Disclaimer - Don't own / Don't make money / Would settle for a chorus of serenading Mounties.
Chapter 4 - If I Hadn't...
When the ambulance came, Ray had to put Diefenbaker in the Rivera and drive behind it, because the wolf became extremely agitated at Benton being removed from his sight. The EMTs worked quickly and efficiently, but the expressions on their faces suggested to Ray that Benton had a steep road to recovery ahead. Inspector Thatcher insisted on riding in the back of the ambulance to watch over Benton.
Arriving at the hospital, Ray found himself reasoning with the wolf. "Look, you're going to have to wait outside, but I promise, I will tell you everything that's going on."
The wolf didn't look happy, but he did sink down to lie out of the way in the ambulance bay, where he was soon being fussed over and treated to snacks by the on-call EMTs.
Ray called Lieutenant Welsh to let him know that Fraser had been found, and what hospital they were at. Meg Thatcher handed him a cup of coffee from a vending machine when he got off the phone.
"Thanks." he said.
Her eyes were dark in her pale face. "You're welcome. Oh, god." Meg made a sound somewhere between a cough and a gasp. "Oh, god, Vecchio, they beat him." The fragile composure that she had maintained while they waited together for news, or for dawn to bring better odds of finding Fraser, broke entirely now, and she held her hand to her mouth in horror. Ray spent a second in an awkward, stiff stance before he made up his mind what to do. He had a professional, sometimes adversarial, relationship with Thatcher, but she needed more than that at this moment. He took her coffee from her hand, and set both cups down on the arm of a chair before pulling her into a tight hug while she trembled violently against him. It was the least he could do to assuage his guilt that she'd been the one who had to see how badly hurt Benton was in the ambulance. He could comprehend the terror and sorrow that he saw in her eyes, but in his eyes there was nothing but intense, burning fury. Someone was going to pay. They broke apart and Thatcher turned away and wiped her eyes, plastering a steely, emotionless expression back on her face.
Lieutenant Welsh joined Thatcher and Ray in the waiting room of the emergency area. After Ray tersely answered Welsh's questions with the small amount he knew about what had happened, the wait was largely silent. Ray had a crashing headache from being up for over twenty-four hours without sleep, coffee or no coffee. Still, he went out to the ambulance bay several times to reassure Diefenbaker that he hadn't been forgotten. It was after ten a.m. when a doctor finally emerged.
"Family of ..." he looked at his chart. "Benton? Fraser." The doctor, a middle aged man with a kind face, looked around. Inspector Thatcher stood up. "Benton Fraser doesn't have any immediate family. I'm his superior officer."
The doctor looked thoughtful, then nodded. "All right. If you'd like to come and sit down in a more private area, I can tell you what's going on with Mr. Fraser."
Thatcher looked over her shoulder at Ray and Welsh, managing a watery smile. Ray swallowed. He desperately wanted to be a part of that conversation. He found himself gripping his polystyrene cup of cold coffee so tightly that the bottom split and coffee dregs trickled down his arm.
Eventually Thatcher emerged. It was hard to read her expression. She came over and sat down again. "Well, it's mostly good news." she said. "Not great news, but it could be a lot worse."
Ray watched her expression closely. There was a tightness to the muscles around her jaw that suggested she was holding back tears. That was hard to reconcile with good news.
"He's going to need to be under observation for a few days. There were several cracked ribs, and they're monitoring his heart and lung function. It looks like he was hit across the chest with a blunt instrument of some sort. They x-rayed his chest and abdomen and although he has a considerable amount of swelling and bruising, apparently he's made of tough stuff." A sob caught in her throat, and Welsh rubbed her shoulder sympathetically before she continued.
"They expected to see more internal injuries, which would have required surgery, but so far they think there's only minor damage to his kidneys. It should heal without intervention. They'll be taking him for an ultrasound and monitoring certain factors in his blood. I'm not a medical person. I didn't understand it all. But I gather they think he had a miraculous escape on that front. They put him on intravenous antibiotics in case anything turns up. If anything had hemorrhaged- he'd have bled to death on the ice." Thatcher struggled to maintain a decent amount of reserve, her lips trembling, "I- we almost lost him."
Ray's grip on the demolished cup tightened. It was a laundry-list. He thought of the small boys who'd seen Fraser being led out by the man with the gun and the man with the baseball bat. A blunt instrument. He couldn't help picturing the baseball bat crashing into Fraser's ribs. It was too much, just too much to be borne.
"They will have to operate once he's stabilized." Thatcher continued. "His shoulder blade was shattered. He'll need metal plates and pins to hold it together."
Ray sucked in air audibly. He'd not missed the signs on the hillside that Fraser had hauled himself up from the ice to near the road. All that with a broken shoulder?
"They're waiting until they've observed him for the chest injury and," she closed her eyes and shook her head sadly, "concussion, of course. In the mean time, they've got him under rather heavy pain medication. We'll be allowed to see him after the ultrasound. He's also suffering from exhaustion, so we're not to expect too much coherence."
Ray put his head in his hands. This was supposed to keep him off the De Angelis case? It just reinforced his determination to get to the bottom of it. Worse, he had to presume that the attack was intended to be fatal, as most men would not have pulled themselves off that ice and survived the cold of the night. Then again, most men would not have been hunted down by a wolf determined to save their life.
Benton's return to consciousness this time was not accompanied by the beauty of the night sky, but it was also much, much less uncomfortable than the night before, although he registered that significant parts of his body still had complaints. He had been awake but disoriented throughout his admission to hospital, the x-rays, blood draws, and ultrasounds, but as soon as he was transferred to a bed rather than being moved about all over the hospital, he'd drifted off into the deep sleep he'd resisted all night. It was the presence of a stranger in his hospital room that woke him, his sharp senses still registering alarm at any possible threat.
Benton was relieved to see that the stranger was a nurse who was standing at the foot of his bed dressed in scrubs. He had a chart in his hand, and he was making notes on it. He looked up at Benton, a smile gracing a pleasantly freckled face. "Good afternoon, Mr. Fraser. I'm Daniel, I'm one of your nursing staff." he said, walking around to Benton's bed side and adjusting a plastic box on an IV pole. "Doctor will be along shortly to talk to you about your injuries. In the mean time, I'd like to make sure you're comfortable. We've set you up with a morphine drip. You can activate the pump by pressing the button located right here by your hand." he held up a small plastic switch attached to a cord that ran to the box. "The pump is set up to allow a dose once every fifteen minutes. But to help us manage your pain, I need to ask you to tell me, on a scale of one to ten, how much pain you're in right now. One is no pain at all, and ten is the worst pain you can imagine."
Benton thought carefully. What a strange question. He could imagine any number of things that might be much more painful than his current state of disrepair. He'd heard childbirth was appallingly painful, and passing kidney stones nearly as much so. He imagined thawing out after losing a substantial amount of circulation to frostbite must be awful. He didn't want to be dramatic. Eventually he settled on three. It seemed reasonable. He tried it on Daniel. "Three."
Daniel stepped back, mouth hanging open. "No way. Three? Mr. Fraser, you have a broken shoulder bone, several cracked ribs, concussion, and severe contusions over the entirety of your torso."
Benton attempted to shrug and hissed with sharp discomfort. "If ten is the worst pain that I can imagine, well, I once knew a man, a hunter, and one autumn while he was out hunting caribou to feed his family over the winter, he got caught in a rock slide. Unable to free his arm from the pile of rocks that had fallen on him, and knowing that if he stayed put and waited for rescue he would probably die of exposure, he cut his own arm off with his hunting knife. I can only imagine that was remarkably unpleasant comparative to my own present condition. Maybe I should have said two."
Daniel scratched his head. He was a bright young man, and he followed Benton's logic, for all that it was presented in an unusual fashion. "Um. I guess the question is on the ambiguous side. Maybe I could restate it? What about with one being no pain, and ten being the most pain you've actually experienced?"
Benton looked thoughtful. "In that case," he said, "I should have to say six." The earlier bolus of morphine he'd been given in the emergency room was still dulling some of the pain.
Daniel wrote this number down. A sudden flash of pity passed across his face. The patient in the bed had been so literal about the whole question that it left Daniel with no doubt that if he said six now, that meant that he had experienced far worse suffering in the past. Daniel didn't let the expression linger on his face as he looked up from Benton's chart. He knew a thing or two about the stoic type. He'd bet good money that underneath the bruising was a will of iron.
"Great. Well, not great." Daniel said. "We want to get your pain down to a two at most. I'd like you to try clicking the morphine drip now."
Benton obediently pressed the button. He didn't care for the state of confusion that came with being medicated, but truly, this didn't feel like something he could just tough out, no matter how much he wanted to.
"Okay, that should take effect soon." Daniel said. "I'll be back in a little while to check how you're doing. I'll let doctor know you're awake. And if you're up to it, you have some visitors who'd like to see you."
Benton inclined his head in a small nod. "I'd like that." He remembered that Ray had been with him before the ambulance came, and as little as he could remember the ambulance ride, it seemed to him that Inspector Thatcher might have been hovering behind the EMTs.
Ray, Thatcher and Welsh filed into the room.
"Ray, you look terrible." Benton said. "You look like you didn't get any sleep."
Ray snorted. "I look terrible? What about you? Anyway, you think I was going to sleep with you missing out there somewhere?"
Thatcher cleared her throat. "I slept, but I didn't know, I mean, Detective Vecchio didn't call me until early this morning."
Benton turned his gaze to her. The expression in his eyes softened. "I'm glad, Sir." he said. "I'd hate to think of you being unnecessarily worried on my account."
"I hardly think it would be unnecessary." she said abruptly. "Look at you. My god."
She let Welsh steady her again with a hand on her shoulder.
Ray stepped forward, holding Fraser's hat in his hands. "We found this at your building. I thought you'd want it."
Fraser summoned a wan smile. "My hat. Thank you, Ray. I was worried."
Ray put it on the bedside table.
"Dief's going crazy." he said. "I don't think he believes you're all right, but I haven't figured out how to sneak him in yet." He looked at his hands. There was a lot more he wanted to say.
Welsh gently tapped Thatcher on the shoulder, and suggested they give Ray and Benton a moment in private. Ray sat down in the chair beside Benton's bed.
"Look, I don't even know how to say this." Ray said. "I was coming over last night to apologize. I shouldn't have blown up at you. If I hadn't, you... they..." he swallowed hard, guilt haunting his eyes.
Benton blinked a couple of times before he could focus as clearly as he'd like on Ray. The morphine was doing a number on him. He spent some time trying to remember how to express what he wanted to say. He felt distant, like his mind was floating off somewhere in a pale blue sky, and it was an inordinate effort to rein it back in so he could make sense. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, but it was more than a little inconvenient.
"No, Ray, please." he said eventually, his voice slow and deliberate. "You know that if they really wanted to hurt one of us to get us off the case, they'd have managed somehow. Neither of us operates under the assumption that we need to be on guard twenty-four hours a day. If it wasn't me, it would have been you."
Ray had to concede that this was probably true. In all likelihood the assailants had picked Fraser because he lived alone, which made him an easier target.
"Ray, I can identify the men who attacked me." Benton said. "I don't think they- I'm sure they didn't mean for me to live."
Ray shuddered. "Benny..." he said.
"They wanted you distracted. Off the case. Please, Ray. Bring photo identification books. We've got to find out who was responsible for Gracie De Angelis's death." Anyone but Ray would have been unable to read the urgency in the sedated man's quiet plea, but Ray didn't miss much in Benton's expression. Ray nodded, his mouth twisted into a scowl. More importantly, he'd find out who was responsible for hurting his friend. Then just let anyone try to stop him from taking retribution.
"Okay, Benny. I'll be back tomorrow with the mugbooks, but you gotta rest until then."
Benton wanted to protest, but instead he found himself giggling. "Mugbooks. That's a funny word, Ray." he said. He closed his eyes, the warm lull of the drugs and exhaustion overtaking him. Ray watched for a few minutes as the gentle fingers of sleep brushed over Benton's face, erasing the hard lines of strain and caution from around his eyes and mouth.
Meg Thatcher slipped back into the room and she and Ray exchanged a long, eloquent glance.
"Go home and get some sleep, Vecchio." Meg said, "I'll sit by him."
"I don't know that I can sleep much." Ray said. "But you're right. I can't figure this one out on no sleep and pure caffeine. Just promise you'll call if-"
"If anything happens, I'll call. I promise." Meg said as she took up her vigil in the chair by Benton's bedside.
Ray nodded in acknowledgement. Good enough. If he had to leave, at least he was leaving Benton in safe hands.
Meanwhile, elsewhere, a man reading the afternoon edition of the Chicago Tribune stopped suddenly when he came to a small article in the regional section colorfully headlined "Canada Cop Survives Night on Ice", and cursed for a solid minute on the theme of the difficulty of getting good help these days, before reaching for the telephone.
Author's Notes: Well, that was a kind of schmoopy chapter, but you know, people get upset when their friends get hurt. Thanks for reading and reviewing! It's nice to see that people are enjoying it. I will tuck my insecurities back in the box where they belong!