This emerged from a conversation about JIB I had with my listsibs on RideForever and picks up right at the end of the ep. Most definitely AU. TYK to them for feedback and helping me make this better than it was. Poss, thank you for showing me that I should always go with my writer's instinct. Mary, thank you for catching the embarrassing typo!
Warning: this contains a character death, but not Ben nor Ray's.
Written while listening to Sarah McLachlan's song 'Mary'. Edited to the tune of 'Blue Tattoo' (lyrics by Michael Turner).
Any recognizable characters belong to Alliance. Laura and Jane are composites of a dozen or so women I met during my time as a volunteer at the Ottawa detention centre.
Feedback: Yes, please! Note
Comfort in the Arms of Stranger
by: M-A
"I'm waiting by the phone,
Waiting for somebody to call me up
And tell me I'm not alone."
('Black Gold', Soul Asylum)
Fraser sat in the chair in the waiting room. He leaned forward, his arms resting on his spread legs. As he listened to Ray's tale his head bowed down, only to rise occasionally to give his friend a comforting glance.
Ray didn't move. He sat up straight, leaning against the back of the chair, head tipped backward, as though he could use gravity to stop the tears from spilling. He paused. "Go away," he said in the same hushed tone.
Fraser's head snapped up. "I'm sorry?"
"Go away."
"Ray..."
"I said go away!" Ray said more forcefully, bringing his head forward so he could look Fraser in the eye. "I don't want you here. Frank would have been in jail tonight if it weren't for you. Irene would still be alive."
"And Louis' killer would be free."
Right now, I don't give a damn about Louis, he's dead, he's not suffering. All I care about Irene. The woman you killed."
Fraser's heart stopped in his throat. He knew he'd played a role in Irene's death. There was no denying that he had precipitated the meeting between Sorrento and Zuko. But to go so far as to claim that he had killed Irene? Even with the guilt and anguish flowing through his veins, Fraser couldn't find any real truth in Ray's words. A little voice niggled at the back of his brain, reminding him that he wasn't the only one who had rushed into the Zuko home.
Finally, he spoke. "It was all our fault, Ray."
Ray's eyes went from grass green to almost black. "Don't blame me for this."
"I'm not," Fraser assured him, hoping to keep Ray talking. So long as Ray was talking, they could move past this. There was no way he was leaving the hospital until he knew this growing rift with Ray was on the mend. To leave now would spell disaster.
"I didn't think you'd dare. Now, get out of my sight."
"Ray, come on, let's talk," Fraser pleaded.
Ray's eyes were shooting daggers at the Mountie when he jumped to his feet. "You stupid sonofabitch, you deaf?" With that, he spun on his heels and walked quickly towards the nearest exit, leaving a dumbfounded Fraser behind him.
It was as though Fraser's world had just come to a grinding halt. He couldn't hear anything around him. Except, perhaps, the sound of his heart breaking.
Such a long, long day. So many long days since that night when Gardino died. When Fraser was thrown to the pavement by the force of a blast so intense it laid to ruin an entire block. His face still burned from the heat. He was so tired. So very weary. And fragile, too. He knew he couldn't keep going like this much longer. He was so wound up the tension radiating from him was almost palpable.
No one had given a thought to him the last few days. No one had bothered to take him aside after the blast and ask him if he needed a doctor or just a hug. No one had given so much as a thought to the fact that the Mountie had just seen someone die violently and had been powerless to prevent it. No one had bothered to understand why Fraser had acted as he did.
He had almost lost his best friend. He couldn't let the real killer walk free, no matter what it cost. And, perhaps, in his quest to find the real killer, he could also earn Louis' forgiveness for not having done more to save him.
Now, after all that, in bitter irony, he had succeeded in losing Ray. Had it all been for nothing?
It was as though Fraser's legs crumpled under him. He was too far from the chair. He let himself fall to the floor in a heap, hugging the cool linoleum, seeking from it the comfort no one else would give him.
There was a sound some time later, but from far away, as though he were underwater. He focussed on it and soon the incoherent sounds became English. "Sir? Sir?" He raised his weary head to shift his red rimmed gaze on a white clad woman. A nurse.
"Uh?" he asked, unable to formulate anything resembling a word. He blinked rapidly. He was so tired and the floor was so inviting. He sank back down to it and closed his eyes. He didn't even try to translate the next thing the woman said.
"I'm going to get a doctor, Sir."
The floor had gone soft. Slowly, Fraser clawed his way back to the waking world, opening his grey eyes to find himself in a hospital room. Confused, he looked around, not understanding how, or why, he had come to be here. There was an IV in his hand, but otherwise, he was not hooked up to any machines. He was dressed in a hospital gown, but he could see his clothes folded over a chair by the side of the bed. He licked his lips and found himself to be thirsty. A pitcher full of water sat on a table next to him. Taking the glass beside it, he poured himself some of the water and drank deeply, repeating the exercise twice more.
He felt so groggy and had lost all sense of time. Nothing hurt, not even his heart. He would weather the loss of Ray's friendship like he had all the other losses in his life. By hardening his heart. By not dwelling on his loss. Each time, the exercise proved itself easier.
There was a button by the bed and he pushed it experimentally. Before long, a nurse came into the room. "So, you're awake," she said brightly as she smiled and went to the window to pull the drapes.
"Why am I here? What day is this?" He could tell his words were slurred.
"It's only been a few hours, just the length of the night, Sir. One of the nurses saw you collapse last night."
"Why do I feel so groggy?"
"The doctor prescribed you a sedative. You were most agitated. He'll be in shortly and you can speak with him. Would you like breakfast?"
"Not hungry."
"Well, perhaps later. Ring if you need anything." Fraser couldn't summon the strength to thank her.
Moments later, there was a knock on the door. Not bothering to wait for an answer, the person stepped in. He found Fraser sitting up in bed, starring out the window, and looking very, very doped up.
"Constable Fraser?"
Fraser turned his head slowly at the sound of his name? "Yes?"
"I'm Doctor Aylmer."
"Yes?"
"Your collapse last night can be attributed to the intense emotional trauma you have been submitted to the last few days."
"How..." He couldn't even finish the question.
"I have my sources," the doctor said. "How're you feeling?"
"Tired."
"That would be the remains of the sedative. You weren't sleeping calmly and needed the rest."
"Oh."
"There isn't enough wrong with you physically to keep you, but I don't feel comfortable releasing you just yet."
"Home, please," Fraser said.
"Is there anyone to look after you there?"
"Just home, please."
"I can't force you to speak with me, Constable, but I do recommend you see someone about your experience. That cannot be allowed to fester within you."
"Can I go home?" Fraser repeated tiredly.
"Yes, of course. I'll have a nurse bring the release forms for you to sign." The tone of Dr. Aylmer's voice conveyed great displeasure at Fraser's behaviour. "I dressed the deeper cuts, Constable, and I'd recommend spreading them daily with antibiotic ointment."
"Cuts?"
"On you arms, mostly. From glass, I'd imagine."
"Probably. I didn't notice."
"I didn't think you had. I'll get those forms now."
A little over an hour later, Fraser stepped into his apartment on West Racine and was almost mowed down by Diefenbaker. "Not now, Dief, I'm tired," he said wearily, opening the window so the wolf-dog could go out on his own and relieve himself. Dief whined, knowing something was wrong. But he could not ignore the call of nature and out he went.
Fraser collected a few things together and headed for the communal bathroom, looking forward to a long, hot soak.
When he came back to the apartment, Diefenbaker was waiting for him, looking at him with despondent eyes, feeling sad just because his companion was feeling that way, too. Fraser petted him half heartedly before crawling into bed, not saying anything when Dief jumped in with him.
He slept a long time.
He was woken suddenly by a pounding at his door. Bolting straight up in bed, his heart racing a mile a minute, Fraser had to catch his breath before he could bring himself to stagger to the door and open it. He didn't even give a thought as to his appearance, not even when the visitor revealed herself to be his superior officer, Inspector Meg Thatcher.
"Where the hell have you been, Constable?!" she yelled as soon as he opened the door. "You've been absent for four days without even calling! Even your damn neighbour hasn't seen you!"
Fraser didn't even hear her words. Just a gibberish that was making his head hurt. He quietly shut the door and went to sit at the table, laying his arms on it and resting his head on them. He didn't hear the door open.
"Fraser?" Thatcher called quietly into the apartment, suddenly spooked. In her rage fuelled by worry, she hadn't even looked at Fraser. Something had to be gravely wrong, first for him not to show up at work, much less not call, then for him to simply shut the door in her face.
He was sitting at the table dressed in only white boxer shorts and a tee-shirt, angry red gashes running up both forearms. Several days worth of beard growth framed his chiselled jaw. "Fraser?" she tried again, and this time his head turned.
My God... Thatcher thought. Fraser looked like a ghoul, his pale face drawn with almost black circles rimming his eyes. He looked so tired and so sad. "Fraser?" she asked a third time. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't summon the energy needed to form any coherent words. He was so tired. He just wanted to go back to bed. "Are you hurt?" He managed to shake his head.
"Tired," he made out, his voice shaking with strain. "Go... go..." He knew he could not turn to her. Even if he tried, she would not let him. Better no one than her.
"You want me to call someone? Detective Vecchio?" She saw his eyes widen and suddenly become wet, though no tears spilled over. It took a while for him to shake his head. "Take all the time off you need, Fraser. Call me at the Consulate if you need anything..."
"Tired," he muttered again, dredging up just enough strength to drag himself back to his bed and collapse on it.
Thatcher had no idea what to do. She pulled the soft blue comforter over her subordinate and sat watching him for a time, knowing somehow that calling Ray Vecchio was the wrong thing to do.
It was growing dark when Fraser woke up again. His mind felt much clearer. He was even hungry. "Diefenbaker?" he called softly, fumbling for a light. The wolf padded over from where he'd been lying in the kitchen, whining inquisitively when he reached Fraser. "How about some dinner, huh?" The dog in Diefenbaker barked in appreciation. It had been a long time since his last meal.
Fraser pulled on some civilian clothing and checked his watch. Barely seven o'clock. He had no idea what day it was. He vaguely remembered a visit from Inspector Thatcher, but decided the memory was a dream.
With Dief at his side, he exited his tenement building, heading for a diner nearby that didn't mind Diefenbaker coming in. They both had a hamburger and french fries. In addition, Fraser drank a non-cola soda, just for the energy the sugar in it would provide. He ate slowly since there was nothing for him to go home to.
The next morning he was at work on time, properly groomed and freshly shaven, though there was nothing he could have done for his under eye circles. He still look tired. A stranger could see the strain he was still under.
Thatcher made no comment when he reported for duty. She had not known him for very long and didn't feel it would be proper to pry. She was surprised when Fraser asked for a transfer. "I'm sorry, Constable, but I can't spare you at the moment. All the annual reports are due this month and there's just no time left for me to train someone new. If you still want the transfer in a month or so, I'll put the paperwork through. It's the best I can do." Fraser didn't comment. He just looked at her with sad eyes before retiring to the relative safety of his office.
Sometime in the middle of the afternoon, he answered a call Constable Turnbull had put through to him.
"Constable, my name is Doctor Peterson. From the veterinary clinic on Belmont, near Racine." He knew the place, but it wasn't where he took Dief for his shots.
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry, Constable, there's been an accident. Someone brought your wolf in a short while ago. He'd just bolted into traffic and the man didn't have a chance to stop..."
Fraser's heart stopped. "Is he..."
"He's still alive, but in great pain, Constable. Frankly, I don't think he'll make it through the night."
"I'll be there in a few minutes," Fraser answered, his heart in his throat.
Not Diefenbaker, too. Not now. Please, God, not now.
With barely a word of explanation to his superior officer, Fraser raced out of the Consulate, jumping into a cab that had just stopped at a stop sign. Ignoring the passenger's protest, Fraser ordered the cabby to the clinic. Something in the Mountie's tone told the cabby not ignore him. The wad of bills Fraser threw at him when they arrived calmed the passenger down considerably as he was told by the cabby his ride was now free.
A tall man with red hair and a beard greeted Fraser in the waiting room of clinic. "I'm so sorry, Sir!" he exclaimed. "I was driving, at the speed limit, I promise, then, wham, he appeared out of nowhere. I'm so sorry! I tried to swerve..."
"Thank you for bringing him in," Fraser said shortly, the best he could do, knowing his tone was all wrong. He tried again. "I appreciate you not just leaving him by the side of the road." This was said much more softly and the man's strained look lessened, but not his guilt. His own son had a dog. He understood the relationship between dog and master. There was no way he could have left the poor beast for dead without a moment's consideration for his companion.
"Constable Fraser?" Fraser turned at the sound of his name. The doctor was a short, squat man. He looked a lot like Danny Devito, Fraser thought wryly.
"Yes? How did you know?"
"I've seen the two of you around. He's right back here."
Oh, Diefenbaker...
Fraser had never seen his wolf in such sad shape before. Three legs and a half dozen ribs broken. A punctured lung. A fractured skull. He was heavily sedated. Fraser allowed his hand to stroke the blood soaked fur one last time. "Please do it," he said softy to Doctor Peterson. He headed back out to the waiting room. The bearded man was still there.
"There's nothing that can be done for him," Fraser said. "Go home, you've done all you can." His words were not harsh. "Thank you for caring." The bearded man did not answer, but he did reach out to quickly pat Fraser's arm before leaving the clinic.
Dr. Peterson came out sometime later to find Fraser slumped in his chair. "It's over, Constable."
Fraser looked up, blinking rapidly. He was suddenly tired again. "His remains?"
"Yours to do with as you please."
"Can you... can you have him cremated? I'll take his ashes home this summer."
"Certainly, Constable. I'll have it done as soon as possible."
Fraser walked out of the clinic alone into a cold Chicago night.
Even as darkness set and a chilly wind picked up, Fraser could find no motivation to go home. Couldn't anyone see how much he was hurting? Why couldn't someone, anyone, just stop and give him a hug. A kind word. Anything so he would know he wasn't alone.
The streetwalkers were out. A few accosted him, but he brushed them off. Then, he thought, why not? Human companionship, even if bought, was still human companionship. He counted the bills crumpled in the brim of his Stetson. A few hundred American dollars. Surely, it would be enough.
She could not look hardened. She had to look like she might be willing to pretend that she cared. That was when he saw her. She was in her early twenties at the most, still fresh faced, with blonde hair cut in a bob. She wasn't dressed as trashily as the others. More like she didn't really want to be doing this, or she didn't have a big habit to support. "Excuse me?" he said, going up to her. "Are you working tonight?"
She turned to look at him, sizing him up, taking in his uniform. "Maybe," she said finally.
"I'm not here as a police officer," he assured her. He stuck out the wad of bills. "I have four hundred dollars. Is that enough to convince you to spend the night with me, please?"
He didn't sound like her usual trick. Certainly didn't look it, either. He'd obviously never done this before. Four hundred bucks would buy him a few hours, but maybe tonight she could give a discount. It was cold. "Four hundred bucks and breakfast tomorrow," she said finally.
"Okay," Fraser answered. "My apartment is not far away." Then he thought about something. "Or do we have to go to a hotel?"
Something about him could be trusted. "Your place is fine."
It wasn't quite what she'd expected. Fraser led her into apartment 3J and she promptly went to the bed, sitting down on it. It was a lot more comfortable than it looked.
"Would you like something to drink?" Fraser asked.
"What do you have?"
"Oh. Um, nothing alcoholic, I'm afraid. Juice, milk, tea, water..."
Definitely not her typical trick. "Juice'd be great, thanks." Fraser brought her a glass. "Listen, I don't do anything funny okay? Just straight sex."
Fraser looked her in the eye. "I don't want to have sexual relations with you. I... I've just lost everyone whom I'm close to and I..." His voice broke finally. "I just want someone to hold tonight..."
Shit. She'd never, ever had anything like this before. Never seen anyone hurt like this man was hurting right now, and she'd seen a hell of a lot in her twenty years. Setting her juice aside, she stood up to pull Fraser onto the bed. He complied. "My name's street name's Amber, but you can call me Laura. What's your name?"
"Ben."
She put a hand on his back and rubbed it gently. "I'll stay tonight," she said. "I'm sorry for everything that's happened to you."
Ben bolted to his feet and started pacing. "You don't have to feel sorry," he said. "You've probably been through more than I ever have."
Laura shook her head. "Ben, I have some people I can trust to listen to me and hold me. I don't have to pay for something like that. You might have an honourable job and all, but I wouldn't say you're any luckier than me. How about you put on something a bit more comfortable and we can talk, okay?" He nodded.
A few minutes later, Fraser had changed into his RCMP sweats and was sitting on the bed next to Laura. She had removed a coat that was utterly inappropriate for the weather to reveal a very short skirt and a sleeveless blouse that showed her mid drift. Fraser offered her a tee-shirt, one of his flannel shirts, a pair of boxer shorts, and a pair of socks. She had agreed to change and Fraser gave her her privacy, putting on his sweats in the closet. She didn't look much like a lady of the night any more.
"Tell me about yourself," Fraser said.
"I thought I was supposed to ask you that," Laura answered.
"I want to know you, first."
She shrugged. "Okay. Nothing to spectacular. Very sheltered upbringing in Oak Park. Catholic school. Mother would have doted on me if she hadn't been afraid of spoiling me. I had enough of it. Few weeks before high school graduation, I bolted. The streets are okay. I keep myself fairly clean. I don't have a pimp, so all my money's my own. I have an okay place, friends. Only been arrested a few times. It could be worse. I could be alone."
"Like me."
"Like you, Ben. And you?"
Somehow, the whole story spilled out, just a torrent of words from someone who hadn't had anyone to really speak to in too long, maybe even his whole life. Laura heard everything. From his Mum dying to Diefenbaker. Even about Victoria. Once he started, he couldn't stop. She just kept a hand on his back and moved it around in soothing circles.
There were no tears. Fraser's voice never broke. He just recited his life story in a flat monotone that nearly caused Laura's heart to break. She had heard that tone too many times on the streets. It was the sound of someone who had nothing left to give or lose and whose heart had hardened to the point of desperation. She was glad it was her he had chosen and not, say, Jade, who would have taken advantage of his situation. No, she would not take advantage of this kind, sweet man. She would give him what he needed tonight and take nothing in return.
She finally guided an exhausted Fraser under the covers, then slipped in beside him. She rested a head on his shoulder and he wrapped an arm around her. Thus settled, they quickly fell asleep.
When Fraser woke up, Laura was already gone. All that remained of her were his clothes that smelled of her sweet perfume, and a crumpled handful of American bills totalling four hundred dollars.
The dam finally broke. Why did a stranger care? Was he that pitiful?
Sitting alone in his apartment, hugging himself and sobbing, Fraser just let all his emotions spew forth. Even his own father didn't care or he would be here.
He was so alone... so very alone... Everything was just too much, his very existence came crashing down on him and he let out a strangled wail he would never have thought himself capable of uttering. It felt good and he did it again. And again. Like some stark raving mad lunatic until he let out a howl that silenced him.
The tears stopped and he took in deep shuddering breaths trying to calm his heart rate.
To his surprise, he realised that he felt better. Not good, but definitely better. There was definitely something to be said for the cathartic results of a good cry.
For the first time in days his mind felt sure and clear. He assessed what he had lost and what he had left and realised very quickly that he had nothing left to lose save his career. Anything he did now had to move towards the direction of the preservation of his career. He couldn't do anything to jeopardize it.
So, he thought with a humour that surprised him, buying a motorcycle and running off to Mexico with a prostitute is out of the question. He couldn't believe he had just thought that and he had to laugh.
But he knew he had to do something drastic. Something out of character. Anything to get the blood flowing again, to stop him from dwelling in self pity. Something to mark this turning point in his life.
The answer hit him quite suddenly. A tattoo. Yes! He'd get a tattoo. Of a wolf like Diefenbaker, so he could keep his companion close to him for ever.
He rummaged under his bed until he found the silver box that contained his most precious mementos, pulling from it a picture of Diefenbaker when he was still a pup. A reminder of Dief and of his youth all in one indelible drawing. Perfect.
Pulling out paper and pencil, Fraser made a sketch from the photograph, using as few lines as possible. He wasn't sure where he'd have the tattoo done, but it had to be done today. He knew that tomorrow he would lose his nerve and regret his cowardice.
The owner of the shop didn't remember him. Maybe if he'd come in his uniform. But he found that he liked the anonymity. He handed over the sketch. It wasn't very big, perhaps four inches by four inches, maybe a little less. The tattoo artist nodded. "I can do something with that," he said in a soft British accent. "Where do you want it?"
"I don't know."
"You want people to see it?"
"Not necessarily, no. Maybe my arm? Here?" Fraser clutched his right biceps.
"Yeah, that'll work."
"You do use the proper precautions to prevent disease, do you not?"
"I've got the hepatitis. Wouldn't wanna pass that on to anyone. Clean needles. You doing it or not?"
"Yes, Sir, thank you."
"We're going to be here a while, call me Bucky, why don't you?"
An hour later, his arm burning, Fraser emerged from the tattoo parlour into the brightness of an early spring day. Spring. A new beginning.
Last night, in Laura's arms, he had been born again. If he could get a stranger to care for him, then maybe, maybe, one day he would be able to get close to someone, close enough for them to care.
A little voice in the back of his head niggled, Yeah, and pigs will fly.
Fraser threw himself into his work. Literally. Turnbull had made very tall stacks of important files on his office floor and when he'd accidentally spilled a bucket of water while in Fraser's presence, Fraser threw himself at the stacks to save them from the deluge. The incident caused him to burst out laughing as he sat among piles of what had once been organized paper. The sound of his laughter was almost rusty. There wasn't much humour in consular work.
Thatcher was worried. It was obvious Fraser was barely eating and sleeping. He'd come into work at sunrise and burn the proverbial midnight oil. It had been a long time since she'd seen him break for lunch or dinner. She just couldn't bring herself to cross that line, to go from superior officer to friend. She couldn't, not so long as his job performance wasn't affected. She could, however, send him home early. So she did.
Chicago was definitely on the cusp of spring, the flowers in full bloom, the snow melted away for another year. The days were longer, the nights shorter, and Fraser found that he had all too much time to think. And now Thatcher was making him go home early.
Home to what?
Instead, he roamed. Found corners of Chicago he had never known existed. Visited museums, attended theatrical performances. He could have given no review of what he had seen, though. His mind was still on autopilot, still trying to adjust to this aloneness when he was surrounded by millions of people. Being alone in the Yukon was no trial, nothing personal. There was just too much land for not enough people. Just the way Fraser liked it. Here, there was no room to breathe. The month had passed and he'd asked again for the transfer. Thatcher had acquiesced , but he had been flatly turned down by the higher ups. Even the RCMP was not ready to forgive him.
So, he stayed in Chicago, grasping for a semblance of an existence. Try as he might, he could not get his mind to focus on the paintings he looked at or the plays he took in. His mind always wandered. For lack of anyone to converse with, he conversed with himself. Fraser was certain that he was slowly going quite mad.
One warm May night, over two months since the night that had swallowed Gardino and Fraser's lives, Fraser finally went back to his apartment early to face the demons there. He had not found what he searched for on the streets of Chicago. Perhaps the answer lay within the walls of apartment 3J of 221 West Racine.
The night there was hot, no longer just warm. He stripped to his boxers and tank top, absent mindedly rubbing his right biceps, as though he were petting Diefenbaker himself and not just a poor excuse for a memory.
He went through the box slowly, putting in one pile memories to keep and in the other memories that had begun to fester.
Victoria: definitely a festering one.
His mum: definitely keep
Himself tobogganing with Julie Frobisher when he was no more than four: keep
Ray at Christmas last year: festering
the Vecchio family: hard call, keep
And so on it went... Picture by picture, memento by memento until the box was empty and he had divided all that meant to him into two piles. He put the festering pile back in the box and lit a match to it. When the contents were nothing more than ashes, he let the box and its contents cool, then transferred the ashes to a container. He would scatter these ashes with Diefenbaker's when he went on leave to the Yukon this summer.
It was late into the night, early morning, in fact, when he put back the keepers into his box and prepared for bed. He had just settled between the sheets when a hesitant knock at the door forced him back up.
"Who is it," he called, fumbling for some clothes and finally sliding into a pair of jeans. The only answer was an ominous silence. He went to the door and cautiously pulled it open. There was a tall woman there, about thirty or so and scantily dressed. In her arms, she held...
"Laura!" He wasn't even aware that he had said the name aloud. All he could see was Laura barely standing up, doubled over as she clutched her abdomen, seemingly oblivious to the bruising on her face and the blood that caked her hair.
"Can we come in?" the older woman asked. "I didn't know where else to take her... He might be coming after us."
"Yes, of course!" Fraser answered, pulling them inside. He guided them over to the bed, then ran to the kitchen area to find clean cloths and ice.
Damn. No ice. But he did have a few containers of food he'd frozen. Those could do. He wrapped them up in towels and brought everything to the bed. He then fumbled to open his foot locker and found his first aid kit.
"Thank you, Ben," the older woman said. "One of her tricks turned nasty on her. Real sudden like. He'd always been okay." The prostitute began to wipe away the blood with a piece of gauze dipped in alcohol, ignoring Laura's protests. "I'm Jane," she said as she continued her ministrations.
"Can I do anything?" Ben asked. "Shouldn't we be taking her to a doctor? Call the police?"
"Yes, no, and no. Get her something to change into, okay?" Fraser pulled out boxer shorts and a tee-shirt and laid them aside. "Can you go to that all night pharmacy a few blocks over and get some real ice packs? The big ones? And ice cream or popsicles. Something she can eat and use to freeze her mouth?"
"Yes, of course. I'll be back shortly," Fraser answered, pulling on a tee-shirt and sneakers and grabbing his wallet.
He came back an hour later with the items Jane had requested, as well as a few personal items for both her and Laura--tooth and hair brushes and the like. He had a feeling he'd have guests for a few nights.
When he arrived back home, Jane had finished dressing Laura's cuts. Laura looked much better and was sound asleep. Jane took the ice packs and stuck them in the freezer. "Your food'll do until these freeze," she said with a sly smile. "I'm sorry if I was a bit abrupt when I brought her in..."
"Not at all," Fraser assured her. "I got you a few things, too." He handed her the bag of items and she gratefully inventoried the contents.
"Thank you, Ben. I had to say I had my doubts, but Laura has such a good people radar. "Is it all right if she stays a few nights? I know it's--"
"No, no inconvenience, Jane. Stay as long as you want."
"I don't know for sure if this trick's gonna come after us or not. But I've been looking for an excuse to leave Chicago and this is it. I've got some decent savings. I'm gettin' out of the business. Gettin' too old for it, anyway. Won't be long before someone tries that on me just 'cause I'm not young like Laura here.
"Do you think this will suffice in getting Laura to stop, um, offering herself?" Fraser asked.
Jane shrugged. "Who knows? Hooking's her life. She doesn't know anything else. She doesn't know anyone who knows anything else and could teach her."
"She knows me."
Jane grinned. "Yeah, she does. Listen, Ben, I'm gonna be out of here in the morning. Can you promise me you'll take care of her?"
"I promise."
Jane left just a few hours later, leaving Fraser to watch over Laura who slept fitfully. At one point he woke her to feed her a few aspirin. Laura immediately dozed off again. He got no sleep of his own and knew that he would not be going into work that morning.
Laura finally woke up some time around ten. She tried to sit up but stopped mid try, letting out a groan. Fraser was at her side in a matter of moments. "Ssh, lie still," he coaxed. "You might have some broken ribs."
"Ben?" she murmured.
"Yes, it's Ben. How to you feel?"
"Like shit?"
Fraser had to smile. She hadn't lost any of her spunk. "That sounds just about right. What hurts the most?"
"Nothing, really, just a general throbbing everywhere. My ribs aren't broken. I broke three once in high school and it was nothing like this. This is more like the time my best friend Sam accidentally hit me in the stomach with a baseball bat.
"He accidentally hit you the stomach with a baseball bat?"
"She. Not her fault. She threw the bat after she specifically warned me to stand back. How bad to I look?"
Fraser examined her quickly. "Not bad, really. Once the worst of the blood was washed off, you already looked much better. Just a nasty laceration of the scalp Jane was able to close with butterfly bandages. Your hair will hide the scar. You have a few bruises and an abraded cheekbone, but little swelling."
"Good," Laura said, relieved. "Think I can go back to work tonight?"
Fraser took a step back, he was so shocked by her question. "Laura! You were severely beaten yesterday!"
She shrugged. "If I can lie back and spread my legs, I can work."
A look of horror crossed Fraser's eyes. "Laura, please, there must be something else you want to do with your life."
She shook her head. "Ben, I don't know what you and Jane were talking about. She probably tried to get you to convince me to stop hooking. It won't happen. I'm just... not ready to learn anything new. Most nights, I don't mind the job. The money's so good. Soon, I'll have enough saved up to stop hooking. Soon, but not now."
"Why don't you stay here for a while? Go back to school, maybe?"
"Ben, if you think some 'Pretty Woman' thing is going to happen here, you have another thing coming to you. I want your friendship, but no more, and only if you accept me for what I am. I'm a hooker. I'm not ashamed of it."
Fraser didn't understand the 'Pretty Woman' analogy, but he did get the drift of what she was saying. She was offering him friendship.
"Okay. But you have to promise to give yourself a few nights to recover, okay?"
"Deal," Laura said with a smile. "Now, you got any food? I'm hungry!"
Laura was gone from the apartment the next morning, but not from his life. Fraser was sure of this. When he went to wash the tee-shirt she'd used, a piece of paper fell from the folds. All that was written on it was a phone number.
Work continued as usual for the next few weeks, as the warm spring days of May gave way to the oppressive summer heat of June. It had been four very long months since he had last seen Ray. Most days, Fraser could put out of his mind the image of the American he had called his friend for a long time. Some days, though, he missed him to the point of pain. At least he knew then that his heart had not hardened completely.
After one particularly gruelling day of processing passports, Fraser needed a change of routine. He pulled out the phone number Laura had left and dialled, never really expecting her to pick up. Hopefully, she had an answering machine.
"Hello?"
"You picked up!"
"Well, it's my phone. Ben?"
"Yes! How are you, Laura?"
"I'm okay. How're things at your end?"
"Boring," Fraser admitted. "Could we meet for dinner some place, my treat?"
"Yeah, sure, that'd be good! When and where?"
"How about Hail's, the diner a few blocks from my place? At six?"
"See you soon, Ben."
Laura arrived promptly wearing shorts that reached just above the knee and a regular tee shirt. Fraser could not hide his surprise."My night off," she said in lieu of a greeting. Then she hugged him and Fraser melted into the embrace he hadn't even known he needed. "Feels good, huh?"
"Yes," he admitted.
A waitress sat them down at booth, but neither reached for the menus. "I've been thinking, Ben."
"About what?"
"You need a pet."
Fraser tensed. "Why do you say that?"
"Did you know I have two cats?"
"No."
"Well, I do. And they're always happy to see me when I get home. That's what you need. Something that'll always be glad you're home."
"I don't want another dog."
"Who said a dog? I have a friend who's cat just had kittens. They're at the right age to be weaned. Want one?"
"I really don't know much about cats, Laura." But he was tempted.
"They're not all the different from dogs. Feed them, make sure they get their shots, and love them as hard as you can."
"I can do that."
Laura grinned. "Let's eat, then I'll take you over to Jenny's, okay?"
"Thanks, Laura."
Fraser immediately fell in love with the kitten he immediately named Yukon. She was a pure white bundle of furry love and the two clicked right away. He had been eyeing the yellow kitten of the litter, but it was Yukon who went up to him first and rubbed her head against his legs. He bent down to pick her up gently and starred into her amber eyes." Meow?" Yukon asked him.
"Yes, I'll take you home."
Laura then took him to a nearby pet store for various supplies and gave him the name of her veterinarian, telling Fraser not to wait too long to have Yukon vaccinated and 'fixed'. "I won't, Fraser promised, cradling Yukon against his chest. She was so small, like a baby, and just what this lonely Mountie needed.
It was Laura who called a few nights later just as Fraser and Yukon were sitting down to dinner. He had given her Mr. Mustafi's number.
"Ben?" Her voice was shaking.
"What's wrong?"
"I've been arrested. Not for hooking, for suspicion of murder! You know that trick that hit me a while back? He just bit a bullet. I didn't do it! I was with you shopping for supplies for Yukon when it happened! Can you come here, please, and be my alibi? Please? All they have on me is that someone tipped them off that the guy and I had a history."
"I'm on my way, Laura. Where are you?"
"The twenty-seventh precinct. You have to talk to Ray Vecchio."
Fraser's heart stopped for a moment, then he considered the peril Laura was in. "I'm on my way, Laura." He lunged for the garbage, hoping that he'd find receipts for the purchases they'd made, and almost cried in relief when he found them under some soggy coffee grinds. With a quick apology to Yukon for making her dine alone, he was off.
The precinct hadn't changed in the slightest. But if the desk sergeant remembered him, he gave no indication of the fact. Fraser was told to go on up to the Bullpen and he didn't wait for directions.
Nothing there had changed, either. He was surprised to see everyone he had known still at their desks--Elaine, Huey, Lieutenant Welsh in his office... And Ray. Laura was sitting in the chair in front of his desk with one hand cuffed to it.
"Excuse me?" Fraser said, coming up to the desk. No one had seemed to recognize him, but Ray's eyes widened in recognition of the voice. He turned to Fraser, his mouth gaping slightly. "I'm here to vouch for this woman's veracity.
Ray answered, his tone neutral, "How do you know this woman?"
"We're friends."
"And you were together the night of the sixteenth between six and nine?"
"Yes. We went for dinner at Hail's Diner, on Racine. Then we proceeded around seven or so to one of her friend's apartments on Harlem where I picked out a kitten. Then Laura--" Fraser realised then that he didn't even know her last name. "Took me to a pet shop to pick out supplies for my cat. I have the receipts from the store here. They say 8:53 PM." He handed Ray the soggy scraps of paper. "Then I walked Laura home. I didn't stay long because I wanted to get my cat settled in. I was home around ten thirty or so and it was about a half hour's walk."
"So, you swear that you were from this woman from six to ten?"
"Yes."
"You'd be willing to swear to that in court?"
"Of course."
"Okay," Ray sighed, handing Fraser a form. "Sign here. You're free to go," he told Laura, getting up to unlock her. Once free, she turned to Fraser and hugged him tightly.
"Thank you for coming," she said, her voice trembling. "I've never been so scared."
"I know, I've been there," he said. "I'll walk you home."
"Thanks." Fraser took her arm to lead her out of the squad room when Ray suddenly called to him.
"Constable Fraser?"
All work in the room stopped as people began to realise who had come back. Thanks, Ray, Fraser thought with uncharacteristic sarcasm.
"Yes, Detective Vecchio?"
"Can we talk for a moment?"
"Maybe another time. I have to be getting my friend home."
"Can I call you?"
Fraser turned back to Ray's desk. "After hours."
The phone in Fraser's office rang promptly at five thirty the next day. "Hello, Ray," he answered.
"Hey, Fraser. Listen, I know why you haven't called and I know that you know that none of this is your fault, and I wanted you to know that I know," Ray said without taking a breath.
"Thank you, Ray," Fraser said simply. "And why haven't you called?"
"Because I'm a coward," Ray answered honestly. "Because it's not easy admitting that I'm wrong."
"I appreciate your honesty, Ray."
"Do you hate me?"
"No, Ray."
"I hate myself, Fraser. For being like everyone else in your life. For abandoning you."
"It's something you'll just have to live with, then. I've forgiven you your weaknesses, Ray. They are a part of you and to be your friend, I have to accept all of you unconditionally."
"Are we still friends?"
"I don't know, Ray. I'd like it. I'd like for us to put all that behind us, but it isn't easy. Ray, when you turned against me, it felt like you had thrown me down a bottomless chasm of aloneness. I had no one, Ray. Do you understand that? No one, not even you, bothered to ask me how I was doing. The first nights were the hardest--nightmares of Louis dying, sleeplessness... And then, Dief..."
"What about Dief?"
"You haven't heard?"
"Oh, God, Benny, no..." The old nickname just slipped out.
"He was hit by a car a few nights later. Never had a chance."
"I'm so sorry, Benny..."
"And I tried to get a transfer, but first Thatcher wouldn't give me one then the RCMP refused when she gave the green light. If it wasn't for Laura, then... I don't know."
"How'd you two meet?"
"That's not important."
"Are you like dating?"
Fraser snorted, as though the thought of dating Laura was amusing. "No, we're just friends. We've been there for each other. Thank you for releasing her."
"Had no choice, right? She had an alibi. Listen, Fraser, can we continue this over dinner?"
"No, not really. I have things to do tonight and I'm not much in the mood to talk. If you want things to be like they were, Ray, well, I think you have high expectations." I can forgive what happened between us, but forget? I can never forget how feels to watch a man die and have no one care about how it affected me.
"Benny..."
"No, no lies. You never gave me a thought, Ray. You never tried to see what it was I was going through. Sorrento tried to kill you. It was not an act of disloyalty, Ray. Never. It was an act of love--" Fraser's voice broke and Ray could only sit, mesmerized, overcome by the subtle changes in Fraser. Whomever was this Laura, she had taught Fraser to talk. "And you threw it away. Everything I did that week was out of love and every one of your reactions was out of hate. I was a convenient scapegoat, wasn't I?"
"Fraser-- "
"Wasn't I?"
"Yeah."
"Ray, before I see you again, I want to make sure that you understand something. I don't have a heart of stone. I feel. And I can break. Do you know how close I came to breaking after you left me? Past the point. You left and next thing I knew I woke up in a hospital room with a bloodstream full of sedatives. The days after that are even blurrier. All I wanted was for someone to tell me they cared. No one could be bothered."
"I'm sorry, Benny..." Ray said softly. "I just..."
"I know."
"How long were you in the hospital?"
"Just over night. The doctor took the opportunity to dress some gashes I had on my arms. Deep ones, might I add. I'm surprised I didn't notice them. Some have barely begun to scar. Rather appropriate, might I add." That's what got to him the most. He was this close to the car when it blew and no one even thought to suggest that a doctor look him over. "Tell me, Ray, am I really that expendable?"
"No, Benny. You're one of those quiet ones we don't realise we need until we push them away."
A pregnant pause. "Where would you like to meet for dinner?"
He could hear Ray grin. "Anywhere you like." Fraser suggested the diner.
Ray hadn't expected Fraser to look the same, but he did. Maybe he was a little thinner, maybe the circles under his eyes were a little darker, but he was still the impeccably groomed Mountie he remembered. He was wearing his brown uniform. Ray himself not changed, at least not externally. Ma made certain he got his daily ration of pasta, whether or not he was hungry. Internally, however... He wasn't so quick to fly off the handle, now. Even a little more soft spoken. He'd finally learned to think then open his mouth.
"Hi, Ray," Fraser greeted him, hanging up his Stetson.
"Hey, Benny. Nice location," he teased.
Fraser looked around the diner, for the first time seeing how shabby it was. "Food's good," he promised.
"So, you got yourself a cat, uh?" Ray asked, sipping the water a waitress has bought.
"Yes. It was Laura's idea. Her friend had kittens. I mean, her friend's cat had kittens." Ray laughed. "She's such a sweet little thing--pure white with amber coloured eyes. I fell for her immediately."
"Can I guess her name?"
"Sure."
"Yukon."
Surprise could be read in Fraser's expression. "Yes. How did you guess?"
"I've had a lot of time to get to know you since I last saw you."
"Ah."
Ray gave his menu a glance. "What do you recommend?"
"Hamburgers and french fries. I think I've been living off that these last months. The hamburgers here are delicious--hand formed with onions and spices. And the french fries are fresh cut. I bring my own condiment." Out of the pocket of his coat, Fraser pulled out a bottle of A1 steak sauce.
Ray burst out laughing. "You know, most people in Chicago pack heat."
Fraser gave him a smile. "But I imagine that a little of this thrown in someone's eyes..."
Some things just couldn't change.
They spoke little during dinner, just drank in the warmth of the other's presence. "I have ice cream at my place if you want dessert," Fraser suggested when the bill came.
"Yeah, that'd be good, Benny."
They walked together to Fraser's place, leaving Ray's car in the parking lot of the diner. Ray wasn't overly concerned about it. It was just a boring little sedan his cousin Al had let him have dirt cheap. He'd had no luck finding a replacement Riviera.
"Hot enough for you?" Ray panted as he followed Fraser up three flights of stairs.
"Much too hot," Fraser conceded, letting Ray into his apartment. He quickly proceeded to remove some layers, first his tunic, then his shirt, leaving only his tank top. Ray found bowls and spoons and waited at the table for the ice cream.
When he saw Fraser's right biceps, he almost dropped his load. "Benny, what's that on your arm?"
"Which arm?"
"Your right one!"
"Oh, you mean my tattoo?"
"Yes, your tattoo! Since when do you have a tattoo?!"
"Since Diefenbaker died. I have him with me always now."
"I just would never have figured you for a tattoo..."
A soft meow made both men look down to the floor. "Yukon!" Fraser exclaimed, sounding like a proud father. "Come up here and meet Ray!" Yukon obliged by climbing up Fraser's pant leg onto his lap, then standing on her hind legs with her paws on the table. She nudged the ice cream container."No, no ice cream for you," Fraser teased, nuzzling the top of her head. "Isn't she beautiful, Ray?" He handed Yukon over to him and Ray took her carefully. Fraser noted the changed. It wasn't so long ago that Ray would have refused to hold her on account of getting kitten hair on his clothes.
"She sure is, Benny. She an indoor cat?"
"Yes. I don't want her turning wild or... well, you know what happened to Dief."
"Yeah," Ray answered, putting Yukon on the floor where she promptly raced to Fraser's bed, jumped onto it, and curled up on the pillow. "You know who's been asking about you?" he asked.
"Elaine?"
"No, Huey."
"I have nothing to say to him."
"I figured that much."
"That life feels so far away now, Ray. You know, I thought some of those people were friends. Not even Elaine has bothered to contact me. Ray, being the sole survivor of a nuclear accident would have been no more disconcerting." Ray had no answer to that.
"You, know, Benny, it's not often that people get what they deserve. You certainly deserved better."
Fraser shrugged. "There's a reason for everything, Ray. I met Laura and my life is richer for it."
"You picked her up one night, didn't you?"
Fraser nodded. "Yeah. And nothing happened, Ray. We told each other our life story, fell asleep in each other's arms, and when I woke in the morning, she was gone. She gave me what I needed most, someone to talk to and to hold. I will always be indebted to her."
"I just never imagined you being friends with... you know--"
"A prostitute?" Fraser shrugged. "We're not all that different, Laura and I. Good, solid upbringing, a fine education. Folks who would have doted on us if they hadn't been afraid of spoiling us. I found my escape in the force, her in selling her body. She's genuinely satisfied with her life, Ray, and she does have a good life. I am most envious of her some days." Ray could not respond to that. "You know, Ray, when you told me to get out of your life, I could literally feel my heart hardening. I could feel myself slipping further behind my walls. I realise now that this is no way to live a life. I want to know what's outside of me, outside of my pain. I've taken a lot of steps--Laura, the tattoo, accepting Yukon, forgiving you... I ask now only one thing of you, Ray, that you accept me for who I am. That you not try to change me That you love me unconditionally. That you forgive me my idiosyncrasies. Can you try, Ray? I sorely miss your companionship."
Ray's answer was the hug Fraser had needed for so long.
Ray left a short time later, after Fraser had finished recounting all that he'd done in their time apart. At Ray's departure, Fraser headed down to the payphone at the bar under his apartment to call Laura. He wasn't surprised that she didn't pick up. "Laura, it's Ben," he said to her machine. "I just had a good talk with Ray. I think we're going to be just fine. Please come see me whenever you have a chance."
After came a hot bath and his first real night's sleep in far too long.
The next morning Fraser was just about ready to leave for work when there came a knock at his door.
"Ray?" he said, surprised, once he'd answered.
"Wanna lift?"
"I'd like that. Thank you."
"Ma wants you to come for dinner tomorrow night," Ray said as they headed downstairs. "Frannie's in Florida visiting our aunt, so you don't have to worry about her."
"Tell your mother I accept her invitation, Ray."
"You know, Benny, Ma's rarely had a cross word to say to me. But since that night, she's been real quiet with me. Disappointed. When I told her where I was last night, she called me 'Raimondo' for the first time in I don't know how long. I alienated a lot of people for some pretty stupid reasons."
"Yes, you did," Fraser agreed.
"You know, Benny, you've changed. I think I like the new you a lot better. You don't expect people to read your mind any more."
Fraser nodded. "Yep. In the end, I think this was all for the better. Could you please hint to your mother that I've had a craving for her lasagna for the past four months?"
Ray laughed. "Sure, Benny."
Late that day, the phone rang in Fraser's office. He'd been concentrating on the biannual budget and jumped at the sound. "Hello?" he said, a little flustered, forgetting to use his rank and name.
"Ben, it's Laura."
"Laura! I've been waiting for you to call. Can we meet for dinner tonight?"
"Um, no. I'm not in Chicago, Ben. I flew to California on a whim early this morning."
"California? What's in California?"
"My family. My dad got a transfer there soon after I left. I took yours and Ray's example and decide to make my peace with them."
"Oh, Laura..."
"I'm enrolling at Berkley this fall. I'm going to take my high school equivalency this summer."
"I'm so happy for you..."
"Thanks, Ben, for reminding me of what's really important in life. You might have found comfort in the arms of a stranger, but I found salvation. Will you promise me you'll always keep in touch? Letters and phone calls? I didn't abandon you, Ben."
"I know you didn't. And you'd better keep in touch! And, Laura?"
"Yes, Ben?"
"I have three weeks vacation this summer. Would it okay if I only take half in the Yukon and meet you in California for the rest?"
"It'd be more than okay! You know, you're my best friend. I've had lots of friends in my life, but none like you. I'm going to miss you, Ben."
"Goodbye isn't for ever, Laura. I'll see you soon."
"Okay. Let me just give you my number and address."
Ray was waiting in front of the Consulate when Fraser finished his shift. Fraser slid into the passenger's seat and asked Ray to wait a moment before leaving so they could talk.
"Catholics focus on guilt and forgiveness don't you? Redemption from sin?"
"Yeah, that's one way of looking at it."
"Ray, your alienation of me brought me into Laura's arms. Brought me into her life. When we settled our differences yesterday, Ray, do you know what happened?"
"What, Benny?" Ray asked, not sure if he wanted to know.
"A prostitute died and an angel was reborn. Laura went home to her family today, Ray. She learned from our example. Was it not worth it, then, all that we put ourselves through for this knowledge? That our pettiness saved her? Ray, I would have gone through a thousand times worse for the same outcome."
"God, Benny, you're kidding me. Just because we were two morons--"
"Who ceased being morons, Ray."
"Wow..."
"She's twenty-one, Ray, she still has her whole life ahead of her... It was all so worth it now. Just think of all that happened, Ray. We found a new appreciation for each other, Laura found her way back to her family, and just as a bonus, I've got Yukon waiting for me at home." People do get what they deserve. It just takes a little while longer for some people. A few more trials and tribulations... "So, is your mother serving lasagna tonight?"
Relieved that all was well with his world, Ray laughed. "Yeah, Benny, she is."
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