Disclaimer: AA owns everything, but the ideas. They are mine.

Author's Notes: Anita and Karen/s for the encouragement and close monitoring for comma misuse and other stuff. Not sure what I'd do without them.

Story Notes: This is really pre-slash getting to the slash.

Losing Feeling July 3, 2004
By BJCochran

(dS, F/K, PG13 - sexual allusion)

Disclaimer: AA owns everything, but the ideas. They are mine.

Summary: An old injury comes back to haunt Fraser.

Acknowledgements: Anita and Karen/s for the encouragement and close monitoring for comma misuse and other stuff. Not sure what I'd do without them.

>>><<<

It had started as nothing, really. Diefenbaker lunged past him, faster than usual, after a falling donut, and Ben had landed inelegantly on the rather ill-kept, dusty parking lot behind the Twenty-Seventh Precinct. Ray had given him a hand up, laughing as he'd tried to brush the dust off. He made unfunny references to dogs chasing their tails, and Ben was not amused.

"Pitter patter, Fraser, scumbag witnesses wait for no man." Which was untrue, they do. Placing the Stetson on the dash of the Pontiac, Ben noticed that his posterior did not protest as much as his shoulder tingled. Odd.

Removing his uniform later that evening reminded him that his shoulder was not as it should be. Nor, for that matter, was his arm or hand. There was diminished strength and coordination. Unlocking the Consulate door was a trial. Frowning, he made his way to his office-cum-residence to remove his review order. The Sam Browne provided an incredible amount of frustration, ending up tossed with vehemence against the door of his closet. Once down to his boxers and athletic shirt, Ben sat on his cot clenching and unclenching his right hand, wondering at the numbness. Perhaps sleep was what was called for. A good night's sleep provided ample cure for many maladies.

Rising to turn out the light, he noticed his right arm wouldn't easily rise with him. He turned out the light with his left hand.

A good night's sleep had not been the answer. He had, in fact, slept well, but found it excruciating to try to rise from his cot. Finally, turning to his left side, he eased himself into a sitting position, grunting as he went. When he'd finally had his feet on the floor, Dief made an interrogatory sound.

"I don't know," Ben answered. "It doesn't hurt, per se." He experimentally probed his forearm with his left hand. "I really have no feeling." He sat for a minute, idly pinching and probing his right arm and hand.

Fraser chose to struggle into a pair of jeans and pullover sweater this morning. When he came out of his office, Constable Turnbull and Inspector Thatcher ceased speak, their jaws still wide, staring at him. "Constable?"

"Sir?"

"You're not dressed for duty."

"No, ma'am." He winced. "I have to request a sick day."

"A sick day?" she said.

"A sick day?" Turnbull echoed.

"I'm experiencing a - an unpleasantness in my right arm and shoulder."

Thatcher frowned and looked at his arm as it hung limp at his side. "When did this happen?"

"Yesterday, I'm afraid."

Thatcher's frown deepened. "And why didn't you seek medical attention then?"

Ben twisted his neck, not quite cracking it. "I thought it was an anomaly and would right itself overnight."

"And it has not," she surmised.

"It has not."

"As soon as possible." Turnbull finished his phone call, putting the phone down to turn triumphantly to Ben and the Inspector. "Detective Vecchio is on his way."

"What?" Ben asked. "Why?"

Turnbull looked puzzled. "You would need a ride to see a physician." Ben nodded slowly. "Wouldn't you also need to go with someone that would render moral support?"

Pushing his tongue on his lower lip, Ben acknowledged the gesture. "That's very kind of you, constable."

"Not at all, constable." Turnbull's ears pinkened.

"Will you be seeing your previous neurologist?" the Inspector inquired.

Ben blinked, not sure what she was asking. "Neurologist, sir?"

"I'm assuming this is related to your previous injuries."

"Sir?" What was she saying?

"The bullet in your back?"

"Allow me to tie your boots, Constable Fraser." Turnbull was holding the desk chair out for him. Gratefully, Ben sank into the chair, resting his Stetson on his lap. Rubbing his brow, he felt sweat there.

The bullet. His recovery had been so full, the injury occurring so long ago, that Ben had put it so far from his mind. But the bullet was still lodged in tissue close to his vertebrae, close to his spinal cord.

Falling on his hind end jarred him far worse than injuring his pride. He closed his eyes against the emotions buffeting him.

"Should I notify the neurologist?" This was the inspector now. He opened his eyes to refuse, but realized she was merely just waiting for him to give her the doctor's name. "Dr. Barrington. His number is in my rolodex."

Silently, he stared past Turnbull's shoulder as the other man made quick work of tightening and tying the laces of his hiking boots. Emotions long suppressed were vying for play in the moving picture inside his head. The bullet, the most damaging of all souvenirs. It was the thing that kept him apart from all the world around him, the event that sealed his solitary life.

When he blinked back to reality, Ray Vecchio nee Kowalski was barging through the Consulate door, looking a little wild eyed, as he so often did when coming into the Consulate. Ben just stared at him mutely.

"What happened? When'd it happen? Are you in pain?" Ray loomed over him like an avatar.

"I must have aggravated a previous injury when Diefenbaker tripped me yesterday."

Ray shot a look at the wolf. Diefenbaker lowered his head to his paws when he figured the 'but, it was a donut' defense wouldn't work. "Pain?" Ray asked again.

"Not pain as much as tingling in my arm." Benton sighed. "And I fear the arm is of little use."

"Christ," Ray muttered and ran his hand through his hair. "Where we going?"

"To Chicago General," Thatcher said, coming out of her office. "Dr. Barrington is in surgery until noon, but he wants you at hospital for x-rays with your previous x-rays. I assume they're in your office."

"They are," Ben moved to rise from the chair, but Ray pushed him back down. "Whoa, the nice inspector can get them for you." Ray shared a narrowed eyed look with Ben's superior. The inspector nodded, and said to Ben, "Under X, I presume."

She was off before he could answer. Ray was about to speak when Turnbull came through from the back of the building carrying a back pack and a thermos. "I took the liberty of packing a lunch and preparing tea."

"A picnic?" Ray asked. "This ain't a picnic, Turnbull."

"Of course not, Ray." Turnbull was not phased. "And I wouldn't want you to have to worry about such mundanities as seeking out food." He placed the pack on the table. "There are apples and oranges, 3 ham sandwiches, snicker doodles and peanut butter crackers."

"Snicker doodles?" Ray liked his sweets.

"Thank you, constable. That's very kind."

"Not at all." Turnbull beamed. The Inspector returned with an oversized envelope bearing the x-rays. It was time to leave. Filled with dread, Ben stood. His three companions restrained themselves admirably from aiding him. He knew they wanted to but was grateful that they didn't help him to his feet. Ray grabbed the pack and the thermos while Ben held onto the x-ray. Moving ahead, Ray had the door open and was on his way to unlocking the car door.

>>><<<

The hospital hall was crowded and busy. They weren't in emergency but in the Neurology wing waiting for Dr. Barrington to finish with surgery. Ray was pacing. Ben had tried to read, but it was hard one handed. Add to that the age and quality of the magazines, it was useless.

He leaned back in the uncomfortable chair, resting his head against the wall. That was uncomfortable and caused an increase in the tingling in his shoulder. He tried several positions before achieving semi-comfort by listing to his left.

Ray stopped pacing in front of him. "You okay, Frase? Can I get you anything."

Stopping himself from saying he was fine, he said, "I wish I knew how long the doctor would be." He couldn't lie, but he didn't want to worry Ray with his concerns, with his fears.

Ray looked down to the end of the hall that they assumed the doctor would be coming from. "Yeah. They said another half hour, but I bet that means two hours." Ben nodded. That wouldn't surprise him at all.

"There's no need for you to stay, Ray. I know you have several pending cases that call for your attention." He didn't want to burden Ray. He could do this alone. But the narrowed eyed stare he received from Ray was bewildering.

"Now, see Fraser, that's where you're wrong. I'm where I want to be. I ain't goin' no where."

Fraser was perverse, always pushing. "But surely Lt. Welsh-"

"Lt. Welsh has no say on what or why I'm here." His index finger was punctuating every word. "I'm here because this is where I belong."

Unable to think of a response while fighting hard to keep his emotions in tact, Ben pushed his tongue against his lower lip. Ray was glaring at him fiercely, almost frightening Ben. "I merely-" he tried again, but Ray flung himself into the chair beside him.

"I'm not leaving, Fraser," he said, softly. "Get used to it."

Ben dropped his chin nearly to his chest before saying. "As you wish."

>>><<<

Ben sat on the edge of the hospital bed in a drafty back opening gown. He rubbed his face and hair vigorously. He was in hospital for the night. Observation.

Just a formality, really. There wasn't much that could be done, Dr. Barrington said. Still, the doctor would have a colleague of his from Northwestern check in on him. Just to make sure everything that could be done would be done.

The bullet had moved. Had been jarred from its resting place in his back, moving it closer to the spinal cord, closer to sensitive nerves.

"Can you fix it?" Ray had asked, staring at the X-rays as if he knew at what he was looking.

"No," Barrington said, pulling no punches. "The bullet will be with Constable Fraser until he dies." He studied Ray's profile as Ray studied the picture of the bullet.

"Will it move again?" Ray was getting his glasses out.

"Possibly. If it moved once, it's certainly possible to move again."

Ray squinted, moving closer to the lit panel holding the film. "So, it could move back where it was yesterday, and we'll all be happy?"

"I said, possible. But the odds are against it."

Ray looked at the doctor, still squinting behind his glasses. "Give me the odds." Ray almost always had hope.

Barrington crossed his arms over his chest. Ben, who sat quietly during this exchange, recognized it as body language for delivering bad news. "Odds are better for the Cubs winning the World Series."

Ben swallowed deeply when Ray's shoulders sagged. But his partner's chin came up quickly. "You got someone to corroborate this?"

Hence the consultation tomorrow.

For obvious reasons, Ben had never liked hospitals. Even to visit. Infirm people were rarely at their best, and he was no exception. He was not wearing enough clothes to calm his modesty and could not help being embarrassed when Ray had helped him into his gown and onto the bed. Hospital staff and visitors hurried past his door, not even aware he was there. He was hungry, but the back pack with the apples was on the chair on the other side of the bed. He just didn't have the energy to get up or get back up onto the bed.

He smiled at the wool socks Ray'd left on his feet. They were old and marled and had been mended several times. Something familiar in a frightening world of nurses, medicine and clinical sterility. A deep sigh was driven from the depths of his soul.

Oh, yes, right, he chastised himself. No need to escape to self-pity. You're here because you put yourself here. Flights of fancy sometimes crash and burn. The deep seeded need for love took you to a place where you'd abase yourself on any level to keep someone so to the opposite of your own morals and values, it was reprehensible.

Ben had recovered. Nary a twinge of reminder after a few months. Back to risking his life wildly in the name of justice. The bullet had been a minor set back in a life devoted to the triumph of right over wrong.

Now he was being repaid for his lack of remorse in the few years past. Losing Ray Vecchio to an undercover assignment. That was a punishment. Punishment for taking Ray's friendship for granted. Assuming Ray would always stand by his side, no matter how unworthy he was.

But Ray Vecchio had gone. Ray Kowalski took his place. One good Ray replaced by a better Ray. Moving himself into the bed, he pulled the ineffectual blanket over his bare legs. He liked Ray Vecchio, no mistake. Ray Vecchio worked with him, took him home occasionally for his mother to feed. It was a camaraderie he'd never experienced.

Ray Kowalski, a whole other kettle of fish. Ray Kowalski prided himself on being 'in his face'. Up close and personal. In his pocket. Fraser's joy was Ray's joy. Fraser's pain, Ray's, also. They shared meals, cases, and life.

He meant to close his eyes for only a few minutes, but the hospital was in overnight mode, judging by the dimmed lights in the corridor when he awoke. Turning his head, he saw Ray wearing his glasses, nose deep in a book. The other man must have heard Fraser move because he raised his head and smiled.

The guilelessness of the smile nearly took Ben's breath away. Blaming it on the unsettling, unpleasant business with his arm, Ben managed to smile back.

"Benton, buddy, did you have a good nap?" Ray asked, dropping the book to help Fraser into a sitting position.

"I believe I did." He pulled his limp arm onto his lap. He could not help his stomach growling, he was still hungry. The nap hadn't changed that. "I don't suppose there's anything to eat."

"There's still some fruit," Ray said, reaching for the pack that Turnbull had prepared so long ago. "Sorry, I ate all the cookies though." He did honestly look chagrinned. "Fruit would be fine."

Ray tossed him an apple, which he caught with alacrity, to Ray's approval. Apples were a good choice, they could be eaten with one hand and the core disposed of easily. The oranges were not so easy to manage.

"Have you been here long?" Ben asked between bites.

Scratching under his holster, Ray shook his head. "Just a few minutes. Had to tie some things up at the station."

Ben frowned.

Ray caught it. "I'm taking tomorrow off. Gonna be with you when we see Barrington's man."

"Ray, really-"

The hand went up to still Ben's objections. "There's still some tea in the thermos. You want some?"

So, the topic was off limits. Ben narrowed his eyes on Ray. "Yes, Ray, I would like some."

Turnbull had made the tea much sweeter than Ben normally liked it, but it tasted familiar, and he savored it. "What time is it?" he asked aware that his watch was in the night table, on his right side.

"Close to ten." Ray had gone back to his chair. Benton thought that was too far away.

That was very late for hospital visitation. "Will you be back in the morning?"

"Not going anywhere, Fraser." Ray pulled his glasses off and pocketed them, crossing his arms, like he was waiting for a fight.

"You're not going to sit up all night. That's just - not necessary."

They sat their staring at each other, eyes narrowed, for a few minutes. Ben sighed. "Very well." He paused. "What are you reading?"

Ray's smile was sheepish. "Andromeda Strain."

"That's -"

"An old book. I know that. It was on the library cart in the hall, and I hadn't read it in, what, thirty years, and thought - why not?"

"Is it the same as you remember?" Fraser tossed his apple core at the trash, unusually pleased at not missing.

>>><<<

They'd talked late into the night, Ray pulling his chair closer to the bed. They talked about science fiction: Bradbury, Clarke, Asimov, as well, as the popular Crichton. Somehow they'd talked out and fallen asleep.

When Ben awoke, Ray's wild hair was brushing the back of his hand. His partner had fallen asleep with his head on the hospital bed. Slowly raising his fingers, Ben indulged in a fancy he'd been nursing for years. Most of the properties of the hair gel had broken down overnight, but the hair continued to defy gravity in a way that was not quite bouncy, but not quite 'bed head'. After a few minutes of indulgence, Ray stirred. Quickly, quietly, Ben withdrew his hand. Ray rubbed his face back and forth on the sheet, trying to rub the sleep away. He had been sleeping with his face away from Ben, but now he lay facing him. The unshaved face showed the sheet wrinkles, and Ben was enraptured. It was all he could do not to use a finger to trace the lines on the stubbled skin.

The urge was answered for him when Ray opened one eye to locate Ben's hand. Snagging it, he raised it to set it back on his hair. Closing his eye again, he sighed, a beatific smile on his face.

But that was several hours ago. After the shame of having Ray hold up his gown while he urinated, Ben was not sure if he could be humiliated further. Holding his own and holding the gown were just not possible in his current state. Ray, though, took it all with his usual equanimity.

Ray left to look for coffee when Ben began to struggle with his boxers, and he was grateful. He hated to be out of control, hated losing that control in front of others. Although it was difficult to dress himself with one hand, he completed the task before moving back to the bathroom.

Ray had liberated his kit from the consulate. Brushing his hair and his teeth were a new experience, but not totally impossible. Recapping the tooth paste was difficult, but Ben knew there were varieties that had flip top caps. He might as well begin to adjust to the new obstacle in his life.

Now he sat shoulder-to-shoulder with Ray in front of Drs. Barrington and Musselman.

"In conclusion," Ray prompted after long moments of what he called techno-babble.

Musselman smiled and pushed his lips together. "In conclusion, there is nothing that we can do at this time to reverse Mr. Frasier's current paralytic condition."

"So, his arm is permanently out of commission?" Ray looked at Barrington for confirmation.

"I'm afraid so."

There was silence for a few minutes as Ray digested what Ben was already accepting. "Okay. So. There's nothing we can do, like rehab or, you know, therapy?"

"Nothing that can't be done at home with a partner."

Ray was still frowning. "You gonna show me these exercises?" he asked the doctors.

Now Barrington smiled. "No, we have physical therapists to do that."

"Ray, really--," Ben started to say that Ray did not need to put himself out for Ben's sake, but the look from Ray stilled him and he let him schedule an appointment to meet with a therapist.

"Okay. Okay." Ray stood and Ben did, too. "You have any questions for these guys, Fraser?"

"None at this juncture."

"Okay, let's pay the ransom to get the car out of the parking garage and go get some Chinese."

After thanking the doctors, lifting his left hand to approximate a shake, Ben allowed Ray to hustle him out of the hospital into the car.

>>><<<

Chinese may not have been Ray's best idea, Fraser thought as he set the chop sticks down rather forcefully. Ray ran his tongue between his lip and teeth as he watched Ben stare at his full plate before pushing his own fork toward Ben. The eyes he narrowed on Ray met with a lack of repentance. He sighed and picked up the fork, looking back up into Ray's eyes for reassurance. It was there, unwavering.

Gradually, Ben consumed all the food on his plate, refusing more when Ray offered. After the last drop of tea was drained from his cup, he sighed. "Perhaps it's time I returned to the Consulate." He was embarrassed to ask, "If I could trouble you for a ride." The adjustment to doubling the work of his left hand left him more tired than he would have expected.

Ray was sprawled in his chair, studying Ben. It was all he could do not to squirm under the scrutiny. "No, don't think you'll be going back to the Consulate tonight."

Ah. Well. "Ray, that's -"

"Not necessary. Yeah, Fraser, heard that one before." He came forward to start cleaning up their dinner.

Fraser picked up his mug, tucking it between his arm and stomach before picking Ray's empty beer bottle. He was going to do his part, no matter what. Water was foaming the suds in the sink, dishes were being dropped in.

"You can dry," Ray said. "The towels are in the middle drawer."

Ben couldn't have loved Ray anymore at that moment. Because he understood. Understood his need to be needed, to be part of the process, to be treated as if he were as he was yesterday.

Laying a towel on the counter, Ben laid the first plate down to dry it on one side, before turning it over to dry the other side. After a half hour of learning this new skill, sweat had gathered at his forehead.

By the time he had draped both towels to dry, Ray was leaning his hip against the counter, arms folded across his chest, staring at him.

"So, tomorrow, we go to see the Ice Queen to talk about light duty, huh? You have that in Canada, right? Workman's Comp? You got that?"

"An approximation of such, however, I was not injured on the job."

Ray looked grim. "That's right. Hmmm, maybe the city should be paying you something." He moved over to his roll top desk.

"Ray."

"Wonder who I should call to find out." He was rooting through the various cubby holes on the top of the desk.

"Ray."

"There should be a directory here some place."

"RAY."

"What?" Ray said, his face showing his irritation at the interruption.

"I will not take one additional cent from the City of Chicago," he said with force. "That would be wrong," he added after a moment.

Ray sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "Okay. Yeah. Okay, I get that."

Ben lowered his chin until it nearly touched his breast bone. His weariness had a home sick feeling to him. Not like he missed his cot at the Consulate, but he missed - something.

"Okay, Fraser, it's time to get ready for bed."

"Ray, it's only four PM."

Ray looked at his watch. "Okay, maybe just a nap then, Fraser."

"Really, Ray - "

"Really, Fraser, just lay down for a few minutes. You have to be tired."

It was true. He was. Moving toward the couch, he was surprised when Ray pulled him toward his bedroom. He opened his mouth, but Ray beat him to it: "If you 'really, Ray' me, I'm going to have to cause you some serious damage."

Clamping his mouth shut, Ben let himself be pushed onto Ray's bed. Ray was at his feet working at his boot laces. "Okay, down you go," he said pushing at Ben's shoulder once the boots were off. Grasping Ray's wrist, Ben wouldn't let go as Ray tried to right himself.

It was slightly gratifying to pull Ray off balance. For the last twenty-four plus hours, Ben had been off balance, his world slightly tilted, and he wanted Ray to feel the same way. Instead of pulling back, trying to right himself, Ray let his hands fall on either side of his shoulders, resting on his arms as he looked down at Ben. Catching his bottom lip in his teeth, Ben looked deeply into Ray's eyes.

There were so many things Ben wanted to say, needed to say, but the words were just going to get tripped up on his teeth and tongue. This ordeal had been difficult, well, quite more than difficult, excruciating, but Ben had not been alone. For the first time he could remember - ever - someone had been at his side. Sharing the unknown.

But, this was the beginning of what appeared to be a long-term disability. Therapy would be hard, adjusting harder. He still had to speak with the Inspector and the Human Resources Liaison to determine what his position would be within the RCMP. Too many thoughts vied for importance in his brain, too many to concentrate on just one. Yet there was something Ray needed to know.

"Thank you, Ray."

Ray just smiled down on him. The smile from the hospital. The one that Ben found so captivating. Ray eased his arms down, like he was doing a push up on the bed. His smile softened and Ben felt his own lips curl slightly to match it. "Don't mention it, Fraser."

"But, Ray, it's necessary for me - "

Again, Ray interrupted him. "I said - "

"Ray." It was Ben's turn to interrupt. He let go of the wrist and allowed his hand to travel over the fine hair covering the forearm that held Ray above him, stopping just above Ray's elbow. He felt the tiny tremors under the warm skin; the muscles were not used to this position. Applying great pressure with his thumb to the inner elbow, Ben released Ray's flexed arm accepting his weight onto his chest, their faces were only a breath apart. "Ray," he repeated.

"Yeah, Fraser." There was an odd shine in Ray's eyes.

"Thank you," he said again. Gently, he raised his lips to Ray's, tasting something so very, very sweet. Small nips pulled at the lips above his; it was a revelation that shook Ben to his soul. The taste was beyond him, so rich and earthy.

He moved toward Ray's mouth when Ray pulled back, but then he realized who and where he was and what he just did. "Oh," Ben said.

The small smile on Ray's lips now seemed shy. "'Oh' doesn't quite cover it, does it?" he murmured, laying his forehead against Ben's. Ben almost arched into the man whose body now nearly covered his when Ray ran his stubbled cheek across Ben's. Where his own face looked patchy when he didn't shave, Ray's looked rakish. And all too desirable.

"Ray?" He had to know.

"Fraser?" Ray pulled back to look at him, again with a depth that was startling.

"A lot - a great deal - " Blast, he was not finding the words, but he needed to plow on. "Much has changed in the last couple of days." Ray rested his weight on elbows at either side of Ben's head. The proximity was intoxicating. He pressed on. "I - I must say, that - " He stopped, unable to speak what was twisting on his tongue, what his heart felt.

Ray stared at him a few minutes. Long minutes filled with a huge silence. Ben swallowed, but could go no where: Ray had effectively trapped him.

"I know, Fraser."

A frown creased his brow as he looked into Ray's expressive eyes. "You know?" A hint of tongue slid along his lower lip as the bristled head lowered. Ben caught his breath.

"I know, Fraser," he reiterated. "I know and me, too."

"You, too?" His brain must be affected. What was Ray saying? He pushed at Ray's shoulder with his left hand until he got his partner's attention.

The shy smile was becoming sure. "Me, too. I love you, too."

Out loud, it sounded beautiful after hearing the Ray in his head say it for so long: I love you, too. He closed his eyes to give a prayer of thanksgiving as he felt the sandpapered face once again brush his. Raising his hips in arousal, Ben gave a frustrated moan when he met with air.

"Fraser?" Opening his eyes, he saw Ray's question.

"Could you, would you -"

"In a house?"

Ben didn't get that and frowned. "We're in an apartment."

"Seuss, Fraser."

"Ah," he said, bluffing that he understood. But, frankly, he didn't.

"Could I, would I what, Fraser?" Ray finally prompted.

"Assist me in, um, taking a nap." Ben was certain his color was quite high. He was hoping that Ray would not think him too forward, but he needed this closeness.

"Sure thing, Fraser, buddy." Ray enthusiastically crawled over Ben onto the right side of the bed. Not wasting a minute, Ray dragged him into his embrace, stopping only when Ben lay atop him.

"I'm not sure I can nap in this position," Ben said, holding himself up on his good arm.

Ray smiled like sunshine. "Give it a try and see what happens."

A frown marred his face. "Won't that be uncomfortable for you, Ray?"

Ben hoped he never got used to that smile, it was so radiant. "Yeah, Fraser, this is sooo uncomfortable." He spread his legs under Ben to ease him further into his embrace. Ray pulled the tail of Ben's shirt from his pants, letting his strong fingers stroke his back. "Put your head down," he whispered, and Ben complied.

Ray propped himself with both pillows, legs spread and slightly bent at the knee to cradle Ben within his arms, his head on Ray's chest. The lazy circles he drew at the base of his spine went far to relax Ben utterly.

Raising his head, Ben looked at the dark beyond the window. There was a light beyond the bedroom door, but very little of it penetrated the sanctuary of Ray's room. He must have slept for hours. He tried to push himself off of Ray, but was held fast. "Where you going?"

"I expect you're tired of the-" How long had he lain there?

"Nope." The hand on his back continued its circles, soothing, relaxing. Ben lay down again, nuzzling the collar bone through Ray's tee shirt.

He sighed. "Surely," he began again.

"Nope, never. This is where I want you." He paused to push Ben's face up to look him in the eye. "This is where you belong."

He was serious. Achingly serious.

"Not just until you get better 'cause they say you ain't getting better." Again, he paused, like it was important to get this right. Ben remained silent, though he wanted nothing more than to interrupt. "The thing is, it doesn't matter. I'm here no matter what."

"Ray," Ben said, also wanting to get this right, "you do realize that I may never be able to liaise with you again. In effect, our partnership may be terminated."

"Dunno, Benton, buddy. There are liaisons and there are partnerships. You might not ever liaise with me again, but you're always gonna be my partner."

It was silly, but Ben felt the hopeful part of his heart open and expand, like light was setting it free. He blinked before cracking his neck to clear his head. Looking down into Ray's eyes, he watched the brilliant smile break in them before it leached out to infect his whole face. Ben knew he was smiling back, his own face a reflection of Ray.

"Love you, Fraser. For real."

"And I, you."

For real.

The end.

Like it? Hate it? Tell me at bjcochran@epix.net.

End Losing Feeling by BJCochran: bjcochran@epix.net

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