It's Not a Rollercoaster
but we can still blame it on Canada
A Due South fanfiction
by
CanonAntithesis
Disclaimer: See chapter one.
Chapter 12
Try as she might, Elaine couldn't reach anyone at the Chicago Zoo until the next morning. At least it gave them all a chance to go home, get a shower, grab a nap and a change of clothes. It also gave Ford a chance to send a team of FBI agents to Fraser's office to find a photograph of Diefenbaker and his 'wolf permit'. It was Elaine who had the foresight to think of this. She remembered Ray telling her how he had forged it for Fraser when he first came to Chicago.
Elaine wasn't sure what to make of Agent Ford. It was obvious he was trying his best to impress Francesca and as long as it helped, she was all for it. Even so, she still didn't like him and found him to be very patronizing to women.
At precisely 9:30 a.m., Elaine, Francesca, and Agent Ford arrived at the office of the zoo director, Dr. Belmont. She was a plump woman in a navy pantsuit and Elaine immediately recognized the tell-tales signs of powdered donut sugar on her dark clothes.
They introduced themselves and presented Diefenbaker's papers and photographs. They also explained the urgency of the situation.
"He's a domestic pet, Dr. Belmont. Your wolves are likely to tear him apart."
She led them directly to the wolf enclosure and Francesca was the first one to spot Diefenbaker through the plexiglass window. He was in the corner of the pen, very near to a smaller wolf, presumably a female.
"Oh, my," Francesca commented.
"Indeed," agreed Dr. Belmont. "It looks like the pack has a new alpha." She turned to Elaine. "You say he's a half-wolf? If you don't mind, what's the other half?
She nodded, "He's half-Husky."
"Good to know. In about sixty days, we'll be watching for some one-quarter Husky litters."
oOo
"Did you know that Tibetan Buddhist monks can raise the skin temperature of their hands and feet by fifteen degrees through meditation?"
"Too bad we're not Tibetan monks."
It had become obvious to the two Mounties that the temperature of the room was falling. The floor, which had been wet from the sprinklers earlier, was now a frozen sheet of ice. Their easy banter from an hour ago had taken a decidedly more serious tone.
"It's not that difficult, you know," Ben said earnestly. "A good start is to try diaphragmatic breathing, also known as belly-breathing…"
"Fraser!" Meg hissed at him, ever mindful of the decibel-triggered sprinklers. "I don't care about learning how to meditate right now."
"It's also useful for combating anxiety."
"Anxiety? Anxiety? Don't you realize we're going to die in here. If it's not from the cold, then we'll starve to death."
"Actually…" Ben interrupted. However, before he could make his point, Meg pinched his mouth shut, silencing him.
"Don't," she warned. "I know what I said was inaccurate. I realize that we're going to die from dehydration before we starve. I get that, but my point is … we're going to die, so it doesn't really matter, now does it?"
"I would like to tell you about how I received the scar on my lower back now."
"Okay," Meg said cautiously, confused by his sudden change of topic. "Go right ahead."
oOo
Huey and Dewey came bursting into Ray's hospital room with two armfuls of clothing.
"Ray! Ray! Look what Huey and me found in Bolt's van." Detective Dewey's exuberance was loud and very disruptive in the small room.
Lieutenant Welsh, who had been napping in the corner, came out of his recliner ready for combat and none too happy to see the Duck Boys.
"What the hell's going on here?" he bellowed at these two loose cannons he grudgingly referred to as police detectives.
Welsh had finally convinced the Vecchios to go home and get some rest when Ray was moved to a regular hospital room. If the truth be told, this uncomfortable recliner was the most restful place he'd been in the last two days. Ray dozed off and on and when he was awake, he was unusually subdued and not interested in talking. Welsh was definitely enjoying the peace and quiet. At least, he was until these two idiots stormed into the room.
The Duck Boys dumped their load of clothing onto Ray's bed, practically covering the patient in a mountain of scarlett, muskrat fur, boots and a perfectly round Stetson hat.
Welsh's ire was partially quelled when he saw what they had brought. He noted that there were two red serge tunics in the pile. His attention was drawn to one of them. This one was small, much too small for the broad shouldered Fraser. He slowly fingered the insignia on the collar of the uniform. It was the rank of RCMP Inspector.
"My God... why would he take their clothes?" he murmured to himself.
It had been over twelve hours since Ray had been moved into a regular room and this was the first time he had been allowed to sit up. He was quietly sipping water through a bendy-straw when Huey and Dewey bolted into the room. Carefully, he put the plastic cup down on his nightstand when something caught his eye on the bed. He slowly reached forward and picked up a large brimmed felt hat, reverently running his hand around the brim as he had seen it done so many times before.
… so many times before.
"What the hell do you two think you're doing? You can't come storming in here with these … things," Welsh started out yelling at his errant detectives, but finished in a whisper as he quickly realized what he was about to say. "That's evidence in a possible murder investigation, detectives."
"Sorry, sir," Huey said in contrition. "I told him this was a harebrained idea."
"What idea?"
"Dewey thought it might trigger something in Ray's memory if he saw Fraser's uniform."
Just then, the aforementioned Ray let out a groan and clutched both hands to his bandaged skull.
Welsh was at his side in less than a second. "What's happening, Ray? Do you need a nurse? Dewey, go get a nurse!"
"No, no! I'm fine. I'm fine." He blinked rapidly and picked up the hat again. "This belongs to Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. He's my partner and my best friend … and he's missing." He looked up and made eye contact with the three men in the room. "I need to find Benny."
Ray started ripping out IV lines and monitoring cables and disconnecting himself from the myriad of other instrumentation the hospital staff had attached to him.
He looked up at his co-workers in dismay. "Somebody needs to help get me out of this bed." Ray was struggling with the gates on the side of the bed, trying to push them down, to no avail.
Welsh tried to ease Ray back into the bed, but the feisty detective refused to take no for an answer.
"You don't understand, Lieutenant. I need to talk to that bastard, Bolt. He knows where Benny is and I've got to believe he's still alive." Ray sank back into the bed in frustration.
Welsh spoke soothingly, "Ray, Randal Bolt is in a coma. He can't talk to anyone."
Just then, Melvin, the intern, ran into the room. He stopped and put his hands on his knees in an effort to catch his breath. It was probably more exercise than he normally got in an entire day. He finally gathered enough air into his lungs to deliver his message.
"Bolt's awake! He came out of his coma five minutes ago."
Without another word, Welsh pulled down the bed gate and helped Ray stand. They started for the door.
"You can't go like that, Detective!" the little intern exclaimed as he pointed to Ray's hospital gown which was flapping open in the back.
Dewey grabbed Fraser's red serge coat from the bed and handed it to him.
"I don't think Fraser would mind if you wore this," Dewey said solemnly.
"Thanks, man."
oOo
"She shot your dog?"
"Technically, he's a half-wolf, but yes. She shot Diefenbaker."
This woman never ceased to amaze him. After finally explaining his tale of love and betrayal with Victoria Metcalf, he expected Inspector Thatcher to point out his many derelictions of duty and lapses of personal conduct. He did not expect her to show such genuine concern about his pet.
"I think that's appalling, Ben. You realize that your records don't reflect what you just told me. They say that Detective Vecchio accidentally shot you while trying to prevent the escape of a suspect. There was no mention of you … leaving with the suspect."
Ben rubbed his brow before replying. "I know. Leftenant Welsh and Ray conspired to … alter some of the facts in order that they might show a more favorable light. I only agreed because such alterations also cleared Ray's records."
His voice rumbled under her cheek. Meg was curled into his side with her head resting on Ben's chest. It was the warmest position she could find. The sudden drop in temperature had made keeping warm almost impossible, even inside the sleeping bag. As it was, her entire left side, the side pressed against the ground, was numb with cold.
"It must have been horrible for you."
"Well, the physical therapy helped."
"I mean …" she lifted her head up to look into his eyes, "you loved her, didn't you?"
"Yes. I did, but please note that my use of the past tense is intentional. I do not still love her. It was difficult, but lately… things have changed. I've started to have feelings about someone else."
"Oh?" Her voice was hopeful, but with an undertone of helplessness. How could they be having this conversation now when everything was about to end?
"Yes, but there are … certain barriers."
"What sort of barriers?"
"Of an institutional sort," Ben said.
"I don't see any barriers, not here, not now."
Meg lifted herself up further until her face was hovering over his.
"Neither do I," he replied as he lifted his head slightly until their lips met.
oOo
Ray entered the ICU on wobbly legs, but with a determined attitude. In retrospect, he probably shouldn't have pulled out all the lines in his arms, particularly the one with the painkiller in it.
Little Melvin cleared the way for them and luckily, Sister Ignatia wasn't on duty today. That little kid was starting to grow on him. He was a damn sight better than Henry Ford. Of course, that wasn't saying much.
Bolt was surrounded by hospital personnel. They were checking his vitals, fluffing his pillows, getting him blankets. Ray thought he was going to be sick. This man was a cold blooded killer. He didn't deserve to be treated better than a dog. Scratch that, he liked dogs.
Melvin, surprisingly, took the lead.
"Excuse us, but this is a police matter. Could you please let these men through?"
Melvin almost had to jump up to be noticed. Poor kid, thought Ray. If things did happened between him and Frannie, she'd be stuck wearing flats for the rest of her life.
Finally, one of the doctors looked up in annoyance.
"What are you people doing in here? This is the ICU."
"Yeah, yeah. We know, Doc," Ray answered while leaning heavily on Welsh. "Like the kid here said, we're the police and this man has kidnapped two law enforcement officers. We need to talk to him."
"I can't allow that."
"I'd like to see you stop me." If Ray had had a mirror, he probably wouldn't have made sure a brazen statement. He was barely upright, with a huge white bandage wrapped around his head, wearing hospital slippers and a hospital gown. The bright red mountie jacket he wore over the hospital gown made his skin look even more pale than it actually was, if that was possible.
"I'm sorry, but that's impossible."
"Please," Welsh implored, "two officers' lives lie in the balance and Bolt is the only person who knows where they are."
A weak voice from the bed settled the situation.
"Mounty… how?…"
Ray pushed his way past the hospital staff until he was staring down at the wasted face of Randal Bolt. Half of his face was completely covered in white bandage. He looked like a sterile parody of The Phantom of the Opera. Ray saw that movie when he was a little kid and he stayed up late with his cousin to watch the late, late, late show on the tiny black and white television in his parent's basement. The scene where Claude Rains' mask was ripped off gave him nightmares for weeks. The entire right side of his face was burned and melted into a hideous mish-mash of flesh.
Ray didn't want to think about what Bolt's face looked like under his bandages.
Bolt looked up at him with one wild blue eye. "How can you be here?" His voice was rough and scratchy. "I left you to freeze to death with that hot looking lady mountie." He tried to laugh, but broke into a hacky cough instead. His throat was raw from the respirator and speaking, even at a whisper, was difficult.
Ray turned to look over his shoulder to see to whom Bolt was speaking. Then, he realized he was still wearing Fraser's scarlet tunic and quickly decided he could use this to his advantage.
"Yes. Well, thank you kindly, Mr. Bolt," Ray said in his best imitation of Benton Fraser. "You know the saying, we, Mounties, always get our man."
Bolt blinked his one good eye and squinted at Vecchio.
"Wrong word, hummingbird. Hello, Detective Vecchio, my third favorite law enforcement officer. I may not be seeing all that well, but my hearing is fine. And you, sir, are no more Canadian than Captain Kirk."
Huey leaned over and said to Melvin, "But I thought William Shatner was Canadian."
Without missing a beat, the intern nodded sagely, "Yes, but James T. Kirk was from Indiana."
Welsh turned and eyed them critically. "Will you two shut up?" he whispered harshly. "Besides, Janeway was the one from Indiana; Kirk was from Iowa."
"Okay, Bolt," Vecchio started in his own Chicago accent, "let's cut the crap. What do you want this time? Money in a Swiss bank account, a helicopter? What?"
"Everybody keeps asking me that. But the thing is, I don't want anything. Well, that's not entirely true. I do want those two Mounties to die… just like my brother."
"What?"
"That's right, Detective. Francis is dead. He froze to death while in solitary confinement."
Bolt almost sounded human when he spoke of his brother's death. Almost.
He continued, "A man can not be free until he erases his mistakes. And I'm almost free." He took in a deep breath and started coughing again, much worse this time.
A nurse tried to step forward, but the doctor motioned for her to wait. He obviously recognized the seriousness of the situation.
Ray grabbed Bolt's hospital gown and yelled into the dying man's face. "Where's Fraser, dammit? You havta tell me. He's a better man than either of us, so tell me! Where. Is. He?"
Bolt looked decidedly weaker, barely able to keep his eyes open. Still he managed to say with a chuckle, "Muskrat Susie, Muskrat Sam, do the jitterbug…" before all hell broke loose on the machines attached to him.
The universally recognized heart rate monitor alarm sounded and the medical staff pushed Ray out of the way as their rote training kicked in.
The doctor started chest compressions as a nurse put an oxygen mask over Bolts' face. A technician bumped Ray with portable defibrillator as he ran into the room.
A kindly-faced older nurse gently pointed Ray and company towards the door.
"He's not going to be able to help you anymore."
oOo
Meg laid her head down on his chest, but now she was lying half on Ben and half off with one of her legs between his. His arm had slid around her waist and was now rested comfortably on her hip. She felt almost comfortable, cocooned as she was with his arm wrapped securely around her. After their heated kissing, she felt as giddy as a teenager, making out in the backseat of her boyfriend's car.
"Wow, this is the warmest I've felt since this nightmare started." Meg sighed and the warmth of her breath on his skin sent a warmth of a different kind surging through his body.
"Oh my, yes," Ben agreed. Then, an inappropriate chuckle escaped his throat.
"What's so funny, Constable?"
"Nothing." His reply was much too fast.
"I know it's something, so give."
"It's just… earlier… I suppose it was yesterday, although I've lost track of time, Francesca was talking…"
"Vecchio's sister? That flamboyant brunette who has the hots for you? I'm not sure I want to hear about her when I'm about to die."
"We aren't going to die. I really need you to believe me."
She nodded tersely.
"Continue." It sounded like an order from the Inspector, but Ben didn't mind.
"She told me she had heard that … um… maybe I shouldn't tell you this, after all."
"No way, mister. You can't stop now."
"Okay, she said there was a case where a man and a woman were trapped together in the cold with no way to keep warm."
Meg arched an eyebrow. "Really? If I was a suspicious person, I would call her a person of interest in my investigation."
"There is a bit of irony involved. Francesca said that they … um … made love to keep warm."
"Really? So their lovemaking was a survival strategy?" She couldn't help the smirk on her face.
"Apparently."
"It could be worth a try. What do you think?"
"Inspector!" His shock was genuine.
"Would it be … so horrible? To make love to me?" Her voice had a edge of uncertainty to it.
"No. It's not that," he replied quickly. "This hardly seems like an appropriate place to start a relationship."
"God, Fraser," she said in frustration, "how can you have such limitless optimism? Can't you get it through your thick skull that we are going to die? This is it. It's now or never. This is the perfect place to start … and end a relationship."
Maybe, she was right. Not that they were going to die. He refused to believe that. However, if they were ever going to take their relationship to the next level, perhaps now was the right time.
At least, she wasn't ordering him to forget another kiss.
Ben inhaled deeply before coming to his decision. He reached his strong arms down and pulled her on top of him, noticing how cold her body felt even within the confides of the sleeping bag.
"A wise man once said to me," Ben started, his voice full of emotion. "There are times between men and women when things…"
"...grow?" Meg remembered this spate of wisdom too.
"...yes... feelings." He swallowed audibly.
"Enough said," Meg finished for him as she brought her mouth down on his.
oOo
Ray slumped against the wall outside the ICU waiting, his adrenaline finally running out. Welsh paced back and forth in front of him, but Ray was too exhausted to tell him to stop. The Duck Boys stood talking excitedly over by themselves.
"I'm telling you, Muskrat Love is the key to this whole thing, man," Dewey said emphatically to his taller partner. "We've just got to figure it out and I guarantee we'll find them."
Huey looked skeptical. "I think you've got Muskrats in your belfry."
"Naw, this is the answer. I just know it. Come with me; I'll prove it."
Grabbing Huey by his sleeve, Dewey pulled him down the hall, toward the exit.
Back in front of the ICU, the kind nurse opened the door.
"I'm sorry, but the patient has passed."
Ray's hand slammed into the wall. "Damn, he was our only hope of finding Fraser," as tears ran down his cheeks.
oOo
Some time later, a man and woman, who cared more for each other more than either of them knew, cried out together at the pinnacle of their lovemaking. Both of them had forgotten about the punishment for raising their voices until the sprinklers rained down gallons and gallons of icy water upon them.
TBC
13