SEVEN MINUTES
The story is mine but the characters are Alliances. I'm just borrowing them.
Do not archive without the permission of the author.
PG 13 Drama
Set after RWB. I wrote this because that bullet always bothered me.
As he locked the door of the Consulate, he breathed in deeply. The Chicago evening air was cooling. It had been a satisfactory ending to a complicated day. Benton Fraser fingered the keys absently. He looked at the darkening sky and thought fondly of the semaphore messages The Inspector had surprised him; he'd surprised himself at his own presumption. His cheeks threatened to burn at the memory; 'red suits you'. He winced as the keys hit a painful spot on his wrist; it had been a mistake to slide down that elevator cable. He had nasty itchy burns on his forearm now, which he had treated with antiseptic at the consulate. He resolved not to try that again in the near future.
He walked slowly down the steps to the sidewalk and turned to face West Racine. He was looking forward to the walk home; he needed to clear his mind of the trauma of the day. He was pleased that the Bolt brothers had finally been apprehended and that he and Ray had succeeded in saving the lives of the judge and jury, a feat Diefenbaker had not hesitated in taking credit for, ingrate! Yes, he was instrumental in tying up the loose ends, the recovery of the bonds and trapping the Bolts, but then so were he and Ray. Benton tsked. Presshound!
He turned round quickly, half expecting the wolf to be trotting at his heels or sniffing at some unsuspecting lamppost. Dief wasn't there of course; he had managed to inveigle his way into the affections of a blonde woman reporter who, impressed with his detective skills, had taken him off for a treat and a photograph session, with the promise to return him to the Mountie's apartment that evening. The movement forced a gasp from his lips. That hurt, a twinge in his back, and with it came a memory, unbidden and unwelcome. It issued from the wound in his back. Ray's bullet was still embedded near a vertebra where it always would be; a reminder to Benton of his foolishness, his darker side, and his vulnerability where women were concerned. It was a facet of his personality he was loathe to think about, the dark side he preferred to pretend did not exist.
He had slowly been coming to terms with those tragic days. It was taking some time, his trust in others and belief in himself had been damaged. He could not bring himself to talk about it with Ray, and Meg had no inkling either of the torment he went through each time he considered the possibility of a serious romance. The fear was lessening now as he recognised in her a similar reluctance, like magnets, they both attracted and repelled each other. She did not throw herself at him like other women did. Rather, she gave him space, was even aloof despite their sharing of what he had come to call 'The Moment' -- whenever he allowed himself to think of it, which was, truth to tell, frequently. He had of late begun to wonder if he could, indeed, be capable of allowing another woman near. Thatcher's record was exemplary and as a Mountie, it went without saying that she was dependable, honest and upright, like himself. Maybe she had been hurt too at some time. He doubted she could have been as foolish as he had been. She would never desert her friend, her job, her honour for a criminal. No, no one could be that foolish; it took a naive idiot to (to borrow one of Ray's phrases) screw up big time like he had done. He could not imagine the Inspector falling for someone as devious as Victoria. No, he had been blinded by passion and would suffer for it for the rest of his life, Ray made sure of that. Oh, he'd forgiven Ray for shooting him, yes, maybe was even glad of it. That bullet was his conscience now, warning him about women, to be wary of his own feelings. To be aware that his own judgement could be based too much on emotion, faulty logic, animal instinct, and could be so very wrong. He deserved those twinges; they would serve to keep him on the straight path, maintaining the right.
He looked up from his reverie to check he was still walking in the right direction. He had been so lost in thought he feared he might have gotten turned around, but no, he was on the right street. back to Ray and Ray's bullet. That had been quite some argument yesterday...was it yesterday? Ray had been in a snit over that magazine article. When he thought carefully about it, he realised that their relationship had not got back to an even keel since Irene. Was there a hint of resentment still there? And the thought that Ray considered him unfeeling, lacking in emotion still rankled. Benton considered himself to be a deeply feeling person; he just didn't care to wear his heart on his sleeve as the Italian did. Another twitch, was this worse than usual? He suspected so as he discovered he could not put as much pressure on one foot as he normally would. Great Scott, he was having to limp! Could it have been the fall down the elevator shaft? Surely, a fit body like his could take a fall like that. He always managed to land gracefully from great heights, a feat of which he was immensely proud. Falling was something he was good at, falling from trains ...yeah, sure, but not falling in love. Jumping he did well too: off cliffs, off roofs, off trains. The kiss, The Moment. He tried to focus on that; trains were a problem. He would steer away from the thought of falling out of Victoria's arms in the train station, concentrate on the top of a speeding train full of sleeping Mounties, the snow glistening all around and a cold wind ruffling his hair through a crownless Stetson. The moment his eyes locked on hers, it was unavoidable; I have a heart and it beats just like yours.....a runaway. During the kiss time had stood still and they were both, he knew, totally unaware of the precarious hold they had on the surface of the train or the danger that threatened. It had been ... exhilarating.
Another twinge, getting worse, travelling down his spine through to the little toe on his right foot, and at the same time up to his head. He rubbed at his temples and stopped to lean on a hydrant to catch his breath, squeeze his eyes and furrow his brow. A shake of the head, better, the annoying fizzing in his ears eased off; he had only just become aware of it, though it must have been building up for some time. His vision had become a little blurred, he was finding it difficult to focus on the traffic lights and he needed to cross the road. He limped to the junction, the lights changed and he crossed, helping a young mother and her stroller loaded with baby and shopping cross with him. He held the infant's hand for her, maybe as much for his own security. He made it to the other side without incident, touched the brim of his hat and smiled. Where?
A sharper twinge made him gasp. He was confused, how long had he had that bullet, Ray's bullet, in his back? Months. Was it really that long ago? He could remember it as well as the events of yesterday, the events of this morning; he tried to focus on them, today had been a success, lives had been saved ... lots of lives.
Where was he? He stopped once more to rub his back and stretch. The twinge had become a pain, it eased a little, he couldn't remember when the twinge had turned into a pain. He looked up at the sky, not so clear as at home, too much light pollution. Too much light in Chicago, and much too much pollution, but the sky was dark. Night fell and he couldn't remember it happening. It's always light, hey, Dief?
And no stars, the moon but no stars except maybe the North Star. Yes, he could just make it out, a tiny yellow dot in the sky. It was a peculiar sensation, looking at one star in a sky that was not very dark. At home, he could find his way through the tundra using constellations to guide him on days when the light hardly came at all. If he looked hard enough maybe he could see the Big Dipper, Orion's Belt, Castor and Pollux, Sirius, maybe even the northern lights. What were the northern lights doing in Chicago? He blinked and in doing so realised that his eyes had been closed, now they were open he could see the dark sky once more and the street light above his head. Great Scott! What am I doing lying down on a Chicago Street? Ray, why didn't you tell me I fell over, did I faint? There was no answer to Benton's puzzled question because he was alone and Ray was at his home dining with his argumentative siblings.
He was vaguely aware of people passing by above him; it was their feet and legs he could see, and he could hear their voices, dismissing him as a drunk or an addict. Drunk? I don't drink; it takes away your judgement, your common sense. Then again, maybe he should drink, he wasn't drunk when he ran for that train, wasn't drunk when he jumped bail. Ray could have lost his house. Where was reason then?
'Hey, buddy, ya need some help?'
Benton opened his eyes at the rough voice and reached for the proffered hand that blocked his vision of the filthy street.
'Say, I know a place for the homeless, I can show ya.'
Benton levered himself to standing, recoiled at the helpful hobo's rancid breath, brushed the dirt off his uniform and shook his head.
'Thank you kindly, I am not homeless.'
He looked around with some disorientation,
'Sir, could you tell me in which direction is West Racine. I seem to be lost. '
Benton was confused, he did not normally get lost, he had a compass. The hobo chuckled,
'Ya don' wanna go there, I know much better places.'
'I live there.' rejoined Benton, dryly.
's thataway.'
The hobo shrugged and pointed in what seemed to the Mountie to be an indeterminate direction and moved off mumbling incoherently, taking a swig from what appeared to be a paper bag. As he faded into the darkness Benton thought he could see him place a Stetson on his head. Benton hugged his coat closer around him, puzzled, was it getting colder? He proceeded unsteadily in the general direction of where he assumed the street person had pointed.
'Thank you kindly'
The pain seemed to have faded to a dull ache through his back and legs, he felt extremely tired, but then it had been an exhausting twenty-four hours. He had been covered in a poncho and strapped to a bomb and his best friend in a courtroom; these were not common occurrences. Well, not where he came from, he couldn't recall ever having seen a poncho before in real life, much less worn one. Having to control his and Ray's heartbeats had been stressful , defusing the bomb had taken up much nervous energy. So yes, he had a right to be exhausted. Not forgetting the fact that he had been punched unconscious. Exhaustion seemed entirely in order, a natural progression. But this dull throbbing pain was something else and it was taking all his concentration to not end up flat on his back again. Concentrate Benton, on getting home to a warming cup of tea, a cozy blanket and a comfortable bed. He was finding it difficult to move his legs but squinting up at the shop signs he registered that it was not far to his slummy apartment. The shops were certainly looking more dingy and run down.
He took a deep breath to steady himself; he appeared to be swaying. Like he was on a train; was he on a train with Victoria? Where were they going? 'Come with me.... you'll regret it if you don't' -- he heard those words as if she were right there with him, as if were there again and no time had passed. It was not going fast, slow so that he swayed gently, rhythmically without losing balance. She was holding him ... ...he was holding her. She was warm and soft and she smelt like home, he had known her forever, across a thousand lifetimes; she was the other half of his soul. She has caught him, caught this morning's minion, kingdom of daylight, he could hear her poem again.... how he rung upon the rein ... rain ... Ray. He should apologise to Ray for running off like that, for risking Ray's house and reputation, for that silly argument. For not getting him featured, too, in the article about the day he saved Chicago from nuclear annihilation. Chicago, the city Ray loves. But Benny. Benny was not so sure. It seemed to him more and more that life sucks sometimes. People up and leave you, taking a part of you with them. Soon there would be very little of Benny left to give, to help people with. If other people keep taking bits with hem when they go. Who went? His mother, his grandparents, his father, Mark, Victoria ... Where was he? On a train? No on a street, he could see the lamplight above, no lamps on a train. how did that happen? It must be near now, home. he could see the moon, a crescent, a bow, a bow bend.....the fire that breaks, he could feel the fire in his back, the fire of the bullet, Ray's bullet. Ray's bullet, finally reaching its target.
TH
The story is mine but the characters are Alliances. I'm just borrowing them.
Do not archive without the permission of the author.
PG 13 Drama
Set after RWB. I wrote this because that bullet always bothered me.
As he locked the door of the Consulate, he breathed in deeply. The Chicago evening air was cooling. It had been a satisfactory ending to a complicated day. Benton Fraser fingered the keys absently. He looked at the darkening sky and thought fondly of the semaphore messages The Inspector had surprised him; he'd surprised himself at his own presumption. His cheeks threatened to burn at the memory; 'red suits you'. He winced as the keys hit a painful spot on his wrist; it had been a mistake to slide down that elevator cable. He had nasty itchy burns on his forearm now, which he had treated with antiseptic at the consulate. He resolved not to try that again in the near future.
He walked slowly down the steps to the sidewalk and turned to face West Racine. He was looking forward to the walk home; he needed to clear his mind of the trauma of the day. He was pleased that the Bolt brothers had finally been apprehended and that he and Ray had succeeded in saving the lives of the judge and jury, a feat Diefenbaker had not hesitated in taking credit for, ingrate! Yes, he was instrumental in tying up the loose ends, the recovery of the bonds and trapping the Bolts, but then so were he and Ray. Benton tsked. Presshound!
He turned round quickly, half expecting the wolf to be trotting at his heels or sniffing at some unsuspecting lamppost. Dief wasn't there of course; he had managed to inveigle his way into the affections of a blonde woman reporter who, impressed with his detective skills, had taken him off for a treat and a photograph session, with the promise to return him to the Mountie's apartment that evening. The movement forced a gasp from his lips. That hurt, a twinge in his back, and with it came a memory, unbidden and unwelcome. It issued from the wound in his back. Ray's bullet was still embedded near a vertebra where it always would be; a reminder to Benton of his foolishness, his darker side, and his vulnerability where women were concerned. It was a facet of his personality he was loathe to think about, the dark side he preferred to pretend did not exist.
He had slowly been coming to terms with those tragic days. It was taking some time, his trust in others and belief in himself had been damaged. He could not bring himself to talk about it with Ray, and Meg had no inkling either of the torment he went through each time he considered the possibility of a serious romance. The fear was lessening now as he recognised in her a similar reluctance, like magnets, they both attracted and repelled each other. She did not throw herself at him like other women did. Rather, she gave him space, was even aloof despite their sharing of what he had come to call 'The Moment' -- whenever he allowed himself to think of it, which was, truth to tell, frequently. He had of late begun to wonder if he could, indeed, be capable of allowing another woman near. Thatcher's record was exemplary and as a Mountie, it went without saying that she was dependable, honest and upright, like himself. Maybe she had been hurt too at some time. He doubted she could have been as foolish as he had been. She would never desert her friend, her job, her honour for a criminal. No, no one could be that foolish; it took a naive idiot to (to borrow one of Ray's phrases) screw up big time like he had done. He could not imagine the Inspector falling for someone as devious as Victoria. No, he had been blinded by passion and would suffer for it for the rest of his life, Ray made sure of that. Oh, he'd forgiven Ray for shooting him, yes, maybe was even glad of it. That bullet was his conscience now, warning him about women, to be wary of his own feelings. To be aware that his own judgement could be based too much on emotion, faulty logic, animal instinct, and could be so very wrong. He deserved those twinges; they would serve to keep him on the straight path, maintaining the right.
He looked up from his reverie to check he was still walking in the right direction. He had been so lost in thought he feared he might have gotten turned around, but no, he was on the right street. back to Ray and Ray's bullet. That had been quite some argument yesterday...was it yesterday? Ray had been in a snit over that magazine article. When he thought carefully about it, he realised that their relationship had not got back to an even keel since Irene. Was there a hint of resentment still there? And the thought that Ray considered him unfeeling, lacking in emotion still rankled. Benton considered himself to be a deeply feeling person; he just didn't care to wear his heart on his sleeve as the Italian did. Another twitch, was this worse than usual? He suspected so as he discovered he could not put as much pressure on one foot as he normally would. Great Scott, he was having to limp! Could it have been the fall down the elevator shaft? Surely, a fit body like his could take a fall like that. He always managed to land gracefully from great heights, a feat of which he was immensely proud. Falling was something he was good at, falling from trains ...yeah, sure, but not falling in love. Jumping he did well too: off cliffs, off roofs, off trains. The kiss, The Moment. He tried to focus on that; trains were a problem. He would steer away from the thought of falling out of Victoria's arms in the train station, concentrate on the top of a speeding train full of sleeping Mounties, the snow glistening all around and a cold wind ruffling his hair through a crownless Stetson. The moment his eyes locked on hers, it was unavoidable; I have a heart and it beats just like yours.....a runaway. During the kiss time had stood still and they were both, he knew, totally unaware of the precarious hold they had on the surface of the train or the danger that threatened. It had been ... exhilarating.
Another twinge, getting worse, travelling down his spine through to the little toe on his right foot, and at the same time up to his head. He rubbed at his temples and stopped to lean on a hydrant to catch his breath, squeeze his eyes and furrow his brow. A shake of the head, better, the annoying fizzing in his ears eased off; he had only just become aware of it, though it must have been building up for some time. His vision had become a little blurred, he was finding it difficult to focus on the traffic lights and he needed to cross the road. He limped to the junction, the lights changed and he crossed, helping a young mother and her stroller loaded with baby and shopping cross with him. He held the infant's hand for her, maybe as much for his own security. He made it to the other side without incident, touched the brim of his hat and smiled. Where?
A sharper twinge made him gasp. He was confused, how long had he had that bullet, Ray's bullet, in his back? Months. Was it really that long ago? He could remember it as well as the events of yesterday, the events of this morning; he tried to focus on them, today had been a success, lives had been saved ... lots of lives.
Where was he? He stopped once more to rub his back and stretch. The twinge had become a pain, it eased a little, he couldn't remember when the twinge had turned into a pain. He looked up at the sky, not so clear as at home, too much light pollution. Too much light in Chicago, and much too much pollution, but the sky was dark. Night fell and he couldn't remember it happening. It's always light, hey, Dief?
And no stars, the moon but no stars except maybe the North Star. Yes, he could just make it out, a tiny yellow dot in the sky. It was a peculiar sensation, looking at one star in a sky that was not very dark. At home, he could find his way through the tundra using constellations to guide him on days when the light hardly came at all. If he looked hard enough maybe he could see the Big Dipper, Orion's Belt, Castor and Pollux, Sirius, maybe even the northern lights. What were the northern lights doing in Chicago? He blinked and in doing so realised that his eyes had been closed, now they were open he could see the dark sky once more and the street light above his head. Great Scott! What am I doing lying down on a Chicago Street? Ray, why didn't you tell me I fell over, did I faint? There was no answer to Benton's puzzled question because he was alone and Ray was at his home dining with his argumentative siblings.
He was vaguely aware of people passing by above him; it was their feet and legs he could see, and he could hear their voices, dismissing him as a drunk or an addict. Drunk? I don't drink; it takes away your judgement, your common sense. Then again, maybe he should drink, he wasn't drunk when he ran for that train, wasn't drunk when he jumped bail. Ray could have lost his house. Where was reason then?
'Hey, buddy, ya need some help?'
Benton opened his eyes at the rough voice and reached for the proffered hand that blocked his vision of the filthy street.
'Say, I know a place for the homeless, I can show ya.'
Benton levered himself to standing, recoiled at the helpful hobo's rancid breath, brushed the dirt off his uniform and shook his head.
'Thank you kindly, I am not homeless.'
He looked around with some disorientation,
'Sir, could you tell me in which direction is West Racine. I seem to be lost. '
Benton was confused, he did not normally get lost, he had a compass. The hobo chuckled,
'Ya don' wanna go there, I know much better places.'
'I live there.' rejoined Benton, dryly.
's thataway.'
The hobo shrugged and pointed in what seemed to the Mountie to be an indeterminate direction and moved off mumbling incoherently, taking a swig from what appeared to be a paper bag. As he faded into the darkness Benton thought he could see him place a Stetson on his head. Benton hugged his coat closer around him, puzzled, was it getting colder? He proceeded unsteadily in the general direction of where he assumed the street person had pointed.
'Thank you kindly'
The pain seemed to have faded to a dull ache through his back and legs, he felt extremely tired, but then it had been an exhausting twenty-four hours. He had been covered in a poncho and strapped to a bomb and his best friend in a courtroom; these were not common occurrences. Well, not where he came from, he couldn't recall ever having seen a poncho before in real life, much less worn one. Having to control his and Ray's heartbeats had been stressful , defusing the bomb had taken up much nervous energy. So yes, he had a right to be exhausted. Not forgetting the fact that he had been punched unconscious. Exhaustion seemed entirely in order, a natural progression. But this dull throbbing pain was something else and it was taking all his concentration to not end up flat on his back again. Concentrate Benton, on getting home to a warming cup of tea, a cozy blanket and a comfortable bed. He was finding it difficult to move his legs but squinting up at the shop signs he registered that it was not far to his slummy apartment. The shops were certainly looking more dingy and run down.
He took a deep breath to steady himself; he appeared to be swaying. Like he was on a train; was he on a train with Victoria? Where were they going? 'Come with me.... you'll regret it if you don't' -- he heard those words as if she were right there with him, as if were there again and no time had passed. It was not going fast, slow so that he swayed gently, rhythmically without losing balance. She was holding him ... ...he was holding her. She was warm and soft and she smelt like home, he had known her forever, across a thousand lifetimes; she was the other half of his soul. She has caught him, caught this morning's minion, kingdom of daylight, he could hear her poem again.... how he rung upon the rein ... rain ... Ray. He should apologise to Ray for running off like that, for risking Ray's house and reputation, for that silly argument. For not getting him featured, too, in the article about the day he saved Chicago from nuclear annihilation. Chicago, the city Ray loves. But Benny. Benny was not so sure. It seemed to him more and more that life sucks sometimes. People up and leave you, taking a part of you with them. Soon there would be very little of Benny left to give, to help people with. If other people keep taking bits with hem when they go. Who went? His mother, his grandparents, his father, Mark, Victoria ... Where was he? On a train? No on a street, he could see the lamplight above, no lamps on a train. how did that happen? It must be near now, home. he could see the moon, a crescent, a bow, a bow bend.....the fire that breaks, he could feel the fire in his back, the fire of the bullet, Ray's bullet. Ray's bullet, finally reaching its target.
TH