And if there's one thing Caine knows best, it's how to help people in need.
The Shaolin caught up with Fraser in a side alley two blocks away. The Mountie had apparently put sufficient physical distance between himself and the incriminating portrait of Victoria that he had drawn with his own hand. He sat on the ground, back against the brick wall of a building, eyes closed. His pain shone like a flare in the gathering darkness.
"I'm all right," he called out, not opening his eyes. "Go back to your son. He'll need your help to capture her."
Caine halted, more surprised than he had been in some time. While he didn't intentionally sneak up on people, his soundless walk often startled those not expecting him. Had he accidentally kicked a pebble in the street or made some other noise that alerted the Canadian to his presence? He found himself asking, "How did you know it was I?"
"Mint."
"I beg your pardon?"
Fraser finally looked at the other man. "When you were showing me your plants, you brushed your hand across a pot of mint." He tapped the side of his nose. "I could smell it."
The priest chuckled ruefully and settled down, cross-legged, in front of him. "I shall remember to wash next time."
Fraser's lips curved into a half smile, but it faded as swiftly as the shifting colors of sunset. "I really am okay. You must have more important things to do than listen to the delusional ramblings of an exiled Mountie."
"I...have not." He shrugged. "Tell me of her, this woman for whom you hold such strong feelings."
"Ah...Victoria," he sighed. He lifted a hand to his head as though to touch his Stetson, frowned when he realized he had taken it off, and brushed his hair back instead. "It's rather complicated. I don't really know how I feel."
Caine shook his head. He refused to allow the younger man to hide from his emotions any longer; he could see the damage such behavior had already caused, and if Fraser were to heal it could not continue. "No!" he said forcefully. "Do not explain. Do not excuse. Just talk."
Fraser leaned his head back against the wall and stared up at the heavens. "I loved...no, I love her. I felt so close to her, as though I had known her for a thousand lifetimes."
"Perhaps you had."
"Hmm. And that's why I could have forgiven her almost anything. Whatever she did to punish me for sending her to jail--well, I deserved it. Even when she killed, I could see that she did it out of desperation and fear. But the key..." A tear slid down his cheek, barely visible in the shadows.
Caine regarded him in silence as, one by one, the fires of the stars kindled in the night sky.
Finally Benton summoned the courage to go on. "Why?" he demanded. Somewhere inside him he found a rage that gave him the strength to pound his fist against the unyielding ground. "I thought I knew her soul. It was so beautiful... I thought we were meant to be together. I only wanted a chance."
Caine felt an impulse to take the distraught young man into his arms and comfort him, as he did for Peter, but the time was not yet right. Instead he projected his empathy in his voice. "Sometimes those who were together in a previous life are not destined to be so in this one."
"I know, I know, I know. But I really believed I had to be with her. When she tried to hurt Ray, when I could no longer excuse her behavior, I still loved her with all my heart. I couldn't face living without her. I couldn't face the regret."
The priest realized that he had just touched on a much deeper issue. He needed to draw the Mountie out further. "Regret?"
"For sending her to prison. For ruining her life. For making her into what she is today."
"Ah. I think...I am beginning to understand. Tell me, Ben, did you instruct her to commit her first crime?"
"Of course not!" He swallowed. "No, I hadn't met her at that point. But I am responsible for putting her in jail."
"Did she receive a fair trial?"
"Well, I assume so, but I don't see--"
"Then you delivered her to those who ensured she would face the consequences of a decision she made."
"Years in prison--"
"The penalty accorded to her by the law you have sworn to uphold."
"But I could have let her go!"
Caine paused to let the words settle into the night before he responded. "Then you would truly have cause for regret."
Fraser's sharp intake of breath was more of a sob than a gasp. "That's not--" He stopped, too choked up to speak. After a few moments he tried again. "That's not what I want to hear."
"No. It is what you need to hear." Caine unfolded himself and moved unerringly in the darkness to the Mountie's side. Now was the right time.
Fraser accepted the kindness of the welcoming embrace and rested his head against the priest's sturdy shoulder. "That's what my father would have said," he whispered.
"Yes."
"Thank you kindly."