'For lack of guidance a nation falls, but many advisers make victory sure.' Proverbs 11:14
Set somewhere in late season 2. Mildly AU. Rated PG-13 for strong imagery.
Dedication: For everyone on RideForever. Especially for my listsibs on a cliff (Janice and Melanie)--here's me handing down the gruel as well as performing CPR. Also for Caroline and Laurie for all the hate mail they sent. And, last, for Sylvie, my sounding board who never fears spoilers.
Disclaimer: I still don't own these characters and I hope I won't get sued for this.
Make Victory Sure
by: M-A
'Now'
Fraser sat huddled on the cement floor of the damp cell, his cuffed hands wrapped firmly around his knees to keep them from shaking. But he couldn't stop shivering as the cold assailed him. When he looked up to stare at his captor with dull grey eyes, he saw his breath emanating from him in little white puffs. The cold was seeping into him. He could feel it right down to his bones.
His captor stared at him coldly, feeling no pity whatsoever for the Mountie's sorry state. If he felt anything at all, it was amusement. It had been fun to strip the arrogant man until there was nothing he could hide behind. And then the click of the cuffs encircling the wiry wrists, tightened until just a moment after the Mountie began to wince with the pain. The captor could see the hands slowly turning purple, contrasting well with the bluish tinge the Mountie's pale skin was taking on.
Fraser relieved himself, long past shame, the warm liquid burning urine irritated thighs. The smell of ammonia was strong in the room but he'd been like this long enough to be able to ignore it. His captor seemed immune to it.
The one door leading into the room scraped open and another man came in, carrying a bowl. He deposited it a few metres from Fraser, not sharing the other captor's laughter the Mountie leapt for it, dragging the bowl of cold gruel to his corner and devouring it in a few swallows. It was cold and lumpy and tasted like paste, but it was nourishment. He was long past being picky. Or proud.
He had no idea how much time had gone by other than it could be counted by weeks. Maybe even months. The torture wasn't so much one of pain but of deprivation. At least now they were feeding him once a day. It felt like once a day.
The food bringing captor spoke up suddenly, startling Fraser who cowered back into his corner. "Lift up your hands!" Arms shaking, Fraser obeyed, eyes downcast to show his humility. The man grabbed his wrists and with a few twists of a key released the arms from their restraints.
Fraser bit his lip to keep from crying out as blood rushed to his fingers. It took all of the little willpower he had left not to rub them, to rid himself as quickly as possible from the stinging sensation. Instead, he wrapped his arms around himself, shivering even more than before, if that was possible.
"You want a blanket?"
The words were so startling that Fraser actually looked up before remembering to cast his eyes downward again. He said nothing, unsure of the sort of response the man wanted from him.
"I won't ask you again. You want one?"
Fraser gave a small nod of the head, uttering a timid, broken, "Yes," his voice raspy from lack of use. The captor didn't respond. Soon Fraser heard him leave the room.
Now, he shook from fright. He had no idea if he'd given the right answer or not. Maybe the man would come back with a blanket. Maybe he'd come back with the whip the other was so fond of. The whip that stung but never broke the skin. There was a lot he'd do to avoid the whip.
A short while later, he heard the door open again. Something was tossed at his feet. He peered at it through the corner of his eye. It looked like a blanket. "Use it or lose it," the second captor ordered before retreating.
Fraser crept furtively towards the beckoning fabric, clasping it with bony fingers. It felt soft and warm and dry. When he shook it out, he found he had enough to cover himself with. He spread a corner over the floor then moved onto it, dragging another corner over himself. His shivering subsided almost instantly. The little cocoon he'd made felt almost... safe. For the first time in this life, he slept almost peacefully.

'Then' (eight weeks before)
"Hostilities in Eastern Europe continue to mount as Canada joins the war. Four bombs were dropped today on..." Fraser sighed as he clicked shut the television. He turned to Inspector Thatcher who was frowning.
"Things don't look good, Fraser. One of their terrorist groups attacked the Consulate in New York this morning, you know."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Why do all these countries have terrorist groups?"
"I don't know, ma'am."
"War is so stupid!"
"Yes, it is. Ma'am?"
"My brother's over there, Fraser."
"I'm sorry. I had no idea..."
"Thank you, Fraser. I'll, uh, I'll be heading home now. Lock up tightly when you leave."
"Yes, ma'am."
The next day dawned grey and foggy as Thatcher let herself into the Consulate. "There's coffee in the kitchen, sir," Fraser called from his office.
She went there and poured herself a generous cup of brew. She'd been up all night, listening to the news, her heart sinking when rumours of Canadian casualties began to surface. She hadn't seen Thomas in over ten years, but still they were as close as they had been in their childhood, relying on electronic mail and the telephone to keep their relationship strong. Margaret was RCMP and Thomas was military. Both moved around too much and usually found themselves at opposite ends of the globe. If, no when, Thomas got out of this war, Meg was going to do something she should have done a long time ago. She'd take some leave and go see her brother.
She was heading back to her office when the front door was kicked off its hinges. Fraser had just enough time to run out of his office when the place was swarming with at least a half-dozen armed masked men. The tallest of the group spoke up. "One of you is coming with us."
Fraser stepped forward. "Don't argue, ma'am." Thatcher could only watch in disbelief as the man snapped handcuffs around Fraser's wrists and dragged him outside to a waiting van which immediately sped away. The abduction had taken about a minute.
Thatcher forced herself to snap out of it, racing to the nearest phone to call for help.

In he van, someone had promptly covered Fraser's face with a chloroform soaked cloth, rendering the Mountie unconscious in a matter of seconds. He and his captors sped away into the fog.

'Now'
Fraser woke groggily, wrapping the blanket even more tightly around himself. It felt like he'd slept for days. When he raised his head to dare a peek around the room, he was surprised to find himself alone. Needing to relieve himself, he scooted out of his warm cocoon, chills assailing him instantly. He crawled a few metres over cold, damp concrete, and did what he had to do, the smell of excrement turning his insides to knots. He was happy to find his blanket again.
Moments later, the door scrapped open. He recoiled into a tiny ball. A new smell assaulted his senses. It was like... vegetable soup?
"Canada gave in to one of our demands," he heard blanket goon say. "So you're getting this. Enjoy it. Might be the last hot food you get for a while." Fraser heard footsteps retreating and then the door slam shut. He knew he'd been left alone again. He raised his head in direction of the smell, surprised to see a bowl that had steam coming out of it. Clutching his blanket, he crawled to the bowl, wrapping his fingers around it. It was... hot. Not burn your fingers hot, but still hotter than warm. The contents smelled delicious. He identified tomatoes, cabbage, carrots, and even potatoes. There had been nothing but that gruel for so long. Tentatively, he picked up the bowl, bringing it to his lips. He took a cautious sip, swirling the warm, rich liquid in his mouth before swallowing, feeling it burn its way down to his stomach where it settled comfortably. The rest was devoured even before Fraser knew he'd done it. He licked the bowl clean after. When he returned to his corner, almost sated for the first time since his ordeal had begun, he slept again.

"Wake up!"
At the sound of the commanding voice, Fraser bolted up, remembering at the last second to cast his eyes down.
"You can make a phone call." This time, Fraser had to raise his head to look at the blanket goon.
"Phone call?" he rasped.
"Yeah. Let 'em know you're alive. Part of our terms. What's the number?"
Mechanically, Fraser gave a number he had been certain he'd forgotten. The goon handed him the phone which rang only once.
"Benny?!"
"Ray?"
"Oh, God, Benny! Where are you? Are you okay?"
This was too much for Fraser who hadn't allowed himself to think in so long. He could barely string together a coherent sentence. "Ray... I... Okay," he made out. "Okay," he repeated.
"Are you hurt?"
"Not hurt. Cold. Hungry. Okay."
"You're not hurt but you're cold and hungry, but still basically okay?" Ray repeated, just to be sure.
"Okay," Fraser reassured him. The goon took the phone then, snapping it shut.
"Time's up." Fraser didn't argue, he just retreated into his huddling position. "I'm moving you into another room. Don't know what he was thinking. This place'll kill you and that's the last thing we need. Fraser didn't respond. He didn't know how he was expected to respond. "Get up." Slowly, Fraser forced himself to his feet, swaying slightly. He clutched his blanket, wrapping it clumsily around himself.
He slowly followed the goon to the door, expecting with each step that the man would berate him for his lack of haste. The goon said nothing, just held the door open to allow Fraser to pass in front of him.
They came into a whitewashed hall illuminated at each end by dusty forty watt light bulbs. "Go left," his captor ordered. They had nearly reached the end of the hall when the captor told him to stop. He pulled out a key and unlocked a door. "Get in there." Fraser stepped into the room and the goon pulled the door shut again, locking it. Alone at last, Fraser collapsed, his legs shaking from the strain of walking a hundred paces.
This floor was different from the one he'd left. It was... carpet? Rough and scratchy flooring, yes, but definitely carpet. He looked up to find even more luxuries in the room. A toilet in one corner and a sink. In the other corner, a canvas army style cot. It had no mattress, linen, or pillows, but he had his blanket. Fraser crawled to it and pulled himself onto the bed. As he drifted off to sleep he realised that the room was definitely heated.

'Then' (seven weeks before)
Ray ran a hand through his shorn hair before rubbing eyes rimmed blue black with fatigue. He read the letter again, just as he had a thousand times in the last week.
One of 'their' terrorist groups had Fraser. Oh, they had other hostages. But, to Ray, Fraser was the only one who mattered.
They weren't asking for money or for the release of one of theirs from a North American jail. Just that Canada get out of the war, mind its own business, and allow others to live as they saw fit.
'They're right,' Ray thought. 'Who are we to decide how other countries should live?'
Fraser was probably just a metaphor to them, just another 'casualty of war'.
There hadn't been much for anyone to do. The RCMP and FBI were working together to search for the hostages. It became evident too quickly that the hostages were being held in separate locations, but, more importantly, that they had vanished into thin air.
There were no leads.
All Ray knew, thanks to this deep down, instinctual bond he shared with Fraser, was that the Mountie was still alive. But he wasn't even sure if his friend was still in the same country. Or continent.
There was only one thing he could do and that was pray.

'Now'
When Fraser woke up, there was a bundle by his door that hadn't been there when he'd gone to sleep. At least, he didn't think it had been. He knew he'd slept long and hard. It would have been difficult, maybe impossible, not to under the circumstances. He had no idea what to make of his new situation.
Before approaching the bundle, he tentatively made his way to the toilet, relieved himself, and was surprised when he was actually able to flush away the waste. For the first time since this had all started, relieving himself was no longer a form of torture as it did not leave a lingering, nauseating stench. But, even more amazingly, water, albeit cold water, actually flowed from the tap. Fraser drank great greedy gulps of it before rubbing some all over himself. It wasn't much of a bath and left him wet more than clean, but he felt almost like a new man. Now, it was time to explore the bundle.
The fabric covering it turned out to be a pair of boxer shorts. He fingered the material, gaping at it in awe. He'd been stripped naked for so long he'd almost forgotten what it was like to wear clothing. Digging a little deeper into the bundle Fraser brought up a tiny cake of soap wrapped in a washcloth, dropping both items as though they had burned him, he was so shocked by their presence.
Not bothering to investigate what other wonders the bundle held in stock, Fraser dragged himself back over to the sink, running the water again and wetting the cloth, using just enough soap on it to work up a decent lather. He rubbed himself all over, concentrating especially on his genital area, making sure to rinse himself well after. Then, he used a little more of the soap to wash his hair, opening his eyes as he rinsed just long enough to see the blackened soapy water run down the drain.
After using a corner of the blanket to dry himself, Fraser slipped on the boxer shorts, marvelling at the feel of the cottony fabric between his irritated thighs. Now, he could see what else he'd been left in the bundle, hoping that it was food. No such luck.
The last item was a book. As Fraser read the title, he laughed.
The rusty sound stunned him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed. And he couldn't believe that his new captor had made him laugh. Maybe, just maybe, there was a little something left of the old him in there somewhere.
The book was One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovitch by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn. A story of an inmate of a Stalinist labour camp in post World War Two Russia.
Fraser had read this book several times before. He turned to the end, looking for a passage he had always found incredulous:
What d'you want freedom for? What faith you have left will be choked in thorns. Rejoice that you are in prison. Here you can think of your soul.
Fraser finally understood what Alyoshka had meant, even if this wasn't quite it.
He wouldn't allow himself to be broken. If all he had left was his soul, he wouldn't let those bastards take it from him.
Finally, after so long, a spark of life and awareness shone in a mind that had gone numb with deprivation.
Clutching the precious gift of a book to his chest, Fraser returned to the cot, wrapped the blanket around himself, and began to read.

'Then' (six weeks before)
Thatcher sobbed at the news. It was as though a great dam had burst open in her. There had just been too much this last fortnight. First Fraser's abduction, now this.
Thomas... Bright eyed, happy Thomas. Thomas whom she loved more than anyone in the world. Gone. For ever.
Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.
Wildred Owen was right. There was nothing sweet or fitting about dying for one's country.
She'd been told that 'Death was instantaneous. No pain, we assure you. He never knew what hit him.'
Bullshit.
And dammit!
She'd lost her second chance with her brother, lost the other half of her soul. And at a time when she was barely beginning to accept that she had most likely lost her only chance at love.
Ben and Thomas, victims of this damn, bloody, inexplicable war!
Erich Maria Remarque said it so well.
It must be all lies and of no account when the culture of a thousand year could not prevent this stream of blood being poured out...
'Who are we, in the western world, to tell them how they should live?'
The men who had taken Fraser had sought not riches or glory but rather the preservation of a way of life they held dear. She had to admit to herself, finally, that she would have done the same as them.

'Now'
Ivan Denisovitch Shukov was just laying his first row of bricks when Fraser heard someone unlock his door. He quickly shoved the book deep into the folds of his blanket and drew his knees upward. 'Please don't let them take any of this,' he prayed.
Someone entered and stood for a moment without saying a word, as though he could by sheer telepathy make Fraser raise his head. Finally, Fraser did.
He'd never seen this captor before. The man was slight of build and wore glasses. A bitterly amusing thought crossed Fraser's mind. 'There was a time when I could have snapped him like a twig.' The thought did not linger long. The man had food and he deposited the bowl of cold gruel on the floor by the door. "You want another book?"
Too many strange questions in too few days. Almost kindness, really. Fraser was wary of their motives. But the offer was so tempting. Reading had helped him get back in touch with a part of his mind he had feared lost. Maybe after a few more books he'd actually be able to ask for more food. He almost laughed at the thought that he could be so bold.
"Please," he rasped finally. The captor retreated wordlessly. Fraser dove for his gruel, not even taking the time to bring it back to his cot.

'Then' (five weeks before)
Ray walked slowly into the Bullpen, wondering what Welsh wanted with him. He'd been off work for two weeks and under strict orders to stay at home and take care of himself. Instead, he'd stayed at home and worried half to death.
"Vecchio," Welsh greeted him when the detective stepped into his office. "Sit down."
A cold lump of fear settled in Ray's stomach. "Oh my god..."
"It's not Fraser," Welsh reassured him. "But they found one hostage dead."
Ray brought his hands up to rub his temples. "Any news on the others?"
Welsh shook his head. "No."
"Why the hell won't Canada budge?!"
"I don't know, Ray, I'm sorry," Welsh said in an unusually gentle tone. "As soon as we get any word, I'll let you know. Now, go home, get some sleep."
"How the hell do you expect me to sleep?!"
Welsh took Ray's insubordinate tone in stride. "I don't. But there's nothing you can do for Fraser here. Why don't you... I don't know. Use your connexions with the RCMP to write Ottawa? Talk to Thatcher, see if there's anything that can be done."
"Thanks, Lieu," Ray said in lieu of an answer. "I think I'll do that."
Rather than phone, Ray decided to stop by the Consulate. Once there, on his way to Thatcher's office, he was intercepted by Turnbull.
"The Inspector is not in today, detective."
"When will she be in?"
"She did not say, sir. Perhaps you could leave a message?"
Where does she live?"
"I'm not at liberty to divulge that information."
Ray's patience snapped. "Dammit, Turnbull! Tell me where she is!"
"I...uh, I believe she's in the book."
Sure enough, to Ray's surprise, Thatcher was actually listed in the phone book. She had an apartment in Lincoln Park. When he arrived, the place was dark, the curtains drawn. Still, he took a chance and went ahead and knocked. A moment passed before a voice called out, "Who is it?"
"Ray Vecchio. Can we talk?" He heard a dead bolt sliding back. Finally, the door swung open to reveal a woman he'd never seen before. Thatcher greeted him in a sloppily tied bathrobe, her hair dishevelled, her face puffy and streaked with tears.
"What do you want?"
"Same thing you want. Fraser back. Welsh had an idea you might have the connexions we need to push Canada to do something..."
Thatcher laughed bitterly. "I wish. Canada will do as it damn well pleases!"
"There's something besides Fraser, isn't there?" Ray asked, his intuition kicking in.
"My brother died over there last week." At that, all of Thatcher's resolve crumbled and she fell in a heap at Ray's feet, sobbing hysterically.
Ray dropped to his knees, gathering the small woman to his chest. "Ssh..." he soothed. "I'm so sorry. Let's go inside, okay?" It took a bit of coaxing but Ray finally managed to bring Thatcher into her living room, settling her on the couch and covering her with a blanket. He moved to leave when Thatcher reached out and grabbed his hand.
"I'm so alone, don't leave me, too," she begged.
"I'll stay right here," Ray promised, settling himself beside her.
When Meg had fallen asleep, Ray quietly tiptoed out to the kitchen where he made a phone call to his sister. "I'm staying at a friend's house for a few days. Can you bring me some stuff?"
They had both been fools to have attempted to go through this alone. Now they would wait together.

'Now'
Fraser had slept and when he woke, there had been a new book placed just inside his room. Hunger, however, overrode any enthusiasm he would have been otherwise able to conjure at the presence of the gift. The book this time was Alexandre Dumas' The Count of Monte Cristo, about a prison break. Fraser allowed himself a little energy to reflect on the common theme of the books. He hadn't read this one yet but had always been meaning to.
Suddenly, inexplicably, he was angry. Angry enough to throw the book against the far wall. He couldn't find the root of his anger no matter how hard he tried. When the red before his eyes finally subsided, he threw himself at the book he'd rejected, stroking the cover lovingly, apologising to one of the only two friends he had in this hell hole.
He was done with Solzhenitsyn and had started on Dumas when his captor entered the room.
An irrational fear flooded Fraser. A sense of sheer terror. Whenever his other captor had appeared, pain and humiliation always followed. This one always brought gifts. He knew people couldn't get something for nothing. What price was he going to have to pay?
"Are you comfortable?"
Fraser didn't look up as he hugged his knees more tightly, wishing that he hadn't been so immersed in Dumas, so that he could have heard the captor enter, giving him time to hide the book. Surely, the man would take it from him.
"Listen, I don't ask much of you. Just answer my damn questions."
"Okay," Fraser finally mumbled.
"I'm working on getting you more rations. Maybe some bread and a little cheese, the odd fruit. Not much for us and we come first, obviously. You can have this apple. It's too bruised for us." The captor tossed the fruit onto Fraser's bunk where it landed heavily. One of Fraser's hands snuck out and rescued it, bringing the apple close to him. He nearly started to salivate, the fruit smelled so good. "I just took over the operation. Hence the change in protocol. I always figured there are two ways of doing things. The easy way and the hard way. His way was hard. Mine is easy. You do what's asked of you and we'll get along fine. You got it?"
"Yes."
"First, look at me when I talk to you." Fraser's head lifted just enough so that his eyes could lock with that of his captor's. They quickly shifted. The man was taller than him, strong of build, olive skinned, and dark haired. He was probably about ten years younger than Fraser.
"Second, this isn't any more fun for me than it is for you. He got pleasure out of it. I just feel sick that I gotta do it. But, I will do what I have to do to make our demands met. You are expendable and I will shoot you myself if I have to. Right now, things are going along smoothly. Canada's working with us. But if we have to teach the country a lesson, we will. Just don't take it personally. In the meantime, enjoy your books." The captor retreated, locking the door behind him.
Fraser could not respond to this cold, emotionless speech that sent chills down his spine. This man was no different from the first. Not really. Both were ready to kill him. One sought to do it slowly, the other quickly and mercifully. That difference really didn't matter as the outcome was the same.
Unless Canada did something soon--and he didn't even know what--he was a dead man. Overwhelming despair flooded him.
Fraser set the book and the prized apple aside, curled into a ball, and for the first time since this had started, he cried.

'Then' (four weeks before)
Ray marked the day off on his calendar. Four weeks. One month since Fraser had vanished. It was becoming increasingly difficult not to think of his friend in the past tense. Surely the principle of 'no news is good news' did not apply here. Still, some deep down gut feeling told him Fraser was still alive.
'Hang in there, Benny, hang in there.'
"Ray?" Ray turned away from the wall to look at Meg. They had been inseparable this last week, sharing secrets they would never have divulged in other circumstances.
"Yeah?"
"You want some coffee?"
"No thanks. I'm not sleeping enough as it is."
"It's decaf."
"Okay, then." Thatcher stepped out of the room. Ray heard her making noise in the kitchen but felt too tired to offer his help.
She came out a little while later, with the coffee and some sandwiches. They ate more out of habit than out of appetite.
"Do you think he's looking at the same sunset as us?" Meg asked as she sat back on the sofa, nursing the remnants of her coffee.
Ray shrugged. "I hope so."
"I know what you mean."
"They took seventeen people, Meg. We know at least eight of them are dead now. I... I don't know how much more of this I can take..."
"We can't lose it now, Ray. We can't! We have to transfer some of our energy to Fraser. If by some way he knows he's not alone, that we're there for him, maybe he'll be okay, have the strength to survive... I can't believe I've lost him, too. I won't believe it. Not until I get a full confirmation. I might even believe it if I don't see the body."
"Benny's still alive. I can feel it in my gut."
"You're so lucky to have that sort of connexion with him, Ray," Meg said a tad jealously.
"Benny deserves that second chance."
"I won't blow it this time, I promise, Ray. Either way, something's going to happen when he gets back."
Ray had to smile at this. "When. We gotta keep thinking like this. When Benny gets back."

'Now'
Hunger woke Fraser up. He made quick work of the apple, eating even the core, disappointed that he couldn't even enjoy the taste his stomach was clamouring so loudly for the nourishment. He reached over for his book, then cast it aside. His mind wasn't to it anymore. He just...
He wanted to go home. 'Please, God,' he begged. 'Let me go home. Please...'
He felt so alone. Why hadn't his father come to visit, not even once?
"I don't want to die," he heard someone whimper, realising after the fact that it was he who had uttered the words. Fraser wrapped his arms around himself, attempting but failing to produce more heat. He felt so cold. Cold, loneliness, and hunger. His biggest enemies. And despair.
He dove under the blanket when he heard the key in the lock. He heard the door swing open and some movement, but then mercifully he was left alone again. As soon as he dared, Fraser peeked out from under his blanket, seeing that someone had left a wrapped package. Shaking from fatigue, malnutrition, and fear, he lowered himself to the floor and crawled over to the package.
It was wrapped in plain brown paper that had obviously been opened, then taped shut again. Numb fingers worked at removing the packaging to reveal a box about one foot square. Curious, he removed the lid and was greeted first with a folded sheet of paper. He picked it up, unfolded it, and gasped at the message it contained.
"Dear Benny,
I hope you're actually going to get this. Hang in there, Benny, we haven't given up on you. Everyone sends their love and support.
Ray"
Fraser wiped away tears that had fallen unnoticed down his cheeks. "Ray..." he murmured, stroking the paper. He hurried to his cot and put the note in one of his books, for safe keeping. Then he headed back to the box.
Ray had sent crackers, powdered milk and juice, dried fruit, jerky, and... chocolate! Fraser grasped one of the Hershey bars with both hands and kissed it, allowing himself to unwrap it and have one square. He wept as the candy melted on his tongue. It tasted like... freedom. Such treasures Ray had sent! He had no idea how they had reached him, but he was grateful. Perhaps this captor still had a shred of decency in him.
There was the sound of the key turning in his lock again, and Fraser quickly grabbed his package, crawling back to his bunk. He'd just managed to stow the food under his blanket when his captor stepped into the room.
"You got the package?"
Fraser remembered to look up when he answered. "Yes."
"You need anything, like a can opener?"
"A... a cup. Please?"
"Yeah, not a problem. I'll get someone to bring it. Whad'he send? Juice or milk?"
"Both."
"Lucky guy. All we're working with is water and coffee." Had the man just called him lucky? "There was no way we could have fed you enough and you wouldn't have lasted much longer on just gruel. Let me know when the food runs out and I'll arrange for your buddy to send more."
"What... what do you want from me?" Fraser clasped a hand to his mouth, cursing himself his boldness.
The captor raised his eyebrows. "Coming back to life, are we? I don't want nothing from you, so you can relax. I said it before, this isn't personal. Just something I gotta do. I'll send someone with a cup." The captor exited the room.
Alone again, Fraser pulled out Ray's letter, rereading it no less than eleven times. He wasn't alone. He couldn't make it through this alone. But if he had people on the other side standing there with him, well, maybe things would be okay. Suddenly, he could almost feel Meg and Ray sending him some energy. He would go home to them. He had to.
The door opened and someone tossed something at him, retreating before Fraser could catch a glimpse of his face. The thrown item was a battered, empty soup can. It was the most beautiful thing Fraser had ever seen. He went to the sink and filled the tin with water, coming back to his cot to get a few juice crystals.
The first sip was like magic. Sweet and tangy, like a summer day. He made the orange flavoured drink last.
The sugar gave him an energy boost. It was difficult not to make himself another drink, the raw sugar flowing through him felt so good. He hadn't realised until now how much he craved sugar and fat. Salt and protein, too, for that matter, he thought as he took a generous bite of the jerky. Once he'd swallowed, he put away his pack, proud that he had enough self control to ration out the treats.
Then he pulled out his book, ready to tackle it again.

'Then' (three weeks before)
"We should have come here ages ago, Ray," Meg said, looking around Fraser's sparse apartment.
"It's okay. Frannie's been coming once a week to dust and make sure everything's okay."
"I still can't believe he lives like this."
"You shoulda seen the place when he first moved in! At least now the place looks comfortable and lived in."
"It does?"
Ray laughed. "Yeah! I mean, he's got carpets, stuff on the walls, a real table and chairs... Benny's come a long way."
"Yeah, I know he has." Meg headed for the trunk at the foot of the bed. "Do you think he'd mind?"
Ray shook his head. "No. But it's locked and I don't know where the key is." Meg laughed at that. She headed for the mantel, examining the photographs Ben had placed there.
"Do you know who these people are?"
"Yeah. Standing by the car is his uncle Tiberius who died wrapped in cabbage leaves."
"He what?!"
Ray grinned. "Don't ask. The little boy on the shore of the lake is him. It was the last picture his mother took of him."
"How old was he?"
"Six. And that's his folks together there."
"And who are those people? That woman hugging him looks like she loved him a lot."
"Those were his grandparents. I'm told they didn't hug often. But this is proof that they did sometimes."
Meg stroked the photograph. "My folks died when I was really young, too. Thomas and I were lucky. A foster family decided to take us both in. They were good people, but it never felt like home. We left as soon as we could, me for the RCMP, Thomas for the military. I've never looked back until now. All that's been happening... I'm seeing the world in a new light. I... I've been thinking about leaving the force."
"You're kidding me, right?" Meg shook her head as she headed for the kitchen table.
"No. I was thinking of transferring to CSIS."
"Cee-sis?"
"The Canadian Securities Intelligence Services. Our CIA."
"Why would you want to do a thing like that?"
"Maybe if I do the whole espionage thing, I could bring down a dictator or two. That would go a long way to stopping wars. I mean, what are we really fighting about over there? Not their way of life. Just the way the sonofabitch is running the place."
"Yeah, you have a point."
"What about you, Ray?"
"What about me what?"
"What would you do if you ever became disillusioned with police work?"
"I'd, uh... I'd run off to Florida with some woman I barely know and open up a bowling alley!"
Meg guffawed. "Yeah, you would. I can see you doing that. But only after something drastic happens. Something bad enough to make you rethink your whole world view like this mess has for me. I don't mean to say this hasn't affected you too--" she added quickly.
Ray laid a hand on her forearm. "It's okay, Meg. I understand. This is really different for me, has barely anything to do with my real life. It's like a bad nightmare and I know I'll wake up one day."
"I won't. And neither will Fraser." She took a deep breath and stood up. "We should get going. Life has to go on..."
"I can barely keep my mind on work."
"You and me both, Ray. When this is all over, what do you say we take him up north for a few weeks?" Ray grinned.
"That's a good idea."

'Now' (Ben's captor)
He'd had a family once. A wife, two kids, even a dog. That was all gone now, lost in burnt out rubble. He should have been there the day that bomb landed. But he wasn't. He had to find a reason for being spared. This was it. This was so easy. His purpose was to rid the country of the enemy. What wasn't so easy was finding the backbone to do the job. He couldn't be cruel the way his predecessor had been. There was just too much humanity in him. Not enough to stop him from depriving a man of his freedom, but sufficiently enough to make that man's hell a little less so.
He knew nothing about his hostage save that he was a Royal Canadian Mounted Policeman. He didn't even know his name or if he had a family. Someone obviously cared about him, cared enough to send him that food package. It had been a risky exchange, but worth it. It would be easier meeting God if he knew he hadn't been utterly vile, had at least tried to give his prisoner some comforts.
It would have been so much better if he could talk with the man. Play chess with him the way he played chess with his comrades. But he couldn't blur the line between friend and foe. This man, by being a Canadian, was a foe. It didn't make much sense. War didn't make any sense. In any other circumstances, he was sure they could have been friends.
The whole situation enraged him beyond comprehension. That men could be reduced to this. Him to a monstrous hostage taker; the Mountie to an emaciated shell of a man.
Maybe, when this was all over, he'd contact the Mountie and try to make amends. See if he could explain it all to him. Show him that he wasn't a bad man. Just a husband and father who had lost too much in the war not to participate in ending it.
God would hold him accountable for his actions in this war. Maybe if he could hold onto his last shred of humanity, God's punishment in death wouldn't be so bad as this punishment in life.

'Then' (two weeks before)
Jack Huey added a sugar to the coffee he'd poured and brought it over to Ray's desk. "Got you some coffee," he told his colleague, setting the hot beverage down. Ray looked up, his eyes glazed with fatigue.
"Thanks, Jack, I appreciate it."
"Haven't heard anything in a while?"
"Nothing at all. They killed two more hostages. That's ten."
"I hear Canada's decided to sit down and negotiate. That they might reach terms by the end of the week."
Ray closes his eyes and rubbed them. "Those jackasses had better reach terms," he said quietly.
Huey didn't fail to notice this. Vecchio had lost his spark. Fraser's abduction was tearing him apart. Huey knew what it felt like to lose a partner, but losing Lewis had been nothing like this, it had been swift and merciful. God only knew what sort of condition Fraser was in now. There was bad blood between them, but their rift seemed so petty now. Everything, even this war, seemed petty.
"I was going out to the deli. You want a sandwich?"
"No, but thanks, Jack. I'm going to meet Meg for lunch. You know, she's not that bad."
Huey smiled. "People aren't always as bad as they seem. I owe someone a big apology."
"He'll be home soon. You can give it to him then."
"I will, I promise."
"Ray?" Ray looked up to see Meg standing a few paces away from his desk.
"Oh, hey." He got up and grabbed his coat and coffee. "Thanks for the chat, Jack."
"Anytime."
Once they were outside, Meg spoke up. "One of the factions promised to release a hostage if Canada gives in to some of their terms."
"Who and when?"
"I don't know, Ray, I don't know."
"Meg... I'd like to skip lunch and go to church. I'm not normally this fervent but..."
"Neither am I, Ray, but I think I need to pray more than I need to eat. Does Ben believe in God?"
"Yeah, he does."
"So, he's not alone."
"No. Unless he thinks God abandoned him."
"He wouldn't," Meg said firmly. "Ben wouldn't give up."
"Yeah, he would, Meg. If he was pushed hard enough. Benny's just a man."
"That's what I'm afraid of."

'Now'
Fraser had just given himself another 'bath' and was sitting down to a picnic of jerky, crackers, milk, a few raisins, and a square of chocolate when his captor came into the room. For the first time, Fraser didn't feel a need to retreat behind his blanket at this intrusion on the part of his captor.
"You done with your book?"
Fraser swallowed and answered meekly, "Yes."
"I'll get you another one. How's the food situation?"
"I'm okay."
"Anything you need?"
My freedom! Fresh air! But all Fraser could bring himself to whisper was, "I'm fine, thank you."
The man turned to leave the room, then turned back to Fraser. "It's not for me I'm doing this. Not even for my country. People I loved died in this war."
"There are people out there who love me," Fraser said under his breath. There was no way in hell that he'd feel any sort of compassion for this man. Never! The captor whirled around, arm raised.
He watched in horror as Fraser let out a terrified, feral whimper, rolled into the smallest ball possible, and brought his hands up to cover his neck. Disgusted with himself, the captor let his arm drop, looking at it as though it was a foreign object not truly attached to him. He left the room wordlessly.

'Then' (one week before)
Ray groped for his cell phone as it rang shrilly in his ear, forcing him out of a fitful slumber.
"Hello?" he made out, frowning when a glance at the clock told him it was not even five in the morning yet.
"Ray?"
"Meg?"
"Sorry I woke you. I just got an important call about Fraser." Ray bolted up in bed. "What about Benny?"
"Canada's moving in to meet one of their demands. In exchange, the terrorists promised to let one hostage contact a loved on the outside. They picked Fraser."
"What does that mean?"
"If Canada meets the demand within a week, he'll be calling you on Sunday, at quarter to five in the morning. If not, they're going to kill him."
Ray closed his eyes as he digested the information. "What'd the negotiators have to say about that?"
"I think they're going to bend a little. We've already lost enough hostages, they won't lose Fraser like this. Not when the demand they're being asked to meet is relatively petty."
"Keep me posted, okay?"
"You know I will."
After he hung up, Ray sat up in bed, running his hands through his shorn hair. There would be no more sleep this early morn. Or the rest of the week, for that matter. He rose and went to his window, seeing the darkened sky that was just barely pink at the horizon. A thought hit him. Sunday. It would be exactly eight weeks since Fraser's disappearance. Two months without knowing if he was all right or even alive. This concession on the part of the terrorists had to mean Benny was still alive.
Ray looked up to God and murmured a thank you.

'Now' (Ben's captor)
Never again. He would die before he caused another human being such anguish.
It wasn't completely his fault. He knew that. He wasn't the one who'd made the man afraid of being hit. But they had reached a trust and he had breeched it. Now, no matter what he did from this point on, he was no different from his predecessor.
The man's words echoed in his mind.
There are people out there who love me.
He couldn't look at this objectively anymore. Couldn't pretend that it was just a thing living in that room. It was a man, someone not much different from him.
'God, end this war before I lose it entirely... End it before I become too weak to fulfill my purpose... End it before I am forced to kill him and be lost to you for ever...'

'Then-Now' (Ray)
Ray jumped on the phone the second it rang. "Benny?!"
"Ray?" It was him!
"Oh, God, Benny! Where are you? Are you okay?"
"Ray... I... Okay," Fraser made out. "Okay," he repeated.
"Are you hurt?"
"Not hurt. Cold. Hungry. Okay."
"You're not hurt but you're cold and hungry, but still basically okay?" Ray repeated, just to be sure, knowing full well that Fraser was lying.
"Okay," Fraser reassured him just before the connexion was cut off.
The detective looked at his phone in horror, then turned his gaze to Meg. "He's going through hell, Meg," he was barely able to make out before collapsing in Meg's arms, sobbing loudly.
"Ray...?" she asked as she rubbed his back.
"He says he's not hurt, but that he's cold and hungry," Ray hiccupped. "That wasn't Benny talking! It sounded like a two year old! He couldn't even make up a full sentence!" He clung even more tightly to Meg. "I want him home, Meg, I want him home!"
"Ray, you have to keep it together! We can't lose it now!"
"I need to lose it!" Ray exclaimed, his words muffled as he spoke into Meg's shoulder.
"Okay," she soothed, still holding him tightly. "Let it out." Her own anguished tears fell and soon the two sobbed together.

'Now'
Fraser hadn't changed his position when his captor came back into the room many, many hours later. The Mountie's breathing was laboured as his body shook from the strain of fear.
"Get up." Fraser flinched at the words but did not budge. "Get up!" his captor repeated. Still no response. "I'm going to leave the room for a minute. When I get back, I want you standing up with your back to the door. If you're not, I'll save myself the trouble of taking you outside and just shoot you here. These walls could do with a little colour." The man stepped out of the room.
It took everything left in Fraser to uncurl, wincing as taut muscles refused to give. He slid off the cot and tried to stand, but his legs felt like jelly and refused to support him. It was only the sound of the door opening again that gave him the adrenaline boost needed to comply with his captor's orders.
"Put your hands behind your back." Fraser obeyed and he soon heard a familiar sound as handcuffs were fastened around his wrists. Not too tightly, though. He could slide them up and down his wrists a little. "Open your mouth." As soon as he did, the captor stuffed a strip of cloth into Fraser's mouth, using another to wrap around Fraser's head, securing the gag. Last, the captor used a larger strip of fabric to blindfold Fraser who was now shaking uncontrollably. The captor turned him around. "Start walking. And don't stop till I tell you to."
The going was tortuous. Ray's rations had done wonders to build up Fraser's energy level, but still each step took more from him than he could afford to give. It felt like they walked for ever until Fraser heard his captor open a door which he was lead through.
They were outside.
Fresh, wonderful air assailed Fraser. He could barely take in enough of it. It was chilly out, but bearable. He knew, though, that dressed in just cheap cotton boxers, he wouldn't last very long if exposed for any length of time to this weather. Especially if night fell.
It felt like noon, or there about, as the sun was strong and sure on his shoulders.
Finally, Fraser's captor ordered him to stop. He unlocked one of Fraser's hands before giving him an order. "Kneel and back up." Fraser did so, moving back awkwardly on rough sand until his back met with a pole. His heart stopped for a moment. He felt his captor bind his ankles, so he couldn't move forward anymore. "Put your hands back." Fraser complied and his hands were cuffed again, only this time the handcuff chain was looped through the rope tying his ankles. The position was hopelessly uncomfortable and offered no chance of movement whatsoever. A cool breeze blew, making Fraser shiver. He was cold already.
"They'll be here soon," the captor promised. "It's almost over." Fraser heard the man retreat and he knew he was alone.
He was very cold now.

'Then-Now' (Ray)
The message had been painfully succinct and all too clear in its implications. Ray came alone and told no one.
He hoped he'd made good choices, but, more importantly, that the rations would actually reach Fraser. He didn't even dare pray for the note to arrive safely in Fraser's hands.
What sort of terrorist asked that his hostage's friend to supply food? But, more importantly, what sort of terrorist gave an explanation with his demand, one that implied that he could not feed his hostage, but didn't want him to starve. Ray could only guess what Fraser had eaten these last two months. Still, this request suggested that his friend was still alive, so, Ray could still hope.
When he returned home from making the delivery, there was a message waiting for him from Meg. He returned the call promptly.
"Ray, Canada's going to give in."
"What?!"
"They just killed two more hostages--" Ray's heart sank. "Two women. Not Fraser. Canada's pretty much agreed to lose the war, but as much as possible on its own terms. They're negotiating like crazy, Ray, and there's talk that the rest of the hostages will be released by the end of next week."
"Next week?" Ray couldn't believe this to be true.
"Yes! So long as our diplomats don't screw anything up."
"Would they?"
"Who knows? Ray, we've lost so many soldiers in this war, as well as the hostages. The whole thing has gone on for too long now. Something's gotta give..."
"It had better be you guys than them. I want Fraser back."
"I know, Ray... So do I. Just like I want Thomas back. At least now you know you have a chance of getting Fraser back while Thomas..."
"Is he buried over there?"
"Yeah."
"I'll take you there one day, Meg."
"You'd do that?"
"Friends do that for one another. Part of the beauty of having friends is that you always have someone by your side." Ray could hear Meg smile.
"I wish we could have become friends some other way, Ray."
"So do I, Meg. But better like this than not at all."
"Fraser's going to be in for one hell of a shock..."
Ray laughed. "Feel free to yell at me on occasion if you want."
"I can't wait to feel like yelling at you again, Ray."
"Me too. Life will be back to normal when you start yelling at me again."
"You know when life'll feel like normal for me?"
"When?"
"The second Ben does something to irritate me."
Meg and Ray shared a laugh.

'Now' (Ben and Ray)
There were two people in the car racing down a narrow, bumpy dirt road out in the middle of nowheresville--Meg and Ray.
The call had come late in the afternoon on Ray's cell phone. "You can pick him up now." Then followed explicit directions as to where he could pick up the said 'him'. "And be quick about it. It's cold out and he's been out there all day."
As Ray drove like a bat out of hell, concentrating only on his driving and letting Meg follow the directions, he thought back to the last few hellish days as the war wound down to an end. A final hostage had been killed when Canada backed down too late, and after that the negotiators were more than willing to make a few concessions to get the killing to stop. Their country's role in the whole sordid affair had been shameful at best. What had they been fighting for, really? An ideal of democracy? Who was to say that that regime was best for all nations? It finally came down to one question, who gets to decide how another people should live? In this case, it quickly became evident that it was not Canada.
A war was lost, but nothing was gained, really, save the status quo. So much had been lost, none of it would be regained.
Meg thought of Ray's promise as they spend away into the sunset. Yes, she would go Over There and say her last goodbyes to Thomas.
She snapped out of her reverie. "There's the last turnoff!"
Ray quickly drove the Riv to the first clearing that had been mentioned in their instructions. He pulled off the 'road' and turning off the engine. Getting out of the car, he assured Meg that he wouldn't be long.
Ray quickly loped off down the path that had been indicated in the instructions, bringing with him a blanket and a canteen of water, supplies which he'd been told Fraser would need. There was a knot in Ray's stomach the size of which he'd never experienced before.
He finally broke through the trees, stumbling onto sand, and Fraser who was trussed up against a pole, kneeling in what looked like an excruciating position, and shivering violently. Since his friend was blindfolded, Ray called out his name softly, so as to not startle him. "Benny?"
Fraser's head jerked up. "Ray?" he mumbled through his gag.
"Yeah, Benny, it's Ray. I'm coming towards you, okay?" Fraser's shivering turned to an intense shaking as he felt someone approach him. It sounded like Ray, but one was never sure. "Okay, I'm going to remove your blindfold." Ray quickly unknotted the fabric, letting it drop. Fraser blinked rapidly as he tried to focus. When he saw Ray, his dulled grey eyes filled with tears.
"It's okay," Ray soothed, stroking one of Fraser's bare shoulders. He cut away the gag, then gave Fraser a few sips of water from the canteen to clear away the taste of cotton. "I'm going to work on the cuffs now." Luckily, Ray's handcuff keys fit the cuffs Fraser was wearing. As soon as his hands were free, they fell limply to his side. Fraser moaned as blood rushed to his extremities. Ray continued to make soothing noises as he freed Fraser's ankles and gently pulled his legs forward, massaging them.
Fraser looked... terrible. There was no other way to describe it. His skin was deathly pale and clammy save for the dark smudges under his eyes. Two months worth of beard growth darkened his chin, but the hair wasn't very thick. What shook Ray to the core was how thin Fraser was. His rib cage protruded so far out it seemed it would break through the skin.
"Ray..." Fraser rasped. "Ray..." Ray took him into his arms, holding Fraser tightly.
"Yeah, Benny, it's Ray. You're safe now. You're safe."
"I'm cold," Fraser made out through chattering teeth. "So cold."
"I know," Ray answered, reaching for the blanket and wrapping it around Fraser's naked torso. "Let's go to the car. Meg's waiting."
"Meg..."
"Yeah, Meg. She's been worried too."
"So tired..."
"You don't have to walk, Benny. You can sleep if you want." As Ray gathered up his friend in his arms, Fraser did just that.
Fraser was so light it broke Ray's heart. To keep him feeling warm and safe, Ray didn't switch to a fireman's hold like he had that time they'd crashed up north. He cradled Fraser's head against his chest and started on the torturously long walk back to the Riv.
Meg was pacing outside the car when the pair arrived a full hour after Ray had set out. "My god..." she whispered when she saw the state Fraser was in.
"I don't think he's actually hurt," Ray reassured her. "Let's get him to a hospital." At Ray's words, Fraser stirred.
"Ray?"
"Still here, Benny, and Meg, too."
"Hi, Fraser," Thatcher said for good measure.
"I thought it was a dream," Fraser whispered.
"Not a dream, Benny, you're safe now," Ray reassured him. "Meg, could you drive, please? I'll sit in the back with him."
"Of course."
Ray laid Fraser in the backseat of the Riv, tucking the blanket around him, then got in himself, cradling his friend's head in his lap. Fraser promptly dosed off again.
The silent drive back to Chicago was the longest Ray had ever experienced.
When the trio reached the hospital, Fraser was quickly whisked away and Ray and Meg were left behind to fill out forms, assured that they would be allowed to rejoin Fraser as soon as possible.
It seemed like an eternity before a doctor finally came out of the examination room. "We're going to transfer him to a private room in a few minutes, but you can wait with him."
"He has to stay?" Ray asked.
"Just overnight, for observation," the doctor reassured him. Your friend is badly ill nourished and I want him on an IV for a few hours."
"Besides that, is he okay?"
The doctor nodded. "There is no physical evidence that Constable Fraser was physically--or sexually--abused during the time of his abduction." Ray felt that a great weight was lifted from his heart.
"He's really okay, then."
"Detective, I said that there is no physical evidence. He's been gone for two months. Things have time to heal. I want him to see a counsellor."
"You mean a shrink?"
"Yes."
"Well, if you think it'd be best..."
"I do. Go in there, now. He really shouldn't be alone."
"Thanks, doc. Meg?"
"I'll give you guys a few minutes."
"Thanks."
Fraser looked tiny in the slightly elevated hospital bed. The only medical apparatus hooked up to him was an IV. His eyes were closed but when Ray whispered his name they few open. "Ray..."
Ray smiled. "Yeah, it's me. Can I come closer?" Fraser held out his arms and Ray fell into them, hugging his friend as tightly as he dared, feeling nothing but skin and bones in his arms. "I missed you so much," Ray whispered. "I'm so glad you're okay... I was so scared..."
Fraser couldn't answer as he clung desperately to Ray, trying to make up for two months of solitary confinement. Exhausted, he finally let his arms fall. Ray settled him back against the pillows and stroked his brow. "Meg wants to see you," he said quietly.
"Okay." On cue, Meg stepped into the cubicle.
"Hi, Fraser. How are you feeling?"
"Better. I'm hungry."
"I'll go see what I can scrounge up," she offered. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
Alone again, Ray picked up one of Fraser's hands and squeezed it gently.
"I don't want to stay here tonight," Fraser said morosely.
"I know," Ray answered. "But the doctor wants you on that IV for a few hours. You can leave tomorrow. Ma's got the guest room ready for you."
Fraser shook his head violently. "I want to go home! I want to sleep in my own bed!"
Ray was stunned by Fraser's unexpected outburst. The Mountie hadn't so much yelled as put a bit more force than was strictly necessary into this words. "Okay, Benny," Ray agreed. "If that's what you want. But I want to stay with you a few days, and Ma'll want to stop by."
"That's okay. How... how's Diefenbaker?"
Ray grinned. "Dief's okay!"
"You haven't been feeding him too much junk food, I hope?"
"Nope. Just a lot."
Fraser gave a humourous sigh. "How long do you think Meg will be?"
"She probably had to check with the doctor to see what you can have."
"Thank you so much for those supplies, Ray..."
"They were okay, then?"
"Yes. The chocolate, Ray... It meant so much to me. And the note. I must have read it a thousand times."
"I can't believe you actually it," Ray said. "Can I ask you what you ate before?"
Fraser's gaze shifted downwards. "The first man who held me fed me gruel on occasion."
Ray could not contain his gasp. "What do you mean 'on occasion'?"
"I didn't get to eat very often. The other guy had gruel, too, but he even gave me vegetable soup and an apple one day! He gave me shorts, too, and a blanket!"
Oh, Benny...
Meg entered the cubicle moments later. "They'll have a snack for you when you get settled in your room."
"Thank you... Meg," Fraser answered gratefully.
Within a few minutes, an orderly came to transfer Fraser to a private room where he was made comfortable. "I'll be back with some food," the young man promised.
"I'm so hungry..." Fraser said. "I feel like I'll never feel full again. You know what I miss?"
"What, Benny?"
"Chocolate ice cream. I think I could eat a gallon of it right now." Meg and Ray both laughed. "And French fries! With ketchup!"
"You'd better give your system a chance to recover," Ray warned him. "You probably can't handle too much right now."
"I know," Fraser sighed. He brightened considerably when the orderly returned with a tray of food.
"The doc says that you can eat as much or as little as you want from the tray, but to eat slowly." Fraser didn't answer as he tore the lid from the tray to reveal a bowl of what smelled like chicken noodle soup as well as half a cheese sandwich. There was also a glass of milk and a small portion of chocolate pudding.
Fraser didn't even bother with the spoon as he grabbed the container of soup and downed it in a few sips, ignoring Ray's plea that he "take it easy!". He was reaching for his sandwich when Ray snatched it away.
"Ray!"
"No! You're going to make yourself sick!" Ignoring his friend's protests, Ray ripped the sandwich into small pieces, giving them to Fraser one at a time, making sure his friend took the time to chew and swallow before handing out the next bite. He then fed Fraser the pudding. "Full?" he asked when Fraser was done.
Fraser nodded. "Yes, thank you. I want to sleep now."
"Okay. I'm spending the night in the next bed."
"Thank you, Ray." Meg came forward and took Fraser's hand.
"I'll be back in the morning."
"Thank you, Meg."
Morning came quickly. To Ray's immense surprise, Fraser had slept soundly, with no hint of being disturbed by nightmares. Breakfast was another matter. The kitchen unwittingly sent... oatmeal.
Fraser literally went green when he saw it. Ray snatched the dish away. Fraser took a deep breath and tried to make light of the situation. "I never want to see another oat grain for the rest of my life. No oatmeal cookies, no porridge, no oat bran muffins. No oatmeal, period!" Unfortunately, he was making more of a fuss than was necessary, telling Ray too clearly just how disturbed he was by his ordeal.
"It's okay, Benny," Ray soothed. "There's toast and--"
"An egg! Isn't it beautiful?!" With that, Fraser dug into his hard boiled egg, relishing the first bite, but quickly devouring the rest.
It wasn't much later that Meg showed up, followed by the doctor who agreed to discharge Fraser on Ray's promise that he'd watch over his friend. She unhooked Fraser from the IV and made him assure her that he'd be back once a week for the near future for a checkup. Alone at last, the three friends got ready for Fraser's return home.
"I brought some clothes," Meg said, pulling Fraser's sweats out of a bag. "I should warn you that there's a media frenzy out front, so we'll have to use a back door."
"Media frenzy?" Ben asked.
"Are you kidding? You're the first hostage to make it out alive!"
"Oh, dear. I... I just want to go home. Have things normal again."
"It'll be a while before that's possible, Benny. Meg and I'll keep 'em at bay as long as possible, but you are going to have to give a conference at one point."
"Okay." He gathered up his sweats and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
"Need help?" Ray asked.
"Just to get to the bathroom, please." Fraser planted his feet on the floor and Ray held his elbow steady as Fraser stood up, weaving a little.
"You okay, Benny?"
"Just a little weak. I haven't had much food or exercise in the last couple of months."
"I know, Benny, I know." Fraser took a few unsteady steps. "Easy does it," Ray coaxed. It took a full minute, but Fraser finally made his way to the bathroom.
"Meg, you didn't by any chance bring a toothbrush, did you? I haven't brushed my teeth in two months and that would feel so good!"
Meg blushed. "Sorry, I didn't think of it. I could run down to the pharmacy and get you one."
"I'd really appreciate that."
"What kind of toothpaste do you like?"
"Mmm, toothpaste! Crest regular favoured paste, please. And a razor and shaving cream, please."
"Coming right up," Meg promised. She quickly left the room.
"You going to be okay in the bathroom, Benny?" Ray asked.
"Yes, Ray. I'm going to have a shower by sitting on the stall floor, then I'll be right out."
"Yell if you need anything."
"Thank you, Ray."
The hot shower was... amazing. Fraser let the water pelt down on him for a long time, just enjoying feeling warm and safe and full. He gave himself a decent shampoo and scrub using supplies provided by the hospital. The towelling off with a real towel was almost a religious experience.
His timing was really good because just as he stepped out of the stall, Meg knocked on the door. He pulled it open partially, reaching out for the supplies she'd brought. He smiled when he saw that she'd thought of deodorant, a neutral scented men's type, and he rolled some on. Then he pulled out the toothbrush and paste, and took a full five minutes cleaning his teeth and mouth out. Just one thing was missing for him to feel fresh and totally clean. At the bottom of the bag was the razor--a twin blade type--and the cream. The first pass of the blades over his jaw made Fraser shiver. He'd missed these daily ministrations so much. Last, he picked up the hair brush Meg had included, dreaming of getting a hair cut. He was sick of his tangled mess of curls and wanted his easy to maintain brush cut again.
When he was done preening, Fraser slipped on his sweat shirt, stunned beyond belief when he saw that it was now a good two, maybe even three sizes too big. The pants were even worse. Without the drawstring, they would have fallen around his knees. Even with it, they were painfully obviously too big.
"Benny? How're you doing in there?" In lieu of an answer, Fraser stepped out of the bathroom.
"I don't know what I need more desperately--to gain weight or to get smaller clothes."
"The former. Come on, let's blow his joint!"
The trio made it safely to 221 West Racine in fifteen minutes flat, cleverly bypassing the media that was practically camped outside the front of the hospital.
Fraser took a deep breath as he stood outside apartment 3J. "Frannie's been keeping it clean," Ray told him. "Ma came in this morning to stock the fridge and put fresh sheets on your bed. She'll be by with Dief in a few hours."
"Remind me to thank them." Fraser took a deep breath and opened the door, stepping into his apartment.
He said nothing as he walked around, touching familiar things, before sitting down on his bed. He was as surprised as Ray when the first tears fell down his cheeks.
"I'm home, Ray."
Ray's own tears surprised him too. "Yeah, you are, Benny."
There was a knock at the door and Fraser looked up at Ray. "Is that your mother?"
Ray shook his head. "I don't think so. Why don't you go see who it is?"
Curious, Fraser got up and headed for the door, marvelling that he could open it. He found Jack Huey on the other side, holding a small package.
"Detective Huey?"
"Hi, Fraser. I can't stay long. Just wanted to let you know how glad I am you're back. I brought you some ice cream." He handed the package to Fraser who took it. "Ray told me you made a request for chocolate."
"Thank you," Fraser answered, more than a little surprised.
"I'll see you." Huey retreated and Fraser shut the door again, enjoying the feel of the cold container of ice cream in his hands.
He turned to Ray. "Jack brought me ice cream," he said, still in shock. Ray just grinned.

'Some Time Later'
There's an old cliche that claims that time heals all wounds. Perhaps.
Fraser sat in his familiar chair at Ray's desk in the precinct, dressed in a uniform that was still just a little too big. No nightmares plagued his nights, nor did any need to speak of his ordeal disturb his days. He'd forgotten most of it, really.
He was waiting for Ray who was talking to Welsh about a case. Fraser knew he wasn't much help, but maybe in time his mind would be a little less clouded. He'd have the energy to think of other things besides survival and how good freedom felt.
His sweep of the eye of the squad room yielded a vision of a uniformed police officer perhaps ten years younger than him, strong of build, olive skinned, and dark haired. The man was struggling with a suspect. He raised his hand.
Fraser screamed.
All work in the precinct stopped as everyone turned towards the Mountie. Ray raced out of Welsh's office.
"Benny?"
Fraser refused to answer as he continued to emit a loud, high pitched scream.
It was two months worth of repressed emotions for torture and deprivation.
It took two sedatives to silence it.

'Some time even later'
Ray said a goodbye that wasn't even acknowledged. He placed a hand on the too thin shoulder, then crossed the room, turning back for a last glance.
The dark haired man dressed in loose beige pyjamas and a light blue bathrobe starred out the hospital window, not really seeing anything at all.
end

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