Yet Another Post-CotW fic. Rated NC-17 for explicit m/m sex. Characters property of Alliance/Atlantis, not used by permission (are you kidding?). Originally published in the print zine Serge Protector, though some revisions have been made to this version. Thanks to Betty and AuKestrel for beta. --Kellie

Soundtrack: Alanis Morissette: Uninvited, Goo Goo Dolls: Iris, Sarah Brightman: Deliver Me and Eden, Pierce Pettis: Words Said in the Dark and Hole in my Heart. Peter Gabriel: In your Eyes and Secret World.

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© 2000


        It was like watching ice forming around a tree during an ice-storm. Ray could literally see the change happening. The closer the plane got to Chicago, the thicker the layer of distance got around Fraser. He hated it. Hated it. He wanted the other Fraser back, the Fraser who had stood in an endless field of snow, looked around, and smiled, a brilliant, delighted smile. The one who had breathed deeply the air that made Ray's throat ache with its purity, who had seemed so perfectly, comfortably at home in those miles on miles of nothing. Watching what happened as they neared 'civilization' was like watching a wild animal who had been caged for years, allowed to run free for a few short days, and then returned to the cage once more. It made him hurt. This wasn't right. Not at all.
        Unconsciously he reached out, put his hand against Fraser's, having the bizarre notion that it would be cold, and slick, and hard. Ice. It wasn't of course, and Fraser turned to look at him, eyebrows lifted. Embarrassed, Ray snatched his hand back.
        "Sorry," he muttered. "Didn't notice where I was putting it."
        Fraser nodded, apparently accepting the lie at face value, though there was a hint of puzzlement in his eyes. Ray stuck his nose in a magazine hastily snatched from the seat pocket in front of him, pretending to be deeply involved in the latest Hollywood rumors. Fraser kept his head turned toward Ray, and after a few moments of increasing discomfort, Ray flicked a glance at him, only to realize he was staring out the tiny window, not at Ray. His partner's expression was wistful, even sad. The ice hadn't covered him completely yet.
        "Fraser?" The name slipped out before Ray could think to call it back.
        Fraser blinked, dark lashes coming down over those smoke-blue eyes, and as they lifted the Mask was firmly back in place. "Yes, Ray?"
        "You okay?"
        There was a moment, the space of an indrawn breath, then Fraser nodded. "Yes, Ray. I'm perfectly fine."
        He didn't go on to say what most people would have said. 'Why?' Probably figured if he didn't ask, then Ray couldn't pry, right? Wrong. Ray scowled. He wanted in. Damn it, Fraser was shutting him out and he didn't like it. Not after he'd finally gotten him to start unbending a little, letting him in a little.
        "Fraser, you've been pretty quiet lately," he said, pointing out the unusual event. Fraser always had something to say, some dumb-but-smart Inuit story, or an appropriate and informational anecdote of some other kind. Christ. I just thought 'anecdote' Ray thought disgustedly. How the hell was he supposed to keep up his image if he accidentally let a word like that slip out?
        "I'm sorry, Ray. I didn't know it was bothering you. I thought you generally preferred me silent."
        "No I don't!" Ray exclaimed, annoyed. "You know I just say that to say that. You being quiet, it's weird, Fraser. It's not...you."
        "I'm merely a little fatigued, Ray. It's been an eventful few days."
        Ray snorted. "You're telling me!" He frowned, trying to remember when Fraser had started being quiet. It wasn't difficult. The quiet had started after they'd caught Muldoon. He looked at Fraser's impassive face, and thought maybe he knew why. After all, it wasn't every day you found out your mom was murdered, and that your dad had lied to you about it for years.
        "Is it...I mean, well...." Damn it. How to say this?
        Before he could figure it out, Fraser straightened in his seat, a pleasant, but slightly blank expression on his face.
        "I believe we're beginning our descent," he said, tugging at the end of his seat-belt, though it was already securely fastened.
        Ray started to try again, only to have the airplane intercom crackle to life as the captain came on to agree with Fraser's statement. They were on their final descent into Chicago and would be landing in just a few minutes. Crap. The moment was gone now. Well, he'd just have to try to find another one. He wasn't going to let Fraser get away with keeping it all inside, not this time. He was damned well gonna talk about it, spill his guts like Ray did to him, about everything, all the time. That was what friends did.
        And they were friends. He knew that now, with a bone-deep certainty. Fraser had been given a choice, and had chosen him. More than once. He'd just been too short-sighted and insecure to realize it the first time. Almost even the second time. But having someone risk his own life for you tended to whap you over the head with some things that you maybe might've missed the first time. Yeah, so part of that was duty, Fraser was nothing if not dutiful, but there were plenty of men who would have seen their duty as getting Holloway Muldoon first and saving Ray Kowalski's skinny ass somewhere back in fiftieth place. All Ray had been was deadweight, yet Fraser had risked losing Muldoon to make sure Ray was safe.
        Ray felt a flush on his face as he remembered that damned ice crevasse. God, could he have been any stupider? Talk about too dumb to live. Maybe it was a good thing he'd never had kids, since anyone that dumb probably ought to be culled from the gene pool. Fraser told him flat out that the ice field was dangerous, so what did he do? Went running off like a moron, and got them both trapped crotch-to-crotch down a two-hundred-foot hole in the ice.
        That thought made him blush harder. Oh yeah, smart thing to remember there, Kowalski, he thought, not sure which embarrassed him more, the stupidity or the attraction. Thank God it had been really, really cold in that crevasse, and that he'd been bundled in about eighty-seven layers of clothing. He hadn't gotten hard over another guy in a hundred years, and his idiot body had to pick that moment to do so. Well, that was a flat-out lie. He'd gotten hard over Fraser lots of times before, just never while they were stuck together like glue. What a mess. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Fraser yawn, and he turned to stare, stunned.
        "Fraser, you just yawned!" he exclaimed in amazement.
        Fraser looked at him, frowning a little. "I was merely attempting to equalize the pressure in my ears, Ray. The change in air pressure as we descend is somewhat painful."
        "Oh," Ray said, a little disappointed. For a minute there he thought he'd caught Fraser in a moment of human weakness. He dug in a pocket and pulled out a stick of gum, proffering it to Fraser. "Here, try this."
        "No, thank you," Fraser began. "I don...."
        Ray rolled his eyes, flicked the wrapper free and stuck it in Fraser's mouth before he could finish the 't' on 'don't.' "Shut up and chew. It helps with the ears thing."
        Looking startled, Fraser did as instructed, swallowed a couple of times, then lifted his eyebrows. Ray grinned.
        "Worked, hunh?"
        Fraser nodded. "It did indeed. Thank you."
        Ray chuckled. "Don't say I never did anything for you."
        Fraser looked at him oddly. "I would never say such a thing, Ray."
        Even though Ray knew it was just a Fraserish misinterpretation of a common saying, that solemn, serious response sent a little surge of pleasure through him and he couldn't help but smile.
        "Me either, Fraser. Me either."
        Thank goodness Fraser didn't have a clue exactly how many and what sort of things he did for Ray. Fortunately for Ray's peace of mind, the stewardess came down the aisle then, taking trash and checking seat-backs, tray-tables, and seat-belts, and he distracted himself with thoughts of getting home and changing his clothes for the first time in days.

* * *

        As the cab pulled away from the consulate, Fraser turned to the dark, quiet building and sighed, then walked up the stairs, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. There was a sense of desertion in the air. He knew he was the only living being inside those walls, but it felt momentarily as if that aloneness extended to the entire world. Perhaps he should have taken Ray up on his offer, almost insistence, that Fraser stay at his apartment. But that was not an option he felt comfortable with, so here he was, alone. After carefully re-locking the door, he steeled himself to make the short walk to his office. Stepping inside, he looked around the cramped space he called home. It had never felt less like home than it did right now. Placing his hat on the hook, he divested himself of coat, then outer clothing, stripping down mechanically to his combinations.
        As he opened the closet to hang up his clothes, he stopped suddenly. His throat constricted, and tears welled in his eyes as he realized he would never again open that door and find anything other than a closet behind it. He blinked back the tears, and hung up his things, hurting, but resolute. Dad. I've lost you, again. At least, this time, there had been joy as well as sorrow in that loss. His mother's face, that open, loving look...he'd almost forgotten what she'd looked like— and it was so good to have that in his heart again. Part of him wished, just for a moment, that he could have gone with them as they walked into the air, as they became one with...whatever came after. At least then he wouldn't feel so alone.
        In the palpable quiet of the deserted consulate, Fraser wished he'd been able to bring Diefenbaker home tonight, but as usual, Customs balked at clearing a wolf-hybrid without special dispensation, and as he'd left the country in a bit of a hurry, he didn't have the necessary documentation with him. Perhaps Ray was right, and it would have been better to lie, but lying was not really in his nature, unless he counted lying to himself. He did a lot of that. Tomorrow it would be better, though. Tomorrow he would have work to occupy his time, his mind, to distract him from his thoughts. The Inspector would expect him to keep things running smoothly until she returned from Ottawa.
        Of course, she would soon be gone as well. He knew she had already put in for a transfer. That was part of what she was doing in Ottawa. Where did that leave him? She had promised to support a request for transfer on his part, back to his beloved North, but suddenly he found he had no desire to do so. No, that was one of those lies he told himself. He did want to go home. But equally, he wanted to stay, here in this noisy, dirty, crime-ridden city by the lake. Because if he went 'home' now, he would lose the only person in the world who gave a good God-damn about him. Apparently he could have home, without Ray, or Ray, without home. Not both. Never both. A choice loomed on the horizon, and he'd never felt more miserable in his life.
        Flicking away the moisture which had gathered at the corners of his eyes, Fraser realized he was still absently chewing on the piece of gum Ray had given him on the plane. Not given him. Forced on him. The action had shocked him momentarily, the intimacy of it, the faint brush of fingertips against lips, almost against tongue. He'd had to fight the urge to taste those fingers. Instead he had found the hot, potent sting of cinnamon flooding his taste-buds, his nose, too. It had come to him then, why Ray sometimes smelled faintly of spice. And also, that now he knew what the inside of Ray's mouth would taste like....
        He clenched his hands against the feelings that thought engendered, helpless against it. He flattened the now much-chewed gum against his palate, searching for any lingering taste of sweet and spice, lost in the brief fantasy that it was not his own mouth but Ray's he caressed with his tongue. The sound of a siren from somewhere beyond the confines of the building brought him sharply out of his delusion. He scowled, disgusted with himself, and spat the gum into the wastebasket. Pathetic. Truly pathetic. But it did make him realize one thing. He could no longer pretend he didn't have these feelings. They were becoming strong enough that he was afraid he was going to let them slip. Right now, with his emotional state so friable from the events of the past few days, he was doubly worried.
        Once more he thought of the choice that awaited him, and he closed his eyes, swallowing hard, mouth suddenly dry. Perhaps it was not so difficult a choice after all. It would be better to be alone than to risk losing that friendship. At least, at a distance, the friendship would still be there. If he stayed...he could ruin it forever. This time, though, he was aware of the potential for disaster. Last time...well, now with twenty/twenty hindsight he suspected he knew what had happened. He was fairly certain that Ray Vecchio had become uncomfortable with the closeness of their relationship, perhaps had heard the same rumors that Fraser had heard, and ignored, knowing them to be untrue. But his old friend might have believed them, deciding Fraser felt more for him than simple partnership, or even friendship. Why else would he have chosen to disappear from his life with hardly a word? And what other explanation could there be for that last, odd conversation, where Ray had emphasized over and over again that they were friends.
        He wondered if that had been his first partner's way of telling him that there could never be more than that between them, not that he had even considered it, not with Ray Vecchio. Whatever it was that attracted him to Ray Kowalski had not been there with his previous partner. Still, he suspected that was exactly what Ray had meant. He would never know for sure, as it was not something he could ever bring himself to ask Ray— Ray Vecchio— about; he could ask Ray, his Ray, about almost anything. He was distracted for a moment, wondering how Ray Vecchio was doing, and made a mental note to call him in the morning and find out. He stood for a moment, indecisive, then he opened the ' blank forms' file drawer and took out an application for transfer, rolling it into the typewriter. There were some things a computer simply wasn't very good for, and filling out forms was one of them. Seating himself, he hesitated for a moment, then began to type, a strangely empty feeling suffusing him as he did.

* * *

        The apartment seemed small, cluttered, and overly hot all of a sudden, though it had never felt that way before. Ray got up for the fourth time since lying down, and went and turned the thermostat way down, not that it would help, since all his neighbors undoubtedly had theirs all cranked up to 'summer swelter.' He went into the bathroom and ran cool water over his hands, smoothed them over his face, felt marginally better. Roaming aimlessly around the apartment, he scowled at the clutter, having a sudden urge to throw away at least half of what he owned. Why did he keep all this shit anyway? He didn't use most of it, and a lot of it was from his Stella days anyway. It seemed stupid to keep it now, when it no longer had any significance.
        He was still too hot. Maybe opening a window would help. Pulling up the blinds, Ray opened one, standing naked in the cold air that flowed in from outside, and relaxed a little. Better. As he stood there, the photo of himself and Stella caught his eye, the one that had sat by the fan ever since he'd moved in. He picked it up and looked at it, wondering why he still had it out. He should have put it away ages ago. That was a closed chapter. With a slightly wistful feeling he placed it face-down next to the fan. Suddenly unable to stand the claustrophobic feelings the apartment gave him for a moment longer, he threw on some clothes, went into the kitchen and got out the box of garbage bags from underneath the sink, snapped one open, and set to work.
        By two-forty a.m. he had made six trips to the dumpster in the parking lot, and he finally felt as if he could breathe again. He wasn't a neat person, and the apartment would never look pristine, but at least now he didn't get the feeling that everything was about to tumble over and smother him. And most of the things that had brought that Stella-ache to his heart were gone now, or at least put away where they weren't a constant reminder of what a fuck-up he was. Time to get on with life, stop pretending that somehow the clock would turn back and everything would be back like it was before he and Stella split.
        He didn't even want that any more. He wanted to go forward, not back. Time to...what? He didn't really know. He just knew there was a change trembling in the air, in himself. A change that would begin with giving up a name that had belonged to another man. He was actually looking forward to it. To being Stanley Raymond Kowalski again, instead of Ray Vecchio. Well, he still wasn't wild about the Stanley part, but the Kowalski felt right. It was his name, and it no longer hurt to use it, no longer made him think of Stella, instead of himself. Yawning, he stretched, and wandered into the bedroom, turning out lights as he went. He could still catch a few hours of sleep before he had to get up and go to work. He kicked off his sweats, pulled off his tee-shirt, crawled into bed and lay there, wide awake, despite his fatigue. Something wasn't right. Something was missing.
        The bedroom felt as close and stuffy as the living room had earlier. He flung out of bed again, and opened his bedroom window a crack, then, as he turned back toward the bed, it suddenly hit him. He was too hot because he'd just spent days in the snowfields of Fraser's native realm. He couldn't stand the clutter because there was no clutter in Fraser-land. Just clean, cold, emptiness. The thing that was missing was Fraser.
        For the first time in days, he wasn't with Fraser. He couldn't sleep because Fraser wasn't so close he could hear him breathing, or smell him, or reach out with a hand or a toe and touch him. No. Oh, crap. No. This wasn't, as he'd told himself on quite a few previous occasions when his fantasies started to wander in a Fraserly direction, just a momentary interest in a very attractive man. This was more. He wasn't that stupid, was he? He hadn't really gone and fallen for his damned partner, had he?
        He sat down abruptly on the edge of the bed, and buried his face in his hands with a groan. Partner. Part-ner. Mountie. Constable Benton Fraser. Not boyfriend. Not in a million years. But oh, God, how he wished it were otherwise. No wonder Stella no longer moved him. He had a new obsession. One with skin like milk, he thought, waxing poetic. Sable hair, and sky-colored eyes, and red lips...shit, he looked like fucking Snow White gone butch. All those Disney movies he'd watched as a kid must have invaded his psyche further than he'd realized.
        He had a short guffaw at the idea of himself as Prince Charming, and lay back, staring at the ceiling with sandy eyes. Oh man, Kowalski, you are one stupid son of a bitch. Get a serious jones for your partner. Dumbest-ass thing he could possibly have done. Well, at least he'd figured it out now. Wasn't there some sort of saying about knowing being half the battle?
        As he stared up at the ceiling he saw the shadowy spiderweb of the dream-catcher Fraser had made for him swaying in the breeze from the open window. He still remembered that bizarre story Fraser had told him that day in the cemetery, crouching behind tombstones as those whacked-out romantic cigar smugglers had taken potshots at them. Eagle feathers. All the way from Commerce City, Colorado. He wondered what that place was like. Weird-ass name for a town in Colorado. Sounded like a shopping mall. Weren't places out West supposed to sound all macho and natural, like Moose Antler or something? Frontierish sorts of names, like they had in Canada.
        He reached up and touched a fingertip to one of the dream-catcher's dangling feathers. It felt cool and silky against his skin. Catch this dream, he thought. Catch it, and take it away. It's not a nightmare, but it's a dream I can't afford.

* * *

        The morning had dripped by in a slow, stringy runnel of time, like molasses in January. Though Turnbull had returned, the Inspector had been delayed for several more days in Ottawa, leaving Fraser to run the consulate in her place. He could do that, easily; he knew all the ins and outs and nuances of the job as well as she did. By mid-morning he had completed his report on the Muldoon incident and placed it on her desk, along with his request for transfer.
        Then he'd dealt with the stack of requests for information on immigration and travel policies, and set Turnbull to filing a backlog of Form 43-oblique-stroke-12-dash-B's which the Inspector had allowed to accumulate in her 'to be filed' basket. He had to assist a young woman who had lost her passport, and had just finished up with that when the phone rang, startling him, since Turnbull had been doing receptionist duty. He must have been too busy to catch this one.
        "Canadian consulate, Acting Liaison Officer Fraser speaking, how may I assist you?"
        There was a brief pause, and then a husky, slightly nasal male voice said. "So, like, does a bear shop in the woods, Liaison Officer Fraser?"
        A spontaneous grin shaped his mouth. "I don't believe I've ever seen a bear shop, either in or out of the woods, Detective Kowalski."
        They both chuckled at that, and then Ray spoke again.
        "They springing Dief from solitary today? Do you need a ride out to the airport?"
        Fraser closed his eyes for a moment, touched that Ray would think of that. "Yes, I've arranged for him to be released, and I would certainly appreciate a ride."
        "Thought you might, since you won't lie about ol' fuzz-face and tell 'em he's just a dog, so you couldn't get a taxi back and I don't figure you'd wanna walk all that way."
        "Well, we have walked that far on many occasions, Ray."
        "Yeah, I know. We walked over half of fu...er, the dang Northwest Territory. But that don't mean you should do it in Chicago. I get off at five, I'll be there as soon as I can, okay?"
        "That will be fine, Ray," Fraser said gratefully. "I'll attempt to be ready when you arrive, but the Inspector was delayed getting back and left me in charge."
        "No problem, Fraser, I can wait. Lucky you, no boss to ream you out."
        There was a faint edge to his friend's voice that concerned him, and Fraser frowned. "Was the lieutenant upset?"
        Ray laughed faintly. "Uh, yeah, you could say that. Said if I ever pulled a stunt like that again he'd have my badge. Then he told me I was up for another effin' citation." Ray sighed. "I asked him not to, but he said it was a done deal."
        "You were extremely helpful in apprehending Muldoon, Ray, and you deserve recognition for it."
        There was a short silence, then Ray snorted. "Yeah, like I wasn't a hundred-sixty pounds of drag the whole trip. But thanks for making nice."
        Fraser frowned. "Ray, I was not just being 'nice.'"
        "Oh, no, you would never do that," Ray said, sounding amused.
        Suddenly Fraser could hear loud voices and noises in the background which were muffled momentarily by the sound of a hand over the mouthpiece, then Ray returned to the phone.
        "Sorry, Fraser, gotta go. See you at five. We'll go to my place after we spring Dief and get pizza, or something special for the fuzzy guy."
        Fraser smiled. "That would be very pleasant, Ray."
        "Great, see you!"
        Fraser hung up the phone, still smiling at the prospect of being able to spend time in Ray's company, until it hit him that spending time with him was something which would soon be impossible. He'd swallowed heavily at that thought, fighting back the tears that seemed to lurk far too close to the surface in the past few days. He had to get a grip on his emotions. He couldn't go on like this. He leaned his elbows on the desk and put his head in his hands, the heels of his hands pressed against his eyes, and took a deep breath, trying to regain some control.
        "Sir? Are you all right?" Turnbull sounded concerned. "Is anything wrong?"
        Fraser looked up, startled, not having heard his subordinate come into the room. He blinked and cleared his throat. "Ah, no, Turnbull. Nothing is wrong, I'm fine."
        Turnbull looked at him closely for a moment. "You're sure?"
        "I'm sure, Constable," he said, invoking the formality of the title. "Just a slight headache."
        It wasn't a lie, he told himself. His head did hurt. But his heart hurt more.
        "Ah. I see. Would you like an aspirin? Some tea?"
        Fraser shook his head. "No, thank you, Turnbull. I'm sure it will go away on its own."
        "As you say, sir. If you'll just hand me the rest of the 43-oblique-stroke-12-dash-B forms, I'll get them taken care of."
        Fraser handed him the stack of paper and held his breath until the other man had left the room, only then expelling it in a deep sigh. Yes, it would go away on its own. Or rather, he would.

* * *

        Ray got to the consulate at a quarter of five. He'd finished the case he was working on at four-thirty-two, and after convincing himself there wasn't really time to start anything new, he'd just slipped out early and headed for his car. He knew he shouldn't do it, but he wanted to see Fraser. Needed to see Fraser. With the weight of the previous night's epiphany behind him, he understood why, and that was exactly why he shouldn't be doing this, but he felt like a junkie deprived of his drug of choice. He parked in a spot that wouldn't be legal for another two hours, and put his 'official police vehicle' card in the window to avoid getting a ticket. He knew that drove Fraser crazy, but everyone did it and Ray wasn't about to change his stripes at this late date.
        He whistled tunelessly as he loped up the steps to the consulate door, nodded to the unfamiliar guy in red who stood next to it, and knocked. Turnbull answered it, smiling as he saw who was there.
        "Detective Vecchio, good to see you again, sir!"
        "It's Kowalski, Turnbull. Vecchio's the other guy again now, remember?"
        Turnbull looked momentarily confused, then he remembered, and nodded. "Yes, of course, Detective Kowalski. You're here to pick up Constable Fraser?"
        "Yep, we gotta go spring his alter ego from inhumane bondage."
        "Ah, you're going to retrieve Diefenbaker from quarantine."
        "I just said that."
        "So you did. I'm afraid that Constable Fraser is currently assisting someone with their immigration forms in his office, but if you'd like, you can wait for him in the Inspector's office. He'll be finished in just a few moments, I'm sure."
        "Thanks, Turnbull. That'd be fine."
        Turnbull let him into the office and closed the door behind him. Ray stood for a moment, indecisively. He always felt a little uncomfortable in here. Usually because Thatcher was glaring at him. But she wasn't here this time, so he took his time, wandering around, inspecting the room as he hadn't been able to in ages, not since the time he'd spent here after the Volpe shooting. He shuddered a little, memories playing out, and not just bad ones. Fraser bending over him, dabbing that stinky stuff onto his cut forehead, so close it was like he was going to kiss him. Fraser slipping those cuffs on, looking so earnest and caring and apologetic as he did....
        Shaking off that line of thought, Ray eyed Thatcher's big desk chair with envy. Must be nice to rate such a great chair. Bet her back never hurt. With an evil little grin, he plopped down in it and spun it around, testing it out. Nice. He put his feet on the desk, and got out his phone to call and schedule a pizza delivery for after wolf-retrieval, then knocked some papers off onto the floor. Oops.
        Quickly he leaned down and gathered up the scattered forms, straightening them neatly. A glance at the top page told him he was holding Fraser's report on the Muldoon case. Curious, he started reading. Maybe he could crib from Fraser when he wrote up his version for Welsh. Except that no one would ever believe he could write this well. It was like reading a novel.
        He got to the last page of the report, flipped to the next document, hoping there was more to read, and stopped, staring at the heading on the form. "Request for Transfer." It had Fraser's name on it. It had Fraser's signature on it. It listed several potential posting alternatives, all of them in Canada, and the date next to the signature was today's.
        For what felt like forever he simply sat there, staring at it, feeling as if someone had just kicked him in the stomach. Fraser was leaving. He was leaving. Voluntarily. He wanted to leave. Oh, God. He tried to look at the form again to be sure he hadn't misunderstood, but couldn't see it clearly, between the shaking of his hands as he held it, and the blur in his eyes. He couldn't get his mind past that first stunned realization that Fraser was going to leave. Nothing had hurt this much since Stella had served him with divorce papers.
        Sometime later, he had no idea how long, he heard Fraser and Turnbull as they spoke outside the door. Quickly he put the papers back on the desk, then leaned back in the chair, trying desperately to act as if everything were normal. He wanted to give Fraser a chance to bring it up, didn't want to jump all over him and demand answers. Surely there was some reasonable explanation. A moment later Fraser stepped into the room, smiling, as if there were nothing wrong in the world.
        "Ray! I'm sorry to keep you waiting. I've asked Turnbull to close up here so we can leave."
        Ray shoved himself out of the chair with an approximation of his usual energy. His cell-phone fell off his lap and onto the floor as he did, and he had to lean down to pick it up and put it back into his pocket. "Great, let's get at 'er. Dief's probably going stir crazy by now."
        "I'm sure he will be grateful to be released," Fraser said, falling into step beside him.
        As they exited the building Ray kept his gaze straight ahead, wishing it were still light so he would have an excuse to put on his sunglasses. He was sure his eyes were red. As if reading his thoughts, Fraser looked at him, frowning.
        "Are you feeling all right, Ray?"
        "I'm fine, Fraser," he snapped.
        "You look a bit pale," Fraser said dubiously.
        "Didn't sleep good." That was safe. No need to say why.
        "Ah. Yes, well, the city is a noisy place. After spending time in the quiet of the open spaces once more, I confess I had some trouble sleeping last night as well."
        I'll bet you did, Ray thought bitterly. "Yeah, that's probably it," he said aloud, unlocking the GTO. "Here you go, get in, let's go rescue the wolf."
        Fraser got in, and as he was buckling up Ray started the engine, then picked up the 'official business' placard and reached across to put it in the glove-box. Doing so made him lean close to Fraser, and he could smell him suddenly, which sent little prickles of awareness along his skin. He shivered, and reached to turn on the heater so Fraser wouldn't wonder why. He pulled into traffic smoothly, and drove, waiting for Fraser to say something. He didn't.
        Neither of them spoke, and it was getting uncomfortable. Waiting at a stoplight, he shot a glance at Fraser, found him staring down in the general direction of the floorboards, his face expressionless. As if sensing Ray's glance, he looked up suddenly and their eyes met. Ray cleared his throat, and Fraser looked away.
        "How was your day?" Fraser asked politely, meaninglessly.
        "Fine." Ray returned, equally meaninglessly.
        "That's good," Fraser said.
        "Yeah," Ray answered.
        Silence returned. After a moment or two, Ray reached down and snapped on the radio. Acidic hard-rock filled the car. Fraser winced, and Ray turned it down a little, but didn't change the station. Anything but silence, or speech. That last conversation was way too close to the ones he'd had with Stella, just before they'd split for good. He didn't want to think about that.
        The remainder of the trip to the airport was accomplished without conversation. Ray waited in the car while Fraser went in and got Diefenbaker, ostensibly so he wouldn't have to pay for parking, but really because he needed a few minutes alone. It was beginning to dawn on him that Fraser had no intention of saying a word about his request for transfer. Apparently he was just going to hit him with it as a fait accompli. An accomplished fact. He knew what that meant, you couldn't be married to a lawyer and not learn some of that stuff.
        He wondered if he could make it through the evening without cracking. Why the hell had he invited Fraser over for dinner? Oh yeah. Because he'd thought they were friends, then, and had wanted to spend time with him, just talking and shit. Maybe put a friendly arm around him, innocent, but an excuse to touch....
        He stiffened suddenly, wondering. What if eighty-seven layers hadn't been enough clothes? What if the cold hadn't been enough? What if Ben had noticed? Was that why he wanted a transfer? Was that why the sudden quiet, the layers of ice? Oh, Christ. Of course it was. He put his face in his hands, then snapped back upright as the passenger door opened and the seat was put forward.
        "There you are, Dief, in you go," Fraser said heartily.
        A white-furred blur launched itself into the car and dove straight for Ray as if he were dinner.
        "What's his problem?" Ray asked, trying to fend off the licking-machine that Dief had become. "Jeez, Dief!"
        Fraser settled into the car, looking at the wolf with a frown. "It would appear he's pleased to see you."
        Ray wiped his wolf-slobbered face with one hand and shoved at Diefenbaker with the other. "Nice somebody is," he muttered under his breath. "Enough! Lay off!" he said directly into the wolf's face. Dief refused to comply, continuing to try to crowd in close, to lick and nuzzle. "Fraser, would you get him off me? I'm not his freakin' girlfriend!" Ray exploded suddenly, irrationally angry.
        Fraser grabbed Dief's muzzle and physically hauled him away from Ray. "Diefenbaker, stop," he ordered sternly. "That's enough."
        The wolf whined, but reluctantly settled into the back seat. Ray started the car.
        "So, anyplace in particular you want to eat?" he asked, hoping that Fraser would suggest a restaurant so he wouldn't have to take them back to his place.
        "You suggested pizza at your apartment," Fraser reminded him.
        He remembered. Oh, he did. That memory was razor-sharp now, cutting him so deeply he was surprised he wasn't bleeding. "Yeah, just thought maybe you'd want something else," he muttered.
        "No, that's fine, Ray. Dief likes pizza, especially Tony's pizza."
        "Pizza it is, then," Ray said bleakly.
        Fraser looked at him, apparently catching his tone. "Did you want something else?" he asked, a little apologetically.
        "Nah. I'm not all that hungry, anything's good."
        Ben stared at him, frowning a little. "Ray, are you sure you're feeling all right?"
        Ray glared at him. "I said I was fine, didn't I? I'm fan-fuckin'-tastic. Okay? Got it?"
        Ben's eyes widened, but he nodded. "Yes, Ray. I didn't mean to upset you."
        "I'm not upset!" he snarled.
        "No, no of course not," Fraser said soothingly, looking distressed.
        Ray clenched his hands on the wheel. This was not going to work. He couldn't do this. Couldn't pretend. "Look, Fraser, I'm sorry, I guess maybe I don't feel so good after all. Guess everything's catching up to me. Just didn't wanna let you down."
        "It's all right, Ray. Why don't you just take Diefenbaker and me back to the consulate? We'll manage on our own tonight."
        Ray closed his eyes. Yes. They would. They'd manage fine without him. Just fine. Too bad he couldn't say the same. "Yeah. That's probably a good idea, Fraser. I'll do that."
        He put the car in gear, and headed for the consulate.

* * *

        Something was wrong. Ray hadn't called him in two days. The first day of silence hadn't disturbed him unduly, but after part of a second, Fraser had worried that Ray was more ill than he'd let on. Unfortunately he didn't answer his phone at home, and a discreet call to Francesca told him Ray had been at work both days, though spending most of his time in the field. Alone. Fraser fretted at that, knowing Ray's tendency to impulsive actions, but couldn't get away from the consulate to accompany him, nor had he been asked to.
        That bothered him. Ray had always asked him along on his cases. Why hadn't he this time? Of course, Fraser had told him that he would be occupied with his consular duties, so perhaps that was all it was. Fraser let himself think that for a little while, until Dief's pacing and worried grumbles made him take note. "Do you think so?" he asked. At the affirmative whine, he sighed. "I think so too. He's not acting normally at all."
        Dief trotted to the door and looked back at him expectantly.
        "No, Diefenbaker, we can't leave, you know that. Not until after hours."
        Dief groaned. Fraser stood up, and went to the door. "Turnbull?"
        The other man looked up from what he was doing at the reception desk. "Yes, Constable Fraser?"
        "The other day, when Detective Kowalski arrived, how did he seem?"
        "Seem, sir?"
        "Yes. His, well, his emotional state. Did he appear...normal?"
        Turnbull frowned thoughtfully, then nodded. "Yes, sir, he did. I would even venture to say he seemed happy. Why?"
        Fraser shook his head. "No reason, Turnbull. Just curious." He returned to his desk, still puzzled. What had caused the abrupt change in Ray's mood, then, between his arrival at the consulate, and his departure a short time later? When Fraser had opened the door to Inspector Thatcher's office and seen him sitting in her chair, he'd looked...stricken. White-faced, and stunned, as if he'd just had some bad news. He'd not said a word, though, and had gotten up immediately. Fraser frowned, remembering that Ray's cellular phone had fallen to the floor as he'd stood. Had he gotten a call? Some sort of distressing news? If so, why hadn't he said something? As he was mulling that over, his own phone rang, and he answered it automatically. The voice that returned his greeting was a bit of a surprise, though.
        "Hiya, Benny! How ya doing?"
        For a moment Fraser was frozen in place, transported back in time, then he snapped out of it. "Ray! Good to hear from you! How are you feeling? I'm sorry I've not been by to see you, but since Inspector Thatcher is still away, I've had very little time to myself." He knew he was babbling guiltily, shamefully aware that he hadn't contacted Ray Vecchio since his return from the Territories. Granted, he hadn't been back long, but he should certainly have at least phoned. Disgraceful behavior.
        "Actually, I'm doing great, Benny. Been pretty busy, myself. I'm, uh, I've been seeing someone. Someone I met at the station."
        "Someone you met at the station?" he prompted, trying to think of who might have attracted Ray's interest.
        "Yeah. A gorgeous blonde, great legs. She's with the State's Attorney's office. You know her, or so she says, though she knows your partner a lot better."
        An odd feeling began to spread through Fraser's chest. No. Oh, no. "Stella Kowalski?" he asked, almost in a whisper.
        "Got it in one," Ray said, sounding amused. "Nice lady. I really like her, a lot, Benny." His voice lowered, and became more emotional. "I think, well, I think it might be serious. Haven't felt this way about anyone in a long time, not since Angie."
        Fraser closed his eyes, shaking his head as if that would change what Ray had just told him. That explained a great deal. A very great deal.
        "Anyway," Ray continued. "I wondered if you wanted to get together sometime, touch base some."
        "Yes, Ray, I'd like that," Fraser said sincerely, though his mind was not on lunch with his former partner. It was on the emotional state of his current one. He remembered all too well how Ray had reacted the last time he'd found out that Stella was seeing someone seriously. This must be killing him. He had to find him. Talk to him.
        "I know Thatcher's got you tied up at work all week, so, how's lunch Saturday work for you? I would have suggested dinner but my doc won't let me stay out late yet so lunch works better for me. Say, around one?"
        "That would be fine, Ray," Fraser replied. "Lunch on Saturday, that's tomorrow, at one."
        "Great! Frannie says you're living at the consulate now? That true?" Ray sounded disbelieving.
        "It is," Fraser assured him. "I have been for some time. As you probably heard, my old apartment burned down, and this was convenient."
        Ray chuckled. "You always were weird, Benny. Well, I'll come by for you, since I assume you still don't have your own car."
        "That would also be correct," Fraser said, smiling a little. It would be good to see Ray, to talk to him again. It was reassuring, to think that after all this time, they could still be friends.
        "Good. We'll go to that diner we always used to like over by your old place. It'll be like old times. See ya then!"
        Ray hung up, and Fraser immediately got up, going to the door. "Turnbull?"
        "Sir?" Turnbull called from down the hall.
        "I have to go out. I'm leaving you in charge."
        Turnbull came around the corner, looking surprised. "You're leaving? Now? Is it an emergency?" he asked.
        "It may well be, I'm not yet certain."
        Turnbull nodded as if that made sense, and straightened to attention. "You may rely on me, sir. I'll maintain the post."
        "I have every faith in you, Turnbull."
        Turnbull glowed proudly, and saluted.
        Fraser worried all the way to the station, and more so when he arrived there to find Ray was not on the premises. He was about to go looking for Francesca to ask her if she'd seen him, when Lieutenant Welsh opened his door and motioned him in.
        "Constable, a word, please?"
        Fraser nodded and stepped into his office. The older man closed the door, and also closed the blinds, giving them privacy from the noisy activity in the bullpen, and motioned him to a seat, resuming his own. He sat for a moment, frowning at his desk, and then looked up, his expression grave and concerned.
        "I'm surprised to see you here, Constable. Detective Kowalski gave me the impression you wouldn't be around much any more."
        Fraser frowned, wondering why Ray would have said that. Then he realized Welsh must have misunderstood. "My absence is only temporary, sir, until Inspector Thatcher returns from Ottawa." At least, for the time being , he thought. Eventually, of course, it would be of longer duration, but no one here needed to know that yet.
        "I see. Well, I'm glad to hear that, because frankly, I'm a little concerned about Kowalski."
        Fraser sighed. "In fact, sir, so am I. I came here to find him. I spoke to Ray Vecchio earlier, and, well, I learned some news that I thought might have...ah...distressed him."
        "Vecchio told you about himself, and Assistant State's Attorney Kowalski, right?" Welsh interrupted.
        Fraser nodded. "Yes sir."
        Welsh shook his head. "I sure didn't see that one coming, I tell you, though that's neither here nor there. But I'm not sure that the Vecchio and Stella thing is the problem. See, as soon as Kowalski came in on his first day back, I hauled him in to talk about it, one-on-one, didn't want him to hear it from Dewey. But when I told him, he was just kind of neutral, like he didn't really care much, though he made a couple of derogatory comments about Vecchio. He seemed fine for the rest of the day. It wasn't until the next day that he showed up looking like his best friend just died."
        "The next day?" Fraser queried, puzzled. That would have been the day after he'd driven Fraser out to the airport. That meant he'd already known about Stella and Ray Vecchio when he arrived at the consulate that evening, apparently in a good mood. That seemed to invalidate his theory as to the cause of Ray's upset.
        "Yeah, the next day." Welsh confirmed. "He didn't say a word to anyone, just took off and started working like a damned street-cleaner. He's back here five times that first day, books three drug dealers, a domestic violence, and a DUI. All by his lonesome. Now you know and I know if someone makes an arrest a day that's doing well, and here he's got five. And one of them's a DUI? He's not a patrol officer, he's a detective. It's not his job to bring in drunk drivers. Today he comes in and I ask him what the hell he thinks he's doing, and he just shrugs and says 'my job.' I tell him to stick to the cases he's already got and he says sure, and the next thing I know, he's gone again, without filling out the board, and without his damned phone. It's still on his desk. I think you'll agree with me that this is not normal behavior, even for Kowalski."
        The knot of fear in Fraser's throat that had been getting larger as he listened prevented him from speaking for a moment, but finally he managed to shake his head. "No sir, it's not."
        "I didn't think so either. So. Have you talked to him today?"
        "No sir, we haven't spoken since the evening after we arrived back. He took me out to the airport to pick up Diefenbaker from quarantine, and we were supposed to have dinner, but he wasn't feeling well so he dropped me off at the consulate. I haven't seen him since then."
        That seemed to surprise Welsh. He regarded Fraser thoughtfully for a moment, then folded his hands together, and looked uncomfortable.
        "So, you two haven't, ah, been together since you got back to the States?"
        Fraser shook his head. "Not other than sharing a cab from the airport, and picking up Diefenbaker."
        Welsh thought about that for a bit, then spoke again. "That's a little unusual, isn't it?" he asked, giving Fraser an odd look. "I mean, you two usually...hang around together, don't you?"
        Fraser had a feeling he was missing an important implication. "I suppose it is a little unusual, since we generally see one another daily, either on a work-related or a personal basis."
        Welsh cleared his throat. "Did you guys have a fight or something while you were up North? Or maybe when you got the wolf?"
        "A fight?" Fraser asked blankly.
        "Yeah, you know, a tiff, a quarrel, a spat."
        Fraser frowned, and shook his head. "No sir. Ray did seem a little temperamental on the drive to the airport and after we picked up Diefenbaker, but as I said earlier, he intimated that he was not feeling quite the thing and I put it down to that."
        Welsh sighed. "Constable, don't be dense. You know what I'm asking."
        Fraser eyed him dubiously. "No, sir, I'm afraid I don't."
        "You're going to make me say it, aren't you?"
        "Say what, sir?"
        Welsh looked exasperated. "Listen, I'm not stupid, Fraser. You two get back from Canada and you don't see each other for three days? That's not normal. Not for you two. And then Kowalski starts acting like Supercop, which from what I read in his file is exactly how he handled his divorce. So, since you're being coy, I'll be frank, did you and Kowalski split up?"
        Fraser stared at the other man, openmouthed, as he finally realized what he was being asked. He felt blood rush into his face, and he tugged at his collar, trying to breathe in a room that suddenly seemed devoid of air. Welsh eyed him worriedly, handing him a Styrofoam cup. He gulped desperately at the liquid in the cup, barely registering that it was cold, bitter coffee. Finally he cleared his throat, and spoke.
        "I'm afraid you're laboring under a misapprehension, sir. Ray and I are not...we're not...I mean, not like...we don't ...." Unable to think of a way to finish his sentence, he let it trail off and hoped the lieutenant understood.
        Apparently he did. Welsh's eyes widened. "You're not?" he asked, sounding incredulous.
        "No sir."
        That earned a frown. "You expect me to believe that?"
        "Sir, you know I don't lie."
        "You swear to me you and Kowalski aren't sleeping together?"
        Fraser thought back over their time together, and knew he could not say that, it was not, literally, true. "While we have slept in close proximity on several occasions, we are not...." he took a deep breath, and made himself say it. "We're not lovers, if I take your meaning correctly. We never have been."
        Not that he didn't long to be. Not that he didn't dream of touching that pale golden skin, of learning the texture of three-day stubble against his mouth, of sliding his tongue between those sullen lips to discover the taste of him, of feeling the thrill of hard, hot flesh against his own. Closing his eyes he shook off those thoughts.
        Welsh sat back in his chair and looked at him through narrowed eyes. "Then what the hell is wrong with him? I was sure that had to be it, especially after he told me you wouldn't be around any more, and no, I didn't misunderstand that, Fraser, my hearing is fine. He meant what he said, and he said you were transferring back to Canada."
        Fraser suddenly felt very cold. "Ray said that?"
        "His very words."
        "May I ask under what circumstances?"
        "Yeah. I called him on the carpet this morning for going out without backup, and he said he didn't have a partner. I pointed out that although you're not officially a member of this department, you've always served as his backup. He said you wouldn't be doing that any more. I asked why, and first he got real quiet, then he got defensive, the way he does, and said you were going home soon and wouldn't be available, and I should just drop it. Then he said it wasn't public knowledge yet, and I wasn't to spread it around because he didn't want Frannie to get upset. So, is it true?"
        Fraser opened his mouth to lie, and couldn't do it. Avoiding Welsh's gaze, he nodded. "I am planning to request a transfer back home, yes. But I don't see how he could possibly know that. I barely know it myself, and I certainly have not mentioned it to him."
        Welsh shook his head, sighing. "Kowalski's funny that way. Sometimes he just knows things. Instinct, he calls it. Hunches. If he's like most of us, he knows when someone he's close to is holding out on him. And not only is he close to you, he's damned good at putting two and two together."
        "Sir, I told you, we're not...that close," Fraser protested feebly.
        "Constable, I like you. And against my better judgement I like Kowalski too, you're both good guys. You don't have to lie to me. It's not my cup of coffee, but I know it happens. Even to cops," Welsh said, looking weary. "You know, it happens to partners, more often than you'd think. Something about that bond...." The older man shook his head and paced for a moment, then came to stand beside him, a hand on his shoulder in an almost paternal touch. "Look, however things are or aren't between the two of you, you're friends, right? Go find him, Fraser. Right now I think he doesn't care very much about anything, and that's a very dangerous place for a cop to be. If you have any idea where he is, find him."
        Fraser straightened. "I shall, sir. You may rely on me."
        Welsh nodded, formality reestablished. "I know that, Constable. Good luck."
        "Thank you, sir," Fraser said, meaning it. He turned to leave, then stopped at the door. "Sir, is there any way you could, discreetly of course, ask the mobile units to keep an eye out for Ray's vehicle? It is fairly distinctive, and it would help narrow down the search."
        Welsh nodded. "Already done, Constable, although I thought I'd be the one out talking to him once they spotted it. I think it will be better coming from you. But you're going to have a lot of work to do once you find him, you know that, don't you?"
        He did. He still wasn't sure how Ray knew about the transfer, but it was clear he did, and that he felt deeply hurt by it. He was almost one-hundred percent certain that the lieutenant was inaccurate in his perception of Ray's feelings toward him, but even if he felt nothing more than friendship, the hurt was still there. That would have to be dealt with, and it would be neither easy, nor pleasant. Welsh's voice recalled him to his duty.
        "Take Kowalski's cell-phone so I can reach you if they find his car."
        Fraser nodded, and left the office. He stopped at Ray's desk to pick up the cellular phone, and looked over the topmost files on the off chance that he could garner a clue from them. They were all familiar, cases he and Ray had been working on together in the week or two before the Muldoon affair. He frowned suddenly, realizing that there were three files missing from that group. The three ugliest files, of course. He closed his eyes and fought back panic. Exactly the sort of cases Ray should not be working on by himself. Unfortunately that still left him too many options. Which of the three would Ray be most likely to pursue on his own? Since he'd found a clue in Ray's personal space at the district, perhaps his other personal space would yield clues as well. Setting his hat firmly in place, he headed for Ray's apartment.
* * *

        Ray opened his closet and dragged his spare duffel bag out of the back, unzipping it to make sure it held everything he would need. It should, since he'd never unpacked it after his encounter with Marcus Ellery, but he wanted to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything in that crypt, which now felt like aeons ago. He thought back on that, and closed his eyes. That had been the first time Fraser had called him his friend. That had felt so damned good, to have someone who cared, even if it was some freak of a Canadian. It had been so long. Then there had been that whole, weird, Fraserish un-birthday party. And the dream-catcher. It had hung over his bed since that night.
        It came to him then, that Fraser hadn't made the dream-catcher for him. He must have made it for Vecchio. With all the trouble it took to get the eagle feather, he had to have requested it long before he'd ever met Ray Kowalski. Somehow that robbed it of some of its meaning. Maybe that was why it hadn't caught the dream he'd needed it to catch. Why it wasn't catching the nightmare he was having right now. No, that wasn't fair. Maybe he shouldn't expect it to be able to catch a nightmare that was real, or a dream that came with open eyes. Not even magic was that strong.
        He shook his head, disgusted with himself. For God's sake, Kowalski, get a grip. Go do your job. Welsh told you to do your job, so do it. He finished his inventory of the duffel's contents, and zipped the bag shut again. He sat for a moment on the couch and looked at the three files, trying to decide which one to start with. The Clegg case was hot, but the guy didn't have a real base of operation, and it would be hard to find him on short notice. Chilton was a good bet, with a stationary operation, but was also pretty cautious. He'd probably be noticed before he could get anything on the guy. That left Roven, who was slick, and thought he was smarter than everyone else, which made him careless. Roven also had a bad habit of taking the merchandise for a trial run, whether it was drugs or the girls he ran. That was an exploitable weakness.
        Dropping the other two files on the coffee table, Ray smiled a little viciously as he picked up Roven's folder and leafed through it, looking for the address he needed. Yeah, he could get behind taking Roven down. It would give some meaning to a suddenly hollow existence. Being a cop was all he'd ever been really good at. Clearly he was an abject failure at relationships, whether romantic or . . . not. So he'd be the best damned cop he could be, and that would have to be enough.

* * *

        As she had done once before, Ray's landlady let Fraser into Ray's home without a fuss. She'd gotten used to seeing him around, knew he and Ray were friends. But when she opened the door, Fraser thought for a moment that she had opened the wrong apartment until he saw the familiar string of chili-pepper lights around the kitchen pass-through, and the cactus on the counter next to the telephone. He stepped inside and looked around, feeling slightly stunned.
        The claustrophobic feeling Ray's apartment normally evoked in him was gone. The etageres and shelves which had formerly held a myriad of assorted knick-knacks and clutter were nearly empty, now displaying only a few select items. The walls were bare of posters and photographs save two of Ray's family. Most telling of all, the photographs of Ray with Stella were gone. Fraser scowled, puzzled. What did that mean? Was that a reflection of Ray's upset over Stella dating Ray Vecchio? No, that didn't make sense. Ray hadn't taken down her photographs even when she'd been seeing Alderman Orsini.
        Fraser suddenly realized he had absolutely no idea what was going on in Ray's mind right now, and that shocked him. Normally they were so in-tune that they barely had to speak. How could he not know what was behind this? The only thing he was certain of was that this change was deeply significant. Ray had an intense need for emotional connection. All that clutter had represented a safe place in his life, had given him those needed attachments. For him to have voluntarily relinquished them was disturbing.
        "Wow, he really cleaned up in here, din't he?" the landlady commented, looking around. "Guess now I know what all the trips in an' out, an' all the draggin' an' movin' stuff around was the other night."
        Fraser rounded on her instantly. "What night? When did he do this?"
        She frowned thoughtfully. "Hadda be Tuesday night. Or should I say mornin', it was pretty late. I hadn't heard him up here in about a week, then when he does come back, he starts making all this noise. Well, it wasn't that bad, I was up watchin' a movie or I prob'ly wouldn'ta heard it, but it was more noise than ya expect t'hear at that hour. It was around three when he got quiet again."
        "I see. Thank you kindly," Ben said absently, and the landlady left him alone then, closing the door, closing him in with the disturbing changes. He stood there for a long moment, thinking, trying to make the puzzle pieces fit. At his side, Diefenbaker whined a little, uneasily, clearly he too felt the change in atmosphere. Normally Dief was perfectly at home in Ray's apartment. Perhaps too much so. When Fraser didn't respond to the sound, the wolf got up and trotted out of the living room. Preoccupied, Fraser didn't pay any attention.
        Tuesday night. Ray had done all this the same night they had returned from the Territories. Fraser wasn't sure what to make of that. He couldn't figure out the timeline. Ray had seemed fine that night when he'd gotten out of the cab and sent Fraser on, albeit reluctantly. He'd also seemed fine the next day on the phone, as well as to Lieutenant Welsh. It wasn't until Wednesday evening in Inspector Thatcher's office that things had seemed to go wrong. Ray had been sitting at her desk, in a typically disrespectful fashion, which said he'd probably been in a decent mood when he'd seated himself. Fraser shook his head, frustrated by his inability to work through the clues. The timeline was all wrong. If he'd cleaned the apartment Wednesday night, everything would make so much more sense.
        Giving up on that line of thought for the moment, Fraser brought his attention back to the task at hand, and quartered the apartment, looking for anything that would help him determine where Ray was. His gaze sharpened as he saw the edge of a manila folder on the coffee-table under a discarded shirt. Quickly he picked up the shirt, and beneath it found two of the three missing files from Ray's desk. The one that was still missing involved drugs, prostitution, witness disappearances, and probable organized crime connections. Add to that the fact that Nicholas Roven was the kind of man Ray loathed at first sight, a suave and sophisticated wheeler-dealer, and instinctively Fraser knew he'd found what Ray was working on; the case that was most likely to get him killed.
        The cleaned apartment suddenly took on an ominous significance. He felt a shiver course through him as he remembered Lieutenant Welsh's words; 'Right now I think he doesn't care very much about anything, and that's a very dangerous place for a cop to be.' Had Ray cleaned out his apartment to make it easier for his family to dispose of his things once he was gone? No. Fraser refused, utterly refused, to believe that. No, Ray was simply being his usual, impulsive self, without Fraser to ground him, to steer him away from actions that might endanger his life, even as they assisted others.
        He closed his eyes, a shiver going through him, and suddenly realized that no matter how difficult it was for him personally, there was no way he could consider a transfer back home. Not if that meant leaving Ray vulnerable here in Chicago. He made a mental note to remove the transfer request from Inspector Thatcher's desk before she got back from Ottawa, and destroy it. He simply could not leave. Transfer. Inspector Thatcher's desk. Ray. Dear God. That was it. That had to be it. He'd left it on her desk, along with his reports. Ray must have seen it.
        Remembering how he'd felt when Ray Vecchio had left his life without saying a word, Fraser suddenly understood why Ray was acting the way he was. If Ray hadn't been waiting at the station when he returned, to literally pull him into his life with open arms, he might well have reacted quite similarly. Even with that welcome, the sudden change had rocked his world on its axis, and nothing had been more painful than the realization that someone for whom he felt deeply had been able to simply leave him without a backward glance, without a word of warning. To see the transfer, to know Fraser was planning to leave, when he hadn't spoken of it at all, that had to have evoked a similar pain. And if Lieutenant Welsh was right....
        No, that was wishful thinking. Certainly the lieutenant was mistaken. He had simply seen through Fraser's pitiful attempts to conceal his own emotions, and jumped to an unsupported conclusion regarding the mutuality of those feelings. A man who'd been married to his childhood sweetheart, who still loved her in fact, was not going to be having any sort of romantic leanings toward another man. But they were, or had been, friends, good ones. To Ray it must seem as if Fraser had betrayed that friendship.
        He had to make that up somehow. Even if it meant explaining why he had taken that step. To reveal himself in that way would be difficult, perhaps the most difficult thing he'd ever done. It would risk further damage, possibly even the destruction of whatever might have been salvageable of their friendship, but he had to make it clear to Ray that it was not his fault, that he had done nothing wrong. It was Fraser who was at fault. Drawing in a deep breath, Fraser looked around for Diefenbaker, and didn't see him.
        "Dief?"
        There was no answer, not that he really expected one. His companion was deaf, after all, as Ray so frequently pointed out. Well, it was a small apartment, there were relatively few places to look. He wasn't on the couch, his usual favorite location. Perhaps he was in the bathroom. Dief had a regrettable tendency to use Ray's toilet as a water dish. Passing the bedroom on his way to check that possibility, he glanced inside and stopped, shaking his head. The wolf was ensconced on Ray's bed, head and paws on the pillows, as if he belonged there.
        "Diefenbaker!" he snapped, scandalized.
        There was no response, though the slight squinting of the wolf's closed eyes told him that he'd been noticed. "Dief!" he said, more severely. "Get off of there!"
        Again, no response. Annoyed, Fraser stepped into the room and squatted next to the bed, putting a hand on Dief's flank so he couldn't pretend he was asleep. "Down, Dief!"
        Dief opened one eye, and moaned. Fraser sighed. "I know you do, but I'm sure he will not appreciate having his bed full of wolf-hair. Now get down."
        Giving him a reproachful look, Dief stood, stretched leisurely, and finally jumped down. Insolent animal. Sometimes he was simply impossible. A quick glance at the sheets revealed a few white hairs, and Fraser leaned to sweep them away. As he did, he caught Ray's scent where it clung, deeply imprinted here, probably deeper than any other place. His hand lingered on the sheets, his fingers stroking, instead of brushing, as if the close-woven cotton were skin.
        In his mind he could see Ray lying here asleep, naked, no doubt. He was somehow certain that Ray did not wear anything to bed. His imagination supplied a slow, sensual stretch, a yawn, tongue flickering across sleep-dry lips, the gradually dawning recognition of the heavy fullness of a morning erection. One hand moving down over the hard plane of chest, perhaps pausing a moment at the nipple there, before moving on....
        Diefenbaker made a soft whuf and butted his elbow, bringing him out of his fantasy. Flustered, he stood up, and cleared his throat, tugging at his collar and blushing even though there was no one there to notice. As he turned to leave, his gaze fell on the dream-catcher he'd made for Ray, and smiled to see it there above his bed. He had sometimes wondered what had happened to it. He'd never been in Ray's bedroom before, and hadn't realized that it had been given a place there. Although, judging from his reaction it was probably a good thing he hadn't been in Ray's bedroom before. He put that thought out of his mind and left the room. No time for dawdling, he had work to do.

* * *

        Slouched in the driver's seat of the GTO, Ray angled the directional microphone for better reception, and frowned as the static cleared. Mostly he'd gotten a lot of nothing so far, but this didn't sound good. A girl. Sounded pretty young, and very scared. He listened to Roven talk about how her brother had got himself in deep, and how someone had to pay up, or work it off. Ray's frown turned to a scowl. He was pretty sure he knew what was coming next, and...yep, there it was. Roven was suggesting she go to work for him, to save her brother's sorry ass 'cause nobody would want his, but hers was pretty nice, and people would pay good money for it. She started to cry.
        Ray felt his temper flaring. No way was he gonna sit here and let this go down. He could nail Roven on extortion right here and now, if nothing else. It might be minor league stuff, but it was better than nothing. God, he was starting to think like Fraser.
        But he couldn't do it alone. Roven had goons. He had nobody. Ray felt a brief flare of pain at the realization that there was no longer anyone at his side to back him up, and quickly crushed it. Like an unarmed Mountie was much backup anyhow. Get used to it. Do your job, Kowalski. He reached for his cell-phone to call in a blue and white for backup, and it wasn't in the pocket where he usually kept it.
        Startled, he searched the other pocket, then the other seat, even under the seat. Then he remembered. He'd taken it out back at the station when he was switching to his heavier jacket. He must have left it there, on his desk. He sighed, banging his forehead against the steering wheel. Way to go. Can't call for backup. Maybe a pay phone? No, not in this neighborhood. Phones didn't last long here.
        He listened again, heard the girl crying some more, heard Roven's smarmy voice, laying it on thick, telling her what his goons would do to her brother if she didn't go along with this. Heard her starting to cave. He knew Roven, and he'd want to personally approve the merchandise before he sent it on. Oh no, no-no-way. Can't let that happen. Had to go now, or it would be too late. He was not gonna let this happen on his watch. Maybe if he did his 'Lethal Weapon' wacko-cop routine they'd get freaked out and not notice he was all by his lonesome.
        Ripping the earphones out of his ears, Ray flung himself out of the car and headed for the alley, knowing that they'd left that door unguarded and it was the only way he was getting in. He was all the way up to the door and just about to go in when something hit him, and he found himself sprawled on the concrete with something big and heavy on top of him. His gun went spinning away, and for a moment he lay still, stunned, seeing stars from the impact, and struggling to breathe with lungs from which all the air had been expelled by the force of the tackle. Then panic kicked in and he fought hard against the entangling arms, shoving against the body that held his down, trying to reach his ankle holster. His arms were caught at the wrists, and pressed flat to the ground above his head by one strong, broad hand as the other covered his mouth, and the body on his bore down, hard, making it difficult for him to breathe or struggle.
        Suddenly he realized someone was saying his name, over and over in a tight, harsh whisper, and Ray actually looked at his attacker. Saw the damned red serge, the perfect hair, the blue eyes, clouded right now with a shockingly unfamiliar emotion; and it suddenly dawned on him that he hadn't been tackled by some anonymous bad guy. He was pinned to the ground by about a hundred and eighty pounds of very pissed-off Mountie. He'd never seen Fraser look so mad before, not even about Muldoon. He'd seen Fraser in a lot of different states, from irritated to determined, from sad to amused, but never flat-out, full-bore pissed-off. Shocked, he stopped struggling.
        Fraser didn't let up, but some of the anger began to fade from his gaze. Ray started to feel a little strange, pinned, panting, beneath his partner's bulk, bodies touching, torso-to-torso, Fraser's thighs between his own. He had one knee still drawn up from his last attempt to reach his backup piece, and he was excruciatingly aware of the intimacy of their position, feeling Fraser's hip against the inside of that thigh. His body reacted to that as he'd always feared it might, with a rush of arousal. But just as he was about to close his eyes in embarrassed misery, he realized something. Either Fraser had taken to carrying a nightstick, or he was turned on too.
        The universe skidded to a halt. They stared at each other, unspeaking. Somewhere in the sludge that suddenly constituted his brain, Ray realized Fraser wasn't freaking out. In fact, the anger in his gaze was rapidly being replaced by something...else. A question. An answer. No words. Time began to inch forward again, incrementally. The hand covering his mouth shifted, a thumb stroked along his jaw, rasping on stubble, then it was moving across his lower lip, back and forth, very lightly, almost hypnotically.
        A shudder went through him, pure and delicious, and he turned his head just a little, enough to bring that inquisitive digit between his lips, and his eyes closed as he tasted Fraser for the first time. His tongue stroked the pad of that thumb, circled it, drew it deeper. He held it between his teeth, lightly, unwilling to let go. He sucked on it, sucked hard. A soft, wordless exclamation made him open his eyes and he looked into Fraser's face, saw the question in his eyes deepen into heat. Yes. An answer. God. This couldn't be real...could it? But it felt real, so real, and so damned good.
        Slowly Fraser tugged his thumb free of Ray's mouth, ran it damply across his lips again. Ray stared, breathless, as Fraser's tongue flicked out across his own lower lip in an echoing movement, then he was leaning down, eyes drifting closed, and those firm lips were on his. Warm, soft, a gentle brush, completely at odds with the violence of mere moments earlier. He tipped his head to one side, so their mouths could fuse more closely, let his lips part, felt the hot, slick slide of tongue against his own.
        Oh God. Oh God. So real, so unreal, so good. Tasted like cool rain on a hot summer day, like a fire on a cold winter night. Everything he needed, condensed into a single being, who was drinking him, desperately, as if he'd been crawling across the desert for days without water and Ray were a spring.
        Ray wanted to put his arms around Fraser, to hold him, to tangle his fingers in his thick burnt-chestnut hair, to stroke his broad back, to feel the smooth curves of the ass he'd eyed with lust in his heart. Unfortunately he couldn't, since his arms were still pinned over his head by Fraser's hand. He squirmed a little, pushing against that restraint, and Fraser's head lifted suddenly, his eyes wide, shocked. He jerked his hand away from Ray's wrists, and started to push himself away as well.
        No. Oh no, no, no! He wasn't going anywhere. Not now. Ray tangled his legs with Fraser's, grabbed him with both newly-freed hands, and refused to let him budge. Cupping a hand over the back of Fraser's head, he pulled him down until their lips met again, and everything went up in flames once more. Even better than before. Hotter. Harder. Harsher. Yeah, this was what he needed. The slow grind of hips against his own, matching hard-to-hard, the blatant thrust of tongues, mingling breath and spit and need.
        Then, right in the middle of that wonderful discovery, damn it, a coherent thought managed to swim up into his brain from somewhere. Roven. The girl. Oh, jeez. Crap. He was lying in an alley, getting frenched by an extremely eager Mountie, when he was supposed to be doing his job. With a heartfelt groan he turned his face, separating their lips. Fraser's tongue left his mouth reluctantly, with a little sound of protest. Ray knew just how he felt. Christ, to have to stop now was painful! But he didn't have a choice.
        "Uh, Fraser, there's a girl, in there. Don't think she wants to be. Roven's threatening her brother. We gotta get her out."
        His words acted like a bucket of ice water. Fraser was off him instantly, picking up his hat which had fallen when he'd tackled Ray, then extending a hand to pull him to his feet. "On three, Ray?"
        Ray nodded. Yeah. On three. This was right. Partners. Yeah.

* * *

        Fraser had used Ray's phone to request back-up as soon as he'd realized he was planning to enter the building alone. Then he'd sprinted across the alley and caught him before he managed to do so, although, granted, his method had been somewhat less than gentle. The sight of Ray recklessly risking his life had made him furious. All he could think of for a moment was that empty apartment, and a red haze had filled his mind. That was his only excuse for what had followed. He'd been so afraid that rational thought had all but ceased.
        Then within seconds of pinning him to the ground, he'd felt the response of Ray's body to the proximity of his own, seen the answer to his unspoken question in those startled blue eyes, and the last vestige of whatever good sense he had ever possessed had simply fled. With criminals and a victim mere steps away, with fellow officers on the way, he had touched Ray in ways that could not possibly be misunderstood, had kissed him within an inch of his life. And miraculously, inconceivably, Ray had responded.
        Thankfully Ray had regained his senses mere moments before their backup had arrived, and they'd managed to make the arrests without further incident. After the third time they'd found themselves staring at each other and blushing, they had been forced to avoid looking at each other for extended periods of time in order to complete the time-consuming and tedious tasks of booking the suspects, talking to the witnesses, and filling out reports. Because they were both pretending nothing had happened, Fraser was feeling as uncertain as a newly commissioned constable on his first day out of the Depot.
        Welsh kept looking questions at him, questions he couldn't answer, though it seemed as if Ray was acting almost normally again. Unfortunately Fraser had no idea why he was acting that way. Especially not after...well, what had happened. Finally they were finished, and that business of not looking at each other was proving quite difficult as Ray leaned against his desk, and looked vaguely in Fraser's direction without meeting his eyes.
        "Um, interesting day, Fraser," he said, carefully.
        Fraser felt a little shiver of nervous tension go through him. "As you say, Ray," he managed.
        "I, uh, I think we gotta talk," Ray said, sounding very serious.
        Fraser's mouth went dry. That sounded so...ominous. But he nodded. "I believe that might be advisable."
        Ray snorted. "'Advisable.' Jeez. Come on, let's go hunt down some privacy."
        He led Fraser out to the parking lot and unlocked the GTO. Fraser let Diefenbaker into the back, then climbed in. As if by agreement they did not speak until Ray pulled into the parking lot outside his apartment, killed the engine and set the brake. Oddly, it was not an uncomfortable silence, not as heavy as the one between them a few nights earlier. After a moment, Ray got out, and Fraser did the same. They walked in silence up the stairs to his apartment, Dief trotting at their heels, as quiet as they were. Once inside, Ray finally turned to look at him. They eyed each other warily.
        "So, uh...." Ray said.
        "So, ah...." Fraser began.
        That triggered a spate of 'after you's' and 'you first's.' Finally, Fraser cleared his throat and took the initiative.
        "I hope you can forgive me, Ray. I can't imagine what possessed me to...."
        "Fraser," Ray said, trying to interrupt.
        "...attack you like that, save for a certain amount of...." Fraser went on, knowing if he didn't get it out now, he might never be able to.
        "Fraser," Ray tried again.
        "...fear on my part. You see, I had just been to your apartment and seen...."
        "Fraser!" Ray yelled. "Yo! Fraser! Benton Fraser, RCMP! Attention!"
        Fraser stopped. "Yes, Ray?"
        Ray looked pleased. "Shut up, Fraser."
        "I thought you said we needed to...."
        Ray cut off the rest of the sentence by applying his mouth to Fraser's mouth. Very passionately. Fraser wrapped his arms around Ray's wiry body and pulled him closer, until their bodies were molded together from knees to chest, their mouths slanting hotly together, tongues tangling, breath mingling. Finally Ray pulled his mouth away, a quick, mischievous grin flashing across his face.
        "Well, I couldn't exactly say 'I wanna suck on your tongue some more' in the middle of the bullpen, now could I, Fraser?"
        All the blood that had been heading rapidly southward did an abrupt U-turn and ended up in Fraser's face as he registered what Ray had just said. "Raaaay!" he blurted, voice caught somewhere between a gasp and a groan, embarrassed, aroused, and stunned by the honesty of that statement.
        Ray laughed. "You sound like a sheep, Fraser! A sexy sheep, but a sheep. And I didn't even say anything really racy. Like what else I'd like to suck on...." He ground his hips suggestively against Fraser's, letting him feel the growing firmness there, so like his own. "Damn it, Fraser, why didn't you tell me?" he complained, nuzzling his neck. "God, I thought I was losing my mind!"
        The transfer. He'd known this would come up. He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Ray. I didn't know, I didn't...realize, so I was doing what I thought would be best," Fraser said in a whisper, trying to keep his brain functioning when all he could think of was the way Ray felt against him.
        "Best?" Ray pulled back a little, sounded puzzled. "What're you talking about?"
        Fraser turned his head to look into Ray's face. "The transfer request."
        Ray went still, his heightened color fading. Slowly he pulled away. "Oh. Oh, that." He turned away, braced a hand against the wall, and raked the fingers of his other hand through his hair.
        Suddenly everything was tense and awkward again, and Fraser realized they apparently hadn't been discussing the same thing at all. That tended to happen with them whenever emotions ran high. He frowned, trying to put things together. "I'm sorry, what did you think I was talking about?"
        "I, uh... the... well, the uh, thing."
        "The thing?"
"Y'know the thing." He made a circling gesture with one hand. "The thing between us."
        Fraser's brain searched for a translation for that cryptic Rayism, and assayed one. "You mean the... attraction? Between us?"
        Ray nodded. "Yeah. That."
        "Oh. Well, the one has much to do with the other," he admitted finally.
        Ray looked at him, a quick flash of wary blue eyes, quickly lowered again. "How?"
        Fraser sighed. "Perhaps we should sit?"
        Ray nodded, and they went to the couch, taking seats, not touching, but not at opposite corners, either. Of course, the fact that Diefenbaker was curled up on a good third of the couch already made that less voluntary than it might have been. Still, it was a start. Fraser stared at his hands for a moment, then finally sighed.
        "I didn't want to ruin our friendship, Ray. I was afraid that if you came to realize what I felt, you would... not wish to remain my friend."
        Ray looked startled. "Oh, jeez. You too?"
        Fraser felt his eyebrows lift. "Too?"
        Ray laughed, though it sounded suspiciously tight-throated. "Yeah. Too. When I saw that transfer request I figured you must've figured it out. I mean, I tried not to let it show, but God, you turn me on, and I can't always pretend you don't. So I thought I hadn't been careful enough, and you were running screaming the other way as hard and fast as you could go."
        They stared at each other, Fraser remembering that moment in the alley when he'd felt Ray's body respond to his, when their eyes had met. Hard, and fast. But not running. Slowly a lopsided grin curved Ray's mouth, as if he were remembering the same thing. Fraser found himself echoing it. Ray's grin turned into a laugh that Fraser found completely infectious. After a moment he sobered, though.
        "Ray, I'm going to throw away my transfer application."
        Ray looked up, eyes narrowed. "'Cause of me?" he asked, frowning.
        Fraser shook his head, slowly. "No, Ray. Because of me. When I was afraid for your life it made me realize that I would not be happy without you."
        The expression on Ray's face was painful. So shocked, so disbelieving. Was it so hard for him to believe that anyone could feel that way about him? That hurt, too. In an attempt to convince him, Fraser leaned forward, bringing their mouths together again. Ray responded instantly, without even a momentary hesitation, his lips soft, and parted. Their kiss was gentler this time, but no less involving. After a few moments Ray suddenly pulled away, frowning in apparent confusion.
        "Afraid for my life? Why?"
        Fraser gestured to the apartment. "This. I saw this, and all I could think was that you were trying to make it easy for your parents and your friends should they have to... dispose of your effects."
        He watched that sink in, saw Ray's eyes widen. "Oh Lord. I never thought...." He shook his head, tensely. "You thought I might...?"
        "Perhaps not deliberately," Fraser said, remembering how devastated he'd felt at thinking that, how angry he had been with Ray when he'd seen him approach that building without partner, without backup. "But frankly, your behavior over the past day or two has been reckless in the extreme."
        Ray's eyes slid away from his and he stared at the carpet between his feet. "Who told?"
        "Lieutenant Welsh."
        "Busybody," Ray complained, not looking up.
        "He was concerned for you, Ray."
        "Oh, right, like he wouldn't like to kill me himself sometimes."
        "Perhaps he would, but he truly was concerned. To the point that he asked me if we...well, if we had broken up. As a couple. "
        That brought Ray's head up again. "He what? Welsh?"
        Fraser nodded. "I admit to being astonished as well. He was very kind about it, but he seemed quite shocked to find that we were not."
        Ray blushed. It was an interesting phenomenon. Fraser didn't think he'd ever seen Ray blush before. He put a hand over his face, hiding behind it.
        "Oh jeez," he said, almost a moan. "I am never going to go to work again." Suddenly he lifted his head, and looked straight into Fraser's eyes, a smile shaping his mouth. "What the hell am I saying? Why should I be weirded out that Welsh thinks we're a couple, since we are?"
        "We are?" Fraser asked, startled.
        Ray suddenly looked less sure of himself. "Um...well, yeah. Aren't we? Now?" Suddenly he drew himself up, looking offended. "I mean, you think I roll around in alleys with just anybody, Fraser? You think I drag just anybody home with me and offer to suck on 'em? I have standards, y'know!"
        Fraser had gotten good at recognizing that glint in Ray's eyes, and the deliberate thickening of his regional accent. He was being teased. He bit the inside of his lip to control his smile. "Well, considering some of the women you've been interested in over the course of our partnership, I had begun to wonder...." he teased back.
        "Oh, like you got such a great track record? I mean, come on! A married woman? You slut, you!"
        "Well, I didn't know Janet was married until later," Fraser pointed out reasonably, enjoying the banter, hoping to provoke more.
        "Uh-hunh, and what's your excuse for Lady Shoes? I could hear you through that door, making like the deli scene in 'When Harry Met Sally.'"
        Fraser stared at him blankly. "Excuse me?"
        Ray laughed, shaking his head. "Never mind, I should've guessed you wouldn't have a clue. But the next time I hear you making noises like that I'd better be the one making you do it."
        "Noises like what?"
        Ray looked at him through half-lowered eyelids, and licked his lips. "Uhhhhnnnn," he moaned throatily. "Ahhhh, mmmmm-uhhhh. Ohhhhhh."
        Fraser swallowed heavily. The sounds really were remarkably provocative. He could almost feel their vibrations on his skin, sending hot shivers through him. He stared at Ray. "Did I really sound like...that?"
        "Yes, you did," Ray breathed. "Just like that. You did. And I'm dying to hear you do it again. But it better be me in your underwear next time," he said threateningly.
        "It was just a back rub, Ray," he said placatingly.
        Ray grinned. "If a back rub makes you sound like that, I can't wait to hear what a blow job does."
        Before Fraser could even blush, Ray was on him, mouth on his, pushing him backward until he was practically lying on Diefenbaker, who objected with a whine and jumped off the couch. Deprived of his support, Fraser dropped flat on his back on the wolf-warmed cushions. Ray put a hand under one of Fraser's thighs and urged his leg up onto the couch as they continued to devour each others mouths. Unable to think clearly, Fraser followed that urging, which left him with one foot on the couch and the other still on the floor. He didn't understand why Ray had wanted that until the other man slid his hips into the wide space the position created between his thighs, but by then it was too late to object.
        Not that he wanted to object. He wanted to just lie there and let Ray kiss him, and touch him, and oh, dear, that was, perhaps a little too fast...He reached down and caught Ray's hand to keep it away from the zipper of his uniform trousers, pulling his mouth away to gasp an embarrassed "Ray!"
        Ray laughed and tangled their fingers together, effectively holding that hand down while moving his free hand into place, using his body to block Fraser's other hand from interfering while he managed to get the trouser button undone and the zipper down. He'd worked the pants partway open when Fraser managed to get a hand free and caught Ray's wrist.
        "Ray, no!" Fraser protested again, a little panicky at the speed at which things were suddenly moving. Some latent prudishness on his part, no doubt. He was having a bit of a struggle reconciling his innate shyness with his need and Ray's somewhat gung-ho nature. Ray's hand stilled, his eyes lifted to Ben's, and he nodded slowly.
        "Okay." He took a deep breath, let it out. "Okay, slower, right?"
        Ben nodded. "Please."

* * *

        Ray felt a little guilty for rushing Fraser, he knew that wasn't Fraser's thing, but the drive, the need to claim him had been so strong. He felt guilty for thinking that, too. He couldn't claim Ben. It was like Fraser said about Dief, he belonged only to himself. But if Ben chose to be with him of his own free will, then that was the closest thing to perfect Ray could imagine. He could die happy, right now. Well, almost happy. It would be nice not to die horny. But that was okay, happy was the important part.
        He sighed, and settled in against Ben, his head resting against his chest, listening to the steady, if slightly accelerated beat of his heart. He smiled, and Fraser's hand came up to stroke through his hair.
        "What are you smiling about?" Ben asked, his voice sounding husky and rough.
        "How'd you know I was smiling?" Ray asked.
        "I could feel your mouth move," Ben said, fingers playing with the hair at the back of his neck, making him shiver.
        "Oh." That made sense. He chuckled. "I was listening to your heart. I think some people think you don't have one, the way they act. Always pisses me off."
        He heard Ben's breath catch on a sigh, felt the fingers tighten in his hair. "Thank you for that, but it's not entirely their fault if they think that. I am, generally, quite careful not to show it."
        Ray lifted his head, looked into Ben's solemn blue gaze, and nodded. "I know. I know that. But you don't hide it from me."
        Fraser looked at him, and smiled. "Nor would I wish to."
        Caught for a moment between joy and self-consciousness, Ray blushed and smiled, ducking his head. "Thanks." He cleared his throat, and met Ben's eyes again. "I, uh, sorry I rushed you. I know you like to take things slow. Guess I got a little carried away, you know. Like 'woohoo, I won the prize!'"
        Fraser shook his head, his face a little flushed. "No, Ray, don't be sorry." He laughed, a little ruefully. "I suspect if left to me, it might have taken months to get to this point. I'm not... well, I'm not very experienced at this sort of thing."
        "No shit," Ray said, laughing softly as Ben blushed, then taking pity on him, "but then, I'm not what you call an expert, either. I just know what I like, and I figured you'd probably like it too. I mean, we got the same basic equipment, after all."
        He grinned and winked, and Ben grinned back, sweet and lopsided, the most spontaneous grin Ray had ever seen him give. He couldn't resist leaning in to kiss him again, and it was slow, and hot, and man, Ben might not have much experience but he was damned good with that tongue. Not surprising, given his tendency to slurp everything in sight. After a moment, Ben sighed into his mouth and turned his face slightly, breaking the kiss.
        "Ray, could we...." he stopped, biting his lip, looking uncomfortable.
        "Could we what?"
        "Move, ah, somewhere else? There's not very much room here."
        For a moment Ray couldn't think what he meant, then it dawned on him that Ben was suggesting they go to bed, although he couldn't quite come right out and say it. A slow grin spread over his face and he nodded.
        "Oh yeah. That'd be good. Real good."
        He rolled off the couch, stood up and stretched, then looked down at Ben splayed out on the couch, totally rumpled, kissable, hell, fuckable, with his uniform mostly on but pants unzipped, and he couldn't resist teasing him.
        "Man, you look like something out of one of those magazines they sell at porno places. You know, 'Hot Men in Uniform' or something. Wanna play Mountie and Perp sometime?"
        As he'd fully expected, Fraser's face went bright red, rivaling his tunic. But then, much to Ray's surprise, a slow, almost sly grin spread across his face.
        "Only if we can first replace that black leather jacket of yours that was lost aboard the Henry Allen."
        Ray's mouth went Sahara dry, eyes widening. "Izzat a joke?" he managed.
        Fraser shook his head, slowly, sensually. How the hell did he manage that, Ray wondered.
        "No, Ray."
        "I am all over that!" Ray managed to gasp, wondering if he had enough in savings to go buy a new coat.
        Ben's grin widened, the blue eyes brimming with amusement. "I was rather hoping you would be all over me."
        Ray gaped. Wow. Fraser had a playful side? He reached, caught Ben's fingers in his own. "Come on. Couch is cool, bed is better." He tugged at Ben's hand, and his partner – friend – no, lover, sat up, or tried to, but was hampered by his disordered clothing. With a frustrated sigh Ray bent and caught the pumpkin pants in his hands, pulling them back into place, trying not to think about what lay just a few threads-width away from his fingers. "There. Now up."
        Ray held out his hands again and pulled Fraser to his feet, staggering a little. Fraser was so damned solid. They were pretty much the same height, so sometimes he forgot what a difference there was in weight. He thought about how that weight would feel against him, unconsciously pulling Ben closer, then they were in each other's arms once more, mouths fused, bodies angling for closeness. Reaching around to secure his hold, Ray found himself with a handful of perfectly curved ass, and moaned into Ben's mouth, hips rocking against his partner's. He forced himself to pull back, shuddering. If he didn't watch it he was going to come before they even got started.
        Without a word Ray headed for the bedroom, half-dragging Fraser with him, needing to get in there before he lost his nerve, or his mind, or something. Finally reaching their destination after what felt like a three-mile hike, he was just about to start ripping clothes off Fraser when the phone rang and he listened as the answering machine picked up out in the kitchen. He heard Welsh's distinctive voice, but couldn't quite make out the words. With a sigh he gave Fraser an apologetic look and scrambled to pick up the extension next to the bed, just in case it was an emergency.
        "Yeah, sir, I'm here. Is there a problem?"
        "Yeah, you do have problems, Kowalski, and I don't like to see my people making stupid rookie mistakes. So I don't want to see you in here again until you figure out what they are and fix them, do you understand?"
        "Uh..." Ray began, completely confused, then suddenly he remembered what Fraser had told him about Welsh. His face got hot. "Uh, yeah. I think I do."
        "Good. Consider yourself out sick until you get your head out, okay?"
        "Okay. Um, sir? You know those problems?"
        "Yeah, Kowalski?"
        "I'm, uh, working on 'em."
        "I'm pleased to hear that, Detective. Feel free not to share any details."
        Ray chuckled. "Yes, sir."
        Welsh hung up, and Ray did as well, then he turned the ringer on the phone all the way down. No more interruptions. Turning to tell Fraser what Welsh had said, he stopped suddenly, a shiver of apprehension going through him. Fraser was still just standing there, right where he'd been, hadn't moved an inch. His eyes were closed, he was frowning slightly.
        "Frase?" He ventured tentatively.
        Fraser shook himself visibly, and opened his eyes. "Yes, Ray?"
        "Something wrong?"
        The eyes that lifted to his were oddly blank. "No."
        Flat. Unemotional. The mask was back. Uh oh. This was not good. He didn't know what was up, but clearly something was. Ray swallowed, hard. He shouldn't have rushed him. Damn it. He'd known he shouldn't have, but he'd done it anyhow, and now Fraser was wigged. Great, Kowalski. Way to ruin things before they even get started. Feeling a little shaky, he put his hand on Fraser's shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring fashion.
        "Ben, I...."
        His voice trailed off as he felt tremors under his hand. Fraser was shaking. Now that Ray felt it, he could see it too, a fine, constant shiver. And there was a faint sheen of sweat on his skin, as if he were feverish, or shocky. Oh, boy. Not good at all. Was he sick? He started to steer him toward the bed, only to have Fraser grab him, arms going around him, holding him so tightly he could scarcely breathe.
        "Ben! Fraser? Frase! Hey, what's ...."
        Fraser silenced him with a kiss so hard it hurt as his lips were abraded against his own teeth. He flinched a little, and instantly Fraser let go, and sank down to sit on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.
        "I'm sorry, Ray, I'm sorry," he whispered, pointedly not looking at Ray.
        Ray stood for a moment, staring at him, then shook his head and sat down next to his partner. "Okay, this is no good, Ben. You gotta talk to me. What's wrong?"
        Fraser did his eyebrow-rubbing thing, still avoiding his gaze. "Forgive me, Ray, I didn't mean to be so rough."
        Ray ran his hands through his spiky hair, disordering it further than it no doubt already was. "Look, I don't care if you were rough! Jesus, Fraser! I've brushed my teeth harder than that! I care about what you're thinking, what you're feeling. Let me in your head, damn it! We're partners, friends!" Maybe even lovers, if we can get through this, he thought, frustrated.
         Fraser's eyes closed tightly, and he shook his head. "I was...I heard the lieutenant's voice, and I remembered something he said, and...it seemed that I was walking in here, seeing, everything was so...different. And knowing I did that, knowing it was my fault, that I hurt you, just as I've been hurt...."
        "You're not making sense, Fraser. What are you talking about? You didn't hurt me!" He froze suddenly, Ben's words finally sinking in. 'I hurt you, just as I've been hurt.' Oh holy...had somebody forced Ben? Was that what he meant? Oh Christ, and he'd just jumped all over him like a kid with a new toy. Had ignored, at least at first, Ben's attempts to slow him down. Fuck. Fuck-fuck-fuck. No wonder Ben was so damned shy, so oblivious to his own attractiveness, so reticent to touch. Those were classic responses to rape. He reached out to pull his partner into his arms, and stopped, suddenly uncertain. He knew from his training that rape victims often didn't like to be touched. Ask first. He remembered that.
        "Ben, can I...is it okay if I touch you?"
        Blue eyes lifted to his, a little puzzled, a little worried. "Of course, Ray."
        "I, uh, just didn't want to assume. I do that too much. Look, um, it's all right if we don't do anything else. Totally, okay?"
        Fraser was still looking puzzled. "Excuse me?"
        "I mean, like, I'm okay, you know."
        Fraser nodded, seeming to understand, at last. "Yes, and I can't begin to express my relief at that."
        Ray suppressed his dismay. That was disappointing, but he could deal. Making sure Fraser was okay was a lot more important than his own admittedly selfish desire for pleasure. "Well. Okay, good, that's, uh, good. So. You want to— talk about it?"
        "About what, Ray?"
        "About, well, about...what happened."
        The puzzled look came back. "Which particular thing were you referring to, Ray?"
        Oh wonderful. Fine time for Fraser to get all oblivious. Sometimes Ray thought he did it on purpose just to avoid having to talk about things that made him uncomfortable. So, how the hell to bring it up? "What happened— whatever happened that hurt you."
        Blank look. Then Fraser sighed and shook his head. "No, I don't think that's necessary. I rarely even think of it any more."
        "But you do think of it, sometimes, right?"
        "Yes, Ray."
        "Like, a few minutes ago, right?" Christ, it was like pulling teeth to get him to talk!
        "Well, yes, briefly. But only in relation to the pain I caused you."
        Ray surged to his feet, pacing, hands balled into fists of frustration. "I told you, you didn't hurt me! How many times do I have to say it?"
        "Ray, I know I did, so it's pointless to tell me otherwise."
        "I can handle it, okay? I been hurt lots worse!" He started to mention the time Stella got over-enthusiastic with her teeth and then decided now was not a good time. In fact, there probably would never be a good time to do that. Oooohkay. Try again. Maybe try to be subtle.
        "So, it was a long time ago?"
        Fraser nodded.
        "Did you, uh, did you know the person?"
        Fraser looked at him oddly. "Well, of course I did, Ray. How could I not?"
        "And what'd you do about it?"
        "Well, there was, at that point, little which could be done. It was just a matter of soldiering on. Your friendship has helped me through that, immeasurably."
        Aw, man. Fraser's last sentence made Ray feel both great, and horrible. Damn, if only he'd known, maybe he could have been even more help. Then he processed the first part of the statement and felt a slow rise of fury, not exactly at his partner, but sort of. He couldn't believe it. Someone had hurt Fraser and he'd just let them?
        "Fraser! I don't believe this! You did nothing? You just let 'em get away with it?"
        "Well, as I said, there was little I could do. And I'm sure he meant no harm."
        'He.' Well, that sure as hell confirmed that Fraser wasn't talking about Psychobitch Metcalf, about whom Ray had read, though Fraser had never spoken of the incident. But what he'd said after that made Ray's blood boil.
        "'He meant no harm?'" Ray demanded incredulously. "Jesus H. Fu..." he clamped his mouth shut on the expletive he knew would upset Ben, shaking his head. "This is not happening. I swear it's not. Fraser—" No, that wasn't right. Not now. "Benton . . . Ben. I know you know better than this. You know who did it, and you did nothing? What if he does it to someone else?"
        "Well, I find that a highly unlikely scenario, Ray. It was simply a matter of circumstances. I doubt that the same precise combination of events would occur again, it would be rather like lightning striking twice, although I realize that the probability of that happening is rather higher than most people think."
        "Exactly. Which means that he might do it again."
        Fraser sighed. "Ray, I think perhaps we should change the subject. This conversation is clearly not particularly constructive."
        Since Fraser was starting to look a little annoyed, which was rare enough to be worrisome, Ray sighed. If he didn't want to talk about it, there was no way to force it, and it might even be traumatic. Better let it go for now. "Yeah, okay. Whatever." He caught Fraser's eye. "But you know we'll have to talk about it sometime."
        "Perhaps," Fraser allowed. "Although I fail to see how it would be useful."
        Unable to think of a reply to that, Ray slouched unhappily, staring at his hands, wondering what the hell he should do now. He had rarely felt so completely at a loss in his life. Suddenly he felt a hand against his shoulder, stroking lightly.
    &nbs