When All is Said and Done I had mixed emotions about there being a new Ray Vecchio after David Marciano left the series. "No one could be as good as the original," I thought. Thank goodness I was wrong. While not the Vecchio we all came to know and love on DS, Callum Keith Rennie, or, as he is known on the show, Stanley Raymond Kowalski, is just as adorable and witty. He quickly became my favorite character. Now, I've wanted some sparks to fly between him and Francesca Vecchio for some time now, and this is my forum to let that happen. I hope you enjoy it! I'd rate it PG, for some bad language and descriptions of violence. But if you like the idea of Francesca/Kowalski angst, this is the story for you. Oh, and just so you know, this story takes place after CotW, but none of the stuff that took place in the last scene (Huey and Dewey opening a comedy joint, Turnbull and the bus, Francesca and the Immaculate Conceptions, etc) happened. Actually, no, Vecchio DID marry Stella. Kowalski has stayed on to replace Vecchio, who has moved to FLA with Stella. Disclaimer: None of the characters who appear in this story belong to me (Like you needed me to tell you that!), with the exception of the bad guys. The rest all belong to Due South and Alliance productions, so please don't sue me, as all I have in my bank account must go to paying my enormous college phone bill! When All is Said and Done by Compass Francesca sat worriedly by the phone in the squadroom. She was not alone; the entire room seemed to be filled with an unutterable tension. They were waiting for something- anything- that would tell them where he was. The phone rang- a harsh jangle in the angst-ridden squadroom. Without a thought, Francesca dived for the receiver. "Squadroom," she answered, trying to keep the worry out of her voice. "Want to know where to find your little lost puppy?" a husky voice intoned. Francesca snapped her fingers wildly at the enthralled squadroom to let them know it was the kidnappers. "I don't know what you're talking about." She saw Benton pick up another phone, as intent on the conversation as she was. A dry chuckle echoed over the line, "Why, of course you do, dear. Don't try to play coy games with me, or I might not tell you where we left the scum." The officer by the wiretap made a "keep going" motion with his hands, and she stuttered on. "O-Ok, then let's be straightforward. Where's Detective Kowalski?" "The same place I am." "And where is that?" She didn't really expect a clear answer, and she was not disappointed. "You think I'd tell? No, I think I'll let your little sniffers figure that one out. They are on the trail, aren't they?" Francesca shared a worried look with Fraser, then glanced at the wiretap. "Yeah," she replied, "yeah, they're on the trail." "Ha!" the kidnapper chuckled. "I can almost smell those bloodhounds sniffing now. Let's hope they get here in time." His voice went as cold as a Chicago winter. "Their puppy won't hold on much longer, I'm afraid." Francesca felt a flood of anger pour through her. "You piece of scum-sucking swine, you'd better not have hurt him, or I swear I'll claw you're damn eyes out, and enjoy every second of it." Another laugh from the other end of the line, "And what's this? Has the pup's bitch come to save him? What a shame she wasn't there when we got him. It might have been interesting to see how he would have responded to seeing her beaten over and over." Francesca swallowed quickly, forcing down the bile that had suddenly risen in her throat. "Of course we hurt him, you stupid bitch. We're kidnappers. We don't take people to give them chocolates and water beds. We kidnap them to make their life a living hell." There was a pause. Then, with smug satisfaction, "And I think we did a bang-up job this time." *Click* Dial tone. Francesca stood for a long time, the receiver forgotten and humming against her ear. Finally, Benton came over and took the phone gently from her fingers, resetting it in it's cradle. She looked up into his kind face, and couldn't keep the tears from coming. "They hurt him," was all she could say. He nodded sympathetically, "I know." Without a word, she collapsed in tears against the red serge of his uniform, unable to think, unable to talk, just sobbing uncontrollably. It was only in the distance that she heard the wiretap guy say, "We got the trace." And even further away than that, Lt. Welsh saying, "Let's go get our man." ******* It was a hell hole, and that was putting it mildly. A dank, musty warehouse, with boarded up windows and the overwhelming smell of decay. Pigeons had long since forsworn it as a roost, and it lay abandoned, except for the flood of squadcars that surrounded it. Francesca stepped out of the squadcar timidly, afraid to see the building. It had been difficult, to say the least, to convince Welsh to let her come, but he had eventually given in, more from the look in her eyes than the force of her words. As she shaded her eyes against the bright summer sun, she felt another wave of guilt wash over her. This had all been her fault. She could never forgive herself for that. "Francesca?" She looked up, pulled from her trance. Fraser stood next to her, concern lining his face. "Francesca," he repeated, "are you all right?" She smiled, wan and worried. "Yes, Benton, I'm OK." Turning away, she let another tear run down her cheek. "Just remembering, that's all." And with that, she remembered. ***** THREE DAYS EARLIER - 8 pm Outside the CPD "So, Frannie, what do you say? You wanna bite to eat?" Francesca looked up from where she was busily searching her purse for car keys to see Ray Kowalski leaning against his own black GTO. She smiled indulgently. "Maybe in another life, Kowalski. I'm afraid this one's all booked." She went back to burrowing through her pocketbook. *Jangle* She looked up at the sound of keys clinking against one another. Of course. She should have known. There he stood, blue eyes twinkling, holding her car keys in his right hand. "Looking for these?" He asked, innocent as a newborn babe. With an indignant toss of her head, she reached out and snatched them from his grasp before he could pull his hand away. "And where did you get these, Mr. Smarty?" She didn't bother hiding her anger; it helped hide her embarrassment. He laughed, charming, carefree. "I'm a detective, Frannie. It's my job to find things for people. And the way that desk of your's is littered, I didn't think you'd be able to see them without a little help." He smiled impishly. "Well, if you think stealing my car keys off my desk and then presenting them to me is going to make me go out on a date with you, you've got another thing coming." She jabbed the key in the lock, twisted it, and felt the tumblers roll out of place. "I believe it's 'you've got another THINK coming." "Thing, think, who cares, same thing." With a gliding motion she opened the door and started to step in. He took her gently by the arm. She was about to give him a piece of her mind about that, but then she saw the look in his blue eyes; lonely, sad eyes. The light cast by the streetlamps threw planes of shadow over his handsome face, making him look purely pitiful, yet thoroughly desirable. She shook that thought off as soon as it even crossed her mind. "Come on, Frannie. You won't even join a guy for a couple of sandwiches down at the corner store?" *He must get lonely in that apartment all by himself,* she thought. She often forgot that living on one's own was not all fun and games; she'd lived with her own family forever it seemed. And looking into his clear blue eyes right then, she would have gone with him. If only her pride hadn't gotten in the way. "Well, no, not tonight," she answered his question. "You can't expect me to go out to dinner with a man who stole my car keys off my desk, leaving me stranded here in the middle of Chicago?" "Come on, Frannie, you know I'd never do that." He was right; she knew he wouldn't. "Well..." She made a big show of thinking about his offer. "Maybe some other time," she finally relinquished, sliding the rest of the way into the car, "if you promise to be unbelievably nice to me." Kowalski leaned over and peered through the open door. "Have I ever been anything else?" He grinned. She pretended not to hear that as she pulled the door closed, squeezing him out of the way. Rolling the window down with one hand, she started the engine with the other. "It's a date then," she told him, shifting the vehicle into reverse and looking back over her shoulder as the car rolled backwards. "I'll be waiting!" she heard him call after her. She looked one last time at Kowalski in her rearview mirror, standing beside his black GTO, doing his best impression of Steve McQueen. The lamplight streaming over him made him almost seem to glow. Giggling, she drove off, leaving him alone in the quiet parking lot. He never had a chance. ******* "There was nothing you could have done." Francesca looked up from her tearful remembrances to see Fraser still standing beside her. "What?" "Even if you had gone to dinner with him, they would have gotten him in the end." Fraser was the only person, besides her mother, whom she had told about her guilt. "All you can do is try to help him now, like the rest of us." Francesca felt tears burning in her throat, ready to join the ones slipping down her cheeks. "But they might have waited; he might have been safe one more night...." Fraser looked at her firmly, but kindly. "No, Francesca. You can't keep blaming yourself." He reached out and gently touched her arm. There was a time when that touch would have excited her senses like none other; but now, she felt nothing but cold regret. "You heard the kidnapper. If you had stayed, they would have taken you, too, and then what would we have done? Two friends missing, and no clue as to where they were." He must have seen that his arguments, good as they were, were not alleviating her guilt. "Francesca," he said softly, "listen to me. I don't blame you, the other officers don't blame you....," he tilted her face up so she would meet his gaze, "and Ray doesn't blame you. You have to stop blaming yourself." She knew he was right, yet there was a part of her that couldn't let go of the ice that still lingered in her belly, where her guilt still gnawed. Before she could tell him, though, Welsh came over, huffing a little from the jog. "We're going in," he informed the Mountie. "Right. Thank you kindly." Before he left, though, Fraser turned to Francesca and repeated, "Forgive yourself, Francesca. Remember that." With that, and a fond smile, he jogged off to join the rest of the officers as they stormed the building. The Lieutenant started after him, but Francesca grabbed his arm. "Sir," she began, remembering to be properly contrite, "let me go in with you." He looked at her like she was nuts. "Francesca," he gruffed, "this could be very dangerous. I was crazy to bring you in the first place- I do not want to have the worry of your safety hanging over me in conjunction with everything else that's going on." She would not take her eyes off his. "Francesca, we don't know what we'll find in there," he continued, but she could tell he was starting to falter. "It might not be pretty." "I don't care." "We need someone to stay out here." He was really grabbing at straws now. "To use the radio and such if we need to call for back-up." She shook her head. "No, Sir, I will not stay out here. I'm going in whether you like it or not, so fire me if you have to, but make it quick." She stared him down, eyes flashing. The Lieutenant rolled his own eyes to the sky. "Oh, all right, come on. But don't you BUDGE from my side, understand?" She nodded. "OK. Let's go." With that, they trotted up to join the rest of the officers as they entered the building. ****** 3 DAYS EARLIER Squadroom- 8am The second she walked through the door, Francesca could feel the tension in the air. Everyone seemed to be walking on a wire, keeping themselves busy. She walked to her desk, not knowing who to ask about the worry pervading the air, when she heard Welsh call out her name. "Francesca!" She turned as he walked over to her. "What's up with everybody?" she asked as he reached her. Of everyone, the Lieutenant looked most haggard. "They all look like they lost their best friend." "They did." He didn't bother to explain, simply handed her a note and waited. Confused, Francesca looked down at the piece of paper. She immediately recognized it as the kind used by kidnappers in Hollywood movies, with letters and words cut out of color supplements and newspapers. But the novelty quickly wore off, and a chill ran through her as she read its contents. It said: Dear members of the CPD, So sorry that we had to deprive you of the company of your dear friend, Det. Ray Kowalski. Certain members of our establishment have issues they would like to talk with him about that should not be avenged, or rather, discussed, in the present company. So, please feel free to worry VERY, VERY much about his welfare, and be assured that when he is returned to you, he will be thoroughly remorseful and repentant, and possibly even dead. The Riddell Gang When she looked up, she could feel the look of horror that was plastered across her face. "When did it happen?" Shock coated her vocal cords, making it hard to speak. The Lieutenant shook his head, "All I know is that when I came to work this morning, Ray's car was in the parking lot, and this note was under the windshield wiper." Francesca felt a lump of fear lodge in her throat. "His car was still in the parking lot....? But, I left him there just last night, right beside his car. He was about to go home...." The thought was too horrible, but she couldn't keep it down. "They got him right after I left him," she murmured. Welsh looked at her piercingly. "When was that, Francesca?" "About eight o'clock." She could hardly speak, and she couldn't bear to meet his gaze. His voice had softenend when he spoke to her again. "That's good, Francesca. Now we have a general idea of when he was taken. We might be able to find witnesses." When she didn't respond, he reached out a hand and laid it comfortingly on her arm. "We're going to find him, Francesca, don't worry." She nodded stiffly, still unable to meet his eyes. "Who're the Riddell Gang?" Welsh shrugged. "Some drug ring that's been trying to make a name for itself in Chicago. Apparently Ray put their boss in jail shortly before he came here to take over your brother's position. They must have taken it personally." The last sentence was said in a voice hollow with worry. Francesca nodded, grim acceptance. "What can I do to help?" she needed something to keep her occupied, keep the guilt in check. "Just stay by the phones and wait for a call." At Francesca's desperate look, all Welsh could do was shake his head. "That's really all any of us can do now, Francesca. Sit, wait, and hope they call." With a defeated sigh, he walked away. Francesca sat down at her desk, disbelief slowly giving way to fear, then to grief. Softly at first, then harder, until she couldn't see for the flood, she began to sob. All my fault, she thought. All my fault.... *********** The interior of the warehouse was dank and musty, adorned with rusty steel girders and tall cement support beams that stretched from floor to ceiling. Francesca shivered at the wave of chilly air that washed over her as she entered the old building beside Welsh, following the other officers. Dim sunlight filtered through high, boarded windows, showing every particle of dust that floated in the murky air.          It was huddled in one of these pale rays that she found Kowalski.          He was shackled by the wrists to one of the tall support beams, attached by two long chains to a steel hoop embedded in the cement. The dim light played over him, shirtless and shivering, and threw his features into sharp relief, planes of light and shadow. Francesca had a sudden clear image of him standing beneath a streetlamp, with the orange glow illuminating his face, and she felt tears spring to her eyes.          She had ignored Welsh's mandate to stay by his side, and had wandered off on her own. Instinctively, she had headed for this spot, on the far side of the building, and had found Kowalski chained here, out of sight from the main entrance. Now, all she could do was stare at him, and fight the tears.          Finally, she forced her voice to move past the lump in her throat. "He's over here!" she called, hoping to draw the others to her.          She heard Fraser reply, "Where are you, Francesca?"          A tall bank of empty oil drums stood beside her. "I'm behind the metal barrels!" In the distance, she could hear the sound of thumping feet as the others converged on her position. That accomplished, she turned her attention back to Stan.          He did not seem to notice she was there, but pressed close against the cement pillar. Francesca moved forward slowly, partly not wanting to surprise him, but also out of fear of what she might see. "Ray?" she murmured. "Ray, talk to me. Let me know you're alive over there." No response.          Francesca's heart sank as she knelt down beside him. A long gash ran down his cheek, from temple to jaw line. He had one black eye, which had swollen shut, and the other was closed in pain. She could tell from the way he cradled his left arm that it must be broken, along with several ribs, if the bruises on his torso were any indication. Francesca winced as she looked at the big purple blotches, some administered so forcefully that the outline of the instruments used were apparent: a wrench, a chain, a pair of brass knuckles. The tears were coursing down Francesca's cheeks now, and she didn't even notice them. All she saw was blood, pain, and fear. "Oh, Ray," she whispered, "what have they done to you?"          "Come here, Francesca." She whirled around at the sound of Fraser's voice. Her guilt had consumed her so much that she had not even heard the others arrive. "Come here," Fraser repeated, softly. "Let the EMT's through." For the first time, Francesca noticed the men with a stretcher who stood nearby, ready to spirit Ray off to some hospital. She stood obediently, and crossed to where Fraser stood, letting the EMT's pass her.          "You'll need to unchain him first," she murmured so that Fraser could hear her.          "We know," he said comfortingly          "They chained him." She wasn't addressing anyone now, but was simply lost in her own grief, and Fraser did not interrupt her. "Why did they chain him? Like an animal. Did they have to treat him like an animal? Did it make them happy?" The tears were coursing, unnoticed, down her cheeks now, and she didn't bother trying to fight them. She watched as Kowalski was unchained-they had to hacksaw through the links, leaving the shackles around his wrist-then was loaded onto the stretcher and wheeled away. She took a step to follow the retreating party, and Fraser took her arm. "No, Francesca. You'll just hurt yourself more." His blue-green eyes were full of concern, and Francesca was touched. But this was something she had to do. "I have to, Fraser," was all she said, and he must have seen something in her eyes, because with only a brief pause, he released her. She ran past the slow moving hoardes of police, all deep in shock and worry, and reached the ambulance just as they were closing the doors. "Wait!" she called. "Wait! I'm coming too!" A tall EMT held the door for her, and she climbed into the back of the white van. A few seconds later they were flying down the road, siren blaring. Ray looked so pale, it made Francesca's heart ache. She reached out and gently took his hand in hers, trying not to get in the way of the EMT's who were checking his pulse, binding his wounds, and generally making sure he was still alive. "Ray," she whispered, "I'm right here. I'm not going to leave you this time. I'm with you." She squeezed gently. It could have been her imagination, but she was almost positive that he squeezed back. ****** The doctors spent a great deal of time binding Kowalski's wounds once they arrived at the hospital, and in the intervening time, the others poured into the waiting room- Fraser, Welsh, Huey and Dewey. Thatcher was even there. No one spoke; they didn't want to hear the answers to their questions. When they were finally allowed to see him, Kowalski looked even more pale than before, partly from the awful hospital lights, but also from the sickly white bandages that circled his head, arm, and rib cage. "How is he, Doctor?" Fraser sounded worried, which immediately put Francesca on her guard. The doctor shook his head. "Well, he seems to be out of immediate danger. He's suffering from mild dehydration, and numerous fractures and abrasions, some serious. He should recover, physically, but I don't know what the effect will be on his emotional health. He might be depressive or overly aggressive. It's in the air now." With that and another sad shake of the head, the doctor left. And the waiting began. They took it in shifts to sit by his bedside. Francesca, however, never left the hospital. Days passed with no signs of Kowalski waking up, but she still never left. Fraser was kind enough to bring her some fresh clothes from home, and she left once to take a shower in a nearby gym. But she couldn't bear to be away from him should he need her. Which was why she was so glad when he woke up with her beside his bed. It was a slow process. First, just a bare flickering of the eyelashes. Then came a low groan, followed by his eyes opening ever so slowly. Francesca was at his bedside immediately. "Ray? Ray? Doctor, doctor, he's waking up!" she called over her shoulder at the door. "Ray, you're in the hospital. It's Frannie. Remember me? Frannie?" The doctor came rushing into the room, followed by a bevy of nurses. They fussed over him for quite some time before establishing that he had not lost his memory or sight or any other number of things that could have happened. Frannie took that time to give the station a call and tell them the good news. When she returned, the nurses had left, but the doctor remained, talking softly to his patient. Frannie overheard the tail end of the conversation. "If you need anything," the doctor was saying, "push that button," he gestured to a large red button on the side of the bed, "and a nurse or I will come to you. Understand?" Ray feeble nodded his head, and winced at the pain this obviously caused. The doctor, satisfied, turned and began to leave, but motioned infinitesimally for Francesca to follow him into the hall. "He's going to need your undivided attention over the next several days," he told her. "There will be nightmares, and cold sweats, and panic attacks, and he will need someone there to give him an unconditional ear and shoulder. Can you do that." Frannie nodded, her body numb from the pressure of her own guilt. "Good," the doctor replied. He must have seen her fear, because he smiled comfortingly. "It's all right, Ms. Vecchio. Your brother will pull through this. I have all confidence in that. We just have to help him." He patted her arm gently, then left. Francesca walked back into the room slowly, not wanting to disturb Kowalski if he were sleeping. But she saw that he was not asleep, simply lying back and staring up at the ceiling. "Ray?" she whispered softly, and she saw him flinch away from her voice. *He's afraid of you* The thought nearly sent Frannie over the edge, as she felt tears mist over her eyes. "Ray, it's me, Frannie." She moved closer, slowly, picking her way ever so carefully through the room until she reached his bedside. His eyes were closed, but she could tell he was trying not to cry. His IV swung slightly from the tension in his arms as he squeezed his fists in an effort to keep control. Her heart ached for him. "It's okay, Ray," she murmured, keeping her voice as soothing as possible. "No one's going to hurt you anymore, OK? No one's going to hurt you. I won't let them." She couldn't resist the urge to reach out and stroke his cheek. He tensed up and his eyes flew open. Frannie almost pulled her hand away, scared that she might have damaged his fragile psyche even more, but suddenly Kowalski's hand had enveloped her's and was pressing it even tighter against his cheek. She could feel the tremors moving through his body, shivers of unreleased sobs. Without another thought, she sat beside him on the bed and gathered him into her arms, her fingers never leaving his cheek. She rubbed his back, and whispered to him soothingly. Kowalski buried his face in the area where her shoulder met her neck, and she could feel his tears start to flow. Soon, his entire body was racked with sobs as he clung tighter to her. She held him tight, disregarding his bruises and broken ribs. He needed to know she was there, and this was how she told him. Not a word was spoken for the rest of the night. ***** Many evenings passed like that, as Kowalski's body slowly healed, along with a slower psyche. But Frannie never left his side. Somehow, being there for him, caring for him, letting the emotion she felt for him flow through her touch into his body, was assuaging her own guilt. She felt it slip away, bit by bit, each time she embraced him, each time she whispered that it would be all right, that she would protect him. Helping him was saving her. When he was allowed out of the hospital, Frannie refused to let him out of her sight. She took him back to the Vecchio home, set him up in her brother's room, and cared for him night and day. "Dearest, you must sleep too," her mother would chide gently. Francesca would just shake her head and watch over her sleeping charge. He looked so angelic when he slept. "No, Ma. I'll sleep later. I just want to watch him a little longer." Ma would shake her head, turn and leave the two of them alone together. And the relationship began to form. ******** It was slow at first. Just a hand lingering a little longer than necessary against a cheek. Or a gaze that was broken a little later than normal. But before long, everyone but the two participants could see it. Ma Vecchio beamed with pleasure at the thought of her youngest ending up with the nice young man who had once filled in for her own son, with no regard for his own safety. She had come to quite like him since his stay with them began, and she could think of nothing better than having him as a son-in-law. Welsh and the others at the station were glad to see it happening because they hoped it would keep the two from bickering quite so much. Fraser was happy because two of his best friends were happy. And because Francesca no longer gazed at him dreamily from across the room. Thatcher liked it because Frannie no longer gazed at Fraser dreamily from across the room. Turnbull didn't even notice, but, that was typical for Turnbull. ******* "You know, Frannie," Ray was saying one day, as he and Francesca took their daily walk down the street, "I think something's going on here that we aren't aware of." Francesca looked up at him. "What do you mean?" She had her arm around his waist, and he had his about her shoulders. It had been for support once, but now it was from habit. He shook his head. "I don't know, but I feel something. It's weird. Kind of funky, you know?" He was obviously struggling for the right words. Francesca thought she knew what he was talking about. "Yeah. Sort of detached, like nothing else in the world matters." "Yeah, I haven't felt like this in a long time. Not since Stel-..." He cut himself off as the realization hit them both. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?" Francesca was quite dumbfounded with disbelief. It couldn't be. Could it? They paused beside a broken down stone wall, and Ray turned to look Francesca full in the face. "You know what I think, Frannie." She gazed up at him, and her eyes were glowing with suppressed joy. "Yes, Ray. I think I do." Perhaps it could happen after all. His grin was immediate. "Let's see. Typically you date for a while before this type of thing, but since we've spent so much time together over the past month or so, why don't we just skip that part?" She arched an eyebrow, while at the same time grinning deviously. "And what are you proposing, Kowalski." He glanced away as though thinking, then looked back at her. "Well, marriage, I guess. What do you say?" Her heart leapt. "Is that all?" What am I saying? "Not very romantic, skinny boy." Now it was time for Kowalski's eyebrows to raise. "Oh, so you want romantic, huh? No problem, I can do that." Slowly, with more grace than she'd seen him use in the time since his beating, he went to one knee before her. Frannie felt her heart racing as he took her hand between his and spoke. "Frannie," he intoned, his voice unburdened by the fear and pain that had been there for so long, "I remember when I first woke up after the beatings, and I felt so alone. I didn't think anyone cared, and that was why I was alone. But then I heard a voice. I thought it was an angel, come to take me away, but then I felt warm, human fingers touch my cheek. I opened my eyes, and saw you. Do you know I've never seen anything more beautiful than you? I couldn't breathe, I was so taken. And then you were holding me, and talking to me, and I knew I wasn't alone. Through all the nightmares, all the fear, you've always been there. I fell in love with you that first night in the hospital, Frannie. I never thought I'd love another woman after Stella, but now I know I was wrong. So, Francesca Vecchio, will you please take me, Stanley Raymond Kowalski, to be your husband? I don't think I could ever repay you for what you've given me, but I will give you myself for all time." Frannie felt tears burning her eyes, and when she blinked, they coursed down her cheeks. It had been so beautiful, the most eloquent thing she had ever heard him say. *You've all ready payed me back* she thought, as she felt whatever vestiges of guilt that remained slide from her like water from a duck's back. Ray was still looking up expectantly. "Well?" Unable to speak, Frannie fell to her knees before him, wrapped her arms tightly about his neck, and sobbed for joy against him. "Yes, Kowalski, you big llama, of course I will!" His strong arms circled her waist, and held her tight, even as she felt his dry laughter against her neck. "What's so funny?" she demanded, even through her tears and their embrace. He laughed again. "It's 'lummox' not 'llama.' But hey, close enough." They both laughed then, until, for the first time, Kowalski took her face in his hands and tenderly kissed her. And kissed her. And kept kissing her. Frannie had never felt such bliss in her life. Not even with her first husband, the jerk. Holding him even tighter, she threw herself into the kiss with full force, and he accepted her without hesitation. I love him, she realized. And he loves me. Smiling against his lips, she let all other thought disappear. ********* The wedding was a grand affair. Ma Vecchio insisted on that. "My baby is not getting married in a barn," she insisted, and proceeded to make the most extravagant arrangements since time was invented. Fraser, naturally, acted as Kowalski's best man, and Elaine Besbriss was Francesca's Maid of Honor. To everyone's amusement, the person to catch the bouquet was Inspector Thatcher, and Ray and Francesca eyed each other knowingly. All Fraser had to say was, "Oh. Oh dear." But he was smiling. The reception was long, happy, and overwhelmingly full of good cheer. Almost no one was injured in the bobbing for fish game Fraser had brought along, and Huey only suffered one black eye while being assailed by Frannie's nieces and nephews who begged him to play with them. In the end, Kowalski and Frannie stepped into a certain black GTO that someone had decked out with soda cans and tissue paper. Before she left, Frannie gave her brother, who had come up from Florida especially for the occasion, a big hug. "What was that for?" Ray asked Frannie smiled. "For going undercover and bringing him into my life." She gave her sun-browned brother a quick peck on the cheek. "Thank you," she whispered, then scurried off to slide into the passenger seat beside Kowalski. "Shall we go, my lady?" her blonde-haired husband inquired, smiling warmly. Frannie felt her whole body melt under that gaze. "Forward march," she replied. Kowalski gunned the engine, gave her one more good long kiss, and pulled away from the curb, beneath a shower of rice and well-wishing. Frannie cuddled up close to her new husband, a happy grin on her face. This felt right. When all was said and done, everything that had transpired, from her brother's undercover work with the mob, to the beating by the Riddell Gang (who had, thankfully, been caught, thanks to Dief's nose, and incarcerated, thanks to Fraser's evidence gathering), had all worked out for the best. She gazed at the man she loved, until he finally pulled his eyes from the road to return her look. "What is it, Mrs. Kowalski?" Mrs. Kowalski. Mrs. Francesca Kowalski. Sounded good. "Nothing, Mr. Kowalski. Just thinking how lucky I am." He grinned slyly. "Think you're lucky now? Wait until we hit the hotel." She felt herself blush, but she couldn't resist sliding closer to him. "I can't wait." Resting her cheek against his shoulder, she watched the road stretch out before them. And a black GTO slipped into the twilight. THE END Well, what do you think? I didn't quite know where this story was going to lead me (it's been in the making for several weeks), but I think, all in all, that it came out to be exactly what I wanted it to be. It was a labor of love, really. And when you've got such great characters as Francesca and Kowalski to work with (portrayed by such great actors as Ramona Milano and Callum Keith Rennie), it's hard not to have fun. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Perhaps there will be more to come from this happy couple. Maybe even a Kowalski jr....