Author's website: http://starfish.mrks.org

Disclaimer: All characters property of Alliance/Atlantis.

Author's Notes: This story would not have been what it is without the patience and skills of AuKestrel, BethH and Kit Mason. Thanks you all so much.

Story Notes:

"You know," said Ben, as the car hit the water and began to sink, "there are times in life when I'd really like to have an opportunity to start fresh."

"No, really?" said the man beside him, as he struggled with his seatbelt. "You think?"

Ben would have replied, but the water had already risen past his mouth.

"Ben? It's seven-forty. You're going to be late for work. Are you okay?"

Who? Is she talking to me?

A shake of his shoulder came next. "Ben, seriously, wake up."

He lay still, barely awake. The voice he heard was familiar, somehow, but the tone ... the tone was wrong. It should sound ... angry? He opened his eyes slowly. Looming over him was a dark-haired woman wearing a nurse's uniform, complete with name-tag. He squinted to see it.

"Victoria?"

She smiled and trailed her fingers over his face. He leaned into her touch instinctively, a thrill going through him. "Who else? Come on, you've only got ten minutes to shower and get ready. Did you sleep all right?"

He blinked, eyes grainy from sleep but focusing perfectly well. He looked past Victoria's shoulder to the white walls around him. "What's going on? Am I in hospital?"

"Of course not. What are you talking about?"

He gestured vaguely. "Your uniform ... I thought ...."

She shook her head. "I have to leave for work early today -- Marie called in sick. Are you all right?"

He gave the matter serious thought for a moment. Physically, he felt fine. But his head ... "I do feel a little odd."

"You were out with Ray last night. You know what? I bet he fed you those awful Nachos de Muerte again. Those are guaranteed to give you nightmares."

"No, he ... I don't remember."

"Come on, shower," said Victoria, taking his hand and pulling him off the bed to stand upright. He clutched at her fingers as she led him to a door, which opened to reveal a small bathroom, instead of the closet he'd somehow been expecting.

"I'll get your clothes out, don't worry. *Shower,* Ben, you're going to make us both late." She released his hand and gave him a little push and he stumbled into the bathroom.

The shower left him feeling cleaner but no less confused. Who was he, who was Victoria, what the hell was going on? He combed his hair back, frustrated that he didn't even know how he parted it. The knock on the door startled him.

"Ben, sweetheart, are you okay? We'll never hear the end of it if you're late again. He always blames me. I can hear him now: 'Aren't you two over the honeymoon phase yet?' "

"H--honeymoon?" Ben said in disbelief. He stared into the mirror, at the face looking back. It looked shocked. He looked down at his left hand then and saw the plain gold band on the fourth finger. He slipped it off and looked inside. The inscription read "VM ~ 10-24-96 ~ BF." Honeymoon. He stood staring at the ring, caressing it, until another knock came on the door.

"Your clothes're all set, and Ray will be here any minute. Did you want anything to eat? I can make some toast."

Ben put the ring back on and opened the door. Victoria was standing in the doorway looking at him expectantly. Lovingly. A strong feeling of need arose in him, and he reached for her and pulled her against him. Her arms came up around his neck as he bent his head and kissed her. Long moments went by before he recalled her question. He raised his head again and smiled. "No toast, thank you, I'm ... not hungry."

She wriggled out of his arms and said, "Okay, then get dressed, slowpoke." She stretched up to kiss him again lightly, then disappeared into the kitchen. Ben looked at the bed he'd so recently gotten out of, which now had an array of men's clothing laid out upon the Hudson's Bay blanket. He stared, wondering why it seemed not just unfamiliar, but wrong, somehow. A gray suit, light-blue dress shirt, and darker-blue tie, along with a belt, boxers and socks. A pair of shoes on the floor. And most puzzling of all, a holstered revolver. He drew the gun out and checked the chambers, and he blanched when he saw them full.

"Victoria!" he said sharply, "What is this loaded gun doing here?"

"I got it out for you, since you were running so late. You want an apple, maybe?"

"You ... what?"

She appeared in the doorway, hurt apparent in her face. "I'm sorry, Ben, I was only trying to be helpful. I know we can't leave it out after the baby comes, but -- it was just for today. I won't do it again, I promise."

Baby? A knock at the door saved him from having to form a coherent reply.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, there he is. Get *dressed,* Ben. What is with you this morning?" She hurried off, presumably to answer the door.

Ben stumbled to the bed and automatically began to pull on clothing. He could hear voices raised in cheerful banter in the hallway. He managed the knot of his tie on the second try, and slipped the shoes onto his feet. A perfect fit, like the rest of the clothing. The gun concerned him, but he compromised by unloading it, then clipping the holster onto the belt where there was a worn spot. Then he hurried out to greet the mysterious 'Ray,' who surely would be able to explain things to him.

The well-dressed man in the hallway was tall and slim, with thinning dark hair and an aquiline nose. "Hey, Benny, late night or what?" he said.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting, Ray," he said carefully, wondering at the profound sense of relief he felt. No recognition, just relief.

"Yeah, yeah. Ready for another fun-filled day playing cops-and-robbers, partner?"

Well, that explains the gun, at least ...

Once in the car, Ben let Ray steer the conversation, trying to understand the references to a life he didn't recall. From context, he inferred that he was a detective like Ray, a member of the Chicago Police Department. It felt subtly wrong, somehow, like the clothes, but how could he argue with the evidence? The gun on his hip pressed in uncomfortably as he shifted in his seat.

He glanced down at his left hand again, at the gold band there. A surreptitious twist of the ring and it slid off his finger again easily. No tan-line -- it was new, then. He looked again at the inscription: "VM ~ 10-24-96 ~ BF." Six months ago -- if the newspaper on the seat between them was current. Ray looked over at him and chuckled.

"Still checking to make sure it's real, Benny?"

"Yes, I suppose so." He thought for a moment. "Ray, have I had a head injury recently?"

"No, and I've been meaning to talk to you about that. You're doing much better with the not-endangering-your-life thing. Welsh is pretty relieved, I think."

"Ah. Yes. I imagine he would be."

"Yeah," said Ray absently as he pulled into a vacant space in a parking lot behind a brick building. "Okay, here we are." Ben got out and automatically pulled the seat forward.

"Fraser, what are you doing?" He looked to see Ray waiting impatiently for him at the door to the building, obviously not understanding why Ben would expect to find anything or anyone in his back seat. Ben was likewise mystified.

"I ... have no idea," he said, closing the door of the car. "Sorry, Ray. Let's get to work."

He only then gave a thought to how on earth he could keep up the pretense of knowing what he was doing. Thankfully, he and Ray spent the morning catching up on paperwork. This was a blessing, of course, since it gave him the perfect opportunity to delve into his recent past. Some of the cases sounded vaguely familiar, as though he'd heard about them third-hand, but he simply didn't remember doing what the reports said he had. It was positively eerie to see what was presumably his own handwriting detailing the events of an afternoon that, as far as he was concerned, had never happened. When Ray suggested a break for coffee, Ben literally jumped at the chance.

"That's a wonderful idea, Ray. I'll go to the canteen. Can I get you anything?"

"Fraser, the purpose of a break is to get out of where you are. Come on, the bakery on the corner's calling my name. Tuesday's are two-for one crullers."

Ben could see the logic in that, and he shrugged into his suit-coat and followed Ray out the door into the sunshine. On the short walk to the bakery, Ben found himself glancing behind them frequently.

"Fraser, what're you doing?" Ray finally hissed from the corner of his mouth. "If somebody's following us, you gotta be more subtle about noticing. Otherwise you scare them away."

They arrived at the bakery, and Ben was spared having to respond to a question he'd no answer for. How could he explain the sounds he'd thought he heard? The unmistakable tick of a dog's nails on pavement, the canine panting and snuffling -- they must have been some strange sort of auditory hallucination.

Ray stood in line while Ben secured a table in the corner. While he waited, he debated with himself over the advisability of simply telling Ray everything. He was almost positive Ray wouldn't have him committed. Probably.

By the time Ray reached the table laden with coffee, tea and donuts, Ben had made up his mind.

"Ray, I'm going to tell you something, and I want you to take me seriously. Just listen, and bear with me, because it's going to sound as though I'm a few sandwiches short of a picnic."

Ray looked up from carefully peeling back the lid of his coffee. "Like I'll be able to tell the difference?"

"Ray, please."

"Sorry."

"I think I may have a slight case of amnesia."

Ray's coffee cup hit the tabletop sharply, the resulting splatters narrowly missing his shirt cuff. "Are you serious?"

Ben sighed. "Sadly, yes. Ever since I woke up this morning, I've been terribly confused."

Ray leaned forward, beverage and donuts forgotten. "Okay, how 'slight' a case are we talking about here? Like you don't remember what you did yesterday?"

"Worse than that, I don't know who you are, or who Victoria is. Or, for that matter, who I am. I don't remember marrying Victoria or becoming a detective. And what I do remember is --" He paused, unable to fully articulate the faded images in his head. "Chaotic," he said finally. "Gunshots, and fire, and ... terrible, terrible pain. But it's all ... fuzzy. Like a dream."

Ray frowned. "Benny, I hate to break it to you, but that's not 'slight.' That's pretty fu -- freaking major."

"I was afraid of that. And everything feels ... askew, somehow." He sighed again, deeply. "Do you believe me?"

"Sure, why wouldn't I?"

Ben grimaced. "Because it sounds insane."

"Ehh," said Ray, "what's a little insanity between friends? Okay, let's work with this. Your name is Benton Fraser. You first came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of your father, who I helped you find. And for reasons which we'll go into later, you remained, attached as liaison to the Canadian Consulate."

"Why?"

Ray sighed and took a sip of his coffee. "Mainly because you embarrassed a whole bunch of Mountie big-wigs and they wanted you out of the way."

"Oh." That felt right, even though it sounded rather foolish of him. "So I'm a Mountie? Or I was. Am I Canadian, then?"

Ray made a seesawing gesture. "More or less. You got citizenship when you married Vicky, but I certainly wouldn't say you're American."

Ben took a sip of tea and pondered this information. There were so many questions, it seemed, and each one answered made him think of ten more still to be asked. "How did I meet ... Vicky?" The name felt strange coming out of his mouth.

Ray burst out laughing. "Jesus, don't let her hear you call her that."

"No?"

Ray shook his head, still grinning. "She hates it."

Ben smiled. "Very well then, how did I meet Victoria?"

Ray sobered, and seemed to think. "I don't know, exactly. You told me you met her up north a long time ago, and then when you ran into each other in the hospital, it was like fate, or something. Except you said it better."

"I ... see." There was more to this story, that much was certain.

"You should tell her, too. Vicky. About the amnesia thing."

"Yes, I suppose I should."

"Yeah," said Ray, sounding enthused, "if there's one person who knows you better than me, it's her."

Ben nodded. It made sense. So why was he reluctant? "I think I'd like to check my service record. Can we do that?"

"Sure, that's a good idea. I'll call Turnbull at the Consulate, have him take care of it."

"Thank you."

Ray took out his cell phone and dialed while Ben sipped his tea abstractedly, listening to the part of the conversation he could hear.

"Good morning to you, too, Turnbull. Bon apetit. Whatever. Listen, Fraser needs a copy of his service record. Can you fax it over to the station without the boss knowing?

"It's Vecchio.

"Yeah, Detective Ray Vecchio. The one and only.

"Yeah, he is.

"Yeah, you may. Hang on." Ray sighed and held the phone out to Ben. "He wants to talk to you."

Ben took the phone. "Good morning," he said tentatively.

"Sir! Wonderful to hear from you! May I say how much we've missed you, sir? It's just not the same. I understand you need some files sent?"

This Turnbull person was certainly enthusiastic, Ben thought. "Yes, please. My service record, going back as far as you can."

"May I ask the reason, sir?"

"It's ... a highly confidential matter," Ben said, not quite untruthfully.

"Ah, of course," said Turnbull in a hushed voice, for some reason sounding delighted to be part of something he didn't fully understand. "I'll see to it myself, sir. Mum's the word. You can count on me absolutely. Courage, mes enfants!"

"Indeed. Thank you kindly, Turnbull. Good day." Ben folded the phone and gave it back to Ray. "What an odd person."

"He gonna do it?"

"Yes. Although I'm afraid he thinks it's some sort of cloak-and-dagger operation."

"Good. That means he won't go blabbing it all over Chicago. Now we just have to figure out a way to fool Welsh."

"Oh dear."

A feminine voice stopped them just inside the precinct doors.

"Hey, big brother, you too busy to say hi?"

"Frannie!" yelled Ray, picking a petite woman up off her feet and twirling her around. "When did you get back?"

"Yesterday. I just picked up the pictures from the Foto-Mat. You're gonna be sorry you ever gave me that camera."

"Nah, how many times you go to Italy, right? How's Paolo?"

"He's good, he's with Ma and the kids. I snuck out for a few minutes of quiet. How're you doing, Benton?"

It took Ben a moment to respond. His instinctive reaction had been to tense up, as though some sort of threat were present, and he was trying to come to terms with why he ever might have seen the woman before him as menacing in any way.

"Earth to Benton ... you okay?"

He gathered the few wits he had remaining. "Yes, thank you," he said, stopping just before adding 'ma'am,' but quite unable to make himself call her 'Frannie.' "I'm quite well. You're looking ... healthy."

She laughed. "Thank you. Listen, I have to get back. Come to Ma's for dinner tonight, you and Victoria. I got you something for the baby. Ciao!" She blew them each a kiss and vanished out the door. Ben stood blinking, feeling as though he'd been punched in the head.

"Hey, Benny, what's wrong? Don't worry, Frannie's not cooking."

"She seemed ... happy."

"Yeah, marriage'll do that to a person. 'Course, her first husband, God rot his soul, didn't have such a good effect, but Paolo? Great guy."

"Yes, I ... see."

Ray frowned. "Shit, I forgot for a minute. You don't remember them either, do you?"

Ben shook his head. "Not at all."

"Benny, this is nuts! You were one of the ushers at the wedding! You gave a toast people are still talking about. You even danced with my crazy cousin Rose."

"Nevertheless, Ray, I don't recall any of it. How long ago was the wedding?"

"A year ago last month."

"I just ... can't imagine ..."

Ray nodded. "Let's go upstairs. I got a picture in my desk."

And sure enough, when they reached Ray's desk he opened the middle drawer and pulled out a photograph of four people -- one unmistakably Ray's sister in a wedding gown, holding hands with a laughing man in a tuxedo. Alongside him stood Ben, smiling in a bright red tunic and jodhpurs, wineglass raised in what could only have been a toast to the happy couple. And next to Ben was a fair-haired woman in a yellow dress, who was staring at him with a hungry look on her face. Ben tapped the picture. "Cousin Rose?" he asked.

"Yep," said Ray. "Lucky for you she lives in Florida."

"Indeed." Ben was getting uncomfortable just from looking at the photo. She looked so ... predatory.

"Gentlemen," said a voice from behind them. "Is there any chance that you're examining that picture for possible clues?"

"No sir, Lieutenant Welsh, sir," said Ray. Ben felt his face heat as he slowly turned to look at his superior, who wasn't smiling.

Lieutenant Welsh continued. "Detective Fraser, is there any chance that the 89-page fax that just came in from the Canadian Consulate has anything to do with an open case?"

"No, sir," choked Ben.

"Do you have any open cases right now?"

Ben looked at Ray helplessly. "Yes, sir," Ray said, "a couple, sir."

"Then maybe you could -"

"Absolutely, sir," Ray said, grabbing a folder off the top of a pile of them and quickly sitting down in his chair. Ben followed suit, grabbing another folder and using his own chair.

"Fraser --"

Ben looked up. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Go get your fax."

"Yes, Lieutenant."

During lunch, Ben finally managed to find the time to look though his file. He'd begun to think of himself as two people -- the one who'd woken up that morning separate from the one who'd evidently been there before. The mental distance helped, but he was still shocked and embarrassed by some of the reviews he read. "Brilliant, but unfocused," said one. "Lacks discipline," said another. And so it went, transfers from one urban centre to another. Working backward, slowly but surely, he found something that resonated deep within him.

He'd come back to base half-alive after five days in some place called Fortitude Pass. The fugitive he'd been chasing had eluded him. The fugitive's name was unknown, but eyewitness descriptions from outside the bank she'd helped rob matched almost exactly with the woman who'd woken him that morning.

Which was, he told himself, nothing more than an odd coincidence.

His requested transfer was put down to "burn-out," and he was sent to a town called Inuvik for two weeks, then on to Moose Jaw. Reading forward now, studying the pattern, he came to the conclusion that this had been the beginning of a slippery slope for him, career-wise. Eventually his sub-par performance, combined with the trouble over Gerrard, his father, and the dam, had led to his posting at the Chicago Consulate.

"You gonna eat your fries, Benny?"

Ray's voice startled him out of his thoughts. "Oh, sorry, Ray. Go ahead, I'm not very hungry."

Ray dragged Ben's plate across the table and dipped a now-cold fry into the ketchup on his own plate. "You find anything helpful in there? Anything jog your noggin?"

"Well, there's ... no. Not yet, Ray, I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize, Fraser, I know you're trying. Listen, we have to do some actual cop stuff this afternoon, maybe that'll help you remember."

An hour later, crouched inside a mostly-empty dumpster with gunfire blasting all around them, Ben wasn't sure he wanted to remember any more. And really, if Ray didn't stop carping on him ...

"Jesus, Fraser, explain it to me. Who carries an empty gun? Besides you, I mean. Twice now. Twice. I should have known."

"It was an honest mistake. And I've loaded it now, so I wish you'd just shut up about it."

Ray stared at him until a ricochet made him duck. When he sat back up he was smiling.

Ben wasn't amused. "Why the hell are you grinning like that? People are shooting at us."

"It just struck me funny, is all."

Ben wasn't mollified. "Maybe your time would be better spent thinking of a plan to get us out of here alive."

"Oh, no, Benny," said Ray, "That's your department."

It was Ben's turn to stare in shock. "You're joking," he said, half hopefully.

Ray shook his head. "Nope."

"Damn," said Ben. He thought for a moment, then carefully peered above the rim of the dumpster, risking a swift reconnaissance of the area immediately around their haven. "All right then, here's what I think. There appear to be only four of them. If we sit tight, they may run out of ammunition."

"Yeah, in about five years. Fraser, these guys are arms dealers. They aren't going to run out of anything."

"Ah. Well, perhaps one of the neighbors has called the police and backup is on the way?"

"In this neighborhood? Rats don't have cell phones, Fraser."

"Point taken. I guess that only leaves .... " He hesitated, sure that the plan was too crazy.

Another ricochet sent Ray diving into the refuse again. "What? Fraser, what?"

Ben sighed. "If we fling ourselves at the south wall of this dumpster with sufficient force, we should be able to over-turn it. This will block all but one of the shooters. I'm almost certain I can disarm him before he shoots us both."

"You're almost certain?"

"Well, my service record indicated I was a very good shot, Ray. And since my typing skills are still intact, I assume my marksmanship will be also."

"Benny, this would be a very bad time for you to be wrong."

Ben smiled, a strange feeling of rightness overcoming him. "Agreed. On three, then?"

Their triumphant return to the station was only slightly marred by Ray's incessant moaning about the damage done to his suit (and consequently his car upholstery) by the debris that had fallen on them when they'd successfully up-ended the dumpster. Lieutenant Welsh had looked extremely impressed when Ray told him exactly whom they'd managed to incarcerate. Ben thought, however, that his decision to let them go home without filling out the requisite paperwork was most likely prompted by the way they smelled, and not based on merit.

Ben stopped at his desk long enough to pick up the file with his record in it. Perhaps another reading or two would jar something loose. On the way home, Ray glanced down and saw what Ben was holding. He frowned slightly and shook his head.

"You want to get some sleep tonight, Benny, not stay up reading. Maybe it'll all come back to you in the morning."

"I'll sleep, but there's something in here that disturbs me. I need to figure it out."

Ray nodded, and said nothing more until they pulled up in front of Ben's building. He reached over then and put his hand on top of Ben's, clasped atop the folder.

"Talk to Victoria. I'm serious."

"Yes, of course I'll talk to her," Ben said, and to his own ears it sounded false.

Ray sighed. "Listen, Benny, I never told you this before, but I didn't like her much when we first met. Didn't trust her."

Ben blinked, somehow unsurprised by this revelation. Ray continued. "But I think she's been good for you. Talk to her about this." He gave Ben's hands a strong squeeze and removed his grip. "Have a good night, Fraser. I'll see you tomorrow."

Ben opened his door, then hesitated. "Ray, we're ... good friends, aren't we? I mean, I can ... feel it. When I saw you, even though I didn't know you, I was ... glad."

Ray smiled, suddenly seeming shy. "Yeah, I guess we are."

Ben nodded. "Good," he said. "All right, then, I'll see you tomorrow." He got out of the car and turned to walk into the building when a thought came to him. He bent back down and opened the car door again before Ray could drive off. Ray looked at him questioningly.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but I was a bit distracted this morning. What apartment am I in?"

Ray laughed. "Three-J, Benny. Third floor. The terrace level."

"There's a terrace?" Ben said hopefully.

Ray laughed again, harder. "Nah. And you can't see Canada, either. 'Night, Benny."

"Goodnight, Ray," Ben said. He shut the door and watched the car drive off, suddenly overwhelmed with loneliness.

After the car was out of sight, he turned and entered the building. Several tenants greeted him on his way up the stairs, and he smiled and nodded at them, not knowing their names. When he reached the door, he turned the knob to enter, but couldn't. He stood for a moment, puzzled at this, and heard footsteps behind him on the stairs. He turned and saw Victoria, laden with shopping bags, and he rushed to take them from her.

"Hey", she said, "you're home early."

"Yes," Ben said, standing aside while she unlocked the door. "The lieutenant insisted."

Victoria wrinkled her nose. "I bet. Get in the shower, I'll get a plastic bag for your suit."

Ben put the shopping bags on the counter. "Victoria, we need to talk."

She looked at him, concern plain on her face. "What's wrong?"

"I need to tell you something."

She glanced at her watch and shook her head. "Can it wait? You know I teach Lamaze today."

"Ah," said Ben, unaccountably relieved. "Of course."

She smiled and came closer as if to kiss him, then wrinkled her nose again. "Please, Ben, go clean up. You smell really awful."

Unable to argue the point, he complied. When he emerged, his suit was gone from its place on the floor and a pair of jeans and a chamois shirt were hung on the door. He dressed quickly and left the bathroom, hoping for a moment with Victoria before she left, but the apartment was silent. On the door of the refrigerator, held up by a magnet in the shape of a polar bear, was a note in clear, feminine handwriting:

Ben: Put the groceries away? Leftover porkchops in the foil. Home by 7. V.

He rummaged through the bags on the counter, shelving canned goods automatically. As the last can of beets hit the shelf, he stopped to wonder how he'd known where they went. He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to picture where the plates might be. His hand went to a cabinet and opened the door as he opened his eyes. Plates, cups, glasses; just as he'd thought. There were more of them than he'd imagined, that was true, but still and all, an encouraging sign.

Groceries put away, bags folded and stored, he roamed the apartment restlessly. It seemed entirely too quiet, as though something or someone were missing. *Of course, you idiot; Victoria's missing,* he thought, but that didn't quite feel right either. Twice he thought he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned, there was nothing. Defeated, he slumped on the bed, and only then noticed the trunk that served as a nightstand. It took no time to clear off the top, and then it was open.

Inside, folded neatly on top, was the red uniform he'd been wearing in the photo Ray'd shown him. He took it out and, obeying a strange impulse, removed his shirt and slipped into the tunic. It fit perfectly and what was more, felt *right,* as surely and as subtly as the suit he'd been wearing had felt wrong. He got up to look at himself in the mirror and had a sudden flash of what felt like memory -- blue eyes winking at him, a gruff voice saying "like something off a Christmas tree?" His knees shook, and he put out a hand to steady himself. He felt lost, suddenly, as though his whole world had been ripped away. The knock on the door startled him.

When he opened the door and saw Ray standing there, the feeling of relief was back, and without any thought at all, Ben threw his arms around his friend.

"Jeez, Benny, what's up?" said Ray, as he squirmed away.

"Sorry, Ray," said Ben, embarrassed at the display. "I was just ... glad to see you."

"Yeah, I got that, with the hugging and all. I meant what's up with the uniform?"

"Ah. I just found it, and I ..." Ben shrugged, still unable to explain his impulsive behavior. "Ray, do you have any idea why I quit?"

Ray shook his head. "Nah, you never said, and I ... didn't want to ask. Just -- the day after you got back from your honeymoon you went and talked to Welsh and the next thing I know, I got a new partner. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. It's been great." Ray shrugged his own shoulders. "Guess I didn't want to tempt fate."

Ben nodded. A door down the hall opened and a curious face peeked out. He recalled his manners then and said, "Please come in, Ray. I shouldn't keep you standing in the hallway."

Ray grinned. "I was gonna say ...." He followed Ben inside and shut the door.

"Forgive me for seeming abrupt," Ben said, "but why are you here?"

Ray's grin turned sheepish. "Remember when Frannie said I'd be sorry I gave her the camera? Seventeen rolls of film she used. Seventeen. If I had to look at one more picture of a fountain -- it was either get out or fake hysterical blindness. So I thought I'd come see if you'd eaten yet."

Ben looked at his watch and was surprised to see how early it was. "It's only just five o'clock now, Ray."

"I didn't say it was a good excuse," Ray said. He wandered further into the apartment and stood looking into the open trunk. "Hey, you having a tag sale or what?"

Ben followed him. "No, I thought I might find something to jog my memory."

"Good idea. You get anywhere?"

"Not yet, but I'd just started when you knocked. Would you like to help?"

"Like you need to ask? Take off the Mountie-outfit, though -- it's kind of weird."

Ben looked down at himself, surprised to see he was still wearing the tunic. He slowly removed it and folded it carefully, placing it on the bed and moving the jodhpurs and other accoutrements from the trunk also. He was unprepared for the overwhelming sadness that came over him when he looked at the small pile of clothing. Ray's touch on his arm brought him back.

"Fraser -- we can do this later if you want."

Ben shook his head. "I'm fine, Ray." To prove it, he knelt beside the trunk and pulled out an ancient cigar-box, the lettering faded and unreadable. Inside he found a stack of small notebooks with dates hand-printed on their covers. He opened one at random and read a few words.

I'm worried about Benton. He doesn't say anything's wrong, but I hear through the grapevine he's acting oddly -- walking the streets for hours every night, as though he's searching for someone. It reminds me of my own search for Muldoon.

I wish I could talk to him, but I think the time for that may be long past for both of us. We're not father and son anymore, but strangers; two men who share a last name and a profession, and not much else.

"You find something, Benny?"

Ben looked up, his vision blurry, and saw Ray regarding him curiously. "No," he started to say, but had to clear his throat before he continued. "It appears to be a journal my father kept."

"Yeah," said Ray kindly. "I've, uh, seen you read them before. You always said he was a good man."

"Did I?" asked Ben. He rifled through the rest of the notebooks and closed the box. "I suppose he must have been, then." The box was put aside and he looked into the trunk again. A small pile of postcards tied with a thin leather thong caught his eye and he pulled it out. The leather snapped when he tried to untie it, and he let it fall to the floor. The handwriting on the first card was immediately familiar to him.

Thank you, my chevalier. V.

"What'd you find?" asked Ray.

"Postcards from Victoria, " Ben said absently, as he leafed through the pile. There were six in all, in order by postmark-date.

"Aw," said Ray, "that's sweet you kept them."

"Mmmhmm," said Ben. "What do you know about poetry?"

"I once knew a girl from Nantucket," Ray offered.

"And ... she liked poetry?" asked Ben, confused by the apparent change of subject.

Ray snickered. "No, that's the start of a limerick. Which is all I know about poetry; sorry, Benny."

"Ah," said Ben, no less confused but willing to accept it. "Listen to this: I caught this morning morning's minion, kingdom of daylight's dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding."

Ray frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm not sure. Or I should say, I'm not sure why Victoria would send it to me on a postcard."

"Weird. Kind of nice, though," said Ray.

"Mmm," said Ben, wondering at the sudden cold he seemed to feel in his bones. "There's more on the next one: ... the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!"

"Hunh. What else you got?"

Ben turned to the next card and frowned. "Blue-bleak embers, ah my dear, fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion."

"Benny, I don't want to sound critical, but that doesn't sound much like a love poem."

Ben didn't reply, struck by the picture on the fifth card. It showed a snowy valley enclosing a small town, complete with church and steeple. The reverse said only*Remember?* And for a second, he almost could ... but then it was gone, replaced by the now-familiar feeling of frustration.

The last card in the pile was rather an anti-climax. Wish you were here! it said, on the back of a photo of Niagara Falls. He shuffled through the stack again, seeking something that teased the edges of his mind. Something tenuous. Peripheral.

The dates ....

He leapt to his feet and nearly ran to the table where he'd put the folder he'd brought home.

"What?" asked Ray. "I know you found something, Fraser. Tell me."

"I'm not sure, but ... here," Ben said, thrusting the folder at Ray. "Check the dates on my transfers." He looked at the first postcard again. "April 18, 1986. Whitehorse."

Ray's eyebrows shot up. "Request for transfer to Whitehorse approved on May 1, 1986."

The next card -- "Yellowknife, August 14, 1987."

"August 30, 1987. Yellowknife." Ray grabbed the cards from Ben and compared the rest of the dates. "Holy*shit,* Fraser. What the hell*is* this?"

Ben sat down on the edge of the bed. "It looks as though ..." He could hardly say it. "I may have been ... following her. Tracking her." He risked a look at Ray, certain he'd see the disillusionment he himself felt.

But Ray was shaking his head. "No, no, that's not it, Fraser. Yeah, okay, you were following her, but -- she was sending the cards. Leading you around by the nose."

"Granted, it does appear that way."

"So what kind of game was she playing?"

"I think she was trying to ... keep in touch."

"And they don't have telephones in Canada? Why couldn't she just call you? She had your address, what's with the secret code?"

Ben's voice nearly failed him as he said, "I think ... I might know." He swallowed, steeling himself to go on. "Look back a bit further. The bank robbery in Skagway."

Ray flipped the pages and read silently. Ben stared at his hands, willing Ray to tell him it was a ridiculous idea. That there was no way on God's earth that ...

"She drove the getaway car."

Ben closed his eyes. "Yes, I believe so." He felt pain, a physical ache that spread across his chest and back. It seemed centered in his heart, which he thought was wholly and unnecessarily metaphorical. But hearing Ray say it like that, flat out -- Dear God, what had he been thinking?

More flashes of memory hit him. Blinding snow, bitter cold, and a voice. A voice angels must envy, keeping him awake, keeping them alive. Asking him for his heart, and his soul. Promising to love him forever, if he'd please, please, just ....

"... let her go."

He came back to the present at the sound of Ray's voice. His head was buried in his hands, and he truly thought he might never again be able to face the world. "Yes, " he said, into his palms, his voice muffled. "I did. I let her go."

"Holy shit. That's ... so ... I can't*believe* this, Benny."

Ben laughed harshly and raised his head. "I'm a little shocked myself, Ray."

"There's got to be another explanation."

"Of course there is. I was incompetent and lost the suspect in the storm. It's right there in front of you, Ray; that's the official explanation. Unfortunately, it isn't the truth."

"But --"

Ben interrupted whatever Ray had been going to say, good manners be damned for the moment. "I*remember,* Ray. Not everything, but ... enough."

"Oh. I ... thought maybe ...." Ray's voice trailed off into silence, and they sat that way for a good many minutes. "Now what?" Ray said finally.

"I don't know. Surely the statute of limitations has expired."

"Four years ago." Victoria's bitter voice came from behind them. "And you made me give the money back anyway."

Shocked, Ben rose to his feet and turned to confront her. "Victoria, what -?"

Her mouth was twisted in what was nearly a sneer. "I got Julie to take the class and came home early because you said we needed to talk. If I'd known you were going to drag all this up again, I wouldn't have bothered. I thought we were*done* with this, Ben."

Ben gaped at her, at a loss to understand any of what was happening. "How could we be done with it? How could you expect me to just forget about it?"

"Are you serious? You're the one who wanted to sweep it under the rug. Remember?"

"No," said Ben, suddenly angry. "I don't remember that. I don't remember much of*anything*, to be honest. And the things that*have* come back scare the hell out of me."

"You --"

"Why were you sending me postcards?"

"I didn't want to lose you. I love you."

"No," said Ben, sure of this one thing. "That's not it. Or that's not all of it, anyway."

Ray cleared his throat softly. Ben looked away from Victoria's unreadable face to see his friend's uncomfortable one. Ray made a quick sideways motion with his head and raised an eyebrow. Then he walked a few steps away. Ben followed.

"You need me to stick around, Benny?" Ray said quietly.

"No, this is ... I'll be fine, Ray. I'm so sorry --"

Ray made a cutting gesture with his hand. "Benny, if you need me -- I'm always there for you. You know that, right?"

"I do, Ray," said Ben, touched by the depth of Ray's friendship. "And ... thanks for reminding me."

Ray nodded once and walked to the door. He turned and opened his mouth, as if to say one last thing, but then shook his head and left without another word. Ben watched him go, loneliness sweeping over him once more. He turned back to Victoria, who was looking at him with a very strange expression.

"You really can't remember?"

Ben shook his head, feeling terribly worn out. "Whose idea was it for you to 'escape?' "

She laughed, sounding bitter again and as tired as he was. "Whose do you think? I was terrified of going to prison."

"You should have thought of that before taking up with criminals."

Her mouth twisted again. "That's just what you said ... then."

"And what did you say?"

Her face softened, her voice turned pleading. "It doesn't matter. It's behind us. We have to keep looking toward the future now."

"Did you think we could just pretend that it didn't happen?"

The words seemed to burst from his mouth. He didn't know where they had come from, only that they felt inevitable. He shook his head, hard, trying to clear his thoughts. "I just don't understand how I could have done something like that," he said softly, almost to himself.

She walked toward him then. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I'm so sorry." She reached for him, but he backed away.

"No," he said, fear and need both warring in him. Fear won out. "Not this time. Not again." He turned and walked to the door.

"Don't leave me!" she cried, stopping his hand on the knob. "I did what you wanted. I gave up everything for you!"

He turned, seeing her beautiful face for what he somehow knew was the last time. "So did I," he said. "And I need to get some of it back."

He walked for what seemed like hours, not even noticing where he was going, trusting his instincts to keep him from being killed by motorists when he crossed a street. His mind whirled with half-remembered things; mostly stories his grandparents had told him of his father. Robert Fraser*had* been a good man, and a good Mountie. Of this he was certain. And Ben's whole life had been spent trying to live up to that standard, trying to make sure his father would never be disappointed in him.

So how in God's name could he have done what he had? It just wasn't possible,that wasn't who he was. His duty came before everything, a personality trait which had earned him no friends at Depot. He'd never been one to "let things slide," and he didn't believe there was such a thing as a victimless crime. The Law was the Law, and it had to be upheld. It was utterly absurd to think he'd ever have let a suspect go free.

But ... he had. Victoria had gone free. And he'd continued to pursue her, but not to bring her to justice. He'd used his reputation as Robert Fraser's son to chase her halfway across Canada like a lovesick schoolboy. He felt his face heat again with the shame of it. He remembered the pull he'd felt when she touched him, and the fear.

Eventually he found himself by the lake. He stopped walking and stared out across the water. He wondered what Inuvik looked like now, if it had changed since he'd been there. The snow might be nearly gone ...

*"Benton!"*

He turned around quickly, peering through the gathering dusk, but saw no one.

*"Over here, son! Hurry!"*

He bolted off in the direction the voice had come from, certain it was his father, somehow back from the dead. The urgency in the tone made him hurry.

He rounded the corner of the dock and looked around. There was no sign of anyone, just a stack of boxes that looked as though something had been driven through them. He rushed to the edge, looked down into the water and saw hundreds of yellow rubber ducks floating there, some in flames. And just below them ... the watery ghost of a car, with what looked like two people and a dog in it. Without another thought he dove into the water, kicking hard to catch up with the sinking vehicle, desperate to save the poor unfortunate souls trapped inside. Desperate to regain a sense of pride in himself -- to do something*right* for a change.

Ben's head broke the water and he sucked in a huge lungful of air. Beside him, coughing and sputtering, his new partner was doing the same, while flailing about helplessly. Ben grabbed the man's coat and held his head above the surface as he followed Dief to the side of the dock, collecting his hat as they passed it. If his estimation of her character was correct, Ms. Garbo wouldn't miss the opportunity to stay and gloat over their presumed demise. They still had a chance to bring her to justice.

"Hey, Fraser," the new Ray gasped, "Did you get that thing with your whole life flashing in front of you?"

"Don't be silly," Ben replied. "That only happens in stories. Grab onto that rock."

End Distant Echoes by Starfish: starfish@mrks.org

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