(Standard, all-purpose disclaimer) All pre-existing characters are the property of the creators and producers of "Due South." No copyright infringement is intended. All new characters and situations are the sole property and responsibility of the author.
After great pain, a formal feeling comes --
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs --
The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore,
And, Yesterday, or Centuries before?
--Emily Dickinson
Usually, I put my comments before the story. This time, they''ll be coming afterwards ...
by Katrina Bowen
The only light in Benton Fraser's apartment came slanting through the half-closed blinds. He sat on the floor, dry-eyed and expressionless. His red tunic and Stetson lay in the corner where he'd blindly tossed them on coming in a few hours earlier. They were apparently the only things out of place. Diefenbaker lay nearby, eying Ben steadily, watchful but not intruding.
"Hello, Ben. I see you've already received the news." Ben didn't look up or jump when he heard the voice. He seemed to have expected it would be there sooner or later.
"Yes."
Robert Fraser fell silent and removed his hat, turning it around in his hands, looking at it as he might find some words written on the brim that would help. There really wasn't much to say, though, was there? How much practical comfort can a dead father offer a heartbroken son? But this was no time for silence, and, after all, any words would surely be better than none. He only wished he could have learned that lesson before he had been killed. It would have made things a lot different for both of them. He wanted his son to learn it while it could still make a difference in his life.
"Do they know why she was in Chicago?" No answer. "Has anyone been arrested?" Nothing. He tried again. "Do you know if Ray has heard anything?"
"No. I don't know. We haven't spoken today ... I don't know if he's heard about it yet." Ben passed a hand across his face wearily. "I imagine he'll see the police reports anytime now. He'll tell me if he knows anything, I'm sure."
His father sighed and crouched beside him. At least death had cured his arthritis; he could keep this position for hours, if need be. "And do you think they have any idea who might have shot her?"
Ben spoke bitterly. "Oh, I'm sure they have some idea. Probably someone she double-crossed. Or someone she tried to trick. Or someone she betrayed." He wrapped his arms around himself and just sat there.
"Son?" Fraser Sr. started to reach for him, and remembered just in time that he couldn't.
Finally, Ben turned his head to look at his father. "You're surprised. Well, so am I." He looked away again, trailing off uncertainly for a moment. When he resumed, his voice was carefully controlled. "Even after what happened the last time, even after everything she did, after all the pain I went through because of her, I never thought I could stop loving her. But when I heard that she was dead, that she'd been shot -- Dad, I felt nothing for the longest time."
"That's a normal reaction, son ..."
"It is, isn't it? I can't count the times I've seen it in other people. I thought it was shock at first. But when the shock or whatever it was wore off, I *did* start feeling something."
Fraser Sr. waited a few moments. This conversation wasn't going as he'd thought it would. Not at all. He had to tread carefully. "And what did you feel?"
"Dad ... I was relieved." Ben sounded as if he couldn't believe the words were coming from his lips. He took a deep breath and went on before his father could interrupt. "I can't believe that's how I feel, but I can't think of any other way to put it."
"Tell me what you mean, son."
Ben raised his hands helplessly and dropped them again. "Dad, I just don't really know *what* I mean. I don't mean that I'm glad she's dead. But at the same time, knowing that she's never going to hurt anyone I care about ever again ..."
His father looked at him steadily, "And knowing that you'll never have to deal with the way you felt about her, even after everything that happened?"
Ben's head snapped around; he stared at his father, unable to speak at first. Finally, closing his eyes, he nodded. "Dad, how could I have been so wrong? Why haven't I ever been able to admit that she wasn't who I thought she was?"
"Well, that's hard to say, Ben. You always were reluctant to believe the worst about anyone, even with good evidence. And I have to say, you usually turned out to be right. When you consider how deeply you were in love with her ..."
"Do you think that excuses it?" Ben said dully.
"No, but it explains it."
"No. No, Dad, it doesn't." He took a deep breath. "Dad, Victoria --" he finally said her name, and it sounded as if his soul were being torn from him. "Victoria was a thief. She was a bank robber. She was a criminal. I knew all that the first time I met her ... it's why I was looking for her in the first place. Why did I let her get to me?"
"Fortitude Pass, son. The situation, being trapped in that storm, created something between the two of you, and she played on it. She thought at first that it would keep you from turning her in; when she found out it wouldn't, she had a long time to plan how to use it against you if she ever crossed your path again."
Ben's glance fell to the floor. When he spoke again, his voice was hushed. "So you think she never loved me."
"I don't know, Ben, and it honestly isn't my place to say. Only she could have answered that." Fraser Sr. looked at his son's face; he didn't appear to be buying it.
"Dad, I could have answered it," Ben said angrily. "If I hadn't been so -- so sure that I couldn't possibly have misjudged her, I could have paid attention to what she did. I should have known." He repeated, more quietly, "I should have known."
"Perhaps."
"I was willing to give up everything that mattered to me, Dad. I was going to give up my career, I was going to give up my friendship with Ray -- I was going to abandon everything I believed in just to be with her. She ripped her way through my life, destroying everything I cared about, just so I'd have nothing left but her."
Diefenbaker stood. He shook himself and crossed the room to sit between Ben and his father, being careful not to brush too close to the ghost. Ben reached out and began scratching behind the wolf's ears. Dief closed his eyes and leaned against him, completely relaxed.
"She shot Diefenbaker, and I was willing to forgive that. I even tried to convince myself that Jolly was the one who did it rather than face the truth," Ben said absently.
Fraser Sr. looked at him in surprise. "And when did you change your mind about who shot Dief?"
Ben shrugged. "Come on, Dad. If nothing else, how would Jolly have known where I kept my gun? He was only here in the apartment for a few minutes ... he would have had to look in my trunk, find the gun, find the bullets and put them in -- there just wasn't time. Besides ... Jolly didn't have any reason to want Dief dead. Victoria did. She didn't want me to have anything to care about but her."
Falling silent again, Ben stared at the wall. His father eased himself to a more comfortable position; he found that the memory of sore legs was as persistant as the pain itself. Some things about death never stopped surprising him.
"And Ray." Ben spoke tonelessly. "Victoria tried to set it up so that if I went with her, Ray would be blamed for everything. He would have faced criminal charges -- at the very least, he would have been thrown off the force. And because he'd put up his house as collateral for my bail, he and his family would have lost everything. I would have destroyed him. In part of my mind, I knew all of that. But I was so wrapped up in Victoria that not even ruining my best friend's life mattered."
"Ah. Is that the reason why you never minded that Ray shot you?" That had always made Robert wonder a little.
"Well, I wouldn't say I didn't *mind*, Dad. It hurt, if nothing else. But I was the one who got in front of the bullet." Ben closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall.
Hesitating, Fraser Sr. finally asked the question. He already knew the answer, but he had to know what his son thought. "And did Victoria have a gun?"
Ben's eyes remained closed. "She was a professional thief, Dad. She was travelling with a fortune in diamonds. How many thieves do you know who would have been stupid enough to not have a weapon? Whatever else Victoria might have been, she wasn't stupid."
"...So were you trying to keep Ray from shooting Victoria, or were you trying to keep her from shooting Ray or one of the other officers?" Ben didn't answer. His father hadn't thought he would.
After a few minutes, Ben said quietly, "Dad? Are you still there?"
"Yes, son. I'm still here."
"I don't even know anymore whether it was her I loved ... or just the idea of *being* in love, of not being alone anymore." Ben's voice finally started to break.
"I'm not at all sure if *anyone* can tell, especially when they're caught up in it."
The two of them sat there, nothing more being said between them. After enough time had passed that the apartment was completely dark, Ben and his father both heard footsteps coming down the hallway. They'd both been expecting them. Fraser Sr. stood, gazed down at his son, then crossed to the window, gradually fading away. Ben opened his eyes and looked up at the door as Ray came in. The detective hesitated for only a moment, then crossed the darkness to Ben and sat on the floor where Fraser Sr. had been. Diefenbaker laid down again.
For a long time, neither of them said anything.
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AFTERWORD
Back in May, someone sent me an e-mail and suggested out of the blue that I should do a story about Victoria, because she thought I could bring a sympathetic view to the character. (I ask you all to keep in mind that I had only posted two stories at the time, and my views on the Victoria Issue weren't *exactly* as well known as they are now. The request must have seemed perfectly reasonable to the person making it.) Being in an unusually, and perhaps uncalled-for snarky mood, I sent back, "Okay. It'll be one page long. Victoria will die a horrible, flaming, painful death after making a full confession of all her crimes. Ben will look at the flames, then look at Ray. He'll say, 'You know, I was getting tired of mooning over the bitch anyway. And I really love you.' Then Ben and Ray would hold hands and walk off into the sunset, Dief following happily behind them."
This is the story I wrote instead. I have to give credit (and thanks and appreciation) to Gloria Lancaster, for inspiring me to write this much more seriously than I had planned.