was now a mockery of what Rafe had lost.

"Thank God. Jim, I was sure...Thank God!" Rafe raised a trembling hand to his eyes, trying to hold in his shuddering emotions.

"So? Are you coming back?"

Rafe's eyes came up, and he gazed at his partner, seeing the exhaustion evident on Henri Brown -- evident on everyone in that doorway. "H, I don't..."

"Oh, come on. Don't be like this, man. I know we're not the best support team a guy could want, but you have to give us a chance before running off. You don't want to be alone in Cascade? That's cool with me, you move in with us. We have a guest room, no problem."

Rafe laughed softly. "Deb would love that, I'm sure."

"Of course she would. You're part of the family, Rafe, you have to know that by now. You have a place with me and mine, whenever you want it."

"And no offense, kid, but I'd rather not have to go through the screening process with some new recruit to try and fill your place at the station, you hear me?"

Rafe looked at Simon, speechless.

"Yeah, you've still got your job. Why wouldn't you? It may not be...well, hell, we'll make it work, Rafe. Just promise no more vanishing acts."

"Yeah. I mean, no. I can't..." Rafe shook his head faintly.

"Aww, man. Don't make us beg." Henri grinned at his partner, his eyes burning with his plea.

A throat cleared behind Rafe. "Look, George? I mean, Rafe. Sorry."

Rafe turned to face Mark Phillips. "S'okay, man," he said with a small smile.

The counselor faced him seriously. "I told you before, I've worked around this kind of thing for years. And I have to say, it you turn this down, you'll be one of the most ungrateful patients I've ever seen. You have your support right here, Rafe. Don't ignore them. You've got your friends and coworkers offering their help, and if you don't take it I'm going to tranfer to whatever city you end up in and haunt you for it. I'm serious."

Rafe laughed quietly, thinking it over. "Guess you're right."

"About everything, and don't forget it." Mark gestured towards the doorway.

Rafe faced his friends again, a sincere smile appearing on his face for the first time since before this had started. "You guys know how to make a point, don't you?"

Relieved grins appeared all around. "Is that a yes?"

Rafe looked at Blair, seeing the hope in the young man's eyes, and nodded. "A big yes."





And then it was as if nothing had changed. Nothing at all.

Well, a few things. Rafe had nightmares, far too often. He couldn't stand to feel eyes watching him, and he wondered if that would ever go away. And he had yet to feel any attraction for a man.

Until, that is, Cascade General got the funds it needed to update it's AIDS research and counseling area, and looked around for someone to help run it. When Mark Phillips had shown up ready to take the job, Rafe couldn't help but feel that maybe, some day, things would be normal in that area as well.

The story of Rafe's ordeal was spread, and a group of mounties just north of the border recognized a man who had recently arrived in a small town as the perpetrator of the crime. The men got together and tracked Gene Melton down, and, through a line of underground police, broke the laws of extradition, which could have held a conviction up months, or years, by smuggling Melton unwilling back into the US, where he was promptly arrested, and his cries of being forced into the country were dismissed as the last-ditch attempts by a guilty man to save himself.

Melton was charged with two counts of assault, attempted murder, kidnapping, perjury, and any other offense the judge could think to pin on him. Sentenced to life in prison, Melton soon found that the inmates of the facility he was sent to responded just as negatively to his deeds as the outside world had. He was assaulted, physically and sexually, several times over the course of the next two months, and when he was found hanging from a rope in the dark back room behind the prison's plate factory, it was called a suicide.

Go to Part 1
Go to Part 2