Fandom: due South
Summary: A rooftop chase doesn't end the way Fraser expected.
Rating: PG
Length: 425 words
Challenge: An over-grown and late response to ds_snippets challenge #2:
When are you thinking of disappearing?
When are you falling off the map?
When the unknown that you're fearing's in the clearing?
When your world's gone flat?
(from "Nothing But Heartache In Your Social Life," Gordon Downie)
Thanks to: My beta, somewhatdeluded for a spotting where I was losing momentum.

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Benton smiled as the suspect, Thomas Jefferson, swarmed up a fire escape and fired on them from the roof. Rooftop chases were the most exhilarating.

Diefenbaker jumped through an open window adjacent to the fire escape to intercept their target. Ray laid down covering fire, then climbed to the rooftop as the suspect retreated. He paused, cursing, to clear a jam from his weapon. Benton had climbed to the roof of the adjacent building and ran at full-speed, pulling ahead of Jefferson. He hurled himself over the gap, skidding to a halt directly in front of the arms dealer.

"Kindly stop and hand over the illegal automatic weapon, sir."

This was a maneuver he and Diefenbaker had perfected over a hundred chases. Benton would provide a distraction while Diefenbaker … where was Diefenbaker?

A distant thump and anguished yelp answered his unspoken question. Diefenbaker was trapped behind the rooftop door, chained shut in clear violation of fire regulations.

Ah.

Six meters separated him from the gunman. Too far to rush; too close to hope for a missed shot.

A woman's voice whispered seductively through his mind. Death is not a threat, but a promise made at birth. The world flattened around him, losing all color and sound. Benton shivered at the sudden chill.

Sunlight glinted on the barrel of the AR-15 as Jefferson raised it to his shoulder slowly; so slowly.

So this was how it ended. Not frozen in a desolate crevasse. Not drowned in deep waters. Not kicked to death in an alleyway. Not blown apart in a fiery explosion. Just the clean, echoing shots of an assault rifle on a Chicago rooftop. Fallen in the line of duty.

It was no worse than Benton had expected, and far better than he had feared.

Benton met Jefferson's gaze and saw the man's stance change, bracing against the recoil for an accurate shot. Ray tackled Jefferson from behind just as he fired. Bullets stitched across the rooftop within a few feet of Benton as the two men crashed to the floor.

Curiously, the arms dealer seemed more intent on shooting him than on winning the wrestling match with Ray. Jefferson kicked his way free and leveled the rifle at him once again from his prone position. Ray reached out and grabbed the hot barrel, pulling it out of line. His choked-off cry of pain roused Benton from his slack-muscled daze.

Benton moved forward to assist, dizzy and fey with relief at his escape. Not even Death could touch him. Ray would not allow it.