Giving Thanks     This story, originally printed in LAST OF A BREED #2,
received an "Honorable Mention" in the Media*West Fan Q 1998 Awards. 

 ----- 

 Giving Thanks by Angela Rivieccio 
 
 
 The cold autumn wind blew steadily against the shadowed backdrop of tall
office buildings and gray sky. To Constable Benton Fraser, dressed sharply
in red serge and standing guard in front of the Canadian Consulate, the
late November weather in the city of Chicago was rather balmy compared to
the frigid depths of the vast wilderness of the Yukon where he grew up. In
the past two years Fraser had adjusted to many of the differences between
his former life and the current one, yet even now there were some changes
the Mountie found he could not get used to. 

 He hadn't been given guard duty in quite some time -- the last time
having been during the 'incident' with former stripper, Ms. Ida Banks.
Inspector Thatcher had assigned him the duty as a form of punishment then
for being late for his shift. 

 Apparently he was being punished again, although Fraser had yet to
determine his transgression this time. 

 Out of the corner of his eye, Fraser spotted the emerald green Buick
Riviera coming down the street. Ray had called him earlier in the day to
tell him he'd been drafted by his mother to move some boxes out of the
attic after work, and Fraser had eagerly offered his assistance. Ray
accepted his offer gratefully, and invited him to stay for dinner
afterwards. Mrs. Vecchio was an excellent cook, and Fraser looked forward
to the meal, as well as experiencing the exuberance of Ray's family. A
typical Vecchio family dinner was so unlike the meals he had shared with
his grandparents as a child. Proper etiquette had been rigidly adhered to,
and conversation was kept at a minimum. In Ray's boisterous Italian
household, numerous conversations were held at the same time, and
etiquette was broken more often than Mrs. Vecchio's homemade bread. After
all the meals he'd shared with Ray's family, he still found the experience
fascinating. 

 Ray parked the car illegally in the space in front of the Consulate,
remaining in the car during the final minutes of Fraser's shift. The clock
at the St. James Church down the block finally chimed Five p.m., and as
the sound of the last bell faded, Fraser allowed his posture to relax. 

 "Diefenbaker," Fraser called to the wolf sleeping quietly beneath the
wooden bench several yards down the block as he began moving towards the
passenger door of Ray's car. Warm brown eyes opened, and the animal joined
his master, jumping into the back seat of the Buick as Fraser held the
front seat forward. 

 Releasing the seat, Fraser got in the car and shut the door. "Good
afternoon, Ray." 

 Ray merged the car into evening traffic. "So what'd you do to get on The
Dragon Lady's crumb list this time, Benny?" 

 "I have yet to determine the cause, Ray," Fraser replied, glancing at his
friend as he put on his seatbelt. "Although it could have something to do
with the incomplete faxes Constable Turnbull sent to Ottawa while the
Inspector was out of the office yesterday." 

 "But what's that got to do with you? It was Turnbull's mistake. He should
be the one standing in front of the door making like a statue, not you!"
Ray was indignant. 

 "Yes, it was Turnbull's error," Fraser agreed, "but Inspector Thatcher
did leave me in charge while she was gone, so ultimately I was
responsible--" 

 "Oh, please," Ray snapped, cutting him off. "She just looks for any
excuse to browbeat you." 

 "Well, she did receive a rather irate phone call from her superiors in
Ottawa this morning over the error, Ray," Fraser defended his boss. 

 "So what does she do? She turns right around and takes it out on you,
Fraser. And you, being the perfect and polite Mountie that you are, just
stood there and let her walk all over you. You gotta learn to stick up for
yourself more, Benny." 

 Fraser remained silent, staring out the windshield straight ahead as the
city streets passed by. 

 A few minutes later, Ray cleared his throat. "So anyway, Ma decides she
wants to clean up the attic the other day, and she's been hounding
everybody to go up there and go through all the junk to decide what we
want to keep and what we want to get rid of. Tonight it's my turn." 

 Fraser accepted the subject change gratefully. "Well, the periodic review
of one's possessions is always a worthwhile endeavor, Ray. Often people
hang on to items that are totally useless, but have a strong emotional
attachment at the time. Going through the items collected at a later date
allows the person to gain enough perspective to more accurately assess an
item's true value." 

 "Well, if you ask me, she's off by two whole seasons," Ray muttered. 

 They arrived at Ray's house a short time later. Fraser always enjoyed
visiting the Vecchio home, so unlike any of the places he'd ever lived in.
Dark wood paneling, parquet floors and the always wonderful aroma of Mrs.
Vecchio's cooking gave a warm and welcoming ambiance to the three story
home. 

 Warm and welcoming, Fraser thought, but not always peaceful, as they were
nearly barreled over by a hoard of boisterous seven- year-olds as they
walked in. 

 "Whoa, take it easy, Mikey," Ray cautioned as his nephew rushed by. "Or
I'll have to give you a ticket for 'reckless driving.'" 

 Michael ignored him. 

 "Come on in, Benny, but don't get stepped on," Ray chuckled as he hung up
his coat. "They may be small, but you'd think you'd been run over by a
Mack truck if you get in their way." 

 "Understood," Fraser replied with a nod, even though he knew Ray was not
serious. He followed his friend into the kitchen, where Mrs. Vecchio was
busy preparing a large dinner for the family. 

 "Hi, Ma," Ray said as he gave his mother a kiss on the cheek. "What's for
dinner?" 

 "Stuffed Shells and Braciola with gravy," the woman replied, as she
returned the kiss, then whacked at her son's hand as it strayed a bit too
close to the pile of cubed mozzarella. "Hello, Benton." 

 "Good afternoon, Mrs. Vecchio," Fraser responded with a smile. "I must
say, dinner smells absolutely wonderful, as always." 

 "It's good of you to help Ray out like this. If he had to do it himself
he'd not only miss Thanksgiving dinner, but Christmas dinner as well." 

 "Come on, Ma," Ray protested. "I don't have that much junk up there. Most
of it's Frannie's. She's still got her Barbie dolls, for cryin' out loud."


 The door to the kitchen opened and the sister in question walked in, her
face lighting up when she saw the Mountie. "Oh, hello, Benton. I didn't
expect to see you here tonight." 

 "Yeah, right," Maria said as she followed her younger sister into the
room. "That's why you just spent an hour in the bathroom putting on
make-up." 

 "It was not an hour," Francesca corrected, annoyance strong in her voice.
"Forty-five minutes, tops." 

 "Good afternoon, Francesca, Maria," Fraser offered politely, scrupulously
not responding to the amorous attentions of Ray's younger sister. She had
shown an above-average interest in him since the first time Ray had
brought him home to dinner over two years ago, and actively pursued him
for quite some time afterward. But she had toned down things quite a bit
after showing up at his apartment late one night dressed only in her coat
and a very revealing teddy, intent on claiming her prize -- him. Bruised
and beaten after he'd been viciously worked over by Frank Zuko's hoods,
he'd somehow managed to persuade her into leaving. She still flirted with
him, and would not hesitate to follow through on her goal if he were to
suggest even the slightest hint of interest in her, but at least now she
was a little more subtle about it. Subtle for Francesca, that is. 

 "Come on, Benny," Ray interrupted his musings. "The faster we get this
done, the faster we can eat." 

 "Oh, of course, Ray. Ladies, if you'll excuse us?" 

 He followed Ray up the two flights of stairs to the attic, waiting until
he turned the light on before glancing around the small area. A lifetime's
worth of memorabilia was stored in boxes and bags piled a semi-chaotic
fashion. Fraser shook his head, amused. All of his worldly possessions
could be packed up in one or two of his kitbags. 

 "I know my stuff is around here somewhere..." Ray muttered as he rifled
through the boxes, apparently looking for something. "Ah, here we go." He
looked up to meet Fraser's gaze. "Well don't just stand there, Fraser." 

 Fraser nodded and joined him. 

 "The others have already gone through their stuff," Ray explained as he
opened up a box. "We brought some of it over to Goodwill, and those stacks
of boxes over by the door are what's left. Junk mostly. We'll bring them
down and put them out with the garbage tonight." 

 Ray rifled through a box of papers. "School stuff. Keep it." Grabbing the
masking tape, he resealed the box, then shoved it to the floor so he could
get to the box beneath it. 

 Fraser watched as Ray opened box after box of possessions, rummage
through them, then decide to keep what was inside. "Ray," he questioned
after the fourth box, "I thought the purpose of this 'Spring Cleaning,' as
you called it, was to discard items that were no longer needed?" 

 "It is," Ray replied as he taped yet another box closed. 

 "Well, forgive me, Ray, but how can a box full of old comic books be
considered useful?" 

 Ray's eyes went wide. "Fraser, those weren't just 'old comic books,'
those were "Superman" comic books. They're worth a fortune." 

 "Really?" 

 Ray shook his head in exasperation. "What can you expect from a guy who
read Thomas Paine as a kid..." he mumbled under his breath, but loud
enough for the Canadian to hear. 

 Each box revealed some new insight into his friend, and Fraser found
himself enjoying this task that most others, including Ray himself, found
boring. His favorite box had been the one with some old photographs of Ray
-- family photos, school pictures, and the like. It had been a treat for
Fraser to see what Ray had looked like when he was younger. Ray caught him
smiling over a picture of Ray, Francesca and Maria dressed in Halloween
costumes. Francesca was dressed in some sort of science fiction type of
mini-dress uniform, Maria as a Flapper, and Ray was doing his best John
Travolta imitation: white polyester suit, open shirt, lots of gold around
his neck, and a full head of hair. 

 "Yup, that was me: Ray Vecchio -- Disco King." 

 In the end, Ray decided to get rid of only two boxes: one filled with
out-of-date clothing, and the other filled with old bills and tax records
dating back ten years. 

 Fraser moved to the stack of boxes near the door. With a quick glance, he
counted eleven boxes of varying sizes that were waiting to be discarded.
He gave one of the top boxes a slight push, testing its weight. The
contents inside shifted, rattling against the cardboard. "What's in this
box, Ray?" 

 Ray began sealing up one of the boxes. "Uh, books, I think." 

 "And you're throwing them away?" 

 "They're a bunch of old books, Fraser. What else am I gonna do with
them?" 

 "There are many people less fortunate than we are who would love the
opportunity to read a good book, Ray," Fraser informed him. 

 "Oh, excuse me, I forgot who I was talking to -- The Library Crusader
strikes again," came the sarcastic reply. 

 The corner of Fraser's mouth turned upward in a faint smile at his
friend's teasing comment. "Not everyone is lucky enough to be sharing the
holidays with a large family, Ray. Perhaps the only company they might
have this Thanksgiving is a good book." He knew this from personal
experience. Until moving to Chicago, that was the way in which Fraser
himself had spent many a holiday. 

 "Well, maybe Canadians would spend the holidays with their nose in a
book, but any American worth his salt would be sitting in front of the TV
watching football..." 

 Fraser frowned, unable to tell if Ray was serious. "There are many people
alone in this world who would be very thankful for the company of a good
book, Ray--" 

 "Yeah, 'God bless us, everyone' and all that," Ray snorted with a shake
of his head, starting to tape the final box closed. "Thankful, huh? What
about you, Benny? Like you've got so much to be thankful for? You're
exiled from your own country, live in one of the worst neighborhoods in
the city, and have a boss that walks all over you like a doormat. That
should definitely put you in the holiday spirit." 

 Fraser blinked at him, the cop's words stinging him a bit. "I have many
things to be thankful for this holiday season, Ray..." 

 The muffled sound of Mrs. Vecchio's voice interrupted them. "Ramondo,
Benton! You can finish that later. Dinner's ready." 

 "Come on, Fraser. We'll take these out now and get the rest later," Ray
instructed, hefting the box in his arms. 

 Picking up the box of books in question, Fraser led the way out of the
attic, Ray following behind him. "Ray, perhaps I can take these books home
with me and donate them to the local community center..." 

 Amusement was strong in Ray's voice as he replied, "Whatever, Fraser." 

 By the time they reached the second floor, he could hear Ray puffing
behind him. As they walked down the hall towards the stairs leading to the
first floor, Fraser sought to distract him. "So what is the menu your
mother is preparing for Thanksgiving dinner, Ray?" 

 "Oh, Benny..." Ray said, his pleasure coming through in breathless gasps.
"Lasagna... Turkey with all the trimmings..." 

 "Give me that!" The angry voice of one of Ray's nephews sounded from the
boy's bedroom. 

 "No!" 

 "Mikey! Come back here!!" 

 Fraser heard the sound of feet running on wooden floors, and caught a
blur of motion at the corner of his eye. He was starting to turn to see
what was happening when he felt something small and hard bump into him,
causing the heavy box to shift in his arms. He fumbled to regain his grip
on the carton, his left leg moving back automatically to brace the awkward
weight. 

 "FRASER!" 

 The sudden, disorienting sensation of falling took him by surprise. An
arm flailed out as he made a desperate attempt to check his momentum, but
he was too late. 

 Ray's panicked voice was the last thing he heard before his head impacted
with the stairs. A million white hot stars exploded before his eyes, and
the incredible pain that followed dragged him into the waiting darkness. 

 ********** 

 Fraser walked briskly down the street, heading back towards the
Consulate. He was returning from his weekly dry cleaning run for Inspector
Thatcher and didn't want to be late. In addition to the usual business
suits she wore, this week she had needed her dress uniform cleaned in
preparation for Inspector General McLennan's visit next week. She was
driving the entire consular staff insane as she readied her post for
inspection, delegating duties as she saw fit. The menial tasks were left
to him. 

 Well, to be fair, Fraser wound up with the menial tasks that Constable
Turnbull couldn't handle. 

 Entering the Consulate, he immediately reported to Thatcher's office,
unconsciously straightening before knocking on the door. 

 "Come in." 

 He opened the door and stood at attention before her desk. 

 She did not stop typing on her laptop computer. "Did they give you any
trouble with that stain on the blue blouse?" 

 "No, sir, they were able to remove it completely. However, they did add
on an additional charge for the pre-treatment that was necessary in order
for them to do so." 

 "Fine," she replied, still not looking at him. "You're on guard duty for
the early shift this morning, Constable. After that, you are to follow up
on the Newton case with the Chicago police department. I want the report
on my desk by five o'clock." 

 She picked up the file and handed it to him, meeting his gaze for the
first time that morning. 

 "Understood, sir." 

 "Dismissed." She returned to her computer. 

 Fraser hesitated, making no move to leave the office. 

 "What is it now, Fraser?" 

 "Your dry cleaning, sir?" He indicated the clothing which he still held
in his right hand. 

 She sighed. "Just hang it in the closet on your way out, Constable." 

 "Yes, sir." 

 Fraser turned and followed his orders, hanging up the clothing quickly
before exiting her office. He left the file on the desk in his own office
before taking up position outside the front door of the Consulate, a
position with which he had become incredibly familiar. 

 How little his life in Chicago had changed over the past few years. When
he had originally requested the transfer to this posting three years ago,
he had been in search of his father's murderer. Constable Brighton, angry
at him for usurping her promotion, had repeatedly assigned him the duty
and whatever other menial tasks she could find. When he'd been sent back
to this city, in exile for turning in a fellow Mountie, Inspector Moffatt
had seen no reason for any changes to be made in the duty roster. Of
course, Inspector Moffatt often had not seen a lot that went on around
him. 

 It had been a difficult adjustment for him to make, leaving behind the
only life he had ever known to move to such a large urban area. Until
then, the largest city he'd ever worked in was Moosejaw, and he had been
unable to make the adjustment that time... 

 If he were to be completely honest with himself, had he truly been able
to make the adjustment this time, either? 

 His entire life now revolved around a job in which he was of little use
at all -- nearly sixteen years of law enforcement training wasted as he
stood as still as stone day in and day out. Oh, on occasion, Inspector
Thatcher allowed him to do office work: processing passports and the like,
but that had only been a recent development. Although since Constable
Turnbull had been assigned to the Consulate, those occasions were becoming
more and more frequent. 

 When he was not at work, he was at his small one-room apartment with
Diefenbaker. The companionship of his wolf was one of the few things that
made his new life bearable. Oh, he'd made acquaintances with his
neighbors, once they had stopped slamming their doors in his face. They'd
even gone so far as to take more notice of those around them. The halls
were no longer strewn with trash, and graffiti no longer covered the
walls. He volunteered at the local soup kitchen and community center, and,
over time, people in the neighborhood began to come to him if they needed
help. He was known, now, and trusted by those who lived in an area of the
city that didn't trust easily. 

 Yet Fraser was still alone. Of all the people he came into contact with
on a regular basis, no one had tried to move beyond the acquaintance
stage, no one had tried to see beyond the larger- than-life image the
Mountie uniform projected, and no one had been able to breech the barriers
a lifetime of loneliness had long ago erected to protect him from hurt and
loss. 

 So Fraser performed his duties to the best of his abilities, continued to
make himself available to those who needed help during his off hours, and
took each day as it came. It would have been the same if he had still been
stationed up in the Yukon. 

 But at least there he had the wide open spaces, the snow-covered
landscapes, the clean air, and that familiar sensation he felt when he
woke up each morning, the one that said 'home.' 

 He missed that feeling still, even after three years in the city. Fraser
remained in Chicago because he had no choice. When Inspector Thatcher had
first assumed her new duties she had taken an instant dislike to him. The
first thing she had tried to get rid of was his brown uniform. When he had
politely refused to begin wearing the more updated blue uniform, she had
fired him, but later relented, giving him the option of transferring to a
vacant posting in Kamloops. Not happy with life in Chicago, he had applied
for the transfer... 

 ...and had been turned down flatly. 

 Apparently, it was going to take a lot longer than a year before his
fellow officers were willing to put his past behind him. 

 The clock tower at the St. James Church down the block sounded its
mid-day chimes, and Fraser relaxed his posture. He would have half an hour
for lunch before he went over the 27th precinct to pick up the required
information on one Jason Newton, a Canadian citizen who had been arrested
for attempted murder. However Fraser was not that hungry, so he decided to
set out for the police station early. 

 Returning to his office briefly to get the file, he began walking
westward down King Street. He didn't get as much exercise as he used to up
in the Yukon, where one could walk for miles and miles without seeing a
single human soul amidst the snow-covered wilderness, so he often ignored
the modern conveniences the big city had to offer, such as public
transportation, preferring to walk whenever possible. 

 The sidewalks were crowded, filled with people rushing about their day,
paying more attention to the clock than to the world around them. How
different it was from the life he had left behind, where time was marked
by the falling snow, or the length of a sunset. 

 He arrived at the large brick building some twenty minutes later and went
inside, heading upstairs to the Major Crimes unit. He had been here
several times in the past three years. The first time was when he'd been
investigating his father's murder, and the evidence pointed to a group of
Chicago dentists. But the investigation was going nowhere at this end,
until he'd finally come to see the American detective who had been
assigned the case. 

 The Mountie entered the bullpen, glancing around the room quickly and
finding the corner desk empty. A young, dark-skinned woman approached him,
a bright smile on her face. "Constable Fraser, good to see you again." 

 Fraser smiled at her. "Ah, Miss Besbriss. The pleasure is mine. Can you
tell me if Detective Vecchio is in today?" 

 "Yeah, he's here somewhere. I think he went down to Records a little
while ago, but he should be back soon." 

 "Is it all right if I wait at his desk?" 

 She shrugged. "Well, I was just going to the break room for some lunch.
You want to join me?" 

 His mouth suddenly going dry, Fraser cleared his throat noisily. "Uh, no,
but thank you kindly for the offer. I really must return to the Consulate
as soon as I obtain some information from Detective Vecchio when he
returns. I'd rather not risk missing him, you understand." 

 The civilian aide sighed. "Suit yourself. Maybe I'll see you later,
then?" 

 "Perhaps, but in case you don't, thank you kindly for your assistance." 

 "Anytime..." 

 With a tip of his Stetson, he turned and crossed the large room, seating
himself in the empty chair opposite Vecchio's desk. His eyes quickly
scanned over the unorganized clutter that littered the desktop. File
folders covered almost every square inch of the desk, and a pile sitting
haphazardly at the corner threatened to topple at the slightest breeze.
There were only two personal effects visible amidst the chaos -- a small
Statue of Liberty statue, and what he believed was called a 'Nerf' ball
squished in the corner against the wall. Fraser shook his head. If his
desk at the Consulate had looked anything like this, Inspector Thatcher
would have him up in front of a review board, charged with reckless misuse
of government property. 

 But it seemed to be typical for the American who had assisted in solving
his father's case. Vecchio been incredibly rude to him the first time
they'd met. Well, to be fair, Fraser had blown his cover, but since the
detective had been attempting to illegally entrap a fellow officer at the
time... His attitude had not improved much during the course of the
investigation. The few updates Vecchio had begrudgingly spared the time to
give him as the cop tracked down Drake had been brief, and he had
repeatedly reminded the Canadian that he had forty-one other American
crimes he had to solve. Then the cop had been injured from a bomb blast in
Drake's apartment, and Gerard had killed Drake himself after the hitman
had attempted to kill Fraser in the hospital parking garage after visiting
the detective... 

 Since he'd been permanently assigned to the Consulate in Chicago, he'd
had several dealings with the cynical Italian, none of which had improved
their working relationship much. From what he'd seen, Vecchio had the
makings of a good cop, but his attitude got in the way constantly, until
he alienated everyone around him. It was a pity that, from the little he
knew of the man, the detective's greatest enemy appeared to be Vecchio
himself. 

 The object of his thoughts entered the bullpen a moment later, in the
middle of an apparent argument with a fellow detective. 

 "...If you really think that that's all it's gonna take to nail Jenkins
on that burglary rap then you're in for a rude awakening, Jack." 

 "That's the plan, Vecchio, and it's been approved by the Lieutenant," the
dark detective returned, annoyance strong in his voice. "You want in or
not?" 

 Vecchio shook his head, turning for his desk. "I've got better things to
do with my time -- like watch the Cubs kick butt down at O'Malley's
tonight..." The detective's hard eyes met Fraser's as he drew near. "Well,
look what we've got here. It's Sergeant Preston of the Yukon. No doubt
here to report the theft of a gallon of maple syrup from the local
Safeway." 

 Fraser ignored the caustic remark as he rose to his feet. "Good
afternoon, Detective Vecchio. Actually, I'm here to pick up the case
report on Jason Newton. I believe you were expecting me." 

 Vecchio sat down at his desk, rummaging through some files. "Oh, yes.
Heaven forbid you keep your fellow red coats up in Ottumwa waiting..." 

 "Ottawa," Fraser corrected automatically. 

 "Yeah, like there's a difference." 

 "Well, yes, as a matter of fact there is," Fraser sat down opposite the
American. "Ottawa, located in the province of Ontario, is the Canadian
Capitol, not unlike your Washington, D.C., although it is not a district
unto itself. Ottumwa is a small American town located in the state of
Iowa--" 

 "Will you knock off with the geography lesson, Constable?" the cop
snapped at him. "Jeez, don't you Mounties have anything better to do in
your off hours than memorize the World Book Encyclopedia?" 

 And do you spend your all your off-duty time alone in a bar? Fraser
wondered, surprised that the question would cross his mind at all. To the
detective he replied, "One must undergo an intensive program of study in
order to graduate the Academy." And growing up in your grandparent's
library is an added plus. 

 "Of course. Gotta be able to tell a moose from a beaver and all that."
Vecchio's voice was full of sarcasm. He finally pulled a thin file folder
from the pile at the corner of his desk. It teetered precariously for an
endless moment, but fortunately remained upright. He handed Fraser the
file. "There. Now maybe I can get back to solving American crimes, instead
of doing the grunt work for the suits in Ottawa." 

 Fraser's gaze focused on the folder as his hand closed around the smooth
cardboard. He was strangely disturbed by the detective's derisive
attitude. Didn't his job performance matter to him at all? What had
happened to make Ray Vecchio so angry and so cynical? Why did this man go
out of his way to keep people at arm's length? 

 And, most of all, why did it suddenly matter to Fraser at all? 

 "What's the matter, Fraser? Your compass broken, or did you forget the
way back to the Consulate?" 

 His eyes snapped up to meet the cool green orbs watching him from across
the desk. Was there anything behind that cold glint that could be causing
this response in him now, after all this time? 

 "No, no," Fraser replied, lowering the file to his side. "But I was just
wondering, um, would you care for some company at O'Malley's this evening?
I mean," he rushed on, suddenly uncomfortable beneath that intense gaze,
"I understand that this is an important match in the Baseball Series." 

 "It's not a 'match,' it's a game," Vecchio corrected. "And it's the
'World Series.' Yeah, some fun watchin' the game with you would be. What's
the matter, your Dad was too busy playing King of the Snowpile with all
the caribou to teach you anything about baseball?" 

 Fraser stilled in his chair, stung by the hurtful words so casually
spoken by the detective... and by the fact that he had indeed learned
about the game from his classmates, and from books in his grandparent's
library, rather than from his father, who had deemed the game frivolous
and a waste of time. 

 There was a brief flash of something that might have been regret in
Vecchio's eyes before the cool glint returned. "Look, Constable, if you
don't need anything else here, I gotta get back to work." 

 No, Detective Vecchio... There is obviously no reason for me to remain
here... Fraser rose stiffly from his chair. "Yes. I'm sorry to have
disturbed you, Detective. Thank you kindly for your assistance." 

 He turned and left the precinct. 

 Fraser walked back towards the Consulate on auto-pilot, his mind
reviewing his bizarre actions back at the station. Why had he boldly
invited himself to join Detective Vecchio that evening? And why had that
final caustic barb cut so deeply? 

 "When are we going home, son?" Robert Fraser asked him, his tone a
mixture of longing and annoyance. 

 Fraser continued walking, not turning to face the man now keeping pace
beside him. He had become used to his father popping in and out of his
life during the past few years. Occasionally he would offer his son some
fatherly advice, but mostly he would show up when the younger Fraser was
feeling a bit homesick, and pester him to return to Canada. Fraser had yet
to determine if his father's apparition was a ghost, or a figment of his
imagination. "I wish I knew, Dad..." 

 "The smell of the pine trees at Spring thaw," the elder man continued,
"the annual caribou migration, running the dogs wide open in pursuit of a
suspect..." 

 "...The minus forty degree temperatures, being snowed in for weeks at a
time, not seeing another human soul for miles," Fraser added, a faint
trace of sarcasm in his voice. 

 "Home, son. There's no other place like it." 

 No... no, there isn't, he agreed silently. He dodged a couple of
teenagers on rollerblades. 

 "You don't belong here, Benton," his father informed him, and not for the
first time, either. "Soon you'll become like that obnoxious Yank. Your
detection skills are already beginning to suffer." 

 Fraser's head snapped around, his gaze boring into the older man. "They
have not." 

 "Sure they have. How well can you track a man amidst all the trash lining
these streets, or the foul smells from their garbage?" 

 "Help!" 

 The sudden shout of a woman from somewhere up ahead caused Fraser's head
to snap around, and he broke into a run. As he moved quickly down the
street he saw the elderly woman holding on to a lamp post in support, and
two young men running away from the scene of the crime. He stopped
momentarily, a hand coming to rest on her arm. "Are you all right, ma'am?"


 "Yes... My purse! They stole my purse!" 

 Fraser nodded. "I'll be right back." 

 Then he took off after the thieves. 

 He ran full out, knowing they had a lead on him. There wasn't enough time
to climb up to a nearby rooftop, as the buildings in this area were all at
least five stories high. He turned down the alley where he had seen the
suspects duck into and stopped. 

 It was a dead end. 

 He moved ahead slowly, his eyes scanning for signs of the thieves behind
some of the large boxes and crates that littered the narrow passageway.
There were two doors on his right, and one on his left. He tried turning
the knob on the first door, but it was locked. He continued on towards the
second door, peering around the garbage dumpster against the wall, but it,
too, was locked. 

 As he turned towards the opposite doorway the lid of the dumpster swung
open. Fraser turned back towards the sound to find one of the suspects
glaring at him, a wicked smile parting his lips. 

 Decoy... 

 He heard the other's approach from behind him too late, as something hard
made painful contact with the back of his skull, and the world around him
went black. 

 * * * * 

 His phone was ringing, but Ray Vecchio didn't want to answer it. The last
thing he needed right now was to add to the 49 backlogged cases he was
working on. 

 But the phone kept on ringing. 

 Finally he snatched it up, bringing the receiver to his ear. "What?!" 

 "Don't talk like that to your mother, Ramondo, or you won't get any
linguini for dinner tonight." 

 Ray sighed. "Sorry, Ma. What's up?" 

 "I need you to stop off at the Deli on the way home and pick up a pound
of prosciutto--" 

 "Ma," he interrupted impatiently. "I'm not sure what time I'm gonna get
out of here tonight. Welsh has been on the warpath again. The store'll
probably be closed by then. Get Frannie to do it." 

 Silence. 

 Ray resisted the urge to bang his head against the desktop. "Okay, Ma...
What's the matter this time?" 

 "It's that man she's been dating, Ray. He's no good for her..." 

 They'd had this conversation before, so many times in the past few years
that he'd lost count. Ever since her divorce nearly four years ago his
younger sister had been dating a string of losers. Why couldn't she find a
nice guy and settle down... so his mother would stop bugging him to run
background checks on every guy she went out with. 

 For that matter, why couldn't he find another good woman to settle down
with for himself... 

 "Ray, are you listening to me?" 

 "Ma, I don't have time to deal with this right now. I'm sure Frannie will
be fine." 

 "Ray..." 

 "I gotta go now. See you tonight." 

 Her reply of, "Ciao, caro," was nearly lost as he hung up the receiver. 

 He sighed again. The past few years had not been kind to the Vecchio
household. First his divorce from Angie, then Francesca's divorce from
that two-timing jerk. At least Maria and Tony were still married, although
their marriage had run aground several times over the years. If Tony would
only find a job and stick with it... 

 "Vecchio," Lieutenant Welsh's voice boomed out from the doorway of his
office. "Where's the Leeman robbery file you were supposed to have on my
desk two hours ago?" 

 He made a show of grabbing the open file on his desk, a file that was
clearly labeled 'Bond, Casey.' "Right here, sir. Just putting the
finishing touches on it, sir. It'll be on your desk in an hour." 

 Welsh shook his head knowingly and went back into his office. 

 Ray glanced around the bullpen, finding his colleagues' eyes on him. He
glared right back at them until they returned to their work. He knew his
reputation as a police officer wasn't the greatest, but he did do his
job... Eventually. 

 Well, he admitted to himself, I suppose I could do it a bit better,
but... 

 The hours were long, and the rewards weren't many, but it wasn't like Ray
Vecchio had anything better to do with his time. 

 His job and his family, that's all he had. 

 A flash of red caught his eye, and he looked up to see Dudley Do- Right
incarnate approaching him from across the room. This time he couldn't
resist the urge to bang his head against the desktop. Great. Just what I
need right now... 

 "Good afternoon, Detective Vecchio," Benton Fraser said in his
perpetually polite voice. "If I may speak with you a moment?" 

 "A moment is all you'll get, Constable," Ray replied, closing the Bond
file and rummaging through the folders on his desk for the Leeman file. 

 The Mountie remained standing at attention. "Oh. Well, I left a message
for you yesterday, requesting your final report on the Karmichael case so
that the Consulate could send the completed case file to Ottawa--" 

 "Yeah, well I never got it," Vecchio muttered, finding the file he was
looking for and opening it. 

 Fraser reached out and tilted a stack of files up at an angle, removing a
pile of pink 'While You Were Out' message slips from beneath them. "Yes,
so I see. Perhaps it might be a wise idea to better organize your desk,
Detective. You wouldn't want to miss an important message in regard to one
of your cases." 

 "Thank you, Mister Efficiency." 

 He finally looked up at the Canadian. There was no sarcasm on the man's
face, no hint of the disdain he so often found on the faces of his fellow
officers, just that open, guileless look that he'd seen numerous times
before when he and the Mountie had crossed paths over the past three
years. One would think that this polite, naive man was trying to offer
something more than just helpful advice. 

 "Look, Fraser. You'll have to come back for the report. I don't have time
to work on it right now." 

 "If it is a matter of typing up the report, I'd be happy to do it if you
would be willing to lend me your typewriter for a brief time." 

 Annoyance began building. Not only did the guy have the nerve to type 100
words a minute, but he had to flaunt the fact that he has the time to
spare to do someone else's work. "Uh, I need the typewriter myself right
now. I'll give you a call tomorrow and you can come pick it up then." 

 The noise level rose suddenly as another detective brought in a rather
angry suspect, who was forcibly seated in the chair opposite his desk. 

 "Perhaps I could borrow someone else's typewriter?" Fraser suggested
helpfully. "This would leave you more time to work on another case." 

 "Will you knock it off!" Ray snarled. "Go back to your own orderly desk
and play with your pencils. Some of us have real work to do here!" 

 There was a brief flicker of emotion in Fraser's clear blue eyes before
they blinked several times, the impassive mask settling over his face once
more. "Understood." 

 Ray returned his gaze to the file on his desk as the Mountie turned to
leave, but he found himself feeling guilty for snapping at the man, who
was only trying to be helpful. He and the Canadian hadn't really hit it
off since they met three years ago, but it wasn't as though the Mountie
hadn't tried. Like I'd have time to be friends with him, Ray sarcastically
thought to himself. I have so many other friends knocking at my door... 

 He glanced up to call Fraser back, but he never got the chance. As if in
slow motion he saw Fraser passing the desk where the detective was
interrogating his suspect. Suddenly the man in handcuffs jerked to his
feet, hands reaching out to snatch the pair of scissors that sat in the
pencil cup on the desk. The detective's hand reached out to grab his
violent prisoner, but his hands clutched about empty air as the man lunged
forward, the scissors raised above his head. The weapon began coming down
in a powerful arc... 

 Aimed right at the Mountie's unprotected back. 

 "FRASER!!!"
 
 
 
 With a strangled gasp, Ray bolted upright in his chair, green eyes wide
and unfocused. He blinked rapidly, his heart pounding hard and fast in his
chest, and reality focused around him. 

 The hospital. 

 His eyes locked on the still form of his unconscious friend on the bed
closest to the window. No monitors were hooked up to the Canadian, no IV
dripped into his arm, and luckily, no sharp scissors had torn through
vulnerable flesh and bone. A white gauze bandage at the Mountie's right
temple covered the gash that had bled profusely, his cheek and eye puffy
and bruised from where Fraser's head had struck the stairs. 

 Ray sighed in relief. He must have fallen asleep, although he wondered
how that was possible, as the chair he was sitting in was so
uncomfortable. The unsettling images from his dream slowly began to fade
from his memory, but the feelings they had provoked did not -- the aching
emptiness of a life in which Fraser was not his friend. Fraser had become
such a large part of his life over the past three years that the very idea
of him no longer being around was unthinkable. 

 A shudder ran through his lean frame as his mind replayed in vivid detail
those few panicked minutes that nearly had made the unthinkable a
reality........
 
 
 
 "Mikey, come back here!" 

 His nephew ran out of his room, clutching...something...in his hands. His
head was turned back towards the doorway, and he didn't see Fraser nearing
the top of the stairs that led to the first floor of the house as he
rushed down the hall. Ray watched as he bumped into the Mountie and kept
right on going. 

 The box tilted awkwardly in Fraser's arms, and Ray saw him move quickly
to regain a firm grip on it. His eyes widened in fear, then panic, as he
saw the Mountie's left foot move back to brace himself, only to stumble
backwards on the top stair. 

 "FRASER!" 

 Ray dropped the box he was carrying and rushed forward, but he had been
too far away to prevent the Mountie's fall. He could only watch helplessly
as Fraser made a desperate grab for the rungs of the banister and missed.
His head slammed into the hard wooden steps, and Fraser's body went limp,
continuing to tumble down the stairs like a puppet whose strings had been
cut. The cardboard box split open in its uncontrolled descent, and the
heavy volumes rained down around Fraser as he came to an abrupt halt
against the wall at the base of the landing. 

 Ray raced down the stairs, nearly slipping on one of the books himself,
and crouched beside the still body of his friend, hastily tossing away the
books that lay on top of Fraser in order to get a good look at him. 

 Mrs. Vecchio and Maria came running out of the kitchen at the sound of
someone falling. "Ray!" his mother shouted, her eyes widening in fear when
her eyes took in the scene. 

 "Call an ambulance, Ma!" 

 The Vecchio matriarch ran for the phone. At the top of the stairs
Francesca stood next to her nephew and his friend. "Oh my God! Ray, what
happened?!" 

 Ray ignored her, all his attention focused on the injured man before him.
Fraser lay so still, blood spilling copiously from a gash at his temple.
Ray reached out a shaking hand to check his pulse. Please be there... Oh,
God, please let him still be alive! 

 When he felt the weak beat beneath his fingers he nearly sobbed in
relief. It was slow, but regular. 

 "He's alive," Ray told his family, who had all gathered around in
concern. 

 His mother returned, thrusting a hand towel at him. "The ambulance is on
its way." 

 Ray took the towel, folded it, and pressed it against Fraser's head wound
in an attempt to stop the bleeding. The Mountie's body was twisted
awkwardly, but he hesitated to move him, not willing to risk further
injury. 

 It seemed like an eternity had passed before the sound of sirens
approaching could be heard. Fraser had shown no sign of regaining
consciousness, and Ray's fear for his friend's life caused his gut to
clench into tight knots. 

 Mrs. Vecchio let the paramedics in the house, and Ray was forced to move
away from Fraser so that they could work. He answered their questions
about the accident, Fraser's current state of health, and watched as they
cleaned and bandaged the gash on Fraser's forehead, checked for him for
broken bones, and prepared him for transport by securing him to a
backboard, his head held immobile by a hard neck brace. 

 The entire family trailed after the gurney as they brought Fraser out to
the ambulance. The paramedics wouldn't let Ray ride in with them the
ambulance, so he had followed behind them in the Buick, the red police
light flashing, keeping pace with the fast moving vehicle as it raced
towards Chicago Memorial Hospital. His family had wanted to come with him
to the hospital as well, concerned about the Canadian, whom they had
adopted as a member of the family almost from the first time Ray had first
brought him home, and not wanting Ray to have to wait all alone, but he
insisted they stay home, promising to call when he found out anything. 

 He filled out the required forms, having had to do this for Fraser 

 more times than he cared to think about since they'd become friends. Then
he waited, sitting down in an uncomfortable plastic chair, and staring
blankly into space as memories of the past three years streamed through
his mind in no particular order. 

 "Detective Vecchio?" 

 Ray practically jumped to his feet, meeting the young doctor who had
called his name by the swinging doorway to the Emergency Room. "Yeah, I'm
Ray Vecchio." 

 "If you'll come with me, please?" 

 He followed the physician into a small office just inside the E.R. The
blond man sat down behind the desk, and indicated the chair opposite. Ray
sat down heavily, preparing for the worst. 

 "I'm Doctor Nicholas Carson, and I'm in charge of Constable Fraser's
case." 

 "How is he?" 

 "Your friend is a very lucky man, all things considered. Constable Fraser
sustained a concussion in the fall, and was unconscious for approximately
twenty minutes before coming to for a brief period in the E.R. We're
admitting him so we can monitor him for the next twenty-four hours or so,
which is standard procedure with any head injury. There were no broken
bones, although he's pretty banged up. He'll experience some pain and
discomfort as his body begins to heal, but we can't give him any pain
medication at this juncture because of the concussion. Barring
complications, he should be able to go home tomorrow afternoon, although
he might have a bit of trouble moving around for the next few days." 

 Relief overwhelmed him, and Ray was glad the doctor had asked him to sit
down. "Can I see him?" 

 "We'll be moving him into a room shortly. I'll have one of the nurses let
you know as soon as you can visit." Doctor Carson climbed to his feet. 

 Ray extended his hand as he stood. "Thanks a lot, Doc..." 

 He couldn't keep the smile off his face as he walked out of the E.R. and
headed for the pay phone down the hall to call his family........
 
 
 
 Ray stretched in the chair, feeling cramped after his brief nap, then
climbed to his feet to walk around the quiet room for a few moments,
finally stopping by the window and leaning tiredly against the wall. It
was almost Eight PM, and darkness had descended upon the city long ago,
yet the streets below were still crowded, people still rushing from place
to place, afraid life would rush on without them if they were too slow.
Ray wondered if they truly appreciated what they had. 

 There was a small sound from behind him, and Ray turned to see Fraser
making small restless movements in the bed. He moved to Fraser's side,
dragging the chair up close to the bed so he could sit beside his friend,
and sent up a quick prayer for Fraser's mental well being. The last time
the Mountie had suffered a blow to the head, he'd forgotten everything --
himself, Diefenbaker, Ray, and the friendship the cop had come to depend
on so completely in the past three years. Ray had never felt so bereft as
he did during those few long hours when he'd lost one of the most
important people in his life, and he didn't ever want to have to go
through that again. 

 "Come on, Benny," he encouraged quietly. "You can do it..." 

 Dark eyelashes fluttered, eyelids blinking rapidly as the blue orbs
beneath attempted to focus on the world around him. Fraser's head turned
towards him, his groggy gaze meeting Ray's. 

 "Detective Vecchio...." the quiet voice said, lacking its usual strength.
"Sorry to make you miss your game..." 

 Ray frowned in puzzlement, the tension his brief nap had helped alleviate
coming back in full force. What game? 'Detective Vecchio?' Benny's never
called me that... What's going on? 

 "Benny, are you okay?" 

 Fraser continued to stare at him, the expression on his face still one of
hazy confusion. He blinked again several times, and Ray could see his
friend struggle to gain a toe-hold on reality. Finally those blue eyes
began to clear. "Ray...?" 

 "I'm here, Benny," he answered, concern still clearly audible in his
voice. He knew from personal experience how murky the world seemed when
coming to after a blow to the head. 

 Fraser tried to make himself more comfortable on the bed, a quiet moan
escaping him as his bruised body protested the movement. 

 "Hey, don't move around too much, Benny. You're pretty banged up. Do you
remember what happened?" 

 A slight frown marred the handsome features. "I... I fell, I think.
Stairs?" He paused at Ray's nod. "I remember... we were in an attic, there
was the smell of food cooking... Dinner, at your house. We were going
downstairs, then... I remember falling, but it's all a bit hazy." 

 "Oh, good. You're awake..." 

 Ray turned to see a nurse standing in the open doorway to Fraser's room,
an open chart in her hands. "He just came to a minute ago." 

 The middle aged woman approached her patient and his visitor. "Makes my
job a bit easier." She put the chart down on the table and began her
examination. "I'm nurse Dillon, but you can call me 

 Annie. Now I'm going to have to ask you a few questions here, so the
doctors know I'm doing my job. And no help from the peanut gallery,
please. What's your name?" 

 "Benton Fraser." 

 "Ah, a nice Scottish name. How old are you, Benton?" 

 "Thirty-six." 

 "And what do you do for a living?" 

 "I'm a constable in the Royal Canadian Mounted Police." 

 Her eyebrows rose. "A Mountie? You do know you're not in Canada, don't
you?" 

 "Yes, ma'am," Fraser replied, and Ray could hear the exhaustion in his
voice. "I am currently assigned to the Canadian Consulate here in Chicago
as Deputy Liaison Officer." 

 Apparently, so could nurse Dillon. "You're doing just fine, Benton. How
do you feel?" she asked as she wrote some information down on her
patient's chart. 

 "I have a headache." 

 "Any dizziness, nausea, blurred vision?" 

 Fraser hesitated only a moment. "No." 

 "And how about the rest of you?" 

 Fraser's eyes drifted closed. "I've felt better." 

 The woman smiled and closed the chart. "Yeah, I'll bet you have. Okay,
Benton. That's it for now. I'll be back at various times during the night
to check up on you, so I'll see you later." 

 "Hmmmmmmm," was Fraser's only reply. 

 She turned to Ray. "Visiting hours are just about over, Detective, and he
needs his rest." 

 Ray nodded, and watched her as she left the room. He turned back to
Fraser, who seemed to have drifted off to sleep again. "I'm gonna go now,
Benny," he said quietly, not wanting to wake him. "I'll be back tomorrow,
okay?" 

 There was no reply. 

 He grabbed his coat, which he'd tossed on the foot of the empty bed near
the door, and shrugged it on as he walked towards the door. 

 "Ray..." 

 The soft voice halted him in mid-step, and he turned back to find Fraser
had turned his head towards the door, and was regarding him with a bleary
expression. "Yeah, Fraser?" 

 "Thank you..." 

 Ray smiled. "'Night, Benny." 

 He turned and walked out of the room. 

 ********** 

 Fraser watched the streets of Chicago pass by as the emerald green
Riviera sped on to its final destination. Ray had picked him up at the
hospital after work, and insisted he spend the night in the guest bedroom
of the Vecchio home. An involuntary smile played at his lips as his mind
replayed the conversation........
 
 
 
 "...But I'm fine, Ray," Fraser responded as Ray handed him a clean pair
of jeans and a flannel shirt to change into for the trip home from the
hospital. 

 Oddly enough, Ray remained silent, merely leaning against the wall
watching as Fraser began to get dressed. 

 The dull pain of his bruised ribs flared sharply as he leaned forward to
put on his jeans, and his legs didn't seem willing to bend when he tried
to raise them up to slip his feet through the pant legs. By the time
dragged the tops of the jeans over his hips and zipped them, he was tired
and sweating, and his legs were threatening to collapse beneath him. 

 Ray moved forward then, plucking the shirt out of hands that trembled
slightly and moved behind him, easing one arm through a long sleeve, then
the other, and bringing the shirt over the broad shoulders before coming
back around to button it closed. Ray looked up then, concerned green eyes
meeting embarrassed blue ones. "Yeah, Benny. I can see how 'fine' you
are." 

 "Well, the doctor did say to expect some stiffness, Ray," Fraser informed
him as he slowly moved to the closet and removed his uniform, folding each
item carefully before putting them in the plastic bag Ray had brought.
"I'm sure I can manage back at my apartment." 

 Fraser heard him repress a sigh. "You are the most annoying man I know,
Fraser. And right now you're being quite selfish." 

 Fraser's eyes went wide, and he turned back towards the cop. "I beg your
pardon?" 

 "Yes, selfish. By insisting on returning home to that rat-trap you call
an apartment, you are denying my mother the chance to apologize with the
special meal she spent all day fixing just for you..." 

 The Mountie looked slightly abashed. "There's no need for your mother to
apologize, Ray. It was an accident..." 

 Ray shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Even though you're basically one of
the family now, you were still a guest in her home, and you were hurt. We
Italians take these things very seriously." 

 Fraser thought about the wonderful hospitality his friend's mother had
offered him ever since the first time Ray had brought him home for dinner
with the family. And another puzzlement now became clear -- he had
wondered at the lack of a visit from the Vecchio matriarch, when both
Francesca and Maria had found the time to drop by during the day. 

 "Not to mention myself," Ray continued with a careless shrug of his
shoulders. "Expecting me to drop you at home tonight and then make the
long trip back out to your place tomorrow to pick you up for Thanksgiving
dinner..." 

 Fraser fought down a smile at his friend's transparency. The trip 

 from his apartment to Ray's home wasn't that far, and Ray had never
before hesitated to drive him anywhere Fraser needed to go, even when the
cop had to take time out of his busy schedule to do so, with not even a
word of thanks. Oh, he'd complain about it, certainly, but it was just
another aspect of their friendship, a friendship that Fraser held very
dearly. 

 "Well, then," Fraser replied. "I accept your gracious invitation, Ray.
After all, I wouldn't want to disappoint your mother..." 

 Fraser watched as Ray turned away quickly, trying to cover up the wide
grin that broke out on his face by reaching for the bag of clothing. 

 As Ray helped him into the Riviera after he'd been released, Fraser had
seen his packed rucksack siting on the back seat. Once settled in the
passenger seat he'd turned to his friend, an eyebrow raised. Ray just
shrugged, an answering grin on his face, and turned the key in the
ignition........
 
 
 
 "Hey, Benny?" 

 Fraser was roused from his contemplations by Ray's voice, tinged with
concern, and he found that the car was now parked in front of Ray's house.
"I'm fine, Ray," he replied, trying to reassure him. 

 He opened the door, his bruised ribs protesting the movement. Clenching
his jaw tightly, Fraser forced his body to move. Ray hovered nearby, ready
to help him, but Fraser shook his head. "I'll never heal if I don't move,
Ray." 

 But by the time he was out of the vehicle, he wished he'd allowed his
friend to help. 

 They were greeted at the door by Mrs. Vecchio and Diefenbaker, who woofed
happily in greeting. "Benton, how are you feeling?" 

 Fraser tried to smile reassuringly at her. "I'll be fine, Mrs. Vecchio.
My injuries were not serious." 

 She wrapped an arm around his and guided him into the living room,
sitting him down in the reclining chair. Diefenbaker nudged his hand, and
Fraser scratched between his ears. "Well, you just relax and let us take
care of everything. A good meal and a hot bath will have you feeling
better in no time." 

 "Please, Mrs. Vecchio, there's no need to go to any extra trouble--" 

 "Nonsense, Benton. It's no trouble at all. Ramondo," she said to her son.
"Put Benton's bag in the guest room." 

 Ray shook his head in amusement, then turned for the door. "Yes, Ma..." 

 "I put clean sheets on the bed this morning," she continued, grabbing a
hand knitted blanket from the couch and draping it over Fraser's legs,
"and fixed you a dinner that will have you back on your feet in no time at
all. Worked like a charm whenever the kids got a bit banged up when they
were young. It'll be ready in about half an hour, so you just sit here and
rest. If you need anything, just give a yell." She brushed a hand through
his hair, then gave a warm pat to his shoulder before heading back to the
kitchen. 

 Fraser felt a bit overwhelmed by the woman's demonstrative nature, so
unlike that of his grandmother's. While he knew his father's mother had
loved him and took pride in his accomplishments, she had always been
rather reserved. Hugs and kisses were rare treats indeed. 

 The door banged shut as Ray returned, the rucksack slung over his
shoulder. "Looks like she's got you settled in for the long haul," he
observed, a grin on his face. 

 "Yes," Fraser replied, feeling entirely too comfortable in the well
padded chair. Having gotten little sleep during his hospital stay, he
found the thought of sitting in this chair for the next few hours too
great a temptation. He pulled the blanket off of his legs and made the
painful climb to his feet. "As appealing as it may seem, I believe my
sitting still right now would cause more harm than good." He folded the
blanket and set it back on the couch before joining Ray in the hall. 

 Ray's nephew was coming downstairs as they reached the landing, and his
eyes went wide as they fell on the Mountie. 

 Fraser saw how uncomfortable the child was, and tried to set him at ease.
"Hello, Michael." 

 The young boy's eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry, Uncle Fraser..." 

 Fraser reached out and ran a gentle hand through the boy's dark hair.
"It's all right, Michael. I know it was an accident--" 

 His words were cut off as the child lunged at him, gripping his waist
hard in a tight hug. Pain flared, and Fraser swallowed hard, but instead
of easing the boy back, he just wrapped his own arms about Mikey's back,
returning the hug. 

 "That's enough, Mikey," Ray intervened after a moment. "Go help your
Grandma in the kitchen." 

 The young boy slipped out of the hung and ran off into the kitchen. 

 "You okay?" Ray asked, concern strong in his voice. 

 The pain once again down to a dull throb, Fraser nodded. "Yes, Ray." 

 They went upstairs to the guest bedroom on the second floor, his friend
following along slowly behind him. Ray put the rucksack on the bed,
watching as Fraser opened it and began to unpack. Ray had packed his red
long-johns as well as a change of clothing for 

 the following day -- a pair of jeans and a his white woolen turtle-neck
sweater. Socks, underwear, comb, toothbrush and shaving kit sat at the
bottom of the knapsack. 

 "Did I forget anything?" 

 Fraser turned to him. "No, this is fine. Thank you, Ray, and thank you
for looking after Diefenbaker as well." 

 Ray shrugged. "Ah, the wolf loves it here. He knows he can get lots of
good food, even if he has to endure my sister's kids." 

 Fraser sighed. "I've talked to him about that, but it doesn't seem to do
any good. He's becoming soft, living here in the city." 

 "Yeah, but the city does have its advantages..." Ray replied softly. 

 Fraser caught his gaze and held it, images of the dream he'd had while
unconscious flashing through his mind. The idea of an exile without Ray
Vecchio's friendship to make life bearable had disturbed his sleep for the
rest of the night, and still had the power to unsettle him. 

 But Ray was here now, and even after all they'd been through the past
three years, their friendship was stronger than ever. A warm smile touched
his lips. "Yes. It does." 

 His friend matched the smile in a moment of silent communication. 

 Finally Fraser cleared his throat, and the moment ended. "Ray, may I use
your bathroom to take a hot shower? I believe it would help ease some of
the muscle stiffness." 

 "Sure, no problem," Ray replied. "Towels are under the sink. I'll be
downstairs if you need anything." 

 Fraser grabbed his comb and headed for the bathroom. As he turned to
close the door he saw Ray heading down the stairs, and watched his friend
silently before closing the door. Yes, life in the city did have some
advantages... 

 ********** 

 Multiple conversations flew fast and furious around the crowded dinner
table. It was not an unusual occurrence in the Vecchio household, and it
was one that still fascinated Fraser even after all this time. He slowly
worked his way through the delicious meal as Tony described the pitiful
work conditions at his most recent job, Francesca discussed whether or not
to add a meatball hero to the menu of her lunch service business, Mrs.
Vecchio admonished her grandchildren to use the proper utensils during
their meal, and Ray gave a blow by blow account of Lt. Welsh's latest
clash with 'the brass upstairs,' but for some reason tonight he was having
trouble keeping up. 

 Fraser had spent a bit more time than he normally would have under the
hot stream of water, making use of the showerhead attachment that allowed
several variations in the pattern and strength of the flow, and it had
helped a great deal in easing his body's aches and pains. But now that his
muscles had begun to relax, the lack of sleep was beginning to catch up
with him. 

 "....had enough for one night." 

 Ray's voice caught his attention suddenly as a gentle hand was placed on
his arm. 

 Fraser blinked, trying to bring the room around him into focus. "Pardon?"


 "Come on, Benny," Ray continued, pushing his chair back and climbing to
his feet, tugging gently at Fraser's arm. "I think it's time for you to go
to bed, before you fall face first in your pasta." 

 "Oh..." he replied groggily. He pulled the napkin from his shirt collar
and stood. "Thank you kindly for the meal, Mrs. Vecchio. Good night
everyone..." He could hear the others wishing him a good night as Ray led
him out of the room. 

 The next thing he knew he was in the guest bedroom and Ray was trying to
manhandle him out of his clothes. He reached up and swatted away the hands
at his shirt buttons. "I can do this myself, Ray..." 

 "Benny, you're out on your feet," Ray said, but he dropped his hands and
stepped back, allowing Fraser to remove his own shirt. "I'll be back in a
minute." 

 Fraser continued undressing, and was just finishing buttoning up his
long-johns before Ray returned with a glass of water and a bottle of
ibuprofen. "Here, take these." 

 Fraser shook his head. "No, thank you, Ray. I'm not hurting all that much
right now." He began to unmake the bed. 

 "Yeah, but this'll help you not stiffen up during the night," Ray
explained. 

 "But Ray--" 

 "Benny, I know you don't like taking over the counter medicine, but
you'll feel better tomorrow morning, believe me." 

 Fraser pulled back the covers and sat down, too tired to argue. He
accepted the glass of water and two little pills his friend gave him,
swallowed them with a few sips of water, and handed the glass back to Ray,
who set it down on the night stand. Then he slid beneath the cool sheets,
settling in comfortably beneath the covers, closing his eyes. 

 "You gonna be all right?" 

 "Yes, Ray..." 

 "My room's right down the hall if you need anything." Ray's voice seemed
to come from far away. 

 "Hmmmmm...." 

 "'Night, Benny." A feather-soft whisper. 

 A faint smile touched his lips as he drifted off into the welcoming
darkness. 

 ********** 

 Fraser sighed as he rose up from the murky depths of sleep, frowning for
a moment as an unfamiliar bedroom came into focus around him. He could
hear faint sound of voices chattering away, and the pleasant aroma of home
cooking filled the room in spite of the closed door. Ray's house. Daylight
streamed in through the window, and he brought his arm up to check his
watch. Ten a.m.?! How could he possibly have slept so late? 

 He threw back the covers and sat up, gasping slightly as his sore muscles
protested the abrupt movement. He sat still for a moment, cataloging the
various aches and pains. He still hurt, and would probably hurt even more
when he moved to get up, yet he felt better than he had yesterday. Whether
it was from a good night's rest, or the pills Ray had given him before bed
last night, he didn't know. 

 He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, ignoring the
pain as best he could. A warm shower would work the initial stiffness out,
and continued movement as the day progressed would help his body to heal.
He removed a fresh change of clothes and his toiletry kit from the dresser
drawer and headed for the shower. 

 He was indeed feeling a bit better by the time he turned the water off.
He wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped out of the tub, moving
over to the sink, where he towel dried his hair until it was damp, then
combed it into place. He lathered his face to shave, enjoying the feel of
the straight edged razor against his skin. He rinsed off the last remnants
of shaving cream from his face, then brushed his teeth. Finally, Fraser
removed the towel and slipped on his boxer shorts, then dressed himself in
the jeans and sweater Ray had brought. He folded the towels neatly and put
them in the hamper in the corner of the large bathroom. 

 He returned to his room and packed away the long-johns and toiletries in
his rucksack. A shadow fell across the open doorway, and Fraser looked up
to see Ray standing there, his hands deep in the pockets of his trousers.
"Good morning, Ray. Happy Thanksgiving." 

 "Yeah, Happy Thanksgiving, Benny. How are you feeling this morning?" 

 "Much better, thank you for asking," Fraser replied as he moved towards
the door. Ray stepped back, allowing him to pass, and fell into step
beside him as they headed for the stairs. "I can't believe I slept so
late..." 

 "Yeah, well you must have really needed it, 'cause not even my family
managed to wake you up. I tried getting them to keep it down, but even
when they're 'quiet,' the noise level around here is louder than most
other places..." 

 As they passed by the living room, Fraser saw Maria and her daughter,
Teresa, sitting on the couch, Maria combing out the young girl's hair.
Ray's Uncle Gino sat in the reclining chair, reading the newspaper. Making
a slight detour, Fraser entered the room, stopping just inside the
doorway. "Good morning." 

 "'Morning, Fraser," Maria greeted as she looked up at him, her hands
continuing to deftly braid the light brown hair. "Happy Thanksgiving." 

 "Happy Thanksgiving, Maria, and to you too, Teresa," Fraser replied. 

 "Happy Thanksgiving, Uncle Fraser," Ray's niece returned with a smile. 

 "Good morning, Uncle Gino," Fraser addressed Ray's uncle. 

 The elderly man did not lower the newspaper in his hands. "Yeah, you
too." 

 Ray tugged on his arm from behind. "Come on, Benny..." 

 He followed Ray into the kitchen, where Mrs. Vecchio was busily preparing
the feast they would consume later on that afternoon. She turned around as
they entered, her sharp eyes appraising him. "Good morning, Benton. I see
you're feeling better this morning." 

 "Yes, ma'am. Thank you kindly for allowing Diefenbaker and I to spend the
night here last night, and for sharing your Thanksgiving Day meal with us.
Your generosity is truly appreciated." 

 "You're part of the family now, Benton," Ray's mother replied as she
moved to the microwave oven and turned it on. "The door is always open." 

 The kitchen door swung open and Francesca walked in, dressed in a pair of
form-fitting jeans and a colorful blouse. Her hand rose unconsciously to
her hair, where she tucked an imaginary strand behind her ear. "Oh,
Benton. You're up. Did you sleep well?" 

 "Yes I did, Francesca. Thank you kindly for asking," Fraser returned
politely. 

 Ray glanced at his watch. "You'd better grab some breakfast, Fraser. The
game starts in twenty minutes." 

 "Oh," Fraser said as he glanced around the kitchen. Ray's family must
have already eaten breakfast, and he didn't want to give Mrs. Vecchio more
work by asking her to cook another meal just for him. "Tea will be just
fine, thank you." 

 "Nonsense," Mrs. Vecchio admonished as the bell on the microwave went
off, and she removed a plate filled with waffles, eggs and sausage from
the small oven and set it down on the kitchen table. "You need to start
the day off with a good meal. Sit down and eat, and I'll fix you some
tea." 

 Fraser gave her a warm smile, then sat down and did what he was told.
"Where's Dief?" 

 "He's in the back yard playing with Mikey," Ray told him. "It wasn't easy
getting him to leave the kitchen, let me tell you..." 

 "I can imagine," Fraser agreed, knowing how easily the wolf was able to
scrounge for scraps in his friend's home. He had plenty of targets to
choose from. "You would think he'd tire of it all after three years--" 

 "Forget it," Ray snorted. "He's a full-fledged junkie now, Fraser." 

 Fraser shook his head, then took a sip of tea. "I'm afraid he's all but
lost his hunting skills at this point, unless the person we're tracking
happens to be carrying Milk Duds..." 

 Ray glanced at his watch again. "Time for the game, Benny. Let's go!" Not
bothering to wait, Ray rushed out of the kitchen. 

 Fraser quickly ate the last bite of his breakfast, then brought the dish
to the sink. "Are you sure I can't help you with anything, Mrs. Vecchio?" 

 "No, Benton," she replied, smiling at his polite offer. "You go and watch
the game with Ray. Relax." 

 He nodded, then went to join the men in the living room, the half full
mug of tea in his hands. Tony was already seated at one end of the sofa,
several bowls of snack food set on the coffee table in front of him, an
open bottle of beer in one hand an the remote control in the other. Ray
sat at the center of the couch, leaving a space for Fraser at the other
end. The TV. was blaring, and Fraser wondered why the volume needed to be
turned up so loudly. After all, they were only approximately 6.5 feet from
the set. Ray snagged the bowl of potato chips and set in on his lap. Uncle
Gino still sat in the reclining chair, and Mikey rushed in from the yard
just in time for the first kick-off, planting himself on the floor beside
the coffee table, within easy reach of the munchies. 

 Fraser knew that American males tended to be avid sports-lovers, so the
Canadian had fully expected to spend the afternoon watching a game of
football. What he had not expected was Ray's brother- in-law changing the
channel during every commercial break or unnecessary instant replay aired,
so that they were not just watching one game, but every game that was
airing during the afternoon. Ray seemed to accept this as normal behavior,
going so far as to argue occasionally with Tony as to which game they
should leave the channel set to once the commercials ended. At one point,
Fraser realized they were watching six games at once: the games airing on
all four networks, as well as those airing on two cable sports channels.
There was no time to take a breather. It was a bit overwhelming. 

 When he could feel his sore muscles beginning to stiffen up, he decided
to take a break, and began to climb to his feet. 

 "Where're you going, Fraser?" Ray asked him, not taking his eyes off the
screen. "You'll miss the game." 

 Which one? he mused to himself, but to his friend he replied, "I'll be
back shortly, Ray." 

 He wandered off into the kitchen, where he found Maria and Francesca
helping their mother with some last minute items for the dinner.
Diefenbaker lay by the table, his head resting on his paws, but his eyes
following the movement of every morsel of food as they worked. 

 "Hey, Benton," Francesca said, a slightly-more-than-friendly smile
appearing on her lips. "You bored with all the sports already?" 

 He gave a small smile in return, making sure to keep it polite. "Well,
football does have its good points, although I must admit it is not as
exciting a sport as hockey..." 

 Mrs. Vecchio opened the door to the oven where the turkey and a large
tray of lasagna were baking and began to remove the turkey. 

 "Please, let me help you with that," Fraser said as he moved to her side.


 "Oh, thank you, Fraser," she replied, handing him the oven mitts. "Just
put it right on the counter." 

 The turkey must have weighed at least twenty-five pounds, and the muscles
Fraser's arms and back protested the movement, but he ignored it as he set
the large pan on the wire wracks. He turned back to find her removing the
lasagna tray, setting it down on the kitchen table. "Is there anything
else I can do to help?" 

 "Yeah," Maria answered. "Can you bring the salad into the dining room?
The dressings are in the fridge." 

 "Certainly." 

 "And see if you can drag the men away from the television, Fraser," Mrs.
Vecchio added. "Dinner's just about ready." 

 Fraser nodded and brought the salad to the dinner table, returning for
the bottle of home-made dressing in the refrigerator. Then he went back
into the living room to find Tony and Uncle Gino squabbling over a recent
play. 

 "Mrs. Vecchio says that dinner is ready, so if you could--" 

 "Throw the ball, you moron!" Tony shouted at the screen. 

 "Oh, can you believe that?!" Ray leaned forward in his seat as the player
was tackled. "Somebody put this guy out of his misery already!" 

 "I don't mean to interrupt," Fraser tried once again, "but dinner is
ready, so perhaps you might turn off--" 

 "They should have retired Benchley last season after that operation,"
Uncle Gino asserted as body after body piled on top of the player in
question. 

 "The guy's over the hill," Mikey added for good measure. 

 "Uh, excuse me..." 

 But they continued to ignore him. 

 Fraser returned to the kitchen, a slightly embarrassed look on his face. 

 Francesca took one look at him and began to laugh. "Didn't work, huh?" 

 "Uh, no," Fraser replied sheepishly. "I'm afraid not." 

 "Come on, Benton. Let me show you how it's done." 

 He followed Francesca back into the living room, watching in amazement as
she marched right up to the TV. and turned it off. 

 "Hey!" 

 "Francesca!" 

 "What'd you do that for?!" 

 "Shut up!" the feisty woman cut off their protests with a loudly.
"Dinner's ready." Then she marched right back out, ignoring their
continuing grumbles. "There. See? Nothing to it." 

 Fraser smiled. "Thank you kindly, Francesca." 

 They all made their way into the dining room, settling in at their usual
places around the table. But before they could reach for the food already
on the table, Mrs. Vecchio spoke. 

 "Well, another year has gone by, a year that wasn't all that easy to get
through for most of us. There were some good times, but there were some
hard times as well, and we've endured. We've shared the laughter, and
we've shared the tears. Together. That's what family is all about," she
glanced around the table, her eyes lingering on Fraser for a moment. "And
all of us here are family. So I think that, as a family, we should all
speak from our hearts, and give thanks for the blessings we truly have..."


 One by one, each member of the Vecchio family gave voice to something
they were thankful for. When it was Fraser's turn, he glanced around the
table at each member of the Vecchio family as he began to speak. "When I
arrived in Chicago three years ago, I was alone, with no family, no home,
and no one who cared whether I was happy, or homesick, or safe. But Ray
Vecchio was kind enough to reach out and offer not only his loyalty and
friendship to me, but his family as well, a family that came to accept me
as one of their own. I am very grateful to them for that, and want them to
know how important they are to me." His eyes finally settled on the man
sitting beside him. "But I am most especially thankful for your
friendship, Ray, which is truly my most valued possession." 

 Ray's eyes glistened brightly under the lights of the chandelier, and a
warm smile lit his face. "I'm thankful for your friendship, too, Fraser. I
know I don't always act like it, but you're my best friend, Benny, and
that means a lot to me, too." 

 Fraser smiled in return, allowing some of his instinctual reserve to fall
away as Ray's words touched his heart. For a moment he saw the Ray Vecchio
of his dream in his mind, and the words he'd spoken a few moments ago
became even more heartfelt. The simple truth of the matter was that,
without Ray's friendship, his exile in Chicago would be unbearable. 

 Ray cleared his throat, the tips of his ears having turned pink, and then
broke their eye contact, turning to face the rest of his family. "And, um,
and I'm thankful for my family, too, for sticking by me when things get
rough." He glanced at his mother, who nodded her head, then turned back to
his family, a relieved expression on his face. "Now let's eat!" 

 The meal was delicious. Course after course was laid out before them,
hungrily devoured by everyone at the table until Fraser wondered how
anyone was going to be able to move from their chairs -- himself included.
Even Diefenbaker managed to eat too much as the family secretly, or so
they thought, passed the wolf delicious morsels under the table, but it
was a special occasion, so Fraser didn't object. 

 As usual, the conversations were fast paced and full of affectionate
sniping, but this time Fraser managed to keep up with them all, even
joining in one or two of them, although his responses were always polite.
Finally, Mrs. Vecchio got up to clear the table, and Fraser automatically
began to help. She allowed him to carry several armfuls of dirty plates
into the kitchen, but put her foot down, as only a mother could, when he
tried to start washing the dishes. 

 "Leave that, Fraser. You're a guest -- go drink your tea in the living
room." 

 "I'm sorry, Mrs. Vecchio, but you did say that I was part of your family
now. I think it only fair that I do my fair share of the chores..." 

 She must have read the honest desire on his face, because she handed him
the rubber gloves, her expression one of feigned seriousness. "All right,
but don't let me catch you trying to get Diefenbaker to lick the plates
clean..." 

 Fraser laughed. "Understood." 

 He slipped the gloves on and turned on the faucet. 

 ********** 

 Ray parked the green Buick in an empty space in front of Fraser's
apartment building, turning off the ignition. Fraser had offered to walk
home, so that he and Diefenbaker could work off the huge feast they'd
consumed that evening, as well as allowing Fraser to stretch his sore
muscles, which had tightened up a bit with all the sitting he'd done that
day, but Ray wouldn't hear of it, not even allowing him to carry his
repacked rucksack down the stairs from the guest bedroom. 

 "You sure you don't need any help with that?" 

 Fraser looked down at the carefully wrapped bag of left-overs that sat on
his lap. Mrs. Vecchio had given him enough food to last a week, including
additional portions for the wolf. "It's all right, Ray. I can manage." 

 Ray nodded. "I'll pick you up at the usual time tomorrow morning for
work, okay?" 

 "Thank you kindly." 

 Fraser sensed that Ray wanted to say something more. Fraser knew how he
felt. They rarely, if ever, talked about their friendship, each content to
simply rely on it. But they were both well aware how strong the bond was
between them. Giving voice to it tonight had bit unsettling, as he was
normally a reserved man by nature, but the expression on Ray's face, and
the words he had spoken in reply, had given rise to feelings within him
that warmed him to his very soul. 

 "Ray, thank you for allowing me to stay at your home last night," Fraser
began, wanting to express at least some of what he was feeling, "and for
inviting me to Thanksgiving dinner. I had a very nice time." 

 "Yeah..." Ray said quietly. "So did I." 

 Hesitating for a moment, Fraser opened the door and climbed out, setting
the bag of food on the roof of the car before bringing the seat forward to
give Diefenbaker room to get out. He reached for the rucksack on the floor
and slinging it up over his shoulder, then allowed the seat to fall back
into place. Closing the passenger door, he removed the bag of food off the
roof. 

 "Hey, Benny?" 

 Fraser leaned down to look at his friend through the open window, blue
eyes locking with green, and he could hear the words not spoken in his
friend's silence. Fraser nodded, giving Ray a small, genuine smile. 

 Ray returned the smile. "Good night, Benny." 

 "Good night, Ray." 

 Fraser stepped back onto the curb, watching as the car drove down the
block and turned the corner. Yes, this past year had not been an easy one,
and the next one would probably bring its shares of ups and downs as well.


 But with a friend like Ray standing by him, Fraser found himself looking
forward to meeting the challenge. 

 

 

 The End 

 

 

 -------- 

 Copyright October, 1996, by Angela Rivieccio on all original story
content. Not intended to infringe upon copyright held by Alliance, CTV,
BBC, CBS, or any other copyright holders of DUE SOUTH. Please do not
reproduce for anything other than personal reading without written
permission of the author. Thank you kindly! Comments welcome at
p003136b@pb.seflin.org 

 

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