why are you weeping
yes i still love you
we fight and fall down
and mend
-- Jann Arden, "Mend"

• * *

  The scene kept playing itself out in his mind.

  The terrified woman's screams still filled his ears; the child's wails tore his heart in two. They had all watched, horrified, while the man--the father--stood out on the ledge, yelling in English, and a language that Ray had recognised then but could not place now. The man yelled demands, Ray tried as best he could to negotiate, but it seemed now that he had simply arrived too late to help the situation. The desperate man with a toddler in his arms, was, obviously, too far gone to be helped.

  Someone had jumped the gun--so to speak--and Ray couldn't remember all the words that had come to the surface while he watched, horrified, as man and baby fell to the ground.

  Desperate, terrified, Ray had rushed to the child's broken body, checking, trying--trying so hard to save him.

  He clutched the edge of his desk, the surface unbending to his fiercely clenched fingers, as he tried to dispel the sounds and images from his mind.

  A voice--a voice he knew so well--floated through his consciousness, and he turned his head, slowly, to look up into a familiar, concerned face.

  Benny. He could not form the word, couldn't bring it up past his throat, as Benny's hand came to rest on his shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze. The Mountie murmured something about "home" and Ray nodded, numb. Ben reached past him, taking the car keys from Ray's desk, receiving no protest. A gentle arm curled around Ray's shoulders, holding him close to Ben's warm, strong body as they made their way through the quiet bullpen.

  He looked down at his hands, clenched in his lap, as Ben drove him home. He barely registered the feel of concerned blue eyes watching him occasionally, as he fought back the lump in his throat.

  The rational part of his mind told him that he had done all he could. He could not control the actions of others. That other part of his mind, that damned half that would just not shut up shut up shut up told him that it was all his fault. He was responsible. He had failed that little boy.

  *Ray. Ray. We're here. We're home now. Let's go inside, okay? Would you like to go inside now?*

  A cold, wet nose pressed up against his hand, and he heard Dief whine softly. Ray looked up to see Fraser leaning into the car, reaching around his body to unbuckle his seat belt as though he was a baby. He let the Mountie gently pull him from the car, still supporting his own body's dead weight against his best friend's flannel-covered torso. He felt so so old.

  He winced as his mother's concerned voice registered in his ears. She tried to pull him into her eyes, seeing what must have been his red-rimmed eyes, the tightness of his jaw. He held himself rigid, staring down at the floor over her shoulder. He felt a hand on his lower back, a strong, warm hand, Benny's hand, and the lump rose to his throat again. More voices filled the hallway, he heard Fraser trying to explain, and he pulled away from Ma, backing up into Ben's chest, yelling and cursing and telling everyone to get away just get the hell away!

  They backed away, murmuring with concerned little noises, Frannie trying to comfort an obviously distraught Ma. He reached out and grabbed Benny's arm, and a hand touched him again, as he allowed himself to be lead into the living room. He allowed himself to be gently pushed down onto a couch, he allowed Dief to place his muzzle on his knee; he looked down at soulful, wolfy eyes and shut his own eyes tightly, but saw only--

  "Benny."

  Benny was instantly at his side again, reaching out and enfolding him in an embrace that broke him. He wrapped his arms around Fraser's body, burying his face in Fraser's shoulder, and allowed himself, finally, to cry.

• * *

  In the kitchen, Frannie gave a little sigh and peeked into the living room at her brother and the Mountie.

  Her eyes widened. Her brother was in her Mountie's arms. She saw Ray's shoulders shaking from crying and could see the way he was clutching Benton against him. She saw the way Benton's hand stroked Ray's back, and the way his other hand was lightly cradling Ray's head. She saw the way Benton was rocking him, slowly, like a child.

  And she could see Benton's face as he held Ray. His eyes were closed, and his lips were very close to Ray's ear. He was speaking, but she couldn't hear a word he was saying. There was a look of infinite caring and tenderness on his beautiful face, as though he was holding something sacred and precious in his arms.

  Frannie drew back in shock and turned away, but then shook her head.

  She was imagining things.

  She turned to look again, in time to think she saw Benton's lips brush tenderly against Ray's temple.

  No. She was definitely imagining things.

  She hoped.

  The End