When All is Said and Done	 


 I had mixed emotions about there being a new Ray Vecchio after David
 Marciano left the series. "No one could be as good as the original," I
 thought.
 
 Thank goodness I was wrong.
 
 While not the Vecchio we all came to know and love on DS, Callum Keith
 Rennie, or, as he is known on the show, Stanley Raymond Kowalski, is just
 as adorable and witty. He quickly became my favorite character. Now,
 I've wanted some sparks to fly between him and Francesca Vecchio for some
 time now, and this is my forum to let that happen. I hope you enjoy it!
 I'd rate it PG, for some bad language and descriptions of violence.
 But if you like the idea of Francesca/Kowalski angst, this is the story
 for you. 
 
 Oh, and just so you know, this story takes place after CotW, but none of
 the stuff that took place in the last scene (Huey and Dewey opening a
 comedy joint, Turnbull and the bus, Francesca and the Immaculate
 Conceptions, etc) happened. Actually, no, Vecchio DID marry Stella.
 Kowalski has stayed on to replace Vecchio, who has moved to FLA with
 Stella.
 
 Disclaimer: None of the characters who appear in this story belong to me
 (Like you needed me to tell you that!), with the exception of the bad
 guys. The rest all belong to Due South and Alliance productions, so
please
 don't sue me, as all I have in my bank account must go to paying my
 enormous college phone bill!
 
 
  When All is Said and Done 

 by Compass
 
 Francesca sat worriedly by the phone in the squadroom. She was not alone;
 the entire room seemed to be filled with an unutterable tension. They
 were waiting for something- anything- that would tell them where he was.
 
 The phone rang- a harsh jangle in the angst-ridden squadroom.
 
 Without a thought, Francesca dived for the receiver. "Squadroom," she
 answered, trying to keep the worry out of her voice.
 
 "Want to know where to find your little lost puppy?" a husky voice
 intoned.
 
 Francesca snapped her fingers wildly at the enthralled squadroom to let
 them know it was the kidnappers. "I don't know what you're talking
 about." She saw Benton pick up another phone, as intent on the
 conversation as she was. 
 
 A dry chuckle echoed over the line, "Why, of course you do, dear. Don't
 try to play coy games with me, or I might not tell you where we left the
 scum."
 
 The officer by the wiretap made a "keep going" motion with his hands, and
 she stuttered on. "O-Ok, then let's be straightforward. Where's
 Detective Kowalski?"
 
 "The same place I am."
 
 "And where is that?" She didn't really expect a clear answer, and she was
 not disappointed.
 
 "You think I'd tell? No, I think I'll let your little sniffers figure
 that one out. They are on the trail, aren't they?" Francesca shared a
 worried look with Fraser, then glanced at the wiretap. 
 
 "Yeah," she replied, "yeah, they're on the trail."
 
 "Ha!" the kidnapper chuckled. "I can almost smell those bloodhounds
 sniffing now. Let's hope they get here in time." His voice went as cold
 as a Chicago winter. "Their puppy won't hold on much longer, I'm afraid."
 
 Francesca felt a flood of anger pour through her. "You piece of
 scum-sucking swine, you'd better not have hurt him, or I swear I'll claw
 you're damn eyes out, and enjoy every second of it."
 
 Another laugh from the other end of the line, "And what's this? Has the
 pup's bitch come to save him? What a shame she wasn't there when we got
 him. It might have been interesting to see how he would have responded to
 seeing her beaten over and over." Francesca swallowed quickly, forcing
 down the bile that had suddenly risen in her throat. "Of course we hurt
 him, you stupid bitch. We're kidnappers. We don't take people to give
 them chocolates and water beds. We kidnap them to make their life a
 living hell." There was a pause. Then, with smug satisfaction, "And
 I think we did a bang-up job this time."
 
 *Click*
 
 Dial tone.
 
 Francesca stood for a long time, the receiver forgotten and humming
 against her ear. Finally, Benton came over and took the phone gently from
 her fingers, resetting it in it's cradle. She looked up into his kind
 face, and couldn't keep the tears from coming. "They hurt him," was all
 she could say.
 
 He nodded sympathetically, "I know."
 
 Without a word, she collapsed in tears against the red serge of his
 uniform, unable to think, unable to talk, just sobbing uncontrollably.
 
 It was only in the distance that she heard the wiretap guy say, "We got
 the trace."
 
 And even further away than that, Lt. Welsh saying, "Let's go get our
man."
 
 *******
 
 It was a hell hole, and that was putting it mildly. A dank, musty
 warehouse, with boarded up windows and the overwhelming smell of
 decay. Pigeons had long since forsworn it as a roost, and it lay
 abandoned, except for the flood of squadcars that surrounded it.
 
 Francesca stepped out of the squadcar timidly, afraid to see the
building.
 It had been difficult, to say the least, to convince Welsh to let her
 come, but he had eventually given in, more from the look in her eyes than
 the force of her words. As she shaded her eyes against the bright summer
 sun, she felt another wave of guilt wash over her. This had all been her
 fault. She could never forgive herself for that.
 
 "Francesca?" She looked up, pulled from her trance.
 
 Fraser stood next to her, concern lining his face. "Francesca," he
 repeated, "are you all right?"
 
 She smiled, wan and worried. "Yes, Benton, I'm OK." Turning away, she
 let another tear run down her cheek. "Just remembering, that's all."
 
 And with that, she remembered.
 
 *****
 
 THREE DAYS EARLIER - 8 pm
 Outside the CPD 
 
 "So, Frannie, what do you say? You wanna bite to eat?"
 
 Francesca looked up from where she was busily searching her purse for car
 keys to see Ray Kowalski leaning against his own black GTO.
 
 She smiled indulgently. "Maybe in another life, Kowalski. I'm afraid
 this one's all booked." She went back to burrowing through her
 pocketbook.
 
 *Jangle*
 
 She looked up at the sound of keys clinking against one another.
 
 Of course. She should have known. There he stood, blue eyes twinkling,
 holding her car keys in his right hand. "Looking for these?" He asked,
 innocent as a newborn babe.
 
 With an indignant toss of her head, she reached out and snatched them
from
 his grasp before he could pull his hand away. "And where did you get
 these, Mr. Smarty?" She didn't bother hiding her anger; it helped hide
her
 embarrassment.
 
 He laughed, charming, carefree. "I'm a detective, Frannie. It's my job
 to find things for people. And the way that desk of your's is littered, I
 didn't think you'd be able to see them without a little help." He smiled
 impishly.
 
 "Well, if you think stealing my car keys off my desk and then presenting
 them to me is going to make me go out on a date with you, you've got
 another thing coming." She jabbed the key in the lock, twisted it, and
 felt the tumblers roll out of place.
 
 "I believe it's 'you've got another THINK coming."
 
 "Thing, think, who cares, same thing." With a gliding motion she opened
 the door and started to step in.
 
 He took her gently by the arm. She was about to give him a piece of her
 mind about that, but then she saw the look in his blue eyes; lonely, sad
 eyes. The light cast by the streetlamps threw planes of shadow over his
 handsome face, making him look purely pitiful, yet thoroughly desirable.
 She shook that thought off as soon as it even crossed her mind.
 
 "Come on, Frannie. You won't even join a guy for a couple of sandwiches
 down at the corner store?" 
 
 *He must get lonely in that apartment all by himself,* she thought. She
 often forgot that living on one's own was not all fun and games; she'd
 lived with her own family forever it seemed. And looking into his clear
 blue eyes right then, she would have gone with him.
 
 If only her pride hadn't gotten in the way.
 
 "Well, no, not tonight," she answered his question. "You can't expect me
 to go out to dinner with a man who stole my car keys off my desk, leaving
 me stranded here in the middle of Chicago?"
 
 "Come on, Frannie, you know I'd never do that."
 
 He was right; she knew he wouldn't. "Well..." She made a big show of
 thinking about his offer. "Maybe some other time," she finally
 relinquished, sliding the rest of the way into the car, "if you promise
to
 be unbelievably nice to me."
 
 Kowalski leaned over and peered through the open door. "Have I ever been
 anything else?" He grinned.
 
 She pretended not to hear that as she pulled the door closed, squeezing
 him out of the way. Rolling the window down with one hand, she started
 the engine with the other. "It's a date then," she told him, shifting the
 vehicle into reverse and looking back over her shoulder as the car rolled
 backwards.
 
 "I'll be waiting!" she heard him call after her. 
 
 She looked one last time at Kowalski in her rearview mirror, standing
 beside his black GTO, doing his best impression of Steve McQueen. The
 lamplight streaming over him made him almost seem to glow. Giggling, 
 she drove off, leaving him alone in the quiet parking lot.
 
 He never had a chance.
 
 *******
 
 "There was nothing you could have done."
 
 Francesca looked up from her tearful remembrances to see Fraser still
 standing beside her. "What?"
 
 "Even if you had gone to dinner with him, they would have gotten him in
 the end." Fraser was the only person, besides her mother, whom she had
 told about her guilt. "All you can do is try to help him now, like the
 rest of us."
 
 Francesca felt tears burning in her throat, ready to join the ones
 slipping down her cheeks. "But they might have waited; he might have been
 safe one more night...."
 
 Fraser looked at her firmly, but kindly. "No, Francesca. You can't keep
 blaming yourself." He reached out and gently touched her arm. There was
 a time when that touch would have excited her senses like none other; but
 now, she felt nothing but cold regret. "You heard the kidnapper. If you 
 had stayed, they would have taken you, too, and then what would we have
 done? Two friends missing, and no clue as to where they were." He must
 have seen that his arguments, good as they were, were not alleviating her
 guilt. "Francesca," he said softly, "listen to me. I don't blame you,
 the other officers don't blame you....," he tilted her face up so she
 would meet his gaze, "and Ray doesn't blame you. You have to stop blaming
 yourself."
 
 She knew he was right, yet there was a part of her that couldn't let go
of
 the ice that still lingered in her belly, where her guilt still gnawed.
 Before she could tell him, though, Welsh came over, huffing a little from
 the jog. "We're going in," he informed the Mountie.
 
 "Right. Thank you kindly." Before he left, though, Fraser turned to
 Francesca and repeated, "Forgive yourself, Francesca. Remember that."
 With that, and a fond smile, he jogged off to join the rest of the
 officers as they stormed the building.
 
 The Lieutenant started after him, but Francesca grabbed his arm. "Sir,"
 she began, remembering to be properly contrite, "let me go in with you."
 
 He looked at her like she was nuts. "Francesca," he gruffed, "this could
 be very dangerous. I was crazy to bring you in the first place- I do not
 want to have the worry of your safety hanging over me in conjunction
 with everything else that's going on."
 
 She would not take her eyes off his.
 
 "Francesca, we don't know what we'll find in there," he continued, but
she
 could tell he was starting to falter. "It might not be pretty."
 
 "I don't care."
 
 "We need someone to stay out here." He was really grabbing at straws now.
 "To use the radio and such if we need to call for back-up."
 
 She shook her head. "No, Sir, I will not stay out here. I'm going in
 whether you like it or not, so fire me if you have to, but make it
quick."
 She stared him down, eyes flashing.
 
 The Lieutenant rolled his own eyes to the sky. "Oh, all right, come on.
 But don't you BUDGE from my side, understand?" She nodded. "OK. Let's
 go." With that, they trotted up to join the rest of the officers as they
 entered the building.
 
 ******
 
 3 DAYS EARLIER
 Squadroom- 8am
 
 The second she walked through the door, Francesca could feel the tension
 in the air. Everyone seemed to be walking on a wire, keeping themselves
 busy.
 
 She walked to her desk, not knowing who to ask about the worry pervading
 the air, when she heard Welsh call out her name. "Francesca!" She
 turned as he walked over to her.
 
 "What's up with everybody?" she asked as he reached her. Of everyone, the
 Lieutenant looked most haggard. "They all look like they lost their best
 friend."
 
 "They did." He didn't bother to explain, simply handed her a note and
 waited.
 
 Confused, Francesca looked down at the piece of paper. She immediately
 recognized it as the kind used by kidnappers in Hollywood movies, with
 letters and words cut out of color supplements and newspapers. But the
 novelty quickly wore off, and a chill ran through her as she read its
 contents. It said:
 
 Dear members of the CPD,
 
 So sorry that we had to deprive you of the company of your dear friend,
 Det. Ray Kowalski. Certain members of our establishment have issues they
 would like to talk with him about that should not be avenged, or rather,
 discussed, in the present company. So, please feel free to worry VERY,
 VERY much about his welfare, and be assured that when he is returned to
 you, he will be thoroughly remorseful and repentant, and possibly even
 dead. 
 
 The Riddell Gang
 
 When she looked up, she could feel the look of horror that was plastered
 across her face. "When did it happen?" Shock coated her vocal cords,
 making it hard to speak.
 
 The Lieutenant shook his head, "All I know is that when I came to work
 this morning, Ray's car was in the parking lot, and this note was under
 the windshield wiper."
 
 Francesca felt a lump of fear lodge in her throat. "His car was still in
 the parking lot....? But, I left him there just last night, right beside
 his car. He was about to go home...." The thought was too horrible, but
 she couldn't keep it down. "They got him right after I left him," she
 murmured. 
 
 Welsh looked at her piercingly. "When was that, Francesca?"
 
 "About eight o'clock." She could hardly speak, and she couldn't bear to
 meet his gaze.
 
 His voice had softenend when he spoke to her again. "That's good,
 Francesca. Now we have a general idea of when he was taken. We might be
 able to find witnesses." When she didn't respond, he reached out a hand
 and laid it comfortingly on her arm. "We're going to find him, Francesca,
 don't worry."
 
 She nodded stiffly, still unable to meet his eyes. "Who're the Riddell
 Gang?"
 
 Welsh shrugged. "Some drug ring that's been trying to make a
 name for itself in Chicago. Apparently Ray put their boss in jail
 shortly before he came here to take over your brother's position. They
 must have taken it personally." The last sentence was said in a voice 
 hollow with worry.
 
 Francesca nodded, grim acceptance. "What can I do to help?" she needed
 something to keep her occupied, keep the guilt in check.
 
 "Just stay by the phones and wait for a call." At Francesca's desperate
 look, all Welsh could do was shake his head. "That's really all any of us
 can do now, Francesca. Sit, wait, and hope they call." With a defeated
 sigh, he walked away.
 
 Francesca sat down at her desk, disbelief slowly giving way to fear, then
 to grief. Softly at first, then harder, until she couldn't see for the
 flood, she began to sob. All my fault, she thought. All my fault....
 
 ***********
 
 The interior of the warehouse was dank and musty, adorned with rusty
steel
 girders and tall cement support beams that stretched from floor to
 ceiling. Francesca shivered at the wave of chilly air that washed over
 her as she entered the old building beside Welsh, following the other
 officers. Dim sunlight filtered through high, boarded windows, showing
 every particle of dust that floated in the murky air.
 ��������
 It was huddled in one of these pale rays that she found Kowalski.
 ��������
 He was shackled by the wrists to one of the tall support beams,
 attached by two long chains to a steel hoop embedded in the cement. The
 dim light played over him, shirtless and shivering, and threw his
features
 into sharp relief, planes of light and shadow. Francesca had a sudden
 clear image of him standing beneath a streetlamp, with the orange glow
 illuminating his face, and she felt tears spring to her eyes.
 ��������
 She had ignored Welsh's mandate to stay by his side, and had
 wandered off on her own. Instinctively, she had headed for this spot,
 on the far side of the building, and had found Kowalski chained here, out
 of sight from the main entrance. Now, all she could do was stare at him,
 and fight the tears.
 ��������
 Finally, she forced her voice to move past the lump in her throat.
 "He's over here!" she called, hoping to draw the others to her.
 ��������
 She heard Fraser reply, "Where are you, Francesca?"
 ��������
 A tall bank of empty oil drums stood beside her. "I'm behind the
 metal barrels!" In the distance, she could hear the sound of thumping
 feet as the others converged on her position. That accomplished, she
 turned her attention back to Stan.
 ��������
 He did not seem to notice she was there, but pressed close against
 the cement pillar. Francesca moved forward slowly, partly not wanting to
 surprise him, but also out of fear of what she might see. "Ray?" she
 murmured. "Ray, talk to me. Let me know you're alive over there." No
 response.
 ��������
 Francesca's heart sank as she knelt down beside him. A long gash
 ran down his cheek, from temple to jaw line. He had one black eye, which
 had swollen shut, and the other was closed in pain. She could tell from
 the way he cradled his left arm that it must be broken, along with
several
 ribs, if the bruises on his torso were any indication. Francesca winced
 as she looked at the big purple blotches, some administered so forcefully
 that the outline of the instruments used were apparent: a wrench, a
chain,
 a pair of brass knuckles. The tears were coursing down Francesca's
 cheeks now, and she didn't even notice them. All she saw was blood, pain,
 and fear. "Oh, Ray," she whispered, "what have they done to you?"
 ��������
 "Come here, Francesca." She whirled around at the sound of
 Fraser's voice. Her guilt had consumed her so much that she had not even
 heard the others arrive. "Come here," Fraser repeated, softly. "Let the
 EMT's through." For the first time, Francesca noticed the men with a
 stretcher who stood nearby, ready to spirit Ray off to some hospital.
 She stood obediently, and crossed to where Fraser stood, letting the
EMT's
 pass her.
 ��������
 "You'll need to unchain him first," she murmured so that Fraser
 could hear her.
 ��������
 "We know," he said comfortingly
 ��������
 "They chained him." She wasn't addressing anyone now, but was
 simply lost in her own grief, and Fraser did not interrupt her. "Why did
 they chain him? Like an animal. Did they have to treat him like an
 animal? Did it make them happy?" The tears were coursing, unnoticed,
 down her cheeks now, and she didn't bother trying to fight them. 
 
 She watched as Kowalski was unchained-they had to hacksaw through the
 links, leaving the shackles around his wrist-then was loaded onto the
 stretcher and wheeled away. She took a step to follow the retreating
 party, and Fraser took her arm.
 
 "No, Francesca. You'll just hurt yourself more."
 
 His blue-green eyes were full of concern, and Francesca was touched. But
 this was something she had to do. "I have to, Fraser," was all she said,
 and he must have seen something in her eyes, because with only a brief
 pause, he released her. 
 
 She ran past the slow moving hoardes of police, all deep in shock and
 worry, and reached the ambulance just as they were closing the doors.
 "Wait!" she called. "Wait! I'm coming too!"
 
 A tall EMT held the door for her, and she climbed into the back of the
 white van. A few seconds later they were flying down the road, siren
 blaring.
 
 Ray looked so pale, it made Francesca's heart ache. She reached out and
 gently took his hand in hers, trying not to get in the way of the EMT's
 who were checking his pulse, binding his wounds, and generally making
sure
 he was still alive. "Ray," she whispered, "I'm right here. I'm not going
 to leave you this time. I'm with you." She squeezed gently. 
 
 It could have been her imagination, but she was almost positive that he
 squeezed back.
 
 ******
 
 The doctors spent a great deal of time binding Kowalski's wounds once
 they arrived at the hospital, and in the intervening time, the others
 poured into the waiting room- Fraser, Welsh, Huey and Dewey. Thatcher was
 even there. No one spoke; they didn't want to hear the answers to their
 questions. 
 
 When they were finally allowed to see him, Kowalski looked even more pale
 than before, partly from the awful hospital lights, but also from the
 sickly white bandages that circled his head, arm, and rib cage.
 
 "How is he, Doctor?" Fraser sounded worried, which immediately put
 Francesca on her guard.
 
 The doctor shook his head. "Well, he seems to be out of immediate danger.
 He's suffering from mild dehydration, and numerous fractures and
 abrasions, some serious. He should recover, physically, but I don't know
 what the effect will be on his emotional health. He might be depressive
 or overly aggressive. It's in the air now." With that and another sad
 shake of the head, the doctor left.
 
 And the waiting began.
 
 They took it in shifts to sit by his bedside. Francesca, however, never
 left the hospital. Days passed with no signs of Kowalski waking up, but
 she still never left. Fraser was kind enough to bring her some fresh
 clothes from home, and she left once to take a shower in a nearby gym.
 But she couldn't bear to be away from him should he need her.
 
 Which was why she was so glad when he woke up with her beside his bed.
 
 It was a slow process. First, just a bare flickering of the eyelashes.
 Then came a low groan, followed by his eyes opening ever so slowly. 
 
 Francesca was at his bedside immediately. "Ray? Ray? Doctor, doctor,
 he's waking up!" she called over her shoulder at the door. "Ray, you're
 in the hospital. It's Frannie. Remember me? Frannie?"
 
 The doctor came rushing into the room, followed by a bevy of nurses. They
 fussed over him for quite some time before establishing that he had not
 lost his memory or sight or any other number of things that could have
 happened. Frannie took that time to give the station a call and tell them
 the good news.
 
 When she returned, the nurses had left, but the doctor remained, talking
 softly to his patient. Frannie overheard the tail end of the
 conversation. 
 
 "If you need anything," the doctor was saying, "push that button," he
 gestured to a large red button on the side of the bed, "and a nurse or I
 will come to you. Understand?" Ray feeble nodded his head, and winced at
 the pain this obviously caused.
 
 The doctor, satisfied, turned and began to leave, but motioned
 infinitesimally for Francesca to follow him into the hall.
 
 "He's going to need your undivided attention over the next several days,"
 he told her. "There will be nightmares, and cold sweats, and panic
 attacks, and he will need someone there to give him an unconditional ear
 and shoulder. Can you do that." Frannie nodded, her body numb from the
 pressure of her own guilt. "Good," the doctor replied. He must have seen
 her fear, because he smiled comfortingly. "It's all right, Ms. Vecchio.
 Your brother will pull through this. I have all confidence in that. We
 just have to help him." He patted her arm gently, then left.
 
 Francesca walked back into the room slowly, not wanting to disturb
 Kowalski if he were sleeping. But she saw that he was not asleep, simply
 lying back and staring up at the ceiling. "Ray?" she whispered softly,
 and she saw him flinch away from her voice. *He's afraid of you* The
 thought nearly sent Frannie over the edge, as she felt tears mist over
her
 eyes. "Ray, it's me, Frannie." She moved closer, slowly, picking her way
 ever so carefully through the room until she reached his bedside.
 
 His eyes were closed, but she could tell he was trying not to cry. His IV
 swung slightly from the tension in his arms as he squeezed his fists in
an
 effort to keep control. Her heart ached for him. "It's okay, Ray," she
 murmured, keeping her voice as soothing as possible. "No one's going to
 hurt you anymore, OK? No one's going to hurt you. I won't let them."
 She couldn't resist the urge to reach out and stroke his cheek.
 
 He tensed up and his eyes flew open. Frannie almost pulled her hand away,
 scared that she might have damaged his fragile psyche even more, but
 suddenly Kowalski's hand had enveloped her's and was pressing it even
 tighter against his cheek. She could feel the tremors moving through his
 body, shivers of unreleased sobs. Without another thought, she sat beside
 him on the bed and gathered him into her arms, her fingers never leaving
 his cheek. She rubbed his back, and whispered to him soothingly.
 Kowalski buried his face in the area where her shoulder met her neck, and
 she could feel his tears start to flow. Soon, his entire body was racked
 with sobs as he clung tighter to her. She held him tight, disregarding
 his bruises and broken ribs. He needed to know she was there, and this
 was how she told him.
 
 Not a word was spoken for the rest of the night.
 
 *****
 
 Many evenings passed like that, as Kowalski's body slowly healed, along
 with a slower psyche. But Frannie never left his side. Somehow, being
 there for him, caring for him, letting the emotion she felt for him flow
 through her touch into his body, was assuaging her own guilt. She felt it
 slip away, bit by bit, each time she embraced him, each time she
whispered
 that it would be all right, that she would protect him. Helping him was
 saving her.
 
 When he was allowed out of the hospital, Frannie refused to let him out
of
 her sight. She took him back to the Vecchio home, set him up in her
 brother's room, and cared for him night and day. 
 
 "Dearest, you must sleep too," her mother would chide gently.
 
 Francesca would just shake her head and watch over her sleeping charge.
 He looked so angelic when he slept. "No, Ma. I'll sleep later. I just
 want to watch him a little longer." Ma would shake her head, turn and
 leave the two of them alone together.
 
 And the relationship began to form.
 
 ********
 
 It was slow at first. Just a hand lingering a little longer than
 necessary against a cheek. Or a gaze that was broken a little later than
 normal. But before long, everyone but the two participants could see it. 
 Ma Vecchio beamed with pleasure at the thought of her youngest ending up
 with the nice young man who had once filled in for her own son, with no
 regard for his own safety. She had come to quite like him since his stay
 with them began, and she could think of nothing better than having him as
 a son-in-law.
 
 Welsh and the others at the station were glad to see it happening because
 they hoped it would keep the two from bickering quite so much.
 
 Fraser was happy because two of his best friends were happy. And because
 Francesca no longer gazed at him dreamily from across the room.
 
 Thatcher liked it because Frannie no longer gazed at Fraser dreamily from
 across the room.
 
 Turnbull didn't even notice, but, that was typical for Turnbull.
 
 *******
 
 "You know, Frannie," Ray was saying one day, as he and Francesca took
 their daily walk down the street, "I think something's going on here that
 we aren't aware of."
 
 Francesca looked up at him. "What do you mean?" She had her arm around
 his waist, and he had his about her shoulders. It had been for support
 once, but now it was from habit.
 
 He shook his head. "I don't know, but I feel something. It's weird.
 Kind of funky, you know?" He was obviously struggling for the right
 words.
 
 Francesca thought she knew what he was talking about. "Yeah. Sort of
 detached, like nothing else in the world matters."
 
 "Yeah, I haven't felt like this in a long time. Not since Stel-..." He
 cut himself off as the realization hit them both.
 
 "Are you saying what I think you're saying?" Francesca was quite
 dumbfounded with disbelief. It couldn't be. Could it?
 
 They paused beside a broken down stone wall, and Ray turned to look
 Francesca full in the face. "You know what I think, Frannie."
 
 She gazed up at him, and her eyes were glowing with suppressed joy. "Yes,
 Ray. I think I do." Perhaps it could happen after all.
 
 His grin was immediate. "Let's see. Typically you date for a while
 before this type of thing, but since we've spent so much time together
 over the past month or so, why don't we just skip that part?" She arched
 an eyebrow, while at the same time grinning deviously.
 
 "And what are you proposing, Kowalski."
 
 He glanced away as though thinking, then looked back at her. "Well,
 marriage, I guess. What do you say?"
 
 Her heart leapt. "Is that all?" What am I saying? "Not very romantic,
 skinny boy."
 
 Now it was time for Kowalski's eyebrows to raise. "Oh, so you want
 romantic, huh? No problem, I can do that." Slowly, with more grace than
 she'd seen him use in the time since his beating, he went to one knee
 before her. Frannie felt her heart racing as he took her hand between his
 and spoke.
 
 "Frannie," he intoned, his voice unburdened by the fear and pain that had
 been there for so long, "I remember when I first woke up after the
 beatings, and I felt so alone. I didn't think anyone cared, and that was
 why I was alone. But then I heard a voice. I thought it was an angel,
 come to take me away, but then I felt warm, human fingers touch my cheek.
 I opened my eyes, and saw you. Do you know I've never seen anything more
 beautiful than you? I couldn't breathe, I was so taken. And then you
 were holding me, and talking to me, and I knew I wasn't alone. Through
 all the nightmares, all the fear, you've always been there. I fell in
 love with you that first night in the hospital, Frannie. I never thought
 I'd love another woman after Stella, but now I know I was wrong. So,
 Francesca Vecchio, will you please take me, Stanley Raymond Kowalski, to
 be your husband? I don't think I could ever repay you for what you've
 given me, but I will give you myself for all time."
 
 Frannie felt tears burning her eyes, and when she blinked, they coursed
 down her cheeks. It had been so beautiful, the most eloquent thing she
 had ever heard him say. *You've all ready payed me back* she thought, as
 she felt whatever vestiges of guilt that remained slide from her like
 water from a duck's back. 
 
 Ray was still looking up expectantly. "Well?"
 
 Unable to speak, Frannie fell to her knees before him, wrapped her arms
 tightly about his neck, and sobbed for joy against him. "Yes, Kowalski,
 you big llama, of course I will!"
 
 His strong arms circled her waist, and held her tight, even as she felt
 his dry laughter against her neck. "What's so funny?" she demanded, even
 through her tears and their embrace.
 
 He laughed again. "It's 'lummox' not 'llama.' But hey, close enough."
 
 They both laughed then, until, for the first time, Kowalski took her face
 in his hands and tenderly kissed her. 
 
 And kissed her.
 
 And kept kissing her.
 
 Frannie had never felt such bliss in her life. Not even with her first
 husband, the jerk. Holding him even tighter, she threw herself into the
 kiss with full force, and he accepted her without hesitation.
 
 I love him, she realized. And he loves me.
 
 Smiling against his lips, she let all other thought disappear.
 
 *********
 
 The wedding was a grand affair. Ma Vecchio insisted on that. "My baby is
 not getting married in a barn," she insisted, and proceeded to make the
 most extravagant arrangements since time was invented.
 
 Fraser, naturally, acted as Kowalski's best man, and Elaine Besbriss was
 Francesca's Maid of Honor. To everyone's amusement, the person to catch
 the bouquet was Inspector Thatcher, and Ray and Francesca eyed each other
 knowingly. All Fraser had to say was, "Oh. Oh dear." But he was
 smiling.
 
 The reception was long, happy, and overwhelmingly full of good cheer.
 Almost no one was injured in the bobbing for fish game Fraser had brought
 along, and Huey only suffered one black eye while being assailed by
 Frannie's nieces and nephews who begged him to play with them. 
 
 In the end, Kowalski and Frannie stepped into a certain black GTO that
 someone had decked out with soda cans and tissue paper. Before she left,
 Frannie gave her brother, who had come up from Florida especially for the
 occasion, a big hug. 
 
 "What was that for?" Ray asked 
 
 Frannie smiled. "For going undercover and bringing him into my life."
 She gave her sun-browned brother a quick peck on the cheek. "Thank you,"
 she whispered, then scurried off to slide into the passenger seat beside
 Kowalski. 
 
 "Shall we go, my lady?" her blonde-haired husband inquired, smiling
 warmly.
 
 Frannie felt her whole body melt under that gaze. "Forward march," she
 replied.
 
 Kowalski gunned the engine, gave her one more good long kiss, and pulled
 away from the curb, beneath a shower of rice and well-wishing.
 
 Frannie cuddled up close to her new husband, a happy grin on her face.
 This felt right. When all was said and done, everything that had
 transpired, from her brother's undercover work with the mob, to the
 beating by the Riddell Gang (who had, thankfully, been caught, thanks to
 Dief's nose, and incarcerated, thanks to Fraser's evidence gathering),
had
 all worked out for the best.
 
 She gazed at the man she loved, until he finally pulled his eyes from the
 road to return her look. "What is it, Mrs. Kowalski?"
 
 Mrs. Kowalski. Mrs. Francesca Kowalski. Sounded good. "Nothing, Mr.
 Kowalski. Just thinking how lucky I am."
 
 He grinned slyly. "Think you're lucky now? Wait until we hit the hotel."
 
 She felt herself blush, but she couldn't resist sliding closer to him. "I
 can't wait." Resting her cheek against his shoulder, she watched the
 road stretch out before them.
 
 And a black GTO slipped into the twilight.
 
 
 THE END
 
 
 Well, what do you think? I didn't quite know where this story was going
 to lead me (it's been in the making for several weeks), but I think, all
 in all, that it came out to be exactly what I wanted it to be. It was a
 labor of love, really. And when you've got such great characters as
 Francesca and Kowalski to work with (portrayed by such great actors as
 Ramona Milano and Callum Keith Rennie), it's hard not to have fun. I hope
 you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Perhaps there
 will be more to come from this happy couple. Maybe even a Kowalski jr....