Since I love Fran and Turnbull as a couple I decided to write a story where Fran begins to appreciate Turnbull. This story takes place after the episode Mountie Sings the Blues and before my story Only the Lonely. Enjoy. Divia

"Listen Frannie," Ray said, turning to face his sister who sat in the back seat of his car. "It's the safest place for you."

"I would have to agree with Ray," Fraser added. "The men looking for you would never search for you here. It really is the safest place, Francesca."

"Yeah, yeah," She grumbled. "I still don't understand why I can't stay in one of those safety houses."

"I told you why. Now get out of the car."

"All right ---God." She gave her older brother a dirty look. "You see one mob strike and people start to flip out."

"Mob hit," Ray corrected, as he stepped out of his car. "And you saw Marco Savastiono, one of the big shots in the Tucci crime family. If we can nail him we can break the family."

"Yeah, so."

"So, you 're better off a live then dead. Now come on." Ray grabbed Fran's three suitcases and walked up the sidewalk.

"Oh, well that clears everything up," Fran snapped.

"I believe what Ray is trying to say Francesca is that you are in danger of being killed because you can identify Mr. Savastiono."

"Oh." She frowned, and began to walk with Fraser. "So, Fraser," She pushed a piece of brown hair behind her ear. "Does this mean you will be staying with me, you know, for protection in case whatever-his-name comes for me?" Fran asked, standing between Fraser and the door.

"Uh, no," he said nervously. "However you will be in capable hands. You will be with one of Canada's finest."

"You mean I have to spend god knows how long with that woman?" Fran twisted her face in disgusted. Meg and she never meshed well with each other and the prospect of staying with Inspector Thachter did not please Fran.

Ray smiled. "Guess again Frannie. Move it, these things are heavy." Ray pushed his way into the Consulate. Sulking, Fran followed her brother into the well-furnished hallway. She mindlessly bit her lip as she gazed at her new prison, wondering if there was some way she could get out of this situation and go home, or better yet, with Fraser.

"Good afternoon sir, Ms. Vecchio." Constable Turnbull said, with a large smile on his face. "Cookie?" He held out a tray of freshly baked cookies and Fran turned to glare at her brother, who was reaching for a cookie.

"Thanks," Ray muttered.

"Yes, well, I believe things are settled here," Fraser said, as he inched for the door, not wanting to experience the wrath of Francesca.

"You have nothing to fear Sir, Detective Vecchio. I shall guard her with my life, as if she were her majesty." Constable Turnbull stood up very straight as he spoke to the elder officer.

"I have complete faith, Constable Turnbull."

"Well, bye. Have fun Frannie." Ray turned for the door quickly and Fran grabbed his arm, then pulled him towards her.

"Ray, you can't leave me here with him," she whispered.

"I assure you Francesca," Fraser began. "That Constable Turnbull is one of our... well he is quite...." He looked at the young officer who was intensely watching a fly move about the room. "Well he is.."

"Let's go." Ray interjected. "Frannie no one would look for you here. It is the safest place for you."

"But.."

"Stay put. And don't call me I'll call you." Ray turned for the door.

"Good-bye Francsca, Constable Turnbull." Fran watched as the two men left, closing the door behind them. She cursed under her breath. This was all her fault. If she did not have a craving for Italian cookies then she would not have been down in Little Italy and seen the murder. Now she was stuck at the Consulate with Turnbull and with nothing to do.

"Ms. Vecchio," Turnbull said for the fifth time and she looked at him dumbly.

"Yeah?"

"I tried to come up with a number of exciting activities you could partake in while visiting the Consulate." He placed the tray down. "I have made a detailed itinerary of events that I believe you would find highly exgzlierating." He cleared his throat. "I was unsure of the time of your arrival so many of these events do not have times associated with them. I hope that is not a problem for you. However..."

"Constable, I'm really tired right now." She lied. "Is there somewhere I can rest?

"Oh, of course." He refolded the itinerary and placed it in his pocket. Turnbull grabbed her three suitcases and walked up the carpeted staircase. "I'm afraid many of the rooms are being painted because Inspector Thatcher is away." Once at the top of the stairs he turned left. "Since many of the rooms are being painted you will be sleeping in my room." Turnbull stopped at his bedroom door and placed the bags down. "I mean, you will sleep here, I won't be sleeping with you, of course." As he spoke Turnbull's face grew redder with each word. "I will be sleeping next to you. I mean next to the door, here, outside, the door. I.." Turnbull backed up, "have work to do, downstairs, away from you." He exhaled deeply. "Bye." Turnbull ran down the stairs and Frannie laughed.

Fran opened the door, wondering what to expect. She always envisioned Turnbull's room having a teddy bear on the bed and posters of silly things lining the walls. However, to Fran's surprise there was nothing of the sort in his room. It was neatly kept, cleaner then her room, but neatness was a mountie attribute. There were a few paintings that hung from the wall, mostly consisting of scenery. A picture of a young Queen Elizabeth also hung, and she laughed. Turnbull was obsessed with the Queen and she did not understand why. The bed was made in almost a military fashion, no creases could be seen.

"God this sucks," she muttered, running her hand over the bed. Fran laid down and closed her eyes, hoping when she woke up she would be somewhere else.

*** ***

Through sleepy eyes Fran glanced around the room, trying to remember why she was in such a strange room. Finally the events of the day came back to her, and she groaned in her pillow. Throwing the covers aside she mustered up the strength to get out of bed and walked towards the door. She was getting hungry and Fran was aware that she could not hide from Turnbull her entire stay.

"Ms. Vecchio," Turnbull smiled, and Fran wondered if he was always so damn happy. "You are in luck. There is a review of curling's most exciting moments in history. It is a marathon!"

"Oh boy." Fran grumbled, stumbling off the last step.

"I knew you would be excited."

*** ***

Fran sat comatose as Turnbull sat riveted to the TV. After the first fifteen minutes Fran had almost fallen asleep, however Turnbull's occasional outburst kept her from sleeping, much to her dismay. She never imagined spending a Saturday night at home watching curling.

After five hours Fran was unable to control her overwhelming excitement anymore. She left the room and went into the kitchen to make herself dinner. Turnbull, so engrossed in curling's greatest moments, did not notice her departure. She was just as thankful, for if he did notice her she would have to speak to him, and that was almost as painful as watching curling, although not as distressing.

After cooking pasta for dinner, Fran sat at the table in the kitchen folding paper napkins and rearranging the salt and pepper shakers over a dozen times. She had run out of ideas and did not know how to spend the rest of her night. Finally she had an idea and went to see what Turnbull was doing. As she expected he was still watching TV, he had not moved from his spot. She rolled her eyes then quietly she walked through the hallway. Grabbing her coat Fran opened the door to find herself looking at the end of a gun.

"Going somewhere?" A fat man with brown hair asked, sweat pouring from his face despite the chilly fall night. Fran's lips parted to speak or scream but noise could not escape her mouth. "Move it!" ordered the man. Fran backed up from the doorway and was able to see another man, whom was equally large with glasses and a gray mustache.

The two thugs pushed their way into the Consulate and locked the door behind them. Fran continued backed up, attempting to place as much distance as possible between them. She could tell by their expressions something awful would transpire.

"It's too damn easy," spoke the man with the mustache as he raised his gun.

"I-I didn't see anything," she stuttered. "Honest." Fran forced a smile to her face. "I mean it's not like I'm gonna tell anyone, really I wont." With shaky hands she pushed a piece of hair behind her ear, surprised by her own ability to speak. "I mean I'm Italian, you're Italian and let me tell you I know what happens to people who talk. My cousin Giovanni talked too much and well, I don't need to tell you what happened to..."

"Shut up!" The man with the mustache yelled which caused Fran to jump.

"Ms. Vecchio is there a..." Turnbull walked into the hallway.

A shot ran out suddenly and Fran closed her eyes awaiting the impact. She braced herself waiting but nothing happened. After what seemed like an eternity Fran opened her eyes to see what had take place. She saw Turnbull on the floor.

"Turnbull!" Running over to the fallen mountie she saw blood seeping into his uniform around his left shoulder. Fran keeled beside his body to see his eyes were open, gazing upwards. Her heart sunk and guilt filled her body.

"I-I've been shot," he muttered his voice, barely audible. "Inspector Thatcher is going to be very angry with me when she sees blood on the carpet."

"Turnbull." Fran smiled despite herself, tears swelling up within her eyes. She touched his cheek gently.

"Jesus you're a bad shot," grumbled the fat man, wiping sweat from his forehead, as he and the man with the mustache stood above them.

"I'll finish them off now." Cocking his gun he took aim at Turnbull's head. Fran's body began to shake again and Turnbull reached for her hand and squeezed it in a reassuring manner.

"Not now," the other said. "You know what the boss said."

"Damn." Holstering his gun Fran noticed a disappointed expression on the killer's face.

"I'll take her. You can finish off the mountie." The fat man grabbed Fran's wrist and yanked her to her feet. "Do you think you can handle that?" Fran turned her head as she was pulled towards the door.

"Ms. Vecchio." Turnbull struggled to sit up and for his efforts he received a punch to the face and was kicked a number of times.

"Stop!" Fran snapped, when she saw Turnbull being struck. The man stepped back and then raised his gun, which made Fran's stomach twist within her. Unable to watch, she turned her head and was quickly pushed out the door. The thought of Turnbull being shot like a dog upset her, but she had to worry about herself now.

Fran was aggressively turned around, her back towards the man. He grabbed her arms and held them tightly together as he applied tape. She did not protest his treatment of her, because her mind was still on Turnbull.

"It's done." The other man said as he ran up to his friend. The other man was taping up her mouth was then shoved her into the trunk. Fran did not protest their treatment of her because she was too upset and scared to do anything.

"Are you sure he's dead?"

"Couldn't be deader," replied the man with the mustache, as his friend closed the trunk. Fran could hear mumbled voices, but was unable to comprehend their conversation. The car doors opened and closed, then the car drove away. As she lay in the trunk being thrown about Fran couldn't help but think Turnbull's death was her fault, and despite her efforts she began to cry, which caused her nose to run. She bit her lip and curled up as tightly as she could, trying to and comfort herself as she cried.

*** ***

The car jerked to a stop, causing Fran to hit her head against the spare tire. She cursed to herself, her head now sore and her nose still running. Her impending death was the furthest thing from her mind as she lay, waiting for the men to retrieve her body. Fran still found herself thinking about Turnbull.

The trunk opened and Fran felt a wave of cold air hit her body. A chill ran through her, and when the men grabbed her and pulled her out of the trunk she realized death was close at hand. She began to mumble against the tap, wanting them to prolong her murder a few more moments so she could finish the Creed. The men laughed at her, finding Fran's misery amusing. Fran heard their guns cock which caused a lump to rise within her throat, her knees to became weak, and her to heart race. Then everything ceased to exist.

*** ***

"She's back from the dead," Ray said, with a smile. Through blurry vision Fran looked up at her brother. "How do you feel Frannie?"

"My head hurts," she whined.

"You did receive a rather large bruise, Francesca," Fraser said, standing next to her bed. "However you were lucky." Fran looked around the room and realized she was in the hospital.

"How did I get here?"

"You passed out. The doctors think it was when you hit your head." Ray sat on her bed. "Your number was almost up Frannie. It was a good thing Turnbull was able to get a hold of us and tell us what happened."

"He isn't dead?" She asked, shocked. "I saw him get shot. He was bleeding and.."

"Turnbull is alive. He ain't in the greatest condition, but he's alive." Her brother said, as he played with the buttons on her TV remote.

"I want to see him." Fran started to rise from bed but Fraser and Ray moved to stop her.

"I think that is unwise, Francesca. Both of you need rest after the incident." Fraser informed her, his voice was soft as he spoke, although there was firmness in it.

She crossed her arms. "Fine."

"Don't move Frannie, I'm warning you." Ray stood up. "Come on Benny lets get something to eat, I am starving."

"Good-bye Francesca." Fraser smiled to her, but she did not return the smile. "I will try to bring you something later when we visit."

"This century Benny! Come on lets go!" Ray yelled from the hallway. Fraser looked back at her one last time before leaving the room, but she was not looking at him. Fran was gazing out the window, but instead of seeing something charming, she was looking directly at a brick building.

Once Fraser left she threw the covers back and rose to her feet. The room began to spin for a moment and Fran placed her hand on the bed trying to regain her equilibrium. After composing herself she went to her small closet and dressed. She had to see for herself that Turnbull was alive.

*** ***

Fran stood outside Turnbull's room, wondering if she should go in. She felt guilty because it was her fault he was shot. Also, Fran regretted treating Turnbull so badly, not just when she was at the Consulate but other times as well. Remorse began to overwhelm the young woman causing her to rethink her treatment of Turnbull.

"Hi Turnbull." Fran said, coming up to his bed. Her heart dropped when she saw his bruised face.

"Ms. Vecchio." Turnbull smiled despite his broken lip. "I thought you were..well it is nice to see you."

"Are you in a lot of pain?" Fran could not restrain herself from asking the question.

"Not too much. I have been better, however. But I do get as much ice cream as I would like. And the nurses are nice." He looked at her through his one good eye. "Is something wrong, Ms. Vecchio?"

Fran continued to bite her lip, her eyes looking towards the floor. "I'm sorry Turnbull. I am so sorry. I didn't mean for you to get shot. This is all my fault."

"No, it isn't. You weren't the one with the gun Ms. Vecchio."

She smiled despite herself. "Not that Turnbull. I mean I was the one who saw the murder and well somehow they found me and you were shot and beaten. That is my fault."

"I would have protected you no matter what they would have done to me." He told her, his voice sincere.

"Duty."

"No, Ms. Vecchio. I would gladly die for you any time." Fran looked at Turnbull shocked. She had been unprepared to hear him say such a thing and she stepped back. Fran did not know how to address his comment.

After an awkward moment, which seemed to last forever she finally spoke up. "I should go." Turnbull realized he should not have been so bold and quickly attempted to amend the situation.

"Please don't go," Turnbull pleaded. "Constable Fraser won't be back for a while and I am bored." Fran paused, then kissed Turnbull's forehead gently.

"I can stay for a while." Pulling up a chair she sat down next to Turnbull's bed. "It's the least I can do for the man who saved my life."

He blushed. "You're welcome."

"Turnbull," Fran began, dying to know the answer to a question that plagued her mind. "My brother said you told him were I was, how did you do that?"

"I dragged myself to the window to see the make of the car and which direction they were going. I also managed to get the license plate number. However, I got blood all over Inspector Thatcher's new carpet. She is going to kill me when she gets back."