Disclaimer: Not mine, not ever. No money made either, it's all for fun.

Author's Notes: What can I say? Too much BSG . apparently.

Nightmare Sam80853

Ray wakes up screaming, his hands frantically searching for the stab wound in his stomach. A wound that isn't there but which still hurts like fucking hell.

He can feel the sharp cold blade cutting his skin, his flesh, feels it going through, killing him.

"Fuck," Ray groans and sits up, his breath coming heavily and unsteadily, hands shaking.

Third time in a row Ray had that particular dream, waking up screaming with the blanket tangled around his legs, his body covered in sweat.

"Fuck," he swears again, laying back down, hands covering his eyes.

It all starts rather pleasantly like something you always like to dream about: Ray is at work, a bundle of file cases in his hands - alright, that actually is not the good part because file folders mean crimes to solve and reports to write which Ray rather tries to avoid but he is just coming down the steps and there is Fraser - most of the times he's dressed in his red uniform, hat on. But tonight he's in casual clothes (jeans and flannel shirt), hat in hand, Fraser would never be out without his hat, on or not - and looking up at him.

Ray's heart starts beating faster, it always does. This actually is the good part - the great one is coming right up. Before it really gets bad that is.

So, Ray is smiling down at Fraser, and Fraser is smiling right back at him, his eyes shining brightly and a thought is forming in Ray's mind.

Suddenly there are no file cases anymore, Ray doesn't know where they're gone, it isn't really important right now anyway. Important is he has his hands free and he slowly walks down the steps, closing in on Fraser, never breaking eye contact.

Ray's blood is pumping through his veins, he can hear it in his ears but he doesn't let himself get distracted because he's standing in front of Fraser now, his hands reaching out, touching Fraser's face, his cheeks, reaching around Fraser's neck to pull him close. `Close' as in their mouths are just an inch apart, their hot breathes gushing over their faces, and Ray can't believe that he's doing this, kissing Fraser.

But he does, his lips hot and soft on Fraser's, moving carefully, and Ray happily smiles against Fraser's mouth.

"Hi," he whispers before he kisses Fraser again. This time less carefully, his tongue slipping out, licking Fraser's bottom lip until Fraser opens up to him, letting him in.

Greatness.

Ray's hands are buried deep in Fraser's hair, his tongue in Fraser's mouth, he actually is surrounded by Fraser, his warmth, his smell and taste but ... something is missing.

As much as Ray holds onto Fraser, Fraser isn't touching him at all, except his mouth and Ray is about to wonder where Fraser's hands are when a sudden pain runs through his body, making him freeze right up, his eyes looking into Fraser's for reassurance, for anything that explains what had just happened.

But Fraser's eyes are ice-blue, unforgiving and Ray stumbles back, his eyes fixed on the blood-covered knife in Fraser's hands now.

Ray's blood is dripping down on the floor from his wound, from Fraser's knife.

Fraser had killed him.

He falls then, his eyes pleading for Fraser's help but Fraser just cleans the knife with a white handkerchief he pulls out of his pockets before he turns on his heels, leaving Ray on the floor to die, never saying a word.

The End

~::~::~::

,,You got a knife, Fraser?"

,,Of course, Ray."

,,So, it's like standard equipment for a Mountie or something?"

"Yes, Ray."

"You ... you ever hurt anybody with that knife?"

"Not on purpose, Ray or without a good reason."

"What do you call a `good reason', Frase?"

"If I were to defend someone's life, or my own, Ray. I once had to use it in a rather uncommonly fashion when I ..."

"I got it."

"What inspired you sudden interest in RCMP weaponry, Ray?"

"Weaponry."

"Certainly, Ray. A knife is a highly deadly weapon if used properly."

"Deadly."

"Ray?"

...

"Ray!"

...

"RAY!"

"Would you ever hurt me with that knife?"

"Of course not, Ray! What makes you think ..."

"Even if I did something really ... let's say ... alright ... what about when I kiss you, would you kill me then?"

"Did you just say you are going to kiss me, Ray?"

"That's not the point, Fraser!"

"It is not?"

"No! The point is if you were going to kill me with that knife."

"That's just silly, Ray. In fact it would be rather dense of me to kill you then."

"Really?"

"Yes, Ray."

"So, I can? Kiss you, I mean."

"Certainly, Ray."

"Alright ..."

"Ray?"

...

"Ray!"

...

"RAY!"

"Would you put away the knife first, Frase?"

"Ray!"

"Please?"

"Alright ... hmpf ..."