They aren't mine, I never wrote under the delusions that they were, nor did I write with the intention of making a dime of off this story. The plot's mine as well as Bert and Aunt Chloe , if you steal any of that stuff your just pathetic and I pity you i.e. you can have them. If you fell like talking to me for any reason at all you might be able to get a hold of me at 46f7greenm@marquette.edu but then again, you might not (don't take it personally, chances are I never got the e-mail) Oh, and for all you Trekies there are two lines in here I stole from OST episodes, see if you can find them.

Just in case your wondering, this was supposed to happen before All the Queens Horses

A Leak in the Force

Ray Vecchio nervously played with the Rubix cube he had brought with him. He had no intentions of trying to solve the puzzle, he wasn't even looking at the colors on the squares, he just needed to do something with his hands. His radio crackled. "Vecchio, you there?" The distorted voice of Lieutenant Welsh asked.

Ray sighed an picked up the Radio. "Yha, I'm here."

"Did you see the car pull into the parking lot?"

"That our guy?"

"Yes, advise you're team, we move out in five."

"Gottcha."

"Over-and-out." The Radio went dead and Ray set it down. Slowly he turned to the Officers that were nervously waiting behind him. None of them had had the forethought to bring a Rubix cube.

"Ok, guys," Ray said in a hushed voice. They were all hiding behind a pile of empty crates, Vecchio couldn't risk giving their location away. "We move in five, you all know the drill. We sneak up, slowly, quietly. The people on the north side of the warehouse are suppose to move in first, we get the guy's as they run out. Got it?"

The officer's nodded, they had been prepped and readied for this sting for almost two weeks. Ray felt as if he were insulting their intelligence by insisting on the review, but this was important. They had reason to believe that the warehouse they were now hiding behind was one of the biggest drug storehouses in the city, everything from marijuana to L.S.D. could be found there in frightening quantities. It was the pride and Joy of a particularly nasty branch of the Italian Maffia. The man in the car was suspected to be the mob's leader. If the bust was successful they would effectively knock the legs out from under the mob, sending it into disorganization and then they would have a shot at stopping it once and for all.

"Ok," Ray said after just under five minutes of silence. "Move out."

His group of eight officers slowly crept around the boxes and spread out so they could effectively cover the south side of the warehouse. They all had there gun's drawn and were as alert as they had ever been. Ray was in the lead, keeping contact with Welsh.

"We're on the move." He notified his lieutenant. Welsh didn't answer. For a second Ray hesitated, it wasn't like Welsh to just leave everything hanging like that, but a lot was going on. Welsh had three units under his supervision, and then he had to report to some commander who had masterminded the whole raid. Nevertheless Ray was feeling uneasy, the whole thing didn't feel right. There should have been gun shot's by now. He motioned for his team to hold up. "Vecchio to Gardino, Louie, you there?"

"What the hell you want Ray?" Detective Louis Gardino didn't sound happy.

"This doesn't feel right, how does it feel on you end?"

"You call me in the middle of the biggest raid of my career to ask me how I feel?!"

"There should have been shot's fired."

"You want there to be a big shoot out?"

"It's not what I want, it's what should be happening."

"I feel fine, call the Lieu if you have questions. Gardino out," the radio was silent, but at the exact same time the air was shattered with the sound of gun fire.

"Hear we go!" Ray yelled to his squad. "Get into position's" But as he said that the sound of more gunfire filled the air. They were shooting at him, or more accurately his squad. "Run!" He yelled, as he started, full pace, back to the stack of crates they had used as cover before. They all had been given bullet proof vest, but they still had vulnerable heads, arms, and legs.

As he was running his radio crackled "Abort, Abort!" Welsh yelled. "They were ready for us. Get out of there!"

"Don't have to tell me twice." Ray muttered as he ran back to the crates. He was almost there when it felt like someone hit his shoulder with a baseball bat. He fell to the ground, hard. But he was only a few yards away from the craits. With the help of some of the officer's on his team he managed to crawl be hind the crates and into safety.

"What happened sir?" One of the officer's asked.

"They knew we were coming." Ray said, "there's a leak in the force."

"A leak Ray?" Constable Benton Fraser R.C.M.P. asked, "As in the vegetable?"

"No Bennie!" Ray's voice was filled with tension and he continually rubbed his shoulder, despite the fact that he was driving. "As in a person who decided to tell the bad guys that we were coming."

"Presumably in exchange for Money?"

"Presumably."

"Is your shoulder alright, Ray?" Fraser asked.

"Sure, fine, why?"

"It's just that you keep rubbing it. I believe that it's hindering you ability to drive."

"I'm driving just fine." Ray snapped. "We haven't gotten into an accident, have we."

"Well, no, Ray."

"Then we're fine."

"Actually, Ray, you seem to be having trouble staying inside the lane and you are going five miles above the speed limit."

"So?"

"So, you're distracted. By a pain in your shoulder, I suspect."

Ray wanted to strangle his friend, he was in too dark a mood to put up with Benny's infernal chattering. But he was right. "Yha, I got shot in the shoulder last night."

"Shot!" Fraser's voice was full of concern, and in the back Deifenbaker, Fraser's loyal wolf, whineed in sympathy. "You should be in the hospital!"

"I had a bullet proof vest on, you moron," Ray said harshly. "I'm fine, but it still hurt's like hell."

Fraser was tempted to tell Ray about an old Inuit remedy for aching wounds, but they would need the fat of a walrus (Which was remarkably hard to find in Chicago) and, more importantly, Ray didn't look like he was in the mood.

"Look, Benny." Ray finally said after a good two minutes of silence. "I'm sorry I called you a moron."

"Apology accepted, Ray."

"It's just that, we had such high hopes for last night and they all came crashing down. I'm so angry, and I'm taken it out on you." They reached the Canadian consult, Ray stopped in front of it. Fraser got out and waited for a second while Deif jumped out of the back. "It's not your fault," ray continued, leaning over the passenger seat, "I'm sorry."

Benny smiled, he was so quick to forgive and forget. "Understood, have a good day, Ray."

"Thanks Benny, you too."

• * *

Ray's shoulder was still sore, but it felt much, better now that he had vented a little. He felt bad that Fraser had to take the brunt of the blow, but he had been good about it. As Ray walked into the police station he started to think that he might just pull off having a good day after all. But when he saw Welsh waiting for him at his desk all of his hopes went down the tube.

"Hay Lieutenant, what's up?" He asked lightly.

"How's your shoulder feeling?" Welsh asked, obviously putting off what he really wanted to talk about.

"Not too bad."

After a few awkward seconds of silence Welsh took a deep breath. "You seen Fraser today?"

"Yha, I dropped him off at the Consulate this morning."

"How was he?"

Ray wasn't liking this conversation at all. "He was fine. What do you mean?"

"I mean, did he seem happy, sad, distressed . . ."

"He seemed like . . . Fraser. You know how he is."

"Yha," Welsh said softly, "Yha, I know how he is."

"What's up Lieu?" Ray asked candidly.

"We have reason to believe that, the leak, for last night's raid . . ."

"Yha?"

"We think it's Fraser."

Ray was furious. "That's bull shit and you know it! Benny's not the kinda guy who could ever do anything like that!" He expected Welsh to agree with him, to calmly chime in an 'I know, I know, we'll just have to keep our heads until this whole thing blows over' but he didn't.

Very calmly, but with authority, he said, "It's not conclusive, but you should know, it's looking pretty bad."

Ray was lost, it was more likely that the Cub's would win the world series than Fraser would be on the take. Ray knew that, Welsh had to know that, this was all wrong, some sort of sick joke.

"Ahh," a voice that was a little to chipper said from the doorway, behind Ray. The detective turned around to see Commander Tony Bertenello, orchestrator of the last night's raid, parade into the room with a grandeur that man who had just seen months of work go down the drain had no right to have.

For Ray, any cop deserved respect. If you were willing to put it all on the line so people you didn't know wouldn't have to be afraid, you were a good guy, with very few exceptions. Bertenello was one of those exceptions. The guy had been a good enough cop, but not good enough to be a captain only ten years out of the academy. Bert, as he was lovingly referred to, was a diplomat. He had the right connections and he made the right friends. It's surprising how fast you can move up the ladder if that's all you want. And that was why Ray couldn't respect Bert, the man had only wanted to climb the ladder, he hadn't wanted to put the bad guy's in jail, or keep the street's clean for honest folk, he wanted to be in charge. Ray couldn't respect that.

"I assume you're bringing detective Vecchio up to date on the," he look at the furious expression on Ray's face and chose his wording carefully. "Situation with his Mountie friend."

"Benny didn't do it!" Ray said with venom. "He couldn't do it."

Bert nodded his head in mock pity. "I know, it seem's unlikely, but I would like you to examine the evidence, and tell me what you think."

"I think he didn't do it." Ray insisted.

"Just look at the evidence, Vecchio." Welsh insisted. "Then tell us what you think."

"This better be some evidence." Ray muttered.

• * *

"Fraser!" Ray yelled at the perfectly still guard outside of the Canadian consult. Of all the days for Fraser to be on guard duty, it had to be the day he was charged with selling out to the mob. Ray glanced at his clock, Fraser's shift wouldn't be over for a while. He should probably go in and explain to the Dragon Lady what was going on, but he was far too mad. He needed to vent first.

"You know what I did today Benny?" Ray demanded as he paced in front of his frozen friend. "I defended you against one of the most annoying Commanders in the fleet. I tried to convince them that you hadn't sold out to the mob, that you weren't the leak on last night's raid. And, you know, that's what friends are for. I can take that, but let me tell you what I can't take. Even as I was defending you to these guy's I kept thinking, I sound like a fool. I kept thinking, The evidence is there, Ray, You're a detective, look at it, draw your own conclusions. But then the other half of me was going, what are you nuts! This is Benton Fraser were talking about here, this is the guy who says thank you kindly after reading someone their Miranda rights." Deifenbaker, who was dutifully performing sentry duty with his human counterpart, growled softly.

"Ok fine," Ray admitted to the dog, "He doesn't have the authority to read anyone their rights, but that's besides the point!"

Deif whimpered and moved his ears in a circle, in his head Ray could almost hear Benny's measured voice ask 'what is the point, Ray?'

"The point is you couldn't do it. But, it look's an awful lot like you did!" Two people walked by and stared at the well dressed man screaming at the Mountie, who couldn't respond. Once Ray noticed he was being watched he turned to the couple.

"He's my friend." Ray explained. The woman smiled and nodded, the man quickened their pace. As they sped away Ray yelled, "He can't move, it's his job!"

"Yes detective it is," a crisp feminine voice said from behind Ray. He swivelled to see the annoyed countenance of Inspector Margaret Thatcher. "And I, not to mention Constable Fraser, would appreciate it if you didn't try and distract him while he was at it."

"He gets off in" Ray glanced at his clock, "Less then ten minutes."

"I don't care, he is on duty now, and I would appreciate it if you let him finish it in peace."

Ray took a deep breath, he didn't want to get Fraser in trouble in front of Thatcher, her wrath was second only to that of God, and on top of that she couldn't stand him. Thatcher seemed to pick up on his hesitation like a vulture picks up on the stench of death. "Is there something I should know detective?"

Ray took a deep breath, he didn't want to bring down the wrath of Thatcher, but it was to late to avoid it. "Benny's been accused of accepting Bribes."

"Fraser!" The look of disbelief on Thatcher's face made Ray think that she just might understand what kind of guy Fraser was. But in that case, she shouldn't hate him. On the other hand, Ray believed there was a distinct possibility that she was the long lost daughter of the Wicked Witch of the West.

"Yes Ma'am,"

She laughed nervously, "That's impossible."

"Believe me, that's what I said, but there's some stuff that looks pretty bad."

"What kind of stuff?" She seemed genuinely concerned.

"Personal testimony mostly . . ."

"I think you'd better explain."

Ray opened his mouth to protest. "Now," Thatcher ordered, all thoughts of protest evaporated.

"Last night we raided this warehouse on the north side, according to our guy's it was a storehouse for mob Drugs, but someone tipped the mob and the place was cleaned out, and they had gunmen waiting for us.

"During interrogation the gunmen were asked how they knew we were coming, they pointed to Fraser."

"So, you ask a mob gunman who tipped them off they look around and see someone wearing bright red. Naturally they point out him."

"Not quite."

"Not quite, how?"

"He never saw Benny."

"How do you mean?"

"Benny wasn't at the raid, the punk never saw him."

Thatcher was silent for a second, desperately searching for another explanation. "Ok, fine. It's entirely possible that he had heard that there was a Mountie helping out the Chicago Police Force. That's the sort of fact that would stick out in a person's mind. Your interrogator asked, 'who's the snitch?' and he blurts out. 'The Mountie'." Her eyes were almost desperate. Ray got the feeling that just maybe Thatcher cared about Benny, but he dismissed it on principal.

"No," Ray said quietly. "The interrogator asked 'How did you know we were coming?' he said 'Benton Fraser told us."

Thatcher was silent, she was experiencing the same horrifying sick feeling that Ray had had all day. "Well . . ." she stuttered, she almost looked like she was going to cry, almost. "There could be other Benton Frasers. Chicago is full of people, the police department could employ several Benton Fraser's."

"Not with a Dog named Deifenbaker."

"What?"

"He knew about Deif."

"Well . . ."

"And he described him to a sketch artist, got a decent likeness."

"Am I going to be arrested?" Fraser asked, both Ray and Margaret Jumped, they hadn't heard the chimes signaling he could come off of sentry duty but both were sure they had rung.

"No, Benny," Ray said sadly. "But only because I swore you wouldn't leave town."

Fraser nodded, "Understood." He seemed more sober than usual, but he took the news in stride.

Thatcher eyed Fraser, bit her lower lip and said, "I want to be the first to hear if this develops any further, do you understand Constable?"

"Yes Ma'am."

"Call me immediately."

"Understood."

She turned to Ray, "And if he can't, then make sure you do."

"Yes Ma'am," said, just a little patronizing, but still well within the bounds of propriety. She was a very authoritative woman, and Ray had no intentions of crossing her line.

• * *

"So," Ray asked after driving a few minutes in total silence. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm sure that the investigation will prove me to be innocent."

"There isn't that much more investigating to do, Benny. If I was an impartial jury I would send you to jail."

"Well it's a good thing that your aren't."

"Impartial?"

Fraser looked at him, slightly disturbed. "A Jury."

"Oh."

The car was quiet for a few more seconds, finally Ray licked his lips and jumped into the brink. "I was thinking, Ma's making lasagne and I thought . . ."

"You want to keep an eye on me, Ray?"

"No Benny," he said uncomfortably, "Ma's been asking when you'd come over again and since the Inuit tribes aren't well known for there lasagne I thought that this would be, you know, a good night."

Benny nodded. He knew that Ray was lying through his teeth, but that was alright. He was being existentially honest. "I would be delighted, are you sure that your family won't mind."

"What, you kidding? Ma love's you." So does Frannie, Ray thought, but he didn't want to scare Fraser away.

"I wouldn't want to be imposing."

"You couldn't impose if you tried."

"Thank you, Ray."

"You wanna stop off at home? Get some normal cloths, wouldn't want you to get any tomato paste on your tunic. Nothing is worse than clashing reds."

"That's very thoughtful of you Ray."

"Yha, well, I'm just a thoughtful kinda guy."

• * *

Benny opened his eyes with a start. He felt dizzy. He thought he could hear footsteps, people moving quickly away, but he wasn't sure what they were moving away from. But those thoughts were all driven far out of his mind when he saw what was in front of him. Ray was lying on the floor, bleeding. "Ray!" Benny shouted, horrified by what he saw. He looked around quickly, trying to understand what had happened. None of it made any sense. The last thing he could remember was walking into his apartment with Ray.

"Open the Door!" Someone yelled, the yell seemed very far away. "Police!"

"Ray!" Benny said again, trying to wake up his comatose friend. There was a bang and a clunk that sounded very far away. And within seconds someone was pulling him away from Ray, and he vaguely heard someone reading the Miranda rights.

"Ray!" Fraser said one last time before he was roughly hauled into the next room to make way for the paramedics.

• * *

Fraser didn't resist the arrest. He was incredibly compliant when he was brought to the station, and even courteous to those officers in charge of booking him. Detective Robert Henderson, who had been present at the arrest and assigned to the case, was not sure what to make of it. As far as physical evidence was concerned there was tuns of it. There had been a call from a nearby payphone, some kid saying he saw a fight through the guy's windows. The police had gone to check it out when they heard a gunshot. They called for backup and Henderson was there five minutes later.

They had found the guy leaning over the body, smoking gun in hand. How cut and dry can you get. There was still the question of motive, and why the dog on the scene had been asleep. But none of those things were really important. That guy had shot a cop, he deserved to be treated like the scum of the earth, the worst of the worst criminals. But . . . he was just so damn polite and compliant. The pieces of the puzzle weren't coming together at all.

"Robbie?" Henderson turned around to see one of the civilian aids, Janet Smith, standing behind him with a big manilla folder.

"Yha, Janet?"

"I got the Buzz on this guy, Benton Fraser, and the victim, Raymond Vecchio."

Henderson took the folder and started flipping through it, "Highlights?"

"Vecchio is a detective, Chicago P.D. and Fraser is his unofficial partner."

"Partners, that's a twist."

"Seem's Fraser is a Mountie attached to the Canadian Consulate in Chicago."

"Mountie, Like Dudly Do Right or something."

"Yes, very much like Dudly Do Right it would seem. He's quite a hero in his own right."

"And so he shots his partner in cold blood. It doesn't add up."

"Actually, it does. Last night Vecchio was part of that failed drug raid,"

"Over on the south side?"

"Yha, and you know who is suspected of being the leak in the department."

"Let me guess. Our Friend Mr. Fraser."

"You're a good guesser. Ready to put up a hypothesis?"

"Oh, I think so. Let's see. Vecchio hears that his good buddy is accused of being the snitch. Vecchio doesn't buy it, 'You don't know the guy,' he insist. In the end he cuts a deal with the commander, he takes personal responsibility for Fraser. If he skips town it's Vecchio's hide plus as an added bonis Vecchio gets to tell him all about the accusations. Vecchio goes to tell his good friend about the outlandish accusations and instead of the bonding period he was expecting, the whole 'we'll get through this together deal' he gets shot in the chest by someone who is afraid of being found out."

"Clean and simple."

"Clear as a whistle."

"So, you going to confirm this theory?"

"He hasn't gotten his phone call yet. I bet you your salary for a year that he calls the best lawyer Canada can offer."

"I'll take you up on that." Janet followed Henderson to the holding cell. It was fairly obvious which one of the guys was their man, the red serge gave it away. But what he was doing was fairly less obvious. He was leaning over a wino who seemed to be asleep on the cell's cot.

"What the hell is he doing?"

"He's been with that guy since they threw him in there."

"Couldn't be a contact or anything could it?"

"I doubt it, have you smelled him?"

"No, and I'm counting it as a blessing." He motioned for the nearest officer to get Fraser out of the cell and escort him over to were Henderson was waiting.

"Constable Fraser, my name is Detective Henderson."

"Pleased to meet you," Fraser said quickly. "I was wondering if . . ."

"Look," Henderson interrupted. "I bet you know police procedure as well as I do, so I'm not going to patronize you with any cop tricks, I know you'd see right through them."

"I appreciate that sir, but . . ."

"So, this is the deal, straight up, you call your lawyer and then we talk."

"That sounds just fine," Fraser said quickly. "But before we do that I believe that man in there is seriously ill and needs immediate medical attention."

"You mean the wine-oh on the bed?" Janet asked, scoffingly.

"Yes, that is exactly who I mean. You see he has been vomiting and is slightly delusional, undoubtably because of . . ."

"The two quarts of bathtub gin he downed tonight. Fraser, I don't know what your up to but I'll only respect you if you respect me and stop the charade."

"I guarantee you sir, that I am in no way trying to show you disrespect. It is only that I believe, with reasonable grounds, that he is suffering from a rather nasty and quite possibly deadly infection of the flu."

"The flu?" Janet asked.

"Yes, and, if it is not to much of an inconvenience I would like to ensure that he receives proper medical attention."

"Fine, you going to play it that way, I'm going to play that way too." Henderson said bitterly. He expected a change in demeanor but instead he got a confused look. "You get one call, you want to call a doctor, that's fine with me. But if you were smart you would call a lawyer." He turned away in a display that he hoped looked genuine. "Janet, take him to the phone, then bring him to me. One call!"

"Yes sir." Janet said, she had certainly been impressed by his tough guy act. Henderson was one of the nicest guy's on the force, a real family man. He must have been really mad to work himself into such a state. "Phones right over here."

Fraser didn't say anything, he only nodded. Once he reached the phone he looked at the receiver for a second, Janet thought that he looked very confused. "There's really only one option." His father said. The old Mountie had suddenly appeared besides him. Fraser should have been surprised but he wasn't. "Thatcher told you to call the Consulate."

"The man in the cell could die." Benton informed his father.

"You don't know that." Janet said, "You're not a doctor."

"She's right. You need a lawyer, things are looking very bad for you."

"You know I didn't do it!"

"I don't care, call your lawyer."

"Follow her advice," his father said.

"That man could die. Whether or not I go to jail is inconsequential in comparison to his life."

"He's a criminal, let him rot in jail."

"No one deserves to die, no mater what they've done."

"That's an odd statement, coming from a murderer." Janet mused.

Benton looked at his father, then at the phone and then at Janet. "Could you please, call a doctor for that man?" He asked her earnestly.

She looked nervously around, she wanted to grant his request, but Henderson had been very clear. As nice as this guy seemed to be, and as real and good his request was, she had to obey her commanding officer. "You can call one."

"Call the Consulate," his father urged him, "They'll notice him eventually."

"It could be too late."

"You have one minute." Janet said. "Then you have officially waved your right to a phone call."

Fraser looked at the phone again, picked up the receiver tenitively, hung it up, and then picked it up with more determination. He quickly dialed a number and listened to the rings nervously. "You're making a mistake." His father told him.

"I'm doing what's right." Fraser instead, Janet couldn't help but wonder who he was trying to convince.

"It's not just you your putting in jail," his father said testily. "You'll be sending me there too."

"Hello!" Benny said excitedly. "Dr. Mathens. This is Constable Fraser." Janet's jaw dropped. What kind of murderer called a doctor for a wine-oh instead of a lawyer. "I'm fine thank you. Actually I'm rather concerned about someone who is in jail right now. . . . No, actually I'm presently at the 45^th precinct. . . . I believe he has the flu, and a nasty case of it at that. . . . His name is Mr. Vendeta and he is in the holding cell. . . . No sir, I'm afraid that I won't be able to meet you. . . . That's right, the holding cell. . . . Thank you kindly, Doctor, have a good night." He hung up the phone and exhaled quickly. "Dr. Mathens should be here in less then fifteen minutes, do you think you could tell the officer on duty to watch for him?"

"I'll . . . I'll be sure to do that." Janet said softly. She couldn't believe what she just saw, to all appearances he had just sentenced himself to life in prison. He didn't have a prayer without a lawyer and he didn't have a lawyer without a phone call. And he had wasted his one and only call on a sick street person.

"Thank you kindly."

• * *

Fraser was feeling slightly light headed and queasy. He stared at the ceiling and wished he was outside. He had a feeling that the wind would make him feel better. As a child, whenever he felt sick he would go outside and take deep breaths of the frigid air. The Inuit believed that the air would kill whatever evil spirits were making a person ill. Benny didn't believe that a evil spirit was making him queasy, but the same principles did apply. The cold outside would kill off any viruses or germs that could cause potential health threats, as well as give him a chance to exercise, thereby maintaining a certain level of physical fitness and bodily well-being. Being trapped in a jail cell was in no means conducive to physical health.

The crisp voice of Margaret Thatcher interrupted his thoughts. "Constable, would you mind explaining yourself?"

Fraser was so startled that he jumped off of his bed and snapped to attention. As he did that he swayed ever so slightly, he hoped that Inspector Thatcher didn't notice.

"Explain myself, Ma'am?" His mouth felt dry and his voice was a little scratchy.

"You are presently in prison, being charged with attempted murder and accepting bribes. I think my question is more of less clear."

"Ah, well," Fraser nervously rubbed his ear. "I'm not certain I can give you an explanation."

"And why would that be?"

"I have no evidence to prove that I did not accept the bribes nor can I give an accurate account of what transpired in my apartment, and so I quite literally cannot offer you an explanation."

Margaret shook her head in disbelief. "How could you not know what transpired in your apartment when Detective Vecchio was shot?"

"I don't know sir."

"I don't know sir?" she was exasperated. "Please tell me you can offer me something more than that."

Benny looked down. "I'm afraid that I can't sir."

Meg didn't know what to make of the man in front of her. Every instinct in her body told her that he couldn't do the things he was accused of. But she was a good investigator, and as a good investigator she couldn't dismiss the physical evidence. Meg could feel her throat tighten, if she didn't change the subject soon she knew she would brake into tears. She took a deep breath, cleared her throat and continued. "Could you at least tell me why you chose not to contact me despite your strict orders to do so?"

"I had to call a doctor."

"A doctor?"

"Yes, you see there was a man in the holding cell who was suffering from a very sever case of the flu and I knew that unless he saw a doctor posthaste he would quite probably die."

"So you used your one phone call to call him a doctor?"

"That's right sir."

"You couldn't convince the officer to call a doctor on his own?"

"No, they didn't believe that he was feverous. I believe they thought he was my mob contact."

"I see. . . . And was he?"

"My mob contact?"

"Feverish?"

"Yes sir."

"I suppose that you saved his life."

"Ah, no. Actually, Dr. Mathen's saved his life. I merely alerted the doctor to his somewhat desperate state."

"I see." Thatcher said in a measured voice. She should have been furious at him, but when she looked into his eyes she couldn't bring herself too it. "When is your preliminary hearing?"

"Wednesday at three."

"I'll assign a you a good lawyer."

"I'd appreciate that."

"I thought you would."

Fraser licked his lips nervously, Meg could see that something other then his future place of residence was weighting heavily on his mind. "Is there something you want to ask me Constable?"

"Ahh," he scratched his eyebrow, "Actually I was wondering if you knew what had become of Deifenbaker."

"Deifenbaker?"

"Yes."

"I don't know, Fraser." She admitted. "But I'll try to find out."

"I would appreciate that, sir." Benton smiled, weekly. Meg knew that there was more on his mind.

"Any thing else?"

"Umm, I was wondering if you knew how . . . how Detective Vecchio is doing."

Meg was silent for a second. She could tell that he had been afraid to ask the question, probably because not knowing was better then knowing that he had killed his friend. "They didn't tell you?"

"No, they didn't."

"Detective Vecchio is fine." Fraser let out a long relived breath. "He regained consciousness last night and is expected to leave the hospital by the end of the week."

Fraser was smiling broadly, despite his present conditions. "That's good."

Meg smiled too, "that's very good." Quickly she sobered up, "I'll contact you shortly."

"Yes, sir."

"Very good." She repeated, and started walking out of the cell when the one question that should have been asked from the start popped into her head. She spun around "Did you do it?"

"Accept the bribe," his voice softened, "Or shoot Ray?"

"Either?"

"Neither. I did neither."

Meg nodded. "I thought so, I trust you Constable, please don't make my trust misplaced."

"I shall endeavor not too." Benny said earnestly.

"So . . ." Fraser said in a desperate attempt to make conversation with the men guarding him as he was being transported from the jail to the courthouse. "As it turns out the otter was in fact dead, and the boy was released. However the local shawman, who was acting doctor as the real doctor was on sabbatical in the wilderness."

"Wait a minute," one of the guards said. "I thought you said Tuktayuktuk's population was just over a thousand people."

"That's right. We were a very close community,"

"It sure sounds like you were already in the wilderness."

"Ah, my friend Ray said the same thing when I told him this story." Benny fell oddly silent.

All of a sudden the driver yelled "Oh Hell!" and the van swerved. Benny and the guards were thrown against the van wall. For a few seconds all was loud noises and indistinguishable shapes. Benny knew that the van had gotten into some sort of accident, and by the sound of it, it was a horrible one. When the dust settled Benny discovered that he was the only one conscious in the van. Benny realized that it was his responsibility to notify the authorities immediately, although he was a prisoner and it was understood that he would not use the van's radio for any reason, he believed that this qualified as an extenuating circumstance. He was a Mountie, an officer of the law.

He was reaching for the radio when the door of the van slid open and light flooded in.

"Come on!" One of two men silhouetted against the sunlight yelled.

"What?" Benny wondered if he had suffered extreme head trauma.

"Come on!" He yelled again.

"Are you trying to induce me to escape?"

"Yha sure, come on!"

"I'm afraid I can't do that,"

"What?!"

"You see, I need to call in, these men need medical attention. And even if that were not the case I would be honor bound to stay here."

"Oh God!" The first man moaned.

"We don't have time for this," the second man said. Before Benny could react the butt of a gun came flying at his head. Then the world went black.

"Inspector!" Constable Turnbull was in a near panic when he entered Margaret Thatcher's office.

"What is it Turnbull?" she moaned, massaging her temples. She had just been updated on the situation with Fraser. He was still missing; two days and he was still missing. All the evidence pointed to a carefully planed jail break. The mob orchestrated the accident enabling Fraser to escape. He had been bought by the mob. And he had been useful, they had taken considerable risk to get him back.

The worst part of it all was that she felt as if he had betrayed her, personally. She had trusted him, she had believed in him. She had secretly thought of him as her knight in shining armor. That armor had obviously been tarnished.

"The consulate is under attack."

She wasn't in the mood for Turnbull's antics. "No, it isn't."

"I don't mean to be disrespectful, Ma'am, but the consulate is indeed under attack."

"I told you last time, the men fixing the wiring are not hostel."

Turnbull laughed nervously. "I understand, but this attack is less insidious in nature."

"Who's attacking?" She decided to let Turnbull work himself out of the frenzy, she didn't have any energy for it.

"The wolves."

"There are no wolves in Chicago, the hotel across the street is probably just having a dog lovers convention."

"I beg to differ, there is most definitely a wolf in the waiting room."

"A wolf?" Everything clicked.

"I think it want's to negotiate a treaty."

"Deifenbaker!"

"I highly doubt that the former prime minister, as consciences as he was, will be available to negotiate this treaty."

Meg didn't even acknowledge that last remark. She ran into the waiting room only to be greeted by a disheveled, but otherwise healthy wolf. "Deifenbaker, where have you been?" She demanded of him, before she realized that he couldn't answer her. But in the absence of Fraser, he seemed like the next best thing.

The wolf whined and rubbed his head against her hand, in a normal dog like fashion. Meg wanted to believe that Dief would help her find Fraser. But as he continued to whimper her rational mind regained control and she realized that Deif was nothing more than a lost dog who had come, tired, hungry, and lonely, to a familiar place. She started petting him sadly. "Are you looking for Fraser?" She asked, not expecting an answer this time. "Well, I think there is very little hope of finding him."

Deif pulled away and gave Meg a quick nip. "Ow!" The inspector cried as she pulled her hands away form the Wolf.

Turnbull stuck his head out of the office. "Did it attack you sir?" He said, Meg thought that she could see an umbrella in his hands, presumably to attack Deifenbaker with if need be.

"No," she said, rubbing her hand. "I don't think he wanted to hurt me, just get my attention. Why are you still in my office?"

"I'm protecting the Queen."

Thatcher nodded. "Of course you are, carry on." It was better to have him out of the way. Her attentions returned to Deifenbaker. "Why did you bite me?" She demanded, only realizing that she expected a response after the question had been asked.

Deif whined again and then took a few steps towards the door, looked at Meg than walked out, walked back in, paused at the door, walked over to Meg, rubbed his head against her leg, walk back towards the door, and turned to look at her. "You want me to follow you?" She asked, not believing that this was happening.

Dief barked, Meg took it as a yes.

"Fine, I can play Lassie." She walked over to the closet to get her coat. "But if I end up having to pull Timmy out of the well, you are one a one way trip back to the Yukon."

"Hey, look at her." One of the two thugs who had been assigned to guard duty said pointing to Meg Thatcher as she wandered across his surveillance video screen. "What's a suit doing in this part of town?"

"I'da'know but she certainly is a looker."

"Hey she's with that dog that's been hanging around. Didn't the boss tell us to notify him if we saw that dog again?"

"I don't see what the big deal is, he's only a dog."

"Yha, well, it's not for us to see." He picked up the near by phone and pressed number one speed dial. "The dog is back sir." He notified his boss as soon as he answered. "And there's a girl with him. . . . Yha we got them on screen now. . . . Very good sir."

"What's up?" The second thug asked.

"He's comin' down, he wants to see."

Within the minute their boss did indeed enter the little surveillance room. "Ok," he said sharply, "Show me the woman."

"Well, you see sir, she just walked out of camera three's range, she should pop up on camera four at . . ."

"There she is!" The second thug said as Meg followed Deifenbaker onto camera four's screen, "And there's that dog!"

"I'll be damned." The boss muttered, "That's Margaret Thatcher."

"The British prime minister?"

"No, you dunce, the Mountie's boss. She must have come looking for him. I knew I should have had that dog shot." Without hesitation he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and called the security force that was downstairs, watching the door to their little hideout. "There is a woman snooping around by the fire escape." He informed the guards. "I would like you to bring her to me. Oh, and shoot the dog she's with." He quickly flipped his cell phone shut. "Keep up the good work." He said, patting each of the thugs on the shoulder. Then he walked out with a devious smile on his face.

• * *

"No!" Meg told Deifenbaker as he looked longingly at a fire escape ladder that he couldn't climb up. "I'm not going up that, and I am most definitely not going to carry you up it. You probably weigh thirty kilograms!" Deif whimpered, slightly insulted by her estimation of his weight. She was just like Fraser. He always tried to convince Deif that he was fat, it just wasn't true. He had to be fat, there was always the chance he would go days or even weeks at a time without food. Fraser continually told him that he was well fed, and didn't need to store up food, but no one had even offered him a snack for almost a week. It was a good thing he ate when he could. But nevertheless, he wanted Benny back very badly. And he knew that if he could just get onto the roof of the old tenant building, he would have Benny back. But Inspector Thatcher, who was very stingy with snack food, wasn't being any help. "It's structurally unsound!" She continued. "The whole building is condemned."

Deif growled softly. She didn't understand at all.

"I don't even know why I'm talking to you." She muttered, turning away. Deif had to move so he could still see her lips. "You're a dog."

Deif was sorely tempted to attack her, she definitely deserved to have that superior smug attitude shaken out of her. But he knew Benny wouldn't like that. For some inexplicable reason the human seemed to like her.

Someone on the other side of the building opened the door, and two people walked out the door and were coming towards them. Deif could smell gunpowder, which equaled guns. Hunters. He was in danger, so was Meg, he had to get her out of there, fast. He growled softly, to get her attention.

"I said no." She told him fiercely but she quickly saw that this growl was not of irritation but of warning. "What's the matter?" She asked. She had long ago dropped the facade that he couldn't understand her or answer her, like Fraser she was more than willing to treat him as an equal.

The hunters were getting closer, Deif trotted toward an ally looking back to make sure that Meg was following him. She wasn't. "I thought you wanted to go up the fire escape!" She called after him. Deif whined to himself, she was very slow. But he knew she would follow him eventually, he just hoped it was soon enough to get away from the hunters.

There was a gun shot. Meg screamed, he thought he heard her fall to the ground and the bullet hit a wall. There was another shot, another scream, Meg was fine. Deif, however, knew that if he didn't get out of the area soon he would be dead. He jumped over a trash can and turned a quick corner to reach a main road. The gunshots had subsided, but he continued to run.

He had hoped that Margaret would be able to help, to find Benny and everything would be back to normal. She was too stoic to help. That left Deif with only one choice. He quickly started running west, if he was lucky he could make it to the Vecchio house before supper time, and Franny was very generous with table scraps.

Meg took a deep breath as she was lead, at gunpoint, into the seemingly abandoned tenant building. The men who had kidnaped her refused to say anything beyond 'the boss wants to see ya' and they had spent a considerable time trying to shoot Deifenbaker. Meg wasn't quite sure what that meant, but she was positive that Fraser was involved. She was pushed up a rickety staircase and lead down a hall that smelled moldy. She tried to remember every detail of the place, in case she ever had to identify it, but her heart was beating extremely loudly in her ears and she couldn't concentrate as well as she should have been able too.

Finally the guards stopped. "Here?" One of them asked.

"That's what he said, 'the nice room for the lady.'"

Meg wondered what that was supposed to mean, but not for long. One of them opened the door and the other one pushed her in and as soon as she was pass the threshold the door closed, and she could hear it lock behind her. Again she took a deep breath, but it didn't help she was still frightened. Instead of bursting into tears, which was her first impulse, she decided to look around the room, maybe she could escape.

They had referred to the room and the nice room, Meg had to wonder, in comparison to what. The walls had the remnants of gaudy pink wallpaper on it, and one window which was painted over. Then in the center of the room there was a huge bed, with plain white sheets and a white bedspread. Margaret didn't know what to think of the room, or the situation. She wasn't left puzzling for long.

The she heard someone unlock the door behind her and she quickly pivoted to see a well dressed man standing in the doorway. He was a far cry from the brutes who had 'escorted' her off of the street. Part of her felt relived, she was used to working with well to do people, they were her type of people, another part of her was frightened by the man, he was out of place in the dirty building, surrounded by lower class thugs.

"Hello." He said kindly.

"Hello." She responded, she thought she would let him show his hand first.

"Are you comfortable?"

"What?"

"This room, is it comfortable? Do you like it?"

"I would be more comfortable if I knew who you were, why I was brought here, and where Constable Fraser is."

"Ahhh, so you do know the Constable is here then."

Actually she hadn't known, but he had shown a card, and Meg was going to take advantage of it. "I want to talk to him."

"He's really not up to it right now." He was telling the truth, but not all of it. Meg would have to work hard to coax it out of him. "You should wait."

"Wait here?"

"I'll keep you company." Meg recognized that tone of voice, more men had used it on her than she cared to count. It was an occupational hazard when you happened to be a woman in a man's world.

"No, I wouldn't want to trouble you." Thatcher said in her hardest tone. She wanted to send a message loud and clear.

"No trouble at all." he said, taking a step forward, instinctively Meg took a step back. "I get very lonely hear. These men follow orders but they are not cultured people." He laughed and took another step forward, Meg took another step back. "You on the other hand, Margaret Thatcher, oh, don't be surprised that I know your name, are cultured." Meg's heart was beating in her ears again. All the other times men had come on to her like that it had been in a professional setting, a setting were they were on, more or less, equal turf. Now she was being held prisoner in a bad part of town, locked in a bed room with a man who probably had a gun and who obviously had less then honorable intentions. There was no place to run too, no law to hide behind, no visible escape. He took a step closer, she took a step back, and ran into the bed.

"Get away from me." She said harshly, or at least she tried to sound harsh. She couldn't be sure that her fear didn't somehow work her way into her voice.

"I don't want to get away from you." He said as he put his hand's on her shoulder sensuously. "And I always get what I want."

Meg might have been terrified but she wasn't stupid. She quickly grabbed his arms and thrust her knee into his groin. Pain blossomed on his face in a most satisfying display. His hands trembled as he pulled away from her. He was gasping for breath and, by Inspector Thatcher's estimations would be in considerable pain for the next ten minutes. She hoped that he was clever enough to learn something from this mishap.

"I said, get away from me." She told him as he withered in pain on the floor in front of her. Somewhat smugly she walked over to the door and knocked on it. She assumed that he would post guards at the door, in case she tried to escape. She assumed right.

"Sir?" The voice of one of the men who had escorted her in asked.

"No," she said crisply. "But I think his business in here is done."

She thought she herd the guard mumble "that was fast" as the door was unlocked. It opened and her two escorts, guns drawn peered in. It didn't take them long to assess the situation.

"You all right, sir?" One of them called from the doorway, neither wanted to get to close to Meg.

"What does it look like idiot!" The man on the floor squeaked. "Get her out of here."

"Ahh, yes sir." a guard said nervously. "Where should we put her?"

"With the other one, you moron!" he peeped. Meg had to fight to hide her smile.

"Come with us," one of the guards said, he didn't take a step closer, he just waived his gun around. Meg had no reason to believe that the gun was only a bluff so reluctantly she submitted.

They lead her up a more rickety stairs which ran abruptly into a door. The guards carefully unlocked and opened it. Meg observed how they were holding their guns and where they were placing themselves on the stairway, in defensive positions. Whatever was in that room they considered a threat.

One of them waved their gun at her. "Go in." he ordered.

Cautiously she walked into the large room and, again, as soon as she was past the threshold, she could hear the door close and the tumblers on the lock seal her in.

The room was huge, it had probably once been used as a ballroom, there were hard wood floors and every step she took echoed in the empty ness. The only light in the room came from the skylight, almost four and a half meters above her. The window was made of translucent glass, she couldn't see out it and the light had a hard time getting in. It had been a bright day out and the room was lost in shadows.

As Meg walked further into the room she realized that she was not alone. It really wasn't much of a surprise to her, after all the boss had instructed his thugs to put her with 'the other one.' Who 'the other one' was she didn't know. But she was willing to bet that he was the one who was breathing heavily on a bed in the corner. Slowly Meg walked up to the bed, trying to be ready for anything. But she wasn't ready for what she saw.

On the bed Constable Benton Fraser was sound asleep. Meg stared at him for a few seconds, the whole situation was unbelievable. She didn't know what to think. "Constable!" She said, her voice was shaky. "Constable, wake up."

Fraser moaned, and slowly sat up. He was obviously disoriented, but not entirely so. He seemed to know where he was, at least he wasn't surprised. But he seemed to have trouble focusing, locating the voice that had waken him. "Constable?" She said again, less certainly. Fraser had had a bad week and his head was wrapped in a makeshift bandage, evidently he had suffered a head wound. He had been just a little bit crazy before these compound traumas, Meg wasn't sure she could trust him after them.

Fraser turned his head and looked at her, confusion was painted all over his face. "Inspector?"

"That's right constable." She said briskly. They weren't in the Consulate, but acting as if they were was the only way Meg could keep from bursting into tears. Fraser, whether by training, or habit, or just an amazing and sensitive awareness of Meg's present state, swung himself out of the bed and stood at attention, again swaying slightly.

"If you don't mind my asking, sir, what are you doing here?" Fraser asked nervously.

"I could ask you the same question, in fact I think I will, what are you doing here Constable?"

"I am . . ." he had a bought of coughing, but quickly regained composer, almost. "I am being held prisoner here."

"Prisoner?"

"So it would seem."

"Ah," Thatcher said, nodding. "May I ask how you got here?"

"Uhhh . . ."

"Constable?"

"I don't know sir?"

"Again?"

"Yes."

Margaret hid her face in her hands. She wanted to laugh and cry and scream all at once. Instead she took a deep breath and forced herself to maintain composer. "That's very convenient, you forget the events surrounding Detective Vecchio's shooting and the events surrounding your escape from the law. It makes it very hard to prove you did anything."

"It makes it harder to prove that I didn't do anything as well."

That was something Meg hadn't thought of. "Ah, yes." She looked down, "Why are these people trying to frame you, do you think?" She asked at length.

"I don't believe that their intent was to frame me."

Meg looked at him doubtfully. "It is rare that someone is framed on accident."

"Perhaps I should clarify that statement."

"Perhaps you should,"

"But first do you mind if I sit, sir?" Fraser took a deep breath, "I feel a little light headed."

"By all means," she motioned him to return to the bed.

"Thank you sir." He lowered himself onto the bed slowly, and when he was siting he didn't attempt to sit up, but rather leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. Margaret wondered if it was a ploy, some trick to get her sympathies. But she realized that she was being ridiculous. Even if it turned out that Fraser wasn't the squeaky clean Mountie that she had always thought he was, he was still incapable of that kind of manipulation. Not to mention the expression of pain on his face was far too good to be part of a con. Meg walked over to the bed and sat next to him.

"Would you mind if I looked at your wound?" She asked.

Fraser seemed surprised by the request, "Not at all, sir." He said softly as he pushed himself up so she was in a better position to examine his forehead.

"Did you use bed sheets as bandages?" She asked as she unwrapped the makeshift bandage he had wrapped around his head.

"Yes sir," he said, "The sheet I used is under the bed, in case you feel you need to replace the bandage."

"Very resourceful" she muttered.

As she pulled the cloth away from his wound Fraser winced. "Did that hurt?" Meg asked, already knowing the answer.

"Well," he said tensely, "yes."

Meg was quiet for a second, finally she said "I'm sorry."

"No apology necessary." Fraser said, his voice was strained. Meg got the feeling that his head hurt every time he moved it. Meg was amazed that he had been able to stand at attention for their short conversation. "You actually have a very gentle touch."

Margate was so frightened and so tense that Fraser's one tiny complement caught her totally off guard. She found herself somewhat flustered. "Why . . . why thank you." She went to take the last bit of bandage off his head when she noticed something. "You're hot."

That caught Benny off guard. "Excuse me?"

"You have a fever."

Fraser flashed her a smile, "Ah," he laughed nervously, "Yes. It would seem that I caught the flu from the man in the holding cell."

"You have the flu?"

"It would appear so."

"And a concussion."

"Yyyyyyes."

Margaret shook her head "Only you Constable, only you."

"Only me what, sir?"

"Nothing." She pulled the last bits of cloth off of his sore. It looked like he had put the bandage on at least a day ago, the cloth was crusted with dry blood and puss. No matter how gentle her touch was she couldn't keep Benny out of pain. He grinned and bore it, like any man would have, but that didn't help Meg feel any better. "I'm sorry." She whispered again.

Benny nodded, ever so slightly.

Meg thought it would be a good idea if they moved on. "Uh, the wound seems more or less healed. It's still bleeding, a little, but not badly. I should clean it, and then wrap it up again."

"Look under the bed." Fraser suggested.

Meg obeyed without thinking. She found the sheet which Fraser had obviously used for his first bandage she also found a small first aid kit. "How did you get this?" she asked as she opened the kit and looked inside.

"It was here when I woke up," he explained. "As were all the other things under the bed."

"Humm." was all Meg offered as acknowledgment, she was too busy looking at the stuff in the Fist Aid Kit. Overall, it didn't have a lot of useful medical supplies in it. There were a lot of band-aids, which were totally useless, an Ace Bandage, which was again useless, a small vile of aspirin and a tube of disinfectant/burn cream. Meg took the burn cream and the aspirin out of the kit and slid the rest of it back under the bed. "Do you have any water?" She asked.

Benny took a deep breath. "In the washroom."

"Washroom?" Margaret hadn't noticed a washroom, but as she looked around she noticed another door, right to the left of the bed. "Ah, the washroom." She got up, and she heard Benny move to get up and escort her. "Stay put, Constable." She ordered.

"Understood," Fraser groaned.

Meg wasted no time in fetching a bowl full of water (there had been a bowl under the bed as well) and returning to Fraser's side. "Why don't you take some of these before I start bandaging your head." She suggested handing him the aspirin.

"I'm afraid I can't do that." Fraser said in an annoyingly calm way.

"What?" Meg asked, a little louder than she really should have, but she was trying to rip a new bandage as well as a wash cloth for him, and it wasn't exactly easy.

"I'm afraid that if I took aspirin in my present state . . ."

"You're present state?" she asked as the cloth finally ripped. She continued ripping it and found that once she had made the first tear it got easier.

"I do believe that I told you I have the flu."

She had the head bandage torn, now all she needed was a washcloth. "Yes, Fraser, we did discuss that."

"Well then, I'm sure I don't have to point out that if one takes aspirin during an attack of the flu virus one may cause Reye's Syndrome, which has the potential to result in brain swelling and liver dysfunction."

"Ah," She said, feeling just a little the fool. "Of course." She ripped the last bit of the sheet and had a wash cloth. She picked up the bowl of water, the rags she intended to use and the disinfectant cream and, balancing them somewhat precariously went and sat next to Fraser. He didn't dare get up, but he did reach out to relieve her load. She didn't let him. She placed the bowl on her lap, had the washcloth in one hand and, gently, held Fraser's head in the other. "I apologize it this hurts Constable."

"No apologies necessary inspector."

"Nevertheless, I do apologize."

Meg worked in silence for almost a minute. Occasionally Fraser would wince, but other than that the room was frighteningly silent. Once Fraser's wound was clean Meg put the dirty washcloth in the bowl and the bowl on the ground. There was a question that she had been wanting to ask Fraser ever since she had taken command of the Consulate. She couldn't stand the quiet any longer, but she couldn't ask him while he was looking at her with his soft brown eyes.

"Fraser?" she asked as she was looking down, muddling with the cap on the disinfectant cream. "Do you resent me?"

"What, sir?" He asked softly.

She had asked it, the damage had been done. She might as well own up to it. "I wanted to know if you resented me?"

"Why would I resent you, sir?"

"Well," she cleared her throat. "Technically your duties do not include picking up my laundry."

"Technically, no they don't." Benny said cooly. "However, my duties do include following my commanding officer's orders." He paused, "Which is a duty that I particularly enjoy."

Meg tried not to smile, Benny noticed. "I'm glad that you are enjoying your job."

"Always Ma'am." Benny didn't try to hide his smile.

Ray was furious. He hated being babied and that was all that his family seemed to want to do. One little bullet wound and he was suddenly helpless. He had tried to convince his Ma that he was fine, more or less, but she wouldn't hear a word of it. To make matters worse his older sister Marie was just as bad. He hadn't had a moment of freedom to wander around in his own house since he got home. Finally Friday had come around, and the weekly shopping trip was in order. It had taken Ray almost a half an hour to convince his mother to go by food. That he could take care of himself. The house was empty, almost.

"Ray," Franny said, he couldn't believe how annoying her voice could be. "You have to stay in bed."

"I've been in bed for days." Ray complained, "I wan'a be out of bed."

"If Ma saw you poking around her kitchen all banged up like that she'd have a fit." Franny grabbed an apple out of the basket on the kitchen table and took a huge bite out of it.

"She has a fit whenever I do anything in her kitchen. Besides, she won't yell at me, she'll yell at you." He closed the refrigerator door in disgust. "How can a house with so many people in it have so little food?!"

"Why do you say I'll get in trouble? You're the one who is up and about when he's supposed to be . . . down and restrained."

"Cause, I got shot. As long as I'm in pain Ma can't be mad at me."

Franny opened her mouth to yell at him, but she knew he was right. She closed her mouth and shook her head angrily. "You get back in bed."

"Nothin' doin'," Ray insisted. "I can't lie still another minute." he grabbed an apple out of a fruit basket on the kitchen table and bit into it viciously.

"So, you get up, you walk around, you eat apples," she shrugged sarcastically. "And that accomplishes?"

"Keeps me from goin' nuts." Ray said with a frankness that didn't match the conversation which had proceeded it.

Franny, not surprisingly didn't catch on. "You are nuts Ray."

"Why?" Ray scoffed. "Because I refuse to believe that my best friend put me in the hospital."

"Ray . . ." Franny moaned, for the first time realizing that the bullet wound was the least of Ray's hurts. "It'll work out."

"Oh really Franny?" He said with more than his usual dosage of sarcasm. "Benny was in prison for attempted murder, that is until he escaped with the help of the mob. Telly me how it's going to work out?"

"I da'know Ray. But I have faith in Fraser."

"Faith isn't the problem. I have all the faith in the world that Benny didn't do it, any of it. But what's faith if you can't act on it?"

Franny knew her brother, these were more than frustrated mumbles he was trying to come up with a plan of attack, he was going to fight, as soon as he could figure out how. "What'cha' thinking about doin'?"

"I don't know." Ray said quietly. "What do you think Benny would do?"

"Get his man?"

"Yha," Ray said nodding, a smile was slowly emerging on his face. "That's exactly what I have to do, find Benny, then everything will be alright."

Benny was sleeping. His breathing was labored and every now and then he would mumble something in his sleep. Meg sat on the floor, leaning up against the bed. She had been locked away for a little under six hours, and for four of those hours Benny had been asleep. He needed it, he was injured and ill. Nevertheless, it left Meg feeling horribly lonely.

"You're making a fool of yourself!" A frightening familiar voice said. Meg's heart stopped for a second. She glanced over and saw the last person she expected. "Aunt Chloe?" She gasped.

"Don't stare Maggie, it's rude."

"This isn't real." Meg told herself as she closed her eyes and pressed on them with the heal's of her palms. "I'm hallucinating, the stress is getting to me. If I take a deep breath and relax she'll be gone when I open my eyes."

"No I won't be." the annoyingly real voice said.

Meg ignored it. She took a deep breath, made a conscious effort to relax the muscles in her back and opened her eyes. Aunt Chloe hadn't moved.

"Trust your senses Maggie," she said. "I taught you that."

"This isn't real," told herself again. "I must have contracted the Flu from Fraser, I'm delusional."

"You're being more than a fool," Chloe said, "Now you're being just plain stupid. Do you have to explain away everything?"

It was nice having someone to talk to, even if that person was only an illusion. "Isn't that what you taught me, to not accept things at face value, but dig deeper?"

"I also taught you that men only mean trouble. You seemed to drop that lesson fairly fast."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Meg lied.

"Yes, dearie, you do. You're losing yourself to this man who's lead you into a den of evil where you are in grave danger."

"Den of evil?"

"What else would you call this place, Maggie?"

"Maybe a Mob stronghold? And Fraser didn't lead me here."

"Didn't he? Would you have come to this horrible place if not for him?"

"No, of course not. But that's not his fault."

"Isn't it?"

"I am a commanding officer looking out for someone under my command. He was AWOL."

"You can't lie to me young lady, I see the deception in your eyes."

"Aunt Chloe, what do you want?"

"I want you to stop being a fool and doubting over that boy."

"I'm not doubting over him. He's injured and needs assistance."

"Sweety, you're not fooling anyone with that."

"Fine!" Meg admitted, after her aunt's death, Meg had forgotten how incredibly tedious and bitter she was. "I'm taken with him! I admire him! I dream about him!"

"He'll use you and lose you, Dearie!"

"Not every man is like Uncle Howard. He is dependable, trustworthy, and a total gentleman."

"They are all like that at first, but he'll break your heart if you give it to him."Maybe her aunt was right, Meg had always been foolishly sentimental. What if she was letting her heart cloud her judgment? It had lead to problems before, Meg was going to have to be very careful she couldn't let things get out of control.

Meg was going to rebut her aunt, try and communicate what sort of man Benton Fraser really was, but she didn't get a chance. Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by a scream. Meg turned to see the once peaceful Benny writhing, struggling against something in a nightmare.

"Look at him," he aunt said with disgust. "He's pathetic."

"Go away," she told her nay-saying aunt. "Fraser, wake up," she said in the same breath. She leaned over her subordinate. He was terrified. She shook him hard, trying to get a response. "Fraser, wake up!"

Benny's eyes snapped open, but Meg could tell that he was still lost in the dream. He was looking everywhere, focusing on nothing. "Fraser!" She said again, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look at her. "Fraser, calm down, it was a dream."

"Dream?" He muttered, his breath was slowing down. He was conscious again.

"Yes, Constable a bad dream."

He licked his lips, "Dream." he said again softly. Then he seemed to notice where he was and whom he was with. "Inspector?" Benny asked, he sounded disorient.

"I'm right here, Constable," she said, trying to sound assuring. "How do you feel?"

"Thirsty."

"That's understandable." Meg looked around for the bowl, the only thing they had which was suitable for carrying water. "I'll be right back."

"Understood," he said softly. Margaret seriously doubted whether he really understood. He looked like a lost puppy, overwhelmed by even the smallest stimuli. Again Meg was forced to check her heart. She could let her maternal instincts turn into romantic feelings, she couldn't let herself be hurt like her aunt had been hurt . . . like she herself had been hurt before.

"Raymondo," Ray's mother scolded harmlessly. "You should be in bed, not in my kitchen, making phone calls to all your friends."

"This is important Ma," Ray insisted.

"What's more important than my little boy's health?" Ma Vecchio was chopping tomatoes, she brought the knife down particularly hard to emphasize her point.

"He's really not that little anymore, Ma." Franny pointed out.

"Francesca," her mother said, with a sharp thunk on the cutting board. "Go upstairs and see if your sister needs help with the baby."

"Ma, I think Maria is perfectly . . ."

"Francesca!" Her mother said, there was nothing Franny could do, Ma had spoken. She trough an apologetic look Ray's way before she scuttled out of the kitchen. It was great having Franny on his team, but every time she came up to bat Ray had to hold his breath. He never knew how she was going to hit.

"Now, Ray, you get out of my kitchen and get back to bed."

"Ma, you want to know what's more important than my health, how 'bout Benny's life?"

Ma stopped her chopping. "Is Benito really in that much trouble?"

"Yha, Ma, he is."

"You told them he didn't shoot you."

"Course I did, but because I can't remember who did shoot me they have to keep him as the main suspect."

"You police, you need to have faith. Believe in the goodness inside of people."

"Ma if we did that there would be a lot of creeps on the street who would not give a second thought to takin' advantage of your good nature."

"Benito always had faith in people." Ma Vecchio said as she started the chopping again.

And look where that got him. Ray thought bitterly. But his thoughts were interrupted by a loud bark; a loud, incredibly familiar bark.

"Deifenbaker!" Ray exclaimed.

"My boy is delusional." Ma Vecchio moaned. She wasn't surprised, those selfish insurance companies had kicked him out of the hospital before he was well enough to leave. Her boy still slept about ten hours a day, got short of breath after going up one flight of stairs, and he was consistently pail.

Ray pushed himself away from the table and practically ran to the front door. By the time he got there he found himself dizzy and out of breath. It took a few seconds fumbling with the locks before he got the door open and was all but attacked by Deifenbaker.

"Deif!" Ray gasped, as soon as he could. "Deif, you have no idea how good it is to see you!"

Deifenbaker responded by licking Ray over zealously. Normally Ray would have pushed him away, tried to keep his cool, but at the moment any connection to Benny was more than welcome.

"Ray!" a blood curdling scream cut through the house. Franny had been coming down the stairs when she had noticed her brother lying on the floor, to all appearances, being eaten by a wolf. Granted wolves were not horribly common in Chicago, but Franny knew what she saw.

Her shriek alerted everyone in the house and soon the entire Vecchio family, Franny, Ma, Maria, her husband, and all the kids, came running.

There was a lot of noise and commotion, someone started hitting Deif with a broom. It was ten minutes before the situation calmed down and the Vecchio's could, more or less go back to what they had been doing, confident that the wolf in the house would not kill anyone.

"I'm sorry, Deifenbaker," Franny said, petting the wolf affectionately. "I didn't recognize you."

"You didn't recognize him!" Ray scoffed. "How many wolves do you see around Chicago? And you couldn't recognize him?"

"He was a blur of white and gray."

"He was a blur! He was standing perfectly still over me, how could be he a blur?"

"Well excuse me for being concerned about my brother." Franny said. Normally she would have walked away, insulted, but Deif was a cute dog and he was showering her with affections. "You know, I think he's hungry."

"That wolf is always hungry." Ray commented, he was only partially paying attention. He had Deifenbaker, now all he had to do was figure out how to use Deif to find Benny.

"Where do you think he's been all this time?" Franny asked as she lead Deif into the kitchen.

"You are not taking that animal into my clean kitchen!" Ma Vecchio said, waving the broom in the general direction of the wolf, but Ray knew that she wouldn't hit him. Ma loved Deif as much as anyone in the house.

"Hay Franny!" Ray called from the living room. There was a general rule of no yelling in the Vecchio home, but it was never enforced.

"What?!" she yelled back.

"No shouting!" their mother said, loud enough that her voice echoed through the house.

Ray figured that since his mother had to tolerate Deifenbaker in her kitchen she might as well do so in quiet. He slowly stood up and walked into the kitchen. "Franny, what did you say?"

"I said . . . what?"

"No before that?"

"Not a clue."

"You wondered where Deif had been for the past week."

Franny looked up out of one of the cupboards. "If you knew what I said why did you ask?"

"Where have you been?" Ray asked Deifenbaker. The wolf didn't offer an answer, he just turned his attention back to Franny, who was opening a can of spam for him. He looked anxious. For the first time ever Ray wished he could lick the wolf's paws and discover where he had been and what he had been doing. But even if the wolf couldn't tell him anything, Ray knew some people who could.

He walked over to the phone and pressed number one on speed dial. After two rings Elaine answered. "Police Department, 27^th precinct, how can I help you?"

"Hey Elaine," Ray said quickly, "It's Ray."

"How you feelin' Detective?" Elaine said chipperly. Ray wasn't in the mood for chipper.

"Fine, look, what happened to Deifenbaker?"

"Fraser's wolf?"

"Yha, where's he been the last week? The pound? With a neighbor? Where?"

"As far as I know no one's seen him since the night you were shot."

"Really?"

"Yha, Thatcher was looking for him earlier this week. He's mentioned in the first police reports, they all say he was asleep."

Ray looked at Deifenbaker, who was almost finished with the spam. "That doesn't sound like Deif."

"I don't know about that, you should call the consulate, maybe they found him."

"Yha, maybe I should, thanks Elaine."

"No problem Ray, feel better."

Ray hung up, then dialed number two on speed dial. The phone didn't even finish ringing once before it was picked up. "Canadian Consulate, Constable Turnbull speaking, how many I help you?"

"Look, this is Ray Vecchio, I need to talk to Thatcher."

"I'm sorry Mr. Vecchio but Inspector Thatcher is indisposed at the moment, perhaps . . ."

"Look, Turnbull, this is important!" Ray insisted. "It's about Fraser."

"Constable Fraser is on an extended leave of absence because of some questionable behavior involving a member of the Chicago Police Department."

"Yha, I know. I got the bad end of that questionable behavior. Look can you at least tell Thatcher I'm on the line."

"I'm afraid that I could not do that at the present moment."

"And why not?"

"Because, she's out."

"Why couldn't you just tell me that in the first place!?" Ray said angrily, how had this guy ever become a police officer, even in Canada?

"Now, Mr. Vecchio, there is no reason to raise your voice like that."

"When will she be back?"

"I'm afraid she did not leave that information."

"Well, then, where did she go?"

"She did not leave that information either. You see she left rather abruptly in the presence of a wolf, I believe to . . ."

"Wait, wait, wait . . ." Ray interrupted. "Did you say a wolf?"

"Yes sir. If it is any help she did say something about former prime minister Deifenbaker, perhaps she is trying to contact him."

"Yha, thanks Turnbull." Ray said as he hung up the phone. Thatcher had found Deif, but it would seem that she had lost him somehow. "You're the key, aren't you Deif?" He asked the wolf.

Deifenbaker whined and walked towards the back door, Ray knew what that meant, and he knew what he had to do.

It was early in the morning but Meg was asleep on the floor. Benny had offered her the bed, but she had pointed out that after sleeping in the bed for over two days he had probably infected it with all sorts of flu germs, and (while it was probably unavoidable) Meg was going to try to escape infection. Benny felt slightly guilty about having a, more or less, comfortable bed while a woman, not to mention his commanding officer, had to sleep on a hard floor. Benny sighed as he looked at her, she didn't deserve to be there, she wasn't meant for that kind of hard life.

"You have bizarre taste in women, son." Benny's father said. Benny didn't even flinch, he had been wondering for a couple of day's when his father was going to pop up.

"What do you mean, Dad?" Benny asked calmly. He wasn't sure if his surreal calm was a result of him being essentially over the flu, or the way the early morning sunlight reflected off of Margaret's hair.

"Well, I'm just surprised that someone with your good sense would fall for another dangerous woman after that fiasco with Victoria."

Victoria. Benny took a deep breath, it was an old wound, but that didn't stop it from hurting. "They are nothing alike, of course with the exception of the brown hair and green eyes . . . and their basic knowledge of survival . . . and the softness of their voices when they are frightened or concerned . . ."

"And the fact that they are dangerous."

"Inspector Thatcher is not dangerous. In fact she is one of the safest people I know."

"Safe in what way son?" His father asked, Benny didn't know how to answer. "Safe as in she'll never shoot you down."

"There is a certain amount of safety in that." Benny tried, in vain, to hold on to that calm which had filled him only a minute ago.

"She is your superior officer. I would never have dared to develop those types of relations with my superior officers."

"As I recall, dad, all your superior officers were not only male, but they were married."

"They were safe."

"Inspector Thatcher is not dangerous."

"But you're still afraid of her."

"Why do you say that?!"

"Oh, son, every time you're around her you become self-conscious."

"Don't you think that that might have something to do with attraction?"

"I don't see how it would. When I was wooing you mother I strutted around like a peacock on parade."

"Then you were self-conscious, you did think about how you looked and acted."

"Well . . . maybe. But that doesn't change the fact that she scares you. You can't predict how this one is going to act, and if you want an ordered life, you need predictability."

"Spontaneity is always welcome. If you get locked into a routine you lose your edge."

"I never lost my edge. And I kept the same routine for years."

"But didn't that ever get boring? Didn't you ever wish there was something more?"

"Are you saying you want to settle down, have a family with this woman?"

"I didn't say that dad."

"I think it's a good idea for you to settle down. But this woman, she's very commanding. Are you sure you could handle her?"

"You don't 'handle' a woman. It's more complicated than that."

"This coming from a boy who's only love tried to kill him. I was married you know. I do have experience in these areas."

"I know dad, I just wish you would leave my love life alone."

"Son, you don't have a love life."

"I fail to see how any of that is your business."

"I am your father, I just want what's best for you. . . . That and grandchildren."

"Grandchildren!"

"Little tot's to bounce on my knee and tell bedtime stories to."

"Dad, you're dead!" Fraser exclaimed. "If you tried to bounce a child on your knee they would fall through it."

"You don't have to rub it in son."

Their conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door. "Odd," Benny said to no one in particular.

"What?" Margaret said groggily. Benny got off of his bed and helped her into a sitting position. He hoped that his rather loud conversation with his father had not waken her, but she said noting about it so he had to assume it hadn't. She didn't need the help, but she let him do it anyway. There was no use letting a true gentleman go to waste. "Are you feeling better, Constable?"

"Yes sir, much. Thank you kindly."

"That's good." There was another knock. "Is that a knock at the door?"

"Yes, so it would appear."

"Why would they knock on the door, we're their prisoners."

"Perhaps it is a polite gangster."

"A polite gangster?" Meg looked at Fraser, he thought that she looked just a little frightened, but she quickly became completely professional. "Constable, I think you should answer the door."

"I assume that it is locked."

"If someone is knocking they probably unlocked the door." Meg snapped.

"Right you are, sir." The door knocked again. "I'll go get that."

"Thank you, Constable." Meg said, she hung back by the bed watching nervously. Benny glanced back at her, she urged him on with a look. Benny wondered why she had suddenly become timid. While delegating authority was very much in her character, this seemed more like a situation where she would take matters into her own hands.

There was another knock. "Hello?" Benny asked nervously.

"Room service!" A sing songy voice answered.

"Room service?"

"Breakfast, waffles, coffee, O.J., and Canadian Bacon." The man on the other side of the door laughed, Benny wasn't quite sure what he found so funny. He looked back to Thatcher for cues, she shook her head no."

"I'm afraid that we didn't order room service."

"Oh, come now Constable, you haven't eaten for over three days. And the Inspector did miss super last night."

"Nevertheless, we chose to decline."

"Open the door," the man on the other side said testily.

"I'm afraid that I can't do that." Fraser explained. "You see . . ."

But he never got to finish his explanation, the door was opened by the guards on the other side and a well dressed man wearing gloves walked in. He was followed by two people carrying trays with two beautiful breakfasts on them. The smell of the food made Fraser realize how hungry he really was. He suddenly got a sharp hunger pains. He glanced at Thatcher, she was frightened of the well dressed man. Benny couldn't help but wonder why. He quickly walked over to Margaret's side and tried to look imposing. The truth was that he doubted he would be able to protect her against the well dressed man, by the way he walked it was obvious that he worked out quite frequently and there was a slight bulge just under his left shoulder that betrayed a gun holster with a gun in it. Benny felt a world better than he had the day before, but he was fairly sure that his reflexes were not up to his normal standard, which put them in danger.

"Is this some control thing?" He asked as he waltzed in. "You won't eat to upset me?" Fraser looked to Meg for his cues, she was acting as hard as a rock, Fraser followed suite. "I know all about prisoner mentalities. Really quite fascinating, but not eating won't do a thing, you're going to die after breakfast, whether you eat or not."

"You plan to kill us?" Thatcher asked, she didn't sound surprised or frightened, but she almost sounded relived.

"I'm not going to kill anyone. Benton Fraser in a murderous rage will kill his superior, maybe because she tracked him down like a good Mountie. Then for some reason, guilt or passion he'll shoot himself. Murder suicide, very tragic."

"That's ludicrous." Meg pointed out.

"Actually, Inspector, he has shown that he can do that sort of operation. Which he proved when he made it appear as though I had shot Ray. Although in that particular incidence he had to knock us out with chloroform before hand because his plan necessitated my being alive when the gun was found. In this situation, however, all he need do is shot us, then position us like manikins to look like the scenario which he described. He obviously believes that only the police officers who will be on the scene will take the crime at face value and not conduct a true investigation which would show we were in different positions when the we were shot. Considering the present circumstances, my standing in the law particularly, I'm inclined to believe he is right."

Meg didn't like Fraser's prediction at all, but she believed them. "Why are you going to kill us?" she asked.

"There are three kinds of cops, those with poor vision, those who chose not to see, and those who have eyes like a hawk. The first kind I could care less about, the second I rather like, the third are totally intolerable, and your Constable Fraser is one of that kind. I needed to get him out of the way. Of course I didn't count on Vecchio to be that loyal, he defended you well . . well enough that I could see that something else would need to be done. By having you shoot Vecchio I got you both out of the way. No one has sympathy on a cop killer and the evidence was hard. I got two cops with good eyes off the street. That would have been the end of it if it wasn't for that stupid dog."

"Wolf." Fraser corrected.

"What?"

"Deifenbaker is a wolf, well actually he is half arctic wolf half sled dog. But he has embraced his wolf heritage and would appreciate it if you would refer to him as a wolf."

"I don't give a damn," The man said harshly. "Now eat, your waffles are getting cold."

Benny glanced at his superior. He was very hungry and the maple syrup and Canadian bacon were extremely tempting.

Meg could feel Fraser's eyes on her and she felt a twinge of guilt. According to the man he hadn't eaten for over three days. The Constable had been well trained, he could go a lot longer without eating if he had to. But the fact was it was only Meg's pride that was keeping him from the food. "Fine," she finally said. "We'll eat."

"Ah, good." He said, "clapping. The men roughly handed the tries to Meg and Benny. "I'll leave you to eat in peace, I'll be back in an hour. Come on boys." The man snapped and walked out of the room. The thugs followed, the door was slammed and locked.

"Very wise course of action, Inspector?" Fraser said, putting down his tray hastily.

"Aren't we going to eat?" Meg said, she had been sure that Fraser was practically dying of hunger.

"There will be plenty of time to eat later sir, but we have only an hour to escape and I propose we use that time wisely."

"Yes, Constable," Margaret stuttered. "I quite agree."

"Good, now, at the risk of overstepping my bounds I would like to suggest a plan of attack."

"I'm open to any suggestions."

"Thank you, sir." Benny walked over to the bed, "could you please assist me?"

"On the bed?"

"Moving the bed."

"I'm confused."

"Ah, well there are only two ways in or out of this room, the door there, which is consistently guarded and the skylight."

"Which is meters above our heads."

"Yes, Ma'am it is, however, If I were to be standing on the bed, and you were to be standing on my shoulders you might be able to reach the edge of the window."

"And what would that avail us Constable? It was not designed to open."

"Granted, but I assume that it could be broken."

"And how do you presume to do that?"

Benton leaned down an picked up the stainless steel pitcher of coffee which had been brought in with their breakfasts. "If you will permit me, sir?"

"By all means."

"Thank you." With one smooth movement Fraser sent the coffee pot flying through the air, and through the window. There was a crash and glass came raining down on them.

"Hey!" one of the guards called from in the hallway, "What was that?"

"Constable Fraser just spilled his juice." Meg yelled back without thinking. "He broke the cup." There was no response from the other side of the door. The Mounties had to assume that their explanation had been accepted.

"Will you aid me with the bed, sir?" Fraser asked, already trying to push it out of the way. "Yes of course."

Ray's mind was willing to find Benny, but his body was weak. Deif had been leading him deeper into the bad part of town for hours, Ray was glad that he had had the foresight to take the Riv to follow Deif instead of go by foot. The wolf had lead him over twelve miles through the streets before turning into an alley that was to narrow for the Riv. "Stay there!" he yelled to the wolf, who seemed to be very anxious. "I gotta park." Of course Ray didn't want to park his beautiful, expensive car in that part of town; he didn't want to drive his car in that part of town, but it was for Benny. He parked, locked his car, and made sure that everyone who might just be watching in the shadows saw that he was well armed. Then he walked over to Defenbaker. "Ok, where now?"

Deif started running down the ally, pausing every few yards too let Ray catch up. Finally he stopped in front of a fire escape on an old condemned building. Ray looked up the fire escape doubtfully. "You want me to go up that?"

Deifenbaker whined.

"You want me to carry you up that? Sorry pal, nothing doing."

Suddenly Deif growled and started running away from the fire escape. "Deif!" Ray yelled in pure frustration, he knew the wolf couldn't hear him. "What's with that?!"

"Detective!" A voice called from somewhere on high. "Run!" Ray didn't have to look up to know who was ordering him around. Nevertheless he glanced up and saw Inspector Margaret Thatcher on the roof of the condemned building, things were getting very odd.

"What?" He yelled up to her.

"Run . . ." She yelled back, and then added "And call for backup!"

"Why?"

His question was promptly answered by gunshots. Ray started running, he dove behind a large trash bin and fired two shots in the general direction of where the other bullets had come from. He didn't necessarily want to hit anyone, he just wanted to let whoever was firing that he could fire back, and that they didn't want to shoot him. "Chicago P.D.," he yelled, "Put your guns down and come out into the open."

He was answered by a round of fire. Quickly he pulled out his cellular phone and dialed 911. Ray didn't even let the operator say a word, as soon as it was answered he started talking. "This is Detective Ray Vecchio, Chicago P.D. Look I'm at an alleyway near twelfth and Lefeber up at the north side and there's a shootout going on, I need backup, and there could be a hostage situation."

"Can I have your badge number please?"

"849352, I'm with the 27^th precinct."

"I'm sending you backup now. You said something about a hostage?"

"Yha, I was tracking these scum bags for kidnaping, One of the people they got escaped, the other one, I haven't seen. They might still have him."

"Can I have the names of the kidnap victims?" The clerk asked calmly, which was a stark contrast to the bullets that were flying around Ray.

"What the hell do they think they are shooting at?" Ray muttered.

"Excuse me?" The operator said politely. Ray didn't even notice, he saw what had caught their eye. Thatcher had somehow gotten off of the roof and was running towards him and his hiding place. You Moron! Ray thought, but he wasn't about to say it.

"Hurry!" he yelled as he threw down the phone in order to provide her with cover fire. Meg was obviously running as fast as she could, but in a business suite and no shoes that wasn't very fast. Finally she reached the cover of the trash bin and immediately started bossing Ray around.

"Did you call for backup?"

"Yha, It should be on its way. Where's Fraser?"

"Inside."

"You left him inside?!"

"Not by choice, detective. When he tried to follow me out the sheet ripped and he fell."

"What?" Thatcher was a little off the wall occasionally, but what she said didn't make anything even resembling sense.

"I escaped through a skylight. I had to stand on Constable Fraser's shoulders to reach it, once I was out I lowered a bed sheet for him to shimmy up on. Unfortunately the structural integrity of the sheet had been compromised . . ."

"Structural integrity?" Ray asked, by his tone of voice it was quite clear that he thought she was nuts.

"It was torn." She answered crisply. "His weight was too much for it and it ripped," she bit his lower lip and glanced up in the general direction where, he assumed, She and Fraser had been held.

"Is Benny Ok?" Ray asked, following her gaze.

"I hope so." she said quietly, and then added, much louder, "He only fell three meters," Ray quickly did the math, nine feet. "And he fell onto the bed, so he should be fine."

"The bed?"

Thatcher straightened herself, Ray thought she was trying to regain some dignity. He wondered why, "We needed to stand on the bed in order to achieve the proper height."

"So you could reach the window,"

"Exactly."

Ray nodded, that was a Benny plan, it seemed simple enough but it had odd and unforseen consequences. This time the consequence could be Benny's life.

Suddenly the opposing fire stopped. Ray and Meg looked at each other, neither quite sure what that meant.

"They could be out of ammo," Ray suggested.

"Or they could be coming to get a better shot," Thatcher pointed out.

"Yha, they could be doing that." Of course Ray's first inclination was to think the worse, he had tried to sound optimistic for Thatcher's sake, but she was to smart for that.

"How many shots do you have left?"

Ray looked at his gun, "Two maybe," He ejected the bullet casing and threw in a new one without even looking at the number of bullets he had left, better safe than sorry. "Now I have nine."

"There are three gunmen." Thatcher informed him. One of them is left handed. He's the best shooter of the bunch, they have riffles and I doubt that they will run out of ammunition any time soon."

"You think they'll take us prisoner?" Ray asked. "Like they did before."

"I doubt it." Thatcher said tensely. "They want to kill us."

"How do you know that?"

"Their boss told me."

"But they took you and Benny captive." Ray pointed out.

"Only so they could kill us in a more convenient manner."

"How long they been quiet?"

"One minute, maybe."

"I'm gonna take a look." Ray peeked over the top of the garbage bin, his gun in hand, expecting a fire folly. Meg was looking up at him nervously. As he glanced down at her he couldn't help but think that she wasn't as tough as she appeared.

"Do you see them?" She demanded.

"No." Ray slowly stood up. "They're not there."

"What?" Thatcher asked, standing up in a snap, not one to let the situation get out of her complete control.

"Look, they're gone."

"But . . ." Meg muttered, utter confusion was on her face. "They couldn't just let us . . ." Her thought was interrupted by a crisp bark. Meg and Ray turned around to see Deifenbaker running towards them, but not really towards them, towards the gunman that were sneaking around the corner of the building. They started shooting at the wolf, forgetting for a second about Detective Vecchio and his gun. "Drop your guns!" Ray yelled. The thugs were so surprised they froze, not dropping their guns, but not shooting Dief either. The wolf trotted over to Meg and Ray waging his tail.

"Good Boy, Deifenbaker," Meg said kneeling down to pet the dog, he thanked her with a gracious lick.

"Ok, Sleaze Bags." Ray said, only affording Deif a thankful glance. "I can see what your thinking. You're thinking, hey, maybe we can be quick and shoot this guy before he reacts, and yha sure, maybe you can. But listen, you hear that in the background, those sirens getting closer? Those are reinforcements, and they will not be to happy when they come onto the scene and see that you shot one of their own. They will hunt you down with no mercy. You've heard the stories about what happens to cop killers. Put the guns down like good boys and you could get off with aggravated assault." Slowly the three thugs put down the riffles. "Smart kids, you did the right thing." Ray took a few steps towards the guys.

"Inspector, you think you could help me here?"

"Yes, of course."

Benny lied on the bed and gasped for breath. That morning he had thought that maybe he was fully recovered from his bought of the flu and that his concussion was more or less healed. As the room spun around him and the air refused to fill his lungs he realized that he had been wrong on both accounts.

The bungled escape plan was fuzzy in his mind, he knew that Margaret had gotten away, he remembered her voice calling at him trying to make sure he was all right. Then he remembered shouts and shots and then quiet. Benny didn't know what to think, he hoped that it was quiet because Inspector Thatcher had managed to get away, not because she had been recaptured or shot dead in the street. Of course, there was nothing he could do about it. He wanted more than anything to go out and protect Margaret but fate seemed determined that he couldn't. And Benny was in no condition to fight with fate. He let the room spin and he didn't force the air, everything would come, not that it really mattered if it did. Ray was gone, he undoubtably believed that Benny had shot him, he would have been a fool not to; Deifenbaker was gone, if he was smart he would have run, if he was foolish he would be killed; Margaret was gone, the more he thought about it the less likely it was that she had gotten away. What was left? There were people who he cared about, who were his friends, Elaine, Hewy, Francesca, the leftenanet, Turnbull, and lots more. But none of them were enough to make him want to fight. He had lost those closest too him, he was about to lose his freedom, he had little chance of ever recovering his honor, what was left?

"You remember what I told you after your mother died, don't you son?" His father asked. He seemed to be out of Benny's line of sight. Fraser didn't bother looking around to find him.

"Perhaps," Fraser choked out. "I have had several head injuries since then."

"There are two things worse than death . . ."

"Living without honor and dying without reason, I know."

"You know, then why don't you act on it son?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well your about to die without reason and be deprived of your honor."

Benny propped himself up on his elbows, he could now see his father at the foot of the bed. "What do you want me to do, Dad?"

"Not die and restore your honor."

"Oh," Benny said sarcastically. "Is that all?"

"For now. I'll let you know in the future."

"Well, thank you for keeping your request simple and vague."

"You're welcome son. So what are you going to do?"

"I was thinking about maybe giving up."

"What?"

"I hadn't really made a decision one way or the other. But, yes, I was considering . . ."

"I never thought I would say this, but I'm ashamed of you."

"Because I'm giving up?"

"Yes, I remember a time when I fell through the ice up near the Yukon pass, I had to drag myself out of the frozen water and strip naked, in below freezing weather, build a fire and try not to catch hypothermia. It was absolutely horrible, peeling those clothes off as they froze, froze to each other, froze to me. But I did it, and from then on I was able to keep away from the weak ice." His father stopped, as if the point of his story was perfectly obvious and Benny should have jumped up and said 'I've been a fool, thank you for making it clear to me.'

Instead he shook his head with a bewildered look on his face. "What was that supposed to mean?"

"I didn't give up."

"You tell me a long drawn out story about hypothermia and to no greater end than 'don't give up'?"

"I don't see why this troubles you so," his father said in a bewildered voice.

"If your going to tell me not to give up I would appreciate it if you would just come out and say, 'don't give up.'"

"Hey man, I don't care if you give up or not, I'm just here to shoot you." a voice said from behind Benny. He turned around to see one of the guards with a huge gun behind him.

Benny turned back to his father, but he was gone. "Oh, dear," the Mountie sighed.

"Get up,"

"Why?"

"I'm not going to shoot you when you are lying down."

"Ah, honor among thieves," Benny said as he returned to a fully reclined position. "My father believed that there was none, however I have discovered that there is a certain amount of honor, well perhaps honor is too strong a word, it might be more accurate to say there is a code of ethics among thieves, especially among organized crime, such as I believe we are in the midst of right now."

"I said get up!"

"No, I'm afraid that I can't do that."

"I'll shoot you!"

"No, you won't."

"I swear . . ."

"You said that you wouldn't shoot me while I was lying down."

"This ain't about honor!"

"I'm aware of that. I realize of course that they ordered you to shoot me at close range, in the head, and not with that weapon either. I assume you have a smaller hand gun in you pocket."

The guard put his hand on his pocket. "Hey, how'd you know that?"

"And as soon as I am shot you will undoubtably put the gun in my hands, making it look as if it was a suicide." Fraser moved his head without getting up to see how the thug reacted. He reacted well, that is to say he was startled by how accurate Fraser had been. He decided to continue. "However your plan, or should I say your boss' plan, necessitates that Inspector Thatcher be shot first, does it not? It needs to appear that in a passionate rage, perhaps because she told me that my advances have fallen on deaf ears, that politeness is a thing of the past and she resents being treated as a weaker person, as she has every right to, perhaps she told me that she simply did not like me, because my larnel is not straight, because I was too forward, because she loved someone else..." it suddenly occurred to Fraser that he said more than was necessary or prudent. He quickly got back on track, "The end result would be that I killed her and then as any truly tragic lover would, I kill myself. It's a very good plan, with one problem, two really, but only one that is simply . . . impassable."

"What problems would those be?" The guard was nervus, Fraser had a feeling that he knew more about the plan than the guard did.

"The first that I refuse to get up, because I know you will not shoot me with your riffle and I highly doubt you'll shoot me with the hand gun while I am lying one the bed, the angle would be . . . all wrong. However, killing me is the least of your worries. Inspector Thatcher is not here."

"She's what?"

"She's not here. She left a while ago."

"She left, she can't leave, I've been at the door, she couldn't leave!"

"She didn't take the door, she took the window."

"The what?!"

"She climbed out the window, with my assistance of course."

"You mean she's gone!"

"Yes."

"But . . . but . . . they said . . ."

"If your wondering why your orders weren't changed I assume that it was because Inspector Thatchers escape caused quite a commotion, it probably threw the whole operation off kilter."

"Well, what . . . what am I supposed to do?" The guard was in a panic. Fraser knew how to use that panic to his, and the laws, advantage.

"Put down the riffle and the handgun, and allow me to arrest you."

"Hey, man that's just stupid!"

"Is it? If you do not resist the arrest it will bode well for you once they get you to the station. All in all it is quite possible that you will be able to slice a deal . . ."

"You mean cut a deal, man?"

"Yes, of course, right you are, cut a deal. You are, after all, only an accessory, as long as you don't pull that trigger."

"But, jail man, jail?"

"If you pull that trigger, you will be a murderer. Murderers get very little mercy under the law."

"The cops don't care about you."

"That doesn't matter, and you know it. A murder is a murder, the Chicago P.D. will hunt you down and they will prosecute you."

"But you really think the judge will give me a break?"

"Yes, if you do the right thing now, I think he will."

"Man, this is heavy, I mean, this is . . ."

"Your boss left you here, he abandoned you with no way out. I'm not going to fool you, you will be arrested for a crime and you will spend some time in jail awaiting a trial. But you won't be a murderer, and even if the legal implications of that do not concern you, the moral should."

"Sorta, who am I to determine who lives and who dies?"

"Exactly."

"Yha, sure, I guess." He put the riffle down. Benny sat up on the bed and got a head rush, he ignored it, letting the world swim around him.

"Thank you kindly. Now if you would please hand me the hand gun."

"Yha," the punk said softly, he pulled the gun out slowly, for a second Benny was afraid that he would change his mind and shoot. But the guard was not as foolish as he seemed. He handed the gun to Fraser, who quickly tucked it in his belt. He wouldn't have used it (Not only because he was not licensed to in the Chicago area, but also because he was officially still under arrest for murder; and while he was not yet a felon, he was in no way certain of the laws in this situation and he didn't want to transgress the law). As the thought that it was probably illegal for him to posses the gun at all, he hoped if he surrendered it to the proper authorities they would see his good intent and perhaps drop the charges.

"I'm Fine." Inspector Thatcher insisted to the doctors who had showed up with the SWAT team, about ten minutes too late. "Will you please tell whoever is in charge that inside the building there is a man who has a concussion, the flu, and could quite possibly be shot at any second."

"Calm down," the nurse said. "I'm sure everything will be fine."

"If I calm down then a good man could die while a bunch of pencil pushing commanders decide what to do. I've been inside I know the layout. Why haven't I been questioned yet?"

"Because you're medically unfit, your pulse is racing."

Meg took a deep breath and tried to slow her heart rate. "I have been held captive against my will and shot at, all with in the last twenty four hours, I think I have grounds to be tense. But nevertheless I am going to try and calm down while you find out who's in charge right now and let me talk to him."

"I'll tell you who's in charge," a gruff voice said behind her. Meg turned around to see Lieutenant Welsh standing behind her. "Commander Bertenello. He's suggesting we charge in, take the place by force."

"That's crazy!" Meg said, pulling herself away from the medic. "He is putting Fraser at risk."

"As far as Bert's concerned Fraser's behind all of it."

"That's absurd, Lieutenant, and you know it."

"He shot Ray, and he was broken out of jail. It's not looking good."

"Does Detective Vecchio believe that constable Fraser shot him?"

"Well . . . no."

"And I can tell you that he was not rescued, but kidnaped."

"Kidnaped?"

"Yes. Constable Fraser was not held as a guest in that building and he most certainly was not in charge. He was held in the attic with no food or medical attention for three days."

"Medical attention, was he hurt?"

"He had a head wound, probably a concussion. And a fever, probably from a strain of the flu virus."

Welsh nodded. "I see."

"If your men charge the building you will put Constable Fraser in undo risk. Even if this Bertenellie believes that Fraser is guilty of all these things he is accused of, you have to know that he couldn't do any of them."

"I'm inclined to believe you, Inspector." Welsh said, then he leaned in and said something very softly. "But . . .ah . . . Bertenello was in charge of the bust that Fraser supposedly rated on. He needs a success to save face."

"At the risk of an officer's life."

"It's not one of his officers."

"That shouldn't make a difference."

"No," Welsh said as he straightened out. "It shouldn't but it does."

"Where is this guy, I need to talk to him." Meg pushed herself out of the ambulance, the nurse was about to protest but backed down with one glance from Thatcher.

"What'ch gona do?" Welsh asked. "Turn this into an international incident?"

"If I have too."

The Lieutenant shook his head ruefully. She was as dedicated to her officers as he was to his, he had to respect and honor that kind of dedication. "I'll take you to him."

"Fine." Meg said, taking a deep breath.

She followed Welsh through the crowds of officers, there were easily three times as many men on the scene from the Chicago P.D. than there was from the gang. This would be a success for Bertenello, but Meg had to wonder, at what cost? Finally they approached a nice car where Ray was talking passionately to another man in a long trench coat. "You send them in there Fraser will get his head blown off, no question about it."

"Do you think I care!" The man yelled. "This is the guy who shot you, Detective!" he said with intensity. Meg's breath got caught in her throat, that voice was horribly familiar. She froze in her tracks and listened, she had to be absolutely sure. "This is the guy who put not only you there, but all the people in the transport van and those good cops who were hurt in the failed bust. The guy's a sleaze bag, and you defending him will not make him any cleaner."

"You all right Inspector?" Welsh asked softly. "You need to see the medic again?"

"No, I'm fine," she said softly. "I know who your leak is, it's him."

"Ray?" Welsh asked, Thatcher certainly didn't look fine, she was pail and her voice sounded distant, like she was in shock. "Maybe you should sit down."

"No," she said with vigor. "The other one, the well dressed man."

Welsh didn't harbor any deep love for Bertenello, but he was a cop. "Are you sure Inspector?"

"Positive."

Welsh looked at her discriminativly. "You need to be really sure, not just little sure - sure beyond the shadow of a doubt."

"Why are you questioning my memory?"

"Look inspector, I regularly wouldn't. You have to understand that the man you just accused of the kidnaping is Commander Bertenello, otherwise known as my boss." Margaret inhaled sharply, that man was an officer of the law. "So the moral of the story is don't throw around accusations."

"That's his voice." Thatcher said, not once doubting her conviction.

"Maybe you should make sure it's his face too."

Normally Margaret would have insisted that her memory was sufficient, but accusing a cop of such a serious crime was not anything Meg could take lightly. Not to mention if he was the man then he would also be the Mob leak, and he had framed Fraser. Those were serious charges, Meg didn't want to make them unless there was no doubt in her mind.

"Commander, Detective," Welsh said, interrupting the passionate argument. "Inspector Thatcher has some information she would like to share."

Commander Bertenello swung around, he looked startled, Welsh noticed. "I don't think the inspector could add anything." He said smoothly, "She was under a great deal of stress, her information cannot be trusted."

"That's not why you don't want to hear my testimony." Meg said harshly.

Ray could see that there was something going on between the two of them, almost a preditor and prey game. What was truly odd was that Thatcher seemed to be the prey. Ray noticed Welsh watching too, only the Lieutenant seemed to have some idea what was going on.

"Miss. Thatcher," Bert said soothingly.

"Inspector," Meg reminded him with venom.

"I'm only thinking of your best interest." He put his arms on her shoulders, it was a frighteningly familiar action, at least frightening for Meg.

"I told you before, get away from me."

"Before?" Ray asked, "Before when? You just met."

"Get your hands off me, or else." Margaret's heart was racing, but she was safe. Welsh wouldn't let anything happen, and Bertenello couldn't do anything offensive while he was surrounded by police officers.

"Look Commander, I think you'd better get your hands off of the Inspector." Welsh said forcefully. He grabbed one of Bert's arms and pulled it off of Thatcher's shoulders. Meg glared at the man and slowly he put his arm down. Ray saw the tables turn, Meg was now the predator, and Bert the prey.

"I'm more than sure, Lieutenant." Meg said, looking to Welsh. Ray was dying to know what she was sure of.

Welsh sighed and turned Bert's arm so that it was behind his back.

"What are you doing?!" He asked, his face was red.

"You're under arrest, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

"What Welsh? Is this some sort of sick joke, because I am not amused!"

"You have the right to an attorney, if you can not afford an attorney one will be appointed to you. Although I think you can foot the bill."

"Time out, hold the phone. What's going on?!" Ray said walking around the hood of the car so he could participate in the antics surrounding him, not just observe.

"Exactly Lieutenant, what the hell do you think your doing!" Bertenello screeched, but no one was paying any attention to him.

"He's the leak you were looking for." Margaret explained. Her voice was even colder than usual, it gave Ray the chills.

"Do you have any evidence?" Bert demanded, "Or are you just trying to get yourselves kicked out of the force?"

"As much as I hate to agree with Bert, you'd better have some damn good evidence, or else your going to be striped of your badge faster than a construction worker's shirt on a hot day." Ray warned.

Meg grimaced at that particular visual image, why did Americans have to be so crude?

"Inspector Thatcher here swears he's the guy that kidnaped her, that's enough for an arrest."

"One testimony from a witness who had just been through an emotionally trying time. That is hardly evidence!" Bertenello yelled. Ray glanced up at the Lieutenant as if to say, he's right. Ray didn't want to defend the slimy bureaucrat, but he knew that Welsh could go down if this was a faulty arrest. And of all the people Ray had ever worked under Welsh was the best. He didn't want a good cop to go down because he was over passionate.

"Actually, there are several witnesses." A crisp voice said from behind them. Everyone knew who it was without turning around, but they all turned around anyway. "I'm happy to say that all of your hired henchmen have agreed to testify against you."

"Fraser!" Ray said after the shock and relief had run their course.

"Hello Ray." Fraser said, he had the oddest expression, Ray would have described him as glowing if it weren't for the odd sickly look on his face. "Left-tennent," he took a breath, and almost smiled, "Inspector."

"It's good to see you . . . well, Constable." Thatcher said. She sounded relieved, which Ray had to remind himself was normal. She was his commanding officer, but there was something else in her voice that Ray just couldn't place.

"Likewise Sir." Fraser said nodding at her. Thatcher licked her lips and looked down. No one saw her blush.

"This is ludicrous!" Bert squeaked, "Where are all these henchmen? I don't see anyone."

"They are all under arrest." Fraser explained. "They all surrendered peacefully once I explained the situation to them."

Bert was sunk, but he would no go down quietly. "That man has a head injury! And his so called witnesses are all criminals. I'm a Commander in the Chicago P.D.!"

"I trust Benny and Thatcher," Ray said. "Even if they are a little unhinged."

"I am in no way unhinged, detective." Meg said crisply. "And neither is Constable Fraser."

"She has a lot of faith in you, son." Benny's father said, he had suddenly reappeared right behind Meg's shoulders "You'd better not disappoint her."

"Actually, Inspector . . ." Benny said, looking past her, directly at his father. "I am seeing some things that aren't entirely . . ." he cleared his throat, "normal."

"What do you mean by that son?"

"Could you elucidate, Constable?" Meg seemed more annoyed than concerned, just like Ray expected.

"Suffice to say I think I should have my head examined." Again, the comment was pointed to his father.

"Oh, that hurts son."

"I've been saying that for years." Welsh muttered.

"He admits he's not a valid witness." Bert said. Thing

"You'd better take that back." His father warned him, "or else your testimony will not be valid."

"If I took it back it would be lying." Benny informed his father.

"He's lying now!" Bertenello protested. He was going to say more, but Ray cut him off sharply.

"Shut up!" He turned to his friend and lowered his voice. "You need a medic Benny?"

"You're fine." His father scoffed. "I tracked Tin Tim McGilln forty miles over the tundra with a head wound worse than that."

"I would appreciate one, yes." He said, trying very hard not to pay any attention to his blabbering father. He turned to Thatcher. "If that is all right with you sir?"

"Of course Constable, I happen to know that there is an over eager nurse right over there."

"Thank you, sir." He said, nodding to her. He turned in the direction the Inspector had indicated and looked around, behind the sea of cop cars and patrol men who would have been better utilized on the street instead of waiting around for a bust that was never going to happen, he saw and ambulance. It looked very far away, Benny had felt dizzy since he had pushed himself off of the bed and arrested the thug in the room he had been held in. The march towards medical assistance was intimidating. Both Thatcher and Ray noticed his hesitation. "Shall I escort you, Constable?" Meg said quickly.

"I can take him." Ray offered right on her heals.

"Let him go." Meg's aunt Chloe said, she had suddenly appeared behind Fraser. Meg sighed, her dead aunt's advice was the last thing she wanted. "You shouldn't waste your time fondling that man."

Fraser looked at Meg with searching eyes. She knew that this was her chance, she could either go with him or send him away. She had the horrible feeling that this was a symbolic choice, a choice that would haunt their relationship. "Don't lose yourself Maggie." Her aunt nagged. "He's not worth it."

Fraser was waiting, her hesitation was becoming suspicious. "Go ahead, Detective." She finally said.

Fraser broke eye contact with her, she couldn't tell but she thought he looked hurt. "Come on, Benny." Ray said hitting his friend's arm affectionately.

"Good girl." Aunt Chloe said proudly. "That man would only have hurt you eventually."

"I'm not so sure." Meg muttered.

"Not so sure about what?" Welsh asked.

"Nothing." Meg said quickly.

Welsh sighed. "Canadians." He mumbled. He couldn't help but wonder if Fraser and Thatcher and Turnbull were stationed in Chicago because the Canadian government didn't want people that odd working in the country. He dismissed the thought, as unorthodox as they seemed, they were good officers and Welsh respected them. That is he respected Fraser and Thatcher, Turnbull he wasn't so sure of. "I've got to go back to the station and book this jerk."

"I'm still your commanding officer, you're going to regret this!"

"You should come with me so I can get your statement." Welsh continued without giving what Bert had said a thought.

"Of course Lieutenant." She followed him as he dragged Bertenello to a swat car and pushed him in the back.

The area where Bertenello had been arrested was now totally empty, at least that's the way it seemed to the casual observer. Unbeknownst to the sea of officers surrounding the sight two dead Canadians were still standing there, looking, more or less, approvingly at what had transpired. Fraser Sr. Was about to leave when he noticed Chloe standing looking after Meg. "Hello." He said flashing her a smile that had been considered dashing when he was a youth.

She looked at him with disgust.

THE END