BACKFLASH

by Peaulpdealt

Introduction: If parts of the following look familiar, that's because it is. I've used some dialogue straight from "Flashback" to try something I've had in the back of my mind for some time. I always like "Flashback" but thought, gee, if they had only expanded here or changed that or added this idea. What I've done is recreated the episode's dialogue in places (so if it looks as if I've translated directly from the dialogue . . . I have. Straight off the page. Lifted it clean . . .you get the idea.)

A few details to keep in mind; there is no deadline to get Fraser's memory back, no hostage.(You'd think a guy with a crack on the head would be in hospital but this is BF we're talking about here.) This is the premise: Same crime, same mini van, same fall from the van, same blow to the head, same visit to the hospital. The rest you can follow, I hope. Some of the scenes are out of order but that's all part of the major plan.

Drama: PG rating: some swear words, not all cheery content. Comments are welcome.

********

BACKFLASH

By Peaulpdealt

It isn't the drop from the speeding car to the pavement that does Fraser in; it's the sudden stop.

*

The day had started out like any usual day could. Ray lost the draw and had to go on the mid-morning sandwich run for the others in the precinct. At first, he thought Fraser accompanied him because that was just Fraser. But then he was wondered if it was just to get away from the hustle, bustle and over-the-top jocularity of the police station. Fraser had been quieter, even edgy, in the last few days. Ray made a mental note to ask him about it. But then the alarm went off, the criminals took off and Fraser's reality took a radical turn to the left.

Fraser had jumped onto the back of the moving getaway vehicle, wrestled unsuccessfully with gravity and ended up flying through the air in one direction while the van went in another.

When his senses, and Ray, finally caught up to him everything was fine except for one small detail.

Fraser looked at Ray oddly. "Who the hell are you?"

"Stop kidding around. You know damn well who I am."

Fraser, glancing around, noticed his red uniform and a more pertinent question came to mind: "Who the hell am I?"

"Oh dear."

*

Ray takes him to the hospital and waits for the Doctor to pronounce Fraser him 'not dead'. Tests are run and there is no concussion, no broken bones; no damage at all. He just can't remember a thing.

The rest, it seems is up to Ray. He knows Fraser, he knows Fraser's past and he knows the triggers but he is warned by the doctor to go easy on the memories. "Keep it simple," he advises. "Names, faces, places -nothing too serious if you can help it."

No problem there, Ray doesn't say aloud. He doesn't want to go into dangerous territory for the simple reason that he would have no idea how to get out.

"Oh, one more thing," the doctor hands an envelope to Ray. "You'd better hold on to this. We found it in his hat when you brought him in. Looks like almost a thousand there." Ray opens the envelope. Held together by a typical Fraser clip, inside a recently filled deposit slip, are several hundred American dollars. "Your friend must be either very confident in his hat, very foolish in his security or very smart about his city to keep that much money under his hat."

"I think that just about covers it," Ray tells him.

*

Ray walks into the examining room. "Hey, Fraser, how're you feeling?"

Fraser looks up. "Who?"

"You. Fraser, That's your name."

"F-r-a-s-i-e-r?"

"No, F-r-a-s-e-r."

"And you would be. . . ."

"Ray."

"R-a-y?"

"That's correct. Detective Ray Vecchio, of the Chicago PD."

"Am I under arrest?"

"No, you're not under arrest. You're a cop too. Your name is Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police."

"Oh, so we're in Canada?"

"No, we're in Chicago. We're after some diamond thieves. You got their plate number. . . . . Maybe we should start at the beginning."

So Ray gives Fraser the shortened version of who he is and how they met. He tells him about the case that brought him to Chicago, the details of the eventual transfer to Chicago; in short, he tells him everything except the identity of the murdered man who led him to Chicago. He doesn't want to go there yet, not unless he has to.

"Now you're sure you don't remember anything you saw just before the accident? There was a jewel heist. The get-a-way van sped away. You jumped onto the van and as you were leaning back to-"

"Wait a minute. I jumped onto a moving van?"

"Yeah, its something you do all the time."

"What, am I stupid?"

"No, you're a hero."

"You think maybe you got me mixed up with someone else?"

"All right, look Fraser we got to get you back to normal." Ray hands him his uniform. "Put this on."

Fraser looks at it from arms length. "That's bright."

"Yeah, but you look good in it." Ray turns to leave as Fraser mumbles to himself, "Really bright. . . ."

*

Fraser leads the way out of the hospital by absently swinging a door into the face of an unsuspecting woman. Only Ray's prompt courtesy saves the woman from becoming one with the wall.

"Fraser!"

The Man in Red wanders back to the scene of the crime, oblivious to his faux-pas. "What?"

"You didn't hold the door for this woman."

"So?"

"You always hold the door for women. Just like you help old ladies across the street and you let people get in front of you in line. It's what you do."

"Why?"

"Cause you're polite."

"Come on, Mac, no one's that polite."

"You are," Ray mumbles. "And my name's not Mac, it's Ray." It would be a stronger rebuttal if anyone had been there to hear it.

Grimly, Ray catches up to him at the car. Fraser is waiting by the driver's door and grinning. "Did you want me to get in or should I get the door for you first?"

"Haha," Ray grumbles, opening his own door. "Now you get a sense of humour. Get in will ya, we got places to go."

*

Fraser becomes more subdued once they begin driving. He barely has a clue to who Ray is, he doesn't have a clue where Ray is taking him and nothing about anything is becoming remotely familiar.

"How did the accident happen?" he wants to know again. "What was I doing at a robbery in the first place? I thought I worked at a consulate."

"You do. You were tagging along with me. Okay, one more time from the beginning. I picked you up at your apartment this morning, like I usually do, only this morning I was late and you weren't even ready, which you usually are, so I was in a pissy mood and then you asked if we could make one stop on the way. . . . So, I practically throw you outa the car when we get to the consulate and I make it to work just in time to get yelled at for being late for some department board review meeting. Later that morning, we're drawing straws to see who gets to go for refueling food cause the meeting keeps going on and on - and then you showed up. I think your shift got changed at the consulate or something and they forgot to tell you so you came over to the precinct. I'm not sure why; I think you wanted talk to me about something. Anyway, just as you show up, I pick the short straw, so out I go to get the food and I drag you with me cause you didn't seem like you were happy hanging around there anyway. We're walking along, you're correcting me about some kind of bread, we hear the alarm go off, you chase the van and the rest, as you might say, is mystery."

Fraser doesn't say anything, doesn't react in anyway. He simply nods and stares out the window. "What if I don't get my memory back?" he asks out of the blue.

"You'll get your memory back."

"But what if I don't."

"Look, you'll get your memory back, all right? Just trust me on this."

"Do I trust people?"

"Implicitly."

"Why?"

"Why do you trust people? I donno. You just do. It's like this bad habit you can't break. You expect the best of them, they fall for it and next thing you know, they're throwing themselves at your mercy."

"I see. Do I have many friends?"

"I donno. Not a whole lot that I've met but that doesn't mean much. You have this annoying way of not talking a hell of a lot about yourself. Sure, you'll go on for hours about this Inuit story or that fossil statistic but anything personal I've found out about you just kinda pops up."

"How long have I known you for?"

"Couple of years."

"That's it?"

"Yeah, that's it. Why?"

"I don't know. I feel like I've known you a long time. Well, even though I don't remember you, that is."

"You know what, Benny? Sometimes it seems like that to me, too. Now, if you don't mind, I've got a job I need to get back to so could we please get back to the recollections?"

"Yes, Ray. It is 'Ray', isn't it?"

Ray sighs once, glances at his watch and nods. Sure, he's thinking to himself. I'll be whoever you want. Just gimmee the license plate number and get back to normal.

*

Ray stops the car in one of Chicago's seediest neighborhoods and leads the way into an equally seedy apartment building. He opens the door to 3J and announces, "Okay, here we are. Home sweet home. Ring any bells?"

"Not any big ones." Fraser closes the door behind him and looks around. "I live like this? Am I being punished?"

"No, you chose this place. You liked it 'cause you could walk to work in seven minutes from here."

"Not without back up, I'll bet. Don't I earn any money? I can't be broke, can I? I mean, I know Canadian currency isn't what it used to be."

"Fraser, you could be the richest guy on the planet and you'd probably still live here. Which reminds me.." He digs into his pocket and tosses the envelope to Fraser.

"What's this? You lose a bet?"

"I donno. Doc said it was in your hat."

"Why would I keep this kind of money in my hat? What if I lost my hat? Then I'd have no money."

"See, that would be my logic but you have this unwavering confidence in your Stetson to keep any and all evil away. Don't suppose you recall why you had this much on you. You never keep this kind of cash unless you intend to do something with it right away."

"I have no idea." Fraser pockets the money and wanders about the apartment looking at everything with disbelief. It is someone else's home, but it isn't; these are someone else's keepsakes and memories, but they aren't.

The silence is broken by a single bark as a white wolf flies through the open kitchen window. His arrival is sudden and fast and sends the Mountie backing up against the door for his life.

"It's okay, it's Diefenbaker, your wolf." Ray quickly tells him.

Fraser, on tip toes against the door, glances quickly at the wolf, then back at Ray. "I own a wolf?" he asks in disbelief. "Am I allowed to have a wolf in Chicago?"

"Not normally, but I got you a permit. You'd think he'd show a little appreciation."

Fraser offers him some food and, literally for the first time, has the animal eating out of his hand. "He's very friendly."

"Yeah, he's your best friend as long as you're carrying something covered in chocolate. Or anything else. He's turned into a bit of a junk food nut since you moved here but you can't mention it to him cause he's a little bit on the oversensitive side."

"Oversensitive? About what? He's just a dog."

"Wolf." Ray corrected.

"Okay, wolf. Is he trained?"

"Well. . . ." Ray smiles politely, for the benefit of Diefenbaker and shrugs. "You know - when he feels like it. He kind of has a mind of his own."

"Great - I own a moody wolf who doubles as a pig?"

Diefenbaker throws him a look and trots away.

Fraser raises his arms. "I insulted him?"

"Told you he was moody."

Fraser wanders around and finds a small, worn leather book on his clothes trunk.

Ray notices and sits down next to him: "That's your dad's diary."

"My father. . ." Fraser repeats. His face quickly turns away. "Wait a minute. Something's coming back. I remember. . . . We were in a car . . . He was in the back seat . . . you and were on a stakeout." The memory returns as if it were minutes ago. He was talking to his father; they were discussing a case. It's an unusual memory but it is safe and it is comfortable and it's the first real one he feels that day.

Ray is looking at him like a man about to break bad news.

"What?" Fraser asks.

"Its just that I never met your dad. He's been dead going on two years." He's not looking forward to continuing but he does because he's beginning to regret not talking about it earlier. "He was murdered. That was the case you came to Chicago for."

"Oh." And behind that one word, God only knows what is going through Fraser's mind because he isn't giving anything away.

"Come on," Ray breaks the silence. "You need a change of scenery."

"I did see him," Fraser insists. "He was in the car with you and me."

Ray doesn't answer right away; he just stops and looks at him oddly for a moment. "Sure," is all he says and leaves the apartment.

Fraser follows Ray down the staircase but his thoughts are back in the diary and the room. The only memory that makes sense isn't even a memory at all. And if his father is dead, why is this the only thing that feels disturbingly real?

*

Every time Fraser peers over his shoulder he meets The Eye. At least it takes his mind off the more unsettling sensation of his father. Diefenbaker is sitting alert on the back seat, staring him down.

"Ray, why does he keep looking at me like that."

"He probably knows that you don't know who he is so he's just making sure he knows you. There's no accounting for this animal, Fraser, and I wouldn't waste your time trying."

"He's a fine looking dog but he's giving me the creeps. Did I name him Diefenbaker or did he come that way? I wonder what he's named after."

"Some cantankerous Canadian Prime Minister. Can't make the connection, huh?"

"Who names their animals after Prime Ministers?"

"You do."

*

"Ray, if you need money, I can lend you the money you gave me," Fraser insists as he follows his friend through a revolving door. They're walking into Fraser's bank, the one and only institution he uses to guard his Canadian money.

"I don't want money. I want to see if who ever served you remembers anything you might have said, like why you're carrying this much cash on you."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Cause you usually hit me up for the money and pay me back on payday. I just want to see if anyone remembers anything, that's all. By the looks of that deposit slip you must have come here before you came to the precinct."

"Is there a problem, Sir?" the twenty-something-willing-to-be-any-something smiles at Fraser.

"No," Ray interrupts, "Let's just pretend this is a test to see what you remember about your customers. Did he tell you why he needed this money?"

"No. But if you'd like I could sit down with the gentleman and we could try to review the whole thing . . . in private."

Ray's eyes do an irritated 360 degree roll and he gives up his hunch. "Some other time," he groans and turns to leave.

"Well, Ray, if you think it might help jog the old memory," Fraser offers from behind.

"No, Fraser, I think it would help her get a date." Ray holds the door open for his friend and sighs. "Let's go."

*

Next stop is the Vecchio house. "Okay, this is my house. Anything look familiar?" Ray might have been a waiter asking, for the twelfth time that day, if anything looks familiar on the menu. And, as expected, it doesn't.

"I take it I've been here before."

"Plenty of times," Ray answers, walking into the kitchen. "One thing we Vecchios do is throw big family get-to-gethers. You've been to some of them. Birthdays, that kind of thing. And believe it or not, you usually have a good time. Well, except for that one time when my sister under-cooked the shrimp and you got sick."

They hear foot steps coming down the staircase and, as if scripted to the letter, Franny appears in the kitchen before she notices that she isn't alone. "Ray, what are you doing home in the middle-" She sees Fraser in the corner, looking unusually disheveled and relaxed. "Fraser, what a nice surprise-"

"Listen, Franny, Benny had an accident this morning and he lost his memory so if you don't mind-"

But she does mind. She minds not being told of an injury done to the love of her life without her knowing about it. Delicately, she puts a finger to the bruise on his forehead. "Oh my god, Benton, you could have been killed or something." Over her shoulder she barks at Ray, "What did you do to him this time?"

"I didn't do anything; he hit his head all by himself. Leave him alone, okay? I'm trying to jog his old memories and I can't do that if you're making' new ones."

But Franny is too busy running her fingers through Fraser's hair looking for more signs of damage to listen. She is asking if there's anything he needs, while Fraser stands motionless wondering if he should answer Franny or politely ask Ray to leave the room.

"Well, Ray, we could always take a break," he offers gallantly instead.

Ray rolls his eyes and gently yanks his sister away from her unsuspecting prey. "Not now, Franny, you got him at a definite disadvantage. For all he knows, you could be - oh, never mind."

"Well, lets at least show him around the house, see if anything rings a bell." She's got Fraser by the hand and pulls him out of the kitchen. Their shoulders crash as they go through the doorway at the same time. Any other woman would give him a filthy look for not stepping aside but Franny relishes the contact and follows him through the foyer.

"I'm going to the can," Ray announces loudly as he walks past them. "Then we're outa here, Benny."

*

When he steps out of the bathroom, he hears voices in Franny's bedroom. She's just about to go through the contents of her Hope Chest.

"We did almost go out on a date that one time - well, actually, it was more like staying in. But you'd been beaten up by Ray's old enemies and when I dropped by you weren't feeling well enough to—"

"Oh, no, no, I am not going through this again." Ray yanks his preoccupied friend out of the room and down the staircase. "Move it, Fraser."

"Could I have a ride into to work? My car broke down," Franny is following them. " I could help you with Benton."

"Franny, you're taking advantage of a mentally–challenged Mountie-"

"I don't mind, Ray," Fraser helpfully chimes in.

"Yes, you do."

"But, Ray, if her car is broken, perhaps we could give her a lift." He doesn't bother to add that he knows her car isn't broken.

"No, Fraser." But Ray is shaking his head and grumbling. He knows his sister will be joining them. Franny is nothing if not persuasive.

*

They're back in the car, heading for some new place that Fraser, in all likelihood, won't remember either. It's starting to rain again and Fraser seems preoccupied. Even Franny's chatter in the back seat and the prying stare of Diefenbaker isn't getting through.

"Your head feeling okay?" Ray breaks the silence in the front seat.

"Pardon?" Fraser is a million miles away.

"You're pretty quiet. You feeling okay?"

"Fine. I'm just wondering. . . . " His voice trails off in a note of whimsy.

"Wondering what?" (Oh, God, please don't let this be about Franny).

"Everything. Your sister. My Father. That dog."

"He's a wolf."

"He's a weirdo."

They both ignore the semi-offended growl from behind.

"So what in particular has you worried? If its about getting your memory back, it'll happen, you just have to give it time. It's like when someone asks a question and you know that you know the answer but because the pressure's on, it just doesn't make it to your brain. Then when you're not looking - wham! - someone pitches it right into the old glove."

But Fraser isn't in the frame of mind for baseball references. "What if I can't remember and I turn into that guy anyway."

"What guy?"

"The guy I'm supposed to be. Saint Benton."

"Knock it off! He's not a saint. I mean, you're not a saint. I mean, he - never mind. He's a good guy and I'm not crazy about your tone. I like that old Fraser. Sure he's a little irritating but he's. . . . Benny."

"He sounds like an idiot and if that's who I'm supposed to be-"

Ray is getting edgier by the syllable. "Listen, Benny's a good man. He's honest, a good friend, a good cop so watch what you say about him." The irony of the conversation is almost laughable but Ray isn't quite smiling yet.

"Fine. Just don't expect me to follow in his golden footsteps cause I'm not going to hold every door open for every clown that wants to go first. Why can't I go through a door first? Why should I always have to come in second?"

Ray is watching him carefully. All of the sudden, this new Fraser is like a new breath of air and Vecchio feels like venting. "I've asks you that a million times about yourself. That's one of your problems, you know, you let everyone else come first. People you know, people you don't know. Then, to make it more annoying, you get huffy when I don't let other people go first."

"You see? It's true. This guy isn't all there. How much fun does he have? When was the last time he went out on a date. Who was the last woman he—"

"Hold on, you don't want to go there," Ray interrupts.

"Yes he does," Franny pipes up from the back seat.

"No he doesn't and be quiet."

"Why don't I?"

"This isn't about that Dragon Lady, is it?" Franny wants to know. "Or that bitch—Victoria. She was one sick puppy"

"What Dragon Lady," Fraser asks. "What bitch Victoria? And why was she a sick puppy?"

"Cause she almost got you killed, that's why," Ray snaps to Fraser while he shoots a pleading look at his sister. Shut up about this, says the look. Just, please shut up.

"She did?" Fraser is puzzled. "Why?"

"Because she hated you. Or loved you. Or something that nuts. I'm surprised she hasn't shown up on Silly Jesse Raphael wearing a wig and dark glasses, sticking pins into her Mountie Voodoo doll." Franny is conjuring up more recollections of the woman from hell and even she doesn't feel like pursuing that memory of what it did to her brother for the months that followed. Nobody deserved to feel that amount of self loathing, especially not Ray.

"You're not going to tell me about this, are you?" Fraser guesses, with a hint of relief. He doesn't think he's ready for more bad news that he isn't in a position to deal with.

"I'm trying like hell not to," says Ray.

"Fine by me."

*

Ray finally arrives at Franny's office and, for the first time either can remember, he gets out of the car and opens the door for her.

"Excuse me?" she quizzes. "You're getting a car door for me?"

"Yeah." Ray carefully leads her out of earshot. "I want to go easy on the unpleasant stuff, okay? No Victoria, no father. I just need to get him back to normal, I'm not up to dealing with the other stuff and I don't know if he is either."

Franny quickly glances around Ray's shoulder at Fraser. "He's going to be okay though, right?"

"Yeah, he'll be fine, Franny. I just have to watch what I get him to remember. You go to work, I'll give you a call if I need more help, okay?"

"Okay. But if he starts getting crazy ideas about me being his girlfriend or something, don't talk him out of it."

"Sure thing," Ray agrees and walks his sister to the doors of the building. It's another first, but what the hell, the day isn't following tradition anyway.

*

The next stop is the Canadian Consulate; Constable Fraser's office in particular. While he takes in the surroundings, he's watched closely by his superior officer, Inspector Margaret Thatcher. Fraser pokes about and opens drawers, none of which evoke anything but more blanks.

"This is my desk?" He notices a tidy line of erasers, next to a perfectly aligned battalion of yellow HB pencils. "Boy, I must make a lot of mistakes."

The Inspector circles him cautiously. "You really don't know who I am."

Fraser takes another look, shakes his head and replies honestly, "No."

"Inspector Meg Thatcher. I'm your commanding officer."

"Its nice to meet you."

Ray steps in. "Meg. . .  Ma'am. Maybe you can remind him of something you two shared. A case, some special training, you know, Mountie stuff."

Thatcher knew, she knew plenty. "Eggs," she announces flatly.

"Eggs?" Fraser repeats curiously.

Ray steps in again, this time more desperately. "No, please, not the eggs."

Thatcher's eyes stay on him for a long moment, then turn back to Fraser. "Eggs."

The memory, though vivid and entertaining as it was, doesn't register with Fraser. All it accomplishes, it seems, is a drawn out groan of mourning from Ray. Something about a lost fortune down the gullet of fowl.

What puzzles Fraser the most is the determined look on this woman's face that she is waiting to be remembered, waiting to be identified as something or someone important. This draws the biggest blank wall of all, just as Ray had described; wanting to remember something so much that you know it isn't going to appear until you left it alone.

The woman is standing closer. Ray is at the window and doing everything but handstands to hear what's going on. "Fraser," Thatcher whispers, "You don't remember anything else about. . . ."

"About. . ."

"You know."

"I do?"

"You must. . . ."

"I don't. . ."

"Of course." And that, it appears, is that. "Right. Carry on gentlemen. Keep me apprised." With that final order, as if she could leave a room without issuing at least one, Thatcher turns and exits the office.

She can't believe he doesn't remember exactly what he should have remembered. And despite the perfectly reasonable excuse, she also can't help suffer from a fleeting bout of hurt feelings. After all, that wasn't just any kiss on just any train with just any superior officer.

The two men watch her leave. Fraser carefully leans over. "Ray - this woman. Have she and I--" The rest of the sentence dissolves into a series of insinuating ticks and shrugs.

"She hates you." Ray tells him plainly.

"That's too bad. You're sure?"

"Sure that she hates you? Yeah, you could say that. She spent the first two months of her time her trying to get you fired or transferred or deported. Nothing personal, Benny, but you drive her crazy."

"She seemed to have some reason to think that I really should recall something. Are you sure there's nothing there?"

"Yeah, but what the hell do I know about it. Like I said, getting you to talk about your personal life isn't exactly the easiest thing to do. Hell, you two could be married for all I know."

"Perhaps I should have a little talk with her, ask her out, see if she really does hate me."

"I'd let that one go til you get back to normal, Benny." Ray checks the time. "Let's get going, we've got more stops to make."

As the walk through the lobby, they miss the phone conversation going on in Thatcher's office.  . . . So what you're saying, Doctor, is that someone could forget something important that he once thought he felt for something . . .  And for a moment, she worries that her original request to erase a certain memory might have actually taken place. But even Fraser wouldn't go as far as to erase his entire memory just to accommodate one of her instructions.

Thatcher goes to the front window and watches them get into the car. No, she reassures herself. Fraser wouldn't pretend just to keep their secret from Ray. Even Fraser wouldn't go that far.

When she turns around, Turnbull is at the door and despite the fact that his presence startles the shit out of her, she manages to maintain her cool. "Yes? Do you have to stand there like that? What!"

"It's Constable Fraser's, Ma'am. He was working on a memo before he left this morning. I think its for you. Should I return it to him?"

"Why? Its not like he's going to remember it." Thatcher plucks the half-completed memo out of his hand. "Speaking of which, which one of you people screwed up the list for guard duty? He wouldn't be in this mess if it hadn't been re-done and nobody bothered to tell him."

"I'm not sure, Ma'am." Turnbull gulps once and adds, "I think it might have been. . ."

"Uh, no, Ma'am. Constable Fraser did. Before he went home last night. Clarke remembered he had to be at the dentist early this morning so Constable Fraser made the switches in assignment. I guess he forgot that he changed his own time."

"Constable Fraser hasn't forgotten anything since I've known him. Well, except today, perhaps." Out of curiosity, she glanced at the memo "He's requested some holiday time. . ."

"Yes, Ma'am. It doesn't look like he finished the request though. And it seems a little unusual that he would request time off from 08:00 to 15:00 the same day."

Thatcher rolled her eyes. "That's a schedule, Turnbull. Its not part of the letter, he was jotting something down. I need you to get this to Detective Vecchio today. I'm in meetings that I can't get out of but if there is any change with Fraser, call me and have me paged. Do you understand?"

"I understand."

"You do?"

Turnbull lowers his eyes shamefully and admits, "Well, not really, Ma'am."

"Dismissed."

*

The next stop is the precinct where Ray works and where Ray, today, is a little behind in that work. Word has spread about the accident, and the same people who had been overextending their sense of humours earlier that morning are now extending their curiosity.

Ray tells Fraser to have a look around the room for any signs of memory life. Fraser does a single-rotation spin survey of the room and shakes his head. Nothing is familiar. Not the desks, not the momentos on the desks or the faces behind them. It makes him wonder just what it was about this place he was supposed to have engraved into his memory book.

"Okay, Fraser, wait here while I go take care of some business."

"Understood," Fraser calls back. He wanders over to the desk in the corner marked, "Vecchio," and sits down. It doesn't take long before he's approached by another one of the staring faces. This one belongs to a name tag called, "Elaine Bresbois".

"Hi, Benton." She sits down across from him.

"Afternoon—" he pauses a moment to read the name tag, "Elaine."

"That was a nasty crack on the head you had. You don't remember a thing, huh?"

"Afraid not. It's funny, though, I was more worried about that earlier but now it's just a blank where certain data is supposed to go. I almost wish I didn't have find this Fraser I'm supposed to be. I suppose if Ray didn't seem so determined to jog my memory I'd actually just forgo the whole thing for a while."

"Really?" Her face is sheer interest. "That must be so cool. I mean not forever, but I'd take a day of being someone else. You know, Benton, if I did get a chance to be someone else, I'd probably chose you. Nothing ever phases you; you're pretty much perfect. But in a good way. Like Super-Canadian Man."

"Elaine, do you remember why I came back here this morning to see Ray? I believe this was when you were deciding who would go out for the snack."

"You remember that? That's great-"

"Not exactly, it's just what Ray told me. Only he didn't say why I came by. I mean, if they had changed my shift at the consulate and didn't tell me, there must have been other things I could have done there. Right? I mean, I have a desk so I must to other things than stand on guard duty. Which, I can't believe anyone in their right mind would want to spend eight hours doing, but I suppose that's a topic for another day."

"I don't know why you came by. You did seem a little funny, though. I said, "Hi Benton" and you walked right past me. That's a little unusual for you. Your mind was someplace else. Usually, you would have asked how I was or something like that. You're very polite, more than anyone else around here."

"I see. And I didn't say anything about wanting to buy anything, wanting to shop or what I wanted to talk to Ray about? Anything like that?"

"Nope. Not to me. Why? Did you find a shopping list in your pocket?"

"No, money. Apparently, I don't usually keep large sums of it on my person."

"Bet you kept the cash in your hat."

Fraser rolls his eyes. "So much for secret hiding places."

*

"Besides," Huey says, "You wouldn't want Fraser to accidentally solve another case for you."

Vecchio speaks to Welsh but glares at Huey. "Permission to hit a fellow officer, Sir."

"Denied," Welsh advises. "Huey, Dewey, you two follow up on Vecchio's initial report. The good detective will hand his case over to you until his other obligations have cleared up."

Not quite what Ray had hoped for but he will take it. "Thank you sir. I swear I'm in here tomorrow morning, Fraser or no Fraser."

"Good, cause I have some people from Washington who need to speak with us. I expect you to be here, whether our friend is back to normal or not." Welsh leans in and quietly asks, "May I ask what will happen if he's not?"

"I go to Plan B, sir–send in my sister." Ray knows it's a serious question but he doesn't have any kind of an answer, let alone a good one. For all purposes, Ray is Fraser's family. He knows he's listed as Next of Kin because Fraser once diplomatically asked for permission to use this on official Consulate documentation. Nothing had been said about it since and it's beginning to look as if Ray might have to live up to his end of the signature. His family has always considered Fraser as one of them; Franny all but has their initials engraved on the bedpost; Mrs. Vecchio cooks him dinners and gives him an occasional hug when it looked like no one else can get through.

What the hell will he do? It's turning into a very good question.

"If he doesn't get his memory back, you can't keep holding his hand," Welsh continues because somebody has to say what Ray doesn't want to hear. "That's what they have doctors for. You have a life of your own. You have commitments in your job."

"I know that."

"You sure? You don't always let things go as soon as you should."

"Lieutenant, I already have a family depending on me. I don't want an amnesiac Mountie added to that."

"The timing of this is less than brilliant, Vecchio." Welsh points out, unusually concerned. "You might get it your amnesiac Mountie, whether you want it or not,"

"I know, Sir, that's what I'm afraid of."

*

A crowd is growing around Ray's desk. One by one, people are congratulating Fraser on being, well, not dead. He's lived through another one, they say. Fraser the cat. He can survive anything. Huey asks him if he is made of Teflon and gives him a friendly punch in the arm. "Nothing keeps this guy down, huh." Someone wants to know if he remembers people in his family, say, his father for instance. Others want to know what he can and can't remember and if he remembers them. Oddly enough, they seem insulted when he tells them he doesn't.

"You guys want to clear off?" Ray barks at the crowd. Piece by piece, the crowd disperses. When they do, he turns back to Fraser. "Come on, let's get something to eat."

"Shouldn't you be writing up a report or something on the robbery? Your Lieutenant seemed a little worried about that."

This painful truth aside, Ray wants to get him out of here. He doesn't burden him with the fact that the case is now in the hands of Huey and Dewey. Being indebted to Duck Boys isn't on his list of favourite things and if he can get restore Fraser's memory soon, he can return to the case that was his in the first place. "Let's go grab a burger. What the hell, I'm off duty–I need a beer."

"Me too."

"You?" Ray's eyes widen. "Want a beer? This I gotta see."

"What? I don't drink beer? I have this rule of no alcohol or something?"

Ray shrugs. "Yep."

"Oh brother."

*

"Ray, who is this Sick Puppy Victoria your sister was talking about?"

They are driving along when this unexpected question hits the air. "I'd say Franny just about summed it up. You don't want to know about her, do you Benny?" (Tell me you don't, he is pleading in his mind. Tell me you don't.)

"I do."

Ray sighs and tells him about Victoria; the deception that led to the shooting of Diefenbaker and eventually Fraser himself; everything. And when he is done, he wishes to hell he'd never started. There's a look on Fraser's face that makes them both want to hit the bottle.

Fraser is just about to let this nugget go when something else occurs to him. "Ray, in the hospital, the doctor made some kind of reference to an old bullet wound on my back. That didn't have anything do with. . ."

"I shot you," Ray blurts out.

"You shot me?"

"Well, I didn't mean to."

"You're definitely sure that we're friends."

"Yes, we're friends. I've done more for you than anybody."

"You know—It's probably better that there are something's I don't know."

*

In the bar of Ray's choice, they sit in a booth, with two beers, a basket of fries, and two seriously–cooked burgers between them. Fraser hasn't spoken much and Ray has been too busy digging into his food to pay attention. And when he does, he also notices that Fraser hasn't touched his food.

"What's up?" Ray politely asks. "Beer too weak? I can't believe you're actually drinking that. Man, I'd kill to have a camera right now."

Fraser is pondering something. "As long as you've known me, I've been this guy. Can anyone vouch for me before you knew me? Maybe this is how I'm supposed to be. Nobody's that uptight."

"I thought we agreed you wouldn't rag on Benny like that. I mean if the guy's mind isn't here to defend itself, so to speak, then I don't think we oughta be having this conversation."

"But that's just it." Fraser jabs his finger into his chest. "Maybe this is who I am. Maybe I got clubbed on the head before I ever met you and the person you thought you knew is just a shadow of my former self."

Ray looks at him blankly. "You going to finish those fries?"

Fraser shoves the plate over to him. "You don't believe my theory."

"No. Nice try, though."

"Fine. All right, what about women? Elaine? Your sister? My Inspector Thatcher? I can't believe he wouldn't have gone out with at least one of them. What the hell's wrong with this guy." The worst case scenario occurs to him. "I'm not—he's not. . .you know. . ."

"No, you're not," Ray smiles. "You just happen take people very seriously and when it comes to women, you're either very cautious or very chicken. Usually both."

"And what about this manners business. Holding doors open for people. I mean how many times can you hold a door open before someone slams it in your face?"

"Thirty-nine."

"And your friends at station. Elaine thinks I'm superhuman."

"Elaine thinks the sun shines out your-"

"Assuming they're right, let's talk about this stupid suit. No mortal man can wear this thing and not want to rip his skin off. I don't want to complain but it's itching the hell out of me and everyone seems to be staring at it. Not at me, at the outfit. They don't know me they just know this idiotic suit I wear."

Ray actually wonders if this is the beer talking but he knows it isn't. This is Fraser and like it or not it's the same Fraser he's never seen before. He's not new, he's just different and right now he's very angry.

"Everyone acts as though nothing hurts me. Well, this crack on the head bloody well hurts; not knowing who the hell I am is starting scare me. I thought I was all right today, but right now, I think I'd rather have two broken legs. I don't even like this guy I'm supposed to be and everyone else thinks he's perfect. What if I don't want to hold doors again or be polite again or save kittens or whatever the hell else it is I do?"

Ray just says the only thing that comes to mind. "Then don't."

But Fraser is beyond interrupting. He's on a rampage. "Why hasn't he gone over the edge, yet? Who are his friends? Where is his family? Who does he love who hasn't tried to kill him or who hasn't just gone and died yet? Christ, no wonder he's so tightly wrapped. It's like he's made damn sure that no one is going to hurt him again. He'll nice himself to death before he lets that happen again."

"Fine. You're right. That's the whole screwed up side to Benton Fraser. Tell me something I don't know. Look, I'm not going to sit here and defend Benny Fraser but a lot of people seem to give a shit about what happened to you today and not because you're wearing that damn red suit, okay? Think about that. You, the most annoying man in the world must be doing something right if that many people care. Those flowers at the consulate? Those were for you. The love-in at the precinct? Try getting that much sympathy from other cops for anyone else. And when we left your building and we ran into your neighbors? Why the hell do you think those shut-ins came out to see if you were okay? You might as well be from mars to them but they care about what happens to you because sometime or other you cared about what happened to them."

It's an unpleasant and itchy silence that follows. Fraser doesn't say anything for the simple reason that he can't. He can't think, he can't remember and he's just hit his own padded wall of self defense. He can only bury his head in his hands in defeat and shake his head because that feels like the only line of communication left.

"I'm not saying you have to live up to any one," Ray tries to explain. "I'm just talking about the good qualities; those are pretty hard to come by. Anyone can be an annoying pain in the ass but not everyone can be Fraser. Its a dirty job but he's one of the few people who's able to do it. That's all I'm saying." Ray gives up on the silence and shakes his head. "Look, I don't wanna do this anymore today. I'm tired, you're tired and we're sure as hell not getting anywhere."

"Fine," comes the mumbled response. "I don't care anymore."

"Oh, now you tell me. Great, Benny, just great." Ray knows he isn't suppose to broach the difficult but he's losing his cool and he's looking to expose Fraser for the stubborn bastard he can be sometimes. "You're not even trying, for goddsakes!"

"I'm not trying? What have I been doing all day!"

"You tell me. Its like you don't even care if you remember and I'm getting a little tired of it. You know, you haven't even asked about your mother."

"My mother?" He repeats tersely.

"Yeah. Your mother. Everyone's got one. Aren't you curious about yours?"

"No. She's dead. Is that what you're referring to?"

"You know damn well that's what I'm referring to. How do you know she's dead. Do you remember her? You do remember something, don't you!"

Fraser looks at him for an cold, endless moment before he says, "No. I just know," and looks away.

*

Ten minutes later they're back in Fraser's apartment. "You're sure you want to stay here?" Ray asks, in lieu of extending an actual apology. "I mean, technically, I'm not supposed to leave you alone. Why don't you just stay at my place tonight. I'll make sure everyone keeps quiet for you."

Fraser smiles politely but the look on his face is obvious. He wants to stay here and he wants to be on his own. It's the first time all day he shows any signs of being comfortable with the stranger he is.

"Okay," Ray reluctantly. "I can't force you. Why don't I hang around, make sure you know where everything is."

"Sure," Fraser is poking around again, opening more closet doors. "Don't I have a shower?"

"Not only do you have a shower, but you get to share it with a whole floor of other people."

"Its better than nothing, I guess."

"Ever the optimist. You go shower. I'll go pick up some ice cream. Rocky Road okay?"

"Will you come back in the morning?" The question is unexpected and loaded with insecurity. Fraser is watching Ray with all the trust of a Helsinki Syndrome sufferer.

Ray knows what he is asking. "Yeah. If you haven't got your memory back. . . we'll deal with it then. You'll be okay, Benny. I'll just have to figure something else out."

"Thanks, Ray."

*

Fraser pauses from shaving to examine his face in the mirror. There's a wet towel around his waist and he knows he's dripping water but there is something in the mystery of the man in the mirror that holds him captive. His hair is damp and parted; the bruise on his head is less pronounced. And he still doesn't know who the hell he is.

"You really ought to help him out a bit more, Son," a voice says. Fraser sees his father standing behind him in the mirror.

He turns around. "What do you mean?"

"Your friend out there, looking for ice cream. He really is doing his best."

"You think I'm not trying? You think I don't want to remember everything I'm supposed to?"

"I think you don't want to remember everything."

"That's rubbish. Why wouldn't I want to remember everything?"

His father shrugs in that way that implies, 'You tell me.'

Ben stares at him a moment, then turns away. "Excuse me, but I've got to get dressed."

The ghost of Bob Fraser isn't taking any hints and follows his son out of the bathroom and back to his apartment. "Two years is a long time, you know. Even for you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ben stands in front of the closet and rifles through the collection of clothing. "Don't I have any sweaters?"

"Behind the uniforms."

"Thanks. Socks?"

"Over there, under your dresser. You always did lose track of your unmentionables. You never know who might walk in."

"Socks aren't unmentionables, underwear is. Speaking of which—"

"Second drawer, under the trousers and handkerchiefs."

Ben pulls out a pair of boxers that have the life starched into them. "I could hurt myself wearing these."

"Not to mention other people, but we'll talk about your social life, or lack of it, some other time."

"Where do I keep my shirts?"

"Bottom shelf in your dresser. I think you know what I'm talking about, Ben."

"Jeans?"

"Hamper by the door. How the hell do you think it is for me from this end? Watching you everyday, not being able to help you—Don't you think it's too cold for a tee shirt, son? You must have something warmer."

"Thank you, this is fine."

"What I'm trying to say is—I've always hated that sweater. Why don't you wear the blue one?"

"Grandma's not up there with you, is she?"

While his father goes off on a tangent about the evils of Benton's grandmother, Fraser finishes dressing and wanders around the apartment again. There is a familiarity that wasn't there before and it's only here because he's getting used to the place. He hears his father's voice suddenly break off from the grumbling of oatmeal every-damn-day-of-my-life to make an unusual suggestion: "You ought to catch up on the mail. Make sure you don't have any bills that need to be paid. You keep everything on the kitchen table."

Fraser doesn't have anything better to do until Ray returns so he wanders to the table. Anything he doesn't understand, he can ask Ray about it.

And it is when he isn't expecting it, when he isn't trying to remember anything, that it happens. There, on the table, is a letter from the RCMP. It's been opened and left sticking out of the envelope. 'Human Resources' is engraved under the emblem and the letter details some kind of benefit increase from his father's insurance that goes into effect on the second anniversary of his death—yesterday.

"Oh," is all he says. He doesn't notice Diefenbaker side up next to him, his muzzle nudging itself under his elbow. He doesn't notice that his father has taken his leave. He just notices the thud of reality slowly unraveling, spilling everything that he didn't want to look at onto his lap.

*

The cell phone goes off like a bell in a library.

This is the first time Ray has been on his own all day, and its like a bath of cool silence until the phone interrupts it. He hurries to answer because he thinks it's Fraser; he thinks something has gone wrong and, for the first time that day, actually realizes how close he could have come to losing his friend to more than just amnesia. "Fraser?"

"No—Thatcher," the familiar voice corrects. "How is he?"

"The same. A little depressed, a little scared shitless. That kind of thing."

"I didn't want to leave the Consulate until I'd checked in with you. I've been trapped in meetings all day. I did mean to call earlier, you know."

"Yeah, right," Ray says, and the silence that follows tells him he was too sharp with her. "Sorry." He drops onto a bench and watches the people pass back and forth. "I don't mean to bark, its just that I've had him all day and he's not getting a hell of a lot better and I don't know what else I'm supposed to do for him."

There's another pause on the line. "Where are you? I hear traffic."

"Corner of Wayland and Main. I needed to get a little air. He's taking a shower at his place."

"The consulate's a few blocks away. Meet me half way in five minutes."

He has no idea why she is being civil, he has no idea why he does what she has told him; he just does it.

The buildings and sites take on a nostalgic quality as he passes them. The consulate is still down the road and he's got enough time to wander slowly before meeting Thatcher. The dry cleaners is still open; the McDonalds is picking up business. Up ahead, he thinks he spots the fast clip of Meg Thatcher but he can't be sure. To his left, is the coffee shop where he and Fraser had their first civil conversation together two years ago. Two years passed and look at them now. He wonders what would have happened if he hadn't tracked the odd-ball from Canada down and dragged him to the Vecchio house hold for the first time that night.

The would-be-Thatcher is getting closer and it is indeed the real thing. She waves once to make sure he has seen her. It was this time of year, two years ago that much is certain. What the hell, it could even have been two years ago this month, this week, today since Ray met Fraser; since Fraser came to Chicago; since. . . .

Thatcher walks right up to him and snaps her fingers in his face. "Hello, Detective. Wake-up call."

Ray jumps back and apologizes. For what, he's not entirely sure but he's willing to go along with it. Thatcher suggests they cut through the park and leave the distractions of civilization. "I've heard too much noise today," is her explanation.

"You sounded worried about him," she says when they reach the empty playground. "I made a few phone calls to ask about this kind of thing. If there's no obvious physical damage, which there isn't, its usually just a matter of time."

"Right now, he's just nowhere." Ray folds his arms and leans against the water fountain. "He's angry and he doesn't like the guy he's supposed to be and I'm supposed to tell him 'oh, yeah, it'll be okay' but even I'm starting to doubt it. And he keeps looking at me like I'm going to make it all better and I don't have a clue how to do that except to give up, take him back to the hospital and let them deal with it. Like I'm giving up on him. You know that he doesn't have any family? He has no one to fill in the gaps before the last two years. What the hell am I supposed to tell him? 'Sorry, you've got no family, you've got no history and you might as well have not existed before I met you'?"

"The people I spoke to suggested it might not be physical," Thatcher unsuccessfully interjects.

"You know something really stupid? The only thing he came close to remembering this whole goddamn day is me and his dad in a car. That's it. Something that never even happened and that's all he remembers!"

Thatcher pulls out the half finished memo and hands it to Ray. "Turnbull was supposed to get this over to you today but it got lost in everything else he had to do. I assume Fraser was working on it before he left the Consulate this morning. It's the first I've heard of it."

Ray takes the paper. "Two weeks? Benton Fraser is asking for two entire weeks of vacation?"

"That's nothing. Look at the date of the memo and the start day of the request; it's for tomorrow. Even Ovitz doesn't try to pull off vacation time that soon. There's one other thing," Thatcher hesitates before telling him. Her voice is loaded with the burden of breaking bad news. "I'm copied on all Human Resource correspondence for my people and today I got a copy of a letter regarding the benefits that Fraser gets from his father's insurance. It was two years ago yesterday that he died. Fraser must have known this before the accident. I don't know what else to think. There's nothing physically wrong with him. Maybe this is just some way of dealing with it. Maybe he thought enough was enough and something inside him just decided to check out then and there for a while."

"Oh, Shit." And when he's not looking for it, Thatcher has pitched the answer at him like a ton of bricks.

*

Ray walks back to the apartment and let the obvious sink in from every corner. Two years ago that he met Fraser; the diner where he and Fraser had their first civil conversation. Now, nearly two years to the moment later, Fraser is unusually quiet; he writes a request for some time off and he withdraws enough money for bus and plane fare. He wants to get away but a dangerous crack on the head saves him from going to the trouble.

If it were any other night, Ray would bound into the apartment without knocking and announce his arrival with one form or another of complaints about the neighborhood. But it isn't any other evening and he respectfully knocks once on the door to announce his return. Fraser is sitting at the kitchen table and there is a glazed look in his eyes. In his hand is a sheet piece of paper in his hands, with the RCMP insignia on the top. His head is bowed and his shoulders are shaking silently. And he's crying.

"I'm back," Ray says finally.

"RCW139."

"Excuse me?"

"The license plate number. I remembered it." Fraser clears his throat. "You'd better let Detective Huey know so he can follow up on the case."

"It can wait. What else do you remember? Is everything back?"

Ben shrugs. "Yes. Call it in, Ray, every minute lost is a minute. . . lost." He doesn't even bother trying for the metaphor.

Ray stares at him for a moment before slowly doing as he's told. He quietly calls in the information while keeping his full attention on the hunched-over Mountie at the table. He closes the cell phone and cautiously steps towards the kitchen. "You okay, Benny?"

Fraser quickly wipes his hand across his eyes. Big boys don't cry; that much he recalls, for all the good it does him. "You should go back to work, Ray. I'm fine now."

"I'm not going anywhere yet. Answer my question, Benny. Are you okay?"

If he says 'yes', he knows Ray will probably give him the benefit of the doubt and leave. But Fraser is tired and unexpectedly frightened that if he says 'yes' and Ray leaves, then Fraser will disappear completely.

"No."

"Okay." Ray cautiously approaches him and sits down across from him. "Guess this hasn't been one of your better days," he begins, desperate for the sound of a normal voice.

"No. Not really. You know, it's been this one day where I haven't had to be me," Fraser says quietly. "I haven't had to worry about Diefenbaker, if I'm doing right by him, if he's okay in this city. I haven't had to make sure that everything is fine at work, not letting anyone down, not upsetting Inspector Thatcher, wondering if she'll ever like me for something other than keeping the tidiest duty roster in the office; wondering if everything is all right with you and have I irritated you past your limits again."

"I never figured you for a worrier," Ray nervously jokes.

"Neither did I." There's a quiet catch to his voice. "I keep thinking about my father - missing him, so much that I don't know what's real and what's not anymore." He's back now, back into the full swing of reality that is his life; the daily anxiety that he wasn't even aware that he lived with.

Ray is beginning to understand why even Fraser might want to take a break from being himself, even if it's just for a day. "I'm sorry about your dad - I didn't realize it was . . .  two years. I wish you'd said something before the accident - Maybe I could have.." Its pointless to continue because Ray has a distinct recollection of Fraser being too silent, being too reticent and thinking that in itself is a sign. He caught it too late. "I'm sorry," is all he says.

"It doesn't matter."

"Yeah, it does. Was the money in your hat to go back home?"

"Yes but I doubt the Inspector would have given me the time on such short notice. I just wanted to get out of here, not feel any of this where I can't do anything about it."

"I'll bet Thatcher would give you the time. I can ask her for you, if you want. I'll tell her you need some mental-health time or something. You haven't exactly been yourself lately."

"Perhaps I haven't," he sighs to himself. "I'm sorry if I inconvenienced you today. I realize you must have had to change your schedule somewhat."

"Will you knock that off! I don't care about my schedule, okay? I'm actually a little more worried about how this got so out of hand from a bump on the head. I don't know how to help if you don't tell me you need help. To be honest, I never give it a lot of thought that you're not okay. I guess I just figure you'd tell me when you're not."

"I'm not particularly good at that."

"I know. Me neither. I can try and ask a bit more often, okay? Just how crappy have you been feeling?" A shrug of the shoulders gives him the answer. If it were nothing, Fraser would have looked up to speak to him long ago. Ray forges ahead. "About other stuff or just about your dad?"

"Him mostly."

"You know, that's the one thing about you I wish I had. I mean, when the first few anniversaries of my old man's death rolled around I was everything from angry to sad, to furious to indifferent but the one thing I have no recollection of is missing him. You're not superman, Benny," Ray gently tells him, passing him a kleenex. He can't see his eyes but he knows he needs something and this is the best he can do. "You feel things and it hurts like hell sometimes. You can't control every bad deed or every bad feeling you stumble onto. You should have a shitty day once in a while, let a jay-walker cross the street in peace. Pick your battles better cause this one damn near picked you."

"I know," Fraser says quietly. Finally, he raises his head to look at Ray. "Was the Inspector very angry about today?"

"I don't know. How should I know? Why do you ask?" Ray bluffed poorly.

"I just assumed you ran into her. You referred to her as Thatcher, not your usual 'Dragon Lady', you've been gone long enough and you didn't come back with any ice cream. And that's the letter I was working on this morning before all of this happened." He nods towards the paper sticking out of Ray's pocket.

"Yeah, you're back all right. No, she's not mad. She was worried. Actually, she's the one who tipped me off to this being that time of year. Every time I'm ready to write her off, she goes and does something. . . thoughtful."

In typical Fraser fashion, he wisely avoids any comment on this in front of Ray. Yes, they're both thinking at the same time, he is back.

Ray clears his throat. "Say, she seemed to think there was something between you two that you should have remembered. I fact, you told me that in a quiet, man-to-man moment later, you'd explain everything about it to me."

"No I didn't."

"How do you know you didn't?"

"Because I remember that I didn't. Nice try though." Fraser sits back in the chair and manages a smile as he deftly changes the subject. "Ray, didn't you say you were going to get some food? I'm a little hungry."

"Yeah, I do seem to recall watching you ignore all that food I paid good money for in the bar."

"I offered you the money from my hat, Ray. Its not like I didn't offer at all."

"You were under the influence of amnesia; You think I want to burn in hell cause I took advantage of a sick Canadian Mountie? If I was going to do that, I woulda' let Franny get her hands on you."

"You almost did, thank you very much. I had no idea women kept so much lace in their hope chests."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that, Fraser." Ray gets to his feet. "I'm glad you're back, Benny. Kinda missed you, if you want to know the truth. Okay, what do you want to eat?" He picks up Fraser's wallet and pulls out a twenty. "And yes, I will take some of that money from your hat, cause I spent the last of mine on the dinner you didn't eat."

Ray brings back two pizza's and a case of beer (for himself only, he's disappointed to find out) and he and Fraser spend the evening eating and talking about their fathers, Huey's new partner, Franny's cooking and anything else that comes to mind. It's safe and it is real. Towards the end of the evening, Ray leaves and, as he promised, he returns in the morning. Although Fraser is quieter, thoughtful, he knows he is back and will be okay.

******************

Epilogue:

Thatcher gives Fraser the time off he needs with only the anticipated moment of disapproval before wishing him bon voyage. Ray drives him to the discount travel agency, then calls in a few favours and has Diefenbaker sent through customs as a "undercover show dog". He drives Fraser to the airport tells Diefenbaker to keep an eye on the Mountie, but not before slipping him a dog biscuit. He'd stay and wait around but Welsh has ordered him to be in the office for an unexpected and confidential meeting. Work is work and after the day he didn't put in yesterday, Ray feels a certain obligation to show up this morning, even if it is to meet with Federal Big-Wigs from 'Up High'.

"Have a good trip," he says as he turns to leave. "Pick you up in a couple of weeks, Benny," he assures him, fully intending to make good on the promise. He'll jot the date down in his book, first thing when he gets back to the office. The hush-hush meeting from Washington will wait.

The End