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Peaceable

by Dilanne Tomas

My first DS story (Much edited from the original, written Sept. - Oct. '99) E-mail: Dilanne@aol.com

RATING: PG 13 (what would DS be w/o PG?). Language and violence. STANDARD DISCLAIMER: Everything belongs to Alliance, but the fun was all mine (and it is all for fun -- no money). All original characters and situations are mine for what they're worth. Archive with permission, keep my (pen) name attached. CATEGORY: Drama, some hc
PAIRINGS: None
SPOILERS (small and large): Due South - The Pilot Movie, Chinatown, Victoria's Secret, Bird in the Hand, Juliet is Bleeding and One Good Man aka Thank You Kindly, Mr. Capra. SPECIAL THANKS: To my beta reader, Marilea Butler. Any remaining errors are mine, not hers -- sometimes I'm too stubborn to listen. Thanks to list sibs on DSFL and RSY for help and encouragement along the way. I would never have finished this without "the kindness of strangers," friends and a fabulous spouse. SYNOPSIS: Ray Vecchio is trying to help his best friend. What's wrong and why isn't Benny talking?

peaceable (adj.) 1. inclined or disposed to avoid strife or dissension.

2. (forget two)

Ray Vecchio walked down the depressing, dingy-green halls like a man caught in a bad dream. He felt that way, too. Chest tight, heart hammering, palms wet and throat dry. What he'd been told would be waiting in that holding cell was simply not possible.

This was where Fraser had first found him, over two years ago. Where he'd loudly asked for a "Detective Armani." Ray had felt ready to kill the Canadian jerk -- and the American jerks who'd let him inside in the first place. Now...

Now he drew up to the bars of the cell and forced his eyes to take in what they wanted to avoid. The battered, disheveled form of the man who had come to be his best friend in the world. The Canadian jerk who had become his brother. No other word could embrace what that man meant to him.

Oh, Benny, what's going on?

There were only three men in the cell, a very slow night by Chicago standards. One slept, snoring softly. The second sat on his cot staring at the opposite wall. The third -- the one who could not possibly be Benton Fraser -- sat huddled on the floor, knees to chest, head drooped forward, arms wrapped around his legs.

Ray cleared his throat. Still, he could only croak the name weakly when he tried.

"Benny."

Ray thought he saw the hands tighten and the legs draw in even tighter toward his body.

*Like he's trying to shrink into himself and disappear,* thought Ray.

He coughed and tried again. "Benny."

After several seconds of silence, except for the steady snores of the elderly inmate, a muffled voice came from the hunched figure.

"I'm sorry, Ray."

"Benny." He was finding his voice. It was a much harsher voice than usual. Both the dryness in his throat and the emotions flooding him caused a rasp and a huskiness. "What the hell is going on?"

"I'm sorry," Fraser repeated without lifting his head.

"Don't keep saying that. Tell me what's going on. Look at me, Benny!"

The silence became total as even the snoring stopped.

"Talk to me and look at me!" Ray could hear the fear in his own voice. It frightened him even more to sense himself losing control.

Slowly, reluctantly, Fraser's head came up from his knees. He couldn't force himself to turn toward Ray. But even without his friend's face turned to him, Ray could see the misery and the shame that had taken it over.

"Benny. I'm getting you out of there."

Now Fraser's head turned toward him without hesitation. "You can't, Ray. Don't put yourself at risk. Not this time." His own words shocked him, bringing back unwanted memories of Victoria and the harm she had done. The harm he had let her do. Not this time. Her words, but he meant them.

Ray stared darkly. Similar thoughts of bad times gone by filled his mind. No matter. He decided.

"We're going to talk. I'm taking you out to an interrogation room."

"Ray, it's not your case. It's not standard procedure." But Ray had already turned away and was heading back down the gloomy hall.

He muttered something about standard procedure. It was not in the least respectful.

Fifteen minutes later, Ray shut the door to Interrogation Room Two. The one without a two way mirror. He didn't want anyone observing this conversation.

Fraser sat at the table, hands folded in front of him, eyes focused on the scratches in the table top. The surface marks told of a long history of use by a wide variety of individuals. At this particular moment, though, Fraser really had no interest in the tales the scratches told. He merely needed to look at anything other than the face of his friend. How could he have let Ray down so? And himself, his father, his training, the force...the list went on and on. But it was Ray he couldn't bear to face right now.

"I'm sor-"

"Don't say it, Fraser. If you say, 'sorry,' one more time, I really think I'll lose it."

In the pause that followed, Ray half expected the precise Canadian to ask, "Lose what?" But nothing more came from Fraser, who continued his study of the table surface. For the moment, Ray didn't know what to say either.

He stood by the door watching the man who had blown a path through what used to be his fairly predictable life. In his quiet, tenacious way the Canadian had turned the loudmouthed Italian's life topsy turvy. And Ray'd gotten used to it. He didn't want anything to change it back to what it had been.

Benny was like the calm center of some crazy storm pattern. Maybe he brought some wild weather into Ray's life, but he couldn't imagine being without that calm, strong presence. It positively terrified him to see Fraser like this.

It wasn't the black eye, the split lip or the ripped, dirty civvies and mussed hair that alarmed Ray. Despite his frequent teasing about the Mountie's heightened state of pristine perfection, he'd seen him dirty and mussed before. Even bruised and more battered than he looked right now. It wasn't the physical mess that worried him.

When he and Officer Ruiz had first opened the door to the cell, Fraser had remained seated on the floor. At Ray's prompting, he'd gotten up and followed them out of the cell, but there was no initiative in his moves, no active cooperation. Fraser hadn't spoken, hadn't looked at either man. He'd allowed himself to be led to this room, but after that brief exchange with Ray earlier, he'd become passive and far too quiet.

The only thing he'd tried to say was that last, "I'm sorry." Ray regretted cutting him off; maybe if he'd let Fraser say it, more words would have followed. He doubted it, though, and he'd heard enough "sorries" for one night, maybe enough for the next six months.

Ray didn't doubt his friend's ability to recede so far into himself, into his shell, that the only way to get him out would be at the risk of breaking a lifetime's worth of defenses. The man was as stubborn as a Vecchio. If he had determined to pull in on himself, Ray would have to be careful. Forcing any shelled creature out unharmed was not the norm in this life.

The trouble was time.

"Benny. Tell me what's going on." Fraser didn't respond. As stubborn as Ma Vecchio.

"It's four o'clock in the morning." He automatically looked at his watch, "Make that four forty-five." He took a few steps into the room, toward Fraser. "What are we doing here? This doesn't seem real."

"I'm..." This time Fraser cut himself off before the "sorry."

Each man was left with a different thought.

I am sorry, Ray.

I'm not going to let this happen to you, Benny.

"Tell me what happened."

The silence that followed stretched out to a full minute. But Ray was determined that the Mountie fill it.

Finally, after endless table scrutiny, Fraser's voice came, low, unsteady.

Ray marveled at how much he could read his friend's emotional overload in his voice. If he could hear it that clearly, how close was Fraser to "losing it?"

"You read the report."

Was that a statement or a question?

Ray's reactions warred with one another. He could tell that if he pushed too hard Fraser's defenses might crumble. In another situation that might actually be welcome, but here, now, Ray didn't think it would help matters at all. And Fraser could still retreat further behind that impenetrable wall, leaving Ray no way to get what he needed from him if he was going to help his partner.

On the other hand, part of Ray's temperament and most of his upbringing was driving him to shout or shake some sense into the stubborn man.

You could at least let us know why.

"No. I haven't read the report. I heard about the arrest and came running." *to your side,* he didn't finish out loud. "Do you want me to get it?"

Ray was managing not to shout, but his voice gave away how tightly wound he was.

Another silence followed, maybe half again as long as the last. And then came the soft response, "As you wish."

"As I wish? As I wish! What is this, The Princess Bride? I wish you'd talk to me, Benny."

Ray waited. Nothing. He was only a few steps away from the table now, looking down at his friend. Fraser's eyes refused to look up to meet his.

This time it was Ray who broke the silence, "I'll get the report."

He crossed to the door, then turned back to Fraser. "You're not going anywhere, I assume."

Fraser's head shot up in spite of himself. The look on his face one of surprised horror with a quick flash of pain at the implication and the reminder. *Not this time,* hung in the air between them. Fraser looked down and away hurriedly, hiding the flush that crept across his features.

Ray saw what he had done. He'd meant to do it. Yet, at the same time, he regretted saying it the instant it popped out of his mouth.

There had been an irresistible need in him to get in a barb at his friend's uncooperative manner. It hurt that Benny had made the choice to freeze him out. And maybe Ray was a little bit afraid. Benny's behavior was reminding him of that terrible time when reason had vacated the life of Constable Benton Fraser. The time that had cost them both...so much.

He shut the door to the room and leaned his back against it, taking a few moments to compose himself. What was it Benny was hiding? Ray was certain there was something his friend didn't want him to know. He was equally certain it wasn't going to be in any report.

He swiped the palm of his hand across the lower half of his face. This could be really bad. His gut told him that everything depended on whether he could get Benny to open up. And right now that seemed as likely as Ray Vecchio being elected Prime Minister of Canada. Do they have elections for that? And is it Prime Minister or Chancellor or... Oh, God, Benny... What's going on in that brain of yours? What aren't you telling me?

Fraser didn't look up when Ray returned with the file. He couldn't. He was far too deeply engaged in the examination of his own clasped hands at this point. Hands that seemed remarkably relaxed under the circumstances. A very loose interlacing of fingers, no white-knuckled grip. An effect achieved by an extremely focused effortlessness.

For his part, Ray decided to focus on the report in his hands. He read while slowly pacing the room, eventually circling Fraser completely. Once, then twice around the room. Ray read. Fraser...studied. Ray moved. Fraser...didn't.

Without looking up Fraser could sense every move that Ray made. In addition to every footfall, he could detect each shift in breathing, every breath held for several seconds, then finally released. He could even hear Ray's fingers sliding down the paper before separating one page from the others and turning it over to the next damning sheet.

What would Ray make of it? What would he make of him? This after...after Victoria. Whatever it was, there was nothing Fraser could do about it. It would have to stand as it was. Ray could draw his own conclusions. Fraser knew that Ray would struggle to give him the benefit of the doubt, to see some good in this. But there would be none for him to find.

The folder smacking down on the table in front of him caused Fraser to flinch. Just a tiny jolt. It went through him as the merest shiver. He did his best to recover immediately and pretend it hadn't happened. He was a little late.

The quiet control of Ray's voice as it invaded the room unnerved him. He expected shouts, pleas, demands for an explanation -- not this low deliberate tone.

"Unlawful pursuit."

Ray stopped on the other side of the table. The same table at which Louis Gardino had sat and told Fraser that "she" was dead.

"Assault." Ray continued. "Assault with a deadly weapon." Ray leaned forward, fists on the table, his weight on his straightened arms. "Assault with intent to kill." He paused. "Intent to kill? Looks like you had yourself quite a night, Benny."

Ray got no response, but he'd expected none. He began moving once more.

"Two uniforms had to pull you off the guy. But then, you were there. I'm telling you what you know already."

Ray had circled around behind him again. Fraser had never realized just how good an interrogator his unofficial partner could be. They usually played the tough cop/polite Mountie game. This was something entirely different, something Fraser hadn't seen before. But it wouldn't change anything.

"I wouldn't have thought swinging a two-by-four was your style, Benny. You surprise me."

"I removed it..." How had Ray done that? A moment ago he'd been in perfect control. He hadn't planned to say a thing.

"Huh? D'you say something, Benny? Did I hear an actual couple of words? I thought I was getting the silent treatment. That's what friends are for, aren't they? Ignoring and keeping in the dark?"

"I'm sor-" He caught himself before completing the word.

"That you can say. Over and over, even though I asked you to stop. Sorry doesn't change anything, does it?"

After a long moment. "No. You're right. It doesn't change anything."

Ray came back around to the front of the table and sat, right where St. Laurent had sat. "But what I asked you, what I need to hear, you won't say."

He looked at his friend's downturned head. "Tell me what happened, Benny." He reached out and pulled the file toward himself. "'Cause this isn't you. This isn't who you are."

"It is now."

This time Ray made no reply, no comment. His eyes widened, his gaze intensified, searching the other man's face for signs of the friend he knew had to be in there.

"There's nothing to tell, Ray. I lost control."

"You..."

"...lost control. Yes."

"...lost control."

"Well, it has happened before, Ray. You...put a stop to it."

Now it was Ray's turn to color at a reminder of a dark time. It hurt, it scalded, but he didn't let it stop him. He had Fraser talking. He couldn't stop now.

"You were trying to kill him." He left it hanging in the air, as Fraser had done earlier: neither question nor statement.

Fraser's eyes at last came up to meet his. They were deeply troubled. "I don't know, Ray."

It took a lot for Ray not to turn away from those eyes now that they finally held his. This was what he'd wanted. This was what he needed if he was going to help Benny. But the pain between them at this moment was something that he'd gladly bypass.

That's what friends are for. To share the dark nights of the soul. They had shared the light and they'd been in darkness before. Ray had to keep on in order to help get them through this. He couldn't stop now.

"So, you chased down a man -- a total stranger -- or did you know him?"

Fraser's gaze returned to the table. He wasn't going to answer.

"A total stranger," Ray continued.

Fraser blinked at Ray's surmise. Had he given himself away or was this part of Ray's psychological strategy? He re-focused on remaining passive.

"You chased this stranger for what, six or seven blocks?"

They both knew Fraser's need for exactitude made him want to give Ray the correct distance. However, he remained still.

"Let's say...seven." Ray could tell the figure was wrong. Fraser tried to give nothing away, but in their time together, Ray had learned some of his telltales. If he could just read him well enough to see through to the truth of this.

"And you catch him...and you nearly beat him to death? That about right?"

The two men sat across from each other at the table and for a time neither moved, neither spoke. It was as if they were both waiting, suspended. Waiting for the dream to end and to wake up to their real lives.

At last Ray broke the silence. "Is that right, Benny?"

"That's right, Ray." The knuckles on Fraser's clenched hands had gone from neutral to red to white, although it was barely noticeable on the ones that were skinned. Ray noticed. Nothing was going to escape him tonight. Not one thing.

"Coffee?" He slid the chair back with a loud scrape. He stood and waited for an answer. Eventually one came.

"No thanks, Ray."

Ray went back to the door. With his hand on the knob, he turned back to Fraser. "The hospital released him. Turns out his trachea wasn't crushed."

Ray could see the physical changes in his friend. He'd catalog them as relief. Subtle signs of a slight lessening of stress. Still, he added, "So tell me, is this good news or bad news?"

This time Fraser gave no outward reaction. He could offer Ray no answer.

Ray opened the door and left the room again.

Once in the hall, he wasted no time in worrying. He entered the squad room for the third time this morning, crossing to Elaine's desk. A half hour ago she hadn't been there. Her fingers were tapping away on the computer keyboard. He waited. She stopped, looked up at him. She'd been crying.

He squeezed her shoulder gently for a moment. "Yeah," was all he said. Then he removed his hand and leaned in. "I need your help, Elaine..." He glanced toward the room where Benny sat. "...unofficially."

"What do you need?"

"This guy, the one. He got a rap sheet?"

She turned back to her computer. "Five minutes and we'll know."

"I'm getting some coffee. You want?"

"No thanks. You know what I want."

"I'll do my best."

"I know."

Ray stood sipping the station house coffee. He couldn't even tell whether it was dishwater or mud today. His mind was too occupied to register.

He could count on two fingers the times Fraser had lost control. And only once had he been moved to violence: when John Taylor's goons had been terrorizing the tenants in Fraser's building.

This was it. This was always it. The one critical thing. The why of it. If he could just figure what had made Benny go after this guy, he knew he'd have the answer.

For some reason Fraser wasn't about to share that information. Why? If the guy did something wrong, Fraser'd be the last person to want to protect him from the law.

There was still a missing piece. Something else. Someone else? Was he protecting someone? The report didn't mention any other people involved. Just the few witnesses who'd called in to report the chase.

If the blue and white hadn't been within three blocks of the scene...Ray wondered if Benny really would have...if he'd really lost control. Not even Gerrard had caused him to do that. Ray never got used to the way Benny accepted things. As long as the law was satisfied, he could convince himself that he was satisfied.

No one had seen the actual "altercation." The guy's version had Fraser attacking him for no reason. "Without provocation." Not a chance. Thought Ray. Just what did this guy do?

It had been more than the five minutes that Elaine had asked him for, but Ray could tell from where he stood that she was still trying to pry the information out of the computer files. He finished the last of the unpalatable coffee without ever having tasted it. He crushed the container in his hand and tossed it into a waste can.

His mind pulled him toward the room where his stubborn friend sat. He wanted to go back, to reassure Benny that everything would be okay. He wanted to tell him that Elaine was pulling up the file on this guy. (There had to be a rap sheet. He couldn't allow himself the thought that it wouldn't be there.) He wanted to tell Benny that he could relax, everything would be in hand, under control, he'd have him out of here in no time.

But Benny was the one holding back. The cop in Ray, which was like saying the priest in the Pope, knew that the time in the room alone was as effective as anything else in breaking down a suspect. The irony wasn't lost on him. In the eyes of the law Benny was a suspect. But Ray was doing everything in his power to get him out of that position. He had to treat him like a suspect in order to get him out from under suspicion. Alanis would love it. And she's a Canadian, too. Figures.

He went back for another cup of coffee. When he reappeared he saw that Elaine had turned and was looking for him. She's got to have something.

He crossed the squad room, which was just beginning to fill with the morning shift. Elaine had gotten in early. He hadn't asked why. He knew. Someone had told her about Fraser's arrest. And she was here.

She handed Ray the printout. "It's not much. Two priors. No convictions. Possession of marijuana. Possession of a controlled substance. Eighty five and eighty eight."

"That's it?" Ray couldn't hide his disappointment.

After several seconds went by she spoke again, "There's something else." He waited. He could see her weighing, deciding. He didn't push.

"There's a sealed record from seventy eight. He was...he was a minor. Still seventeen." Ray wanted it, but he couldn't ask. She knew how much it meant, she knew how wrong it was. Benny would never do it, but could she do it to help him? It had to be her decision.

"It'll take a little longer."

"Thank you kindly, Elaine." She saw in his eyes that he not only said it, he meant it. "I'll be in with Fraser."

He reentered the room and caught the slight adjustment in alertness that went through his friend. The waiting had had an effect.

"Change your mind about the coffee? It's worth the wait." He held the cup out across the table, waited for a reply. It was a long time coming.

"No. Thank you kindly, Ray."

"Why, you're welcome, Fraser." He sat down at the table once again. He took a swig from the cup. "Mmm hmm, that's...well, you know what the coffee here tastes like."

He laid the printout face down on the table and placed the cup on top of it. He noted Benny's eyes taking in the papers without so much as a flicker of the lids. He's good. Ray thought. Under other circumstances he'd be admiring.

"So, the two-by-four...enlighten me. Just where or when did you pick that up? Were you running after him with it? But then no witnesses reported seeing you running with a four foot length of lumber. Maybe you found it when you caught up with him? It was just conveniently nearby at the right moment."

There was no response.

"You said you "removed it." But you didn't say from what. Or where. Or was it from whom? Where'd you get it, Benny?"

Again, no reply.

"It's a deadly weapon, you know. Not an easily concealed weapon, I'll grant you, but it can be classified as deadly."

Fraser lifted his head and faced him. "This isn't doing either of us any good, Ray. There's nothing I can tell you."

"Nothing?"

Fraser sighed. "No, Ray."

"That's just so funny. Because I'm sure that if you wanted to, you could tell me everything about this incident. In great detail. You're usually so good with details, Benny."

"I can't help you, Ray. There's nothing I can say."

"It just surprises me that you say this, because you're the last person I would expect to be uncooperative when it comes to the law."

The knock on the door galvanized Ray and left Fraser shaken or maybe it was Ray's words, his relentlessness or the papers he'd left on the table. He thought, I pity the criminal who has to withstand this. Then he remembered that he was the criminal right now -- and he must withstand it.

Ray opened the door to Elaine. She handed him another printout from the computer. He looked down at the sheet in his hand, then back at her, releasing his breath with a whoosh. Now this could mean something. Not quite what he had thought, but something.

"Thanks Elaine."

He closed the door and walked very slowly back to the table. He sank into the seat across from Fraser, continuing to stare down at the paper. He sat absorbed in the report and deep in thought for some time. Fraser waited and wondered.

It was several minutes before Ray pulled his eyes up from the printout. He lifted the coffee cup and slipped the paper face down with the rest before replacing the cup. "So, tell me something, Benny. Not that you've been hugely forthcoming, so far. What were you doing out alone at that hour of the morning?"

It was not the question he expected from Ray at that moment. But then he should be getting used to that by now. He'd never suspected that Ray was a past master at the verbal sleight of hand used in keeping a suspect off-balance, but then he'd never known how easily he could be manipulated by his deceptively off-the-cuff partner. He hoped his attempts to hide his wildly swinging reactions were more successful than they felt.

Fraser seemed about to answer, or at least to say something, then thought better of it. Whatever it might have been, he held it in.

Ray leaned an elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand. His free hand slowly tapped on the small stack of papers in front of him.

"Are you protecting someone, Benny?"

The blue-gray eyes narrowed and Ray could see Benny retreating behind them. Ray's quiet tapping sped up, then stopped.

"Benny, where's Dief?"

Nothing. No reaction. No tell tales.

Except for one. Almost imperceptibly Ray felt, even more than he saw, his friend disappear inside himself. Fraser had shut down. Ray knew he would get nothing more from him this morning.

Ray gently shook his head, then sat back away from the table. "I guess we're done for now, Benny. You can go back to holding." He stood up. "I'll get someone with the key."

Fraser merely sat and waited for the uniformed officer to fetch him and take him back to the cell. The papers Ray had brought in with him remained face down under the coffee cup across from him. He wanted to know what they contained, but he could no more look under that cup than... Than what? ...nearly kill a man with my bare hands.

Maccio, who'd just gotten on duty and hadn't yet heard who she was about to escort into holding, gasped when she entered the room. As he stood to follow her, Benton Fraser blushed slightly at her reaction. It was one telltale that Ray missed. He wasn't there to watch his friend being returned to the cell.

Ray sat in Lt. Welsh's office, head in hands. "I don't know, Lieutenant. I...I think I got the pieces...some of them...maybe most of them. I don't know, they just don't add up to anything. Nothing concrete."

"Did he admit to the attack?"

Ray hesitated on this one. "Well, he was definitely in a fight. He says he lost control."

"Fraser?"

Ray shrugged. "I think he's protecting someone."

"Any ideas who?"

"None."

"That's it?"

"I think Dief's missing."

"The wolf?"

"Yes, sir. I just don't know what it all means. If something had happened to Dief, I think I'd be able to tell."

"Yeah, that wolf means a lot to him. But it could explain the attack. If the guy...you know...hurt the wolf."

"I know that, Lieutenant. But it's more like Fraser's hiding something. If he was grieving for Dief... No. He just doesn't want to tell me. Me or anyone else." Tired as he was, he stood up, ready to head out again. "I'm going to go check the scene. If it gets much later it'll be a mess."

"Keep me apprised."

"I will, sir."

Fraser reentered the cell. The thought that cells of one kind or another would very probably be in his future for quite awhile left him a bit chilled.

He'd acquired another cellmate and the cell had acquired a new level of olfactory stimulation. The reek of stale, cheap alcoholic beverages and a slight tinge of urine mingled with the various vintages of body odor already present. These joined the faint musty stench of the years of sweat and fear and desperation. They all closed around him as he slowly slid down to the floor. He settled in by bracing his lower back against the wall and once again wrapping his arms around his knees, to do the only thing left to him: Wait.

He tried to picture the open skies of home and recall the smell of the frigid air. To the extent that he succeeded, he failed. The memories only served to heighten his awareness of his present circumstance. Better to drift. He wondered about Ray. He wondered about Dief. And what each was doing at this moment. His eyes closed, but he didn't sleep.

Ray reentered the now empty interrogation room. He crossed to the table, removed the coffee cup and picked up the files. As he folded and stuffed the printouts into his jacket pocket he pondered the mystery of the man he called friend.

He knew Benny would have fretted over those files. He also knew without a doubt that the Mountie hadn't looked at them. He'd admit to losing control and nearly beating a man to death, but left alone, he wouldn't look at a stack of unprotected papers that could hold the key to his case.

Ray hadn't left them for Fraser to read, though it wouldn't have mattered if he had. Either way they had served their purpose. Ray's purpose.

He took a last swig of the cooled, bad coffee, then threw the cup, coffee and all, into the unlined waste basket and turned to go out. At the door stood Lt. Welsh.

"I put out the word to keep a lookout for the wolf. You never know."

"Thanks, sir." Welsh backed up a step, giving ground as Ray moved past him through the door.

"By the way..."

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"I just wanted you to know that I am fully aware of the fact that this room hasn't been in use for the last hour or so. And that that file," his eyes went to the file in Ray's left hand, "hasn't left Det. Huey's desk."

Unintentionally, Ray glanced at the file in his hand, then looked down at the floor. Nothing much to see there. He looked back up at Welsh. "Yes, sir. Thanks."

"Good luck."

"I think I'm going to need it."

Ray was grateful that the Lieutenant hadn't mentioned the printout sheets that bulged in his pocket. Not so much for himself as for Elaine. He knew Fraser was already in deep trouble and he was sure that somehow he'd follow him into some kind of mess or other, but he wouldn't want to see her fat in the fire, too. Not that she has any noticeable fat.

Ray copied the pages of the arrest report that he needed and replaced it on Huey's desk before heading out.

Two hours later, a discouraged, wet detective climbed back into his great, green Buick Riviera. There hadn't been much to see. It wasn't much of a crime scene. No barriers, no tape. But then it wasn't much of a crime. No dead bodies. No murder sprees. No serial killers. No terrorist bombings.

He didn't know the stats on assault cases in a single Chicago night. He didn't want to know. But he knew they were too plentiful. One more or less wouldn't mean that much, unless you knew someone whose life was about to be flushed because of it.

If he'd had Benny with him, or even Dief, he might have found something. As it was he'd surveyed the scene for nearly an hour. The only thing of any interest, and no help, was the probable source of the two-by-four -- a building being renovated about a block from the actual fight.

Three times he'd walked back and forth along the route Fraser and the man had been seen running. Three times in the relentless drizzle. Each time adding another few blocks till, in the end, he'd covered nearly twenty. Checking in alleys, side streets, recessed doorways, even down a couple of outer basement steps. Nothing. Nothing that meant anything, proved anything, even smelled like anything useful.

He switched on the ignition, throwing the heater up all the way. Then he turned on the radio and the interior light. With a huge sigh, he picked up his copy of the arrest report and the printouts from the "victim's" past. He was glad he'd taken them out of his jacket pocket before he'd gotten sodden. He hadn't wanted to waste the time to go home for the raincoat he'd left behind in his earlier rush, not with Benny back there, probably hunched on the floor of that cell.

The papers had lost their stiffness in the humidity. (He felt more than a little wilted himself.) It was like trying to read pages of silk. It took both hands to hold them up to the interior light, the grayness of the day still hiding the fact that it was now full morning. He read everything he had twice over, acutely aware of the emptiness in the car, acutely aware of his need to fill it right back up with the Canadian and his deaf wolf.

He put the papers down on the seat next to him and finally took the Riv back out onto the street. He hung a "U-ie" and headed off in the opposite direction from his search pattern. He caught the first light. What a pain. I've got a life to save here, not just a career. If they lock Benny up, it'll kill him. I don't have time for red lights. But there was traffic around, so Ray obeyed the signal -- the long, long signal. His eyes scanned the area and caught the cross street sign, just as the light went green.

He got honked from behind and moved forward, pulling over at the first opportunity. Whoa! How close he'd been to not noticing. It was the opposite direction from everything I checked. If I hadn't been heading back to the station, hadn't caught that beautiful light...

Once he had the Riv alongside the curb he picked up the two prior drug arrest sheets. Okay, now. There it was.

Both arrests had involved clubs that were within a few blocks of here. One was on the street he had just crossed. Pearl, you're a pearl of a street.

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Elaine.

In the squad room which was now in full morning swing, Elaine switched from one line to the next. Before she got out a word, she heard Ray Vecchio say her name. "Ray!" she blurted. She might call him that (and plenty of other things) after hours, but on-duty it was different -- especially since she'd applied to the Academy. "I mean, Det. Vecchio."

"Elaine, forget protocol, we're trying to save Fraser. I think we're on a first name basis here." He marveled at the amount the woman had changed since she'd decided to go for the uniform. She's gonna make a helluva cop.

"Did you...have you...did you find out anything?"

"Not much. Could you get me a number from my desk?"

"Sure. Wait a sec." She hit the hold button and scooted over to Ray's corner desk. She sat down, simultaneously picking up the line while pulling his Rolodex closer. "What do you need?"

"Look up C."

"Just C?"

"Just C." He paused, then added, "Please."

"Got it! 555-2224."

"2224," he repeated. "Thanks, Elaine."

"You're welcome." She glanced out over the room. "Ray." She injected as much familiarity as she could into the single word. Let them make what they wanted of it. She was even perversely tempted to add an endearment -- but that she resisted.

"How's he doing?"

Her voice dropped, becoming low, serious. "The same."

"That good?"

"Get busy."

"All right. Okay. I'm getting." He wanted to add something, but there was nothing to say and not a thing to do except to get Fraser out of that cell and out of this mess.

They both clicked off at the same moment.

Twenty minutes later Ray was sitting in a halfway decent diner with a very decent, hot cup of coffee when his sometime informant, or *occasional snitch,* as Ray liked to think of him -- or her, in C's case you pretty much had your choice -- came in. Ray had never asked which side of the pronoun issue C favored.

For Ray Vecchio, C had only one opinion, one area of expertise that mattered. C knew every club -- had known every club, new, old, now defunct, in or out of fashion for the last ten years.

And C paid attention to the men and women who frequented the clubs. They were C's livelihood. C was a model, actually, quite a bit of the time, when s/he wasn't being an escort.

The lanky redhead (this month) who joined Ray at the booth would have been attractive in most any wardrobe. But the years and the lifestyle had begun to show, some time back.

"Ray."

"C." He waited as C sat across from him. "Coffee, or something?"

"Something."

Ray motioned the waitress over. C ordered without looking up. "Cranberry juice, please."

Ray's eyebrows shot up, trying to meet his hairline. "Cranberry juice?"

"It's like nine o'clock in the morning." More than a little accusation there.

"Oh, you're right." Ray looked up into the waitress' brown eyes. "Another coffee, please, Nickie."

"You got it." She walked away.

"I forgot I've never seen you any earlier than three or four a.m."

"And from the other side of time. What do you need? I've got to get some sleep."

Ray was relieved to get rid of the games he often had to play with C in order to get what he needed. The mix of jokes and flattery that usually preceded obtaining useful information was more than he wanted to face right now.

"This guy." He slid the mug shot across the table. "His name's Harris Sleicho."

"Harry, yeah. So what about him?"

It pays to know the right people to call. Ray felt a little bit of the tension leave his body. He retrieved the photocopy, then leaned forward, elbows on the table. The waitress put down the glass of juice and refilled Ray's cup. "Thank you kindly." Ray surprised himself. This time it hadn't been intentional. He was going to have to start watching that.

"What can you tell me about him?"

"In a nutshell?" C took a long swallow of cranberry juice and then a deep breath. "Was already on the club scene when I arrived. Used to be a club kid. Now, like a lot of us, still on the scene, but hasn't been a kid for a long time.

"Drugs?"

"The usual." After Ray's look, "Oh, c'mon, you know the club world. Don't make me spell it out."

"Girls?"

"Yes."

"And..."

"And...ah...lots of them."

"And..."

"He likes them young. He gets older they don't."

Ray let that sink in for a moment. "How does he operate?"

"He's got good connections and enough money. He gives them whatever they want. Whatever it takes to...loosen them up."

"Does he deal?"

"Doesn't have to. His family's got..." C gave a little shrug. "...enough money. He gives it away...if you're young enough and pretty enough and female enough...we lose on all three."

"Any trouble with any of these girls...that you heard of?"

"Wouldn't want to say."

"He's got a friend of mine in a vise."

"Good friend?"

"Best."

C took another long slug of the juice. "Something... I heard there was a problem with a girl...a ways back. Maybe she was bought off. Can't say for sure. You know how I hate gossip."

"What was the problem?"

"Maybe she was underage. Maybe she wasn't happy with the 'arrangement.'"

"Like maybe she said no."

"Don't know. Couldn't say. Wasn't there." This time C chug-a-lugged the rest of the drink. "You got enough? 'Cause I gotta go."

"Thanks, C. I owe you one."

"You owe me $49.95. Today's special. But let's call it fifty."

Ray paid out the money without a complaint. He was beginning to get a picture -- a "scenario."

He'd already searched the scene and along the chase route for any hastily ditched weapons or drugs, and turned up nothing. It wasn't worth going back. Besides the trash was collected hours ago. The most likely fate of any tossed evidence. It would be a collection day.

For the third time on this bleak morning he found himself headed in the direction of the station. All the way he worked it over in his head. There were still missing pieces, still gaps. At least now I've got some possibilities. Probabilities? He needed to have it sorted out as best he could before he faced Fraser again.

Fifteen minutes later and a few blocks from the station, Ray hit the steering wheel of his beloved Riv, never registering his vehicular abuse.

He had the pieces, more and more of them -- he knew it. But the pieces scattered, for what felt like the millionth time, and the picture that he'd been forming with such great effort once again came apart. He felt the groundswell of helpless frustration and rage, building in him since the start of this thing, threaten to take over.

There were still too many unanswered questions.

He had to force himself not to gun the Riv through traffic and lights and stop signs. He wanted to use this machine, an extension of his personality, to express the anger he felt at the situation. Not only the situation. The truth was, his anger went in another direction as well. If Benny would just cooperate. If he could just trust me.

He pulled into a space half a block from the station and took a few deep breaths. It wouldn't do either of them any good if he weren't in perfect control now. He got out of the car and walked down the street in the continuing drizzle. He walked away from the station, hoping the damp chill would cool his temper, maybe his soul, as effectively as it did his body. Hell, it wasn't like I was actually dry yet or anything.

He considered it another irony that he had to be the one to stay calm and focused. That was usually Benny's job. He'd done it so well not too long ago, when Ray had let Frankie Zuko get to him one final time. The last time, Irene. I swear.

He'd frozen Benny out then. Now he was the one who couldn't get in. Couldn't save a friend from himself. Suddenly his anger at Benny subsided. He saw clearly what needed to be done. He turned and walked back to the Riv. He had a few things to carry inside.

Desolation. That was the word that held the most meaning for him now. She had stood right there, that very spot on the other side of the bars. He could still envision her pale skin against her midnight hair.

His commanding officer.

The hard planes of her face, the condemnation in her eyes and something more, like disappointment, still burned into him. She'd forced him to attention. Ordered him to face her. Look her in the eye. And then she'd demanded an explanation.

He'd been able to give her none. He saw the incredulity give way to anger, before she squelched it in favor of a more professional reproach. "You will rethink this, Constable. And I suggest you do so with alacrity." And she'd turned on her heels and fled. *No,* he thought -- rethought. She couldn't have fled. Though it did seem something of a retreat. A retreat before the enemy. The enemy. That's me. That's what I've become. Even...maybe soon...to Ray.

She'd left him standing at attention and it actually took some seconds after her departure for his muscles to slowly give way. Gradually, he began to sag more than to relax. Yet he stood looking at the place where she'd been for some time. Puzzled that he could still, almost, see her there. It must be lack of sleep.

"Whatcha standin' there for, Stupid?" Am I still standing in the center of the cell? He had no idea how long he'd remained there.

The slurring growl reminded him that the cell was becoming more crowded, and the crowd more belligerent. He stepped back until he felt the wall behind him. That stopped him. "Nothing...no reason."

"Moron." The thug decided to ignore him for now.

"Hey!"

He couldn't credit it when his heart thudded wildly at the sound of Ray's voice in the hall. Stupid heart. Nothing was going to change this situation.

"Is there a Constable Armani in here?" Ray stopped dead center of the bars. "Better make that Eddie Bauer."

A few minutes later the two men were back in the same interrogation room. Fraser sat down in the same seat wearily, reminding himself that their roles in this room hadn't changed. He was still working on subduing his relief at Ray's return. The jaunty attitude that Ray had brought back with him didn't help.

"There's a good cup of coffee." Ray placed the lidded container on the table in front of Fraser. "From Flo's." He followed it with a paper wrapped sandwich. "And a fried egg on a roll."

Fraser looked at the two items before him as though they were objects from an unknown civilization, maybe another planet.

Ray watched the changing play of emotions/reactions trace their subtle patterns across his friend's face. From unguarded surprise to guarded mistrust. From gratitude to rejection and back to gratitude. Even a war between queasiness and hunger. Ray couldn't interpret each response precisely, but the important thing was that Benny was responding.

He sat across from Fraser and was shaken to see a slight glistening in the gray-blue eyes. Fraser blinked a time or two before his eyes came up from the food and drink. He didn't quite meet Ray's eyes.

"Thank..." He cleared his throat, but still he rasped. "Thank you, Ray."

"It's nothing, Benny. Can you eat?"

Fraser shook his head slightly in the negative.

Ray lifted the lid from his coffee container. This would be his fifth cup so far today. But who's counting.

"Maybe in a while," Ray suggested.

"Maybe."

Ray took a sip of coffee. It was just hot enough. "Smell doesn't bother you, does it?"

Fraser again shook his head no. And then he noticed something.

"You're wet, Ray."

"It's raining outside."

"Oh."

"Just a drizzle."

"You forgot your raincoat."

"Yeah, what was I thinking?"

They sat in silence. As he drank his coffee Ray noticed that Fraser's hands weren't on the table as they had been earlier in the day. It made him wonder.

"You sure you're not up to the coffee? It's still pretty hot. You look like you could use it." He reached across the table and grabbed the container. "Why don't I open it for you?" He pried off the lid, then pushed it back toward his friend. "Go ahead, Benny, I think it'll help."

Ben let his right hand come up to the table. He concentrated on keeping it steady. He could tell that Ray was studying his movements. He wrapped his hand around the cup, but didn't lift it yet. He didn't trust himself not to slosh it over the edge. Not quite yet.

It was what Ray had expected. Benny was trying to hide his unsteadiness, but Ray had once again zeroed in on his weakness. He knew this man so well. Today they'd find out if it was well enough.

He thought about the pictures he'd seen in the paper. The ones Mackenzie King had taken that day in Fraser's apartment building. The ones that didn't identify him by name, but had shown Fraser slugging it out with Taylor's goons. They'd been splashed all over that rag King worked for. They'd shown that, pushed too far, the gentle-seeming man was a true "force to be reckoned with." Those were the words the paper had used to describe him.

He remembered discovering the ferocity with which Benny had torn through the Vecchio house in his frantic search for the key Victoria had planted there. At the time Ray'd been staggered by the desperation evident in the destruction he'd left behind. A tornado could hardly have done worse.

Yet he knew the man sitting there, holding that cup with so much care, trying to appear in control. He knew him as well as any member of his family -- better than some. He knew him as a man of peace. A peaceable man. That was a good word for Benny, peaceable.

He was going to find out what had provoked him to this violence and he was determined to do it before Fraser was arraigned. Welsh had already pulled just about every string he had to get the arraignment pushed to the bottom of the pile. Ray hoped that would give him enough time.

Ben finally chanced lifting the cup to his lips. He managed to get it there without mishap. The coffee was good. His stomach was still a bit unsettled, but the warmth was soothing. If he sipped it slowly he thought he'd be all right.

Ray let Fraser enjoy several sips before he spoke again. In the same time he'd nearly finished his own cup. The long silence had given them both the chance to regroup.

"This man you 'attacked,' Harris Sleicho."

Up to that moment, Fraser hadn't know his name.

"He has a record, you know?"

The printouts that Ray had left on the table earlier.

"No convictions though, Benny. You think he's going to get away with it again?"

Ray watched Fraser's jaw muscles quiver as the tension, which had lessened, abruptly returned. Suddenly, he was as tightly wound as Ray had ever seen him.

"Do you think he'll do it again, Benny? That's what I keep wondering. Isn't anything going to stop him?"

Fraser stood up. He tried to give the illusion of control, but inadvertently knocking over the coffee cup spoiled the effect. He wanted to bolt for the door.

"Aren't you going to stop him? Are you going to let him walk?"

And that was when Benny did something that Ray hadn't really expected. Of all the reactions he'd been prepared for, this one was the most absent.

The color, what there was of it, drained from his face. He swayed for barely an instant, then he crumpled into a heap on the floor, knocking the chair over as he went.

"Benny!"

Ray jumped up, knocking his chair over as well, in his haste to get to his friend. "What the hell is going on?"

He shot around the table, kicking Fraser's toppled chair out of the way before dropping down beside him. He expected to see Benny already stirring. Ray'd passed out himself as a uniform when they'd had to stand in the August sun for over an hour listening to the Mayor and the Chief trade back pats over some new policy. By the time he'd hit the ground he had starting coming to, mortified that he'd done such a wussy thing in front of just about every cop he knew.

But Fraser wasn't stirring. He wasn't looking up at him with embarrassed eyes and making sputtering excuses for his lapse. He wasn't even showing the vague bewilderment, the "what happened?" that Ray'd seen so many times as people came to. He just wasn't waking up, and that scared Ray.

He got up, ran to the door and threw it open. "We got a problem in Two. Get the Lieutenant. It's Fraser." *Like everyone didn't know it was Fraser in here,* he thought as he ran back to Fraser's side. He practically slid into first on his knees. Gently he straightened the unconscious man into a more natural position. He laid the back of his hand against the pale face. The skin felt cold and clammy. He tried rapid, gentle pats. Nothing. "Fraser. Fraser." No reaction.

Harding Welsh pushed past the others accumulating at the door. He took in the overthrown chairs, the spilled coffee dripping from the table, the flattened Mountie and flew to the wrong conclusion.

"What'd you do to him?"

"I didn't do anything to him. He just stood up and then passed out."

The he in question eventually did flutter an eyelash. His breathing changed, deepened.

"I think, he's coming to."

"Good." Welsh knelt on the other side of the Mountie. It took a bit more effort than for Ray, but just a bit. He was, for all his love affair with cold cuts, in very good condition for his years. Especially considering he spent ninety five percent of his life behind that damn desk.

Fraser's eyes did, finally, open. He did look bewildered. He did ask, "What happened?" It was all going according to plan, except that it was at least three minutes too late. And one other thing, before he had a chance to mask it, Ray could tell that his friend was in pain.

Fraser looked up at Ray. "I...passed out?" He sounded incredulous.

"Yeah, buddy. Don't try to move. You were out for a few minutes."

"I was..." He was looking a bit sickly.

"How do you feel now, son?"

"Dad?" He turned his head slowly to see that it was Lt. Welsh who was positioned at his left and had spoken, not his deceased father. "I'm sorry, Leftenant."

"It's all right, son. You don't look so well."

"I'll be okay, sir. I just need a minute." Fraser wished he'd stop calling him son. It stirred things in him. Made him feel too much. He didn't need that right now. He needed to be strong. He needed to hold himself together, not fall apart in front of...people.

Welsh looked to the door. "Lawson, Brachs." He signaled the two officers in. "Bring in one of the cots from holding. The rest of you." He waved the others back. "Get back to your jobs. And close that door."

Others. Fraser thought. The entire station witnessing his collapse, his incarceration. This was all getting to be...difficult. He made an effort to sit up -- revised his plan immediately.

"Benny. Just stay put."

"Mmm." He'd have to do that for the moment. His head swirled. Dizziness and nausea swept over him.

"You gonna be sick, Benny?"

"Don't know."

"We'll turn you over if you think..."

"Not yet... I'm sorry, Ray. Leftenant."

"What'd I tell you about apologizing, Benny."

"Sorry." He snorted a little laugh. The word had just popped out again.

"It's all right, son. Just take it easy."

Son again. Why did he keep saying that? Why was it hitting him so hard? It was like a hammer and chisel chipping into his heart every time he heard that word.

The door to the room swung open. Officer Brachs backed into the room holding one end of the cot. A second later, at the other end, came Lawson.

"Where do you want this, sir?"

Welsh indicated a spot against the wall opposite where he sat with Ray and the fallen Mountie.

The two men eased the cot down. Lawson turned back the blankets and straightened the pillow. Brachs turned to Welsh. "Is there anything else you need help with, sir?"

"No. We can handle it from here. Close the door again on your way out. Thanks, men."

"You're welcome, sir," the two men responded in nearly perfect unison as they left the room.

Welsh looked at Ray, then Ray looked down at Fraser. "Okay, Benny. We're going to move you over onto the cot."

"Okay."

Each man slipped one arm behind Fraser and one under his legs, clasping each other's wrists. Fraser winced and looked even sicker as they lifted him in a fireman's carry. At first, he struggled to get his feet under him.

"Just relax, Benny. Let us do the work."

Fraser gave up his efforts, letting the two men take his full weight as they moved him across the room.

They set him down on the cot on his back. He inhaled sharply then made a choking sound. "Sick," he managed to say. Welsh ran for the waste basket. Ray kept a hand on him as he rolled to the side and threw up. It wasn't much and it didn't last long.

He settled back down onto the cot, this time staying on his right side.

His color returned, deep pink. He looked mortified. He was about to speak when Ray interrupted.

"We know. You're sorry."

"Mmm."

"You just lie there. We'll be right back." Ray looked at Welsh for confirmation. The lieutenant nodded and both men left the room. Outside, Ray kept the door open a crack, in case... Well...just...in case.

"I'm guessing he hasn't been examined by a doctor. There was nothing mentioned in the report."

"He was yanked off the guy's throat. He didn't seem to be hurt. They made a judgment call on the scene. We do it all the time, Detective."

"I know that, sir. I know that." He peered into the room. Fraser lay there, eyes closed. Ray shut the door. "I should've seen something else was wrong. I should have known. The way he holds things in..."

"You can't beat yourself up. He didn't say anything."

"It's not his style."

"I'll have the on-call..."

"Lieutenant, with all due respect, I want to call my doctor. He knows me, he knows my family. He's been my doctor my whole life. And he'll come."

"Isn't there one regulation or procedure that you want to leave unbroken, Detective?"

"Ah, no sir. I'm trying to work my way through the entire book, sir."

"So I've noticed. Call your man."

"Thank you, sir."

If Dr. Mario Mangione hadn't reduced his practice to the few families who'd been with him the longest when he turned seventy last year, he wouldn't have been able to log off on a terrific eBay auction and rush right over to the station at a moment's notice. He just tapped in an exorbitant maximum bid and left, hoping for the best.

Now he found himself examining a prisoner, who also seemed to be a Mountie, and a friend of Ray's if he followed everything correctly. A good friend, an important friend, he intuited from Ray's concern.

Ray had taken up a position on the other side of the room and Welsh had just rejoined him. "So, how's Fraser?" Welsh asked. Ray shrugged.

The older man had introduced himself to Fraser, only a minute or two before. "I'm Dr. M," he'd said. Ray had had to smile at the name. It was what he and all the kids had called him for years. Still did.

He'd pulled a chair over, taking note of the wastebasket and its contents, and begun examining Benny in his careful, always gentle manner. "Dr. M?" Benny had asked. "Mangione, but Dr. M will do. Can you roll over onto your back?" Benny had complied with a grimace. "I don't think it would be wild speculation to say you were in some kind of altercation." Benny gave one of his little snorting laughs, more air than sound. "I take it I'm right."

"Yes."

As he observed the way the doctor handled Benny, almost like a sick small boy, it occurred to Ray, not for the first time, that when this man died, there would be no one to fill the vacuum he'd leave. There were no new doctors of his ilk going into practice now. It would be the end of an era.

For Ray it would be like a knife slicing away a major part of his childhood. The continuity of a Dr. M could make a big difference in a person's life. He wondered why he'd never told him that. He would do that. Before this week was out, he would tell him.

After checking Fraser's eyes and ears and having him stick out his tongue and say "ah," Dr. Mangione asked him to unbutton his shirt. Fraser complied, but the doctor had had to help.

Now he removed the stethoscope from his ears and let it drop to his shoulders. He checked the bruises on Benny's face and found a few marks around his ribs. "I'd like to get this shirt off and have you turn over onto your stomach."

It seemed difficult and Ray was thinking of moving over to help when the shirt came off and Fraser turned over. Welsh made a tsking sound as his breath caught. Ray couldn't tell if he'd made a noise himself. He could see from across the room. There were huge, ugly bruises darkening the upper portion of Fraser's back from right to left. They showed lividly against the pale skin, both across and below the shoulders.

And then Dr. M covered Ray's view as he sighed. "Now, my boy. These must give you much pain. Why would you not tell your friends you are so badly hurt?" The Italian accent that had all but disappeared years ago came back and colored the doctor's words.

Ray's ears rushed. The marks of a goddamn two-by-four! Benny "removed it" all right -- probably took it from Sleicho, after the bastard tried to kill him with it. Ray had to get out of the room.

He took the stairs two at a time and went to the upstairs john. The one where he and Fraser had listened to Charlie Wong clipping his fingernails. It seemed so long ago.

If he had Sleicho here...the man would probably be dead. Why was Benny protecting him? This was going to have to stop. Ray paced the empty room at full speed at least seventeen times, sometimes pushing off from the walls like a swimmer going for the gold. Damn it, Benny. Damn it. It's got to stop.

Minutes later he stood outside the door to the interrogation room, his hand poised on the doorknob as he braced himself to reenter the room. Suddenly the door was yanked out of his hand as Welsh came out, nearly bumping into him, followed by Dr. Mangione. Ray backed out of the way.

"Vecchio. I was wondering where you got to." Welsh closed the door behind him. He noticed that Ray looked rattled. He could see this was all taking a heavy toll on his detective.

"Dr. M, how is he?"

"He'll be all right, Ray. The bruising is extensive, pretty deep, but the injuries seem to be confined to the musculature. I don't think the ribs are broken. There are no signs of serious internal injury, no spinal involvement..."

"He has...he has a bullet..."

"I saw the scar. We spoke. I don't foresee any complications from that, Ray. His shoulders and ribcage took most of the battering."

Ray's tension let go just a fraction.

"Just the same, I want you to keep an eye on him. He seems singularly unforthcoming about his discomfort. I gave him something for the pain, but I had to argue with him to get him to take it. That's a stubborn young man."

"You don't know the half of it, Doc."

"I'm sensing it has something to do with his being here." He could tell that Ray did not want to talk about that. "Your lieutenant -- Harding, here -- has a prescription for more painkiller." He paused. "I'd like to see him for follow up in a day or two. If that's possible."

"We'll make sure it's possible -- whatever happens," promised Welsh.

"And call me if there's any further problem."

"Sure," Ray threw in.

"Good. Fine. Well, I guess..." The doctor began moving away from the interrogation room. Ray followed for several steps.

"Thanks for coming on short notice."

"No problem, Ray." He looked back toward the room they had left. "Good luck with your friend. I hope it all turns out well."

"Thanks again, Doc. I'll call you later in the week, anyway."

Mario's eyes narrowed as he looked at the man he'd known since birth. "You okay?"

Ray laughed. "Yeah, fine, I just wanted to talk. Say some things I hadn't gotten around to before."

The older man smiled. It was always nice when one of his patients got around to having a little talk. By now he'd had more than a few such tete-a-tetes. "Sure, Raimondo. Call me. We'll have a nice chat. Maybe we'll have lunch at Vic's."

"That'd be great. Bye, Doc. And thanks again."

On his way out, the doctor looked at his watch. He sighed. Well, the auction is over now. He could only hope that Deborah Kerr was his. That photo. That woman. That swimsuit. Those waves. Nothing sexier in this world. I have to have won.

As Ray approached the door, Welsh moved aside.

"I'll be in my office." He glanced at the door. "When you're through."

"Thanks, sir."

Welsh put a hand on his back, for just a moment. "He won't cooperate. Like the Doc said, he's a stubborn man. It's up to you."

"I know."

"You'll get to the bottom of it."

Ray just sighed and opened the door.

He entered the room. Somehow it had shifted in feel from an interrogation room into some sort of an infirmary. Ray realized suddenly that it was partly due to the smell of something -- the liniment -- the doctor must have applied to the bruises. He recognized the scent from days -- and injuries -- gone by. It was Dr. M's own concoction. It made him think of high school and sports and...

He forced himself into the present that was so disturbing him. How easy it would be to slip away, escape into memories and avoid this mess that was getting the better of him.

He stood within three feet of the cot. Fraser was on his side. His eyes were closed, his breathing regular. He could be asleep, but Ray wasn't buying it.

He crossed the room, picked up a chair and slid it next to the cot.

"Benny," he began as he sat. "Talk to me."

Fraser's face remained turned down into the pillow, away from Ray. His eyes opened. "Ray, I can't tell you what you want to hear."

"Why, Benny? Why? Can you tell me that much?"

Fraser considered before answering. His face turned a bit more toward his friend. He ached to tell him, to confide in him. Hell, he just ached. "No, Ray. I'm sorry. Telling you why would be the same as telling you what."

"And you can't trust me on this?"

Now his eyes met Ray's. "I trust you, Ray. I just can't tell you."

Ray stood up. Moved the chair back to the table and left without another word.

Fraser closed his eyes once more, but didn't expect to sleep.

As soon as Ray came through the door to his office, Welsh motioned him to a seat. *He looks bushed,* he thought. Maybe even defeated. Welsh knew from experience that it wasn't a normal state for this man.

Ray shook his head, declining the seat. He stood just inside the door. "I don't know what to do next. Huey hasn't turned up anything new from the witnesses?"

"No. And he canvassed the area. He couldn't come up with anything fresh. No additional witnesses. Nothing."

"It's not a neighborhood where people tend to see much when something goes down."

"It was pretty late, too."

"I can't even get Fraser to tell me what he was doing out at that hour. It's way past his bedtime." He paused in grim thought. "If he doesn't want to help himself...what am I supposed to do?"

"Maybe all you can do is stand by him."

"And watch him go down for this? Just because he's such a stubborn..."

"Just because he's your friend."

"Yeah. Thanks, Lieutenant. I'll remind him of that. I'll be at my desk, sir."

"Sure, Vecchio." Ray started out. "And Vecchio."

He turned back. "Yes, sir?"

"Maybe you should take a break?"

"Yeah. I should."

He stopped for another cup of coffee before settling down at his desk. I'm going to find a way to help you, Benny. I'm going to do it and I'm going to shove it in your face and then I'm going to... He forced himself to drive the anger, the hurt, down once again. How much of this could he swallow and not let it turn to poison?

*Begin at the beginning,* he told himself. Go over it again. You were close in there, before Benny passed out. He was upset because you hit a nerve. Ray was sure it wasn't just the physical pain. He believed that Sleicho was getting away with something. Something more than drug possession. Ray had let Fraser believe the files contained whatever the Mountie imagined.

He wanted so much to pursue the information contained in that sealed arrest report. But it was the one thing he couldn't do. Not even for Benny. There was a reason a case like that got sealed. Not just to protect the Sleicho kid at the time, but so that people could get on with their lives. He had no right to go around dredging up the past. Especially when Benny couldn't be bothered to try to help himself.

Maybe, if this thing went too far... This isn't far enough? If things got truly hopeless. And what is this I'm feeling now? He made himself shake off the dark mood. Just go back to the beginning. Work your way through.

Ray went over the case. Talked to Huey. Made some calls. Things were going exactly nowhere when Welsh's voice sirened across the room.

"Vecchio! Get in here!"

Ray moved fast for a man who'd been nearly knocked out with fatigue moments before. He skidded into the doorway to Welsh's office. Fortunately, the lieutenant had backed up a few steps at Ray's approach.

"Yes, sir. Something, Lieutenant?"

"Something. Something about the size of a white arctic wolf."

"Dief! Where, Lieutenant? Is he okay?"

"I think so. Someone called the Animal Shelter. They knew to call us."

"How long..."

"Just a few minutes."

"He been picked up?"

Welsh held up a shushing hand. "They got a report of a large white dog camped out in front of a house on Elm Street. As far as we know he's still there."

Ray turned to leave. Welsh shook his head at his subordinate's impatience. "Vecchio." Ray turned back to him. "Here's the address."

Ray snatched it and ran across the squad room like he was on fire. He only prayed that this meant what he thought it might.

In the interrogation room-turned-infirmary, Fraser did sleep after all. But in the nightmare he was having, he had just murdered a man with his bare hands. Mercifully, he wouldn't be asleep for long.

Ray swung onto Elm with the merest of tire squeals considering how impatient he was to get to this address. A hundred times on the way there, he had thought, Please let this be it. Please, give us this break. Please let it be. Let it be the answer.

He slowed to read the numbers off the houses. Old row houses, mostly single family. Numbers in brass or wrought iron or just plain plastic peel-offs came into focus and then were gone. Dief! There he was, sitting at the front door of the narrow house as if expecting to be let in.

Ray swung the car into a spot that partially blocked the driveway to the house. "Dief!" He shouted to the deaf wolf as he climbed out of the Riv. The drizzle had mostly let up but the air was so moist it almost didn't matter.

He jogged up the short walk to the tiny porch. There was just enough of an overhang to have kept the wolf out of the rain, but he looked a soggy mess nonetheless.

"Dief," he repeated unnecessarily. The wolf jumped up, forepaws to his chest the moment Ray hit the first step. "Oh, Dief. Tell me you're here for the reason I hope you're here." In answer the wolf gave a whine, jumped down and pawed at the door.

Ray rang the bell. The chimes played one of those annoying little ditties that his mother and sisters would have loved. He was strictly a ding dong man himself, actually preferring a buzzer.

He rang a second time. A third. He probably would have rung for an hour. He had nowhere else to go, nothing else to follow up. But after the third ring an eye peered through the peephole. A woman's voice came through the door.

"You here about the dog? Is it still there?"

"Well, yes and no, Ma'am. I'm a police detective." He held up his badge to the peephole, pulling it back to what practice had taught him should be a good reading distance for her through the small aperture.

"The dog is a wolf. The wolf was involved...well was a..." How could he put this so it wouldn't sound insane? Then he thought of the things he'd said and done in cases he'd worked with Fraser and wondered why he'd even given it a moment's thought. "We think the wolf was a witness, you might say, to a crime last night. We had a bulletin out on him and when you reported him to the Shelter they immediately informed us."

"You think someone here committed a crime?"

"I didn't say that, Ma'am. Actually, we have someone in custody. We were hoping for an I.D. from a corroborating witness." Oh, the white lies and half truths he told for his friend.

"Well it's only me and my daughter and I don't think..."

"What time did your daughter get in last night?"

There was a very long silence before the door opened part way.

"Something happened. I knew something happened. She's been denying it all day, but she wouldn't go to school, wouldn't get out of bed, wouldn't talk to me. I called work and said I'd work from home today. Most of our business is on-line. And then this dog -- wolf -- wouldn't let me out of my own house."

"Yes, Ma'am. The door, Ma'am?"

"Can I see that badge more closely?" she said. The door was being held in place at just a few inches wide by the floor lock. She studied the badge for several seconds, then kicked open the lock to let him in. "I know I should verify this, but I believe you."

As soon as the door opened Dief pushed past Ray and the woman. He ran up the stairs to the second floor and scratched at a closed door. "I don't believe this. Is he...safe?"

"Oh, yes, Ma'am, unless you're a criminal."

"Oh, it's a police dog...uh...er...wolf."

"We-ell, not exactly." Ray could tell she was getting more and more confused. "He comes with a Mountie."

"O-oh." It seemed to make sense to her, so he let it go at that.

"Is that the door to your daughter's room, Mrs...?"

"Tanniere. Well, actually...Marten. I'm divorced. Getting used to it. Yes, that's Sherry's room. I'm sure something did happen last night. She was supposed to finish a school project at a friend's and be in by eleven. She didn't get in till after three thirty. That's not like her."

She was a perfectly ordinary looking woman, not too plain, not too pretty. A perfect mom type. Not an Italian mom type, he corrected himself mentally, but more or less a typical Chicago housewife, divorce included.

"How old is Sherry?"

"Sixteen. Just two months ago. Since my husband and I...since the divorce. I haven't been able to be as...well, she's sixteen, you know?"

He grinned. "Oh, I still remember sneaking in at three thirty myself."

She seemed so relieved that he forgave himself this tiny little lapse in professionalism. After all, he wasn't even officially on this case. He might have Welsh's unofficial blessing, but the operative word was un.

"Would you like to sit down, Detective..."

"Vecchio," he finished for her. "I'd appreciate it if you could persuade your daughter to come down and talk to me -- about what she may have seen last night."

She took a very slow, very deep breath, mentally preparing herself for what might come. "Yes. Have a seat, Detective. I'll get my daughter."

Ray watched the woman climb the steps until she was out of sight. He sat in a small comfortable easy chair kitty corner to the sofa. He looked around the room. Very ordinary at a glance, but it told a bit about the people who lived here.

It was warm, both in the earth tones of the decor and in the choices of what filled it. Lots of family photos. He admired the woman's choice to keep photos of the father in the room. There were many of the family together at outings, parties, etc. Not one studio shot of the family. There were school photos of a girl from toddlerhood up to what looked to be about a fourteen year old. There were handmade, child-handmade, objects around and in use as ashtrays (no ashes: one held coins, another paper clips), picture frames, paperweights, etc. Some framed kids drawings, paintings, sand art. All put together and displayed with artistry and love. They looked to be the best works of a talented kid.

Voices and noises at the top of the stairs brought his attention back there. The "talented artist" came down first. She was wrapped in a boldly striped terry robe. It was too large for her by a size or two, enveloping her petite frame in a loose, but thoroughly comfy looking softness.

It struck him that she was wearing her mother's robe and that it was used to offer comfort and protection. Crazy conjecture. How would he know that?

The same way he knew or felt that Dief clinging to her side like wolf-based glue meant she was somehow connected to the events of last night (or, really, only this morning -- barely twelve hours ago).

At the bottom of the stairs the girl hesitated, stopped. The mother caught up to her, encouraging her forward into the room where the detective waited. He stood, slowly, not wanting to intimidate the already terrified kid. She glanced at him, then looked quickly down at the floor. It reminded him of how much trouble Benny was having meeting his eyes today. He hoped it wasn't the only connection.

He noted dark eyes, full of fear and suspicion in the moment or two he had seen them. Dark and almost familiar in some way. Darker than Frannie's and somehow less innocent. Strange in a kid so young. Although he'd seen the hard eyes of a dead soul in a kid of no more than ten. But this kid didn't seem hard at all, just strangely old. Old soul, that's what Ma would say. The kid has an old soul. She usually meant it as a compliment.

Though her hair was even fairer than her mother's brown, she had the dark eyes of the man he'd seen in the photographs. *She has her father's eyes,* he could almost hear the relatives voices echoing throughout the years. Her father's eyes that were somehow familiar in that delicate, pretty face.

The mother had gently nudged her till she stood reluctantly in front of him. He extended his hand. "Detective Raymond Vecchio," he said in his most gentle voice.

She looked at his hand for seconds before reaching out her smaller one to his. He took the small thing in his, gave it what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze and let it go.

"I just have a few questions for you, Miss Tanniere. It shouldn't take long."

The mother led her daughter to the sofa where they sat. Ray resumed his seat facing them at an angle and Dief took up his position at the girl's knee.

"I don't understand why you want to talk to me. I don't know what you think I know."

"Well, you see miss, it's partly the wolf. His being here kind of led us to your door, so to speak."

"I don't know why he's here."

"He didn't follow you home last night...or, actually, this morning? I understand you got in quite late." He flipped open a notepad for effect. "About three thirty a.m., I see."

She hesitated, staring at the notepad as he'd hoped, wondering what details he had written there. *What works for a Mountie works for a teenage girl,* he thought.

"I...I...wouldn't know. Maybe... I know he's been there since my mom first went to go out. I suppose he could have followed me." She looked to her mother, then back to Ray. "I'm in trouble with my mom for breaking curfew. But I didn't know it was against the law here."

"Oh, no it isn't -- not yet. But, you see the wolf was part of a case involving some violence last night."

"Oh." The girl's voice got tiny, tense, afraid.

He felt like a heel, pushing her like this, but it was for Benny and he needed the truth. That was all he wanted. The truth of what happened last night. It wouldn't change anything that happened, anything she knew. But it could help his friend. He had to believe that the truth would help Benny, not push him further into this dark abyss. It might even help her in some way. He couldn't say. He only hoped.

He believed that she knew something. The fear wasn't just a general fear of cops or questions or...whatever. He went on. He had to. But he'd be as gentle, as careful, as he could.

"There is a man under arrest."

"But...nothing happened." She was obviously shaken by this news.

"Well, I'm afraid something did happen, Sherry. Is it okay if I call you Sherry?"

"Mmm," she murmured. A frightened, distracted affirmative.

Ray noted Mrs. Tanniere...Ms. Marten...move in closer to her daughter on the sofa. Protecting, encouraging. He decided he was lucky this time out. The woman seemed to want the truth as much as he did. Some parents would have thrown him out by now, or called a lawyer, or not even opened the door in the first place. Maybe his luck would spill over to the kid.

"You see, Sherry," he continued, "two men had a fight, an altercation, you might say. And one of the men has been placed under arrest for assault."

The girl looked confused, but also noticeably relieved. *Hmm,* he thought. This wasn't going toward the thing that frightened her.

"Assault with intent to kill," he added.

That startled her. "Oh, is he all right?" she blurted, instantly regretting it. Her mother put an arm around her.

"Both men sustained injuries in the fight, but neither is in danger of dying."

More relief, more confusion went by in those dark, tell-all eyes. She didn't say anything.

Ray took some time before proceeding. Watching her process the information.

It was Ms. Marten who spoke next. "Honey, did you see any of this?"

Sherry turned her head quickly to face her mother. "No, mom. I didn't see it."

Ray believed her. That wasn't the answer.

She turned back to him. "I didn't see any of it. I don't know about any of this. I don't know why you're here asking me about it. Now can you leave me alone?"

Ray had believed her denial to her mother, but when she'd turned back to him she'd had to work much harder to be convincing.

"There's not much more to say," he lied. There was everything to say.

He leaned forward and put a hand on Dief's neck, digging his fingers into the still damp fur and working his way up to the accepting head.

"The man who owns this wolf...well, actually he'd say they're just friends...he's a friend of mine, too. And he's a good man, Sherry.

"He's the kind of man who'd stop everything to help someone who's in trouble. In Canada he's a cop, like me." Not a heckuva lot like me. He mentally corrected. "He's been hurt a lot of times, trying to help people." The dark eyes flickered with compassion, concern. *Good,* he thought. "Even Dief here's been shot more than once." She looked down at the wolf who was putty in Ray's hand. Dief's head drifted down to rest on the girl's knee. Ray took his hand away and sat back in his chair.

"Ya know, he's deaf." He paused, shook his head gently. "A deaf wolf and a Mountie. Two years ago, if you'da told me that they'd be my two best friends, I'da laughed. Big time.

"Dief's eardrums burst after he pulled my friend out of some icy Canadian waters. Saved him from drowning.

"So, you see, you got two heroes here. A hero Mountie and a hero wolf. Always rushing in trying to save people.

"Only now, they got my friend under arrest for trying to kill this other guy." The mother started, she couldn't help a small gasp of surprise. He was watching the girl's response, which was to blanch, looking shocked, then more and more miserable as he went on.

"The guy's pressing charges, says he didn't do a thing. That it was an unprovoked attack." He could see every emotion, every conflict play out in the girl's face, her dark eyes giving everything away.

"The only witnesses saw my friend chasing him. And then he was pulled off of him by the officers who arrived at the scene.

"No one else knows what happened. No one knows why he was chasing this man. And, for some reason, my friend won't defend himself. He won't talk to anyone -- not even to his best friend. That would be me.

"He's gonna go to prison and he won't say why. And I think... I think he's protecting somebody."

The girl exploded into tears. She burrowed in against her mother who, in true mother-animal protectiveness, enveloped her in a full body hug. Dief wiggled his way in for some stray grabbing and clutching and managed to lick the faces of both women simultaneously.

Ray sat and prayed. He'd done his best for Benny. He only hoped he'd done enough and that the truth which he now believed would come, would indeed set his friend free.

"No!" Panicked blue-gray eyes snapped open. Disoriented, he shifted on the cot. Mistake. The stiff-sore pain reminded him. Another nightmare, he realized -- accepted -- with exhausted defeat. Every dream, one of violence, of loss of control, of death.

Not for the first time, he wished he'd held firm against the doctor's insistence that he take the pain medication. While it did help relieve the terrible, escalating pains in his back, it had left him groggy and unable to maintain control. He would not allow another dose to be given. The price was far too high.

He set his mind to fighting the sleepiness that already threatened to pull him back down into the darkness.

He was alone in the interrogation room. Another breach in protocol. Ray. Even the lieutenant was a contributor to the current irregularities regarding his incarceration. It was... It confused him. He knew their intentions were for the best, and he was grateful to be out of that cell. Unthinkable, what might have happened had he passed out in there. Unthinkable, that he'd shown so much weakness in front of his friends.

And that doctor. He was sure that the man wasn't one of the on-calls, certainly none that he had met or seen around the station. Ray again.

He feared that his friends would draw proceedings against themselves due to the growing list of breaches and irregularities regarding him. How could they deny it was favoritism? Favoritism of the most flagrant, obvious... He had to stop the line of thought. His throat was tightening, choking with... Something was happening to him. The emotions that he generally held so easily in check were rebelling -- erupting at every turn. It was...unacceptable.

He decided to concentrate on his surroundings. Immediately below him on the floor he saw that someone had thoughtfully removed the waste basket that he had previously "used." The memory came with some humiliation. The basket had been replaced with a fresh container, fully lined. He was grateful, but he had no memory of the change.

There was now a small table within easy reach. It held a plastic pitcher, wet with condensation, which formed a small puddle at its base. There was a glass, half full of ice water and also dripping wet.

He was thirsty, but still unsure of the status of his innards. He watched a drop slide down the glass, first slowly then with sudden speed. Maybe he could risk a sip.

Cautiously, he reached for the glass, propped painfully up on his elbow and took a small sip, then another. He swirled the cold, fresh wetness in his mouth, then swallowed. Then again...then... He replaced the glass.

He leaned forward till he was peering down into the empty cylinder and felt his stomach lurch. It heaved twice more, then quieted. He waited, poised over the basket until his strength gave out, then carefully sank back onto the cot.

A minute or so later the door opened. He looked up to see Elaine step in. He knew with sudden certainty that she was the one who had so thoughtfully been providing for his needs.

Her eyes caught his and glanced down in shy surprise. "You're awake."

"A debatable point," he replied weakly.

"Thirsty?" she asked, crossing toward the cot.

"Yes, but..." The muscles around his eyes tightened.

"Queasy?"

"Mmm."

And then she noticed the waste basket and his awkward discomfort. She ignored that for the moment. "This might help."

She lifted the pitcher from the table, along with a washcloth he hadn't seen. She held them both over the basket, pouring icy water over the cloth until it was saturated. She replaced the pitcher, wrung out the cloth, then knelt beside the cot. She touched the cold cloth to his face with gentle pressure. First one cheek, then after several seconds, the other.

Finally, she moved the cloth to his forehead and held it there for some time.

It felt so cool against his skin. It felt soothing and tender and kind. Why did it hurt so much?

"I...I'll be all right now, I think. Thank you kindly, Elaine. You should probably get back to your work."

She wanted to stay. Wanted him to want her to stay. But knew he was asking her to leave. She placed his hand on the cloth, to hold it there. "Keep it there for awhile longer." She got up, removed the liner from the basket and lifted another from below it into place.

"I'll check you later."

"Thank you..."

The door shut. She was gone.

He was alone.

And soon he'd be dreaming once again.

The woman held on to her daughter, rocking her like a babe, until her crying quieted down to small breathy sobs. By then they'd gone through a few dozen tissues. Ray waited in total exhausted attentiveness, like a driver who'd been behind the wheel too long but absolutely had to reach his destination.

*More coffee,* he thought. I've got to get some more coffee. He covered a yawn.

Mrs. Tanniere -- Ms. Marten -- looked at him; her eyes held apology and assurance. She'd see this through to the end, he felt sure of it.

"Sweetie." Her daughter moved from the safe embrace and looked up at her mother with such pure trust and love that Ray felt a shiver run through him. Wow. It wasn't often you got a glimpse of that between people, especially strangers. It was the kind of look you might see a small child give, but by the teens it became pretty rare and adults had usually learned to camouflage that kind of thing. Too open and much too vulnerable.

"I'm going to start some coffee and then we're going to talk to Detective Vecchio about what happened. I want you to tell him -- and me -- everything that happened, everything you know."

"I know, Mom. I will."

Ray thought the woman had read his mind, or maybe it was just his yawns. Coffee would be great. That and finally getting the girl's story.

As soon as the woman left the sofa, Dief jumped up and took her place next to the girl. Shameless opportunist. Ray thought in his best Fraser voice. He wondered if the wolf was after the warmth of the vacated spot or the affection the girl automatically gave him.

Ms. Marten stretched tense muscles before heading out to the kitchen. After a few moments Ray stood and did the same. "Bathroom?" He asked.

"Right down the hall. First door opposite the stairs," the girl told him without quite meeting his eyes.

When Ray returned Dief was being held by the girl almost the same way that the mother had been holding her. He sat down in the same chair.

"Do wolves like leftover pizza?" Ms. Marten peeked out of the kitchen.

Dief perked up. *Deaf my you-know-what,* thought Ray. Or maybe it's ESP, especially where food is concerned. The wolf threw her a look and an affirmative grumble.

"This wolf likes anything edible and a few things...well...you don't want to know."

Minutes later, Dief had his warmed up pizza and some water and they had their coffee. Ms. Marten had reclaimed her seat and put an arm around her daughter. "Okay, honey. Tell us about last night."

"I went clubbing with some friends. We used fake I.D.'s and got in at the second place we tried, Beelzebub's. Everybody was... My friends all picked up guys and got into trying some designer stuff. I don't know what I expected. I guess I expected to like it all. And the truth was I really hated it. The whole thing sucked. The people, the drugs, the ridiculous lighting, they even managed to make the music sound bad and I like some of the stuff they played, but not the awful things the DJ did.

"Anyhow, I kind of ended up on my own. I didn't know what to do. No one else wanted to leave. I didn't have a ride. I didn't even have cab fare. It was stupid, Mom, I know. From the beginning to the end.

"I just wanted to do something...uncharacteristic, I guess. People always think I'm such a goody-two-shoes. I guess I wanted to prove to them or to myself that there was more to me. That I could be wild, reckless...whatever.

"I was miserable. I was tired. It was so late and I couldn't get them to leave. I realized none of them had parents who gave a damn. I realized I was so unlike them in every way. And I realized I was stuck.

"I was waiting for a phone to call you -- the line was incredible -- when this older guy started talking to me. He seemed nice enough. I didn't particularly like him or anything, but he totally knew what I was thinking and feeling about the place and the whole experience.

"He said he didn't have a car, but he could walk me to a taxi stand not far from the club.

"I told him I didn't have enough money for a taxi and he said not to worry about that. He said he had a little sister and he'd want someone to help her out if she got stranded. I guess I just wanted to believe him.

"I thought there was a chance I could get in without waking you this way. I was hoping that you'd be asleep for work. It was stupid. I shouldn't have left with him. But he was just going to take me to a taxi.

"I told one of the girls I was leaving, and she could care less.

"We didn't go very far... It was so empty...the streets, I mean. After a couple blocks there was no one around. I was nervous, but he kept talking like everything was fine and normal and safe. And then he just pulled me into an alley."

She was crying again. Her mom held her tightly for a minute or more. She handed her the still steaming coffee.

Each of them drank silently. When she was ready Sherry continued without prompting.

"He pushed me against a wall. He held me hard and kissed me and tried...his hands...he touched me and his hands hurt and I tried to scream, but he stopped me. I was crying, but he wouldn't let me talk. I never would have told anyone. I never would have..."

When she didn't continue for some time, her mother spoke.

"When I was much younger than you, Sweetheart, I was molested by someone my family trusted. I didn't say anything to anyone. Not anyone. I never spoke of it. I never even said no to him because no one had prepared me, no one had taught me how."

"Mom, I said no. And I kneed him...where it counts."

*So, that was one injury for which Benny wasn't accountable,* thought Ray.

"But you didn't tell me."

"I..."

"You didn't trust me."

Ray heard the same hurt that he had felt himself earlier with Fraser. He wished he could go back and tell him that he was beginning to understand.

"I was afraid...ashamed."

*I do trust you. I just can't tell you,* echoed in Ray's mind.

"Honey..."

"If that man..." The girl turned to Ray for the first time since beginning her story. "If your friend...hadn't come... I don't know how he heard me or what made him come, but he stopped the guy. He grabbed him off so fast it almost pulled me with him. And then I don't know. I think they fought a little and your friend came over to see if I was okay and then the guy ran away and your friend ran after him. I walked most of the way home and took a bus when I found a stop I knew. Somehow this guy," she indicated Dief, "followed me all the way here, even after the bus. That's about all I know."

Ray spoke for the first time in nearly half an hour. "Except..." He left the thought dangling, hoping she'd finish it for him. She looked bewildered, so he continued, "Except...you asked him not to tell anyone."

"I made him promise."

"Honey, I know you were afraid and ashamed, but you were going to let the man who helped you go to prison --"

"Mom." Suddenly the girl sounded years older and so much like her mother that Ray caught a glimpse of the woman she would soon be. "I didn't know. I never would have let that happen. I swear, Mom. If I knew, I would have told you. I swear it." Once again tears spilled onto the girl's face. Now her mother was crying, as she pulled her in for one more hug.

"I know. I believe you, honey."

He let them have their needed moment. But he had a need, too. He needed to get Benny out from under those charges -- soonest. Besides, his coffee cup was now empty. Time was wasting here.

"So, you'll come down to the precinct. Make a statement and an identification. Clear things up."

"Yes," said the mother. And the daughter echoed, "Yes."

Ben had tried to sit up on the cot. It hadn't been the pain in his back that had stopped him. It was the throbbing in his head and the clutching in his stomach. Both manageable lying down, impossible sitting up.

It wasn't only that he'd finally accomplished the total destruction of his career -- something that he seemed to dance around every few months since his dad had died. It was the fact that he had done the unforgivable. He had, as he'd told Ray earlier, lost control.

A peace officer without control was no better than the criminals he or she hunted.

At least he'd put a stop to the nightmares. When Elaine had tried to get him to take a second dose of the pain reliever, he had refused.

There had followed a long, drawn out, head to head standoff. It was a stubborn quotient match which he'd won, as he knew he would. She thought she had an advantage due to his weakened condition, but he held the advantage all along. It was his mouth and he wasn't going to open it.

It had been a considerable relief when she left at last in exasperated defeat. He was very sorry to vex her, but it had been essential. He would have years to live with the nightmares, he knew that, but for right now he needed...control. What little was left to him.

The door opened. He had been alone for some time.

It was Ray.

"Hey, Benny."

Ray was still talking to him. He had thought maybe they had gone beyond that point, at least as long as he couldn't tell his friend what he wanted -- needed -- to hear.

"Ray."

Once again Ray pulled up a chair and sat. "How ya doin', Benny?"

It was difficult to meet his eyes, but Ben tried. He saw genuine concern, friendship still alive. "Okay, Ray." Foolishly, his heart betrayed him again, thumping and glad that his friend still seemed to care, that he hadn't driven him away for good.

Ray felt a little choked up himself at Benny's not-so-very-well concealed relief that Ray was still talking to him.

"Elaine says you won't take your pain meds. I'm gonna have to get Dr. M back here."

"Please don't...bother Dr. Mar...Dr.Man...Dr. M."

Ray smiled at him.

"I just don't need to be sleepy right now, Ray."

Ray studied his friend. He looked worn out to him. "You look like you could use some sleep right now, Benny."

"Rest isn't the same as sleep, Ray," after a second he added, "necessarily."

"Hmm," Ray considered. He remembered nights when sleep was far worse than exhaustion -- the last times being after Irene. He decided Benny was right about that.

"Somebody wants to see you, Benny. You up to it?"

Fraser looked extremely reluctant.

"Shouldn't take long." He got up, deciding not to wait for Benny's polite refusal.

"Ray, I'm not..."

Ray had the door open. He waved someone in.

"...so sure," Fraser finished futilely. He was really not up to this. He wanted to crawl under the cot rather than be seen by anyone else.

The girl entered shyly, tentatively, her head facing more to the floor than anywhere else.

Oh, no. He wasn't up to another shock, but there was nowhere to go.

"You found her," he whispered to Ray.

He turned to the girl. "I didn't... You don't have to say anything. I didn't... I haven't..." He struggled to sit up as he struggled to reassure her.

"I know." Her face lifted up to his. She crossed in toward him. "I know you didn't tell. It's okay." She stopped halfway across the room. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I wouldn't have let them arrest you..."

"That's not your fault. That's nothing to do with you, really." He looked back to Ray. "It's not to do with her. You understand me, Ray. You didn't have to bring her into this."

"Well actually, it was Dief who brought her into it, Benny."

"Dief?"

"You must have told him to stay with her. And you know Dief. He stayed. Followed her all the way home and wouldn't leave. When they reported him, it got back to us. So, you see, Benny..."

"It was my fault. I'm sorry, miss."

"I'm not!" Now she closed the last few feet between them. "I never would have asked you to promise if I thought...if I knew... I was just afraid my Mom would be angry."

She sat in Ray's chair and continued. "Well, she should be angry. I did some stupid, stupid things last night. But if you had gone to jail or prison because of it...because of me, I would have hated myself."

"I'm sor--" he began. She cut him off. No one seemed to want to hear that today.

"What if I never knew. Or I found out way too late to do anything. I can't believe you didn't tell."

"I don't make promises I don't intend to keep."

"Well, I'm not asking for promises I haven't thought out better than that one."

"Your mother..."

"She knows"

"Oh."

"She's okay." She paused briefly. "We'll work it out. I think the only thing she wouldn't have forgiven would have been letting you get into trouble and not doing anything about it."

"Ah."

"She wants to thank you."

"Some other time, perhaps."

"Sure. You look kind of tired." She stood up. "You'll be okay though, right?"

"Oh, yes. I'll be fine."

"Thank you. Thank you so much. For everything." She tried to form words that expressed what she felt. "You gave me my life." The dark eyes shone at him with such deep gratitude. He felt a glow of warmth inside. Difficult to analyze. Relief? Vindication? Something new.

"Scared as I was," she went on, "if he...even if he wasn't going to kill me, my life would never have been the same. It never would have been the life I want to have. I know it." Her eyes were full of tears by now. "You gave it back to me. Thank you so much."

"You're welcome. You...you'll be careful now..." He spoke carefully, holding onto his emotions. It meant so much to hear these words. It was why he'd given his promise, to try to spare her.

"Oh, yes. No more clubs for me. Not my scene. Art class is more than enough right now. That'll be my extracurricular for quite awhile. I'm not sure I'll even date for years." She laughed, the wry, through tears laughter that Chekov was so fond of.

"Well, maybe a month or so," added Fraser.

Ray, who had stayed well back observing, smiled at his friend's words. Almost a joke, Benny. Almost a joke.

"Well, I've got an I.D. to make." She turned back toward Ray and the door. "Do I get to do a line up, like on TV?"

"Oh, yes," said Ray.

"Well, that's kind of cool." She turned back to Fraser one last time. "In it's own scary way."

He smiled for her. She smiled back and whispered one final, "Thank you."

Ray escorted her out.

Fraser lay down and closed his eyes, reining in wild emotions, harder to hold than any unbroken stallion. *Please. No more shocks. No surprises,* he wished, exhausted.

He knew Ray had worked hard to turn something up. This wouldn't have simply landed in his lap. At the very least a bulletin would have been put out on Dief. Otherwise, why would a report of a stray have come to the station? All that effort. And nothing changed.

He knew he'd have to face Ray yet.

Ray would think that this meant everything was fine. He'd think this would solve it all. And right now, Ben didn't have the strength to tell him he was wrong.

He was glad the girl was all right, after all. He'd been worried about her. He realized he'd never asked her name. She was still the girl to him. Odd, how police work sometimes did that. Threw you into such direct, often intense, contact with people who were still total strangers.

He knew he should be relaxing now, collecting his faculties. But instead he was tense, aware of every second passing at glacial speed. The small room tightened in on him and he couldn't turn his eyes away from the door. He stared at the doorknob waiting for it to turn. Waiting for Ray.

Late afternoon activity in the squad room was close to full throttle; over the next several hours things would stay busy and get busier. Still, one detective had only one case that mattered at the moment.

He ushered the girl and her mother in after the volatile redheaded State's Attorney. Was it really true about redheads? Were they all as fiery as this one had proven to be? He could think of one other in his past who'd proven no exception to the rule. Later he'd put his mind to a more thorough review. Later, when this was over and Benny was free. And he'd gotten a chance to sleep.

Dief pushed his way in after them, just before the door closed. Ray looked down at the eager bodyguard. Maybe he should have let him visit Benny.

The wolf had tried to head for the interrogation room when they'd arrived, but Ray had pulled him away. He'd wanted his time alone with Benny before letting him know they'd found the girl. Dief would have changed the whole equation around. Benny would have known right away that something was up.

Ray had wanted a few quiet moments first, after the way he'd left here earlier. He'd wanted Benny to know he wasn't just on his side, he was no longer angry; he was beginning to understand.

He still wasn't sure it had been the right way to go. Maybe it was the selfish thing to do. But so far, things seemed to be playing out the way he'd hoped.

He had left it up to Elaine to keep Dief occupied. She accomplished this in the simplest, most obvious way -- she bribed him.

She had a box of actual dog treats in a drawer. (Three boxes, truth to tell.) Not a single jelly doughnut. It had taken some experimentation, but she'd found a brand and flavor that he liked. It kept him interested in her desk which often meant that Fraser would stop by to collect him. At the same time she felt she wasn't contributing to the dissolution of the Yukon creature quite so thoroughly as the rest of the station's personnel. Everybody benefited.

Ray didn't know how Elaine did it, although he suspected bribery, like the rest of them. He was mostly just grateful for the distraction. But now they'd picked up the wolf again. He headed directly to the girl's side. She reached down and squeezed his neck fur.

She was nervous, Ray could tell. It was always difficult for a victim to face this moment. He didn't think she'd freeze up, though. He was glad that her mother gave her full support to this. She reassured her daughter at every opportunity. And Dief might actually help.

Ray added his voice to the general support. "Sherry." She looked at him uncertainly. "You'll do fine. Just take your time. And don't be afraid."

She smiled faintly. "Nothing to be afraid of, right? I'm in the police station. And then there's Hero Wolf." Dief lifted his head and licked her hand.

"Yeah. You're pretty well protected."

The men had begun to file in. St. Laurent directed the girl's attention to the line-up beyond the glass. Dief stood up, placed his paws at the bottom edge of the glass and growled. He had already made his identification.

Sherry automatically placed her hand back on the ruff of the wolf's neck. He looked at her and whined, then waited quietly for the girl to complete her job.

Ray picked out Sleicho from his mug shots. Nothing remarkable about the guy. Ordinary, almost nondescript. Kind of good looking in that once-upon-a-time way. Hair thinning now, though expensively styled to hide it. Could hair be well styled and pathetic at the same time? he wondered. Pathetically well styled? He was glad he'd made the decision to close crop his own.

The beginnings of bags under his eyes, chin softening a touch. Another few years, Sleicho'd be hard pressed to get a young girl to follow him out of a club. But how many kids could he hurt in the meantime.

He might look harmless, but Ray had learned long ago that, all too often, that was simply the best camouflage for the predator.

When Huey and a uniform had picked him up, "Harry" was sleeping off the night before. He had answered the door before thinking to flush his stash down the toilet. The arrogant S.O.B. probably still figured he was the complainant in the case.

There were enough drugs in the apartment to constitute intent to sell. In all likelihood, he had just made a buy to replenish what he must have ditched earlier -- the stash Ray had been unable to locate.

One of the missing pieces of the picture.

Ray had searched trash cans (already emptied) and storm drains (though not from the inside -- which he was sure Benny would have figured a way to do -- grates or no grates, rain or no rain) and, of course, the requisite dumpster, trying to turn up something -- anything. It had all been to no avail.

At the time he had to consider that drug dealing might have been at the heart of the case. Even with the sealed case factored in, he couldn't be sure, until C told him the drugs were merely part of Sleicho's usual "seduction" technique.

With Sherry he hadn't had to use them. The kid had fallen for his big brother act and gone off with him so trustingly it made Ray twitch with supressed rage.

Ray knew that slime like this guy would use anything against their victims. They were sexual con artists. He'd seen plenty in his time, but it still soured his stomach when he had to look at one of them, especially one that preyed on kids. But then, through bars or even through the two-way in a lineup was always better than out on the street.

Huey and the uniform had also found handcuffs -- old and looking as much used as the cops' own. Handcuffs in a home was not so unusual these days, but there were traces of blood on these. The lab was checking that now. And there'd be male and female officers canvassing the clubs tonight, trying to turn up prior victims who might come forward now that the man had been picked up.

Once Sherry I.D.'d him and the charges were formally laid, his name could be leaked to the papers and that might bring out some fresh witnesses or complainants. Ray had seen it happen before. A perpetrator could get away with something for years, but then a trend would start. Just like on the stock market, you could get a stampede going as everyone followed the leader.

Ray watched the small, afraid, unlikely looking leader. She spoke softly, right into St. Laurent's ear. *Nice ear,* he thought, inappropriately. "Number Three. He's the one. He tried to...he assaulted me last night."

"You're sure of your identification?"

"Yes. Number Three."

"Thank you, Ms. Tanniere."

She hit the intercom. "We're done. Hold Number Three."

Ray spoke up quickly. "Now, there's a little matter of a Mountie being held on assault charges for an unprovoked attack on an honest citizen."

"He saved my life...he saved me, Ms. St. Laurent." Dief slid down to the floor and added his whine to the girl's plea. "They did. His wolf, too. They... He shouldn't be under arrest. He was only trying to help me."

"I understand, Ms. Tanniere. I've seen the new report. I'll need to speak with Detective Vecchio alone for a few minutes." She turned to include Ms. Marten. "Thank you both for coming down. I'll be in touch."

"Oh, isn't there something more we should do?" asked Ms. Marten.

"You will let Mr. Fraser go, right?" threw in Sherry.

"You don't have to worry about the Constable," non-answered St. Laurent.

*God, that woman's good at that,* grouched Ray mentally.

"Well...if you don't need us..." Ms. Marten seemed hesitant to leave.

"If you're sure he'll be all right," Sherry added.

Both women turned toward Ray for reassurance. He was far from sanguine about St. Laurent and what was going on with her, but there was no need to alarm the ladies -- yet.

"I'll take care of Fraser," he assured them. He gave Sherry a brief hug and then her mom. He whispered something in their ears, annoying St. Laurent beyond expressing. They each nodded at whatever he had said, then said their goodbyes.

This time Ray held onto Dief. "Dief, stay," he said, trying for an exact match of the way he'd seen and heard Fraser say it so many times in the past.

"You did your job. Sherry's safe now." Dief still tried to pull away to follow after. Ray placed a hand on his muzzle, turning the wolf to face him. "I have a jelly doughnut," he enunciated. Dief settled quietly and said his goodbyes to Sherry and her mom.

"Jelly doughnuts?" Ms. Marten laughed on her way out the door.

"I told you, you didn't want to know."

Ray turned and gave the redhead a long hard look as the other two left. She glared right back at him. Once the door closed he let go of Dief.

Sensing the energy between the two remaining humans, Dief headed to a corner to wait for the jelly doughnut he knew would come. The skinny one rarely forgot a promised doughnut. And Dief had ways to jog his memory if it came to it.

A few moments later the humans decided they were alone in the room.

"What did you whisper to them?"

"You've still got it in for him, don't you."

The two spoke simultaneously.

"I--" she started , but he didn't let her continue. He overrode her, forcing the conversation his way.

"Right from the beginning and especially since the Metcalf thing." He tried to make himself refer to it as though it were just a case, but the emotion bled through.

He continued angrily, "I thought maybe you'd lightened up a little when he helped you out on the Zuko case." He was less and less successful at keeping the venom out of his voice. "You seemed to like getting the better of me then!" His voice was getting louder. Shriller. It couldn't be helped. "But even that wasn't enough for you!"

"Detective. You're shouting at me. Does everything have to be personal with you? Can't you just once behave like a cop?"

"This is personal! You keep going after a person's friend. Even a cop takes that personally!"

"I'm not 'going after' your friend. He just has this annoying habit of being in the middle of just about every case I'm trying to clear. And you -- You are just so...defensive! You think I want to be unfair or something! I --"

He cut her off with a kiss. It shocked the hell out of both of them. For quite a long time.

A long time in coming, it was a long time in letting go.

When they did back off from each other, they were both still in a kind of shock.

"I..."

"Well..."

"It's..."

"Yeah..."

"Let's..."

"Maybe we should..."

"Yeah..."

"Let's go see..."

"Fraser..."

"Uh-huh."

They straightened themselves out. Ray wiped lipstick off his lips. Louise unsmudged hers. He held the door open for her and they left the room.

Dief followed them before the door closed. He had no comment worth making.

The door to Interrogation/Infirmary Room Two opened. Ray had asked St. Laurent for a moment alone with Fraser before she came in. He stepped into the room and was so thrown by the empty cot that he nearly turned right around.

"Over here, Ray." Came the soft, but unmistakable voice.

Ray's head whipped around to see Fraser sitting in a chair at the table, looking rigid and uncomfortable.

He stepped in, closing the door behind him. "What are you doing out of bed?"

"I've been on that cot almost the entire day, Ray. It was time I got off it."

"You don't look so good, Benny."

"Thanks, Ray." He was using his arms braced against the table to help keep himself propped up. He was looking mighty peaked to Ray. "I take it the girl identified this Sleicho."

Ray closed the distance between them and sat next to his friend. Closer up, the Mountie looked even worse.

"Yes, she did. Why don't you lie back down, Benny. I really don't like the way you look right now."

"Sorry about that, Ray...that's right...hmm," he smiled, almost -- a tiny quirk of the corners of his mouth. "I say that too much...maybe you're right." As the near smile faded, he continued, "Is States Attorney St. Laurent waiting to come in?" He spoke each word of her title and name with a slow, deliberate effort. Ray's eyes darted automatically to the door. He nodded. "I just need to be sitting up when she does, not lying on a cot. We have some things to discuss. I want to face her...and you...eye to eye."

"Benny?" You wouldn't say that if you could see that eye of yours.

"Yes, Ray?"

"Have I told you you are the most stubborn man I know?"

"I don't think so, Ray."

"Well, consider it said."

"Understood."

Ray got up and went back to the door, opening it. He stared straight out at a spot several feet beyond the doorway and gave a small nod. His point of focus gradually shortened until Louise St. Laurent entered. Ray didn't take his eyes from her and as she passed him, she gave Ray an odd, rather intense look.

Ray hadn't seen Fraser stand and wasn't happy when he turned and found that his friend had -- somehow -- gotten out of the chair, but Fraser hadn't missed the interplay between the attorney and the detective. He wasn't sure what it meant, but with those two one could never tell what was in the air.

Louise hadn't expected the Canadian to look quite so haggard, bruises showing against his pale skin, dark circles under his eyes, even the one that wasn't blackened. He looked a little sickly and was unsteady as he sat back down -- only after she did.

Now she gave Ray another kind of look. One that said she understood a good deal more why he was so concerned for his friend.

Fraser recognized her compassion. It upset him, coming from this woman who so rarely exhibited a sign of it before and none toward him. And coming now, when he didn't deserve it. Compassion was not what he wanted from her.

He had a sudden, new fear that somehow they would all conspire to clear him of the charges against him and that he'd be forced to go unpunished for his crime. It was totally unacceptable.

He had counted on St. Laurent's inexorable sense of justice and adherence to the letter of the law. She couldn't waiver now. Not when he needed her strength to compensate for his own weakness.

He looked to Ray and saw him returning St. Laurent's look with one of gratitude. This was not going the way he'd anticipated.

"Ray, I think it best if you were to leave."

"Benny?" Ray looked hurt, confused.

It couldn't be helped. He'd hoped to salvage some threads of their friendship through this, but hadn't counted on it. If he had to hurt Ray one more time today, he'd do it. He must.

"You're not even assigned to this case. You're too close to one of the perpetrators. You're too personally involved. I'm afraid you may already have unduly swayed Ms. St. Laurent's opinion, tainted her objectivity."

That worked so well it was almost uncanny. The State's Attorney stiffened immediately at the questioning of her objectivity.

"Perhaps Constable Fraser is right. You are, after all, his partner oftentimes, and his friend. And, as he pointed out, you are not the detective assigned to the case. Is Detective Huey in the station?"

Ray pushed his chair back from the table, turning it to face his friend with an ugly screech. His eyes narrowed.

"He's manipulating you." He spoke to St. Laurent, but he didn't take his eyes off Fraser.

"What?" she snapped, her tone both incredulous and insulted.

"He's feeling guilty," Ray continued, scrutinizing his friend, "and he's decided he should be punished and he doesn't want me in the way when he leads you into throwing the book at him."

"I am not so easily led..."

"He got you to agree to throwing me out awful fast, didn't he? Correct me if I'm wrong, Constable Fraser." He hit the last two words with extra emphasis, parroting St. Laurent's formality.

There was a thundering silence in the room.

Finally, Fraser broke it. "You shouldn't be here, Ray."

"Maybe you should leave, Detective," St. Laurent agreed, though no longer underestimating the Mountie.

This was something Ray was very unhappy about, but he was almost disgusted enough with his unofficial partner to throw in the towel. He had worked his tail off to get things to this point and now Benny was trying, *deliberately trying,* to overturn all Ray's work and get himself tried and convicted.

Ray stood up. He pushed the chair under the table. He stood there for long seconds aware of the tension between himself and his friend. He looked toward Benny. Angry as he was, he forced himself to look at him once more before leaving.

He looked liked nothing should be keeping him upright in the chair. Ray was sure it was sheer force of will, stubbornness, that kept him there.

Fraser would sacrifice himself to his ideal. Punish himself for his unforgivable lapse. Live up to the model of his father, the Great Mountie. And suddenly Ray knew he wouldn't allow it. He couldn't and he just wouldn't.

"Nope." He pulled out the chair and sat back down. "Not going. Can't make me. Someone has to be on your side, Benny. Even if it isn't you."

Now Fraser looked almost defeated, even weaker than before. "Ray."

"Yeah, Benny?"

He had no follow up for Ray. "Ms. St. Laurent?"

"Yes, Constable?"

"It is a further breach, I know, but this day has been full of them..."

She laughed at that -- a tiny snort.

"Could you give us a few minutes more?"

"Certainly, Constable." She stood up and gave Ray the hardest look to figure out that he'd ever gotten from her. And that was saying something. Part disapproval, part admiration, he thought. Or was he fooling himself? She also looked deeply concerned for the Canadian, for whom she usually reserved only the unkindest reactions.

"Detective," she tossed away, as she headed for the door.

Once she was gone Benny slumped forward against the table wearily. "Why won't you give this up?"

"Oh, Benny, don't be so stupid."

Fraser rolled his head, which was now resting on his arms on the table, until he faced his friend. He was too tired to be shocked, and almost too tired to be curious. Almost.

"You're my friend," Ray continued as though he hadn't just insulted the other man. "You wouldn't give up on me. And you're not the only stubborn man in this room."

"Oh."

"Now let me get you back onto the cot."

Fraser took a deep breath, held it and finally let it go. "Okay, Ray. You win this round," he pushed himself up from the table, "but I will still face the assault charges."

Ray came over to help him toward the cot. He tried not to touch the areas where he'd seen the bruising, but as they made their way across the room, Ray noticed the tightness in his friend's features and the sharp intakes of breath at the movement.

He guided him to sit on the edge of the cot. "On your stomach. I think it's time for some more of Dr. M's magic potion."

"That's not necessary..."

"Did I ask you a question, Benny?"

"Well...just now...ah, no, Ray."

"Open the shirt. Lie down on your stomach."

"Yes, Ray."

Ray hated the sight of the bruises. They were much worse than they'd appeared earlier from across the room.

Once again, he thought about how easy it would be to return the favor and do Sleicho some serious damage. For what he did to Benny and the kid -- Sherry and the other girls -- who knew how many.

But Benny? For giving in to the same impulse that Ray was experiencing, he thought he deserved to be punished. And maybe in some exacting, pound for pound way he did. But not in the real world. Not in Ray's world, where the Sleichos so often didn't get half of what was coming to them, even if they were caught. And the Bennys suffered with so much guilt, if they couldn't always live up to an incredible standard of perfection.

He poured the oily liniment on his hands and rubbed them together to take off the chill. Once again the smell carried his memory toward the past. Once again he fought it and forced himself to stay rooted in the present.

As volatile as his emotions were at this moment, he kept them out of his hands, using only the most gentle motions on his friend.

"The olive oil will actually make the bruising disappear much faster."

"Yes, Ray."

"It's an old Italian remedy. Although I had a Greek friend tell me it was an old Greek remedy. So, I figure it depends on whether you use Italian or Greek olive oil. Or, maybe even Spanish."

"Yes, Ray." A few seconds later, "Ray?"

"Yeah, Benny?"

"Are you done?"

"You want me to be done?"

"Is that okay, Ray?"

"Sure Benny."

He stopped the delicate motions of his hands. Wiped them off with a washcloth he found on the small table near the cot.

"Did I hurt you?"

"Not really, Ray"

"Let's get your shirt back on."

"Yes, Ray."

Ray lay the shirt on his friend's back and Ben slipped in first one arm, then the other. Then Fraser turned onto his side and Ray tugged the shirt front together. He let Fraser fumble with the buttons as he went to get a chair once again. He placed it next to the bed.

When he sat down Fraser was still working on the last buttons, but Ray sensed he wanted no assistance.

He waited, and when Fraser was done he asked, "Benny, you okay?"

"I don't think so, Ray."

"Should I call Dr. M?"

"No. Dr. M. can't help with this."

"What is it, Benny?"

"I don't much want to talk about it."

"Hhhh," Ray let out a puff of air. "Benny?"

"Yes, Ray?"

"I... I have just about run myself ragged for you today."

"I know."

"I am so exhausted and so caffeinated I'm either going to fall asleep or fly out a window."

"No windows."

"Was that a joke or a plea? I'm too tired to tell."

"A statement of fact."

"Oh. Anyway, I kinda want to know what's going on in that complicated brain of yours, Benny. Are you really trying to tell me it's all for nothing? No matter what I do, are you going to try to martyr yourself for losing control once -- all right, once more -- in life? Something I do at least fifteen times a day."

"Ray I could have killed a man."

"A rapist. You could have killed a rapist. And you didn't."

"But I don't know that I wouldn't have killed him."

"And you don't know that you would."

It was a while before Fraser spoke again.

"You asked me, if the fact that he was alive was a good thing or a bad thing." He stopped. "That should be easy to answer, but I don't know. I don't know how I feel about it." He paused again, trying to sort things out. "I'm relieved I didn't actually kill him, but I'm not sure I was happy to find out that he's alive."

"And now that he's being charged? How does that make you feel?"

"Better. But I still feel..."

"Yeah, Benny?"

He took a breath to finish, "Uh. I still feel... I think I hate him, Ray. I think it's hatred that I feel. I've never said that before, even about Gerrard. It feels..."

"Freeing?"

"Ugly."

"Ah. But it is human, Benny. It's okay to feel something ugly and human occasionally."

"Why?"

"Huh?"

"Why is it okay?"

Ray hesitated, but not for long. "Okay, Benny. This is obviously going to be big news to you. Because we're not supposed to be perfect. We're supposed to give things our best shot and move on and accept that we can never be perfect, because perfect would be God. Ya got that?"

There was a very long silence. Very long, before Fraser said in a low voice, "Ray, could you leave me alone for a short while, please?"

Ray was nonplussed. He wanted to say, No! No way, not on your life, not a chance. Instead he stood up. "Okay, Benny. I'll let you be alone with this." He crossed to the door, turned back. "But one of these days, you're going to have to open up. You're going to have to open up to somebody...sometime."

How, Ray? How?

Ray left the room. On the other side of the door, he wondered, Did you open up to her? Is that what closed you up so tightly to the rest of the world?

A moment later, Ray felt something brush against his leg. "Dief." He looked down at the wolf. "Finished your jelly doughnut?" He could tell the wolf wanted something. "No more today, Benny would kill me."

Dief scratched at the door, then looked up at Ray with a small woof. "Maybe you should go visit him now." He knelt beside his partner's partner. Dief nuzzled him. "Ah. Nothing like the smell of wolf in the rain." Dief was dry now, but the smell lingered. "Let's get this sugar off your snout." He wiped the evidence away, then stood up. "He'll probably smell it on your breath anyway." The wolf whined in guilty agreement.

"Maybe you can talk some sense into him." Ray opened the door and the wolf quickly disappeared inside. Eager to see him, eh, Dief? Maybe he can open up to you.

As he closed the door, something drew Ray's attention. He turned back toward the bullpen. He felt something...someone watching him. He was actually grateful for the distraction from his inner life. Not a happy place to be today. Every time he thought he had this thing nailed, Benny threw a wrench in the works. He could almost hear Benny correcting him for the mess he made of that metaphor. Comparison? Illustration? Metaphor? Metaphor. He decided. But I could argue that nails and wrenches are both tools.

He scanned the squad room for what had pulled him away from his thoughts. The redhead.

Louise St. Laurent was listening to a "suit," a fairly successful lawyer-suit, Ray guessed. She was listening to the suit, but she was looking at him, staring at him from across the room.

She didn't look happy. She looked annoyed. She did that a lot. It was almost a natural state with her, especially when she was looking at Ray. She spoke to the lawyer-suit briefly, then moved away. She headed directly toward him.

He was sure it had hit the fan and he was glad of it. Now if it had just landed the way he'd figured.

About eight feet away, she couldn't contain herself any longer. "Vecchio." She actually came close to spitting his name. He was impressed.

He couldn't help himself, he smiled, but turned away quickly to hide it. By the time he had forced the small grin down and turned back to her, she was practically nose to pert, adorable little nose with him. Man, this woman brings out all the wickedness in me. He was thinking about how cute she was angry. He knew that un-PC thought would only make her more furious and land him in... Where? Where will it land us both?

Now that she was markedly in his space, she lowered her voice to a hard whisper. "Vecchio. You engineered this. I know it was you."

He asked in total -- well perfected -- innocence, "What?"

"Oh, Vecchio." She shook her head. "That's what you whispered to the girl and her mother. You told them to stick around until Sleicho saw them. Probably told them not to leave until they were sure he had."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Louise."

"Right. As soon as he saw them, he got his lawyer to drop the assault charges against Fraser and they're already seeking a plea bargain on the Tanniere case."

"You're not going to..."

"Slippery son-of-a..." she started, but interrupted herself, answering him. "Not too likely. But the most we can get him for is attempted rape and sexual assault."

"But she's a minor."

"That'll help, of course. And the drug charges are good. Thank God we got that warrant so quickly."

"Yeah. Judge Feister is always good when you're in a hurry to nail some sleazebag."

They both stopped and wondered at how quickly they'd gotten from choppy waters to smooth with neither one noticing.

Ray thought, this was without a doubt the strangest relationship he had going. If he didn't count Benny.

He turned back to the interrogation room door automatically. "How'm I going to break the news to Martyr Mountie? He's going to be so disappointed -- he'll probably try to bring charges against himself." He laughed a small, bitter sounding laugh.

"You want me... Technically I should...well, if you want..."

He turned back to face her. "No. Thanks, Louise. If you don't mind."

"I don't mind."

They stepped apart. "I'll call you."

"Don't you dare..." She walked away and added under her breath, "...forget." She tried to maintain her outward appearance of disapproval while smiling to herself.

Ray turned back to the door and abruptly felt completely enervated. All the energy in him seemed to bleed out. He turned away and went for more bad coffee.

He poured himself a cup, then sank down into one of the chairs.

This should be his moment of triumph. He'd done it. He'd found the girl. Thanks to Dief. He'd figured out Sleicho's rotten game. He'd gotten the girl in for the I.D. The charges against Benny were dropped. All before Benny'd been arraigned. Everything. Just as he'd wanted. He'd done it all. In one day. One long, hellacious day.

Now it all seemed hollow.

Because Benny isn't going to let himself be saved. Because Benny...well, Benny broke a rule. Benny has lots of rules. And he isn't allowed to break any. Not a one. He broke a rule, and now he has to pay the price.

How had they ever gotten past Victoria?

Simple. I shot him. Well, I'm not going to shoot him this time. If he needs to be punished he's going to have to find somebody else to do his dirty work.

"Maybe I should have told Dief to sick 'em."

"What?" DiNatoli asked from the coffee machine, shooting him a strange look.

"Uh. Nothing. Thinking out loud."

"Yeah, Sure."

"Just don't let any wolves or Mounties into your life, Paul. Keep things simple."

DiNatoli shook his head. "Sure. You got it. 'Sides, you cornered the market in Chicago."

"Yeah, I guess I did." He sat back with his arms crossed, shrugged and laughed. After DiNatoli left, Ray got up from the table, picked up his lousy coffee and sighed.

Let's see if we can get the fat lady to sing.

Once more, he headed for the interrogation room, reminding himself that it was named that for a reason. So far, he felt he'd gotten little enough interrogating accomplished. Maybe Canadians talked so much about irrelevancies like Inuit stories to keep busybody Americans at a distance and diverted from the truth. Duh! Ya think, Ray?

But not today. No Inuit stories. No other quirky diversions or amazing Canadian-librarians'-grandson factoids were forthcoming.

He'd pried so little out of his partner that it surprised him that he'd managed to get to the truth at all. He was sure of that much. He'd gotten to the truth -- the truth -- but not to the bottom of things.

Like why Benny'd made that ridiculous promise to the girl -- to Sherry. It was not characteristic of his strict adherence to duty. Or why he'd run after a perpetrator when no charges were going to be pressed. Or why he'd nearly killed this man, when he'd refused an easy opportunity to get rid of his own father's killer when Ray offered to back up his innocence. Lotta whys left over today.

He doubted he had the energy left to force a heartfelt out of Fraser. He'd be content for now if he could just get him to accept his freedom without the need for more self flagellation. Enough atonement, Benny. You're not even Catholic, but you beat out your mea culpas better'n anyone in my family -- Ma included.

Ray opened the door. Maybe this would be the last time today.

Fraser was sitting up on the cot, the wolf barely giving him breathing space.

He had one arm over Dief and the other stroking him under the neck. Dief had obviously licked Benny upside the head and down and did so once again for assurance.

Standing there looking at the two of them, he couldn't help thinking there was something oddly familiar about the scene. He was in the process of dismissing it as just a memory of Fraser and Dief from some other time, when it hit him -- Return of the Jedi, Han Solo and Chewie reunited after Han is released from the "carbonite freezing."

Great, now I'll never get that image out of my head. The wolf as a Wookie. It fit far too well. The way Dief whined or woofed at Benny, as if he were speaking an actual language. The way Benny talked to him as if the wolf understood. And there were other things. Coincidences (he reassured himself) like elevator buttons being pushed before any humans got on to push them, nothing you could pin, but still...

Now he would never look at the relationship between the Mountie and the wolf in quite the same way.

"A jelly doughnut, Ray?" Fraser hit Ray with his best long suffering Mountie look.

"Yeah, Benny. Sorry."

"You're *sorry,* Ray?" He actually smiled. A full smile. It was such an odd thing on his bruised face with that swollen lower lip. The scab tugged and cracked open a tiny bit. He winced a little, but otherwise ignored it.

Ouch. Ray winced, too. "Yeah. I guess it's my turn to say I'm sorry. But only about the jelly doughnut." He moved further into the room. "I needed to distract an addict. I resorted to the lowest form of bribery. For that, I'm eternally sorry, Benny." He pulled the chair away from the cot a bit, giving Fraser and Dief more space, then sat.

"I hope, at least, it was only one."

"Yeah, just one."

"He needs a bath."

"He'll get it."

"He smells."

"I noticed."

"He was out in the rain."

"Yeah."

"All night?"

"All night." Before Benny could add that to his list of mea culpas, Ray added, "He's okay, though. And obviously glad to see you."

"Mmm."

"How are you, Benny?"

"I'm tired, Ray."

"Me, too." They sat in silence for awhile. Fraser scrubbed the wolf's fur and Ray sipped his coffee. "Sleicho dropped the charges."

"Mmm." A few more moments of silence. "You did it, Ray. I should have known you would."

"Yeah, but will you accept it?"

Another silence. Very quietly, Fraser answered, "I'll have to, Ray. It's a...a *done deal,* right?

"Yeah, it is, Benny. As far as the law is concerned, you're off the hook, but can you let yourself off?"

More of the silent stuff. It was so...not...what Ray wanted now. But he found himself afraid to break it when his partner wouldn't.

Dief chose this moment to lay some more wolf tongue on the Mountie.

"I think he wants you to lighten up on yourself."

"The way he looked at me... The way he would have...looked at me. I think he was ashamed."

"Dief?" Not Dief. He knew that, but he was lost here.

"He would have been ashamed...if he were...if he were here...to see."

"Your dad?"

"Not ashamed, son. I've never been ashamed of you."

"Dad?" Ray thought Benny suddenly looked terribly vulnerable.

"Disappointed, some. And afraid."

"Afraid?"

"Is that what you're afraid of, Benny? That your dad would be ashamed?"

"Afraid I'd kill him?"

"Afraid you'd kill something in yourself, son."

"He wouldn't be ashamed of you, Benny. He'd understand. He'd give you more latitude than you give yourself."

"I was afraid you'd do something like...something that you'd regret for the rest of your life."

"You disappeared."

Benny had burrowed up against Dief and Ray figured this last remark must be about the wolf. It hit him how alone his friend must have felt holding onto his secrets and his promise.

"Only because I didn't know what to do. I was afraid I'd bring you more pain than comfort."

"What if I did...kill something in myself?"

"You can't let yourself think that, son."

"No, Benny. It's only true if you make it true. You can't be perfect all the time. You gotta be able to make a mistake and forgive yourself. The law forgives you. The rest of us forgive you. Why can't you let it go?"

"The Yank's right. Listen up." Now the dead Mountie went quiet, but he stayed.

The longest silence yet, finally broken. "It was her eyes, Ray. Do you know whose eyes she has?"

Ray felt a rush of adrenaline as it hit him. "Oh my God. I know. I saw it. I just didn't recognize what it was that was familiar."

Fraser continued in a quiet voice. "They were her eyes. The way they might have been...before...before she was corrupted.

"Even when I first knew her. All those years ago. There was already something in her eyes, something dark, unreachable.

"Have you ever met someone that had so much good in them...and so much...damage..."

Fraser spoke into the wolf's fur. Ray didn't dare interrupt.

"When the girl looked at me, pleaded with me, I could see that to her, this was the moment that could destroy her life. She believed that. I saw it in her eyes. The fear. The place where the darkness would be.

"I held her life in my hands, Ray. I had to let her go."

Always, always that woman. How had she, of all people, gotten that deeply under his skin?

"Then the assailant...Sleicho...did something. He managed to knock some trash, some boxes and crates, over onto Dief." On cue the wolf whined, snuffled and licked Fraser once more. Fraser automatically ruffled his fur. "He was all right, just shaken.

"The perpetrator ran off. I told Dief to stay with the girl and I ran after him. It was stupid, I know. A mistake. I had no jurisdiction, there were no charges to be laid, but a man shouldn't...do...what he was trying to do...not to anyone...but to a young girl? She was only sixteen."

There was a long stretch of quiet. Ray hardly breathed. Then Fraser continued.

"I know there was someone like that in Victoria's past. She never said precisely, but I know someone hurt her, betrayed her badly when she was young. She'd skirted around it. In time she would have told me..."

Don't finish that one.

"I'd nearly caught up. I didn't see him pick up the two-by-four when he rounded the first corner. I saw him turn at the next block and ran right past him, exposing my back. Another mistake. With the first blow I went down to my knees, the second knocked me to the ground, after the third I rolled away, recovered and wrested the board from him.

"I never hit him with it, despite his statement, though my prints were on it -- a fact he made sure to tell the arresting officers. He reported it in reverse of the way it happened.

"Once I had removed his advantage he simply asked me, what the hell I was doing chasing him. He said he knew the girl wasn't going to press charges, so what right did I have to chase after lawabiding citizens.

"I told him that I had witnessed him attempting to commit a crime.

"That didn't frighten him. He countered by saying that if I brought up the assault, he would name the girl. And that he could produce witnesses who would attest to the fact that she had gone out with other men from the club on previous occasions and was known to be of loose moral character.

"Still I tried to reason with him."

Only Benny would be standing on a street corner in the worst part of town in the middle of the night trying to reason with a would-be rapist. My friend, the Mountie.

"He tried to push past me, I put my hand on his arm. He swung around and threw a punch that connected with my face. Then we were fighting, scrapping like two schoolboys in a yard. We ended up rolling around on the street until I finally got the upper hand.

"It was then that he asked me..."

He suddenly stopped, just stopped. It was as though he had only just realized he'd been talking for this entire time and in that same instant realized that he hadn't meant to speak at all.

Ray let the quiet sit for as long as he could bear. When he was certain Benny wasn't going to continue, he spoke. "What? What did he ask you, Benny?"

"Talk to him, son."

Another spell of time passed, then Fraser looked at his partner. "What was in those files, Ray?"

Now! He asks me this, now! He wanted to say it out loud, Now, Benny? Now? He pulled himself together, resisted the urge.

"Two arrests for drug possession. No convictions."

"That's all." There was a long beat. "You were bluffing me."

"Not exactly. Not totally. There was a sealed record from seventy-eight. He was a minor--"

"Ray it was--"

"Sealed. I know. I think you need to hear it." He didn't wait for a reply. "It was a date rape. His own junior prom."

"You shouldn't be telling me."

"I know.

"The girl claimed she was a virgin until that night, yet his lawyer managed to produce two other boys who swore they'd slept with her before the prom. A deal was made. He pled guilty to a lesser charge and the records were sealed. By then it looked like people just wanted it to be over. But it's never over with guys like that."

"Maybe so, Ray."

Ray waited awhile before trying again. "So, what did he ask you?"

He thought Benny looked like he might be sick again. "He asked me..." He stopped again. This time Ray waited. "...if I wanted to share."

The words hung in the air like germs in a sickroom -- undiscernible, but present, harmful.

"He said there was nothing like a sixteen or seventeen year old girl. He said he knew who she was, he knew how to find her, he could arrange...a party, he called it. He said he'd done it before. I believed him."

Ray was still as death.

"I don't know if it would have happened anyway, but when I started to stand and lift him up, he struck me again and tried to break free. We fell back to the ground and I found my hands around his neck. Then I was being pulled away." He took a deep, ragged breath.

"I still don't know...

"They pulled me off him; I was in some kind of daze. I've heard murderers try to describe..." One hand came away from the wolf and brushed across his forehead.

"I just don't know, Ray."

"You may never know."

"I know I wanted to stop him...from ever harming anyone again. That must have meant...Maybe I..."

"Let it go, son."

He took a deep, deep breath, let it out slowly. "I may never know. I understand that now. He's alive. And I may never know." He took another deep, ragged breath. "So I should let it go. Move on."

"Forgive yourself," Ray added.

"That too."

"What are the odds that you can do that, Benny?"

"Sixty - forty, Ray."

He hadn't expected an answer. Or at least not that direct an answer. "For or against?"

A little breathy laugh, "Hhh. I'm not sure."

"Either way, they're better than this morning."

"Better than this morning." Ben looked to where his father had been moments before. He was gone.

"It's in the trying, Benny. None of us lives up to our own ideals even ninety percent of the time. You do, more than most, more than anyone I know. But you gotta lighten up on yourself. You're not Superman -- and even he's got Kryptonite."

"And Lois Lane."

Ray laughed. Benny's response had come out so naturally, so seriously. "And Lois Lane. She's harder on him than the Kryptonite."

"True enough."

After a few moments Ray spoke. "Now can you tell me what you were doing out there at three o'clock in the morning?"

"Dief."

"Dief? At that hour?"

"The burritos, Ray."

"Ah! The burritos!" Another awkward silence fell. Dief should have looked chagrined, but somehow did not. Ray, on the other hand, looked deeply apologetic. "Sorry, Fraser."

"I don't think I want to hear that now, Ray." There was a considerable beat. "I did warn you both."

"Why didn't you just open the window and let him take care of things himself?" "I tried that. He wouldn't go. It was a dangerous time of night. He didn't want to go out unaccompanied."

"He had a point."

There was a distant ruckus coming from the squad room. Both men noticed, both men wondered if it was an escaping felon. Ray got up.

"You stay. I'll go." He gestured appropriately at Fraser.

When he cautiously opened the door, a familiar voice came pouring in over the airwaves.

"What is wrong with you people! Are you crazy? Arresting Fraser!"

Welsh's voice cut through for a few seconds, "Vecchio!" before being overwhelmed by the piercing Italian staccato Ray couldn't believe he was hearing.

"And you Lieutenant? I thought you had more sense then the rest of these ninnies!"

Ray winced. "Frannie!" He ran out the door.

"Ray! Ray!" She zeroed in on her brother. "Where is he? How is he? How could they? Benton!" She looked around urgently.

"Frannie. Shut up, will ya!" He dropped his voice to a loud whisper. "This is my workplace."

She focused back on him. "Some job! Arresting innocent Canadians! Is it even legal to arrest a Canadian in Chicago?" Once again she broadened her accusation. "What are you people thinking?"

"Francesca! Listen!" He'd made it to her side. He was about to put a hand over her mouth if she didn't shut up. No one there would have made a move to stop him. She quieted. He didn't hesitate, knowing he'd lose the opportunity if he didn't jump in fast. "The charges were dropped. Okay? He's not under arrest. You got that?"

"Well, Ma said she called and..."

"Whatever Ma heard, whoever she talked to..." He looked around the squad room accusingly. "It's all over now. Okay?" He put a steadying arm on his wild thing of a sister. "You calm now?"

"Yeah." She was beginning to register that everyone in the place was looking at her and there were no friendly expressions. "Well..." Her petite body seemed to get even smaller. "So...he's okay?"

She looked like she wanted to crawl into a hole. In spite of his humiliation at her display, he felt for her. "Come with me. And stay quiet." He strongly emphasized that last word.

"Okay, Ray." Her cheeks were scarlet with embarrassment.

She followed him like she did when she was two, when she was seven or ten or even fifteen and she'd gotten into some kind of jam and he had bailed her out. He usually bailed her out, before or after bawling her out.

They made their way across the station, the perfect picture of a big brother leading and a little sister following. At that particular moment, no one in the station was in the mood to appreciate the image.

"He's a little worse for wear."

She took a breath to say something, but he stopped her.

"I said quiet. He was in a fight. He's okay. Dr. M. checked him out."

"You called Dr. M.?"

He held up a stop-traffic hand. "He's okay."

"He's okay?" She asked -- quietly.

"That's what I said."

"Okay." She nodded.

"You have one minute."

"Thank you, Ray!" Not nearly quiet.

"Supervised!" He added. She was much less enthused. "And quiet, please."

"Okay, Ray. Your rules."

"Thank you kindly."

She punched him -- gently -- for that one.

When they reached the door he stopped. He was having second thoughts. "You'd better let me warn him."

She gave him a death glare.

Awkward phrasing. "He's a little indisposed. Might need a moment to pull himself together." Now she looked worried again.

Her pendulum swings were making him dizzy. If he could just keep her in the center for a few minutes... But then he never had been able to do that. "Look, he's okay, he just might need a few moments to compose himself, all right?"

That seemed to work.

He opened the door, slipped in and closed it behind him. She didn't get an angle where she could see her Mountie.

"Fraser? It's Frannie." Ray slumped with the words, head hanging. How could he do this to his friend? But then, she was his sister.

"She heard."

"Yeah." Ray lifted his head.

"She was worried."

"You might say. I think she was singlehandedly storming the Bastille."

"She wants to see that I'm all right?"

"Yeah, Benny. But you don't have to..."

"How do I look?"

Ray squinted, his entire face. "Truth?"

"That bad? Should she see me like this?"

"I think she can handle it."

"Then let her in."

He did. She entered...quietly. Now the spitfire was all shyness and concern.

"Oh, Benton. You're hurt."

"I'm all right. Thank you for your concern, Francesca. And for standing up for me out there."

"You're welcome, Benton."

Now she smiled, regaining some confidence and gaining a definite glow from his gratitude.

"Is there anything I can do for you? Anything?"

"No, thank you. I'm really quite fine. Thank you kindly." He gave her his best approximation of a smile. In her eyes it was radiant.

For those last three words and that smile she would have taken on the world.

"Benny's got to get some rest now, Frannie."

"Uh, sure, Ray. Goodnight, Benton. Remember, if you need anything."

"I'll remember, Francesca."

At the door she spoke again to Ray. "Maybe he should come to the house tonight, Ray. Maybe he shouldn't be alone."

"I don't think he should be alone either, but I'm not sure he's up to the house." She was about to say one more thing. "Don't even go there, Frannie."

"Wha-at?" She gave him a devilish Vecchio grin. "I was just going to say...well never mind." She kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks, Ray."

"Yeah, you're welcome. And don't embarrass me at work again."

"No, I'll leave that up to you." She made sure she was out of reach before tossing off that one.

"Ah, sisters!" He turned back into the room. "Be glad you don't have one, Benny. Let alone two!"

As he looked at his friend, still sitting with his wolf, it occurred to him, as it had many times before, that of course, Ben would have liked sisters. Ben would have liked any family. Well, he was welcome to share his. And, in fact, frequently did. If only Frannie would be content to play the role of sister.

"I guess we're done here. You up to leaving?"

"I think so. I'm kind of hungry, though." Dief eagerly agreed. "You just had a jelly doughnut." Dief explained a few things. "Well, I know, they're nutritionally deficient. That's why you're not supposed to eat them." The wolf whined again. "It's hopeless."

"Anyway, it's good you're hungry, Benny. You ready to head out or should we order in?"

He considered trying to stand for a moment. It didn't seem too likely. He reached for the water pitcher and Ray intercepted, filling the glass and handing it to him. Fraser's hands were still none too steady.

"Much as I'd like to leave this room and the station, I think the wiser course would be to order in. Afterwards, I should be stronger."

"Sure thing. Which menu?"

"Sloppy Doe's." Dief approved.

"You got it." Ray dug up the menu and made the call. He ordered three of Doe's specials, plus two homemade soups and lemonade for himself. Then he called the closest deli and ordered three small bottles of apple juice and a bottle of Gatorade. That should get Benny's fluid levels up and balance out those electrolytes.

They were waiting for the food when Fraser asked, "Where did you learn to interrogate like that, Ray? It was...very effective. Was it the Leftenant or possibly a former partner?"

"No, Benny, no." Ray laughed.

Fraser looked at him questioningly. He put down the water glass. He'd finished maybe half of the water that Ray had poured for him.

"From my Ma."

"Your mother... your...Ma?"

"Yeah. Ma.

"You did not want to face her if you had something to hide. She'd always get it out of you."

And then Benton Fraser startled his friend once again. He laughed.

Ray stared at him as he laughed harder and louder.

It most certainly did hurt. It hurt his back, it hurt his ribs, it hurt his face. But it felt good. Tears came to his eyes, his lip cracked open and bled and he laughed even harder.

Ray wanted to join in, but didn't have the energy. He hadn't gotten much sleep last night, before the call came in about Fraser. He'd never tell him, as long as he lived, that it had been his own burritos that had kept him awake till nearly two a.m.

At last, when Fraser could talk, he barely managed to say through his laughter, "You're going to have to teach me that, Ray." He continued to wipe tears from his eyes and to shake with suppressed giggles. "Or should I go straight to the source for lessons?"

Ray handed Fraser a handkerchief for the blood from his split lip. Then he favored Ben with a charmer of a grin. "I don't think she could do it without motivation. You know, cold. You'd have to catch her in action -- with one of the grandkids."

Fraser thanked him for the cloth, wiping his chin and dabbing at his lip. "Oh, no. I don't think I could stand to watch children suffer like that."

He'd said it in all innocence and fun, but Ray's grin disappeared. "I'm sorry I had to put you through all that."

"You're sorry again, Ray. I think you say that too often, as well."

"I mean it, Benny."

Ben got more serious, but not as gloomy as Ray. "It was for my own good. Like my grandmother's cod liver oil."

"Ewww! Cod liver oil. That stuff was awful!"

"Well, it didn't have much to recommend it. But it was supposed to be good for you."

"If you can believe that. It's like there's some grandmother's torture network. If there'da been computers those days, I'da believed they traded disgusting remedies on the web."

"They didn't seem to need computers."

"Yeah, they all seemed to know what to put their kids and grandkids through -- Canadian or Italian-American." After several seconds had gone by Ray continued almost as if it were the same topic. "You don't know the kinds of things that were going through my mind when you wouldn't tell me what was going on."

"I think I have some idea, Ray."

"And don't be making any promises that keep you from confiding in me, Anybody else, but not me."

"I'll make every effort to avoid such a situation."

"Meaning you'll try."

"I'll try, Ray, yes. I'll do my best."

"Not good enough."

"Ray?"

"I want you to promise."

Fraser considered, looked at his friend and replied, "I promise, Ray."

"Good. Now, what's keeping that food?"

Epilogue:

"You'll be all right. I'll be back in a moment with some help."

She gripped his wrist with all her desperate strength. He looked at the small hand clutching him. He could shake her off like a wet leaf that had clung to his cuff. So easily.

If he tried.

Her frightened face, pleading eyes, dark with terror, so familiar, yet still innocent for all their fear, prevented him from breaking away.

"Promise. Please, please, promise. You can't tell anyone. Not anyone. Not ever. Please."

"How old are you, Miss?" He couldn't help asking.

"Eighteen."

"Sixteen."

"Please. I beg of you."

The hopelessness had begun to settle in her voice. Expectation of betrayal. It was already forming in her eyes.

It was most ill-considered, quite ill-advised and very probably not for the best...

"All right..."

She fell back, letting go her grip on his arm; tears of relief and gratitude and shock flowing freely.

"I give you my word."

The End

End Peaceable by Dilanne Tomas: Dilanne@aol.com

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