My thanks to Ruthie B for fast and thorough beta. I promise to try and remember next time - in *the* hospital, *call* not ring. :-)
This is for my fellow h/c junkie, Denise, who's put up with a lot of s**t over the past couple of weeks.
I remember the last morning we spent together, like it was this morning. The last time I was happy, curled in Ben's arms, watching the summer sunlight on the covers. The sun's not as warm as his body pressed next to mine. Knowing any minute the alarm willgo off, then we will have to get dressed and be ready to face the day, the bad guys, the other cops. But for those few precious moments, all there is, is us, in our bed, breathing in each other's scent, tired and satisfied from lovemaking the night before, our lips searching for each other's. The last time I was happy. I remember.
That day was crazy, I remember that too. Ben's day off, so naturally he's with me at the 2-7, dealing with a million different things in that calm, Canadian way of his, when we get the call that a jeweller's been kidnapped by a gang. One of my snitches got a tip, so me and Ben drive to the closed down shop where my guy says he thinks our man is. We go to the back, and Ben listens at the door.
"Three, maybe four men."
"In?" I whisper, but he's already trying the door, which is unlocked, and leads into a back kitchen. Ben moves like a cat, and I know I make no noise. He listens again at an inner door. I draw my gun, and count up with my fingers. One, two, three - we slam the door open, but my gun arm is whacked hard, and I get another to the gut which doubles me over, and I fall to the floor. My arm feels like it's broken. I look up, trying to see who's made us, just in time to see Ben take a hit to the head with a baseball bat. He falls, I scream his name. I hear men laughing as I crawl to him, seeing the blood already spreading from his head. I can hear the bad guys running - must have been a set up, but I don't care. All I care about is that Ben's out, and his breathing is wrong. I find my cell and hit 911.
"Officer down!" I yell, and give the address, leaving the line open. Ben's not breathing. Shit. CPR, Kowalski, remember? I get him flat, and his head tilted, even though I've only got one good hand and it's shaking. I shout into the phone, "He's stopped breathing!", then I start to give him air. Fuck, forgot to get a pulse. I puff a breath in, then check his neck. I think there's something there, so I keep the breaths going. Ten in, check the pulse. Ten in, check the pulse. Where are the goddamn paramedics? Don't you fucking die on me, Mountie, I'll kill you, I remember thinking, while the rest of me is panicking, trying to remember to do this right. Finally, finally, the paramedics arrive and take over. Ben's totally white-faced, and I hear one of them yell, "He's arrested." I must've been in shock by then, because I don't remember being afraid. He's gotta live. He's Fraser, he's immortal. Guy jumps outta buildings, into snow fields, can swim underwater hundreds of yards and never get out of breath. See, they got a rhythm, told you. Someone's asking me if I'm hurt, can't remember answering, but they put me in the ambulance with Ben. I hold his hand. They're still breathing for him. Live, buddy, I keep saying. Live.
They separate us at the hospital, with no problem. I know I'm in shock by then. Guess I'm not making a whole lot of sense when they ask me questions, because after I get X-rayed and my arm gets a cast on it, I'm in a bed all of a sudden, and being shot in the butt with something that knocks me out. I would've stopped them, if I could've made them understand, but I couldn't. When I wake up, Lieutenant Welsh is watching me. "Fraser," is all I say. He puts a hand on my broken arm, over the cast.
"He's in ICU, Kowalski. You gotta stay calm, there's nothing you can do."
"I need to see him."
"You can't. You won't be able to walk until the meds wear off, and they won't let you anyway. He's been in surgery - he's got a skull fracture, and bleeding into the brain. They've put something in to relieve the pressure, but he's unconscious, and not breathing on his own yet. Could be a day or two. He arrested a couple of times, but they got him back."
"Is he gonna die, boss?" I'm almost proud of the fact I can say that without my voice cracking. I don't fool Welsh.
"All you can do, Ray, is remember he's still with us. And he's young..."
"And he's Fraser... "
"And he's Fraser. He's been through tough times. He can do it again."
Tough times, not a broken brain, I think. I just want to be alone. I close my eyes, hoping I'll sleep and when I wake up, Ben will be sitting there, boring me with an Inuit story. But he's not. Welsh is gone, a nurse is taking my blood pressure. She gets a doctor who looks me over and tells me I can go home. "Not without Fraser," I say.
"Mr Fraser is still unconscious, Mr Kowalski. He's likely to be that way for the next 24-48 hours. You should go home. We'll call you if there's any change. You won't be allowed to go in to see him until tomorrow at the earliest. Aren't there friends or family who should be told?"
I'm his friend and family, I want to say. But she's right. Maggie needs to be called. Mum and Dad need to be called, so they don't worry about me. I go home and do the necessary. The meds are wearing off, and I can feel the torn muscles in my stomach, the pain in my arm. But they're just distractions from the main worry. Don't want to sleep in our bed without him, so I grab his pillow and lie on the sofa, letting his scent comfort me. Ben, I keep whispering. Come home.
I call the hospital next morning at six am. No change, but I go down anyway, and make a nuisance of myself until they relent and let me in for five minutes to see him. Wish I hadn't. Both eyes are black, and he has some science fiction device sticking out of his skull - to monitor the pressure they said. He's got a tube down his throat, and leads and IVs all over the place. I call his name but there's no reaction. They don't like to say so, but I know the longer he stays out the worse it is. I wait outside ICU all day, until nine that night, when Welsh comes and drags me home. "You can't do this to yourself, Kowalski." Officially, Welsh doesn't know about me and Ben. Unofficially, he's a smart guy and I guess he's put two and two together. He doesn't say nothing, though, just feeds me scotch until I fall asleep.
When I wake up, I'm in my own bed, which makes me wonder how the old guy got me there, but I can ask him, because he's jammed onto the sofa, all six feet four of him. I make us coffee, take some aspirin, call the hospital. No change.
"He'll make it, Kowalski. You gotta keep telling yourself that."
"And if he don't?"
"He will."
We don't discuss it any more.
Welsh gives me the week off on sick leave, and I drive myself back to the hospital. When I get to ICU, things are all of a doodah. Ben's showing signs of increased consciousness, and has started breathing on his own. They take out the breathing tube, and just leave that gross nose thing in. They tell me it will help if I talk to him. So I do. I talk and talk and talk. All day, until my voice gives out and they make me take a rest on a cot they find me. I only sleep a couple of hours, then I'm back, reduced to whispering. There's definitely an improvement, eyelids twitching, the thingy attached to his skull says brain activity is increasing. I keep going until I literally can't talk anymore, then a nurse comes.
"You've done all you can, Mr Kowalski. Go and get some breakfast, and some rest. I'll come get you if there's a change."
I skip the food, but the cot is a good idea. If I can't talk, I can't help him. I get some soda and some lozenges, forcing my voice to come back. I rest another three hours, and am shaken awake. He's come to, briefly, and although he's unconscious again, they want me to keep stimulating him. Damned if I think he'll recognize my voice, it's so croaky, but I try anyway. I keep it up for two hours, and all the time, he's coming closer to consciousness again. I have to keep the excitement out of my voice, but I know he's gonna make it - I can feel it. At last the one thing I've been praying for - his eyes flutter open, the left more drowsy than the right. The doctors said he might have some damage on the side opposite the injury - how bad, they can't tell until he wakes up. Which is now. His eyes meet mine, then slide off, looking round the room. I call over to the nurse at the desk, who comes over, checks, and gets a doctor. All the time I'm saying Ben's name, but he doesn't seem to hear me. Finally I take his hand, but he pulls it away, and looks at me. "Who are you?" he asks. That's the moment my world falls apart.
I get out of the way while the doctor asks Ben twenty questions. He knows he's Benton Fraser, knows his birth date. Good. Thinks it's 1989 and that Bush is still president. Not good. Not fucking good at all. He's got no idea he is in America, or why. Doesn't remember me, Ray Vecchio. Maggie. Shit.
When the doctor finishes, I grab her. "Doc, how long...?"
"I don't know, Mr Kowalski. Right now I'm trying to determine how much brain damage he's sustained, and what the cause of the amnesia is. Sometimes it clears in a matter of hours, or days. And sometimes..."
"It's permanent."
She nods, and that's when it all becomes too much for me. I start to shake, and a nurse takes me by the arm and leads me outside to sit. She offers me a drink of water, but my hands are shaking too much to hold the cup. She asks me if there's someone they can call for me, and I almost laugh. The only person I want to have with me is lying in the room behind us, and doesn't know who the fuck I am. The doctor comes out and sits with me.
"Doc - there's a heap of things he doesn't know about. Bad stuff, like his dad dying. Do we tell him or what?" Crap. Even my voice is shaking. Get a grip, Kowalski.
She thinks for a minute. "Give it a day or two, then we may have to start breaking things to him gently. There appears to be some slight neurological damage which he will probably overcome with time. I have every confidence he will get his memory back."
But he doesn't. He can't even remember my name, even though I've told him a half dozen times. It's like I'm a bad file on a computer that he can't save. Welsh comes to visit a couple of times, but he can only tell me to keep fighting. Fighting what, I want to know.
Nobody can tell me much about this amnesia stuff. Nobody has a clue
how long it'll last, what causes it, or what cures it. When it's clear
that he's not gonna remember anything on his own, and he's starting to
get anxious about what's happened in his life over the missing ten years,
I have to tell him. There's only one thing worse than finding that the
man you adore, who you've promised your life to, doesn't remember your
existence, and that's telling the man you adore who doesn't remember
you, that his father is dead, his
mother was murdered and he arrested the man who did it, that the
RCMP have cold shouldered him for years for bringing in one of his own...
and that the woman he remembers as the single great passion in his life
nearly got him killed. That really fucking hurt - me to tell, him to
hear.
When I'm done, there are tears in his eyes, and I can't even wipe them away for him any more. He'd jerked away from my few attempts to touch him, and in his mind, I had no right. He lies with his eyes closed for a long time, then the single word comes out.
"Victoria."
So much love, so much grief. I want to punch the wall. I love him with all my heart, and he doesn't remember. That bitch used him and nearly killed him, and he misses the so-called innocent thing he was responsible for sending to jail. God must be a joker, I think. This has to be someone's idea of a big fucking cosmic gigglefest.
I go back to work, on desk duty until my arm and my gut heal, and visit every day, and on weekends. Ben... no, not Ben, Fraser, finally gets it straight that I am allegedly his best friend, and no longer questions my presence, but it's pretty obvious that our connection is completely broken. He's polite, and grateful, just the same as he is to the nurses or the doctors. I'm careful not to show just how special our relationship has been. He doesn't remember one solitary fucking thing from the previous ten years, not through the month of therapy, and still the doc is saying she thinks his memory still might come back. Bullshit, lady. He's lost ten years of his life, he's got brain damage. He's never gonna remember.
Finally they let him leave. He's still a little weak on the left side, and the eyelid droops a bit, but he's almost ready to go back to work. He's confused about the living arrangements, and I lie, saying that when we got back from the Northwest Territories, his new boss didn't want him at the consulate, and so he decided to bunk with me. He asks why that arrangement has lasted so long, and I hem and haw and lie some more about good apartments being hard to find. I can tell he's suspicious, but he has to accept it when he finds his stuff at our... no, not ours any more, my place. I'd moved his clothes out of the bedroom, and there's no evidence that he's anything but a room mate. The first few days are real bad. He hates the city, forgets how well he's fit in so far. He's as homesick as it's possible to be and not actually be physically ill. But when he goes back to work, at least that makes him feel that he hasn't lost everything. I get Welsh to give me lots of overtime, so I'm out most evenings until after he's asleep, and he's gone before I wake up. I can't stand it, looking at him, talking to him, and all the time, all I want to do is hold him, and kiss him. See, he's still Fraser, even if he's not my Ben. That's the fucking shame of it. He hasn't changed much, and he still smells like heaven. I still love the sound of his voice, and the thank you kindly manners, and the way he talks to Dief. The look of him, the ... just everything, OK?
He holds out for three weeks, but I can tell he's barely hanging on.
The consulate work sucks, I knew that, and he's not working as my partner
since he can't remember a damn thing about anything we ever did together
- not even Muldoon - so there's no point in the continuing the unofficial
gig. Welsh starts making noises about getting me a replacement partner,
and I try to put him off. But my man is dying. He's hungry for the snows,
for the space - for the clean of it all, and without our relationship,
there's no reason for him
to stay. Maybe you're wondering why I didn't just tell him we were
lovers. But then what? He says, yeah, well, now I don't love you because
I don't remember you? Or worse, he thinks he has to stay, out of duty
or something? Fuck that. You don't put a leash on Dief, and you don't
do that to Benton Fraser. He's a free, wild thing, and I'm sending him
home.
He asks for a transfer, and someone finally takes pity on him,
and posts him to Inuvik, with Maggie. He's got some leave coming, and
they want him to take it, so he asks if I'd like to come with him to
his father's cabin. Shit, I nearly lose it then and there. That cabin,
he part rebuilt after that fucking Victoria set fire to it. We finished
it, just the two of us, after we went looking for the hand of Franklin.
It was there we first made love. No way was I gonna spend three weeks
watching him up there, settling in back home, away
from me, mourning the woman he never had. I lie and tell him I can't
get away. I can tell he only asked to be polite, which hurts like hell.
I miss my friend even more than I miss my lover. I got no one now. Mum
and Dad went back to Arizona a few months back- couldn't stand the cold
any more. Stella, she's with Vecchio in Florida. And Fraser? We're strangers.
I drive him to the airport that last day. He's hardly got any luggage to speak of, and Dief got shipped on up ahead. We don't talk - what's there to say? I find a loading bay to park up in, and he hops out. I stand and watch him unload his stuff, and then he sticks out his hand.
"Well, this is it, Ray. I can't thank you enough for all you've done. I hope I can repay the debt one day."
I fake a smile and shake his warm hand. I want to hug him. I want him to stay. Instead, all I can do is refuse the keys he tries to give back to me.
"S'okay, Fraser. You might need 'em - you know, if you ever come to visit.' He looks as if he might insist, but then he shoves them back in his pocket.
"Right you are. Well, I better go."
"Be seeing you round, buddy," I say, as cheerfully as possible. He waves and goes into the terminal. I drive off, having a little trouble seeing for the tears.
So ends my old life.
I pretty much shut down after Fraser left. The only way I was gonna get through was to stop feeling altogether. I work overtime any chance I get, and long hours even when I don't get paid. Welsh fixes me up with a new partner, Joe Rossi. He's okay, a family man, three kids. We don't socialize. Our solve rate is never as good as when Fraser was with me, but then, whose was? I start drinking on the weekends, nothing heavy, but enough that any free time I have passes fast enough that it don't hit me too hard. I tell myself, in the rare moments when I'm not working and I'm not drinking, that the answer is to find someone else. But that's crap. I had the best and no one else will ever come up to it. Rossi doesn't ask why I'm such a hardass. Don't know if he asked anyone else, but he doesn't give me any shit. We back each other up like partners do, and then he goes back to his family ... and I go back ... to nothing.
Welsh tries to get me to open up a couple of times, but after I bite his head off, he cuts it out. Guess he doesn't like who I am without Fraser. I hate myself. But I'm a dead man walking. My life's over. I'm just going through the motions.
I hear from Fraser every couple of months, a polite letter. He asks if I want to visit for my vacation, I say no. Maggie wrote once - she didn't know how close we got, but she knew we were friends, and can tell more than anyone how losing Fraser's friendship would hurt. She knows, because she knows what is like in reverse - how great it is to have her brother close by. But I can't handle her sympathy any more than I can handle Fraser's attempts to be nice. I just want the world to fucking shut up and go away.
It's been a year since he went back. His birthday comes and goes. I try not to remember, but I have to. Even find myself walking past the restaurant where we celebrated the last one. God, I miss him. I miss Dief. Even after Stella I was never this low. Course not. I had the Mountie to help me get through. Who's helping me now? No one.
Joe and me are finishing up our shift, coming back from interviewing witnesses after a robbery, when we hear a call about juveniles fighting. It's in the next block, so Joe calls it in. No reports of guns, so we're the only ones to respond. But when we get there, all hell has broken loose. Must be twenty guys there, fighting with knives and swords. I call for back up, and then we both fire our guns, which stops all but three of them, who run. No time to wait for help - the kids who run are the ones with swords. Joe and me run after them, but then we lose them, in an alley behind a warehouse. I suddenly remember which neighbourhood we're in - the same street where Fraser got hit. I guess that distracts me for a second, because suddenly Joe's been jumped, his gun knocked out of his hand, then I'm grabbed from behind. Joe's struggling and kicks back into the nuts of the kid holding him. But the little shit's got a knife, and jabs it into Joe's neck, the blood spraying out all over. Please, God, not again, I think. I break free from the one holding me, and go to run to Joe, but I'm grabbed and spun around. Not good. The kid is high, he's got a Japanese sword, and he wants to use it.
"Let me help my partner, he's dying."
The kid giggles. "He's dead, man, so are you." All the time, Joe's leaking his life out all over the pavement. All I can think of is having to tell his wife about this. It's not gonna happen, not on my watch. I take a chance and turn my back on the kid, and drop to my knees, reaching a hand out to put over the wound, but then a sharp pain hits me. Son of a bitch - the little shit's run me through. I look stupidly at the fucking tip of the sword sticking out of my front, and want to puke. Gotta save Joe, I think. I reach out again, and then the mad sword guy's friend slices my arm with his knife. I hiss, but I gotta save Joe. What's a little pain? I keep reaching, they keep cutting, until I collapse, almost on Joe, and close enough that I can put my bloody hand over the hole in his neck. I know I'm dying. This is it. If it wasn't for Joe, I'd be deliriously happy. Fucking kids don't know what a favour they've done me. But gotta save Joe. Gotta... I'm going to die. Joe's got no pulse. He's dead. I can let go. I can be free. I'm happy for the first time in a year. I'm going on ahead of you, buddy, I say to Ben in my head. I'll be waiting. You'll remember me then. I know it. A hand turns me over, and I smile at the person I can't see. Sight's gone. Sounds gone.
I'm gone.
First thing I know about is pain. Everything, every single, fucking thing hurts. The sound I make is halfway between a scream and a moan, and then a big ugly face is peering at me. Welsh. I want to cry. I shouldn't be here. Joe's dead, and I'm not. It's not right. A few tears leak out, but I can't lift my arms to wipe them off.
"Take it easy, Kowalski. You're in the hospital, you're fine." No, boss. You got that wrong. I'm not fine.
"Joe's dead," I croak out. I see him nod, and even though I knew it before, I want to scream. It's not right. "Not fair."
"No, it's not. I just got back from seeing his wife and daughters." I look at him, but I know by his face how that went. He asks gently, "How are you feeling, Kowalski?"
"I'm fine, lieu." That's all I say when anyone asks. I'm fine. I got a nicked intestine, a sliced liver, and nerve and muscle damage in my stomach and up and down my arms. But I'm fine. I want to be dead. But I'm fine.
They make me stay four days, but then I read them the riot act.
"I. Am. Going. Home. Get it?"
"Mr Kowalski, you are in no shape to go home. You need to stay still, let things heal. You need help to get around."
"My girlfriend will do that," I lie.
"The girlfriend who never visits?"
"She's been out of town. Look, I'm going. Gimme the fucking forms and let me out."
They got no choice, unless they commit me, which I know the doc is thinking about, but in the end, they give me a list of instructions I toss in the trash on my way out, a bag of pill bottles, and make me sign an AMA form. They're right, I can't do this on my own. Not and survive. But they don't get it. I don't care.
The taxi drops me at my building and it takes ten minutes to get up the stairs. Oookay, we won't be doing that again in a hurry. I got a little food in the fridge, a bit more in the cupboard, but no way will I be going shopping in this state. I don't care. My new mantra. I don't care. Haven't wanted to eat since I woke up in the hospital, with the wrong guy dead. I'll miss Joe's funeral. That's okay, his family can come to mine. I won't mind. Whoa. Light-headed or what.
I spend the first two days just lying down on the bed. Welsh calls, but I put him off. I know it was too soon to leave the hospital, and I haven't got anyone who can help, but I can manage long enough. Think about Joe's wife. She hurts worse than me, I bet. Who's helping her? I should be. If I was a good partner, I would be. Sorry, Joe. Hope you understand, if you're up there. You were a good guy. Deserved better than me.
I can't sleep. Wonder how long a man can live like this? Not long, I hope. Everything hurts. That's okay. Not for long. I take the pain pills and when they start to work, I start sorting out my papers. Will's still good - everything to Fraser, like I still want it. Mum and Dad don't need the money, and maybe Ben can rebuild some sort of life for himself. No chance of a brain damaged Mountie getting promotion now, is there? I carefully sort out letters and bank statements, spending the day throwing out junk, love notes, high school papers. I wear myself out, but I still can't sleep. Tomorrow, I think. That's when I'm gonna finish.
The dawn comes, and I feel worse. More light-headed. Maybe because of not eating. I feel cold too. Got things to do, letters to write. First I get my gun out and the spare clip, and my cell, and put them on the coffee table. Then I have to find some decent paper and envelopes. Got to write to Stella, Mum and Dad. Welsh too, as a friend and as a boss. It takes a long time, have to keep stopping to shiver, and cry and generally feel like crap. My gut hurts, a lot. But I gotta keep going. If I don't do this today, I'll be too weak, and then someone might come and visit and fucking save me, which I do not want. I save the worst till last. Ben. I have to think about this. Is it fair to tell him in a suicide note that I love him? Yeah, it is, I figure. I don't have to tell him that he loved me back, or that me dying is anything to do with him. But I'm sick of lying, pretending. I want to say 'I love you' one more time.
The note takes forever. The shivering is getting worse, and I realize,
woozy as I am, that I must be really sick. Just gotta hold things together
long enough to finish this. My handwriting's hard to read at the best
of times, and by the time I nearly finish, I'm not sure even I can read
it. Too tired to rewrite it nice. Too tired. I want to sleep. But soon
I'll be asleep for good. I'm almost finished when someone knocks at my
door. I think about ignoring it, but if it's Welsh, he'll know I'm here
and bust down the door if I don't answer. I pull a three week old newspaper
over my gun, and go to the door. Legs failing much, Kowalski? I wait
and catch my breath, and my
visitor is getting impatient. I yell "I'm coming, hold on", but nothing
much comes out. I fumble the door open. There he stands in all his starched
denim, ironed flannel glory. Fraser. No, I want to say, but no sound
comes out. I don't want you to see me like this, Ben. But he doesn't
hear me. His face looks funny, grey. Nope, that's me, I guess. Everything's
grey. I hear him say something as I slide to the floor. It's cold under
my cheek. I can sleep now.
There's a warmth under my face that I haven't felt in over a year, and the feel of clean jeans, and the smell of.... "Ben," I whisper. An arm comes round my shoulders, and I turn into the comfort of it, snuggling close. So wonderful, my sleepy brain says. Then everything clicks awake, and my eyes open. I'm lying on Ben's... Fraser's leg. It's his arm around me. No, I think. "No!" I push myself up. Ooh. Dizzy. I forgot, I forgot. Shit. "Fraser, I'm sorry..." I get up. He's speaking, but what is he saying? Got to get out of here. I feel his hand on my arm. "Let me go!" He drops his hand, and I struggle into my running shoes, no socks, and stumble out into the living room. Coat. Where's my coat? Don't need it. Gotta get out.
Fraser's calling my name. "Stay away from me, Mountie," I yell. Shit.
Dizzy. Cold. Make it down the stairs without actually hurling. I know
he's behind me, staying back. Can I outrun the Mountie? Can I, shit.
Walking's kinda hard, and I'm weaving all over the place. Go to the park.
I can get lost in the park. We used to camp there, must be a big place.
I realize I'm giggling and stop myself, then I feel really, really sick.
A warm weight drops over my shoulders - my long coat. Must be Fraser.
I don't look, just keep moving. Forward, I think.
Hard to tell. Suddenly, Fraser's in my face, holding my shoulders,
shaking me gently. Stop that, I'm gonna throw up, Fraser. "Don't," I
get out. He stops shaking me. "Ray, you have to come back with me, you're
sick."
I giggle at him. "You're wrong. I'm dead, Fraser." That seems really funny, I can't stop laughing until I'm crying, great heaving sucky sobs. He holds me close. No, please don't, Ben. I can't stand it. It's all too much, and my legs give out. Takes him by surprise, that does, but he doesn't drop me. "Bye, Ben," I say, still crying. That grey thing is happening again. But Ben's got me this time.
Shit. Hospital again. I feel like crap. Someone's got my hand. Eyes hard to open. "Ray?"
That's me. Sounds like... "Ben?"
"I'm here, Ray." Noooo. You're not supposed to see me like this, Fraser. Fuck. Can't stop crying these days. Gentle hand comes and wipes the tears off my face. I can open my eyes. Ben's face is close to mine.
"Please ... Fraser... go away... I'm sorry, I forgot..."
"Forgot what, Ray? That you and I were lovers?"
Christ no. How did he...? I shut my eyes again. "You weren't supposed to find out, Fraser."
"I didn't ... I remembered."
Jesus. This is a dream. No, a fucking nightmare, because I'm gonna wake up and find Ben's still in Canada, and I can't even commit suicide without screwing it up. "Dreamin'," I say to myself.
"You're not dreaming, Ray. Open your eyes."
I shake my head. "Not real. You're not real."
"I am, Ray." Then I feel a kiss on my lips, and I moan. This is torture. "Wake up, Ray. I'm really here. Please."
Can't resist that. Not 'please'. I open my eyes, and he's still there, looking a little solemn, worried. Still the same. "You... remember? When?"
"Bits and pieces have been coming back all year - about Ray Vecchio, Dad... Victoria...." I wince at the name, and close my eyes again. "It's all right, Ray. I remember what she did. And about you, but that took the longest."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I was confused about what I really remembered, and what I thought I did. I kept thinking I'd talked to my father long after he'd died. I didn't want to ask you about our relationship until I was clear. That didn't finally happen until Lieutenant Welsh called me about your injury, and I came as soon as I could. Good thing too. You've got an infection in your stomach wound. You apparently haven't been taking the antibiotics, or eating, have you?" I shake my head. "Well, now you're pretty sick, and they need to keep you in overnight, to get some IV antibiotics in. After that, they'll see when you can go home." He touches my face again, gently. "What on earth were you thinking, to do this to yourself?"
"Doesn't matter now." I'm falling asleep again. "Tell me again that I'm not dreaming."
He kisses me again. "You're not dreaming, but you do need rest. I'll go back to your place tonight, come back in the morning. With luck, you can go home."
I tighten my grip on his hand. "No, don't go... not until I'm asleep."
He strokes my face. "No, my love, I won't. I promise." I try to stay
awake, to watch him, but I can't. Four days without food or sleep are
catching up with me. He's the last thing I see until morning.
The nurse wakes me, and I immediately start bitching to get released. I have to wait until the doc comes, and boy, does she lay down the law to me. "Right, Mr Kowalski. You lied to me last time you were here, and if I hadn't seen the constable in person, you would not be getting out of this hospital until every single stitch was removed. And even now, you must take your antibiotics, unless you want to be stuck in this bed for a month on a drip. You will eat, you will look after yourself, or I have the constable's word that he will bring you back himself. Do you understand or do I need to get a mental health order on you?" She glares at me. Suddenly, I don't feel so good.
"No, ma'am. I mean, yes, I understand. No need for anything else. Ben will look after me."
"Yes he will. Don't think you're out of trouble yet, young man." Huh, young. But she was pushing sixty, so forty looks young to her, I guess.
Ben gets there a half hour after she left, and I could tell by his face that some serious talking was going to occur. But not yet. He wheels me out to my own car, and treats me like cut glass, which is just as well, because I feel like a broken window pane. He looks at the stairs in my building, looks at me, then calmly picks me up and carries me up, ignoring my protests to put me down. He doesn't set me down until he's in the apartment and I'm on the bed. "You're a son of a bitch, Benton Fraser."
He looks at me sternly. "I'm not the only one, Raymond Kowalski. It's nice you were planning to write to me before you blew your brains out. I'm sure I would have appreciated that. Not to mention your parents, and Stella."
Fuck. I forgot about the gun. And the letters. "You shouldn't..."
"Pry? Forgive me, but the gun was lying out in the open, so was the letter to me you hadn't quite finished. What the hell was going on in your head, Ray?" He's real mad, I can tell.
"Please, Ben, don't yell," I say weakly. "I'm sorry... I tried ... tried so hard... just so tired, so lonely without you...." Goddamn tears again. Will I ever stop this? I'm grieving for pain which is gone. How stupid is that? His warm, strong arms are around me again, and he rocks me gently, like a child.
"Sssh, Ray. It's okay. I'm here. It's over." He rubs my back, and holds me, kisses my cheek. Christ I feel so weak and tired and sick. Don't care if he's mad at me. He's here, and he remembers. He lays me down carefully, and I hear him kick his shoes off. Then he's lying alongside me, and I have that wonderful feeling of being held and surrounded which I've missed for so long, which I need like air and food to live. Even though that makes me happy, I'm still crying. Crying for months and months of pain. For Joe. For me. For Ben being on his own.
"Please, Ben..."
"Please, what, Ray? What do you want?" he says into my hair, touching my face.
"Don't... don't go..."
"Never, Ray. Never ever again. I love you, Ray Kowalski. I'll come back here... or you can come home with me."
"Want to go back with you, Ben. Please."
He tightens his grip on me. "Yes. Come back with me. Get well and strong. You have a home with me forever."
And he soothes me, and holds me, and with that promise I can finally rest, safe in his arms. The way I remember it.