A Man of Justice continued

[mistressace]

Part 1

*~*~*~*

No other threat materialized and with Lex safe inside the Consulate, Cooper and James began triage.

James knelt on the pavement a few feet from Fraser, his serge jacket pressed tight to the first man's chest wound to stanch the bleeding. One of the guests lent their assistance to Cooper with Lex's other bodyguard, tightening a white scarf into a tourniquet above his leg wound.

Putting his weapon away, Fraser chivvied people into the Consulate until the first squad car roared up. And directly behind it was Ray's GTO. Tires squealed, doors slammed and the night was rent with sirens. Fraser braced himself for the coming onslaught as Ray boiled out of the car.

Racing across the street, Ray yelled, "Frase? Fraser, where the hell are you?"

An unfamiliar patrolman reached the Consulate grounds first. "Where's the officer down?"

"Right there," James said, pointing at Fraser.

Waving the patrolman away, Fraser leaned on the front railing, tracking Ray's increasingly distressed voice through the growing tumult. Ah, there. Ray was pacing the sidewalk directly in front of Constable Cooper, practically vibrating with rage.

"Fraser, where the fuck is Fraser? Cooper, if I find he's out there chasing the perp, I'm gonna kick him in the head."

"Ray... Ray.... Ray... Ray!"

Ray spun on his heel and pushed past the knot of people milling around between them. When he finally spotted Fraser, relief washed over his face, only to be replaced with irritation.

"Jesus, Frase. What are you doin' standin' up? Don't you know that officer down means officer down?" Reaching out to steady him with one hand, Ray peeled Fraser's fingers from the railing and then led him toward the Consulate. "Where'd you get hit?"

Fraser laughed weakly, "In the back."

Bracing him against the building, Ray opened the door. He peered over Fraser's shoulder, whistling as he saw the points of impact. "Figures. At least it's not the leg, right? Sit down, buddy."

Guiding him inside, Ray walked Fraser to a chair by the front window. Once Fraser was seated, Ray turned to the nearest person and beckoned him over. "Hey, keep an eye on him while I handle this. Don't you move, Fraser." He pointed two fingers at Fraser's face, stilling the incipient protest. "Do not move. Not until the guys in the bus give you the okay. Got it? Got it?"

"But, Ray..."

"Do not argue with me on this. Not this time. If you don't stay put I'll..." Ray took two steps away, then came back and slapped his hand against the windowsill. With narrowed eyes, he glared down at Fraser. "I'll sic Ma on you and we both know how much you do not want to go there."

Sighing, Fraser slumped against the seat and nodded. "Understood."

"Good." He started to leave, and then turned back, crouching so he could look Fraser in the eye. "I'll be back as soon as I can.... Damn." Rubbing his hand over his cheek, then around to the back of his head, Ray muttered. "Guess it's a good thing I got you that vest."

"Best present I ever received."

"Yeah, at least this one you couldn't feed to a walrus."

"Of course not, Ray. That would cause indigestion which in a walrus is..." Fraser looked up at Ray, catching Ray's relieved grin. "...unfortunate."

"You got that right. Stay here, buddy."

*~*~*~*

With the best thoracic surgeon in Chicago now en route to Northwestern Memorial, Lex had been watching as the street outside the Consulate turned into a river of flashing lights. From that vantage point, he'd also witnessed the first volley between Fraser and the guy who'd arrived in a gorgeous piece of classic Detroit metal.

There was a wealth of history between those two.

History tied up in a harsh south-side Chicago accent barked out by a rail-thin man who hadn't blinked an eye at ordering an RCMP officer around like a fresh-faced recruit. Whoever this Ray was, he was clearly in charge. He exuded a frenetic energy, always in motion, arms swinging and jaw clenched. Even when he'd calmed down and talked to Fraser with obvious affection, he kept shooting glances toward the door, ready to leap into the fray.

The request to look after Fraser startled Lex, both in the gentleness of its delivery and the fact that his presence had even been noticed, but he gladly accepted the duty. It was a prime opportunity to study the man who'd just saved his life.

Lex waited until Ray loped off before taking a seat next to Fraser.

Fraser didn't look at him, didn't acknowledge that he was even there. Instead, Fraser stared out the window, tracking Ray as he crossed the front lawn and there, there was the hunger that lurked beneath the surface. The brief flare of interest Lex had witnessed earlier was nothing compared to this.

Fraser wasn't merely hungry.

Fraser was starving.

A few minutes ticked by with Lex watching Fraser and Fraser devouring Ray. When he was satisfied with his interpretation, Lex cleared his throat and asked casually, "Friend of yours?"

Fraser started, his head snapping around to face Lex. "Yes. My best friend actually." The look of deprivation was gone, vanished into thin air. "Leftenant Kowalski and I served together."

"Gulf War?"

"No. The streets of Chicago."

Lex nodded, reviewing the story Fraser had told him before dinner. "He's the Ray who handled your father's case, isn't he?" There was something wrong about that assumption. Something... "Wait, I thought you said his name was Vecchio."

"That's the other Ray."

"There are two Rays? That must be a little confusing."

"You have no idea," Fraser murmured. "No idea at all."

*~*~*~*

As Lex lapsed into contemplative silence, Fraser turned back to watch Ray handle the crowd.

There were detectives talking to witnesses, uniformed patrolmen waving in the first ambulance, straggling guests being rounded up and trooped back into the relative safety of the Consulate. Ray stood in the middle of it all with his hands on his hips, directing with a jerk of his head, the lift of his chin, a few words spoken here and there to keep everything running smoothly.

When he'd been bumped up to Captain, Harding Welsh had made a fine recommendation for the leadership of the 27th. Ray Kowalski, despite his volatility, had indeed turned out to be the best man for the job. He was an exemplary police officer, one of the finest Fraser had ever known.

A flash of crimson approaching from the west caught Fraser's eye and despite Ray's orders, he abandoned the safety of the Consulate. His back still ached, but the sharp pain in his ribs had dulled, making it possible for him to stand and move unassisted.

Assaying the front steps left him a little breathless, but Fraser remained steady on his feet. Constable Fenimore, who had been jogging toward Ray, veered off and came to a halt in front of his commanding officer.

"Constable, your report."

"He got away, sir, but I have a license number. If the Leftenant Kowalski would be so kind as to run..."

"As to run what?" Ray said, appearing beside Fraser. The look Ray shot at Fraser promised hours of retribution, but thankfully Ray refrained from taking him to task in front of his subordinate. "You got something for me, Fenimore?"

"A license number, Leftenant. Illinois plate, LGN 749."

"Rawls. Get over here." One of the detectives trotted up to Ray. "Take Fenimore back to the station. Get his statement and run anything he wants, got it? You...." Ray pointed at Fraser. "You come with me."

Once Fenimore was safely out of earshot, Ray rounded on Fraser. His arms cut frustrated arcs through the air as he snarled, "Fraser. What did I tell you? What did I say about staying inside?"

"Ray. While I understand your concern...."

"You? You understand nothin'. You got shot, Fraser."

"While I understand your concern, need I remind you..."

"You got shot on my watch!"

"Need I remind you that this is...."

"My watch, Fraser! On my watch and in my precinct!"

With each interruption, Ray's volume increased several notches and his complexion had left red behind and was verging on purple. Clearly, he was working up to a full-on tantrum and if something wasn't done about it... well, their friendship had survived an exchange of blows before but Fraser preferred to avoid a repeat of those miserable few days.

Drawing himself up to his full height, Fraser planted his feet firmly on the trampled grass of the Consulate's front yard. "Yes, Ray. I got shot. But this..." His hand swept over the grounds. "Is not your precinct. This is the Dominion of Canada. I am the ranking officer here and this happened on my watch."

Ray stopped in mid-rant and turned an open-mouthed stare at Fraser. His hands, which had been moving the whole time, ended up in his hair, making it stand up even more than normal. Clamping his mouth shut, he started to walk away, turned around and came back, then walked away again.

Before he made it to the street, Ray shook his head, straightened his shoulders and spun on his heel to face Fraser.

They stared at each other.

After a long moment, Ray walked back.

He stopped in front of Fraser, looking down at Fraser's boots.

Fraser waited.

Shuffling his feet in the grass, Ray stuffed his hands in his coat pockets and took a deep breath.

Fraser waited.

Ray's voice was barely audible above the surrounding noise, "Look, Frase. You're right, I was outta line there. So...."

Fraser waited.

"I'm... I'm sorry. I just... I was on the way back to the station and I heard the call and I just knew it was you." Ray shrugged, his head ducking even lower, "There's things... there's stuff we haven't talked about. Stuff we should talk about and I thought .... 'you idiot, it's too late. He's dead and you never said what you needed to say' and ... Frase, you made this funny face when I gave you the vest and you didn't want the permit and one of these days, you're gonna try to save the wrong guy and..."

"And today is not that day." Fraser said, reaching out to touch Ray's shoulder. A shoulder that trembled, then firmed up as he added, "Now, do I give my statement to you, or should I speak to one of your detectives?"

Ray finally lifted his head, "Me. You talk to me. You can do it while they check you out, okay?"

"Okay, Ray."

"Okay, good. C'mon." Ray started to lead him toward a waiting ambulance, then stopped. He yelled at the EMT who'd just emerged from the back of the vehicle. "Hey, Sully!

She turned toward him, "Yeah?"

"Feel like checking out a Mountie?"

"You know it! Let me get my kit." She grinned and ducked back inside.

Ray grabbed Fraser's elbow, leading him back up the steps once more. When they reached the top, Fraser asked, "There were things you wanted to talk to me about, Ray?"

"Yeah, Frase."

"Do you want to talk about them tonight?"

"No. How about Friday? Lunch sound good to you?" Ray opened the door, ushering Fraser inside.

"Will we be having Chinese or pizza?"

"Neither. There's this Thai place around the corner from the station. It's pretty good."

"Thai? Really? Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm trying to branch out here, Frase. Mix things up a little. Try something different every once in a while."

"Ah."

"Ah?"

"Yes, Ray."

"I mean... we don't have to. If you want Chinese, we could do that." Ray helped Fraser sit down at the reception desk, pushing the phone and stapler aside to make room for Sully's bag. She dropped it there, digging through the contents as Ray shrugged, "Wherever you want to go is fine by me."

"No. No. Thai sounds fine. We could use something different." Fraser lifted his chin, staring at a spot to the left of Ray's ear as Ray unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his tunic, easing it off his shoulders and down his arms before Sully could cut it off him. The tunic was effectively destroyed, but Fraser appreciated the respect Ray accorded the uniform.

His braces followed and then the vest, Ray's hands deftly unfastening the straps and lifting the Kevlar away from his stinging back.

Ray paled as Sully cut the henley off, looking away when she whistled in awe. "So, Frase, tell me what happened here. And what's with the cue ball who's been following you around like a lost puppy?"

Leaning forward, Fraser followed Ray's line of sight. Lex was seated in Thibodeaux's office across the hall, watching the two of them through the open doorway. Another paramedic knelt beside Lex, daubing at the abrasions on his face.

Fraser returned Lex's nod of acknowledgment. "One of our guests this evening. I believe he was the intended target."

"Yeah? What's his name?"

"Alexander Luthor. He's the head of a multi-national conglomerate currently interested in furthering their holdings in Canada. I had a chance to speak with him prior to dinner being served -- fascinating man. His environmental record is outstanding and the plans he has for a new plant in Vancouver are... revolutionary."

Ray slipped a toothpick in between his teeth, rolling it with his tongue until it was tucked into the corner of his mouth. "Pretty young guy to be the head of a company."

"Inherited from his father as I understand it."

"Huh. Old man kicks the bucket and the kid gets it all? Must be nice."

"Actually, Ray, Mr. Luthor's father is very much alive. He's currently serving two life terms in the Kansas State Penitentiary."

"Two life terms? Pretty stiff penalty for a suit."

"Given the nature of the crime, I believe the jury's verdict was more than fair."

Ray leaned back, his eyes flicking between Fraser and Lex. "Why do I have the feeling that we're not taking about tax evasion here, Frase?"

"Perhaps because we aren't. Mr. Luthor's father was convicted by a jury of his peers and is serving two life terms for premeditated murder. Apparently, he killed his parents and used the insurance money to start his company." Fraser drew in a sharp breath as Sully probed at his ribs. Nothing was broken, but it still hurt a great deal. "Lex gave some of the most damning testimony himself."

Ray sat up straight, his eyes widening in disbelief. "Wait a minute there, Frase. Lex? That guy's name is Lex Luthor? You've got to be kidding me. "

Puzzled by Ray's incredulous response, Fraser cast another glance in Lex's direction. Lex was standing by one of the windows, watching as an ambulance pulled away with lights and siren blaring. "No, I assure you that's his name. Well, in the strictest sense his name is Alexander, but he goes by Lex."

"I don't believe this. You aren't making the connection, are you? Look, here's this guy." Ray waved his hand toward Thibodeaux's office. "He's bald as an egg, his name's Lex Luthor and you don't get it? I know you grew up in the back of beyond out there in the Northwest Areas, Fraser, but even you've read a comic book or two, right?"

Before Fraser could answer, Ray did it for him. "Of course not. You know, for being raised by librarians, you missed out on a lot of great literature. Have you at least heard of Superman?"

"Of course. He was created by Jerry Siegel and Joseph Shuster in 1931. Originally a villain, upon finding a serious publisher his character was changed to make him a hero instead." Fraser straightened, lifting his arms slowly as Sully started taping his ribs.

"You're going to be sore for a few days, Inspector Fraser, but nothing's broken," Sully grinned, leaning forward to pass the end of the bandage around Fraser's chest. "And here's something you two might not know. Joe Shuster was born in Toronto, so, if you think about it, Superman's half Canadian."

Ray pulled the toothpick out of his mouth, "Why am I not surprised? Hey, Sully, who's Superman's greatest enemy?"

"That's an easy one, Ray." Tucking the end of the bandage in place and taping it down, Sully jerked her head in Lex's direction. "That guy."

Fraser peered around the end of the desk. Lex was engaged in a conversation with Thibodeaux. As he watched, the Consul General gestured at the ceiling and Lex nodded, his face breaking into a charming smile. "That's... that's just silly."

Grinning, Ray shrugged his shoulders. "Hey. I'm just pointing out the obvious. You know, I'll bet you anything he's got a buddy back home named Clark Kent. Maybe you should ask him."

"I might at that... Now, about this evening's incident."

"Right. Time to get to work."

*~*~*~*

An hour later, Fraser was in his office, dressed in his spare uniform and flipping through the file on Lex. Diefenbaker dozed lightly at Fraser's feet, his paws twitching as he dreamed.

Fraser wasn't entirely certain if ghosts actually did dream, but he'd never bothered to ask. And even if he did, Diefenbaker was still the most contrary of animals and it was doubtful he'd answer.

Still, as annoying as he'd remained, his presence was a comfort. A taste of home that helped Fraser make it through the endless march of days his posting to Chicago now represented. When he'd first returned, he'd entertained hopes that the closeness he and Ray had experienced on their adventure would eventually blossom into a deeper, possibly carnal, relationship.

But the six-year delay between their adventure and his promotion to Inspector with its subsequent posting to Chicago had lost him too much ground. Eight months to the day that he'd taken over from Inspector Bowell, Fraser found himself standing at the altar of St. Ladislaus' church, handing a ring to Ray and watching as all his hopes turned to ash.

Diefenbaker grumbled.

"Yes, I know. You've mentioned it before." Fraser frowned, pulling at his lower lip as he read about the eight counts of negligent homicide Lex had been charged with less than a year ago.

Opening his eyes, Diefenbaker whined.

"Well, the timing was never right." Curious. Those charges were immediately dropped upon Lionel Luthor's indictment for murder. He turned the page over and continued reading.

Cocking his head at Fraser, Diefenbaker whuffled.

"No. I'm sure if I'd suggested it at that particular juncture, Ray would've gone screaming off into the night." Ah, Lex had turned state's evidence and with his cooperation, the FBI was able to expose his father's villainy. During their investigation into Mr. Luthor Sr.'s illegal activities, the agent in charge discovered that beyond finding the bodies, Lex had nothing to do with the project at Metreon Pharmaceuticals or the deaths of Metreon's lab workers.

Diefenbaker groaned.

"If I'd tried that at the airport, they would've arrested me for public indecency." There was a single count of justifiable homicide in May of 2002. Lex had shot one Roger Nixon, a reporter for the Metropolis Inquisitor, in defense of a neighbor whom Mr. Nixon had been about to impale with a section of rebar.

The neighbor, a Mr. Jonathan Kent, had gone missing several days earlier in the aftermath of a tornado and Lex, along with a multitude of others, was searching the woods for him. Fortunately for everyone involved, with the notable exception of Mr. Nixon, Lex had been armed and was apparently a crack shot.

According to the report, Lex was also protecting Mr. Kent's son, a minor named Clark. Fraser stopped, started at the beginning and read the entire document again.

No, it couldn't be.

Ah, it wasn't. The boy had been unconscious when Lex stumbled upon them -- both Lex and Mr. Kent's statements to the police corroborated that fact. It was merely a coincidence, an unfortunate happenstance of nomenclature that had a Clark Kent and a Lex Luthor both living in a town named Smallville.

One of the universe's many cosmic jokes. Much like Ray and the two very different women who had won his heart.

Diefenbaker groaned again, rolled over and licked himself.

"Yes, well, there you are.... And apparently, so am I." Fraser sighed.

Well, there was no point in crying over spilt milk.

Locking the file in the center drawer of his desk, Fraser got to his feet and set about turning his office into an impromptu bedroom. With Lex ensconced in the Queen's bedroom at the Consul General's insistence, Fraser had elected to remain on post.

Even though he was moving rather slowly due to his injuries, he'd been the logical choice. Beyond his position as the ranking officer, he was a bachelor and both Fenimore and James had families with young children and the attendant responsibilities therein. Cooper had been a bit too quick in volunteering for the duty -- that was to be the subject of another conversation once their guest was gone.

The corner behind the door was an ideal place to set up the cot. He could watch both windows from there and if a miscreant chose the foyer as a point of entry, they would have to pass his office in order to gain access to Mr. Luthor. If he left his door ajar, its creaky hinges and solid oak construction would provide both warning and protection.

By the time he had the cot set up and his bedroll laid out on it, Fraser's ribs were aching dreadfully. Sitting down on its edge, he contemplated his boots. Leaning over to take them off would prove painful.

Diefenbaker trotted over and sat on his haunches. He pawed at the boots, claws sinking through the leather without leaving marks.

"I know, old friend. I appreciate the offer but we both know...."

There was a knock at his door.

Diefenbaker panted at Fraser, licked his chops and vanished.

*~*~*~*

Taking care not to spill the scotch, Lex knocked again.

This time he was rewarded by the opening of the door. Fraser had changed his uniform, his taped ribs covered once again by a layer of red serge. The medals were gone, the dress belt replaced by a leather one with a strap that crossed over one shoulder and clipped into a ring on the opposite hip.

The frown on Fraser's face turned quickly into a smile as he noted the glasses in Lex's hands.

"I thought you could use a drink."

"Thank you, I could indeed. Please come in." Moving out of the doorway, Fraser relieved Lex of one of the glasses as he walked into the room. "I should warn you though. The Consul General won't take kindly to our pilfering."

"Then it's good that I brought my own."

"May I enquire as to how you managed to get it past my team?"

"Allow me a few secrets, Ben." Lex took a seat on the couch and raised his glass in toast. "To surviving another day."

"Agreed," Fraser nodded, easing into a chair opposite the couch before taking a cautious sip. Clearly pleased, he raised the glass again, but didn't drink. He closed his eyes, waving the tumbler under his nose, breathing through his open mouth.

Lex considered tossing his glass aside and going to his knees. Instead, he took another pull on his own glass, savoring the burn.

Patience.

"Mmmm. Lagavulin -- not the sixteen-year-old though." Fraser breathed again, his eyelids fluttering.

"No. Not the sixteen."

"I thought not. This has a significantly higher alcohol content." A slow mouthful, liquid amber gliding over pink lips, past white teeth. The sound Fraser made had Lex clutching at the couch with his free hand. "Ahhhh, the twelve-year-old. Youth winning out over age and experience...."

"A rarity, I can assure you." Lex murmured.

"In scotch, perhaps," Fraser opened his eyes. "Was there something you wanted to discuss?"

"Actually," Lex said, setting his empty glass down on the coffee table between them. He waited, watching as Fraser finished his own drink and put his glass next to Lex's. "I came to tell you I was headed to bed."

Fraser nodded, resting his elbows on his knees, still leaning forward.

"Care to join me?"

Fraser blinked. His mouth opened and then closed firmly. His head dropped, exposing the nape of his neck. While Lex waited again, Fraser glanced to his left and grimaced before raising his head again. When their eyes met, Lex had his answer.

Standing, he held his hand out.

*~*~*~*

Part 3