Disclaimer: Not mine.

Author's Notes: Beta by Lynnmonster.

1. Lie of Denial: Deliberately giving false information

When Benton was nine, his grandparents moved for the fourth time since he had come to live with them. They waited until he finished the year at school, but the very next day the Jeep was packed and the trailer hitched up. Benton looked back at the town out of the rear window of the car until it was just a dark dot on the horizon.

He turned back around in his seat with a little sigh.

"Sad about leaving, son?" asked his grandfather. His faded blue eyes met Bentons in the rear-view mirror.

He opened his mouth to answer, but his grandmother broke in briskly: "Of course hes not, George," she said "Why would he be sad to leave?"

Benton looked away from his grandfathers eyes, out at the featureless landscape of the tundra. Because I almost had friends there, he thought, remembering Jason asking him if he would be at the park to play today. Because I liked going to school with other kids. He was going back to home schooling next year, he knew.

"He likes travelling with us," his grandmother was saying, in that same no-nonsense tone. "Its a wonderful way to grow up. Isnt it, Benton?"

Benton looked back, meeting his grandfathers eyes in the rear-view mirror again.

"Benton?" His grandmother turned a little in her seat to look back at him.

"Yes," he said finally. His grandmother nodded her head at him, and turned back to face the road. In the mirror, his grandfathers eyes were kind, and relieved.

The road stretched and curved ahead, and they rode along in silence for a time. When his grandfather raised his voice in song, a long lament, Benton sang the descant part in the chorus almost without thinking.

2. Lie of Omission: Deliberately omitting pertinent information

He loved to skate, especially when the ice was crisp beneath his skates like tonight. He and Mark circled, chasing and being chased, warming up before they picked up their hockey sticks.

"Mary Jane told me that her cousin likes you." Mark called over to him as they skated.

"Mary Janes cousin?" Benton asked, confused "Is she in our class?"

Mark barked a laugh. "No, stupid. Shes in tenth grade."

Benton frowned, came to a stop, and reversed direction. On the other side of the wide circle they were cutting in the ice, Mark did the same. "I dont think I know Mary Janes cousin."

"Shes the girl with the big" Mark broke off, his hands moving to his chest to define breasts of improbable size. "She really likes you."

Benton concentrated on the placement of his skates, on the tightness of his turn. "I see."

Mark stopped suddenly, kicking up a cloud of snow. "Well? Do you like her?"

"Im sure shes very nice." Benton skated to a stop by Mark.

"No, I mean, do you like her?" Mark rolled his eyes at Benton.

"I dont know her." Benton replied, half-exasperated, "How can I say if I like her?"

Mark rolled his eyes. "Do you like her?" he asked again, stretching out the vowel a ridiculously long time. "You must like somebody. Cmon, tell." He reached out and grabbed Benton, tugging on his jersey, trying to put him into a headlock. They wrestled for a minute or two, Mark laughing as he repeated breathlessly, "Tell me!"

Benton pulled away finally, and kicked off, skating away from his friend. You, he thought, silently, I like you. But he said nothing out loud except, "Do you want to ask me dumb questions all night, or are we going to play hockey?"

Marks eyes lit up, and he raced across the ice to pick up their hockey sticks and a puck. He threw Bentons stick over to him, grinning fiercely. "Were going to play hockey."

Benton smiled back, placed his hands deliberately on his hockey stick and said "Well, all right then."

3. Lie of Exaggeration: Deliberately making something seem more important than it is

He wore his nationality like a shield. It seemed to excuse nearly every eccentricity, from talking to thin air, to conversing with his deaf wolf. His Chicago acquaintances, confronted with some evidence of his oddity, would just roll their eyes and say "Canadian", as if that explained everything. Hed expected the worst, inured by a lifetime as an outsider, but here his differences met with nothing but a curious kind of acceptance, good-humoured and sometimes warm-hearted. By not being one of the crowd, paradoxically, he was closer to being one of the crowd than he had ever been before.

If he sometimes deliberately strengthened his accent, or feigned a little more incomprehension of local slang than he really felt, or wore his dress uniform a little more often than strictly necessary, well, only he knew that for certain.

4. Lie of Minimization: Deliberately making something seem less important than it is

When they were done, after they had revived a little, she leaned over his back, tracing the marks her long, sharp nails had left on his skin. He shivered a little at her touch.

"Do they hurt?" she asked, trailing a finger over one of the deeper scratches.

He thought back to their heated, desperate coupling, to the moment when she had dug her fingers into his skin, the sudden burst of pain that had driven him to completion. It had hurt, it hurt still, the gouges raw and sore along his shoulders and back, but the pain made it real. So he rolled over, and smiled up at her, and said, "A little. No, its fine."

For a moment, her face reflected some emotion he could not identify, but she acquiesced readily enough to his kiss, and soon he was murmuring her name, over and over, into her fragrant hair. "Victoria Victoria."

Later, lying drugged in a hospital bed, he dreamily identified that momentary expression as disappointment.

5. Lie of Fabrication: Deliberately inventing information in order to mislead

He pulled away from the kiss when the other man made a tiny questioning sound deep in his throat. It was hard, so hard, to step away from the warm body that had been pressed to his, to untangle his fingers from the blond hair, but he did it.

Ray was still breathing quickly. "What the hell was that, Fraser?" he asked, his voice rising and cracking on the last word.

Benton looked away quickly, groping for an answer. A kiss, he thought. Love. But he couldnt say that.

"Well, Ray," he began, finally, his voice unexpectedly hoarse. "The Pottogoaq tribe, whose ancestral lands we are travelling over now, traditionally greet one another in that fashion. I um I wanted to help you become accustomed to the manner of their greeting so that you wouldnt inadvertently cause offence if we were to encounter them." He risked a glance over at Ray, to see how his audience was responding. Not well, if Rays crossed arms and raised eyebrows were to be trusted. He plunged on. "The Pottogoaq believe that a touch of lips allows the participants to share souls, and anyone refusing to er comply with tradition would be, Im afraid, considered deeply suspicious. Its actually a very interesting"

"Fraser." Ray broke in, his hand coming up to cover Bentons mouth. "What are you talking about?"

Benton remained silent behind the muffling hand. Ray was grinning, his expression cocky and amused.

"Youre such a liar." The hand over his mouth moved, the fingers moving to cup his jaw while Rays thumb brushed over his lips. "If you want to kiss me, you can." The thumb rubbed over Bentons lips again. "Do you want to?"

Benton nodded his head, and closed his eyes a moment later as warm, slightly chapped lips pressed to his. When Ray next spoke, his words were murmured against the side of Bentons neck, "Is there really a Putta-whatsit tribe?"

Benton drew in a sharp breath of air. "No, Ray, Im afraid they were a total fabrication."

Rays chuckle buzzed against his skin. "Youre such a liar," he said again, before raising his head to look Benton in the eye.

Benton managed to murmur only a few words more before the lips were on his again, and he forgot about lies, and truth, and anything, in fact, other than the press of hands and lips against his body. "Yes," he said, his breath teasing at the corner of Ray's mouth, "Yes, I am."