Stanley "Ray" Kowalski travels to the Yukon to bring Constable Fraser back to Chicago, but the trip becomes a journey into the unexpected.

The Odyssey

by Leslie Crismond

Despite the frozen quiet and stillness of the land Fraser called home, the sniper caught Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police totally unawares. The Mountie had just gathered up an armload of freshly split logs and was heading toward the cabin when the first bullet scored a bloody path in the upper part of his head above his left temple. The second shot punched into his upper left abdomen, leaving a deep hole under his last rib. A third shot was not needed. The Mountie was down and presumed dead. The sniper nodded with satisfaction as the magnification of the rifle scope confirmed the spread of blood staining the snow under his victim’s torso. The fallen man’s dark hair and face glistened brightly with the gore from the head shot.

The assassin scooped up the spent casings and paused momentarily to watch the strange scene unfolding below him. The Mountie’s dog - or rather wolf hybrid, according to the briefing the killer had received - was pawing and nudging his master’s body. The animal circled the bleeding form, stopping several times to push at the unresponsive man with his nose and head. Finally, in what appeared to be acceptance of an immutable fact, the wolf sat back on his haunches, threw back his head and filled the arctic air with his mournful howls. The sniper trudged away with the beast’s cries beating against his back.

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

A very cold, tired and cranky Stanley "Ray" Kowalski (aka Ray Vecchio) was impatiently shifting from foot to foot in front of his bush pilot who was doing his best to ignore the hyper Chicago-based police detective. ‘Damn Canadians,’ Ray thought for about the hundredth time that day, ‘and damn Fraser for holin’ up in this frozen hell that no one can get to.’ The trip north had already been fraught with peril in Ray’s opinion. This would be his third ride in some bucket of bolts that looked and sounded like it was held together with chewing gum and rubber bands. And, he was perfectly aware that the previous pilots had intentionally thrown in a few extra aerial maneuvers guaranteed to make his stomach as sour as his mood. He was also tired of sharing his already cramped seating space with some caribou-breathed goofball’s monthly supplies from the civilized world. Ray felt like his head was going to explode from all his frustrations and suffering at the hands of these crazy Canucks, but he mentally bit his tongue and tried again to get a straight answer from the guy he had contracted to fly him within 25 miles of Fraser’s place.

Pilot #3 shrugged, smiled politely (oh, yes, everyone was so flippin polite here you wanted to rip their heads off) and waving vaguely in the direction of the plane, said, "I’ll get you there."

"When?? Like today??? Cuz it would be really nice to know, so I can make plans, so I’m not standing around in this hangar getting frostbite waiting for the sun to line up with Mars or whatever you’re waiting for. Cuz I’ve been trying for two days to get this far and then I’m still lookin at 25 miles of who knows what once we ever get there. Yeah, yeah, not your problem, I know, but who the heck would ever want to be out here anyway? I mean it’s not like there’s anything to see except snow and ice and more snow. And how the heck am I supposed to get from the airstrip to Fraser’s cabin. Like I should just jump from the plane when we fly over...."

He stopped abruptly when he noticed the pilot’s sudden interest in his last statement. Okay, Ray knew he was getting worked up and even he could hear the edge of a scream in his words. ‘You can lead a Canadian to water, but you can’t make him drink,’ he thought hysterically. ‘ Damn, damn, damn.’ He would much rather be back in Chicago dealing with criminals and crack heads than trying to crack through the frozen heads of these tundra types.

"So, " Ray tried again more reasonably, "is it possible to leave today?"

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

"You have to get up, Son. You can’t lie out here. You have to get up. Please, Son...."

The litany of his father’s entreaties finally coalesced into a meaningful pattern, and Benton Fraser struggled to grasp onto the words and use them to climb out of a terrible darkness. Full consciousness came slowly and with great pain. When at last Ben was able to force open his eyes, he found himself squinting into snow just inches from his face. He was dimly aware that his cheek was resting on something rough and hard and that his vision was skewed, but he could make no sense of it. Again, his father’s voice floated above him, imploring him to get up. Before Ben could form any kind of response, a wave of devastating hurt swept through his body and he was slammed back into blackness.

The shade of Bob Fraser, also of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and deceased father of the Mountie now sprawled bonelessly in the snow, stared helplessly at the son he could not touch except with his voice. Benton was badly wounded and needed to get to the shelter of the nearby cabin before the Yukon cold stole what remained of his life. Fraser, Sr. tried once more to exhort his son into moving.

Ben’s fifth attempt to hang onto his slipping senses finally succeeded. He didn’t understand why, but he knew he was in dire trouble and according to his father, he had to get up and save himself.

He had to get to shelter, he had to get to the cabin, he had to get up. The simple act of raising his head almost caused another blackout and Ben quickly closed his eyes until the pain subsided to a bearable level.

"That’s good, Son. You have to get up. Take it slow, Son."

With his father’s words buzzing in his ears, Ben tried to focus on the Herculean task of moving his body. He was seriously injured and somewhere in his memory he heard the sharp barks of the gunfire that felled him. Judging from the intensity of the pain in his middle, he guessed he had taken a gut shot. With shaking fingers he gingerly explored the side of his head, the other burning source of his misery. The relief from finding no holes was immediately tempered by another surge of excruciating pain.

"No, Son, don’t give up. You have to get up. You have to help yourself, Son."

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

Ray was sure he was a lovely shade of green and thought bitterly that it was a good thing he had declined #3's "generous" offer of a moose burger with a side of deep-fried potato lumps. Ray thought he better understood the appeal of jerky since you couldn’t even eat the stuff and therefore couldn’t toss it up later. Miserably clutching a double thick plastic bag to his chest, Ray entertained himself with various vengeful scenarios starring the object of his odyssey. Fraser would pay big time for all these indignities suffered by his abused partner and friend, Stanley "Ray" Kowalski. In fairness to the Mountie, Ray had to concede that their relationship was a two-way street and Fraser had many times gone out of his way to help the detective. Of course, out of the way was the whole problem with this particular enterprise. As the plane suddenly dropped and then spiked up ominously in an arctic thermal, Ray’s thoughts snapped back to the delicious image of Fraser trapped in an elevator with Frannie Vecchio. Yes, Fraser would pay.

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

Ben wondered fleetingly if he could just give up and accept the cold embrace of the snow. God, it would be easier, so much easier, but that was counter to everything he had been taught and everything he believed about himself. He could never rest in peace if he left this world without a dignified fight. He rested his face, slick with the sweat and tears of his efforts, on his arm and tried to muster yet again his waning strength for the next push forward. The frigid conditions had actually helped him somewhat - he could slide through the packed snow without too much drag and the cold had slowed his bleeding. He couldn’t allow himself to think about the crimson trail that marked his passing, he could only focus on the ground ahead and hope that he had enough endurance to reach the relative sanctuary of the cabin.

Bob Fraser looked on grimly as Benton began again to hitch and crawl through the snow. It was terrible to watch. The agony reflected in his son’s face and his pain-etched gasps tore at Fraser Sr’s very soul. Benton was weakening quickly and it was still a good ten yards to the first porch step.

"You’re almost there, Son. That’s right, keep pushing. It’s just a little bit further."

The hurting threatened to overwhelm him, but since dying was the only other choice, Ben pressed his right hand harder over the stomach wound and pulling with his left arm and pushing with his mostly numbed legs he managed to drag himself forward another couple of yards. After what seemed like decades of unremitting hell, his left hand suddenly banged against the wooden riser of the first step. ‘Thank God, thank you.’ But his joy of accomplishment was short-lived as he looked up at the six steps looming above him. ‘I still have a mountain to climb,’ he thought with despair.

"You made it, Son. You’re there. Grab the railing with your left hand and use your legs to push. That’s right, Son, push. Your legs are strong. Yes, get to your knees first. Yes, Son. It’s going to be all right. Good, try to stand up. You can do it. Good. Now, step up. Step up, Son. That’s good. Just a couple more to go. A couple more, Son."

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

Except for the fact that his lips would probably freeze to the ground, Ray wanted to kiss good old mother earth and throw himself prostrate onto to her comforting bosom. The plane ride had been nothing short of horrific. The weather had gone south in a big way and #3 had to continually maneuver around little storm cells which took them off their planned route and added several hours to an already long flight. Even though the plane went wide of the problem areas, the upper air was still turbulent and buffeted the light aircraft until Ray thought he could have flown in a washing machine with the same degree of comfort or discomfort, as the case may be. As he staggered off the plane on rubbery legs, he thought, ‘Never again, Fraser. No matter what. No way. I am never again flying in anything less than a 727, a 727 with cocktails, stewardesses, movies, bathrooms, and all the things needed to make the flight pleasant. Now there’s a concept.’

Ray stopped his mental diatribe and looked around at the latest stop in his journey. #3 had landed on nothing more than a wide, flat strip of packed snow with two sprawling buildings of questionable stability sitting on one side. The smell of woodsmoke gave Ray hope that someone was actually in residence and that he hadn’t just been hijacked to the hind end of nowhere. Well, yes, he was at the edge of the flippin world, but at least he wasn’t alone and finally, Fraser was within hollering distance - sort of. Ray had been disappointed that #3 hadn’t been able to do the planned fly-over of the cabin, but the weather and their fuel level made it too dicey to risk any additional route deviations and at that point all Ray was praying for was the feel of terra firma under his feet anyway. He looked around again and decided #3, whose name he had discovered was either Horse or Horace or Horst, had to be some kind of a flying genius to even have found this place. It was like trying to find a speck of pepper in a bowl of mashed potatoes.

As Ray peered through the gathering darkness at the building that was to be his "hotel" for the night, his almost giddy sense of well-being at finding himself safe and sound on the ground started to quickly erode. Okay, he never expected the Holiday Inn and his experience on the trip this far had taught him not to set his sights too high, but come on. The ramshackle affair he was facing looked like some drunken Inuit had put the place together with whatever materials he found at hand (probably parts from plane crashes, Ray thought darkly). Certainly, craftsmanship was an alien concept. Ray was surprised that strong winds like the ones he’d been subjected to all day hadn’t blown the place to kingdom come. Yeah, like he was going to get a good night’s sleep in there waiting for the roof to fall in on his head. That was if he didn’t freeze to death first, because he was sure he could see gaping holes in the walls. If there was a positive here, it could only be that the cold would have killed any vermin he was likely to encounter. Oh yes, this would be another big entry in Fraser’s debt book. The Mountie was going to owe him big time. Ray listened with dismay as a light gust of wind caused the structure to groan and creak. ‘I can do this,’ he thought gamely and rolled his head in a quick tension-releasing snap. ‘ Maybe my host has a beautiful, nu-bile daughter.’

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

Ben laid on his narrow cot and tried not to give in to the panic that threatened to bury him. He couldn’t remember ever hurting this much, although in truth, this hurt was all that was in his mind at the moment. The waves of pain literally took his breath away and he was afraid that he would not be able to function at even a minimal level for very long. With his father goading and pushing him, Ben had managed to clean and wrap his head wound. The bullet had left a long, deep gouge and while it burned with a head-splitting intensity, it was a relatively minor injury. The wound to his abdomen really scared him though. The cursory cleaning and bandaging he had managed would help stave off infection, but he needed a doctor. He didn’t try to fool himself into thinking he could work through this. He was alone and seriously wounded. It would take all his strength just to maintain the fire and keep himself hydrated and fed. He didn’t know how he would restock the woodbox when the time came. The thought of trying to negotiate the steps again was too much to consider. G-d help him, the simplest tasks seemed beyond his endurance.

"Dad?" Another surge of hurt arced through him and in his exhaustion, Ben let it take him into the darkness.

"I’m with you, Son. You rest now. I’ll watch over you."

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

‘Yeah, OK, so here I am with a head that feels like it was stepped on by a 300 pound Eskimo, a stomach that somehow got turned inside out, wrapped up like a mummy, hurtling down really big hills in a flimsy sled, that ouch, doesn’t have like super cushioned seats or anything, looking at the hind ends of a bunch of dogs. Yep, doesn’t get much better than this. But, hey, ouch, at least I’m not about to become another airplane crash statistic.’

H/H/H had taken off at the first hint of daylight, leaving Ray in the questionable care of his previous night’s host, Malcolm Dermet, who by the way did not have a beautiful daughter or any other female in residence with the exception of maybe some of the sled dogs. Dermet had been gracious enough, but he was a true back-to-nature kind of guy who lived, quite happily it seemed, with only the barest essentials. Ray didn’t honestly think anyone was more monk-like than Fraser, but the Mountie lived positively lavishly compared to good, ole Mal. ‘At least, the guy had a pot to piss in,’ Ray thought grumpily.

Dinner had been a bowl of best-left-unidentified gamey stew with some brick like biscuits on the side. The stew was OK, well, hot at least, but the bread defied Ray’s best attempts to choke it down. In fact, he thought he may have lost a filling in the effort. H3 chatted throughout the meal which was good because Dermet was one of those strong, silent types whose normal conversational repertoire consisted of an occasional grunt and a few expressive monosyllables. He did loosen up later after he broke out a bottle of his home-brewed Yukon Lightening and even allowed as how he had seen Fraser about two weeks ago and that he was a good neighbor. Considering Fraser had been at the cabin just once in the past year and a half, Ray wondered on what Dermet based his assessment. The booze had hit Ray like a freight train and he was sure the high content of what had to be battery acid had perforated his already abused stomach. After several trips to what was literally a pot, Ray curled up on a tattered bearskin close to the fire that Dermet had pointed to as being the guest bed and pulled some equally hairy "blanket" over himself and went down for the count. His last conscious thought was the image of Fraser trapped in an elevator with both Frannie Vecchio and Meg Thatcher, the Ice Queen.

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

Bob Fraser watched the first of the new day’s light inch across the cabin floor. It had been a long, arduous night for the deceased Mountie. Benton’s suffering still had the power to wound his father’s heart. The young man had been unconscious for a full ten hours, but had thrashed fitfully and cried out when the pain penetrated even that deep haven. Bob wanted so badly to help his son, but being dead precluded such actions. He stood by the window and watched as the snow absorbed more and more of the rising sun’s glow. ‘It is a beautiful land.’

A change in Benton’s breathing and a questioning whine from Diefenbaker alerted the old Mountie that his son might soon be waking up. Fraser, Sr moved to the bedside and watched as Benton struggled to open his eyes.

"I’m here, Son. You’re safe. Everything will be all right."

Ben was trying desperately to move past the blazing pain that was trying to engulf him. It seemed every breath he drew stoked those flames of hurt that threatened to consume him. He could hear his father’s voice and tried to focus on the offered comfort. He had to be strong, he had to be better than this. In the end, it was Diefenbaker’s wet nose that jolted him into consciousness.

‘Dief! Have to... feed Dief! And… the rest of the dogs. Dear God...how? ‘ But even as the question banged across his mind, he understood that somehow he would have to manage it. Those animals were his responsibility, his duty and he would have to see that they were cared for. He tried to think back to when he had last fed them, but his thoughts were so foggy....

"Son?"

A gasp. "Dad?"

"I’m right here, Son. It’s all right, I’m here."

"The dogs....I have.....to feed.... the dogs." The pain made Ben’s words slow and small.

"Yes, Son, you will; you have an obligation, but they’ll be all right for a while. You fed them just before you were shot and that wolf of yours already helped himself to some things in the cupboard. You know I don’t like to be critical, Son, but I’m afraid that animal has fallen into some very poor habits and has obviously been spoiled by that easy city life. I suppose there is some hope since it appears he still has an instinct for self-sufficiency."

Ben tried to smile as Diefenbaker whined in protest. "How bad.....how badly....am I hurt?"

Bob Fraser took a subtle step back so that Benton couldn’t see his face clearly. "Make no mistake, Son, it’s a serious wound, but you’re young and strong and no Mountie I ever knew succumbed to a little hole in the gut. Do you remember Darwin LeFevre, partnered with Jake Bennett out of Tungsten? Guess it was back in 1959 or maybe ‘58....."

Ben let his father’s words wash over him and wrapped his thoughts around the comfort those words were intended to impart. ‘I will…get through this. I will… survive.’

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

Ray stretched his arms high over his head, but suddenly yelped as the muscle in the left cheek of his butt contracted fiercely and painfully. This sledding stuff was killing his, what do you call them, glutton maximi. It wasn’t doing wonders for his Canada-sized headache or upset stomach either. As he tried to work out this latest bodily ill, he stared gloomily down into the piney hollow where Malcolm had disappeared a few minutes earlier towing some hideous looking metal contraption. Ray really didn’t want to think about the meaning of it and contented himself with the thought that he was getting ever closer to the end of his quest.

How much closer Ray wasn’t exactly sure. Malcolm had shrugged off the detective’s barrage of questions and grudgingly shared that he would drop Ray off sometime mid-afternoon "just a ways away" from Fraser’s place. Ray had learned enough Canada-ese on this trip to know that "just a ways away" could be anywhere from 10 miles to 3 miles. It didn’t bode well, but...

"Geesh, Malcolm, you could give a guy a heart attack or something. I mean, I thought you were a bear or something. Yikes, what the heck is that?"

Somehow, two hundred plus pounds of Malcolm had come up quietly behind Ray. That was startling enough, but what concerned Ray more was the sizeable animal slung over his shoulder.

"It’s dead."

"Yeah, I know that. I can see that. I mean I’m a Chicago police detective, I know dead. I see a lot of dead, but what are you doing with a dead…" Ray peered more closely, "a dead whatsis?"

"Trapped it. Meat." Mal, the king of gab, grunted. He then knelt down to secure the body to the sled.

‘Oh, great. Great, great, great. Now I get to share my luxurious traveling space with some stinking dead animal. Oh boy. Fraser, old buddy, old friend, you and me are going to have a talk about this living in north nowheres thing.’

Ben was already trembling with exhaustion, the pain in his middle had him bending almost in half, but he was determined to take care of the dogs Malcolm had entrusted to him. Somehow, he would get to their shed. Somehow, he would feed and water them. Somehow he would do this. He leaned heavily against the wall next to the door and tried once more to summon the necessary strength.

"Son, you need to rest. You’ll be stronger tomorrow. You need to take care of yourself right now. The dogs will be fine for a little bit longer."

It was so tempting to give in and stagger back to the cot, but he had an obligation, a duty. Shaking his aching head slightly, Ben took a shaky step towards the door and fumbled for the knob.

"Stubborn is what you are, just like your mother. Never could tell her anything, even if was for her own good. The woman had do things her own way. You’re just like her, Son."

Ben tried. He tried so hard, but the effort was simply too much for his overtaxed body. As he moved through the opened door, the combination of the cold air, sunlight and another sickening jolt of pain caused him to falter. He managed one more half step before the world went tilt and he crashed to the boards. His agonized cry pierced the afternoon stillness and his father’s heart.

"Oh, Son."

‘All right. This is it. I am actually looking at Fraser’s cabin. This is good.’ Ray turned and gave Malcolm a thumbs up. The musher had stopped the sled on the top of this ridge, tapped Ray on the shoulder and pointed to a distant speck on the western horizon.

"There," he said. "Fraser’s," he elaborated.

Ray squinted and sure enough he could see a building wavering mirage-like in the far distance.

"So I guess this is where we part company, huh? So, how far is that exactly? Wouldn’t you like to visit your good neighbor. I mean the dogs could probably use a break and you could hang out with Fraser for the night."

Malcolm shook his head and uttered a firm, "Nope. Gotta push on."

"Oh, well, thanks for the ride and all. It’s been, ummm ...different. Ah, …good different, you know, it’s been good. Thanks." Ray lurched up from his cramped seating and started cautiously unkinking his various muscle groups.

As Malcolm unlashed Ray’s gear and a pair of well-used snowshoes, the detective tried again to pin down the exact distance he would be hoofing it to Fraser’s. "So, how far is that do you think? I mean, I can see it, but with all this snow, this...this whiteness, it’s kind of hard for a city boy like me to figger out the mileage. I mean, are we talking maybe 2 mil...er, kilometers, or is it closer to ten? I mean, I walk good, that’s not my concern. I was just kind of wonderin how far in maybe terms of hours it’s gonna take me." Ray tried to keep a friendly tone in his voice.

Mal gazed off towards the western horizon and then looked skyward as if calculating. "It’s a ways. Take a while." he finally concluded and finished rearranging the load on his sled.

Ray considered picking up a snowshoe and whacking ole Mal a good one right across his square, blocky trapper/musher head. ‘Yeah, Ok, fine. Doesn’t matter. A little fresh air, a little exercise...no more bumping around in a sled. Should be a cake walk. Pitter, patter, let’s get at ‘er. Daylight’s burning.’

Before stepping back up on the back of the sled, Malcolm turned and pointed to the snowshoes. A slight cock of his head indicated a question.

"Yeah, I’m all over the shoeing thing. I am good to go. Thanks again for the lift. Uh... happy trails." Ray flashed a brave grin and gave a confident wave.

With a gutteral command to the dogs and a brief nod, Mal and his team flashed over the other side of the ridge and left the ‘city boy’ staring out across a seemingly endless expanse of snow.

‘No big deal. I can do this. Just a little walk.’ Ray looked more closely at the snowshoes. ‘Uhhh, how the heck do you put the things on? How the heck do you walk in them? Fraser, you and me, buddy....’

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

"I’m here, Son. I’m right here with you. You must get back into the cabin now. You need to get back to bed."

Ben gasped. He felt like he was being smothered by pain. He vaguely remembered falling and felt a hot stab of fear as he touched his fingers to the bandage wrapped around his middle. The warm wetness under his fingertips was blood, fresh blood. ‘Oh, God....’.

"Benton, you have to move. You must get back into the cabin. For heaven’s sake, Son, you need to take care of yourself."

Bob Fraser verbally pushed and badgered and prodded and cajoled his son into moving.

"That’s right, use those legs. There’s nothing wrong with your legs. You can do it, Son. A Mountie doesn’t quit. That’s right, get to your knees, Son."

Tears of pain, effort, fear and frustration lay slick on Ben’s face. He tried to focus on the bed. He was almost there. Why.... was he.... on the floor.....again? The pain wrest his thoughts away and atavistic instinct alone compelled him forward.

"Good, Son. Pull yourself up. That’s right. Careful. Good, Son."

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

Ray stopped briefly and wiped the sweat away from his eyes. It seemed like he had been walking - well, ok, stumbling along - for hours, but the image of Fraser’s cabin still sat more ghost-like than solid in front of him. The snowshoes had been a trial from the get-go. ‘Yet, another way the Canadians torture their US neighbors,’ he thought irritably. It was a good thing that Malcolm had been long gone when Ray took his first tentative steps with the webbed wonders attached to his feet. He apparently had not secured the left one tightly enough and when he caught part of it with the right one, he did a big old face plant. The second time he fell, he flipped and rolled down the rest of the ridge slope. He finally managed to find a technique that mostly worked for him, but he knew that he would discover muscles he didn’t know he had and they would not be happy.

A quick glance at the sun spurred him back into action. He definitely wanted to be tucked into the cabin before it started getting dark. Besides which, he couldn’t wait to see the look of surprise on Fraser’s face. In truth, Ray was eager to see his friend again. The Mountie had become an important part of Ray’s life and quite simply, he missed the camaraderie. Now that the trek was nearing its end, Ray remembered all the good reasons he was tromping through this snow-blasted wasteland.

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

Two weeks ago, Fraser had been sent packing, ostensibly to take a well-earned vacation from the urban grind. Everyone who knew him could see that he was homesick so when Dante Speca, Ray’s mob-connected snitch, had revealed that a contract had just been put out on a certain Constable, plans were hastily made to send Fraser back north. Ray’s boss, Lt. Welsh, and Fraser’s commanding officer, Meg Thatcher, both agreed that the Mountie would not be told the real reason for his enforced leave of absence. Ray understood, as did Welsh and Thatcher, that if Fraser knew he was a target, he would insist on staying and facing down his enemy. His friends could not bear the thought of endangering him for the sake of some misplaced honor.

A most formidable Meg Thatcher had insisted Fraser use a portion of his vast store of accumulated personal time "to keep Ottawa from questioning operational procedures in the Chicago Consulate" and hence, her command. Furthermore, she "couldn’t help but notice a certain air of distraction attributable, no doubt, to an innate need for wide, open spaces."

Fraser had started to protest, but reluctantly agreed that he was thinking a lot about his cabin and was feeling restless, so the plans were finalized. The Mountie would be north for at least a month, after which time he would check in with Inspector Thatcher personally before returning. She intimated that there might be an additional assignment in his area requiring "local expertise."

To stay in character, Ray had given Fraser a hard time about his sudden trip to the "land of the human popsicles" and tried to interest him in a jaunt to some hot, sunny clime. Ray had decided that he, too, needed a break, and thought maybe some NASCAR racing down in Florida would be a fine thing to do. Fraser had listened stoically while Ray waxed poetic about the whine of tires, the growl of big engines and the heady aroma of motor oil, gasoline and stale beer. So fourteen days ago, the friends had said their good-byes, seemingly headed for opposite ends of North America.

In fact, Ray, and several other detectives who had been sworn to secrecy, had been working feverishly to figure out the who, what, where and when of the contractor and the hit. The who was traced back to one Wilson Warfield, an ex mob boss with a big ax to grind. Five months previously, Fraser and Warfield had clashed openly and hotly over a small incident that had large ramifications for the mobster. Fraser, with the backing of the Chicago PD, had won out and as a consequence, Warfield was seen as a weak sister by his fellow mafia leaders. Like the sharks they were, they quickly moved in and tore Warfield’s empire to shreds, leaving him broken, bitter and vengeful.

Repeated confrontations with Warfield had proven fruitless. He denied any knowledge of the contract and just smiled smugly as Ray and the others tried to brace him for details. Then 10 days ago, a patrolman had discovered a body in a seedy alley off Hoover. Wilson Warfield was dead, executed in a style favored by the organization he had controlled for so many years.

Dante had resurfaced two days later with the news that Warfield had been judged a loose cannon by the current bosses who saw the hit on Fraser as a bad move. The organization was in the throes of restructuring and no one at the top wanted the heat and scrutiny a cop killing would bring. According to Dante, the word was out that the contract was cancelled and with Warfield dead, no one would pay anyway. Fraser was safe and a very relieved Stanley "Ray" Kowalski was dispatched to bring the Mountie back to Chicago.

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

Ray was actually feeling rather buoyant. ‘Hey, Ma, did you ever think your baby boy would be walking through the arctic on a pair on snowshoes? After riding in a dog sled. Pretty cool, huh? Definitely a good story for one of those hated How I Spent My Summer Vacation school papers.’ "Yep, I’ve come a long way, Baby," Ray snickered.

He had been out of sight of the cabin for the last hour or so, but with a few more steps he would be on top of this rise and could get re-oriented. As he crested the hill, his eyes widened in happy surprise. He was almost there! There was maybe another half mile to go, but he was all over that. Even the fact that the sun was starting to go down was not a problem now. Ray let out a gleeful whoop, promptly mistepped and found himself face down in the snow. ‘What the......’ Ray lay stunned for a minute and then started to laugh at the absurdity of it all. ‘Yeah, I’m a regular Daniel Boone out here in the wilderness. Just call me Yukon Ray, the snowshoein, dog sleddin defective, uh, detective.’ He finally got himself composed and started the arduous task of getting himself upright again. He was still thrashing around trying to work his left foot back underneath himself when something big and furry slammed into him. "Shhhiittt! Helppppp!" Adrenalin pumping furiously, Ray blindly grappled with the animal. Just as his mind was forming the idea that he might die, a soft dog tongue snaked across Ray’s right cheek.

"Whaa...? Dief? Dief!" The wolf whined happily and tried again to lick Ray’s face. Relief overwhelmed the fallen detective. "Yeah, it’s me. Ray. Come a visiting. Back off, Dief, let me get up. Uh, I have to get up which I have to tell you isn’t easy with these stupid things strapped on my feet. Give me a minute here. Yeah, I’m getting it. As soon as I’m up, we’ll go surprise Fraser. Whatta think? Think Fraser will be surprised?" Ray stopped. "Oh, geez, I’m talking to a dog."

Ray pulled up beside a corner of the front porch and quietly struggled to remove the hateful snowshoes. He had practically run the last half mile and needed a few minutes to collect himself before casually walking in on the unsuspecting Fraser. Ray suppressed a little chortle of anticipation and shrugging out of his pack, strolled toward the front of the cabin and up the steps. His focus was entirely on the partially opened door so he missed the bloodstains blotting the porch boards and door sill. Ray couldn’t suppress a big, silly grin and with what he hoped was a nonchalant tone, pushed his way through the door and announced, "Hi, Honey, I’m home!"

The silence that greeted him was confusing. The inside of the cabin was heavily shadowed and for a moment, Ray thought Fraser must be outside somewhere. But no, he could see the Mountie lying on the cot in the back of the room. ‘Well, what the....Fraser was in bed at this hour? He’s asleep?! I come all this way, through all sorts of personal peril to my person and the guy’s asleep?! Yeah, I’ll give you there’s not much to do up here, but still...’

Ray easily tamped down his irritation. ‘Oh, well, he’ll think he’s dreaming when he sees me. That’s cool.’ Moving towards the bed and the sleeping Mountie, Ray pitched his voice slightly higher and tried again, "Rise and shine. Pitter, patter, let’s get at .... ‘er...." Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Fraser was sprawled on his back and something about the way he was lying looked odd.

The light was poor in this end of the room, but even so Ray could now make out the bloody gauze around Fraser’s head and oh, NO, the dark stain across his stomach. "Fraser!! Oh, my God!" Ray placed his trembling fingertips against the Mountie’s neck, but the detective was shaking so badly he wasn’t sure if there was a pulse or not. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he did register the fact that Fraser was warm to the touch, too warm. Suddenly, the Mountie stirred and softly moaned.

Ray grabbed his friend’s hand. "I’m here, Fraser. It’s Ray. I’m here with you. It’s okay, I’m here with you. It’s Ray."

Ray’s eyes had adjusted to the dim light and he could now see how terrible Fraser looked. His face was drawn and ghostly pale, dried blood clung to the left side of his face close to his ear and there was a small puncture mark and bruising high on his right cheek. Although his face glistened with sweat, his lips were dry and cracked and the pronounced dark hollows under his eyes made the Mountie look like a horror movie zombie. Ray forced himself to look more closely at the blood-soaked bandage encircling his friend’s mid-section. The location was ominous. A gut shot. The most painful kind of wound. A most likely to kill you slowly, but surely, kind of wound. Ray forced himself to touch the stained wrapping. It was still tacky, the bleeding had been recent. What on earth was he going to do? Fraser needed help and they were in the middle of freakin nowhere. Ray felt a huge lump rise in his throat as it dawned on him that Fraser must have done his own bandaging. Somehow the Mountie had found the strength to help himself. Ray would, too. He would be as strong as was needed. He wouldn’t let his friend down.

Bob Fraser stood off to the side of the cot and watched Ray check over his son. Benton was in bad shape, but the Chicago policeman would help him. "It will be all right, Son. You have help now. The Yank is here. He and I will take care of you."

Ray looked around the cabin. He needed more light and water and the room had a definite chill to it. He would have to start a fire before the room became too much colder. Fraser didn’t appear to be close to regaining consciousness so Ray quickly darted out the door to collect his gear and some logs for the stove. This time Ray noticed the blood turning rusty brown on the porch floor, steps and snow. He saw for the first time the scatter of stained logs out in the yard, all ugly evidence of the crime that had happened here. As Ray gathered up an armful of wood, he fought to control the panic that suddenly gripped him. Fraser needed him, depended on him, could die without him. The responsibility of being the Mountie’s savior was overwhelming.

The natural light was fast fading so Ray turned his attention to lighting the two kerosene lamps he found in the cabin. The fire proved to be more of a challenge and he had to concede that he was not gifted in the art of fire building. It took a while, but the stove was starting to generate some much-needed heat. Ray found a clean glass and a small basin and filled both with water. Behind him, Fraser made a soft, hurting sound.

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

Ben was being pursued by the largest wolverine he had ever seen. He had been running hard to get away, but the animal had easily kept pace. As exhausted as he was, Ben knew he had to stay on his feet. If he fell, the animal would be all over him, snapping its sharp, pointed teeth and tearing at his soft flesh with its razor claws. He was so distracted trying to gauge the carnivore’s distance behind him that he missed seeing the tree root that snagged his foot and brought him crashing to the hard ground. The pain was instantaneous. The fall knocked the wind out of him and he had landed solidly on a broken piece of rock that stabbed up into him. He struggled to breath and regain his feet, but before he could move, the wolverine pounced on him, burrowing underneath him to rip viciously into his underbelly. Ben tried to scream. He tried to cry out for help, but the agony stole his voice and smashed his words into small broken sounds. He couldn’t get hold of the animal either. It was everywhere, gouging jagged holes in Ben’s skin, making him bleed. He could feel his blood spurting and falling like rain. "Aaagggggghhhh."

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

"Fraser, it’s Ok. I’m sorry. It’s OK. You’re safe now. I didn’t mean to..... It’s Ray. I’m here, buddy. I’m right here with you. You’re safe."

‘Please be OK,’ Ray prayed silently. ‘Please be all right again.’ He tossed aside the washcloth he had been using to clean away the dried blood and carefully laid his hand on the side of Fraser’s face.

"I’m here, buddy. I’m with you. I’ll take care of you." Ray continuously whispered his reassurances while gently stroking Fraser’s cheek.

Bob Fraser stood over Ray’s shoulder and nodded approvingly. The Yank was a good man. He really cared for Benton and would help him get well.

"It’s going to be all right, Son. Your friend is here. Your friend and I will ......." He bent closer as he saw Benton’s eyes flutter weakly. His son was waking up.

An intense spasm of fiery pain made Ben gasp and he tried to curl into himself to protect his wounded middle. "Oh, oh,.........oh,... God." He blinked up at the man leaning over him. He tried to focus.

"It’s OK. It’s Ray, Fraser. Ray. I’m here. It’s OK."

‘Ray?’ Ben’s mind wrestled with the idea. ‘Ray?’

The detective retrieved the washcloth and blotted the sweat from Fraser’s forehead and cheeks.

"Are you thirsty? I think you need to drink some water. I think water will help."

"Ra...aaa..."

"Yeah, Fraser, it’s me, Ray. I’m here. I am definitely here." He grinned widely.

Ben tried an answering smile, but another spike of pain left his mouth twisted into a grimace.

"It’s OK, Fraser. Just relax. Don’t try to talk. Kind of surprised, huh? Yeah, me too. A couple of times, well..... Here, let me get you get some water. You’re probably pretty dry."

Ray slipped his hand under his friend’s head and supported it while Ben sipped the cold water.

"Yeah, that should help. No, no, it’s OK, I’ve got a washcloth right here. Hang on, just a sec."

Ray dabbed Fraser’s chin and eased his head back onto the pillow. Ben closed his eyes briefly, but when he opened them again, he seemed more alert.

"Ray."

"Yeah, Fraser, it’s really me. In the flesh," Ray flashed another smile. "I’m here to help you, buddy. It’s going to be OK." he concluded with a lot more confidence than he felt.

In fact, he wasn’t at all sure it was going to be all right. Fraser was lying there with a potentially fatal bullet in his gut and needed expert medical help, not some fumbling friend renowned for his weak stomach. Ray could feel despair starting to take hold so he quickly resumed his upbeat chatter.

"Hey, you’ll be proud of me, I got a fire going so it should be real toasty in here soon. I have to say the place isn’t as....umm rusty, er, rustic as I thought it would be. Pretty nice really. Do you want some more water or somethin’? He took a nervous breath and looked expectantly at Fraser.

"....No. I’m.....fine. Well, not.....really." Ben licked his dry lips and struggled to get the words out. "I’...ve ...been...." his sudden gasp buried the rest.

"Easy, Fraser. Easy. Yeah, shot. You’ve been shot. I know that, buddy. I’m going to help you. We’ll get you through this. In fact.... I probably ought to take a look at what you got hidin’ under those bandages. Looks like we need to clean you up a bit. It’s okay. I’m good with this." Ray was lying his butt off. There was no way he wanted to know what the bloody wraps were covering. He wasn’t good with this kind of thing at all, but he couldn’t expect Fraser to do it. Ray would just have to suck it up and take charge. "So, whadda you think? Think you can handle Dr. Ray changing those bandages?" He forced a cocky grin onto his face. "I’m just going to get a fresh towel and some more water. I’ll be right back. It’s going to be all right, you’ll see."

Bob Fraser moved into his son’s line of vision. "Your friend is going to help you, Son. You have to be tough. Did I ever tell you about Mad Dog Douglas back in ‘71 or maybe it was ‘69, anyway Mad Dog took a bullet in his hip...old fool wasn’t watching his prisoner like he should have and....."

"Okay, show and tell time, my friend. I’m sure you’ve got some herbal bear fat miracle cure-all hidden somewhere, but all I could find was some alcohol and I had some good old neospoiling goop in my pack so we are good to go." Ray watched Fraser pull his focus back from some far away place. Ray was very nervous. He knew that Fraser knew that this was not Ray’s kind of thing, but he was determined to be as strong as the Mountie. The detective gave his head a tension-relieving snap and picked up the sharp knife he had found. "I’m just going to cut off this head deal and take a look. Okay? Hang on. Gauze is tougher than it looks. Almost got it."

Ray felt his stomach twist. The bullet had carved a deep path along the side of Fraser’s head and it was crusty with blood and torn flesh and hair. ‘Yuck, damn.’ Ray really hated this.

"So, okay, now....I’ve got to clean this out a bit. I’m going to be real gentle, but it may still hurt a little. And no screaming, cuz it throws off Dr. Ray’s concentration. You okay with that?" Ray smiled in what he hoped was a convincing manner. The simple faith he saw reflected in Fraser’s eyes almost caused "Dr. Ray" to lose it entirely.

To Ray’s way of thinking it had not gone well, he’d felt clumsy and rough, but except for a few involuntary gasps and quiet groans, Fraser had borne it stoically. The small puncture on his cheek, probably incurred when he fell on the logs he had been carrying, Ray guessed, had cleaned up nicely and Ray had been generous with the goop. It was time to deal with the stomach wound and this was something the detective really didn’t want to touch.

Fraser’s eyes caught Ray’s. "Fraser, I can’t lie to you. This is not going to be good. You know I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to do this to you, but I got to get this cleaned up. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I’m going to do the best I can not to make it any worse." Ray shook his head helplessly.

"I....know....Tha.....nks." Fraser managed. He wanted to assure Ray that he understood, that he appreciated Ray’s efforts, but talking required energy Ben didn’t have.

"Ok, we’re going to do this. Hang in there. In and out. Quick like a bunny. It’ll be okay."

Ray took a deep breath and slid the knife under the bandages as far away from what he thought was the shot site as he could. ‘Damn, I shouldn’t have built such a big fire,’ Ray thought as he wiped a forearm across his sweaty forehead and eyes. He blinked the remaining moisture away and refocused on carefully cutting the soggy gauze. As delicate as he tried to be, the knife snagged on some threads and caused Ray to jerk the wrapping rather strongly. Fraser couldn’t contain the cry that broke from his throat nor control his body’s move to arch away from the source of the pain stimuli.

"Fraser, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. It’s O...I’m almost done here. Please try to relax. We’re almost there."

After Ben quieted again, Ray slowly peeled back the bandage, careful not to pull too hard where the blood caused it to stick. After what seemed like hours later, the site was exposed and even with the blood and gore, Ray was relieved. He let out a shaky breath. He had expected to find a gut-oozing, gaping hole in the middle of his friend’s abdomen, some sort of grotesque jack-in-the-box kind of thing where only the bandages kept the Mountie’s innards from popping out. The wound, while dark and ugly, was relatively small and was located high and more to the left than Ray had thought. He wasn’t crackerjack with anatomy, but he didn’t think there were as many things to damage in that area. The smile he directed at his patient was genuinely happy.

"I think we’re gonna be okay here. It’s not great and I know it hurts like hell, but I think you’re gonna be fine. I have to clean it up. That won’t be so great, but we’re going to get you through this. You’re gonna be okay, buddy. You’ll be okay."

Ray’s initial elation quickly passed as he tried to wash the wound without hurting Fraser any more than necessary. The detective felt sick as he watched his friend grit his teeth and go rigid at the touch of the wet washcloth. It was an ordeal for both men. They had persevered and Ray had managed to get Fraser sitting up so he could wrap the new bandage around the wounded area and had even helped him to his feet to take care of "business". The Mountie was alarmingly weak, but Ray was still encouraged. The wound looked better than he had ever hoped. ‘Fraser’s tough, he’ll heal, he’ll be all right. We’ll get through this.’

His friend didn’t look particularly tough at the moment though. The clean-up had taken a lot out of Fraser and his waxy pallor only emphasized the bruised look around his eyes and added to the air of fragility. He appeared to be sleeping although it wasn’t a restful, easy slumber. Ray adjusted Fraser’s blanket yet again and gently patted his shoulder. "Get some sleep, buddy. You’ll start feeling better soon. It’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be fine."

It was Diefenbaker who led Ray to the sled dogs. Ray had gone outside to collect more wood and found himself being dragged to one of the out buildings. "What is wrong with you? Get away, Dief. I’m fresh outta Milk Duds. Hey, that’s my coat yer slobbering all over. What is up with you? Ok, ok, I’m coming." Even with the lantern light, it took Ray a moment to understand what he was seeing. His imagination was on overload with all the events of the past few days and his initial thought was that the place was infested with some man-eating arctic beasties. As his shock subsided, he realized he was facing a half dozen plus dogs - hungry dogs, by the looks of them. It didn’t occur to Ray that Fraser had animals other than Dief, but of course, as Ray was learning, the dogs would be needed to get around in this country. Once again, Diefenbaker showed Ray where the kibble was stored in rodent proof metal cans and Ray quickly dispensed the food and stirred the icy water in the insulated trough. He would have to haul more water out tomorrow.

Ray was worn out. It seemed like days ago that he had wedged himself into Malcolm’s sled and took off for this destination. It had been a long day by anyone’s reckoning. He poked some more logs into the stove and dragged a sleeping bag and extra blankets over to the section of floor beside Fraser’s cot. The Mountie was still sleeping, or more truthfully, was still unconscious, so Ray settled himself into his makeshift bed and was soon sound asleep. Dief prowled the cabin space one last time and then he, too, plopped on the floor at the foot of the cot.

Bob Fraser sat in the chair next to Benton’s bed and watched as his son restlessly pushed at his blankets. The Yank had done a good job of helping Benton, but they, literally, were not of the woods by a long shot.

"You rest now, Son. Sleep will do you good. Your friend is right next to you and I am keeping watch. Sleep now, Son."

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

Ben woke up almost naturally. The climb out of the darkness had been relatively easy this time. He still ached with an intensity that made his very teeth hurt, but it wasn’t as all consuming as it had been. Even better, his mind felt much clearer. He judged by the light in the room that the sun would be full up in another half hour or so. He thought he remembered that Ray had come. Ray. Ray had helped him. Ben looked to his right and smiled inwardly at the sight of his city-bred partner sprawled on the floor with one arm flung possessively over Diefenbaker. That would be an image Ben would return to whenever he needed a quick smile.

"Good morning, Son. It’s going to be a beautiful day. It would be a shame to sleep it away."

Ben tried not to jump at the sound of his father’s voice, but reflexes won out and the resulting jerk sent a torrent of fresh pain through his system.

"Da...d!" he gasped.

"Oh,... sorry, Son. Didn’t mean to startle you. Thought you knew I was here, but I guess things are still a little bit hazy right now."

Ben managed to get his breathing back under control and tried to prioritize his questions.

"What happened?" he croaked.

"Some spineless coward shot you, Son. Not much of a shot if he was trying to kill you...oh.... of course, that’s good; in truth, though, he wasn’t very adept. Humph, didn’t even check to see if you were really dead." Fraser, Sr stopped his diatribe on sloppy marksmanship when he noticed Benton’s increasing agitation. "Anyway, that was two....or maybe three days ago, you know, Son, time is a difficult concept when you’re in the ethereal world. Days, nights, days, it just all blends together. Doesn’t need to be otherwise really...."

"Dad!"

"Oh, right. What else would you like to know, Son?"

"Ray?"

"The Yank showed up yesterday, well, I explained about that time thing, and he got you cleaned up. He’s a good friend, Son. A little bit excitable maybe, and not too great at fire building, but he’s trainable. With a little work, he might actually make a good...."

"Please....Dad. Is the person....who... shot me....still.....around ?"

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

Ray was totally disoriented. He thought he was awake, but he was lying on a floor curled up around a.....dog! ‘Wha....the?’ As his brain tried to process that information, the events of the past day suddenly swam into focus. He was on the floor of Fraser’s cabin and his furry sleeping companion was Diefenbaker. And, he was hearing Fraser... talking? ‘Oh, no, he’s hallucinating. He’s gotten sicker and he’s delirious.’ Ray launched himself to his knees and mentally braced himself.

"Fraser? It’s Ray, you OK? I’m here, buddy."

The Mountie rolled his head towards Ray. "Hi."

Ray stared into Fraser’s bright blue eyes. They seemed relatively clear and maybe, he wasn’t quite so pale. The detective broke into a big smile. "Hey, buddy. Welcome back."

Fraser‘s return smile was a little bit wobbly, but it looked great to Ray. This was going to work out just fine. Fraser was going to get better and then they would go back to Chicago and everything would be all right.

"Thanks, Ray. It’s good..... to see you," Fraser paused to lick his lips and clear his throat. "Why... did you come?"

"Aw, I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by. You know me, just cruising the great white north for the fun of it and then I thought, ‘Hey, my buddy Fraser is within 500 miles, so I ought to drop in and see how’s he’s doing.’ Ray aimed a goofy grin at his friend.

"Oh, I see. Well, I’m glad....you’re here."

"Actually, I guess the Ice Queen decided she missed having you to kick around. Turnbull, well, you know. Anyway, Welsh seemed to think I was underfoot and when Thatcher whined about being understaffed, the lieutenant decided to send yours truly on the recovery mission. Think Welsh was figurin to stack up some favors. Anyway, tah dah!"

Fraser frowned. "If Inspector Thatcher needs me.....I’d better get....myself together. I’ll need to...."

"Whoa, Fraser. Hang on. Stop." Ray was mentally kicking himself for not thinking this through better, but he hadn’t figured on Fraser’s overdeveloped sense of duty being an issue while the guy was laid out flat on his back with a hole in his middle. The detective took a steadying breath, "No one is expecting us back immediately. In fact, this is, ummm....sort of my vacation. You know, Welsh figured that you’d want to show me the sights and all." ‘Yeah, all this beautiful snow.’ Ray thought facetiously.

"What about.....Florida?" Fraser asked.

‘Damn, Fraser isn’t missing a thing here.’ Ray smiled and plowed on, "Yeah, well, Florida didn’t work out so, anyway, the Ice Queen said you have to at least finish out the month, something about keeping the books right, and in case you haven’t noticed, you’ve been shot and maybe should heal a little bit more before jumping into a dog sled again. There’s no....what?"

"The dogs!" Fraser was struggling to get up. "The dogs need to.....be fed."

"Whoa, again. Settle down, Fraser." Ray put a restraining hand on the Mountie’s shoulder. "Dief and I took care of the dogs last night. They’re laying out there all fat and sassy. I am all over this feeding thing. Speaking of which, how about I rustle up some eats for the humans in this place? What kind of goodies have you got stashed away in here? Chef Ray will whip up a big, old, make-you-feel-better breakfast."

In the end, given the state of the supplies and Fraser’s condition, they settled on oatmeal. Somehow it had come out both runny and lumpy, but Ray wanted points for having to cook in such primitive circumstances. After the meal, Ray helped Fraser get up so he could attend to "personal" matters and then helped him again as he washed up more and changed into clean clothes. Those simple tasks left the Mountie exhausted and he slept for the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon. The two friends spent the waking portion of the night reminiscing about their adventures in Chicago and their friends back in the big city. Of course, Ray could not pass up the chance to harass Fraser about the sacrifices he, Ray, had made to even get to the cabin.

"You know, Fraser, love you like a brother and all, but you gotta know that I am never again sharing my sled ride with dead animals. I mean it is not much fun to be bouncing along with some dead thing staring at you. It’s sort of discon....bobulating and yeah, unnerving. Kind of looks like it’s leering at you. Ugh. I’m not doing it any more, no matter what."

"Understood, Ray."

The next day Fraser awoke feeling quite alert and while still in a great deal of pain physically, he was able to raise his level of activity somewhat and stay awake for longer periods of time. He even sat for a while out on the porch enjoying the sunshine and fresh air. The steps were still too daunting so Fraser watched from his chair as Ray exercised the dogs that afternoon. Ray was feeling surprisingly mellow and went about his "chores" with a confident air. It was strange to be the one calling the shots. He usually always deferred to Fraser and while Ray was OK with that, it felt good to take charge. Bob Fraser, ever hovering, was pleased with the way things were working out. Benton’s exceptional progress was encouraging and the old Mountie had to concede that the Yank was proving to be more than competent.

"Look how the sun is hitting that stand of firs, Son. It’s a beautiful sight. Makes you happy to be alive....well, relatively speaking in some cases."

"Yes, it does, Dad."

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

Fraser slept fitfully that night. His dreams, wisps of troubling, half perceived dangers, tormented him. The terrible ache in his middle seemed inescapable. There was no way to lie comfortably, to achieve even a moment of respite from it. He felt jittery and restless, but conversely, too leaden to move. The blankets seemed smothering, yet later, they didn’t seem to be thick or heavy enough. When morning finally came, he was exhausted.

Ray had been having a really swell dream. The events in it were a little bit fuzzy, but Ray had done something spectacularly brave and wonderful and was being hailed as a hero. Lieutenant Welsh was telling someone how Ray was a regular Sherlock Holmes and Larry Holmes rolled into one. Stella loved him, Frannie loved him, the Ice Queen loved him, in fact every woman in Chicago loved him. His cheek was wet with their adoring kisses.

"Aggghhhh, Dief!" Ray was indignant. " What do you think yer doing? This is not how I expect to awakened, being kissed by a dog, wolf...whatever. Do not think I’m going to stand for this. Sheesh, I can’t believe the things I have to put up with around here. I’m here sleeping, having a great dream and you wake me up before I even get to the really good part. There is no justice. None." Ray yawned and stretched. "You awake, Fraser?"

"Yes, Ray."

"So what is up with your wolf? I mean, that is no way to wake up, with some wolf mauling you and sliming your face." He sighed pitifully.

"Sorry, Ray."

"Yeah, well...." Ray struggled to his knees and stretched again. "So what would you like for breakfast? What in our vast array of choices strikes yer fancy this morning? Hmmm, after I chug down a gigantic cup of kick-butt coffee to get my blood circulating that is," Ray amended with another yawn.

"Nothing.....I’m fine."

"Hey, OK, I know the oatmeal has been a little off, but I really think I’m getting the hang of this campfire cooking thing. If you think your stomach can handle it, I’ll go all out with eggs and bacon instead or an omelette or something. You need to eat and keep your strength up."

"No, I’m just....not hungry right now."

Ray frowned and knee-walked closer to the cot. ‘Uh, oh, Fraser doesn’t look so good. In fact, he looks pretty awful,’ Ray thought, noting his friend’s sweat sheened pallor. "So, I’m guessing you had a rough night."

"Yes, I’m not....feeling very well." Fraser admitted.

Ray gently laid the back of his fingers against Fraser’s cheek. The Mountie’s skin felt outwardly clammy, but Ray could also sense a rising heat. ‘Damn. Fever.’

"Looks like a little too much fun in the sun yesterday. Well, shoot, I guess our training plans for the great Yukon triathlon competition will have to be postponed. Gotta tell you, I’m real disappointed and I may just go ahead and work on my walrus wrestling techniques anyway." Ray grinned and tried to keep his tone upbeat and positive. "I suppose you want to just kick back and to take it easy today. Well, that’s okay, but Dr. Ray insists that you drink lots of water and juice and stuff. And I’m warning ya, tomorrow we push double hard."

"Understood," Fraser tried to match Ray’s levity, "you know, of course, .....that walrus weigh up to one.... and a half tons..... so it’s unlikely...."

"Fraser!"

"Oatmeal.... will be fine, Ray."

It was Ray’s best batch yet and he was proud. "This is good enough to pass the Goldilocks test," he proclaimed.

Fraser looked at him quizzically.

"You know, Goldilocks and the Three Bears. The little girl who B & E’s the Bears’ house and ransacks the place. She gets hungry and finds the bears’ oatmeal or maybe it was porridge or gruel or something like that. Anyway, she’s a picky eater, kinda like a certain Mountie I know, and only likes the baby bear’s oatmeal so she scarfs the stuff and then needs a nap cuz she’s all fulla of oatmeal. Then I think the bears come home and find her sleeping and eat her. Something like that. You probably heard it as Goldeninkanuit and the Three Polar Bears."

"I don’t think so, Ray."

"Yeah, well, whatever. You need to eat, Fraser. You need to kinda build up your energy."

"Yes, Mom."

"Dr. Ray to you."

Fraser managed to eat about half of what was in his bowl, but he was feeling increasingly sick. "Please....I need to...get up."

"Yeah, sure, hang on, I’ll help you." Ray quickly moved into a position where he could support Fraser as he struggled to his feet. They had only staggered about three steps when Ben suddenly muttered a panicky "Oh dear." and sank to his knees.

"It’s Ok, Fraser, I’m right here. I’ve got you." Ray tried to embrace his friend’s shoulders as the Mountie doubled over gasping. "Easy, Fraser. Let me help you."

Ben was going to be sick to his stomach. He shook from the effort of trying to control the rising nausea, but the pain was overwhelming him, surging past his flimsy controls. He felt like his middle was going to explode from the fiery pressure. ‘Please...let me...get through this. Please...’ His traitor insides heaved and the little bit of nourishment he had as breakfast ended up in a messy pool between his knees. Though seemingly empty, his stomach continued to twist and buck and each wrench lanced through him like a white hot spear. ‘Oh, G-d, please...’ Wrapping his arms even tighter around his middle, Ben tried to concentrate on holding himself together.

Ray was grateful when Fraser finally passed out. The vomiting had been intense and, as evidenced by Fraser’s reaction, excruciating for someone with an untreated stomach wound. It scared Ray to see his friend so helpless. The Mountie always seemed indomitable and to see him suffering such great pain was unnerving. Ray gathered Fraser more securely into his arms and pulled him away from the mess on the floor. It took a bit of maneuvering before Ray was finally able to get Fraser back on the cot. Ray felt wrung out, but his friend needed him so he gathered all the medical supplies they had on hand and a fresh basin of water. The detective tried to work quickly to take advantage of Fraser’s unconscious state.

The stomach wound looked decidedly worse. The edges of the bullet hole were puffy and red and the whole immediate area was swollen and hot. ‘We’ve got trouble right here in River City, ‘ Ray thought with a strong jolt of panic. ‘We need a doctor and we need one now.’ He fought down his despair and concentrated on cleaning the wound as best he could.

Bob Fraser leaned over the detective’s shoulder and watched as Ray gently dabbed antiseptic cream on the freshly washed area. "It’s infected, Yank. That bullet is going to have to be removed."

Ray rocked back suddenly on his heels. ‘Who am I kidding, this thing’s infected. That bullet’s got to come out.’ But even as the thought took form, Ray pushed it away and shook his head at the impossibility of it. ‘There’s no doctor within 200 miles of here. We’ll just have to keep it clean and try to get Fraser well enough to move back to civilization or figure out a way to get help here.’

"You’ll have to take it out, Yank. There’s no one else. It’s the only hope of curbing the infection. You’ll have to remove the bullet." Fraser, Sr. insisted.

‘Damn it. We need a doctor. I know it’s infected and we need to get the bullet out, but I can’t do it. I can’t operate on Fraser. I know nothing about this kind of thing. I’m doing good just looking at it without tossing my lunch. I’d kill him. I’d do something wrong and kill him. Damn it.’ Ray looked miserably at his unconscious friend.

"We’ll get through this somehow, Fraser. I promise you we will. I won’t let you down." Ray said resolutely as he finished bandaging the Mountie’s mid-section.

"Good man." Bob Fraser affirmed.

On the positive side, the head wound appeared to be much better. Even though the crease had been rather deep, it was already filling in and looked less traumatic. Ray found he could look at it without his own stomach flip-flopping uncomfortably. The goop seemed to helping with the little puncture on Fraser’s cheek as well. The bruising was still pretty florid, but the hole itself was starting to heal. ‘Normally, two outta three’s a good bet, but....’ Ray sighed, "Oh, Fraser....what are we going to do?"

Ben awoke about two hours later. He had been restless and had made small hurt noises that made Ray flinch every time. Fraser’s color seemed pinker, but Ray had a sinking feeling it was the fever making the Mountie’s cheeks flush.

"Well, good morning again. Sure, just sleep the day away while some of us have been slaving away. I gotta talk to Malcolm about those dogs, they aren’t exactly the most obedient things on four legs. " Ray tried to sound aggrieved.

"Sorry....Ray."

"It’s okay. How are you feeling?" Ray couldn’t help the hopeful lilt in his voice.

Fraser considered the question carefully. He was hurting and bone-tired, but he wasn’t nauseous, "Better."

"Well, we take what we can get and call it good. Had me a little bit worried there, buddy." Ray flashed a quick smile. ‘In fact, you scared the liver outta me.’ he thought, but added with a grin, "And don’t be blaming my cooking either. It would be a serious blow to Chef Ray’s ego to think that my award winning oatmeal had anything to do with it."

"I’m sure...not, Ray."

"Good, good. Uh, I think we need to get some fluids into you. We don’t want you to get de-vaporated."

"De....hydrated, Ray."

"Yeah, whatever; all dried out, like some raisin. I gotta tell ya, you don’t look too good to start with. You’ve got your friend, Dr. Ray, kinda concerned here."

The water seemed to sit all right and Ray tried to take some encouragement from that. Fraser dozed off shortly afterwards, but it wasn’t a peaceful, restorative sleep. As Ray carefully retucked the blankets around his shivering friend for the third time, the detective knew in his heart of hearts that Fraser was not doing well at all. He seemed to be getting sicker and if Fraser’s thrashing was any indicator, the pain level was increasing also. ‘What the hell are we going to do?’ Ray thought desperately as he laid what he hoped was a comforting hand on Fraser’s fever-hot forehead, ‘What the hell are we going to do?’

When he awoke later, Fraser accepted some more water and a little bit of juice, but refused to eat anything.

"Come on, you need to keep your strength up. You really should try to eat something. How about some of that clear soup, whadda you call it ...broth? It’s practically like water. I’m sure you could keep that down." Ray bullied.

"I just......can’t."

"Okay for now, " Ray conceded with a dramatic sigh, "but, I’m good at this nagging stuff and if it came down to a fight, I’m betting I could take you."

"Un...derstood."

"I know you don’t feel so great right now, but you’re getting better. You’re going to be all right." Ray stubbornly insisted.

"I.....know, Ray."

"Look, Fraser, I’m going to go outside for a little bit and make like Paul Bunyon with the axe. The kindling is getting low and I need to do this while it’s still light enough that I don’t cut my own leg off. But, I’ll be right outside if you need anything. Are you going to be OK? Do you want me to leave Dief with you?"

"No, Ray. I’ll be....fine. Take...Dief. He needs...to run."

"Okay, I’m right outside. You need something, you holler." Ray reached for the door knob, " Oh shoot, can you holler loud enough do you think?"

"Yes...I think so."

"Ok, good. Good. I’ll leave the door open a bit. I’ll just be outside."

As Ray and Dief left the cabin, Ben managed a weak wave. He felt terrible. The achy hurt seemed to be devouring him at times. He didn’t really think he was getting better. Ray was trying so hard, but....

"Hello, Son."

Ben choked back an alarmed cry as his father’s face loomed into view. "Agg....Da....."

"Oh sorry, Son. I would think you would remember I’m here, but no matter. We need to talk, Son. To come right to it, your wound is not improving. In fact, it’s infected and I know you’re not going to be keen on the idea, but the bullet has to removed. Before you say anything, I know the Yank is no doctor. Actually, he’s kind of weak stomached for a police officer, but one doesn’t always have the luxury of....well, as I was saying, the point is, your friend needs to take that bullet out. Don’t look so upset, it should be simple enough. It’s just one bullet. Did I ever tell you about Foster Breynat? Now that was a nasty one, poor Fos...uh, no, maybe we should discuss it another time. As I was saying, Benton, you have to convince the Yank to help you. The infection is just going to get worse and it could very well kill you, Son."

Ben just stared as his brain tried to absorb what his father had said.

"Now, Son, the bullet’s in your abdomen and it shouldn’t have affected either your hearing or your tongue. At least blink so I know you’re there."

Ben blinked.

"Good. I’m right, you know. The Yank is going to resist the idea, but he needs to do this for you. You’ll never get better with that bullet shifting around inside of you and the infection will just continue to spread. Have to nip it in the bud, Son." Bob Fraser persisted.

His father was right, Ben knew it. He didn’t want to accept it though. He tried to focus, to think it through. It would be terrible for Ray. He was barely managing the bandaging sessions. Ben shook his head wearily. How....

"Benton!" his father interjected. "Don’t go getting stubborn on this. Now is not the time for mulish behavior. Are you listening, Son? You will probably die unless the Yank helps you and even though I’ve put a good face on this dead business, it’s not right for a man to leave with his responsibilities undone. You have duties, Son, and a life to fulfill. You have things you need to do yet. What about my grandchildren? What kind of legacy would you be leaving them?" Fraser Sr. quickly changed tact when he saw Ben’s perplexed frown. "What about the RCMP? You swore an oath, Son. Surely, that means something to you and how do you think the Yank’s going to feel if you die? It wouldn’t be right to do that to a friend."

"Raaay......," Ben tried to clear his throat, "would......feel....worse if...if.....he felt....he was respon.....responsi...ble."

"He’s your friend, Benton. How do you think he’ll feel watching you die a little bit more each day? You owe him the chance to help you." Bob Fraser finished softly.

Ben was confused. There was a logic to what his father said, but it didn’t feel.... right. It was too complicated and he felt so sick that he couldn’t think beyond the pain. Maybe, later....when his head was clearer.

"Son, you know I’m right. You must get the Yank to help you."

"I......can’t," Ben gasped. "I can’t.....ask Ray...."

"Ask me what, Fraser?" Ray had slipped back into the cabin as quietly as possible in case Fraser was sleeping again.

Ray knelt by the cot and laid the back of his hand against the Mountie’s cheek. ‘Oh, boy, he’s burning up,’ he thought grimly as he wrung out the washcloth that had been sitting in the bedside basin. He gently wiped the sweat from Fraser’s face and after rinsing and wringing the cloth again, folded it into a long, cool compress that he laid on his friend’s forehead. "Ask me what?" Ray prodded.

"Ask him to help you, Son. Tell him to remove that bullet. You must, Son. Tell him.."

"Noth....it’s....okay, Ray." Ben closed his eyes.

"Oh, Son."

"Fraser?"

"....so tired...." Ben murmured without opening his eyes.

"Okay, buddy, you sleep for a while. A rest will do you good. I’ll be right here. Just sleep, Fraser," Ray said softly as he repositioned the washcloth compress and arranged the blankets more securely around his friend.

Diefenbaker whined questioningly.

Ray shook his head. "Not looking good, boy," he whispered, "not looking good at all."

"That’s because that bullet has got to be removed." Bob Fraser spoke up from just over Ray’s left shoulder. "The infection is spreading and it will kill him unless you remove the bullet, Yank."

Ray dropped his head into his hands. ‘Fraser isn’t improving. He’s getting sicker and somehow we have got to get that bullet out of him. Damn it, Fraser, how are we going to that?’ Ray jumped to his feet and started pacing the small confines of the cabin.

Fraser Sr. matched him step for step. "It’s up to you, Yank. The bullet is poisoning his system. It’s killing him. You have got to be the doctor here. It’s up to you to save your friend."

Across the room, Ben pushed fretfully at the bed coverings and cried out weakly in his sleep. The compress slid off his forehead and landed with a wet plop on the pillow beside his head.

Ray stopped and stared at the growing wet spot and then at his friend tossing and turning on the narrow cot. ‘Dear G-d, Fraser. It’s just you and me here. The calvary isn’t going to come over the hill with an ER staff in tow. It’s up to me. I’ve got to play doctor for real.’ Ray snatched up the washcloth and gave it a savage twist. ‘These are high stakes here. I know nothing about this kind of thing. You know me. How am I going to do this?’ Ray’s frantic thoughts banged against each other. He looked at the now knotted cloth clutched in his hands. ‘I gotta chill. I gotta get a grip, but how am I going to what needs to be done? What if I kill you? What if I do nothing? You’re dying, aren’t you? I gotta help you. I gotta try to save you. I don’t want to hurt you, but what am I going to do? If I don’t try, you’re gonna die. If I do try, you may die. What kind of choice is that?’ The detective hurled the washcloth across the room and grasped his hands on top of his head. ‘I gotta try to help you. You understand that, don’t you? I’ve gotta try.’

Taking a deep, calming breath and kneeling once again by the cot, Ray moistened a fresh cloth and washed Ben’s neck, face and upper chest with the cool rag. The Mountie moved restlessly under the cloth and made those small wounded sounds that tore into Ray’s heart. "I’m not going to let you die, Fraser. I’ll do whatever it takes to get you through this." Ray swore fervently. "You and me, we’re friends." He paused and added almost as an oath to himself, "Friends help each other no matter what. I won’t let you down."

Bob Fraser nodded. "That’s good. That’s good. You’re a fine friend, Yank."

Ray touched his fingertips to Ben’s bare shoulder. Even after the cool water, Ray could feel the fever pulsing off Fraser’s skin and the tremors shaking his friend’s body. ‘Come morning,’ the detective thought wearily, ‘come morning, we’ll do something about getting that bullet out.’

Fraser woke up several hours later and insisted on getting up to take care of "personals". He was appallingly weak and even with Ray’s extensive support, the effort required for the simplest task left Ben trembling with exhaustion.

"Sor...sor...ry, " Ben panted after he stumbled hard against Ray’s hip almost knocking them both to the floor.

"S’ok, Fraser. We’ll have you back to bed in a jif. We’re almost there, hang on." Ray struggled to maneuver his friend back onto the cot without jarring his wounded middle. "We’ll sit you down first and then lift your legs up and over. Do you think you can do that? "

Even though Ben’s chin was now resting on Ray’s shoulder, the Mountie’s "Yes" was so faint that Ray barely heard it. What Ray could hear clearly though was Fraser’s rough, hitched breathing as he fought to contain the pain.

"I’ve got you, buddy. I’ve got you. Just try to sit. That’s right, a little more." Ray was himself nearly breathless from the strain of trying to control Fraser’s almost dead weight. "Okay, okay, just rest a moment. You can lie down again in a minute, whenever you’re ready."

Fraser sat hunched over on the edge of the cot, shaking and gasping in harsh staccato breaths. Kneeling in front of him, Ray put a steadying hand on Ben’s shoulder. "It’s okay. You’re going to be okay. I’m here." Ray peered anxiously at his friend.

"It will be all right, Son. The Yank is going to help you get well. You’ll be feeling better soon." Bob Fraser intoned from behind Ray.

Ben raised his head and tried to focus on the two figures in front of him. The pain was starting to blot out everything. He didn’t feel like he would ever be well again, but his friend would help him. Ray would help him. His father, too. That was his lifeline. He wanted to say, "Thank you." All he could manage, though, was not to scream.

Ray felt his heart constrict as he looked at Fraser’s upturned face. Agony had etched deep lines into the Mountie’s features. "Oh, Fraser, I promise you, it will be all right. You’ll be all right, I swear." Ray lifted his hand and cupped the side of Fraser’s face. "You’re gonna be okay, buddy." Ray blinked rapidly to curb the tears rising in his eyes. ‘Gotta be tough here. Gotta be the strong one,’ he thought with a mental shake. "Let’s get you comfortable, Fraser," the detective concluded with a husky timber to his voice.

Ray slipped one hand behind Ben’s shoulders and with his other hand behind Ben’s knees, the detective lifted and eased Fraser fully back onto the cot. Ray watched helplessly as the Mountie immediately rolled onto his right side and drew up into a protective fetal curl. Ray pulled up the blankets and tried to tuck them around Fraser’s shaking form.

‘Damn it, damn it, damn it. How could this have happened?’ Ray wanted to lash out at someone, anyone. He wanted to make someone pay for Fraser’s suffering. Above all, he wanted to gather Fraser into his arms and just hold him and make him well through sheer will. The cot was too narrow and unstable to hold both men so Ray had to content himself with rubbing Ben’s back until a change in breathing signaled the Mountie had slipped into another uneasy sleep. "Love you like a brother, Fraser."

Ray clumsily got to his feet and stretched out his legs and back, stiffened from too much time kneeling in an awkward position. He tried to decide what to do next. He knew he should try to sleep. He needed to be rested and clear headed and strong for the task tomorrow. Yes, sleep would be good, but the thought was swamped by the rising anxiety he could feel pushing into his thoughts. Ray gave himself a shake and started walking a little circuit around the room.

‘How am I ever going to do this?’ he wondered again. ‘I don’t know the first thing about medicine and operations and hospital stuff.’ His pacing speeded up. ‘We don’t have medical stuff just sitting around. What do I even use to take out a bullet? We don’t have a tray of those scalper things sitting on the shelf. I have a pen knife in my pack and there’s dinner knives and a steak knife and the ax. Oh, yea, I can do some fine carving with those.’ Ray just missed knocking over a chair as he careened by. ‘And then after I make this big hole and take out the lead, how do I close it up and make it all nice again? And what about Fraser? Do I just hit him in the head with something and hope he doesn’t wake up while I’m rooting around inside him with a knife?’ The thought was so horrific that Ray wanted to run screaming from the cabin.

"I’m going out for wood, Dief. Gotta get more wood," Ray announced as he bolted through the door. The cold night air slapped at him and brought a measure of sobriety. ‘Get a grip, Kowalski. You gotta chill.’ Ray breathed deeply and tried to corral his frenzied thoughts. ‘It’s not like there’s a choice here. Fraser needs you. You’re his only chance at getting through this. Settle down and think about what you have to do.’

Bob Fraser leaned companionably on the porch rail next to Ray, "You know, Yank, back in 1953 - oh, let me tell you those were wild times - well anyway, Tractor Dougherty was working his trap line up near Wabasca Lake and discovered some scoundrel had knifed and robbed old man Moffitt, leaving him for dead in the snow. Moffitt was grievously hurt, had one foot in the grave. Tractor was certainly no doctor and he wasn’t packing even a first aid kit on that sled, but he had his wits and good sense. Moffitt pulled through, kind of walked with a hunch thereafter... but, the point is, you do your best with what you have available. Circumstances aren’t always perfect, but you can make things work."

Ray was feeling better. The combination of cold and the peaceful night helped settle his jagged nerves. He would handle whatever tomorrow brought. He and Fraser would get through this. It was like that saying about lemons and lemonade. Ray would make it work out. No way was he going to let Fraser down.

"It will be fine, Dief." Ray said just to hear it out loud. "We’ll have Fraser up and at ’em again. Tomorrow, we’ll get that bullet out and he’ll start feeling much better." Ray raised his hand to slap a one-sided high five.

"That’s the way to go, Yank. You can do it." Bob Fraser concurred, returning the detective’s celebratory gesture.

‘Oooh, spooky,’ thought Ray fleetingly as he bounded down the steps toward the woodpile.

With his arms full of split logs, Ray shouldered his way back into the cabin. A quick look told him that Fraser had again kicked off the blankets and was shivering violently despite the heat from the stove. Dumping the wood, Ray sprinted to Fraser’s side and dragged the coverings back up around him. "It’s going to be all right. I promise you, Fraser, you’re going to be all right." Ray stroked the Mountie’s damp hair and kept whispering the hopeful litany, "You’re gonna be all right, I promise...."

Ben awoke first. The gnawing pain radiating out of his middle had sharpened during the night and now seemed to be lancing into every part of his body. The cot no longer provided any comfort. It felt like it was ensnaring him. He needed to get up. In his fevered desperation, he thought if he could just get up and move, the pain would lessen. Ray’s soft snoring indicated he was sound asleep and Ben realized how exhausted his friend must be. ‘I ....can’t keep....imposing on ....Ray. I......can do this. I can.... get myself.....up. Ray.... needs to rest.’ Fraser concentrated on forcing his aching body into a semi-upright position and struggled to inch his legs over the side of the cot away from his sleeping friend.

"What are you doing, Son?!" Bob Fraser asked in alarm. "You shouldn’t be getting up by yourself. Benton, wake the Yank up to help you."

"I....can...." Ben hissed as his feet thumped one, two on the floor.

"You’re going to hurt yourself. You’re too weak. Wake up, Yank! Benton, just wait a minute!"

Ben ignored his father and with one arm wrapped tightly around his middle, he grabbed onto the chair by the bed to steady himself. The sweat was stinging his eyes, but he ignored that too and with a half-suppressed groan pushed himself to his feet. It was a mistake. Between his skewed equilibrium and excessive weakness, his body couldn’t support itself and Ben pitched forward

pulling the chair under him as he crashed to the floor. His agonized cry ricocheted off the cabin walls.

"Fraser! I’m here. I’m here." Still half asleep, Ray lurched up from his nest of blankets on the floor and grabbed the edge of the cot. ‘What.....’ he was confused by the empty bed. "Oh, my G-d, Fraser!" Ray scrambled over the cot to Fraser’s side. "What happened? What have you done?" Ray’s heart hammered against his throat. "I’m here, buddy. I’m here."

Ray tried to pull the Mountie into his arms, but Fraser fought him. The dagger-like pain from the fall had triggered a convulsive reaction and Ben writhed as his tortured insides cramped and twisted. Snaking a supportive arm across Ben’s chest and using his other hand to hold Ben’s forehead, Ray tried to talk Fraser through it.

"It’s okay, Fraser, it’s gonna be okay. I’m here." Ray pitched his voice to be reassuring and soothing, but the Mountie’s distress was undermining Ray’s own resolve. "Shush, Fraser, it’s gonna be all right. I’m here, buddy. I’ve got you. Please, Fraser."

Whether it was due to exhaustion or a subsiding of the pain or the comfort of his friend’s embrace, Fraser finally stopped his tormented thrashing and fell back against Ray’s chest. The Mountie’s raspy panting was a perfect counterpoint to Ray’s racing heartbeat.

"Oh, man, Fraser. Manischewitz." Ray struggled to get himself back on an even keel and gulped down a big breath. Fraser lay hot and heavy against him.

"I.....m.....not...." Ben’s words barely dented the air.

"It’s okay, Fraser. Don’t try to talk. Just rest a while." Ray hugged Fraser closer.

"......R.....ay." Ben tried to twist around to look at his friend, but the effort left him gasping again.

"Wait, it’s okay. Here." Ray reluctantly changed his hold and eased Fraser down into a semi-reclining position where the Mountie’s head rested on Ray’s upper thigh. The two men locked eyes.

"I’m......... get.....ting.....," Fraser ran his tongue over his dry lips, "wor....se...." He closed his eyes and Ray thought for a moment that the Mountie had passed out, but Fraser continued. "You....have......to.....go............," another slow wetting of his lips with his tongue, "for..... hel....p .....Mal....col....mmm." he finished. He opened his eyes and fixed Ray with a fever bright stare.

Ray was stunned. ‘What is Fraser saying? He has to know that he can’t survive if I leave. What is up with this? What is he thinking?’

"......have to......go....," Fraser moaned.

‘What kind of self-sacrificing, heroic, Mountie crap is this?’ It suddenly hit Ray, ‘Does he think he can spare me by dying without me?’ Ray became angry.

"No way, buddy. I’m here and I’m not leaving you. You understand, Fraser?" Ray brandished a clenched fist. "I am not leaving you! Yeah, I know you’re not doing too good. The bullet’s infected the wound. It’s what’s making the pain so bad. It’s gotta come out. I’m no doctor, we both know that, but I’m gonna take that bullet out of you and make you better. Me. I’m doing this. I’m not gonna let you die so forget that." Ray paused and self-consciously relaxed his hand.

"Raa......"

Using just his fingertips, Ray brushed a sweaty lock of hair off his friend’s forehead. "Fraser, don’t ask me to leave you. I can’t and I won’t. Whatever happens, we’re in this together. You and me. I’m gonna do everything I can to help you. We’re gonna get through this." Ray grasped Fraser’s hand in a traditional Chicago street handshake and pledged softly, "We’re gonna get through this - together."

"Amen," Bob Fraser seconded.

"O.....K," Fraser agreed.

"Besides, I don’t have a clue how to hook up a dog sled." Ray winked.

"Un.....der....sto....od," Fraser panted.

"All right, then." Ray gave Fraser’s hand another quick squeeze before releasing it. "I need to get things together. It’s gonna be OK. Umm, let’s get you back on the bed."

"No.....he...re." Ben’s words came out tired and slow.

"Yeah, OK. You just rest while I figure out what I need. We’ll get this done ASAP and you’ll start feeling much better. I promise, Fraser, it’s gonna be all right." Ray stretched an arm back behind him to the cot and snagged the pillow to ease under Fraser’s head ."I’m all over this. I won’t let you down." Ray concluded as he settled a blanket over the Mountie.

Fraser nodded weakly. "Tha.......nk...," he ground out through clenched teeth.

Ray faked a hearty smile. "It’s gonna be all right, buddy. Dr. Ray is gonna take care of you." He

gave Fraser’s shoulder one last pat and then staggered to his feet. "Ooo, a little stiff here," Ray grunted as he straightened his spine and flexed his legs. "Ok, I’ve got to get some things together. You just rest. It won’t take too long. You’ll be feeling better soon. Just hang in there." The detective stumbled into the kitchen area and started rummaging for items he could use for the "operation".

Bob Fraser bent low so that his son could see him. "This is it. You’re going to have to be strong, Son. I imagine there will be some pain involved, but nothing you can’t handle. Mounties deal with this kind of thing all the time. Granted, the Yank’s no doctor. In fact....well, never mind. The point is, Son, the next bit of time is going to be...uncomfortable, but you’ll be fine in the end. Don’t lose sight of the end, Son." Fraser Sr. straightened up and turned to watch Ray banging around in the cupboards. "I’d better go lend a hand to this enterprise." he muttered.

The medical supplies Ray had scrounged together looked woefully inadequate. He had finally remembered Fraser’s boot knife and was relieved to see its finely honed edge and tip. It would be the best thing for the cutting part. His stomach did a little flip-flop at the thought, but he resolutely centered his mind on the practical concerns. With surprise, Ray had found a large needle and what looked to be some sort of sinew stuffed into a little pouch. He suspected it was used for mending boots or snowshoes or some sort of gear. He doubted he would actually be able to use it on Fraser though. The image of casually stitching through human flesh really made him sick. He inhaled deeply and bent over with his hands on his knees. ‘Shit.’ He breathed out slowly.

"Better find some rope, Yank." Bob Fraser stated emphatically into Ray’s left ear. "Benton needs to be kept still. Can’t have him bashing around when you’re trying to dig out a bullet."

Ray snapped upright as another thought pushed into his brain. He’d probably have to tie Fraser down for this. As repulsed as he was by the idea, he knew he had to make sure the Mountie didn’t move while there was a knife in him. ‘Damn it, damn it, damn it. I’m sorry, Fraser. Really sorry.’ Ray felt helpless. "Hey, Fraser, I need to make a quick run to the shed. I’ll be back in a flash." Ray didn’t wait for a response as he dashed out into the morning air. In a distant corner of his mind, he registered that it was going to be a beautiful day, but his attention was focused on finding a hank of rope or cord. What he found felt stiff and rough. He would have to pad it somehow. He didn’t want Fraser tearing his skin on these coarse restraints.

Back in the cabin once more, Ray made a quick check on Fraser who in Ray’s absence, had again drawn himself into a fetal position and was lying heavily on his right side. Since his eyes were closed and he appeared to be resting, Ray moved away quietly and considered the problem of sterilizing the "instruments." He decided he would boil the knife and needle first, then soak them in the rubbing alcohol he had unearthed. He’d have to be careful to wash his hands really well and maybe dip them into the alcohol also. He’d need to rip up some more bandages and have them ready. ‘Yea, I’m getting this thing together. I can do this,’ he thought with an increased measure of surety. He punched his fists into the air. ‘Yes!’

"You’ll have to sterilize the wound when you’re done." Bob Fraser decreed. "You’ll have to find a way to stop the infection."

Ray’s next thought instantly deflated his confidence. ‘I have to sterilize the wound, too. How am I going to do that?’ He snatched up the Neosporin tube and squinted at the directions. In bold lettering it warned that it was for external use only and, in the case of deep punctures, a physician should be consulted. ‘Damn it, what does that mean exactly? I can’t dial up the physician’s hotline to check on the exact proper conditions needed to use it.’ He frowned, ‘Maybe with the alcohol...?’ Ray just wasn’t sure. ‘Straight alcohol poured into a raw wound like that will hurt like hell.’ He shuddered with empathy. ‘Of course, what part of this thing isn’t going to hurt?’ He did recognize the absurdity of that particular concern although he hated the idea of causing Fraser any additional pain.

As Ray further pondered the goop/alcohol angle, yet another wretched thought powered into his consciousness. He hadn’t solved the actual knocking Fraser out problem. ‘Oh, yeah, just a minor concern. How do I keep the patient sedated while I’m sticking a knife into him? That’s going to be a really fun thing for everybody. I don’t have enough rubbing alcohol to spare to get Fraser drunk. It would probably poison him anyway.’ Ray’s mind raced as he selected and rejected various options. Suddenly, images dredged up from his TV addiction days flashed before him. He remembered vividly all the westerns he watched where the good guy lay there biting down on a hunk of leather while his faithful sidekick extracted the bullet/arrow. Ray shook his head in despair. It was hardly a solution, but he couldn’t just bash Fraser in the head either.

The detective crept closer to where Fraser lay in a tight ball on the floor. Even from a distance, the depth of his friend’s suffering slammed into Ray. The rigidity of the Mountie’s curved back, the visible tremors and the broken breathing all drove it home once more that Fraser’s pain far exceeded the RCMP creed of ignoring hurt and pushing on. Ray’s compassion threatened to overwhelm him. The truth was, he loved this crazy Canadian, as a partner, as a friend, as a brother. ‘Damn it, Fraser. This has to end. I’ve got to get this done.’ Fresh resolve surged through Ray.

He was on the move again. He filled a large pan with water and set it on the stove to heat and then started tearing up strips of a fresh sheet to use for covering the wound afterwards. He had already used most of the clean towels, but he would still need something to mop up the, he shuddered again, blood. Ray scowled, but then brightened as his eyes roved over his bulging backpack. He had been nervous about freezing to death during the trek here and had crammed almost every piece of clothing he owned into the pack and its pockets. He could use some for clean up and some for padding the ropes. "Ok, that’s good. That’s good." he cheered as he pulled fresh t-shirts and sweats from the pack.

"OK, OK, what am I forgettin?" Ray spun in place with both hands clamped to his head. "I know I’m forgettin something." He felt like he was getting ready to explode. He kind of wanted a big cup of coffee, but he realized he was already so wired that the extra boost of caffeine would probably launch him higher than H3's plane could fly. Eating anything was for sure out of the question. His stomach was queasy enough and tossing his cookies during surgery would not be reassuring to his patient. Ray stifled a nervous laugh. He checked the water. It was just beginning to boil. He took a big gulp of air. "Almost show time," he announced quietly to Dief who lay ever watchful by his master’s side.

Ray moved to the far side of the cot and pulled off all the linens except for the bottom sheet. It wasn’t as clean as he would have liked, but Fraser didn’t keep a big stock of bed stuff in the cabin. As Ray piled the ropes and his clothing items by the cot, the enormity of the task he was facing caused him to falter. ‘My G-d, I’m about to play doctor with my best friend. And it’s not the fun, hey-let’s-play-doctor stuff with the girl next door. This is the real, serious, live-or-die thing complete with technicolor blood and guts.’ The detective staggered backwards as a fist of pure panic punched into him. "What am I doing? My G-d, I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m not a doctor." Ray didn’t even realize he had spoken out loud until Diefenbaker gave a sharp bark.

The wolf nosed at him and continued a series of questioning whines. "Wha...? Oh. Yeah, it’s okay, Dief. Sorry. Just got a little nervous there. It’s okay. Just a little case of nerves." Ray cracked his neck. "but, I’m okay. Yeah, I’m doing good here. You know, this is a major big thing and I just got a little worried is all and jeez, I’m not a doctor or anything." Ray’s voice started to climb in pitch. "I’m just nervous. You gotta expect that."

"Good heavens, Yank, get a hold of yourself. You’ll not help Benton by falling to pieces. Benton needs you. You can do this." Bob Fraser growled in frustration as his slap to the American’s face breezed harmlessly by. "Hmmph, being dead most decidedly has its drawbacks. It’s not at all convenient at times." Fraser Sr. groused.

A sudden waft of cool air had a sobering effect on Ray. He took a deep breath and hugged himself. "Man, I gotta calm down. I gotta get a grip here. I gotta breathe nice and easy and just chill." Ray concentrated on his breathing for a few minutes. "Yeah, better. I’m okay...."

"Raaa....?" Fraser’s plaintive question vaporized the last of Ray’s panic as concern for his friend overrode everything else.

Ray hurried around the cot and knelt on the floor next to Fraser. "I’m here, buddy. It’s okay. Ray’s here. What do you need?"

"You.........okay?" Ben worried.

"Me?" Ray tried to sound incredulous. "Yeah, sure. I’m right as rain. Everything is cool with me. Just, you know, having a little chat with your wolf here which I can not believe, but then again it’s not like there’s a lot of people streaming through this place. Gotta find conversation wherever." Ray shrugged and then powered up a 150 watt smile. "Yep, doing just fine. What ya need, buddy?"

"U....ppp,,,,,,pleass." Fraser attempted to slip onto his knees.

After a bit of gentle pushing and pulling, Fraser was finally upright, but hunched, and with his friend’s support moving toward the bathroom. Ray had tried to talk up the long distance trucker’s friend, a nice clean jar, but Fraser refused and with as much dignity as he could muster, shuffled determinedly forward. Ray sighed to himself, ‘One thing I should know by now is that Mounties are very freakish about these bathroom matters. Stubborn, too.’ he added.

The return trip was arduous at best. Ray could feel how much Fraser’s strength was flagging.

"Okay, buddy. We’re here. Just turn this way. Yeah, just a little. Okay, okay, easy. Here, I’ll help you." Ray used all his muscle to ease the Mountie back onto the cot.

"Good. Yeah, you made it just fine." Ray felt his heart lurch as he saw Fraser clench his teeth and grab at the stomach wound. Agony twisted the Mountie’s face. ‘Now,’ Ray thought with desperation. ‘No more waiting. I’ve got to do this now.’

"Easy, Fraser." Ray pulled the chair closer to the cot and perched in such a way that he could make easy eye contact. He laid his hand on Ben’s shoulder, feeling again the heat radiating off the bare skin. "Fraser, remember we talked about getting that bullet out of you? It’s making you sick. It’s got to come out. It’s the only way you’re going to get better. Ya remember?" Ray prayed his friend understood what he was asking.

Ben’s eyes were glazed with hurting, but he managed a weak nod. Yes. He remembered.

"Good, good. Okay, here’s the deal." Ray drew a deep breath and rushed on. "The sooner, the better. No sense dragging this out. Dr. Ray is ready to do his thing. You’re gonna feel much better once we get this done so I’m thinking it’s time. Got a few things to finish getting ready, but you just get to lie there and I’ll be back in a flash and then we’re good to go. You okay with that, Fraser? You with me on this?" Ray found himself gripping the side of the cot like it was about to fly away. Behind him, Bob Fraser awaited his son’s response.

"Yy....." Ben wet his lips and tried again to push the syllables out. "Ye...sss, Ra.......aaa," the rest of his words fell away in a groan.

"It’s okay, don’t try to talk anymore. Look, I’ll be right back. I just gotta get a few things lined out. It’s gonna be okay, Fraser. I’m going to take care of this. You’re going to be fine, I promise." Ray lifted his hand and briefly touched the side of Fraser’s face. "It’s going to be all right, my friend." The detective tried to smile, but couldn’t hold it and jumping up, rushed back to the kitchen to sterilize the knife and needle.

Bob Fraser leaned over the cot and caught his son’s eye. "I’m afraid you’re in for a bit of ....unpleasantness, but buck up, Son. You can’t know your true measure until you’ve tested your mettle. The Yank’s doing the best he can and I expect you to do the same. Remember, Benton, you’re a Mountie. Proper deportment is your duty." Bob paused and looked more closely at his son, "Of course, I suppose you will be unconscious, but.....hmmmm, better make sure the Yank has everything in order." Fraser Sr. drifted toward the kitchen.

Ben stared at the ceiling and tried to focus on what was going to happen to him. Pain. More. Terrible. Yes. No help....for it. Ray. Would Ray..... Ben’s thoughts lost their center as another fiery spasm burned through his insides. He dimly tasted the harsh tang of blood as he bit down on his lower lip to keep from crying out.

Ray was baffled. He hadn’t found anything appropriate to have Fraser bite down on. The idea of gagging his friend made Ray want to gag so he had to find something else. ‘I could stick an apple in his mouth like one of those roast pigs or whatever,’ he thought crazily. ‘No, no. Sheesh, get a grip. How about a hunk of wood?’ That didn’t seem so bad. ‘It’s natural. Fraser would like that and it’s a whole bunch cleaner than some of the stuff he puts in his mouth when he’s looking for clues.’ Ray shivered with the memory of Fraser’s taste testing in the morgue. ‘But what if he bit down too hard and got splinters in his mouth? That would suck.’ Ray rooted through the shelves some more.

"Could use a piece of dog harness." Bob Fraser mused. "I suppose it would be a little gamey, but a little husky sweat wouldn’t be the worst thing."

Diefenbaker woofed sharply.

"Well, it was just an idea. No need to get your fur all ruffled." Bob harumphed.

"Got it!" Ray waved a package of Dief’s rawhide chew sticks triumphantly.

"Okay, now what?" Ray reviewed his mental checklist, ticking off each item with his fingers. Everything in his meager arsenal of supplies seemed to be at the ready -- except the patient. Ray straightened his spine and forced himself to look over at his friend. ‘I hate this. I really hate this,’ the detective thought for the umpteenth time. With a quick neck crack and a determined set to his jaw, he crossed the room to where Fraser lay waiting. "Hey, buddy, hey, Fraser, it’s time for Dr. Ray to do his magic." Ray reached deep to come up with what he hoped was an Oscar winning performance of a confident, positive doctor guy. "We’ll have you feeling tip top in just a little while! Just got do a few things first to make you comfortable."

‘Oh, right. Like tie you to the bed so you can’t escape and stuff something in your mouth so you

can’t scream and freak out your highly skilled surgeon, the amazing Dr. Ray. Yep, this is your lucky day, Fraser, old buddy.’ Ray’s thoughts circled this unhappy scenario like proverbial vultures until a not quite stifled groan from Fraser grounded them back in reality.

Ray quickly grabbed a length of rope and one of his sweatshirts. "Okay, the straight deal...I gotta make sure you don’t move while I’m doing my expert doctoring thing so I gotta kinda, sorta, you know, tie you down. Cuz you sure don’t want to be moving while I’m looking for that bullet," Ray took a fast breath and rattled on. "And, even if you’re sleeping - which I strongly recommend, by the way - you might, like stretch or something, and that would not be a good thing so I’m just gonna lay this sweatshirt across your chest like this to kinda pad this rope...you know these ropes are real rough, I couldn’t find anything really soft, you know like ladies’ pantyhose, hardy har har, or....well, this is what we had and everything’s clean. Sorry, Fraser, I gotta make this kinda tight. You know, it won’t work if it’s too loose," Ray grunted with the effort of keeping just the right amount of tension on the rope as he tied it off. "There, it’s not too tight is it? You’re doing okay, aren’t you?" He chanced a look at Fraser’s face.

As he met Fraser’s calm gaze and saw the feeble yes nod, Ray felt his throat constrict and the words he intended to say next jumbled up and stuck. Before he could become unglued, Ray swooped up another length of rope and moved down to Fraser’s legs. Using sweat pants for cushioning this time, he ran a couple of loops around the Mountie’s pelvis and then snaked the extra down just above his knees before tying it off.

"Ah...ah,...al, almost....finished, buddy," the words fell out in awkward blocks as Ray fought with his emotions. A tee-shirt protected Fraser’s ankles as Ray snugged the next bit of rope around them. Ray dove into the dwindling stack of ropes and brought out the last two he expected to need. Grabbing up a sweatsock, Ray carefully wrapped it around Fraser’s left wrist and using an expertise borne of many hours spent restraining criminals, the detective secured the Mountie’s hand to the cot. "Just one more," Ray said softly, "and we’re good to go."

Ray didn’t dare look at his friend. He knew what he would see, but actually, really seeing it would deep six this whole enterprise. He didn’t have to use his eyes to see how helpless Fraser looked. All the pain had somehow broken down the mature lines of the Mountie’s face and made him look boyish and vulnerable. That was terrible enough. A mother bear protecting her cub couldn’t feel any more protective than Stanley "Ray" Kowalski did at that very moment. Ray would go to his grave for this Mountie.

More than that though was the trust and faith Ray saw reflected in Fraser’s eyes. Fraser believed in Ray, simply and totally. Somehow, that was more unnerving than anything else. Ray always felt like a schmuck, a screw-up with all right skills and abilities who just got by. To have someone of Fraser’s caliber, someone who Ray looked up to and respected, someone who almost everyone looked up to and respected, look at Ray with such utter faith was overwhelming. That’s why Ray had to watch his own hands and not risk another glance at Fraser. "There. There. I gotta bring some stuff over. Hang on. It’s gonna be okay. Really. Hang on."

Ray darted into the kitchen area and gathered together the items he had laid out. With his free hand, he hooked a chair away from the table and positioned it by the cot to the right of the chair he would be using. "I’m almost ready, buddy. Hang on. Just a few more things to do."

During his next foray, the detective grabbed a shallow pan for the alcohol and a couple more pans of water, just to have handy. He stacked the remaining clean towels and the clothes he was going to use for "mop up" in the gap between the chairs. "Where’s that beautiful surgical nurse when you need her?" he wondered aloud, trying to sound aggrieved. Diefenbaker gave a soft woof. "No, Dief, you don’t quite fit the ticket. I don’t think wolf drool is all that hydrogenetic."

"Hy...gen..ic." Fraser croaked automatically.

"Yeah, whatever, you know, clean. Slobber just isn’t like real sterile."

Diefenbaker snorted and flopped on the far side of the cot.

Ray bustled back to get the final two things. Using a pair of forks, he managed to retrieve the knife from the simmering water and placed it on the clean towel he had sitting nearby. The needle was a lot harder to scoop out, but fishing with determination, Ray captured it and added it to the towel. He couldn’t think of anything else that he needed. ‘Other than a fully staffed ER.’

He took another look around the kitchen. ‘Time to rock and roll,’ Ray resigned himself to the inevitable. He scrubbed his hands with a strong abrasive soap that he figured Fraser had probably concocted out of bear fat and gravel. ‘Ought to be clean enough,’ the detective groused, ‘probably took off a layer of skin.’ Gathering up his towel bundle and the pot of hot water, he forced himself back to the cot. ‘I’ve got my best friend trussed up like a chicken. Dear G-d, help us both.’ Ray implored.

"So, buddy, we are about to get this show on the road. I just have to kinda set these things up so I can reach everything and we are good to go. Dr. Ray is feeling good and ready to get this thing done." Ray forced an upbeat lilt into his voice and prayed Fraser didn’t pick up on the false tones. "Now, since you don’t happen to have any ether lying around the cabin or even a good bottle of whiskey, I’m gonna have to give you one of these to kinda bite on while....while, you know....," Ray brandished a chew stick in Fraser’s line of vision. " I mean Dief swears by ‘em and he has generously agreed to sacrifice one for you. Right, Dief?" The wolf barked an affirmative. "Well, see, there you go. Okay, uh, open your mouth and say, ahhh. Just kidding, but here." Still avoiding a direct look at his friend’s face, Ray slipped the rawhide chew into Fraser’s open mouth.

Bob Fraser moved into his son’s peripheral vision and Ben turned his head slightly to look at his father’s specter. "Well, Son, it’s time. You must be strong now and remember your training. It will all be over quite soon. I’ll be right here with you, Benton." Fraser Sr. leaned down and tried to give his son a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

"So, uh...uh, I guess...well, I’m ready, if you are. Look, Fraser," and Ray did finally meet his friend’s eyes, "you know, there’s no other way. I’d rather cut off my own arm than hurt you, but there’s no option here. I gotta do this." Ray’s emotions rollercoastered when he saw the Mountie’s weak nod of understanding and acceptance of what was about to happen to him. Ray drew a shaky breath and used Fraser’s quiet courage to shore up his own.

"So, on with the show, buddy. Gotta get rid of this old bandage and see what’s happening under there. You know, in a couple of days, you’re going to be feeling so good, I’m gonna let you take care of old Mal’s dogs. I mean, sheesh, I think they know I’m not like real good with animals or something. I mean, I’m not like afraid of them or anything. It’s more like I’m not used to them and they can sense that." Ray babbled on about not having pets as a kid, hoping his senseless chatter would keep Fraser distracted. ‘Maybe I can bore him into unconsciousness.’ Ray didn’t know whether to laugh about subjecting the Mountie to a Kowalski version of an Inuit story or cry because the distraction ploy was so pathetic.

The exposed wound looked worse, very much worse. There was a widespread area of hot red swelling around it. A thin membrane was trying to grow over the open hole, but the pus and blood oozing from under it left no question that the wound was infected and that it had to be dealt with immediately. Ray felt his insides quake, but he resolutely re-dipped the knife blade in the pan of alcohol and stole a furtive peek at his patient. Fraser’s head was pushed hard into his pillow with his eyes riveted on the cabin’s ceiling and the chew stick gripped tightly in his teeth.

‘Dear G-d, I need some help here.’ Ray tested the heft of the knife in his hand. ‘It’s now or never. Forgive me, Fraser.’ Ray felt his friend’s body try to jerk away from the bite of the knife as it sliced into the skin above and below the bullet hole. Fraser may have cried out, but the blood was pounding so loudly in Ray’s ears that he couldn’t hear anything except his own heartbeat magnified to head-splitting intensity. Ray stared as though through a haze at the knife in his hand and wondered at what he had just done. He noticed simultaneously that there was suddenly no air in the room. He couldn’t breathe. All the air was just gone from the cabin, maybe the whole world. He opened his mouth wide and tried to suck some precious oxygen into his lungs.

"Easy, Yank, easy. Get hold of yourself, man. It’s all right. It’s just a little blood. You’ve got to find that bullet. Focus. Concentrate on the task at hand." Bob Fraser spoke with the same forceful timbre he had used when drilling RCMP rookies.

Ray struggled to drag in air. ‘Breathe, Kowalski, breathe. Get a grip. You don’t have time for this. You got a job to do and a friend depending on you. Cut the crap. There’s plenty of air, you moron, just breathe regular like. Okay, that’s better. See, lots of air.’ Ray realized with a guilty start that Fraser’s breathing was fast and hard from the pain. ‘Get over it, Kowalski. You’re torturing your friend with these hysterics,’ Ray berated himself.

The detective blotted at the fresh cut he had just made and forced himself to examine the wound more closely. He was hoping the bullet would be immediately visible, but it looked like he would need to open up that scabbing membrane more and probe deeper to find the lead that was making Fraser so sick.. ‘Shit, I need more light.’ Ray looked around frantically for his flashlight. ‘Uh, it should be by my sleeping bag. Okay, a longshot, here....’

"Dief...Dief....Dief, bring me the flashlight," the detective tried to rally the wolf. "The flashlight, I need the flashlight. Flash....light." Ray mentally shrugged; he’d muddle by without the extra light. After all, what did he expect? Diefenbaker was deaf.

Ray turned his attention back to the more immediate problem. He used a corner of a clean, wet towel to wipe away the still oozing gook from the wound. ‘Definitely need to make this bigger,’ he thought with despair. He dipped the knife into the alcohol again and with a softly muttered "Sorry, Fraser," made a cross-wise cut across the wound. Ray was acutely aware of Fraser’s violent reaction to the latest incision, but the detective steeled himself against his friend’s misery and focused on finding that bullet.

"It’s going to be all right, Son. It will be over soon. You’re doing fine, Benton. I know it hurts like the dickens, but it will be over soon." Bob Fraser wanted to offer his son more than words, but being dead had its limitations. His heart ached as he watched Benton struggling with the pain and biting down on that damn piece of rawhide. Ben was trying so hard to be quiet and not to distress the Yank. Fraser Sr. blinked back tears of pride. "You’ll be able to sleep soon, Son. Everything will be all right."

Ray was so intent on blotting away the new blood and pus that the detective almost jumped a foot when Diefenbaker’s cold nose touched his arm. "Sheeeeit, Dief!!! What are you... Oh, the flashlight! Good, boy. Wow. Good, boy. This will help a lot." Ray eased the flashlight out of Dief’s mouth using a clean sock from the pile of clothes by the chair. "It’s that sterileness thing," he muttered by way of apology to the wolf. Snapping on the light, he renewed his cleaning of the wound. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he could see the bullet resting dark and alien maybe two, maybe three inches or so deeper in the puncture. With total focus, Ray retrieved the knife from the alcohol and carefully slipped it into the incision. The Mountie’s reaction was instantaneous and terrible. Ben surged up and fought hard against the restraints. The screamed "No!!!" that escaped around the rawhide chew almost stopped Ray’s heart.

"Oh, G-d. Oh, Fraser. I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. Wait. It’s out. I took it out. It’s okay, buddy. I didn’t mean to hurt you like that. I shoulda warned ya. Damn, I’m sorry." Ray dropped the knife back in the pan and with a trembling hand snatched up a tee-shirt he had sitting in a pan of cold water. "Here, I’ll wipe your face. The cool water will help." The detective wrung the excess water out of the shirt and delicately washed the sweat from his friend’s forehead and cheeks. "Here, let me take that out of your mouth for a minute. Your jaw could use a rest, I’m sure." The chew stick had been worked over pretty good and Ray felt sick to his stomach, knowing what each of those bite marks represented. "We’re getting close, Fraser. I can see the bullet, " Ray prayed that was the truth. "I’ll need to go a little bit deeper to get it, but it’s practically a done deal. Just a little bit more, buddy. We’re almost...."

Ray broke off as the Mountie again arched upward against the ropes. Without the rawhide in his mouth to clamp down on, Ben couldn’t contain the agonized cry that a sudden wave of burning pain forced out. His head thrashed from side to side and his eyes darted wildly as a series of spasms racked his weakened body. His hands grasped futilely at the air.

"Fraser! Please...." Ray threw the wet shirt he had been holding behind him and grabbed his friend by the shoulders. "I’ve got you. It’s okay. Oh, G-d, please. I’m here. I’ve got you. It’s okay." He brought his hand to the side of Fraser’s face and using his thumb, Ray stroked the pallid cheek. "Fraser, it’s okay. You’re going to be okay. It’s going to be over soon. Easy, buddy. Easy." Ray’s soothing words fell on deaf ears. The Mountie was finally and mercifully unconscious.

"Thank G-d," Bob Fraser murmured.

"Shit." Ray was a quivering mess. The horror of having caused Fraser that kind of pain was devastating. Ray slid back into his chair and tried to regroup. ‘Okay, it’s done. You can’t change that. You have to get this finished. You don’t want him suffering any more.’ He dipped his hands back in the alcohol and picked up the knife. He stared at it for a few minutes before adjusting his grip and nosing the knife back into the wound. Even though he was out cold, Fraser moaned and reacted to this new assault on his body. Ray swallowed hard, but kept his attention focused on the bloody work in front of him.

"That’s right, Yank. Keep your mind set on what you’re doing.. You have a job to do. Good man. Stay the course, Yank." Fraser Sr. counseled.

After probing around for a bit, Ray was convinced that it was indeed the bullet he had spied earlier. The problem was how to get it out. He put the boot knife back in the pan and reached for the pocket knife he’d had the foresight to bring over with him. He dipped its blade in the still hot pot of water and then dropped the knife into the alcohol. Using a fresh, wet shirt, the detective cleaned away the gore seeping from the wound site. ‘If I can work the bullet loose with the big knife, I might be able to work it up and out with the smaller knife,’ he mulled over this approach and decided it had some promise.

With both knives in hand, Ray used the boot knife to poke at the object he identified as the bullet. It definitely felt different than the surrounding flesh. "Shit. I need a third arm here. I can’t see what I’m doing." Ray briefly considered holding the flashlight in his teeth, but realized that he would never be able to see around it. "Damn, Dief, I need that nurse." Ray dragged his free arm across his forehead and used his sleeve to wipe away the sweat that was dripping into his eyes. "Okay, steady as she goes." Ray worked the knife tip around the bullet and cut it away from the tissue in which it was embedded. When he felt it was free, he sat up straight for a minute and rolled his shoulders to unkink his back and shoulder muscles. Grabbing a shirt from the clothing pile, Ray rolled it up length-wise and draped it around the wound to absorb the now freely flowing blood

‘Maybe doctors are worth those outrageous fees they charge. This is tough work.’ Ray sighed and bent back over Fraser’s middle. Using the boot knife to pull the wound more open, he eased the second blade in and tried to work it under the bullet. There wasn’t much room to maneuver and he soon discovered that he couldn’t get any leverage with the small knife. "Damn it." Ray pulled both knives out and after a quick wipe on a clean cloth, laid them back in the alcohol. "I really need tweezers or tongs or something like that," he growled in frustration.

"That’s a problem," Bob Fraser affirmed. "I don’t think Benton has anything like that stashed around here. Maybe you could try working both knives together like tongs. Yes, I believe that might work."

Ray stood up for a moment and stretched out his arms and legs. A couple of quick twists helped to loosen the tightness in his back. He plunked back down. "Okay, let’s try this again. I know I can do this. I’ll use the two knives like chopsticks. The bullet should be misshapen enough to get a good grip," he reasoned. After a quick mop up and another look-see with the flashlight, Ray set his jaw and picked up the knives.

"We’re so close now, Fraser. We’re almost done here." Just saying it out loud helped calm the would-be surgeon. Ray balanced the knives in his hands and once again slipped them, one after the other, into the incision. He was working blind, but he could tell when he had the bullet wedged between both knife blades. ‘Okay, up and out. Up and out. Easy. Easssssssy.’

"Damn it! Damn it to hell!" Uneven pressure on the pen knife had caused the lead to squirt out and fall back into its original position. "Okay, okay, not a big deal. Just pay attention and try it again." Ray snatched up another cotton tee-shirt and rolling it into three length-wise folds, he replaced the mostly saturated one. This time, Ray could actually see the bullet as he raised it up, but a slight adjustment in the angle of his wrist made the lead once again disappear back into the wound. "Shit!!"

"Easy, Yank. Keep a cool head. Uncontrolled emotions will just make it harder to do your duty." Bob Fraser lectured.

‘Wish I knew that yogi stuff so I could totally relax and "become one" with this surgery thing.’ With one hand, Ray used the edge of a damp shirt to wipe his face. After repositioning the tee-shirt ringing the wound, he gave a deep sigh and bent back to try working the knives like a set of pincers. The same thing happened again! ‘What happened to third time’s the charm?’ he thought with a scowl. Stubbornness had set in though and with teeth clenched, Ray made a fourth attempt with the same result. "Damn it. Shit." His cursing reflected more fatigue than heat. "Come on, come on. I can do this. This is for Fraser."

With his arms and hands bent in awkward positions, the detective focused on manipulating the knives to catch and hold the bullet. ‘Slow...ly....easy, easy.’ Ray was afraid to even breathe. Finally, both the knives and the grotesque lump of lead they cradled cleared the edge of the wound. With exaggerated care, Ray put all three items in the pan of alcohol.

He thought the alcohol had clouded over and was making it difficult to see the offending bullet; until he felt the first tear sliding down his cheek. His emotions were seesawing. He was relieved and triumphant, awed that he had done the surgery, but alternately horrified and above all still very scared that his best friend could die. Ray lowered his head into his hands.

"Yank! You have things to do yet. You need to sterilize the wound - now. You have to bandage the incision," Bob Fraser admonished.

Ray’s head snapped up. ‘Wha.....? Who....? What am I doing? G-d, I can’t leave Fraser lying here tied up and bleeding.’ The detective palmed the tears off his cheeks and wiped his eyes. He shook off his mental fatigue. First of all, he had to wash out the wound.

The alcohol was getting very low so he needed to be conservative with it. Taking a small pot of water he had boiled earlier and testing it to be sure it had cooled enough, Ray poured a small amount of water into the bullet hole. The still unconscious Mountie made a soft sighing sound. "Feels a lot better than a knife, huh, buddy?" Ray used another clean shirt to mop up the resulting mess. Pour, mop. Pour, mop. Pour, mop. Satisfied at last that the wound was as clean and dry as possible, he funneled a little bit of alcohol into the incision. After slathering the antiseptic goop around the surrounding area, he tried to gently push the edges of the wound together and then quickly covered everything with several of the clean sheet strips. Ray sat up and stared at the stark white bandaging. The sense of accomplishment was a heady experience. "It’s over. We made it, Fraser. It’s all downhill from here," Ray whispered as he leaned back over to touch his friend’s cheek.

"Good job, Yank. Had a few questionable moments, but overall, well done," Bob Fraser praised.

Ray wondered belatedly if he should have tried to stitch the wound closed. It made his stomach turn, but he had to consider it. Thinking back to fellow police officers who had been shot, he seemed to remember something about the punctures having to drain. That made sense so he relaxed and with a feeling of elation, started untying Fraser’s restraints. It seemed kindest to start at his hands. Ray knew from experience that having your hands tied up made you feel the most helpless. Lifting the Mountie’s limp right arm, Ray was relieved to see that the sweat socks had protected Fraser’s wrists from the bite of the ropes. "Everything’s going to be okay now. It’s over, buddy," Ray repeated. He gave Fraser’s arm an affectionate squeeze and quickly untied and unwrapped the rest of the bindings.

"Dief, how about we call room service and order us up a maid?" The place was a mess, even by bachelor standards, and it would certainly offend the Mountie when he woke up. "No rest for the weary," Ray lamented and shook his head as he looked at the bloodied towels and clothes strewn around the cot. He supposed he should consider washing at least the towels for later use, but there was no way in hell he could ever wear a tee shirt or sweatpants stained with Fraser’s blood and suffering. The detective grimaced as he bundled together the trashed clothes, careful not to touch any of the gored areas. He used his foot to kick the towels into the kitchen area. He would deal with those later.

"That’s good, Yank. Being tidy is a virtue. A man doesn’t function well in a chaotic setting. Clutter and disorder cloud the thinking," Bob Fraser pontificated.

When he stepped outside with the stained clothing, Ray was surprised to see there was still early morning light slanting through the trees. It felt like the "operation" had taken hours. His muscles felt bruised and achy like he had just gone several rounds with Evander Holyfield. G-d, he was tired. In his punch-drunk brain, Ray had gone out intending to throw the dirty stuff into the dumpster, but gosh, ‘I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore, Toto.’ He laughed to himself; he was getting giddy. He tossed the clothing over the side of the porch and went back into the cabin to finish cleaning up. Leaning over his patient, he placed his hand lightly on the Mountie’s chest. The gentle rise and fall of Fraser’s breathing was comforting. "You’ll get better now, buddy. Everything will be right as rain again."

The last thing Ray picked up and carted into the kitchen was the alcohol pan with the knives and bullet still submerged in it. He took out the knives and carefully poured the now pink-tinged alcohol down the drain until only the bullet remained rattling in the bottom of the pan. He was mesmerized by that hateful, monstrous lump. It was shocking that such a small bit of lead could have such huge repercussions. ‘How can something so insignificant almost snuff out a man like Fraser? Go figure.’ Ray’s head was too foggy to try fathoming deep philosophical questions at the moment. It was enough that Fraser was still alive and breathing.

Ray left the pan in the sink and almost staggered on his way back to Fraser. As he bent to check his friend’s condition, he realized with horror that Fraser was lying in a puddle of blood that had seeped under him during the operation. Ray collapsed into the cot-side chair. "Oh, man. Oh, man. I can’t leave you lying in that crap. Damn." He ran his hands back and forth through his hair and considered the best way to deal with this situation.

"Okay, buddy, you’re going to have to go back on the floor. The cot is too trashed right now. And you’re going to hate this, but I’m going to have to get you into some dry pants, too. It’ll be good. All right, let’s get it done." Ray, didn’t exactly leap to his feet, but he was able to muster up some reserve energy and used it to start making a nice cushiony nest for Fraser. The detective was having a little trouble connecting the dots in the right order though. Get Fraser into the bed, then change his clothes or change the pants first so he won’t wreck the bed? Wait, wouldn’t they get yucky if they were changed first?’ Ray felt like his brain was melting down. "Logic is Fraser’s thing, not mine," he protested to Diefenbaker who had wandered over to observe the action.

"It seems simple enough, " Bob Fraser concluded. "Get Benton on the floor first, on a nice sheet or something, change him into some dry gear and then shift him into the bedding. Honestly, Yank, what do they teach you in that police school of yours?"

"Okay, okay, I got it. Whew, tough day, you know." Ray shrugged at Dief. The detective plucked a mostly clean sheet from his reserve pile and spread it out away from the damp floorboards around the cot. "Okay, big guy, it’s your turn." Ray stopped and frowned. The Mountie was a big guy. While only slightly taller than Ray, Fraser was much bulkier and as dead weight would be quite an armful to try lowering to the ground. The detective had to be careful, too, not to jar the incision area. "Damn. No more french fries for you," Ray decided.

There was no way Ray could just pick Fraser up so he shifted the Mountie’s legs off the cot as far as possible and then grasping him under the arms, Ray lifted his friend’s upper torso up and over the edge of the bed which tipped over in the process. It required a little bit of dragging, but Ray was finally able to lay Ben down on the sheet. "No more oatmeal either. Just rabbit food," Ray grunted.

Fraser’s right hand clenched and he moaned weakly, but he didn’t seem to be waking up. "I know, buddy, it’s been awful, but you’re going to be all right now." Ray smoothed Fraser’s hair back from his forehead. "Yep, you’re going to be all right."

The detective found a clean pair of sweats and socks in the Mountie’s gear and prepared to make the big switch. Ray couldn’t suppress a weary smile. Fraser would, no doubt, be horrified, but Ray was not about to try wrangling his friend into those goofy RCMP issue under shorts. ‘Take a walk on the wild side, Fraser, old buddy.’

Getting the stained, wet stuff off was relatively easy. ‘Oops, gotta clean you up a bit.’ Ray stumbled to his feet and collected a clean sock and a pan of warm water. Kneeling once more beside Fraser, Ray used soft, easy strokes to rub away the bloody traces staining the Mountie’s pale skin. Ray couldn’t help but feel a little bit awkward as he touched his friend in this semi-intimate way. ‘Oh, what the hell, I am the doctor after all,’ the detective thought defensively. At last, Fraser was decked out in clean, dry pants and some fresh socks.

Finally, with a combination of hitching and dragging, Fraser was settled into the bed that Ray had put together for him. It was over. As Ray pulled the blanket up over the bandaged area and tucked it up under Fraser’s chin, the enormity of the morning’s events and his own roiling emotions blindsided the exhausted detective. He sat back on his butt and pulled his legs in tight to his body. "Oh, Fraser," Ray managed to choke out before the tears started again in earnest. If he had the strength and if it had mattered, he would have argued that there was no shame in crying for a friend. He wrapped his arms around his legs and putting his head on his knees, Ray just let the tears cleanse his soul.

Bob Fraser blinked rapidly to clear his own watery eyes. "Americans are such an emotional people. No wonder they keep Benton so busy with their problems. All that passion flying around." Bob snorted.

The senior Fraser drifted over to the window and surveyed the scene outside. "Still, Benton’s lucky to have a good friend and partner like the Yank." Bob thought back to his own days in harness with Buck Frobisher and lost himself in the memories of those good, old times. Some time later, Bob was startled out of his reverie by a strange noise behind him. ‘Benton!’ Fraser Sr. turned to rush to his son’s side, but instead, stopped and stared at the tableau in front of him. His son was still flat on his back in the clutter of blankets and sleeping bags that served as his bed, but now the American was curled up on his side beside Benton. Ray was sound asleep, lying on the bare floor, clutching Benton’s hand to his chest. Diefenbaker was wedged between the two men in a guard position. "Poor Yank’s exhausted," Bob clucked with affection. He understood the noise he had heard earlier was in fact the American’s ragged snoring. "Yes, Benton, a good friend is like a good horse and will carry you through all manner of troubles."

Ray wasn’t sure what woke him up. He didn’t remember falling asleep so he was more than a little disoriented when he opened his eyes. He found himself staring at Fraser’s gaunt, ashen profile and for a heart-stopping moment, Ray thought it was the Mountie’s corpse lying next to him. "Fras....," the detective choked in distress. Ray realized slowly that he was holding his friend’s hand in a death grip and that Fraser was feebly trying to pull away from the crushing hold. Ray almost collapsed with relief. ‘Fraser’s alive! He’s okay.’

Loosening his grasp, but continuing to hold Fraser’s hand, the detective scrambled to his knees to check his friend’s condition. Ray’s mouth went dry as he took in Ben’s appearance. ‘Shit, okay may be a relative term here.’ In truth, the Mountie looked worse than before the operating ordeal. A heavy sheen of perspiration covered his face and bared upper torso. If possible, he looked even more ghost-like than he had when Ray first found him. The blanket that had been so carefully tucked around Fraser was lying in a sodden pile across his thighs. Evidently, it had been Fraser’s fevered thrashing that jolted Ray back into wakefulness.

"Oh, buddy, this was supposed to help you. You’re supposed to be getting better now." Disappointment and fear lay heavy in Ray’s voice. He forced himself to let go of the Mountie’s hand. Pushing himself to his feet, Ray moved stiffly into the kitchen area. ‘Sleeping on a cold, hard floor was not a good thing,’ he muttered as he stretched and twisted to relieve his tight muscles. He ran some fresh water in a pot and scrounged up another clean tee shirt.

Kneeling once again beside his friend, Ray used the cool, wet shirt to sponge the sweat off Fraser’s body. "Really, you’re going to be all right. I mean, you just went through a kinda major operation and everybody feels pretty bad right after something like that and I guess you need a little more time to get kinda back together. Yeah, you gotta figure, no one just like gets up and starts doing a jig after something like this." Ray kept a constant line of patter directed at his patient.

As the detective moved the freshly dampened cloth around Ben’s mouth, the Mountie suddenly gasped and opened his eyes. "Whoa, hey, you startled me, buddy. Welcome back," Ray beamed. He leaned over to move into Fraser’s range of vision. "What can I get ya?" Fraser just stared. His normally bright blue eyes looked dull and unfocused. Ray nudged the pale cheek, "Fraser? You with me, buddy?" With a soft moan, Ben’s eyes closed and his head sagged away from Ray’s touch. Panicked, the detective used two fingers to probe the Mountie’s neck for a carotid pulse. ‘Come on, come on, where is it? Come on, Fraser, where....uh, wait, I got it! It’s there! Fraser, don’t be doing things like that. You just scared the liver outta me.’ Ray sat back on his heels and focused on taking long, even breaths.

"It’s okay, Yank. A little set-back after surgery is to be expected. Benton is tough. He’ll come through this just fine. It’s in his nature to persevere." Bob Fraser’s confident smile wavered only a little bit. "You’ll see. Benton will be fine."

‘This is normal. This is to be expected. He’s really gonna be okay.’ Ray rotated his shoulders to relieve the cramping in his upper body and looked around for the cloth he had dropped in his panic. Rewetting it, he tenderly bathed Fraser’s hot skin. "You’re gonna be all right, buddy. I’m gonna take good care of you. You just rest and get better. Dr. Ray will take care of everything else." Beside him, Diefenbaker gave a soft woof of approval. Behind him, Fraser Sr. nodded in agreement.

"There, that should feel better." Ray tossed the damp tee shirt into the pot of water and grabbed a dry blanket. "I know you’re real hot right now, but we can’t risk you getting chilled," he said. He tucked in the blanket edges to cocoon Fraser in its protective warmth. ‘G-d, he looks so awful. He doesn’t even look like Fraser,’ Ray thought with a pang. Once again, he wanted to lash out at someone or something. His hands fisted in anger. The Mountie groaned, moving fitfully, trying to push away the covering. Immediately, Ray relaxed his hand and rested it on the side of the Fraser’s face. With a low moan, Fraser pressed his cheek into the detective’s palm and quieted. "Oh, buddy, I’m here, I’m here."

No way was Ray going to move and break the precious contact. He was absurdly pleased his touch could bring Fraser that little bit of comfort, but after a few minutes, the Mountie gasped and flopped his head to the other side. In obvious pain, he struggled against the confining blanket, his mouth twisting with soundless cries. Hovering anxiously, Ray resettled his hand on Ben’s face and with a slight sigh, Fraser became still once more. Ray let out the breath, he didn’t know he was holding.

A tiny shift change in his position made Ray realize he couldn’t feel his legs from his knees down. He didn’t know exactly how long he had been kneeling, but he did know he had to get up before his legs turned to cement under him. Even then, he waited, ignoring the prickly discomfort until he was sure Fraser was resting as comfortably as possible. Getting up was no easy chore and at one heart-stopping juncture, Ray almost toppled over onto his patient. "Whoa, I’m as graceful as Frankenstein in his first ballet class," he muttered as he lurched towards the kitchen.

"Hey, Dief....,"Ray stopped. He was about to inform the wolf that growling for food was rude, when it registered that it was his own stomach making the racket. How could he possibly eat? All he could think about was Fraser. Besides, Ray’s stomach felt too tight and hard from tension to accept any food. ‘I guess I should grab something.’ He halfheartedly pulled open a few cupboards and poked through the foodstuffs stashed around the kitchen.

"You need to eat, Yank. How can you take care of Benton, if you don’t take care of yourself? There’s a lot of truth to the saying, armies run on their stomachs. It’s important that you stay strong." Bob Fraser urged from behind Ray’s left shoulder.

"Yeah, okay, I won’t be doing Fraser any good if I keel over. I need to keep my energy revved up and that means fuel. But, no more oatmeal," the detective vowed.

"You’re really spoiled, you know," Ray scolded as he handed Diefenbaker a wolf-sized chunk of ham. "I wouldn’t be doing this except yer probably depressed about Fraser. And don’t think doing that pitiful, doggie-eyed thing is going to work next time either. I know yer just scamming. Okay, okay, stop yer whining, here’s another piece. Sheesh." Ray washed his hands and finished building himself a good sized ham and cheese sandwich. Hunching protectively over it to, literally, keep the wolf at bay, he carried it back to Fraser’s bedside. "Forget it, Dief, this is mine."

One look at his friend, though, and Ray lost what little appetite he had. He felt guilty for doing something as normal as eating while Fraser lay lost in unthinkable pain. ‘It’s fuel,’ Ray reminded himself. ‘It’s fuel. Strength. Fraser needs me.’ Even so, he could only manage to choke down about half of the sandwich. "Here, Dief, you win. Yowza, watch the fingers, they’re not part of the deal," Ray yipped. "So what about this "man’s best friend, loyal companion business"? Your appetite doesn’t seem to be affected by all this, " Ray said pointedly. The wolf turned a deaf ear and finished slurping up Ray’s offering. "Dogs, I’m telling ya....what a life."

Ray cleaned up his food mess and took the empty plate back to the kitchen. ‘I should go feed Malcolm’s dogs and let them run for a bit,’ he thought without enthusiasm, ‘but, damn, I don’t want to leave Fraser.’ He was torn. A little bark from Diefenbaker solved the problem. " Yeah, yeah....Dief, you stay with Fraser. You watch him, okay? I gotta go feed your furry friends. I’ll be back in a couple of shakes. Let me know if something happens. Okay?" Ray shook his head with amused disbelief. ‘Geez, I’m making deals with a dog.’

"It’s okay, Yank. I’ll keep an eye on things for you. Benton will be all right for a few minutes." Bob Fraser promised.

The detective practically threw the food at the dogs. Thankfully, the water level was fine and didn’t need replenishing for a while. Ray decided he would exercise the dogs later. He detoured long enough to collect an armload of wood to use in the evening. Dropping the firewood by the stove and grabbing some more bedding, Ray hurried back to Fraser’s side.

"Thanks, Dief." Ray knelt down and lightly squeezed Fraser’s shoulder through the blanket. "I’m back, buddy and I’m gonna be right here if you need anything. Right here." Ray fussed with the sleeping bag and pillow he had brought, arranging them so that he could keep his vigil in relative comfort. Once he was settled, Ray leaned reached over and put his hand over Fraser’s heart. Even through the covers, Ray was sure he could feel the Mountie’s heartbeat and that gave Ray a great sense of peace. He had the irrational fear that Fraser would just go poof and vanish if Ray wasn’t here to guard him. The detective half-smiled at his foolishness and leaned back against his pillow.

"Hey, Fraser, remember that case when....." Ray rehashed several of the more notable cases he and Fraser had tackled, adding colorful personal anecdotes to the accounts. At several points, Dief whined and cocked his head. "Yeah, okay so I’m stretching a little here. It’s what you call, ah, police license. Don’t be such a critic. Geez." Ray tried singing for a while, but judging from the wolf’s expression, it wasn’t being well received. "Now you’re a music critic. How? You’re supposedly deaf."

"Quite frankly, Yank, the wolf has a point. I don’t think you’re catching the right key here. Listen," Bob Fraser commanded as he started humming and then singing.

Ray was tired of hearing his own voice anyway. Rubbing a little circle on Fraser’s blanketed shoulder, the detective started imagining different scenarios of Fraser waking up. In all of them, Fraser woke up feeling one hundred percent better and was very impressed that Ray handled the operation and recovery so competently. The dialog changed somewhat in each version as Ray mentally fine-tuned his remarks, but the picture of Fraser healing so well and the idea that he was proud of Ray and his efforts, gave the detective a warm, fuzzy feeling. He was so wrapped up in his happy fantasies, that when Fraser woke up for real, it was shattering.

The Mountie suddenly arched up under Ray’s hand and with a hoarse, pain-filled cry, thrust the blanket away. Before Ray could react, Ben rolled away from him and doubled up, gasping and shaking violently. Each half-formed cry of hurt, stabbed at Ray like an icepick. The detective scrambled around to the other side of his friend and tried to comfort him through voice and touch.

"Fraser, easy, buddy. I’m right here. Easy." Ray frantically reached for Fraser and tried to hold onto him and give him reassuring pats, but the Mountie’s distress was too great. He thrashed, he shuddered, he groaned, he panted, he broke Ray’s heart.

Bob Fraser watched helplessly as the two men wrestled with Benton’s suffering. "It’ll be over soon, Son. The pain will pass. You’ll be all right, Son."

‘My G-d, what have I done to him?,’ Ray thought in despair. ‘I’ve made everything worse.’ As Ray touched the side of Fraser’s face, Ben turned his head and stared in confusion at his friend. The Mountie’s blue eyes, darkened with pain, begged Ray for help. "Oh, Frase...," the detective managed to get out before his throat closed to the point where only the tiniest amount of air could get in and out. Ray coughed and tried to speak again, but breathing seemed more important. ‘Come on, just suck it up and help him!’

Slipping back behind Fraser, Ray wrapped his arms around his partner and gently held him as Ben shivered and moaned in anguish. Ray could never have said how long he cradled Fraser’s tormented body. When the Mountie’s exhaustion finally gave way to total unconsciousness, Ray felt the change instantly. Fraser seemed to just dissolve within Ray’s arms. For one chilling instant, a savage fear knifed through the detective’s heart. ‘No!! You can’t die. Don’t leave me, buddy. Oh, man, hang on, Fraser.’ A dark panic pinballed through Ray’s head. In his moment of denial, Ray hugged Ben tighter. It was Fraser’s weak groan that brought his friend back to reality.

"OhshitI’msorryI’msorryIdidn’tmeanto......," Ray’s jumbled words trailed off.

‘I just keep on hurting him. He’ll be lucky if he survives me,’ he thought morosely, as he tried to rearrange his partner’s limp form into a more comfortable position. Ray shook his head in disgust. Shifting his weight slightly, he settled Fraser’s head high against his chest. Ray bent his own head and rested his cheek against Ben’s thick hair. "I’m just gonna hold you for a while, buddy. Uh, not too tight, I promise. Just to kinda let you know you’re safe and that I’m here. You can relax and get better."

In truth, the detective needed the physical connection himself. By holding Ben this way, Ray was convinced he could fight off whatever form of death appeared. He would fight hard and pull Fraser away from that gaping abyss. Ray would keep his friend safe, as promised. The detective closed his eyes seeing the victory clearly as it unreeled in flashing scenes through his head. ‘This is a fight I won’t lose,’ Ray vowed with a yawn.

"That’s good, Yank. That’s good." Bob Fraser smiled and swiped a rough knuckle across his watery eyes. "Uh, think I’ll go check the dogs or something," he mumbled and turned on his heels.