Author's website: http://www.zianet.com/jsager

Disclaimer: This story is written for the private entertainment of fans. The author makes no claims to the series' characters by the creation of this story. Fraser, Vecchio, Kowalski et. al. belong to Alliance, Paul Haggis, Paul Gross and all the creative genius who made this show so special. Jaelyn and other original characters are mine. I hope you enjoy them. No infringement of any copyrights held by CBS, Alliance, CTV, TNT or any other copyright holders of due South is intended. No money being made here. The boys just came over to play in my head again and have now returned from whence they came. I hope they come back to tell me the sequel!

Author's Notes: First, a big 'thank you kindly' to my wonderful betas. Vicki was stolen from me by RL fairly early in my endeavors with this series, but she really helped me with all the hip replacement stuff, and I would have never had the courage to begin it in the first place if it wasn't for her. Jean, your knowledge about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder has been invaluable. I have really appreciated the little pushes and debates we've shared as this was being put together. Lys, you and I share a brain where Ben and Frannie are concerned, even if I don't pair them up here! I've really appreciated the discussions, character insights and help with what works and what doesn't. Take a bow, ladies! --Thank you all most kindly!

Story Notes: I must also add here that my knowledge of American Sign Language is somewhat limited. We are told in the series (The Blue Line) that Ben knows ASL. Interpretation of advanced ASL is not a straight forward process. For instance, if I wanted to sign ^You are in grave danger^, I might sign ^You in danger, danger, danger.^ This is different from MSE, or Manually Signed English. For the sake of story continuity, most of my interpretations are based on what Ben, and others, are wanting to convey, and not necessarily exactly what they are signing --other times I do offer direct translation, depending on story requirements. No offense to the deaf or deaf community is intended. This is story number four in an on going series and, although I have attempted to write it in such a way that it can be read as a stand alone piece, the happenings in the previous three stories, "Blood Red Serge", "Silent Red Serge" and "Fallen Red Serge" have more than a little bearing on this story line. You might want to read them first. I have retained the original 'part' numbers from when I was posting in order to help the reader find their place again should they need to leave and return later; built in bookmarks if you will. Feedback as always is greatly appreciated. I hope you enjoy.

This story is a sequel to: Fallen Red Serge

Part 1

Frannie sat propped up in the hospital bed and listened over the phone as Aunt Cecilia down in Florida brought her up to date on Lucas' condition. Apparently, the doctors had discovered a few complications following the surgery to remove her nephew's brain tumor.

"...still doing tests. The only thing that seems wrong is that he can't swallow. And he's still a little confused about some things. But, they say he's able to talk just fine so the docs don't think the throat thing will be permanent. Maria said something about swelling pressing on nerves but I didn't understand half of what she was saying. She and Tony sound just like the doctors with all their gobbledygook talk half the time. They've practically lived at the hospital the last few days. Little Mariangelina and Tonino are missing their mom and pop, but the cousins--" She suddenly paused and then moved the phone aside to shout. "--Rosa! E' Francesca! Vuolei parlare con te... She just came in..."

"Francesca?" The phone was quickly handed over. "Hello? Francesca?"

"Ma--"

"--What are you doing, calling here so soon? I spoke with you only yesterday! Has something happened? The baby? You are all right? And Raimundo? What is wrong, mi preziosa?"

"No, no," Frannie hurried to calm her. "Nothing's wrong, Ma. Everything's fine. Everything's... Everything's fine." She couldn't say it was great, but she did smile as she added, "La nonna."

"Nonna?" Ma Vecchio repeated in surprise. "You call me -- Grandmother? ...But it is too soon? You said you were not due until January!"

"Yeah, well, normally, you know, but--"

"--But this is two months early! More! Madre di Christo! And the child is all right? The doctors, they made some mistake in calculating your time? But such a mistake!"

"--No, Ma... I mean, yes, the babies are fine. The doctors didn't--"

"--Babies?" Ma Vecchio was quick to catch the word. "As in twins? You have had twins, mi cara?"

"Um... not exactly."

"Not exactly. What does this mean? It means you had triplets?! Santa Maria! Mi Francesca ha il triplets!" She and Aunt Cecilia broke into rapid and excited Italian on the other end of the line. "Ma. Ma! Ma!!!" Frannie called over the two women's excited exclamations. "I had sextuplets, not triplets! Ma?"

"What?!" the other woman exclaimed, apparently shushing Cecilia because the other woman fell silent. "What did you say? Not triplets? Francesca, mi cara, you are confusing me. Have you had the babies yet or not? You said 'babies', yes? Plural?"

"Yeah..." she answered, casting Ren an amused smile. He returned her grin and squeezed her hand. "Remember how I told you about the artificial insemination and everything? And how they put four embryos into me?"

"Yes, I remember, yes... I was so sad when you told me about your friends, Karol and Mike, and how they died, and so proud that you decided to keep the child... Madre di Dio! Four?" Ma Vecchio squeaked. "But you said... you said that they would not all... That... that... The doctors... Oh, mi Dio! Four? And you did not know about this until the birth? This I cannot believe. Your doctors cannot have been so... so stupido!"

"No, Ma. I knew. I just didn't want to worry you. Not before Lucas--"

"--Worry me!" She could too easily picture her mother throwing up her free hand in the air and rolling her eyes heavenward as she continued on in Italian about daughters protecting mothers who know far more about giving birth than they ever could. She was happy to hear her mother ask for a chair so she could sit down. Cecilia also interrupted to ask if she had heard right. "Four, Francesca?" Ma Vecchio wanted to hear it again herself. "That is what you are telling me, yes? You have had four babies?"

"Actually..." She hesitated, biting her lip as she searched frantically for anyway to break the news more gently.

"If you dare to tell me that this is about your dog, Ante, who has had puppies--"

"--No, no!" Frannie answered quickly. "Ante's been spayed. She can't have puppies."

"This is good. We are talking about you then, yes? If you had told me you were calling about your dog I would be forced to fly home and give you the spanking of your life! This is not funny, mi figlia. Now." She offered a much put upon sigh before she demanded. "You have given birth, yes?"

"Yes."

"How many?"

There was no way around that question. "...Six," she answered hesitantly. She was answered by a long moment of total silence. "...Ma?" There was a sudden loud thump which she took to be the sound of the receiver hitting the floor, followed by the sound of Aunt Cecilia frantically calling for Uncle Alphonso to help. Frannie cringed and glanced at Ren nervously. Her mother's reaction had been exactly what she feared it would be. "I think she fainted..."

Part 2

"Enough already!" Jaelyn exclaimed, an amused laugh taking the sting from her words, but Ben could tell she was actually getting frustrated. So was he. "You two are worse than the doctors! Come on, James, put the suitcases back in the trunk." She pulled up her coat sleeve and frowned at her watch.

"No," her friend refused bluntly, his breath pluming in the chill of the November morning. "I can't believe your doctors okayed this. You haven't even been out of the hospital twenty-four hours!"

She frowned in confusion and glanced at Ben. He lifted his hands to translate but, unfortunately, James didn't wait for the translation. He spun on his heel and started back to the warmth of the hotel with their bags.

"James!" Jaelyn shouted after him in angry disbelief and then muttered, "Damn it!" She wasn't amused anymore.

Jeanie, standing off to the side in a wool coat that wasn't heavy enough for the weather, knew it and offered her friend a shivering little shrug. When James got like this, there was no talking to him!

"Ben..." Kowalski interrupted his signing with a gloved hand on his arm. "Buddy. 'Love ya like a brother... but James is right. What's up? You've never had an impulsive bone in your body! I'm the guy who flies down to Mexico on a moment's notice only to get dumped for a used poncho dealer, remember?"

"We're not going to Mexico--" Jaelyn frowned in mild confusion as she began translating for Ben, not having heard what Kowalski said, only to have Kowalski interrupt again.

"--That's not the point!--"

She didn't hear him, and she didn't care. ^--They're not listening!^ she signed in exasperation, foregoing speech and glaring after James as he disappeared inside. She wasn't about to go chasing after him to continue the argument or attempt to wrestle back their bags. ^This is ridiculous!^

Ben had to agree. He was tired of being treated like a child and having to defend his every thought and decision, or trying to.

"Look, Frase," Kowalski demanded his attention again, "I can understand your girlfriend here being upset, what with everything that's happened--" Ben offered Ray a clearly read glare for the "girlfriend" remark but, as always, it was ignored.

"--Her friends trying to kill her and then gettin' killed themselves and all. I understand she needs to get away... But the two of you flying out to Aspen's a little extreme, don't ya think?"

"I think it's romantic!" Jeanie interjected, watching the by-play with a big grin on her face despite the cold that had her blowing on her hands and shifting her weight from foot to foot as she tried to stay warm. She wasn't about to follow James inside and miss what was happening here.

"It ain't romantic if they go and break their fool necks!"

Ben sighed and dropped his chin to his chest in exhausted frustration. Ray continued, arguing that neither of them was in any shape to go skiing. Neither of them was planning to go skiing! They'd already said that! He was mute, not stupid. Jaelyn was right: they simply weren't listening!

She touched his arm, drawing his attention to a taxi that was sitting at a nearby curb, letting people off. ^I have the tickets!^ she signed, then patted her purse.

He instantly understood her desire. ^Our luggage?^ he asked, torn between the need to make their friends understand and the knowledge that they didn't have the time. They'd already spent more than an hour trying to answer their objections to no avail and were in danger of missing their flight.

^We'll buy more!^ she signed quickly, obviously desperate to escape the overprotective cocoon their friends wanted to wrap them in.

Ben was more than tempted. ^Medicines?^

^Fax!^ she answered, and he knew she meant that they could have their doctors fax new prescriptions to the nearest pharmacy. He bit his lip and glanced at Ray.

"What?" the hyperactive man asked in confusion, then offered a much-put-upon sigh. "I wish y'all wouldn't do that. It ain't exactly polite, you know."

'Polite!' Ben thought in irritated exasperation. He was one to talk! They'd tried to be polite, tried to explain... Their doctors had approved the trip. This was not as last minute as the others seemed to think... Not quite anyway.

Three days ago, after securing Ben's agreement to accompany her, Jaelyn had waited for him to leave and then immediately set about making all the necessary arrangements, surprising him with a fait accompli the next day. He was a bit taken aback by how quickly she'd moved and she admitted that part of her impetus was specifically to avoid any arguments with him over money. She remembered all too clearly his stubborn pride when she first asked him to help her out at the Inn. She understood and respected that pride but, after everything that had recently happened in her life, she simply wasn't up to another such debate.

The rest of it was explained by her very understandable need to escape Chicago and the memories that haunted her here, at least for a little while. Even her doctors agreed that a bit of distance, emotional as well as physical, might be a good idea. She needed a reason to smile.

Thank goodness they'd asked Vecchio to pick up Dief last night. He too had expressed concern, but then listened and wished them well. It hadn't hurt that he was still in shock over Francesca and her six babies, not to mention Turnbull. Still, he had listened; whereas these two...

Enough was enough!

Ben gave Jaelyn a curt nod, transferred his cane from beneath his arm and grabbed up her hand in his. Together they turned and headed across the driveway. "Taxi!" Jaelyn yelled and waved her free hand, hoping it was loud enough without becoming a scream.

"Whoa!" Kowalski exclaimed from behind them, surprised by the unexpected move. "No, no, no..." He was quite capable of moving faster than either of them, but Ben dodged the hand that grabbed at his shoulder and offered his friend a glare that clearly warned him not to try that again. It was a look that was far more effective at making Ray pause and think than all their arguments combined could have.

Ben was mad; and, more than that, he was mad at Ray. That was never a good thing.

Before Ray could even begin to recover from the simple shock of having received such a glare and figure out what he'd done to overstep the Mountie's ever patient, understanding line; Ben and Jaelyn had slipped inside the taxi. The door slammed in his face and he saw Jaelyn shove a wad of bills at the driver over the back of the front seat. "Drive!" she barked clearly.

"No!" Kowalski banged a fist against the door in frustration of his own. He was tempted to pull his badge and order the driver to stop, but another glare from Ben warned him not to be stupid. "You're not being reasonable!" he called through the glass, trying one last time.

Ray didn't need words to see who it was Ben thought was being unreasonable here.

"Go for it, Jay!" Jeanie yelled happily from behind him, though Jaelyn couldn't hear her or the encouraging whoop she offered as well. And then the taxi was pulling away, down the luxury hotel's drive, and Ray could do nothing but stare helplessly after it.

"What in the..." James reappeared and quickly sprinted across the driveway to join Kowalski. "Stop them! Do something!" he exclaimed as the taxi slipped into the mid-morning traffic and sped away.

Ray shook his head and shrugged. If he wanted to, he could probably hop in the GTO and beat them to the airport, but he suspected the only thing that would accomplish would be to strain his and Fraser's friendship even farther. "I can't," he sighed.

"Arrest 'em!" James cried. "You're a cop. They're being stupid!"

Ray smiled wryly and shook his head. Foolish was perhaps a better word, but... "Being stupid ain't a crime."

James glanced back after the taxi and swore vehemently as he realized it had already disappeared from view. Ray rested a hand on the other man's shoulder, offering it a sympathetic and understanding pat before turning back to the hotel. Good or bad, right or wrong, the argument was over and Ben and Jaelyn were gone. They'd be back on November the sixteenth, in two weeks.

There was nothing Ray could do now but hope the two of them knew what they were doing.

Part 3

James managed to remain at least civil despite his apparent anger while Kowalski was with them, but once it was just he and Jeanie on the long trip back to the McKenna Estate and the cabin they shared there, he shut down. All attempts to draw him into conversation were simply ignored.

"Jeesh, James!" Jeanie finally exclaimed. "You're acting like Ben and Jay going to Aspen's the end of the world or something! ...No," she suddenly corrected herself as a sudden thought struck her. "You're acting like a jealous lover! 'There something going on I need to know about?"

James removed his concentrated gaze from the road in front of him long enough to award his fianc a withering look which told her just exactly what he thought of that comment, then he turned back forward again without a word.

Jeanie shook her head, refusing to be intimidated by his black mood. "Well, you are!" she insisted. She knew the comment was nonsense but it didn't stop her from thinking the description fit. She folded her arms and glared unseeing at the traffic ahead of them.

"I'm marrying you, not her," he offered curtly. He shouldn't have to make that kind of a distinction, but he couldn't have her getting any stupid ideas in her head either.

Damn, but this all would be a hell of a lot easier if he were marrying Jaelyn; but nooooo, he thought sarcastically, he hadn't chosen to pursue that route with her. Nothing about the timid and straight as an arrow woman appealed to him in the slightest. Too short, too mousy, no fire... He had no desire to don the saint-like mask that would be needed to win her.

Besides, he would have still had to deal with Greg Manly and Jeanie Tallin eventually even if he did marry the twit. They were the beneficiaries of her Will. A sudden change, excluding them, after the wedding and just prior to Jaelyn's death would be far too suspicious. He didn't think he could stand to be married to such a goody-two-shoes for the length of time necessary to keep someone from digging into such matters too closely.

No, he'd chosen another route, more circuitous but less suspicious; and was pretty much stuck with it after Manly goofed everything up! He could have dumped Jeanie and pursued Jaelyn - he hadn't proposed yet - but chances were that Jaelyn wouldn't have anything to do with him after hurting Jeanie. Nor did he have the patience required even if he could have managed a green light from Jeanie.

How the Mountie seemed to have walked by all the normal self-defense mechanisms that Jaelyn must have thrown up after the rape and attempted murder was a big mystery. James hated mysteries. Thinking about it simply made him more irritated.

"What if they elope?" he asked aloud. It was a nightmare scenario for him...

Jeanie offered a bright, amused laugh. "Oh, I wish!" she answered.

James gritted his teeth and kept his gaze firmly focused straight ahead to hide the surge of anger her delight at the thought aroused.

She sighed. "Never happen," she decided forlornly. "Jay's been through too much. She's an all or nothing girl, you know? She's hurting right now, hurting and confused. Her heart's been broken. First Greg, then... David." She had to force herself to say her brother's name and then quickly hurried beyond that pain. "Nah. She won't give her heart to anyone until it's healed, even someone like Ben. She's too smart to marry on the rebound, so to speak."

James nodded silently and concentrated on the traffic. Her words matched his own thoughts on the matter, but he needed to hear the confirmation. It was far too soon for someone like Jaelyn to even entertain the thought of marriage. 'Course, James would have never figured her for the type to ask a guy to move in with her either, even had all the psychological garbage not been there!

Damn, but he hated it when people failed to perform within the scope of his expectations...

"I don't think Ben's ready either," Jeanie continued, pouting unhappily at the other cars sweeping by her window. "Sounds like he got burnt."

"Burnt?" She had his attention again.

Jeanie shook her head. "Yeah, you know - crash and burn? Musta been bad. I asked Jay something about what if she just swept him away and he was madly in love with her; you know, joking. She got rather serious and simply shook her head. It's just... you know, the look on her face. I could tell she was remembering something he'd told her, but she wouldn't crack when I pressed her about it. And you know me," she laughed again. "I'm not afraid to press!"

James offered her a small smile as expected.

She sighed again. "No, much as I'd like to see those two get together, the chances of them eloping are about the same as for you and me getting married on the moon! Which reminds me, did you confirm the rental of the Galleria Marchetti for the reception? The woman I spoke too about it didn't seem like she knew what she was doing. God, I hate all these last minute changes. It would have been so wonderful to hold everything at the Inn..."

Not to mention cheaper. James again had to grit his teeth as he was forced to deal with the mundane matters of their impending wedding. All conversations lately seemed to swing back around to it sooner or later, and the thing was more than a month away! She was going to nitpick the thing to death and drive him crazy in the process. He answered by rote for the most part, having already dealt with the stuff... as he'd said he would!

He turned his main attention back to the question of Ben and Jaelyn. Mountie-man was getting far too cozy with her despite his analysis of their emotional ties. If Jeanie was right and he'd been burnt...

Maybe there was a weakness there James could use.

Time to start digging some dirt, he thought, and smiled at both the figurative and literal meanings of that should the man get in his way any further.

Not having any luggage to check made the check-in procedure at the airport much faster than normal. Or it should have. The ticket agent was a bit flustered by the simple fact that Jaelyn was deaf and Ben was mute. Naturally, she had to comment on how their disabilities complimented each other. Ben fought not to let his reaction to such an ignorant statement show. Instead, he pasted a rather strained smile in place and conveniently 'forgot' to translate it for Jaelyn, merely asking where their boarding gate was and glancing significantly at his watch.

"Oh, don't worry," the agent reassured them, checking her computer. "The plane was delayed out of New York. You've got an extra hour before you leave."

Ben sighed and nodded, translating the information with a sense of relief. He glanced at Jaelyn in surprise when the ticket agent summoned a wheelchair and attendant.

^Doctor's orders, Ben,^ she shrugged. ^O'Hare is big."

Ben offered the chair an angry glare. He was perfectly capable of walking. There were intra-terminal shuttles and escalators to reduce the strain and stress and, being familiar with O'Hare from previous journeys, he knew their gate wasn't that far in any case.

He also knew the wheelchair would be faster.

With a silent curse, he lowered himself into place and handed Jaelyn his cane. As it was, they checked in at the gate with only ten minutes to spare. He rose from the chair and reclaimed his cane, thanking the attendant with a small smile and nod of his head. Because they weren't flying into Denver International, but Eagle County Regional Airport, the doctor's orders didn't require him to use the chair for the entire trip. He was grateful to be rid of it.

He frowned slightly and quickly glanced around them.

"Relax, Ben," Jaelyn smiled up at him as they took their position in line to have their tickets checked again. "They're not here."

Ben frowned for a confused instant before understanding dawned, realizing belatedly that he'd half expected to find Ray or James waiting to ambush them. He returned Jaelyn's smile with a sardonic tilt of his lips. Apparently, the expectation was rather transparent, at least to her. The fact that she'd noted it was rather pleasing in a strange way. Or maybe she'd just been worried about it as well. He didn't have a chance to pursue it as the desk attendant chose just then to ask about carry-on luggage.

Ten minutes later they were seated and airborne.

The flight was two hours, forty-five minutes long and relatively uneventful. They hit a little weather coming into the airport, but the wide-bodied 757 rode it out without undue excitement and brought them to a safe landing. Had it been a smaller plane, they might have had greater difficulties. As it was, the pilot warned of weather delays for those who were planning to make a connecting flight. Ben and Jaelyn weren't, but they did have another ninety miles to go. Ben had to wonder how the weather would affect driving conditions.

"I guess we'll find out in a minute," Jaelyn answered and pointed across the gate area to where a uniformed man held a sign with the names 'McKenna and Fraser'. Ben lifted a brow in surprise but Jaelyn merely shrugged. She'd told him she'd arranged for a taxi to meet them at the airport... she simply hadn't told him what kind. Mountain High Taxi was a premier service but worth it: providing a four-wheel drive, six-passenger mini-van with exclusive private booking. She wasn't up to sharing a shuttle bus with a bunch of strangers for close to two hours and renting a car simply wasn't smart. Aspen was a small town, which exploded during the winter months. Parking became nearly impossible. It was far better to make use of the city buses, which were free, or one of the many charter services for traveling to nearby tourist areas.

The young man smiled pleasantly as they approached and lowered his sign. "Good morning, folks. My name's Peter. Welcome to Colorado. May I see some ID, please?"

Ben flashed a translation of ^ID^ to Jaelyn and reached for his wallet. Jaelyn quickly delved into her purse and produced her license. The man nodded as he glanced over hers and then turned his attention to Ben's. "RCMP?" he noted. "I've met a number of Canadian sports figures in the last few years but never a Mountie. I promise, I wont be speeding." He grinned, and then glanced over his right shoulder. "Your luggage should be coming off the third carousal shortly. Is this your first trip to Aspen?"

Ben offered a quick translation and Jaelyn answered for them. "We have no luggage and, um, I've been here before but this is Ben's first time."

"No luggage?" The driver seemed more surprised by this than by the signing. He did a double take on their lack of carry-ons and shrugged slightly as they shook their heads. "Just the two of you, right?" They nodded. "Are you... both deaf?" he asked in confusion, not sure if Ben was just signing for her or reading his lips or...

"He's mute. I'm deaf," Jaelyn answered. It was a question they needed to get use to she guessed.

"A mute Mountie. That must be..." The driver frowned in confusion again, wondering how any cop could be mute and... He shook his head, dismissing the thought. It wasn't any of his business. Driving them to their hotel was. "Okay. Well, you're pre-paid and everything, so... I'll be taking you directly to the front door of the Hotel Aspen." He paused, allowing Ben time to translate his words into sign. "It's about ninety miles. We have a bit of a storm moving in but don't let it worry you too much. We've got a four-wheel drive trans-axle mini-van with chains and I've been driving these roads for years. It has to get really bad before I can't get through. Might slow us down a bit, but we'll get there. Ready? Van's over this way..."

Ben and Jaelyn nodded and then followed him from the terminal to the blue and white van parked in a designated company zone.

Part 5

He glanced down at Dief with a look of extreme tension on his face. "But--" he tried again and was overwhelmed by another spate of fast and volatile Italian. Ma always reverted to Italian when she was upset. And by the sound of it, she was very upset!

Pop always insisted they speak English at home, that they were American. No one was going to call any of his kids a "Wop" or "Jabonee!" The two of them would switch to Italian whenever they fought, specifically to keep the kids from understanding what was said. Unfortunately, Pop was drunk most of the time and used the two languages interchangeably; and, when he wasn't around, Ma often reverted to her native tongue without thinking - thus the kids had learned more than Pop wanted them too. Ray hardly considered himself bilingual, but he knew enough to understand his mother most of the time. Unfortunately, she was speaking too fast at the moment for him to catch half of it!

"Ma...aaa!" he tried plaintively to get a word in edge-wise.

"Why did you not tell me, Raimundo, huh?" she demanded vociferously. "I am your mother! You do not keep secrets from your mother!"

He rolled his eyes and sighed silently. He could say the same thing about the way they'd all conspired to keep the truth of Lucas' brain tumor from him but that would only serve to irritate his mother more.

It was going to be a long day...

"Your sister, I understand. I do not agree with it, but I understand it. She wished to protect me. But you, Figlio? You should have known better!"

He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose as he waited for the storm to pass. Obviously, Frannie had called Ma and told her about the sextuplets. Obviously, she was not taking the news well...

"I should have been there for her!" She suddenly switched from flailing Ray to flagellating herself. "Mi preziosa bambina, all alone and giving birth... This is bad enough, but - Mater di Dio - to give birth to six? Alone? With only the doctors--"

"--She wasn't alone!--" he interjected, hoping to calm her down even a little bit.

"--and strangers... Not alone? Who was with her?" she asked in tones of disbelief. "You?"

"--No, Ma--"

"--You, who turned green and threw up when the cat had kittens under your bed?!" She finally heard his denial. "No? Then who? Her, what is it called... her Lamaze coach, perhaps? A person who has no love or--"

"--Turnbull, Ma! And he does love her!" he interjected in frustration. Then he heard himself and his head snapped up as he realized what he'd just said. Oh, damn...

"Turnbull? Who is--?" Ma asked and then the name clicked. Frannie had dated the man once about a year ago and Ray doubted Ma remembered that, but he knew there was no way that the news of the shooting could have been kept from her. "The man who saved her life? And what is this you say, he 'loves' her? When did this happen?" And she was off again in another explosion of Italian, raging against children who kept their mother in the dark about things she should know.

Dief got bored watching him and gave a wolfish shrug before suddenly turning on his haunch and heading for the kitchen. There went Ray's Danish.

It was going to be a very long day...

Part 6

Ben paused a long moment in the lightly falling snow as they disembarked before the modern structure of the Aspen Hotel. Due to various interfering factors over the past few days, he hadn't taken the time he should to research his destination properly. What he discovered around him was... It was almost overwhelming.

He'd been expecting to find an over-commercialized, sprawling city of moderate size catering to the tastes of the rich and famous: the "skier's Mecca" or "Hollywood winter playground" as he'd heard it described. There was a definite tourist feel to it, of course, but the town was considerably smaller than he'd anticipated.

There were no sky-scrapers or bill-boards or any of the other things he'd come to associate with cities. No steel and cement high-rises competed with the view of the surrounding mountains which towered around the town like sleeping giants. The largest building he saw was about five stories tall. Most were only two or three. Main Street was anything but the congested four-lane highway pass-through he'd half expected. Instead, he was greeted with a broad two-lane roadway, bordered by cobblestone sidewalks and businesses whose exterior facades were tastefully in keeping with an atmosphere of relaxed charm and memories of a bygone era.

Whereas he'd been prepared to endure large, impersonal crowds of tourists and the sight of a McDonald's at the top of a mountain where chair lifts met, their cables and supports snaking up carefully groomed slopes where nature was ruthlessly subjugated to man's use and enjoyment... instead, he gazed up on rugged mountains whose ski runs were careful designed to work with, rather than dominate what nature had provided.

The city fathers had obviously worked hard to preserve their heritage and a sense tranquillity.

"Surprised?" Jaelyn smiled broadly as she watched him drink it all in.

His smile was his answer. It wasn't Tuktoyaktuk or Inuvik; but the air was crisp and clean, and the snow was white. The fullness of nature was embraced, rather than rejected. It wasn't home but there were aspects of the town that spoke to his soul.

He suspected he was going to enjoy this vacation much more than he'd thought when he first agreed to accompany Jaelyn.

"First timers are always surprised," their driver said with a smile. "Most people expect it to be bigger and more commercialized... and it is. You just can't see it. It's the fact that you can't see it that draws the tourists. But anything you want..."

He smiled and quickly snaked an arm about the shoulders of the bellhop who'd joined them. "This is Joe Linden. Joe, this is Jaelyn McKenna and Benton Fraser, a very nice couple from out of Chicago. She's deaf, he's mute, but they work together like a pair of Super 8 Pros. He's also a real life Mountie from up in Canada. I forgot to ask what in the world he's doing in Chicago but anyway, if you wrangle it out of him you can let me know later."

He offered Ben and Jaelyn a jovial wink even as he released Joe with a little pat on the shoulder. "I know all the bellhops. Joe here will take good care of you. 'Fraid they don't have any luggage, which makes your job far too easy." He turned back to Ben and Jaelyn. "It was nice meeting you folks. If you need any transportation services within Aspen or the surrounding areas, don't hesitate to call. Mountain High Taxi is available twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. I hope you enjoy your stay."

Ben was reaching for his wallet with obvious intent but the other man waved him off. "The tip was pre-paid too," he explained, heading back around the front of the van. "Have fun!"

"No luggage?" Joe asked carefully, turning from his friend to the couple before him. "I assume it will be arriving later?"

Ben frowned as he struggled between the need to complete his summary of what the driver had said (he'd spoken far too quickly for Ben to hope to catch it all for Jaelyn. Plus, Ben had interrupted himself to offer the tip) and this newest question.

Jaelyn read the frustration easily and a simple hand gesture asked the bellhop to be patient for a second. Ben sighed and lifted his hands as he fought to reorganize his thoughts. Jaelyn's hand came out to grip his, stilling them before he could begin again. "Take your time, Ben, and just do whatever you think's important. You're here as a friend, not an interpreter." She released his hands and smiled. He nodded, thinking she had one of the most beautiful and sincere smiles he'd seen in a long time...

She suddenly laughed, offering the bellhop an embarrassed glance as she blushed quite nicely... and Ben suddenly realized he'd signed his thoughts without even thinking!

Joe lifted his hands in confused and innocent surrender. "Don't look at me!" he apologized. "I'm a fly on the wall who doesn't know sign language. I just need to know if we can be expecting your luggage later? It's no big deal."

^He - didn't understand,^ Ben assured Jaelyn.

She nodded, trying to swallow her embarrassed grin.

^He needs to know - our luggage - won't be arriving - later.^

"Oh, um..." She cleared her throat feeling it was too tight to have anything she said come out right. "Um, we don't have any..." A slight gesture from Ben had her raising her volume a bit. "...luggage. We left in a bit of a hurry. Can you recommend a good clothing store?"

"There's several in town but it kinda depends on your price range. Mr. Gardener, the Head Concierge, is the one to talk to. I'm sure he'll be happy to help you. If you'll come this way..." He moved to the door and held it open for them.

Part 7

Kali heard more than saw the young nurse approach and wait patiently while she concentrated on inserting a central line for the tiny twenty-four week preemie laying before her. "Hi, Nancy," she greeted her without looking up, carefully threading the pencil-lead thin tubing into the umbilical artery, turning and twisting it so as to navigate the invisible and twisted road map that was the baby's circulatory system. It was a common procedure in NICU and one she'd mastered many years ago. She could have left it to the Neonatal Fellow but she'd sent him to the OR to attend an emergency C-section instead. Kali preferred to stay close to her charges and let the Fellows and Residents handle the mundane. Or hopefully mundane. They already had forty-two babies. She could do without another admission this afternoon...

"A reporter covering the Vecchio sextuplets is here to see you," the nurse told her with a quiet frown. "She says you're expecting her."

Kali frowned as well and paused in the routine but delicate task to glance at the clock above the door of the NICU procedure room, commonly referred to as "the closet". She lifted a brow and shook her head, happy to note the time: 3:55 p.m. "She's early. Park her in the scrub room. I'll be with her when I'm done here."

"She has a cameraman with her."

Kali snorted and shook her head as she resumed threading the life saving catheter into the micro-premie before her. The miniature artery she worked within had parchment thin walls and Kali's only guide was touch and experience: she couldn't afford the spare thought necessary to be diplomatic as she answered the nurse. "Tell him to get lost. This isn't picture day at preschool."

The nurse fought to suppress a smile as she turned and hurried back to the ward's front desk to deliver the message. Dr. Sandison had reacted exactly as Nancy knew she would. The Neonatologist didn't suffer fools gladly, and reporters were at the top of that classification to her thinking. Nancy would be a little more tactful than the doctor when delivering the message, but the message would be delivered just the same.

Part 8

It was no simple hotel room they were led to but a large two-bedroom condominium suite. It had a southwestern theme with a cream colored leather sofa and chair in front of a large sandstone fireplace. The mantel was a rough hewn pine slab on which rested black Santa Domingo pottery, a Hopi kachina, and a stone mortar and pestle. Above it hung a brightly colored Navajo rug. On the wall to it's left was a giant dream catcher ringed in white fur and black tipped feathers, with faux turquoise beads caught in a web of fawn colored leather. A sheepskin "bear" rug covered the white oak flooring before the fireplace.

Jaelyn ignored it all, including Ben's signing as he interpreted the bellhop's words. She crossed directly to the double sliding-glass doors without a thought for either man, her eyes fastened on the snow covered balcony and the magnificent view beyond. The snow was still falling and the clouds hung low over the mountains, hiding their summits from view.

She could probably recite the bellhop's words faster than he could anyway. Unlatching the door, she stepped out into the cold once more, relishing the crisp bite of the air as she lifted her face toward the feather light caress of the falling snowflakes.

Ben's attention was more on Jaelyn than the bellhop as he listened to the younger man's advice and instructions. He nodded absently and handed over a modest tip as the younger man finished his spiel. The bellhop thanked him and wished them both well before finally taking his leave.

Ben listened as the door snicked shut and debated joining Jaelyn outside. She'd left the door open. Whether in invitation or simple carelessness, he wasn't sure. A cold waft of winter air tempted him, but there as something about Jaelyn's actions that begged for privacy.

Or... maybe he was just afraid of what he was seeing.

Jaelyn held out her arms and laughed as she performed a simple pirouette. The movement drew Ben forward, almost against his will. There had been very few people in his life who appreciated winter quite the way he did.

He also knew the wood of the balcony would be slick with ice beneath the snow. She could slip and fall if she wasn't careful... Such was the rationalization he offered himself in any case as he stepped out the door and moved to stand beside her. She smiled over at him and he knew it was more than concern that drew him to her side.

She turned her gaze back to the cloud draped landscape and sighed as she moved toward the heavy wooden railing. She leaned an elbow and hip against it, ignoring the snow upon it as she waved a hand to indicate the town below them. "My father used to bring us here every year," she explained, a wistful look on her face as she let the memories take her. "My mother loved to ski. She loved the mountains... She loved our Inn too, but Illinois isn't exactly known for its mountains. Aspen was kind of her home away from home. It's where she and Dad would come to refresh their souls, you know?" She offered a little laugh as she considered her own words and turned back to the view. "That must have sounded stupid," she decided.

It didn't sound stupid to Ben at all, but Jaelyn's back was turned and she couldn't see him shake his head. She sighed again as he moved to join her at the railing. He wondered if she saw the same things in the view which surrounded them that he saw?

"It hasn't changed much," she offered quietly. "Not from the last time I was here anyway. That was... gosh, more than six years ago. Dad brought Mom here one last time, for Christmas back in 1994, but I didn't come with them. We knew she was dying at that point and they needed some time for themselves, you know?"

Ben nodded, remembering that her mother had died of breast cancer. It could not have been an easy time for her parents. Or her. He found himself trying to remember his last Christmas with his mother... It was a dim and disjointed memory, faded with the years. It hurt that he couldn't remember more.

Jaelyn turned her gaze back to the view. "After that... I guess there were just too many memories here for him. We'd plan it, but something would always come up. And then he was killed in that car accident..." She closed her eyes and bowed her head as a sudden wave of emotion threatened to overwhelm her control. "I'm sorry," she apologized. She hadn't meant to go and get all maudlin on him. "It's been more than two years since I lost my father and almost five since I lost my mother, but sometimes... Sometimes it still hurts."

Had Ben been capable of speaking, there were a number of things he might have said, the first of which was that she didn't need to apologize. But he couldn't speak and she couldn't hear, so he wasn't sure how to comfort her. He scratched his brow with a thumbnail and decided a slight change in subject was in order. Turning his gaze back to the mountains and the softly falling snow, he carefully set his cane aside so he could sign. He offered the view a small, wistful smile of his own and nodded. ^It reminds me - of home,^ he admitted.

Jaelyn awarded him a bit of a smile. "I bet. But then I don't know much about Canada. Did it snow a lot where you're from?"

Ben grinned and looked away, not wanting to insult her by laughing. He was struck by the memory of once teasing Ray Vecchio about having dogsleds at the border... He wasn't even tempted by such sarcastic humor where Jaelyn was concerned. It was obvious she had a typical American view of his country, but at least she admitted her ignorance. And her question was asked out of sincere interest.

^Some,^ he answered. ^But the far north - doesn't get as much snow - as you might think. The colder air gets - the less moisture - it can hold - and so the less - precipitation - you get. Aspen - probably gets more.^

"It's not the land of eternal snow and ice we ignorant Americans like to think?" she joked.

^You should see it - in the summer,^ he decided, remembering many a happy day spent traipsing through the wilderness back home. ^Fireweed - Columbine - Poppies... The hills and plains - especially along the rivers - explode with color.^

"It sounds beautiful."

^It doesn't last long - only a few weeks - but while it does...^

His smile got rather wistful again and she smiled in turn. He didn't smile nearly often enough, she thought. ^Of course - there are also - mosquitoes - and black flies - and poisonous tundra beetles.^ He shrugged a shoulder even as he felt obligated to list the less than pleasant aspects of summers in the far north.

"Snakes?"

He shook his head. ^They stay - well below - the permafrost line. In other parts of Canada - yes. Rattlesnakes - corn snakes... Many of the same - species - the US has. Ignorance - is the greatest danger - when living in the far north.^

"Don't tease the polar bears, huh?"

He smiled, knowing she meant it as a joke, but nodded as well. ^People have died - doing exactly that,^ he admitted. ^And caribou - and musk ox - even walrus can be dangerous - if provoked. Photographers - get too close to cubs - or campers - don't secure their food properly. Even wearing the wrong perfume - at the wrong time of year - can be deadly.^

"Really?"
He nodded. ^Many perfumes - are made from musk. In the spring - a rutting stag - can smell it - for nearly a mile.^

Jaelyn got the idea and offered an humorless laugh. "Dangerous..." she agreed. "But you love it."

Ben lowered his head and stared at his gloved hands for a long moment, embarrassed that she should read him so easily. Despite having been home for several months this last spring, he still found himself tasting a bit of homesickness. He knew he always would when he wasn't up there. He glanced back up and nodded. ^It's home,^ he signed simply.

She nodded in turn and looked away, out over the town below them and up into the mountains, but again he didn't think she saw them. He suspected she was thinking of her own home, which had so recently gone up in flames... He wished he'd signed something else.

"Guess I'd need a guide if I ever make it up there," she offered lightly after several moments. She cast him a sideways glance and a teasing smile. "Think I could impose upon you?"

He smiled as well, glad he hadn't upset her, and nodded. ^I'd like that,^ he admitted readily. He'd like that very much...

Part 9

A woman dressed in bright floral scrubs with a white coat over them pushed through the double doors and quickly gave the woman standing by the sinks a once over. No air of concern or fearful hope surrounded the waiting woman. "King?"

A blond brow arched upward as the receiver of that look gave the petite brunette a once over of her own. "Dr. Sandison?" she asked. The floral scrubs had made her think the other woman was a lab technician or something, not one of the top neonatologists in the nation.

Kali jerked her head to the right. "This way," she said simply and quickly led the way from the scrub room and up the hall.

King frowned as she hurried to keep up with the flapping tail of the white coat in front of her. The doctor didn't seem to care whether the reporter followed her or not. They rounded a corner and the doctor entered the first door to her right.

The office was smaller than she would have expected, little more than ten by ten. The walls to either side were dedicated to bookshelves and files, floor to ceiling, the contents all neatly crammed into place without an inch to spare for more. Her desk was more in keeping with her status, large and solid - no particle board here - the lacquered wood surface was quite spartan in comparison to the jam-packed shelving. Only a flat screen monitor, keyboard, notebook, rolodex and pencil cup resided atop the gleaming wood. The wall behind her held a large cork board message center. The few notes on it were neatly tacked at the lower right corner while the rest of the expanse was taken up by scattered baby pictures. Hundreds of them. Some were nothing more than Polaroids of tiny preemies almost invisible behind all the wires and tubes and machinery; others showed older children, two or three year olds, smiling happily at the camera.

King suddenly realized the meaning behind those older pictures. She was seeing a visual success story. Each of the preemie pictures corresponded to pictures of happy older--

"Sit," the doctor abruptly interrupted her thoughts and waved a hand to indicate one of the two cloth padded but small chairs that faced her desk. There simply wasn't room in the small office for larger chairs.

"No window?" King asked flippantly, shoving sentimentality aside. It only got in the way of getting to the facts. She'd dig the sentiment out later to add the human interest touch the facts lacked.

"I prefer to stay close to my charges," the doctor answered. In other words, she had more than enough clout to warrant a better office - and probably a secretary too - but had turned it down to stay in the trenches. "You have fifteen minutes, Ms. King. I have a staff meeting in twenty."

MacKenzie frowned. "This is a rather important piece, for you as well as the hospital," she offered. "Sextuplets don't happen everyday. Perhaps we could meet after work?" She needed more than fifteen minutes to do this right!

"I'd rather have a root canal."

King's frown became a look of surprise and she lifted a sardonic brow. "Shall I tell your bosses that?"

"They already know. I'm surprised they didn't warn you." The doctor sighed and leaned back in her chair. "Ms. King, I know why you're here. I know what you want me to say. I know what the hospital wants me to say. You all want the perfect, happy little ending for your 'miracle birth' piece for Time Magazine. 'The Vecchio sextuplets are doing remarkably well and will be going home with their mother in a matter of weeks where they will grow up to live happy, normal lives.' Yadda, yadda, yadda..." She shook her head. "Can't do it. I wish I could."

"What can you tell me?"

"I can tell you that sextuplets are a neonatologist's worst nightmare - excluding septuplets and octuplets. There's no miracle happening here, Ms. King. It's an accident. A scientific accident resulting from the over-aggressive use of infertility methods."

"Over-aggressive?" King echoed with a frown. "The doctors implanted four embryo. As I understand it, that's normal. Normally, only one or two take. In Frannie's case, all of them took! Plus a couple divided into identical twins. You still call that an accident?" She couldn't believe her ears!

"Most definitely," Kali answered. "The embryos resulting in twins most likely divided even before they were introduced into Ms. Vecchio's womb. The clinic failed to catch it. And introducing four embryo might be 'normal', but it's not necessary. Why do you think these procedures have such a high rate of multiple births? The driving force behind it is cost. The clinics are under great pressure to see that the prospective mother gets pregnant the first time. So, to increase their chances of success, they introduce more embryos. Unfortunately, the human body is not designed to bear litters. I have to deal with the results. Not them."

"I've been following this story for months, Dr. Sandison, and everyone else I've spoken to has said the babies are doing remarkably well. At twenty-seven weeks they have a better than ninety percent chance of survival, as compared to practically none ten years ago. Is something going on with the babies that we haven't been told about?"

"Your research is wrong, Ms. King," the doctor corrected her. "A single birth at twenty-seven weeks has a ninety-four percent chance of survival today, but that figure doesn't apply to multiple births and it says absolutely nothing about the chances for life-long physical and mental handicaps. You can number crunch all you want, but we are still talking about individual babies here. I've seen full term babies who should have lived, die; and twenty-four week micro-preemies who should have died, live. You cannot generalize when you're working with a baby."

"So the statistics are meaningless?"

"They have their uses, but not in this case."

"Great," the reporter sighed, tossing her notepad onto her lap. There went three weeks worth of research for nothing!

Seeing the defeated and crestfallen look, Kali relented a bit. "Given the circumstances of their birth, their gestational ages and weights... they are doing remarkably well," she allowed.

MacKenzie looked up again in confused surprise.

"What you have to remember is that we are talking 'remarkably well' for babies in a neonatal intensive care unit. That doesn't mean one of them can't take a sudden turn for the worse and die while we're sitting here discussing it. I can't guarantee that any of them are going to live, let alone grow up to have healthy, happy normal lives."

"What about the kids behind you?" King asked, nodding her head at that montage of baby pictures.

"My wall of dreams," she answered, swinging her chair around to glance at the faces behind her. "This is why I'm here. To let kids discover what a dream is. These," she hooked a finger at the display as she turned back around, "are the lucky ones. What you don't see are the ones I only keep here." She pointed to her heart. "The angels who touched my life for just a moment and then went back to heaven."

"Any danger of the Vecchio kids joining those angels of yours?"

Kali frowned and sighed. Hadn't she already answered that? "There's always that danger," she answered bluntly.

"But you won't tell me how much of a danger..."

Kali glanced at her watch. Had it really only been three minutes? "Not at this point, no."

"You're saying it's fifty-fifty."

"You're not listening to me!" Kali snapped. This was why she hated reporters. If you didn't say what they wanted to hear, they just reworded the question. "You want numbers, you talk to the PR people. They can give you all the numbers you want. Me? I fight for each and every one of my kids and statistics be damned.

"The Vecchio sextuplets were born three months premature. They are what we call 'fragile'. None of their organs are fully developed. Half of them are on ventilators. The slightest bump in their development will send the others there as well. Only a few basic instincts are in place. The suck and swallow reflex doesn't exist yet. They often simply forget to breathe. Their skin is like paper and without any subcutaneous fat they cannot even maintain their own body temperatures. Their immune systems are all but nonexistent. The slightest cold can kill. This is 'normal' for them. It is not normal for the human condition.

"The human womb with it's placenta and amniotic fluid offers the developing fetus protections we cannot hope to mimic. Out here, they are subjected to stresses and hazards they simply aren't ready to cope with. About the only good news I can give you is that we have detected no serious congenital defects: No spina bifida, no pulmonary hypoplasia, no trisomy or other genetic disorders. And they've survived the first seventy-two hours. That's always a good sign. That doesn't mean they aren't going to have problems. They will. It's my job to try and minimize them."

"So what do I tell my readers?" King asked. "What do you tell their mother?"

"That we are doing the best we can," Kali answered. "That if everything goes well, she'll have at least a few of them at home by their due dates. Some may take longer. Some may never go home. There are no promises. It's just too early."

King nodded thoughtfully and glanced down at the blank page of the notepad on her lap. Her tape recorder had captured everything so that wasn't a problem. "What can you tell me about them individually. What kind of problems are they having now?"

Kali shook her head and stood. "I don't have time, Ms. King, nor do I have the mother's permission to speak about specifics with you. Your agreement with her and the hospital doesn't cover that."

"Yes, it does," King rejoined, but she knew it wasn't something that was spelled out in black and white. "Has she been fully briefed on everything?"

"Of course," the doctor answered, waving her to the door. "But it usually takes a few times for the explanations to fully sink in. She may have understood it when we asked her permission for this or that procedure, we make sure of that, but I doubt she's retained more than a tenth of everything she's been inundated with in the last two days. She's entered into a new world, Ms. King. One that few people ever see, and no one wants to. Now, if you'll excuse me..." King obeyed the silent order and stepped around her into the hall. "It's a world my readers want to see, Doctor," she argued. "And one I want to show them. If I can get the mother's permission in writing, will you talk to me again? In depth?"

"No," Kali answered bluntly. "I've told you everything I can at this point. Besides, I'm familiar with your by-line, Ms. King. You're not a reporter, you're a sensationalist. Don't take it personally. Most reporters now a days are sensationalists. Dry facts don't sell magazines. But I'm afraid I have far more important things to do than perform for you and your readers. You want to learn more, help support Ms. Vecchio. Be her friend and not just a reporter. Maybe then you'll be able to write the story you really should."

With that the white coated woman spun on her heal and hurried away, leaving MacKenzie King wondering if she should be insulted or not.

Part 10

What was left of the morning passed quite quickly for Ben and Jaelyn. After speaking with the Head Concierge and checking into their room, they'd set out again into the lightly falling snow. It was coming down a bit more heavily than before, but the continued gentle fall of white didn't seem to faze Jaelyn in the least. She seemed to be honestly enjoying it, which was a welcome respite from the normal list of complaints about wintery weather Ben was used to hearing since moving to the States.

Well, actually, he'd heard complaints in the far north too; but, up there, there was cause to complain: whiteout conditions, forty-below temperatures with a wind-chill factor bringing it to seventy-below... Those were things to complain about. They could easily kill, but this?

He gazed up at the low clouds, the sun filling them with an inner glow that filtered through and reflected off the snow, lighting the entire mountain in a soft, gray twilight that was surprisingly bright despite the heavy overcast. Long experience allowed him to judge the temperature as hovering just below freezing. Only a light breeze danced and swirled amidst the fat, heavy snowflakes. Not having lived here before, his weather sense was of little use, but there was nothing in the situation that he would regard as dangerous. Not yet anyway.

The ground itself had yet to freeze and traffic kept the streets largely clear; wet, gray slush was only just beginning to make itself known. The sidewalks, where they weren't covered by over hangs, held four or five inches of trampled snow. Despite doctor's orders to use a cane, Ben didn't expect to have any difficulties so long as they took it slow. His hiking boots offered more than sufficient traction. Jaelyn, however, had chosen to wear leather sneakers for their trip to the airport. He was going to have to make sure she bought something a bit more appropriate for the weather...

Their first stop was at a pharmacy just down the street from the hotel where, together, they dealt with the necessity of having their prescriptions transferred and refilled with expedient efficiency. Jaelyn decided to engage their express delivery service. The young man behind the counter promised to have their medicines waiting at the front desk of their hotel later that afternoon, thus leaving them free to enjoy their day.

Their next stop was right next door.

Jaelyn offered Ben a bright smile as he held the door for her. "This is going to be fun," she decided, a teasing glint in her eye. "I've never gone shopping with a man before. Well, my father of course. And--" A stricken look suddenly crossed her features. She masked it quickly and hurried on inside, but Ben had already seen it. She went straight to the nearest rack, pretending to be suddenly interested in some ski vests. The move afforded her the ability to turn her back on Ben, as well as the rest of the store.

He frowned as he watched her. It wasn't hard to guess what had upset her. Given how close she was to her friends, he wouldn't be surprised to learn she'd gone shopping at some point with either David or Greg. Their deaths, as well as their involvement in her near murder, were still open wounds.

She abruptly shoved the pain away and turned to offer a bright if very transparent smile as she grabbed up one of the vests, holding it against herself. "What do you think?" she asked, striking a melodramatic pose. "Can you see me in neon pink?"

He accepted the sudden mood shift, recognizing her desire for him to ignore her pain and play along. He answered by squinting his eyes and shielding them from the bright color. ^You'd never - get lost - in the snow - ?^ he signed honestly, careful to add the question mark and appropriate wry facial expression at the end.

She laughed, which is what he'd hoped for, and put the item back.

"Definitely more Jeanie's style." She sighed lightly, firmly dismissing the thoughts which had upset her, then waved at the more trendy and outrageous racks. "She was always the wild one of the two of us. I can't believe she's getting married." She frowned as she forced her thoughts to another track. "Well, not that exactly as much as I always pictured her with some biker dude or rock star, you know?" She grinned and held up a blue, orange and green tie-dyed sweater. It was the sort of thing a teenager from southern California might wear.

Ben knew perfectly well she was still teasing but regarded the selection seriously.

She rolled her eyes, quickly putting it aside. "Puh-leaze!" She spotted a more conservative, turtleneck sweater and quickly held it against herself. "Now this is more my style."

Ben shook his head, knowing that it might be her style but that she needed something other than black. ^What does - James do - for a living?^ he asked as he scanned the racks more intently. He quickly discovered a heavy knit, cream colored pullover to his right with a subtle snowflake pattern worked into the texture. He lifted one free and held it up to her.

She took it and turned toward a mirror not far away. "Independent stock broker, I think," she answered, cocking her head to the side as she regarded herself in the glass. "He seems to do well for himself if that Jag of his is any indication...

"Conservative, versatile but classy..." She glanced at the inside label. "And machine washable." She grinned. "I hate dry clean only. Too much fuss."

She held it up again and considered her reflection with complete seriousness. "I like your taste," she decided with a nod, checked the size and draped it over her arm. "One down for me: your turn!" She wriggled her brows and headed for the men's section. "Silk paisley, I think..." she teased him outrageously and sashayed away.

Part 11

James frowned into the blustery gloom of the storm-clouded evening which surrounded the phone booth and took a nervous drag of his cigarette. The weather was a perfect reflection of his mood...

Jeanie had harped on and on about the wedding plans and arrangements all the way back to the cabin, suggesting changes and asking questions James really had no interest in hearing. He'd tried to change the subject but it always came back to the same thing. He'd finally been forced to don his solicitous fianc mask and tried to respond as though he gave a shit about any of it.

Once at the cabin, he pretended to retrieve an important phone message from a client and hurriedly made his escape. He had far more important things to worry about than whether the roses in the boutonnires should be white or red! As long as the event was first class and there was enough champagne with which he could dull the pain, he'd be happy.

The woman's chances of surviving beyond their first year of matrimony were beginning to look grim.

"Come on, come on!" he muttered into the receiver as he flicked ash aside and glanced about to keep an eye on the very few who dared to walk this part of town on such a day. The three whores who'd staked out the corner about thirty feet away kept throwing smiles in his direction, but his own dark frown earlier had warned them to keep their distance, at least for now... unless they wanted to be swallowing their teeth. At least, two of them had understood it. He'd seen them turn to the third and warn her off as well. Apparently, she was new to the game...

"Frennelli," a voice on the other end of the phone announced without preamble.

James shoved distractions aside and removed the cigarette from his mouth as he leaned back against the glass door. "'Got a cold there, Red?" he asked casually, blowing smoke as he did so. "You sound kinda hoarse."

There was a moment of silence as the man tried to place his voice. James wasn't surprised when he failed. "Who wants to know?" he asked suspiciously.

"Old friend," James answered. He'd never given the man a name, and he had no intention of doing so now. "Think ex-wife. I did you a favor with her, remember?"

Another long moment of silence followed before the voice at last clicked. The favor had been killing his wife before the bitch and her lawyer could take him to the cleaners. "For which you were well paid," Frennelli answered coldly.

"Yes," James agreed. "Don't worry. I'm not trying to squeeze you."

"Smart boy."

James lifted an eyebrow at the "boy" remark but chose to let it slide. "I gotta little problem of my own. Thought you could help me out."

"What kind of problem?"

"A car problem," he answered, pausing to take another swift drag before squashing the butt of the cigarette out on the side of the phone box. "Your specialty."

"Oh, really?" Frenelli sounded doubtful. "We don't do repairs."

"I need more of a cleaning job. Gotta little blood in the trunk last time I went hunting, know what I mean?"

"Oh, yeah. Yeah," Red agreed, starting to relax now that he understood the dynamics of the call better. "Nasty stain. Shoulda bagged it."

"Yeah, well, 'couldn't. Can you help me?"

"Sure," he said. "Not what I usually do, but... the boys won't have any problems making the stain disappear. What kinda car is it?"

"Jag and - I need to make sure it's in and out fast. No offense, but I don't want to risk you getting caught with it. And I don't think you want to risk my response if you did. Naturally, I'll pay extra for your trouble."

"Naturally..." James could practically hear the other man frowning.

"I'll give you three hours. Strip what you can in that time; but I want all VINs destroyed, the trunk burnt and the frame rusting at the bottom of the lake when you're done."

"Three hours?" Red echoed in disbelief and started to laugh. "You don't want much, do you?"

"Ten thousand enough?" James asked. The laughter ended abruptly.

"Ten thousand?" the other man echoed and suddenly became much more serious. "What? You stole the Police Commissioner's car and stuffed his body in the trunk? There better not be more than blood back there."

"There isn't, and I didn't steal it. It's my car." He shook out another cigarette and frowned up the way at the whores. Damn, the young one he'd been idly considering was getting in a car. He turned away with a frown to scan the rest of the area.

"A mistake, that," Red decided.

James frowned into the phone. "You're irritating me," he said bluntly. "Shall I take my business elsewhere?"

"No, no!" Red quickly backpedaled. The last thing he wanted to do was lose a chance at an easy ten grand. "I can help you. When you want it done?"

"Tomorrow night," he answered curtly. "The Oakwood Center Mall parking lot, west side, around seven. Gold 1999 Jag, license plate: RCW 139. There'll be a key in one of those magnet holders on the frame under the driver's side door. Send your best, Red. We don't need security stopping him. I'll be reporting it stolen about ten-thirty, or whenever the late show gets out. I want it in the lake before I call it in."

"And the money?"

"Under the back seat. Small, unmarked bills." He sandwiched the phone between his head and shoulder as he deftly lit the cigarette.

"Good. It won't be in the lake, but it'll be out of town," Red told him, hurrying on before James might protest. "Ain't no place we can dump it in the city and not be seen, man! We'll paint it first, change the plates, then drive it north. There's a couple places out in the back of no man's land I know where we can sink it nice and deep. No one will see it and no one will find it." James debated the risks and merits of the plan for a long silent moment, during which Red held his breath. "They better not..." was all he eventually said.

Part 12

Ben sat up with a start only to have pain lance through his chest with the sudden move, winning a grunt and the belated thought that he knew better than to jerk upright like that. His left arm snaked around his ribs even as he blinked in momentary confusion, not knowing where he was or what had woken him.

Bright clear moonlight, reflected from the snow outside, streamed through the double-paned insulated windows and painted the bedroom suite in cold blue light. Memory returned as dream faded and he recognized the hotel room. He hadn't bothered to draw the heavy drapes. With a sigh, he glanced at the clock beside his bed: 2:24 am. He offered the luminescent face a frown. Glancing around again, he listened intently, at a loss as to what had roused him at such an hour. Perhaps he'd heard Jaelyn having one of her night terrors.

A faint crackling noise caught his attention...

It took him only a moment to recognize the sound and quickly spring from bed. Again, still healing muscles which gave him no trouble during the day but insisted upon stiffening in sleep protested his action. He gritted his teeth and ignored it, forcing his sluggish and uncooperative body forward. He and Jaelyn hadn't escaped the inferno at her home, only to be trapped in another fire here!

Jerking his door open onto the main room, he brought himself up short. The fire he'd so clearly heard and which had sent a surge of adrenaline racing through his veins was quite safely contained within the fireplace. He sighed dramatically as fear was replaced by relief and looked up at the ceiling. Thank God, he thought, but was frowning a moment later as he lowered his gaze, looking for Jaelyn. The fireplace had been empty when they retired. She must have risen and laid it, but he didn't see her. His frown became darker as he moved forward. He would have thought she'd know better than to leave such a fire unattended, especially with the glass screen--

Jaelyn turned from where she sat on the floor with her back against the over-stuffed sofa as movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention. She stared at Ben for a long embarrassed moment, then ducked her head and turned back to the fireplace, a small hand quickly lifting to wipe tears away.

"I'm sorry." She sniffed and cleared her throat with a frown. God, she hoped that didn't come out as pathetic as she thought it did! "I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to bed. Please." The tears were firmly banished. After a moment, she even managed to turn back to where he stood in the dancing firelight and offer up a weak semblance of a smile.

She was not surprised when he didn't turn and head back to his room, even though she really wished he would. No, she was coming to know him too well: Benton Fraser was incapable of ignoring her tears. She sighed and turned back to the fireplace. There were times she wished he wasn't such a gentleman. Men just didn't understand the cathartic value of a good crying jag.

She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he cocked his head to the side and regarded her with a pensive frown. Then, suddenly, she realized what he was wearing and turned to stare at him again.

Ben's frown of concern became one of mild confusion as he saw her forced little smile transform into one of genuine amusement.

"Long johns?" she asked, with a grin and a wave to indicate his attire. He looked like a little boy standing there, at the edge of the flickering firelight, in his bare feet and sleep tousled hair. All he needed was a teddy bear!

Ben glanced down at himself, not having given what he was wearing a second thought as he raced out of his bedroom. He was momentarily embarrassed, but Jaelyn's amusement didn't seem to indicate he should be. It didn't surprise him, really. Up in the north, long johns were a necessity. In the south... well, he'd learned long ago that they were considered a bit odd and remembered taking a definite ribbing for them in the barracks when he attended Academy in Ragina. Of course, he'd also been a lot more comfortable than some of his fellow bunkmates on cold winter mornings so...

He and Jaelyn had separated for a few short minutes while shopping this afternoon, to purchase more personal items. He'd been quite delighted to find them.

He shrugged and noted that Jaelyn was dressed in flannel pajamas herself. The sight seemed a bit incongruous somehow. She'd always worn a long cotton nightgown on the few occasions he'd seen while at the Inn.

He dismissed the thought as inappropriate and lifted his hands to sign. ^Should - I change?^ he asked. He probably should have bought a robe, he realized, not that he would have taken the time to grab it before flying from his room...

She shook her head and turned back to the fire. "No. Just... go back to bed. You really don't have to worry about me. I'm fine. Really."

He offered a pensive frown, not believing her for an instant, and shrugged again. ^I can't - sleep - either,^ he told her simply. Which, he consoled himself, wasn't exactly a lie: he wouldn't be able to sleep until he knew why she was up at such an hour. Her tears might be gone, but he hadn't forgotten them. He came forward to stand beside her. ^May I?^ He indicated a spot on the floor beside her as she glanced up again.

She felt a momentary... It wasn't fear, exactly. More... trepidation. Or... maybe anticipation was a better word. There was nothing little-boy-like about him up close. Jaelyn quickly glanced away and shrugged. What was she supposed to do: tell him no?

He carefully folded himself downward beside her, supporting himself with a hand on the edge of the couch. She watched him, despite herself, and caught his slight wince of pain as he maneuvered himself into position; not too close, not too far from her side. "You okay?"

Ben was surprised by the question, unaware he'd let his expression slip and quickly fought to banish the look which had elicited her concern. He nodded as he settled and stretched his legs out toward the fire, his heels resting on the sheepskin "bear" rug. He lifted his hands. ^Sore,^ he admitted, with a shrug.

He should actually expect to feel worse, he thought, given how much walking they'd done. His muscles had already started to relax again in answer to his movements. It had been a pleasantly full day, and he didn't mind the minor aches and pains that were the price he must pay for it. Only a few weeks ago, he'd barely been able to walk a block without getting winded. He was definitely improving. At least physically, he amended, and frowned into the fire.

"Six months from now, you'll be chasing the bad guys again and this will all be forgotten," Jaelyn decided, offering her own wistful smile to the dancing flames.

He frowned a little harder, unwilling to lie to himself. ^Maybe,^ he offered silently, then dismissed the disquieting thought. He cocked his head to the side and waved a hand to indicate the fire. ^Did you - lay it?^ he asked, knowing she must have.

"No," she answered. "I called room service."

He was a bit surprised but nodded his understanding and acceptance of the simple declaration even as he fought to hide a frown, not sure why the idea that she hadn't laid it herself should be so disappointing--

--She lightly dug her elbow into his side. "Of course, I laid it, you idiot!" she corrected herself. "Like I'd really call room service at two in the morning for something so simple!"

He glanced over to see her grinning unrepentantly and knew she'd been having him on. He'd certainly fallen for it. He shook his head. There were a number of women he knew who wouldn't have the faintest idea how to go about laying a proper fire, and he wasn't sure why the thought that Jaelyn might be among them had almost hurt. Most people simply threw a couple of logs on the grate and stuffed newspaper around them. The lay of the embers and ash beneath the grate told Ben that Jaelyn had taken the time to lay a proper bed of kindling and tinder before placing a single medium-sized log carefully atop it. A couple of pine cones had added color, though they were mostly gone now. It was a low soft fire, and one that could easily be maintained for the rest of the night if desired, or quickly picked apart and extinguished when the time came.

"One of my first jobs at the Inn was laying the fire in the main dining room," she offered with a wistful smile. "My father was quite insistent that I learn to do it right. Back when they refitted the old kitchen, the contractor for the job wanted to convert all the fireplaces to gas, but Dad refused to do it. He said gas could never replace a true log fire." She smiled at the crackling wood. "He was right."

A good thing too, Ben thought. The main fire place she'd mentioned tending at the Inn had backed against the kitchen. Had it exploded when the kitchen did, half the Inn would have collapsed and they would likely be dead.

With a shake of her head, she quickly thrust thoughts of the Inn aside before they could become too painful and turned to cock a questing brow at the man beside her. "You know... I think I saw some marshmallows in one of the cabinets earlier." She grinned. "Think we can find something to roast them with?"

He offered a crooked smile in answer and together they rose to pad into the tiny kitchenette.

Part 13

Frannie bit her lip and fought to still her shaking hands as her chair was wheeled through the double doors of the NICU and positioned before the large double sinks. A glance to the side at Ren assured her that he was just as nervous as she was about meeting the babies for the first time.

It had been four days since the birth. Four days of questions and half-answers she didn't understand, of worries and hope, of fears and forms and hearing other newborns being brought to their mothers... She'd developed a blood clot in her leg right after the delivery, and apparently her blood pressure had gone wacko too. It all added up to the fact that she'd been forced to stay in bed until this morning.

Four days.

It was a disconcerting blur for the most part, and not because of any drugs or anything she'd been on but because of everything that had happened. The euphoria of birth had quickly passed. She'd been bombarded with questions and information. Three of her babies had been placed on respirators immediately, another one had wound up being intubated yesterday when she "got too tired." Two of the kids were doing quite well, but that hardly meant they were ready to go home.

Her milk had come in quickly and the nurses had been in and out, teaching her to use the Medula breast pump they gave her and to collect the result. They'd explained the importance of colostrum and how her milk contained antibodies the babies needed. The babies couldn't drink it yet, but it would be frozen and given to them as soon as possible. There had been a lot of explanations and questions and a mountain of paperwork to sign, allowing this or that test or procedure. Surfactant therapy. Central line. Umbilical catheter. RDS. PDA. Apnea... It was like trying to learn a whole new language!

Her obstetrician, Dr. Romano had tried to warn her. She'd told Frannie the children would be born premature, told her that she had to be admitted when she started having early labor, done everything in her power to let Frannie carry them as long as she could... all the while knowing and telling Frannie that she could not possibly carry to full term.

Somehow, Frannie hadn't really taken it in. She'd assumed that they would be born when they were ready to be born: that they would be ready to be born... She'd been so worried about losing them, about one or more dying... All her other worries had revolved around where they were going to put six bassinets and how to afford all the necessary diapers. If they lived, then everything would be fine, and she'd be taking home six bouncing bundles of screaming joy. The fantasy of the perfect birth situation had never been supplanted by the reality of what premature birth meant.

Until now...

The nurse who escorted their small group handed each of them an individually packaged pre-treated disinfectant scrub brush to open and carefully explained the scrub down procedure, going through it with them and pointing out where the instructions were posted to the left of the scrubber dispenser in case they became confused on a subsequent visit. It even dictated the proper method for drying their hands by passing the paper towels over their skin in one direction only.

Somehow... it all seemed unreal to Frannie. This wasn't the way one was supposed to greet a new baby. Or babies... She'd known it wouldn't be the typical scenario: Mom propped up in bed, all happy tears as the precious bundle was handed to her and the family ooo'ed and ahhh'ed and made stupid comments. Not with sextuplets. She'd known... but at the same time, she hadn't. Lamaze hadn't prepared her for any of this!

Surgical gowns were produced as soon as they were scrubbed. The nurse shook one out for her and helped her slip it on as the others wrestled with theirs.

"I feel like I'm going into surgery or something," Ray muttered darkly. "In a way you are," the nurse answered. "Most of the infants beyond these doors have severely weakened or immature immune systems. We try to keep the area as clean as any surgical suite you might see. Cleaner, in fact."

"Ready to meet the kiddos, Mama?" Mackenzie King asked from where she stood with her camera.

If it wasn't for the contract that she'd gotten with "Time Magazine" she probably wouldn't have been allowed inside. However, the-powers-that-be were always on the look out for any publicity that might win them extra donations or grants for the hospital, so the reporter was to be granted at least limited access, though her cameraman was barred from entrance. One of them in there was enough.

A hospital representative standing behind the group was going to be watching the reporter like a hawk. King was under very strict restrictions as to what she could shoot and how long she could stay. And either Ray or Ren would have to leave with her when the allotted time was up because hospital policy only permitted two visitors per family at a time. Ren was only permitted because the doctors were being nice. Dr. Romano had made a notation in Frannie's files which granted him special dispensation as the sextuplets "father-to-be", despite the fact that he was not a blood relative. In truth, the doctors simply acknowledged that the new mother needed all the emotional support and help she could get.

"Earth to Francesca?" MacKenzie called to the distracted woman, aiming her camera at her. "Give us a smile! You're about to meet the little ones for the first time. Aren't you excited!"

Francesca gazed up at the camera and woman behind it and tried not to cry. She didn't know what she felt, but excited certainly wasn't it!

"Frannie?" The reporter, who'd developed a real affection for the petite and excitable woman, frowned in sudden concern.

Ray was at his sister's side in an instant. "Hey!" he called softly, squatting down beside her chair and taking her hand in his. It was ice cold! He frowned and held it tight, wrapping both of his around it. "You okay?" he asked quietly, searching her face in concern and confusion.

Okay? she thought and bowed her head as the question threatened to shatter her fragile control. She ruthlessly shoved the emotional turmoil aside. "Sure," she lied, forcing a too bright smile for her brother's benefit. "Why wouldn't I be?" Why indeed, she thought, not sure herself. If she didn't understand what she was feeling, then how in the world were any of them supposed to understand it?

"Want me to kick King outta here?" he asked quietly. "She can get her pictures some other time." There was nothing in their verbal agreement that said the reporter had to be hovering over his sister every second of the day.

"Hey!" the reporter protested. "I have a deadline here, Vecchio. 'Time' wants the finished article by the end of the week!"

"So you got four days to play with." Ray glared up at her. "Back off!"

"Ray," Turnbull said firmly, interrupting the incipient fight. "Miss King..." He included her as well and laid a protective hand on Francesca's shoulder. She was actually shaking! "Would you give us a few moments, please?"

It really wasn't a question. Ray was surprised by Turnbull's audacity, metaphorically stepping between him and his sister. He was about to tell him to mind his own business... when he glanced at Frannie and realized she was fighting not to cry. Damn, she was more upset than he'd realized! Probably the pressure of everything. And he hadn't helped matters.

He looked back up at Turnbull and met the man's silent gaze. It was quite clear that he loved her and would do everything in his power to protect and comfort Frannie, if everyone would just give him the chance. Ray was struck anew by the knowledge that he was no longer the only male figure in Frannie's life who had the right to demand such a chance.

He glanced at Francesca again, but she still had her head turned away, eyes tightly shut. He offered a sigh and nodded, acknowledging that his own quick temper had only made the situation worse. He didn't know Turnbull as well as he'd like too, but what he'd seen over the last few weeks had been surprising. The often inane, ludicrous and bumbling Mountie - ex-Mountie - had managed to earn Ray's grudging respect. He deserved the right to try where Ray had already failed.

Ray stood and glanced at King. The cut-throat reporter actually showed some decency. A warning glare was all that was needed to shut her up and get her to accompany him as he moved away from his sister.

Frannie felt another hand gently pat her shoulder. The nurse had not moved away. "Meeting a sick child is not the happy, exciting moment that most people think of when they talk about meeting a baby for the first time," she offered gently and glanced up at the tall man beside Ms. Vecchio. She was relieved to see his nod of understanding. "It's perfectly normal to feel scared and angry and sad and overwhelmed... Especially with sextuplets. Has anyone been by to talk to you about any of this?"

Frannie offered a small humorless laugh even as she felt Ren offer her shoulder a silent, supportive squeeze. "Everybody!" she answered.

Ren and the nurse exchanged a silent message. A moment later the nurse was replaced by his lanky form as he carefully knelt beside her. Then he merely opened his arms and drew her close. It was the only permission Frannie needed to fall apart. She buried her face in his strong shoulder and wept openly, letting the careful dam she'd fought to maintain since before the birth give way. All her pain and fear and confusion surged forth in a cleansing and terrifying flood.

"It's all right, Francesca," Ren murmured softly, gently stroking her hair and kissing the side of her head, offering support and understanding and comfort all at the same time. "Shhhhh. It's all right."

It took a long time for the soft words to penetrate. Frannie continued to weep even as she shook her head and managed to answer him, forcing the words out in little more than half-gasped whispers. "It's not all right, Ren. Nothing's all right! Karol and Mike wanted kids so much. They didn't expect me to have six of them, but they were so happy. They were scared and thrilled and... And now their dead! And... And the babies are... What if her brother wants to take them? Everybody keeps saying they're not mine. What if he says I did something wrong? What if they die, Ren?"

The last question was the only one she heard herself speak. It seemed to echo and re-echo inside her head. She couldn't even believe that she'd spoken it aloud!

"No one's going to take them away, Francesca," he told her quietly, leaning back slightly so that he could look her in the eye and make sure she was hearing him. "The rights of the surrogate mother have been well established in cases like this. The brother has no legal claim on the children unless the State deems you to be an unfit mother and you're not. You did nothing wrong, Francesca, nothing. This isn't your fault."

"What... what about the shooting? I fell, Ren!"

"That was two months ago, Francesca," he answered her with quiet assurance. "If there had been any damage, or the doctors had been concerned, they would have told you about it."

"But... twenty-seven weeks--!"

"--Is very good for sextuplets," Ren patiently echoed what he'd heard her doctors tell her repeatedly.

"What if they... die?" She heard the question slip forth again and it was as if someone else had whispered it, not her. She stared deep into Ren's eyes, praying that he would simply promise her that they wouldn't, knowing that he would never lie to her and that if he said it, it would have to be true.

"Two of them are doing quite well," he said instead, concentrating on the positive. "They are all strong and good sized for their gestational ages. The doctors here are specialists at taking care of preemies. They--"

"--What if they die!" she insisted loudly, not hearing what she needed to hear.

Ren did not denigrate her fear the way Ray would have. He did not lie and tell her everything would be fine. "It would hurt like hell,' he answered quietly and there were tears in his eyes as he said it. She knew that it would hurt him just as much as it would hurt her.

She buried her face back in his shoulder and let the tears flow once again, but this time it wasn't the overwhelming flood that had threatened to drown her like before. This time she knew there was someone who understood and who would stand with her no matter what. That knowledge was more comforting than all the empty promises she'd been hoping to hear could possibly be.

Part 14

Jaelyn frowned as she slid two plates of bacon and eggs into place on the breakfast bar. "Why didn't he ask me to marry me?" she asked suddenly.

Ben's hands froze in the act of pouring their coffee as he contemplated this completely unexpected question, then resumed their motion as he realized he had no idea what she was talking about. He offered her only a lifted brow in silent inquiry and watched as she bit her lip, sweeping back around the bar to retrieve a plate of toast without answering. He put the hot carafe on a folded hand towel then turned to hold her chair as she returned a moment later. He awarded her a patient and curious look as he took his own seat.

Jaelyn wrestled with herself for a long moment, picking up her fork and pushing her food around a bit before she could force herself to answer. "Greg."

There was only one "Greg" she could mean

"Why the kidnaping and rape?" she continued with a confused little frown. "I knew him forever. It wouldn't have taken much to make things... different." She shrugged a shoulder at her own choice of words. Ben would understand what she meant. "Despite his claims otherwise, he never even asked me out. Was it really that simple? I just... wasn't his type, and he thought killing me was easier than trying to marry me?"

Ben carefully finished chewing the bite of toast he'd taken and contemplated both the question and the questioner... though he was careful not to look at her while he did so. This was the first time since Manly's death that Ben could remember hearing her speak his name. She normally avoided talking about her attack at all, changing the topic or simply walking away if any mention of it was made.

He considered his response carefully, knowing she wasn't looking for a trite or white-washed answer here... ^It wasn't Manly - who was actually - after you,^ he reminded her.

"David..." she sighed and suddenly frowned down at her plate. "You know, I really don't want to talk about this. I don't know why I brought it up to begin with!"

Ben offered a carefully casual shrug. ^Something about it - must be bothering you,^ he decided, which wasn't surprising. She'd been suppressing so much about it for so long. Apparently, now that they were away from Chicago, relaxed and in a place she felt safe, it was all starting to bubble to the surface again.

She frowned harder and continued to play disinterestedly with her food, mashing her eggs into a wet pile. He waited her out as he ate his own portion, knowing something besides confused musings had motivated her first question.

"I had a dream last night," she admitted after a long minute. She put her fork aside and lifted her coffee, trying to appear more relaxed than she actually was as she took a long a sip. She frowned as she noticed her hand shaking and quickly put the cup back down. "A nightmare, actually. At least it wasn't one of those stupid night terrors." She sighed irritably, then dismissed the thought. "Anyway, that's why I couldn't sleep."

Ben nodded, listening intently without prompting her.

"There was this... ring." She glanced down at her plate again. Her voice had dropped so low that Ben was reduced to reading her lips in order to know what she said, but he didn't want to interrupt by correcting her. "I remember Greg and... and..." She glanced up in confusion. "What was the other guy's name? I can never remember his name..."

^D-a-w-s-o-n?^ Ben supplied, finger spelling the name of the man she'd picked out of the photo lineup she'd been given while still in the hospital.

She nodded. "I see him clearly," she explained pensively. "The others are all hazy, ghost-like. Greg keeps apologizing. David looks confused..." She suddenly shook her head and forced a smile, trying to dispel the phantom images even talking about the dream evoked. "I know it's not real. I mean... I remember the real stabbing. Well, some of it, anyway." She shrugged. "I remember the knife.. And I remember that no one was laughing, but they are in my dream, uh, nightmare," she corrected herself and then frowned sharply again as she looked up once more. "I know David stabbed me. I mean, I remember scratching whoever stabbed me and the DNA tests didn't match any of the other guys, so it had to be David, right?"

Ben offered a reluctant nod: so they all assumed. He also assumed that Mort was running a DNA comparison just to be sure. He hadn't heard such, but it only made sense.

She offered a weary sigh and started piling her mashed eggs onto her toast. "I can't make David's face fit on my attacker," she admitted irritably. "No matter how hard I try. He... he seemed bigger somehow. And ... now I'm remembering this ring." She paused in thought for a long moment but wound up shaking her head in frustration. "David didn't have a ring. At least I don't remember one." She sighed wearily. "It's probably as real as the laughter."

Ben frowned, trying to remember if he'd ever seen the younger man with a ring on and failing. He might have simply missed it, he knew, as he and Jeanie's brother had rarely interacted. Whether the ring was real or not wasn't what was important here.

^David was a friend,^ he offered. ^It's natural that your mind - should reject the idea of him - trying to hurt you. You told us the same thing - about Greg Manly - when we first discovered - he was involved.^

"I know. I know..." she sighed yet again. Frowning, she forced herself to take a bite and swallow before continuing. "Dr. Vernes has been trying to get me to write down my dreams. It's supposed to help me be able to sort everything out on a conscious level or something. But... how can I sort anything out if I don't know what's real and what isn't?"

^You said you knew - the laughter wasn't real,^ he pointed out.

She shook her head. "It was just me and... and..."

^Dawson,^ he supplied.

"Dawson. And... and... David." She forced the name out.

Ben shook his head. ^You don't remember - David.^

"No, but--"

He shook his head again, interrupting her. ^You're sorting what's real - from what isn't,^ he told her. ^Don't worry about - trying to fix it. You said David - was in the dream?^

She nodded. "In the background."

^Confused.^

She nodded, then frowned and shook her head in frustration. "He didn't fit. I can't make him fit!"

^You may be trying - too hard,^ he allowed. ^Or the difference - in his personality - may have been so great - that in a very real way - it wasn't David - at least the David - you thought you knew.^

She awarded him a wry smile. "Do all Mounties have degrees in Psychology?" she asked.

^No degree,^ he shook his head, answering her seriously. ^But as a Mountie - a basic understanding - of the human psyche is... helpful. I've done a little - studying.^

"More than a little," she guessed.

He shrugged, knowing the question was relative.

With a sudden angry sigh, she shook her head and sat back in her chair. "Enough. Let's talk about something else. We still need to do some shopping. I don't know about you, but I need more than a single change of clothes."

^And ski masks - and sun glasses.^ He listed some of their more odd purchases the day before, none of which had been his idea. A lifted brow and slight tilt of his head was enough to ask the question he was thinking.

To his surprise, she actually giggled. "No, I'm not thinking of going skiing," she assured him and lifted three fingers in the age old Girl Scout salute. "Scout's honor!" she claimed, even while awarding him a mischievous smile.

Ben knew she might not be thinking of skiing but she was obviously thinking of something... He cocked his head in the other direction.

"You're being as bad as James now!" she laughed lightly.

His brow went up again.

"Okay," she admitted, "not that bad, but you're just going to have to trust me on this one. It's a surprise."

His other brow went up and then he sat back with a pensive look on his face.

She shook her head, refusing to be drawn. "Eat up, Ben. First order of business today is to replace our toiletries and my make-up." She grinned knowingly. "You're going to need your strength."

Part 15

The Neonatal Intensive Care Unit of Cook County Hospital was a nexus of softly beeping machines, quiet bursts of urgent activity, and careful alert vigilance. A small army of specially trained nurses and doctors worked along side each other in near-seamless efficiency as respiratory specialists and lab techs moved from one tiny patient to the next. In the center of the large room sat an oversized desk, perhaps twenty feet long. The broad, carefully organized surface held three phones as well as charts, paperwork, and various other pieces of paraphernalia used by the support staff. A man in a blue smock over floral scrubs with a paper hair cap and a germ mask dangling from his neck gave their small group only a glance as they entered, then frowned down at the chart before him and continued whatever he was doing. Around the perimeter of the room stood some thirty-odd aquarium-like incubators and open-air heated bassinets, each surrounded by the various monitors and miscellaneous equipment needed to help sustain the fragile lives of their precious occupants.

Six of them along the west wall all bore the same name: "Vecchio". For hospital purposes, they were known as "Vecchio, female, A", "Vecchio, male, E"... noting their sex and order of birth. But each also had a blue or pink unofficial name card taped to the foot of their incubators, names that Frannie and Ren had been too quickly forced to agree upon: "Angelina Maria Vecchio," "Tina Rosa Vecchio," "Karol Elaine Vecchio," "Benton Aloysius Vecchio," "Raimundo Antonio Vecchio," and "Michael Stanley Vecchio." Some of them didn't have exactly the "ring" to them that Frannie would have liked, but all the names had significance and that's what was important. Ren was quite looking forward to changing the "Vecchio" part to "Turnbull," but that would have to wait until after the wedding, when he could begin the process of formally adopting them. Frannie was quite touched by the fact that he never even considered any other course of action.

She glanced around herself nervously, trying and failing to understand the mass of technology around her as she was wheeled forward and positioned between Angel and Tina.

"This is Angelina," the nurse introduced her to the child on her left first.

A look inside the clear plastic incubator had Frannie suddenly fighting not to cry at what she saw: Tiny, shriveled, hairy, limp... The nurses had tried to prepare her. It seemed like everyone was always trying to prepare her for something or other.

"She's sleeping right now," the nurse continued with a smile, "but doing quite well. Her bilirubin levels are starting to go up which is why she looks a bit yellow but jaundice is common in all babies, not just preemies."

"She's so tiny!" Ren exclaimed as he bent down beside Frannie. He hadn't realized how tiny they were when he was in the delivery room. She looked like he could hold her in one hand!

The nurse smiled again. "Actually, she's quite large," she corrected him. "The biggest of the bunch: Two pounds, eleven ounces and fifteen inches long. Not bad at all for twenty-seven weeks."

Large? Frannie bit her lip as she stared at the tiny little creature that was supposed to be her daughter. Angelina was lying on her back within the clear plastic of a heated Isolette which stood directly at Frannie's wheelchair-height eye level, and even though she wasn't on a respirator, she was still covered in tubes and wires. Her head was too large for such a tiny body, the arms and legs almost skeletal thin. Her skin was wrinkled and pale looking, with a soft down-like fuzz across her forehead and shoulders. Her arms and legs stretched forth at odd, awkward angles, and were not curled close to the body like a normal baby. She reminded Frannie more of pictures she'd seen of Nazi concentration camp victims than a new born baby!

"We'll be starting her on photo therapy this afternoon," the nurse told them, opening one of the doors in the side of the incubator opposite Frannie and reaching in to adjust some wires. "What we do is cover the baby's eyes with this..." She held up what looked like a doll-sized sleeping mask. "...and shine special lights on them. This helps their bodies break down the bilirubin and get rid of it. It's a very simple therapy and nothing to worry about. It just takes a few days and we'll get her levels back down to normal. Would you like to touch her?"

Touch her?! Frannie stared at the nurse in horror but she just smiled back reassuringly.

"Can she hold her?" King asked from where she stood, taking pictures of the group.

"Hold her?" Ray exclaimed in a loud hiss. "Are you crazy!"

An alarm, sounding suspiciously like a MacDonald's French fry timer, suddenly went off beside them and the nurse moved quickly to the second Isolette, on Frannie's right. Knowledgeable eyes scanned the monitors and then tiny Tina even as she reached up to turn off the alarm. Then she was reaching inside the Isolette.

"What's wrong?" Ren asked and added a quiet, "Oh, my god..." when the nurse deftly lifted the baby, turned her over in her other hand and started firmly thumping the baby's back. He was shocked at what he was seeing!

"It's all right, Mr. Turnbull," the nurse assured him even as she continued with what almost seemed like beating the child! "I'm not hurting her."

Frannie grabbed hold of Ren's hand and the two of them exchanged frightened looks. The nurse stopped the action after a few more moments and they heard Tina offer a weak little cry. "She just needs to be suctioned." She signaled another nurse who came over to assist her and Ren was forced to wheel Frannie out of the way. "It's nothing to worry about, Frannie," the nurse who'd been assigned to act as the hospital representative came forward to kneel beside her. The group stood back and watched in mixed fascination and horror as the baby was again laid on her back and a tube passed down her throat. The tiny legs kicked and quivered in protest, the skin going from pale to dark purple. Another alarm sounded and was turned off. "Her lungs aren't mature enough to let her cough yet, that's all. It's normal for secretions and gunk to build up, so every so often the nurses have to suction it out." They watched as a small pre-measured vial of fluid was torn open. This was then poured down the tube into her lungs. "That's a special type of saline solution," the hospital representative explained. "It's used to help dilute the secretions and make them easier to vacuum up."

"But she can't breathe!" Frannie exclaimed quietly. She didn't have to know what the alarms all meant or exactly how to read the electro-cardio monitor to know the baby was in distress.

"It's only for a few moments, Frannie," the woman explained, "and she'll be able to breathe much better when they're through."

Sure enough, the nurses were quickly done with the procedure, the tube removed, and a tiny oxygen mask held close to the baby's face as she offered a much stronger crying protest. Her color almost instantly returned to its previous slightly yellowed color.

Frannie glanced up at Ren in shock, all her fears and doubts over the babies' precarious and delicate situation brought home to her once again far too forcibly. How was she ever going to be able to care for any of them, ever? Gone was the dream of racing from one white wicker bassinet to another in a brightly colored nursery back home while her mother watched in the background and smiled, shattered in an instant of all too real reality to become nothing more than a wishful illusion beyond Frannie's ability to grasp.

Part 16

Ray was just leaving Welsh's office when he almost ran into Maggie - literally. "Whoops!" he exclaimed backpedaling quickly. Not that he'd mind running into Maggie... He jerked his eyes upward even as he silently acknowledged that the bright red uniform did things for her it could never do for Fraser, and offered her a carefully friendly smile. "Hey, there! Curruthers decided to let you come play today?"

"Something like that," she agreed, returning his smile. "I've been asked to do a background check on Sgt. Sharidan. She recently transferred here from the twenty-third and has applied for some advanced training at the Canadian Police College in Ottawa."

"Really?" Ray asked in surprise. "'Fraid I don't know her. You mean immigrants can do that?" Maggie shook her head. "She's not emigrating. The Canadian Police College is one of the best in the world. They accept applicants from several nations, including the United States."

"Canada?"
"You seem surprised."

"No!" he answered quickly, not wanting to insult her. Frankly, he was quite surprised. He thought the US probably had the best Police Universities or whatever - though he couldn't think of one that specialized in advanced police training off hand... "No. Not at all. I mean... look at you and Fraser, right?" He had to admit, rightly or wrongly deserved, the RCMP did have a reputation as one of the best police services in the world. Maggie and her brother certainly upheld that image.

"I've never attended the Canadian Police College, Ray," she answered, "and I seriously doubt Ben has either. They're set up to help augment the training of police administrators and specialized police officers in such areas as forensics, explosives, cyber crime, collisions... Most officers have had at least ten years of experience before being accepted into the various programs. Officer Sharidan has eight but comes with high recommendations from her superiors. I've been asked to follow up her references. As she's from the twenty-seventh, I thought I'd do it in person."

"And Inspector Curruthers doesn't think that'll, you know, put you at too great a risk? Associating with us 'overly violent' Americans?" Ray grinned unrepentantly.

"Given that he is new to the post, Ray, and that three of his officers have been injured in the last three months, one of which has been forced into medical retirement while another remains on an Indefinite Medical Leave of Absence, I think he can be excused for being a bit paranoid."

"Hey! Vecchio and I told you to stay back when we went to check on Stevie Carstairs," Kowalski argued for argument's sake. It was also the only incident of the three he could argue. Fraser had been standing sentry when he was shot by an American he'd helped Vecchio put away, and Turnbull had been officially paired with himself and on duty when the younger Mountie was shot protecting Frannie. "It wasn't our fault you got caught in that bomb blast!"

"And if I hadn't been, you or Vecchio might have been killed," she rejoined. "In any case, Inspector Curruthers is willing to entertain the notion that it was all just an incredible run of bad luck. He isn't quite ready to pull the plug on the 'unique relationship the RCMP has with the Chicago Police Department,' as Thatcher put it. Yet. Just try to keep me out of hospital and he'll be happy."

Ray offered an amused shrug, resettling his holster. "I'd say that shouldn't be too hard if all you're doing is a background check, but I've learned not to assume such things when around anyone in a bright red suit. Where you off too?"

"First, I need to speak to Leftenant Welsh," she answered with a tug on her tunic, "and then I'm off to track down Dr. Gustafson."

"Mort?" Kowalski rolled his eyes. He hated visiting the morgue! "You don't have to come?" she allowed. Her assignment certainly wasn't one that required Ray's assistance.

"No, I'll come," he quickly volunteered. "It's better than going over the same dead end clues I've already been over a hundred times today. Maybe something will click if I take a break."

"The brain will often come up with new or missed information if it is distracted for a short period of time," Maggie agreed. She then flashed him a bright grin. "Maybe we can bounce around some ideas while I'm running between interviews?"

"Sounds good to me," Ray nodded and pasted on his most charming smile as he turned to hold open the door of Welsh's office for her.

Part 17

Ben was quite surprised with how fast Jaelyn could shop when she wanted to. Not that he thought she was... indecisive or... particularly hard to please. Quite the opposite. He frowned at the washroom door as he waited for her to reappear and tried to define exactly what it was he did think.

Yesterday had been an exercise in patience. For him, shopping was largely a simple act of necessity. He determined his needs, sought out the required items and, based on budgetary demands, either bought them or not. Had he been alone, it would have taken him all of ten minutes, maybe, to replace his wardrobe: another pair of jeans, two shirts, necessary undergarments... He'd never been particularly fashion conscious. He knew what he liked and what he didn't, and didn't really have to think about it. Jaelyn, however, seemed determined to turn it into a game, each of them taking turns helping the other select what they needed.

He simply didn't understand the fascination that women seemed to have concerning such matters, and he doubted he ever would. He had to admit it was a rather interesting psychological exercise, however, one that left him both confused and surprised by turns.

Jaelyn's speed this morning might have been surprising but, standing here waiting for her, he realized it wasn't so difficult to understand. Their toiletries and other necessities had been quickly replaced with one stop at the local Walgreen's. She'd then disappeared into the nearest public washroom. He knew he'd correctly surmised her very feminine motives as she reappeared wearing a light dusting of make-up.

"That's better," she announced with a smile.

He returned the smile with a noncommittal nod. He didn't see as she needed the make up. They were both dressed quite casually and she was pretty enough without it. In fact, the application was so light as to appear almost natural. He offered a mental shrug and chalked it up to yet another aspect of the female mind he would never comprehend.

Together, they headed back to the hotel to drop off their packages and then headed out again, pausing at a small deli beside the hotel to get some sandwiches for lunch. When they were done, and without the need of a single spoken word, Ben suddenly knew they were back in the same non-hurried shopping mode of yesterday. Jaelyn awarded him a jaunty smile and chose an easterly direction today. He offered her back a tolerant shake of his head and followed her lead, simply enjoying the cool mountain air and her rather buoyant company. She quickly chose a store at random and led the way inside with a soft tinkling bells from above the door.

The moment he stepped inside the quiet little shop, Ben knew it wasn't going to be the simple clothing goods store he'd silently hoped for. The smell of cedar and lemon polish was a pleasantly pungent scent, accenting the visual impact of real wood paneling competing with floor-to-ceiling mirrors and gilt-edged crown molding.

"Thank you," Jaelyn easily answered the smartly dressed clerk who greeted them, not waiting for Ben to translate. "We just want to browse a bit first."

"Of course," the younger woman answered readily, completely failing to realize that Jaelyn was deaf. "Please don't hesitate to ask if you have any questions. That's what we're here for."

Jaelyn turned her attention to the racks scattered about them and immediately zeroed in on an azure blue turtle neck displayed on a headless male mannequin over by the front window. Ben followed like a silent shadow and regarded it dubiously even as she glanced from it back to him.

"You don't like it?" she asked with a disappointed and slightly confused frown. It was such a beautiful color. She knew it would be perfect on him.

It was a nice sweater but not the type he normally bought. It was rather light and had a brushed finish to it: not the sort of thing one wore under another shirt. It looked to be quite soft and was probably quite comfortable, but he wasn't sure it was very practical. Still, Jaelyn seemed to like it...

He was a bit mystified at himself over the fact that he should be considering her preferences regarding such a purchase even as he glanced at the price tag. That glance sent one of his brows quickly winging upward in surprise. He frowned and shook his head, turning to scan the store in the rather vain hope of spotting a simple plaid flannel shirt or maybe some long-sleeved Henleys.

Jaelyn offered the sweater a little pout and reached up to finger a sleeve. "I suppose you'd be upset if I wanted to..."

He cocked a censorious brow before she could even finish the thought. ^It was my idea that we leave the luggage behind,^ she defended her offer, switching to sign.

He tucked his cane under his arm to answer. ^I was aware - of the consequences - when I agreed.^ Ben knew she'd misunderstood his descision as she frowned, seeming to slump slightly. With a shake of his head, he reached out and drew her attention to the price tag.

Her jaw dropped open. "Five hundred?" she mouthed silently. She took another look at the sweater, then looked at the tag behind the price tag. "Ralph Lauren," she nodded, "and one hundred percent cashmere."

"Are you folks finding everything all right?" a different salesclerk came over to ask. She was even younger than the first.

Ben glanced up in surprise and then lifted his hands to translate.

Jaelyn nodded and offered the clerk a smile. "We have good taste." She indicated the sweater. "Can you show us something a bit more modest, please?"

"Of course." The woman awarded Ben a smile and turned to face him fully. "THIS - WAY - PLEASE," she told him, raising her voice and dramatically over-pronouncing her words.

Jaelyn had to fight not to laugh as Ben cast her a clearly dismayed look. She didn't need to hear to understand what had just happened. The salesclerk, unfortunately, missed the exchange and actually took Ben by the shoulders, physically steering him in the direction she wanted them to go. Jaelyn could have corrected her but didn't, and Ben didn't ask her to. Perhaps he thought she'd get a clue after a few more moments...

She didn't.

"WHAT - COLOR - DO - YOU - WANT?" she asked, presuming to choose a style for him. It was almost as if she were addressing a child. "I can hear," Jaelyn translated his signing. He was not surprised when the salesclerk misunderstood her.

"Um, yes. Well, can you ask him what color he'd like? This black is quite nice for him, don't you think?" She held the sweater up against him for Jaelyn to see.

Ben took the sweater and stepped away from her over-solicitous help. Juggling his cane and the sweater meant he couldn't sign, which only added to his frustration and mounting irritation.

Jaelyn realized belated what had happened. "You don't understand," she offered. "He's mute. I'm the one who's deaf."

The woman turned to Jaelyn in obvious confusion. "But... I thought you just said you could hear?"

Jaelyn glanced at Ben in confusion of her own, unable to hear the question. His hands were occupied refolding the sweater. He shook his head with a sigh. It was simply an expression of frustration but Jaelyn interpreted it as something he wanted to say. "No," she offered aloud.

"Yes, you did!" the other woman insisted, then offered a frown. "I'm getting confused here."

Ben quickly finished with the sweater and simply tossed it back onto the display, his frustration getting the better of him.

"Thank you," Jaelyn translate his sign. "...We'll let you know if we need you."

Ben sighed and shook his head again. It wasn't the most polite interpretation of his signing, but it was accurate.

"What?" Jaelyn asked, thinking she'd misunderstood him. He seemed irritated, but she thought it was with the salesclerk... wasn't it?

"Whatever!" the salesclerk muttered. "My name's Bambi. I'll be over here..." She pointed to her left and quickly moved off in that direction.

Ben stared after her in mixed consternation and simple disbelief. It seemed poetically fitting somehow that her name should be Bambi...

"Did I say something wrong?" Jaelyn asked. She frowned after the salesclerk, realizing the other woman seemed irritated as well now.

Ben shook his head, forcing himself to dismiss thoughts of names governing personalities as utter nonsense. It was his fault, he decided. He should have tried harder to correct the misunderstanding before it went so far.

Jaelyn shrugged. "Gloves!" she suddenly insisted.

Ben blinked sharply in surprise and frowned mildly as he watched her suddenly hurry toward a display of various accessories, including ski mitts. He shook his head lightly and followed her, finding her shift of focus welcome - if completely bewildering!

Part 18

"Ah, Constable MacKenzie!" Mort greeted her with a pleasantly surprised smile. "A pleasure, as always. And Ray... what manages to drag you down to my lair? I trust you're not working the Montano case?" He gestured at the sheet-drapped body before him.

"Montano case?" Ray echoed, turning sharply away and frowning down at the personal effects of the man in question. He was careful not to touch them.

"The coroner ruled it a suicide," Mort answered and shook his head. "I'm about to ruin his day."

"Murder?" Maggie guessed, frowning pensively as she joined the doctor beside the body which Ray was carefully avoiding so much as a glance at.

Mort nodded. "He was found slumped over the steering wheel in his car, the gun beside his right hand. Unfortunately, there's no gunpowder residue on either hand."

"Meaning it was placed there after the man was dead," Maggie concluded.

"Exactly. That combined with post-mortem lividity along the back, shoulders, buttocks, thighs and calves clearly indicate the scene was staged. He had to have been laying on his back for several hours before being moved to the car. Very sloppy forensics work-up. They should have caught it before it came to me."

"Sgt. Sharidan wasn't part of that team, was she?"

"Shay? No," Mort replied emphatically. "No, she's better than that. I've known her for a while. We handle all the post-mortem studies for this area, including her old district. It's an odd set up, I know, but this building used to be part of Cook County Hospital, next door. Their new facilities might be better equiped, but they're still far too small. It's like trying to work inside a series of closets!" he claimed and offered a distasteful shudder. "It's far easier for me to work here.

"But, anyway, you were asking me about Sgt. Sharidan, weren't you? No," he repeated and pulled back the drape to frown down at the body. Ray's half-turned form quickly spun to face the wall. "She'd never be so careless. I can see her correcting the coroner now. The man should be fired!" He glanced up again. "Do you know Sgt. Sharidan?"

"No," Maggie answered, regarding the body with detached curiosity. "No, we've never met. She's applied for advance training in forensics studies at the Canadian Police College in Ottawa. I've been asked to follow up on some of her references. You were among them."

"Ah, yes," Mort nodded. "I remember her mentioning it a few months ago. I'm glad she finally followed through. Canada, huh? I hadn't expected that. How can I help you?"

Constable MacKenzie retrieved a small notebook she'd brought with her. "I need your general impressions concerning Sgt. Sharidan and any specific instances of interaction you've had with her that you feel would help the admissions review board make its placement determination."

As Maggie and Mort talked, Kowalski moved away from the victim's personal effects, trying to distract himself. He really didn't like being in the morgue. He'd had a bad experience when dissecting a frog for eighth grade. Cody Hensen and Roger Orouno had surreptitiously stimulated a nerve in its leg as he was working on it and it kicked, making him think it was still alive. They'd accused him of being a "butcher", like the Nazis. He was Polish. Didn't he know anything about the concentration camps? How could he do such a thing to a poor defenseless creature! As his father was a real butcher, they'd thought it was a great joke; but Ray had run out of the class in terrified tears.

It was an experience he'd never lived down or forgotten. The idea that a dead body might not be dead, or that it just might sit up or something, might be ridiculous, but it was one he could never get out of his head, especially down here. He came to the morgue only when he had too.

But he did like being with Maggie so he did it for her. In fact, he'd been toying with the idea of asking her out ever since she returned to Chicago...

Several things kept holding him back, not the least of which was that she was Fraser's sister. What if it didn't work out? Or... what if it did? Either way might put Fraser in a bit of a twist. They were friends and everything but...

Ray tried to imagine how he'd feel if it were Fraser dating his sister. But of course, he didn't have a sister and Fraser was Mr. Perfect so there'd be nothing to worry about anyway! He wound up trying to imagine what Fraser might think of him and Maggie dating. Frankly, he knew Maggie could do better. Fraser might never say anything against him, but the man just knew him too well. Not that Kowalski thought he was that bad a catch, but would he really want a sister of his to date someone like him?

A thick file buried under several much slimmer files on top of Mort's file cabinet caught his attention. Major case apparently. He needed further distraction and peeked at the cover. The name McKenna jumped out at him. With a sharp frown, he excavated it and started to flip through it.

"What's the McKenna Case File doing down here?" he asked, realizing only belatedly that he'd rather rudely interrupted whatever it was Mort was telling Maggie.

Mort looked over to him. "I think you'll find that's the forensics work-up on the case, Ray," he answered. "It's still waiting for me to close the David Tallin autopsy."

He recognized the file now of course. It was a copy of a part of the larger file that resided in his almost but not quite closed cases cabinet upstairs. He hadn't reviewed this part of it in a while, but now it gave him something other than the body the two of them were standing beside to concentrate on. "What's left to finish? The house went boom and he died in the resultant fire. Did you find evidence of a bomb or something on the body?""

"No, no," Mort shook his head. "I'm just waiting for the DNA tests to get back."

"DNA tests?" Maggie echoed with a frown. "Was there some question of his identity?" She was disturbed by the idea that they might have informed his sister of his death if there was any question about whether the body found was David's or not.

Mort again shook his head. "The dental records were quite conclusive. There's no question the body discovered was that of David Tallin. No, the auto-radiographic study I've ordered is for comparison to the DNA results of the tissue taken from under Jaelyn McKenna's fingernails. We know she scratched her attacker, and we suspect it was David, but until the results come back there's no physical evidence that it was. Simple elimination of the others isn't good enough in my field."

"God, don't tell me there's a fifth perp for that crime out there!" Kowalski sighed.

Mort chuckled lightly. "I certainly hope not," he agreed, "but from what I've seen in that file, if David Tallin were still alive, that DNA profile I'm waiting for might be the only solid evidence you would have to tie him to the case, Ray."

"I think you're forgetting the heroin, knife and camisole that were found at his place." Ray shook his head and tossed the file back on top