A Wingless Bird   A Wingless Bird 

(c) 1996, JoAnne Soper-Cook  

"Yeah, but---" Raymond Vecchio cast a grimace across the table at his
friend, Benton Fraser, who sat picking at a plate of fried eggs and bacon.
"--where the hell are you going? I mean, can't you tell me that much?"	

"It's personal, Ray." Fraser's blue eyes were troubled; his self-control,
normally iron-clad, was slipping.  

"I'm your friend." Ray whispered. He was hurt; he thought that Fraser
might have learned to unbend a little, learned to trust him a bit.  

"It's..." Fraser trailed off awkwardly, glanced around the empty diner.
"I'd rather not talk about it, Ray." *Please*, his gaze said, *don't press
me on this.*  

"Fine." Ray nodded curtly, got up from the table. "Fine. Suit yourself."
He flipped open his wallet, slapped a bill onto the table. "That oughta
cover it." Without another word, he spun on his heel and left.	

Benton Fraser watched him go, his expression one of exquisite derision and
not a little pain. He hated keeping things from Ray, especially Ray, of
all people, but there was nothing else he could do. Nobody could find out
about this, not even Ray. It was one of those secrets you were sworn to
keep forever.  

It was easy to relax and let himself think of her, though, when he'd
climbed aboard the train and settled into his seat. It was safe here,
isolated from the stares of other travellers. It was safe to think of her
and smile, remembering.  

"Look at me, Benny!" Spinning under the winter sunlight, a little girl,
bundled in layers of furs, an Inuit parka that had been a gift from Sgt.
Frobisher on one of his infrequent visits. "Little Mukluk," Buck always
called her. It made her laugh.	

They'd known that something was wrong, when she was seven and still hadn't
really started talking. Oh, she babbled and prattled easily enough in her
babyish way. But real speech evaded her.  

They'd also known when she refused the comfort of touch, the serenity of
closeness. They'd known when she retreated, crawled into the corner and
repeated strange rituals, over and over. Benton often found her tapping
her forehead, sitting by herself, and it angered him. "Why do you let her
do it?" he'd demanded of his mother, his grandmother. "Take her outside
and play with her."  

But he knew it would have done no good. They didn't know the words for it,
at least not then; when Bob Fraser came home in the spring, he'd taken one
look and he'd known. He'd applied for furlough and flown with her down to
Yellowknife, to see the doctor there, then on to Toronto, further
consultations. Finally, an American doctor, a specialist, and the damning
diagnosis.  

"Arianna." He'd hidden her present in one of his pockets; she liked to
search him and find it herself. It was a rare treat, afforded her by his
visits.  

"Ah-ah!" Her long-fingered hands, so like his own, delved into his
pockets, riffled down his sleeves like the fleeting wings of birds.
"Ahhh..." She found it, drew out the box, tightly wrapped in layers of
paper.	

"For you, of course." He followed her over to the table in the day room,
sat down opposite her. "Go on, open it."  

His sister's bright blue eyes devoured him as she tore open the package,
scattering paper everywhere, tossing it onto the floor. She was just two
years younger than he, but eternally isolated, trapped in a world of her
own making, a world that protected her from the threat of sensory assault,
a threat that would make her retreat to silence. "Ahhhh!"  

"Do you like it, Arianna?" He swallowed hard, over the sudden great lump
in his throat, turned the brooch so she could see it: a bird, fashioned of
lapis lazuli, and costing him nearly a month's salary. "It reminded me of
you."  

It reminded me of you, when we were little and you could be my sister...it
reminded me of you, playing in the snow and laughing with me...it reminded
me of you, smiling when Dad and Buck came home...  

It reminded me of you, when you were more with me than you are now, when
you were at least in the world....  

The pain, so intense, struck him in the chest as it always did, like a
wooden stake, and he turned away from her, hid the sudden tears that
burned like diamonds in his eyes...  

"What wrong, Benny?" Her palm against his cheek, turning his face to hers
so she could see him. "Benny crying."  

Yes, he thought. Benny crying. Benny always crying when he thinks of you.
Trapped here, a beautiful fettered bird that has no wings.  

Ray Vecchio had left the diner, concerned over Fraser's strange reticence
at breakfast. For sure, the Canadian wasn't exactly ebullient at the best
of times, it wasn't his style. But there was something bothering him, Ray
could feel it. In his gut, he knew there was something really wrong.  

Which was why he'd followed Fraser to this upstate mental hospital. It
hadn't been tough to track him; the train took much the same route as the
interstate. He doubted Fraser even suspected, wrapped up as he'd been in
his own pain. It wouldn't cross his mind to think that Ray might follow
him.  

Ray parked the Riv and got out, stood for a moment in the clear autumn
air. It was still pretty early in the morning, just after ten, the day
still fresh, unspoiled. "Should go inside," he whispered to himself. He'd
have no trouble getting what he wanted; flashing his badge usually took
care of that.  

It was eerie here: the corridors held secrets, whispered confessions
lurked behind closed doors. Nurses murmured by on soft-soled shoes, crisp
and efficient. The entire place held the aura of another dimension,
another time.  

"I'm Detective Raymond Vecchio--" a quick flash of the badge "--and I'm
looking for a visitor, Benton Fraser. He here?"  

"Constable Fraser is in room 213." A tall, dark-haired nurse told him.
"He's visiting his sister."  

His sister? Ray suddenly went cold all over, felt inexplicable tears
gather at the back of his throat. "I see."  

"Of course." The nurse nodded. "Arianna is her name. Room 213."  

"213, yeah." Ray sagged against the desk.  

"Just up the hall, that way." The nurse pointed with a pencil, smiled.
"Are you alright, Detective?"  

"Oh, perfect, yeah." He pulled himself upright, forced a smile onto his
face. "Yeah. Thanks."  

He forced himself to move down the hall, one foot in front of the other,
passing rooms with opened doors. An old man hunched over a crossword
puzzle, muttering to himself; a young woman twirled a ball of wool between
her hands...a couple of ladies about Ma's age leaned over, watching
television.  

By the time he'd reached 213, his hands were clammy and his throat was
dry. He reached for the door-handle and froze; what if Benny got pissed
off at him for doing this?  

"Come in, Ray." The voice came from behind the door, even before he'd
opened it.  

"Benny...?" He peered around the doorframe. "Hi, how ya doin'?"  

"Come on in." Fraser's eyes were wet; he'd been crying. Silently, alone,
he'd been crying... Ray felt as if an invisible hand was twisting his
guts.  

"Hey, Benny..." He went into the room, his gaze barely registering the
tall young woman seated near the window, the woman with Benny's eyes. "I'm
sorry, I didn't mean to follow you, but I *had* to, I just---"	

"It's alright, Ray." Fraser reached out and touched his arm, his eyes
bright with unshed tears. He was trembling. "It's alright."  

Ray nodded towards the young woman. "Hi there. So you're Benny's sister?" 


"Ray, this is my sister, Arianna. Arianna, this is Ray. Ray Vecchio. He's
my friend." To Ray he whispered, "She doesn't like to be touched."  

Ray smiled. "Hey, Arianna. How ya doin'?" He made no move to go near her,
just stayed where he was and smiled till his cheeks hurt.  

Benny's sister...the sister he'd kept hidden...the sister Ray had never
even know he'd had... why?  

"Arianna is autistic," Fraser said, when they were outside. He was still
weeping: silently, the tears leaking from his eyes of their own volition. 


"Yeah. I...figured as much." Ray looked across at him, slid behind the
wheel of the Riv. "You okay?" It wasn't what he wanted to say; it was the
only thing he could think of that was acceptable.  

"Uh, yeah. Thanks." Fraser leaned back in the seat, closed his eyes for a
moment. "You followed me, didn't you?"	

Ray put the car in reverse, spun the Riv out of the parking lot before
venturing an answer. "Yeah. I did. Lookit, Benny---"  

"Thanks." Fraser smiled. "Thanks, Ray." He reached over and flipped on the
radio; Sarah McLachlin's mellow voice issued from the speakers, a
comforting sound...  

*...the night is my companion, and solitude my guide; would I spend
forever here and not be satisfied? And I would be the one, to hold you
down, kiss you so hard, I'd take your breath away...*  

"Benny...? How come you never told me?" Ray slipped his sunglasses on.	

Fraser felt his mouth tremble, the nearness of dangerous emotion. "I never
told anybody."	

"I'm not just *anybody*!!!" Ray slammed his palm down on the steering
wheel. "I'm your friend, dammit! At least I thought I was..." He took a
deep breath; this was choking him.  

"Ray...pull the car over. Please." Fraser waited till Ray pulled the Riv
off onto a deserted side road, a thin gravel lane dappled with fallen
leaves. "I never told anybody about Arianna..."  

"Why the hell not, I mean---"  

Fraser slid across the seat, slipped Ray's sunglasses off his face and
laid them on the dashboard. His expression was very tender, very intense.
"I was ashamed of her," he whispered.  

"And I swore I'd never tell anybody." He swallowed hard. "I'm sorry...but
I couldn't even tell you. I was afraid."  

"Afraid of what?" Ray was incredulous. "What did you think I'd do? Shoot
you or something?"  

Fraser's lower lip trembled, the sudden sorrow of a child, and he turned
away.  

"Wait, don't do that---" Ray caught his wrist. "Look at me. What did you
think I'd do?"	

"I thought---"	

"You thought what? What did you think? What?"  

"I thought you...wouldn't want to be my friend...anymore...I thought you'd
be--"  

"You thought I'd be what, for God's sake?"  

Fraser pulled his arm from the detective's grasp. "This isn't easy for me,
Ray!" he snapped. "I don't consider my feelings as easily as you do, they
don't rise to the surface for me, I can't---"  

"Stop bullshitting me and say it." The Italian leaned closer, looked into
Fraser's eyes. "Say it to my face."  

"I thought you'd hate me."  

There was a long and pregnant silence. Ray took a deep breath, felt the
trembling begin deep in his bones. He thought about all the times Fraser
had been there for him, all the times the Canadian had saved his sorry
ass. He thought that now, maybe, he'd failed Fraser miserably. Obviously
the Canadian couldn't trust him enough to share this part of his life with
him.  

"I...could never hate you, Benny..." Ray's green/gold gaze met Fraser's
across the front seat of the car. "Just the opposite, in fact." He took an
even deeper breath, forced himself to stumble onward, even though it was
the hardest thing he'd ever said. "I *love* you, Benny. I think I've
always loved you. Right from Minute One."  

"You love me? Me?" Fraser stared at him. "What exactly do you mean, Ray?" 


*Christ on a crutch, trust Benny to analyze it to death!* "I mean---" Ray
slid across the seat without further ado and kissed him, thoroughly,
plundered that beautiful mouth that he loved so much, pressed burning lips
to the side of Benny's neck, the tiny patch of skin revealed at the
closure of his shirt. "I mean, I love you." He was flushed and breathing
hard, elated but at the same time scared to death. If Fraser was going to
reject him, it would be now. Now.  

Fraser reached out and pressed two fingers against Ray's mouth, rubbed his
thumb along the full lower lip, coaxing, opening. "Thank you," he
whispered huskily, "for following me." His moist, hot mouth connected with
Ray's for a delicious eternity. "Thank you for loving me."  

"Any time, Benny." Ray smiled at his lover. "Any time."  

The End.