Chapter 10

"Er, thanks for comin' with me Mel, Mum said she didn't want to see it like this," Ray stood in the blackened remains of his parents' motorhome, surveying the damage. It looked worse than he remembered it. He sighed and picked up a commemorative mug with the words 'Reno Rodeo, Nevada' stamped on it. He didn't even know they'd been to Nevada?

"It's no trouble," smiled Mel, "I couldn't stay at the Consulate today, they have that big VIP dinner, Turnbull was panicking about napkins when I left."

Ray laughed. "Yeah, Fraser called this mornin' to ask my Mum somethin' about flowers, I guess the Ice Queen was hasslin' 'em both. Canadians need to learn to, er, chill."

Mel laughed too. "Mounties..." she rolled her eyes.

"Gotta love 'em though," grinned Ray. Mel blushed and looked away. Ray's grin grew wider. He was starting to get used to the idea of Mel and Turnbull, it wasn't as if they were dating, but they were cute together. He had no idea where Turnbull would take a girl on a date anyway, somewhere weird probably.

"So, where should we start?" asked Mel, deliberately changing the subject. "I think we should make two piles, one for things that are salvageable and one for the badly damaged stuff."

"Yeah," agreed Ray. He picked up a silver frame and looked at the photograph in it sadly. "This is their weddin' photo," he said quietly. "They couldn't afford much, Mum made her own dress and they went to this tiny chapel...er, I think the priest did the service for free, my grandpop had to fix a wall for him in return, or, er, somethin' like that. You'll have to ask my Mum."

Mel smiled, she really liked the Kowalski's, they were honest, hard working people. They'd obviously never been rich, but they were happy. It was such a shame that there was this...whatever it was...between Ray and his Dad. Just then something slipped out from behind the photograph and fell to the floor. Mel picked it up before Ray had a chance. It was another photograph. "Is this you?" she asked, passing it to Ray.

Ray felt a lump form in his throat as he looked at the picture. "Yeah," he couldn't speak for a moment. Why had his mum hidden this particular one? It was of Ray and his Dad, Ray was about fourteen, maybe fifteen and they were working on the GTO. Ray's GTO, the one he drove now, the one his father had kept all this time, for all the years they'd barely spoken to each other. The young Ray had a huge streak of grease running down the side of his face and his Dad's overalls we're filthy. Ray remembered how his Mum used to make him take them off before he came inside. "Jeez, look at my hair," he laughed, it was the only thing he could think of to say, he had no words for what he was feeling.

"Did your Mum used to cut it for you?" asked Mel. Ray's hair was certainly not as well coiffed in his teenage years as it is now, she thought to herself.

"Yeah," replied Ray. "Hey, it was the Seventies," he added, "it was, er, cool to have weird, long hair back then."

Mel laughed. She couldn't imagine Turnbull or Fraser having hair like that at that time at all. Ray tucked the photograph in his back pocket and they carried on sorting through the mess.

It took a couple of hours before they started to make any real headway, Ray couldn't believe his folks had so much stuff in their tiny home. He knew they'd been in Arizona for several years, but he hadn't realised just how many other places they'd visited too. I guess Mum didn't have time to tell me everything when she called, he thought to himself. He realised she'd have been using a payphone each time, it must have cost her a fortune. Why couldn't he have been the one to fix all this years ago? He hung his head, all those years of wasted time and he could have been the one to reach out to his Dad, he could have mended the damage, but something had stopped him. Pride? Was that it? Stubbornness? Maybe, or sheer stupidity.

Mel glanced over to him, she was getting used to having him as a friend now, she was starting to realise that he was an emotional guy, he acted on impulse. Of course sometimes those actions were inappropriate, but mostly he was just very easy to read. Right now he was clearly upset. "Ray?" she asked gently, "are you OK?"

Ray looked up and forced a smile. "Yeah, sure," he lied. "It's just, er, this is tough, y'know."

Mel nodded. Of course it was, seeing anyone's home in this state was going to be difficult, let alone your own parents', but she had a feeling it wasn't quite that simple. "Ray," she said again, using her most empathetic voice, "what happened?" She took a sharp breath as his head snapped up and he looked directly at her. "What happened between you and your Dad?" she bravely continued, "I guess it must have been something really bad." Suddenly she regretted starting this, she had no idea what had caused them to fall out so badly and maybe she shouldn't have mentioned it. Perhaps it was one of those things that was so awful that it was best that everyone tried to forget about it. "I'm...I'm sorry," she whispered.

Ray smiled. "It's OK," he said, "er, actually, um..." he stopped to compose himself. "What happened was...was that I became a cop." Mel frowned, she didn't understand at all. "Yeah, I know," Ray continued, "I don't get it either. I guess I, er, disappointed him. He wanted me to work in a meat packin' place."

"Meat packing?" Mel repeated slowly. "Why didn't he want you to join the Police?"

Ray shrugged.

"You mean, you've never asked him?" Mel was shocked.

Ray shook his head. "We just don't talk about it...well, we didn't talk about very much of anythin' for years. Now...I, er..."

"You could ask him now couldn't you?" suggested Mel, "I think you have a right to know."

"Nah," Ray shook his head again, "I don't, he's my Dad..." his voice trailed off as if that was enough of an explanation.

Mel decided not to push him any further on the subject. Just then a gust of wind slammed the door shut. Mel leapt up, screaming and ran to the door. Her trembling hands grabbed hold of the handle and shook it hard. "No! No!"

Immediately Ray was beside her. "Hey, it's OK, it's OK," he said, placing one hand on the small of her back and gently moving her hands aside. "Look, ya just gotta twist...and lift," he added, taking the handle and quickly opening the door, pushing it wide open. "See, it wasn't locked or anythin'."

"Oh god, I thought...I thought..." Mel was gasping for air now and she felt dizzy.

"I know," Ray pulled her into a hug. "It's OK...you're OK, you're safe." He really felt for her, it was to be expected that she'd have flashbacks after everything that had happened to her, her nerves would be shot and it could be a long time before she started to get over that. "Come on," he said and slowly led her out of the motorhome, sitting her down on the bottom step and settling beside her with his arm tightly around her shoulders. "Just breathe Mel."

"I'm sorry," she replied, trying her best to do as he said, "for a minute there..." she closed her eyes.

"Hey, ya don't have to be sorry," he smiled, "it's gonna take time."

Mel nodded. Her breathing was slowing now and she started to feel a little more normal again. "He did this to me," she whispered, "he made me like this." She turned her head into Ray's shoulder and began to weep.

"Sshhh," Ray tried to soothe her, "y'know, it's OK to be angry, just, er, let it all out on my shoulder, it's pretty pourable."

Mel managed a small laugh and lifted her tear stained face. "I think you mean porous," she smiled.

"Or, er, yeah," Ray replied. Mel collapsed into his shoulder again and they sat like that in the freezing air until she was all out of tears.

xXx

"Thank you so much Assistant Commissioner, have a safe journey home," Inspector Thatcher saluted as the last of their guests left the Consulate and got into the waiting cab. As soon as the car had disappeared from sight, she closed the door and slumped with her back against it. "Thank god that's over," she let out a huge sigh of relief and pulled the paper party hat from her head. The elastic had left a slightly red mark under her chin and she rubbed at it with the back of her hand.

"Indeed," agreed Fraser, taking the Inspector's hat from her and removing his own brightly coloured one too. "If I may say so Sir, I believe that the Assistant Commissioner and his associates enjoyed their time here, I'd like to be the first to congratulate you on a very successful evening."

Inspector Thatcher stood a little straighter and smiled. "Well, thank you Fraser," she said. She rubbed again underneath her chin. "Damn those stupid hats," she muttered.

Fraser pulled some powdered horn from his pocket and in an instant he was applying it gently to the soreness. Thatcher gasped at his touch. "Oh..." She let him finish, her tongue darting out to coat her suddenly dry lips as he worked. "Thank you," she whispered.

"You're welcome, I ..." Fraser began, but then he caught the look in her eyes and stopped. It was happening again, he realised. His face flushed slightly with colour and his throat tightened as his mind raced. This was so wrong, he knew that, but he was aware that he was beginning to lose control of himself... again. He could tell by the look on her face that she was having the same feelings and they locked their gaze, frozen in the moment.

Then Thatcher tilted her head slightly and leaned in. "Merry Christmas..." she breathed. Fraser's lips parted, he brought one hand up to cradle the side of her face and...

"Sir! Sir!" Turnbull came running out into the hall and Fraser and Thatcher immediately broke apart.

"Turnbull!" exclaimed the Inspector, almost tripping over her own feet as she tried to put as much distance between herself and Fraser as she could.

"Whatever's the matter?" asked Fraser, rather more harshly than normal. He cleared his throat and tugged at the starched collar of his tunic with one finger.

Turnbull held up a tiny earring between his thumb and forefinger. "Sir, I found this on one of the plates, it's Chief Superintendent McAllister's, I noticed her wearing them...not that I was staring at her ears you understand, or any part of her, that would be most inappropriate...not that I'm suggesting at all that she's unattractive, actually I thought she was aesthetically pleasing..."

"Turnbull stop blithering!" Inspector Thatcher had to raise her voice a little to stop the young Constable.

"Yes Sir, sorry Sir," he grovelled. "But what shall I do with this earring? I only carried out a cursory inspection, but I can confirm it is eighteen carat gold and set with a nice, if slightly flawed ruby, although the setting is..."

"Turnbull!" the Inspector yelled at him now. "Give it to me," she said a little more quietly and she snatched the jewellery from his hand. "I'll arrange to have it couriered to her hotel." Then she took a breath and turned to Fraser. "Here," she said, thrusting the earring towards his startled face. "Call a courier company, I'm trusting you to reunite the Chief Superintendent with this," she snapped.

"Yes Sir," nodded Fraser, taking it from her. His hand hovered near to hers for longer than was necessary and she caught his look. Neither of them could explain what had just happened, or at least what had almost just happened. Contact...it had happened before and they'd both agreed that it should never happen again, except that's exactly what came close to happening so often.

The Inspector suddenly snatched her hand away and her eyes became glassy. "And if you fail, you'll be directing traffic on Baffin Island before this year is over," she said. Of course in reality the last thing she wanted to do was to send Fraser anywhere, not while there was all of this...whatever it was between them that needed to be resolved, or acted upon, or whatever they were meant to do with it. So Baffin Island was mentioned again. It wasn't the first time she'd threatened her junior officers with the prospect of a transfer there. Actually she'd never been anywhere near the place herself, but it sounded horrible, freezing all year round and it was vast, yet sparsely populated. It sounded like hell on earth to her.

Fraser, however, had the opposite view and if one day he somehow upset the Inspector so much that she carried out her threat, he'd decided a long time ago that there were far worse places he could end his career...like Toronto. He headed towards his office to find the number for the courier, when he heard Inspector Thatcher speak to Turnbull again.

"In my office," she said and a suddenly nervous Turnbull followed her in, closing the door behind them.

"Oh dear," muttered Fraser to Dief. The wolf whined. The Inspector had avoided the subject of Turnbull's actions since it had all happened, instead concerning herself with the VIP dinner. Now the evening was over, she had no choice but to deal with the situation. Fraser started to walk back along the hall, but Dief stopped him with a bark. "But I can't leave poor Turnbull alone with her," replied Fraser, "maybe if I vouch for him the outcome might be more favourable? After all, he wasn't acting entirely alone."

Dief whined again.

"That has nothing to do with it," snapped Fraser, "Inthatcher Spector and I...I mean, Inspector Thatcher and I..." he stopped and sighed. Why did he always get so flustered when this subject was raised. He took a deep breath and continued calmly. "Well, there is no "Inspector Thatcher and I", for one thing," he said, miming quotation marks in the air with his fingers for emphasis, "so you can clear your dirty mind. Thank you kindly."

Dief turned and went to lay on Fraser's bed while Fraser waited discretely in the hall, listening in to the conversation in the Inspector's office.

"Constable Turnbull," began the Inspector.

"Yes Sir," replied Turnbull, "I agree with everything you say."

"I haven't said anything yet?" Inspector Thatcher shook her head, this was going to be a difficult conversation.

"I'm sorry Sir," added Turnbull. He was ready for this. He'd been expecting this ever since he rushed off that day looking for Melissa. He had no jurisdiction for a start and he'd run straight into a potentially dangerous situation with no authorisation or back up. He knew he was going to be in trouble.

Thatcher picked up the large ceremonial knife from her desk and eyed Turnbull's lanyard. She was actually in two minds about this, he had acted bravely, there was no doubt about that, but the RCMP had protocols and procedures for a reason and she couldn't believe that Turnbull, of all people, had blatantly disregarded those.

Turnbull's lower lip began to tremble, but then he found some inner strength from somewhere. "Sir, if I may just say something first," he began nervously, he'd never spoken to the Inspector like this, but he figured if he was going to get suspended from the job he loved so much he may as well say what he wanted to say. Thatcher was so stunned, she lowered the knife and nodded. "I realise that I failed to follow proper procedures and I apologise, however in this instance I felt that...I felt that doing so would put a civilian's life in further danger. Furthermore," he was getting more confident now, "furthermore Sir, if another life were in peril, I would do it all again."

As he finished speaking he let out a whimper. What was wrong with him? He should have fallen to his knees told her how sorry he was, he should have offered to clean the Consulate from floor to ceiling, or polish all the silver, or clean the oven...oh dear, she still has the knife in her hand. He bowed his head in shame.

"Turnbull, don't stand there like that," scolded the Inspector and Turnbull immediately stood to attention. "Fraser, you may as well come in," she called out.

The door opened slowly. "How did, um, how did you know I was..." began Fraser rather sheepishly.

"Because I know you Fraser," sighed the Inspector. She looked at the knife in her hand and then put it down on her desk.

"If I may just add at this juncture Sir, that it was in fact at my request that Constable Turnbull first began the search for Melissa McIntyre," said Fraser, rubbing at his eyebrow with his fingertips, "Detective Vecchio and I had hoped to join him far sooner than we were able, although eventually, as it turned out, we weren't needed."

"Yes, yes, I know all that Fraser, I read both of your reports," Inspector Thatcher looked Turnbull squarely in the eye, sending a shiver of fear down the spine of the younger Constable. "Look, I know that, under the circumstances, delaying the search could have resulted in a tragic outcome and I do understand that sometimes it is necessary to bend the rules slightly, especially when lives are at stake."

"You...you do?" stammered Turnbull. "I...I can assure you that I w...would never consider going against the proper protocol in any other circumstances."

Thatcher resisted the urge to smile at him. "I know," she said, her voice becoming more gentle with each word, "and I also know that in this case, you have a personal, um, connection with the victim." She saw Turnbull's cheeks turn a delightful shade of pink and suppressed another smile. "I have given this careful consideration and I believe that I can overlook the slightly unorthodox way you went about things, Constable. I'll make sure I gloss over the details in my report. In fact, I'll make sure that my superiors are fully aware of your heroic actions. Now get out of my office Constable, before I change my mind."

"Oh yes Sir, thank you Sir," Turnbull beamed at her, "you won't regret this Sir, I promise I'll fulfil my duties to your highest expectations and..."

"Dismissed Constable!" exclaimed the Inspector and Turnbull saluted and ran out of the office.

Fraser was just about to follow him when he paused. "Thank you Sir," he said seriously, "Melissa McIntyre owes Constable Turnbull her life, he surprised me that day with his level headedness and practical skills."

"Indeed," agreed the Inspector. "I do understand that Fraser." Her face became a little sad then and Fraser's heart fluttered. "I know our American friends have certain names for me..." she began.

"Well, I, er..."Fraser fumbled.

"It's alright," she interrupted him, "I'm not completely oblivious to what they think about me, but I do have feelings you know, I do have compassion."

"Yes Sir," replied Fraser. He was more aware than most of her feelings. He swallowed hard. He felt an overwhelming urge to hug her, not just to thank her for sparing Turnbull from disciplinary action, but to reassure her that there was someone who understood her. Well, at least he understood her sometimes. Other times he didn't understand her at all. It took every ounce of his self control to resist that urge.

Inspector Thatcher saw something in his eyes though, she saw a flicker of emotion. She knew he rarely let his emotions show and yet he'd let his guard slip in front of her. For the briefest of moments she saw into his soul and she liked what she saw. Now she was having urges of her own, she was fighting the urge to throw herself at him, to tear his clothes off, to offer herself to him completely...good god she'd never felt this way about anyone before, she thought, why him? He's one of the most irritating men she'd ever known, why was she infatuated with him? Infatuated, yes, that was the only word for it. She was breathing hard now and of course Fraser noticed. He could probably tell exactly what was going through her mind, she realised. She must have been giving off all sorts of signals that his sharp senses would have most likely perceived.

"Dismissed," she snapped suddenly. How many times had she done that? She couldn't even remember, but professionalism was her safety mechanism, it was how she protected herself...and him, in this instance...from getting into all kinds of trouble.

If Fraser was a little stunned he didn't let it show. "Yes Sir," he replied, turning on his heels.

"Fraser," she called after him and he immediately spun round again to face her. "Merry Christmas," she half smiled.

Fraser allowed himself a similarly restrained display of emotion. "Merry Christmas to you," he said quietly and left the room.

xXx

Damien was allowed out of hospital a few days before Christmas and moved into Ray's apartment. There really wasn't room for three people to live there and Ray found himself spending as much time at work as he could. Welsh was going to wonder what had happened when he came back, Ray thought with a smirk as he finished off the last of the outstanding reports on his desk.

Fraser had also been spending most of his time over the last few days at the Twenty Seventh. Inspector Thatcher had flown to Toronto to spend Christmas with her family and had agreed that Melissa could stay at the Consulate until she got back. She just couldn't bring herself to spend any time alone yet and the thought of moving back to her own apartment terrified her. Consequently Constable Turnbull had also been a constant presence.

"So ya didn't feel like playin' gooseberry again?" Ray grinned when his buddy explained the situation.

Fraser frowned. "I am unaware of that particular game," he said, "is it similar to bobbing for apples?"

Ray let his head drop to his desk with a thud. "No buddy," he mumbled. He lifted his head again. "I meant, ya didn't want to get in the way of the, er, lovebirds."

"Ah," Fraser nodded. He wouldn't have described Turnbull and Melissa as lovebirds, not yet anyway. For the moment they were simply enjoying each other's company, singing country music, discussing their commemorative pencil collections and watching terrible old Christmas movies on TV. Turnbull had taken her to watch a curling match and she'd fallen in love with the game, so Turnbull had also been taking the opportunity to show her some of the best games he had on videotape.

"Ya know my Mum's invited them over for Christmas dinner," said Ray, "I have no idea how we're all gonna fit in my place."

"Perhaps I should decline her invitation after all," Fraser began, but Ray was having none of that.

"No way buddy!" he exclaimed, "if ya think I'm gonna spend Christmas with my folks and Turnbull and his sweetheart then you're wrong."

Fraser was about to object to Ray's rather derogatory description of Melissa and Turnbull, when Ray grinned. "Besides, you're my best buddy, I want ya to come."

Fraser smiled and nodded. "Thank you kindly Ray."