Category: The big three: Drama, Depression, Despair [Darkness, too]

Rating: NC-17 for dirty words and as it relates to Tit for Tat, and a plus 10 on the Eeeuu scale

Pairings: Fraser and …

Genre: Het

Disclaimer: I am willing to forego any claim to the characters themselves, or whatever it takes to keep me out of jail. However, I would like to claim this story as originating in my own twisted brain. Feedback always is appreciated, while flames will be tossed into my Otterizer. Please note the +10 on the Eeeuu scale. You have been warned…

CLICK

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is…

"C'mon, Fraser! Pitter-patter. Shake a leg!"

"I'm sorry, Ray, I'm a bit tired today..."

"Oh, so the Ice Queen been keeping you up at night?"

"Hmmm, not like that, but she--"

"--Frankly, I don't see how you do it: Guard duty, those damned reports she has you filling out all the time, sentry duty. What the hell you guarding, anyway? Being her 'escort' for all those Consular functions…"

"Ray, I like being her escort--"

"--Yeah, Benton Buddy, and after all that 'escorting', do you go to her place or does she stay at the Consulate?"

"She usually sta-- Oh, sorry, Ray, that's really not your business."

"Don't matter. I know you need 7 to 8 hours of Zzzzs a night. So, how much sleep are you getting these days?"

"Lack of sleep has its own rewards, Ray."

"Uh-huh. So, she's hot?"

"Ray! Whether Inspector Thatcher habitually runs a fever… Well, that, also, is none of your business."

"Aw, hell, Frase. I know you're fuckin' her—"

"--Ray! I fail to see how or why my sexual activity with anyone—"

"--Frase, ever since you had that dissoci-ta-tive amnesia thingy, after I almost ran you down, which I deny doing by the way, and then suddenly, miraculously, you had your correct, uptight mind restored and--"

"--I think you are being very uncharitable to characterize my mind as being 'uptight', Ray. And, it is 'dissociative'."

As they crossed the bullpen to his desk, Ray continued to rag on Fraser's case. The Mountie began to zone out Kowalski's rant, or at least perhaps the more indiscrete innuendos, and the voice subsided to background noise. He was tired…

He should have known: intimacy with Margaret Thatcher had gradually led to her emotional dominance over him. Everything was cloaked in her insatiable desire, whether overt or covert. At first, he welcomed the multiple times they would have sex at night. Fraser always had a quick refractory time, and was continually turned on by her responses, no matter what he did with her… or to her.

But, of late, he was feeling as if she was sucking the very life blood out of him. He could no longer think clearly, for every time he turned around, she would creep into his office, lock the door, and from behind, shove her hands into his jodhpur side pockets to stroke him. He no longer felt he had any control over his body's response to her.

With little choice by him, it seemed she was raping him. Inevitably it ended with them on his cot. More often than not, she impaled herself on him and rode him to her completion. He had long since ignored the thought to use a condom. She wouldn't have given him time to put one on, anyway.

The other personnel at the Consulate were starting to look at him oddly… That was during the day.

At night it always was problematical if she would wait until the staff had left for the day. She would creep into his office with a smile on her face. Fraser was getting very good about listening for all personnel to leave. At least that would give him a moment to compose himself before she entered his room. With the Consulate deserted, she would lead him up to the Queen's bedroom and she was insatiable. At first, he would be on top, but she would roll him over as she sought her second orgasm. She couldn't be bothered with foreplay… It was always full throttle ahead; if Fraser lagged a bit, she would belittle him for not performing to Mountie specifications or, more to the point, to her specifications.

It was usually sometime after 2:00 a.m. that she would slip out of the Consulate [after reminding him to do the bed linens so no one would know] and go home for 5 to 6 hours of sleep. Fraser wasn't so fortunate: the laundry had to be done, the bed remade, then Dief needed out. On a good night, he was lucky if he got 3 hours of sleep.

If they went to her apartment after hours, things were even worse. Thatcher would demand of him, many times. By the time she was finally satisfied, it was so late, and Fraser was so exhausted, that it would have been impossible for him to find the strength to walk back to the Consulate and his own miserable cot. She sure as hell would not be driving him back. But usually, she required several fulfilling morning performances as well. No, he was well and truly trapped by Margaret Thatcher. It all was so exhausting: mentally and physically. And she would never approve a transfer for him, he was sure of that.

How could he report her to Ottawa? It would mean the end of his career and most probably hers as well… if they even would have believed a junior officer. He knew his commission in the RCMP was teetering on the edge: one small, miniscule hint of impropriety would give his superiors adequate reason to cashier him. He would be accused of leading his superior into a lurid alliance, regardless if she were willing or not. It would not make any difference that he was the 'last of the breed' or that he was the son of the famous Robert Fraser. No. He would be decommissioned, fired, and sent packing back to Canada without references.

"So, Mr. Fraser, what have you been doing with yourself since you got your at-home school degree all those years ago?" Or…

"Did you fall off the face of the earth for a while, hmmm? Does your lack of references imply… maybe you were in jail? Kill anyone? Rob a bank? What?" Or…

"Have any family?"

Oh, no; 'no references' would mean an aura of dishonour would accompany him wherever he went in Canada. He certainly could not stay in the US, for his diplomatic visa would expire with being fired. And what was perhaps the most telling thing of all was that in the current day and age of The Web, his dismissal from the RCMP would be broadcast country wide. The RCMP probably would put out a memo about him. He would have to change his name. Lose his very identity. Grow a beard, sparse as it would be. Get contact lenses to disguise the colour of his eyes. He was just grateful his father's ghost was absent lately. He would have been so ashamed if Dad found out.

"Frase. Frase? Fraser!!" Ray's nagging voice brought him back. Ben had hoped that being given the afternoon off by Inspector Thatcher to allow him to liaise at the District station would give him a few hours to find a place to sleep, even for two hours. Apparently, that would not be the case.

"Come on, drop your cock and grab your socks, let's go." Ray gave him a wry grin. "I don't suppose they got you Mounties out of the sack at oh-god-hundred in Mountie school that way, did they?"

"Go where, Ray?" Fraser was not in the mood for Kowalski's gutter humour.

"Stakeout. Down on that dingy street near the piers. Seems there is a guy involved in running a bit of coke and whatnot through Lake Freighters Company. It's off-loaded here, stashed in an 'undisclosed location'," he added with a guffaw, "and later farmed out in small batches for street pushers."

Fraser saw this as an opportunity for a small nap; things rarely happened in the drug trade before 1:00 a.m. "I am presuming that it is our job to intercept the off-load and before transport to the 'undisclosed'?"

"Yep. C'mon. I'm taking an unmarked car; the Goat might be a siren for these guys," he added as they left the building.

"Ya know, that's about the sixth yawn from you in the past half hour, Frase. You getting any sleep?" Ray peered over a paper coffee cup to Fraser and was really wondering what was up with the Mountie.

Fraser shifted in the car seat and chose his words carefully. "Yes, I am getting sleep, Ray. Perhaps not as much as I would usually get, but adequate. Thank you for asking." This would shut Kowalski up for a little while, at least.

Several hours later, Fraser felt Ray nudge him.

"It don't look like the ship has come in yet. They wouldn't dare off-load in broad daylight. Why don't we blow this popsicle stand? I'll drive you back to the Consulate.

"Uh, no, Ray. I need the exercise. Thank you kindly just the same. Perhaps the lake air will help me wake up." He leaned in the car door before closing it and said, "If you get more up-to-date information, give the Consulate a call. I will try to have Inspector Thatcher give me an evening off. All right?"

"You got it, Benton-buddy."

"Turnbull!" Margaret Thatcher was in a foul mood. No, she was totally pissed off. "Turnbull! Get in here!!"

Turnbull skidded to a stop and then slowly entered the Inspector's office. Once at parade rest before her desk, he quietly asked, "Sir?"

"Don't 'Sir' me, you imbecile! Where's Fraser?"

"Isn't he in his office? I didn't realize he wasn't here."

"No, he ISN'T HERE, you nitwit! Exactly where is he?"

"I d-don't know, Ma'am." Turnbull never was very good about deflecting a full-blown Thatcher snit. Frankly, she scared him.

"Incompetents! I have incompetents instead of staff!"

"Yes, Sir," Turnbull murmured under his breath.

"Stop being a Yes-Man! Get me that detective at the 27th District on the phone."

"Yes, Sir," Turnbull muttered softly.

"Stop doing that! I heard you!"

"Uh, no, I haven't seen him since about 4:00 a.m. this morning, Inspector. He wanted to walk back to the Consulate… Something about needing some clean… relatively clean… no, make that polluted air… Where was the stake out? Down at the docks… Yes, I will go down there right now and try to find him. Hopefully in one piece," he muttered to himself.

"Kowalski! My office, now," Welsh bellowed.

"Sorry Inspector, I will look for him. My boss is calling me. Check back with you later."

Eventually, Ray, also in a foul mood, exited Welsh's office. Not only was he the head detective on the dope smuggling case, but 2 detectives at the 23rd needed help with a murder case. Oh, greatness.

About 2 and a half hours later, after playing desk jockey with the 23rd on the phone, Ray looked up to see Francesca rushing over to his desk.

"Ray, you gotta take this call from Fraser's boss. She's ballistic. Line four!"

"Detective Vecchio," Meg began sweetly and with deception as Ray picked up, "Have you made any progress as to the whereabouts of Constable Fraser?"

"Uhhh, no. Not yet. This place is a zoo right now… all morning, in fact."

"Detective," she went on, "the Consulate has received its mail for the day. In said mail was a typewritten letter… unsigned of course. Naturally, I have endeavoured to keep my fingerprints off the letter."

"Of course." Kowalski really didn't want to hear it. It could only be bad news.

"I quote:

'You can find your lousy fuckin' Mountie in a warehouse
between Menomonee and Krocker at 482 Illinois Street.'

Is that near the site of your stake out last night?"

"Uh, no, ma'am. It's about 20 blocks away and not in the direction Fraser would have taken to get back to the Consulate. I'm on it," he assured her and tossed the receiver toward the phone base. On his race through the bullpen, he called to Welsh, "Fraser's lost or something. I'm on my way."

"Jesus H Christ," Ray muttered to himself as he tried to find the warehouse in question by slowly cruising up and down the alley and craning his neck at the decrepit warehouses. "What a rat hole. Why the hell is Fraser down here? Ah!" he said, "there it is."

He pulled up onto the nonexistent sidewalk and got out. Ambling across the cobblestone and potholed road, he cautiously entered an unlocked door next to a sizeable truck double garage door and pulled his gun.

"Frase?" he called quietly. It wasn't loud enough for anyone else but bat-eared Benton to hear. Nothing. Nary a sound, save a rat squeaking and scuttling along the floor somewhere.

Thank god it's not night, he thought. It'd be darker than inside a coal miner's asshole, and this place probably doesn't have electricity hooked up any more. Ray cautiously continued to make his way into the main area of the warehouse. Across the cavernous empty warehouse he caught a glimpse of red on the floor.

"Oh, Jesus Christ," he shouted and sprinted across the cement to look at Fraser. The Mountie was on his back, with a bleeding gunshot wound in his chest area; half his serge tunic was sodden with blood. But that was not all. His jodhpurs had been pulled down, along with his boxers. Blood was everywhere.

"Holy mother of god! They didn't get his johnson, did they?" Ray had to stoop over and try to make sense of all the blood and what it covered. Thank god for small favors, his penis was still there but his scrotal sack was gone. Ray looked past Fraser's body to see two squashed circles of bloodied flesh upon the concrete. As if… Awww, shit! Who ever had done this had not only castrated Fraser, they had thrown each testicle on the floor and then ground them flat with a boot heel. Adding insult to horrendous injury, the act had been performed with Fraser's own boot knife that now lay several yards away on the dirty concrete.

Cringing and shaken, Ray grabbed for his cell phone to call for an ambulance. Officer down!! Fraser was still alive, but barely. The second call was to Welsh to report that he had found him… just not the gruesome details. He asked Welsh to call the Consulate and give the news to Inspector Thatcher, along with County General as the hospital.

CLICK

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of…

Ray paced back and forth outside the ICU windows. That was Fraser in there, hooked up to a ventilator chugging out its regular mechanical duties in a quiet ka-thunk-pppssshhh, ka-thunk-pppssshhh rhythm. Red read-out lights blinked numbers on the monitors. He had no idea what any of them meant, other than several lines continued their squiggly path across electronic screens.

ka-thunk-pppssshhh, ka-thunk-pppssshhh

He knew that as along as there were no straight lines, Fraser clung to life. If he lived or if he died, Ray made a silent vow to find the son of a bitch who performed this atrocity on the Mountie.

He heard a rustling behind him and watched a very shaken Inspector come into the room.

ka-thunk-pppssshhh, ka-thunk-pppssshhh

"Hi Ray," she murmured as she walked to the window to look at Fraser. "I will need a few moments by myself with him. In the meantime, this note was inside the pocket of his tunic that I was given in the ER.

ka-thunk-pppssshhh, ka-thunk-pppssshhh

"Please read it, because we will need to get on this as quickly as possible." She continued to stroke the bloody tunic, as if she had to be as close to him as possible.

Ray opened the typed note and read,

"So, Renfield, how do you like it now, you stinking
fucker? See if you mess with my wife again!"

ka-thunk-pppssshhh, ka-thunk-pppssshhh

Ray raised his eyes to stare at Thatcher. "You mean this was all a case of mistaken identity?"

"The ER doctor told me what was done to him. I haven't spoken to Turnbull yet, but I know for a fact Fraser couldn't… ah, wouldn't have done something like what the note implies."

ka-thunk-pppssshhh, ka-thunk-pppssshhh

"So which is it? Couldn't or wouldn't?"

"Probably both. We… ah… have been occupied in an intensely emotional relationship over the past 3 months. Except for the times I allowed him to liaise with you, he has been with me constantly."

ka-thunk-pppssshhh, ka-thunk-pppssshhh

"So, he wasn't cheating on you then?"

Thatcher reddened before pasting her Inspector face back on. "I didn't give him any opportunity. Now, if you will excuse me…"

She opened the door to the ICU and went to Fraser's bed, after pulling the curtains for privacy. Oh, god, he looks awful, she thought. As if his body had caved in on itself to leave only the barest outline that a human being was still there.

ka-thunk-pppssshhh, ka-thunk-pppssshhh

She laid the bloody tunic across his legs and went to his head. Murmurring, "Ben, I never thought it would come to this. If you could only gain consciousness long enough to describe who did it. Apparently…" No, she would not tell him it was mistaken identity; that surely would snuff out his last spark of life…

ka-thunk-pppssshhh, ka-thunk-pppssshhh

"Apparently, there are some clues left so be assured that we will track the monster down.

"Now, if you can hear me, I must tell you… I'm pregnant. I hope you would want this child, because I have absolutely no intention of getting an abortion. I love you.

ka-thunk-pppssshhh, ka-thunk-pppssshhh

"And I know you have loved me, despite my demands of you. Dearest, rest assured I will raise our child to honor you, to respect you, and to be a good person, just as you are."

She smiled a wry smile around her tears, "Well maybe not to taste everything like you do.

ka-thunk-pppssshhh, ka-thunk-pppssshhh

"Ben, you will always be the light of my life, my soul mate. There will be no other that gladdens my heart as you do. I will always love you and will take comfort each time our child stirs in my womb."

Meg leaned down and placed the most gentle feather-light kiss on his lips. "I love you." Turning, she slipped between the curtains and escaped the ICU room.

ka-thunk-pppssshhh, ka-thunk-pppssshhh

"Inspector, I think we need to have my boss try and get in touch with the real Ray Vecchio. I say this because Ray is listed as next of kin and has power of attorney."

They walked slowly down the main hall, and Ray quietly put his arm across her shoulders to comfort her. "I… ah… I suppose so, Ray. The doctors don't really hold out any hope for him… Too much blood lost, too many wounds. And if he somehow did survive, the psychological impact of what was done to him would kill him, that is, if he didn't suffer any bad effects from the loss of all that blood, like brain damage. He has always been an intellectual and he would not want to remain a vegetable and be a burden on anyone. Please try to contact Ray Vecchio."

"You got it, Inspector. The other thing is that Fraser has been adopted by the Vecchio clan, and I know they will want to be here."

Meg started to shake her head. "Even Ray's sister, Frannie, is it?"

"Under the circumstances, I seriously doubt Frannie will be a problem. Yeah, she's always had the hots for him, but frankly, I dunno what she would have done if he gave even the slightest indication that he was interested. In her own twisted way, she loves him, as do all the Vecchios."

Knowing he was right, Meg agreed. "You go talk with Welsh and I'll stay here until you return."

"Well, Ford, fuck your ass with your own cock, you incompetent son of a bitch. You don't have the final word here," Welsh fumed. "I will be talking with your superior. Nice not doing business with ya."

He slammed the phone down and allowed his blood pressure to subside a few points. Consulting his Rolodex, he looked up the number for the higher-than-Ford Feeb. Fortunately the man was still at his desk, as his call was put through.

"…Yes, the doctors hold absolutely no hope of any recovery. Since he and Ray Vecchio have been so close and Ray has power of attorney, would you please get word to 'Armando' that he has important business here in Chicago?

"…Now look Agent Richards, we both know whatever help Ray has been to bring down the Iguana family, the sun does not rise or set solely on the intell he is giving you.

"…Yes, I am aware my request is unusual. Look at it this way: do you have someone who is like a brother? Or even your alter-ego? Someone who, if he found out that information was withheld for unnecessary reasons, would…"

"…I thought so… Yes. Just let me know when he gets into O'Hare. Thank you for seeing it this way. Constable Fraser is, indeed, a singular person, one in ten million and it has been my distinct pleasure to be the point man for his liaising with the Chicago PD. Had you met him, you would have thought so, too. Thank you and I await Ray's arrival. Good-bye."

"Frannie, my office, now."

"You bellowed, Harding? Oh-my-god! What's happened? Is it Fraser?" She looked at the Lieutenant fearfully.

"Yes, it is Fraser. Please sit down, as I don't want you swooning or anything."

As she sank onto the sofa, Francesca put on her stubborn face and muttered, "This day and age, no one swoons."

"Frannie, this is extremely bad news. Fraser was attacked last night and Ray found him this afternoon. He's at County, in the ICU. Now, I told you it was bad news," Welsh said as he saw her go for a hankie and tear up. "Please stay with me, as I don't want to have to repeat it. It's hard enough the first time."

Francesca nodded into the hankie.

"Right now, Fraser is on life support and the doctors do not give any hope that he will get better." He hated it when women cried. He never knew what to do. Taking the hint as she scooted to one side of the sofa, he sat down beside her and took her hand.

"No hope," he continued. "Kowalski told me that your Ray has power of attorney. I am assuming, given that Fraser has no family, they had talked about eventualities of life threatening situations. That's what power of attorney means. So, I've called his superiors at the FBI and they have given approval for Ray to come back from Vegas. Whether for good, or just as a quick visit, I dunno yet."

Francesca looked up through her tears, "Hell of a way for… sniff… seeing my brother again."

"Yeah, I know. Life sucks, don't it?"

"Yeah… sniff."

"So what I want you to do is go home and get your mother." He looked at her to assess her emotional level. "Do you want me to call her?"

"No, I can do that. I know she will want to see him, even if it's for the last time."

"Good. I always knew you were made of stern stuff, not the Addle- Brained Franny you put on for everyone. I'll see you there."

CLICK

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death."

ka-thunk-pppssshhh, ka-thunk-pppssshhh

"Ma, please say your rosary again. I know Benton isn't Catholic… I don't really know what his religious preferences are, but I do know he reveres life and all it offers. Thanks," she mumbled as Mrs Vecchio closed her eyes and fingered each bead lovingly.

ka-thunk-pppssshhh, ka-thunk-pppssshhh

With Mrs Vecchio in the bedside chair, Ray, Francesca, Thatcher, and Welsh stood beside Fraser's bed, each wrapped in their own thoughts. His blood-stained tunic had been hung on an IV pole by a thoughtful nurse, as if to honor the man suffering in the bed before them.

A moment later, Father Behan, called by Kowalski, slipped into the room. He had his well worn Bible in one hand as he took Fraser's sunken hand in his other. "Just a small while longer, my son."

ka-thunk-pppssshhh, ka-thunk-pppssshhh

A bit later Ray Vecchio entered, wide eyed with grief. "Ma…" as he hugged her to him. Then, turning to Francesca, he folded her into his arms as well. Turning around and with tears in his eyes, he spoke to the others. "As you all know, Benny gave me power of attorney, with the express wish

ka-thunk-pppssshhh, ka-thunk-pppssshhh

"that no heroic measures were to be taken on his behalf should his quality of life be sacrificed. I just got finished talking with the three doctors who have been involved in Benny's case. Oh, God!" he raised his face in anguish.

ka-thunk-pppssshhh, ka-thunk-pppssshhh

"There is no hope. None. I've asked one of the doctors to come in and stop the respirator. So, if we all stand by his side and place our hands on this wonderful man… And Father, if you would begin the final prayer…"

ka-thunk-pppssshhh, ka-thunk-pppssshhh

The doctor came in, looked for the nod from Ray, and stopped the machine as Father Behan began:

"Per istam sanctan unctionem et suam piissimam misericordiam, indulgeat tibi Dominus quidquid per visum, audtiotum, odorátum, gustum et locutiónem, tactum, gressum deliquisti.

"Miserére mei Deus: secúndum magnam misericordiam tuam. Gloria Patri, et Filii, et Spiritui Sancti."

And then there was silence.

---

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