Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.

Summary: The days following Charlie Lincoln's death.

He Was Here

Part One

"Michael?"

Noise. Scuffling. Him.

"Mike?"

Names occurred to him, one by one. Mom, Mark, Sarah?

"Sh-ch-charlie?"

"He's awake! Michael! Raines, how do you feel?"

"How do... you fee..." He repeated. "Charlie?"

Beat. "No, not Charlie. It's Danny Lewis."

Eyes open, not working well. He couldn't see much beyond blurs of grey.

"Huuuu..."

"How do you feel? What do you remember?"

"Rem...ber...?" Nothing. "Nothin'." Although…

He remembered Charlie.

"Do you know who you are?"

"Michuh... Rain... detec-tih... el-ay-puh... dee..."

"Do you know who I am?"

"Dan... Lewih..." Which he didn't need to remember, actually; he'd just been told.

"You're in the hospital, Mike. You were shot. Do you remember?"

"Whe...?"

"Tuesday. Today's Tuesday. It's been almost a day. But you're okay now."

"Where's...?"

"Your arm, and your side. You broke some ribs and you lost a lot of blood, but you're going to be okay. Oh. Oh or do you mean where hospital? Lourdes. You're at Lourdes."

"Where's... Char-arlie?"

"I'm right here, buddy, don't worry."

"You need to get some sleep, Raines. You'll be just fine."

Sleep. Okay.

Pain, sharp and somehow blue, danced all over his body. "Ah... oh... what hit me?"

"Bullets." Laughter.

"Charlie." The pain in his chest and arm was unbelievable, and yet, a smile lit Michael's face. Charlie pulled his chair up closer to the bed.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. Or night, more like. You're lucky; I was about to leave."

"You were going to leave me in the scary hospital? All alone?" The room was dark, precious little light coming in through the solitary window. Private room. God bless Dan.

"You looked pretty damn unconscious."

"I was." Michael flexed his fingers slowly; they uncurled like an old man's. "That's not the point."

"Jerk. I brought you flowers, by the way. Not that you noticed."

"Trying to set off my allergies on top of it all?"

"Please. After thirteen years, I defer to your allergies as much as you do. They're fake."

Michael shifted his head slowly to look at the hospital night table and smiled. An arrangement of plastic flowers sat there in a plain glass vase, not precisely imitating any actual species. They brightened what was otherwise a dull, overly sanitized room. "Thanks."

Charlie smirked.

"Ah, Charlie." Michael groaned, stretching his legs and watching them almost extend beyond the foot of the bed. "I feel like death warmed over and sunny side down. What happened?"

"What do you remember?"

"Not much," Michael admitted. "Laszlo... that crack dealer, he... he thought we were rivals, didn't he?"

"Well, it's an easy mistake to make. You, especially. Nothing screams drug dealer like a Jew in a designer suit."

"Good... Yahweh... Charlie, don't make me laugh. I got shot?"

"Yuppers. Your arm almost had to be taken. Kidding, kidding!" He added, as the blood drained from Michael's face. "It looks like a bitch, though. Got you in the ribs, too."

"How are you?"

"Thought you'd never ask. I'm... fine."

"You're fine?"

"Jesus, Michael, I was scared shitless." Grin. "But besides that, yeah."

"Good. Good. Aw, Charlie, I had... a dream, I dunno if it was a dream or a... blood loss thing... you got shot. In the head."

"Doesn't really look like I did, does it now?"

"Thank God," Michael whispered. "Thank God, and I, I… I mean that." He closed his eyes, drew a shaky breath. "I'm drugged, huh?"

"You do seem pretty drugged."

"Is Laszlo dead?"

"You shouldn't worry about that, now, Michael." Charlie put his hand on Michael's, mindful of the IV.

"You gonna sing me to sleep, Charlie?"

"I wasn't really planning on it, but I could if you really wanted me to."

"Nah, it's all right, I've heard you sing. Your services might be more useful in the coma wing." The smile hurt his face. A final pat, and Charlie took his hand away. A sadness hit Michael in the chest, deeper than the bullet wound and the pain in his ribs. "That was a … close one, wasn't it?"

"Too close," Charlie replied grimly.

"I'm glad you're okay."

"Same to you. Hey, I am gonna let you sleep now, okay?"

"No, no, no more sleep..." Alarms went off in Michael's head, and he lifted his hands weakly in protest. He wasn't used to sleeping much, and the thought of being unconscious for so long disturbed him somehow. "Dan said I'd been out like, a day..."

"You need your rest," Charlie insisted. "You're running on less than a full tank, bloodwise."

"Are you gonna be here when I wake up?"

Charlie grinned. "Don't you worry, Mike." A pat on the arm- the uninjured one. Michael smiled wide, and even when it faded away from his lips, the feeling of contentment remained.

The sounds of breathing, the comfort of another's presence in the room. His eyes closed. It didn't feel like much time passed, but when he opened them, Charlie was gone.

A terrible sense of loneliness hit him like a sudden lack of oxygen.

"Hello?" He said blandly. His door opened then, although his voice had been far too weak to have carried. Dan Lewis entered.

"Michael!" Grinning, Dan came over to the bed, hands extended uselessly, but enthusiastically.

"Dan... hey..."

"You seem remarkably more conscious than when last we spoke."

"Yeah... I'm awake." The smile felt silly, giddy on his face. "How am I?"

"The doctor says you're doing well."

"Can I ask you something, Dan?"

Dan grimaced as though bracing himself, but hid it as he stood at the side of the bed. "Sure, Michael, what?"

"Did I kill Laszlo?"

A strange sort of relief flitted across Dan's fine-boned face. "Yeah, you did, Mike. In defense, though."

"Thanks. Charlie wouldn't tell me."

Dan's face darkened. "Charlie?"

"Yeah, he said I shouldn't worry about it now. But honestly, Dan, I feel okay... I mean, my chest hurts, but I feel okay." He smiled.

Dan didn't smile back, though. "Mike... Charlie...?"

"Yeah, you didn't see him leave? I guess I did fall asleep, then."

Dan's lip was caught tightly between his teeth. His eyes were oddly wide and motionless.

"What's wrong?"

"I'll be back in a minute, Michael. Don't go anywhere."

"Where would I go, exactly?"

Dan flashed a smile and left. Consulting must have gone on, but Michael dozed, unhearing, until his door reopened and Dan came in, doctor in tow. Nothing occurred to him.

"Mike, this is Doctor Hudson."

"Mister Raines," Hudson said, smiling and coming over to shake his hand. Older man; polite, friendly ways. Michael trusted him instantly, which was unusual for him. Maybe it was the meds.

"Doctor. You my surgeon?"

"Nosir."

"Well, give my regards."

"Mike," Dan said. "Doctor Hudson needs to ask you a few questions."

"Eh, shoot."

"What's the last thing you remember before being the hospital, Mister Raines?"

"Uh, firing my gun."

"At whom?"

"The bad guy."

"The..."

"Laszlo. I'm sorry, I was trying to, uh… be funny."

"Charlie talked to you about Laszlo?"

"He, uh, he told me not to think about it."

"When did he tell you this?"

"Few minutes ago. I dunno. My head's kinda... woozy. Mushroom-y. Whenever he… he was here."

"Mister Raines. Do you remember what Charlie was doing during the shootout with Laszlo?"

"Not entirely. I thought... he was shot... he looked okay, though, so I must not be remembering... entirely... did he get any shots off?"

"Mike..." Dan couldn't finish.

"What's going on?" His brain was working like molasses in Alaska, but the gears were beginning to turn, and his alarms were beginning to sound. "Is something wrong with Charlie?"

"Mister Raines," Hudson began, but Dan silenced him with a hand raised.

"Mike. I don't... I don't know how to... hm." Cough. "Charlie's dead, Michael. Laszlo shot him, and he didn't make it."

"What?"

"Charlie..."

"No, I heard, what you said, you asshole, but I just saw him. What the fuck are you playing at?" Michael struggled to sit up in bed, his arm howling in indignation.

"I'm not playing at anything, Mike."

"Where do you get off saying that, then?"

"Charlie... is dead, Mike."

"Stop saying that." His teeth gritted.

"I'm sorry."

"I saw him!" Heart racing.

"He's gone, Mike."

"I SAW HIM!" Eyes wide, desperate.

"It was a dream. I'm sorry."

"No, no, no, no, this is, this is, I'm dreaming now." Please, God, please, aren't I?

"I wish you were."

"No. No. No. Get away. Go away." He fought the urge to gag.

"Michael..."

"I SAW HIM! I SAW HIM!" Flurry of movement around him: doctor, attendants. Dan.

"Calm, down, Mike. Raines! Detective! That's an order."

Meanwhile: "ISAWHIMISAWHIMISAWHIM!"

"Can't you do anything?"

"Nurse, diazepam!"

"I SAW CHARLIE! WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE'S DEAD, BECAUSE I SAW HIM!"

IV straining from his wrist, blood; his back arched against the bed, muscles tensing. Dan's hand over his mouth, the eyes above it wet. "I SAW HIM, GODDAMNIT! HE WAS HERE!"

Some sort of drug pushed into his IV, the room spinning in ten different directions at one. Something between nausea and orgasming and screaming, some intense, unreal feeling. Then it slipped away, and he fell against the bed, gasping and falling asleep all at once. His eyes, before slipping completely shut, caught sight of the night table. The flowers were gone. "He was here…"

"You bastard! You had them dope me!" It was the first thing to come to Michael's head as he broke out of sleep for the third time that day.

"Yes."

Pause. Dan was sitting, legs stretched out, in the chair across the room.

"Shouldn't you be going home?"

"I wanted to be here when you woke up."

"Dan." Pain in his head, behind his eyes. Shooting, burning. Pause. "What happened?"

"You could've hurt yourself, thrashing aro-"

"No, what happened. To Charlie."

Dan opened his mouth, closed it. "Laszlo shot him."

"All of it," he demanded, his voice harsh.

Sigh. "Laszlo shot him in the head. If you want to know, the doctors tell me he didn't feel anything. He died instantly."

"Then I..." Michael began. Pause.

"Shot Laszlo," they said at the same time.

"I can't remember much."

"I think that's pretty much to be expected, Mike. It'll come back to you."

"I'd prefer it not to."

"I know."

Silence.

"Lisa...?"

"I told her."

"How is she?"

"How do you think?"

"She's a strong woman."

"Yes, she is. But no one's strong enough for this. Her sister's with her..."

"Lucy?"

"I guess so."

"And Jack?"

"I'm not sure he understands yet."

Michael nodded.

Dan shifted in his seat, uncomfortably. "Mike... you said something, before they knocked you out..."

"I know."

"Do you remember what it was?"

"Yes." That he had seen Charlie, that Charlie had been there. It had seemed so real; he hadn't thought to question it in the slightest until Dan had told him that Charlie was dead. He had felt a rare sense of true denial; a complete lack of comprehension. Now it was fading, though, leaving behind a sort of emotional residue of hope that somehow Dan might be wrong. The hope, however, was slipping away as well.

"Do you remember more about it? Do you think it was a dream?"

"I don't see what else it could have been."

"An angel?" Dan's face: open, honest.

Michael winced. "Don't." Pain intensified; stomach joining the chorus of head, chest, arm.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I think it's, um, fairly obvious that I don't."

"The hospital psychologist wants to speak to you."

"Now?"

"When you're up to it."

"I'm not up to it now."

"Mike..."

"I got shot." Teeth set, pain becoming colors in front of his eyes. "Can we leave it at that?"

"You got shot, and your partner died. I don't think we can."

Pause.

"Leave."

"What?"

"Get out. Now. Get out, Dan."

"Okay. Okay."

Stand. Leave.

Michael turned his head and shoulder to one side; it was as much as he could move without disturbing his arm. The door opened, then closed, almost silent on its hinges. Staring at junction of the pale blue wall with the paneled white ceiling, he fought the unfamiliar urge to scream.