Standard disclaimer applies    

Standard disclaimer applies. All Due South characters are the property of
the geniuses who created them, and after I change their lives a little bit
they will be returned unharmed. All other characters have been created for
personal enjoyment of readers only. No profit is made or expected from
this story. First posted to RSY List 9/99. Post anywhere you like but
please ask me first. 

'The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood' by Howard Pyle is from a children's
book of short stories entitled The Family Treasury of Children's Stories.
Ride Forever was written (of course) by Paul Gross and David Keeley for
Don't Blink Music Inc. and the Circle Game was written and composed by
Joni Mitchell for Asylum Records. 

For Elaine and everyone on the DMcDB List: I promise this is not a
Turnbull death story, it does however contain a certain amount of Turnbull
sap (really?). The idea came from two sources, first a brief suggestion in
another fan fiction piece that Turnbull might at one time have had a
family, and secondly the 'Gulliver Turnbull' scene in Bounty Hunter. It
started out as one piece, but developed a mind of it's own and is now a
four part series entitled "A Small Matter of Respect". 

Special thanks to Birgitt for great, FAST beta work, and Marybeth and my
Soul Sister Pamela for the words of encouragement. 

This is a story that takes place sometime in the 3rd/4th season, but
assumes that the Consulate is still in the original seasons 1-2 building.
All major characters are included. There are no spoilers that I am aware
of. It is rated PG for mild language. I live for feedback especially what
everyone thinks of Turnbull fiction without slash. 

  A Small Matter of Respect By Shirley Russell robusre@earthlink.net 

  

 Chapter I Mister Mountie to the Rescue  

Constable Renfield Turnbull knew beyond any doubt that he was once again
in trouble. In rushing to answer the phone on his desk he had sent the
vase full of flowers crashing to the floor. Her flowers. Her just
delivered, she hadn't even seen them yet, flowers. The Inspector's
flowers. As he stooped to try to salvage the roses and his career he
wondered if life really was worth living. 

Of course Constable Fraser would have given him the long suffering, 'Oh
dear, I just don't understand' look. The look that spoke volumes without
his actually having to say a word. Oh no, words would be left for
Inspector Thatcher, loud angry words that he more than deserved. To his
way of thinking anyway. 

Turnbull knew from ample experience that the flowers were beyond help, as
was he. He could hear her moving toward her office door, coming toward the
Consulate foyer in response to the sound of shattering glass. "Oh dear." 

"Turnbull! What have you done this...?" As she rounded the corner there
was no need to complete the sentence, she could see the answer. Pointing
at the mess on the floor, "And those were...?" 

He was torn. Should he stand at attention or continue his attempt to clean
up the mess? He decided being upright would enable him to better absorb
the verbal blows that were about to rain upon him. He straightened to
attention and, without meeting her eyes, handed her the card that had been
attached to the vase, "These...these were just de...delivered for you
ma'am." Staring intently at his boots, "I...I am very...very s...sorry."
He steeled himself for the onslaught. 

She read the card and sighed. Her anger did not dissipate, however. "Yes
Constable, it seems that you are very sorry quite often. However, that
does nothing to replace my flowers, now does it?" She hesitated long
enough for Turnbull to wonder if she was through with him. He could not
believe that this was all however, he would never have had such good
fortune. He glanced up and cringed when he saw the look on her face. There
was definitely more coming.  

"Turnbull, you have be a member of the RCMP how long now? Never mind, I
don't want to know. Do you have any idea what the Americans think of you,
what kind of example you set...?" She was angrier than he had ever seen
her but... 

Ample experience had also taught him that her questions were rhetorical.
She definitely did not want a response. He remained silent.  

His silence did nothing to calm her anger. When, without warning, she
turned on her heel, and returned to her office, Turnbull did not move. He
was totally confused by her action, was he supposed to follow her? Stay
where he was, at attention? Or perhaps disappear into the woodwork? He
wanted to disappear of course, but he just wasn't sure... 

She returned as abruptly as she had left and shoved a file folder at him.
"Take these documents reagarding the Jacques Le Plante extradition to
Constable Fraser at the 27th Precinct. Lt. Welsh needs them ASAP. You will
have to hurry and as I will be using the Consulate car you will have to
walk." She felt vaguely uneasy about sending him out in the oppressive
Chicago heat in his wool uniform, but he deserved to be uncomfortable for
awhile. "While you are gone Constable, I want you to consider your
immediate transfer to another posting. One as far away from your current
location as is humanly possible." 

The Constable gaped at her. "Sir?" 

"Dismissed!" But Turnbull was frozen in place. He was unable to move, his
chin having dropped to somewhere in the vicinity of his knees. "Get going,
Constable. NOW!" She again turned on her heel and slammed her office door
behind her. 

"Oh dear," he muttered as he ran out the door. He had known that she would
discipline him, but he assumed it would be something in the realm of
sentry duty for the rest of the foreseeable future, not transfer! He
couldn't leave Chicago, there was too much... He'd have to talk to her
tomorrow, after she had had time to calm down and reconsider. Oh dear, she
never reconsidered once she had made up her mind. That was one thing he
could always count on, once she had decided...it was law. Oh dear! 

By the time he reached the Police Station he was quite literally hot under
the collar. Living most all his life near Vancouver had not prepared him
for the intense heat and humidity of Chicago's summer. Standing sentry
duty had almost done him in a few times, but it was nothing compared to
the way he felt now. Woozy was an apt description. Dizzy and lightheaded
also fit. 

The interior of the Station offered little relief, as the air conditioner
was woefully inadequate to compete with the 100 degree temperature. The
incessant humming of ceiling fans and the usual racket and congestion of
the squad room only served to intensify his discomfort. He noticed that
everyone else around him seemed...grumpy...as he tried to make his way
through the crowded squad room. The heat was obviously affecting everyone,
even those who were "used" to it. 

During his hurried trip to the Station he had come to a decision. He would
speak privately with Constable Fraser as soon as possible. He hoped he
could enlist the aid of the other man to speak to Inspector Thatcher on
his behalf, Fraser had certainly taken up his cause on other occasions! 

He saw the unmistakable Red Serge clad back of Fraser from across the
room. The sight of another RCMP uniform was always a comforting sight. It
made him feel a little less alone in the big city of Chicago, a little
less like an enigma. A little less like he was center stage with a
spotlight was shinning on him; with Constable Fraser around people rarely
noticed him at all. He so admired Constable Fraser. 

As he approached Detective Vecchio's desk he realized the Detective and
Constable Fraser were having a none too private discussion and were not
aware of his presence. As he came closer he was able to discern most of
the conversation. He was not eavesdropping, he just could not help but
hear. 

"Dammit Frase, where is he? He's more ofa freak than you are, ya know?
Only he's really a total freak, you're justa sometimes freak. He proba'ly
got lost. Hell, he'd get lost just walkin to the front door of the
Consulate. If he doesn't get here pretty soon Welsh'll have our butts."
Ray ran his hands through his experimental hair as Fraser nodded in what
Turnbull interpreted as silent agreement. "Ya know the man's a complete
idiot, how the hell did someone like him ever get ta be a Mountie? How dya
put up with him...? Ray was obviously very angry. 

Turnbull was once again frozen in place, if the term frozen could apply to
someone who was so overheated. He realized, of course, he was the idiot to
whom Detective Vecchio was referring, and he was hurt. But what hurt more
than Vecchio's words was Constable Fraser's reaction, his silent
acceptance of the truth of those words. 

Lt. Welsh had seen the other Constable enter the squad room and was
anxious to get his hands on the file Turnbull was carrying. He hesitated
in the doorway of his office just long enough to hear a portion of Vecchio
and Fraser's conversation. "Uh, gentlemen, do you think you could suspend
your character assassination long enough to get your butts and that file
Constable Turnbull has kindly brought us IN MY OFFICE?" Welsh smiled
weakly at Turnbull and retreated into his office.  

Fraser and Vecchio were astonished to see the red faced Turnbull standing
behind them. Without making eye contact Turnbull shoved the aforementioned
file into Fraser's midsection, then turned and hurried out of the squad
room. 

Fraser moved to stop him as Welsh bellowed from inside his office, "Now,
gentlemen!" 

"Jeez Frase, sorry. Didn't mean fer him ta hear me. It's this damn heat,
everybudy's on edge. I'll apologize or sumthin later." Ray felt badly
about what he had said, but even worse that he couldn't do something about
it right now. He was a right now kinda guy, after all. 

Fraser just nodded and dragged a thumbnail across his brow. "We'll talk to
him after this extradition matter is settled." He stared in the direction
of Turnbull's retreat, sighed and walked slowly into Welsh's office
shaking his head. 

Turnbull hurried down the street, letting his feet determine his
direction. He paid no conscious attention to where he was. He had
forgotten his physical discomfort and was focused on the emotional pain he
was experiencing. He'd heard words like Detective Vecchio's before. They
still hurt of course, but he had come to accept them as a fact of life,
his life. What he couldn't accept was Fraser's reaction. There was no one
he knew whose respect he desired more and had tried so tirelessly to earn.
Obviously he had failed. Just now he realized how badly he had failed. 

Not only did he realize he had failed, but he also now knew that he had no
choice but to make the decision as to where his next posting would be. He
wondered briefly if the moon was far enough away for Inspector Thatcher.  

Without conscious effort he arrived back at the Consulate. Realizing where
he was he glanced toward the parking lot and determined that Inspector
Thatcher had not yet returned. For the first time today he was grateful to
God. 

He heard the children giggling behind him as he started to open the
Consulate door. "Oh dear," he muttered as he sighed deeply. He hesitated
for a long while. He knew that he must appear upset, and he couldn't face
them that way. It would not be seemly to present anything but his best
Mountie face to them. It took all his courage not to disappear inside the
Consulate without acknowledging their presence. After several long moments
he gathered all his nerve, pasted on his best smile and turned around. 

"Howdy dowdy, my diminutive friends." 

"Hi Mister Mountie!" a chorus of children's voices called to him. "We're
goin to the park fer a picnic. Ya wanna come with us? Please? Miss Susan
says you ken come." 

"Please?" 

"Pleeeeeease?" 

Turnbull went down on one knee to meet their eye level and smiled. By this
time his smile had changed from forced to genuine, there was nothing that
could drive his problems away faster than the presence of children. He
looked over the tops of 8 six-year-old heads to the concerned eyes of
their companion. "Oh, she said I could come, did she?"	

He straightened up and greeted the pretty young woman, "Hello, Miss
Harris. How are you and your young charges today?" She looked just like
summer. Her red sundress printed with white daisies and her straw hat
reminded him of strawberries and cream that he had had as a child visiting
Wimbledon. She also reminded him of things he had tried so desperately to
forget... 

She saw the cloud pass through his eyes. His entire appearance concerned
her. "Actually I was going to ask you the same thing. Is everything
alright, Constable?" She tried to keep the concern out of her voice; these
kids picked up on everything, and she didn't want to worry them. 

"Everything is just fine. I do, however, seem to have gotten a little
overheated walking to my errand at the Police Station." At least it was a
portion of the truth. 

"You WALKED to the Station? Both ways? That's got to be at least 4 miles!
In that wool uniform? Are you crazy?" She kept her voice low, but he heard
the recrimination. "Here, drink this now!" She passed him the sipper
bottle of water she was carrying. "You could have gotten heat stroke! Or
worse! At the very least you're probably dehydrated!" 

He cringed at her harsh words. Today was certainly his day for them. At
least she hadn't come right out and called him an idiot. She saw his
discomfort and placed her hand lightly on his arm. "I'm sorry, Constable,
I didn't mean to be cross with you. It's just that you're not used to this
heat and humidity. I've lived in Chicago all my life and I'm not used to
it! And you insist on wearing that blasted wool uniform!" 

"Miss Harris, please! I'm very proud of my..." 

One of the children, Amber, was pulling on his tunic. "Mister Mountie,
please come with us. We wanna play ball, and we gots bologny samiches and
peanut butter and jelly and apples and juice and chips!" 

"That's you have bologna sandwiches Amber." 

"Yeah, bologny samiches." 

Turnbull smiled warmly at the young girl. He hesitated, however, looked
back toward his now temporary place of employment and sighed. There wasn't
much he could do here anyway, so... "How could I possibly refuse such a
sumptuous repast? Okey dokey. Let's go!"  

"Yipee! Another one of the little girls grabbed his left hand as two
others fought for his right. 

"Oops, sorry little ladies, I think I need this hand to help another
lady." He turned to Susan Harris, relieved her of the heavy picnic basket
and proceeded to follow several skipping children down the block. 

Susan frowned at his back. There was something wrong, something more than
being overheated. She was concerned for her friend, he was such a good,
decent man she didn't like to see him upset. 

It was only a couple of blocks to the park, but she purposely slowed their
pace. His color was returning to normal but she was still concerned about
the heat and that darned wool uniform jacket. What had he called it, a
tunic? Was the temperature always below freezing in Canada? Why didn't
they have summer weight uniforms like every other civilized country? She'd
just have to see about this! 

When they arrived at the park Susan selected a shady spot under a willow
tree to spread a blanket and set up their lunch. Lunch would have to wait,
however, as the children had other plans. The boys had brought a red
rubber ball from school and were determined to play dodge ball, with
Mister Mountie being "it". 

Susan grabbed the ball away from Turnbull. "Oh no, you don't! There is NO
way I'm going to let you run around in the sun playing with those wild
Indians in that wool jacket." 

"Miss..." 

"Nope, no way! Eight six year olds is more than enough. I will not have an
unconscious Mountie on my hands too. Take off the boots and jacket and
give them to me. I promise I will guard them with my life. Otherwise it's
no dodge ball. That's final!" She smiled at him but he knew she was
serious. 

Eight sets of child eyes pleaded with him. They knew she was serious too,
and when she took that tone of voice they knew not to argue. Turnbull was
undecided. Being out of uniform in public was totally unacceptable, but
disappointing the children was...oh dear. 

As he began unbuttoning the tunic the children cheered and Susan sighed in
relief. He removed the jacket, carefully folded it and handed it to her.
She had to smile at his embarrassment, he was wearing cotton T-shirt
underneath, but had obviously never been quite so...unclothed...in public.


"Okay, off with the boots, and then you're free to play to your heart's
content." The look he gave her could only be described as stricken. "I
promise I'll guard them with my life. Go!" 

It took him a few minutes to relax enough to fully participate in the
game, but one direct hit to the back of his head and he joined in full
force. Susan winced. "Ouch, that had to hurt!" she muttered as she watched
the children attack. 

After several more attempts to bring him down the game deteriorated into a
sort of organized chaos with Mister Mountie as the target and his
attempting to keep them from hurting each other. And of course Susan
sitting under the tree rooting for the kids. Running around in circles and
wildly throwing the ball at anything that moved became the game of choice
for the next hour or so. 

Finally, when he could not longer breathe Turnbull gave up. One of the
boys yelled "Sneak attack!" and suddenly Mister Mountie was on the ground
with eight children on top, tickling him. Now he really couldn't breathe,
he was laughing so hard. "Uncle, uncle. Let me up!" Except he was laughing
so hard he couldn't get up and needed Susan to help him. 

Eight very tired children and one exhausted Mountie collapsed on the
blanket in the shade of the willow tree. "How about something to drink
while Mister Mountie catches his breathe and then something to eat?" Susan
opened and passed out some juice boxes and poured Turnbull a glass of iced
tea from a thermos. "Juice for the victors, tea for the vanquished." She
smiled at him as she handed him the glass. He was looking much more
relaxed than he had earlier, worn out, but relaxed. She hoped that
whatever was bothering him had been at least temporarily forgotten. 

They chatted as they ate sandwiches and chips. That is to say Susan
chatted and Turnbull listened. He enjoyed her company so much as she was a
very interesting woman. He just wished she didn't remind him so much
of...well enough of that! She saw that cloud pass through his eyes again
and silently hoped she hadn't said something inappropriate. 

When the children had moved into small groups on the grass and were mostly
out of hearing she finally asked, "Constable...Renfield...is there
something I can do to help? I can tell there's something bothering
you...." 

"No really it's nothing...". Susan was watching his eyes as the change
came. It was as if he had drawn a window shade down over them, she could
not longer look into his eyes, she could only look at them. She felt a
great sadness as she looked at him. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry. Let's talk about something else." She
quickly cast about for a more neutral topic. "Have you noticed the change
in Maria? I think you are responsible for that." They both looked toward
Maria sitting with her friend Amber. 

"It's hard to come to a strange country and try to fit in..." Oops, he
hadn't wanted to go there. Please let her drop it here. 

"She seems to be making friends, with a lot of help from you. You should
be proud of that. Did you have the same..." 

Daniel ran up and dropped down at their feet. "Mister Mountie, read us
some more about Robin Hood?" The other children heard Daniel and were upon
the man in an instant. "Yeah, some more Robin Hood! Please?" The look on
his face told Susan that these kids had found an easy mark in Constable
Turnbull. There was obviously nothing he wouldn't do for them. 

"It just so happens that in the picnic basket I have...ta da! 'The Merry
Adventures of Robin Hood'." She laughed as she handed it to her friend. 

"Why do I feel like I've been the victim of a plot?" The children all
gathered closer to Mister Mountie and Miss Susan as he began reading.  

'King Henry II had taunted the Sheriff of Nottingham because he was
unable, in spite of his enormous array of men-at-arms, to capture Robin
Hood' 

The children cheered at the mention of their other hero. 

'and his little band. So the Sheriff thinks up the scheme of the
shooting-match. But of course he does not succeed this time, nor at any
other time, in his efforts to catch the bold outlaw.' 

An elderly couple walked down the path near the group sitting under the
tree. "George, look," he wife whispered to him, "isn't that sweet?" 

"Yeah sure, sweet." George was preoccupied wondering if there were any
fish in the pond on the other side of the path. 

"George you don't have a romantic bone in your body." She punched him
affectionately on the arm. "They make a beautiful couple, don't you think,
pretty young blonde girl and a handsome man? They look like something from
60 years ago, when times were simpler, easier, more idyllic." 

"You think they look like they got it easy, idyllic? Eight kids? They look
like they oughta be dead!" 

"George!" They both laughed softly as they proceeded down the path  

As he read to them Susan leaned back against the tree trunk and closed her
eyes. It was so peaceful here with the children finally quiet and still,
Constable Turnbull's animated reading pleasing to her ears, and the heat
of the day beginning to dissipate. She realized that she was could be
content to stay here for...She shook her thoughts away and checked her
watch. 

Turnbull took his cue from her actions and closed the book. "It looks like
it's time we got you ladies and gentlemen back to the school. You're
parents will be coming and they can't pick you up if you're not there." He
rubbed a finger under Maria's chin causing her to laugh. A couple of the
others giggled at him, but most were disappointed that their picnic with
Mister Mountie had come to an end. 

Susan began to clean up. "Okay, everyone gather up your trash and go throw
it out." As they both reached for his glass Turnbull noticed her left hand
and was brought crashing back to reality. Being with her and the children
had temporarily blocked out the events of earlier in the day. But the
engagement ring on her finger reminded him all to clearly of just who he
was and the remembering also reminded him of what was about to happen to
his career. 

Susan sensed the change in him almost immediately. "Renfield?" 

He was on his feet and heading toward the trash can in an instant. "They
are going to turn that can over if they're not careful. Daniel, be
careful. Wait a minute and I'll help you." Susan sighed, he had avoided
her again. She'd have to stop pressing him, or drive him away completely. 

She gathered up the remaining contents of the picnic basket, folded the
blanket and handed them to Turnbull. He reached for his tunic but she just
shook her head and draped it over her arm. "Wait until we get back to the
Consulate, it's cooled down some, but it's still awfully hot." She smiled
at him and proceeded to collect the children for the walk back to school.
"Maria, would you carry the ball for Mister Mountie? He's got his hands
full." Maria was thrilled to help her friend and proudly took the ball
from him. 

They walked the two blocks back to the Consulate in almost total silence.
Even the children were subdued. The closer they came to the building the
more withdrawn Turnbull became. About a half block from the entrance he
slowed down and turned to Susan. 

"Uh, Miss Harris, I want to wish you every happiness in your pending
nuptials." 

She laughed. He had really surprised her. "Thank you Renfield, but Doug
and I haven't even set a date yet. And when we do you will certainly be
invited." 

He suddenly became intent on studying his boots. "I will be receiving
transfer orders very soon and may not have the opportunity to speak with
you again before I leave." He blurted out the words before he could stop
himself and her reaction stunned him. 

"Renfield, no!" She was totally shocked. "Why didn't you tell me? What
about the kids and the school? Does Ms Atkins know?" 

"I just found out today." He hung his head again afraid she would see the
tears forming in his eyes. "It wasn't my decision." 

"Oh Renfield, I'm so sorry." She gently touched his arm. "Where will you
be going?" She asked softly. 

Very far from here, he thought. "I don't know yet. My superior officer and
I will make that determination tomorrow morning." By now they had arrived
back at the Consulate and neither one of them could think of anything else
to say. 

Turnbull set down the picnic things he was carrying and turned to open the
door completely oblivious to the fact that she was still carrying his
tunic. "Goodbye, Mister Mountie. See ya at school on Monday."  

This time he couldn't find the strength to turn around to face the
children. "Yes, see you..." 

Amber turned to Maria and whispered "Why is Miss Susan crying?" Maria was
bouncing the ball on the sidewalk but watching her friend Mister Mountie.
He was unhappy and that made her sad.  

Turnbull heard rather than saw the ball bounce into the street and reacted
in an instant. Instinctively he knew there would be a child in the street
right behind it.  

He was right, Maria ran into the street after the ball with Turnbull right
on her heels. "Meghan NO!" He grabbed her by the arm from the path of an
oncoming vehicle and threw her away from the car and back against the
pavement. He was able to save her but unable to save himself. 

The speeding car hit him full force, the driver not even having time to
hit the brakes. He was thrown first into a parked car and then to the
pavement about 50 feet from the point of impact. He heard a child
screaming from a great distance and prayed. Please dear God I pray I
didn't hurt her, please don't let her be hurt. It was his last thought
before losing consciousness. 

  

Chapter II The Discovery 

The interminable meeting with Lt. Welsh had finally come to an end. Ray
and Fraser had not eaten since lunch and it was now nearing 8pm. But
neither one of them wanted to think about food, they were both too anxious
to speak with Constable Turnbull. The things that he had said about
Turnbull earlier had hung in the back of Ray's mind all day, like a bad
dream. Now all he wanted to do was apologize, tell the guy that he had
opened his mouth and inserted his size 10s right in. 

Fraser had also been brooding about the incident. Turnbull wasn't an
idiot, he behaved rather...oddly at times, but it was just...just that he
tried too hard. And it seemed the harder he tried the more he mucked
things up. 

They decided to go to the Consulate first, Fraser certain that Turnbull
would not leave until he returned. Turnbull would never leave his post. He
smiled to himself. Yes, Turnbull often acted strangely, but he knew his
duty and tried his best to do it.  

As Ray pulled the GTO up to the curb Fraser saw immediately that something
was wrong. The front door was standing open and there were no lights
showing from inside the building. In fact it the interior was pitch black.


Fraser and Ray were at the front steps in a heartbeat. They stood on
either side of the open door, Ray with his gun drawn. Just as they were
about to enter the building Inspector Thatcher came up behind them. 

"Constable, Detective, what on earth are you doing?" 

Both Fraser and Ray jumped at her words. "Jeez, Inspector, be quiet!" Ray
hissed at her. 

"Inspector, the door was ajar when we arrived," Fraser whispered to her,
"there may be something amiss inside." 

"Say no more. Proceed!" 

Inspector Thatcher and Fraser followed Ray into the darkened building. It
took several seconds for their eyes to adjust to the darkness and then
they began their systematic search. After a few minutes they determined
that they were alone in the building and that nothing had been disturbed. 

Spying the wilted roses still scattered on the floor Thatcher was sure
what had happened. "I'm not going to have him transferred, I am going to
have him fired! I...I..." She was so angry that she could not form the
words. "I cannot believe...he went home and left the door open? I don't
know which will happen first, my firing him or my killing him!" 

"Inspector Thatcher, I don't think Constable Turnbull would ever..." 

"Fraser, not thinking is his problem, not yours. Not thinking is his..." 

"Excuse please?" A woman was standing in the doorway. With her were a
young teenaged boy and an even younger girl, with her arm in a cast. 

"I'm sorry, the Consulate is closed." Thatcher was in no mood to be polite
to strangers at the moment. 

"I Senora Calvo, this is mi hijo Rafael and mi hija Maria..." 

"My mother's English isn't that great. I'm Raf, and this is Maria. We want
to know about the Mountie." 

"Excuse me?" 

"The Mountie, Turnbull, he threw my Maria away..." 

"He did WHAT?" Thatcher's voice had risen at least two octaves. 

"She...sorry, my English... Rafael, you tell..." 

"My sister ran into the street and Mister Mountie, er Constable Turnbull
saved her. She's got a broken arm. The car hit him." 

"Constable Turnbull was hit by a car? When?" 

Rafael turned to his Mother who said something to him in Spanish. "About
3:30." 

"That was 5 hours ago! Was he taken to the hospital?" Thatcher's anger had
been replaced with concern for her subordinate officer.  

Maria nodded and began to cry. "He was hurt and wouldn't wake up. They
couldn't make him wake up." Fraser went to her and patted her shoulder. 

"I'm sure he will be fine." He looked at her mother and Rafael, "Leave
your phone number and we'll call you when we find out how he is. But we
need to lock the door now and go to the hospital." He ushered the family
out. Close on his heels were Ray and the Inspector. 

"Ray, I think the situation requires all due haste!" 

"I'm all over that, Fraser."  

Ray made it to the hospital in record time. He brought the car to a
screeching halt near the ER entry doors and the three of them were through
those doors in a heartbeat. Thatcher and Fraser ran full tilt through the
nearly empty room toward the admissions desk as Ray slid to a halt near
the waiting room. 

"Fraser!" Ray yelled as he pointed toward the flash of red he had seen out
of the corner of his eye. What they saw puzzled them both. Curled up
asleep in a molded orange plastic chair was a young woman. Covering her
was a RCMP red serge tunic. 

"Excuse me..." Fraser touched her shoulder lightly, but Susan was awake
and on her feet in an instant. 

"How is he? Is there any word?" She suddenly became aware that the tunic
had fallen to the floor and she grabbed it up quickly. "Oh God, I know how
he is about this jacket..." She had to put her hand over her mouth to hold
back a sob. She looked at Fraser and attempted to hand him the tunic. "I'm
sorry for putting it over me, but I'm not exactly dressed for the cold in
here... I'm sorry, I tend to babble when I'm worried." 

Fraser shook his head at her. "Keep it for now, it is rather cool in
here." He turned in the direction Inspector Thatcher had gone. "We don't
know anything yet, we just arrived." 

Susan ran her hands through her messy hair. "Of course, I'm sorry, we
weren't sure how to reach any of you. What time is it?" Looking at her
watch, "Dear God, he's been in surgery 4 hours!" 

Thatcher hurried up behind Susan. "Excuse me, who are you, and why are you
wearing Constable Turnbull's tunic?" 

"Susan Harris. I was carrying it when he was hit." She closed her eyes to
block out the memory. "Renfield and I both teach at St Luke's School." 

"Teach?" 

Fraser interrupted the Inspector's apparent line of questioning believing
there to be more important questions to be asked. "I'm Benton Fraser, this
is Inspector Margaret Thatcher and Detective Ray Vecchio. Can you tell us
what happened?" 

Susan knew the images were forever branded in her memory, that she could
never forget them. She wasn't at all sure she could put them into words,
not coherent ones anyway.  

She took a deep, shaky breath. "We were walking back from the park. The
children were released early today for teacher conferences, but some
parents aren't able to pick their children up early. I agreed to watch
them and Mister, ah, Renfield was enlisted to come with us to the park.
Maria is Renfield's favorite. I think he identifies with her loneliness
being in a foreign country..." 

Fraser sighed audibly and Ray gave him a sideways glance. He knew that
Fraser had occasional bouts of homesickness but it had never occurred to
either one of them that Turnbull would feel the same loneliness. He always
seemed so...happy. 

"Who's Meghan?" Susan frowned when she realized none of the others knew
what she was talking about. She continued, "Maria ran into the street and
Renfield was after her before I even knew what was happening. He called
her Meghan." She angrily backhanded tears from her cheeks. Tears would do
nothing to help Renfield now. "The car hit him without even slowing down."
The damn tears were starting again. "He's been in surgery a long time..." 

They settled in to wait. After a few minutes an admitting nurse came over
to them. "You said you are Mr. Turnbull's superior officer? Do you have
his health insurance number?" 

Susan looked up. "His wallet is in his...tunic." Susan fished through the
pockets, feeling a little like she was prying again, and handed his wallet
to Fraser. 

Fraser sat in the nearest chair to look through it. The first thing he saw
upon opening the wallet was a picture of a pretty young woman, who looked
remarkably like Susan Harris, and a young girl of about 3. Curious, he
turned it over. "Hm." 

"Fraser?" 

"I think I know who Meghan is." He handed the picture to Inspector
Thatcher. The inscription on the back read 'To Renny-All our love Melanie
and Meghan 6/91'. 

Further investigation produced Turnbull's Health Insurance Card, which
Fraser handed to the nurse, and a newspaper clipping. After a few moments
hesitation Fraser unfolded the article and began reading. "Oh dear..." 

Inspector Thatcher took the clipping from Fraser and read it out loud: 

'Melanie Turnbull, 25 and daughter, Meghan, 3 were killed today in an
apparent hit and run accident. The Turnbull family, including Melanie's
husband Renfield, was walking from their home to St John's Episcopal
Church for Sunday service. Renfield Turnbull was not injured. Mr. and Mrs.
Turnbull teach at Hawthorne Street Elementary School in Hampton. Funeral
arrangements are pending.' "It's dated 8/13/91, two months after the
picture was taken." 

"Oh, God." Susan was crying again but this time made no attempt hide her
tears. 

No one spoke for several minutes. What could they possibly say? Susan
finally broke the silence, speaking to no one in particular. "The children
really love him, you know? He's been teaching art part time, with a little
bit of Canadian history thrown in for good measure, to 1st and 2nd graders
for most of this school year."	

"Rafael referred to him as Mister Mountie..." 

Susan sat bolt upright up in her chair. "You saw Rafael? How's Maria? I
haven't seen her; I left the children with Mrs. Spencer and Mrs. Calvo and
came to the hospital with Renfield. I..." 

"Her arm is broken and she was a little scraped up, but other than that
she seems okay, She seemed very worried about...Mister Mountie." 

Susan sighed. That was going to be a big problem, but she wouldn't worry
about that yet, maybe he'd be okay by then. 

"You were going to tell us about Mister Mountie?" Inspector Thatcher was
dying of curiosity about Turnbull's none to secret identity. 

"Oh...yes. When Maria and her brother first enrolled in school she was
assigned to Renfield's art class. Her limited use of English compounded
with her thick Argentinean accent made it almost impossible for her to
pronounce 'Constable Turnbull'. The other children teased her mercilessly,
to the point that Renfield felt he must intervene. He told her that her
special name for him would be Mister Mountie. As she made more and more
friends they asked if they could also call him by her special name, and
the rest, as they say, is history."  

"Are you people here about the Mountie?" 

They hadn't even heard the doctor enter the room but were all on their
feet instantly. "I'm his superior officer. What can you tell us about his
condition?" 

"Let's sit down, can we? It's been a long evening." The doctor took a deep
breath before continuing. "The Constable suffered numerous internal
injuries and a broken leg, but he came through the surgery without major
complications. He's a very strong young man." 

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief as the doctor continued. "He has also
suffered a severe concussion. He has not regained consciousness...he is
currently in a coma." He held up his hands at the rapid intake of breath
from the Inspector and Susan. "There is currently no cause for alarm. The
cranial swelling should go down in the next couple of days, and there is
every reason to expect his full recovery. It sounds trite I'm sure, but
the next 48 hours should tell the tale. Now it's time for all of you to go
home and get some rest. Let us get him settled in ICU and you can come
back tomorrow and see him. Leave a number where one of you can be reached,
just in case. Now, I need some rest too." 

As they prepared to leave Ray finally spoke up. "Hey Frase, I'm gonna hang
around, ya know? I don't like the idea of him bein here by himself. If he
wakes up someone oughta be here. Take Inspector Thatcher and Miss Harris
home in my car. I'll stay." 

"Ray, are you sure?" 

"I owe him, ya know? I wanna do this." 

Fraser smiled at his partner. "I can come back if you like?" 

"Nah, get some sleep and come back in the mornin. I'll just wait in one of
these terrific plastic chairs." 

Fraser was touched by Ray's concern for his fellow officer, "Thanks Ray." 

As they left the ER Inspector Thatcher turned to Fraser. "Constable, I
think Detective Vecchio has the right idea. It would be good if one of us
stayed here until he comes around. He shouldn't have to be alone." She was
thinking about the comment Susan had made earlier, about being alone in a
foreign country. "Why don't we take shifts? I'll relieve Vecchio in the
morning and you can relieve me tomorrow evening?" 

"I'll shuffle some personal stuff and be here Sunday." Susan saw their
surprise, "Hey, he's my friend too!" 

"Good, then that's settled. By Monday he should be awake." The others did
not respond to Thatcher's optimism, they just silently hoped she was
correct. 

None of them slept much that night. Ray couldn't have slept if he'd tried,
which he didn't. The stupid plastic chairs were the most uncomfortable
things he'd ever sat in, much less try ta sleep on. He was glad he stayed
though. No one should hafta stay in a hospital alone. And he was gonna
make sure Turnbull wasn't ever alone. Sometime in the wee hours of the
morning a cute nurse took pity on him and let him catch a few hours of
sleep in the Doctor's Lounge. Plastic covered couch? Was everything in
this place plastic? He finally fell asleep with visions of her dancing
through his mind. Angel of Mercy that she was. 

Fraser never slept much anyway, but this night he slept even less. He had
never spoken with Turnbull about personal matters, but now wished
desperately that he had. He hadn't considered that the other man might be
feeling some of the same things that he had experienced, homesickness, the
loneliness of a strange city, loosing loved ones. Talking with him might
have helped both of them through some of the rougher times. But no, he
never talked to anyone about how he felt. He finally fell asleep somewhere
near daybreak, his last thought was that he might have missed a golden
opportunity. 

Thatcher tossed and turned most of the night. She was just plain worried.
Worried that her subordinate was hurt, that he might never... No she would
allow herself to think that!  

She had to be able to talk to him. To tell him that she had reconsidered
his transfer. She had made that determination long before hearing about
his accident. She had shouted at him without just cause...no that wasn't
true. Damn, her thoughts were such a jumble; first concern for Turnbull,
then feeling sorry for herself, then feeling sorry for the loss of his
family...why hadn't she known about that? Of course, she had never taken
the time to read his personnel file, she'd just assumed he was a bumbling
idiot and left it at that. Now she was mad at herself, Turnbull, even
Fraser. Why the hell was she mad at Fraser? He hadn't done
anything...lately. She fell asleep near dawn the image of Fraser in her
mind's eye. 

Susan couldn't sleep either. She was afraid to close her eyes. When she
did all she saw was the image of Renfield lying so terribly broken on the
pavement in front of his office. And all she could hear were children
screaming for Mister Mountie. And Rafael running to help his sister. Dear
God, how had such a beautiful day gone so terribly wrong? And the
children, what was going to happen to the kids who had witnessed the whole
thing? They would have to have counseling, of course. But what if he
didn't wake up? If Renfield...died...the children would never recover,
they loved him so much. She prayed the most fervent prayer of her life,
'Please, dear God, for Renfield, for the children, for his friends, for
me, let him be okay'. She dozed off with the vision of Renfield reading to
the kids before her eyes.  

The next morning Thatcher arrived to the sight of an extremely...what was
the word...crumpled Vecchio. Of course in her experience this version,
version II, of Vecchio was always crumpled, unlike version I who seemed to
always be dressed in Armani. She silently hoped the Americans who had
concocted this outrageous scheme knew there was a difference. 

"Good morning, Detective. Is there any word on Turnbull's condition?" 

"Just checked, no change. They seem ta think that's okay. You gonna stay
awhile?" 

"We decided last night to take shifts. I'm here to spell you. You might
consider a shower and shave, Detective." She frowned at his appearance. 

"My personal hy...hyg...stuff is no concern of yers, Inspector! But yer
probably right. And a little more shut eye on sumthin other than plastic
might not be a bad idea either. I'll check back wit ya later."	

Thatcher asked the hospital administrator to have a more comfortable chair
placed near Turnbull's ICU room, and given the fact that the staff was
aware of the Mountie's heroics, the administrator agreed. She settled in
for the duration. She had kept hospital vigils before and had come
prepared. With her notebook computer she could complete mounds of
paperwork, and if that got to be too much she could always play Hearts or
FreeCell. She was getting very good at FreeCell. She sighed, she was
getting very good at many things that called for only one participant. 

The day's waiting produced no change in Turnbull's condition. When Fraser
arrived early that evening the news was the same as when he had called all
the other times during the day. 

Fraser and Thatcher stood by his bed watching his motionless form. "He
looks awfully banged up. I can't imagine what it must have felt like to
have been hit..." 

"Inspector, I'm sure he did not feel anything. The human mind has the
capacity to shut out intense pain. When he awakens he will probably not
remember anything that happened. The Inuit have a..." 

"Fraser, not now, please? I'm too tired for stories." 

"Sorry." Fraser was trying to compensate for his concern with words.
Apparently, as far as Inspector Thatcher was concerned, too many words.
"Why don't you go home and get some rest? I'll call if there's any
change." He placed his hand lightly on her arm and gently pushed her
toward the door. 

"Any change, anything at all, and you'll call?" Fraser nodded and the
Inspector left. 

Fraser stood next to the bed watching Turnbull for several more minutes.
This was the first he had seen him since the accident. He had seen many
accident victims in his career of course, some in much worse shape, but
Turnbull was...he was his friend, and his physical condition sickened him.
The entire left side of his upper body was rubbed raw apparently from
contact with asphalt. He was a mass of bandages and tubes. And of course
there was a huge cast on his left leg. "I hope you don't remember any of
what happened when you awaken," he whispered as he turned to walk away. It
suddenly occurred to him, "And Renfield? Maria is just fine." He left the
room to pace the halls. 

When Susan arrived on Sunday morning there was still no change. He had not
moved or moaned or even twitched. No eyelid flutters, nothing. It was very
discouraging. But it had also not yet been 48 hours. That seemed to have
become the magic number. When 48 hours had passed he would suddenly snap
awake and everything would be okay. Or so everyone hoped. 

Susan spent the day near Renfield's room reading student's "What I Did
This Summer" themes and answering phone calls from worried friends, and
parents. As the day wore on she became more and more concerned. His
condition was not improving and tomorrow was Monday, the first school day
since the accident. They were going to have to handle this very carefully.


As the magic hour approached she thought she had come up with a way to
deal with the situation, the truth. Or at least as much of the truth as 6
and 7 year olds could understand. Her plan was fairly simple, but she
would have to call Ms. Atkins for approval. 

Ms. Atkins thought it was a wonderful idea, and between the two of them
they started calling parents to explain. When Fraser, Thatcher and Vecchio
all arrived near the 48 hour mark, Susan was ready to present her idea to
them.  

"There's still no change? I hoped, but of course that's silly. The time of
day shouldn't have any effect on his recovery." Still Thatcher was
overcome with disappointment. 

"Could I speak with you all in the waiting room?" Susan fervently hoped
that this would work, it all depended on their cooperation. 

When they all reached a place in the hospital where she could speak above
a whisper she continued. "I've been fielding calls from concerned parents
all weekend. They're concerned for Renfield, but also very concerned for
their kids. There were 8 children who witnessed the accident and there are
about 40 or so others who know Renfield as their friend. We really need
your help." She was speaking to the Inspector but turned to include Fraser
as well. "Could the two of you come to the school tomorrow morning and
address an assembly of all the children and a few parents? Talking about
the accident with other Mounties might help the children cope." 

Susan sighed in relief as Thatcher nodded in agreement. "We will do
whatever you think is needed, whatever you think will help." 

"And I'll stay here ta be with him." 

"Thank you, Detective, thank you all. I've been really worried about how
we were going to do this. Telling the truth is the only way of course. But
only just as much truth as they can handle." 

Fraser elected to spend the night at the hospital. He silently hoped that
he would be able to bring good news with him to the school tomorrow. He
hadn't spent much time around children and no time at all, that he could
remember, around large groups of them. He knew he would have a hard act to
follow, Mister Mountie was their hero. 

Ray arrived at the hospital at 6:00 am. Lt. Welsh had given him permission
to report to work later in the day and had sent Turnbull a message. 'Tell
Turnbull I said to get his butt outta bed and back to work real soon.' 

Since Fraser never wrinkled, so it wasn't too hard for him to 'get ready
for school' at the hospital. He wanted to wait until the last possible
moment to leave, just in case there were any change in Turnbull's
condition. Sadly for everyone, there was not. 

Inspector Thatcher picked him up at precisely 7:00am. After she checked on
Turnbull one last time they left for school. The ER nurses and other
hospital employees smiled at them as they left the ICU. They made quite a
show stopping pair, both in their dress red serge uniforms. 

Chapter III Back to School 

Inspector Thatcher and Constable Fraser arrived at St Luke's School at
approximately 7:30. Susan had asked them to arrive early saying she had
something she thought they would like to see before the children started
arriving. She also wanted them to go over what they would say. 

"Thank you so much for coming. I've already spoken to several parents and
they are very grateful to you, too. I thought you might like to see the
art room, Renfield's classroom, before the children start arriving." She
led them down corridors that brought back vivid childhood memories for
Thatcher. Low drinking fountains, low windows, small desks and chalkboards
inside cluttered classrooms. She almost laughed out loud. It felt
rather...creepy, like some vaguely remembered dream.  

Fraser, on the other hand, was exhibiting a decidedly different reaction.
As far as he could remember he had only been in a school for children of
this age once or twice, and never when he was a child. He found it
all...fascinating. 

"We have grades K-8 here. The classrooms for the older children are on the
other side of the compound. Here it is room 109." After opening the door
she stepped aside to let the Mounties enter first. She hoped they liked
what they saw. 

"Oh my God!" 

"Oh my." 

Apparently they did. The large room was filled with at least a dozen
easels, assorted workbenches, art supplies, and the smell of...paint. But
the accoutrements of the room where not what caused the shocked responses
of Thatcher and Fraser. It was what lined the walls, what covered every
possible bit of wall space, that drew their rapt attention. Hanging floor
to ceiling and even on a few of the abundant windows where pictures. But
it was not the large numbers of pictures that drew their eyes, it was the
subject matter.  

The pictures were painted in various mediums, tempura, watercolor, crayon,
and even finger paint. Pictures whose subject matter was exclusively
Canadian. Pictures of Mounties, Mounties on horseback, Mounties standing
by their horses, horses with the Canadian flag flying over them, American
and Canadian flags together, the Canadian flag alone, and a few whose
subject matter could not quite be identified. It was marvelous! Both
Canadian citizens felt an uncontrollable desire to salute. 

Thatcher turned to Susan. "This is amazing! How did he get...where
did...how did the children...?" 

Susan began to laugh softly. "He included some Canadian history in his art
classes, and the children did the rest. They apparently found painting a
Mountie and horses more interesting than trees and sky. Every one of the
Mountie pictures is supposed to be Renfield. He told me he thought that
one over there in particular made him look like Mighty Mouse." 

"Mighty Mouse?" 

"I'll explain later, Fraser." 

They continued to examine the pictures, and laugh for several minutes. As
she circled the room Thatcher came upon a large object covered by a tarp.
"Susan, what is this?" 

"I don't think..." It was too late to stop her, as Thatcher had already
pulled off the tarp and stood gaping at what she saw underneath. "I don't
think he would have wanted you to see that..." 

"Inspector, it's lovely. That's you and, if I'm not mistaken..." 

"Lightning Streak," she was unable to raise her voice above a whisper,
"it's from the photograph I have on my desk." She had to clasp her hands
together to keep them from shaking. "It's, it's the most beautiful thing
I've ever seen." She quickly wiped away the tears that were forming in her
eyes. "He knocked the picture off my desk when he was dusting, and I
yelled at him because he'd broken the glass." 

"He's painting it as a birthday gift I believe, but he was worried that it
wouldn't be completed in time. He told me that this is one of his first
attempts in oils. He's a very talented artist." Susan had come up behind
Thatcher and put her arm around the other woman's shoulders. 

"That's a lovely painting isn't it? Is the horse yours?" Ms Atkins had
joined them. 

"Yes, that is he was. He died several years ago." Thatcher extended her
hand to the older woman. "I'm Inspector Margaret Thatcher and this is
Constable Benton Fraser." 

"My name is Isabel Atkins, I'm the School Principal. Is there any word on
Renfield's condition?" 

"As of this morning there is still no change." God, how she was beginning
to hate those words. "But the doctors remain optimistic." 

"Renfield has become very important to us around here. He has a lot of
people praying for him. Why don't we go to the meeting room and discuss
what the children need and, and more importantly, don't need to know." She
looked back at the art classroom and waved her arms, "Isn't this
something? I think these children know more about Canada than they do
about the US." She just shook her head and smiled.  

A few older children were just beginning to arrive as the group made their
way to the meeting room. Thatcher and Fraser got the customary stares, but
not the incredulous ones they were used to. These kids were apparently
used to seeing red serge in their school. 

The meeting room was actually an oversized classroom complete with
teacher's desk and chalkboard. But the student desks had been removed and
were replaced with...oh dear...orange plastic chairs, similar to those at
the hospital except on a smaller scale. "Fraser, was there some sort of
fire sale of orange plastic things that we weren't aware of?" Thatcher
whispered in his ear. 

"I just thought the Americans liked their plastic orange...." The twinkle
in his eye matched hers, "...but perhaps not 

Ms Atkins placed a full size orange plastic chair at the front of the
room. "Mr., er, Constable Fraser, I think it best, at least to begin with,
if you address the group. Constable, just tell the children the truth. I'm
sure it goes without saying, but the graphic details must be avoided. Also
I think letting them ask questions would be a good idea." She looked Susan
for confirmation. "Any questions?"  

For a moment Thatcher felt like she was back in school and almost raised
her hand. "Do the children have any idea what happened? Have they been
told anything?" 

"Good question, dear...I'm sorry! The older I get the more I treat
everyone as if they were 8 years old. Most of them know that Mister
Mountie was hurt, but it might be best to explain exactly what happened." 

At that moment parents began to arrive with their children. All of the
parents had been apprised of the meeting, but as most of them worked only
a few parents were expected to attend. 

The adults tended to gather toward the back of the room as the children
quietly took their seats. The atmosphere was extremely subdued. Inspector
Thatcher, practiced in every imaginable social situation involving adults,
moved to the back of the room. 

"Good morning, I'm RCMP Inspector Margaret Thatcher, Constable Turnbull's
superior officer. 

"I'm Mary Allaire, Amber is my daughter. This is John Landwehr, Kathryn
Nottolli and Carol Smith. Is there any new word on Constable Turnbull's
condition?" 

Once again those hated words, "As of this morning there is still no
change." 

Kathryn spoke up. "I'm sure you're aware of just what your subordinate
officer has done here?" Her tone caused Thatcher some concern. 

"I'd don't think I quite follow..." 

"He has single handedly taught these children the meaning of duty..." 

"And honor..." 

"And respect for themselves and others..." 

"Especially that. My Amber sure gives her big brother more privacy since
Mister Mountie talked to her. Nothing I said made any difference. You
should be proud of him, he's quiet a treasure." 

Somehow the word treasure used to describe Constable Turnbull had never
occurred to Thatcher. She was momentarily speechless. "I...well we...I am
sure all of Canada rejoices that Constable Turnbull is in Chicago, ah,
working with these children." Sometimes she even surprised herself...she
didn't even have to lie! 

Ms Atkins clapped her hands. "If I could have everyone's attention please.
We have some special visitors here with us today to talk to us about
Mister Mountie. This is Constable Fraser and in the back of the room is
Inspector Thatcher." Of course all of the children had to turn around in
their chairs to see her, and she gave them a little self-conscious wave.
"They work with Mister Mountie in his office, the Canadian Consulate. You
all remember seeing him standing so straight and tall when we went on the
field trip to the museum? That was the Consulate. Constable Fraser stands
there sometimes too." Fraser cringed, but no one seemed to notice, with
the possible exception of Thatcher. 

"Constable Fraser?" As she passed him she whispered in his ear, "Tell them
the truth or they'll eat you alive." This time Ms Atkins also saw him
cringe. 

"Good morning, children. I..." 

"Good morning, Constable Fraser," returned 40 or so voices in unison.
Thatcher began to pray, please don't let him blow this. Oh God, she'd
forgotten to tell him...no Inuit stories! 

Fraser took his seat in front of the eighty or so eyes boring a hole right
through him. If he could survive this he surely must deserve a medal. And
he would turn right around and give it to Turnbull. 

"Const...ah, Mister Mountie was in an accident on Friday. But I guess you
already know that." He ran a finger between his neck and collar. Either
his neck was swelling or his collar was shrinking, and wasn't it awfully
hot in here? "He was hit by a car. It wasn't the driver's fault because he
didn't see Mister Mountie. Mister Mountie has a broken leg. He also hit
his head...Yes young man, do you have a question?" Well that was only
obvious, as the kid had almost wiggled off his chair waving his hand in
the air. 

"Does he have a concussion?" How old are these kids? 

"Yes, he does. Yes young lady?" 

"Is he un...un..." 

"Unconscious, silly." 

"I'm not silly, you're silly." 

"Now, now children. No one's silly. Unconscious is a very big word. Let's
let Constable Fraser finish." 

"Yes, Mister Mountie is unconscious." 

"Will he die?" Fraser thought that if that little girl started to cry he
was out of here. 

"The doctors and nurses are taking very good care of him. Being
unconscious is just his body's way of helping his head heal." 

"Was Mister Mountie brave?" 

Fraser was lost, he wasn't sure where to go with this one. "Well, yes, of
course..." 

"Constable," from the back of the room Susan stepped in to save him,
"Mister Mountie told the children just a few weeks ago the being brave
meant doing the right thing, even if you didn't want to, or thought it
might hurt." 

Fraser silently blessed Renfield Turnbull for every thing he had ever
said. "Yes, young man, Constable Turnbull, Mister Mountie was very brave."


All the children smiled, it was obviously exactly what they wanted to
hear. 

"Was it Maria's fault that Mister Mountie got hurt?" Thatcher certainly
could not remember being this insightful when she was 6. She decided it
was time to let Fraser off the hook. As she made her way to the front of
the room, "Sometimes people, children and adults, do or say things before
they think about the consequences." She was afraid that she might be
talking over their heads as she thought she saw confusion on some of their
faces. 

One of the boys in the back slowly raised his hand. "Yes, young man?" 

"Kinda like when Mister Mountie told us not to tease Maria cause it'd hurt
her feelings? We didn't mean to hurt her feelings. He told us that we
should think about how we'd feel if somebody teased us." 

Talk about insight. "Yes, something like that. Maria wanted to get the
ball the Mister Mountie had asked her to carry. She didn't mean to get
anybody hurt. It's very important that we all remember to stop and think
about what we say and do, and how other people might be effected." Good
God, did she just say that? 

"Does Maria have a cast?" 

"Yes, she does." 

"Cool! Can we sign it?" 

All the adults in the room breathed a sigh of relief as the direction of
the children's questions shifted. They were now more interested in Maria
and less about Mister Mountie's condition.  

"I'm sure Maria would love for you to sign her cast." 

"Let's draw a Mountie on it! Miss Susan can help us!" 

"Yeah! Miss Susan can help us, please?" 

"Okay, let's all go to class now and we can discuss how we'll decorate
Maria's cast." 

Apparently they had survive their first high level meeting with 6 year
olds. Meetings with ambassadors and statesmen didn't wear Thatcher out as
much as this meeting with 40 1st and 2nd graders had. Stress thy name is
children!  

Thatcher wasn't aware that Fraser had left the room until she saw him
return. "Fraser?" 

"I called Ray. There's still no change." She hadn't realized until just
this moment how deeply Turnbull's accident had affected Fraser.  

"I think maybe we should go back to the hospital for awhile." 

"If you don't mind I'd like to stay here for awhile, ma'am?" 

"Constable, are you all right? You seem a little distracted," well, at
least more so than usual. 

"I just need some time. I've got something I need to do. I..." 

"Say no more, Fraser. We all need some time with our own thoughts right
now." 

"Thank you." 

They walked into the hall together each lost in their own thoughts. "Hey,
you guys like Mounties or somethin?" As they turned they were greeted with
the presence of four young boys, older than the previous group, probably
about 13 or so. 

"Yes, young, man Inspector Thatcher and I are members of the Royal
Canadian Mounted Police, or Mounties to you. My name is Constable Benton
Fraser. Hello Rafael." 

"Hey." 

"That Mister Mountie guy, Constable Turnbull, he's kind of like a geek ya
know? But he's okay. He's not gonna like die or nothin is he?" 

"The doctors are doing everything they can for him, Mister..." 

"Name's Joe, that's Bob and Howie. You know Raf. Mist...Constable Turnbull
got like a concussion?" 

"Exactly like a concussion. He's currently in a coma." 

"Bummer. He did some geeky stuff like hangin out with the little kids. But
he told us guys some good stuff too. There was this girl I kinda liked. I
wanted ta buy her like somthin ta make her like me back, but he said that
I didn't have ta buy her nothin, I should just tell her I liked her. Now
she'd my girlfriend." 

"He told my bratty little sister ta stop buggin me. She kept just like
comin in my room all the time. He told her she had ta respect my privacy.
She's still a brat but she's stopped buggin me so much." 

"Tell him we said hey, okay?" 

"We will be sure to tell him as soon as he regain consciousness. Thank
you." After the young men slouched away Thatcher turned to Fraser. "Who
stole our Constable and where did they find this guy?" 

"Pardon me?" 

"All I'm asking is why didn't we know the same Constable Turnbull that is
so well loved in this school? Why didn't he ever tell us?" 

"I don't think we ever gave him a chance." Fraser knew that he had never
given him a chance. 

Thatcher left Fraser at the school and returned to the hospital. 

Chapter IV Command Performance 

Constable Turnbull was usually extremely punctual, until today. Today he
was approximately 24 hours late... in waking up. 

Ray was draped over the chair near Turnbull's bed reading a magazine
article entitled 'Yes, You to Can Build This Beautiful Birdhouse' and
wondering how he could ever eat the 376 popsicles necessary to obtain the
necessary construction materials. He first noticed a slight movement out
of the corner of his eye, but dismissed it to his overactive imagination
and wishful thinking.  

When he saw Turnbull's eyelids flutter later that afternoon he was so
excited he could hardly contain himself. The ICU nurse tried to calm him
by saying that it could possibly be a reflex action and not to get so
excited. But when he opened his eyes a few moments later even she could
not deny that Constable Turnbull had finally regained consciousness.  

The nurse shooed Ray out of the room as hospital personnel began arriving.
Ray hung around on the periphery watching what was transpiring, until a
doctor pulled the privacy curtain and Ray's view was blocked. He paced,
rocked back and forth on his heels, paced some more, climbed the walls and
swore several times under his breath before he remembered... "Ah, geez!"
He ran to the phone to call the Consulate.  

As Ray hung up the phone a doctor he had never seen before appeared behind
him. "He's going to be fine." Ray had to restrain himself from kissing the
man. "He'll need a few more days of observation, but barring any
complications, he should be ready to go home by the beginning of next
week." Ray was so excited he had to hug something. He chose the doctor. 

The doctor was momentarily stunned, having never been hugged by a cop
before, then thought that Canadian cops had nothing over American cops in
the weird department. "Can I see him?"	

"Yes, but you need to remember he's still a little disoriented. Don't be
surprised if he says a few things that don't make any sense." Ray wondered
briefly how he would know the difference. "We'll be moving him to a
private room a little later, so just spend a few minutes, please. 

Ray went back into the room hesitantly, but picked up his pace when
Turnbull saw him and offered a weak smile. "Turnbull, buddy, how ya doin?"


"I feel as if I have been hit by a truck." 

"Close. D'ya remember what happened?" 

"Not really. Just bits and pieces. Something about a red ball...oh dear,
Maria!" Ray had to hold down the agitated Mountie to keep him from hurting
himself. 

"Whoa, hold on, buddy! Maria is okay, she's okay. She's gotta nifty cast
on her arm that she wears like some kinda plaster badge of honor." 

"Did I do that to her?" Ray could see the tears forming in his eyes. 

"Hey, you saved her life. You should be proud a that." Turnbull narrowed
his eyes at the Detective. 

"Detective, you look..." Then he noticed the discarded coffee cups, candy
wrappers and magazines that were scattered around the chair near his bed.
"Have you been staying here?" 

Ray was slightly embarrassed that his unselfish act had been discovered.
"Yeah, well, off 'n on for a coupla days. We didn't think ya should be
alone, ya know?" 

"Thank you...Ray." 

"Detective, may I speak with Constable Turnbull alone, please?" Inspector
Thatcher was trying hard to conceal the fact that she was out of breath. 

Ray was shocked. She musta run all the way from where she parked the car.
She really does care...who'd a thunk it? "Take it easy on him, huh?" She
was prepared to snap back at him until she saw him wink. 

She smiled. "That will be enough, Detective." Entirely too much actually. 

As soon as she was sure Detective Vecchio was not lurking in the doorway
she turned to the Constable. Seeing his blue eyes looking back at her gave
her immense relief. "You certainly had us worried, Constable. Are you
feeling all right?" 

"I'm sorry if I caused any trouble Sir." She sighed deeply. Dear lord,
he's apologizing to me! He's a hero, for God's sake. Her look, in fact her
whole demeanor confused him. "I'm doing well, Sir." 

"Constable, there's certainly no need for you to apologize to me. What you
did was a very brave. You should be very proud of yourself." 

"Oh, no, I don't think...I wasn't..." 

"Yes, Constable, you were. Even by your own definition, you were very
brave. Let me see how did that go? 'Being brave means doing the right
thing even if you didn't want to or thought it might hurt.'" 

The puzzled look on his face was rapidly replaced with shock. "Oh dear..."


But Inspector Thatcher just smiled at him. "Yes, Constable I have been to
the school." She frowned deeply at him. "Why didn't you tell us...tell me
what you were...?" 

He looked at her briefly and then glanced away. "I thought you might
dis..." 

She interrupted him as she knew exactly what he was going to say.
"Disapprove?" She had to walk away from where she was standing. She
couldn't look at him while she searched her soul for the truth. When she
knew, she came back to him. "I am ashamed to admit I probably would have.
Until I had seen for myself what you have done there. Do you realize what
a wonderful thing you have done? There are scores of American children
living in Chicago that will grow up knowing that the capitol of Canada is
not Washington DC! That Canada is not just an extension of the US! That
our flag does not have Stars and Stripes, but a Maple Leaf! You must be
very proud of what you have accomplished there." 

Turnbull had to swallow three times before he could reply. In his recent
memory no one had ever taken notice of something he had accomplished, well
at least not anything positive. He had no idea how to respond. He blushed
slightly. "I guess...I've...I've just always related well with
children..." 

His genuine humility brought tears to her eyes. "Constable, I am going to
do something now that I would have never in my wildest dreams thought
possible..." 

As she drew nearer to him he flinched slightly. "I am very proud of you,
Constable Turnbull," she whispered as she kissed him on the forehead. 

As she drew away Turnbull's blush reminded her of a color very near the
red of their tunics. She just closed her eyes and shook her head. In her
entire 30 something years of life she had only know two men who blushed
that particular shade, and they were both currently her subordinate
officers. The irony of it made her laugh out loud. 

"Sir?" 

"Every once in a great while you remind me very much of Constable Fraser."


"Sir? Oh! Thank you Sir!" Of all the compliments she could have given him,
this was the least expected and the most appreciated. He would have never
suspected that Thatcher wasn't 100% sure it was a compliment. 

The orderlies came in to move him to a private room so Thatcher took this
as her cue to depart. "I'll be back tomorrow, Constable, you get some
rest. That's an order." Almost as an after thought she turned back to him,
"Oh, and Constable? I think we can forget that little matter of your
transfer." She just couldn't let it drop however. "For now." 

"Thank you, sir." He relaxed into his pillow and closed his eyes. Thank
you. 

The physical stress of the move to a private room combined with the pain
medication he was being given helped Turnbull fall into a deep sleep early
in the evening. He was sleeping so soundly that he was completely
oblivious to the visitors that spent the night watching over him. One
Mountie and a furry four-footed friend of several of the nurses kept vigil
until the early hours of the next morning. 

Constable Turnbull was pleased with, but more than a little confused by,
the attention he was getting from the hospital staff. He was able to sit
up almost completely now and, between his frequent naps, all manner of
hospital personnel stopped in to say hello, or at least waved at him as
they passed in the hallway. He had always thought Americans to be
friendly, but this was highly unusual. When Detective, ah, Ray came to sit
with him he had to ask. 

"Ray, everyone here seems to be excessively friendly. Is there something I
have missed?" 

More so than usual ya mean? Stop that, he's one a the good guys. Ray
mentally kicked himself. "Ya really don't know, do ya? Yer a hero, man, ya
saved a kid! That's a hero in everybudy's book." 

"I don't really think that I did anything that exceptional..." 

"Man, ya really don't know howta take complement, do ya?" 

Turnbull thought for a moment and sighed. "Ray, I rarely do anything that
deserves complimenting." The matter of fact way that he made the statement
made Ray's heart hurt. No one, including Ray, had ever stopped to
acknowledge Turnbull's accomplishments.  

"Well, ya did this time, buddy." 

Susan arrived at the hospital rather late that evening. Her fiancé was
waiting for her at a nearby restaurant so she wasn't able to stay long.
"I'm so glad to see you're feeling better. The children and I were very
worried about you." She came nearer to his bed and took his hand.
"Renfield, I just wanted you to know how sorry I am about you wife and
child. We didn't mean to pry, but Constable Fraser found the article in
your wallet. I'm so sorry." 

For an instant before he turned away from her gaze she saw the same closed
off look she had seen that day at the park. He muttered something that she
didn't quite catch, probably "Thank you", but didn't look back at her. 

When a nurse came in to check his vital signs and administer his nightly
medication Susan decided she should leave. "I'll see you tomorrow after
school, okay?" His only response was a slight nod as she left.	

The night nurse noticed immediately that he wasn't his usually cheerful
self and asked him if he was feeling okay. "I'm fine, just great." She
thought she must mention this to his doctor as soon as she was finished
here. 

Actually he was anything but fine. He'd wondered why Inspector Thatcher
and Ray were being so nice to him. Ray had said that he was a hero, but
now he knew that wasn't it. They pitied him! He had hoped...but no. How
could he possibly have thought that the Inspector or Ray could change
their opinions of him overnight? What was it Ray had called him? A freak,
an idiot? Well, maybe Ray was right. But he would much rather be an idiot
than accept pity. He hadn't needed it all those years ago and he darn well
didn't need it now! No wonder Constable Fraser hadn't come to see him! He
had more integrity than all the rest of them combined, and he wouldn't
lie. So rather than lie and tell him he was a hero, Fraser stayed away. 

Constable Turnbull fell asleep believing that rather than a hero with a
broken leg he was now twice an idiot. An idiot with a broken leg and an
idiot for believing he was a hero. 

Once again the depth of his slumber prevented him from knowing of the late
night presence of the other Mountie and the furry four footed nurse's
friend. 

When Ray stopped by the hospital the next evening after work he was
feeling pretty good about life in general. Turnbull was gettin better and
he had ta admit that he kinda enjoyed the goofy Mountie's company. Fraser
was working on some sorta secret project or other and Ray hadn't seen him
in a couple a days. But he'd been so busy with work and hospital visits he
hadn't had time ta miss his partner's presence.  

As soon as he got off the elevator however, that same angel nurse from the
ER called to him. "Detective, can I talk to you for a moment?" 

"Sure, what's up?" 

"We're kind of worried about Constable Turnbull." 

"What?" Ray was immediately concerned. "Has he had a re...re..." 

"Relapse? Oh no, nothing like that. It's just that he's been one of the
most cheerful patients we've had on the ward, and now he just seems sort
of ...depressed. He's not eating much either. Do you know what might be
bothering him?" 

"Hospital food? No, really, I've got no clue. But I'll sure tryta find
out." She sure had nice eyes. 

He certainly has a nice smile... "Thank you, Detective." 

"Ray. Name's Ray Vecchio." 

She flashed him a drop dead gorgeous smile. "I'm Becky. Thank you, Ray." 

"She wants you, Vecchio." He muttered as he walked away. 

"Turnbull buddy how ya doin?" Ray noticed the change in the other man
immediately upon entering his room. The light was gone from his eyes, and
there was no smile anywhere to be seen. Turnbull almost always smiled. 

"Fine thank you, Detective." 

"Hey, what happened ta Ray? You was callin me Ray?" 

"Look, Detective, I really don't think there is any need for you to
continue coming to visit me. I'm sure you have more exciting things to do
with your free time. I am recovering quite nicely and no longer need to
be, what is it you Americans call it, baby sat?" 

"You can't really think that's why I've been comin here? Or Thatcher
either. Sure we was watchin over ya when you were out, but after ya came
to we just kinda wanted ta keep ya company. Besides hangin around a hero
is a great way ta attract women!" 

"Detective, I may be as you say an idiot, but I am not stupid. I would
really rather be alone than have you here because you feel sorry for me." 


Ray had hoped that the idiot thing had been forgotten, and he had no clue
about feelin sorry fer anybody. "Turnbull, I'm sorry bout callin ya an
idiot. Hell, I didn't know ya well enough ta know whether you were an
idiot or not. Now I know ya better and I know yer not an idiot. Maybe a
freak, but yer in good company there. But I ain't got a clue why ya think
I feel sorry for ya." 

"I am certainly no hero, and I know you are aware of the loss of my
family." 

Who taught Canadians how to think? "Hell, yes, you're a hero." Wait just a
damn minute! "You think I pity you? Look, Constable, I feel sorry about
yer loss, it musta been hell fer you, but I've only pitied one person in
my whole miserable life...me, when Stella and I split. I've been comin
here cause I like bein around ya." 

He considered Ray words for several minutes. The longer he thought the
more sense the words made. But what about Constable Fraser? Why hadn't
Fraser come to see him? If Fraser believed he was a hero, as Ray had said
he was, why hadn't Constable Fraser come to see him?  

"I'm sorry, Ray. I just..." Turnbull looked Ray straight in the eye, "I'm
sorry I suspected your motives." 

"If that means ya believe me, then good. Let's eat. Hows bout I smuggle in
some Chinese?" 

"Thank you kindly, Ray. Ray...?" 

"Hm?" When Turnbull didn't respond, "What? Don't clam up on me now Buddy.
Spit it out!" 

"Why...why hasn't Constable Fraser come to visit me?" 

"He has." As Ray turned to leave he stopped and turned back to Turnbull.
"Hasn't he?" Turnbull just shook his head.  

Uh oh. "Ya sure ya just weren't sleepin or somethin, and just missed him?
He's been workin on some project thingy, maybe he came by, you were
sleepin and he couldn't stay?" 

"I'm sure that must be it." But Turnbull wasn't sure and Ray knew it. He
made up his mind to find out what the hell was so important that Fraser
would hurt Turnbull like that. Turnbull had been hurt enough.  

Ray ran into Susan at the elevator as he was leaving to get the food.
"Hiya, Susan." 

"Hello, Ray. How's our favorite Mountie patient tonight?" 

"Better now. Hey, you seen Fraser up here since the accident?" 

"I haven't seen him...here...since Sunday night. Why?" 

Ray frowned. "This is just not like him. Fraser wouldn't intentionally
hurt a flea. I can't figure why he's not comin ta see Turnbull. I think
that big guy down the hall thinks Fraser's mad at him or somethin. 

"He's been here all night, every night, except the first one, Ray." 

"Ya sure?" 

"Sure I'm sure. He gives me a full progress report every morning." Oops.
Oh man, Fraser was going to kill her! 

What? "Okay, you're gonna have ta explain that one!" 

"He made me promise not to tell any of you. Ray, if you tell Renfield
anything about this I'll...well just don't let on, okay?" She looked
around to be sure no one overheard and then whispered in his ear. 

Ray laughed out loud. "Yer kiddin, right? Everyday?" This was too funny!
"When's this gonna happen?" 

"He thinks they will be ready by tomorrow. Please don't say..." 

"Of course not, I wouldn't miss Turnbull's reaction fer all the money in
the world!" 

Susan, Ray and Turnbull ate Chinese late that evening while the nurses
looked the other way. They were just thrilled to see the Mountie smiling
and eating again. The trio did not discuss Constable Fraser. In fact, that
particular topic was carefully avoided. 

About two o'clock the next afternoon Ray showed up at Turnbull's door,
with two orderlies and a wheelchair. 

"Yer chariot awaits, Sir." Ray had caught a glimpse of what was going on
in the employee's cafeteria and was dancing with anticipation. "Come on
guys, lets get at er." 

"What's going on Ray?" Turnbull was completely confused and more than a
little reluctant to let them lift him, cast and all, out of bed. 

"No questions buddy, just let these goons get ya in this chair. Yer goin
fer a ride." 

All the tables in the cafeteria had been pushed to the walls, leaving an
open area in the center of the room where chairs, orange plastic of
course, had been set up in a rather make shift manner. Sitting in those
chairs were several people Turnbull recognized and a few he didn't. Almost
all of them were either teachers or parents of his students. Also in
attendance were Inspector Thatcher, Lt. Welsh, and Ms Vecchio. He was even
more confused and rapidly becoming...frightened. 

Everyone turned to acknowledge his presence, but stayed in their seats. He
thought he had also seen a flash of red hurry past an open door but
couldn't be sure. 

Back in the kitchen area Ms Atkins was trying to keep 40 or so six and
seven year old children quiet, while also attempting to keep a frazzled
Constable Fraser from coming completely unglued. She was having limited
success.  

When they received the high sign from Ray that Turnbull was settled,
Fraser took a deep breath and gathered the kids as closely together as the
layout of the kitchen would allow. 

Speaking softly, so only they could hear, "Are we all ready? Remember what
I told you. Stand up very straight, keep you arms at your sides and stay
in line. When we go out there Mister Mountie will be in a wheelchair. Just
remember he has some bandages and he still hurts a little, so when we're
done don't jump all over him. Now, line up. Here we go..." 

With Maria, and her lovingly decorated cast, leading the way, the children
marched single file into the cafeteria. Turnbull had to cover his mouth to
keep from laughing. All the children were dressed as Mounties, at least as
best he could determine. They all wore red shirts with brown belts
and...well...Stetsons. He guessed they were Stetsons, they were made of
construction paper and they were brown and the children wore them on their
heads. So yes, they were Stetsons. He had never seen such a sight. 

As they marched into four almost perfect rows some of the kids could not
help but wave at Mister Mountie. They had promised Constable Fraser they
would keep their arms at their sides, so they just looked at Mister
Mountie and wiggled their fingers at him. But he got the message, loud and
clear.	

At the end of their more or less straight line was Fraser. He, of course,
was wearing a real Stetson, and carrying a guitar. He stepped out in front
of the children and cleared his throat. "I have spent the last few days
learning some very valuable life lessons from the group of young people
standing behind me." Lots of giggles erupted from behind him. Susan had to
"shush" them. "Constable Turnbull, the children asked me to help them
create a 'Get Well' card for you. Since I could never claim to be half the
artist you are I decided I should go with my strength, and we have created
a musical 'Get Well' wish. 

Fraser sat in a chair next to the children and began to strum, then sing: 

I was born up north of Great Slave, 1898 And I rode near all my life, on a
ranch near Devil's Gate An I seen this world around me bend and flip and
change Hey it feels like rain it's a thundercloud  

I could be a coward but I've seen two world wars And I lost my son Virgil
my Korean reward And my Lucy died last summer and you ask me if I cry Hell
I'll show you tears they're all over this ground They're falling from
these blue Alberta skies 

When the children joined in for the chorus Turnbull thought he would weep
with delight. 

But we're gonna ride forever You can't keep horsemen in a cage Should the
angels call, well it's only then We might pull in the reins 

Turnbull sat transfixed as Fraser sang the second verse and the children
again sang the chorus. He had never heard or seen anything as beautiful as
Constable Fraser leading the children in song. Someone shoved a tissue at
him. He hadn't even realized there were tears streaming down his cheeks 

When the song was over the small group of adults applauded
enthusiastically as Ray patted Turnbull on the shoulder. "We have one more
song for Mister Mountie, so as I believe the Americans say, you ain't
heard nothin yet." 

Fraser began with the verse.... 

Yesterday a child came out to wander Caught a dragonfly in a jar Fearful
when the sky began to thunder And Tearful at the falling of a star 

and the children joined in for the chorus... 

And the seasons they go round and round And the painted ponies go up and
down We're captive on the carousel of time We can't return we can only
look behind from where we came And go round and round and round in the
circle game 

And Fraser sang... 

Then the child moved 10 times round the seasons Skated over 10 clear
frozen streams Words like when you're older must appease And promises of
some day make up his dreams 

and the children then joined in for the last chorus... 

And the seasons they go round and round And the painted ponies go up and
down We're captive on the carousel of time We can't return we can only
look behind from where we came And go round and round and round in the
circle game 

When they had finished the second song Fraser gave them a brief nod and 40
children carefully descended on Mister Mountie. There were gentle hugs,
and handshakes from the more proper boys, and a lot of questions.  

Over the heads of the children Turnbull saw Constable Fraser give him the
'thumbs up' sign. And he knew, beyond words or actions, he knew, that
without conscious effort, he had finally achieved what he had tried so
hard to earn, the respect of Benton Fraser. He also knew that yes, life
was indeed worth living. 

The children demanded his attention. "Did you like our songs? We worked
really hard every day!" "Does it still hurt?" "Can we sign your cast?"
"When you coming back to school?" "Can you still go on picnics?" "Did you
know Constable Fraser has a wolf? Tiffany was scared of him but he licked
her hand and made her his friend." "Constable Fraser says you were brave.
We think you were." "You gots stitches?"  

"That's do you have stitches Matthew, and yes, I do." Turnbull was
laughing hard enough to fell every one of those stitches.  

His doctors had only grudgingly agreed to allow him to attend this
performance, and then only because Fraser had convinced them that it would
help speed Turnbull's recovery. When Fraser realized that Turnbull was
rapidly wearing down he decide that it was time for the surprise visit to
come to an end. "Mister Mountie needs to go back to his room now, so Miss
Susan will take you all to the bus." 

After a few "Ah(s)" and "Oh gee(s)" the children were gathered up and sent
on their way. Fraser pushed Turnbull back to his room in silence. The same
orderlies managed to get him settled in bed and then the two Mounties were
alone. 

"I must thank you, sir. That's...probably the...nicest thing any one has
ever done for me."  

"It's good to see you awake, but you probably need to get some rest..." 

"Constable Fraser?" Ah, this must be the nurse Ray refers to as Angel
Eyes. "I just wanted to let you know that Dr. Ross is on call tonight, so
if you intend to spend the night again, you'll have to hide Diefenbaker.
Dr. Ross won't overlook him like the others have." 

As she turned back into the hallway Ray stopped her and whispered,
"Thanks, Becky. Turnbull needed ta know that Fraser's been here all a
long, and Fraser sure wouldn't ever tell em." Angel Eyes smiled at him. 

"Constable Fraser, you've been staying here during the night?" Turnbull
felt shamefully guilty that he had ever doubted Fraser. 

"Yes." 

"Thank you...for everything." 

"Turnbull...I want you to know..." 

"Mister Mountie?" A young man dragging his father behind him had just
appeared in the doorway. 

"Yes, Matthew?" 

"Excuse us, Constables Turnbull, Fraser. Matthew insisted that he talk to
you before we left." 

"What is it, Matthew?" 

"Mister Mountie tell my daddy that we have ta move ta Canada," Matthew
pleaded. 

His father was slightly irritated at the suggestion, it gets cold in
Canada. "Matthew, why should we move to Canada?" 

"Daddy, Mister Mountie said that all Mounties are from Canada." 

Fraser frowned slightly. A nagging suspicion was growing in the back of
his mind. "That's right, Matthew, all Mounties are Canadian." 

"Well, then we gots ta move to Canada cause I wanna do that." 

"Do what Matthew?" 

"When I grow up I wanna be just like him." Matthew pointed with pride in
the direction of the Mounties. 

"Just like Constable Fraser?" 

Matthew rolled his eyes. "No, Daddy, when we grow up, me and my friends,
we all want to be just like Constable Turnbull!" 

Now it was Fraser's turn to roll his eyes. "Oh dear." 

  

The End (or maybe it's just the beginning of the whole city of Chicago
filled with Turnbulls?)