Coming to Terms   

	All characters belong to Alliance/Paul Haggis. If they belonged to
me, I'd set them free.	

PG-13, implied M/M, F/K, AU 

Coming to Terms  

	Ben's not at the Consulate when I stop by to pick him up. I can't
make sense of this for a moment. I know I dropped him off this morning.
Everything was fine. Where the hell is he? I park the GTO and go in to see
what happened. Turnbull's there, just getting ready to leave. He looks at
me in surprise.  

	"Hello, Detective Kowalski," he says, managing to sound awkward
even with those few words.  

	"Hey, Turnbull. Fraser's ride is here. Fraser's not. What gives?" 

	He looks worried now. He usually does, so I'm not panicking.
Right? "I believe he went home early, Detective. He looked quite ill." 

	"And he didn't call?" Can't make sense of that. Fraser is so
polite, so attentive, it makes me nuts. If he went home sick, no question
he'd call to let me know. Turnbull knows this, too, and he looks even more
worried. Turnbull drives me up the wall, hell, he drives everyone up the
wall, but I put up with him because he worships the ground Ben walks on,
so he's probably the person I have the most in common with in this whole
world, him and Maggie Mackenzie. 

	"No, he didn't call," Turnbull echoes quietly. 

	I feel an all-too-familiar anger starting, always my first
reaction. Can't take it out on Turnbull, it's not his fault. Can't let it
out, anyhow, can't give the game away. Stifle, Ray, stifle. 

	"He must have felt pretty bad. And y'know, he still doesn't have a
phone," I say, not wanting Fraser to lose any of his shine in Turnbull's
eyes. 

	Turnbull grasps at this straw. "He did look awful," he assures me.
"He didn't seem to be able to think. And he was dreadfully pale." 

	"Did anything else happen? What time did this happen? I guess I'd
better go check on him, 'cause he probably won't even call a doctor." 

	"No, he won't," Turnbull agrees, the hero worship returning to his
eyes. "I believe it was just after tea. Inspector Thatcher was quite cross
about the fact that all we had was Earl Grey and toasted pound cake and
she and Constable Fraser were going over the post together, as they
usually do at tea time. She was, er, um, I can't think of the expression,
a bit snappish with Constable Fraser..." 

	"She was ripping it outta him," I say. Love to teach Turnbull
slang. He never gets it right, just like Fraser. "Did she hurt his
feelings? Did he go home sick then?" Usually Fraser just lets that roll
off his back. He knows how she is and he respects her. And lately she's
actually been treating him like a person, every now and then. 

	Turnbull looks excited. Solving the mystery. "Well, yes, perhaps!
Usually he says, 'Yes, sir,' and 'No, sir,' and 'Understood, sir,' but
this time he said nothing at all. And when she asked if he had heard her,
he said, 'No.' And then he stood up with a stack of envelopes and told her
that he was not feeling quite the thing and he would be leaving early. He
didn't even ask her!" 

	"Bet she didn't like that." Love to see Ben get some backbone with
Thatcher. That'll never happen. Or maybe it has. But that doesn't sound
like Ben. 

	"She didn't really say anything. She just looked at him for a long
time and then said, 'Understood, Constable.'" 

	This is makin' no sense. She didn't yell at him? Didn't rip it
outta him some more? I shake my head in confusion. Turnbull watches me
with those puppy-dog eyes.  

	"I assume he'll be in tomorrow?" he asks. 

	"I very much doubt it." At that voice we both turn, with identical
gasps. No tellin' how long Thatcher's been standing there. "You will
undoubtedly need to assume Constable Fraser's duties for a day or two.
Constable Avery will share sentry duties with you but you will have to
double up on shifts." 

	She won't even look at me. Hasn't, since Ben told her. She never
liked me anyway and now I'm just an insect on the street. But why is she
bein' so nice about Fraser?  

	"And, Constable, I was not 'ripping it out' of Constable Fraser.
He understands that." 

	"Yeah, it's just one of those things you two do," I say. 

	She looks at me then, her eyes cold. "I doubt you would
understand, Detective." 

	"You'd be surprised," I say, not backing down. "You going over to
his place to check on him?" 

	She glares at me. "He is ill, Detective. Undoubtedly he needs rest
and liquids. He is sensible enough to know that." 

	"Ya think? Me, I'm gonna check on him." 

	"I am so surprised to hear that, Detective. Constable Turnbull,
please secure the rear entrance." 

	"Yes, sir." 

	She follows me to the front door. "Detective," she says urgently,
quietly, "be very careful."  

	At first I think she's threatening me, but I look around, starting
to get mad, and I see nothing but worry in her eyes. "Careful?" 

	"I'm . . . not sure what's wrong. I think I know. I'm not sure if
he'll tell you. Whether he does or not . . . tread very carefully. He
feels things . . . deeply." 

	I have stepped into the Twilight Zone. I know this now. I close my
eyes for a second. When I open them, she is looking away. "I know that," I
say, and my voice is almost shaking. 

	"And if you need help," she adds, "please do call." And hands me a
piece of paper with her phone number. 

	I am so panicked now that I can't think straight. "Uh, thanks,
Inspector." And I take off. 

	I get to Fraser's place in record time. It's still close enough to
the Consulate to walk, but it's in a marginally better neighbourhood with
nicer architecture, although the inhabitants are still mostly the losers
Ben knows and loves. His new place, which has an actual bedroom and a
working fireplace, still has no phone. And he still doesn't lock the door
despite the fact that practically my whole CD collection is there. 

	But he's not home, either. I check it out anyhow. But I know he's
not there because Diefenbaker isn't. It looks like he stopped to change
out of his uniform, and there's a pile of mail on the kitchen table.
Unusual. Ben doesn't get much mail. Must be what he walked outta the
Consulate still holding. And sure enough, most of them are addressed to
the Consulate, or to Inspector Thatcher. There's postcard underneath all
of them addressed to him c/o the Consulate, but he gets a lot of those.
And this one doesn't even make sense. It's a snow scene in Canada but
there's nothing on it but the words "fall, gall themselves, and gash gold
vermilion." Typical weirdness, for Fraser. 

	I cross to a window trying to think, make my brain work. It's
starting to snow. Fraser'll like that. Where could he be? Where would he
go? His leather jacket's gone, and so's the Stetson, of course. 

	I hate to have to do it, but I call Vecchio. If Ben was that
shaken or ill, he might have turned to Vecchio. They've been friends a
long time and although Vecchio can't stand me he is still there for Ben.
Lucky for all of us he took that promotion, in my opinion, before one of
us decked the other. He still can't get his head around the fact that
Frase and I are a little more - well, okay, a lot more - than friends,
especially since his second try at marriage went kaput a few months ago.
His new ex was okay with me and Frase and I think she helped Vecchio deal.
 

	"Vecchio." 

	"Kowalski. Lissen, you seen Fraser?" 

	"What the hell - " 

	"Listen, Vecchio. Just shut up and listen. He left work early.
Said he was sick. Didn't call me. Did he call you? Even the Ice Queen's
worried about him." 

	From Vecchio's next words I can tell he 's dropped the attitude.
"No. No, I haven't seen or heard from him. That's not like Benny." 

	No shit. "Any idea what's wrong? Where he'd go?" 

	The attitude is back. 

	"Not a clue, Kowalski." 

	Yeah, and if you did you wouldn't tell me. 

	"Thanks anyway," I snarl, and hang up. 

	I close my eyes and try to think. Try to feel. What's wrong?
What's Ben feeling? Where would he go? Especially if he really is sick.
Would he go to hospital? Doesn't sound like he thought he was that ill. 

	I lean my head against the glass, trying to stop my brain from
running in circles. I turn and look at the room again. Same old stuff.
Armchair. Big braided rug in front of the fireplace. Kitchen table and
chairs. I cross to the bedroom. Ben's bedroll is at the head of his bed.
Then I notice his father's trunk is open. Usually it's locked. He keeps
the journals in there, and his father's guns. I panic again, but the rifle
and his dad's service revolver are both there. His isn't and neither are
the rounds he keeps for it. Shit. I lock the chest again and put the key
where Fraser keeps it, in a pocket in his knapsack. 

	I pace, try to think. The lake. Fraser took Dief for a run. In
this weather? Sure. Snow. Yeah. The lake.  

	I spend a fruitless and cold hour at the lake, and then I start
checking his usual haunts. No one's seen him at the library, the
coffeehouse, and the Chinese restaurant. I even go to his old
neighbourhood. They haven't seen him in days, ask me when the Mountie's
comin' back. Can't tell ya. Call Vecchio again. He's more worried than
before, no attitude at all. It's snowing a lot harder. 

	"Not a word," he says. "Where you looking?" 

	I rattle off all the places I've been. 

	"You . . . you want me to come help you?" 

	No. No, I don't. But I want to find Fraser.  

	"Yeah. If . . . if you want. If you ain't got nothin' else to do."


	Sounds like he knows how hard that is for me to say. I know how
hard it was for him to offer. 

	"I'll meet you back at his place in fifteen," he says. "First
thing we do when we find him is get that damn Mountie a cell phone." 

	"Yeah, see if he'll listen to you." 

	I check the apartment again. He's not there. It's freezing, too. I
turn the heat up, set it at sixty. It's getting colder and the pipes don't
need to freeze. 

	Vecchio pulls up as I come out the door. He looks bummed when I
shake my head. Motions me over to his new Riv. This one's blue. I slide
into the passenger seat. Fill him in on the scene at the Consulate. 
	"Thatcher knows what's wrong?"	 

	"She said she thought she knew. Wouldn't tell me." 

	Vecchio swears under his breath, pulls out his phone and dials her
number. Of course he knows it. His half of the conversation doesn't
reassure me much. 

	"It's Vecchio. Listen, what's up with Fraser?" 

	"What the hell kinda logic is that?" 

	"Well, can you overcome your scruples long enough to give me a
hint?"	 This is sounding worse and worse. 

	"No, we don't know where he is." Long-suffering, patient; he
catches my eyes and rolls his own. 

	"Okay." He closes his phone, looks at me again. "What came in the
mail?" 

	"The mail?" 

	"The post, the mail, the stuff the guy in the dumb blue pants
drops off at the door every day? Bills, junk mail, credit cards?" 

	"He brought home a stack of letters for the Consulate and a
postcard." 

	"Shit. What did the postcard say?" 

	I'm starting to get mad. "You wanna tell me what this is about,
first, Vecchio?" 

	"What the hell did the postcard say?" He is furious, and scared. 

	"Just a few words that make no sense unless you're a crazy
Mountie," I say. "Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold vermilion." 

	"Oh, God. Train station," Vecchio says, and guns the engine.  

The snow is falling thickly now. 

We search all the platforms. Vecchio seems to know which one Ben would be
on, and I remember that Ben got shot at the train station. I think I
guessed that this was about Victoria as soon as Thatcher gave me her phone
number. Now I know. 

Vecchio's looking at the surface of the platform, trying to see Ben's
boots. It's snowing so hard that that's pretty useless. Still, I look too,
then go off to ask some of the station personnel if they've seen him.
Don't have a photo. Damn. And they see lots of good-looking guys in
leather jackets. Know they haven't seen Ben, then. He's not cute, he's
beautiful. And that Stetson is pretty hard to miss. I turn to see Vecchio
kneeling down to touch something.  

"You're not gonna start licking stuff, are ya?" I say. 

"If it would help," he snaps. 

"Look, Vecchio, what's really going on here?" 

He sighs. Like I'm stupid. "It's Victoria," he says. 

"Well, duh." That shakes him. He looks at me almost with respect. "What I
mean is, is that postcard a threat? Is she just messin' with his head?" 

"Good question. Knowing her, I have to assume it's a threat." 

Probably a wise assumption. 

"She always messes with his head," he adds. "Where are his guns?" 

"The rifle and his dad's revolver are still in the chest, locked. I assume
he's got his .38 on him." 

"He's not in uniform, is he?" 

"No, I already told you that." 

"He doesn't usually carry the .38 the rest of the time," Vecchio says.
"How about the ammo?"  

I shake my head. "No ammo." 

"Damn. And he's got Dief? Did he have Dief at the Consulate today?" That's
right. Victoria shot Dief, last time. 

"Yeah, this morning." 

"Good. I think he was here. He'd be able to tell better than me, of
course." 

I shake my head solemnly. "You're wasted in the Chicago PD, Vecchio. When
are ya gonna put in for Mountie training?" 

"When Canada conquers Florida," he shoots back, moving away quickly. 

We sit in the Riv, watching the snow fall, thinking some more. Vecchio
swears under his breath, starts the engine. "We're going to hit every
place they went. I don't know what's going on with her. I don't think
Fraser took off with her." 

"No, not from here anyhow. Only train that went through was going to
Louisiana. No one at the station or the ticket counter has seen him." 

"You've been to the coffeehouse? Has he been there? No, wait, that's not
the right one." And he tears off down the slippery street. Damn, his
driving is worse than mine. Poor Fraser. 

We end up at a coffeehouse I didn't know about, not too far from Ben's
first place. Vecchio goes in, comes out in a rush. "Yeah, he was here.
About six." 

"Shit." That was over three hours ago. "Alone?" 

"Yeah, but that means nothing, with her. Last time she made sure that no
one saw her. No one but me, and she had me going down too so it didn't
matter." He is silent for a moment and then hits the steering wheel, hard.
"I shoulda killed her," he muttered. "Shoulda shot her. I was too worried
about Benny. I had a straight shot at her, coulda killed her then and
there. Shoulda known she'd never let it rest. After all, he stopped her
plan. Pulled it all outta nowhere, the way he does. Left me a note on
Dief's cage with what he thought her plan was. Switched keys. Got
witnesses, got the money, got the diamonds. All outta thin air. God, he's
amazing." 

Yeah, I know. Look at how he got us out of the Henry Allen. And then
managed to stop the bad guys too. 

"But what's she got on him now?" I ask. "Last time he was thinkin' he was
in love with her." 

"Kowalski, he probably still does." 

He doesn't look at me. 

"I'm not sayin' that to hurt you. Not that I care if I hurt you, you
understand. Just that Benny doesn't get over stuff. Especially his
failures and she's probably the biggest failure of his life. If he saw a
chance to redeem her, help her, he would do it. And the hell of it is, she
knows that. She knows what makes him tick. She can tie him into knots
faster than you can say polar bear. He's gonna be smarter than last time.
But he's still gonna try." 

He is quiet for a minute longer and then adds, "And there's you." 

"You mean she's threatening me?" 

"At least you're not slow on the uptake. Gash gold vermilion. That's what
I think that part means, anyhow. She's probably jealous as hell." 

Holy shit. But why warn Ben, if that's what she wanted? She could take me
out any time, I don't even know what she looks like. Beautiful. Dark hair.
Really bad mug shot.  

"Zoo," he says. "You got a boot gun?" 

"Yeah," I say, puzzled. 

"Good. She's good at getting rid of guns. You get a shot at her, take it.
I won't tell you to kill her. That's between you and your conscience."	

"You're still assuming she's here," I say. "What if she's not?" 

"I think she is. If she's not... then Fraser is dancing with his demons
tonight." 

Another silence falls. 

"He ever talk about her?" 

"Not much," I say. "Told me he saved her life, fell in love with her,
betrayed her." 

"He didn't! See, that's what makes me crazy about Benny! You don't believe
that, do you?" 

"I think Ben is incapable of betrayal," I say quietly. Got that worked out
in my head, finally. 

"She was a criminal, fer Crissakes! He went after her, captured her, saved
her life, and then she thought he'd let her go because she gave him a warm
happy?" 

"Doesn't sound like she knows Fraser very well," I say. 

"He's incorruptible," Vecchio says. "That's the thing they just didn't
understand about him. Fraser was no more capable of selling out for one
dollar as for ten thousand, or ten million. Duty. That's all he knows." 

We get to the zoo in record time. Search quickly, silently. Vecchio knows
where to look. No one. If he has been here, the snow has covered any
signs. Back at the Riv, we are both silent. 

"We're thinkin' in circles," I finally say. "Let's start with what we
know. Is she here?" 

"We don't know." 

	"You got a hunch." 

	"Yeah. I do." 

	"Let's go with it. She's here. Postcard's what, a warning? A
message? What's Fraser gonna do?" 

	"He's gonna find her. He knows how she thinks. He knows where she
is." 

	"Oh, Jesus, Ray," and it doesn't even register with me that I used
his first name, "I know what's missing from the chest. Fraser's knife." 

	"His hunting knife? The big Mountie knife?" 

	"Yeah." 

	"So, did he take it or did she?" 

	"Shit. Okay. Huh. What else do we know?" 

	"We know Benny," Vecchio says slowly. 

	"That's it! You're right! Fraser wouldn't just take off like this
on us. He had to have left a message. Think. Think!" We look at each
other, wheels turning furiously. And then I have it. "Drive. My answering
machine." I know that's it. Why didn't I think of it before? 

	"Why the hell would he call your answering machine instead of
you?" Vecchio says, disbelieving. 

	"I dunno. Time. He didn't have time to explain. Maybe he couldn't.
We're gonna need flashlights and stuff anyhow, Vecchio. Get movin'." 

********************* 

	Kowalski bounds up the stairs two at a time. He's got his grey
sweatshirt half off by the time he gets in the door and the next few
minutes are a maelstrom of energy as he rewinds the answering machine,
changes into a black shirt and black fatigue pants, starts checking his
messages, stocking his pants. I'm tired just watchin' him, and can't
believe on top of it all that he's changing in front of me when he knows
how I feel about what he is. "Christ, Kowalski," I finally say angrily. 

	He looks at me, confused, still buttoning his pants. Then he gets
it. "Oh, grow up, Vecchio," he snarls. "Even if I wanted you, which I
don't, I'm not about to throw you on the floor and have my way with you at
a time like this! I'll save it for Fraser, when we find him." 

	And he sounds so matter-of-fact, so guilt free, so certain that I
am actually taken aback for a moment, fooled into thinking that there is a
real relationship there. 

	He's packing his pockets. I see a couple of mag lites go in, a lot
of clips, a couple tear gas canisters, and some other stuff out of a black
bag he pulled out of his closet that I think I shouldn't be seeing in a
cop's possession. Kinda makes me feel better. Underestimated Victoria,
last time. Got the heavy artillery, this time. He stops every few seconds
to skip to the next message. 

	"I don't check messages very often," he says, sounding a little
guilty. "I'm not here enough." 

	"Then Benny wouldn't leave one for you. This is stupid." 

	And then we hear his voice. He sounds normal. 

	"Ray, there's trouble," he begins. "This is the safest way I can
think of to warn you. Ray, please trust me, one more time. Please listen
and do what I tell you. Find Ray Vecchio and get both of you to a safe
place. A place that I don't know about and hopefully couldn't guess. Dief
is with Willie. My weapon is in the post to Lieutenant Welsh at the 27th
and so are its rounds, under separate cover, of course." That's so Benny I
have to smile. A pause, and then with a smile I can hear even on the
scratchy answering machine, he continues, "Ray, my friend, I'm actually
trying not to endanger your life in a wildly bizarre fashion this time.
Please help me. Don't worry about me. Don't try to find me. I can't do
this if I know you're endangered. I've got to go back to the beginning and
end it one way or another. And, Ray. From the time you hear this, don't
trust me. Don't trust anyone except your colleagues." His control is
starting to break and I can hear the raw emotion in his voice. "You - you
know how I feel, Ray. You're my partner and my friend. My best friend,
Ray." 

	Kowalski's staring at the answering machine, a frozen look on his
face. All his energy is concentrated into listening. "With benefits, Ben,"
he mutters in a low voice, as if he's forgotten he's not alone. "With
benefits. Oh, God."  

	"Shut up," I say roughly. Don't want to hear the pain in his
voice. "Got to think. The problem is this, Kowalski. She knows him. Knows
his motivations. He's done everything he can to stay a step ahead of her
this time, but she probably already thought of those. This place is
probably watched. We gotta bail, now, Kowalski. Now!" 

	"Back to the beginning..." he says. He's not even listening to me.
Frustrated, I grab his arm, steer him to the door. 

	"You got your glasses?" 

	"Yeah. Canada, Vecchio?" 

	"No, I don't think so. Sounds like he thinks she's here. It's
imminent." 

	I get the Riv outta Kowalski's neighbourhood as fast as I can.
It's probably paranoia on my part. Undoubtedly she already knows
Kowalski's apartment is more or less just for show nowadays. We end up
down by the lake. Kowalski hasn't said a word. 

	"Vecchio." He turns to look at me. "What'd he mean? How does he
think I'm gonna stop trusting him? How am I supposed to believe that he
would hurt me?" 

	I can't answer. Even after all this time it still hurts like hell.
I get myself under control. 

	"Trust him when he tells you that. He knows what she does to him.
He knows he can't always outthink her." 

	"I can't get my mind around it," he says, slowly, wondering, still
without the attitude. Vulnerable. Almost tender. Wonder if this is what
Fraser sees in him. And give myself a quick shake. Fraser's one sick
puppy, that's all. 

	"It happens. With her. Happened. I put my house up for bail. He
figured her out, got witnesses, got the money back, we even found the
diamonds on the platform. He was clear, or woulda been. But I think he was
goin' with her, Kowalski." And I can't keep the pain, the bitter hurt out
of my voice. "After I shot him, he said, 'I should be with her.' He was
going. That's what she does to him." There is no way I'm gonna break down
in front of Kowalski. In a stronger voice, I repeat, "That's what she does
to him. He knows it. I know you don't wanna believe it, but you gotta be
careful." 

	"I don't believe it," he says stubbornly. And I'm thankful he's
not filling my ears with crap about love. 

	I shrug. "Whatever. Where now?" 

	"You tell me." 

	At that moment, his phone rings. 

	"Ben!" he says, and answers, "Kowalski." Then mouths at me, with a
quick, excited nod, "It's him!" I lean over to listen as he tilts the
phone towards me, pulling my tape recorder out of my pocket.  

	"Hello, Ray," Benny says, sounding pretty normal.  

	"Fraser. What up? Where ya been, man?" 

	"Sorry, Ray, I had a few things to take care of." 

	Kowalski's eyes meet mine and to my disgust I realise we are on
the same wave length, thinking the same things, our instincts jumping to
the same conclusion. 

	"Hostage situation," I mouth. He nods. 

	"Er, Ray, I have a favour to ask." 

	"Shoot, Frase." 

	"I wasn't able to walk Dief tonight. Do you think you could stop
by my place and take him for a quick walk?" 

	I shake my head. We gotta find Benny, not chase hired goons all
over the city. He winks, fast. 

	"Damn, Fraser, I'm sorry. I just got off the phone with Huey and
Dewey. A bunch of us are meetin' fer beers and a game." 

	Whoa. Guy can think on his feet. 

	"Oh, that's all right, Ray." Can I hear an undercurrent of relief
in his voice? "Perhaps I'll be finished sooner than I thought." 

	"Try Vecchio," Kowalski says. Now he's going too far. She's
listening, she'll catch on right away. 

	"Er, yes, Ray, that's a good idea. Have you seen him?" 

	He surprises me again. "Oh, right, Frase," Kowalski says,
snorting. "Yeah. Yeah, he's sitting next to me right now, on his way to
play pool. That's a good one, Fraser." 

	Fraser suddenly, incomprehensibly, sounds happier. "Sorry, Ray, I
suppose that was just silly." 

	"Used to it, from you, ya crazy Mountie. Hey, hang loose, man." 

	"Goodbye, Ray." 

	Kowalski shuts his phone, hangs his head for a brief moment. Hear
a whispered, "Goodbye," like an echo. Gathering his strength, I think. 

	"Let's go see what we can see at Fraser's place." 

	"Nah, no one'll be there now. What about Dief? Maybe Willie can
tell us something." 

	I don't know where Willie lives any more. I didn't even know he
still saw Dief. But Kowalski says Fraser takes him over there once or
twice a month, at least, and Kowalski's tagged along a few times. It's in
the same neighbourhood, of course, just a different building. 

	"Oh, God, wolf hair," I groan. 

	"What time did Fraser drop him off?" Kowalski's asking. 

	"About eight-thirty. And he told me not to let Dief out, no matter
what." 

	"Why?" 

	Willie shrugs. "Dunno. He said Dief's life depended on it." 

	"Can we take him?" Kowalski asks. Good idea. Dief can maybe track
Fraser. 

	Willie looks scared, stubborn. "The Mountie said no. Dief doesn't
leave until he or Lieutenant Welsh says so. The Mountie said no," he
repeats. 

	I try to ignore the forethought those words imply. And I know
their significance wasn't lost on Kowalski. 

	"Did ya see which way Fraser went?" Kowalski asks, kneeling down
to rub Dief. He buries his face in Dief's fur for a second. Dief whines. 

	Willie looks really worried now. "Up the street, man," he says,
pointing. "Is the Mountie in bad trouble?" 

	"Yeah, but we'll find him," I say. "Don't worry." 

	"Thanks, Willie!" Kowalski's already halfway down the hall. 

*********************** 

If she knew what she wants 

He'd be giving it to her 

If she knew what she needs 

He could give her that too 

If she knew what she wants 

But he can't see through her 

If she knew what she wants 

He'd be giving it to her, giving it to her 

But she wants everything 

He can pretend to give her everything 

And there's nothing she wants 

She don't wanna sort it out 

He's crazy for this girl 

But she don't know what she's looking for 

If she knew what she wants 

He'd be giving it to her, giving it to her. 

	"If She Knew What She Wants," The Bangles 

	"You think you have it all tied up tight, don't you, Ben?" she
whispers. I know she's angry and frustrated. I can feel the gun trembling.


	"No loose ends," I say, and try to smile at her. It's difficult.
"I was trying to keep this between us." 

	"I like insurance," she says. 

	 

	She was here, waiting for me. She had candles lit, casting long
flickering shadows in the burned out hulk of my old apartment. It had
begun to snow. Now I know what I thought I felt, the night I waited for
her, was real. She was there. She saw the candles. 

	She had cleared some of the rubble in one corner. There were
blankets and somewhere she had found a chair. The chair on which I
currently sit, handcuffed. The chair to which I voluntarily allowed myself
to be secured. 

	She has raged at me for hours, I think, though oddly I have lost
track of time, always in a quiet voice, but the venom is unceasing. And so
is the love. Every so often she stops, stares at me, and then kisses me,
urgently, without happiness, as she did that last time in the car, as if
she can't help herself. And, God help me, I kiss her back. She always
could make me respond. 

	And then she tells me again to tell her that it was my fault, that
I should have let her go, and I do. I tell her over and over, until I am
hoarse. When she hears my voice get raspy, she gives me water, almost
tenderly. And then the cycle starts again, until just now, when she has
evidently come to some decision and has had me call Ray. 

	And I know that Ray received my message and it sounds as if he is
acting upon it. I feel a relief out of all proportion to being called a
crazy Mountie yet again. My friends are as safe as I can make them. Her
obsession is with me. Once we have settled this, I think they will still
be safe. Because I know that she probably intends my death, tonight. And I
have had to take the difficult step of intending hers, if that is what she
chooses. It is the only way, after my own death, that I can ensure their
safety. It is my duty. And it is my last act of love. 

	"What do you want, Victoria?" I ask her. I need her to talk to me.
If we can talk we might be able to resolve something. 

	She laughs a short, mirthless laugh. "I want you. I want my life
back. I want everything. Can I find it with you, Ben?" 

	"No," I say. "Not unless you have everything inside yourself
already." There will be no talking then, not tonight. Not ever. 

	She walks over to the window and then back to me. Still holding
the gun to my head, she reaches down to unlock my handcuffs. "Get up, put
your hands in front," she snaps. I hold them out and she replaces the
cuffs. She leads me over to the blankets, now blanketed themselves in
snow, sits down, and pulls me down with my back against her chest. She
puts the gun behind her, well out of my reach, as I feel her bring a knife
to my throat with her left hand. My knife. I can smell the oil I use to
sharpen it. 

	"Say it," she whispers, and begins, "I saw this morning morning's
minion . . ." 

	Obediently I join in and in the midst of this insanity am happy
for a moment. Happy to hear that golden voice, happy to be close to her;
and then the steel at my throat, warming gradually, brings me to my
senses, senses she is so expert at confusing. 

	From time to time she caresses me with her right hand,
occasionally joining in the recitation. When I finish, she says, "Again." 

	I lose track of time again. The snow is falling more thickly and
we are so still and cold that it has begun to cling to us instead of
melting. I have repeated the poem one hundred and seven times but I am too
tired and disoriented to convert it to time and indeed time doesn't matter
now. 

	The knife is still at my throat, unwavering, and I surmise that
she is gathering the willpower to finish it. I estimate I will have 30 to
50 seconds to execute my plan and wish I had the handcuffs off. It would
be easier. 

	I hold my hands up, disturbing the layer of snow. She laughs. "No,
Ben, I don't think so." And the knife slides through the first layer of
flesh. So be it. Nothing we two have ever done has been easy. Why should
our deaths be different? 

	"Don't stop," she whispers, her breath startlingly hot against my
ear, and I begin again. She joins me, full-voiced, and I know her decision
has been taken. 

******************** 

	We drive aimlessly for a while, both of us hoping against hope to
see Fraser's broad-shouldered figure and familiar Stetson striding down a
sidewalk somewhere, Dief at his heels. 

	"Back to the beginning." Kowalski's been saying that, off and on,
for hours. "Where did it begin here?" 

	"I already told ya, the coffee house. We've been there three times
already." 

	"Wait, Ray." It's the second time he's used my name tonight.
Strangely I don't mind. "Ben told me once that she lived with him." 

	"For three days," I say. "If that counts. When the whole thing
started." 

	"The beginning . . . They're at his old place, Ray! They've gotta
be!" 

	"I thought it burned down," I say, even as I floor the Riv. 

	"Has it been torn down?" 

	"Probably not. Knowin' this city, probably not." I can't believe
it. We've been within shouting distance of Fraser at least three times
tonight. 

	We pull up to see the building still standing. It's dark, silent,
ominous. And suddenly I know Kowalski's right. They're here. 

	We get outta the Riv, careful about noise, and Kowalski passes me
a flashlight, motioning me on ahead. In the light from the street lamp he
looks pale, grim, his head floating disembodied above his black clothes. 

	It takes us a few minutes to find a quiet way in. We settle for a
window. Kowalski boosts me up, I help pull him in. He's surprisingly
heavy, heavier than he looks. Probably all muscle, with all that energy he
has. 

	It's disorienting to be here, in the burned rubble in the dark,
and I have to think about where we are, where the stairs are, for a
minute. And we have to be quiet, so quiet. And we are because as we come
up the last flight I can see a glow and I can hear voices. Two voices.
Fraser and Victoria. Reciting a poem together. Ray Kowalski and I look at
each other in disbelief. And then I recognise it. The poem from the train
station. From Benny's dreams in the hospital after I shot him. And I see
the hurt in Kowalski's eyes and I shake my head, mouth, "It's not what you
think!" at him. We edge closer and hear, "Fall, gall themselves, and gash
gold vermilion." Silence. 

	"I love you, Ben." 

	We look at each other. Kowalski pulls out his mini mag lite, holds
it with his gun as we step around the wall together, moving as one. 

	"Police! Freeze! Drop your weapons!" Kowalski yells. 

	They're in a corner, on blankets, covered in snow. Through the
gleam of the snow I catch the glare of metal. Fraser's hands are cuffed in
front of him. Victoria has his knife at his throat, a thin red line moving
vertically down his neck from the edge of the blade. And for an instant I
get the strange impression that Fraser is not, after all, happy to see us.


	"Drop it, Victoria," I say, edging closer. She increases the
pressure. Fraser closes his eyes. She drops a kiss on his lips, casual and
tender. He opens them again and looks at me and then Kowalski, and this
time I see relief in his face. He was prepared to die, before. He was
facing that. 

	"Watch him die, Vecchio," she say, eerily calm. "You're next. And
you," with a hiss, a flicker of her eyes towards Kowalski, even colder
than her glance at me.	

	"How do you figure that? We're the ones with the guns," I say,
trying to get her off balance. "What is it with you Canadians and snow,
anyway?" 

	"Damn it, Fraser, move!" Kowalski says, trying to startle her, get
her attention. He's had his glasses on since we got here but he can't get
a clear shot. She's well hidden behind Fraser's bulk. 

	Her left wrist pulls back an inch or two as she flexes it to drive
the blade home and I see Fraser and Kowalski exchange a look that almost
embarrasses me. A split second later Kowalski fires and Fraser brings his
arms up and over, catching her across the side of the head. She makes no
sound except for a throaty gasp. Kowalski got her on the wrist. Nice shot.
The knife falls into the snow, gleaming dull red and the snow turns pink
beneath it. Fraser's twisted around, is reaching behind her, and tosses a
gun to me. I pick it up from the snow in my handkerchief, put it in my
pocket, icy metal. Wonder which poor sucker's gun she's using this time.
Kowalski's over to them by this time and is kicking the knife away. 

	"Where are the keys?" he asks, his voice not quite steady. 

	"I believe you'll find them in her left front pocket, Ray," Fraser
says, sounding so Fraserish that we both sigh in relief. I cover Victoria
as she sits, unmoving, while Kowalski unlocks Fraser. And even now, they
remember they are not alone. All I see is a brief touch of fingers, a
smile into each other's eyes, before Kowalski turns to Victoria. Benny is
stretching, brushing off the snow, flexing his legs, which are no doubt
long past asleep.  

	"Pat her down," I say. "She usually has lots of spare weaponry." 

	Sure enough, he finds a wicked little knife in her sleeve and two
more guns, one in her bra and one in her boot. 

	She hasn't taken her eyes off Fraser. "You know it's not over,
Ben," she says at last. 

	"I know, Victoria," he answers, holding her gaze steady. "I had
hoped, tonight, it would be. That you would find some kind of peace or at
least some answers. But it never will be over. It's part of you. It's part
of me." 

	"C'est la vie," she says, with a shrug. "Or c'est la morte." 

	"Get her over here," I tell Kowalski. "Come on, let's get you down
there and book you. And, Fraser, we're stoppin' to get you a cell phone on
the way. No ifs, ands, or buts." 

	"Ray - " 

	"A thank you kindly will do nicely, Benny." 

	"Thank you kindly, Ray." And Fraser's miracle smile crosses his
face for a moment. He flexes his knees a few times, still rubbing his
thighs. Kowalski is still kneeling beside him, so obviously holding his
temper in check, so obviously wanting to help him, that it's almost funny.


	"Hey, Ray," I say over my shoulder, Victoria in front of me, "we
found him." And I raise my eyebrows expectantly and grin at him. He stares
at me for a second, and then gets it. His eyes widen and he grins back at
me before turning to Fraser.  

	"You big dumb Mountie! The whole idea is not to endanger either
one of us in wild and bizarre ways," he says in a rough voice, a prelude
to a kiss if I ever heard one, and I push her out the door in front of me,
quick, before Benny and Kowalski lose it completely. She knows already, if
that look at Kowalski was anything to go by, and the last thing they need
is an eyewitness description twisted by her vicious tongue. 

	I reach in my pocket for the keys to the Riv and I feel her gun,
still wrapped in my handkerchief. And I know what to do and how to do it. 

	I stumble going down the stairs, managing to slip the gun into her
right coat pocket minus my handkerchief. At the bottom of the stairs I
look at her in the dim light of a street lamp. She looks back, her gaze
never wavering. Then she opens that beautiful, deadly mouth. 

	"He won't press charges," she says. 

	She may be right. He probably won't. But he won't have to. 

	"So?" I say. "Statute hasn't run out on Jolly yet, Victoria. Or on
grand larceny, if I'm not mistaken. We got plenty to keep you occupied for
a few years, don't worry." 

	Her eyes dart up the street and back to mine again. I unlock the
Riv from the passenger side. 

	"He loves me," she says, almost to herself. Almost like she
doesn't believe it. 

	"You never learn," I say. "You never take responsibility. It's
always Fraser's fault for arresting you, Jolly's fault for corrupting you,
forcing you into a life of crime." 

	Her eyes snap with angry sparks. "Ben knows it's his fault," she
says. 

	"Yeah, well, let ya in on a couple of secrets. One, Benny thinks
everything is his fault. And two, he's been wrong before. He just doesn't
know it." 

	I lean in to pull the radio out and I let go of her wrists.    
She stares at me for a second, eyes wide, puzzled. "Run, then," I say.
"Don't face the music. Blame Fraser, Jolly, me." 

	And without a word, she does. 

	"Victoria," I call after her, "remember my promise to you?" 

	She looks back at that, to see my gun pointed at her. As she tries
to stop, turn, I squeeze the trigger, shoot her in the back. Just like my
best friend. And I say into the radio I'm holding as she falls, "Officer
in pursuit of armed suspect, 221 West Racine. Suspect down, intent to
flee." 

	Fraser and Kowalski come out the door a few seconds after the
shot. Fraser takes it in instantly, tearing down the sidewalk to her side,
pulling her out of the snow. "Call an ambulance," he shouts to Kowalski,
who looks at me, hesitates, and then pulls out his cell phone as he
follows. I arrive last. The snow is falling even faster now, swirling down
in big, thick flakes that cling to her hair and her coat, flakes that
won't melt now. 

	Benny's holding her against him, murmuring in her ear. His eyes
meet mine and I know we will never be the same again. 

	It doesn't bother me. Now I know why I chose to go undercover. It
was to learn this, to be prepared for this day; to have the strength to
fire that gun, to save Fraser from a lifetime of anguish and guilt, to
save Fraser from despair, sorrow, and torture every time she goes to and
gets out of jail. And I would do it again in a heartbeat. 

	Kowalski looks at me and I see understanding and gratitude in his
eyes. He knows. 

	 

  

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