Presumed - part 4

Huey dropped him off at his apartment little over quarter of an hour later, Dief not making one single grumble about the late hour or his lack of supper. Fraser put down a bowl of cold bolognase sauce anyway, but didn't wait to see if he ate it. Stripped off quickly, dumping the wet clothes on the floor, had the sudden urge to flee the apartment, his room at the very least.

Water ran down his neck, bounced off his shoulders, pooled around his feet. Started off as hot an hour ago, but was now somewhere just above freezing. It dripped from his hair, over his eyes, from his nose and chin, from his hands as he pressed them against the wall.

"Constable?"

He gave a heavy sigh, pressing his forehead against the cool tiles, closing his eyes, felt the water run soothing over his eyelids. Sound of the water bouncing off the floor. There was a long silence, and then another interruption, the familiar voice of his neighbour.

"Are you alright?"

A long pause, then the sound of scraping metal as the bolt was drawn back. Fraser's head appeared around the door, hair plastered to his head.

"Mr. Mustafi?"

The older man shifted nervously, obviously uncomfortable with his role as nominated spokesperson. "We, um, we wanted to make sure you were okay. It's early morning, and, um, we could hear the water running. You've been in there for over an hour, you know?"

Has it been that long? He rubbed a hand across his eyes. "I'm sorry. I never realized -"

"No, no, that's okay." He started to back away from the door. "We were just worried, that's all."

Did they know?

"You understand, Constable, we won't be releasing this to the press yet. Allow the family time to grieve."

He shut the door, returning to sanctuary. Sank back against the door, to the floor, rested his head on his knees.

They don't know.

  * * * *

"Ray!"

Oh, not this again . . .

"Don't let go. Please . . ." A small noise, that may have been a whimper, escaped his friend's lips. Looked up, eyes wide and panicked. "Benny, you have to hang on, don't let me drop . . ."

"I'm not going to let you fall, I promise." Lying flat on his stomach, felt the concrete beneath him, the roof of a high-rise building. The streets of Chicago lay beneath Ray's dangling feet, too far away, the people below incredibly tiny and all unaware of the drama unfolding above their heads.

"Benny . . ." Another, small gasp. Feet kicking, hitting the concrete wall that represented the side of the building. No footholds, no hand holds, for the one spare hand that struggled to keep hold of the concrete ledge above him. "Oh God, I don't' want to die like this, I can't -"

"Ray, try and relax. I'm going to try and take hold of your other hand, okay?" His arm ached. Weird, like deja-vu, reliving his childhood, except watching it in reflection, distorted, and this time he was the one holding on, and it was his friend who dangled over the ledge. With his spare hand he reached out for Ray's, felt his fingers brush against his own, but lost the grip just as quickly.

"Fraser, oh man . . . please, don't let go, don't . . ."

"Ray, don't struggle . . ."

"I can't, I can't, you're gonna let go -"

"Ray, I promise you I'm not going to -"

He never got a chance to finish. Never felt his friend's hand slip from his own, but he saw him fall. Eyes wide, hurt, afraid, a flurry of dark cloth and the weight against his arm released with a jolt . . .

And just like before, Fraser woke up before he hit the ground.

* * * *

A flame. Not like the candles he’d lit for Victoria, almost a year ago. Just a single candle, stood on the sill, fluttering in the breeze from the open window. The sounds of the street below, Dief’s leaderless pack knocking over yet more trash cans, the sound of cars from the street beyond, a couple arguing in the building opposite. The sound of plates smashing against a wall. A television set blaring into the empty night. Silence in his head.

"He’s gone, son."

"I can’t believe that." He wrapped his arms around himself, unconsciously aware of the cold. "I won’t."

"Sometimes you have to accept the inevitable. Everybody dies. I should know."

"He was - is - my friend. Closer than that. And I can’t . . ." He paused, jaw clenching, struggling to keep his voice level. "I can’t be alone. I’m so afraid . . ." Closing his eyes, clenching his hands into fists, he stared out into the street below, unseeing. Never noticed his father’s reflection leave, or a new figure enter.

"Fraser?"

Failing to pull himself together, Fraser wiped his face with both hands, couldn't turn to face her. "Elaine. Why . . .?"

"I wanted to see how you were." She stepped closer, so she could better see Fraser’s reflection in the glass. "Are you . . . are you okay?

He closed his eyes, struggled to hold it all in. Eventually turned to face her, perfectly controlled. "I'm fine. Thank you for asking."

She frowned, deeply. Reached out to take his hands in her own. "You're cold," she said, softly, prising open one of his fists gently.

He blinked. Simply: "Yes."

Leading him away from the window she knelt by the bed, pulled him with her, kept his hands in her own. Held them until they were warm. Silence, for a long time, she reluctant to let go, he who broke the moment, separating their link and standing up.

"I, uh - do you want anything? A drink . . ."

"Coffee," she said, then offered, "I'll make it. I always wanted to sneak a look inside your flat. I wondered what a Mountie kept in his kitchen."

Not a lot, she realized as she began opening cupboard doors and investigating their contents. Finally locating two mugs and a small jar of instant coffee, she put the kettle on to boil and searched the fridge for milk, came up empty.

"I wish my kitchen could be this neat. It'd be the easiest diet I ever took."

"Oh, um . . ." He rubbed a hand across his face, struggling to regain his composure. "I haven't been shopping. Mrs. Donavich has been kind enough to give me some of her left over lasagna but . . ."

"And what about you?" she asked Diefenbaker, who was looking up at her from the floor expectantly. She heard Fraser give a heavy sigh.

"He thinks you might be feeding him. You see, he's been eating mostly take-outs recently and I think even he is growing sick of it. Not that it doesn't serve him right . . ."

He trailed off, biting his lip, turning away, but at that moment the kettle started to whistle. Pouring hot water into the mugs and blinking through the steam, Elaine prepared the coffee, and carried them across to where Fraser was sat on the bed.

"Here," she said, handing him the mug and feeling a sharp tingle as their hands touched, "This should keep you warmer."

He took a small sip, then said: "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For . . . for you seeing this." He gestured vaguely.

"I've seen worse." Another silence. "You should talk to someone," she said gently. "Plenty of people have been asking about you. They're all worried - Welsh, Huey, Francesca . . ."

He looked up. "Francesca?"

"She wants to see you."

"I know. She phoned the Consulate, left a message with Turnbull. But I can't. I'm not ready to see her yet. I'm not sure of what I'd say."

"All she wants is to hear from you, Fraser."

"I can't."

She studied him for a moment whilst he stared into the coffee; pale face, dark eyes, hands clenched around the cup tightly. Holding everything in.

"Ray never said goodbye before he left," he said eventually. "He left a note, but there wasn't time for him to see me before . . . I never thought that I might lose him, that that note might be the closest thing we got to a goodbye."

"That's why its so hard to accept," Elaine said. "Because it was so sudden. You never think that today might be the last time you'd speak to them. When Gardino . . ." She trailed off, remembering too late the kind of guilt this might bring back. Fortunately Fraser seemed not to have heard her, caught up in his own thoughts. He turned, suddenly, looked at her.

"Why are you here, Elaine?"

She looked up at him, surprised. "I was worried."

"But -"

"But . . ." Admitted: "There's something else." She got up, fetching her bag from when she'd left it, beside the door. "I researched those two guys a bit more."

"Elaine -"

Hesitated. "The Lieutenant doesn't know. I'm sorry I told him before, Fraser, but he asked me outright and I couldn't lie to him. Plus, I . . . I thought you were just . . ." She broke off, changed her mind. "Anyway, I spoke to Huey. He thinks you might be onto something. And, I guess, anything I can do to help . . ." Taking a brown envelope from her bag, she pressed it into his hands. "Nobody knows, I made sure."

Silently he opened the envelope, took out the sheets of paper, unfolded them. "Their rap sheets," she explained, "case files, newspaper reports, everything I could find."

He started sheafing through the papers quickly, coffee congealing, forgotten. Rap sheets he already knew of. Case files, nothing interesting, reports by their parole officers, descriptions of arrests, evidence write-ups. Newspaper cuttings, loose pieces of Xerox paper, light on the touch."

"Only two convictions," she said, resuming her seat beside him. Pointed at the clipping he held in his right hand. "Arrested for assault. The DA said there wasn't enough evidence for an attempted murder charge to stick. But the case fell through, something about the evidence being tampered with, I'm not sure." Her finger rested on the picture above the article. "That's them leaving court. I bet there were some unhappy cops in the division that day." She paused, only now noticing his silence. Turned her head to look at him. "What is it?"

"The man stood behind them, in the overcoat. I've seen him before."

  * * * *

It had taken a great deal of cajoling to persuade Elaine to stay out of it. She had done it enough already, her continued involvement would put her job at risk, it was too dangerous, In the end she'd agreed, insisting that if things went badly they were to call her and she could organize back-up. If Fraser's theory turned out as correct, they were going to need it.

"You sure about this?" Huey asked, sparing Fraser a glance from concentrating on the road ahead.

"My suspicions were raised by Mister Galfidino's appearance at the club. His explanation over the building's neutrality is plausible, but unlikely, and he seemed too keen to help me in researching both Williams and O'Neill. His appearance at court on the day of their failed convictions -"

"Suggests he was pulling the strings," Huey finished, grimly. "Williams and O'Neill are working for him, and his claim to being Galfidino was just an attempt to turn the trail cold. Dammit!" His hands clenched around the steering wheel, tight. "Look, Fraser, about last night -"

"I understand. You were only doing what you thought was best at the time."

"Yeah. But if Marchiello now knows Ray didn't know about the FBI investigation . . ."

Then Ray is no longer useful to him. And I have to be right, or it will be too late.

Huey shook his head, bitterly, then looked back up at the road, pulling the car up onto the sidewalk, and down a small side alley opposite the Bada-Bing. At such an early hour of the morning, the club looked deserted, the lights off, the building shadowed in the first few rays of the upcoming sun. The street outside was littered with remains from the night before; broken glass, a few intact beer bottles, the remains of someone's dinner. One solitary streetlight flickered overhead, timer in disarray. Huey and Fraser continued to skulk in the shadows of the alley, looking out over the building.

"Now is that normal for a club, to have bouncers on the door even when it's closed?"

Huey took a step backwards, looked up at the Mountie. "We need another way in."

"The back entrance."

Dief led the way, sniffing through the wreckage of the night before, circumnavigating a couple of streets to allow the two men access to the back of the building, without being spotted from the front. There were a couple of CCTV cameras at the front, but here, whoever had designed the security system had obviously decided to save the expense and not bother recording the drunks around the back of the building. There was a pair of double doors built into the wall, complete with a pair of extremely dark and dusty looking windows. Huey made his way forward, keeping flat against the wall, peering over the window quickly.

"Two guys," he breathed, softly. "One's got his back to us, the other is talking to him, facing the left wall."

Fraser nodded. Huey began counting, silently, holding up his fingers, and on 'one' the two men surged forward, kicking open the door, smacking the closest man in the back of the head and sending him reeling. His partner, who looked to be about six foot three with an extremely expensively tailored dark suit, took a step back, swung at Huey. The Detective ducked, waited until the man lost his balance and staggered forward, and used the moment to shove him, hard, in the back, sent him to the floor. Fraser dealt with the other man, still stumbling from the blow to his head, quickly, despatched him to the floor with one solid punch to the jaw. A moment later and both men were down, slumped against each other. Huey looked up, grinning.

"This, I like. You okay?"

Nodded. Stopped before he said anything, listening carefully to sounds from below.

Huey dropped his voice. "What is it?"

"Three men, below us. A basement. They're arguing . . ." He paused, frowned. Shivered.

"I say we dump it in the lake. Take a boat out to the middle, die a couple of bricks round him -"

"The cops can always drag the lake. Look, I'll speak to Cookie. He owes me a favour. His brother has this recycle plant -"

Looked up. "Ray's here."

"You're sure?" There wasn't supposed to be an answer. Huey's hand slipped onto his gun, as though reassuring himself that it was still there. Glanced at Fraser.

"I don't suppose you -"

"No."

"Great. How the hell do you and Vecchio work this?" Paused, considering the corridor ahead. "Look, if you can take the three men down there, I'll continue up here, cause some sort of disturbance. Clear our way. I'll call in Elaine -"

He nodded. Looked down. "Dief, go with him." The wolf whined, softly. "Yes, I know you want to find Ray, but I'll be fine on my own."

Huey should have known better by now than to question the wolf, but he still couldn't hide the sceptical look he gave him. Obviously thinking: he's my backup? Decided to push the thought away, concentrating on the corridor ahead.

"Okay. I can see some stairs ahead of us, leading down. I'll be up here. Once you hear something, you have to get out. No waiting. Understood?"

Fraser nodded.

Huey started down the corridor, then paused. "You'd better find him," he said, simply, then disappeared around the corner, Dief on his heels. Fraser took a deep breath before turning, heading down the stairs, keeping to the outer wall. Paused on the corner. Two shadows heading towards him, their voices raised.

"I still don't like this. If Marcus wants this over, then fine, but Paulo -"

Cut off with a grunt as a fist connected with his jaw, sent him sprawling against the wall. Fraser turned quickly, ducking as the other man tried to come after him, managing to connect his knee with the other man's stomach. The blonde man crumpled, gasping, but his friend was already recovering, drawing something from his belt. Fraser quickly kicked the man's hand away, felt someone snatch at his ankles and fell, hitting the floor with his knees. Someone smacked him across the face, he tasted blood in his mouth, turned and rolled before a foot could connect with the back of his neck. On his feet, one solid blow sending the first man cold, blocking another blow with one raised arm, turning on his heel and pushing the blonde into the wall, headfirst. With a small, dull thud, he smacked against the plaster, then crumpled to the floor.

Breathing hard, Fraser quickly grabbed the first man by the wrists, pulling him into a nearby stock cupboard, deposited him on the floor, the blonde following. Heard a voice from up ahead, and stepped back into the cupboard, closed the door quietly, left a small visible crack to watch through.

"Mike? Tony?" Another man, extremely heavy set, about seven foot tall and built like a proverbial 'house, shoulders that could take an entire football team. Cautious steps along the corridor, one hand pushing the hem of his jacket back, resting on the handle of a gun shoved into his belt. Turned, frowning deeply, then seemed to give a mental shrug and headed back in the direction he'd come from. Waiting until the footsteps died away, Fraser gently pushed the door open and stepped outside, closing it quietly and pulling down on the handle, hard, heard the click as the lock jammed.

Down the corridor and the decor was definitely more shabby. There were a couple of dressing rooms either side, and a few more closets storing nothing more interesting than a couple of brooms and a few dozen piles of beer crates. He could hear the hum of machinery, feel a draft from an air conditioner, guessed that there was a boiler room somewhere ahead. Stopped before another corner, pressed his back against the wall, watched the man who had spoken before. He stood, or rather slouched, against a heavy door, picking at his nails. Shaven head, baggy, loose-fitting trousers and a tight black top, skin raised to goose pimples in the cold.

Bending down, Fraser patted at his uniform, pulled out a small coin. Glanced down the corridor, drew back his hand, then flung it across the floor. It skimmed the surface easily, bounced noisily off a metal fire extinguisher, and landed roughly at the man's feet. He frowned, lines across his forehead, bending down and picking up the small coin between thumb and forefinger, frowning. Looked down the corridor, then back at the coin, then back down the corridor, eventually starting to walk in Fraser's direction, drawing his gun. Fraser held his breath, shoulders tensed, waited until the man had just stepped past him before moving, watched the man turn, let out a punch that should have knocked anyother man to the floor. Instead, however, the taller man by a foot merely stepped backwards, hand nursing his injured face. Fraser, for his part, started nursing his swollen fist.

"Oh dear."

"Who the hell -" The man tried to grab him, but Fraser ducked in time, disappeared under one arm, snatching the gun away but loosing it, sent it skittering down the corridor. Tried to kick him in the back but only sent him staggering. The man turned, hand reaching and grabbing Fraser's arm, twisting in a move intended to break. Fraser got there in time, moved with the blow, and though he gasped as his arm was given a painful wrench, he did not hear the snack of bone. Used surprise to his advantage, pulled away, managed to duck and smack the guy in the back of both knees, sent him to the floor. Moved forward for the final blow to the back of the head, and felt something sharp and clean cut deep into his thigh, a biting sensation. His leg gave out suddenly, and he fell, only just managing to use his hands to propel him away from a second blow, knife raised above him. Kicked out with his good leg, and felt his foot connect with the man's jaw. This time there was no fault. He grunted, eyes rolled up in his head, and then he pole-axed, forcing Fraser to roll again to avoid being crushed.

Gasping, the Mountie pushed himself into a sitting position, examined his leg. A dark, crimson stain was quickly soaking his trouser leg, turning the denim a deep, ugly shade of brown. Using the wall as support he pulled himself up, pausing only to take the small bunch of keys from the fallen man's belt, turned to the metal door, favouring his good leg.

It took several experiments with different keys before he heard the click, and the door swung open. A boiler room, small, filled with various metal containers and pipes, and a hidden fan overhead. Everything covered in dust bunnies. He took a step forward, cautious, noted the chair in one corner, the dark stain on the wall and the floor, the empty crisp packet and remains of cigarette ends. Slumped shape on the floor, curled tight.

Oh god, please . . .

"Ray."

He spoke so softly he was afraid his friend couldn't hear him above the whir of machines overhead. He knelt beside the Italian, touched his shoulder and felt him react, pull away with a terror that made his heart break. Reaching out, he took his friend's hand in his own, careful with bruised and broken fingers.

"Ray."

He stirred, rolled over and looked up at the Mountie with big, dark eyes. Afraid.

"Fraser?"

A voice of exhaustion, of pain, of fear.

"Benny?"

"It's me." And he lifted Ray into his arms like a child, with Ray still clutching at his hand desperately, and stroked the blood from his face, from pale skin and bruises.

"I knew you would find me." Said so simply, undeniable truth. Tears against cheeks.

Fraser swallowed, hard. "I would never let you go."

They stayed like that for what seemed like a long time, Ray held in Fraser's arms, trembling. Neither wanted to move from that place, from that moment, but the sounds of gunfire overhead stirred Fraser into movement.

"We have to leave. That noise is our distraction."

Ray gave a tired nod, and allowed Fraser to slip one arm under his shoulders and stand up. Felt incredibly light, head against his chest, eyes almost closed.

The corridor was still empty outside, the large man still sprawled on the floor, a few spots of blood Fraser suspected was his own. He could hear a dull thudding from behind the stock cupboard door, where he'd deposited the other two men, 'Mike' and 'Tony.' Moved past at as quickly as he could, half-dragging, half-carrying Ray with him, ignoring the protests from his injured leg. He couldn't be sure quite how serious it was, didn't have time to check, just knew it hurt, and his toes were beginning to go numb.

Up the stairs, using the leverage of the wall to push off each step, kept looking up to check for people above him. Reached the top with no incident, hung back in an alcove, listening carefully to the sounds coming from the room beyond.

"Benny."

Soft voice, struggling to keep his eyes open. Fraser shifted his hold gently.

"Ray, are you alright?"

"Mmm." He raised his head, left cheek a splash of ugly bruising. "Who is that?"

"Detective Huey." Fraser paused. "He told me not to wait for him."

"You're not going to."

Glanced at him. "No."

"Good." Ray closed his eyes, then opened them, wider.

"You're ready?"

Obviously trying to make himself sound stronger than he actually was. "Yup."

Shifting forward slightly, Fraser peered through the frosted glass of a window through to the staging area beyond. The room lay in darkness, highlighted only by the occasional flash of gunfire. He could hear men shouting, and somewhere, a familiar bark. Tensing, he pushed the door open, started to run, felt Ray stumble beside him. Heard shots ring out, ducked, managed to reach an upturned table and fell to his knees beside it, leaned against it, his leg screaming at him angrily. A short period of silence, broken by a shout.

"You really think you're going to get out of here? The two of you?"

Answered with another belt of gunfire. Fraser ducked, pulling Ray with him, heard the sounds of someone running towards them and pushed Ray away, just enough to turn, to give him room to get up. Huey's face suddenly loomed out of the darkness, skidding to his knees and stopping by a table opposite. Fraser released a breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding.

"I told you -"

"I thought you could do with my help.

Huey shook his head, muttered something under his breath, then looked up. "Ray -"

"We need to get him out of here."

He nodded, throwing the Detective a concerned glance. Gaze fell on Fraser's leg. "What happened to you?"

"Ah."

Another inaudible mutter. Turning, he shifted until he was leaning on one knee, raised his head briefly over the table. Pulled away when bullets ripped holes in the wood beside him.

"Okay. Change of plan. Look, I've called Elaine. If we can hold out till back-up gets here -"

He nodded. "What do you suggest?"

"A tactical retreat." He titled his head in the direction of the door Fraser had just come through. "I haven't got many bullets left. You head out, I'll cover you."

Another nod, and a pause. Then Huey rose, coming out from behind the cover of the table, finger pulling back the trigger of his gun. Fraser rose at the same time, pulling Ray with him, headed back out of the doorway. Caught a glimpse of white fur, streaking past him, a sharp cry from one of the men shooting.

"Damn wolf bit me!"

Out, through into the emptiness of the outside corridor. Huey quickly following, rolling to avoid another hit and coming to his feet, leaning against the door. All quiet in the rom beyond. He glanced at Fraser, breathing heavily.

"Okay. We can't get out through the back. I heard one of the guys one his phone, calling for back-up. They're gonna come in through the front and from behind, so . . ."

"We need somewhere to wait."

He nodded. "Any suggestions?"

"I believe we passed an office a few metres in the other direction."

"Right."

"Fraser."

Ray's voice, groggy. Mumbled: "Benny, I think that, um . . ." Then his eyes closed and he suddenly crumpled, barely caught by his friend.

"Great," Huey muttered. Surprisingly gentle, he took Vecchio from Fraser and pulled him over his shoulder. "I've got an unconscious, badly dressed Italian and a limping Mountie for back-up. Could this day get anymore surreal?"

A bark from Dief. Huey rolled his eyes, muttered something about deaf wolves that wasn't at all complimentary. Pressed the gun into Fraser's unwilling hands.

"Detective -" An automatic protest.

"Look, Fraser, I kind of have my hands full, and besides, it's empty. Just . . ." Huey gave an exasperated sigh, "look threatening?"

They heard the bang of the doors to the staging area as they turned the corridor's corner. Heard more gunfire, ricocheting from the light-fittings above their heads, burying into the plasterwork. Reached the office in a matter of moments, Fraser grabbing the handle and pulling down hard.

Nothing. He stopped, stared at Huey. "Oh dear."

"What?"

"It would appear the room is -"

Huey shook his head. "Fanfu -"

A burst of gunfire interrupted him, drowned his words. Gunfire from outside, this time, and the sound of a voice over a megaphone.

"The building is surrounded. If you give yourselves up -"

Just as four of the heavy set, well-dressed Italians appeared around the corner, weapons drawn. Stopped, stared at their 'captives.' Fraser stepped forward, handing the gun back to Huey, much to the Detective's horror.

"Gentlemen . . ."

The men ignored him, conducting a private conversation amongst themselves.

"We could -"

"Don't be stupid. Go down for a cop killing? We're far enough in as it is."

"Gentlemen, if you could hand over your weapons . . ."

Huey considered the Mountie, and the four hard-assed looking mobsters that surrounded them. Made his decision. "You heard the Mountie!"

It seemed like a lot longer than it actually was. First, the clatter of weapons hitting the floor. Then the sounds of a SWAT team bursting through the door, for once their appearance both welcome and well-timed. An ambulance outside, and an anxious Lieutenant Welsh, arguing with the leader of the SWAT team, another Lieutenant named Hunter. Paramedics, separating him from Ray, pushing him down onto a gurney. Someone promising to look after Dief. Then dreaming.

  * * * *

"Mia Caro . . ."

"The men you and Huey brought in are in lock-up, pending arrival of the DA. Fraser . . . we can't pin this on Marchiello. He doesn't even own the building. I'm sorry. But . . . we were all wrong. I'm glad you were right, Constable."

"Fraser. Glad to see you're okay. Officially, of course, I have to reprimand you for your reckless endangerment of your own, and Detective's Huey's, life. But unofficially . . ."

A neatly folded pile of red serge, left on the chair beside his bed.

"Ben? Okay, I guess you're asleep. Just . . . I'm not good at this. I mean, it's not like you can hear me anyway, but . . . thank you. He's my brother and . . ." A small sniff, smudged mascara. "Thank you."

"We'll be keeping you in for a couple of days, make sure that wound isn't infected. It's fairly deep, but you have nothing to worry about. I imagine you'll want to see him now, is that right? Well, I'm telling you to take it easy . . ."

"You were right, son. You never let go. You got your man."

"Ray."

One hazel eye opened slowly, the other painfully bloodshot. He offered his friend a small, tired smile, and a bare rasp of a voice.

"Hey Benny."

Fraser pushed himself closer to the bed so he could lay his hand on Ray's arm.

"Which leg, Benny?"

He frowned, momentarily confused, and Ray raised his hand a few inches off the bed to wave vaguely at the wheelchair.

"Which leg?"

"Oh." His gaze dropped a little embarrassedly. "The right one."

Ray closed his eyes, let out an exhausted sigh. "Jeez, Benny. Knew I should have made you keep that sticker." His voice trailed off, and it was a moment before Fraser realized his friend had fallen fast asleep. It was another moment before he allowed himself to relax, for the first time in days.

  * * * *

"Stop it!"

A look. Deep, liquid, sorrowful.

"Stop it already!"

Another look. And a whine, and a shuffling of paws.

"Fraser!"

Laying his book on his lap, Fraser turned his wheelchair around to face his friend's bed. "What, Ray?"

"Tell your wolf to stop giving me those looks." Vecchio brandished the plastic wrapper in Diefenbaker line of vision. "You're supposed to be a wild animal, not a snack-food-holic!"

"I'm afraid he won't listen to me, Ray." Fraser studied Dief with an accusing look. "He's become *quite* the embarrassment to himself."

Ray sighed, and looked at the Twinkie. Then at Dief. Then back to the Twinkie. "Fine," he growled, throwing the snack by the wolf's feet, "but I hope you get fat." Paying no heed to this warning, Diefenbaker gave a satisfactory whine before attacking the Twinkie with relish.

"Do you have any idea how had it was for Huey to sneak that in?" Ray grumbled, fidgeting with the IV drip stuck in his arm.

"Some idea, yes. I seem to remember candy bars were forbidden."

"Yeah, but this was a Twinkie! A necessary supplement to every American's day! Besides," he added, folding his arms, "you've got the chair. That means you have access to the vending machines. You're okay."

"Believe me, Ray, I never intended to get stabbed just so I could annoy you by retaining the ability to eat Twinkies."

"Yeah, and it's not like I don't appreciate it, but man . . ." He gave a loud sigh, then collapsed back into the pillows.

Deciding that the conversation was over, Fraser turned back to his 'chair back towards the window and picked up his book. In the past half-hour he had been unable to reach the end of page, finding Ray an extremely vocal roommate. He studied the text once more, but was only able to get to the bottom the first paragraph before being interrupted again.

"Benny?"

He didn't turn this time, preferring instead to watch Ray's reflection in the window.

"Yes Ray?"

"About that . . . you rescuing me and all . . ." He paused, tugging at the threads of the bedcover. "Thanks. I mean it."

"You would have done the same for me," Fraser pointed out, as though it were the most obvious thing in the universe, like 'the sky is blue,' or 'it's Tuesday today.'

"Yeah, I know, but . . . I mean, you risked everything for me, Benny. Thatcher tried to fire you - you almost lost your job for me! And no one believed you, not even Franny, and then, in the club . . . you could have been killed."

"But I wasn't." Unsurprisingly this didn't feel like the right thing to say. He paused, then turned the wheelchair once more. "Ray," he said seriously, looking his friend in the eye, "I would never have let go. Not then, and not now. You're my friend."

"Partner."

"Closer than that."

He mumbled something in Italian, something that sounded suspiciously like 'brother.' Lifted his head. "I know." He gave a sheepish grin. "But it means a lot, okay? I owe you." There was a long silence, which Ray finally interrupted by rubbing his hands together and announcing: "so maybe you could do another favour . . ."

"I am not going to sneak in candy for you!"

"Oh come on, Fraser! Just one little bar . . ."

The End

These characters are not mine, I only borrowed them and promise to put them back when I'm done! Comments appreciated.

To return to the Consulate please close this window.