I don¹t usually write depressing. This one came to me last night as I tried to sleep, in response to Peja’s challenge.

Summary: Every full moon, Major Crimes is forced to relive their greatest failing as the call comes in that they’ve learnt to dread.

Warnings: Character death. Profanity, violence, angst, suggestions of homosexuality.

THE EARLY MORNING CALL

By Jemisard
***

It was the full moon. Rafe shivered as he looked out of the window. He had come to dread the full moon, and the nightmare that came with it.

It had been twelve months since the call. Rafe looked over at the empty desk. No one had been game to clear it out, not since the first call back. They had left it for a month, out of respect, but now, it was a matter of fear.

They were all scared of what may happen to them if they dared touch that empty desk.

He sat down next to it, where they had sat so often, laughing, arguing, being them in general.

The only thing that had been moved was the photo. Simon had taken that before he was removed from active duty. He had gone off the deep end that night, when the call came in, one lunar month after the first time.

The real time.

It had taken them a little while to work out when it was. Every time the full moon was in its second night, it happened. They called in again, were forced to hear it again.

The regulars were in now. Henri hugged him and smiled. They didn¹t talk often on these nights. No one did.

He glanced up at the clock. It was one in the morning. Just seven minutes left. He sighed and reached over to grab the microphone.

"Attention all units. This is Major Crimes, Brian Rafe. This is it again, folks. Remember, ignore the call that will come in seven minutes. You will not attend the scene, ignore the call. Repeat, do not attend the call. Do not acknowledge, do not attend scene."

He dropped the microphone and turned to Henri. Tears shone in both their eyes, as they remembered what had happened to poor Luaetinant Walker. He’d attended the scene, the night of the first call back. He’d died on the way to hospital, a heart attack. He shouldn’t have had one. He was in perfect health.

Rafe closed his eyes. He had to try this. Maybe, he could free them. He hated having to hear it over and over again.

The clock clicked to seven past one.

The radio crackled to life. "This is Sandburg! You gotta get back up down here! They were waiting for us, they knew we were coming. Oh, God, they hit Jim! No, please, God, no!"

It crackled with static, before clearing. "You there? Why aren’t you sending back up? Blair’s been hit! He’s losing blood fast! No, chief, you can’t die on me. I need you, I love you. Where the fuck are you people? Is this your payback, because we finally realised we were in love? You have to help him!"

A scream of despair came out of the radio. "No! You can’t die!"

A gunshot rang out and the radio fell silent. Rafe picked it up, and took a deep breath before speaking.

"Jim, Blair. We didn’t know. The fucker on radio hated you, he didn’t pass on the call. We didn’t abandon you." He choked slightly on the tears. "We love you guys. We haven’t touched your desk. Simon broke down. Please, we don’t hate you. Don’t hate us."

The radio was silent. Rafe leant over the desk and cried.

Henri tapped his shoulder. Rafe looked up and took the piece of paper handed to him. "I found it just then. Over by their desk."

A photo. Jim and Blair, arms wrapped around each other, smiling up. A big black cat and a wolf were settled at their feet.

A neat hand had written on the back, (Thank you.)

Rafe smiled and held the photo close.

The End