Title: "With My Failing Hand"

Author: Terri Botta, comments to: tci100@psu.edu

Disclaimers: All standard disclaimers apply. I’m poor so don’t sue. Alliance owns ‘em, I don’t.

Rating: PG

Warnings: major angst.

Spoilers: none

By Terri Botta 2000

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"'M dying."

Fraser pressed his handkerchief tighter to the wound, knowing it wasn't enough, but it was all he had left; the gauze in his first aid kit had already soaked through, and Ray's blood was spilling out, staining the T-shirt the detective wore, staining his hand, staining the cuff of his red Serge…

"Hush. You must conserve your strength. Help is coming," he shushed, trying to stay calm while Ray's life bled out of him. He could hear the sirens, help was coming, but the gunshot wound was in Ray's chest, and he did not know if they would arrive in time.

Ray coughed, flecks of blood dotting his lips, and shook his head weakly. "S'ok. Not 'fraid."

One thin hand came up to hold his own, the one that was dark with the blood he was desperately trying to staunch. There was so much blood, so much blood. How could a man lose that much blood and survive?

"Thank you," Ray whispered. "Fer stayin'… wit me."

Fraser shook his head. "You are my partner and my friend. I could not leave you. We will catch Michelson another day."

Ray closed his eyes briefly, squinting in pain and Fraser felt his own heart contract.

//I should never have left you. I knew he had a gun and you weren’t wearing your vest.//

"No. Wasn't… what I meant. Meant thanks fer… not takin' the transfer. Fer stayin'. Never said thanks."

"It's not important now." //Please don’t die.//

Ray coughed and Fraser knew his lungs were filling with blood. "'Tis. Never said lots to ya. Need ta… now."

"You shouldn't try to talk…"

"No!" It was said with force but the wounded detective paid for it. "Gotsta… say it. Won't get…'nother chance."

"Ray, please…"

"No." The hand holding his tightened. "S'ok. Tol' ya, not 'fraid. Yer here."

The blue eyes, cloudy with pain, looked into his and the blond managed a smile as he weakly brushed his other hand against Fraser's cheek. "Evr'thin' good in m' life in the past few years been 'coz o' you. Love you."

Fraser nodded, trying to placate the man enough to settle and conserve his strength. "And I you, Ray." //More than you know. More than I ever dared to tell you.//

The small smile widened and Ray shook his head, bringing Fraser's bloody hand to his lips so he could kiss it. "No. Meant love you. I love you, Ben. Always have… always will. C'n say it now. No… reper…repercussions."

Ray's eyes closed, then he rallied. "Was… always too… chickenshit ta tell ya. But now… s'ok. Yer… Mountie honor'll… still… be intact."

Fraser shook from the revelation and the pallor of his friend's face. The sirens were almost upon them, but Ray's time was fast running out.

"They're almost here, Ray. You just need to hold on a little longer."

Ray opened his eyes and Fraser looked at him, gasping. His expression was beatific, his eyes clear and his face open, showing everything. The love there humbled him and his mouth went dry. Then Ray's eyes closed again, and his body relaxed with a sigh.

Realizing what had happened, Fraser shook his partner.

//No, please no!//

"Ray. Ray please don't give up. Ray, help is here."

There was no answer. He felt himself begin to panic and he fought it back.

"Ray, please. I love you too. Please. Please don't leave me. Please, please don't leave me."

The paramedics found him doing CPR in a desperate attempt to keep Ray with him long enough for help to arrive. Gentle hands pulled him away so they could work on Ray.

"Sir? Sir, it's all right. We're here to help," a woman said to him.

"He's been shot," he answered.

"We know that, sir. We're doing our best."

In the background he heard the ambulance crew shouting directions as Ray was loaded onto a stretcher.

"I've got a pulse," he heard someone say, and he held onto that. Ray was alive, for the moment.

The female paramedic took his arm, commanding his attention. "Sir, are you hurt?"

He looked at her, trying to decipher her words into English because his brain was hearing everything as a garbled slur running under the primal screams his soul was shrieking.

"I am uninjured."

"You have blood on your face and hands…"

"It's Ray's blood."

His gaze fell to his hands, one was almost completely covered in blood and still clutching the handkerchief. He was guided to the ambulance and ushered onto it. Ray was there, strapped to the gurney, tubes already running into his arms and mouth. He knew better than to ask if he would be all right.

//Please don't leave me.//

"We'll do our best, sir," came an answer, and he realized that he had spoken aloud.

He raised his eyes to look at the other occupants of the ambulance as it careened through the Chicago streets. The paramedics were looking at him with concern and he wondered briefly what he must look like, disheveled and stained with Ray's blood. Someone put a blanket around him. He hadn't even realized he was cold. He wanted to tell them that Chicago was balmy compared to the Northwest Territories, but a shiver stopped him.

"Tell me your name, sir," the woman said.

"Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police."

"Can you tell us what happened?"

"He shot Ray."

"Yes, we can see that. Do you know how many times he was shot?"

He nodded. "Once. In the chest. With a Glock pistol, a 33 .357."

"And Ray is a police officer?"

"Detective First Class."

"And what is Ray's name?"

Ben paused at that, not sure how to answer, then he said slowly, "Raymond Vecchio."

"And you and Ray… work together?"

"I am a liaison officer with the Canadian Consulate. Ray is my partner."

"Do you happen to know Ray's blood type?"

"Yes. It is AB positive."

"Thank you, sir, that will help us."

The ambulance lurched and sped around a corner, sirens blaring. He blinked, trying to see out the driver's window.

"We're almost there, sir."

He raised his eyes to the monitor that logged Ray's vital signs. His blood pressure was dangerously low, his heart racing. He was bleeding internally, no questions asked. His gaze followed the path of the blood that was being administered into his partner.

"He's dying," he whispered. //He’s dying, he’s dying, he’s dying…//

"We're doing our best, sir."

"I know. Thank you kindly." //He’s dying, dying, dying, dying, dying…//

The ambulance came to a screeching stop and the doors flew open. Hands grabbed Ray's gurney and lifted it out. The female paramedic took his elbow and led him from the ambulance into the Emergency Room. He was not surprised to see Lieutenant Welsh and several members of the 27^th police force already there.

"Constable!" Welsh barked, and the woman leading him turned him towards the older man.

"He was with Detective Vecchio," the woman said to Welsh as Huey came up to take his arm.

"You okay Fraser?" Huey asked.

He turned his head to look at the dark man. "He shot Ray."

Ben noticed the detective and lieutenant share a meaningful glance with the paramedic, but could not bring himself to comment.

//Ray’s dying. He could die. No, Ray! Please! Don’t leave me!//

"Why don't you come over here and sit down, Constable."

Huey pulled him gently to a chair and he lowered himself into it dutifully, sitting at attention.

"Now, I want you tell Huey, Dewey and myself exactly what happened when you chased Michelson into that alley," Welsh said.

//Tell you?! You want me to tell you how my error in judgement has cost me the best thing that ever happened to me? Ray is dying! Dying, dying, dying!//

Slowly he answered, detailing the course of events from the time they spotted Daniel Michelson fleeing the scene of a robbery to the moment he found Ray bleeding to death from a gunshot wound. They had separated when Michelson ran down a back alley. He had heard Ray calling for backup but saying that they were already in pursuit. He had diverted to take a shortcut, and Ray had gone out of his field of vision. Then he heard the single shot, and raced for it. He had found Ray lying in the alley, a bullet in his chest. He immediately called 911 on Ray's cellphone with the dreaded 'officer down.' He heard the suspect getting away, but couldn't bring himself to care. All that mattered was stopping the seemingly endless flow of blood pouring from his partner's chest.

By the time he finished speaking, Inspector Thatcher and Constable Turnbull had arrived. It was plain to see that they were shocked by his appearance, and he once again gave thought to how he must look. When he fell silent, his tale told, Inspector Thatcher moved forward and commanded his attention.

"Constable, are you injured?" she asked tersely.

"No, sir," he responded, glad for the leadership.

"You have soiled your uniform."

He looked at himself and saw that in addition to his bloody hand and stained cuffs, he also had blood on both knees and some smeared on the front of the tunic. Ray’s blood, Ray’s life spilled all over him, the ruined handkerchief crumpled in his hand. The smell of blood was making him nauseous.

"I was trying to staunch the wound…"

"Turnbull, take him back to the Consulate."

"Yes, sir," the younger constable said, coming to offer Fraser his arm. "Come, mon ami. I'll help you."

Blinking, it took him a moment, but he accepted the arm and rose to his feet, steadying himself.

"Constable, you are relieved from duty for the next few days. I want you to clean yourself up and rest. I will stay here and bring you word of Detective Vecchio's condition."

"Yes, sir."

"That's an order."

"Yes, sir."

He allowed Turnbull to lead him from the room, passing by Francesca who had come in shortly after Inspector Thatcher. Diefenbaker was with her, and the wolf came silently to his side. Dimly he heard Francesca chide Meg for her lack of compassion. Then he heard the inspector sigh.

"He's in shock, Ms. Vecchio. My being… authoritative is… normal for him. He needs normal right now because he has essentially shut down. He doesn't need to think to follow orders so I gave him orders. It's the only way I can help him right now."

The statement gave him mental pause, even as his body placidly followed Turnbull. The inspector knew him very well, and gave him exactly what he needed. The members of the 27^th had been conciliatory and patronizing to him when what he needed was direction. He was grateful to her. Not everyone understood him so well.

Once back at the Consulate, Turnbull left him to shower and change. He had yet to speak a word to the younger man, but Turnbull did not seem to mind his silence. In the shower, he began to feel marginally better now that Ray's blood was no longer on him, but he was filled with the need to return to the hospital, to be there when Ray…

When he lived or died.

Coming out of the shower, he walked to his office. The world seemed to be moving in slow motion, as if he were underwater, but he thought that might be beneficial since it also dulled what he was feeling. He opened his filing cabinet to pull out civilian clothing.

"The Yank's a fighter, son. He'll pull through," his father's voice spoke, startling him.

He looked behind him to see Robert Fraser's ghost standing there.

"He's been shot," he answered, drying himself with the towel around his waist and putting on clean boxers.

Robert Fraser looked at his son with kindness. "I know, son."

The statement froze his heart with fear and it must have shown on his face because his father hastened to reassure him. "He's not here, son. At least not yet. He's still fighting."

"But you'd…" He couldn't voice it. His throat closed with a strange lump that prevented him from speaking. //You’d tell me if he was.//

"I'll bring him to you if I can, son, I promise."

He nodded, clenching the sweater he held in both hands before pulling it on.

"What are you going to do?" his father asked.

"I have to get back to him." That was his one certainty. The one thing he held on to. He had to get back to Ray, he had to be there.

"Yes, you do. He needs you."

Ben paused, swallowing hard. His father always had a way of calming him down, but right now that was also making him feel.

"And you need him."

His breath caught on a sob he couldn't hold in.

"You love the Yank, son. Don't try to deny it."

"He only told me because he was dying. Said my Mountie honor would be intact." //So I must be alone to preserve my honor?//

The elder Fraser nodded. "Well, it would be. No way to act on your feelings if the other person's dead now is there?"

"I suppose so," he agreed, pulling on his jeans.

Socks came next, then his civilian boots. Standing up, he opened the closet and took down his bedroll.

"He heard you, son. That’s why he’s still fighting."

It was too much. Ben paused, letting the bedroll fall to the floor as he leaned his forehead against the wall.

"Son?"

"But he might not win the fight." //I may lose him. Even if he lives, I may still lose him.//

"No, son, there are no guarantees."

He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back the familiar ache, the grief.

"Dad?"

"Yes, Benton?"

"Why does everyone I love leave me?"

There was a heavy silence and just as he was certain his father was not going to answer, Bob Fraser spoke.

"Not all of us chose to leave, son. Your mother and I..."

"Don’t you think I know that? Do you think I blame you for getting killed?" he snapped, facing the ghost.

"I wouldn’t blame you if you did."

He sighed, looking away. "Well, I don’t."

"In any case, I’m still here, son."

"But you’re dead!"

"That’s true, but I’m better than nothing. And I’m sure around a hell of a lot more than I was when you were growing up."

Ben shook his head. "It’s not the same, Dad. I need... I need..." //I’m lonely! I’m so lonely! He was my sunshine, my life, my love! He was warmth to my cold heart, Spring to my Winter and I never told him!//

He couldn’t bring himself to say it, even as the words were in his mouth, he could not get them out.

"Get back to him, son. Let him know you’re there. Give him a reason to keep fighting."

Nodding, he swallowed the lump in his throat and gathered the rest of the supplies he would need. Then he slung his pack over his shoulder and walked out of his office with Diefenbaker behind him. The wolf was being uncharacteristically quiet, but he was thankful for that.

"I’ll have tea ready in just a moment, sir," he heard Turnbull call from the kitchen, but he ignored the other man and headed for the door.

Cook County Hospital wasn’t all that far of a walk and Dief was beside him. Focusing his mind on getting back to Ray, he put one foot steadily in front of the other, refusing to allow himself to think of anything but his goal. It was the only way he could hold himself together.

"I thought I ordered you to rest, Constable," Inspector Thatcher said when he entered the surgical waiting room. Several members of the police force were still there, including Welsh and Francesca.

"Yes sir, but I..." he stammered. He was here, near to Ray, he could almost smell him, and his superior officer was the only thing keeping him from achieving his goal. If she ordered him to leave…

"Constable..."

"Let him stay, Inspector. He’s Vecchio’s medical contact anyway," Welsh said, defending him.

Meg closed her mouth into a thin line of disapproval but nodded after a moment. "Very well, Constable. You may stay."

"Thank you, sir."

Going to the far side of the room, he spread out his bedroll and laid down on it. Diefenbaker, having been cleared by the hospital staff, came to lie beside him. The wolf nuzzled him and licked his hand in an odd show of comfort. He stroked the thick fur, and closed his eyes, dozing lightly but keeping one ear open.

Vaguely, he was aware of the passage of time. The room darkened and many of the other people waiting for relatives or loved ones to come out of surgery went their way. Members of the police force came and went, as did a few reporters looking for updates on Ray. Welsh stayed along with Inspector Thatcher and the Duck brothers. Francesca left to get her mother, and he heard someone talk about calling the Kowalskis. He let none of it touch him, allowing the noise to fade into the background as he tried not to think of what could happen. Ray had to live, there was no other alternative. If Ray died...

//I’ll be alone. Again. And cold. Again. Why did I never tell him? I knew… I knew he felt the same way. I could sense it, smell it sometimes. Why? Why did I not speak up? Ray. Oh, Ray, please don’t leave me.//

"Constable Benton Fraser?" a strange voice spoke.

He was sitting up almost immediately, searching for the owner of the voice, ignoring Meg’s disapproving look at the fact that he hadn’t been ‘resting.’

"I am Constable Fraser."

A surgeon in hospital scrubs approached him as he rose to his feet.

"I’m Doctor Miller. Detective Vecchio has you listed as next-of-kin."

He nodded and shook the surgeon’s hand as others began to gather around them.

"Ah, this is Lieutenant Welsh, Ray’s commanding officer, and Inspector Thatcher, my superior," he introduced as the two came close.

Dr. Miller greeted them then turned to Ben.

"How is he?" he asked, voicing the question he dared to speak.

"Still alive for the moment. He’s lost a great deal of blood and we had to excise part of his right lung, but luckily the bullet missed his heart."

Ben breathed a sigh of relief. //He’s alive.//

"He’s not out of the woods yet. His condition is extremely critical, but he is still with us. He’s in recovery now, but we’ll be moving him to Intensive Care soon. We’re going to keep him heavily sedated for a few days to give his body a chance to recoup," the doctor warned.

"He has trouble with anesthesia, and he’s known to fight upon waking," he informed dully. //He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive.//

The doctor nodded. "Thank you. That’s good to know."

"When can I see him?" He knew he sounded desperate, but the words were out before he could stop them.

"For a few minutes once we move him to the ICU. Don’t expect too much. He’ll be unconscious, and look like something out of a horror movie. Be prepared. And don’t get your hopes up. The situation is very, very tenuous."

"My detective’s a stubborn S.O.B, Doctor. He’ll pull through," Lieutenant Welsh replied.

Doctor Miller nodded. "I can see that already. He made it this far. He flatlined twice in the OR, but both times he came back. He’s definitely a fighter. We’re doing all we can for him right now. The rest is up to him."

Ben nodded. "Thank you, Doctor."

"I’ll tell the staff to let you come back as soon as he’s settled into the ICU."

"Thank you kindly."

Dr. Miller shook Ben’s hand then took his leave. After he was gone, Ben allowed himself to feel a small fissure of hope.

//He’s a fighter. He’s fighting. Fighting. Fighting to stay with me.//

"Well, that’s good news, isn’t it, Constable?" Inspector Thatcher said.

He nodded. "Yes."

Moving back to his bedroll, he rolled it up, then sat on a chair. He wanted to be ready when they told him he could see Ray. Inspector Thatcher came to sit next to him.

"Constable…"

"Yes, sir?"

"I want you to know that, while Detective Vecchio has, on occasion, tried my patience, I do not wish him any ill, and I am glad of his friendship with you."

He blinked, surprised. "Thank you, sir."

She looked away. "You keep yourself apart from everyone. You hold them at arm’s length. But him, you let in. I’ve never understood why, but I’m grateful for it. It’s not good for you to be alone the way you are." She paused, sighing slightly, then her Superior Officer mask was back in place and she stood. "Keep me apprised of his condition, Constable. I expect a full report whenever the situation changes."

"Understood, sir. Thank you, sir."

She gave him a curt nod, then walked out of the waiting room. Francesca took her place in the chair beside him. She’d been crying; he could see the tear tracks on her cheeks. When she sat down, she put her hand on his leg, covering his own hand that was resting there. He did not protest.

"He’ll be all right, Fraze. You’ll see."

"I dearly hope so, Francesca," he answered.

She sniffled. "I mean, he’s gotta be okay, right? He can’t die."

The first thought in his mind was that Ray very well could die, that he had almost died more than once, but he stopped himself. He was learning the fine art of discretion. Francesca wasn’t interested in an honest answer.

"Ray is strong," he said instead.

She nodded. "Yes, he is." She squeezed his hand. "Thanks, Fraze."

"For what?"

She smiled at him. "For telling me what I wanted to hear."

He blinked at her, but replied, "You’re welcome, Francesca."

"Family for Vecchio?" a nurse announced, coming in.

Ben stood up.

"I am next-of-kin."

"And I’m his sister. She’s his momma," Francesca added, pointing to her mother.

"Family can go in two at a time. He’s in bed eight."

Francesca looked at Ben.

"You go take Mrs. Vecchio in to see him. I’ll see him last," he told her, even though his mind was screaming to see Ray immediately.

Francesca kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you, Benton."

He waited patiently, keeping his façade of calm as Francesca and Ma Vecchio went in, then Lieutenant Welsh. Finally, what seemed like hours but was in actuality only fifteen minutes later, he made his way to Ray’s bedside.

He had been in hospital ICUs before, been a patient in one himself when the real Ray Vecchio had accidentally shot him, but nothing could prepare him for the sight of Ray Kowalski trussed and tubed like Frankenstein’s monster. Worse yet were the cuffs that secured the detective’s limbs to the bed. They were made of soft foam, but were restraints nonetheless.

"Hello," a female voice greeted and he looked up to see a nurse.

"I’m Gloria. I’ll be Mr. Vecchio’s night-nurse."

He nodded, returning his gaze to Ray. He must have pointed to the cuffs, because Gloria came close and adjusted them.

"He was fighting. We had to restrain him to minimize his stress."

Briefly he wondered how tying someone down, especially Ray, could reduce stress, but he said nothing. He desperately wanted to touch Ray, to reassure himself that Ray really was still alive, but there were so many tubes and wires that he did not know where would be safe to touch him. He settled on slipping his fingers in one pale, swollen hand.

"I’m here, Ray," he whispered, ignoring the hovering nurse.

He wasn’t expecting Ray to respond, but the glazed blue eyes cracked open, and the hand he had slipped his fingers into closed. He knew immediately, sensed instinctively, that Ray was frightened and confused. His assessment was confirmed when Ray began to weakly pull at the cuffs, a muffled moan escaping from around the ventilator tube in his throat. He felt the nurse coming closer, anticipated her concern. Ray’s struggles would raise his blood pressure and stress his already compromised body. He feared Gloria would make him leave if Ray did not calm down so he set to soothing his partner, hoping Ray would respond.

"Shhh. You’re safe. You’re in hospital," he cajoled, stroking the matted blond hair.

Ray moaned again, but turned his head towards Ben’s voice.

"You mustn’t struggle, Ray. You’ve been restrained, but it’s all right. You’re safe. You’re safe now. Don’t struggle. I’m here."

The detective pressed his forehead into Ben’s palm, making a little pained noise, but he did stop pulling at the cuffs.

"Thank you kindly, Ray."

Gloria eased back when Ray calmed, and Ben relaxed as well. Ray had responded to his voice and touch, and that thrilled him.

"May I stay with him?" he asked softly, glancing at the nurse.

She looked at him then to Ray and back again, her face thoughtful, and he realized how this must seem to her. He was next of kin while the woman who was supposedly Ray’s mother was not. It probably spoke volumes, and not all of it accurate.

"I’ll ask."

"Thank you kindly."

She left and he turned to Ray, still stroking the man’s hair. "They’re going to ask if I can stay with you, Ray."

He felt Ray sigh and tears stung his eyes. He bent close and whispered in the detective’s ear.

"Thank you. Thank you for not leaving me."

The hand around his clenched and unclenched weakly.

"I love you too, Ray."

He pulled back as Gloria returned.

"The head nurse says you can stay if you can keep him calm. We’re afraid to give him too much medication because that can drive down his blood pressure."

"I’ll do my best, m’am. I’ll… I’ll just get my bedroll." He spoke to Ray. "They’re going to let me stay with you. I must retrieve my pack and send Dief home with Francesca. I won’t be a moment."

The hand clenched again, then eased. He slipped his fingers from Ray’s weak grasp and stepped away. He waited a moment to see if Ray would react negatively to his leaving, but the other man remained quiet.

//He’s going to live.//

He knew it with his heart and soul. Ray would fight to stay with him, and later, when Ray was well, they would be together in love. But for now, Ray needed him to stay, and he needed to get his pack. Everything else could wait.

Giving a nod to the nurse, he moved past her and hurried to get his things.