CHAPTER 5.

"One BLT, extra mayo, jalapenos and onion on rye." Detective Jack Huey handed his partner the sandwich he'd requested. "How can you eat that for breakfast?"

"Easily," replied Tom Dewey, resting the wax-paper wrapped package on the steering wheel as he opened it. "What have you got?"

"Bacon," replied Jack with a grin. He glanced in the rear view mirror of the pool car they'd spent the night in. "Just what I need after a stakeout."

"Anything?" asked Tom with a mouthful of food. He was still hopeful that the last eight hours hadn't been a complete waste of time. His snitch had assured him the man they were after would show up at this backstreet insurance office, but other than the opportunity to beat Jack at over fifty rounds of I-Spy, the mission had proved fruitless. They'd seen no one apart from a couple of teenagers desperate to find somewhere to move their relationship to the next level.

"Who wants to lose their virginity in an alleyway?" Jack had asked.

Tom had had a sudden flashback to his own formative years and decided it would be best not to answer his partner.

All it had taken to move the young lovers along was a flash of the car headlights and then it had been back to I-Spy.

Jack had just finished his bacon sandwich, when the early morning calm was shattered by the sound of a scream. Jack shot a startled glance at Tom and leapt out of the car, with his partner following close behind, wiping mayonnaise from his face as he ran after Jack.

They were met by a young woman running the other way. She had a miniature dog on a lead with her and the animal appeared very excited about the sudden activity.

Tom showed the woman his badge. "Chicago PD," he announced.

"Oh thank god," replied the woman, panting heavily as she spoke. "There's a…a body…a dead body…" She pointed behind her.

Tom and Jack immediately drew their weapons.

"Stay here, ma'am," Jack instructed and they walked quickly around the corner.

They saw the body immediately lying in the middle of the alley and Jack approached the scene cautiously while Tom followed looking around for signs of danger.

Jack recoiled slightly as he crouched beside the body. It was a slightly overweight middle aged man. He was wearing an expensive suit which had been badly torn - presumably during a struggle, thought Jack. Blood had pooled at one side of the man's head.

"Bullet wound to the left temple," he told Tom. "And he was worked over, too…wait a minute…" Jack narrowed his eyes and stared closely at the man's face. Bruising and swelling had distorted his features and it took Jack a minute to realise he recognised the man. "Look who it is," he said, whistling a long note as he tried to make sense of the situation. "We'd better call it in."

xXxXx

"Thank you, well…well, yes…yes…keep me informed." Lieutenant Welsh slammed the phone down and sighed. Before he could think about the impact of the information he'd just been told the door to his office opened and Francesca stepped in.

"Knock, Miss Vecchio!" yelled the Lieutenant. He hadn't meant to take out his frustrations on the Civilian Aid, but he couldn't help it.

"Sorry," replied Francesca, rolling her eyes, "but I just got off the phone with Dewey. Conrad Bennett is dead. They just found him with a bullet through his brain. I thought you'd like to know."

Welsh let out a slow breath as things started to slot into place. "Thank you, Miss Vecchio," he said in a much calmer voice. "That's very interesting because I've just been speaking to the Feds. George Molton escaped from their prisoner transport truck last night. Killed two guards. He's still unaccounted for."

"Oh my god!" exclaimed Francesca. "And he came back here and killed his lawyer."

"It would appear so," agreed Welsh. "Seems Molton was less than satisfied with his legal representation."

"He was mad that Bennett couldn't get him released," noted Francesca.

Welsh thought for a moment. "Is Detective Vecchio here yet?"

Francesca glanced at her watch. "At this time in the morning?" she replied, sarcastically.

"Hmmm," nodded Welsh realising his mistake. "Get him on the phone."

Francesca raised her eyebrows at the Lieutenant's abruptness.

Welsh looked apologetically at her. "Please," he added.

xXxXx

"I wasn't sure if the Ice Queen would let you out to play today," Ray grinned as he walked down the steps of the Canadian Consulate to his car.

"Ray, liaising with you is part of my job," Fraser reminded him. "It would be remiss of Inspector Thatcher to prevent me from doing my job."

Ray said nothing. He'd seen the look his buddy had shared with his superior officer on his way out of the door. Something queer is definitely going on there…

"So what did you need me for today?" asked Fraser, keen to steer the conversation away from the Inspector.

Ray shrugged as he walked out into the road to open the driver's door of his GTO. "Dunno," he said. "I just figured there'd be some crap landed on my desk since I've been away for a couple days and, er, two heads are better than one, right? Even if one of 'em is Canadian," he added with a twinkle in his eye.

Fraser was about to object to the insult, but before he had chance the sudden movement of a bright orange SUV across the street caught his attention. "Ray, look out!" he shouted.

Fraser tried to run to Ray, but even his Mountie reflexes weren't quick enough. Fortunately his verbal warning had been enough. In a split second, Ray threw himself across the front of the GTO just as the other vehicle lurched across the road straight towards him. A shot rang out and Fraser threw himself against the car as Ray spun off the highly polished bodywork and landed on his back on the tarmac, the momentum sending him skidding a few feet before he could bring himself to a halt.

"Ray, are you alright?" asked Fraser urgently, kneeling beside his partner as the SUV sped off down the road.

Ray let out a groan. "Er, I think so…" he answered, reaching out a hand for Fraser to help him up. "Did you get the plate?"

"I did," nodded Fraser, mentally filing the sequence of numbers and letters as he pulled Ray to his feet. "The driver of that vehicle drove at you deliberately. Fortunately driving at speed is not conducive to firing a weapon with any accuracy."

"Greatness," muttered Ray. He craned his neck round over his shoulder, trying to gauge the damage. "It really smarts," he announced.

"Hmmm," nodded Fraser. "I'm not surprised. It looks like you've taken off a few layers of skin in places…and I'm afraid your t-shirt is ruined. Come inside and I'll patch you up."

"I love this shirt," sighed Ray. "This is not what I needed today."

"Or indeed any day, I imagine," offered Fraser. "You know if you had a little more meat on your bones injuries like this might result in less…"

"Meat on my bones?" repeated Ray incredulously as he started walking gingerly back to the Consulate. "You, er, you sound like my mum."

"Sorry, Ray."

Fraser held the heavy mahogany front door open for Ray who winced with every movement as he followed the Mountie inside.

"Take a seat," said Fraser. "I'll fetch the first aid kit."

Ray walked into the reception room and gingerly removed what was left of his t-shirt. "Ow…ow…ow…ow…" he said as he pulled it over his head. He held up the torn item and scowled at it. He spun an antique dining chair round and straddled it, folding his arms across the backrest and resting his chin on them.

Fraser walked back into the room carrying a first aid kit and a bowl of water. He set them both down on the table and began to inspect Ray's grazes and scrapes. "You were very lucky not to have sustained more serious injuries," he noted.

"Yeah," agreed Ray, "but jeez, it hurts more than gettin' shot."

"That's because the human body has a large number of nerve endings close to the surface of the skin," Fraser began to explain.

Ray's eyes glazed over as Fraser launched into a full lecture about pain receptors and other things Ray didn't understand, only to be cut short by Constable Turnbull poking his head around the door. Ray had never been so pleased see Turnbull in his life.

"Detective Vecchio, I have Lieutenant Welsh on the telephone. He needs to speak to you urgently," Turnbull explained.

"Oh, OK," nodded Ray. He suddenly remembered he'd left his cell phone switched off.

Turnbull left the room only to reappear seconds later with the telephone in his hand. "I think the cable will stretch," he said and slowly began walking backwards into the room making sure he didn't catch any furniture as he pulled the cable along the floor.

"Er, Turnbull…." began Ray. "I'll just take it in the hall."

"No, Detective," insisted Turnbull, turning round to speak to him. "I heard about your accident. Please remain seated. I don't want you risking further injury."

"Turnbull, it's just a couple of scratches…" Ray protested, but then he couldn't speak any more as he had to stop himself laughing.

Turnbull had somehow managed to get the telephone cable caught around his leg and as he attempted to untangle himself, he was only making the situation worse.

"Turnbull…" Fraser began and he moved to help him, but Turnbull waved him away.

"I'm alright, Sir."

"Turnbull…"

The younger Mountie wasn't listening. Ray stifled a snigger as Turnbull hopped around, trying to unwrap the cable from his leg.

"TURNBULL!"

Turnbull fell backwards onto the couch.

Fraser let out a sigh. "Please stop moving at once, Constable. I will extricate you."

Turnbull obeyed the order and Fraser freed him at lightning speed.

"Thank you, Sir."

"Now, perhaps it would be best if you simply transferred the call to the telephone in this room?" suggested Fraser, trying not to let the frustration sound in his voice.

"Oh, of course," Turnbull saluted and carried the phone back out to the hall.

A second later Fraser picked up the other handset. "Lieutenant, it's Constable Fraser. I must apologise for keeping you on hold for so long. I'll pass you to Ray."

Ray took the phone from his buddy with a grin. Watching Turnbull's idiotic antics had provided a much needed, albeit temporary respite from his thoughts about almost getting killed. Unfortunately his mood quickly darkened again. "He did what?" he exclaimed as Welsh told him about Molton's escape and Bennett's death. "Well, er, that might explain why I nearly got run down in the street just now….no, I'm OK, I think…"

Fraser listened with concern as Ray told Welsh what had happened. This new information only bolstered the Lieutenant's fledgling theory that Molton might be carrying out revenge attacks on everyone involved in sending him to jail.

"I'll be there in ten," said Ray, but his tenacious expression soon turned to one of disbelief at Welsh's next words. "What? No way, sir! I've done enough hiding from Molton." He turned to Fraser and covered the mouthpiece with his hand. "Welsh wants me to stay here until they find Molton," he scowled. "Jesus, I'm a cop not a baby."

Fraser took the phone from Ray. Ray grinned, assuming his buddy was going to tell Welsh what a dumb idea that was, but his hopes were dashed.

"…yes, sir…of course. Ray will be quite safe here; we'll extend him the full protection of the Canadian Consulate."

"What? Fraser!" Ray couldn't believe his ears. He tried to wrestle the phone back, but Fraser was not going to let him win.

"And if I may, sir, I suspect you are also on Molton's hit list, as it were," Fraser continued, turning his back on Ray to stop him grabbing at the phone. "Yes…yes indeed. We'll keep in touch. Thank you kindly."

"Fraser, I am not staying here all day," Ray insisted as Fraser put the phone down. "Molton is out there somewhere and we should be out there looking for him. I wanna be the one to bring this bastard in."

"I understand your frustration, Ray, but the Lieutenant is correct," Fraser replied.

Ray sighed. Maybe they were right…maybe he shouldn't risk his skinny ass this time? Molton had been nothing more than a small time thug until he started killing people. Conrad Bennett wasn't a huge loss to the world, but the two prison transport guards had not deserved to die. Molton needed to pay, but he was clearly a guy on a mission and such single mindedness in an armed and dangerous criminal meant he was unpredictable. Ray suddenly started to wonder what Stella would do if he got himself killed by Molton.

What if Fraser hadn't been there this morning and I'd been killed by an orange SUV? Jeez, what a pointless way to go…

"Should have just stayed at Stella's…" he mumbled.

"You stayed at Stella's?" Fraser was a little surprised at the revelation.

"Er, yeah," nodded Ray. "To help out with Carmen, like you did."

"Ah."

"Don't 'ah' me, Fraser," snapped Ray.

"I'm sorry."

"It wasn't weird, or anything," Ray insisted.

"I wasn't suggesting that it was," replied Fraser, as he unpacked some cotton and gauze. Then he added, "Weird in what way?"

"I don't know? You're the one that ah-ed," replied Ray, screwing up his nose. "I just didn't want you to think...er, y'know…"

"Ray, I was merely surprised that you and Stella…well, it's just that I sensed an uneasy truce between you yesterday morning," Fraser tried to explain. "I did not imagine that you would want to push your luck, as it were."

"Meaning?" Ray frowned, adding, "Ow!" as Fraser began to tend to his grazed back and shoulders.

"Meaning, Ray, I have observed that the more time you spend in Stella's company, the more likely it is for a…" Fraser paused and tried to think of the right word. He didn't want to say 'fight'. "It's just that conversation between you and Stella often becomes heated in a very short space of time, if you don't mind me saying."

"You mean we fight all the time?"

"Indeed," nodded Fraser.

"Oh, yeah, well y'see Stella and me have, er, well it was Stella's idea…ow!"

"Sorry…What was Stella's idea?"

"Um, we talked last night," Ray explained. "She wants us to be, um, y'know…friends."

"I see."

"I'm glad you do, buddy, coz I can't…I just can't…" Ray trailed off.

"You don't want to be friends with Stella?" Fraser frowned.

"No, that's not it," replied Ray, shaking his head. "Of course I want to. It sure beats what we have now, don't you think?"

"And that would be…"

"That would be me holding onto some stupid hope that we'll get back together and her shooting me down in flames all the time," sighed Ray.

"Oh."

"Don't get me wrong, Fraser, I like being with her. I, er, I love being with her…I love her…" Ray trailed off as he realised that would never change. He would always love Stella and he had to learn how to process that while knowing they would remain divorced forever. He squirmed as the ointment Fraser was using on his raw skin stung a little.

"Sorry," said Fraser. "Please try to hold still, I'm nearly done." As he finished cleaning and dressing Ray's wounds, Fraser tried to think of something to say to his friend that would help with his turmoil, but he couldn't find the words. Ray often spoke about his feelings for Stella and since Fraser had known him, the pain never seemed to ease, no matter what advice Fraser offered. "Ray, if you don't feel comfortable with the idea of friendship…" he began.

"No, no I could get used to it," Ray insisted. "I guess I'm just not used to the idea of her being cool with it too."

"Understood."

"I did OK with Carmen," continued Ray. "I know it was just one day, but even though she peed on me and I couldn't figure out how to put that baby gym thing together, it was OK. It was a whole different world, like I was a different person. Maybe the person I always figured I was gonna be? Maybe this me isn't really me…er…oh, jeez, I don't know what I'm talking about."

Fraser wasn't sure either, but he didn't like where Ray was going with this.

" Y'know, there was a moment there, um…" Ray continued. "Last night at Stella's place, when, um…this is gonna sound dumb…"

"Perhaps," answered Fraser, honestly.

Ray turned his head and smiled. "That's what I love about you, buddy," he said.

"Sorry," answered Fraser, uncertain if he was meant to apologise or not.

Ray laughed and turned his head back. He stared at the framed charcoal drawing of a horse hanging on the wall in front of him and remembered how he used to sketch Stella when they were young. He still had the drawings.

God you're beautiful, Stell…

His chin felt heavy as he rested it on his folded arms which were still draped across the back of the wooden chair - heavy with regret, loneliness…all those feelings that he carried with him every day.

"Anyway, um…we were just sittin' on the couch watchin' a movie," Ray continued. "I, er, I had the baby in my arms and I think Stella was tryin' not to fall asleep too and I just thought…I just figured this is what regular people do, right? This is what families – couples with kids – do. And I don't even know if I'd have been any good at it – being a dad I mean coz, er, I love my dad, but he hasn't been the greatest role model, or whatever, has he? But, um…I guess it finally hit me that I am never gonna have that with Stella…" he trailed off again and buried his face in his arms.

Fraser scratched his eyebrow with his thumbnail. It seemed him that the thoughts of having a family with Stella had become stronger in Ray's mind since his divorce. Maybe he was reading his partner wrong – which rarely happened – but Fraser couldn't help feeling that perhaps the loss of the opportunity to have Stella's children hurt more now than it had at the time. It had become more of an issue for Ray now than it was when he was still married to her and in Ray's mind it was yet another indication of what a failure he was. Fraser had low moments – he had some very low moments – but he had learnt not to allow those feelings to crush him. He'd had to learn, he'd had no choice. Ray, on the other hand, was being crushed slowly under the weight of his emotions. He did not know how to stop it and Fraser felt powerless to help.

"I think I'm done here," said Fraser. He wanted to break the silence, but he couldn't think of anything else to say. Fraser tilted his head to the side to inspect his handiwork. He'd covered some of the deeper wounds with thin dressings to prevent infection. Ray's back would heal quickly enough, but Fraser wished he could stick a Band-Aid on his friend's other wounds – the ones you couldn't see. Those would take far longer to heal, Fraser acknowledged. If indeed they ever healed at all. "I'll find you a clean shirt," Fraser offered as he packed away the first aid kit.

Ray nodded and mumbled an unintelligible noise, which sounded a little like 'thanks', but it was muffled by his arms.

"Ray?" Fraser said, gently. Oh dear…

Ray's body began to shudder as he fought to keep his emotions inside, but he couldn't do it. As the sobs began to escape and the tears ran down his arms, all Fraser could do was what he always did when this happened - he silently put a supportive hand on the back of Ray's neck and let his friend know he wasn't alone.