This story has Thatcher in it; I'm sure I remember that I was supposed to warn people about that. But it's kind of more about Ray... maybe. Who knows?
"Walking Away" is the title of a poem by C.Day Lewis. I guess that's a little try-hard of me, but it seemed appropriate, and anyway, I'm not terribly good at titles! (what did I tell you, Elaine? :^))
All standard disclaimers apply, and please don't copy this except for personal reading without asking me.
Nik
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by Nicola Heiser
He didn't expect to find anyone in the spartan flat, but he also didn't expect the total absence of response from her when he opened the door to find her sitting on the bed. She didn't look up, didn't straighten her slumped shoulders, didn't even seem to register that someone else was there. And she didn't look good.
"Hey, Inspector," he said softly as he closed the door behind him. She finally looked up at him, but it was with a great effort, as though she were coming from a long way away, and her stare was wild, confused. Jeez, so that's how I look, huh?
"Ray..." She shook her head, trying to clear it, and half-stood. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude."
"No, don't be stupid." He looked around for somewhere to sit himself, and ended up at the end of the bed near her. "Are you doing okay?"
Her eyes as she looked at him were clouded, haunted. "Not... not even as well as I thought I would."
"Yeah, I hear you there." He shut his eyes, tilting back his head as though to keep the tears from falling. Oh, man, Benny, all you had to do was wait five minutes. Five minutes, for chrissakes! Still in that position, he told her, "Dief didn't make it."
"Oh." A glance at her told him that she was on the verge of losing it, but she clenched a fist and turned her head until she was back in control. "I was going to... I did mean to call, you know, but..."
"Hey, it's gonna be okay," he assured her, knowing he was lying to them both. What do you want me to do, Benny? God, I never understood her, you know that. Half the time, I didn't even like her. "I, uh... I called your place, but there was no answer."
For a moment, he didn't think she'd heard him, but eventually she shook herself and answered, a little disjointed. "Yeah... um..." She smiled at him, very, very slightly as she confessed, a little embarrassed, "Actually, I... ripped out the phone line."
That made him laugh. It wasn't much, but it was the first in a while. Finally, she does something I can understand. Suddenly it was important that he understand her, understand what Fraser saw in her. He turned to study her, and saw things he'd missed when he first came in. Her face was strained and white, her cheeks hollow, but she looked nothing like Frannie had after four days of crying. Has she not cried? That can't be good, can it? "Insp... Meg?"
"Yes?"
What am I supposed to ask? Maybe this is how dragons mourn. Maybe water from tears will make her melt, like a witch. And he was immediately ashamed he'd said that. Benny loved her, and she never hurt him. That's enough for me right now. "You're really not okay, are you?"
"You're not, either." She looked at him, in pain, but the sympathy nearly undid him. "Ray... I'm so sorry. I know you were close, I know he thought the world of you."
"Yeah, uh..." His voice was suddenly rough, husky, and it was his turn to look away.
"I didn't..." There was anguish in her voice now, a desperate need for absolution. "I didn't... get in the way with you two, did I? I mean, I know there was no way I could break up your friendship, but..."
Oh, god, don't lose it on me, lady! Shit... "Don't be stupid."
She stood up and walked to the window, her movements jerky, but she didn't stay there. She started pacing the flat, edgy, and Ray noted with some alarm the signs of incipient hysteria.
"You know, I..." She stopped, breathing deeply, avoiding his gaze. "I know you didn't - don't - like me; that's okay, you know? Most people don't. But..."
"That's not true, Meg..."
"No," she said sharply. "I'm not fishing for compliments, okay, Vecchio? It's just that... just that..." She broke off, very abruptly, tapping at her lip with a fist as she fought to keep control, and then looked at Ray, her eyes lost, hopeless. "I wanted to tell him... I can't remember things, you know? I'm not thinking terribly well at the moment, and I can't remember if I ever..." She stopped to consider her words, and decided against continuing. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."
He frowned at her thoughtfully, wondering what she wanted to say. He had a sense of some larger issue looming, wasn't certain whether it would turn out to be good and bad. This isn't a time for good things, though, is it? And this is the woman Benny loved, for whatever reason. "Finish what you were saying," he told her gently.
She shook her head, hugging herself tightly; he could see knuckles whitening. He insisted, but she refused again. "I'm sorry, Ray. I forgot... that you're grieving, too." She laughed bitterly. "I do that a lot, don't I? Hardly the model of compassion. You know, at the time, I never questioned why he... but now, that's all I think about. Why me, of all people."
"Don't change the subject." His voice was deliberately soft. He wasn't sure it would work on her; she was a difficult person to order around, but Fraser had done it, and he sure as hell hadn't been imperious with her.
She looked at him for a long moment before deciding; the hungry, desperate look was back in her wild eyes. Her voice was harsh, as she told him, "I don't remember if... if I ever told him... how much he means to me, you know? I don't think he knew."
Ray laughed, but very gently, treading carefully. "Oh, he knew, Meg. Trust me. And for once, I didn't even need to point it out."
It was as though she hadn't heard him. "I... just wanted him to come to, before he... Just a few seconds would have been enough, but he never did, and..."
Sometimes all in life you need is that second chance. Oh, Benny, I really wish you were here to help me out on this one...
"You were right when you told him I wasn't good enough for him."
"Meg..." Suddenly he could see that mouthed platitudes weren't enough; she was too cluey for that. This is the woman he loved. And she never hurt him. For that, I'll do anything. He held her gaze deliberately, speaking slowly to be sure she heard him, speaking over her when she interrupted. "I admit that you and I don't always get along, and there are times I didn't know what he saw in you. And if I got overprotective, I'm sorry, but he was my best friend and I saw thousands of people hurt him, and turn against him, and take advantage of him. But you made him happy, okay? That didn't happen too often."
She turned to stare out the window, leaning her forehead against the cool glass. Ray sighed, not sure what else to do, but certain that, in his place, Fraser wouldn't give up. Okay, last ditch effort, here. This helped with Frannie. He stood up from the bed and went to the window, wrapping his arms around the woman there, hugging her.
She didn't move, didn't even flinch like he half-expected she would, but she shut her eyes tightly and told him in a strangled voice, "Ray, if you start me crying, I'm not sure I'll ever stop."
"Sometimes you just have to cry, Meg."
"Not me." The denial was fierce, but forced.
"Even you."
Slowly, reluctantly, she rested her head against his shoulder, and he realised in some surprise that she was a lot smaller than he'd thought. They stood there for a long moment, and it wasn't until he felt a spreading wetness on his shoulder that he knew she was crying. There was something unnerving about her silent, controlled grief, and he hugged her tighter. "Come on, Meg. You can stay at my place as long as you need to. Ma likes to take care of people, and I think we both need it."
"I don't think," she announced shakily, her voice muffled in his shirt, "that I'm strong enough to survive this. I'm not even sure I can get through the next hour."
He started moving them towards the door. "You're one of the strongest people I know, Meg. I think the trick is to stop thinking ahead for a little while, or you get overwhelmed."
He looked back into the flat as he turned to switch off the light. Standing in the centre of all that sparseness was Fraser, oddly without the Stetson, his hand on Dief's head. Fraser gave that half-smile of his, and said simply, "Thank you, Ray."
Ray smiled his own half-smile, fighting back tears, and nodded acknowledgement before closing the door.
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Nicola Heiser
There are three kinds of people in this world - those who can count, and those who can't.
Nicola Heiser died on 24th October 1997, and is greatly missed by her friends and fans of her writing.