Category: Drama
Warning: Angst
Rating: NC-17 Expect sex, rape, swearing, drug use, and violence.
Definitely for mature readers.
Notes and Synopsis: Post fourth season, after Vecchio's return,
but not taking into account COTW since I haven't seen it. What if the
roles were suddenly reversed? What are the limits to "duty"? Here's
Fraser's exploration of this question. I don't like his answer and I
doubt you will either.
What Price for a Mountie's Soul?
by: Marie-Andr&eactute;e
www.geocities.com/TelevisionCity/Network/9492 uskeba@hotmail.com
Fraser opened his cerulean eyes slowly, stretching his arms over
his head in a most cat-like manner. A glance at the bedside clock said
it was six. He had an hour and a half to get to work and he mentally
planned his day. A hot shower, breakfast, a walk with Dief, work, lunch
with Ray--it was so good to have him home!--sentry duty, dinner with
Kowalski. Fraser got out of bed slowly, glancing around his new apartment.
It wasn't much better than his last one, to Ray's dismay, and it was
smaller, but much bigger than the office he'd lived in for six months.
It was wonderful to have a home of his own again, and this time he even
had a private bathroom.
He allowed his shower to last twenty minutes, until the hot water
began to run out. Ben wrapped a plain white towel around his middrift
and stepped out of the tub, dripping onto the mat. He padded barefoot
into his kitchen, putting some bacon on to cook while he dressed. Meticulously
dressed in his jodhpurs and a white undershirt--he didn't want to risk
dirtying a freshly dry cleaned uniform, Fraser cracked two eggs into
the pan, then put some bread into the toaster. The eggs were done at
just about the same time as the toast, which he buttered. He slid the
whole works onto a plate and sat down to eat, watching in amusement Dief
eat a bowl of kibble. Served him right for scarfing down a whole box
of jelly doughnuts the night before! Done, Fraser quickly did his dishes,
allowing them to drip dry.
"Come on, Dief, we have time for a brief walk before I have to
leave."
Ray was right on time to pick Ben up and it was a happy Fraser
who slipped into the passenger side of the Riv. He and Kowalski had
somehow managed to find a new one before Ray had discovered that his
old one had been blown up--again.
"Good morning, Ray!" Ray turned to the Mountie.
" Morning, Benny. Good to have things back to normal!" Fraser
nodded. "Yes. You've been gone far too long." Only six months,
but they had been tedious, waiting for Ray to come back. Always a fear
that the Detective's cover would be blown, that he would have changed.
Undercover work was known to change a man, but in this case, it hadn't
changed Ray Vecchio. Fraser was glad.
"See you at lunch, Benny."
"Yep. Bye, Ray."
Fraser quickly ran up the few steps into the Consulate. He was
just a few minutes early, time enough to collect his thoughts. Thatcher
had other plans, however. "Constable!" she called as he passed
her office. He grinded to a halt and went in to see her.
"Yes, Sir?"
"Close the door, Constable." He raised his eyebrows, and did
as asked. "Sit down." Fraser sat. Thatcher sighed and handed him a
thick envelope.
"I've been asked to assign you a very important--and delicate--matter,
Constable. Of course, you have the right to refuse, but I don't suggest
that you do." Fraser nodded, still holding the envelope.
"What is the assignment, sir?" She motioned towards the package
he held "Look in there. I'll fill you in on the details after."
"All right." Fraser lifted the flap and pulled out a thick wad
of photographs and papers. He chose to flip through the photographs first,
then wished he hadn't.
Women. Beautiful women. Naked and sensuous. At least, that's
what Fraser guessed they were. These women had been slashed with an
instrument almost to the point of being unrecognizable. He repressed
a gag and looked up at his superior officer. "Sir?" She took
a deep breath.
"They're prostitutes, Fraser. Young Canadian women who came over
the border looking for something better. We have to find out who's doing
this to them." "How do I fit in, Sir?"
"We need you to infiltrate the ring, Fraser. These girls all
worked for the same group of pimps, only we have no evidence. You'd
be working in conjunction with the FBI." "And my duties would
be..."
"Pimp, Fraser." He almost choked.
"Certainly, Sir, there are officers more suited to this task than
me!" She shook her head.
"You're the only Mountie who knows Chicago almost as well as the
local cops do, Fraser. Although you don't realise it, you have picked
up a lot from the streets. You understand--and even use--some terms
other officers would be unfamiliar with, but which are common here."
"I don't have this in me, Sir."
"The last body they pulled, Fraser, was a sixteen year old girl."
His chin trembled. "You've done undercover work before, Fraser, bended
your code of ethics a little for a greater good..." He gave a resigned
sigh.
"I'll do it."
"Vecchio, in my office!" Ray had been on his way out to pick
up Fraser so he wasn't pleased by this disturbance.
"What is it, Sir? Frasier's..." The look Welsh gave him made
Ray's blood run cold. "Sit down, Detective, and close the door."
Obliging, Ray took a chair and looked up at his superior officer.
"Fraser won't be around for a while, Vecchio."
"Sir?"
"The details Thatcher gave me are very sketchy, but the bottom
line is that the Mountie's gone undercover." Ray choked.
"Benny?" Welsh nodded seriously.
"Doesn't look like small time stuff, either. Thatcher said this
assignment's just about as big as your's was."
"Why Frasier?" Welsh shrugged.
"Don't ask me."
"She say when he'll be back?" Welsh shook his head.
"No."
"Is he going to have a cover?"
"Yes. He's been transferred up north to Alert, wherever that
is." "Oh."
"Keep this between you and me, Ray. Just tell everyone Fraser
had to suddenly go north and will contact them whenever he gets the chance.
"Okay."
Fraser took a distasteful look around the apartment. It was worse
than any he had ever seen in his life. Filth was piled upon filth.
He didn't even dare use the bathroom. There was evidence of mice and
cockroaches too. And this was to be his new home until the end of the
assignment. He was under strict orders to clean as little as possible.
I'm Snake,' he repeated mentally. I am a pimp.' He shook his head.
Oh, God! I can't possibly do this!' But you must,' a tiny voice answered
in the back of his mind. What a nightmare.
He didn't even look like himself anymore. His hair was slicked
back and he was under strict orders to grow a beard. He wore a ratty
tee-shirt and holey jeans. He wasn't even allowed to shower except once
a month or so. Snake' had to represent the worst that Chicago's darker
side had to offer. Fuck. Shit. Bitch,' Fraser repeated aloud, but
very quietly. Fuck. Shit. Bitch,' he said again, a little more loudly,
with a little more conviction. This wasn't going to be easy. No way.
As darkness fell, Fraser prepared to go on the crawl. Look for
lonely, scared looking girls,' he'd been told. And that's what he did.
Thoughts of Christina Nichols and one wild Chicago night floated through
his mind as he roamed the streets, looking for... prey. He saw one eventually,
a trembling figure huddled in the doorway of a boarded up shop. He went
up to her.
"Hey." She turned towards him quickly, fear radiating from violet
eyes. Fraser wanted to gather her up and take her someplace safe and
warm, but he couldn't. Not yet. "Ya lost?" he drawled. She shook her
head, chin trembling. "Comeon, gorgeous. My place is just around the
corner--" Fraser winced inwardly, that was just too eloquent for Snake.
"Ya wanna crash the night? Got lots of space." She was still hesitant.
"Comeon, babe, I ain't gonna try no funny business, promise." She nodded.
"Okay..."
"Ya kin call me Snake, luscious." Had he, Benton Fraser,
actually said that? "I'm Sandy, Snake." Fraser flashed her what
he hoped was a lewd grin. Which it wasn't. Note to self', he thought.
Practise lewd grin.'
Fraser--Snake--let Sandy into the wretched apartment.
"Bathroom's over there. Food's in the fridge." Sandy headed
for the bathroom which Fraser had cleaned as much as he dared. Fraser
was aching to make her a sandwich, to do something to help her,
and he felt sick at the thought of what he'd have to do next. He was
sitting on the bed when she came out about ten minutes later. "Why
don't you join me?" he asked, patting the space next to him. A look
of fear crossed her face.
"You said no funny business." Fraser shrugged.
"Comeon, babe. Anything you've done before ain't funny business."
"I... I can't do that anymore. The last guy. He... he scares
me, Snake." Without warning, Sandy started to cry. "I... I... I should
never have left Montreal!" she sobbed. Fraser had to grin, despite the
circumstances. He'd had luck this first night. "Where can I find
that guy?" She looked up at him, her eyes red and puffy. "Why?"
"I find a pretty gal like you on my turf and I find out someone's
been milking them. Well, I don't like it." The only thing that made
this vulgar charade tolerable was the thought of how amusing it would
be for Ray to hear Fraser talk like this.
"He... he hangs out at that club on Diversy. His name's Derek."
Fraser shrugged. "I don't normally do this, but I'm gonna let
you go." He handed her one of Ray's business cards.
"Call this guy. He'll make sure you get home." It felt good
to be Fraser again, even for just a few seconds.
Club Latifa was a smokey club like any other, reeking of cigarettes,
booze, stale urine, and sweat. Fraser made his way up to the bar and
signalled to the bar tender. "Yeah?"
"Looking for Derek."
"Who's asking?" Fraser shrugged.
"He don't know me."
"Wait here." The bar tender nodded to a guy sitting at the bar
and the latter stood up and made his way to a back room. Fraser knew
he'd have to order a drink to blend in, so he did. "Gimme a beer."
A bottle was soon placed in front of him and Fraser tried not to look
at it with distaste. He took a cautious sip. It wasn't nearly as bad
as he remembered and he was sipping like a natural by the time Derek
showed up. Derek motioned to the bar tender to get Fraser another.
"What ya want?" Derek asked Snake.
"Got any business for me?" Derek raised his eyebrows, eyeing
Fraser critically. "Maybe. Who sent you?" Fraser shrugged.
"I've got my sources."
"How do I know you ain't a cop?"
"I look like a cop?" Derek laughed.
"No cop could look like that. Yeah, I got business for you.
Lots of activity at the corner of Greenstone. Need someone to keep it
under control. Pretty girls those ones. Why don't we go upstairs and
I'll introduce you to one? Once you're done, she'll introduce you to
the rest of your girls. They give you everything they get, you give
that to me. I give you forty percent and they get ten percent of that."
Fraser nodded, sickness rising in his throat. Too much booze, maybe.
Oh, god, what would he have to do when he went upstairs? Derek motioned
for Snake to follow him and Snake did, trying to keep any hesitation
out of his steps. He was led up to a dank little room.
"Wait a sec," Derek said and he left. He returned moments later
with a bleached blond who couldn't have been a day over twenty. "Chloe,"
Derek said. "Make sure he has a good time and that he treats you right.
Then introduce him to everyone.
"Okay, Derek." He left and she shut the door. Chloe turned her
attention to Fraser. She pointed to the bed.
"Why don't you sit down?"
Fraser sat, resisting the urge to run out. She was a minor and
he'd have to... Take a deep breath, Benny,' he could almost hear Ray
say. You're Snake and Snake does this all the time.' Chloe went up
to him and knelt in front of him, gently nudging his legs apart. Fraser
trembled ever so slightly as she pulled down his zipper and worked her
hand into his too tight jeans, freeing his cock. He groaned as she bent
over him, taking him into her mouth, licking him like an ice cream cone.
He moaned against his will as the rhythmic licking, then sucking, sent
waves of pleasure pulsing through him. Victoria,' he thought. Pretend
it's Victoria, just like that night.' His erection soon filled Chloe's
mouth and she began to scrape her teeth along his shaft, retreating only
after an orgasm rocked his body, making him whimper. Chloe let the now
flaccid organ go, and it hung limply once again.
He'd enjoyed it. God, he was sick.
Chloe looked up at him.
"Was that good?"
"Yes. I mean, yeah." He knew that Snake would try to pursue
matters, so he put a hand up to her breasts. She pulled away, shaking
her head.
"That's enough, Snake. Consider that a freebie." Good, it was
over. She motioned for him to follow her out of the room and back out
into the night.
Fraser met his' girls that night, six of them, one blow job at
a time, until he thought he'd go into sensory overload. They were all
so young and it broke his heart to allow them to perform oral sex on
him, but Chloe was standing by. If he refused, she'd certainly go to
Derek about his curious behaviour and his cover would be blown.
One night would soon be like another, always the same, always
painful. Screening clients for his girls, collecting the money, trying
to find out where they were from, working himself slowly into Derek's
confidence. Only one word could describe almost adequately kind, decent
Benton Fraser's new world: Hell.
About a week into his new job' Fraser met Derek back up at the
club. He automatically ordered himself a beer--he found he was drinking
too much these days, but so long as he drank he could almost forget.
Derek soon joined him and lit up a cigarette. He handed one to Snake
who took it and accepted the lighter. Fraser tried not to choke as the
cigarette smoke invaded his lungs. You're Snake,' he repeated mentally.
Be Snake.' It was like a mantra which ran through his mind every day,
every night,
"Wassup, Derek?" Derek took a swig of beer.
"I want you to teach one of my girls a lesson." Fraser swallowed.
"Had a good fuck since you started working for me?"
"No."
"Let's go upstairs." Fraser was led up to the same room Chloe
had given him a blow job in.
"Johnny's bringin' her in."
"Why don't Johnny punish her?"
"You've got a lot to learn, Snake. You don't punish your girls.
That's for others to do." Within a few minutes, a young girl, sixteen,
seventeen at the most, was dragged in flailing by Johnny. Derek went
up to her and slapped her, sending her flying onto the bed. Fraser tried
not to wince. Johnny left.
"You've been stealing from me, bitch?"
"No!" He hit her again.
"Tell me another one!" He ripped her blouse open.
"No!" Derek slapped her one last time and looked at Snake. "Do
her." Derek headed for a chair in a corner of the room to watch. There
was no way out of this. Either way, this girl was going to die. But
if he died too, then others would be murdered. Was saving a dozen or
more souls worth the sacrifice of two? Yes.
The young girl tried to get up but Fraser just slammed her against
the bed, throwing himself onto her. A hand worked it's way up her skirt
and ripped away the silk panties. He forced two, then three fingers
into her, making her cry out in pain. When she tried to pull away, Fraser
brought himself to slap her.
"No!" she whimpered. Fraser ignored her as best as he could,
trying to conjure up another time and place where the lovemaking had
been mutual and beautiful. It worked and he felt his erection build
up in his jeans. He quickly released it and drove himself into her,
thrusting like there was no tomorrow, making her shriek. When she tried
to pummel him with her hands, he grabbed her wrists with one muscular
hand and forced them above her head. Derek looked on, smiling. The girl
finally stopped flailing and Fraser thrust a few more times into her
for good measure, his seed spilling into this child who had long ago
forsaken her innocence. He pulled away and got up, pulling his pants
up. He suddenly remembered Derek and turned towards him. Derek grinned
and gave him the thumbs up sign. He got up and pulled something out
of his pocket.
"Finish her off with this." It was a knife, much like the one
Fraser had kept in his boot. Snake shook his head.
"I draw the line here, Derek." Derek raised his eyebrows. "You
want to work for me, you work that knife across her throat." Snake shrugged.
"Sure, I thought you were kidding." He grabbed the knife and
went back to the bed. The girl had gathered herself up into a ball and
her eyes were pleading with him. Please, don't kill me. Please, let
me go.' Fraser took a deep breath, wrapped an arm firmly around her
shoulders and brought the blade across her throat in one fluid, slicing
motion. She gasped as the blood began to flow, then her head lolled
forward. She was dead. Fraser let her go and she sank to the bed, soaking
it with crimson life. Repressing his nausea, Fraser wiped the blade
on the sheets and looked at Derek.
"Great job, Snake. You can go. Someone'll clean up here." Fraser
went home' and spent the day vomiting.
This would be the first of several punishments Snake had to give,
although he was never again asked to kill the girl, just give her a beating
that would make her think twice the next time she tried to cheat Derek.
The first few times, Fraser tried to rationalize what he had to do, but
Snake soon took over, and Snake needed no excuse to brutalise a woman.
Fraser just stood back in horror as Snake raped, beat, and humiliated
at will.
During this time, Fraser collected information on Derek, took
photographs, and kept contact with both the RCMP and the FBI who were
fully aware of what was expected of Snake. No one gave it any thought
that maybe they should pull their officer out of there. There wasn't
enough evidence gathered yet to guarantee Derek being put away for a
long time.
Weekly meetings with Derek and his other pimps became common and
they soon escalated from being a gathering of beer drinking buddies'
to something much worse in Fraser's eyes. The six of them had been sitting
at a table in the back of the bar, playing poker. Fraser lost on purpose
most games and spent most of the evening downing beer after beer. He
was curious when he saw one his partners' pull a syringe out of his
front shirt pocket. "I got some good stuff," he said and the men
grinned, Snake excepted. "What stuff?"
"Comeon, Snake! I don't believe you've never had a good dose
of smack!" Snake shrugged, Fraser trying to figure his way out of this
predicament. "Comeon! Give me your arm." First booze, then rape, now
drugs. Why not? Fraser, his senses dulled by the alcohol he'd consumed,
barely felt the prick of the needle, but the drugs were not quite so
discreet. The next day, he begged Derek to get him some more because
Fraser knew that it would be expected of Snake to do so. Soon, Snake
found himself shooting smack on his own, every day. Fraser discovered
that he had nothing more to give to the streets.
The night eventually came when Derek offered Snake a chance to
see him punish a girl. Fraser thought to call for backup, just in case.
Derek went to work on the girl immediately, doing things to her which
would have made Fraser vomit. When Derek pulled out his knife and started
to make designs on the girl's stomach, Fraser knew it was over. "Freeze,
Derek!" The voice was authoritative enough to make Derek stop. "What
the fuck are you talking about, Snake?"
"RCMP. You're under arrest."
"What?!" Fraser could hear backup coming up the stairs
and soon blue shirts burst into the room. Derek was read his rights
and cuffed while the girl was tended to. She lived to testify. Fraser
followed the last cop out of the room, knowing that there'd be someone
to meet him downstairs to take his statement. Sure enough, an official
figure with FBI' on his jacket led him to an unmarked car. He was at
the twenty-seventh in under five minutes. Temporally, he had been close
to his old world, but, spiritually, he could have been in the next galaxy.
Welsh greeted Fraser as he came into the squad room, ignoring
the fact that the man before him looked nothing like Constable Benton
Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. "Great job, Constable."
Fraser looked up at him briefly, before pulling a cigarette out of his
pocket. He lit up and puffed on it for a moment before speaking. "What
now?"
"Why don't you go into interrogation room one? Inspector Thatcher,
the chief of the FBI, and I'll be along shortly to debrief you."
"Fine."
Welsh shook his head as he watched the Mountie head off for interrogation
room one. He'd changed, that was to be expected, but Welsh had not anticipated
this almost total lack of response, this edge to Fraser. What ever he'd
seen and done during his time away had taken his integrity and his virtue,
that was evident enough. There'd be time to worry about that later,
though. He called Ray and told him to get his butt to the station.
Ray arrived fifteen minutes later and Welsh made him sit down.
"We just wrapped up Fraser's case..."
"Benny's back?!" Ray cried gleefully, jumping out of his chair.
"Where is he?" "Interrogation room one, but..." Ray did not let
Welsh finish. He bounded out of the office and was soon bursting into
interrogation room one. Right away, Ray knew something was wrong. Fraser
sat slumped over, wearing filthy clothes, his greasy hair going almost
past his shoulders. He had a dishevelled beard. He stank.
"Frasier?" Fraser slowly looked up at his friend. Ray took a
step back after one look into those eyes; eyes which housed undescribable
pain, torment, and anguish. "Hey, Ray." With trembling hands,
Fraser went for his packet of cigarettes and lit up, taking a few long
drags. Ray didn't know how to react. He went over to the Mountie and
sat down in front of him.
"How long have you been smoking, Benny?" Fraser shrugged. "Who
cares?" He quickly finished his first one and lit up another. Ray winced.
"I'm glad you're back, Benny." Fraser didn't answer but focused
on his cigarette. "Solved any cases while I was gone?" Ray nodded.
"A couple. Four months, Benny. Geeze, feels like four years."
Fraser shook his head. "Four lifetimes. Four fucking lifetimes."
Ray was taken aback. Fraser was unkempt, smoking, and swearing. "Find
me a beer, willya?"
"I can't, Benny. Not yet. Welsh has some questions to ask you.
Then Thatcher has to debrief you..."
"Fuck them. Fuck the whole system. And fuck you too." Fraser
bounded from his chair and made for the door, but Ray was quicker. He
grabbed Fraser by the arm. "Listen, Benny. I don't know what's
happened to you..." Fraser yanked his arm away. "Exactly. So
fuck off." He stormed out of the squad room, ignoring Ray's calls.
Once Fraser had gone, Ray turned to Welsh who was standing in the doorway
to his office, leaning on the doorjamb.
"What's happened to him, Lieutenant?" Welsh shrugged.
"It happens, Ray, when it's too much for an officer. We thought
he was stronger than that."
"Geeze, Lieutenant! What's going to happen?"
"We have to ease him back into our lives slowly, Vecchio. Must
be a real culture shock to come back to this. He's seen some of the
worst stuff this world has to offer, Ray. He was so... optimistic, I
guess, before. This assignment shattered every one of his beliefs.
I'm hoping he'll bounce back. The police psych isn't betting on it,
though." "How could anyone have let this happen to him, Lieu?
It's Frasier!" "It's impossible to predict who's going
to snap and who's not, Ray." "That's not a good enough answer,
Lieu."
"I know it isn't, Detective. I'm sorry."
"So am I. Do you know where I can find him?"
"He's gone back to his old place."
Ray knocked cautiously on the door of apartment 2A.
"Come in," a tired voice answered. Ray entered the sombre apartment,
the stench of beer and stale cigarettes making him nauseous. Fraser
was sprawled on his back in his bed, several empty beer cans around him.
The ashtray on the table next to him was overflowing. "Oh, it's you."
"Yeah, it's me, Benny. And I'm not gonna take this. I won't
let the streets take you. I won't." Fraser laughed sardonically.
"You're too late for that."
"No, I'm not. You're going to have a shower while I clean up
your place. Then, we're going to dump this beer down the sink." His
voice was authoritative and Fraser found that he couldn't refuse.
The shower felt... good. It wasn't degrading or humiliating or
criminal. It was almost with pleasure that Fraser allowed four month's
worth of filth to stain the water black and he watched it swirl down
the drain. When he stepped out, he found that Ray had located relatively
fresh, and more Fraser-like, clothes, and placed them by the door. Fraser
rummaged through his medicine cabinet, finding a tube of deodorant.
He applied some to his underarms, then dressed. He gave his shaving kit
a look, but decided not to use it. He did brush his teeth, however.
During this time, Ray had opened up the windows to air out the
place, dumped the trash into garbage bags, and begun to pour the beer
down the sink. Fraser felt that he was watching this from behind a window,
he didn't feel connected to this world any more. Ray turned around.
"Benny..." Fraser shook his head.
"Snake."
"Benny," Ray said more firmly and Fraser sighed.
"Yeah?"
"Let's go back down to the precinct and fill out those reports,
okay?" "Why bother? We put Derek in custody and another'll take
his place." "Who are you?" Ray asked.
"Who aren't I is the question to ask. I'm not Benton Fraser
anymore. I'm Snake. I'm a fucking pimp who fucks sixteen year old girls--and
likes it. That's who I am." Ray tried to swallow his distaste.
"That's Snake, not you."
"Snake is me."
"No, he isn't. You're still in there, Benny. I know you are."
"Fraser's dead." Ray shook his head adamantly.
"No he isn't, Benny. I refuse to believe that. We have to go
back to the station, Welsh and Thatcher are expecting us."
"Fine." Fraser lit another cigarette and he puffed on it as he
followed Ray out of his apartment. He had time to smoke four and start
on a fifth by the time they reached the twenty-seventh.
Ray led him back towards interrogation room one where Thatcher
and Welsh were waiting. On the way, Fraser collided into Frannie who
had been on her way to deliver the Lieutenant and the Inspector a message.
"Hey, watch where you're going, bitch!" Fraser jeered, stopping
Francesca in her tracks. This was too much for Ray. He slammed his
fist into Fraser's jaw. "That's going too far, Frasier! No
one calls my sister that!" He prepared to throw another punch, but
Fraser was on him first. He landed heavily on top of Ray and began to
pummel him as hard as he could, unleashing a fury Ray had never seen
in his life. "I'll call the cunt whatever I want, you fucking
piece of shit!" Soon, Welsh was prying Fraser off of Ray, restraining
him as best as he could, allowing Ray to stumble to his feet, holding
a hand to his broken, bleeding nose. No one knew who was more shocked
by this outburst. Fraser had stopped flailing almost as soon as Welsh
had grabbed him and he just stood there, panting, refusing to meet anyone's
eyes.
"Huey! Get Fraser into lockup." Fraser complied.
The police psych was brought in and she spent over an hour with
Fraser. She was smiling grimly when she came out.
"How is he?" Ray mumbled.
"He's in withdrawl."
"What?" Welsh and Thatcher asked at the same time. "He's
in withdrawl," she repeated. Heroine was pretty popular with his new
pals. He's gone cold turkey." Welsh raised an eyebrow.
"This is good, isn't it?" The psych nodded.
"Very good. He's trying to regain some control of his old life.
I've recommended that he go to a detox centre for a few weeks, to get
him off both the drugs and the booze. Nasty crowd he was hanging out
with."
"He say anything?" Ray asked. The psych shook her head.
"Not much. Right now, he's in the classic patient looking through
a window mode." "I'm sorry?" Thatcher said.
"It's like Fraser is looking at Snake through a window, Inspector.
He could see Snake attack Ray, but was powerless to stop him."
"Like a double personality?"
"Almost, Lieutenant. I'll need the Inspector and Detective Vecchio's
signatures to take him away."
"Why?"
"Detective, you are listed as Fraser's next of kin, and the Inspector
is his superior officer."
"Oh. I'll sign."
"Me, too," Thatcher sighed.
A plain room with beige walls and grey flooring. Very much like
the one in that psych ward he'd stayed in a few years before. Fraser
unpacked his things, hanging shirts in the cupboard, putting underwear
in drawers. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. The hand throbbed
from hitting Ray and Fraser felt almost sick at the thought of what he'd
done to his friend and of what he'd called Francesca. You're Fraser.
Forget about Snake,' he repeated softly a few times, but lacking conviction.
At one point during his undercover work, Snake had slowly strangled Fraser.
Now, he had to find out if a little CPR could bring Fraser back. He
acknowledged a knock at the door.
"Yeah?" A male nurse entered.
"Hi, I'm Sam. Just wanted to let you know we're serving dinner
in about an hour." "Oh, okay. Thanks."
"Are you comfortable?" Fraser shrugged.
"Sure."
"Need anything, just ask." Sam turned to leave.
"Sam?"
"Yup?"
"Is there anyone here who could give me a haircut?" Sam nodded.
"Sure. There's Lisbeth. I'll introduce the two of you at dinner."
"Thanks, Sam."
"No problem, Ben." Fraser winced.
"Fraser."
"Okay, Fraser."
Dinner was surprisingly good for an institution. This was a detox
centre like none Fraser had ever seen. Here, the policy was to solve
the problems that led to the drug use first, not the other way around
as it was in most other centres. The staff here was friendlier, the
help they were offering much more obvious. It felt safe and warm and
Fraser started to relax. He met Lisbeth, a pretty little redhead with
even more trainspotting than him. Sam introduced them and Lisbeth took
a critical glance at his hair.
"You need a haircut."
"How much?"
"Ten cigarettes."
"Okay."
After the meal, patients had one hour to themselves before group
therapy sessions began. Lisbeth took Fraser into a washroom, taking
with them a hard plastic chair. She made Fraser lean over the sink and
washed his hair, towelling it dry after. She told him to sit down. Draping
another towel around his shoulders, Lisbeth went to work trying to comb
through the mess of tangled curls. "Want anything in particular or should
I, ya know, just cut?" Fraser shook his head and described his old haircut:
very short and sculptured. Lisbeth went to work and Fraser closed his
eyes. She was done in about twenty minutes. "Want a shave, too?" "How
much?"
"On the house. Just this time."
"Okay." When Fraser looked into the mirror a few minutes later
he almost fell off of his chair. Fraser--not Snake--was looking back
at him. Sure, this Fraser was but a pale substitute of the old one--pasty
skin, gaunt expression, black rimmed eyes sunken into their socket--but
gone was Snake's hardness. "Thanks a lot, Lisbeth."
"No problem, Fraser." She held out her hand and he counted out
ten cigarettes from his pack. Upon second thought, he added five more.
She grinned and put one to her mouth. Fraser pulled out his lighter,
lit her cigarette, then did the same for himself. They smoked in silence.
Two weeks in the centre did Fraser a lot of good. His cravings
for heroine and alcohol slowly diminished until they throbbed almost
unperceptively, like an old bullet wound which refused to heal. The
day came when Fraser was finally allowed a visitor. He was looking forward
to seeing Ray, although apologizing for what he'd done and said was going
to be hard. He'd promised his therapist he would, though.
Ray didn't know what to expect as he sat in one of the cozy chairs
set up in the visitor's lounge. All he'd been told was that Fraser was
ready to have visitors. A door opened and before Ray knew it, Fraser
was sitting in front of him. It even looked like Fraser, he was wearing
jeans and a faded plaid shirt. But the haircut and the shave were what
made the biggest difference. "Hey, Ray."
"Hey yourself, Benny." Fraser reached into his front pocket and
pulled out his packet of cigarettes. He offered one to Ray who refused.
"Mind if I smoke?" Yes.'
"No, go ahead."
"I... I'm sorry." Ray's face had healed and the damage Fraser
had inflicted was barely visible.
"It's okay, Benny. You were just messed up, that's all."
"Ain't no fucking excuse, though." Ray winced.
"What's the matter?"
"You swearing like that." Fraser shrugged.
"One thing at a time."
"I know, Benny." Ray looked away for a moment.
"You want to talk about it?" Fraser squared his jaw.
"There's nothing to talk about, Vecchio. You'll never understand.
I should've backed out of there right away."
"Why didn't you?" Fraser laughed bitterly.
"And let those girls die? Become the laughing stock of the RCMP?
Either way I was dead, Ray. Might as well do something useful." Ray
looked down. "Is it true what you said?"
"About what?"
"You and girls..."
"Oh, yeah. Tight little girls, pussies all wet and glistening,
waiting for me to fuck them into oblivion." Fraser could have slapped
him and Ray would not have been more stunned. "Part of the job, eh?
Fuck the job. Fuck the force. There's things the police shouldn't do.
Undercover work like that is one of em." Then, almost as an afterthought,
"Did you ever have to kill anybody while you were Langoustini?" Ray
shook his head. "No."
"Did you ever have to rape a girl? Beat her beyond recognition
because if you didn't your cover would be blown?"
"No."
"Did you ever take everything you believed in and throw it out
the door because it was duty'?"
"No."
"That's what I thought, Vecchio." Fraser crushed his cigarette
butt and lit another. "I can't be the man you knew, Ray," he continued
a little more gently. "I'm beyond that. I'm trying to get better, to
forgive myself for what I had to do. But you don't go from being Dudley-do-right
to being a cop's worst nightmare and come out of it the same." Fraser's
voice sounded choked. "I refused to believe that there were people like
Snake in this world, Ray, and now I know that not only do they exist,
I'm capable of being them. Oh, God, Ray!" Ray bounced up his feet and
took Fraser into his arms, to the Mountie's surprise. "Let go of me,
faggot!" he exclaimed.
"No, Benny. You're going to get this out of your system. You
can beat me and call me whatever names, but I'm staying right here until
you get it all out. What's it going to be, the hard way or the easy
way?" Fraser looked up at Ray.
He started to cry. No warning. Just a great sob that threatened
to swallow him whole. Then a torrent of tears. He clung to Ray like
a drowning man would hold on to a piece of floating driftwood. And Ray
just hung on to his friend for dear life, rubbing his back, making soothing
noises. He'd help Benny get better, Fraser deserved that. The last
thing he needed was to be deserted by the people he had once been close
to.
Fraser cried for the better part of an hour, and the people from
the centre wisely left him and Ray alone. At long last, the sobs subsided
and Fraser pulled away. "Thank you, Ray." His voice was raw.
"Anytime, Benny."