Author's website: http://uk.geocities.com/jodie_mouse

Disclaimer: not mine, borrowed

Author's Notes: thanks to Snowee for looking through this for me

Story Notes: there is death in this story as well as angst

Broken
By Jodie Louise

It hurt. No one had ever said it would hurt so much. It felt like someone had taken a knife to my gut and twisted and twisted and twisted. So the first time it happened I pulled the covers over my head, hid my face and cried silently to myself in the darkness.

When the snow first came it almost scared me seeing the blank white sheet stretch for miles and miles around. The world somehow seemed bigger -- bright whiteness reflecting the sun in a blinding brilliance. Very different from Chicago. And then just as you get used to the blank icy page surrounding you it starts to break into patches of colour. Brown. May be a bit of green. Dark asphalt. A patchwork of color.

The snow always reminds me of Fraser. They are both beautiful in their deadly way. Behind Fraser is a kind of pain masking the beauty. Perfect on the outside but inside shattered into a million pieces. Like a broken mirror. Reflecting the pieces of your life and the pain there. If I had realised, if I had known before may be I could've stopped things from getting this bad.

At one time I thought my heart would break if I wasn't with Fraser. I don't think that is true anymore. My heart is breaking every moment I spend in his company.

It has been five months since Maggie died.

It has been over five months since Fraser touched me in any way that might mean he would like to make love.

At first I missed his touch. Now I dread it. He knows this. It is like we're both surrounded by a bubble -- by personal space we mustn't invade at any cost. I am lonely in the bubble. So is he, or at least I pretend he is. If I feel lonely then he must too? But we do not want to reach out to one another anymore.

I always thought it was only guys like me that fucked up. I always thought Fraser was perfect. And I placed him up there on the pedestal thing and one day I realised the pedestal wasn't up, it was down. I didn't knock Frase off of it, more like it sunk down into the quicksand.

Frase was perfect. Everything that I, Stanley Raymond Kowalski, was not.

I made the mistake of thinking he wasn't human. But he is human. He is human and just as fucked up as the rest of us. I know that now. He gets drunk. There was me always trying to get Mr Uptight to loosen up and now...well, he's kind of too loose y'know?

Loose and sad.

I'm not enough for him anymore. And I know it is one of those tired old romantic cliches but I'm going to trot it out anyway: I don't think I was ever enough for Benton. I think he's made to be separate. I'm not sure if I believe in that soul mate thing but let me tell you this -- Benton was always kind of complete anyhow. Self-sufficient. I didn't teach him anything that he didn't already know. It was always there for him how to crack up -- how to be passionate -- how to lose yourself. He just used to reign it in. Now -- well he lets it all hang out, all the hurt, loss and passion. It oozes from him. And I'm still here. I still stay even though there isn't much for me to stay for anymore.

And I don't know why I stay.

For the comfort? Who is comforting who?

Diefenbaker died seven months ago. Shot by a poacher when Fraser still bothered to get up out of bed in the morning. When he shared the burden of his pain with me. Now everything is too raw.

The same guy that got Maggie got Benton in the leg. No more patrolling the wilderness for Benton Fraser of the RCMP. He has a really bad limp which still makes me wince every time I see him walk. Which isn't much.

Fraser the mountie. In his red suit, hat, wolf trailing behind him. Strong. Invincible. That is the man that Welsh, Frannie and Huey knew. The man he is now is a whole kind of different creature. A different species from the Fraser who I took a bullet for. So I've been spending a hell of a long time on the phone clocking up huge bills to talk to the one other person who may have seen Fraser this low -- Ray Vecchio. And he is now closer to me than Fraser is yet it is Fraser that brought us together. Our love and respect for the mountie must be the only thing we have got in common. But it is enough.

So when Vecchio practically falls through the door with six million suitcases I don't think Fraser even notices. But I do.

And Vecchio hugs me. It is the first human contact I have had since -- well since before Fraser broke. He is broken and I don't know how to fix him. I don't think anyone does.

"Bag Lady.", Vecchio says.

"Style pig." I answer loving the feel of Vecchio's arms around me.

It makes me realise how devoid of human contact I have been since this whole mess happened. And the words, the affection flitting behind them warms me like nothing else. For I hear no such affection from anyone anymore. Vecchio has become my only link with my -- well at the risk of sounding like a Star Trek episode -- my humanity.

Fraser has withdrawn himself from humanity. He lives on the couch, if you can call it living, permanently wrapped in a blanket Maggie made for him last Christmas. I tried to take it from him to wash a few days ago. I'd ended up with a black eye.

Vecchio releases me and turns towards the couch.

"Benny?" he asks.

But Benton is staring at the screen of the TV. Nothing exists but the fluttering blue light and the flickering static. For a moment time seems to have frozen into a tableau of sadness -- but Vecchio shakes himself and once again the world starts moving.

"Come on Vecchio." I say patting his shoulder, "let me show you your room."

For a moment Vecchio's gaze slinks over to Fraser but back to me. He nods. I head up the stairs hearing his footsteps follow me.

"What the fuck is going on Kowalski?"

Vecchio is pacing up and down the floor in the spare room. A straight path over scuffed wood. If he did that for long enough the varnish would wear away exposing the virgin wood beneath.

"And what is this." he says stopping and pointing at my fading black eye.

"I told you..." I start.

"I know what you told me now why do I get the feeling you're not telling me everything? I was his -- partner -- I have as much right as you to..."

Angry. I lose it.

"Don't fucking talk to me about rights! You gave up any fucking rights you had the day you took that undercover job." I scream at Vecchio pushing him against the wall.

"Benny hit you." Vecchio says in a voice so calm and full of worry that my insides begin to ache.

I stare at the floor avoiding Vecchio's eyes. I am hoping he won't ask questions that I really don't want to be answering. Because if I start analysing stuff I might become as broken as Fraser is.

Gently Vecchio peels me from him and moves us away from the wall.

"Don't tell me. Benny aced the psyche test and now you're here with him with no help. And that's why you've been calling me."

I sigh. Collaspe onto the floor and cry.

On the day Benton and I got married the sunlight dancing through the window woke me up. For a moment I looked as us both together in bed and knew that I would never see anything so perfect again. The room looked beautiful and felt like home even if it was thousands of miles from Chicago.

Benton sighed and rolled over draping an arm across my chest.

Dief yawned at the foot of the bed and jumped up onto the quilt. And then Maggie's cheerful voice carried from across the landing as she asked us if we wanted coffee.

Ben cracked open a bleary eye and smiled at me. So beautiful when he smiled. And he pulled me into a kiss.

Everything was perfect.

I've found it hard to connect the Fraser that lies on the couch with the man I married. I sometimes think they are very different people. The man I married was as gentle as a butterfly and made me say sappy things like what I just said. The only feeling I get from the broken Fraser is that I am not enough for him. That I have failed him in some way. I wish I knew how, then may be I could make it all better again.

But he won't touch me, except in violence.

And he shrinks from my touch.

So I touch myself now. I lay awake in our bed -- my bed -- the bed Fraser no longer sleeps in -- and touch my cock.

It feels different with Vecchio here kind of like the air is charged. And if I strain my ears I think I can hear him breathing in the room next door. This is greatness. I had been so lonely. Even if Vecchio is in the next room it is good enough for me. I may not have anyone touch me apart from myself but just having another person here is nice. The human touch I crave.

I squeeze some cream into my hand and get to work.

I don't think about anyone.

I just touch myself. Think about my hand on me.

My hand is safe and steady.

It does not take long.

It has been a while since I was touched.

The first time Frase and I touched we were in a small tent in the middle of a snow storm. We were on our so-called adventure which became a whole different kind of adventure. A way to find out what we really wanted from each other.

It was just one of those moments you know where you just look at someone and then there it is -- that thing -- that draw -- and your lips meet and your groins touch and you can feel erect flesh through layers and layers of fabric. I try to remember what it was like but it is all blurry now. Memories fade just like people.

I think his skin was warm and his hair was soft.

As I said memories fade.

And I'm coming over my fist.

I wasn't really thinking of anyone. No one at all.

To tell the truth I don't really know why I started calling Vecchio. I mean yeah I made all these excuses about him seeing Fraser just after being kicked in the teeth by Victoria so he'd have some sort of insight, right?

But it wasn't that -- not really. It was never that. I didn't call Vecchio for Fraser I called Vecchio for me. That sounds kind of selfish but I didn't know what else to do. There was always a pull there between us you know? And as much as we tried to hide it from each other it all came crashing around our ears when he came back from undercover to find me with the mountie. Except we weren't. Not really. But to everyone else we were and that's what mattered.

Things went weird for a while. Vecchio dated Stella and I always wondered if that was one of those substitute things. If you can't have me fuck the ex or something. But back then I was happy with Fraser. Fraser was still Fraser and not the guy who gets drunk and beats the living daylights out of me.

So me and Vecchio are sitting in the only diner in this so-called town in the middle of nowhere which Fraser got posted to before everything went wrong. Vecchio leans in close speaking softly because the old guy in the corner, Mr Henshaw, has already butted in to our conversation twice.

"You taken Fraser to a doctor?" Vecchio asks cutting up the steak on his plate.

The plastic lampshades are cracked and the tables scuffed. I try to pretend I'm examining a particularly nasty scratch when I decide to answer him.

"Didn't do any good. He kinda acted normal."

I stare out of the window of the diner at this godforsaken small Canadian town at the ends of the Earth. A town with one street. It never used to matter before. Never. I sigh pushing the food around my plate. It used to seem so much bigger here before. But now all I can see is the whispering behind hands and Mrs Thompson giving me extra big portions every time I order something in the diner.

I hate being pitied.

"I don't want to be here anymore -- but I can't --" I say.

I stop. Guys don't talk about stuff like that. Vecchio just looks at me. Nods. Doesn't say anything else.

We finish the meal in silence. We understand one another.

Met Vecchio just before we both went under.

I remember looking into those piercing green eyes -- like x-ray vision -- I felt he could see right through me. Feel his disapproval of me -- of the way I dressed.

But even then there was a kind of connection you know? We had an understanding.

I didn't have to ask him how he felt about the mountie, I could see the passion in his eyes when he talked about Fraser. The same kind of passion which burned in them when he talked about Frannie or his Ma, his family -- but different also. It was the kind of passion that I used to see in Stella's eyes all those years ago. Lust.

The kind of passion in her eyes as she pushed herself on to me so I went deeper inside her.

The kind of passion as she melted under my touch.

I tried to picture Vecchio and the mountie in bed. It didn't work.

We spent a whole evening talking about this that and the other -- stuff I'd need to know while undercover -- somehow skirting around all the important stuff. Missing the obvious.

At the end of the night I felt closer to Vecchio than I had ever felt with Stella. I felt as if I knew Vecchio -- every inch of him. That night I dreamed about him, and the night after that, so on until I finally met Fraser.

Then I started to dream of Canadian mountie.

And here now is Mrs Thompson with cheerful words and a full coffeepot. A smile a small smile. Then I wonder if I see that look in Vecchio's eyes.

We had been digging through the snow for ages and had only just scraped through to the hard earth beneath. I don't know why we thought we'd be able to dig through it. The earth was icy and as hard as metal. I looked up at Fraser. My shovel didn't make the slightest dent in the earth.

He stood there tears running down his cheeks.

"Dief deserves more than this." he mumbles.

I glance over the snow at the bundle of white fur streaked through with garish red. Snow dyed pink underneath.

I go over to Dief's body carefully rolling him from the pink snow. Dig through the iced blood. I'm right. Dief's very lifeblood has softened the ground beneath enough so I can...

And then Fraser is at my shoulder and he is digging too. We can't get too deep but we get deep enough to give Dief at least the dignity of a shallow grave.

I stand back -- Fraser like a man possessed hauling Dief's body into the hole and throwing dark earth over pale fur. Red snow, pale fur, dark earth. I watch for a moment then go to the hole, stand shoulder to shoulder with Fraser and cover the beautiful fur with cold cold earth.

When we finish the grave looks like a fresh scar, pink and bloody at the edges.

We've probably lost the poacher now. Fraser looks about ready to follow Dief into the ground. I haul him up. He is one of the best teachers. There is no time for sadness. I've got to drag his ass back to civilisation.

Because at the moment he doesn't care.

He really doesn't care.

I warm up the engine of the snowmobile. Try to remember all that he taught me.

We were going to get back.

The day is bright and I stumble into the kitchen half-asleep. Vecchio is already there making coffee. I can hear the fuzz from the television next door.

"Does he ever talk?" Vecchio asked.

I wince at the use of third person like you'd talk about someone who is damaged. But Fraser is damaged. I shake my head and search for a mug.

I can feel those green eyes on me all intent.

Looking at me like my mom does. My mom asks `Why don`t you come back?', `Why don't you get a divorce?', `Why don't you let someone else care for him?'. And I say to her `Would you want someone else to look after Dad?'. That always brings the conversation to a stop.

But she's right. Fraser's damage is infectious. The more I stay here the more I realise I'm losing myself in the new kind of reality Fraser has built for himself.

He does talk -- to people I cannot see and who I don't think are there. I mean he used to talk to himself before, back in Chicago but back then he made sense. Now he comes out with a kind of gibberish.

"He don't talk to me." I amend.

"Who does he talk to?" asks Vecchio.

I shrug. Who the hell knows? Who the hell knows?

Vecchio comes to me, pins me by the arms and looks into my face.

"Why? Why ask me here?" he says.

"I -- I don't know." I manage to say just before I start sobbing.

And for a moment I'm in Fraser's cabin Dief's claws click-clacking on the floor. I am asking Fraser why he wants me to stay. He answers `I don't know' and sobs. I hold him. Stroke his back.

But now Vecchio is comforting me. Arms wrapped around me. My head resting on his chest. I can feel him take it -- absorbing all of the pain. I can't stop shaking. He is rubbing my arms. I don't know how long we're like that. Five minutes, five hours. Doesn't matter because then -- right then nothing else matters apart from the comfort I am receiving. The human touch I need.

"Come back with me." he whispers in my ear.

"But what about Fraser..."

"I know. I know."

The first time is powerful, strong, harsh. Vecchio is there. Inside. It feels so right it aches and I'm grabbing fistfuls of sheets. It is brutal. But I need Vecchio's harsh love just as I need to breathe.

I'm screaming the most stupid things.

When we finish Vecchio spoons around me. Holding me. Through half closed eyes I doze. And when I wake up the next morning and Vecchio is gone, well I can pretend it never happened. I can pretend I never saw Fraser in the doorway of the bedroom watching us tangled on the sheets together. I can pretend that I never saw the pain and hurt behind those eyes. It was a dream. All of it was dream.

I roll over back under the sheets and cry like a lovesick virgin.

It is safe in my new home. Warm and soft. And if I breathe shallowly enough I can't even smell Vecchio there. Just the faint tinge of lavender and detergent.

I don't know how long he had been like that. The blanket was pulled around him but his body was cold. I don't know when he left us once and for all. But he was smiling and I was left a widower.

The television flickered pale light on to his corpse.

He looked as beautiful as the first day I saw him. So beautiful. I know I should feel sad but I couldn't. Both of my eyes were black and my ribs purple with bruised islands of flesh. I didn't feel sad. I feel happy. At peace. Free. Love chains you, imprisons you and I'm not sure if I want to love someone as much as I loved him. Hurts too much.

I closed his eyes and phoned the doctor.

These past few days I had felt as if I were wearing lead boots. Heavy. Trapped.

Everything so slow and painful.

So slow.

While I waited for the doctor I put on Joy Division.

Tortured souls singing for one another.

And all the crap -- everything -- my feet move to the music. I can't stop them. Just like I can't stop the tears rolling down my cheeks. But the tears aren't for Fraser. No. They're for me.

"I can't believe he's really gone." says Vecchio drinking brandy.

I never understood funerals. I wanted to dance.

We are sitting in my lounge, on the couch Fraser had so recently vacated. I had sold the TV for no reason other than I didn't want it in the house anymore.

I won't ask Vecchio why he left that night or where he went or who he slept with. I am not a woman. I am not his wife. I am not a virgin.

I grab the brandy bottle and take a swig.

Vecchio seems to have got the idea that I don't want to talk and just sits there sipping his brandy. I take another swig in a silent toast to Fraser, Dief and Maggie. Close my eyes. Can almost hear them. And I leave Vecchio there among those voices as I go up to my bedroom.

It didn't surprise me when I heard the bedroom door open softly and felt a body get into bed next to mine. I turned to that warmth like a moth to a light, burrowed into it. Felt the arms pull me closer. And with my hand I traced the outline of Ray's face. We kissed.

"Do you know how long I've wanted to do that? Do you know?" he whispers in my ear afterwards.

And I wished it was morning and sunlight was pouring through the window so I could see Ray's olive skin, green eyes and the planes of his body. But I make do with the dark and try not to wince each time his hand brushes over a bruised rib.

I groan when I can feel his erection against mine.

As we groan and sweat and stick together I try not to think about what will happen in the future. I concentrate on the moment and the closeness and the need in both of us.

I have an ache inside.

An ache.

I'm not sure if you can call it healing each other. I'm not sure what it is at all. Maybe it is escaping...

I let Ray drive and twist in my seat to watch the town get smaller and smaller. I never could say it's name. Never got the hang of the Inuit stuff. All I packed was a duffle bag. A few tunes. The boom box.

I am escaping. With Ray Vecchio.

I smile.

Is it right to feel so happy leaving the place behind that you made a home with your late husband? Shouldn't I feel sad? But I don't want to have to think about Fraser anymore. I want to think about...anything else but Fraser. Is it so wrong to be happy that I'm free?

"Where do you want to go?" Ray asks.

I keep my back to him still watching the town disappear slowly behind us.

"South. I want to go south." I answer.

"Okay."

I stare out of the back window. Stare and stare. Those aren't tears prickling the inside of my eyelids. I watch until the town becomes a speck on the horizon -- it is then that I turn to face forward and the long road ahead.

End Broken by Jodie Louise: jodie_mouse@yahoo.com

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