Rated NC-17 for graphic m/m sex.

Disclaimer: not mine, never gonna be mine, if you don't know who they belong to, why are you reading this anyway? Broke, so suing would be pointless.

Soundtrack: Joan Osborne: "Early Recordings," "Relish." Solas: Darkness, Darkness. Bonnie Raitt, Silver Lining. Dave Carter & Tracy Grammer: Tanglewood Tree. Joanne Shenandoah & Peter Kater: When Eyes Meet, Dance of the North. Clive Gregson & Christine Collison: For a Dancer. Jude Johnstone: "Coming of Age." Jann Arden: Cherry Popsicle. Susan Werner: Feel Good, Nefertiti's Dream. Katie Curtis: Looking for Heroes. Dar Williams: Family. James Keelaghan: Mirabeau Bridge, Love What a Road, Message to the Future.

Thanks to all the people who held my hand and encouraged me on this story-- I'm going to go in alphabetical order here. :-) Ardent, AuKestrel, BethH, Betty, Judi, Journey, Sihaya Black & Starfish. Special thanks to Otsoko for translation help with the French and Inuktitut bits, and to Shell, for well, if I say it here, it will give away part of my plotline so I'm going to put it in the story notes instead. ;-D I hope I haven't forgotten anyone-- its been in progress for so long that I can't remember who all I've inveigled into helping with it!

--Kellie

---

"Love, I am a compass and you are magnetic north: all lines converge upon you, a beacon shining forth." ~ 'Love What a Road,' James Keelaghan.


Playing Wolf
© 2003 Kellie Matthews


Ray looked at his watch for the fourth time in four minutes, and returned the friendly single-fingered wave of the guy waiting impatiently behind him with one of his own. Tapping his thumbs on the steering wheel, he headed for the parking place that had just opened up a block up the street. He really ought to be used to this by now. It was kind of funny that someone as regimented as Fraser was so chronically late getting off work. It was a little thing, though, one Ray could easily cope with. Not like some of the things they'd had to find ways to cope with since they'd moved in together, and not always easily. A couple of times hard enough to nearly finish things. Somehow they'd gotten through, though. Thank God they were both creative thinkers.

Waiting for a break in traffic so he could open his door, he finally managed to scramble out after the signal three blocks down went red and traffic backed up as far down as the Consulate. Wishing he had an umbrella, he dashed down the block, splashing through puddles, head down to keep at least a little of the pouring rain out of his eyes. He took the front steps two at a time, sparing a sympathetic glance for Constable Anders, who stood next to the door, rain dripping off the brim of his plastic-wrapped Stetson. Fraser had finally convinced his superiors that soaking wet dress uniforms weren't very impressive, not to mention the fact that they led to increased sick-time. So at least now Anders got to wear a rain poncho. Clear, of course, so the RCMP red showed through.

Unfortunately Fraser still hadn't been able to convince anyone that it wasn't a great idea to make some poor cop stand out in all weather just to give tourists something to gawk at. It always made Ray think of that funny song about Mounties that Fraser once played for him, 'Don't wanna have to smile for a diplomat's home videos.' Shaking his head, he pushed on inside. Canadians moved in mysterious ways.

He took a moment to wipe his feet on the runner in front of the door so he wouldn't have to hear about the effect of water on a hardwood floor all the way home, and then headed down the hall, boots squeaking faintly. The door to Fraser's office was ajar, so he knocked once and pushed it open.

"Fraser? You forget you were supposed to meet me out . . . . " He shut up abruptly as he realized Fraser wasn't alone. A woman stood next to him, one hand on the back of his chair, the other on the desk as she leaned over his shoulder, long, dark hair falling across Fraser's shoulder in a way that put Ray's hackles up. Until Ray had started talking they had both been bent over, studying what looked like a map on the desk; now they were both looking at him with almost comically identical expressions of surprise.

The stranger straightened up, studying him curiously, and Ray realized with a shock that it wasn't a woman at all. The long hair had thrown him. The guy looked to be in his early twenties, and stood close to six feet tall, with caramel-colored skin and dark hair that fell to mid-back. It looked kind of weird, but good, with the crisp blue RCMP uniform he wore. He was also one of the best-looking guys Ray had ever seen. He could give Fraser a run for his money, which wasn't something that happened real often, in Ray's experience.

Fraser pushed back his chair and stood. "I'm sorry, Ray, time simply got away from me. Constable Tselihye's flight was delayed, and I've been filling him in a little about the city and his accommodations for the conference." He turned and gestured at the young man. "I'd like to introduce Constable Michael Tselihye, from the Inuvik detachment. Constable, this is Detective Ray Kowalski of the Chicago Police Department."

Putting together the name with his coloring, hair, and features, Ray caught a clue. He rubbed his hand against his hip to get the last of the rain off and then put it out. Tselihye grasped it, and they shook, firmly

"Nice to meet you," Ray said. "You're the guy they sent down for the seminar on International Aboriginal Justice at Northwestern, right?"

"Yes, sir, I am," Tselihye said, his mouth curving in a smile that showed off very even, very white teeth. "It's a pleasure, Detective."

Ray would've wondered how much that smile cost, except he'd been to the Territories, and knew that even if the kid's folks could've found an orthodontist up there, it wasn't likely that they'd have the money it would take to fix a smile, so it must be courtesy of Mom Nature. He let go of Tselihye's hand. "Call me Ray. Fraser, how long?"

Fraser glanced at the newcomer, then back at Ray, who got a funny feeling at the almost-guilty look. "Perhaps we could speak for a moment alone?" he asked hopefully.

Tselihye, apparently a bright boy, cleared his throat. "I'll just, ah, go use the washroom," he said, brushing past Ray as he exited the office.

As soon as he was gone, Ray crossed his arms and lifted his eyebrows at Fraser. "Okay, what?"

Fraser cleared his throat. "Constable Tselihye will need a ride to his lodgings at the university."

"That all? No problem, so long as one of you doesn't mind sharing the back seat with Dief. Speaking of which, where is he?"

"In the kitchen drying off. And there was one other thing. . . ."

"That being?"

"I thought we could invite Constable Tselihye to dinner. He's only here for six weeks, and I'm sure he's feeling a little overwhelmed. Chicago is certainly far larger than Regina, and he doesn't know a soul here."

Ray bit the inside of his lip to keep himself from smiling. Fraser and his strays. He should've known this would happen. If he'd been keeping track of when the guy was due in, he'd just have planned on it. But he still couldn't resist giving Fraser a hard time. "Dinner," he said severely. "I guess this means I'd better call and tell Tony we're cancelling our regular Thursday night pizza order?"

Fraser frowned thoughtfully. "Perhaps we could just double it?"

Ray stared at him. "Double it?"

Fraser nodded. "Though I suppose we should ask Constable Tselihye what his preference would be, in case he's not partial to ham and pineapple."

"You want to invite him over? To the house?" This was new. Fraser had never wanted to have one of his strays over to the house before. Not alone, anyway. They'd invited the Consulate staff for the holidays the last two years, Canada Day barbeques and, of course, Thanksgiving in October. The Fourth of July and American Thanksgiving were celebrated with the Vecchios, usually, since Ray's dad was still kind of touchy about him and Fraser.

"Yes. We haven't really gotten a chance to talk, and I wanted to catch up on things back up north."

Right. Of course. The kid was from Fraser's old stomping grounds. They probably knew a lot of the same people. 'A lot' being relative, of course. Ray shrugged. "Sure, if you want. The place is pretty clean."

Fraser smiled. "Thank you, Ray."

"Anytime. I'll go get Dief. He got out, eh?"

"Unfortunately, yes, when Constable Anders came in to get his rain gear. And he managed to get into the trash next door."

Ray wrinkled his nose. "He need a bath?"

"Undoubtedly, but after the rain he's clean enough for the car, and I'll take care of the rest after dinner."

"And then I get to clean up after the cleaning up, right?" Ray asked wryly.

"Well, he's my responsibility, I ought to . . ."

Ray held up a hand. "Nah, partners means sharing, right?" He gave Fraser a wink and opened the office door and headed for the kitchen. As he passed the bathroom, the door opened, Tselihye walked out, straightening his tunic. Ray jerked a thumb in the direction of the office. "Coast is clear, go tell Fraser what you want on your pizza," he said.

"Excuse me?" Tselihye's asked, frowning slightly.

"Sorry. Fraser's always working on my manners but it doesn't take. You got plans after this?"

He looked at Ray searchingly. "No, no plans."

"Good. So you want to have dinner with us? I mean, it's just pizza, but I've got a couple four-packs of Fin du Mond in the fridge."

A delighted smile spread across Tselihye's face. "I'd love. . . um, I mean, are you sure?"

Ray grinned. "Yeah, we're sure. So you go tell Fraser and I'll go release the wolf from captivity."

Tselihye's eyebrows went up. "Wolf? That would be. . . Tupper? St. Laurent?"

Ray snorted. "Diefenbaker. I see you've heard of him."

The grin that brought made Tselihye look ridiculously young. "Who hasn't? I can't wait to meet him."

"Well, you might want to hold off on the enthusiasm. He's been out in the rain and the trash so he stinks right now. Plus he has a thing for licking the first person he sees, so if I were you I'd get myself down to the office so he can get it out of his system with me."

"I grew up with sled dogs, I think I can handle it," Tselihye said drily.

"Yeah, but you don't want to have to get the uniform cleaned your first day here. Go on."

The other man chuckled as he turned and headed down the hall to the office. Ray stared after him, a little puzzled. The guy's laugh reminded him of someone else's, but he couldn't quite put his finger on whose. He waited until the office door had closed behind the other man before he put a hand on the knob and opened the door about an inch. Dief eagerly shoved his nose through.

"Back off," Ray ordered.

Dief backed, a little.

"No licking," Ray said firmly.

Dief whined. Ray opened the door and Dief started to jump up onto his hind legs. Ray put a hand on his nose and shoved him back down. "No means no."

Dief whined again, and Ray squatted down and grabbed Dief's face between his hands so Dief couldn't pretend not to either hear him or read his lips. That close he could definitely tell that, yeah, he was kind of aromatic.

"There's a new guy; he's eating with us tonight. Behave yourself or no pizza."

Dief pulled away with an outraged glare and trotted haughtily off down the hall. Ray got to his feet, brushing his palms off against his slacks, and followed.

* * *

Ray stared at the guy sacked out on their couch, and shot a rueful glance at Fraser, who looked rueful right back at him and shrugged. Okay, so probably that fourth bottle of Fin du Mond had been one too many for a guy who'd been traveling all day and had spent several hours doing the Great White North Old Home Week thing with Fraser. And now that he belatedly remembered that problems with alcohol were rampant in Aboriginal populations, Ray wondered if maybe he shouldn't have given Michael any beer to begin with. But Ray wasn't Michael's keeper and he hadn't said no, so it wasn't Ray's fault. Michael was a nice drunk for a lightweight, though. Quiet. Just stared at them and smiled and blinked a lot, and then fell asleep. Didn't snore, which was a point in his favor.

Fraser motioned Ray toward the hall, and they ducked into the bathroom, closing the door.

Assuming he was in for a lecture, Ray tried to head it off at the pass. "Sorry about the beer. I wasn't thinking."

Fraser looked puzzled. "Was something wrong with it?"

Ray frowned. "Um. . . no. I just figured you were going to tell me I shouldn't have given him any."

"He's an adult, Ray, and he's not on duty, and I'm not in his chain of command. If he wants to have a beer or two. . ."

"Four," Ray put in.

"A beer or four," Fraser amended, "he's welcome to do so. However, it does leave us with a slight quandary."

Ray nodded, feeling vaguely as if he'd dodged a bullet. "Should we try to wake him up and take him over to the university?" Ray asked.

Fraser gave a thoughtful glance toward the living room, as if he could see through the walls. Sometimes Ray thought that maybe he could.

"It's too late for that, I think. Room check-in for the seminar closed for the night well over an hour ago, if I remember the literature."

"Yeah, eight o'clock, you said. Sessions don't start until Monday, right? Which means he's got all day tomorrow to get himself checked in, and the weekend to get settled. You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"That he can spend the night on the couch?"

Ray nodded. "Yeah. Or in the downstairs guest room. He'll be more comfortable on a real bed. That couch isn't good for sleeping on if you're any bigger than Frannie. Believe me, I should know."

Fraser studied him for a moment. "You're all right with it? After all, we don't really know him at all."

Ray knew what Fraser was asking. Not many people knew the reality of their arrangement, just a few close friends. Not because they felt like they had to hide it, but because it wasn't really anybody else's business. He did his own glance at the wall, and then shrugged. "Yeah. Pretty much. I mean, he's not going to come upstairs, that would be rude and un-Canadian. But hey, just in case he does, I'll wear shorts to bed so he doesn't get an eyeful, okay?" He grinned and winked.

Fraser smiled and leaned in to give him a lingering, but not a come-on, kind of kiss, and then pulled back. "Okay."

"All right. Let's get junior Mountie here put to bed," Ray said, opening the door. He crossed the hall to their seldom-used guest room and pulled back the covers, then followed Fraser back into the living room.

"Michael?" Fraser said quietly, shaking him a little with a hand on his shoulder, without much result. He tried again in a more authoritative tone. "Constable Tselihye?"

That got through. He opened his eyes and stared at them sleepily. "Yessir?"

"It's time to get some rest. On your feet."

Michael leaned forward a little, getting his feet under himself, and he made an abortive attempt to rise, which ended in him sitting down again, swaying a little.

Ray chuckled, shaking his head. "Come on, you're going to be in bad enough shape in the morning without sleeping on the couch and adding a backache to the mix."

He caught one of Michael's arms. Fraser got the other, and together they levered the young constable to his feet and walked him between them to the bedroom. They managed to get him onto the bed, and he lay unresisting as Fraser untied his boots and pulled them off, setting them neatly next to the bed. He'd stripped down to his t-shirt and uniform trousers before they'd started eating, telling Fraser it was the only duty uniform he had and that he didn't want to risk getting grease spots on it. Ray stood at the foot of the bed for a moment, indecisively, and then looked at Fraser. "Think we should get his pants off?"

Fraser considered that, and after a moment he nodded. "Yes. He'll be more comfortable, and in addition then his trousers won't need pressing."

Fraser reached down to undo Michael's belt, button, and zipper. Ray pulled from the hems and Fraser lifted Michael's hips, and together they managed to get his pants off without much trouble, leaving him in his t-shirt and boxers. Ray couldn't help but notice that the guy was really built. Everywhere that smooth brown skin was exposed, it covered muscle. Not gym-muscle, but natural muscle. He looked like a photographer's model. He probably had hordes of sharp-toothed Inuit girls after his ass. If there was such a thing as a horde in a town with a population of about twenty total.

Still holding Michael's pants, Ray looked up to find Fraser staring at the guy like he was trying to memorize him. Ray was about to get pissed about that, but then he decided it would be kind of hypocritical of him, since he'd just been doing some ogling of his own. Looking was just . . . looking. And if you stopped looking, you were dead, so, it was okay. Right? After a moment Fraser's gaze lifted to Ray's face, and he was wearing a faint frown, a little shadow in his normally clear gaze.

Wondering what was bugging him, Ray opened the closet and hung the pants on a hanger. Fraser reached down to pull the covers over their guest, and then to Ray's surprise, he slipped a hand under Michael's head, gently freeing his hair and draping it forward over one shoulder before straightening up and nodding at the door. Ray followed him out, and once the door was closed he leaned back against the wall, hands in his pockets. "What was that about?"

"What was what about?"

"That thing with the hair."

"I just thought that it might be uncomfortable, caught underneath him like that."

"Oh." Ray relaxed slightly, still feeling a little territorial. Maybe he should just say it, get it out in the open. "Good-looking guy. Bet there'll be a bunch of girls moping around Inuvik the next few weeks wishing he hadn't had to come down here for this seminar."

Fraser's frown deepened. "Well, it's quite an honor for a member of such recent standing to be given the opportunity to attend, but yes, I suppose he is an attractive man." He paused a moment, and then added. "And pleasant company."

"You suppose?" Ray asked sarcastically, trying to ignore that pause. "You know what would happen if I took him to the 27th? Within a minute every woman in the place would be hanging out at my desk. And they wouldn't be wanting to check out my fast-food menu collection either."

"But there always seems to be a group of women near your desk," Fraser said with a slightly baffled expression.

Ray chuckled. "Yeah, whenever you find time to show up, there is. A group of women who, oddly enough, don't hang out around my desk when you're not there. That's how come I know what would happen."

Fraser flushed a little. "Ah. I hadn't realized. I thought . . . " he trailed off, and reached out to settle a hand on Ray's shoulder, his thumb stroking the side of Ray's throat above the collar of his t-shirt. "I can't imagine why they wouldn't hang around there to begin with, though where I'm concerned I would have thought they would know better."

Ray leaned into his hand. "Some of them do. But you know, some just think the love of a good woman is all you need to return from the dark side of the force."

Fraser laughed. "I prefer the good man I have."

"Lucky me," Ray said, grinning. "Come on. Let's go clean up the living room and go to bed."

Fraser took a step toward the living room, then stopped with a sigh, his shoulders slumped. "Clean up," he said dully.

Ray got it. "Shit. We still have to give Diefenbaker a bath. And he's going to be pissed that we left him in the garage all this time."

"Did we save him any pizza?" Fraser asked.

Ray groaned. "We're in trouble now. Wait. . . I got it. We order another one now, tell him he doesn't get any until after his bath so he behaves, and by the time we're done, it'll be here."

"That works. You place the order and I'll get him into the bathroom."

* * *

Ray made his way downstairs the next morning to start the coffee, letting Fraser have first dibs on the bathroom. He was surprised to find Michael already up, dressed, and sitting bolt upright on the couch like he was at attention. Dief was up too, sitting at Michael's feet with his chin resting on his knee, gazing up at him adoringly. Michael was rubbing Dief's ears absently, which kind of spoiled the effect of the rigid posture. As soon as he saw Ray, Michael shot to his feet, his face a study in embarrassment and regret.

"I must apologize for my behavior last night, sir. I'm a dis. . . "

Ray waved a hand. "Can it, okay? It's nice for the guest room to get some use now and then."

Michael deflated a little, and raked a hand through his hair, pushing it back behind his shoulder. "I. . . I'm still sorry. I don't drink often, and it hit me harder than I thought it would."

"I kind of got that," Ray said with a commiserating smile. "Plus that stuff packs more punch than your average Molson's, so that didn't help. You feeling okay? You need some coffee?"

"I'd love some, sir."

"It'll be about five minutes." Ray led him into the kitchen and got out the bag of coffee. "And I'm not a sir. Sir is my boss, okay? I'm just Ray. Or Kowalski. I answer to either, it's up to you. But I'm going to keep calling you Michael, because Tselihye does not roll off my lips with ease."

"That's fine. . . Ray," he said tentatively. He fidgeted with his tunic sleeve for a moment, a faint wash of color across his cheeks. "So, ah, who put me to bed?"

"We both did," Ray said. "You were pretty out of things." He pulled the used filter with its load of damp grounds out of the coffee-maker and put it in the trash, stuck in a new filter, and shook some fresh grounds into it.

"Thanks." Michael rubbed at the back of his neck, and shot Ray a rueful glance. "God, this is so embarrassing. I really wanted to make a good impression."

Ray chuckled. "Don't worry about it; you made a great impression. You know everybody Fraser knew back home. He loved catching up."

"And then I got drunk and fell asleep," Michael said disgustedly.

"Let you in on a secret?" Ray said confidentially as he filled the carafe with water and poured it into the reservoir in the machine, then flipped the switch and set the carafe under the drip spout. "Fraser told me a long time ago that the reason he doesn't drink is because it puts him right to sleep. So I think he's probably been where you are."

"He wasn't mad about it?"

"Mad? You know, he doesn't really do mad. Well, unless you off a member of his family or pollute the environment. Then he gets pissed. But aside from that, pretty much the worst you get is peeved. And no, he wasn't peeved either."

"Huh," Michael said thoughtfully, looking relieved. "That's good. So he went home, eh?"

Ray glanced at the ceiling. "You could say that."

"I was surprised he left his wolf."

"The wolf lives here."

"He does?" Consternation was written on the younger man's face. "I thought he belonged to Corporal Fraser."

Ray grinned. "Fraser would say that as a wild animal he belongs only to himself, but between you and me, I don't think he qualifies for the wildlife designation any more."

Dief barked sharply.

"Yeah, yeah. You know, for someone who's supposedly deaf you sure manage to overhear a lot." Ray said, stooping to pick up Dief's dish. "Hand me the bag of chow from under the sink, okay?"

Michael opened the cabinet and leaned over to get out the bag, and Ray sort of incidentally observed that he could give Fraser a run for his money in the rear-view category as well as the front view. Not that he noticed things like that. After Michael straightened up and handed him the bag, he rubbed his forehead, wincing a little.

"Headache?" Ray asked sympathetically.

Michael nodded. "Yeah."

Ray put the chow down for a moment and got out a glass, handing it to him. "There's aspirin, acetaminophen, and ibuprofen in the medicine chest in the bathroom. Take your pick. And drink some water."

Yes, si. . . Ray."

He disappeared down the hall, and Ray finished dishing up Dief's breakfast, then got out three mugs for coffee. A few moments later Michael was back, a half-full glass of water in one hand.

"I think you left the water running upstairs," he said. "I could hear it in the bathroom."
Ray decided it was time to stop confusing the poor kid. "That's Fraser. He's in the shower."

"Oh." Michael processed that. "Well, that would explain the wolf, then."

"Yes, it would."

"And the decor." He looked past Ray toward the living room, which held a lot of the stuff he had picked up on the Quest: a couple of masks, a bark chest, a Haida button-blanket, some carvings.

"Actually, most of that's mine. Fraser's not big on 'stuff,' you know. For the first year I knew him, he was living in his office at the Consulate, so this place is a big step up."

Michael nodded. "Yeah. It must be hard to make ends meet, what with the exchange rate."

Ray shrugged, willing to let the other man believe what he wanted. It was what most people thought anyway, those that didn't know how much a pound of cheese weighed on Pluto, at any rate. "Coffee's ready," he said, pulling out the pot to fill his own mug, then handing the pot over to Michael. "There's milk in the fridge if you take it."

"Thanks." Michael filled his own mug halfway, then opened the refrigerator, got out the milk and poured a generous amount into his coffee. At Ray's expression, he grinned. "Grandmother always says our family likes a little coffee with our warm milk."

"Remind me to show you where the Starbucks is near campus when we drop you off," Ray said drily.

Michael chuckled and raised his cup in salute, then settled in against the counter to drink. After a moment he glanced down at Dief. "What's with him? He keeps staring at me."

Ray looked down at Dief, who'd finished breakfast and was now sitting at Michael's feet staring at him raptly. He shrugged. "You never know with him. Maybe your shoes smell like sled dogs, or caribou. Usually it means he likes you, though, unless he's growling, which he's not, so I think liking is a safe bet."

"That's good." Michael leaned down, grabbed Dief's ruff and shook it, grinning. "I like him too."

Dief reared up and licked him right on the mouth. Michael grimaced and straightened back up fast, wiping his hand across his face.

Ray laughed. "Hey, I have to get ready for work, if you're hungry there's some cold pizza from last night, some fruit in the drawer, a couple of bagels. Help yourself to anything in the fridge."

Michael looked at him, one corner of his mouth curving up. "What, no seal? No muktuk?"

"You know, we just finished off the muktuk last week. Too bad we didn't know you were coming to stay or we'd've saved you some," Ray said, grinning.

Michael snorted and grinned back. Ray poured coffee for Fraser, and headed upstairs with both mugs. The bathroom was empty when he got upstairs, and their bedroom door closed, so he thunked his head against the door to get Fraser's attention since both of his hands were full. When the door opened, revealing a half-dressed Fraser, Ray grinned and held out Fraser's mug. "Coffee?"

Fraser accepted the cup. "Thank you. Is our guest awake?"

"Awake, dressed, slightly hung-over, and very embarrassed. Be prepared for major apologies."

Fraser smiled over the rim of his cup and nodded. "Thanks for the warning," he said after swallowing. "He's a likeable sort."

That was marginally better than 'I like him,' Ray decided. He shrugged non-committally. "He's cool. Plus Dief likes him," he said, figuring that would get a snide comment.

"Dief has excellent taste," Fraser said.

Ray almost choked on his coffee and tried not to stare. That had to be the first time Fraser had ever acknowledged that Dief's opinion was good for much of anything. For some reason that bothered him. He shook it off. "Hey, I'm going to go shave and get dressed, and then we can head out. We'll drop Michael off at the university on the way."

Fraser nodded, then pulled an undershirt over his head. "Ray?" he asked, face momentarily hidden.

Ray paused in the doorway, looking back. Fraser's voice sounded a little funny. "Yeah?"

Fraser finished pulling his shirt on, and his face was composed and calm, his voice back to normal. "Nothing, never mind."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure," Fraser said, tucking in his shirt and fastening his pants.

Ray waited for a moment, then shrugged and headed for the bathroom, stifling a sigh. Whatever was bugging Fraser, he'd talk about it when he was good and ready and no sooner. Either that or he wouldn't ever talk about it at all. That was one of the few not-so-great aspects of what he had with Fraser, but one Ray knew wasn't going to be changing any time soon. If he'd learned nothing else from his years with Stella, it was that you never went into a relationship figuring on changing the other person. They'd both made that mistake. He slathered his face with shaving cream, pondering the strange but true fact that being in love with someone didn't always stop you from wanting to strangle them.

* * *

It was after midnight when Ray pulled into the garage and parked, setting the brake and rubbing the back of his head as he yawned. He'd called Fraser a little after four to let him know he couldn't pick him up because he had a breaking case he wanted to stick with. Fraser had sighed, admitting that he wished he could be there. The frustration in his voice was clear as he said it. Since there was a civilian in Thatcher's place now, Fraser was in charge of security at the Consulate, which meant he couldn't go haring off on CPD cases whenever Ray wanted him to.

About the only time he got to do any of the 'fun stuff' these days was if the case had some kind of Canadian connection they could use as an excuse. It had been easier before the promotion. They both missed their partnership on the job, even if off the job it was better than ever. Ray tried not to be petty about it. It wasn't Fraser's fault.

He pulled his keys from the ignition and got out of the car, noticing as he went to close the garage door that not only was the porch light on, but there were lights on inside the house as well. He grinned. Fraser had waited up. Usually he didn't, since there was no way of knowing when Ray would get home, and Fraser was an early-to-bed-early-to-rise type under normal circumstances. Except that it was Friday night and they didn't have to work in the morning. Which meant they could stay up half the night, and then sleep in. And then stay in bed all day.

The fatigue that had been dragging at him lifted, and anticipation hurried his pulse and his steps. Pushing the door open, Ray stepped into the house and heard voices.

"Does Henry Clyde still have that stuffed seal with the caribou antler sewn onto it that he tries to convince visiting scientists is a new species of narwhal?" Fraser was asking, his voice holding that husky sound it got when he'd been laughing a lot. Or was . . . turned on.

A snort of laughter answered the question. "Of course. Hasn't worked on any of the scientists but he's gotten quite a few tourists going over the years. Just last summer some guy offered him forty thousand, American, for it."

Fraser laughed too. Ray slipped his keys into his pocket, closed the door quietly behind himself and took off his jacket, hanging it on one of the hooks by the door. Took a breath and shook himself a little, trying to get into 'company' mode, and walked around the corner into the living room.

"Heya," he said casually.

Fraser and Michael looked up, both still smiling. They were both on the couch, and they were sitting pretty close. Dief was there too, sleeping with his chin on Michael's thigh, making it a cozy little trio. He normally did that with Ray. Drooled on his pants usually. He glanced at Michael's jeans, trying to see if there was a spot there, but they were black and he couldn't tell. But he could tell that Michael's black-jeaned thigh was right up against Fraser's blue-jeaned one. He resisted the urge to curl his fingers into fists.

"Hey, Ray!" Michael said, waving at him with a long-necked brown bottle in his hand. Ray glanced at the label, and was relieved to see it was a vanilla creme soda, not a beer. At least they wouldn't have to put him to bed again tonight.

"Hi, Michael. Benton." He studied Fraser for a moment. He looked relaxed and happy, and strangely younger. Swallowing hard, Ray rubbed at his jaw. "What's up?"

"Corporal Fraser's been keeping me entertained," Michael said, darting a glance at Fraser.

"Please," Fraser said. "I thought we agreed that if you can't bring yourself to call me Benton, you would at least drop the 'corporal' unless we're on duty."

Michael ducked his head, nodding, a faint flush on his face. "Right. Sorry. Anyway, only a few people have come in for the seminar yet, so it was pretty boring at the dorm. Fraser showed me around downtown, all the historical places. We went up the Sears Tower. I think if it wasn't so polluted you could probably see home from up there."

"That's a slight exaggeration," Fraser said with a smile.

Ray couldn't remember the last time Fraser had taken anyone sight-seeing. Fraser hated sight-seeing. "You guys have dinner?"

Fraser sat forward, looking concerned. "Yes, I made spaghetti. Didn't you eat?"

Ray shook his head. "Nah, I was busy. Is there any left?"

"In the refrigerator," Fraser said, pushing to his feet. "You look tired, sit down, I'll warm some up for you."

Ray waved a hand. "Thanks, but I'm fine, I can get it."

Fraser stood indecisively for a moment, then he sat back down. "All right."

Ray was momentarily surprised that Fraser would give up so easily, then he figured Fraser must've remembered that he didn't like being fussed over.

After a moment, he looked up at Ray again, as if surprised he was still standing there. "Join us?"

"Sure. Back in a few."

He went into the kitchen, threw some pasta and sauce on a plate and put it in the microwave to heat. Tearing a hunk of bread from the baguette on the counter, he ate it while he waited for the microwave to do its thing. The fatigue that had lifted earlier returned and he yawned again, debating whether or not to make some coffee so he could stay up with Fraser and Michael, who both looked pretty fresh for it being as late as it was. What he mostly wanted to do was eat and then fall into bed and sleep for at least twelve hours, but it was pretty rare to have company so he also wanted to stay up. At least he had himself mostly convinced that was why, anyway. The microwave beeped and he pulled out his plate, grabbed a fork, and took his dinner out to the living room.

Fraser looked up as he came in. "How did it go today?"

Appetite instantly gone, Ray put his plate down on the coffee table and sighed. "You don't want to know."

Fraser lifted his eyebrows. "What happened?"

"Remember the Eaton case I told you about? Burglary and assault?" At Fraser's nod of recognition, he went on. "We caught a break from a snitch who said this Keeley guy was pawning stuff and bragging about how he got it by smacking around some old lady. We checked out the stuff at the shop and it matched up, so we thought we had the guy and brought him in, but Mrs. Eaton couldn't pick him out of a lineup." He sighed. "More like wouldn't. I think she's scared that if she ID's him, his buddies will show up and pick up where he left off. And since that's entirely possible, it's not like I can reassure her on that score. We tried to find the snitch to get a statement from him about what Keeley told him, but he's gone to ground. Finally Keeley's lawyer showed up and we had to cut him loose."

Fraser was silent for a moment, then he spoke. "What about the pawned items?"

"He says he found them in a dumpster and we got no way to prove he didn't." Suddenly not feeling at all like socializing, Ray stood up. "Hey, I'm not really hungry after all. You can give that to Dief if he wants it. I'm going to go wash off the day and go to bed. 'Night."

Fraser was up instantly, following him to the stairs. "Ray? Are you all right?" he asked quietly, his hand on Ray's arm.

Ray pulled a smile out of somewhere. "Yeah, Benton. You know what it's like. Sometimes you just need to turn your brain off." He put a foot on the bottom stair, then stopped and dug a hand in his pocket, pulling out his keys. "Here. You can use my car to take Michael back to the university later if you want, it eats less gas than the Scout."

Fraser stared down at the keys, and cleared his throat. "I, ah. . ."

Ray looked past Fraser to the living room, where Michael was sitting and looking at the scrapbook from the quest. And he knew. And something kind of tightened inside him. "Oh. Okay. Never mind." He cleared his own throat. "All weekend?"

"If it's all right," Fraser said, looking a little anxious.

Ray told himself he was being stupid. It'd been over a year since Fraser had been home, and Michael was sort of like a short-term homesickness cure. He couldn't grudge Fraser that. "No problem." He put his keys back in his pocket. "Night."

"Good night, Ray, and thank you," Fraser said softly, squeezing Ray's arm a little before letting his hand fall. He smiled, and the smile was real and his eyes were warm.

Ray smiled back. "Anytime."

Trudging up the stairs, he decided that maybe it was time for them to plan a vacation up North. He showered quickly, wishing he could wash the frustrations of the day off as easily as he could the dirt. After brushing his teeth he headed for their bedroom and then stopped in the doorway, suddenly wondering if it would be better if he went and slept in the other bedroom. The bedroom that he'd only slept in three times since they'd moved into the house, all three times when one of them had been sick. That had been voluntary, though, to keep from spreading germs. If he did this, it would be like. . . hiding. And while they'd never flaunted their relationship, they'd never hidden it either.

He stood there for a few seconds longer, and then shook his head. "Fuck that shit," he muttered, getting into bed and switching off the light.

* * *

Ray woke to the familiar weight of Fraser's arm around his waist, Fraser's thigh across his own and the warmth of Fraser's chest and belly along his back. Not to mention the unmistakable shape of a hard-on against his ass. He smiled. Waking up to a horny Fraser was always good. He shifted a little against Fraser's cock. Fraser's hand flexed across his stomach, and he made a little sound in his throat, rubbing his nose against the back of Ray's neck.

"Morning," Fraser said, and then he used his tongue on Ray's neck instead of his nose.

"Yeah," Ray agreed. "That's nice." He pushed back against Fraser's erection encouragingly. "Real nice."

Fraser ran a hand down his side, letting it rest on his hip, fingers stroking slightly. "Mmmm," he said. "Do you want. . ." He stopped suddenly, tensing. "Ah, never mind."

Ray turned his head, trying to see Fraser's face. "Never mind?" he asked. "Never mind what?"

"I. . . momentarily forgot that we have a guest."

"What, you worried about the bed squeaking or something? Or the part where I make you scream when you come?" Ray teased.

Fraser avoided his gaze. "No, of course not," he said, not sounding at all certain about that. "I just feel a little. . . awkward."

"I don't think we're the first people ever to want to have sex when they have guests, Fraser. And I'd be willing to bet, not with money of course since that would be illegal, but I'd be willing to bet that your junior Mountie down there is not a blushing virgin."

"Ray!"

"I'm just saying," Ray said crabbily, getting the distinct feeling that this was going to be a no-sex weekend. Not his favorite thing by a long shot. "And you know, next time you decide you want to invite someone to stay over, you might want to run it by me in private first. Now I know why my mom always got pissed at me when I brought my friends over and they were standing right there next to me when I asked if they could sleep over or stay for dinner or whatever. It kind of puts you in a bind."

Fraser pulled away and sat up, looking over at the window, his jaw set. "If you didn't want Constable Tselihye to spend the weekend you could simply have said so."

"No, I couldn't have, not with him sitting right there, probably listening to every word. It's not like we live in a mansion you know, he was six feet away. If I'd said no, it would've made me look like a jerk. And maybe I am a jerk but it's always nice to pretend otherwise in public. It's just. . . bad manners. You don't do it. Okay?"

"It won't happen again," Fraser said tightly. "I'll take him back to the dormitory after breakfast."

Ray flopped onto this back with an exasperated sigh, staring at the ceiling. "Damn it, Benton. No. You won't. He can stay. I already said he could. It's just for next time, okay?"

"Fine," Fraser said, and he got up. "I'm going to take a shower."

"You do that," Ray said, deliberately not watching Fraser grab his robe and head for the bathroom. Goddamned stubborn man. Would it kill him to admit he was wrong, just once in a blue moon? He lay there fuming with righteous indignation, but as he heard the shower start, the emotion began to fade, and he was left with an odd sort of empty feeling. He rubbed at his rib cage. Hungry. He was hungry. Yeah. That was it. He wasn't bothered by the argument. They had dumb arguments all the time. It would pass. No problem. He was just hungry.

For a second or two he thought about going and joining Fraser in the shower. Maybe seeing if he really could make him scream. Ray was starting to think it might not be a bad thing if Michael overheard them. He hadn't gotten any sense that Michael was interested, exactly, but frankly there was something weird about a twenty-something guy wanting to hang out so much with a guy nearly twice his age. Kind of a creepy 'who's your daddy' thing. Ray almost laughed at himself when he realized that what he was thinking pretty much amounted to marking territory, if a little more subtly than Dief might.

He got out of bed, pulled on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans and headed downstairs. The guest room door was still closed, and Dief was camped out in front of it. There was no sign of Michael yet. Ray went into the kitchen, started the coffee, got Dief's breakfast ready and set the dish on the floor. Like he'd figured, the wolf abandoned his post as soon as he smelled the food. Ray glared at him as he shoved his nose into his dish and started to eat.

"Traitor."

Dief didn't look up from his dish.

"He's up to something." Ray said. "Why else would he be hanging around with Fraser?" At that, Dief did look up at him, his eyes amused, and Ray thought about that for a second. "Okay, that didn't come out right. I mean there's lots of reasons someone would want to hang with Fraser, not all of which are kosher."

Dief returned to eating. Ray watched him. "What do you think? You think he's okay? You hanging out in front of his door because you like him or because he needs watching?"

"Ray? Fraser?" Michael's voice came hesitantly from the living room.

Ray hoped like hell he hadn't been listening. "In the kitchen," he called out.

Michael came in, and Ray was glad Fraser wasn't here to see him, barefoot in sweatpants and an a-shirt, his athletic build and smooth skin making Ray feel every year of his age and then some. No, Fraser definitely did not need to see that.

"I thought you were talking to someone," Michael said, looking around sleepily.

"Just me talking to Dief," Ray confessed. "It's contagious, so watch out or you'll be doing it too."

Michael chuckled. "I'll keep that in mind."

Ray grinned back, despite himself. He couldn't quite figure out why he couldn't not like the guy. He really wanted to not like him, but he couldn't. There was just something about him that was. . . likeable. At least when Fraser wasn't in the room. "You and Fraser plan anything for today?" Ray asked.

"Not really. He said we should wait and talk about it this morning. I told him I'd like to take you guys out to dinner, but he said I should conserve my advance to make sure it lasts the whole six weeks."

"He's probably right. I know how low you guys' per diems are."

"Maybe I could cook for you?" Michael offered suddenly. "A trip to the market wouldn't cost very much, right?"

"You cook?"

Michael grinned. "Anaanatsiaq made sure I could cook. She says that a man who can't cook is a danger to himself and others."

"Who?" Ray asked, knowing the word had to be Inuktitut but not recognizing it from his meager vocabulary.

"His grandmother," Fraser said from the doorway. "Maternal grandmother, to be precise. That would be. . . Emma Tselihye, yes?" he asked.

Oh great, Ray thought. Obviously he'd missed the memo that dress of the day was a white a-shirt and gray sweatpants. The shirt showed off Fraser's great shoulders, still-narrow waist, and all that amazing pale, silky skin. The sweatpants clung to his rounded ass like Ray's hands wanted to. Jeez. Like he wanted Michael seeing Fraser like that.

Michael nodded. "Yes. You knew her, right?"

"I did. Actually, I knew several members of your family fairly . . . well," Fraser said with a strange hesitation, lifting a hand to rub at his right shoulder just below the collarbone.

Michael's gaze followed his hand, and he cleared his throat. "Angak Joseph told me once he wished he hadn't done that," he said, with a nod toward Fraser's hand. "He was sorry for it later. He said he didn't think about the teeth when he did it. He just thought it would be funny."

Fraser let his hand fall. "Joe was your uncle?" he asked, frowning slightly.

Another nod from Michael. "Yes." He was looking at Fraser with an oddly watchful expression.

Fraser nodded thoughtfully. "Ah. Well, in any case, it was a long time ago. When you see him again, please reassure him that there are no hard feelings on my part, and I hope there are none on his."

"Aniattunik?" Michael asked, smiling a little.

"Aniattunik," Fraser said firmly.

Ray was starting to feel a little left out. "Anyone hungry?" he asked.

"Yes," Michael said, without hesitation, then he smiled disarmingly. "Of course, I always am. So can we go to the market today so I can cook tonight?"

Ray looked over at Fraser, who nodded. "Certainly. That seems to be a good solution to your dilemma."

"Good. It only seems right since you're being generous and sharing so much with me. I hadn't expected anything like this." He waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the living room, and beyond it, the guest room.

"Well, hey, you're almost family," Ray said. "Are scrambled eggs okay with everyone? We've got ham and onions and red pepper I can throw in."

"Sounds great!" Michael said enthusiastically.

Dief yipped his approval, making it clear he expected to be in on the end result, and Fraser shook his head, rolling his eyes in exasperation. Ray gave him the 'he's your wolf' look, and grinned as he headed to the refrigerator to get out ingredients. Some things never changed.

* * *

Fraser settled into the seat next to him and fastened his seat belt, his gaze still trained on Michael as he walked toward the dorm. Ray was amused to see three different chicks stop and do double-takes as Michael passed them. Must be something in the water up north. After a moment, Fraser sighed, and rolled his head as if his shoulders were tense.

"You want to go home?" Ray asked.

"Very much so," Fraser said, tight-voiced. "It's been a long time, and this weekend just served to remind me of that fact."

Fraser was obviously answering a different question than Ray had asked. Already a little off-balance, the answer only made him more so. It had been a long time since Fraser had called the Territories 'home.' Well. He shouldn't make too much of it. It was understandable, really. Completely. He would probably always think of them as home, no matter what. Right. He cleared his throat. "Guess we'd better start doing some planning, then. In the meantime, did you have anything you need to do while we're out running around, or should we head back to the house?"

Fraser finally turned and looked at him, and Ray saw comprehension in his eyes. "Ah. I'm sorry, I mistook your meaning. Home, certainly."

Ray nodded and started the engine. "No problem. I could use a vacation myself. Maybe we can get out the maps and start coordinating dates."

Fraser nodded. "I'd like that."

They drove in silence for a while, then Fraser cleared his throat.

"I. . . ah, believe I owe you an apology. I hadn't realized how disruptive it would be to have Michael stay the entire weekend when I suggested it."

Ray suppressed the urge to drawl 'gee, ya think?' Admissions of fallibility were scarce on the ground around Benton Fraser, and he'd learned not to take them for granted.

"I suppose I let my enthusiasm get the best of me."

That one he couldn't resist. "You? Get over-enthusiastic? Never."

Fraser gave him a rueful smile. "Sorry."

Ray shook his head. "It's okay. He's not so bad, and at least he cooks. And hey, it could've been worse," he mused, remembering some of the people they'd met up north. "It could've been Albert Nahanni and his entire extended family."

"Oh, didn't I tell you? They're coming next week," Fraser said, eyes widening innocently.

For a tenth of a second Ray almost bought it, but then he snorted. "Yeah, right. You are so full of shit."

"Not entirely," Fraser said. "My eyes aren't brown, after all."

Ray laughed, recognizing the line from one of Huey and Dewey's lamer jokes. "Yeah, you're a quart low. Better get more fiber in your diet." He started to relax finally. Things were back to normal. Thank God that the damned seminar was only six weeks long. With any luck, either homework or some of those women he'd seen ogling Michael would keep him occupied for the next five weekends.

Once home they cleaned up the dinner dishes, and sat down in the living room, Fraser with a book, and Ray with the television. It wasn't hockey season so he clicked around until he found something vaguely interesting on the SciFi Channel and settled in to watch. After a while he became aware that although Fraser held his book and looked at it as if he were reading, he hadn't turned a page in at least half an hour. He muted the television and cleared his throat.

"What's up?"

Fraser looked up at him blankly. "Excuse me?"

"Something wrong with the book, or is it just in Middle Slovenian and you have to translate every word?"

Fraser looked at his book, seemed to register it for the first time, and then closed it on his bookmark. "No, nothing's wrong with the book," he said quietly. "I'm just. . . " He shrugged, weirdly at a loss for words. "I don't know. Unsettled."

"In what way?"

Fraser rubbed his eyebrow. "It's hard to explain. I'm not really even sure I know."

"It's probably just that we had company for two days. You're not used to it. Makes you feel all stressed."

A slight frown marred Fraser's forehead. "No, it didn't make me feel stressed. Why on earth should it have?"

Maybe because they never had company, so that in itself was a change in their routine, which was stressful. Should be, anyway. Especially for Fraser, who liked things just so. Not to say he was boring, or in a rut, but . . . oh hell. It just was stressful. Ray thought about the fact that Fraser hadn't found it stressful. Didn't like the conclusions he was jumping to. It was tempting to yell, but that rarely got anywhere with Fraser, so he didn't. "Hunh. I, uh, felt a little stressed, myself."

Fraser nodded. "I realize that. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put you in an awkward position. I just felt a . . . connection, I suppose, to a time in my life that was better. Well, no, not better, but less complicated, I suppose."

Ray stared at his hands. Nice catch there, Benton, he thought. "How old were you? I mean, when you lived where he's from."

"Well, we moved around a lot, so I wasn't a permanent member of the community, but I first met the Tselihyes when I was ten. We'd just moved to Tuktoyuktuk from Fort Nelson. I'm afraid I wasn't particularly happy about moving and wasn't making much effort to adjust, and of course as the 'new kid' I'd have come in for some teasing in any case. Though in retrospect, I suppose it's only fair to admit that Joseph's otter attack was not. . . entirely unprovoked."

Ray stared at him, suddenly realizing what Fraser was referring to. "Michael's uncle was that guy? The bully with the dead otter guy?" Fraser once explained to Ray that the scar on his shoulder had come from being smacked with a dead otter, but he'd said it was bullying. Now he was saying it wasn't?

Fraser nodded, looking embarrassed. "I'm not saying he wasn't a bully. He was. No one liked him. But in that particular instance he may have had some justification for irritation."

"Oh. Hunh. So what exactly did you do to him?"

"I didn't do anything to him, personally. However, I . . . ah. . . painted the ends of his sister's hair with red nail polish."

Ray burst out laughing. "You what? No, no, I got it. Nail polish? Where the hell did you get that? And don't tell me your grandma wore red nail polish because I won't believe it."

"No, I found it, in Fort Nelson, one of the older girls there must have dropped it, and I picked it up thinking I could use it to paint model kits, but sadly it had a tendency to dissolve the plastic. I'd had it for months by the time I decided to see what it did to hair."

"Oh." Ray shook his head. "And you painted her hair red why? You always had a secret urge to be a beautician?"

Fraser looked at him, one corner of his mouth lifting in an uneven, endearing smile, his gaze amused and rueful. "I liked her."

"You liked. . ." Oh. Ray started to laugh again, softly, shaking his head. "You really are something, aren't you? What, you didn't have any ink handy? Please tell me she didn't have pigtails."

"Oh, no, she wore her hair in a braid. One long braid down the middle of her back. It hung over the back of her seat in class, and she sat directly in front of me, and I was in the back row, since seat assignments had been made before I arrived and the teacher didn't want to move everyone. She was two years older than me, but in the same grade. She had trouble with math. I already knew the lesson being covered, and was a little. . . bored. And since there was no acetone to be had anywhere in Tuk until the thaw, they had to cut off the bottom inch or so of her braid to get rid of it."

Ray winced. "What was her name?" he asked softly, encouraging the rare glimpse into Fraser's history. Usually he only got metaphorical stories.

"Rachel. Her name was Rachel." Fraser's gaze was distant, fixed on the past.

"Did she . . . like you back?" Ray asked, barely breathing.

"Not then, no," Fraser said wryly.

Ray started to smile, and then the emphasis sank in. "Not then. But sometime?"

"Yes," Fraser said, looking at him obliquely. "Several years later."

Whoa. Ray knew him well enough to understand what he was being told. "Was she your first?"

"My first woman," Fraser said, his voice deceptively uninflected.

First . . . Ray tried to decipher that. Got it. Christ. They had never talked about this before. Not in all the time they'd been together. Fraser knew that Stella was his first, though not his only, but Ray had never wanted to ask, worried about bringing up memories of the black-hearted bitch who'd tried to ruin his life. Apparently of the 'don't-kiss-and-tell' school, Fraser hadn't offered any information, and he'd never asked. It was almost shocking now.

"What happened?"

Fraser smiled. "We had a good time."

Ray rolled his eyes. "That's not what I meant."

That sent Fraser's eyebrows up. "Are you asking for details?"

Ray punched his arm. "No! I meant. . . how come you . . . well, I mean, how come it didn't work out?"

"Ah." He looked thoughtful. "It never was something that would work out, really. We were just playing. In pre-contact Inuit culture, young adults were allowed what to western eyes would seem a rather surprising degree of freedom for sexual experimentation. Of course, in more westernized families that's now discouraged, but the Tselihyes were traditionalists. Her mother was a bit of an activist that way. And I've always been taught to respect other cultures. In addition to that, I was seventeen." He smiled, his gaze clearly communicating the fact that no adolescent male was going to turn down no-strings sex. "In any case, even had we been serious, the Tselihyes would never have given one of their daughters to someone they felt couldn't properly provide for her."

"How'd they know you couldn't have provided for her?" Ray asked indignantly.

"Well, for a man my age, I was by their standards a woefully inadequate hunter. They didn't really differentiate between ability to hunt and desire to do so. Also, I was already planning to join the RCMP, which meant I would be away a great deal, and subject to relocation without regard to family preferences. And to top it all off, I was qallunaaq."

That word Ray knew. "White boys need not apply?"

Fraser shrugged. "Essentially. But honestly, neither of us had any illusions of permanence. We were just experimenting."

Ray nodded, trying to wrap his brain around that. With him and Stella it had always, always, been heading for permanence. It was hard for him to imagine that Benton Fraser, proper Scottish Canadian that he was, wouldn't have been the same way. "What'd your grandparents think of that?"

Fraser colored and cleared his throat. "I have absolutely no idea."

Ray laughed. "It was like that, hunh?"

"As you're fond of saying, I may be crazy, but I'm not stupid," Fraser said with a faint smile.

"No, that's for damned sure," Ray agreed.

"In any case, not long after that, the Tselihyes moved to Aklavik, and then my grandparents decided to relocate near Whitehorse to be closer to a wider array of health services, so there was no opportunity to do more even had we wanted to. Which we didn't."

"Right. Got that," Ray said. "You know, it kind of sounds like you've got a nostalgia thing going."

"Perhaps a little," Fraser conceded, and then he frowned and shook his head. "Really, I'm not quite sure what it is. I just feel like. . . I know him."

Ray just hoped like hell it wasn't a mid-life crisis. The timing was about right, and though Fraser wasn't the type to run out and buy a convertible, there was a much easier and cheaper way to kick over the traces. At least the competition would be busy for the next week. That would give him some breathing room. And now he was wondering about Fraser's other first time. Had the otter-swinging Joseph decided to make it up to him? Was that why his nephew was setting off alarms for Fraser?

Or was it worse than that? Was remembering what it had been like with a woman making Fraser realize that it wasn't like that with Ray, and never could be? Damn it. He shouldn't think about that. They'd both had their eyes open. He'd known that neither of them had come into this thing without previous experience, but it had never mattered before.

* * *

Ray had been grilling a suspect in Interview 3 for two hours when the guy's lawyer decided that he'd had enough and called it off. Frustrated, Ray went to get a drink of water and something from the vending machine. He was standing in front of the machine, debating between the Twinkies he really wanted and the apple he should probably have, when it hit him that there were no women in the break room. And there hadn't been any in the hall, come to think of it. Forgetting about his snack, he turned and went to the door to look at his desk. Sure enough, there was a group of women circling it like sharks. Shaking his head, he headed over to disperse the crowd.

"Okay, nothing to see here, move along, move along," he said, making shooing motions with his hands.

As the gathering began to thin, he saw the expected flash of red. Fraser was sitting in the visitor chair next to Ray's desk like he always did. And . . . hell. Right next to him, in a chair pulled over from another desk, was Michael. What was he doing here? Ray quickly smoothed out his frown as Fraser looked up and smiled.

"Hi, Ray."

"Fraser. Michael," he acknowledged. "What's up?"

"It turns out that the seminar adjourns daily at three-thirty, so Michael came by the consulate to say hello. I thought he might enjoy seeing the 27th and getting a feel for American police work."

Uh hunh. So long as that was all he was getting a feel of. "Oh. So you showed him around?"

"I hadn't had time to do a tour, but he's met the lieutenant, and several of the detectives."

"And several of the uniforms, and the civilian aide, and all the file clerks from upstairs, I notice," Ray said with a 'what did I tell you?' glance at Fraser.

Fraser's lips twitched and he cleared his throat. "Yes, well, it was kind of everyone to make Michael feel so welcome."

"Yeah, we're a regular welcome wagon here at the 27th," Ray said dryly. He was about to say more when his phone rang. He moved around behind his desk and grabbed it.

"Kowalski."

"Detective Kowalski, may I speak with Corporal Fraser, assuming he's there? His cellular phone must be out of range," Amrit Chopra said tersely, sounding downright cranky.

"Sure." Ray made a face and held the handset out to Fraser with his palm over the receiver. "It's your boss. Did you forget your permission slip for this little field trip?"

Fraser frowned and shook his head, but reached for the phone. "Sir? Is there a prob. . . ah. Yes. Yes, certainly. Of course." He glanced up at the clock. "Ten minutes. Yes, sir." He handed the phone back to Ray and stood up. "I have to go. We just received notice that the Armenian Ambassador has had a change of schedule and we have to rework the security arrangements before the reception tonight." He looked regretfully at Michael. "I'm sorry, Michael, I'm afraid we'll have to put this off until some other time."

Ray had a sudden vision of Michael tagging along to the consulate with Fraser, working together with him on the security arrangements, sitting close together as they looked at diagrams and maps and schedules with all that hair trailing over Fraser's arm when Michael leaned forward. . . "Why don't you leave Michael with me?" he blurted. When they both looked at him curiously, he scrambled for a reason. "I, ah, can give him a tour, right? He can't leave without meeting Mort. Then maybe we could do a sort of ride-along. See what's shaking out on the mean streets." Okay, that sounded lame even to him.

Fraser frowned faintly. "I couldn't ask you to take time away from your work," he began.

"It's not a problem," Ray said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I was done anyway. They made me let the guy I was talking to go back to his cell. His lawyer said being stuck in a room with me for two hours was cruel and unusual." He winked, and Michael laughed. Apparently he knew enough about American law, or had watched enough American TV, to recognize the wording.

"Well, if you're sure," Fraser said, still sounding unconvinced.

"I'm sure."

Fraser looked at Michael. "What would you prefer?"

Michael looked around the room, then back, and gave Ray a big grin. "I'd like to stay."

"Oh." Fraser seemed a little taken aback by that. "Well, then. I suppose I'll just. . . go."

Ray nodded. So did Michael. Fraser headed for the door, paused when he got there, looking back at them with a slight frown, then he turned and left the room. Ray turned back to Michael.

"Come on, we'll start in the basement, I'll show you where the bodies are buried, so to speak. Just don't expect me to actually be in the same room with one, okay?"

Michael looked a little confused, but he nodded as he got to his feet. "Sure. Whatever you say."

Ray led the way, trying not to think about how Fraser had hesitated before going. Like he hadn't wanted to leave Michael behind. Fuck. This was bad. Really bad. How the hell was he supposed to keep Michael away from Fraser if he got out of class at three-thirty every day, an hour and a half before Ray got off work? He wondered if he could get away with coming in early and leaving early for a month and a half. The only problem with that was he'd probably have to run it by Welsh. Which meant that he would have to explain why, and he'd be damned if he was going to do that.

"Hey, Ray?"

Ray glanced back, saw Michael looking at him curiously. "Yeah?"

"How far back do you and Fraser go?"

Despite himself, Ray smiled. "Four years." And it would keep going a lot longer if Ray had anything to say about it.

Michael nodded. "Yeah? Hunh. I saw there were pictures from when you guys went looking for Franklin, and from after that. But that was only about three years ago, and there was nothing before that, so I wondered."

"Well, before that I was somebody else, and they kind of discouraged photographs."

Michael cocked his head and studied Ray with a faint frown. "You were someone else?"

Ray chuckled. "Yeah. I used to be Italian." He made a little motion with his hand, like it was a submarine diving under the surface.

The frown on Michael's face intensified, and then suddenly cleared. "Oh! You were somebody else," he said, clearly understanding what Ray meant.

Ray nodded. "Yeah."

"And that was when you met Fraser?"

"Yeah." Ray grinned. "It was quite a day. Performance arsonists, a flaming Buick, and a homicidal wannabe movie diva."

"Sounds exciting," Michael said a little wistfully. "Nothing exciting happens up my way. Not since the Mad Trapper anyway. And that was back in 1931."

"Yeah, well. . . " Ray stopped himself seconds before he said 'keep hanging around Fraser and that'll change.' "Um, excitement isn't always what it's cracked up to be," he finished, wincing a little. Man. He sounded like his dad or something.

"You sound like my grandad," Michael muttered sourly.

Ouch. That was even worse. "Hey! Come on, I'm not that old," Ray complained. "Can't I at least just sound like your dad?"

"Well, I don't have a dad so I kind of have to go with what I know," Michael explained cheerfully. "No insult intended."

Ray tried to think of what to say to that. "Oh. Um. Sorry."

"What for?"

"Your dad."

"Nothing to be sorry for. Just a fact of life. My grandparents raised me."

"Like Fraser's did," Ray said. No wonder he and Fraser got along so well. They had a lot in common. Damn it.

Michael nodded. "Yeah. Kind of like. Except I have two aunts, three uncles, and fourteen cousins who almost all live in the same town, so I have like-- a zillion parents and brothers and sisters. At least it feels like it to me sometimes."

"I'll bet," Ray said. "Can't get away with anything, can you?"

"Not a damned thing," Michael said with a wry smile.

"That's a lot of family." He felt faintly relieved. Not so much in common with Fraser after all. "That's not usual, is it, to be stationed in your home town? I thought Fraser said they usually move people around."

"Mostly they do, but they're trying to promote Aboriginal Policing, so they usually put us with our own people. It makes a better fit. Plus I'm not actually stationed in Aklavik, I work out of Inuvik, so my territory includes home, but isn't limited to it. Besides, that way it's finally my turn to keep people from getting away with anything."

He grinned engagingly, and Ray laughed. "Right. Okay. Makes sense." Ray stopped outside the door labeled 'morgue' and gestured toward it. "Come on, let's go meet Mort."

* * *

Ray pulled into the garage a little after one. It was late, but hey, at least he'd kept Michael away from Fraser all night. Though he'd realized at some point that it probably wasn't needed tonight, since Fraser was doing security for that reception. Oh well. He was definitely going to have to figure out a Plan B, though, since keeping Michael out half the night every night was really not an option.

He closed the garage door and headed into the house, nearly tripping over Diefenbaker in the dark. Swearing, he fumbled the light switch on and looked into Dief's reproachful gaze. "Sorry," he said quietly. "Didn't think you guys'd be home yet. Or did you get banished?"

Dief gave him a superior look and Ray chuckled. "Yeah, okay, so you know how to behave around diplomats. Fraser already in bed?"

Dief whuffed, confirming his guess, so Ray scratched his ears, turned the light back off, and headed upstairs. All the lights were out so he took off his shoes downstairs and was careful not to make a lot of noise as he got ready for bed. It was weird that Fraser was already home. Consular receptions usually didn't end until two, and then there was cleanup, so Fraser rarely got home before three. If he'd known it was going to be an early evening he'd have checked in, or at least left him a message.

He slid into bed, settling into its familiar comfort with a sigh. He lay there listening to the steady sound of Fraser's breathing for a moment before turning onto his side, automatically reaching out, then he hesitated. He'd managed not to wake him up so far, he probably shouldn't push it. He pulled his hand back and tucked it under his pillow instead. He'd have time to get in some touching in the morning.

* * *

The blare of the alarm woke him. He waited for Fraser to turn it off, since they kept it on that side of the bed because Ray had a tendency to turn it off in his sleep. But Fraser didn't turn it off. That wasn't really unusual. After all those years sharing a room with Dief, Fraser could sleep through persistent loud obnoxious noises, even if the whisper of a credit-card in a door jamb brought him bolt upright. Ray rolled over to nudge him into wakefulness, and found. . . nothing. The other side of the bed was empty. In fact, it had been empty long enough that the sheets were cool under his hand.

He sighed and crawled over to shut off the alarm, and then sat up, scratching his jaw and yawning. So much for touching. He got up and headed for the bathroom, noticing absently that the sink was dry. So was the shower. He felt Fraser's toothbrush. Dry. He'd have had to get up pretty damned early for that. Curious, he abandoned the bathroom and wandered downstairs. No Fraser. No Dief. And Fraser's running shoes were gone. He must have decided to go running early, to beat the heat and humidity of his usual early evening runs. Good idea, really. Which explained why the shower was dry. No point in showering before you ran.

Reassured, Ray got ready for work, and was in the kitchen with coffee and the paper when Fraser and Dief came back. Dief headed straight for his water dish as Fraser paced the kitchen, cooling down. He was flushed and sweaty, and looked like sex personified.Which was totally unfair, especially since it had been four days now since Ray had gotten a chance to get him flushed and sweaty like that in bed.

"Good run?" Ray asked when he thought he'd had long enough to catch his breath.

Fraser nodded, his mouth set a little grimly as he bent to massage the back of one calf. "Yes."

"Cramp?"

That got a nod. Ray got up and walked over to where Fraser leaned against the door, one hand working the tight muscle. "Let me. You know I'm good at that," he said, dropping down on his knees and putting his hand on Fraser's leg.

Fraser flinched. Ray glanced up. "Bad one?" he asked, nudging Fraser's hand aside, tugging his sweat-pants up to expose bare calf. He could see the knot there and went for it, knowing just the right amount of pressure to use. Fraser steadied himself with a hand on Ray's shoulder, and when Ray started working on the knot his fingers dug in as he gasped.

"Sorry," Ray said, gentling his touch. Fraser's fingers relaxed slightly on his shoulder. "You were home early last night."

There was a short pause before Fraser replied. "Yes. Once the Armenian ambassador left at nine, there was really no need for me to stay, as Constables Anders and Chao had things well in hand, so I asked if I could leave and my request was approved."

Ray looked up, startled. Fraser never left early. "You did?"

An odd, rueful expression crossed Fraser's face. "Yes. I thought I might be able to catch you and Michael. I tried your cell, and Michael's room, but got no answer." Somehow the statement became a question.

"Shit, sorry," Ray apologized. "The cell ran out of charge, and I didn't think anything about it since I figured you'd be tied up all night. After I took Mike on the tour of the 2-7, we corralled an out of service blue and white and went for a little drive. I showed him my old beat and all that, talked about how things've changed."

"Surely that didn't take until one a.m.?"

"Nah. Then we were hungry so we turned in the car and decided to go to Tony Roma's and you know what the wait there is like."

"Indeed," Fraser said. "Was there some reason for that choice?"

Ray knew he'd subjected Fraser to his 'Tony Roma's isn't that great' rant enough times that he'd be curious why he chose that particular place. He shrugged as well as he could with both hands on Fraser's leg. "Just . . . it's famous you know? Like the Sears Tower. I figured if you could do the tower, I could manage Tony's for him."

"Ah. And after dinner?"

Ray was starting to feel like he was under interrogation, and he didn't like it. Fraser didn't need to know where Michael was every minute. "Oh, you know, the usual. Took him to a leather bar, got him drunk, and had my wicked way with him in the back seat of the GTO," he said sarcastically.

Fraser tensed under his hands, and then slowly relaxed again. "That's . . . very funny, Ray." He shook his leg free of Ray's grip. "It's feeling much better now, thank you. You'd best get to work or you'll be late."

Right. Message gotten. Ray stood up. "Yeah. Guess I'd better. I'm sure everyone at work would be stunned senseless if I was late, can't have that." He got his coffee cup and put it in the dishwasher, feeling uneasy. He didn't like leaving with this strain between them, didn't want to chance that being the last thing he ever said to Fraser. It was something a cop always had to think about, a lesson he'd learned a long time back. He turned back to Fraser, who had gotten out a glass and was filling it from the bottled water dispenser. "My turn to cook tonight, I was thinking about grilled chicken. That okay?"

"I'll be late so don't worry about me," Fraser said tersely, without turning to look at him.

Ray waited for a moment for him to elaborate on that, but he didn't. "Okay. Well, later then. Have a good day." He stepped closer, wanting something-- a touch, a goodbye kiss, whatever, but Fraser just nodded and started to drink. Ray dug his keys out of his pocket and headed out to the garage. It was not starting out to be a good day at all.

* * *

Determined not to let their morning mood continue, Ray worked through lunch so he could take off work an hour early without any crabbing from Welsh. He swung by the market for dinner ingredients and went home to cook, fast, glad they had a propane grill in addition to the traditional charcoal. While the chicken was cooking he thawed a container of rice pilaf leftover from the last time he'd made it, made a salad, and when everything was finished he put the food into plastic containers and headed for the consulate.

He pulled up just as they were locking the doors. Constable Anders waved at him and waited as he got out and jogged up the steps with his bag of goodies.

"Ray! Good to see you! How are you today?" Jeff Anders was nothing at all like Fraser, or Turnbull, or even Thatcher. And for sure nothing like Frobisher. He was just an ordinary guy. It had been kind of a surprise to Ray that ordinary guys were allowed to be Mounties, but he guessed his perception had been skewed by his early exposure to the others.

Ray wobbled a hand in a so-so gesture and shrugged. "Hey, Jeff. Guess I can't complain. Fraser around?"

Anders nodded. "Yes. Chopra's had him working on some big project most of the day, and I guess he's going to be stuck here for a while longer."

Ray held up the grocery bag he carried. "Yeah, he said he'd be working late so I brought dinner."

"You know, I might have to confiscate that in the name of national security," Anders said, eyeing the sack hungrily.

Ray held the bag protectively. "Hey, paws off. You got a wife. Go home and eat her cooking."

"Her cooking's not as good as yours," Anders said plaintively.

Ray laughed, shaking his head. "So take her out to dinner. You get better food, and score points too." He winked.

"Good idea, maybe I will," Anders replied, grinning. "Anyway, Corporal Fraser's in the formal dining room. That's the only table big enough for all the paper he's got spread out."

"Gotcha. Have a nice night."

"You too," Anders called, as he walked toward the back door and the small parking area behind the Consulate.

Ray turned right just before the empty reception desk, and headed through the ballroom to the dining room. He could hear voices. Fraser, Chopra, a woman, and another man. Hmm. Maybe he should have brought enough to share. He rounded the corner and saw that the woman was Constable Chao, the pretty Eurasian woman who had replaced Turnbull. The other man was, oh, big surprise, Michael. Ray hung back for a moment, noticing how Fraser and Chopra were both watching Denise Chao, who was flirting with Michael so blatantly it was almost funny. As he watched, Chopra cleared his throat.

"Constable Chao, it's after six."

She blinked, caught in mid-flirt, and looked at her watch. A flush rose in her face. "Oh. So it is. Time to go home."

Chopra nodded. "Indeed. We don't pay overtime without a good reason, you know."

"No, sir, of course not, sir."

While that interplay was going on, Ray saw Michael glance over at Fraser and smile, sharing his amusement at the exchange. Sort of. Except it wasn't quite a smile. It was more of a curved open mouth, with a little out-curl of tongue that looked awfully fam . . .

Holy shit.

Ray felt like he'd been punched right in the gut. No. Impossible. It was impossible. Fraser wasn't old enough. No, this had to be another one of Bob Fraser's little indiscretions, like Maggie. Except, except. . . Fraser had said he'd known one of the Tselihye girls, in the biblical sense. Which would be kind of a big coincidence and kind of sick besides if both Bob and. . . no, just don't go there. Plus Michael had said his grandparents raised him and they were the age of Fraser's parents, which put Michael's parents in Fraser's generation, not in Fraser's dad's generation.

Ray did a little math in his head. Added seventeen years and nine months to Fraser's birth date, subtracted the result from the current year and got. . . twenty two. Shit. Not impossible. Not at all. He wished he had a chair handy. He settled for leaning heavily against the nearest doorframe, trying not to stare at Michael, then at Fraser, as 'who's your daddy' took on a whole new meaning. Oh fuck. Fuck. Fraser didn't know. He had no fucking clue. Ray would bet his life on that. But Michael knew. Oh yeah. The little shit knew. Why else had he come down, ingratiating himself into their lives? What the hell did he want? Some kind of blackmail?

Just then Fraser looked up and noticed him, and his feelings must've shown on Ray's face, because the amusement faded from Fraser's eyes and he looked worried.

"Ray? Are you all right?"

Showing way too much. Okay. Get with the program here. "Yeah. Yeah, sorry. Just kind of lightheaded," he lied, trying to cover his ass. "Didn't get a lunch break today."

Fraser frowned. "Skipping meals isn't very . . ."

"Fraser," Ray said warningly.

"Right."

"I. . . brought dinner." He held up the bag. "You said you were working late. I didn't know you'd have company." He glanced at Michael, scowling. They were going to have to have a little talk. Soon. In private.

"Well, I'm just going now," Chopra said heartily. "My wife worries if I'm not home on time. She thinks I've been abducted or mugged. She's still not quite comfortable here. Constable Chao, can I walk you out?"

"Of course, sir," Chao said, following him out of the room with a wistful backward glance.

Michael stood up. "Hey, you know, I need to go, too. I've got a. . . a study group. Right now. I have to go."

"A study group? For a seminar?" Fraser was clearly skeptical. Not surprising, since Michael was about as good a liar as Fraser was.

"I meant a discussion group," Michael said, his face turning a slightly ruddier shade. "We were getting together at dinner, in the dorm."

"Ah," Fraser said, not sounding convinced, but using his 'I'm not going to push it' voice. "Well then, since you're running late perhaps we can take you over to the university."

"No, that's okay, I can walk," Michael said hastily. "You have to stay and work, and your food will get cold."

Ray sensed an opportunity and went for it. "The food can reheat, but there's no need for us to both go, Frase. You stay and keep on doing. . . whatever it is you're doing, and I'll run him over to the U. and be back in a flash. Okay?"

Michael looked as if he was going to object but he'd painted himself into a corner by saying he was late.

Fraser looked from Ray to Michael and back, and for a moment some emotion flickered across his face, what was it . . . ? It almost looked like a strange combination of fear and resignation. Neither made sense, and in any case, it was gone so fast Ray didn't have time to really study it before it smoothed into bland.

"All right, I suppose that does make more sense."

Ray put the bag of food down on one of the chairs, and jerked a thumb at the door. "Pitter patter, Mike, let's get at 'er."

Michael grinned. "'Pitter patter'? That's cute."

Ray scowled. "Who're you calling cute?"

Michael looked innocent. "Nobody. Nobody at all."

Ray laughed, and then remembered he was pissed and stopped. Damn it, why couldn't he remember he didn't want to like the kid? He led Michael out to the car and waited until they were strapped in and moving before he spoke.

"He doesn't know, does he?"

Michael looked confused. "Know what?"

"Who you are. Who you really are. Who he is to you."

There was a long silence before Michael finally replied.

"You know? How. . . ."

"I'm a detective. I solve puzzles for a living. Give me enough pieces, and I can usually see the pattern."

"Ah," Michael said, his voice quiet, and serious. "No. You're right. He doesn't know. My mother never told him. My grandparents forbade it."

"You think that was right?" Ray demanded, with an angry glance at him.

"I. . . don't know. That's part of what I came here to find out."

"Which is the other thing I want to know. What the hell are you doing? What do you want from him? What kind of game are you playing? I don't care if you are his son, if you hurt him, I'll kill you."

"I know you would," Michael said softly.

It was the same exact voice Fraser always used to calm him down. Ray couldn't believe he hadn't figured it out before now. It was so damned obvious.

"I could tell that, right from the start," Michael continued, staring out the windshield. "You would, just like Dief would. You'd rip out my throat. I was . . . surprised. You surprised me. I didn't know. I never heard he was. . . I mean, he and Mom . . . ."

He stopped, clearly not quite able to say what he meant. Ray knew, though. And he felt an odd moment of relief that he didn't have to deal with making that revelation. For a brief second he wondered how Michael felt about it, but then he realized it didn't matter. It was pretty personal, after all. What it boiled down to was that Fraser might be his father but Michael didn't know shit about him.

"I was married for fifteen years. People change. You didn't answer my question."

"That's because I don't know the answer."

Ray flicked a glance at him, spotted a parking lot and pulled into it, waving his PD hang-tag at the attendant. "Bullshit. Don't lie to me. Why did you come? Blackmail?"

"Blackmail?" Michael was obviously shocked. "No! I never thought that. Not for a minute. I came for the seminar. I wouldn't have come just to come. But when I realized I would have a chance to meet him, I guess I just thought maybe if I did, I might finally be able to separate the man from the myth." He laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "Do you have any idea what it's like to grow up knowing you're the son of a legend, but never knowing him at all?"

Ray looked at him for a long moment, and then shook his head. "No. But he does."

Michael frowned. "What do you mean?"

"It's like. . . the Fraser Curse or something. Like father, like son, only his father chose to do it, and Fraser couldn't. He never had a choice. That's why this is so goddamned fucking unfair. So wrong. How could they do that? Why did they do that? It's not what he would have wanted. He would have been there for you."

"Yeah," Michael said, and Ray was startled to see a faint gleam of moisture in his eyes. "I could tell that, too. He's a good man."

"You bet your ass he's a good man. They broke the fucking mold with him."

Michael gazed back at him solemnly, his expression eerily reminiscent of Fraser. "I think maybe they did with you, too."

Ray scowled. "Do not do that. Do not flirt with me. That's just. . . wrong."

"What?" Michael squawked, taken aback. "I wasn't! I never did! I don't even like you, I mean not that way. I like girls!"

He suddenly sounded all of fourteen, and Ray could see the truth of his words reflected in his face. He stared at him for a moment longer, then nodded. "Okay. Sorry."

"You've got a weird idea of flirting," Michael muttered.

"Yeah, well." Ray shrugged.

Michael frowned. "Is that how. . . "

Ray felt his mouth trying to curve upward. "Yeah."

"Oh. I. . . that explains it."

"Yeah."

Michael smiled a little. "He's not very. . . ordinary, is he?"

"No shit, Sherlock."

Michael snorted, then he sighed and fidgeted with his hair for a moment before looking up again. "When did you figure it out?"

"Well, what really did it was when I walked in there today and you had this . . . expression, that made you look exactly like him. And when I put that together with some stuff he told me, and some other stuff I'd noticed but not really noticed, you know, and it just sort of all fell together."

"He told you about him and my mom?"

"Sort of. How long have you known?"

"Since I was fifteen. I was totally out of control, getting into trouble all the time, and any time I got caught I played the 'poor abandoned kid' card. You know the drill, how it was all my deadbeat dad's fault for abandoning me, and my mom's fault for not wanting me, that kind of crap. So one day after Constable Van Eck brought me home after catching me at some vandalism for about the twentieth time, Anaanatsiaq got fed up with it and sat my ass down and told me exactly what happened, and why they made the decisions they did. That it had nothing to do with anyone not wanting me, but just the opposite. That they hadn't wanted to give me up to the Outside, so they made sure it couldn't happen. Then she sent me out for a week in the wild, alone, and told me to think about myself."

He looked up for a moment, and Ray nodded, just to keep him going.

"It really shook me up, to see it like that. To understand. And the more I thought about myself, the worse I felt. I was letting everyone down. My mother's people were all good, law abiding people, well except for my Uncle Joe but he's shaped up since his spell in jail, mostly. And on the other side, my dad's a Mountie, and my granddad's a Mountie. Not just any Mounties, either. Famous ones. And there I was trying hard to become a criminal, bringing shame on myself and my family, and it wasn't anyone else's fault because I had a perfectly good life. Better than most, really. It made me think. A lot. And I had to kind of try to figure out how I got myself where I was and start. . . ungetting there. And somehow in ungetting there, I ended up . . . here." He stopped, obviously waiting for Ray to say something.

Ray smiled wryly. It sounded pretty damned familiar, stirring memories of a crypt, a conversation, a confession. 'I took this bus . . .' He nodded. "You can't go forward until you go backward. You can't run away from your past, because it's in your skin, it stays with you. But you can figure out how you got where you are and what direction you need to go from there." Ray decided to press a little. "Why didn't you tell him when you first came?"

"Well, I didn't know him, and I wasn't sure I wanted to tell him if it turned out he wasn't someone I could handle in my life." He sighed, and sent a rueful glance at Ray. "I'd met Sergeant Fraser a couple of times before he died, and man, if he'd been like that, no way I could have told him. It would be better to just leave things as they were. But then I met Fraser and. . . I liked him. A lot."

"So you're going to tell him now?" Ray asked.

Michael pushed his hair back with one hand and let out an explosive sigh. "God. How do you tell someone something like that? It seems wrong to just walk up to someone and say 'Oh by the way, you're my dad.' Kind of a bombshell, you know?"

"Yeah, but you need to tell him. He needs to know. It's not right he doesn't know."

"I know. I do know. I just. . . don't know how."

"I think he's almost got it already. He's been weird ever since you got here. I thought it was because. . . well, that's beside the point. The thing is, you remind him of his past, and even though he hasn't quite caught on yet, you remind him of him. He's been thinking about that time a lot, and it's not like he forgets anything. I think if you find a way to tell him who your mom is, he'll figure out the rest."

Michael nodded. "When do you think I should tell him?"

"Now. I think you should tell him now. That thing about a discussion group was bullshit right?"

"Yeah. I just thought you guys needed some time without me around."

"Thought so. You're a bright guy, but a lousy liar. Okay, we're going back. And you're going to tell him."

Michael looked a little pale, but he nodded. "All right. But will you stay? I?d feel better."

Ray nodded. He didn't say he'd never had any intention of leaving Fraser to face that alone.

* * *

To explain why Michael hadn't stayed at the university they made up a story about how the discussion group had apparently decided to go somewhere else and hadn't left a note. They shared out the food between the three of them, Dief complaining bitterly about having to make do with kibble. After they ate Fraser made coffee and dug out some tea biscuits, and they were sitting around the table when Michael started talking about sports, which led to traditional games, and then he finally managed to find an opening.

"Do you remember playing amaruujaq with my mother?" Michael asked conversationally.

Fraser smiled. "I played wolf with pretty much everyone in Tuktoyuktuk at one time or another. It was a popular game."

"This would have been just before my family moved away from Tuk and went to Aklavik."

Fraser thought for a moment, and then his eyes narrowed and he stared at Michael. "You know, I just realized I don't know who your mother is."

Michael nodded. "I know. I didn't say. Mom's name is Rachel."

Fraser went white, the color draining out of his skin so fast that Ray actually thought he was going to pass out. Thankfully he was sitting down, or he probably would have fallen down. He opened his mouth and his lips formed words, but no sound came out. He tried again, his voice raw.

"I thought. . . I thought you were Gabe's son. Your last name. . ." He stopped, and looked at Michael, waiting. There was no need to finish the sentence.

"My last name is Tselihye because my mother and father didn't marry," Michael said quietly. "My grandparents decided that would be best."

"They did." Fraser's voice was flat, his gaze haunted. "May I ask your birth date?"

Michael gave it, and Fraser dropped his head into his hands with a shuddering sigh. Michael looked worriedly at Ray, who was worried himself. He'd known this would be hard, but it was harder to watch than he'd thought it would be.

"Michael," Fraser rasped, lifting his head, looking directly into Michael's eyes. "Am I your father?"

Michael's answer was a whisper. "Yes."

"Oh dear God," Fraser breathed. He rubbed at his forehead, his hand shaking visibly. "I didn't know. My God. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

His face was a mask, his eyes dark, haunted, full of shame. Ray wanted to hold him. Wanted to hit Michael's damned grandparents. Of all the stupid fucking things to do. This was their fault, all this pain. God. And there was no way to make it easier. No way at all.

"I know you didn't know. I know that. I don't blame you," Michael said, reaching hesitantly across the table to put his hand on Fraser's forearm.

Fraser pulled back and scrubbed his fingers through his hair, looking utterly lost. "You should. I was old enough to know the potential consequences. I should have asked."

Oh shit. Ray should have anticipated this one. "Ben." He used the name he usually only ever used when they were alone together. "Come on, you were just a kid. So was she. Kids don't think."

Michael nodded. "Exactly."

Fraser stared from Ray to Michael, and then back, seeming bewildered. Finally he pushed back his chair and stood up. "I'm sorry. I . . . I have work to do." With that, he turned and walked out of the kitchen.

Michael looked at Ray, shaken. "That didn't go very well."

Ray sighed. "I should've guessed he'd go the guilt route. He almost always does. Damn his dad anyway. It could've gone worse, though. He does this. He works, and he thinks and he figures things out. I think it'll be okay. He just needs a little time."

"Yeah," Michael nodded uncertainly. "Yeah, true. I know it hit me pretty hard when I found out."

"Right. So just give him a while. You've had a long time to get used to it. He hasn't."

"I. . . should I stay?"

Ray thought about it. "No. Why don't you go on back to the university? He's going to need to. . . what do they call it. . . process? But don't worry, okay? It'll be fine."

Michael gave him a wan smile. "You think so?"

Ray nodded. "Yeah. I do." He dug in his pocket and got out his phone. "Let me call a taxi to take you back to the university."

"No, that's all right. I'll walk."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah. I think I need some processing time myself."

Ray nodded. "Okay, if you want. You know the way?" Michael shot him an exasperated look, and Ray grinned. "Yeah, yeah, I know, you navigate by the sun and stars. Look, we'll be in touch. Soon. I promise."

"Thank you. For talking to me, and for making me tell him," Michael said, looking awkward and impossibly young.

It was weird to think that he?d been that young, a lifetime ago. He nodded, holding back the 'don't thank me yet' that wanted to slip out. "No problem."

Once Michael was gone, Ray locked the front door and headed back to the dining room to check on Fraser.

"Ben? You want to. . . " He stopped in the doorway. No Fraser. He must've gone to the bathroom.

After a couple of minutes, when Fraser hadn't reappeared, he went and checked the bathroom. It was empty. He checked Fraser's office, then the other offices, and even the upstairs rooms. Nothing. Nada. Fraser was gone. He'd just left. With his work scattered across the table, the consulate unlocked, and two unauthorized people in the building. Yeah, sure, he'd know that Ray and Michael weren't going to go rifling through the drawers but still. It was completely and totally unlike him. In fact, it was so unlike him that Ray refused to believe it. He thought of all the places he'd checked, and remembered one he hadn't.

He went back into the kitchen, unbolted the seldom-used back door, and opened it. Fraser was sitting on the back step, his arms around his knees as he stared out at the overgrown garden in the small courtyard there. He must've gone out the front and walked around. It wasn't near sunset, but the building threw a sort of false twilight over the enclosure, making it feel later than it was. Dief was curled at Fraser's feet, staring up at him worriedly. For a moment the wolf shifted his gaze accusatively to Ray, and then returned it to Fraser. Ray eased himself down beside them and just sat there in silence for a little while.

After several minutes had passed, Ray snuck a glance at Fraser, and saw how taut he was, and that there was a knot of tight muscle just above the hinge of his jaw. He'd locked his left hand around his right wrist, and his right hand was clenched into a fist, knuckles white. Fraser was angry. No. Way past angry. Furious even. That startled him. He'd expected guilt. Sadness. Shock. But not anger. Though of course, once he thought about it, it made sense. Perfect sense.

He waited, watching Fraser's hands, until his fingers unclenched a little. Only then did he speak. "Let's go home, Ben."

Fraser slowly turned his head. Looked back at the building, and then at Ray, eyebrows lifted.

"I sent him back to the dorm. We know how to reach him. I told him we'd call. He's okay, he understands. Come on. Home."

Fraser nodded. Ray got up and extended a hand to him. Fraser took it and Ray braced him to his feet. Once back inside, Fraser reached for a dirty dish but Ray took it out of his hands.

"Leave it. We'll come in early tomorrow."

Fraser nodded. Still not talking. Probably couldn't unclench his jaw enough. Dief herded him past the turn-off to the dining room, though Fraser still insisted on turning out all the lights and locking up. Ray didn't turn on the radio in the car, letting the silence cocoon them as he drove. It didn't bother him. After all, Fraser was the one who'd taught him not to be afraid of silence. At home he let it continue as they changed into comfortable clothing. After giving Dief fresh water in the kitchen, Ray joined Fraser out on the glider on the back porch, shoulder to shoulder.

It wasn't silent there. Birds called. A dog barked a few doors away. Some kids were playing nearby, their voices shrill and excited. Someone was mowing their lawn. The hiss and chitter of sprinklers punctuated the other sounds. They rocked for a long, long time, side by side, as the sun finally slid below the horizon, painting the hazy sky with orange and yellow. Then the colors faded, shading down into a deep blue-gray. A few stars twinkled bravely. Ray just sat, waiting. Being there. Ready.

"I always thought I belonged, there."

Fraser's voice sounded rusty, and it startled Ray a little, coming out of the blue as it did. He waited for more.

"I thought I was like them. Part of them."

Ray bit his tongue. It wasn't his turn yet and he knew it.

"I wasn't. Otherwise they would never have made that decision for me."

There. Now it was his turn. "They might have. People make wrong decisions all the time. They fuck up. Relatives included. Maybe relatives especially. But you're partly right. It wasn't their decision to make. Not theirs alone. That was wrong."

"It was worse than wrong. It was. . . cruel. And not just to me. Rachel. . . Michael. My grandparents. My father. They never even had a chance to meet him. Christ, Ray. I've missed so much, we all missed so much. And it's gone forever. Lost."

Ray put his hand on Fraser's thigh just below the edge of his cargo shorts, rubbing lightly, feeling the dampness of sweat, the slide of hair under his palm. "I know."

Fraser stared down at his hand, and then lifted his eyes to Ray's. The soft amber glow of the neighbor's porch light let him see the fear in them. Fear? What the. . . .

"I thought I was losing you." Fraser whispered.

Ray didn't understand. He moved his hand to thread his fingers through Fraser's, and waited.

Fraser's gaze didn't waver. "You'd been. . . you liked him, I could see that. You said he was attractive. You were out so late. . . ."

Ray understood finally. With a dry laugh he lifted his hand to rub his forehead, inadvertently lifting Fraser's hand too. "Shit, Ben. I thought you. . . you kept talking about connection, and simpler times, and going home, and that you liked him, and . . . I was just trying to keep him away from you!"

Fraser stared at him.

Ray stared back, willing belief.

Fraser shook his head, a tiny smile trying to curve one corner of his mouth. "Lord, what fools. . . ."

Ray looked heavenward, shaking his head. "Christ. All that damned worry for no good reason at all, both of us!" He snorted suddenly. "You know, this whole thing seems kind of familiar. You think I want him, I think you want him, neither of really wants him, and it turns out he's related? Maggie would be laughing her ass off right about now. What's a guy got to do to get laid around here anyway, adopt you?"

Fraser laughed out loud, even if he did look appalled. "Ray!"

"It's been a week!" Ray complained. "Maybe I should head down to Boystown. . . ."

Fraser let go of his hand and grabbed his shoulders, leaning in close to rub his face along Ray's, their stubble rasping. "No," he growled.

Ray heard so much unspoken there. Responded to it, tilting his head a little, until Fraser's mouth covered his, hard, rough, still a little angry, very possessive. Ray echoed those emotions back to him. Changed them. The anger faded, the possession didn't. When Fraser lifted his mouth, and then bent his head to tongue the hollow of his throat, Ray felt nearly desperate to reclaim it. No. To reclaim him.

"Inside," he whispered against Fraser's hair.

Fraser was on his feet instantly, pulling Ray with him. They kissed as they half walked and half danced to the kitchen door. As the screen door swung closed behind them, Dief squeezed through and out into the fenced back yard. Considerate of him. They wouldn't have to interrupt anything to let him out. Ray took a step toward the door into the living room, only to have Fraser drag him back and push him up against the nearest counter, leaning into him, hands braced on either side of him. His pulse sped up as Fraser scented him, breathing in deeply as he rubbed his nose along Ray's left cheekbone, then his right. Ray reached out blindly to turn out the kitchen light, missing twice before his outstretched fingers found the switch. No need to give the neighbors a free show.

Fraser shoved his hands up beneath Ray's t-shirt, pushing it up, and finally off, with a little wrestling. Ray returned the favor. Enough of the neighbor's back porch light shone through the screen door's frame to stripe them both with bars of light and shadow that seemed to slide over their skin as they moved, alternately highlighting and hiding a nipple, then ribs, then a collarbone, then navel. It reminded him of them. Some things out in the open, visible, other things hidden, shadowed, more hidden than seen, and always changing. He turned his head, watching the light flow across Fraser's jaw, then his lips. They were parted slightly, and looked soft and sad. He needed to change that. Fraser's words echoed in his head. 'I thought I belonged.' That was it. That was it.

He caught Fraser's shoulders and pushed, reversing their positions, and then kissed him, feeling the softness and sadness surrender to his mouth. He slid one hand down Fraser's bare torso to find the button on his shorts and open it, and then easing the zipper down. Fraser cupped the back of his head to bring him closer, angling his mouth to deepen the kiss almost painfully. Ray pushed into him, forcing him back against the counter, letting Fraser take his weight as he worked a hand down beneath the waistband of his boxers and palmed his cock. He brushed his hand lightly up and down the shaft once, and then curled his fingers around the hard length and squeezed.

Fraser's breath exploded into his mouth in a gasp, and then he wrenched his mouth from Ray's and let his head fall back, baring his throat. Ray licked a swathe from collarbone to jaw, then up along the curve toward his ear, feeling the rasp of stubble on his tongue, tasting sweat, and the faintly spicy flavor of their soap. He bit Fraser's earlobe, just hard enough to get a second gasp.

Fraser shuddered. Ray let go of Fraser's cock for a moment to hook his thumbs in the sides of his shorts and boxers and maneuver them past his hard-on, then let them fall. Dropping to squat at Fraser's feet, he put one hand against his hip, wrapped the other one around his cock again, and leaned in, opening wide and taking him in, using strong suction, and stronger rhythm. Fraser's hips surged involuntarily, then stilled, his thighs taut as he held himself motionless. Ray worked him hard, breathing in the heavy scent of his arousal, familiar and hot. His own cut-off sweats were loose and stretched, fortunately, or he'd be too uncomfortable to keep going.

At first Fraser's cock tasted no different than the skin of his throat had, but after a few moments the familiar, bittersweet taste of pre-come began to spread over his tongue. He let his hand move from Fraser's hip to his ass, cupping it, fingers slipping between his cheeks, sweat slicking his fingertips as he brushed them in the crease, and then let one enter, just enough to tease. Fraser pushed back against his hand, unable to stay still, and he reached down to lay one palm against Ray's face, fingers touching his cheek where they hollowed as he sucked.

Above him he could hear Fraser breathing fast and loud through his nose. Ray looked up to see him sucking on his own fingers. He shivered. Belong. He could show Fraser he belonged. Completely. He slowed his stroking, and let Fraser's cock slip from his mouth. It nudged wetly along Ray's cheek and Fraser shuddered, and moaned his name.

"Turn around," he whispered. The first words in what felt like hours. "Spread your legs."

Fraser gave him rare compliance, turning wordlessly to stand, feet apart, hands braced flat on the counter. He was still breathing hard. Ray ran his hands up his thighs, cupped his cheeks, spread them, and leaned in, using his tongue. Fraser groaned, and his knees tried to buckle. Ray chuckled, and waited while he shifted again, taking more of his weight on his hands, his back bowed, ass out. Yeah. He went for it again, vaguely hearing Fraser's breathless, desperate grunts as he opened him up first with tongue, then adding a finger. There wasn't enough wet for two, though, so he resisted Fraser's obvious desire for more, just zoning out on the taste and the feel of him, driving him crazy.

A thump somewhere above him made him jump. There was a curse, scrabbling sounds, and then Fraser was reaching back, his own fingers sliding slickly over Ray's hand, along his finger, and then two were pushing up inside, next to Ray's. It took a moment to recognize the familiar smell of cooking oil, and if he hadn't been so turned on by the feeling of Fraser's fingers in there with his own, he would have laughed. Thank God for Fraser's uncanny ability to find whatever they needed, wherever they needed it.

"Ray. . . . " His name was a plea.

"I got you," he whispered, slipping his finger free, watching pale fingers, and pale skin striped with light as Fraser kept stretching himself. He pushed up to his feet, his knees and thighs protesting the long crouch. A puddle of oil on the counter gleamed faintly. He swiped a hand through it, shoved his shorts down with the other hand and stroked the oil over his own cock. "I got you, Ben."

He guided himself into place, felt Fraser's fingers caress him briefly as they slipped out, and then he was there, pushing in before Fraser could close up again. Fraser moaned, pushing back into his thrust, and there was a moment of resistance, then he yielded and Ray was gloved in smooth, hot flesh all the way to the root. They stopped there, both of them shaking, for long seconds. Ray could feel Fraser's heartbeats all around him, strong and fast. Fraser was his. He belonged. To Ray. His.

He pulled back, thrust again. Fraser's feet slipped, then braced wider, his hands back on the counter top again as Ray began to move, slowly at first, but as the clasp around him eased a little he picked up the pace, until they were slamming together, hard, and deep. The only sounds in the room were their panting breath, the slap of their bodies, the hum of the refrigerator. Ray slipped one of his arms around Fraser's waist, slid his slick hand down Fraser's damp belly to find his cock and curl his fingers around it. God, he was hard. So hard. It must hurt to be that hard, in that good-hurt kind of way. He played with the foreskin, sliding it over the head each time he drove into the tight heat of his ass, squeezing, stroking, pulling.

It was too good. Too good. He felt his own orgasm rising, tightening his balls, and he didn't hold it back this time. Holding back wasn't what this was about. He shoved himself in, deep, deep, and came, but didn't stop stroking. As his own orgasm waned, still-electric, Fraser groaned loudly, thrust hard into his hand, and pumped out his own release in spurts of blood-hot semen. Ray caught it in his hand, and dragged his fingers across Fraser's mouth, then before he could lick it off he leaned around and kissed him fiercely. "You belong," he whispered into his mouth.

"I belong," Fraser echoed, panting.

* * *

Ray woke up before the alarm went off. It was still dark, though the sound of rain outside meant that wasn't necessarily because the sun wasn't up yet. Fraser was curled around him like he was most every morning, and it was comfortingly familiar. He could tell by Fraser's breathing that he was awake, so he stretched a little and yawned loudly to let Fraser know he was awake too.

Fraser kissed the back of his neck, and then shifted back, pulling Ray with him so he could lean over him and kiss his mouth next, long, slow, and sweet. Ray reached up and slid his fingers into Fraser's hair, loving the way the heavy waves clung to his fingers as he stroked. Fraser pulled back and put his face in the crook of Ray's neck with a contented sound. Ray smiled. Between last night and this morning, he was definitely feeling less neglected. Last night. He sighed. Fraser lifted his head.

"What?" he asked, his voice a little husky from disuse.

"We have to go in early, clean up the kitchen."

Fraser sighed too. "Right."

He lay still for a little longer, getting tenser with every moment. Ray knew he was thinking about Michael. He waited, and after a couple of minutes Fraser stretched to turn on the light and sit up, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed, hands braced on his knees.

"I need to call Michael."

"Yeah, you do, but not at four-fifty a.m.," he said with a glance at the clock. "He mentioned the other night that the cafeteria starts serving at seven, so if you call about six forty-five you should get him."

Fraser nodded, then looked at Ray ruefully. "I have absolutely no idea what to say."

"Just say what you feel."

That drew another sigh as Fraser rubbed an eyebrow. "I don't know that either."

"Okay, that's kind of a problem," Ray said. "You up for talking yet?"

"Yeah. No. Shower first? And coffee?" Fraser asked hopefully.

"Yeah, yeah. You addict. And I know it's my fault so don't bother t