This is a little slice that's a missing scene from COTW, Fraser's pov.
Towards the end, Fraser starts to recite "the lifeline" -- that's the poem that Victoria recited when they were in the storm and what he used when he was shot. The Paul Revere poem is a reference to the episode Red, White, or Blue.
“Let's synchronize our breathing.”
Fraser agreed with the Inspector and they took a moment to get in synch with each other. Timing was vital with the Ferris wheel turning continuously and making their balance rely only upon themselves and not their relationship to the ground. The world had narrowed to the little box with the flashing lights, protruding wires, and enough nerve gas to kill everybody around the Pier. Not to mention what environmental damage it would do to Lake Michigan when it settled.
“Three... Two... One!” The Inspector and he clipped their wires at the exact right moment. There was a fraction of a second when they wondered... and then they knew it had worked. The Inspector's breath gasped out, covering Fraser's own exhalation as they leaned back into the bars, feeling again the world slowly spinning as thing other than the bomb came back into their senses.
And then he heard the gunshot.
There was a sinking feeling in his guts even as Fraser raised his head, seeking the point where Muldoon would be... and seeing instead the sight that had haunted his dreams for a year. Ray. Ray between him and danger. Ray, falling. Clutching at the bars as he fell in such a way that Fraser knew instantly the wound was bad.
Too slow. Fraser's senses contracted and expanded and focused in the space of a heartbeat. As he had just done, but this time not on a bomb. On Ray. Falling... Crumpled on the ground now. Still. Too still for the person who never stopped. Ray.
Hardly able to believe his worst nightmare, Fraser broke the line of sight, tucking his head into the bar as his mind rushed in two very separate directions. The clinical, over-active part was calculating and tracking the amount of time for the Ferris wheel to turn enough so he could jump down and run to Ray's side.
The other part of his mind was screaming. Screaming denial and rejection. Nothing could be this cruel. Ray. Not Ray. Not Ray again. Because of him. All because of him. Ray.
It was a nightmare. It wasn't real. He was sleeping in his apartment on West Recine after having eaten too much pepperoni pizza with Ray and he'd wake up shortly to find Diefenbaker standing over him, worried at Fraser's tossing and turning...
Even as his mind sketched out the scenario and wished for it, Fraser was springing off the bars the barest instant it was possible, and he was running, climbing, throwing himself down next to the crumpled figure in the black coat, his hands slipping in the blood as he turned the limp body over.
Ray. Open your eyes. Ray.
Fraser gulped, dimly aware of the tears pouring down his face but his gaze didn't waver as he reached trembling fingers to the familiar slender throat. Tearing his eyes away from the face that he'd never seen so still before, Fraser laid his head down to press his cheek near the mouth and nose, his eyes on the chest where the blood blended with the dark vest, staining the blue shirt.
Another suit of Ray's ruined because of me.
No movement. None. Hysteria was burbling up from the part of him that was still screaming. Flashes of memories surfaced through the nightmares like laundry in the washing machine, glimpsed, sublimed by another, a part showing here, one there; turning and swirling through, never stopping or slowing as they tumbled over.
Ray. Hands on his back, shoving him violently away as glass shattered and heat roared. Water still and calm but with a few bubbles drifting to the surface. Ray's face, grimacing in pain as he reached for his shoulder. Ice and frost layering the thin figure, a voice suddenly stopping. A howl of pain as gasoline poured over his eyes. Scrambling amid the burned and broken timbers guided by the soft moans of his new friend. Water, rising all around them. Always water; where was the car? A squeal of tires and running back to a prone figure in the street. Looking up into worried eyes that he should know but didn't. Scrambling through the snow -- did Ray come all the way out there, just to die? No.
No. He wouldn't, he couldn't, let him die. It always happened this way. What he cared most about he could do nothing to save. There was only... revenge.
A white-hot fury built within him, hotter than an exploding star, colder than the snow. Muldoon would die. For killing Ray, his Ray, precious and so dear, Muldoon would---
Hands pushing him away. Fraser fought. He couldn't leave Ray. He needed to---
A voice, screaming but sounding tiny and distant, filtered through his hearing.
“Fraser, move, damnit!”
“Ray,” Fraser managed a word that was both recognition and denial.
Another hard shove succeeded in pushing him aside and Fraser tumbled, staring in disbelief at Ray kneeling over Ray, a determined, set look on his face.
“Gotta stop the bleeding,” Ray grunted, his hands on Ray's chest, pulling the vest and shirt aside to reveal a blood-coated chest and an area patched with red foam...
“He's alive?” Fraser asked numbly, wanting to believe but afraid to. He's never been that still before.
“Shit!!” Ray exclaimed, his hands on Ray's chest. “Sucking chest wound -- the bullet mustn't've gone through.” His gaze darted frantically around. “Plastic. Gotta get some plastic.”
Fraser's eyes were riveted on his friend's as his lashes fluttered. “Ray?”
Hazel-green irises didn't focus but were there. Ray's face convulsed as he started coughing, a harsh, wet sound as blood spattered over his mouth and face.
“Godamnit!” Ray held him down, “Easy, Vecchio, easy. Don't talk, don't move. You've got a nasty wound there.”
“Benn---” A fresh wave of coughing stopped the weak voice.
“Don't talk!” Ray was frantic. “Frase is right here. Fraser!” Ray twisted around to grab Fraser's hand and drop it on one of Ray's. “Here. He's right here. Now you stay quiet.”
“Ray...” Fraser's voice shook as he held his friend's hand. He could barely see, his vision wavering in and out, but he caught the relaxation of Ray's face and the beautiful eyes were covered again as the lids dipped down. His hand was held tightly.
“Plastic, damit.” Ray shook his head and his gaze swept the area again. “Ah!” Moving a few feet away, he pounced on a shopping bag drifting in the wind and brought it triumphantly back. Switching it inside out, he laid it on Ray's chest, over the foamy blood and held it there.
A sound that Fraser hadn't noticed stopped.
Ray looked up, “Inspector! We need an ambulance here.”
Margaret sank down wearily next to them, the explosive box held securely in her grasp. “I radioed Welsh and he's contacting them. The ones that were on scene are already gone taking the earlier victims out. Some idiot sent them on without thinking there might be worse. It'll be just a few minutes for a new one.” There was a pause, “How is he?”
“Bullet in the upper left chest, penetrated the lung but didn't come out. Sucking chest wound and a lot of air in the body cavity before I could seal it. Lots of blood.” Ray's voice was steady if a bit frantic.
“Damn.” Margaret's voice was shaking slightly.
Ray started coughing again, blood spattering around them.
Weak. Already much weaker... Fraser gulped, his nightmare settling back around him. In a despairing monotone, he started to recite the lifeline.
Ray's eyes shot open as he glared at Fraser, “No!”
Startled, Benny stopped mid-word, his mouth open, “Ray?”
“Don't excite him, Frase!” Ray was trying to hold the plastic steady against Ray while Margaret helped him and also glared at Fraser. “Easy, Vecchio. You can yell at him later. Easy, now.”
Ray's gaze never shifted, but his expression softened as he fought to speak. “Rever...”
“Knock it off, Vecchio! Tell him later, but don't talk now.”
Margaret leaned in, “Don't try and talk, Detective. With a lung wound, you're only making it worse.”
Ray grimaced at them both and returned his attention to Fraser. This time he just mouthed the words, apparently remembering that Fraser could read lips.
//Paul Revere, Benny. If you're gonna make me live, make it for me, not for the past.//
Fraser blinked, “But...”
Ray smiled. One of his blindingly sweet smiles that said, 'I know' and was reserved for Benny alone.
With a gulp, Fraser reached into his memory for Longfellow's poem and started reciting. With Ray's choice, he knew that all in the past was forgiven and understood, and that Ray hadn't forgotten him in the year away. But he is still here because of me. Third time. Never again. I'm sorry, Ray. I love you, Ray. It won't happen again.
Reciting a tale of bravery and loyalty, Fraser stared at the face of his friend and made a vow to himself. His tears fell down across his face and through the air, landing on the ground with barely a sound or effect. But still, they fell.