Seven
Minutes More
 By Lyn C
 
The characters
are Alliances. I am borrowing
them for some fun and promise to return them in good order. It seems
this story was begging for a tag so here it is.
 
PG with
a mild Victoria warning!
Spoilers
for The Deal, Manhunt, Juliet is Bleeding,
Red White and Blue and Victoria's Secret.

Inspector Margaret Thatcher marched down the sterile hospital corridor, her nose wrinkled in reaction to the smell of antiseptic and floor polish, and something else, the scent of despair. Some people, probably most people, associated the smell of hospitals with hope, recovery, cure. Thatcher, however, saw only the pain filled failures of the medical profession: an ancient grandma, a dear friend dying of cancer. For this reason she avoided visiting anyone she knew was hospitalized. It made her seem callous, to be sure, and it was a major failing of hers. She had never had the courage to confront that failure and set it right. Not until now.

When she had first come to Chicago it was in the aftermath of a scandal. One of her new officers, her deputy in fact, was recovering in this very same hospital from being shot by a cop at a train station. It was an inauspicious way to begin a new position and she had resented him for that. She had not visited him then. She did not really know him except through what she had always considered to be urban myths. Weird stories that spread like wildfire through the ranks of the RCMP concerning Bob Fraser's unconventional son, Benton. The reputation that preceeded him had seemed to be well deserved and so she could not help her initial discriminatory actions towards him. The first task she had set herself after his return to duty after a lengthy convalescence was to put him on probation. She had not, however, expected him to be so remarkably good looking. Nor so absurdly polite and efficient. The rumours belied the fact that he was an excellent member of the RCMP despite his unorthodox methods. His most recent heroics were true to form and through them he had fully redeemed himself in her eyes. He had rescued a judge and jury from certain death at the hands of insane bombers.

It was to see this hero that she had overcome her fear of hospitals no less because she had some very important news to impart.


No she was not really being honest with herself, was she? There were other reasons for her being here.
First Ray, that annoying cop, had called her to tell her how he had found Frasier (how it irritated her the way he mispronounced that name) unconscious in an alley and that the doctors were investigating the old bullet wound. Ray had not only sounded exhausted, but frightened in a way she had never noticed in him before. Whatever had rattled Ray had to be serious.
That of course was after his initial call to her house when he first suspected something had happened to the Mountie. She hadn't been too concerned at that point. Fraser was a law unto himself and she had never been able to keep track of his movements; Ray's concern for his errant friend had amused her.

Secondly her relationship with her deputy had taken a not unwelcome turn. There had been the kiss on the train, a moment of sheer bliss in which time had stood still for both of them. The danger they were in had only served to heighten the thrill, the excitement. Then also the feeling of his body pressed close to hers when they were tied together, his embarrassment at dropping the pin down her front. Despite the threat to their lives she had enjoyed that heartstopping moment when he had cleared his throat to ask, "may I?"

Anytime.

Any time. So if that was how she felt why could she not admit it? She had been as flattered as a schoolgirl asked out on a first date when he complimented her in semaphore. A secret signal between them both: red suits you. She had blushed as red as her uniform. Only three days ago he had been standing on the roof of the courthouse waving his arms at her. And now? Now he was hospitalized, barely conscious by all accounts. She could not bear to think of him invalided out. Out of the RCMP, out of Chicago, out of her life. She could only curse herself for being a procrastinating fool; now he was injured, was it too late? Would she ever again feel the pressure of those firm lips against hers? Would she ever get the opportunity to tell him how much she cared?

She paused outside the room, smoothed down her clothes and peered through the glass to check it was him and that he was alone. It would not do to be caught by others at a vulnerable moment. She could not afford to have Turnbull for example see her with her guard down. There appeared to be no one in there apart from a nurse who greeted her as she entered. Margaret nodded in reply as she moved to the foot of the bed, the breath frozen at the top of her lungs. Fraser was awake; well his eyes were open. She couldn't tell if he was aware of her presence so she stood and waited, trying to calm herself by breathing deeply and rhythmically. It was so very difficult to rid herself of negative feelings; feelings that persistently nagged her that people come into places like this but they don't leave. She couldn't do that to him, could she? She could not let him see the despair in her eyes. She had the strength now to stroll casually to the chair at the head of the bed where the nurse was adjusting a drip.
She bestowed a caring smile on the Inspector and whispered to her that she was just finishing.

The lingering smile the nurse bestowed on the Mountie did not escape Margaret's notice. Nor did the fact that this nurse was younger than she and attractive too. Had that unmistakable look of desire brought on a twinge of jealousy? Get used to it, Margaret, she admonished herself, you ought to be by now. Every woman between 15 and 60 fawning over him. Hardly surprising when you studied his face, he was perfect. Even now lying under the covers in a blue hospital gown, vulnerable, pale and weak, the slight flush of fever the only color in his face, the lines of pain around his eyes. She could just reach out and gently stroke that pain away.

"Inspector," the soft voice startled her and she almost jumped. Smoothing her features she tried to adopt a sterner demeanour when she replied formally, "Constable."

There was silence during which each studied the other, questioningly. Margaret was the first to end the impasse, "I spoke to Detective Vecchio." Benton lifted an eyebrow by way of reply then turned his eyes to the window. There was a sadness in them. She wanted to ask what was going on, what had happened between them. There were obvious undercurrents and she was unable to navigate them. She was sure it was something to do with the original accident. But as Fraser had never been particularly forthcoming with her about his personal life she was loath to pry now. That look in his eyes, though, was heartrending and she dearly wished to be able to help him come to terms with whatever it was that depressed him.

Did he know what was wrong with him, physically? Vecchio had told her that the bullet had moved and it was imperative now that Fraser had surgery to remove it for good. Did he know this? Did she dare broach the subject to him now? Vecchio had also said that as he was named next of kin he had given the go ahead to the surgeon for the operation in view of the fact that Benny was in no condition to give consent himself. There was no alternative as far as he could see. A life without the use of his legs was just a slow way of dying for someone as active as Fraser. Ray knew that it was what his friend would have wanted no matter how risky the procedure. She didn't like it but she had to concur.
Maybe she should just tell him about the commendations he had been awarded, from their own Government and that of their host country. Tucked in her purse was the latest issue of The Chicago Guardian's glossy supplement. For the second time his handsome features graced the cover. Inside was a four page spread of pictures of the courthouse, Fraser and Ray and various interviews with people lauding him.
She had brought it with her for him to see, as well as the letter of thanks and the get well card from the Mayor.

"Did he tell you about the surgery?"

Fraser had turned his eyes back to hers. She could see they were filled with an immeasurable sadness.

"Yes," she gave him an encouraging smile. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He shifted awkwardly in the bed and she rushed to adjust the pillows for him. The heat radiating from his shoulders was almost electric. The purse and its contents lay abandoned on the bedclothes. It broke her heart to see him vulnerable like this, unable to use his long strong legs. She could not shake from her mind's eye that image of him poised on the courthouse roof, his uniform in tatters but still maintaining dignity and his own peculiar brand of humor.

She realised he hadn't answered her question. Well she was a patient woman; she could wait.

The end

Lyn C January 1999