Author's Website: http://ravenswing.com/bas/

Disclaimer:

Author's Notes: Thanks to Laura Jacquez Valentine for a bang-up beta. Thanks to everyone who encouraged me to keep working on this story.

Story Notes: This is a sequel to "Zen" and "Tidal Waves". You do need to read the other two beforehand. The series is a crossover with Homicide but you do not need to know that show at all.

Ray walked into the squad room to find Bayliss sitting with his legs propped up on his desk, regarding a pack of cigarettes. It looked like a slow day all around; he knew he and Bayliss didn't have anything open and active, and Huey and Dewey were both staring at crime scene photos.

"Duck," Dewey said.

"Goose," Huey replied.

"It's a duck."

"I know a goose when I see one!"

Ray headed over toward his own desk and emptied a carving of his GTO and another of his neighbor's cat from his pockets. They joined the others on his desk; it was turning into quite an assembly. He'd have to give them out faster so he still had space to work.

Bayliss looked blissed-out enough to make Ray wonder if he was drunk, were Bayliss a drinking man, which Ray was pretty sure he was not, being a vegetarian Buddhist and all. Ray cleared his throat. "What's up?"

"I'm not smoking," Bayliss said. He had the still-wrapped pack perched between his index fingers.

"I see that." He sat down and looked at the cigarettes over Bayliss' shoulder.

"I'm not smoking, because I am not a smoker." Bayliss turned the pack over in his hands.

Ray knew that feeling. "How long has it been since you quit?"

"Six years."

"Never really goes away, does it?"

"No." Bayliss flipped the cigarettes into the trash.

Ray leaned back against his desk, trying not to think about smokes too hard, wishing he had a lollipop. He'd been meaning to get more since he ran out two days ago. "I smoked for six months when I was in the Academy. Then I came home and the wife wouldn't kiss me. I was here and she was away at law school, right? I see her for the first time in six months and she makes me sleep on the couch in my own apartment." Lumpy couch, nasty fight. No question of the winner. "But I couldn't say no to Stella, so I quit."

"That's right, I forgot you and Stella were together first." Bayliss rubbed his chin. "That's kind of like double incest, isn't it? Him and Stella and you and Fraser?"

Dammit. Were they that open? Did Bayliss know something? Were there rumors? Ray bet there were rumors. He and Fraser were living together--not everyone was going to believe it was because no place else would take Dief.

Dammit! Ray didn't know what to say. But he couldn't lie to his partner, being his partner and all. He settled on: "You are not the only person in this squad room who thinks it's a little queer."

"Uh-huh." Bayliss grabbed for his coffee, turning clumsy all of the sudden. Something was up with him and Ray wasn't going to ask what. No point in buying trouble. "So." Bayliss cleared his throat. "What's up for today?"

Finally, a change of subject. Ray said the first thing off the top of his head: "Communication skills."

Bayliss snorted. "Oh come on, we communicate fine."

"Sure, but my old partner and me, we communicated through telepathy. So we gotta work on that. I'll think of something, and you tell me what I'm thinking of." Ray heard Bayliss laugh as he shut his eyes and pressed his index fingers to his temples.

"This is ridiculous."

"Humor me." Ray wiggled his fingers.

"Okay... pizza."

"Right."

"Right?"

Ray gave a sharp nod. "Right. What now?"

"Uh...the wolf."

"Right."

"You're shitting me."

"Nope. What now?"

"Alabama."

"Right." Ray opened his eyes. "That's pretty good, Bayliss."

Bayliss looked amazed. "You're joking."

Ray grinned and Bayliss relaxed. "You played me! That's not buddies."

"Yeah, I played you." Ray held up his fist and Bayliss punched it lightly. Still partners. "I have no idea what's up for today," Ray said. "It's spooky quiet. There's some old cases still open--we could follow up the Pierson armed robbery."

Bayliss shook his head. "That trail's stone cold. The guys were pros."

"Maybe it's got freezer burn." Ray shrugged. "There's the Olson case."

Bayliss tapped his pen against the opposite knuckles. "Which one was that?"

"Oh, I don't think I showed you yet--" Ray fished the file out of the stack. "Kidnapping. The kidnappers changed their minds and let the kid go two blocks down the road. But seeing as we have a few other open kidnapping cases scattered around the department, we wanna see if maybe they make a habit of this." He handed Bayliss the file.

Bayliss' face hardened as if a statue had walked into his skin. "I'd like to follow up on this one. Definitely."

"Yeah? How come?"

Ray reached for the folder to check out the original paperwork just as Welsh opened his office door and beckoned. "Bayliss! Kowalski! My office!"

"Looks like it's getting decided for us." Ray stood. "We'll look into that next, okay?"

Bayliss was looking right through the file in his hands. He blinked and raised his head, then stood, dropping the file on the desk. "Sure. Yeah. Thanks."

Ray rested a hand on Bayliss' shoulder and propelled them both toward Welsh's office. He felt Bayliss' skin twitch slightly under his hand; the guy was wound tighter than a watch spring today.

Welsh shut the door behind them. "We have been officially requested to accompany an officer of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police across the border to extradite a prisoner," he said.

Ray grinned. "Official road trip with Fraser?"

"You got it. I'll admit that I thought of Vecchio first since he's unpartnered, but he has some kind of meeting tomorrow that he can't miss. So it looks like it's on you to improve our Canadian relations." Welsh tossed Ray a set of car keys. "A van. With a cage. You can leave the GTO here. Go pick up Fraser and pack an overnight bag; the Canadians are paying for you guys to stay in Toronto tonight. Fraser has all the details. You two are just the muscle this time."

"Toronto? That's gotta be eight hundred miles."

"Five hundred and ten, for a total of nine hours each way if you obey the speed limit. And detective--" Welsh gave him a look over the top of his glasses. "I do expect that you will obey the speed limit."

"Sure, no problem. Two days on the road. Easy. Come on, partner." Ray clasped Bayliss' shoulder and turned them back around, jingling the keys ring in his hands. He headed over to his desk and picked up his coat.

"Just like that, we're bumped down to muscle?" Bayliss muttered.

"Work's work." Ray stopped and Bayliss bumped into him. "Bayliss."

"Yeah?"

"Punch me in the arm."

Bayliss punched him in the arm.

"Thanks." Ray walked on.

Bayliss followed. "What was that for?"

"So I didn't grab that pack of smokes out of the trash."

"Ah."

"Ray!" Francesca walked toward them. "You're going to the consulate?"

"Yeah."

"Can you take this over and give it to Fraser?" She handed him a letter.

"Jeez, Frannie, you hose this down in perfume?" Ray stuck it in his pocket as Frannie made a face at him. "How'd the checkup go?"

Francesca smiled. "It's good, it's great." Bayliss looked from her to Ray with that tell-tale puzzle-seeing wrinkle in his forehead. That was fine. Worrying about that would keep Bayliss out of trouble.

"Well, you keep it that way." Ray clapped Bayliss on the back and they headed out.

"It's a goose, you meathead!" Huey yelled behind them.

*

Fraser stood at the window of his office, the office that used to be Inspector Thatcher's but now bore his own name and new rank on the door. He held a copy of the New York Times in his hands, smelling the ink, feeling it rub off into his fingers.

He stood here once trying to see Canada. Knowing that it was four hundred and fifty miles away, knowing that there was no chance, hoping anyway to catch a flash of snow carried by freak atmospheric conditions over the intervening latitude.

He never saw it. If he stretched his eyes on a clear day, he could see a flag atop a building through the slight crevices left in the surrounding skyscrapers. That was as far north as his senses would take him from this spot.

Memory transported him effortlessly. He remembered the grey smudges on his grandmother's fingers as she read through a fresh newspaper, only a week old. He would sit straight-backed beside her scanning the articles over the crook of her arm.

She smelled of strong tea and sugar and charcoal; hide and ink and snow.

It was a clear day, he was stretching his eyes, but he couldn't see the flag. Perhaps there was some mist or haze over the city. Perhaps his eyes were failing him. Perhaps it wasn't there any more.

*

"Bayliss." Kowalski flipped up the lenses of his clip-on sunglasses, leaving Bayliss wondering yet again how the man could look so good and so terrible simultaneously. It was something about presence, he thought, something about the way he carried himself. Confidence. Kowalski had confidence. And a good car. And a gorgeous boyfriend. Maybe those were all related...

Kowalski was still looking at him. Bayliss sat up. "Yeah?"

"You have a backup gun?"

"Yes, but not on me."

"Okay." Kowalski switched lanes. "Get it when you get your clothes." Bayliss opened his mouth but Kowalski cut him off with a finger pointed in his face. "Do not argue with me. I'm know what I'm talking about. Trouble hangs around Fraser like some kind of doomsday comet, like the one that killed the dinosaurs, and we aren't stegosauruses. Got it?"

Not really, but he could fake it. "I think so."

"Good." Kowalski took a left.

*

Fraser was consulting with Trudeau, working out Consulate stuff and Dief's feeding and walking schedule before he left. Ray and Bayliss slouched on either side of the main door.

Trudeau was shorter and thinner than Fraser, but still attractive and muscular with perfect dark hair. Typical Mountie. Trudeau wasn't into curling, but he got worked up about independent Canadian film really easily. Really, really easily. He'd offered to fight with Ray over the merits of "32 Short Films About Glenn Gould."

Ray stared narrow-eyed at their hair, Fraser's and Trudeau's, trying to figure out if it was mussable or if it was protected by some uniform-related force field. "Maybe it's the hat," he muttered, and Bayliss looked at him.

"What?"

"Nothing." Maybe it was living hair kind of like Medusa's snakes. But he'd messed up Fraser's hair plenty of times in private.

"Ray." Fraser had the papers in his hand. Ray had messed up that hair just this morning--but it had recovered fast, it always did, no matter how thoroughly his hands sunk in.

"Ray." Maybe that was the key, intention. Fraser had some kind of mind control over his hair.

"Ray!"

Ray blinked. "What?"

"Can we go?" Fraser was smiling faintly, his overnight bag slung over his shoulder.

"Sure."

Ray eyed Fraser's ass as Fraser preceded him through the door, then ran ahead to unlock the van. "Everybody in! Let's go to the land of maple syrup and back bacon."

"I'm pleased that you finally remember the correct term, Ray," Fraser said as he climbed into the van.

*

Collecting the prisoner was routine and unremarkable. Fraser settled into the middle seat to keep a firm eye on the prisoner. He didn't expect trouble, but bold rabbits stepped on the noses of dozing wolves.

"So what did he do?" Ray called back as he put the van into gear.

"Bank robbery," the prisoner offered, the first time he had spoken during the entire transfer. "Good job. Bad partners. Sammy, that idiot, started boasting so I headed south." He glanced at Fraser, looking sullen.

Bayliss looked over his shoulder. "But you can't run forever."

"It was worth a shot." The prisoner laughed without humor, his voice as cold as the thick salt water flowing beneath the arctic ice. He caught Fraser's eyes with a steely gaze. Fraser stared back, feeling the authority of the Dominion of Canada pounding through his veins.

There was nothing as thrilling and yet as deeply satisfying as bringing justice to those who defied it.

*

The carving started out as a duck, but then he hit a knot, so he turned it into a curling stone and tossed it at Fraser's nice, big, brown-clad chest. Fraser caught it without taking his eyes off the prisoner; he looked at it and the corners of his eyes crinkled up. "I thought you didn't like curling, Ray." Fraser ran his fingers over the carving in a manner that made Ray think thoughts completely inappropriate to an official trip.

Ray dug the butt of his knife into the tender skin inside his thigh. "It grew on me. Like a fungus."

"I see." Fraser smiled a little more and kept stroking the carving. Ray had to turn and look at the dashboard instead.

Bayliss sighed. "Curling. Fine Canadian sport." Ray stared at him; he looked genuinely happy to be talking about curling.

"Very fine," Fraser agreed.

Ray didn't dare look at Fraser--he could be sucking on the carving by now--so he glowered at Bayliss. "How the hell do you know about curling, Baltimore?"

"I used to run a bar," Bayliss said, as if that explained anything.

"What does curling have to do with drinking?"

Bayliss' eyes crinkled up in the same way as Fraser's, and his mouth curled just at the corners. "More than you would think." He had a good poker face. Ray wondered if he was good at poker.

Ray shook his head. "Two freaks," he muttered under his breath.

*

Kowalski was still carving curling stones--must have been seven or eight of them by now. Bayliss thought about requesting a carving, but he didn't know what, and Kowalski had already given him the sled dog anyway. He had his token.

He was feeling the ache. It came and went. Sometimes it was related to the bullet wound, sometimes not. It was, at its core, an existential ache.

It had to do with touch--his craving for it, his reticence to seek it. Since--since Chris. He'd been intimate with a few people since Chris, but none with the same degree of tenderness, the same soft-edged memories.

He missed Chris. Maybe he should call him up. Just to talk--but he didn't know what he could say. He had too many secrets held under his tongue.

It would be so easy and so disastrous to let spill the entire sordid story of his life. So he couldn't call, he couldn't call. Like Orpheus, he couldn't look back, or his heart's desire would melt under his gaze.

Ten miles to the Canadian border, the road sign said. Time to alert Fraser to ready the papers.

Kowalski finished another little curling stone and made to throw it at Fraser, but Fraser darted forward and grabbed Kowalski's arm and they wrestled over it instead. Kowalski was grinning, flashing white teeth in those red, red lips.

"We're almost at the border," Bayliss said. Kowalski and Fraser both looked up and nodded. Fraser was still holding onto Kowalski's hand. It sent a faint, futile pain through Bayliss' chest.

God, but he missed Chris. Maybe he should call.

*

Ray's ass was going numb from driving. No cruise control.

The prisoner was snoring in the back and Fraser and Bayliss were playing Go Fish in the middle captain chairs. The draw cards were held in Fraser's hat.

"Nines?"

"Go fish."

The sunset was behind them, just starting to look pretty. Lots of pink and orange in the high clouds and reflecting off the snow on the ground. They'd crossed the border a while ago, so the signs were all in Canadian.

"Do you have any sevens?"

"Yeah...there you are."

"Thank you kindly."

Ray wondered who was winning. Could you really have a strategy at Go Fish? Given Fraser, he'd probably lose until the last minute and then pull the equivalent of a royal flush from the pile.

Nutty Canuck.

"Got any queens?"

"Two."

"Hey, that makes four..."

And Bayliss. What the fuck was up with Bayliss? What he didn't know about the guy could fill a book, and he didn't even realize it until today. He was losing his mojo, that's for sure. How could he not know the guy had owned a bar? Bayliss was even better than Fraser at keeping his personal stuff under wraps.

Maybe he was deeper in the closet than Fraser.

That was a thought.

"You appear to be winning. Do you have any aces?"

"Son of a bitch. Three. Here."

"Ah! Thank you kindly."

Ray and Bayliss worked together pretty well, though. He set them up, Bayliss knocked them down. Ray got them into thinking he was the mean one, and then Bayliss did his ice-cold snake act. He'd love to know who taught Bayliss how to interrogate a suspect--probably wouldn't want to meet them, though. Very scary.

"Twos?"

"Go fish."

Ray suddenly wondered if the voltage was different in Canada like it was in Europe. Last time they were in Toronto they didn't stay the night, and last time they were in Canada they didn't have electricity so he had no idea. If he couldn't plug in his hair dryer, he'd have flat hair, and that would suck. "Fraser!"

"Yes Ray?"

"Does Canada have that different voltage thing like Europe?"

"No, Ray. Your hair dryer will work."

"Hey!" Ray scowled as Bayliss snickered. "I coulda been thinking about something else."

"Of course, Ray."

Okay, so that was good. These damn metric signs were messing with him, but he just kept pace with traffic and figured he'd be okay.

"Your twos, please, Detective Bayliss."

"Okay, okay."

"And your fours?"

"That's all I've got, you cleaned me out. How many sets do you have there?"

"Ah...six. And you?

"Five."

"It appears that I have won!"

"Yep."

*

Ray and Bayliss stretched their legs as Fraser turned the prisoner over to the Toronto cops. Regular cops, not Mounties.

His back hurt from all the driving. Used to be, he could drive for hours and not even think about it. He had that buddy down in St. Louis, another in Madison--hell, Stella went to law school in Ann Arbor.

Even driving the dogsled wasn't that hard. That was different, though, lots of body movement and weight shifts. He'd been sore as the dickens the first few weeks while he got used to it. Fraser had to rub him down every night. Maybe he could get Fraser to rub his back tonight, if he didn't consider himself on duty.

And with that happy thought, it looked like Fraser was done. "We're booked at the Holiday Inn," Fraser said.

*

Ray dialed Fraser's room number.

Fraser picked up on the second ring. "Corporal Fraser speaking."

"Hey."

"Good evening, Ray. Is something wrong?"

"Nah. How's your bed?"

"It's fine. Rather comfortable in fact."

"Mine's cold."

"I see." Ray pictured Fraser smiling, that goofy happy smile he couldn't ever sit on. "Do you think mine would be warmer?"

"Yeah. I figure. Yeah."

"Well, by all means you're welcome to try it out--"

Ray hung up before Fraser finished his sentence and was across the hall grinning into the peephole within thirty seconds. Fraser opened the door and Ray walked into his arms. The heavy door swung shut behind him.

*

Fraser eased up onto his elbows, watching Ray's face in sleep. His face wasn't still, but mobile, with expressions flowing over his cheeks and half-spoken words dancing across his lips. He kissed Ray's cheek and felt him smile in his sleep.

He had a flash of memory--golden stubble crusted with frost, the terrifying sight of his partner hanging unresponsive from the mountain--and he pressed his lips to Ray's cheek again, kissing his warm flesh over and over. Ray's skin was hot and slightly sticky with old sweat, Ray's whiskers poked his lips painfully if he moved in the wrong direction, but Ray was so beautifully alive.

Fraser curled around his lover, listening to him breathe. He gradually fell asleep.

*

Ray woke up a little confused and a lot horny, both of which were pretty much explained by Fraser kissing him awake. Ray hauled Fraser's head down and kissed him back. "Up for much?"

"That's an appalling pun, Ray."

"So?"

"You really should control yourself."

"No." Ray kissed Fraser one more time, then slid down the bed and insinuated his hands under Fraser's ass. "Hey, little buddy," he said to Fraser's dick. "How are you this morning?"

"Ray..." Fraser's butt flexed as he shifted in Ray's grasp.

"What? I'm talking to my buddy here." But Ray leaned down and kissed Fraser's dick, and Fraser shut up. It worked every time. Sure-fire argument winner.

He thought about morning on the adventure, when Fraser would wake him up with his tongue in his mouth and his hand down his pants to make up for the lack of coffee. The guy knew how to motivate him, that's for sure...

He reached up and took Fraser's hand. Connection, it was all about connection, that and plain old lay-it-down sex. "Lick you like a lollipop," Ray muttered, and would have done so except that Fraser suddenly had a death grip on his hand. He looked up and met Fraser's eyes.

"Ray..."

"Yeah?"

"You have the most disconcerting habit of biting your lollipops." Fraser's face was nearly blank but his thumb brushed back and forth on Ray's hand--mixed messages.

"Okay. I won't lick you like a lollipop. I'll just lick."

Fraser gave it up and smiled. "Thank you kindly, Ray."

"Freak." He kissed Fraser's belly. He kissed Fraser's dick. He licked, very gently, with the tip of his tongue, until Fraser lost his cool and grabbed his hair, and then he sucked.

Then he kissed Fraser's mouth and humped his rough hand, and that was the proper way to start the day.

*

"Do you need some help, Ray?"

"No I do not need any help! If I can track a dead junkie across seven states then I can figure out how to make coffee in a fucking hotel machine!" Ray rested both hands on the desk and glared at it.

"I don't see how those--"

"Shut up, Fraser." There were big bags of coffee like teabags in the basket of complimentary stuff. He knew they went in the filter basket of the coffee machine--if he could just figure out how to get the thing open. He grabbed the basket and wiggled it again, but it wouldn't give.

"I think there's a switch--" Fraser shut up when Ray glared at him. He sipped his tea and watched Ray with big guilt-inducing puppy eyes.

Ray found the switch and released the basket, put the coffee bag inside and poured the carafe of water into the reservoir. He turned the coffee machine on and leaped back into bed with Fraser.

Naturally Fraser's tea didn't spill, even when Ray hugged his leg and dropped kisses all over his thigh.

"Ray."

"So how's the weather going to be today?" Ray pillowed his head on Fraser's thigh, listening to the coffeemaker gurgle.

"Oh, well, the slight cloud cover this morning should burn off by noon, and then we'll have bright, clear skies for the bulk of the drive. The snow should continue melting and re-freeze tonight, so driving after dark could be treacherous on local roads."

"Uh huh." Ray got up and poured himself a cup of coffee, noting too late that the machine didn't have automatic shutoff. A small stream of coffee boiled on the hot plate before Ray put the pot back. Fraser looked pained.

Ray climbed back onto the bed carefully. "It's a great morning, Fraser." He brought teeth into it, nibbling at the soft skin of Fraser's inner thigh. Fraser made a little noise, almost a growl, and twisted his leg to deny access.

"Ray, we don't have time for this."

"Okay, okay..." Ray steeled himself and drained the mug. Brr, that was hot, but it hit the spot. He slid out of bed, trying to figure out where he'd left his clothes. He was wearing only his boxer shorts...okay, his shirt was under the desk and his jeans were over by the door. His socks and boots were making intimate with Fraser's.

"I need to take a shower and change. Probably fifteen minutes. I'll give Bayliss a call to be sure he's awake." Ray tossed his clothes back on for the trip across the hall. You never knew who would be out there.

"All right, Ray." Fraser was gathering up their mess--probably going to rinse out the mugs or something.

Ray ran a hand through his hair, thinking. "Hey Fraser, you think Bayliss is gay?"

Fraser dropped a mug. He turned to face Ray with an expression that shifted through angry-scared to shocked-hurt and settled on just confused. "I've never given the matter much thought, Ray."

"He kind of looks gay," Ray said, gesturing to his face.

"Looks gay?" Fraser's voice rose up like he'd gotten his nuts in a vise. "Surely you're not suggesting that someone can look gay?"

"The way he looks at guys, I mean! Settle down." Ray waved at Fraser, who was still staring at him like he was a lunatic. "See you downstairs." He grinned at Fraser and left the room.

He closed the door, turned around and nearly bumped into Bayliss.

Wide eyes. One long look before Bayliss dropped his head and went along to his room.

Aww, shit.

*

The morning and early afternoon were spent in official paperwork and meetings. Bayliss was a little disappointed--he'd never been to Toronto before and he would have liked to look around a little. It was cleaner than American cities and the people were insanely polite. It must be easy, being a cop there.

Bayliss had the first shift driving. Kowalski refused to let Fraser drive; Bayliss didn't know why. Maybe Fraser didn't have a license or something. He should find out.

Kowalski was acting squirrelly. He and Fraser both were, actually: as soon as one woke up the other dozed off, which struck Bayliss as odd. Maybe they just hadn't gotten enough sleep last night. From the look of Kowalski when he left Fraser's room, they'd had a pretty exciting night.

Lucky bastard. Both of them. Lucky bastards.

About three hours into the trip they both woke up. They were quiet, both of them, looking preoccupied.

So many mysteries surrounding them--the first and largest of which was why anyone believed they weren't lovers, given that they were living together. The second of which being Francesca Vecchio--something was going on with her and Kowalski and Fraser. Detective Dewey thought Kowalski and Francesca were involved...perhaps that was the key. He knew Kowalski liked kids. "I have a question," Bayliss said.

Kowalski was stretched out in the passenger seat with his feet up on the dash. His ankles twitched when Bayliss spoke. "Yeah?"

How to phrase it? Perhaps the most straightforward question first: "Is Francesca pregnant?"

Kowalski jerked his feet back and sat up straight, telling Bayliss he was right. "What makes you think that?" Kowalski looked back at Fraser as if he expected Fraser to know better than him.

"Her stomach's too round for her figure." Bayliss gestured to his belly. "She's very conscious of it."

Kowalski deflated. "Hey, you are a detective."

Bayliss looked at Kowalski. "So I'm right?"

"Have to ask her." Kowalski shrugged.

"Hm." Bayliss glanced over his shoulder. "Fraser? Anything to add?"

Fraser leaned forward, his hand on Kowalski's arm rest and his breath stirring Bayliss' hair. "It wouldn't be gentlemanly to tell tales about a lady."

Kowalski nodded too vigorously. There was definitely more to that story. "See? Thank you, Fraser."

Bayliss just sighed. "Well, then--"

"Hey!" Kowalski jumped. "Restaurant at the next stop! I'm starving, pull off!" Kowalski made frantic steering wheel gestures, and whatever further questions Bayliss might have come up with were lost in the effort of changing lanes and turning down the exit ramp.

*

Ray felt strange, kind of spaced-out, when he got out of the van. Almost like he was getting his time and place confused, like he was still in the Northwest Areas sleeping next to Fraser and dreaming he was in a fast food joint halfway between Toronto and Detroit.

He ordered the biggest burger on the menu, figuring a full belly would settle down his head, and a Coke to keep him awake. He had the seven-to-eleven shift behind the wheel. He got a kick out of watching Fraser visibly waver between what was healthy--baked potato, salad bar--and what he really wanted--French fries, bacon cheeseburger. He "accidentally" brushed the back of his hand against Fraser's ass and--surprise!--Fraser ordered the burger.

It was fun teaching Fraser about indulgence. He jumped in with both feet when you told him it was okay.

Bayliss was off at the salad bar frowning at the lettuce, so Ray and Fraser grabbed a booth; and Ray was still feeling kind of funny, but brushing elbows with Fraser every time he took a bite did wonders for his state of mind. "Do you suppose they have mayonnaise?" Fraser asked, stuffing three French fries in his mouth.

Ray wrinkled his nose. "No, I do not, and if you find some anyway I'm sitting somewhere else."

"What's wrong with it? It's tasty."

"It's disgusting." Ray waved Bayliss over.

"It's just another condiment like ketchup or mustard. What's so different?"

Ray pointed a fry at Fraser. "Ketchup is red. Mustard is yellow. Mayonnaise is white. Red and yellow are friendly colors on fast food. White is not. Period."

"That's just silly, Ray." Fraser unwrapped his hamburger. "Besides which, mustard in its undyed form is brown."

"I don't care. I do not. Mayonnaise does not belong on French fries." Ray took a huge bite of his burger and chewed viciously.

"That's just silly, Ray."

"It's tasty," Bayliss said, sliding in with his tray.

Ray glared at Bayliss. "Traitor."

Fraser looked over at Bayliss' tray. "Goodness. The salad bar seems...less than inspired."

"Tell me about it. The modern American fast food industry is not geared toward the vegetarian on the go." Bayliss rolled icy pink cherry tomatoes speckled with orange dressing around the Styrofoam plate. "I'm used to it, though. Hurray for French fries and vegetable oil." He pushed the plate away and moved the fries into its place. "At least this place doesn't use beef fat on them."

Ray ate in big bites, his eyes flickering over the rest of the fast food joint. Families, truckers, a loud group of teenagers in the corner. He finished the burger and started on the fries. Nothing like a little salt and fat to make a guy feel right.

He was missing something. Something important. He'd had that feeling since he woke up. It felt...actually, it kinda felt like missing an anniversary. He turned to Fraser. "What's today?"

Fraser looked at him with big somber eyes, and Ray knew he'd figured it out. "The eleventh of March, Ray."

"Shit." He thought about Holloway Muldoon on the Ferris wheel. Fraser's face when they dug their way out of the snow. Turnbull with an Uzi.

He remembered wiping the tears off Fraser's face late at night when he could finally talk about his mother, scrubbing them off as fast as they fell so Fraser wouldn't have icicles on his cheeks, and then giving up on the macho bullshit and hugging Fraser to his chest under his coat.

The eleventh of March was sort of their anniversary. Thanks to Buck Frobisher's speech, he wasn't ever going to forget that date. "I lost track of time," Ray said.

"What's the deal with the eleventh of March?" Bayliss asked.

Ray mushed a fry under his thumb, wishing it was Muldoon's head. He'd offered to shoot Muldoon and pretend it was an accident, but Fraser wouldn't let him. He had to do the Mountie thing and bring him in alive.

Fraser sighed. "I'm not entirely sure how to explain."

"It was a case," Ray said.

"You may have read about it," Fraser continued, "it involved a nuclear submarine."

"Also nerve gas and paramounties."

"And an old friend of my father's," Fraser concluded, very quietly. "Who, it turned out, murdered my mother."

"I'm sorry," Bayliss said.

"We brought him in on the eleventh of March, 1998."

Bayliss nodded. "The bad kind of anniversary."

Fraser rubbed his chin. "I wouldn't say that. My father chased Muldoon for years after the death of my mother. He--thought the man was dead, but in fact he was not. It gives me a great deal of satisfaction to have brought him to justice."

"Plus I paid a guy fifty bucks to pull his fingernails out," Ray said. "So, you know, he's suffering."

"Ray!"

"Okay, I didn't. But I should have."

Fraser deployed the full-on Big Mountie Eyes. "Ray, you simply can't take the law into your own hands."

"And I didn't! I'm just saying, I shoulda kicked him in the head." Ray stared at Fraser. Fraser stared back. Ray stared harder.

"That's about when you guys went on the adventure, right?"

Fraser and Ray both looked at Bayliss. Ray nodded. "Yeah. Right from there. Needed a break."

"That's amazing," Bayliss said, sounding wistful. "That you could do that, just leave. That's like every American's dream."

Fraser cleared his throat--probably at the "American" crack. "I had the necessary skills and Ray had the drive to learn. It was really quite simple."

"And we had to go," Ray said, remembering the overwhelming urge to run until they ran out of sky to walk on. "Sometimes you just have to leave and not do the things you've been doing until the things you were doing make sense again."

Bayliss laughed. "I could write a book about that."

"Yeah?" It made Ray wonder what the guy was running from. He'd never asked--he couldn't ask now, not really. It wasn't polite.

"I left Baltimore, didn't I?" Bayliss shrugged and looked at his food. He started rolling crunchy cherry tomatoes around his salad plate again.

Fraser stole a handful of Ray's fries. "We should probably get moving," Ray said, glaring at him.

Ray scoped out the tacky gift shop attached to the fast food place as the other two dumped their trays and got their outerwear settled.

Bayliss walked up beside him. "Somehow, after eating that food, I feel a strange need for a white shirt that says 'Truckin','" he said.

Ray snorted--then he spotted a real prize, the gold ring, the motherlode! "I'm in heaven. Heaven. Look at that!" He darted into the store, snatched his prey and held it up triumphantly: a 16 oz. bag of Blo-Pops, assorted flavors, Blue Razzberry included. "Score!"

Fraser looked pained. "Those are disgusting," Bayliss said.

"Deliciously disgusting," Ray said, and headed for the checkout counter. "You schmucks want anything?"

"Yeah, sure." Bayliss grabbed a bottle of carrot-orange juice from the cooler.

Ray boggled. "They don't have a good salad bar but they have carrot juice?" Bayliss just shrugged.

Fraser laid a packet of beef jerky on the counter, not the molded stick kind but the slab kind. He suddenly frowned and looked at Bayliss. "Would this bother you? In the car? I can choose something else."

"I'm not that sensitive," Bayliss said.

Ray put down a twenty to cover all of them.

*

"Slugbug!" Ray socked Bayliss.

"Ow!" Bayliss glared at Ray and the offending car in turn. "Hey! That's the same one that passed us earlier. That one is mine."

"No way." Ray gestured with his fist. "Each individual instance of a slugbug is a moment into itself, unrelated to any slugbug that has come before. Once the slugbug has passed out of sight, it doesn't exist any more. It's a moment, not an object."

"You are elementally and substantively and utterly wrong," Bayliss growled.

Ray grinned. "Even if it was your slugbug, what are you gonna do? I already hit you."

"Hit you back. Fair is fair."

"In your dreams. I used to be a boxer." Ray threw a quick punch at the windshield.

"Yeah, and I used to be a basketball player, but now we're both cops and I bet I could take you."

Ray laughed.

*

The snow directly alongside the highway was dirty and brown, but between the lanes the median shone curving and white, marked only by the lapping of wind and the punctures of animal tracks. He thought he could see deer among the many rabbit and bird tracks, but the van moved too quickly to be sure.

He gnawed at the dried beef, tasting the peculiar blandness of domesticated meat under the fiery spice and chemicals. Caribou meat stood up to spice with its gamy taste and tougher texture; this tasted more like jalapeno perfume. But he couldn't taste Ray's skin, so he chewed on meat instead. Displacement.

Bayliss was driving which meant that Ray was slouched in the passenger seat, his long legs akimbo. Ray was sucking upon one of his lollipops. The scent of the artificial cherry flavoring warred with the artificial flavor of Fraser's jerky, and Fraser abruptly lost his appetite. He wrapped up the meat and put it away.

He watched Ray. Ray's mouth, the stain on his lips from the red candy. The curve of Ray's shoulder and the movement of his muscles under the skin.

He'd spent a long Arctic evening investigating the tattoo on Ray's shoulder--he'd never been that close to one before. He had tasted the skin, catalogued the texture, looked at the tiny variations in the color and the perfectly straight lines. He had listened to Ray's breathing as he focused on four square inches of Ray's skin. And finally he had kissed Ray's tattoo as he penetrated Ray's body, and bitten down as he reached orgasm.

Ray looked back and caught his eye, and gave him a smile for him alone.

Ray turned back to Bayliss. "How are you doing up here? Your whole family's in Baltimore, right?"

Bayliss nodded. "I'm enjoying it. It's peaceful."

He furrowed his forehead. "Peaceful? Being away from your family?"

Ray and Bayliss both glanced back at him. "I don't get along with my family very well," Bayliss explained. "They don't approve of me being Buddhist."

"Surely the holidays must have been difficult, though." He felt the loss of his family like a razor under his skin.

But Bayliss shook his head. "I don't like holidays, and even more than that I don't like trying to pretend that I like them."

A shock, like a dash of cold water to his face. "You don't like Christmas?"

"I'm Buddhist. Why would I celebrate the birth of Christ?"

"But it's *Christmas,*" he protested helplessly. "You don't have to be Christian to enjoy Christmas."

"Gee, thanks for telling me." Bayliss turned away.

"Lots of people don't like Christmas," Ray said, leaning backwards with the bag of suckers in his hand. "Here, Fraser, have a Blo-Pop."

It quite successfully distracted him. He could lose himself, he could forget his own name among the fine red tracing of capillaries on the glasslike surface of Ray's eyes. He could write sonnets to the shades of pink and red on Ray's chapped lips. He never tired of his lover, and it hit him at such random times--but Ray's arm trembled under the awkward weight of the bag of candy, and Ray needed an answer.

Fraser took a breath. The candy smelled of chemical fruit laced with the scent of gum, plastic and sugar. He knew that in his mouth the candy would overpower him with sweetness, ravage his throat with sourness, taint his tongue with dye and flavoring. It was tempting--but he resisted. "No thank you."

Ray turned to Bayliss and held the bag out again. "Bayliss?"

Fraser saw Bayliss raise his hand tentatively and had to tamp down the sudden, terrible, irrational urge to slap Bayliss' hand back down to his side. Bayliss had every right to Ray's candy, should Ray offer it, as he was doing at that moment. Fraser had no right--had no hold on Ray or his belongings or the disposal thereof, but still he had to clench his fists tightly in his lap, his nails pressing into his skin as he watched Bayliss' hand hover over the bag.

"I had better not," Bayliss said, and the breath left Fraser's body as Bayliss' hand returned to the steering wheel. "But thanks."

Ray shrugged and folded the bag closed, stowing it on the dashboard. "I always preferred Thanksgiving to Christmas when my parents were still in town. Everyone shut up and ate instead of sitting around and fighting." Ray licked his candy, leaving a garish red streak on his tongue, his expression softening. "And Stella always fell asleep on me from the turkey. Sometimes I had to carry her out to the car."

"That's sweet," murmured Bayliss.

If he focused he could scent the change in their emotions from their sweat. Ray smelled sweet and faintly sexual, the pheromone scent he gave off after long periods in close working contact with his lover, overlaid with coffee and the heavy grease smell of lunch. Bayliss smelled of coffee as well, of course, their clothes saturated by the same source; but underneath, he had a sharp, nervous smell. The scent of tension, similar to the scent of fear.

Fraser knew it as the scent of secrets. Perhaps Ray was right when he identified Bayliss as gay.

Bayliss shivered slightly and the nervous scent increased. "Thanksgiving is such an arbitrary holiday."

"I would have thought you'd like a state holiday over a religious one, Detective Lama." Ray was grinning. The sucker was tooth-pocked.

"Lamas are Tibetan. I'm Zen. That comes from Japan." Bayliss' nervous scent peaked and retreated as he spoke of his religion. A dodge, Fraser realized. He did it himself.

Ray bit into the gum at the center of the sucker with an echoing crack.

*

"Someone talk to me before I fall asleep." Ray looked at the trip meter. 60 miles to Chicago.

"What about, Ray?" Fraser leaned forward.

"I don't know. Your first case when you joined the force, how about that."

"My first case? Oh, dear." Fraser cleared his throat and rubbed his eyebrow, double whammy.

"Come on. I need entertaining."

"My first case. All right." Fraser cleared his throat again. Bayliss sleepily raised his head and propped it up on his fists. "I was twenty-one, stationed in Churchill, Manitoba, on the western shores of the Hudson Bay. I was--eager to perform my duty but quite unschooled in interpersonal reactions."

Ray snorted.

"I received a call about a domestic disturbance."

"Oh, boy."

"It seemed straightforward at first," Fraser sighed.

Bayliss laughed. "They always do."

"The wife was outside in the yard with a rifle shouting at her husband of eighteen years. I could clearly hear him shouting from inside the house. Apparently, he had locked her out and refused to let her back in."

"Hey, that's new. Usually they do it the other way around."

"Yes, well. I disarmed the woman easily--a small matter of leverage. I was attempting to inform her husband that the coast was clear when he emerged from the back of the cabin and hit me with a nine-inch cast-iron frying pan. For laying hands on his wife, you see." Fraser shook his head. "I should have been paying attention. I was so certain he was being held hostage that I never realized it could be a fair fight."

"Jesus!" Ray looked at Fraser in the mirror. "He put you in the hospital?"

"Two cracked ribs. He served a rather substantial prison sentence for assaulting an officer of the law."

"And his wife baked him a cake every week."

"I believe so, yes. I transferred out as soon as I recuperated. It shortly became clear to me that I wasn't cut out for the city life."

Bayliss propped his chin on his hand. "But you're here."

Fraser tugged at his collar. Stalling. "I have interests keeping me here. Friends--and a sort of family, I suppose." He clapped his hands jovially. "Ray! What was your first case?"

"Uh." Ray thought back. "As detective? Bank robbery, never solved. As patrol, I think it was a DUI. Nothing fancy."

"You're not getting into the spirit of things," Bayliss said.

"Hey! It's my thing, I'll put whatever spirit I want into it. Your turn. Spill."

Bayliss lowered his eyelids. "That's easy. My first case when I joined homicide was a little girl named Adena Watson who was murdered right in her own neighborhood. We looked at--everything, followed every lead, interrogated every suspect..." His voice faded and he stopped, looking at the dashboard.

"And?"

"It's still unsolved."

Ray's fists clenched on the steering wheel. "That sucks. That fucking sucks. I hate cases like that."

"Yeah," Bayliss murmured. "I was with homicide for eight years. She'd be grown now."

Ray glanced at Fraser in the rear view mirror. "If you say something logical and rational I'm going to pop you, Fraser."

Fraser opened his mouth, then closed it. "Antelopes, Ray," he said finally.

"Antelopes." Ray snorted. "Thanks, Fraser."

"Antelopes," Bayliss said, and smiled. "You have the soul of a Zen master, Fraser."

Could that be Bayliss' secret? Could it be as simple as that? He was still guilty for not solving a murder eight years ago?

Ray could believe it. He still had cases that haunted him--not even big ones like the Botrelle case, but little ones like the theft of an antique wedding ring. There were a lot of things in this job that could stick with a guy. Cops supposed to set things right, bring bad people to justice, but sometimes the best you could do wasn't ever good enough.

He'd been there. Too many times. Was it that simple?

Ray looked over at Bayliss, looking at his serene smile.

Nothing was that simple. Still, all he could do was his best. "We'll work on the Olson case first thing tomorrow," he told Bayliss.

Bayliss' smile faltered for a moment. Then he nodded.

*

They reached the Chicago city limits at ten minutes past midnight.

They stopped at Constable Trudeau's apartment first to pick up Diefenbaker, since it was on the way to the station. Dief told Fraser that not only had Trudeau served him tea with real maple syrup in a genuine teacup rather than a bowl, like Ray did, but that his next door neighbor had a highly attractive German shepherd mix. He informed Fraser, as they went down the stairs, that he was feeling a real conflict of allegiances; but all was forgotten when he caught the full scent of the jerky. Dief pressed his nose to Fraser's pocket and refused to be moved.

Naturally Ray found that amusing. Fraser slipped Dief the jerky and they returned to the van without further incident.

They signed the van back into the station and headed for the parking lot, where Bayliss split away and Fraser attempted to grab Ray's keys.

"I have better night vision," Fraser explained.

"It's my car!" Ray held the keys out of Fraser's reach.

Fraser made another grab. "You're very tired!"

Ray planted a hand in his chest. "It's my freaking car, Fraser."

Bayliss pulled up beside them in his dull sedan. "I have a coin if you need to flip it." Ray shook his head and opened his mouth, but was interrupted by a yawn before he could speak. He glared at Fraser and thrust the keys at his chest.

"Goodnight, kids," Bayliss said. He waved and drove away.

Ray returned his gaze to Fraser. "You think he knows?"

Fraser thought carefully, weighing Bayliss' reactions against the potential evidence. "Possibly. He doesn't seem uncomfortable."

Ray drummed his fingers on Fraser's chest. "He saw me coming out of your room. Dunno how incriminating I looked."

"Very."

Ray's mouth curved. "Then I guess he knows."

Fraser covered Ray's hand with his own under the pretext of taking the keys. "We'll roll in the punch, Ray."

Diefenbaker and Ray shot him identical looks of irritation. "Roll with the punches! Freak." Dief sounded his own dismay at Fraser's lack of command of American idiom around the mouthful of jerky.

"You pay and pay," Fraser muttered as he unlocked the car and they all piled in.

*

Ray dumped his bag on the floor of the living room and straddled the arm of the couch, shifting his seat to try to find a part of his ass that didn't hurt too bad. Dief hopped up into his favorite chair and curled up with the stinky jerky Fraser had given him. Looked like he enjoyed it. Ray wished he did. "Fraser."

"Yes, Ray?" Fraser removed his tunic and hung it up on one of the special padded hangers on the hook inside the closet door. He got out the lint roller and started running it over the impeccable brown cloth.

"What did Frannie's letter say? I couldn't open it with Bayliss there."

Fraser scoffed. "I didn't open it, Ray! I'll pass it along to the rightful recipient."

"Oh, come on, it wasn't even sealed. What did you do with it?" Ray tried to remember where he'd seen it last--Fraser's hand, and then...

"I sealed it, stamped it and placed it in the outgoing Consulate mail." Fraser turned the tunic front to back and continued running the lint roller.

"You stink."

"I showered just this morning, Ray." Fraser was smirking. There was a definite smirk there.

"You still stink." Ray stretched upwards, popping his back. "I wanna be Uncle Ray and teach the kid how to box."

Fraser put the lint roller away and walked over to Ray. He put one hand at the middle of Ray's spine and pulled up on Ray's hands with the other. "It could be a girl," he breathed into Ray's ear.

"Yeah, I know." Ray's spine popped and he groaned. He let his arms fall forward to rest loosely around Fraser's neck. Fraser embraced his waist. "Girls can box, Fraser." Ray kissed Fraser's cheek by his ear. "When I was in college I had a chick sparring partner who could kick my ass two times out of three."

"Admirable," Fraser mumbled against Ray's neck.

Ray stroked Fraser's hair from the bottom up so it stood on end. "Yeah. But she made Stella jealous."

Fraser stiffened and pulled away to look him in the eye. "Jealous?" There was a weird air about him, kind of like he was scared or nervous.

"Stella thought I was cheating on her because I liked hanging out with Jenny. It's hard to have chick friends." Ray folded his hands behind Fraser's neck. "You aren't going to get jealous of me for having chick friends, are you?"

"No." Fraser looked away.

"Okay. Then I won't get jealous of you."

"You have no cause to be jealous of me," Fraser said, and he pulled away entirely. He stalked into the bedroom.

Ray still sat on the couch. He turned to look at Dief. "Dief, what just happened?"

Dief made a worried noise and hopped off the chair, retreating to his favorite spot under the kitchen table.

"That bad, huh?" Well, there wasn't anything to do but follow Fraser into the bedroom, so Ray pried himself off the couch and followed.

Fraser was sitting on the bed unlacing his boots. He didn't look up when Ray came in.

"Fraser."

Fraser looked up. "What?"

Ray spread his arms helplessly. "What?"

Fraser frowned. "What on earth are you trying to express?"

"I dunno, what are you trying to say?"

Fraser made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat and kicked off his boots. "You know, I've had better conversations, even with you." He stood and unknotted his tie.

Ray circled around and got between Fraser and the dresser. Fraser refused to look directly at him, tossing his tie at the dresser so hard it fell down the back, and that just wasn't like him. "What in God's name is wrong with you, Fraser? You're acting like Joey McGrue with ice down his trousers!"

Fraser's chin jerked up and Fraser looked him straight in the eye. He looked pissed. He looked scary. "I most certainly am not!"

"You are! You're in some kind of snitty pouty arguey mood thing!" Now Ray was pissed right back. He hated it when Fraser wouldn't admit to things that were obviously the case.

Fraser laughed, but not in a happy way. "'Snitty pouty arguey mood thing'? Well my goodness, Ray, you've certainly proved your case."

"Shut the hell up, Fraser, just shut the hell up unless you're gonna tell me what crawled up your butt and died." Ray punctuated his words with jabs of his finger toward Fraser's chest--jabs that never quite connected, since Fraser kept backing up.

"I certainly will not shut up--"

"Of course not, you never shut up!" Ray knew he was crossing the line, but dammit--

"--not on your orders, in my own home--" And Fraser stopped backing up but Ray kept edging forward, so things were coming to a head--"And I don't see what you expect to gain with this ridiculous argument--"

Fraser shoved him with his body, sending him staggering one step back toward the dresser. Ray lurched forward and dropped them both to the floor in probably the most ungraceful tackle ever.

First he was on Fraser, then Fraser was on him, then he was spitting dust bunnies, then he turned up on top again and he had a good hold. Ray shoved Fraser over onto his belly and straddled his ass with one of Fraser's arms pinned up behind his back. "You are the most annoying man I ever met in my entire life!"

"Ray!" Fraser wriggled under him but Ray's hold was solid. Fraser turned his head to one side and glared up at him.

"Say uncle!" He leaned on Fraser's arm hard enough to be uncomfortable but not enough to really hurt. Fraser stared back up at him defiantly.

Fuck! Fraser drove him fucking NUTS. He was really getting steamed--Fraser wouldn't give on even ONE little thing, made Ray pound it out of him, even the simplest stuff like what was bugging him! He stared down at Fraser and twisted his arm harder. "Say uncle, Fraser, I'm not kidding around!"

Fraser grunted but didn't give, just wiggled under Ray's thighs. Ray gave Fraser's arm a further twist. "Say...UNCLE!"

"Uncle!" Fraser grunted.

Ray let his arm go immediately. "See how much easier it is when you cooperate?" He knelt up and managed to sit back down with his back against the edge of the bed, still breathing hard. Fraser rolled over, shook his arm out, and scooted up to sit against the bed as well.

They were just out of arm's reach. Maybe three feet away from each other. Fraser looked at him. "Are you satisfied?"

Ray rubbed his eyes. His face felt dusty. "Delighted."

"What did you hope to accomplish with that?" Fraser was still snarky but the anger was gone.

He felt tired. Really tired. "Dunno." He let his arms fall between his upturned knees. Fraser didn't say anything.

Eventually Dief wandered in. He came over to Ray and licked his face; Ray closed his eyes and let him do it. Dief's tongue was still tingly and his breath was stinky from the jerky he'd eaten, but Ray didn't care. He and Dief were pals.

Dief mumbled something and went over to Fraser. He said a lot more to Fraser.

"Yes, I suspect you're right," Fraser sighed.

Ray raised his head. "What did he say?"

"That he understands the need for occasional dominance battles, but that it's terribly worrisome when we go for the throat." Fraser looked at Ray.

Ray looked at Fraser.

Ray scooted over until their legs were pressed together and twined his arm through Fraser's clasping hands. Dief barked happily.

"Yeah, buddy." Ray rubbed one of Dief's ears. Dief licked his hand.

Fraser sighed and dropped his head back against the bed. "I have a confession to make, Ray," he said, and squeezed Ray's hand.

"What? You been peeing in the sink?"

"No!" Fraser laughed, and it was a happier laugh this time. "I am...most unbearably jealous of Detective Bayliss."

"Jealous?" Suddenly the entire argument made a lot more sense.

"Jealous," Fraser said.

"Why the heck are you jealous of Bayliss?" Ray frowned, comparing Bayliss to Fraser. Bayliss had that tall, lanky thing going on, so he towered over Ray and had--okay, Ray peeked, everyone peeked--he had a pretty big dick, but that wasn't much compared to Fraser's great ass and anything-goes tongue. Not to mention that he was crazy in love with Fraser.

"I never said it was rational," Fraser said defensively.

"Yeah, but Bayliss? I work with the guy, I don't want to go home with him."

Fraser squeezed his hand hard. Ray could tell he was getting angry again. "You were speculating as to his sexuality earlier. And, Ray..." His grip softened. "You used to work with me. And you went home with me all the same."

Ray ran his thumb over the back of Fraser's hand. "Cause you're you. And he's him. And the two things ain't the same." And he wasn't ever any good at the mushy stuff; it always came out wrong. "It's you I want to come home to."

"But not work with."

"I thought you were busy?"

Fraser rubbed his eyebrow. Dief whined again. "Perhaps I can become less busy. I must confess to a sort of cabin fever at being confined so long to the office."

"Why'd they stick you in there, anyway?"

"I had to take some form of promotion for my role in the capture of the submarine, and this was the only one that would allow me to return to Chicago after our journey." He was squeezing Ray's hand hard again, but not from anger.

"That sucks. Why didn't you tell me?"

Fraser shrugged. "What could you have done?" His tone sounded--fatalistic. Ray hated to hear it.

The answer was screamingly obvious to Ray. "Moved to Canada with you, maybe."

Fraser was quiet for a moment, then raised Ray's hand to his lips. "We should turn in. It's been a long day."

"Sure, Fraser." Ray got his feet under him and managed a stoop as he pulled Fraser up; Fraser, with his help, stood up all the way and pulled Ray upright and into his arms. Ray grabbed the back of Fraser's head and kissed him.

Ray's dick was telling him no, nope, no fun tonight, with a general chorus of assent from his aching ass, but he kissed Fraser anyway and gave him a good hard feel up and down his body just to let Fraser know his heart was still there. Fraser had his hands tangled into Ray's hair in that almost-painful way he liked. Things were good.

Ray walked through the apartment to turn the lights out and check the windows and doors. When he returned to the bedroom, Fraser was stripped down to his boxers and kneeling beside the dresser fishing for his tie. Ray handed him a wire hanger and Fraser snagged it.

Ray set his holster on the nightstand and turned out the bedroom lights. Fraser crawled into bed. Dief crawled under the bed. Ray sat on the edge of the bed and undressed down to nothing, just for the hell of it.

Ray slid under the sheets and wrapped himself around Fraser's back. Fraser made an amused noise and reached behind him to cup one hand around Ray's naked ass. "You getting fresh with me?" Ray muttered into Fraser's hair.

"Yes."

"Good." Ray pulled Fraser more firmly into his arms.

"Ray."

"Yeah?"

"Remind me to make an eye appointment tomorrow."

"Okay. Fraser?"

"Yes?"

"Remind me to make an appointment for that suit fitting tomorrow."

"All right."

Ray kissed the back of Fraser's head. He let his arm rise and fall with Fraser's breathing, and somewhere between one breath and the next, he fell asleep.