ds_shakespeare fic... better late than never. Part 1.

[bertybertle]

I am posting and running, because tomorrow I am off to meet up with the extremely gorgeous and thoroughly nice sunrayinn. We are having a bit of a Due South Six Degrees weekend at an undisclosed location ridiculously close to her house, with Wilby Wonderful, Last Night, LOTS of DS and our first ever viewing of Hard Core Logo. We decided against Suspicious River again as being too bloody depressing despite having CKR AND Michael Shanks ONSCREEN TOGETHER. *'splodes*

I WILL make her love the pretty that is Paul if it bloody kills me. In the meantime we can be impossibly in love with Callum.

So, slashiness ensues!

kill_claudio was a sweetie about me being completely bloody useless with deadlines on this story, so thanks to her. Thanks also to the scarily smart aukestrel, who is actually much cuter than I imagined. *g* Her help was amazing, keeping me motivated and bouncing ideas as well as the normal beta stuff. And the stuff she knows.... *is awed*. And to sunrayinn, thanks for being you, for knowing your stuff, for not throttling me with my own crappy grammar and for liking the line about the turtle. I think I may have whinged extensively to ximeria and nicci_mac about this story too, so thanks for listening, girls. Without all of you guys, this story would never have got this far.

This story is very loosely based on the episode "Heaven And Earth".

The soundtrack to this fic includes -

Something's Coming - Rebecca Jenkins (the final scene in the cafe)
The Long Day is Over - Norah Jones (in Fraser's apartment)
Must Get Out - Maroon 5 (at Ray's shop - 1st scene)
Razor - Foo Fighters (looking for Ray)
Sunrise - Norah Jones (Coffee - Canadian style)
Don't Leave Home - Dido (at Ray's shop - 2nd scene)

Title - More Things In Heaven And Earth
Author - Berty
Rated - NC-17
Length - A little over 21000 words. Bring snacks.
Pairing - Fraser/Kowalski
Warnings - some angst, bad language, graphic m/m stuff - your basic Berty fic.
Beta credits - to sunrayinn and aukestrel. Thanks guys. Love you madly.
Synopsis - The kidnapping of a young girl leaves Fraser and Vecchio struggling against time to find her until help arrives in the shape of Ray Kowalski, a man with a talent, a heart and a past he'd rather forget.

ETA - shiny new cover, courtesy of nicci_mac.






The door was unlocked, although a yellowing “Closed” sign hung prominently against the dusty glass. From the back of the darkened shop, a golden glow shone through another door left slightly open, and it was by this meagre illumination that Fraser made his way through the congested room.

The smell of fresh wood made him think briefly of his home, but the overtones of dust and varnish kept him solidly rooted in backstreet Chicago. He noticed how Ray was running unconscious fingers over the displayed furniture as they made their way towards the light - his expression obscured by the dim interior of the shop.

“Mr. Kowalski?” Fraser called. The sound of music became louder as they neared the door, something with a compulsive, heavy beat.

“Stanley? Yo! Anyone home?” Ray yelled.

“Ray, you know he hates Stanley. Don’t piss him off before we’ve even asked,” Francesca hissed at her brother, but Fraser had no idea if her concern was justified. It was hard to tell when Ray was being antagonistic, as his innate demeanour seemed to be quite confrontational.

“Frannie, the guy’s name is Stanley. It’s right there on his crappy little shop window, S.R.Kowalski. And this...?” With a flick of his wrist he indicated the tired-looking surroundings. “...this is a monumental waste of my time, so I will piss off whoever I choose, you hear me? I don’t know why I let you talk me into this stuff.”

For a moment it seemed that a fraternal contretemps would ensue, but Francesca simply rolled her eyes and knocked tentatively and pointlessly on the door before pushing it open.

The room was dark but for one bare overhead bulb. Crammed with a tumble of unfinished furniture, the place looked more like a shipwreck than anything else. Only the tools on the wall showed any signs of order - each in its assigned place, each cared for, sharp and bright.

In the pool of light a slim man was bent low over a workbench, intent on the piece of wood he was planing. Fraser wondered how he could see anything with the inadequate illumination. On the shelf above the man’s head a CD player was spilling music into the room, loud and chaotic in marked contrast to the care and skill being demonstrated by his hands on the wood.

“Mr. Kowalski?” Fraser enunciated clearly over the background noise. He didn’t want to startle the man, but a subtle approach was clearly not an option given the screaming guitar solo that had just begun.

“I’m closed,” Kowalski shouted without even bothering to look up.

“We’re not here for furniture, Stanley,” Ray replied sarcastically.

Kowalski’s head jerked up and his back stiffened. “Vecchio,” he said, and Fraser was surprised to hear a note of scorn in his voice. Kowalski’s eyes darted to each of his three visitors in turn, wary and quick.

Fraser took Kowalski’s appraisal of them as a moment to do some examining of his own. The man looked to be in his mid-thirties, although the tightness around his eyes made Fraser think that he’d seen a lot in that time. He was approximately the same height as Fraser, and his hair was a chemically enhanced gold/blonde colour, with a glimpse of his darker, natural colour at the roots. He wore dusty, washed-out jeans and a tight, pale grey t-shirt with contrasting collar and cuffs. Fraser could see that he worked hard - his physical exertions were evident in the defined musculature of his chest and arms.

To Fraser he looked like he was expecting something - perhaps a confrontation of some kind. But as Kowalski’s eyes lit on Francesca, his face softened. Fraser blinked at the sudden difference this change of expression engendered. The man’s body language, challenging and guarded before, became more fluid and natural.

Fraser wondered what kind of a daily life this man led that his instant reaction to any new situation was to fight first and listen second.

“Frannie!” Kowalski put down his plane awkwardly and reached up to dial the music down to a less uncomfortable level before moving to Francesca and kissing her gently on the cheek. “How are you?”

Fraser watched the exchange with growing surprise. The smile that Francesca returned to this contradictory man was quite unlike her usual sassy self. He had noticed that Francesca had two default modes when talking to members of the opposite sex: she was abrasive and sarcastic (reserved usually for her brother and Detectives Huey and Gardino), or she was coquettish and arch (with men she perceived as potential mates).

Lamentably, and despite his best efforts, Fraser knew that he fell into the latter category.

However, the genuine smile that Francesca gave Kowalski was both gentle and pretty, and made her look very much less alarming than Fraser normally found her to be.

“Good. I’m good. How have you been?” Fraser could tell from the tone of her voice that things had not been good at all for Mr. S.R. Kowalski of late.

Kowalski smiled tiredly and nodded. “Fine, Frannie. Fine.” And that was a lie told for Francesca’s benefit, Fraser would bet on it - not with money mind you - but he was certain of it nonetheless.

“That’s touching, Stanley, really,” Vecchio interrupted rudely.

“Hey, Vecchio, written any good parking tickets lately?” Kowalski growled, doing another lightning-fast mood change as he turned to Ray with a sudden scowl on his face.

“Aww, funny man,” Vecchio returned quickly.

“Yeah, whatever. What do you want?”

Neither Francesca nor Ray seemed to have an answer for this question, so Fraser spoke. “We wondered if you might be able to help us with our current investigation, Mr. Kowalski.”

“And you are?” Brows drawn down, cautious eyes not making any meaningful contact and his fingers fidgeting at his sides, this Stanley Kowalski looked a lot like a wolf, unsure of whether to bare his teeth or welcome the unknown individual.

“Ah, of course. Excuse me. I’m Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police…”

“He first came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of his father…” Ray sing-songed.

“…and for reasons that don’t need exploiting at this junction, he has remained, detached as…” Frannie faltered, so Fraser picked up the finale.

“Liaison with the Canadian Consulate,” he finished with a serious nod.

Kowalski blinked at the three of them in turn, and then with a half-smile that twisted somewhat, held out a chary, long-fingered hand. “Ray Kowalski.”

Fraser took the proffered hand and shook it heartily. His father had always taught him that you could measure the mettle of a man from his handshake. “Too strong and he’s got something to prove. Too weak and he’s got something to hide, son.”

Fraser had gotten to be rather good at shaking hands. He’d had a lot of practice when saying goodbyes to his father.

Kowalski’s handshake was neither too strong nor too weak, but easy, and his rough palm spoke of the hours he must have spent in this dim, cluttered workshop.

Fraser was about to explain further when Kowalski suddenly stilled, his hand going rigid but still holding on. Eyes that had been evading his gaze since he walked in were now boring into Fraser, wide and… frightened?

… snow… mittens… a woman with brown hair and a kind but tired smile holding his hand… a uniform, his hands clumsy, putting it on for the first time… a woman, tiny, with dark tumbling hair, red mouth and dead eyes, skin paler than the snow that fell on her eyelashes, her cheeks, her lips… a practical looking man, gruff and simple, there but somehow not… a little girl, a dark room, a man with a gun, the sound of a shot…

Kowalski slowly let Fraser’s hand go. Holding his own hand away from him as if it was somehow tainted, he stepped back, leaning slightly, presumably to allow what little light there was fall onto Fraser’s face. Fraser waited for him to explain this curious behaviour, but the man seemed to close down in front of his very eyes, his head going down, his shoulders hunching as he crossed his arms over his chest, hugging himself. “What do you want?” he asked flatly.

Fraser mentally shook himself. “Well, to be honest, I’m not entirely sure. We are in the process of investigating the abduction of a young girl. So far our efforts have proven to be frustratingly unproductive. Miss Vecchio suggested that you might be able to help us in some way, although I’m not…” Fraser heard himself trail off as Kowalski reacted to his words, moving his hand up to his eyes, then sliding it lower to cover his mouth. He looked almost as if he were in to be in some kind of pain.

“Mr. Kowalski, are you all right?”

“I can’t help you,” he said in a dead voice, looking directly at Francesca as if neither Fraser nor Ray Vecchio were in the room.

“That’s what I said,” Ray stated flatly. “A monumental waste of my time and effort, isn’t that what I told her, Benny?”

But Fraser was watching the interaction between Kowalski and Francesca with interest. Ray’s sister was fidgeting with her bag and avoiding Kowalski’s strangely accusatory gaze.

It was quite unnerving to see a speechless Francesca.

“So we’ll be on our way, Stanley. Sorry to have dragged you away from your… uh… lump of wood,” Ray was saying.

“Please, Ray Kay.” Francesca’s voice came surprisingly quietly, only just audible over the music.

Kowalski raised an eyebrow at the nickname, obviously something he hadn’t heard in a while. “Frannie… I’m sorry. It’s just something that I don’t… I can’t…”

“It’s Teresa Pisano’s daughter, Ray,” she continued softly. “You remember Terri? She wore a retainer until she was about nineteen? She had a brother, Marco, and a sister, Angela?”

Kowalski nodded slightly.

“She married Anthony Lombardi when they were both twenty and they had four kids, one after another. The girl that’s missing is their youngest, Anna. And all she did to deserve this was to have an uncle called Tino who just happens to have a big mouth and be in the bad books with some mob guy.” Francesca paused, drew a tired breath and looked up. “She’s ten, Ray. Do you remember being ten years old? With all your life in front of you? When anything was possible? Well, that’s all over for Anna unless we find her soon, Ray. Really soon.”

Kowalski lifted his eyes to the low ceiling of his disorganised workspace and blew out a huge breath. “Frannie, I want to help, I do, but you have no idea what you’re asking.”

“I do, Ray.” Her eyes flicked away. “I saw Stella last week.”

Fraser was struggling to keep up with this exchange. It was obvious to him that they had been acquaintances, if not friends, when they were younger, and although Ray didn’t seem very close to him - in fact positively antagonistic - it was clear that Kowalski and Francesca had ‘history’, as Ray would have put it.

He had gathered that Francesca had reminded Kowalski of the people they grew up with, but this sudden reference to a Stella had him thrown. The only Stella that Fraser knew was the ASA Stella… Kowalski. Could it be that this man was related to that sharp-faced, sharp-minded woman? There was some resemblance in the pale eyes and the dark blonde hair. But the look of pain that flashed briefly across Kowalski’s face was not that of a brother. Indeed it was quite possible this moody, compelling man had been married to ASA Kowalski and, furthermore, Fraser guessed, he wasn’t reconciled to their obvious estrangement.

Kowalski looked tense as he starred hard at each of them for a few seconds, rolling the beads of an unusual chain he wore at his wrist between his restless fingers. “I need…” he spoke, almost inaudibly. “I need a… I can’t just…”

Francesca scrabbled quickly in her bag and produced an evidence wallet, holding it up so the thin gold chain and crucifix within were easily visible.

“Frannie, how in the hell did you get that?” Ray demanded angrily, but his sister ignored him, her hopeful gaze on a conflicted-looking Kowalski.

“You’d better come upstairs,” he said, his movements purposeful and quick, but he sounded almost broken.

~O~O~O~

Kowalski’s apartment was indeed directly above his shop. If the décor reflected his personal style, then Fraser considered that it could be called eclectic. Nothing matched anything else; everything seemed to have been shoved in where it would fit rather than where it would look best. It was clean but untidy, rather like the man himself. Touches of whimsy appeared here and there: the string of chilli-shaped lights, the flamingo tableware left in the sink. A large terrarium, complete with turtle, stood beside a bike hanging on the wall while an entire shelving unit of CD’s attested to a love of music.

On the whole, Fraser was comfortable there - it felt real and honest in a way the white tablecloths and polished wood of Ray’s home didn’t. He often got the impression that, when she wasn’t trying to feed him, Mrs. Vecchio was itching to vacuum him.

“Nice place,” Ray offered with an insincere smile, but Kowalski either didn’t hear or chose to ignore his sarcasm.

Nor did he offer refreshments or to take anyone’s coat, but simply led them all into the kitchen. He had to clear an alarming pile of unopened mail from one of the chairs - some of it official looking - before he was able to invite them to sit.

Once again Fraser felt deeply baffled by the direction their investigation was taking. He placed his Stetson carefully on the stack of mail - now balanced on the counter - and took one of the mismatched chairs, wondering what connection Kowalski had with the crime. He wasn’t one to jump to conclusions based on limited information, but from what he’d seen of Kowalski, the man was hardly Mafia material.

He was even more perplexed when Frannie handed the evidence bag to Kowalski without a word. A glance at his partner told him nothing more than the fact that Ray disliked Kowalski and that he still thought the entire exercise was pointless.

Taking the plastic bag between forefinger and thumb, as if it were dangerous, Kowalski ripped it open and tipped the chain and pendant onto the wooden tabletop. He stared down at it without touching, almost as if waiting for it to do something. “I can’t promise anything, Frannie. It doesn’t always work.”

A sudden revelation hit Fraser as he watched Kowalski eye the girl’s necklace with trepidation. “You’re a psychic!”

Francesca looked nervously between them, and Ray Vecchio just frowned harder. Kowalski said nothing, but the dark blush which crept into his cheeks was damning. “Nah, Constable Fraser,” he said finally, still not taking his eyes off the evidence. “I’m just a guy who sees things… sometimes.” And with that he laid the backs of his hands over the gold chain and closed his eyes.

Ray let out a theatrical sigh and rocked back in his seat, earning him a dark glance from his sister before she turned to watch Kowalski intently. Fraser too switched his attention back to the man.

For a long time, Kowalski’s face was impassive, almost like he was sleeping, and Fraser wondered at the difference it made to his appearance. He looked strangely young like this.

Then Kowalski tilted his head, as if he was trying to listen to something far off. His breathing hitched and began to escalate as he winced and shifted in his chair.

“What do you see, Ray?” Francesca asked softly, leaning in.

“Dark. Cold under her hands. There’s a strange smell.”

“So she’s alive?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you see anything else?” Frannie pushed.

“There’s broken glass, like a mirror and it’s all jumbled up. There’s some sort of sign. And a man… with a gun.”

“What does he look like?”

Fraser started; watching the blonde man struggle with the images in his head, he had been so focussed on Kowalski’s tale that he hadn’t noticed Vecchio leaning forward.

“A hat. Denim jacket.”

“Anything written on the hat?” Vecchio pressed.

“No. It’s plain and… it’s frightening… God, she’s so scared…”

… patterns under her hands, squares, smooth then rough edges… icy chill running up her fingers into her arms and shoulders… craning her neck up, there’s a green neon glow, but the image makes no sense… smells dusty, damp, like the alley behind Daddy’s work… a sudden noise and the door opens… no… no…

“The smell,” Fraser asked finally, “the strange smell. Do you know what it is?”

“It’s strong. Like… fish. It’s fish.”

“What about the sign? You said there was a sign,” Francesca interrupted.

“Yeah. Green sign. Bright. Broken in the glass.”

“What does it say? Can you read it?” Ray asked. Kowalski grimaced and shook his head. “What does it say, Stanley?” Ray pushed.

“I don’t know - it’s jumbled, it’s… green and… I don’t know, I can’t…”

…he always waits until it’s dark… she hates the dark, but she hates him more… she tries to make herself smaller… wishes she had tears left to cry…

Ray pulled his hands violently off the little gold crucifix and rested them over his eyes, panting. “I’m sorry. It’s hard. She’s so scared and I can’t… I’m so sorry.”

The three of them exchanged tense glances as the sound of Kowalski’s ragged breathing filled the little kitchen.

~O~O~O~

The following day, Fraser once again found himself outside the little back street shop belonging to Ray Kowalski. Pausing outside the window, he could see the man through the open doorway, standing behind the dusty counter.

At the sound of the door opening, Kowalski turned, a cautious smile on his tired face.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Kowalski.”

“Hey, call me Ray,” he said quickly, coming forward into the shop. “Whoa! Uniform!”

“Ray, of course. Thank you. And yes, the serge is rather striking, isn’t it?”

Ray blinked and nodded, then tilted his head and waited. “So, Constable Fraser…”

“How remiss of me. Please call me… well, my friends… that is, Ray calls me Fraser… or Frase… or, ah, Benny…”

“Yeah, Benny, but you don’t like that, do you?” Ray Kowalski asked quietly and perceptively.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say I dislike it, it’s meant as an endearment, I’m sure, but it does sound a little…”

“Dumb?”

“Infantile.”

“Dumb.”

“Inelegant.”

“D-U-M dumb.”

“Dumb, yes,” Fraser agreed, finally relenting, and the grin that he got in return was surprisingly open, the first unguarded, spontaneous reaction he’d seen directed at him by this man.

“So what can I do for you… Benton?” Ray enquired, resting a hip on a rustic oak table.

“I’m sorry?” Something about Ray Kowalski and his unpredictable nature had Fraser wrong-footed every time.

“I’m guessing you’re not in the market for a dining set or hope chest?” Ray’s sly smile told Fraser that he was being teased.

“I… er… no. That is, not at this time…” Fraser covered his discomfort by running a hand along the curve of a rocking chair back, feeling the grace of the shape and the smoothness of the finish. His mother had had something similar.

“Did you have any luck with finding Anna?” The smile was gone from Ray’s face in an instant, and Fraser found that strangely disappointing. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you any more. Or did Vecchio say it was all a load of bull anyway?” Apparently Ray had no illusions about Vecchio’s rather low opinion of him.

“We did try to follow up the information that you were able to give us, but…” Fraser trailed off, looking down at the grain of the wood beneath his fingertips.

“Yeah. Played this game before,” Ray said cryptically. “So… was there something else you wanted?”

“Sorry?” Fraser asked, his head coming up. “Oh. No. Yes. What I mean to say is, I merely came by on my way home to see if you were all right. When we left last night you were rather upset.”

“Yeah. It’s hard to… distance myself. Sorry, I didn’t mean to… uh…” He waved a hand in a confusing gesture, rather than finish his sentence. “S’one of the reasons why I don’t, like, do it anymore. It kind of fucks with my mind. And you wouldn’t believe the headaches.”

Fraser was surprised that he wasn’t more discomfited by the easy way the profanity had been slipped into the conversation, but it seemed to fit the personality of the man and his labile emotions. Ray Kowalski wore his heart on his sleeve, as the cliché went, every thought mirrored on his face and in his movement; why should his speech be any different?

“So where’s the wolf?” Ray asked, peering round him toward the street.

Fraser’s involuntary reaction - no more than a raised eyebrow - must have given him away because Ray straightened suddenly.

“Frannie called me this morning. She told me about the wolf,” Ray explained, rolling his shoulders, suddenly guarded once more. “I’m not...” He pulled a hand out of his pocket and made another strange gesture between them. “... you know, doing any funny stuff.” He looked unhappy that he’d had to explain that.

“Understood,” Fraser said shortly. He shouldn’t have come. Really, he had no business here. The man had tried to help and his own presence could only remind Ray of the upsetting experience he’d had. But Fraser had been concerned, and the place was only a few blocks from his home, hardly out of his way at all. He rubbed an eyebrow with a thumbnail and settled his hat on his head more firmly, preparing to make his goodbyes. But Kowalski’s voice stopped him.

“You been up all night?”

Fraser nodded, feeling the truth of the statement in his tired body.

Ray nodded in sympathy, but continued, “I’ve been trying to think where we might find the things I saw all in conjugation…”

“Conjunction,” Fraser corrected absently, and then realising what he’d done, looked up quickly to apologise.

But Ray didn’t seem offended by his rudeness. “Yeah, s’what I said,” he muttered and carried on his sentence, undisrupted. His arguments were sound and well reasoned as he listed all the things that Fraser and Ray Vecchio had hashed out late last night, the things they had spent all morning checking out.

“That’s very thorough. Have you had dealings with law enforcement in the past?” Fraser asked.

“Law enforcement? Jeez, Ben, do all Canadians talk like that?”

Fraser opened his mouth to reply, but Ray interrupted him. Apparently it was a question that didn’t require an answer.

“Yeah. I have. I guess Vecchio didn’t tell you. I used to be a cop. Not for very long, but I guess the training stays with you.”

Indeed, Ray Vecchio had not told Fraser of Ray Kowalski’s former career; in fact, his partner had seemed reluctant to discuss Kowalski at all. Fraser had hoped to hear of the circumstances under which the Vecchios had met this man, and perhaps even what had made the two men so antagonistic towards each other, but despite Ray Vecchio’s usual talkative nature, Fraser had had to draw his own conclusions.

He was about to ask Ray about the Vecchios when the doorbell chimed and the sound of raised voices interrupted them. Surprised, Fraser recognised one of them as being Francesca’s.

“… please! There’s nothing he can tell you.”

Fraser turned to see Francesca trying to plant herself in the way of a large, prematurely balding man who was scowling and flushed.

“Which one of you is Kowalski?” the man growled.

Francesca turned toward Ray, her face a picture of remorse. “I’m so sorry, Ray. I never meant for him to find out…”

Ray’s eyes flickered from Francesca to the irate man. “I’m Kowalski. Who are you?” he asked.

Fraser noticed the telltale signs of tension in Ray’s wiry frame, the apparent belligerence of his visitor matched by Ray’s stance.

“Ray, this is Tony Lombardi, Anna’s father. Terri told him about yesterday…”

Ray’s eyes looked saddened, but oddly resigned and Fraser wondered how many times Ray had had to face similar situations in the past.

“It’s okay, Frannie,” Ray said quietly. “What do you need, Tony?”

“You know something about my daughter?” the big man demanded, pushing past Francesca.

“Kind of, but I’ve already…”

“What do you know? And maybe you’d like to explain exactly how you know this. You seen her? You have something to do with this?” The desperation of the man was palpable as he closed the gap between himself and Ray. His breathing was erratic, his words forced and his hands opened and closed repeatedly.

Fraser watched carefully, instinctively moving closer to Ray.

“Of course I didn’t have anything to do with…”

“You touch her? If you’ve touched her, I swear I’m gonna fucking kill you,” the deranged man spat.

“Mr. Lombardi, I can assure you that Mr. Kowalski’s part in this investigation is purely incidental and he is under no suspicion whatsoever,” Fraser interrupted sternly, moving to place himself between Ray and Tony Lombardi.

For a big man, Anthony Lombardi moved very fast and Fraser didn’t have time to stop the punch that landed squarely on Ray’s cheek, snapping his head around and knocking him backwards into a stack of chairs.

“Where is she? Where is she? What did you do, you fucking bastard?” Lombardi was on Ray the second he fell, grasping his shirt and shaking him so hard his head hit the floor. It was clear that Ray was trying to fight back, pushing at him, trying to force him off, but the man seemed possessed, and Ray couldn’t get his feet back under him.

With Francesca’s help, Fraser dragged Lombardi off Ray just as the doorbell rang again and Vecchio burst into the little shop.

“What the…?” Ray Vecchio stepped into the fray, taking Francesca’s place and quickly cuffing the sobbing man.

As soon as Lombardi was restrained, sitting on the floor in a state of tears and accusations, Fraser looked across to Ray, who had picked himself up and was standing, staring at the floor, his arms wrapped tightly around himself.

Francesca was crying quietly, unable to look at any of them. Her brother was speaking to her in an undertone, and Fraser overhead her tell him how she had wanted to give Terri some hope, to let her know that they were doing something.

Fraser found the phone and called for back-up, and then waited with Vecchio and Lombardi until the patrol car arrived to take him. Lombardi was inconsolable, veering from threats to apologies, one moment docile and the next straining to get free. The entire time, Kowalski didn’t say a word, didn’t even move, much to Fraser’s dismay. Ray Vecchio gave the uniformed officers their instructions, then took his sister by the shoulder and led her toward the door.

“I’m gonna take Frannie home, Fraser. You wanna take his statement for me?” he said over his shoulder. He didn’t wait for an answer.

Fraser watched the Buick pull away and then turned back into the shop. He was momentarily disoriented; the scene between Anna’s father and Kowalski had been so short and violent it could almost have been a lucid dream. But a glance at Kowalski assured Fraser that it had in fact happened.

Ray was picking up the chairs that had been scattered in the struggle, stacking them with overstated concentration. Since his head was down, Fraser was unable to see what damage Anthony Lombardi’s fist had done. “Ray...” he began gently.

“I don’t want to press any charges. Just let the guy go. He’s off his head. He doesn’t know what he’s doing,” Ray replied immediately, crouching down to check the wood of one of the chair legs for injury.

“That’s very understanding of you. Did he hurt you?” Fraser asked, trying to get a glimpse of Kowalski’s face.

“Nope.”

“May I see?”

“What for, Ben?” Ray straightened, keeping his back to Fraser. He sounded angry. “He hit me. Yes, it hurt. No, I don’t need a doctor. Okay? It’s over, it’s doneski. Now if you’d just leave, I can get back to my… work.”

Fraser wondered at the hesitation, but picked up his hat from the floor, where he’d lost it trying to subdue Lombardi. He turned towards the door and then paused. He’d been asked to leave - that’s what he should do. But something felt wrong about this. Indecision was a weakness, he knew, and really, he’d barely met Ray Kowalski, but he couldn’t bring himself to walk away without knowing more.

Who was this man who could be charming and funny and yet desperate and isolated within the space of a five-minute conversation? What circumstances had taken him from being a policeman, ASA Kowalski’s husband and Francesca’s friend to this tired little carpenter’s shop on an out of the way, no-name street? What was behind the psychic gift that he had, and what made him so unwilling to use it?

Fraser knew in an instant of clarity that he was only the latest in a long line of people that Ray Kowalski had sent away and out of his life forever. This workshop, these tools, this wood was his refuge, his armour against the human race and its expectations of normality. This isolation was his choice, not his punishment.

Fraser turned and walked slowly around Kowalski, giving him a wide berth to show that he was no threat. The bruise was already blooming on Ray’s cheek, an angry red stain that had spilled into the area around his left eye. The skin was unbroken but swollen.

Ray drew in a deep breath and lifted his eyes to Fraser’s.

“It’s okay, Ben. It’s not the first time something like this has happened. You don’t have to feel... responsible or anything.”

“I don’t,” Fraser replied truthfully.

“And I’m not giving you a statement, because I’m not pressing charges.”

“I know, I heard you.”

“So why are you still here?” Ray shoved his hands into his pockets, his stance uncompromising.

“No one really calls me Ben anymore. I find... I miss it.”

Of all the ridiculous things he’d ever said, that had to be the most surprising. He’d been expecting coolness, even hostility from this complicated man, but his unexpectedly direct question had provoked an equally direct answer that Fraser hadn’t even realised the truth of until he’d said it.

Ray looked at him for an uncomfortably long time. Fraser forced himself to endure his scrutiny; at least he hadn’t laughed when Fraser had made his embarrassingly pathetic response.

“Look, Ben, you don’t have to...” Ray sighed and shrugged, his feet scraping on the dusty floor and making the motes fly up into the diminished sunlight that reached in through the windows.

“I know what you’re doing and I appreciate it. I really do. But I’m not an easy guy to be friends with. You’ll think you can handle it, you’ll think that you’ll be able to ignore it, but you won’t. Pretty soon you’ll be wondering about what I know about you and what I know about what’s gonna happen to you. Pretty soon after that you’ll start resenting the fact that you can’t keep secrets from me. You’ll start avoiding me, trying not to touch me in case I...” another vague wave of his hand, “... see something. It’s not usually long after that we lose touch.”

“Is that what happened with your wife?” Fraser asked, surprised again at his own boldness; but Ray didn’t seem shocked.

Ray smiled a little, then winced when his cheek hurt. “Something like that, yeah. We thought that love would be enough... well, it wasn’t.”

Then he smiled again, if it could be called that; it was really just a strange, tense quirk of his lips, and went back to checking the chairs over. “Don’t worry. I’m not a recluse - I do have friends. Maybe not close, they don’t know about me - I’m just the quiet guy from the bar, plays a mean game of pool. It’s okay, Ben, you don’t need to rescue me. I don’t need it.”

He didn’t look at Fraser again, continuing instead to stack the fallen chairs.

Fraser knew he was needed elsewhere and that a little girl’s life could depend on him and his colleagues at the 27th, but it was with reluctance and several backward glances that he finally left the dark little shop and stepped back out into the morning sunshine.

~O~O~O~

There was a feeling of desperation in the Major Crimes division of the 27th district that afternoon. A tension was present in the faces and voices of everyone there and an edge of hopelessness coloured their eyes.

Ray Vecchio had called in every favour he’d ever been owed, but no one seemed to know anything. Several people with known ‘family connections’ had been asked to help with enquiries, but precious little progress was being made.

Fraser and Vecchio had just finished interviewing the distressed Tino Lombardi for the fourth time, hoping that the repeated questions would give them some new insight.

Tino was small-time with a big mouth, Ray Vecchio said - a bad combination in a city as tightly wound as Chicago. He’d made hints that he knew things to the wrong people and the price he was paying was out of all proportion to the information actually in his possession. Ray Vecchio had gotten the word out that Tino Lombardi had nothing either incriminating or interesting to the police, but if the people who had kidnapped Anna had heard this, they hadn’t reacted. Fraser knew that Ray Vecchio feared this had become a lesson, a demonstration, to any wannabe soldati to keep their mouths shut and that the Outfit would not tolerate such showmanship.

“This is not their usual M.O., Fraser. Something’s not right,” Ray muttered as Tino was led out.

Fraser was tired, a bone-deep weariness that only determination and practice was keeping in check. He left Interview Room Two pinching the bridge of his nose and practically fell over Ray Kowalski, who was leaning against the wall outside.

“Ray!”

“Yeah?” Ray Vecchio replied, from behind him, coming up short when he saw a very wary-looking Ray Kowalski. “What are you doing here, Stanley?”

Ray’s eyes flicked, irritated, to Vecchio, but he spoke directly to Fraser. “I think I could... I think if I... let me try again,” he finally got out.

“Ray...” Fraser said gently, instinctively reaching for Ray’s elbow, but checking himself before he made contact; after this morning’s conversation, Fraser knew his overtures of friendship were unwelcome, or at least unnecessary.

“Christ, Kowalski. You want a matching one for that?” Vecchio asked, peering at the purpled skin of his eye.

“If you just...” Ray blew out a tense breath and swiped a hand over his forehead. “Just give me the fucking necklace again and leave me alone for ten minutes.”

Vecchio rolled his eyes and scowled at Kowalski, but handed the files to Fraser and stalked off.

Fraser signalled Ray to follow and led him into Interview Room One, which was currently unoccupied.

“Ray, do you really think this will help?” he asked, closing the door behind them.

Ray walked to the frosted, meshed window, twitchy and unsettled. “Ben, look, I haven’t done this for a really long time and you guys kind of surprised me last night. I think if I try again, I might be able to get more. But it needs to be quiet - no Vecchio, no Frannie.”

Fraser noticed that his name wasn’t on the list of exclusions, but forced himself not to read anything into that. “You know, Ray, I am aware that this is something you find very hard. I don’t think anyone will think any worse of you if you decide not to try again,” Fraser said cautiously.

“And see her on the news tomorrow, just another statistic?” Ray shook his head, staring down at the floor. “I need to know that I did what I could.” His fingers went to his face, tracing the shape of the bruising.

“Did you put something on that?”

“Ice.”

Fraser put down the case files and reached into his belt. “Put some of this on,” he said and pulled out a small, screw top jar. “It will reduce the swelling and expedite the healing process.”

“Expedite. Right.” Ray smiled quickly, but made no move to take the pot.

Fraser unscrewed the lid and walked around in front of Ray, ignoring his brief look of surprise. He scooped some of the ointment onto his middle finger and lifted his hand to bruising. Ray eased back but then stilled when Fraser slowly brought the balm down onto his cheek. Fraser kept his eyes firmly on the angry skin, not allowing them to stray to Ray’s challenging, clear blue gaze.

“What is that?” Ray asked quietly as he endured Fraser’s help.

“It’s probably best if you don’t know - it always seems to upset people when I tell them,” Fraser replied, gently working the slippery stuff into the bruising.

… sitting in a small coffee shop, tracing patterns on the formica tabletop with his spoon, wishing, hoping… looking up at a square of sky, the smell of dirt, a small furry face appearing over the edge… the red uniform, the girl hiding behind him, the crack and flash of a gunshot… fire, bright and burning in his shoulder, in his chest… falling, falling…

Ray swallowed and smiled. “Bad, huh?”

“Apparently” Fraser finished his ministrations, stepping out of Ray’s space and putting the jar away without looking up.

“Listen, Ben,” Ray began quietly as they waited. “What I said before, at the shop, I wasn’t trying to...”

Ray Vecchio stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. With a heavy hand, he placed the now-familiar evidence bag on the table. He looked from Fraser to Ray and back, then with another scowl, he walked out again. “I’ll watch the door for you,” he muttered as he left.

Ray approached the necklace cautiously, circling the table before sitting down in front of the bag.

“Do you want me to...?” Fraser indicated the door.

“No, you don’t have to,” Ray replied without taking his eyes off the bag. “I… sometimes I forget... I get lost, when I’m, you know… not where I am, who I am. Like I’m trapped - scares me, thinking maybe I won’t find my way back.”

Fraser listened, trying to imagine what Ray was describing. It reminded him of stories he’d heard as a child of shamans who’d walked in spirit dreams with ancestors and animal totems. Innusiq had loved to scare him with the versions in which the shamans went so far into the otherworld that they never found their way home again. Perhaps this is what it felt like for Ray, questing in a strange, unfamiliar place, unsure of whose feelings and words he was experiencing.

With a coldness settling in his belly, Fraser felt he understood a little of the distance Ray put between himself and the rest of the world. To lose the distinction between self and other must be truly terrifying, and it made his reluctance to embrace his gift painfully clear. And, as Anthony Lombardi had demonstrated, even when he tried to help, he attracted suspicion, anger and an air of “otherness”, reinforcing his oddity and isolation.

And yet Ray had invited him to stay, invited him to be an anchor of sorts - someone to guide him back if he should lose his way. And while this wasn’t the ‘rescue’ he’d spoken of, it did imply a degree of trust and reliance. Fraser thought perhaps that this was an overture - an admission of need that Ray must have found it very difficult to make; was it wrong of Fraser to take it as an encouraging sign?

He took the chair opposite Ray’s and the blonde man nodded his approval. Quickly Fraser opened the bag and laid the glittering chain onto the scarred wooden table.

Ray drummed his fingers, rubbed his lips, then, his mind clearly made up, leaned forward and picked it up, wrapping the chain around his closed fist. His eyes closed as he held the gold necklace in front of his face.

Fraser watched as Ray’s hand tightened and relaxed rhythmically in time with his slowing breaths.

“Birds,” he said after a short while. “I hear birds. Gulls. Not close by. Nothing close by. I can see the sky out the window, high up...or I’m low down... she’s low down, not me.”

“Is she hurt, Ray?” Fraser asked, keeping his voice calm.

…cramped legs, aching wrists, sunlight, bright and clear above her head, sometimes the birds go past the window, high, floating effortlessly, calling to each other…

“No. Not hurt. Except wrists are sore. Cold though. Aching. Tired. Thirsty - they didn’t come with water yet today.” Ray’s voice was dreamy almost, detached and vague.

“What else do you see?”

“Tiles. They always keep the door shut, so I never... she never gets to see what’s outside.”

“And out of the window?”

“Just sky. Sun’s just disappearing below the sill. It’s gonna get colder soon. It’s worse at night. It gets so dark. And the chimes wake me up when I do fall asleep. Maybe they’ve forgotten me. Maybe they’ve stopped looking now - it’s been two nights. How long do they keep looking?”

“Ray, Ray, Ray...” Fraser called quietly.

“Yeah?” His eyes flickered open, the swollen one still just a slit.

“Well done,” Fraser said and untangled the chain from Ray’s fist. He rose quickly and went to the door. “We need a detailed map of the Chicago area, particularly the waterfront,” he told Vecchio urgently.

~O~O~O~

In the renewed sense of purpose that seemed to have infected the 27th, Fraser lost sight of Ray Kowalski for a while. The large-scale map in Lieutenant Welsh’s office, pinned to the wall behind his desk, was the centre of attention. Ray Vecchio and Detective Gardino were tossing church names back and forth, assessing their suitability based on their clocks, their proximity to other buildings and the waterfront. The Lieutenant and Detective Huey were sticking pins on each likely candidate.

“The fact that the sun was visible through the window indicates that she is in a west facing room…”

“Yeah and the gulls and the fishy stink adds up to somewhere close to water…” Detective Gardino ran his fingers across the map.

Ray Vecchio wiped a hand over his face. “She could be anywhere - I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s a big lake there.” He knocked a hand against the blue expanse on the map. “This city is riddled with churches that have chiming clocks, gulls and fish bits. It could take us weeks to narrow it down.”

“I hope not.”

The assembly turned to the door where Francesca Vecchio stood looking pale and small. “The kidnappers have made contact again. If he doesn’t cough the information up by midnight, Anna…” Frannie closed her eyes and swallowed. “We need to find her by midnight,” she finished quietly and closed the door behind her.

“I don’t know if this will work, but if you let me take the necklace and drive me along every place we’ve identified so far, I might be able to narrow it down.”

Ray Kowalski kept his face down as every eye in the place turned on him. He was standing, leaned in the corner of the office, his arms folded across his chest again.

“Can you do that?” asked Tom Dewey, a detective, recently transferred from the 19th.

“Do you have a better idea?” Ray countered.

“No, but Louis told me all about the last time…”

“Gentlemen,” Lieutenant Welsh interrupted, “I suggest that Constable Fraser and Detective Vecchio take Mr. Kowalski for a drive. In the meantime, I want to know what it was that Mr. Lombardi said to upset someone so badly, and whom he said it to. Everyone he said it to.” He paused, his nail pressed against his middle teeth as he studied the map further. He turned back to his crowded office and blinked. “You’re still here - can anyone explain why that is?”

Fraser noticed that Detective Dewey opened his mouth to reply, but was hustled out by Detective Gardino, “before he got himself an ass-chewing”, Ray Vecchio said in an undertone once they were out of the office.

~O~O~O~

It was apparent that Ray Vecchio’s temper was rapidly fraying as they drove the lakefront. Fraser had toyed with the idea of asking him to return to fetch Diefenbaker from the apartment, but Ray’s irritation and their time constraints had dissuaded him. Ray Kowalski said little, just sat in the front seat with the crucifix nestled in the palm of his hand.

It was dark already and the headlamp glare of oncoming traffic was making Fraser’s head ache and he closed his eyes briefly.

“I don’t think he can do this, son. You can’t fault him for trying, but there are some things that you shouldn’t trust to hocus-pocus and mystics.”

Fraser raised his eyes slowly. His father sat, squashed beside him staring out of the quarterlight window and dressed in his favourite parka and fur hat.

Fraser cleared his throat to cover his muttered, “Not now, Dad.”

“I’m not saying he doesn’t have a gift, but if you ask him, he’ll be the first to admit that it’s unpredictable at best.”

“Anything?” Vecchio asked for the thirty-third time since they’d started.

“I’m trying. It’s unpredictable,” Ray admitted. He sounded tired and disappointed.

Bob Fraser turned a knowing look toward his son that Fraser ignored.

“Look, Kowalski, we tried. You’ve done your best, but I think now’s the time to admit we’re done and go back to the old-fashioned way,” Vecchio said, as he pulled up at a stop sign.

Ray didn’t say anything, just clutched the chain harder and bowed his head.

“Fraser?” Vecchio looked to his partner for help in the rear-view mirror.

“Ray,” Fraser said gently, leaning forward.

“Turn left up ahead, then left again,” Ray said quickly.

“Left? That’s taking us away from the lake, Stanley. Are you sure?”

“Ray,” Fraser interrupted and pointed through the windshield at the small brick-built church opposite the left turn ahead, particularly at its prominent clock tower.

They found themselves in a dark courtyard, sandwiched between warehouses. At the end of the open area the shine of streetlight off water glittered, greasy and stagnant: a disused dock, a relic from a more prosperous time.

The buildings had billboards advertising the re-development of the warehouses, but the doors and windows of the first and second floors were boarded up and development of any kind seemed to be little more than a pipe dream.

“She’s here,” Ray said with a quiet certainty.

“Where?”

Ray blinked and looked around him, leaning down to catch sight of the tall buildings that flanked them on either side. “Here,” he repeated, and shrugged. “We need to hide the car around the corner.”

Ray Vecchio shot a significant glance at Fraser, who raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He moved the car further up, tucking it between the warehouse and the water.

While Ray Vecchio called in their location, Fraser joined Ray in the damp night air. Ray kept his head down, as if listening for something, then looked up at the building to their right, taking a few steps back and lifting his chin.

“That’s the sign, the green sign I saw,” he said quietly.

Sure enough, the green neon of an advertisement from the next street shone over the top of the roof of the building.

“So she must be in here,” Fraser replied. “Stay here, back-up should be here shortly. Please tell Ray Vecchio where I’ve gone.”

There was no obvious point of entry, so Fraser was forced to jimmy one of the shutter padlocks and climb in through a window. He listened intently, but there was nothing to guide him. The dust on the floor showed no signs of disturbance as he moved cautiously from room to room. He climbed the metal stairs to the upper storeys, the bright green glow of the sign coming in through the grimy windows and making sickly, eerie shadows.

The sound of a car brought Fraser to the east side of the building, where he pressed himself against the wall and looked down through the window into the courtyard. A station wagon had pulled up in the dark lee of the opposite warehouse. He couldn’t make out the features of the man who got out, only that he was well built and dressed in dark clothing. Fraser watched as he walked quickly away, keeping to the shadows, then disappeared from view.

The girl was in the opposite warehouse.

Fraser moved, turning away from the window when he caught sight of a flash of light - a torch - up on the sixth floor. Ray Vecchio, his friend, his partner, was up there and probably hadn’t heard the car, or else he would have been less careless with his torch.

Fraser ran as quietly as he could, his feet setting the metal stairs to ringing despite his care. He crossed the courtyard and followed the path of the man he’d seen, trying to find the entrance he’d used. It was taking too long; every second he wasted out here was a second closer to the kidnapper finding Ray Vecchio.

He briefly wondered if Ray Kowalski had had the presence of mind to update dispatch, but dismissed the thought quickly: the man had been a police officer, and he knew how to think under pressure.

Finally he found the small doorway, concealed by an odd angle of the building, and squeezed his way inside. It was much darker without the streetlamps and the neon, but Fraser found a stairwell and began to climb.

The sixth floor was bright in comparison to the stairs and Fraser took a moment for his eyes to adjust and to listen. He could hear a murmur of voices, low and strained. He followed the quiet hisses of hard sibilants across the open workshop area and into the corner where restrooms were indicated by peeling, ancient-looking signs.

Pushing open the door, he saw a man standing in the doorway to one of the lavatory cubicles. The only light came from the small window high on the wall at the back of the stall and it was hard to make out, but Fraser was certain it wasn’t Ray Vecchio.

“Step away and turn around slowly,” Fraser said, his voice flattened by the ceramic of the tiled room.

The figure straightened and stepped to the side as commanded. His head came briefly into the light as he turned and Fraser was shocked to see Ray Kowalski, looking stricken. Behind him was a small shape, Anna Lombardi, huddled against the wall, her hands held up at an odd angle, cuffed to a water pipe.

Fraser opened his mouth to speak, when a cold, blunt shape connected from behind with the point of his jaw.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” hissed a voice in his ear.

Fraser did as he said, holding his hands out to the side to show his compliance.

“Go on in slowly, then turn around,” the man growled, a hand pushing between Fraser’s shoulders to get him moving.

Fraser moved as slowly as he dared, and was heartened to notice that Ray had moved away from the girl and into the shadows. Fraser turned in the doorway to the stall, trying to see where Ray was hidden, but couldn’t spot him.

The man kept his gun trained on Fraser as he opened his cell phone and dialled, one handed.

“This is Remy, we got some company down here. The girl’s got a visitor…. I dunno… Looks like a Mountie…. How the fuck should I know? Ask the boss what he wants me to do now.”

Fraser could hear Anna’s muffled crying behind him.

“Don’t worry, Anna. We’ll have you out of here soon. My friends know where we are; they’re coming for you,” Fraser said quietly over his shoulder.

“Shut the fuck up!...No, not you. What’s he say? Quick - I think there might be more of them… Right… Right… Ah, shit. No, I got it…I said I got it.” He flipped the phone closed and pocketed it, putting both hands back on the gun.

“Okay, Red, over in the corner, hands on your head.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Fraser replied calmly.

“Try real hard,” the man said, taking a threatening step closer to them.

“I’m sorry. I’m sworn to protect the life of this little girl. By now the warehouse will be surrounded by the personnel of the Chicago Police Department, so I suggest you lower your weapon and surrender it to me.”

The man smirked. “That’s not gonna happen. Now move or the girl gets splattered with bits of dead Mountie.”

“Whoever you’re working for, they’re not worth the price you’ll have to pay if you do this,” Fraser said evenly.

“You have no idea,” the man replied and raised his gun.

Everything seemed to happen at once, playing out in front of Fraser’s horrified gaze in a sick, dark slow motion. The muzzle flare of the gun was bright and intense, the report off the walls deafening as it mingled with the screams of the little girl.

Fraser felt a sudden heavy thrust against him and he fell back into the stalls, his head cracking against the timber partition. It was hard to breathe and the darkness was dragging him down.

“Fraser?” That was Ray Vecchio’s voice - nasal and heavily accented. He sounded scared.

Suddenly the weight on his chest was removed and he found he could breathe again. A torch lent its confined beam to the scene which Fraser’s mind struggled to understand.

The kidnapper lay in the doorway, a pool of liquid darkly spreading from beneath him. Anna was sobbing, curled into as tiny a ball as she could manage, and Ray Vecchio was bent over the still form of Ray Kowalski, sprawled on the floor where Vecchio had pulled him off Fraser.

“You okay?” Vecchio asked, glancing up at Fraser.

“I’m fine. Is he…?” Fraser’s voice was thick, a dizzy sickness grasping at him, making it hard to think.

“He came out of nowhere! Stepped in front of a damn bullet!” Vecchio said, sounding irritated. He often sounded irritated when he was scared, Fraser thought disconnectedly.

“Help Anna,” Fraser insisted, crawling over to where Kowalski lay unmoving.

“Ray. Ray. Ray?” Fraser repeated, forcing down his fear as he gingerly attempted to find the entry wound. He patted his cheek and watched in shock as the man’s eyes flew open and a huge smile briefly lit up his face before it was replaced by a wince of pain.

“Hey, Ben,” he said weakly.

“How…?”

Ray shifted a little, wincing again, then pulled up the hem of his sweater to reveal a blue, police issue Kevlar vest.

“A vest - that’s good thinking. But where…?”

“Louis and me go way back, Ben. We both worked down at the 14th straight out of the academy.”

“Ah. There’s obviously a good deal about you I don’t know, Ray,” Fraser said with a small, relieved smile and offered Ray a hand to help him stand.

~O~O~O~

Part 2.