Frannie had rallied herself, deciding that if Ray was going to go all to pieces it was her duty to pull him together. Okay, so she was embarrassed that she'd fainted, especially in front of Ray and Fraser... but they didn't exactly seem to notice, and besides, everyone was allowed one mistake.
That was hers. From now on she was going to be a rock, for both of them. She was Ma's daughter after all, a Vecchio woman, she could do that. She could be a rock.
She felt almost disappointed when she realised Ray and Fraser didn't actually need a rock. They were doing fine, and were to be released from hospital after twenty four hours. Of course she was glad they weren't ill, but still... she had wanted to be there for them.
Frannie did get to do her rock thing for Fraser though, firstly when she collected Diefenbaker from Fraser's place, and walked him back to the family home, and later when she returned to his apartment to get him a change of clothes. He didn't have much, but she'd enjoyed being able to help him. She took a little longer than she'd meant to, holding his clothes up against her body, while speculating what he'd look good in. She stroked the serge of his dress uniform, even though she knew that wasn't what he'd be wearing.
He'd look good in all of it, she thought, or none of it, and blushed.
In the end she brought him jeans, a black T-shirt, and a demin jacket to wear over the top. Unbuttoned, she thought, please let him wear the shirt unbuttoned. As she was leaving the apartment she suddenly remembered to grab his leather jacket.
There, you see, she was being a rock. Fraser would be grateful.
…
Frannie watched the door to the ward's bathroom, waiting for the moment when Fraser would emerge. She was lost in a daydream when Ray tapped her on the shoulder.
"You forgot to bring him shoes," her brother complained, "I mean, did it really escape your notice that they took everything except our boxers and socks?"
Frannie blushed, thinking of Fraser in his boxers and socks.
"I'm sorry, I didn't realise."
"Yeah, right... you're just looking for an excuse to see him naked."
Frannie suddenly didn't feel very rock like at all. In fact, she felt like crying.
In fact, when she thought about it, she actually was crying.
Yes, she knew that sometimes she was a little forthright with Fraser, enjoyed a good look if she could get one. But right now she was really just trying to be a friend. Did Ray really think so little of her that he imagined all she was interested in was Fraser's skin? Even worse, what if he was right?
"Frannie, Frannie!" Ray sat on the edge of the bed next to her, and apologetically put an arm around her shoulder. "Don't cry."
"I'm not crying," she blubbered, and gave him a smack on his arm. "Well, I'm crying now, but only because you made me."
"I'm sorry Frannie," he sounded uncharacteristically patient with her. "I didn't mean to."
Great, now Ray was doing the rock thing.
"It's all right," she mumbled, wiping her face. "I just feel stupid, I forgot."
"Look, we have time for someone to pop out and get his shoes. We've got papers to sign before we can get out of here anyway... maybe Tony could go and get them."
"I wanted to do it," Frannie said in a small voice. "I wanted to be some help."
"You've been a great help," Ray said reassuringly.
"Oh," she looked at him hopefully. "What did I do?"
All of a sudden Ray placed one of his fractured memories... Frannie standing very far away, but holding on to him tight. That must have been yesterday, he thought, just after the... just after the...
He looked at Frannie, completely earnest. "I saw you yesterday," he said, "You were there for me."
Frannie put her head on his shoulder. He gave her a sideways squeeze and dropped a kiss on her hair.
"Thanks sis."
"That's okay Ray." She'd stopped crying so hard, and was just sniffing. When Benny stepped out of the bathroom she looked up and smiled.
...
Welsh shifted his bulk uncomfortably on his chair. He'd been trapped at the desk all day, and his whole spine was a tight twisted cord of pain. He put his hands behind him, closed them into a double fist, and leaned into it, massaging the small of his back.
He was already fantasising about the bath he was going to have tonight. For once he was going to be indulgent, use his wife's bath salts, and then afterwards pad about the house in slippers, in his dressing gown, with a glass of red wine.
She'd wonder what had hit him. He speculated for a moment whether it would give her ideas... part of him hoped it would, the other part thought that he'd prefer to just go to sleep. Well, he thought resignedly. Sleep would never have been an option even just a few years ago, no matter how bad his back was. He really ought to pay her more attention.
He thought of how she'd smile hopefully when he walked in the door, looking up at him as she took his coat, the tiptoe kiss to his chin as she asked about his day. He thought about how angry it sometimes made him that she still loved him, that she wanted to know so much about him. He couldn't tell her about his days. They were either inanely boring, or hideously complicated. And then of course there were days which were both... like today.
He looked at her picture on his desk, took it in his hands and sighed. It was hardly her fault. Neither of them had guessed what it would entail when he became a cop.
He decided that when he got home not only would he take an indulgent bath, he would indulge her. She spoke to her mother this time each week, and took the call out in the hall. He'd lay the table, put out candles for her, put a flower by her plate.
He couldn't cook, but a pizza would probably do. She'd know what he meant.
He smiled at the photo sadly. Old fondness died hard. He could make her happy, at least for a while.
There was a knock at the door. Hurriedly he put the picture down.
"Come in."
The door eased open, and Elaine stepped through. "You wanted me to tell you if detective Vecchio came back..."
"Yeah, yeah... I thought he'd try and pretend like nothing happened. Thanks for letting me know." As she turned to go he stood. "Elaine, I've been meaning to talk to you."
"Yes sir?" She stood in front of him like a school girl, hands clasped loosely in front of her waist.
"I just wanted to make sure you're okay. That thing... it was a big thing you know." Internally he was kicking himself. He was calling it "the thing" now? He was really bad at this touchy feely stuff. "Are you seeing the counsellor?"
"Yes sir, in fact I'm seeing her again later today."
"Good, good. Well, you know, if you need anything... just let me know."
"Thank you sir." She bobbed her head nervously, and ducked out of the room.
That was one of the downsides of the job, the fact that everyone walked on egg shells around you. They had to, if you were to do the job. Yeah, that and the fact it put space between you and your wife. And you didn't have the easy camaraderie with your colleagues. You didn't have a partner, you had subordinates. Sometimes he hated being in charge.
He stepped into the bullpen. Ray was sitting at his desk as though two days ago nothing impossible and ugly had happened.
Being brusque and curmudgeonly about it was probably the best tack to take. If he treated the man with kid gloves it would just offend him.
"Vecchio," he commanded, "my office, now."
Ray raised his head at the sound of Welsh's voice, and a look of sullen rebellion came over him. Welsh stared at him pointedly, until Ray conceded defeat and pushed back his chair.
…
Fraser was running through the woods. Ma Vecchio was a lovely woman, but at the moment her hospitality seemed practically aggressive, and Fraser needed fresh air. He knew she was hurt when he said that he'd sooner be at his own apartment tonight, but when he reassured her that he would be having dinner with them tonight she let him go.
Perhaps she thought she could start work on him again over lasagne.
Poor Mrs Vecchio, Fraser felt guilty. She does so much, and tries so hard.
Today it was a weight on him though. He needed solititude.
So, Fraser was running through the woods, Diefenbaker with him, a flash of white weaving through the foliage. He had finally hit that point of grace where everything worked in sync, his heart, his breath, his body, the pounding of his feet. Thought and memory were washed away by the brightness of the day, the flashing interludes of light and shadow glittering through the trees as he moved rhythmically forward.
It was then that he saw her.
He stopped so suddenly that he staggered, skidded, went down on one knee.
There, half obscured by an oak tree, her sculpted face tousled by her hair.
His heart stopped for a moment, then beat like a broken bird. He opened his mouth. To call her? To call for help? To howl?
Nothing came out. He hugged himself, and squeezed his eyes shut against the awful clarity of the vision.
When he looked again she was gone. Diefenbaker was running to him, tail between his legs, whining like a pup. Fraser took him in his arms, let him cower there.
Fraser realised that he was whispering, "Dief, Dief... it's okay. I won't let her hurt you this time, I promise."
Thank God. Thank God for Dief.
If Dief hadn't been there Fraser didn't know that he could ever have spoken again.
…
"Vecchio," Welsh said bluntly, "I don't want you back at work now."
"But sir..."
"No buts, it's only been two days. There is no way you can pull your weight round here."
"Sir, there's nothing wrong with me, the hospital okayed me and I'm absolutely fine."
"You're not fine." Welsh defied Ray to disagree. "I saw you, remember? You had the guy's brain all over you, that's not something where you just shrug your shoulders and say, 'forget about it'."
"Actually sir, that's exactly what you do. You know this job, bad things are always going down. If every cop who saw something bad decided to take the day off nothing would ever get done."
"Listen, Vecchio, I know you think you have this all sorted out in your head, but I don't think you're completely clear on this." Welsh leaned forward, enunciating clearly and slowly. "I am in charge. You do what I tell you to. And I'm telling you to go home."
Vecchio sat with his arms folded across his chest, an aggressively mulish expression on his face.
"I want you to hand in a report on the incident, and that's it. That's all the work I want out of you for the next week." In a perfect world Welsh would have preferred Ray take more time off, but he didn't want to push him too far. "So, hand in that report, and then you're out of here. A week, starting tomorrow. You understand?"
"I have the report here," Ray threw it on the desk.
Welsh's eyes narrowed. The detective was walking a thin line, and didn't seem to notice. He could put up with a lot, but outright insubordination was just not something he could tolerate, even taking into account the stress Vecchio was obviously under.
The defiance continued. "And you know sir, I really think..."
"I don't give a monkey's what you think detective," Welsh snapped. "If you fight me on this I'll make it a month without pay."
Ray's mouth shut, and the fight went out of him. "All right sir," he conceded, "whatever you say."
I hate this job, Welsh thought, watching the detective go.
…
Meg Thatcher was also hating her job. She was having to liaise without her liaison officer, which was bad enough, but the fact that he was now subject to an investigation was just outrageous. "He didn't do anything wrong," she said, tersely, for what seemed like the hundredth time.
"Why didn't he spot the gun?"
"The guy walked into a station house full of police. None of them saw the gun."
"Does he have some kind of explanation?"
"Read the damn report." Meg bit her tongue, then decided that she didn't regret it. "The guy looked harmless sitting there. Everyone said so. He had a big coat on, he was all hunched up, with the gun hidden in his pocket."
The voice on the other side of the phone was silent for a moment, the kind of silence which is so loud it fills a room.
"When the man pulled out the gun, why didn't he disarm him?"
"There wasn't time."
"He was sitting right next to him, according to the report."
"Sir, have you ever had a gun pulled on you?"
"Excuse me?"
"Constable Fraser's record is exemplary, I can assure you that he's been in difficult situations in the past, including times when his own life was in jeopardy, and he has always handled those cases with great professionalism." And courage, she thought to herself. "If he didn't disarm the shooter then it is only because there wasn't time."
"Your comments are duly noted."
"Thank you Sir."
"One last thing. Have we got any further information on who the shooter was?"
Meg sighed. She'd just received a fat manilla file full of what they had so far.
"They had hoped that the gun might have been legally purchased, so that they could trace an owner, but the serial number has been filed off. The finger prints weren't in any data base. All we can go on is dental records, and that will take a while." She pulled a face thinking about it. "They have to reconstruct the skull. It might take a little time."
"How long?"
"I don't know Sir. I've never been involved in a case like this before." And neither have you, idiot, she thought, but did not say.
"Well," the voice sounded disapproving. "Keep me up to date."
"Yes Sir, thank you Sir." And three bags full, she added to herself. She dropped the phone into it's cradle as though it were something filthy. She felt like washing her hands.
…
I recognised the very moment he saw me. He literally dropped to his knees. It was how I'd imagined it, but still... it was a strangely unsatisfying moment. He looked too much like the last time he had looked into my eyes. That bullet blow, his face going strange and far, and then him falling slowly out of my arms, and away.
He looked like that kneeling on the footpath. I didn't want to love him, didn't want to feel sorry for him. Didn't want to have leave him there alone.
But that wolf of his, snarling, obviously terrified, yet still slinking low, rounding up on me, as though to herd me straight to hell... I turned on the wolf and showed him what I had, bared my own teeth. The thing turned tail and ran.
Well, the wolf remembered.
And so did Ben.
...
Dinner at the Vecchio's was different. The children were on their best behaviour, the adults were polite. Ray tried to start a conversation with Fraser about the relative merits of national games, curling versus American Football, but Fraser wasn't really into it. No Inuit stories, no historical titbits, no twinkle in the eye. Even Dief wasn't himself. Not scrounging at the table or bouncing from diner to diner demanding treats. He lay between the legs of Fraser's chair, leaning heavily against his legs, muzzle hidden by his paws. Fraser absent mindedly kept stroking him, and stroking him. "You'll stroke him bald," Ray said, and Fraser blinked, and just said, "oh." He seemed dazed.
Ray drifted to a halt.
Frannie was trying to be helpful by ladling refills onto everybody's plates, regardless of whether they were still hungry or not. Ray was reminded of family dinners when Pa got home. There was a similar anxiety around the table then, the same weight of things not said.
Thank God Pa hadn't often been home.
Damn. He shook his head angry at himself. He just had to go and think about his father... He hadn't seen the man in months. He'd banished the old monster by simply refusing to look at him, telling him outright that he would no longer listen, he no longer cared.
If he'd known it was that easy to exorcise a ghost he'd have done it earlier.
So why think about the vicious old spook today of all days? He looked around the room, anxiously, just in case the old man was back.
He's not coming back, Ray told himself firmly. Shut up and enjoy your meal.
It was a good dinner. Why couldn't he enjoy it?
…
And for Fraser the food tasted of nothing, no texture, no smell. He put it in his face, and chewed, and swallowed, and praised politely, and passed the pepper.
He kept thinking of her face, dappled with shadows and sunlight, framed by her beautiful hair. Her dark eyes, and the expression in them, unreadable and fierce.
