Enjoy!

**********

Possession

Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP, stepped out into the brisk night air, locking the Consulate door behind him. Inspector Thatcher had kept him knee-deep in paperwork the entire day, still testing the limits of her Deputy Liaison Officer. The task had taken him until late that evening to complete, and now he was finally heading home.

Diefenbaker walked ahead of him, occasionally turning back to circle him a time or two, whine at him, then prance on ahead once more.

Fraser sighed. Dief had been nagging him since early afternoon, disliking the fact that they'd been cooped up in Fraser's small office for his entire shift. Used to the wild outdoors of the Yukon, Diefenbaker, as well as his master, still chafed somewhat at the tediousness of a desk job. Yet the RCMP officer would never think to offer up a word of complaint. The last time he had tried standing up for himself he had nearly gotten fired, and as it stood, Fraser found he had to tread a fine line with Thatcher. His former superior officer, Inspector Moffatt, had been entirely predictable, and Fraser had had free reign to carry out his duties -- albeit as Consulate Doorman, they had not been overly stressful, if you didn't count the multitude of children who continually thought up new ways to try and distract him. However, his new boss was definitely unpredictable -- firing him for balking in changing his out-of-date brown uniform to the more widely used blue one, then willing to merely transfer him back to Canada in an effort to save herself some paperwork, and then, without any reason at all, willing to drop the entire matter and allow him to remain at this post... on probation.

Diefenbaker barked at him, rousing him from his contemplations, and he saw that the wolf had stopped in front of a small convenience store.

"No, we are not stopping for some doughnuts," Fraser replied. "You've been eating way to much junk food lately as it is."

Diefenbaker whined.

"Well, yes. Mrs. Arlington did give you that granola bar yesterday, but that one time hardly constitutes a healthier diet."

He began walking again, and with a growl, Dief trotted passed him, his tail high in the air. Ever since they'd moved to Chicago, Diefenbaker had fallen in love with "the urban influence" -- particularly for the wide varieties of fast and unhealthy food. While the two of them had been recovering from bullet wounds last year, the vet had cautioned Fraser that Dief, not having the high amount of activity he was used to back in the Yukon, would gain weight if he over-ate and did not get enough exercise. Fraser tried to control the animal's snacking, but Dief always managed to find some junk food somewhere to get into. And while Diefenbaker got plenty of exercise while they assisted Fraser's good friend, Ray Vecchio, on the police detective's cases, the Mountie spent far less time exercising the wolf than he should.

"Don't wander too far," Fraser called, even though the wolf would not hear him.

Diefenbaker was now approximately half a block ahead, and definitely ignoring his master. Fraser watched as the wolf stopped suddenly, then dashed off into a side alley. The Mountie shook his head. What now...

Fraser quickened his pace. Nearing the alley, he heard a rustling sound, then a yelp of pain. He entered the dark alley, his blue eyes scanning for any sign of trouble, but the lack of light made the search difficult. Boxes and trash cans hugged the walls of the narrow alley, casting even deeper shadows in the moonless night. There was no sign of movement.

"Diefenbaker?"

The Mountie moved deeper into the alley, his entire body taut and alert. Beneath the sounds of the city traffic, Fraser picked up the soft sound of someone breathing. He followed it cautiously, stepping around a large trash dumpster. A patch of something white caught his gaze.

The wolf lay unmoving on the other side.

Fraser knelt down to check for a heartbeat, his own heart pounding hard within his chest. To his relief, Diefenbaker's pulse was beating strongly. He scanned the animal's body for signs of injury and found a dart imbedded in the wolf's skin, trapped between his body and the cold ground. He pulled it out, attempting to read its markings in the nonexistent light.

A sound came from behind him.

Fraser threw himself sideways, attempting to dodge it, but the dart pierced his clothing and imbedded itself in his back, just above his right shoulder blade. The drug entered his system rapidly, and the world went hazy as he collapsed on top of the unconscious wolf, his body no longer accepting his brain's

commands.

The darkness claimed him before he could utter a sound.

**********

Ray Vecchio strode towards his desk in the Major Crimes unit of the 27th Division. He had just returned to Chicago from his vacation to Miami, a trip he had been attempting to take for the past two years -- his every effort hindered by a certain Canadian. Not that he blamed Fraser for their last disastrous vacation, when they'd gone up to the Yukon to rebuild his father's cabin. After all, it wasn't the Mountie's fault that an escaped murderer had hijacked their plane and then bailed out, forcing them to crash in the woods hundreds of miles from nowhere. And he was rather proud of how he'd come through for the native woodsman, who had been temporarily blinded and paralyzed as a result from the crash, and was more than a little out of his head from a concussion -- yet if they'd gone to Miami like he'd wanted, the worst thing that the Mountie would have come home with was a bad case of sunburn.

He wished he'd been able to take this vacation under happier circumstances, yet he had to admit, he had enjoyed it more than he thought he would when he boarded the plane two weeks ago, still feeling the heavy weight of grief for Irene's death only a little more than a month before. But with the help of an understanding woman he'd met in a bar that overlooked the Atlantic Ocean one evening, and after spending the last week with her on her small yacht on an impromptu cruise of the Caribbean, Ray was feeling more like his old self again.

A mild wave of surprise intruded on his thoughts when he noticed that his desk was just as neat now as when he'd left the precinct two weeks ago. Knowing of his imminent return, Lieutenant Welsh should have had it piled high with the backlog of cases he wanted taken care of immediately.

A movement out of the corner of his eye caused him to look up. Elaine Besbriss was just sitting down at her desk. The pretty civilian aide simply stared at her computer, not even turning it on, as if she expected it to give the answer to some deep, hidden question. Ray got up and joined her.

"Aren't you even going to welcome me back, Elaine?"

She turned abruptly, startled. "Ray? When did you get in?"

"Just a few minutes ago." He decided to play things cool with her, although he was pretty sure she knew about what had transpired between himself and the mobster's sister. "Too bad, too, because things were just starting to heat up for me--"

Instead of teasing him on his romantic exploits, she interrupted. "I mean from Miami."

"Last night. I tell you, Darlene really hated to see me go, but I told her--"

"Have you talked to Fraser yet?"

Ray frowned, taking a closer look at the darker woman's face. Something's wrong. "I thought I'd give him a call later on today. Why?"

She was about to reply when the Lieutenant stepped out of his office. "Vecchio."

Ray turned to face him. "Yes, sir?"

"In my office, please."

Ray glanced at Elaine, who's gaze slid down to the floor, then joined his commanding officer.

"Have a seat," Welsh said as he closed the door, then drew the office blinds closed, before taking his seat.

Puzzled, Ray did what he was told. The Lieutenant's steady gaze was making him nervous. He cleared his throat. "Is something the matter, sir?"

"Constable Fraser is missing."

Ray blinked. "What?"

"Two days after you left you got a call from the Consulate when the Constable didn't show up for work. I took the call. It seems that your name was listed as his Emergency Contact."

Ray nodded silently.

"Two days after that his boss came in here to file a Missing Persons report. No one has seen Fraser or his wolf in the past two weeks. He didn't tell you he was going anywhere, did he?"

"No, sir," Ray replied, finally finding his voice. "The last time I spoke with him was while he was still at the Consulate the afternoon before I left." Where the hell can he be? Ray thought, his mind racing.

"So far, we haven't been able to turn up anything."

"Who's got the case?"

"Detective Huey," Welsh replied.

"Jack?" Ray said incredulously. "After what happened last month?"

"He can still be objective--"

The detective cut him off. "I want it, sir."

"You're too close to this one, Detective."

"That's right, I am," Ray stated emphatically. "That's why I'm the best cop for the job. No one in this city knows Fraser the way I do. If he's left some sort of clue or message behind, I'm the only one who may be able to recognize it."

Welsh studied him, and Ray held his gaze. Even if Welsh expressly forbid him to work this case, he knew he would disobey those orders without hesitation. The look in his superior officer's eyes told him that Welsh knew it, too.

"All right. The case is yours. Huey can brief you as soon as he gets here."

"Thank you, sir." Ray turned and left the office.

Elaine was watching him as he went to his desk, and she joined him there. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine -- and he's fine, too," Ray snapped as he began rifling through his desk. "No one can handle himself in any situation better than that Mountie, Elaine, and don't you forget it."

Elaine merely nodded, then went back to her desk.

"No one..." Ray murmured to himself.

*****

Ray practically pounced on Jack Huey as he entered the squad room. "I want to know everything -- where you've been, who you've talked to, and what you've found."

"Good morning to you, too, Ray," Huey said as he sat down behind his desk.

"You better've been doing your best work on this case," Ray stated bluntly.

"Are you saying I'm not doing my job, Vecchio?" the detective demanded.

"I'm saying you were pretty pissed at Fraser last month, Jack. I'm saying that maybe you haven't had enough time to cool off."

"Well, as I recall, you were pretty pissed at the Mountie yourself."

Ray was silent, the memory of the incident in the squad room when Zuko had been released replaying itself in his mind. Every cop in the room had been glaring daggers at the Canadian, himself included. Not only had he been angry at Fraser, he had been hurt as well. After all the times he'd backed the Mountie, the one time Ray needed his backing, Fraser failed to give it. Worse, Fraser had sided with the enemy. It was the closest he'd ever come to ending their friendship.

It was only after the shooting that he'd realized Fraser had been right, but by then it was already too late for Irene -- way too late -- and Ray would have to live with the guilt from his actions for the rest of his life.

"Yeah," Ray replied hoarsely. "And I was wrong."

Huey made no reply.

Ray sat down wearily in the chair opposite Huey. "Just tell me what you've got."

Jack picked up a folder on his desk. "Okay. From what I've found out so far, the last time anyone saw Fraser was on March 22, a Thursday, at approximately 5:15 PM, when Inspector Thatcher and her aide left for the evening. Fraser was still doing some paperwork, and was alone in the building. When he didn't show up for work on Friday, Thatcher called here. When she filed the MPR on Sunday, she said she sent someone over to Fraser's apartment on Friday, and again when he didn't show up for work on Saturday, but no one was home, and the door was locked. I checked out his apartment, the landlord let me in, but nothing looked out of place -- no sign of a struggle -- and his bed hadn't been slept in. I questioned his neighbors, and no one had seen him since he left for work that morning, so I assume he never made it back to his apartment Thursday night. Thatcher conducted an search of the Consulate but didn't find anything unusual. The door was locked when she got there Friday morning, so apparently he left the Consulate without incident."

"So what you're saying is that somewhere between the Consulate and his apartment a six-foot, able-bodied man and a wolf just disappeared off the face of the Earth?" Ray asked.

"It's a big city, Ray, and that neighborhood he lives in isn't exactly one of the safest," Huey quipped.

Ray frowned, ignoring the barb. "What else?"

"Besides the other residents, I questioned some of the locals, and everyone at the Consulate," Huey informed him. "No one has seen him."

"What about recent parolees or escaped prisoners?" Ray questioned.

"We ran a check, and no one he helped put away since he's been here has been released or has escaped," Huey responded.

"What about in Canada?"

"The Consulate checked. Same thing."

Huey apparently had covered all the bases, but it just seemed impossible to Ray that the Mountie could have disappeared without a trace. But when an investigation turns cold, the best thing to do is start over again from scratch. The next best thing is to try and view things from a different perspective. And he was hoping he would have a better perspective on this case than the black detective.

"Here's the file," Huey said as he handed the folder to Vecchio.

"Thanks," Ray said as he started for the door.

"Hey, Vecchio," Huey called out, causing the Italian to stop at the door and glance back. "I hope you have better luck finding Fraser than I did."

Ray hesitated, then continued out the door.

**********

Ray turned the key and the lock opened, allowing him access to the sparsely furnished apartment. Fraser had given him the spare key shortly after installing the new door -- the old one destroyed during that whole eviction mess last month -- and this was the first occasion Ray had had to use it. He felt slightly guilty for using it now, but if there was any chance that what he was about to do would reveal any hint as to the location of the missing Canadian... If Fraser has anything to say about it he can tell me later -- in person.

He glanced around the small apartment, taking a deep breath. The room was cold, and the air smelled as if it hadn't been circulated in some time. The decor was Spartan, the Mountie too used to a life in which you had to be able to carry all your worldly possessions on your back, and be able to move at a moment's notice, but it was no longer barren. Over the past two years Fraser had been making small additions to the place, the latest among them a lamp shade to cover the lone bulb that had hung bare over the kitchen table for way too long, and a bookcase, to give it more of a lived-in feel.

Yet, at the moment, it felt as if it had been abandoned.

He started in the kitchen, going through the drawers and cabinets, and checking every item on the countertops in his search. The Mountie was definitely not a pack rat. There was nothing in any drawer that would be considered useless, such as the assorted items that could be found in the "junk drawer" in his own kitchen. Diefenbaker's water bowl sat beneath the kitchen window. There was a small amount of water yellowed from age in it, and a few dead ants floated on the surface. He opened the trash can beside it, but the bag inside was new, its contents empty. Must have thrown out the garbage before going to work.

He moved into the dining area next, and opened the door to the refrigerator. A small smile crept up on his lips at the contents: a small container of milk, a loaf of bread, some cold cuts, a large bottle of maple syrup, and a white wrist corsage. Ray removed the milk and opened the carton, pulling back when the sour odor hit his nostrils. He then pulled out the cold cuts and opened the plastic. Green mold had begun appearing on the slices of roast beef. He tossed them both in the trash, then tied up the bag, removing it from the can and setting it by the door.

Finally, he stepped over to the main living area. He went through everything in the closet, checking pockets and opening boxes. Nothing. He flipped through all the books on the book case, hoping for a mysterious piece of paper to fall out and provide the missing clue to finding the missing man, but they revealed nothing other than the fact that the Mountie had a very strange taste in books. Next, he moved to the bed. The Hudson Bay blanket was tucked firmly about the mattress, and two thin pillows rested at the head. Between the bed and the far wall was the bedroll, and beside it a kerosene lamp. On the other side, a small black book rested on top of the elder Fraser's trunk. Ray reached out a hand out to pick it up, then hesitated. From what he'd learned about the murdered Mountie, the man was practically a legend in the RCMP. Everyone from cadets first entering the Academy to the top brass knew the name Robert Fraser, and it seemed to Ray that the man put duty to his job above everything else--including his family. Even though he regretted it a lot of the time while he was growing up, at least Ray's father had been a physical presence in his life, at least when he wasn't at Fanelli's playing pool, which was quite often. So as an adult, Ray had a realistic perspective of the man, including all his faults. Fraser never had that, raised by his grandparents while his father was posted God knows where, and if there was one person in the world his friend tried to emulate, it was the romantic, idolized image of that legendary Mountie. Ray knew from experience that a large part of what made his friend the way he is stemmed from the natural instinct of a son's desire to be as good a man, if not a better man, than his father. But if you already thought your father is perfect, where did you go from there?

He pulled his hand back, letting it fall to his side.

Getting down on his hands and knees, Ray looked beneath the bed. There was nothing beneath it other than the box of old photographs Fraser normally stored there. Not even dust-balls.

He climbed back to his feet with a grunt, glancing around the apartment once more, disappointed, hoping to have found something Huey had missed in his original search that would lead him to the Mountie.

Shaking his head, he walked to the door and picked up the bag of trash. When he left, he locked the door behind him.

**********

Vecchio glanced at the clock on the car radio -- it read 7:45 PM. He'd spent the entire day questioning the residents of every apartment in Fraser's building, making sure none of them closed the door in his face this time by planting his foot in the doorway the minute the door was opened. Several of them expressed concern over the missing Canadian's safety, but none had seen Fraser since before his disappearance, or could provide any useful information.

Afterwards, Ray had canvassed the neighborhood shops that his friend frequented, yielding the same results. While at the dry cleaners, Ray picked up one of Fraser's uniforms that had been

dropped off the day before his disappearance, and in the local grocer's Ray replaced the milk and cold cuts he'd thrown out. The logical part of his mind whispered that there was no guarantee he'd ever find Fraser -- someone missing for so long had a slim chance of being found alive -- and that it was a waste of both food and money, but Ray squelched those thoughts immediately.

Before leaving the neighborhood, he'd called the Consulate, hoping to interview Inspector Thatcher, but had been informed she'd already left for the evening. There was nothing else he could do at that point, so he headed home.

Ray parked the car in front of his house, not really wanting to go inside. His mother had taken an instant liking to the polite Canadian when Ray had brought him home for dinner that night two years ago, and she had gladly accepted him as part of her extended family. As for Francesca...

The corner of his mouth quirked upwards, although the memory of his sister telling his fellow officers that she and the Mountie had slept together had been anything but funny. Although she refused to tell him whether this supposed affair had actually occurred, and Fraser's antiquated code of chivalry prevented him from doing so as well, Ray had finally come to the conclusion that it hadn't. After their heated discussion in the interrogation room, Frannie had toned down her arduous advances towards the Mountie, and Fraser tried his best to have Ray present whenever his sister was around.

How would his family react to the news of Fraser's disappearance?

With a sigh, he turned off the ignition and went inside.

"Raimondo, you're late," Mrs. Vecchio said as she returned from the kitchen with a full plate of food.

"Sorry, Ma. Long day at work," Ray said as he sat down at the dinner table, joining the rest of his family.

"Yeah, well it's never any fun to have to go back to work after a vacation," Tony said around a mouth full of food. "Takes a few days to get back into the swing of things."

"Yeah, like you have so much experience with working for a living," Maria commented, her voice sarcastic.

The meal conversation continued around him as Ray picked at his food, not really in the mood to join in the usual trading of affectionate insults. His thoughts were on the case, and his missing friend.

"Ray, stop playing with your food," Mrs. Vecchio spoke into the chaos, causing all other conversation to cease, her concerned gaze on his face. "Is something wrong?"

Ray sighed, but knew he couldn't delay the inevitable. "Yeah, Ma. Something's very wrong. Fraser's missing."

"What?!" Francesca shrieked.

Ray related the details of Huey's investigation, and how he had spent his day. "I'm going to the Consulate tomorrow morning to talk to Thatcher. Hopefully she'll be able to give me something to work with."

"A day or two after you left I got a call from Lt. Welsh," his mother explained. "He just asked if I'd seen Fraser lately -- said he needed to discuss a case with him. I didn't think anything of it. I know he doesn't have a phone, and here would be as good a place to check as any."

"He probably just didn't want to upset you," Ray replied.

"Do you think he's still alive?"

Ray felt his stomach knot tighter. Francesca, unusually silent during the entire conversation, had finally given voice to the one question no one wanted to answer. Statistically, with each hour that passed, a missing person's chance of being found alive decreased. But Fraser is not your ordinary person, Ray reminded himself. If anyone can make it, he can. Yet his heart sank as he gave his reply.

"I don't know."

Mrs. Vecchio reached out an placed a warm hand on her son's arm, but his gaze remained locked on the table. She'd seen the changes in him since he'd befriended the exiled Canadian, and she liked what she saw. "You and Benton have been through a lot together these past two years, Raimondo. More than most others can go through and still survive, let alone remain friends. And I know you'll find him." She paused, gently cupping his chin and forcing him to face her. "Alive."

Ray's eyes looked into the eyes of the woman whose strength had held their family together after the death of his father seven years ago. He would never cease to be amazed at the amount of love and support she could offer them when they really needed it.

He smiled at her. "Thanks, Ma."

The rest of the meal passed in silence.

**********

Fraser leaned against the bars of his prison as he heard footsteps on the stairs. He was chilled to the bone, his body aching from more than just being confined in a small space for such a long time. Fraser had recognized the early stages of a cold coming on a couple of days ago, and he forced yet another cough that was rising from his chest back down his sore throat. He watched silently as his captor placed the small cup of water on the ground

before the cell in what had become a bizarre morning ritual.

"Have you changed your mind yet?"

Fraser shook his head wearily. "You know I can't do that..."

"It's the only thing that will get you out of this, you know."

"I know."

"Why are you being so stubborn?"

"I'm not," he replied, his voice hoarse. "I'm only trying to do what's right."

"It is right."

"No, it isn't."

"Fine," his captor replied, starting up the stairs. "Have it your way."

He heard the door close, and knew his captor would not be seen again that day.

Fraser sneezed, and the cough he'd been keeping at bay forced its way from his chest, leaving him worn out in its wake. He lowered himself to the floor and covered himself as best he could with the thin blanket, drifting off into an exhausted sleep.

**********

From the corner of the dark room, a silent figure watched, and worried.

**********

Ray awoke early the next morning, and after a quick bite to eat, set out for the Canadian Consulate, determined to talk with Inspector Thatcher. Although she had provided nothing useful in her statement to the lieutenant, Ray was hoping that he could somehow jog her memory.

He was thumbing through the case file as he approached the Consulate, and as he glanced up to make sure he wouldn't walk into anything, his gait faltered. Standing in front of the building was Fraser, in full red dress uniform. He blinked hard and looked again. No, that wasn't his friend -- although the Mountie did indeed resemble Fraser. Taking a deep breath to slow down the adrenaline rush, he walked past the guard, and entered.

As he reached the top of the stairs on the second floor, a young man seated behind the desk turned to greet him. "Good morning. Can I be of assistance?"

"Yes. I'm here to speak to Inspector Thatcher."

"Do you have an appointment?"

Ray pulled his badge out of his pocket and flashed it at the man. "Yes."

Ovitz looked from the badge to the detective's face. "Ah. I see. One moment, please." He picked up the phone and buzzed Thatcher's office. "Yes, sir. There's a policeman here who wishes to speak to you... Yes, sir." He hung up the phone. "You can go in now."

"Thank you kindly," Ray returned, voice dripping with sarcasm. He crossed the room and entered the office.

"You wished to speak to me, Detective Vecchio?"

The Dragon Lady, as he had so unaffectionately nicknamed her, sat behind her desk, her hands still poised on the keyboard of her small laptop computer.

He cleared his throat. "I'd like to ask you a few questions about Constable Fraser's disappearance."

"I already spoke to Lieutenant Welsh when I filed the Missing Persons report, Detective."

"I know. But that was before I took over the case, and I'd like you to go over it again -- maybe you'll remember something you forgot the last time." Ray planted himself in the chair before her desk.

Thatcher wasn't impressed. "Constable Fraser was doing routine paperwork the day he disappeared. When I left for the day he was still working. When I arrived the next morning the front door was locked, as it should have been, and the paperwork had been completed. There is nothing to indicate that anything out of the ordinary occurred while he was here."

"No recent cases that would have put him in any danger?"

"No."

"So he was just doing busy-work," Ray concluded.

"I wouldn't exactly say that."

"Then what would you say?"

"Detective, a large part of the Liaison Office's job is routine -- presenting diplomatic lectures, clearing up passport problems -- things like that. We're not a police department, as much as Constable Fraser would like to turn us into one."

Ray saw that he'd struck a nerve. "You have a problem with Constable Fraser's methods?"

She laughed. "Methods? The man thinks he's still in the Yukon, where he can make up the rules as he goes along. This office follows certain procedures, Detective, procedures that Constable Fraser tends to disregard when--"

"When they conflict with his own code of ethics," Ray finished for her, certain that was not what she had intended to say. Politics, his mind supplied with disgust. No wonder she's put Benny on probation. "Don't you just hate people like that?"

Thatcher leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms in front of her. "Why don't you just get to the point, Detective."

"You know Fraser's a friend of mine--"

"So good a friend that you start investigating his disappearance a full two weeks after it happened?"

"I was out of town," Ray replied stonily. "Sounds to me that you've been trying to get rid of him ever since you took over this office."

"He had the opportunity to transfer. He turned it down."

It was only due to Ray's years of experience in interrogating suspects that prevented his expression from betraying his surprise. He could have gone back home? He never said anything to me about it. I wonder why he didn't take her up on it? A warm feeling came over him as he realized the reason why Fraser had turned down the transfer. He kept that warmth out of his voice as he replied, "Of course. Who in their right mind would want to give up the opportunity to pick up your dry cleaning?"

She flushed slightly. "Yes, well Constable Fraser no longer has that particular task."

"Yeah, so now he gets to do your secretary's job."

"As I said before, Detective, the Deputy Liaison Officer--"

Ray cut her off. "Is a damned good cop, if you'd just give him a chance. He may be a little unorthodox, but you won't find anybody more committed to doing his duty. Being a Mountie isn't just a job to him... it's his entire life."

Thatcher paused, taking in the Vecchio's sincerity. "I am giving him that chance, Detective. That's why he's on probation."

"Yeah, some chance. You pick on him every chance you get."

"If this Consulate is to project the right image--"

Again, he cut her off. "What, that Canadians are honest? Polite? That they're willing to put themselves on the line again and again to help their fellow man? That they're not self-centered, politically motivated ass-kissers like their Ugly American neighbors? Well, then you're right. Fraser certainly can't help you there."

She leaned forward in her chair. "Let's get one thing straight, Detective Vecchio. One of my officers is missing. No matter how I feel personally about that officer, I have a responsibility to see that he is found safely."

"Yeah, well I'm sure he wouldn't want you to jeopardize your career over him." Ray got to his feet. "I want to check out his office."

"I'm afraid I can't allow you to do that," Thatcher said as she, too, got to her feet. "You have no jurisdiction here -- technically, you're on Canadian soil."

"Sorry, my mistake. I thought you might have wanted to fulfill that so-called responsibility of yours..."

Anger narrowed her mouth into a thin line as she walked around her desk and towards the door. Ray followed her to Fraser's office and waited as she opened the door. "Constable Fraser should not have any files that contain sensitive information in his office, however, anything you may inadvertently learn is not to leave this room, Detective. Is that understood?"

Ray nodded.

She left him alone in the office, closing the door behind her.

*****

It was already after noon when Ray left the Consulate, unsure of what to do next. He'd gone through Fraser's office with a fine- toothed comb, and had found nothing out of the ordinary. He then proceeded to question everyone who was at the Consulate the day of Fraser's disappearance, but the Mountie had been alone, the last one to leave the building that night.

Instead of heading for the Buick, Ray turned in the opposite direction and began walking towards Fraser's apartment, stopping at the small shops that lined the street to ask if anyone had seen Fraser that night.

No one had.

Damn it! Ray swore to himself. This case makes absolutely no sense. He wasn't working on anything important, no old cases have come back to haunt him that we know of, no one he knows asked him for any help with anything... Where the hell can he be? The only thing he could think of was that maybe the Mountie saw someone in trouble, tried to help, and had been injured. But if he'd been hurt, why didn't whoever it was he helped get him to a hospital? No one fitting his description has been brought in to either the hospitals or the morgue in the past two weeks.

He froze, coming to an abrupt halt, as he thought he heard someone call his name. He glanced around, but there was no one there. Ray found himself standing at the entrance to a small alley, and following a hunch, he slowly entered, taking in every detail with the eyes of a trained investigator. Not much trash littered the pavement, and what was there looked as if it hadn't been there long. He searched behind everything, moving the cardboard and paper, looking for clues.

He came to a stop beside a large dumpster. The lid was down, and Ray only hesitated a moment before lifting the lid. It was not even half full, indicating that it had more than likely been emptied at least once since Fraser's disappearance. He closed it again with a thud.

He continued to search the length of the alley, but didn't find anything out of the ordinary. Shaking his head, he turned and began to head back to the street when his gaze again fell on the dumpster. Eyes narrowing, he focused on the rear wheel. Something was preventing it from resting back against the wall. He bent down, pulling the dumpster a few inches forward, and picked up the small object. It was a small round button.

The blood drained from his face.

Engraved into the front was the emblem of the RCMP.

Yanking his cell phone from his pocket, the Italian punched in a number. "This is Detective Vecchio. I want a Forensic Team in the alley behind GottaWin Trophies -- 11879 North Lexington Avenue..."

**********

"Tomorrow morning?" Ray snarled into the phone. "I thought I marked it Rush?"

"Hey, Vecchio, we're swamped down here," an irritated male voice returned. "That's the earliest we can get to it, even with a Rush order."

Ray sighed, trying to reign in his temper. "Yeah, I know, Jerry. It's just that this one is personal, you know what I mean? I really need the results a.s.a.p., okay?"

"I'll do my best. Talk to you tomorrow." The man hung up.

Ray returned the receiver to its cradle. After spending several hours combing the alley, Forensics had come up with several samples worth testing -- including some flecks of blood found near where he'd found Fraser's uniform button. He knew it would take time for the results, but Ray couldn't help wondering if his missing friend had the time to wait.

Elaine wandered over to his desk. "Anything?"

"Not until tomorrow morning."

"Do you think Fraser's..." she couldn't bring herself to say it.

"He's alive, Elaine," Ray replied quickly, not just offering her a platitude. He knew it with a certainty he hadn't felt this morning. It was as if the moment he'd picked up that button, he'd felt the Mountie's presence -- if only for an instant. And yet, in that same moment, he'd also gotten the sense that his friend was on borrowed time.

And all he could do was wait...

"I wish I could be as sure as you," Elaine murmured.

"Trust me, Elaine," Ray said as he got to his feet, grabbing his coat. Wrapping an arm about the tired woman's waist, he led her towards her desk. "What you need is a good night's sleep. You'll feel better in the morning."

She leaned back to get a better look at his face. "You know, you really should start taking your own advice. You don't look so great either. When was the last time you got any sleep?"

Although he'd gone up to his room at the usual time the previous evening, it was basically to appease his mother. He'd done nothing but toss and turn, then finally gave up all pretense of trying to sleep around 3 AM. He shrugged. "Sunday night."

"Well, you'll need a clear head if you're going to find him, so you get some sleep tonight, too."

She picked up her purse and jacket, and together they headed for the doors.

**********

Ray let himself into the apartment, closing the door quietly behind him. Instead of going home after walking Elaine to her car, he'd begun driving aimlessly around the city, his mind on other things. He'd come out of his reverie to find himself parked in front of the Mountie's apartment building, the car engine turned off. The clock in his car read 2 AM.

How long he'd been sitting there, he had no idea.

Ray sat down at the kitchen table, glancing around the small room. He'd been fighting a losing battle against his worry for his friend the entire afternoon, and he was nearing his limit. He'd told Elaine the truth when he'd said Fraser was still alive, but he just couldn't shake the feeling that, if he didn't hurry, Fraser wouldn't be for very much longer.

He jumped to his feet and began to pace, at a loss for what to do to relieve his nervous energy. His eyes fell on the elder Fraser's journal lying on the man's foot locker and he reached out and picked it up.

The journals seemed to have a good influence on Fraser when he read them--the Mountie finding comfort, and in a few of their cases together, even some assistance, in his father's words. Maybe I'll find some inspiration myself...

Opening the journal to a random page, Ray lay down on the bed and began to read.

"...Ten years ago I would never have walked into something like this: a bear trap so poorly camouflaged a child would have seen it. But I didn't. I pried it open and got my leg out, but there was no way I could make it back. I was prepared to die out here, and, to be honest, felt I deserved it. A man gets too old for a job, he should know it, and stop. But then Buck found me. I don't know how. No one knew where I was going, but he found me and carried me back. Three days over terrain a mule couldn't navigate, laughing his ass off the entire way. Riding like that, completely helpless, slung over Buck's shoulder and staring down his back, I came to understand two things. One, at a certain point in life, a man's hips spread, and there's nothing you can do about it. And two, there's a very easy way to define friendship. A friend is someone who won't stop until he finds you and brings you home."

Ray's mind replayed the time when he and Fraser had crashed in the Canadian woods. I really thought we'd both had it. I didn't know one end of a twig from the other, and Fraser was acting so out of it... I thought we'd never make it -- but we did. After their brief, but deadly confrontation with Hogan, Ray's outlook had completely turned around, and he'd known from that point on they were going to be okay.

That last sentence drew his attention once again, and Ray's chest tightened. I'll find you, Fraser. I swear it--I'll find you.

He flipped forward a few pages, and continued reading.

"...As I stared into Harriman's eyes, I could see that his anger blazed like a raging fire, out of control. He'd sworn he'd get his revenge when I turned him in seven years ago, as most prisoners do, and I hadn't taken the news of his release very seriously. Now I wish I had. I was cornered, we were alone, and he'd already taken my gun from me.

As his knife loomed closer, I knew the only weapon I had was to use the man's anger against him. An angry man is a dangerous thing. But there is no one more dangerous than a man who hones that anger into a cold and deadly plan. Harriman had learned nothing during those six years in prison -- years he'd spent feeding his anger instead of planning his revenge -- and, right now, that mistake was quite probably the only thing that could save my life..."

The small book slipped from the exhausted detective's hand as Ray fell asleep.

*****

Robert Fraser leaned against the wall, watching the younger man fall asleep on the bed. Benton had lived in this city for two years now, and the American detective appeared to be the only person the younger Canadian had let get close to him. He hadn't known any of his son's friends while he was on the Force in the Yukon, or even if Benton had had any friends at all.

The elder Mountie frowned, realizing once again just how little he knew about his own son.

It shamed him to admit it, even if only to himself, but the deceased man had learned more about his son in the two years since his own death than in all the thirty-odd years since his son's birth. And that knowledge cut deeply.

But what cut even deeper was the fact that he now realized his son had never truly gotten the chance to know his father, either.

He clearly remembered the incident several months ago when Benton had been forced to protect Gerard, the man who had murdered him. It had been the first time, the only time, when his son had told his father he loved him. The elder man had replied with a gruff remark at the time, a bit unnerved at the depth of his son's guilt at being unable to prevent his father's murder, and the deceased man winced when he recalled the look in Benton's eyes after his reply.

In my day, men just didn't talk about things like that, he thought to himself. You showed someone how much you cared by your actions, not with words. My wife understood that, and I thought Benton did, as well.

He sighed, the pain in his son's eyes that night haunting him. Well, maybe it wouldn't have hurt to have told him just once...

But the dead man knew the younger Mountie a bit better now, and had also been learning about this American who had befriended his son since his arrival in Chicago. The man expressed his emotions -- often quite loudly -- most of the time. The elder Fraser, and most likely the younger Fraser, too, had come to understand that the louder and sharper-tongued this hot-tempered Italian grew, the more he cared. From what he'd witnessed over the months, Detective Vecchio cared a great deal about the welfare of his son.

Robert Fraser was hoping that his friendship would be enough.

He approached the bed quietly, still unsure about exactly how to go about this. It was one thing to deal with his son in such a manner -- their blood relation allowing Benton to see him from the first time he'd appeared two Christmases ago. But getting the detective to see him, let alone hear him, was proving to be much more difficult. He'd already made the attempt twice -- the first time when the detective had been approaching the alley where his son had disappeared, and the second a few minutes later, when he'd "helped" the man find the button from his son's uniform. But it had taken a great deal of concentration, and not a little bit of shouting, to get the man to react.

The dead Mountie sat down on his own foot locker near the head of the bed, and began to speak.

"I don't know if you can hear me, Yank, but time is running out, and there's no one else I can turn to. You've helped my son a

great deal since he's been here, and I wanted to thank you for that. I know he can't be an easy person to get to know -- he gets that from his grandmother, I suppose.

"I know you've been busting your butt trying to find him... And not having much luck, either. Of course, if this had happened in the Yukon I would have--" he broke off, his heart not in it. He cleared his throat and continued. "My son trusts you with his life, so I guess I'll have to trust you with his life as well.

"I've seen him, and he's not doing so well, so if you're going to find him you'd better hurry. I don't know where he is, but from what I could see of the place, he's not in the city. It was definitely a rural area.

"The worst thing of it is... that woman's got him. And I don't think she's planning to let him go -- not until she kills him, anyway. Or until he agrees to go with her."

Ray shifted on the bed, but showed no sign of having heard the dead man.

The Mountie began to pace the room, frustrated. I've got to get him to listen. He paused, turning back towards Ray. Well, when all else fails, stick to the tried and true. He went back over to the bed and leaned forward until his mouth was mere inches away from the detective's ear. He then took a deep breath and shouted, "It's Victoria!!"

*****

Ray bolted upright in the bed, his chest heaving. He closed his eyes, trying to calm down, but the vivid image of the one person he hoped he'd never have to lay eyes on again refused to dissipate from his mind now that he'd awaken.

Victoria...

Why hadn't he thought of her earlier? She definitely had motive - - if anyone from the Mountie's past wanted revenge, it was this woman. And since she had never been caught following her escape from the train station nearly a year earlier, she also had the opportunity. And Ray knew from experience she could be meticulous in devising and carrying out her revenge. No wonder I haven't been able to find any clues to where Fraser is...

He jumped to his feet and began pacing the room, no longer able to contain his churning emotions. He hated Victoria for what she'd done to Fraser -- to both of them. It had taken quite a while for their friendship to regain its equilibrium, both of them needing to work through a myriad of emotions. After waiting at the hospital for nearly 24 hours after the shooting at the train station, the doctors had evicted him from the waiting room and forced him to go get a few hours sleep. When he'd finally returned home, he found his house in shambles -- Fraser had tossed the place from top to bottom in his search for the key to the train station locker full of stolen money that would have ended his career and landed him in prison for a crime he didn't commit. Too numb to even contemplate cleaning up the place, he walked the distance to St. Michael's, entered the deserted Church, and knelt in front of the statue of the Blessed Mother beside the altar. It was there that the protective walls surrounding his emotions collapsed, his guilt and fear overwhelming him. As the tears streaked down his cheeks, he prayed. He prayed that Fraser would pull through, that there wouldn't be any permanent damage from his bullet, that their friendship would survive, and that God, and Fraser, would forgive him for shooting, and damned near killing, the best friend he'd ever had.

How long he was at the Church that night, he still didn't know. But after he left, he walked back to his house, got in the car, and returned to the hospital.

Twenty-four hours later the doctors said Fraser was out of danger.

In the days that followed, Ray began to sort through the other emotions that surfaced, now that the Canadian was on the road to recovery, including the anger and sense of betrayal he felt at the knowledge that Fraser had really intended to leave on that train with Victoria. Fraser's impulsive decision would have not only cost the Mountie his own career, but would have cost Ray his house, his job, and most likely his freedom as well. While he'd understood why Fraser had done what he did, it had still hurt -- badly. But while others might not have been able to forgive such a betrayal, Ray had managed to do so within the first few days of Fraser's recovery, loyalty to his friend overriding all other factors.

Fraser, of course, had had his own demons to deal with.

During the early stages of Fraser's recovery, one of his doctors had told Ray that the Mountie was recovering at a slower rate he should have been. It was obvious to both men that Fraser's depression was the reason why.

The doctor pressed him for details, but Ray only gave him the bare facts, insisting that Fraser could work things out for himself. It had taken almost four weeks, but Ray had been certain Benny was on the right track after hearing his attempt to talk Doctor Carter into handing over her weapon.

Until now.

What if she came back for him again, and he went with her this time? The thought came unbidden to his mind, sending a cold chill down his spine. This time there was nothing to prevent the Mountie from leaving. Not that everything that was going on the last time had been able to stop him... His stomach twisted into a hard knot.

He closed his eyes and willed himself to relax, clearing his mind of all thought, and letting his gut instincts take over. No... The voice inside his head supplied, and Ray's conviction was reinforced. No, he didn't go with her willingly. I know it. She's got him, and he's in danger. And I've got to find him before it's too late.

His foot came into contact with something on the floor, and the detective bent over and picked up the journal, which had fallen, forgotten, from his chest. As his hand closed around the small leather book, Ray froze, the hair on the back of his neck rising.

He wasn't alone in the room.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a familiar shade of scarlet, but the face of the man wearing it was not Fraser's.

His body snapped to attention, his eyes attempting to focus on the figure, but it was no longer there. He blinked hard.

He was alone.

But I could have sworn I saw...

Shaking his head, Ray slipped the journal into his coat pocket as he headed for the door, turning off the light before closing it behind him.

**********

Vecchio had been at his desk for a couple of hours, trying to confirm his suspicions, when Elaine brought a sealed manila folder to his desk. "Here are the lab results from Forensics."

He snatched it from her hand and tore it open, eyes scanning over it quickly. "They found traces of-- Damn it! I knew he didn't go with her on his own!"

"Go with who?" Elaine demanded, but Ray wasn't even aware she was in the same room with him.

Snatching up a photo that had been half buried beneath a file on his desk, Ray rushed towards Welsh's office, barging in without knocking.

"Detective..." the Lieutenant began, a lecture on protocol imminent. But the Italian never gave him the chance to get started. He slammed the photograph down on his desk.

"Victoria Metcalf."

Welsh looked at the picture for a moment, then met Ray's eyes. "And why would this woman come back here now, and risk being picked up for murder, possession of stolen property, attempting to receive stolen property, conspiracy, and a host of other charges? For the Mountie?"

Ray ignored his superior's sarcastic tone. "She's obsessed with him. Everything she did the last time was to get him to go with her." He didn't mention that her plan had very nearly succeeded. Ray was the only other person who knew that Fraser was running down that railway platform in order to join her, and he planned to take that secret with him to his grave. "When her plan failed, she bided her time until she could try again."

"I see," the Lieutenant responded. "And you base this on what evidence?"

Ray hesitated only for a moment. "A hunch, sir."

Welsh nodded, his beady eyes locked with Ray's. "Ah, a hunch. Very tangible evidence..."

"It's the only thing that makes sense, sir," Vecchio continued. "He's had no recent cases that would place him in any danger. No recent parolees who would harbor a grudge, and no indication that he left on his own accord. The lab results from the alley where I found the button from his uniform turned up small traces of animal blood, along with traces of animal tranquilizer."

"So you've ruled out someone like an Animal Control officer going after some stray animal..."

"Traces of human blood were also found, sir. My guess is she lured Fraser into the alley somehow and shot both him and the wolf with the tranquilizer."

Welsh mulled things over. "Okay, say I buy into this theory of yours. Where are they now?"

Ray made no reply.

"That's what I thought." Vecchio was a good cop, but Welsh was afraid that the Italian was grasping at straws at this point. People disappeared every day in a city this size, and were never heard from again. It was unfortunate, but also a fact of life. However, knowing that fact didn't make it any easier when one of those unfortunate people was someone you knew. And although he would rather face the worst criminal element in the city unarmed than admit it, Welsh had gotten used to the Canadian loitering about his precinct the past two years.

"Get me some evidence, Detective Vecchio. In the meantime, circulate her picture to the other precincts in the area. Maybe someone will spot something." He opened up a folder on his desk and began to read.

Ray knew a good deal when he heard one. "Yes, sir."

Closing the door behind him, he headed straight for the young civilian aide. "Elaine, get me a rundown of any reports of missing or stolen animal tranquilizers in the past six months.

Check Animal Control, the Zoo, area vets -- anyone who deals with animals. A.S.A.P."

"I'm on it."

**********

Ray's frustration level was reaching new heights as he drove towards his destination. After several hours waiting for the slow-as-usual computer system to come up with anything, Elaine found only one reported theft of animal tranquilizers during the last six months. The theft had been reported two months ago, but it had been such a small amount, and of such little street value, that the case had quickly been pushed to the back burner.

I should have known... he thought as he parked the Riviera in front of the entrance to the Chicago Zoo. After flashing his badge to the ticket attendant, was promptly escorted to the administration offices.

The zoo's operations manager was waiting for him.

"Detective Vecchio, 27th Precinct."

"Hal Anderson. I filed the report on the missing drugs."

"Tell me what happened."

"Well, we were open for business as usual. I was here alone at the time, nothing unusual. Then this woman came in inquiring about a job, so I gave her an application to fill out. An emergency came up, and I left her in the office for a few minutes. We don't expect trouble like this, Detective, so I didn't think anything of it. She seemed harmless enough. When I got back she was gone, and the medical cabinet had been broken into. The only thing missing was one box of tranquilizer darts -- six darts total. I called the police, and they checked out the information she'd written on the application, but..."

"It was bogus," Ray concluded. "She's not stupid enough to give out her real name. Do you have the application?"

"Yes," Anderson said, handing the piece of paper to the detective.

Ray's eyes focused immediately on the phony name Victoria had written. Eve Kendall. Why does that name sound so familiar? Ray's memory supplied the answer to his question a moment later, and his mouth compressed into a hard line. She really loves to twist the knife... She had not gotten past her name and address on the application. "What did she look like?"

"Tall, thin, with short blond hair. She also wore glasses. Really pretty."

Ray pulled out the mug shot of Victoria. "This her?"

He stared at the picture for a few moments. "They look kinda alike, but I can't really be sure. She had a mole on her left cheek, and blue eyes. This woman doesn't"

"Moles can be faked, Mr. Anderson, and colored contact lenses are easily obtained. You sure this isn't the same woman?"

He shrugged. "I wish I could say for certain. I only saw her for a few minutes, and it was a couple of months ago. I'm not real good with faces. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Ray replied, hiding his disappointment. "You've helped. Thanks."

**********

Ray parked the Buick in front of his house and turned the engine off. A day which had started out so promising had rapidly dwindled into sheer frustration. After leaving the zoo, Ray had tracked down the police officers who had worked on the case, but they had no useful information to add. He'd returned to the precinct before going home, but the fliers he'd circulated on Victoria had not brought any responses.

It was almost 9 PM now, and he was exhausted, having gotten little sleep in the past few days. Ray wondered if he would manage to get any sleep tonight, either.

As he climbed out of the car and headed for the door, the hairs on the back of his neck rose, and he instinctively pulled his gun from its holster. He scanned the area, but the street lighting did not reveal anything out of the ordinary.

Yet Vecchio knew with absolute certainty that someone was watching him.

"Who's out there?" he called, trying the straight-forward approach.

A muffled 'woof' reached his ears and Ray turned, his eyes falling on the porch of his house. A pair of brown eyes looked back at him from around the corner of the building.

"Diefenbaker?"

Ray holstered his gun, kneeling down and extending his hand towards the animal, who hesitated to approach. "It's okay, Dief. Come on... Come on out."

The wolf slowly approached him, scanning the area as if looking for an ambush. The animal was filthy and was walking with a slight limp. When he reached him, Ray began to pet the wolf, but was quickly halted by the brush matted in his fur. "Where have you been, boy? Are you okay? Is Fraser with you?"

The wolf whined morosely.

Ray climbed to his feet. "Come on, let's go inside and get you something to eat."

They went inside. Ray took off his coat and hung it on the coat rack, then lead the wolf into the kitchen. He pulled two aluminum pie plates from a cabinet and filled one with water, putting it down on the floor. Diefenbaker started drinking from it immediately. Ray then removed some of last night's linguini and dumped it into the second dish, placing it beside the one with water on the floor. Dief moved from the bowl of water to the food, devouring it as if he hadn't eaten anything in days.

In the brighter kitchen light, Ray took a better look at the animal. His fur was matted with small twigs, leaves and dirt, and there appeared to be a small amount of dried blood on his left hind leg, near his paw. The wolf looked thinner than the last time Ray had seen him, three weeks ago. And he needed a bath -- badly.

"Ray," his mother began as she entered the kitchen.

"What's... Diefenbaker! Where did he come from? Did you find Fraser, too?"

"No, Ma," Ray replied, disappointment clear in his voice. "Dief was waiting form me when I got home. I'm hoping he'll be able to lead us to Fraser."

"I wonder where he's been -- he certainly is filthy," Mrs. Vecchio observed. "Be sure to give him a bath before going to bed."

"Yes, Ma."

"Good night," she kissed him before heading upstairs.

Ray leaned back against the counter and continued to watch the animal eat. Where the hell have you been, Dief? And why isn't Fraser with you? Ray straightened abruptly, then removed some plastic baggies from the cabinet and grabbed a pair of scissors out of one of the draws. Maybe some of the Mountie's tracking skills have rubbed off.

He sat down on the floor beside the wolf and began removing the matted debris from the animal, placing each different type in a separate bag. With the scissors, he cut off a small section of fur. Maybe you can tell me where you've been after all...

After Diefenbaker had finished eating, Ray took him for a walk before putting him in the tub for a bath, cleaning the cut on his paw thoroughly. Dief made no protest. By the time Ray was finished drying the animal it was after 11 PM, and he was exhausted.

Ray went to his room and put on his pajamas, then climbed into bed and turned off the light. He had no sooner gotten comfortable beneath the covers when Diefenbaker jumped up on the bed and curled up at his feet, resting against his legs. He opened his mouth to chase the wolf off, but then closed it again, realizing he wanted the contact as much as Diefenbaker.

The wolf met his gaze, his brown eyes sad.

"Don't worry, Dief. We'll find him."

Dief whined in reply.

**********

Ray glanced down at the map again, confirming he was taking the right turn-off. Lieutenant Welsh hadn't given him any more manpower, but had finally approved this search upon hearing his recap of his conversation with Forensics.

"There's nothing unusual in what you found on the animal, Ray," the forensic expert stated as he handed the detective his report. "Just your normal dirt, twigs, leaves, and some burrs -- all things you would find in any wooded area."

"Wooded area? You mean like a park?"

The man nodded. "Yes. A park, or in the more rural suburbs. As a matter of fact, the latter is more likely. See this," he indicated one of the items in the report. "Some of the dirt you took off the animal has a high concentration of fertilizer, only it's not the type of chemical fertilizer you'd use to make grass grow, but manure -- stuff farmers use to make vegetables grow."

"So you're saying Dief's been out in the country?"

"Probably. Not too many farms in downtown Chicago..."

He and Diefenbaker had been on the road since sunrise, beginning a systematic search pattern he had devised the previous evening. As soon as they'd left the Chicago area, he had begun stopping at every small town he came to, showing pictures of both Fraser and Victoria to every local he could find. He took the wolf with him, hoping that Dief might pick up the trail of the missing Mountie or his abductor. He had packed an overnight bag, so that if nothing turned up that day, he and Dief could sleep at a motel, getting an early start the next morning by not having to waste time driving all the way back out from Chicago.

It was now mid-afternoon, and Ray hoped to conclude his search of Carpentersville before nightfall. A small smile came to his lips as Ray remembered the last time he and Fraser had been here. He hadn't heard from ATF agent Suzanne Chapin since that case last year, but it didn't bother the Italian at all. When the time was right, their paths would cross again, and he looked forward to it.

As they made their way through the outskirts of the town, Ray saw a small gas station and general store, and pulled into the lot, parking around the side of the building. Before getting out he turned to face the deaf wolf. "I'll be right back."

Diefenbaker growled.

"Okay, okay. I'll bring you back a doughnut if they have any."

Ray climbed out of the car and went inside. Feeling a bit hungry himself, he picked out a freshly made turkey sandwich from the deli case and a can of Pepsi, bringing them to the counter.

An overweight man in his late fifties was at the register. "Afternoon, fella. What can I do for you?"

"Yeah, I'd like a Cinnamon Cruller and a Jelly Doughnut please," Ray replied, pointing to the small unit filled with several doughnut varieties.

The older man filled Ray's order. "Anything else?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact," Ray said as he pulled two photos from his jacket pocket. "Either of these people come in here in the past couple of weeks?"

"Who wants to know?" the man asked, eyes narrowing.

"Chicago, P.D. I'm working on a missing persons case, and I have reason to believe that they might be in the area."

"Oh, sorry. Can't be too careful, nowadays," the shopkeeper said as he took a good look at the photos. "No, can't say as I have. Let me ask my wife, she's here alone sometimes. Hey, Mother!"

The woman joined her husband at the front counter. "What is it, Bob?"

"This here cop's looking for these folks. You seen 'em come in here recently?"

"The woman could be wearing a disguise -- a wig, or maybe glasses," Ray added.

She shook her head, her eyes still on the photos. "No, officer. I haven't seen either of them. Sorry."

Ray pocketed the pictures, then handed them a business card. "If you do, call me at this number. Anytime of the day or night, okay?"

The man took the business card. "That comes to five dollars."

Ray handed him the money. "Thanks."

"You have a good day now."

Ray picked up the bags of food and had started for the door, when it was opened by a young woman just entering the store. She stopped dead in her tracks, her hand still on the door handle. Even with the blonde wig and glasses, Ray recognized her instantly.

Victoria.

She turned and ran from the building, breaking Ray's momentary shock at coming face to face with the woman who had wrecked such havoc on his and Fraser's lives. The bags of food slipped from his hands, forgotten, as he bolted through the doorway after her.

Victoria rounded the corner of the building, running past the Buick and, hopping over the low retaining wall, ran into the wooded area beyond. In the car, Diefenbaker saw his master's friend chasing the woman, and began clawing at the half-open window. It took a fair amount of squirming, but in less than a minute, the wolf had gotten out of the car and joined in the chase.

Ray followed Victoria's erratic path, his chest heaving in exertion. He found himself fervently wishing that she would trip and fall, so he could close the lead she had on him. I gotta exercise more.

The wooded area thinned out, revealing farmland beyond. Unfortunately, the property's owner had installed a six foot, chain link fence around it. Victoria came to an abrupt halt, glancing for another escape route.

Ray took advantage of her hesitation and pulled his gun from its holster, taking aim. "Freeze!!"

She turned to face him, her back against the fence. She remained quiet, waiting for him to make the first move. His hatred of her broadcast itself over his every movement, and she knew she had to be very careful. One false step, and it would be all over.

He slowly closed the distance between them, stopping about 15 feet from her. "You should never've come back here..." His voice was solid ice.

"It's your fault I had to," she replied, trying to buy time. "If you hadn't stopped him..."

"He would have stopped you himself, eventually."

Victoria's face flushed, and Ray could see that he struck a nerve. "That's it, isn't it? You couldn't push him into leaving with you so easily this time?"

"He wants to be with me!" she protested vehemently.

Ray shook his head. "No, Victoria. He wants to be with who you could have been. You could have had him, you know? That last time. He loved you so much that he would have put your past behind you. Fraser's like that -- always willing to give everybody a second chance. He gave you that second chance, and a third, and a fourth. You can't blame me for keeping him from you, Victoria. You pushed him away all by yourself."

"You were the one that shot him!" she shouted, agitated, the truth of Ray's words hitting home. "How did that feel, shooting your best friend in the back? You couldn't stand to see him leave with me, could you? So you shot him down like a sick dog."

"It was you I was aiming for. He just happened to get in the way."

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that," Victoria sneered, thinking she was taking control of the situation. She was interrupted by a wolf's bark.

Diefenbaker came bounding up beside Vecchio, his gaze fixed on Victoria, growling deeply, his teeth bared. The last time the wolf had seen her, she had shot him with the Mountie's own gun.

Apparently, the wolf had a long memory.

"Dief -- no!" Ray put out his hand to stop the animal from attacking her.

The wolf glanced up at him.

"No," he spoke his words clearly, not wanting the deaf wolf to misread them. "I'll take care of her myself."

Dief stopped growling, but looked no less menacing to the woman as he continued to stare at her as if she were a gourmet meal.

"Now it's time for you to pay for everything you've done. You're just damned lucky that some of that Mountie's influence has rubbed off on me." He moved towards her. "You're under arrest."

"I don't think you want to do that," she responded smugly. "Not unless you want a second chance to kill him."

Ray stopped. "What are you talking about?"

She smiled coldly. "I took some precautions before leaving him -- a bomb. If I don't get back within the next half hour, it'll blow. So if you don't let me go, his death will be your fault."

Years of training kept him from revealing his panic, but inside, Ray's blood ran cold. "No it won't, because you're going to lead me to him." He started towards her.

"So you can take him away from me again? So I can go back to prison for the rest of my life? I don't think so..."

A small caliber gun suddenly appeared in her hand, and she brought the gun up, taking aim.

The two shots sounded as one.

Ray felt a sharp stinging sensation in his upper arm as the bullet from Victoria's gun missed its mark.

His bullet, however, had found its target.

Victoria crumpled to the ground, blood spilling forth from the hole in her chest. He rushed to her side, kicking the small weapon from her grasp before kneeling down beside her. Her eyes stared up at him.

She was still alive.

"Where is he?" he demanded anxiously, watching the life drain out of her. She had very little time left. And if I can't get her to tell me where Benny is, so does Fraser.

She shook her head imperceptibly.

"If you really love him, how could you let him die out there? Where is he?"

"I do love him... If... we can't be... together... this life, then... then we'll be... together... next one..." Her eyelids slid closed.

"Where is he?!" Ray shouted, panic clear in his voice.

She never heard him.

Victoria was dead.

Ray wanted to scream from frustration. Fraser's time was running out, and the only person who knew where he was was dead. How the hell am I going to find him in under half an hour?! He began going through the pockets in her coat and jeans, hoping to find something with the address on it, but knowing even as he did so that Victoria would have been too careful to make that kind of mistake.

The sound of a footfall made him turn. It was the shopkeeper. "I called the sheriff, and he's on his way. You okay?"

Ray glanced down at his injured arm. It was still bleeding sluggishly, and it hurt a bit, but he knew it was nothing life threatening. "Yeah. Listen, I don't have the time to wait for the sheriff -- if I don't find Fraser within the next twenty minutes, he's going to die. Tell him I'll be back to fill him in on everything as soon as I can."

The older man nodded. "Okay."

He climbed to his feet, waving his hand to attract the deaf wolf's attention. "Let's go."

They ran back to the parking lot of the general store, but instead of heading for the Buick, Diefenbaker went around the other side of the building, stopping beside an old blue Chevrolet and barking loudly.

Ray joined him. "Is this her car?"

Dief barked again.

Ray opened the door on the passenger side and began checking the interior. Diefenbaker jumped inside, sniffing beneath the seats, but neither found anything useful. He reached over and popped the trunk, then went around the back of the car to check it out. He had no sooner opened it when Dief began barking again, leaping into the empty trunk. Maybe she dumped him in the trunk after snatching him, and Dief is picking up his scent?

Ray was at a loss at what to do next. If Fraser were here, he'd probably manage to sniff out a trail by just walking down the road. His eyes widened. Sniff out a trail...?!

It was a long shot, but at this point it was the only chance Fraser had left.

Ray leaned over and met the wolf's gaze. "Find Fraser, Dief. Find him!"

Diefenbaker barked once and ran out of the parking lot. Ray slammed the trunk closed and rushed to the Buick. Turning on the red police light, he drove out of the lot and followed Diefenbaker down the road. He glanced at the clock.

He had fifteen minutes left.

Diefenbaker began repeating the pattern of running for short bursts at high speed, then slowing down a bit and sniffing the pavement to be sure he was still on the right trail. Occasionally a car would pass them, and Ray was thankful that the rural road did not have more traffic. Fraser will kill me if I let anything happen to his wolf.

Seven minutes.

After following the road several miles, Dief suddenly disappeared into the brush. Ray's pulse quickened. Damn! I'll never find him in time if I gotta run through the woods... But as he approached the area where the wolf disappeared, he saw that there was a dirt path barely wide enough for the older model car to fit. He turned onto it, spotting Diefenbaker a hundred yards ahead of him.

Six minutes.

The dirt road was bumpy, but Ray ignored the possible damage to the Riviera's suspension system. Just over a mile down the path the wooded area opened up into a field, with a run down old farmhouse next to a barn. Dief was running straight for it.

Four minutes.

Ray floored the accelerator, meeting the wildly barking animal in front of the house. He leapt from the car, not bothering to even turn the engine off, and rushed to the door. He turned the handle, but it was locked. He pounded on the door.

"Fraser!!" he yelled, hoping to hear the Mountie shout back at him.

All was silent.

Not wasting the time to check for an unlocked back door or an open window, Ray stepped back and kicked the door in, knocking it right off its hinges.

Two minutes.

"Fraser!!" he shouted. Not hearing a reply, he began towards the stairs leading to the second floor, but a bark from Diefenbaker stopped him. The wolf ran towards the back of the house.

Ray followed Dief into the kitchen, where he found the door to the basement in the kitchen. He yanked it open. It was dark.

"Fraser!"

Muffled sounds reached his ears.

He rushed down the stairs, nearly tripping over Dief in his haste. He stumbled to a stop at the bottom, and turned on the light. His eyes widened.

In the center of the room stood a 6' by 6' steel cage, and a figure was huddled in the corner. "Benny?"

Diefenbaker joined his master, poking his snout through the bars with a whine and licking Fraser's face.

The Mountie raised his head. "Ray..." he croaked, breaking off when a cough assailed him. He raised a shaky hand, pointing towards the work counter behind Vecchio. "Bomb..."

Ray turned, his eyes falling on the small explosive's timer.

Fifty-seven seconds...

"Oh boy," Ray breathed, moving to examine it closer. The digital timer connected to a small block of plastique by red and blue wires.

"You know, I once had to blow a tunnel in order to rescue some trapped miners when I was stationed at Fort Nelson," recounted Robert Fraser, standing unseen beside the American.

Thirty-nine seconds....

"Okay," the cop began speaking to no one in particular. "Pull the right wire and it will disconnect the timer from the bomb. Pull the wrong wire... Glad my life insurance is paid up."

"Twelve straight hours of digging, and when we finally broke through, we found the foreman's wife and one of the Inuit miners--"

"Dad," Fraser moaned weakly.

"Well, let's just say they wouldn't have minded the extra time it would have taken if we had dug them out by hand."

Twenty-six seconds.

Ray frowned in concentration, trying to remember that refresher course he'd taken from the bomb squad a few years ago. Sweat beaded on his upper lip. "Pull out the blue, it's all right, you're cool," he mumbled under his breath. "Pull out the red, you're fried, you're dead..."

"Yeah, unless she knew that and reversed the wires," the dead Mountie pointed out.

"Damn it! Victoria, which one did you use?!"

Ten seconds.

She said she really loved Fraser, Ray thought to himself. Fraser's a Mountie. Mounties wear red uniforms.

Eight seconds.

"Pull the blue wire!" the deceased man yelled.

But she had to get her revenge on him, too. Which means she hated him.

Five seconds.

Red, she loves...

Four seconds.

Red she hates...

Three seconds.

Reaching out, Ray pulled the red wire.

One second.

Zero.

Nothing happened.

She always said one thing then did another, Ray thought as he breathed a shaky sigh of relief.

"The red wire, that's the one I would have pulled," muttered Robert Fraser.

Ray turned back towards his friend, pulling his gun from his holster. "I don't have the keys, so I'm going to shoot the lock open, okay?"

Fraser nodded, turning away.

He aimed at the lock and fired. His accuracy was perfect, and the door snapped open. Ray reholstered his gun and entered the cell, followed by Diefenbaker, who curled up beside his master. Robert Fraser remained outside. Ray kneeled beside the Mountie, reaching out to grip his shoulder. "Hey, Benny -- you okay?"

"Yes," Fraser replied, his voice hoarse, as he leaned against the bars for support.

Ray had wondered why the Canadian had been so uncharacteristically quiet why he'd been attempting to defuse the bomb. One good look at the man told him why.

Fraser's normally neat hair was in disarray, stray strands

clinging to his forehead, which was damp with sweat. His face was gaunt, cheekbones standing out in stark relief beneath pale skin flushed with fever. His lips were dried and cracked.

"Yeah, I can see just how okay you are," Ray replied, removing his hand and reaching for the cell phone in his coat pocket. He flipped it open and dialed 9-1-1, giving them the information they needed to dispatch an ambulance. He pocketed the phone after hanging up.

Catching the wolf's attention, he said, "Hey Dief, go outside and wait for the ambulance."

Dief whined, not wanting to leave his master's side. "It's okay, Dief," Fraser said softly, no strength in his voice. "Go ahead."

The wolf hesitated only a moment before heading back upstairs.

Ray removed his coat, draping it around as much of Fraser's body it could cover, the thin blanket already wrapped about him little defense against the dampness that permeated the dank basement. He then positioned himself in the corner of the cell and drew Fraser back against his chest, using his body to provide more heat. Ray could feel intermittent shivers wrack the man's body. "How long have you been sick?"

Fraser's eyes slid shut. "Perhaps a week...."

Ray tightened his grip around as another wave of coughing assailed the Canadian. He wished he had some water to give Fraser, but he didn't want to leave him while he went upstairs to get some. The coughing subsided, and Fraser went limp in his arms, exhausted. Against his body, Ray could easily feel Fraser's struggle to breathe.

Seething anger for Victoria burned within him, along with a very real fear for Fraser's health. For all the love Victoria claimed to have for him, she sure hadn't treated him well the past few weeks. If she really loved him, why did she keep trying her damnedest to kill him?

Sirens could be heard in the distance.

"Just hang on, Benny," Ray murmured, not even sure if Fraser was still conscious. "It's almost over..."

**********

Ray paced the hospital waiting room, his hands in his coat pockets. The doctors had cleaned and bandaged the bullet wound in his arm, then summarily ejected him from the Emergency Room when he had tried to join the Mountie. 'We'll let you know,' they had said, giving him medical forms to fill out. Not that he knew all that much about Fraser's medical history before coming to Chicago. Except that he had pink eye as a kid, he remembered with a smirk.

He had begun placing calls on his cell phone after finishing up the medical paperwork. He informed Inspector Thatcher that Fraser had been found, but was not in very good shape. She had replied that she would be unable to visit until the following day due to her required attendance at a diplomatic function. He had gone into a little more detail in his call to Lieutenant Welsh, describing his encounter with Victoria, her subsequent death, and his defusing the bomb in order to rescue Fraser. He had just been begun calling his mother when Sheriff Matt Thompson arrived to question him. Ray gave him a brief run-down of the events which transpired in Chicago ten months ago, leaving out as many of the personal details as he could, and then how he had tracked her down and how he'd been forced to kill her. Thompson seemed satisfied with Ray's explanation -- the woman had been a wanted felon, after all.

He'd been left alone after that. Alone with his thoughts of the last hospital waiting room he'd been in, and why. Fraser had been there for him after Irene's death, as he really had been there all along, although Ray had been too blinded by his hatred of Zuko to see it. He had been too wrapped up in his own grief to realize it then, but Ray could now clearly recall the guilt and pain that had been etched on his friend's face.

He stopped pacing and closed his eyes tightly, tears threatening to spill. Is this gonna be my punishment for seeking revenge against Frankie? First to lose Irene, and now to lose Fraser, too?

"Detective Vecchio?"

Ray opened his eyes and turned to the young African-American man who had joined him in the waiting area. "Yes?"

"I'm Doctor Todd Jefferson. I'm in charge of Constable Fraser's case. Shall we sit down?"

Ray's stomach knotted, but he did as the doctor asked. They never ask you to sit down unless it's bad news... "How is he?" he demanded, not wanting to delay the inevitable.

Doctor Jefferson appeared to size him up before giving his response. "Constable Fraser is suffering from dehydration and starvation -- we've started one IV to get some fluids into him, and another to replenish the nutrients he's lost from lack of food. Right now I'd say he's at least ten pounds underweight. He won't be able to tolerate solid food for a while."

The doctor paused in his explanation, glancing down at the chart in his hands. "I understand Constable Fraser was abducted nearly three weeks ago?"

"Yes," Ray replied. He knew the worst was yet to come.

"Where was he being held?"

"In the basement of an old house just outside of town."

The doctor nodded. "Someplace cold and damp? That would make sense. While Constable Fraser may be used to the cold Canadian climate, even he wouldn't be able to resist catching a cold under those conditions. Unfortunately, the lack of food and water lowered his resistance to the point where his body couldn't fight off the infection, and that simple cold has deteriorated into pneumonia."

"How serious is it?"

"Right now he's comatose. Our main areas of concern are clearing his lungs of fluid and bringing his fever down. We have him on oxygen to ease the strain on his lungs, and we've started him on antibiotics to bring down his fever."

"Will he make it?"

Jefferson sighed. "I wish I could tell you for certain Constable Fraser will be all right, but with pneumonia there's always the risk of complications. His reserves are so depleted right now that a lot of his recovery will depend on his strength of will. It's going to be a tough fight."

"Can I see him?"

"Well, normally only immediate family members can visit patients in ICU. Have you notified his family yet?"

"I am his family, Doc," Ray replied without hesitation.

The doctor nodded, and they proceeded down the corridor to ICU. "You'll only be allowed to visit for a couple of minutes," Jefferson explained as they entered. He stopped just outside Fraser's cubicle, turning to face the detective. "You know, they say that comatose patients can sometimes hear and understand what is said in their presence, so while you're in there, talk to him -- give him something to focus on, to keep him from slipping further away."

Ray nodded.

"Where are you staying?"

"I figured those couches in the Waiting Room look pretty comfortable..." Ray replied with a shrug.

"Well, I understand you not wanting to leave, but try and get as much rest as you can. You won't do him any good when he'll really need you if you exhaust yourself now."

"Don't worry about me, Doc. You just do your best for him," he gave a slight jerk of his head, indicating the unconscious man on the bed.

"I will," the doctor replied. "I promise. See you later."

Ray stepped into the small room and stopped, his heart sinking. An overwhelming sense of deja vu passed through him, his mind calling forth the nearly identical memory of Fraser struggling to survive the bullet from Ray's own gun nearly a year ago. He closed his eyes tightly for a moment, pushing that particular memory back into the dark recesses of his mind. When he opened them again, he took a deep breath and entered the room, moving to stand beside the bed. In the dark basement, Fraser had seemed thinner, but in the harsh lighting of ICU, he looked positively emaciated. Ray reached out to touch his hand, mindful of the IV. He gave it a gentle squeeze.

"It's okay, now, Benny," Ray croaked, clearing his throat and trying again. "It's all over, and you're safe. What you've gotta do now is get well. You fought to stay alive for three weeks -- don't go giving up now."

Fraser continued to lay motionless on the bed.

What now? Ray thought, at a loss of what to talk to the unconscious man about. This is going to be harder than I thought... Suddenly his eyes widened, his hand reaching into his coat pocket and removing the small, leather-bound book. Releasing Fraser's hand, he pulled the chair over to the man's bed side, then sat down, making himself comfortable.

Opening the book, Ray began to read.

*****

The bright sunlight reflected off the snow covered mountains, causing it to glitter like diamonds. Fraser's eyes scanned the horizon, a frown marring his features. A hint of red caught his eye, and he glanced down at himself, his eyes widening. He was dressed in his red dress uniform, and wearing the dress belt. He wore no overcoat or gloves, yet was not cold. He reached up a bare hand to touch the brim of his Stetson, but it wasn't there. He scanned the horizon once again, his heartbeat picking up as recognition dawned.

I know this place...

Turned sharply and began walking through the deep snow. A few moments later he was standing in front of what should have been the small entrance of a mountain crag, but was now inexplicably the mouth of a cave. Confusion, mixed with more than a little apprehension, flooded him, but taking a deep breath, he forced himself to enter the dark cavern.

A few yards inside, he stopped, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. He whirled towards the entrance.

She stood there in silhouette, her figure backlit from the sun-lit snow outside. He could not see her face, but he recognized her instantly.

"Hello, Ben."

*****

Ray stopped reading from the small journal as the steady beeping of the heart monitor suddenly increased.

*****

Even after all the pain and misery she had put him through, his heart still ached at the sight of her, his love for her all- consuming. His rational mind fought for some semblance of control. "What's going on, Victoria?"

She smiled, moving slowly towards him. "I've come for you, Ben."

"You came for me three weeks ago." He could smell the soft fragrance of her dark hair blending gently with her perfume, and felt his defenses beginning to weaken. His voice was hoarse when he continued, "What makes you think this time will be any different?"

She turned back towards the cave entrance, extending her hand. A low rumble began building, its vibration could be felt through the floor. As the sound grew louder, it moved into the walls, and the rock ceiling near the entrance began to crumble. She waited until the larger rocks began to fall, blocking off the entrance to the cave, before turning around to face him once more, her smile growing wider. "Because we can finally be together now, where no one can separate us. Just you and me -- forever."

*****

Vecchio paced the hall outside ICU, waiting for Doctor Jefferson to finish yet another examination. Fraser's vital signs had begun slipping since the day before, and Ray was scared. He'd never felt more helpless in his life.

*****

The last rock fell, sealing the two of them inside, completely cut off from the outside the world. Yet the cave was not in total darkness, as Fraser had expected. There was just enough light to dimly illuminate the cave, although Fraser was unable to locate its source. "I don't understand any of this..."

She moved even closer to him. "What's there to understand? We belong together, Ben. You know it and I know it. Why fight it?"

Her eyes caught his, drawing him into the depths of her soul, where the fire of her passion seared his mind and heart. Sweat broke out on his forehead as his throat constricted, making it difficult to breathe.

*****

"The fluid level in his lungs has continued to increase, and his temperature has spiked to 104 degrees," Jefferson explained, exhaustion strong in his voice. His patient's condition had been deteriorating over the past forty-eight hours, and he had gotten very little sleep. With the onset of this crisis, he knew he would not get the opportunity to do so any time soon. "We've started him on stronger antibiotics, and have begun packing him in ice to try and bring the fever down. He's having trouble breathing on his own, so we've put him on a respirator."

"What are his chances?" Ray asked, afraid he already knew the answer.

"Medically, I'm afraid we've done all that we can at this point. If you're a religious man..." He shrugged. "Now it's up to him."

"Or Him," Ray added softly. "I want to stay with him, Doc. I don't want Benny to be alone if..." his voice faltered, and he fell silent.

The doctor nodded. "I understand. I'll inform the nurses' station."

Ray followed the doctor back into ICU and re-entered Fraser's cubical. The Mountie still lay unconscious on the bed, fever flushing his ashen features, cold packs placed at strategic locations about the man's body. The only movement was the steady rise and fall of his chest as the airway securely taped into Fraser's mouth forced oxygen into his congested lungs. It was such a sharp contrast to the normally strong and vital Canadian that tears stung Ray's eyes, blurring his vision. He was going to lose the best friend he'd ever had, and Ray felt powerless to stop it.

He stumbled over to the chair beside the bed and sat down hard. There was only one thing left for him to do. He straightened, leaning his arms on the metal bed rail as he brought his hands together, interlacing his fingers. Bowing his head, he began to pray.

*****

"You love me, Ben. I know you do."

She was now mere inches from him. It would be so easy to lean forward and sweep her into his embrace. The ache to do so nearly overpowered him, a physical pain that desperately needed relief. He could see his own need reflected in her eyes, still locked with his.

She moved even closer. "Say it, Ben..."

No longer able to resist her, Fraser's head moved slowly towards Victoria's, her breath a feather-light caress on his skin. "I love you, Victoria," he whispered as their lips met, his passion exploding from within.

Her mouth locking with his was her only reply.

Victoria's arms wrapped about him in a crushing embrace as her lips continued to devour his. He was beginning to feel light headed from the lack of oxygen, and his legs no longer had the strength to support him. He felt himself sink to the ground, Victoria following him, her entire body coming in contact with his as she lay down beside him. She held on to him with one arm, the other moving in between them to the front of his uniform. She unhooked the belt, and released the neck closure, then moved for the first button.

Fraser tried to break the kiss, but his body would not cooperate. The feel of her lips on his was no longer sensual, the flames of her desire to have him now searing his flesh, scorching his soul. His mind struggled with what was happening to him as his body could not. What's going on...?

You won't need this where we're going.

Victoria had not spoken the words aloud, yet they sounded in his minds as strongly as if she had. A sense of fear that he had never known before began to rise within him. Victoria, stop...

No, Ben... You want this. We're going to be together... for all eternity... and nothing is going to stop me this time. Her fingers moved down to the second button, freeing it.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. She was smothering him with her obsessive desire and he was powerless to stop it. Somewhere deep inside, he knew that somehow she was drawing the life out of him, and if she succeeded, he would be drawn together with her.

In death.

*****

The blaring of an alarm jerked Ray from the light doze he had fallen into, and before his muzzy, just-waking mind had the chance to process what his eyes were telling him, doctors and nurses began swarming into the room.

"We've got a Code Blue--"

"Get a crash cart in here--"

"Starting CPR--"

"I want 10 cc's Epinephrine, IV, stat--"

One of the nurses grabbed him by the arm and led him from the room and out of ICU. Seeing the bewildered and very frightened expression on Ray's face, she explained, "The doctors need room to work. We'll let you know something as soon as possible." Then she went back inside.

Ray was numb. It can't happen like this...

He walked down the corridor to the empty waiting area, sitting down on the couch. Leaning forward, he buried his face in his hands. Hang on, Fraser... Just hang on. Please, God... Don't let him die.

*****

Through the haze that enveloped his mind, he felt sadness at the thought of Victoria's death. How?

Your friend, Ray. He couldn't stand the thought of us being together... So he tracked me down and killed me like a rabid dog. Her fingers released the third button of the red serge and began making their way down to the fourth.

Fraser fought to focus on her words through the fog of lethargy that enveloped him. Ray a cold-blooded murderer?

Yes... she answered his unspoken thought. But forget about him, Ben. You don't have to think about anyone else anymore... Except me.

He barely registered her reply, his mind now focused on his friend. The image she presented was incongruous to the Ray Vecchio he knew. Ray had saved his life in the past two years more times than he could count. While the Italian may have hated Victoria for what she had put them through, he would not have killed her without good reason. Amidst the fog a memory suddenly replayed itself -- Ray, removing his coat in the basement after defusing the bomb, blood staining his arm. Words Victoria had spoken long ago sounded in his mind. "No loose ends."

Victoria, he forced his mind to form the words, his strength rapidly dwindling. Do you love me?

Shhhh....

He tried once more. Victoria, do you love me?

Of course I do.... The words that reverberated in his head were casual, as if she'd just told him the time of day. Her hand moved down to the fifth button.

He brought his eyes up to meet hers and was stunned. Her dark eyes no were no longer filled with passion, but with triumph. He pushed back his growing panic.

And your hate?

It was as if he'd thrown a bucket of ice water on her. Her fingers paused over the final button of his uniform. From somewhere deep inside himself, he managed to find the strength to bring his right hand up between them, covering her hand.

It doesn't matter...

Yes -- it does.

The triumph in her eyes was rapidly turning into anger. Ben, we can be together forever if you could just put the past behind us...

Have you?

Victoria tore herself away from him, jumping to her feet, and he began gulping oxygen he'd been denied for so long. He struggled to sit up.

She glared down at him, the hatred in her eyes piercing his soul like daggers. "You could have let me go," she shouted. "Or you could have gone with me! You wanted to! We could have been together all this time. You finally found the other half of your soul, and you couldn't do anything but turn me over to the authorities..."

"It was my duty..." his voice was barely a whisper.

"Your duty," her voice was as cold as ice. "What about your duty to me? What about your duty to yourself? I rotted away in that prison for ten years, thinking about what we could have been..."

"Then why did you throw it all away?" he asked her, his voice

breaking as the pain of her betrayal began to seep through.

"That was your friend's fault..."

"That's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about your need for revenge. Maybe I deserved your hatred, but you didn't need to involve Ray."

"He was what kept us apart -- then and now!"

Tears filled Fraser's blue eyes, the sadness welling up inside him unbearable. For nearly eleven years he had struggled to keep the truth buried, but here, in the place where life and death was decided, he found it could no longer be denied -- by either of them.

He shook his head. "No. What Ray did the first time was an accident. But what I did to him... What you did to me..." He stopped, swallowing hard. "My love wasn't enough for you then." He climbed unsteadily to his feet, holding her gaze as he did so.

"And I don't think it's enough for you now."

*****

"We got his heart started again, and he's stabilized now, but still in pretty bad shape," Doctor Jefferson informed Ray as they entered the small cubicle. "I'm afraid it's still touch and go. All we can do now is wait."

Ray's eyes moved to the unconscious man on the bed. Fraser was still hanging in there, and as long as he did, Ray would be there for him. He went back to the chair beside the bed and sat down, waiting for the doctor to leave the two friends alone once more.

Pulling the small leather journal from his pocket, he began to read.

*****

She shrank back from him, her eyes widening. "What are you saying?"

"I accepted everything you did to punish me when you came to Chicago, Victoria, because I felt as if it were my fault -- that I did this you. Everything... until you tried to hurt Ray. I couldn't let you do that -- that's why I set you up at the train station." His entire body trembled, but whether it was from the strength of his revelation or from fatigue, he wasn't sure. "You knew exactly what to say as I watched you leaving, when you said I would regret it if I didn't join you. Regret. I was willing to sacrifice everything for you, Victoria -- my honor, my career, and even the best friend I ever had -- because of the regret I felt in turning you in. You knew that. And even though I was prevented from joining you, you had gotten your victory, your revenge."

"But not you..." she wailed.

"No. Not me. So you tried again -- kidnapping me, drugging me, starving me, and waiting until I was so weak that I couldn't fight back anymore... against anything."

"I tried to get help," she pleaded, the damnation of his words not softened by the weakness in his voice. "If you had only said yes, it never would have gone that far."

"'If I had only said yes?'" A strangled sob escaped him. "Victoria, I said "yes" to you that first night in my apartment when we made love. I was yours that night, body and soul. But you went ahead with your plan to destroy me anyway, because it wasn't me you really wanted."

"What?!" Again she stumbled backwards, his words like a physical blow to her.

"What you really wanted was me on your own terms," the words surged forth, carried on a tidal wave of pain and anguish. "A man without honor, who would sell out everything he ever believed in his passion for you. Can't you see, Victoria? You didn't just want me to be with you, you wanted to possess me. It became an obsession for you. Your need to possess me became stronger than your love for me."

"Nooooo!" her scream was one of mortal terror.

Behind her, the wall of solid rock that blocked the cave entrance began to shimmer, taking on an eerie hue. Fraser blinked hard, wondering if the tears in his eyes were causing him to see things. But the wall continued to warp, and low flames began shooting upward from the ground. The flames grew taller as they inched their way toward her. She spun around, looking for some avenue of escape.

"Victoria!"

He tried to step forward, to go to her aid, but his heart's commands were unheeded by his body.

The fire surrounded her now, its intense heat causing sweat to break out across Fraser's body. Victoria clutched at her head, pulling at the long curls, writhing in pain as the flames finally enveloped her. As they did, her head snapped up, the dark brown eyes that once looked on him with passion and love meeting his gaze, then turning to flames.

"Fraser!!!" Victoria's scream echoed above the roar of the fire.

And then she was gone.

Fraser stood there, not seeing the great expanse of Canadian landscape from the cave entrance that was no longer blocked, as tremors of shock and terror wracked his body, his mind unable to process what he had just witnessed. The first sob that tore through his chest disintegrated the last shreds of control he had been desperately clutching to, and he sank to his knees. Tears he had been holding at bay for nearly eleven years began to flow, and once the floodgate had opened, Fraser's pain poured forth from his

heart like a raging river. He doubled over, bending so far forward his head nearly touched the ground, wrapping his arms tightly about his chest, rocking ever so slightly.

Time no longer had any meaning.

*****

A concerned gaze had been watching him, unseen, not wanting to intrude. It was never easy watching someone you loved suffer through such torment, but unfortunately sometimes one had to experience such intense pain before being able to recover from it. When the worst of the crisis had passed, Robert Fraser stepped forward from his place in the shadows to stand beside his son. Kneeling down, he reached out to place a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Fraser did not look up. "It's not fair..."

"No. No, it's not," the elder Mountie replied. "But nothing you could have done would have changed anything."

The shake of Fraser's head was barely perceptible. "If I had only let her go..."

"Benton, look at me." His voice brooked no argument.

His son straightened, tears still streaming down his cheeks, and met his father's eyes. As he gazed into the pale gray orbs, images began taking form in his mind, one melting into another -- Fraser letting Victoria escape from his custody... her returning and convincing him to leave with her... his superiors being informed of Fraser's abandonment of his post... Fraser, his clothing ragged, his face drawn in his own self-hatred at what he had done... he and Victoria running from some RCMP officers... Fraser clutching at Victoria's dead body in the snow, blood from the bullet that had killed her staining his clothes, as the lawmen pulled him away from her for the final time... and Fraser, sitting alone in a dark prison cell, slashing a well-sharpened spoon across his wrists...

Fraser knew without question what he was seeing would have been his own future had he not turned Victoria over to the authorities that morning over ten years ago.

"You did the right thing, son. Then... and now."

Robert Fraser read the acknowledgment in his son's eyes. "I think it's about time you went home, Benton."

The older Mountie climbed to his feet, and Fraser did the same. He turned to leave the cave, then stopped. Turning back, he met his father's gaze for a moment, then moved forward to envelope him in a warm embrace. "I love you, Dad."

Robert Fraser slowly brought his arms up around his son's back, squeezing gently. He'd told Benton once that if the young man had ever admitted his love for his father as was growing up, he would have hit him. He had come to regret that comment, and was determined not to make the same mistake twice. "I love you too, son."

Fraser stepped back, releasing him. Then, with a slight tilt of his head, Fraser buttoned his uniform, then turned and began walking towards the cave entrance, and into the snowy landscape beyond.

*****

"...Harriman was silent as he was led to the squad car, and most likely, back to prison. His eyes were vacant, as if our confrontation had crumbled the very foundations of his life. In a way, it probably had. Nothing can destroy a person's delusions so completely as the cold, hard truth. And when the delusion is all you've ever had, it can be very difficult to pick up the pieces and move on."

Ray lowered the small book to his lap and drew in a deep breath. He could see why Fraser treasured his father's writings. There was something in the man's simple style that drew you into his stories, making you a part of them. As he glanced at his friend on the bed, he wondered if Fraser himself kept journals of his experiences as a Mountie.

Ray's eyes widened.

A tear slowly slipped down the Canadian's face.

He jumped to his feet, hitting the call button for the nurse. She appeared in a matter of seconds. "What is it?"

"Get Doctor Jefferson in here, now!"

He took a closer look at Fraser, seeing another tear follow the first. There was a small movement of the Mountie's head, and his eyelids fluttered slightly.

Jefferson came rushing in, followed by the nurse. "What's wrong?"

"I think he's coming out of it!"

The doctor began to examine Fraser. "You're right. He's beginning to fight the respirator. Deanna, help me with this."

Ray watched silently as they removed the tube from Fraser's throat. His heart was pounding in his chest, afraid to believe that Fraser was going to pull through after all.

They continued their examination. "His fever's broken, doctor," the nurse said as she removed the small electronic thermometer from his ear. It's down to 101.2."

Jefferson listened to the Mountie's chest with his stethoscope. "The fluid level in his lungs has gone down, too."

He glanced up at the anxious Italian. "I think we're finally past the crisis."

Fraser's eyelids slowly opened, blinking several times in an attempt to clear his vision. The black man moved into his line of sight. "Constable Fraser, I'm Doctor Jefferson. You've been a very sick man, but with plenty of rest, I think you're going to be all right. But right now there's someone here who'd really like to see you for himself."

The doctor stepped away from the bed and, with a small gesture to the nurse, they left the cubicle, allowing the two friends to be alone.

Ray moved to Fraser's bedside. Dark smudges beneath misted blue eyes bore mute testimony of the Mountie's suffering, but at least some color had returned to the man's face. A brilliant smile of relief found its way to Ray's lips, lighting his entire face. "Welcome back."

Fraser tried to speak, but the only sound that came out was a dry croak.

"Shhh, Benny. Don't try to talk." Ray reached for the water pitcher and, opening it, he spooned out some ice chips, then slipped them into Fraser's mouth. Fraser swallowed, his eyes thanking him. Ray pulled his handkerchief from his pants pocket and dried the tears from Fraser's cheeks. "You're gonna be just fine. It's all over now."

"Ray..." his voice was a mere whisper, and Ray leaned closer to him. "Thank you."

"For what?"

Fraser didn't answer. Ray saw the movement of Fraser's hand from the corner of his eye. He reached out and took the his friend's hand in his own, squeezing it gently.

"You're welcome, Benny."

**********

Fraser was moved out of ICU twenty-four hours later, and into a semi-private room. He was no longer on oxygen, the fluid in his lungs having drained enough that he was no longer in danger, provided he did not lay flat on his back, but he remained on the antibiotic IV.

When Ray entered the room that afternoon, he found a lunch tray sitting on the table before his friend, who was sitting up in the bed.

"Hey, Fraser," Ray greeted.

Fraser looked up as he walked in. "Oh, hello Ray." His voice had gained back a lot of its normal strength, although it was still rather hoarse.

Ray observed the variety on the small tray. "Let's see, so what culinary delights are they tempting your taste buds with today... Chicken broth, hot tea, and Jell-o for dessert?" Either the Canadian had just gotten the tray, or he had been merely toying with it for a while -- not much of it had been eaten. "Looks appetizing."

"I'll admit it is not my usual fare," Fraser replied, placing the spoon he'd been holding back on the tray. "I'm not really very hungry, anyway."

Ray sat down on the chair opposite the bed. "So how are you feeling?"

Fraser took a deep breath, then coughed. "Better. It's a bit easier to breathe today."

"The doctor said your temperature is down to 100.4. You'll be back on your feet in no time. You just need to get your strength back." Ray got up from the chair and moved to Fraser's bedside. Pulling the small journal from his pant's pocket, he handed it back to Fraser. "Here -- maybe this will help."

Fraser's hand wrapped around the leather book. He looked up to meet Ray's eyes. "Where did you get this?"

"I, uh, borrowed it from your apartment when I was looking for you."

"Did it help?" Fraser asked quietly.

Ray nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, it did."

Fraser had been about to reply when Inspector Thatcher walked in.

"Detective Vecchio. Constable Fraser..."

Ray watched as a mild blush worked its way up his friend's face. Fraser was still wearing one of those unflattering hospital gowns, and Ray could see he was very uncomfortable with having his superior officer seeing him in such a state of undress. He put the journal down on the night stand and straightened to attention as best he could for a person in bed. "Yes, sir."

"I understand from your doctor that you are getting better," she stated.

"Yes, sir."

"Good. You'll be back to you post in no time."

"What's the matter, Inspector," Ray interjected as he moved back towards the foot of the bed. "Consulate falling apart without him?"

Fraser's blue eyes flitted to his for a moment, then returned to Thatcher's.

"Of course not," she replied, annoyance tingeing her voice. "However, we've been short-handed since Fraser's been gone, and the work has been piling up."

Ray shook his head, making a 'tsk-ing' sound. "I guess your secretary will just have to cut down on those two-hour lunches, huh?"

This time Fraser's eyes widened, and moved to focus completely on the Italian. Ray ignored him.

"Detective Vecchio," Thatcher began, her anger growing. "The world does not stop turning because one officer happens to get himself into trouble."

Ray leaned forward slightly, his voice rising. "That officer damn near died, Inspector."

"Ray..." Fraser tried to calm his friend down.

"I realize that--" Thatcher interjected.

Ray cut her off again. "--and all you can think about is some damned report that's gonna be filed a week late?!"

The room fell silent after the cop's thunderous outburst. Ray glared at her, daring her to state that the paperwork was more important.

Thatcher mouth opened, but no sound came out, so she closed it again.

Ray spared a glance at Fraser. The Mountie's face was pale, and he looked as though he thought his career with the RCMP was over. Maybe Benny would not stand up for himself against his politically-minded boss, but Ray was so damned sick of the way this woman had been treating him these past few months, he just couldn't help himself.

It had never occurred to him that Fraser would be put in a worse position afterwards.

"Uh, look," Ray tried to smooth things over. "I want to apologize for my outburst. It's just been a hell of a few weeks, you know?"

Thatcher seemed grateful for the opportunity to steer the conversation to more neutral territory. "I apologize, also. Sometimes the demands of the job..." She turned to face her Deputy Liaison Officer directly. "Fraser, I'm sorry if I gave you the idea that I was unconcerned of your welfare." She smiled gently. "I'm very glad you're going to be all right."

"Thank you, sir," Fraser replied, his voice a little shaky.

She glanced back at Ray again. "Well, I'm afraid I have to be going. I'll be back to visit again. Soon. You just worry about getting better, Fraser. Detective."

"Inspector." Ray watched her leave.

When the clicking of her high heels could no longer be heard, Fraser collapsed backwards on the bed with a loud sigh of relief that rapidly turned into a deep cough. Ray moved to give him a cup of water, but Fraser only waved it away. A fine sheen of perspiration had broken out across the Mountie's face, and he looked exhausted.

"You want me to call the nurse?" Ray asked anxiously.

Fraser shook his head, wincing at the pain in his chest. When the coughing subsided, Fraser closed his eyes, waiting until his breathing had evened out a bit before opening them and focusing on Ray once more.

"Sorry about that," Ray apologized, but whether it was for upsetting the Canadian or speaking his mind, he wasn't sure.

"Ray, all she wants is for the Consulate to run smoothly," Fraser explained.

"Well, if she treated her employees with a little more respect, she wouldn't be having such a hard time," Ray interjected.

"As one of the few female Inspectors in the RCMP, her command will no doubt be scrutinized more closely..." Fraser continued diplomatically.

"How can you defend her? She treats you like dirt!"

"I know, but she means well..." he returned weakly.

Ray held up his hand. "Look, we'll talk about this later, okay? I think it's time you got some rest -- you look beat."

Fraser nodded, attempting to push the small table away from the bed. Ray stepped over and moved it to the side of the room, watching as Fraser lowered the head of the bed slightly and made himself a bit more comfortable.

"I'll come back and visit a little later," Ray said, and with Fraser's tired nod, he turned to leave.

"Ray?"

Ray turned back to see Benny's blue eyes watching him. "What?"

"Thank you."

Ray smiled. "Anytime..."

**********

Ray walked down the hospital corridor, not looking forward to this particular visit with the Mountie. Welsh had been hounding him for the past few days, and Fraser's condition had improved to the point where Ray could no longer come up with excuses his superior officer would buy into. He and Fraser had been avoiding the subject ever since Fraser had regained consciousness, the Canadian acting quieter than normal, understandable considering the emotional wringer he'd just been put through, but Ray could no longer put things off.

And he was concerned at how his friend was going to handle it.

Ray entered the room to find Fraser sitting in the chair by the window, looking out into the wooded area beyond. Gone was the uncomfortable hospital gown -- Fraser was now wearing the pajamas and robe Ray had picked up and brought to the hospital. He didn't seem to notice as Ray closed the door quietly then moved to join him, and Ray didn't interrupt his inward reflection. He sat down in the other chair, waiting.

"It was after 9 PM when I left the Consulate..." Fraser began a few minutes later, without preamble, and Ray removed his small notepad from his jacket pocket and began taking notes. Fraser described how he'd been lured into the alley and lost consciousness from the tranquilizer dart, but Ray had already pieced that together from the evidence he'd found. His stomach began to knot as Fraser continued to describe his days spent in captivity by the woman he loved.

"Things are a little hazy after that. She must have continued to drug me for several days. I don't remember much from that time. When my head finally cleared, I found myself locked in Victoria's ersion of prison. I didn't know it was her at the time. My uniform was gone, and so were my boots, and I was wearing everyday men's clothing. Diefenbaker was nowhere to be seen. Later, after she revealed herself to me, she told me..." his voice broke slightly, and he cleared his throat and tried again. "She told me she had killed him and cremated his body as well as my uniform... 'No loose ends.'"

"In the morning I'd find a small paper cup half filled with water, and some scraps of food on a paper plate next to my cell, but I was already feeling the effects of the lack of proper diet. I was weak, exhausted. I could hear the movements of someone upstairs, but received no reply when I called out. I looked for a means of escape, but there weren't any. She knew exactly what she was doing."

Ray could see how hard this was on his friend, but he didn't interrupt, letting the man set his own pace. Fraser needed to get the entire experience out into the open in order to heal.

"I tried to figure out who would possibly have motive, but I couldn't think of anyone who would kidnap me, then not exact revenge or even kill me outright. When she finally revealed herself to me... I wasn't prepared for it." He stared off, unseeing, into the distance. "After last year, I should have been, but I wasn't. She told me that, after watching me as I lay bleeding on that platform, she knew we had to be together..."

Then she shouldn't have dealt herself out of the game, Ray thought bitterly, but didn't comment.

"I tried to keep my distance from her. I told her that her plan would not work this time, and that she could not get away with kidnapping me, but she was so... sure about how things would turn out. She reminded me of how you were out of town, and by the time you got back there'd be no trace of either of us left to follow."

Ray couldn't help himself. "Shows how much she knew."

Fraser continued as if the Italian had never spoken. "All she had to do was wait. Eventually I'd come to my senses, and then we would leave the country, and spend the rest of our lives together...

"She left me there alone in the dark. Only coming down stairs once each day, to bring me a small amount of water and to ask me if I was ready to go with her. She'd stopped bringing me food all together. Each day I told her no, and she'd turn around and go back upstairs.

"The dampness of the cellar, combined with the cold spell we had and the lack of adequate food caused me to get sick. At first she did nothing to help, but then..." He fell silent, his face paling at the memories.

He remained silent for so long that Ray was uncertain the man would continue. "What happened, Benny?"

Fraser sighed, dropping his head to look down at his hands clasped tightly together in his lap. When he spoke again, his voice was so low that Ray had to strain to hear him. "The day you found me, she came down to the basement a second time. She was... She opened the cell and entered. I was so weak, so sick that she knew I posed no physical threat to her. She... she attempted to use physical means to get me to agree to go with her."

Physical means? Ray wondered silently. Fraser hadn't looked like he'd been beaten when Ray found him...

"When I wouldn't cooperate, she became... enraged. Her anger made her even more aggressive..."

Ray felt his blood run cold as his chest tightened painfully. He waited for the Mountie to look up at him, to dispel the horror that had nearly become a tangible force in the room, but Fraser's head remained bowed, and he did not, or could not, continue. When the silence became unbearable, Ray was forced to give voice to the thought. "Benny, did she rape you?"

Fraser shuddered as he finally turned towards Vecchio, meeting his friend's gaze for the first time that afternoon.

"No."

Ray went limp, weak from relief, but the feeling was short-lived. He knew from his years on the force that attempted-rape could be just as traumatizing to the victim as those forced to endure the entire act.

The Mountie's voice trembled slightly as he explained. "She... she pulled my wrists above my head with one hand, pinning me down beneath her, and started tearing at my clothes..." Tears slid unnoticed down Fraser's cheeks, and the sight of his friend's pain broke Ray's heart. "Her mouth... She was brutal. I tried to struggle, but I just didn't have the strength... I did the only thing I could -- I said 'no'... She finally backed off. I think she knew that it would have been something I could never forgive her for, so she backed off."

Fraser fell silent, turning his gaze once again to the view outside the window. This time Ray didn't push him to continue. He needed time to pull himself together. They both did.

Ray didn't know how much time had passed when Fraser began speaking again. "It was the first time she'd been close enough to me to see how sick I was. She'd known I had a cold, but she didn't realize just how bad it had become. It frightened her. So she went for some help." He turned to face Ray. "It was the last time I saw her... alive."

Ray picked up on his hesitation, and wondered if Fraser had put things together and realized Victoria was dead. "What do you mean?"

Fraser turned back to face him once more, and the expression on his face was one of sadness. "I saw her... afterwards."

Ray frowned. "But that's impossible, Fraser. By the time I found you she was already--" he broke off abruptly.

"Dead," Fraser said quietly. "I know. We were at Fortitude Pass -- where I'd tracked her down after the bank robbery. She... made one final attempt to get me to go with her."

Ray shuddered as the impact of Fraser's statement hit home. "I sat and watched the life draining out of you for nearly three days, Fraser, while you were in that coma. You're telling me that... It was Victoria?"

Fraser shook his head, grief misting his eyes. "No... It was both of us. I didn't realize until it was almost too late that this time, joining her would have meant my death."

Ray was fascinated at the depths of the connection between Fraser and Victoria. He wanted to press him for details, but the grief in those cerulean eyes stopped the words from leaving his lips.

"It was so close... Even as part of me struggled against it, I almost went with her. But then... She made a mistake."

"What happened?"

"She knew she had to sever all ties I had to this world, and that the only real tie I had left was you. She tried to make me believe that you had killed her in cold blood."

Ray's throat tightened, and he dropped his gaze. Fraser was being completely honest with him, and he felt he could do no less. His voice was quiet as he responded, "I wanted to. After everything she put you through -- put us through -- last time, that when I finally caught up with her, I-- We were alone, and it would have been so easy." He looked up again, meeting Fraser's eyes. "But I didn't."

Fraser nodded. "I know."

"She told me about the bomb when I went to arrest her. She probably thought I'd let her go. When I didn't, and moved to put the cuffs on her, she slipped a small caliber gun out from the sleeve of her coat. I had no choice, Fraser. Even after... she still wouldn't tell me where you were. If it wasn't for Dief--" his eyes dropped to the floor. "I'm sorry."

A heavy silence fell over the room, and Ray wondered if their friendship could survive Victoria's second bitter blow. First I shoot and nearly kill him, then I shoot and kill the woman he loves. He'll probably never want to speak to me again... When he could no longer bear its weight, Ray raised his head.

Fraser sat watching him, no trace of hatred or blame on his face.

"It wasn't your fault, Ray. She made her own choices. When I caught up with her that first time... I don't know. Maybe it was because we were both struggling to survive -- that we were both so desperate to have something solid to hold on to. Perhaps I was so lonely that I just... needed her to be something she wasn't so much that I didn't see her for who she really was. I always thought that if I hadn't turned her in, she could have been..." He gave a weary shrug. "I tried too hard, I guess."

Ray leaned forward intently. "Just don't let her be the one that makes you stop trying, Benny."

The door opened suddenly to admit Doctor Jefferson. He paused two steps into the room, watching as Ray pulled back and resettled himself in the chair.

"I'm sorry. I've interrupted something, haven't I?"

Fraser looked from the doctor to Ray. "It's all right, Doctor. We've reached an understanding."

Ray smiled back at him. Fraser's going to be okay -- we both are.

**********

Fraser pushed open the door and followed Diefenbaker into the squad room entered, his eyes scanning the room. Several officers shot nasty looks in his direction, and Fraser did his best to ignore them. Not too much time had passed since he had offered his assistance in defense of Frank Zuko, and apparently police officers had long memories. He started walking towards the corner desk usually occupied by the Italian detective, but at the moment it was empty.

"Hey, Fraser!"

Elaine's pleased voice called to him from her desk, and he changed direction, joining her there.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, one hand absently petting the wolf, and the smile on her face showing him he still had at least one ally left at the station.

"Much better, thank you," Fraser replied, his right hand reaching up to touch the brown serge he wore. "Today was my first day back to work."

"How'd it go?"

Fraser's mind replayed Inspector Thatcher's somewhat sincerely given 'Welcome Back' speech which was shortly followed by a stern

admonishment to get the backlog of paperwork on his desk finished as soon as possible.

"About as well as could be expected," he replied, then glanced at Vecchio's empty desk. "Have you seen Ray?"

"He's downstairs getting a file, but he should be back in a few minutes."

"Ah. I'll wait at his desk, then. Thank you kindly."

As he began to move towards for Ray's desk, he accidentally bumped into someone. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry," he said as he turned--

--To find himself face to face with Jack Huey.

Fraser swallowed, his blue eyes widening ever so slightly. "Detective Huey..."

"Constable Fraser," the detective returned formally.

Fraser was only too aware that every eye in the room had now focused on them.

He and the detective had had little opportunity to interact with each other since Irene Zuko's death, although Ray had told him that Welsh had assigned the cop to investigate his disappearance while Ray was on vacation. Fraser wondered momentarily at the Lieutenant's logic.

"Excuse me," Fraser said, as he dropped his eyes and again began towards Ray's desk.

"Hey, Fraser..." It was Huey.

Fraser turned.

Huey gave a slight nod. "Good to have you back."

Fraser's face remained neutral, but the smile could be readily seen in his clear blue eyes. "Thank you kindly, Jack."

He watched as the detective went back to his desk. Maybe two allies...

He sat down in his usual seat opposite Ray's desk. He didn't have long to wait, as both Ray and Lieutenant Welsh entered the squad room, deep in conversation, their voices carrying over the quiet din in the room.

"--okay. Just have the report on my desk by tomorrow morning."

"Uh, yes sir."

Welsh continued on towards his office, but stopped at the doorway when he saw the Mountie. "Constable, glad to see you back and in one piece."

"Thank you kindly, Lieutenant."

Welsh entered the office and closed the door.

A small smile quirked at his lips. Make that three...

"Hey, Benny. What are you grinning' about?" Ray asked as he sat down at his desk.

"Oh, nothing," Fraser replied as he straightened in the chair."Are you free this evening?"

"Yeah," Ray replied suspiciously. "Why?"

"I was thinking of dining at Mr. Lee's tonight, and was wondering if you'd like to join me?"

Ray studied his friend for a moment, catching the slight shadow of pain in Fraser's eyes that he knew was mirrored in his own. They had both suffered a similar loss, and they both needed time to deal with the knowledge that their actions played a major part in that loss. But for all the anger, pain, and grief he'd endured, Ray still couldn't think of anyone else he'd rather have as a friend to share it with than Fraser.

And he knew the Mountie well enough to know he felt the same way.

He smiled. "Sounds good. I'm kinda in the mood for Chinese food tonight, myself."

"Very good."

Fraser got to his feet, waiting as Ray removed his coat from the coat rack before falling in beside him as they headed for the door. Diefenbaker trailed along in companionable silence behind them.

The End

**********