PART TWO

*** *** ***

Four hours later Stan was daring to cautiously hope that things might work out between them, after all.

There had been no mistaking the pleasure in Fraser's tone when he answered Stan's call, and he'd accepted an invitation to lunch with a kind of shy gratitude. There had been a few moments of awkwardness when Stan picked him up at the Consulate. He'd been moved by the genuine warmth in Fraser's eyes, the only faintly wistful smile, and for a confusing moment had fought an impulse to pull his friend into a tight hug. He'd hesitated, not knowing whether such a gesture would be welcomed, and Ben helped him out by extending his hand as he had the day before.

They made their own peculiar brand of small talk on the way to the restaurant, and Stan was forcibly reminded of the days of their partnership. He felt himself beginning to relax, bantering with the Mountie like he always had. In some respects, it was even easier than it had been before Fraser had gone away. The unspoken tension that had always sparked between them, the longing and bewilderment in Stan's heart, were conspicuously absent. He felt relieved that they each knew where the other stood, even if that knowledge was slightly bittersweet for them both.

During the meal they had not referred to the events of the night before, but Stan found to his relief that he didn't feel the need to. When their eyes met, a quiet understanding flowed between them; apology and acceptance, regret tempered with hope.

Stan was nervous about bringing Ray into the conversation, but it began to be awkward to avoid mentioning his name. When he realized he couldn't tell Fraser anything about what he'd been up to at work without doing so, he steeled himself and just casually let references to his partner drop into the flow of talk. He watched Ben carefully for signs he was uncomfortable, but on the contrary, Fraser seemed keenly interested in the stories of their recent cases. He'd caught some of the press on the home invasion case, and was impressed and intrigued to learn it was one of theirs.

Stan felt momentarily tempted to get into a lengthy, detailed discussion about it, to pick Fraser's brain for his invariably canny insights. But he held back. He knew Ray had been slightly conflicted about accepting the Mountie's help on his cases even when the two of *them* had been partners; he wasn't sure how he'd feel about the implication that he and Stan couldn't handle this on their own.

So they chatted about unimportant things, caught up with each other in a general way. After the meal, they strolled outside in the bright day, rediscovering the pleasure of being together.

"Stan."

"Yeah, Frase." They walked side by side, their steps easy and relaxed. The sun beat down, making Stan's shirt stick to him as a light beading of sweat broke out across his forehead.

"Thanks for calling."

"I told you I would. Thanks for having lunch with me, Frase. I'm glad we're able to--well--you know."

"I never doubted it. Our friendship is a solid one, Stan. I'm grateful for that."

Stan glanced at him. "I'm...I'm glad you're back, Fraser. Really."

"You know, Stan. I am too. In spite of what's happened, I have a feeling that it's right for me to be here now. That there's something I need to do, or see, or find out. I'm looking forward to--whatever it is."

Stan had to chuckle at him. "I hope you find it, Frase. Where we going, by the way?"

"Well, if you have a few more minutes I thought you might accompany me on an errand quite near here. I have to pick something up for Diefenbaker."

"What, a dozen donuts? Say, where is he anyway?"

"I left him with Turnbull. He had an unfortunate--mishap, while we were away. He lost his collar and identifying tags. I didn't want him on the streets here without them."

"Gee, I'm sorry to hear that, Frase." Stan grinned at him.

"Fortunately, I was able to arrange for replacements. Ahh, here we are."

They had stopped in front of an artsy-looking gift shop. The windows were crammed with displays of everything from dangling crystals on chains to handpainted scarves. The sign over the door proclaimed: Artists' Playground Gifts. Original, One-of-a-Kind and Custom Items.

Stan blinked. "You bought dogtags in *here*? Frase, you can send away three Alpo labels and get free ones in the--"

"I thought he deserved something rather special, Stan, after all we've been through together. And I was assured by the proprietress that they would be ready for me overnight. Charming lady, very eager to please."

Stan suppressed a grin. //Yeah, I'll bet she was.// "Okay, Frase. Let's get the wolf his duds."

A bell tinkled overhead as they entered. The shop was larger than it had appeared from the street, plushly carpeted and decorated in muted colors. Soft track lighting cast gentle glows over various displays. Racks held items of clothing, handbags, hats. One wall was taken up with silk scarves in a riotous rainbow of colors, painted in intricate designs. A glass case held a collection of fine leather watchbands, luggage tags and wallets.

No one was visible. They stepped towards the counter at the back of the store, looking around, and then Fraser said: "Oh, my."

Stan followed his gaze. The back counter was a glass-topped jewelry display, or had been. Deep, jagged cracks marred the glass. In several places, holes had been punched through, leaving sparkling fragments littered on the black velvet beneath. The case was empty. A whitish substance had been smeared liberally over the glass surfaces and the cash register which stood nearby.

"That's--"

"Print powder." Stan frowned. "Wow, this place must just have been--"

A hanging curtain behind the counter was abruptly thrust to one side, and a woman emerged. "We're open. Someone will be right--ohh." Her eyes fastened on the Mountie, and a flustered smile touched her face.

She was in her mid-thirties, slim, tall, with hair the blue-black color of a crow's wing. She wore a simple white shirt and black pants; silver bracelets tinkled on one arm. Her light brown eyes smiled into Fraser's, and Stan thought absurdly that their color reminded him of Diefenbaker's. Stifling a chuckle, he moved off to one side, unobtrusively examining the shattered case.

"The collar and tag, wasn't it? Just a moment. I do have them. Fortunately. They were among the few things that weren't--"

Ben interrupted her gently. "What happened here, Ms. McPherson, if you don't mind my asking? I couldn't help but notice--"

She gave a short laugh. "Well, of course you couldn't. And I know exactly what happened, but unfortunately the *police* around here don't seem to care. Ahh, well. I didn't really expect anything from them. Now, if you'll hold on one moment." She turned, disappeared behind the curtain.

Ben and Stan exchanged glances, Stan's one of quiet amusement. He bent over the case again as she re-emerged, holding a leather collar with a carved silver tag. She handed it to Ben with a shy smile.

"Here you are. I do hope it fits him. Now, if he doesn't like it, you let me know." Her eyes strayed to Stan uncertainly.

"I'm sure he'll love it. How much do I owe you?"

"What? Oh." She moved to the cash register and frowned over it a moment. Gingerly punched some keys, looking with dismay at her fingertips as the white residue smeared them. "Twenty-four ninety-five, with the tax."

"Certainly." Ben pulled the bills out of his wallet and handed them to her. She took them, stood there uncertainly for some seconds as if at a loss what to do.

Ben's gentle voice. "Would you like to tell us about it? Perhaps we can help."

She smiled at him, shaking her head. "I've already told the police the whole story. Including the parts they didn't want to hear. It made no difference. I was told I had a snowball's chance of seeing any of the jewelry again. The one officer asked if I was insured and I said of course I was, and he acted like that should be the end of it. Like I should just go on as if everything could be replaced just like that, and in the meantime they leave this filthy white *mess* all over everything!"

"The fingerprinting powder is water-soluble, Ms. McPherson. You can just wipe it up with a sponge. Didn't the officer explain that to you?"

She sighed. "Maybe they did, I don't know. I was kind of upset. And it doesn't seem to have done any good, anyway."

Stan spoke up. "Nah, it didn't. Looks like the guy was wearing gloves. Too bad."

She frowned at him, her voice taking on a slight edge. "Who the heck are you, Sherlock Holmes?"

Stan shot a significant glance into Fraser's eyes, but he was too late. The Mountie was already speaking. "My friend is a detective with the local precinct, Ms. McPherson. So you see, perhaps we may be able to assist you."

She looked Stan up and down. "I don't recall seeing *you* here last night."

"Uhh, that would be because I don't work the burglary division, ma'am. But I'm sure the officers responding did everything in their power--"

"Ha! Right. Look, I even *know* who did this, and they didn't want to hear that."

Ben blinked. "You know. You mean, you know the perpetrator's name?"

"Well, no, I don't know his name *exactly.*"

Stan rolled his eyes behind her back. Fraser shot him a look, then turned his most encouraging, helpful expression on her. "Why don't we--"

"Oh, come on back here." She held the curtain aside, motioned for them to precede her into the back room.

This area too had been hit. A file cabinet was overturned; desk drawers pulled out and rifled. She had apparently been in the process of setting it to rights. More of the print powder was smeared around. A table and chairs stood in one corner of the room. The three of them sat down around it, Ben steadfastly ignoring the half-amused, half-exasperated looks Stan was giving him.

Ben gave her his disarming smile. "Why don't you go over it from the beginning, if you can?"

"Well, all right. I came to Chicago a few months ago. I'm a jewelry designer and artisan; I made over ninety percent of the pieces that were stolen. *That's* why they can't be replaced by insurance so easily as they seem to think." She shot a look into each of their faces. "Well, anyway. I locked up at six p.m. last night, and went home and ate, and then I wanted to work on some pieces so I came back--it must have been nine p.m. I have a little workshop in here...or I did, before they trashed everything. And right away I knew...the alarm light wasn't flashing. It had been shut down! And I let myself in--the front door was locked, and--"

Ben cleared his throat. "Pardon me, ma'am, but in that sort of situation you should never enter the premises. Once you are aware there's been an intrusion, it's always the safest course to call the police first. You never know if--"

"Well, I didn't think about that then. This store is my whole life, it took all my savings to open it up. I needed to see what had happened. Well, I saw."

"What did you mean when you said you knew who had done it? Did you actually see the perpetrator at the scene?"

"No, nobody was there. I figured out who he was, though. Through deduction."

Stan shot Fraser another look, but Ben's attentive, interested expression hadn't wavered. "I see. And how did you--?"

She leaned forward, looking from one to the other of them. "He was this kid that came in a couple days ago and wanted a cheap piece of jewelry made up for him. I knew right off, when he came in, that he wasn't the usual type of customer. He looked--scruffy." She cast a glance over Stan's Bulls T-shirt and threadbare jeans, returned her gaze to Ben's face. Stan bit the inside of his lower lip and managed to keep a straight face.

"Ahh, I see. And your reason for believing that this, er, customer had something to do with--"

"I just had a feeling. I felt weird about him from the day he came in. He looked--nervous. Anxious. His eyes--" her voice dropped. "I think he was *on* something. You know?"

"So you suspected he was under the influence of some kind of mood-altering substance--"

"He was *suspicious.* So what I did, after this happened, I looked up his customer card. And you know what?"

"Tell us, Ms. McPherson."

"His name was Jose Rodriguez. And I looked him up in the phone book, and he doesn't exist!"

Stan cleared his throat, attempted to keep the sarcasm out of his tone. "You telling us there's no Jose Rodriguezes in the Chicago telephone directory?"

She glared at him. "No, there's dozens. But none of them are him. The addresses don't match. And I called Information, and *they* don't have him either. And when I heard *that*, I got an atlas, and--"

"And the street address he gave you was false. I see." Ben frowned thoughtfully.

"See? Now, why would he do that? What's to hide?"

"This jewelry he ordered, did he pick it up?"

"Yes, he did. He came in a few days later and got it and paid for it. But that was just to throw me off. It was a cheap piece he ordered. He was really only in here to--what do you call it. Case the place out."

Stan had a sudden cough attack, got it under control. "So your evidence on this guy is that he gave you a fake name."

"*And,* two days after he's last in here the place gets robbed." She looked from one to the other of them expectantly.

Ben put on a regretful smile. "That's certainly--suggestive, Ms. McPherson. But I am afraid it's not quite enough to--"

"That's what they said! I *offered* to come down to the station and look at your picture books, but they discouraged me. They said even if I picked him out they couldn't question him just on this."

Stan was nodding. "The best thing you can do, ma'am, is to collect your claim and invest in a better alarm system. I'm real sorry about that."

She puffed air out her nose in frustration. "Not good enough for me. I want my stuff back. If the police can't do it without help, I'll help them."

Stan opened his mouth, but Ben held up a forestalling hand. "I do understand your frustration, Ms. McPherson. But I assure you, the local authorities are entirely competent to--"

"But I know something they don't know! I've *seen* him. And if I see him again, I'm going to do something about it."

"Ahhhh. Tell you what. If you should spot this, err, suspect, Ms. McPherson, would you do me a favor? Would you call me? Do not confront him directly. That's very important." Ben's blue eyes were holding hers. She blinked, drew back.

"Why, I--well, all right." Suddenly, she dimpled at him. "I'll call you. Thank you, Mr. Fraser."

"And in the meantime, Detective Kowalski here will check into the status of the investigation for you, all right?"

Restraining the strong impulse to stomp on Fraser's toe under the table, Stan turned his friendliest smile on her. "Uhh, sure thing."

Ben rose, held out his hand. She took it, smiling again. "Thank you for listening to all this."

"It's what we're here for, Ms. McPherson. I do wish you good luck."

"Oh, you can call me Mary."

Stan rolled his eyes again. //Of course he can.//

*** *** ***

"Well, well. What an unfortunate occurrence."

"Yeah, tough break, Fraser."

Ben shot a look at him. "Thank you for agreeing to help her out with this."

"Frase, I really can't do much. Burglary's entirely competent, and they ain't gonna appreciate Major Crimes lookin' over their shoulder on one of their own. I'm sorry."

"Well. They wouldn't have to *know* you were checking into it." Ben's voice was casual. "I'm not suggesting you should talk to the investigating officers, but perhaps you might...borrow the file?"

Stan sighed.

"Stan?"

"Yeah, yeah, all right, Frase. Geez. How do you get me into these things."

"I knew I could count on you." He flashed the handsome grin that had, at one time, had the power to make Stan's heart execute disconcerting flutters in his chest.

Despite himself, Stan returned the smile. "Frase. Did I tell you I'm really glad you're back?"

Ben's voice was quiet. "I'm glad too, Stan. I'm glad too."

*** *** ***

He told Ray about it as they made rounds that night, trying to establish the current whereabouts and life situations of a series of known offenders whose M.O.'s matched that used by the Delorme killers. It was a job of psychology and intuition as much as intimidation. These people were under no obligation to tell the police anything; but with the proper handling, it was amazing how many of them did. They gathered a little bit of information, enough to scratch off a few more names on the dwindling lists.

True to his word, Stan made a stop in Central Files the following Monday and unobtrusively flipped through the file on the gift shop hit. It was as Mary had told them, and as he had observed himself at the scene. One or two individuals had silenced the alarm with wiresnips, jimmied a back door, tossed the office--that was the only odd part, really, as there was no safe or cash drawer and the books and records had no value. About four dozen handmade pieces of gold and silver jewelry, some with precious stones, had been taken from the display case, and the register had been forced and emptied. The remaining inventory was untouched.

No prints were lifted from the case at all, as Stan had thought he'd observed during his own examination of it. This seemed strange until he saw the notation that Mary had sprayed the entire case down with glass cleaner and wiped it clean, a procedure she apparently followed every night at closing. The register had her own prints.

He also noted that the break-in had been the third in a series of very similar hits to jewelry establishments in that sector of the city within the past days.

He promised Fraser he'd check back every few days to see if there had been any progress, not coming out and stating what they both understood: the case was very unlikely to be the subject of active investigation at this point. The only hope was for some of the stolen pieces to show up in pawn and be reported.

The chance of that happening, though slim, was significantly better than it was for the Delorme case. The jewels stolen in the course of the homicide were extremely valuable, but at the moment, they were also among the hottest items in existance. The killers would have to be insane or stupid to try to move them.

Ray and Stan continued the methodical, unexciting, yet unavoidable process of eliminating possible suspects, leaning on prior informants, fielding offers of "information" from various sources, waiting for a break. The tensions of the last few days had dissipated, and they worked easily and comfortably together, making steady if slow progress.

Stan took Ray at his word on the matter of seeing Fraser, making plans to go out to a movie with him that Tuesday night. Ray seemed to react with perfect equanimity, putting up a hand. "Have a good time, Stan. I'm gonna put in a couple hours overtime and then go spend an evening with the family for a change." His smile was relaxed and open; Stan returned it, hoping the pure love shining out of his eyes wasn't blatantly obvious to the entire department.

He decided to stay and help Ray with the backup of reports until it was time for him to meet Fraser. About an hour before he was due to leave, however, he picked up his ringing phone to hear Ben's voice on the other end, barely intelligible over what sounded like pulsing heavy-metal music.

"Frase?" He stuck a finger in his other ear, bent over the phone. "Where the hell are you?"

"Stan? I'm sorry, I--ahh. I'll have to cancel our plans this evening. I'm afraid--well. It's Mary McPherson."

"It's what? Where *are* you, Fraser? It sounds like a biker bar!"

Ray glanced over at him from his desk. Stan pressed the phone close. "I'm at an establishment called Randy's, out on the corner of--"

"Jesus Christ, Fraser! That's one of the worst places in the whole area! What are you doing there?"

"As I said, it's Mary. She's, ahh, she's done something rather rash."

Stan felt his teeth clenching. Ray was now staring at him, concerned. Stan rolled his eyes, shrugging his shoulders to indicate he didn't have a clue.

"What has she done, Fraser, dragged you out to this place? Do you even know what goes on in there? What's *she* even doing there?"

"The neighborhood didn't appear to me to be that bad, actually, Stan." Blessedly, the music cut out for a second and they could hear each other.

"The neighborhood isn't really, but that place *is*, Frase. There was a bad knife fight in there not three nights ago. Now what are you--"

"She was attending an exercise class at a fitness center across the street, and she saw...uhh..this young man, entering this establishment. And--"

"Oh, gawd. She followed him in there and she called you. Fraser, you're--Jesus. Let me think."

"I'm perfectly capable of handling this, Stan. I just wanted to let you know I wouldn't be able to meet you as we'd planned. That's all. I do apologize. Now I must get back to our table, I don't want--"

"Fraser, *wait* a second." The juke had started up again, George Thoroughgood thumping and wailing through the phone. "What are you planning to do, confront this guy?"

"Certainly not. But she has an idea--"

Stan was on his feet, pulling open a desk drawer, reaching in for his service revolver and ankle holster. "Don't--move. You got me? Just stay there, and don't do *nothing*, until I get there."

"Now, that really isn't necessary, Stan. I told you--"

"Are you hearing me, Fraser?"

"I, ahh, all right. Thank you, Stan."

Stan dropped the phone, muttering. He propped one foot on the desk and hiked up his jeans, strapping the holster on with quick, practiced movements.

"Kowalski? You gonna tell me what--"

"Randy's, he's at friggin' Randy's! With this Nancy-Drew wannabe who thinks she's gonna make a citizen's arrest on some poor shmoe. If I can get there before one of these gorillas asks her to dance and she says no, maybe--*maybe*--he won't get a bicycle chain to the face or brass knuckles across his friggin' nose. Wish me luck. Jesus the fuck *Christ.* I'm sorry, Ray." And he was gone, almost running out the doors.

Ray sat there a moment, replaying their breakfast conversation of a few days back in his head. He sighed. Stan was perfectly safe in a bar; he was armed, he was savvy. He'd sit down with Fraser and this woman, talk her out of whatever crackbrained idea she had in her head, get them all out of there as soon as he could. Determinedly, Ray picked up a file containing the ballistics reports, scanned through it again on the remote chance there was some iota of its contents he didn't already have memorized.

Two minutes later he slapped it back onto the desk, scowling. Scooping up his keys and his own weapon, he headed outside with steady, purposeful steps.

No matter how many times he added up the elements "Benton Fraser" and "woman in distress," he always came up with the same answer.

Trouble.

*** *** ***

"All right, so which one is he?" Stan squinted through the thick haze of smoke, illuminated by dim streaks of color from neon-tube signs behind the bar. The music threatened to vaporize his eardrums. He scanned the room with a trained eye, seeking out furtive or self-conscious body language, anyone who seemed not to fit in.

Their own trio certainly fell into that category. Ben wore a dress shirt and slacks, and Mary a tank top and sweats in matching tones of pink. Her dark hair was pulled back with a pink fuzzy elastic. Stan had pocketed his badge, and hunched over their table, trying to be unobtrusive.

"He was at the bar a second ago." He had to almost read her lips to get what she was saying. Ben kept shooting him apologetic glances; Stan was all but ignoring him.

"What is it that you want us to do, ma'am?" he made himself ask.

"Well, it seems obvious to *me.* We need to find out who he *is.* He didn't drive here, I saw him walk up the street and inside. So he must live close, right?" She was practically hissing across the table at them.

Stan looked at Ben, then back at her, a feeling of dread rising. "Ma'am, you're not suggesting--"

"We wait until he leaves, and then we follow him to see where he goes," she said as if they were missing something blatantly apparent.

"We can't allow you to do anything so dangerous, Mary," Ben said.

"What's dangerous? I know this area, it's not bad. It's not even dark out yet. He won't even know I'm there, anyway, why should he? I'll walk a block behind him. And once I see him go into his building, I'll *know* who he is and you'll have to do something." Her eyes flashed at them, daring them to contradict this.

"Absolutely out of the question." Stan was pleased to hear the firmness in Fraser's tone, but he was wary of the looks the Mountie was suddenly sending his way.

She frowned and bent her head to rummage in a small pack attached to her waist. Placing her fist in the middle of the table, she uncurled her fingers slowly to reveal a small canister. "See? I've got protection."

Stan closed his eyes and drew a steadying breath. "Ma'am, Mace won't do anything but piss a guy off unless you get very, very lucky. Now like Fraser says, this isn't anything you should be concerning yourself with."

"Really, Mary." Ben put a gentle hand on her arm. "I must insist--"

She gasped suddenly, almost pointed with a finger, yanking it back and into her lap at the last moment. Jerked her chin in a frantic gesture. "That's him, there he goes! There he *goes*!"

She was indicating a direction behind Stan's back; he knew better than to turn his head. He saw that Fraser's eyes had picked up a movement and were tracking it. Ben spoke gently but firmly. "Mary, we'll handle this. All right? Now I want you to go out to your car and get in it, and drive directly home, and I'll call you in a little while and let you know what we found out. All right? Will you promise me that?"

She looked from one to the other of them. Ben's eyes were on the door. Stan began to get to his feet.

She seemed to come to a decision. "All--all right." All three of them rose, exited the bar one by one, Ben leading.

In the parking lot, they stood in the gathering dusk, watching as her trim, pink-clad figure jogged across the street to the health club parking lot and got into a small red Toyota. Then Ben touched Stan's arm. "He's headed west. Come on."

They moved slowly along the sidewalk, keeping the target about a block ahead of them. He was only a kid, looking barely old enough to be in a bar, which might have accounted for his apparent nervousness. Hispanic-looking, with wide dark eyes and a shock of unruly black hair, he wore a dark blue sleeveless tee, baggy, hanging down over his waist, and loosefitting slacks.

"Remind me again why we're doing this." Stan's voice was a low hiss.

"Because," answered Ben out of the corner of his mouth, "if we don't, she will. Believe me, Stan, I spent the better part of forty-five minutes trying to talk her out of it. I consider myself lucky she called me at all. Remarkably determined woman." His mouth twitched up in an admiring smile.

"You have a plan in mind?"

"It seems the only way to disabuse her of the notion that this young man is the responsible party is to get some information on him. If we can establish an ID, we can--"

"Yeah yeah, see if he's got a record. Jeez, Frase. Why can't you do anything the easy way?"

"Stan. I really do appreciate--"

Stan sighed. "Let's pick it up, he's on the move. Come on."

Neither of them noticed the gliding, green metal shadow on their tail.

*** *** ***

The kid had been shooting furtive glances over his shoulder for the last few blocks, forcing them to drop further behind and pause before store windows. They pasted animated smiles on their faces, pretending to be a couple of buddies out for an evening stroll.

He certainly did seem nervous about something, Stan noted as they moved forward again. As they began to increase their pace, the kid abruptly turned into an alleyway between two buildings.

Stan sighed heavily. Terrific, now they were probably going to be treated to an exhibition of the guy taking a leak. He moved in front of Fraser, motioning him to stay back, and inched himself cautiously around the corner of the building.

The report was deafening in the narrow space, echoing and resounding off high brick walls, filling Stan's head with white light and noise and pain. He felt the slug graze the inside of his left leg just above the knee, the sudden bolt of agony knocking him backwards, balance lost, fingers scrabbling madly for his revolver even as he fell heavily onto his back, his head cracking the pavement with sickening force. The world rapidly began to disappear beneath layers of greyness.

He got his own tongue between his teeth and bit down on it viciously, forcing consciousness. He had the gun drawn, but could not see where to aim it. Vision was going. He felt Ben's hands on him, dimly heard him speaking...and then there was another voice, instantly recognizable, louder and harsher than he had ever heard it before.

"FREEZE! DROP IT RIGHT NOW OR SO HELP ME GOD I'LL BLOW YOUR MOTHERFUCKING HEAD OFF! *NOW*!"

Distinctly, Stan heard the clatter of a weapon hitting the pavement. It was the last clear sound he heard; the impressions on his fogged brain fast becoming incomprehensible. He waited, straining his ears for the sound of his partner reading the kid his rights, cuffing him. Nothing. Oh Jesus, Ray. Don't...Groaning, he seized a handful of Ben's shirt as he bent over him and pulled him downwards.

"Fraser. Don't...let....him..... Don't...." And the world went black. The last rippling echo of awareness was Ben's steady voice, murmuring, "I won't, Ray."

But that might only have been imagination.

*** *** ***

"Ray. Ray, he's dropped the weapon." Ben's voice was distinct, although quiet, but it did not at first appear to register. Ray stood with his feet braced apart, his gun trained directly at the kid's chest. His hands shook. Ben clearly saw his finger move to caress the trigger with a whisperlight touch.

"*Ray.*" Ben was standing now, one hand lifted. "We need to help Stan--"

Ray whipped around to look at him, swinging the gun forward. Ben raised his hands, fingers outspread. His eyes sought Ray's, stared into their furious green depths.

Slowly, Ray brought the gun down. He held Ben's gaze for a moment longer, then turned to face the gunman, aiming nothing more deadly than his own glittering eyes into his face. "You have the right to remain silent." The words fell with terrible, measured slowness as he approached, unhooking cuffs from his belt. "If you choose--"

"Police??" A dramatic transformation came over the kid's face, his terrified expression changing to something almost like joy. He dropped to his knees, looked up at Ray. "Police!"

"Police, policia, gendarmes, police!" Ray pulled back his suit jacket, revealing the badge at his waist.

"Police!" the kid sobbed again. He reached forward, allowed Ray to close one of the cuffs around his wrist, offering no resistance when he was tugged to his feet and pulled alongside the nearest wall. Ray snapped the remaining cuff around a convenient metal pipe, turned his back, and promptly forgot the young man's existence.

His lover lay sprawled on the dirty pavement, eyes closed, his gun lying beside one outstretched hand.

*** *** ***

Stan was lying across the mouth of the alley, too close to the path of incoming traffic. Ray slipped an arm under his shoulders, felt his unresponsive heaviness. He bit back a groan of terror and frustration.

And then there were strong hands helping him, sliding beneath the dead weight in his arms, their combined effort easily lifting Stan's boneless form. Ben shot a look into Ray's eyes, waited silently for direction. Ray swallowed the tight knot of rage and fear in his throat, jerked his head sideways.

"Help me--help me get him over near that wall."

The two of them half-carried, half-slid him a few feet, out of harm's way. Stan groaned deep in his throat, his eyelids slitting momentarily, revealing whiteness. The left leg of his jeans was stiff and soaked with blood. Ray's shaking fingers pulled the shredded fabric away from the wound, eliciting another low moan.

"Jesus God. He's--"

"Femoral artery." Ben shifted up on his knees, whipped off his belt. His eyes were shocked; yet his voice was cool, steady, almost clinical. As if he were conducting a not particularly exciting seminar in trauma first aid. "Impossible to stanch the flow by direct pressure, Ray. He could bleed to death in a matter of minutes."

"Tourniquet--"

"It may be the only chance. Get on the radio, Ray, I have him."

Ray hesitated for bare seconds, watching as Ben looped the leather strap around Stan's thigh and pulled it into a tight cinch, the movements of his hands swift and sure. He looked around, took in the small knot of people gathered on the opposite side of the street, watching.

"Hey! One of you rubbernecks go call 911! Go on!" He flashed the badge at his waist for good measure. The spectators looked at each other, and one or two of them began to move off down the sidewalk at a rapid pace. But Ray knew far better than to trust what they would do. He turned and sprinted for the Riviera.

When he got back, Ben had the belt looped in two tight coils around Stan's leg. He had removed his own immaculate white dress shirt and folded it into a makeshift cushion beneath his head. Ray noted with faint relief that the fabric showed no signs of blood.

He looked into his lover's face. Beads of sweat stood out on the pale forehead and he brushed them away with trembling fingers. Stan's eyes rolled beneath clammy lids; a low, slurred muttering came from his throat. "You gotta...hell of a right hook, Vecchio..." And he was gone again, his head drooping sideways.

Ben's quiet voice. "I believe he's...stable, Ray. For the moment." He was holding Stan's wrist gently in his fingers. "His pulse is holding steady. In fact I think there's a good chance the artery was missed." Ben was not looking at Ray's face.

Ray took a deep, steadying breath. "He's--he's gonna be all right." Even as the words left his mouth he was surprised to find that he almost believed them. "I won't--we won't lose him." Slowly, his terror began to notch itself down to manageable levels.

Ben looked up, a startled expression in the blue eyes. Ray regarded him, feeling the insane surge of fury that had propelled him into the alley begin to fade, extinguished before the look on the Mountie's face, the simple, absolute knowledge that if it were possible for Fraser to switch places with the man who now lay bleeding before them, he would do it instantaneously and without question.

Ben dropped his eyes. "Ray. It's my fault he--"

"Yeah, Fraser, it is. I was ready to shoot *you*, couple minutes ago."

"I'm surprised you haven't." Faint siren wails in the distance.

Ray brushed Stan's matted hair back from his forehead. "This--this woulda been me, two years ago. Never could say no to you."

"You have a right to be angry, Ray."

"Oh, I am angry, Fraser. But I'm not gonna shoot you." They looked up as colored lights splashed across the wall; heard the squeal of tires and the opening of doors. "Stay with him. I gotta talk to patrol."

Ray got up as the EMTs crowded around, and strode purposefully towards the uniformed officers who had emerged from a squad car. He gave them terse instructions on how he wanted the gunman handled. The kid was still cuffed to the pipe, watching the proceedings with strangely apathetic eyes.

"Book him on weapons and assault; and don't tell him nothing but what I told you to. I'll want him for questioning at eight hundred hours tomorrow. This one's *mine*, you boys got that?"

"Yes, Detective. We got it."

The ambulance doors slammed and its siren cut the night. As it moved off, Ray spotted Fraser against the far wall, shrugging back into his now-grimy shirt. He approached him, watching Ben's eyes grow cautious.

"You take a taxi out here?"

"Uh, yes, Ray. I can call for another one. No problem."

"Come on. I'll give you a ride to the hospital."

Ben stared back at him. Ray lifted his hand, stepped back. "I'm leaving *now*, Fraser. You're either comin' or you're not, make up your--"

"Thank you, Ray."

*** *** ***

The two of them sat in the sparsely populated hospital cafeteria, untouched cups of watery tea before them. Fraser had gently insisted on removing Ray from the scene of controlled chaos two floors below them to wait out the necessary time.

They'd pulled up at Emergency Admitting just behind the ambulance. After a tense thirty minutes punctuated by pacing, badge-flashing, and haranguing of an ER nurse who seemed singularly unintimidated by either Ray's bluster or his shield, a calm-looking young resident had emerged from the crash room where Stan had been taken and approached them. Ray stood immediately.

"You here for Officer Kowalski?"

"Is he all right?"

The doctor took in Ray's tense expression, the badge at his waist. "You his CO? Well, relax. You'll have your man back good as new. Return to active duty within a week, I'd anticipate, *if* he follows orders." He shook his head and flipped a page on his clipboard. "Cops. Anyway, he was lucky. The bullet struck no major vessels in the leg, left a quite nasty but superficial wound. He's being sutured now, there'll be residual muscle weakness and lack of coordination, temporary. There has also been some blood loss, not enough to warrant transfusion, but he may experience some faintness or dizziness. He hasn't been X-rayed yet, but based on examination he has not sustained a skull fracture or major concussion, just a bump on the--"

"Can I see him?"

The resident looked up from his notes, a vaguely surprised expression on his face. "He's all right, Officer, really. It's kind of a zoo back there right now. The surgeon's finishing up, and then he's gotta wait for the Radiology techs." He looked at his watch. "Check back in forty-five minutes." He turned on his heel and strode back through the swinging doors before Ray could argue.

Nearly lightheaded with relief, Ray caught sight of the Mountie standing a little apart from him, his expression uncertain. They locked eyes for a brief moment, and then Ray gave him a wry smile. "You hear that?"

"Yes, Ray. It's good news." He stepped hesitantly closer. "Perhaps we should find someplace more quiet, to wait."

Twenty minutes later, Ray broke the near-silence in which they'd been wrapped. He stared at the table, a troubled expression on his face.

"Fraser."

"Yes, Ray."

Vecchio cleared his throat. "I guess I oughta thank you for what you did back there. I woulda...well. It's just a good thing you were there to snap me out of it." His brooding frown deepened.

"You wouldn't have, Ray. You're far too good a policeman. I wasn't worried for a moment."

"No, huh?"

"In a situation like that, an officer's training takes over. It's instinctive. That's why the patterns of behavior are so ingrained during the training process, so that an officer may rely on--" But Ray was shaking his head.

"I was goin' on instinct, all right. But it wasn't the right one. I didn't even identify myself. Kid didn't know I was a cop until I went to take him in. Took me for a street thug. It didn't matter, this time around, but--"

"I see," Ben ventured, an attentive expression in the blue eyes. "You're afraid your objectivity may have been compromised by--"

"Fraser." His voice was low, almost a whisper, but steady and intense. "I was tailing you two, and everything was cool. I was almost bored, you know? Telling myself I was totally wasting my time. But I had that little tingle, that sense you get. I *knew* when to park the car and start foot shadowing, and I did. I had the flow...I was seeing everything, hearing everything, none of you three had made me. I was a block back, and one hundred percent cop--and then, in a fucking microsecond, the instant he went down it was all gone. It was *gone.*" His hand had begun to shake; he reached out and curled it around the innocent styrofoam cup. Ben watched him, not speaking.

Ray licked his lips. "I don't remember drawing. I don't remember running up the block, but I must have flown to be able to catch him before he made the back fence--he was running for it, you know. My hands were shaking worse than this and I was sweating, all in the space of two seconds. I remember screaming, and this kid's eyes, huge, staring at me like I was the devil himself. I--I don't remember him dropping the gun, but I know he did. I knew it then, but for a moment--for a tiny moment, Fraser, I didn't care."

He closed his eyes, shook his head. When he opened them again it was to find his friend's face, gentle, sympathetic...but not overly concerned. Ray frowned, leaning slightly closer. "I've been rattled before, it happens to all of us at some point. Someone you know gets stabbed or killed or held at gunpoint. You chase a guy down and cuff him and turn him over and he turns out to be your best friend from grade school. Christ, Fraser, I even shot *you*--and that screwed me up six ways to Sunday, but it didn't scare me like I am now. Like today."

His voice soothing, Ben interjected, "Ray, there's no reason to worry about Stan. His injuries were far less severe than we at first feared, and I'm sure that--"

"Not what I'm talking about." Ray stared unseeingly at the stained Formica tabletop, the fingers of one hand curling and uncurling. "I lost the cop, Fraser. I was acting on emotion, pure emotion, and that's fatal to what I do. If it was some kinda extreme situation that I knew wouldn't ever happen again, I could pass it off. But he's my partner; it *will* happen again. And if I can't get my shit together, it could end up costin' me my shield or my life. Or *his.*"

He said nothing more, just sat with his shoulders hunched tensely over the table, the cup of cooling liquid held tightly in one hand. After a moment's silence, he raised a troubled glance into Ben's face.

The Mountie's expression was serious, but he did not look shocked or particularly disturbed. "Ray. I do understand your concern. It's perfectly natural under the circumstances. But I also have great confidence in your professionalism and experience. I've never known them to fail you, and I don't believe they'll start now."

Ray relaxed a fraction and let out a slow breath. "I won't let them. I'll either get a handle on it, or I'll ask for a reassignment." He set his jaw, pushing himself back in the hard, uncomfortable chair.

"If--if it would help, Ray..." Ben was looking down at his hands. "I'd be willing to offer myself, as a--neutral observer, if you will. You know I'd always give you an honest opinion." He lifted his eyes to Ray's face. "You could talk to me, if you find yourself...worried, or concerned. I'll listen, and I'll tell you what I really feel. And if I felt there was the slightest chance, Ray, that you could be a danger to yourself or others--"

"Benny. You're--" Ray shook his head, at a loss for words.

"Of course, it's also none of my business, so I quite understand if you resent my presumptuousness. I'm sure you can handle it yourself, as you stated." He picked up his tea and sipped from it, not meeting Ray's eyes.

Incredibly, Ray felt a smile trying to quirk his lips. "You know something, Fraser? I'm glad you're back." He dropped his eyes, suddenly unable to look the Mountie in the face. "And I'm really glad you were there today. If you hadn't been--"

"If it hadn't been for me, none of this would have happened." Ben's tone was edged. Completely forgetting that this exact thought had been burning in his own brain less than an hour ago, Ray turned serious eyes into his former partner's face.

"Knock it off, Benny. None of this was your fault. All three of us are veteran cops and *none* of us saw it coming. All's you did was save an innocent woman from gettin' shot or raped or worse."

"Even so, Ray. I had no right to drag you two into my personal entanglements. I get too involved for my own good, sometimes."

Ray reached out without thinking and put a hand on Fraser's arm. "Don't you dare change. You hear me? Don't you ever. We should all be like that."

Ben looked at him, frankly astonished. Ray blinked, seemingly a little taken aback himself. He shook his head slowly. "I spent a year, Fraser, surrounded by people that...that could almost make me forget guys like you even existed. It made me appreciate--" He broke off. "Let's go on up, okay? I think they should be just about through with him."

They got up and headed towards the door, Ray feeling the relaxed, suffusing warmth of relief and gratitude. He glanced at Ben's profile. "Hey, how about comin' back with us, if you're not doin' anything? I could use a hand gettin' dinner on."

"Ray. Are you--are you sure? You really want me, uhm. That is--"

"Look, Fraser, if you're uncomfortable, I understand." They reached the elevators and Ray thumbed the button, fixing his eyes on the indicator panels above the cars. "I'd appreciate the company, tell you the truth. He'll be out of it for a while, and..."

"All right, Ray." Ben spoke so quietly Ray barely heard him. The elevator pinged, the doors opened. They got into the empty car and watched silently as the doors slid shut.

"Ray."

"Yeah, Benny."

"I must ask--oh, dear." He frowned down at the floor. Ray turned curious eyes on him.

"What?"

Suddenly, Ben leaned forward and pressed the Stop button. The car shuddered to a halt. Ray gaped.

"Benton Fraser halting a public elevator in a non-emergency situation? What's the world coming to? There could be little old ladies waiting for this elevator, and we're rudely holding it up!"

"*Ray.* This is serious. Would you--"

"In a *hospital,* no less. Someone could be waiting to transport a *patient* via this--"

"Oh my goodness, you're quite right. What am I thinking." Ben slapped the button again and the car lurched into motion before Ray could speak further. He shot an amused glance at Ben's discomfited expression.

"Geez, Benny, why don't you just use a supply closet like we used to?"

"Well, Ray, unfortunately, it's been my experience that in hospitals, they have a tendency to be locked." The doors slid open, and they emerged into a bustling corridor. Ray flashed the Mountie another look, his mood suddenly sobering. "Did you have something you wanted to tell me before we--"

Ben scanned the area, then tilted his head in the direction of an alcove containing a bank of pay phones which was momentarily empty. Ray followed him into the small space. "What is it, Benny? I want to get back in there, he might be looking for--"

"I just wanted to make sure, Ray, that--" He paused, looking acutely uncomfortable. Ray saw with amazement that a faint pinkness touched Ben's cheeks. "I didn't want there to be any misunderstanding, with regard to--oh dear." He broke off and closed his eyes briefly.

Understanding flashed through Ray's mind.

"No misunderstandings, Fraser. You're his friend, you're my friend. Okay?" His smile was a bit rueful. "I'll be honest. A few hours ago I wasn't sure I ever wanted to see you again. But I'm glad I did. I..." His tone softened. "I missed you."

Ben sighed softly. "I missed you as well, Ray. I'm glad that...well."

Ray shot a sharp look into Ben's face, then dropped his eyes to stare down at the tips of his shoes. "Benny, you all right with--well, with me and him being--"

"It's nothing I can't handle, Ray." There was a momentary flicker of emotion in Ben's face, and then his gentle, serene expression returned. "Really."

Ray looked at him a moment and then glanced down the hallway. "Enough jawing, all right? Let's go."

"All right, Ray."

*** *** ***

Stan drifted in and out of awareness. He'd been more or less conscious since the ambulance ride, but he felt faint and disoriented, oddly detached from his surroundings. His head ached; there was an annoying, wasplike pain in his inner elbow where an IV had been inserted. He lay on a narrow cot, his upper body raised. A curtain shielded his view from the bustle and noise going on beyond it, but he knew he was in the busy, chaotic "crash area" of the ER.

A few minutes ago he'd been transferred from a small room where a whistling surgeon had sutured the gash in his leg, keeping up a running stream of chatter. Stan understood that they had wanted to keep him alert due to his head injury, but it had been hard to concentrate on the doctor's inconsequential words over the worries crowding his mind. He could not feel the bandage now due to the residual effects of the local anesthetic.

He made a conscious effort to pull himself together, wanting nothing more than to get out of here and knowing he wouldn't be allowed to if they thought he was on the verge of passing out. He bit his lip and shifted upwards in the bed, fighting a wave of dizziness. A movement of the curtain caught his eye; he looked up in time to see his partner slip around it and pull it back behind him.

"Hey, babe." The soft voice carried clearly to his ears over the racket outside. Ray was smiling at him, but there were purple shadows under his eyes; his normally warm-toned skin was noticeably pale.

"Hey, Vecchio," he tried to say, but his voice cracked. He ran his tongue over dry lips.

Ray stepped closer, darting a quick glance around the comparative privacy within the flimsy partition before leaning over to press a swift, gentle kiss on his cool forehead. He whispered shakily against Stan's skin. "S-scared the shit out of me, Kowalski."

Stan turned his face towards him, sighing as Ray touched their foreheads together momentarily. He felt warm fingers squeeze his. Ray straightened up abruptly, all too aware that they could be interrupted at any time.

Stan cleared his throat, tried again to speak. "My fault. Idiot. Shoulda drawn before--"

"Knock it off, Stan. You were following some kid home from a bar, no reason to suspect he'd be packing. Nothing but bad fucking luck."

"Bad luck." Stan tried again to shift upwards in bed, blinking as the throbbing in his head increased. "How bad? They tell you anything they're not telling me?"

"You're fine, love. No permanent damage."

"Don't feel fine. Shit..." He grimaced.

"You've got a shitload of stitches in you and you lost a two-liter Pepsi bottle's worth of blood, all right, Kowalski? Lie still. "

Stan shook his head, his face white. "I want out of here, Ray. My X-rays were clear, I think they're gonna let me go."

"I want to take you home, love. But we'll see what the doctor says. I don't--"

"Ray." Stan's eyes sought his partner's. "Uhh. The perp--"

"He's in custody. Came quietly. No, uhh, use of force required." He dropped his eyes, then lifted them back to his partner's face. Stan looked unmistakably relieved.

"That's good, Ray."

A momentary silence fell between them, and then Ray said softly, "Fraser's here, Stan. Worried about you."

Stan looked up at him, a small surprised smile touching his features. "Christ, I almost forgot he was there. Are you two--uhh."

"We've managed not to knock the shit out of each other." Ray felt something in his heart turn over at the hopeful light that sparked in Stan's eyes. He leaned closer to look into his lover's face. "I asked him to come back with us, if that's okay with you."

"Of course it's--"

The curtain was thrust back briskly as Dr. Clipboard entered, his face distracted but smiling. "All right, Mr--" He broke off at the sight of Ray, cleared his throat. Continued. "I'm prepared to authorize your release at this time--*with* the following provisions." He fixed Stan with a stern glare, then dropped his eyes to his notes. "You are to stay *off* that leg for at least three days, after which time light exercise is permissible. You'll go home with a pair of crutches; you will *use* them for a week. The nurse will provide you instructions on bathing the wound. I suggest Extra-Strength Tylenol if you experience discomfort. Eat well and often and keep your fluid intake up. Red meat, red wine. If that headache doesn't quit by tomorrow, or if you experience nausea, vertigo, flashes of light, double vis--"

"Yeah yeah, Doc. I got it. I been whacked on the head before, I'll be okay."

The resident folded his arms. "Officer Vecchio informs me you'll have someone staying with you at home for the next several days. That is very advisable. You can tell your captain I'll clear you for duty in seven days." His smile returned. "All right, I'll send the nurse with the wheelchair."

*** *** ***

"Jeez, Ray. This backseat is roomier than my *bed.*" He smiled groggily and lay back across the cool vinyl.

"That's because this is a *car,* Stan, not a tin can. Fraser, pass me that blanket."

"Ray, cut it out, it's seventy degrees out. Let's just get goin', okay?" He flashed a real grin into his partner's face. During the discharge procedures and on the way out to the car, he'd taken in the quiet, friendly interaction between Fraser and Ray. Those simple observations seemed to be doing more to heal him than all the ministrations of the hospital staff. He felt a sweet, warm gladness settle in the vicinity of his heart; a tension he hadn't known he'd been feeling blissfully released.

Ray got into the driver's seat and immediately twisted around to face him. Ben turned his head from the passenger side. Two pairs of eyes regarded him with concern. Stan didn't know whether to giggle or groan at them.

"How are you feeling, Stan?" Ben inquired solicitously.

"I'm fine, I just want to get home. Put it in gear already, Vecchio, willya." The giggles seemed to be winning out. He stifled them with effort.

"You let me know if I'm goin' too fast. I don't want these damned potholes makin' your head worse. And if that cut on your leg starts bleedin' you speak up, you got it?"

"I won't bleed on your upholstery, Vecchio, don't worry."

Ben chimed in. "What about nausea? Do you have any stomach upset?"

"Yeah, Stan, you *definitely* tell me if you're gonna--"

"*Guys*--"

"Oh, and double vision. That's a warning sign, I believe." Ben leaned over the seatback slightly. "Are you experiencing any double vision?"

"Yeah, I see two annoying cops in my face! Let's *go!*"

Ben blinked. Ray turned around, twisted the key. The powerful engine roared to life. "He's okay, Benny. We can quit worryin'." He pulled out into traffic, genuinely smiling for the first time in hours. They rolled along in comparative silence, the constant motion beginning to lull Stan to sleep.

"Uhh, Ray." The Mountie spoke quietly. Stan opened one eye in the backseat.

"What, Benny?" Ray's voice was almost jaunty. The car took a slow, swooping turn, Stan shifting only slightly to one side.

"Ahh, nothing, Ray." Silence again.

Stan raised his voice. "What's the matter, Frase?"

"Nothing, Stan. Ray's failing to make use of his directional flashers to indicate turns. I think he does it just to annoy me."

"Would I do that?" Another slow right.

Stan braced himself with his good foot, biting his lower lip to keep from guffawing. "You know something, Frase? I think you're right."

"I know I'm right." He folded his arms.

"Benny?"

"Yes, Ray." He sighed.

There was a lengthy pause. Ray waited until the Mountie turned to look at him, his expression just slightly exasperated, the blue eyes calm and very faintly twinkling.

"I'm really glad you're back."

Stan stopped trying to hold the laughter back and it pealed upwards, ricocheting merrily around the interior of the car. Vecchio leaned forward in mock-irritation and turned the radio on loudly, trying to drown him out. Ben looked from one to the other of them, then resolutely out the windshield, an unbidden and inexplicable smile curving his lips.

*** *** ***

"All right, guys." Stan lay back on the couch, head propped on a pillow as he cradled a small cardboard container of lo mein against his chest. He gestured with a chopstick. "Somethin' ain't addin' up."

"The whole setup smells," Ray agreed, reaching across the cluttered coffee table for a paper napkin. "I don't want you worryin' about it, Stan. I'll get it all outta this kid tomorrow." He shot a glance over at Fraser. "Ben'll help me."

Ben raised an eyebrow at him from where he sat on the floor, back propped against a chair. "I'd be pleased to offer any assistance I can, Ray, but are you--"

"I just got an idea I might want you on this," Ray said around a mouthful of moo shi. "I'm comin' in cold, you got all the background there is."

"Ray, there *is* no background," Stan put in. "Unless you're counting--jeez, Frase, do we think this crazy broad had something right after all?"

Ben cleared his throat. "I don't think we can draw any connections between the shooting and Ms. McPherson's suspicions. What we know to this point is..." He held up a hand, began enumerating points on his fingers. "One, he's been positively identified as the customer who twice appeared in her store, paid for an item in what appeares to be a legitimate transaction, yet provided false identifying information."

Stan looked over at Ray. "He been ID'ed yet?"

"Yeah, I called the station. Somebody Mendoza. Not Rodriguez, anyway."

"All right, so the falsification has been confirmed," Ben went on. "Two, he appeared highly agitated during our surveillance; more so than would be warranted even if he'd picked up on the fact we were tailing him, as it seems clear he had." He frowned. "None of us appeared threatening in any way. His reaction seemed entirely out of proportion to the perceived danger we presented, especially considering the risk he exposed himself to and was in fact caught by. It suggests--"

"He was scared shitless of something and it wasn't the cops," Ray said. "He didn't even know we *were* cops." His jaw tensed momentarily.

"And in fact, Ray," Ben's steady voice. "When he found out you *were*, he seemed almost...relieved."

"Yeah, I caught that. Seems one small part of my brain was operational after all. I remember that." He frowned. "If he was the guy who knocked over this lady's store, he shouldn't be turning cartwheels to be taken in. No, there's a missing piece. I'll see what I can get outta him tomorrow. Probably it's nothing, guys. No connection. Just some paranoid crackhead with an itchy finger."

"You think he's strung out, Ray?" Stan nibbled thoughtfully on the end of his chopstick. "I dunno. Seemed a little hyped up, but--"

"He's not a heavy user yet but he may be headin' down the path. I seen plenty of it. It gets hold of them real fast, they start pullin' shit they maybe never would have before. That might be what's goin' on here."

"I believe I'll check in with Mary tomorrow," Ben mused. "She might have some additional information. It appears we might need it. And I never got back to her tonight as I promised to. I feel badly about that."

"All right, Fraser. I'm questioning him first thing in the morning, if I don't like what I get out of him we'll go see your ladyfriend."

"She's hardly--well. All right." He smiled into his fried rice.

Stan sat up slowly, began to shift himself over the edge of the couch. They looked at him.

"You all right, Stan?"

"Are you in pain? Something wrong?" Ben's concerned voice.

"Jeez, guys, chill. I just want to get to bed. I'm wiped out."

"You'll kill yourself, Kowalski. Take my arm. Here--"

Ben rose, holding out his own hand. "Do you require assistance getting to the, err--?"

"If you two don't stop fussing I'm throwing the both of yas out! Somebody hand me that crutch, and then back off."

"You can't throw us out, Stan." Ray grinned at him. "We promised that doctor you'd have someone with you."

"Yeah? What're you gonna do, draw straws for the honor?"

"No." Ray spoke quietly. "Fraser's staying, I'm going. I gotta be at the station first thing. I got no clothes here."

Two pairs of astonished eyes looked his way. He stared back into Ben's face. "What about it, Benny, there a problem?"

"Uhh, no, of course not, Ray. It's just--" He cleared his throat, glanced at the couch. Stan was looking at his partner.

Ben reached for a napkin and wiped his fingers. He frowned slightly. "If you'll excuse me, I think I'll wash my hands." He was gone.

"*Ray.* Are you--"

Ray leaned towards him, took his mouth in a swift kiss. "Don't want you alone, baby. And I gotta sleep, gotta get up early. I didn't think you'd mind if he--"

"Of course *I* don't mind, but Ray, just last week you were ready to--"

"So whattaya know, Kowalski, I grew up. Okay?" He winked at him.

Stan gave him his slow smile. "Wonders never cease, Vecchio. Okay. Look, don't leave me hanging here tomorrow. I wanna know what goes down. One of yas call me, or I swear I'll come in just to see what's going on."

"Don't you dare, Stan. You take it easy and heal up. I need--" He sighed, looked into his lover's face. "I need you with me, damnit."

A discreet cough from the doorway caused them both to smile. Ben stood there, looking from one to the other. Ray stood up.

"All right, if you two think you can manage to stay out of *trouble* from here on in, I'll be going." He threw them each a glare, then strolled over and put a hand on Ben's elbow. He looked directly into the Mountie's eyes, his tone low and deadly serious.

"Take care of him."

Ben's mouth dropped open, closed again. "Of course, Ray. I--"

"Good night, Benny." He opened the door and was gone.

*** *** ***

Ray strode down the station hallway towards the squadroom with his brows drawn together in an irritated frown. So far, the morning had not gone well.

His first stop had been an obligatory meeting with Welsh, whom he'd called briefly from the hospital the night before. His explanation of his partner's evening adventure had not been well received, particularly when he revealed that Fraser was back in town and had been involved. Welsh had thrown up his hands, eyes rolling to the heavens as he demanded of any deities who may have been listening why none of his detectives appeared to be capable of handling their responsibilities without the assistance or interference of a certain Canadian. Ray had carefully held his temper while attempting to set the lieutenant straight. His goal was to leave the meeting with official responsibility for the interrogation of the gunman, Lando Mendoza; and he'd been granted this, grudgingly. He didn't dare to push his luck by asking permission for Fraser to assist him. He planned to arrange this anyway, and deal with any fallout after the fact.

Mendoza had seemed initially uncooperative and sullen, but Ray was expert at reading witnesses and suspected that this one would be willing, even eager, to talk, given the proper incentive. Ray played his cards close to the vest, as was customary for him when beginning interrogations. The kid had no information beyond what he himself had seen the night before; the arresting and booking officers had spoken only to explain the charges against him in minimalist terms and to apprise him of his rights.

At first he told Ray he didn't want to talk without a lawyer. Ray agreeably told him that was fine, he'd see about arranging an appointment, but the PD's schedules were pretty full, maybe at the end of the day today, maybe tomorrow...?

Mendoza had scowled at him, appearing to think it over as he kicked the leg of the interrogation table with one scuffed sneaker. He muttered to himself. Allowed as how this whole setup was unfair. Mentioned he'd been minding his own business when these two guys came outta nowhere and were gonna jump him. Or something. He hadn't meant the gun to go off. His finger had slipped. He was scared. No, he wasn't in any kind of trouble. No, he didn't know anything about any store break-ins.

He'd begun to clam up again when Ray pressed him on this latter issue, and Ray broke off the questioning, sending him back to the lockup to sweat awhile. Ray's mood was not improved when he returned to his desk to be faced with the same pileup of reports he'd abandoned the evening before.

He rolled up his sleeves and plowed into them grimly, not noticing the passage of time. It was after noon when he heard a quiet cough and looked up, into a blaze of red.

Ben stood at his desk in full uniform, smiling a little uncertainly down at him. "Ray. I wonder if--"

"Hey, Benny. Have a seat. I got nothing to report on our guy so far, but I ain't played all my aces yet."

"Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about." He lowered himself into the uncomfortable chair beside Ray's desk, glancing around the room. "By the way, is the lieutenant quite well? I greeted him when I arrived, but he--"

"Uh, he's fine, Fraser." Ray chuckled. "Just, uhh, busy this morning. Hold on a sec. I forgot to call Stan, he'll be wondering what's going on." He cradled the handset against his shoulder, punched the buttons. Shot a look at Ben's face. "He was all right when you left, I assume?"

"Oh yes, Ray." Ben cleared his throat. "However--"

Ray held up a hand, listening. Shook his head, an exasperated expression coming over his face. "He ain't pickin' up." He replaced the receiver. "I hope for his sake that he's just in bed with his cell turned off."

"Actually, Ray, I spoke to him not long ago. You see, after I left him this morning I decided to go over and see Ms. McPherson at the shop. And--"

"You wanna go grab some lunch while you tell me about this, Benny?"

"Well, in fact, Ray, I obtained some information rather important to the case, and that's why I came over as quickly as I could. I think you'd better see--"

"Well, spit it out, Fraser, geez."

Ben came as close to rolling his eyes as he ever did. "I am attempting to, Ray." He reached into his tunic pocket and withdrew a folded sheet of paper. "You see, I felt it would be prudent to gather any information on this young man that Mary might have available, and something rather interesting has come to light." He handed the paper over.

Ray unfolded it, gazed at the rough pencil drawing for about five seconds, then suddenly sat bolt upright in his chair. "Holy shit. Fraser, where the fuck did you get this? It's--"

"Yes, well, as I said, I was talking to Mary, and--"

Ray got up, stepped over to Stan's adjacent desk and began pawing through a teetering stack of files on the blotter. "Keep talkin', Fraser. I gotta find--Stanley, you're a fucking slob. Where'd you put--"

"Oh, dear." Ben said behind him. "I was afraid of this."

"Afraid of what, Benny? Shit, I can't find--"

"Hey, hands off that, Vecchio. Whatever you need I can find in five seconds flat, but not if you're gonna mess my filin' system all up."

Ray gritted his teeth at the familiar voice and turned slowly around. Stan stood before him, leaning heavily on a single crutch, his forehead creased with concentration. His expression was openly defiant. Ray took a moment to flash a venomous look into the Mountie's face, then folded his arms, drew his brows together and favored his partner with a full-bore double-barreled green-eyed glare.

"Ray, don't start. This is a major break, looks like, and I ain't gonna miss--"

"You coulda called."

"You woulda told me to stay put."

"Yeah, I would've."

They stared belligerently at each other for another few seconds and then Ray kicked Stan's chair out, turned it towards him. "Sit down before you pass out on your feet, Kowalski. Jesus Christ." He shook his head.

Stan dropped painfully into the chair. He couldn't stifle a faint groan, but Ray said nothing more. Ben coughed delicately. "I was telling Ray, Stan--"

"Yeah, he was. Where did this lady get this?" Ray held up the paper. "It looks exactly like--"

"It is, Ray. Except the stone isn't a real rock, it's a phony. Hold on, I got it right here." Stan was sliding a slim file out of the stack on his desk.

Ray lifted his hands. "Somebody--*one* of yas--start at the beginning and tell me what this is and where she got it before I start bashing heads."

"If I may, Stan." Ben leaned forward bravely. "Mary had told us that this young man, this Mendoza, had purchased a piece of what she called cheap jewelry from her. I obtained a sketch of the piece he ordered, and while rough, this represents--"

"So Mendoza goes into a jewelry store and commissions this woman to make to his order a pin that's a lookalike for one that got ripped off in the Delorme homicides." Ray shook his head, frowning fiercely. He spread the paper out on a clear area of Stan's desk and the three of them bent over it.

The sketch showed front and back views of a gold pin in the shape of a crown or tiara, accented by a quite large white sparkling stone. Engraved on the back were the words "Je'taime, Daisy."

Stan pulled a sheet out of the file he held, placed it beside the sketch. They were looking at an insurance appraisal form; the picture in the upper right hand corner a dead-on match for Mary's drawing.

"Well, naturally when I saw this I became suspicious of a connection, and--"

"Good work, Benny. I didn't realize Stan had told you so much about the case and the missing jewelry."

"He hasn't, Ray, actually, but I've been reading the papers. And--"

"You telling me a description of these pieces hit the press? I'm gonna crack some skulls. That could--"

"No, no, Ray. But I did remember the names of the victims, and, well, it seemed obvious to me."

Stan was smiling to himself. Ray shot a look at him, then turned to Ben. "I'm going to regret this, but *what* was obvious?"

"Well, as everyone knows, 'Marguerite' is the common French form of 'daisy,' and 'Etienne' does translate into 'crown.' Also--"

"Oh, silly me. Everyone knows that. So you--"

Stan cut in. "He called me, Ray, and as soon as he'd started tellin' me what that thing looked like I remembered it. So now that we're all caught up, can we figure out what the fuck--"

"Yeah. All right, guys. This is what we're gonna do."

*** *** ***

Lando Mendoza's glittering black eyes shifted nervously around the tiny room, flicking momentarily to Ray's face and then away.

Ray stood with his arms folded across his chest, staring the kid down. After a full minute of silence, Mendoza spoke. "I already told you everything, cop. I don't know nothing more. I got rights, I don't have to sit here and--"

"You'll sit there until I say you can go."

Mendoza gave up on the brief attempt at bravado. He stared sullenly before him, waiting.

"Someone I want you to meet, Lando." Ray stepped to one side as the door opened and Stan entered, leaning heavily on his crutch. His face was tight with discomfort and concentration. He hobbled directly towards the interrogation table and leaned against it to stare down into Mendoza's face.

Lando looked at him, then at Ray, his forehead creasing. "This--this the guy I hit? You, ahh, you look all right, man. Isn't that right?" Stan and Ray were silent. Lando looked from one to the other of them, his voice rising. "He'll be okay, won't he? I'm, ahh, sorry about that, man. Didn't mean to actually--"

Ray interrupted his tremulous babble. "This is Stan Kowalski, Lando."

A beat of silence as Lando returned his wary gaze to the man standing over him. With obvious effort, Stan shifted his weight, reaching into his back pocket with one hand. Pulling out his ID, he flipped it open before Mendoza's startled eyes. The star gleamed dully in the overhead light.

Ray's steady, almost amused voice. "*Detective* Kowalski, that is."

Mendoza's hands flew to his face. "Madre di Dios!" His eyes became huge, then suddenly squinched shut. His skin turned ashen. "You...I...I...I shot a cop." He lapsed into mumbled, unintelligible prayer.

Stan replaced his badge, shifted away from the table and met Ray's eyes. Ray jerked his head at him and Stan hobbled out painfully, taking his time. The door snicked shut behind him.

"Well, Lando?" Ray's tone was conversational.

The mumbled litany cut off in mid-flow. Mendoza lowered his hands, lifted his huge eyes to Ray's face.

"W-what do you want to know?"

*** *** ***

Fraser knocked gently at the door of the small room, pushing it open slightly to peer inside. Mendoza stopped speaking and flashed a look at him. Ray turned in his seat.

"Hey, Benny. Come on in."

Ben entered. He had two cups of coffee balanced in one hand, and a brown paper bag under one arm. He cast a polite smile in Mendoza's direction.

"Ahh, hello. I thought you might like some refreshment while you're talking." He put the cups down on the table and pushed one towards the prisoner.

"Awfully decent of you, Benny." Ray smiled, shook his head. Mendoza frowned, looked up at Ben. His eyes held a faint hint of recognition.

"Who's he?"

"This is Constable Fraser, Lando. He's gonna be joining us."

"Constable?"

"That is correct," Ben said, not elaborating further. He smiled encouragingly, reaching into the paper bag. "Sandwich, Mr. Mendoza?"

Mendoza cleared his throat, gestured with his cuffed hands. "Uhh, sure."

"Ray, is it really necessary--"

Ray rolled his eyes, reached over and unlocked the cuffs. "Have somethin' to eat, Lando. Then you can tell the Constable here what you been tellin' me."

Ben waited while Mendoza chewed his way through half a deli sandwich and drank some lukewarm black coffee. The kid wiped his mouth with the back of one hand, looked from one to the other of them, let out a tired sigh.

"It's like I told you. I didn't know he was a cop. I didn't know he was who he was, at all. I thought he was--someone else."

"Who, Mr. Mendoza?" Ben leaned forward, his face intent.

"I don't know. Some guys that might have been--chasin' me."

"Why were they chasing you?"

"I don't know."

Ray picked a tiny thread off his lapel, his face nonchalant. "I mention what Detective Kowalski's doctors told me, Lando? That limp of his, it's most likely permanent. Ain't that a bitch? He won't be walkin' right for the rest of his life, on accounta you."

Mendoza dropped his face into his hands again. Ben stared at Ray, his expression shocked. Ray took advantage of Mendoza's momentary distraction to shoot Benny an exasperated look. He saw the light dawn in Fraser's face just as Mendoza looked up.

"I--I swear I don't know who they are. I don't even know if they really exist. I was just--afraid. I thought someone was followin' me."

"Why did you think someone might be following you, Mr. Mendoza?" Ben's tone was perfectly polite, calm.

"Well, I--" He faltered.

Ben reached into his pocket and pulled out the paper sketch. He held it out to Mendoza. "Might it have had something to do with this?"

Mendoza's eyes widened. Both Ben and Ray noted the unmistakable flash of recognition in his face.

"W-what's that?"

They looked at him. Mendoza gave it up. He closed his eyes, gripping his shaking hands together before him.

Ben's gentle voice. "You recognize this piece of jewelry, do you not, Mr. Mendoza? Where have you seen it before?"

"I--ahhhh, shit! I didn't do nothin'! I was just tryin' to stay alive!"

Ray frowned, leaning forward. Ben shot him a look, turned back to Mendoza.

"It's true, is it not, Mr. Mendoza, that you visited the Artists' Playground gift store on the afternoon of July the second, and requested that a piece of jewelry like this be made for you?"

Mendoza's eyes were closed tightly. He gave a brusque nod.

"Why, Mr. Mendoza? What did you want with it?"

"I needed it to save my fucking skin, okay?" Mendoza was openly shaking. He groped for his cold coffee, swallowed the remainder with a cough.

Ray's quiet, steely voice. "This would go a lot faster, Lando, if you just told us the whole thing from the beginning."

"All right, all right...fuck it. All right." But he seemed unable to continue. Ben turned his gentle blue eyes and understanding smile towards him.

"Perhaps I can help, Mr. Mendoza. The pin you bought, the stone in it. It wasn't a real diamond, is that right?"

Mendoza nodded again. "I couldn't afford to get one with a real diamond."

"But you had one at some point. That was the piece that this one was intended to replace, isn't that right?"

"Y-yeah."

Ray leaned back in his chair, arms over his chest, staring speculatively at the prisoner. "Okay, Lando. Tell us where you got the *real* one."

"I--I stole it."

"We knew that, Lando." Ray's voice was picking up a warning edge.

"Okay okay. I stole it off some rich old fucks. They--they wasn't even supposed to be home. We...we was just gonna break in and score some cash and jewelry maybe, and blow. They woulda been insured up the ass, and--"

"We, Lando?" Ray was watching him narrowly.

"Ohhh, fuck. Fuck." Mendoza pushed back from the table, seemed about to get up and pace, thought better of it.

"Who did the job with you, Lando?" The conversational tone had vanished from Ray's voice. Mendoza took one look into the hooded green eyes, and capitulated. Ben noted a curious flash of something that may have been relief on his face as he spoke.

"Jimmy. Jimmy the Cowboy, I don't know what his real name is, he wears these--"

"Armand Jimenez." Ray stood up. "Where is he, Lando?"

"I don't know." He looked wildly from Ben to Ray. "I mean it, I don't know! I never saw his place." His voice was rising.

"Doesn't matter. We'll have him picked up in an hour. That was the first smart thing you done since you got in here, Lando." Ray shot Ben a look. "I'll be right back." He shouldered open the door and stepped out.

Mendoza's face was buried in his hands again. His shoulders shook silently.

"What happened to the jewelry, Mr. Mendoza? The real jewelry?"

The kid swiped at his eyes, dropped his hands to his lap. Heaved a trembling sigh. "I had it, buncha stuff. We--we got separated, Jimmy and me, and I kept the stuff on me. I wasn't gonna nick none of it, I wouldn'ta done that to Jimmy. I knew he'd want to split it up himself..."

Ben watched him, his face serious. "But...?"

"He--he disappeared, the heat was all over the place, those two dead fucks were in the papers. I thought maybe he'd left the country. I was holdin' the stuff for him, I knew he'd want it."

The door opened and Ray came back in. "APB issued. You still talkin', Lando?"

"Mr. Mendoza was telling me about the stolen jewelry."

"Yeah? Who offed the Delormes, Lando? You or Jimmy?"

"I didn't even have a gun."

"Not what I asked, Lando."

Mendoza wiped his grubby cheeks with one hand. "He did. They came outta nowhere and surprised us. He heard a noise, he went into the hall and then I heard the shots. I--I got the fuck out."

"And you took the jewelry."

"Yeah."

"What happened to the pin, Lando?"

"It was...it was a couple days later, and I hadn't heard shit from Jimmy and I thought maybe he was gone, and then I started to feel like...I was gettin' kinda low on cash, and I was needing...I wanted--"

"You hadda score a hit, isn't that right? So what'd you do, fence it?"

"No." He picked at a callus on his thumb, his voice flat and tired. "I'm not that fucking stupid. I just--I just needed a couple hundred. I was in this bar downtown, and I met a hookup in the mens' room and he took it off me for a hit. Gave me a couple hundred, too...I got no idea who he was."

"And then you had to get it back."

The kid nodded dully. "Jimmy called me outta the blue, soundin' all strange and hyped up. He never sounded like that before. He asked me if I still had all the stuff, and I could tell by his voice that if I didn't say yes my life wouldn't be worth shit. So I told him, Sure, Jimmy, you bet, I got all of it. I was thinkin' he wouldn't remember all the stuff we took, right? But then he goes, Well that's good, Lando. Because I know how much there was. And there better not be so much as one fucking earring missing."

He lifted his head and shot an anguished look into their faces. "He scared me so bad! I didn't even think he'd *want* that stuff around after it all hit the papers! I figured there'd be no way he could unload that shit. He wouldn't take the risk. But I guess that's the point. He didn't trust me to get rid of it. He needed to see it all, to make sure I hadn't spread any of it around that might lead back to--"

"But you had, Lando."

"Yeah."

Ben cleared his throat. "So you thought that by having a fake made..."

"I shoulda known it wouldn't fool him. I thought he'd just bury the stuff once he saw it was all there, not have it fucking appraised."

"The Cowboy's been runnin' this game so long he's practically a jeweler himself. That was your mistake, Lando. And his was teaming up with a crackhead like you for a job like this. He must be slippin'."

"I'm no crackhead." But his voice was dull and emotionless. "I thought--I thought I'd just flake off. Where he couldn't find me. I found another place to crash, other side of the city, with some guys I know he don't know. I hadn't seen him in weeks, but I knew--I knew he was lookin' for me. I don't know who all his fucking goons are--I started seein' guys everywhere--" He swallowed, and drew another trembling breath.

Ben flashed a glance at Ray, then turned to Mendoza once more. "You've been very helpful, Mr. Mendoza. How did you know that Mr. Jimenez had realized you gave him a fake?"

"When those stores got knocked over. I knew that was his guys; he was tryin' to figure out where I'd got it made. He knew it could lead to--"

Ben shot a look into Ray's face. "Mary."

*** *** ***

Ray eased the big car through the early evening traffic, feeling weary but satisfied. "She'll be all right, Fraser." He glanced over at the Mountie in the passenger seat. "We've got her apartment on 24 hour watch, and you can come and stay with her tomorrow during the day if you want."

"I really appreciate your convincing the lieutenant to spare the manpower for this, Ray. After all, there's no conclusive proof that--"

"There's enough for me. The perps that tossed those stores ransacked the offices and the order files. They were after anybody that knows what that thing looks like; and if they found Mendoza's information in McPherson's files, they know she can connect him to the murders and to Jimmy." He slowed for a red light, frowning slightly. "By now, word on the street'll be that Mendoza has been picked up on an assault charge. I'm hoping that'll be enough to ensure her safety. The Cowboy's gotta realize the kid is a risk to sing, especially to save his own ass. Since he knows we already got him, he shouldn't bother hassling the woman. No point in it."

"Any luck in locating him, Ray?"

"No. He's gone right underground, not surprisingly. Probably left the area. Doesn't matter, Fraser. I'll hound him all summer if I have to, I'll track him down."

"We'll track him down."

Ray gave the accelerator a nudge and the Riviera cruised forward. He felt the smile hovering around his lips. "Benny, thanks."

A raised eyebrow. "Don't mention it, Ray." Ben glanced around the interior of the car, then reached out a hand and ran it over the dash. "It's back, I see."

Ray's lip quirked. "No thanks to the two of you."

"Ray, I assure you, I was horrified when the last one had to be sacrificed. I don't quite understand the connection you have to these machines, but as I've told you, I do respect--"

"Aaah, it's all right, Fraser. Wasn't as hard as I'd thought it would be to get hold of another one. I got connections." He smiled a bit cynically. "Developed a few more during that year I was away. Glad they were good for somethin.'"

Ben was silent for long minutes. When they were within a few blocks of the Consulate, Ray glanced over at him. "You okay, Benny?"

"I'm fine, Ray." He was staring out the windshield.

Ray sighed. "Fraser, we gotta talk sometime. I guess we need to--"

"Ray, I quite understand that you wouldn't want to discuss your experiences undercover."

"It's not that, Benny." He pulled up to the curb, looked into the Mountie's face. "I just--I have this feeling we got unfinished stuff between us, you and me." He felt himself flush slightly at the way that had come out. "I guess I mean--oh hell, Fraser. Why don't you--look, go give the wolf his supper and then come with me to get some takeout, okay? We'll go make sure Stan's on that couch where he belongs an' not out ridin' patrol or somethin', and--"

"I couldn't do that, Ray. You two deserve your privacy, after all this. But thank you for the offer." He opened his car door, began to slide out.

Ray's voice stopped him. "Fraser."

"Yes, Ray."

"Go give the wolf his supper or better yet just go get him, he can come too." Ben turned to look at him. Their eyes met for a long moment.

"Ray, I don't feel--"

"Look, are you uncomfortable bein' around us? Cuz if that's it then I understand, but if not...do you really want to sit in that dinky room by yourself tonight eating something out of a can?"

Ben gave him a gentle smile. "I certainly don't, Ray. I'd love to be with...with the both of you. But I'm afraid you're inviting me because you feel--"

"This is Ray Vecchio, remember me? I don't do things just to be polite. That's you. Now go and come back before I get a citation for bein' in this Canadian no-fly zone out here." He flipped on his hazard flashers and settled back in his seat.

END PART TWO