Seven Minutes More   Collinson Normal Collinson 3 21
1999-10-16T19:40:00Z 1999-10-16T19:48:00Z 2 1308 7460 None 62 14 9161
9.2720	      Seven Minutes More By Lyn C The characters are Alliances. I
am borrowing them for some fun and promise to return them in good order.
It seems this story was begging for a tag so here it is. PG with a mild
Victoria warning!Spoilers for The Deal, Manhunt, Juliet is Bleeding, Red
White and Blue and Victoria's Secret. 
 
 Inspector Margaret Thatcher marched down the sterile hospital corridor,
her nose wrinkled in reaction to the smell of antiseptic and floor polish,
and something else, the scent of despair. Some people, probably most
people, associated the smell of hospitals with hope, recovery, cure.
Thatcher, however, saw only the pain filled failures of the medical
profession: an ancient grandma, a dear friend dying of cancer. For this
reason she avoided visiting anyone she knew was hospitalized. It made her
seem callous, to be sure, and it was a major failing of hers. She had
never had the courage to confront that failure and set it right. Not until
now.
 
 When she had first come to Chicago it was in the aftermath of a scandal.
One of her new officers, her deputy in fact, was recovering in this very
same hospital from being shot by a cop at a train station. It was an
inauspicious way to begin a new position and she had resented him for
that. She had not visited him then. She did not really know him except
through what she had always considered to be urban myths. Weird stories
that spread like wildfire through the ranks of the RCMP concerning Bob
Fraser's unconventional son, Benton. The reputation that preceeded him had
seemed to be well deserved and so she could not help her initial
discriminatory actions towards him. The first task she had set herself
after his return to duty after a lengthy convalescence was to put him on
probation. She had not, however, expected him to be so remarkably good
looking. Nor so absurdly polite and efficient. The rumours belied the fact
that he was an excellent member of the RCMP despite his unorthodox
methods. His most recent heroics were true to form and through them he had
fully redeemed himself in her eyes. He had rescued a judge and jury from
certain death at the hands of insane bombers. 
 
 It was to see this hero that she had overcome her fear of hospitals no
less because she had some very important news to impart. 
 
 
 No she was not really being honest with herself, was she? There were
other reasons for her being here. 
 First Ray, that annoying cop, had called her to tell her how he had found
Frasier (how it irritated her the way he mispronounced that name)
unconscious in an alley and that the doctors were investigating the old
bullet wound. Ray had not only sounded exhausted, but frightened in a way
she had never noticed in him before. Whatever had rattled Ray had to be
serious.
 That of course was after his initial call to her house when he first
suspected something had happened to the Mountie. She hadn't been too
concerned at that point. Fraser was a law unto himself and she had never
been able to keep track of his movements; Ray's concern for his errant
friend had amused her. 
 
 Secondly her relationship with her deputy had taken a not unwelcome turn.
There had been the kiss on the train, a moment of sheer bliss in which
time had stood still for both of them. The danger they were in had only
served to heighten the thrill, the excitement. Then also the feeling of
his body pressed close to hers when they were tied together, his
embarrassment at dropping the pin down her front. Despite the threat to
their lives she had enjoyed that heartstopping moment when he had cleared
his throat to ask, "may I?"  
 Anytime. Any time. So if that was how she felt why could she not admit
it? She had been as flattered as a schoolgirl asked out on a first date
when he complimented her in semaphore. A secret signal between them both:
red suits you. She had blushed as red as her uniform. Only three days ago
he had been standing on the roof of the courthouse waving his arms at her.
And now? Now he was hospitalized, barely conscious by all accounts. She
could not bear to think of him invalided out. Out of the RCMP, out of
Chicago, out of her life. She could only curse herself for being a
procrastinating fool; now he was injured, was it too late? Would she ever
again feel the pressure of those firm lips against hers? Would she ever
get the opportunity to tell him how much she cared?
 
 She paused outside the room, smoothed down her clothes and peered through
the glass to check it was him and that he was alone. It would not do to be
caught by others at a vulnerable moment. She could not afford to have
Turnbull for example see her with her guard down. There appeared to be no
one in there apart from a nurse who greeted her as she entered. Margaret
nodded in reply as she moved to the foot of the bed, the breath frozen at
the top of her lungs. Fraser was awake; well his eyes were open. She
couldn't tell if he was aware of her presence so she stood and waited,
trying to calm herself by breathing deeply and rhythmically. It was so
very difficult to rid herself of negative feelings; feelings that
persistently nagged her that people come into places like this but they
don't leave. She couldn't do that to him, could she? She could not let him
see the despair in her eyes. She had the strength now to stroll casually
to the chair at the head of the bed where the nurse was adjusting a drip.
 She bestowed a caring smile on the Inspector and whispered to her that
she was just finishing. 
 The lingering smile the nurse bestowed on the Mountie did not escape
Margaret's notice. Nor did the fact that this nurse was younger than she
and attractive too. Had that unmistakable look of desire brought on a
twinge of jealousy? Get used to it, Margaret, she admonished herself, you
ought to be by now. Every woman between 15 and 60 fawning over him. Hardly
surprising when you studied his face, he was perfect. Even now lying under
the covers in a blue hospital gown, vulnerable, pale and weak, the slight
flush of fever the only color in his face, the lines of pain around his
eyes. She could just reach out and gently stroke that pain away.
 
 "Inspector," the soft voice startled her and she almost jumped. Smoothing
her features she tried to adopt a sterner demeanour when she replied
formally, "Constable."
 
 There was silence during which each studied the other, questioningly.
Margaret was the first to end the impasse, "I spoke to Detective Vecchio."
Benton lifted an eyebrow by way of reply then turned his eyes to the
window. There was a sadness in them. She wanted to ask what was going on,
what had happened between them. There were obvious undercurrents and she
was unable to navigate them. She was sure it was something to do with the
original accident. But as Fraser had never been particularly forthcoming
with her about his personal life she was loath to pry now. That look in
his eyes, though, was heartrending and she dearly wished to be able to
help him come to terms with whatever it was that depressed him.
 
 Did he know what was wrong with him, physically? Vecchio had told her
that the bullet had moved and it was imperative now that Fraser had
surgery to remove it for good. Did he know this? Did she dare broach the
subject to him now? Vecchio had also said that as he was named next of kin
he had given the go ahead to the surgeon for the operation in view of the
fact that Benny was in no condition to give consent himself. There was no
alternative as far as he could see. A life without the use of his legs was
just a slow way of dying for someone as active as Fraser. Ray knew that it
was what his friend would have wanted no matter how risky the procedure.
She didn't like it but she had to concur. 
 Maybe she should just tell him about the commendations he had been
awarded, from their own Government and that of their host country. Tucked
in her purse was the latest issue of The Chicago Guardian's glossy
supplement. For the second time his handsome features graced the cover.
Inside was a four page spread of pictures of the courthouse, Fraser and
Ray and various interviews with people lauding him. 
 She had brought it with her for him to see, as well as the letter of
thanks and the get well card from the Mayor.
 
 "Did he tell you about the surgery?" 
 Fraser had turned his eyes back to hers. She could see they were filled
with an immeasurable sadness.  
 "Yes," she gave him an encouraging smile. "Do you want to talk about it?"
 
 He shifted awkwardly in the bed and she rushed to adjust the pillows for
him. The heat radiating from his shoulders was almost electric. The purse
and its contents lay abandoned on the bedclothes. It broke her heart to
see him vulnerable like this, unable to use his long strong legs. She
could not shake from her mind's eye that image of him poised on the
courthouse roof, his uniform in tatters but still maintaining dignity and
his own peculiar brand of humor.  
 She realised he hadn't answered her question. Well she was a patient
woman; she could wait.	  The end Lyn C January 1999