Archive of Our Own ^beta

The worst sin towards our fellow creatures is not to hate them, but to be indifferent to them; that is the essence of inhumanity.--George Bernard Shaw

"Hey, wait up! Henri!"

Henri Brown's hand shot out, catching the elevator door just before it closed and sliding it back open. He grinned at the approaching figure. "My, my, my. If it isn't always-punctual Detective van Rij. If it isn't let's-make-Henri-look-bad-by-always-being-on-time Mister Rafe."

His partner flashed him a look that was half-way between a glare and a smile, and somehow a combination of both. "Yes, Henri. I'm late. Go sing it from the rooftops."

Henri let the door slide shut. "What happened? You score last night? Stay out too late?"

"Nope. I was...I just overslept."

"You're lying to me," Henri observed easily.

Rafe shot him a look. "Look, H, sometimes people sleep late, okay? You do it twice, three times a week. I don't see why I'm not allowed."

Henri raised his hands in defeat. "Touchy. Okay, you overslept."

"Thank you." Rafe's mouth twitched in a smile. "Besides, a gentleman never kisses and tells."

"Oh, you asshole. I knew it! You went out with Sandburg last night and got lucky, didn't you?"

"Are you crazy? Jim wouldn't let me touch Blair."

Henri gaped at his partner for a minute, then swatted him on the arm. "That's not what I meant, wise-ass."

"I was only kidding anyway. I sat home all night going over the Perkins' reports."

"Perkins? I thought we had that case closed a week ago," H said as he leaned back on the elevator wall.

"Nope. Stephens is blabbing to his lawyers about accomplices, and not naming any names. You know how high-profile that case was. Simon's got us on the look-out for these invisible other men."

"Great. Just great. How come I wasn't told about this?"

"You were out at the Rivedale bust, remember? Doing everybody else's job again."

Henri glanced at him, surprised at the sudden bitter tone in his partner's voice. "What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing."

"Rafe."

The younger man sighed. "Look, Henri, I know I get on your case about showing up late every day, but at the rate you're going, I'm not surprised. You were out past midnight last night, weren't you? Talking to those jerks from the 23rd."

Henri shrugged. "So what, man? Just doing-"

"Your job? No, you weren't, you were doing your job and my job and the jobs of the detectives at the 23rd. You've got to cut it out, H. You're going to give yourself a complex."

The door to the elevator swung open on the sixth floor, and a man stepped in. The partners shut their conversation up for the time being, but after a few moments of silence, Rafe couldn't hold back.

"Look, I don't want to upset you. I know why you do it, but you have to stop driving yourself so hard and start driving me and the rest of the station a little more, you know? If I didn't know you like I do, I'd think you didn't trust me or something."

Henri's eyes shot to Rafe's face, surprised. "What's this got to do with you?"

Rafe shrugged, almost blushing. "Nothing. That was a dumb thing to say, sorry. We're just worried, H."

Henri studied him for a moment, then finally smiled. "Well, fear not, worthy sidekick. I'm fine."

The doors opened, finally depositing them at the floor of Major Crimes. The two men stepped out together, unconsciously falling into rhythm as they walked.

"Why am I the sidekick? How come you never have to be my sidekick?"

"Because I've been here longer. I've got the experience. I've got the look. I've got the moooooves." Henri slid his way in through the doors to the bustling office. "Hey, Hairboy. Where's GI Tightass?"

Rafe followed behind him, shaking his head and trying not to grin at his partner's antics. He was used to being the sidekick, actually, for reasons just like this. Henri tended to burst into rooms, to make an entrance. He was always loud, making people laugh, and he was a good enough cop to have every single person's respect in the office.

Rafe was more the wallflower; the straight man for Henri's gags, the one who always laughed at Henri's jokes. In private, the two men bantered and were on equal ground, but in crowds, Henri Brown definitely had it all over Rafe.

People liked Rafe, he guessed, in a quiet sort of way. He had been told often enough times how attractive he was, he always dressed the part. He had a good heart -- that was one he heard a lot. That surprised people who didn't know Rafe very well. People who guessed from his appearance that he came from money, they were surprised he was as nice and down to earth as he was.

He never bothered correcting them on any of it.

And it wasn't like he was unhappy. He was proud to be partners with the man making an entire room full of cops grin like idiots. Henri Brown had his hidden side too, and Rafe was the only one in that room to know the full story. That gave him a certain edge over the crowd, even if none of them realized it.

And it only took Henri a minute of greeting people before he was back by his partner's side. "Alright, Rafe, don't stand there frozen, we got criminal asses to wallop."

Rafe grinned and followed Henri further into the room, towards the desk they worked from.

Behind them, the door to Major Crimes opened again and two men stepped in. No one familiar, so the crowd didn't stop its bustling. The first and most prominent was a tall, olive-skinned man with gray hair, a sturdy stance, and eyes that swept over the room. He hesitated for a minute by the door, then made his way into the room, his eyes on the office in the rear -- the office of Captain Simon Banks. The second man, an obvious lackey, followed without even looking around.

Rafe was unfortunate enough to decide to want a cup of coffee right as this man was passing by, and when he turned he ran right into the stranger.

"Oh, sorry." A smile naturally came to Rafe's face, polite and distant, as he passed the man and his associate.

But the stranger didn't start walking again. Instead, his eyes followed the detective's movements as he walked. He watched Rafe as he suddenly pulled to a dead stop in the middle of the room, his body going rigid. Watched him turn slowly back around, wide eyes returning to the man.

"Ryf." The man's voice reflected his bearing -- sturdy and proud.

Henri Brown heard him and glanced over to see what was happening. He studied the stranger with interest, then followed his gaze to where his partner stood-

-and got up immediately, heading for Rafe's side. The man looked like he had just seen a ghost, pale and tense, eyes haunted. "Hey, Rafe, what's up?" he asked quietly, coming to his friend's side.

"Excuse me, Mister Smola?" A uniform appeared behind the man, drawing his attention. "Captain Banks can see you now."

The stranger nodded briskly and gave one cool glance back to the frozen detective before turning and following the woman to the back of the room. His shorter companion followed without a word.

The moment he was in the door and out of sight, Rafe sagged. Henri reached out, surprised, and supported his partner, leading him to his chair quickly.

"What the hell is going on here, Rafe?"

Rafe shook his head, his eyes still wide and unblinking.

"You okay, man?"

Another small head shake.

"Come on, Rafe, talk to me. You're scaring me here."

Rafe blinked, slowly raising his gaze to his concerned partner. "Henri-"

"Hey, is everything okay over here?"

Henri looked up in annoyance, only to have it fade when the worried blue eyes of Blair Sandburg met his. "I don't know," he replied honestly.

The new voice seemed to have snapped Rafe out of his stupor. He pushed to his feet suddenly, and took a few quick steps towards Simon's closed door. He turned and looked at Henri, his eyes strangely bright. "What is he doing here?" he asked in a strange, flat tone. His accent was suddenly much more prominent.

Henri glanced at Blair, who was equally stumped. "Uh, look, Rafe, why don't you come sit down, tell us who that guy is, and we'll figure it out."

Rafe came forward obediently, but when he reached Brown's side he turned and headed the other way. His steps turning into a nervous pace, he couldn't stop his eyes from going to the closed door.

"Rafe-"

"Don't worry about it," Rafe said to him.

Henri watched him pace for another minute. "Look, partner, we can-"

"Leave it, Henri." Rafe all but glared at his partner as he passed.

Henri shook his head slightly, confused. "Rafe, why don't you tell me what's wrong?"

"Why is he taking so long?" Rafe muttered in reply, more to himself that anyone else.

And now Henri couldn't keep a twist of amusement out of his eyes. Simon's door had only been shut for a minute. "Patience is a virtue," he said lightly.

Rafe stopped his pacing and spun towards his partner. "So is silence, Henri, so shut the fuck up!"

Mouths around the office dropped open in shock. Rafe yelled at Henri. Good-hearted Rafe had turned an actual glare to his partner, and yelled at him. And now he didn't bother to take it back, or apologize. He just kept pacing.

Until the door to Simon Bank's office opened again a few minutes later, exposing the gray-haired stranger.

Rafe stiffened, but it seemed more with resolve than anything else, and stood straight, facing the man as he approached, followed by the companion that dogged him liked a shadow, and Simon Banks himself.

Smola paused in front of Rafe.

The detective swallowed. "Meneer."

Smola glanced back at his constant companion, and gestured to the detective with no small amount of scorn. "Dit is Ryf." He looked Rafe in the eye. "Hy is Niemand." He stressed the last word with a dark smile.

Rafe paled, but made no move as the man brushed past and started for the door. "Moenie..."

Smola turned slightly at the near whisper, but it was only to gesture to his companion. "Kom saam. Dadelik." His lackey was at his side in an instant at those words and the two men were suddenly out the door and gone as quickly as they'd come.

Rafe suddenly found himself the focal point of too many stares. Every eye in the room was on him. Henri Brown and Simon Banks were studying him like he was a new life form, while Blair Sandburg's eyes were thoughtful, searching the young detective.

Rafe stood silently, deciding what to do. Finally he turned and went to his desk, sitting silently, opening the first file he came to, saying a steady prayer that the eyes would lose interest and look somewhere else.

As if reading his mind, Simon Banks broke the strange silence. "Get to work, people," he barked, his eyes not leaving his youngest detective.

The room pulsed into action again, and if the voices were a little more hushed and murmured and eyes kept going back to Rafe's hunched form, Simon paid no attention. Instead, he turned a questioning look to Henri Brown.

Henri read the expression easily, and shrugged. He didn't have the faintest clue what that was all about.

"Why don't you go join your partner?" Simon suggested softly in response.

Brown nodded and made a beeline for his desk. He hesitated once he was at Rafe's side, uncertain. He decided finally to try for light. "So you have hidden talents, I see. What the hell kinda language was that, anyway?"

The slumped form didn't move.

Henri swallowed. "Uh...hey, man, you wanna make some room?"

Rafe didn't say a word, just scooted the files so Henri could see them too.

What Henri saw was that his partner was examining a case that had been closed yesterday. He reached out gingerly and closed the folder, moving to sit on the edge of the desk. "Alright, Rafe. You gonna tell me what's wrong?"

Rafe met his eyes, a dark look on his face. "No."

Henri put on his most reassuring, I'm-with-you-man expression. "Look, it can't be that bad. Why don't you-"

"God dammit, Henri, why can't you ever leave anything alone?" Rafe shot out of his chair, almost throwing Henri off-balance, and grabbed his jacket.

"Where you going?" Henri asked immediately, concern overwhelming his surprise at Rafe's sudden behavior.

"Nowhere." Rafe stormed towards the door.

"Detective!" Simon Banks, watching from a distance, wasn't about to ignore this problem. "Where do you think you're going?"

Rafe -- ever-obedient, gentle Rafe -- didn't even look back. "To lunch."

"Van Ryj, get your ass back in here!"

Tension in the room shot up about a hundred percent. It was everyone's habit to refer to the young man as Rafe, all the time. It was what Rafe preferred. Even Simon was in the habit of saying Detective Rafe. This sudden appearance of his last name didn't bode well.

But if Rafe realized that, he showed no sign. He glanced back briefly, but continued to the door, almost knocking an incoming figure over.

"Watch it!" Rafe pushed past the startled man without a pause.

"Uh. Sorry, Rafe," Jim Ellison mumbled in response, brow furrowed. Who was this and what had he done with their Rafe?

After a surprised second spent listening to the younger man's footsteps going to the elevator, Jim continued on into Major Crimes, glancing back at the now empty doorway. "What was that?" he asked H and Blair, who were now crowded around Brown's desk.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Henri responded, worried. "He was fine for all I knew and then he just went ballistic over some guy who came in."

"I would have gone weird too if some strange guy told me I was nobody," Blair broke in.

"Nobody? Sandburg, what are you talking about?" H asked, still peeved.

"The guy said Rafe's name, though kind of a different pronunciation of it. Ryf, I think. More guttural."

"Get to the point, Chief."

"Yeah, sorry. Then he said something like nothing, nobody, I'm not entirely sure."

Henri turned to him, surprised. "You understood it?"

"Not all of it. I have some basic knowledge of the Afrikaan language from my studies, but not enough so that I can carry on a sensible conversation."

"He's like a walking encyclopedia," Jim threw in with a smirk, seeing Henri's shocked face. "That's what made Rafe go off like that?"

"Now that I don't know," Blair admitted.

"Well, you better find out fast because we need his help on a new case." Simon walked over from the direction of his office to join them.

"Does it have anything to do with that guy that was in here?" Blair asked.

"Everything. I don't know what he did to make Rafe so mad, but he's got his hands all over this case, so Rafe's either got to get over his tantrum or bail on it." "What kind of case?" H questioned.

"I think it's best if we wait for Rafe, talk to everyone at once. When he gets back, I want all of you in my office," Simon said to the three men as he turned and walked back to his office.

"Well, I hate to break all this up, but we have paperwork to get done," Jim said to Blair. He looked over at the concern still evident on Henri's face. "It'll be alright H, he'll cool off and be ready to talk soon."

"I hope you're right Jim, last thing I need is Rafe going psycho on me." Henri looked at Ellison. "Always gotta look out for them, you know...." He gave him a meaningful look.

And Jim understood perfectly. "Come on, Chief, we've got a whole stack of reports that are just dying to get typed," he said as he shuffled Blair over to their desk.

"What did he mean, 'look out for them?"

Jim knew enough by now not to keep things from Blair, but this time it wasn't his secret to divulge, so he just pushed on. "Henri's just worried about his partner," he answered as he flipped through a file he picked up from the desk.

"I've never seen him angry..." Blair faltered. "But he probably had a good reason."

Jim looked at the younger man, questioning the meaning. "What possible reason could Rafe have for almost taking off my shoulder on the way out?"

"It's complicated, man. Rafe's complicated." It was Blair's turn to hide in the files to keep from looking at his partner.

"Now who's keeping secrets?" Jim retorted as he dropped his own file on the desk. "You and Rafe talked, didn't you? That night me and Henri were on the stakeout, you guys talked?"

"What are you talking about?" Blair chuckled, trying to hide his nervousness.

"When Simon sent me and Henri on that stakeout, you and Rafe followed us," Jim reminded his wide-eyed partner. "Don't try to deny it, I saw you two parked up in Rafe's car."

"Well, we were worried about you and..."

"I knew you'd probably pull something like that and you know how I feel about it. You wouldn't be Blair Sandburg if you didn't disobey every single thing I said."

"You wait until NOW to bring this up? You certainly are good at holding grudges aren't you? Besides, I didn't disobey you technically....you told me you didn't want me going with you, and I didn't." Blair tried to wiggle out of Jim's glare. "We'll talk about this later, ok? I just....uh, figured you two talked about some things."

It wasn't hard to miss the slight apprehension and guilt in Jim's tone. Blair looked up and faced him squarely. "Jim, we've talked about this before. It is not cool for you to listen in on my personal conversations!"

Jim knew better than to deny it. He had been spying. "Calm down, I didn't hear hardly anything. You two started talking about how overprotective we were and I tuned out. It doesn't interest me to listen to my faults."

"It wasn't like that. We were just comparing how alike you two are and then....we talked about some things."

"I figured as much," Jim laughed.

"I know, you and H probably sat in silence the whole time and didn't even say a word right?"

"Well....not entirely. I guess we both had an interesting time that night, huh?"

"More than you'll know, Jim," Blair answered quietly.

"You'd be surprised," Jim responded. The two sat and looked at each other in silence for a few moments, then Blair broke the mood.

"Well, if we don't get these reports done soon, Simon will have a fit."

"Take it away Darwin, they're all yours," Jim smiled as he picked up his coffee cup and walked towards the break room.

"Oh, great. Thanks a lot." Blair didn't even raise his voice, knowing Jim was listening. "This really sucks," he said, quieter. And he wasn't sure he meant just the paperwork.

*******************

"Idiot. You stupid...idiot!" Rafe didn't bother to look around and notice the strange looks following him as he mumbled to himself angrily.

This day was a disaster, that much was for sure. And he really, really wished he hadn't rushed to get out of the station like that. Now Simon was no doubt pissed at him, Henri was probably mad, and he had no one to talk to. And Ellison. He had actually pushed Jim Ellison out of his way. Jim The-Most-Intimidating-Man-on-Earth Ellison. Man, he didn't look forward to facing that guy again.

Well, he didn't really look forward to much of anything right now. Whatever Smola had been doing at the station, it wasn't good. Whatever he was doing in this city, in this country...and why whatever it was had brought him to Cascade, to his precinct, to Major Crimes....

The world wasn't nearly large enough. Rafe should have come to terms with that fact a long time ago.

As if responding to his thoughts, a coldly familiar voice caught his ears suddenly. "Ryf."

Three different urges pulled Rafe at once. The first was to keep going, pretend he didn't hear. The second was to run straight to his apartment, pack his things, and get as far away from that voice as possible.

The third was more sensible, and for some reason that's the one he went with. He turned to face Gustav Smola. "Meneer," he greeted for the second time with some effort.

Smola smiled grimly. "We will speak English."

Rafe nodded slightly. "Uncle." "I don't know what to say, Ryf."

Rafe cringed. Even that pronunciation was starting to stir up memories.

"I have heard from my brother how you deserted your family. I have heard that you were living in a city, earning money, while your mother and sisters barely have enough to eat. I have heard, but I didn't want to believe. Now I see it was correct and I am almost glad of the circumstances that brought me here."

"Uncle, I have-"

"I think about how I put you on the plane to America myself. I think about how your family lived off of my kindness for nearly a year. I can remember every single time you gave me or your parents trouble, and yet somehow I thought the man you would grow into would be better than the child you were. I see that that was also incorrect."

It occurred to Rafe to wonder why he was standing there listening to this man, but he knew from past experience that no amount of will would start his body moving away.

"You have forgotten yourself, Ryf. Who you were. What you are. It does not do for a man to forget his place in the world."

Miraculously, Rafe was able to speak up, his throat dry. "I have to go back to work."

Smola nodded once. "I will see you at your station, I'm sure." He wasted no time, leaving his nephew's side and starting across the street.

Rafe watched him go for a long time, before he could finally get his legs to start moving again. He turned and slowly headed back to the station, knowing that whatever awaited him there, it wasn't as bad as what had found him out here.

*******************

"Ow! Damn it!"

"Hey, keep your voice down. There are innocent ears in this room."

Blair glared over at Henri, who smiled half-heartedly in response. He stuck his injured finger in his mouth without a word, turning back to the file in front of him.

"Sandburg!?"

Blair's eyes flew up as Jim Ellison came pounding in, his eyes going straight to his partner. "Uh. Hey, Jim."

Jim went to his side without a pause. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just smashed my finger in the drawer. I'll live." Blair's eyes crinkled in sudden amusement. "You were listening in on me?"

Jim shrugged, dropping down into the seat beside him. "Not deliberately. Your...uh, your heartbeat sped up suddenly. I guess I automatically tuned in, heard you say ow."

Blair's eyes grew as he took that in. "Let me get this straight. You were listening to my heart beat, and as soon as it sped up, you unconsciously tuned your hearing up in time to hear me say ow?"

Jim nodded. "Yeah. So?"

"So there was maybe a one second pause between me being hurt and me actually saying 'ow' out loud. Which means in one second you were able to filter out all the other sounds around and focus directly on me. Jim, that's amazing! We have to focus on this! If we could get to the point where you were able to do that-"

"Chief?"

"-with just...oh. Yeah, Jim?"

"Reports?"

"Oh, you mean these things I've been filling out for the last hour?" Blair gazed at him pointedly.

"I'm here now, so why don't we work instead of ramble, okay?"

"I don't ramble."

Jim snorted. "Right, and I need glasses."

"Ha ha." Blair shook his head, but returned Jim's grin as they faced the pile of papers on the desk.

Jim sat up a second later, his smile vanishing, his eyes going to the door. "Rafe's coming."

Blair turned with him and saw their friend entering the office. If Rafe had looked stunned, or furious, before, now he just looked drained. He dragged his feet over to his desk and sat down without looking at anyone.

"Whoa. You think we should go talk to him?"

Jim thought about it. Henri had stepped out for a few minutes, probably down to Records, and Rafe sure looked like he had something he should get off his chest.

"I don't know, Chief. It's not really our business, is it?"

"Rafe! Get your ass in here, now!"

Blair glanced over at the door that had hardly opened, then shut again. Simon Banks must have had some kind of radar that let him keep track of his men. "This does not bode well," he commented in a whisper only Jim would hear.

Jim shrugged. It was none of their business.

"Ellison?"

He glanced over. Simon was sticking his head out again, watching Rafe's slow progression away from his desk. "Yeah?"

"As soon as Brown gets up here, I want all three of you in my office."

Rafe made his way to Simon without even noticing there was a conversation going on around him. He went in silently and Simon shut the door behind him.

"Can you hear anything?" Sandburg breathed just loud enough for Jim to hear him.

The Sentinel shot him a stern glance. "If I remember correctly, you were the one who told me that it wasn't proper to listen in on private conversations."

"Yeah, but this is different. Rafe's our friend..." Blair stopped. Well, Rafe was his friend and he was H's friend, even if he admittedly had problems with Jim. "Anyway, he might be in trouble or something."

"Fine, fine, but only for a minute. I'm not some spy for your personal amusement you know?" Jim gave Sandburg a mock grimace as he tuned into the office conversation.

"I'm sorry Captain, I had no right," Rafe's voice matched his bearing -- tired and drained.

"You're damned right you didn't! I can't have you going postal and then storming out of here!" Simon was yelling.

"I was just...."

"That was a direct undermining of my authority and you know it!"

"Captain..."

"You made me look like a fool, ignoring me like that!"

"I know..."

There was a pause as Simon managed to calm down. "I can't afford to reprimand you right now because I need you on this case, but you're walking a very thin line, son."

"I'm very sorry about my actions and it will never happen again. I accept all responsibility and any punishment you deem fit," Rafe replied without emotion.

"Rafe," Simon sighed. "I don't want to punish you. I know there's got to be a good explanation for what you did and I wish you'd tell me about it, but for right now let's just let it rest, ok?"

"Yes, sir."

A tap on his arm brought Ellison out of his eavesdropping.

"So, what did they say?"

"You mean you couldn't hear? Simon was practically blowing his top in there."

"I know," Sandburg commented. "But then it got quiet. They didn't kill each other did they?"

Jim chuckled, "No Chief, I think they're just going to let it go for right now."

"Good, now if Henri would just hurry up and..." Blair said as he caught sight of H. "Speak of the devil. Hey H, come over here!"

"Our presence is requested in Simon's office," Jim told H as he and Sandburg arose from their seats. "Rafe is already in there."

Henri brightened at the news, but hid it under a mock-grimace. "Tongue lashing?"

"Not too bad, actually," Jim replied as the threesome steadied themselves and entered Simon's office. Rafe was slumped in one of the chairs, trying not to look at anyone.

"You wanted to see us, sir?" H asked tentatively.

"Come in," Simon motioned to them. "We've got a new case for you guys."

The three men took their places around Simon's desk, Rafe still unmoved by the events.

"All four of us?" Jim questioned, surprised. This one must be big.

"Yes, all four of you. It involves a South African businessman, name's Franz Gierhake. He was in Cascade to meet with Thomas Jackson, the CEO of Glory Shares. It's a computer-based business that relocated secondary headquarters to South Africa about five years ago. The workers come cheaper and so do the diamonds that run the industry. Gierhake headed the sister company down in South Africa. The desk clerk said he left his hotel at 6PM last night to go to a meeting. We found him this morning in an alley on 35th Street, stabbed to death." Simon slid some crime-scene photos across his desk to the waiting detectives.

Jim glanced at it, let out a low whistle. "Robbery?"

Simon shook his head as Henri examined the picture next. "When the body was searched, he had over $2,000 American dollars on him."

Blair whistled. "That's a whole lot of cash."

"There's more." Simon looked over at Rafe and then back to the other three men. "I got a visit from a Mr. Gustav Smola this morning..."

"Smola."

"What?" Simon glanced back at Rafe.

"It's pronounced Smola," Rafe repeated quietly, his accented voice giving a slightly different flavor to the name.

"You know this guy?" Blair spoke gently -- they had pretty much figured out by now that Rafe knew the guy, somehow. But he wanted to hear it confirmed.

Rafe looked at him, eyes full of pain. He should have known it would come out sooner or later; he wished it had all just stayed in South Africa where it belonged.

"He's my uncle," he finally admitted.

Henri sat up quickly, his expression clouding with concern as he watched his partner. "That was your uncle? From Pretoria?"

Rafe nodded bleakly.

Henri's jaw tightened, but he faced Simon again without a word.

"You should have told me, Rafe," the captain said tiredly. "I need as many people on this as possible. If you're going to be too close-"

"No, Captain. I'm fine."

Simon just looked at him.

"Look, I'm sorry I overreacted this morning. I can find a murderer, sir. I just...I..." He frowned. "How much does Smola have to do with this, sir?"

Smola. Not Uncle, not Gustav. Smola. Blair filed that away for future reference.

"He's president of this company in Africa. Our victim's boss. He's a heavy-hitter, he could get the Feds involved if he raises enough hell."

"Damn," Jim made a face.

Simon glared at him. "If it comes to that, you'll work with them and like it, Ellison," he barked. Then lowered his voice. "Let's just make damned sure it doesn't come to that."

"What do you need all four of us working on this for, Captain? We've had higher-profile cases before," Henri said.

"Smola wants as many of my men as I can spare. And I'll tell you now, the facts of this case don't make much sense. We have a witness, a woman out walking her schnauzer or something, who swears up and down that Gierhake was killed by a homeless man who usually sleeps in that alley."

"A homeless guy? Who left two thousand bucks in the guy's pocket?" Henri didn't bother concealing his doubt.

Simon shrugged. "She lives nearby, says she saw him clear as day. But this guy's disappeared and nobody's talking. Homicide's been handling the case all morning, they've got some guys interviewing the local sidewalk population, but they aren't saying a word. We've got to figure out if it was some random crime by a psychopathic bum or something more substantial."

"Captain?" Jim was back to studying the picture, and his eyes had focused in on something.

"You see something, Jim?" It was Blair who responded, trying to sound casual.

"I think so. Have we got a better picture of his injuries?"

Simon flipped through the photos in his file. He made a slight face and pulled out the last one, a close-up of Gierhake's chest. The blood staining his shirt was more clear.

Jim studied it for a second, then looked up. "Where's the body?"

"My guess would be the morgue. What do you see?"

"Some kind of pattern...it's hard to tell, the blood's spread too far. I think if we look at the wounds themselves, we'd be-"

Simon's phone rang abruptly, cutting Jim off. He grabbed it, annoyed. "Banks...yeah...You found what?" His eyes went to Jim. "Carved into his chest," he repeated.

Jim set the picture down, trying not to follow his urges and listen in on the conversation.

"No one knows....okay, we'll look at it. Thanks." Simon hung up. "So you're psychic now too, huh?" he asked Jim sardonically.

"What you got?"

"Some kind of symbol, carved on Gierhake's chest. No one down in the morgue can recognize it. They're faxing a picture over."

Blair hoped he didn't look too pale. "Oh, goody."

Simon glanced over as, right on cue, his fax machine starting whirring. He ignored it for the time being. "Jim, you used to work Vice near 35th. You know the area, right?'

"That was a long time ago." Jim shrugged.

"You ever deal with the homeless?"

"Not much. And whoever I did know down there could be dead or moved on. No telling."

"Well, you've still had more experience with them than anyone else here. You and Sandburg are going to have to go canvas the streets, find somebody that'll talk to you about that night, or this homeless guy the witness thinks is our killer."

Jim nodded silently.

"Rafe, Brown, I want you to look into Gierhake, find out when he got here, who he talked to, what color underwear he wore. Everything. This guy Smola isn't being too generous with his itinerary." Simon leaned over as he talked, taking the completed fax off the machine. He studied it for a minute, then slid it over to them. "Take a look, tell me if it rings any bells."

Jim grabbed it and held it up so the others could see it. A rectangle, with straight lines coming from one side that branched off into diagonal. Looked like a sideways Y.

Blair studied it impassively, trying hard to pretend it was just a mural on paper, and not wounds on a corpse's skin. "It looks like some kind of crest, or-"

"Flag." Rafe's quiet voice cut him off.

"You recognize it, Rafe?"

He nodded, looking sick. "I think you can rule out the psychopathic bum theory. Unless the homeless population in Cascade would be familiar enough with the South African flag to carve it into a man's chest."

*******************

"Look, we don't know, you know? We see some things, and then they aren't there, see."

Jim rubbed away the beginnings of what was going to be a real bitch of a headache. "You wanna stop talking in riddles and try that again, Sammy?"

The fifty-something man in front of him grinned, revealing large gaps where teeth used to be. "We're all crazy down here anyway, officer. Sometimes what we see we don't know, and we don't know what we see."

Jim growled his frustration. "Sammy, go have a drink or something."

The man nodded, still grinning, and strolled off. Jim gazed around the small shelter, quickly spotting his partner wrapped up in conversation with a younger man. Blair looked safe for the time being, so he moved further into the room, his powerful eyes watching for another likely candidate.

He reached out almost absently, extending his hearing to other conversations in the small room. There weren't that many people talking, so it wasn't that hard.

"Waar die hel was jy gewees?"

The voice jumped out at him; the strange, guttural language, so surprising here in the pits of Cascade. Jim immediately turned to where it was coming from, to see two men confronting a third, hushed and obviously nervous. They looked like anyone else there, dirty and unkempt.

"Pas op," came the hissed response. "Polisie."

Police? Now this was interesting.

"Verdomp."

"Loop ons," the first speaker replied, and the three men through mutual agreement broke apart and started wandering in different directions.

Jim headed for Blair. "Hey, Chief, get over here."

Blair looked over from the man he'd been talking to, not at all surprised at the interruption. "Excuse me for a moment," he smiled politely at the young man. He stood and went to Jim's side. "What's wrong?"

"What language was it you said they spoke in South Africa?"

"Afrikaan. That's what Rafe was speaking to his uncle, anyway. It's mostly spoken by the white population of the country. Some in Nambia, too, and of course there're a bunch of African languages spoken in-"

"Alright, alright. I just overheard a coupla guys here speaking something strange." Jim frowned, concentrating.

Blair instantly realized what he was trying to do, and placed a hand on his arm. "Okay, Jim, no problem, just think back to what was said. Just extend your memory the same way you extend your senses. What do you think you heard?" "I know I heard the word police. Uhhh...polisie? I think that's right. And there was one sentence..." His frown grew. "Uhhh....waar die hel..was jy...jy something. I don't know."

"That's good enough. It sure sounds like it, anyway." Blair glanced around the room. "You want to pick them up?"

Jim thought about it. "I don't know. As big a coincidence as it is, we can't just arrest some guys for speaking another language."

"Man, too bad Rafe's not here."

Jim raised his eyebrows. "Yeah...."

"What you thinking?"

*******************

"You want me to go undercover in a homeless shelter because Jim thinks he overheard some guys speaking another language." Rafe managed to keep his voice remarkably calm.

Simon nodded firmly.

"I don't get it, Simon."

"Look, Rafe, we've got a South African businessman murdered with a flag carved into his chest, and we've got a murder suspect who's hiding somewhere among his homeless buddies. Now we've got homeless men in a shelter speaking South African to each other-"

"Afrikaan," Rafe corrected softly.

"Whatever. You know the language, they don't know you. It's just for a day or two, until we either find something else or we catch these guys in the act."

"In what act, Captain? They were just talking."

Simon glowered at his youngest detective. "Don't pretend to be dense, here. It's too much of a coincidence. A man was murdered, and I refuse to believe these guys don't have something to do with it. Now this is your assignment, Rafe. Are you gonna take it or not?"

Rafe raised his eyebrows and laughed bitterly. "Do I have a choice?"

Simon hesitated. He almost wished, looking at Rafe now, that he could offer him a choice. Rafe had changed over the last day. Only slightly, but it was noticeable. That bitter note in his voice was becoming more and more prominent, there were circles under his eyes and he looked as though he'd never smiled in his life. Simon had no idea how the appearance of a family member, even one as obviously estranged as Gustav Smola, could affect him so badly, but it had.

But, of course, there really was no choice to offer. The investigation of Gierhake's activities had led to nothing, there was no clue who this meeting he was supposed to have been going to was with. Jim overhearing that language was the closest thing to a lead they had, and Rafe was the only man in his department, and probably the whole station, who was familiar with Afrikaan.

Rafe was involved in this...well, a little too involved to make Simon happy. But really, no, there was no choice.

"I'm sorry, son. I know this isn't easy, but..." Simon shrugged.

Rafe stood. "Yeah. Thanks a lot." He headed for the door.

"This meeting isn't over yet, detective." Simon couldn't keep the snap out of his voice.

Rafe turned reluctantly. "What? What else is there?"

"Are you okay?"

"What?"

"It's not a hard question. But I want you to be honest. This case is rough on you. I don't know why, but I know it is. If you can't handle it, I need you to let me know."

Rafe studied him for a minute. "And what if I told you I couldn't handle it? What would happen?"

Simon hesitated, but honesty won out. "Probably, a murderer will get away."

Rafe nodded slowly and turned again. This time, Simon didn't bother stopping him.

*******************

"Jim! Where's my blue shirt?"

"It's in the hamper, with most of your clothes," Jim responded as he entered Blair's room. "You know, Chief, there's this magical place called a laundry room and it makes all your clothes clean."

Blair raised an eyebrow. "Now is not the time for your jokes. I've got a date in half an hour and I can't find one decent clean shirt."

"You don't have one decent shirt, period," Jim retorted. "Between your awful Hawaiian-themed ones and those silk nightmares, it's a wonder you haven't been charged with public disruption."

"Ha, ha. Laugh if you must, but Fran happens to like my unique style." Blair continued rummaging through his closet, making faces at every piece of fabric he picked up. "Why is this happening now? I've got to pick her up and she hates it when I'm late."

"Which would be every time you go anywhere."

Blair spun around to face Jim. "What is with this crummy mood? I was just looking for a little help."

"Oh, now he asks me for help. Great." Jim frowned at his roommate. "You want to handle everything on your own, you can damn well handle this too."

Blair blinked in surprise. "What's up with this? Why you getting on my case?"

Jim opened his mouth, but shook his head after a second. "Forget it, Sandburg. Not like you'd listen anyway."

"This is about that stake-out, isn't it? You're still mad about it!"

"Whatever," Jim turned and retreated to the living room, Blair following him.

"It IS about the stake-out!" Blair realized. "You're mad because Rafe and I were there."

"And why shouldn't I be?" Jim asked as he sank down to the couch. "Every time I tell you to do something or stay put you go out of your way to do the exact opposite!"

"Maybe that's because you're always telling me to 'stay put' like I can't handle myself! I'm a good asset to the department, everyone says so, even if you don't want to believe it!" Blair was becoming animated.

"I didn't say you weren't good!" Jim jumped up. "But you're always sticking your neck out and getting into trouble!"

"Like that's MY fault? I don't tell the local psychos to come looking for me, it just happens. Maybe if you trusted me more, I wouldn't be the poor, helpless guy who has to be rescued constantly!"

"I trust you more than anyone in my entire life!" Jim replied evenly. He quieted before continuing on, "I'm just afraid that one day I'll be too late and you won't come back."

"Jim," Blair breathed in. "I know you worry about me, but you can't be there every second of the day, and sticking me in some glass cage isn't gonna keep me safe."

"I know, but I don't want to risk it," Jim admitted.

"Yeah, well, the same goes for you. You ever think about that?"

Jim looked at him questioningly.

"You don't think it worries me when you go rushing into a situation where bullets are flying and there's no way to know if this will be the one day you're not so lucky?"

Jim's face softened. "That's my job."

"And watching out for you is my job. We've got to trust each other and realize that we can't be attached at the hip twenty-four hours a day. Sometimes we've got to go it alone."

Jim chuckled. "Speaking of which, isn't Fran waiting?"

"Oh man!" Blair shouted as he looked at his watch. "She's gonna freak!" He raced into his room, throwing clothes around in a whirlwind. He finally emerged, dressed in a respectable red shirt and a pair of black jeans.

"He finally dresses semi-normal," Jim said to no one in particular, leaning against the kitchen counter.

"Not half bad, huh?" Blair smiled, reaching for his coat. "No need to wait up for me. I'll probably be out late."

"Chief." Jim was solemn. "Be careful, ok?"

"Jim," Blair smiled. "It's only a little date. Flash some of my Sandburg charm and watch out!"

"That's what I'm afraid of," Jim chuckled.

*******************

"Henri, where the hell did you get this stuff?" Rafe was desperately trying to not sound hysterical as he laughed at the dirty ensemble Henri had clutched in his hands.

"You gonna let me in?"

"Oh, yeah." Rafe stepped away from the door, giving his partner entrance to his small apartment. "Just drop those....ughh. Let me get some newspapers or something." Henri chuckled and dropped the clothes onto the small couch.

"They aren't that dirty, don't worry. Besides, you have to wear them. What touches you can touch your furniture."

"Is that the rule?" Rafe shut his door and stepped closer, looking at the clothes, his nose wrinkled in disgust. "Did you just go up to someone on the street and buy his clothes off him or what?"

"Stop griping and get dressed. We've got to do this fast."

"I know, I know. Simon briefed me." Rafe's strained smile faded as he stepped closer to the clothes.

His partner studied his pale face, then nodded slightly. "I know, man. I wish I could go instead."

"Yeah, well...." Rafe trailed off. After a minute he shook his head to clear it and laughed. "This is ridiculous. Just give me a minute."

He grabbed the clothes and marched off to his bedroom to change. Henri watched him go, then turned and flopped down on the couch, allowing his frown to show. This, as Sandburg would say, well and truly sucked. He knew Rafe had to be freaking out on the inside. It was just too much history coming back at once -- the uncle, the South African connection, and now...

It would have amazed anyone in the Cascade PD to hear about his partner's life. It had taken a long time for Rafe to open up to his partner. At the same time, Henri had shared his painful Army stories and Rafe had come clean about his past. The two men were left with a much greater respect for each other, and came out of that night closer than Henri would have thought possible. So Henri knew exactly what it was going to take for Rafe to put on those rags, to erase his identity and become what he used to be -- what he still had nightmares about.

Simon Banks had had no idea what he was sending his detective to do. Henri just hoped they would catch these guys and get Rafe out of there fast.

Speaking of Rafe..."Hey, you okay in there?"

The reply, when it came, was faint. "Yeah."

Henri got up and went to the closed door. "Can I come in?"

Another pause.

"Not yet."

"Rafe..."

The sigh that floated from behind the door was louder than his voice had been, but Rafe opened the door after a minute. "Sorry. I'm coming out."

Henri let his partner shuffle past him, and he couldn't hold back his surprise. It must be true what they say about clothes making the man. This just wasn't his partner. Ever since he'd known Rafe, he'd been Mr. GQ. That's how everyone knew him, everyone Rafe knew in Cascade. Henri knew the back story, of course, but it didn't stop him from feeling shocked. Hell, maybe it was because he knew how much this meant to Rafe, maybe it made him seem so much different. Rafe's shoulders were slumped in these clothes. In the torn, dirty shirt and pants, at least two sizes two large, he seemed hunched into himself somehow. He held his arms closer to his sides, his head down.

Henri didn't try to lighten the air, as he'd been planning. He simply went to his partner's side and set a hand on the tense shoulder.

"Rafe, are you gonna be okay?"

Rafe didn't -- or couldn't -- meet his eyes. "Let's just get this over with," he said quietly.

That accent again. Yesterday when he'd seen his uncle and now tonight, Rafe's South African dialect was in full bloom.

Henri once again got the feeling that this was a really bad idea, on too many levels.

*******************

Jim and Blair walked into the office jovially talking about Sandburg's previous nightly escapades.

"She was great, man. Great body, kind heart, high IQ," Blair grinned.

"And I bet you look for them in that order, right?" Jim laughed. He glanced around and noticed something out of the ordinary. It didn't take him long to zero in on it.

"That's strange," Jim said as he walked over to his desk.

"What?" Blair asked, following him.

"Henri and Rafe, they're usually here by now."

Blair glanced over at the absent detectives' desks. "Yeah, you're right. Must have been another late night out," he smiled, nudging Jim.

"I can just see those two rolling in here, middle of the afternoon, bragging about their gallivanting."

"They won't be back for a while," Simon broke in as he joined them at the desk. "At least, Rafe won't."

"What happened?" Blair was instantly concerned.

"Rafe's alright, isn't he?"

"He's fine," Simon assured them. "He's just taken an undercover job for the case."

"Undercover?" Jim asked with a questioning glance. "Did they find out something that you didn't tell us?"

"No, no. You said you heard some guys speaking Afrikaan in the homeless shelter." Simon paused, noting Ellison's nod. "Well, Rafe's the only one around here who can actually speak it with any sense, so I sent him in to find out what he could."

"You sent Rafe into a homeless shelter? Undercover?" Blair was suddenly pale.

"Yes, Sandburg, is there a problem with that?"

"Did he want to go?"

"Well, not at first, but...what has that got to do with anything?" Simon hit Blair with his usual early-morning glower. "He was sent in on a job and he'll do as he's told."

"Great. Just great."

"So where's H?" Jim asked, trying to break the mood that was hanging over the conversation.

"He's helping him get settled in at the shelter, helping him dress for the part. Somebody's gotta show that boy how to wear rags." Simon grinned at Jim.

Blair remained silent, his distress only increasing.

Simon saw the look. "Did you two find out something new?"

"No, sir, we're just going to look over the files and see if there's anything we missed," Jim explained.

"Ok, get on it then," Simon said as he turned towards his office. He paused by the door. "Sandburg, are you all right?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, Simon. I'm fine." Blair didn't look up.

Simon nodded and returned to his office.

Jim, on the other hand, was quick to pounce on his partner. "You want to tell me why you just turned three different shades of white?"

"It's nothing....I can't believe he went in."

"Who? Rafe?" Jim shrugged, grabbing his mug and heading for the coffee machine. "It's his job, Chief. And he is the most qualified of all of us. I certainly can't understand a word of what they're saying."

"But...in a homeless shelter."

Jim paused, facing his partner again. "You want to let me in on the problem, or am I supposed to be the dark?"

Blair seemed to shake himself out of his stupor so that he could answer. "Rafe shouldn't be there. He's...fragile, and he just shouldn't be there."

"Fragile? Rafe? Where do you get that from? I know he's been a little on edge over his uncle, but he's not going to have trouble with a simple undercover assignment."

"You don't realize Jim," Blair said quietly. "You just don't realize."

It started with his own partner.

Of course, it was an act. It had to be authentic, that was the nature of undercover work. Just in case. And Henri had always been good at undercover.

"Get out of the car, man, you're stinking up my interior." Henri kept his voice distant and almost rough.

Rafe slid out, looking properly docile, and shifted his gaze to the building in front of him.

The door had opened, and a woman came out, making a beeline for Henri. "Officer Brown?"

"Yeah. You get a call from my Captain?"

"We certainly did. This is the gentleman?"

"Yeah. Look, he didn't break any real laws, so we can't hold on to him. But he was living in the middle of a crime scene, so we have to stash him somewhere until we close this case."

"Of course, we understand. Won't you come in for a moment? I'll need you to sign a couple of forms for us."

"Sure thing." Henri followed her, keeping one arm on Rafe, steering him along after them.

"What's his name?" the woman asked as they headed for a small desk.

"Beats me. He wasn't talking. We can give you a call when his prints come back."

"That won't be necessary. I'm sure he'll open up eventually." She slid a paper his way. "Sign the bottom, please."

As Henri worked, Rafe looked around. He'd been in this place one time before, investigating the murder of a woman who lived out of her car nearby. But he'd been a cop then. Now he was checking in.

Tables were lined up in three rows, obviously the feeding area. There were people sitting around, some talking, some just sitting. The air in the place was desolate, a feeling which Rafe shared in spades.

A few men were sitting near the door, and Rafe wandered a little closer, figuring the sooner he began this investigation, the sooner he could end it.

Unfortunately, they were speaking English. "-says for me to take it elsewhere. After that, I had to come here."

"Of course. They want people here. They do everything they can to get rid of you. Miss paying one month worth of bills, they shut you down." The second voice was tight, pinched with paranoia.

Rafe recognized the tone. He'd interviewed a few people who sounded just like that. Those were the ones he couldn't get a word spoken to, who ranted and raved about people they had known and how they ended up where they were.

And then, from behind them, another conversation was taking place.

"Ek vertaan nie, waar is hy?"

"Wag u. Vandag hy is 'n gevaar. More ons-"

Rafe didn't even wait around to listen in. He turned to his partner, who was now chatting casually with the lady who'd brought them in.

Henri noticed his look. "Yeah, uh, thanks for everything. I gotta get back to work." He smiled at the lady, then turned to Rafe. "And you..." He grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away. "What is it?"

"Those two men at the table. Our first two suspects. Afrikaan, clear as day."

Henri studied the men for an intense moment, then nodded. "Got it. I'll send their description out, see what I can find. You be careful in here, Rafe."

"I will. You just remember to feed my fish, got me?" Rafe grinned.

"Sure thing." Henri returned the smile, looking almost relieved that his partner wasn't falling apart on him. "I'll come by tomorrow if I don't hear from you."

"I know the drill."

Henri nodded, then turned. "He should behave," he informed the woman with a grin.

"I have no doubt. Nice to meet you, Officer Brown. Now let's get some food into this man, shall we?" She turned her smile to Rafe and took the arm Henri had released.

Rafe turned back to watch his partner leave, then turned almost blank eyes to the woman talking cheerfully in his ear. He was on his own now.

*******************

Jim and Blair had been pouring over the case files and witness account all morning. It just didn't make sense, nothing made any sense in this case. There was no motive, only one witness, and no sensible leads except the one that had Rafe down at a homeless shelter, and even that one wasn't exactly sensible.

"Is she sure of what she saw?" Jim asked suddenly, trying not to let his frustration come out. He glanced up from the file he held and over to where his partner sat across the desk.

"She has no reason to lie," Blair responded. "And she didn't leave much gray area in the statement. She said she plainly saw a homeless man kill Gierhake."

"But why?" Jim was getting frustrated. "What motive would the guy have had? It couldn't be robbery because the cash was left untouched."

"How about old grudges? Family vendetta?"

Jim peered at his partner. "A family vendetta? You think a man sleeping on the street in Cascade has an old grudge against a visiting businessman from another continent?"

Blair shrugged. "I admit, it sounds strange....but then, what about the flag? Whoever killed Gierhake knew who he was, knew the nationality, everything."

Jim threw up his hands. "This just doesn't fit. This lady says she recognized the killer because he's usually sleeping there whenever she walks by."

"But can we really trust her judgement?" Blair asked.

Jim shot him a glance. "Are you questioning the integrity of this witness?"

"You just did!" Blair protested. "But it leads me to wonder just how sure she can be. I mean it was dark and down an alley. Does she really know some bum by sight? She probably just got a glimpse of something and manifested this story from that moment."

"Chief, I know it's improbable, but she might have seen exactly what she's saying."

"But it doesn't fit with anything else."

"I know that," Jim snapped in return.

Blair raised a hand. "Whoa, big guy. No need to get testy. I'm just saying it would be much easier if we had some more leads."

"Well, maybe I have the break we need," Henri Brown chimed in as he joined the two at Jim's desk.

"Hey, H!" Blair exclaimed. "How'd Rafe get along?" his tone now brought down to concern.

"I got him checked in and settled. He's supposed to be in contact with us daily."

"But how's he REALLY doing?" Blair probed.

Henri looked over at him, and the two shared a meaningful moment. "I know this is killing him, but he's too proud to admit it," he answered finally.

"I'm being left out of the loop here, guys, and I hate that." Jim's tone rose.

"It's nothing, Jim," H assured him. "Just some issues Rafe's having to deal with."

"And having his uncle around isn't helping matters much," Blair added.

"Has Smola been in today?" H asked.

"Simon said he called to see if we had any leads, but that's about all," Jim said.

"Speaking of leads, I think we might have found out something," H responded. "Rafe said he overheard two guys speaking Afrikaan and I got a pretty good look at them. Both had olive skin, black hair-"

"Hold on, let's get a sketch artist up here so we can get a picture to go by," Jim said as he picked up the phone.

Within moments, he had one of the sketch artists up in Major Crimes taking down H's vivid descriptions. It turned out that H had a very good memory for details and pretty soon they had two firm composites to go on. They thanked the artist and returned to the task at hand.

"OK, so we'll put these two pictures on the wires and see if we can figure out who these guys are," Jim said.

"Now what?" Blair asked.

"Now we wait," H responded. "And for Rafe's sake, I hope it's not too long."

*******************

Rafe sat alone, his untouched food cooling rapidly in front of him. No one tried to approach him during the meal, but he wasn't surprised. Despite what the movies might show, people who were as down-and-out as the ones around him didn't jump at the oppurtunity to talk to someone. They didn't look upon each other with some kind of unspoken fellowship. It wasn't as though talking about the good old days would make them forget what they were now.

His uncle's voice rose to his mind, unbidden. "You have forgotten yourself, Ryf. Who you were. What you are. It does not do for a man to forget his place in the world."

It wasn't quite the truth, though. The truth was, it's nearly impossible for a man to forget his place in the world. Particularly somewhere like this. Every single thing in this shelter was a constant reminder that you have nothing. Even the beds you sleep on aren't your own. You have no possessions, but what's worse, you have no dignity, no privacy. All you have is the company of other people in your position, but that is hardly a comfort. There were no bonds here among men. There was simply the knowledge that even if all of you are on an equal level, that level is lower than the rest of humanity.

So no, no one tried to make friends with the new guy, and why should they? New guys came and went, people moved on, they died, they were arrested, they left for an imagined better life on the streets or in another city.

Rafe knew the feelings too well. He knew the life. And he was quickly falling back into it, with an ease that surprised him.

But he never took his mind off the Job, the thing that would get him out of here and back to the level of decent human beings. And so to keep his mind off his reawakened feelings, he kept his eyes on two olive-skinned men.

He had tried to get closer to them to eat, but one of the volunteers here had seen his searching expression as he stood with his tray and immediately sat him down at a table, assuming he was lost or stupid or God knew what. He kept them in plain sight, though, and observed who they talked to, how they behaved.

As near as Rafe could tell, there was one other man here actually conspiring with them. If anyone else came around, they would tense up and silence their conversation. If he'd been better at reading lips, or blessed with a long-range sense of hearing like some detectives he knew seemed to be, this case would probably be over by now. As it was, he sat and watched, and hoped no volunteers would come around trying to be helpful when the residents all settled in for the night.

"You watching the foreigners?"

Rafe started at the sudden near voice, and turned to see a very young man watching him from a few seats down. "Who?"

"The foreigners. Them guys at that table. You been staring at 'em."

Rafe shrugged. "So what?"

The young man obligingly slid forward a seat and leaned in conspiratorially. "So word is they wanna be left alone. Some guys heard em talkin' when they first got here, thought they was prob'ly in trouble cause they don't hardly speak no English, and they tried to help 'em."

Rafe waited expectantly, but the guy fell silent. "Yeah, so?" He made it a point to get the words out as quickly and as accent-free as he could possibly make them.

The guy paused melodramatically. "Those guys ain't been back for a while."

"You saying something happened to them?"

"I ain't saying that. I ain't say anything. Just don't stare at 'em when they can see you, y'know?"

Rafe turned back to his tray. "Thanks for the tip, kid." He kept his voice low, his tone uninterested.

"Look, I'm just sayin. 'Cause it looked like you was watching 'em." The kid slid into the seat between them. "I never seen you in here before."

Great. Just great. The one friendly person in the place, and look who he has to talk to. Rafe hesitated. He'd tried to rid himself of the accent before, but he wasn't exactly good at it. The longer he talked to this kid, the more chance he'd slip up. "Get lost, kid."

"Whatever, man. But hey, if you really interested. You see that chippy over there?"

Rafe frowned. "That what?"

"Chippy, man. Chick. Babe." He nodded a few tables over.

Rafe glanced in that direction, and saw who he was referring to. A young woman sitting alone, picking at her food. "What about her?"

"She's a foreigner too. She just don't hang out with the rest of 'em when they talkin' shop."

Rafe's interest grew, but he hid that fact from his table-mate. "Look, kid, I could care less about some group of foreigners, okay? Now buzz off."

Not even looking put-off, the kid grinned. "If you insist, Capone." He scooted away from the table.

Rafe watched him until he was out of sight, just to be sure, then turned his eyes towards the young woman he had pointed out. She was about as young as that kid, maybe sixteen at most, and sitting alone. Strange, didn't see that too often in places like this. It was a wonder the men around were leaving her alone.

He watched her for the rest of the meal, forgetting his own food as he studied her.

If she felt his eyes, she didn't show it. For twenty minutes she sat quietly, not looking around, just prodding at her food absently, looking a million miles away. She was dressed...well, shabbily enough, he guessed. Her clothes were clean, but obviously hung too large on her frame.

And then, right before he finally decided he'd try to get closer to either her or those men, his thoughts proved prophetic. Two men who'd been sitting a row back and to the right suddenly approached her and sat.

He couldn't hear what they said, but the expression on her face as she watched them was sheer terror.

He stood, not sure exactly what he was doing, and started for her side.

"Hey, man, leave her be."

A hand grabbed Rafe's arm as the voice sounded in his ear, and he turned to see the young man. "What are you doing?"

"Don't go over there, I'm tellin' ya."

"But they-"

"Watch, you'll see."

Rafe wanted to shove the kid away and jump to the rescue, but he realized he'd be acting a little too out of character if he did. So he watched, ready to move in if anything happened. He was closer now, and he could make out their conversation.

"-to know why you were sitting all by your lonesome over here."

"Yeah, we just thought we'd offer you our company. A lady needs a little protection in a place like this."

She was staring at them with huge eyes. "...asseblief, moerie."

Rafe's eyes grew. The kid was right, she was one of them. And she was scared to death of them even sitting beside her.

"What you say? What the hell language is that?" The first man asked, surprised.

"Come on, girly. Talk to us in English. We're not a couple of maniacs or anything." The second one reached out and touched her arm.

She jerked out of her seat as though burned. "Nee, asseblief!"

Her voice had gone up in volume, and Rafe saw as the three men he'd been watching spun around sharply at the sound of the words. Without a pause they all stood up and headed over.

"See? Just watch." The kid was grinning happily.

"Hey, calm down, lady. We just wanted to talk."

"What is going on here?" One of the Afrikaner Rafe was observing asked, his accented tone touched with menace.

"Oh...nothing. We were just trying to talk to the girl."

"The girl," the man repeated frostily. "Is not for you to talk to."

"Okay, man, sure. No problem."

"No, I am afraid there is problem."

The kid beside him giggled as they watched the confrontation. It appeared that Rafe and his new sidekick were the only two in the place interested, though.

The girl backed off, away from the men, her arms hugging her sides tightly.

"Why do not you men come with us, and we will explain problem to you."

"Nee, Freidrich, moenie."

Friedrich. Rafe had a name now, thanks to that girl.

"Hou jou bek!" the man snapped back.

She obediently fell silent, her eyes wide and frightened.

Freidrich and his two cronies led the men, not entirely willingly, to a door leading outside the shelter.

The young man beside Rafe shook his head with a laugh. "Idiots. They ain't comin' back. See what I was talkin' about, mister?"

Rafe turned to him. "You mean they're going to kill them?"

He shrugged, unconcerned. "Hell if I know. Might just hurt em real bad. Either way, they won't be back here."

Rafe glanced around, but no one was acknowledging that anything strange had happened. "How long has this been going on?"

"They been here a couple weeks now. Everybody know now to look the other way. You do too, or you won't be here long." He wagged his eyebrows with another toothy grin, then scooted off to bug someone else.

Rafe frowned thoughtfully. Well, this was the only proof he needed that these men were dangerous. Now he had to go back and catch them in the act, and this case would be closed.

But he had only taken one step when he heard the soft whimpering of the young girl, who was now standing alone and abandoned, arms still hugging herself tightly. Her entire being radiated terror.

Rafe hesitated, and saw two of the male volunteers, drawn by the noise, heading for the door, and he stopped. No, he couldn't afford to get involved this early, not without any stronger proof than a street fight and the words of some demented kid.

So he changed course, heading for the girl. If he'd been smart, he would have gone back and sat down. But he watched her frightened figure, almost shivering in the shelter, and he flashed on a memory.

His first days in America. He had arrived alone, without money, with the faintest knowledge of English to help him. He'd ended up quickly in a shelter, in Los Angeles, and could still remember what it was like.

Whatever she was doing there, he wasn't about to make her go through it alone.

"Hallo?" He approached her slowly.

Her eyes jerked towards him, and she stepped back.

"Aangename kennis," he said quietly, wishing he could remember a less formal way of saying nice to meet you.

Her mouth dropped open in surprise. "Praat u Afrikaan?"

"Ja." He smiled, hopefully reassuringly. "Ek sal my bes doen om jou to help." He offered his assistance quietly.

She shook her head quickly. "Dit kan nie wees nie." She backed away, refusing his offer, her eyes going towards the back door nervously.

"Wat skort daar?" He asked what was wrong, hoping she would calm down.

"Nee," she shook her head. "Verskoon my." She turned and headed for the back hall, the one leading to the beds of the shelter.

He watched her go, disappointed. Well, it was definite. She was scared to death of something. And undoubtedly it was the very men she was with.

Remembering the words of the young man earlier, Rafe wasn't surprised.

It left questions, though. What was she doing there? Why would this man Friedrich and his friends, if they were truly violent, if they were the killers, have her around? Was she a daughter, a sister?

He had to find out. And he had to find out what Friedrich and his buddies were up to, soon.

*******************

"Have we got anything on the descriptions we sent in?" Brown asked Blair as he joined him at Jim's desk.

"Not yet, but Jim's running it through international to see if we can find out who these guys are and if they have a record," Blair answered, leaning back in the chair.

"I'd settle for a name right now," Brown admitted.

"Friedrich Schmidt," Jim said as he came out of Simon's office.

"Come again?" Brown turned to face Jim.

"We sent the descriptions through the computer and one of the guys was IDed as Friedrich Schmidt," Ellison said as he set a file on his desk.

"How about the other one?" Blair asked as he stood.

"Nothing yet, but we're checking out other people that usually hang with Schmidt," Jim answered.

"Wild guess here: he's got a rap sheet," H grinned.

"Of course," Jim replied easily. "He's a government agitator. Usually ends up getting arrested for protesting, resisting arrest, the usual."

Henri picked up the file and began reading it over. "It says here he's involved in something called PAGAD, what's that?"

"Some vigilante pack. He was with them every time he was arrested." Jim shrugged.

"People Against Gangsterism and Drugs. It's a group that tries to combat the decay of the South African society through citizen action. It started out a small group that sent petitions to the local governments, but now they're nationwide, and focused on the big issues -- particularly the hold drug cartels have on the country."

H and Jim looked at each other. "Where does he get all this stuff?" Henri asked finally.

"From the news, man," Blair answered. "It's all they talk about down there. They have this slogan, what is it?" Blair paused to ponder and then the answer struck him. "Oh yeah! 'We Fear No One But God.' I think it's kinda poetic, don't you?"

"It sounds like some fringe group who can't mind their own affairs," Jim said.

"Whatever, man. But if PAGAD's involved in this, we might be looking at a drug vendetta, " Blair responded.

"We haven't got anything yet," Jim cautioned. "All we have is two guys, one with an affiliation with some anti-drug group, speaking the language in a homeless shelter. That hardly gives way to some international conspiracy."

"Yeah, but it is one big coincidence," H broke in.

"So you're saying Gierhake may have been killed for running a company that's involved in the drug trade?"

"Could be," Henri replied easily.

"But Gierhake was clean, no record."

Blair shrugged. "Just because he was clean doesn't mean the company was."

"Are you suggesting that somebody might know more than he's telling?" H asked him.

"I'm just saying that it wouldn't hurt to ask," Blair responded.

"Well, let's have a chat with Mr. Gustav Smola then, shall we?" Jim said as he started towards Simon's office. Blair and H followed closely behind.

*******************

When Friedrich and one of his friends left the shelter later that evening, Rafe wasn't far behind. The girl he'd seen earlier wasn't with them, which told him right off that they were up to no good. He had to debate with himself over whether to follow them or try and talk to her again, but his duties as a police officer won out easily, and here he was.

They headed down 40th, going towards the cleaner parts of down town. Which, again, wasn't good.

He followed easily -- the pair walked like they weren't even thinking they'd be followed. They didn't bother looking back or moving quickly.

As they got into the more heavily populated areas of the city, Rafe became aware of people's looks as they walked past him. He ignored them with difficulty, looking away from anyone who approached. The expressions he did notice brought a world of memories rushing back to him, but he gritted his teeth and focussed on the two men, unwilling to allow feelings of self-pity to hamper his job.

Finally, the two slowed down, right outside the park near the station.

Being so close to the PD, to his friends and his identity, made it hard for Rafe to stop when they did. But he did, going and sitting on a small bench, trying to look casual as he kept an eye on the two.

They stood around for a while. just talking, looking innocent enough. But then, about twenty minutes after they first arrived, they were slowly approached by a tall, well-dressed, distinguished-looking man.

Rafe straightened on his bench, staring outright for a few seconds before he realized what he was doing and looked away.

Smola. What the hell was Smola doing there, meeting with the men who had killed his employee?

He thought quickly. He should get closer, he should find out what they were saying.

But he couldn't. Smola would recognize him in a heart beat. Especially dressed the way he was now.

Dammit! Something was definitely going on here, but he couldn't figure out what. Had Smola had his own man murdered? Why? And why import these men and have them dress as bums? What the hell was going on here?

"Hey, mister, why don't you move it on?"

Rafe turned in surprise at the voice, and groaned when he saw who it was. A cop. Some beat cop he didn't know. "Shhhh."

The man didn't respond well to that. "Excuse me? Look, man, you're loitering here. Just go back to your side of town and I won't have to haul your ass in."

"My side of town?" Rafe repeated, his voice low.

"Don't take any damn attitude with me, son. Just move it. Now!"

Rafe stood up finally, approaching the man. "Look, this isn't what it looks like. I'm not-"

"Yeah, yeah. Just get going."

"No. You don't-"

"No?" The man grinned, turning to look somewhere behind Rafe. "Hey, Perkins, we got a live one here." he called out almost gleefully.

Rafe groaned, and glanced quickly towards Smola and the two men he'd followed. Sure enough they had heard the yell, and were staring directly at him. He backed off quickly, turning, hoping Smola didn't have time to recognize him as he headed out of the park.

The cop behind him snickered. "That's what I thought."

Rafe kept his head down, his face burning with embarrassment and anger. Damned police officer. He'd be lucky to have gotten away before Smola saw him. Damn it!

He headed back to the shelter, keeping his eyes on the ground the entire way, hoping this entire case hadn't just been blown.

*******************

"You want to bring in Smola for what?!" Simon almost jumped out of his chair, on the defensive.

"For questioning about the murder," Henri replied easily. "We think it's drug-related."

"You're going to have to fill me in more than that if you want me to call in an apparently innocent man," Simon replied, still terse.

"The guy H identified down at the shelter has ties to a vigilante group," Blair explained. "PAGAD."

"And what has this group got to do with the murder?" Simon asked, still unsure.

"PAGAD protests against drug lords. We think they might have found some ties between Gierhake's company and the drug trade down in South Africa." Blair explained.

"That still doesn't explain why I should bring Smola in. We don't have any idea if this homeless guy was in anyway involved in the murder. Just because he speaks the language doesn't mean anything!" Simon threw his hands up, gesturing his point.

"Look, we're running on nothing here," Jim tried to explain. "We've got at least four guys in Cascade who speak Afrikaan, one of which is now dead. What are the odds of that being coincidental? All we want to do is ask him a few questions and see what he knows."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

Jim frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Look, I'm worried about Rafe too," Simon started hesitantly.

The tension level in the room increased with those words.

"I know this guy Smola is bad news for him. I don't know why, but I get the feeling that at least one or two of you do know. We want to solve this case fast and get him home." Simon looked at Jim and smiled a tense smile. "If I put you in the same room with Smola, you'll tear him apart. By the time this was over, I'd be surprised if he didn't take the wrap for the Lindbergh baby."

Jim laughed slightly. "Simon, I'm not that bad!"

Blair let loose a chuckle.

Jim turned towards him, pointing. "Don't you start! You're the one who brought up the idea in the first place."

"Fine, look." Simon broke up the inevitable argument. "You can bring him in...JUST for questioning. You can't force him to admit to anything and-" Simon pointed at the group "-don't let me hear of anything unprofessional going on."

"Us?" H looked affronted.

"Out!" Simon ordered with an exasperated smile.

The three filed out into the Bullpen, joining at Jim's desk. Ellison sat down in his chair as Blair took his seat on the edge of the desk and Henri stood over them.

"Well, let's give the man a call," Jim said as he reached for the phone. When someone answered his ring, he cleared his throat. "Gustav Smola, please. I don't know the room number." He waited for a moment, then frowned into the phone. "Yes, I would. Tell him Jim Ellison from the Cascade PD called, and we'd like him to come down to the station as soon as he can do help us on a case. Thanks." He hung up with a sigh. "Not there."

"Well, here's hoping this will be the break we need," Blair responded.

"Words of death," H retorted as he moved back to his own desk. "Nothing's ever easy around here."

"You got that right," Jim chimed in.

"Well. The sooner we get this settled, the sooner Rafe can get out," Blair observed.

"Yeah, need to get my old partner back," Henri agreed. "What I left today was...I dunno, a shell."

"What was wrong with him?" Jim asked, looking between Henri and Blair.

"I had to remind myself who he was, you know? He had the rags on, getting into character, and it just took me aback for a minute," Henri responded.

Jim shook his head at another round of Rescue Rafe melodrama. "He's gonna be fine. You're too down on the guy. Rafe's been undercover before and he does a fine job if you ask me."

"But this is different," Blair looked at his partner. "If we don't get him out as soon as possible...we might not get the same Rafe back."

The silence was tense after Blair's statement. Finally, Henri spoke up.

"Hey, guys, how about we call it a night?" he said glancing at the time. "We can pick it up again tomorrow."

Blair knew how hard it was for H to say that. He knew that Brown didn't want to waste anymore time than was necessary before they got Rafe safely back.

"Good idea." He turned to Jim. "Come on then, you owe me dinner."

"Me?!" Jim asked shocked, following his partner towards the door.

"Yeah. Remember, certain wager on the Knicks game last night?"

"Oh, come on. They shouldn't have lost and you know it. It was a freak of nature."

"Doesn't matter. There was no Act of God clause in our deal, man."

"Yeah, yeah. Dinner."

Brown watched them go, hoping that Rafe and he could be back into that friendly banter real soon.

*******************

The rocks.

No matter how hard he tried, he could never get used to the rocks. There were men in the town with feet so callused they could walk on glass and not feel it, but for him it always hurt.

Walking the red clay ground in bare feet, going to work or to school, he couldn't move very fast. He couldn't run to avoid being late and missing a day's wages, he couldn't run to escape the voices or the laughs, or the bigger children with shoes on their feet who could always move faster.

He had learned at a young age to look down. He could go from the door of his family's shanty to work to school to work again without seeing anything but the dirt a few feet in front of him. When you looked down, you could not be yelled at or hit for disrespect, and you wouldn't have to see the faces, laughing or pitying or disgusted.

Kyk na my nie. Don't look at me. Anytime he was out of the house, his constant thoughts, sometimes spoken aloud under his breath as he stared at the road. Please, no one look at me. He prayed constantly for invisibility. The streets were the worst place to be. And yet they were more his home than the shanty outside town could ever be.

Everywhere he went, the voices followed:

Just go back to your side of town and I won't have to haul your ass in. Look, the bastard Ryf is off to school again. Perkins, we got a live one here. Ach, Ryf. Hy is fokkin sleg. Look, man, you're loitering here.

Kyk na my nie. Stop looking at me. Asseblief -- please.

What's wrong, kid? Living on the streets and you can't hardly speak no English? You retarded? Gaan trek draad, Ryf. Fuck off, kid. Ek hou my nie op met stront nie, Neimand. Move it out of here, you worthless piece of shit.

Kyk na my nie. Asseblief, Here.

Bastard.

Helsem.

God, make them stop.

Street trash.

Seun dom.

Please, please, stop. Kyk na my nie.

Mof-skaap.

Nobody.

Neimand.

Stil hou! Stop!

"Kyk na my nie!" Rafe jerked into consciousness, the words still on his lips, the familiar soreness in his throat that meant he'd spoken them aloud more than once.

That dream. Christ, he was having the old dreams again.

A wave of pain swept over him, also familiar. He sank back against the stiff cot, letting out a breath that was half sigh, half sob.

That was the world he remembered. Dirty streets, endless hours of back-breaking work. Being Neimand. Nobody. At work, at school. At home. It was the pet name of everyone in that town for him. He had learned to answer to it, to almost be happy when he heard it, because that meant someone to talk to, someone was speaking to him.

A pathetic, lonely existence. One that he had thought he escaped coming here. But no, in America it had been the same words, in a different language. He was Nobody again, and the only good thing about it was people here often times didn't go out of their way to hurt him. No, they'd wait until he was an inconvenience to them, a disruption of the view, a fly in the champagne.

But he had aged, he had learned the language, and he wasn't stupid, despite what anyone thought. He taught himself, with little help from sympathetic outsiders, to read and write. He slowly earned enough spare change for a clean set of clothes, and then he was able to find a man who would hire him to work. Slowly came the apartment, then better jobs and better clothes, until he was able to move away from the dirty streets of Los Angeles and up north. Up where he had a view of the mountains. Cascade.

He vowed to become a different person in Cascade. Due to immigration reasons, he couldn't have his name changed like he'd wanted. Spelling it and pronouncing it slightly differently was as close as he could come, but it was enough. He wasn't Ryf the bastard neimand, he was Rafe. Plain Rafe. And then, when he got the urge and went through the academy, he became Detective Rafe. And there he was happy. He made friends, he had a good job. He had Henri. And he was happy.

He had forgotten himself.

*It does not do for a man to forget his place in the world.* His uncle's words, and they were true. He hadn't seen it, but they were.

He was still Ryf, no matter how he spelled it. And he knew now better than ever that he was only a set of clothes away from not even being Ryf. To being Neimand. Rafe had plastered himself in Calvin Klein and Brooks Brothers to try to forget, but there was nothing different about him. Nothing to hold the clothes up.

"Hallo?"

Rafe's head jerked up, surprised, and he traced the soft voice to where a girl was standing nearby, awkward. He recognized her quickly. "Hallo," he replied quietly.

"Wat skort daar?" she asked just as softly.

What was wrong? He could rattle off a list. "Niks."

She looked dubious. "Ek glo jou nie."

He smiled wryly. Why should she believe him? "Wat is u naam?"

"Annerl. U?"

Rafe hesitated. "Ryf," he said finally, his voice low.

She smiled tentatively. "Dit spyt me-"

"Well, this is interesting," a voice cut her off suddenly.

She jerked in fear, her eyes going somewhere to Rafe's right.

He turned and saw with sinking feeling that Friedrich and his companion from earlier were standing casually, watching them.

Friedrich gestured to his friend, keeping his eyes on Rafe.

The second man turned to the girl. "Annerl. Com."

She hesitated, but went to him slowly.

He grabbed her arm when she was close enough and pulled her away from the other two men, out of sight in the darkness.

Rafe faced Friedrich. "Is there a problem?"

"Afrikaner you," the man replied flatly.

Rafe didn't respond.

Friedrich shrugged. "We can do it in English if it makes you happy. You were following us today. I thought it was coincidence perhaps, but now I hear you speak the Suid-Afrikaan language like a native. This is no coincidence, I think." His sharp features hardened. "Did Smola hire you?"

The mention of his uncle's name sparked a reaction in Rafe before he could cover it.

And that seemed a good enough yes for Friedrich. "I did not think he was sneaky. Why did you not take the girl and go?"

Annerl? Was she somehow connected to his uncle? This made less sense the deeper he got into it.

"No matter. I credit Smola with the nerve to spy on us, but I do not credit you for choosing to be that spy."

Rafe watched as the third man from the group arrived with the second man. Annerl was nowhere in sight.

Friedrich smiled grimly. "I think after today Smola will have to do his dirty work himself."

*******************

"H is really letting this get to him," Jim said as he got two beers out of the fridge. He walked over and offered one to Blair, who was sitting on the couch.

"Thanks," he reached up absently, still intent on the papers he was grading. His glasses on, hair tied back, he looked more the part of a professor than he ever did in front of those classes he taught.

Jim waited a moment, but it was obvious Blair wasn't going to acknowledge what he'd said. "Why is H so uptight over Rafe?" he asked directly as he sat down on the other end of the couch.

Blair hesitated, looking over at his partner. "His partner's in a homeless shelter, Jim." He was getting tense under the pressure of keeping the secret from Jim.

"So what? Rafe's been undercover lots of times. Brown's getting upset over nothing," Jim took a swig of beer.

"Jim," Blair tried to calmly explain. "This assignment is different. Rafe isn't in the best condition to do this."

"You mean because of his uncle?" Jim probed.

"That's part of it...but not the real reason," Blair faltered. He looked at his beer, trying to block out what he was sure Jim was going to ask next.

"So...what's the real reason?" Jim pushed harder.

"I...I can't tell you," Blair explained. "I promised Rafe I wouldn't tell anybody."

Jim paused before continuing. "Chief, I respect the fact that you want to honor Rafe's wishes, but if this is going to hinder the case in any way, you need to tell me."

Blair looked at Jim solemnly. "I don't know."

"You said we should never keep secrets from each other," Jim replied softly.

"It's not my secret!"

"What good will your secrecy do Rafe if he gets himself killed by being distracted? If I know what's wrong, maybe I could help."

Blair hesitated, then took a thoughtful swallow from the bottle he held. Finally he shrugged. "I'll give you the basics. The rest will be up to him."

Jim nodded soberly.

"How much do you know about Rafe's past?"

Jim thought about it, and realized with surprise that he didn't really know anything about his friend. "Assume nothing.

Blair grimaced. "Nothing, great." He took another gulp of the cold beer. "Rafe was...he was born in South Africa."

Jim was ready with a smart-ass reply to that, but he held it in, seeing the genuinely nervous look on his Guide's face. Instead he just nodded for him to go on.

"Okay. Well, he was basically a street kid."

Jim's brow furrowed, but he tried not to register his surprise. Rafe? The Yuppie?

"Anyway, when he was about nine, there were these riots all over the part of the country where he lived. Rafe's family was one of the only white families in the town, and all the anti-apartheid rioters came tearing into their house, stealing everything, and killing two of the kids. So after that his family moves in with his uncle. Gustav Smola," Blair clarified unnecessarily. "They lived with him for about a year, and he made their lives hell. Until Rafe's father had borrowed and saved enough to get them tickets to America. Rafe's dad, of course, hates him at that point 'cause of the kids being killed, and he leaves him at the airport. Rafe shows up back at Smola's house, and he drives him to the airport and puts him on the next plane personally. Best thing he ever did for Rafe, if you ask me."

Jim shook his head, stunned.

Blair smiled slightly. "I know. Hard to imagine, isn't it? But that's only half of it. When Rafe got to America, he ended up on the streets in L.A."

Recognition dawned in Jim's eyes, and Blair and Henri's protests from the beginning of this case suddenly made sense.

"Yeah. He lived there for a while, taught himself English. Got a job, started making money, ended up in Cascade, went to the academy, and there you go. Our Rafe."

"That's....unbelievable."

Blair nodded. "I would have thought so, too. But you should hear him. He's not the same guy, even just talking about it."

"And...and he was okay with this? With going back?"

"I don't think so. But I don't think he would have refused to go. It's just...it's his state of mind. We're worried, you know? Rafe is so convinced that he's worthless, 'cause of what happened to him as a kid. We're just afraid this is gonna push him over the edge."

Jim nodded. He knew what Blair was talking about. Rafe was definitely in trouble. It was like a recovering alcoholic going to a bar. In his years on the force he had seen people who grew up in abusive homes who appeared to be recovered and fine, but one hit in a fight, one slap from a husband, could drive them back into their childhood, make them weak and vulnerable and unable to stand up for themselves. Confronted with the past, no matter how horrible, it was hard to resist slipping back into the patterns.

"He shouldn't be there," he agreed quietly, at the same time knowing that there hadn't been any other way. He was the only one Simon could have sent. "We should...we should go, get him out. Talk to Simon, tell him what's wrong. He'll pull Rafe out in a heartbeat. Or at least send one of us in to be with him."

To his surprise, Blair shook his head. "This is something best left for Rafe alone. He's the only one who can do this and he NEEDS to do this. Now that he's there, he needs to see it through."

"But H needs to protect his partner," Jim replied immediately. "It's as important to Henri as this could be to Rafe."

"Why do you say that?" Blair questioned, looking at him oddly.

Jim considered explaining it, but decided against it. "Nothing Chief, nothing. Hey, you gonna drink that beer or just hold it all night?"

"Oh!" Blair realized that the beer bottle was sweating in his hand. "Drinking is good. I think I need a drink right now."

*******************

Rafe's apartment was a mess. For a guy as anal about personal appearance as Rafe was, he sure lived in a slum.

Well, Henri knew why that was, at least. Most of his paychecks tended to go to his wardrobe, so he lived in a small, one room apartment with old, mismatched furniture and a bare minimum of decorations.

At least, Henri assumed most of his money went to his wardrobe, 'cause he sure didn't buy anything else. Nothing new ever came through the doors of this apartment, no new furniture, no television, not even little things like CDs or books. He was still driving the same car as when Henri had first met him. Henri had asked him a few times where all his money went, but Rafe always shrugged and changed the subject.

Hmmm. Henri smiled slightly as he looked around the quiet apartment. Maybe Rafe had a wad of cash saved up through the years stuffed under his mattress or something.

He debated for a moment whether or not he should go check, but abandoned the idea, turning to the one thing Rafe had actually gone out and purchased the entire time Henri had known him -- a large fish tank. He was in to goldfish, and he had a lot of them. Filters and little castles to swim through and mermaids floating around. Those fish lived better than their owner did.

Why he bought them, and spoiled them so much, was something else Rafe would never tell Henri, but he knew. He knew Rafe just needed something else with him, something living and breathing. Henri had a feeling that when Rafe was alone here at night, he talked to those fish the way most people talk to their friends.

He fed the fish, careful not to put in too much, and stared into the tank for a few minutes. It was relaxing, he'd give Rafe credit. Watching those little guys aimlessly swimming back and forth, it was peaceful. The light hum the aquarium gave off, it was soothing.

"You guys miss your owner?" he heard himself asking quietly.

The golden forms made no response, darting back and forth, going up to grab the flakes of fish food floating over their heads.

"Don't worry, he'll be back. I'm sure you miss the conversation." He watched one of the fish come to the glass near him and bump against it, looking for all the world like it was watching him. "Yeah, yeah," he grinned at the round eyes of the small fish. "I miss him, too." He chuckled to himself. "I miss him so much I'm pouring my heart out to his fish."

Shaking his head with a smirk, he moved towards the door, slowly, almost reluctant to leave. He looked around at the small, shabby couch -- one he'd slept on after one-too-many some nights, and had found surprisingly comfortable -- the armchair in the corner. The fish tank taking up part of one wall, the small kitchen with the bare necessities for one man living alone.

We gotta get this guy a woman, Henri found himself thinking for not the first time, when something out of place caught his eye -- not hard in an apartment that hardly ever changed. A cigar box.

Henri hesitated near the door, surprised. Rafe, like him, was into smokes from time to time, but again he never spent money on them, especially not a whole box. A gift, maybe? From...a lady? Could it be?

A grin appeared on his face, and he couldn't resist. He went over to the small end table and picked the box up. It was too light. Almost empty, by the feel of it. There were no cards in sight, no love notes signed by feminine scrawl.

Oh, well. Henri was starting to set it down, when he noticed the edge of a scrap of paper sticking out of the lid. He grinned and opened the box.

The grin faded. Henri sat down on the couch and almost absently reached in and sifted through a few of the papers neatly folded and tucked away inside.

A picture caught his eye and he pulled it out. An indrawn breath greeted the sight of two black-skinned children, literally skin and bones, lying prone on a clay street. He studied it for only a second before looking back down at the box. Other pictures, other children. African, Hispanic, white, Asian, children of all kinds, all as thin as Holocaust victims, all with the same dead eyes.

Henri reached in and pulled out one of the papers. He opened it, and skimmed over the letter, a typical form letter thanking Mr. Rafe Van Rij for his generous donation. UNICEF. He reached in and grabbed some more. The same thing, over and over. Different countries, different groups. Friends Without a Border. Operation Rainbow. Save the Children Fund. Yabloka Children's Fund. War Child. Children in Distress, Children's Aid Direct, CARE, World Emergency Relief, HomeAid America, PLAN International, on and on and on. Thanks for your generous donation. Thank you for your contributions.

At the bottom of the box sat a dark booklet. Henri lifted it and his eyes grew even wider. A bank book.

It didn't even occur to him that he was invading his partner's privacy. He didn't even think about it as he flipped it open. Rafe had written on the front page, a scrawled note:

Just In Case

Henri drew in a breath. Just in case what? What was going through his partner's mind when he sat here by himself? He glanced at the first couple of entries. Rafe must have been depositing half his paycheck in, once every month. Since 1991, his first year on the force. When Henri saw how much it amounted to, after the latest entry, his eyes almost bugged out.

What the hell was Rafe saving it for? What was 'Just In Case'? Why was he living in this grungy apartment when....Man, if there was one thing Rafe was good at, it was surprising the hell out of his partner.

Suddenly, it occurred to Henri that he shouldn't be there, he shouldn't be going through that box. If Rafe had wanted him to know, he would have told him.

He shut the box with a snap and put it back on the table quickly, getting off the couch and going to the door without a pause. He felt like a grave-robber, and that was a bad feeling. Because Rafe wasn't dead, it didn't make sense.

But he couldn't shake the feeling as he locked the door with the spare key Rafe had given him almost a year ago that he was peeking into the life of someone he'd never met. Some different person who was still living in a dark, cold past. Someone he wasn't sure he ever wanted to meet.

*******************

Rafe was jarred into consciousness abruptly, and he tried to open his eyes, look around.

But he couldn't. He felt the press of fabric around his face and groaned aloud. Blindfold.

Friedrich.

Shit.

A voice reached his ears. "Up so soon? We can't have that."

Rafe's face swung in the direction of the voice, and he could feel a sudden movement in front of him.

Pain suddenly slammed home as something solid connected with his jaw.

He blacked out again.

*******************

The next morning, Blair tried not to stare at Henri, but the detective was acting even stranger than normal. He was quiet, solemn, thoughtfully gazing down at the reports Blair was sure he must have memorized by now.

"Henri, what's wrong, man?"

Henri glanced over. "Nuthin."

Blair almost laughed. "Yeah, that was convincing."

"Uh, look, Blair, I'm just not in the mood to talk about it."

Blair? Uh oh, this was more serious than he thought.

"Well," Jim broke the silence that fell as he came out of Simon's office. "If it was coincidence before, it's even more of one now."

"What you got?" Blair asked as he turned from Henri.

"Friedrich Schmidt's accomplice. Name's Mikial Wasamba; he's Schmidt's good friend and co-agitator." Jim said as he handed Henri the folder. "Apparently they do everything together. Protest, march, get arrested. They're real pals."

Henri glanced through the file long enough to confirm the photo was the man he'd seen. "So we've got two PAGAD members in Cascade, a dead South African businessman, and Rafe's uncle. There's got to be a connection between them."

"We'll have to wait for Smola to show up before we can jump to any conclusions," Jim replied. "But it would be one hell of a coincidence if they weren't."

"Sometimes I get the feeling that Cascade's the center of international crime," Blair chuckled.

"You don't need to tell us, Hairboy. We're living it!" Henri retorted.

Blair flashed a relieved smile at the familiar nickname.

Jim heard a peculiar voice, so he tried to focus. He recognized Smola talking to someone outside in the hall. "Heads up, guys."

Sure enough, a moment later the South African stalked in with the bodyguard they had seen before.

"What is the meaning of this? The hotel clerk told me last night that my presence was demanded down at the police station," Smola spat, obviously angry.

"Good morning, Mr. Smola," Jim put on a courteous air as he strode over to shake his hand. "We just wanted to ask a few questions about the company you and Franz Gierhake ran."

"You have not found his killer yet?!" Smola exclaimed. "You are not doing your job."

Jim opened his mouth with an angry retort.

Blair Sandburg stepped up beside him before he could speak. "Mr. Smola, this case is complicated and it takes time."

"Too much time," Smola muttered.

"Why don't we go into the Captain's office? We can discuss it there," Blair replied as he motioned towards Simon's door.

"Fine, fine," Smola obliged as he began walking.

Jim shook his head in annoyance as he follow the older man.

Blair sighed as he started forward, but Henri returned to his desk and started putting on his coat.

"H, you not coming?" Blair asked.

"No, I'm going to go see Rafe. He didn't call in last night, and I got a bad feeling about all these coincidences."

"Tell him...just remember he's going to get out soon," Blair decided to amend his statement.

"I'll do that, thanks," H called as he headed to the hall.

"Chief, you coming?" Jim stuck his head out of the office.

Blair padded over to the office door.

"-had no intention of forcing you to come." Simon was saying in a calm voice. "My officers have a few questions for you that could help shed some light on why your employee was murdered."

Smola was sitting bolt upright in his seat. "Ask your questions, then."

Simon glanced over at Jim, a warning look in his eyes.

Jim nodded slightly. He'd be calm. Just because the guy was an asshole didn't mean he was a criminal. "Alright, Mr. Smola. Have you ever heard of a group called PAGAD?"

Smola turned to him in surprise. "Of course."

"Any idea why that group would have an interest in shutting your company down?"

He blinked. "PAGAD is a group that protests criminals and drug smugglers, Detective. It has nothing to do with my company."

"You sure about that?"

"Quite sure."

"The two men we are looking at for Gierhake's murder are both long-time members of PAGAD."

Smola frowned. "That...what does that mean? It means nothing. What murderers do in their spare time is of no relevance."

"Not unless their activities have something to do with their motives."

Smola met his eyes with a glare. "Detective, whatever you are trying to say, just say it. You waste time with these statements."

"Alright," Jim replied steadily. "PAGAD is trying to shut your business down. That means this group has a reason to suspect that your company is involved in criminal activities. Why don't you tell us why they suspect that?"

Smola was almost trembling with anger. "Detective, you know nothing about my country or it's people. PAGAD is not a violent group. They are ordinary South African citizens who march and protest to put an end to the hold the drug trade has on our country. They would not murder anyone, even to accomplish those goals."

Jim paused, surprised. Smola's fierce protest of his accusations took him aback, but mostly because he wasn't protesting his own company's activities, but the suggestion that this group of protestors had committed a murder.

"As for my own company," Smola said after a moment, when he had gotten himself under control again. "There is no reason for me to believe that PAGAD or any other group would think us criminals."

Jim stared at him silently, his senses carefully going over the man. Smola's heart was racing, but Jim had no way of telling if that was out of anger or guilt, or because he was lying. He reached over to Simon's desk and grabbed the two pictures they had printed off the computer. "These are our main suspects for Gierhake's murder." He handed them to Smola.

The older man took one look at the pictures, and his heart sped up even faster.

Jim almost smiled. Gotcha. "Do you know these men?" he asked innocently.

"No," Smola replied too fast and too loudly.

Jim smiled grimly. He was lying his South African ass off.

Smola looked up at him suddenly, his brow creased. "You say they are members of PAGAD?"

Jim nodded silently.

"That...that doesn't make any sense." Smola's eyes went back to the pictures, brow furrowed.

"Mr. Smola, you are not under any suspicion of murder," Jim said finally. "If we can show that PAGAD did have an interest in killing Gierhake, we'll be one step closer to arresting these men."

"No," Smola shook his head stubbornly. "They are not murderers. Perhaps these men are." The hand clutching the pictures shook slightly. "But not in PAGAD's name."

Jim frowned. They weren't going to get anywhere like this.

Henri pulled up to the 40th Street shelter, unable to hold back a smile. Man, he missed his partner. It was ridiculous, but he was looking forward to seeing that familiar grin again, if only for a few minutes.

He pounded up the stairs and into the building, glancing around at the dingy interior. The room was full today. Breakfast time, he guessed, seeing the trays of food in front of the seated residents.

"Officer Brown!"

He turned and saw the woman from yesterday heading for him, her friendly smile in place. "Morning."

"You don't have another guest for us, I hope?"

He grinned. "Nothing like that. I wanted to make sure the one I brought yesterday isn't causing any problems."

"Oh. No, no problems at all."

"Can I see him for a few minutes? We had a few questions we needed to ask about his old hangout."

"Of course. Let me see if I can find him." She waded in among the crowded tables, her eyes scanning.

Henri looked around himself, certain he would find his partner before she would.

"Hey!"

He started in surprise, turning to see a young kid with stringy hair grinning a hyper smile at him. "Uh, hey."

"You lookin' for the new guy?"

Well, that got his attention. "What?"

"That guy you brought in yesterday."

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. You know where he is."

The kid nodded happily. "Not here."

Henri's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, not here?"

"I mean, he ain't here. He went out yesterday, followin' the foreigners. I tailed him 'cause I was bored, and he just didn't listen to me when I said leave 'em alone."

Henri frowned. "What happened?"

The kid shrugged. "Dunno. He went out and watched the foreigners meet some other foreigner, then a cop chased him away." The kid giggled. "I saw him 'fore he went to sleep, but he wasn't here this morning."

Henri's eyes went back to scanning the crowd, but his stomach churned with the nervous knowledge that the kid was right. Rafe wasn't there.

"He shoulda left 'em alone," the kid said with a happy sigh.

Henri faced him again squarely. "Alright, kid, tell me everything that happened."

"Why you wanna know?"

"Just tell me!"

The kid studied Henri's angry face for a second, then shrugged carelessly. "'Kay. Well, the foreigners went to the park, right? And he was followin', and they met this other guy-"

"What other guy?"

Another careless shrug. "Older guy, talkin' the same language as they was."

"Maybe fifty years old? Grey hair? Dressed well?"

"Yeah!" The kid beamed. "That was him!"

Smola. Henri let out a shaky breath. "Good. Now what happened to Ra...to the guy I brought in?"

"Like I said. He was here last night, wasn't here this morning. Foreigners did something with him. They always get rid of anyone who watches em too close."

Henri gritted his teeth. "Where are the foreigners now?"

"Left this morning. They'll be back tonight."

Henri turned on his heel, not bothering to thank the kid or wait for the lady volunteer, and went out the front door fast. He jumped into his car and took off.

*******************

"I don't understand why you're questioning me. You say I am not a suspect, why am I in here being interrogated?"

Blair noticed that his partner was one step away from tearing into Smola, so he cleared his throat lightly. "We're trying to put a motive to the murder of Mr. Gierhake. We can do that if our suspicions....er, if we can show that PAGAD had some sort of problem with your company."

"I can't help you. I've said that since I first arrived. I can not help you. I'm sorry. Please, let me return to my hotel."

Simon looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. "Blair, could you take Mr. Smola out to your desk for a minute? I need to have a word with Jim."

Blair nodded and stood.

Smola heaved an irritated sigh, standing and leading the way resentfully to the outer room.

"He's lying, Simon."

"I know. I could tell he recognized those pictures. He's definitely hiding something from us."

Jim frowned. "So what do we do?"

"We'll have to catch him in the act, Jim. He's not gonna tell us anything unless we get some kind of proof."

Jim cocked his head slightly, listening to an approaching sound. "Henri's back."

Simon stood. "Thank God. Maybe Rafe's found something out we can use. God knows we're not getting anything accomplished."

Jim was still listening, his brow furrowed. Suddenly he bounded to the door and pulled it open. "Henri-"

The detective had marched all the way up to the waiting Smola. Without a word, without even a moment's hesitation, he grabbed the man's shirt front and hauled him to his feet. "Where is he?!?"

Smola sputtered for a moment, surprised.

Henri pushed him back, eyes burning, expression irate. "WHERE IS HE??" He pushed Smola until his back hit the wall.

With a surprised exhalation of breath, Smola's eyes went to the officers behind him. "What is this?"

Jim and Simon started forward, going to Henri quickly and grabbing him to haul him away from Smola.

To their surprise, he didn't budge. His hands stayed clenched to the starched fabric of Smola's shirt front, not even seeming to notice they were there. "Tell me what they did with him, you son of a bitch!"

"Brown, get your hands off of him!" Simon snapped.

Brown shrugged his arm out of Simon's grasp, his fierce glare never leaving Smola's face.

"Henri, come on, man. Let him go," Blair's voice was almost frightened behind him.

"No! Not until he answers me!"

"What is it, Henri?" Jim was the calmest of the group. "What happened?"

"He's gone!"

"What?"

"Missing! He wasn't at the shelter!"

Simon groaned softly, but was quick to talk again. "What makes you think Smola had anything to do-"

"Some kid in the shelter told me our suspects must have done something to him," Henri reported, cutting off Simon without a thought. "He also told me he followed them yesterday to some park, and guess who they met up with?" His hands tightened on the shirt, and he pushed Smola back into the wall.

"Shit! Brown, let him go! This isn't the way to play this."

"No?" Henri's glare didn't fade.

"No! Let him go, we'll question him. He's not gonna say a damned word with you in his face."

"Yeah he will. He's gonna tell me why he's lying, why he's helping the men who killed Gierhake and kidnapped my partner!"

"D-detective, please. I cannot tell you any-"

"You'd better stop stalling and start talking, you conceited fuck."

"Brown!"

"I can't-"

"Tell me!"

Smola swallowed. "My daughter," he said in a near whisper.

Henri blinked. "What?"

Looking suddenly vulnerable, Smola stopped trying to pull away, sagging in Henri's grasp. "They have my daughter."

Henri locked eyes with him for a moment, then blinked again, seeming to realize where he was and what he was doing. Almost shocked at his loss of control, he released Smola and stepped back without a word.

Rather than waste time rebuking him, Simon kept his eyes on Smola. "Go on."

The older man was quiet for a few moments. "They've had her for two weeks now. They said they would kill her if I met with the police. I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I can't tell you anything. If they see any police, they'll know I talked."

Simon glanced over at Jim.

The Sentinel nodded slightly. He was telling the truth.

Simon breathed out. "Do you know what they did with Rafe?"

"Ryf?" Smola's eyes came up, looking at Henri in surprise. "Ryf is your partner?"

Henri nodded, his jaw clenched, still not trusting himself enough to talk.

"I...I have not heard. They would not have said anything to me."

Simon glanced at Jim; another nod. "Are you alright?" he asked Smola.

The businessman straightened himself slightly, but nodded. "Yes."

"You?" Simon's gaze went to Henri.

The detective paused. "Simon, I want to go in tonight," he said finally, ignoring the question.

"To the shelter? Are you nuts?"

"The kid said Friedrich and his group would be back tonight. I want to see if I can track them to wherever they've got Rafe stashed."

"Henri," Simon spoke hesitantly. "You realize they might have-"

"Don't say it, Simon," Brown cut him off.

He hesitated, but nodded finally. "I don't like it, Brown, but something tells me I wouldn't be able to stop you if I tried."

Henri shrugged. "Probably not."

"Alright. First, you drive Smola back to his hotel." Simon turned to their guest. "Mr. Smola, go back and rest. I'm going to send Detective Ellison to your hotel room tonight, and I want you to give him a full statement. Everything you know about these men."

Smola opened his mouth to protest.

Simon went on before he could. "I know you're scared for your daughter, but I promise you we won't do anything to endanger her life. If we don't find them, they'll never let her go. You know that, don't you?"

Smola hesitated, but nodded. "I think I do."

"Good. Thank you for telling us the truth, I know it wasn't easy."

Smola glanced at Henri, and actually smiled somewhat. "I'm sorry I had to be forced to do it."

Henri met his eyes. He still didn't like the man, he never would. Not for what he knew about Rafe's childhood, about the part this uncle had played in it. So he didn't return the smile. He did manage to speak civilly, though. "Let's take you home," he said stiffly, turning and heading for the door.

Smola seemed to understand his anger, and he followed the detective without a word.

*******************

"Jou kombers en my matras en daar l^e die ding, daar l^e die ding, daar l^e die ding."

Ryf's eyes opened slowly, listening to the surprising sound of music in their home. No one ever sang here, especially not his mother. "Jou kombers en my matras en daar l^e die ding, daar l^e die ding."

He sat up suddenly, ignoring the pounding headache that rushed to drive him back down. He had overslept! He would be late to work. "Verdomp!" he swore. Then instantly he paled and hoped no one had heard him. Ryf wasn't supposed to use the grown-up words. He really wasn't supposed to talk at all.

"Jou wakker?" The song cut off, and the singer came closer to him shyly.

He watched as she came into view through the darkness, and Ryf suddenly vanished. Leaving a very confused Rafe in his wake.

"Oh my God, I'm going crazy," Rafe mumbled to himself, his hands covering his face. It was one thing to have dreams, it was something else to wake up thinking it was twenty years ago.

"Wat skort daar?" Annerl asked quietly.

"Niks," Rafe answered automatically, bringing his hands down and looking around. "Where are we?" he asked in quiet Afrikaan.

"I don't know," she replied in kind. "Friedrich took us in a car to this building."

Rafe sat up all the way, his back protesting spending hours unconscious on the ground. "A car? Freidrich has a car?"

She nodded.

"Why has he been staying at the shelter?"

"They would not tell me. It has something to do with my father."

"You father?"

She shut up abruptly, as though realizing she'd said too much.

He recognized the look of fear. "It's okay, I'm a police officer."

"Police?"

"I was sent to keep an eye on Friedrich. We suspect him of the murder of a man a few days ago."

She shuddered. "I would not be surprised if he was."

"Who are you? Why are you here with them?"

"They...they took me. They have been holding me for a long time."

Rafe's eyes narrowed. He should have known, as scared as she was of them, and as quickly as they came to attention when someone began talking to her in the shelter the day before. "Why?"

"My father." She looked down at her feet.

A thought struck Rafe suddenly, and a few pieces of the puzzle started coming together. "Gustav Smola?"

She looked up in surprise, but nodded.

He stood slowly, and had to lean against the wall as the room started to spin.

"Are you okay?"

"Just dizzy." He waited a moment, breathing deeply. "Is there a way out of here?"

"The only door is the one they brought us through, and Mikial is there to guard it."

Rafe cursed softly, looking around the dark room. "What do they want with your father?" he asked as he looked around carefully.

"Something about his company. I don't know everything."

"Alright," Rafe turned to her squarely. "I'm going to get us out of here, but I'll need your help."

She met his eyes, then looked away.

"I know you're scared, Annerl. But I can help you." He hesitated, then went to the young girl's side and waited until she met his eyes. "Gustav Smola in my uncle," he said quietly.

She stared. "You...you are Ryf? You are my uncle's son?"

Rafe nodded silently.

"I have heard....my father said that we might see you here, but..." She looked up at him in amazement. "My cousin."

He smiled slightly.

"Father...he does not speak well of you," she went on, studying him.

Rafe's smile faded. "I'm not surprised. I know you must have heard some bad things about me before, but..." He trailed off.

He had been all set to argue with his uncle's views of him, but how could he? He had realized over the last day that those views were more accurate than he thought.

"Ryf," Annerl replied when it was obvious Rafe was through. "I think...I understand why you left."

Surprised, Rafe met her eyes. The young girl smiled slightly, a wisdom in her eyes that belied her age. Old before her time. Rafe knew that look well.

"Tell me what do, cousin Ryf. I'll help you get us out."

*******************

Mikial was not the brightest crayon in the box, Rafe discovered with relief. Annerl's scream brought him running, and he approached her huddled, frightened form without even checking the shadows behind her.

"Wat skort daar? Hou jou bek!"

She whimpered as he approached. "Asseblief...nee, asseblief..."

"Wat? Wat skort?" He finally noticed the absence of a second hostage. "Waar is-"

Rafe walked unnoticed right up to the man. "Hier is ek," he answered with a grin.

Mikial whirled just in time to hit Rafe's fist with his face, and he fell heavily.

Rafe crouched and ripped the old rifle out of his hands. "Dankie," he thanked the semiconscious man. "Annerl, ons loop, nou!"

She jumped up and he grabbed her hand, running out the door and into another small room. He saw an exit sign and realized this must be some kind of abandoned office building. *Figures.* But he didn't stop to think about it, heading for the door and opening it quickly.

Right into the surprised face of his old friend Friedrich. "Wat-"

Rafe didn't hesitate. He aimed the rifle at the man's chest. "Loop. Nou."

Friedrich and his partner backed up a step dutifully, and Rafe pushed out the door, followed by Annerl.

"We will find you," Friedrich promised him simply.

Annerl backed away from the two men, and her eyes went back to the open door. "Ryf! Pas op!"

Rafe turned just in time to see the man he'd knocked down. He raised the rifle, but Friedrich moved like lightening, slamming into his arm and knocking the gun to the ground.

"Annerl!" Rafe looked back and forth between the three men. "Loop. Polisiestacie. Praat u Kaptein Banks. Nou! Loop!"

She backed up a few steps, then turned and ran as fast as she could down the street, towards help.

"Nee!" Freidrich gestured for his shadow to go after her.

He started forward, and Rafe ended the stand-off between them, throwing himself at the man, knocking him to the ground. He raised a fist, but felt hands grabbing at him from behind. He struggled wildly, but the man under him aimed a sloppy hit and got him square in the jaw.

Rafe rolled off of him, but didn't have time to recover before he felt a sudden sharp pain in his already-throbbing head. He sank down, weak, and another hit came, like a blanket, covering him with darkness.

*******************

The phone in Bank's office rang, sounding like a harbinger of doom.

Simon forced his melodramatic thoughts out of his mind and picked up the phone. "Banks....Who??" He listened for a minute, and sank down to the chair behind his desk, his eyes shutting. "Where is he?....Alright. Thanks for calling, I'll be there in ten." He hung up and sat for a minute silently.

Jim appeared in the doorway a moment later. "Is everything alright, sir?"

"There was a shooting ten minutes ago, outside the Palace Hotel." He sighed, then got to his feet stiffly. "Someone came gunning for Smola as he and Henri got to the hotel. Henri took the bullet."

Jim sucked in a breath. "Is he-"

"He's alright. Hit in the leg. He's at Cascade General."

"And Smola?"

Simon smiled tightly. "He's the one who just called. He's at the hospital with Brown."

Jim met his eyes, a full range of emotions going through him at once. "Let's get over there," he said finally.

*******************

"Kaptein Banks! Kaptein Banks! Polisie, asseblief! Polisestasie!"

The uniformed cop blinked down at the dirty girl who threw herself at him, ranting in a foreign language. "Hey! Calm down. What's wrong?"

"Polisie!"

"Uh, yeah, I'm police. What's wrong?"

"Polisiestasie! Asseblief! Kaptein Banks!"

"Captain Banks?" he repeated.

"Ja! Asseblief!"

"Okay, okay," the older, pot-bellied cop gestured towards his car. "get in. We'll go see Captain Banks."

She nodded, sagging in relief. "Nou. Kaptein Banks."

"Yeah, yeah. Get in." He opened the back door for her and let her climb in, then shut it and walked around to the driver's side.

Captain Banks?

Um.

Maybe the 23rd had a Captain Banks.

*******************

Henri tried not to even look to his right. He tried to ignore the fact that Gustav Smola was in a room alone with him. He tried not to get mad, tried to let his cool Bad Mutha Fucka cop self take control, ease away the stress and anger he was feeling.

But that shit just wasn't gonna happen. "You are one one lucky son of a bitch."

The older man turned to him, surprised he was speaking. "Pardon me?"

Henri looked away innocently. "Nothing."

But Smola had heard, and now sat staring at the prone detective.

There was silence for a minute, not even the beeping of hospital equipment to break the stillness.

"Why did you do it?"

Henri glanced over, and didn't have to ask what he was talking about. His tone wasn't gentle when he responded. "It was a gut reaction."

Smola smiled faintly. "You purposely took a bullet for me."

Henri shrugged. "Maybe I just didn't want to have to do the paperwork if you'd gotten killed."

"You were shouting before I even knew something was happening," he replied in admiration.

"Just reflexes. I'm a good cop, I've got lost of reflexes I can't control."

"You don't like me," Smola observed.

"Two points," Henri retorted.

"My nephew has told you about me."

Henri glared over at him, wondering why he didn't just ask the man to leave. "Yeah, he has."

Smola didn't respond to that.

Henri fumed for another minute, before turning back to his visitor. "What did you say to him?"

Smola glanced over. "Pardon?"

"In the station that first day, when you first saw him. What did you call him?"

Smola looked away. "I don't think that is exactly-"

"Nobody." Henri caught his startled reaction. "That was it, wasn't it?"

Smola didn't asnwer.

"I just took a bullet for you, you asshole. You can answer this one thing for me."

Smola sighed, but faced him again. "Neimand. It was...it was what we called him."

Henri's jaw clenched. "Neimand. Means nobody, right?"

Smola's eyes went a little apprehensive, but he nodded.

Henri shook his head, his fists clenching at his sides. "You son of a bitch," he said quietly.

"With all due respect, Officer Brown, you really do not understand my nephew's past."

"No," Henri agreed readily enough. "I don't think I ever could. But I know who he is now. And I know how much he still thinks about what it was like back then. I know he still has nightmares all the time."

"But he is here now, and who do you think he has to thank for that?"

"Oh, yeah, he should be bowing at your feet out of gratitude. Like you didn't put him on a plane because you were tired of dealing with him, like you really did it for his benefit."

Smola met his eyes now, glaring right back. "How would you know my motivations for anything? Yes, I put him on the plane to this country. I won't pretend I did it solely for him. But I also kept up with where he was. I am the one who made it possible for him to remain here."

Henri's eyebrows shot up.

"Or do you think," Smola went on. "That they typically give green cards out at homeless shelters."

"You got him US citizenship?"

"Yes," Smola replied.

"Why?" he asked in response.

"Because he was his family's best hope here," Smola replied sincerely.

Taken aback, Henri hesitated. "What?"

"I know my brother, Officer. He is an alcoholic, and he is lazy. It wouldn't change in America, I knew that. Ryf's mother could not be expected to work -- she was ill constantly from disease and complications with childbirth. His sisters were too young by far to do any good. Ryf was a hard worker, and he was at an age where he could make money, even in America. I sent him because I knew he was their only way of getting off the streets and in to a better life."

This was definitely a surprise to Henri. "But...but after they left him? They deserted him at the airport. Rafe knew then that they didn't want him around, why would he have gone looking for them once he got here?"

Smola exhaled slowly. "I was not told the circumstances around Ryf returning to my home after he was supposed to have been on the plane. He wouldn't say at the time, and I assumed he had lost his way and missed the flight. That was why I drove him back .It wasn't until much later, when speaking to my brother, that I asked about Ryf, and he told me the truth."

Henri shook his head in amazement. "Have you told Rafe that?"

"No. We had not spoken until I arrived at your station days ago." Smola saw the thoughtful look on Henri's face, and smiled slightly. "When I arrived here, I had a great deal of resentment towards Ryf. I see the kind of job he does, though, and the kind of loyalty his friends have for him, and I realize I may not have been entirely correct. Perhaps, officer, it is possible that Ryf is not entirely correct in his opinion of me."

*******************

"Wake up!"

Rafe sputtered into consciousness, breathing in some of the water thrown at his face, and erupting into coughs. His eyes snapped open, and he was suddenly aware of a searing pain in his shoulder and wrists.

Oh. He was tied by his wrists to an exposed pipeline in the old building. No wonder. He was standing on his toes and could still barely touch the ground, and the strain on his shoulders was making the muscles burn.

His eyes went to Friedrich, who stood enraged in front of him. "Oh, great," he couldn't help muttering.

A hand whipped out and slapped him in the face, hard.

He bit back a reaction, facing Friedrich defiantly. "What do you want? Annerl is gone, she's going to bring the police back here. What do you hope to accomplish?"

"Who are you?" Friedrich demanded, ignoring his questions.

"None of your business."

Another slap. Rafe almost laughed. They were going to slap the information out of him?

"What is your name?"

"Wyatt Earp."

Another slap. Well, it was starting to sting.

"Who sent you to us?"

"Give me a break."

Slap.

"Suid-Afrikaan you?"

Rafe didn't reply.

"Antwoord!"

"Wyk duiwel," Rafe spat out defiantly.

Friedrich did not respond well to name-calling. He balled up his fist for the next hit.

Rafe's body twisted, his toes losing their grip on the ground. His shoulders screamed their protest at the movement, and that hurt worse than the sore spot on his jaw. He breathed in raggedly.

"Antwoord," Friedrich hissed again.

"What answers do you want from me?" Rafe retorted.

"Who are you?" Friedrich repeated, enraged.

Rafe mentally shrugged. Why not? "Ek polisie."

Friedrich drew back, startled. "Polisie," he repeated after a minute. He stared at Rafe for a moment, then threw another hard punch, this time into the detective's midsection.

Rafe's breath exploded out of him, his eyes shutting. Oh, that was why not. Great.

"Suit-Afrikaaner polisie jou?"

"Nee," he breathed out. "American."

"Verdomp!"

Rafe's eyes opened gingerly, and he saw with relief that Friedrich had turned away from him, to where another of his men stood. Mikial. "Hy is'n fokkin polisie ofisier. Verdomp Here!" He stood fuming for a second, then turned back to Rafe. "Hy is'n polisie ofisier dood."

Rafe met his eyes without a hint of fear. He'd heard plenty of death threats before, he wasn't about to let this one get to him.

Friedrich held out a hand without looking back at Mikial. Without a word, the lackey grabbed the rifle and handed it over to him. Friedrich approached. "Jou nie polisie is nie, seun. Neimand you, helsem. Ju mof-skaap."

Rafe shut his eyes briefly. He had no idea that hearing the old insults in the old language could hurt so much. Dressed in the rags, his uncle's words fresh in his mind...somehow it seemed fated that he was to live and die Neimand, after all.

Friedrich moved faster than he could follow, driving the stock of the rifle into his stomach. "So'n helsem!" he hissed angrily. "Neimand!"

Rafe sucked in a breath with difficulty, and looked up to see the rifle coming towards his head.

Then there was nothing.

*******************

"Come on, Jim. Call. Come on, Jim. Call." Blair paced around the almost empty Major Crimes office, looking down at the phone on Jim's desk with every pass. Okay, so they knew Henri wasn't exactly dying, but Jim could still call Blair back and assure him that the guy was alright.

He was worried, and he couldn't help it. He was worried about Henri getting shot like that, he was worried about the fact that Rafe was missing, and now his partner was unable to help him. He worried about what both his friends were going through.

But his worrying was interrupted by the door into the office opening, and a uniformed officer coming in. "Hello?"

Blair went for him, seeing his hesitant look. "Yeah? Can we do something for you?"

"Uh, is there a Captain Banks here?"

"Nope. You just missed him."

"Damn."

"What's wrong?" Blair asked conversationally, hoping this guy would have some minor problem he could deal with, to get him mind off his worries.

The uniform held the door open and gestured, and a young girl came in shyly. "This," he answered simply.

"Kaptein Banks?" The girl faced Blair with wide eyes.

"No, I'm not-"

"She can't understand you," the uniform interrupted.

Blair looked down at the girl. "Why not?"

"Speaks some kind of funny language."

And Blair knew as certainly as he knew anything else what language she spoke. He hesitated. "Um...Hallo. Ek nee Kaptein Banks. But...um,. hy is...uh. hy is hospitaal."

Blair knew that fragment wasn't a complete sentence, but she understood and looked grateful. "Asseblief, ek moet saam hy."

"Umm. Alright, wat is..damn. Wat is dis. Nee. Damn." He was scanning through every language he knew, trying to pick out the few Afrikaan terms.

She stopped him. "Kenne Ryf?"

"Rafe?" he repeated in surprise.

She nodded enthusiastically. "Ja, is Ryf! Asseblief, Kaptein Banks!"

Blair nodded. "Ja. Hang on." He held up a hand, gesturing for her to wait. "Thanks, man. I can take it from here."

The uniform was staring at him in surprise through the whole exchange. He got control of his jaw again and nodded. "Yeah. Thanks."

Blair went to the phone.

*******************

Simon and Jim arrived at the hospital to find that Henri had been moved out of the ER into a private room. The doctor said it was 'just for observation' in case infection set it in. They started to search for the room, but Jim heard his friend's complaining long before they got there.

"I'm fine!" H was saying. When Jim and Simon entered, they noticed that a nurse was fixing his IV line. "Will you stop shooting me up with drugs? I said I'm fine!"

"Officer Brown!" Simon shot out in his most commanding voice, "Stop hassling this nice young lady."

The nurse blushed. "It's just for the pain. Make sure he keeps it in."

"Yes, ma'am," Henri begrudged as she took her leave.

It was then that they noticed Smola sitting quietly in the corner.

"Mr. Smola," Jim nodded towards him. "I'm sorry that you had to be in the middle of all this..."

"Have you found the man that did this?" Smola asked, his concern making him again quick-tempered.

"No sir, but we're investigating the situation."

"I don't want to hear that. I want to hear that these people are found. I want my daughter back, and I want to get the hell out of this country."

"It's my fault for getting shot," Henri spoke up before Smola could revert too far back into his former self. "If I hadn't of been so stupid, I woulda seen him coming and gotten a clear shot."

"Did you get a good look?" Jim questioned.

"Mikial Wasamba," H spat out the name. "Plain as day."

"What happened? Tell us exactly," Simon asked as he sat down in the only remaining empty chair, leaving Jim towering above them.

"Well, we were at the hotel," Henri began. "I had just left Mr. Smola when I heard somebody behind me. I turned around and saw that it was Wasamba. He had a gun pointed in Smola's back. I drew my weapon and yelled, then he turned around. I guess it startled him, maybe he recognized me from the shelter...I don't know. Whatever it was, he got spooked and took a shot at me. I took one in the leg, but I tried to get a clear shot at him." H faltered. "There were just so many people and I couldn't get a good aim and...."

"It alright H," Jim assured him. "You protected Mr. Smola and that's what's most important."

"And I'm sure Mr. Smola appreciates it.....don't you, Mr. Smola?" Simon probed the quieted man.

"Yes," Smola replied, facing Henri. The two men shared a meaningful look. "Thank you."

Jim noticed the look and wondered at it. Whether it was because he had just taken a bullet for the man or some other strange reason, Smola and Brown seemed to have reached some kind of understanding. He'd be interested in hearing the details some day. For now, he just wondered why they couldn't ever have a quiet, easy day where one of them didn't end up shot, beaten, or kidnapped.

*******************

Ryf was scared. He had no idea where he was, why he wasn't with his family, or out on the roads. The only time he ever woke up indoors was in his family's house, but the dark room was unfamiliar.

He sat up, and whimpered slightly at the aching pain in his head. It hurt to move, but he did anyway, knowing what kind of dangers met kids like him on the streets. He could have been arrested, or...

His stomach muscles screamed a protest when he tried to stand, and he fell back. He must have been bad. Uncle must have caught him not working and beaten him.

This, at least, was familiar, though he still didn't recognize the room.

It didn't matter. Soon they would have to eat, and they would let Niemand out again.

"Dom," he whispered to himself in reproach. "Seun dom." He had to stop fighting Uncle's rules. He knew father was almost ready to take them all to America. He just had to be good until then.

Stupid boy. He caused trouble for his family, he knew. He made it hard for father and mother, fighting against Uncle's rules like that. He should know better.

He should be dead. Seun dom, making problems when he was living the life his younger brothers should have been living. They would not have been difficult. It was only him, only Neimand.

He curled up on the floor, letting his mind drift away from the mistakes he always made. To....

"America."

His eyes darted towards the door, half-sure someone outside must have heard him utter the forbidden word. When no one came to hit him, he held his breath and whispered it again. "America."

It was his hope. His dream. In America, he could be better for his family. He would not get in so much trouble then. He would work, and make real money. His father would not hate him, his mother would talk to him again. Everything would be alright.

He would not be Neimand, not in America.

Just thinking about it made smile. Father was taking him to America with them. Father could not hate him so much after all. To leave the streets and Uncle and the other children in the city far behind him, to be with his family in a new world. It was more than he could think about for too long. The fantasy made it too hard for him to wake up to the children and the work.

A sound reached his ears suddenly, and he scrambled to sit up as the door opened. He looked down at the ground reflexively, hoping it was mother at the door. Then at least he knew he wouldn't be yelled at.

But whoever opened the door didn't make a sound.

After a few long moment, Neimand slowly, carefully raised his eyes, just enough to make out the face above him before he pulled them back down to the ground. Who was that?

"Hallo, ofisier."

Officer? That man couldn't be talking to Neimand.

With a start, he realized that the man must be an officer, and was telling Neimand how he should have addressed him. He quickly spoke up, quiet and respectful. "Hallo, ofisier meneer."

"Waat?" There was a pause. "In pyn, helsem?"

Neimand heard the familiar insult, and was puzzled. Who would bother asking him if he was in pain or not? No one did before. "Nee," he answered, knowing instinctively to lie.

The voice laughed. "Waat is u naam?"

"Ryf," he answered softly, hoping he would not be hit for giving the true answer. Most people liked to hear him say Neimand.

"Waar woon u?"

Where did he live? Who was this man that he would not know? Neimand frowned, knowing the man couldn't see him. "Verskoon my?"

"Waar woon u?" he repeated, none too gently.

"My familie."

"Jou familie is wie?"

Neimand froze. This man did not know who he was. Perhaps it would mean more to give his uncle's name. After all, Uncle was the one everyone in the town knew. "Gustav Smola."

"Verdomp," the man swore.

Neimand looked up for a split second, confused. Should he ask what was going on, or would he get hit for it? After a moment he decided to ask. "Wat is hierdie?"

"Hou jou bek!"

Neimand looked back down at once, grateful. Being told to shut up was better than being beaten, anyway.

"Bly hier," the man snapped, going out and shutting the door abruptly.

Neimand almost smiled. Stay here? Where else would he go?

The aching in his head had gotten worse through the strange meeting with the man, and he had to lie down again, dizzy.

Almost instantly, a wave of darkness swept over him, and Neimand fell back into a world of dreams. Of America, and what a great land it would be.

Of someone named Henri. Though he wouldn't remember that part when he woke up.

*******************

"No, captain. I'm sorry, I have told Officer Brown how much I appreciate what he did, but if anything I'm more convinced now than ever that these men are dangerous and will kill my daughter if I help you."

Simon heaved a breath, wanting to pace around but trapped in this small hospital room with three other men taking up space. "Mr. Smola, I promise you that-"

There was a knock on the cracked door, and a familiar pair of blue eyes peeked in. "Everyone decent?"

Jim grinned at his partner. "What're you doing here?"

Blair came in, grinning broadly. "We had a guest show up at the station."

"Oh?" Simon spoke up now from his spot against the wall.

"Yep, and if Mr. Smola doesn't mind, I think we need him to play interpreter." He turned towards the door. "Annerl? Come on in." He gestured in case the words weren't understood.

Smola jerked out of his seat like lightning with those words, and as the young, dirty girl entered the room, looking around apprehensively, the older man's demeanor changed completely. His face dropped into a shocked mask for a moment. "Annerl?"

She saw him and a huge smile crossed her face. "Vader!" She launched herself across the room and into his arms

He grabbed her tightly, his eyes tearing. "Anna! My Anna!" He pulled away slightly and studied her face intensely, memorizing every line. "Dankie, Here," he mumbled.

She smiled through her tears, but shook her head. "Nee, vader. Danke Ryf."

"Ryf?" His smile faded slightly.

"Ja."

Blair latched on the word and turned to Simon. "She was talking about Rafe down at the station, but I couldn't understand her. I think she knows what's happened to him."

Simon turned his full attention to the girl. "Smola, can she tell us what happened?"

Smola nodded slightly and looked down at her affectionately and repeated the question in quiet Afrikaans.

She started talking, excited now, and rattled on for a few minutes in the strange language. As Smola listened, his face grew more and moe grave.

Finally he turned to Simon. "Your of...er, Ryf...was kidnapped by the same men that took my daughter; you were right about that. They were taken to an old building in the middle of the city. Ryf helped her to escape and told her to come here. She says she is sorry but she could never find that building again." His expression changed into the sharp frown they all remembered. "My Anna is young and scared and in a strange land, Captain."

Simon looked down at the round eyes of the girl and smiled somewhat, covering his disappointment. "I have a son of my own, Smola. I wouldn't force her to do anything she can't do."

Smola nodded. "Alright,"

Simon sighed as he stood up. "Let's get the two of you back to the Station. You can tell me everything that happened. And you, Smola, you're going to answer our questions now?"

Smola hugged his daughter to him as though afraid of letting her go. "Yes, Captain, I can answer anything you want. I'm sorry I couldn't do so before, but I was worried..."

"I understand." Simon turned his attention to his two officers. "Alright, you guys heard all that. We're no closer to finding these guys, but at least we know Rafe's alive somewhere. Jim, figure out a way to track these men to the building."

As he talked, Annerl was watching him. She turned to her father and whispered, "Kaptein Banks?"

He smiled. "Ja."

She looked at Simon and began speaking again solemnly. "Jou sal jou bes doenom Ryf to help. Asseblief, ek was baie bang, mar hy maak my veilig. Dit wasbaie dapper van hy." She met Simon's eyes, then turned to her father expectantly.

He cleared his throat slightly. "She...she says you have to help Ryf. She...she says she was very scared, but he kept her safe. He was...very brave."

Simon was gratified to see another look new to Smola -- guilt. Apparently he was still revising his opinion of his nephew. "We'll do whatever we can. Rafe is a good man, and a good friend, we won't let him down."

Smola repeated his words to Annerl, who smiled over at the three officers and observer, a sweet, grateful smile that almost made the men blush. "Dankie.Baie Dankie."

"Yes," Smola said, rather than simply repeating her words.

"Thank you, all of you."

Simon ushered them out before it could get any more emotional, leaving the three remaining men in silence. Blair looked towards the door thoughtfully, long after they had gone.

Finally, he turned to the other two, his jaw set. "I want to do it."

"Do what?" Jim asked, gazing over at him.

Blair tenses himself for the explosion. "I want to go in to that shelter tonight."

The explosion didn't come. Jim sighed, almost wearily. "You're out of your mind, Sandburg."

"No," Blair shot back. "I'm not. I'm the only one that can do this."

"How do you figure that?" Jim retorted.

"Look, man. Henri isn't going anywhere, and you used to work down there inVice, right? So that leaves me. I can do this, guys."

"No." Jim's tone left no room for argument.

But Blair made room. "You can't do that, Jim! For God's sake, who else is going to go? How else are we going to find Rafe and catch these guys?"

"I don't know," Jim admitted finally.

Blair smiled in triumph. "Alright then."

"But you're not going."

"Dammit, Jim, stop it! Stop treating me like I'm a baby! I'm thirty years old. I've been working with you for years now. When are you going to realize I can take care of myself? I'm not stupid, okay? Man, we talk about this and talk about it and you always tell me I'm wrong, you don't think I'm helpless, or dumb. But you never, not once, have given me a chance to prove it. This time it's different. Rafe's my friend, and if I'm the only one who can find him, then I'm going to find him; whether you want me to or not!"

Silence fell. Jim stood after a few minutes of thought, and headed for the door, passing Blair without looking at him. He stopped in the doorway and glanced back.

"I'm going to call Simon, arrange to get you in."

Blair sagged in relief, not replying as Jim left the room and shutting the door behind him. He turned once Jim was gone and sank into the chair Simon had been sitting in.

"Man, I feel like I just ran a marathon." He grinned over at Henri.

The prone detective wasn't smiling back. "This is a bad idea, Blair."

"Oh, man, not you too. Come on, Henri, I can handle this."

Henri shook his head. "This was my gig, Hairboy. My assignment. You can't go in my place." His tone was dark.

Blair's brow furrowed. "Why should it matter whose assignment it was? If you think I can handle it, why is it a problem?"

"No. Don't even ask, it just is. You have to listen to me, Blair." Henri's voice almost cracked, and he paused, taking a deep breath.

Blair studied him for a minute, and quickly decided there was more going on here than he knew. He stood and went to the bed, perching on the edge. "Something up I should know about?"

"I just don't like the idea."

"I don't think you're this upset 'cause you don't like an idea, Henri."

Brown looked up into the open, worried face in front of him, and almost groaned. Just great. For years he'd kept his skeleton safely tucked in the closet. For years he'd gone without telling anybody but his partner and best friend about this demon of his. Now here he was about to bare his sould for the second time in two weeks. What was it with these guys? Acting so worried?

"Alright, Sandburg. I ever tell you I pulled a tour in the Army?"

*******************

"Jou kombers en my matras en daar l^e die ding, daar l^e die ding, daar l^e die ding."

Ryf kept singing to himself softly, wondering why he thought of that song. It was something he heard groups of children singing at times, but of course he never joined in. And now, He sang alone, almost smiling ironically at the words.

"I'm with you and you're with me. And so we are all together." Not a song for a boy on his own to be singing. But he couldn't stop, he couldn't let the silence around him go on any longer.

His head felt like it would burst open any minute, but he shut his eyes and kept singing.

This was more than his usual punishment. He had been in here for a long time, and no one but that strange officer had come in to see him.

Funny, the man hadn't looked like an officer, not the way he was dressed. But Neimand knew better than to question it. Uncle should be there soon to fetch him, when he didn't show up to finish his work or clean for the evening meal.

Unless...unless these were the police, and they would make Uncle pay to get him out.

Neimand breathed out shakily at the thought. His uncle would never, ever pay money, he knew that. It would be cheaper to hire one of the other children from the street for a night. He would leave Neimand in there to rot, to never be seen again, like others who had vanished from the streets.

"Ryf," he said to himself quietly, as he always did whenever he got too frightened. "My naam is Ryf."

It didn't help. All he could think of was being left here to die, being found in a back street somewhere by playing children, being laughed at one last time. Stupid Nobody. Dom Neimand, getting himself caught and killed.

"Asseblief, ek bang, asseblief. Laat ek uit," he murmured to himself, sinking against the wall. Please, let me out. Please. I'm scared. Uncle, come get me. Please.

*******************

Blair looked around the dingy building. Rafe wasn't the only one that had memories of shelters, although Blair's weren't nearly so grim. Once or twice, when Naomi had been staying with someone and it hadn't worked out, they had to spend a night or two in a place like this, just until she was ready with a new battle plan.

They had always been together, and Naomi had always made sure that no one bothered him. But he still didn't like the places. They were grim, and not just for what they represented.

It wasn't hard to spot Friedrich Schmidt, but Blair couldn't see Wasamba or the other man that was supposed to be with them.

He hunched his shoulders, let his unwashed hair fall into his face, and started forward, dragging his feet a bit. He was playing up the role, he guessed, but he couldn't look that different from anyone else trudging around the room. He noticed that the other people sitting down with their dinner trays gave Schmidt a wide berth, and he followed suit, sitting a table over from him.

"Hi!" a voice that was way too cheerful greeted.

Blair smiled reflexively at the young man sitting down across from him. "Hello."

"You new here?"

Blair shrugged. "Kinda, yeah."

The kid grinned. "We got a lot of new people coming in here lately."

"Oh?"

"Yep. You nicer than most."

Blair grinned slightly, and his eyes went back to Schmidt for a moment, just to ensure he wasn't going anywhere.

"Uh oh," the young man across from him giggled.

"What?"

"You looking at the foreigner. I always tell em, I always say don't, but they do, and then they don't come back."

"What?" Blair took a huge bite of the lumpy white substance that resembled potatoes, eyeing the kid.

"Look, the guy's bad, okay. I told the last guy, he followed him, he's gone. I told guys before, they always look too hard, now they gone. This keeps up, no new guys gonna last, you know?"

"No, I don't know. What are you talking about?"

"The guy bad news. The one you lookin' at. Don't let him see you, okay? You ain't gonna listen to me when I talk, but I'm done talk anyway. Don't let him see you."

"Sure," Blair said agreeably, sticking a corner of only slightly stale bread in his mouth enthusiastically. "I won't let him see me, no problem."

The kid grinned. "I like you. You a good new guy."

"Thanks."

H hobbled into the office, balancing himself on crutches to take the weight off his injured leg. Jim followed closely behind him, matching his slow gait. When H had finally settled behind his desk, Jim pulled up an empty chair.

"Don't you need to prop it up?" Jim questioned as he got ready to scrounge for a stool or something to prop the leg up on.

"No, just leave it!" H bit off.

"But the doctor said..."

"I SAID LEAVE IT!" H shouted, startling not only Jim but surrounding officers.

"Whoa man," Jim leaned back into the chair. "What has gotten into you?"

"Like you don't know," H said in an exaggerated tone. "You can be a think-headed SOB when you try, you know that?"

Jim's eyes flared. "I'm going to let that slide since I don't want to be accused of kicking a man when he's down."

"You wouldn't be the first," H continued. "I can't believe I did it again!"

"Did what?" Jim looked puzzled.

"Did what?" H mocked. "Let them down again," his tone got softer.

"H," Jim leaned forward in his chair, realizing what he meant. "You saved a man's life. That is hardly letting anyone down."

H looked at him, straight in the eye. "And what about Rafe, huh? Are you gonna tell me that I didn't let him down?"

"We're going to get him back."

"We would have had him by now if it weren't for my stupidity," H collapsed backwards sighing. "First I let Rafe get in trouble and now...

Jim shuddered, missing Blair more than H could realize. "Sandburg will find him and then we're going to go out and have a big celebration."

H laughed. "Hairboy partying, I don't think that's a sight I can pass up."

"I just hope he makes it out ok..." Jim trailed off.

Now it was time for H to assure. "He's just as hard-headed as Rafe. He's going to be fine too. They both are."

"Kind of feels like we failed them though, doesn't it?" Jim asked soberly.

"We try to be there, but we turn our backs for a second and they're...."

"Gone," Jim finished for him.

*******************

That night, when the bulk of the people had settled down, Blair found an excuse to hang around the hallway, his eyes staying locked to Friedrich Schmidt.

So when Schmidt did as he was supposed to, finally, and left the shelter through the back, Blair was right behind him. He could thank his years with Jim, and the Sentinel's over-obsessive speeches and directions before he came that night, for being able to follow Schmidt without once being seen.

Part of that, of course, was because Schmidt wasn't looking. The guy never turned around, not once. Was he that sure no one was following him?

Probably.

Blair followed him down the streets of the seedy downtown part of Cascade. Normally, had he been walking these streets, he would have been too nervous to think straight. But then, normally he'd be there because his car broke down, and he'd be carrying everything he owned in his backpack, and invariably it would get stolen. Now, as it was, he didn't have to worry about anyone trying to mug him. One advantage to being a bum.

Friedrich came to a stop in front of one of the buildings, indistinguishable from its neighbors. Blair watched him go in, then debated his next move.

If he was smart, if he had learned anything from his life the last few years, he would have run to call Jim.

But he was nothing if not stupid. Well, no, that wasn't true. He was just tired of having to call Jim. He had told Henri and Jim before coming out tonight that he could handle it, that he was tired of them thinking he was helpless.

So he couldn't exactly go calling for help, could he?

Well, okay, he could. And Jim would come, and they'd get the bad guys, and go home happy. Jim would praise him for doing his job and being responsible enough to call him. And Blair would be absolutely no better off for it.

So Blair slowly made his way towards the building alone.

*******************

He didn't want to be back here, alone. Simon had sent him home and dared him to interfere with the undercover operation. Said he could take care of himself, "he's a tough kid." Tough and hard-headed was more like it. He knew that Blair was well-trained and knew how to take care of himself, but he just had to worry.

Jim threw the keys in the basket and made his way to the single remaining beer in the fridge. He didn't usually drink this early, but he needed something to bide his time. It was much too quiet for him. There was no meditative music, no papers rattling, no Sandburg. He took another swig, blocking out the bad thoughts that were trying to push their way in.

He went over to the mantle. One picture caught his eye and he picked it up. It was of Blair and him out fishing. Where was that taken? At the lake, the river...wherever it was, they were having fun. Sandburg was wearing that stupid fishing hat. Jim chuckled at the memory, what a character!

He replaced the picture to its original place. Sandburg was the first person who broke through. Carolyn couldn't do it, that's why she left. His father? Think again. It really didn't pull the heartstrings when your father was calling you a freak. Steven? Well, he tried, but then again neither one of them put their best effort into it. Then there was Sandburg. He was not the sort of person that you'd think would become a counterpart to Jim Ellison, but he had done a fine job of it. He had become his best friend, his Guide, his brother.

Jim walked over to the couch and collapsed. He had knots of worry in his stomach and he kept seeing Blair lying somewhere dying. What if he was hurt? Or.....dead? No, he couldn't think that way! Sanburg could hold his own, he'd be fine. But he wasn't there to protect him. That was his job and he was failing at it. He certainly knew what H was feeling cause he was feeling it triply.

He remained silent, in a dazed half-zone for hours. No one was around to hear, but he let slip one word...

"Chief." *******************

Neimand was jarred awake by the sound of a voice over his head. "Hey! Seun!"

He sat up before he was consciously aware of what he was doing, instantly bowing his head and awaiting instructions. "Ja, men-" he started to say, but with the suddenness of his movements, and the shock of jerking into consciousness, a wracking pain filled his head, and he cut of with a strangled breath, his hands going to his temple, pressing hard.

"Wat skort?" the voice demanded.

He shook his head helplessly. "Ek weet nie," he gasped out, frightened. He didn't know what was wrong.

"Staan. Nou!"

Neimand instantly struggled to obey, getting to his knees, and trying, really trying to stand up. The room spun around him, and he fell back down to his knees a second later.

"Wat skort daar? Staan!"

He couldn't do it. He shook his head, unable to stop nervous, pained tears from forming. "Ek nie kan nie," he whispered, scared.

A foot lashed out and caught him in the stomach.

He fell backwards ungracefully, whimpering in distress. "Nee. As...asseblief," he begged, his head still throbbing, his hands around his midsection.

Another kick landed on his chest. "So'n helsem." The man accompanied the insult with yet another kick.

Neimand curled up around himself, tears shedding despite his attempts to control them.

The beating stopped, and the man's sharp laughter cut off abruptly.

Neimand could make out noises around him, but he couldn't focus on them, his eyes closed tightly, his body stiff and closed in.

A hand appeared on his shoulder, and he jerked back, whimpering.

"Rafe?"

He started in surprise. His name? His actual name? Said strangely, by an unfamiliar voice.

"Oh, shit. Rafe, are you okay?"

His eyes opened slightly in surprise at the strange words. He looked up into concerned blue eyes and an unfamiliar face. "Wie...wie jou?" he asked in a whisper.

*******************

It was like a nightmare, some shit dreamed up by Stephen King just to torture him.

Henri couldn't believe that days after pouring his heart out to Jim Ellison about his past and his fears, he was sitting there living through it. Trapped at the station (because he sure as hell wasn't going to sit this out at his own house), unable to go help. Blair had been sent to do his job. It was just like the Army, just like Mark Jesky taking his place on patrol. Jesky had been shot down, there had barely been enough left of him to bury.

And now Blair had gone to that shelter because Henri had gotten his stupid self shot. And both Sandburg and Rafe's lives were on the line. It wasn't just one. It was both. Two friends. Well, one friend and one...brother. One man he would have given his own life for in a second. If Rafe died because he hadn't been there....If Blair got himself killed taking Henri's place, going undercover when he wasn't even a cop...

Henri wouldn't be able to get through it. It had been hard enough for him to buck himself up after Jesky died, pretend he still felt he deserved to go on living. He couldn't take another one. He couldn't handle being responsible again.

He could practically hear Rafe's voice in his head. "Come on, H. Don't be such a conceited asshole. I can get killed just fine without your help, or your karma, or whatever it is you're worried about. I don't need your help to be a fuck-up."

It wasn't true, of course, but that's what Rafe would say. Henri knew his partner. He knew how good a heart he had, he knew how loyal he was to his friends here. He knew more about him than any other person alive, and Rafe knew more about Henri than anyone.

If something happened to that, if he lost the closest friend he'd ever had in his life, he didn't know what he would do. Rafe was irreplaceable. He was this huge piece of Henri's life.

And now Henri sat on his ass, nursing a hurt leg, waiting for the phone call that would tell him that piece had just been ripped out. Killed. Dead. It disgusted him. He wanted to get up, to be there, to be by his partner's side no matter what. That was where he belonged.

"Rafe," he said quietly in the almost deserted office. "You come through this okay and I'm never letting you out of my sight again, I hope you realize that."

And if he didn't realize it, wherever he was, Henri only hoped he would live to hear the words out loud.

*******************

Blair drew in a breath sharply. Oh, this couldn't be good. "Rafe, come on. Snap out of it. It's me, Sandburg."

The wide-eyed, helpless look of the man on the ground didn't fade. "Wie jou?" he asked again, his fear only rising.

Blair looked around anxiously. The unconscious figure sprawled out behind him showed no signs of getting up, which was good. His knuckles were still in pain over hitting the man once. Friedrich and his other friend had left before he went in, which meant this was the perfect time to get away.

But Rafe wasn't cooperating.

"Come on, man. It's me. We have to get you out of here." He desperately scanned his mind for what little of the language he remembered. "Uh...ek. Ekkan...glas...um, eet. Dit maak...my nai...no, shit. Uh, nie. Nie seer nie. Yeah."

The eyes peered at him for a long moment. "Wat?"

"Ek kan glas eet," he repeated, hoping he was saying what he thought he was saying. Neimand looked up at the earnest man, and a small smile came to his lips. "Joukan glas eet?" he repeated. "Yes! Um, ja!"

Neimand laughed softly, but cut off after a second when it caused the pain in his stomach to flare.

Blair gave a crooked smile. No, judging by Rafe's response he wasn't saying the right thing. "Umm. Dammit!" He turned away, scanning his brain desperately. After a minute he gave up, turning back to Rafe. "You've got to snap out of it, Rafe. You know me. I don't know what the hell these guys did to you, but you know me. We're friends. We have to get out of here before they get back!"

"Praat u engels," Rafe replied curiously.

"Rafe! It's Blair. You remember me, come on! You remember your partner, Henri? The station, Simon? Jim? Please, Rafe."

"Henri?" Rafe repeated hesitantly, brow furrowed.

"Yes! Henri! Come on, just get up and I'll take you to Henri. Please. Uh, asseblief."

Rafe looked at him, then his eyes went back to the prone man behind him, and his jaw dropped. "Die ofisier. Jou ofisier doodmak!"

"Yeah, whatever. Get up!" Blair tugged at his arm. "Get on your feet! Stand!"

"Staan?"

"Yeah!" He nodded enthusiastically. "I hope," he added after a second. "Staan!"

To his relief, Rafe immediately started to get to his feet. He was obviously in pain and Blair had to help him every step of the way, but he was on his feet and moving towards the door quickly.

They were outside the small room and going towards the door when Rafe collapsed again; his hands going to his head, letting out a small moan. "Ekis spyt. Ek is naar."

Blair let out a curse and crouched down. Rafe's hands went up instinctively, blocking his face with a frightened noise of protest.

Surprised by the sheer terror, Blair realized his movement had been misinterpreted. Rafe actually thought he was going to hit him!

Shaken, he stood again. Finally it occurred to him that he couldn't do this without help. Rafe was too hurt and too...out of it.

And him without his cell phone. Dammit, why had he tried to mount some one-man rescue? Even Jim didn't do that. Most of the time.

Blair thought of the guy he'd left in the room Rafe was in and he turned. He thought about telling Rafe to stay, but God knew he couldn't say it in Afrikaans, and Rafe didn't look like he'd be moving anytime soon anyway.

He headed for the room at a jog, slowing as he got close and approaching the door nervously. To his relief, the figure was still out cold.

'Wow, I must have a better right hook than I thought.' It brought a grin to his face as he stooped over and searched the guy quickly.

Yes! Bingo! He pulled out the cell phone and flipped it open, quickly dialing.

"Ellison," came the distant voice.

"Jim, it's me!" Blair was both excited and relieved to hear Jim's voice.

"What's wrong?" came the instant reply, tinged with worry.

"Look, I'm at this building, 35th and 6th Ave. Schmidt's gone for now, but he'll probably be back and I can't get Rafe out of here alone. He's acting kind of funny, and he's pretty banged up."

"35th and 6th. Got it, Chief. I'll be there in five minutes. Just stay put. If you see Schmidt, get somewhere and hide. I'll find you," Jim swore with intensity.

Blair couldn't stop the smile. "I know you will."

Jim hung up a second later and Blair slipped the phone into his pocket, looking down at the man on the ground. He thought back to the scene that had greeted him when he'd come in. This bastard laughing at Rafe as he kicked him over and over. Rafe huddled, almost crying in pain and fear.

He wanted to return the favor, kick this guy while he was down. He may be unconscious now, but if Blair kicked him hard enough, he'd sure feel it in the morning.

But he couldn't do it. It wasn't his style. So he simply glowered for a minute, then headed back out to where he'd left Rafe.

As he suspected, his friend hadn't moved a muscle. He was still against the wall, on his knees, hands made into fists pressed against his temple. He crouched down beside him, making sure his moves were slow and easy.

He wasn't quite ready to see that fear of being hit back in Rafe's eyes.

"Rafe? Are you okay?"

Hazel eyes opened slowly and looked into his, and Rafe shook his head miserably. "Nee. Nie 'OK'. Asseblief, help my. Ek is naar."

Blair swallowed. "I'll help you, Rafe. I'll try. Can you stand? Staan?"

After a quiet, nervous pause, Rafe's head shook slowly.

Blair bit his lip. "Damn."

"Asseblief."

Rafe's hand came out to clutch at his arm. "Ek is spyt. Spyt! Asseblief."

Spyt? Blair scanned his thoughts for a second.

"Ek is spyt. Ek is spyt huil," Rafe said desperately as tears of pain and confusion fell down his face.

Blair shut his eyes. Spyt. Sorry. He was apologizing. Jesus Christ. This was him as a child. Blair could see it now, in the fear and helplessness. He had thought Rafe had for some reason just slipped backinto the old language, maybe gotten some form of amnesia. But he was back inhis childhood. And now he was apologizing for his tears.

Blair reached out and clasped the hand that was reaching for him, wishing more than anything else right then that he knew how to say don't worry, or you're safe, or anything else that might ease the mind of the little boy he seemed to be staring at.

And suddenly his mind flashed with astonishing clarity on something Annerl had said to them in the hospital room. He mulled it over, inserting the proper pronouns, he hoped, and spoke slowly.

"Rafe...Ek sal my bes doen omjou to help."

Rafe looked at him in surprise. In fact, he stared for such a long time that Blair was sure he'd said something wrong. He searched his mind, but just as fast as it had come, the memory was gone. He couldn't even remember what he'd just said. Dammit!

But Rafe's eyes were more astonished than anything. "Ek glo jou," he said quietly, sounding almost shocked.

Blair had no idea what it meant, but it couldn't be bad. "Ja?"

The hand Blair held suddenly squeezed back powerfully. "Ja. Ja. Dankie! Baiedankie!"

He was almost crying again, but his expression had changed to one of gratitude. Blair shut his eyes in relief, glad he had gotten through somehow, and he made a mental note to go thank that girl when they got out of this.

"Oh, this is a very touching thing," a voice rang out behind him.

Blair shut his eyes for a second, cursing himself for not watching the doors. He turned slowly to see Friedrich Schmidt and his friend Mikial standing there watching them and looking amused. Beside him, Rafe was suddenly tense again, his body shaking with sudden, small tremors.

"Suit-Afrikaner you?" Schmidt's eyes were on Blair.

"Uhh. No," Blair answered honestly.

"But you are police?"

Oh, shit. What was he supposed to say to that? It was obvious they didn't exactly treat police officers well. Jim, your five minutes is up, man. Where are you?

"Hoe my seun helsem is?" Friedrich looked down at Rafe, not surprised at Blair's lack of response.

Rafe gripped Blair's hand tighter. "Nee. Moenie kry kwaad, asseblief."

Friedrich smiled grimly. "Too late for that."

He lofted an old,ancient-looking rifle. Rafe immediately cringed, his hands going over his head in self-preservation. Blair saw the move, and part of Rafe's behavior became clear. It was obvious Rafe's head was aching, but if he had been struck with the rifle, the way it now looked like he had, he probably had some sort of concussion, some head injury that was coupled with the reappearance of this language and culture in his life.

His anger growing, but unable to channel it, Blair spoke quickly. "Who are you guys?"

"That is not for you to know," Friedrich replied simply.

"But I do know. Most of it, anyway. You're Friedrich Schmidt, your friend is Mikial Sambala. You're both active in anti-drug protests in South Africa, you've both been under arrest before for disturbing the peace. But neither of you have violent pasts. You work with a peaceful group called PAGAD, and you've never left your country until now. We were investigating Gustav Smola and his company for suspected drug trafficking because of your PAGAD connections. You killed Gierhake and you tried to kill Smola, just like you tried to hold his daughter for ransom. Best I can figure it, you want to shutdown Smola's company, any way you can. But why? It doesn't make sense. Who would go to all the trouble of hiring you to do this?"

Recovering from his surprise quickly, Schmidt kept the rifle aimed at the observer grimly. "You ask too many questions."

Blair shrugged, acting remarkably unconcerned. "I've been told. So how about it? Who hired you to shut Smola down? And why would they bother flying you here when you could as easily have killed him in Africa?"

"You make a big mistake," Friedrich warned again.

Blair grinned. "I make them all the time. What's one more? Come on, if you're gonna kill us anyway, don't make me die with a bunch of loose ends going around in my head. Who was it? Some opposition businessman? Someone with a grudge against Smola?"

Friedrich glanced behind him at Mikial, but the other man just shrugged. 'Come on,' Blair thought to himself, keeping the easy grin on his face. *Come on, classic bad guy blunder. Tell me everything.*

Friedrich spoke suddenly. "No, I don't think we answer any questions. I think we kill."

He raised the rifle and pulled the trigger. Blair barely had time to shut his eyes as the rifle....clicked, and nothing happened. He opened his eyes tentatively to see Friedrich scowling at the weapon.

Instinct moved Blair before he could think about it, and he lunged at Friedrich, aiming his fist at the down-turned face. Friedrich looked up in time to get clipped with the flying hand, and he stumbled back, the rifle clattering to the ground. Blair swooped and picked it up, aiming it at the two men. Before Mikial or Friedrich could recover from their surprise, he was on alert, swinging the rifle back and forth between them.

"Alright, don't move."

Friedrich raised his hands slightly. "The gun is old, ofisier."

"You wanna take a chance?" Blair tensed.

Friedrich shrugged, and launched himself forward. Blair didn't even try to pull the trigger. He pulled his arms back, then swung the rifle forward in an arc. The barrel slammed in to Friedrich's cheek, and he went flying backwards, hitting Mikial and making both men crash to the floor.

Blair blinked, surprised at the damage he'd done, but a second later he recovered and stood above them, holding the rifle like a club. "You wanna try it again?"

Friedrich was almost unconscious. Mikial glared up at him, but didn't move. Blair grinned down at them triumphantly. And from across the room came the sound of applause.

Blair's head snapped up and he saw a familiar form standing there, watching with a smirk. "Jim! Man, it's about time you got here!"

Jim came forward with a grin, pulling out handcuffs. "Looks like you're doing just fine on your own, Chief."

Blair returned the smile, relaxing as Jim kneeled down next to the prone suspects. He watched his partner handcuff the two men together, going through their rights quickly and not exactly gently. Then his thoughts turned back to Rafe, and he turned around quickly.

"Hey, Rafe, you okay?"

Rafe's eyes went to the rifle in his hands, and he couldn't respond. Blair saw the look and quickly dropped the decrepit weapon to the floor.

"Sorry." He crouched down again. "It's okay," he said quietly, soothing the frightened, childlike Rafe.

A shadow fell over them, and he glanced up at Jim's surprised face.

"What's wrong with him?" Jim asked quietly.

"I don't know. He's got some head injuries. We should get him to the hospital fast."

Blair turned back to Rafe, holding out a hand slowly. "Rafe? Ek help."

Rafe looked up at Jim, then back at Blair, and grasped his hand finally.

Blair smiled. "Jim," he said quietly without turning his eyes from Rafe. "Get on his other side and help him."

Together they got their friend up and out of the building quickly, making it to the front seat of Jim's truck without incident.

Jim grabbed his cell phone and pressed the speed dial. "Simon? Yeah, we've got 'em. Rafe's alive, but he's banged up. Need an ambulance and someone to take these assholes in."

He listened for a minute, then hung up.

"Simon's on his way. He's sending an ambulance."

Blair nodded in relief. They stood outside the truck Rafe was now sitting in. Waiting for the familiar sound of sirens, he couldn't help grinning over at Jim.

"So. Whaddaya think, man? Not too bad for my first time undercover."

Jim turned a mixed glance to him. "Not too bad? You followed a suspect and went in without backup. You almost got yourself and Rafe killed trying to get away..."

Blair raised his eyebrows. "Jim...."

"Alright, alright. Yeah, you did good. You did real good." He shook his head with a smile he couldn't control. "I'm just relieved to have you back in one piece. This doesn't mean you're ever going to do it again, of course."

"Of course not," Blair answered immediately, obviously not believing a word of it.

Jim's head swung towards the end of the street. "Ambulance will be here in five. Is Rafe okay? He looked kind of freaked."

"Yeah." Blair glanced at the truck.

Rafe was sitting in it, stock-still, his eyes huge as he gazed around the interior of the car.

"But hey, I'm just glad he's alive."

Jim reached out and threw an arm around his partner. "I'm glad you both are."

Ellison tightened the grip, pulling Blair closer to him in order to assure himself that his partner was truly safe. Protection didn't mean he had to always be there. He could turn his back once in a while and the role would still be served.

*******************

Blair left Rafe's room nursing a headache and an incredible feeling of hostility, just to find himself confronted with the man he least wanted to see.

"Officer, is my nephew alright?"

Blair was tempted to ask why he cared, but he drew in a calming breath. He didn't have time to yell at this guy, he had to go get Henri and bring him to see his partner. "Look, Smola, he's been hurt pretty badly, okay? He's got a few head injuries, and it looks like he doesn't know where he is or who we are."

Smola's eyes went down to his daughter, who was watching with a hopeful expression on her face. "Can we go in to see him? Anna has been worried."

Blair grimaced, looking down at the girl, wishing there was some polite well to say yeah, she could go in, but Smola shouldn't be allowed within sight of him.

Her wide eyes did him in, though. "I don't see why not. Just don't be surprised if he acts a little different. The doctor says he probably suffered a similar head injury in his childhood, and he's regressed to being about nine years old." He drew in a breath. "Just don't upset him, okay?"

Smola nodded almost distractedly, and started for the door.

Blair watched the older man and his young daughter go in, and had to force himself to turn and leave them alone.

Smola's eyes went to his nephew, and stayed for a long moment without moving.

Ryf didn't look too bad. There was bruises on his face, a bandage on his head, and probably more under the sheets that covered him, but his color was healthy, and his eyes were bright.

When the younger man turned to look at his new visitors, he saw Smola and sat up with a start. "Onkel!" He paled and almost fell back with the sudden movement.

Smola spell broke and he started forward, Annerl's hand clutched in his. "Ryf."

Rafe shook his head miserably. "Nee. Nie Ryf. Ek is Neimand. Ek spyt, onkel. Ek is sleg, ek spyt. Baie dankie vir jou help, onkel. Dankie. Ek spyt. Ek is so'n helsem. Maar ek wees goed, laat hulle asseblief nie seer nie. Asseblief."

Smola took a step back, dropping his daughter's hand. Driven by the force of fear and gratefulness in Rafe's eyes, and the words he was speaking. I'm nobody, uncle. I'm bad, thank you for helping me. I'll be good, just don't let them hurt me again. Please. I'm sorry, please.

The words rang in his ears, and memories swept over him. He could see the nine year old boy, begging just the way he was now. He could see himself hitting the boy if he was late, or didn't work fast enough. He could see himself as he was. The way he had conveniently forgotten he was.

Annerl's eyes were on Rafe, wide and shocked at his words and behavior. Her gaze moved to her father, pale.

"Onkel? Asseblief, Onkel..." Rafe's voice was getting quieter, nervous over his uncle's strange behavior.

Smola shook his head, still moving back. Something very much like guilt and regret stole across his face, as he stared at evidence of his effect on Rafe's childhood.

He turned, without a word to his daughter or nephew, and went out the door, shutting it behind him.

Annerl stared after her father, but turned back to Rafe after a moment. She went to the bed slowly, seeing the lost, abandoned look on the man who had been so brave the last time she'd seen him. "Ryf?"

He shook his head, his eyes on the bed in front of him. "Neimand."

"Nee." She went to his side, confused about his behavior but recognizing it somewhat. "Jou is Ryf."

"Wie jou?" he asked in reply, confused.

"Ek is...vriend."

His eyes grew. "Jou...jou my vriend?" he asked in quiet disbelief.

She swallowed. "Ja." She reached out and grabbed a tense hand in both her smaller ones.

He sniffed loudly, his eyes watering as he looked down at her hands. "Vriend," he said again quietly.

She sat down on the bed beside him, and couldn't think of a single thing to say. He sat back slowly, his face regaining some of it's color. "Wat...wat is jou naam?"

"Annerl," she replied for the second time since meeting him. "Anna."

"Anna." He smiled hesitantly.

There was a pause, and Annerl searched her mind for something to say to her distressed cousin. Finally she gave up and just sat with him.

Until there was a light knock on the door. Annerl turned to again see the long-haired man with kind eyes who had taken her to her father. "Hallo," she said softly.

He smiled. "Hallo. Can we...uh, com?"

Annerl slid of the bed to give him room. "Ja, com. Ryf, dit is-"

Rafe nodded. "Ek weet. Blair."

Blair grinned. "Rafe, there's someone who wants to see you. You remember Henri?"

"Henri?" Rafe's brow creased, thoughtful. It was obvious he knew the name from somewhere. "Ek nie weet nie."

Blair grimaced. No signs of English, but Rafe had at least remembered his name from earlier, so it wasn't as bad as it could have been. He turned. "Uh, Henri, come on in. I don't know if-"

Henri nodded. "You warned me, Blair. He's alive, that's all I've got to see."

Blair stepped out of the doorway and let Henri come in, crutches tucked neatly under his arms.

Rafe sat up abruptly. "Henri? Jou seer!"

Henri broke out into a grin when he saw his partner, even hearing the unfamiliar words. Rafe said his name. Even if he was just repeating what Blair told him his name was, it was a start. "Hi, Rafe. You look good, partner."

Rafe's brow creased. "Part-ner?"

Henri came forward. "Yeah, partner. You may be kinda fuzzy right now, but you'll remember."

Rafe turned to Annerl, confused. "Ek...ek neer Henri, maar..." he shook his head.

She smiled. "Ja, Henri is jou vriend."

He looked back at the man on crutches. "Henri is my vriend. Henri is my part-ner." His eyes grew wide, and he looked at Annerl for approval. "Henri is my partner?"

"Ja."

"Yes!" Henri came up to the side of the bed. "You recognize me, Rafe?"

There was a pause as Rafe stared into Henri's dark eyes, and a flash came over him, his eyes filling with recognition and surprise. "Henri?"

Henri beamed. "Yeah, buddy. It's me."

"Henri..where am I?"

The softly-spoken words caused an eruption in the room. Henri grinned and almost let out a cheer, and behind him, Blair came running forward, crowing happily.

"Where else, man? The hospital," Henri replied, laughing.

"Oh, yeah," Rafe's eyes were confused as he took in his friends' reactions. "Are you guys okay?"

"Are we okay?" Henri asked incredulously.

"What happened to your leg?" Rafe sat up, instantly concerned, but grew pale again and sank back with a groan, his hand going to his bandaged head.

"Whoa, man, take it easy." Henri's laughter stopped, but his grin didn't fade. "How you feeling?"

"My head hurts," Rafe replied honestly. "And I feel like a horse kicked me in the gut. Aside from that, not bad. Were we in a car accident or something?"

Bair came up to Henri's side. "You don't remember?"

"Nope. I remember....um. I remember the Perkins case, I stayed up all night reading over the files...I didn't fall asleep at the wheel or something, did I?"

Blair and Henri exchanged glances. "No, nothing like that. Look, why don't you just rest for now, we'll talk about it later."

Rafe frowned suspiciously, but nodded. "Okay. You sure you're okay?"

Henri grinned again. "I'm fine, partner."

"Good." Rafe settled back, and his eyes went to the girl standing behind his two friends. "Who's that?"

Blair and Henri glanced over at Annerl, then back to Rafe. "Ummm."

Rafe's eyes were on the girl, and once again a bolt of recognition went through them. He froze, staring, as his mind was suddenly filled with the events of the last few days, events he had tried to block out.

He sank back into the bed, his eyes shutting, closing out the images around him.

Henri's bright grin faded. "Rafe? You okay?"

"Yeah," he replied quietly. "Just...can I have some time alone? My-my head's starting to hurt."

Henri turned to Blair. He shot him a meaningful gaze, glancing down at Annerl.

Blair nodded and took the girl by her hand. "Com, Anna."

She glanced back at Rafe, obviously worried, but went without a word.

At the sound of the door shutting, Rafe let out an audible groan, his hand going to his eyes.

Henri cleared his throat softly. "You need anything?"

Rafe's eyes flew open, surprised he was still in the room. "Henri-"

"I'm not leaving, Rafe," Henri replied before he could go on. "If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. I'll sit here and be quiet, but I'm not leaving."

There was a pause as Rafe contemplated arguing, then realized it wouldn't do any good. "You sure you're okay?" he asked finally.

Henri went to the chair beside his bed and sat himself gingerly, setting the crutches against the wall beside him. "I got knicked in the leg, no big deal. Nothing compared to the ulcer I know I've developed thanks to this case."

Rafe glanced over at him questioningly.

Henri smiled somewhat. "You think this was easy for me? I mean, I know you got the hard part of the job, but it ain't a simple thing to let your partner go it alone. I was...uh, well, I was worried. Especially when I showed up the next day and you weren't there, and that kid said the foreigners grabbed you-"

"What kid?" Rafe smiled somewhat. "No, let me guess. Long hair, way too happy?"

Henri returned the smile. "That was him."

"He was right, I should have listened to him." Rafe's grin faded.

Henri shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah. Well, it got me pissed, you know?" He grinned sheepishly. "I..uh, I threw your uncle up against a wall."

"Yeah?" Rafe's smile returned.

"Yeah. And then I took a bullet for him. Go figure. Rafe, you know something....I've talked to the guy. He's...you two should really get together and try to talk things out."

Rafe shook his head automatically. "Not gonna happen, H. And this isn't an issue you wanna push."

Henri wanted to argue, but wasn't quite ready to do anything to upset his partner. "Sure thing, man." He settled back in the chair.

Rafe didn't volunteer any more conversation, and neither did Henri. He was content to sit and keep his partner company.

*******************

Rafe demanded to be released by the next day. He asked to be released sooner, but they needed to keep him under observation for his concussion.

Henri argued right alongside him and Jim and Blair were drawn by the argument and put their own two cents in, and the doctors were more or less bullied into agreeing. The four men were headed for the door a short time later.

"You sure you two are okay getting home?" Blair asked.

"Don't worry about us, Sandburg," Henri replied as they went out the door and towards the parking garage.

"Yeah, Chief, let 'em go. I'm hungry."

Blair glanced over at Jim. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Your night to cook, Darwin." Jim grinned.

Blair gaped at him. "My night to....I was just undercover, Jim! I just made it through a dangerous assignment all by myself and you want me to cook you dinner?"

"House rules are house rules," Jim replied blandly.

Blair glanced over at the other two men. "We'll see you guys later."

Rafe met his eyes. "Blair..."

The observer grinned. "Save it, Rafe. It's nothing you wouldn't have done for me. I'm just glad you're okay."

Rafe looked away from him, but nodded.

"Alright, we're outta here." Blair waved at the two other detectives as he and Jim started off towards the truck, bickering as they went.

Rafe and Brown stood for a moment longer. "Um, Henri?"

"Yeah?"

"How are we getting home?"

"Driving. Unless you wanna walk," Henri shot his partner a grin.

Rafe smiled faintly. "I'm seeing double here, man. And you've got a bullet in your leg. Who gets to drive?"

"Me, of course. You think I'm letting you get behind the wheel of my car?"

"You've got a bullet in your leg."

"My left leg. Don't need the left leg to drive," Henri countered, a joy going through him at the familiar bantering.

But just like that, Rafe's smile dropped, his eyes grew darker, and he nodded. "Alright."

Henri frowned, but led him to the car without a word.

They were halfway to Rafe's apartment when he finally spoke up. "Are you okay?"

"I was released, wasn't I?"

Henri glanced over at his depressed partner. "If you consider practically threatening the doctor to get him to sign a release form being released, yeah. But that's not what I meant, and you know it."

"I really don't want to talk about it, H."

"Alright, alright. Just tell me something. Are you going to be okay? I mean, really. I know you had to have faced a lot the last few days." Henri stopped masking his genuine fear and concern. "Tell me I haven't lost my partner."

Rafe glanced over. "Henri..." He swallowed. "Would it really matter?" He stopped Henri's automatic answer. "Really. You'd get another partner, it's not that hard to find a guy to go drink beers with. Why does it matter what happens to me?"

Henri's brow furrowed. "Rafe, I don't know what you think you learned about yourself the last few days, but I sure as hell learned something about myself. You're not my partner, man. You're not some guy I have beers with. You're..." He hesitated, not sure what he had to say, but realizing that what came out of his mouth would be very important to Rafe. "You're my brother. Not cause we work together, or go out together at night, or anything else. Cause you're you and I'm me, and we fit, you know? If you'd gotten killed, I would have...shit, I don't know. I would have given up. No way would I ever have found anyone else I could be this close to. And I wouldn't want to." He met Rafe's eyes. "You hear me?"

Rafe swallowed. "Henri-"

"Don't argue with me, bro. Just 'cause I'm feeling all sensitive right now doesn't mean I'm gonna listen to your crap, you got it? No matter what you went through before you met me, no matter what you grew up hearing, you're the most important person in my life, and I'm not about to let you weasel out of it."

Rafe was still for a moment, but eventually a smile spread across his face. "Thanks, Henri. I really needed to hear that."

Henri hid his relief with a grin. "No problem."

*******************

"So this guy Friedrich Schmidt is being a real hard ass, not answering any questions or saying anything. But Mikial Sambala is spilling his guts." Jim sat on his desk, not even looking at the reports in his hand. "So we've got the name of this extremist South African group, real nativists, who were threatening Smola over his dealings with American companies. They were trying to force him to sever all ties, to make it a purely South African company. Apparently the PAGAD connection these guys had was just part of the set-up, something to make us suspicious of Smola."

"So they kidnapped his daughter to blackmail him?" Blair asked, his tone reflecting his disgust.

"Yeah, and when Smola didn't listen, they killed Gierhake, then tried to kill him."

Henri Brown glanced over at them. "So this whole thing was 'cause some patriotic South Africans didn't want him merging with this American company?"

"Pretty much," Jim replied with a shrug. "I think their idea of patriotism is a little more extreme than ours."

"No argument there." Henri turned back to his work, shaking his head. His eyes strayed to the doorway and he broke into a grin, standing up. "Hey, partner!"

Rafe entered the room slowly, his eyes scanning, He grinned as Henri approached him. "Hey."

"Thought you weren't coming back until tomorrow."

"I'm not. I need to see Blair."

Henri raised his eyebrows, but shrugged. "You're loss. He's in his usual spot."

Rafe headed over, looking distracted. "Blair?"

Blair turned with a grin. "Hey, Rafe. What's up?"

"What is this?" He held up a folded paper that was clutched in his fist, his tone apprehensive.

Blair lit up. "You got the invitation. Great!"

"Yeah, I did. I called the University, they said you gave them my name."

Blair seemed to sense that Rafe wasn't entirely happy. His smile shrank. "Oh. Uh, I figured it would be okay. I'm sorry, man. Do you not want to do it?"

"Blair, I'm not...I'm not a speaker, I wouldn't know what to do."

The smile came back. "Oh, is that what you're worried about? I can help you, no problem. I give lectures all the time."

"Yeah, but....Blair. I just...I can't. I can't do it. You'll have to tell them no."

"Rafe, this is a big event! There're gonna be some of the biggest alumni from Rainier coming to this, the mayor, everybody. Henri told me about the charities you support..." Blair trailed off, glancing behind Rafe at Henri's wildly shaking head. "Um."

Rafe turned and gazed at Henri. "He told you..." He met Henri's eyes for a minute, expressionless, then turned back to Blair.

"This is your chance to help, Rafe. A hundred times more than any donations you could make. There are going to be a lot of different groups there, a lot of speakers. If you really want to help, go, make a speech, and support your cause."

Rafe frowned down at the paper, then back to Blair.

"Ryf?" An excited voice rang out behind him.

He turned and saw Annerl and Gustav Smola, standing near the entrance to Major Crimes. A smile lit his face at his cousin's greeting, and he forgot about Blair, crossing to the door. "Anna." He pulled the young girl into a brief hug.

She grinned up at him. "Dit was baie vriendelik van jou, Ryf. Ek wil dankie."

He shook his head. "Nie te danke nie."

"Ryf."

He turned to his uncle, his smile fading. "Onkel."

"May I speak with you in private, please, nephew?"

Rafe hesitated, but nodded, pulling his uncle away from Annerl and the casually observing eyes of everyone in the office. "What?"

Smola was quiet for a minute, pondering what to say. "Ryf, I know you don't like me. I didn't much like you, either."

"I know," Rafe responded quietly. "You've made it clear."

Smola nodded. "You saved my daughter's life, Ryf. Your friends here are loyal to you, and you do help people in your work. I was not correct in my opinion of you. I have had to watch from afar as your parents and sisters struggled in this country, and you have not attempted to help them."

Rafe held up a hand, silencing the man. "My family...they deserted me, and so I've made no attempts to find out what happened to them. I'm sorry to hear that they're doing so badly. I never wanted them to be unhappy."

"Unhappy? Ryf, they are miserable. Your father is-"

"Uncle, please." Rafe breathed deeply, gathering himself. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a thin envelope. "You know where they are. Give this to them."

Smola opened the envelope and gazed down at the cashier's check. His eyes grew and met his nephew's.

"That's everything I have saved. You can give it to my father. It's enough to get them on their feet."

Smola nodded in surprise. "Ryf, I-"

"On one condition."

His eyebrows shot up. "What is that?"

Rafe drew in a deep breath. "I never want to see or hear from them, or you, ever again," he said steadily.

"Ryf-"

"No, Uncle, listen to me. None of you ever gave me love or devotion, so I'll be damned if I owe them to you. The only thing you ever gave me was a life in this country, so that's what I'm giving back. From now on, I have no family, and you have no nephew. Is that clear?"

"Yes," Smola replied quietly.

"And you tell that to my father."

The older man nodded.

Rafe let out a breath. "That's it. You have no more business in this building. Please, get out."

Smola looked up, and their gazes locked. He broke off the gaze first, turning and heading for his daughter and the door out of Major Crimes.

Rafe exhaled, his shoulders sagging, feeling suddenly exhausted.

His eyes went down to the paper he still held in his hand, inviting him to speak at what was probably the biggest charity event in Cascade's history, and he studied it thoughtfully.

*******************

"So," Jim said, sinking down beside Sandburg on the couch, "You had enough excitement?"

Blair muted the television show he was watching and turned to Jim. "I think I'm set for about a month," he smiled.

"I'm glad you're back Chief."

"You and me both," Blair admitted. "When I found Rafe and he was still out of it...I was so scared. I started asking myself what I was doing. I'm an Anthropologist, not a cop. I don't know what got into me..."

"Maybe a need to prove yourself," Jim added.

Blair looked at his hands, twisting them together. "I don't know...Maybe that was part of it. It's just that sometimes I feel pushed aside, like I don't count as much."

"Sandburg," Jim sighed, waiting for Blair to meet his eyes. "You don't need to prove yourself to me. I know as well as anybody in Major Crimes that you can handle your own. We just don't like putting you in danger."

"You mean YOU don't like putting me in danger right?" Blair questioned.

"Yes, I'll admit that I've got the strongest opposition," Jim paused. "I just have this need to protect you and when you went in there, I just couldn't think straight. What if you had gotten hurt or...worse?"

"But I didn't."

"And what about next time?" Jim asked.

"No need to worry yourself about that," Blair said. "There's not gonna be a next time for a looooong time."

Ellison laughed. "That's a relief."

"Jim, just lighten up on the apron strings ok?" Blair pleaded.

Ellison looked at his partner thoughtfully. "I'll do that as soon as you get it through that think skull of yours that I trust you. You're brave and just as hard-headed as I am."

"Point taken, man," Blair smiled.

Jim turned back to the television. "Now flip the game on so we can make a wager on tomorrow night's dinner."

"You're on! Jags by 20 or else I make you a gourmet feast!"

*******************

"I hate these stuffy, high-class gatherings," Jim Ellison hissed over the table at his partner.

Blair grinned back at him. "No you don't. You know you love putting on a tux and showing off to the ladies."

"Right, Chief. Waltzing around in a room full of rich stiffs dressed in this damned monkey suit is really making my week, you know?"

"Shut up, you two," Simon glared. "It's for charity, Ellison, stop griping. And Sandburg, get that smug grin off your face."

"Yeah, really. What's with the frowns? This is great. And we didn't even have to pay for it." Henri was beaming.

Blair nodded. "Well, every speaker gets a table, and I guess he just wanted us here."

Simon glanced back at his table-mates. "Will all you guys can it? That woman's coming back up."

They all hushed and turned towards the front. 'That woman' was the president of the University and the MC for the evening, bringing up the speakers one by one.

She looked out at the crowd and did her routine; making a rather nervous old joke, asking if everyone was enjoying themselves, etc. And then she got to the point. "Our next speaker is new to the podium, so you'll have to go easy on him. He is a Detective with the Cascade-"

"That's him. This is it!" Henri twisted in his seat, scanning the front of the room excitedly for his partner.

"Shhh," Blair hissed. "The guy's nervous enough, he doesn't need to hear your voice throwing him off."

"Look, Hairboy, he's my partner. I can-"

"Shhhh," Jim voices hushed the two at once.

Rafe cleared his throat slightly as he took his place behind the microphone. His eyes scanned the crowd briefly until he saw the table filled with his co-workers. He relaxed slightly, looking down at the paper he held.

His voice was steady as he started talking; no opening joke, no acknowledgement of the crowd. "George Bernard Shaw once wrote, 'The worst sin towards our fellow creatures is not to hate them, but to be indifferent to them.' He was wrong. The sin of indifference towards another man is wrong, but the worst sin is indifference towards a child. It has been said that people who can must speak up for people who have no voice. All over the world, living on the streets and in slums and shanties, are millions of voiceless faces. I'm here tonight to be the mouthpiece, the voice, for one of these children in particular."

Rafe shifted slightly, his face losing a little of its color. "His name was Neimand." He looked up, almost shyly. "At least, that's what he was called. He grew up in a one-room shanty in South Africa, with a sick mother, a father who drank too much to work, and little brothers and sisters whose chance at survival was practically non-existent. Neimand learned to work before he learned how to dress himself. At age five he would spend long days on the hot streets, peddling wares dug out of dumpsters to a town full of poor people who could little afford to buy them. If he brought home a few pennies, he was allowed to sleep indoors.

"Neimand knew nothing about a better life. He didn't know that there were children in the world who ate hot food that hadn't been discarded by someone else. He didn't know there were schools and playgrounds. He didn't know there were adults who would look at him with anything but disgust or apathy, or children who would not laugh and call him names. He didn't know the meaning of family or security. He had never known an hour where his stomach did not gnaw at him in hunger."

Rafe looked up at the faces in the crowd more often now. There was tightly-controlled emotion in his voice, keeping the faces riveted to him. "All he knew was what he was. He was called Neimand so often that he believed it. Nobody. He wasn't someone to love or to protect. He wasn't human. He was Nobody. But as lonely as Neimand was, it would not have comforted him to know that in every country, on every continent, there were others like him. Millions. The name changed with the country, but the meaning remained. And it remains today. They are Nobody.

"To have nothing is bad, it is a crime. But to be nothing is worse. It is a feeling no one in this room could imagine. It is a crucifying, suffocating, constant pain." There was no missing the depths of feeling in his voice. "It is as crippling as any injury. It can't be ignored, or disposed of. It can't be forgotten, not for a single instant."

Rafe paused in his speech, looking around again, almost surprised that everyone was still there, still watching and listening.

He continued after a moment. "To be able to give each of these children food, and clothing, and medicine, would be wonderful. To give them love and security would be a miracle. But I don't come tonight to ask for those things. Neimand never dares to ask for what he knows he will not get. What we ask for is proof that not everyone in the world is guilty of that worst sin that Shaw spoke of -- indifference. We ask that those of you who do not feel apathy towards these children do your best to help through whatever means you can. If you can open your wallet, or write a check, if you can donate time or clothes or love, if all you can do is talk to people, please, please, don't hesitate for a moment. They can't ask for themselves, they have no voices. I can't show you pictures because these children have no faces. They are the legacy of Neimand. They are the essences of inhumanity. And they need your help."

There was a quiet pause throughout the room. Rafe glanced around and as the grip of the words left him, his face flushed with sudden shyness. He stepped away from the podium, looking to the side for someone to tell him what to do.

H stood up and started clapping, then it was Blair, Jim, Simon. Table by table, the audience arose and started a thunderous applause. Rafe was startled by the reaction, but then a smile crossed his face. He beamed with an inner light, knowing that he had done this deed for all those who were like him. He was no longer Neimand. He was Detective Rafe Van Rij, he was somebody, he was home.