Disclaimer: The character's herein do not belong to me. I am yet again playing in the sand of Alliance and any other property owner of the characters of Due South. No infringement intended. Only imaginary harm done.
Note: Hello everyone. This story is rated S for strange, sad and sappy. Also, I wrote it basically in a day, so I didn't have time think about how stupid it may be. But regardless of all these things...please, read on. And comments always welcome: Also, archivists feel free to archive away. Contains Ray V.
Raymond Vecchio tore through the front door of the Canadian consulate and made a bee-line for the stairs. At the top, he skidded to a halt, nearly losing the white shopping bag emblazoned with a blue and burgundy logo. Carefully, he peeped around the corner at the usual buzz of activity. The dragon lady's door was open, but she herself was no where in sight.
Just as he stepped out into the second floor hallway he heard her voice. "Ovitz!! Who's supposed to..."
Ray sprinted the rest of the way. He had no time to deal with her highness.
"Okay! I got it!" he exclaimed slamming and locking the door behind himself.
Constable Fraser stood up quickly from behind his desk and immediately began to disrobe. "Thanks, Ray. Were you able to find the book?"
"Yeah," Ray sighed shaking his head as he began to remove the clothing from the shopping bag. "Would you believe this is the shortest one they had?" He plopped the 400 page volume entitled "The joys of tennis" on the desk with a thump.
Fraser raised his brows a bit, struggling with a boot. "I suspect that this may be a very interesting day."
"Right. Now tell me why we're doing this." Ray settled in a chair before the Constable's desk, having already emptied the bag.
"We?" Fraser inquired.
"Yeah, we," Ray insisted. "I was the one who had to run all over town getting this stuff for you on 1 hours notice. I was the one who--"
"Point taken, Ray." Fraser nodded, slipping the white tennis shirt over his head as he began his story. "Well, a very important official from one of the territories is visiting. He expects to play tennis today, and he also expects someone to tutor his five teenage daughters, as well. Constable Fiore had been assigned, but she recently found that she was in the...family way. So, then Constable Turnbull was assigned, but as you know, he severely sprained his ankle last evening."
"What about the dragon lady?" Ray cut in.
"Well, this morning, unfortunately, Inspector Thatcher, unaware of Turnbull's injury fell over his crutches and sprained her wrist. It was especially interesting sprain, because as I recall..."
"And so you decided that you would stand in for her," Ray finished the explanation before the Mountie could embark on some winding tale that ended with an Innuit Legend.
"Yes," Fraser answered with a nod, aware of what Ray had done, but used to it. He stood, and tucked the tennis manual under an arm.
"You're not going to wear that are you?" Ray eyed that hat atop the Mountie's head.
Fraser stared down at his attire thought a minute. "You're probably right," he said, and hesitantly placed the hat atop his folded clothing.
"You know, I can't believe you never learned how to play tennis," Ray was saying as they headed down the hall toward the Inspector's office.
"There really wasn't much of an opportunity, Ray, what with foosball and --"
"Foosball?! You're kidding me; I can't believe you played Foosball in Canada."
"Ray," Fraser assured him, "the Innuit are absolutely fascinated with the game. In fact--" The conversation was cut short by the appearance of Inspector Thatcher dressed in a tennis skirt, her sprained wrist bandage set off with a sweat band.
"Ma'am, am I to understand that you intend to play with your injury?" Fraser inquired while the Inspector was still coming to terms with seeing her Mountie dressed in white tennis shorts. She'd forgotten momentarily that she was similarly dressed.
"Why are you dressed that way, Constable?" the Inspector inquired, ignoring Ben's question.
"I was hoping to be of service, Ma'am."
"But then, who'll watch the children?" Meg wanted to know.
"I though that perhaps Constable Turnbull could, Ma'am, since he will not be playing tennis with the Ambassador."
"All right, Constable, go get the car while I give Turnbull his orders."
Ray turned to his friend as Inspector Thatcher left in search of Turnbull. "That was easy."
"Indeed," Fraser agreed.
"Scary..." Ray shuddered.
"How'd we end up riding with the Brady bunch from hell?" Ray leaned over to ask his friend above the din of squealing children in the back of the hired van. The was only so much of the seven to thirteen year old rendition of Alannis Morrisette's 'Ironic' a sane man could take.
Fraser shrugged. "It's was rather an interesting incident--" Fraser began.
"In other words, you were suckered into it," Ray decided, throwing a look over his shoulder at the bunch of shrieking girls in the back of the van.
"Well, you did choose to ride with me, Ray." Fraser pointed out. "
"Yeah, it was a big mistake. How much further is it, anyway?! I don't get how you can calmly sit there when these...these...Allanis Morrisette wanna-bes are screaming that stupid song over and over again?!"
"Ray, there's peace if one listens."
"Listens?! I'm listening and all I'm getting is a headache!"
"No, Ray, you have to *really* listen. My grandmother told me an Innuit tale of a lone man in search of comfort after a great loss. A passing elk told him to listen to--"
"No, no, no, Benny, please, no Inuit stories." Ray went to work at his temples.
"I could ask the driver if there's aspirin," Ben offered.
"No, don't bother," Ray sighed, giving his best martyred look.
"Very well, Ray." Fraser re-buckled his seat belt.
"What's going on?" he asked.
"We're here, Ray."
"About time..." Ray muttered as they passed through a guard station. "Where are we, anyway?"
"This is a private section of the Ridgeway Country Club," Fraser answered as the van pulled on through the gate and into a small parking lot."
"Oh," Ray raised his brows impressed, looking around the area. Several tennis courts and a basket ball court sat to one side and a manmade lake with a small lake house on the other. Behind it all sat the green of the Ridgeway Country Club's Golf Course. "Who is this Ambassador, anyway?"
Before Fraser could answer there was a scream from the little lake house that the girls had just entered. While the adults all ran toward the house, something near the side of the building caught Ben's eye. It was a cigarette butt.
With a worried frown he ran around to the back of the building. Just as he neared the back, he heard gunshots. "Stay back if you want to see your children again," a voice called.
"No! Not my children!" He heard the Ambassador yell. Then a gunshot and a cry of pain.
"That was just a warning!" The voice called. "Next time, it'll be more than a flesh wound."
Fraser peeped quickly into a window. There were two people with guns. One covered the girls and the other stood to one side of the door way. Having a fix on where the kidnappers stood, he crept further around the house. It wouldn't be long before they figured out that he was missing from the group. The guards had to be in on it. He caught a slight rise on the top of the building. There was a sky light.
Quietly and quickly he climbed to the roof top, careful to remain out of sight of the two gunmen. The skylight was sealed. He slipped off his belt and slipped the prong beneath the seal. Then, with a careful tug he pulled the bubble of glass away from its perch.
"Hey! Where's the other one?!" he heard a voice calling from within the room. The voice moved to a point just beneath the window.
Ray reached slowly into his jacket for his gun. If he were lucky, he kidnappers wouldn't know he was a cop. The perp who'd held his gun on them was momentarily distracted by something that someone had said from inside the building. Ray took the opportunity to strike.
Things slowed as he pulled his gun out and pulled the trigger. He was off and running before it met its mark. He could feel each footfall as it hit the ground, the distant crunch of gravel and then grass as he reached the side of the building.
Chaos broke out inside the house. He saw the first gunman fall to the ground grasping his arm. He saw a flash from inside the house. Heard a bang. He threw his head around the door way and saw another of the kidnappers go down. His falling body crashed into Ray, knocking him to the ground. Ray cried out, just as another man spun in his direction, this time from the yard, gun cocked. A flash of white came from above, knocking the gun man down and out.
Ray was barely to his feet when yet another shot rang out and echoed. He spun, his weapon drawn. But someone else was there. Thatcher stood over the then motionless man, a large stick in her hand.. She looked up toward Ray and then beyond, her eyes widened in horror.
Ray turned, fearfully to see what had so horrified her. There stood Benny.
And he fell, slowly, surely to the ground. Only the dust that blew in his wake testified to the passage of time. Ray heard someone yell, never realizing it was himself. Reality became hazy as he ran to his friend and held him, unmindful of the blood that stained the once white shirt. Oddly enough it was the smudge of dirt on the white of his shorts that caught his attention. Benny's clothes were dirty.
"Ray..." a soft voice spoke into the still of the hospital room.
Ray lifted blood shot eyes toward Elaine's tear-stained ones and then back to the still form of his friend hooked to a myriad machines. The sound of the respirator had become his constant companion.
"Ray, you need to get some rest," Elaine continued, coming further into the room. "The doctor's say that there's nothing more they can do. It's out of our hands, Ray."
Ray's mouth tightened as he looked past Elaine to the doctor who'd entered the room behind her. He was followed by a small group of people, most of whom Ray recognized from his silent vigil.
"Mr. Vecchio, we're terribly sorry, but this was what he specifically called out in his living will. If he were ever to..."
"No," Ray croaked, speaking for the first time.
"It's what he wanted," the doctor insisted firmly, waving toward two orderlies.
"No," Ray stood. "You haven't tried! Is that what we pay you so much money for! To just let people..." he couldn't say the word.
"Mr. Vecchio," the doctor reasoned. "He's been on total life support for seven days. There's nothing more we can do. We must honor the words of his living will."
When the doctor moved to disengage the machines, Ray blocked his path.
"Mr. Vecchio," the doctor sighed. "Don't make this any more difficult than it needs to be."
"I'm not the one who's making it difficult," Ray insisted, looking toward the group of people near the door for support. No one moved to help him. "I thought you were supposed to do no harm!" Ray hissed.
"Mr. Vecchio, you have to let him go," someone spoke from the door, but Ray wasn't listening any more. He was too busy putting as much equipment between the respirator and the doctor as he could move.
The doctor simply stepped around to the other side of the bed and waved toward someone down the hall. Two officers from Ray's own precinct entered the room.
"Vecchio, don't do this," one of them said. "If you keep doing this we're going to have to arrest you."
Ray looked at the two officers and at the people standing staring, waiting. Defeated, he slumped into a chair on the opposite side of the room and looked on dazedly as the doctor completed his task. Only the heart monitor remained. It's steady beep....beep....beep continued after everyone else had left. Ray moved closer to the bed.
1 hour later
"Ray," came a quiet whisper from the doorway.
"What is it, Elaine?" Ray asked tiredly.
"I was seeing if you were awake," she whispered, stepping around the bed to stand beside his chair. She couldn't look at the pale man lying against the green sheets without tearing up. "You can't keep him alive by sheer force of will, you know."
"Why can't I?" Ray asked simply. "Why can't he live just because I want him to? He never did anything wrong to anybody."
"I know, Ray. But that's not the deciding factor."
"So what is 'the deciding factor' then?" Ray wanted to know.
"I don't know," Elaine replied softly. "But I do know that it's no good to linger like this. You've got to let go. My grandmother used to say, 'don't remember me dying, child, remember me alive'. She died of cancer ten years ago."
Ray looked toward Elaine and saw her for the first time in weeks.
"Let him go, Ray," she whispered as she squeezed his shoulder and left the room.
Ray watched her go thoughtfully. Then with a heavy sigh, he reached onto the side table and picked up Fraser's Stetson. He was careful to hold it as Benny had. Gently, he laid it on the Mountie's chest.
"Good-bye, Benny," he said softly.
Ray's eyes shot toward the Mountie's face when his hand moved fractional toward the hat. Blue eyes opened and focused clearly and intently in his direction. Then a faint smile and a sigh and Constable Benton Fraser, of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police died.
*
It was a cold, snowy day when Benton Fraser was laid to rest beside his father. Ray stood still by the grave site. The ceremony had broken up hours earlier. And Dief had quietly disappeared into the woods. Ray felt truly alone. Only the lonely wailing of the wind accompanied him.
But this was the land his friend had loved. He'd stood staring numbly at the distant range after the ceremony was over. Someone had patted his shoulder and whispered words of comfort. But eventually he was left alone at the graveside. As he stood the winds began to blow, softly, mournfully across the hills. Yes, Benny had loved this land. He could almost feel him here.
What was it Benny had told him? That there was peace if one just listened? Ray listened. Long and hard. He heard the wind. And then he heard something else. He closed his eyes.
"Oh Benny."
The End.