The Vault  The Vault 

 (c) 1996, JoAnne Soper-Cook 

 "Benny, the water's rising." 

 "Well yes, Ray; you see this was my initial hope. With the water risen
far enough--" 

 "Fraser!" A touch of exasperation in the voice, a quick out-breath
signaling frustration. 

 "Yes, Ray?" 

 "We're gonna die in here!" Raymond Vecchio adjusted the sleeves of his
sweater and cast a disparaging stare towards his partner and friend. "I'm
drowning on dry land." 

 "But think of the good we're accomplishing, Ray--" 

 "Fraser, shut *up*!" 

 Silence reigned for a moment in the bank vault, while the sprinkler
overhead proceeded to spew several more litres of water into the contained
space. 

 "Ray...?" 

 "What?!" 

 "Do you really think..." 

 "Do I really think *what*?" 

 The Mountie swallowed hard, took as deep a breath as the rising water
would allow. "Do you really think we'll die?" 

 "How would I know? This was your stupid idea." The Italian was silent for
a moment. "If nobody gets to us in time, yeah, I do think we'll die." 

 "Are you ready to die?" 

 Vecchio refused to look at him: mainly because he was furious, but also
because he knew that if he looked at Fraser now, in this moment, he'd
embarrass himself somehow. It was true what people said about the moments
preceding death: his life was indeed flashing before him. And it wasn't a
satisfying experience. "Is anybody ever ready? I mean, really ready?"
Vecchio lifted his chin a couple centimetres higher, concentrated on not
panicking. It was getting more difficult to breathe, not so much because
of the rising water (although it was definitely a factor at this point)
but because of his fear. He tried to think of something neutral, something
pleasant,but it wasn't working; his mind continued to shriek the obscene
facts of the situation, a constant tinny cackle deep inside his mind. 

 "Do you think it's important to say...certain things...uh, before you
die? I mean, things you should have already said, but never got around to
saying?" Fraser cast a glance at Ray, just as quickly looked away.
"Hypothetically speaking, I mean." He too raised his head a couple
centimetres higher, concentrated on staying calm. 

 He was being eaten alive by guilt, truth be told. Here, in this vault,
locked in while the water rose--he was dragging Ray to his death! 

 He shouldn't have done this; dammit, he should have thought harder to
find some alternate solution. It was just like Ray said; this was stupid.
Incredibly stupid. And now Ray would pay for that succinct observation,
just as he, Fraser, would pay for his stupidity. 

 "Ray, I'm really sorry..." His voice broke; he turned away, hiding his
face from his friend. "This was really stupid...." 

 "Benny..." Ray swallowed hard. "Don't do this, Benny." If Fraser broke
now, he would, too, and they'd both go sniveling to their deaths... 

 "I'm so sorry..." The Canadian turned to face him, his blue eyes wet, his
visage so entirely constricted with fear and guilt that Ray's stomach
turned over. 

 "Benny---" Ray glanced down at the rising water, knew that in a minute
there would be no space left in which to breathe. "Whatever you want to
say, you better say it now." 

 Fraser took a deep breath, knowing it might be his last. His heart
pounded in his ears, blood pulsing noisily. This was it... *Say it*! "Ray,
I love you." 

 He watched as Vecchio's eyes widened to the point of popping. "What?!
What the hell do you mean? Like pals, right, like good pals?" 

 *Oh God, I should've kept my mouth shut!* But it was too late for
personal recriminations now. "Ray, I love you." 

 Vecchio stared at him for a long moment, felt the blood slowly suffuse
his face, felt the shock drain him of any coherent response--- 

 "Please say something...Ray...?" 

 There was a muffled boom, and all hell broke loose. 

 

 "Yeah well--didya have to flood the whole damned floor? They've gotta
close for renovations, I hope you know that. You're just lucky that the
state's attorney managed to finagle a deal on your behalf, or the
department would be paying for it, and you and Fraser'd be down there with
mops!" Lt. Harding Welsh bit into his sandwich, regarded the two men in
front of him with a mixture of frustration and pride. "And you, Fraser,
oughtta know better." 

 "Yes sir. I'm sorry, sir. I'll do better next time." 

 "And you, Vecchio, go and thank Louise. She saved your sorry asses, after
all." 

 

 "Whatta you apologising to him for? He isn't even *your* boss?" Vecchio
swept through the office, Fraser trailing behind him, stopped abruptly at
his desk. "Anyway, I got work to do, so get outta here." 

 Fraser stared at him, wondering if now was the time to broach the
subject. It had been several days since the incident in the bank vault,
several days since his "deathbed confession." He wondered if Ray
remembered or not. "Are you busy after work?" Maybe they could talk about
it. 

 "Yes." Or not. 

 "Ray---" 

 "Get outta here. I got work to do. Go play with your wolf." Vecchio
refused to look at him, pointedly spun his chair in the opposite direction
and began riffling through a drawer. 

 "I take it you're dismissing me." Fraser felt incredibly stupid, a
veritable fool. That this cryptic exchange was taking place in the full
view of the entire precinct didn't help, either. 

 "No. I'm ignoring you." Vecchio's tone was hard, brooked no disagreement.
Fraser had no choice but to leave; it was easy to see that Ray would have
no further discussion on this or any subject. 

 He was aware of the dozens of eyes on him as he turned to go, and made
his exit especially hasty. 

 

 The music wasn't helping. Patsy Cline was probably not the perfect choice
at a time like this. 

 "What's the matter with you, now? Sulking again, are ya?" 

 Fraser turned to see his father (deceased) sitting on the edge of his
bed. "I wish you wouldn't do that." 

 "What? Appear out of nowhere?" Fraser Sr. laughed. "Huh! Dead man's
prerogative. Anyway, what's wrong with you, now?" 

 "There's nothing wrong with me." Fraser turned on the cold water tap, ran
his fingers under it and wet the back of his neck. It was uncommonly hot
for September; he'd stripped down to his singlet and boxers, but still
felt as if he were being slowly broiled from the inside. 

 "Sure there is. I can see it in your eyes. Your friend pissed off with
you, is he? My, that's too bad." 

 "Dad..." Fraser sighed. "You're not helping." 

 "Well you're certainly no help to yourself, sulking like that. Why don't
you go over there and talk to him?" 

 "He doesn't want to talk to me. He hates me." 

 "Why? 'Cause you told him the truth?" Fraser Sr. leaned back on the bed,
rubbed Diefenbaker behind the ears. "Too bad if he can't deal with stuff
like that." 

 "Dad, *please*!" Fraser felt the anger, the frustration, building in him,
fought to keep it in check. It was disrespectful to explode at his father,
especially now that the man was dead. "Ray obviously doesn't want to see
me anymore. I doubt he'll even speak to me again. I'm afraid my confession
the other day---" 

 "--scared him off?" As usual, Fraser Sr. was right on the money. It would
be eerie if he weren't dead... 

 "Is that what you think?" 

 "Yes. It's the truth. Sure, he's probably suffering as much as you are!" 

 Fraser pressed a hand to his eyes. "I can't talk about this now." 

 Fraser Sr. laughed. "Well, ya gotta talk about it sometime. Why don't you
give him a call, tell him to come over?" 

 "I don't have a phone." And it wasn't the type of call he could very well
make at Mr. Mustafi's... He could picture it now: *Hi, Mrs. Vecchio, is
Ray there? Hi Ray, it's me. Can you come over so I can declare my undying
love?* 

 "There you go! Something like that would work just fine!" 

 "Dad, please leave." Fraser watched as his father obligingly disappeared.
He turned the cold water tap on full and stuck his head under until his
ears went numb. 

 

 "Raymondo, you got to eat something! Frannie made this just for you!" 

 "Yeah, she's probably trying to poison me!" Ray turned over, just enough
to talk respectfully to his mother. "I'm not hungry, Ma; just leave it and
I'll get it later." 

 But Mrs. Vecchio didn't leave; rather, she came into the room and sat on
the edge of his bed. "What's bothering you, Raymondo?" She smoothed his
cheek with the back of her knuckles, just like she used to do when he was
little. "Come on, you can talk to me." 

 *Where the hell would I even begin?* Ray wondered. "It's Fraser." 

 "What? The two of you have a fight?" Mrs. Vecchio brought the plate of
lasagne closer, lifted a forkful. "Here, eat something." 

 Ray took the proferred food, chewed and swallowed. "Mmm...that's good.
Frannie's starting to get the knack of it." 

 "Here, you eat, I'll talk." Mrs. Vecchio settled her comfortable body on
the edge of the bed, folded her hands in her lap. Ray knew this would be
one of her oddly-prescient "chats", as Ma always guessed at whatever was
going on in his head. "You and Benton, you're good friends. Right?" 

 Ray nodded, reached for a piece of garlic bread that his mother had
brought in a basket. 

 "Very close friends, good friends. Tell each other things. Right?" 

 The bread suddenly stuck in his throat, a hard lump. 

 "Sometimes good friends tell each other things that maybe are hard to
take, but it's the truth." 

 Ray nodded, refused to look his mother in the eyes. One glance, and she'd
know everything. Everything. 

 "Sometimes the truth is hard to accept, especially if it's a truth about
yourself." 

 Ray pushed the plate away. "Ma, I gotta talk to you---" 

 Mrs. Vecchio smiled. "I'm listening." 

 

 The apartment was dark. He'd extinguished all the lights to try and make
it a little cooler. All of the windows stood open, curtains streaming in
the breeze, but it was still hot. Uncommonly hot for September. 

 Benton Fraser lay prone on the bed, clad only in his boxers, having shed
the singlet earlier. He was still too hot. His apartment door stood open;
it was late, there was no one to see him. 

 He'd lain here thinking all night long. 'Ray, I love you.' He should
never have said it, but he knew it was the truth, pure and simple. He
didn't know exactly when he'd started loving Ray, whether it was an
epiphany like a burst of lightning, or whether it crept in on him, slowly.
*I just know I love him now.* 

 And he'd probably ruined their friendship. Wasn't it a tried-and-true
maxim that you didn't mix love and friendship, at least not *this* kind of
love? Maybe Ray hated him, now that he'd made his confession. Maybe Ray
couldn't love him in that way. Maybe he and Ray would go their separate
ways. End it. Leave. 

 The thought was more than he could bear. 

 There was a shadowed form, suddenly, in his doorway. A slender man, clad
in silk trousers, a short-sleeved shirt. A man whose hazel eyes held a
world of apology. 

 "Benny." 

 Fraser rolled off the bed, crossed the floor in two steps, pinned Ray
against the wall, arms above his head. A pulse began to beat, low in his
belly. This was it. This was the moment. 

 He gazed at the other man for a long moment, his eyes thoughtful, then
leaned in and gently, ever-so-softly, pressed his opened mouth to the
other man's lips, let it rest there. He drew back. 

 Ray slipped one wrist free of Fraser's grip, laid his palm against the
Mountie's face. "Benny, I love you." His voice broke, and he began to
tremble. "God, I love you!" 

 Fraser caught his face between his hands, leaned close and kissed his
friend, a slow, languorous caress of lips and tongue. When the kiss ended,
he didn't draw away, but rather stood with his forehead pressed against
Ray's, eyes closed. "I've been waiting here all night." 

 Ray smiled, his eyes full of tears. "I will never make you wait again." 

 His hands were sure and strong, as he laids his palms flat against
Fraser's chest, leaned and tasted the sweat-moistness of his friend's
skin. He nuzzled Fraser's neck, flickered his tongue around the Mountie's
ear, fastened his lips to the sensitive juncture of neck and shoulder and
sucked. 

 It was Ray who led Fraser to the bed, drew the Mountie down beside him.
It was Ray who slid the ridiculous boxer shorts down over his friend's
slender hips, slipped them off his legs. 

 But it was Fraser who stripped Ray effortlessly, drew the fine silk shirt
off his shoulders, relieved him of the designer Italian trousers. 

 Ray was wearing no underwear; merely his lean, tanned skin underneath his
baggy trousers. Fraser leaned close and pressed his lips to the flat space
just underneath the navel. "I want to love you," he whispered. 

 "Benny, we should close the door." The apartment stood open to the
hallway, the two naked men visible to anyone who might happen by. 

 "It's late...they're sleeping." 

 And all talk ceased as Fraser leaned down and took the hardened shaft of
Ray's erection deep into his throat. 

 "Benny, I love you." 

 Then Ray couldn't talk anymore. 

 The End