Author's Website: http://uk.geocities.com/asylum_girluk/utopia.htm

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Author's Notes:

Story Notes: It's smarm, angst and h/c; if you don't like it, steer clear!

Fraser woke suddenly from his half doze, and lay still. He was on the couch, in the living room, and Ray still hadn't come home.

Rubbing his hands over his face, Fraser sat up. The movement attracted Diefenbaker, who had been lying in the kitchen, and the wolf trotted over, putting his head on Fraser's leg. He whimpered, and Fraser looked down, reaching to absently scratch behind Dief's ears.

"I don't know," he said quietly. "I don't know what to do, Dief. It scares me. I always know what to do, but not this time. He's good at his job; I don't even know where to start looking. And I don't know if I should. He needs to be alone." Fraser stopped and sighed, shaking his head to try and dispel the confused thoughts whirling around in his brain.

Usually, when his mind became too full, routine helped him get back into some kind of order, but this time nothing seemed to help. Dragging himself up from the couch, Fraser went into the bathroom and showered, preparing for the day. Gazing at his reflection in the mirror, all he could hear was Ray's voice claiming, "routine is the silent killer," and he wanted to cry.

The ringing of the telephone startled him out of his thoughts, and a blaze of wild hope went through him as he almost ran to pick up the extension by the bed.

"Hello?"

"Constable. Is he back?" Fraser closed his eyes at the sound of Lieutenant Welsh's voice, and sank onto the bed.

"No, sir, there's no sign of him," he said.

"This isn't good, Constable, not good at all," said the Lieutenant. "Vecchio's a cop; if he vanishes without trace then we have certain steps which must be taken, do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir, of course I do," Fraser answered. "But I promise you that he's not in any danger. He has a few problems and he needs to work through them alone. Sir, he's entitled to the leave."

Welsh snorted. "Yes, Fraser, I am able to work that out for myself. That's not the issue here. The issue is that a Detective has vanished. Even you don't know where he is, and I don't think there's been a day since you partnered up that you haven't known where he is at any given moment. There's something going on here that I don't like, and when I find out what it is, and when Vecchio is back on duty, I'm going to nail his ass to the wall, and then I'm going to do the same to you. Do I make myself quite clear?"

"Crystal, sir," muttered Fraser.

"That's good, Constable. Very good." Welsh slammed the phone down hard enough to make Fraser wince.

"Oh, Ray," he muttered to himself, replacing the handset and standing up. "Where are you?"

He walked over to the closet and opened the door, once again searching through the clothes Ray had left behind, hoping for the hundredth time that some kind of clue would present itself. But unless Ray had crept in during the night and left a map with a large red `X' marking his location, Fraser knew that there was nothing there to help him.

Sighing, he turned resolutely back towards the bathroom. Routine, that was the answer. That had to be the answer.

Ray Kowalski twisted until he was peering over his shoulder at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He had promised himself that he wouldn't do this; wouldn't inspect the injuries Harry had inflicted on him, but in the way that he always prodded bruises to see if they hurt, he couldn't help it. They were fading, anyway, he told himself. He was just checking .

Most of the bruising had faded now; when he pressed on one experimentally, it hardly hurt at all. His ribs still hurt when he tried to do anything fancy, like breathe, but things were getting better. Or at least that was what he kept telling himself. So what if he couldn't face leaving this dirty, musty room? So what if he couldn't sleep because he didn't want to know what his mind had in store for him? So what if he missed Fraser so much it hurt?

He pulled on a loose shirt, trying to keep as much pressure as possible off anything fragile. All his clothes were loose now; he didn't really want to eat, didn't really want to do anything, except look out of the window and wonder where all this rain was coming from.

He hadn't slept in a couple of days, and he was beginning to think he was hallucinating. He kept seeing flashes of red out of the corner of his eye, but whenever he turned to check it out, there was nothing there, so when it happened again, he forced himself to ignore it. He missed Fraser, and not every injury had to be prodded.

Fraser sat at his desk, staring into space. He jumped when his father suddenly appeared in his direct line of vision, but didn't speak, simply sighed.

"Son, this is getting ridiculous,"

"Thanks, dad," said Fraser. "It's at times like this that I realise just how much more empty my life would be without you."

"Well there's no need to take it out on me!" snapped Bob, perching on the edge of Fraser's desk.

"How do you do that, anyway?" asked Fraser, momentarily distracted from his thoughts. "How can you sit on things? How can you eat? And don't think that I've forgotten that you stole my Stetson."

"Needs must, son, needs must. I have a reputation to maintain, even in the Afterworld," said Bob, perfectly matching his son's tone.

"Oh for god's sake, dad, I don't have time for this now," said Fraser. "What is it you want, or are you just bored?"

"I thought you might like to know that the Yank's doing all right," said Bob, idly inspecting his fingernails. "Of course, I may have misjudged you..."

"What do you mean, the Yank's all right?" snapped Fraser. "Have you seen him? Where is he?"

"Well of course I've seen him," said Bob patiently. "Otherwise I wouldn't know that he was all right, would I?" He glanced at his son's face, and changed his tone. "He's fine, Benton. He's in a hotel room somewhere - don't ask me where, I know nothing of the geography of this absurd city. But he's alone, and he's safe. He's just thinking."

"Dad, please, you have to find out where he is!" Fraser reached out for his father before remembering that he couldn't touch him. "I have to speak to him, get him to come back."

"Son, he doesn't want to, not yet," said Bob. "I know that as a family we're not over-blessed with sensitivity, but I can tell you this much; he hates himself, and he hates what's happened to him. He's a good man, this Yank, but he has to learn that alone. Nobody can help him get there, not even you."

"But - ," Fraser stopped. His father was right. Nobody could help Ray get over what had happened to him. He shook his head, not knowing what to say.

"I'll keep an eye on him for you," said Bob.

Fraser nodded, and looked down at his desk.

"Thank you," he said softly, but when he looked up again, the room was empty.

"Thanks, dad."

Ray sat in the centre of the bed, his jacket pulled tightly around him, ignoring the twinge of pain from his ribs. He gazed fixedly at the cellphone in front of him, trying to pluck up the courage to use it, to dial a number which was all too familiar.

"Come on, Kowalski," he muttered to himself, reaching out to stroke one finger down the cold plastic. "How hard can it be?"

He knew how hard it would be; he knew that if he switched the phone on, then there would be messages for him, and those messages would be from Fraser, and Ray's emotions were too close to the surface to deal with Fraser right now. He had other things to do before he could think about Fraser.

He stood up suddenly and paced to window. Still fucking raining. It had been raining for so long now. Ray hated rain; it depressed him in a way nothing else did. He hated the way that it made the city look grey and dirty, and most of all he hated the way the air felt and tasted when it rained.

He turned his back on the rain, and looked again at the phone on the bed.

How the fuck had he gotten here? How had he reached this stage in his life, when he was frightened of a piece of plastic and wire? He was a cop, for god's sake, and a good one; he had been a husband and a provider, he knew how the world worked. Where had it gotten so screwed up for him?

"No," he said suddenly. "No more. I won't be screwed around any more."

He went to the phone and switched it on, ignoring the waiting messages. It was the only way he could do this, the only way he would get through it was alone.

Trying to ignore the tremble in his hands, he dialled the number. As soon as he heard the voice on the other end of the line, he disconnected, and dropped the phone as if it had suddenly turned into a poisonous snake.

"Shit!" he said quietly, "Shit. You useless, useless screwup, Kowalski."

The phone shrilled, and he jumped. Looking at the number displayed, he shook his head and switched the machine off.

"Can't do it," he whispered. "Useless bastard. Can't do it."

Very deliberately, he crossed his arms in front of his ribcage and pressed down, hissing a breath through his teeth at the sudden explosion of pain.

"You want this again?" he said. "You want this when you go back? You don't do it now, you're fucking dead, you know you are."

A flash of red again caught his eye, and he looked towards the corner. There was nothing there, as usual, but in his mind, Ray conjured up a picture of Fraser, standing in front of the Consulate, rod up his ass, and he almost smiled.

Straightening, he switched the phone on again, and dialled the number. This time he didn't hang up when it was answered.

"Hi, Harry," he said quietly. "I want to see you."

"I knew you'd call eventually, wuss," said Harry. "You don't know what to do without me around, do you? You need me."

"I want to see you," Ray said again. "Will you come?"

"Of course I will, Ray. I've missed your scrawny little ass. Does it need a good fucking?"

"Today?" persisted Ray, refusing to answer the question. "I want to see you today."

"Just tell me where you are, and I'll be there," Harry answered.

Ray couldn't keep track of the number of times he had almost chickened out and run away from this meeting. Since he had told Harry where he was staying, he had divided his time equally between the window, watching the street, and the bathroom, throwing up what little he had eaten.

By the time there was a knock at the door, Ray had worked himself into such a frenzy of nerves, that he found himself paralysed with fear, genuinely unable to move. He stared at the door as if it was about to open of its own accord. Just what the fuck was he thinking?

"Open the door, Ray," Harry's voice startled him out of his paralysis. "I know you're in there, so just open the door, okay?"

"'Kay," he muttered, pushing himself away from the wall. He glanced at the rain still sheeting down outside the window, and shook his head. He could do this; soon it would all be over, one way or the other.

He opened the door, and stepped back so that Harry could get into the room. Harry was a big man; he seemed to fill the tiny space, and Ray immediately felt insignificant and overwhelmed. He recognised the feelings and tried to put them back in their box, determined not to lose the fight before it had even started.

"So, Ray, have you decided to behave at last?" Harry said, seemingly casual, but Ray wasn't fooled for a moment. Harry could often start off seemingly calm, but his temper was explosive, and Ray knew better than to believe that easy stance.

I said, have you decided to behave?" Harry said again, beginning to frown.

"Yeah, I have," answered Ray. "I'm going to do what's right.

"Good," said Harry. "So how are you gonna say sorry for how you've been acting?"

Ray took a deep breath, licking his lips nervously.

"I don't have anything to be sorry for," he said. "I only ever did what I thought was right; what you wanted."

"Until the Mountie," retorted Harry, taking a step away from Ray, and seating himself on the bed. "He made you think you were worth something, didn't he? You realise now that you're not? You're not worth shit, Ray, you must know that by now."

"Then why are you here?" asked Ray, folding his arms defensively around his body. "If I'm not worth anything, why are you here?"

Harry shrugged, and seemed to give it some thought. Then he reached down and began to unfasten his jeans.

"Because you know how to suck cock," he said. "So get over here and show me just how sorry you are."

Ray stepped backwards rather than forwards, and Harry stopped what he was doing and scowled.

"Just what the fuck do you think you're doing?" he demanded. "Don't get all brave on me, Ray. Maybe that works with your police cronies, but I know what you're really like." He stood up and walked towards Ray.

Ray took another step backwards until he felt the solid door of the room behind him. He had to do it now, before Harry took control.

"There's a great word for people like you, Harry," he said quietly. "You're a bully."

"Bully?" Harry snorted with laughter. "I'm not some kid in the playground threatening to whip your skinny ass, Ray. This is way bigger than * bully *. You know that if you don't do what I want you to do right now, they're gonna be scraping you up off the sidewalk."

"A bully can be any age," said Ray. "you don't have to be a kid. You pick on people who you know you can control, and you move in on them. You did it to me, and you'll do it to other people. But you're not doing it to me anymore, understand? I don't need you; I've grown up."

"Well, good for you, Ray," said Harry, taking a step closer. Ray held his ground, but couldn't completely hide the flinch, and he cursed himself for it.

"Big talk, that's all," Harry took another step. "You're just as much of a wuss as you always were. You've just forgotten everything I taught you. Just because you got a pity fuck from the Mountie doesn't mean you're worth anything."

"Don't think I've ever had a pity fuck in my life," replied Ray, holding his ground. "But I've given you a few."

He ducked under Harry's fist and landed a blow of his own in the other man's belly, causing Harry to double over as the air was driven out of his body.

Ray was horrified by what he had done, but at the same time, a feeling of elation began to make itself felt as the adrenaline kicked in. He waited for Harry to begin to straighten up, and then lashed out again, catching him on one cheekbone, opening up a cut which began to drip blood.

Ray danced away, invincible, immortal.

"You shit!" Harry almost screamed, putting a hand against his bleeding cheek. "I'll fucking * kill * you for this."

"You can't, not anymore," answered Ray. "I don't need you, I don't need your approval, and I don't need the crap you gave me. Would still give me, if you could. No more, Harry. It fucking stops now."

"It stops when I say it stops, shithead," said Harry, one hand still pressed against his cheek. "Who died and made you god? You don't do anything without my say so."

"I do, Harry. I do now," said Ray. "I want you gone, do you understand? I want you so gone that you have to learn a different language. If I see you near me, or hear about you, I'll arrest you and lock you up so fast that your ass will have scorch marks on it. Could you handle that, Harry? Could you handle prison? Having to prove what a tough guy you are all the time? Think about what would happen to you in there."

"And you'd be the one to put me there?" Harry laughed derisively. "You won't even get out of this room in one piece." He looked at the blood on his hand, and then back at Ray. "You shouldn't have done that."

"Yeah, I should," replied Ray. "I should have done it to you a long time ago. What you do isn't right, Harry, and you need to stop doing it."

Harry lunged for Ray, who once again stayed just out of reach.

"No!" he snapped. "Just get the fuck away from me, Harry. Get away from me, and from everybody who knows me. It's finished. You touch me again and I'll fight back, and this time I'll win. I swear to God that I'll arrest you if you so much as look at me again."

"And testify?" demanded Harry. "You'd let your cop buddies hear about what we did? Would you like them to hear about how you let yourself get fucked up the ass? How I tied you to the bed using your own handcuffs and fucked your mouth? Do you want to tell them what my come tastes like?"

"If I have to," answered Ray, trying to ignore the churning in his stomach.

"You'll never be able to work in Chicago again," sneered Harry.

"There are plenty of places I can go," said Ray. "And are you willing to go on the stand and describe what it's like to fuck me? You want to admit that you're nothing but a fruit? And a fruit who's into hurting other people? You wouldn't last a second in jail."

They were at an impasse, and they both knew it. They both stood to lose everything.

"Look," Ray said finally. "Neither of us can win like this. Get out of my life, okay? Whatever it was that made me do what you wanted has gone, I'll fight you every step now, and you know that's not what you like."

"It's the fucking Mountie, isn't it?" demanded Harry. "Before he came along, things were fine. What's he done to you that's made you change?"

Ray paused. What had Fraser done? Made him realise he was worth something? Made him understand that loving and being loved were emotions to be cherished, not something to be trodden on?

"He made me remember what it's like to live," was all he said.

"Oh, very sweet," Harry dabbed at his cheek again. "Very ... romantic. You deserve each other."

"Yeah, I think we do."

"If you cross my path again, Ray, I'll kill you, you do know that?" said Harry, and Ray let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

"Harry, if I never see you again, it'll be too soon," he replied.

Harry turned and made his slow way towards the door, turning to look Ray up and down in a way that made him want to hide.

"I liked you," said Harry softly. "That's why you're not dead. Watch your back. You never know who might be there."

"Good afternoon, Canadian Consulate ...."

"It's me, Frase."

Fraser's legs gave way and he sank into his chair.

"Ray? Where are you?"

"I'm at the apartment, if you still want me."

Fraser almost laughed. The only thing that stopped him was Ray's voice. He sounded tired, unsure.

"I've missed you so much that I can't find the words," he said, and then had to swallow past a sudden, absurd lump in his throat. There was silence at the other end of the line for a few seconds.

"Me, too," Ray finally replied.

"What happened, Ray?" Fraser looked up and signalled to Turnbull to close the door. Once Turnbull fathomed that Fraser wasn't just waving at him, he complied.

"He's gone this time, Frase. I mean really gone," said Ray.

"You haven't...?" Fraser didn't know how to phrase the question, but Ray, being who he was, understood.

"No, I haven't done anything stupid. I guess I just called his bluff properly this time. I kinda took out some of my frustration though. He's a bit bruised."

"Where have you been?" Fraser dismissed Harry from his mind. Any repercussions could be dealt with later. Ray was the priority at the moment.

"Just across town. I've never been far away." In the apartment, Ray held the receiver a little closer to his ear, trying to hear Fraser breathing. He hoped he hadn't made a huge miscalculation; he hoped Fraser still wanted him.

"And you're home, now?" asked Fraser, and Ray smiled in relief. Home.

"Yeah, I'm here," he said. "Got laundry and domestic stuff to do. Will you be here later?"

"Try and stop me," snapped Fraser quickly, and this time Ray laughed.

"Wouldn't want to do that," he said.

Fraser opened the door quietly, and looked into the apartment. He could see that Ray was back - clothes were draped over various items of furniture, and the aroma of strong coffee hung in the air.

"Ray?"

"Hey, Frase," Ray's voice was quiet but steady, and Fraser quickly closed the door and made his way into the living room.

Ray was sitting in one corner of the couch, legs pulled up defensively. He looked tired and thin, unsure.

"God, I've missed you!" It was out before Fraser could stop it, and Ray smiled slightly, nodding.

"Me, too," he said. "Didn't know if you'd want me back."

"I don't want to think what it would be like without you," answered Fraser, shedding his tunic, and sitting at the other end of the couch. Slowly, Ray straightened his legs until his bare feet were tucked under Fraser's thigh. The touch seemed to reassure them both, and the tension in the small room eased a notch.

It eased even further when Diefenbaker head-butted the door in an attempt to attract Fraser's attention.

"Oh my god," said Fraser, standing up. "I've shut him out."

He opened the door, and Diefenbaker gave him a disdainful look. However, once the wolf realised his packmate was back with them, he forgot his annoyance and flung himself at Ray with all the abandon of a puppy.

"Could you get him offa me?" Ray gasped, pushing at the furry body currently pinning him to the couch. "Don't just stand there and smirk."

"Well, he's deaf..." began Fraser.

"Don't gimme that!" said Ray. "He's deaf in the same way I'm blind. He can function. Get him off!"

Finally, Dief was persuaded to leave Ray alone, but he sat close.

"Are you okay, Ray?" Fraser asked, sitting on the couch again, this time a little closer.

"Well I've been half drowned in wolf drool, but apart from that, I'm fine," answered Ray.

"No, that's not what I meant," said Fraser quietly, and watched as Ray's face became still and expressionless.

"I dunno," he said finally. "I feel ... weird, I guess. What's the word? Liberated, that's it. I think ... no, I know ... it's over, but there's a part of me that won't let go. Not yet."

"Will you tell me what happened? Where were you?" Fraser put a cautious hand on Ray's shoulder.

"No. Well, not yet," said Ray. "One day I'll tell you, I promise. I just needed some time to get my head round what was happening. I don't want to think about it now."

"Have you let Lieutenant Welsh know you're back yet?" asked Fraser.

"God, yes," answered Ray. "Chewed my ear off. I've got some serious explaining to do there, I can tell you. I've got to go in tomorrow and see him."

"You're thin," said Fraser, moving his hand on Ray's shoulder. "Do you want some food?"

"In a little while," Ray said, his voice little more than a whisper. He turned his head and his gaze locked with Fraser's. Both men moved at the same time, holding each other tightly, Ray's head tucked into the crook of Fraser's neck, Fraser's hands moving constantly on Ray's back.

"I missed you. I missed you," Ray whispered over and over again. "God, I'm sorry, Fraser. I'm sorry for everything."

"I should have been there, Ray. I should have seen Harry come into the apartment. I wanted to help."

"Nah," Ray said, tightening his grip even more. "I had to do it by myself. It'll be okay now, I promise."

Fraser pushed himself away and held Ray at arm's length.

"You're too thin," he said. "And you're exhausted. Do you want to sleep for a while, and we'll talk later?"

As if the question had triggered something in his mind, Ray felt his whole body sag at the thought of his own bed, and he nodded without speaking.

"Come on, then," said Fraser, standing up and pulling Ray to his feet. "Let's get you into bed. Sleep as long as you need."

"You'll be here?" There was a note of uncertainty in Ray's voice, and Fraser hastened to reassure him.

It was dark before Fraser heard sounds of movement in the bedroom. He stayed where he was on the couch, but listened as Ray went into the bathroom and had a shower, then came out and began to look for some clothes.

After what seemed a long time, Ray emerged from the bedroom, not looking at Fraser.

"Ray? Are you okay?" Fraser watched as he walked towards the window and looked out at the night.

"I think the rain's stopping," Ray said after a minute.

"That's good," answered Fraser. "It's been raining for a long time."

Ray nodded, and rested his head against the glass, silent for a long time.

Finally, unable to stand the silence any longer, Fraser said Ray's name, turning it into a question.

Ray turned from the window and smiled; not a real Ray smile, but a vast improvement on previous efforts.

"Hey," he said.

"You went a long way away then, Ray," said Fraser softly, wanting to reach out but not sure how he would be received.

"Nah, I was always here," answered Ray. "I was a long time ago. There's a difference." As ever, choosing the most direct route, he climbed over the back of the couch and slid down until he was sitting close to Fraser. Reaching over he put a hand on the denim clad thigh next to him.

"I'm back now," he said. "Now's better than then."

"Oh Ray, I'm so glad," said Fraser, with more feeling than he intended. "I didn't know what to think when you went. I thought you'd gone for good...."

"I couldn't leave you, Frase," said Ray seriously. "I couldn't ever do that. I just needed to prove I could do it alone, y'know? Just me. Well I can, and now I know that, I don't have to do it again. Make any sense at all?"

"As much sense as you usually make," answered Fraser, giddy with relief.

"That much, huh?" said Ray. "Nice to know I haven't lost my touch."

"No, I didn't mean that," Fraser hastened to correct, but was stopped as Ray kissed him.

"Don't matter," he said against Fraser's lips. "It's over now, okay? We're here and we're together. I don't plan to go anywhere anytime soon."

Fraser gave into his impulse, and gathered Ray into a fierce hug, sliding his hands under the thin shirt, letting his fingers trail over the separate vertebrae that made up Ray's spine, marvelling that someone who felt so fragile was in fact one of the strongest people, in every sense, that Fraser knew.

They held each other, content. And outside, the rain slick street stayed empty.

The End