"Miami Vice" and its characters lovingly created by Antony Yerkovich.

Copyright Antony Yerkovich and Michael Mann Productions.
"A Study In Light" copyright Jane Hughes, 1993.

"When Tomorrow Comes" copyright Eurythmics, 1986.
"Long, Long Way To Go", "In The Air Tonight" copyright Philip Collins, 1982.
"Domino" copyright Anthony Banks, Michael Rutherford, Philip Collins, 1986.
Passages from "The Velveteen Rabbit", Margery Williams 1922.
Passages from "The Mirror Crack'd", copyright Agatha Christie 1962.
(NC17 - this story contains scenes of m/m sex, non-consensual and consensual.)

With a mountain of thanks to Pfyre for her time and her devotion - without her, this story would not have been possible.

---

A Study In Light
by elfin

"And you know that I'm going to be the one who'll be there
When you need someone to depend upon.
When tomorrow comes..."
- "When Tomorrow Comes" by the Eurythmics


A Study In Light - Part Three: When the Sun Goes Down
by elfin, co-written by Pfyre


Chapter One - ("I can feel it coming in the air tonight...")

Monday

      On a stormy evening, on Dade's south docks, a large back-up team, along with a SWAT team, waited patiently in the cold for the deal to go down. The gray skies threatened rain and a harsh wind battered the dock. The hour they had been waiting there had been a long one.

      A little over a mile away, Sonny Crockett and Ricardo Tubbs waited, huddled comfortably in the warmth of Sonny's snow-white Ferrari.
      "So, we finish this up, in three hours, tops. Wanna go get somethin' to eat?"
      Sonny nodded, smiling. "I think I owe you one anyway. How about I cook this time?"
      A warm feeling settled over Rico. He remembered that evening well, and had been waiting for a chance to maybe take things a bit further. The fact that Sonny had suggested it sent a tingle of excitement down his spine.
      "It's a deal."

      Sonny looked at his watch. "I guess we better go get this over with."
      As his partner started the engine, Rico said, "Two months' work is about to come together, my friend."
      Dealer Kym Bodelle, had proved a tough nut to crack, but finally, through some minor miracle, they had him ready to make a deal.

      From where Stan Sweitek was sitting, he had a near-perfect view of the two undercover detectives, as they met the dealer on the edge of the dock.

      There were three of them, Bodelle and two body guards. People like that liked to have other people around them for protection. It made them feel safer. It seemed to Sonny that one of the henchmen, a slim guy with a pony-tail, looked nervous. He kept looking around, up to the tops of the buildings, down the alleyways. But Bodelle made the usual polite greetings, and Crockett had other things to think about. They handed over the money, the bad guys handed over the dope. And then the nervous guy shouted something. They never knew what it was, or even if it was English. But it signaled chaos and tragedy.

      In the terrifyingly fast moments that followed, Rico saw Bodelle reach into his jacket and pull out a gun. He went for his own weapon, glancing across at Sonny to ensure he had seen it too. Even as his gaze settled on his partner he heard several shots in quick succession and Sonny was falling. In a flash of horrible clarity, he knew what had happened. His partner had been shot.

      Bodelle had been close enough that the impact of the first bullet threw Sonny off balance. As Bodelle emptied his clip, Crockett was hit by more bullets so rapidly that instead of falling to the dock, he was thrown back, off the edge and into the water.

      In another moment, the SWAT team had done their job. The bad guys with guns were no longer a threat.

      Without pause, Rico threw himself into the water below, doing a 360 degree turn before something brushed against him. His partner's motionless form surfaced beside him.

      He wrapped one arm around the top of Sonny's torso and pulled him back against his own body. Keeping the unconscious man's head above water, he swam carefully back to the edge of the high dock and looked up. Stan and a couple of other guys were already there waiting. They reached out to help maneuver Crockett's still form onto the docks.

      Soaking, heedless of the cold, Rico hauled himself onto the dock. The others moved back as he knelt by his partner. "Sonny..." Trying to keep his own breathing under control, Rico bent his ear to Sonny's mouth and listened, watching his partner's chest. Sonny drew in a shallow, fast breath. Then Rico pressed two fingers to the man's neck. There was a weak pulse. At least he was breathing on his own - barely.

      Someone had found a first aid kit and handed Rico pads of sterile gauze to put pressure on the gaping wounds. There was just so much blood. Rico could feel Sonny's ragged breaths bubbling the blood through the pads. Gentle hands helped roll Sonny a bit so more pads could be placed against the wound on his back.

      Not that it helped much. In mere moments, Sonny was lying in a slowly growing pool of his own blood. There was nothing they could do. There was no time. Sonny was gonna die here. He was going into deep shock, his body temperature dropping rapidly. Someone passed Rico a blanket. Without looking up, he took it, trying to remember the first aid he had been taught. With Stan's help, Rico managed to roll Sonny onto the blanket and into the recovery position. He wrapped the rest of the blanket over Sonny's body and ensured he was still breathing.

      Rico could feel the cold storm winds through his own soaked clothing. His own temperature was dropping as shivers started rippling through him. He was seeing single details in absolute clarity, but the whole picture was just a blur. He could feel panic building inside as tears fell unheeded down his face. He wanted to hug his partner. He wanted to hold him. Keep him warm. Make him okay. Make everything okay. But he knew any further movement could do more damage.

      Rico put a shaking hand to the cold man's face. "Hang in there, please, Sonny." Looking up, he saw Stan staring at him, reflecting his own shocked horror back. During the millennium it took for the medical helicopter to arrive, Rico started to talk to Sonny. He found his partner's fingers under the blanket and gently took hold of them. "Sonny, you're gonna be okay. It's going to be all right. The medevac's on its way. It's going to be all right. You're going to be fine...."

      Lieutenant Castillo picked up the phone and listened to Sweitek's distraught voice. Hanging up, he drove calmly to the hospital to await the arrival of the medevac.

      When the helicopter landed at the hospital, Castillo was with the medical team that was waiting on the landing pad. Tubbs had been transported along with Crockett. This was partly because of concern over Rico's condition; he had been showing signs of mild hypothermia, and there was a possibility of traumatic shock. But the main reason Tubbs had traveled in the medevac was because he had been absolutely adamant about not leaving his partner's side.

      With a heavy blanket wrapped around him, Tubbs stepped from the helicopter. His anxiety and fear were evident in his stricken features. Castillo read the grief in Rico's eyes, and at that moment he stopped believing Sonny was going to make it, and started praying that he would.

      Castillo placed a steadying hand on Rico's shoulder as they hurried down the endless corridors attempting to keep up with the entourage of doctors and nurses that surrounded Sonny. His gurney was wheeled through the emergency room, directly into the crash room.

      And then a wall of nurses came up between the officers and their stricken friend. They were stopped, asked to leave and promised that Sonny was in the best hands.

      Rico did not move. He blinked, still not thinking clearly. He scanned the flurry of activity, desperately trying to locate his grievously wounded partner in the midst of the chaos. His heart jumped to his throat when he finally saw Sonny. His partner looked as if he was already dead - so pale, in stark contrast to the deep crimson red of the clothes already being cut away.

      Somewhere from the endless void behind him, faint voices floated. Castillo speaking in hushed tones. And a second voice, responding, with words like hypothermia and shock. Rico blinked again when his view was blocked by one of the medics from the helicopter. He found that he could not resist as the man led him to a small treatment room only yards from the crash room.

      "Detective Tubbs," the medic was trying to get his attention, "we need to get you out of those wet clothes." He was pushing the blanket off Rico's shoulders.

      For the first time, Rico looked down at himself. He reacted in almost instantaneous, blind panic, frantically trying to get the blood-soaked clothing away from him. It was Sonny's blood that covered him. He had Sonny's blood on his hands! A wave of nausea swept through him. He managed to rip his shirt off through sheer luck, before the medic could gently capture his wrists and push him down on to the examination bed.

      "Take it easy." He paused, making certain he had Rico's attention. He could feel the extreme coolness of Tubbs' skin, even at his wrists. He was worried that being soaked to the skin in both water and blood and waiting in the cold wind for the medevac, that Tubbs was going hypothermic. He was hardly shivering, and that was not a good sign. "Look, I've got a set of clean, dry scrubs that you can change into." Rico nodded, his mind clearing. Once the medic was sure Tubbs understood, he continued, "I want to check your temperature, and the rest of your vital signs, just to make sure you're okay."

      Rico shook his head and grabbed the scrubs. "I'm okay. Just a little cold, that's all." He pulled the dry shirt on. "I'm not the one who was hurt." Rico finished changing. He used the sink to wash the now dried-blood off his hands. He started to shiver again. The medic handed him a fresh blanket to wrap around himself.
      "Look, at the very least, I think you should rest a while." He realized that Tubbs was not going to listen, but he had to try. "Why don't you lie down in here? Just for half an hour. We can keep you posted on your partner's condition."

      But Tubbs was out of the door and heading for the waiting room before the medic could stop him. Sighing, the medic followed Rico down the corridor and found Lieutenant Castillo.

      Keeping an eye on Tubbs, who had wandered over to a window seat, the medic explained to Castillo the possibility of Rico going into mild shock. Although it did not seem like hypothermia was going to be a problem, he advised the Lieutenant to get Rico to have a hot drink, and to watch him. If Rico started showing any signs of distress, they should contact the desk immediately. The medic said he would leave word with the staff to be on the look out for delayed shock. Rico's determination left him with little else he could do.

      Slowly, the undercover unit of Metro Dade Vice gathered in the waiting room of the trauma unit. Stan had stopped back at headquarters to let everyone know what had happened. Best they find out from him. He had brought Gina and Trudy to the hospital with him. The appearance of Mike DeLelo, police psychiatrist, surprised Stan. The man had become close to Sonny, despite the number of heated arguments they'd had. But how he had found out so fast was a mystery.

      Castillo had managed to scare up a spare set of clothing for Rico. They did not fit, but they were warm, dry and clean. They would do for now. Later someone would stop by Rico's place and collect some clothes of his own.

      Rico sat with his head resting against the window. Outside it was getting dark, and rain was starting to fall.
      Castillo watched him from where he sat. Rico was staring blankly into the dark night. As he studied the man, Martin noticed the subtle trembling in his detective. He was going into shock. Quietly, the Lieutenant moved over to the couch and sat next to Rico, facing in the same direction, putting a kind hand on the man's arm. "Are you okay?" Rico could only shake his head.
      "This is the worst part," Martin said gently. "It all happens so fast, so suddenly. You're never prepared for something like this to happen. You deal with it at the moment it all comes down, simply because you have to. You don't have a choice. But now you've stopped. There's nothing left for you to do but wait. Now, it'll hit you; when you're trying to accept it all."
      "I should have reacted faster...."
      "Don't blame yourself for this. And don't second guess it. You know it won't do any good."
      He did not move. "It was all so fast.... We had so much backup.... How could this have happened?"
      "It happened Rico. Now, we have to deal with it."
      "We were gonna go back to the boat.... Sonny was gonna cook for me. He said he owed me one.... What am I gonna do if he dies?"
      Castillo wanted to say, 'He's not gonna die,' but he could not lie to Tubbs. From what he had witnessed, there was a very good chance that Crockett was going to die. Jesus, what was he gonna do? What were any of them going to do? He took a deep breath. He had to be strong for these people, because they were all going to look to him for strength. He wished he knew he had it.

      The on-duty doctor that night was an Englishman, Dr. Bri Fielding. He was part of the small group that met the helicopter. He had been about to leave for the night when he had heard that a police officer had been shot multiple times and was being brought to the hospital needing emergency treatment. He had recognized the officer's name and immediately notified the surgeon on duty, put the ER on standby and gone out to meet the helicopter.

      In the operating theatre, the surgeons found themselves facing a near-impossible task. Aside from the massive internal and external hemorrhaging, a collapsed lung and the damage caused by the five bullets that had actually hit him, Sonny had lost a dangerous amount of blood.

      They had started immediate plasma and glucose IVs at the dockside. But with the gaping wounds, Sonny had bled out nearly as fast as the fluids went in. He was still alive, and an EEG indicated there was still brain activity, but there was very high possibility that there had been at least some brain damage.

      And there was another complication. One of the bullets had somehow splintered against the spine. They had already removed the three others that had lodged inside him. The fourth had apparently cut its path straight through him and resulted in the horrendous exit wound in Sonny's back. It was a miracle that more of his major organs had not been damaged. It was a miracle the man was still alive.

      As desperate as the situation was, there was little more they could do for now. They had taken enough chances already. Chances that had needed to be taken. But to try to remove the splinters themselves was far too high a risk. After a very brief discussion, expert neurosurgeon Ben Waltham was called, but he was in Seattle. They faced an eight hour wait for him to arrive.

      Seven hours after the nightmare had begun, Doctor Bri Fielding left the operating theatre exhausted, but still running on adrenaline. He sighed, now he had to face the assembled vice unit.

      He took Rico and Castillo aside, and explained what was happening. He was an experienced doctor, who had been in this situation countless times before. But for some reason, this time, his professional calm kept slipping. He did not want to explain to these gentlemen how desperate the situation was, how Sonny actually did not have eight hours to wait for a plane to land. He could not keep the anxiety out of his voice.

      He stopped talking. It was obvious the patient's partner had heard him, and understood what he was saying. He hesitated a moment, before continuing.

      "He lost a great deal of blood. When this happens the brain doesn't always get enough oxygen. If that was case here, there's a high probability of brain damage. The EEG indicates that there is still brain activity, but there's no way to determine if there is any damage, or the extent of that damage, until he wakes. There was some intestinal damage, a bruised kidney and a great deal of internal disruption. We've repaired all that we can." Bri sighed. He hated this. Hated telling people how bad things really are.

      "And there's something else. Because of the trauma to his spine, when the bullet splintered, we're concerned with possible spinal cord damage. To minimize the extent of the damage, we've administered an experimental inhibitor. Tests have proven that this drug can help prevent paralysis."

      Rico felt his whole body go cold. "I could have made things worse. At the docks. I... I didn't realize...." Both Castillo and Fielding heard the shock in his voice, but Martin was the first to work out what he was saying; what he was starting to blame himself for.
      "Rico, don't. Everything that you did for Sonny on the docks had to be done. You saved his life."
      Bri realized what was happening. "Oh, God.... Don't think like that, please. There was nothing you could have or should have done differently. Believe me, if you hadn't acted as quickly or as competently as you did, Sonny wouldn't have the chance he's got."
      Tubbs calmed slightly, but didn't even try to stave the emotion in his voice when he asked, "Can I see him?"

      Castillo expected Bri to flatly refuse. He knew the procedure; visitors were _never_ allowed in to Recovery. But Bri sat back, thought for a moment, and nodded. "It's highly irregular, but under the circumstances, I think you should see him." Castillo's heart sank. If they were making this extreme exception, Crockett's chances of survival must be almost non-existent.

      Fielding continued. "I must warn you, he looks bad, and he is. It's best that we disturb the area of his back, in which the splinters are located, as little as possible. A tube has been inserted to drain the excess fluids from the wound. It's not a pleasant sight. I know you're used to seeing terrible things detective, " he said off Rico's look, "but Sonny is someone you know and care for, this isn't some stranger. This time, you're going to feel nauseous. That's a promise."

      In hospital gowns, masks and caps to match, the two men followed the doctor into the recovery room. It was a quiet hive of activity - other patients being brought in and taken out. Nurses going about their duties. It was all very clinical and professional, very clean and absolutely terrifying. At the end of the room, there was a transparent cocoon, hanging down from the ceiling and encompassing a large area of the floor. From the entrance to the room, Rico could make out a bed, a couple of carts supporting monitors, and a person lying in the middle of it all.

      Rico could feel the tears starting again, itching under the mask as they rolled down his face.

      After giving them a moment to prepare, Bri led them over to the quarantine tent and moved in through the plastic flaps. There was more than enough room for the three men inside. The monitors hummed and beeped, all maintaining their own slow rhythms. The sound of air being compressed and released cut through it all, catching Rico's attention.

      Sonny was so weak, and his systems so overtaxed they had decided to put him on a partial support respirator. There was tube down his throat connected to the machine, helping him to breathe. Bri explained that the respirator would do most of the work for the weakened man, allowing his body time to try and recover from its many traumas.

      Rico finally felt ready to let his gaze drift down to the patient on the bed. His partner was lying on his side, propped against a row of pillows, put there to stop him rolling onto his front. His arms were out in front of him, resting on the top pillow; needles connected to thin tubes had been pushed into his veins. At least one of them was keeping him transfused; replacing his lost blood.

      There were wires tucked into the top of the hospital gown that had been draped over him, allowing the monitors to keep track of his heart rate and respiration. His blond hair was covered by a cap like those the man had been given to wear before coming in here. His feet and lower legs were covered by a folded sheet.

      Rico could not stop his eyes from wandering around to his partner's back, and to the wider tube that ran from a tuck in his skin to a clear plastic bag. There was a slow flow of a red tinged, thick liquid in the tube. Rico felt a hot surge of bile in the back of his throat. He swallowed hard.

      Bri's gentle accent betrayed his concern, "Are you okay?"
      Rico nodded, "Yeah."
      "He's still sedated. All we can do now is watch him, help him, and wait."
      Even Castillo sounded choked when he asked, "What are his chances?"
      "At this point? About 1 in 500."

      "He looks so small...." Rico murmured as the doctor spoke to the nurse. He felt his boss's hand on his shoulder, comforting him silently. It did not work. Rico's mind was in turmoil; grief and guilt and panic and other emotions he did not even want to think about, all fighting for attention.

      Sonny had always been more than just a partner. He was a brother, a friend, a confidant. And lately their relationship had been changing. Rico dare not even think about Sonny's chances of survival. A cold fist closed around his heart. 1 in 500 - surely that meant he was going to die?

      Gently, he reached down and rubbed the back of Sonny's hand with his finger tips. He crouched down next to the bed, wanting - needing - to be closer to his partner during what deep down he believed were the last hours of this man's life.

      Blissfully unconscious. Sonny looked peaceful; eyes closed, breathing controlled.... Rico was not a religious man, but as he crouched there, still touching the cold hand, he whispered a short prayer. And with his voice lowered to a breath, he told Sonny that he loved him.

      The hand he reached out to Sonny's face was shaking, no longer with cold, but with fear. He rubbed his thumb across the top of his partner's forehead, just below the base of the cap. "You're doing great, Sonny, just hang in there for us. You're gonna be okay." No longer caring what his Lieutenant thought, he leaned across and kissed Sonny's forehead.

      Behind him, Castillo had turned away, allowing him a private moment.

2:30 am
      In the waiting room, Stan leaned against the wall, lost in his own memories of Sonny and of Lare - Larry Ray Zito. He missed his old partner terribly. For ages he had blamed Sonny for the his friend's death, but Sonny still stayed, through the grief and the tears and the sleepless nights. The other detective was there for him, offering him solitude on the boat and company when he needed it.

      Footsteps in the corridor caused him to look up. A very solemn Izzy Marino was walking towards them hesitantly. There was none of his bizarre character, no humour or mischief in his expression. He had heard the news. He knew, as Izzy always knew, that a Metro Dade vice officer had been shot, most likely killed, in a shoot out on the docks earlier that evening.

      Stan pushed himself away from the wall and met Izzy at the entrance to the waiting area. Izzy's pace did not give away the desperation that Stan saw in his eyes.
      "Is he...?"
      Stan took him by the shoulder and lead him back into the corridor. He kept his voice low. Gina had cried herself to sleep and Trudy was sitting with her partner in her arms. He did not want to upset either of them by talking about the situation.

      Once they were at a comfortable distance, he leaned against the wall. "He's alive. But they say his chances aren't good."
      "Where's Rico?"
      "He and Castillo went in to see him about an hour ago. They're still in there. They're waiting for a neurosurgeon to fly in from somewhere or other. He's expected at 8:30. They're keeping Sonny in recovery until he can be taken back into theatre."
      "Are you okay?"
      Stan looked away for a moment, the question bringing tears to his eyes. "Not really. I was there when it happened."
      "I'm so sorry...."
      Stan stared at Izzy in disbelief. "Why are you here?"
"I have my reasons for being concerned. I've known Sonny for a long time."
      There was something else, something Izzy was not going to talk about.

      A voice disturbed them. "Stan...." Castillo, still dressed in the medical gown, was walking towards them. He joined them, grateful that they were already out of earshot of the two women detectives. The dark man glanced at Izzy, then directed his full attention to his detective as the big man asked, "How is he?"
      "If you want to see him, you can. Rico's still in with him."
      "Lieutenant...."
      "They don't think he'll make it through the night."

      Stan left to get gowned up. Castillo was left standing with Izzy in the corridor.
      "Do you have anything?"
      "Travellyan and Bodelle met at one of Cintaro's parties. Rumour has it that they... liked each other. Travellyan was last seen several days ago, hanging around Bodelle's place in Tampa Bay."
      "Do you think he had something to do with this?"
"I do not think. I provide the skinny. You do the detective work."
      There was a comfortable silence between them for a while, as Castillo took in this latest piece of information and Izzy paced. Finally he stopped and said gently, "How's Tubbs?"
      "Heartbroken."


      The hours passed. They passed with agonizing slowness. Stan could not bear to see Sonny. Rico did not want to be anywhere else. Gina and Trudy spent some emotional minutes with him; trying to accept that they may be saying their good-byes.

      At 4:30 am Bri checked on his patient as he had done every 15 minutes since Sonny had come out of surgery. If Sonny started to slip away, it had been agreed that they would let him go quietly. In his current condition, his body would not be able to cope with the stresses of heroic resuscitation measures.

      After performing the necessary checks, Bri pulled a chair next to Rico and sat down still facing Sonny. "He's hanging on." There was a distinct note of awe in his voice.

      Rico gave him a tired smile. "He's a stubborn bastard when he wants to be." He looked down again to where he held Sonny's fingers carefully avoiding the transfusion line that ran into a vein in the back of his hand. The he returned his gaze to Fielding. "You're English."
      "Yes. Came over from university. It was just too quiet over in Britain." He smiled to himself, momentarily lost in memory. When he came back to the present, he continued, "Actually, I miss it a great deal."
      "Why did you leave?"
      "Someone I cared about died. I found I couldn't live without him." He stood up. "When you love someone that deeply, it's very hard to let them go. Believe me, I know what you're going through."

      Rico thought the doctor was going to leave, but instead he moved round to the other side of the bed and bent to inspect the area on Sonny's back where the tube for the drain protruded from. After a moment he motioned for one of the nurses to come in to the tent, he pointed something out to her. She left, but returned shortly with a long-needled syringe and some swabs.

      As far as Rico could make out, Bri used the swabs to clear something from around the tube's entrance to Sonny's body, and then the needle was sunk into the top of his spine.
      Sonny obviously did not feel a thing, but Rico winced for him. "Is he okay?"
      Bri nodded. "As okay as could be expected. More okay then he has any real right to be in his condition." He smiled, meeting Rico's concerned eyes with a kind look. "He's hanging on. You're doing the best thing for him. Keep talking to him. There's a good chance he can hear you."


8:15 am

      "Waltham's plane just landed. Get Crockett into the operating theatre and open him up."

      Bri nodded at Castillo where he stood just inside the tent. In turn, Martin laid a gentle hand on Rico's shoulder, "We have to go. The surgeon's plane has landed. He's on his way."

      A mixture of relief and sudden anxiety swept through Rico with nauseating speed. It was comforting sitting with Sonny, watching over him. As if being there, he could stop his partner slipping away from them. To have to leave him alone, to have him go back under the surgeon's knife in a place where he could not be there with him, terrified him.

      Reluctantly, he stood, giving Sonny's fingers a final squeeze before releasing his hand. "I'll see you later, Sonny. You keep fighting for us."

      Bri watched the two men walk quietly away, back to the waiting room. More long hours stretched ahead of them. At least now, they could do something productive to help this man.

      After leaving the recovery room, as they prepped Sonny for surgery for the second time, Rico had gone for a walk. In the hospital parking lot, he saw Sonny's Ferrari. Someone must have rescued it from the docks. Sonny would never have forgiven them if they had left it there to be stolen. He cherished that car. Frowning, he wondered. Rico dug his hand into his trouser pocket and fetched out a small key-ring. One of the keys unlocked and started the car in front of him.

      There was something very therapeutic about driving a very powerful car to its limits. Tears streamed down his face as he wheeled her out of the hospital drive and onto the road. He headed south, letting his tears dry on his cheeks as he hit the freeway down into the glades. The car purred around him. Memories flooded back through his mind; times they had been in this car together, like a lifetime made up of journeys. There had never been anyone like Sonny in his life before, and he knew there would never be again.

      So many regrets pounded at him. Why didn't he do anything after the kiss they had shared that night? Why had he left it so long to make his feelings known? Only to have them revealed under such horrific circumstances.

      His vision started to blur as he considered the distinct possibility that Sonny could die; more than a possibility. There was little chance that he would survive.

      He remembered, as he drove, times they had worked together. Going under to find the leak in the Justice Department. That one had meant convincing lots of people that he had 'gone over to the other side'. As he had shouted at Sonny in the interview room, he had sworn that he could see the hurt in his partner's eyes - it had made it so much harder to do - but they were good together. They had pulled off the act--for a while.

      A memory pushed its way to the forefront. While they were dealing with the art thieves, he had had a slight disagreement with the bad guys. When he had returned to the office, the art cop that was heading the case had started mouthing off at him. He had the guy up against the office wall when Sonny had come in.

      In passing, he had heard his partner say simply, "Put the nice man down, Rico." He'd had to laugh. He had just let it go, joined Sonny for breakfast and instantly everything was okay.

      That was the magic between them, that together they could make all the bad things go away, and it would be all right. That was the only way they could survive it, to be there for one another, to support one another through it all. While they were out there, alone undercover, and off-duty, during the bizarre out-of-office hours that they had.

      Sonny meant so much to him it was hard to measure. The whole Burnett incident had shaken their relationship to the core - but Rico knew, that the second time he had looked into his partner's eyes, down the barrel of his gun, that Sonny had recognized him and had deliberately missed. He had held onto that look through all the rest of it.

      Until one evening, when they had had the discussion they were always going to have. Sonny constantly trying to apologize. Rico trying to get past the concrete wall his partner had built.

      Sonny honestly had not been able to remember anything. All he knew was what others had told him, and what they had told him had scared him to death. Each time he had faced Rico there had been terror and apology deep in his eyes. And after the initial mistrust had faded to nothing, Rico desperately wanted to get past that and put the whole thing behind them, to go back to what their partnership, and their friendship, had once been.

      He guessed he had already fallen in love with Sonny even back then. Now he knew how deep his feelings ran. He was certain that, given time, Sonny could match them with his own. If he ever got the chance.

      Yanking down on the wheel suddenly, he threw the car into a 180 degree turn. He headed back to Miami.


      Stan had phoned Caroline, had left her with the worry of what to tell Billy. And with the decision of whether or not to bring the youngster to Miami.

      Rico returned to the hospital long before they were done in the operating theatre. He was waiting, not pacing, just standing with his head rested against the window. In his hand he held something; something he had had with him ever since Sonny was bundled gently into the medevac. He held Sonny's badge and, now and again, his tears would fall onto it.

********

3:45 pm

      After five hours of delicate surgery, and two hours in recovery, Fielding sat by his patient's bed in the Intensive Care Unit. Around him, the monitoring equipment bleeped in differing rhythms.

      Bri eased Sonny's hair back from his face. "You're doing well, Sonny." Sometimes it was too easy to forget that it was a person under the surgeon's knife; he always felt it good to remind himself. Sonny was fast becoming a miracle case. His survival chances had increased from 1 in 500 to a good 20 percent. The next twenty-four hours were critical.

      Despite the success of the surgery, Sonny was still unable to breathe on his own. They had him on the respirator with partial support. Any help they could give him to increase his chances of survival, was being given. Ben Waltham was a highly respected man - Sonny was in the best hands. He would get the best care. More IV lines had been set up - glucose, antibiotics and yet another unit of blood.

      Bri reached over and adjusted one of the monitors. Then leaned back to take a good look at the man whose life they just might have saved. Sonny was lying on his side, in a mirror to the position he had first been in while in recovery. Fielding sighed. He knew just how Sonny's life had changed in the last few hours. From here on in, it was his fight. There was only a certain amount they could do for him. Every two hours he would be turned to forestall bedsores and pressure sores - for the same reason, he was lying on an air mattress and a pillow had been placed between his knees. His weight was balanced against pillows in front of him, making certain he did not roll and crush the drainage tube.

      They would keep him sedated for the next 48 hours. After that, they would continue with huge doses of pain-killers, and wait for him to wake up. It was the only way to tell how extensive the brain damage was.

      As Bri sat there, he could feel his own mind trying to shut down. He was so tired, but it was relaxing, somehow, watching his patient sleep. Strange, how someone who, awake, would be in agonizing pain, could look so peaceful. Sonny had a great many stitches, both internal and external. It was going to take a long, long time for him to heal.

      It frightened Fielding to realize how fast a healthy, vibrant human being could be stopped and crushed. This time yesterday, he guessed, Sonny Crockett was sitting in his office drinking coffee with his colleagues, or driving somewhere to somewhere with his partner in his fast, flashy car. Now he was unconscious, fighting a desperate battle for his life; each breath drawn a minor victory. Too fast. These things happened way too fast.

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

Chapter Two