lifexmas	 Due South and all it's wonderful characters belongs to
Alliance. Please don't copy, link or download,  without permission from
the author. Touched By and Angel characters are property of CBS/WB. A Due
South twist on It's A Wonderful Life. Probabl been done before, but hey,
this is my favorite holiday film and I couldn't resist the temptation.
Probably needs a beta reader, any takers for my next story? 

Spoilers for Asylum, Ladies Man and Eclipse. 

written by-A Chicago Flatfoot 
  

THE DIFFERENCE IT MAKES 
  
  
  
  

        Ray Kowalski was having a very bad week. It was Christmas Eve and 
the end of his year seemed to be headed into the same rotten pit it had 
begun with. He was swamped with cases that he had hardly started on. 
He'd just had to investigate the murder of a six-year-old girl, found
raped 
and mutilated in a dumpster behind a restaurant. The suspect was a kid 
whose family had more money than God did and could afford a longwinded, 
ruthless lawyer. 

        They had an eye witness place Garrett Tidwell at the playground 
where the little girl had disappeared. However, another man had dropped of
a heart attack on the walking path and paramedics had been called to the 
scene. It was chaos after that and the lawyers insisted the witness'
attention 
had been diverted and perhaps her recollection not completely accurate. 

        Tidwell's presence had been arrogantly explained, as it was a
public 
park, and he had every right to be there. It could not be proven he had 
even spoken with the victim, Teresa Wallace. Tidwell had a reputation for 
liking little girls and charges had been brought against him before for
being a 
suspected pedhophile. The charges were always unfounded or dismissed. 
The witness would back down in the wake of the Tidwell's merciless 
lawyers. 

        Welsh and Stella had agreed Tidwell would probably walk because 
they only had circumstantial evidence. However, they all suspected he was 
their man. Tidwell had not batted an eyelash when they showed him the 
photos of what was left of Teresa's mutilated body. He just sat there, 
arrogantly and remained silent as his lawyer did the talking for him. 

        Ray had managed to hold on to his temper, until Tidwell whispered 
something to him in passing. The man knew the police didn't have enough 
evidence to charge him and he seemed to know how volatile Ray was 
becoming. 

        "Dream about me, Detective. I'll be dreaming of Teresa." 

        Ray lost it and lunged at the man with barely contained rage. It
took 
Fraser, Welsh, and Huey to pull him off Tidwell. The man laughed at Ray 
while the lawyer threatened assault charges. Tidwell was hustled away as 
the others tried to calm the enraged Detective. 

        Ray was suspended the following day and removed from the 
investigation. Welsh hadn't wanted to do it, but it would be the only
thing to 
keep the Detective from having to deal further with Tidwell's relentless
legal 
team. Ray had tossed his badge and gun on the Lieutenant's desk and 
stormed out. 

        Now Ray sat in his prized GTO, headed no where in particular, just

feeling the urge to drive. His gaze wandered to Teresa's file on the seat
next 
to him, with the picture of Tidwell pinned to the cover. Just another
slimy 
bastard slipping through the hands of justice, why should he care, right?
But, 
Ray did care, perhaps too much at times. It was possible that because it
was the Christmas season it seemed more horrendous a crime, or the fact
that the victim was a child, that Ray could not let it go easily. Either
way he was having trouble dealing with it. 

        It was the season for forgiveness and good will toward men, but
Ray 
had none of these feelings left inside him. Too many years as a cop had 
washed away the hopeful optimism, he'd had as a rookie, and replaced it
with a cynical attitude. A sweet, darling, innocent little girl lost her
life and her killer would go free. America was a melting pot all right and
all the scum floated to the top in this city. 

        Tidwell would strike again and again. Ray had no doubt of this.
The 
smug bastard thought he could get away with murder, and it seemed he was 
correct. The idea that they would have to wade through the precious,
bodies 
of more little girls, until Tidwell made a big enough mistake for
conviction 
made Ray physically ill. 

        On top of that, his parents had headed back to Arizona for
Christmas 
and Stella was spending the holidays with her newest beau. Fraser and Dief

were taking holiday time and heading back home to Canada for a visit. Ray
would be alone again this year and it hurt more than it should have. 

        He was living another man's life because he had made such a mess
of 
his own. He had become a cop to make a difference and he hadn't done 
a damn thing to be proud of. The crooks he chased either outsmarted him or

used their money and power to rise above Ray's efforts. Half the time, 
Fraser made him feel useless and the other half Ray spent trying to
impress 
the Mountie. 

        Ray wished he could be the kind of cop his partner was,  honest
and able to see the good in all people. Always on the side of justice
regardles of the circumstance. Of course, Fraser could afford that
optimism, Mountie's always got their man. Ray wasn't a Mountie. He was a
burned out, flat foot cop with experimental hair, who didn't trust anyone,
except his partner. 

        His parents had little use for him. They had another son in
Arizona who 
had given them grandchildren and a steady daughter in law. Stella
certainly 
didn't need him for anything, she had always been independent and it was 
Ray who had always needed her. Fraser needed him to protect Vecchio's 
cover and for no other reason. The Mountie could take on Chicago and 
fight crimes single-handed; Ray wasn't really required. 

        It wouldn't make a bit of difference in anyone's life if Ray had
never 
been born. His father never would have suffered disappointment in Ray's 
becoming a cop. Stella would have met and married someone more suitable 
to her station, Fraser would have continued fighting crime with whoever 
covered for Vecchio. Welsh, Frannie, the Duck Boys, Elaine, no one's life 
would be any different without Ray. He was just an annoying fixture to be 
tolerated. Everyone would be better off or at least no more the worse for 
wear. 

        Ray had a mind to get good and drunk, but the pain and desolation
would still be there tomorrow when he woke up. Christmas, what 
a waste of a good holiday. All Christmas had come to mean to Ray was 
more crime, paperwork, and a whole lot of nights spent alone. He hated 
Christmas. He hated his life. He hated whoever decided to put him on this 
Godforsaken planet, knowing what a screw up he would turn out to be. 

        "Yeah, " he muttered, "Merry freakin' Christmas." His foot pressed

harder on the accelerator as he neared the bridge ahead of him. 
  
  

              ---------------------------------------- 

        Ray groaned and lifted his head from the snow bank he was laying
in. 
He wasn't really cold, just slightly chilled and he wondered how he had 
gotten out of the car. He lifted a hand to touch the throbbing wound on
his 
forehead. Luckily, it wasn't bleeding very much at the moment, and he 
glanced over where the GTO should be. It wasn't there. 

        He frowned. He couldn't have been thrown that far from the
vehicle. 
 He thought he'd aimed for the water, so how did he end up out here? He
stumbled about to survey the white surroundings and saw no sign of his
precious car. Was it at the bottom of the river? If so, how had he 
ended up on the bank just below the bridge? 

        Thoughts of his father strangling him slowly, entered his mind at
the loss of the classic GTO, but he shook them away with a shiver. Okay,
so even at thirty odd years of age he had a heathy respect for his dad, as
well as a heathy fear, couldn't help that now could he? In his mind he
knew his father would never hurt him, Ray wouldn't allow it. However, his
heart was still that of a child's at time and he couldn't stop the desire
to leave the country, quickly, before hie father found out about the car. 

        Slowly, he rose to his feet and moved forward, trying to shake his

head clear. He remembered feeling pretty damn depressed and maybe 
driving a little faster than he should have. He had started over the
bridge and 
hit a patch of ice. He had done all he could to steady the car, but the
tires 
continued to slide on the slick road. 

        There had been a school bus coming from the other side, loaded
with 
kids for a festive holiday outing. Instinctively, Ray knew that if he hit
the bus 
it might be propelled over the side. He had no choice but to try and steer
in 
the opposite direction and his car slammed through the railing. He 
remembered his stomach rising in his throat and his hands darting up to 
protect his face as the GTO slid off the bridge and plunged toward the icy

river below. 

        Yet, now there was no sign of the bus or his car. Part of him
wondered 
if he was dead and this was some sort of limbo. It sure didn't seem like 
Heaven, people shouldn't feel cold in Heaven, should they? 

        His first instinct was to call Fraser, the Mountie would help, but
then he remembered his partner had gone to Canada for the holidays. His
second thought was Welsh, the Lieutenant would still be at the station,
hovering as he often did this, their busiest time of the year. 

        However, when he reached inside his jacket he could not find his
cell 
phone. A feeling of foreboding entered him as he realized his holsters and

spare gun were also gone. Had he been robbed? Was that why he couldn't 
find the car? Someone had dragged him from it, robbed him, and left him to

freeze to death in the snow. 

        His wallet, his watch, even his bracelet was gone. That really
pissed 
him off. He scrambled up the slope and started walking toward the main 
road, until he saw the lights of a gas station and stumbled toward it. He
was 
really starting to get cold now. He needed to find a phone, but he had no 
change, so it would have to be a collect call. 

        He stepped up to the store and went to the pay phone on the side
of the building. He dialed the precinct but it was busy so he tried the
Vecchio's home number instead. Maybe, they hadn't left for church yet. He
was surprised to hear the number was disconnected. He tried the precinct
again. The operator finally answered. 

        "Police Department-district 27 how may I direct your call?" 

        "Lieutenant Welsh," Ray demanded and was put on hold for a 
moment. The operator returned and said. 

        "I'm sorry there is no one working here by that name, may I find 
someone else for you?" 

        Ray frowned. What did she mean Welsh wasn't there? The beefy 
Lieutenant was always there? Just his luck to get a new operator- he 
supposed. He tried again. 

        "He's the Lieutenant there. Try his extension, it's 5543." 

        The operator told him to hold a moment, and then a female voice
came 
on the line. "Squad room, Captain Roddens speaking." 

        Ray scowled. "Um...could I speak to Lieutenant Welsh please?" 

        "Who is this?" she demanded. 

        "Ray Vecchio, who is this?" 

        "You can't be Ray Vecchio and I do not appreciate crank calls, 
mister." 

        The woman hung up and Ray stared at the phone, angrily. Who the
hell 
was that? What was going on? He slammed the phone down and moved 
away from the store. The precince was only a few blocks, he'd go see Welsh
personally and then have a word with that bitch on the phone. 

        When he finally entered the 27th, he was glad for it's warmth and 
familiar atmosphere. Jack Huey stopped him as he walked into the 
squadroom. 

        "Can I help you?" the Detective asked. 

        . Ray smirked. "Yeah, Huey," he said. "Get outta my way." 

        Huey frowned at him. "Do I know you?" 

        Ray glared at him. Was everybody in on this game or what? 

        "It's me!" he insisted. Huey still didn't allow him to pass.
"Com'on, 
move. I gotta see the Lieutenant." 

        "You mean the Captain." 

        "No, I mean Welsh, I gotta talk to Welsh, now move." 

        Jack Huey's frown deepened into an angry scowl. "Lieutenant Welsh 
hasn't worked in this precinct for almost a year fella. So, who ever you
are 
you'd better beat it before I...." 

        "Have you been nipping too much egg nog, Huey?" Ray questioned. 
"What're you talking about? Where is Welsh?" 

        Huey folded his arms across his chest, menacingly. "Lieutenant
Welsh 
was forced to resign because one of his Detectives had been charged for 
tampering with the evidence." 

        Ray gasped in shock. "No!" he declared. "I fixed that, remember?
It's me, Ray Vecchio." 

    "Detective Vecchio's dead-you are not Ray Vecchio," Huey supplied,
slowly. "I knew Ray Vecchio, fella, and you don't look anything like him."


        Ray shook his head, confused. What the hell was this about anyway?
Was Huey pulling his leg or something? 
  
        "No, no I...I was pretending to be him when he went undercover,
remember-I'm Ray Kowalski!" 

       "I thought you said your name was Vecchio?" Huey sneered. 

        "It is...I mean...I was undercover. What the hell is going on?" 

        Ray  cast a frantic look about the room, hoping someone would
recognize him, but no one even glanced his way. Either it was all a big
hoax, or something was terribly wrong. Another officer moved toward him. 

        "It's okay, guy," the man soothed. "Why don't you let us help
you?" 

        Ray stared at them bewildered. He took a cautious step back. They 
thought he was crazy! Hell, he was beginning to think it. He shook his
head 
and stumbled backwards. 

        "No...no thanks, I'm fine, really." He darted away as Huey made a 
grab for him. He hurried out of the precinct at a full run. As he stepped 
outside his foot slipped on some ice and fell forward into the snow. 

        "Are you all right?" a soft voice inquired. 

        Ray glanced up at a young woman with hair the color of the richest

flame, framing  pale, delicate features. She had the sweetest Irish accent
Ray had ever heard. She wore a shimmering gown of white, but no coat or
hat to 
ward off the December chill. 

        "Yah, I...I'm just confused dat's all," he muttered as he slowly
rose. 

        "Of course you are," she agreed easily. "It's not everyone who
gets to 
start from scratch." He stared at her, suspiciously. 

        "What?" he demanded. "Look, lady I don't know who's crazier, you
or 
me but..." 

        "You aren't crazy, Ray," she assured calmly. "Your wish has been 
granted." 

        Ray's eyebrows rose. "What wish?" 

        The woman only offered him a sad smile. 

        Ray cast her a skeptical look and took a step back, cautiously. 
Christmas brought out all the freaks in this city that was for sure. He
almost 
felt sorry for her, almost. He had enough of his own delusions to deal
with; 
he didn't need to add hers to his plate. 

        "Yeah, okay," he soothed, warily. "You...er...have a nice
Christmas 
now. I..ah...have to go. See ya." 

        "Yes you will, Ray," she agreed, undisturbed by his mistrust. 

        Ray had turned and started to walk away, only to slam into someone

coming from the opposite way. He quickly steadied them both and offered 
his apologies. 

        "I'm sorry I wasn't...Frannie!" He smiled and moved to 
embrace her. Francesca Vecchio stepped back, cautiously and Ray 
scowled. "What's wrong, Frannie? It's me, Ray." 

        "I...I don't know how you know my name, Mister," Francesca began 
warily, "but, I don't know who you are, so just keep your distance." 

        Ray felt as though he had been doused with ice water. She was 
clutching her purse to her and watching him suspiciously. There was 
something different about her, something he couldn't put his finger on.
She 
seemed...less alive than he knew her to be. Large, dark glasses shielded
her 
eyes and a blue scarf hid most of her face from his direct view. Her coat 
was a heavy, raglan that looked more like a man's coat really, and
engulfed 
her from head to toe. 
  
        "What happened to you?" he asked her, concerned. This frightened, 
lifeless version of his pretend sister scared him. 

        "W...what do you mean?" she stammered, still obviously uncertain 
about him. "Who are you? How do you know me?" 

        "You really don't recognize me, Frannie?" he inquired, hurt when
she 
shyly shook her head 

        "She doesn't know you because you never existed, Ray," that same 
gentle voice concluded and he turned to see the woman in white perched on 
the back of a bus stop bench. "As I said, your wish was granted." 

        "This isn't a freakin' movie and I ain't Jimmy Stewart!" Ray
growled at 
her, then immediately regretted it as Francesca quickly put more distance 
between them, cautiously. 

        "I never said you were!" she countered, bewildered. "I told you, I
don't 
know you." 

        Ray glanced back at the Woman in White, who just smiled,
sympathetically. He turned his attention back to Francesca and bit the
inside 
of his cheek thoughtfully. He didn't understand what was going on, but he 
didn't want to frighten her any further. 

        "I...I'm a friend of your brother." There, that wasn't quite a
lie. He was 
surprised to see her eyes fill with tears. 

        "Ray?" she asked breathlessly, and for a moment he thought maybe 
she did recognize him, but then she continued. "You knew my brother, 
Ray?" 

        "Yeah," he agreed, hesitantly. "You could say we were close enough
to 
be brothers." Francesca shook her head puzzled, but he could see she was 
growing more comfortable around him. 

        "What's your name?" 

        "Ray Vec..." Oops, almost did it. "Um...Ray Kowalski." Francesca's

eyes widened. 

        "Your name is Ray too?" she observed surprised, and he nodded. 
"My...I don't remember my brother mentioning you." She tilted her head to 
regard him further. "Did you work with him? Are you a cop too?" 

        "Yes, I am," Ray confirmed and watched her grow sad again. "Where 
is your brother, Frannie?" 

        "He...he's gone," she replied and lowered her eyes, desolately.
"He 
was killed while undercover." 

        The news hit Ray like a punch to the gut and he staggered
backwards into the lamppost. Huey had said Vecchio was dead but Ray never
considered...He quelled the naseau risning in his stomach. He could just
imagine what the mob had done to him. 

        Francesca reached to steady him, concerned. 

        "Didn't you know? I thought everyone did. I'm sorry." 

        "H...How?" Ray croaked. "I...someone was supposed to...to cover 
for him here. How...?" 

        "Another Detective did go under cover as my brother," she
admitted, 
sadly. "But there was some kind of mix up about some drugs or evidence or 
something. Detective Graudner was posing as Ray, but he was afraid of 
going to jail, I guess, and he admitted he wasn't really my brother."
Francesca shook her head, morosely. "The mob found out and they...they..."
She covered her face in her hands and started to cry. 

        That would explain why Welsh was no longer at the station, but it
still 
didn't make sense to Ray. Admittedly, he had been a little preoccupied
that 
day with his own personal vendetta, but he had come in and straightened it
out. After Fraser tormented him non stop and made him feel guilty for
neglecting his duties that is. 

        He remembered specifically because he had told the agents the 10
kilo's of cocaine in the logbook was actually a one with a happy face.
Then he had demanded their star witness pick him out of a line up. Of
course, the snitch would be looking for the real Vecchio, a tall, smartly
dressed, balding Itallian. Kowalski, was a strictly jeans and T-shirt guy
with a full head of  blond hair and much paler features. He knew the guy
wouldn't choose him, so the agents had no case after that. 

        Ray managed to collect himself and his own raging emotions, to
place 
a gentle arm around her and guide her to a nearby bench. She sniffed and 
pulled her glasses off to wipe at her tears, but she kept her face lowered

from his prying eyes. However, she didn't pull away from his touch and for

that Ray was grateful. 

        "I'm sorry," she whispered and replaced her glasses. "I'm usually
not so 
emotional." 

        Ray frowned. It wasn't like the Francesca Vecchio he knew to be 
afraid to show her emotions? That was a contradiction in terms for the 
normally fiery, Italian woman he had come to know and care for. This was 
all confusing the hell out of him. Ray didn't know if he had stepped into
an 
episode of the Twilight Zone or if he was just loosing his mind. Had 
everything that had happened the past year with Fraser and the Vecchio's 
been just a dream? Were none of the adventures real? 

        Still, he obviously wouldn't get any answers by insisting he was
who he 
said he was. Somehow, things had changed, whether it was part of some 
kind of outrageous plot or conspiracy, he didn't know. He did know that if

he were to learn anything, he would have to be a stranger to those who 
seemed not to know him. 

        A knot of fear welled up in his throat as he asked his next
question 
"Um...Frannie, can...can you tell me what happened to Fraser?" 

        Francesca shook her head quickly and stood. "I have to go," she 
suddenly decided and Ray rose with her. 

        Ray reached out imploringly. "I'll walk you to your car," he
offered 

        "That's okay," she refused, "I don't live very far. I can walk." 

        Ray frowned; the Vecchio's house was at least a fifteen-minute
drive 
from the precinct. "Let me walk you home, then?" 

        After a moment's hesitation, Francesca nodded and turned away. 

        Ray fell in step beside her, putting himself between her and the
road, 
protectively. His head was swimming with all that she had told him, but he

had to find out about Fraser. What had happened to his friend and partner 
and why did Francesca not want to talk about it? What the hell was going 
on? Was he really going crazy? 

        "Don't you see, Ray?" a soft voice encouraged from behind them. 
"Everyone makes a difference in the lives of others." 

        Ray turned around, startled 

        "Who are you?" he demanded and 

        Francesca drew to a halt and cast him an odd look. 

        "Frannie, remember?" she reminded, puzzled. "I thought you knew 
me?" 

        "Not you, Frannie," Ray amended and indicated the woman behind 
them. "Her." Francesca frowned and looked behind them. 

        "Who?" 

        "Don't you see her?" 

        "See who?" Francesca stepped back, cautiously. "Did you hit your 
head when we collided?" 

        "You are the only one who can see me, Ray," the woman informed. 
"My name is Monica and I am an Angel." 

        Ray blinked, then shook his head, wearily. He was loosing it.
Maybe 
this was a strange version of hell. He didn't understand what this Monica 
woman was trying to do. Beautiful or not, she was obviously loony-toons. 
Apparently, Ray wasn't far behind her in that respect. 

        There was no way he was going to believe he was suddenly in a 
remake of 'It's A Wonderful Life.' Or 'A Christmas Carol'. That was
fiction, this was real. Or, it was supposed to be real. Ghost and Angels
and 
whatever didn't really exist and he was getting pretty annoyed with this 
woman. 

        She was confusing him and he didn't know what was real anymore and

what was a dream. She kept mentioning a wish, but Ray didn't know 
what she was referring to. He hadn't made any wishes, so what the hell was

she talking about? 

        "Are you still going to walk me home, Ray?" Francesca inquired, 
concerned. 

        Ray looked toward Monica but she was no longer there. Okay, better

call in a reservation for the funny farm, Kowalski. Make sure it's a nice 
padded suite at that. He turned his attention back to Francesca. 

        "Yes, sure, of course," he assured and they started walking again.

"Sorry, I...I guess I'm just...having a hard time dealing with what you
told 
me." 

        Francesca nodded in sad understanding. 

        "It was a shock to all of us," she agreed as they came to a small,
run down Brownstone house. "Here we are. Why don't you come in and have
some hot chocolate, it will warm, you up." 

        Ray regarded the house, confused, but followed her inside anyway. 

        "You live here?" he asked, once they had stepped inside the front 
porch. 

        "Yes, Ma, and me" she replied, as she led him up a long flight of
stairs. 

        "What about Maria, Tony and the kids?" he demanded and she paused 
at the top to regard him. He still couldn't see her face very well and
that 
bothered him. 

        "Ray must have told you a lot about us," she mused, with a hint of

suspicion. "It's funny he never mentioned you." 

        Ray cursed himself and quickly backed off. He was glad he was
experienced in undercover work, and that making up lies on a spur of the
moment came easy to him. 

        "Ray liked to talk about his family, he probably didn't mention me
as much because we...only worked together occasionally." 

        Ray waited to see if she bought the lie and was relieved when she 
began walking again. He followed her to the room at the end of the
corridor 
and waited for her to open the door to the small studio apartment. 

        "We don't have a lot, but I could fix you a sandwich or something,
if 
you're hungry?" she offered as they stepped inside. Ray glanced around and

his scowl deepened. 

        The apartment was very small, barely enough room for the small 
kitchenette and living area/bedroom. A large, King-sized bed took up the 
wall directly across from them, with a second hand dresser next to it. A 
simply upholstered chair and sofa sat in the middle of the room. There was
a 
small television and a few assorted knickknacks. A familiar figure sat in
the 
chair, facing the chair. 

        "Ma," Francesca greeted as she removed her coat, scarf and glasses
to 
set them aside. "Ma we have company, a friend of Ray's." 

        Ray Kowalski was stunned at the terrible scars that covered one
side 
of Francesca Vecchio's face. What had happened to her to cause such 
disfigurement? She turned and caught him staring. Lowering her eyes, she 
reached up to touch the scars, absently. 

        "I was in a fire," she explained softly. "Someone burned our house

down almost a year ago." 

        "NO!" Ray emphatically refused. 

        That wasn't right at all. He and Fraser had gotten there in time
to get 
her and Tony out. The upstairs of the house was damaged inside but the
fire 
department managed to save the lower half and the structure. He 
remembered Fraser helping Francesca and Tony out of the window; Ray 
had helped them reach the ground himself. 

        "W...what about Tony?" he managed to croak. 

        Francesca moved to put the kettle on. "He didn't make it," she
stated, 
quietly, her back to him. "Maria took the kids and left, she couldn't stay
here 
anymore and Ma and me moved in here." 

        "But...what about..." Me Ray was about to say. He had been there, 
what had he been doing? "Didn't Fraser have any help?" Francesca gripped 
the counter and flexed her back rigidly. 

        "Fraser only had enough time to get one of us out because Graudner

didn't know where we lived and had argued with Fraser on the directions. 
Then he had been afraid to get out of his car and help. Fraser managed to 
get me out, but I had already been burned by then." She shook her head 
sadly. "My brother-in-law Tony didn't make it out " 

        No! He and Fraser made it! They did, Ray did get out of the car
and 
he...He was going to be sick. 

        "Um...bathroom," he managed and Francesca quickly showed him 
where it was. Once inside he barely made it to the toilet before he
started 
retching. 

        Later, after he had managed to compose himself, Ray returned to
find 
Francesca just pouring the chocolate. She immediately moved to touch his 
forehead. 

        "Are you ill? Do you have a fever?" Her concern was almost his 
undoing and he shook his head. She regarded him a moment longer then 
picked up one of the mugs and moved over to the woman seated in the 
recliner. . "Ma? Ma do you want some coco?" 

        Ray followed, hesitantly and the startling sight of the older
woman 
robbed him of his breath. 

        Ma Vecchio, who was always so vibrant and hearty, had wasted away 
to maybe a hundred and twenty pounds, if she was that. Her clothes
literally hung on her decrepit looking body. Her hair had gone completely
gray and her face showed her to be even older than she was. Her eyes were
dark and void of any feeling. 

        "What happened to you, Ma?" Ray couldn't help but whisper, as he 
crouched beside her chair and took her cold hand in his. 

        Francesca watched him puzzled, as she wrapped her Mother's other 
hand around a mug of chocolate."She had a stroke after Tony died and 
then, when we found out about Ray, " she shrugged. "She never recovered. 
She doesn't speak hardly at all, just sits here all day and stares at
nothing. 
But, I can't put her in a home, it wouldn't be right." 

        "Oh, Ma," Ray murmured and reached up to gently caress the 
woman's gaunt features. Both he and Francesca were startled when Mrs. 
Vecchio seemed to move into his touch. 

        "Raimundo?" she sighed, in a thick voice, husky from lack of use. 

        "Oh, Ma," Ray found himself telling her. "I'm so sorry." 

        Francesca Vecchio blinked furiously at the tears that threatened
to spill from her eyes as her Mother actually turned to look at the man
next to her. She raised a trembling hand to his face. 

        "Not my Raimundo," she observed, quietly as she caressed his
cheek. 
"You are the other, but like my Raimundo." 

        Ray nodded, unable to force the words past the baseball sized lump
in his throat. For whatever reason, Mrs. Vecchio remembered him and Ray
was grateful, even if he didn't understand it. 

        "A kiss for your Mama, my boy?" she requested and Ray obediently
leaned in to softly touch his lips to her cheek . 

        Mrs. Veccchio sighed again then dropped her hand back to her lap. 
She resumed her staring and Ray rose, slowly to meet Francesca's gaze. 

        "What did she mean?" she demanded, curiously. "Ma hardly ever
talks 
anymore. How did she know you?" 

        "I...met her once," Ray fudged, sadly, "a long time ago."
Francesca 
moved to embrace him. 

        "Then, thank you," she offered, sniffing. "You've given her
something to 
hold on to, I think. It's the first time she's responded to anyone in
almost a 
year." 

        Ray returned the hug then stepped back. "I better go," he stated
and 
moved toward the door. 

        "Are you sure you're okay?" she repeated, obviously not convinced.

"Maybe...maybe you could stay around and...talk awhile?" 

        Ray was shocked at the desperate loneliness reflected in her dark 
eyes. Frannie had always been outgoing and determined. She never made 
excuses for who she was and she went after what she wanted. Never, in 
Ray's wildest dreams, did he ever imagine her so frightened and hesitant 
with anyone. 

        "I'll come back," he assured her and found his hand rising, of
it's own 
volition, to caress the scared side of her face. 

        He knew her wounds probably played a large part in her demeanor. 
He slid the pad of his thumb across her cheek and she lowered her eyes, 
ashamed. He caught her chin and gently forced her to meet his gaze. 

        "Don't," he protested, softly. "Don't be ashamed, Frannie. You're
still 
beautiful, just in a different way." 

        "I'm hideous," she whimpered and he shook his head. 

        "Your courageous," he corrected. "Don't ever be ashamed because 
you lived through the fire. Use it as your shield against anyone who is
too 
ignorant to see past the scars to the woman you are." Francesca's eyes 
misted over and she hugged him, gratefully. 

        "Thank you," she whispered, then quickly stepped away. Ray nodded,

cast one more look toward Ma, then collected his coat and headed out. 

        Monica was waiting for him on the steps of the brownstone, perched

on the rail as he stepped outside. He cast her a wary glance then
continued 
walking as if he had not seen her. He would go to his apartment, get a 
change of clothes, maybe something to eat. He just needed to calm down. 
There had to be an explanation for all of this. 
  
   

    ------------------------------- 

        With no money and no transportation, the walk back to his building

took him a good hour. By the time he arrived, he was shivering from the 
cold and his legs were throbbing painfully. He had once admitted to Fraser

that he was city fit, boy had he been mistaken. Of course, how many people

actually walked everywhere in Chicago, other than the Mountie? 

        He was surprised to find two bums sleeping at the doorway of his 
building and he quickly dispersed them. It wasn't much shelter anyway, but
it 
made the place look bad. He frowned as he started up the stairs. Graffiti 
spoiled the once pristine walls of the building and it reeked with the
smell of 
marijuana. 

        He stepped onto his floor, then remembered he didn't have his
keys. 
He turned back toward the stairs with a sigh. His landlady would let him
in. 
She lived on the floor below him. He entered the darkened corridor and 
moved to the farthest door at the end of the hallway. He knocked twice and

waited. 

        "Wha'daya want?" a gruff voice demanded. 

        Ray scowled. "Um...I'd like to speak to Mrs. Petty," he returned
and 
a moment later he heard a number of locks being undone. A smelly, 
unshaven and half-dressed man opened the door just enough to see Ray 
fully. 

        "She don't work here no more," he stated. "You wanna rent you talk
to 
me." 

        Ray stared at him surprised. "Where...where's Mrs. Petty?" 

        "Couldn't handle the crime in this area so she sold out and moved
into 
some home for old folks," The man answered, irritated. 

        "I...I lost my keys and needed to get into my apartment," Ray
stated, 
quietly. "3E." 

        "What are you tryin' to pull?" the man demanded. "Ain't no one
lived in 
that place since I took over a year ago. Now if you wanna rent I can give
ya 
a deal?" 

        "Um...no, no thanks," Ray muttered and stepped back to avoid
having 
the door slammed directly in his face. 

       Ray turned around slowly and walked back to the stairwell. Halfway
down his legs had demanded relief and he settled wearily on one of the
steps. 

        "I don't get it," he admitted aloud. "Why would Mrs. P. move, she 
loved this place." 

        "Some of her tenants were not very nice to her," Monica charged as

she settled beside him. "Many never made their rent or they would
vandalize 
or bully her. She was an old woman, what could she do against them?" 

        Ray dropped his head in his hands 

        "I don't...this was a decent building. At least, it always seemed
that way. How could she let people take advantage of her like that?" 

        Monica regarded him, closely. 

        "She fell behind in her mortgage payments and she didn't have
anyone to turn to." 

        Ray lifted his head to look at her. 

        "I would have helped her...all she had to do was come and tell me
there were problems." 

        "But you don't live here, Ray," Monica reminded. "You never did.
She 
didn't know you." 

        "Of course she knew me!" he growled. "I've lived here two and a
half 
years for Christ's s sake!" He glowered at her. "Who are you really?" he 
demanded. 

        "I told you, my name is Monica. I'm an Angel sent by God. He heard

your wish and decided to grant it." 

        Ray bounded off the steps and threw his arms out in frustration. 

        "What wish? I never wished for anything! What the hell are you
talking about? What is going on around here?" 

        "You wished you had never been born, Ray," Monica informed,
gently. 
"You felt everyone would be better off if you had never existed and so,
your 
wish is granted." 

        Ray stared at her. "You're unhinged!" he decided angrily. "This is
real 
life, there is no tooth fairy, no happily ever after and no one really
gets their 
wishes granted!" 

        "You did, Ray," Monica returned, mildly. 

        Ray turned away from her and headed down the steps. This was all
to 
weird and it couldn't be true. Okay, so maybe he was a little depressed 
earlier. He paused, okay, a lot depressed, but things like this didn't
happen 
in real life. Yet, the evidence seemed to be all around him. 

        "This couldn't be about me," he refused. "I hardly ever saw Mrs.
P. If 
you're trying to say her life was changed because I rented one of her 
apartments, that's crazy." 

        Monica kept pace with his angry strides, easily. 

        "You always made your rent payments on time," she reminded. "If
there was a problem in the building, she turned to you to straighten it
out." 

        "But...but that was just because I was a cop and it...it didn't
happen 
that often I..." 

        "It only took a few times for people to understand she considered
you 
her champion, Ray," Monica explained gently. "Everyone knew you were a 
police officer and that you seemed close to Mrs. Petty. They didn't want
to 
cause trouble with you around." 

        "It can't be that complicated," Ray refused, lower pulling the
collar of 
his coat up against the chill as they stepped outside. "You're saying she
had 
to sell and move away because I wasn't here to...to...ward off possible 
criminals?" Monica nodded. "That's insane! I hardly ever spoke to her! I 
hardly spoke to anyone in the building. I helped her out twice, maybe
three 
times at the most." 

        "But everyone respected that you would come to your land lady's
aid, 
Ray," Monica insisted. "Your respect for her position and her age, made 
everyone respect your presence in this building. Without you here, Mrs. 
Petty was subjected to a harsher element and couldn't cope. She had no 
family, you were her family." Monica smiled. "She is the person that
leaves 
those delicious tins of brownies at your door ever Christmas and 
Thanksgiving." 

        Ray blinked in surprise. For the past two years that he had been
living 
in his appartment, a mysterious stranger always left the treat for him,
but Ray had never known who it was. Mrs. Petty never gave any sign that
she knew about it and he knew she was careful of any she let around his
apartment when she could be. 

        "I didn't know she was all alone," Ray murmured, regretfully.
"I...I just 
assumed she had family I...I never bothered to ask." 

        Monica regarded him, quietly. 

        "What are you thinking, Ray?" she inquired. 

        He paused to glower at her. 

        "Why don't you tell me, you're the Angel, aren't you?" 

        Monica smiled. "It doesn't always work that way," she admitted. 

        "Okay," Ray began, cautiously, "Suppose...just suppose I believe
you 
and this is some crazy take on an old movie, why am I cold? Why does my 
head and my legs hurt? Jimmy Stewart never felt any pain or cold with his 
Angel, so what's up with that?"  Monica chuckled. 

        "As you pointed out, Ray, this isn't a movie. I don't know why you
seem subject to the elements, unless it is God's way to make you accept
that this is really happening." 

        Ray glared at her. Damnit, if that didn't make sense. He growled
in 
frustration and started walking again. He crossed the busy street at the 
intersection and found himself outside the city Library. 

        "So what am I..." he began to ask Monica, but when he looked 
around she had disappeared. He looked Heaven ward. "You're startin' ta 
piss me off!" No one answered him and he dropped down dispiritedly on 
the steps. 

        "Oh!" a familiar voice cried, as a pair of legs almost tripped
over him. 
He rose quickly, and reached to steady the woman, appalled when she 
recoiled in distaste. 

        "S...Stell?" he whispered in disbelief.  This, trembling, plain 
clothed waif barely resembled the woman he had ever given his heart 
to. 
  
        Stella stared at him with wide, mistrustful eyes, then turned and
fled 
down the street. Ray hurried after her wondering what had spooked her so 
badly. He caught up with her just a few feet away. 

        "Leave me alone!" she cried, again acting repulsed when he reached

for her. She backed into wall of the building behind her and seemed to be 
searching for someone to help her. "Go away! I have no money, just please 
leave me alone!" 

        Ray's heart dropped into his stomach and he felt a floodgate of
anguish 
open inside him. 

        "Stell, it's okay, it's me, Ray." 

        Stella shook her head adamantly, pulling her purse to her chest
and her 
scarf higher against her face. Her hands clutched her coat lapels as
though 
expecting Ray might tear it off of her. Her eyes were limp pools of
mistrust 
and she wore no makeup upon her gaunt and pale features. She had lost a 
terrible amount of weight, Ray could see the coat hung on her thin 
bones. Stella had never been a big woman, but now she looked anorexic. 

        "I don't know you," she refused her voice husky with fear. "You
leave 
me alone or I'll scream, you hear me?" 

        "I'm not gonna hurt you, Stella," Ray whispered tormented as he
tried 
to deal with the terror he seemed to be causing her. "I...we went to
school 
together, remember?" 

        Stella's eyes narrowed, suspiciously. 

        "I...no, I don't remember you," she denied, hesitantly. 

        "You...you were gonna become a lawyer," Ray reminded gently, 
trying not to spook her further. 

        Where was his wonderfully brave and confident Stella? What on
earth 
had caused her to change so drastically? Stella always cared about her 
appearance and like to have her way. This woman was just a shell of the 
Stella Ray knew. Her coat and boots were old and looked second hand at 
best. She was shaking in his presence and the fear in her eyes tore into
his 
heart and soul like a jagged knife. 

        "I...I was," she admitted, startled. "I...how did..." She shook
her 
head. "No, I...I never finished school, I...please leave me alone I...I
don't 
like the...the way you're looking at me. Please just leave me alone. I've 
nothing to offer you, I don't even like men. I don't like anyone.
Please...just 
go away." 

        Ray couldn't have been more shocked by her statements than if she 
had said them with her head spinning around on her shoulders. He couldn't 
force any words past the lump in his throat and Stella took advantage of
his 
inability to hurry away. 

        "Why?" he croaked finally, "what...what happened?" 

        "It's a real shame what happened to her," a deep voice commented 
and Ray turned toward the hefty woman next to him with salt and pepper 
hair. Her rich, dark skin contrasted the colorful coat and scarf she wore.

She held her hand out to him. "Hello, I'm Tess." 

        Ray didn't shake her hand, he could only stare at her. 

        "W...what happened to my Stell?" he managed weakly. 

        "It was some time ago, I'm told," Tess continued, sadly. "She was
still 
just a girl, really. An incident in a bank I believe." Ray's throat
tightened 
dramatically. "A man walked in to rob the place while she was there and he

ended up taking her hostage." She shook her head, remorsefully. "He 
managed to elude the police and took Stella with him. She was his prisoner

for almost three days before he finally let her go." 

        Ray paled visibly and winced as though he had been kicked in the
gut. 

        "No, I...it didn't happen like that," he whispered, anguished. 

        Tess shrugged at him. 

        "That's how I heard it. She just closed up and stopped talking to
anyone for a long time. Spent most of her life afraid of her own shadow,
really." 

        "No," Ray whispered, gripping the lamppost beside him for support.
"I 
was there. He...he never took her she...she was okay I..." 

        He shook his head against the visions of what Ellery could have
done 
to his beautiful Stella. He never considered how things would turn out if
he 
hadn't been at the bank that day. If he hadn't wet himself in fear and
been 
declared a hero for distracting the robber. 

        Still, he couldn't believe that would be enough to keep Stella
from 
achieving her goals. She had been so sure so...determined in what she 
wanted to do with her life. 

        "Are you okay, baby?" Tess inquired, softly and Ray nodded, dazed.


        He stumbled to a nearby bench and dropped down upon it. He braced 
his swimming head in his head. This was too much. Not his Stella. She had 
to be better off without having met and married him. She always said their

marriage had been a mistake. 

        "Have...did she..." He forced his tongue to work around the sudden

dryness of his mouth. "Do you know if she...if Stell ever married?" 

        "Oh, I think she went out with someone for a little while in high 
school," Tess admitted. "A Freddy Tausher, I believe." 

        Ray nodded. Freddy had been rich and important, his parents were 
both in politics. Stella's folks had always insisted she would be better
of with 
Freddy than with Ray, since Freddy was better matched to her social 
standing. 

        "W...what happened?" he asked, painfully. 

        "Oh, there were all sorts of rumors," Tess insisted. "They got
married 
straight out of school and Freddy went off to college." 

        "W...why didn't Stella go?" 

        Tess settled next to him. 

        "She was busy raising their daughter. That and Freddy didn't want
his wife working.Stella just couldn't stand up for herself with him, I
suppose. She was still traumatized from being kidnapped." 

        Ray felt the pain pierce his heart and was sure he was close to
dying. 
Stella  had a child, a child with another man. Oh God where was the
justice 
in that? Ray had loved her with all of his heart but she hadn't wanted 
children with him. Her career came first. Perhaps, Freddy had been better 
for her. But, then, why wasn't she home with her family now, why did she 
say she hatted men? 

        "Unfortunately, Freddy wasn't a very faithful husband," Tess
continued, 
watching him closely. "After a few years he divorced Stella, took their 
daughter and moved to Europe with his new love and left poor Stella 
penniless. She had no skills and this job at the library was all she could
find, given ehr quiet and timid demenor." 

        "W...what about her folks?" Ray inquired, softly. He had always
tried 
to give Stella everything she wanted when they were married, even when
they cound't afford it, how could 
Freddy do that to her? 

        "They blamed her for not taking better care of her family and said
she 
was on her own," Tess replied, sadly. "Stella had no confidence in herself

and no real friends so she believed she deserved it and accepted their 
dismissal." 

        "No," Ray moaned, bereft. "Stella was beautiful and smart...the 
smartest person I knew. She...her folks tried to control her but she stood

up to them she...she wanted to be a lawyer and...and she is...was..would
be a really good one. She just needed to get away from her folks and be
independent. She...she just needed..." 

        "Love, caring, support?" Tess suggested, knowingly and he matched 
her gaze surprised. "She never got out from under her parents thumb, Ray. 
There was no one there to lavish her with encouragement and unconditional 
love. No one would accept who she wanted to be and she was too timid to
argue with their oppinion." 

        "I accepted her," he whispered. "I loved her. Anything she wanted
to 
do I..." He paused and cast her a suspicious glance. "How did you know 
my name?" 

        Tess chuckled. "I know all about you, baby," she assured patting
his 
knee affectionately. "We all do." 

        "We?" he squeaked and she nodded. "You...you mean you're 
like...like..." 

        "Monica?" Tess supplied, smiling. "Yes, Baby. I'm an Angel too."
She 
chuckled again at his low groan and watched him hang his head once more. 

        "I'm loosing my mind, aren't I?" he sighed and she shook her head.


        "No, Baby," she denied. "You're just getting your wish." 

        "I don't understand any of this," he admitted, reluctantly. He
lifted his 
gaze to hers. "What about my folks? What about Fraser? Have they 
changed to? What's happened to them?" 

        "Come with me and I'll show you," Tess offered kindly, holding out
her 
hand as she rose. 

                      -------------------- 
  

        Ray  had linked his fingers with Tess' and moments later they were
in 
front of the house where Ray grew up. It looked exactly the same as he 
remembered it, although it was devoid of the usual festive decorations his

parents used to hang this time of the year. 

        "They sold this house," he murmured. "They bought a mobile home
and 
moved to Arizona." 

        "They made that trip because your father was running away from
your 
decision to be a police officer," Tess reminded, softly. "Since you were 
never born, you and your father never argued and there seemed no need to 
move." 

        "But that's a good thing, right?" Ray pounced, needing to find
some 
good in all this misery. "Mum never wanted to leave this place so it's
good 
she got to stay here, right?" 

        Tess shrugged, noncommittally. "If you say so, Baby." 

        "They won't know me either, will they?" Ray remembered, sadly as
he 
brushed the snow from the porch railing, wistfully. 

        How many times had he and his father built a snowman on this very 
lawn? Or rolled around on the grass playing some sport or another. He 
always helped his dad string the Christmas lights then he'd spend the rest
of 
the day in the kitchen helping his Mother cook. Summers spent working on 
the GTO, cooler evenings playing a board game with his folks and Stella. 

        Ray blinked away the sudden rush of tears flooding his eyes. But,
it 
was still okay, right? They had to be better off without Ray to disappoint

them over and over. Surely they were happier having stayed in Chicago and 
not having to leave because of Ray and his father's arguing. 

        "Hello, can I help you?" Barbara Kowalski suddenly asked from the 
doorway and Ray stumbled back from the porch, guiltily. She looked the 
same, but the usual vibrancy in her eyes had dulled dramatically. 

        Ray waited to see if she recognized him, but when she just
continued 
to wait for a response he shook his head. 

        "We...I used to live here." He found himself stating and Barbara's
eyes sparked with interest." 

        "Really?" she countered, curiously. "We've lived here for over
thirty 
years. When did you live here?" 

        Ray realized his mistake and was glad when Tess quickly corrected
his 
statement. 

        "He means his folks used to live here," she amended, smiling. "I
was 
just showing him where they lived, a nostalgia sort of thing." 

        Barbara Kowalski smiled, but it never reached her eyes. She held
the 
door open wider. "Come on in then and take a look around if you like." 

        Ray hesitated, the urge to stop and embrace his Mother almost 
overwhelmed him, but he managed to make it through the door without 
touching her. Tess followed close behind, thanking Barbara for her 
hospitality and introducing herself and Ray, using just the Detective's
first 
name. 

        They entered the living room and Ray spotted Damien Kowalski 
seated in his chair by the fireplace. Barbara quickly explained the
situation. 

        "You lookin' to buy the place, then?" his father asked and Tess
shook 
her head. 

        "No, we're just revisiting old haunts, that sort of thing," she
replied. She 
noticed that Ray could not tear his eyes away from his father, who looked 
so much older than he remembered. "Being Christmas we felt it was a good 
time to remember the delights of childhood." 

        Damien Kowalski snorted and buried his face back in his paper. 
Barbara Kowalski shot him an angry look then turned back to her guests. 

        "Have a look around," she offered, through gritted teeth. The
tension in 
the room could be cut with a knife. "My husband doesn't like people much 
and he has the manners of a block of wood." 

        "Keep it up, Barbara," Damien warned from his paper. "Divorce is 
around the corner." 

        "I should be so lucky," Barbara sighed in disgust and led Tess and
Ray 
to the kitchen. 

        Ray was in shock from his parent's behavior. They had never spoken

to each other that way. In Ray's entire life, he had barely ever seen them

argue. They would playfully bicker, but there had been no teasing in the 
words they just exchanged. 

        "This is lovely, you've really done wonders with the place," Tess 
commented as Barbara led them through the house. "Did you decorate it 
yourself?" 

        Ray paused in the doorway of what used to be his room as the two 
women continued to chat. There was nothing familiar about it, as it had
been 
turned into a study. There were hardly any pictures on the walls
throughout 
the house, which was strange indeed. His Mother used to love displaying 
photos of their family and would claim any wall space she could find. They

used to tease her that they would open it up to the public as an art
exhibit. 

        "Where...where are the children's rooms, Mu..." Ray caught himself
in 
time from calling her mum. "Mrs. Kowalski?" 

        She turned to look at him startled and sadness swept over her
face. It 
was quickly replaced with a bitterness that Ray felt did not suit her at
all. 

        "We had a son," she admitted, rigidly. "But we lost him when he
was 
twelve and we...we weren't blessed with anymore." 

        Ray's stomach lurched into his throat. His brother couldn't be
dead. 
Adam was almost five years older than him. How could Ray not being here 
have affected Adam? It wasn't true, there had to be a reason. 

        "How..." he swallowed, hard. "He died?" 

        "Oh no," Barbara returned, quickly. "He ran away and we never
found 
him." She shook her head. "I can't say that I blamed him. Damien and 
I...well we weren't getting along very well and...well. We tried to have 
another child after Adam, but I suppose it wasn't meant to be." She smiled

wistfully. "I keep thinking if we had managed it, perhaps Damien and I 
would have grown closer and Adam wouldn't have been subjected to the 
horror that is our marriage." 

        "You think having another child would have brought you closer 
together?" Tess inquired, gently. 

        Barbara nodded. She didn't know why she was telling these
strangers 
the intimate details of her life, but they so rarely had visitors and she
and 
Damien barely spoke anymore. 

        "Yes, well, you see, I was pregnant with Adam when I met my 
husband," she admitted and glanced at Ray as he gasped. "Oh, don't look 
so shocked. Granted, it didn't happen much in my day as it does now, and
it 
was certainly frowned upon, but it did happen." She shrugged, helplessly
as 
she led them back to the kitchen. "He married me anyway and for awhile it 
was good between us, but then Adam's real father suddenly decided he 
wanted to be in the picture and it caused a lot of strain in our
marriage." 

        "That must have been very difficult for you," Tess offered as
Barara 
waved them to sit at the kitchen table as she put the kettle on. 

        "It was very hard," she admitted, reluctantly. "I loved Damien
with all 
my heart, being with Albert had been a mistake that I paid for." She
looked 
horrified for a moment. "Oh, that didn't come out right at all! I don't
mean I 
regretted having Adam, I would never consider that. He was my son." She 
shook her head as she moved her petite body to reach up for the cups in
the 
cupboard above her. 

        Ray automatically moved behind her and pulled the dishes down,
since 
it was a stretch for her to reach them. It was something he had done often

enough growing up, especially once he hit that growth spurt at fourteen
and 
shot well past her in height. 

        She smiled at him, surprised. "Thank you, honey." 

        Ray lowered his eyes and moved back to his chair, again resisting
the 
urge to just put his arms around her and hug her hard. He didn't think he 
would miss such an ordinary thing as being able to show affection to his 
Mother, whom he adored. 

        "Anyway," Barbara continued as she went about preparing the tea. 
"Damien still treated Adam as his own son, but when Albert came into the 
picture, it put pressure on our marriage. Damien wanted a son of his flesh

and blood and we tried for many years." Her shoulders slumped in defeat. 
"Then Albert decided he'd had enough of fatherhood and dissappeared again,
we never told Adam about it, he was really too young to remember. He just
knew Damien as his dad." She sighed. "Anyway, Damien and I finally gave up
on having another child and there seemed to be a wall between us ever
since." She glanced over at Ray thoughtfully. "It's funny, but you look
like what I used to imagine our son would, if we had been more fortunate."


        "Do I?" Ray whispered, unable to look away from her as she 
approached him, slowly. She nodded and reached out to caress his cheek 
then, ruffled his hair. 

        "You have your Damien's hair and my eyes," she murmured and Ray 
held his breath. Barbara suddenly pulled herself out of her daydream and 
stepped back, embarrassed. "I...I mean if he and I had a son he...he might

look like you." 

        "I'm sorry," Ray swallowed, guiltily and she shot him a bewildered

look. 

        "Whatever for?" she eased, smiling. "You can't help what you look 
like. You are very handsome though, I would've hoped my Stanley would 
have been as handsome." She sighed, wistfully. "I already had his name 
picked out. I was so convinced I would have a boy I never even considered 
names for a girl." 

        "A Brando fan," Ray murmured and she nodded startled. 

        "Why yes, how did you know?" she smiled. "'A Street car Named 
Desire' was one of the first films Damien and I ever went to see together
and 
I fell in love with the character Marlon Brando played. I kept envisioning
my son growing up just like that, only without the fast cars and smoking,
of course." 

        "You would have been disappointed," Ray stated, demurely and 
Barbara shook her head. 

        "Oh, I don't think so," she protested. "I mean, I didn't want him
to be 
just like that." She smiled again. "I just thought Brando played a very
vulnerable and sensitive young man, I wanted my Stanley to be like that.
To not be afraid to show love for someone." She winked at Tess. "To
worship the ground I walk on, of course." 

        "He does," Ray whispered but only Tess heard him. He rose
suddenly. 
"We...We have to go." 

        Barbara frowned. "So soon?" Ray could see she regretted having to
be 
alone in the house with just her husband's company once again. "You 
haven't had your tea. 

        "Perhaps another time," Tess suggested, optimistically as Barbara 
walked them back through the living room. 

        Ray paused and glanced at his father, who hadn't moved from his 
position. On impulse he moved forward and extended his hand to the older 
man. 

        "It was very nice to meet you...Sir," he offered as Damien cast
him a 
startled look. "Thank you for allowing us into your...home." 

        Damien set his paper aside and stared at him, suspiciously. Then
he 
grasped Ray's hand firmly. 

        "Good grip you have there, son," he offered gruffly. "Nice hair." 

        Ray closed his eyes briefly at the praise then met the older man's
gaze 
again.  He was still trying to deal with the fact that his brother was
only his half brother. He and Adam had always fought for their father's
attention, now Ray understood why. Ray was jealous because he thought as
first born, his father loved Adam more. However, it seemed Damien was just
trying to love them both equally. 

        "Thank you," Ray returned, trying to contain his churning
emotions. He 
didn't want to leave them, but what choice did he have? 

        Barbara Kowalski seemed torn between wanting to kiss the young 
stranger that had come to their door and being thought insane to do so. 
Finally, she contented herself with a gentle pat to Ray's cheek and a 
comment that they could come and visit again if they wished. Tess also
said 
goodbye and then they were both outside once again. 

        Ray looked back as his Mother a final time, then slowly started
down 
the steps. He noticed that Tess was no where in sight and he made a 
frustrated noise low in his throat. 

        "Somebody better get back down here and talk to me!" he cried, 
glaring up at the darkened sky above him. "I want some answers or I...I'm 
gonna start kickin' some heads! Angels or not!" 

        Monica appeared beside him a moment later. 

        "You really shouldn't talk that way, Ray," she scolded, gently as
he 
turned to glare at her. 

        "Where's my partner?" he demanded, darkly. "Where is Fraser? What 
did you do to him and to Frannie?" His eyes glistened, suspiciously. "What

did you do to Ma? What kind of an Angel are you to cause so much pain?" 

        Monica shook her head. "I have done nothing, Ray. God granted your

wish, the circumstances you are experiencing is a direct result of that
wish." 

        Ray shook his head. "That is bull shit. I...I can see some...some
of it 
maybe but there is no way all of this is caused by me not being here. I'm
not 
that important." He stalked down the street, angrily knocking his fist
against 
the fence posts as he passed. 

        "Everyone is important, Ray," Monica assured. "Everyone makes a 
difference, no matter how big or how small. God created you to make a 
difference, just as he has created others to guide your path. Not all
changes 
are good, not all are instantly recognized, but they happen just the
same." 

        "This is wrong," Ray insisted, distressed. He paused to lean
against the 
cement wall of a cemetery and folded his arms defensively across his
chest. 
"What about...what about all the things I screwed up? I...what about
little 
Teressa, her killer will never be brought to justice because I wasn't good

enough to build a better case against him." 

        "Ray, let me show you something," Monica offered and handed him a 
newspaper. 

        Ray unfolded it and glanced over the front page, which showed the 
beady-eyed Cahill, whom had been running for State's Attorney just a few 
months ago, accepting the seat as mayor of Chicago. He shook his head in 
disbelief. This guy was so crooked he had to screw his socks on. This was 
the guy that had tried to frame Ray for murdering one of his own snitches.

He and Fraser had figured...He paused and cast look of realization toward 
Monica. 

        If Ray wasn't there then Fraser wouldn't have been there to defend
him 
and uncover this jerk's corruption and void his desire to make States 
Attorney. Cahill had not been revealed and had now made it to the mayor's 
seat. Chicago was basically in the grips of a power hungry monster. 

        He slapped the paper against his leg in disgust. His city, the
city Ray 
loved and was devoted to protecting, was in the hands of this ferret-faced

weasel. That was so wrong, but still Ray couldn't comprehend that such a 
drastic change would be made without him in the picture. It just didn't
seem 
possible. 

        He gave Monica back the paper and turned around to grip the wall, 
his knuckles turning white as he tried to deal with all he had learned.
His 
eyes wavered toward the headstone directly in front of him and he felt the

nausea well up inside him as his body began to shake, uncontrollably. 

        "No!" he cried, hoarsely as he stared at the name printed across
it. 
Beth Botrelle Born 1954 died 1998. "She...she can't be!" He shook his 
head, frantically. " You said...I wasn't there." He cast Monica a
desperate 
look. "I wasn't there to screw up, to...to not read the note I..." 

        Monica offered him a sympathetic look. Her heart went out to him,
to 
the pain and mental anguish he was suffering, but she had to believe there

was a reason for what he was going through. Still, it didn't stop the
tears of 
sadness welling up in her eyes at Ray's torment. 

        "No, you weren't the one that arrived on the scene," she
confirmed, 
quietly. "However, another officer made exactly the same mistake you did, 
Ray. Only he never questioned her guilt and so no one proved that she 
didn't kill her husband. No one remembered the note and no one 
investigated." 

        "And no one saved her," Ray whispered, tragically. "No one
believed 
in her. Oh God, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I...I can't take this anymore."
He 
turned and gripped her arms, desperately. "Where's Fraser? What the hell 
did I do to him? Please, tell me, I...I can't..." 

        "You lookin' for Constable Benton Fraser?" a gruff voice asked. 

        Ray spun around, startled. A very aged and scruffy looking Harding
Welsh stood there, his eyes bloodshot and his large beefy hand wrapped
shakily around the bottle of booze he had in the paper sack. He wore only
a torn sweat shirt and jeans to guard against the bitter cold. 

        "Talk to yourself often?" the Lieutenant taunted. 

        "W...what?" Ray asked, dumfounded. He turned back and found 
Monica gone again. He returned his attention to his former superior. "Sir,

what...what are you doing out here without a coat on?" 

        "Don't need it," Welsh slurred and Ray reached a hand to steady
him. 
Welsh grinned and held up his bag. 'This keeps me warm." His eyes 
narrowed on Kowalski. "How you know Big Red?" 

        "I...I worked with him," Ray stated and Welsh's eyes became even 
sharper, more like his old self. 

        "Only one I knew of him workin' with was Vecchio," he leaned
closer 
to get a better look at Ray and almost knocked the detective over with the

smell of alcohol. "You ain't Vecchio." He shrugged. "Nobody's Vecchio 
anymore, not even Vecchio." 

        "Yeah, I...I heard about..." Ray shook his head. "I was sorry to
hear 
you...about your job, Sir." 

        "You ever work for me, son?" Welsh demanded and Ray nodded. 
"Hmmm, don't remember your face and I'm good at rememberin' people." 
He belched and took another swig of his drink. "Gotta be good at 
rememberin' people...readin' people in my line of work." He shook his head

morosely. "Had a good crew I did, but no more. Nope, no more." Another 
long swallow of the whisky and he continued. "One bad apple is all it
took." 

        "Do...do you know what happened to Fraser, Sir?" Ray asked, 
hesitantly. 

        With everything else he had learned he wasn't sure he wanted to
know. 
However, the Mountie was a different thing all together. Control and
justice 
was his life, Ray doubted their not being partners could have affected the

Canadian that differently. 

        "Well, no one really knows what happened to him," Welsh muttered, 
 regretfully. "He went crazy when he heard that his partner was killed. He

changed...I mean really changed. Vecchio was his one real friend I guess 
and..." Welsh shrugged. "A body can only take so much loss, I suppose. 
The Constable didn't have any other family and Ray Vecchio seemed to be 
the only one he let get close to him. Guess when he lost Ray, he felt too
alone to go on." 

        Welsh took another long drink and almost fell over backwards but
Ray 
caught him. The older man shivered slightly and ray removed his jacket and

draped it over the Lieutenant. It didn't fit him, Welsh was too big in the

shoulders, but it covered him enough to ward off some of the chill. 

        "Fraser got really pissed," Welsh continued, with a hint of
surprise in 
his voice. "He tried to take down the people that killed Vecchio, all on
his 
own. We were worried he'd be killed or end up in jail, he was just 
so...angry." Welsh shrugged again but Ray watched the older man's eyes 
become more alert as he spoke of their friend. "Anyway, he did managed to 
bring quite a few of the men to justice, not all of them made it back
alive." 
Ray's eyes widened in shock. "After that, Fraser disappeared. We never 
heard what happened to him." 

        "My God!" Ray hissed in disbelief. Fraser? His Fraser, going on a 
rampage after those who had killed Vecchio? That didn't sound like the 
Mountie at all. But, even if Fraser did do all that Welsh said, where was
he 
now? Was he dead, or did he go back to Canada? 

        "Sometimes being alone is the worse hell you can imagine," Welsh 
commented. "I guess the Constable just couldn't handle being alone again."

Ray nodded weakly and again reached out to steady the Lieutenant. "Well, 
nice talkin' to ya, gotta go now. Things to do." 

        Ray watched him go and again found himself fighting a terrible
ache 
inside his heart and a wave of dizziness. He dropped to his knees and
cried 
out for Monica and she appeared a moment later. 

        "I take it back," he sobbed as she held him. "I was wrong. This is

wrong. Please, tell God I don't want my wish anymore. I want to live, 
Monica, please let me take it back." 

        "Hush now," she soothed as she rocked him. "Close your eyes, Ray.
It 
will be all right. Just close your eyes. Remember God loves you. Many 
people love you and you are very, very important. And you are never alone.

God is always with you." 

        "Yes," he murmured drowsily. "I'll remember, Monica. I'm 
important...I... I'm...loved...not alone." 
  

                 ------------------------------- 

        "Ray! Ray! Ray!" the voice was calling to him from a very fuzzy
tunnel 
outside the Detective's brain and he struggled to find it. "Ray, can you
hear 
me, Ray? Please wake up, Ray. You...you have to wake up." 

        "Come'on, Honey," another voice encouraged and again Ray searched 
his memory for who it belonged to. "It's almost Christmas, baby. Please, 
Stanley, wake up and let Mum see those beautiful baby blues." 

        "Mum," he groaned and finally managed to open his eyes. He was 
startled, when he finally focused, to find his parents, Lieutenant Welsh, 
Francesca Vecchio and of course Fraser hovering over him. 

        He was in a private room at one of the hospitals. His chest was
bare 
but he still had on his jeans, so he couldn't have been bandaged very
badly 
His gaze fell on the familiar silver bracelet that he wore and his watch
on the 
otehr wrist. he was back! 

        Barbara and Fraser exclaimed, simultaneously. 

        "Stanley!" 

        "Ray!" 

        "I told you he'd come around," Welsh snorted from the back. "His 
head's too hard to damage properly." 

        "Sir!" Ray exclaimed. "You're sober!" 

        Welsh eyes him, concerned. 

        "Well, I admit I had a glass of egg nog at the station, Detective,
but I'm 
currently stable, yeah." 

        Ray grinned in delight and wrapped his arms around his Mother, 
excitedly. 

        "I thought you guys were in Arizona?" 

        "We decided we see Adam and his kids every year," Barbara replied.

"We wanted to spend Christmas with you, this year. It's been awhile since 
we've been together for the holidays as a family. I hope you don't mind, 
Honey." 
  
        Ray just hugged her harder, but was careful not to hurt her
smaller 
frame with his strength.  He would keep the secret of his brother until
his folks decided to tell him, if they ever did. If not, it didn't matter,
he would never be jealous of Adam again. He would still love him as a
brother, but Ray felt special now. He had been the one his parants had
tried so hard for and his birth had made all the difference in their
marriage. 

        "Oh, Mum, I do worship you. You're the best Mum a guy can have. 
I'm so glad you and dad decided to have me and that you named me after
your favorite character. I promise to try and be a better son to you." 

        Barbara Kowalski laughed at her son's devotion. 

        "That's sweet Stanley, but you're already the best son I could ask
for." 

        "You mean that?" 

        "We both do, Son," Damien assured, reaching over to ruffle Ray's 
head, affectionately. "Your hair held up, anyway." 

        Ray gave him a look of such love and devotion that both men ended
up blushing. 

        "I love you, Dad," he told him, seriously and Damien blinked, 
suspiciously. He cleared his throat. 

        "Yes, well, obviously that knock to the head has him a little 
disorriented," he decided and tugged on his wife's arm. "Let's go tell the

Doctor your son is finally awake." 

        Barbara cast him a gently, scolding look. 

        "And I suppose if he had woken up and said something macho like,
how's it hangin' Dad, he'd be your son?" 

        "You see, you can teach an old dog new tricks," he teased her as
they 
stepped into the hall. Barbara chuckled and gave him a playful shove. 

        "Who are you calling old?" she demanded. "My bones don't creak 
every time I move." 

        Ray watched them fondly until they disappeared from his view, then
he 
turned his attention back to the others. Francesca stepped up and smirked 
at him. 

        "Are you gonna be like, all weird and everything now, just because
you 
got a little bump on that thick skull of yours?" she inquired, saucily.
She was 
shocked when Ray grabbed her smooth, beautiful face in his hands and 
kissed her. 

        "Never change, Frannie," he requested, softly. "You're perfect
just the 
way you are." Francesca blushed prettily and punched his arm playfully. 

        "You did get hit hard, didn't you?" she observed, wryly. "Want
some 
coffee?"  He nodded, still smiling at her. "Okay well....I'll...um, I'll
go get 
some." She sauntered out and Welsh went with her. 

        "I'm so glad you finally woke up, Ray," Fraser admitted, relieved.
"You 
had us all very worried." 

        "I thought you were in Canada?" Ray inquired, softly, unable to
stop 
staring at his partner and friend, fondly. 

        "Well, I had decided to go," Fraser confessed, nervously as he
pulled 
at the collar of his ivory pull over. "I was looking forward to spending
time in 
my father's cabin. However, I was almost to the plane when I felt I was 
forgetting something very important." 

        "Dief?" Ray teased and Fraser smirked. 

        "No, actually he had decided to stay with Turnbull while I was
gone." 

        "Then what?" 

        Ray watched Fraser's thumb move up to caress his right eyebrow, 
anxiously. He waited patiently for his friend to continue, knowing it was 
never easy for the Mountie to say what he was feeling. 

        "Well, it...it was... you Ray," he finally stated and Ray smiled
in 
pleasant surprise. 

        "Are you saying ya would have missed having me around, Fraser?" he

asked, innocently. 

        "Always, Ray," Fraser asserted. "It wouldn't be Christmas with out
you 
there, as my partner and my...friend." 

        Ray reached for Fraser's hand and pulled him forward for an
awkward 
hug. 

        "You remember that, Buddy," he whispered in the Mountie's ear.
"I'm 
always here, no matter what, and you'll never be alone. Neither of us ever

has to be alone again, okay?" 

        Fraser nodded, squeezed Ray briefly and straightened. His eyes 
looked suspiciously bright but Ray refrained from commenting. He 
suspected his own eyes were swimming with moisture as well. 

        "Thank you, kindly, Ray," Fraser offered, his voice just a shade
huskier 
than normal. He cleared it a second later and continued. "Do you remember 
what happened, Ray?" 

        "Um..." Ray tried to connect what was real and what was not but
his 
mind was drawing a blank. He was sure that Monica and Tess had been 
real and that he had been given a second chance to reevaluate his life and
do 
things right. "Something about a bus?" 

        "Yes," Fraser nodded. "There was ice on the bridge, apparently and

the two of you almost collided. Luckily, you managed to swerve away from 
the bus and the children were uninjured." 

        Ray suddenly bolted upright. 

        "My car!" 

        "It has some minor damage to the front end, Ray," Fraser
confessed, 
soothingly. "But the bridge rail held up, thank God, and so you didn't
slide 
over." He shuddered. "Just the idea that you could have been..." Fraser 
closed his eyes. 

        Ray was touched by his concern. He reached a hand out and squeezed

Fraser's fingers. "But I didn't. Life goes on and I'm okay, Buddy." 

        Fraser opened his eyes again and returned the squeeze. "Yes, Ray. 
Someone must have been looking out for you this night." 

        Ray smiled as he thought of Tess and Monica. 

        "Oh yeah, " he agreed, chuckling and releasing the Mountie's hand.
"So the kids weren't hurt at all?" 

        "They were a little shaken up, but overall they were fine." Fraser

confirmed. "Interestingly enough I have some good news for you." 

        "Oh yeah?" 

        "Well, the driver of the bus had managed to call in the accident
and 
while they waited he had gone to check on you. Your head was bleeding 
and he claimed you were slumped against the wheel unconscious." Ray lifted

a hand to his bandaged head and shrugged. It hurt, but not a lot. "Luckily

the man was only filling in as a driver and is a licensed paramedic, so he

took very good care of you until the ambulance arrived." 

        "So what's the good news?" he pressed and Fraser almost smiled. 

        "Well, he said he knew you were a police officer because he had
met 
you when you were a still a rookie." 

        "Oh yeah?" 

        "Yes," Fraser confirmed, his eyes dancing in his eagerness to tell
Ray 
the story, but he was deliberately holding back. 

        "And?" the Detective finally insisted, impatiently as, Fraser knew
he 
would. 

        "The young man noticed the photo of Garret Tiddwell in the car
beside 
you. I take it you were brooding over it?" 

        Ray frowned and shrugged. "Something like that, yeah," he
admitted. 
"What's that got to do with this driver?" 

        "Well, apparently he recognized Tidwell as someone that he had
seen 
about a week ago after responding to a call at the play ground on Dover." 

        Ray sat forward, anxiously. He remembered there had been a heart 
attack victim. Tidwell's lawyers had used the excuse to cast doubt on
their 
eyewitness' testimony. 

        Fraser continued. 

        "He also recalled seeing a young girl, about ten years old, with
long brown hair and wearing a red parka and blue scarf had also been at
the park that day." 

        Ray's heart leapt and he grabbed Fraser's shoulder. 

        "What? Tell me, damnit!" 

        "The young man confirmed that, during the confusion of them trying
to 
deal with the heart attack victim, that the same girl got into Mr.
Tidwell's 
vehicle; a 1977 black Chevy Pickup. He claimed it had fled his mind when 
the man they had resuscitated flat lined again." 

        "Did he confirm it was Teresa?" Ray demanded as hope sprang into
his 
heart and dizziness overtook him, simultaneously. Fraser nodded. 

        "From the photographs the driver confirmed it was Teresa Wallace 
and we also located the truck at a junkyard a few miles from the park," 
Fraser explained. "Apparently Tidwell dumped it there and didn't think 
anyone would notice. Lieutenant Welsh had a forensics team investigate 
thoroughly and they found all the evidence they will need to convict Mr. 
Tiddwell of Teresa's murder. 

        "Yes!" Ray crowed as Welsh and Francesca returned. "Oh God that is

the best news in the world!" 

        "Ah, I see the Constable filled you in," Welsh commented as 
Francesca handed Ray his coffee. "Since we pretty much have Tiddwell 
over a barrel, he decided to drop the charged against you and you've been 
reinstated." 

        Welsh offered Ray his badge and gun, which the Detective accepted
gratefully. He thanked Francesca for the coffee and set it on the table
next to him, then swung his legs over the side and reached for his shirt. 

        "Where the hell do you think you're going?" the Lieutenant
demanded. 

        "I feel fine," Ray assured, even as his parents returned with the
doctor. 
"I feel great, better than great." 

        "Detective, Vecchio," the Doctor protested as Ray leapt off the
bed 
and reached for his boots. "You received twelve stitches in your head and 
have a possible concussion and..." 

        "I've had lots worse, Doc," Ray returned and shrugged into his
holster 
harness. He glanced outside and saw that the sun was just rising for 
Christmas Morning. "Pitter patter, Benton Buddy. The day's getting away 
from us. Lots to do" 

        "Ray, it's barely six Am," Fraser protested, surprised at his
friend's 
sudden energy. 

        "Exactly," Ray agreed as he placed his badge in his pocket and his
gun 
in his holster. "Which means we'll have an edge on the bad guy's Frase." 

        "Ray, you aren't working, Christmas!" Francesca cried, in
disbelief. 

        "Just for a few hours," Ray assured, pulling on his jacket. "I've
got a 
real good feeling we can make a big difference today." He bent to kiss his

Mother's cheek. "Be at my place around noon and I'll make us dinner." 

        "Why Sta...Ray," she amended in front of the Doctor. "You're going

to cook for us?" 

        "Sure am," he confirmed and winked at Francesca. "Invitation for 
Christmas supper at your house still open, Frannie?" She gapped at him and

nodded. "Me and Frase'll be there." He turned to his partner. "Com'on, 
slow poke, time's a waistin'." 

        Fraser offered everyone a perplexing look and followed his partner

out. Ray bent and kissed the bonnet of his car as they stepped outside.
The 
front end was a little dented, but could easily be repaired. Diefenbaker
was 
waiting eagerly inside for them. 
  
  

              ---------------------------------------- 

        Fraser watched his partner, intently as they drove to an all night

grocery and Ray picked up a fresh ham and some trimmings for dinner. 
They had been to the station and Ray's energy and new state of mind 
succeeded in them getting through quite a bit of his case load and
achieving 
fresh deductions on ones that they had been stuck on. They apprehended 
three of the suspects required and the rest Ray said they would do on 
Monday. 

        Ray's good cheer was infectious and a welcome change form the 
gloomy mood Ray had been in earlier in the week. The Detective was 
cracking jokes to make Fraser laugh, sparing with Diefenbaker and singing 
along with the Christmas carols that piped through the car stereo. 

        Fraser had an alternative reason for staying in Chicago for the
holidays. 
Ray had all the signs of a deep depression and he knew how hard his 
partner was taking the case with Teresa Wallace. Fraser's intuition warned

him that the Detective shouldn't be alone and so he had canceled his
flight 
and gone in search of his friend. 

        He was at the station with Welsh, when the call came in about
Ray's 
accident and they had rushed to the scene. All manner of scenarios had run

through Fraser's mind on the way and he was so relieved to see his partner

was not badly injured he almost wept with relief. 

        He didn't know what he would do if he lost Ray, the blond had 
become closer to him than Fraser every imagined anyone would be, even 
Ray Vecchio. He hadn't really thought Ray would do harm to himself, but he

did know that the brash and impulsive Detective was highly unpredictable 
when his emotions were over charged; as they had been all this week. 

        He hadn't lied when he told Ray his reason for staying. Fraser
truly 
couldn't imagine going back to Canada, alone and without his friend beside

him. The fact that Ray had seemed to grasp the one thing that the Mountie 
feared most had stunned Fraser. He saw through Fraser's rigid control to 
the desperate man beneath, terrified of being alone and unloved for the
rest 
of his life. 

        Fraser had been close to tears twice now in the last twenty-four
hours. 
Although, he should feel ashamed for allowing his emotions to take
control, 
he could only feel relief and a sense of wonderment about it all. No one
had 
been able to evoke the kind of feelings Ray Kowalski seemed able to stir 
inside him with just a look or a smile. Nor had anyone made Fraser 
conformable enough to express those feelings. He thanked God for Ray, 
Kowalski. 

        "Frase, could you bring this stuff on up to my place and I'll be
there in 
just a minute," Ray requested when they arrived at his building. 

        "Certainly, Ray," Fraser agreed, accepting the bags and heading up
the 
pristine stairwell as Ray stopped at the second floor and headed for his
land 
lady's apartment. 

        Ray could hear Christmas music coming from inside so he knocked 
loudly on the door. A moment later, the petite, but portly woman answered.

Her face brightened at the sight of him. 

        "Detective!" she greeted, merrily. "Well, Merry Christmas, but
your 
rent isn't do until next week." 

        "Not here for that," Ray assured as she allowed him inside. He
glanced 
over her festive lounger and the small TV tray that held an untouched
frozen 
dinner. "That your meal for Christmas?" 

        "Oh well," Mrs. Petty blushed and fidgeted. "It's just me and I
don't eat 
much you see and..." 

        "Never mind that," he dismissed, with a special smile just for
her. "Go 
put on your best Christmas outfit, toss that junk in the trash and meet me
up 
at my place at noon." 

        "Oh....did...is something broken?" she asked concerned. "I...I
don't 
know if I can get anyone here..." 

        Ray shook his head, still smiling. 

        "Nothing's broken and you know if it is I take care of it. You go
get dressed and meet me at my place, at twelve okay?" 

        "Well...al...all right, Detective..." 

        "Ray, Mrs. P." he corrected gently and she blushed happily. "See
you 
in two hours, don't doodle now." He bent to kiss her cheek. "Merry 
Christmas." 

        Mary Petty watched her handsome tenant leave and reached up to 
touch the spot where he kissed her, in wonder. She glanced at her cat who 
had observed the scene quietly from his perch in the window sill. 

        "Well, it looks like I have a date, Mr. Humphry," she commented, 
delighted. "What a wonderful Christmas this is turning out to be. He's
such a 
sweet young man, so much like I imagined my own son to be..." 

        Mr. Humphry listened to her chatter, tolerantly and had Mrs. Petty

stayed in the room with him, she might have seen the satisfying, feline
smile 
that spread across his regal features. 
   

 -------------------------- 

    Ray had prepared the majority of the dinner, then they had a an extra
thirty minutes before their guests arrived so they took Dief for a quick
walk around the block. Ray scooped up snow from the hood of a parked car
as he passed, while Dief frolicked in a snow bank chasing squirls. 

    "Ya know what they say, Fraser?" the Detective commented as he snapped
the snow between his gloved hands. 

    "What's that, Ray?" Fraser returned, politely. 

    "All work and no play makes for a really dull Mountie," Ray smirked. 

    "Actually, Ray," Fraser corrected. "I believe the proper wording
is..." Fraser glanced down startled, as the snowball hit the front of his
leather jacket. He wiped at the cold powder absently and continued. "All
work and no play makes..." Another snowball bounced off his right shoulder
and he raised an eyebrow at his partner 

        "Confucius say," the blond decreed as he formed another round
missile. "Man who talk to much makes perfect target." 

        "Confucius never said that, Ray," Fraser ammended, neatly dodging
the next assault and reaching to scoop up a handful of snow in
retaliation. 

        "Sure he did," Ray assured, backing up slightly, while continuing
to shape the ball in his hand. "Confucius Kowalski, great uncle on my
Dad's side." Fraser's lips twitched suspiciously. 

        "I should warn you, Ray," he offered, kindly as he again dodged
the ball Ray threw at him. "If you continue to pursue this juvenile past
time, I remind you that I am a proud Canadian." His eyes narrowed,
dangerously and twinkled like saphires in amusement. "We take no
prisoners." 

        "Ah, you're all talk!" Ray taunted and landed his next attack on
Fraser's chest again. 

        Ray released a quick burst of laughter when he felt the icy cold
of Fraser's snowball catch him just below the neck, immediately soaking a
spot through his heavy gray sweatshirt. He barely dodged the one aimed at
his head and darted toward the bank where Dief was playing for more
ammunition. 

        "Hey! watch the hair!" 

        Fraser only grinned at the war was on with Diefenbaker barking
encouragement at them.	

  -------------------------- 

 

        Fraser finished setting the table as Ray finished up with the
vegetables. 
The ham had been precooked, but it was still quite delicious. Both men had

split a small portion to check it after they had reheated it. It wasn't
gourmet, 
but it was the best Ray could do on short notice. 

        They had changed clothes after their escapade outside, because
they had both been covered in snow by the time it was done.  Luckily
Fraser had some extra clothes at Ray's appartment. 

        After each consecutively dodging the other's fire, Fraser had
tackled Ray and tried to bury him in the snow. His partner was not one to
give up easily and Ray's sinewy strength and speed retaliated full force;
covering the Mountie with as much snow as Ray had been doused with. It
left them both in great spirits afterwards. 

        Fraser should have been appaled at their behavior, after all they
were two grown men rolling around in the snow. But, the Mountie had
enjoyed himself too much to bother feeling guilty and he knew Ray was the
only person that he could feel comfortable enough playing with so openly.
The Detective would never judge him, only encourage him to play a little
harder next time. 

        A knock sounded and Fraser went to let their guests in. Barbara
and 
Damien entered and he took their coats and the Christmas' packages they 
had brought with them. Ray had only a small table top tree so Fraser slid
the 
packages under there as best he could. He wanted to keep them out of 
Diefenbaker's reach as well. 

        Barbara gave him a hello kiss then went to help her son in the
kitchen 
as the buzzer sounded again. Fraser opened the door and smiled at Mrs. 
Petty, dressed in a pretty red and green dress with tiny silver sparkles 
overlaid in it. She had fixed her hair and even wore make-up. 

        Ray was discussing the dinner rolls with his Mother. 

        "I didn't know how long to put them in for," he said, and glanced
over as his landlady entered. He smiled at her. "Hey, Mrs.Petty. These are
my parents, Damien and Barbara, ya already know my partner, Fraser." 

        "Nice to meet you," Damien offered helping the woman off with her 
coat, while Fraser caught hold of Diefenbaker to keep him from jumping on 
the older woman. "Merry Christmas. We're happy to have you here." 

        "It's a pleasure," Mrs. Petty assured, in delight and cast an
affectionate 
look toward Ray, who had resumed speaking with his Mother. "Looks like 
the apple doesn't fall from the tree with this one." 

        Damien chuckled and regarded his son, fondly. 

        "Yep, he's definitely mine, all right Got my brains, y'know?" 

        Ray had heard the comment and he smiled at his father, no longer 
afraid to show how he felt to the older man. 

        "Aren't I the lucky then that I got Mum's looks." 

        Every one chuckled and Mary Petty knelt to greet Diefenbaker 
appropriately, despite Fraser's apology for the wolf's behavior. She and 
Damien settled on the sofa, after Ray and Barbara both declined their
offer 
for help. 

        "Kitchen's barely big enough for the two of us," Ray joked as he 
handed Fraser the bottle of wine Damien had brought. "Here, Buddy make 
yourself useful." He turned back to his Mother. "I'm glad I paid attention
to 
all those dinners you cooked, Mum." 

        "If you hadn't, you and Stella would have starved, honey," she
laughed then immediately regretted her words when she saw the worried
expression transform her son's face. "I'm sorry, baby," 

        "What?" he asked, dazed. 

        "I didn't mean to bring up Stella, I know you're still hurting..."


        "What, oh, no no, Mum," Ray assured as he pulled down the wine 
glasses for Fraser to fill. "You just reminded me of something, I have to 
make a phone call. Can you watch the sauce and I'll be right back." 

        Barbara watched him grab his cordless phone off the machine and 
head into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. 

        "Hello?" Stella Kowalski answered after the third ring. 

        "Hi, Stell," Ray greeted, softly. "Merry Christmas." He heard her
sigh. 

        "Ray I'm not going to spend Christmas with you, it's over..." she
began 
automatically and he couldn't help smiling. 

        "I know that, Stella," he interrupted. "I'm not calling to pester
you, just 
to wish you a Merry Christmas." There was a long silence. 

        "Oh, well...Merry Christmas to you too, Ray." 

        "See, not so hard was it?" he teased." 

        Immediately her back was up again. 

        "Ray," she warned and he bit his lip. 

        "I'm sorry," he amended quickly. "Really, Stell, I just want...I
just 
hope you have a good Christmas." 

        Stella's tone softened. 

        "Thank you, Ray. You too." 

        "I...I also wanted to say that...well, Stella. I..I know things
didn't turn 
out very good between us..." 

        "Ray..." 

        Ray pressed forward. 

        "But I...I just wanted you to know that regardless of all that
other stuff, I don't regret a thing and I would do it all over again just
to have...just to have you the way you are. You're a wonderful,
intelligent and courageous woman, Stell and it's been my...privilege to
have been...apart of your life, for however long." 

        "Oh Ray," Stella sighed, her earlier irritation replaced with a
wonderful 
defeat. "You're just as wonderful and...you still mean very much to me.
I...I 
don't know what I would have done without you as my friend and my 
confidant." 

        "I'm glad you never have to find out, sweetheart," Ray said,
quietly. "I 
loved you then, I love you still. Always remember that. Merry Christmas, 
baby." 

        "Merry Christmas, Ray," Stella almost sobbed and he could hear the

tears in her voice. "Ray?" He waited. "You...what are you doing for 
Christmas?" 

        Ray smiled, touched at her concern. 

        "I'm cooking dinner for Fraser my folks and a friend." 

        "Oh, oh good that's....that's good, Ray," she breathed relieved.
"I...I 
just didn't want you to be...alone on Christmas." 

        Ray's smile deepened as he thought about Monica and Tess. 

        "None of us are really alone, Stell. Not as long as we continue to
make a difference and have people that care about us. And God, God loves
us too, Stella, we can't be alone with Him watching us." 

        "Ray, are...are you okay?" Stella inquired puzzled. She'd never
heard 
her husband speak that way. 

        "I'm better than okay, Stell," he assured. "I'm here, alive and
kickin'. Take care. I have to go finish dinner." 

        "You...you take care too, Ray," Stella stammered and Ray smiled 
again before ending the call. 

        He returned to the living area and found that his Mother and
Fraser 
had started to dish up the meal. 

        "Hey, Fraser," Ray asked as he set the plate of ham that his
father had 
carved in the center of the table. 

        "Yes, Ray?" 

        "You said that guy, the paramedic that ID'd Tidwell, he knew me?" 

        "Yes, Ray, so he claimed." 

        "Where from, did he say?" Ray asked as he they finished laying the

table and he held out a chair for Mrs. Petty. "Did I, like give him a
ticket or 
something?" 

        "Why no, Ray," Fraser denied as he set the bowl with Dief's
serving on 
the floor in the kitchen then returned to the table. "The young man's name

was Todd Fincher and told me that you were responsible for him becoming 
a paramedic in the first place." 

        The name sounded oddly familiar but Ray couldn't place it. 

        "Me?" he inquired, surprised. "How's that?" 

        "Well, Todd said he had met you about nine or ten years ago, in a 
ware house I believe it was." Fraser watched Ray's eyes widen in
disbelief. 
"He said you saved him from a man who had kidnapped him. You were 
wounded during the scenario, but still managed to bring him to safety. He 
said he always felt guilty for your being hurt on his account and that he 
couldn't do anything for you." Fraser smiled. "So he became a paramedic to

make sure that he could help the next brave soul he encountered." 

        Ray stared at him in shock and Tess's words came back to him. 

"Everyone makes a difference, no matter how big or how small. God 
created you to make a difference, just as he has created others to 
guide your path. Not all changes are good, not all are instantly 
recognized, but they happen just the same." 

        Ray, on a routine call, learned about a young boy being held in a 
warehouse by a violent gunman. The kid had been walking home from the 
mall and had been forced inside by the gunman. Ray had risked everything 
to slip inside, wrestle the man himself and get the boy out safely,
despite 
being wounded in the process. It had been his first commendation and Ray 
couldn't had forgotten the kid's name until now. 

        Now, almost ten years later, that same boy was a young man and had

been driving a bus that Ray almost slid into at a time when he had been 
desperately close to giving up everything. The young man not only tended
to 
his wounds, saving his life in return, but had also helped put the man
behind 
jail that Ray had been so scared to have set free. 

        The boy could have died in that warehouse, but he didn't because
of a 
brave and selfless act by a young rookie named Ray Kowalski. Todd had 
wanted to help others because Ray had once helped him. Fifteen minutes 
was the most Ray had spent with the child, yet Todd had remembered it and 
the experience had been life changing for him. He had now repaid Ray's 
kindness and the Detective simply couldn't get over the emotions that 
threatened to overwhelm him at this new realization. 

        He managed to compose himself, having to clear his throat a few
times, 
and settled at the table with everyone else. Ray requested his father said
the 
grace and afterwards Damien rose and lifted his glass in a toast before
they 
ate. Even Fraser accepted some wine for the occasion. 

        "To good friends, warm hearts and dear family members," his eyes 
rested on his son, who was watching him intently. "I thank God that I have
a 
wonderful and patient wife and for blessing us with two wonderful sons."
He 
smirked. "Both different as night and day, but each man a father can be 
proud of to call his own. Merry Christmas." 

        Everyone echoed the sentiment and Fraser noticed the soft glow
that 
had seemed to settle around his now quiet partner. He had never seen Ray 
so happy and content and he added a silent prayer to whoever had made 
such glad tidings possible. 

        Atop Ray's small tree, the small angel he had perched there turned
into 
a gentle dove and flew away unnoticed. 
  
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