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Giving Thanks

by Angela Rivieccio

He hadn't been given guard duty in quite some time -- the last time having been during the 'incident' with former stripper, Ms. Ida Banks. Inspector Thatcher had assigned him the duty as a form of punishment then for being late for his shift.

Apparently he was being punished again, although Fraser had yet to determine his transgression this time.

Out of the corner of his eye, Fraser spotted the emerald green Buick Riviera coming down the street. Ray had called him earlier in the day to tell him he'd been drafted by his mother to move some boxes out of the attic after work, and Fraser had eagerly offered his assistance. Ray accepted his offer gratefully, and invited him to stay for dinner afterwards. Mrs. Vecchio was an excellent cook, and Fraser looked forward to the meal, as well as experiencing the exuberance of Ray's family. A typical Vecchio family dinner was so unlike the meals he had shared with his grandparents as a child. Proper etiquette had been rigidly adhered to, and conversation was kept at a minimum. In Ray's boisterous Italian household, numerous conversations were held at the same time, and etiquette was broken more often than Mrs. Vecchio's homemade bread. After all the meals he'd shared with Ray's family, he still found the experience fascinating.

Ray parked the car illegally in the space in front of the Consulate, remaining in the car during the final minutes of Fraser's shift. The clock at the St. James Church down the block finally chimed Five p.m., and as the sound of the last bell faded, Fraser allowed his posture to relax.

"Diefenbaker," Fraser called to the wolf sleeping quietly beneath the wooden bench several yards down the block as he began moving towards the passenger door of Ray's car. Warm brown eyes opened, and the animal joined his master, jumping into the back seat of the Buick as Fraser held the front seat forward.

Releasing the seat, Fraser got in the car and shut the door. "Good afternoon, Ray."

Ray merged the car into evening traffic. "So what'd you do to get on The Dragon Lady's crumb list this time, Benny?"

"I have yet to determine the cause, Ray," Fraser replied, glancing at his friend as he put on his seatbelt. "Although it could have something to do with the incomplete faxes Constable Turnbull sent to Ottawa while the Inspector was out of the office yesterday."

"But what's that got to do with you? It was Turnbull's mistake. He should be the one standing in front of the door making like a statue, not you!" Ray was indignant.

"Yes, it was Turnbull's error," Fraser agreed, "but Inspector Thatcher did leave me in charge while she was gone, so ultimately I was responsible--"

"Oh, please," Ray snapped, cutting him off. "She just looks for any excuse to browbeat you."

"Well, she did receive a rather irate phone call from her superiors in Ottawa this morning over the error, Ray," Fraser defended his boss.

"So what does she do? She turns right around and takes it out on you, Fraser. And you, being the perfect and polite Mountie that you are, just stood there and let her walk all over you. You gotta learn to stick up for yourself more, Benny."

Fraser remained silent, staring out the windshield straight ahead as the city streets passed by.

A few minutes later, Ray cleared his throat. "So anyway, Ma decides she wants to clean up the attic the other day, and she's been hounding everybody to go up there and go through all the junk to decide what we want to keep and what we want to get rid of. Tonight it's my turn."

Fraser accepted the subject change gratefully. "Well, the periodic review of one's possessions is always a worthwhile endeavor, Ray. Often people hang on to items that are totally useless, but have a strong emotional attachment at the time. Going through the items collected at a later date allows the person to gain enough perspective to more accurately assess an item's true value."

"Well, if you ask me, she's off by two whole seasons," Ray muttered.

They arrived at Ray's house a short time later. Fraser always enjoyed visiting the Vecchio home, so unlike any of the places he'd ever lived in. Dark wood paneling, parquet floors and the always wonderful aroma of Mrs. Vecchio's cooking gave a warm and welcoming ambiance to the three story home.

Warm and welcoming, Fraser thought, but not always peaceful, as they were nearly barreled over by a hoard of boisterous seven- year-olds as they walked in.

"Whoa, take it easy, Mikey," Ray cautioned as his nephew rushed by. "Or I'll have to give you a ticket for 'reckless driving.'"

Michael ignored him.

"Come on in, Benny, but don't get stepped on," Ray chuckled as he hung up his coat. "They may be small, but you'd think you'd been run over by a Mack truck if you get in their way."

"Understood," Fraser replied with a nod, even though he knew Ray was not serious. He followed his friend into the kitchen, where Mrs. Vecchio was busy preparing a large dinner for the family.

"Hi, Ma," Ray said as he gave his mother a kiss on the cheek. "What's for dinner?"

"Stuffed Shells and Braciola with gravy," the woman replied, as she returned the kiss, then whacked at her son's hand as it strayed a bit too close to the pile of cubed mozzarella. "Hello, Benton."

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Vecchio," Fraser responded with a smile. "I must say, dinner smells absolutely wonderful, as always."

"It's good of you to help Ray out like this. If he had to do it himself he'd not only miss Thanksgiving dinner, but Christmas dinner as well."

"Come on, Ma," Ray protested. "I don't have that much junk up there. Most of it's Frannie's. She's still got her Barbie dolls, for cryin' out loud."

The door to the kitchen opened and the sister in question walked in, her face lighting up when she saw the Mountie. "Oh, hello, Benton. I didn't expect to see you here tonight."

"Yeah, right," Maria said as she followed her younger sister into the room. "That's why you just spent an hour in the bathroom putting on make-up."

"It was not an hour," Francesca corrected, annoyance strong in her voice. "Forty-five minutes, tops."

"Good afternoon, Francesca, Maria," Fraser offered politely, scrupulously not responding to the amorous attentions of Ray's younger sister. She had shown an above-average interest in him since the first time Ray had brought him home to dinner over two years ago, and actively pursued him for quite some time afterward. But she had toned down things quite a bit after showing up at his apartment late one night dressed only in her coat and a very revealing teddy, intent on claiming her prize -- him. Bruised and beaten after he'd been viciously worked over by Frank Zuko's hoods, he'd somehow managed to persuade her into leaving. She still flirted with him, and would not hesitate to follow through on her goal if he were to suggest even the slightest hint of interest in her, but at least now she was a little more subtle about it. Subtle for Francesca, that is.

"Come on, Benny," Ray interrupted his musings. "The faster we get this done, the faster we can eat."

"Oh, of course, Ray. Ladies, if you'll excuse us?"

He followed Ray up the two flights of stairs to the attic, waiting until he turned the light on before glancing around the small area. A lifetime's worth of memorabilia was stored in boxes and bags piled a semi-chaotic fashion. Fraser shook his head, amused. All of his worldly possessions could be packed up in one or two of his kitbags.

"I know my stuff is around here somewhere..." Ray muttered as he rifled through the boxes, apparently looking for something. "Ah, here we go." He looked up to meet Fraser's gaze. "Well don't just stand there, Fraser."

Fraser nodded and joined him.

"The others have already gone through their stuff," Ray explained as he opened up a box. "We brought some of it over to Goodwill, and those stacks of boxes over by the door are what's left. Junk mostly. We'll bring them down and put them out with the garbage tonight."

Ray rifled through a box of papers. "School stuff. Keep it." Grabbing the masking tape, he resealed the box, then shoved it to the floor so he could get to the box beneath it.

Fraser watched as Ray opened box after box of possessions, rummage through them, then decide to keep what was inside. "Ray," he questioned after the fourth box, "I thought the purpose of this 'Spring Cleaning,' as you called it, was to discard items that were no longer needed?"

"It is," Ray replied as he taped yet another box closed.

"Well, forgive me, Ray, but how can a box full of old comic books be considered useful?"

Ray's eyes went wide. "Fraser, those weren't just 'old comic books,' those were "Superman" comic books. They're worth a fortune."

"Really?"

Ray shook his head in exasperation. "What can you expect from a guy who read Thomas Paine as a kid..." he mumbled under his breath, but loud enough for the Canadian to hear.

Each box revealed some new insight into his friend, and Fraser found himself enjoying this task that most others, including Ray himself, found boring. His favorite box had been the one with some old photographs of Ray -- family photos, school pictures, and the like. It had been a treat for Fraser to see what Ray had looked like when he was younger. Ray caught him smiling over a picture of Ray, Francesca and Maria dressed in Halloween costumes. Francesca was dressed in some sort of science fiction type of mini-dress uniform, Maria as a Flapper, and Ray was doing his best John Travolta imitation: white polyester suit, open shirt, lots of gold around his neck, and a full head of hair.

"Yup, that was me: Ray Vecchio -- Disco King."

In the end, Ray decided to get rid of only two boxes: one filled with out-of-date clothing, and the other filled with old bills and tax records dating back ten years.

Fraser moved to the stack of boxes near the door. With a quick glance, he counted eleven boxes of varying sizes that were waiting to be discarded. He gave one of the top boxes a slight push, testing its weight. The contents inside shifted, rattling against the cardboard. "What's in this box, Ray?"

Ray began sealing up one of the boxes. "Uh, books, I think."

"And you're throwing them away?"

"They're a bunch of old books, Fraser. What else am I gonna do with them?"

"There are many people less fortunate than we are who would love the opportunity to read a good book, Ray," Fraser informed him.

"Oh, excuse me, I forgot who I was talking to -- The Library Crusader strikes again," came the sarcastic reply.

The corner of Fraser's mouth turned upward in a faint smile at his friend's teasing comment. "Not everyone is lucky enough to be sharing the holidays with a large family, Ray. Perhaps the only company they might have this Thanksgiving is a good book." He knew this from personal experience. Until moving to Chicago, that was the way in which Fraser himself had spent many a holiday.

"Well, maybe Canadians would spend the holidays with their nose in a book, but any American worth his salt would be sitting in front of the TV watching football..."

Fraser frowned, unable to tell if Ray was serious. "There are many people alone in this world who would be very thankful for the company of a good book, Ray--"

"Yeah, 'God bless us, everyone' and all that," Ray snorted with a shake of his head, starting to tape the final box closed. "Thankful, huh? What about you, Benny? Like you've got so much to be thankful for? You're exiled from your own country, live in one of the worst neighborhoods in the city, and have a boss that walks all over you like a doormat. That should definitely put you in the holiday spirit."

Fraser blinked at him, the cop's words stinging him a bit. "I have many things to be thankful for this holiday season, Ray..."

The muffled sound of Mrs. Vecchio's voice interrupted them. "Ramondo, Benton! You can finish that later. Dinner's ready."

"Come on, Fraser. We'll take these out now and get the rest later," Ray instructed, hefting the box in his arms.

Picking up the box of books in question, Fraser led the way out of the attic, Ray following behind him. "Ray, perhaps I can take these books home with me and donate them to the local community center..."

Amusement was strong in Ray's voice as he replied, "Whatever, Fraser."

By the time they reached the second floor, he could hear Ray puffing behind him. As they walked down the hall towards the stairs leading to the first floor, Fraser sought to distract him. "So what is the menu your mother is preparing for Thanksgiving dinner, Ray?"

"Oh, Benny..." Ray said, his pleasure coming through in breathless gasps. "Lasagna... Turkey with all the trimmings..."

"Give me that!" The angry voice of one of Ray's nephews sounded from the boy's bedroom.

"No!"

"Mikey! Come back here!!"

Fraser heard the sound of feet running on wooden floors, and caught a blur of motion at the corner of his eye. He was starting to turn to see what was happening when he felt something small and hard bump into him, causing the heavy box to shift in his arms. He fumbled to regain his grip on the carton, his left leg moving back automatically to brace the awkward weight.

"FRASER!"

The sudden, disorienting sensation of falling took him by surprise. An arm flailed out as he made a desperate attempt to check his momentum, but he was too late.

Ray's panicked voice was the last thing he heard before his head impacted with the stairs. A million white hot stars exploded before his eyes, and the incredible pain that followed dragged him into the waiting darkness.

**********

Fraser walked briskly down the street, heading back towards the Consulate. He was returning from his weekly dry cleaning run for Inspector Thatcher and didn't want to be late. In addition to the usual business suits she wore, this week she had needed her dress uniform cleaned in preparation for Inspector General McLennan's visit next week. She was driving the entire consular staff insane as she readied her post for inspection, delegating duties as she saw fit. The menial tasks were left to him.

Well, to be fair, Fraser wound up with the menial tasks that Constable Turnbull couldn't handle.

Entering the Consulate, he immediately reported to Thatcher's office, unconsciously straightening before knocking on the door.

"Come in."

He opened the door and stood at attention before her desk.

She did not stop typing on her laptop computer. "Did they give you any trouble with that stain on the blue blouse?"

"No, sir, they were able to remove it completely. However, they did add on an additional charge for the pre-treatment that was necessary in order for them to do so."

"Fine," she replied, still not looking at him. "You're on guard duty for the early shift this morning, Constable. After that, you are to follow up on the Newton case with the Chicago police department. I want the report on my desk by five o'clock."

She picked up the file and handed it to him, meeting his gaze for the first time that morning.

"Understood, sir."

"Dismissed." She returned to her computer.

Fraser hesitated, making no move to leave the office.

"What is it now, Fraser?"

"Your dry cleaning, sir?" He indicated the clothing which he still held in his right hand.

She sighed. "Just hang it in the closet on your way out, Constable."

"Yes, sir."

Fraser turned and followed his orders, hanging up the clothing quickly before exiting her office. He left the file on the desk in his own office before taking up position outside the front door of the Consulate, a position with which he had become incredibly familiar.

How little his life in Chicago had changed over the past few years. When he had originally requested the transfer to this posting three years ago, he had been in search of his father's murderer. Constable Brighton, angry at him for usurping her promotion, had repeatedly assigned him the duty and whatever other menial tasks she could find. When he'd been sent back to this city, in exile for turning in a fellow Mountie, Inspector Moffatt had seen no reason for any changes to be made in the duty roster. Of course, Inspector Moffatt often had not seen a lot that went on around him.

It had been a difficult adjustment for him to make, leaving behind the only life he had ever known to move to such a large urban area. Until then, the largest city he'd ever worked in was Moosejaw, and he had been unable to make the adjustment that time...

If he were to be completely honest with himself, had he truly been able to make the adjustment this time, either?

His entire life now revolved around a job in which he was of little use at all -- nearly sixteen years of law enforcement training wasted as he stood as still as stone day in and day out. Oh, on occasion, Inspector Thatcher allowed him to do office work: processing passports and the like, but that had only been a recent development. Although since Constable Turnbull had been assigned to the Consulate, those occasions were becoming more and more frequent.

When he was not at work, he was at his small one-room apartment with Diefenbaker. The companionship of his wolf was one of the few things that made his new life bearable. Oh, he'd made acquaintances with his neighbors, once they had stopped slamming their doors in his face. They'd even gone so far as to take more notice of those around them. The halls were no longer strewn with trash, and graffiti no longer covered the walls. He volunteered at the local soup kitchen and community center, and, over time, people in the neighborhood began to come to him if they needed help. He was known, now, and trusted by those who lived in an area of the city that didn't trust easily.

Yet Fraser was still alone. Of all the people he came into contact with on a regular basis, no one had tried to move beyond the acquaintance stage, no one had tried to see beyond the larger- than-life image the Mountie uniform projected, and no one had been able to breech the barriers a lifetime of loneliness had long ago erected to protect him from hurt and loss.

So Fraser performed his duties to the best of his abilities, continued to make himself available to those who needed help during his off hours, and took each day as it came. It would have been the same if he had still been stationed up in the Yukon.

But at least there he had the wide open spaces, the snow-covered landscapes, the clean air, and that familiar sensation he felt when he woke up each morning, the one that said 'home.'

He missed that feeling still, even after three years in the city. Fraser remained in Chicago because he had no choice. When Inspector Thatcher had first assumed her new duties she had taken an instant dislike to him. The first thing she had tried to get rid of was his brown uniform. When he had politely refused to begin wearing the more updated blue uniform, she had fired him, but later relented, giving him the option of transferring to a vacant posting in Kamloops. Not happy with life in Chicago, he had applied for the transfer...

...and had been turned down flatly.

Apparently, it was going to take a lot longer than a year before his fellow officers were willing to put his past behind him.

The clock tower at the St. James Church down the block sounded its mid-day chimes, and Fraser relaxed his posture. He would have half an hour for lunch before he went over the 27th precinct to pick up the required information on one Jason Newton, a Canadian citizen who had been arrested for attempted murder. However Fraser was not that hungry, so he decided to set out for the police station early.

Returning to his office briefly to get the file, he began walking westward down King Street. He didn't get as much exercise as he used to up in the Yukon, where one could walk for miles and miles without seeing a single human soul amidst the snow-covered wilderness, so he often ignored the modern conveniences the big city had to offer, such as public transportation, preferring to walk whenever possible.

The sidewalks were crowded, filled with people rushing about their day, paying more attention to the clock than to the world around them. How different it was from the life he had left behind, where time was marked by the falling snow, or the length of a sunset.

He arrived at the large brick building some twenty minutes later and went inside, heading upstairs to the Major Crimes unit. He had been here several times in the past three years. The first time was when he'd been investigating his father's murder, and the evidence pointed to a group of Chicago dentists. But the investigation was going nowhere at this end, until he'd finally come to see the American detective who had been assigned the case.

The Mountie entered the bullpen, glancing around the room quickly and finding the corner desk empty. A young, dark-skinned woman approached him, a bright smile on her face. "Constable Fraser, good to see you again."

Fraser smiled at her. "Ah, Miss Besbriss. The pleasure is mine. Can you tell me if Detective Vecchio is in today?"

"Yeah, he's here somewhere. I think he went down to Records a little while ago, but he should be back soon."

"Is it all right if I wait at his desk?"

She shrugged. "Well, I was just going to the break room for some lunch. You want to join me?"

His mouth suddenly going dry, Fraser cleared his throat noisily. "Uh, no, but thank you kindly for the offer. I really must return to the Consulate as soon as I obtain some information from Detective Vecchio when he returns. I'd rather not risk missing him, you understand."

The civilian aide sighed. "Suit yourself. Maybe I'll see you later, then?"

"Perhaps, but in case you don't, thank you kindly for your assistance."

"Anytime..."

With a tip of his Stetson, he turned and crossed the large room, seating himself in the empty chair opposite Vecchio's desk. His eyes quickly scanned over the unorganized clutter that littered the desktop. File folders covered almost every square inch of the desk, and a pile sitting haphazardly at the corner threatened to topple at the slightest breeze. There were only two personal effects visible amidst the chaos -- a small Statue of Liberty statue, and what he believed was called a 'Nerf' ball squished in the corner against the wall. Fraser shook his head. If his desk at the Consulate had looked anything like this, Inspector Thatcher would have him up in front of a review board, charged with reckless misuse of government property.

But it seemed to be typical for the American who had assisted in solving his father's case. Vecchio been incredibly rude to him the first time they'd met. Well, to be fair, Fraser had blown his cover, but since the detective had been attempting to illegally entrap a fellow officer at the time... His attitude had not improved much during the course of the investigation. The few updates Vecchio had begrudgingly spared the time to give him as the cop tracked down Drake had been brief, and he had repeatedly reminded the Canadian that he had forty-one other American crimes he had to solve. Then the cop had been injured from a bomb blast in Drake's apartment, and Gerard had killed Drake himself after the hitman had attempted to kill Fraser in the hospital parking garage after visiting the detective...

Since he'd been permanently assigned to the Consulate in Chicago, he'd had several dealings with the cynical Italian, none of which had improved their working relationship much. From what he'd seen, Vecchio had the makings of a good cop, but his attitude got in the way constantly, until he alienated everyone around him. It was a pity that, from the little he knew of the man, the detective's greatest enemy appeared to be Vecchio himself.

The object of his thoughts entered the bullpen a moment later, in the middle of an apparent argument with a fellow detective.

"...If you really think that that's all it's gonna take to nail Jenkins on that burglary rap then you're in for a rude awakening, Jack."

"That's the plan, Vecchio, and it's been approved by the Lieutenant," the dark detective returned, annoyance strong in his voice. "You want in or not?"

Vecchio shook his head, turning for his desk. "I've got better things to do with my time -- like watch the Cubs kick butt down at O'Malley's tonight..." The detective's hard eyes met Fraser's as he drew near. "Well, look what we've got here. It's Sergeant Preston of the Yukon. No doubt here to report the theft of a gallon of maple syrup from the local Safeway."

Fraser ignored the caustic remark as he rose to his feet. "Good afternoon, Detective Vecchio. Actually, I'm here to pick up the case report on Jason Newton. I believe you were expecting me."

Vecchio sat down at his desk, rummaging through some files. "Oh, yes. Heaven forbid you keep your fellow red coats up in Ottumwa waiting..."

"Ottawa," Fraser corrected automatically.

"Yeah, like there's a difference."

"Well, yes, as a matter of fact there is," Fraser sat down opposite the American. "Ottawa, located in the province of Ontario, is the Canadian Capitol, not unlike your Washington, D.C., although it is not a district unto itself. Ottumwa is a small American town located in the state of Iowa--"

"Will you knock off with the geography lesson, Constable?" the cop snapped at him. "Jeez, don't you Mounties have anything better to do in your off hours than memorize the World Book Encyclopedia?"

And do you spend your all your off-duty time alone in a bar? Fraser wondered, surprised that the question would cross his mind at all. To the detective he replied, "One must undergo an intensive program of study in order to graduate the Academy." And growing up in your grandparent's library is an added plus.

"Of course. Gotta be able to tell a moose from a beaver and all that." Vecchio's voice was full of sarcasm. He finally pulled a thin file folder from the pile at the corner of his desk. It teetered precariously for an endless moment, but fortunately remained upright. He handed Fraser the file. "There. Now maybe I can get back to solving American crimes, instead of doing the grunt work for the suits in Ottawa."

Fraser's gaze focused on the folder as his hand closed around the smooth cardboard. He was strangely disturbed by the detective's derisive attitude. Didn't his job performance matter to him at all? What had happened to make Ray Vecchio so angry and so cynical? Why did this man go out of his way to keep people at arm's length?

And, most of all, why did it suddenly matter to Fraser at all?

"What's the matter, Fraser? Your compass broken, or did you forget the way back to the Consulate?"

His eyes snapped up to meet the cool green orbs watching him from across the desk. Was there anything behind that cold glint that could be causing this response in him now, after all this time?

"No, no," Fraser replied, lowering the file to his side. "But I was just wondering, um, would you care for some company at O'Malley's this evening? I mean," he rushed on, suddenly uncomfortable beneath that intense gaze, "I understand that this is an important match in the Baseball Series."

"It's not a 'match,' it's a game," Vecchio corrected. "And it's the 'World Series.' Yeah, some fun watchin' the game with you would be. What's the matter, your Dad was too busy playing King of the Snowpile with all the caribou to teach you anything about baseball?"

Fraser stilled in his chair, stung by the hurtful words so casually spoken by the detective... and by the fact that he had indeed learned about the game from his classmates, and from books in his grandparent's library, rather than from his father, who had deemed the game frivolous and a waste of time.

There was a brief flash of something that might have been regret in Vecchio's eyes before the cool glint returned. "Look, Constable, if you don't need anything else here, I gotta get back to work."

No, Detective Vecchio... There is obviously no reason for me to remain here... Fraser rose stiffly from his chair. "Yes. I'm sorry to have disturbed you, Detective. Thank you kindly for your assistance."

He turned and left the precinct.

Fraser walked back towards the Consulate on auto-pilot, his mind reviewing his bizarre actions back at the station. Why had he boldly invited himself to join Detective Vecchio that evening? And why had that final caustic barb cut so deeply?

"When are we going home, son?" Robert Fraser asked him, his tone a mixture of longing and annoyance.

Fraser continued walking, not turning to face the man now keeping pace beside him. He had become used to his father popping in and out of his life during the past few years. Occasionally he would offer his son some fatherly advice, but mostly he would show up when the younger Fraser was feeling a bit homesick, and pester him to return to Canada. Fraser had yet to determine if his father's apparition was a ghost, or a figment of his imagination. "I wish I knew, Dad..."

"The smell of the pine trees at Spring thaw," the elder man continued, "the annual caribou migration, running the dogs wide open in pursuit of a suspect..."

"...The minus forty degree temperatures, being snowed in for weeks at a time, not seeing another human soul for miles," Fraser added, a faint trace of sarcasm in his voice.

"Home, son. There's no other place like it."

No... no, there isn't, he agreed silently. He dodged a couple of teenagers on rollerblades.

"You don't belong here, Benton," his father informed him, and not for the first time, either. "Soon you'll become like that obnoxious Yank. Your detection skills are already beginning to suffer."

Fraser's head snapped around, his gaze boring into the older man. "They have not."

"Sure they have. How well can you track a man amidst all the trash lining these streets, or the foul smells from their garbage?"

"Help!"

The sudden shout of a woman from somewhere up ahead caused Fraser's head to snap around, and he broke into a run. As he moved quickly down the street he saw the elderly woman holding on to a lamp post in support, and two young men running away from the scene of the crime. He stopped momentarily, a hand coming to rest on her arm. "Are you all right, ma'am?"

"Yes... My purse! They stole my purse!"

Fraser nodded. "I'll be right back."

Then he took off after the thieves.

He ran full out, knowing they had a lead on him. There wasn't enough time to climb up to a nearby rooftop, as the buildings in this area were all at least five stories high. He turned down the alley where he had seen the suspects duck into and stopped.

It was a dead end.

He moved ahead slowly, his eyes scanning for signs of the thieves behind some of the large boxes and crates that littered the narrow passageway. There were two doors on his right, and one on his left. He tried turning the knob on the first door, but it was locked. He continued on towards the second door, peering around the garbage dumpster against the wall, but it, too, was locked.

As he turned towards the opposite doorway the lid of the dumpster swung open. Fraser turned back towards the sound to find one of the suspects glaring at him, a wicked smile parting his lips.

Decoy...

He heard the other's approach from behind him too late, as something hard made painful contact with the back of his skull, and the world around him went black.

His phone was ringing, but Ray Vecchio didn't want to answer it. The last thing he needed right now was to add to the 49 backlogged cases he was working on.

But the phone kept on ringing.

Finally he snatched it up, bringing the receiver to his ear. "What?!"

"Don't talk like that to your mother, Ramondo, or you won't get any linguini for dinner tonight."

Ray sighed. "Sorry, Ma. What's up?"

"I need you to stop off at the Deli on the way home and pick up a pound of prosciutto--"

"Ma," he interrupted impatiently. "I'm not sure what time I'm gonna get out of here tonight. Welsh has been on the warpath again. The store'll probably be closed by then. Get Frannie to do it."

Silence.

Ray resisted the urge to bang his head against the desktop. "Okay, Ma... What's the matter this time?"

"It's that man she's been dating, Ray. He's no good for her..."

They'd had this conversation before, so many times in the past few years that he'd lost count. Ever since her divorce nearly four years ago his younger sister had been dating a string of losers. Why couldn't she find a nice guy and settle down... so his mother would stop bugging him to run background checks on every guy she went out with.

For that matter, why couldn't he find another good woman to settle down with for himself...

"Ray, are you listening to me?"

"Ma, I don't have time to deal with this right now. I'm sure Frannie will be fine."

"Ray..."

"I gotta go now. See you tonight."

Her reply of, "Ciao, caro," was nearly lost as he hung up the receiver.

He sighed again. The past few years had not been kind to the Vecchio household. First his divorce from Angie, then Francesca's divorce from that two-timing jerk. At least Maria and Tony were still married, although their marriage had run aground several times over the years. If Tony would only find a job and stick with it...

"Vecchio," Lieutenant Welsh's voice boomed out from the doorway of his office. "Where's the Leeman robbery file you were supposed to have on my desk two hours ago?"

He made a show of grabbing the open file on his desk, a file that was clearly labeled 'Bond, Casey.' "Right here, sir. Just putting the finishing touches on it, sir. It'll be on your desk in an hour."

Welsh shook his head knowingly and went back into his office.

Ray glanced around the bullpen, finding his colleagues' eyes on him. He glared right back at them until they returned to their work. He knew his reputation as a police officer wasn't the greatest, but he did do his job... Eventually.

Well, he admitted to himself, I suppose I could do it a bit better, but...

The hours were long, and the rewards weren't many, but it wasn't like Ray Vecchio had anything better to do with his time.

His job and his family, that's all he had.

A flash of red caught his eye, and he looked up to see Dudley Do- Right incarnate approaching him from across the room. This time he couldn't resist the urge to bang his head against the desktop. Great. Just what I need right now...

"Good afternoon, Detective Vecchio," Benton Fraser said in his perpetually polite voice. "If I may speak with you a moment?"

"A moment is all you'll get, Constable," Ray replied, closing the Bond file and rummaging through the folders on his desk for the Leeman file.

The Mountie remained standing at attention. "Oh. Well, I left a message for you yesterday, requesting your final report on the Karmichael case so that the Consulate could send the completed case file to Ottawa--"

"Yeah, well I never got it," Vecchio muttered, finding the file he was looking for and opening it.

Fraser reached out and tilted a stack of files up at an angle, removing a pile of pink 'While You Were Out' message slips from beneath them. "Yes, so I see. Perhaps it might be a wise idea to better organize your desk, Detective. You wouldn't want to miss an important message in regard to one of your cases."

"Thank you, Mister Efficiency."

He finally looked up at the Canadian. There was no sarcasm on the man's face, no hint of the disdain he so often found on the faces of his fellow officers, just that open, guileless look that he'd seen numerous times before when he and the Mountie had crossed paths over the past three years. One would think that this polite, naive man was trying to offer something more than just helpful advice.

"Look, Fraser. You'll have to come back for the report. I don't have time to work on it right now."

"If it is a matter of typing up the report, I'd be happy to do it if you would be willing to lend me your typewriter for a brief time."

Annoyance began building. Not only did the guy have the nerve to type 100 words a minute, but he had to flaunt the fact that he has the time to spare to do someone else's work. "Uh, I need the typewriter myself right now. I'll give you a call tomorrow and you can come pick it up then."

The noise level rose suddenly as another detective brought in a rather angry suspect, who was forcibly seated in the chair opposite his desk.

"Perhaps I could borrow someone else's typewriter?" Fraser suggested helpfully. "This would leave you more time to work on another case."

"Will you knock it off!" Ray snarled. "Go back to your own orderly desk and play with your pencils. Some of us have real work to do here!"

There was a brief flicker of emotion in Fraser's clear blue eyes before they blinked several times, the impassive mask settling over his face once more. "Understood."

Ray returned his gaze to the file on his desk as the Mountie turned to leave, but he found himself feeling guilty for snapping at the man, who was only trying to be helpful. He and the Canadian hadn't really hit it off since they met three years ago, but it wasn't as though the Mountie hadn't tried. Like I'd have time to be friends with him, Ray sarcastically thought to himself. I have so many other friends knocking at my door...

He glanced up to call Fraser back, but he never got the chance. As if in slow motion he saw Fraser passing the desk where the detective was interrogating his suspect. Suddenly the man in handcuffs jerked to his feet, hands reaching out to snatch the pair of scissors that sat in the pencil cup on the desk. The detective's hand reached out to grab his violent prisoner, but his hands clutched about empty air as the man lunged forward, the scissors raised above his head. The weapon began coming down in a powerful arc...

Aimed right at the Mountie's unprotected back.

"FRASER!!!"



With a strangled gasp, Ray bolted upright in his chair, green eyes wide and unfocused. He blinked rapidly, his heart pounding hard and fast in his chest, and reality focused around him.

The hospital.

His eyes locked on the still form of his unconscious friend on the bed closest to the window. No monitors were hooked up to the Canadian, no IV dripped into his arm, and luckily, no sharp scissors had torn through vulnerable flesh and bone. A white gauze bandage at the Mountie's right temple covered the gash that had bled profusely, his cheek and eye puffy and bruised from where Fraser's head had struck the stairs.

Ray sighed in relief. He must have fallen asleep, although he wondered how that was possible, as the chair he was sitting in was so uncomfortable. The unsettling images from his dream slowly began to fade from his memory, but the feelings they had provoked did not -- the aching emptiness of a life in which Fraser was not his friend. Fraser had become such a large part of his life over the past three years that the very idea of him no longer being around was unthinkable.

A shudder ran through his lean frame as his mind replayed in vivid detail those few panicked minutes that nearly had made the unthinkable a reality........



"Mikey, come back here!"

His nephew ran out of his room, clutching...something...in his hands. His head was turned back towards the doorway, and he didn't see Fraser nearing the top of the stairs that led to the first floor of the house as he rushed down the hall. Ray watched as he bumped into the Mountie and kept right on going.

The box tilted awkwardly in Fraser's arms, and Ray saw him move quickly to regain a firm grip on it. His eyes widened in fear, then panic, as he saw the Mountie's left foot move back to brace himself, only to stumble backwards on the top stair.

"FRASER!"

Ray dropped the box he was carrying and rushed forward, but he had been too far away to prevent the Mountie's fall. He could only watch helplessly as Fraser made a desperate grab for the rungs of the banister and missed. His head slammed into the hard wooden steps, and Fraser's body went limp, continuing to tumble down the stairs like a puppet whose strings had been cut. The cardboard box split open in its uncontrolled descent, and the heavy volumes rained down around Fraser as he came to an abrupt halt against the wall at the base of the landing.

Ray raced down the stairs, nearly slipping on one of the books himself, and crouched beside the still body of his friend, hastily tossing away the books that lay on top of Fraser in order to get a good look at him.

Mrs. Vecchio and Maria came running out of the kitchen at the sound of someone falling. "Ray!" his mother shouted, her eyes widening in fear when her eyes took in the scene.

"Call an ambulance, Ma!"

The Vecchio matriarch ran for the phone. At the top of the stairs Francesca stood next to her nephew and his friend. "Oh my God! Ray, what happened?!"

Ray ignored her, all his attention focused on the injured man before him. Fraser lay so still, blood spilling copiously from a gash at his temple. Ray reached out a shaking hand to check his pulse. Please be there... Oh, God, please let him still be alive!

When he felt the weak beat beneath his fingers he nearly sobbed in relief. It was slow, but regular.

"He's alive," Ray told his family, who had all gathered around in concern.

His mother returned, thrusting a hand towel at him. "The ambulance is on its way."

Ray took the towel, folded it, and pressed it against Fraser's head wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding. The Mountie's body was twisted awkwardly, but he hesitated to move him, not willing to risk further injury.

It seemed like an eternity had passed before the sound of sirens approaching could be heard. Fraser had shown no sign of regaining consciousness, and Ray's fear for his friend's life caused his gut to clench into tight knots.

Mrs. Vecchio let the paramedics in the house, and Ray was forced to move away from Fraser so that they could work. He answered their questions about the accident, Fraser's current state of health, and watched as they cleaned and bandaged the gash on Fraser's forehead, checked for him for broken bones, and prepared him for transport by securing him to a backboard, his head held immobile by a hard neck brace.

The entire family trailed after the gurney as they brought Fraser out to the ambulance. The paramedics wouldn't let Ray ride in with them the ambulance, so he had followed behind them in the Buick, the red police light flashing, keeping pace with the fast moving vehicle as it raced towards Chicago Memorial Hospital. His family had wanted to come with him to the hospital as well, concerned about the Canadian, whom they had adopted as a member of the family almost from the first time Ray had first brought him home, and not wanting Ray to have to wait all alone, but he insisted they stay home, promising to call when he found out anything.

He filled out the required forms, having had to do this for Fraser

more times than he cared to think about since they'd become friends. Then he waited, sitting down in an uncomfortable plastic chair, and staring blankly into space as memories of the past three years streamed through his mind in no particular order.

"Detective Vecchio?"

Ray practically jumped to his feet, meeting the young doctor who had called his name by the swinging doorway to the Emergency Room. "Yeah, I'm Ray Vecchio."

"If you'll come with me, please?"

He followed the physician into a small office just inside the E.R. The blond man sat down behind the desk, and indicated the chair opposite. Ray sat down heavily, preparing for the worst.

"I'm Doctor Nicholas Carson, and I'm in charge of Constable Fraser's case."

"How is he?"

"Your friend is a very lucky man, all things considered. Constable Fraser sustained a concussion in the fall, and was unconscious for approximately twenty minutes before coming to for a brief period in the E.R. We're admitting him so we can monitor him for the next twenty-four hours or so, which is standard procedure with any head injury. There were no broken bones, although he's pretty banged up. He'll experience some pain and discomfort as his body begins to heal, but we can't give him any pain medication at this juncture because of the concussion. Barring complications, he should be able to go home tomorrow afternoon, although he might have a bit of trouble moving around for the next few days."

Relief overwhelmed him, and Ray was glad the doctor had asked him to sit down. "Can I see him?"

"We'll be moving him into a room shortly. I'll have one of the nurses let you know as soon as you can visit." Doctor Carson climbed to his feet.

Ray extended his hand as he stood. "Thanks a lot, Doc..."

He couldn't keep the smile off his face as he walked out of the E.R. and headed for the pay phone down the hall to call his family........



Ray stretched in the chair, feeling cramped after his brief nap, then climbed to his feet to walk around the quiet room for a few moments, finally stopping by the window and leaning tiredly against the wall. It was almost Eight PM, and darkness had descended upon the city long ago, yet the streets below were still crowded, people still rushing from place to place, afraid life would rush on without them if they were too slow. Ray wondered if they truly appreciated what they had.

There was a small sound from behind him, and Ray turned to see Fraser making small restless movements in the bed. He moved to Fraser's side, dragging the chair up close to the bed so he could sit beside his friend, and sent up a quick prayer for Fraser's mental well being. The last time the Mountie had suffered a blow to the head, he'd forgotten everything -- himself, Diefenbaker, Ray, and the friendship the cop had come to depend on so completely in the past three years. Ray had never felt so bereft as he did during those few long hours when he'd lost one of the most important people in his life, and he didn't ever want to have to go through that again.

"Come on, Benny," he encouraged quietly. "You can do it..."

Dark eyelashes fluttered, eyelids blinking rapidly as the blue orbs beneath attempted to focus on the world around him. Fraser's head turned towards him, his groggy gaze meeting Ray's.

"Detective Vecchio...." the quiet voice said, lacking its usual strength. "Sorry to make you miss your game..."

Ray frowned in puzzlement, the tension his brief nap had helped alleviate coming back in full force. What game? 'Detective Vecchio?' Benny's never called me that... What's going on?

"Benny, are you okay?"

Fraser continued to stare at him, the expression on his face still one of hazy confusion. He blinked again several times, and Ray could see his friend struggle to gain a toe-hold on reality. Finally those blue eyes began to clear. "Ray...?"

"I'm here, Benny," he answered, concern still clearly audible in his voice. He knew from personal experience how murky the world seemed when coming to after a blow to the head.

Fraser tried to make himself more comfortable on the bed, a quiet moan escaping him as his bruised body protested the movement.

"Hey, don't move around too much, Benny. You're pretty banged up. Do you remember what happened?"

A slight frown marred the handsome features. "I... I fell, I think. Stairs?" He paused at Ray's nod. "I remember... we were in an attic, there was the smell of food cooking... Dinner, at your house. We were going downstairs, then... I remember falling, but it's all a bit hazy."

"Oh, good. You're awake..."

Ray turned to see a nurse standing in the open doorway to Fraser's room, an open chart in her hands. "He just came to a minute ago."

The middle aged woman approached her patient and his visitor. "Makes my job a bit easier." She put the chart down on the table and began her examination. "I'm nurse Dillon, but you can call me

Annie. Now I'm going to have to ask you a few questions here, so the doctors know I'm doing my job. And no help from the peanut gallery, please. What's your name?"

"Benton Fraser."

"Ah, a nice Scottish name. How old are you, Benton?"

"Thirty-six."

"And what do you do for a living?"

"I'm a constable in the Royal Canadian Mounted Police."

Her eyebrows rose. "A Mountie? You do know you're not in Canada, don't you?"

"Yes, ma'am," Fraser replied, and Ray could hear the exhaustion in his voice. "I am currently assigned to the Canadian Consulate here in Chicago as Deputy Liaison Officer."

Apparently, so could nurse Dillon. "You're doing just fine, Benton. How do you feel?" she asked as she wrote some information down on her patient's chart.

"I have a headache."

"Any dizziness, nausea, blurred vision?"

Fraser hesitated only a moment. "No."

"And how about the rest of you?"

Fraser's eyes drifted closed. "I've felt better."

The woman smiled and closed the chart. "Yeah, I'll bet you have. Okay, Benton. That's it for now. I'll be back at various times during the night to check up on you, so I'll see you later."

"Hmmmmmmm," was Fraser's only reply.

She turned to Ray. "Visiting hours are just about over, Detective, and he needs his rest."

Ray nodded, and watched her as she left the room. He turned back to Fraser, who seemed to have drifted off to sleep again. "I'm gonna go now, Benny," he said quietly, not wanting to wake him. "I'll be back tomorrow, okay?"

There was no reply.

He grabbed his coat, which he'd tossed on the foot of the empty bed near the door, and shrugged it on as he walked towards the door.

"Ray..."

The soft voice halted him in mid-step, and he turned back to find Fraser had turned his head towards the door, and was regarding him with a bleary expression. "Yeah, Fraser?"

"Thank you..."

Ray smiled. "'Night, Benny."

He turned and walked out of the room.

**********

Fraser watched the streets of Chicago pass by as the emerald green Riviera sped on to its final destination. Ray had picked him up at the hospital after work, and insisted he spend the night in the guest bedroom of the Vecchio home. An involuntary smile played at his lips as his mind replayed the conversation........



"...But I'm fine, Ray," Fraser responded as Ray handed him a clean pair of jeans and a flannel shirt to change into for the trip home from the hospital.

Oddly enough, Ray remained silent, merely leaning against the wall watching as Fraser began to get dressed.

The dull pain of his bruised ribs flared sharply as he leaned forward to put on his jeans, and his legs didn't seem willing to bend when he tried to raise them up to slip his feet through the pant legs. By the time dragged the tops of the jeans over his hips and zipped them, he was tired and sweating, and his legs were threatening to collapse beneath him.

Ray moved forward then, plucking the shirt out of hands that trembled slightly and moved behind him, easing one arm through a long sleeve, then the other, and bringing the shirt over the broad shoulders before coming back around to button it closed. Ray looked up then, concerned green eyes meeting embarrassed blue ones. "Yeah, Benny. I can see how 'fine' you are."

"Well, the doctor did say to expect some stiffness, Ray," Fraser informed him as he slowly moved to the closet and removed his uniform, folding each item carefully before putting them in the plastic bag Ray had brought. "I'm sure I can manage back at my apartment."

Fraser heard him repress a sigh. "You are the most annoying man I know, Fraser. And right now you're being quite selfish."

Fraser's eyes went wide, and he turned back towards the cop. "I beg your pardon?"

"Yes, selfish. By insisting on returning home to that rat-trap you call an apartment, you are denying my mother the chance to apologize with the special meal she spent all day fixing just for you..."

The Mountie looked slightly abashed. "There's no need for your mother to apologize, Ray. It was an accident..."

Ray shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Even though you're basically one of the family now, you were still a guest in her home, and you were hurt. We Italians take these things very seriously."

Fraser thought about the wonderful hospitality his friend's mother had offered him ever since the first time Ray had brought him home for dinner with the family. And another puzzlement now became clear -- he had wondered at the lack of a visit from the Vecchio matriarch, when both Francesca and Maria had found the time to drop by during the day.

"Not to mention myself," Ray continued with a careless shrug of his shoulders. "Expecting me to drop you at home tonight and then make the long trip back out to your place tomorrow to pick you up for Thanksgiving dinner..."

Fraser fought down a smile at his friend's transparency. The trip

from his apartment to Ray's home wasn't that far, and Ray had never before hesitated to drive him anywhere Fraser needed to go, even when the cop had to take time out of his busy schedule to do so, with not even a word of thanks. Oh, he'd complain about it, certainly, but it was just another aspect of their friendship, a friendship that Fraser held very dearly.

"Well, then," Fraser replied. "I accept your gracious invitation, Ray. After all, I wouldn't want to disappoint your mother..."

Fraser watched as Ray turned away quickly, trying to cover up the wide grin that broke out on his face by reaching for the bag of clothing.

As Ray helped him into the Riviera after he'd been released, Fraser had seen his packed rucksack siting on the back seat. Once settled in the passenger seat he'd turned to his friend, an eyebrow raised. Ray just shrugged, an answering grin on his face, and turned the key in the ignition........



"Hey, Benny?"

Fraser was roused from his contemplations by Ray's voice, tinged with concern, and he found that the car was now parked in front of Ray's house. "I'm fine, Ray," he replied, trying to reassure him.

He opened the door, his bruised ribs protesting the movement. Clenching his jaw tightly, Fraser forced his body to move. Ray hovered nearby, ready to help him, but Fraser shook his head. "I'll never heal if I don't move, Ray."

But by the time he was out of the vehicle, he wished he'd allowed his friend to help.

They were greeted at the door by Mrs. Vecchio and Diefenbaker, who woofed happily in greeting. "Benton, how are you feeling?"

Fraser tried to smile reassuringly at her. "I'll be fine, Mrs. Vecchio. My injuries were not serious."

She wrapped an arm around his and guided him into the living room, sitting him down in the reclining chair. Diefenbaker nudged his hand, and Fraser scratched between his ears. "Well, you just relax and let us take care of everything. A good meal and a hot bath will have you feeling better in no time."

"Please, Mrs. Vecchio, there's no need to go to any extra trouble--"

"Nonsense, Benton. It's no trouble at all. Ramondo," she said to her son. "Put Benton's bag in the guest room."

Ray shook his head in amusement, then turned for the door. "Yes, Ma..."

"I put clean sheets on the bed this morning," she continued, grabbing a hand knitted blanket from the couch and draping it over Fraser's legs, "and fixed you a dinner that will have you back on your feet in no time at all. Worked like a charm whenever the kids got a bit banged up when they were young. It'll be ready in about half an hour, so you just sit here and rest. If you need anything, just give a yell." She brushed a hand through his hair, then gave a warm pat to his shoulder before heading back to the kitchen.

Fraser felt a bit overwhelmed by the woman's demonstrative nature, so unlike that of his grandmother's. While he knew his father's mother had loved him and took pride in his accomplishments, she had always been rather reserved. Hugs and kisses were rare treats indeed.

The door banged shut as Ray returned, the rucksack slung over his shoulder. "Looks like she's got you settled in for the long haul," he observed, a grin on his face.

"Yes," Fraser replied, feeling entirely too comfortable in the well padded chair. Having gotten little sleep during his hospital stay, he found the thought of sitting in this chair for the next few hours too great a temptation. He pulled the blanket off of his legs and made the painful climb to his feet. "As appealing as it may seem, I believe my sitting still right now would cause more harm than good." He folded the blanket and set it back on the couch before joining Ray in the hall.

Ray's nephew was coming downstairs as they reached the landing, and his eyes went wide as they fell on the Mountie.

Fraser saw how uncomfortable the child was, and tried to set him at ease. "Hello, Michael."

The young boy's eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry, Uncle Fraser..."

Fraser reached out and ran a gentle hand through the boy's dark hair. "It's all right, Michael. I know it was an accident--"

His words were cut off as the child lunged at him, gripping his waist hard in a tight hug. Pain flared, and Fraser swallowed hard, but instead of easing the boy back, he just wrapped his own arms about Mikey's back, returning the hug.

"That's enough, Mikey," Ray intervened after a moment. "Go help your Grandma in the kitchen."

The young boy slipped out of the hung and ran off into the kitchen.

"You okay?" Ray asked, concern strong in his voice.

The pain once again down to a dull throb, Fraser nodded. "Yes, Ray."

They went upstairs to the guest bedroom on the second floor, his friend following along slowly behind him. Ray put the rucksack on the bed, watching as Fraser opened it and began to unpack. Ray had packed his red long-johns as well as a change of clothing for

the following day -- a pair of jeans and a his white woolen turtle-neck sweater. Socks, underwear, comb, toothbrush and shaving kit sat at the bottom of the knapsack.

"Did I forget anything?"

Fraser turned to him. "No, this is fine. Thank you, Ray, and thank you for looking after Diefenbaker as well."

Ray shrugged. "Ah, the wolf loves it here. He knows he can get lots of good food, even if he has to endure my sister's kids."

Fraser sighed. "I've talked to him about that, but it doesn't seem to do any good. He's becoming soft, living here in the city."

"Yeah, but the city does have its advantages..." Ray replied softly.

Fraser caught his gaze and held it, images of the dream he'd had while unconscious flashing through his mind. The idea of an exile without Ray Vecchio's friendship to make life bearable had disturbed his sleep for the rest of the night, and still had the power to unsettle him.

But Ray was here now, and even after all they'd been through the past three years, their friendship was stronger than ever. A warm smile touched his lips. "Yes. It does."

His friend matched the smile in a moment of silent communication.

Finally Fraser cleared his throat, and the moment ended. "Ray, may I use your bathroom to take a hot shower? I believe it would help ease some of the muscle stiffness."

"Sure, no problem," Ray replied. "Towels are under the sink. I'll be downstairs if you need anything."

Fraser grabbed his comb and headed for the bathroom. As he turned to close the door he saw Ray heading down the stairs, and watched his friend silently before closing the door. Yes, life in the city did have some advantages...

**********

Multiple conversations flew fast and furious around the crowded dinner table. It was not an unusual occurrence in the Vecchio household, and it was one that still fascinated Fraser even after all this time. He slowly worked his way through the delicious meal as Tony described the pitiful work conditions at his most recent job, Francesca discussed whether or not to add a meatball hero to the menu of her lunch service business, Mrs. Vecchio admonished her grandchildren to use the proper utensils during their meal, and Ray gave a blow by blow account of Lt. Welsh's latest clash with 'the brass upstairs,' but for some reason tonight he was having trouble keeping up.

Fraser had spent a bit more time than he normally would have under the hot stream of water, making use of the showerhead attachment that allowed several variations in the pattern and strength of the flow, and it had helped a great deal in easing his body's aches and pains. But now that his muscles had begun to relax, the lack of sleep was beginning to catch up with him.

"....had enough for one night."

Ray's voice caught his attention suddenly as a gentle hand was placed on his arm.

Fraser blinked, trying to bring the room around him into focus. "Pardon?"

"Come on, Benny," Ray continued, pushing his chair back and climbing to his feet, tugging gently at Fraser's arm. "I think it's time for you to go to bed, before you fall face first in your pasta."

"Oh..." he replied groggily. He pulled the napkin from his shirt collar and stood. "Thank you kindly for the meal, Mrs. Vecchio. Good night everyone..." He could hear the others wishing him a good night as Ray led him out of the room.

The next thing he knew he was in the guest bedroom and Ray was trying to manhandle him out of his clothes. He reached up and swatted away the hands at his shirt buttons. "I can do this myself, Ray..."

"Benny, you're out on your feet," Ray said, but he dropped his hands and stepped back, allowing Fraser to remove his own shirt. "I'll be back in a minute."

Fraser continued undressing, and was just finishing buttoning up his long-johns before Ray returned with a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen. "Here, take these."

Fraser shook his head. "No, thank you, Ray. I'm not hurting all that much right now." He began to unmake the bed.

"Yeah, but this'll help you not stiffen up during the night," Ray explained.

"But Ray--"

"Benny, I know you don't like taking over the counter medicine, but you'll feel better tomorrow morning, believe me."

Fraser pulled back the covers and sat down, too tired to argue. He accepted the glass of water and two little pills his friend gave him, swallowed them with a few sips of water, and handed the glass back to Ray, who set it down on the night stand. Then he slid beneath the cool sheets, settling in comfortably beneath the covers, closing his eyes.

"You gonna be all right?"

"Yes, Ray..."

"My room's right down the hall if you need anything." Ray's voice seemed to come from far away.

"Hmmmmm...."

"'Night, Benny." A feather-soft whisper.

A faint smile touched his lips as he drifted off into the welcoming darkness.

**********

Fraser sighed as he rose up from the murky depths of sleep, frowning for a moment as an unfamiliar bedroom came into focus around him. He could hear faint sound of voices chattering away, and the pleasant aroma of home cooking filled the room in spite of the closed door. Ray's house. Daylight streamed in through the window, and he brought his arm up to check his watch. Ten a.m.?! How could he possibly have slept so late?

He threw back the covers and sat up, gasping slightly as his sore muscles protested the abrupt movement. He sat still for a moment, cataloging the various aches and pains. He still hurt, and would probably hurt even more when he moved to get up, yet he felt better than he had yesterday. Whether it was from a good night's rest, or the pills Ray had given him before bed last night, he didn't know.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, ignoring the pain as best he could. A warm shower would work the initial stiffness out, and continued movement as the day progressed would help his body to heal. He removed a fresh change of clothes and his toiletry kit from the dresser drawer and headed for the shower.

He was indeed feeling a bit better by the time he turned the water off. He wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped out of the tub, moving over to the sink, where he towel dried his hair until it was damp, then combed it into place. He lathered his face to shave, enjoying the feel of the straight edged razor against his skin. He rinsed off the last remnants of shaving cream from his face, then brushed his teeth. Finally, Fraser removed the towel and slipped on his boxer shorts, then dressed himself in the jeans and sweater Ray had brought. He folded the towels neatly and put them in the hamper in the corner of the large bathroom.

He returned to his room and packed away the long-johns and toiletries in his rucksack. A shadow fell across the open doorway, and Fraser looked up to see Ray standing there, his hands deep in the pockets of his trousers. "Good morning, Ray. Happy Thanksgiving."

"Yeah, Happy Thanksgiving, Benny. How are you feeling this morning?"

"Much better, thank you for asking," Fraser replied as he moved towards the door. Ray stepped back, allowing him to pass, and fell into step beside him as they headed for the stairs. "I can't believe I slept so late..."

"Yeah, well you must have really needed it, 'cause not even my family managed to wake you up. I tried getting them to keep it down, but even when they're 'quiet,' the noise level around here is louder than most other places..."

As they passed by the living room, Fraser saw Maria and her daughter, Teresa, sitting on the couch, Maria combing out the young girl's hair. Ray's Uncle Gino sat in the reclining chair, reading the newspaper. Making a slight detour, Fraser entered the room, stopping just inside the doorway. "Good morning."

"'Morning, Fraser," Maria greeted as she looked up at him, her hands continuing to deftly braid the light brown hair. "Happy Thanksgiving."

"Happy Thanksgiving, Maria, and to you too, Teresa," Fraser replied.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Uncle Fraser," Ray's niece returned with a smile.

"Good morning, Uncle Gino," Fraser addressed Ray's uncle.

The elderly man did not lower the newspaper in his hands. "Yeah, you too."

Ray tugged on his arm from behind. "Come on, Benny..."

He followed Ray into the kitchen, where Mrs. Vecchio was busily preparing the feast they would consume later on that afternoon. She turned around as they entered, her sharp eyes appraising him. "Good morning, Benton. I see you're feeling better this morning."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you kindly for allowing Diefenbaker and I to spend the night here last night, and for sharing your Thanksgiving Day meal with us. Your generosity is truly appreciated."

"You're part of the family now, Benton," Ray's mother replied as she moved to the microwave oven and turned it on. "The door is always open."

The kitchen door swung open and Francesca walked in, dressed in a pair of form-fitting jeans and a colorful blouse. Her hand rose unconsciously to her hair, where she tucked an imaginary strand behind her ear. "Oh, Benton. You're up. Did you sleep well?"

"Yes I did, Francesca. Thank you kindly for asking," Fraser returned politely.

Ray glanced at his watch. "You'd better grab some breakfast, Fraser. The game starts in twenty minutes."

"Oh," Fraser said as he glanced around the kitchen. Ray's family must have already eaten breakfast, and he didn't want to give Mrs. Vecchio more work by asking her to cook another meal just for him. "Tea will be just fine, thank you."

"Nonsense," Mrs. Vecchio admonished as the bell on the microwave went off, and she removed a plate filled with waffles, eggs and sausage from the small oven and set it down on the kitchen table. "You need to start the day off with a good meal. Sit down and eat, and I'll fix you some tea."

Fraser gave her a warm smile, then sat down and did what he was told. "Where's Dief?"

"He's in the back yard playing with Mikey," Ray told him. "It wasn't easy getting him to leave the kitchen, let me tell you..."

"I can imagine," Fraser agreed, knowing how easily the wolf was able to scrounge for scraps in his friend's home. He had plenty of targets to choose from. "You would think he'd tire of it all after three years--"

"Forget it," Ray snorted. "He's a full-fledged junkie now, Fraser."

Fraser shook his head, then took a sip of tea. "I'm afraid he's all but lost his hunting skills at this point, unless the person we're tracking happens to be carrying Milk Duds..."

Ray glanced at his watch again. "Time for the game, Benny. Let's go!" Not bothering to wait, Ray rushed out of the kitchen.

Fraser quickly ate the last bite of his breakfast, then brought the dish to the sink. "Are you sure I can't help you with anything, Mrs. Vecchio?"

"No, Benton," she replied, smiling at his polite offer. "You go and watch the game with Ray. Relax."

He nodded, then went to join the men in the living room, the half full mug of tea in his hands. Tony was already seated at one end of the sofa, several bowls of snack food set on the coffee table in front of him, an open bottle of beer in one hand an the remote control in the other. Ray sat at the center of the couch, leaving a space for Fraser at the other end. The TV. was blaring, and Fraser wondered why the volume needed to be turned up so loudly. After all, they were only approximately 6.5 feet from the set. Ray snagged the bowl of potato chips and set in on his lap. Uncle Gino still sat in the reclining chair, and Mikey rushed in from the yard just in time for the first kick-off, planting himself on the floor beside the coffee table, within easy reach of the munchies.

Fraser knew that American males tended to be avid sports-lovers, so the Canadian had fully expected to spend the afternoon watching a game of football. What he had not expected was Ray's brother- in-law changing the channel during every commercial break or unnecessary instant replay aired, so that they were not just watching one game, but every game that was airing during the afternoon. Ray seemed to accept this as normal behavior, going so far as to argue occasionally with Tony as to which game they should leave the channel set to once the commercials ended. At one point, Fraser realized they were watching six games at once: the games airing on all four networks, as well as those airing on two cable sports channels. There was no time to take a breather. It was a bit overwhelming.

When he could feel his sore muscles beginning to stiffen up, he decided to take a break, and began to climb to his feet.

"Where're you going, Fraser?" Ray asked him, not taking his eyes off the screen. "You'll miss the game."

Which one? he mused to himself, but to his friend he replied, "I'll be back shortly, Ray."

He wandered off into the kitchen, where he found Maria and Francesca helping their mother with some last minute items for the dinner. Diefenbaker lay by the table, his head resting on his paws, but his eyes following the movement of every morsel of food as they worked.

"Hey, Benton," Francesca said, a slightly-more-than-friendly smile appearing on her lips. "You bored with all the sports already?"

He gave a small smile in return, making sure to keep it polite. "Well, football does have its good points, although I must admit it is not as exciting a sport as hockey..."

Mrs. Vecchio opened the door to the oven where the turkey and a large tray of lasagna were baking and began to remove the turkey.

"Please, let me help you with that," Fraser said as he moved to her side.

"Oh, thank you, Fraser," she replied, handing him the oven mitts. "Just put it right on the counter."

The turkey must have weighed at least twenty-five pounds, and the muscles Fraser's arms and back protested the movement, but he ignored it as he set the large pan on the wire wracks. He turned back to find her removing the lasagna tray, setting it down on the kitchen table. "Is there anything else I can do to help?"

"Yeah," Maria answered. "Can you bring the salad into the dining room? The dressings are in the fridge."

"Certainly."

"And see if you can drag the men away from the television, Fraser," Mrs. Vecchio added. "Dinner's just about ready."

Fraser nodded and brought the salad to the dinner table, returning for the bottle of home-made dressing in the refrigerator. Then he went back into the living room to find Tony and Uncle Gino squabbling over a recent play.

"Mrs. Vecchio says that dinner is ready, so if you could--"

"Throw the ball, you moron!" Tony shouted at the screen.

"Oh, can you believe that?!" Ray leaned forward in his seat as the player was tackled. "Somebody put this guy out of his misery already!"

"I don't mean to interrupt," Fraser tried once again, "but dinner is ready, so perhaps you might turn off--"

"They should have retired Benchley last season after that operation," Uncle Gino asserted as body after body piled on top of the player in question.

"The guy's over the hill," Mikey added for good measure.

"Uh, excuse me..."

But they continued to ignore him.

Fraser returned to the kitchen, a slightly embarrassed look on his face.

Francesca took one look at him and began to laugh. "Didn't work, huh?"

"Uh, no," Fraser replied sheepishly. "I'm afraid not."

"Come on, Benton. Let me show you how it's done."

He followed Francesca back into the living room, watching in amazement as she marched right up to the TV. and turned it off.

"Hey!"

"Francesca!"

"What'd you do that for?!"

"Shut up!" the feisty woman cut off their protests with a loudly. "Dinner's ready." Then she marched right back out, ignoring their continuing grumbles. "There. See? Nothing to it."

Fraser smiled. "Thank you kindly, Francesca."

They all made their way into the dining room, settling in at their usual places around the table. But before they could reach for the food already on the table, Mrs. Vecchio spoke.

"Well, another year has gone by, a year that wasn't all that easy to get through for most of us. There were some good times, but there were some hard times as well, and we've endured. We've shared the laughter, and we've shared the tears. Together. That's what family is all about," she glanced around the table, her eyes lingering on Fraser for a moment. "And all of us here are family. So I think that, as a family, we should all speak from our hearts, and give thanks for the blessings we truly have..."

One by one, each member of the Vecchio family gave voice to something they were thankful for. When it was Fraser's turn, he glanced around the table at each member of the Vecchio family as he began to speak. "When I arrived in Chicago three years ago, I was alone, with no family, no home, and no one who cared whether I was happy, or homesick, or safe. But Ray Vecchio was kind enough to reach out and offer not only his loyalty and friendship to me, but his family as well, a family that came to accept me as one of their own. I am very grateful to them for that, and want them to know how important they are to me." His eyes finally settled on the man sitting beside him. "But I am most especially thankful for your friendship, Ray, which is truly my most valued possession."

Ray's eyes glistened brightly under the lights of the chandelier, and a warm smile lit his face. "I'm thankful for your friendship, too, Fraser. I know I don't always act like it, but you're my best friend, Benny, and that means a lot to me, too."

Fraser smiled in return, allowing some of his instinctual reserve to fall away as Ray's words touched his heart. For a moment he saw the Ray Vecchio of his dream in his mind, and the words he'd spoken a few moments ago became even more heartfelt. The simple truth of the matter was that, without Ray's friendship, his exile in Chicago would be unbearable.

Ray cleared his throat, the tips of his ears having turned pink, and then broke their eye contact, turning to face the rest of his family. "And, um, and I'm thankful for my family, too, for sticking by me when things get rough." He glanced at his mother, who nodded her head, then turned back to his family, a relieved expression on his face. "Now let's eat!"

The meal was delicious. Course after course was laid out before them, hungrily devoured by everyone at the table until Fraser wondered how anyone was going to be able to move from their chairs -- himself included. Even Diefenbaker managed to eat too much as the family secretly, or so they thought, passed the wolf delicious morsels under the table, but it was a special occasion, so Fraser didn't object.

As usual, the conversations were fast paced and full of affectionate sniping, but this time Fraser managed to keep up with them all, even joining in one or two of them, although his responses were always polite. Finally, Mrs. Vecchio got up to clear the table, and Fraser automatically began to help. She allowed him to carry several armfuls of dirty plates into the kitchen, but put her foot down, as only a mother could, when he tried to start washing the dishes.

"Leave that, Fraser. You're a guest -- go drink your tea in the living room."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Vecchio, but you did say that I was part of your family now. I think it only fair that I do my fair share of the chores..."

She must have read the honest desire on his face, because she handed him the rubber gloves, her expression one of feigned seriousness. "All right, but don't let me catch you trying to get Diefenbaker to lick the plates clean..."

Fraser laughed. "Understood."

He slipped the gloves on and turned on the faucet.

**********

Ray parked the green Buick in an empty space in front of Fraser's apartment building, turning off the ignition. Fraser had offered to walk home, so that he and Diefenbaker could work off the huge feast they'd consumed that evening, as well as allowing Fraser to stretch his sore muscles, which had tightened up a bit with all the sitting he'd done that day, but Ray wouldn't hear of it, not even allowing him to carry his repacked rucksack down the stairs from the guest bedroom.

"You sure you don't need any help with that?"

Fraser looked down at the carefully wrapped bag of left-overs that sat on his lap. Mrs. Vecchio had given him enough food to last a week, including additional portions for the wolf. "It's all right, Ray. I can manage."

Ray nodded. "I'll pick you up at the usual time tomorrow morning for work, okay?"

"Thank you kindly."

Fraser sensed that Ray wanted to say something more. Fraser knew how he felt. They rarely, if ever, talked about their friendship, each content to simply rely on it. But they were both well aware how strong the bond was between them. Giving voice to it tonight had bit unsettling, as he was normally a reserved man by nature, but the expression on Ray's face, and the words he had spoken in reply, had given rise to feelings within him that warmed him to his very soul.

"Ray, thank you for allowing me to stay at your home last night," Fraser began, wanting to express at least some of what he was feeling, "and for inviting me to Thanksgiving dinner. I had a very nice time."

"Yeah..." Ray said quietly. "So did I."

Hesitating for a moment, Fraser opened the door and climbed out, setting the bag of food on the roof of the car before bringing the seat forward to give Diefenbaker room to get out. He reached for the rucksack on the floor and slinging it up over his shoulder, then allowed the seat to fall back into place. Closing the passenger door, he removed the bag of food off the roof.

"Hey, Benny?"

Fraser leaned down to look at his friend through the open window, blue eyes locking with green, and he could hear the words not spoken in his friend's silence. Fraser nodded, giving Ray a small, genuine smile.

Ray returned the smile. "Good night, Benny."

"Good night, Ray."

Fraser stepped back onto the curb, watching as the car drove down the block and turned the corner. Yes, this past year had not been an easy one, and the next one would probably bring its shares of ups and downs as well.

But with a friend like Ray standing by him, Fraser found himself looking forward to meeting the challenge.

The End

--------

Copyright October, 1996, by Angela Rivieccio on all original story content. Not intended to infringe upon copyright held by Alliance, CTV, BBC, CBS, or any other copyright holders of DUE SOUTH. Please do not reproduce for anything other than personal reading without written permission of the author. Thank you kindly! Comments welcome at p003136b@pb.seflin.org

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