By Lyn C
PG (For a naughty word)
An ordinary day for Ray, Benton and The Riv?
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Alliance. I am borrowing them for a while with no infringement of copyright intended.
Fine white feathers were falling from the sky, the angels were shaking out their quilts and the air was sharp like an evergreen twig as the clock across the block struck the hour signalling the end of his duty. Sighing, the Mountie brushed white flecks off his epaulettes and contemplated the words the Inuit would use to describe this powdered type of snowflake. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a car approaching the curb. It was as if a light had been turned on in a dark room, the Mountie's face transformed from blandness to brightness at the sight of the classic green Riviera.
"Ray," the warmth in his voice contrasted with the frosty particles floating from his lips.
The passenger door opened and the Mountie climbed into the car next to the cop. He placed his Stetson reverently on the dash.
Smiling wryly, Ray indicated and pulled out into the sparse winter traffic. In response to Fraser's quizzical glance he said, "You're a bad influence on me," then made a quick right turn.
"Ray, you failed to indicate just now."
"Just making sure you're paying attention. Besides, I saw someone I need to talk to. This'll take a few minutes, you in a hurry?"
"No Ray, Willie is feeding Dief for me today. And, I hope, he is exercising him also."
Ray nodded, hunching over the wheel to get a better look out of the partially obscured wind shield. Scowling he pulled into an alley without signalling. Fraser tutted. Ray merely smiled to himself as he cut the engine. His car was the love of his life since his marriage to Angie ended. He loved the gentle thrum of the engine as it faded. He stroked the steering wheel with a fondness usually reserved for a lover. Turning to the quiet man in the seat beside him he spoke deliberately, "Don't touch anything, got that?"
"Yes, Ray," replied the Mountie earnestly raising his eyebrows.
"Not a thing. I just had her valet cleaned and replaced some trim on the dash. I got rid of every single wolf hair, every piece of mud, dirt, grass and cigarette stub that you brought in here these past few weeks." He picked the minutest speck of lint from the seat back, "I'll be a while."
Fraser watched him open the door and exit the car.
"Oh shit!"
"Something wrong Ray?"
Scraping his shoe on the sidewalk edge the Italian muttered a few more curses in his native language.
"Don't say anything Frasier, okay?"
The Mountie recognised the veiled threat and wisely kept his counsel.
Ray, meanwhile moved away with a curious gait as he attempted to discreetly rid his designer shoes of the offensive substance. Fraser peered out of the steaming window at the brown stained snow an inscrutable look on his handsome features, the slightest smile touching his lips.
************************************
Ray privately named his snitch, Lonely as he did not know his real name. Of course he had many aliases as did most snitches. Usually he passed on information over the phone and it was only very occasionally that he did business face to face. Most of the time, Lonely's information was well worth the fifty bucks he now handed over to the short smelly old man. Keeping a respectful distance, he listened carefully, the rasping voice, worn away by years of alcohol and nicotine required concentration to hear properly and Ray was loath to get too close. Even though his face was partially obscured by a grey ropey woolen scarf, he still smelt ripely of stale urine, meths and sweat. After checking the facts a few times Ray nodded his thanks and made his way back along the narrow dirt strewn alley leaving Lonely to double check the bills. He paused a reasonable distance away to take in some deep breaths of clean air. Well as clean as it gets in downtown Chicago.
Whilst Ray was conducting his business, the Mountie passed the time conducting an imaginary orchestra and playing The Carnival of the Animals in his mind's ear. He was picturing a graceful herd of antelope when Ray returned. "Benny, what do you think you are doing?" The cop paused in the act of opening the driver's door to stare at his friend.
"Why, listening to Saint-Saens, Ray."
"San what?"
"Le Carnaval des animaux, Sait-Saens, French composer,1835 to 1921. He made his debut as a pianist at age ten and studied at the Conservatoire in Paris. He composed in the elegant classical French tradition five concer-"
Ray cut him off rather rudely, "shhh"
"What is it?" craning his neck to lean out of the car doorway, Fraser was immediately attentive.
"Gunshot."
In a fluid movement Fraser was out of the car and standing alert, all senses at the ready. Ray drew his weapon from under his elegantly tailored coat and turned towards the direction indicated by Fraser.
"Two men, one approximately two metres tall, coming towards us running, Ray."
The cop hesitated, the shot had come from the direction he had just left. That suggested his snitch was involved in some way, it was quite possible that he was the victim. He was curious; the information he had been given had not been that important. But if someone was so keen to silence or punish Lonely then maybe the information was more significant than it seemed. Ray pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind. There was a more immediate problem to deal with. The footsteps, muffled as they were by the thin covering of snow were obviously getting closer signalling the threat of danger.
Fraser inclined his head sideways towards the car and Ray nodded. The two men crouched behind the Riv, obscured from the view of the two perps who had drawn up at the entance to the alleyway. Fraser was right. They were both around six foot in height, one heavily bearded. Their features and bulk hidden by their thick winter clothing, the clouds of vapour surrounding their faces revealed the heaviness of their breathing. Fraser could not tell whether or not they still had weapons.
Ray was considering a course of action when the Mountie stood up and walked to the front of the car, lifted a serge clad arm and called out, "Drop your weapons I am making a citizen's arrest."
"Nooooo...Frasier," Ray dove away from the car as he saw the nearest perp pull up a sawn off shotgun and point it towards the Riviera. Rolling onto his stomach in the slush, he covered his head with his hands and awaited the inevitable. Fraser too ran as far from the car as he could, flinging himself at the perp with the weapon. They thudded to the slippery sidewalk as the gun went off with a loud explosive sound. The Mountie rolled off the man beneath him and shakily got to his knees. Through blurred vision he could see the bright red and orange flames and the black smoke engulfing Ray's pride and joy. His hearing had gone but nevertheless he spoke to no one in particular, "Oh dear."
Fraser stared as the flames licked steadily away at the hulk that was once the Riviera, turning the snow into rivulets. He could neither see nor hear Ray. This was partly because both his sight and hearing had been affected by his close proximity to the shotgun and its blowback. He peered around in an effort to locate the criminal he had so vainly tried to arrest. There was no sign of either him or his partner. He surmised that that was probably a good thing as it meant he was in no immediate danger of being shot at. He tried to test one leg to see if would support him but immediately collapsed onto the grey sludge of snow. It was no good; his legs were too weak from either shock or damage. It was too difficult for his brain to make sense of his condition, all he was aware of was a desperate need to find his friend and make sure he was uninjured. So inhaling deeply the Mountie summoned his reserves of strength and will power and crawled towards the rear end of the Riviera where he had last seen the cop. By the time he got there the fire had burnt down to glowing embers and there was no chance of an explosion. Fraser could see that the damage was quite extensive but probably not irreparable. Ray would be heartbroken, nevertheless because some of the trim was very difficult to obtain apart from being, in Fraser's opinion, outrageously overpriced. He lay on his back for a little while, spread eagled, the icy water seeping slowly through his Mountie issue coat, and waited till he regained his normal breathing rythm. His legs ached and he could feel a certain amount of discomfort in his right shoulder which was possibly dislocated. He shook his head to help clear both his vision and hearing. Gradually the crackling sound of the dying flames penetrated his consciousness and blinking fiercely he managed to clear his vision a little. That achieved, he made a supreme effort to roll onto his front and slowly, painfully push himself onto all fours like a stretching cat. He knelt back on his haunches and did carefully made an inventory of his injuries. Apart from his shoulder and shaky legs, there was a cut on his nose from which blood was oozing. His hearing was almost recovered as was his eyesight. Nothing too serious, then, he commented softly to himself. He peered hard through the smoke but was unable to locate his partner, "Ray," It came out as a croak so clearing his throat he tried again, louder, "Ray."
"Frasier, you okay?"
The reply was weak, muffled, barely audible.
"I'm fine, Ray. Where are you?"
"Round back here."
Fraser crawled towards the cop's voice, afraid of what he might find. Ray had sounded in even worse condition, and had been in close proximity to the car as it set on fire; maybe he had been severely burned. He peered around the blackened rear bumper of what once had been a perfectly restored classic car. Ray was on his knees, filthy, begrimed and utterly pitiful, clasping his ribs in crossed arms.
Fraser could only cry in sympathy, "Oh, Ray."
*****************************
The Mountie painfully closed the gap between himself and the best friend he had in the whole world. Ray was whimpering like a small child over a damaged favorite toy.
"Ray, Ray, where are you hurt? "
His query was met only by the increase in volume of the pitiful sobs.
"Ray, the emergency services are no doubt on their way. Can I help you whilst we wait?"
Then at last a quiet answer, through the tears, "You've done quite enough, Fraser. Thank you kindly." The sarcasm evident in the stress he placed on the last three words hurt the Mountie.
"I'm sorry, Ray, I was doing my duty as an upright citizen. I had not anticipated him aiming for your car; I thought he would fire at me. I must admit that the shotgun was a bit of a surprise."
"Fraser, you have a lot to learn about the Chicago criminal class."
"He's right son."
Peering through the haze of smoke Fraser located the shadowy figure of his father dressed rather incongruously in a rather loud Hawaiian style short sleeved shirt and Bermuda shorts. Although he could not see his father's feet, he suspected they were clad in sandals.
"Dad? Why are you dressed like that in the middle of a cold spell?"
"Oh it's not cold where I am, son," was the matter-of-fact answer.
"Oh."
"Frasier, you okay? You bump your head or something?" There was obvious concern on the cop's face, in spite of his anger.
Sadly, "No, I'm fine Ray, really."
"Tell him you'll pay for the damage, son. A man must hold onto his friends, take care of them and treat them with respect. Remember what I told you, a true friend is a rare and real treasure."
"I remember, Dad."
"Fraser, you sure you're okay? You don't look so good to me." Ray reached out a sooty hand and clasped his friend's good arm. He noticed then that Fraser was holding himself awkwardly. "You're hurt. Where are you hurt, Benny?"
"It's just a dislocated shoulder, Ray. I'll be fine."
Ray stared at him, disbelieving; the sort of stare you might give an alien at first contact. The Mountie looked almost wistful, his eyes were kind of vacant, staring at something not visible to the cop. He waved a hand in front of his partners face. Fraser blinked and seemed to come round.
"He comes, he goes, you never know when or where. Most often he goes."
Ray's anger had begun to dissipate now that he had a reason to fear for his friend's sanity.
"It's ok Benny, I'm sure the Riv can be repaired, it's been done before. It may take a little time but I'll do it."
"I'll help, Ray, let me pay. After all it was my fault,"
Ray almost told him not to bother but reconsidered. The Mountie liked to be a martyr so why not let him.
"Sure, Benny. We can fix her up together. I bet you don't know much about a car engine do you?"
Fraser thought about his lonely childhood, "No, Ray, my father was never around to show me, and granpa was always too busy with the chickens and the library. I did read a book once. A manual for repairing Ford -"
As was customary, Ray cut him off, "Na, Benny, the specs for a Model T won't help us with this."
For once the Mountie failed to add a rejoinder. He had begun to feel hot and sweaty and most uncomfortable.
"Benny?"
"Ray, my head hurts... something's happening."
"Benny?" his friend held him tighter.
"Ray, I feel strange."
"Benton?"
"Ray, don't leave me."
"Benton. Benton. Wake up, it's five am and the chickens need to be fed before you walk to school."
Rubbing his eyes, Fraser sat up. His headache had gone and he could hear well and see clearly that he was in a small book filled bedroom. An elderly woman was smiling down at him, a warm sweater in her hands. She placed it on the bed, "Your breakfast will be ready in ten minutes, it's your favorite, oatmeal and banana."
As she closed the heavy wooden door behind her, he turned over in the bed and buried his face in his pillow and cried softly. Ray, gone, the Riv, Dief, gone. His uniform, the consulate, the squad room. All gone.
Alone in his room in the far north, a motherless eight year old boy mourned for the loss of a dream world in which, although he was an outsider, he had found what his heart truly desired and needed; the love and comfort of a faithful and dependable friend.
The End
Copyright Oct 1999 Lyn C
Many of you who are on the dS list will probably think this fic was inspired by a mail Ed wrote recently which proposed the theory that all of Due South was a fevered dream of Fraser's at Fortitude Pass. This is not so. A long long time ago in the early days of Star Trek fandom I read a story in which all of ST turned out to be a lonely Vulcan boy's dream. So I shamelessly stole that idea and began this story several weeks ago.
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