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Category: drama, humour, romance
Warning: m/m
Rating: NC-17
Synopsis: Fraser and Ray try to help out two friends, and end up surprising even themselves with the results.
"Why, hello, Detective Vecchio. Welcome once again to Canada. Would this
visit be business or personal?"
Ray Kowalski hid a grin at the overly cheerful greeting he never failed to
get from Constable Renfield Turnbull. "Just personal, Turnbull. You can, ya
know, stand at ease."
"Of course. Would you like me to fetch Constable Fraser for you? Or do you
have time to maybe sit and watch some of the CBC's broadcast of the
championship curl--"
"I can get Fraser myself. You go on back and watch TV." Ray hadn't missed
the upcoming reference to curling, and he wondered why Turnbull was always
trying to convert him to being a fan, when they always got into fights over
it.
Of course, if he wasn't spending so much time at the Consulate, they
wouldn't have had the chance to fight so much. But he wasn't about to stop
coming around.
A red-clad form appeared in the doorway, and Ray was reminded exactly why
he spent so much time here.
Benton Fraser nodded to his coworker. "Thank you, Turnbull."
"Ah, Constable. I'll just leave you two to it, shall I?"
Ray glanced over at Fraser, not missing the twinkle in Turnbull's eye.
Fraser almost blushed, but nodded again once, professionally. "Thank you."
Turnbull smiled brightly and headed down the hall.
"It's good to see you, Ray."
Ray grinned. "Yeah, you too. Now whaddaya say we blow this joint and go
somewhere where we can get some alone time in?"
His lover flushed even more darkly, but his eyes lit with pleasure. "Sounds
good to me. Let me go get Diefenbaker."
Ray followed him when he went back towards his office. They passed the room
with the television blazing and the sounds of cheering, and Ray was hit
with a sudden thought. "Hey, Frase?"
"Yes?" Fraser opened the door to his office and let out a rather
grouchy-looking wolf.
"How come Turnbull's still here? Yer not makin' him stay late so you can go
with me, are ya?"
"Of course not. I couldn't do that. Turnbull's been requesting to stay
longer than his shifts the last few days. I imagine his own television
doesn't pick up the CBC's broadcasts."
"Aha. Gotta get his curling fix, huh?" Ray passed the opened door again
with a glance to the enraptured Constable. "That's sad."
Fraser smiled, but, consistent with his nature, had to argue. "I hardly
think spending a little extra time to catch up on the events in his home
country is sad, Ray."
"You don't gotta do it."
Fraser shrugged as they headed out the door into the cool, musty Chicago
air. "Turnbull is a little more obsessed with the sport than I am. Besides,
he gives me a very lively play-by-play summation of the game if I ask. It's
quite entertaining, Ray. You should--"
"Don't even say it, Frase." Ray unlocked the passenger door of the GTO and
let Fraser and Diefenbaker inside, then headed around to the driver's side.
He got in, gunned the engine, and turned to Fraser. "If I can think of one
thing more boring than sitting through a curling game, it's sitting through
Turnbull talking about a curling game." He grinned suddenly. "Besides, we
got more interesting things to do with our time." He wagged his eyebrows
with a complete lack of subtlety, and was rewarded by a blush lighting
Fraser's features again.
He grinned and pulled the car out onto the street. He loved doing that.
Fraser had never been much of a blusher before. Maybe the occasional
Frannie come-on would make him turn a little pink, but that was it.
Since they had taken the step to becoming lovers, once Ray had discovered
the madman his Mountie could be in the sack, the complete abandon Fraser
would allow himself, he just had to remind Fraser of it at any other time,
and the man turned the color of his uniform.
Not that he was complaining. About any of it. In fact, he had high hopes
than by the time tonight was over with, he'd have some all-new material to
make the Mountie blush over.
The telephone rang in the middle of the fourth quarter.
Turnbull glanced over at it, but the Mountie in him wouldn't let it go
unanswered, even though the Consulate was closed for business for the day.
He picked up the phone, a smile appearing automatically. His pride in
himself and his job came through in his tone. "Thank you for calling the
Consulate of Canada. I am Constable Turnbull of the Royal Canadian Mounted
Police. What can I do for you this evening?"
A voice started in his ear, and he listened for a long moment. During that
time his smile dropped, the light drained out of his eyes, and he sagged.
Finally he hung up. Turning a longing eye to the television, he reluctantly
shut it off and went to the door.
A moment later he was locking the Consulate and on his way home.
Fraser lay still, his eyes shut, fighting to catch his breath and hang on
to the little amount of sanity he had left.
A breathy laugh sounded from beside him. "Damn. You coulda warned a
person."
His head turned on the pillow, taking in the flushed, semi-conscious form
of his lover. He grinned faintly. "Are you looking for an apology?"
Ray curled up beside him, resting his head on Fraser's broad chest. "Maybe
you could apologize in the morning, when I'm walking funny."
Fraser laughed quietly, and a large hand came up to run down Ray's arm.
Ray's breath hit his chest, and Fraser could tell he was already asleep. He
couldn't help a fond smile down at the spiked blond hair.
He loved Ray. And Ray loved him. It was still unbelievable to him, after
the months they had been together. His experience had been so limited.
Victoria, of course, but there was nothing to compare Victoria to Ray.
Absolutely nothing. Before her, there had been a few. He wasn't nearly as
experienced as a lot of men he knew, but women had been throwing themselves
at him since he was old enough to respond. He couldn't help giving in a
couple of times, but none of them ever led to anything.
He had Ray now. The fact that he had nothing in his past to prepare him for
the relationship didn't bother him. He didn't have much in his past he
wanted to be reliving. No, what he had now was all he had ever wanted and
more.
Ray was open, emotional, affectionate, and Fraser sincerely doubted there
was anything about his lover he didn't know. Ray respected that Fraser was
somewhat more private than he was, and he didn't push him. When Fraser did
get around to talking about himself and his past, Ray acted as though
Fraser was giving him a gift by trusting him with it.
It was more rewarding than anything he had ever known.
He only wished everyone in the world could have what they had. He had a
feeling even Chicago would clean up if everyone could be this happy.
The crash sounded outside his door, and Fraser sat for a moment, debating
whether or not he really wanted to know what Turnbull had just broken.
The loud voice of Inspector Thatcher sounded from the hall.
Fraser winced and stood. Thatcher had been in quite a mood the last few
days. She had been lying in wait for something to explode about, and Fraser
had a feeling Turnbull had just given it to her.
He glanced out into the hall and saw Turnbull on his knees, quickly picking
up shards of glass as the Inspector's words rained down on him.
"--to know how you ever passed the requirements to get into that uniform in
the first place! I want to know what I did to deserve you of any candidate
being sent down here to work! Who did I anger? Can you tell me that?"
"Excuse me, Inspector?"
Her eyes blazed over to Fraser.
He was taken aback by the anger in her face. He thought fast. "Can I speak
with you in private for a moment, sir?" He was walking as he said it,
brushing past Turnbull to enter her office.
She followed a moment later, reluctant. "What is it, Fraser?"
"I was wondering if I could perhaps have this weekend off, sir."
Her eyes reflected her surprise, and she forgot about Turnbull. "You're
asking for time off?"
"Yes, sir. If it isn't too much trouble."
"No, Constable, that's just great. An entire weekend with just that idiot
on the floor out there. Wonderful idea."
Fraser grimaced -- he hadn't thought that through after all. "Of course,
sir. I withdraw the request. Excuse me." He ducked out of her office before
she could reply.
Turnbull was still on the floor, cleaning up the remaining glass. Fraser
knelt to help him, and saw a spot of red on the carpet. His eyes went to
Turnbull's hand, and saw the cut in his hand. "Turnbull, you've cut
yourself. Let's get you cleaned up."
Turnbull looked at his own hand in surprise. "Oh dear. Excuse me for one
moment, Constable." He stood and took off down the hall.
Fraser's eyes narrowed and he stood, following him. "Turnbull? Are you all
right?"
Turnbull was in the Consulate kitchen, rinsing his hand out in the sink.
"Quite all right, sir. I'm afraid the Inspector isn't that happy with me
right now, though." He kept his back to Fraser.
Fraser went to the counter, not sure why he was so concerned about his
coworker, but not able to repress the feeling that something was wrong.
"Renfield..."
Turnbull shot a quick glance over at him. "Sir?" The surprise was obvious
in his tone. Fraser never called him by his first name.
Fraser's eyes caught on something, and he grabbed Turnbull's arm and turned
him to face him. "What happened?"
Turnbull's face was blank. "I stumbled, sir. The vase I was carrying fell,
and--"
"Turnbull." Fraser cut him off, looking directly at the large black eye the
other Mountie had been trying to keep from his sight. Turnbull's normally
wide blue eyes were heavy, and the bruised eye could only open halfway.
"What happened?" he asked again.
Turnbull didn't pretend to misunderstand. He shrugged, turning back to the
counter. "I'm afraid my clumsiness doesn't restrict itself to the
consulate."
Fraser's lips tightened. "You did that to yourself?"
"Yes, sir."
"I see."
Turnbull smiled. "Thank you for your concern, sir. I'd better clean the
rest of that glass up before someone steps on it."
Fraser watched him go, his expression thoughtful.
"Vecchio."
"Afternoon, Ray."
Ray grinned and relaxed, slumping in his chair. "Hey, Frase. How come you
ain't here yet?"
"I'm leaving in a few more minutes. I was waiting for the Inspector to
finish her work."
"You gotta hang around when the Ice Queen's there? Since when?"
"Oh, no, I just didn't want to leave until she was gone. I'm afraid it's
been a rather tense day here at the Consulate."
"Huh. Well, hurry up and get yer ass over here. We got plans tonight,
remember?"
"Certainly."
Ray glanced around to make sure no one in the bullpen was sparing him
another look. "Love you, Ben."
Fraser sounded like he was smiling. "And I love you, Ray."
"See ya soon." Ray hung up with a grin. Damn, he loved that guy. Just
talking to Fraser these days was enough to bring the biggest shit-eating
grins to his face.
His eyes moved inexplicably to the office of Harding Welsh. His Lieutenant
was a good guy -- the best he'd ever worked for. He took care of his
detectives. He took care of Kowalski from the day he started there in
Vecchio's place. He gave Ray enough leeway to solve his cases. He did a lot
more for Ray than most bosses would do.
He stood by his men. And Ray loved the guy for it, almost like a dad. Or
maybe...maybe like that protective older brother who would fight bullies
for him. Either way, he was close to Welsh.
Welsh was one guy who needed a little bit of love in his life. Ray would
never have said that out loud to anyone but Frase, but he knew how
miserable a guy's life was when he got home from this dirty job to an empty
place and no one greeting him at the door. Welsh dealt with the crap from
the streets same as his men, and he had to deal with the crap from the
Chief, from the Mayor, from the DA. He had to fight to protect his
detectives, just like he had to fight for the ordinary people walking
around the streets of Chicago.
If anyone needed a nice lady to go home to, it was Welsh. Ray'd found
himself thinking that a lot over the last few weeks. He talked it over with
Fraser, but his lover told him in no uncertain terms that he should mind
his own business.
But still. Welsh was there when he showed up in the morning, and still
there when he left at night. He needed something to go home to, and Ray
wasn't gonna forget about the man who'd stood by him until Welsh was as
happy as he and Frase were.
Fraser was ready to go, grabbing his jacket, when he heard voices out in
the lobby.
Surprised, he went out the door. Turnbull was still here -- he was staying
late yet again, for some reason. Thatcher was practically out the door. So
who was talking?
A man stood in the lobby, glaring at Thatcher, who was glaring right back.
Fraser moved to them automatically. "Could I be of some assistance?"
"Yes, Constable. Could you please remove this man from Canadian property?"
Surprised, Fraser nodded. "Of course. Sir, would you be so kind as to come
with me?"
The stranger glared at the two of them. "I didn't do anything, god dammit.
I just want to see--"
"Constable Fraser, this man has pushed me and insulted me. Please remove
him. Now."
Fraser took the man's arm firmly, easily feeling the hardness of strong
muscle under his grasp. "Sir, please."
The man yanked his arm away. "I don't know who you fucking people think you
are."
"Is something wrong out..."
Fraser glanced back to see Turnbull standing in the hall, his eyes going to
the man.
"There you are. Are you coming?" The man's glare didn't fade.
To Fraser's surprise, Turnbull immediately nodded and came forward. "Of
course. I'm sorry. I--"
"Let's just get the hell out of here." The man wheeled and headed for the
door.
Turnbull followed close behind him, but Fraser grabbed his arm as he
passed. "Turnbull?" His eyes drilled into the younger Mountie, silently
asking what was going on.
Turnbull pulled his arm back. "I'm sorry if he caused a problem," he said
quietly. A moment later he was out the door, going after the stranger
without another word.
Fraser glanced over at Thatcher, and was surprised to see actual concern on
her face.
"Fraser, do you know who that was?"
"I've never seen him before, sir."
She frowned, her eyes going to the door for a moment. Finally she shrugged.
"I'll see you in the morning, Constable."
"--you listening to me, or am I conversing with the wall here, Frase?"
Fraser blinked, looking over at Ray. "I'm sorry. What were you saying,
Ray?"
Ray's eyes narrowed, studying him carefully. "You been in outer space all
night. What's wrong?"
"Nothing that I'm certain of. I'm sorry I haven't been paying attention."
"No big deal, just want to know if something's wrong."
"I...I couldn't say."
"Frase..."
Fraser reached out suddenly and, for no reason at all that he could think
of, he pulled Ray close in a tight hug. "I'm very glad I found you, Ray. I
don't tell you that enough."
Ray relaxed in his grasp. "Yeah, me too."
"I love you." Fraser pulled back far enough to meet his lover's eyes. "I'm
happy. For the first time I can remember, I really am happy."
Ray's face took on an expression Fraser always loved being able to cause --
shy, pleased, almost bashful. "Same here. I never been this happy."
"What about..." Fraser hesitated.
"With Stella?" Ray shrugged. "I loved her, but we always had stuff...you
know, in between us. I think from the day we first started going out, I had
to fight to hold on to her. I don't have to fight with you, Frase."
"No, you don't." Fraser smiled, at ease again.
Ray grinned. "Now I gotta do something to make sure your mind doesn't go
drifting off into space again, huh?" His eyes took on a familiar gleam.
"I'll try to keep myself in the here and now, Ray."
"Let me rephrase that." Ray darted his hand over and resting it on the warm
crotch of Fraser's jeans.
Fraser sucked in a breath. "Oh."
"Yeah. You want to talk some more, or you want--"
Fraser cut him off by closing the inches between them and seizing Ray's
mouth in a fierce kiss.
Ray practically melted into his arms, returning the kiss with passionate
energy as his hand started moving in caressing motions over the bulge in
Fraser's jeans.
Fraser held the slender body tight, and all wandering thoughts vanished in
a flood of heat and pleasure.
"You think I enjoyed that?"
Renfield Turnbull swallowed, recognizing the low, flat tone as the
dangerous one.
"You think I liked looking like a fucking idiot in front of your little
Mountie buddies? You think I don't know you're all gonna have a good laugh
over it tomorrow?"
Turnbull shook his head, knowing it wouldn't help. "No. Of course not. I--"
His arm moved faster than Turnbull could follow, and a sharp pain in his
cheek registered the hit striking home. Turnbull stumbled back a step, his
hand going to his face. "William, please. I didn't mean for you to--"
"I told you." His voice was still calm, dangerously low. "I told you that
if you were late again, I'd come find you. Didn't I?"
"Yes, but--"
"Shut up."
Turnbull's mouth closed obediently. His hand dropped to his side, and he
steeled himself for whatever was going to come.
Fraser had to half-carry Ray to the bed.
Ray struggled as much as he could to make it difficult for him. His hands
were everywhere, stroking all the sensitive spots he knew on his lover's
body.
Fraser almost buckled, but through sheer determination made it to Ray's
bedroom, dropping his squirming, eager lover on his back on the mattress.
Without a pause, he climbed on top of him, getting his revenge by taking
control. He moved his lips and tongue over Ray's body in exactly the ways
he'd learned drove the blond detective crazy, and after just a minute he
had Ray reduced to a begging puddle of goo beneath him.
He raised up to look Ray in the eye, a smile lighting his face at the sight
of the expressive man lost in his arousal.
Before he rolled them over to get down to the serious part, he found
himself wishing again that everyone could have something like the two of
them had.
Groans and whispered curses and unintelligible words rained down on him,
and Turnbull shut his eyes, burying his face in the pillow as tears
threatened.
The body on top of his didn't slow down. Thrust after thrust pounded into
him as he lay quietly. The pain threatened to make him cry out, but he
squeezed his lips together and knew he would stay silent, as he did every
other time.
He wasn't hard at all. Not even the physical stimulation made him hard
anymore. Not that William made any attempt to ensure he got some kind of
pleasure out of it, but at one point he used to respond.
That was a long time ago, though.
With one last grunt, one last hard shove into his body, William came.
Turnbull could feel the fluids filling him, seeping out as William pulled
out of his body.
As he did every other night, William got up almost right away. Turnbull
didn't even look up -- he knew the routine. William would get dressed, and
he'd leave. That was it. The next day he'd be back, of course.
So Turnbull lay there quietly, not looking even when William's footsteps
brought him close to the bed.
"Look at me."
Surprised, Turnbull obeyed right away, opening his eyes and raising his
head to take in the face of the man he was sure, at one point, he had
loved.
William studied him impassively. "You gonna be on time tomorrow?"
Turnbull just nodded, not trusting his voice enough to respond out loud.
That obviously angered William. "Get up."
Turnbull hesitated, and William's eyes narrowed dangerously. The Mountie
dragged his aching body to his feet and faced him.
William looked up at him, and a smirk appeared on his face. Turnbull was a
good five inches taller than he was, and had a few pounds on him, and that
always made William laugh. "I don't think I like how slow you're taking
tonight, Renny. You want to convince me you really learned your lesson?"
Turnbull's eyes reflected his sudden despair, but he let nothing else show
his feelings. He knew the night wasn't over. William was feeling too
hostile. He should have known it would happen.
Lost in his thoughts, when William took a swing at him, his hand came up.
He blocked the hit reflexively, and then realized in horror what he had
just done.
William stared at the offending hand for a shocked moment, and a gleam
appeared in his eyes.
Turnbull shut his eyes as the first hits came.
"Turnbull called in sick."
Ray blinked into the phone. "Okay. So?"
Fraser sounded worried, but Ray had no idea why. "Turnbull hasn't called in
sick a day since he started work at the Consulate."
"Hell, Frase, everyone's human. Maybe he's actually sick."
"Ray, Turnbull has come in to the Consulate with a light case of pneumonia
before."
"Huh. So what's the point here, Frase? Why don't you call him?"
"I tried. There's no answer at his apartment."
"Whaddaya want me to do about it? You making this an official missing
persons report, or what?"
"Well, technically I can't do that, since I saw him less than twenty-four
hours ago. But I was hoping if you had a few free minutes, you could
perhaps go to his apartment."
"You want me to pop in on Turnbull and see how he's feeling?"
"Exactly."
"Frase...I don't know him all that well, I've never even been to his place
before."
"It should only take a minute. I would go myself, but with Turnbull gone I
have to stay here at the Consulate and complete--"
"All right, all right. If it'll make you happy, I'll go check in on the
guy."
"Thank you, Ray. I appreciate it more than I can say."
"Wow, this's got you really worried, huh?"
"I admit, it does. Something about the last few days has bothered me."
"Okay, just make sure you save up all that appreciation yer feeling for
when we get home tonight, huh?" He grinned into the phone.
Fraser's voice had a smile in it again. "I'll definitely do that."
Ray was practically pounding on the door by the time it opened a crack. No
one had answered the first few times, and despite himself, a little of
Fraser's concern was rubbing off on him.
"Turnbull? It's Ray."
"Detective Vecchio. What a surprise." His voice was quiet, and he didn't
open the door any further than a crack, but Turnbull seemed to be up and
alive and everything.
"You okay? Frase was kinda worried about you missing work."
"Oh, I didn't mean for anyone to be concerned. As I told the Inspector, I'm
just not feeling quite up to snuff today."
Ray hesitated, then shrugged mentally. Fraser wanted him to make sure
Turnbull was all right and alive and stuff, and he had. No big deal. "Okay.
You gonna be at work tomorrow?"
Turnbull hesitated. "I...I don't think so."
Ray frowned. Turnbull was acting nice and casual, but he wouldn't open the
door enough to let Ray see inside. The cop in him was telling something was
wrong here. "Hey, you think I can come in fer some water? It's kinda tiring
climbing all those stairs."
Hehe. See if that Mountie politeness wouldn't work to his advantage once.
But to Ray's surprise, Turnbull's door stayed firmly shut. "I'm sorry,
detective. I'm afraid I may be...contagious. I wouldn't want you getting
sick as well."
"Oh, a little bug never bothers me." Ray moved fast, pushing the door open
before Turnbull could react. "Besides, I just..." He stopped, gaping.
Turnbull seemed to sag in on himself. "I'll get you a glass of water." He
turned and headed for the kitchen slowly.
Ray followed, still gaping. Turnbull looked like hell. He wasn't sick --
someone had beat the hell out of him. Ray could only see the bruises on his
face, but by the way he was moving, Ray guessed he had a couple of cracked
ribs, at least. "Turnbull, what the hell happened to you?"
"Why, nothing."
Turnbull held out a glass of water, which Ray ignored. "Nothing? Come on.
Does Fraser know about this?"
"No! No, and there's nothing to know about. I just had..."
"What? An accident?" Ray's thoughts were confirmed now. This hadn't been
some random mugging on the street. This was something more serious. There
was no shame in admitting you were robbed and beaten, not in this
neighborhood. But Turnbull looked ashamed now. "Who did that to you?"
"No one. It doesn't matter. Please, detective. Just drink your water and
go."
Ray's eyebrows flew up. That was almost rude. Not what he was used to from
the young Mountie at all.
This was fucked up. There were so many emotions running off Turnbull that
Ray could practically feel them too. Shame, fear...
Ray hated that feeling. He came across ordinary, innocent citizens who were
trapped by their own fear too often in his line of work. The most clear
example he could remember was the thing with Warfield, but there were lots
of other times. Prostitutes who couldn't get off the streets out of fear of
their pimps, crack-heads that refused offers of help out of fear of their
neighborhood dealers. Abused spouses who wouldn't file charges against
their husbands...
His thoughts trailed off. There it was. That was what Turnbull was acting
like. An abused wife.
Maybe Fraser knew a little more about this than he was saying. Maybe that
was why he was so worried.
Ray ignored the water. "All right, I can take a hint. I'll get out of yer
hair." He turned and started for the door.
Turnbull followed slowly. "I do appreciate you stopping in," he said in a
completely normal tone of voice, as though he wasn't walking like David
Duke after a visit to Harlem.
Ray hesitated, then went through the door. "I'll tell Frase...I'll tell him
you won't be in tomorrow."
Bruised, red-tinged eyes met his in a silent plea.
Ray was tempted to cross his fingers. Lying was definitely not the worst
sin he'd committed lately. "That's all I'll tell him."
Turnbull sagged against the door. "Thank you, detective."
"Yeah." Ray started down the hall, moving fast. He had to get to Fraser,
and they had to figure out what the hell was going on before whoever put
those bruises on Turnbull came back for another round.
The phone rang maybe five minutes after Ray had left his apartment.
Tired, sore, aching, Turnbull got to his feet and shuffled over. If it was
Fraser, and he didn't answer, it may actually make him so concerned he'd
come here himself.
In a way it was nice to know that Fraser was so worried he sent Ray to
check on him. With the derision he seemed to get from the older Mountie,
Turnbull never thought Fraser liked him much.
"Hello?"
"Who's your friend, Renny?"
A shudder swept over his body, unbidden. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, who's the cop that just left your place? Friend of yours? I know
you haven't broken our agreement and gone to the police, have you."
"No! Ray is just a...he's a friend."
"And what did your friend want?"
Turnbull sank down on his chair, knowing there was no way to answer this
question. He was in trouble the minute William had seen Ray. He couldn't do
anything to make it better.
William had taken to watching him, calling him at odd hours and asking him
intimate details about what he was doing. Turnbull recognized it as just a
tactic to keep him in line, but that didn't make it any less effective.
"Come over. One hour." William's voice was angry, obviously upset Renny
hadn't answered him.
The click sounded in his ear, and Turnbull hung up the phone, his hand
shaking slightly.
How could he do this? Even as he got up and prepared to leave the
apartment, he asked himself over and over why he was going. Why was he an
active participant in this? He knew better. He had known the moment the
relationship started going sour that he had to get away somehow.
But by then William had known him. He knew that as large as Renny was, he
abhorred violence. The idea of using his strength against someone was
unthinkable. Even in self-defense. William knew that, and took advantage.
Fight back , a voice in his head screamed even as he moved slowly to the
door and let himself out.
He wouldn't. He would meet William, and hopefully whatever happened
tonight, he'd be able to go back to work in two days.
Fraser drew his head back from the door. "He's not there."
"You mean really not there? Or faking not there?"
"Really. I don't hear a single noise from inside the apartment."
Ray opened his mouth, but shut it again without argument. He knew Fraser's
ears by now -- they were never wrong. "Dammit. You shoulda seen him, Frase.
He could hardly walk. What woulda made him leave? He couldn't have gotten
better in just a few hours, could he?"
"If you were right about him having cracked or broken ribs, I doubt it."
Fraser's eyes and voice were laced with concern as he turned away from the
door.
Ray hesitated, but followed him as he started towards the stairwell. "Who
do you think did it to him?"
Fraser glanced back at him, thinking. It truly was Turnbull's business, but
if Fraser was right, Ray's position as an officer of the law just might
come in handy. "A man showed up at the Consulate yesterday. He was violent
and angry, and Turnbull left with him. This was the last person to be seen
with him, and I have no doubt that that man was capable of inflicting those
wounds."
"But Turnbull left with him? Why would he do that?"
"I think...perhaps they are involved in some sort of relationship."
"Like us? You think? But why would he..." Ray trailed off. His suspicions
earlier that day had told him the same thing -- Turnbull was acting like an
abused wife.
He had seen it before, and he knew there was no one good answer to the
question 'why would he put up with it?'
All he knew was that if Fraser was right, Turnbull needed help, and fast.
Some of those wives who were too scared to press charges ended up on one of
Mort's slabs.
Harding Welsh groaned as he got to his feet. Another long day of keeping
his detectives in line and kissing his bosses asses to hang on to his job
that much longer. Unparalleled fun.
He flipped the case folder on Huey and Dewey's latest arrest shut, allowing
a small smile of pride. Vecchio and Fraser were his two best, he knew that.
Their solve rate was almost one hundred percent. But Huey and Dewey were
close. Despite the idiocy in their conversations whenever they were
together, they were a good team. This case had been a tough one, too.
And of course Assistant DA Kowalski had come in, bitching about how they
might have to let the perp go because of unlawful search and seizure. He
slipped Dewey a hint about probably cause, and he and Huey managed to
concoct some story on the spot about smelling smoke in the apartment they
had been walking past coincidentally on their way to lunch.
Welsh grinned as he moved out of his office. His detectives were good men,
all of them. They were unconventional, and odd, most of them, and that led
to a lot of work on Welsh's part trying to clean up their tracks, but he
didn't mind it. One hundred percent, all the way, he would stand by his
men.
He was walking through the dark office when the ring of a phone stopped
him. He glanced over. Vecchio's phone. No telling who it might be.
He hesitated, but the cop in him wouldn't let it go unanswered. He strolled
over. "Vecchio's desk."
"Detective..."
Welsh frowned, his instincts flaring. That voice was weak, and familiar.
Obviously out of it if he could mistake Welsh's voice for Ray's. "Who is
this?"
"It's...Turnbull. I'm s-sorry to be...be bothering you...b-but..."
"Constable?" Welsh's voice rose when there was nothing but silence.
"Constable, where are you?"
"Pay phone. First Avenue...I think. I...I--"
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