Just to pass the time and give us all something to read except In Memoriam posts for DS ... usual disclaimers ... yadda yadda ... no sex, no bad language, no plot, no copyrights infringed, yadda yadda ...

The kidnapper called in from a cellphone - using Fraser's moose tracking tips, they'd quartered the area and found him, cornered him and caught him. He was tall and thin, a smile pinned to his unhealthy white face. "You'll never find her, never," he sneered before Lewy bundled him away.

"We'll see 'bout that!" Ray snorted and pulled out his own mobile - he dialled a number. And he kept on dialling, over and over, as the police team spread out over the abandoned power plant. Over and over... until at last, there, they could all hear it - the sound of a cellphone ringing and ringing.

They gathered and approached and it was Ray who opened the storage door. There was a body, huddled, tiny and pathetic, bound and gagged and hurting - but Ray stopped them all, stopped Welsh even, with a low chest deep growl that could have stopped traffic. "Fraser," commanding, "Fraser you get her out of there, only," a warning glare all around, "only Fraser touches her, ok?" and Ray pulled a gun, meaning it.

Fraser went forward, somewhat perplexed but obedient, a strange combination of events, snarls and straight damn attitude making Ray the one in charge here. Fraser approached, briskly and kindly and firmly: "Christine, we're here to take you home, you'll be fine, you're quite safe," and there as a whimper and then a small tired bundle of a girl was gathered close and picked up and carried forward into the glare of lights and policemen and noise.

Fraser handed her over to the paramedics under Ray's eagle eye, his tension still apparent and disconcerting. "What," Fraser asked at last as the ambulance pulled away, "was that all about?"

"Vecchio," Welsh started in with hardly a beat missed, "I trust you have a good reason for pulling a gun," and he pointed to Ray's revolver, "on your own men about to rescue a hostage you have worked for nearly four days to recover?"

"Yes," Ray rocked back on his heels and put his gun away at last, "er, yes," he sounded drained and rather light-headed, "I do - she's been there four days sir, with that creep. She sees anyone come toward her she's gonna freak, scream, spook, do something we'd all regret. She sees a uniform, a Mountie yet? She's ok, she'll be fine, so that's why I ..." and he stopped, four days of this catching up on him in one fine overwhelming rush and he slumped, just a little, and Fraser supported him, just a little, moving to stand behind the detective, braced and ready to support Ray's weight if he keeled over.

Welsh stared and his face took on an expression of real respect. "Good call," he stated and turned away to placate his men. Leaving Ray and Fraser alone, an island marooned in the sea of activity.

"Very well done Ray," Fraser said softly, "that was inspired."

"Yeah?" Ray said, not believing but flattered anyway, "well, you know, its my job Fraser, it's what I do," and he smiled, closed his eyes and tipped back his head, stretching the tension there in his neck and shoulders. A hand came to rest, just on the joint of neck and shoulder, a hand that moved and kneaded; a hand that stayed there, just there, and guided Ray back to the Riv, as the crime scene darkened and dwindled and at last, they drove away, home. To the apartment.

"You know," Fraser said as he opened the door and took Ray's coat, "you do know - you must know - how I'm proud..." but he stopped. Ray was not listening. Ray had slumped down onto a bed, not his own, and was now selfishly and profoundly asleep.

So Fraser didn't bother talking anymore.

--

Gloria Lancaster
"So, farewell then Due South,
You were a weird tv programme
That I liked quite a bit." - E J Thribb (aged 17 3/4)