Disclaimer - Don't own it, not making money off it.

"It became necessary to destroy the town to save it." -Anonymous US officer, Ben Tre, Viet Nam.

Chapter 1 - Save

It was a quiet whine from Diefenbaker that roused Benton Fraser from his sleep on the floor of his office at the Canadian Consulate in Chicago. Fraser's eyes opened and in the half-light that always shone through from the restless city, he saw a figure looming over him with a gun in his hand. Fraser reached out to touch Diefenbaker's ruff, stilling the spooked animal. The figure was familiar. Fraser's stomach tightened. He had helped to imprison many men and women and if one had come seeking revenge, he would be unsurprised. If this one in particular had come, it was just Fraser's bad luck, because few other men had been able to outsmart him, outmaneuver him up until the end.

"Macon Lacroix." he said quietly. Dief was tensed ready to spring under his hand, but Fraser didn't want the wolf to be hurt. He knew that Lacroix would do a lot to avoid hurting Diefenbaker, unless he had to.

"Constable Benton Fraser. Still sleeping indoors, I see." Lacroix looked around the room. "This may be smaller than my cell was." He gave a dry chuckle that didn't sound very amused.

"Are you here to kill me?" Fraser asked, point blank.

Lacroix crouched down, putting himself closer to the level of the man on the floor. It was true that he was armed, but he wasn't exuding any level of menace or hostility, Fraser thought.

Again, Lacroix chuckled dryly. "No. If I wanted to do that, you and your wolf would already be dead."

Fraser tilted his head to one side. "That's true." he said. "Why are you here?"

"Can I put the gun away, or will you do something foolish?" Lacroix asked.

Fraser nodded warily. He pulled himself into a sitting position. The whole scene was all too familiar to him, but that Lacroix hadn't tried to incapacitate Diefenbaker this time spoke of motives that might be different.

"I don't wish to harm you." Lacroix said. "In fact, I should thank you. You saw a man who thought he was brave, but who was running and hiding. You showed me a mirror." He chuckled dark and low again. "I won't thank you for the time I spent in prison. You must know it was hell. But I did have time to read and learn, and I did form some new perspectives."

Fraser nodded acknowledgement. "I'm glad to hear it." he said. He was still disturbed and puzzled by the man's forcible entry into the Consulate to interrupt his sleep.

"May I ask why you're here?" Fraser asked.

"I learned some things in prison that had nothing to do with books or reading." Lacroix said. "Some things that pertain to you. I might not want to kill you, but that doesn't mean that others do not."

That wasn't exactly news to Fraser, and he was sure it didn't warrant breaking and entering. "Is that all?" he asked, his tone growing curt. He didn't like having his small home invaded. It was one thing to have Lacroix walk in to his old apartment. Anyone could. But the Consulate had modern alarms and locks on the doors and windows. It was a cage, yes, but it should have been a safe cage.

"If that was all, I'd be out in the wild, not here." Lacroix said, a shrug of disgust at the confinement of the city rippling across his wide shoulders. "They let me out on early release, at least in part thanks to you speaking up at the sentencing."

Fraser nodded. When all was said and done, Macon Lacroix had not managed to kill or seriously harm anyone at the trade summit, and Fraser had voluntarily spoken about the man's record of military service for his country and troubled history since returning as a veteran, unwanted now by the country he'd been through hell for. It had done a lot to reduce his sentence.

"They let me take a job doing menial environmental monitoring tasks in a state park. I need to be there in two days or I'll be back inside." Lacroix concluded.

"Then you have something important to tell me." Fraser said. It was hard talking to Lacroix. The man had his own rhythms of unfolding what he had to say that required patience. Diefenbaker was vibrating under Fraser's hand, too. The wolf had no love for the man who had drugged him.

"Have you heard the saying, 'If you sow the wind, you will reap the whirlwind, Constable?" Lacroix asked.

More riddles.

"I've heard it." Fraser said. Patience.

"Would you say you had sown the wind?"

Fraser shrugged. "I suppose, in some contexts, it could be said."

Lacroix chuckled again. "You've stood toe to toe with gangsters, with terrorists, corrupt officials, but you don't see it, do you?"

"I must confess, I'm getting tired of this." Fraser said sharply. "If you have something to tell me, tell me."

"The whirlwind is coming." Lacroix said. "I know, because it was assumed that I would want revenge on you. The Donnellys. The Chinese mob. MacFadden. People with money, people with connections on the outside. They've got killers working for them. If you stay here, they will come for your friends, then they will come for you. I came to take you away."

Fraser's eyes widened in alarm. "The police-" he said, moving to stand and reach for the phone.

Lacroix stood too. "I sent Detective Vecchio, who incidentally looks surprisingly little like himself, a message. Your friends will know to be on guard. If you come with me, then the men who were sent after them should move to hunt us instead. The men in prison won't want to lose track of you." He smiled wryly. "Or, after tonight, me."

The hairs on the back of Fraser's neck were standing up. He didn't trust Lacroix. There was something definitely off about his warning. But if what the man said were true, then the two of them together stood a better chance out in the open against almost any collection of hired guns. Indecision showed on his face, a tiny line of worry creasing the skin between his eyebrows.

Lacroix moved fast, his right hook catching Fraser squarely on the side of his jaw. Diefenbaker sprung, but Lacroix was ready for that too, swinging his arm out hard to meet the wolf mid leap. His swing threw Diefenbaker backward, landing awkwardly on the floor. "Sorry, boy." Lacroix said, following up with a swift kick to the head that stunned the wolf.

Lacroix continued to work with haste. First he pulled a syringe from his pocket and rolled up the sleeve of Fraser's red pajamas to inject the contents of the syringe into the muscle of his arm. Then he bound Fraser's hands and ankles efficiently but with a gentle touch, not tight enough to endanger the Mountie's circulation or even cause him great discomfort. He hoisted the tall man over his shoulder in an effortless fireman's lift. Prison had given him plenty of opportunities to work on his weight lifting.

"You wouldn't believe me," Lacroix said to the unconscious wolf. "But this is for his own good. And I can't carry both of you." Before he left, he dropped an envelope on Fraser's desk.

--

Ray Kowalski woke up running late, which was not unusual. He was racing around the kitchen fixing coffee when he noticed an envelope that had been slipped under his door. The handwriting on it was familiar. It was simply addressed to "Ray."

He bent down and picked up the envelope, ripping it open to read the note inside.

"Ray,

Attached is a list of names of men who I have been informed are seeking to harm me and those close to me. All the men on the list are in prison, however, they are all men with the resources to hire contract killers. I have absented myself from Chicago in the hopes of leading any such threat away from you, Inspector Thatcher, and anyone else that they might consider a target. I will contact you should I have further information.

I remain,

Yours faithfully,

Benton Fraser"

Ray stared at the note for a long time. It was definitely his friend's handwriting, and he could practically hear his friend's "This is official and very serious" tone, but the contents were startling to say the least. Benton Fraser wouldn't cut and run if his friends were being threatened. He just wouldn't. And not with a note like that. Ray scratched his head. It made no sense.

The second page was a very short list, but the few names on it were quite impressive.

--

Something tickled Fraser's nose, and he sneezed. Then he became aware that he was lying on the ground, which felt freezing through his pajamas, in a small clearing beneath some tall conifers, that his hands were bound, and that he had a roaring headache. The conversation with Lacroix came back to him.

He heard Lacroix moving beside him. There was a fire, and he turned his head and saw that Lacroix was boiling water for tea in a can over it. There were loose tea leaves in a plastic bag at Lacroix's feet.

"Is this a game?" Fraser asked. It was a pointless question. If Lacroix had kidnapped him because he desired some sort of slow, twisted revenge, then he would hardly admit to it now, not when he had spent so much time building up his story the night before.

"I'm afraid you'll find it's deadly serious. I'm sorry about the ropes, but I made a decision when I was in prison that I would protect you from this conspiracy, and I intend to do so whether you like it or not."

"Why?" Fraser said. His throat was dry, and he longed for some of the tea that Lacroix was brewing.

"I told you. You changed my perspective. I can still love the land and try to protect it without hiding in it, without allowing it to twist me into acts of anger and violence against those who threaten it."

"It sounds like you found more than my words."

Lacroix chuckled. "I might have heard some other words in prison to set me straight. But what I needed most was someone who was like me, who knew why I was doing what I was doing, to shake me out of it. The rage. After I came back and they were taking my home away. You understood me and showed me that there was another way."

Lacroix stood and swung the can full of tea around in a circle at his side, over his shoulder and past his knee three times, fast enough that the surface tension kept the tea from spilling out of the can.

"I learned that from the Australians over there. The diggers, they called themselves. They could brew a good cup of tea. Fought well too. Not much fear. They say it settles the tea leaves to the bottom of the can."

Fraser noted that Lacroix seemed to have become more forthcoming since his prison conversion, if that indeed was what had happened to change him.

Lacroix poured the tea into two enameled tin cups.

"Sit up." he said.

Fraser wriggled himself into an uncomfortable sitting position. He dared hope that Lacroix might untie his hands, but instead the big man held the tea cup up to his lips.

Fraser was grateful for the hot, strong tea. The ground was cold and he ached.

"What did you drug me with?" he asked between sips.

"Sorry." Lacroix said. "DPT. It's a cocktail of sedatives. You might still feel woozy for a while. Drink your tea."

He helped Fraser drink the rest of the tea in silence.

--

Ray Kowalski arrived at the Consulate to find Fraser's superior officer, Inspector Thatcher, in a towering rage.

"Perhaps you know the meaning of this, Detective!" she snapped, thrusting a letter under his nose.

Ray took it and pulled out his glasses. That was more or less a delaying tactic while he absorbed Thatcher's shimmering state of anger and the obvious absence of Fraser.

"Inspector Thatcher,

As of this morning I am exercising my right to take leave due to me. I am currently due three weeks' leave and will return at the end of them.

Respectfully,

Constable Benton Fraser"

There it was. Ray stared at the note. Again, the handwriting was perfect, the inflection very Fraser, and the contents entirely improbable. Ray pulled his own crushed envelope out of his pocket and handed it to Inspector Thatcher.

"I think Fraser's in trouble." he said.

Diefenbaker emerged from Fraser's office, tail drooping between his legs. Ray dropped down to greet the half-wolf.

"Hey there, boy. Where's Fraser?" Ray asked.

Diefenbaker hunched down and whined.

--

"It doesn't make sense." Fraser said. The time for sharing a cup of tea had passed, and Lacroix had also given him bread to eat. Since then, the big man had been prowling the edges of the clearing, setting up traps and venturing out down small paths as if to check every possible approach to the camp. Now he was back, sitting quiet and still, unnervingly so, across from Fraser. Fraser had had plenty of time to think.

"All of the men that you mentioned have reason to hate me." he admitted. "But they are all self-serving, and not likely to take actions that are extravagant and not to their advantage. A conspiracy of revenge..."

Lacroix stood abruptly, moving forward and looming over Fraser.

"Prison does strange things to a man's mind." he said sharply. "You don't have to understand it for it to be the truth."

Fraser steeled himself and looked up into the man's eyes. "You truly believe that all of these men are using every resource at their disposal to exact personal vengeance against me." he said. It was a deeply improbable scenario.

"I do." Lacroix said shortly.

Fraser's heart sank. Looking into Lacroix's wild eyes, he believed he knew the truth now. Prison did strange things to a man's mind. Lacroix might not mean him harm, but he had been half-crazed from post traumatic stress, shell shock, when Fraser had helped apprehend him. Now, Fraser feared that Lacroix was living entirely in a world of his own twisted imagining.

Lacroix was paranoid and delusional, believing his own terrifying fantasies. For all Fraser knew, Lacroix might never have met the men who he claimed were conspiring against Fraser. He might have spent his time in prison reading newspaper clippings about Fraser and gathered his ideas from there.

There might not be hired killers on Fraser's track, but that didn't mean he wasn't in peril; he had no way of knowing what mad idea Lacroix would harbor next, no way of knowing when he might become the threat that Lacroix saw as needing to be eliminated.

Fraser tested the ropes that bound his wrists once more. The knots, while not overly tight, were secure. Over time the rope would naturally slacken, maybe enough that he could twist his hand out, but he didn't know if he had time.

--

"This list of bad guys." Ray said, pacing by his desk, on the phone with Inspector Thatcher. Diefenbaker lay at the foot of the desk looking disconsolate. "I got good news and bad news."

"The good news?" Thatcher asked.

"All of them were in prison together, so yeah, there could be a hookup, but none of them is going to be ordering any killings."

"Why not?" Thatcher inquired sharply.

"All dead. Recently. Accidents. That may not have been accidents but nothing that anyone could prove if you know what I mean."

"What's the bad news?" Thatcher sounded wary.

"If these guys are supposed to be the ones gunning for Fraser, and they're dead, then who is?"

It was a mishmash of a sentence but Thatcher took the point.

"And if the person who got Fraser has anything to do with all of them turning up dead-" Ray added, "Well, that's pretty much the opposite of good."