Turn down your lights (where applicable)

This is part III of a novella entitled Near Wild Heaven.

I owe a debt to Mary Renault and her book, The Charioteer, which I felt explained a great deal to me, but I have always wondered exactly how her characters resolved the future and dealt with some practical realities. So this is an attempt to explore some of those thoughts in a Due South universe.

This story does - must - take place in an alternate universe. CotW does not take place, at least not as it did on the show, and Fraser has more sense than to live at the Consulate for very long and this time he has found an apartment with a bathroom inside it. All characters belong to Alliance/Paul Haggis/Paul Gross. If they belonged to me I'd set 'em free to compete in the marketplace.

Near Wild Heaven
© June 1999 AuKestrel
(thanks to R.E.M. for the title, and the song, and Out of Time.)

I'm holding myself together
In this near wild heaven
Not near enough
        "Near Wild Heaven," Out of Time, R.E.M.

        
        "Yeah, Fraser, I know. I know I didn't signal."
        "And you are exceeding the speed limit by a considerable amount. It's only a few blocks, Ray."
        "Fraser, thank God we got the whole weekend. I have not been alone with you for three days! I'm goin' nuts, here!" I look at him sideways. Yup, he's blushing. But when I see his tongue come out to lick his lower lip, my foot pushes down on the gas pedal all by itself.
        "Don't tell me I finally found a way to shut you up, Fraser."
        "And three nights, Ray." His voice sounds strained.
        "Yes, Fraser, I am aware of that. Thank you for pointing that out. God, I hate the graveyard shift! And what is with Vecchio? Ever since we got back from Canada, he's been sticking to you like a - like a - "
        "A limpet, Ray?"
        "Those the things that hang out on sharks?"
        "No, Ray. Those are remoras. Limpets, which belong to the subclass Prosobranchia, are any of various snails having a flattened shell - "
        "Fraser."
        "Understood, Ray."
        "Remora, yeah. What the heck is up with him?"
        "Perhaps he missed me. Or," and I hear his voice get serious alluva sudden, "perhaps he has sensed a change in the atmosphere, so to speak."
        "Yeah, well, he just better stay outta my way this weekend. He comes over, you are not answering the door, Frase."
        "As you wish, Ray."
        We finally pull up to Fraser's place. It seemed to take forever. "Atmosphere, yeah," I say finally. "Like that atmosphere at the precinct?"
        "What are you talking about, Ray?"
        Fraser's climbing the stairs almost as fast as me for once.
        "This stakeout."
        "Oh, yes, for the drug dealer."
        "We sure about the stakeout? No one said anything to me. I didn't think we had that much on Rafferty yet. And Dewey didn't seem to know . . ."
        "Ray, I know there is tension between you two. Perhaps he didn't want to - "
        "Put up with me for hours?" I grin at him.
        "Well, perhaps from his point of view . . ." Fraser still hasn't gotten a handle on this lying thing. Thank God. I like my Mounties honest.
        "Or he's lying to see what he can snoop around and find out," I say, not really believing myself. After putting two and two together about me that day, Vecchio's been a little weird with me. It's like he's gotta prove somethin' to me, or to Fraser, or to himself. Anyhow, he gets tips and stuff he's not exactly forthcoming anymore, not even with Frase.
        "Then why are you here?" He's teasing me. I can't tear my eyes away from his, away from his smile. And my smile widens, reflecting his.
        "No harm in talking to my best friend, is there, Frase?"
        He looks down to open the door and I can't resist any longer. I grab his chin and pull him towards me, a quick kiss, a promise for the night. And feel him shudder as he fights to control himself.
        "Now that was a needless risk, Ray," he says, out of breath, the tenderness in his eyes contradicting the tone of his voice. "The apartment is five centimeters away."
        "Mmmm. Then get the hell in there, Mountie," I say, and cover his hand on the door handle with my own. I feel the instant contact, almost a spark, as usual, every time I touch him after an absence. He feels it too and draws his breath in, in a shaky gasp, as we both push the door closed behind us. We're making our way towards the bed, but it's slow going. First we kiss and then I can't stop myself from running my tongue down that neck, that sensitive neck, as he arches his head back and moans a tiny moan. I've got his collar open and I'm working on his buttons as I work on his neck. "You like that, Ben?" I ask, my voice hard to control.
        He nods, quickly, as if he doesn't want to think, doesn't want to talk. So I tease him. Make him talk, wanna hear the passion in his wonderful voice, the passion that belongs to me, skinny ass Ray Kowalski. "Then say something, Fraser! Tell me it turns you on! Most of the time I can't get you to shut up! Just say, 'Ray, my friend, that really turns me on and don't ever stop.'" And hear him choke back a laugh, as he tilts his head and leans into mine and kisses me again, smiling against my mouth. And as he opens his mouth to respond, I see him look at something from the corner of his eye. The next instant he's gone tense, and I see panic in his eyes. He looks over my shoulder at Dief, almost accusingly, and I hear Dief whine and then scrabble under the bed. He looks over now and I follow his gaze with my own and see Vecchio standing openmouthed in the doorway.
        Oh, shit.
        "Oh, dear," Fraser says quietly.
        "Oh, shit," I say at almost the same time.
        "Tell me I'm seeing things, Benny," he says, calmer than I expected. "Tell me that wasn't a kiss I interrupted. A kiss with a guy, Benny!"
        And suddenly I realise what I've done, to us, to Vecchio, most of all to Ben, who I've hurt again in the way he was most dreading. And without thinking I take a couple steps back, feel the bed at my knees and drop. "I'm sorry, Ben," I say in a voice I can hear shaking, "can't believe I fell for a trick like that . . ."
        He's not listening to me. All his attention is concentrated on Vecchio. "I'm sorry, Ray, I can't tell you that. You did interrupt a kiss." How does he manage to stay so calm when his world must be crumbling to pieces?
        Vecchio looks him up and down, and then looks at me. Know what he wants to do to me and know that I too would love to go at it with him, not just 'cause he's a jerk, but 'cause he hurt Fraser. He looks back at Fraser and says, "I did not just hear that."
        "Yes, Ray," Fraser says, not giving an inch. Or a centimeter. "Yes, you did."
        "No, Benny, I did not. I did not hear that you have . . . that you . . . you and Kowalski . . ." And suddenly he loses it completely and punches the wall. Makes a nice sized hole. I feel like absolute shit. Always telling Fraser things aren't his fault. This time it's my fault. Feel about one inch tall. And then Fraser looks over to me, and his eyes are peaceful. He's trying to tell me something. Suddenly I feel something on my feet. Dief is looking up at me from under the bed.

        ~~~

        Thanks to the acoustics of the stairwell, I am far enough behind them that Fraser won't be able to hear my step, but I can still hear their conversation, which is becoming progressively more intimate and worrying as they approach Fraser's apartment.
        "We sure about the stakeout? No one said anything to me. I didn't think we had that much on Rafferty yet." Kowalski. "And Dewey didn't seem to know . . ."
        "Ray, I know there is tension between you two. Perhaps he didn't want to - "
        "Put up with me for hours?" Kowalski finishes.
        "Well, perhaps from his point of view . . ." Fraser, incurably truthful.
        "Or he's lying to see what he can snoop around and find out." Cocky bastard.
        "Then why are you here?" Fraser's voice is gentle, teasing, and certainly affectionate.
        "No harm in talking to my best friend, is there, Frase?" His snort is joined by Fraser's chuckle.
        I hear the doorknob begin to turn. Stop on the stairs and listen harder. Silence. More silence.
        "Now that was a needless risk, Ray," Fraser says, sounding breathless. "The apartment is five centimeters away." That was a kiss. Oh God. The walls are closing in on me. I sink to a step, my heart pounding.
        "Mmmm." Kowalski again, a throaty murmur. "Then get the hell in there, Mountie."
        The door latch clicks and then shuts again. No sound of a bolt follows. My worst fears, worst nightmares are confirmed. And I can't get the image of Fraser - Benny - my best friend - embracing another man out of my head. I stand up, shake my head to clear it, and without thinking anything more about it stalk to Fraser's apartment door and throw it open. They are standing in the middle of the room. Fraser has his head tipped backward, his eyes closed, and Kowalski's kissing, no, licking his neck. Fraser looks blissful and I'm embarrassed by what I see in his face. Kowalski says in a hoarse voice, ragged at the edges, "You like that, Ben?" He's got the collar open on Fraser's tunic and he's working on the buttons.
        Benny nods, once, as if he can't help himself.
        "Then say something, Fraser! Tell me it turns you on! Most of the time I can't get you to shut up! Just say, 'Ray, my friend, that really turns me on and don't ever stop.'" The affection in his voice is clear. Benny chokes back a laugh and drops his head to put his forehead against Kowalski's as they kiss, lightly. And in that movement, he must catch sight of me out of the corner of an eye. I should have already gone. But I can't move.
        Fraser looks at Dief, who whines and disappears under the bed, then looks over his shoulder at me, in the doorway. Now would be a good time, Benny, for one of those words your grandmother taught you never to say. And I retain enough sense to close the door behind me as I stalk over to stand in front of him.
        "Oh, dear."
        "Oh, shit." Yeah, that's more along the right lines, Kowalski, you little prick.
        "Tell me I'm seeing things, Benny," I say, unable to believe how calm I sound. "Tell me that wasn't a kiss I interrupted. A kiss with a guy, Benny!"
        Kowalski stumbles backwards, hits the bed, sits down with a thud. "Sorry, Ben," he mutters. "Can't believe I fell for a trick like that . . ." He is pale, shaken.
        Fraser doesn't seem to hear him. "I'm sorry, Ray, I can't tell you that. You did interrupt a kiss." He seems calm. Accepting the inevitable.
        I stare at Fraser, standing in front of me, almost at attention, his hands behind his back. I look at Kowalski, sitting almost behind me. And then look back at Fraser. Fraser looks into my eyes, his blue eyes oddly peaceful. It's almost like he's welcoming this, almost like he's relieved. "I did not just hear that."
        "Yes, Ray," he says. "Yes, you did."
        "No, Benny, I did not. I did not hear that you have . . . that you . . . you and Kowalski . . ." Oh, God, I can't even say it. I wanna be sick all over Fraser's red uniform. Without conscious thought my hand balls into a fist and I turn and slam it into the wall.
        I hear a moan and realise with shock it's coming from me. "Jesus effing Christ, Benny! You could have any woman in Chicago! In America, probably! And now you're telling me you're gay?"
        He looks back at me, considers that for a moment, his blue eyes as calm as ever. "Evidently, Ray. I have understandably given this some thought. I'm not particularly attracted to men. Or women. I think I would be attracted to Ray if he were female as well."
        "That's too damn sappy for words," I say harshly.
        "No, Ray," Fraser says, moving quickly between me and the whirlwind that has just launched itself at my back. He holds Kowalski's wrists, makes Kowalski look him in the eye. "Ray, this won't help." Diefenbaker barks, a short, sharp bark.
        "No, Ray," Fraser says quietly. "Please."
        They lock gazes for a moment longer. I see Fraser's jaw move but have no idea what he's saying under his breath to Kowalski. Kowalski backs up, sits down without a word. He drops his head in his hands. I see Dief look up at him from under the bed. Fraser turns back to me.
        "Please continue, Ray," he says, as if we are taking turns playing pool.
        I grab him by the shoulders. "Benny, this is all about Victoria! You know that!"
        "No, it's not, Ray."
        "Well, you're screwing up your life just like you did with her," I say, the most cutting thing I can think of, the only way I can think to get through to him. And see the pain in his eyes, an almost-wince that tells me I hit home, tells me to keep hitting.
        "Both your lives," I add. "What're you gonna do when you get transferred? It's not like you can marry him and take him with you. Yeah, maybe you think it's fine now, but what happens when you wake up in two years and decide you want kids? A family? A normal life? Fraser, that's what I want for you."
        "I thought that's what I wanted as well," he agrees soberly. "On the other hand, Ray, there's nothing intrinsically wrong with the situation. No one is hurt by our actions."
        "You're both hurt! You're hurting him! Shit, what if the 27^th finds out? Christ, Benny, he'll be booted out so fast he won't have time to get his coffee mug. You gotta stop this now, before it goes any further, before anyone else finds out." He is still looking steadily at me, that stubborn set to his jaw I know only too well. And then he shakes his head. I'm just not getting through.
        "Ray, everyone deserves love," Fraser says quietly. "I thought perhaps you would want that for me."
        "Oh, no, no, no. No, Benny, we're not going there. You're not gonna guilt me into this one." I put my hands on his chest and push him backwards, out of my space, further from Kowalski. "You don't know what you want. You sit here, with no clue about love or life, and this - this - asshole comes along and you don't know any better. I gotta tell you, I know what's best for you!" I round on Kowalski. "And you! I hold you responsible! I told you to keep your mitts off him!"
        Fraser is saying something but it's a minute before it sinks in. "It was my fault entirely. I kissed him, Ray," he's saying.
        "I do not wanna hear that, Fraser!" I say at the same moment that Kowalski says, "It was not your fault, it was my fault, dammit!"
        "You just shut up, Kowalski! Shut up. That's all."
        "You gonna make me, Vecchio?"
        Fraser's had enough of this. "It's quite a shock, Ray, you know that," he says, moving to Kowalski, leaning down to put a hand on his shoulder. I get the feeling any minute they're gonna kiss, and my head spins. I feel physically ill. I stumble backwards and hit the wall and go down, looking anywhere but there, anywhere but at that column of red and black by the bed. Dief walks over and sits in front of me. I have enough sense left not to stare back at him. Fraser's still talking to Kowalski. "I suspect that the shock is exacerbated by his tendency towards denial."
        I can't let that go, and raise my head. "Hey, this is my psyche we're talkin' about, Fraser. Leave it outta this. I'm not in denial, I'm mad as hell!"
        Fraser lets go of Kowalski and turns back towards me. "You actually do exhibit classic signs of denial, Ray," he begins.
        I wanna kill him. I wanna laugh. I cannot believe he can stand there arguing about my psychology with me after droppin' this bombshell. I can't stop the smile that, incredibly, begins to tug at my lips. "Fraser, I should know if I'm in denial. Do not do that. Do not tell me how I feel."
        The answering smile fades from his eyes and he looks at me steadily. I close my eyes, sink back against the wall. "Don't say it. That's too obvious, even from you, Benny."
        I open my eyes again to see Fraser and Kowalski looking at each other. Kowalski still looks mad, worried, but questioning too. I can't see Fraser's face but he shakes his head. This wordless communication thing they got goin' on. No wonder they're so good at it. Christ! And I feel the anger well up inside me again as I leap to my feet. "Stop it!" I yell. "Just stop lookin' at each other! You're both guys, you got that?"
        "Yes, Ray, I believe I do understand that," Fraser says. I can hear a smile in his voice though I can't see one on his face. But I'm suddenly not mad enough to want to hit anything any more.
        "Benny, I can't do this. I can't deal with this. I gotta go."
        "Ray, please don't go. I'm perfectly willing to discuss this. It might be a good idea to do so now."
        "Benny! There's nothin' to discuss! You two are not two! You are finito! It's over, Fraser!"
        "Fraser, I should go. Let you two talk." Kowalski looks at me, shrugs, starts towards the door.
        "No, Ray, please don't go. How can you be excluded from any discussion?" Kowalski doesn't look convinced.
        "Like hell he can't," I mutter. "Let him go, Benny."
        Kowalski clenches his fists but stays where he is, just inside the door. "Look, Vecchio, give Frase a pass on this. You were right. It was my fault."
        Fraser objects immediately. "Ray, that's completely untrue. I kissed you first."
        Kowalski smiles wryly. "Yeah, Fraser, but I kissed you back."
        "You don't need to tell me that," I say angrily. "I know Fraser's clueless!"
        "No, Ray, I'm not," Fraser says quietly. "I admit to inexperience but not the complete naïveté that you seem to associate with my character."
        "Oh, Benny, give it a rest. You think I'm stupid?"
        "Of course not, Ray. I think you're quite intelligent. However, your affection blinds you to certain aspects of my character that are plainly too uncomfortable for you to admit to yourself."
        I hate it when he does that. I hate it that he's always, damnably, right. So I snap back at him, "I hope they're uncomfortable aspects! I hope those aspects won't let you sleep at night!" That didn't come out right. Kowalski actually snickers. What a sense of humour. I try again. "I wish you could see that this is a dead end. That it's just not normal, especially for a guy like you! I know you want a family, kids, a career. You think you know it all, well, you don't. You don't know how policemen are about this kinda crap. Yeah, they can't say anything or do anything, but it's all up, you know? It's a dead end desk jockey job for Kowalski, and soon's they can figure out how, he's out. No pension, no nothin'. And don't tell me the RCMP is any different, 'cause I know it's not. Except for the fact that you can probably do whatever you want on a glacier field without anyone knowing about it, but you gotta come in from the cold some time."
        Fraser shifts uncomfortably. Clearly this has occurred to him, does trouble him. I press my advantage. "Yeah, you think you can keep it a secret? For now. What do you tell everyone in three years? Five years? If you're still here? You think it won't occur to someone to wonder how come you never date?"
        Fraser rubs his eyebrow with the back of his thumb. I know what that means. "Well, it hasn't occurred to anyone yet, Ray. But I haven't quite thought that far ahead," he admits.
        Kowalski scowls. "We don't need to, Fraser. Take things as they come. You can't plan your whole life." Diefenbaker, standing next to him, makes one of those wolf moans he does.
        "Oh, that's a real good attitude," I say scornfully. "For a teenager, maybe! You're both grown men! You are wasting your time and energy on a nowhere relationship when you both should be looking for Ms. Right, you idiots."
        Fraser's voice is low and quiet. "I don't know if I have one, Ray. I don't believe I want one."
        I try not to let that get to me. "Doesn't mean Kowalski doesn't have one." Gotta stay firm.
        "Yeah, I do," Kowalski says, surprising me. "But she doesn't want me. Hasn't, for a while."
        "Ah, hell, Kowalski, get over her! Look ahead!"
        "I like my life just fine the way it is right now," Kowalski says angrily. "Anyhow, it's none of your business."
        "Technically, no," Fraser says, "but he is my friend and he cares about me." And he turns those big Mountie eyes on me again. No, Fraser. NO.
        "Yeah, that's right. I care enough to tell you the hard truth about this fantasy you've come up with," I say sternly.
        "So are you asking me if my intentions are honourable?" Kowalski says.
        What the hell? God damned smart-ass.
        "Are you asking me if we've talked about the future, about this stuff?" he says patiently.
        "There is no future, Kowalski. It's over. You both gotta have the sense God gave little green apples to see that!"
        "Because if you really want to know," he says, like I haven't been talking, "Fraser'll take the next assignment to Canada. I'll go with him. That's all."
        I am unable to speak. Kowalski? In Canada? In thirty feet of snow? I start to get really worried now. This is more than just a fluke, a passing physical attraction (euwww!). And Chicago without Fraser? I can't do that. And realise I can't face life without my best friend. An even bitterer one succeeds that realisation, that I can't dictate his happiness to him, that I can't let this relationship lead to an open breach between us. But, my God, I can't stand to think of it, of him, of them. I stand silently, wrestling with my thoughts, which are becoming increasingly frightened and worried and just plain sad. "Benny. Fraser. I gotta get out of here. I need . . . I need to think. I need a drink."
        And I see Fraser's eyes look dismayed, shocked, and guilty, and I realise what I've just said. And then, to my surprise, he snaps, gets mad. Fraser never gets mad. He stalks to his kitchen, pulls open a cabinet, slams a glass down on the counter. Pulls open another cabinet, pulls out a bottle of Scotch. What the hell is he doing with that? "Here, Ray!" He pours a half glass, looks at me, then fills the glass up. "Here!" He brings it back to me, shoves it in my hand. It's so full it splashes onto my sleeve. I take it automatically, too stunned to resist. "Here, will this help you cope with the fact that I'm in love? Or would you rather have the whole bottle?"
        "Ben . . ." I hear Kowalski whisper.
        Fraser turns on him. "What, Ray? Some people need help with their lives. And some people pretend they don't. I know I need you. I don't need a bottle to tell me that." He pulls Ray into a rough embrace. "Here, would you like me to give you a reason to drink, Raymond Vecchio?" And he lowers his mouth to Kowalski's. Kowalski stands for a moment, as shocked as I am, but then as if he can't help himself, he puts his arms around Fraser - Benny - and returns the embrace. Fraser releases him then, although he maintains a hold on his wrist, and says, still in that angry, hard, unFraserish voice, "Was that enough? Shall we do it again? You're not drinking, Ray."
        "Ben," Kowalski says again in a low voice. "Ben. Stop. Who wouldn't need a drink, after this?"
        Cannot believe the jerk is standing up for me. And I feel a cold anger start inside me. I lift the glass, holding Fraser's eyes with mine, and take a swallow. Fraser pulls Kowalski to him again, kisses him again. Kowalski resists, pushes him away. "Ben, not fun, not for me, not for you. Don't use us like this. Vecchio wants to get drunk, let him! Don't spoil us, Ben!"
        Fraser stands rigid for a moment longer and then his whole body sags suddenly and he pulls Kowalski to him, resting his forehead on Kowalski's. "You're right, Ray," I hear him whisper. "I'm so sorry." He sounds miserable, unhappy. He reaches over to kiss Kowalski again, gently, as if he's trying to erase what just passed between them.
        "Jeez, you do have a temper, Ben," Kowalski says softly. I smell the whiskey and am almost sick to my stomach. I cross to the sink and pour it out. Then in an attempt to make amends to Fraser I pour out the entire bottle. "And you're just as bad," Kowalski says to me. "I thought I was the one who was supposed to be so volatile." He comes out with that word proudly. Hanging around the Mountie can do that to your vocabulary. "Christ. I take it your old man was an alkie?" I look at Fraser accusingly. He moves his head once in a short, sharp negative. "Hey, Vecchio, I'm a detective. Got a badge and everything. Ben doesn't lose it when you have a glass of wine or a beer for fun."
        He really is much smarter than I gave him credit for. Don't know why I'm surprised. It sure isn't his face that Fraser fell for. And then shake myself. Fraser hasn't fallen for anyone. This is not normal and I am not going to condone it, pretend that it is. "Let go of him," I say harshly. "I can't do that. I can't see that." And see Fraser's nonexistent temper flare again in his eyes even as Kowalski steps away from him, removes his hand.
        "In my - " Fraser begins.
        Kowalski cuts him off. "It's no different than Maggie, Frase. You gotta give Vecchio the same space you gave Maggie. And, hell, you told her about it beforehand, didn't spring it on her."
        "I didn't spring it on Ray, either: he chose to intrude; and I will not be told that I cannot kiss you in my own home," Fraser says, but he doesn't sound as angry.
        "You can kiss me, and more, you crazy Mountie," Kowalski says with an intimate grin. "Later."
        "This is just sick!" I yell suddenly. "You're both guys!" And I am hurt, and saddened, that Fraser was able to tell his sister, a sister he barely knows, and wasn't able to tell me, his former best friend. Fraser turns to look at me, patiently.
        "Fraser, I gotta think about this. But I know two things: you're my friend. I can't imagine you not being my friend. Because of that I gotta tell you when I think you're making a mistake. I got to. And I think you are. And the other is that I just can't do that. I can't see you two doing that. Please, Fraser . . ." and to my dismay I hear my voice shake, "please just don't do that in front of me. I gotta . . . gotta pretend it's not happening."
        He is quiet for a moment. He and Kowalski look at each other. He looks back at me. "All right, Ray." He is silent for a long moment and then adds, "I cannot imagine my life without your friendship either."
        Kowalski is making gagging noises, rolling his eyes, and despite the roller coaster I'm on he looks so funny that I have to choke back a laugh. Fraser looks, startled, at Kowalski, and then grins, moves towards him, recollects himself, and contents himself with a warm look. Kowalski rolls his eyes again and moves towards the refrigerator. "I'm starving! Who wants a beer? Order in a pizza?" Sensing a lightening of tension, Dief finally stops pacing and sits down, barks hopefully. I catch Kowalski glancing, almost pleading, at Fraser.
        "Are you nuts?" I ask him. Like I'm gonna sit around and chill with them on this night of all nights.
        He sighs mournfully. "I didn't used to be. Then I started hanging with Frase and now I'm just as crazy as he is. True." He pulls out his cell phone, talks rapidly into it for a second. I catch the words "usual." Yeah, I bet every pizza delivery guy in Chicago knows him. He looks over at me. "Whaddayou want on yours, Vecchio?"
        I'm still angry. "Anchovies. Onions. Salami. I'm not staying, Kowalski." But hell, I can't leave either. Leave them alone to . . . oh sweet Mary . . .
        "Anchovies suck." But he orders it. What possessed me? I hate onions. "I'm gonna run to the store for more drinks, Frase, we're outta beer," he says to us, moving to the door, not giving either of us a chance to object. Giving us a few minutes alone. I hate the guy. Hate that I have to be grateful for this. And I hate the 'we' I just heard.
        There is a long, heavy, silence in the room. It's hard to breathe.
        Predictably, Fraser starts by saying he's sorry. I'm still too shaken to answer, trying to assimilate everything - the revelation, the whiskey, Benny getting so angry. How could we be friends for so long and I not know about the temper? Fraser sighs and disappears in the direction of his closet. I sit down on a kitchen chair and look at the floor. Can't think. Can't get my thoughts organised. All I can think of is that he didn't tell me. Fraser comes back in, wearing jeans and a T-shirt now, and silently sits down beside me.
        "When were you planning to tell me, Fraser? Were you planning to tell me?"
        "I don't know, Ray. I think I probably was. It was a dilemma. I didn't want to lose your friendship."
        "So you could tell Maggie and not me?" That hurts almost more than the rest.
        "Ray, she's my sister."
        "I'm your best friend. Hell, I've known you longer than she has."
        "That's true, Ray. But what you thought - think - about this is much more important to me. What you might do about this is very important to me."
        How does he do that? How does he cut right to the heart of the matter and make everything else seem just stupid? So I change the subject. "How long, Fraser?"
        "How long?" He seems startled at this question.
        "How long you and Kowalski been an item?"
        He flushes, looks away. "You know I can't and won't tell you that, Ray."
        "Before Canada?"
        I hear an intake of breath. That would be a yes. At least Kowalski didn't break his promise to me. There wasn't a promise to keep.
        "Before my vacation?"
        "Ray, I don't see that that has any bearing on the matter at hand," he says, trying to steer me away from the question.
        "Damn your Code, Fraser! Before I came back? How long you been lying to me, fooling me?"
        "I never lied to you, Ray," he says indignantly. "You saw what you wanted to see. As everyone does."
        "Fine. I'll ask Kowalski," I say angrily. Fraser says nothing.
        "All this time?"
        "I really can't comment, Ray."
        "You are the most annoying man in the world, you know that?"
        "So I've been given to understand, yes."
        "You guys living together?"
        "Ostensibly, no." He hesitates. "In reality, yes, I think so."
        "You think so? Is that a yes or a no?"
        "It's not . . . we're still adjusting. And I really ought to find a larger place. I'd been thinking about doing that."
        I sigh, angrily. "Fraser, you can't lie with anything resembling competence. How the hell do you think you're gonna be able to hide this?" How did you hide it, so long, from me? How have you changed? How have I changed? How could I not have seen this? Not have seen it coming? How could I not have guessed this about my best friend?
        "Because I have to," he says stubbornly. "I know that what you say about the police department is true and so I must do what I have to in order to make sure Ray doesn't suffer." He adds with a quick almost-grin, "It will be much easier now that you know."
        "Oh, no, no, Fraser, I'm not gonna help you! Don't go there!"
        "Of course not, Ray. I was referring to the fact that possibly I can expect less in the way of oversight from you, now." He tilts his head and smiles tentatively.
        "You got that right!" I say. "Don't wanna walk in on that again. Learn to lock the door, Fraser!"
        We are quiet again. He won't answer the questions I have. I think Kowalski will. Gotta get him alone, off balance. I think of a safe question. "Who else knows?"
        "Maggie. Lieutenant Welsh."
        That throws me. "Oh, shit, Fraser. It's all over. What's the point of all this sneaking around then?"
        "It's quite odd, Ray, and I don't pretend to understand it, but he seems to approve. In fact, he told me that we don't often get a second chance at happiness."
        Goddamn Mountie screws up everyone's frigging brains. I can't believe Welsh is okay with it. But then I reflect that Fraser has long occupied a special place in Welsh's heart. Maybe the son Welsh never had? Who knows? Or maybe it's just those incredible blue eyes. Or that thank you kindly thing. You never know, with Welsh or with Fraser.
        "I will have to tell Inspector Thatcher, of course," Fraser's saying. Oh, that'll be fun. "I don't think she will be quite as kind . . ."
        "I think that's a safe bet, Benny. Why do you have to tell her?"
        He looks at me, shocked. "I'm an officer of the law, Ray. In case . . . in case anything happens."
        "Who's your next of kin now?" Never occurred to me that Fraser would have had to take care of that when I left. Lotta things didn't occur to me then that are occurring to me now.
        "Inspector Thatcher."
        "Oh, Benny."
        He gets defensive, protective. "She is a Mountie, Ray. I knew that she would take care of what had to be done. And Maggie . . .somehow the subject hasn't come up. I suppose it should. Unfortunately I can't name Ray. It would give rise to precisely the sort of speculation I wish to avoid. But Maggie will understand. She will do what is right."
        "Yeah, Benny. And you'll get over this madness."
        His voice is quiet, almost somber. "I hope I never do. And sometimes ..."
        "I felt that way a whole month before I got married, Benny."
        He smiles at that. "At least that's something I needn't worry about."
        I shake my head again. I'm floored. I say that out loud. "I'm floored, Benny. I never dreamed . . . and you seem so okay with this. How could I not know this? I thought I knew everything about you. Almost."
        "I didn't know it either," he says quietly. "Perhaps something in my subconscious mind reacted to Victoria, eventually."
        That's a point. Much as I hate Kowalski I can't see him doing anything to Fraser like she did. Hell, you only have to look at his face to know what he's thinking.
        "And Ray is . . ." His voice trails off, a small smile on his face, a faraway look in his eyes. He comes back to himself, clears his throat. "My feelings took me by surprise, rather."
        He looks warm, tender, for a minute, and then catches my eyes again and I can see the sadness flow back into him.
        And before I know what I'm doing, I give him a hug. I hear him sigh and relax into it. He's not touchy-feely but he knows after all this time what Italians are like. And it takes me a minute to think that I shouldn't, now that I know. He feels me tense and instantly draws back, unsuccessfully hiding the hurt in his eyes.
        "No, Benny. My bad." And I grab him and hug him, fiercely. "Nothin's changed. Right?"
        "As you say, Ray, nothing's changed. Thank you."
        The awkward silence, the silence that shouldn't be awkward after the assurances we have just exchanged, is broken by a sharp knock on the door. Trust Kowalski to leave me to pick up the pizza tab. Benny's reaching for his Stetson. Amazingly, he has an American twenty, which he hands to me as I pull out my wallet.
        "Guess Kowalski's been a good influence on you. No purple money, Benny?"
        "Our twenties are green too, Ray. Only the tens are purple." He's back to teasing me. Maybe nothing really has changed, between us, anyhow.
        Kowalski comes in with a couple of six packs, milk, orange juice, eggs, and the mineral water Fraser likes while we're paying for the pizza. He drops it all on the floor to dig into his pocket and I say, "No, Kowalski, we got it."
        "Thanks," he grunts, embarrassed. "There was a line."
        Benny is patiently picking up the dropped groceries and putting them away as Kowalski takes the pizzas to the counter and starts getting plates and napkins. I open a couple of beers. Know Fraser won't drink one. And sure enough, he pours himself a glass of milk.
        "You still haven't convinced him we drink beer with pizza?" I say to Kowalski. He looks wary but answers in a friendly tone.
        "You know how stubborn that Mountie can be," he says, shrugging.
        And I realise that I am hungrier than I thought. We talk about the 27^th through pizza, and I can pretend nothing's changed, even feeding Dief under the table with Benny pretending not to notice, until I see Benny absentmindedly run his fingers along the nape of Kowalski's neck as he gets up to refill his glass, and see Kowalski's eyes get dark, heavy lidded, as he turns to look at Benny. I want to leave. I want to stay so they can't do what they're gonna do. And the pizza roils in my stomach. I mutter something about the john and take off down the hall. I hear Benny sigh as I go. My anger is returning and I don't want it to come back. I just want none of this to have happened and I want to not know any more. Benny was right not to tell me. Hard to get my head around the thought of Benny with a guy . . . in bed naked with a guy. Oh, God. And my stomach gives up the struggle and I puke my dinner right back up. Knew I shouldn't have gotten onions.
        As I'm rinsing out my mouth there's a knock at the door. "Are you all right, Ray?"
        Yeah, Benny. "Fine, Benny."
        I can't look at him as I brush past him in the hall. Can't think about him, about them. "I gotta go. Kowalski. Walk me to my car."
        "Ray, I don't think - " Benny begins.
        "S' okay, Fraser," Kowalski says. And swings into step behind me as we leave. I wait until we're out of the building. Benny has ears like a bat's.
        We face each other at the Riv. He's tense, waiting for a fight, I know.
        "I can only ask you one more time to leave him alone, let him get over this," I say.
        "That would hurt him," Kowalski says. "And I can't. I promised him." His voice is uncompromising.
        "I do *not* wanna hear crap like that, Stanley!"
        Fighting words. His eyes darken again, in anger now.
        "You need to think about the future, Kowalski. You're a better liar than Benny but you're a lot worse at hiding your emotions. There is no future in this relationship. Why can't you see that? Your career, his, down the toilet, all for something you can get from a twenty dollar hooker?"
        He breaks into a wide, teasing grin. "I don't go for the cheap ones, myself."
        I wanna punch that grin off his face but I can't. Benny would be too upset. My stomach roils again. He sobers abruptly.
        "Vecchio, Jesus, I can't stand this, but I know how you're feeling. How I felt, when I figured out how I felt about him, well, for about two seconds, anyhow."
        "I do not want your sympathy! I want you to leave Benny alone, let him get over it himself. He will."
        Kowalski cocks his head at me. "You think? After Victoria? After you left without even a goodbye?"
        "Oh, do not even try to pin this on me," I snarl. "Benny and I have settled that."
        "Yeah, but that doesn't mean it didn't hurt him," Kowalski says angrily. "I was here, after you left. You weren't. You got no clue what he might've been feeling. And I've hurt him enough. He wants to risk this, I'm okay with that. More than okay. I don't care about my damn career. I don't care about anything but him. Go to Canada with him. So he has a crazy American guy who loves the Northwest Territories with him. It'll be easier than it will here, at least."
        "Don't take Benny away!" I don't even know what I've said until I hear myself saying it. I sound pathetic. He sounds, and looks, puzzled.
        "I'm not. It's just that we have thought about the future, you know. A little. Not enough." His voice softens. "And he belongs there. He does."
        Yeah, I know that. But I panic at the thought of life in Chicago without that insane Mountie to rescue.
        "I think I hate you," I say in a low voice. He just nods.
        "Yeah." He's not surprised.
        I get into the Riv and slam the door as hard as I can before I peel away in a cloud of smoke and rubber, taking it out on the Riv. I can't go home. I call Ma on my cell phone. "Stakeout. Gonna be really, really late."
        She knows somethin's wrong but there's no way I can tell her what the real problem is.
        
You, I thought I knew you
You I cannot judge
You, I thought you knew me,
this one laughing quietly underneath my breath.
        "Nightswimming," Automatic for the People, R.E.M.
        
        
        I hear Ray coming back. His step doesn't sound particularly happy but I expected that. I didn't expect the look on his face when he comes into the apartment. More than miserable. Almost hopeless.
        "Ray?"
        "I'm sorry, Ben. I let you down. I fell for the oldest trick in the book."
        "I fell for it too, Ray."
        "Maybe if you'd seen them or talked to them you'd have picked it up. I didn't."
        "I wouldn't have, either, Ray."
        He walks over to sit on the bed, where he slumps, dejected, his head in his hands.
        I finish putting the leftover pizza away, trying to think of the right words. "You know that he wouldn't have given up until he found out, Ray. He's a tenacious person. This is really my fault. I should have bitten the bullet, so to speak, and told him much, much earlier."
        "God damn it, Ben!" He's on his feet in a flash, roaring. "I am not doin' this again! My fault, your fault, always your fault, always your guilt, your responsibility! I am so tired of this! We never seem to get past this! It was not your fuckin' fault this time! Why can't you just believe me when I say that? Why do we have to do this every damn time?"
        No matter what he tells me about how his shouting is just a part of him, when faced with it a part of me retreats in misery, into a shriveled shell where I can not think, not feel. He sees this in my face and it makes him angrier.
        "Talk to me, Fraser! Don't do that!"
        I can't. I can't talk the way he does. Emotions are almost always too dangerous to be loosed, in my experience. Control is desirable, is essential, is all I can cling to now, in the face of his anger. And he is wrong, this time. This was entirely my fault. But I can't say that because he will become even angrier.
        "You can lose your temper with Vecchio and not me? Howcome, Fraser?"
        "Until recently I've never lost my temper," I say quietly. "So I don't know why, Ray."
        This does not placate him. "This is not rocket science, Fraser! There is no reason for you, and Vecchio, and every other person on this earth, to make this so complicated!"
        "That is the reality," I say steadily. "That's what we have to live with." He is very pragmatic, normally. Surely he will understand that.
        "Reality sucks, Fraser." He paces a moment, then bursts forth again. "And so does you apologising for everything!"
        I'm sorry would not be appropriate right now but it's all I can think of to say. So I say nothing.
        He looks me up and down, swears under his breath, and goes to get his leather jacket. Oh, God. Please, Ray. But I can't say it. Won't say it. He has to do what he has to do.
        "Fraser, I need a walk. Alone."
        "Understood, Ray. Please take Diefenbaker."
        "I'm packin', Fraser, jeez." Unexpectedly he smiles.
        "Please," I say again.
        "He'll only save my life if he sees me, you know."
        "I know. Please."
        "Damn you, Fraser. Come on, Dief."
        
        ~~~
        
        Hanging with the Mountie has given me a taste for the outdoors, if you can call central Chicago that. Dief and I walk for blocks and blocks. Somehow we end up at the lake. Dief knows the way home from here.
        My brain is going in endless circles. I can't see a way out of this, a way past Fraser's all-consuming guilt and responsibility. He ought to be happy tonight. Vecchio didn't leave him again, didn't want to destroy their friendship. I ought to be happy. But it all boils down to trust. I think. Fraser can't trust me not to leave him. Can't trust our happiness. Can't trust that he's not to blame for everything. And I don't blame him for thinking I might leave him. But it's something he has to get past. I can't get past it for him. It's my fault -- I correct myself sternly. It's not my fault. But it is because of how I jumped to conclusions when he got sent to Toronto after those few days, those few incredible days.
         And words are just words. But I think . . . I think no one has ever said the words to Ben that I say, and because of that he can't, won't, risk trusting wholeheartedly. He maybe doesn't believe those words, on some level. He an' I, two of a kind, can't understand what each of us sees in the other, how each of us feels about the other, why someone like Ben can love someone like me. And incredibly Ben wonders why someone like me - he thinks I'm wonderful, I know he does, he even calls me beautiful, that big dumb Mountie - would want someone like him. When he only has to look in the mirror, look at his kind, gentle soul shining out of those unstoppable eyes, to know that. But I can't tell him that. He has to see that. I can't make him see it. I mean, I can tell him that and I do, but telling doesn't make it so, not with Ben. He has to experience it, and how do you experience something you can't touch, feel, lick?
        Dief whimpers at me and I realise I've been staring out over the water for a long, long time. "No swimming, Dief. Not without Fraser."
        How else can I show Ben? How do I fix it, fix his past so that he and I can have a future? Can I fix it? But he's gotta fix himself. I know that. But maybe Ben doesn't know what's broken. How can he fix it? And do I wanna change part of Ben? The part that gets him involved in other people's problems is part of the whole responsibility thing he does. He just takes it too far. Way too far. He shoulders all the guilt, all the responsibility, for everyone he comes in contact with.
        Dief barks at me. We gotta start back. But I walk slow, my feet dragging. I think I know part of the problem but I'm a long way towards coming up with a solution, or even starting to, and I don't know what to say to Ben, how to talk to him, how to tell him what I've figured out.
        I get back, all tense and starting to get angry again, 'cause after all angry is what I do best, and Fraser's gone. That floors me. Scares me to death, for just a minute. Get my head together. I needed a walk. Hell, Fraser must have needed a run. A sled dog run, if I know him. Or maybe he just couldn't face me. It was my screw up, this time, my fault Vecchio found out. Wanted to be with Ben, so bad, didn't think past it. Don't want to think that. Hope Ben isn't. But he should be. Oughtta turn in the badge.
        Then think part of me is glad Vecchio finally knows. And didn't completely dump Ben, didn't run out on him. Now at least he'll leave us alone sometimes. Fraser's right so often I sometimes forget that once in a while he's wrong. Maybe he was wrong about the whole Vecchio thing. He was certain that Vecchio would never accept us, never accept Ben for what he is, that I just bought into it. Should've questioned it. Vecchio gets on my last nerve, but he and Ben are good friends. Been good friends for a long time. Best friends, before Vecchio went away. If Vecchio is a good enough person to be friends with Ben, he's a good enough person to at least hear Ben out.
        I sink down to the bedroll. Can't look at the bed. Can't think about that. The bed represents too much happiness right now. Too much holding, too much talking, too many memories. The bedroll's where we talked out stuff. Stuff that needed to be said.
        I took this all wrong. Shoulda just told Ben, at the cabin, that Vecchio needed to know. That knowing was better than finding out. Let Ben lead me around by the nose too much. Sometimes I gotta trust my instincts and my instincts told me a long time ago that Vecchio cares about Ben. He was really worried, when he found out how I felt about Ben. Not about me, of course. Why should he be? But wanted Ben to be happy. And it's not his fault that Ben's happiness is a little different than other people's. Hell, he shouldn't be surprised at that. But I think Vecchio's pretty conventional. More conventional than me, that's for sure. Considering all that, he took it pretty well and even though he was mad he was still worried about Fraser. Still trying to show him that it was a mistake and without picking on me, either, which woulda been real easy to do, considering I'm the biggest screw up of all time. Know I'm no prize. Stella knew too. Vecchio knows. Fraser's the only one who doesn't. And I need him here, now, to help me feel what only he can make me feel about myself.
        I stare at the bedroll until I feel my eyes get heavy and give up to the inevitable and lay down, to sleep. Funny what a difference more 'n a year makes. Now I find the damn thing almost comfortable. Dief whines quietly and then comes over to lie beside me. It feels good. Not as good as Ben, a' course. But at least he's something tangible to touch.
        And I try not to worry about where Fraser is, and where we are again.
        
        
I'm coming to find you if it takes me all night
your trust
the most gorgeously stupid thing I ever cut in the world
        "A Night Like This," Head on the Door, The Cure
        
        I don't want to think, as I walk rapidly, from place to place, searching for Ray Vecchio. I have no choice. There is nothing like solitary exercise in darkness for making a man look at himself, inside himself, and there is nowhere to hide, even in the darkness, from the truth about oneself, no matter how ugly that truth is.
        I have gone to his house already. I did not think he would be there, although I hoped that he would be. Now I am making the rounds of his favourite haunts: bars and restaurants I know he patronises, places where he has uncomplicated, undemanding relationships. Where he has friends who do not hurt him as I do. Where friends have normal expectations that do not include wolf hair, ruined suits, and an acceptance of a homosexual relationship with his partner. I need to tell him that I know this. That despite what Ray Kowalski thinks, it is indeed my fault. I know that Ray thinks it is his fault because he believed the story of the fictitious stakeout. What he does not realise is that this would not have been an issue at all if I had the courage of my convictions, if I had the trust in my friendships that I claim to have, to need, to want.
        It would have been extremely difficult to have told him about me. About us. However, after we consciously decided to embark on a policy of subterfuge, it would have been difficult but not impossible to have told him. I should have done so. It would have saved us all endless frustration. I should have known that our friendship has survived serious problems before and trusted to it, and to him, to survive this too. And I don't know why I didn't.
        On the surface we have slipped back into our old relationship. There is some tension, some things I know he has not told me about his time undercover, but we work together and talk together as we have always done. Almost. I am aware, now that I think, of a restraint. A restraint I am just now conscious of, on my part. My mind worries that problem for a moment. Why do I feel a restraint? Surely it should be Ray who feels that. After all, he is the one who left.
        I slow to a walk as that thought sinks in and is then succeeded by another. I come to a full stop as the implications of the second thought hit me. I thought I had forgiven Ray Vecchio for leaving. I did not. Oh, I understood why he had to leave, and why it was secret, and what he had to do. I understand duty. But I thought our friendship meant more to him than one cryptic phone call and a postcard. And for the first time in over a year I think about that, consciously. I feel pain, anger, and resentment. And I realise that those feelings are irrational, indeed, illogical. I understand duty. But perhaps I don't understand friendship. Perhaps my feelings about that have coloured my actions towards Ray Vecchio.
        I do not want to admit this to myself. As soon as I think it, however, I know I am right, and I am filled with such a sense of self-disgust that it is perhaps fortunate that the streets are deserted and there are no cars for me to hurl myself in front of. I have been punishing Ray Vecchio for having done what was, after all, his duty. Perhaps I have even, subconsciously, set up this conflict to hurt him. Perhaps Ray Kowalski is nothing more than a means to this end. I shake my head at that thought. Whatever else I do not know about myself, I know that my love for Ray is real. I am guilty of nothing more, or less, than using that love to punish another friend for something that he had no control over. The self-disgust overwhelms me again, and I must stop and think, consciously, about where I am going, where I am looking next for Ray Vecchio.
        Now I am not sure if I want to find him. I am not sure if forgiveness, if friendship, even begins to encompass what I have done to him. If I were in his shoes, I would probably be quite happy to see the last of me. With Victoria I at least never questioned Ray's friendship, the depth of his commitment to me. This time I have questioned it all, I have put nothing less at risk than his soul, and my own. And this because I, a Mountie, Robert Fraser's son, cannot comprehend something as simple as duty. My feet move of their own volition and I am hardly conscious of where they take me, in endless circles through the streets of the city, as I attempt to cope with my epiphany. And I am dimly aware of walking for hours before the thought of home crosses my brain. The thought of blue eyes and a quick smile and long, slender hands moving as he talks . . .I need to go home . . .because Ray is the only thing left in my reality right now that is solid, immoveable, that I can depend on, that hasn't changed.

        You're the one I like best
You retain my interest
You're the only one . . .
If it wasn't for you
Don't know what I'd do
Unpredictable like the sun
And the rainfall . . .
        Things must change
We must rearrange them
Or we'll have to estrange them
All that I'm saying
The game's not worth playing
Over and over again
        "The Sun & the Rainfall," Broken Frame, Depeche Mode
        
        
        When I returned home this morning, Ray was sleeping on my bedroll. This does not bode well. I try to push away the despair: the despair at not finding Ray Vecchio, the despair of my self-realisation, the despair at not being here for Ray Kowalski. We needed to talk. Why did he stay? Why didn't he just go home? And in my mind I hear an echo of his voice saying, "Yeah, home." Dief looks up at me from beside him and his tail thumps on the floor but he doesn't get up. Ray has one arm draped over him and as I watch him he turns into Dief's back and murmurs something, something that brings a smile to his face. That smile makes me feel marginally better. He is so rumpled and adorable I want to hold him and look at him forever. He's up to two or three days of stubble now since he keeps forgetting his razor and claims mine is much too scary to use and anyway too sharp for his needs, and heaven help me I find even the stubble erotic and lovable. I sit down on the bed and watch him, my chin in my hands. What is it about Ray that makes me feel complete? Surely that can be analysed.
        "No, it can't, son."
        I lift my head from my hands and look over. This is all I need, today. "Hello, Dad. What can't?"
        "You can't analyse love."
        "Please stay out of my thoughts, Dad."
        "Benton, it's not my fault you're broadcasting them to the world. You can't analyse love," he repeats.
        "You said that."
        "You have to accept it. It's a gift. You have to accept it just like a birthday present."
        "All I ever got were books," I say before I can stop myself.
        "Nothing wrong with that," Dad says. "You love 'em, don't you?"
        "Yes, I do."
        "Except the one you fed to the walrus. Are you sure you're not feeding the Yank to the walrus, son?"
        What on earth? "How do you mean, Dad?"
        "You know what I mean, Benton. And if you don't it's up to you to figure it out."
        "I simply can't imagine how I managed to function in this world for thirty-some odd years without this sort of valuable advice, Dad."
        "Nor can I, Benton." As always the sarcasm goes unnoticed or at any rate unremarked.
        "Walruses. The only piece of advice you ever gave me that I found somewhat useful was to never follow someone off a cliff."
        "Ah, yes, I'd forgotten that. Good advice, that. Works, too, doesn't it? Well, add to that this bit of advice, son: don't feed your presents to walruses."
        I fall back on the bed and close my eyes in exasperation. When I open them, he's gone.
        "Walruses, Frase?" Ray says from the floor, in his just-another-day-of-Mountie-weirdness tone. "Are you talking about walruses?"
        I sit back up to look at him. "And shoes, and ships, and sealing wax, and cabbages, and kings," I say before I can stop myself. He grins at that.
        "Yeah, that was a trippy book. And why the sea is boiling hot, and whether pigs have wings." As always I am amazed at the things Ray knows. "Wonder what he was on, man." He shakes his head.
        I debate whether to present the current theories and in the end choose simply to smile at Ray and say, "No one is sure."
        He stretches and Dief finally gets up, stretching too, and makes his way to his water dish.
        "What are you doing down there, Ray?"
        "What're you doing up there, Mountie?"
        "I'm debating whether to start breakfast or get a shower," I say in my most innocent voice.
        Ray reaches down and unfastens his jeans. "I'm debating whether . . ." and slides his fingers beneath the waistband, his eyes half closing as his hands move beneath the fabric and I know that he has nothing on beneath and I catch my breath as my heart begins to pound, " . . .to take my jeans off or leave 'em on."
        I'm not able to resist that and I have joined him almost before his mouth closes after speaking, in time to open it to my own with my tongue. Yes, we do far too much of this, but it is one way for me to show the feelings that are so hard for me to voice. And one way to overcome the distance put between us yesterday and last night. And one way to reassure myself that I am not completely terrible, one way to know that someone loves me. We kiss for a few minutes, learning the taste of each other all over again, and soon he says breathlessly, "As usual, Fraser, you got too many clothes on."
        "You do too," I point out, but he makes quick work of his T-shirt. My hiking boots take longer and he is up and moving around the apartment and then is already out of his jeans by the time I've finished with them.
        "And guess what," he growls at me as he kneels back down beside me, "I locked the damn door." And continues pulling my jeans and boxers off and with hardly a pause takes me in his mouth. He is always eager, always restless, but today he is impatient too.
        "Ray, no!" I gasp. Walruses thunder through my head, and helplessly I close my eyes, surrendering to the sensation of his tongue, his hands, his teeth on me. He pulls my foreskin back all the way so he can lick around it, and I am fast losing all capacity for thought. "Ray, please! Let me - "
        "Fraser?"
        "Yes, Ray?"
        "You know what I'm gonna say."
        "Right you are, Ray."
        And his mouth returns to its incredible, wonderful, hot, wet business, sucking my testicles one by one into his mouth and then the rest of me again, and I feel a slick finger penetrate me and then I feel nothing but the pulsing rush as I surge into his mouth, moaning in concert with the spasms.
        After a few moments he crawls up and drapes himself over me to kiss me, deeply, lingeringly. "Making you . . . watching you come is such a rush, Ben." I push my hips up against his hardness and he gasps, and then finds a rhythm. There is nothing like making love face to face like this and as I kiss him I send one hand down to give him more friction and with the other caress his buttocks, and then the cleft between them, and he moans, moving into my hand. But it's not enough. Not this time. I want to make him come with my mouth too and although he tries to stop me from moving down his body soon I have overcome his objections and I have him, all of him, in my mouth, as his hands move in an unconscious rhythm on my head and he tenses, mutters, "Christ, Ben," and fills my mouth with him in an unholy yell. I must admit to myself that, as he said in conjunction with his own feelings in the matter, watching him is extremely satisfying.
        He sighs happily as I pull myself up and then pull him into my arms, and we kiss again, passions momentarily spent, and then hold each other, enjoying the silence. Sometimes words are unnecessary. Which is why I mentally reprimand myself, a few moments later, for breaking it.
        "Ray."
        "Mmmm, Frase."
        "The bedroll?"
        And feel him tense, withdraw from me emotionally, almost as if walls go up. "You sleep on the bedroll all the time, Frase. So what?"
        With you, I think, but I don't say it. "Ray, I wanted to talk to you last night. I wish I had waited for you. I was trying to find Ray Vecchio. I should have waited for you."
        "Doesn't matter, Fraser." Not Frase. Not Ben. "I probably would've started yelling again."
        "That's expected, Ray," I say, trying to tease him.
        He doesn't respond positively. "Yeah, I know." Quietly, almost sadly. He rolls over, his back to me. Hesitantly I reach out to stroke his back, smooth the tenseness of his muscles. He lets me, or rather, he doesn't protest.
        "We're kinda stuck, Fraser. We keep doing the same stuff over and over. The words get said, over and over, and nothing changes. Things gotta change, Fraser. Things gotta change for us to be happy."
        The last part of his statement lightens my heart, so instantly weighted by his words.
        "Words?"
        He rolls back over, looks me in the eye. "Words, Benton Fraser. Words like 'I love you.' Words like 'for keeps.' Words like 'it's not your fault.'" He takes a deep breath, steadying himself. "I'll say those words forever, Ben, but it's not gonna do much good if you won't listen. Won't believe. I can't make you believe 'em. You gotta believe 'em. You gotta do more than want to believe 'em."
        "Ray, I can't believe that you think I don't think that you love me!"
        He closes his eyes. Mustering patience. "No caffeine yet, Frase. I gotta hear English, 'kay?"
        "Ray, I know that you love me. I have no doubts."
        "Can't have love without trust, Fraser."
        The idea that I don't trust him is so appallingly inaccurate that I feel my mouth open in protest and remain so.
        "Trust, Fraser. Trust me, when I say something's not your fault. You got a weird way of lookin' at the world, Fraser, and I like it. Sometimes. 'Cept maybe when you talk to the wolf in public. But the weirdest thing you do is convincing yourself that everything is your fault. Everything. Someone's dog gets run over, it's somehow your fault 'cause you weren't there to rescue it, I guess. And know what, Fraser? Shit happens. That's life. You gotta be smart enough to know, inside, that that's true.
        "I can carry you, Fraser. I can do it. But I don't see the point, if your never gonna let yourself be happy. Really happy, not we-just-had-great-sex happy. You think maybe you don't deserve it. Don't know why you think that. You gotta know you're one of the world's most beautiful people, inside and out, Ben." His voice is getting huskier, as if he is fighting tears.
        "But just remember, Fraser, that if you really think that I love you, then you want me to be happy. And then ask yourself how I can be happy if you're not. You deserve it. I deserve it. Right now, we deserve it. Not tomorrow, not next week when there are no dogs to rescue. You said to Vecchio we're not hurtin' anyone. Except ourselves, Ben." And his voice breaks at that and he rolls onto his stomach to bury his face in the bedroll.
        Diefenbaker, sitting by the door, whines. I reach out to touch Ray but he flinches away. That hurts more than all the rest.
        "No, Fraser," he says, his voice muffled by the bedroll and, perhaps, incipient tears. "Go walk your wolf."
        And this seems to sum up the dilemma that is my life, torn between duty and love, so tidily that I burst into laughter, tinged with an hysteria I can hear. And I laugh, and continue to do so, and realise I cannot stop, and very soon I am crying. I hear Ray, faintly, as if from a distance, saying my name, over and over, softly at first, then more urgently. Then silence, and then, cold water over my body, bringing me back into myself with a shocked gasp.
        I shake the water from my head and stare at Ray. He is pulling on his jeans. Leaving, again.
        "I'll walk Dief, Fraser. You get a shower."
        "No, Ray." Relief. Deep breath. "He's my responsibility."
        "Yeah, Ben. And mine." And I can hear an unspoken thought. If he can't tell me, he can show me. Show me what we mean to each other, what our relationship means to him, what it should mean to me.

        ~~~~

        I'm going out the door to Fraser's apartment and Dief is bounding happily along up the sidewalk when I see Vecchio pull up, get out. He looks like hell. Looks like he spent the night in his car. Eyes red, unshaven, suit rumpled, far cry from his usual slick appearance. He looks right through me as he walks across the sidewalk.
        "Hey," I say. "Fraser's in the shower. Wanna walk Dief with me?" Dief is back at my side, staring at Vecchio unblinkingly.
        "Kiss my ass, Kowalski. Oh, I'm sorry, you'd probably enjoy that."
        God damn. Got some attitude, plus, this morning. I back up, block the doorway, stare him down.
        "Fraser could use some downtime right now, Vecchio."
        "You are not gonna get all possessive on me, are you, Stanley?"
        Shit. The damn ego in the way. And hell, it's none of his business so no reason I have to explain to him. I shrug, step aside. "Just warning you." Shit. Wanted Fraser to have time to think. Hope it might sink in, maybe, if he has time to digest it.
        "What, you have a spat?" He's sneering at me. At us. Wanna wipe that grin off his face. Fraser wouldn't like it. Can't. And know Vecchio wants me to try, wants more excuses to hate me.
        "You wanna go a couple rounds with me? In the park? 'Cause Dief's bladder's bursting," I say. Don't wanna fight him . . . well, yeah, I do. And try not to feel sorry for him. Doesn't look like he's come to terms with any of this yet.
        He hesitates and then scowls harder. "Nice try, Kowalski."
        It's the hardest thing I've ever done, to turn and walk away, take Dief to the park. Harder even than facing Fraser that day at the Consulate.

        ~~~

        Fraser's in the shower, sure enough, but the door's unlocked. I see the rumpled bed, the rumpled bedroll, and the puddle of water in the middle of it, and think that at least they didn't sleep together last night and wonder what's up with the water. But maybe they don't sleep together. Hell, what do I know about two guys? And Fraser's sure not gonna be the cuddly type, not Mr. I'm In Control. And repress a shudder at the doors that line of thinking begins to open. I bang on Fraser's bathroom door. "It's me, Fraser."
        I hear the water stop. "Hello, Ray," he calls back. He sounds tired. I hope they stayed up all night and decided to end this. But that didn't seem to be what was bugging Kowalski. And wonder what I'm doing back here. And hope Kowalski gets run over by a street cleaner on his way back from the park.
        Fraser comes out in a few minutes, a towel around his waist, and disappears into his closet. "Make yourself some coffee, Ray," he says on his way. So I head into the kitchen. Fraser's got a coffee maker now. It doesn't look new. Probably Kowalski's. Thanks, but no thanks, Fraser. I get a glass of orange juice instead, and pour one for Fraser too, and sit down at the kitchen table.
        He comes out wearing a clean pair of jeans and one of his ubiquitous henleys, sleeves rolled up neatly instead of pushed up. He says, "Thank you," in a tone of mild surprise when he sees the glass of orange juice. He looks pretty bad. Unshaven, dark circles under his eyes, a haunted look in them, and I know I'm right, there's some contention going on here. Over what, I don't know. I hope over the future. Hope one of 'em, which is to say, Fraser, is being practical, finally. He heads to the coffee maker and puts a pot on, gets a mug out and then some of those Canadian M & Ms. For Kowalski. Christ. Then he sits down, looks at me curiously, takes a drink of his orange juice.
        "Kowalski said you needed some time alone."
        "He's undoubtedly right. "
        Not what I expected to hear. Fraser's skirting the boundary of polite, here. And he continues, "But I'm glad you came back today. I'm glad we can talk. I have been thinking. And I still have some thinking to do."
        "Damn right!"
        He looks at me again, frowning, as if he's not quite sure who I am and what I'm doing here and then his face clears. "I'm sorry, Ray, but not about that. Something else entirely, I'm afraid."
        Hate this, just hate this. Fraser's here but he's not. He's thinking so hard about something else and I have no clue and everything has changed because he cannot be sitting here thinking about Kowalski and a future and their fight and my stomach turns over and I take a couple of breaths to steady myself.
        Fraser's still talking. "Although, of course I realise from your point of view your solution is ideal but it's not taking reality into account, Ray. One can't turn one's feelings off and on as if they are water on tap."
        "You can choose whether to act on those feelings," I say. "You're the last person I would expect to whine about how he can't help his feelings."
        "I can't help them," Fraser points out. "If I could, I would be in a different place entirely. And yes, I did choose to act upon them. But I maintain that no one is being harmed by that action so there is no moral reason not to have done so."
        "Let's not even bring up morality," I say sarcastically. It goes over his head, as usual.
        "Ray, you know I'm not Catholic."
        "Well, you should be," I snap. "Kowalski probably is."
        He raises an eyebrow at that. "Is he? I suppose he's not practicing, then."
        "Well, obviously!"
        "A moral code is no less ethical if it is imposed from within, Ray."
        "Well, those kinds of moral codes can be a little flexible."
        He sighs. "Perhaps, from your point of view, that is true. However, I had thought my own moral code to be sufficiently, indeed, peculiarly, rigid, by your standards."
        "In some ways, Benny. Evidently not in other ways."
        "Ray, all dogma aside, there is nothing intrinsically wrong with two men being intimate." And incredibly the damn Mountie blushes as he says this. How can he?
        "Well, Fraser, the dogma is hard to get past for me."
        "I can see that it might be."
        He falls silent and I feel him go away from me again. His conversation is almost half-hearted, as if his energy is elsewhere.
        Without thinking I open my mouth and voice the real problem. "I thought I knew you."
        That brings him back for a moment. He looks at me, a frown between his eyes. "Ray, what has changed about me since yesterday? Am I still the most annoying man in the world? Do I still irk you with my tendencies to overanalyse situations and people? To use logic? I have not changed. I am who I have always been."
        "You're sleeping with a guy," I say abruptly. "That's a hard one to get over."
        He sighs. "I haven't changed, though. I have been doing so for months, Ray, and I am still the same person I was. Just as you are, although you spent a year as Armando Langoustini. You do know me, Ray. You just didn't know everything. One small part of the whole that is me."
        "Fraser, it's that small part that I can't get my mind around. I mean, it literally makes me sick. How can you kiss a guy? Do more than that? I'm sorry, but that's just unnatural. Wrong. And furthermore, it doesn't make biological sense."
        He considers that for a moment. "That may be true, but there may be a biological aspect. Interesting point, Ray."
        "This is not a subject for a term paper, Benny, this is your life!"
        Unbelievably he smiles at that.
        "Fraser, help me understand. I went and lit a candle for you."
        "Really?" He sounds surprised.
        "I didn't know what else to do."
        "Ray." He pauses, as if he is recalling himself from somewhere else, as if he must gather energy to think, to talk to me. "I realise this is a big problem for you. I thought . . . I knew it would be. But it isn't my problem. You know my side. I know yours. We discussed friendship yesterday, Ray. A friend would accept that I know my own mind and am capable of making decisions such as whom to love."
        "Yeah, you got a real good track record, Benny."
        He winces at that, remembered pain from Victoria in his eyes, and something more recent as well. He and Kowalski definitely got issues. "Ray," he says quietly, firmly, "I know that I hurt you unbearably over Victoria. And I have told you since then that not only did I deserve what happened, but that I was glad that it happened. However. This relationship cannot hurt you or your family. Please give me the courtesy of assuming that I can learn from my mistakes."
        "Yeah, I can see that. Oh, yeah, Fraser. Instead of settling down with a nice girl you light on a cop. A guy cop. A guy cop who looks like he shops at the Salvation Army."
        "And Army Surplus," Fraser says almost absentmindedly. Why am I not surprised?
        "Fraser. I'm not trying to hurt you on purpose. I just literally can't understand it. How you can want a guy, wanna kiss a guy. I just can't."
        "I'm sorry, Ray." And he looks down into his empty glass. He doesn't sound sorry. He sounds tired and even a little frustrated, but too polite, as usual, to say what he really thinks. But then he looks at me again, and he looks sorry. And he says it again. "I am sorry, Ray. I'm not sorry for my feelings for Ray Kowalski. They are right, and they are right for me. But I am sorry for everything else. I should have told you the truth from the first. I have misled you, Ray. And I have not trusted you. And I have forfeited your trust."
        "No, Benny, never that."
        "Yes, Ray." He hesitates, and then swallows hard. "I am not a nice person."
        Oooohkay, Fraser's obviously had a couple of drinks this morning. Stiff ones. Or he ate funny mushrooms on that pizza last night. "Benny, you're one of the nicest people I know."
        He shakes his head. "No, Ray. Inside I have thoughts that are not nice."
        "Really? Go figure. Don't know anyone that that happens to."
        "Ray."
        He's serious.
        "It is entirely possible that I have been punishing you for having left. I had a lot of time to think, last night. I understand intellectually how you made your decision, how little time you had, how secrecy was essential. However, it is not, and has not been, easy to convince my heart of those factors."
        He sighs. After a moment he picks up the thread again. "I thought I forgave you. I thought we were friends again. Now, however, as I review my past actions, I see evidence of hostility and distrust on my part. I can't make that up to you. All I can do is to try to be more aware of my own motivations in future."
        I'm starting to get steamed at him. Maybe at myself. Because I've got my own guilt about the whole thing and I don't need to know that he's feelin' guilty because of me, don't need to be reminded that it's partly my fault that Fraser felt he couldn't trust me with his secret. But getting mad isn't going to help.
        "Look, Fraser, can't we just both say we're sorry and move on? I didn't think about a lot of things I should have, when I took that assignment. You didn't think about a lot of things you should have when you got cozy with Kowalski and didn't tell me. I mean, I wouldn't have liked the situation anyhow. But I would like to have been told, that's all. And you know what? I bet you would have liked to have been told that I was leaving and why, by me, before you got back to Chicago and found me gone. Let's erase it all, Benny."
        "But we can't erase the hurt. We can't pretend it doesn't exist, or we will repeat it."
        "Can we forgive each other then, Benny? I mean, really? No more of this whaddayou call it hostility and distrust? From me and from you? Even Steven?"
        Finally a smile, so much better than the almost-tears in his eyes, the almost defeated look on his face.
        "Forgiveness is something I never expected, Ray."
        "You have to forgive me too or this won't work, Benny."
        "There's nothing - "
        I cut him off. Been through this crap, before, with Benny, and I'm willing to bet Kowalski has too. "Both of us, Benny. No passes on this. I know I hurt you. So stop pretending I didn't just because you think it was my duty to go and your hurt doesn't matter." He swallows hard but says nothing. "Come on, Benny. Forgive me. And then forgive yourself." My voice is quiet, getting quieter.
        And he whispers, "I can't. I think, Ray, that you have to like someone to forgive him. And I don't like myself, Ray."
        I am not gonna start crying in Fraser's kitchen. "Well, tough, Benny. I like you. Kowalski likes you. Hell, most of Chicago likes you. So don't expect me to buy this awful person crap. We all got thoughts, actions, things about ourselves we don't like. But you blow those up out of all proportion to the person you really are, to the person we can all see and love even if you can't." Hell, did I just use the words we and love? In the same sentence? "If you met yourself on the street, you'd feel the same way about you that I do."
        He stares at me, a little dazed. "Ray, I don't . . ."
        "So what's it gonna be? You can't say nothing's changed between us if we don't forgive each other. And you already said nothing's changed. So you have to forgive us both, just like me, or you were lying, and I know you don't do that."
        "Do you forgive me, Ray?" Quiet words, almost desperate, from the heart. He's giving me the big eyed Mountie look plus ten. I will not cry in Fraser's kitchen.
        "Didn't I just say that?" My voice is rough. "Yes, Benny. I forgive you. I understand why you had trouble telling me. And I forgive me for leaving you without a word. The words were too hard to say, so I just didn't say them."
        "The words were too hard to say . . ." he echoes. "Yes. Yes, Ray, they were."
        "Okay, now the next part, Benny."
        Suddenly he ducks his head down, swiping at his eyes with his fingertips. His other hand clenches into a fist on the table. I cover it with my own without even thinking. "This is the part where you forgive me, Benny."
        He says nothing, his head still bowed.
        "Benny, it doesn't work if I do all the talking."
        "I don't deserve your forgiveness," he says quietly, in a steady voice, still looking at the table or the floor, anywhere but me. "And what you did was your duty. It requires no forgiveness. It simply requires me to be aware of my feelings and to approach our relationship in a rational manner."
        "Then howcome you can't look me in the eye and say that? And anyway you can't tell me whether I can forgive you or not. There you go again, telling me how I feel."
        "Do you want me to lie?" he asks, looking at me, finally. Getting a little impatient. "I can forgive you for leaving without an explanation, Ray. But I cannot forgive myself for the damage I have done to our friendship."
        "We're not gonna get past the damage unless you can, Benny. Period. How many times do I gotta say that?"
        Strangely he smiles at that. "Ray will tell you, far too many."
        Yeah, Kowalski's sadly the person who understands me best in the world. Now that's scary. But the thought of Kowalski brings a shadow back to my heart, and to my expression as well. And I pull my hand back.
        "Fraser, the thing is that as long as you can blame yourself for me leaving, you're gonna. And you're not gonna move on and you're still gonna have that hostility thing going on there. So rationally speaking you have no choice to but to forgive yourself. Otherwise you're not forgiving me."
        "I have forgiven you, Ray. And now that I am aware of my motivations and my subconscious feelings I will be able to monitor and correct any potential lapses."
        He is so damn stubborn. I am not getting through. Wonder if Kowalski has better luck than I do. If this morning were any indication, that would be a big fat no.
        "There is a fallacy there, somewhere, Ray." A break. The first indication that he is tired, that he can't immediately point out the fallacy though I personally don't know a fallacy from a syllogism.
        "I thought that was pretty straightforward reasoning, Benny. A equals B, B equals C, therefore A equals C."
        He considers that for a moment, his brain working the way I've seen it go a thousand times before, and suddenly I remember my affection for this man, this insane person who has completely changed my life just by being himself, this man who believes that one person can change a world, and my mouth opens and words come out that I thought I would never hear. I must be more tired than he is. "Fraser, would you kiss me? So I can see?"
        He looks surprised. No, more than that. Shocked. But after a moment, he nods, realisation dawning. "If you think that it will help, Ray." As always, he understands me, better than I do myself.
        No. Nothing will help, now, except to erase yesterday, or maybe the last few months. But maybe the physical fact will help me get beyond my physical reactions to this mess. I can't go around throwing up every single meal at the thought of Fraser kissing Kowalski. I take a deep breath and do one of the hardest things I've ever done in my life. I close my eyes and lean across the table. And feel Fraser lean closer, and then feel his lips on mine. They are warm, soft. I can feel his stubble. It's nothing like kissing Laura. And I'm unutterably relieved and almost happy as I sit back. It wasn't so bad. And I didn't enjoy it. Thank God.
        "Jesus fucking Christ!" And we both look up, shocked, to see Kowalski in the doorway.

        ~~~~

        I know he's coming after me, I knew that by the look on his face, and I can't can't can't see him, can't understand what happened, can't understand how he could have lied to me, and I bought it, and maybe how what I said this morning drove him back to Vecchio. I make it to the stairs and am around the first bend, when I look up and see him, and suddenly that damn crazy Mountie has launched himself over the railing at me, and lands on me, hard, holding me as we fall to the bottom of the steps, my head cradled in one of his hands, whispering as we roll, "Ray. It's not what you think. Please, Ray."
        Yeah. Sure. Heard that one before, Fraser. We stop at the bottom of the steps. He managed to keep me from hitting anywhere, I'll give him that. "Let me up, Fraser." I can't stand to even look at him, let alone be trapped underneath him, my body still wanting him, and my mind somewhere else.
        "No, Ray," he breathes. "You are coming back and you are going to listen to me."
        "It's a free country, Fraser, you can't make me. You can't make me! I don't want to hear any more of your lies!"
        "Ray, I have not lied to you."
        "Fraser, I said off! Get off!"
        He untangles himself and then reaches down. Automatically I take his hand, realise too late I don't want to, but by then he has continued pulling and somehow I am up and over his shoulder. I'm about as tall as he is, and so I forget, sometimes, how damn big he is. I'm still seeing red and I pound his back, with no effect, and then haul my knee back and get him hard as I can in the gut. He "oofs" but doesn't release me as he takes the stairs two at a time back to his place. Inside, he dumps me off and slams the door, standing in front of it, his face pale, his jaw set, his eyes determined.
        "Goddamn it, Fraser, let me out before I sock you! Fair warning!"
        "Ray. Think. Think, instead of reacting." His eyes are wide, staring into mine like he's looking into my soul. "I love you. You are my home. You are my world. Ray, you know this! You must! I don't know why you love me, but you do. I know you do." Desperate. Yearning. Then why the hell was he kissing Vecchio? "Please, Ray." Quieter now, no less intense. "I have learned one thing. I need you. I will not simply let you go, this time, without protest." He moves away from the door, towards me. I back away. I can't help myself. I can't come up with any explanation that makes sense except the one I already came up with.
        He stops, sighs. Stands aside. Looks at me with his heart in his eyes. And I can't look away. "If you need to leave now, Ray, I won't stop you. But know that there is not going to be a repeat. I will not let this rest until we have talked. I will not. I promise you, Ray. I will not let you walk out of my life over something this ridiculous."
        "Ridiculous?" My voice rises to a squeak. I got no control over it. "You were kissing Vecchio! Holy shit, Fraser, what's your definition of ridiculous? 'Cause it's not one I remember reading in the dictionary! I can't see how I misinterpreted this!"
        He does that thumb to eyebrow thing. "It wasn't a kiss, Ray."
        "Uh huh."
        "Technically, of course, it was. But it was, I believe, something in the nature of an experiment for Ray. A reassurance, perhaps, that what I am has not affected what he is."
        It's ten in the morning. I have had no breakfast, no freaking caffeine - and suddenly I smell coffee - and Fraser is being as confusing as only he can be. My brain can't keep up. I back up, sit down bonelessly, suddenly, on the bedroll. Right in the damp spot where I poured water over Fraser about two hours and five hundred years ago.
        "You kissed him to show him he's not queer?"
        He's moved to the kitchen counter, where it juts into the rest of the apartment, and by the time I get these words out he is moving back across the floor towards me, a mug in his hand. He kneels down and hands it to me. I take it, tentatively, and look at him. And start thinking, finally.
        "Technically, he kissed me, but as always, Ray, you show a clear grasp of the fundamentals."
        I take a long sip of the coffee, closing my eyes, breathing in the scent of it, the scent of Ben, so close. And almost drop the coffee as I breathe, finally, a shuddering gasp. That's the explanation I never would have thought of, and the only one that makes sense in Ben's crazy world. Because when I think, I know that Ben couldn't do that. I already know that.
        "I told you, Fraser. I told you I'd be jealous of everyone 'cept the wolf, and sometimes him too."
        Fraser looks puzzled. "No, Ray, you never told me that."
        "Fraser, I've thought it so many times I figure you must've heard me." And I smile, I can feel how shaky it is, at him, and am rewarded by an answering smile, shaky too, on that beautiful mouth. And we lean together, until our foreheads are touching, and his "Oh, God, Ray," is echoed, almost simultaneously, by my "Oh, God, Ben," as our lips touch in a soft, warm caress.
        "You scared the hell out of me," he whispers a moment later.
        "I scared you? Got that backwards, you crazy Mountie, as usual." Was that a "hell" that just passed those perfect lips?
        He smiles again at that but says in a serious voice, "I can't lose you, Ray. I don't know what we're doing, or where we are going, but I know that life without you would be unbearably lonely."
        Don't wanna get all mushy, so I scowl at him and say, "Then keep those lips to yourself. Got it?"
        He nods, grins, and kisses me again, and then moves to sit beside me, shoulder to shoulder, his right hand holding my left one in something just shy of a death grip, his left arm around his knees, and I sip my coffee and let the happiness return.
        "And I'm sitting right smack in a puddle of water. What a way to start a day, Fraser."
        "I thought it actually started rather well, Ray," and he raises that eyebrow at me with an intimate grin. Gotta ignore that. Gotta finish my coffee.
        "I thought we discussed the drop thing," I continue to grumble. "And you're lucky nothing got broken on the stairs, that's all. You are a damn crazy Mountie."
        He gives my hand a quick squeeze. "Yes, Ray." Another quick kiss, and he says, "I think it's your turn for a shower. I'll make pancakes. With American syrup this time. I know you find those edible."
        "You make some real American bacon too, Frase, and you got yourself a customer," I say. "And, Ben, know what I haven't heard all morning?"
        "That I like you, Ray?" His smile makes it hard for me to breathe. Concentrate, Kowalski.
        "That you're sorry."
        His eyes fall for a moment and then he looks into mine again. "I am sorry, Ray. I'm just trying not to say it."
        "Gotta start somewhere, Ben." And my heart is so full of happiness that I just about can't move, and the hand holding the coffee mug starts to shake so I finish it, put it down, quick. Fraser shakes his head, picks it up, and gets to his feet.
        "Shower, Ray."
        "Pancakes, Ben."
        And we smile at each other again before I head to the john.
        
        ~~~
        
        I enter the kitchen to put Ray's coffee mug in the sink and stop dead. Ray Vecchio is still sitting at the kitchen table, and as he looks at me, he tries to smile. He is pale and the smile resembles nothing so much as a grimace. Before I can speak, he does.
        "I'm sorry, Benny. I didn't mean to overhear. To stay. But I couldn't leave without upsetting both of you more. You . . . you needed to talk."
        And suddenly I do understand, and absolve him of malice. It was an exceptionally awkward position to be placed in, and my back protests a little as I continue to walk to the sink, a reminder of my dramatic tumble down the stairs. And, after all, the situation was of my making as well. I agreed to the kiss.
        "I apologise for forgetting about you."
        "You had more important things to worry about, Benny."
        "Will you stay for pancakes, Ray?"
        He hesitates a moment, then nods. "Yeah. Sure."
        I put some bacon in the oven and then mix up the pancakes quickly and start the first skillet, and then head to the bathroom to warn Ray.
        He is just finishing up as I step inside, and he looks around the shower curtain, a little startled. "What up, Frase?"
        "Ray Vecchio. He's staying for pancakes."
        "Oh, shit, Fraser, was he there? The whole time?"
        "I am afraid so, yes."
        "Shit." Ray turns off the water and reaches for his towel. He starts, as usual, with his hair, which is standing on end and pointing in every direction by the time he's finished. The sight is as endearing as it is distracting.
        Although I don't like the sounds of myself making excuses, I try to explain. "He was in an awkward position. He wanted to leave but did not want to draw attention to himself. And I forgot he was there, rather."
        "Yeah. Me, too."
        "I brought you clean clothes."
        "Thanks, Fraser." He pulls the pile towards him and drops most of it on the toilet lid. "Uh, you forgot underwear, Frase."
        "Did I?" I say in my most innocent voice. "Sorry, Ray."
        He looks up sharply at that, his quick, luminescent grin lighting his face. "Sneaky Mountie. How soon can we get rid of Vecchio?"
        "My pancakes!"
        "The answer to that is, 'Not soon enough!'" he says, raising his voice to ensure that I hear him as I run for the kitchen.
        "As you say, Ray," I call back to him.
        Ray Vecchio has rescued the first batch and has put more on. He nods at my thanks, but says nothing. He looks so tired my heart goes out to him, and I pour him a mug of coffee. I don't know why he wouldn't drink some, before. Then I turn the bacon, which is almost done, and set the table. By that time Ray, my Ray, is dressed and standing in the kitchen doorway.
        "What'd you do with my mug, Frase? Need more caffeine."
        Without a word Ray Vecchio hands him the mug from the sink where I left it after rinsing it out. They are both avoiding each other's eyes.
        "Sit, eat, before they get cold," I say, taking the spatula from Ray Vecchio. And look up, past him, to see my father. Grinning broadly. Enjoying this, one of the most awkward situations of my life. "Not now," I mutter.
        Ray Vecchio looks startled, starts to rise again. I push him back down. "I meant I can't eat, now. Only two chairs. You two eat."
        "They're more likely to stab each other. I wouldn't give 'em knives, son."
        I put butter and syrup on the table. "The knives aren't sharp enough."
        Ray Vecchio twists around to look at me. "To cut pancakes, Fraser?"
        "Yes, Ray." I turn back to the stove.
        "Smells good, son. Believe I'll have some. But what's that flavoured sugar on the table? Where's the real syrup?"
        "Where do you think?" I whisper angrily, opening the refrigerator. And try to cover my whisper with a clatter of skillet and spatula with my other hand.
        Suddenly I feel Ray Kowalski behind me and he takes the maple syrup from my hand, and as I turn to look at him, rolls his eyes.
        "This stuff is just too mapley for me, Frase," he says, putting it on the table and sitting back down. "Bacon's good, though. See what real American bacon is like?" If I didn't know better, I would think he is teasing my father, though of course he cannot see or hear him. And certainly my father reacts to that statement in a predictable fashion.
        "Bacon? These Yanks wouldn't know good bacon if it sat up and bit 'em! All fat, no complex flavour, nothing to sink your teeth into."
        "You don't have teeth," I hiss.
        "Jesus, Benny, you are acting weird!" Ray Vecchio says. "Weirder than normal! Who doesn't have teeth?"
        "Diefenbaker won't, if you don't stop feeding him doughnuts," I say sternly, putting more pancakes from the skillet onto their plates.
        "How are you going to get rid of Vecchio, son? This should be amusing."
        "I assume time will take care of that particular problem. It generally does."
        "No, Fraser, you gotta get his teeth cleaned regularly," Ray Kowalski interjects. He's trying to help, trying to cover for me. I turn to look at him over Ray Vecchio's head and close my eyes momentarily at the sight of the love in his own. Ray Vecchio turns to look at me, looks back at Ray, and shakes his head, sighing in disgust.
        "You are both crazy. In more ways than one."
        "No mental instability in our family, son."
        "I take serious leave to doubt that."
        "No, Benny, I mean it! And I'm not just talking about this whole relationship thing."
        "If you're referring to Uncle Tiberius, Benton - "
        "No, I'm not. That was a freak accident."
        Ray Vecchio turns to look at me, his eyes widening. "Your relationship is a freak accident?"
        I frown at him.
        "A permanent freak accident," Ray Kowalski says instantly. Grinning.
        "Shut up, Kowalski." But Ray Vecchio doesn't sound particularly angry.

        ~~~

        Fraser must think his dad is here again. I don't see anything but I caught that note in his voice when he said, "Not now."
        I try to help him out there, and even though I'm having to sit across from Vecchio and we're trying to pretend we don't hate each other, it's so funny to watch Ben juggle two conversations that I forget about Vecchio's attitude for a while. Finally take pity on Fraser after Vecchio tells me to shut up.
        "Oh, no, Fraser, I forgot!"
        "Forgot what?"
        "I forgot to make the bed. And the bedroll's all wet."
        That stops him. His eyes widen in a pure, instinctive reaction to disorder, and then he gets it. "You two finish your pancakes. I'll be right back."
        He disappears into the other room, followed by Dief, thank God, so the continuing conversation we can both hear is just Fraser talking to that deaf wolf as usual. I don't feel too inclined to be friendly to Vecchio so I just keep eating.
        Vecchio is getting more and more uncomfortable with the silence. "Think the wolf really is deaf?"
        I shrug. "Fraser thinks so." Which, as far as I'm concerned, settles it. And I'm not gonna sit here and make chitchat with Vecchio. All I gotta do is not punch him in the mouth. That's all anyone, including the Mountie, can expect from me. And I look up from my coffee to find him staring at me. He looks down quickly. Yeah, I know, watch the freak show. But the sound of Ben's voice, increasingly irritated, reminds me of why I'm here and what's at stake, for me, so Vecchio can think whatever he wants. I know what's important. Finally. And I can't stop a smile from crossing my face. Look over, see Vecchio looking at me again.
        "Take a picture," I growl.
        "I'm sorry," he says, real quiet. "I just don't get . . ."
        "What he sees in me? Me either." I laugh without humour. And then look at Vecchio again and feel a little bad. Not a lot, but enough to say, abruptly, "Y'know, he went looking for you last night. Didn't find you." And get up to put my stuff in the sink, ignoring as best I can how happy Vecchio looked just now, just as Fraser comes back into the kitchen, a little flushed, a lot irritated.
        "Dief talking back again?" I ask sympathetically.
        "Er, yes. Well, no, but he can be stubborn." I hear the emphasis on the "he" and know Fraser's not talking about the wolf.
        I lean against the counter, crossing my arms, as Fraser takes his plate of pancakes, probably ice cold by now, and sits down at the table. He looks from me to Vecchio and back to me again. He doesn't sigh but I know what he's thinking. Tough, Fraser. Vecchio and I have nothing in common but our affection for a crazy Mountie. Friends are just not in the cards. Especially after the last two days.
        As he eats, Fraser says, "Your mother's going to be very worried."
        "Yeah. I know. I ought to go home."
        Yeah. You should. But can't say that, so I turn to the sink and start doing dishes. Fraser doesn't even need a dishwasher: the guy only has two tin plates plus two mismatched china ones. For some reason he has plenty of silverware, though. Vecchio leans over, hands me his plate. I take it and wash it. He doesn't thank me. Didn't expect him to. Only Fraser thanks people for stuff like that. And again I can't stop a smile from crossing my face, and there's a warmth in my heart that has a lot to do with what Fraser said to me after he brought me back into the apartment this morning. I'm hard to deal with, I know that. Act now, think later, jump into things feet first. But he feels confident enough to wait it out, confident enough in our feelings not to give up right away. Thank God. 'Cause the sorry truth is Fraser can kiss the hell outta Vecchio and I'd still love him, still wanna be with him. But Fraser wouldn't do that and that's partly why I wanna be with him.
        And there's the sorry stuff. Somehow Fraser managed to think about it, even through Vecchio's crap, and mine too, and though I don't know how much sunk in at least he's not apologising to me every five seconds. He probably is to Vecchio, though, and the thought of that makes me start to get mad. Feel like every step we go forward, we take two steps back.
        Vecchio and Fraser are sitting at the table again, another awkward silence starting. Can't take any more of this. "Fraser, gotta go home. Got laundry to do. I'll see you later."
        "Ray, please -" And I know the fact that I used the word home hurt him. Didn't wanna say that. Didn't think. Get mad. It's easy, today.
        "Jeez, Fraser, how about some space?" And I grab my jacket and leave. This time he doesn't come after me.

        ~~~

        "Not hard to see where this temper of yours has come from. I think it's rubbing off Kowalski," Ray Vecchio says, after a long moment. "I never know, personally, what's gonna set him off."
        In my despair I hardly hear him, although I realise dimly in some amazement he is trying to comfort me. Of course that makes me feel even worse.
        In a softer voice, Ray says, "Fraser. I think he needed space. And I think you need space. I know I do."
        "No, I don't." I need him.
        Another silence.
        "Kowalski said you were looking for me. Last night."
        "Sometimes he talks too much." And sometimes we don't talk enough.
         "Why, Fraser?"
        I have to look at him, at that, feeling my eyes widen with surprise. "Why not, Ray? I hurt you. I needed to tell you that I was sorry."
        "I went to Fanelli's," he says abruptly.
        "Ah." I should have thought of that.
        "I wanted that drink, Benny. I wanted to forget what I saw. And earlier, I wanted to hit something. I hit the wall. It could have been you."
        "Not in this lifetime, Ray."
        His eyes mist at that, but he continues, unsteadily, " I needed to look at myself. Needed to see what I was. You were right about knowing what you need. I had to find out what I needed. If that was really what I needed. And, thank God, it wasn't. Or if it was, I didn't take it. I didn't take it."
        "No, Ray," I say, as gently as I can. "I knew you wouldn't. You are a good man, a strong man. And what surprises me more than anything else is that you can sit here today and look at me after what I did to you with the whiskey." And what I did to Ray, my Ray, in the throes of my anger.
        His eyes shutter at that. "You know what buttons to push on me, all right, Fraser."
        "That's not a good thing, Ray."
        "No. No, it's not. At least it's not if we're gonna keep fighting like this and losing our tempers. But when you're making me do something I ought to do, and want to do, then it's a good thing." And he smiles at me, a real smile, one that makes the tired lines around his eyes disappear for a moment. "And you had a whole lot of provocation, Benny."
        I shake my head. There was no excuse. But saying that will simply raise the unfinished discussion over forgiveness and apologies from earlier and I am too tired, too anguished, to think about any of that now. I want Ray to come back. I need to go find him. And, God, I need to sleep.
        Ray is watching me think. He needs sleep too.
        "We need some down time," he says.
        "Sleep," I say.
        "Let's go to dinner."
        "I don't think-"
        "I'll ask Laura. If it's okay … is it okay if I tell her?"
        "That's your decision, Ray."
        "I hate when you do that," Ray says without any particular animosity. "Okay. Four-thirty sound good? Go to that Thai place, okay?"
        "That's fine."
        "If Kowalski's talking to you by then, tell him to come too."
        I breathe out a long sigh and drop my head in my hands. "Ray, you don't need to . . . I am aware of the issues . . ."
        "Benny. I don't like it. I don't approve. But I can't cut something out of your life that makes you so happy. That's not friendship. And I'm ashamed of that. I should be glad you got more than one friend. And you guys are friends, right?"
        "Yes," I say, trying not to choke on the lump in my throat. "But I doubt that he will come. It's not personal. It's just the way he is."
        "Yeah. He's a loner, like you, Benny. I know."
        He pulls out his cell phone, shaking his head at me as he does so, and in a brief communication with our eyes I know we have revisited the fact that I have no telephone without saying a word, and that leaves an actual smile on my face.
        "Ma. Hey. Yeah, I'm fine. I'm at Benny's. Yeah, he's fine. No, nothing happened. Stakeout was a bust. Listen, I'll be home in a few. Right. Sure. Love you." He closes the phone and gets to his feet. I get to mine as well. We study each other for a moment, and then he pulls me into a brief hug again.
        "Things'll get better, Benny. We got through Victoria. We can get through this. At least you're not in jail this time."
        "Yet," I say, trying to make him smile. It works.
        "No, really," he says, the old, familiar teasing tone back in his voice. "No diamond thefts, no stolen money, Dief seems to be okay . . . are you sure this is the real thing, Fraser? Because this just doesn't seem like you."
         I smile as he intends me to. Yes, I am sure, Ray, but that's not really what you're asking, is it?
        "If you two end up at the zoo, though, I'm gonna start worrying."
        "I think you've done enough of that," I say as we walk to the door. And open the door, to see Ray, my Ray, standing on the other side of it, a half-defiant, half-sheepish look on his face.
        "I got some space," he mutters, not meeting my eyes, or Ray Vecchio's, as he slips inside and goes to the kitchen, Diefenbaker following him happily. Ray rolls his eyes.
        "Later, Benny. Get some sleep."
        "You too, Ray."
        He leans around me to call into the kitchen. "I said sleep, Kowalski!"
        Ray looks out of the kitchen, a very startled expression on his face. "Yeah, whatever. Uh, sure."
        "Bye, Benny. Bye, Kowalski."
        And he's gone. I am tired, bone tired, tired from more than lack of sleep. I feel as though my body is functioning on an autonomous level, beyond thoughts, feelings, desires, and, thankfully, pain.

        ~~~

        Fraser's standing in the middle of the room, staring at nothing. He's paler than usual. Looks dog tired.
        "Frase." He doesn't seem to hear me. "Fraser. Frase." I touch his arm. "Much as I hate to admit it, Vecchio's right. Go to bed."
        He looks at my hand on his arm and then at my face, and his eyes are full of pain, bleak despair, and hopelessness. I'm sure there's guilt mixed in there somewhere too. I didn't think I would ever see him like that again. "Frase." I give his arm a shake. "Come on, man. Go to bed. You're just tired."
        He nods, slowly. "Tired. Yes. I am quite tired, Ray."
        "You were up all night, you big dumb Mountie. Been through a lot. Come on. Bed."
        Like a kid, he lets me lead him to the bed and just stands there while I pull back the covers. "Come on, Ben. Get rid of some clothes. Get comfortable."
        "Why did you leave, Ray?" he asks. Even sounds like a kid, right now.
        "Just giving you an' Vecchio some time. You get things hashed out? You still friends?"
        "Yes. I think so." He stands, unresisting, as I pull his shirt off, unfasten his jeans, pull them down. I straighten back up and see a line of bruises across his back. From the stairs.
        "Come on, Ben. Bed."
        He sits down suddenly, in a heap, and then almost falls backwards, and then, with his eyes closed, says, like he doesn't know he's saying it, "This was all a mistake. I'm sorry, Ray." And he's asleep.
        Shit. Fuck. Back here again. Wanna punch something. Wanna kick somethin.' Dief whines at me. "You gotta go out?" I'm getting as bad as Fraser is. Fourteen walks a day. Dief's better than any exercise machine ever invented. Dief walks to the door, tail wagging expectantly.
        "Come on, then. You c'n run errands with me." Don't wanna run errands. Wanna talk to Fraser. Hope that it's just the lack of sleep talking, the deal with Vecchio, who can just go away and stay away for a few months as far as I'm concerned. Yeah, he's behaving better than we both thought, but he hasn't been able to stay away from Fraser for the last 24 hours. And Fraser spent all night looking for him. They got a weird relationship. Not sure I understand it. Not that I want to, as long as Fraser's happy. And he's not. They didn't get much resolved if Fraser's eyes are anything to go by . . . and they usually are. Still don't see what's so complicated. Why Fraser and Vecchio have to make it so complicated. Dief whines again.
        "I'm coming, you big dumb wolf."
        
        By the time we've hit the library, where Fraser always has books waiting, the grocery for some real food, frozen pizzas for me, bean sprouts and stuff like fresh vegetables for Fraser, and, of course, the lake for yet another walk, it's early afternoon. Ben's had four hours of sleep. "That's enough for a Mountie, right, Dief? Wanna go home?"
        We stop and get coffee on the way. Fraser might drink some if I get the good stuff.
        But he's still sleeping when we come in the door. Dief doesn't let him sleep for long. He takes a long drink and then trots over to slurp all over Fraser's hand, that's hanging off the side of the bed, and then his face, that's turned away towards the window. He really is sacked, and I try to call Dief off, but it's too late. He's not looking at me, so he doesn't listen. Fraser stirs and then rolls over with a groan. Bet he's stiff. Damn crazy Mountie. Damn stupid Chicago flatfoot.
        I start putting the groceries away. I hear Fraser get up and head to the can. He comes back in a few but doesn't come in the kitchen. When I look out, he's sitting on the bed again, on the other side of it, his back to me, his head in his hands, his shoulders slumped. The bruises are looking real good by now, got that purply red stuff in the middle of 'em, the kind of bruises that are real deep. I'm not used to seeing the physical evidence of his insane urges, his refusal to admit his limitations. 'Course, he doesn't have many. Limitations, that is. He's got a whole lot of insane urges.
        "You need some space, Fraser?" I say from across the room. His back stiffens and he winces, his hand going around to the scar from Vecchio's bullet.
        "No, Ray," he says, but he still doesn't look at me.
        "Got your library books. Got you some more bean sprouts and stuff. You got some serious stuff going on with your back. Want an aspirin?" Useless. I know.
        "No, thank you. And thank you for fetching my books."
        "No problem."
        Silence.
        "You know, Fraser, it's a nice back and I could pretty much look at it all day, if that's what you want, but I don't think it is."
        "Ray." More silence. Then, helplessly, "I don't know where to start."
        "Start? With what?"
        "Us. You and me. You and Ray. Ray and myself. Ray and Laura."
        "Us. You and me, Ben. We belong together. Me and Vecchio? We're not gonna kill each other. You and Vecchio? You probably said you're sorry. So did he. Dot it, file it, stick it in a box marked 'Done.' Vecchio and Laura? I got no clue. Any more questions?"
        Finally he looks at me, over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised. "Ray, this time sorry is not enough. Not for you. Not for Ray Vecchio."
        "Wait a minute, Fraser. What d'you think you gotta apologise to me for? You didn't do anything to me. And Vecchio . . . well, you lost your temper. You got over it. And I can't believe, Ben, that we are going here again."
        "No, I knew it would displease you."
        "You know, Fraser, most people wallow in guilt a while, then get over it. They don't live in it, day in and day out. They get over it."
        "I don't think I know how to do that, Ray."
        "If you wanna be happy, Ben, you better learn. But maybe you don't wanna be happy."
        After a long moment, he stuns me with his next words. "Perhaps I don't."
        I can't do the back thing any more. I move fast, around to the other side of the bed, where I can see his face.
        "I've never thought that life was about being happy, Ray. Sometimes it happens. In my experience, most of the time it doesn't. But the important things are to do what's right, to do what you must. And many times happiness and duty are mutually exclusive."
        "Not in this case, Fraser. And if it's only sometimes people are happy, then you should appreciate what we got. You and me . . . has nothing to do with duty. Heard you say it, yourself. We're not hurting anybody."
        "I heard you say it, yourself, Ray. Except ourselves."
        "You look at me and say that, Fraser. Look at me! Look at me!" He finally does. "You tell me that us loving each other hurts you. Hurts me. You can't. You can't 'cause it's not true. What hurts is all the worrying you do. All the guilt you got going on. And you don't gotta do that. You choose to do that. And it sucks that you choose to do that all the time!"
        "Then why are you here, Ray? Why is Ray Vecchio still here? How can friendship be worth all this pain?"
        "Because it just is, Ben. Jeez. I don't know what love is. I just know I like being with you better than anything else I've ever done. All the time. Even when we're just walking in the park or chasing bad guys into a warehouse. Don't you know by now how you make me feel? What about all that stuff you told me this morning, about how I make you feel? Were you lying?"
        He shakes his head, once, and drops his eyes. "You know I wasn't," he whispers.
        "Then you're gonna throw that all away 'cause you lost your temper with Vecchio? 'Cause you didn't tell Vecchio you were sleeping with his partner? Don't I get a say? I'm sleeping with Vecchio's partner too, you know. And I didn't tell him."
        He buries his face in his hands again. "I don't know," he says softly. "I don't know what to do."
        I hear a voice in my head. Well, my ear, really. "Don't feed your presents to walruses, Benton."
        Without thinking about it, I repeat the words. "Don't feed your presents to walruses, Benton."
        He sits bolt upright, his eyes wide with shock. Then, amazingly, his face softens and he grins. Those were the right words. "How on earth - " he begins, looking around, puzzled.
        "Walruses, Frase? Isn't this where I came in, this morning?"
        "Yes. Yes, I believe so." He is still looking around, but he is alert again, no more slumping, a light in his blue eyes that I haven't seen all day. "I know . . . I know what that means, I think," he says, still looking around. He gets up and goes to look in the kitchen. He comes back and looks at me. "I'm a little dense about things like this. You're my present, Ray."
        "Cool." I got no clue. He must be looking for his dad. "Guess you're my present too, then."
        He looks back at me again, and smiles at me, a real smile this time. "Undoubtedly, Ray." And in less than three seconds we are in each other's arms. It's been years, decades even, since we kissed. I feel like I've been running a marathon. I'm all wrung out. But Ben's arms, Ben's lips, Ben's body all replenish my soul. I hope he's feeling the same way.
        "And you're all unwrapped," I whisper against his neck, and then bite, and then lick.
        He laughs and sighs all at the same time as he tries to pull my shirt off but I won't let go of him long enough to let him.
        "Ray-ay," he says, half-laughing, half-frustrated, drawing my name into two syllables.
        "Fra-ser," I mimic, and then I trip him, a wrestling move, so he falls backwards, onto the bed, and I land on top of him, knocking the breath out of us both, before I start on that gorgeous neck, that collarbone, those lips, in earnest. And I don't give him a chance to talk, even to breathe, because for a few minutes there I was thinking I would never be able to do this again and I'm too scared to let him start worrying or talking again. And eventually he does get my shirt off, and we both get my pants off, and his boxers, and pretty soon there's nothing but Ben's lips, and my moans, and Ben's hands, and Ben's eyes.
        
        We're lying together, all tangled up, sticky and sweaty, when Ben stiffens in panic.
        "What time is it, Ray?"
        "Where's your watch, Fraser? I don't know."
        He reaches over to the chest, feeling without looking. I reach over him and push the watch towards his hand. "I think perhaps we should shower together to save time."
        "Yeah, sure." I grin at him and kiss his nose, and then his lips. "That's a good line, Frase."
        "What time is it?"
        "Three-thirty."
        "They'll be here soon."
        "Who?"
        "Ray Vecchio and Laura. He wants to have dinner. I said yes. For me. I didn't think you'd be comfortable with it."
        "I'm not."
        He nods. He was expecting that. Kinda ticks me off. "What, Fraser? You want me to come?"
        "No, Ray, of course not. Not if you don't want to come, and I thought perhaps you wouldn't."
        Am I so predictable? Will I ever stop being surprised at how well he knows me, how he never forgets anything I tell him? "Well, I'm not just gonna sit around here all night and read," I snap at him.
        "I thought you might go to your apartment and watch television," he says, blinking, surprised at my snap.
        "Yeah? Well. Well, I need to get a place closer to yours, so that's what I'm gonna do, go look."
         He stares at me for a minute, and then an infectious grin begins to stretch his mouth. "Of course, Ray."
        "Really!"
        "I agree. Although I'm not sure how effective that will be on a Saturday evening. But I thought that I was the one who was going to get a larger place. Closer to you."
        "Well, whatever. You think I can't look for a place for you? I know what you need. A nice hard floor. No light fixtures, just bare bulbs. Lotsa stairs. Ratty tenants. And really, really cheap rent."
        He is grinning now, trying not to laugh. "I think perhaps a bedroom this time, Ray."
        "Oh, I dunno, Fraser. The Mountie police might come down on you for getting soft."
        "The Mountie police? The Mounties are police, Ray."
        "You're so cute when you play dumb, Fraser. How about a couch? Given any thought to a couch? How 'bout a TV?"
        "First a TV, then cable, and then both you and Diefenbaker will become confirmed addicts and we will never have an interesting conversation again," Fraser says resignedly.
        "All right, all right. TV stays at my place. Just so you can keep having interesting conversations with Dief, you understand."
        "The sofa is a good idea though, Ray." And he raises an eyebrow and unexpectedly blushes. "But it can't have springs."
        "What the hell are you talking about, Fraser?"
        "Diefenbaker. If they squeak. He's actually, ah, torn apart a sofa or two looking for the mice."
        I roll my eyes. "Okay, we'll get one of those futon things. And maybe a fireplace, huh."
        "Oh, I think the Mountie police would approve of that, Ray."
        "I got some ideas where to look. Maybe you should come with me, tomorrow."
        "I'd like that."
        "So what does Thai taste like, anyhow?"
        He smiles at me and leans over to kiss me. "It doesn't taste as good as you do, Ray, but you can never go wrong with the shrimp pad thai."
        At that supremely satisfying moment we are interrupted by a knock. Vecchio's learning.
        I grab Fraser's face and plant a quick one on his lips, and then squeeze his hands before he goes to answer the door. Please keep it light, Vecchio. I dunno about Ben but I know I've been through enough emotional crap for one lifetime. Two, if you count Stella. I turn off the kitchen light and lean against the kitchen doorway, half in shadow, so Vecchio doesn't have to look at me if he doesn't want to. I'm here for Fraser. Moral support. And think maybe moral is the wrong word to use with Vecchio here, and grin a little to myself.
        Fraser lets them in and they exchange the usual hellos and greetings. Vecchio's looking a lot better. He shaved, probably got some sleep. Looks a little more content than he did earlier.
         "We still up for Thai, Fraser?" Vecchio asks. "I'm starving."
        "Of course, Ray."
        "How about you, Kowalski?" Vecchio asks. All three of them look at me.
        I scowl. "'Kay, Vecchio, I'll try it. Better not be weird dried octopus stuff, is all."
        Fraser quirks his mouth at me. All I can do to keep my hands off him, when he looks at me that way. Vecchio clears his throat and I realise we were looking at each other way too long. Fraser says quickly, "Shrimp pad thai, Ray. I told you." And smiles into my eyes again. Wish we could get takeout.

        ~~~

        I can't help watching Benny and Kowalski. When they get out of Kowalski's car. In the restaurant. Trying to see, maybe, what I've missed. How I missed it. Gotta admit I must've been blind to miss the looks they give each other. But even those are fast, in public. And there's no touching, not even the accidental-on-purpose kind. And Fraser sits next to me in the restaurant, and Laura gets Kowalski.
        Laura is telling Fraser about her latest job - she's doing voice-overs now - and he is listening with interest, as he always does. Kowalski is poking around in his bowl, jerking an eyebrow up from time to time, and every once in a while he glances at Fraser under his eyelids. He's listening too and when Laura says something funny, he makes an effort to chuckle. He's not a people person, but I can tell he's trying to be polite. He sees me watching him then, and a quick scowl crosses his face, so quick I almost miss it, before he looks back down into his bowl.
        I look over and see Fraser glance at him, a little concern there, before looking over at me. When he sees me watching, he looks back at Laura and opens a new subject of conversation. It involves Eskimos, of course, I mean, Inuit.
        I say to Kowalski, quietly, so no waitress or customer can overhear, "Fraser says you guys are living together?"
        He jerks upright almost in a panic. "No!" he breathes. "I got my own place. What is he, nuts?"
        "Yeah, he told me about that. I mean, for real."
        "Gotta go to the can," he says in a normal voice and gets up abruptly, walks away. Fraser looks puzzled for a moment and then resumes his conversation with Laura.
        "I was wondering where that was, and he found it," I say, and get up to follow.
        By the time I get in there, Kowalski's washing his hands. He looks at me, a frown on his face, not saying anything.
        "I asked you a question," I say evenly.
        "Excuse me for pointing this out, Vecchio, but it's not your business. You can't tell me to kiss your ass this morning and then get all cozy about my living arrangements just now." He dries his hands rapidly and tosses the towel at the garbage as he heads past me for the door.
        "Guess I owe you an apology for that," I say.
        He stops at that, turns, looks me in the eye with one side of his mouth pulled down. "No. No, you don't, Vecchio. You got a right to your feelings and I got a right to mine. And I don't care what your feelings are. I'm gonna sleep tonight regardless. So don't hand me any fake apology crap. You wanna help, get Fraser to stop apologising for everything. But don't worry about me and don't waste your time on me. All you and I gotta do is not kill each other, in private, and make chitchat, in front of Fraser."
        I was right. Ve-ry protective. "We're still partners, Kowalski. So on a purely professional level, because we have to work together, will you accept an apology?"
        He shakes his head. "You're as bad as he is. I don't need that shit."
        "I do. And he does."
        He rolls his eyes at that, his mood changing as rapidly as his eyes move. "You're not telling me anything I don't know. Yeah, apologise until you're blue in the face. It's not gonna change what you think about me, about me and Fraser, but if it makes you feel better, then go for it. Feeling guilty sucks."
        "I guess that means you accept my apology," I say, trying to smile. "Which isn't what I really wanted to talk about."
        He sighs. I've heard that sigh before but usually it's me, over Fraser.
        "Reason I ask is 'cause I happen to know some brownstones are coming open for rent, and I thought you might like the address. It's a little better neighbourhood."
        "Why are you doing this, Vecchio?"
        "Well, you know, I never liked Fraser's choice of - "
        "I mean why, Vecchio? Why now? You been looking at me like I'm a freak for 24 hours. Actually, ever since I've known you. I know you're not cool with this. I know you're pretending so Ben doesn't get hurt any more. You don't gotta pretend with me, okay? I don't like it, and more importantly, there's no reason for it. We don't gotta understand each other."
        Whoa. A whole lot more to him than I thought, under there, and I'm taken aback. And I answer him honestly, without thinking about what I'm saying. "You're right. I don't pretend to understand what, if anything, you two have. I hear that love word a lot. I don't know if it's true. Fraser's always been bottled up. It could just be . . ." I change my mind, clear my throat, go on in a hurry. "And the thought of you two even touching each other bugs me. But the alternative for me is unacceptable. I know Fraser and I can't be friends like we used to, but we can still be friends."
        He frowns at that. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna be a third wheel, Vecchio. I'm somewhere else completely."
        "I think the third wheel is my role now," I say, and there is a note of bitterness I didn't expect. "I was thinking maybe you could help me with that."
        "Help you with what?"
        "Benny. Understanding Benny. Understanding you."
        "Fraser's not hard to understand, Vecchio."
        I think at first he's teasing me but he's serious.
        "Yeah? Well, I think he is."
        "He's not. Thing is, he thinks he's responsible for everything. So he feels guilty for everything. And doesn't think he can be - well, never mind, " he finishes in a mutter. And I'm surprised to see a flash of pain in his eyes. "Anyhow, I can't tell you how to understand him. You obviously got a different way of looking at things." He shrugs. "You gotta choose where you're gonna go with Fraser. All I'm saying is that you keep outta my way and I'll keep outta yours and we don't kill each other and Fraser's happier."
        It's not enough. It won't be enough if I know Fraser. But it's a start. "Okay, Kowalski. I promise not to kill you. Deal?" And I try to smile at him, and I hold out my hand.
        He looks at me and my hand for a long minute, then nods abruptly. "Yeah," and clasps my hand with surprising strength, and leaves. I have a feeling I won't be there very often. And I try not to feel sad about that. Fraser and I have already moved apart, first because of my assignment and now because of this. We both got other things going on now. But we're still friends, and that's what's important.
        
        ~~~
        
        Fraser looks at me, a tiny frown in those perfect blue eyes, as I sit down next to Laura again. I grin a grin even I can feel is lopsided at him, and then roll my eyes a little. I see relief in his as he turns back to Laura. Vecchio comes back, avoiding my eyes. A' course. I knew it was all a line of talk. What's he really want? He already knows how it feels to kiss Fraser. Damn it. And he already knows we got that love thing going on. Not that he believes that, I know. I look out the window, trying to release the tension in my shoulders by rolling them back and forth under my jacket. Vecchio's joined in now, telling Laura what he claims is the real truth about one of their joint adventures a few years ago. I watch Dief through the window and think my own thoughts, until I realise that I'm being rude and Fraser's gonna feel guilty about making me come and watching me be unhappy, even though we both know that I wanted to come. Well, okay, didn't really want to come but was tryin' to get a feel for what this whole thing with Vecchio is and where it's going.
        I look back at the three of them. Vecchio and Laura have almost identical grins on their faces and Fraser is looking faintly embarrassed. Missed whatever it was. Look back out the window. Dief's sniffing the air now. He's probably hungry. We should've gone to Fraser's Chinese place, where Dief's allowed in, although Fraser was right, as usual, about the shrimp pad thai. It was better than okay. I could eat it again. I get up, go over to the waitress where she's standing behind the counter, and get an order of it to go, and lean against the counter to wait for it. Fraser glances at me and, to my surprise, winks at me, so quickly the Vecchios couldn't have seen it, and I wink back, just as quick, and then look out the window again. Food's ready soon, so I take it out and crouch down, my back resting against the wall of the restaurant, my elbows on my knees, while Dief tucks it in.
        
        ~~~
        
        Kowalski's a little restless after our talk. That's nothing new for him, though. He's not even making a pretense of listening to the conversation, which incidentally is starting to involve some serious misrepresentations on Fraser's part, and I have to join in to correct any misapprehensions Laura may be under. Kowalski's looking out the window. He and Fraser glance at each other once but nothing like the long, embarrassing look they exchanged in Fraser's apartment. Abruptly Kowalski gets up without a word and goes to the counter, says a few words to the waitress, pulls out his wallet. She gives him his change and he turns around and leans against the counter, a toothpick suddenly in his mouth, still looking out the window.
        In a few minutes, after I have had to correct Benny's version of our plane crash and head him off from singing Beethoven in a fairly crowded restaurant on a Saturday night - "Later, Laura," he promises - I see the waitress hand Kowalski another foam container and to my surprise he leaves. I see him through the window a few seconds later as he settles down beside Dief, watching the wolf eat.
        Fraser notices it too and I see a warm expression in his eyes before he remembers and comes back to us. "I don't suppose there's anything in there Diefenbaker shouldn't have," he remarks.
        "Can't believe he feeds your wolf," I say idly. Fraser looks at me, a little puzzled.
        "Ray feels he's -" he begins, and then stops, and then blushes. What the hell is up with the Mountie now?
        The waitress was watching Kowalski too -- guess he is attractive in a scruffy kind of way -- and now she goes outside with a dish of water. She kneels down next to Dief and they start talking. Yeah, that wolf always was a good way to pick up chicks, I think, and then remember, and then feel a little sick, not like before, but a little. Must be the MSG.
        Her boss comes out, looks around for her, and sees her outside through the window. I feel Fraser tense beside me. The boss goes outside, clearly not happy with his waitress. They both look up at him and I see her start to apologise. Fraser starts to get to his feet at the same moment Kowalski gets to his, helping the waitress up. Now Kowalski's talking, and Dief's standing there looking about as cute as a wolf can. The boss listens for a minute, and starts to nod, and then Kowalski caps it by slipping him some cash. Now he's smiling and he says a few words to the waitress and comes back in. She smiles at Kowalski and reaches to pet Dief before she picks up the dish of water. Then she says something to Kowalski again, shy this time, not hard to guess what that's about, and I can't see his face but he shakes his head as she smiles at him and then she disappears back inside. He obviously sighs and leans back against the wall, looking up into the sky.
        Fraser's been paying the bill, in the meantime - you have to watch him like a hawk when it comes to stuff like that since I got back and I was too busy watching the scene unfold outside - and now he's chatting with the boss, who must be the owner, about his wolf, and I'm somehow not surprised when the guy goes back outside with Fraser to stand and look at Dief some more and get some stories about him. I don't know how much the guy understands in English and I know Fraser doesn't speak Thai, at least I think he doesn't, but we discover when we join them outside that French works for them, and they are both talking animatedly, probably not about Dief any longer. Fraser has a tendency to induce complete strangers to confide their life stories to him and it's obvious Kowalski knows this because he's still leaning against the wall, making no effort to rush Fraser, no indication that he is impatient, although I know how much he loves to be up and doing. Drives me crazy, at the precinct, because he can't sit still. Hell, he can't even sit like a normal person, always has to figure out a new way to sit down.
        Finally Fraser turns to us with an apology and a smile after exchanging a series of "Au 'voir's" and bows, an interesting juxtaposition of East and West. "He was part of a unit assigned to the Cambodian border in the nineteen sixties. A very interesting man."
        "Ho Chi Minh trail," Kowalski says, not exactly a question, more of a statement.
        Fraser glances at him, a glance that manages to be surprised and amused and affectionate all in one. Kowalski shrugs and says, "My old man fought in Korea. Hey, we should do Korean some time, Fraser. You gotta watch out for octopus and squid there too but oh man they do a couple of beef dishes like you wouldn't believe."
        "All right, Ray."
        I decide it's time to bring the conversation back before another one of those embarrassingly long looks is exchanged. "So what're we doing now?"
        Kowalski answers first, a little too fast, just fast enough to show that he's been expecting this question. "I'm heading out to change the oil in the GTO," he says.
        "At night?"
        "Got a friend with a garage. He lets me use it, nights."
        "Laura and I are hitting a movie, Fraser. You're more than welcome."
        "Oh, Ray, I'd enjoy that. But the truth is I don't know how to change the oil in a car." Yeah, should have known. If it comes down to learning something or being amused, Fraser's gonna go for the former every time. "If you don't mind teaching me," he says, a little hesitantly, to Kowalski.
        Kowalski shrugs. "The stuff you don't know always blows my mind, Fraser. You probably never even owned a car."
        "I have a jeep," Fraser says, slightly defensive. "Actually, of course, it was my father's."
        "Yeah, I saw it. Didn't get a chance to look at it. It still run?"
        "I have no idea, Ray. It used to, of course."
        Kowalski just shakes his head. "But you can get the sled dogs, huh. What do you do in summer?"
        "Walk, Ray."
        Now Kowalski groans and Laura laughs. "You knew he was going to say that," she says.
        Kowalski looks a little surprised but answers readily, "Yeah, had a feeling he was going there. Probably takes all day to go to the grocery."
        "That's the point, Ray. Planning and forethought. You can't run to the store every time you forget something."
        "Yeah, in your weird Mountie universe, sure, Fraser. Here in America that's just one of those rights we take for granted."
        Even I gotta grin at that, before saying to Laura, "Well, let's see if we can get the seven o'clock show then. Hey, thanks for dinner, Fraser."
        "Yes, thank you, Fraser," Laura chimes in.
        Fraser looks at each of us for a moment and then at both of us and then smiles that smiles. "Thank you," he says, with a slight emphasis on the second word.
        "Yeah, see you," I say, and turn and walk away. This wasn't so hard. As long as I don't think about it. As long as they act that way, like they're just friends. Maybe we can do this. I feel Laura slip her hand into mine and I smile at her. She's worried about me. But I have to admit that her acceptance is helping mine, and I'm glad she knows, glad I have someone to talk to about it. Because I can't imagine having a conversation about this with Ma or Frannie. Not in a million years.
        I look back, once, and Fraser and Kowalski are still standing in front of the restaurant, talking. Laura looks up at me. "It's going to be all right, Ray."
        "Yeah."
        "Ray, it is. If you can accept it, I mean."
        "That's the part I got trouble with," I say, thankful that I finally don't have to watch my tongue, don't have to worry about hurting Fraser's feelings. "Two guys."
        She doesn't say anything, just nods.
        "Don't tell me you're really okay with it," I say to her, finally.
        Laura sighs. "My best friend in college was gay. I probably was shocked the first time I saw two men kissing but after the shock wore off it didn't bother me. Doesn't."
        "It bothers me. It bothers me, Laura. To think of two guys - to think of Fraser and another guy - and that guy . . . " I stop because I don't want to ruin our evening.
        "Yeah. I know," she says quietly. "What are we going to see, anyway?"

        ~~~

        I'm quieter than usual as I work on the GTO. I already told Fraser the names of stuff and now he's just watching me intently, cataloguing everything I say and do with ruthless efficiency in that brain of his. Next time he'll probably be able to do it cold. But I'm thinking about things, about the past couple days. Worried about things. Fraser and Vecchio still got issues but they seem to be getting along on a normal level now and that's something, at least. I'm still not sure though where Frase and I are. We got more guilt stuff going on than ever before, thanks to me falling for Vecchio's lame stakeout story, and like I told him, I can carry him, but what if he doesn't want me to? What if I can't? I mean, I have to, no question there, but what if I can't and do anyway and then I drop him? The future is looking bleaker right now than it did before and I'm worried, like I said. So I'm not talking, just thinking, and trying not to think about Ben lying about three inches away peering up into the engine with his usual curiosity.
        "You're right, it is quite simple, Ray," he says as we stand up, wait for the oil to drain out.
        "Yeah, I told you."
        He is quiet for a few moments and then says, "Thank you for feeding Diefenbaker."
        "You don't gotta thank me, Fraser. I already said he's our responsibility." I'm too tired, too worn out from all this stuff, to even get mad. I go to get the cans of oil and start punching holes in the lids. He stays by the car, looking at the engine with a frown. As I bring the cans back over he ducks back under the car and then I hear a clank. I almost drop the oil in my hurry to get down there.
        "Is this right?" he asks, screwing the oil filtre back in.
        I shake my head, relieved. "Yeah, Fraser. We'll have you in overalls and greased up in no time. I gotta tune her up soon. You'll like that." But I still wait 'til he's finished and check it. We stand up and I start pouring the oil in. He watches a minute and then walks around to the right side of the GTO and gets in, leaving the door open. I lean around the hood to look at him. What's the crazy Mountie doing now? He's just sitting there with a kinda goofy grin on his face, and suddenly I feel my heart lurch up into my throat, I can't swallow for a long minute, and I drop the can of oil for real. It was almost empty anyhow.
        "Shit!" I'm mopping up the mess with rags but inside I'm happy again. I can carry him. I can do it. We got something. We got something that's worth all this crap, all this guilt, all this pain. He joins me, bringing more rags, and our hands touch as we reach for the same place to wipe up some oil. And I close my eyes and take a deep breath of him, overlaid by the chemical smell of oil and the acrid tang of the engine, and open my eyes to look right into his.
        "For keeps, Ray," he says, his voice deeper than normal.
        "Yeah, Ben." I'm surprised I can say anything at all. His closeness is having its usual effect on my knees, my bones are turning to water, and my heart is starting to pound.
        He keeps looking at me even though I know my mouth is open and my tongue is moving.
        "Whatcha waiting for, Ben?"
        "I'm enjoying the view, Ray," he says in a low voice, and smiles, and I gotta grab the car to keep standing because I just lost all ability to stand upright. Then, finally, finally, he pulls me towards him almost as fast as I lean into his arms and our mouths meet and there is nothing in the world but the feel of Ben's lips and the smell of him, and the taste, and his hands holding me so tight, almost crushing me against him, and I'm doing my best to return the favour.
        "Can't believe I want you so much . . ." I have to whisper because I don't trust my voice.
        He pulls back a little. "Isn't that normal?" A little worried, giving a rush to my ego 'cause I know it's the same for him too.
        And I remember that here, anyhow, I am the expert, with my failed marriage under my belt, my failed "long term relationship," something Fraser's never had. "Yeah. Yeah. I guess it is." I have trouble remembering sex with Stella, now. "Yeah, it was always good, that wasn't the problem. The problem was the problems, the same old problems, day in and day out, no resolution . . . they just got to be bigger than the sex, you know. And she's not the kind of person to compromise. I even said I'd stay home with the kids. Can you imagine? My dad would've probably croaked then and there." And he'll probably croak for real when I go to Canada with Fraser.
        "I think you'd be good at that, Ray," he says, a little wistfully.
        "Not me. Not Mr. Impatient, jeez, Fraser, love makes you blind, there. And it was a bad idea, anyhow. Maybe I just wanted kids to keep Stella, to prove something to myself. Who knows?" I turn away, start pouring the last can into the engine. "Right now the main thing is to get home, you crazy Mountie. Soon's possible. ASAP."
        He touches my arm and then gently squeezes it. "I am all over that," he mimics, and I nearly drop this can now as I turn to look at him, his eyes brimful with mischief and laughter and passion.
        Without thinking, I say, "This is how you're supposed to be, Ben. How it's supposed to be. Why can't you be like this all the time? Why can't you let yourself be happy?"
        Wrong thing to say. Eyes shutter, smile disappears like it was wiped off. "I am happy, Ray."
        "Right now, you are. But afterwards you won't be. As soon as you start thinking, you won't be."
        "I am thinking right now, and I'm happy right now."
        "Ben, I've never argued that you can't be happy in the moment. Hell, you're great at that, with me, anyhow. It's that long-term thing I worry about. That you won't let yourself do."
        "Please, Ray, don't. Please. Let's enjoy this moment when we're happy."
        Yeah, I don't really feel up to revisiting the past 24 hours either, Ben. So I lean over and kiss him, quick. "ASAP and I am SO all over that you wouldn't believe, Ben."
        This restores the smile to his face, if not to his eyes, and he begins to tidy up, taking rags to the rag bin and figuring out quickly where the dirty ones go. And I try to live in the moment too, just like I'm always telling him to do. And ignore the little voice in my mind that says that maybe Fraser is right after all about the planning thing and that we have to do more than live in the moment, if we want the moment to last.

        Whenever we hold each other
We hold each other
There's a feeling that's gone
Something has gone wrong
And I don't know how much longer I can take it
House made of heart break it
Take my head in your hands and shake it
In this near wild heaven
Not near enough.
        "Near Wild Heaven," Out of Time, R.E.M.

        Things go along okay for a week or two. Better, actually, now that Vecchio's not trying to catch us in the act all the time. Worse, because Fraser still gets that haunted look in his eye, and he's still being ultra nice to Vecchio. He always is nice, but he's walking on eggshells, and I know not everything's resolved. Vecchio doesn't seem to know how to treat me. One minute he seems to forget, then the next minute he's can't even look me in the eye. I spend a lotta time alone, don't wanna ask Vecchio for backup, can't ask Fraser because I might make him run into Vecchio or worse, get shot. It's a fun situation. And gradually I'm spending a little more time than I used to at my apartment. I'm trying to give Fraser and Vecchio some space. That's what I tell myself. I know they need to talk it out to get over it. But that damn Mountie's not gonna talk it out, not unless Vecchio sits him down, ties him up, and makes him.
        I get into a situation with a suspect and get chewed out by Welsh for going out without a partner. He looks at me pretty straight and says, "Where's the Mountie, then? Haven't seen much of him."
        "He and Vecchio got issues," I say.
        "Vecchio? What the hell does he have to do with the price of eggs?"
        I just look at him. Not my business. Not his, either, if it comes to that, but I can't and won't say that to Welsh, who I've just realised means a lot to me. Besides, Welsh'll figure it out anyway a lot quicker than I could tell him.
        "So c'n I go? Sir?"
        He frowns at me, like he can't remember what we were talking about, and nods.
        Whew. Lucky escape.
        A few minutes later he's calling Vecchio into his office. Shit. Not so lucky.
        Vecchio comes back out, royoully pissed, almost kicks his garbage can, still won't meet my eyes. I sigh and get up to ask Frannie to schedule me for some target practise tomorrow. That'll get me outta the station with a real excuse and a pretty safe one too.
        To my surprise, Fraser asks if he can come. He's on a late day on Consulate duty. I don't see why he can't. Target practise is target practise and I figure he knows if he's breakin' any laws or not. Obviously not or he wouldn't be asking. He probably has the same kinda cop requirements we do anyhow and the Consulate's not exactly set up to be a shooting range.
        So we burn off some testosterone in a friendly competition. Fraser's a sharpshooter but here at least I can hold my own and we're pretty evenly matched. And I realise that I'm enjoying myself. And so is he. Feels pretty good. Happiness might be a warm gun after all.
        "We really must do that more often," Fraser says as he turns in his practise piece and starts taking his earplugs out.
        "Yeah, Mr. Won't Carry a Loaded Weapon," I say. Already took my plugs out. "Yeah, you sure need it. Maybe I should sign you up for Gun Throwing 101, how about that, Fraser?"
        "That's just silly, Ray. There is no particular art to throwing a firearm. Now, if you were to offer to sign me up for Beating Suspects with an Empty Gun 101, I might take you up on it."
        I gotta grin. "Okay, Fraser, I'll keep that in mind."
        "Oh, dear. I had better move quickly or I'll be late."
        "Whoa, whoa, whoa. What am I, chopped liver? Or more to the point, is the GTO chopped liver? I'll drop you there."
        "Thank you, Ray."
        He is so funny. He can make me come like nothing ever has in my life and he won't even ask me for a ride. I wait until we get to the GTO to point that out because I know he will blush to within an inch of his hairline. Nope, all the way up.
        "It is an imposition, Ray." He is looking at his hat in his lap, not at me.
        "Not to me, Ben," I say gently. He finally looks up at that. "Like bein' with you, anytime, anywhere. And, anyway, beats the hell outta the station." And mentally kick myself for letting that slip. There's such a thing as being too open, Kowalski.
        "Why?"
        "No reason, Frase. I need a break is all." A break from Vecchio.
        "I have been neglecting my liaison duties recently," Fraser says slowly.
        "No! Fraser, that's - that's fine. You do the Consular thing. That's what you got going on now." Don't want him walking into that atmosphere at the station. Don't want him to know that I'm going out alone on cases. And don't want him with me . . . still can't shake that waking dream I had when I got the bottle over the head. Fraser unarmed.
        "Fraser, why the hell can't you get a permit for a gun? You don't have to be a citizen, do you?"
        He immediately launches into a short, thankfully, and pointless story about some Mountie who spent his career patrolling the Territories without ever firing his weapon. Pointless, because this is Chicago. I don't say pointless. I do say, "This is Chicago."
        He nods.
        "You're a damn stubborn Mountie, you know that?"
        Finally he breaks into a smile. "I've heard that, yes."
        His wheels are turning, though, and I'm not entirely surprised when he asks me to wait, at the Consulate, and then reappears a few minutes later.
        "That didn't take long."
        "Inspector Thatcher is on a conference call. I simply told Constable Turnbull that my presence was needed by our American hosts."
        "Not a lie, there, Fraser," I say, putting a hand briefly on his knee. He covers it with his own, also briefly.
        Back at the 27^th, the bullpen's pretty empty. Frannie's there, of course, and Welsh is in his office, but almost everyone else is gone. Vecchio's sitting at his desk. Staring at a piece of paper.
        "Hello, Ray," Fraser says, carefully.
        Vecchio jumps about a foot. "Fraser, how many times have I told you not to sneak up on me?"
        I sigh to myself and pull a couple files out. I got people I wanna interview today.
        "I'm sorry, Ray," Fraser's saying quietly. Yeah, no kidding. Sorry for being you, sorry for ever being born, sorry that the universe conceived and created you. I know, Fraser.
        "It's okay, Fraser," Vecchio says, still sounding annoyed.
        I take the files I got over to Frannie and her computer, sit down next to her. This'll take a while, without Fraser to help her. The up side is Fraser won't be distracting her either. Try not to listen to the murmur at our desks that is Fraser, and Vecchio's staccato punctuation. A couple more minutes and Vecchio's dragging Fraser off to that damned closet. Frannie looks at me sideways, a funny look in her eyes. Guess I'm bein' too quiet.
        "C'mon, Frannie, I know you know how to print that."
        "You don't need to snap my head off," she says. "What's up with Ray and Fraser?"
        I shrug. "Dunno."
        "They had a fight."
        "Yeah?"
        Frannie sighs. "You know, Fraser . . . Ray . . . well, it's just strange. But I guess they both sulk."
        You have no idea, Frannie. "Yeah, I guess they do." I pull the papers off the printer. "Thanks, Frannie."
        I pass the closet on my way out. I can hear Vecchio talking. I'm at the door when I hear Vecchio's voice behind me in the hall. "Kowalski!"
        I turn and look.
        "Where you going?"
        Automatically I answer him, before I think. "Gonna check some last known addresses on the Pierce thing." And then look past him, to Fraser, who is pale, paler than usual; looks like he's gotten a shock.
        "Take the Mountie, then," Vecchio says, almost roughly, and turns and gives Fraser a little push in my direction. Dief comes trotting down the hall and I open the door for him as Fraser walks towards me. Steadily, but as he gets closer I see more pain, more guilt in his eyes. Shit. Now what? I can't even leave him alone with Vecchio for fifteen minutes?
        We are in the car before Fraser says anything and when he opens his mouth it's not what I expect to hear, although I should have.
        "Why isn't Ray going with you to check the addresses?"
        "It's just routine stuff, Fraser. Just gotta check some boxes for forms."
        "Don't lie to me, Ray." His voice is quiet, not angry, almost hopeless. "You should have backup."
        "I do," I say. "I got you." And smile at him, trying to get past his despair, his dark mood. "Right, Mountie?"
        "This time."
        Vecchio's been talking. Fraser didn't have time to see Welsh.
        I sigh. "Fraser, I . . ."
        "I don't know whom I'm angrier with, Ray, you or Ray Vecchio."
        "It's a good thing you can't stay mad at me," I say hopefully.
        "I can't?"
        "Nope. You can't stay mad at anyone. Not if we say we're sorry. That's where manners gets you, Frase. Now me, I can nurse a grudge for decades."
        "Ray."
        "So, I'm sorry, Fraser. Sorry I was going out without backup."
        "And you won't do it again?"
        "I'll try not to do it again."
        "That's not good enough, Ray."
        Suddenly I snap. "It's gonna have to be, Fraser. Or I'm gonna have to get a new partner."
        I see the shock, the recoil in his eyes.
        "Not you, you big dumb Mountie! Vecchio!"
        The recoil is gone but the pain is still there.
        "You are."
        "What? What the hell are you talking about?"
        "Ray . . . Ray has gotten a promotion. A position that, I gather, they are creating for him."
        Oh, man, it must be Christmas and no one told me.
        "Well, if it's his undercover stuff, I'm not surprised," I say. "He's gotta be an expert on the inner workings of the Mob." Try to stay low key, rational.
        "Yes, exactly." Fraser doesn't sound convinced.
        We drive in silence a while. I'm trying to figure out how to get into Fraser's head. He rouses himself after a few moments to ask me about this case, sounding almost normal. Overly normal.
        The first few addresses are a bust and we stop for lunch next. Fraser's still being quiet. Still has that look in his eyes. I try to weasel some more information outta him but it's a no go. I need him alone, in private, where I can touch him, kiss him, try to get past that barrier in a physical way so I can get past that mental barrier. He's too good at hiding inside his head. His defenses, even with me, are too good to overcome without some concerted effort, and stopping the car every 15 or 20 minutes to go knock on doors is not conducive to that effort. Still, I try. I touch his leg, touch his hand, while I'm pushing. It's no use. He's away, in his little guilt-induced hell.
        It ends up being one of the most uncomfortable afternoons I've ever spent with Fraser and I am almost relieved when he asks to be taken to the Consulate so he can get some reports done by seven. Before he gets out, I say, "Look at me, Fraser."
        He looks.
        "Love you, Ben."
        He blushes, and suddenly he's back, his eyes warm again, happier.
        "Yes, Ray. Thank you."
        "I'll pick you up at seven, okay?"
        He hesitates, and then clearly decides that after our conversation this morning he does not want to reopen that particular subject, and nods. "Seven, then, Ray. And thank you again."
        "You can thank me later," I say, and flash him my wicked grin.
        He blushes again. "I will."
        But after he disappears inside the door, I smack the steering wheel, hard. And break a few laws getting back to the 27th. Vecchio and I gotta talk. I don't care if he ignores me or bugs me, but it's senseless to get Fraser involved. And wonder how long it'll take before this promotion comes through. But Vecchio's gone when I get back. Gone for the day, Frannie tells me. She's working late too, I know. Reorganising files.
        I stand at my desk, kinda at a loss. Hear Welsh calling me into his office.
        "Vecchio tell you the news? You're gonna be partnerless again."
        "Oh yeah. Am I supposed to look unhappy?"
        Welsh shakes his head. "How's the Mountie taking it?"
        "He's not too happy."
        "Figures."
        "Yeah. He does unhappy good."
        "That's too bad, Kowalski." And Welsh frowns at me.
        "Tell me about it." I frown right back at him.
        "Saw you had backup this afternoon."
        "Yeah."
        "Keep doin' that. I got my eye on you."
        "Get a life, Lieutenant."
        He grins at that. "I got no life, Kowalski."
        "No shit."
        "Dismissed, Detective."
        These interviews with Welsh take a lot outta me. Another mark against Vecchio. And I got almost two hours to fill before it's worthwhile leaving for the Consulate. One thing you can say for cop work, at least there's always paperwork to do.
        I've made a significant dent in it, actually, when Frannie comes over and pops me on the shoulder. "It's almost quarter 'til, Ray. You're gonna be late."
        "Hell! Thanks, Frannie."
        "No problem, other brother. And tell Fraser that Ma wants him to come for dinner. You too."
        "I'll tell him." No need for me to go.
        "You too," Frannie repeats. She knows me pretty well.
        I pull on my jacket and shake my head. "Frannie, you know that your brother doesn't do that whole thing well. And I love your mom but not enough to sit for two hours getting glowered at, you know?"
        Frannie smiles. "I have to live with him, and you're complaining about two hours? No, Ray, I was specifically told, in Italian of course which I won't repeat because you wouldn't understand it, not to take no for an answer. She's expecting you tomorrow night."
        "What if I got plans? What if Fraser's got plans?"
        "Fraser never has plans. And if he doesn't, you don't."
        I look up sharply at that. What the hell is she saying? But she looks pretty innocent.
        "I do got plans. Gonna go play chess in the park," I say with a straight face.
        "After dinner," Frannie says firmly. "Now go. Tell Fraser."
        "I never knew sisters could be so bossy," I say.
        "See what you've missed?"
        "I didn't say I missed it," I toss over my shoulder as I leave.
        So Mama Vecchio has figured out that Fraser and Vecchio got problems. Nothing that some pasta and yelling won't take care of, she figures. I wonder if I could break a leg between now and then. That's probably the only excuse she'll take.
        Fraser's waiting outside the Consulate, 'cause of course I'm late. At least he's waiting, though, and chatting with Turnbull. Maybe he's feeling better. And tomorrow's Saturday. I can handle that. A whole day of nowhere to be and nothing to do but walk Dief. I lean over and open the door so Dief can jump in. Fraser and Turnbull finish up and Turnbull waves politely at me. How Canadians can even wave politely is beyond my comprehension, but I wave back.
        "Hey, Frase."
        "Hi, Ray." Back to monosyllabic Mountie, not a good sign.
        "Dinner? What's it gonna be? I was thinking maybe subs. Haven't had those in a while. Huh, Dief?" I turn my head at the end of the sentence so Dief can see me.
        "That sounds very nice, Ray."
        Dief whines.
        "To go," I say, pulling away from the curb and moving my hand from the gearshift to brush his inner thigh.
        I hear the intake of his breath and grin to myself as I put my hand back on the gearshift and shift up.
        "Again, I am in complete agreement," Fraser says, and now his voice is warm and breathless at the same time.
        "Yeah, scary as it is sometimes you and me are on the same page."
        We're on the way home with our food and Fraser's teasing me, a little, not much because he knows better now - my physical responses to him override years of ingrained driving reactions - and I figure it's as good a time as any to bring up Ma Vecchio. Get it over with.
        "I'm sorry I was late, Fraser. Frannie cornered me."
        "You? Dare I hope that her attention has been diverted to a charming Chicago detective?"
        Charming? Huh? "You should be so lucky, Fraser. No, Mama Vecchio is missing you. Dinner tomorrow night."
        Intake of breath.
        "I tried to wiggle out of it."
        "We don't have plans?" He says that without much hope.
        "None that Frannie or Mama Vecchio can know about, there, Fraser." And I grin at him in the falling darkness. He smiles back, but remotely, again. Damn. And I don't try too hard to break the silence as we climb the stairs to his apartment. He changes, in silence. We eat in silence too, punctuated by the occasional comment from me.
        Finally I hit on a subject he's required to respond to, the new apartment. "So did you decide whether to take that one we looked at last week?"
        And, finally, he looks at me. "Yes. Yes, I think I will. I'll probably sign the lease tomorrow."
        "I liked it."
        "I know. So did I." And amazingly he smiles at me. Ben's back.
        "And air conditioning for Dief. He's not gonna know what hit him, this summer."
        "No, I imagine he will be pleasantly surprised. I often think I should ship him to Maggie for the summer."
        "No!" I say, and then realise that sounded kinda intense. "I mean, don't. It would break his heart."
        "And mine," Fraser says. "And possibly yours as well."
        I scowl. "Over a dog? Right, Fraser."
        He smiles at me. Knowingly. "Wolf."
        "You can fool all of the Mounties some of the time," I say.
        "I don't think you can fool me at all, Ray."
        "I hope I can! Jeez, where's the mystery otherwise?"
        "What mystery?"
        "The mystery. You know. Where I'm gonna jump your bones next."
        He laughs at that but I don't miss the tongue, quicker than a snake, flicking that lower lip.
        "In fact . . ." I say, looking speculatively at the table. Fraser follows my gaze with his own, and predictably, endearingly, blushes. And before he has time to recover from that, I am on my knees in front of him, my arms around his waist as I bury my face in his lap. "Of course, there's a perfectly good kitchen chair right here going to waste." And feel his almost instant response against my face as I rub my chin on the growing bulge. And look up to see him looking down, that lower lip now caught in his teeth.
        "Oh, Ben, you're probably tired of hearing what you do to me." My hands are pulling at his jeans. He leans down to kiss me.
        "I never get tired of hearing you at all, Ray," and follows that with a kiss, a long deep kiss, thrusting and withdrawing his tongue. He can turn me on just looking at me and if he doesn't stop that kinda kissing this is going to be a really short trip, for me at least. I get his pants unfastened and tug at them.
        "You gotta stand up for a sec, Fraser," I say, hearing my voice get a little hoarse. As he complies I waste no time pulling both layers down, down past his knees, letting that gorgeous stiff cock spring free. I kiss the tip of it as I push him back down into the chair, following him with my mouth. And finally, as I engulf him, I hear that moan, that moan that gets me through the day sometimes, as he grabs my shoulders, arches his back, and thrusts up into my mouth. Wow. Guess he's been thinking about this too. And then concentrate on Ben's cock, the taste of it in my mouth, the smell of him, the sounds he's making now, not quite noiseless gasps and moans.
        Sooner than I want, he's pulling me away to kiss me, and I know he's close, so close. "Ray, the bed . . . please . . . and you . . ."
        Incoherent Mountie isn't quite as sexy as Red Mountie, but it's pretty high up there on my list, and I pull him to his feet and somehow we stumble into the other room; walking is almost actively painful for me, and he's so zoned that he's not quite sure where we're going. His hands, however, know what they're doing and with somewhat close to his usual efficiency my clothes are mostly gone in that short walk. I push him down onto the bed.
        "Can I go back to what I was doing?" I tease, following him down, opening my mouth again. He shakes his head and twists like an eel to meet my mouth with his own.
        "Patience is a virtue, Ray," he says softly, teasing back.
        "Is that how you always get your man? 'Cause this is one man impatience works better for."
        He shakes his head, suppressing laughter.
        "Admit it, Ben. You're just into delayed gratification. And I'm telling you right now, that's plain unAmerican."
        "I've noticed," he says, still grinning.
        "So it's my duty, since you're in America, not to delay that gratification any longer," I say, and twist fast, myself, to take him in my mouth again. He makes one small protesting noise and then goes boneless under me as he accepts the inevitable - I got my own places where stubborn works - and decides to enjoy it. And I'm enjoying it too and then jump about a foot as I realise he has decided to take matters, or me, into his own hand as regards gratification, and I try to match my sucking to his strokes on my cock . . . and I can't believe his self control as I raise my head to gasp, "Ben!" And go boneless myself, just in time to feel his mouth cover me, and begin to suck, and swallow, and the world spins away from me.
        When I open my eyes again, he's grinning down his body at me, so satisfied with himself, and I muster the energy, somewhere, to pounce on his cock and try to drive him over the edge. I slick a finger with my spit and slip it between his cheeks . . . I sometimes forget how much this turns him on . . . and that does the trick, no more grins, just Ben's face in ecstasy, moaning my name as he thrusts up into my mouth in wild abandon, coming like a freight train a few seconds later.
        "Perhaps patience, like logic, is not all it's cracked up to be," he says lazily a few minutes later, his arms around me, me draped on his chest in my favourite position to hold and be held by him.
        "Make an American outta you yet, Ben."
        "I thought we were doing it the other way around," he says.
        "Aw, give that up, Frase. I'll never be polite. Hopeless."
        He pulls my face up to his with a hand under my chin.
        "You are very sensitive and tactful," he says quietly.
        "Uh, no, Ben. Get a grip on reality."
        "I prefer my universe," he says, smiling now.
        "I bet you do. Delusional Mountie. Next thing you'll be saying I'm fragile."
        He stills at that, and then sighs.
        "And now back to our show, The Quiet Mountie."
        "I was wrong about that," he says after a few moments, even more softly than before. "I thought . . . I do think . . . that you are sometimes fragile. But inside, I think, you are strong. Stronger than I am."
        Now I'm the one who's entered another universe. Ben, sharing? With me? Without poking and prodding and prying? Makes me a little panicky but hell I want him to open up. So I tell myself.
        "Everybody can be fragile," I say hesitantly. "Sometimes. Like you said. Sometimes, I am too. I don't see you that way, though." Even as I say it, I wonder if it's true. "You always know the right thing to do. To say."
        "No," he says. "I say and do those things from externally imposed familial, cultural, and societal expectations of behaviour, of good and evil, of right and wrong, of justice."
        "You have no internal drive for justice? No internal grasp of right and wrong, good and evil? I gotta disagree. I think that's a big part of your inside, Ben."
        He relaxes a little. "Perhaps you're right about that." A little relieved.
        And I try to think about what he's saying. Is he saying that inside himself he doesn't know what's right and wrong? No. But what does he mean? Where could he think that I am stronger than he is? And suddenly remember Eric. He said that too. How could I be stronger than Ben? I need him as much as he needs me. He makes me complete. Makes me feel wanted, loved. And all he seems to need from me is to let him love me. Which isn't hard, Ben.
        But on the other hand, Ben isn't always clear on what he needs. He's said before he wants me and he needs me but no details. Never why. At the cabin he said something about my outlook on life. Now that, admittedly, is a whole lot different than his. Mr. Instinct. Go from the gut. Impulsive. Feel, instead of think. How does Fraser think that's stronger than his rational approach? How can feelings be stronger than that?
        But, then, Fraser's not too good at feelings. He still says he loves me with not quite a tremor in his voice but enough so I know it's a tough thing to say. That he says it like it's being pulled outta him, because he has to, which is damn flattering, in a way. He's not sayin' it because he thinks I need to hear it. He's saying it because he has to; he's learning to listen to that part of him, at least. He's gotta listen to all of it, though. To his heart and his head.
        And maybe that's why he has trouble believing me when I tell him that I love him. For keeps. And that the whole world's problems aren't his fault. In his heart he feels that part of the problem - he feels the compassion - but his head takes over and tries to make him fix it all. When he can't he just retreats further into his head, and his heart gets a little more bruised. Looks like the communication thing is an issue inside Ben as well as outside him. And my words don't get through. Not all the time. They gotta process through the brain, that cold efficient Mountie brain that stacks and analyses and defines and critiques, before they get inside him, and maybe they don't get inside him at all, deep enough to change the brain anyway. But when I kiss him . . . when I hold him . . . he connects. He listens to me, to my body, and to his. Feels, then. Lets himself go, hell, that's part of what's so damn sexy about him . . . that he can be so controlled outta bed and so completely in tune in bed.
        "Ray?" He's watching me think, his eyes worried but still there.
        "Externally imposed expectations, Mountie? Where the hell is a dictionary?"
        He sighs, shaking his head. "Sorry, Ray. You seem to be so good at figuring out what I'm saying from the context, I suppose, that I haven't bothered to invest in a one."
        See, now this is the other fun part about sex with Fraser. He gets silly. Teases me, outright, with a straight face and a smile in his eyes.
        "I think you'd better. Otherwise how am I supposed to hold up my end of the conversation?"
        "I often worry about that, Ray." He manages to look much less worried than he sounds. "Fortunately Diefenbaker is usually willing to jump into conversations so I thought perhaps you hadn't noticed that all I'm really interested in is your body."
        "Yeah, it's better not to distract me too much with the intellectual stuff," I say, almost in a whisper, my mouth inches from his.
        "Distract . . . you?" And suddenly he's forgetting what we're saying because he's concentrating on the feel of me on top of him and my mouth, so close to his, and I know by the change in his breathing, the look in his eyes, that words are not gonna be processed anywhere in his brain right now but the medulla oblongata.
        I let my tongue come out and slowly, slowly circle my lips with it, then lean down, and lightly, as gently as I can, circle his lips with it next. His breathing speeds up a little more and I feel his heart speed up underneath my chest, and I lick my lips again, and then his again, bracing myself a little forward on my hands. His tongue comes out to follow the trail of mine, almost involuntarily, as he watches my mouth. He likes this. I do it a third time. His breathing is getting ragged. He's trying not to pant, to interfere with my tongue. I lean in really close to his mouth and his eyes close in anticipation. "I'm pretty easy to distract," I whisper against his lips. "How 'bout you?"
        And then I lick his lips again, and this time he actually shudders, and gasps.
        "Ray, you have no idea how that feels," he whispers back, breathlessly, in a rush.
        "Oh? You want me to stop?"
        His eyes fly open and his arms come up around me almost instinctively.
        "No." The lizard part of the brain can process simple negatives.
        "'Cause if I'm bothering or distracting you, Fraser . . ." And I lean in again to lick, light and fast, around his lips. He shifts his hips uncomfortably under me, rocking himself a little bit against my thigh, getting stiffer by the second. I push my thigh up against his cock, which is a little harder than even a few seconds ago, and lick his lips again, enjoying the twitch of his cock against my leg. His heart is even starting to pound against my chest.
        "Raaayyy . . . "
        I lick again, this time letting my tongue slip to the inside of his lips, all the way around in the circle of his open mouth, and he tenses even more, squeezing his eyes shut as his own tongue follows the trail again.
        "Raaayyyy . . ."
        And then I pull his lower lip into my mouth, licking it, holding it there with my teeth, for a few fabulous seconds until I lose control and cover his mouth, finally, with my own, his moans lost in the thrusts of our tongues and our bodies, as I shift so that we're cock to cock.
        I break the kiss, finally, to whisper, "You sound distracted, Ben."
        He pulls my head back down, thrusting hard against me, his tongue licking my mouth briefly before diving inside me and his other hand goes to my ass to hold me in place there as his thrusts become more focused, more urgent.
        I shift so that I can get a hand between us and he falters a moment, his eyes opening, a little dazed, as I put my hand around both of us.
        "Remember, Ben?" I whisper. He shakes his head a little, to clear the fog, and his hand moves down to cover mine on us, and then up to brush the tops of both of us, making me, at least, gasp hard, and then back down around mine so we are stroking together.
        "Oh, yeah," he whispers, arching up into our hands, the hand on my ass kneading it almost unconsciously. It's my turn to close my eyes for a minute, enjoying the sensation of cock tight against cock, hot slick smooth flesh, and when I reopen them he is watching me almost hungrily. I am matching him thrust for thrust, stroke for stroke now, and a little moan escapes him as I lean back in to kiss him. He returns the kiss almost with desperation, his tongue matching his thrusts into our hands.
        "God, Ben," I murmur into his mouth, and then jump almost out of my skin as his thumb brushes the top of my cock, and feel a reciprocal jump a millisecond later as he does the same to his own.
        His head falls back against the bed and I follow it down, a quick lick across his lips, nipping his chin, before running my tongue down his throat, arched now so I can, and settling to suck at the base of his neck, remembering the two points of ecstasy I felt last time we did this. Suck, stroke, suck, stroke, and he is trying so hard not to lose it, to prolong it, but it's a losing battle, this fight for control, and after one last nip I raise my head to look down at us and then up at him, his eyes half open, his jaw clenched, his head turning a little restlessly from side to side.
        "So good, Ben . . . y'know what . . . what'd be perfect? If I could take . . . both of us . . . in my mouth at the same time . . . oh God . . ." And my plan backfires as I feel the rush start from somewhere behind my balls. But his eyes flew open at that and that look of utter, innocent bliss is rapidly moving over his face, and our strokes slow together almost instinctively and the feel of his cock spasming and pulsing against mine tears a scream out of my throat, a quiet hoarse scream, thank God, ending in an incoherent sob with Ben's name mixed up in it somehow as our hands, trembling together, slow and finally still. I can't hold my head up any longer and I let it fall, with an audible thud, to his shoulder. He turns his head, slowly, with an effort, and smiles at me. And then, gently, leans forward a little to lick around my mouth. I smile back and close my eyes, returning the lick with a kiss.
        His breathing takes longer to get back to normal than mine. For once. Damn, it just gets better and better in bed. I let my fingers brush through the sticky, silky hair at the base of his cock, soft now, closed up behind the foreskin, hidden away from the world. Just like Fraser. Slide my fingers from the base of a few strands out to the ends, then repeat. He makes a breathy little sound, not quite a laugh.
        "Tickle?"
        "Not . . . not exactly, no."
        Pull a strand gently against my thumbnail. Interesting texture.
        Fraser's watching me, a puzzled look on his face.
        "Hey, it's my kind of intellectual pursuit," I say. "Getting to know every inch of you."
        "Ah. I doubt that there's a dictionary available for that pastime."
        "I got you." And smile at him. He smiles back.
        "Shower or washcloth?" I ask. Hopin' for washcloth.
        "Dief needs a run."
        "Shower it is." Yeah, cold one. I need a run, too, Dief, burn off some of this Vecchio crap. I'm in better condition than I was before. Always said the damn wolf was an exercise machine. I'm on my second pair of running shoes since this relationship started.
        Fraser's in and outta the shower before I even get started. He's pullin' his sweats on as I disappear into the bathroom. I don't really take a cold shower. I'm not that nuts. Yet.
        Been keepin' sweats and the shoes here. We end up here a lot. The new place will be even better, a real bedroom, a couch to stretch out on. Mmmmyeah. I like couches. So anyhow I'm ready not too long after he is, he's finishing his stretches. I jog in place and he looks at me.
        "Stretches, Ray."
        "Got that dancin' thing goin' on, Fraser, I don't need to."
        "Yes, you do."
        "I ever pulled so much as a hamstring, Fraser?"
        "No, Ray. There is however a first time for everything."
        Hate arguing. He's getting a little protective of me. It's nice because Stella was like just critical or else I hadda protect her, but sometimes I just wanna pull a hamstring if I want to. But can't say that 'cause he'll get hurt, so I stifle and do a few stretches, a few lunges. A few dance steps, to make my point. Which there isn't really one, because I gotta stretch before I dance, but he probably doesn't know that. Why'm I being stubborn for the sake of being stubborn? It's not like we don't got enough problems with the Vecchio crap. Which I am not even gonna think about. Not talk about. Keep Ben with me as long as I can, keep that cold Mountie away as long as I can.
        And I don't bring Vecchio up, don't have to, we don't have breath to talk on the run or after, when the testosterone hits us both and the smell of fresh sweat on Fraser goes to my head like that wine Stella liked, that Cotes du Rhone, smooth and dry, that could knock me flat on my ass and leave me with a smile on my face even in the morning. Gets us through the night. My last thought, conscious anyhow, is relief that we won't have to tackle the Ma Vecchio thing until morning.
        
        Whatever it takes I'm giving
It's just a gift I'm giving
Try to live inside
Trying to move inside
And I always thought that it would make me smarter
But it's only made me harder
My heart thrown open wide
In this near wild heaven
Not near enough.
        "Near Wild Heaven," Out of Time, R.E.M.
        
        Ray is unusually quiet in the morning. Generally on Saturday mornings he is wild and unrestrained and makes frequent references to cultural icons such as Bugs and Daffy and his personal favourite, a coyote of some sort, sometimes while pouring maple syrup on my chest and licking it up or feeding pancakes to Diefenbaker and to me while we lie in bed. This morning is different. I'm not quite sure what's wrong. He made a reference to some sort of wine last night but he didn't actually have any so there's no reason to blame alcohol, although if I were to diagnose the problem, a hangover would be my first guess.
        "Ray, are you feeling well?"
        "Oh, yeah, great, Frase." He stretches and smiles. A genuine smile. I am more puzzled than ever.
        "Do you perhaps have a headache?"
        "Nope."
        I stare at him, not trying to hide my perplexity.
        "What's wrong with you, Frase? I got pancake between my teeth? Morning breath?"
        "Morning stubble."
        "And afternoon and evening stubble," he says with his quick grin. "So? You like looking at it?"
        "Yes."
        "Crazy Mountie. What're we doing today? Aside from the inevitable Dief runs?"
        And I remember Mrs. Vecchio's dinner invitation. Well, perhaps command is the correct word to use. Ray is watching me, and as I feel my expression grow grave, I see his eyes grow grave as well. Perhaps even sad.
        "Don't think about that yet, Frase. We could go couch shopping. And at least moving you isn't gonna be hard. You gotta go sign the lease too, right?"
        "Yes, of course." But despite his words, Ray Vecchio is back in my brain. I fail to see how eating dinner with him will effect a solution to his desire to remove himself from my presence, my existence. It can only make things worse, much worse. I deserve this punishment, of course, but Mrs. Vecchio does not. Nor does Francesca. Nor does Ray. And if there is one thing that Ray Vecchio does outstandingly well, it is making everyone aware of his moods and somehow managing then to infect others with them.
        Ray is watching me still, his eyes grave still. An odd mood for him. Unlike Ray Vecchio, he is almost always upbeat although like Ray Vecchio he too can infect others with his moods. This is probably one reason I am so happy to be around him. The feelings are easier, and the moods require somewhat less effort to attain. Although today the mood of happiness is absent from both Ray and myself and I'm not sure why.
        "Getting my shower, Frase," he says abruptly, and rolls off the other side of the bed. He doesn't invite me, with words or that glance, to join him, so, a little disoriented by this omission, I make the bed and wander to the kitchen to wash up quickly while awaiting my turn in the shower. He finishes quickly, for him; generally he stands under the water for a long time. More wallowing. And I feel a smile touch my face as I think about that. He's coming out of the bathroom, drying his hair again with the towel, unselfconsciously naked as he catches my smile and grins back as he disappears into the closet.
        When I come out of the shower, he is sitting at the table, reading the lease. I dress quickly and join him.
        "You don't got the military clause in here, Frase," he says without preamble.
        "I beg your pardon?"
        "You never had a lease, huh."
        "No."
        "Yeah, figures. This place they're probably happy you pay by the month instead of the week. There's a clause you oughtta have in here, says if you get reassigned due to your job that all you have to do is give thirty day's notice and you're not obligated for the rest of the lease. It's necessary crap for military people, that's why it's called the military clause. And, hell, you could be reassigned at the drop of a hat."
        "It's unlikely, Ray."
        "I know that. Who the hell else would Thatcher find to do all her shit work, right the first time, and look at all day too? But the point is it oughtta be in here. I wouldn't sign it without it if I were you."
        "As you wish, Ray."
        He looks up at me then, a frown, that clears as soon as he sees I am serious.
        "Well, okay. Okay, then." He gets to his feet. "C'mon, Dief, day's wasting."
        His odd mood continues, off and on, all day, enough to keep me off balance, so that I am in less than top form upon arriving at Ray Vecchio's house. Francesca was watching for us, and opens the door as soon as Ray pulls up. She is joined in short order by Mrs. Vecchio who subjects us both to the inevitable hugs and the Italian exclamations.
        Ray Kowalski has never fully assumed the role of Italian patriarch and it is with something approaching relief that he watches Ray Vecchio don it effortlessly, happily, as naturally as breathing. He watches the give and take for a little while, catches my eye, grins, and applies himself to pasta. He endeared himself to Mrs. Vecchio almost immediately: he is capable of ingesting vast quantities of Italian food and never argues with her about taking home leftovers. She plies him with second and third helpings of this and that and for a little while he relaxes.
        Ray Vecchio and Francesca erupt into a violent argument about a man she's been dating, a not unusual occurrence. By the time it's settled and I look around again, my Ray is shrugging into his jacket.
        "You catch a ride home with Vecchio, Frase," he says, not looking me in the eye. "I got stuff I need to do."
        "No problem," Ray Vecchio says before I have time to answer. "Let our stomachs settle, shoot a few hoops, huh, Fraser?"
        "Certainly," I say, more than perplexed and feeling slightly deserted. I have no desire to shoot hoops with Ray Vecchio, and even less desire to sit and make painstaking, careful conversation, every word a reminder of how we used to be and how we cannot be, now, because things have changed, no matter what we say to each other and no matter how hard we try to pretend they have not.
        "Cool. Catch you tomorrow. No, please, Ma, just lasagna, I got no room for more in the fridge."
        "Make room," Mrs. Vecchio says, piling two or three more containers on top of the one he's already holding. "What your mother is thinking to let her son stay so thin…"
        "She says the same thing," Ray says. "It's just my funky metabolism. Thanks for dinner." He bends to kiss her swiftly on the cheek and I catch a flicker of surprise in Ray Vecchio's eyes and wonder why.
        And I go home, not too much later, to an empty apartment. By the time Dief and I realise Ray's not coming, it's too late - and, I confess, I'm too proud - to call him.

        ~~~

        Ray picks me up, as usual, at the Consulate, but after his initial greeting, that lopsided grin, a warm glint in his eyes for me, he is rather silent as we drive to my apartment. And again, as he has done frequently in the past few weeks, since learning of Ray Vecchio's promotion, he answers my question, "Would you like to come up?" with a grin and a shake of his head and a "Nah, not tonight, Frase," as I lean back in to let Dief out. He says there is nothing wrong, when I have asked before. And when he does come up, not as often as before, with a feeling of having given in, I think, he is as affectionate, as passionate, as ever, although still slightly remote, slightly not quite there. It's difficult to put a finger on, and perhaps I wouldn't notice if I didn't know everything I do know about Ray, about the myriad expressions in his eyes, the way he tenses ever so slightly just before we kiss, as if even after all this he can't believe that it's true, that I actually do want to kiss him.
        And in truth I do not know how far to go, how much to push him. Perhaps he needs space, as he often says. We are both loners. Perhaps living with my early hours and my annoying wolf is too much to take in. Or perhaps he is emotionally distancing himself. I can't tell; I have no experience upon which to predicate a hypothesis. All that I know is that I dislike waking up alone now, dislike intensely not being able to watch Ray as he sleeps, not being able to watch him as he wakes, even dislike not seeing him put Smarties in his coffee. And if that isn't a shameful thing for a grown man, a Mountie, to admit, I don't know what is.
        So tonight, because I am worried and, lonely, and, above all, missing Ray, I lean back into the car again and hesitate for a moment. He meets my eyes with his own, a puzzled look. That is harder to overcome than a defensive glare or even a teasing grin. That says that he clearly thinks there is nothing wrong with his desire to be alone and that he isn't quite sure why I can't accept it. I am not sure, either, Ray. But I say, finally, "Are you sure?"
        He hesitates even longer than I did, and I see something flicker in his eyes, something that gives me hope for a brief second, before dropping his eyes and nodding. "Yeah, 'course I'm sure, Fraser." He offers no excuses, no explanations. I do not know if that is better or worse than feeling he must explain.

        ~~~

        Even though I don't feel like I'm punishing Fraser, I feel like shit as I drive away, watching in the rearview mirror as he stands looking after me. How can I explain to Fraser why I don't wanna be around him, even though I wanna be, when I don't understand it myself? I just . . . I just can't be there while he's punishing himself again. Can't see that. Makes me cold inside, makes me hard and angry and I can't be there. Vecchio's promotion makes sense. Makes sense for him. Is Fraser the only one who can't see that? But I can't say that 'cause I got a vested interest in seeing the back of Vecchio, at least in his mind, and Fraser's. So I go home and dance and try not to think about Ben and enjoy being with him when I can. And despise myself, sometimes, for being so lonely or so desperate or so something that I do go home with him and for a while it's like it was before and then afterwards he's gone again, into his all-my-fault mode, and I'm shut out, in the cold, further than I was before. And I can't stay out in the cold, not after the warmth we had, the connection we had, without risking my soul.

        ~~~~

        I am still standing on the sidewalk, suddenly too tired to move, when I hear the familiar sound of the Riviera's engine. Ray Kowalski won't talk to me. Ray Vecchio hasn't talked to me about anything except cases since he told me about his promotion So he must be here for a case, and therefore I stifle all thoughts of changing, of dinner, and walk to the curb to meet him.
        But he gets out of his car and he's looking happier than he has been. I'm not sure why until I realise that probably he is getting the arrangements finalised for his promotion, the arrangements that will effectively erect an impassable barrier between us. A barrier begun by my distrust and deceit, made taller by my unforgiveable outburst with the bottle of whiskey, and completed, perhaps tonight, in the final acceptance of the end of our friendship. But it is still, at this moment, a friendship, so I listen as he tells me more about the new job.
        We start to walk up to my apartment and he looks around and asks, "Where's Kowalski?"
        "He went home," I say, and am proud that my voice betrays none of my feelings in the matter.
        "Oh. So listen, what do you think of this . . . "
        We are sitting at my kitchen table. I can't face the sofa tonight. It reminds me of the trouble we had getting it up all those stairs, and how we celebrated, when we finally succeeded. That was over a week ago, the last time that Ray came to my apartment. I come back to the present and realise that Ray Vecchio has finished speaking and is waiting expectantly.
        "You sound excited about this, Ray. I had formed the impression that you were unhappy."
        "I was at first, Benny. You know me, I don't like change. But I talked to them more. Talked to Welsh, today. There's stuff I can do here, without being undercover, to make a difference. In Chicago, with my family and you. Yeah, we won't be partners any more, not day to day, but you and I both know that Kowalski's the one who's better suited for rummaging in dumpsters with you." He grins at me, almost like a little boy, at that, pleading with me to see that he isn't making fun of Ray, that he's laughing at himself and Ray and me. I feel a small weight lift from my heart, enough to make me smile too.
        He looks at me then, closely. "Fraser, what's going on with you? With you and Kowalski?"
        I am silent. I still cannot lie. I try to equivocate. "He is a loner."
        "Yeah, no kidding."
        I am silent again. There is no explanation. I have none.
        Ray cannot keep a note of hope out of his voice as he asks, "Are you two - have you two - gee, do guys break up?"
        And I cannot keep the shakiness out of mine as I reply, "I don't know."
        He sighs. "I can't believe I'm doing this . . . " he mutters. "What's wrong, Benny?"
        "I don't know."
        "Don't deflect, Benny."
        "I'm sorry, Ray, that is the truth. I do not know."
        "Is he giving you the silent treatment? The cold shoulder?"
        "No."
        "Then what?"
        And in my misery, I forget that Ray is not happy about this, is less than comfortable with this, in general avoids my apartment if there is the least chance that he may run into Ray Kowalski there, and say, "He's simply not there any more, Ray."
        "There at all? I see you two hanging out at the station, going to lunch, stuff like that, he still takes you to work and home again, right?"
        "Yes." All that is true. How to explain to Ray that my Ray is just not inside himself any more?
        "You talked about it?"
        "I - I've tried."
        He sighs. "Benny, I'm no good at this. I wouldn't be good at this if this was Katherine Burns."
        That brings an involuntary muscle spasm that could almost be described as a smile to both of our faces. "The benefit there would be that she would be telling us, at great length, exactly what was wrong, or at least why she thought something might possibly be wrong, and not listening to either of us," I say.
        "Yeah, Benny, I always thought she was perfect for you," he says, deadpan. "Except your kids would probably have run away to a Pacific island for some peace and quiet between the two of you."
        "I would undoubtedly have embarked on my own quest for the hand of Franklin before children were an issue," I say.
        "Hand of Franklin? No, no, we're not gonna go off on one of your tangents, Benny. So you haven't talked. Why not?"
        "He doesn't seem to think that anything is wrong. And after all I am hardly an expert. He is a loner. Perhaps he needs to be alone."
        Ray sighs again. "Yeah."
        To my relief he abandons the discussion and we sit in a companionable silence for a few minutes. He recalls himself to the present and begins again to tell me about the job, about what he thinks they will be doing.
        " . . . we're making it up, a little, as we go, I guess, but that'll give me some leeway anyway, you know how I hate all that procedure stuff."
        Yes, I am intimately aware of your disregard for procedure, Ray, I think fondly. I do not say this out loud, however. I simply nod.
        When he finishes talking, he asks, "So what do you really think, Benny?'
        I blink. "I think it sounds like a good opportunity, Ray. I didn't realise you were happy about it."
        "You said that before."

        ~~~

        Suddenly my brain kicks in. 'Is that what's up with you lately? You think I was taking this promotion to get away from you, Benny?"
        And that damn Mountie looks at me, and then has the gall to nod.
        'Benton Fraser, did I not tell you that none of that mattered? To us?"
        He nods again.
        "I'm a little angry, here, Benny."
        He sighs. "Yes, I thought you were. I realise that we haven't settled certain things. The whiskey, the things I said and did . . ."
        'Not before," I say, my voice getting louder. "Right now!"
        He says nothing.
        "You know what I think of our friendship, Benny?"
        I think he's scared to look at me. I wait until he does. That big-eyed Mountie look's got nothing on the look on his face right now. "Yes, Ray?" I don't get it for a minute until I realise he is waiting to be hurt, waiting for me to tell him it's been real but not so fun lately.
        "Benny. That's not what I mean. I meant that I saw how much you cared about me when you lost your temper."
        "That's insane, Ray." Incredulous.
        I gotta grin. "No, Fraser, I got some reasoning going on here. You never lose your temper. But you did, with me, because I said I needed a drink. You were so scared and worried about me that you actually lost your temper. Just like a real person, Fraser. That was - that had to help."
        He is silent for a long moment. "Only you, Ray, could find a way to make that sound as if I were trying to help. You know perfectly well that I was wrong and ill advised as well to have said or done any of that."
        "What I know, Benny, is that you cared. That you cared enough to get mad. And you shocked me back into caring too. "
        A long silence.
        "Then since we are baring our souls, I must confess, Ray, that I learned what our friendship meant to you when it did not even cross your mind that it was quite attainable to get rid of Ray Kowalski simply by spilling the beans, so to speak. One whisper, as you know, can do wonders and more than whispers will of course get one slightly rebellious detective transferred or pushed out. Yet as angry as you were with me, as disappointed as you were in me, you never thought of that." He looks at me steadily the whole time he's talking, his eyes blue-grey with sincerity, honesty, and . . . friendship? Yeah.
        I feel a big stupid grin come over my face. "No, I didn't, did I. I didn't, Benny." And because I haven't told him, haven't told anyone everything about my assignment, there's no way he'll ever be able to understand what he's just given me. The knowledge that I am still human, that I am still Ray Vecchio, and no longer Armando Langoustini, if I ever was. If I ever could have been. But he sees the joy in my face and his own face softens into an unexpected smile. I still see pain and self reproach in his eyes but now I see a familiar warmth there again too, a warmth I hadn't been aware of missing until just now.
        What is it about Fraser's kitchens that always bring tears to my eyes? He must use a lot of pepper in his cooking. To hide the taste. Speaking of cooking . . .
        "C'mon, Frase, let's get some dinner. Go get changed. I want Chinese. Let's go, let's go."
        He stands, hesitates a minute and then grabs my hand and shakes it, hard.
        "That's nice, Benny, don't break anything." But I know what he's trying to say. So what the hell, I use his hand to pull him into a quick hug. "C'mon, Fraser, I'm hungry here. Go get changed. Dief's hungry."
        "I can just go like this, Ray," he says.
        "Benny. Get changed. Sheesh. It's like talking to Dief."

        ~~~

        We enter the restaurant, the one from one of our first cases together so long ago, to the sound of Ray's voice chanting The Rules. I had forgotten about The Rules at some point in his absence.
        "No jumping on cars. No jumping off cars. Remember the license plate. No sniffing things. No jumping out windows. That's what doors are for. No I came to Chicago on the trail of my father's killers. And above all - "
        I join in.
        "No licking!" And we both begin to laugh as we make our way to a table, not near a window. Oddly, Diefenbaker doesn't follow us. Rather, he makes a beeline for the register. I see why almost immediately. I have twenty-twenty vision.
        Ray Kowalski is standing there, toothpick in mouth, with a bag of takeout for which he has obviously just finished paying. He nods at us, a little awkwardly, and reaches down to pat Dief, who is on his hind legs with his nose buried in the bag. "Ah, Dief, not your kinda stuff. Not spicy enough. Want some Szechuan, huh, Dief?" and he repeats the order in a fast, low mutter to the waitress.
        "He's always feeding that wolf," Ray Vecchio says good-naturedly.
        The restaurant is by now intimately familiar with Diefenbaker's needs, desires, and preferences, and in less than two minutes his order is ready and has been placed in a large china bowl to boot, no doubt a concession to Ray's habit of generous tipping. Ray carries the bowl over to put it down by our table, hesitates, and says, "Hey."
        "Hey, Kowalski. Wanna join us?"
        "Hello, Ray. Please do."
        'No, no thanks. Got stuff to do, that's why I got it to go tonight. See you tomorrow," he says, not meeting my eyes at all. "And, Fraser, you got an overdue library book. Or so I hear."
        "Impossible!" Ray Vecchio says, grinning broadly. "Not Fraser!"
        "Oh, dear. I think you're right. Thank you, Ray."
        He shrugs. "No prob, Frase."
        Unexpectedly, Ray Vecchio speaks up again. "C'mon, Kowalski, stay. I might come up with a story you haven't heard yet."
        I look at him, surprised. Ray is surprised too. He recovers fast. "I doubt that, Vecchio." And grins, a sight so welcome to me that I involuntarily close my eyes to retain the image. "Been your partner for what, over three months now? You talk a lot, man."
        The waitress comes over, clearly expecting to set another place. Ray shakes his head at her, and I catch his eye as he does so. He looks full at me for a brief moment and I see pain and longing in his eyes before he drops his eyelids, quickly. "No thanks, I'm leaving," he tells her. "Just stopped to say hi."
        Dief, who's finished eating, looks from the table to Ray to the table again, and Ray laughs. "Oh, Dief, you're good. Gotta go, buddy." He pats him, says a generic, "Bye," and heads to the stairs. Diefenbaker follows him. I see Ray grab his muzzle and I am surprised that Dief allows that. Ray enunciates something and Dief moans at him but after a moment drops his eyes and then tries to walk casually back to us.
        "It's no use looking like that," I tell him. "You are certainly welcome to go home with Ray if you so desire. It's called free will."
        Diefenbaker pointedly ignores this as he settles beneath the table with a soft exhaled mutter.
        I have very little appetite.
        After we finish, Ray offers to drive me home. That is somewhat unusual since I know he dislikes me walking in my neighbourhood and thus rides are generally taken for granted between us.
        I rouse myself to take an interest in his conversation in the car but it is difficult and I am about to open my mouth to apologise when I realise we are pulling into Ray Kowalski's parking lot.
        I turn to look at Ray Vecchio, open-mouthed.
        "Think you got some talking to do, Fraser."
        "Ray. I appreciate it, but no. If he says he needs to be alone, then I need to let him."
        "C'mon, Benny. Work with me, here."
        And indeed this is so generous of Ray, so accepting, that I realise I must do more than argue with him. So I take a deep breath, thank him kindly, and get out of the car with Diefenbaker. He nods in the direction of the apartment door. He knows me so well. He will not leave until I enter the building. I am surprised that he isn't walking me, personally, to Ray's door. I have no choice but to enter. I can leave again when he is gone.
        He waits for a few minutes. I thought he would. I lean against the wall in the hallway and close my eyes. Someone is coming down the steps. I open my eyes again. Of course it is Ray. I knew that from Diefenbaker's excited wriggle. Unaccountably I blush.
        He is carrying two bags of garbage. He is, of course, surprised to see me.
        "Hey, Fraser." His voice is carefully neutral. I must leave.
        "Hello, Ray."
        "Not that I'm not glad to see you, but whatcha doing?"
        I nod towards the parking lot. "Ray Vecchio thought we needed to talk."
        He opens his mouth and then shuts it again, clearly speechless.
        "I was waiting for him to leave. I know you want to be alone. I was trying to allow you to have that." I look at the floor as I say this, since I know I cannot hide, from him, how I wish things were different.
        "Polite as always, huh, Frase." Now he sounds angry. I am confused. "Let me take this out, see if the coast is clear so you can bug out." Sarcastic too.
        He is shaking his head upon his return. "He's still there. Stalked by cops, only in your universe, Fraser."
        It's true, and it is my fault and so I can say nothing because I can't trust my voice.
        He begins to climb the stairs and Diefenbaker whines, looking up at me. I nod. Diefenbaker begins to follow him.
        "No, Dief, stay with Fraser."
        "It's . . ." I have to clear my throat. "It's all right, Ray. He wants to. He chooses to live with me. I don't own him. And he is usually quite certain about what he needs."
        "Too bad you're not the same way."
        What is that supposed to mean? And without thinking, without remembering that we are in a public stairwell, where we can be overhead by any chance-met neighbour, I say simply, "I need you, Ray."
        He closes his eyes as his hand grips the banister, hard, narrowing so much that his bracelet falls all the way down his wrist to his hand and clinks against it. That small sound brings his eyes open, and he looks back over his shoulder at me and says, very quietly, "Come on, then." He sounds resigned, still unhappy, but the look on his face belies the tone of his voice.
        I can hear the beat of the music, though not the words or even the melody, as we approach his apartment. We enter and he shuts the door hard, locking it in almost the same motion. Then he turns to me and kisses me, urgently, hard, with no preamble, and seemingly with no affection, and I feel only a desperate drive, overlaid with a raw, aching need, as he pushes his body against me, in time to the music. My hands slide down his to his wrists, preventing him from putting his arms around me. He pulls back at this and says, thickly, "What's wrong, Fraser? Isn't this what you need? It's what I need too."
        "I need you, Ray," I say, as steadily as I can, as if my heart isn't pounding in my temples. He stares at me for a long moment, intense longing warring with bitter pain in his eyes, and my heart almost skips a beat as I feel my stomach twist in anguish. How can I have caused this man so much pain? Again? What have I done now?
        I do not realise I am still holding his wrists until he jerks his hands away in a frenetic, angry motion. My thumb and forefinger were caught under his bracelet and with no sound at all the ring connecting the beads to the catch parts company with itself and it slides from my hand and his wrist, still joined for a split second by the metal chain. Automatically, my reactions still quick, I catch it before it reaches the floor and close my hand around it. He looks from my hand to my face, and then turns away abruptly.
        "I'm sorry, Ray," I hear myself saying, probably the worst thing I could think of to say at this juncture. "I'll fix it."
        "That's okay, Fraser." His anger is gone again. He is weary, resigned, back in his shell. "It was an accident. I don't think it really matters anyway."
        "I should leave."
        "You don't have to." But he doesn't look at me.
        "I must," I say firmly. He nods.
        "Yeah. Let me go with you, make sure Vecchio's gone."
        "Thank you, Ray, but I am perfectly capable of opening a door in a furtive manner to determine whether there is someone on the other side or not."
        "Yeah, I know." No grin. He is more withdrawn than ever.
        We walk in silence to his apartment house's entrance. I demonstrate my prowess at furtive door-opening. Ray Vecchio is gone. Ray watches me, still silent, still remote.
        "Good night, Ray."
        Diefenbaker whines but stands with Ray as I step outside. It has begun to rain.
        "Do you need a ride home, Fraser?" He sounds unwilling and yet concerned.
        "No, thank you kindly, Ray. I don't melt in the rain."
        "Figures."
        "Good night," I repeat.
        "Goodbye, Ben," he says, not quite so remote and sadder than I've ever heard him. I glance back at him, startled. Then I understand.
        "Goodbye, Ray." And I am proud that my voice is steady, almost normal, and that I manage to walk away without looking over my shoulder a single time. I am a half a block away when I hear the familiar click of Diefenbaker's nails on the pavement behind me. The song in Ray's apartment finally penetrates the fog in my brain. "We made a promise we swore we'd always remember . . ."

        I'm holding my hands together
I'm holding my feet together
I'm holding myself together
In this near wild heaven
Not near enough
        "Near Wild Heaven," Out of Time, R.E.M.

        I stand watching Fraser and Dief walk down the street for a long time. A lone man. A lone wolf. Can't believe I said that. Can't believe I said that. Why didn't I say what I really wanted to say? Please stay, Ben. Please let me love you. Please let me in. Please don't be so damn hurt that Vecchio's leaving again. He's not leaving for good this time, hell, you'll probably see more of him than you do now. Please don't go away from me, Ben, from us. Please let me figure out how to fix this.
        A voice beside me says, "At least the wolf knows his duty."
        I almost jump outta my skin and jerk my head around to see an old guy, with a funny hat, standing next to me. Looks like one of the rejects Fraser talks to in the park. One of his charity cases. What the hell is he snooping around here for? And what's he got a fur hat on for? It's almost summer.
        "Yeah, wolves are like that," I say coldly, and turn to go up the stairs. I look back for a second and the guy's gone. That was weird.
        I'm not sleeping too well but I finally doze off and start dreaming about that guy in the fur hat, of all people. You'd think I could at least be with Ben in my dreams, but no, my subconscious has to go with old freaks.
        He's sitting on my bed and he's telling me a long incomprehensible story about some guy named Muldoon and how it was Ben's dad's fault Fraser's mom is dead (and I'm seeing that maybe the whole guilt thing is just plain hereditary), and how he went away from Fraser, too, left him alone all his life. Then he switches to Ben's favourite story, the caribou one. And then I get it. I'm dreaming about Ben's dad. This is my life. Ben's dad's ghost sitting on my bed at two a.m. talking about caribou. And I don't have the heart to tell him I heard the one about the ledge already.
        But the dream is unsettling enough that I wake up and see that it is two a.m. And I get up, and walk around restlessly for a few minutes. After all, I wasn't sleeping, before, when the old guy said the wolf knew his duty. Like I don't. What duty, anyhow? It's not my duty to love Ben. Or vice versa. What kinda duty could I have towards Ben that his dad doesn't think I'm fulfilling?
        "Fer keeps," I say hoarsely, then, realising. That it can't ever be goodbye, for us. For me. But Fraser thinks it can. Can't think anything else, really, that's his whole life experience, after all. I don't even remember getting dressed or tearing outta the parking lot with all the demons of hell after me.
        There's no light in Fraser's place, just the glow from the streetlights through the windows. It's dark. I look in his bedroom first. No Fraser, no Dief. Go back out to the living room and see the bedroll, tightly rolled, in its usual place next to the wall by the fireplace. I look around again and hear, finally, a soft whuffle from Dief, somewhere near the window, which is, as is usual for the crazy Mountie, open. And raings still pelting in. I walk closer, intending to close it, and see Ben, beneath the window, leaning against the wall, his knees drawn up to his chest, his arms loosely clasped around them, his head on his knees. He's asleep. And I see, in a picture my head can't make sense of for a minute, a metallic gleam around his right wrist. My bracelet. Just long enough to go twice around his wrist. He did fix it.
        I step closer and can't make sense out of it, the puddle on the floor that seems to be a lot of water in one place, and is darker than water, and it's blood, but the funny thing is I can't smell it and I know from experience I oughtta be gagging on the smell right about now, and in a wordless scream I throw myself at Ben, knocking him backwards onto the floor, my hands going to his wrists instinctively. He's as efficient as usual, long vertical gashes on each, in just the right place. But he's still warm and he's still breathing, and there is a lot of blood on the floor but it's still pumping, or trying to, through my fingers. Dief whines again, totally lost, totally confused, belly to the floor, ears flat, tail nowhere in sight. In a panic, I straddle Ben, putting one knee to each wrist for the hardest, most direct pressure I can think of, while my hands, slippery with blood, fumble with my cell phone. *911, how hard can it be, Kowalski?
        His eyelids flutter as I fumble with the phone, and then he looks up at me, dazed, and smiles that angel's smile, and says, "'All other things, to their destruction draw; Only our love hath no decay.'"
        Is that insane Mountie quoting Donne at me? When he's dying? I finally hear the phone ring. "Fraser," I say urgently. "Fraser!" But he's closed his eyes again, his mouth gently smiling.
        I sit bolt upright in my bed, rubbing my hands on the sheets. I can still feel the blood, sticky, as it starts to dry on my hands, on the phone. I look at the clock. It's two a.m. I shudder at the aftereffects of that dream. Holy shit. And feeling like I done this before already tonight I get dressed faster than I thought possible and put the GTO all out to get to Fraser's place.
        There are no lights on in his place. The streetlights are still glowing through the window. I don't even bother to look in the bedroom, I go straight to the window, and it's still open, still raining in, just like in my dream. It's the weirdest goddamn déjà vu I ever had. And Ben's under the window and my eyes go to his right wrist and I see my bracelet there. This is too goddamn freaky. I hear myself yell his name and I bowl him over just like in my dream only this time there's no blood, just his eyes, blinking up at me in shock and surprise. And I feel Dief snuffling at the back of my neck.
        "You are a fucking stupid goddamn Mountie, ain't you got sense enough to come in outta the rain?" I yell, shaking him hard. He just blinks some more, rain still falling through the window onto his wet head and face and now onto me too. I growl and reach up to close the window, slamming it hard.
        "I'm sorry, Ray," he says, bewildered, three of the most beautiful words I ever heard.
        "You should be, you stupid goddamn Mountie," and I shake him again, not so hard.
        "I like the rain," he says, still confused, still a little sleepy.
        Well, his confusion ain't got nothin' on mine and my heart's still pounding from the dream and the terror of losing Ben and there's nothing else for me to do but lean down to kiss him. His lips are cold and wet, and so are his arms, and his body, as he slowly, wonderingly, returns the kiss, as if he can't believe he's not the one who's dreaming now. And his mouth opens to mine and the weird sensation is gone as my body heat starts to warm him up and my tongue finds his and it's as warm as ever, as gentle as ever, as eager as ever.
        I lift my head up after a minute and say to him, "You know I didn't mean goodbye, Ben, didn't you? I just meant goodbye. That I wanted you to stay and you didn't want to."
        "You didn't want me to stay," he says soberly. "Even I could see that. Yes, Ray, I did think you meant goodbye."
        "We gotta work on this communication thing, Ben. Don't promises mean anything to you? Or you think they don't mean anything to me? Fer keeps, we said. Did I have to sign something in blood?" And that word brings back my dream all over again and I don't even give him a chance to answer, I just put my head down and kiss him again, drinking in his warmth, his life, his love, never wanting to let him go.
        Finally I release his mouth with a long, shuddering sigh, and lay my head down on his chest, still wet and cold. "Holy shit, Fraser."
        "What . . . what happened, Ray?"
        "Tell you in a minute. I don't want to talk now. Just wanna be with you." My hands find his hands and then make their way up his palms to his wrists and I rub them almost unconsciously, with my thumbs.
        He lifts his head briefly to kiss the top of mine. And shivers.
        "Damn, Ben, got to get you outta those clothes. And you need a hot shower. Right now."
        He doesn't resist as I help him to his feet. He seems to be a little dazed, and as he heads to the bathroom, I take a quick look at his dad's chest. It's locked. Ben's too sensible to really do something like that. Too alive. I hope. I think. I'm pretty sure. But, God, that dream was vivid. So scary. So real. And the bracelet . . . I shake my head, trying to clear the images out of it.
        I go into the bathroom in time to see Ben step in the shower. The bracelet glints in the light as he grabs the shower curtain with his right hand. He looks at me and smiles, just a simple smile, of happiness.
        "What's that about?" I say, trying not to grin back.
        "Just that you're here, Ray."
        "Yeah. And I'm staying, too, so hope you weren't planning on the bedroll thing tonight." I wander over by the shower and start putting Fraser's clothes on the towel racks. His hand snakes out from behind the shower curtain and pulls my head into the shower for a quick kiss.
        "Now look what you did, you crazy Mountie!"
        "I think perhaps you should get out of your wet clothes too." I look around the shower curtain but his back is to me already, and I can't resist running my hand over the sleek muscles, over the scar.
        "Okay, Fraser, guess you're right."
        But of course the shower doesn't involve much in the way of actual showering, and by the time Fraser is warm, I am hot - watching him kneel in front of me, the water pouring over his head and his hair, making his eyelashes twice as long and dark as they usually are, and sluicing over his lips as he takes me, all of me, into his mouth, has that effect on me - and we towel ourselves and each other off less than thoroughly and head for the bedroom, hardly able to stop kissing long enough to walk. We pretty much just tumble onto the bed and finally I am free to kiss, to lick, to bite the hell out of Fraser, Frase, Ben, my lover, my best friend. I reach over and turn the light on. I gotta see him. I can't be in the dark, not tonight. How could I have been so stupid? So stupid as to risk all this? And that thought sends my head down like a homing beacon to his wrists, and I kiss, lick, and nibble those, enjoying the smooth skin with my tongue, my teeth, loving the feel of the strong tendons as he clenches one hand into a fist. His hands meanwhile are starting to pull at me, when I let 'em, and his body's starting to writhe on the bed and finally I relinquish his wrists into his keeping with one last lick on the skin over the artery on the left wrist and then the right wrist, catching my bracelet, still on his wrist, under my tongue and tugging at it gently.
        "I never thought arms could be an erogenous zone," he says huskily as he rolls us over, covering me with his body, beginning to thrust up against me.
        "Tonight your whole damn body turns me on, Fraser, even your goddamn spine," I manage to get out before his mouth covers mine too. His thrusting is growing more urgent, more insistent, and I'm right in there with him, relief mixed with passion mixed with awareness of my need for him and his for me, all combining to make a rushed trip right now, but oh God as fabulous as ever, and once again, with that strange connection we got, we come at almost the same time, crying out each other's names. He continues to rock softly against me for a few more seconds and that feels damn good too even though usually I'm pretty sensitive just then. But tonight no feeling is too intense. I welcome it, it shows that this is real, not just another dream. I can smell our come, mixed together between us, and I do a Fraser thing and reach down and touch it and bring it to my nose, inhaling deeply. Fraser looks at me funny.
        "We're living, Ben," I say, hoping he'll remember Canada and Thoreau. He does. And he nods and kisses me, not the I love you kiss I expect, but a passionate kiss, a deep kiss, tongue thrusting in and out.

        ~~~~

        To remember the last time I heard those words, and the circumstances, is extremely moving, not to mention arousing, and I realise I am hardening again. As I kiss him, my passion making itself known in the kiss, he feels my erection returning against his thigh and his eyes widen in mock horror. "Are you trying to kill me, you crazy Mountie? How the hell do you do that?"
        "Ray."
        "Yeah."
        "You know what I'm going to say."
        "Shut up and kiss me?"
        Oh, yes. And now the first urgency is over and I can devote myself to long lingering kisses, long lingering caresses, rolling his nipples between my fingers and shuddering with my own pleasure as he licks and sucks my neck and chest, and, oddly, my arms too. It's not very long before he is hard again as well and we are gasping and pressing against each other, and suddenly he says in a low voice, "I want you, Ben."
        I stop, bewildered. "You have me, Ray."
        "I want you." And he looks up at me, so seriously, and a glow rises from his shoulders all the way up to his soft, rebellious hair. He's blushing?
        "What?"
        "Do I gotta spell it out for you, Ben?" He parts his legs and raises one knee.
        I gulp and feel my eyes widen. "Ray, oh my God." And the very idea almost sends me over the edge then and there. We have never . . . I never thought we . . . and the thought is almost as frightening as it is arousing. "I don't . . . I don't know how . . . Ray, are you sure? Won't it hurt? I'd imagine it's dangerous . . ." And I begin to blush. I can feel the heat rising from my skin.
        "Dammit, Fraser, yes, I'm sure. It can't be that bad, can it? Otherwise people wouldn't keep doing it. And, Ben, the thought of it turns me on. I mean, emotionally too. To be a part of you . . ."
        "Oh, God, Ray." And my words sound suspiciously like sobs on his shoulder as I fight for control.
        "And I think we can figure out how, Frase." His voice sounds amused and passionate at the same time. "Oil? You got any?"
        It is only by exercising the sternest discipline that those simple words don't set me off then and there. I say the first thing that enters my head. "Cod liver oil."
        "You gotta be kidding, Ben."
        "Er, mineral . . . mineral oil. Under the kitchen sink."
        He sighs. "I don't wanna know." And he gets off the bed with the dancer's grace that is him and is back in a few seconds. He kneels on the bed, facing me, and looks at me, so seriously, and then kisses me, so tenderly, that I feel my heart rise in my throat. "Ben, we don't have to."
        "I - I - I don't want . . ."
        "You don't wanna hurt me, I know."
        I can't speak, can only nod.
        "Do you want me to go first? So you can see? Would that help, Ben?"
        At first I think he is teasing, as he so often does, but I can see no laughter in his eyes or face, only a serious question. He knows me so well. He knows that I need to experience things, that I have a tactile personality. And I feel a great, rushing relief. And nod, speechless, unable to form words in a mouth suddenly gone dry.
        He looks at me with a sidelong glance and takes a deep breath. "Frase . . . where's your knife?"
        "My knife?" This is so completely unexpected I feel as if I have fallen down a rabbit hole.
        "The big knife, your Mountie knife."
        "In the chest, Ray."
        "Where's the key, Ben?"
        Again that odd tone in his voice.
        "In my knapsack, of course." And he says that I act strangely? This whole evening has been strange and for once it doesn't seem to have been emanating from me.
        He rolls off the other side of the bed, putting the bottle of mineral oil down and rummages in my knapsack. He finds the key where it always is and opens the chest, searching through it for the knife. "I thought you carried this a lot. You had it on the Henry Anderson."
        "Allen," I say, automatically.
        "Whatever," he responds, equally automatically.
        "I probably should carry it more often."
        "That's okay, Frase, probably safer in here." He holds it up triumphantly, tests its edge. "Nice."
        He closes the chest and leaves the key on top and gets back on the bed. He sits, cross legged, facing me, his countenance intensely serious, almost grim.
        "You trust me, Fraser?" he asks.
        "Of course, Ray, you know that - "
        "I mean, do you trust me? Trust me when I say for keeps? 'Cause I trust you, when you say it."
        "Yes, Ray." But I duck my head. "I was simply under the mistaken impression that you have been keeping me at bay in these recent weeks."
        "Well, I have, and we'll talk about that later. I promise. Right now we're talking about trust. Remember what I said, before, when I came in? About me needing to sign it in blood? Well, I will. Will you?"
        I nod, scarcely listening to what he is saying, trying to figure out what he is thinking. And I will do anything for you, any time, any place, Ray, so there is no need to ask me that.
        "For keeps, Ben? When I'm sixty-four? Blood brothers?" And he draws my knife lightly across his left wrist. I am aware that there is no danger but the knife is sharp and I gasp anyway. And he looks at me, even more seriously than before, and waits. I slowly hold out my left wrist. He takes a deep breath, leans in to kiss it, and then closes his eyes for a brief second before drawing my knife across my own wrist. It doesn't hurt at all. I keep it well sharpened. He looks down at the thin red scratch and turns pale and exhales in a gust. I know what he is doing, now, and something deep inside me stirs, something of the wilderness sounds in my head, and I turn my wrist over to hold it against his, mingling our blood. He sighs deeply and presses back against my wrist. We stay that way for a few moments, and I know that he is as aware as I am of our hearts beating, our pulses pounding against each other. And then he's up again, and off to the bathroom, and a few moments later brings back a washcloth. With the blood gone, it's hardly a scratch. He cleans his own wrist next, and then wipes the knife, dries it on the sheet and puts it away, and last of all puts back the key. I watch, bemused. This has the air of a ritual about it.
        He gets back on the bed and puts his face eight centimetres from mine. "For keeps, Ben," he says, and waits. I nod.
        "For keeps, Ray."
        And then those lips, so close, are on mine again, and he is kissing me now with a passion and intensity I have rarely seen in him. "Now," he mutters against my mouth, "are you gonna remember that, you crazy Mountie?"
        "If you had bound our wrists together with some sinew, we would be married now, according to certain native customs," I say just before he pushes me backwards.
        He laughs at that, the serious moment gone in a flash. "That marriage stuff isn't a deep enough commitment for me, Ben."
        "I can see that, Ray," I say, somewhat drily. And he grins at that and pulls my wrist up to kiss it again before returning to concentrate on my mouth, my lips, my tongue, his hands moving delightfully over my body. And I suddenly remember the bottle of oil and I shudder involuntarily, scared and instantly, incredibly, aroused again.
        He feels that, feels my reaction, and pulls his head away to grin at me. "You do wanna try it, don't you?"
        I nod, shamefacedly, unable to believe that a simple thought can cause such a complex reaction.
        He kisses me again quickly.
        "It's nothing to be ashamed of, Fraser. I want it too. So much."
        "I'm not ashamed, Ray! I'm simply . . . apprehensive."
        "Pretty soon you're gonna forget all about anything but us."
        "I can do that quite easily right now, Ray."
        He takes a deep breath, a shuddering gasp, and hugs me as hard as he can, before reaching up with one hand to touch my face, and with the other to open the bottle on the table. He can't do it one handed, left-handed. I see the difficulty and reach to hold the bottle while he unscrews the lid. "What the hell is this for, anyhow?" he asks, dropping the lid on the chest.
        "Diefenbaker, of course."
        "You mean you and the wolf - " He sounds shocked and before I have time to process that dichotomy, I am bright red and trying to hide my face in his shoulder while I splutter, "If wolves ingest too much hair -"
        He bursts out laughing, rocking me back and forth in his grasp. "God, I love you, Ben. I love your blushes. I love your eyes. I love how I can blindside you every damn time, almost!"
        I feel an answering laugh bubble up from somewhere deep inside me. It feels odd to kiss and laugh at the same time and so for the nonce we give up the kissing and devote ourselves to the laughing. He finally puts his face down next to mine, with an errant chuckle or two still lingering. The laughter has helped still my apprehension and I feel at peace when we finally join in a kiss again. I feel a sense of inevitability, of rightness, that lasts through the caresses, increasingly passionate, until he reaches for the bottle of oil. I tense again, involuntarily. He stops immediately.
        "It's just oil, Fraser."
        "Ray, despite your touching faith in my ability to control myself, under such circumstances as these I cannot be expected to maintain a full range of supervision over my autonomic nervous system.
        "You can't help yourself?"
        "Something like that."
        "So I should stop worrying?"
        I pull him down to my mouth while my other hand reaches for the bottle.
        "Something like that," I repeat, and nod at his hand. He holds it out while I pour some oil into it and we stare at our hands for a moment before we look at each other again, and then close our eyes to kiss. I fumble, putting the bottle back on the table, and he whispers, "Jeez, Fraser, don't spill it, I don't wanna have to go with the cod liver oil after all." He uses the back of his hand to help steady the bottle until it is safely on the table and then looks down at me, a smile still lingering in his eyes. "You know I am never gonna let you forget that, don't you?"
        "I hope you remind me of it forever."
        "Oh, yeah, Ben, I am all over that. And you." And not unexpectedly his eyes darken with passion again and he leans down to kiss me hard, urgently, his left hand moving swiftly, unerringly, to my groin. He touches me there, feather light, teasing, as his lips move down my neck to my collarbone, one of his favourite places . . . and certainly I derive a good deal of enjoyment from the actions of his tongue there as well. His slick hand moves beneath my scrotal sac and then lower, lower, and I tense again, in anticipation, and I hope he realises that it is simply that, because we have done this before, using saliva or other fluids, and that thought makes me tense even more, and thrust involuntarily up against him. The thrusting gains a new urgency as I feel one slick finger penetrate me, sliding around and twisting in a circular motion, and the sensation combined with the anticipation makes me shudder and gasp and I grasp his buttocks, feeling his answering thrusts against my leg.
        He lifts his head to kiss me again, his eyes heavy lidded and smoky blue, and as his tongue penetrates my mouth his finger is joined by a second one. It is painful for a moment, and then as he continues to twist and to distract me with his tongue, I relax and he moans in his throat, beginning to thrust his fingers in and out in minuscule motions, mimicking those motions with his tongue. I realise with an effort that I am not being the most active participant but the sensations are so overwhelming that I simply want to experience them and I can only hope that he understands. He pauses in his kiss for a moment and just looks at me, his hand stilling too, and I hear a guttural sound emanate from my throat as I push against those fingers again. He smiles shakily and lowers his head to mine as his fingers resume their motion.
        "It is so entirely unfair for one man to be as gorgeous as you are, Benton Fraser," he whispers before his lips touch mine. "Especially when you're about to be fucked," and his fingers are suddenly surprisingly joined by a third. It finally occurs to me that the diameter of a penis is much larger than the diameter of a finger, and I have an insane desire to laugh imagining Ray's reaction if he knew at this moment that I was occupied with thoughts of geometry and pi and the reactions of my body to his words and his third finger. I close my eyes to imagine the sight of those long fingers disappearing into my body and I begin to shake.
        "Oh, slow down, Ben, slow down, buddy," he whispers, his fingers slowing again.
        I can only think of one thing to say and I am sure it is clichéd and not passionate enough for this man who can make me feel things I never thought I'd feel, and emotions I never thought I would feel again, but I say it anyway. "Please . . ."
        Oddly that seems to have been the right thing to say, because now he gasps and tenses on top of me, moving my legs apart with his knees, his fingers beginning to move again, but more slowly now. We spend a breathless few moments trying to figure out where to put our legs and finally he collapses against me in pretended aggravation, his right hand on my hip, soon joined by his left hand, pulling me against him in a familiar rhythm.
        "I . . . I don't know where to . . . how to . . ."
        He sighs, his hands still moving over my hips.
        "Me either, Ben, I wanna see you, but I don't see how it's gonna work."
        "What is the traditional, er, position?"
        He sighs, shakily, and I feel his hands tremble. "From behind, Ben." He takes a deep breath. "I don't think I'm gonna make it . . ."
        I pretend not to hear that, because if I let the implications sink in, I won't make it either, and instead choose to roll over quickly and get to my knees.
        " . . . Ben . . ." A warning voice. " . . . Ben . . . I can't stop now . . ."
        "Ray. If you stop now I think I'll die."
        A gasp, and then his arms go around me for a brief, tight hug, an inhalation of breath that sounds like a sob.
        "So you're saying it's my duty, Ben?" He's trying to joke but something I just said upset him and I begin to sit up, to turn to look at him, but he strokes my back and pushes me back down as he slips his fingers back into me. It is easier this way and his fingers slip in and out easily setting up a conscious rhythm that has an unconscious effect on my body, causing it to behave in such a fashion as to make me forget entirely my nervousness.
        And his fingers are gone for a brief second and I breathe out, releasing tension, as I feel him begin to enter me, so slowly I admire his self control, and then it feels so painfully exquisite I forget to breathe at all as he fills me.
        "Oh . . . fuck . . . Ben . . ." He is evidently not trying to maintain control of his voice. It's broken and breathy and so passionate that I wish I could see his face. He is all the way inside me now and he pauses for a moment and I hear him begin to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth and despite all the feelings running through me, because it hurts, in fact, it hurts more than I thought it would at the moment, I smile at this, at his quick instincts and his quick mind, and I push backwards a little, so he is fully seated. That causes a sharp intake of breath, an interruption of the rhythm of his breathing, and his hand presses down on the small of my back. "Don't . . . don't move . . . f'r just a minute, 'kay, Ben?"
        Those words and the tone of voice, the utter conviction that I suddenly have that I am driving him out of his mind and he is more than happy to be driven, combine to begin to bring my own erection back in a rush, and his other hand, moving down in search of it, almost makes me jump, only my self control helping me to remember his injunction.
        It feels tight now but not overly painful and as I relax, consciously trying to, he begins to move, so slowly, inside me, and it starts to feel better, and then, as he thrusts a little deeper, his breathing becoming more uneven, he hits something inside me that startles me, arouses me further, makes me gasp. He stops instantly. "Okay, Ben?"
        Talk. I can talk. I have been doing so since I was two. Mouth, open. Words, form. "Yes. Yes, Ray. Very okay. I think . . . I think you have found my prostate gland."
        "Your what?"
        "My prostate. You have one too. It's located - " He moves again and I lose my train of thought.
        "Fraser."
        "Yes, Ray."
        "Save the anatomy lesson, 'kay?" Raspy voiced, with a catch in his breathing. And then thrusts again, a little harder, and I forget entirely what a gland is, let alone a prostate gland, as he hits that spot again and my mind shuts down to everything but the feeling of Ray moving inside me and the feel of his hand on me, still slick with leftover oil. He was right.
        In a few more moments I feel him lean across my back and I arch my head towards him.
        "Come on, Ben," he whispers in my ear, "come on." And then closes his teeth on my ear lobe as his tongue licks between them and he thrusts one more time, strokes me one more time, and his other hand grips my shoulder . . . We are so closely connected that I imagine I can almost feel the onset of his orgasm, the thickening at the base of the penis that precedes that event . . .
        And as I feel his spasms begin to jerk his body uncontrollably, mine start too and the world stops for an eternity of seconds, time measured only, if at all, in the moments between the surges, the spasms themselves occurring out of time.
        
        "God, Ben. Oh, God. Fuck, that was incredible." He is still gasping and we are both wet with sweat. I nod, my eyes still closed. He has already fallen over, pulling me with him, partially on top of him and he is still inside me though rapidly softening.
        "I can't wait to feel you inside me," he says with a groan, with an involuntary little shudder.
        Still without opening my eyes, I whisper, "That may take a while." And feel his arms tighten around me as he shifts me off him a little to reach around for my lips.
        "Well, okay, I guess I can wait," he says, and I feel him smile against my mouth before he kisses me. Then stills, and shifts himself away completely so he can prop himself up and look at my face. I see this through my eyelashes, and he sees me looking.
        "You know, Ben, there is no one in the world with eyelashes like yours," he says softly. "Are you okay, Frase? Was it okay?"
        I nod, dumbly.
        "Can't you talk any more?"
        I shake my head.
        "Try," he urges, and I open my eyes at last to see him looking a little worried.
        "I've forgotten how," I say finally, softly, waiting for the grin that will cross his mouth . . . now.
        "Well, there's a miracle or two," he says. "The Mountie, speechless. Wonder if Welsh'll pay me for this."
        "You are the miracle, Ray."
        "Ben, if you really think we gotta wait a little while, do NOT look at me like that."
        And I close my eyes, almost reflexively, and open them in time to see that tongue flicker unconsciously from between his lips as he stares at my face almost hungrily and with a hint of the desperation that has surrounded him this surreal evening.
        And I open my mouth and say, almost idly, with perhaps thoughts of Walden in my head, and definite thoughts of Ray in my head, "I am a little world made cunningly, Of elements, and an angelic sprite." And wait for the flare of recognition I have learned to look for in his beautiful eyes, when I forget myself and revert to my bookish upbringing, something I am able to do more and more around Ray.
        I am unprepared therefore for his actual reaction. The colour drains from his face, frighteningly quickly, and I see the recognition I expected but also anguish, despair, and heartbreak. His whole body tenses and his hands grip me so hard that it hurts. The pain however is secondary to the feeling of panic his reaction has engendered.
        "That's not . . . that's not Donne, Fraser. Right?" Suddenly his eyes are too big for his face. Tense, almost flinching, he stares at me, unblinking.
        I know that 'yes' is obviously the wrong thing to say, but it is the only possible response. I temporise by nodding.
        He sits back abruptly on his heels, pulling my hands with him, grasping my wrists, his bracelet caught between my skin and his fingers. "What about . . . what about this, Fraser? 'All other things to our destruction draw . . .'"
        "'Only our love hath no decay; This, no tomorrow hath, nor yesterday, Running it never runs from us away, But truly keeps his first, last, everlasting day.' Yes, Ray, obviously you knew that. And a much better choice than mine." I smile at him, tentatively. His hands are painfully tight around my wrists.
        As if he can't help himself, his gaze is dragged down to my wrists and he stares at them, the unrelenting pressure from his fingers now actively painful. He draws in a long, shuddering gasp of a breath and then, through a clenched jaw, grits out, "I didn't know it, I dreamt it!"
        "Ray, what on earth is wrong with you?'
        "What on earth is wrong with YOU?" he snarls - yes, snarls - at me. "What the hell do you gotta quote Donne for?"
        I shake my head. "Ray, you are making no sense."
        "When did you fix my bracelet, Ben?"
        I am confused and know that it shows in my face. "When Diefenbaker and I returned. I told you that I would. Is that what's wrong? I'm sorry I broke it."
        "You didn't break it, I broke it. Almost broke us."
        "You didn't break us, you fixed us," I say quietly, wishing he would let go of me so I could touch him.
        He shudders. "Why were you sitting in the rain, under the window, Ben?"
        One non sequitur after another. This associative wordplay removes many of my inhibitions about expressing my feelings, however, and I answer simply, because it is a simple answer, "I was missing you, Ray. And then I fell asleep."
        'I had a dream," he says abruptly. I didn't think it was possible for his hands to tighten further on my wrists, but they do, those long fingers encircling me, his silver bracelet glinting through the gaps, the links escaping from his hand's pressure leaving a chain of red circles like tracks. He is physically hurting me now. I know that there will be bruises in a few hours. And I know too that he is not aware of that fact. He is lost in his dark, haunted dream.
        'A dream?" I say quietly.
        He gulps, and looks down at my arms, using his hands to bend my hands back, baring the wrists. And then begins to cry, still gripping my wrists in a near-catatonic state, great, shattering sobs that are all the more frightening in their intensity for being almost silent.
        And the pieces begin to fall into place for me. His frantic reaction upon entering the apartment, his odd emphasis on the chest and my knife and my arms . . . Suddenly I feel anger and fear combined and I find the strength to twist my wrists in his grasp. Despite their round smoothness, the beads around my wrist bite painfully into my skin under his fingers.
        "Did you think I would leave you? That I would leave you? And that way?" I know my voice sounds cold but I am angry. I thought he knew me. And suddenly his anger matches my own. He flings my wrists aside and pushes against my chest, gulping, swallowing his sobs.
        "I thought I lost you! And the blood . . . I could feel it drying on my hands. I could feel it . . . drying on the cell phone. And . . . and you said that decay thing, that Donne thing. Jesus, Fraser, I didn't think you would leave me, I just dreamt it!"
        Despite my anger I am shaken. And then I realise how real it must have seemed to him. It sounds as if it were extraordinarily vivid.
        I take a deep breath and say with creditable composure, "I would not do that, Ray. I would not do that to you. To me. To us." One of us must stay calm. And Ray truly is and was extremely upset. He is staring at the blanket on the bed, his chest heaving with the effort of controlling his emotions, his hands clenched into fists.
        "Ray," I say, more quietly. "I have never asked someone to live his life for my sake. And I would never live my life for someone else's sake. "
        "There you go, getting all objectionable on me," he says, shaking his head, regaining his control.
        I open my mouth to correct him and see him glance at me. I shut it again. I think for a moment. "However, I cannot reconcile that belief with the irrational one that I have about you, that life is not worth living without you in it."
        Oddly, he smiles at that. "You're the only rational person I know, Ben, who can argue that A isn't always A."
        "It is. It must be. But love can't be completely rational, I find."
        "Ben, that's only news to you." He shakes his head again.
        "As police officers, we must face the reality of loss. But to think that, about me . . . how can you, Ray? How can you think I would hurt you so badly as that?"
        "If you didn't think I cared . . ." he whispers, looking at his hands, clenched into fists on his thighs.
        'You told me you cared, Ray. I had not given up, tonight. I was regrouping."
        "And you believed me? You really believed me when I told you that?"
        I can't answer him immediately. Of course I did. And of course I didn't. Of course I trust in his love. However, the fear of loss is omnipresent and influences my feelings and reactions more than I would probably like to admit to myself.
        He is watching me closely, fear and something else in his face, something I don't have time to analyse or define right now. "What? What are you thinking? Let me in, Ben."
        I open my mouth only to close it a few seconds later. My eyes fall to the blanket. I sense frustration. Why is it so hard to say? Especially after what we just did?
        His hands move to cover mine and then he leans closer, pulling me into a hug, pushing his head against my neck as if for reassurance, or perhaps comfort, and says again, quietly, compellingly, "Let me in, Ben. Please?"
        "I . . . I did believe you." That part is easy. "And I didn't." Much more difficult, must be said quickly. All I am conscious of is the scent of his hair under my nose and his thumbs stroking my back in tiny, almost delicate, strokes, the same place, over and over.
        "Let me in," he breathes, and I feel a wetness on my neck, matching the wetness on my cheeks. I take a deep breath and try to find the words.
        "I trust you, Ray. But I . . . I am afraid."
        "Let me in, Ben."
        "Afraid of . . ."
        "Let me in."
        We take deep breaths, shuddering ones, almost simultaneously, and I can feel his heart beating against mine. I can feel the blood coursing through my veins. I imagine I can feel the blood coursing through his as well. His arms tighten around me.
        "Let me in," he says again.
        "I am afraid to let you in," I say reluctantly yet quickly, before I lose my courage yet again. "I am afraid . . . afraid . . . that I will lose you . . . and to lose you now . . . "
        He sags against me, all tension leaving his body, and hugs me so hard I am breathless. He raises his head, his eyes huge and shining. "But you won't lose me, Ben. You won't lose me because you let me in. I can do it. You can do it. As long as you don't shut me out. Oh, God, Ben, I love you!"
        Is that all it takes? So easy . . . and the hardest thing I have ever done, to voice my unspoken fears, to relinquish control, to risk sharing the knowledge that will give another person power over me. And the knowledge that my fears are safe in Ray's hands, in Ray's heart, that he loves me in spite of those fears, is almost too much for me to bear, and I panic, and choke, and try to draw back.
        "Oh, no, Ben. Uh uh." He pulls me into a hug again. "You let me in, you're not pushing me right back out. You are never gonna get rid of me. Never, Ben." And his voice is passionate, and warm, and triumphant, even teasing, and anchors me to reality again, a familiar thing in this maelstrom of unaccustomed emotion and sensation, and I allow myself, finally, to hug him back, as hard as I can.
        "I don't want to get rid of you," I whisper into his ear, so close to my mouth. This is getting easier, at least right now, at this moment, with his physical presence to reassure me. To say what I feel, as I feel it. To know that he is listening with his ears and his heart and his soul. "I want to stay with you forever. And I am frightened of loving you so much."
        "Yeah, that scares me too. That I love you so much."
        "And that you can hurt me so much. I can hurt you so much."
        "We been pretty good at that, Ben."
        "I didn't mean to hurt you, Ray."
        "I know, Ben. I didn't mean to hurt you either. And I don't hurt any more. Do you?"
        I think for a moment. I feel a curious sense of freedom. The die is cast. I cannot take back the words. Ray will always, forever, know that what I said today came from the deepest part of me. And that I have admitted to him that I can believe him and can tell him when I don't. There can be no more hiding.
        "No. Not as much."
        He laughs at that, a short, sharp laugh. "Honest Mountie! I think it'll get better. Do you believe that?"
        "I am trying to, Ray."
        "That's all I'm asking, Ben." One more hug, and then he moves his head to kiss me, gently, sweetly, a benediction . . . and as his lips leave mine I open my eyes to look into his, dark with love, desire, and happiness, and as he sees my eyes he closes his briefly, as if he can't bear to look at them, and then opens them again the next instant, as if he can't bear to look away for even that small amount of time. And I notice the sky lightening outside my window. Dawn is already here.
        I reach over to switch off the light. I love to look at Ray in the half light of dawn. He has interesting bone structure, and the play of shadows and light across his face can entrance me for hours, literally, at times. And today, more so than ever. He looks back at me, his eyes shining. I know it's a trick of the dawn light, but they seem to be lit from within.
        "What are you looking at?" he says, halfway embarrassed.
        "I'm not sure," I say, softly. "I think it's love."
        I am sure he is blushing at that and my supposition is confirmed as he turns his head away and expels a gust of breath. "Whaddayou mean, you're not sure?" he asks gruffly.
        "You are correct, Ray, it's definitely love. But you are even more beautiful now than ever. That must be love too."
        "Must be. Guys aren't beautiful." He looks back at me.
        "That's not what you said a few minutes ago."
        "Well, that's different, Ben. You are beautiful. That's just a fact."
        "So are you. Also a fact." I reach down to kiss him. "And you are also about to be . . . "
        He sees me blush and laughs out loud, the passion my words evoked suddenly replaced by laughter in his eyes. "You can't say it, can you, Ben."
        "Yes, yes, I can. You are about to be . . ."
        On an indrawn breath, he completes the sentence. "Fucked. Oh, yes, Ben."
        Summoning my courage, I lean down to breathe in his ear. "Fucked."
        "God, Ben!" He growls and pulls me down, kissing me hungrily, his hands moving with certainty down my body and his own. "I don't know what turns me on more, when you can't say it, or when you can!"
        I am personally thankful for the dim half-light that is covering my redness, although I know he can feel it through his lips on my face. I hope that once was enough. But I found it oddly freeing, and exciting as well, and wish again that I could be as open as Ray. And am then distracted by his lips and his hands. I join in, fondling his soft testicles, licking and sucking his nipples . . . he moans happily and rubs his palm up the base of my penis. And then gasps as I swiftly move down his body, licking his stomach before moving to suck him into my mouth.
        "Ben, stop! You know where that's been!" His hands are pulling at my head, my hair.
        I look up, confused for a moment. "Oh. Ah."
        "I know how you are about licking disgusting things but, jeez, Ben . . ." He is trying to cover his worry with humour, and I don't want him to worry, not now. I kiss his stomach and roll off the bed to fetch a washcloth. The rough warm cloth does wonders in restoring both his equilibrium and his erection, and finally I can take him in my mouth, working up and down, stimulating production of that clear, almost salty fluid that leaks from the top of him. The moans I am stimulating are an extremely arousing and satisfying byproduct.
        I know what he likes and how to make him last, now, and I am also aware that this is the third time tonight for both of us and I will be able to indulge myself in this activity for longer than I usually can, and that thought excites me even more, as I lick the top of him, pressing my tongue to the slit there, before engulfing him in my mouth once more in a steady rhythm.
        "God, Ben," he groans, trying not to thrust into my mouth, trying to make himself last. After a moment I hear the bottle being replaced on the night stand. And then I see his right hand move down past my face, beneath his scrotum, to touch his anus, and then disappear inside, briefly. This shocks me so much that I release him and watch, in amazement, as his finger moves in and out. Then I look up at him.
        "I know . . . you're trying to distract me . . . " he says, his voice uneven. "And your blow jobs can do that, Frase. But . . . " The first finger is joined by a second finger and he closes his eyes for a moment at the sensation. " . . . but you're not gonna get out of it this easy. God, I want you, Ben."
        I am reaching for the bottle before he finishes talking and he sees me do so with a little spark of triumph in his eyes. I am shaken by the thought of being inside him but even more so at the thought that he wants this so badly, that he can be so uninhibited in front of me, that he trusts me in all ways.
        He is still working two fingers in and out, those long beautiful fingers, and I can see now what I imagined before and am thankful that I have had enough edge taken off not to come then and there all over those fingers. I close my eyes briefly and then reach up to kiss him as I include my finger with his. He stiffens and gasps, and I slow the entry of my finger at the same time he slows the movement of his fingers, and together we begin slowly stretching the ring of muscle.
        "Ahhh . . . Ben . . ." And I pull his hand out, replacing those fingers with my own, as I find a nipple on his chest to kiss, to lick, and finally to suckle, in time with my fingers. He clutches at my hair. "Stop . . . stop, please, Ben!"
        I raise my head and still the movements of my fingers. "No, don't," he says roughly. "My mistake."
        I grin at that and move down his long flat stomach again, back to his penis, erect, straining, clear fluid now covering the top, and I take him in my mouth yet again while resuming the movement of all three fingers. He is moaning now, making no attempt to hide his pleasure, thrusting into my mouth and against my fingers. I can sense when he is about to go over the brink and I stop, pull back, remove my fingers.
        "Ray?"
        "Ben, you have approximately three seconds to start fucking me!"
        He begins to get to his hands and knees but I am faster and I stretch out lengthwise and pull him backwards against me so that he is half lying on top of me, his back to my stomach, my arms around him, my right arm under him but still able to move.
        "I have an idea, Ray."
        He groans. "God help us all."
        It takes some shifting but in a few moments we are lying almost on our sides, alternate legged, and very little rearrangement is needed to give me access to him, and he shudders as he feels me thrust fingers into him and then withdraw and place myself there instead.
        "Yeah, Ben. This'll work. Oh, please, Ben," and to my amazement he pushes down and backwards, spreading his legs just a little further, giving me an even better opening and if I think any more I will go insane so I stop thinking and start moving forward instead. His left hand reaches back to clutch my thigh. He tenses but I know why and I pause for a moment to give him time to adjust. "Breathe," I whisper, remembering that I forgot to do so. He nods, eyes closed, face so beautiful, incandescent, that I almost can't look at it, as he whispers back, "Go on, Ben. Inside me. All the way." I know that he is in pain but I am the one who feels like sobbing, unable to move forward, unwilling to pull back, wanting the ultimate closeness and fearing it at the same time.
        "Ben . . ."
        "I don't want . . . I don't want . . . to . . . hurt you . . . Ray . . . I love you . . ."
        "Ben, please." His voice is hoarser than ever. "This is what I want. Trust me."
        I swallow a hard knot in my throat and press a little harder. He moans and tenses.
        "Yeah, Ben. More. I want your cock inside me. All the way, Ben . . ."
        His words, and the movement of his body pushing back against mine, combine to send a breathless surge to my head and I give my control over to his trust and put my hands on his hips and pull as I push, slowly but steadily, inside him. We moan together as I fill him. He tenses again and I pause again. And suddenly see why yoga breathing was so exactly the right reaction for this situation, as I begin it myself.
        "It's okay, Fraser, this is so perfect," he whispers, turning his head towards my face, seeking my lips. Ah, this is better. I can kiss him this way, I can reach him with my left hand and my right hand holds his hip in place. As we kiss he relaxes further and I know I can begin to move again, so I do, hoping that I can find that gland for him as he did for me.
        He groans, twisting a little, and I feel him loosen marginally around me and I shift him upwards a fraction, trying to change my angle infinitesimally, and then thrust again and he gasps. I allow myself a small smile of satisfaction as I feel him begin to fill out in my hand again, and begin a steady movement at that angle inside him that is echoed by the movement of our hands outside. Difficult, under the circumstances, to analyse the sensations . . . almost hot, so tight, so close to Ray, so together in a way I had never imagined we could be, physically, as well as mentally. And he wanted this, wanted me, knew that I needed this when I didn't know it myself, knew that I needed to feel the trust he places in me, the belief he has in me, and that trust, that belief, is balm to my soul. For the first time in many, many years I feel complete and content in my heart.
        He is silent now, panting a little, and I realise I have joined in almost unconsciously as we move together. My world is spiralling out of control . . .
        He makes a small noise, halfway between an exhalation and a grunt, so passionate and so open that my arousal reaches a crest, a rolling wave, and then he makes it again, and pushes himself back against me, his head falling backwards against mine, his eyes shut tight and his mouth open in delirious happiness. I drive myself further home inside him and sink my teeth into his shoulder as I taste my own tears in my mouth and surrender to the crashing waves, one after another, shaking us both and I open my eyes briefly and see our hands entwined on his cock as it spurts, in exquisite detail, mirroring my own inside him, and I am no longer conscious of anything at all except the concentration of nerve endings in my groin and the warm heavy weight of Ray in my arms.
        
        
        Getting dressed, both of us a little shy, the next morning, I begin to remove his bracelet, finally, almost reluctantly, as he finishes pulling his shirt on. He turns and sees me and says, sharply, "No, Fraser. Leave it. Wear it." In his voice I hear a return to the panic of the night.
        "All right," I say simply, and push it up my arm before turning to put my uniform coat on. God knows I don't want to take it off. I want, sentimentally and unrealistically, to have part of Ray with me all the time, a physical, tangible reminder of him to complement my memories and my anticipation.
        He crosses to me swiftly, a grin warring with a scowl on his expressive face.
        "Are you crazy?"
        "So I'm told. Unhinged, I believe, is the preferred term."
         "No, I mean, what if someone sees it? Everyone who knows us knows that's mine."
        "I know," I say simply, puzzled.
        He lets out a gust of breath and stares back at me, equally puzzled. "Boy, you give a Mountie the best night of sex in his life and he makes you pay and pay and pay."
        I nod.
        "Fraser! What is wrong with you? Is your brain in there today? You want to come out? You want people to know? To guess? I mean, we can only take the buddy thing so far and the bracelet just isn't gonna fly. I thought we settled this. I thought it was just us."
        Suddenly reality comes rushing back into my head.
        "I . . . I'm sorry, Ray. I wasn't thinking. I wanted to . . . I wanted to wear it. I am sorry. Yes, I want it to be just us too and we both know it has to be."
        "Besides it's not regulation," Ray says. He stares at me a moment longer and then disappears into the bathroom. He returns in a moment with surgical tape, which he tears with his teeth, and then he proceeds to unfasten the bracelet and then to refasten the catch. Then he puts it in a single loop on my arm and tapes the bracelet in place high up on my forearm. I haven't felt like crying all night. Suddenly I do.
        "Just don't take the damn coat off," he says roughly, as if he too feels like crying. "You got lots of tape. You can keep it as long as you need to."
        "That would be forever, Ray."
        "Shit, Fraser, do not do that. Do not make me get all teary-eyed right before I gotta go to work and before the caffeine kicks in!"
        "May I kiss you instead?" I ask, closing the small distance between us.
        "Yeah, that works. That works for me. That would be better."
        After a few moments, though, he pulls back. "You make me feel like a teenager again, Ben. Not better, definitely worse!"
        I look hurt. He just grins. I lean in to kiss the crease along his left cheek, running my tongue up it. He grabs my arms before I can put them around him. "Jeez, Ben, get a grip! Who's the adult here? I'm the one who's supposed to act crazy in love."
        "Be careful what you wish for," I say solemnly.
        He looks startled, then laughs, throwing his head back in mingled relief and humour. "No, that's okay, I'll take the happy Ben any day. But the crazy in love Mountie still has to go to work. And so does the absolutely nuts Chicago flatfoot."
        
        ~~~~
        
        I finally get Fraser outta the car at the Consulate. He can't take his eyes off me, and I pretty much feel the same way. I'm walking on clouds. I will be absolutely no use to anyone at work today. I better stay in and work on reports. I don't think I could kick someone in the head if I tried.
        Welsh checks me out pretty sharply when I come in. Probably because I'm early. Vecchio's already at his desk and he looks over at me with almost a shy grin. What? And then I remember. He brought Ben over last night. Precipitated the argument. Precipitated the crisis. Precipitated me finally getting let into Ben's defensive shield. So I smile back at him. "Gonna get some coffee, you want any?"
        "Yeah, I could use more. Thanks."
        I bring back both our mugs, pull open my drawer looking for my M & Ms.
        "We gonna see the Mountie today?" Vecchio asks.
        I shrug, can't stop the grin, but don't have to now. "I dunno. Probably not."
        "What are we working on today?"
        I grin again. He grins back, finally infected.
        "Reports, I'm guessing," he says.
        "Probably a good idea," I say, pulling the first file outta my In Box.
        "I don't know if I can handle all these pink roses and happiness," Vecchio says. "Let's go interview some suspects."
        I look up sharply. He's grinning again. "Don't you wanna get in someone's face?"
        Oh, yeah.
        "Sorry, Vecchio. I'd have ta be the good cop part of the routine today and I don't wanna confuse any of those perps."
        Vecchio mutters something I don't quite catch.
        "What?"
        He leans over and says quietly, "I said maybe Fraser better start putting starch in YOUR shorts so I get my partner back."
        And I stare at him in amazement before simple laughter overcomes me and I laugh so hard at his stupid joke that tears come to my eyes.
        He's laughing too so we can pretty much ignore the stares of everyone else in the station. They're more used to bangs, snarls, and occasional yells, not to mention sullen silences, from this corner of the room.
        Lunchtime rolls around, Vecchio actually asks if I wanna go get a bite to eat with him. I'd like to but I got plans. "I gotta go get some stuff from my place," I say. "I'll take a rain check though."
        "You need any help?"
        "What?" Okay, jokes are one thing. Vecchio's a wise guy. He's pretty funny. But this - this is aiding and abetting his Benny in a criminally stupid course of action. "Okay, who are you and where's Vecchio?"
        "I'm serious," he says, following me out of the station. "Let's get a dog and I'll help."
        "What the hell is going on with you, Vecchio?"
        "Fraser and I talked, last night, too."
        "Oh. Then is he okay with the promotion thing now?"
        "Yeah. Damn crazy Mountie - I know why you call him that now - thought I was taking it to get away from him."
        I sigh. "Yeah. I know."
        "I think I convinced him that I'm not."
        "Probably," I say, my heart uplifted again at my memories of last night. "But that doesn't change how you feel about us."
        "Don't start with the us crap, Kowalski. I just offered to help a partner move some stuff. That's not condoning anything."
        I look at him sideways. He's trying to keep a straight face. Okay. Now I know that this is the dream and really when I wake up nothing will have changed at all and I will be in my apartment with the funny guy in the fur hat perched on my bed telling me about caribou. And I look down at my wrist to see if the bracelet's gone. It is.
        "So how much you think we can get moved in an hour?" I ask. "The bed?"
        That startles him into a glance, and then a grin, as he sees I'm teasing.
        "Thought you slept on that bedroll thing," he says. "I'm shocked, shocked, Kowalski."
        "I bet you are." I stop at the hot dog cart, get two with everything, just the way Dief likes them, and fork over the cash.
        In the end we get a lot of my CD collection and a lot of my clothes, the dream catcher, a couple boxes of books, some odds and ends - cell phone charger, stuff like that. I'm not bringing the stereo until Fraser agrees to a lock. Well, he's got a lock. But he has to agree to use it. Vecchio shakes his head over my housekeeping. "Fraser needs someone to pick up after, that's true," he says. "But I think you might be too much of a good thing."
        "Hey, my mom's been working on it." Shit. My mom. Better leave some shirts here for her to iron. Rumple the bed that Vecchio just made. "My mom comes over to iron and stuff. She'd think I was kidnapped or sick or something if the bed was made."
        Anyway, the GTO's loaded up and we're back at the station in less than an hour. See Welsh checking me out hard again. The flatfoot with the experimental hair turned over a punctual leaf, huh.
        We actually do go out and hit the streets in the afternoon, and our last interview makes me almost late for picking Fraser up. I planned to unload the GTO before I got him but as it happens I just make it to the Consulate in time to see him coming out, Dief at his heels, looking around for me. There's just enough room for Dief in the back seat. Fraser takes it in and is looking at me in some confusion as he sits down and closes the door.
        "Tired of running outta underwear at your place," I say with a shrug.
        "Oh, dear," he says innocently. "And I had thought my ploy was unobtrusive. Turnbull was very appreciative of the additions to his dusting collection."
        "Fraser . . . do not, just do not, look at me like that. Not while I'm driving. And do not touch me like that. You oughtta know better by now."
        "I'm terribly sorry, Ray."
        We get the GTO unloaded in short order and in even shorter order Fraser's got all my clothes hung up and organised in his closet. I shake my head. "You gonna iron my jeans?"
        "Quite possibly," he says as he begins to change. I'm setting up the shelves for my CDs.
        "I left some stuff at my place though."
        "Oh?"
        "You know. My mom comes to iron. I got some karmic chi ironing thing going on here."
        "Ah." He sits down to unlace his boots. "Won't she miss the CD collection?"
        "This isn't all of 'em, Frase, just the ones I can't live without."
        "I think perhaps guitar lessons are in order, then," Fraser says, eyes widening as he takes in the amount of CDs I consider essential to happiness.
        That would be fun. I say so.
        "I informed Inspector Thatcher that I would like to take leave again in July or August," Fraser says next, pulling on his jeans.
        "Yeah. I gotta ask Welsh. Is Maggie coming?"
        "Yes. If she can. We need to determine dates, I suppose."
        Fraser is silent for a few moments. I know something's worrying him. He's got a T-shirt on and my bracelet still taped to his arm. We gotta settle that too. Unfortunately he's so goddamn straight arrow that he can't even get away with a necklace. A ring would be ideal but would require lots of explanations and prevarication, something Fraser's just not good at.
        Finally he comes over and sits next to me on the floor. Idly he begins to alphabetise the CDs already on the shelves.
        "What up, Frase?"
        He stops alphabetising, which is good, because I organise according to mood and danceability, and begins to pull at the surgical tape on his arm, freeing the bracelet. "Your parents. Does it bother you?"
        Uh oh.
        "If you're asking does us bother me, you know the answer to that, Ben."
        He nods. He unclasps the bracelet and twists it, almost absently, back around his wrist twice, closes the catch deftly with his left hand.
        "If you're asking can I tell my parents, do the words 'Hell no!' ring any bells with you?"
        He looks up to see if I'm grinning. I am. He smiles back.
        "Can't you see my dad?" I continue. "After nine years he's finally accepted my career choice. Which I'm eventually dumping too, but anyhow. So what am I supposed to say to him? Gee, thanks for understanding, Dad. Oh, and by the way, now that you've accepted that I'm a cop, let me introduce the love of my life to you. No, not that cute Italian chick. No, Dad, sorry. The six feet of drop dead gorgeous Mountie next to her."
        "Five feet eleven and a half," Ben murmurs.
        I keep going. "Oh, he's a guy, Dad? Really? You know, I hadn't noticed that. Thanks for pointing that out. Yeah. A guy, except that he can't change the oil in the GTO, which is even worse. And then all you'll hear is the squeal of tires on pavement as he takes off for Arizona again, or maybe New Mexico for a change."
        I'm trying to keep it light. After last night the last thing I wanna do is mess with our new start, still a little shaky.
        And his mouth opens and I know what's coming out. "I'm sorry, Ray."
        To think last night I thought those words were beautiful. I sigh.
        "Ben. It doesn't bother me. Honest. It just is. It's just something that exists, and it's gonna exist no matter how I feel about it or what we do."
        "But if we weren't - "
        "Ben." I grab his chin. "Don't even think about going there. I. Don't. Care. Neither should you."
        "Ray, I - "
        I sigh again. Time for desperate measures. I pull him into a hug. "Let me back in, Ben."
        He stiffens a moment, and then returns the hug.
        "Believe me?"
        "It's so hard, Ray . . ."
        "I know, Frase. But I thought about it. That's how I feel. I'm not bummed, I'm not mad at anyone, least of all you, who are the best thing that ever happened to me, and you oughtta know it. So hopefully they'll accept it in, you know, twenty years or so, or maybe they'll be dead."
        He chuckles at that and I'm a little surprised until he explains. "Yes, death seems to have a broadening influence on the mind, in my experience," he says, and I know he's talking about his dad.
        "Yeah, okay, so, you know? Whatever."
        "The American dialect is a constant source of amazement to me. That so much can be said with so many meaningless words is simply not logical."
        "And they're not gonna disown me, so you don't gotta worry about that. They'll just pick up and move around some more. That's their thing. You're my thing."
        "I'm starting to understand how they produced such a free thinker, Ray." And amazingly he grins at me. I can't believe it. Pinch me.
        "So you okay? With what I said?"
        "I'm trying, Ray. I really am. If you say that you are comfortable with the situation and with the possible outcomes, then I will try not to worry about it."
        "Fraser!"
        "What?"
        "Thanks."
        "Mmmmmmm . . ."
        "Dief's gonna be hungry . . ."
        "Tell him to get it himself."
        "Fraser, there's nothing worse than getting it on with a Mountie with a hungry wolf staring at you. Ask me how I know."
        Humour and passion struggle for a moment and then he gives in gracefully and gets to his feet. "Just for that, I'm cooking tonight."
        "Oh, did I mention I'm going out?"
        He's back at my side in two strides. He pulls me to my feet and into his arms. "You - " he says, punctuating each word with a kiss, "are - going - nowhere!"
        Of course I kiss him right back. "Wellllllll . . . okay, Ben. Pretty convincing argument there."
        He hugs me briefly and returns to the kitchen. I sit back down in a heap. Guess sleep isn't on the agenda either. And I'm running on caffeine, here, after last night. And I let myself go all the way down to the floor, staring at the ceiling. Close my eyes for just a second. Hear Fraser in the kitchen, talking to Dief. Makes me smile. Just a catnap. I'll wake up when dinner's ready.
        
        Of course I don't and of course Fraser won't wake me. It's nine before my stomach finally decides to protest bed without supper and I wake up to find myself on the couch, Ben at the other end reading, probably a critical analysis of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. At least that's what he was reading a week or two ago. He's probably up to the Renaissance by now. I stretch and poke my feet under his thigh. He looks over and grins. "I think Diefenbaker may have left you some stir fry," he says.
        Fraser's stir fry isn't that bad if you can convince him to use meat instead of tofu. He reads my mind. "Beef and broccoli."
        "Mmm." That's enough to get me off the couch. He left it on the stove, in the wok. It's easier to reheat that way. The Mountie's never heard of microwaves. I get a bowl and find some plastic chopsticks in the silverware drawer and carry the whole mess back into the living room and sit back down on the couch, putting my legs under me.
        It's pretty good, even lukewarm. Ben keeps reading. I think about last night and today. And Canada again. And the bracelet. Still glinting on Ben's wrist. As if he hears my thoughts, he lifts his left hand to toy absentmindedly with it.
        He looks up, finally, and his words show that he's doing that multitasking thing he does. "Actually, if you want to hunt, Ray, we'll have to go after the 25^th of August. Fishing is all summer, of course. And the hunting is bow hunting until September and October."
        "You got a bow, Fraser?" I ask, knowing the answer. He doesn't even bother to answer, just grins.
        "If you wanna hunt, we'll go after the 25th. It's all the same to me."
        "Probably better to stick to fishing if we want to get the addition done," Fraser says. Yeah. The fewer distractions, the better. I got plans for that cabin that involve no fish and no elk or caribou or white-tailed mule deer or whatever the hell they are.
        I go put my plate in the sink and head back to the CDs and books, still in boxes, dropping a kiss on the back of Fraser's neck as I pass him, getting a contented grunt in return. As I unpack, I pull a couple of CDs out that I forgot I had and put one of them on. Jazz. Won't get on Fraser's nerves too much. And then when I look over at him a few minutes later, he's asleep. I gotta smile. Star-crossed lovers, tonight, Ben. I turn the lamp off and haul him down onto the couch so he's comfortable. And kiss him. Hell, there's no one around to see me being sappy. 'Cept the wolf, and he's asleep too.
        But Dief wakes up about midnight. I'm still awake; been working on my journal. Dief wants to go out. Guess he didn't get his forty-seven walks today or something. So I take him for a nice long walk and by the time we get back I'm finally feeling tired again. Ben's still out, and Dief disappears into the bedroom. He usually sacks for the night under the bed. I oughtta head there too but don't want to, without Ben. Bedroll, I guess. I stand for a minute, irresolute, and then head to the can to do my stuff, find a tank and boxers to sleep in. Then back out to the living room. I'm skinny. Skinny enough to fit on that couch too. So I wedge myself in between Ben and the back of the couch. He moves his arm to go around me and I fall asleep faster than I thought I would.
        I wake up to darkness and a rhythmic rocking motion of my hips against Fraser's - and his against mine. I've ended up on top of him, and my mouth goes down to his neck without me thinking about it, and he moans and leans his head back, giving me better access to it. He knows how I am about that jaw, that neck, that collarbone. I savour the raspy taste of his new beard growth and then the contrast between that and the silky skin at the base of his neck, the hollow of his collarbone. Meanwhile he's got his hands inside my shorts and he's holding me in place as he thrusts up against me.
        I lift my head, trying to see him in the darkness. "You awake, Ben?"
        One hand comes up my back to my head and pulls me down for a kiss.
        "I guess so," I mutter against his mouth, and he chuckles into mine, following it with his talented tongue.
        A few minutes of this and I'm frustrated, trying to get Ben's clothes off. "As usual - " I say softly, exasperated -
        " - I have too many clothes on," he finishes, and our hands meet at his waistband, trying to work the buttons out together. I finally get even more frustrated and push his hands out of the way and slide down his body to kneel between his legs, get those buttons undone as fast as I can. He lifts his hips to help me pull them off and I bury my face for a moment in his starched boxers, inhaling the smell of him and them, and thinking of Vecchio's comment today. Then I remember what we're doing and lose the boxers, too. Fraser's hands are tugging at me, pulling me back up, across that broad, hard expanse of chest, not giving me a chance to do what he knew I was gonna do.
        "Mmm, Fraser, I wanna taste you," I whisper as he pulls me down for a kiss.
        "Taste me here," he says hoarsely, his hands freeing me from my boxers and his mouth reaching up for mine. And his arms go around me and he thrusts his cock up against mine and nothing was ever so perfect in this world as this moment, except the next moment when our lips, and then our tongues, meet. And I realise, finally, that he wants face to face. That he wants an affirmation of last night. And I want that too, and I stop thinking and just start feeling. And later, when we're drifting back to sleep, me still on top of him, I slip a finger under my bracelet on his arm and hold him. No words. Just Ben. Just Ben and me. And he heaves a great sigh and tightens his other arm around me. In the half light I see his eyes close and his mouth curve into a sleepy smile, and I put my head down beside his and close my eyes and let my mouth curve into a sleepy smile.
        It feels like a few minutes later but the sky is much lighter than it was when he wakes me again. I am alone on the couch now, naked, and he is kneeling beside me, kissing me gently, and I smell coffee. He's got a mug in one hand.
        "Good morning," he whispers. I take a deep breath, inhaling Ben and coffee, and prop myself up on one elbow.
        "Right back atcha," I say, taking the mug.
        He looks at me, not saying anything, the happiness in his eyes almost embarrassing me.
        "Cat got your tongue, Frase?"
        He shakes his head. And flickers his tongue out between his lips and back again.
        "Fra-ser! Make me spill my coffee, why don't you."
        He clears his throat, looking away from my eyes. And then, carefully, not jogging my hand that's holding the coffee, leans his head down to rest it against my stomach. I put the mug down on the couch into my other hand and put my free hand to his head, cradling it there. I can't get enough of the touching. I'm worse than he is. And say out loud, "How do I get through another day without you?"
        He shrugs, still not saying anything.
        "TGIF for real, huh."
        He nods, which has the effect of moving my hand in his hair.
        "There a reason I'm getting the silent treatment, Mountie?"
        He shakes his head. "I . . . I love you, Ray," he whispers against my stomach. "So . . . much . . ."
        All right, time to lose the coffee. I lean over quickly and put it on the table, freeing up both my hands. I shift back to hold his face between them, unable to look anywhere but those eyes. He returns my gaze, solemnly, steadily. And then a hint of a smile lifts the corner of that gorgeous mouth.
        "One more second and I'm calling in sick. For both of us."
        He sits back on his heels, a brief flash of pain in his eyes, so unexpected that I can't think for a minute. "I'm sorry, Ray. I do hope to be able to spend some time at the 27^th today. My consular duties should be light." He's not looking at me. He's trying to bring us back down to the real world, the mundane levels.
        "Fraser?"
        He looks at me now, trying to smile. "I've told you before that you have a deleterious effect on my character."
        "I was just kidding, Fraser."
        "I know. It's . . . calling in sick . . . I can't do that."
        "Yeah, I know. Ice Queen'd probably come here in person to take your temperature."
        "Yes. Yes, undoubtedly she would," he agrees, so quickly that I am suspicious again. More going on here than he wants to tell me, at least right now. "It's past seven, Ray. Shall we shower?"
        Yeah, he knows how to distract me, all right. "Tomorrow, Fraser, make no plans that involve leaving this apartment. Except for walks with Dief. Okay?"
        He pulls me to my feet and into his arms with barely a pause. "I don't think I can find fault with that agenda," he says, and hugs me, hard.
        
        
        ~~~
        
        
        
        Kowalski said Benny'd probably be in today, so I'm not surprised to see his familiar red figure show up in the afternoon. I can't help wondering why Thatcher's got him in dress reds in the middle of an unusually hot June, and I know he is thankful for the air conditioning, such as it is, in here.
        He hasn't been here in a few days and almost everyone has to stop him and tell him something, but he's making his way doggedly towards our corner. After all, he hasn't seen Kowalski since eight a.m. To my surprise, though, he greets us both with an equally warm smile. Kowalski's on the phone and nods briefly, grins back, with a wink so fast I almost miss it. Between the two of 'em I'm starting to see how I missed it for so long. Fraser sits on the edge of my desk.
        "How is the promotion coming, Ray?"
        I have never seen him looking so comfortable, so happy. And there's so much I can't say because the whole bullpen is focused on our corner. They knew Fraser and I were arguing about the promotion. They knew I wasn't happy with it, up until a few days ago.
        "Coming. We're probably looking at about a month, a month and a half, to finalise everything. Hey, looks like we're gonna be working out of downtown after all. I can stop by the Consulate for lunch."
        "That will be wonderful, Ray." And he looks like he means it. I get to my feet. Kowalski's still on the phone.
        "Closet, Benny," I say. Too much to talk about. And wink at Kowalski, who grins back.
        Benny's quiet until we get in there and close the door. I hear him take a deep breath and can hear the smile in his voice as he says, "This wasn't used much while you were gone, you know."
        "Hell, I'd've thought you and Kowalski would be in here every other second. "
        Fraser chuckles. "He is generally so impulsive that public altercations are more apt to result from our disagreements."
        "Benny . . ."
        "Yes, Ray?"
        "You okay?"
        "Better than okay, Ray. And you?"
        "Hey, if you're okay, I'm okay. Are we okay?"
        "Absolutely, Ray."
        "Benny, I'm gonna hug you, in a purely platonic fashion, so if Kowalski opens the door in the middle of it, I want you to be ready to tackle him, okay?"
        Fraser chuckles again and this time returns my hug with a little squeeze of his own.
        "You're getting better at this kinda stuff," I say.
        "Yes." And there is such a wealth of happiness in his voice that I squeeze him one more time before releasing him.
        "Fraser. I was wrong. About you and . . . well, you know. You were right. You do deserve to be happy. Now can I hope that this will make you think twice about jumping on cars and outta windows?"
        "Probably not, Ray."
        I can hear the smile in his voice.
        "Why the hell do you do that, anyway?" I always wanted to ask him that. Maybe I'll get a real answer.
        "I don't know," he says, after a pause. "I don't consciously intend to, and I am generally aware of my limitations. And, of course, there is the element of surprise."
        "Kinda like a dog chasing a car, huh."
        He laughs out loud at that. "Perhaps, Ray. Perhaps."
        The door opens and we see Kowalski, both of us blinking in the sudden light.
        "This a private party?"
        "No, of course not," Fraser says, lifting a hand momentarily and then dropping it back to his side. Kowalski grins at him and slips inside, closing the door.
        "Uh, guys, let me out."
        No answer.
        "Look, guys, I'm *not* covering for you! I'm gonna open that door!"
        "Open that door and you're a dead man, Vecchio," Kowalski says. I hear a click and the light goes on. Kowalski's standing next to me, across from Fraser.
        "It's not nice to tease your partner, Kowalski," I say, but I'm not really mad. Relieved that they can tease me, and relieved that they understand, and aren't taking advantage of me.
        "So what are we doin'?" Kowalski asks.
        "Discussing my regrettable propensity to jump on cars and out of windows," Fraser says mournfully.
        Kowalski rolls his eyes. "Tell me about it."
        "I wouldn't go there," I say. "I know too much about your regrettable propensities, Kowalski." Where does Fraser come up with these mouthfuls?
        "Hey, Fraser, that reminds me, I need to know the dates."
        "Ray, Ray, Ray. I wrote them down for you."
        Kowalski shrugs. "I lost it. Got holes in my pants, I guess."
        Fraser shakes his head and moves to open the door. I turn off the light and follow them out of the closet. The bullpen is back to normal as we head back to our desks.
        "Dates for what?" I ask.
        "Vacation," Kowalski says.
        "More vacation? How much you got? You just took a vacation in March."
        "I got lots. I haven't taken much since the divorce. And Fraser needs help with the cabin, he's gotta work on it in the summer."
        "You finally putting running water in that thing?"
        Dewey's walking by and he hears this.
        "Fraser's cabin?"
        Fraser mutters, "It's a textbook example of a Pavlovian reaction." Kowalski glances up at him and grins. Then Fraser turns to Dewey. "There are many, many things we could be discussing that do not have running water, Detective. Why is my cabin the first thing that springs to your mind? I am asking from a purely scientific standpoint, of course."
        Dewey's a little taken aback. Not used to seeing the Mountie in humour mode. "Um, well, Fraser, that's the only thing I can think of off the top of my head that involves you and has no running water."
        "Ah. So it's more of an association for you, then, you'd say?"
        Kowalski's grin is getting broader but he intervenes.
        "Fraser, Frase. Focus. Dates."
        "Dates?" Dewey asks.
        "Yeah, I'm going up to help Fraser again. If Welsh'll let me. So I need to know dates, Fraser."
        I don't like the speculative look in Dewey's eye. Kowalski's comment was perfectly offhand and friendly but Kowalski was just up there and Dewey knows it. So does everyone else.
        Fraser leans over my desk to look at my calendar. It's a sign that he's rattled. He would know those dates without looking. Or he's stalling for time.
        "You like it up there, Kowalski?"
        Kowalski scowls. "It's not too bad. No running water, a' course." He grins, and, reluctantly, Dewey grins back. "And Maggie's coming again."
        "Oh. Fraser's sister."
        "Yeah."
        "Oh." With that to chew on, Dewey turns and walks away.
        "Quick thinking," I mutter.
        Kowalski looks at me in surprise. "She is."
        "Don't play clueless with me. You don't got the big eyed Mountie look to go with it."
        He grins at that. "Yeah, it was. Quick thinking, I mean."
        Fraser straightens. "I am not sure that I should not be defending my sister's honour."
        I catch Kowalski's glance at him, real quick, real worried. Fraser's got his impassive face on. He doesn't like to sneak around. It's not lying but it's not being truthful. And I know, none better, how much Kowalski worries about him.
        "Maggie can defend her own honour," Kowalski says. "She's a Mountie. And if you sock me, she'll sock you."
        Not his best effort but Fraser tries to grin. He pulls a piece of paper over and writes the dates down. Kowalski looks at the dates and at his blank form, and pulls himself out of his chair. "Gonna check with Welsh first before I fill it in."
        The conversation in Welsh's office doesn't take long. Kowalski's got time coming. He's not asking for any special favours. Welsh'll just hassle him for form's sake. But I notice Dewey watching the two of them for a minute. He turns and says something to Huey, who shakes his head in disgust at Dewey and looks back down at the file he's got out. I look at Fraser. He noticed too.
        "Perhaps I should go?" He sounds unsure. Fraser unsure.
        How did I get from a month ago where I couldn't stand Kowalski to here where I want to smash Dewey's face in? Where I want to show him Armando Langoustini, firsthand?
        "Fraser. Shit, Dewey's like that. He's a gossip. And sometimes he's amazingly tactless. Worse than you, even."
        Fraser smiles reluctantly at that.
        "Face it out, Fraser. No one is gonna believe him, anyhow."
        "You're right, Ray." He sighs and then straightens. Mountie mode.
        Kowalski comes back, exultant. That too is not lost on Dewey, who nudges Huey and nods. Huey shakes his head again, doesn't even look up.
        "Not a problem, I take it?" I say.
        "Ah, he said I might as well just take early retirement. And wanted to know how good the fishing really is. Which I don't know, yet." He sits down and starts filling out the form, which Welsh already signed, I note. Welsh wouldn't do that for most people.
        "It's set in stone now, Fraser. Chicago PD stamped and approved. Hope this works for Eric and Maggie."
        Fraser nods. "Maggie's fine. She's got one week already approved and was simply waiting to hear from me for the second week."
        "Maggie's squared away," Kowalski says approvingly. "What about Eric?"
        "Eric. Well . . . if he comes, he comes."
        Maggie is a really good smoke screen, I think, going into my planning mode. Trying to head this off before it turns into talk and then into the smoke-without-fire mentality that is so common in cop stations. I wonder if she ever writes to Kowalski. And can't believe I am worrying about this. But I gotta stop lying to myself. It's true I'm uncomfortable with the idea. But I'm not uncomfortable with Fraser. And I can deal with Kowalski, a whole lot better now that I know why he acts the way he does. When the problem is people I know it's not so cut and dried as everyone makes it sound. As the Church makes it sound.
        And now I'm feeling guilty for taking this promotion. Who's gonna watch out for these two when I'm gone? Welsh approves but he's not on the spot, like me, like another detective would be. But I can't worry about that. Just worry about this problem, put the kibosh on it now, and in a way that might put the kibosh on future rumors.
        
        
        ~~~
        
        
        I wake up Saturday a little disoriented. It's late morning and I vaguely remember Ben telling me about Dief. Walking Dief. Where he gets the energy I will never know. Not energy, really. Stamina. Staying power. Yeah. And I think about last night and smile and feel my tongue come out to lick my lips. I stretch and roll over, push my ass into the sheets, little sore, feels great. Dream catcher in the window catches my eye and I grin even bigger. Listen. It's pretty quiet. I don't even smell coffee. But there's music on. Some jazz. He likes some of what I listen to, not much, or at least he pretends not to like much. I always wonder what he'd really be listening to if I came home unexpectedly, and I smile again at that thought. Ben and Bruce. Right. But he's enjoying the stereo. I don't think he's ever had one. I'll get a TV in here yet.
        I get up, pull some shorts on. They're Ben's but they stay up so it doesn't matter. It's getting hotter outside and I am grateful again that I convinced Ben that Dief needed air conditioning. Now I gotta convince Ben to actually use it. I stop at the door to the bedroom to drink in the sight of Ben. He's sitting on the futon couch, back to me, sideways on the couch, cross-legged, and it looks like all he's got on is a fresh pair of boxers, hair still curling damply on his neck from a recent shower. He's got a pile of clothes in front of him, and thread, and a small box of what must be buttons. At first I think he's doing the Mountie uniform thing again but the clothes in front of him are jeans and shirts and stuff, not an atom of red in sight. Look past him to see the ironing board set up. Guess he didn't realise I was teasing, but what's with all the clothes?
        He holds up a shirt, runs his hand down the front, shakes his head, and fishes a button out of the dish. It seems to match and he sews it on, fast, seen him do that before, bites the thread neatly with his teeth. He is intent. Concentrating. But then he stops, with his nose close to the shirt and he inhales, and then gives himself a shake and quickly folds it, neatly, and puts it in a further pile. He's fixing my clothes. He picks up the next piece . . . a pair of button front jeans. I like 'em a lot even with the holes that make going commando almost grounds for a public indecency arrest but the seam's finally giving way in the crotch. I really should throw them out. I like to wear them around the apartment though so I never got around to it.
        He changes needle and thread. Holds them up, looking from side to side, and I don't need to see his face to imagine the frown. And I really don't want him to mend the holes. As if he hears that thought, he zooms in on the problematic crotch seam, shakes his head again, and settles down to sewing, economical motions, efficient as always. It only takes him a few minutes, which is amazing in itself. I know how tough denim is and he pushes that needle around like he's pushing it through butter. He bites the thread again. Unexpectedly his right hand fumbles at the pincushion and I look back up to his head to see his other hand still holding the jeans to his face. To his nose, I realise, and feel a warm flush start up my neck. He's smelling me. Oh, God.
        His other hand comes up and he puts his head back a little as he inhales again, and then whispers something I can't make out. I can guess, though. And smile, as a warm feeling goes through me. That feeling is joined a few seconds later by a wave of lust as he leans back against the arm of the couch, makes a small twist and a wriggle, and pushes his boxers down to his thighs. He drops my jeans into his crotch but not before I see his cock, taut, straining, fully erect. He lies like that a few moments, as if struggling with himself, and then pulls my jeans up to his chest as his other hand moves down to encircle his cock. I shouldn't be watching this. I shoulda said something five minutes ago. But I want him . . . I want to watch him . . . and I push his boxers off me, slow and quiet . . .
        He's moving his hand slowly, like he doesn't want to, and like he doesn't want to stop, and his other hand pulls my jeans up to his mouth and he bites them quickly. The hand around his cock is moving a little faster now and then he rubs his thumb over the top of his cock. He's done the exact same thing to me and I almost whimper at the memory. He closes his eyes and lets his head sink back. On an exhalation, he says, "Ray . . ."
        I cross to him quickly, silently, and pull the jeans from his chest as I bend to kiss him. He startles up into my mouth, his eyes flying open, dark with desire, but I push him back down. I quick pull the jeans on, leaving them not quite pulled all the way up, and he takes it all in without saying a word, just looking at me and at my jeans, with surprise and more on his face. His hand has stopped moving and I bend down to get it started again, giving him a full view of the hole in the back, where the pocket is sewn on.
        "Ray . . ." He sounds a little upset and a lot passionate. "Ray, could we - I'm sorry - "
        "Touch me too, Frase," I say softly. As if he was waiting for permission, his hand comes up to my ass and I feel his finger on my skin through the hole. But his other hand still isn't moving. I know. He's embarrassed. And he doesn't realise how damn sexy he is. He's sexy just eating breakfast, let alone laying on a couch touching himself . . . and his finger strokes further into the hole, ripping it a little more . . . and, yeah, sexiest of all, touching me . . .
        So I replace his hand with my own and his other hand leaves that hole on my jeans and moves to another one, one on the inside thigh on the other side of the jeans. Oh yeah. And I am suddenly pumping him, wanting him to pump me, and he seems to sense that and strokes across the top of my cock with his free hand. After a few times, with me pushing repeatedly into that hand, he finally gives in and starts stroking me in rhythm with him and in a few more minutes I don't think I can stand. I push the jeans down further and then turn and push both knees between his legs, his hand still on my cock, mine still on his, and his other hand now stroking the skin inside the hole above my knee.
        And I watch his face as my hand moves up and down his cock, and I remember to stroke the top of it with my thumb, pulling his foreskin back as I do, 'cause I know he likes that, and he gasps and then reciprocates. I push my balls gently against his as I stroke him harder and he pushes back. We got an incredible rhythm going here and I want it to last forever. When I get to this point sometimes I just don't want come 'cause it feels so damn good just to be here. And again he seems to sense that and as I ease back on him he eases back on me, both of us rocking our balls against each other to the slow strokes.
        I never thought that jerking someone off could be this erotic, or this loving, but I feel loved, I feel safe inside Ben's hand, and he has forgotten all embarrassment, his face tightened in that look that means ecstasy, that almost bemused look he gets, the one that can turn me on and melt my heart faster than almost any other look except the one he gets when he comes. And I suddenly want to see that, and rub my thumb over his head again, pick up the tempo, and am rewarded by his teeth grabbing his lower lip. I know what that means and I almost forget that he's got me as I feel him tense beneath me, his cock thicken in my hand, and then begin to jerk uncontrollably. I try to take the whole scene in, his face when he comes, his cock spurting all over us, my hand, himself, and the whole thing takes over my brain and I hear myself groaning his name as I come all over our hands and him too.
        I collapse a few seconds later into the warm sticky mess on his stomach. His arms go around me and I feel him kiss the top of my head.
        "I'm gonna have to learn to sew," I say.
        "Oh, no," he says. "I much prefer the holes."
        That surprises a laugh outta me. "I can tell."
        "And you."
        "Me, you got."
        "I know."
        "Love you."
        "I know that too."
        He sounds almost smug, and I finally lift my head to look at him. He opens his eyes as I raise my head, a lazy, happy smile on his face.
        "Nothing more annoying than a know-it-all Mountie, Frase."
        "I can think of a few things more annoying, Ray. Deaf wolves. Jeans without holes."
        "How about showering alone, Most Annoying Man in the World?"
        "I would classify that as extremely annoying, yes, Ray."
        "Well, come on then. I got plans. I got plans for today."
        "I thought you said to make no plans - " he begins, taking my hand and coming to his feet, puzzled, interested.
        "Well, that was yesterday. I got inspired this morning. Mmmmyeah. Come on. Day's wastin', Frase."
        And the shower is mostly, thanks to Fraser's curiosity and my determination, business. We head into the bedroom - our bedroom, God, can't take that in yet - to get dressed, and I stop him from putting his running shoes on. "Hiking boots, Frase." And he stares at me, plainly confused, as I find my socks, put on my hiking boots too.
        "Ray, there is nowhere to actually hike in Chicago," he says, knowing that I don't wear my hiking boots unless I intend to use 'em as they were meant to be used, unlike him.
        "Yeah, I know, Frase." Finish dressing, open his chest, put the Mountie knife in his knapsack. "This all packed?"
        "Ray, there is nowhere to camp in Chicago either . . ."
        "Looooouuu Skagnetti. Yeah, I know, Fraser." Roll the bedroll tight, fasten it to the bottom of the knapsack like I've seen Fraser do countless times.
        "Diefenbaker is required to be leashed at all the state parks."
        "Well, we're not going to a state park, Frase. C'mon. I need coffee. We'll stop and get breakfast or lunch on the way. You got everything?"
        "Ray, I think there's definitely a new candidate for the most annoying man in the world."
        "It's rubbing off, I guess, Benton buddy." Sling my backpack up, hand him his. "Think it's gonna rain?"
        Fraser shakes his head automatically. "No, the recent front and the lack of cloud cover would indicate an extended period of clear weather - "
        "No worked fine for me, Frase." Grin at him, he grins back. One more kiss, yeah, got time for that.
        We've been in the car almost an hour, on my second cup of coffee, heading southwest on I-55, when Fraser mutters what almost sounds like an expletive under his breath.
        "Yeah?"
        "I forgot the surgical tape."
        "For what, Frase? There's some in the first aid kit."
        "Ah. For the bracelet."
        Yeah. The bracelet. "Ben. Where we're going you don't need to worry about it. Just don't worry about it for a while, okay?"
        He glances at me, smiles a little.
        "That's partly why I wanted to leave," I say finally. "It's not that I wanna come out, Frase. I don't. I understand where we live and when we live and what we do. It's just that I get tired of having to be careful."
        "Yes." One word, so much feeling. Glance at him, see his jaw locked. Yeah.
        "And moving in with you. I mean, you know, we don't really hang with anyone at the division anyhow 'cept Vecchio, but the neighbours in your building are gonna know, already do, probably."
        "I imagine so, yes."
        "My landlady must know I got something going on since I'm not keeping her up nights any more. Not necessarily with you, but still."
        "Yes," he says again.
        "And Thatcher, and Turnbull, and stuff."
        "Mmmm."
        "Fraser. Are you digesting or deflecting? Because this monosyllable thing is putting you back up in first place for most annoying . . . "
        "Digesting, Ray."
        "Thank you."
        Finish my coffee; he finishes his mineral water before he finishes digesting.
        "I'm not sure what you're saying, Ray," he says at last. "I don't know how to solve these problems. How to approach these points."
        "Ben, I didn't tell you that so you could solve the problems. You can't. I was just telling you things. Facts. Things we're dealing with. Things you already know about. And I guess I'm trying to see if you want me to move in, because I just kinda took it for granted. But I don't wanna go back to - "
        And the breath gets knocked outta me as I get a Mountie head in my stomach and two strong arms around me in a hug that manages not to block my view of the road but leaves me breathless. He thinks of everything.
        His voice buzzes, muffled, against my stomach, almost tickles. "I don't want to go back to that, either, Ray."
        "Okay, okay, I got that. Lemme go." Wanna cry, settle for laughing instead. One more squeeze and he sits back up, flushed, tousled, damn jeans are alluva sudden getting tight. "Crazy damn Mountie."
        Another long silence.
        Open my mouth, say what I'm thinking. "I wish we could just be who we are."
        "You are, certainly, Ray."
        "Not talking about that, per se, Frase."
        "I know, Ray. But I thought I should say it."
        "How about you drive a while and I take your breath away with stuff like that?"
        "The very fact of your existence takes my breath away, Ray."
        "Shit, Fraser! Do not do that! I'm trying to drive!" I can feel myself reddening, and another part of my body responding to an influx of blood.
        "I didn't even touch you, Ray," he says, trying to hide the laugh in his voice, not very well.
        "Been together too long, I guess," I say, "you don't have to." See an exit coming up, need more coffee, need a cold damn shower, maybe some ice for the rest of the trip.
        "I expect you would become even more perturbed if I were to point out that forever would not be long enough?"
        "You been reading Frannie's romance novels again, Frase?"
        "Diligently, Ray."
        Turn off the exit ramp, see a Live Bait sign down the road. Yeah. Just what I need. Bypass the fast food, there'll be mud for coffee at the bait shop plus grimy cans of soda, bags of ice, and, if I'm lucky, some MREs.
        Sure enough, I'm right. Guy my age behind the counter, older guy leaning on the end of the counter. Heard 'em mention German shorthaired pointers when I came in. Nod at 'em, grunt, get a couple noncommittal grunts in return. Dusty Styrofoam cooler from a pile by the bait on ice, ice, soda and water - all he gets in a place like this is plain bottled water, but Fraser's not picky - and grab six or seven MREs outta a bin at the end of an aisle. Camping, Kowalski style. If I'm gonna eat spaghetti, it's gonna be an instant Army-type meal. "And the biggest cup of mud you got," I say, pulling out my wallet.
        The guy behind the counter grins. "Made it fresh at 6 a.m."
        "Yeah, I figured. Just what I needed. Why'd you think I bypassed those golden arches?"
        "Probably because you lost your last lawsuit."
        "Yeah, I thought probably your lawyers weren't as good as theirs." Take a sip of the coffee. Hot, mud, yeah, perfect.
        "Heading down to Mazonia?"
        "Yeah. Hunting dog practice."
        "That doesn't look like a dog. Looks like a wolf."
        "He still hunts."
        "I doubt he needs practice."
        "Not according to his owner."
        He laughs at that and so does the grizzled old guy leaning on the end of the counter, toothpick in his teeth.
        "You got permits?"
        "Nah, figured I'd get 'em there."
        "I got a primitive camping one here and I'm sure I can dig out the practice training one. The rangers can be hard to track down sometimes."
        "Great. Greatness. Thanks."
        The guy at the end of the counter speaks up.
        "Been down there before?"
        "Not since right after Com Ed sold it."
        "It's still not much, you know. Mostly hunting and fishing. No tourists, no kids."
        "Yeah, that's what I want."
        "Lemme draw you a map. I was down there a couple weeks ago. Show you a couple spots to camp."
        "Works for me."
        "You oughtta bring a Jeep next time."
        "Nah, my buddy likes to hike. He's from Canada."
        The guy behind the counter pops a can of DEET up next to the cooler. I grin at him. "You're on it."
        "Need any blanks?"
        "Nah, already got those."
        Guy at the end of the counter finishes the map, pokes at it with the pen. "Park here, then, it's less than four miles to that campsite and if you want the view overlooking the big lake at Braidwood, it's only a couple more to this one."
        "The practice area is this whole thing," the guy behind the counter says, looking at it with us, drawing a crescent with his finger.
        "Cool."
        "You need a hat," the guy behind the counter says, and pulls out a red baseball cap with white letters. Stan's Live Bait. It's too funny. I start laughing.
        "You Stan?" I ask the guy behind the counter. He nods at the grizzled guy.
        "Me too," I say. "That's too much."
        "Your buddy need one?"
        "Nah, he's got one." I nod at the dashboard, where Fraser's put the Stetson.
        "That's a sensible hat," the Stan guy says.
        "Yeah, I hear them Canadians are sensible," guy behind the counter says.
        This conversation'll go on all day. Or variations of it. How to get away, politely? Because, you know, sayin' I gotta get to the campsite so I can get naked in private/public with my buddy in the car just isn't gonna wash here. Peel off a couple bills, then drop the change in the penny jar. "You wanna see the wolf?"
        Even Stan perks up at that, straightens up his back.
        "Is it a real wolf?" guy behind the counter asks, following me out. Fraser, Mr. Manners, gets outta the car, Dief jumping out too. I give Dief a handful of ice to crunch, put the cooler and stuff in the back seat.
        "Yes, at least half," Fraser says, and they accept this unblinking. Fraser could probably say the moon was gonna hit the earth in Tunguska and people would just nod and smile. "Arctic wolf, at my best guess."
        "Yeah, he's kinda small to be part timber wolf," Stan says.
        Dief sits, looks from one to the other of the guys, head cocked, his tongue hanging out.
        "What's he hunt?"
        I jump in quick before Fraser's honesty blows it. "Just about anything. He's working on waterfowl right now."
        Fraser's spent too much time with me now to give the game away but I can tell he's surprised, can tell everything about him.
        "The ticks aren't too bad this year but you keep an eye on him," Stan says. Stan's a dog lover, I figured that much out already.
        "Thank you kindly," Fraser says with a startled grin. "I certainly will. He's had his shots, don't worry."
        "Good."
        "Hey, thanks for the permits and the map," I say.
        "Yeah. Stop by on your way back. I'll have fresh mud," the counter guy says.
        "Will do."
        As we pull out, Fraser looks at me quizzically. "Childhood friends? Old high school buddies, as you would say?"
        "Never met 'em before, Frase."
        "Ah."
        "You're teasing me again."
        "I like the hat, Stan."
        "I thought it was kinda funny."
        "I thought you said we weren't going to a state park."
        "We're not. We're going to a state fish and wildlife area."
        "There's a difference?"
        "Yeah. No people. In a few years I'm sure it'll be a sanitised park type experience but right now it's mostly hunting, fishing, hunting dog training. Used to be a strip mine and then the DNR bought it in eighty-five or eighty-six. No trails. No campsites with electricity and satellite."
        Fraser is silent. Silent for a long time. Look over at him. He is remote, still, and unsmiling, but I can feel the happiness radiating out. Catch his eye, grin at him. He finally grins back. "And we had to drive almost two hours to walk."
        "Welcome to America, Frase."
        Stan's map is pretty good and we find a rudimentary parking lot. I write a note to the ranger, in case he happens across the GTO, Fraser gets out his compass and checks out the map, and takes over. God, love to watch him out here. Spray him down with DEET, tuck my jeans into my boots like he does, he sprays me down, sprays some on a handful of grass and rubs it over Dief's fur.
        "He'll undoubtedly get some but that will help a little," Fraser says, stowing the can in his knapsack. I've stashed the water and MREs in mine, let Dief get a nice long drink from the cooler before I put it back in the GTO.
        "Hope I got enough water," I say, shaking my head.
        "I've got tablets, don't worry," Fraser says. Yeah. Should've known. Hey, if you're gonna go camping, take a Mountie. That's all the advice I can give anyone.
        "What else you got in there? An axe? A lean-to?"
        "A shelter half, if that counts. And a hatchet."
        He's started off already, and I'm not sure if he's close enough to hear me say, "You're a freak," but I say it anyhow.
        He turns, grins, winks, and keeps going. Setting a grueling pace for a Chicago flatfoot, a Sunday walk in the countryside pace for a Mountie. I keep up better than I thought though which just shows what a good exercise machine Dief is.
        After about a half-hour, I hit a stand of trees about the same time as Dief, hit the ground three seconds later. "Water break," I say. "You trying to do all four miles in one go?"
        Fraser grins at that, takes the bottle from me, but stays standing, looking around. Prairie in the near distance, woods starting to thicken close to. "I think the second campsite would be even better."
        "Had a feeling we were going there," I say. "Why go four miles when you can go six?"
        "How's the skin condition, Ray?" Fraser says.
        "Sarcastic Mountie. Guess I'll go back to the car."
        Fraser doesn't dignify that lame attempt with anything more than a smile. He knows I wanna get as far away from everyone as much as he does. "How large is this 'fish and wildlife area?'"
        "How the hell should I know, Fraser? How big is a strip mine?"
        "A thousand acres, at a guess."
        "The strip mine?"
        "This particular one, yes." He looks around again. "This was a very clever idea on someone's part. To reclaim the land for a wildlife habitat."
        Yeah, knew that'd be Fraser's cup of tea. "There's one northwest of Chicago too that's a moraine. We'll try that one next. It wasn't a strip mine, though."
        He sits down, finally, looking at me, puzzled again.
        "Why did you tell me that you get a 'skin condition' when you leave the city? How do you know about these places?"
        "My dad took us camping, Fraser, I told you. An' I kept camping, even in college. And I don't know why I said that about the rash. I don't remember anything I said to you then. Turned around to see you looking at me and lost my mind. I was so scared to meet you. Man, you were all anyone talked about. I couldn't find out what Vecchio was like except in between the lines, figured every time they said something about you, they were saying that's what Vecchio didn't do or wasn't like. And then realised about thirty seconds later that no one had told you anything so figured there you were, hating me because I wasn't Vecchio, or at least way disappointed . . .
        "And shit, no one even came close to preparing me for the reality that was you. I figured Frannie was running at the mouth again and God she wasn't even close. And I knew you'd realise that I suck and you'd start hating me about five seconds after you met me 'cause I wasn't Vecchio and, you know, 'cause I sucked, and my mouth just went off and wouldn't stop."
        "Ray. Ray. Ray." He's been saying that for about thirty seconds, shaking his head. I finally shut up. Where the hell did all that come from? He's talking again, that voice that makes me melt, makes me do anything, even hit on a pirate ship 'stead of running fast the other way. "Yes, I was surprised. Utterly. And also surprised. And, even more so, surprised. But I promise you I was never disappointed. Not for one second. Bemused, yes. Confused? As you well know." He leans in closer. "But as you might say, I was . . . bowled over. I was blindsided by your . . . presence. Your energy. Your heart."
        Pull that man down to my mouth, feel his mouth, feel those words go right into my heart, got my eyes closed tight.
        "Blindsided, yeah, I can sorta get behind that," I say, a little husky, when we come up for air.
        He laughs, a little husky too. "I'm sorry, Ray." Feels me tense, shakes his head, laughs again. "I don't mean that. I simply meant that since I met you, since I found you, I feel things I didn't know I could feel, would feel; and I say things I didn't think I was capable of saying. Things that men don't say."
        "No reason to be sorry . . . you just kinda bowled me over too, okay? And in case you didn't notice, we're not your normal kinda guys. We're much weirder."
        "Slightly strange, yes, I'll grant you that. And, Ray, you have never 'sucked.'"
        "Oh, yeah. Yeah, I have."
        "Oh, no. Oh, no, you haven't." Fiercely, leans down to kiss me, also fiercely.
        Well, no point in going there with the blindsided in love Mountie, so I just shut up and enjoy the mouth on mine. This is what I want, what it is, what it should be every day, and a desert island is sounding better and better. Or Canada. But what we got, right now, is a way deserted fish and wildlife area, so I ain't complaining.
        Dief snuffles and then barks, and Fraser's on his feet in a flash, love those reflexes, scanning the area.
        "Ah, Diefenbaker's found a creek," he says, reaching a hand down to me.
        Coming up, plant a quick kiss on his lips again, and he blushes.
        "What's that for?" I ask, a little confused. "It's not public, Fraser."
        " I am well aware that you know that that is an autonomic reaction over which I have little or no control," Fraser says, trying to sound stern. " Possibly it just occurred to my nervous system that we are kissing in an open area in broad daylight."
        "Tell it to look out, then," I say, " because I can't resist those blushes," and I lean over for another quick kiss, and he grabs me, holds me, unexpectedly deepens and lengthens it.
        "Better?" he asks, finally releasing me.
        "Perfect, Fraser. Lead on. Let's find that campsite."
        And after an hour or two, with asides for wildlife and vegetation lectures, not to mention tongue action, we find that rudimentary site. Fraser's damned happy with it: a fire ring and a pit toilet.
        "I wasn't looking forward to digging one," he says.
        "Got a shovel in there too, huh?"
        "You shop at Army surplus, Ray, why do you sound surprised?"
        "I shop there enough to hope that you were kidding about the shelter half."
        "No, why? It's beautiful. There's no reason to sleep in a tent."
        I look at him and make a little mosquito noise and he throws his head back and laughs out loud.
        "First of all, you've brought insect repellent. Second of all, you American, you have no concept of what real mosquitoes are like. Wait until we go to the cabin."
        "Oh, joy. I take it you bathe in insect repellent in Canada in the summer?"
        "It's a thought. Certainly jeans are an effective barrier as well."
        "You're bag big enough for both of us?"
        "My bedroll is. You know that. Let's head down to the lake."
        "It's not a good lake for swimming, Frase, it's a flooded mine. Lots of currents and stuff, I think Dief's safer in Lake Michigan."
        "Ah, well, he can paddle in the creek then." He turns to Dief and says, "Did you hear that? No lake."
        Dief grumbles a little and Fraser sighs.
        "There are some smaller pond type things around," I say. "We can look around after we set up camp."
        Dief barks twice and bounds off in the direction of the creek.
        Fraser shakes his head, at the wolf, or me, I'm not sure, and starts building a fire with wood we picked up on the way in. There are some split logs piled here, an indication that someone with forethought and an off road vehicle uses this spot, but we aren't cooking much, just heating water. I'm starving, I know Fraser must be too, and pull out a couple MREs, start opening them. In the distance we hear Dief barking again and the sound of splashing. Fraser glances in the direction of the barking and then looks back at the fire with an affectionate grin still lingering on his face.
        After we eat, put out the fire, and pack the trash, Fraser whistles for Dief and we head down to the lake with a damp, happy wolf. Guess the creek rates high on the Diefenbaker Entertainment Scale.
        Get some hiking done, not all the way around the lake, which is pretty damn big, but enough to take the edge off the Mountie, and before dusk falls we're heading back to camp. Fraser doesn't bother with the shelter half. I knew he wouldn't. Spreads a groundsheet and the bedroll and builds another fire, a little bigger this time. While he's doing that I feed Diefenbaker and get out a couple more MREs. Fraser brews a cup of his tea but I stick to plain water for now, and we take off our boots, sit on the bedroll, me watching the fire, Fraser staring off into the distance.
        After a little while he says, "Thank you, Ray."
        "Welcome, Frase."
        He raises his voice a little to call the deaf wolf. He always does that. "Diefenbaker! Tick check."
        The wolf, who was sitting on the other side of the fire, whines a little as he gets to his feet and walks slowly to Fraser.
        "Yes, I realise that, but it may not have been effective," Fraser says to him. "It was rather a cursory application."
        Shake my head, grin, take another swig of water, and watch curiously as Fraser gives Dief what looks like a full body massage, with particular attention paid to his head and ears. Dief's getting into it almost in spite of himself, finally flops to the ground more like a dog than a wolf, offering Fraser his belly. Fraser grins at him, lips closed over his teeth, holds him under the chin for a few seconds, and then gives him a full tick check belly rub. Never seen Dief do that before, turn on his back like that, don't imagine it happens often. Or the tick check is a good excuse for both of 'em to enjoy it without worrying about wounded wolf dignity. Finally Dief remembers that he's a big bad Arctic wolf and twists around, getting to his feet with a disgruntled grumble, and stalks off to the other side of the fire again.
        "Thank you kindly," Fraser says to him, and if that's sarcasm it's notched way down, even for Fraser. Dief glances at us both, and then drops to the ground with an exhalation and looks off at the trees again.
        Fraser finishes his tea, almost absentmindedly finding my hand with his free hand, and I scoot over a little to lean against him.
        "You're next," he says.
        "I get a belly rub?"
        "No, Ray, a tick check."
        "Then a belly rub?"
        Finally he turns to look at me, grinning with teeth this time, and raises an eyebrow. "If you like . . ."
        "Oh, yeah, I think I like."
        He quick washes his hands with some leftover warm water, lets me wash too, and then pushes me down on my back with my head in his lap and starts running his fingers through my hair, moving them in gentle circles on my scalp. Gets to my ears, tickles a little, and I open my eyes to look up at him for a second. He's smiling again, warm, happy, open, stars behind his head bigger and brighter than they ever look in Chicago, not as beautiful as they are in Canada though, and I smile back.
        "Do I get to do you?"
        "I'm not finished," he says. "Turn over."
        I turn to my stomach, he finishes up the back of my head, running his hands down my neck to my shoulders and back, feels so good, massages my neck a little, then moves down to my shoulders.
        "Mmm, Fraser, I like that."
        "Mmmm, Ray, I like that too."
        I roll back over, sit up.
        "Your turn. If I actually find a tick, though, I'm outta here."
        "Ray."
        "Yeah, Frase?"
        "Thank you."
        "Quit thanking me, Fraser. Think I'd be here if I didn't wanna be?" I move behind him, kneeling, running my hands up his arms to his shoulders, and then into his hair.
        He leans forward, resting his arms on his drawn-up knees. "Yes."
        Stop for a second, surprised. Thought we covered this in Canada.
        "Fraser, damn it, you got the weirdest brain I ever saw."
        His head drops to his arms, his next words muffled. "I'm . . . I feel . . . I feel that I'm taking again, Ray, that all I do is take from you. You would much rather be in Chicago, watching a basketball game or – "
        "Here or Chicago, Fraser, long's it's with you, I'm cool. Love to see you happy, love to see you free. Love to be free, here, with you. Are you getting the with you part?"
        That gets a chuckle, at least, and I relax a little.
        "I worry that that won't be enough."
        Relaxed too soon.
        "Fraser, I told you before, told you a long time ago, that the with you part was the part I wanted. That's all I'm in it for. Being with you, how I feel about me when I'm around you, how you make me complete."
        "And you, me, Ray," he says, voice still muffled.
        Take a deep breath, promised him to tackle this, might as well be now.
        "An' that's why I feel so bad about before, Frase."
        He raises his head, makes a small protesting noise. I ignore that, keep talking.
        "Before, when you said that I was keeping you at bay. Where do you come up with this stuff? But, yeah, anyhow. Yeah. You were right, and I hurt you, and I didn't mean to. I mean, I knew I was hurting you but I wasn't thinking clearly enough to stop, and I'm sorry."
        "Ray, I wasn't – "
        "Fraser, you can't make me feel better about this. You carry a lotta guilt over hurting me, so you ought to understand that you saying it's okay doesn't make my guilt go away . . . because I know that doesn't work the other way around at all."
        Indrawn breath. Dense Mountie, sometimes, and sometimes the sledgehammer approach works.
        "It was driving me crazy, Ben, you were there with me, all the way, one minute, and then gone the next, guilting the hell out of yourself. I felt like I didn't even exist or matter, and the best way to get you back was in bed. And then that didn't even work any more because that was the only way we were connecting, and it was, it was . . . " Have to swallow hard before I can go on; he's frozen beneath my hands, still on his shoulders. "It was hard. It was just hard, Fraser, you know? And I thought I could do it, thought I could deal, and I couldn't. I wasn't strong enough. I wasn't strong enough to say no to just sex and I wasn't strong enough to pull you out of yourself. And I'm sorry." Hold back the tears, pushing hard on my eyes with the fingers of one hand.
        "Ray!" He turns around, grabs me, pulls me into a hug. "Damn it, Ray, don't!"
        "Fraser, s'okay. We're back. You're back. I'm not trying to make excuses, I'm trying to explain."
        "Well, since the bulk of the explanation so far seems to be that you think you 'suck,' it's not okay. And since I don't want to lose my temper I won't even begin to discuss your misapprehension about the fact that it was 'just sex' for me or for you, at any point in time."
        Whisper. Can't talk. "I do suck, Fraser. And then . . . then I sent you away. And shit, got dumped on by one of your freaking charity cases. Standing there with me, watching you walk away, in a stupid fur hat, and says to me, 'At least the wolf knows his duty.'"
        For some reason, Fraser goes even tenser at that, and I feel his heart beat speed up.
        "And then I dreamed about him, sitting on my bed at two a.m. telling me your caribou story. Freaky. And then the rest of the dream you know." And feel myself shudder, involuntarily, at the memory of that dream, the blood drying sticky on my hands.
        He hugs me tight again, feel his mouth moving in my hair.
        "Caribou story?"
        "Yeah, he was sitting in that fur hat on my bed, the weirdest damn dream I ever had, Fraser, now I dream about caribou stories, jeez." And I look up at him, and he's looking at the fire, and I follow his gaze and there's the guy in the fur hat sitting on the other side of the fire, next to Dief, his mouth moving, and I hear words coming out.
        "Nice camp, but the tang of the mountain air is missing, Benton," he says.
        I'd think it was the ranger except I know it's the guy from my dream, the wolf knows his duty guy, how the hell did he get out here, find us here?
        "Perhaps that's because we're in north central Illinois, Dad," Fraser says, a slightly exasperated tone in his voice, a tone I've heard before in Fraser's voice talking to empty rooms. My brain refuses to take in any more and I lose my mind and collapse bonelessly against Fraser, his strong arms around me anchoring me to reality . . . if reality and Fraser can coexist, which I'm beginning to doubt.
        Fraser tightens his arms around me and then pulls my face up to meet his eyes.
        "You can see him?"
        I close my eyes, tight, open them again, the guy in the fur hat smiles at me, nods a little nod. I nod back without even thinking, and he smiles again.
        "And hear him?"
        "Of course he can hear me, son, he's not deaf. Not like the wolf."
        "You're simply a figment of my imagination. An unconscious manifestation of some masochistic part of my mind."
        "Really? Then howcome I know the Yank's name?"
        Fraser gets that exasperated tone in his voice again. "Because I know his name and you are part of my imagination."
        "No, no, son. You're losing your grip again. He can see me."
        Close my eyes again, this isn't happening. If I can't see it it's not happening. But I can still hear it.
        "But I've always told you never to be afraid to ask a stupid question, so I suppose I can't be surprised that you're taking my advice. For once."
        "To those of us who normally inhabit a different plane of existence, Dad, that wasn't a stupid question. Nor has anyone except Maggie and Buck been able to see you, prior to this, so forgive me if I'm a trifle confused."
        "You're forgiven, son."
        "Thank you. And, Ray, I think this ought to be enough evidence, even for you, that you don't, as you say, 'suck.'"
        "How do you figure that, Fraser?" And realise that I'm in a kinda clinch with Fraser, with his dad sitting across the campfire, and open my eyes to a knowing grin on his dad's face that makes me go hot and sit up fast, pushing Fraser away.
        Fraser pulls me back just as fast. Looks across the fire. "Dad? Do you mind?"
        "Not at all, son, carry on."
        Fraser drops his head in his hand for a brief second, shaking his head tiredly.
        I can see where Maggie gets her blunt approach and wonder where Fraser learned to be so subtle. And then wonder at what point I actually lost my mind. Was it when I drove the damn Riv into that lake he calls Michigan? Was it when I stepped in between him and Greta? Or was it even earlier than that, was it the minute I turned and saw him and had to touch him to see if he was for real?
        "Dad, I appreciate that, I think, but I feel it incumbent upon me to warn you that there will be more than simple touching occurring in rather less than ten seconds, so feel free to depart at any time."
        "Think I'll take a walk down to the lake, Benton. Good night."
        "Uh . . . g'night."
        "Good night, Dad."
        "Holy shit, Fras – " and he cuts me off with his mouth on mine, doesn't let me talk or think for a minute, not that I can usually think through his kisses anyhow, but I do retain simple ideas and when he lets go, I say again, "Holy shit, Fraser, what the hell was that?"
        "Ray . . . you don't suck . . . and I would dearly enjoy having more than just sex with you right this minute."
        "Fraser, there was a ghost at our campfire."
        "I know. It's unfortunately not a scary enough subject for a real ghost story."
        "Ray Kowalski in a mental ward, is that a scary enough subject for you?"
        "Ray, I walk a fine line, as you are no doubt aware, between what passes for sanity and what is regarded as insanity, every day. I believe you have joined me on that line."
        "I believe, Fraser, that I crossed that damn line over a year ago and I'm only just now realising it."
        "It's a pleasant place to exist, however. In general. Except for the obligatory confusion and reprimands from my dead father."
        "Uh, right. I feel like those guys in that cave. The ones who saw the shadows on the cave wall and never knew it was really them, their own shadows, 'cause they never turned around to see the fire."
Fraser stares at me a long minute and then grins big. "I think you turned around."
        "I think even if I turned around I wouldn't know what the hell fire was because I never saw it before."
        "But you would see it. You wouldn't close your eyes and pretend it didn't exist because you didn't know what it was. "
        "I think I'd turn around and look at the shadows again. "
        "I think you might, for a while, but eventually, Raymond Kowalski, you would feel compelled to look over your shoulder again and try to figure out what the fire really is. Because, of all the things you are, courageous is near the top of the list. "
        "I think you and your imaginary father are only slightly less sane than I am. "
        "If my father were imaginary I wouldn't be here right now. "
        "Maybe you're not. Maybe you're a shadow on the wall."        
        He throws his head back and just howls at that and I feel my deadpan face slipping. When Dief grumbles at him I lose it completely and I laugh back at him.
        "You said you liked my world. You liked being in my world. And I realise that this is completely insane and I don't expect you to understand, but I am delighted that my world has accepted you so completely. Which is why, to hearken back to our previous unresolved conversation, I have good reason to believe, as a fact, that you do not 'suck.'"
        "Fraser. Get a grip. You cannot cite an imaginary, nonexistent joint hallucination as a fact."
        "I beg to differ. I think the fact is that we both heard and saw what we both heard and saw and therefore, even if it was an hallucination, it was an eminently satisfying one, for me, at least."
        "Yeah?"
        "Yeah."
        "Well, you're just too damn easy to satisfy, Fraser."
        "On the contrary, Ray, I have exceptionally high standards."
        "Yeah?"
        "Yeah."
        "It's hard for me to think that I can meet any of those standards, Fraser."
        "You surpass every expectation, Ray."
        "That's hard to live up to, Fraser."
        "I'm aware of that, Ray." Serious now, both of us.
        "I don't know if I can do it." Yeah, and I bet he doesn't think he can do it, either. Wow. Explains a lot about the Mountie.
        "You can, Ray, just by being yourself. Just by being true to yourself."
        "And what about you?"
        As I expected, he gets a lot self-deprecatory right about now.
        "My self is a little more difficult to find, Ray."
        "Not for me." Have to whisper, again, because my voice is a little outta control.
        "I know." He pulls me into a hug. "That's possibly why I not only love you, I like you better than anyone else I've ever known."
        "Possibly?"
        He chokes at that, choking back, what, a sob? A laugh?
        "And anyhow, Ben, that goes double for me."
        He straightens his back, suddenly going tense on me, feel those barriers go up faster than lightning. This letting me in business is still too new, his instincts kick in and it's all over. And I'm way confused, anyhow, because it's not like I don't tell him I love him all the time. Well, not all the time, but a lot. And he knows I like him. Hell, we been friends for over a year before we ever got to the love and sex part. Best friends. He knows that.
        He knows that.
        Duh, Ray.
        "You are my friend, Fraser."
        "I know that, Ray." But his voice is light, his mask is up, his emotions are gone.
        "Okay, Fraser."
        Not the best reaction but I'm confused, I'm tired, I'm seeing ghosts, and on top of it all I'm more than a little horny. And yeah, can feel the tension increase even more. Can't stop a sigh. It doesn't do much for my tension. He sighs too. Doesn't do much for his either. I sigh again.
        "Fraser."
        "Mmm?"
        "Can we come up with a shorthand for this stuff?"
        "What would that be, Ray?"
        "This stuff, this deflecting stuff, this barrier stuff. This let-me-back-in stuff." And as I say that, I push him backwards down onto the bedroll. He doesn't resist, but he doesn't smile either. 'S okay, I don't much feel like smiling. I prop myself on his chest, chin in hands, and stare at him.
        "I gotta say, Frase, at least I never can tell what maggot you're gonna get into that nut next. A'course, I want to shake some sense into it on an hourly basis, but I guess that comes with the territory."
        He says nothing, but I can almost see the struggle in his face, feel it in his body, he's trying to drop those barriers but his instincts, when he has 'em, are damned stubborn. This is his struggle, not mine; I can help him, but he's the one who's got to do it.
        Help him. Yeah.
        "You said, before . . . you said, that night, that you were afraid to let me in because you were afraid of losing me."
        He closes his eyes and even though the firelight isn't doing much more than casting the peaks and valleys of his face into sharp relief, I know he's blushing.
        "How do you do that, Ray? How do you open your mouth and say those things?"
        He's serious.
        "Mr. Instinct, right, Fraser?"
        He still doesn't smile.
        "I dunno, Fraser. I trust you. I pretty much . . . well, yeah, I trust you. And, you know, tact never was my strong point 'cause I'm always running at the mouth. And . . . " Yeah, I'm deflecting too, now, taking refuge behind endless words. Okay. Play a straight game, Kowalski. Say it again. "I trust you. And I know, somehow, that no matter what I do, you'll love me anyhow. That's how I feel about us." That was hard. It's harder than he thinks it is for me to open my mouth and say those things. But us, him and me, it's worth the risk.
        He turns his head to one side, one hand coming up to the bridge of his nose. Fold my arms across his chest and put my head down on them, still watching him.
        "Afraid of losing me."
        "Yes."
        "I can understand that, kinda, I mean, we're cops. But there's more to it, isn't there?"
        "Yes." God, he's trying.
        "Fraser."
        "Yes?"
        "For keeps. Blood brothers. Un . . . um, unconditional, uh, love."
        Finally, finally, opens his mouth, lets it rip. "I have two, er, questions about that, Ray. The first is to ask how you can be so sure about me? That this exists, in this way, between us? And the second is, while you are eminently worthy of such a gift, I have a very difficult time . . . "
        And the dam dries up, but that's probably a good thing, because I got to think.
        "Thinking you deserve that?"
        He nods, once, feels like iron beneath me, no one can hold that much stress inside without snapping, no one but Fraser, and he's had way too much practice at it.
        "It's nothing to do with that, Ben." Move a finger to touch his chin. He jerks, like he was concentrating so hard on us that he wasn't aware of the physical world. I stroke his chin a little, with the tip of my finger.
        "Ben, I've spent the last few months somewhere else. Not entirely in my head, that's for sure, and never ever really knew what you saw in me, why you loved me. Why you bothered with me at all, being friends, I mean, even before that. But, Jesus, Ben, I can run my mind in circles all day and all night over it, or I can just sit back and enjoy it. And I trust you, you got that? With my life, my . . . ah, shit, Ben, with my heart." Expect him to look away, want to look away myself, but he's staring at me, almost hungrily, and I can't move my eyes. "So, you know? Trust me, Fraser, just trust me, and go with it. Go with us. And trust me with your life. Your . . ."
        Last word gets lost in his mouth, gentle, tender, you'd think I'd be used to the taste of him by now, the smell of him, the feel of him. In a way I am, but in another way he tastes better, more like Fraser, every single time, don't know how he does it, and don't really care.
        ". . . heart," he says, after a few moments, breathing it back into my mouth. "Ray, I do. I always have."
        "Then why the hell do you get this crazy shit in your head about us? About friends?"
        He pulls himself up, props himself on his elbows, drops his chin to his chest with a sigh.
        "Although you patently disbelieve me, Ray, I have had the same feeling of existing in an alternate reality for the past few months as well. I find it hard to understand what you see in me, why you want me, why you love me." Oooh, got those barriers down with a vengeance. Works for me.
        "Does there have to be a why, Frase?"
        Yeah, there does. Always. With Fraser, always. I don't even wait for him to open his mouth.
        "It's one of those, you know, karma things. Or Zen. Whatever. It just is, Fraser, we just are. We're lucky we found each other and even luckier that we had the guts, or the brains, or whatever, to admit how we felt about each other."
        "Actually that philosophy sounds more akin to Taoism . . ."
        "Fraser."
        "Understood."
        "You know, we'd both be a lot happier if you'd work on the relax/enjoy thing."
        "Ray – " He sits up all the way, takes my hands in his, swallows hard, and keeps talking. His hands are so tense they're almost shaking. "Ray, listen. I've never been able to believe – to believe that duty wasn't an integral component of everything, even friendship. And part of the duty of a friend is to make meaningful contributions to the friendship. With Ray Vecchio, the give and the take was tacit but understood. He knew his way around Chicago; I knew my way around police work and, er, mud. And with you, at first, I felt that we were equals, that we complemented each other. Now, however, it has become clear to me that you don't need me, you can stand on your own two feet, that in fact I am more likely to hinder or annoy you or to risk your life than to actually assist you."
        "So what?"
        This rocks him, and he blinks at me, owl-eyed Mountie.
        "I mean, even if it's true, which you know damn well it's not, so what? I don't need your discourses on the components of mud, although I like 'em, I don't need your Inuit stories, I don't need you to jump outta windows or onto cars, or, God forbid, to follow you onto sinking ships, to like you. To love you. All I need is you. Now the other stuff, it's part of you, and it's mostly fun, except for the terrifying parts, and I wouldn't trade a caribou story from you for a World Series victory for the Cubs. Oh, God, Ben, I think I just traded in my Chicago membership card for a crazy Mountie-lover card. Never, never, never tell anyone I said that."
        He nods a little, still wide-eyed, then shakes his head.
        "And that's why. That's why I'm here now, that's why I'll go to Canada with you. I like you, I love you, I like you, Benton Fraser, like, like, like. There's no one like you in the whole world, and there sure as hell's no one I'd rather be with anywhere ever under any circumstances, even trapped on a fuckin' sinking ship.
        "Because I'm with you. Told you that. And what I meant was, you know, with you. Naked. Here. Under the stars. I'll risk the mosquitoes if you will."
        And get myself stripped in about forty seconds, give or take. Fraser stares at me, almost completely at a loss. I should've given him a few minutes to digest, but that's me, jump right in, look out below, cannonball wham right into the pool. I lower my body to the bedroll, pulling him down with me. We stare at each other for a few seconds, and then he grins, and demonstrates how his efficiency can almost compete, second for second, with my energy, as he gets seriously naked, then raises an eyebrow at me.
        "I do have long johns, Ray."
        "Mountie – "
        "The fantasy didn't include those?"
        "No. You wanna hear the fantasy, Fraser?"
        He loses the grin and even in the firelight I can see his eyes getting darker.
        "Kneel here, Ben."
        I lay back, my head on the knapsack, as he shifts between my legs. He sits back on his haunches, waiting expectantly, his cock just half erect.
        Grab both his hands, pull him down to me. "Come on, Ben."
        Mmm long perfect Fraser kiss, wonder if those lips, that tongue'll still excite me in six months, six years. I'm willing to bet they will. He smells like sweat and woods and DEET and Fraser and he tastes like wood smoke and Fraser and thank God no insect repellent. He moves his mouth, and I protest a little, pulling him back towards me, but he drops his mouth to my neck, whispers, "I'm still waiting to hear the fantasy, Ray."
        That voice kicks my heart, my adrenaline, and my cock into overdrive, thrust up against him, surprise a moan out of him.
        "Fantasies, Ben."
        "Plural?" How the hell can that voice get any sexier, any huskier? Must be the wood smoke.
        "Well, more than one, anyhow." Surprise a laugh outta him, that time.
        "Perhaps, if you can bring yourself to talk in words of one syllable or less, you can describe at least one fantasy to me," he says, in a more normal voice, and then he shifts just right so our cocks slide against each other, my turn to moan.
        "You keep that up, Frase . . . oh God . . . and I won't have time . . . "
        "I love to hear your voice when we make love," he whispers, sexy, thick voice again.
        "You're doing that on purpose, Fraser . . ."
        "Doing what?"
        "Innocent Mountie. Not." Shiver as the thrusting settles into a definite rhythm with one object in mind.
        "I have a fantasy . . ."
        "Oh shit, Ben, stop!"
        He listens, for once, and stops rocking, but his head above mine, surrounded by the stars, is so close to my fantasy that I have to close my eyes, have to swallow hard, have to think snow, have to grab Ben's hand as it heads south . . . "Stop. For once, just for once, Ben, I'd like to prove to you that I'm not some out of control teenager who can't keep it up for more than two minutes."
        "Ray. You don't have to prove anything to me." Soft voiced, actually can hear the love. Oh God there is no way he is so sexy that I can come just from listening to him.
        "All . . . right . . . one more kiss . . ."
        "And then fantasy?"
        Nod, not trusting myself to talk. And as we kiss, deep, sweet, the heat of the fire blending into our cheekbones, I ignore what I just said and start to thrust against him again. His hands go down to my hips and he holds them down, sits back on his knees, looks at me, at my cock, at me again. That tongue curls across his lip and shit that does it, feel the rush start to build, grab my cock, push hard under the head, haven't had to do that since college but damn it still works. Ben stares at me in a little wonder, a little amazement, and when I get my breath back, I grin at him.
        "I meant it, Ben."
        "I can see that, Ray."
        He sounds almost awed. Hell, didn't know I could impress the Mountie in bed. Well, not that way. He's got great instincts, after all, and for once I'm the one with the logic.
        Breathe, again, and say, "Fantasy. Yeah."
        "Actually, this is fairly close, Ray, except that I want to be inside you."
        "Oh yeah. I love it when you do that mind-reading thing. That's one of them. You fucking me, with the stars behind your head . . ."
        Hardly manage to get the words out before he's covered my mouth with his again, tables are turned a little now. He can hardly say fuck but it turns him on like nobody's business. And damn, been waiting for this all day, and we got all night, well, maybe half the night, and I scrabble one handed for my backpack, for the outer pocket. Ben lifts his head, looks at me, and I grin and turn my head to see what I'm doing. Wrong side. There we go. Pull out a bottle and some plastic packets. His eyes widen as he makes sense of my supplies, and he's probably blushing, but his lower lip is between his teeth as he looks back at me.
        "Ah, Ray, I thought . . . "
        "Fraser. Plural. And there are no showers out here, not even an ice cold Canadian stream." Hold his eyes with mine while I rip open a packet, hand it to him. He takes it numbly, still staring at me. I lean up quick, fasten my lips to his, my hand pulling the back of his neck towards me. And then I move my mouth to his ear, lick it, kiss it, and whisper right into it, "Ben, I want you to fuck me. I want to fuck you. And I want to suck and taste you. And I want you to suck and taste me. And I want to be able to do all of it, in no particular order. Do you get it now?"
        Feel his hand behind my head as he pushes me back down so fast I would've bounced off the ground if he wasn't holding me, and he gets that tongue working in my mouth, moving against my own tongue.
        "Ray, I love the way you think," he whispers back, mouth moving, warm and wet, on my ear. "There is a certain, er, synchronicity with my own thoughts that I find – "
        "Synchronicity, yeah, like that word, Frase," I mutter against his jaw, my hands moving down his stomach. "I find it exciting too, except that you're not turned on enough to forget those fifty Canadian dollar words . . . So you gonna talk or are we gonna fuck?"
        He kisses me once more, deep, hard, a few mind numbing tongue thrusts, and then sits back on his heels, still holding the rubber in one hand. He looks at me, and then at his hand. As my head clears, a little anyhow, I get it, sit up again, grin at him like the crazy fool I am.
        "Jeez, Ben, you were raised by wolves, weren't you." Flip open the bottle of lube, reach down to kiss the tip of his cock, then put just a drop there, take the rubber from his unresisting fingers – in fact, he's breathing pretty hard and his cock is jerking, this is definitely turning his crank, which is good, I wasn't sure how he'd feel about it – and check it out for right side up in the firelight before I roll it downwards over that gorgeous erection. He breathes, hard, between clenched teeth, and when I look at him again, he's got his eyes closed and he's rocking a little against my hands, which are still at the base of his cock. Close my own eyes, for a brief second, to imprint the beauty of this man, about to fuck me, in the firelight, in my memory forever, yeah, this one's a keeper, and lean up to kiss him again, can't help myself and don't have to. Scrabble for the bottle of lube, and as I pull him down on the bedroll again I get it open, put a couple drops on his fingers, and he shudders, followed instantly by a quick intake of breath, at the feel of the slickness.
        "Better than mineral oil, huh?"
        "God, Ray . . ."
        "I looked for cod liver oil but they were all out."
        He barks out a helpless laugh at that, leaning his forehead against mine for a brief second as his fingers move down, down, down, past my cock, my balls, oh Christ yes Fraser, right there, and take a gold star, Kowalski, that lube was an inspired idea. A second finger follows the first pretty damn quick but I'm getting used to it and the lube is helping a lot, and he moves them in and out for a few long deliriously fuckable moments, hear myself moaning now, pushing against him, and he's watching my face, his mouth slightly open, that tongue curled up over his top lip. He pushes in further, and oh God he found that gland again, first try, that Mountie's a fast learner, and my body bucks upwards with another moan. He leans down, licks the head of my cock, still moving his fingertips against that . . . that place . . .
        "Come on, Fraser, I don't wanna go to this party alone," I say, barely coherent, as I pull at his left arm, which is braced on the bedroll. One last lick, and then he raises his head to watch me again as I feel a third finger slip in, no resistance at all, come ON, Ben . . . panting, thrusting against nothing, oh back it off, Kowalski, back it off, Ben, and like he hears me, he pulls his fingers out. Pant a few seconds, eyes closed, the desperation fading, and risk a look at him. He's still staring at me, like he can't get enough, and it's kinda hard to tell if that's joy or pain on his face, maybe both.
        "I love to watch you, Ray."
        "Jesus Christ, Ben, fuck me already!"
        Bend my left knee up to my chest, arch my back towards him, and watch almost in triumph as his eyes widen and he swallows, convulsively, as he pulls me towards him. Feel his thighs against my ass, feel oh yeah it's about fuckin' time his cock start to push into me, no preliminaries, just us, now, here, joined together in one smooth thrust.
        Pant, again. "How . . . how's that?"
        "It's . . . just . . . perfect."
        "Oh yeah."
        He pulls me closer to him, deep inside me, holds my hips as he starts to move in a slow rhythm. Shifts around, suddenly leans forward, bracing himself again on his arm on the bedroll, long deep thrusts now. He shifts again, and finds that spot, again, watches me with a goddamn smug smile as the breath catches in my throat and I bring my right knee up too, holding both of them in place with my hands, moaning, yeah, fucking whimpering too.
        "This is so right, Ben," I say finally, in the rhythm of thrusts and pants.
        "The fantasy?" he manages to grind out, incredible self control, the condom's probably helping too.
        I forgot the fantasy for a minute but now I open my eyes wide and watch him fucking me, his eyes bright and beautiful in the firelight, the stars behind his head, mmmmyeah. He is the most beautiful thing in creation, eyes reflecting me and the fire, his jaw taut . . . There it is, I'm feeling it start, and he hasn't even touched me. He feels me jerk, and we both put a hand to my cock at the same time. Somehow in the middle of my orgasm I find the strength to grin at him as I push into our fingers and close my eyes to see Ben's eyes imprinted on my eyelids, stars shooting behind that.
        There is just no sensation comparable to coming with a hard Mountie inside you, except maybe a few seconds later when you feel him shudder and then start to come himself, his head thrown back, his eyes shut tight, his hands on your hips holding you still . . . and every sensation is magnified so you can actually almost count the spasms as he convulses inside you. And then the incomparable feeling of safety and warmth as he collapses onto you a few seconds later, panting, breathing, hugging.
        
        
        ~~~
        
        Somehow in the night we have reversed positions and Ray has ended up with his back to my front, enfolded in my arms. I breathe in the morning air for a few minutes, watching the dawn light play across the grass, the trees, my partner's skin and hair... and lean forward slightly to taste the skin at the back of his neck, barely conscious of an accompanying gentle rhythm from my hips as they push against his buttocks and a pleasant ache left over in the region of my own.
        A sleepy chuckle. "Ben, you're insatiable."
        A single word, breathed into his ear. "Yes."
        He stretches and then twists around so he can see me. "Me too," he says, before he pulls my head down to his, a long, lingering kiss. Gentle tongues, less than idle hands caressing one another, no urgency, peace, satisfaction, and a growing need for more.
        "Want you, need you," he whispers as my tongue finds a nipple and flicks it into hardness. "Ah, Ben, it . . . yeah, like that . . ."
        I love the quick response of his body, the way he feels against me, the sounds he makes, even the sounds he inspires from me. I love to lick him, to taste him . . .
        "Mmmm, Ben, like to taste you too . . ."
        I feel a telltale blush begin. Either Ray has taken to mind reading or...
        "God, Ben, I love to hear how I make you feel. Jeez! You wanna hear how you make me feel?"
        I don't need words to see that, but I nod nevertheless.
        "Love to kiss you, taste you too . . . love to feel you, hear you . . ." He rolls over, partly on top of me, bends down and says in a half-growl, "And I want you now. Want you inside me now. Want to watch your face when you come inside me, right now."
        I close my eyes, trying to maintain a semblance of composure as those words hit me somewhere in the region of my groin. Open them again to see him watching me steadily, a small grin twisting his lips. "And I could come right here and now from the expression on your face."
        Somewhere inside me I drag words to my lips. "Please...wait..."
        His grin gets bigger. "Yeah. Yeah, okay." He looks around, finds the small bottle he used last night on the ground, pulls open the flip top with his teeth. For some reason, that sight alone makes me groan. Anticipation, no doubt, or possibly just Ray above me with the morning sky behind his head, the blue of his eyes matching the increasingly bluer sky slashed with golden streaks of sunrise.
        "Want me, Ben?"
        I sit up, suddenly, bury my face in his stomach, bite, gently, at the skin around his navel, feel him shudder and grab my hair with one hand. I add a growl for good measure and his erection, pushing into my groin, increases noticeably as he tenses and moans.
        We fumble together, suddenly both of us wanting it all, right now, wordless, no words needed, as his slick hand moves down, firm, guiding me ...
        "You like to watch me, Ben?" He holds me as he lowers himself, carefully, too slowly for my overexcited senses, onto me, his head back, his eyes shut. He groans, a deep, loud groan that makes my hips involuntarily thrust upwards. At that I hear, see, a hissed intake of breath as he pushes himself down faster. "Th . . . there . . . oh God . . . izzat . . . izzat a good . . . oh fuck . . . view?"
        "God, Ray... "
        "Izzat a . . . yes?" He settles further, and begins to move his hips, where my hands have found their way, attempting, I don't know, to help him, to hold him, to move him, to touch him. I arch myself into him, trying to achieve his rhythm, and he gasps at that and begins thrusting his pelvis towards my chest, falling backwards a little on his arms, braced on my thighs. It's almost impossible to thrust, myself, but I don't need to, although instinctively I want to do so.
        "... Frase ... oh this... oh fuck it's amazing... "
        Excellent choice of words, and oddly having to be so passive is, in a way, rather exciting in and of itself. I can lie back and feel the pleasure, and know that he feels it too, and that there is no need to be anything, anyone but myself, here, now, that me, myself, is enough, is more than enough for him, in him.
        And more than enough for my body, evidently, as he grunts, driving himself harder and faster against me, and I am almost unaware of my hands gripping his hips, helping him raise and lower himself, faster, oh yes, oh Ray... more... oh don't stop...
        "More ... "
        "Yeah, oh, fuck yeah... "
        "God, Ray, please... don't stop... "
        "Never, Ben... "
        The outcry in my throat gets caught in a gurgle and ends up coming out as something quite primitive and almost frightening but Ray's eyes widen at the sound. He thrusts harder, faster, three times in quick succession, before I grip him and hold him hard, still, my body jerking involuntarily up into his, my head falling back, all my strength concentrated in my hands and my groin as the sun, and Ray's face, dazzle my eyes.
        And moan, after a few moments, as he disengages us, and I feel his hardness against my abdomen as he settles on top of me, full length, and leans in to kiss me, his clever fingers already having removed and set aside the condom.
        "Ben . . ." Hoarse voice, forced between gritted teeth.
        I take a few quick breaths, steadying my racing pulse. "Ray . . ."
        "I want . . . oh fuck . . ." He pushes against me almost involuntarily, head arching back, moaning again.
        "Can I taste you?"
        He nods, jerkily, beyond words now, rolling off me to sprawl on his elbows, legs parted in wild abandon, half on the bedroll, half on the grass, his pelvis thrusting in the air. God, I've never seen anything so arousing, so innocent, so free, so wild. Even from three feet away I can smell his arousal, his musk, overlaid with the scent of my own semen. The addition of the scent of the sun warming the grass adds to the sense of unreality and to the sense of freedom. He jerks at the first touch of my mouth and I feel him swell and begin to pulse less than half a dozen seconds later, taste, the taste of Ray, putting the crowning touch on this incredible morning.
        
        ~~~
        
        After a long and not uncomfortable silence in the car, Ray reaches abruptly for the radio. He's been without his music, after all, for over twenty four hours. And that is a great deal of deprivation for someone as physically auditory as Ray.
        We listen in silence for a few more moments and then he begins to move, almost unconsciously. I love it. Love him. Almost dancing in his seat, hands tapping the wheel, left foot tapping the floor. That song ends, and another begins immediately. His movements slow as he listens, almost puzzled. The chorus is one word, repeated, but I must admit I haven't paid a whit of attention to the words in the verses, at least not until he begins to grin, darts a look at me, and says, "Funny shit, huh?"
        I try to listen, but almost all my attention is taken up with watching Ray listen.
        "Watch," he says, as the song ends. "Watch. They always do this. They never tell you. Shit, I drove around for three fucking weeks once thinking I'd missed a whole entire Elvis Costello album because they kept playing this song that sounded like him, but it wasn't. I forget how I finally found out the name. I think I called the radio station on the cell and said, 'What the hell was the name of that song you just played?' And then I went out and bought both CDs. It wasn't Elvis, of course, I knew that, really, but it was okay stuff."
        I point out, mildly, that he's talking over the announcer.
        "Yeah, because he's talking about the next songs. What good is that? I don't wanna know what I'm about to hear. I wanna know what the hell I just heard."
        I laugh. I can't help it. I'm overjoyed inside and out and wish for a brief moment of unreality that this was all there was, all there needed to be, and I reach over and squeeze his thigh. He drops a hand down to squeeze mine.
        "Hey, that … rocked. Do that again soon, yeah?"
        "Please."
        He wriggles suddenly, his whole body exploding in energetic movement. "Jesus, Fraser! It was so – I want it to be like that all the time. I feel like – I feel like a different person. Well, no, I feel like more of a person with you. Different from who I thought I was. I feel so different inside. I wonder if anyone can tell, looking at me."
 "No."
        He says, in a vaguely dissatisfied tone, "No?"
        "No."
        The wheels are turning in his head, but I don't enquire further. I just watch him. Glory in him.
        He picks me up a few minutes early the next day, his energy levels as high as I've ever seen them, bursting with something. Mine are, uncharacteristically, high as well – I spent my lunch hour, which I actually took today, on a project for Ray.
        We talk about innocuous things as we drive home: dinner, a case Ray wrapped up today.
        Once inside the apartment, Ray heads immediately to the bedroom and I slip my hand from my pocket as I make a beeline to his CD player. He comes to the doorway, puzzled, taking off his shoulder holster.
        "Fraser, what . . . "
        "Listen."
        He's gathering the holster in his hands, removing his weapon, as the song begins. He listens intently for a few seconds and then his chin shoots up from his chest as he meets my eyes across the room, challenging, surprised, amused.
        "How did you find it? How the hell did you find it?" He tosses the holster back over his shoulder in the general direction of the bedroom and drops his weapon on top of the bookshelf as he crosses the room, reaching for the volume. Of course I didn't make it loud enough. I never do. He listens in silence a few more moments and then looks at me, and then he grins the grin I've been waiting for, the one that I believe could attract moths because it's so bright. I grin back. He touches my arm and turns his gaze back to the CD player, where the song is ending. He hits the repeat button and sinks to his knees, listening intently. I've seen him do this before, and take the opportunity to go into the bedroom to change. He's still kneeling, still listening, when I come out, carrying my guitar, and I sit next to him, picking up a few chords here and there. He sighs, happily, and looks at me again, amusement on his face.
        "You can play it that fast?"
        "It's not that difficult, Ray."
        "Is there anything you can't do perfect?"
        "I can't dance. I can't light the room up with my smile."
        "Fraser, for God's sake!" He's blushing, a rare occurrence. "Jesus. What am I supposed to say?"
        "Nothing."
        "God, I love you."
        "Well, on second thought, that was an excellent response."
        He grins again, shakes his head. "How the hell did you find it? You didn't even listen to the song, you told me that in the car."
        "The chorus is not at all difficult, Ray." In demonstration, I strum along with the CD. "I simply found a music store and sang the chorus for them. They were quite helpful."
        He is torn between laughter and jealousy. "I bet they were. How many times did they make you sing it?"
        Now it's my turn to blush. "Five, in all, I believe. She seemed unable to recognise it at first and had to call for assistance."
        "Let me guess. Every floor clerk, the assistant manager – "
        "The manager, actually."
        "Singing Mountie. Fraser, I love you."
        "Yes, you mentioned that."
        He sinks back to his heels, cocking his head. And I notice something that I ordinarily would have noticed within ten seconds of his arrival at the Consulate: a small golden ball in the lobe of his left ear, the lobe itself slightly reddened.
        "Ray!"
        He looks up quickly at the note in my voice, frowning. Follows my eyes. Grins.
        "I told you. I felt different. Wanted to look different. Welsh'll hassle me."
        "Dewey and Ray Vecchio, I suspect." I stare at it a few more moments. "Dear God, Ray, that's sexy."
        "Jesus, what the hell am I hearing out of your mouth?" Ray says. "Take you camping more often, loosen those inhibitions."
        "How soon can I - "
        "Days, okay? I just did it today. Let it heal a few days."
        "It will be difficult."
        "Maybe I should have gotten a nipple pierced."
        I wrinkle my nose and he laughs. "Yeah, I know. All I could think is, that would get really annoying under a shirt day in and day out."
        "And slightly painful, I'd imagine."
        "Yeah, me too. Besides, no one would see it."
        "And that's important."
        "Yeah."
        "Aren't you- "
        "I'm turning around and looking at the fire again. I don't know what it is, okay? But it's hot and it's bright and it feels real. We're going to Canada anyhow. I don't care. You know? We're consenting adults. I'm not gonna march in a gay pride parade but it's so fucking stupid that we have to pay rent in two places."
        I rock back on my heels. This was not entirely unexpected but I still have concerns. "We agreed-"
        "I know that, Fraser. I'm not being unilateral here. I'm just saying."
        I say carefully, "If this were a two bedroom - "
        "Well, damn it, Fraser, besides your landlord who's going to know it's not?"
        "Your parents."
        "Ouch."
        "Indeed."
        "I don't suppose they'd buy that I sleep in the walk in closet. . ."
        "No."
        "Shit, I don't want to move again."
        "I do, if it's important to you."
        "Any two bedrooms in this building?"
        "Undoubtedly."
        "Any coming open?"
        "I don't know."
        "Landlord rent to two guys?"
        "I don't know."
        "Two guy cops. Yeah. He would."
        "Are you serious?'
        "As a heart attack." He shoves himself over next to me. "I am. Both our salaries, Ben, we could get a bigger place, a place with office space for you for your alone time, second bedroom. I know you're not used to living with someone - I mean, twenty four-seven, especially me."
        "Ray, slow down."
        He sits back on his haunches, abruptly. "Yeah. Okay. Sorry."
        "Ray, I just don't think - "
        "It's okay. I'm here, now, that's all that matters, right?"
        "No, Ray, but I need - "
        "Okay, okay." He leans in to quickly brush his lips across mine and then scoots back, closer to the CD player again.
        Feeling unusually thoughtful, I stand and go to the kitchen, rummaging for dinner. What am I afraid of? I have little to lose. Ray's the one whose parents would be less than happy, whose coworkers would be less than understanding. My coworkers would evince little or no interest. Inspector Thatcher has set foot in my apartment once in three years; Turnbull, never. For the first time in my life I wonder if I have ever turned around and looked at the fire myself. I took it for granted: Robert Fraser's son knows fire and shadows, truth and lies, justice and duty and . . . fear. Outright fear, a bone deep gash gold vermilion, covered by a thick scar of self immolation and . . . denial. I close my eyes and see the men in the cave. I see the shadows on the wall. I feel the heat at my back. I hear a raven's rusty squawk echo in my head.
        I look up to see Ray watching me from the doorway, worried, determined.
        "Fraser, I'm sorry. It hurts - my ear - and I'm a little, um, grumpy."
        "I'm - I'm thinking, Ray."
        "Yeah. I know. I'm sorry."
        "Now who's apologising for nothing?"
        He grins reluctantly. "I'm railroading you."
        "No, you're not. These are things that we should talk about, Ray, or they'll fester."
        "Yeah. Good point." He hesitates and then says, bluntly, "I'll tell them. My parents. That I'm living here."
        "I don't think- "
        "I don't think I will ever get over seeing you on the floor with gashes in your wrists," Ray says quietly, intent. "Nothing else matters, Ben."
        "That was a nightmare, Ray."
        "That was a fucking scary nightmare, Ben." In two strides he has covered the distance between us and pulled me close in a bruising, fierce kiss.
        A few days after Ray's ear piercing he arrives, earlier than usual, to pick me up. I hear him talking to Turnbull outside my office and they come in together.
        "Mail, sir," Turnbull says cheerfully. "It was somewhat late today." He hands me a small box. "From your sister."
        Inspector Thatcher looks into my office. "Anything for me, Constable?" she asks. Turnbull turns to sort through the rest of the envelopes with her and Ray sits on the edge of my desk, watching me open Maggie's package. It's quite small and inside is a smaller jewelry box and a note. I unfold the note first. Ray picks up the box.
        "Can I open it?"
        "Certainly," I say, distracted, wondering what on earth a safe deposit box has to do with the jewelry box on my desk. Ray flips the lid open and whistles, flips it closed, hands it to me, his face very serious.
        "No, you should open this."
        He takes the letter out of my hand and begins scanning it. I flip the box open. Inside are two rings. A broad gold band, which I recognise almost instinctively. It's my father's wedding ring, I know with certainty, and there is a tiny slim chased gold band beneath it.
        Turnbull and Thatcher have turned to look. I pull my father's ring out and slip it on. It fits perfectly.
        "Maggie found them in an old safe deposit box of her mother's," Ray says quietly, refolding the letter. "Your dad must have given them to her for safekeeping."
        Inspector Thatcher is looking at my hand and then at the box. "You should wear that," she says, even more quietly than Ray. "Perhaps on the right hand . . ."
        "No," Ray interrupts. "The left. Where it belongs."
        He and Thatcher look at each other for a moment. "Yes," she says finally, thoughtfully. She picks up the other ring, which is very small, which I haven't yet dared to let myself touch. "Your mother had small hands."
        I look at my own. She looks at my face and suddenly rounds on Turnbull. "Bring the mail to my office, please, Constable. I shouldn't have to track down my own envelopes."
        "No, indeed, sir," Turnbull agrees, and closes the door carefully behind them.
        Ray has gotten up and walked to the window. I pick up the smaller ring. It barely fits over the end of my little finger. The engraving on the inner part of the band is illegible but I know, from my father's journals, that it said, simply, "Love for ever," and that it matches the engraving on his. I hear the raven's call echo in my head again and look past Ray, half expecting to see one outside the window. There isn't one, of course. Just Ray, framed against the setting sun, his hair bright, almost blazing in reflected glory, heat and light, shadows and fire, reality and fantasy combined.
        "Ray."
        He turns from the window, swiftly, worried.
        I hold the ring out to him. "Do you know what it says?"
        "Something Mountie-like?"
        I shake my head and pull my father's ring off. "It matches this."
        He takes it from me, turning it, holding it up in the light streaming over his shoulder, squinting. "Love for ever."
        "This one says the same," I say steadily. He hands me back my father's band and I slip it on. Already my hand feels naked without it. "Will you - "
        "Are you - that will never fit me, Fraser."
        "It will, Ray." I hold it up to his ear with a hand that shakes only slightly, I am proud to note.
        "Ben, damn it, don't -"
        "Please."
        "Jesus." He takes it finally, blinking rapidly, turning it over and over gently. "Are you- "
        "Positive, Ray."
        "What if, what if, you know, in six months you decide the experimental hair's too much?" he says thickly.
        "For keeps, Ray."
        "If Turnbull walks in right now I'm going to strangle him."
        I take two steps backwards, lock the door swiftly, hold my arms open.
        

My heart thrown open wide
In this near wild heaven . . .

---

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