Title: Pandora's Box

Author: Laura Lee vbrooks@if.rmci.net or alaskanrose515@hotmail.com

Rating: PG-13

Teaser: Dying is easy. It's living that scares me to death.

Sequel to "Face To Face"

God bless Anything. Without her I couldn't have and wouldn't have done this!

I do not claim any ownership over the DS world. It is owned by Alliance. The rest belongs to me.

***

October was creeping up on Stan Kowalski like a bad dream. He wrote the date at the top of the report, but found himself immediately lost. One year ago on this date he had met her. The most wonderful woman in the world with secret shadows blacker than anything he could imagine.

He didn't remember most of his dreams, but the ones he did remember were horrible. Too often she popped up somewhere in his subconscious, playing tricks. He'd be sitting at his desk and she would walk in. A second look and he couldn't imagine how he mistook a civilian aid or someone being escorted in handcuffs for her. His mind drifted in and out of loops, traced with her scent, her appearance, her voice. How tender they could be. How bitter they were.

Someone behind him made a sound and he snapped back. When he looked back at the page to type the name of the assailant on the report he found he had typed something along the line already. Aurora. He had typed it without thinking. It stared back at him, beckoning him. Several minutes passed before he whipped the page from the typewriter and crumpled it violently. Turning it in his hand, he examined it then opened it again, letting the name seep in once more.

Trying to cleanse himself, he tore the page in half slowly, watching the paper separate between the A and the U. He took a deep breath, as he placed the two halves together and tore again... and again and again and again until he was had to use his muscles to tear through all the layers. Finally, when he couldn't grip the pieces anymore, he leaned back and moved his fingers in slow fascination. The tiny pieces of paper fell into the garbage can like falling snow.

The detective jumped when he felt someone touch his shoulder. He flipped around to see Lieutenant Welsh.

"I didn't mean to startle you."

"You didn't," Stan replied. "I was just..." He didn't really know what it was he was doing.

"Well, your vacation starts tomorrow, doesn't it?"

His vacation. Stan had completely forgotten about it. Fraser was supposed to testify in Toronto and Stan had quickly taken advantage of the opportunity to see his friend while he was so close.

"Yeah," he replied finally. "My flight leaves in the morning."

Welsh could see that Stan was at the end of his rope. He'd been doing pretty well since he had returned to the precinct after his trip with Fraser, but there had been the shooting last year. He had taken it hard, the Lieutenant observed. He'd seemed different after the hospital stay, yet Welsh that Stan tried hard to be his usual self since returning to work. Still, his usual charisma was gone. The idea of this vacation had cheered him, but today Stan was seemingly lost. "Have you packed?"

Kowalski shifted. "Naw. I just have to find my suitcase and throw a few things in it. It won't take long."

"Look," Welsh began with a long exhaled breath, "Why don't you take the afternoon off? Go home. Pack. Get a little rest before Constable Fraser has a chance to take you running around Toronto solving crimes."

Stan chuckled. That Mountie did have a way of finding trouble everywhere and taking it upon himself to fix it. "All right," he said after a moment, more relieved than he thought he would have been at such a suggestion.

Straightening his desk quickly before leaving, Stan hurried from the precinct. Upon reaching his car, he removed his gun and badge, placing them on the seat beside him. He stretched his arms in front of him before turning the key in the ignition. Glancing at the gun, he realized it was the first time he'd taken it off other than to sleep in a year... since he'd started hiding it in the trunk so he wouldn't be taking it with him into her home. Of course, now he realized they probably could have bonded over guns, rather than avoided them. Since then, he'd been cautious, nervous at every turn. He couldn't help it. He felt safe from her, but not safe from himself and he wondered if he ever would feel safe in his own skin again.

As he drove toward his apartment building, he found himself stuck at every stop light. Just as he pulled up to yet another red light, he smacked the steering wheel. The frustration built quickly and easily. As the light turned green he noticed it. The club. The place where he first met her. Hanging out from the wall there was that banner. It looked worn, he observed as he read LIVE BAND FRIDAYS.

Stan froze. He'd driven past the place so many times. It was on the road from the gym to his apartment and he realized he let himself think about her more than usual today. 'It will all be ok tomorrow,' he told himself. 'Tomorrow, after...' He couldn't let himself finish the thought because he didn't want to admit to himself that the reason he felt out of sorts was because he'd met her a year ago. He wasn't big on anniversaries. Still, this one was different.

A horn honked behind him and he sprung back to reality, accelerating with a jolt. Shaking away the demons, he continued home.

Dropping the keys by the front door, he was confronted with one fact. It had been well over a year since he'd used his suitcase and he couldn't recall where he had put it. He looked through closets and around the apartment before going behind the couch. Finally he remembered where it was. He took a deep breath as he moved onto his stomach. Reaching under the bed, he felt something strange brush past his hand. He scooted closer and squinted his eyes. It was then that he saw the piece of paper.

Stan closed his hand around it, pulled it out, and sat back on his knees. "My God," he muttered under his breath. He recognized it. It flooded him and as he held it before him he almost felt her hand touching his. He almost felt that instant she let her hand touch his before letting go and leaving that note in it. She had returned later for her gun; returned to remove the evidence of herself or perhaps to retrieve her protection. He had assumed she had taken the note with her. Now he imagined her placing her hand over the gun and letting the note float gently to the floor and under the bed.

Smoothly he slipped a finger under the flap, nearly opening it, but something stopped him. He couldn't read it. Not right now. He slipped it into his pocket, not letting himself think about it, then reached back beneath the bed to remove the suitcase.

~~~~~

The plane rattled and shook as it flew over Lake Michigan, but Stan hardly noticed. He was sitting near a window, the note in his hands. He flipped it over and over. The flight would be short, he knew. Very short, in fact, but he hoped for enough time to decide.

A flight attendant stopped and offered him a drink, but he just waved. After a moment, he took a deep breath and opened the note.

Her handwriting was so smooth, fresh to his eyes. Blurred, the words weren't read able, but he simply took the glasses from his front pocket and slipped them on. Fear built in him. He almost didn't want the words to make sense, afraid of what they would mean. He could see those blue eyes staring at him through the words on the page. Taking another deep breath and blinking, he saw his name scrolled across the top and was lost in it, examining the curves, the way it looked in her handwriting. After a moment of reflection, he folded the letter again. He didn't want to read it. He didn't want to know what she had said.

Slowly he leaned forward and slippped the note into the carryon he'd shoved under the seat in front of him. Leaning back, he thought of that night.

That night. He'd never figured out what he might have done if things had been different. She'd asked him to be with her. He'd considered it. He had also considered turning her in. He'd had so many questions for her, but never had a chance to ask all of them.

Then there was the day months ago when he'd bumped into her again. Something had changed between them. There was an understanding. He didn't fear her anymore because there was no need. He wondered, though, what she had been thinking. At one time he thought he knew her better than she knew herself, but he learned he was wrong. Had he known her that well, he would have known... everything.

Letting out an audible sigh, Stan's expression turned stoic as he waited patiently to reach Toronto where the plane would land.

~~~~~

Fraser, now surrounded by a tour group wanting pictures, began to wonder if the red serge was the most logical attire for this occasion. After several poses, he felt overwhelmed, but just then, the announcement reverberated through the airport.

"Flight 1123 from Chicago is now deboarding at gate B3."

Fraser looked through the crowd to the scheduled gate where he saw a few people exiting, followed by a small rush. Fraser still didn't see his friend, but his smile didn't falter. He straightened his lanyard, remembering he had simply wanted to look nice. The crowd began to dissipate and he took a deep breath, taking his smile with it. It had been a while since their last meeting. Perhaps Stan had changed his mind? Then, just as quickly, the thought was relieved as Stan staggered from the gate. He held a small carryon slung over his shoulder and Fraser noted the blank face he wore, but as soon as Stan spotted him, a grin crossed his face. Awkwardly, Stan approached Fraser. "Oh, Fraze, you're lookin' good," Stan finally said.

Fraser nodded. "And you, Stanley," he replied.

The two walked together to the baggage claim where Fraser instantly recognized the small bag Stan had carried from Canada barely over a year before. He picked it up and led Stan out of the airport.

Their cab took them directly to the hotel where Fraser had managed to procure adjoining rooms. He set Stan's bag on his bed, then turned to his friend. "I'm glad you could make it."

Stan smiled. "Me too, buddy."

"How long are you staying?"

"Well, ten days, actually. Welsh gave me a sort of mandatory two week thing so I figured I'd stay here for most of it," he said with a deep breath, not adding that he had decided to stay longer than Fraser had suggested in order to escape the lingering memories which were haunting him. He hoped, though, that being far from his apartment, the club, and Chicago would rid his mind of the memories.

Fraser straightened. "Well, good. I'm sure you could use the rest. I do not know yet how long I will be here. The trial may take a few days."

Stan shrugged.

"Well, I have an appointment with my superior officer in twenty minutes anyway. After that he wants me to meet with his superiors. Will you be all right here while I'm gone?"

"I'm a big boy, Fraze. I'll meet up with you later."

Fraser ran his thumb along his brow. "Stan," he began, looking apologetic. "I may be busy until late. We'll have tomorrow evening, though."

Stan smiled. "It's ok. I knew you'd be busy. Tomorrow night is fine. We'll have dinner?"

"Certainly."

A bit disappointed, Stan figured he could talk with his friend later. He needed some time to himself anyway.

After Fraser left, he moved his bags to the floor and put his wallet in his back pocket. He locked the room carefully and decided to find the nearest tourist trap to see what he could find in the way of corny gifts for his co-workers.

~~~~~

Stan was beginning to feel the hunger pains before he finally decided to return to the hotel for dinner. He went to his room to change before going to the dining room.

The hotel had nice facilities, lush carpet, and was probably a place that a Chicago cop didn't belong, but Fraser would be here later, making him feel more comfortable.

He only waited a few minutes at the entrance to the dining area before he was led to a table near a window. He opened the menu, then set it before him and began to read while simultaneously taking a drink of his water and glancing around the room at the other guests.

Canadians weren't all that odd, he noted as he glanced from face to face. 'Of course many of these may be visitors from other countries.' His eyes stopped on a pair of graceful hands. One hand was draped over the edge of the table while the other was elegantly holding a menu. Stan let his eyes wander up to the face which was mostly blocked by the menu. She brought her head up to look around the room, but only the eyes became visible.

Still, he recognized those dark eyes. Stan couldn't take his eyes off them.

All at once, as if she felt his presence, the woman's eyes glanced about the room more quickly, searching for something. As the two made eye contact, her menu very slowly moved to the table.

They stared at each other, not moving for several moments. She felt as though the rest of the world drifted away when she saw him.

Stan felt the overwhelming silence as he blocked it all away. He looked into the eyes across the room and recalled for an instant how many times he had closed his eyes when it came to her. How many times he had slept through clues and blocked away the secrets he suspected. His eyes were open now and he could see the darkness unsettled in her soul.

Suddenly, his appetite didn't matter and he looked down at his hands. They were balled into white knuckle fists. He was mesmerized by them for only a moment before he allowed them to relax. Standing in one swift motion, he quickly walked through the lobby to the elevator.

Stan watched the doors close, crushing the image of her face between them as she followed. He pushed the button to send the elevator into motion. Now he stood frozen in the moving contraption, his heart beating fast, his throat growing a lump. He never expected the effect to be so strong. She was just a being, an entity he wanted badly to forget.

Exiting the elevator in a trance, he walked down the long corridor to his room. As he took the pass card from his wallet, he felt something touch him and he spun around. Dizzy, now, he took in her face. The hair was different now, he noted. Red, rich, deep like a river of blood flowing from her scalp. The eyes were the same, though. Dark, violent, unmistakably blue. Yet they lacked... something that had been there before.

"What are you doing here?" he asked after a long silence, pondering what it was about her that had changed.

"I should ask you the same question. I travel often." She paused. "You. You seemed a permanent fixture in Chicago." She took a step closer to him and he responded by stepping back.

"Yeah, well," he said softly.

She couldn't think of what to say. She had dreamed of this moment so many times, but in her dreams, he was forgiving, responsive. This wasn't the case and her reality was feeling the shatter. Taking another step toward him, she felt a physical pain when the door thumped from Stan's body backing against it.

"Why did you follow me?" he asked after a moment. "I mean, you had the chance to let me walk away."

"I wanted... I expected..." A lump now formed in her throat, but this was one that held tears. She swallowed hard, but they fell anyway. She bowed her head, not able to look at him at this moment.

Stan gently placed a finger beneath her chin when he saw the tear. Oh, that skin. Softer than he remembered. The flesh perfect. He breathed in and her smell, so close to him, so strong, became overwhelming. Lifting her head to look into her eyes, he saw the pain and her disturbed spirit stared back at him. He blinked, taking the moment to remember that he knew who she was. Why couldn't he close his eyes? Just one more time? Just long enough to...

Pressing his lips against hers sent a shiver down his spine. His heart began to race, but he felt comfort. Her smooth lips touching his, smoother than he recalled. Her tongue against his lips more tender than he remembered. There was no backing out. He wrapped one arm around her, then felt the lock with his other hand. Sliding the pass card through, he turned the knob and pushed inside.

The heavy door closed quietly as the two made their way inside as one. While only wrapping his arms around her, he felt as though it was his soul embracing hers. Every deepening kiss allowed him to drink her in. Touching her flesh made her belong to him. Without hesitation, he moved to the bed and gently laid her down. Slipping beside her, he kissed her again; her flesh even more gentle to his lips than he imagined. He tasted and absorbed everything that was her. He tasted the buried sweetness, absorbed what light was left, her darkness, her chaos, her very being.

~~~~~~~

The soft knock at the door startled Stan as he sat upright in bed. He glanced beside him, a sinking in his heart. Wrapping the sheet around him, he went to the door that adjoined the two rooms.

"Yeah?"

"Good morning," Fraser's voice came cheerfully through the door. "May I come in?"

Stan looked back at his sleeping companion. "Uh, no, actually," he replied. "Don't you have to leave?"

"Well," Fraser replied. "I woke early and had some time. I thought perhaps we could have breakfast together."

Stan took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "All right. I'll meet you in the dining room in..."

"I thought we'd have it in your room." Fraser furrowed his brow, confused by Stan's sudden secrecy.

Stan leaned his head against the door. "Not today," he replied softly, then spoke loudly and clearly. "I'd rather eat in the dining room."

There was silence a moment as Fraser took in the conversation. Something was out of place, he recognized. "Are you all right?"

"Sure," Stan replied. "Sure, I just..." he didn't know how to respond. Taking a deep breath, he continued. "I just left a... well, we'll just call it a mess and I think it would be better to eat in the dining room downstairs." He waited a moment, but Fraser didn't respond right away. "Ok?"

"All right," Fraser finally agreed. "I'll see you there in a few minutes."

"Right," Stan agreed. He stood there a moment before returning to the bed. 'What was I thinking?' He wasn't sure, but he sat gently on the bed, staring at the face that had become so familiar to him.

He found himself watching her, observing her as she slept. The light was bright between the curtains and he noted the way her hair glistened when the light hit it that way. He furrowed his brow and looked closer when he noticed something. He leaned in. A scar. It ran along the hairline to her ear. 'I never noticed that before,' he thought as he let his eyes linger along her neckline, her shoulders, down to her chest. Another scar ran from her collarbone and disappeared under the blanket. Surprised he hadn't noticed them, he considered asking her about them. 'No,' he told himself abruptly. 'No, it will just give her a chance to suck you back in.' He quickly pushed the thought out of the way.

It was only a few moments later when Aurora slowly opened her eyes. She smiled, the sunlight bouncing from he pale skin and dancing on her hair and in her eyes. "Good morning," she said softly, not expecting the reply she received.

"So many times," Stan began solemnly.

Her smile disappeared and she sat up. "What?"

"I know, now, that there were so many times I was with you; so many things I didn't want to see. I didn't want there to be anything except perfection in you so I blocked it out."

She looked at him, confusion now set firmly in her features.

"I can't do it anymore," he finished soberly.

"You can't? Can't what? I don't..."

He stood abruptly and spoke while he gathered her clothes and tossed them at her. "I can't be blinded. I have to look at what I see and I see..." He stopped.

She felt the lump in her throat again. Looking away, she swallowed and brushed her hair from her face. She looked back at him with renewed strength. "You see?"

"I see you. I loved you so much because I didn't see who you really were." Without another word, he pulled on his jeans and boots. Holding a shirt in his hands, he stepped to the door.

"You know the way out," he ended softly, then pulled on his shirt as he walked from the room.

Aurora was frozen a moment before she could move. She hadn't expected it, none of it. Her heart sank as she bundled her clothes in her arms and headed toward the bathroom.

After a warm shower, she dressed and walked back into the main room. Looking around the room she caught sight of his luggage, what there was of it. Taking a brief look at the clock, she wondered how long he would be gone. Curiosity getting the better of her, she squatted beside the bags and opened the small suitcase. He'd brought an assortment of clothes and a razor. She moved to the smaller backpack, his carry-on bag, and began going through the pockets. She found his plane ticket, passport, and a piece of paper. She looked at it a moment before remembering where it came from. She gasped when she recognized it. Words, *her* words. What had she said? She couldn't remember and she didn't want to, but maybe they held the key.

She stared at it a moment, held it in her hands. Looking back at his bags, she held the note with a few fingers and used her free hand and free fingers to go through his bags. She didn't even know what she was looking for, but she needed answers. She needed something she could use. Stan was the only thing she had left, the only thing she lived for and he had turned her out. She swallowed hard and wiped the moist streak from her cheek.

Startled by the voices in the hallway, she dropped the note back inside the bag and got to her feet. She moved to the door and listened. The voices were there, but she didn't recognize either one. Opening the door slightly, she peered into the hall to see two men she didn't know. Confidently now, she left the room.

~~~~~

Stan wasn't alone in the elevator. An older couple had joined him one floor down from his own. He thought back on the things he had said.

No matter how much he justified his actions by saying he didn't love her anymore, it didn't make it true. He knew who she was, he understood her, and yet he continued to love her. He couldn't stop loving her. She had become a part of him.

In the dining area, Fraser was sitting quietly, waiting and watching for Stan. When Stan finally appeared, Fraser noted the ragged appearance.

"Is everything all right?" he asked before Stan had a chance to open his napkin.

"Yeah, sure. Fine," Stan replied in short tones.

Fraser looked him over again. The darkness under his eyes as well as in them gave away his secrets. "You appear..." Fraser wasn't sure how to finish the sentence. Instead, he tried to look into Stan's eyes as Stan looked anywhere except back at Fraser.

"Yeah." He paused. "I had a little trouble sleeping last night."

Fraser looked skeptical. "Oh?" He wasn't sure he believed that answer, but it seemed plausible enough.

Realizing that Fraser was going to continue, Stan tried to subdue the other man. "Yeah, the bed was really lumpy. I guess I'm not used to the fresh air, either." He grinned a little and finally looked at Fraser. "So, you never explained this court appearance thing that's going on?"

Fraser took a sip of his juice to wash down the food quickly before speaking. "Oh, yes. I really didn't keep you up to date on this case, did I?" Stan shook his head in response. Fraser continued, trying not to add too much detail. He'd learned quickly when the two were isolated that Stan didn't like detail very much. "It was rumored that this man, Cohen, was up in the Yukon trying to make an escape on a murder charge. A group of us throughout the area were dispatched to sweep the area and I ran across the man. We found him hiding in an abandoned cabin. He was there with an arsenal so I arrested him. My superior officers requested that I not only come to testify regarding the weaponry and arrest, but that I stay through the entire trial so I may write a report on the details and outcome."

Stan just nodded. He wasn't sure what to say so he took a bite of his toast.

Fraser smiled a bit in return. "I am sorry that we won't get to spend a lot of time together..."

"You said that," Stan interrupted.

"We will see each other in the evenings," he continued.

"I know," Stan replied. "It's enough."

Fraser glanced at his watch and realized the time. "I'm sorry, Stan, but I really must go."

Stan nodded. The two walked to the lobby together without speaking. Just outside the elevator, they stopped. Stan pushed the button and looked at Fraser. "Well, I suppose I'll see you tonight. Dinner, right?"

Fraser straightened. "Yes. I'm sure I'll make it back in time for dinner," he replied.

"I'll meet you in the dining room, then."

Fraser nodded and left Stan beside the elevator to rush to his court appointment.

The doors began to open and Stan was about to step inside when he realized someone was stepping out. He looked up and saw that it was Aurora. Not saying a word, he stepped aside, let her pass, then stepped in.

"Stan," she began from the other side. "I wanted to talk..."

Before she could finish the sentence, he leaned over and pressed the DOOR CLOSE button, then stepped back and let the elevator begin moving.

~~~~~~~~

Stan arrived for dinner at 6pm, but saw no sign of Fraser. He sat at a small table and glanced at the menu on the table. He didn't open it. Instead he sipped on his water.

After he had been waiting for a while, the waiter came by and left Stan with a basket of seasoned rolls. Stan nibbled one slowly as he watched the entrance.

Left alone with his thoughts, he wondered where Fraser was. Soon, though, his mind went back to Aurora. She had been there the night before, would she return tonight? He nibbled at the bread and drank more water, anxiously watching in case the person who entered the area turned out to be her. He didn't know what he would say to her if she did appear and that made him nervous.

He glanced at the time and picked up another roll. It was getting late. Stan was growing tired.

Finally, Fraser appeared in the entryway. Stan was relieved to see him and quickly waved him over.

"I'm sorry, Stan. It got late and my superior officer... Well, I'm sorry."

Stan accepted the apology and pushed the basket of rolls toward Fraser. "How did it go?"

"There was a lot to be said," Fraser replied. "There will be more tomorrow, I'm afraid. What did you do today?"

Stan shrugged. "Not much. I watched a game on TV."

"Didn't you leave the hotel?"

Shaking his head, Stan looked tired.

Deciding not to push the issue, Fraser took a bite. The two discussed some interesting cases they had worked on over the past year and had an interesting evening. When Stan finished, he was quick to stand. "Look, Fraze, I'm really tired. I'm going to go up to my room. Going to bed."

Fraser nodded and watched Stan leave. Fraser sensed something was churning in Stan's head, but he wasn't ready to speculate what it might be. He finished his water and stood. He would need a good night's rest if he was going to be in top performance tomorrow.

~~~~

The room was cool as Stan stood beside the window and looked out over the city. He heard a soft knock on the door and ran his fingers through his hair. Assuming it was Fraser returning from dinner, he began toward the door. "Coming," he said softly as the sound was heard again.

He opened the door and saw Aurora. He froze.

"We need to talk," she said.

He stood still a moment before speaking. "We have nothing to talk about." He watched her take a step toward him and realized she would have too much ground if she stepped inside the room. He stepped toward her, pushing his way out into the hall, and closed the door.

"Come on, Stan. Hear me out."

He shook his head. In his mind he feared where it would end if they began to talk.

She stepped closer to him. "Please?" she hissed.

Stan felt something strange in the way she asked, something in her pleading voice that clicked in his brain. "Why won't you just leave me alone?" he asked through gritted teeth.

She straightened. "Why won't you hear me out? I have so much I want to tell you. So much I need to share."

His voice became louder than he intended. "Look, this has to end. You are poison, don't you understand that?"

She swallowed hard. "Poison?" She paused. "I'm not poison," she finished firmly.

"You are," he replied, still firm. "You are bitter and evil." He felt something cleansing by speaking the words aloud, but another part of him regretted them.

At that moment, the door next to them opened. Aurora glanced at the open door, then rested her eyes on Stan seductively. "You didn't think so last night."

Fraser stepped into the hall, taking in the scene quickly. Stan looked over and saw the look of recognition in Fraser's eyes. Fraser did nothing, though. He just stood stoic, watching them.

Stan couldn't take his eyes off Fraser. He knew he should say something; something to Fraser or to Aurora, but he didn't know which or what to say. Finally deciding it was better not to carry on in front of Fraser or the other guests, he took her arm and hurried back inside his room. He wondered what Fraser would say or do. He wondered what Fraser was thinking.

Once his thoughts settled again, he glared at her. "I gave you every chance. I gave you..." he looked into her eyes. Those dark eyes which held so much confusion for him. "I was ready to give you everything, but you didn't want it if it meant giving in even a little."

She was speechless. Confused by his words, they were not what she expected. He had never been harsh with her. "I'm ready now," she said softly. "I need you. I need to have another chance."

He took a deep breath, pushing everything he wanted to say or do back into his mind. He had no more patience, no more chances, nothing left to give her. "I've run out," he said simply. "Get out."

He spoke in a tone that left her little choice. She moved quietly and slowly, opening the door with ease, giving him every opportunity to call her back.

He didn't. Instead, he waited for her to go, then bolted the door. He stopped at the door adjoining his room with Fraser's and took a deep breath. After a moment of thought he climbed into bed. He had trouble falling asleep. His mind raced. He thought of her, of everything that had ever happened, but he was also concerned. Fraser had seen her, had recognized her, and had watched him take her into his room. He grunted and rolled over.

~~~~~

Flashes of light like those in a dance club blinded Stan for several moments. So bright he couldn't see for a moment, but as his eyes got used to it, he saw her. There, in the distance, swaying slowly was her silhouette. Flash. Flash. Flash. He lost his sight again. Searching through the darkness, searching for her face, pushing through the crowd. He knew she was there if only he could find her. At the same moment he wondered why he was searching for her because he feared her. There was danger in her, danger that followed her. If only he could touch her... somehow... it made sense in his mind that it would all be all right.

Flash. Her eyes. Dark, soulless. Not the eyes he remembered. They had a life once. He hadn't noticed that something... something was missing. The change in her wasn't change so much as loss. He searched the perimeters of his world for what was missing, but he couldn't find it. All at once he reached through the darkness and the crowd to touch her, but he felt the butt of a gun instead as she took a step back.

Her hand snapped to hold the gun and Fraser stepped into the hospital room. Flash. Flash. Flash. He was soaked in confusion as his mind told him things were changing, but they weren't. It was her. Her gun flashed through the darkness... the sound he heard was a bang and he saw the barrel of the gun pointing at him. Somehow he knew Fraser had already fallen, that she was there for him now. He looked down the barrel of her gun, but at the same time he was beside her, watching the bullet, expelled from the gun, coming at him. The searing lead penetrating his scalp...

Snapping upright in bed, Stan was caught in short breaths. The blankets were kicked aside and when he rested his head in his hands, he found the skin cold and wet. He tried to breath, but he couldn't manage to get the oxygen. He began to feel sick and a pain was becoming more noticeable in his head.

He straightened his spine and looked at his hands. They were red and he couldn't control the shaking. After a moment, he thought to splash water on his face, but when he tried to move, he had trouble finding his legs. They were slow to respond to his wishes, yet he forced them. Holding himself up using bed and walls, he stumbled to the bathroom.

Splashing the water on his face, the nerves came back to life there. He grabbed the nearest towel and patted his face and as he dropped the towel away he looked in the mirror. 'Shit,' he murmured, leaning on the sink.

Finally able to take a deep breath, he practiced the move two or three times, watching himself as he did. The sun was peeking into the room through the curtains and drifting into the bathroom. The reflection of it made him squint, but he couldn't find the strength to move away instantly. Shivering, he pushed away from the vanity and leaned against the opposite wall. Soon, he found his legs weakening and he slid to the floor, knees bent in front of him.

The sickness stayed with him and he tried to relieve some pressure by bobbing his head forward and placing the damp towel on the back of his neck. He could hear a pounding in his head and he wondered if eating sheep fur would have left a better taste in his mouth.

The pounding stopped, then started again. It was then that he realized it wasn't in his head, it was on the door. He shifted his legs to the side and leaned out, not sure whether it was the door that led to the hallway or the one to Fraser's room. After a moment, there was the soft pounding again and he knew who it was.

Getting on his feet he slowly, unsteadily walked toward the door. He rested his hand on the knob, then froze. He didn't want Fraser to see him like this. Should he pretend to be asleep or try talking through the door. Sooner or later, Fraser would give up and he could avoid the situation. Still, he wasn't going to be able to avoid the man forever.

Taking a deep breath, he gave in and turned the knob. He only opened the door a few inches. Trying his best to look as though Fraser had been the one to wake him, he squinted through the space. "Morning, Fraze."

Fraser frowned at his friend's appearance. "Good morning, Stan." He paused. "Are you all right?"

Stan swallowed. There really was no point in making up excuses. Fraser was here to ask him about one thing. Last night. He glanced up at Fraser, then looked away. "You're already dressed. Does that mean you are leaving soon?"

Fraser nodded. "I'm afraid so. I'm meeting with a few people this morning."

Stan noticed that Fraser was holding his Stetson and turning it slowly in his hands. "Ok," Stan sighed.

Fraser gently placed one hand on the door an pushed it open. He tried to conceal the quick scan of the room, but wasn't successful. Stan noticed. "What are you going to do today?"

Stan straightened as the door he was leaning on was pushed away from him. He took a step sideways and put a hand on the wall. "Dunno."

"Perhaps you would like to join me?"

Stan scoffed. "No, I don't think so."

Fraser tugged on his ear and continued. "Well, perhaps I can make arrangements..."

"It's ok, Fraze. I'm just..." He couldn't find words to satisfy him. "I just need some time alone."

Fraser cleared his throat. "I'm not sure that is a good idea, Stan," he spoke with alarming firmness.

Stan rubbed at his temple. "Fraser, I'm really not in the mood."

Fraser took a step toward him. Stan reacted by stepping back a few steps, then sitting on the bed. Fraser stood over him for a moment, then licked his bottom lip before speaking. The words were difficult for him to find. He wasn't really sure what to say. "What is going on?" he finally asked.

Stan looked up at him. He could see in his eyes that Fraser wanted nothing but the truth, yet Stan was certainly not ready to share it. He moved his elbow to his knee and used the hand to support his forehead. "You can't fix it Fraser," he said softly.

Fraser shifted. He wasn't looking to fix anything. He never was, of course. He was just doing what he could. "Stan, I..."

Stan didn't want to hear it, whatever it was, so he interrupted quickly. "Don't you have to go soon?"

Fraser glanced at his watch. He didn't want to be late, but he didn't want to leave Stan in this state. He cleared his throat. "It's all right," he said.

Stan moved back to his feet and ran his hand over his hair. "No, Fraser, actually, it's not. Look, I'm just not... not ready to talk about it. You better go or you'll end up in deep water for nothing."

Fraser could see Stan's determination and gave in. "If you decide you are ready to talk..." he paused. "If you need to talk about anything, why don't you come down and wait outside the courtroom. There will be breaks and I can..."

"Squeeze me in?" he interrupted.

"Stan," Fraser said smoothly. "I don't mean to... I came here for this case. It's my duty."

Stan raised a hand. "I know. I know that. You need to go and I need to be alone. Let's just leave it at that, ok?"

Fraser felt a bit torn, but decided to leave. Stan was left alone again with his thoughts and his pain. He laid back, but a few images of the dream shot across his mind and he sat up again. He knew sleeping wasn't the answer so he slowly showered and dressed, gradually regaining his muscles as he did. Standing in the bathroom, he slipped into his shoulder holster and glanced at himself in the mirror as he set the gun inside.

It was silly, really. In Chicago he hadn't felt complete without the weapon so he'd made an official looking report to excuse the gun he carried with him on the plane. Official business, he'd explained as he showed his identification and paperwork.

Of course, he'd realized his stupidity when he'd arrived in Toronto. Now that he had seen Aurora, however, things had changed. She knew where he was. She knew how to find him. With that, he found himself reattached to the sidearm.

Stan put on a jacket and stared at his room. He'd realized he couldn't spend another day there, so he picked up his wallet, checked for the pass card, and left.

Determined to get the nasty taste from his mouth, he went down to breakfast. It helped a little, but as he left, he took with him an orange wedge. Normally he didn't eat oranges in the morning. He felt it was too strong for breakfast, but now he hoped the citrus would neutralize his mouth.

Just outside the hotel, he dropped the rind into a garbage and looked down the street. He wondered what a person did on vacation, especially in Toronto. He wasn't much of a shopper and he'd already picked up souvenirs. Museums weren't his thing either so instead he found himself simply taking a walk.

He'd walked quite far down the street, observing the way people here acted. There was definitely something different than walking a street in Chicago. He didn't even notice that he felt more safe.

Looking into shop windows as he passed, he stopped dead in front of one. On the front shelf was a carved dog. It wasn't exactly a dog, though, it looked wolf-like. Stan was taken back because the face reminded him so much of Diefenbaker. He went inside the shop and picked up the wood carving. Examining closely, he could see it was even painted very similar to the wolf. It made him miss the creature and the unconditional love that animal had... especially for junk food.

He smiled at the thought. It wasn't until that moment that he realized how well he knew Dief. He was examining the piece and noticing where each shade of fur and each muscle in his stance differed. He sighed and walked to the register. He paid for the little trinket which was handed back inside a paper bag. Stan wound the lump inside the paper and slipped it in his pocket.

A few minutes later, he was moving down the street again, taking a turn where it seemed busy. He took a deep breath, letting the air refresh him. The sun was rather warm on his face, but he still needed his jacket to keep warm.

When he began to pay attention again, he noticed a museum. The signs in the window bragged a number of glittering jewels, coins, and treasures. He felt himself wondering the value, the attraction she must have felt toward similar objects and crossed the street.

Once inside, he began looking very casually at the displays. Some of them were quite beautiful, he admitted, and most of them were quite exotic. Images of Aurora, her gentle hands, her graceful movements infiltrated his head. He could almost imagine...

Stan looked up at that moment and saw her. A bit surprised, he froze for a moment. She must have been disguising herself, he thought. She wore a flowing flowered dress and a large hat. Her hands looked gentle as they touched a display case. He wondered if she was doing a little homework. He watched her for several minutes, following her eyes as they read the placards and her fingers as they drifted along the edge of the glass cases.

One case held a selection of ancient jewels on tour from India. He noticed she spent a very long time at the case, moving slowly around it. She ran her fingers around the edges of the case and didn't take her eyes off the jewels inside the entire time.

It was quite a few minutes before she moved on. He continued to follow, staying out of sight and glancing up from displays only periodically to keep tabs on her. Once she had been through the entire place, she went back to the display from India. He watched her eyes drift over the objects inside, a necklace, large and jeweled, a glimmering crown, a few objects he didn't recognize.

Without thinking, he stepped closer. He was now watching only her, not taking his eyes from her as she eyed the jewels. He stood across the case from her, the glass slightly distorting her face.

All at once, she became aware of the fact that she wasn't alone. She looked up and saw his face peering through the glass. She looked horrified. Neither moved for a moment, unable to make a move. Finally, she stepped around the case and faced him. Still, she couldn't speak.

"Taking notes?" he asked after a moment.

She glanced away, then straightened and looked him in the eye. "It's not what you think."

Stan folded his arms. "What do I think?"

She took a deep breath and rested a hand gingerly on the edge of the stand for the case. "You stopped watching me."

Stan shifted. His mind raced. How did she know? What did that have to do with this? Finally, he just nodded.

"I know." Her voice was soft, devoid of feeling. "I stopped stealing."

Stan furrowed his brow. "You did?"

"Yes. About five months ago. You stopped watching. Stealing wasn't... It was my last way of contact with you."

"You didn't steal because of me."

"No."

"You didn't stop because of me."

She didn't answer for a moment. "But you stopped watching and I haven't stolen so much as a packet of sugar since..."

Letting his arms drop to his sides, Stan frowned. "Since I stopped watching?"

She clamped her hands together and began to twist. "Since some things happened."

"Some things?" He paused. He was listening. Why was he listening? What was he doing? He shook his head. "Never mind. Never mind, I don't want to know." He held up his hand and began to turn.

Quickly she reacted and grabbed his arm. "Don't walk away," she said in firm frustration.

Stan turned back, anger building on his face. He grabbed her wrist and held it tightly. "Don't you dare."

Aurora froze. "Stan, I want you to listen to me. Just listen."

Stan shook his head. "No. I'm not going to hear it. No more please. No more... no more..." He was irritated with himself, the words were lost again. He wanted to say something, but it was caught in his throat.

Aurora tried to pull away from his grip, but he held too tightly. "I don't want forgiveness." Stan loosened and let her arm drop. She lifted it to her chest and rubbed the wrist with her other hand.

"Then what?"

She dropped her arms. Unable to speak, she said nothing.

"Well?" he coaxed. "What could you possibly want from me?"

Her voice now meek, he had to strain to hear her mumbled words. "I don't know."

Stan took a deep breath. "Look, Aurora, there's no point. There's no point in talking or... I can't fix you."

Aurora looked up, a bit surprised. "Fix me? Is that what you think?" She shifted. "I'm here because of you. I'm alive because of you."

Stan looked confused. "What do you mean?"

She looked into his eyes for a long time, searching his soul. What she loved about him was still there, but lost. He had lost himself. She had lost herself. The two were tumbling in an abyss and the only thing that could repair either of them was if they worked together.

Still, she couldn't bring herself to tell him, to bring him into her world again. She turned and began to walk away. "I'm sorry," she said over her shoulder. "I'm sorry for everything."

Stan watched her a moment before catching up. He swallowed hard, but couldn't speak. He only touched her arm. He saw the blankness in her eyes and spoke finally. "What happened to you?"

She shook her head. "I can't... I can't..." She choked on the words and fought back the tears.

Stan remembered the scars. He had seen them. He could still see the one even though she tried to hide it with that blood red hair. Fearing she would use them to recapture him, guilt him into staying, he hadn't asked. Of course, now he saw that she wasn't offering. That made him more curious. "What happened to you?" he asked pleadingly.

She stood silent.

"The scars," he continued. "I wasn't going to ask. I wasn't going to get involved. There's something... something about you." He waited for her reply, but she said nothing. Instead, tears began to push their way to the surface. She felt them forcing their way out and ran. She ran as fast as she could from the museum, disappearing before he could follow.

Aurora fled to the safety and protection of her hotel room. She sat on the bed and curled her knees to her chest. "It's just temporary," she told herself softly. "It was only temporary." She took a deep breath. She had been moving around Canada for months now, staying in hotels and short term apartments, but never staying in one place. She hadn't been able to settle.

Spending most of her time thinking about Stan, she'd devised a number of plans. Each ended with them together, here in Canada... or maybe fleeing to some other country that would allow her freedom, but each time she was able to push the thought away. After all, she never thought she'd see him again.

Of course, now, here he was. So close she had touched him. So close she could feel him every instant. Waiting for a moment like this was what had kept her alive.

She let the tears come, closing her eyes and letting the bed envelope her. It was in this fetal position that she let the memories return. Those painful moments that had spelled her ending.

At the same time, Stan's curiosity grew. He called the 27th precinct and made the request. The civilian aid offered to fax anything she found. Less than an hour later, a news article was delivered by the hotel clerk to his door. He held it before him and began to read.

April 4 Cop Killer Thefts Solved

Stan scanned the pages. Aurora had been identified. They had followed her to the location of a theft and arrested her red-handed. The county was small and the State Police claimed rights to the criminal. However, in transportation, she had escaped.

Stan stared at the words. In the process two officers had become victims of her name. With a deep sigh, Stan read on.

The red blood was the first thing she saw when she regained consciousness. It poured over her fingers and through her clothes. It covered the front seat. She had seen the two officers in the front seat, limp and unmoving. The gate kept her from reaching to them.

Taking a moment to shake away the pain and lingering blur in her head, she turned her back to the door. She pushed, but it wouldn't open. She took a survey of the cracked glass and leaned back, kicking at the window again and again until it gave way and crumbled. Using her shoulder, she pushed the glass from the edges and climbed through. The task was made increasingly difficult by the cuffs that held her hands firm behind her.

Stumbling to her feet, she went to the front door. It wouldn't open. She made her way through the brush to the other side of the car and fought with the door. It opened partway, but the bent steel prevented it from opening all the way. Pushing her way in, she took the officer's arm and felt for a pulse. There was none.

"Oh, God," she breathed as she fished through the dead man's belongings. Nearly worn out, she found the keys and fumbled until she had removed the cuffs. She looked at the officer again and held her breath. She was right the first time, the man was dead. Reaching across, she touched the other officer's neck. Feeling around, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and was startled by the appearance. Bruises and blood mixed together, leaving no part of her flesh untouched. She concentrated on the officer again, but it was clear, he was gone.

Stan read the words slowly. "It is believed she somehow managed to distract the officer's long enough to cause the accident..."

Aurora climbed backward out of the car. Struggling with the little energy she had left, she hiked up the hill back to the highway. 'Police cars. There will be police cars soon. All I have to do is get their attention...'

"The road on which the accident occurred is not well traveled. It would be miles to the nearest house...."

Standing there, she had time to gather her thoughts. 'They'll understand. The road was wet. The officer should have been more careful. God, when the car began to slide...' Her life had flashed before her. She had seen with such clarity the things she'd never understood.

Recently, her conscience began to return, reminding her of her failures. She'd wanted to get caught. She wanted it to all be over.

Now she stood at the roadside, waiting to turn herself in, to pay for her mistakes. A blinding light came around the curve toward her. She held up her hand, waiting for the vehicle to stop. Her mind ran over the details. She was focused on the cops, turning herself in, it would all be over. It would all be...

"Police believe she went into the brush. No trace of her was recovered and after 72 hours, the search was called off...."

Aurora let the words shuffle in her brain. 'It will all be over soon.' She dropped her arm and ducked into the brush again. Pushing the hair from her face, she let the rain pour on her, washing it all away. She walked back to the police car and looked inside. There it was, a standard issue gun. She reached inside and pulled the gun with struggle from his side.

"...believed to be armed and dangerous..."

Holding the gun in her hand, she stood there. 'I just want it to be over.' She held the gun to her head and closed her eyes, but instead of seeing an end to her pain, something else flashed in her mind. She dropped the arm to her side and opened her eyes. 'It's Stan.' She tucked the gun into her waistband and hurried along the ditch. She went for a few miles, then moved to the roadside, hiding from passing cars, but using the highway to guide her.

Stan slumped on the bed. He knew the scars must have come from the accident, but he didn't understand anything else. She was empty, something was missing. All this because she had been caught? He was confused. Closing his eyes, he tried to relax. He still needed to make up the sleep from the night before, but the simple act of closing his eyes left him vulnerable. He sat up on the bed and glanced at the clock. Fraser would be back soon. All he needed now was a good talk with Fraser.

~~~~~~

Of course, now that he was sitting before a plate of pasta across from Fraser, he couldn't find the words. He was so close to understanding, so close to knowing the answers, but they continued to escape him. Fraser babbled on and on about the case, the verdict, his excitement to return home to the Yukon, but Stan didn't hear a word of it. Instead he was thinking about calling the airline first thing in the morning to change his ticket. He didn't want to be stuck here by himself for another week.

"Stan?" Fraser said, realizing his dining companion hadn't said a word. "Stan?" he repeated when there was no response. "Stan?" he tried again.

"Huh?" Stan finally snapped to attention. "Oh, Fraze, I'm sorry."

Fraser shook his head, letting it go. "You have other things on your mind."

Stan nodded.

Fraser wanted Stan to ask him for help so much this time. He needed Stan to ask. He was disappointed and confused at what he had seen the night before, not to mention his state this morning. All he had to do was ask...

"Fraser, I..." he paused. He couldn't do it. He couldn't bring himself to let the words out.

"Stan," Fraser began finally, "It is easy to see that you are... troubled. This is a very serious situation." He paused, but Stan didn't jump in as he'd expected. "I can't help you if you are not ready for help," he finished.

Stan looked Fraser in the eye. How was he to respond? Fraser was right, but it didn't change the fact that he wasn't ready for help. First he wanted to sort things out in his own mind before seeking advice. He twisted his hands a little. "Fraser, how can I know what to do when I'm not even sure I understand everything that's going on?"

Fraser tilted his head. 'Good point,' he thought to himself. "You know, as I was growing up, I had the opportunity to see the intimacies of many villages. Everywhere you go there are those who question authority and disregard the rules that are set up for everyone's benefit." He paused. Seeing that Stan was listening, he continued. "Sometimes a miscreant would be judged by how much they regret their mistakes."

Fraser fell silent and Stan furrowed his brow. "And?"

Fraser stiffened and shook his head a little. "And? And other villages would simply have a set punishment for a specific crime. It seems..."

"No, Fraze. I mean, how does that help me?"

Fraser said nothing for a moment. He had only wanted to relate a story which this situation reminded him. He tugged his ear. "I told you, Stan, that I cannot help you until you are ready. See, a person..."

Stan slammed a fist on the table. "Never mind, Fraser." He stood. "Just forget it, all right?"

Fraser noted the fit of anger and stood also. He stepped beside his friend and spoke softly. "Let's take a walk."

Stan looked at Fraser, a blank look upon his face.

"I think you need fresh air," Fraser continued, then took Stan's elbow and guided him firmly through the dining room, the hotel lobby, and the front doors before letting him go. He began walking up the street before speaking again.

"I made a mistake," he began as the cold air mingled with his warm breath.

Astounded, Stan stopped. Fraser kept walking so Stan hurried to catch up after a moment. "You, Fraze? You're not the one making a mistake."

Fraser nodded. "I made a mistake, too, Stan," he said and watched his breath. "I made an assumption. I watched you and saw that you have been calm, quiet. I assumed this meant everything was more or less all right." He stopped walking and turned to Stan.

Stan stopped also. "Fraze..." Stan began, but was interrupted.

"This isn't like you, Stan. You have an inner turmoil. Usually, you handle those things with violence."

Stan nodded. "I know."

Fraser shifted. "Then why is it different this time?" He shifted so that Stan had to look him in the eye. "Hmm? Why is it that you are so... calm? Are you not effected?"

Stan felt a bit scolded. He let out a breath as he glanced around at the rooftops of the buildings. After a moment he started walking again. Fraser shifted and quickly followed the lead.

"I can't explain it, Fraze. It's a different situation. I feel... differently." He spoke expressively with his hands. "See, it's... it's her. I mean, I can't... I can't let things out." The frustration seeped through his words as he realized he never talked things out before. He always beat them out. He wanted to pound his fist into a car, but it wasn't going to help. He knew that. It never did, but it still made him feel better.

Now he was stuck, though, on the street with a Mountie and no way to release all those frustrations.

"Stan, I know things with you are always so... so volatile, but it doesn't have to be that way. Perhaps if you face..." He wasn't sure what Stan had to face so he stopped walking again and looked at his friend. He didn't know how to finish the thought.

As if on cue, though, Stan finished it for him. "The truth." He paused and grunted. "I have to face the truth." Taking another deep breath, he shifted. "I just can't figure out what justice is here, though." He put one hand in his pocket and only waved one about as he spoke. "She seems to understand the mistakes. She seems to be paying for them," he thought of her behaviour, the ways they spoke and the look in her eyes. She was paying for something, he was sure. "So how can I turn her in?"

Fraser straightened. "I am your friend, Stan. I would stand behind any decision you make." Taking a breath, Fraser continued. "However, you need to keep in mind that justice is more than punishment for a crime. It is about being fair, impartial. Do you really think it is impartial for you to decide whether or not she has paid for her crime?"

Stan was quiet. How could Fraser, of all people, say this to him? He knew Fraser's history. He knew Fraser's quest for justice which became flexible when it dealt with his own personal life. "What about the right thing for her? Could it possibly be different? Who says the justice system is so just?"

"Stan, you know what is right. You don't need me to tell you."

Stan grunted. "It's not that easy," he added, agitated.

"Of course it isn't. I didn't mean to imply that it is, but you have to do the right thing. You have to live with your decision."

Stan took a defensive stance and threw his arms out. "It's so easy for you. You sit there on your... your pedestal and pass judgment." A vein on his forehead became prominent and he spoke with fervor. "I don't think you really know what it's like."

Fraser was feeling the anger. Trying not to let it get to him he remembered the last time he'd fought like this with Stan. It hadn't ended until they'd both been hurt and angry. He ran a thumbnail along his brow and tried to remain calm. "I know, Stan. I do know how hard it can be to... to... to make decisions that will affect..."

"Exactly," Stan interrupted feverishly. "It affects so many things. You claim to understand. You claim..." he thought of the story Fraser had told him not so long ago. The story of his lost love. Still, he was burning in anger. Fraser seemed to somehow hold some sort of superiority on the situation. "You claim to understand how frustrating this can be, but look at you. Just look! You stand there like a... like a... like a Mountie statue and tell me how it's really just so simple as long as I do what you think is right! I don't work that way! I don't see things so black and white! There's so much more to this than..." He took a moment to swallow. His anger was welling and it felt good. He hated himself for letting that violence in him be the thing that finally made him feel free of everything.

"It isn't just about the fact that she killed people. It isn't just about the fact that she steals millions of dollars worth of... of things and sells them off. It's about us. It's so easy for you, isn't it? To stand there watching and saying she's a criminal, but she is incredible! She loves me and I lo..." he caught the words coming from his mouth and stopped. He thought he'd been able to push that away, forget the feelings, but they were there. They were a part of him. It was something lost in him when she wasn't near.

Fraser listened to Stan, not knowing that it was right for interrupt. He understood love. He understood the pain of letting it go. When Stan finally fell silent, however, he tilted his head and spoke. "It doesn't matter how much you love her. The right thing to do doesn't have anything to do with love."

Stan shook his head. "You don't get it." He straightened and spoke firmly, with vehemence, never taking his eyes from Fraser's. "You let her walk away. You let her go and didn't bother tracking her down. You were going to leave with her."

Fraser felt an odd pain at the words. Stan spoke the truth, but Fraser had never heard it out loud. There was something about the words hanging there in the air. He froze. His heart ached, his mind throbbed as Stan continued.

"But I made my own choices. I'm the one who chose not to go with her. I chose to let her go and she changed. She changed once and I think she can continue to improve. I think she can..."

Fraser spat out the words as they came to him, not stopping to think, for once. "What? She can what? Become perfect? Change so completely? I don't think you realize that no matter what justification you give for her it doesn't erase the past."

Stan's mouth clamped shut.

Fraser continued. "Did you really make the choice to let her go? Did you really make the choice not to go with her? I listen to you, I've been listening to you for months avoiding the subject, but letting it eat you up inside. What I can't figure out is what happened that night... what happened in the climactic moment that made you decide that her freedom was more important than yours."

"My freedom? I'm free, Fraze. You must..."

"You aren't. You are not free from the demons. I recognize them. I've made friends with them. What happened?" Fraser demanded.

Stan knew Fraser was right. He had let the demons in. He hadn't really made any choices. In fact, even now he didn't know what he would have decided that night in the club if the cops hadn't come in. He let out a long breath and relented. "I don't know, Fraze. I don't know what happened." At that moment, Stan noticed Fraser looking past him. Stan spun around, but saw nothing and turned back. "What?"

"Hmm."

Stan wanted to scream, to hit someone or something. Here they were in the middle of an argument, in the middle of their first important conversation since... well, since Fraser had told Stan about Victoria... and Fraser was distracted. "Don't you dare 'hmm' Fraze. We are in the middle of..."

Fraser took in a deep breath. "I smell something."

"Great. You gonna taste it too?"

Fraser looked at Stan, then back across the street. "It's coming from that direction." Fraser began walking across the street as Stan turned. He looked at the building across the street and his heart jumped into his throat. It was the museum. He'd been there earlier today. She had been there earlier today. He followed Fraser.

The two walked through the alleyway to the back of the building. Fraser made his way to the back entrance where the trucks loaded and unloaded after each show. Stan watched in wonder as Fraser examined the lock.

"Electromagnetic," he said finally, "and it's been tampered with."

"You smelled that from across the street?"

Fraser flipped open the box beside the door. There were a number of wires and a few had been snipped, stripped, and twisted together. "I smelled the sparks. Someone was able to override the alarms and unlock the door."

Stan swallowed. He didn't even want to think, but he knew exactly who was inside. "Why do they make these things so easy?" he breathed.

Fraser glanced at Stan. "It shouldn't be, actually. Whoever did this is either an expert or lucky they didn't set off the alarms just by tampering with them."

"Expert," Stan said softly and stepped to the door. He touched the knob and when it turned he opened the door slowly.

Fraser followed him inside and they looked around. There was nothing they could see out of place. Fraser stepped to the door of the storage area and looked inside. He saw nothing.

Stan swallowed hard. "I know where she is." Fraser straightened and turned to Stan. Stan looked away. "There's a display on the north side of the center room," he finished quietly. He looked down to his feet, feeling ashamed.

Fraser nodded. He knew what Stan meant, but quickly saw the shame on his face. He didn't want to start a discussion about it right now so he simply said, "You know the layout?"

Stan nodded and made a quick drawing on the palm of his left hand. "I think we should split up. See, if you go around to this entrance and I come in from this one, we should be able to take her before she can fire any rounds."

"I thought she didn't shoot her way out anymore."

Stan shrugged. "She hasn't had to. I don't know what she'll do if she's cornered."

Fraser nodded. "All right."

The two separated and walked quietly through the passages of the museum. Stan passed one of the entrances to the room on his way to the one they had planned. He glanced in and saw her there. It was Aurora and she stood before the display, black leather gloves on her hands as she ran them along the case.

He glanced across and saw Fraser making his way through the opposite room. Slowly and quietly he continued.

Just as he disappeared from sight, Aurora glanced up. She had seen the movement. Quickly she grabbed her bag, tucked her hair behind her ear, and slithered quickly away from the display, watching carefully as she went. Moving silently, she made her way through, trying to get a glimpse at the other person in the museum. She looked around a corner and saw him... the Mountie who stood between her and Stan so many times. She leaned back and took a deep breath.

Now she moved away from the display and toward the front of the museum. She slipped through an archway and caught her glimpse of Stan. 'Well, it's good to know they keep in touch,' she thought to herself, then moved behind a counter.

Stan moved to his entryway and looked into the room. Aurora had disappeared. He straightened and stepped into the room, then looked across the way where he saw Fraser moving in front of a counter.

All at once, Aurora appeared on the counter behind Fraser and as Stan reached for his gun, he aimed it at the two as she wrapped an arm around Fraser's neck and simultaneously put a gun to his head.

Fraser went straight to procedure and held still, waiting for his moment. He'd heard the click of the gun cocking on its way to his head and he knew one false move would be all she needed to pull the trigger.

Stan was frozen. In firm stance, he looked to her eyes. They were so dark and he ached to look into them. "What are you doing?" he asked, forgetting momentarily the formula for these situations.

Aurora didn't speak. She firmed her grip and Fraser could feel that she had real strength in the arm.

"Why are you doing this?" Stan pleaded. "You said you stopped doing this!"

She straightened. "You didn't believe I could change, did you? You never really believed I could change." She paused and readjusted her fingers on the butt of the standard police issue weapon. "Something happened when I stopped killing. My conscience found me. I wanted to change and I wanted us to be together, but you never really believed things could be different for us. I wanted everything or nothing. I was ready to die, but you... you were worth living for."

Fraser tested the position to see if he could make a move, but she tightened her grip and pushed the gun into his skull. Not even losing a beat she continued to talk. "But you wanted nothing to do with me. That's fine. So what's left for me?"

Stan took a step toward her and when her stance didn't change, he took another step. He had no answers for her questions. All he wanted now was to end the situation.

"I'll tell you. I'll tell you what's left!" Her eyes changed, became even more dark, even more empty, and even more fierce. "Not a damned thing!"

The whole world fell apart at once. There was no way to take back the time and give everyone a chance to think. In swift motion, Aurora pushed Fraser away and pulled the trigger in his direction. As if the world froze, Stan was realizing her desire to die, her suicidal nature, but his brain reminded him that if she fired a shot, she always, always hit her mark. In a need to protect Fraser, Stan pulled the trigger, but it was too late. She had already fired her shot and Stan's mind told him that Fraser was down. The crashing he heard in the back of his mind, he felt, must have been Fraser hitting the glass encasement,

He watched helplessly as Aurora fell backward off the counter, the blood already working it's way to the surface.

Stan jumped and went to Fraser. In the motions, Fraser had fallen to the ground and now he rolled over. Stan looked him over. He hadn't been shot. Somehow she had missed him. Helping Fraser to his feet, Stan registered the shattering glass he had heard. He looked up and noticed the display case was destroyed. Glaring into Fraser's eyes, he spoke. "She missed you on purpose."

Fraser glanced back at the case, then to Stan. "It would seem so."

Stan's muddled mind tried to grasp the facts as he ran around the counter and fell to his knees beside Aurora. She was on her back and her eyes stared straight ahead. Looking down at her chest he saw the crisp hole where the bullet had torn through her.

She hadn't bothered to wear a mask or dark clothing despite the fact that the museum was secured by a number of cameras and an alarm instead of security guards. He placed a hand under her head, just wanting to touch her this last time. His other hand he put over his mouth, trying to control the waves of emotions blowing over him as things calmed. Stan felt a part of him shatter like the glass. A part of him was stripped away and left for dead.

Standing, he was vaguely aware of Fraser's presence. He had to lean on the counter to brace himself as the dizziness washed over him. He turned, surveying the scene, taking it all in as he steadied himself. Closing his eyes slowly, opening them slowly, neither movement ended the nightmare. His breathing was loud and sharp. Inside him his heart, his stomach, his head, everything was churning. Something snapped then and it was as if his voice was muffled and his actions were not his own as he yelled. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this!" Balling his right hand into a fist, he sent it mechanically through the glass encasement of the counter.

Numb to everything, Fraser grabbed Stan and held him firm just as he sent his fist flying a second time. Fraser dragged Stan from the museum, struggling as Stan fought every inch. Fraser let Stan loose once outside where he couldn't do damage. Someone had noticed something and the sirens were floating down the street. Stan didn't hear them and he held his hand against the blinding lights.

He turned away and saw a garbage can on the empty sidewalk. His fist bleeding, he grabbed the trash bin. He needed something to help him let go. Fraser watched helplessly as Stan lifted the can and threw it against the brick wall. He knew better than to try stopping the man as he sent it hurling against the wall again and again.

Fraser's stomach flipped as he realized just how helpless he was here. The only thing he could do was watch Stan unleash it all and keep him from doing damage to himself, others, or the nearby property (other than the garbage can). He took a few minutes to step up to one of the police cars and speak with an officer. He explained the situation and told them they would answer questions the next day. The officer agreed and led the investigation inside. Fraser went back quickly to where Stan was venting his frustrations and froze.

The detective smashed the can against the wall again and again until in one smash it flew from his hands. At that, he growled loudly and threw his fists into the wall.

Knowing the bricks were stronger than Stan's bones, Fraser took that moment to grab Stan again. He pulled him back from the wall and Stan fell limply to the ground. He had nothing left in him, except the anger. It lingered. He moved into a sitting position and looked at Fraser. "It wasn't supposed to happen! Not like this! It wasn't..." he choked and Fraser moved next to him. "My god, Fraser! This was just... She wasn't... It wouldn't have happened if I'd..." He had so many thoughts running though his mind he couldn't make any sense of them so he just screamed the words as they fell from his mouth.

In gasping breaths he continued to yell half sentences. Tears were rolling uncontrolled down his face. He was oblivious to the police, the coroner, everyone around and after a few hours the two were alone on the street, exhausted.

~~~~~~~

Fraser could hardly remember how he'd managed to coax Stan back to the hotel. Once there, however, he knew he shouldn't leave him alone so he'd propped the door between the two rooms open and slept upside down on the bed where he could watch Stan.

Wakening slowly, Fraser let the events of the previous evening in and thought quickly to look across into the other room. He watched Stan's chest heaving very slowly for several seconds before he rolled out of bed. Throughout the night he'd been awakened several times by grunts and groans coming from the other bed, but Stan finally looked peaceful.

Fraser ordered room service, then slipped into the shower. He wore the towel around him when the breakfast order arrived early and he opened the door to let them in. Once alone, he dressed quietly, then wheeled the cart into Stan's room. He glanced at the time and saw that the officer's would be arriving soon for their questions. Fraser shook Stan's leg until the man grunted and sat up.

"There will be police here soon. They needed to ask us some questions," Fraser filled him in, simply.

Stan groaned. The memories were flooding back and he stiffened. He didn't want to deal with it. He'd been hoping for those first few moment that it had been a nightmare. The reality confronting him was too painful.

He watched as Fraser uncovered the plate and pushed the food toward him. "You better eat something before they get here."

Stan grunted. His stomach churned. Instead he moved unsteadily to his feet and disappeared into the bathroom.

Fraser sat on the bed and bowed his head. He didn't know where to go from here. He wasn't even sure how to get Stan through the day.

Confronting that reality in the mirror, Stan was sickened by his own appearance. He closed his eyes and turned away from the mirror, then leaned on the vanity. He didn't know how he'd get through the day, either, but with new determination he decided one moment at a time was the only way. He showered and dressed and came out of the room to find Fraser still sitting on the bed.

"Thanks for the food," Stan said feebly, sitting back before the meal and poking at an egg.

Fraser heard the strength in Stan's voice and let out a long breath. Before he had a chance to speak there was a knock at the door.

~~~~

After talking to the officer's assigned to the case, Stan was glad to see them go. He felt as if he'd used the only energy he had when he let the whole story out. It was all over, now, though.

Standing at the gate, he shifted the bag on his shoulder. "Looks like the flight is almost done loading," Stan said softly.

Fraser nodded. He'd wanted to wait until the last possible moment, to hang on to this moment for as long as he could. "You know, Stan, if you ever need anything..."

Stan straightened. "I know, Fraser. You don't have to say it." He paused. "Next time you need me, you'd better call, too."

Fraser nodded and began his way toward the shortened line at the gate.

Stan was about to turn when he put his hands in the pocket of his coat. Feeling something inside he pulled it out. Quickly he hurried to catch up to Fraser. He touched Fraser, who turned. Holding out the bundle, he smiled. "I don't know why I bought it. I guess I missed the little guy."

Fraser took the package and opened it, dumping the carving of the wolf into his hand. He held it up. "It's an amazing resemblance."

Stan nodded. "Only thing missing is a candy bar."

Fraser smiled and held the object back out to Stan. "You keep it. I get to see him every day."

Stan grinned and took the carving. He glanced around, as if checking to make sure no one was watching, then leaned toward Fraser with a genuine hug. Fraser returned it briefly, then Stan pulled away. "I'll call you this weekend," he said as he turned and walked away.

"I'll be waiting," Fraser said behind him.

Stan heard the words and smiled again as he hurried toward his gate. He glanced at the time just as he heard the announcement, "Flight 1732 Toronto to Chicago will now begin boarding."

THE END