I had mixed emotions about there being a new Ray Vecchio after David
Marciano left the series. "No one could be as good as the original," I
thought.

Thank goodness I was wrong.

While not the Vecchio we all came to know and love on DS, Callum Keith
Rennie, or, as he is known on the show, Stanley Raymond Kowalski, is just
as adorable and witty. He quickly became my favorite character. Now,
I've wanted some sparks to fly between him and Francesca Vecchio for some
time now, and this is my forum to let that happen. I hope you enjoy it!
I'd rate it PG, for some bad language and descriptions of violence.
But if you like the idea of Francesca/Kowalski angst, this is the story
for you.

Oh, and just so you know, this story takes place after CotW, but none of
the stuff that took place in the last scene (Huey and Dewey opening a
comedy joint, Turnbull and the bus, Francesca and the Immaculate
Conceptions, etc) happened. Actually, no, Vecchio DID marry Stella.
Kowalski has stayed on to replace Vecchio, who has moved to FLA with
Stella.

Disclaimer: None of the characters who appear in this story belong to me
(Like you needed me to tell you that!), with the exception of the bad
guys. The rest all belong to Due South and Alliance productions, so please
don't sue me, as all I have in my bank account must go to paying my
enormous college phone bill!

When All is Said and Done

by Compass

Francesca sat worriedly by the phone in the squadroom. She was not alone;
the entire room seemed to be filled with an unutterable tension. They
were waiting for something- anything- that would tell them where he was.

The phone rang- a harsh jangle in the angst-ridden squadroom.

Without a thought, Francesca dived for the receiver. "Squadroom," she
answered, trying to keep the worry out of her voice.

"Want to know where to find your little lost puppy?" a husky voice
intoned.

Francesca snapped her fingers wildly at the enthralled squadroom to let
them know it was the kidnappers. "I don't know what you're talking
about." She saw Benton pick up another phone, as intent on the
conversation as she was.

A dry chuckle echoed over the line, "Why, of course you do, dear. Don't
try to play coy games with me, or I might not tell you where we left the
scum."

The officer by the wiretap made a "keep going" motion with his hands, and
she stuttered on. "O-Ok, then let's be straightforward. Where's
Detective Kowalski?"

"The same place I am."

"And where is that?" She didn't really expect a clear answer, and she was
not disappointed.

"You think I'd tell? No, I think I'll let your little sniffers figure
that one out. They are on the trail, aren't they?" Francesca shared a
worried look with Fraser, then glanced at the wiretap.

"Yeah," she replied, "yeah, they're on the trail."

"Ha!" the kidnapper chuckled. "I can almost smell those bloodhounds
sniffing now. Let's hope they get here in time." His voice went as cold
as a Chicago winter. "Their puppy won't hold on much longer, I'm afraid."

Francesca felt a flood of anger pour through her. "You piece of
scum-sucking swine, you'd better not have hurt him, or I swear I'll claw
you're damn eyes out, and enjoy every second of it."

Another laugh from the other end of the line, "And what's this? Has the
pup's bitch come to save him? What a shame she wasn't there when we got
him. It might have been interesting to see how he would have responded to
seeing her beaten over and over." Francesca swallowed quickly, forcing
down the bile that had suddenly risen in her throat. "Of course we hurt
him, you stupid bitch. We're kidnappers. We don't take people to give
them chocolates and water beds. We kidnap them to make their life a
living hell." There was a pause. Then, with smug satisfaction, "And
I think we did a bang-up job this time."

*Click*

Dial tone.

Francesca stood for a long time, the receiver forgotten and humming
against her ear. Finally, Benton came over and took the phone gently from
her fingers, resetting it in it's cradle. She looked up into his kind
face, and couldn't keep the tears from coming. "They hurt him," was all
she could say.

He nodded sympathetically, "I know."

Without a word, she collapsed in tears against the red serge of his
uniform, unable to think, unable to talk, just sobbing uncontrollably.

It was only in the distance that she heard the wiretap guy say, "We got
the trace."

And even further away than that, Lt. Welsh saying, "Let's go get our man."

*******

It was a hell hole, and that was putting it mildly. A dank, musty
warehouse, with boarded up windows and the overwhelming smell of
decay. Pigeons had long since forsworn it as a roost, and it lay
abandoned, except for the flood of squadcars that surrounded it.

Francesca stepped out of the squadcar timidly, afraid to see the building.
It had been difficult, to say the least, to convince Welsh to let her
come, but he had eventually given in, more from the look in her eyes than
the force of her words. As she shaded her eyes against the bright summer
sun, she felt another wave of guilt wash over her. This had all been her
fault. She could never forgive herself for that.

"Francesca?" She looked up, pulled from her trance.

Fraser stood next to her, concern lining his face. "Francesca," he
repeated, "are you all right?"

She smiled, wan and worried. "Yes, Benton, I'm OK." Turning away, she
let another tear run down her cheek. "Just remembering, that's all."

And with that, she remembered.

*****

THREE DAYS EARLIER - 8 pm
Outside the CPD

"So, Frannie, what do you say? You wanna bite to eat?"

Francesca looked up from where she was busily searching her purse for car
keys to see Ray Kowalski leaning against his own black GTO.

She smiled indulgently. "Maybe in another life, Kowalski. I'm afraid
this one's all booked." She went back to burrowing through her
pocketbook.

*Jangle*

She looked up at the sound of keys clinking against one another.

Of course. She should have known. There he stood, blue eyes twinkling,
holding her car keys in his right hand. "Looking for these?" He asked,
innocent as a newborn babe.

With an indignant toss of her head, she reached out and snatched them from
his grasp before he could pull his hand away. "And where did you get
these, Mr. Smarty?" She didn't bother hiding her anger; it helped hide her
embarrassment.

He laughed, charming, carefree. "I'm a detective, Frannie. It's my job
to find things for people. And the way that desk of your's is littered, I
didn't think you'd be able to see them without a little help." He smiled
impishly.

"Well, if you think stealing my car keys off my desk and then presenting
them to me is going to make me go out on a date with you, you've got
another thing coming." She jabbed the key in the lock, twisted it, and
felt the tumblers roll out of place.

"I believe it's 'you've got another THINK coming."

"Thing, think, who cares, same thing." With a gliding motion she opened
the door and started to step in.

He took her gently by the arm. She was about to give him a piece of her
mind about that, but then she saw the look in his blue eyes; lonely, sad
eyes. The light cast by the streetlamps threw planes of shadow over his
handsome face, making him look purely pitiful, yet thoroughly desirable.
She shook that thought off as soon as it even crossed her mind.

"Come on, Frannie. You won't even join a guy for a couple of sandwiches
down at the corner store?"

*He must get lonely in that apartment all by himself,* she thought. She
often forgot that living on one's own was not all fun and games; she'd
lived with her own family forever it seemed. And looking into his clear
blue eyes right then, she would have gone with him.

If only her pride hadn't gotten in the way.

"Well, no, not tonight," she answered his question. "You can't expect me
to go out to dinner with a man who stole my car keys off my desk, leaving
me stranded here in the middle of Chicago?"

"Come on, Frannie, you know I'd never do that."

He was right; she knew he wouldn't. "Well..." She made a big show of
thinking about his offer. "Maybe some other time," she finally
relinquished, sliding the rest of the way into the car, "if you promise to
be unbelievably nice to me."

Kowalski leaned over and peered through the open door. "Have I ever been
anything else?" He grinned.

She pretended not to hear that as she pulled the door closed, squeezing
him out of the way. Rolling the window down with one hand, she started
the engine with the other. "It's a date then," she told him, shifting the
vehicle into reverse and looking back over her shoulder as the car rolled
backwards.

"I'll be waiting!" she heard him call after her.

She looked one last time at Kowalski in her rearview mirror, standing
beside his black GTO, doing his best impression of Steve McQueen. The
lamplight streaming over him made him almost seem to glow. Giggling,
she drove off, leaving him alone in the quiet parking lot.

He never had a chance.

*******

"There was nothing you could have done."

Francesca looked up from her tearful remembrances to see Fraser still
standing beside her. "What?"

"Even if you had gone to dinner with him, they would have gotten him in
the end." Fraser was the only person, besides her mother, whom she had
told about her guilt. "All you can do is try to help him now, like the
rest of us."

Francesca felt tears burning in her throat, ready to join the ones
slipping down her cheeks. "But they might have waited; he might have been
safe one more night...."

Fraser looked at her firmly, but kindly. "No, Francesca. You can't keep
blaming yourself." He reached out and gently touched her arm. There was
a time when that touch would have excited her senses like none other; but
now, she felt nothing but cold regret. "You heard the kidnapper. If you
had stayed, they would have taken you, too, and then what would we have
done? Two friends missing, and no clue as to where they were." He must
have seen that his arguments, good as they were, were not alleviating her
guilt. "Francesca," he said softly, "listen to me. I don't blame you,
the other officers don't blame you....," he tilted her face up so she
would meet his gaze, "and Ray doesn't blame you. You have to stop blaming
yourself."

She knew he was right, yet there was a part of her that couldn't let go of
the ice that still lingered in her belly, where her guilt still gnawed.
Before she could tell him, though, Welsh came over, huffing a little from
the jog. "We're going in," he informed the Mountie.

"Right. Thank you kindly." Before he left, though, Fraser turned to
Francesca and repeated, "Forgive yourself, Francesca. Remember that."
With that, and a fond smile, he jogged off to join the rest of the
officers as they stormed the building.

The Lieutenant started after him, but Francesca grabbed his arm. "Sir,"
she began, remembering to be properly contrite, "let me go in with you."

He looked at her like she was nuts. "Francesca," he gruffed, "this could
be very dangerous. I was crazy to bring you in the first place- I do not
want to have the worry of your safety hanging over me in conjunction
with everything else that's going on."

She would not take her eyes off his.

"Francesca, we don't know what we'll find in there," he continued, but she
could tell he was starting to falter. "It might not be pretty."

"I don't care."

"We need someone to stay out here." He was really grabbing at straws now.
"To use the radio and such if we need to call for back-up."

She shook her head. "No, Sir, I will not stay out here. I'm going in
whether you like it or not, so fire me if you have to, but make it quick."
She stared him down, eyes flashing.

The Lieutenant rolled his own eyes to the sky. "Oh, all right, come on.
But don't you BUDGE from my side, understand?" She nodded. "OK. Let's
go." With that, they trotted up to join the rest of the officers as they
entered the building.

******

3 DAYS EARLIER
Squadroom- 8am

The second she walked through the door, Francesca could feel the tension
in the air. Everyone seemed to be walking on a wire, keeping themselves
busy.

She walked to her desk, not knowing who to ask about the worry pervading
the air, when she heard Welsh call out her name. "Francesca!" She
turned as he walked over to her.

"What's up with everybody?" she asked as he reached her. Of everyone, the
Lieutenant looked most haggard. "They all look like they lost their best
friend."

"They did." He didn't bother to explain, simply handed her a note and
waited.

Confused, Francesca looked down at the piece of paper. She immediately
recognized it as the kind used by kidnappers in Hollywood movies, with
letters and words cut out of color supplements and newspapers. But the
novelty quickly wore off, and a chill ran through her as she read its
contents. It said:

Dear members of the CPD,

So sorry that we had to deprive you of the company of your dear friend,
Det. Ray Kowalski. Certain members of our establishment have issues they
would like to talk with him about that should not be avenged, or rather,
discussed, in the present company. So, please feel free to worry VERY,
VERY much about his welfare, and be assured that when he is returned to
you, he will be thoroughly remorseful and repentant, and possibly even
dead.

The Riddell Gang

When she looked up, she could feel the look of horror that was plastered
across her face. "When did it happen?" Shock coated her vocal cords,
making it hard to speak.

The Lieutenant shook his head, "All I know is that when I came to work
this morning, Ray's car was in the parking lot, and this note was under
the windshield wiper."

Francesca felt a lump of fear lodge in her throat. "His car was still in
the parking lot....? But, I left him there just last night, right beside
his car. He was about to go home...." The thought was too horrible, but
she couldn't keep it down. "They got him right after I left him," she
murmured.

Welsh looked at her piercingly. "When was that, Francesca?"

"About eight o'clock." She could hardly speak, and she couldn't bear to
meet his gaze.

His voice had softenend when he spoke to her again. "That's good,
Francesca. Now we have a general idea of when he was taken. We might be
able to find witnesses." When she didn't respond, he reached out a hand
and laid it comfortingly on her arm. "We're going to find him, Francesca,
don't worry."

She nodded stiffly, still unable to meet his eyes. "Who're the Riddell
Gang?"

Welsh shrugged. "Some drug ring that's been trying to make a
name for itself in Chicago. Apparently Ray put their boss in jail
shortly before he came here to take over your brother's position. They
must have taken it personally." The last sentence was said in a voice
hollow with worry.

Francesca nodded, grim acceptance. "What can I do to help?" she needed
something to keep her occupied, keep the guilt in check.

"Just stay by the phones and wait for a call." At Francesca's desperate
look, all Welsh could do was shake his head. "That's really all any of us
can do now, Francesca. Sit, wait, and hope they call." With a defeated
sigh, he walked away.

Francesca sat down at her desk, disbelief slowly giving way to fear, then
to grief. Softly at first, then harder, until she couldn't see for the
flood, she began to sob. All my fault, she thought. All my fault....

***********

The interior of the warehouse was dank and musty, adorned with rusty steel
girders and tall cement support beams that stretched from floor to
ceiling. Francesca shivered at the wave of chilly air that washed over
her as she entered the old building beside Welsh, following the other
officers. Dim sunlight filtered through high, boarded windows, showing
every particle of dust that floated in the murky air.
        
It was huddled in one of these pale rays that she found Kowalski.
        
He was shackled by the wrists to one of the tall support beams,
attached by two long chains to a steel hoop embedded in the cement. The
dim light played over him, shirtless and shivering, and threw his features
into sharp relief, planes of light and shadow. Francesca had a sudden
clear image of him standing beneath a streetlamp, with the orange glow
illuminating his face, and she felt tears spring to her eyes.
        
She had ignored Welsh's mandate to stay by his side, and had
wandered off on her own. Instinctively, she had headed for this spot,
on the far side of the building, and had found Kowalski chained here, out
of sight from the main entrance. Now, all she could do was stare at him,
and fight the tears.
        
Finally, she forced her voice to move past the lump in her throat.
"He's over here!" she called, hoping to draw the others to her.
        
She heard Fraser reply, "Where are you, Francesca?"
        
A tall bank of empty oil drums stood beside her. "I'm behind the
metal barrels!" In the distance, she could hear the sound of thumping
feet as the others converged on her position. That accomplished, she
turned her attention back to Stan.
        
He did not seem to notice she was there, but pressed close against
the cement pillar. Francesca moved forward slowly, partly not wanting to
surprise him, but also out of fear of what she might see. "Ray?" she
murmured. "Ray, talk to me. Let me know you're alive over there." No
response.
        
Francesca's heart sank as she knelt down beside him. A long gash
ran down his cheek, from temple to jaw line. He had one black eye, which
had swollen shut, and the other was closed in pain. She could tell from
the way he cradled his left arm that it must be broken, along with several
ribs, if the bruises on his torso were any indication. Francesca winced
as she looked at the big purple blotches, some administered so forcefully
that the outline of the instruments used were apparent: a wrench, a chain,
a pair of brass knuckles. The tears were coursing down Francesca's
cheeks now, and she didn't even notice them. All she saw was blood, pain,
and fear. "Oh, Ray," she whispered, "what have they done to you?"
        
"Come here, Francesca." She whirled around at the sound of
Fraser's voice. Her guilt had consumed her so much that she had not even
heard the others arrive. "Come here," Fraser repeated, softly. "Let the
EMT's through." For the first time, Francesca noticed the men with a
stretcher who stood nearby, ready to spirit Ray off to some hospital.
She stood obediently, and crossed to where Fraser stood, letting the EMT's
pass her.
        
"You'll need to unchain him first," she murmured so that Fraser
could hear her.
        
"We know," he said comfortingly
        
"They chained him." She wasn't addressing anyone now, but was
simply lost in her own grief, and Fraser did not interrupt her. "Why did
they chain him? Like an animal. Did they have to treat him like an
animal? Did it make them happy?" The tears were coursing, unnoticed,
down her cheeks now, and she didn't bother trying to fight them.

She watched as Kowalski was unchained-they had to hacksaw through the
links, leaving the shackles around his wrist-then was loaded onto the
stretcher and wheeled away. She took a step to follow the retreating
party, and Fraser took her arm.

"No, Francesca. You'll just hurt yourself more."

His blue-green eyes were full of concern, and Francesca was touched. But
this was something she had to do. "I have to, Fraser," was all she said,
and he must have seen something in her eyes, because with only a brief
pause, he released her.

She ran past the slow moving hoardes of police, all deep in shock and
worry, and reached the ambulance just as they were closing the doors.
"Wait!" she called. "Wait! I'm coming too!"

A tall EMT held the door for her, and she climbed into the back of the
white van. A few seconds later they were flying down the road, siren
blaring.

Ray looked so pale, it made Francesca's heart ache. She reached out and
gently took his hand in hers, trying not to get in the way of the EMT's
who were checking his pulse, binding his wounds, and generally making sure
he was still alive. "Ray," she whispered, "I'm right here. I'm not going
to leave you this time. I'm with you." She squeezed gently.

It could have been her imagination, but she was almost positive that he
squeezed back.

******

The doctors spent a great deal of time binding Kowalski's wounds once
they arrived at the hospital, and in the intervening time, the others
poured into the waiting room- Fraser, Welsh, Huey and Dewey. Thatcher was
even there. No one spoke; they didn't want to hear the answers to their
questions.

When they were finally allowed to see him, Kowalski looked even more pale
than before, partly from the awful hospital lights, but also from the
sickly white bandages that circled his head, arm, and rib cage.

"How is he, Doctor?" Fraser sounded worried, which immediately put
Francesca on her guard.

The doctor shook his head. "Well, he seems to be out of immediate danger.
He's suffering from mild dehydration, and numerous fractures and
abrasions, some serious. He should recover, physically, but I don't know
what the effect will be on his emotional health. He might be depressive
or overly aggressive. It's in the air now." With that and another sad
shake of the head, the doctor left.

And the waiting began.

They took it in shifts to sit by his bedside. Francesca, however, never
left the hospital. Days passed with no signs of Kowalski waking up, but
she still never left. Fraser was kind enough to bring her some fresh
clothes from home, and she left once to take a shower in a nearby gym.
But she couldn't bear to be away from him should he need her.

Which was why she was so glad when he woke up with her beside his bed.

It was a slow process. First, just a bare flickering of the eyelashes.
Then came a low groan, followed by his eyes opening ever so slowly.

Francesca was at his bedside immediately. "Ray? Ray? Doctor, doctor,
he's waking up!" she called over her shoulder at the door. "Ray, you're
in the hospital. It's Frannie. Remember me? Frannie?"

The doctor came rushing into the room, followed by a bevy of nurses. They
fussed over him for quite some time before establishing that he had not
lost his memory or sight or any other number of things that could have
happened. Frannie took that time to give the station a call and tell them
the good news.

When she returned, the nurses had left, but the doctor remained, talking
softly to his patient. Frannie overheard the tail end of the
conversation.

"If you need anything," the doctor was saying, "push that button," he
gestured to a large red button on the side of the bed, "and a nurse or I
will come to you. Understand?" Ray feeble nodded his head, and winced at
the pain this obviously caused.

The doctor, satisfied, turned and began to leave, but motioned
infinitesimally for Francesca to follow him into the hall.

"He's going to need your undivided attention over the next several days,"
he told her. "There will be nightmares, and cold sweats, and panic
attacks, and he will need someone there to give him an unconditional ear
and shoulder. Can you do that." Frannie nodded, her body numb from the
pressure of her own guilt. "Good," the doctor replied. He must have seen
her fear, because he smiled comfortingly. "It's all right, Ms. Vecchio.
Your brother will pull through this. I have all confidence in that. We
just have to help him." He patted her arm gently, then left.

Francesca walked back into the room slowly, not wanting to disturb
Kowalski if he were sleeping. But she saw that he was not asleep, simply
lying back and staring up at the ceiling. "Ray?" she whispered softly,
and she saw him flinch away from her voice. *He's afraid of you* The
thought nearly sent Frannie over the edge, as she felt tears mist over her
eyes. "Ray, it's me, Frannie." She moved closer, slowly, picking her way
ever so carefully through the room until she reached his bedside.

His eyes were closed, but she could tell he was trying not to cry. His IV
swung slightly from the tension in his arms as he squeezed his fists in an
effort to keep control. Her heart ached for him. "It's okay, Ray," she
murmured, keeping her voice as soothing as possible. "No one's going to
hurt you anymore, OK? No one's going to hurt you. I won't let them."
She couldn't resist the urge to reach out and stroke his cheek.

He tensed up and his eyes flew open. Frannie almost pulled her hand away,
scared that she might have damaged his fragile psyche even more, but
suddenly Kowalski's hand had enveloped her's and was pressing it even
tighter against his cheek. She could feel the tremors moving through his
body, shivers of unreleased sobs. Without another thought, she sat beside
him on the bed and gathered him into her arms, her fingers never leaving
his cheek. She rubbed his back, and whispered to him soothingly.
Kowalski buried his face in the area where her shoulder met her neck, and
she could feel his tears start to flow. Soon, his entire body was racked
with sobs as he clung tighter to her. She held him tight, disregarding
his bruises and broken ribs. He needed to know she was there, and this
was how she told him.

Not a word was spoken for the rest of the night.

*****

Many evenings passed like that, as Kowalski's body slowly healed, along
with a slower psyche. But Frannie never left his side. Somehow, being
there for him, caring for him, letting the emotion she felt for him flow
through her touch into his body, was assuaging her own guilt. She felt it
slip away, bit by bit, each time she embraced him, each time she whispered
that it would be all right, that she would protect him. Helping him was
saving her.

When he was allowed out of the hospital, Frannie refused to let him out of
her sight. She took him back to the Vecchio home, set him up in her
brother's room, and cared for him night and day.

"Dearest, you must sleep too," her mother would chide gently.

Francesca would just shake her head and watch over her sleeping charge.
He looked so angelic when he slept. "No, Ma. I'll sleep later. I just
want to watch him a little longer." Ma would shake her head, turn and
leave the two of them alone together.

And the relationship began to form.

********

It was slow at first. Just a hand lingering a little longer than
necessary against a cheek. Or a gaze that was broken a little later than
normal. But before long, everyone but the two participants could see it.
Ma Vecchio beamed with pleasure at the thought of her youngest ending up
with the nice young man who had once filled in for her own son, with no
regard for his own safety. She had come to quite like him since his stay
with them began, and she could think of nothing better than having him as
a son-in-law.

Welsh and the others at the station were glad to see it happening because
they hoped it would keep the two from bickering quite so much.

Fraser was happy because two of his best friends were happy. And because
Francesca no longer gazed at him dreamily from across the room.

Thatcher liked it because Frannie no longer gazed at Fraser dreamily from
across the room.

Turnbull didn't even notice, but, that was typical for Turnbull.

*******

"You know, Frannie," Ray was saying one day, as he and Francesca took
their daily walk down the street, "I think something's going on here that
we aren't aware of."

Francesca looked up at him. "What do you mean?" She had her arm around
his waist, and he had his about her shoulders. It had been for support
once, but now it was from habit.

He shook his head. "I don't know, but I feel something. It's weird.
Kind of funky, you know?" He was obviously struggling for the right
words.

Francesca thought she knew what he was talking about. "Yeah. Sort of
detached, like nothing else in the world matters."

"Yeah, I haven't felt like this in a long time. Not since Stel-..." He
cut himself off as the realization hit them both.

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" Francesca was quite
dumbfounded with disbelief. It couldn't be. Could it?

They paused beside a broken down stone wall, and Ray turned to look
Francesca full in the face. "You know what I think, Frannie."

She gazed up at him, and her eyes were glowing with suppressed joy. "Yes,
Ray. I think I do." Perhaps it could happen after all.

His grin was immediate. "Let's see. Typically you date for a while
before this type of thing, but since we've spent so much time together
over the past month or so, why don't we just skip that part?" She arched
an eyebrow, while at the same time grinning deviously.

"And what are you proposing, Kowalski."

He glanced away as though thinking, then looked back at her. "Well,
marriage, I guess. What do you say?"

Her heart leapt. "Is that all?" What am I saying? "Not very romantic,
skinny boy."

Now it was time for Kowalski's eyebrows to raise. "Oh, so you want
romantic, huh? No problem, I can do that." Slowly, with more grace than
she'd seen him use in the time since his beating, he went to one knee
before her. Frannie felt her heart racing as he took her hand between his
and spoke.

"Frannie," he intoned, his voice unburdened by the fear and pain that had
been there for so long, "I remember when I first woke up after the
beatings, and I felt so alone. I didn't think anyone cared, and that was
why I was alone. But then I heard a voice. I thought it was an angel,
come to take me away, but then I felt warm, human fingers touch my cheek.
I opened my eyes, and saw you. Do you know I've never seen anything more
beautiful than you? I couldn't breathe, I was so taken. And then you
were holding me, and talking to me, and I knew I wasn't alone. Through
all the nightmares, all the fear, you've always been there. I fell in
love with you that first night in the hospital, Frannie. I never thought
I'd love another woman after Stella, but now I know I was wrong. So,
Francesca Vecchio, will you please take me, Stanley Raymond Kowalski, to
be your husband? I don't think I could ever repay you for what you've
given me, but I will give you myself for all time."

Frannie felt tears burning her eyes, and when she blinked, they coursed
down her cheeks. It had been so beautiful, the most eloquent thing she
had ever heard him say. *You've all ready payed me back* she thought, as
she felt whatever vestiges of guilt that remained slide from her like
water from a duck's back.

Ray was still looking up expectantly. "Well?"

Unable to speak, Frannie fell to her knees before him, wrapped her arms
tightly about his neck, and sobbed for joy against him. "Yes, Kowalski,
you big llama, of course I will!"

His strong arms circled her waist, and held her tight, even as she felt
his dry laughter against her neck. "What's so funny?" she demanded, even
through her tears and their embrace.

He laughed again. "It's 'lummox' not 'llama.' But hey, close enough."

They both laughed then, until, for the first time, Kowalski took her face
in his hands and tenderly kissed her.

And kissed her.

And kept kissing her.

Frannie had never felt such bliss in her life. Not even with her first
husband, the jerk. Holding him even tighter, she threw herself into the
kiss with full force, and he accepted her without hesitation.

I love him, she realized. And he loves me.

Smiling against his lips, she let all other thought disappear.

*********

The wedding was a grand affair. Ma Vecchio insisted on that. "My baby is
not getting married in a barn," she insisted, and proceeded to make the
most extravagant arrangements since time was invented.

Fraser, naturally, acted as Kowalski's best man, and Elaine Besbriss was
Francesca's Maid of Honor. To everyone's amusement, the person to catch
the bouquet was Inspector Thatcher, and Ray and Francesca eyed each other
knowingly. All Fraser had to say was, "Oh. Oh dear." But he was
smiling.

The reception was long, happy, and overwhelmingly full of good cheer.
Almost no one was injured in the bobbing for fish game Fraser had brought
along, and Huey only suffered one black eye while being assailed by
Frannie's nieces and nephews who begged him to play with them.

In the end, Kowalski and Frannie stepped into a certain black GTO that
someone had decked out with soda cans and tissue paper. Before she left,
Frannie gave her brother, who had come up from Florida especially for the
occasion, a big hug.

"What was that for?" Ray asked

Frannie smiled. "For going undercover and bringing him into my life."
She gave her sun-browned brother a quick peck on the cheek. "Thank you,"
she whispered, then scurried off to slide into the passenger seat beside
Kowalski.

"Shall we go, my lady?" her blonde-haired husband inquired, smiling
warmly.

Frannie felt her whole body melt under that gaze. "Forward march," she
replied.

Kowalski gunned the engine, gave her one more good long kiss, and pulled
away from the curb, beneath a shower of rice and well-wishing.

Frannie cuddled up close to her new husband, a happy grin on her face.
This felt right. When all was said and done, everything that had
transpired, from her brother's undercover work with the mob, to the
beating by the Riddell Gang (who had, thankfully, been caught, thanks to
Dief's nose, and incarcerated, thanks to Fraser's evidence gathering), had
all worked out for the best.

She gazed at the man she loved, until he finally pulled his eyes from the
road to return her look. "What is it, Mrs. Kowalski?"

Mrs. Kowalski. Mrs. Francesca Kowalski. Sounded good. "Nothing, Mr.
Kowalski. Just thinking how lucky I am."

He grinned slyly. "Think you're lucky now? Wait until we hit the hotel."

She felt herself blush, but she couldn't resist sliding closer to him. "I
can't wait." Resting her cheek against his shoulder, she watched the
road stretch out before them.

And a black GTO slipped into the twilight.


THE END


Well, what do you think? I didn't quite know where this story was going
to lead me (it's been in the making for several weeks), but I think, all
in all, that it came out to be exactly what I wanted it to be. It was a
labor of love, really. And when you've got such great characters as
Francesca and Kowalski to work with (portrayed by such great actors as
Ramona Milano and Callum Keith Rennie), it's hard not to have fun. I hope
you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Perhaps there
will be more to come from this happy couple. Maybe even a Kowalski jr....