I didn't mean to write a sequel to "Undone". I so didn't. But I fell madly in love with the idea of ShadyP.I.!Harry, and then I couldn't get him out of my head. So, yeah.

Once again, thanks muchly to Maryavatar for the lovely title image.

The Due South characters and situations belong to Alliance and whoever else; the Tru Calling characters belong to FOX et cetera. I'm not entirely certain where TC is set, but a few people suggested Boston, so that's what I went with, even though that's probably not true (and it's no Boston I've ever seen).

by Maya Tawi

part one


"Dying killed the truth in me
Gone quietly, gone completely
Cold reminder, what you tried to be"
--Moist, "Better Than You"


When Benton Fraser returned to the cabin, Ray Kowalski was packing a duffel bag.

"It's no big thing," he said, as Benton stomped the snow off his boots and shrugged out of his parka, but Ray wouldn't meet his eyes. "Just gotta take care of some business."

"I wasn't aware you had acquaintances in Boston," Benton said, but as soon as the words were out of his mouth he remembered, and he wanted to kick himself. Stupid.

Ray's mouth twisted, and Benton realized with dismay that he had taken it as an intentional dig. But all he said was, "It ain't him. It's...." He hesitated. "From before Vecchio. It's just a thing."

"As you said," Benton agreed, and wasn't sure whether to be worried or relieved.

Ray stuffed one last T-shirt into the bag and zipped it shut with a savage yank. Then he let his head fall forward and leaned over the bed, bracing his fists against the mattress.

After a moment, during which Ray said nothing and Benton tried to quiet his breathing to negative-decibel levels, Ray spoke. His words sounded reluctant, as though dragged forth from his throat with great force.

"This shouldn't take long," he said. "But if I'm not back soon... call Welsh. Let him know."

Worried, definitely. A kind of muted panic gripped Benton's limbs, freezing him in place.

"I'm coming with you," he managed to say through the sudden stiffness that had paralyzed his lips.

Ray just shook his head and said, "No yer not."

Flat. Final. End of discussion.

Benton did not take well to ultimatums. "If you're in some kind of trouble--"

"I'm not."

He pressed doggedly on. "--then I have a responsibility to your well-being to...."

He trailed off, and saw Ray's lips curve into a faint smile.

"Yer worried about me," he said. "You're allowed to say it, Ben."

"Fine," Benton said, refusing to be sidetracked by that slight, tempting smirk. "I'm worried about you, and I'm coming with you."

Ray shook his head. "Sorry," he said, and he sounded like he meant it. "Invitation's for one only. No pluses. 'Sides, I already ATV'd."

"RSVP'd," Benton said automatically, and frowned. "You're going to a party?"

"Figure of speech." Ray paused. "You sure about that?"

"It's a response to an invitation, not an off-road vehicle. Yes, I'm sure."

"See, Ben? Learn something new every day," Ray said, and shouldered the duffel bag.

The panic intensified. "You're leaving now?" His voice cracked on the last word, and he hated the sound of it.

"Duty beckons," Ray said. "With its middle finger, but, uh, beckons nonetheless." He hesitated and stepped closer to Benton, his restless eyes searching Benton's face, pausing on his eyes, his mouth.

Benton wet his lips.

"I'll be back," Ray said, his voice suddenly low and fierce, "I promise," and he let the bag fall to the floor with a thump and grabbed Benton's face, leaning in and kissing him, long and hard and thorough.

Benton felt himself melting into the kiss, and he closed his eyes, losing himself in the moment. He slid his hands over Ray's shoulders and up the back of his neck, tangling them in the thick, dark blond hair-- not bleached anymore, and in dire need of a proper cut, but he liked it this way, liked having something to hold on to.

And then Ray pulled back, slowly but inexorably, disengaging Benton's hands with his own.

"Got a plane to catch," he said, with a sharp, quicksilver grin.

Benton nodded and stepped back from the door, allowing Ray room to pass.

He hated himself for it, but he did it anyway.


Harrison Davies sat bolt upright in bed, coming awake with a gasp.

He started to shake almost immediately, nightmare-sweat cooling on his body, and he spared a moment to wonder why it was so damn cold in his apartment, then had a sudden vision of the heating bill, lying unopened on his desk.

Oh, yeah. That would do it.

Harrison drew his knees up and hunched forward, digging his fingernails into the skin there through the thin sheet. He didn't want to think about the dream, but flashes of it were already worming their way into his consciousness, strobing before his unseeing eyes.

Tru, running down the alley. Jack, stepping out in front of her. Tru coming up short.

Jack, raising the gun.

And himself, too slow to get there, launching himself towards them anyway, hearing the gunshot in mid-leap....

He scrubbed his hands viciously over his eyes, trying to block out the images. He'd seen them already, knew them all by heart. Played them over and over in his mind, not every night now, not a year later, but often enough that he couldn't forget.

Not like he hadn't tried. That was what tequila was for.

Harrison sat back with a sigh, casting tired, bleary eyes around his apartment-- a small studio, with a bed and a kitchen and not much else-- and felt the desolate weight of his surroundings closing in on him like something out of an Indiana Jones movie. No bugs, though. That was something, at least.

That was what two oversized cans of industrial-strength Raid, and one extremely chagrined trip to the emergency room, had been for.

And speaking of tequila.... Harrison slipped out of bed, pulling the sheet with him and wrapping it around his shoulders for warmth, and padded across the room to the kitchen area.

He didn't intend to have any more dreams that night.



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