Busted	Busted

 by anonymous co

  

 

 Disclaimer: 

 Author's Notes: 

 Story Notes: 

 

 

 Busted 

 Disclaimer: Aren't mine, don't own 'em, thought they were cute and might
like to have some fun. Besides, talk about subtext. This is JiM's fault,
and Bone's. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. But.. 

 To JiM who sends me good stories or sends me to find good stories when I
need something to read..... 

 Busted 

 By Anonymous 

 I'm AWOL, MIA, on the lam, and my skin feels itchy, like there are people
after me. Far as I know, though, Canada doesn't have any kind of medical
extradition treaty with rehab hospitals, so that's just paranoia kicking
in, and when the guy with the bomber jacket comes over to me, I reach down
and grab the duffel bag. 

 "You Ray Kowalski?" 

 American accent. I'm flying into the Northwest Territories with an
American pilot and for some reason that strikes me as funny. Funny
peculiar and funny ha-ha, and I drag my right hand out of my pocket and
manage a decent handshake. "You Tom Ellery?" 

 "The same." He takes off the aviator shades. "Owlcreek, huh." 

 "Yeah. They tell me you're the guy." It's been almost a week since I
checked myself out of the hospital-well, since I took off from the
hospital, anyway, I didn't exactly follow standard procedure there, and
it's taken me this long to figure out how to get to where Fraser is. 

 His eyes are paler than mine, the color of ice. He gives me a long look,
and he reminds me of someone, reminds me of Fraser's buddy Quinn, never
mind he's American, has long blonde hair wrapped into a ponytail and more
beard stubble than me in a bad week. "Got business there?" 

 "Got a friend." I want to get moving, get into the plane and off the
ground even though flying up to the great White North in a small plane
isn't exactly my idea of fun. 

 He just looks at me. "Friend?" 

 Okay, fine, I think, and I'm tired and my shoulder hurts and it's
freezing here. "Benton Fraser." 

 Something changes in his eyes. "Ah, got it. Come on, I wanna get out of
here before the weather comes in." 

 I'm game, I'm good, and my hand is shaking enough I stick it back in my
pocket. 

 Once in the plane, I can't help asking, "How is he?" 

 He's going over the checklist, glances up at me from behind those
sunglasses. "Fraser?" Surprised tone. "He's fine." That look lasts another
minute. "You don't talk to him?" 

 "Been a little out of circulation, so I got behind." Keep the voice nice
and easy, nice and calm. 

 He nods, turns back to the checklist, and then, too soon, we're in the
air, and my left hand is white knuckled on the armrest. 

 The first part of the flight's rough, lot of turbulence, lots of bumping
around, and I'm glad I didn't have breakfast, too nervous to eat. 

 I'm AWOL. 

 In all the movies, when the cop gets shot bad, but survives, you never
get to see the whole story. 'Course, in the movies, they can't show that,
because it spoils the story, so you don't get to find out all the nitty
gritty little details like bleeding out, or physical therapy by Iron
Maidens or three months in a hospital bed, some of that in physical rehab.


 You don't get to find out that sometimes, if the cop bleeds out enough,
it can do major hurt to all kinds of different body parts, and that means
sometimes that the cop thinks it might have been better to die. 

 Only sometimes. 

 I got a second chance, and I'm taking it, and even if banging around in
turbulence is scaring the shit out of me, it was still worth being alive. 

 The Iron Maiden is going to be pissed, though, and the doc, and right at
the moment, I don't give a shit. 

 I'm too busy trying to remember the Act of Contrition the Sisters taught
me in second grade. 

 When the air smooths out, I drop like a rock, just sink under so fast and
so hard it's a wonder Ellery doesn't think I died from terror. 

 He wakes me up just before we land. "Have a look." Almost friendly. 

 I have a look. Wild country, but not as wild as what Fraser and me
traveled on the quest. "Owlcreek over there?" 

 "Yup." 

 I look again. Nice little town, looks like Fraser's cup of tea, I think,
and then Ellery starts down and I see the landing field. 

 All of a sudden, I'm awful glad I remember the Act of Contrition after
all, but he sets it down soft and smooth. 

 Doesn't matter, my stomach still flips and rolls and I'm still glad I
haven't eaten anything all day. Nerves. I'm doing what needed to be done a
year ago, and I'm done being chickenshit, and even though that's true, I'm
still nervous. 

 I almost kiss the ground when I got out of the plane. 

 Ellery watches me haul the backpack over my left shoulder and pick up the
duffel with my left hand. "Hang on, I'll give ya a ride into town. Gotta
unload m'cargo." 

 I look at him. Then, apologetically, "I, uh, can't help much." 

 He nods, like it's no biggie. "Figured." 

 I wish I could see his eyes behind the sunglasses. "How come?" 

 He pops the hatch, leans in. "VA hospital." 

 I have to swallow hard at that. Yeah. Viet Nam vet, figures. And he
doesn't sound like he feels sorry for me, he just sounds like it's no
biggie, but he gets it. 

 So, I wait, and we're pretty far north, it's dark by the time he gives me
a ride into town, which is bigger than I figured, but still small enough
to make Fraser happy, drops me at the bottom of a hill. I can see the
cabin at the top. 

 He points. "Fraser's place." 

 My hands are shaking again. "Think he's home?" 

 "Light's on." 

 I like this guy, I can't help it. Polite enough, yeah, he's been up here,
but he still talks American. I wonder what he'd think if he knew just why
the fuck I went AWOL and flew up to the end of the world to find Fraser. 

 No sense worrying about it, I pop the door open and get out, dragging the
duffel and backpack with me. Backpack's got music and boombox, duffel has
clothes, and it's all I need. Left a note for my folks, who were looking
after the apartment and my turtle, didn't even tell 'em I was taking off,
and here I am. "Thanks." 

 "See ya around," Ellery tells me, and I slam the truck door and start up
the path that leads uphill. 

 See, this is the deal. We went on a quest, me and Fraser, and even if we
didn't find the Hand, we had an adventure. By the time we were done, I
knew I was in some deep shit. Or thought I was. Which was the problem, the
way I see it now, I only thought I was, and that was D-U-M dumb. Well,
okay, maybe I am, but not the same way I thought back then. 

 I dare anybody, anybody, to try sleeping in a double sleeping bag with
the Mountie and not react. 

 I reacted. Hell, I already loved the guy, only I'd been thinking it was
like a brother, which is funny because I never was that close to mine. So
when I started realizing that he turned me on, and I started waking up
with a stiffie, it weirded me out completely, it turned my head inside
out. 

 I rabbited. I went back to Chicago like I had something to go back to.
Fraser got a promotion and stayed in Canada, and that was that. 

 Only, you know, sometimes you realize things even if it takes dying to do
it. Lying in that hospital bed, I realized that Fraser wouldn't freak out.
He might feel bad, not feeling the same way, but he wouldn't freak out.
He'd tell me some Inuit story or something, and that would be it.That will
be it. 

 Sometimes it takes dying to figure it out, like I said, and hey, I might
be breathing and walking around, but I fucking died. Three times. At least
that's what they tell me. 

 Halfway up the hill, I have to stop to get my breath and calm down.
Fraser's not gonna to hate me, I tell myself, like a prayer. He's not
gonna hate me, no matter what else he thinks. Maybe I'm wrong to tell him,
maybe I'm wrong to lay it on him like this, I hope not. 

 The door opens as I get to the crest, and a blur of white shoots out and
I plant my feet to keep Dief from knocking me over, which doesn't work,
and I'm flat on my back, pain shooting down between my shoulder blades and
I don't much care, cuz the damn wolf is getting plenty intimate with me
like he really missed me. 

 Pain or not, I'm laughing, pushing my fingers into white fur, and I can't
tell if I'm trying to push him off or hug him. I'm trying to hug a damn
wolf, that's where I am now, and still laughing like a loon. "Dammit,
Dief, no licking! It's cold out here!" 

 "Ray?" Disbelieving tone, and then, "Dief, down!" 

 Dief ignores this, or maybe he just didn't see it, 

 Pushing myself back up, I grin up at Fraser, a lot cockier than I feel.
"Hiya, Fraser." 

 He just stands there. Mouth open. Dief takes his tongue out of my ear and
starts dancing around the two of us and Fraser says, finally, "Ray, Ray,
Ray, Ray--Ray, how did you get here?" 

 "Dog sled," I tell him, smart-ass to the core. "Surprised to see me?" 

 He keeps staring at me. I can't tell what he's thinking, or if this is a
bad time, or if I should haul my ass right back down the hill and find
someplace to sleep. I'm bone deep tired, and now I can feel my bad
shoulder and arm again, and he says, "Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray-" again,
which doesn't help a lot. 

 "Uh, I guess it's not a good surprise." 

 His expression changes pretty fast then, he shakes his head. "No, no,
indeed, it's a very good surprise." He smiles finally, a real smile, and I
feel better. He sticks out a hand, and I take it, using it to balance as I
get up. 

 We stare at each other for a minute, only he's still smiling, so my
stomach settles down again. "Don't tell me, Fraser, I finally left ya
speechless." 

 He shakes his head. "It does appear so. But I must point out--" 

 "Don't ruin it, Fraser." Gleam in those eyes, and then it's really okay,
I think, we're both laughing, and he's still clasping my hand, puts his
other hand over it, still laughing. 

 Dief, still dancing around us, barks happily. At least I think it's
happy, if the amount of wolf spit in my ear means anything. 

 Fraser lets go of my hand, and bends over to grab my bags. I grab the
duffel before he can get it. I might be damaged and proud, but I'm not
stupid. CDs and a boombox weigh more than my skivvies and jeans. "How did
you get here?" he demands, "How long are you staying?" 

 I feel a whole lot better, and maybe just a little dizzy. "I got here the
normal way, instead of falling out of a plane-well, if you call flying up
in a bush plane normal, I'm telling you, Frase, that guy Tom Ellery has a
death wish, I even remembered how to say the Act of Contrition on the way
up here. And I'm here until you decide to throw me out." 

 He stops in the doorway, looks at me, his face completely blank. "What?" 

 Okay, it's official, Doc Heatherton is right, I'm still emotionally
unstable. My smile fades away fast, and my throat gets tight. "Um. Yeah, I
sorta quit, Frase. I'll tell ya about it, but not now, okay? I don't feel
like talking about it right now. And I was kidding about waiting until you
throw me out. You know, maybe a couple of days, weeks, whatever's good for
you." 

 He frowns and gives me that laser look like he's taking in all the
details. "Ray, are you all right?" 

 "I'm good." I shrugged, made myself smile. "Unless ya plan on making me
sleep out here in the yard." 

 Mountie look. "Don't be ridiculous, Ray, the temperature drops
considerably at night, and while winter may not officially begin until-" 

 I'm freezing, but happy again. Yup, Heatherton is right, there's a hole
in my bag of marbles, but it's okay, this is Fraser. "Fraser, I'm cold,
here, think we can talk about seasonal variations some other time?" 

 He blinks, smiles again and nudges me past him, Dief shoots past both of
us, and it's warm and bright in the cabin. 

 There's a whistling sound, Fraser's teakettle, I'm sure, and he closes
the door, puts my backpack on the floor and goes off to take care of it.
"Would you like some tea? I don't have coffee, but we can obtain some from
the general store tomorrow. I was just heating up some stew for dinner,
have you eaten? I can make some biscuits, if you like, or there's bread,
that's simpler--" Fraser is practically babbling, for a Mountie. Or at
least for this Mountie. 

 Weird. But it makes me feel better, like maybe it is a good surprise
after all. "Tea? Sure, but not that bark stuff you like, Frase." 

 "Earl Grey or Darjeeling." He's got his back to me, opening a cupboard.
"Grey, I think, you liked that on our, ah, quest." 

 I drop the duffel, and lean against the wall, a little shaky from being
tired, give the place a once over. "Nice place, Frase. You got indoor
plumbing yet?" 

 He turns around, smiles, and points. "That door there, Ray." 

 "No shit." I'm impressed. "We must be getting' old, Fraser, if you've got
a flush toilet." 

 "I suppose it's true that neither of us are young, precisely, but I would
not call 39 or 40 old, Ray." 

 God, I missed that 'mind your manners, Ray' tone. I stare at him, just
watching him move from the cupboard to the stove. He's got the brown
uniform on, practically casual for the Mountie, and the sleeves of his
shirt are rolled up. 

 "We sure ain't kids," I mutter and push off the wall. "I gotta test your
facilities, Fraser, be right back." 

 The bathroom's pretty modern for Fraser, which means it's like my
grandmother's, clawfooted tub and all, old time shower head, one of those
curtains that goes around the tub. But, the toilet flushes, which is good,
way good, I'm way better, but I'm not so good that I feel up to going out
in the freezing dark to take a piss at one in the morning. 

 I look at myself in the mirror and see what Fraser must see, a skinny guy
who looks like he's been beaten to shit. Dark circles under my eyes, and
my hair is every which way instead of standing up like it should, and even
I can see the shirt I'm wearing is too big. Hey, radical diet, golden
bullet, and what the hell, I look like more of a loser than usual, but I'm
here. I'm here, and that means I'm not a loser, I had the balls to face up
to me and come up here. 

 Amazing what death does to a guy. 

 I come out and he's standing near the stove, his back to me, doing
something to the mugs, flicks me a quick smile when he hears me. 

 "And a shower, too," I say, picking up where I left off. "God love ya,
Frase, I figured I'd have to do that snow bath thing again." 

 I unzipped the parka in the bathroom, and now I'm trying to shrug it off
without waking up the hurt again, and when I look up, I see Fraser
watching me. 

 I pretend I don't. I'm not ready to talk about anything yet, too tired
and now I think about it, too hollow. Nothing to eat since last night, no
wonder I'm dizzy, and Fraser points at the kitchen table, sets the mugs
down. 

 I hang the parka up on one of the coathooks near the door and sink in to
the chair, glad to be off my feet. Great, something hot, gets cold early
up here, I forgot. Cold and dark." 

 "Ah, but at this latitude, our summer days are long." He slides the mug
over to me. "The stew should be ready in just a moment." 

 The mug is hot, feels good on my hands. Cold makes the right one stiffen
up more, and the heat feels better than good to my fingers. I wrap my
hands around it tight. "Smells good." 

 He's standing there, looking at me with that worried look again, rubs his
eyebrow. "Ray, how did you get hurt?" 

 Might have known. Mountie doesn't miss a trick, never has. I look into
the cup, take a sip. Hot and sweet, and I have to blink hard, he
remembered my sweet tooth. "I told you, Fraser, I'll tell ya about it,
just not this minute." I have to clear my throat, tip him a grin that only
covers my mouth, doesn't go anywhere else. "So, tell me about the quiet
life up here." 

 He frowns at me, but finally nods and starts into a story about a wild
Saturday night in Owlcreek, pipeline roustabouts and drunk fishermen and
hunters. I'm so tired, about half the details make it through to my brain,
but I can't stop watching him as he moves around the small kitchen. He
gets plates and silverware and a loaf of bread, and then fills my plate
with something that makes my mouth water and is a lot more than I can eat.


 Even Dief gets a little, which is cool, but Dief would rather keep
checking me out, and I'm feeling so damn soft about that, I don't have the
heart to push him down when Fraser tells him to get down. 

 Like always, Dief ignores Fraser, and I think maybe I'm not the only one
feeling soft on Dief. 

 Fraser sits down, and keeps talking, telling the story, and I manage to
eat something, but it's all catching up and I'm so fucking tired that I'm
starting to zone out and I can't finish, even though it's better than a
lot of Fraser's trail cooking. 

 Finally have to push the plate away and give him an apologetic look.
"Sorry, Fraser, that's about all I can manage. My, uh, appetite hasn't
been all that hot lately." 

 He looks at the plate and then at me, but I can tell he's decided not to
get pushy. "Not to worry, Dief will enjoy it." 

 Dief puts one paw on my thigh and whines. "You got it, Dief," I agree,
"As long as you don't lick me again, deal?" Another whine and I put the
plate down, moving slow and careful. 

 Fraser's expression goes weird on me. I'm not sure what to think, what to
say, and I cough, clear my throat again. "Look, Fraser, I know I kinda
dropped in on you, no warning, I don't have to stay here, it's not like-" 

 He did one of those hand things he usually does with Dief. "Stop it, Ray,
you are always welcome here." Kind of sharp, but it's okay, at least he's
not being polite. "Always." He says again, a lot more like Fraser, lot
more polite. 

 I feel relief. "Thanks, Fraser. I mean, I can pull my weight, buy the
groceries-hell, if I want any beer, I know I have to buy that." I manage
to grin, the groceries part is all right, I've got months of back pay
sitting in a bank account in Chicago, and Fraser will know how I can get
to it from here. "And if I get to be a pain in the ass, just tell me to
hit the road." 

 "That won't happen. More tea, Ray?" Starts out sharp, with a little
frown, but then eases back to polite again. "Or perhaps something sweet?" 

 Fraser has something sweet? I blink, but I'm so tired my stomach feels
iffy. "Tea would be great, but I can't eat another bite." I notice some
envelopes on the table, over by Fraser's plate, and I can see the
handwriting from here, even if I can't make it out. "You got a letter from
Frannie?" 

 He's at the stove again, fiddling with the kettle. "Yes, Francesca writes
to me regularly." 

 No, I think, she didn't tell him, he wouldn't keep looking at me like
that, wouldn't have asked me, would he? "Ah. She, ah, have anything to say
about me?" 

 He's frowning at me again. "Ray, you know I can't discuss the content of
Francesca's letters." My heart thumps hard. "That would be rude of me. She
usually keeps me abreast of the news, but lately she's been remarkably
unforthcoming." 

 Asshole, I tell myself, Frannie wouldn't break a promise, she's too good
a Catholic. "Oh. Well, you know Frannie, Fraser. She's a little single
focused, and she's been focused lately on her mystery guy. They must be
speaking the language of love, because this guy doesn't speak much
English." 

 He chuckles. "I suppose that the unspoken language of lovers must
suffice." 

 I look at the couch in the next room, thinking how good it would feel to
stretch out. "Yeah, suffice. God, Fraser, you even have furniture." 

 He chuckles again. "The house came furnished when I bought it. And the
couch folds out to a bed, Maggie was thrilled, she said she slept on the
floor enough in the line of duty, she was going to be comfortable if she
was visiting family." 

 I grin at that, just because I like Maggie. A lot. "Go, Maggie." 

 "Maggie is a strong minded individual," he tells me, as if that makes
sense. 

 "Like her brother," I agree, and rub my chin. That couch is calling my
name, no doubt about it, and I finally give up. "Fraser, if you don't
mind, I'm gonna stretch out on your couch." 

 That gets me another funny look. "I don't mind at all. I'm sure I don't
have your musical collection, but I do own a CD player these days, if
you'd like to put on some music." 

 Wow, that rocked me. Fraser, with a luxury. "A CD player?" I shake my
head, amazed. "You, Benton Fraser, have a CD player. I'm gonna look for
the Four Horses next." 

 He gives me that Mountie look again. "The Four Horses?" 

 "Of the whatyacallit." I get up, try to roll my shoulders. "You know, the
end of the World." 

 "Ah. Apocalypse. The Four Horseman of the Apocalypse." 

 "Yeah. Whatever." I look down to see my plate clean as a whistle, didn't
take Dief long to clean it. I start to lean over to get it, but Fraser's
hand comes out and stops me. 

 "Ray. Go lie down. You look exhausted." 

 I know I look exhausted, I feel exhausted, and I get the plate anyway,
hand it to him, stubborn Polish bastard. "I can pull my weight, Fraser." 

 Stern look. I remember that look from the quest when he thought I was
trying too hard and risking shit. "Go." 

 Sometimes that look and that voice makes me mad, and sometimes it cracks
me up, but when he's right, he's right. "Yes, Constable." My dad didn't
raise any dummies, that couch has my name on it. 

 "Corporal," he corrects me. 

 I grin, like I haven't forgotten that he got promoted again. Memory's
like one of those baskets with all the holes these days, I can't even play
chess. 

 Music first, I dig in my backpack, find Fraser doesn't just have a CD
player, he's got a stereo. Not a great stereo, I'd totally freak if I came
up to find Fraser into tweeters and woofers, but a nice mini stereo. And
tunes, Fraser has tunes, which is almost as boggling as the stereo, and
it's got better sound than my boombox, I find out when I turn it on. So,
hey, maybe we rubbed off on each other in Chicago, or on the quest, or
something. 

 Music, and the couch is comfortable underneath me, and I'm totally out of
it, totally zoned, practically asleep. 

 And my goddamned shoulder hurts again. There's pills in the duffel, not
many and they're old, left over from the first time I got shot, but I'm
damned if I'm taking them in front of Fraser. He's already doing that
worried partner thing, and I'm mostly okay, it's just getting banged
around in the seat on the way up. I'll be good to go in a while, a little
rest, something hot inside me, and I'll be good to go. 

 Hell, I'm good already; imagine Fraser having decent furniture, and God,
it's a relief to let some of my guard down, let myself just plain feel
tired without anybody nagging at me, let myself finally relax, let my eyes
half close while Fraser washes up. 

 Click of claws on wood and Dief puts a paw on the couch, leans up to
check on me. No licking this time, he remembers the deal. "Hey, Dief," I
say lazily, "I'm good, how 'bout you?" 

 A sort of whuffle and Dief settles beside me on the floor. I think about
shifting to scratch Dief's ears, but that means lying on my right shoulder
and that is no way a good idea. Maybe later. Santana on Fraser's stereo,
and the only complaint I have is that I'm a little chilly and wish I had
my parka. But the rest of me feels too damned good to go through the agony
of getting up again to get it. 

 Fraser, imagine that, is humming to the music. To Santana. I let my
eyelids slide all the way shut and grin at the darkness behind my eyelids.
Fraser's just full of surprises today. Tonight. 

 Whatever. 

 I feel like I'm home, finally, after years and years of being trapped
with Iron Maidens and pain and doctors. 

 So I sort of drift, listening to Fraser's hum, to his low voice talking
to Dief and it's good, it's better than good, it's greatness, and then
something warm settles over me, Fraser looking after me. 

 It doesn't make me mad, this is buddies, just Fraser, not someone fussing
over an invalid, and there's a light touch on my hair, light as the brush
of a butterfly's wing. Too far under to open my eyes, I sigh at that, more
comfortable than I've been in what seems just about forever, and the
blanket settles more snugly around me. 

 "Rest, Ray." A whisper, like a secret, and another touch and God, it's
good to be here, I've missed him so fucking much. 

 He's missed me, too, seems like. Doesn't mind I dropped myself on him
like a bad penny or something. No more hospital, no more worries. I'm
free, just like I promised myself, and Fraser's here to watch my back. To
let me just be. 

 That's more than enough to let me slide under and sleep. 

 "Ray." Soft voice and a hand on my face wakes me up, and it takes me a
minute to figure out where I am. Only a minute. Iron Maidens never wake
you up that nice. "You need to wake up a little so I can make up the bed
for you." 

 Oh, yeah, I'm home. Now, how do I tell Fraser that? And if I do, does he
let me stay? I shift, grumble, but not for real, manage to move the wrong
way and ouch. "Oops, not a good idea." 

 "Would you like a hand?" 

 Short bark of a laugh, for some reason that strikes me as funny. Yeah,
throw in a new shoulder, too, and while you're at it Fraser, my right
leg's a little iffy when I get tired. "One that works? Sure thing,
Fraser." I wriggle around, push myself up with the good arm. "Nah, I'm
good, just takes me a little more time than usual these days. Man, I slept
hard. What time is it?" 

 He smiles, glances at the clock, which tells me it's eleven. "Time for
bed." 

 Shit, I slept for like four hours. But if he doesn't mind, I don't, and I
grin. "Oh, good, I woke up just in time." 

 One corner of his mouth does this quirky thing, and then he laughs. You
don't get to see Fraser laugh too often, but I figured out how to do it on
the quest. I'm addicted. He offers me a hand, and it was worth taking the
help to touch him again. Fraser isn't a touchy feely guy, he was raised
different, but he lets me get away with it a lot, don't know why. "Hey,
Dief, you can sleep with me if ya want." When I really want to suggest
double sleeping bag to Dief's boss. 

 Fraser gives Dief one of those long looks. "Don't encourage him." He does
this shooing thing with his hands to get me out of the way. 

 Makes me mad for a second. "Hey, I can help." 

 "All right." He pulls the cushions off the couch and hands them to me,
stacks 'em in my arms, daring me to complain about that. "Stack these over
next to the closet door." 

 It's hard to tell some days whether he's more stubborn than me, or I'm
more stubborn than him, but I give way, like I do a lot. Damn Boy Scout. 

 When I turn around again, he's got the bed pulled out and is
straightening the supports, gives me an innocent Mountie look and points
to a stack of bedding by the fire. "Sheets." 

 Hospital corners, too, I bet, and I'm right, but that makes me grin a
little. I'm moving a little stiff, but mostly, I feel better than I have
in a long time, maybe just being here, maybe from the nap and the stew,
and I look up to find him watching me again, little line between his
eyebrows like he's worrying again. 

 Gotta give him credit. In the old days, he probably would have just
driven me batshit until I told him everything, but maybe he knows me
enough to know I will, I just hate talking about it. 

 We get the sheets on, and he does this snap thing with the blankets that
I couldn't do in a million years, and they settle right into place.
"You'll doubtless want something warm to sleep in. Do you have anything?" 

 I grin. "Brought my thermals, Fraser buddy." 

 For some reason, that pleases him. "Excellent. The silk and wool?" 

 "Yup, from last time." Maybe he didn't think I'd keep 'em, plan on using
'em again. Whatever it is, I can tell he's happy about that. 

 Being Fraser, he doesn't say it. "Then I'd suggest putting them on." 

 I laugh again. "I'm wearing 'em, Fraser. Been wearing 'em practically
since I crossed the border." 

 Something flickers behind those laser eyes. "I'm going to get an extra
quilt for you just in case." 

 I wonder if he's thinking about how hard a time I had with the cold first
time I was up here. "Thanks, Mom." Roll my eyes. "I'll be fine." 

 Proper Mountie expression. "I'm sure you will, but the weather forecast
includes a drop in temperatures tonight and I haven't yet relit the
furnace for winter." 

 I wince, think about that. "No furnace, huh. Okay, okay." Sit down on the
edge of the bed and start with the laces on my hiking boots. "So what do
ya do for fun up here, Fraser? Besides talk to moose?" 

 He heads over to the closet. "It's very difficult to hold a satisfactory
conversation with a moose, Ray." 

 Dief is lying on the floor by the fire, nose on his paws, watching me. I
grin. "Harder than having a conversation with a lip reading wolf?" Crooked
grin. 

 He comes back with something that looks more like a high dollar down
comforter and spreads it over the bed. "Much." 

 I almost ask him to marry me. But I'm having trouble with my right boot,
hand isn't cooperating much and I finally give up and use my other foot to
push it off. 

 "Ray." Careful voice and I turn my head to look at him. "I don't think it
will cause irreparable damage to your reputation if I give you a hand.
Only you and I will know, and I think you know you can trust me with
confidences." 

 Ouch. I try not to think how hard it's been for him to keep his mouth
shut all night if he's that worried. "Oh, hell. I'm not even kidding
myself, Fraser. Sure, give me a hand, what the hell." 

 He comes around and kneels at my feet, and believe me, my wildest dreams
having the Mountie kneel at my feet did not include playing nursemaid. But
he gets the other boot off hip hop, and doesn't make a big deal about it.
"Ray, will you tell me what happened?" 

 Fuck. Well, I knew it was coming. "Yeah, you deserve to know. Especially
since I just dumped myself on you." I sigh. "I got shot. I was working a
con artist, pretty low level, he was taking some of the old folks on the
south side, and that's all I was doing was checking around his favorite
spots, asking some questions. I asked the wrong person a question, jumpy
kid, lookout for a drug deal going down in the back of the bar, I guess.
I...I got hit pretty bad. Got out of the hospital and came up here,
figured maybe I could take you up on that invite." 

 He goes white. I mean, you could take it as flattery, but I hate making
him look that bad. "Why didn't anyone tell me?" 

 Hard question. "I dunno at first. And when I-well, when I could talk to
anybody, I asked 'em not to. Hell, nothing you could do, and I know you,
you'da gone all the way to Chicago, screwing your own life up again just
when you got it where you wanted it." Sounded lame, even to me, with those
eyes on me, so I try again. "I made 'em swear to me, anyone who came to
the hospital-I made 'em swear they wouldn't tell you. I didn't want you to
know until I could tell you myself." 

 He doesn't like it. Stands up fast. "Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray." Like he's
mad, too mad to even say what he's thinking. Stares at me for a minute,
mouth working like he's trying to find words anyway. Then, "That's not
buddies, Ray." 

 Oh, shit. Solid punch right to the gut. "Jesus, Fraser." I can't see for
a minute, rub my face with both hands. Never thought he'd take it that
way. 

 He sits down beside me, and I feel his fingers touch my arm, just getting
my attention. "It's not important now, Ray, you're here, you've told me."
Sounds like he's trying to convince himself. "I'm sorry, I have no right
to be angry, it was your best judgement at the time." 

 Hurts, hurts, hurts, worse than anything. "Anyway, I got chewed up pretty
bad. Fucked up the nerves and muscles, they had to do some fancy work, I
guess, to put the everything back together." 

 He looks like he feels a little sick. "Ah." 

 Wish I could translate that. "Yeah." I try not to look at him. "So, I get
a choice, I guess, retirement on disability or some kinda promotion up to
a full time desk job. I'm a cop, Fraser, not a goddamn paper pusher." 

 He clears his throat, rubs his eyebrow. "Ray, I don't know what the
doctors have said, but nerves can and do heal, it just takes time." 

 For just a minute, I feel like laughing. If he'd seen me....well. "Yeah.
Maybe they will. But I can't do pie in the sky, Fraser, I got to decide
what to do with the rest of my life." 

 He nods, serious face, puts his hand out again, and his fingers circle my
right wrist. I stare at those fingers, they're warm and damn, Fraser's
touching me without any reason, that kills me, and I have to blink real
hard for a minute until I can look at him again. "I'm glad you came here,
then, to think about it. I meant what I said, Ray, you are always welcome
here. You always have been and always will be." 

 Oh, boy, that almost sets off the waterworks. I swallow hard. "I guess I
kinda let you down, not letting anyone tell you." 

 His fingers tighten a little. "No. It was selfish of me, that's all. I
would have wanted to be there, you're right." He manages a little smile.
"Entirely selfish, you see." 

 Damn him, he can make me feel better when I should be trying to make him
feel better. "Yeah?" 

 "Absolutely." I half expect him to say 'Mountie's honor' he looks so
solemn. "I'll have to trust that Francesca stood proxy for me." 

 I think about that, figure I can get away with changing the subject a
little. Ham it up, Kowalski, and I let myself fall back on the bed. "I
thought she was gonna drive me out of my mind." 

 He laughs a little. "Fussing?" 

 "Fussing, coddling, you name it." I fold my hands on my belly. "When
you're lying there with tubes and drains and needles in practically every
goddamn orifice, there's not a helluva lot you can do to stop her,
either." 

 He says, in this little dry voice. "I'm amazed you survived." 

 "Me, too." I push myself up again, grin. "Almost as bad as getting' shot,
you ask me." 

 "I don't doubt it for a moment." He gets up off the bed. "Into bed with
you, you look tired." 

 "You noticed." Drily. "Sorry, I'm still getting my legs under me. Um,
Fraser, I need to tell you something in case somebody does call ya. I
sorta checked myself out of the hospital without telling anybody." 

 He stares at me for a minute. "Ah." 

 Damn, I wish I knew what that meant. "Um, Doc Heatherton is probably
going to be really pissed, but I left a note for my folks. Doesn't mean
Heatherton won't be on the warpath." I can't make out what he's thinking,
he's got that blank expression again. "I'm good, Fraser. I mean, Jesus, I
can stand up and walk around by myself, I may be hurting a little, but I'm
not a cripple any more, I can manage." 

 "I can see that." Looking at me. 

 My face goes hot, and I swallow hard. Fraser, old buddy, don't turn me
in, okay? Don't..don't take Heatherton's side, please. "Well, except for
my boots, maybe." 

 He shakes his head suddenly. "You're tired, that's all, and pain becomes
more acute when the body's energy level is down." 

 I'm that close to crying like a kid, wave a hand at him. "Okay, okay, I'm
being a jerk. I'm just so damn glad to be out of that hospital, no more
casts, no more drains, no more needles-it just takes some getting used to,
not being one hundred percent." 

 He nods, touches my shoulder again, real light. More Fraser touches
tonight than I expected, not that I'm complaining. But I have to be tough
on myself not to read stuff into those. "Time," he says, "You just need
time, Ray, my friend, and you'll have that here, my word on it." Long
look, long, long look, and I have to look away, shit scared that my
feelings are showing. 

 He pats my shoulder again. "It's late, we both need to get some sleep.
Ray..." I look up again. "I'm glad you came." 

 Oh, boy. I blink hard again. "Thanks, Fraser." And the words just don't
seem to mean what I'm trying to say, but he seems to get it. 

 "No, Ray." Another Fraser smile, the kind that makes my knees wobble when
I'm standing up. "Thank you, thank you very kindly." 

 He's thanking me? I make myself laugh a little. "Night, Fraser." 

 "Good night, Ray." 

 I figure it's going to take me a while to get to sleep, but once I'm in
bed, I'm warm and the firelight is flickering and Dief jumps up on the bed
and lies down next to me. "No licking," I tell him, and then I'm sleepy
again, my hand's in his fur, and I'm good, I'm better'n good, I'm great
and that's the last thought I have before I go under again. 

 //....the kid isn't more than eighteen, and there's a few other kids
hanging around near the door of the bar, which I don't like. Working with
Fraser too long, I'd let it pass before, but now... 

 Just a few questions, I tell the kid, and the kid steps back, into the
doorway, looking a little panicked, yells something through the door... 

 I grab hold of his arm, look, Ace, I just wanna know about this guy,
flashing the mug shot under the kids nose, and he jerks free, rabbits, all
in a coupla seconds, and then all hell breaks loose, gunfire all around,
and for a split second I freeze, trying to decide whether to stick and
pray for backup or run like hell. 

 Something punches me hard in the shoulder and chest, knocks me right off
my pins, and I'm cold, numb, except for this hot-freezing spot where I got
punched, and that spot spreads down and out and that's all I can feel, I
can't get my breath, and God, God, God, it hurts like nothing I ever felt,
not even when I got hit in the warehouse getting that kid out. 

 So don't breathe, might not be a good idea, close your eyes, Kowalski,
close 'em and try not to breathe, just let it go, let it go... 

 Bright light, too bright, hurts my eyes, and that's saying something, cuz
there's nothing but pain, big pain, fucking huge pain and there's people
around shouting stuff I can't understand, and I'm shit scared, can't keep
focused, can't breathe... 

 "This guy's not going to make it," somebody says, real close to me, and I
can hear somebody cryin', a woman cryin', and I can't make out what she's
sayin'. 

 "His chances aren't good," somebody else says, "Come on, move it, move
it, we gotta get him stable." 

 They're talking about me, I realize, and shit, shit, shit, a fuck up all
my life, and I let Fraser leave without trying to stop him, without ever
telling him how I felt about him, without ever letting him know that he
was the most important person in my fucking wasted life, and now I'm
dying. 

 He's gonna blame himself, too, that's what really sucks, he's going to
blame himself for going back where he belonged, and that's worse than the
pain that's eating me up, and I have to tell somebody, but all the faces
over me look strange, I don't know any of 'em, and then that pain is so
fucking huge that I can't hold on any more and wham, I'm gone...// 

 "Gah!" I sit up, shaking and sweating, something cold and wet sweeping
over my ear and cheek. 

 Diefenbaker, naturally, and he's standing over me, head tilted like he's
asking me if I'm all right. "Jeeeeesus, Dief, don't do that." Hoarsely. 

 Dief whines anxiously and lies down again, head on paws and not real
happy. I put shaky hands over my face, wipe it off, trying to stop
shivering, but I hate that fucking dream, I can't tell if it's what
happened or just a damn dream, but I hate it either way. 

 Last thing I want to do is remember dying, and I can't fucking erase it
from my brain. My thermals are soaked with sweat, and when I get a whiff
of myself, I stink. "I hope Fraser is asleep," I tell Dief, and shake my
head. Definitely from working too long with Fraser, I'm talking to a deaf
wolf. 

 I swing my legs over the side of the bed, feel the cold of the floor
right through my socks and shiver again. Fraser wasn't kidding, even
though the fire isn't dead, it's cold in here. Takes me a minute to get my
spare thermals and clean underwear, and I head for the bathroom. 

 Dief jumps off the bed and follows me, but I stop him at the door. "I
draw the line here, Dief." 

 He doesn't like that, but he lets me shut the door without complaining at
me. The furnace might not be working yet, but Jesus, there's nothing wrong
with the water heater, imagine Fraser having a hot water heater. I thank
God, just in case He exists, for letting Fraser get soft enough to have
hot water, because the spray feels great. 

 Lather and rinse, lather and rinse, lather and rinse, and I still can't
get clean of the damn dream, and looking down at myself sure as hell
doesn't help, I look like a damn Frankenstein monster. Bullets and drains
and tubes to deal with all the shit that went wrong with me when my heart
shut down, I guess, so it ain't pretty. The dream doesn't help, the scars
give me the creeps. Like X marks the spot, here's where I got killed, or
maybe here, or maybe here, and maybe I'm not really alive and this is all
some kind of weird life after death and that's why Fraser is so damn glad
to see me. 

 Freaky thinking, and maybe it's just the ache in my arm and shoulder that
brought the dream on, that happens sometimes, and even though I don't like
taking pain pills, maybe it's time for one. Hell, I don't even know if
they'll work, they're two years older than God. Couldn't very well ask
Heatherton or the Iron Maidens for a prescription, though, so what the
hell. 

 Once last rinse, for me and the soap, and then water off, I shake my head
like Dief coming out of the lake, open the shower curtain and the bathroom
door opens all of a sudden, scares the shit out of me, and I almost fall
on my ass. "Shit!" A little high pitched since my balls just jumped up
into my body. "Shit, Fraser, don't do that, you nearly gave me a heart
attack!" I'm not kidding, my heart's doing ninety to nothing, and I put
out a hand against the wall to keep my balance. 

 He gives me one of those Repentant Mountie looks. "I'm sorry, Ray, I
heard the shower and remembered I hadn't shown you where the towels were."
He holds the bath towels out. 

 My pump's banging against my palm. "Jesus." Shaking a little, and then I
see Fraser's eyes, see him looking at the scars, looking at me, and being
naked in front of him is weird enough, having him see the scars makes my
knees wobble. I grab a towel from the stack he's holding and bury my head
in it, rubbing hard. "'S not as bad as it looks." 

 "I very much doubt that, Ray." Steady voice, but he doesn't keep at it,
he puts the towels on the back of the john. "I'm sorry I startled you,
Ray." 

 I put the towel around my waist, trying to get the courage to look him in
the eye. "No problem." I sound cold, almost pissy, and I hate that sound
in my voice, he's Fraser, my buddy, my partner, not some stranger. Finally
get my eyes up to meet his, but he's already turning around, and he looks
like I never want him to look, he looks like the half-assed reasons I
didn't let anybody call him when I was finally together enough to think
they might've. 

 Knowing the Mountie, he's probably doing that guilt thing, but he's on
his way out again, closes the door behind him, and I feel like shit,
snapping at him when all I really want is to climb into a Fraser hug, not
that Fraser hugs, exactly. 

 I'm the hugger, not him. Always have been, just the way we were raised, I
guess. 

 I'm shaking again, I skin back into clean thermals in seconds flat, get
the door open and I'm out before he shuts himself back in his room.
"Fraser, I didn't mean to bark at ya." Christ, even my voice is shaking. 

 Fraser turns to look at me. Looks at me for a long time, not saying
anything, and like most times, I'm not sure what he's thinking, and my
knees go wobbly again. But Fraser, being Fraser and full of surprises
tonight, comes over to me, and boy, I get that hug I've been wanting, I
get hugged hard and tight. I want to hold on like for a year or two, and I
want to ask him, 'Who are you, and what did you do with Fraser', and I
don't do either, but I do hug him back hard, taking advantage while I can.


 "''M good, Fraser," I mutter, feeling like a jerk. 

 He draws back a little, eyes me. Uses my words again, like he can't find
his own. "Are we good, Ray?" Real quiet. 

 I have to blink real hard. "We're good." Hoarsely. "Hey, if you can put
up with me being a jerk, we're better than good." Trying to make a joke of
it. 

 Fraser smiles again, but it's kind of sad. "I think I might well be a
jerk if someone startled me out of several years of my life." He lets go
of me and pats my good shoulder. "I'm going back to bed, try and get some
sleep." 

 "Tell Dief to keep his nose off my face." Dief, still lying on the bed,
growls at me. 

 Fraser lifts one eyebrow at me. "I told you not to encourage him, he'll
be insufferable." 

 I move back toward the bed, laugh a little. "Nah, he can wake me up from
that kind of dream any day." I look back again in time to catch that
expression on his face again, mad and sad and like it hurt. I wish biting
my tongue would help take the words back, I don't like that expression on
his face. 

 But all he says is, "May the rest of your dreams tonight be more
pleasant." And then he's back in his room, but the door isn't closed this
time. 

 I get shaky at that and get back into bed, bumping up against Dief, who
whines at me. "I'm good, Dief." 

 Dief eyes me like Fraser did, then closes his eyes. 

 That hug did more than any damn pain pills could do, I yank the blankets
up again, turn out the light and my eyes close the minute my head hits the
pillow. 

 Best of all, no more dreams, at least not that kind. 

 Next time I wake up, it's getting light, not quite full daylight. Dief
isn't there any more, and lying snug under that comforter, I hear small
sounds coming from the kitchen, poke my head out to see Fraser standing at
the stove, neat and clean and looking like he just stepped out of some
Mountie Recruiting poster. 

 I think he's talking to Dief or maybe himself. Even Fraser isn't freaky
enough to be talking to the stove. 

 I yawn and stretch, trying to work out a few kinks that aren't going to
work out, and push myself up. 

 He turns and looks at me, like he's been listening for me. "Go back to
sleep," he tells me, frowning. "It's early yet." 

 Well, he's got that right, but I get up anyway, haul my skinny ass to the
bathroom and take care of business. Even brush my teeth before I come back
out. 

 He's back at the stove again when I come back, and I come up behind him,
scratching a scar that itches through my shirt. There's nothing but water
in the pan. "Hot water?" 

 He gives me that innocent look again. "Oatmeal." 

 Hell, better than some of the other stuff he's fed me. I yawn again,
popping my jaw. "Mighta known. Throw some in for me." 

 "That was my plan," he says, Fraser dry, "Remembering how fond you are of
oatmeal." 

 I grin. "Better'n pemmican." 

 Long look. "Hmmmm." 

 I think that means he thinks I'm a goof. I bet he likes pemmican better.
I grin. "Mind if I go in with ya? I gotta see what a primitive Mountie
post looks like." 

 "It's not all that primitive, Ray," he tells me, and I recognize the
lecture tone, "Since the 1950's, the RCMP has worked hard to make even the
remote postings livable and comfortable. Here, there are even attached
quarters, and--." 

 I cut this off or I'll hear about construction materials. "How come you
aren't living there, then?" He measures out the oats, and I take the
wooden spoon to stir for him. 

 "I turned them over to my subordinate. Constable David Brett, he's
married and the quarters are quite modern and comfortable." 

 He's got a subordinate? This town seems so damn small. "You aren't the
only Mountie in town?" 

 Startled look. "No, Ray. Owlcreek has a population of just less than
1800; there are two of us. Even in Owlcreek, I'd seldom get any rest if I
were the only officer posted. Technically, we have three slots here, but
Constable O'Hara just rotated out, and it's sometimes difficult to get
officers for these remote posts. Constable Brett is on leave at the
moment, but he'll be back at the end of the week, and I can get a relief
officer from Whitehorse if I need one." 

 "Weird." I poke the spoon at the oats, he tosses in a pinch of salt and I
stir the whole mess. "Oatmeal, huh." 

 One corner of his mouth lifts up a little. "Jack should have fresh eggs
in by the end of the week, but as I recall, you weren't overfond of
powdered eggs." 

 No shit. "Gah, not." "Rather eat oatmeal." 

 He looks at again, this time like he can't quite believe I'm here. But he
doesn't say anything embarrassing, he says, "You have ten minutes to get
dressed and presentable so I can introduce you around town." Like he's
talking to Dief, which is okay, it means he doesn't think he's got to
treat me like he's walking on eggs. 

 Or something. Ten minutes, I can do that. "Yeah? Okay, but if you dish up
before I'm done, but I want lotsa sugar in my oatmeal." 

 He smiles, like he remembers me bitching. On the quest, he finally
decided the extra calories were good, but we had to fight about the sugar,
refined glucose. "And some strong tea, that might help make up for no
coffee." 

 Gah, I forgot. "Oh, yeah," I agree and go off to rummage through my bags.


 I'm not sure how presentable I am when I'm dressed, the jeans hang off my
hips if I don't cinch in the belt, but the thermal shirt and sweatshirt
are bulky enough I don't look like a damn scarecrow, at least. 

 "Hey, Fraser, think it's gonna snow today?" 

 He turns and gives me one of those real smiles that make me wobble. "Not
today, Ray. But by Wednesday, yes, I believe we'll have some come in. I
can smell it on the wind." 

 Dief makes a sound and Fraser looks at him, his expression surprised.
"Well, yes, Dief, I suppose that's true." 

 Like the wolf talks. "What?" Suckers me every time. 

 For some reason, he goes bright red. "Ah, well, he was reminding me that
you are a part of our, ah, pack." 

 Damn wolf. Damn Fraser, and I have to get busy half-assed making the bed
to keep from falling apart on that one. Part of the pack. Finally manage
to say, "Hey, you know it, didn't we do the quest?" 

 "Right you are, Ray." Warm tone. 

 God. Dief comes over and nudges me, like he's doing the Fraser thing,
worrying about me. "Hey, Dief, I'm good." 

 I'm not sure he believes me. 

 Oatmeal and damn if Fraser doesn't actually have some cinnamon and he
puts that in mine and it's like being a kid, tasting cinnamon and sugar on
a winter morning before I have to leave for school. Except my mom didn't
make tea strong enough to stand a spoon in, and it's not coffee, but it's
not bad, I can feel the caffeine starting to hit and my brain cells start
coming back to life. At least the ones that still work right. 

 Great. Greatness. I feel practically normal. No more Ray Kowalski, long
term medical project, just me, the guy who made it through the quest
without losing my toes to frostbite, freaky ass falling in love with his
Mountie partner-and for once, that's not bothering me a lot, and I'm
thinking I was right the second time, Fraser'll tell me an Inuit story and
maybe I won't get what I want, but I'll still keep Fraser. If that makes
sense. 

 Owlcreek is a little bigger than I expected, at least main streetwise,
and it's cold enough this morning that my breath comes out in white puffs
like smoke. 

 Fraser says hello to the few people on the street and introduces me, and
damned if I can remember the names, but I shake hands, make nice, and then
Fraser drags me across the street where there's this little tiny woman
standing at a door, holding it open. 

 "Good morning, Fraser," she says, and waves to invite us in. "This must
be your friend, Ray. Tom Ellery said he dropped him off at the bottom of
the hill last night." 

 Jesus, I wonder how many people he told. 

 Fraser beams. "He is indeed, Rosie, I'd like to introduce Ray Kowalski,
my friend and partner from Chicago." He actually puts a hand on my
shoulder, squeezes. "Ray, this is Rosie McKenzie, co-proprietor of the
general store." 

 She holds out her hand, and I hold mine out and Fraser's eyes drop. "Ray,
where are your gloves?" 

 Oh, boy. "Forgot 'em." 

 Rosie McKenzie gives me a look, like she's trying to decide if I've got
what it takes to be Fraser's buddy. Smiles. "Any friend of Constable
Fraser's is more than welcome here, Mr. Kowalski." She shakes my hand. 

 Mr. Kowalski. Jeez, that's my dad, or me in trouble, one of the two.
"Just Ray, ma'am." 

 "Just Rosie, Ray." I like her smile, though, she's good people, I can
feel it. "Now, you know, I would never try and subvert an officer of the
law, Fraser, but your friend here looks as though he could do with a scone
or two." 

 Scones? I swear, my mouth starts to water. 

 Fraser looks pleased. "I think you're quite correct, Rosie," and he gives
me a sideways look, "Perhaps even three. And I believe I do need some
supplies after all." 

 Coffee, I hope. Dief whines hopefully. 

 Rosie laughs softly. "I think perhaps Dief would appreciate a scone as
well. Surely, you'll join us, Fraser." Wicked gleam of mischief in dark
eyes. 

 He nods. "Thank you kindly, I believe I will." 

 "Go right on back, then, and I'll get a notepad, we'll make a list." She
winks at me. 

 It's nice and warm inside, and it's bigger than I thought, and Fraser
touches my elbow and points to a door at the back. 

 "Are we going to buy coffee?" I can't match the pleading Mountie look, so
I try to just look hopeful. 

 "Right you are, Ray. I don't know if Rosie stocks precisely the kind of
candy-" 

 Hey, I remember from last time I was up here, and there's a bag of
Smarties right where I want 'em, I pick it up and grin at him. 

 Instead of lecturing me on chocolate and sugar, he just smiles happily.
God, that smile, I swear, can melt glaciers. 

 Rosie gives us a funny look, funny peculiar. "Jack favors coffee in the
morning, I've got a pot on right now." 

 She can look at me any way she wants, I decide. "Oh, yeah, that would
be....great." 

 Fraser nudges me forward, through the doorway at the back of the store,
into Rosie's kitchen, warm and sunny, windows along the back wall and one
of those long tables and there's a guy bigger than Fraser sitting there
reading a paper and drinking, God, coffee, and the whole place smells like
my mom's kitchen used to on Saturday. 

 The guy glances up from the paper, nods at Fraser, nods at me, and goes
back to reading. Fraser pries me out of my parka and takes it, and I sit
down and then there's a mug of coffee in front of me, yeah, and I drop the
Smarties into it and look up to see Fraser and Rosie and even the big guy
watching me. 

 Fraser looks happy, the big guy is eyeing me like I'm a freak, and Rosie
just hands me a spoon. 

 I can feel my face getting hot, but Fraser just says mildly, "He likes
chocolate in his coffee, Jack." 

 The big guy nods, goes back to reading and Rosie pushes a plate over. The
scone's still warm from the oven, and I almost whimper biting into it.
Look, the stew was good, but Fraser's cooking isn't exactly like Mom's.
Mom never cooked musk ox for one thing, and Fraser doesn't bake, and after
months of crappy hospital food carefully picked out by another Iron
Maiden, this is like a little bit of heaven. 

 "So what brings you up north here, Ray?" Rosie sits down with us, sits
next to the big guy. 

 Gee, Rosie, I came up here to tell Fraser how I really feel, and maybe
because I'm wimpy enough to need his company while I'm totally fucked up,
and say, hey, maybe, just maybe, if he's openminded, to stay here for a
while so I don't have to look into any more faces that show me pity.
Naturally, I don't say anything like that. "Just a long vacation,
ma-Rosie. Fraser invited me up when I was in Chicago and I finally decided
to get my..." I grin at Fraser, "Get my bad self up here." 

 Fraser chuckles. "Dief was so pleased to see him that he knocked him
down." 

 Jack looks over the top of the paper, grunts. I am all over that, I
think, let's move on to a subject other than Mrs. Kowalski's boy Ray. 

 No such luck. 

 "He does need a bit of feeding up," Fraser says, like he's translating
this. "You know how it is in the city, Jack." 

 I have no idea what that means, exactly, given that Fraser thinks I eat
too much junk food, but I'm so glad he doesn't talk about why I'm really
here that I just nod. "Hey, I'm a lean, mean, street machine," I say,
patting my chest. "We don't come as big as you guys." I take another sip
of coffee and practically hum. "Oh, Rosie, this is great. Greatness. Just
what I needed." 

 She smiles over the rim of her mug. "You did look like a man who needed
coffee," she teased. 

 I grin. "I had that crazed coffee deprived expression?" 

 Her eyes gleam. "And your hair was standing on end." 

 "Oh, it always does that." I put a hand up and make it stand up more.
"You should have seen it two weeks ago, it was longer and didn't want to."


 Jack sets the paper down. "So, you're a constable in Chicago?" 

 "Detective. I was. I, ah, I'm kinda on-" I can't think of the word, look
at Fraser. 

 "Sabbatical," he says, "He's on sabbatical from the department.
Voluntarily." 

 I look at him, wondering what the hell he said that for, but Rosie and
Jack nod. 

 "Yeah." Man, the coffee is good. "Yeah, sabbatical." 

 Rosie turns to Fraser. "Well, Fraser, what do you think you'll be
needing?" 

 He smiles. "Coffee, of course. Let me have a look at the shelves-no, stay
here, Ray, enjoy your coffee and scone." 

 "I'll take care of it," Jack mutters. "Sit, Rosie, Fraser and I are old
hands at this." 

 Rosie watches them go, and turns back to me. I thought Fraser had laser
sights, but the look she aims at me is like my Mom's. Shit. "You've been
ill." 

 "Um. I got hurt. Line of duty." I really do not want to talk about this,
and Rosie's cool, she lets it go, just nods. 

 "Try another scone," is all she says. 

 "Um, I had oatmeal at Fraser's, I don't think another scone'll fit." 

 She grins, gets up. "I'll just send some with you, then. For when that
settles." 

 Fraser wouldn't accept, I don't think, or maybe he would, and I'm not man
enough to turn down fresh baking, not when it's as good as this. "They're
great," I tell her awkwardly, and then she asks me about Chicago and
things smooth out fine, I start telling her stories about how Fraser and I
worked together, and she's laughing at Fraser measuring my nose and the
putty sandwich when Fraser comes back in again. "Get everything you need?"


 He nods, gets my parka, and holds it out. "I think so." 

 "I haven't finished my coffee." I complain. 

 "Take it with," Rosie suggests, and she's putting scones into a paper
sack. "Make sure he gets some of these, Fraser, don't let him feed them to
Dief." 

 Dief makes an offended noise. Fraser eyes him. "Well, if you weren't so
greedy, you wouldn't be judged that way." 

 I snicker and get up, stick my arms into the sleeves of the parka and
reclaim my coffee. "Um, I'll bring this back later, thanks, Rosie." 

 "My pleasure." She winks at me. "Jack takes my coffee for granted." 

 "I'll have Davy bring the groceries up tonight, Fraser," Jack says,
"He'll be back in time for that, keeps you from having to carry it up the
hill." 

 "Thank you kindly, Jack." 

 Rosie laughs. "If we let him take it to the office, he gives a lot of it
away." 

 "Sometimes others have greater need," Fraser says. 

 Same Fraser. I grin, and take the sack Rosie hands me. "Thanks, Rosie." 

 "Just come back and tell me more stories about Fraser in the big city."
She gives Fraser a wicked grin. 

 Fraser gives me a look. "Now, Ray, there's no sense in rehashing old
history." 

 Rosie twinkles at him. "Oh, we'd love to hear them." Definitely a wicked
look. 

 I feel a little guilty, though. "I was just telling her how we started
working together." 

 "Ah." His mouth quirks up a little. "Understood." 

 I can't decide if that means he doesn't mind, or if he wishes I wouldn't,
but I figure I can ask him later when we don't have an audience. 

 We walk down the street, and Fraser is telling me the name of each little
shop and building, and we get to a building that stands apart, and I know
it's his post. 

 Cleaner than most police stations, but dirt wouldn't dare show up in
Fraser's offices, I'm pretty sure of that. Smell of lemon oil, like he
polished the desks, and from the gleam on the wood, I'm right. 

 He hangs his hat and coat up, and then gives me another one of those
happy Fraser smiles and I have to sit down suddenly, try to cover it up by
taking a swallow of coffee. 

 "It's good to have you here, Ray." 

 I risk a look at him, and I can see he means it in the second before he
turns around to open a file cabinet. 

 I look at the bigger desk and nearly choke on my coffee. Fraser has a
computer on his desk. I mean, not that he doesn't know how to use one
better than me, but it wasn't what I expected to see up here. "Fraser,
that's a computer." 

 He turns around again, holding a file. "Why, yes, Ray. I told you, this
is a fairly modern post, and of course, we're connected to-" 

 "I didn't expect to see a computer in here, that's all." Wow. "You got
internet access? We could send Frannie some email." 

 He goes as red as his red serge, and I can't figure out if that's about
Frannie or what I said about not expecting a computer, but he nods.
"Actually, Ray, yes I do. Er, rather the post does, it makes communicating
with other posts much easier for those times when urgency isn't required."


 I translate this. Fraser-speak for keeping in touch with other Mounties
when it's not one of his usual life or death situations, I think, but why
that should make him blush is something I can't figure out and it's not
that big a deal, but I keep finding myself wondering during the day. 

 He turns on the second computer and lets me play solitaire while he does
paperwork, and I've never been big on computer games. I get bored after a
while and go stand at the window, looking out at the street. "Hey, Fraser,
it's snowing a little." 

 He looks up. "Just flurries. Ray, would you like something to read?" 

 "Left my glasses at the cabin," I tell him, even though that's not quite
the whole reason. I still have trouble taking in what's on the page. They
told me that was pretty normal, teaching the brain cells that weren't
starved of oxygen, it's going to take a while. Hell, I was lucky. Not much
worse than having one of those learning disability things, and if I go
slow enough, I do fine. Just have to go slow. Hey, I always was more of a
hands on kind of learner anyway, so it's not that bad, but I still don't
want to go into it. I can talk now, no slurring, I can think, and even if
I've got holes in my memory, I'm mostly okay now. 

 He chews on that lower lip. "I'm sorry, I know this isn't very
interesting, Ray." 

 "Doesn't have to be, Fraser." I come over and lean on his desk, facing
him. "I'm where I wanna be, don't get weird on me." 

 Little smile. "As you wish, Ray." 

 "But maybe I'll take a walk, keep from getting on your nerves." 

 "Take Dief with you," he suggests, and it's a good idea, I get lots of
quiet hellos, but nobody's pushy, I say hello back and Dief ambles along
beside me until we sort of reach the edge of town, where he darts off.
It's still snowing a little, and I stuff my hands in my pockets again,
keeping warm, sit down on a stump and wait for the damn wolf. 

 The air is cold and smells a little like pine trees, and it's quiet,
quiet I remember, even though town is just at my back, and this feels
good, a lot like some of the days on our trip, just me and Fraser and the
wolf, and even though he's in the office, he's here, and this is his
place, and I shrug the parka hood over my head. 

 I remember waking up in the hospital and feeling, I don't know, maybe
like I was paralyzed, but that's not quite right. Couldn't sort out my
head, had a terrible time talking. Slurred words, and my folks were there,
and that's the only time I ever saw tears in my dad's eyes before. 

 Never want to see 'em again. 

 At first, I thought it was right after the warehouse, I kept asking about
the kid, and Dad didn't get it. It wasn't until Welsh showed up and
figured it out that they told me that was a long time ago. Frannie came by
practically every day. She might drive me batshit sometimes, but she's
good people, too, and she'd read to me. 

 Gotta thank her for that, even if romance novels don't do much for me. 

 Stella didn't come. I didn't get that at first, because I was thinking we
were still married, but things started coming back to me. Finally
remembered that she married Vecchio, the guy whose life I took over to
keep him alive, and that set off a crying jag that didn't quit 'til they
pumped me up full of tranks. 

 I was lucky. I am lucky. I could be lying in some hospital all drawn up
in a fetal position, getting turned every few hours to keep from getting
bedsores. I know that. The Iron Maidens tell me all the time, just in case
being lucky escapes me. 

 That really pisses me off, you want to know the truth, because I'm not
stupid, I effing know how lucky I was to come out of it with most of my
marbles and on my feet again. 

 Doesn't make it easier to deal with the shit that's left, though. Now,
Fraser makes it easier, he just acts matter of fact. 

 I finally get up and go in search of Dief, find him investigating a
burrow of some kind. "Hey," I say, "Yo, Dief, don't go looking for
trouble." 

 I swear, he gives me an apologetic look and bounds back to me, and then
we head back toward town, another stroll through the place, and I'm
getting plenty chilled, I go back to find Fraser putting on his coat. 

 He stops, and he looks relieved. "I was starting to get concerned, Ray." 

 I wave my hand. "Dief was exploring." 

 He gives Dief a long stern look. "You know better." 

 Dief whines, and I swear, even that sounds apologetic. 

 "Very well, but I expect you to remember in future." Still stern, and he
takes off his coat. "Something hot to drink, Ray?" 

 I don't even mind if it's tea, and I nod, suddenly realize that I'm
colder than I thought I was. When he brings me the mug, our hands touch,
and he frowns suddenly, puts his hands over mine. "Ray, I've got an extra
pair of gloves at the cabin you might use." 

 I go still when his hands fold over mine, I want to just soak that in,
just make it last forever, but I'm scared I'll give myself away, and yeah,
I came up here to tell him, but I'm not exactly ready to hit him with it
in his office. "Fraser, my hands just got cold, I'm okay, quit worrying so
much." 

 He looks me dead in the eye. "I called Lt. Welsh." 

 Shit. Shit. Shit. "Why?" And man, my temper flares up like a housefire.
"Why the hell-did you think I was lying to you, Fraser? Like I ever have?"


 "I did not believe you were lying to me, Ray, I believed you were
seriously understating the nature of your injuries and I was correct,
wasn't I." 

 Not even a question and he's still got his hands over mine, so even if he
thinks I suck, he doesn't hate my guts, and he's not letting me off the
hook, either, he's got me in that laser sight of his, and even if he
doesn't sound mad, he sounds disappointed. 

 In me. 

 And that takes the mad away, and I just feel like shit again. "Didn't
seem to be much point in all the gory details." I drop my eyes and stare
at the mug, at his hands around mine, both of us holding the mug. 

 "Hmm." 

 I'm not just a medical case, I'm not just a gimp, I want to say, but that
sounds like major pity party, and that's the one thing I can't stand to
see in Fraser's eyes, I know I can't stand it. 

 "Well," he finally says, when I won't look at him. "At any rate, Lt.
Welsh will make sure your parents know you arrived safely, and has agreed
to have your medical records sent up here to the medical clinic." 

 I didn't think it was possible to feel worse, but he's reminded me that I
left my parents a note and disappeared and that my mother has to be out of
her mind with worry. And, yeah, I'm upset about the medical clinic.
"Fraser," I start and then stop. What's the point, there is no point, the
one safe place I had is gone now. "Thanks, Fraser." 

 He rubs my hands a little, lets go. "Ray, you are my friend, you know
that. You cannot expect me to allow a friend to behave in ways that are
self-destructive without attempting to intervene." 

 "What the hell does that mean?" Not even mad, just tired all of a sudden.
"I'm not being self-destructive." 

 "Perhaps that was too strong a term." I finally look up and he's rubbing
that eyebrow. When he sees me look up, he cracks his neck in that way he
has. "But you do require continued physical therapy, according to Lt.
Welsh. I know it cannot be pleasant, I've been through it myself, but Ray,
it's necessary." 

 That's what this is about? I take in a deep breath. Think about it. "I
know." Manage to say it calmly. "It's just-I get tired of this shit,
Fraser." 

 "I do know." That serious Mountie expression. "I do apologize for not
telling you ahead of time that I was going to call Lt. Welsh, Ray. That
was deceptive, although I didn't intend to deceive, I was merely concerned
for you." 

 I take a swallow of tea. No sugar. That means something. You're a
detective, Kowalski, detect, I tell myself, and realize that it means
Fraser was worried enough about telling me this that he forgot I like
sugar. Which makes things better, don't ask me why. "Okay." I take another
deep breath. "Okay, I guess I'm good with that." 

 His relief makes me feel better, too. But I don't have the heart to tell
him what Heatherton tells me, that Heatherton thinks I've made as much
recovery as I can, that there's not going to be much more. Heatherton
tells me I'm lucky to be alive. Heatherton says I should be grateful for
that much. 

 I am grateful, I guess. I'm just sick of hearing it. And I'm tired again,
and my shoulder and my arm and hand are tired, and I have to keep my left
hand wrapped around the mug so I'm drinking two handed like a little kid.
"Fraser, I'm going back to the cabin, put on some tunes." 

 "Take Dief," he starts to say, but I cut him off and get up. 

 "Nah, Dief's a crimefighter, I'm just going to take it easy." 

 He doesn't look completely happy. "As you wish, Ray." 

 And then I'm out the door again, and on the way back up the hill. 

 First thing I do is wash up the dishes from breakfast. Hot water feels
good, takes away some of the ache in the right hand, and I get reckless, I
fold the couch up again, which isn't a good idea, because I twist or pull
something just under the right side of my collar bone and even though it's
not really pain, it does make me think maybe I oughta get some rest. 

 I wrap myself up in that comforter and sack out, and yeah, that's good,
I'm warm and the cabin is warm-guess Fraser lit that furnace sometime when
I was asleep, because the there's warm air blowing from the ceiling vent
and I'm out, out, out... 

 At least until I wake up, freaking, from another nightmare about dying
and roll off the couch, knees smacking hard on the wooden floor. "Shit!" I
use a lot of other language that would make Fraser look at me wrong, but
he's not here, and I decide fast that maybe it's time to take a pain pill,
because that place under my collarbone feels hot and that heat goes all
the way down my arm to my fingers, and maybe those nerves were damaged,
like Doc Heatherton said, but it sure feels like being roasted over a slow
fire. 

 Takes some work to get the childproof cap off, and I'm chanting "Fuck,
fuck, fuck," before it finally pops off and the pills spill out on the
floor. Deep breath, and then I get one pill, stagger back upright and into
the kitchen. Cold water in a glass, and I swallow it, have to lean against
the sink for a minute to try and keep it down. 

 Something about the vagus nerve, Heatherton tells me, and when it's
acting bad, it makes me want to puke. "Deep breath, Kowalski," I tell
myself shakily. "This ain't bad, you've had worse." More deep breaths,
rubbing the hot spot. Around Fraser too long, and I'm talking to myself,
but if it keeps me from puking, I'm okay with it. 

 My knees stop aching, hell, that was just a smack, no worse than bumping
against my desk, and that helps some, even though I'm still hot and
queasy. Never ate anything after breakfast, and that's probably a good
thing right now. Another wave of heat and I taste acid in the back of my
throat, lean over and turn the cold water tap on, stick my face in it. 

 Just my luck, the door opens then, but it's the cold air I feel, I don't
hear it, and then I do hear my name. 

 Fuck, fuck, I did not want Fraser to see me like this, not sick and
whiny, and I reach up, fumble for the tap, bad, bad idea, I nearly puke
because I forget, use my right hand. 

 "Ray!" Strong arm hauls me up and over to the couch, careful of my arm.
"Head down, between your knees." 

 Yeah, I know the drill, and I don't have a lotta choice, not with a hand
pressing down between my shoulder blades. "'M okay." Faintly. "I'll be
okay," which is mostly true. Been here, done this, got the t-shirt, but I
left it at the hospital. 

 "Hmmm." Fraser kneels beside me, easing up since I'm not fighting him.
"Any better?" 

 I took in a deep breath. Still kind of sick, but not hot any more. "I
think so." 

 "Ease back, slowly, slowly, put your feet up, there, like that." Fraser's
voice is gentle, Fraser's hands are gentle. "Deep, slow breaths, Ray, you
know how." 

 Yeah, I do, learned that trick the hard way at the hospital. "'M okay,"
and all of a sudden, I think I might be, the pill's starting to kick in,
strong as hell even if it's old. Makes me wonder what they gave me back
then. "It's just that nerve, Fraser, it sorta makes me feel sick, that's
all." 

 He does that hmmmm thing again, gets up, leaves for a minute. Comes back
with a cool, damp washcloth, puts it across my forehead. I laugh, shakily
and my voice cracks. "I don't have a goddamn fever." 

 "It will help." Fraser's voice seems distant. "Did you take any pain
medication yet?" 

 "Just now." Actually, looks like the Mountie's right, the cloth helps,
except for the ache in my shoulder and arm, I feel almost normal again.
"It's kicking in." 

 "Good. Let it." Fraser's expression was somber. 

 Goddammit, I don't want Fraser feeling sorry for me, hell if I do, and I
say it out loud instead of thinking it, and have to wince at Fraser's
expression. 

 "Feeling concern for you is not the same as feeling pity for you, Ray."
Gravely, and while it makes more sense than Fraser sometimes does, it
still makes my eyes go blurry. 

 "Yeah." I try to ease myself up, use the wrong arm, and feel my stomach
do somersaults. "I'm down, I'm down," as Fraser reaches for me. "Maybe I
better stay down for a while." 

 "One of your better ideas of late," Fraser tells me, and yeah, I hear
definite disapproval in Fraser's tone. "Testing one's limitations is
admirable under most circumstances. Doing so when recovering from injuries
of this severity is not." 

 That cracks me up, I started laughing and laugh until I've got tears in
my eyes, or maybe they were there already and I'm laughing to keep them
away,I don't know. He's worried now, I can see that, and still can't get
hold of things. 

 "Easy, Ray" he says softly, and somehow, his hand cups my face. I can't
help it, I turn my face into it and manage to get a deep breath. "Easy,
Ray. Let the pill do its work." 

 "I'm so fucking sick of this." Another breath, and I'm blinking hard. 

 "I know that feeling very well." Somber again, and I remember suddenly
that Fraser's still got a bullet in him from when Vecchio shot him. 

 Warm fingers tangle with mine, a little awkward. Like I said, Fraser
isn't much on touchy feely, and that makes it even better, way better, and
I settle again, manage to shut my face and stop whining. "Thanks, Fraser."
Being weak sucks, but hey, I hope I'm still man enough to thank a buddy
for his help. 

 Fraser squeezes my hand gently. "My pleasure." Sounds like he means it,
crazy Mountie. 

 I blink hard again, manage not to go off on another laughing or crying
jag and oh, man, the pill is definitely kicking in, that sharp edge's
getting duller by the minute, and my mouth's dry as hell. "Fraser? You
mind getting me a glass of water?" 

 "Right here, Ray." He holds up the glass. 

 Fucking Boy Scout, I think, but not in a shitty way, that's just Fraser,
Proper Preparation and all. "Trust you," I say, hoarse voice, he slides an
arm under my shoulders, big hand cradling the bad one, eases me up enough
to drink, and he's not letting go. I drink it all, stopping only once to
get a breath, then nod thanks at him. "I think I'm good, Fraser, but I
need some help to sit up." Humbly. 

 "You've got it." Careful touch, steadying me, not just hauling me up, and
then I'm mostly sitting up against the arm of the couch, a pillow under my
head. Fraser perches a hip on the edge of the couch, eyeing me. "Better
now?" 

 Matter of fact tone, like I haven't done anything to embarrass myself. 

 Maybe I was just being a jerk. I take the cloth off my forehead and wipe
my face. "What a fucking mess." Apologetically. 

 "Time, Ray." Fraser tells me sternly, like he's talking to Dief. No, he
doesn't usually get that stern with Dief, but he lets my language pass. 

 I nod, not quite up to meeting his eyes. "Yeah, time." 

 "Time spent not doing things that will cause further damage," he insists,
practically growling. 

 Damn, of course he'd figure it out, how stupid can you get, Kowalski.
Couch is folded up, and he wouldn't let me do it last night. I finally
look at him and those eyebrows are drawn together. Boy, the Mountie's on a
tear, maybe I really am being a jerk. I pull a face. "Yeah, well, it was a
dumb thing to do, but Fraser, if I don't work the muscles they aren't
gonna get stronger." 

 Those eyebrows stay drawn together. But I can see him thinking it over,
struggling with it. He hates not always being right, always did.
"Understood," he finally says, not happy about it. "But I suggest better
choices of how to exercise, Ray. And that, I'm afraid, is why physical
therapists go through long term education." 

 In other words, Fraser-speak translated, you dumb fuck, do it right. 

 I'm not mad, exactly, because maybe he's part right. "Look, I followed
their orders all the way, I did the PT until I wished the damn bullets had
killed me, I had to get outa there, Fraser, before I lost my mind." Tired
of trying to explain, but taking a shot at it, because if anybody
understands, I figure it'll be him. "I'll try to be careful, Fraser, but I
can't turn into a couch pumpkin." 

 He blinks. "Understood. But, ah, Ray, if I recall the idiom, it's couch
potato." 

 "Pumpkin, potato." I lean back into the pillow. "Whatever." 

 One corner of his mouth lifts. "Ah. Both something one turns into?" 

 "Exactly." But, he does understand and that makes me choke up again. 

 "Well, I have little fear of that, Ray. You were gone almost an hour on
your short walk today." But he's smiling, not stern. "And Ray, I neglected
to give you a message from Lt. Welsh, I'm to tell you that you're on
temporary disability for the moment, not permanent. You have time to make
those decisions you talked about." 

 I let out a breath, stunned. "Temporary, huh?" 

 Fraser nods. "According to Lt. Welsh, yes." 

 My face feels hot again, but this time I'm embarrassed. "Oh. Great." I'm
still a cop, sort of, not just a cripple. 

 A real grin then. "I told him I believed you would be pleased." 

 I wish Fraser was still holding my hand. Swallow hard at that thought and
call myself an asshole. "I'm definitely good, Fraser." Light a tone as I
could manage. "Go on doing whatever it is you do at this time of day." 

 "Actually, that would be preparing dinner." He gives me another long
look. "Ray, I don't know how to convince you that my feelings about you do
not include pity." 

 Oh, boy, my face gets hotter. But like always, my mouth insists on
working before my brain has kicked in. "Feelings?" 

 "Affection. Trust. Exasperation." Light slap to my kneecap and Fraser
gets up. "You're on my territory now, Ray, and my orders are for you to
lie there and do nothing until that pill takes effect." 

 "Yeah, well, once it does, I ain't gonna be good for anything." I sigh,
but I'm not really complaining. 

 Unreadable look. "Don't sell yourself short, Ray." 

 I'm not sure what that means, but my face gets hot again. 

 The pill has definitely hit, I'm sleepy, don't even mind settling back to
watch Fraser move around the cabin, small tasks again, kitchen sounds, and
it reminds me of the night before, of how weird it is to feel like I'd
come home after all, and I was an asshole to get so worked up about
everything when it's Fraser facing me down, not the doctor who drove me
batshit, not Welsh, not my folks. 

 Fraser doesn't fuss or act like I'm a cripple, he just says what's what.
My eyelids feel heavy again and damn, I'm getting tired of fading out all
the time, so I fight it, listening to Fraser sounds. Claws on hardwood
again, and Dief presses up against the couch, I put my hand out, let it
rest on Dief's fur for a minute, drifting a little and having to drag
myself back. 

 Fraser's turned on the CD player, but music doesn't help me stay awake,
it's mellow, one of my own CDs, and I half-smile, crack open my eyelids to
see Fraser back in the kitchen, let 'em fall again, let myself float on
the music until good food smells pull me back in. 

 Dief's deserted me, my hand's tingling from hanging over the edge of the
couch, but I'm good, better than I expected, nothing more than a dull ache
now, and I push myself up, wobble into the kitchen to stand next to
Fraser, who's stirring something in a pot. 

 Faint smile. "In honor of Chicago, we're having spaghetti, Ray." 

 I try to imagine Canadian spaghetti and can't wrap my mind around it. I
hope he didn't use Canadian bacon and lean over to inhale. "Well, it
smells good anyway." 

 He gives me that little quirk of the mouth. "Ye of little faith. It has
to simmer a bit longer." He shifts to face me, so damn close I want to
lean in on him, get another one of those hugs. "How's the shoulder, my
friend?" 

 I look into the pot, pretending I'm just checking out dinner. "Better.
Guess I shoulda left the bed alone." 

 "Probably." Mild tone and Fraser puts a hand on my shoulder, magic
fingers hitting the worst knot. "Sit down, I think I can do something for
that." 

 I blink, open my mouth to say no, but can't think of any reason that
he'll buy. Hell, I'm not some dumb some sixteen year old kid who can't
control myself, I decide. Just because he's going to give me a shoulder
rub and I have about fifteen different fantasies that start out that
way.... 

 I sit down, shoving the door shut on those thoughts. 

 Behind me, I hear Fraser open a cupboard, look over my shoulder to see
he's got a jar in his hand. "That's not that pregnant moose stuff is it,
Fraser, cuz I gotta tell you, that's going to make me puke tonight." 

 Quick grin. "It is not." 

 I eye the jar. "Does it stink?" Most of his concoctions do, even if they
work. 

 Patient look and he opens the jar, holds it out. I sniff cautiously. It
smells like herbs and something kind of sharp, but it doesn't set off my
gag reflex. "Okay." Grudgingly. 

 "Take off your shirt." Fraser gestures. 

 Danger, danger, Will Robinson, oh, boy, and I still can't think of a good
reason to tell him no. Maybe it's the pill, but I finally shrug and work
both shirts off carefully. Fraser's hands are warm, one thumb finds a
trouble spot and presses firmly, and I groan. "Yeah, right there," I
agree, letting my head hang down. 

 "I thought so, the way you were holding it." Easy tone, and even if the
stuff in the jar makes me shiver a bit, Fraser's hands feel so damned
good. "It's natural to try and protect against pain, but I think it's put
things out of balance, Ray. Each group of muscles works together..." 

 I grin senselessly and just let the words roll over me, it's Fraser at
his best, long explanation in dry tones, while those hands work magic. It
feels almost like old times, not that Fraser's ever given me a backrub
before, not like this. I lean into those wonderworking hands, feel knots
loosen that've been there for what feels like forfuckingever, the stuff
from the jar makes my skin tingle hot and cold and he still doesn't think
I suck, even if I've been acting like a jerk. Crazy Mountie. 

 The pill's making me loopy, being this close to him is making me loopy,
his hands are making me loopy, and God, I just want to stay there for,
say, six or seven years or so. "Hey, Fraser." I raise my head, let it fall
back on his belly, feel firm muscle that doesn't let me fall, and Fraser
doesn't seem to mind, Fraser's hands keep working steadily, shifting down
my shoulders. 

 Fraser'd said affection, I remember that, even if I'm stoned and have a
Swiss cheese brain. Affection and he meant it, and this big ball of warmth
swells up in my chest. Maybe....maybe I can trust in it no matter what I
tell him. Yeah, I already figured that part out, but I've still been
scared that once I tell him he'll get weird on me about me touching him
and I touch people, that's what I do. I mean, even if you feel personally
flattered when someone says, hey, buddy, I love you, you know they have to
wonder what you mean when you add, and it's not your Bud Lite I want.
Maybe Fraser wouldn't care, wouldn't get any freakier than he was already.
Or, being Fraser, maybe he'd just accept it like the chocolate candies in
my coffee, or my dancing or the turtle and tell me some weird story about
caribou or moose or Inuit like I've been thinking. 

 Maybe it's the warmth of Fraser's hands, maybe it's that feeling that I
am home, and maybe, maybe it's just being stoned, but I open my mouth
again without putting the brain in gear. "You remember that day you said
something about human sexuality and feeling being a spectrum or
something?" 

 Fraser's hands stilled for a moment, just a moment, like he was trying to
place the conversation. "A continuum?" 

 Oh, yeah, trust Fraser to remember everything. The Gay Pride parade, and
the two of us standing on a street corner, waiting to cross, I can't
remember why now. I smile, eyes half-closed. Fraser can always put his
finger on the right word. "Yeah, that's it. Not two points, but a
continuum. I didn't get it then, but I do now." 

 He freezes. Stone still, fingers still on my shoulders. Oh. Shit. Nobody
ever said the Mountie was stupid, and I always thought he was a lot less
innocent about what his female admirers wanted than he liked to pretend. 

 "Ray." Very softly, but I'm shaking. "Do you?" 

 There's something in Fraser's voice, yup, you fucked up, Kowalski, that
oughta teach you to let your mouth go on automatic, oh, Jesus, what the
fuck, I've done it now, I've done it for sure, I start babbling some
bullshit that makes no sense at all, even to me. Fraser's hands tighten
for a minute and I try to get up, he pushes me back down and moves around
to crouch beside the chair, one hand coming up to cup my cheek. I can't
tell what he's thinking, hell, I can't see, and I'm so scared, and I take
in a deep panicky breath. "Look, Fraser, I'm-" 

 He puts two fingers over my mouth with his free hand. "It's all right,
Ray." Dead serious Fraser. "It's all right." 

 I'm shivering, afraid to meet his eyes, but I finally risk a look up from
under my eyebrows and oh, God, thank you, God, if you exist, he doesn't
look upset, doesn't look worried, doesn't look unhappy. 

 He understands, and he's not upset. And there was something more,
something I want to figure out, but I'm still way too shaky. 

 Fraser keeps looking at me, Fraser's fingers sort of stroke my cheek and
then I get it, I get it, take in another shaky breath. Everything I
wanted, everything I hoped, and it's like standing in front of a Christmas
tree, looking at a package you just know has your heart's desire. Shaky or
not, I reach out for it. "Yeah." And my voice cracks a little. "I get it."
Wonder for a minute if I'm dreaming or if Fraser really is looking at me
the way I think he's looking at me. Just like me looking at him, like a
kid standing in front of that Christmas tree, like someone who sees
everything he ever wanted appear in front him. 

 Swallowing hard, I put my hand up, touch Fraser's. Still scared. 

 Fraser's thumb strokes over my cheekbone, I shiver again, and then Fraser
smiles at me, and I thought I knew all his smiles, but this is different,
a new Fraser expression to store away, and my heart is really banging hard
against my ribs. "Let me finish this up, Ray, and you can put your shirt
on." 

 I blink hard. "Fraser?" Shakily. Not sure what I'm asking. Not sure what
Fraser hears. 

 Fraser leans up, just a gentle brush of his mouth over mine. Warm dry
lips, and I feel dizzy again, but not dizzy sick, just dizzy relieved and
amazed, scared out of my mind, and happier than I remember feeling in my
entire life. He draws back a little and I want more, don't quite know how
to ask, so I lean forward into another genuine Fraserhug, and oh, man, I
am all over that, it feels so damn good. I let out a breath I didn't know
I was holding, rest my forehead against Fraser's. "Shoulda known it would
be okay." Muzzily. 

 Warm hands on my back. "We both should have." 

 We both should have-the words knock around the inside of my head and my
eyes burn. 

 He touches my face again. "I should have known better." Open expression,
withholding nothing. "I'm sorry I didn't." 

 I lean in again, hold on tight. "Yeah. Me either." Another shiver.
"Fraser, this is-" 

 "I know." Fraser sighs. "Very different." 

 I manage to chuckle. "I was gonna say freaky." 

 "Understood." Fraser hugs me again. "I think further analysis can wait
until I finish this and we've eaten." 

 I rub my face, wondering if I'm so stoned I'm hallucinating all this.
"What I wouldn't give for a beer." 

 "Not on pain medication." Reprovingly, and it cracks me up, the world
might be tumbling down around us and Fraser would be Fraser. And hey,
what's a little sexual confusion compared to the end of the world, of
course Fraser's still Fraser. Fraser just looks at me, not the perfect and
unapproachable Mountie any more, but a tired man wearing those weird
trousers and a Henley and suspenders and an expression on his face that's
almost....tender. 

 Maybe I am hallucinating. I shiver again, lean forward and give it a try,
brush my mouth over Fraser's, those warm lips and a day's beard stubble
and it is freaky, really freaky, but it's also great....better than great.
"Dinner, huh." 

 Slow smile that lights everything up behind Fraser's eyes. "Dinner." And
Fraser gets up, leans down one more time to test that kissing thing again,
and this time the tip of his tongue sweeps lightly between my lips. I feel
a jolt of something I'd forgotten about since getting shot, like
electricity, and Fraser, dammit, backs away to finish my shoulders. 

 My mouth tingles. Hell, my dick sits up and takes notice. I smile like a
loon, let my head fall back against his belly again. "Dinner, huh." Like a
moron, saying it again. 

 One of Fraser's hands slid up the side of my throat, a thumb stroked the
sensitive spot beneath my ear, the vampire spot. "Dinner." Warmly. 

 I snicker. Hell, I know about subtext, and the two of us have always had
our share of weird conversations that say one thing and mean another, but
we're both saying dinner and what I think we mean is 'dessert'. 

 I think. 

 I'm not sure, not completely sure, but it feels good, Fraser's hands feel
good, and screw wasting any more time worrying about shit and turning out
to be dead wrong. 

 Yeah, Heatherton's at least part right, I'm definitely still not one
hundred percent, or I'd grab the Mountie and wrestle him to the floor.
Before getting shot, believe me, I'd had plenty of fantasies, some of 'em
welcome, but some of 'em scary. I haven't since, nearly dying shifted
things from what I think my dick wants to what the rest of me wants, and I
sure as hell haven't had any spare energy, and maybe that's good and maybe
it's bad, but Fraser kisses the top of my head which is a clue that maybe
it's good. 

 Maybe it's not just about what his dick wants either. What am I saying,
this is Fraser we're talking about, the last of the depressed romantics.
Of course it's not just about his dick. 

 Fraser draws back, finally, gives my bad shoulder a final pat. "Put your
shirt on, Ray." 

 If he insists, I think, and pull the t-shirt over my head. Between the
pill and the rubdown, it's definitely easier to raise my arm. "Thanks.
That's a lot better." 

 Another touch to his cheek and boy, I'm in a bad way, I turn my face into
that touch, put my lips against his palm, wanting more, hungry for it, and
as if he reads that, Fraser leans down from behind, hugs me hard again.
"When it comes to pasta, I venture to say that you have more expertise,
would you care to take charge of that, Ray?" 

 I'm in such a bad, bad way, I give Fraser a goofy grin. Even if he's just
humouring me, it's damn fine not to be treated like I was broken. "Can do,
buddy." 

 Freaky. 

 Dinner's freaky, too, and even if the red sauce isn't anything somebody
from Chicago would dare call Italian, it's still good. Everything's good,
and Fraser pumps me for stories from the 2-7, and it's no hardship at all.


 Something pops into my head as I finish a story about Dewey. "Oh, and ya
gotta hear this, Fraser-Stella's pregnant." I look up and something
darkens his face. "What?" 

 He frowns. "I'm sorry, Ray, I know you wanted children." 

 I think about that, rub my cheek, remembering his touch. "Maybe I did. I
dunno, Fraser, maybe it was-maybe it was a way of hanging on to Stella,
too. I had a lotta time to think lately-and maybe underneath I thought it
was a way of making things better, of welding us back together." I sigh,
took a drink of water. "I like kids, Fraser, but I dunno that I need to
have one of my own. My brother has kids, my dad has grandkids. I'm just
happy to be alive." 

 Fraser glances away then, just for a moment. 

 I worry about that, it hits me that he considered Vecchio his best
friend, and that Vecchio, that prick, didn't tell him. 

 "I wish-" Fraser starts, and then clamps his mouth shut tight. 

 "What?" 

 Fraser shakes his head, looks back at me. "I wish I'd been there for you,
Ray." Not quite grimly. 

 I can't think of anything to say, I swallow hard and look back at my
plate, push the last few bits of spaghetti around. 'That's not buddies,
Ray,' he'd said, and that told me how bad it'd hurt him. "I didn't want-"
And the lump in my throat blocks anything else for a minute. I swallow
hard again, shake my head, trying to think, trying to shake sense loose:
'I didn't want you to see me that way' isn't gonna work, 'I didn't want
you to watch me die', is closer to the truth, but I don't even want to
think how Fraser might react to that, and besides, it sounds so fucking
much like a pity party, even if it'd been crystal clear in my mind at the
time. "Fraser, I dunno. It wasn't that I didn't want you there, it was
just too hard." I feel helpless, I never was good with words the way he
was, and now that there are holes in my memory, I'm even worse. 

 "It's all right, Ray." Quiet voice and his hand comes out, fingers
curling around my wrist again. I like that, turn my wrist up to put our
hands palm to palm, even if my heart thumps hard again. 

 We sit like that for a little while, neither one of us talking, and my
pump slows down, he likes it, too. Finally, I sigh, push at the plate with
my free hand. "I'm done, can't eat another bite. Okay if I let Dief have
it?" 

 Fraser frowns. "Tomato products have an unfortunate effect on him, Ray,
you should remember that." 

 "Worse than potato chips and pizza?" I snicker and Fraser gives me a
stern look. 

 "Uncontrollable flatulence, Ray. Possibly the vitamin C in tomatoes has
something to do with it, and of course, the sodium level isn't good for
him." 

 I crack up again, finally have to put my head down on the table. From
true confessions to dog farts, and I can't stop laughing, even when it
dies down, little riffs kept escaping, and Fraser is looking worried. But
it's okay, no jag, just feeling good, and I haven't laughed like that
since...well, maybe since our quest, and I wipe my eyes. "God, Fraser, I
missed this." 

 One of those eyebrows goes up, I can tell he doesn't get it, really, but
he's trying to. "This?" 

 I roll the dice, take a chance, bet it all. "You," I said, "I missed you.
I missed being with you." 

 Fraser understands that all right, Fraser lights up like a goddamn
Christmas tree. "And I you, Ray." Softly. 

 My face gets hot again. Once past all the bullshit and terror, I can't
not think about touching him, I can't not think about just wanting to
climb into Fraser, just move on in, baggage and all. I can't not wonder
what a real kiss is going to feel like, beyond the weird sensation of
stubble instead of smooth, and it being Fraser instead of a woman. 

 Fraser gets up, picks up the plates and then leans in suddenly, ambushes
me, and maybe it's not a real passionate kiss, maybe it's too gentle for
that, but Fraser's tongue teases my mouth and it still jolts me right down
to my toes, sends blood rushing to places it hasn't visited for a while. I
hear myself make a sound when he draws back, get another kiss for reward,
a little more intense, and Fraser's tongue is silky hot and strong, and
this time I complain louder when he pulls back. 

 The plates go back down on the table, he takes hold of my face and kisses
me a third time, open-mouthed and hot and hungry, and I am all over that,
I try to pull Fraser down, and Fraser resists, pulls me up, and no way am
I going to complain about that, not body to body. I'm not sure how long it
lasts, but my dick is standing up and taking notice again, and I can feel
his, hard against my thigh, and things are going fast enough to be both
fan-fucking-tastic and totally scary. 

 Fraser pulls free of my mouth after while, licks the corner of my jaw,
and I squirm in harder against him. He bites the corner of my jaw, works
down the side of my throat, sucks on my earlobe, and I make a stupid
stunned sort of sound and try very hard to merge into Fraser, holding on
for dear life. 

 But Fraser's slowing down, breathing hard and trying to get control, and
while my vote doesn't swing that way really, maybe standing in the middle
of the kitchen isn't the best place to do this, especially since I'm as
flexible as I used to be. 

 "Unh." Another stupid sound from yours truly. "Couch." There, that's
coherent. Maybe not eloquent, but coherent. 

 "Couch," Fraser agrees, breathing hard into my neck. 

 I put my good arm up, tangles my fingers in Fraser's hair. "Now." 

 Hiss of breath, and Fraser straightens, not looking Fraser like at all.
Looking....hot, looking damn near nuclear, and my knees wobble. "Now,"
Fraser agrees again, looking at my mouth like he's wondering if eating me
whole is a good idea. I'm telling you, Dief doesn't look at donuts that
way, and Dief loves the damn things. 

 Neither of us let go. We stand there, breathing hard, and if there's
anything scarier and hotter than having all that Fraser intensity trained
on me, I sure as hell don't know what it is and I don't think I want to
know, I'm not sure I can live through it. 

 "Now," Fraser repeats and takes in a deep breath, slowly releases my
body, but grabs my hand. "Bed." 

 I actually whimper. Feels like I'm standing too close to a fire, my skin
burns under my clothes, and I can't get the words out, settle for nodding.
Not only yes, but hell yes--and then he's pulling me toward the Inner
Sanctum, and I don't particularly want gentle, but Fraser's giving me a
chance to back out, I know that like I sometimes know other things about
him when I'm thinking clear. Once through the door, though, Fraser's done
with that, Fraser tumbles me down on the bed like a wild man, which means
he's forgotten I'm not a hundred percent yet, and that's so good, and so
hot that I almost forget I'm not a hundred percent, but even that's still
not as good as the silky-hot feel of Fraser's tongue on my lips, on my
mouth, on my throat, on my goddamn collarbone, and he nips me there. 

 Who knew a collarbone could be a hot spot? I arch up under him, making
those stupid sounds again, try to reach up for his suspenders, but he
whaps at my hands, leans in and bites my jaw. 

 Mountie knows what he wants, you don't argue with him, I learned that a
long time before. So I settle for tugging the Henley free of Fraser's
whatd'y'callems, groan into his mouth at the feel of his bare skin under
my fingers. I want more, dammit, and want it now, and finally push Fraser
away. "Take that off!" 

 For a minute, I think he might growl like Dief, but no, I only get nipped
again and Fraser straddles me, knees on either side, pops off those
suspenders and yanks the Henley off so fast I'm amazed it doesn't rip. Oh,
God, better than my fantasies, definitely better than my fantasies, and
who knew I was going to have a sexual epiphany pushing forty? I put my
hands up, stroke Fraser's belly up and down, put my palm against the
visible swelling. It feels...weird. And normal. Different and the same,
and hotter than hot, and Jesus, I fumble with buttons and Fraser does
growl, sort of, takes hold of my wrists hard, almost hard enough to
bruise, bends over me and kisses me hard, long, passionate kiss, and we're
pressed together so close air can't get between us and it still isn't
enough. 

 I try to arch up and free my hands, and then he pulls away from me, he's
gone. His hands aren't gone, though, and no, his mouth isn't gone, either.
My shirt gets yanked up, and then his tongue's on my chest, licking from
one nipple to the other, and I nearly come up off the bed when he puts
those lips around one nipple and sucks hard on it. "Fraser," gasping,
"Fraser," and if this keeps up, I'm only going to last about a minute and
a half at the outside, which isn't what I had in mind, coming off in my
pants like a damn high school kid. 

 Fraser lifts his head, looking about half in his right mind. "Ray?"
Hoarsely. 

 "Unh." Another intelligent line. Great, all the blood that usually feeds
my brain has gone south. I wouldn't complain, but right now I'm a little
verbally challenged at the best of times, and I can't figure out what
happened to the words I know that I know. I find a couple. "Shirt. Off."
And I wriggle desperately, trying to get my own shirt off. Once I manage
that, of course, I want the jeans off before I have some permanent damage,
thank you very much, never mind they're roomy, the goddamn things have a
zipper, I want them gone and I want the bottom half of the long johns
gone, and since I can't seem to get the zipper undone, I'm glad Fraser has
somehow managed to get the picture and gets it down. Oh, God, even
unzipping my jeans is getting me hotter, and of course, the bastard
reaches in and squeezes me and I nearly explode right then. 

 Jeans off, long underwear off, and oh, God, he's pressed down against me,
scratchy wool against my cock, and even that feels incredible. Then, while
I'm gasping and squirming and clutching at him, he's gone again. Mouth and
hands, too, this time. "Unh," then, "Hey!" 

 "Boots." Fraser's voice is a little desperate. 

 Laughter bubbles up from out of nowhere, and I'm hard as a rock and
laughing my ass off. I lift my head, see him leaning over the edge of the
bed, muttering to himself. I hear "Bloody hell," emerge from those pure
lips, and that sends me right over the edge from laughing to out of my
mind again. I push myself up from the bed, slide a hand down Fraser's bare
back and under his waistband to feel the curve of his ass and oh, God, I
wish I had a knife to offer him to use on those laces. 

 Popping sound, more muttering, and Fraser stands up, managing all those
mystery buttons and such with supersonic speed and oh, wow, my mouth goes
completely dry in the second and a half Fraser lets me get a good look.
Then he pounces again, this time, oh, God, this time it's perfect, both of
us bare skinned and hot and I can't decide what I want to touch first. 

 Not that Fraser gives me a lot of choice, I'm trying to get to various
parts of his body, but he holds me down and explores me with that same
unhinged focus he gives to crime investigations. That tongue, God, on the
inside of my elbow, on the spot where my thigh joins up with my body, the
inside of my navel, and God, God, I'm making incoherent noises again,
hell, I'm babbling like a Holy Roller on Sunday morning. Pull at Fraser's
shoulders, but Fraser's taking his time, and he's enthusiastic enough that
I completely forget that my body looks like shit, and which, in the one
corner of my mind that's still tracking anything but that tongue, says
very good things about what Fraser's been thinking about while he was up
here and I was down there, and we weren't together. 

 And then, just as I decide pleasure is going to kill me and hell, that's
a better way to go than dying of gunshot wounds, Fraser's mouth comes up
again and we're body to body, hip to hip, cocks rubbing together, I'm
kissing him, I'm tasting him, drinking him in, licking my way into kiss
after kiss, stroking any bit of his skin that I could reach and pulling
him harder against me. 

 It still isn't quite enough, so I stretch out under him, spread my legs
wide as I can and raise 'em to hook over Fraser's, push my hips up hard
and he bites me on the chin, bites my throat and sucks hard and Jesus, I'm
coming, I'm coming and I explode, hot and slippery and out of breath and
all I can see is the colors inside my eyelids, and all I can feel is that
wrench and Fraser when he comes, more hot and slippery. 

 Reaction hits, I'm shaking like a leaf, panic revving my heart until my
own heartbeat's all I can hear, but I hold on, wait it out and Fraser's
all around me, a living blanket that keeps me warm, keeps the cold out of
my heart and soul and hell, yes, my body. 

 "Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray," almost prayerfully. "Ray." 

 "S'good." It's all I can manage, but something more seems necessary. I'm
not good with words, he knows that, so I put my face into his throat,
breathe in the scent of Fraser and sex and shiver again. Fingers tangle in
my hair and I close my eyes, breathing hard. 

 Fraser starts to shift and I tighten my grip, heart revving again. "Stay
there." Hoarsely. 

 "I'm not going anywhere, Ray." Fraser's...Fraser's petting my hair or
something and damned if it doesn't feel good. "But I'm heavier than you
and this mattress is rather firm and I don't want to-" 

 "Shut up, Fraser." I sigh, smile against Fraser's skin. "'S good, just
stay there." 

 Fraser does, and I feel his head turn, more kisses. My fingers loosen on
Fraser's shoulders, he wasn't going anywhere, he says again that he won't
and I'm fading, fading fast, nearly crack my jaw yawning and I nip
Fraser's neck. "God. Sorry, Fraser, I'm losing it." 

 "Shhh." More hair petting and I nuzzle the stubble on Fraser's throat,
stop worrying and let go. 

 After all, Fraser's here to catch me. 

 If I dream, I don't remember it when I wake up. Fraser's gone, though,
and he's wrapped the quilt around me and I feel childishly let down that
he's gone. 

 So I grab the quilt to keep it around me, get off the bed and get up.
He's in the front room of the cabin, sort of crouching by the fire,
staring at the pill bottle in his hand. 

 Erk. My pills. Odds are, I'll get a lecture for taking old medicine.
"Hey," I say grumpily. 

 He turns to see me, smiles at me. "Ray." 

 I'm still grumpy. "You, um, left." 

 He blinks. "You were asleep, Ray. I was just clearing up." 

 Yeah, Kowalski, you jerk, grow up why don't you. "Oh." 

 But I'm too nervous to take another step forward. What if he's having
second thoughts? What if he, ah-oh, shit, I never thought of this before,
what if it was a charity fuck, Fraser's a soft touch underneath all that
red serge. 

 He stands up, starts toward me, hesitates, and my stomach does a roll
that isn't very happy. Then, all of a sudden, he has hold of me, arms
wrapped tight, the man hugs like a bear, and even though we're close in
height, he's broader and I make a sort of 'oof' sound as he squeezes.
Okay, so much for second thoughts and charity fucks, but I feel this
stupid grin show up under my nose, so I say, "Just wondered what was up." 

 He's practically rocking me against him, Fraser who is like the total
white man without rhythm, never mind he can sing like nobody's business.
"I stopped to check on the fire, but I was coming back in." 

 I have to admit, it feels kind of nice to be...oh, I don't know,
cherished maybe. I tell the grumpiness goodbye. "Nice fire." 

 I feel his smile against my cheek. "Yes, it is." 

 I'm totally comfortable again, schizoid fuck that I am. "Shame to waste
it." 

 "Well, strictly speaking, it's not going to waste, Ray, it does help keep
the cabin heated." 

 Wait a minute, I think. "I thought you had a furnace." 

 "Such as it is." He rubs his cheek against mine. "Actually, the furnace
works very well, I simply enjoy a fire. Would you like some tea?" 

 Okay, note to self, nuzzling is very good. Nuzzling with Fraser is
better. "You got any hot chocolate? I'm about done on tea for a couple of
days, I think." 

 He nips at my earlobe. "Actually, I do. Davy McKenzie brought our
groceries up this afternoon while you were napping." 

 "I wasn't napping. I was just...waiting for the pill to hit." I yawn
again. "I think, yeah, hot chocolate sounds good, if I have coffee, I
won't get to sleep later." 

 "Actually, Ray, hot chocolate contains theobromine, which is chemically
very close to caffeine." 

 "Fraser." I draw back, trying not to laugh. "Hot chocolate doesn't keep
me awake." 

 Man, that smile of his is incitement to riot. "Strictly speaking, of
course, what I have is cocoa and milk, if that will do." 

 I thump my forehead on his shoulder. "That's fine, Fraser." Strangled
voice. 

 He nuzzles again, and looks surprised when I kiss him. Whoa, I get that
back with interest, one of his hands sliding inside the quilt and cupping
my ass, but that doesn't last long, he breaks free laughing. "Ray, I'd
suggest you put some of my sweat pants on, at least. And socks." 

 I yawn. "I got sweats, Fraser." 

 He gives me a nudge toward my bag. "Hot cocoa it is, then." 

 I amble over to the duffel, still sitting on the floor near the
fireplace. I pull the sweats on, and a pair of warm socks and a t-shirt,
rewrap myself, and Dief makes room for me on the couch. I'm a happy man,
even though I know I'm fucked up and will probably find something to
obsess about in no time. 

 I watch Fraser messing around at the stove. "You need a television," I
tell him. 

 Dief whines, and I like to think he's agreeing. 

 Fraser turns and gives us both a look. "I have a number of books you
might enjoy." 

 I squirm a little inside. "I'm functionally illiterate." I get a
pull-the-other-leg look and try to decide whether or not to come clean.
"Well, see, there's a little problem there." 

 He adjusts the flame on the stove and comes to sit down at my feet, grabs
them. "What kind of problem." 

 I squirm again. "Never mind, it's not important." 

 He nods absently, rubs my feet. Jesus, nobody ever did that and I'm
stunned with pleasure in about a minute and a half, practically purring
like a cat, it's a wonder Dief doesn't eat me. I can't help gasping, "You
gotta thing for my feet, Fraser?" 

 "To be perfectly accurate, I have a thing, as you say, for every part of
you." He gives me a butter-won't-melt smile and runs a thumb down the sole
of my left foot. 

 "Hey!" I jerk it free, but halfheartedly, and he grabs it again. "Watch
the feet, watch the feet." 

 "Oh, but I am." He gives me a long look that starts out smoldering and
then shifts to something more businesslike. "Ray, I want to ask you
something about the shooting. You said you were checking out some
confidence game, looking for the perpetrators." 

 "Asking questions, yeah." I'm wary all of a sudden. "Why?" 

 "I'm not sure," he admits. "Do you remember what happened? Would you mind
talking about it?" 

 I'm not sure I want to. I mean, Denial ain't just a river in Egypt, and
maybe I'm not actually in denial, but I sure as hell don't want to spend
all my time, or his time, thinking about it. "I dunno, Fraser. I think-I
dream about it, ya know, and I'm not sure if that's remembering it, or if
it's from somebody telling me about it." 

 Another long look. "What do you think you remember?" 

 I rub my face with both hands, sigh. "Okay. Yeah. There's a little bar
down on the South side, old-fashioned kinda place, I drove down there to
see what I could dig up. There were some kids hanging out by the door, it
was open, and I said something to them about being underage." I frown,
think about it. I can't see his face in my mind, there's just this blank
space. I can't see what he's wearing, I can only see his shoes, highdollar
athletic shoes. And I'm not even sure it's the right kid's feet I'm
remembering. "I think I ignored all but the biggest one, big kid, mighta
been about eighteen, maybe less. Showed him the mug shot, I think, or
tried to. I think he freaked out a little when I said I was PD." My head
thinks about whether or not I need a headache, small throb near the
temple. "I think-he yelled something, turned like he was gonna go inside
the bar, I mighta grabbed at him, maybe missed him, I dunno." Shake my
head. "That's all I'm for sure about, Fraser. I think that's when the
shooting started." 

 He nods at Ray, absently, considering the details. "Not surprising, Ray,
considering how seriously you were injured." 

 Maybe I do need to come clean. "Did Welsh tell you everything? I mean,
about, ah, me?" 

 "Mmhmm. He told me everything he knew." Brief sidelong smile. "I was
interrogating him." 

 I'm relieved, no need to talk about it, he knows, it's not important.
"Yeah? Wish I'd heard that." 

 The kettle starts making prewhistle sounds, and he looks over that way,
lets go of my feet. "You weren't working with a partner, then?" 

 "Nah, I was working with a new guy, but he was out sick, had the flu." I
see something flicker behind his eyes. "What, you think I was set up?
Couldn't be, Fraser, only Welsh knew I was there, and Welsh is clean, he's
got to be, he was dirty and wanted to get rid of me, he could have let me
swing in the wind on that-" 

 He holds up a hand, his expression alarmed. "No, no, I don't know what's
bothering me, precisely. Something doesn't quite feel right, and I can't
put my finger on it." 

 Oh. I relax again. "Well, when it comes to you, let me know." 

 "You may count on that." Very seriously and he goes back to the kitchen. 

 I pull my legs up a little to make room when he comes back. 

 He gives me the mug and stands there a minute, just looking at me. "Ray,
Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray." Softly, smiling the glacier-melting smile again. 

 "What?" 

 "Lean up," he suggests and then I get it, I slide forward and he gets on
the couch behind me, me between his legs and leaning back against his
chest, and I actually wonder if I did die and this is like some sort of
Ray Kowalski heaven or something. "That's better," he says. 

 "Yeah, at least I know you aren't one of those foot pervs." Smart ass
mode, even though my throat hurts from just plain happiness. I think about
that, and his fingertips stroke the inside of my wrist. Maybe he feels
this happy, too. "Benton," I say, testing it. 

 His thumb rubs the inside of my elbow. "Yes?" 

 I feel stupid, but good. "Ben. Benny. Vecchio used to call you Benny." 

 "Yes, he did. You didn't seem to like it." 

 I ignore that. I didn't like Vecchio, and that was before he eloped with
Stella. Guess that should have told me then what my priorities were. "What
did your family call you?" 

 He wraps an arm around me. "Usually, Ben. Sometimes Benton, particularly
if I were in trouble." 

 I smile a little, put my hand on top of his, and slide down a little to
put my head back on his shoulder. "Mind if I call you Ben? Seems weird to
call you Fraser in bed." 

 I hear his breath catch. "As you wish, Ray." Only not his usual 'as you
wish', this one is soft and warm and I shiver. 

 "I wish. Ben's a good name." Oh, brilliant, Kowalski. 

 "I can't complain." He's nuzzling me again, and I can't complain either. 

 "Yeah, you coulda been Stanley Kowalski," I tell him. 

 "I suppose that's true. Although, you know, Ray, it does show some
imagination on the part of your parents." 

 "Or an obsession with Marlon Brando." I take another sip of cocoa, it's
just sweet enough, and richer than any hot chocolate I ever remember
having. "'S good." 

 "My grandmother's recipe. I'm glad you like it." 

 I take in a breath. "You, uh, really okay with this?" 

 "More than okay." Then I feel his muscles go tense. "And you, Ray?" 

 Oh, shit, I worried him. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good." A little shakily. "I'm
better'n good. Ben." 

 He relaxes again. "Oh." Relieved. 

 "This is great." I'm tongue-tied again. "It's greatness. It's beyond
greatness." I feel him start to shake, hear the soft chuff beside my ear
and I realize he's laughing. "Hey, that's not funny!" 

 His arm tightens. "No, indeed. It's wonderful." 

 Two saps together. I guess that's better than just one of us. "You need a
TV, Ben." 

 His beard stubble catches on my hair. "Ray, if a television will make you
happy, I'll get three." 

 Guh. I mean, what do you say to that? If you're dumb Ray Kowalski, you
say, "I can only watch one at a time, Ben." 

 And he's laughing again. 

 We talk about televisions for a little bit, he tells me there's actually
cable in this neck of the woods, and I do mean woods, which boggles me
more than the computers and Internet access for Mounties. We talk some
more about old friends at the 2-7, and we talk about what winter is going
to be like here. He doesn't mince words, he wants me to understand what's
it going to be like. Frankly, I don't much care. Let me think, stuck in
the dark in a cabin with Fraser or down the street from Fraser versus
being stuck in a rehabilitation ward-that one's a no brainer even for the
brain damaged, like me. 

 I finish my hot chocolate and rub my foot on his leg. "Bed." Firmly. 

 "Mmmhmm." Dreamy sort of sound, like he doesn't care if he moves again in
his life. But I look at the clock and sure, it's only about 10, but I've
got plans for the Mountie, and he gets up at the crack of sunrise. 

 "Bed," I say again, more firmly and take his empty mug. We have a brief
tug of war. "I think I can handle putting them in the sink, Ben-ton."
Irritably. 

 He starts laughing, then, just cracks up and it's the first belly laugh I
have ever heard from Constable Benton Fraser. I get up, look at him and
he's holding his sides. 

 He shouldn't have told me they called him Benton when he was in trouble,
I think and grin before taking the mugs to the sink. Hey, I have to
practice that tidiness thing if I'm going to be the Mountie's roommate,
right? 

 And then we're in bed again, skin to skin, and it's slow and lazy
kissing, and he feels good, kisses tender, and I decide it's my turn to do
some exploring. 

 Warm body, and I'm taking my time, and he's not used to this, I can tell,
he's a little tense at first, not like he doesn't like it, but like he's
not sure what to do, and so I figure it's just going to take some work. 

 Heh. Work. No pain on my part, he even tastes good, and I start to
appreciate his thing about tasting stuff. Taste all down the inside of one
arm, and I nuzzle his armpit, which makes him catch his breath a little,
and then I find out that his nipples are as sensitive as mine, and they
get hard against my tongue. It's like riding a wave, because I'm half on
top of him and he's moving like the sea, one arm around me. I keep taking
little breaks to suck on his tongue, and he appreciates those, too. One
thing about a guy, he can't pretend he likes it if he doesn't, and he's
hard against my thigh and I start working my way down. Treasure trail, and
even though I'm way nervous, I'm all over the idea of tasting his cock,
and finally wrap my fingers around the base, trying to remember everything
I like. He's slick, dripping, and I get a head rush just from knowing it's
because of me, Frankenstein body or not. He tastes kind of salty, kind of
sweet and I close my lips over the tip, just working the rim, and he just
about comes off the bed when I flick it with my tongue. "Ray, Ray, Ray,
Ray." Practically babbling. 

 I'm not great at this, and for the first time, I wonder how in the hell
women manage to do this, like, is there an underground network passing on
information about how to keep your teeth out of the way and your jaw from
starting to ache? Fraser doesn't have any complaints, obviously, and he's
got a hand on each side of my head, holds me there loosely, and he's
groaning. I feel the muscles in his belly tense, and I know he's trying
hard not to push in hard, and even though I'd probably choke at this stage
of the game, I think it would be so hot if he'd just let go and fuck my
mouth. 

 And then, his usual impulse strikes and I'm flat on my back, getting the
breath kissed out of me, and while that's really great, I'm a little
pissed. Which isn't fair, maybe I wasn't doing such a hot job, and whoa,
wait a minute, that's apparently not what it is, because he's stretching
out the other way and there's a Frasermouth wrapped around my cock, and
I'm stunned stupid for about thirty seconds before I grab the Frasercock
near my face and swallow it down. 

 It's a little distracting, that's what it is, even if I feel like I'm
doing total meltdown, and not only does he kiss like nobody's business,
he's giving head, and so am I, and I have to hold on to what little brain
still works to keep from scraping him with my teeth when his finger, wet
with spit, slides up my ass and hits, bingo, the magic button. 

 Don't get me wrong, I knew it was there, I'm not as stupid as I look, and
besides, any guy's ever had a doc say 'turn your head and cough', knows
the damn thing is there, even if the doc doesn't show anyone a good time,
but nobody ever told me it could do that. 

 I'm groaning and moaning around the cock in my mouth and it slides in
deeper, and I know I'm going to come in about ten seconds or less, and all
of a sudden, I want him to come in my mouth, I pull at his ass, wanting
him to just let go, fuck worrying about whether or not I choke, crazy
Kowalski strikes again, getting my life endangered in wildly bizarre ways,
although this one never occurred to me before. 

 He jerks his hips forward and somehow, I've got the rhythm, I'm in the
groove, and I'm taking him deeper than I thought I could, still using my
fingers to milk him, and then who the fuck cares, I try and scream around
his cock, I'm coming, and Jesus, I thought it was intense before, this
blows the top of my head off, and I feel him shuddering and then I do
choke, a little, I swear, some comes out my nose-not the ideal, believe
me-but I don't care yet, won't care until later, because he's licking me,
gentle mouth, and Jesus, I try and hold on to that so I do the same, and
it's thick and hot and leaves a tingle on my tongue and in the back of my
throat. Hey, brain damaged or not, there are definitely nerves still
working, and I'm shuddering myself, holding on to his ass with one hand to
keep from shaking apart, and he's softening in my mouth, but still thick
and I let him slip free, take in a deep breath and cough, and there's
still a warm mouth on me, kissing me very gently. 

 I'm so sensitive from coming that I shudder again. And keep shuddering
and then Fraser's all around me again, holding me tight, gentle kisses
everywhere on my face, and I come out of my coma long enough to take a
deep hot one from him. Jesus, I can taste me, which means that he can
taste himself, and I quiver again. 

 "Ray," he keeps saying, kissing me each time on whatever he can reach.
"Ray." Kiss. "Ray." Kiss. "Ray." 

 I'm all over that, I think I know just where he's coming from and that
goes double for me. Unfortunately, I can't remember how to talk at the
moment, so I just keep kissing him, whatever bits I can get. And I manage
somehow to shop the shaking. 

 Interesting, in a way: get shot, die a couple of times, and your nervous
system goes bonkers when you come. Hey, at least I'm not having seizures,
which was another happy possibility back when I was still in really bad
shape. 

 He strokes his palm down my back and over my ass, pulls me closer. "Am I
dreaming this?" 

 Like a kid, seeing magic, and I'm so fucked up I start crying a little,
because if there's anything Ray Kowalski ain't, it's magic. I manage to
stop that shit pretty quick because he is totally alarmed, and I still
can't get my brain in gear enough to tell him I'm okay, so I just keep
kissing him. 

 He settles down after that, and just holds on to me, gets us both covered
up and it's warm, like a nest. "Oh," I finally manage. "Wow." 

 He quivers. "Are you-" 

 "Better than good." Slurred voice, and I've got myself draped over him,
how bad can it be? 

 He relaxes again underneath me, fingercombs my hair. "Great?" 

 "True greatness," I tell him, or rather I tell his left nipple, since
I've squirmed down there. 

 Deep breath underneath me. "Right you are, Ray." A little shakily. 

 "More than greatness." I can hear his heartbeat, steady and strong. Good
strong heart, big heart, and damn the soul of everyone that taught him he
had to keep it all locked up, but bless them because that meant he was
still alone when a wildman Chicago flatfoot showed up. 

 He shakes again, but that's laughter and I raise my head, look at him
suspiciously. He puts a finger over my lips. "Greatness to the tenth
power?" 

 I consider. "Maybe even more." 

 He rubs that fingertip on my upper lip. "Oh, Ray." Oh, jeez, another new
smile, and this one makes me want to spend the rest of my life-if it takes
that-to get another one just like it. I kiss his breastbone, squirm up and
kiss the hollow of his throat, up a little more and I have that
sensational mouth under mine again. 

 I want to spend the rest of my life kissing this mouth, and I'm wondering
if somehow, someway, God, if he exists, might take a look down here and
say, oh, well, he's earned it and let me make it happen. 

 Maybe I need to start saying the Act of Contrition more often. 

 Or something. My mother was always a big believer in the rosary, I could
try that. 

 "Penny for your thoughts," he says softly, very softly. 

 "Canadian or American." 

 He shakes again. "American, they're worth more at the current rate of
exchange." 

 "I'll give 'em to you free," I tell him and settle again, my head on his
shoulder. "Just thinking how great it makes me feel when you laugh." Not
quite a lie, but hey, I'm not ready. 

 "You bring me laughter, Ray." Serious voice. "You bring a lot of things
into my life that I didn't realize I'd missed until you were gone and I
didn't have them any more." 

 "Yeah." My throat is tight again. "Same here." And then, just because he
said I could, I add, "Ben." 

 That earns me a kiss, and more nuzzling and I hate that I was hurt and
that I'm still not back, because damned if I'm not doing the stereotype
guy thing and getting sleepy again. I mutter something, and he kisses my
eyelids and starts into a story about seal maidens, which are better than
Iron maidens any day, and I drift off, seeing pictures of the sea behind
my eyelids. 

 //...somehow, I know I'm dreaming, and that doesn't stop it, and I'm
falling, my face is pressed against rough cement and I'm watching myself
while a gang of uniforms and paramedics work over me and I really, really,
really don't want to have this dream, and even though Fraser once told me
how to change a lucid dream, I can't get anything to change.... 

 And then it does, but not the way I want, there's this older guy standing
next to me in full Mountie gear, and he's got hold of my arm. "No, no,
son, it's a little disconcerting to watch, you really shouldn't." 

 I blink at him, and I know I know him, he looks too damn familiar, but
he's not Frobisher, and that's the only older Mountie I can think of, and
all of a sudden, we're standing in snow up to my ass, only it's not cold.
"Yeah, trust me, I'd rather not." Shaky. "Where are we?" This reminds me a
lot too much of Fraser hauling me up and down a mountain, and I know I was
pretty far-gone then, too. 

 "You'll be all right, son," he tells me kindly. "You know how this comes
out." 

 Yeah, I do, and I'm not any happier about that. 

 I try to figure out who he is without asking. I mean, it's my dream, I
should know, shouldn't I? 

 "I made a lot of mistakes as a father," he tells me, only he's in that
Mountie stance, never mind he's in snow up to his ass, "But Ben turned out
well, I think. He's got a good heart." 

 I can agree with that, but I'm poleaxed. "You're Ben's dad," I say
accusingly. "I oughta punch you in the head." 

 He just smiles. "You'll do," he says, approvingly. 

 "What the hell were you thinking about, leaving him alone after his
Mom-do for what?" I'm now confused again, and we're standing on a beach.
Cold fucking beach, it looks like the Bering Sea. 

 He just nods and starts to vanish like that cat in Alice in Wonderland,
only it's not his smile that stays, it's this bugfuck fur hat that pops
out at the last...// 

 And I'm awake, snickering into Ben's chest, still more asleep than awake
and still seeing that stupid hat. It's dark, he's turned out the light,
but he stirs a little, makes a questioning sound. 

 "...weirdest dream," I breathe and shift closer, put my arm across him.
Warm and toasty Mountie, miles and miles of it, I think, and that makes me
snicker again. 

 He puts his hand on my arm. "Hmmm?" Still half asleep himself. 

 I smile against his skin. This is real, not a dream, and hey, bugfuck
dreams are hardly a problem. "Dreamt about your dad," I tell him drowsily
and close my eyes again. "Mmm, he was talking to me when I got shot. After
I got shot." I yawn, and settle again, and then he goes board stiff on me.


 "My father?" 

 Wide awake voice, and it's like a bucket of ice water, I come all the way
awake myself, and I've lost track of what's going on, and why he sounds
that way. "What?" Totally out of it, zoned, and I can't tell if something
just slipped past the damage or if I was just more asleep than awake.
"What?" And I sit up, adrenaline rush, heart pounding. "What?" Fuck, fuck,
fuck, what did I lose? What did I miss? 

 For a minute, it gets worse, I'm not sure where I am, but I know what
that is, that's just the adrenaline, been there, done that a lot in the
hospital. I remember how I'm supposed to breathe, wonder if there's a
paper bag anywhere, stop worrying about where I am and the light comes on,
making me squint. 

 Oh. Yeah. Fraser, oh, yeah, I'm all over that, warm and one arm around my
shoulders. "Ray." Calm voice. "Ray, I'm sorry, I startled you awake." I
grab hold of the calm and hang on to it, let it bring me back down. Heart
slows down, panic starts to wash away. I do the breathing, nod and lean
into his arm until I can think again, and okay, maybe I didn't lose
anything. 

 "'M good, 'm fine." Finally. 

 He's frowning at me, not mad frowning, worried frowning. "What just
happened here, Ray?" 

 I flap a hand at him. "Panic attack," I mumble. "Still happens. Nothing
to worry about, I can deal." 

 His mouth goes kind of funny and tight. "Oh." 

 Eyebrow rubbing follows, and now I'm worried again. "S'okay, I just woke
up sudden, Ben, it's no biggie." 

 More eyebrow rubbing. "I woke you up suddenly." Not quite harsh. 

 Oh, I am so not going to do this shit. "Wanna borrow some guilt, Ben?
I've got plenty to spare." Snarky. 

 He looks like I slapped him. Stares at me. 

 But yes, like I said, Doc Heatherton wasn't totally off the beam, I'm on
a roll now. "It's a fucking panic attack," and he doesn't even interrupt
me to say anything about my language. "You said Welsh told you everything,
did he forget to tell you this? First fucking time it happens, I thought I
was dying, but hey, I was getting used to that, so I was pretty happy to
hear it's just a combination of brain damage and post traumatic stress."
Snarl, snarl, and oh, Christ, now he looks like he did when he said
'that's not buddies', and if I could tear out my own tongue, I would. I
take a deep breath. "Sorry, sorry," I mumble. "Still high, I guess." 

 "He didn't tell me about brain damage," he says, tight unhappy voice. 

 Oh, fuck. I pull my knees up, put my arms around 'em and put my face on
top. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

 Featherlight touch. "Ray. I'm sorry." 

 I'm not sure Humble Fraser is an improvement, but it lets me unclench
enough to practically climb into his lap. He wraps his arms around me, and
I'm not sure we're past it, but I'm not shaking and he's not shaking, and
he puts his face against mine. "I'm sorry." Still humble, but more like
himself. 

 I swallow hard. "Yeah, me, too." 

 He kisses my temple. "Will, ah, you tell me about this dream?" 

 It's fading already, like ink in the rain, and I sigh. "It was just
freaky. I was talking to your dad, he took me away from the dream about--"
I shrug. "I was trying to do that lucid dream thing you told me about and
your dad shows up." 

 He doesn't say anything at first. "How annoying." I'm surprised to hear
real temper in his voice. "Never mind," when I pull back. "I'm not angry
with you, Ray, I'm annoyed with my father." 

 I blink at him. "Hey, it was a dream." 

 That bland Mountie look. "Perhaps." And then the bland Mountie is gone,
and Ben is back and I get a very nice kiss. "I truly am sorry I woke you
so suddenly." 

 "Well, if you kiss me again, I'll forget about it." Generously. 

 Oh, that gets him going, I see a hint of wickedness in the way that
eyebrow lifts. "That hardly seems ethical. Bribery is-" 

 I lean forward and kiss him to shut him up. Works, and he turns out the
light and we're settled down again and now that my heart has slowed down,
I can relax again. I slide my hand down his belly, and he catches my
wrist, laughs under his breath. 

 "Go to sleep, Ray." 

 "Spoilsport." But I'm asleep pretty quick anyway, so maybe the Mountie
was right again. 

 I get a kiss in the morning when I'm barely awake, a murmur that coffee
is ready for me anytime I'm ready for coffee, a bribe if I stay in bed and
go back to sleep, and I roll into the warm spot Fraser left and go back to
sleep. 

 When I wake up, it's definitely daytime, and the place is quiet. I
consider going back to sleep, just getting it all out of my system, but
I'm feeling pretty damn good, and I decide to get up. 

 Coffee's still on hold, and it's a little strong, just the way I like it.
Dump some Smarties in, find the scones Fraser remembered to bring home
last night, and eat a couple, then a couple more. Wow. I'm hungry, not
just empty, I always knew that anything that felt as good as sex had to be
good for you. 

 I mosey around a little, taking my time, shower and shave and listen to
some music while I have another cup of coffee, and then, just because I
can, I put on my parka, find Fraser's extra gloves in the pocket, and get
my bad self down to Fraser's office. 

 Rose McKenzie is standing outside saying goodbye to someone and waves at
me, so I change course to say hi and thank her for the scones again.
There's actually a reason for the street, there's a pickup truck in front
of the store, and it pulls away as I cross. 

 Rosie twinkles at me. "Did you eat them?" 

 "Every one of 'em," I tell her, a little guiltily. "I pigged out." 

 She laughs. "I'll send some more, don't look like that, I wouldn't let
Benton Fraser go without, or you either, for that matter. You know, we've
heard a lot about you." 

 Uh-oh. I think my mouth must have been open, because she grinned, tapped
my chin. "You didn't think he'd talk about you?" 

 I think about it, and I'm still surprised. "Didn't think about it, I
guess." 

 She chuckles. "May I offer you a cup of coffee?" 

 I shake my head. "Gotta show Fraser I'm still alive, I was dead to the
world when he left." 

 She laughs and waves me on, and I head on down to the office, open the
door and there's some strange guy in Mountie red leaning against the edge
of Fraser's desk talking to him. 

 He looks toward the door when I open it, and the poor bastard he's
talking to might as well be invisible, and sweet Jesus, I feel about ten
feet fall and ready to wrestle mountain lions from that look. Me. Jesus. 

 The other Mountie-I can't think of his name even though Fraser told me,
more holes in the head-turns around and looks curiously at me. Blinks. 

 "Ray," Fraser says, standing up. I swear, I can almost see him wishing he
could hug me, and shit, I want to warn him not to look so....naked in
front of this guy. "Did you get something to eat?" 

 "Just had breakfast," I tell him, then, "I, ah, ate all the scones." 

 I can tell he approves, hell Dief jumps me to look for crumbs. 

 "Dief! Down." 

 I ruffle Dief's ears and the other guy is still studying me. "Ray, I'd
like you to meet Constable David Brett," says Fraser, oblivious to the
fact that he's doing that glacier melting thing. "Constable, my friend and
former partner from Chicago, Ray Kowalski." 

 Brett nods, looking enlightened suddenly. "Ray Kowalski," he says and
shakes my hand, "An honor to meet you, sir." 

 Sir? Oh, weird, this guy looks about twenty and barely old enough to
shave suddenly. "Thanks," I say, tongue tied again. "Anything interesting
happening?" 

 "Not today," Brett tells me, and Fraser points at a chair. "Thankfully,
it's been quiet for my holiday, which is good, I'd have felt terrible if
things had been busy while I was gone." 

 Uh oh, a Fraser wannabe. I nod, take the cup of tea Fraser insists on
giving me and sit down. Oh, this is sweet, somebody's been thinking about
me, and if that doesn't show how unhinged I am right now, getting sappy
over tea with sugar, nothing will. I look over at Fraser, and I'm gone,
then, I nod and say stuff in all the right places, but I feel like I've
got my Fraserdetector on and every time he shifts, even though he's trying
to look attentive, I can feel the heat coming off us in waves. 

 So much for worrying about Yukon being cold. 

 Brett finishes his conversation with Fraser and goes back to work, and I
scoot my chair closer to the desk and then grin idiotically. "Hi." 

 He smiles. "Did you sleep well?" Smolders at me. 

 God, the Mountie can smolder, I feel myself reacting to that and I'm damn
glad I'm too scrawny for my own jeans, and that I'm wearing one of his
sweaters. He takes note of that, I swear he does, and smolders harder.
"I'm just going to make the rounds," he tells Brett, without looking at
him and gets up. 

 Brett glances up from his work, nods, and goes back to it. 

 I swallow some more tea, watch Fraser put on his coat and hat, and then,
pitter-patter, I'm following him out. I grin at him once the door closes.
"Crazy Mountie, you trying to get us arrested?" 

 He raises an eyebrow, nods politely at someone across the street. "You
look...splendid." 

 I look splendid, I think, and get those eyes on me, and forget what I was
going to say, something smartass, I'll bet. "Unh." 

 That satisfies him, I swear, alpha wolf all the way. Wonder what that
makes me. We walk down the street, not even saying anything, and heh,
maybe sex is good for damaged nerves, too, because my Fraserdetector is
working like nobody's business and I'm warm from head to foot, I almost
feel good enough to dance. "So, do I get my reward?" 

 Sidelong look. Hot, hotter, hottest. "Oh, yes, I believe you've fulfilled
all the conditions I set out." 

 Heh. He told me he couldn't fulfill all his lurid fantasies if he was
worrying about me being rested. Hey, I was never on the pad in the PD, so
hell if I'm going to turn down a bribe like that. 

 "Great. Greatness." I hum a little Santana, do a little Kowalski move
that catches him off-guard and sweet Jesus, the look that gets, like the
sun rising over the Bering Sea, and I can't even say a word, it hits me so
hard. 

 "You look splendid," he says again, a little tightly, runs his finger
around his tunic collar. 

 Tell the truth, I feel pretty damn splendid. "So do you," which is true,
and I haven't felt this good in forfuckingever. I grin. "So, great.
Greatness. What sounds good for dinner." 

 He blinks at me. "What?" 

 "Hey, I can cook, Ben." I do that move again, and his eyes glaze. Music
in my head, and music in my feet, and fuck Heatherton's gloom and doom,
I'm good, I'm really, really good. "Shit, I'll have to see what you've
got, I didn't think to check. I pat my pocket, yeah, wallet's there. "What
sounds good, Ben?" I can do this, how much stamina does cooking take? I
grin at him again. 

 We're at the end of the street now, and I don't even know how we got
there. 

 He looks at me and his lips hardly move, I can just see a hint of his
teeth. "Do you have any idea of what I want to do to you right now?"
Practically soundless. 

 I blink, my dick goes instantly hard and I'm very damn glad I'm wearing
the parka, and I feel like my skin is sunburned. My brain, unfortunately,
is completely blank. 

 He gives me another tight smile. "Whatever you like, Ray. I'm sure it
will be very tasty." 

 Fuck me, my legs are wobbly all of a sudden and my mouth is stone dry.
"Unh. Sure. Okay." 

 We walk around town for another little while, and I don't know how I make
it, because all I can think of is that glimpse of...alpha wolf and I'm
going to have the worst case of blue balls by the time he gets home. We go
back to the office, and somehow I manage to make polite conversation with
Brett, he introduces me to his wife, who insists on making me a sandwich,
and Fraser must look normal, I must look normal, but he's watching me eat
and I'm half afraid he's going to leap over his desk and jump me right
there. 

 Only half. 

 Another walk back to the cabin, I check the fridge Fraser keeps in the
utility room and find all kinds of stuff, some of it normal food, not like
Nanook of the North food. 

 All frozen packages are neatly labeled in Fraser's handwriting, I decide
even I can do fish, so I go for it. A little music on the stereo, and I
manage to cool off a lot, manage to lose myself in the music, and by the
time Fraser gets home, the kitchen smells pretty good, if I do say so
myself, and I'm moving in the livingroom. Not limber exactly, not great
moves, but I'm dancing, and the music is loud enough that I don't hear him
come in. 

 I've got Marvin on, Sexual Healing, to be exact, and I'm laughing at
myself because I'm thinking that yeah, Fraser's done more for me in 48
hours than the last month in the hospital, and when I turn around there's
a Mountie standing there looking like that damn sunrise or the
aurorawhatsis, and he looks so damn naked and vulnerable that I'm going
alpha now, and I think I'll just rip out the throat of anybody who ever
makes that light dim. 

 Not going to be easy, not with two guys who both want to be alpha, I
guess, but we've gone through that before and maybe I can think of a
better way than punching each other in the head. So I grin like a doof and
slide over the hardwood floor in my socks, and oh, yeah, Fraser, I'm all
over hugs like this, and I think maybe I'm teaching him it's not a crime
to like that. 

 He buries his face in my neck, laughs against my skin. "I fear I'm
becoming quite unhinged, Ray." 

 "You always were," I tell him, still grinning. "But if you think I'm
going to complain when I get the benefit-" 

 "Ray?" 

 "Yeah?" 

 "Shut up." He lifts his head again, and there's that wicked glint in his
eyes, and I wonder how long he's been waiting to say that. 

 My jaw drops, for sure, and then I get kissed, damn alpha, and Dief
scratches at the door and we have to let him in. 

 He gives Fraser a reproachful look, like Fraser forgot him, and Fraser
says, "If you will insist on chasing every scent you catch, you can wait
until I open the door." 

 Dief ignores this with dignity and trots into the kitchen to get a drink
of water. 

 "Willful," Fraser mutters and turns back to me again. "Something smells
very good." 

 "Nothing fancy, found some fish, threw some stuff together." 

 "Ah." He hugs me again. "I think I'll get out of this uniform." 

 "Can I watch?" 

 Little flick of his tongue on his lower lip, and he's smoldering. "That
might be, ah, dangerous, unless dinner can wait." I think about that,
looking at that smolder. Dinner can wait, I think, and he laughs softly,
kisses me hard. "Dinner." Pokes me in the ribs. "You need a bit more
padding on those bones, Ray." 

 I give him a look. "Ben-ton, you have gotta stop worrying about me every
minute. Did I break last night?" 

 "Hmm." He's thoughtful, the smolder banked down. "You have a point." 

 Jesus, he didn't exactly back down, but he's listening, and I think about
that, and it makes me feel goofy again. "Okay, if it makes you feel better
to watch me eat first, fine. I'm feeling mag-ah, generous." 

 Faint smile. "Magnanimous?" 

 "Yeah." 

 So he grabs me, swear to God, alpha again, we wrestle our way into the
bedroom, and I'm laughing my fool head off, only all he does is wrestle me
down on the bed, which I made, kiss me hard and leaves me there. 

 "Bastard." I roll over to watch him undoing buttons. 

 "My parents, I assure you, were legally married." He's giving me that
wicked look again. 

 I wonder if he'll let me stay here forever. He keeps letting me see more
and more of what's behind the Mountie shield, and I've got it bad, want to
just plain plug him into my veins and ride that high. Let's see, what can
an American in Canada do to make a living, and how long before I get
kicked out for no visible means of support? 

 "Penny," he says, watching me. 

 "American or Canadian," I say smartly. 

 "We established last night that the rate of exchange-" 

 "Thinking about you." 

 He stops in the act of hanging up the red serge, looks at me. "Perhaps
you'd care to elucidate." 

 I laugh. "Talk dirty to me, Ben, I love those fifty dollar words of
yours." 

 Arched eyebrow. "Ray." 

 My face goes hot, he's not letting me off the hook. "Just wondering how
long you'll let me get away with mooching." 

 Sober, sober Mountie, and he's back on the bed, nose to nose. "Mooching?"
Fingertip on my eyebrow. 

 Boy, it's hard to meet those eyes sometimes. "Well, you know-" 

 "Not mooching," he says firmly, then, because he knows I'm a moron,
"Well, I suspect I have a high tolerance, and as you say, we aren't young
any more, so...." Kisses me. 

 That's good. Nothing bad about that response, and even if he's not
cutting loose, we both get about half hard, and I'll take whatever I can
get of him, touching him, him touching me. 

 And then he kisses my eyelids again and rolls off the bed. He's facing
away from me when he says, "Ray." 

 "Yeah?" I'm feeling lazy, rubbing my finger over my lips, liking how
sensitive they are. 

 "Wolves mate for life." His back's to me. 

 Like I said, I know about subtext, but this floors me, scares me, gets me
high. I'm having trouble getting my breath, and I know what he's saying,
and I'm suddenly scared shitless, because Ray Kowalski has already fucked
up one relationship, and I don't want to ever hurt him. He looks around
finally, once he's got jeans on, and his face is flushed, and he looks-he
looks naked and vulnerable again, as scared as I am. 

 "Yeah?" I manage to say, and think, oh, great, intelligent, brilliant,
he's going to think you're blowing him off, and then I add, "Sounds pretty
fanfuckingtastic to me." Okay, so it's not hearts and flowers, it isn't
sweet, but like I said, we have a lot of these weird conversations, so he
must be reading me the way I'm reading him, because he's looking plenty
relieved, and a lot happy, and I can see his hands shaking a little when
he pulls his shirt on. 

 I put my face in the bed because I'm little kid scared, and if I start
bawling again, I'm going to punch myself in the head. Pretty soon, I feel
the mattress dip and a big warm hand on the back of my neck. "Ray?" 

 I really, really don't want to look at him until I've said my say, squirm
over and put my face against his thigh. "Ben." Throat hurts, and I have to
swallow hard. "You-I want to do right by you, but you know what a shithead
I am, and I don't ever-" 

 "Shhhh." He sounds calm again, easy. "Ray, stop it." 

 "I can't stop it." I'm babbling. "Because I want this, Ben, I want you,
but you're this big alpha wolf-" I try and pull my thoughts together." 

 "And you don't want to show me your throat?" He sounds amused and
confused at the same time. 

 I lift my head. "Hell, that's not it, I do that all the time, but Ben,
will you? Can you? Because I'm not easy to live with, I know that, believe
me, I know that, and-" I run out of words, lose track of what I'm saying,
and he's looking down on me with that little line between his eyebrows and
then he hauls me up and puts two fingers on my mouth. 

 We look at each other for a minute. "It won't be easy," he finally says,
"Not always. I-quite the contrary, Ray, you seem to me to be very easy to
live with, you ask very little of me, and I, ah, take shameful advantage
of that by asking a great deal of you." He doesn't sound happy about it,
he sounds a little embarrassed. 

 I think he's nuts and I tell him that. 

 He sighs, closes his eyes for a second, then opens them, smiles at me
like morning and lifts his chin, baring his throat. 

 Oh, Jesus. All the blood in my body goes shooting south, and I knock him
down, straddle him, kiss him. 

 He puts his hands on my face, real gently, not alpha this time, more like
he's just memorizing me. "Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray." Softly. 

 "You don't ask all that much of me, Ben." I kiss his eyelids like he does
to me. "I don't know what the hell you want with a scrawny fucked up
Polack, but hey, I'm here." 

 His eyes are bright, too bright. "Indubitably here," he says huskily and
rubs his thumb on my eyebrow. "And Ray, kindly stop referring to yourself
as fucked up." 

 I start laughing. "Okay, Ben, I'll try. Dane bramage and all." 

 He blinks, gets the joke, but doesn't seem to think it's that funny.
Whacks me on the ass, but the angle's wrong and he can't put much behind
it. 

 A little more necking, and then I lift my head and sigh. "Okay, dinner,
right?" 

 He has this sort of glazed expression. "Hmm? Oh, yes, dinner." 

 So we manage to get untangled and go out into the kitchen, but we end up
eating Ray Kowalski style, tangled up on the couch, or at least leaning
against each other. He insists on cleaning up after, since, "You did the
cooking, Ray, it's a fair exchange of labor," and I wrestle Dief for my
share of the couch, which earns Dief a look from Fraser. 

 I think that's pretty funny. "How many alpha wolves in a pack, Ben?" 

 "In this pack?" His eyes glint. "Too many, I'm afraid this is not an
ordinary pack." 

 I decide right then that the wicked glint is a major turn-on, and I leave
the couch to Dief and go into the kitchen to start bothering him while
he's finishing up. Slide my hands down the back of his jeans, and he makes
this funny smothered kind of yelp, but can't quite get at me to stop me. 

 "Someone" he tells the kitchen sink, "Is looking for trouble." 

 I squeeze his ass, warm and pretty silky under my hands, firm muscle
underneath smooth skin. "Yeah? What kind of trouble." 

 "Serious trouble," he says thoughtfully. 

 Never dare a Kowalski. I pull my hands out, slide my arms around his
waist and start unbuttoning his jeans. 

 "Very serious trouble," he adds and pushes his ass against me. 

 I'm snickering against his back, slide my hand inside his shorts-starch,
I ask you, who starches their boxers?-and oh, yeah, warm flesh in my
hands, already thickening. Ben's cock, I think, in my hand and whoa,
that's a concept, ladies and gentlemen, I never much thought about it, but
kind of figured the only cock I'd ever be holding was my own, and there's
something scary and hot about that idea, too. I rub my thumb over the very
tip, and he shudders, his cock gets thicker fast and if you think it's not
a turn-on to know I'm doing that to him, you're smoking crack. 

 I'm grinding myself against his ass, but all my attention is on what I'm
holding. I wonder what it's like to get fucked, and have to hold on to him
to keep from falling down, my knees get that wobbly, and I bite the back
of his neck, which makes him shudder again. "Serious trouble." Thick,
aroused voice, thick aroused cock, and he pulls the plug on the sink to
let the water drain, not that I'm paying much attention to that, I'm too
busy acting like a lunatic, stroking and pulling at his cock and humping
his ass. 

 Sexual healing, I think and my knees wobble. Oh, yeah, Marvin, no shit,
you knew what you were talking about, and that's about all I have time to
think because alpha Fraser's back, he whips around so fast I have to let
go of him so I don't do major damage, and the bastard grabs me, leans
down, and wham, he's doing a fireman carry, and my mouth is hanging open
in surprise, all the blood that's not parts south is going to my head. 

 "Hey!" 

 He growls. And I'm so turned on that my hair is standing up straighter,
and I'm laughing my ass off, and I'm thinking, wolf pack, wolves, and
neither of us is even hairy enough to be a wolf. I'm on the bed and buck
naked before I can practically get my breath-well, pants off anyway, and
that mouth is all over me, which pretty much turns off thinking, and then,
when he has me totally brainless, he gets the sweater and shirt off me,
and works his way down again. 

 I take it back, there's one part of my brain still tracking and the only
thing it's good for is throwing up pictures of what might have happened if
I'd ever pulled this on a stakeout, clothes flying everywhere and then
Fraser pushes my legs further apart, and dives down and I nearly come off
the bed when his tongue hits me. There's just enough oxygen getting to my
brain to let me think I'm very glad I showered earlier, and then I'm just
a pile of quivering flesh, legs drawn up while his tongue strokes me open
and I'm making these ridiculous noises and jerking my ass up with each
flick of that tongue. The things Fraser puts his tongue on, and he's
fucking me with it now, and I hear myself finally begging, "Fuck me, fuck
me, please, Ben, please, please-" 

 Believe me, the Mountie is long gone, and the only guy left in there is
wolf, he lifts his head and he looks-Christ, like some pagan god or
something, and he slides a finger inside me, searching until he finds the
magic button and my cock spurts a little, but I'm not quite coming, but
the noises I'm making are enough to make me glad this cabin isn't in town.


 "Fuck me," I rasp, and he bends down and takes my balls into his mouth,
one by one, and another finger joins the first and it hits me, he's
stretching me, getting me ready and that's it, the brain melts down. 

 It's not that easy, the second finger burns a little, but he knows what
he's looking for and I'm writhing on those fingers until they pull out and
I'm dry-mouthed and scared and so turned on I can't stand it. "Ben!" Weak
little voice. "What the fuck are you doing?" 

 Because he's off the bed and over at his dresser, comes back with a tube
of something cool and slick and those fingers slide in easier now, way
easier, and I'm mindlessly working myself on them again, he's got my cock
in his mouth while he works me. 

 That's not what I want, I put one heel on his shoulder to get his
attention. "Fuck me," I growl. 

 Smoldering look. "I will." 

 Oh, unh. Fine. Thank you kindly, Ben, Fraser, Corporal Fraser, sir. A
third finger and I'm almost off the bed for a minute, little burn there,
little more than before, but it's slick and he lets me get used to it, and
since his cock has got to be thicker than that, I figure it's a good idea
and settle back down to more mindless humping. 

 Not for long. When the Mountie says he's going to do something, by God,
he does it, and my legs are over his shoulders and there's something thick
and hot pushing against me, and I take in a deep breath, let it out, my
fingers white knuckled on the bedding. 

 I don't know how the fuck he's going so slow, he looks like he wants to
just drive in, spike my ass, hammer me again and again with his cock, but
he pushes in, gives me a minute to get my breath before he pushes again. 

 Definite burn, and I want to bite my lip, but he's watching my face, and
I don't want the Mountie to change his mind at the last minute, I want
this, even if it hurts, and then he's all the way in, right up to the root
of his cock, leaning over me and panting. Thick, hot, and I reach down,
feel where I'm impaled and shudder. The burn's sort of easing up, and he
moves, slow and easy, lots of slick down there, and Christ, he moves just
right, at just the right angle and who the fuck cares about the burn, do
that again, and I'm babbling it like a loon, he does it again and that's
it, I'm all over that, I push my ass back into it, and he has to stop a
minute, get better leverage, and his slippery fingers close over my cock,
which wasn't exactly sure about this a minute ago, but is rapidly getting
stiff again. 

 Okay, yeah, it's like dancing, find the rhythm, Kowalski, and I do, and
I'm pushing back into him, and he's pushing his hips down a little harder,
a little faster, jerking my cock with one hand while his other hand grips
my left thigh, up almost to my hip. Leverage, and Christ, we're in the
groove, moving together, and if I thought last night was good, this is
going to be nuclear, I'm not sure I'm going to live through it. 

 Sweat drips from him to me, pools on my belly and even that makes me
crazy, I twist and arch up and fuck, fuck, fuck, he's hitting that spot
again with his cock and I feel it start at the base of my spine and I'm
practically screaming now, fuck me, fuck me. 

 He's growling and I'm gibbering, and I swear, I come so hard I nearly
black out, and what pushes me over that edge is I swear I can feel him
starting to come, hot and slick, inside me. 

 When I can see again, when I can breathe again, he's leaning over me on
his arms and I grab him, pull him down. He's starting to slip out of me,
and even though I can tell it's going to be a little hard to sit down for
a while, I hate that, so I hold on to him instead, and his weight feels
good. 

 One thing about fantasy, you can't get that, it's all imaginary
sensation, and this is the real thing. 

 He turns his head, kisses me deep, and I suck on his lower lip, nip his
upper lip and he sighs into my mouth. Oh, yeah, buddy breathing, and I
breathe back for him, and he tries to roll off, so I lock my legs. 

 Kiss on my throat and I feel him shake a little, think he's laughing. 

 He's not, there's something hot and wet on my neck and that scares the
shit out of me. "Ben?" A little shaky. 

 He kisses my throat, nuzzles, and raises his head. "You," he says and
stops, shakes his head, eyes wet. Tries again. "Ray," husky voice, then,
"I cannot imagine what I've ever done to deserve you." 

 Okay, now my eyes are wet. "Bad karma," I tell him, and he bites my chin,
not real gently. "Ow!" 

 He smolders at me a little. "Good karma," he growls and then kisses the
bite. "Hot bath?" 

 "You having one?" Really, I'm ready to crash, never mind that I'm sticky
and slippery from chin to crotch. But if he wants a hot bath with me, he
gets one. 

 "Of course." Another kiss to my throat, and he shifts, looks down at us
both. Laughs a little in his throat. 

 "Messy," I say and yawn, and watch him sit up. Heh. I've marked him, just
above his left nipple is a suck mark. "Mine," I say and point. 

 He looks down, and I swear, he smirks at me. "Marking territory?" 

 "Oh, yeah. I'm all over that territorial thing, Ben." 

 He grins, leans over me, and kisses my mouth. "You're all right?" 

 "Ben-ton." Warning him. 

 Get nipped for it, too, and he gets up, stretches. Fuck, beautiful man,
sex on legs, and I think he mostly doesn't have a clue about that.
Something hits me, and I push myself up. "You done this before? With a
guy, I mean?" 

 Surprised expression. "No, Ray. Why do you ask?" 

 I look around, point at the tube. "You, ah, kinda know what you're
doing." 

 He goes red all over when he blushes. "It requires only a little
research, Ray, to determine the optimum method, Proper Preparation-" 

 "Research doesn't include having this," I say, feeling wicked, and tap
the tube. "And it's not new, you've used some." 

 Another wave of red. "I'm sure if you use your imagination, Ray, you'll
be able to determine why." 

 Heh. "Thinking of me, were you?" 

 "Every day, Ray. Every day." He leaves, still flushed all over, and not
just from the sex. 

 I grin and shift a little, wincing. Yeah, I'm going to be a little sore,
but it was worth it. 

 Definitely, it was worth it. 

 Hot water and we just barely manage to get both of us in the tub, old
fashioned or not, but I'm not complaining, feels good on sensitive parts,
and Ben's behind me, wallowing, he calls it, in lazy luxury. "Ray," he
says, a little tentative, "Will you tell me what Lt. Welsh didn't?" 

 I think about that, sigh. Feeling good today makes it easier, I mean, I
was dancing. Probably shuffling, but hell if it didn't feel great. "I was
in pretty bad shape, Ben. I don't remember a lot of the early bits, those
are just gone, out of there. I guess I practically bled out before they
got me to trauma, and when that happens-and my heart quit a couple of
times, that didn't help." I shrug. "You know, brain doesn't get enough
oxygen, shit happens. No blood volume, other stuff shuts down, not just
the brain. Saw a kid once, got stabbed, some dumbfuck fight, nearly bled
out, and he's in a wheelchair, has trouble talking, they had to do
something to his tendons to keep him from, um, I don't know what they call
it, it's like the tendons draw up and get shorter. Brain damage." 

 He's very still behind me. I lean back against him, just to remind me
none of that happened to me. Well, mostly, anyway. "I think the first
thing I remember is my folks. And that fucking respirator. Christ, I was
totally zoned and I hated that thing, they kept me tranked pretty good to
keep me from fighting it. First good thing I remember is getting rid of
that thing. But I was pretty gone for a while, couple of weeks, they
weren't sure I was going to, ah, come out of it." I hear my voice, pretty
clipped, matter of fact. "Coma." The word comes back to me, "Yeah, I was
in a coma." I laugh a little, because there is something funny about that,
even if it's dark, soap opera city. "No head injury, just blood loss. So
it took me a while to get back." Do I really want to tell him about
struggling to talk, to find the words that got lost in the dark? "Took a
while." Sitting in a wheelchair looking at pictures and trying to tell the
doc what the pictures were. Finally getting memories back, which they
didn't expect to happen. Being able to say Dad and my dad's tears when he
hugged me after that. "Um. Did Welsh tell you when this happened?" 

 "No." Very soft voice, and his thumb is drawing a pattern on the inside
of my elbow. 

 "This is October, right? It's been-um, six months. I'm Heatherton's
miracle patient, he says, too damn stubborn to lie down and die. I should
still be in a wheelchair, learning to talk again, she says." 

 That makes him shudder and his arms go around me. Wolves mate for life, I
think, and it's not fair for me not to tell him just what he's getting
himself into. "I'm still not back all the way, Ben." This is harder to
talk about. "You know, even if I get to where I can pass the physical, I
still got some problems." 

 He doesn't say anything. "Difficulty processing written language," he
murmurs. 

 How does he do that. Well, he detects, Kowalski, and maybe I can take
some comfort that he's observing me so damn close that he already has it
figured out. "Yeah, that's one." I sigh again. "Panic attacks, shrink
thinks that might be as much the respirator and coma as getting shot. You
know, being restrained and tranked and all that shit. Heatherton says I'm
unstable, the shrink says maybe a little, Heatherton thinks it's the
damage, the shrink says it's post traumatic stress shit." I sigh again.
"They don't much like each other." 

 "I think I find the psychiatrist's explanation more plausible." He kisses
the back of my neck. "I admit to some prejudice, but you always have been
emotionally volatile, Ray, and if the damage were organic, I would expect
to see greater loss of control." 

 I have to admit, that makes me feel good. "Yeah?" 

 "Indeed. And there is the fact that the psychiatrist has far more
experience at determining emotional patterns." 

 There is that, I think. I'm not a fan of shrinks, hey, but I'm smart
enough to know when I'm fucked up, that damn shrink knows everything. Even
about Fraser, and how I feel about him. Maybe I should at least call him
and tell him I'm okay. 

 I decide to think about it later. "And I've got a leaky memory, never
know for sure what's going to stick with me, what I'm going to lose. So if
I start telling you any stories you've already heard, stop me." Joking
with him. 

 "Understood." I get another kiss on the back of my neck. 

 My eyes sting. "Ben, you've gotta promise me you're not going to freak
out every time I have a panic attack or forget stuff." 

 "I'm unlikely to freak out, as you say, if I understand what's
happening." Easy tone, matter of fact. "Thank you for telling me, Ray." 

 "Freak," I say and lean back against him. 

 Low rumble of laughter. I love his laugh, I squirm against him, even
though there's about zero chance, given how hard I came and how tired I am
right now. "Ray," he says happily, "Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray." 

 Okay, neither of us has used the L word, maybe, and we're guys, maybe we
won't actually ever get to saying it, but I know how I feel, and I can
hear how he feels. Wolves mate for life, he says, and just like that, I am
one big puddle of happiness. "Ben," I say back, "Ben, Ben, Ben." And we're
both laughing, then, and he hugs me and then it's all business, he's
washing my back, and I squirm around and soap him up, and we're both
loons, that's all I can say. 

 Okay, I think, lying in bed with him spooned up behind me, I got past it
all, I told him everything, and the damn fool Mountie doesn't have sense
enough to run, who am I to try and make him? Damaged, but not stupid, and
I'm not throwing this away, and I put my hand over the arm he's got
wrapped around my belly and close my eyes. 

 Maybe I can be happy after all. 

 The days follow into a kind of rhythm, after that, like we've gotten past
something that was holding us back. Fraser actually brings home a
television, and two days later, after some work by Jack and Davy McKenzie,
and Fraser, I'm watching more than just CBC, I'm getting American
sports-which, let me tell you, is a relief, because curling is the most
totally mind numbing sport to watch. Maybe it's more exciting live. I hope
so, because if it's not, the Mountie and Turnbull were more unhinged than
I thought. 

 It snows just when Fraser said it would, so we're tramping around in the
snow after that, and I forgot my Mukluks, have to call my folks anyway, so
I ask my mother to pack some stuff up and ship it. I ask my dad if he'd
mind getting my apartment packed up and in storage, since I'm not exactly
sure when I'll be back. I tell my dad that anyway, because I know I'm not
ever going back. I'm damaged, not stupid. 

 They agree, mostly because they're so damn relieved that I'm fine, I'm
doing better, Fraser tells them he thinks that Heatherton was dead wrong,
though not in those words, and my dad gets choked up on the phone when
he's talking to me. 

 I call Merriman, the shrink, and he insists we have a session on the
phone, makes me promise if the panic attacks start getting worse to see
somebody up there, tells me he'll try and settle Heatherton down, make
things good so I don't get my ass in a sling pension wise. He even makes
me feel like I did the right thing, coming up here, and I'm not sure why
he thinks so, but it's kind of nice to have somebody say, yeah, Kowalski,
you're a little fucked up yet, but you're sane. Not in those words. 

 Somehow, word gets around that I have a clue about engines, and Fraser
thinks that's funny, teaches me about the barter system. So, I help out
there, and Fraser calls Thatcher, who thinks better of him than I thought,
they get some of the nastier paperwork rolling on making me Canadian. 

 Hey, I'm still American, it's just that here is home. That's what I get
for falling for a crazy Canadian Mountie. 

 So, I settle in, and whatever anybody figures out, nobody says anything
to us, and Fraser, in a post this small, gets called out, and I get to
know Brett and his wife Mae a little better and life is good, damn good,
it's greatness. 

 Mae's a pretty girl, maybe 24, which makes me feel ancient, and she's got
the first bun in the oven, and she fusses over me as much as Rosie does.
Maybe it's a Canadian woman thing, I didn't get this much fussing as a kid
from my own mom. 

 I know for sure Rosie and Mae have it figured out, I can tell by their
eyes, but Fraser-he's just oblivious. 

 Besides, both Rosie and Mae have said things, like they're trying to let
me know without offending anybody, that they don't give a shit about
whether or not Fraser and me are more than cop buddies. 

 Life is greatness, even if it's dark most of the day, now, as we head
toward Christmas, and I've got the banking situation sussed, my pay gets
deposited about forty miles away, and we go down to get it. 

 First time, Fraser gives me the keys to the jeep, I just look at him.
"Er, Ben, there's a problem." 

 He arches an eyebrow, and I'm too aware of David Brett, working at his
desk. "A problem, Ray?" 

 "I, ah, I'm not supposed to drive." It's embarrassing is what it is.
Brett gives me a quick glance up, looks away pretending he didn't hear
anything. 

 I have to tell you, Canadians are polite, even if there's hardly anybody
like Fraser. Brett comes close, he's pretty earnest. 

 Fraser's doing that eyebrow thing again. "Oh." 

 "Pardon me, sir, but if you were to drive over to Whitehorse, you could
pick up some things from the post there, things they were going to ship
out next week." Brett actually blushes, just because he has to sort of
admit that he's following our conversation. 

 Fraser looks relieved. "Right you are. If you'd be so kind as to give
them a call, let them know to expect us." 

 "Glad to, sir." Brett reaches for the telephone and Fraser reaches for
his coat. 

 He doesn't say much until we're on the road, and I'm a little nervous.
"Why can't you drive, Ray," he finally asks me, but he's not mad, just
curious. 

 I relax. "Heatherton, basically. I mean, I couldn't drive then, hell, I
could barely remember how, but it sort of ended up on official records."
Which completely pissed me off at the time and I had a shouting match with
Heatherton that gave him some support for the instability thing. 

 "Hmmm." His mouth goes a little tight and funny. "In another week, you'll
see the doctor at the clinic. We can get that cleared up." 

 "Don't count on it," I tell him drily, "Not if he's got Heatherton's
records." 

 "We'll see." 

 Now he sounds pissed. "While I'm certainly grateful to Dr. Heatherton for
saving your life, I will not continue to allow his shortsightedness to
curtail your activities." 

 That's so Fraser. I put a hand on his thigh. "Chill, Ben, it's okay."
Nice to know we're both alpha about watching each other's backs. 

 I get a narrow look at that, but I feel the muscles under my hand relax
after a few minutes. "So," he says, sounding happier, "We'll take a bit of
time and look around Whitehorse, then, shall we?" 

 "Sounds pretty damn good to me," I tell him, and hey, we're good. 

 Whitehorse isn't big like, say, Chicago is big, but it's bigger than I
thought it would be, and I have to admit, by the time we leave, I'm tired,
I'm not used to so many people, and they worked my nerves bad. Still, we
got the stuff for the post, we even got some stuff Fraser thought I
needed, and we ate at a real restaurant. Not to mention taking a little
time while Fraser was picking up official Mountie stuff to pick him up a
few presents, since it is almost Christmas. 

 We get home, and Brett greets us and helps Fraser carry in Mountie stuff,
and Davy McKenzie shows up with Tom Ellery. 

 "Fraser," says Ellery, nodding. "Got some boxes for Kowalski. Thought I'd
wait, give you guys a hand carrying 'em up the hill." 

 Fraser blinks, smiles. "Thank you kindly, Tom." 

 Davy, a big rangy kid of about twenty, has his mother's dark eyes and his
father's build, and he grins at me. "A lot of boxes," he tells me. Oh,
shit, I think, let's hope my folks didn't pack up everything in the
apartment. "And that stuff you ordered got here, Fraser, Tom and I loaded
up his truck." 

 I give Fraser a questioning look, and he blushes. Eyebrow rubbing, neck
cracking, hmmmm, and all my radar is going off, he's up to something. 

 Something big, from the shade of red he's turning. 

 So we unload the truck, and not one of the bastards seems inclined to let
me carry anything they think is too heavy, and even though that jerks my
chain a little, it's not too bad, because they do load me up with anything
they think I can handle, so I'm really wiped by the time we get done, but
I do figure out Fraser's got a building project of some kind going on. 

 And on top of that, Davy McKenzie comes in at the last, grinning,
carrying what looks like a casserole dish. "Mum says she figured you'd
been getting' in late, Fraser, and since she thinks Ray still needs
feeding up, she sent this up. She says just heat it up in the oven." 

 Fraser's honestly surprised. "Tell her thank you kindly, Davy. He lifts
the lid and whatever it is smells great. "Oh, my." 

 Davy grins, nods at me, and then he's gone, the door's closed and Fraser
looks over at me. "Hot bath," he prescribes, no-nonsense voice. 

 "Oh, yeah, that'll help," I tell him and roll my eyes. "I'll be gone in
no time, won't be awake enough to eat." 

 "I'll make certain you are." Brief glint and my cock gives a little
twitch. Wicked Fraser is fine, oh, yeah, very fine. 

 "Tease," I accuse. 

 Innocent expression. "Adding cold water to the tub would be useful, as
well." 

 "Never mind." I give up, open one of my boxes. Clothes. Worse yet, summer
clothes. I'm snickering and Fraser comes over to look. Dief sticks his
nose in, too, sniffs, and gives me a look. 

 "Oh, dear," Fraser says, but his mouth quirks. 

 I shake my head. My mom, I swear, and I go to another box. "Oh, yeah," I
say happily, "Jeez, this must have cost a fortune to send up here." 

 "They shipped your stereo?" He's thunderstruck. 

 I'm laughing again, but it's pure delight. "Oh, yeah, yeah, this is total
greatness. Heh. We can put this in the bedroom. Or we can put yours in the
bedroom. Or whatever." 

 He smiles at me, happy that I'm happy. Another box has the VCR, and I
don't get to the tub until after we eat because I'm sorting through videos
and mortified that my mom might have seen some of my more colorful ones.
Translation, porn. 

 Memory like a sieve can be a bad problem in cases like this. "Jesus," and
Fraser takes a look again, coming back out of the kitchen. 

 He doesn't get it, mostly because I have them in plain old blank tape
cases, but when I tell him, I get that belly laugh again. "Ray, I hardly
think she watched them." 

 "Please, God," I say fervently. 

 He thinks that's pretty funny, so I e-lucidate. "Ben, it's guy on guy
porn." 

 Oh, he blushes all right. Blushes, probably, right down to his toes.
"Ray!" A little shocked. 

 "Well, I had to figure things out," I tell him, a little defensive. "Hey,
I knew how the other worked, Ben." 

 He's still blushing, but he's belly laughing again all of a sudden, leans
down and kisses me. "Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray." Nips at my mouth. "We'll
have to watch them together." 

 Oh, unh. Definite twitch there, and a throb. "Oh, boy. What's with the
construction materials?" 

 He grins. "Converting the storage room." 

 "To what?" 

 "I thought it might serve as a guest room for us, and for anyone with any
curiosity, your bedroom officially." And then, just before I get pissy, he
smolders at me. "But only officially." 

 I follow him back into the kitchen. "Ben, I hate to break this to you,
but I think Mae and Rosie, at least, have figured things out." 

 "I'm sure they have, Ray. Rosie and Mae are very observant, and I believe
they're both kindred spirits." He doesn't sound surprised. "And very
discreet as well." 

 Discreet. Good point, I think, but it annoys me anyway. Even though I
know Fraser's a cop, and the RCMP can't be any better than Chicago PD when
it comes to what Fraser calls nonstandard sexuality. I go back to the
boxes. 

 Fraser's family didn't raise a dummy, but I knew that already. He comes
back after a while and crouches down beside me. Looks me in the eye.
"You're bothered by the need for deception. So am I, Ray. Not only is it
contrary to my nature, but it offends me to pretend that I don't love
you." 

 Oh, shit, the L word's come up. Like it should be a big deal, wolves mate
for life. I knock him down and we're rolling around the floor while Dief
watches us. 

 He finally drags his mouth away from mine. "As a matter of scientific
curiosity, Ray, I have to ask what I said to elicit that response." 

 "Oh, nothing," I say and kiss him hard again. He's laughing into my
mouth, which tells me he's figured it out, and weird, I feel shy with him
after we've been bumping bones for the last nearly six weeks. "I love
you," I mutter into his mouth. "Freak." Fine, he can build me a separate
bedroom, if he wants, hell, I'll use it, just don't let me lose this, God,
don't let me fuck this up, okay? 

 Yeah, life is good, I think later, sprawled on the couch with Benton
Fraser on my chest, he's reading and I'm watching this CBC series that's
hooked me, and I think, hey, we're really rolling, there's nothing more
hanging over us, nothing more to worry about. 

 But I'm wrong. 

 Once a month for a week, the government of Canada flies in doctors for
the little medical station, and the rest of the time, there are three
nurses who live in Owlcreek. Fraser's already had me down there to see
them, just to touch base, he insists, and they seem to think I'm doing
pretty well, even after my records get there and Janet MacDonald, who's in
charge, looks them over. 

 Miraculous, she says, which makes Fraser smile now. 

 "You are a miracle," he tells me that night, when I'm dozing off. 

 "Freak," I tell him affectionately. 

 "Understood." 

 Sweet talk for guys, sickening as it is. He's telling me he's nuts about
me, and I'm telling him he's crazy, but thank you kindly, Corporal Fraser,
and if you don't have anything else planned, how about I stick to you like
KrazyGlue for the rest of your life, and he's telling me it's fine with
him. 

 Like I said, sickening. 

 But I'm nervous when I go into the clinic to see the doctor. He's older
than Heatherton, maybe in his mid-fifties, Heatherton's a hotshot Yuppie
doctor, and I relax pretty quick. Standard sort of tests, standing on one
foot, touching my nose with my eyes closed, yadda yadda, old shit I know
inside and out, and the more he does, the more he frowns at the records
he's got on the counter. 

 I find myself wondering if Fraser put a fix in, but that's nuts and I
know it. More prodding, more poking, and then he tells me I can get
dressed, come on down to the office, and I do, and of course, Dudley Do
Right is there looking innocent, standing outside the office like he's
waiting for me. 

 "How was Dr. Campbell?" 

 "Okay, I guess." I roll my eyes at him. "I mean, he's a doctor, Ben, I'd
rather have you stick pins in me." 

 "But I have no desire whatsoever to stick pins in you, Ray," he tells me.


 Like I thought he did. "Ben-ton," I growl. 

 Only the glint in his eyes gives him away, and we go into the office and
sit down. 

 I eye him. "Don't take this the wrong way, Ben, but why are you here?" 

 "I have a vested interest in your welfare." He looks away, looks back at
me and smiles a little. "I thought you might like the company." 

 I can buy both, but I can tell he's being honest. I relax, he's not there
to make sure I don't lie to him, he trusts me. So I'm okay with it. 

 Campbell comes in, puts my records on his desk, sits down, and folds his
hands on top of them. "Mr. Kowalski." Stops and clears his throat. "I'm
not a specialist in these types of injury, Mr. Kowalski. It does seem to
me, however, that perhaps..." Stops again. 

 My stomach does a lazy roll that makes me queasy. "Just spit it out, Doc,
I'm used to this stuff." 

 He doesn't look entirely happy. Clears his throat again. "I would
ordinarily not presume to question another doctor's diagnosis when I was
not involved in treatment of the original injury. However, I do believe,
perhaps, that there was some mistake, er, in determining the original
extent of brain injury." 

 I blink. Is he saying what I think he's saying? I look at Fraser, who's
wearing the toughest look I've ever seen on Fraser. 

 "What kind of mistake?" I finally ask. Safe question, no assumptions. 

 He looks at his hands for a moment. "I believe that you may have suffered
much less damage than was originally thought." You can tell he doesn't
like saying it, doesn't like contradicting Heatherton the Wonder Kid. 

 And my jaw drops. 

 Campbell looks at me then. "Again, Mr. Kowalski, I am far from a
specialist in these matters, I'm a general practice physician, and while
that entails a broader range of experiences in this part of the country,
I'd feel a good deal better if one of my colleagues in Calgary made the
final determination. She specializes in this area, and of course, there
are other neurologists with whom you might feel more comfortable, but-" 

 I'm stunned. I nod blankly. "Whoever you think, that's fine." 

 He looks relieved. "Fine, fine, I'll contact Dr. Yee. You're staying with
Corporal Fraser, eh?" He looks back at Fraser. "I'll call you and see
about setting an appointment after I've spoken to him." 

 I nod again. "I don't get it. How-" Can't figure out what to ask. 

 I look at Fraser again, and he nods, leans forward. "Dr. Campbell, if I
may, I think Ray is wondering how this might have happened." 

 Dr. Campbell looks uncomfortable again. "I'm not sure I can tell you
that, I'm sorry." He nods at me apologetically. "If, in fact, I'm correct,
it may be that Mr. Kowalski's symptoms were somewhat misleading. Despite
what we would like to think, medicine is still something of an art rather
than a science. And brain injury is a conundrum, I'm afraid. The brain is
both fragile and resilient, a contradiction, I have seen amazing recovery
in some cases, and tragic consequences in very similar cases." He nods at
me. "We cannot honestly say why this happens. We use words like
'fortunate' or 'lucky' to explain it, but we can't be sure why. I may be
quite wrong, and the diagnosis quite correct, but I would prefer to allow
Dr. Yee to have a look at your records. Regardless, I think Dr. Yee should
see you, I should hate to think I've overlooked anything." He smiles
suddenly, and I notice my heart is thumping hard. "Despite all this
confusion, Mr. Kowalski, I'm pleased to tell you that your recovery seems
to be coming along very well. I note some continuing muscle weakness...." 

 I'm nodding like I'm listening, but I'm too numb to pay attention.
Besides, Fraser will probably remember it all better than I do anyway, and
probably even understands it all better. 

 He's sufficiently concerned about me to walk me back up the hill. It's
about two, and he takes off his red serge and opens a can of soup. "Ray,"
he finally says. "Tell me what's wrong." 

 Dief whines. 

 I'm staring out the window. "Um. I dunno, Ben." And I don't. Not really.
"Everybody thought Heatherton was so damn good, Ben." 

 He comes to me and puts his arms around me from behind, almost rocking
me. "He kept you alive." 

 There is that, I tell myself. "Yeah, well, I'm not complaining, exactly."
Maybe not, but there's this little flare of anger deep inside at all the
times Heatherton acted like I was so damaged I wasn't ever going to make
it back. I let myself feel it. "He was an asshole." 

 "Mmhmm." 

 He doesn't even correct my language, and I lean back against him. "Almost
Christmas." 

 "Yes, it is." He nuzzles my hair. "I'm afraid I'm feeling appallingly
sentimental, this is all I want for Christmas." Hugs me. 

 That lifts my mood. "Yeah? Well, tough luck, you get more." 

 He chuckles. "And when would you have found time for that?" 

 "You might be surprised," I tell him smugly. 

 And then he tugs me back into the kitchen for soup. 

 Dief gets to clean out the pan. 

 //...no biggie, just another day in the 2-7, except it's a day that
Fraser's not here, just another damn Fraserless day and I sit down at my
desk, my own desk. 

 Yo, yells Dewey, and I flap my hand at him, take a drink of coffee, and
open a file. Cop shooting, I read, and then flip to the photo and the guy
looks familiar, too familiar and I feel myself shiver. 

 Kowalski! 

 I hear my name, turn my head, and there's a guy coming toward me, and
he's got his weapon drawn, aims it at me and I'm moving, I'm up and moving
and reaching for my own...// 

 And I'm awake and right smack in the middle of the worst panic attack
I've had since leaving the hospital. And I'm on the floor, not in bed, and
my tailbone hurts a little and Fraser is kneeling beside me, holding me
hard. 

 "Ray, Ray, Ray," he murmurs and then murmurs it again. 

 Talk about horror show, I'm shaking and it's dark and my hand hurts.
"Okay," I gasp, trying to get a breath. "Okay, 'm awake." 

 Boy, am I ever. He leaves me for a minute, I hear the bed squeak, his
lamp goes on and I can see why my hand hurts, it's bleeding across the
knuckles, and the lamp on my side is on the floor, shattered. Fraser's
back, checking me for other cuts, gives me a hand getting up and pushes me
back down on the bed. I'm too busy concentrating on breathing for a little
while to notice what he's doing, but he comes back into the bedroom
wearing sweatpants, sits down, and starts cleaning my knuckles. 

 I can breathe again, and feeling stupid is the least of it. "Sorry."
Mumble it. 

 He looks highly pissed, you want to know the truth, and I'm shaky enough
right now that look is bad news. "Ray, who is Varney?" Not looking at me. 

 Varney. Doesn't ring a bell. "Got me, why?" 

 "You were calling that name. Varney." His hands are gentle, no matter how
pissed he might be. 

 I stare at him. I can't figure out who Varney is and why he's pissed, but
he leans over quick and kisses me. "Are you feeling better?" 

 I'm feeling totally lost. "What happened?" 

 "I would suspect a nightmare of some sort," he tells me and goes back to
cleaning the cuts. Whatever it is, it stinks, but it doesn't sting too
bad. The cuts aren't deep, and they aren't right on the knuckle, and he
whips out some Bandaids. "I was asleep, of course, and I'm not precisely
sure, but I heard you calling out the name Varney, heard the lamp fall,
and then you were on the floor." 

 I lean in, look hard, and there's a small bruise forming at the corner of
his jaw. Not bad. Probably smaller than when I punched him out by the
lake. "Did-did I do that?" 

 He rubs his jaw absently, a little surprised. "Ah. Well, you were still
asleep and I couldn't see what I was doing." Warm look and another kiss.
"Please, Ray, I gave you worse when you asked me to hit you back, more
than a year ago." 

 I'm not sure I feel better about that. But it would take somebody
stronger than me to resist when he puts an arm around me and pulls me
close. "Well, that was interesting," he finally says, trying to lighten
things up. "Off hand, the only Varney I can think of is Varney the
Vampire." 

 I can't keep myself from laughing, even though I'm feeling a little sick
at heart. I haven't even had a minor panic attack since, jeez, like
November, and this feels like ten big steps backward. "Varney the
Vampire?" 

 "One of the earlier Gothic novels," he tells me and goes into a
discussion of the evolution of the Gothic novel until I shut him up by
kissing him again. 

 I never heard of Varney the Vampire. And the details of the dream are
mostly fading. I remember Dewey is all, and looking at a picture in a file
and that's it. No more, nada, zip. 

 I pick up the broken pieces of the lamp base while Fraser goes to get the
broom and dustbin, thinking about it. 

 Nothing comes clear, and then we're in bed again and I'm shaking,
aftershock, and I turn to face him, rub my hand down his belly, and cup my
hand between his legs. "I n-need you." 

 "Ray," he whispers and kisses me, and I hold on hard enough to bruise him
again. "Easy," he breathes, "Ray, it was a nightmare, that's all." 

 I don't believe him, exactly, I mean, it's in my head whatever it is, but
he's Ben, Fraser, Dudley Do-Right, and I want it out of my head, I don't
want to think about it or worry about it. His mouth is just as sweet as it
always is, just as sweet and as hot, and even though he's not sure about
it, I want him to fuck me, and I have to straddle him before he agrees,
straddle him and hold his hands above his head. Of course, he could break
free, but he won't, instead he takes his time getting me wound up and
ready and then it's like he knows what I need, he slides inside and gives
it to me as hard as I want it, I don't want to think about anything
tomorrow but whether or not I can sit down. 

 His mouth is hot, he fastens on to one nipple, and strips my cock as fast
and hard and oh, sweet Jesus, that doesn't take long and I explode,
screaming his name, his arms go around me hard and I hear him cry out, and
then I just collapse on top of him, and like the headcase I am, I start
bawling like a damn fool, clutching at him. 

 Now there is one seriously alarmed Mountie underneath me, and even though
it's two fucking am, we end up in a hot bath together. 

 Dief thinks we're both nuts and goes out to sleep in front of the dying
fire. 

 "Headcase," I say. 

 "Post traumatic stress," says he, stroking my wet hair. "You need a
haircut." 

 Somehow, that lifts my spirit. "I didn't know you liked my weird hair." 

 "Strictly speaking, Ray, you could shave it all off, and I wouldn't
care," he says, "But I confess to some fondness for the style." 

 The Mountie knows his prescriptions, I have to say, the hot water
combined with him-well, it beats being tranked out. "Yeah?" Pleased. 

 "Very definitely." He's spiking my hair even as he says that. 

 "Freak." 

 "Understood." Almost lazily. 

 The water stings my knuckles a little and I lift my hand out of it, start
peeling off the Bandaids. Clean cuts, not deep, not bleeding. "Sorry about
the lamp." 

 "Fuck the lamp." 

 I nearly slide under the water in shock, turn around, and stare at him.
"Benton Fraser!" 

 Innocent look. "Yes, Ray?" 

 I narrow my eyes. "Is this shock treatment?" 

 "Did it work?" He looks mildly pleased. 

 "Jeez, I guess." I turn back and lean against him. "I'm going to have to
wash your mouth out with soap, you keep that up." 

 "I suppose that means I'll have to give up the notion of using such
language frequently." 

 "Wouldn't be shock treatment then." I rest my head on the hollow of his
shoulder. 

 "Essentially the sentiment remains the same. A lamp is only a lamp, Ray."


 I grin. "And a cigar is only a cigar?" 

 "Unless it's a phallic symbol." He strokes me suggestively. 

 "Freud sucks." 

 "He may have, although it seems doubtful." 

 Oh, he's on a roll, he is. I lace our fingers together. "I know I don't
say it a lot, Ben, but you're the best thing that ever happened to me in
my whole fucked up life. Well, except maybe for my parents, they were good
parents, even if my dad did spend several years not speaking to me." 

 "I like your parents," he says mildly, "And I like your father even
better for having had the good sense to apologize to you for his
behavior." 

 I turn my face into his neck. "So, Corporal Fraser, what's your opinion
on this latest shit." 

 He shifts. Doesn't answer me for a minute, and I can't tell if he's
thinking about it, or if he doesn't want to say. "I think, Ray, that you
may have remembered something your conscious mind has suppressed. The mind
is a powerfully strong influence on the body, and I believe I agree with
Dr. Campbell that Dr. Heatherton's diagnosis and certainly Dr.
Heatherton's prognosis were in error. I believe that Dr. Heatherton failed
to look for the emotional component, and I believe that there is an
emotional component." 

 I think that over, sorting it out. "Why?" 

 "Not all your nightmares are so spectacular that you wake." 

 Now that's informative. "How do you know I'm having them, then?" I ask,
feeling contrary. "Ben, everyone has nightmares." 

 "I know about them because I wake." He puts his hand over my mouth to
keep me from saying anything. "Ray, I've spent most of my life sleeping
alone, and I'm well attuned to the night sounds of this cabin. I assure
you, you are not disturbing my sleep." Yeah, right. But he's still got his
hand over my mouth. "Usually, I need only touch you and you shift from REM
state, and I go back to sleep immediately." 

 Okay, he put his hand over my mouth to keep me from apologizing. I nod
and he removes it. "So what does that tell you?" 

 "That your psychiatrist, Dr. Merriman, was quite correct in diagnosing
post traumatic stress disorder. And that you may very well have some
buried memories that are beginning to surface." 

 I think about that. "Okay, look at it this way, why would I have buried
memories? I mean, that means that whatever it is scares the hell out of
me, and what the hell would scare the hell out me so bad I don't remember
it. I used to be with Narcotics, Ben. Drug dealers don't scare me, guns
scare me, unless I'm holding 'em. People shooting at me scares me, but I
remember all the other times that happened, and getting shot scares me,
but I do remember when I got hit a long time ago, when I got that kid out
of a warehouse." 

 He nudges me up and I push myself to my feet, step out of the tub. The
scars are looking better these days, but then Fraser insists on applying
something to them every night-something that doesn't stink, for a
change-to make the scar tissue more supple, he says. Whatever it is,
they're fading, so I'm looking less like shit, and I've actually packed on
about ten pounds. Fraser prescribes at least ten more at a minimum, he
says, and adds that he thinks about twenty more would be right. I'm just
glad I can't count my ribs as easy any more. 

 A towel settles over my shoulders and a kiss settles on the back of my
neck. I hear the water start to drain while I'm drying my hair. "Ben?" 

 "I'm thinking, Ray." He doesn't sound like whatever he's thinking makes
him happy. "It need not be something that frightened you. It may be
something that struck to your very heart, some betrayal, or some loss." 

 I poke my head out. "Huh?" 

 He gives me a troubled look. "I think perhaps we should call Lt. Welsh
tomorrow and ask him if the name Varney has any significance." 

 I'm not sure why, but my stomach rolls. "Not tomorrow." 

 "Why not?" 

 "Hey, tomorrow is Christmas Eve. If I'm going to get lousy news, I'd
rather wait until after, I didn't even think I'd be alive this Christmas,
let alone have this." I gesture at him, at the walls of the bathroom. 

 He gives me that million wattage smile. "As you wish, Ray." 

 Good thing I've been fucked hard and wiped out, that's all I can say,
because he looks good enough to eat. "Bed." 

 "Indeed." 

 Christmas Eve and it's snowing like crazy, and yeah, Ray Kowalski, sucker
for Christmas, is trying to make bread pudding. 

 Seems to be coming out all right, if the smell from the oven is a good
indicator. I've been asking Fraser questions for weeks, trying not to be
obvious, just about Christmas traditions, and there aren't a whole lot, at
least not that he'll tell me, so I call my mom for some simpler things,
even somebody with an unspecified amount of brain damage can follow a
recipe, I just have to memorize it on the phone, which, since I use Rosie
McKenzie's telephone, causes general McKenzie hilarity. 

 Hence, as Fraser would say, bread pudding, after all the craziness on the
phone with my mom, Rosie tells me Fraser loves bread pudding. God, I'm
starting to think in Canadian, now that's fucking scary. 

 Something tells me that while Fraser was definitely loved by his
grandparents, his Christmas celebrations haven't always been magic
memories. So, I'm going to make some for him. At least that's the plan. 

 This isn't exactly Christmas tree country-these are big fucking trees
here-but I get some pine branches on the mantel over the fireplace, glitz
em up a little with some ornaments Rosie sold me a week ago, and figure
out what to do with venison, again with help from Rosie. Dief declined to
go with Fraser this morning, so he keeps me company while I wrap up the
presents I snuck into the house, including one for Dief. 

 D-U-M, dumb, but we're a pack, hey, so I look sternly at Dief. "No
peeking." 

 Fraser gets home looking a lot like Frosty the Snowman, I gotta say, and
comes in to beam at me. Bach's playing softly on the stereo, and I got
reckless with a few candles here and there for atmosphere and he stands
there looking at the, heh, Christmas mantel with eyes like a kid's. 

 Amazed. "Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray." 

 That used to drive me batshit, but this is how far I'm gone, I like it
now. Of course, half the time when he did it in Chicago, he was trying to
reel me back in, so what the hell. He's not trying to reel me in now. 

 I grin, feeling like a doof. "It's Christmas Eve, Ben, gotta do something
special." 

 I'm just lucky he takes his coat off before he jumps me, I guess, and we
neck like kids on the couch for a while before he finally lets me go. Get
this, necking with me is more important than the uniform. That'd be scary,
except it cracks me up. The timer Rosie lent me dings before things get
too serious and intense, and I have to start yanking stuff out of the oven
and putting other stuff in. 

 When I turn around again, he's shed red serge and pushed up those Henley
sleeves and is watching from the kitchen archway. "Ray." Soft voice, and
his eyes are too bright again, and I guess that's okay. 

 I close the oven and jump him, more or less, still standing up. Lick my
way up out of a kiss and grin. "Long way from last Christmas for you, too,
huh?" 

 "Oh, yes." Solemn Mountie. "Kilometers. Miles. Light years. Parsecs." 

 I put my fingers over his mouth before he comes up with more. "In the
Kowalski house, on Christmas Eve, we got to unwrap one gift before we went
to bed. So, ah, you get to choose one gift to unwrap." 

 He arches an eyebrow. "Only one? I don't believe in Santa Claus or Father
Christmas, Ray." 

 "Doesn't matter, we can't break traditions. We can make 'em, but we can't
break 'em." 

 He thinks about that. "Do I get to touch the packages before I decide?" 

 "Oh, sure. You can shake it, you can poke it, you can smell it, hell,
Ben, you can even taste it." I grin. 

 "Hmmm." Wicked Fraser glint time, and I wonder what he's thinking. "I'll
have to ponder that, I can see. What is it that smells so wonderful." 

 "Well, we'll have to see if it tastes wonderful, never cooked venison
before." We do some more lazy kissing. "Now go choose your present." 

 "I can't," he objects, "All the presents aren't, er, on the mantel yet." 

 I look at him suspiciously, but his expression is back to mostly Innocent
Mountie with just a little glint. 

 "And when did you have time to arrange for other gifts?" I use his own
words back at him. 

 "I have my ways." Now he's absolutely smirking. 

 I scowl at him, he licks the tip of my fucking nose, for God's sake, and
pushes me back toward the kitchen. "Finish up what you need to finish,
Ray, while I make sure we're actually ready for Christmas traditions." 

 I narrow my eyes at him, but he threatens to lick my nose again, and if
I'm going to be licked, I've got several other spots that come first on
the list. 

 Besides, it's not fair play not to give him a chance to do what he wants
to do, and it's obvious he's been planning something. 

 I just hope it's not musk ox or something. 

 So I fool around with stuff in the kitchen and get the table set, and
pretend I don't hear interesting noises coming from the other room. 

 Dief comes in and looks at me hopefully. 

 "Later," I tell him. "The boss gets his first." 

 Dief snorts at me and lies down, trying to look pathetic. 

 "Sorry, Dief, that doesn't fly," I tell him. 

 Fraser reappears in the kitchen, nuzzles my neck. "Do we eat before or
after we continue this tradition." 

 "Before. We don't do the actual unwrapping until just before we go to
bed." I rub myself up against him. He smells like fresh air, snow,
woodsmoke, and Fraser. "Okay, we're set. You wanna sit down?" 

 "Gladly," he mutters and takes the plate of biscuits I hand him. Okay, so
biscuits aren't fancy, we're talking Ray Kowalski. I can cook, even if
it's not gourmet, and fancy bread is beyond me. 

 Fraser's already sitting down when I get the rest of the stuff to the
table. He gives me that gigawatt smile again. "You're happy here, Ray?" 

 I look at him like he's unhinged. "No, I'm miserable, of course I'm happy
here, if I was any happier, I'd be maniac." 

 "Manic." 

 "Whatever." I narrow my eyes again. "Don't go there, Ben-ton. If you
can't tell how happy I am, we're going to have to really go yuppie and get
couple's counseling." 

 And then I pull a teapot over and pour him real tea, not teabag tea, and
his eyes get about as big as Dief's when Dief catches sight of a donut. I
can see he's a little doubtful, but he'd rather have bamboo splinters
under his nails than hurt my feelings. "Relax, Rosie showed me how." 

 Not a hint of what he's thinking on his face. "Ray, your resourcefulness
never ceases to amaze me." Solemnly. 

 I hope the bread pudding tastes right. 

 "Ah, Dr. Campbell called, Dr. Yee will be in Whitehorse on a consultation
in January, and would be happy to see you then. January 18, to be
precise." 

 "It's Christmas Eve," I tell him, "I'm not talking about anything
unpleasant tonight." I'm suspicious suddenly. "Did you call Welsh?" 

 "I did not." Little line between his eyebrows shows up. 

 Nice, Kowalski. "Of course, you didn't," I mutter, "Sorry, Ben, I know
better than that." 

 The line disappears and he leans in and kisses me quickly. "I gave you
some reason to doubt it," he tells me gravely. 

 Not really, he didn't, he told me right away, but hell, if he'll let me
off the hook for being an asshole, I'm going to take advantage of it. 

 The venison tastes good to me, and Fraser actually has two helpings, and
the potatoes turned out great, and he's lingering over his tea when I get
up and get the bread pudding and the custard sauce. Hey, I cheated, making
that stuff from scratch is another thing that's beyond me, but Rosie told
me about the canned stuff. 

 He's stunned. "You made this yourself?" 

 Heh. It's worth the trouble. Love getting that surprised look. And by
this time, he knows I'm not going to give him food poisoning, so he digs
in. "Ray, I'm going to get fat if you keep feeding me this way." 

 "Oh, like I'm not putting on weight from your cooking," I tell him.
Fraser at home cooking is a lot tastier than Fraser on the trail cooking,
and I secretly suspect he's getting ideas from Rosie, who seems sure I'm
going to blow away. 

 "You needed it," he says and then licks the spoon, and my eyes glaze. 

 That mouth, that tongue, that body. Maybe brain damage includes a trip
back to being sixteen again. Sure feels that way. 

 "Close your mouth, Ray," he teases me. 

 We wash up together, I insist even though we've been splitting chores
according to the Benton Fraser Courtesy Manual. 

 "Tom's pretty happy with the work you did on his truck," he tells me,
"And Constable Brett swears that the Jeep has never run this well." 

 "Brett's the only Mountie I ever met almost as polite as you, Ben." I'm
wrapping food up and carrying it out to the fridge. 

 "No, but he's right," he calls. 

 I grin. Hey, I know I'm good with stuff like that, my dad and I used to
work on cars together. But I have to admit, I get a warm fuzzy when Fraser
tells me he's capable of only the most basic repair and that he's
impressed. 

 I come back as he's finishing up, last dish in the drainer, and put down
a dish with venison for Dief. 

 "Ray, he's going to get fat, too." 

 "It's Christmas," I tell him and scratch Dief's ears when he raises his
head in a thank you. I don't want to admit to anybody how much I love this
damn wolf. 

 Fraser gives me a look, shakes his head. "You indulge both of us
terribly, Ray. I'm afraid we don't indulge you enough." 

 I look up at him, grin. "You can make up for it tonight." 

 "I hope to," he says seriously. "And if tonight is insufficient, I
suppose I'll just have to continue with a long range plan." 

 Guh. Wolves mate for life. "I'm all over that, Ben." 

 That gets the top of my head rubbed, and he pulls me up for a kiss. Hot
kiss, lazy kiss, and then he pulls away, takes hold of my shoulders and
turns me. "This way, please." 

 I let him nudge me into the front room, and the fire has been built up,
more packages on the mantle and he pushes me down on the sofa. Grins like
a kid and goes back to the front door. 

 I sprawl, watching; he opens it, steps out, steps back in again, and the
lunatic has gotten from somewhere, a small pine. Of course, it's got a
rootball, he's got it in a pail, that's my Mountie. 

 I feel an idiot grin appear on my face. "You maniac." 

 He arches an eyebrow at me, but he can't keep it there. "It's possible,"
he agrees. 

 So, we move the ornaments from the mantle to the tree, just because.
Fraser gets the comforter out and we sprawl in front of the fire watching,
to his obvious confusion, Christmas videos. He does enjoy the Grinch, but
by the time we get to Mr. Magoo's Christmas, he's completely baffled. 

 "Never mind," I tell him. "I'm a closet cartoon maniac." 

 He's just a maniac, he starts unlacing my hiking boots somewhere during
the Ghost of Christmas Past, and has worked up to my sweater by the time
we get to the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. I'm trying to pretend I'm
not interested, which ain't easy, because the Mountie's usual unhinged
focus on finding all the best spots to bite or kiss keeps me pretty well
revved up. 

 By the time Mr. Magoo is taking a bow, I'm naked, he's naked, and believe
me, I'm hanging on to my resolve by a fingernail. "Ben," I finally gasp.
"Wait, wait, wait-" I must be insane, he's licking my navel with a lot of
focus. 

 He raises his head. "Yes, Ray?" 

 "Wait, you've gotta pick out a present," I say. 

 "I already have," he says and moves down farther. 

 There's no way I can think that one through with his mouth on my cock. So
I just go with it-I'm damaged, not insane. We have a brief squabble over
who gets fucked, he's been bugging me because he wants me to and I'm
scared shitless to do it. He takes hold of my face. "Ray, why not?" 

 Why won't I, even though the idea makes my dick throb? "You already deal
with enough shit from me," I say, "I don't want to hurt you." 

 His brows go up. "Do I hurt you?" 

 He's got me. "Jesus, no." I grin a little. "But you did research, Ben." 

 Skeptical look. "Ray." 

 Okay, this is ridiculous, I can't believe we're having a serious
discussion about this. "Okay. Okay. I can do this." 

 "It isn't a trip to the dentist," he growls, and then seduces me all over
again and hell, okay, he gets what he wants, I'm being chickenshit,
because-because why? Beats the fuck out of me, I'm so turned on my hair
hurts, and I'm still scared stupid. 

 Well, not totally stupid, although I get a belly laugh at how much slick
stuff I'm using. He groans and then I see his face when I find the right
spot, and it's full speed ahead. Forget being scared, this is more like
the roller coaster when I was six, and he's very enthusiastic about it,
and I'm still nervous, but sweet Jesus, he's urging me on hard enough that
I'm having trouble remembering to go slow at first and his flesh is snug
on me, and this is Ben, and Jesus, total brain meltdown, and I catch my
breath, look at his face, and he hooks a leg around me-don't ask me how, I
have no idea, and then I'm in all the way and babbling, "Don't move, don't
move." 

 He's sweating and I'm sweating and he gives me this smoldering look. "Why
not?" Growling. 

 I'm thinking of bodies in the morgue, taxes, Heatherton, until I get used
to the way he feels. "Okay, forget it," I tell him, a little hoarsely.
"Move all you want." 

 He does and I do, and then his eyes go to slits, "Ray!" 

 I think that means good, so I keep that rhythm and he finds it and I've
got his cock, hot and silky in my fingers, which are still slippery and if
there is one thing I'm not, it's scared. I'm moving and he's moving with
me, and it's infuckingcredible, and we have the lights off, there's only
candlelight and firelight on Ben's skin, and he's almost golden with it
underneath me. So beautiful, I think, and can't believe he's with me,
wants me, funny looking Polack kid, and then I can't think any more, it's
too intense, and he's so hot in my hand and all around me. It's like I can
feel his heartbeat, and it's like I thought a long time ago, I've climbed
into him, baggage and all, and he cries out, my name, "Rayrayrayray," and
comes, hot and slippery on my hand, and his body clenches on my cock, and
the look and smell and sound of him tips me over the edge and I'm falling,
falling, thrusting in again and again until I can't breathe and just plain
collapse on him, panting. 

 We're both panting, I can hear his heart racing and then he pulls my face
over for a kiss hard enough that I feel a throb in my cock, even though
I'm slipping out. 

 "Mmmm." I'm past verbal into total, what did that fuck Heatherton call
it?-aphasia. Hand signals, I'll have to use hand signals, and we both
shift to our sides, mess and all on the comforter, and I manage to lay a
few kisses back on him, and the great thing about being with Fraser is
that we're both guys, so we both drift into a coma for a while. 

 I finally try and punch his chest, but even my arm is limp. "You didn't
pick a present." 

 "Yes, I did, Ray." He somehow manages to sound alert and awake. "I
unwrapped you." 

 I snicker. "Ben, that is so sappy." But I nuzzle him to let him know I'm
only pretending to be tough. "So pick another one." 

 "You're already unwrapped." 

 Well, what do I say to that? I swarm back on top of him for a few minutes
making sure he knows how I feel about it, then roll over and stretch out
to snag a package from under the tree. "Here." 

 He looks amused. Shakes it. Squeezes it. Smells it. He offers it to Dief
for a lick, and I lean up on one elbow and give him a threatening look. So
he opens it. 

 "Edna St. Vincent Millay," he says softly, and opens the book, thumbing
through it until something catches his eyes. "When we are old and these
rejoicing veins//Are frosty channels to a muted stream, And out of all our
burning their remains// No feeblest spark to fire us, even in dream, This
be our solace: that it was not said // When we were young and warm and in
our prime, Upon our couch we lay as lie the dead, Sleeping away the
unreturning time.// O sweet, O heavy-lidded, O my love, When morning
strikes her spear upon the land, And we must rise and arm us and reprove
// The insolent daylight with a steady hand, Be not discountenanced if the
knowing know // We rose from rapture but an hour ago." 

 Fuck me. I used to think she was kind of a girly poet, but when I was
hunting for presents in Whitehorse, I opened this one up and saw this.
Hell, we're starting to read each other's minds. It's a good thing I'm
wiped out or I'd be all over him. Or maybe it's a bad thing. 

 He looks over at me, eyes shining in the firelight. "Ray." Softly and
then wow, do I get kissed. There are like some unbelievable number of
words for snow in the native languages, including the Inuit, and Fraser
has an unbelievable number of different ways to kiss me. 

 I'm lying there drugged by that when he comes back, blushing, to give me
a package. "I'm afraid we're beginning to think along similar lines." 

 It's a book. I grin a little, now that there's a chance I'm not stupid
for life, just recovering. Open it up. No, not a book. A book on tape. And
man, I can't see for a minute, it's Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass. Where
in the hell did he get poetry on tape, I wonder. "Ben, this is so great-"
And it is, he's the only poet I remember liking from high school. I take a
breath. "This is greatness." Choked up. He looks a little worried, so I
hug him hard. "The only poet I liked when I was a kid." 

 He hugs back. 

 And we end up soaking a hot bath with him reading Millay to me. 

 I'm having variations on the same dream now for a week, and even though
I'm not having any more panic attacks, exactly, it's still freaking me
out. I have this mental image of Fraser lying awake and watching me,
catching me in time to keep the panic away, but when I ask him, he denies
it. 

 "That's just silly, Ray, when would I get any sleep?" he says mildly. 

 "Those thirty second power naps of yours," I tell him grumpily. 

 The awful truth about being on temporary disability is having too much
time to think about things. I guess while I was back in Chicago and Fraser
was here, I had plenty of time to get straight, heh, with what I felt and
what I wanted, because it's more the weirdness of being in darkness all
day long than the weirdness of sleeping with a guy that gets me. Let's
call a spade a shovel, getting fucked doesn't seem to freak me out, which
is pretty freaky all by itself. Fucking Fraser freaks me out more, but as
we're getting through that. I used to say I'd try anything once, I guess,
but fucking Fraser is weirder because I'm used to women when I'm on that
end of the deal. 

 Maybe I need to find a shrink up here. 

 Or not. ; 

 Anyway, Fraser tells me that most of the people I've met up here are
Tlingit, not Inuit. I knew they were Native-I guess I can't say Native
American, and the white Canadians in Toronto seem to call them aboriginal
peoples, but nobody here seems to have a special term, they just call 'em
by name. First Nations, that's one thing I hear sometimes. According to
Fraser, Tlingit names are private, sort of, and the names he uses to
introduce them are public English names, and sometimes they might have
more than one Tlingit name. 

 If I think of it like baptismal and confirmation names versus what you go
by day to day, it doesn't seem strange. Rosie McKenzie has some native
blood, about four or five generations back, but I haven't had the balls to
ask her what tribe. What nation, Fraser says. 

 I let him tell me these stories most days, where I'd have cut him off in
Chicago mostly because it's good for me to know this stuff up here, and
he's not using the stories like, oh, parables I guess. 

 Two weeks after Christmas, I'm scrubbing the engine grease out from under
my fingernails when he comes in the door fast and yanks open the front
closet. Winter gear, real winter gear, like he used on the quest, and he's
talking fast. "We have a situation, Ray, I may be gone a day or two." He's
shedding the serge, goes into the bedroom and returns carrying a bundle of
clothes. "I'm sorry, I don't have time to fill you in." 

 And my heart is going ka-thumpety, thump, and the instinct to grab a gun
and start dressing is pretty strong. "I'm going with you." 

 "You can't, Ray." Rueful tone and he sits down to take off his boots.
"You're an American citizen, and you can't carry a gun here." 

 I know he's right, but it still pisses me off. I focus on my hands, rinse
'em, and pick up a towel. "Yeah, I guess you're right." 

 Man can get dressed faster than anybody I know. Shit. I'm going to have
to get used this, I know, but knowing that doesn't make it easier. 

 He's a cop. I know the drill. I just never figured on being the one
waiting at home. 

 Weird. Shitty. But I don't scowl at him, I try to be matter of fact, and
he grabs me for a quick hard kiss before he's out the door. 

 Dief stands looking at me, like he can't decide. 

 "Go," I tell him harshly. "Watch his back, Dief." Yeah, I'm crazy,
talking to a wolf. 

 But with Dief with him, at least I don't feel quite as nervous. 

 I spend two days alone, spend the days working on Jack McKenzie's old
truck and Jenny Atlin's snowmobile. Spend the nights on the couch in front
of the fire, dreaming about some guy trying to shoot me at my desk at the
2-7. 

 Stress dream, Merriman used to say. Makes sense to me. 

 Third day, it starts to snow again, which doesn't ease my state of
nerves. Mae Brett's waiting, too, and I check on her on her special that
day, just to see if she needs anything from McKenzie's before the snow
gets too heavy. She makes me lunch and we sit talking over a cup of tea. 

 "They'll be all right," she tells me, but she's getting pretty pregnant,
and I can tell she's worrying. 

 "Yeah, they will," I tell her. "Fraser's sharp, Mae. Believe me, he can
handle himself." Of course, how the Mountie handles himself is what
worries me. There's a limit to courtesy. 

 Mae closes her eyes for a minute, puts her hand on her belly. "Oh. Sorry.
Just..." Pained face, and she takes in a sharp breath. 

 Ka-thumpety, thump. It's her first baby, and when I was a uniform, there
was a Chicago style blizzard, woman and her husband got stuck in a
snowstorm, and my partner had a clue and kept me from panicking, but we
ended up delivering that kid with help over the radio from paramedics.
Well, he did, I mostly kept Dad out of the way, Reason I think of it now
is that she kept saying she didn't think she could be in real labor,
thought it was just practice contractions, whatever the hell those are.
"Mae?" 

 Lasts a minute longer, and then she can breathe again and she's
embarrassed. 

 I take my courage in both hands and leap in. "Stupid question, Mae, how
long have you been having those?" 

 "Oh, a few days," she says and her face is tomato red. Didn't think she'd
be discussing her anatomy with the crazy American lives with Fraser. "It's
all right, Ray, the doctor said these were normal, and the baby isn't due
for six more weeks." 

 I nod, but I'm doubtful. My mother used to tell the story of how I was
born early. "Sure. Mind if I have some more tea, Mae?" 

 She doesn't mind, I think she's glad of the company and she gets up and
starts her kettle again. She's still measuring tea when another one hits
her and I think, oh, shit, shit, shit, shit. How bad is the weather, how
hard can a snowmobile be to drive, and jeez, can we make it to Whitehorse
in time if she's been having these a few days? 

 This one is a doozy, she's leaning against the counter when I come over
and put my arms around her. "This way, Mae," I tell her. Ka-thumpety,
thump. Weather's too bad for flying, is there a midwife in town, and maybe
Rosie can tell me that. I settle her down on the couch and crouch down.
"Um, Mae, I think the baby has a different timetable." 

 She shakes her head, but she's scared. "No, no, Ray, it's too early, I
can't have a baby here." 

 I try and figure out how scared she is, take hold of her hands. Think of
Reilly and how calm he kept that woman. Confidence in his voice, calm, and
he kept telling her not to worry, everything would be all right, wasn't
the Christ child born in a stable? Back of a patrol car wasn't so bad, he
kept telling her, teasing her a little about having to tell the kid that
later. 

 Even got her laughing. I don't think I'm good enough to get Mae laughing,
and Canadians are different fish than Americans, but hey, I'll give it a
shot. There's a knitted blanket on the back of the couch, and I tuck it
around her. "Hey, Mae, it's going to be okay. I'm going to go over and get
Rosie, she'll know what to do. And hey, I helped to deliver a baby in my
day, part of being a Chicago cop." 

 She shivers. "I can't do this here!" Panicking a little. 

 "Sure you can," I say, trying to sound as confident as Reilly did. "If
you have to, Mae, you can do anything. David picked a good wife, you're
strong, you're smart, and everything will be all right. Besides, how many
Canadian moms can tell their kid a Chicago flatfoot delivered 'em." 

 That gets a teary smile and she folds her fingers over mine. "Oh, Ray." 

 "I'm going to go and get Rosie now," I tell her. "And hell, maybe she's
got experience, too. Sit tight, I'll be right back." 

 I keep a calm face while I get my coat back on, but once I'm outside, I'm
practically skating across the street on the new snow. Or skiing, or
something, and I must look panicky because Rosie, who's stocking shelves,
comes over to me right away. 

 "Mae," I tell her, "Jesus, Rosie, I think she's in labor." 

 She doesn't say a word, goes back through to the kitchen, and I follow
her. Jenny Atlin and Davy are sitting there talking, they're the closest
thing to an item in town, unless people are talking about me and Fraser,
and Rosie says, "Jenny, I need you to go and get your mother, Mae Brett's
in labor." 

 Davy stands up. "I'll go get her, Mum, Jenny you go with Mum." 

 Rosie's already off down the hall that leads to the rest of their
quarters, Jenny follows her and I'm turning again, I told Mae I'd be back,
and panic isn't going to do her any good. 

 It's a very long afternoon. Rosie's calm infects Mae, she gets Mae into a
nightgown, and Jenny tells me what to do, weird stuff like scrub the step
stool from the kitchen with soap and then bleach. 

 Weirdest of all, Mae's decided that I'm the man for the job and if I step
out of sight, she gets agitated, but the contractions are coming hard and
fast. 

 I spend a lot of time just holding her hand and reading her childbirth
book so I can tell her how to breathe. Or walking her around the
apartment, Rosie's instructions. She won't walk for Rosie, but she'll walk
for me, go figure that one out. Even in the middle of a contraction. 

 Christ, no wonder Stella didn't want kids. I can't figure out how my mom
did it twice. 

 Mary Atlin finally arrives about eight, and she's tired and cold, she and
Davy had a helluva time getting back. Jenny fixes her some tea and she
washes up at the kitchen sink with, I swear, some kind of strong
antiseptic soap, a nailbrush, and water hot enough to scald. 

 Mae is getting tired, and Mary fixes her some kind of tea, insists that
she drink it. I'm not tired, Mary's arrival is relief enough to rev my
energy back up, and by now, I don't have to check the book to tell Mae how
to breathe. 

 I'm telling her Chicago stories, mostly about Fraser, and she's not the
only one seems to enjoy them. And then things get hard and fast, and the
walking is done. 

 "Ah," Mary says, "It's almost time." 

 And instead of getting her to bed, Mary has her sit on the step stool
from the kitchen, which has a sheet draped over it. "You get behind her,"
she tells me quietly, "Support her." 

 This is getting freakier by the moment, and it's nothing like Reilly, and
it feels even freakier to be holding onto a pregnant woman. She smells
like sweat and hard work, and she grips my forearms hard, she's panting
like Dief in a Chicago heat wave and then she makes this scary keening
noise and Mary is muttering something to Jenny, and I'm holding on with
all my strength to keep Mae steady, and she's leaving bruises on my arm, I
can't see what the fuck is going on and then this amazing thing happens,
Jenny leans in with a pair of scissors and there's this choking sound that
turns into a thin little wail that turns into a full fledged howl. 

 Jesus. Mae sags back on me, panting again, and I'm babbling something
like, good job, good job, breathe, whatever, who the hell knows. 

 Jenny holds the kid up in a clean towel, and it's a he and he's hung like
a bull, especially when you consider he's not as long as my forearm is,
and he's still wailing, but Mae lets go of my arms and takes him and he
stops. 

 I start to let go of her, and Mary barks, "Stay there, you." And then
gives me a quick smile to let me know she's not pissed, just busy, and now
I'm perfectly glad I can't see what's going on, but I can see that little
scrap of life, and I'm pretty fucking amazed. 

 Now I really can't believe women do this on purpose, but I'll tell you,
I'm feeling pretty jazzed that I was here. I may be fucked up, but I'm
still, hell, competent, I guess. 

 Mae's laughing and crying, and the kid has the right number of fingers
and toes, and it's all good and then I'm freaked out a little when Jenny
helps Mae open her gown to let the kid nurse. 

 I'm, ah, wondering where to turn my eyes, and worried about whether or
not I should even be here right now, and Rosie pats me on the shoulder. 

 I look at her, and she's watching the kid, smiling this soft little
smile. "You were wonderful, Ray." 

 I was wonderful? All I did was walk around holding Mae up, I think.
Christ, Reilly did more than I did. 

 But Rosie looks at me, eyes narrowing. "You did a great deal, Ray." Like
she's reading my mind. 

 Which is freaky, but hey, maybe she guessed. "Yeah, just don't tell
David, he'll shoot me." 

 She laughs a little. "I doubt that." 

 Jenny starts carrying stuff away, a bloody sheet-which sort of makes my
stomach turn-and Mary gets to her feet. "She must rest now." 

 Mae's not a big woman, and I figure maybe I can carry her, if someone
takes the kid, and I say so. Rosie takes over there, and Mae puts her arm
around my neck, and I use my right arm under her leg, and the damn thing
is working better, no fear there, and I carry her down the hall to her
bedroom. 

 She grabs my wrist as I start away. "Ray-" Eyes shining. 

 I lean in and kiss her cheek. "Happy Mother's Day, Mae." I tell her,
grinning. I mean, you can't stay freaked out when somebody looks at you
like that. 

 That's that, I think, and I say good night to the women, put on my parka,
and go back out into the snow. It's not as heavy now, and I'm careful,
because I'm tired, and I make it back without any trouble. 

 I'm good. I'm better than good. I feel-Christ, I'm competent, and I
remember Reilly with a grin, tip an imaginary uniform cap to him. "You
taught me good, Reilly," I say to him, couple of thousand miles south. 

 I'm about half asleep in a hot bath when I hear the front door open. I
leap up in the tub, heart thumping hard. 

 "It's me," Fraser calls, probably figuring I'm in bed and about to have a
heart attack. 

 "I'm in here," I yell back, and start to get out of the tub, but he
appears in the bathroom door, still covered in snow, three days of beard
stubble. 

 "Stay there," he says, "I'll join you." 

 Sounds like the plan to me, and he goes back out, I hear claws on
hardwood and Dief comes up and puts his forepaws on the edge of the tub, I
lean down to let him lick my face against my better judgement and tell
him, "Good Dief." 

 Fraser comes in, half dressed, and on his way to undressed, strips off
the three bottom layers, leans down and kisses me hard before climbing in
behind me. 

 I don't want him behind me, I want him face to face, I want to kiss him
back, but he's not letting go, he's kissing and nipping the back of my
neck. "I missed you," he mutters. 

 I'm squirming, trying to turn around, and he finally lets go and lets me
kneel between his legs, lolls back against the back of the tub. He looks
tired, but he smiles at me. "Tell me about you." 

 "Nothing exciting," I say, "Tell me what happened." 

 He sinks down in the hot water. "Illegal hunt." Eyes half-closed. "They
fought among themselves, I believe it's one of the rings out of Alaska,
they provide animal parts to Asia. They butcher the animals and leave
bodies to rot." 

 He's really tired. I take the soap and start doing the work for him, get
a contented sigh, and he takes hold of my wrist, sits up and kisses me
again. "I missed you." 

 "I missed you, too," I mutter, trying to continue washing him. 

 Maybe he's not that tired. We end up in bed, and I'm glad that his
stubble is almost soft after three days, or I'd end up sandpapered,
because it's Alpha Fraser again, holding me down. 

 He raises his head suddenly. Smiles at me almost smirkily. "I nearly
forgot. David sends his sincere thanks, and I'm afraid the baby is going
to be named Christopher John Raymond Brett." 

 My jaw drops. "What the-you've been there already?" 

 He kisses my left nipple. "Of course." I swear, he's grinning from ear to
ear, you'd think it was his kid. "Rosie says they couldn't have done
without you." 

 "Jesus, Ben." I'm totally embarrassed. "It's no big deal." 

 "Quite the contrary," he begins and I sit up and turn the tables on him. 

 He's definitely not too tired after all. 

 I'm like an official Owlcreek person now, people are stopping me to say
hello, ask me how I'm doing, how I like Owlcreek. 

 Fraser just gives me that Mountie smirk. 

 I think David Brett might be grateful, but he's also figuring shit out
and he's a little uncomfortable with me. Trying not to be, because of Mae.
I can dance to that one, I know what ambivalence means. He's polite, of
course, he's Canadian. He had Mae up in Whitehorse as soon as the snow
stopped, and the roads were passable, and looks like everything's okay. 

 The kid--well, you know, he's still a little squashed looking, and it's
kind of hard to know what to say when Mae's so proud. They call him Kit,
which seems weird to me, but he's their kid, and how much weirder is
Stanley Kowalski, after all. 

 "Hey, kid," I say, when Mae and David get back and I pay the namesake
visit after Fraser nudges me. "Look at you." Little fingers curl around my
finger and I remember my brother's kids, grin a little. "He's got a grip
going here." 

 David grins at me. "He's an impatient little bugger." 

 Mae rolls her eyes. "He is, I swear, he thinks he's dying if he has to
wait to eat." 

 I laugh at that. "He's impatient, all right, had to get here early." 

 "Hmm." David does that Fraser Hmmm thing, but this one sounds like he's
agreeing with me. 

 "Gonna have your hands full, Mae," I tease her, "Just ask my mom." 

 She laughs, David laughs, and for a minute it's completely relaxed, so I
take off before it gets uncomfortable again. 

 I'm heading back down the street when Tom Ellery pulls up. "Ray," he
says, "Need something to keep busy? I could use some help on the plane
engine. Gotta pull it, do some maintenance work." 

 I consider that. "Never worked on one before, Tom. Car engine stops,
you're stuck in the road. Plane engine stops, you fall like a rock." 

 He grins. "Internal combustion's internal combustion, Ray. Don't worry,
I'll check it over." He leans across, pops open the passenger door and I
hop in. 

 Tom isn't the most talkative guy, but I like him, I think he's good
people, and so is his wife Cass. Cass grew up, get this, in the Cabrini
projects, she's from Chicago, and Tom's probably the only guy in town
whiter'n me and Fraser, and Cass is this drop dead gorgeous, tall black
woman--oops, African-American, woman--and they live outside of town in
this amazing house. 

 He's got this little hangar, and some space heaters, so we're not
standing up to ass in snow on the airfield, which is not something I think
I'm up to. So Tom's showing me the engine, and we're working on it, and
he's really mostly right, internal combustion is internal combustion, and
he says, "Think you'll stay up here?" 

 I risk a close look at him, but he looks like he's just making
conversation, except Tom doesn't make conversation. "Uh, yeah, I'm
planning on it, unless the Canadian government takes exception to my ass."


 He chuckles and then doesn't say anything for a while. "S'good. You look
a helluva lot better than you did the day I brought ya up. Half-afraid I
was gonna have to carry you up the hill." 

 I make a face and try to get a grip on the bolt I'm loosening. Wrench
slips, and I bark my knuckles, but I get it on the next try. "Yeah, I was
pretty wasted still." 

 So the next twenty minutes goes by, and we're mostly just talking
mechanic talk, and then he says, "Good for Fraser to have somebody." 

 Whoa. I can feel the blush go all the way down to my socks. Duck my head
into the engine and check one last bolt. "Got it. You ready?" 

 He looks at me like I'm whacked. "Need the block and tackle, Ray." 

 Doh. "Yeah." Like I remembered that. Then, because he's good people, I
say, "Thanks." Really quiet. 

 He nods, matter of fact and that's the end of that conversation. 

 Whoa. 

 I tell Fraser about it when I get back. He's already got something
cooking for dinner and I have to scrub off the engine grease, and I'm
feeling high because we got that thing humming for Tom, and I learned some
stuff I didn't know, and he says it took him about half the time it
usually takes. 

 Fraser doesn't know Tom real well, Tom keeps to himself, but it's obvious
they respect each other. He looks at me now, frowning a little. "He said
that?" 

 "Yeah." I use the nailscrubber on a stubborn bit under my thumbnail. 

 "That must have been disconcerting." 

 Trust Fraser. Sounds like it disconcerted Fraser more than me, though. 

 I rinse my hands, grab a towel and lean in to kiss him. "You freaking out
on me, Mountie?" 

 He rubs his eyebrow. "No, I don't believe so. But it is somewhat
uncomfortable, I admit. I have to be concerned about how the RCMP is
perceived here, Ray." 

 That is so Fraser. "Fraser, these people love you. At least most of 'em
do, the ones I've met." 

 "I think you're exaggerating, Ray." He shakes his head, turns back to the
pot of soup or stew or whatever it is. I peer over his shoulder--ah, soup,
I think, something thick and looking like it'll stick to my ribs. I can
smell biscuits in the oven and my mouth waters. 

 "Did you eat anything today?" He's eyeing me. 

 "Breakfast." I grin, a little embarrassed. "But I ate a lot, Ben, don't
freak out." 

 "Hmmm." He stirs the soup. "Next week is--" 

 "Dr Yee, I know." I have very mixed feelings about that. Very mixed. "I
know I'm still underweight, Ben, but I've always been underweight. I was a
skinny little four-eyed geek as a kid, and you gotta remember, I'm never
going to be built like you. Quit worrying." 

 One corner of his mouth lifts. "I'll try." 

 "Good." I steal another kiss and get bowls and plates out, start setting
up for dinner. Equal split of labor, I tell him all the time, and even
though he'd just as soon I sat down with my feet up, he can't argue it,
it's part of the Benton Fraser Division of Labor manual. Dief is
underfoot, I finally settle down with him on the floor, ruffling him. 

 He puts up with that from me, where he'd probably give Fraser a look like
'Are you unhinged', and Fraser looks sidelong at us. "You're indulging
him." 

 "Why not?" I lean back against the cupboard. Hell, I'm practically
underfoot now myself. "You jealous?" 

 He looks down his nose. "I am assuredly not jealous of Dief." A little
miffed. 

 "Yeah?" I grin. 

 He jumps me, and we end up lying on the kitchen floor while Dief
scrambles out of the way. "You see," he says, and bites my jaw lightly, "I
get you later on." 

 Oh, yeah, I think. Worse than being sixteen, I tell you, and we neck for
a few minutes while Dief sulks in the other room. 

 "Dr. Yee's office called to confirm that all your medical records have
arrived from Chicago," he says suddenly and rolls off me to get up. 

 "Ben, don't get your hopes up," I tell him. "Campbell might be right, but
I still might have gone as far as I can." Which ain't all that bad. Holes
in the memory, but my right arm and leg are stronger, shoulder doesn't
bother me too often. I'm alive, I'm here, I'm happy, and fuck worrying
about the rest. 

 "I don't believe it." Stubborn edge in his voice. 

 I push myself up, take the hand he offers me, and pull myself up. It
suddenly hits me, he's as nervous as me about this appointment, and I'm
such a sap, I hug him hard. "Hey, don't worry about it. I'm good, really
good." 

 I get held tight for a minute, just standing there, and then the soup is
ready. 

 I just hope he's not too disappointed with whatever Yee tells us. I hope
it doesn't make a difference to him. I don't really think it will, but
that's one of the reasons I'm nervous. 

 I just hope. 

 Just for mischief, after dinner, when we're lolling on the couch, I turn
on one of the porn vids my mother accidentally packed. Fraser's reading,
and this time he's leaning back on me, and he doesn't look up until some
of the terrible dialogue penetrates whatever he's reading. 

 "What are you watching," he begins and then goes dead silent. I can tell
he's watching it, and the guy who looks a little like him-the reason I
bought the damn thing in the first place-is just stripping down. 

 Now that I know what the real thing looks like naked, the resemblance
really breaks down. 

 "Oh, dear God," he says, sounding stunned. 

 "Hmmmm?" I'm grinning bigtime. 

 The blond kid he's about to do doesn't really look like me at all, he's a
pretty kid, but he's a little on the skinny side, and I rub the back of
Fraser's neck, ruffling the soft hair there. His skin feels hot, and I
hear him swallow. "Ray-" 

 I hit the remote just in time, and I'm getting ground into the couch and
believe me, I am all over that. 

 He's working on my clothes, and I'm working on his, and I'm wearing a
pair of sweat pants that are too big for me, his, and he's got those off
and oh, Christ, he's got his head between my thighs like he's sure what's
he's going to lick first. It makes it hard to get his shirt off. Yes, I
can chew gum and walk at the same time, no, I can't undress Fraser and get
blown at the same time, and I finally push him up. "Wait," I pant, "C'mon,
Ben, get those clothes off and do me." 

 He gives me a look. "Isn't it my turn?" 

 Okay, so I'm still being somewhat freaky. I whimper. "Please?" 

 Yeah, I'm a bottom, okay, I can deal with that, but let me say that if
anybody else knew how good he is at this, the sexual orientation of the
male population of Owlcreek might change overnight. 

 So, he stands up taking his time, and I'm touching myself, which makes
those eyes get darker, and then, wow, he's on top of me, hot skin against
mine, and I'm rubbing myself sort of mindlessly against him and then,
shazam, he's pressing against me, and boy, am I ever glad my mother packed
those tapes even if I still hope she didn't try and watch any of them. 

 We've been doing this long enough now that it's easy to get the rhythm,
and my legs are over his shoulders, and somehow, he's going deeper than
usual, and he feels so fucking good inside me, and I'm begging and making
these whimpering sounds. 

 And he's not touching my cock, he's stroking my thighs and my ass, and
holds me open to push in even deeper and wham, really hits that spot hard
and I'm screaming and coming and he hasn't even touched my dick. In the
little bit of my brain that's tracking, I can't believe that, and it feels
like I can't stop coming and then Fraser groans and growls and then shouts
my name. 

 So we're lying there sticky and naked and wiped out and he kisses me,
sweet kiss, tender kiss, gentle kiss, and leans up on his elbows. "Ummm.
Thank you kindly, Ray." 

 I hook my legs over his. "Ditto." Still short of breath. 

 He traces my cheekbone with a fingertip. "I cannot imagine what I have
done to deserve you," he says thoughtfully. 

 "Bad karma," I tell him and get pinched, not gently. "Ow! Hey!" 

 "Good karma," he murmurs and kisses me again. 

 And even though I'm embarrassed, it's a pretty damn good feeling. I want
it to last. Maybe those rosaries aren't such a bad idea. 

 Dr. Yee is a tiny Asian woman, and I don't get to talk much to her until
my third day in the hospital at Whitehorse. In hospital, they say up here.


 Three days of tests and most of them unpleasant, and I feel like a
pincushion with legs. Cat scan and MRI and she even made me get my eyes
examined. She sits down in a chair near Fraser, and she's got this monster
stack of test results and a file, and Christ, even some x-rays. 

 "I've been over the results of all the tests, Mr. Kowalski," she says,
"As well as your medical records. Based on what I'm seeing here, I must
cautiously agree with Dr. Heatherton that there was some degree of insult
to the brain caused by loss of blood volume. However, I must respectfully
disagree with his prognosis." 

 I can't decide whether or not to feel good. "I have trouble remembering
things, and I can't, uh, read real well these days." 

 She looks back down at a sheet. "Hardly surprising. However," and she
goes into this whole drill that I know almost by heart, brain injuries are
strange, modern medicine can't explain everything, yadda yadda. 

 I listen to this and glaze out for a minute, tune back in as she saying,
"The muscular weakness on the right side of your body certainly appears to
be linked, but I must cautiously agree with your Dr. Merriman that the
aphasia appears to have been the combination of physical injury, a certain
amount of post-coma confusion, and emotional shock." She looks down at her
stack and then back at me again. "Generally, aphasia caused by brain
injury, is not resolved so easily or quickly. It's apparent, Mr. Kowalski,
that you have little difficulty expressing yourself." Her mouth quirks a
little. "And there are no apparent speech impediments." 

 I'm sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing sweats, no shoes. I look at
my socks for a minute. "What about the reading thing?" 

 "Reading is a function of memory, really. For example, people who speed
read are actually utilizing pattern recognition rather than reading each
word. We internalize language patterns as very small children, and then
when we learn to read, we internalize the patterns of the written word."
She's serious again. "I think that the memory loss may be contributing to
your difficulty, but," and then she grins again, "Most of the problem is
that your eyeglasses are not the proper prescription according to Dr.
Moffat. He has a new one for you, and I believe that he can ship them to
you in Owlcreek within the week. He tells me that in addition to
astigmatism, ah, your eyes are suffering the natural changes of getting
older." 

 I swear, my jaw drops. "My glasses?" 

 "A large part of it, I believe." There's a definite twinkle in her eye
for a minute. "Now, as to prognosis, I believe that Dr. Heatherton was
unnecessarily conservative. You will need to continue some kind of
physical therapy, but it's apparent that muscle tone and strength continue
to increase appropriately. I believe I can safely say that you can
anticipate a good recovery, however-" 

 Here it comes, I think, always gotta be a 'But-" 

 "I cannot say that your recovery will be complete enough to allow you to
resume your position with the Chicago police department." 

 That's it? That's the worst bit? I look at Fraser to see if I'm hearing
her right, and he's beaming. 

 "I thought as much," he says happily. 

 "You're saying I'm not as brain damaged as Heatherton told me?" I'm still
afraid to believe it. 

 "I'm saying that yes, there was some degree of injury, but not to the
extent that Dr. Heatherton feared. I cannot tell you precisely how much,
of course, and as I said, the muscle weakness-" 

 I pump both fists in the air. "YES!" 

 She starts to smile, and I realize that she's really a beautiful woman
when she smiles, and hop off the bed to shake her hand, even though
kissing her is my first choice. 

 She takes this, still smiling. "I must say, I'm relieved, I was afraid
you would feel it was bad news." 

 I feel like dancing. "Doc, I got used to thinking I was going to end
selling pencils on the street, this is great news." 

 She gathers her stack and stands up. Fraser shakes her hand. 'Thank you
very kindly, Dr. Yee." 

 She blushes a little. Yeah, Fraser has that effect. "You're very welcome,
gentlemen. I treasure the moments I can give welcome news." 

 "Yeah, well, I'm going to treasure this one, too, Doc." I can't stand
still, shake her hand again. 

 She laughs and nods at Fraser, and then leaves the room, going down to
cut me loose. Fraser shuts the door and grabs me, I grab him back, and we
do a liplock even though we've been so cautious and careful here for the
last three days. 

 He looks like Christmas again. "Ready to go home?" 

 "Home," I agree. "Yeah, let's go home." Home. 

 It takes a while to get the paperwork done, and then we're on the road
again. "I'm never leaving Owlcreek again," I tell Fraser, laughing, "Well,
except maybe to visit Chicago." 

 The look he gives me is hot enough to melt asphalt. "Truly, Ray?" 

 "Truly, Ben." I sigh happily, reach over, and squeeze his thigh. "Ben,
Ben, Ben, Ben, Ben." Grin when he gives me a questioning look. "I just
like saying it." 

 He blushes, which revs me up again, and we spent the next hour with me
teasing him and him fending me off with dire threats of tossing me in the
snow and ravaging me. 

 I get myself pretty heated up, too, but have to be on my best behavior,
because we've got to stop at the post. 

 David Brett looks up questioningly when we come in, and I give him two
thumbs up. "Best news," I tell him. 

 He grins. "Excellent." 

 "As I suspected," Fraser says seriously, "Ray's injuries, although very
serious, were not as serious as he was led to believe." 

 "In other words," I say, smart ass Kowalski, "I'm only slightly brain
damaged, instead of seriously brain damaged." 

 "Consequently, the muscle weakness on his right side," Fraser adds, and
takes some papers from Brett. "Ah, quiet the last few days. Good." 

 "Very quiet." Brett's happy about that, I bet, time to spend with Mae and
the kid. "And we're due some snow tonight, so I anticipate another quiet
few days." 

 Fraser gives him a grin. "A mixed blessing at times." 

 "Right you are, sir." Brett rolls his eyes, but grins. 

 "If you need me," Fraser says, and goes to put the papers on his desk,
"I'll be at home." 

 "Excellent, sir. Ray, congratulations on the news. Mae will be pleased to
hear it, too." He gives me a genuine smile. 

 Maybe he's getting used to the idea. I grin back and then Fraser and I
walk back to the cabin. 

 Celebration time. 

 Oh, yeah, we're home. 

 //....he's back, and we're all sitting around laughing our asses off at
the bar at this story he's telling about playing hearts with one of the
biggest baddest motherfuckers in Chicago. 

 He turns to look at me and says, hey, Ray, good to see ya again. 

 I reach out to high five him, and there's a gun aimed at me and I say,
oh, shit, and then he fires and it's cold, so cold, and I'm lying on the
cement.... 

 .....and I'm in the squadroom, looking at a file, murder victim, crime
scene shots, and the victim is me...// 

 I jerk upright in bed, shocked wide awake, and feel Fraser's hand on my
arm. "Jesus!" Sweating. 

 He pushes himself up. "The same dream?" Sleepy voice. 

 "No." I lick my lips, wipe the sweat off my face. "Oh, fuck." I don't
want to think about it, but I'm not that chickenshit. "I think maybe I was
set up, Ben." 

 He doesn't say anything, but the light goes on and he's squinting at me.
"What did you dream, Ray?" Wide awake voice. 

 "There was a guy I worked with in Narcotics, good friend." No, I have to
be wrong. It's a fucking dream, for Christ's sake. But...."I dreamt he
shot me, Ben. I dreamt-" And it's hard to breathe suddenly, panic attack
from hell, and he's out of bed, comes back with a battered paper sack and
we do that for a few minutes until I can breathe and think again. 

 Then, I lean back against the pillows. "It can't be right. It can't be.
This is a stand up guy, this is a good cop." I wonder if I sound as lame
to him as I do to myself. 

 "His name, Ray?" He's leaning in, his gaze intent. 

 It takes me a while. "Jack Barnaby." Reluctant. "But we called him
Barney." 

 His eyes widen. "Not Varney, Barney." 

 "It can't be-" I object, "It was just a fucking dream!" 

 "Perhaps," he agrees. "Perhaps there's something about him, perhaps the
real perpetrator reminds you of Jack Barnaby." 

 I snatch at that like Dief goes for doughnuts. "Yeah, that's gotta be it.
Barney's a good cop, dammit." 

 He touches my cheek. Solemn face. "I think," he tells me, "That it's time
we spoke to Lt. Welsh." 

 I've managed to put this off too long, I think. "Okay. Tomorrow." 

 He nods. 

 Tomorrow. 

 Chicago looks like-Chicago. Not quite like home. Not quite not home.
After the clean air up north, I notice the stink of the city, wrinkle my
nose. 

 We have to wait for Dief to get unloaded, and boy, is he one pissed wolf,
he sulks and sticks close to me. 

 "You insisted on coming," Fraser tells him, "And you knew full well what
that entailed." 

 Dief growls. 

 My dad's there to pick us up, he gives Dief a wary look even though
they've met before. Fraser nudges me to sit in the front seat, and gets in
back with Dief. 

 Dad and I hug, and he frowns at me. "You sure you don't want to stay with
us?" 

 Well, sure, Dad, and by the way, this is the man I love, and can he stay,
too? "Nah, Dad, I don't know how long we'll be here, and we'll be at the
precinct anyway." 

 I can tell he doesn't quite buy that as a reason to stay in a hotel with
Fraser, but hey, whatever. This is the least of my problems now. 

 And of course, the only hotel that lets us keep Dief with us is higher
dollar than Fraser's used to, so we have a short intense squabble about
who's paying. I pop for it, mostly because I'm so not staying anywhere
Fraser would find acceptable. 

 I hate cockroaches. Fraser probably believes they're a snack, and of
course, we can't stay at the consulate. 

 We get a double for appearances and I sink down on the bed while my dad
stands at the door eyeing me. "You look good, son." Awkwardly. 

 "Thanks, Dad. Fraser's been force-feeding me." 

 "Of course I haven't, Mr. Kowalski, I've merely encouraged him to eat
healthily." 

 My dad grins a little. "You use a gun?" 

 Fraser gives me an innocent look. "I resorted to other means of
persuasion." 

 Oh, do not do that, I tell him silently. 

 He looks back at my dad and says, "Rosie McKenzie's scones." 

 "Your mom wants both of you at the house for dinner." Dad looks at Dief.
"Er, does he have to come, too?" 

 Fraser looks around the room doubtfully. "It would probably be best, I'm
afraid." 

 "That's okay, the yard is fenced." 

 Dief whines. Fraser looks at him. "Well, of course, if you'd prefer-on
second thought, Mr. Kowalski, I think he'll be fine here." 

 I'm home, I think, and wonder why it doesn't feel like home, rub my face
with both hands. 

 Maybe my internal compass has found true north. 

 I know my heart has. 

 It's way good to see my mom and she's made everything I loved as a kid,
she cries when she hugs me and tells me how good I look, and how much she
loves me, and I get choked up, and Fraser kindly draws my dad aside and
for all I know, he's telling Dad Inuit stories, but my dad looks sort of
interested. 

 I swear, I eat and eat until I'm about to pop and then lean back in the
chair and just grin. "Man, I'm going to explode." 

 They all just look happy, practically beaming at me. 

 "Being up north's been good for you," my dad says gruffly, and shoots
Fraser a funny look. 

 I wonder about that, but then Mom starts talking about my brother and his
wife and kids and gets pictures out to show Fraser and I'm wasted by the
trip and too much food and by the time I'm alert enough, my mother's
clearing the table, and I try and help her, but Fraser sends me into the
livingroom with my dad. 

 "So what brings you back, Ray." 

 I didn't tell them much on the phone, just that I needed get back, Welsh
needed me. "I'm starting to remember things, Dad. Um, about the shooting."


 He looks away for a minute. "Oh." Rusty voice. "That's good, I guess."
Quick look at me. "Isn't it?" 

 Hell if I know. "I guess." And then I feel better. "But, hey, Dad, I saw
a doctor up in Canada, she thinks Dr. Heatherton was way wrong about how
bad the damage to my brain was." 

 He snorts. "Of course he was, look at you." Brief glint in his eyes. "And
the way you took off, I knew you were doing better than that doctor said
you were." 

 "You didn't like Heatherton a lot either, did you," I ask slyly. 

 He makes this grumpy sound. "He saved your life." Grudgingly. "Hard to
dislike a guy who did that." 

 I sink back in the couch. "He was a prick." 

 He laughs, looks around to make sure my mom can't hear. "Don't talk like
that around your mom." 

 I'm grinning. "He was. He is." 

 He's laughing again, under his breath. "Yeah, okay." His eyes glint
again. "But a smart prick, he saved your life." 

 "Okay, I'll give him that." I yawn suddenly, and feel all the tired catch
up with me. "Jeez, that trip wears me out." 

 "Yeah." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a set of keys. "Figured
you'd need a car while you're here." Then, grudgingly, "Let the Mountie
drive, Ray, you look beat." 

 As if he's listening, Fraser appears. "You do indeed, Ray. You've a full
day tomorrow, perhaps we should return to the hotel." 

 I nod, push myself up, and get a hug from my dad, this time a hard one.
"Dinner tomorrow night," he tells me. "Here." 

 "If we can, Dad. There's a lot going on." I hug him back and then hug my
mom, who is standing in the doorway, drying her hands. 

 "You're going to get all wet," she says, but lets me. Kisses my ear. "I
love you, Ray. Don't ever forget that." 

 That's weird, coming from my mom. Don't get me wrong, I always knew I was
loved, even when my dad was so pissed he didn't speak to me. But this
is-unexpected. 

 I draw back, frown. "Mom, I'm good, I'm better than good." 

 She smiles, touches my cheek. "I know. I can see that." Quick look at
Fraser and she smiles. "Now go get some rest." 

 "I'll talk to you tomorrow, one way or another," I promise, and then we
leave. 

 In the car, on the way back to the hotel, I look at Fraser. "My parents
seem weird to you?" 

 Startled look. "They seem like very good, very loving people, Ray." 

 I laugh. "Yeah, they are, but I mean weird for them." 

 "I don't know your parents very well, Ray. They've missed you, certainly,
and worried about you." He smiles out at the street, keeping his eyes on
the road. "I was able to reassure your mother considerably by telling her
of Dr. Yee's conclusions." 

 I let myself slide over, let my head rest on his shoulder. "Good." I
wonder what she'd think if she knew the scoop with me and Fraser, but
thinking about that makes me sad. "I want you." 

 "You have me." Mild tone. 

 "You know what I mean." 

 "I believe I can accommodate you there, too." He turns his head, I feel
his shoulder flex and a quick kiss on my hair. "I love you, Ray." 

 Everyone is sentimental tonight. "Lunatic." But then I lean up and kiss
the spot under his ear. Whisper. "I love you, Ben." 

 Of course, he does accommodate me, and quite nicely, too. 

 So nicely that I'm feeling great when I shower in the morning. I've got
an appointment with the department's approved doctor to determine whether
or not I'm fit for duty. Seems that the brass are somewhat doubtful of my
claim, which has totally pissed Welsh off and sent him on the warpath. 

 Fraser is looking doubtfully at the room service breakfast when I come
back out. "Ray, these prices are quite inflated." 

 Dief has assumed the hopeful posture of a wolf seeking doughnuts. He
whines and without looking at him, Fraser says, "No, you may not, you have
a perfectly good dish of food on the bathroom floor. 

 "Live a little, Ben." I pull on some sweats and sit down. "Appointment's
not until ten, we going to the 2-7 first, right?" 

 "Right you are, Ray." 

 So we eat, talking about anything but Welsh, Barnaby, or the fact that I
should probably be dead. 

 The squadroom goes dead silent when we walk in. Until Frannie catches
sight of Fraser and Dief and practically squeals with delight. When she
sees me, her eyes get big, and, heh, I get the first hug, surprise,
surprise. 

 Of course, Fraser gets one, too, and people I don't recognize are staring
in amazement, some at Frannie, some at Fraser's Stetson, and some at Dief.


 Welsh comes out of his office and stands there with his hands on his
hips. "Kowalski." Same old growl. "You still malingering?" 

 I do a mock salute. "Not me, sir, I'm here as ordered." 

 Another surprise, Welsh gives me one of those quick guy hugs, manly man
hugs, just to let me know he was worried about me. Then he shakes my hand.
"Never thought I'd see a day I'd be glad to see you, Kowalski." 

 I grin, feeling like a fool. "Gee, thanks, Lt." 

 Welsh turns to Fraser. "Constable." 

 "Corporal," I say, and get a look. 

 Fraser's trying not to smile. "Er, actually, Ray's quite correct, sir,
I'm Corporal Fraser now." 

 "Corporal." Welsh looks narrowly at me. "What have you been feeding him."


 "Whale blubber, sure, it's very good for the skin and for energy-" 

 "Corporal." Welsh looks around the squadroom like he's challenging
someone. "In my office." 

 I look at Fraser and grin. Just like old times. 

 Inside, I'm not getting chewed out, so maybe it's not quite as much like
old times as I want to think. Dief sits down at my feet, he's as
protective as the Mountie these days. 

 Instead, Welsh hands me a folder full of forms. "For the doc," he growls
and leans back in his chair, arms folded. "You really are looking good,
Kowalski." He sighs. "Damn good. Jesus, you were stick thin last time I
saw you, and you were never what anybody could call beefy. As always,
Cons-er, Corporal, you do excellent work. How the hell did you do it?" 

 "As much as I would like to take the credit," Fraser tells him mildly,
"I'm afraid that all I did was provide the venue." 

 Heh. Not quite all, of course. "So what the hell does IA want from me?"
Welsh told us on the phone that IA was getting ready to make some busts
internally connected to the shooting, including my former partner Tim
Rainsford, and thinking of Jack Barnaby makes my stomach. Not Barney, I
tell myself, not Barney, it's something else, some freaky tip from my
freaky unconscious mind. "I-ah, I don't remember much even now, Lt." 

 Fraser shifts in his chair. "You know, Ray, I was thinking of that on the
flight down. If you recall, there was a case of ours during which the use
of hypnosis-" 

 I know where he's going. "Fraser." My stomach rolls again. I take in a
breath, get up and pace the office. Stupid, stupid, stupid, and I trust
Fraser. Welsh watches me silently, but doesn't say anything, and neither
does Fraser. "Okay. Okay. But I can't handle it now, not before I have to
go see that doctor. This afternoon, okay?" 

 "Certainly," Fraser agrees promptly. 

 Welsh looks like he's thinking about it. "That sounds good to me. Lt.
Jefferson at IA wants to talk to you, preferably today, but I might be
able to push it off until tomorrow." Long look. "Like I said, Tim
Rainsford's been suspended. They can't connect him to your shooting,
Kowalski, but my gut tells me that Jefferson's on the right track." 

 I stand with my back against Welsh's door. "Yeah, but why? I don't get
it, I barely knew the guy, I don't know fuck all about him. I'd only
worked with him, what, four months?" 

 "Yeah, I know." Welsh broods about that for a minute. "He came out of
Narcotics, like you did, Kowalski." 

 That makes my stomach roll. "What the hell does that mean?" 

 Welsh unfolds his arms and leans forward. "It means, Kowalski, that you
may have known something you didn't know you knew. You might try thinking
over your cases back then, see if anything seems hinky now." 

 "I partnered with Jack Barnaby," I tell him, and for just a minute, it's
hard to breathe. 

 Welsh is watching me, too close, real close. "Yeah, I remember reading
that in your file." 

 Okay, now I'm going to puke. "'Scuse me a minute," I tell them both and
then I'm out the door and heading for the bathroom. 

 Yup, breakfast ends up swirling down into the sewers and Fraser comes in
when I'm washing my face and rinsing out my mouth. 

 Dewey follows him, practically on his heels, so Fraser stands about an
arm's length away from me. "Hey, Ray, you okay?" 

 "Yeah." I rinse out my mouth again, spit. "Something I ate, I think." 

 Dewey's watching me like Welsh did. "You want a soda? Might settle your
stomach." 

 Jesus, no wonder I ran for Canada, everybody wants to nursemaid me. I
take a breath and feel bad for that thought, nod and rinse my face again.
Dewey trots out, and Fraser moves closer, puts his arms around me in a
brief, very welcome hug. "Ray?" Softly. Not pushing. 

 Sometimes Canadian reserve is a good thing. "I'm okay, I dunno what
happened there." I manage a shaky laugh. "Better go back in before the Lt.
starts thinking I'm more unhinged than he already does." 

 Another brief, hard hug. 

 We meet Dewey coming out and he gives me the soda. "Hey, you need
anything else, just yell," he says, embarrassed, and takes off before I
get a chance to thank him. 

 Jesus, everyone really is a nursemaid, he brought me something
lemon-lime. I pop the can and take a sip, and it does seem to help. 

 Back in Welsh's office, this time without Dief, who is sucking up to
Frannie and wheedling snacks from Dewey. 

 Welsh is standing up, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, Kowalski, I
know this isn't easy." 

 Now I'm really embarrassed. "Look," I say and manage a grin. "You know my
head's messed up, Lt. This shit happens sometimes, beats the hell out of
me why." 

 He nods seriously. "I wish I hadn't had to ask you to come back, but when
you called, and IA was on my ass, I figured better to get it over with." 

 Fraser isn't saying anything, he's just looking thoughtful, like there's
something on his mind. "Ray, where is the doctor's office? You might wish
to leave soon in order to arrive in time." 

 Welsh suddenly looks embarrassed. "Ah, by the way, Ray, I didn't realize,
but Ms. Vecchio was hanging on to some of your things, I had her give them
to me." He goes back behind his desk, rummages in a drawer and pulls out
one of those padded mailing envelopes. "Meant to ship them up there, but
forgot." 

 I tear the envelope open and grin. My watch and bracelet. "Man, I thought
these were long gone," I tell him, and I can't stop grinning. "This is
some kinda omen, Fraser." 

 He's smiling, just a little, but I can see beyond that to his eyes. "A
good one, I trust." 

 "Gotta be." I slip the watch on one wrist, wrap the bracelet around the
other. The watch is even running, Welsh must've replaced the battery.
"Damn, you're right, it's getting late and this guy's across town. Why
don't you and the Lt. catch up, I'll come back here when I get done." 

 "An excellent idea," Fraser agrees gravely. 

 "I'll see ya then, Lt." I'm embarrassed again, touch my watch. "And
thanks." 

 He waves, like it's no big deal. 

 I give Fraser one quick warm look and then I'm out the door, feeling good
again. 

 The good feeling lasts even though the doctor's appointment. He's
impressed with Dr. Yee's careful work, and once we get past the
tap-dancing, allows he agrees with her, which is a good thing. He also
fills out the ninety zillion forms the PD insists on having, and talks to
me a little about what I plan to do, and then it's pitter patter, up and
at'er, I'm driving my own car again, and heading back to the 2-7. 

 Of course, by this time, it's just past noon, and Chicago lunch hour
traffic sucks, so it's nearly one when I get back in. 

 Frannie is still working, so I sneak up on her and put my hands over her
eyes. "Guess who." 

 She laughs happily. "A certain scruffy detective, right?" 

 "Right you are, Frannie." God, I'm starting to sound like Fraser. I rest
my hip on the edge of the desk for a minute. "Hey, Welsh told me that you,
ah, kept hold of my stuff for me." 

 She blushes. "I kept forgetting to give them to your mom and dad, Ray,
I'm sorry." She studies me closely. "So how are you liking Canada?" 

 "It's cold and dark and snowy, what's not to like?" I get up. "Fraser
still with Welsh." 

 She blinks. "Oh, Ray, they went to meet with somebody in Internal
Affairs." 

 That pisses me off a little, but maybe they had to. "Where?" 

 She holds her hands up. "I don't know, Ray." Helplessly. "Lt. Welsh never
tells me these things." 

 I chew my lip, frowning a little. "Can you get me somebody in Internal
Affairs?" 

 "I can try," she says, and looks up the number. 

 While I'm waiting, Huey comes over and claps me on the back. "Man, when
Dewey told me you were here, I thought he was on crack." 

 I grin. I don't miss a lot about Chicago, but I do miss the people at the
2-7. 

 Frannie's talking to someone at IA, and shakes her head at me, helpless
shrug. 

 "He's not there?" 

 She covers the phone with her hand. "She says Lt. Jefferson is out of the
office this afternoon." 

 Fuck. Huey's telling me some story about how the comedy club went bust,
and he draws me over, and I end up shooting the shit with some of the
other guys, which is good, because it keeps me from flaming out. 

 I wander back to Frannie's desk after a while, and even though I'm trying
not to get pissed, it's getting harder, it's just past two-thirty.
"Frannie, I need to go get something to eat. Do me a favor, and tell
Fraser I'll meet him at his hotel. If Welsh needs me, tell him I'll come
in tomorrow morning." 

 "Sure, Ray." She gives me another smile. "You got it." 

 So, by the time I get back to the hotel, I'm completely pissed off. Too
pissed off to eat, really, and I have a couple of sodas while I'm waiting
a) for Fraser to come back, or b) for Fraser to call, or c) to really get
pissed enough to go back to the 2-7. And I miss Dief. 

 Unfortunately, I'm not too pissed to sleep, and the phone wakes me up. I
grab it. "Yeah?" 

 "Hey, Ray." A voice I don't recognize. "It's me, Tim Rainsford. Heard you
were back in town." 

 "Yeah." I'm wondering how the fuck he knew where to reach me, and my
mouth goes dry. "What's up." 

 "Listen, partner, we need to talk about that Mountie friend of yours." He
doesn't sound real friendly, even though he's calling me partner. "You,
you've fucked me up but good." 

 "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, I don't even remember
you," I tell him, but my hands are sweaty. Fraser's more than competent,
but if he thought-would he hunt Rainsford up? Would he? Damn whacked out
Mountie, he doesn't carry a gun, and if Rainsford is this dirty, would
he-"What about Fraser?" 

 "We need to talk," he growls. "In person. Meet me downtown on the corner
by Haggerty's. Two hours, I got stuff I gotta deal with first." 

 I really don't like this, I don't like this at all. I hang the telephone
up, wondering who I can trust. The answer is, I don't fucking know. 

 So instead of calling the 2-7, like I should, I call one of my high
school buddies, a guy who didn't quite stay on the right side of the law,
but who either never got caught or never quite got on the wrong side. 

 "Hey, Max," I say, "It's Ray Kowalski." I have to talk through the usual
bullshit, because I haven't seen him in more than a year. "Look," I say,
"I need a favor, Max. I need to know if you know anybody can get me a gun
and a vest." 

 There's a silence. "A gun and a vest," he says, like he's trying to
decide if I'm running one on him. 

 My hands are sweating so much that the phone feels slippery. "Yeah, I've
got some trouble, Max, and the fact is, I'm not a cop any more, and I
can't trust the guys I used to work with." 

 There's another silence. "Come on out and see me, Ray. We'll talk.
Remember the old Embers?" 

 "Yeah." Place was a dive back then, a local tavern, and I wondered if it
was still a dive. 

 "I own it now." Max clears his throat. "I can't help you personally, but
I might be able to get you in touch with someone who can." 

 "I need it in an hour." I'm sweating again. "Hour and a half tops." 

 "I'll see what I can do. Come on out." 

 "Yeah, okay, give me about twenty minutes." Time ticking away. 

 And then, once I hang up, I shake for a minute until it occurs to me to
call the 2-7. Maybe I'm coming unhinged, my brain's not working at all-but
Fraser isn't there. 

 "I thought I saw the Lt. come in," says some stranger, whose voice I
don't recognize, "But I think he was alone, and he's just stepped away. 

 I trust Welsh. Welsh might be the only one I do trust. "Okay, let me talk
to Detective Dewey," I say. 

 I don't distrust Dewey, but my mind keeps going back to my dream. I'd
have trusted Barney with my life once and now everything's shaky. "Hey,
Dewey. Do me a favor, when you see the Lt. tell him I'm meeting an old
partner down at Haggerty's, have him meet us there." 

 "An old partner?" His tone is blank. "Sure thing, Ray. What about
Fraser?" 

 "Yeah, if Fraser shows up, tell him the same thing." I'm sweating again. 

 "Who you meeting?" Dewey's just plain nosy, but now everything sounds
weird, sounds shaky, sounds untrustworthy. 

 I open my mouth, and "Jack Barnaby," pops out, and I don't even know why
the fuck I said that. 

 Dewey says, "Before my time, I guess. Have a beer for me." 

 "Hey, yeah, when you get off, swing on by." Fake cheer, and then I'm out
of the hotel room so fast I almost get a nosebleed from the g force. 

 Okay, I'm moving, and once I'm moving, being scared isn't as bad. Welsh
came back alone, I think and shudder. Goddamn Christless stubborn Mountie,
what the hell was he thinking? 

 Christ, I have to stop and clean out my savings, Max is a friend, but
this shit doesn't come free. 

 I'm getting images as I drive, maybe memories, real clear conversation on
the cell phone I used to have. Rainsford, yeah, I ain't gonna make it in,
partner, feeling pretty lousy, already talked told Welsh, thought I'd let
you know. 

 Me, I could care less, this guy's not my partner, Fraser's my partner. I
remember being relieved at not having the guy around for one day, remember
feeling guilty about that. It's a nothing case, anyway, unless you count
the victims, and Rainsford thinks we're wasting time, and Fraser's voice
in my head is talking about justice, truth and democracy, and so I'm
hunting for the con artists anyway. 

 The Embers tavern looks a little like it got a face lift, but underneath
it's still the same old whore; Max is standing behind the bar when I get
there, he nods at me, starts back for the office. I follow him, and so
does the guy by the bar, skinny guy like me wearing a black overcoat a
little too classy for the Embers. 

 Guy's got eyes like stone, but Max talks to him quietly, and the guy
nods. 

 The vest is police issue, but I pretend not to notice it. The guy warms
up a little when he figures out it's not a sting, and my hands are shaking
as I take off the shirt I borrowed from Fraser this morning and the
thermal shirt under it. I've got a t-shirt under that-hey, it's cold even
in Chicago, this time of year. 

 Max is sitting behind it. "Jesus, Ray, you look like shit." 

 The vest is cold from being outside in the guy's car, and I shiver,
fumble with the straps. Guy looks from Max to me and gives me a hand,
snugging it like he knows what he's doing. "Gun," I say, short and hard. 

 "Shoulder holster, ankle holster." Guy's got a briefcase and I have to
fight the urge to laugh. Opens it, shows me. Hope to Christ Rainsford's
not so paranoid he's going to pat me down, and the ankle holster looks a
little smarter. 

 Nice Sig, compact, got some kick, oughta work fine, I strap the ankle
holster on and look at the guy. 

 He looks at me. "I want the vest back." 

 "You got it." If I'm alive, I guess, which I intend to be, but shit
happens. Fraser, I think, and my gut rolls. He wouldn't kill Fraser, would
he? Big time trouble, international trouble, but Canada doesn't have a
death penalty. "Assuming he doesn't shoot me in the head. How much I owe
you?" 

 Max is still watching, eyes narrowed. "He's a friend." Gruffly. 

 Guy looks at him, shakes his head. "Too fucking soft, Max," he mutters
and names a figure lower than I expect. 

 Cash changes hands, and it's weird, really weird, because now I'm on the
other side of the law, more or less, and I nod at Max, jittering and
jiving, I'm wound up and can't let myself slow down. I can't make any
mistakes. 

 Wish I hadn't told Dewey I was meeting Barney, for Christ's sake, I can't
decide if that was good or bad or smart or stupid-smart. 

 "Leave the vest with Max," the guy says, and slips out. 

 Max is looking at me. "Ray, you need any help?" Quietly. 

 I shake my head. "Max, I gotta go alone, I think they've got somebody
that matters to me." 

 He's got a toothpick he's playing with, gives me a troubled look. "Bad
thing, you can't trust your own buddies. 

 I'm moving toward the door, stop a minute as another image flashes.
Rainsford, sitting in the back of a bar, looking up at me, surprised. Hard
to breathe for a minute, even though I can't place it, and I shiver.
"Yeah, real bad thing." I turn back. "Max, I owe you bigtime for this."
Can't let myself break, can't let myself feel anything too much or I'll
fall apart. 

 He nods, walks me out. "Take care of yourself." He's still troubled. "You
need help, Ray, you call me." 

 I'm already heading out. 

 Haggerty's is another dive, downtown, ratty part of town. I get there
early, go in, and look around. I think I might recognize Rainsford, now,
bits and pieces in mind, and my heart's hammering ninety to nothing. Bar's
warm, I disgust the bartender by getting a Coke, nurse it, watching the
time, and then shrug back into my parka. 

 Thank God it's winter, parka disguises the bulk, hey, if my face wasn't
so thin I'd look damn healthy. I can see myself reflected in the window
when I go outside, and Max is right, for somebody who looks a lot better
than I did, I still look like shit. 

 I feel like shit. 

 Fraser, I think and the wind cuts through the layers I'm wearing, adds to
the chill. 

 Stand there on the corner, waiting, and a guy crosses the street, vaguely
familiar. Beefy young guy, and he looks at me. "Kowalski." 

 Rainsford. "Where's Fraser?" I keep my voice low, mild. "You said you
wanted to talk about Fraser." 

 He shrugs deeper into his coat. "Not here," Looks around. "This way." 

 Fuckhead. "I ain't moving, what about Fraser?" 

 "What the fuck you been telling him, Kowalski?" He's practically whining.
"My ass is hanging out in the wind, he's got Welsh all over me, and they
fucking suspended me, IA is on my back-" 

 "Fraser," I say again, and my voice doesn't shake, it's steel, it's cold.
"What about Fraser?" 

 "He's causing a shit load of trouble, Kowalski. You're causing a shitload
of trouble." He's got his hands in his pocket, and I'm glad I've got the
fucking vest, wish maybe I'd taken the chance on the bulk of the shoulder
holster. 

 "Ray, old buddy!" Voice from just beyond him and I look up and guess
who's coming down the street? 

 Yeah, my old partner, my friend, Barney. 

 Heart hammers again, hard enough to feel. No, I think, and no. Not
Barney. How stupid am I? I told Dewey I was meeting Barney, and look at
this. Fuck me, even Dewey? 

 Barney comes up, grabs my arm. "Let's take a walk, Ray." 

 And it's coming back now, coming back in slo-mo flickers in my mind. I
start to dig in, and something tells me that's not a good idea. "Barney,"
I say, and glance at Rainsford. 

 Yup, hands are still in his pocket, but one side has a funny bulge, and I
don't think he's glad to see me. In fact, he looks scared and pissed and
stubborn. "Go, Kowalski." 

 Barney. 

 ....Kid takes off into the bar, and I follow him, pissed off, grab hold
of him. ID, I snap and turn my head, taking a slow look around. 

 Familiar faces in the back. Gang faces, three of 'em, guys we haven't
been able to get behind bars yet, and one mob guy, Calucci, and isn't that
interesting, and then I see the two guys at the table with 'em. 

 Rainsford. Rainsford looks like I just knee'd him in the balls, and the
other guy is turning, turning, big smile for me. 

 Barney. 

 He gets up, greets me like there's nothing weird going on, and I want to
puke, I know he's narcotics, but Rainsford isn't, and what the fuck is
going on here, and then Barney reaches inside his jacket while I'm still
looking at him like a moron, and.... 

 Now I remember. Gee, and Fraser didn't have to put me under. 

 I remember getting off a few shots before I went down, and I remember
lying on the sticky floor of the bar, knowing I'm a dead man, and a lot of
voices shouting, and the pain of getting dragged back outside on the
street. Remember Barney's voice giving orders, even though I can't
remember what they were. 

 "Barney," I say, and let him walk me down the street to the alley. 

 "Shoulda stayed in Canada, Ray." He sounds almost sorry. "Stubborn
bastard, you shoulda been dead." 

 "Barney," I say again, and my chest hurts. "What the hell is going on?"
Playing stupid. 

 "It's just a matter of time," he tells me, and there's grunge and slush
and it's squishing under my feet, and we're going deeper into the alley,
and I only thought my pulse was hammering before, that's all I can hear. 

 All I can think, looking at Barney is that I'm even stupider than I used
to think I was. And sometimes a dream really is giving you a message. When
am I going to learn? 

 He grins, teeth showing white in the dark beard. "Sorry, Ray, nothing
personal. Honest. But you know, I'm in business." Dirty cop, and he was my
friend, once, my partner, and now he's got eyes colder than the guy who
got me the vest. 

 "Why?" I ask, and I'm not sure if I'm asking why he's dirty or why he
shot me, or why he's going to kill me now, and anyway, all three are
stupid questions. "Where's Fraser?" 

 His eyes flicker a minute. "The Mountie? Shit, I don't know, Ray,
probably over at IA trying to put the nails in my coffin. They're looking
at me pretty hard, and so far, they don't have the evidence." Almost
regretful. "But they've got you, Ray, and without you, all they got is
ideas." 

 Rainsford looks like he's going to shit himself. "This ain't gonna work,
they're going to find out I talked to him, IA's already on my ass." 

 "So you're going to kill me." He doesn't have Fraser, I realize and boy,
how much stupider can I get? Stupid fucking Polack, I think, and I can't
get to the ankle holster now, but if he fires....I'm planning my moves,
only half my attention on Barney, stalling, stalling... 

 Barney grins at Rainsford. "Sure they will, Tim. That's the whole idea."
Barney shifts suddenly, fires, and Rainsford's face explodes in blood. 

 I'm already moving, twisting, and down the alley, hoping I don't take a
bullet to the back of the head, and I'm in better shape than I thought, I
dodge the crap in the alley, feel cement chips spray when Barney misses. 

 Somebody on the street is shouting, and I'm about two hundred yards from
the street and wham, hard punch in the back that knocks me forward, off my
feet... 

 Cold, greasy asphalt under my face and it's hard to catch my breath, more
gunfire, and fuck it, it's just as well that I'm down, but I've got to at
least fucking crawl, he's not going to cap me in front of witnesses. I
don't think. 

 Somebody running in front of me, and Dewey's voice, loud and pissed,
"Officer down, get a fucking ambulance." 

 Dewey, and I flinch, wondering if this is when I get the bullet in the
back of the head, and Dewey runs toward me, puts a careful hand on my
back. "Easy, Kowalski, we got ya, hang in there." 

 Okay, okay, Dewey's not part of it. The shooting's stopped, so I raise my
head, and risk a look back. Couple of uniforms, one of 'em crouched down,
and looks like Barney's the one went down for real. "I got a vest, Dewey,
I'm okay." Hoarse. 

 Dewey looks down, takes in a breath. "Shit, you scared the hell out of
me." Rubs his forehead. "Fuck." 

 Man, I am soooo in agreement with that. My heart's still going ninety to
nothing, and even though I'm lying in slush and Christ knows what else,
I'm not sure I'm ready to get up, I'm not sure I can get up. "Gimme a
minute, Dewey." 

 "Sure thing." He's patting me nervously, and I can see sweat beaded on
his face, never mind it's winter in Chicago. "Fraser called looking for
you, and I told him you were meeting Barnaby, and he tells me IA is all
over Barney, and-" He takes in a breath. "Jesus, ya dumb Polack, what the
hell were you thinking?" 

 "I was thinking Rainsford was small potatoes," I tell him, which is
mostly true. Can't very well say, I thought he had Fraser, and I was gonna
trade myself. "And besides, I had a vest." 

 "Good thing Barney didn't shoot you in the head." Brutally and he scowls
at me. 

 Screech of tires and a door flies open, blur of white and then, oh, thank
you Jesus, it's Fraser, Barney was telling the truth, oh, shit, it's
Fraser, he's with Welsh, he's going to kill me. Or something. "Okay, I'm
ready," and Dewey gives me a hand up. 

 Fraser stops dead, and even in the alley I can see how pale and shocked
he looks. Dief just jumps at me, paws on my chest, and only Dewey keeps me
from falling down again. 

 "I'm fine," I tell Fraser and unzip the parka, unbutton the flannel
shirt. "See?" 

 I can't tell what he's thinking, but I'm thinking my back hurts, and I
feel like I should get down on my knees and thank God for that. I move
stiffly forward, and there's Welsh, looking dangerous. 

 "Kowalski," he growls and I'm suddenly glad I'm still on temporary
disability, because I have a feeling I'd be getting some nasty assignments
if I wasn't. 

 Fraser still hasn't said anything, and his mouth has a funny set to it. 

 That doesn't feel too good, but I don't have a chance to ask him, we're
standing around with a gazillion people, and there's an ambulance for
Barney, and the paramedics think I should get checked at the hospital, and
Fraser doesn't have much to say. 

 I'm stiff from the bruise in the middle of my back, but going to the
hospital is not in my plans for the near-or far-future. We have to go to
the precinct so I can give Dewey my statement, with Welsh sitting there
frowning at me, and Fraser playing statue. 

 All I want to do is a) get out of here, and b) ask Fraser where the hell
he's been and c) climb into his arms and thank God he's alive and I'm
alive and my memory's back. Oh, and take a hot shower, eat Chicago style
pizza, and put on some clean clothes, not necessarily in that order. 

 So we're finally free and back at the hotel and we're standing in the
elevator, and the mute decides to speak. "It was extremely irresponsible
of you to meet with Rainsford alone, Ray." Cold tone. 

 Like striking a match and dropping it in gasoline. "Yeah, well, I had
good reason." I snarl it. "And by the way, where the hell were you? I
spent the afternoon trying to track you down." 

 "Lt. Welsh and I were meeting with members of the Internal Affairs
division," he says, still cold and flat and real controlled. 

 He's pissed at me? I spend the afternoon thinking that fuck Rainsford's
got him somewhere, and he's pissed at me? "About what?" Okay, energy's
back, I'm practically dancing from one foot to the other, mad as hell.
"About Rainsford? About my case? About me? Gee, you forget to tell me
something?" 

 The elevator opens then, our floor, and he doesn't answer me. Too damn
polite to make a scene in front of the people waiting for it, so we get
off, and I'm steaming, it's practically coming from my ears. 

 Fraser, he's ice, cold wind off the Bering Sea. 

 I close the door behind us, toss my keys on the dresser. "Well?" 

 He takes off his hat and jacket and leans against the wall, arms folded.
I'm looking at him and I don't know who this guy is, or what I've been
doing the last four months, because there's nobody behind those eyes that
I know. "You endangered your own life, Ray. I was working with Lt. Welsh,
he was attempting to convince certain IA investigators that it would
advance their investigation if they shared certain information with him." 

 Nuclear, I'm nuclear, and I'm about to melt down. "Where was I?" I don't
even take off the parka, I'm jittering and jiving all over the room.
"Let's see, Fraser, I had a doctor's appointment this morning, and then
I'm free for the rest of the day, so don't tell me you couldn't take me
along, these bastards set me up, and you can't take me along?" 

 "It's for precisely that reason you should not have been involved, Ray."
Pig stubborn expression. "This case was personal." 

 "And your father's murder wasn't?" 

 Standoff. "This is irrelevant. What is relevant is that you chose to take
an unnecessary risk that could have meant your murder, and certainly
contributed to Rainsford's death." 

 Oh, the Mountie can fight dirty after all. "Don't you put that on me, you
bastard, Rainsford contributed to his own death!" I snarl. "And what is
relevant, Fraser, is that you went off on your own again without so much
as telling me where the fuck you'd be. And don't tell me I endangered
myself, I'm a cop, I know the risk, I was here being a cop while you were
still up in the frozen tundra listening to Inuit." 

 Arms still folded. "My life was not in danger." 

 Oh, like I knew that. "Not this time. How many times have you fucking
gone off on your own to defend justice and nearly gotten yourself killed?
And how many times did I fucking follow along to keep your ass covered for
you? I was there, dammit, and that's more than you can say today." 

 The Mountie isn't the only one can play dirty. I think I see a tiny
flinch, but not much, he's zero degrees, and I'm hotter than hell. 

 I'm bouncing off the walls, and Fraser's still a pillar of ice. "This is
not acceptable," Fraser says, "We can't continue this way." 

 Fuck. It's like he just ripped out my guts. Meltdown begins, Jitter and
jive. "Right." Trying to breath past pain and rage and betrayal. "You
fuck, I came up to Canada because of you, you let me open up to you, you
give me this shit about life, and now this. I thought Rainsford had you,
that's why I met him, I thought he had you, and I was gonna trade myself
for you, and you tell me we can't continue?" My voice is rising, pure
flame, and I can hardly catch a breath. 

 "You came up to Canada to hide," he says, and for a minute I see his
control crack, but only for a minute and the ice is back. "We cannot
continue this way," he says again, still frozen. 

 "Fine." I'm dying again, that's what it feels like. "You bastard, you
want it that way, fine." And I'm out the door, I'm going down the stairs,
pitter patter, all seven flights, and it's not until I'm standing by the
car that I realize, I left my fucking keys in the room. 

 I'm bleeding, I have to be bleeding, nobody can hurt this much and not be
bleeding, but of course, I'm not. I sit down on the curb for a minute, put
my head in my hands, trying to think my way around it, but it all blew up
so quick, so fucking quick, and what was I supposed to do? I can't find
Fraser, and Rainsford says he wants to talk to me about the Mountie? 

 And none of it matters, because it's over. Because, what, I endangered my
life. Sure, Dewey's right, I could have taken a head shot, but I didn't go
in there unarmed, and I didn't go in there without a vest. 

 Slush is soaking through my jeans and my ass is cold, but not as cold as
Fraser. 

 Fuck it. I'll take a cab to my folks house, but first I'm going to get a
drink. Maybe several. 

 "You want me to call you a cab?" The bartender looks like he's seen it
all, and he's been watching me warily since I came in. 

 "Sure." Nothing worse than a morose drunk, I think, and swallow down the
last of the whiskey. "Sure." Slurred. Yup, I haven't had anything
alcoholic in quite some time, and I'm still a little underweight, and I
haven't eaten since Rainsford called me and I'm seriously bagged. "Sounds
good." 

 He vanishes for a little while and then presto, there he is again. "Cab's
out front." 

 I blink. "Wow," I say, "That was fast," and he gives me this look like
I'm some kind of freak. 

 The cab is waiting, and just to make sure I vacate his premises he walks
me out, and I get in back, pull out my wallet to make sure, yup, I've got
enough, and then we're off to the suburbs. 

 The GTO is parked in my folks' driveway. I try and puzzle that one
through, but let's face it, my brain cells are seriously handicapped by my
blood alcohol level, and I pay the driver, tip him generously, and weave
my way to the front door. 

 I have my hand raised to knock when the door gets jerked open and I
nearly tumble into Dad's arms. 

 "You're drunk," he growls. 

 "Worse, Dad. I'm shit-faced." For some reason, I think that's pretty
funny and I manage to get my balance and step into the house. 

 Dad doesn't look happy. I'm even less happy than that when I see Benton
Fraser sitting in the livingroom. "Fuck." 

 "Watch your mouth," Dad says. "You don't use that kind of language in
front of your mother." 

 Sheesh, I didn't see her standing there, she's getting her coat out of
the closet. "Come on, Damien," she says and hands my dad his. 

 "Where're you going?" It's like Alice down the rabbit hole or something,
Fraser's here, and they're leaving. 

 My dad looks at me, disgusted. "You've got a lot of things to work out,
son." He looks over at Fraser. "Good luck, in his condition." 

 Well, double fuck. I take some careful steps into the livingroom and
slouch down on the couch, wait until the door closes. 

 Fraser looks miserable. For a minute, I feel terrible about that, and
then I feel glad, at least I'm not the only one feeling terrible at the
moment. "Ray," he says carefully, "I think perhaps-I hope-that there's
some misunderstanding. When I said we cannot continue, I was referring to
our quarrel." 

 Maybe I'm not as drunk as I thought. My head clears a little and I think
back what we said to each other and maybe..."Oh." Then, because really,
even if that's true, we've still got trouble, big trouble. "We still have
a problem, Fraser." 

 He's got that Stetson in his hands, and he's turning it, turning it,
turning it. Watching him makes me a little dizzy. "I know." Quietly. "I
said some unforgivable things. I apologize for blaming you for Detective
Rainsford's death, you're most certainly correct, you were not to blame." 

 "Damn straight." I lean forward, rest my arms on my elbows. "I'm not a
fucking doll you can keep in the house to play with, Fraser. I'm a cop.
I've been a cop for a long time. 

 That gets a little temper going, I see his eyebrows pull together. "I'm
aware of that, Ray." 

 "I'm not broken, I'm not fragile, I'm not a woman!" I'm standing up
again, jitter and jive, but weaving a little. "Do you get that? If that's
what you want, Fraser, you'd better look someplace else, because I can't
play that way just because I like you on top in bed." 

 Another flinch. "Ray, I don't want that, and I don't think of you that-" 

 "You have this thing for the wounded, Fraser. Is that why this all
happened? I come up there and I'm not in great shape so it's okay to love
me then? Because I'm broken?" I can't believe I'm saying these things, I
can't believe I've been feeling them. I sit down again before I fall down.
"We aren't wolves, Fraser." 

 Another flinch, and I know I'm not making sense to him. Even though I can
see it crystal clear. I try again. "Fraser, what happens to wolves when
they get feeble or sick." 

 His head turns, he looks right into my soul. "They die, Ray." 

 Fuck, now I'm not making sense to myself, and it was so clear a minute
ago. I put my head in my hands. Never do the angstarama when you're drunk,
Kowalski. 

 "Okay, scratch that." I think hard, which ain't easy to do. ""What is it
you love about me, Fraser?" 

 He looks at me, and he's trying so hard to figure out what the hell I'm
trying to say. "I love everything about you-" he begins, but I shake my
head. 

 "Break it down." 

 He's really confused now, but he's game, he's willing. "Your courage," he
says and turns the hat again, "Your sensitivity to other people. Your
brashness. Your willingness to laugh at yourself, and your sense of
humour. Your honesty." He looks at me to see if I'm satisfied. 

 Well, I am, I can barely talk around the lump in my throat. "What do you
think I love about you?" 

 Now he's really confused. "I, er, I don't know, Ray." Humbly. 

 God, I hate that. I put my head in my hands. "I didn't go up to Canada
because I needed your protection, Fraser. I didn't need somebody to take
care of me. Maybe in some way I was hiding, hell, I got sick of seeing
people feel sorry for me. I wanted to go somewhere where nobody would. I
didn't think you would. And you didn't. But I think you saw me as weak,
Fraser. You're a sucker for the wounded, you want to take care of them,
fix them, protect them." 

 He's trying not to be offended. "I didn't see you as weak, I saw you
needing to heal." But then he thinks about it, really thinks about it.
Sighs. "I apologize for saying what I said earlier about your coming to
Canada, as well. I was...angry." 

 And then we sit for a minute. He clears his throat. "I don't think you're
weak, Ray, you're one of the bravest people I know. I don't-I don't think
I want or expect you to be weak." But he sounds troubled. "I think perhaps
I'm simply terrified of losing you. Perhaps--" And he stops, looks down at
his hat, turns it. Turns it again. 

 Only Fraser. Only Fraser can do this to me. "Do you want to know what I
love about you?" I finally ask, and I feel hopeful for the first time. 

 He looks at me again, a little nervously. Nods finally. 

 "That you aren't always perfect. Sometimes you fuck up. That you admit
it. You're an idealist, and you make me a better person when I'm around
you. Cops are cynics, but you make me want to believe again because you
believe. I love that I can't always tell when you're kidding, and that you
always let me know. I love that you're so fucking smart and want to
believe that everyone else is, too. I love that you've got a heart bigger
than the fucking Northwest Territories, and when somebody else wins, you
feel like you won, too." 

 He's staring at me, blinking hard. 

 My throat hurts. But the pain I got drunk to drown is gone, presto. "You
wanna try this again," I say. "You promise not to try and turn me into a
lapdog, I can learn to be the town mechanic." 

 His lips part, he licks them nervously, rubs his eyebrow and cracks his
neck. Looks down at his hat. "I would very much like to try again," he
says. 

 So, drunk as I am, and knowing how little he cares for alcohol, I go and
climb into his lap. Maybe, for a change, I'll have to be the smart one, at
least about this stuff. Maybe he doesn't know how. I guess I'll have to
learn better, too. He can be the expert on the Inuit, I'll never be able
to learn all that. 

 He makes this sad little sound and clutches at me hard. Presses his face
in my shoulder. That's okay. I did my share of crying in the darkest
corner of that bar tonight, and my eyes feel boiled, or would if I was
sober. I figure tomorrow, I'm going to feel like death walking. Gather ye
rosebuds and all that. We sit together like that for a while and then he
takes a deep, shaky breath. "Ray, I'm so terribly sorry for the things I
said." 

 I kiss his ear, which is about all I can reach, and it's probably just as
well, my mouth probably tastes like a distillery. "Yeah, I didn't like
myself much either." Kiss his ear again. "I was a shit." 

 He raises his head. "I'm not trying to feminize you, Ray." 

 I translate that. "Good. Because I'm not ever wearing drag, not even for
you." 

 He snorts, swipes at his eyes. "Um. Ray, I think there's something you
should know." 

 "I already know about your stint in a dress, Fraser." 

 Another snort. "No, this is serious." 

 "Okay." I brace myself. 

 "Your parents have figured it out." 

 Thank God I'm drunk. "What?" Feeling stupid. And then it hits me.
"They've what?" 

 "I didn't tell them," he says earnestly, "I swear, I didn't." 

 Oh. Fuck. Me. 

 On the other hand, that means I don't have to tell them. 

 "What, I mean, why do you think they figured it out?" 

 "I don't know why they figured it out, when your mother explained it to
me, I couldn't imagine how they'd made that deduction from the available
evidence," he says. 

 I consider banging my head on the wall. "No, I mean, what did they say." 

 He blinks. "Your mother was very straightforward. She said she thought
your father would take a long time to fully accept it, but that they were
so very grateful that you were alive that they really only wanted you to
be happy." 

 I try to imagine my mother discussing this subject with Fraser and fail.
Then I try to imagine my father discussing it and want to throw up. "And
my dad?" Faintly. 

 He clears his throat. "Well, he, ah, didn't discuss it directly with me.
He said rather elliptically that I'd better look out for you in Canada." 

 I'm trying to process that my father knows I'm in love with a guy and
that it follows that he must also have some glimmering of an idea that I'm
fucking this guy, and my balls are trying to crawl up into my body. I get
off Fraser's lap and weave toward the kitchen. "I'm just going to leave
them a note," I tell him blearily. "And then I think we should get the
hell out of here." 

 He follows me in. "They seemed to be quite calm about it, Ray." 

 I shudder. Find a notepad and a pencil and scribble something I hope my
mother can read. "Out. Now." 

 I'm a cop and I'm still wearing the ankle holster with a highly illegal
gun and I'm running away from my parents. 

 Maybe we never really grow up. 

 Maybe Fraser and I can grow up together. 

 In the car, I look at him. Obviously, he's driving. 

 We're not over. 

 That's great. Greatness. It's also fucking scary. I don't want us to tear
at each other like that again. I have to get smarter, I tell myself, and
then maybe I can teach Fraser, the way he teaches me about the Tlingit. 

 Maybe I'm just a die-hard romantic. But Fraser's a depressed romantic, so
one of us has to be the die-hard. "You don't have to be so fucking alpha
all the time, you know." 

 He must think I'm still drunk. "Ray, I don't really believe that we're
wolves. That's merely a metaphor-" 

 "How stupid do you think I am?" 

 "I don't think you're stupid at all." Bewildered again. 

 "But you're still hooked on that alpha thing. Maybe it's a guy thing. I
think I'm alpha, too, but you think I'm beta, and I think you're too
alpha, and maybe you could be beta once in a while." 

 He thinks about this as if it's sane thing to say. "I'll certainly try." 

 So I slide over and put my head on his thigh. "I'm just drunk," I tell
him, "I don't need to be taken care of." 

 His hand comes to touch my hair. "I'm so sorry you were afraid for me,"
he says quietly. "I never thought-it never occurred to me." 

 And then we tear each other to pieces, I think sadly. "Maybe that's why I
flamed out. I was so fucking scared, Ben." 

 He makes a sound in his throat. "I saw you on the ground," he whispers. 

 And then I realize what he thought. "We were both relieved," I tell him
muzzily. "And therefore, assholes." 

 I hear a shaky laugh. "Indubitably." 

 I fall asleep at the next red light, conscious of an even greater relief.
We aren't over. 

 We aren't over. 

 Am I hung over in the morning? Count on it. 

 I wake up to Fraser-warmth all around me, and stubble against the back of
my neck, and while that's ordinarily a nice enough feeling that it wakes
all of me up, including my dick, this morning all it does is make me hope
I don't die from the morning after the night before. 

 My mouth tastes like shit, my back aches, my head feels like someone is
drumming on the inside of my skull, and I'm definitely, definitely queasy.


 I manage to slide out of Fraser's arms without waking him up, pad shakily
into the bathroom to take care of business, then peer at myself blearily. 

 Oh, boy. I look really shitty, hair every which way, bruised look to my
eyes, and out of control stubble. Turning around, I manage to peer over my
shoulder and sure enough, there's a huge bruise just to the right of my
spine, just above my kidneys. That explains the back pain. The rest is
just alcohol poisoning, and I'm having trouble deciding if a shower would
make me feel better or kill me when Fraser appears at the bathroom door. 

 "Feeling under the weather?" he asks mildly. 

 "Yeah, six feet under." Rustily. "I think I'm going to take a shower."
Sitting down. Lying down would be better, but I'd drown. 

 He nods, reaches out, and brushes my cheek with his knuckles. "I'll order
some coffee, shall I?" 

 My stomach rolls, but I know it'll taste good once I get myself to taste
it. "Sure." Just don't let me smell it yet, I think, and turn on the hot
water before I chicken out. 

 I'm sitting in the tub letting the hot spray hit me when Fraser gets in
and decides to wash my hair. Well, hell, I think, tilting my head back,
maybe I'll live after all. 

 Hair washing leads to other washing, and by that time, I'm feeling better
enough to steal a few kisses, and even though I feel too shitty to do much
else, that feels pretty damn good. 

 He's alive and he's here, and yeah, maybe I was a stupid fuck, but I was
scared. I've been scared before, he throws himself out there into
situations, and yeah, so do I, and maybe we both need to realize that it's
going to hit us both harder these days when that happens. 

 Out of the shower again, and I'm back in bed, drinking coffee and working
on some toast, watching Fraser eat eggs and toast, but the eggs make my
stomach turn. Dief gets 'em, so he's happy enough, and Fraser unearths
some aspirin from somewhere and the pounding in my head takes a turn for
the better. "We going to the precinct?" 

 He nods at me, pulls a shirt over his head. "Lt. Welsh called while you
were in the shower." 

 "Ah." More coffee, more coffee, and I'm about to haul my ass out of bed
and get some when Fraser brings the pot over. "You're a god." 

 Brief smile. "Hardly." He sits down on the edge of the bed, puts the
coffee pot on the nightstand. "Ray, we still have things to discuss." 

 Yeah, I figure we do. For one thing, I'm going to have to take some licks
on the whole thing last night, only maybe this time we can both fight
fair. "Yeah." Grudgingly. 

 He rubs his chin. "Where did you get a gun and a vest? I asked Detective
Dewey, and he seems to believe that you didn't get it from the 27th." 

 "Favor from a friend." I sink back, wishing I had M&Ms or Smarties. 

 He looks at the cup, gets up and goes to get his coat, rummages in both
pockets and comes back with a battered vending machine packet of M&Ms.
"I'm sorry, I forgot I had these." 

 "You are a god, Ben, don't try and deny it." 

 In spite of his obvious determination to discuss the vest and the gun, he
grins. "Not even a minor demi-god, Ray, or I would have had better sense."


 I shrug, drop M&Ms into my coffee. Ever prepared, Fraser hands me a
spoon. "Maybe we both needed better sense," I mutter. "Look, I'm willing
to admit that maybe I went off half-cocked, Ben. But I had reason. I
talked to someone at the precinct who said Welsh came back from IA alone."


 He winces, looks away for a moment. "Yes, well, he did, in fact. He'd
called ahead and Frannie told him you'd said to meet you at the hotel and
I had him drop me there." 

 Christ, what a cluster fuck. "Oh." My turn to look away. 

 His fingers close around my free wrist. "Ray." Softly. "We both made
mistakes. Can we agree on that?" 

 My throat aches. This is the trouble with the morning after, I tell
myself, and nod before I change my mind. "Yeah, I can agree on that." 

 It's worth admitting it, he raises my hand, kisses the palm. "I cannot
promise you that everything I do is going to be safe, you know that."
Worried. 

 "Ben, when you're at home, you're at least armed, you've got a fighting
chance." My vision's blurring again. "Here-you can't leap into the fire
like that, and I know, you didn't, I just thought you did." I take in a
breath. "But you have to admit, Ben, I had reasons, and not just what
Rainsford said to me. You've done it before." 

 He's still holding my hand and now our fingers are linked. "Yes, I
suppose, Ray, that's what it would look like." Slightly troubled tone.
"You see, the difficulty is that I never lacked confidence that-but then,
I suppose that's arrogance of a kind." He looks away again, but his gaze
goes farther than the wall of our room. 

 Dief, who has been pretty subdued since last night's fight, comes up on
the bed and lies down next to me. Fraser's thumb rubs small circles on my
palm and finally he sighs. "Yes, well. As my father has pointed out on
more than one occasion, I do tend to arrogance. I can only promise you
that I have every reason to take care for my own safety." He looks back at
me, smiling a little. "I'm very pleased with the way my life is turning
out." 

 Hell with the coffee, I'm in his lap, practically, kissing the life out
of him, he has to rescue my mug himself, but he's kissing me back very
enthusiastically. Very enthusiastically. 

 Fortunately for Welsh, I still feel too much like shit to do much more
than kiss him. 

 He's still holding me when he says, "I know this is difficult, Ray, but
you're a civilian now yourself. You can't-" He takes in a breath, rubs his
cheek against mine. "You can't take these kinds of risks now." And his
voice cracks a little. 

 I tighten my arms around him. "I played it mostly smart," I mutter, but I
know how he feels. It's how I felt, thinking Fraser had blundered into
something that might kill him. Something that had almost killed me. "And I
don't plan on it happening again." 

 "Good." He nuzzles me again. "Finish your coffee. More toast?" 

 I let go reluctantly. "Yeah. I think maybe I'm ready to try some of that
jelly on it." 

 He grins, shakes his head. "Signs of recovery." 

 "Oh, yeah." 

 The day is full of surprises. Welsh gives me some shit, and some of the
other guys do, too. Frannie just scolds, and then, when she looks at
Fraser and me looking at each other, she gets this weird expression on her
face and leaves the room for a minute. 

 The DA tells me that, of course, we'll have to come back for the trial,
or stay until then. We will have to stay until the grand jury is done.
Lots and lots of indictments coming down, especially since I included my
shooting in my statement last night. 

 Welsh walks us back out to the car. Idle chitchat on the way down and
out, and then he puts his hands in his pockets, not quite looking at
either of us. "So, Kowalski, you going back up north?" 

 "Yeah." No sense in playing games with Welsh. "I am." 

 He does look up then, sticks his left hand out. "Well, I won't pretend to
understand it, but if it works for you both-" 

 Fraser has turned faintly pink, but he shakes Welsh's hand. "It does
indeed, Lt." 

 "Good. Keep this lunatic out of trouble, Corporal." 

 He gives me an affectionate smile. "I'll do my best." 

 "Your best is more than good enough for me." Welsh looks at me again.
"You were a damn good cop, Kowalski, even when you were a loose cannon.
Don't ever let anyone tell you different." 

 Boy, that hits the emotional buttons. I nod, not quite trusting my voice.
"Yeah. Maybe I'll see you next time we come down." 

 "You'd better," he tells us gruffly and then he's gone back in, and I'm
sitting in the front seat with Dief getting wolf hair all over me. 

 It's time to face the music, I decide over lunch. "After we drop that
vest off," I tell Fraser, "We need to go see my folks." Dreading it. Last
thing in the world I want to do is talk about my relationship with Ben.
Especially with my folks. 

 "All right," he agrees. "Would you prefer talking to them alone?" 

 Oh, Jesus, not only no, but hell no. I shake my head. If my dad has
figured it out, he's too polite to say anything in front of Fraser. Fraser
has that effect on people. A lot. 

 "As you wish." Faint smile, and he examines his fat free turkey sandwich
for mayonnaise, which he doesn't eat. 

 When did I start knowing all these things about him? I think back, and
start to laugh. "Hey, Ben, remember the Greta Garbo thing? Chasing her in
a burning car?" 

 He nods. "Of course, Ray. It was, essentially, our first case together,
even if I was highly suspicious of you at that point." 

 "Yeah, well, I tried to tell you in the car, but you couldn't hear me,
you were on the roof." I grin, take another bite of my burger. 

 "True, the wind and the engine were a bit loud." He grins suddenly. "Is
that what you were trying to tell me? That you weren't Ray Vecchio? I knew
that already, of course, but by that time, I have to admit, I was
questioning my own sanity a bit." 

 "Can't blame you." I rub my ankle on his under the table. "Remember, I
told you not to touch my inner thigh?" 

 He thinks, nods, still smiling a little bit. "Now that you mention it,
yes, I do." 

 "Maybe I was already, uh, in trouble, you think?" 

 He laughs out loud. "Perhaps we both were." Eyes glinting. "Perhaps I was
unnecessarily thorough in my search for the trigger." 

 I nearly choke on my next bite, but he gets up and pounds my back less
than helpfully. 

 Last thing I want to do is see my folks. I want to go somewhere and be
alone with him. I want to jump him, I want to wrap myself around him, I
want to move back inside him, I want us to be home. 

 Damn. We're going to be here a few weeks. 

 We drop off the vest and the gun, and Fraser accepts my request that he
stay in the car. 

 Max brightens up when I come in, waves and I gesture toward his office. 

 He leads the way. "Saw the news last night." Eyeing me. 

 "Yeah. Well, it all turned out all right." I hand him the bag with the
vest and the gun. "Give this back to him, okay? And Max, I owe you big
time. I'm going back to Canada again when this is done, but if there's
anything I can do." 

 He gives me a long look, nods. "Old time's sake, Ray. You okay?" 

 I grin. "Got a bruise on my back looks like the state of Nebraska." 

 He laughs. "Not as big." 

 "And a helluva lot better than a hole." I can't keep from shivering at
that thought. I remember all the pain from last time too damn well. I
shake his hand, and then we do that kid hug, all manly men, slap on the
back. "You keep out of trouble, Max. I wanna see you next time I come
down." 

 He grins. "Yeah, yeah, I do my best. Canada, huh?" 

 "Yeah, got a friend up there, and it's brought me luck." I pat my chest.
"I'm practically healthy again." 

 "How come you still look like shit," he razzes me, and we walk back out.
Another handshake and then I'm back out in the car, and boy, no way am I
really ready to face my folks, but hell, if I can face dying, I can face
my dad. 

 Can't I? 

 I guess I'm about to find out. 

 My dad's pissed, but he doesn't talk to me about it. In fact, he makes
polite conversation with Fraser out in the garage leaving me to face my
mom alone. 

 "You took a terrible chance yesterday," she tells me, sitting at the
kitchen table. She's not quite looking at me. "I don't understand what you
were thinking." 

 Well, hell. "I thought they had taken Fraser." I say it carefully. "I
couldn't let them kill him. I thought-" 

 She looks up at me. "Did you think your father and I wouldn't see the
news?" 

 Oh, fuck. My stomach ties itself into an awful knot. "I'm sorry."
Faintly. 

 She puts her hand over mine, and I look down at it. Hard working hands,
hands that washed and fed and raised a family, and helped my dad keep the
family running, and I'm having a hard time not crying. "I'm sorry," I tell
her, whispering. "I was so freaking scared, I thought they'd kill him." 

 She squeezes my hand. I know she doesn't know what to say. It can't be
easy to have your almost forty-year-old kid suddenly fall for another guy
and then sit practically blubbering at your kitchen table. 

 At least I think that's what she's thinking until she opens her mouth.
"Ray-I talked with your dad, and I think the two of you should stay here.
There's no point in paying for a hotel." 

 Do I nearly fall off the chair? I do. Do I nearly pass out? Well, maybe
not. But my jaw drops. "Huh?" 

 "You can both sleep in the guest room." She's continuing like I haven't
said anything. "And you know, I don't mind having a dog around." 

 Fortunately, Fraser chooses this moment to come in from the garage. He
gives me what he calls a speaking look, and I stammer something stupid to
my mother and we go out into the livingroom. "Ray, your father insists
that we check out of the hotel." He looks as close to poleaxed as I've
ever seen him. 

 I honestly can't find any words. I shake my head, feeling a little dizzy.
"Um. Yeah. My mom said the same thing." Down the rabbit hole, I think
crazily. "Um. Jeez. Let me go and talk to my dad." 

 He arches an eyebrow. "I told him I would discuss it with you. Perhaps
you should stay here, and I should stay somewhere else." 

 Something stubborn rises up inside me. "Screw that." Okay, I can do this.
I'm pushing forty, I can face my father. 

 And I walk back through to the door to the garage, and open in. Step into
the garage and close it. 

 Dad looks up from what he's doing, which is sanding wood. No wonder
Fraser was out here so long, although this looks more like it's going to
be a bookcase or something, and Fraser does the woodcarving thing. 

 "Hi." I clear my throat and try for more than that. "Um, Dad-" 

 He goes back to sanding, by hand naturally. 

 "Um, Dad, Fraser says you, uh, invited us to stay here." 

 He makes a sound I take for yes. Or something. 

 I'm sweating even though the garage is on the cool side, even with Dad's
space heater. "Are you, um, sure?" Maybe Fraser's imagining things. 

 He looks back at me. Sighs. Puts down the sanding block and goes over to
the refrigerator. 

 Comes back with two beers. "Hair of the dog that bit ya." 

 I look at it, shrug, and open it. We sit down on the concrete step at the
door. He takes a drink, not looking at me, but our shoulders bump
together, which is a hopeful sign, he doesn't think I'm repulsive or
anything. 

 "I don't understand," he finally growls. "But you know, you watch your
kid dying, and you start realizing that the time together is worth
something more than ya knew. I let too many years go by, wasted 'em. Not
gonna do it again." He does look at me then, scowls. "You ever do
something as stupid as you did last night, though, you're going to find
out you're not to old to get whalloped." 

 I'm taking a drink of beer when he says that, and I'm not sure if I was
laughing or starting to cry, but beer up the sinuses really puts a stop to
either. 

 He pounds my back a minute, and I have to fend him off, because he's
hitting that motherfucking bruise. Finally manage to get a breath.
"Sorry." Choked voice. "I don't think you have to worry about it, Dad." 

 We sit for a little while, and then he clears his throat. "So, you're
happy." 

 Jeez, I'm going to start bawling in a minute. I nod. Take another quick
swallow. 

 "Good." He pats my knee suddenly. "So get out of the hotel, it's costing
you money." 

 I try to imagine sleeping in the guest room down the hall from my
parents. Fraser's going to have to gag me if he touches me. And then
there's the sheets. Maybe I can steal some towels from the hotel. 

 I must be insane. 

 "I'm not missing any more time," Dad tells me again, sternly. 

 There's no arguing with Damien Kowalski. Or Benton Fraser. "Okay, Dad." I
sigh, and even though I'm freaked out, there's this weight off my chest I
didn't know was there. I get choked up again. "Thanks." 

 He shrugs, not quite looking at me. "Get outa here, go pick up your
stuff, your mom is cooking special again tonight. We figure if you're
gonna do boneheaded stunts like last night, we better take the chances we
get to spoil ya some." 

 I nod again, manage to make it back into the kitchen without doing
anything too lame. 

 Fraser and Mom are, get this, looking at a family album. I feel a moment
of pure terror. Do I want him to see the picture of me missing my front
teeth? 

 I don't think so. 

 "Yo, Ben, we need to check out of the hotel before my dad blows a
gasket." 

 He turns in his chair and looks at me questioningly for a moment, but he
can see I'm close to losing it, and nods, gets up. "We'll be back shortly,
Mrs. Kowalski, and I look forward to seeing the rest." 

 I make it all the way to the car before I do start bawling, and Fraser
has to drive. 

 But it's not a bad kind, it's kind of a relief. Because, see, the worst
things are over. My dad doesn't hate me, my mom doesn't hate me, I
remember what happened, the guys are going down, and I've still got what I
wanted the most, a life with Fraser. 

 "Are you all right?" he finally asks, giving me another worried
side-glance. 

 I put my arm on the back of his seat and ruffle the edge of his hair.
"Oh, Christ, yes, I'm great." And I roll the window down so Dief and me
can put our heads out. "Hey, Chicago," I yell, "It's a great fucking day!"


 And even though he probably thinks I'm unhinged, Fraser starts laughing. 

 One week and the grand jury is finally done, indictments all over the
fucking place, and the media's having a fucking field day, corruption in
the Chicago PD, and I get calls from reporters trying to interview me, and
I pretty much tell them to fuck off, only Fraser's had an effect and I say
it more or less politely. 

 Probably less. 

 Two weeks, and I make Fraser go back home, so he doesn't end up getting
screwed over by the RCMP again. Then the trial gets rolling with amazing
speed and I go ahead and stay the third and fourth week so I can testify,
and it's finally fucking over as far as I'm concerned, and I kiss my folks
goodbye at the airport and tell them to come up in the summer. Fraser says
Dad would love the fishing, they have great fishing discussions. 

 I'm so excited to be going home that I practically kiss Tom Ellery when
he picks me up, and this time, I'm leaning over and trying to see down
through the clouds, and Tom is actually making conversation with me these
days. 

 I tell him about the trial and remembering and I must be babbling because
he grins suddenly. "You and Fraser. He's earth and air, you're fire and
water. Good match." 

 Which is downright talkative for Tom, and then he shocks me again by
trying to talk me into learning some carpentery, and since I know the
basics, I finally allow that might not be a bad idea, and we spend the
rest of the flight talking about the house Davy McKenzie wants to build,
since he's finally gotten something about Tlingit clans straightened out
and Mary says he and Jenny can get married. 

 There's nobody at the field when we land, but just as Tom's handing me
out my bag and several boxes of stuff my folks didn't mail-I sold the
rest, gave it to Goodwill, sent my bike to my brother's oldest kid, and
now it's just what I've got at the cabin and here-when a battered jeep
rattles down the road and across the field. 

 I can feel this incredibly stupid grin on my face. 

 Tom laughs a little, says, "I'm going through the checklist, knock
yourself out, Ray." 

 By which I think he means a little PDA isn't going to make his eyes
cross, so when Fraser gets out of the jeep, I practically leap on him, and
kiss him hard enough to bruise us both. 

 He doesn't say much. Just hugs me hard, kisses me harder, and keeps
pulling back to look at me, making sure I'm all right or that I'm here or
whatever. Then, "You know, I had myself half-convinced I'd imagined all of
it. Us. You here." Huskily. 

 "Freak," I tell him and hug him hard again. "I'm home, Ben. For good."
And laugh a little at the expression on his face. 

 As a secretly die hard romantic, I'd have to say that there are stars in
his eyes. I'm too tough to say it out loud, though. And he's a depressed
romantic, he'll never admit it. 

 "Home," he says softly, and it's like the smiles and the kisses and the
damn Inuit words for snow. 

 There's so many layers there, I'm glad we've got a lifetime to figure
them all out. 

 Oh, yeah. Not bad for a guy who died two or three times, a guy who never
thought he'd have any happiness at all again. 

 Not bad at all. 

 "Home," he says again and kisses me. 

 Layers and layers, and all the time we need. Who can ask for more? 

 Not me. 

 "Winter Night" 

 "Pile high the hickory and the light log of chestnut struck by blight
Welcome-in the winter night 

 The day has gone in hewing and felling, sawing and drawing wood to the
dwelling, For the night of talk and story-telling 

 These are the hours that give the edge To the blunted axe and the bent
wedge, Straighten the saw and lighten the sledge. 

 Here are question and reply, And the fire reflected in the thinking eye.
So peace, and let the bobcat cry." 

 ~ Edna St. Vincent Millay 

 finis 

End Busted by anonymous co: JimPage363@aol.com

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