Disclaimer - Don't own / Don't make money / Would settle for a chorus of serenading Mounties.
Chapter 10 - Epilogue
After the noise and bustle was over there was a tense wait for news, punctuated by a rare house-call by the surgeon's assistant, who Thatcher called and personally pleaded with to come by and make sure that Fraser hadn't done too much new damage to himself. The surgeon's assistant had been less than impressed by the account of Fraser's inability to stay out of trouble, but initial examination suggested that the fight had not caused complications to the healing of Fraser's shoulder and ribs, although he would have to submit to fresh x-rays as soon as an appointment was available.
Late in the evening Ray called with the news that McNeely was stable, and spoke to Inspector Thatcher.
"Yeah, the doc says he lost a lot of blood but they stopped all the bleeding and he's doing fine. Poor kid." Ray said. He hesitated. He'd done his duty when he went with McNeely, but he'd wanted to stay and make sure that Benton was all right, physically and mentally. "So, how's Benny?" he asked, his voice artificially casual. Thatcher smiled into the phone. No doubt her relationship with Detective Vecchio would soon return to its equilibrium of barely veiled hostility, but they had a bond for the moment.
"Constable Fraser is going to be fine. He's blessed with quite the constitution, apparently. He could stand less excitement, but since the man responsible for the attempt on his life has been captured, l hope there will be no more further impediments to his recovery."
Underlying her words was an unspoken message that Ray returned with his vehement, "Me, too." It was amazing how mere tone of voice over a telephone line could convey "The man responsible for the attempt on his life who I would pay good money to be alone in a room with for long enough to inflict some serious damage." but that was precisely what Ray heard, and he echoed the sentiment heartily.
It was perhaps for the best that Welsh had handed Ward over to Federal organized crime investigators. Ward was going down hard. For his crimes he faced a life sentence under American law, and Thatcher was looking into charges arising from his activities inside the consulate, though there was a strong chance that he'd be executed by either De Angelis's crew or the New York gang before he could serve any time anywhere. His best chance was to turn state's evidence against the New York family and hope that the Feds could protect him.
The next day, Ray was able to convince Thatcher that bundling Benton into the car to visit McNeely, which Benton was anxious to do, did not constitute exertion. Benton had no great desire to return to a hospital, but he needed to see with his own eyes that McNeely was all right. There'd been too much senseless violence and he was feeling bruised of spirit, not just physically. On the drive over, Ray shared some interesting news.
"So they got Thomas." he said, with a grin. "In fact, he's in the hospital."
Benton's eyes widened. "How, Ray?"
"Seems like he was headed up to Canada in a stolen vehicle when he drove off a bridge. Broke both arms and a leg. The story is that he was raving about seeing a dead mountie on the road. Must be his conscience."
Benton's brow furrowed. He had an idea that it wasn't Thomas's conscience that sent him careening off the bridge.
Ray was still talking. "So you must be pretty happy, huh? Got what was coming to him."
Benton said, "Well, Ray, you know I was only looking for justice to be done, if the man had an unfortunate accident, that's not really something that it's appropriate for me to find gratifying."
Ray frowned. "C'mon Benny, you have to admit that it feels pretty good to hear that the monster that went after you with a baseball bat is in a body cast."
"I don't have to admit any such thing. It wouldn't be right!" Benton rebutted.
"Jeez, you gotta be so morally righteous about everything?" Ray sounded annoyed. "Just admit it, any human being would be happy to hear that."
Benton rolled his eyes at his partner's persistence. "Well, I do concede that I feel a certain measure of schadenfreude at the situation." he said, his soft accent giving the foreign word a lilting quality.
"Schadenwhatnow?" Ray said.
"It means shameful joy, in German, taking pleasure at another's misfortunes." Benton clarified.
"Why couldn't you just say that in plain English then?" Ray snapped.
"It's simply more elegant in the original. German's a fascinating language, Ray. Much as the Inuit are known for their many ways of describing inclement weather, the German language is known for its compound words, single words that combine complicated concepts. Some of these are practical, such as rheindampfschifffahrtsgesellschaftskapitänsstellvertreter, which refers to the Captain of a steamship on the Rhine, and some are more poetic and evocative in nature, such as weltschmerz, which refers to a sensation of weariness with the pains of the world."
Ray stared at Benton with his mouth open. That was a fine bundle of abstruse and irrelevant explanation even for his partner. Then he burst out laughing, to Benton's astonishment. "Did I say something funny?" he asked, looking bewildered.
"Nah, Benny." Ray said, with a smile that warmed his whole expression. "It's just, you know, it's good to have you back. I hope you're around to irritate the hell out of me for a long time."
Benton gave him a long, measuring look, eyes narrowed, taking in the unstated but profound emotion on Ray's face before replying. He'd learned long ago that it wasn't always what Ray said that counted most. Ray spoke hotly and hastily, and far more flippantly than Benton had ever managed. He was beginning to understand that Ray's glibness was as often a cover for his feelings as Benton's deep reserve was for his. But you could always trust Ray's actions to show the truth of what he felt, and he had more than proven himself a true friend. With a soft sigh that mixed regret over their past misunderstandings with gratitude for Ray's constancy, Benton replied, "I never wanted to walk away, Ray."
Two days later, Benton was officially off bedrest, although still on medical leave until he passed a physical and psychological screening. He had been grudgingly allowed by Thatcher and Ray, over their vocal protests, to return to his own apartment. He had no sooner watched Ray drive away than he laced his sturdy hiking boots on, and slipped into his favorite sweater that he hadn't quite outgrown from his younger years. It had always been much too big, and now the ribbing at the neck was half frayed out and the cuffs were unravelling, but he loved it for the way it made him feel closer to home. Topped off with his hat, he felt like he was properly dressed again for the first time in over a week. He relished the chance of freedom from being stuck in stuffy, overheated rooms, relegated to lying around while people waited on him.
"We're going for a walk." Benton said, leaning down so that Diefenbaker could read his lips. "Yes, outside." The wolf was dancing in joyful circles around him, clearly equally done with the cabin fever days.
The air was cold and sharp and it felt good against Benton's skin. So, it was laced with diesel fumes, so he couldn't escape the noise of traffic, but there was still some peace to be had, even in the middle of a crowd. Diefenbaker had territory to reassert his presence in, and was sniffing and greeting old friends as they walked through the neighborhood. Benton was surprised by the number of people who stopped to talk to him, wondering where he'd been and expressing concern about his pale, bruised appearance.
Perhaps they hadn't been willing to be involved when there was danger afoot, but Benton was moved by how many people noticed that he hadn't been around and worried for him. An outside observer would have realized that these people were the ones on the margins of society, people struggling to make ends meet, the homeless and ragged, the hard working street vendors, each of them someone who had been touched by his generosity and willingness to help out, but that sort of distinction never occurred to him.
Benton was still in need of rather more rest than usual. When he returned from his walk, he stretched out in his long underwear on the bed for a nap, with Diefenbaker curled beside him. In spite of Ray's fervent promises to himself the night of Benton's abduction, Ray had been unable to persuade Benton to allow him to install any extra security devices. Benton was a man who stood firm in his resolve not to bow his head to fear.
No sooner had he closed his eyes than he found himself standing on an icy plain, one whose features he recognized from the dream the day that Ward had shot McNeely. This was where he'd been with the wolf pack. He stretched out, feeling fit and strong and whole. He took a deep breath of the frigid air. In the distance there was a figure. He strode toward it and as it came into focus, he saw it was his father, huddled over a hole in the ice, fishing.
"'Bout time you got here." Bob Fraser said.
"Is this a dream?"
"I don't know, son." Bob replied. "I'm pretty sure I'm here, but I'm also pretty sure you're asleep. I stopped asking that sort of question some time after I died. It's not relevant. What matters is that we're here."
"What are you doing here anyway, Dad?" Benton asked.
"Waiting for you. And fishing. Figured if I was waiting, I might as well." Bob Fraser pulled a muscular, writhing fish out of the ice hole.
"All right, what am I doing here?"
"You'll have to ask your friends that." Bob Fraser grumbled. Benton looked up and saw the wolf pack that had run in his dream before. They were moving across the ice from a stand of trees. He smiled. He could see Diefenbaker running among them, and he could feel the upswelling of joy he'd felt with them. The wolves came in close and formed a circle around Benton and Bob Fraser. The largest wolf sat alert, fixing Bob with a yellow-eyed stare.
It was interesting, Benton thought. He knew his place in this spirit pack was essentially as a cub. Wolves have a strong hierarchy and he was cosseted and bossed around with equal fervor by the more senior wolves. What was interesting was that it appeared very much the case that his father was also submissive to the elder wolves of this pack. Bob Fraser looked at the ice with a disgruntled expression.
"Fine, fine. I, ah. Son, I may have been too hard on you the other night, about the Yank. Maybe that wasn't the best time for me to be, uh, offering criticism."
Light dawned for Benton. He remembered being at his lowest ebb, his will to go on living draining away in the cold night air, and his father's stinging words about Ray and needing to learn to take care of himself. He remembered the warning snarl Diefenbaker had given. Evidently Diefenbaker had not chosen to let the matter drop. Benton was secretly very pleased. Dief could be difficult and obstinate, and he took a 'you're not the boss of me' attitude toward commands Benton gave, but it appeared that at least sometimes he had Benton's best interests at heart.
"Anyway, son. I don't want to make a meal of it, but maybe I was, hrrmph." Bob didn't do apologies.
"Would it be so difficult just to say you're glad I'm alive, and nothing more?" Benton asked.
"Of course I'm glad. Didn't think I needed to say that. Besides," Bob Fraser added, conscious that he may be on the verge of spoiling his son with effusive praise, "you spent thirteen years tracking men in the territories. I never had any doubt you'd make it through one southern night."
Benton was moderately staggered by what appeared to be a compliment on his survival skills. "...Thanks, Dad." he said. "By the way, you wouldn't happen to know anything about a dead mountie that Eric Thomas drove off the road to avoid hitting, would you?" It seemed as good a time to ask as any.
Bob Fraser grinned disconcertingly. "Well, son, since you were just lazing about, someone had to stop him from escaping. It's not my fault he panicked and drove off a bridge. Besides, I kept him company during the night until someone drove past and called an ambulance."
That certainly explained why Thomas had been a gibbering wreck prepared to confess to everything and name names by the time the police had arrested him in the hospital, Benton thought. He locked eyes with his father, seeing an innocence that was frankly too good to be true. He had a hard time believing that Bob Fraser didn't know that his haunting would cause Thomas to crash. Benton wasn't sure how he felt about that.
"Oh, don't get your britches in a twist, son. He's going to get his day in court." Bob Fraser said, "Think of it as a bit of poetic justice along the way. Anyway. I'm just happy that you're safe now." he concluded gruffly.
Benton's face relaxed into the glimmer of a smile. The big alpha male met his eyes and Benton nodded. The wolf gave him an inscrutable look that encompassed a shrugging "... if you're satisfied." And then Benton felt one of the cubs tugging at his sleeve, and he laughed freely, a clear, ringing laugh, happy to rejoin the pack at play. It was the best medicine he could imagine.
Bob Fraser watched with a warmth that he'd never admit to a soul. The wolf patriarch was still sitting beside him. "It doesn't matter how old he gets, I still see that tiny child with bright eyes and dark hair tucked up in his baby bag. I might not have been the best father, but I couldn't let someone hurt my boy like that and get away with it. How could a man see his son..." he swallowed hard, not getting the words out, "how could I call myself a man if I didn't do something about it?"
The wolf patriarch howled his approval. Humans were uncivilized at best. The young one, at least he had the common sense to get himself adopted by a wolf, even if he was otherwise prone to rash and dangerous activities. The older one was stubborn, and also dead, which some people might see as an impediment to personal growth, but it didn't really matter in the spirit world the wolf inhabited. With a little work, maybe he could be taught how to care for his cub.
Author's Note: And we're out! I hope you enjoyed reading along as much as I enjoyed writing this one. It proved an excellent distraction! Thank you for reading, and especial thanks to those who took the time to leave reviews! I may not be able to resist the lure of writing a sappy holiday story, but in case I do resist, happy and safe holidays to everyone!