Written circa 11/2002

He was still. Not floating or passive or unconscious or, God forbid, asleep. In the past few days, he'd done what was demanded of him, having submitted to the demon holding him captive. He'd subjugated his pride and hope and health, in the belief it couldn't last like this or, God Forbid, get any worse. But all his dreams and ambitions and expectations of getting out of this alive, without a trip to the emergency room, was fading fast. As small as that little punk was, as pathetic as his old enemy from his past could be, the Chicago cop hadn't considered even his smallest of foes could render him flat on his back and at his mercy once again.

Surveying his surroundings, his stomach tightened in fear. Despite what had transpired in the last few days, all the pain and mental agony and desperation as to when it would end -- it was now in the middle of the night and he realized his ordeal was just starting. The Italian hoped he'd escaped this particular torture, but the tightness in his lungs revealed his merciless master's plan. It was a bitch to have an old acquaintance that knew your weakness...

He jerked upwards, to a half-sitting position, fully realizing the reason he couldn't breathe -- there was a hundred pound weight on his chest. He was in the dark, the intense pressure creating the stark sensation of being smothered alive. It was a unique suffering, an ingenious procedure that literally felt like the life was being suck right out of you. It was the equivalent of having fifty rounds of thick rope wrapped around your torso - and the tightening increased, the longer you waited to submit. As he struggled to suck in air, he was once again reminded -- there was little as frightening as being suffocated. He summoned his waning strength, called on the only pitifully energetic reserve left to make one, desperate attempt at relief...and have it prove to be futile.

He started the unfamiliar procedure of alleviating the deadly problem. It had been quite some time since he'd had to seek help for this condition, especially to this level. And the closest help was so far away...

"Fradur..." he croaked. He coughed deeply, trying to clear his clogged airways. "Fradur!"

It came out as a strangled groan. The Mountie would never hear him like this. The Detective looked at the end of the bed, seeing nothing. He panted, short, quick, pointless breaths, while gripping the covers. Ray swallowed thickly, struggling to form the necessary words that would literally save his life. He tried again, the sound was more of a whisper, a gentle disturbance in the otherwise peaceful night.

"Dief..." :::cough, cough::: "Dief!"

White ears popped up, ready for help. The half husky looked around, his gaze fixating on the hunched, shrunken form of his master's lover. It takes several tries of practiced inhalations to accumulate the air needed or Ray to speak. "Go...get... ... him..."

Dief jumps to his feet, quickly padding over to the bedroom door and noses it open, away from the front room of the apartment to two males share. It had been a late night at a stakeout for Italian, so once he came in, he slept on the couch, not waking the Constable once he came in.

Benny insisted I stay home with this bad cold, but I just couldn't, not with Davishulli making the big buy tonight. And Benny couldn�t even come with me on the stakeout because of the Dragon Lady.

The cop sneezed right then, another reminded of the insidious enemy that was ravaging his immune system at the moment. Yes, he had a serious cold; a regular, typical, sinus condition. However, as much as he hated it, as much as he despised it, as much as he could not stand the symptoms such an infection provided, there was one, fatal condition he literally could not live with...and that was asthma. Such an occurrence was rare; it hardly ever graced Ray with it's painful presence.

But after an evening in freezing temperatures, and already infected with the flu, the Detective was already pushing the limits. During a pursuit, he jumped into ice cold water to arrest said perp. It was at least ten minutes before Fraser arrived and wrapped him in warm blankets and took him home. It was a lethal menu causing the awful strangulation taking place. As much as he wished for it, the Constable's delectable chicken soup would not cure this sickness.

It seemed like forever until Benny was finally by his side, whispering soft words of encouragement. The cop let the impotent, useless inhaler fall from his hand, his fist now forming around the sleeve of the Mountie's longjohn's.

"It's okay, Ray." He hears next to his ear. "The ambulance is on it's way."

The seasoned Detective blushed with shame. His present malady was just allergies and a cough run amok, he told himself, most likely aggravated by the pet dander in their apartment. How on Earth was he going to live this down? It wasn't a bullet or a fight or a car crash that would landed him in the hospital. Yet, what afflicted him was nonetheless harmful and nonetheless mortifying. Ray Vecchio held on tight to his lover, kept his breathing slow and even as best he could, while hearing the scream of the EMS in the distance.

END