Author's website: http://www.geocities.com/unhingedds/

Disclaimer: Still not mine. Just see if I write the fat man in the red suit any more letters telling him what I want for Christmas.

Author's Notes: This was originally done for the First DS Lyrics Wheel Challenge. It's since been rather extensively rewritten. Many thanks to Sylvie from the Serge list for making me believe I could do it.

Story Notes: This story deals with adultery in a long-term committed relationship. If that bothers you, go no further.

Seeing with the Heart
By MR

I scarcely know where to start; how to write about this thing I have put between Ray and myself. Even thinking about it makes my eyes sting in a manner that has, of late, become only too familiar.

Which is, of course, precisely why I must tell the story. Until I do, until I have put everything down on paper and looked at it objectively, we will never be able to put it behind us. It will continue to haunt our lives and will, in the end, be the ruination of 12 years together.

So I will try to write it plainly, as plainly as one can write of such an incident. Even now, under the full weight of the enormity of what I have done, it's almost as though I'm preparing to write about something that happened to someone else. Some anonymous stranger, perhaps. Certainly not Benton Fraser.

I am distracted from my journal by a movement outside, a truck rumbling past in the rain, slashing water as high as the window of my office. It has been raining constantly here the last week. If I were Greek, I would believe the skies were weeping for me.

A month ago I, Benton Fraser, late of the RCMP, then Inspector of the 4th District Office in Kellekik, was unfaithful to my lover and spouse Ray Kowalski. How I was unfaithful will shortly be recorded. But first let me tell you something of Ray and my's life these last 12 years.

We became lovers shortly after undertaking the quest for the Hand of Franklin. To say I was surprised when Ray suggested the adventure would be putting it mildly. In light of everything that had happened up to that point, Muldoon's arrest and trial, the discovery my father had lied to me about how my mother died, to say nothing of Ray Vecchio and Stella Kowalski's decision to get married, I wasn't entirely sure, when Ray said we should go looking for Franklin's hand, that he had not, to use a favorite word, become a bit unhinged.

But he was serious. Despite what we'd gone through tracking Muldoon and the Sons of the Patriots, despite the ice crevasses and the cold and the snow, Ray was willing to go back into the frozen tundra to look for something that was, most likely, a myth. I had assumed he'd want to return to Chicago but he seemed in no hurry to do so, and I will admit that with Muldoon behind bars and my own quest for justice now finished, the idea held a certain appeal.

And so we gathered our supplies and our sled dogs, suited up, and went off in search of Franklin's Hand. As Ray would say, the fact that we never found it is entirely unmaterial, because we found something far better and more permanent. Each other. That I was astonished to discover he loved and longed for me as much as I did for him was matched only by my astonishment that he'd known how I felt all along.

"And why didn't you say something?" I asked him that night, as we lay together after lovemaking, his skin glistening in the firelight.

"Cause you had other things on your mind before," he answered. "Cause there was the thing with your Dad and having to bring Muldoon in. And cause," and he was suddenly shy, unable to meet my eyes, "I never figured someone as beautiful as you would want a damaged package a goods like me."

I must confess to crying at that point, as well as roundly cursing his parents, Stella and anyone else in the world who had ever made him feel unloved, unwanted and less than perfect. In retrospect it's actually rather amusing; me sobbing over his negative opinion of himself, him upset about upsetting me, hugging and shushing me as if I were a small child.

Six months later, just as the arctic winter was preparing to set in for real, we sledded back into Yellowknife so perfectly in tune with each other it was almost frightening. I've heard that couples married for any great length of time eventually reach a point where they can finish each other's sentences. Ray and I had only been lovers for half a year and we were already doing it.

And so he stayed. A quick trip back to the States to pick up his stuff, say goodbye to Lieutenant Welsh and the rest of the 27th, and explain to his parents that he was moving to the Great White North, and then he was back, looking for new ways to occupy his time even as I was looking at the possibility of finding another posting.

We were married in tribal ceremony shortly thereafter. I wanted to make sure that our relationship was legalized in the event something happened to me. He found the idea of two men getting married somewhat amusing, but agreed to it. Two weeks later, after a honeymoon spent rebuilding my father's cabin, I received my posting to Inukvik and our life together began.

And it was a good life. Ray, ever inquisitive about all things mechanical, was taken under the wing of William Whitecellar, who owned what passed for the local airstrip. Within three months he had his provisional pilot's license and was flying with William on drops to the outlying settlements. Ray being Ray, it was a natural progression that he learn how to repair airplane engines, which extended to snowmobile engines, motorcycle engines, and snow blower engines. He seemed content in a way he'd never been in Chicago, and I wondered, sometimes, where he would've ended up if fate had not brought us together.

The posting came with a small house and given the demands of my job, Ray did most of the decorating. He had an amazing eye for color and symmetry, and if some of the items he furnished it with were a trifle odd (the Kit-Kat clock in the kitchen, with eyes that swiveled back and forth and a tail that moved in rhythm with the ticking, a neon green and black Lava lamp-a belated wedding gift from Turnbull-and, of course, the Holstein dishes), we were frankly too much in love to care. The locals took to him immediately and we were welcomed into the community as a couple, soon becoming part of it.

So the years passed. We moved several times, as my posting was changed and I began to work my way towards Inspector. Ray had an amazing ability to find something with which to occupy his time no matter where we went, and eventually he purchased a used Piper Cub, refurbished it, and went into business for himself. It worried me sometimes that he seemed perfectly happy to follow me from place to place, but he assured me he didn't miss Chicago that much. Except, of course, for the availability of really good pizza.

Separations were common; it wasn't unusual for my work to take me away from town for a week or longer, and Ray's flights often meant he was absent for several days in a row. Our love, however, remained unaffected; if anything, the occasional break from each other proved invigorating. I often wonder if this was because we came to love late in life, at the point where most people had already had children and become grandparents. Thankfully the honeymoon stage had rather run its course by then (a good thing, or I would've never gotten any work accomplished!) and we settled into a comfortable pattern of work and our life together.

I almost blush to say it, but the sex actually improved over time. Ray was a joyous and inventive lover; if we hadn't tried something it was only because he hadn't thought of it yet, and I was surprised to discover I also had a creative side. Ray's love freed something in me I now know was there all along, but which I could never give free rein to before for fear of what society might think. Life with Ray had the effect of roughing my edges; while I still cared about my appearance and doing my job well, I gave far less thought to how others viewed me.

I believe I can honestly say that, until this latest incident, the worst we faced during those first 12 years was Diefbaker's death. He died quietly in his sleep at the rather advanced age of 20, and for a while not even Ray could console me. Dief had been a part of my life for so long, I honestly thought he'd live forever. Only in the year before his death had he slowed down, developing arthritis, which made walking painful. In all fairness I should've had him put down then, but I stubbornly refused to do so, and Ray supported me in my childishness.

The day we buried him was warm and sunny. Spring had come to the Territories, and it saddened me beyond measure to realize Dief would never again chase rabbits across the meadows, or leap into the air trying to catch butterflies. It was Ray who suggested we bury him at my father's cabin, going so far as to carve a plaque to put over his grave.

I was called away on business the next day; when I returned a week later it was to find that Ray had, in my absence, acquired two roly-poly pups, both of which bore a disturbing resemblance to Dief.

"They're Aggie's," he told me from where he sat on the floor, the pups bouncing around him yipping and tugging at his clothes. Aggie was a purebred Husky bitch that lived across the street. Apparently, Dief's arthritis hadn't prevented him from siring one final litter, and though I tried to resist the idea of adopting two of his progeny for all of an hour, it proved impossible.

They were brother and sister, and after some haggling Ray and I agreed to each name one. I chose the girl and decided to call her Inisqi; a slightly corrupted version of the Inuit word for "Huntress." Ray, after much thought, named the male Huey. "He does kinda look like'im," he told me, though I failed to see the resemblance myself. He also spoiled them shamelessly, even worse than he had Dief, but I couldn't find it in myself to argue with him about it. "You shouldn't' talk 'bout our kids that way, Frase," he'd say, fixing me with a disapproving eye whenever I suggested that perhaps powdered donuts were NOT a good item to include in a puppy's diet.

We'd been married 11 years when I was finally promoted to Inspector. Ray seemed to think those higher up had been hanging fire on the matter for much longer than they needed to, and he may've been right. Just because the Government legally recognized our relationship didn't mean everyone I dealt with in the RCMP particularly cared for the idea that one of their own was living in an openly homosexual union. Eventually, however, my record became such that they either had to promote me to Inspector or find a legitimate reason to let me go.

And so they sent us to Kellekik, a town that was, if not at the ends of the Earth, at least marginally closer than anywhere else we'd been. The state of the District Office there was appalling; my predecessor had been an active alcoholic, and the men had no sense of discipline, decorum, or much of anything else. My reputation had preceded me, as had the news about my life-mate being a man. Neither was greeted with great acclaim. Ray likened the situation to a new Marshal being brought in to clean up the lawless western town after the gangs had run it for years, and he wasn't far off.

"But there's gotta be some good people there, Frase," Ray said to me the night before we left. "Good people that're scared to walk the streets at night cause a the jerks. You're going there to make a difference fer them, okay? Not for the greater glory a the RCMP, but cause you're Benton Fraser and it's what you do." It reminded me very much of my speech to him in the crypt the day of the eclipse; that we did what we did so decent law-abiding people could safely tuck their children into bed at night.

I suppose it's appropriate that Kellekik proved to be my downfall. I have vague memories as a boy of hearing my grandfather talk about the lawlessness common to the Territories in the early days of the RCMP, but I can honestly say that up until that point, the worst I'd had to deal with was illegal trapping. The days of chasing Holloway Muldoon across Canada were a memory. I had, to use one of my father's favorite expressions, gone soft.

Our first evening in town, having agreed to spend the night in the office due to the unlivable condition of the ex-Inspector's house, someone threw bricks through both front windows. I imagine they would've attempted further mayhem had it not been for Inisqi and Huey, who were five years old and as territorial and protective as their father had been.

"Benton buddy," Ray said to me around 2 a.m., when the sound of the locals whooping it up in the streets was still at a volume far past anything civilized, "I think we've been black-balled."

Trying to maintain order in Kellekik was like Sisyphus rolling the boulder up the hill; for every step forward I made, I was pushed back three. As Inspector my first job was to send all three Constables posted back to the home office to face charges of dereliction of duty (among other things). I was saved from making any more immediate decisions when someone decided to burn down the Inspector's house our second night there. Thankfully, Ray and I had chosen to leave everything but the absolute essentials in storage; the question of whether to remain in the office or try to clean up the house enough to make it livable was removed from our hands. Within a fortnight I was beginning to wonder if Ray had been wrong about the good people; from what I could see, Kellekik was populated entirely by miscreants of the highest order.

For the first time since Muldoon's trial, I began to doubt my commitment to the RCMP. I had given them the best years of my life, having entered the Academy as soon as I graduated high school. I was no longer a young man, though 51 isn't truly old by 21st century standards. Still, I had been involved in law enforcement for close to 30 years at that point. Looking back, I could see that there had never been a time I hadn't wanted to belong to the RCMP, but had it really been my choice? All I had to model myself after was my father, and while he was a dedicated and committed member of the Corp, he was also an absent and neglectful parent. I never truly got to know him until after he was dead.

And for the first time in 12 years, Ray and my's relationship began to falter. He tried, I see that very clearly now, but as he has pointed out on more than one occasion I can be incredibly stubborn when I want to. By choosing to let things eat away at me, shrugging off Ray's efforts to talk it out or help me in any way, I was, I now realize, leaving myself open to temptation.

Temptation arrived on one of the coldest days we'd had since moving back to the Territories, in the personage of a still wet-behind-the-ears Academy graduate named Arlan Hochstetter. The first of what would eventually be three men sent by the home office to replace the ones sacked, he arrived full of life and enthusiasm and so well versed on my career I wonder if he hadn't planned on gaining access to me while still in school. While it's not uncommon for graduates to idolize older Constables and Inspectors, Arlan's feelings towards me went far beyond any hero-worship I'd ever encountered.

I ask myself at this point: Was I being deliberately nave? Ray took a dislike to Arlan the minute he saw him; why didn't I pay attention to that? Ray has always had this uncanny ability to tell when people had ulterior motives, and I'd always listened to him before when he warned me someone might have their own best interests in mind. By ignoring him was I acknowledging I knew what Arlan wanted and simply believed myself above it?

This is the point where it gets confusing, though I can see now that what I was trying to do was walk a tightrope between what I had and what I thought I wanted. I still loved Ray, loved him dearly, but after 12 years with a person some of the shine wears off. You become so comfortable it takes you a while to realize things aren't going as well as they were.

Thus it was that I sat in my office one day a month after Arlan arrived and realized I hadn't seen Ray, except at bedtime, for nearly three weeks. He'd been putting in double and triple overtime flying; when he was home, Arlan was always underfoot (the boy was supposed to be rooming with some friends in town, though you'd have never known it, since he arrived well before daylight and often didn't leave until I pushed him out the door and locked it). At night we were both too tired to do more than mumble goodnight. I was exhausted from the task of trying to bring civilization to the uncivilized. Ray, I would later realize, was exhausted from the strain of trying to refrain from kicking Arlan in the head.

In retrospect, I wish I'd let him. It would've saved everyone involved a great deal of heartache.

You can only tempt fate so long. God knows why I thought I'd be exempt from it. And at the end of one of my more trying days, when I returned to the office to find that Ray had left to fly some medical supplies to Anavik, it seemed only natural that Arlan would be there, hanging on my every word, gazing at me in adoration, and steadily moving closer.

One minute he and I were standing close enough to breath each other's breath, and I could see what he wanted clearly in his brown eyes. I was flattered, bemused and a trifle worried. This vanished abruptly the minute he leaned forward and kissed me.

I remember kissing him back, both of us frantically trying to undo each other's uniform, heat and slick, wet, warmth, but none of it registered as being real. To this day I can see what we did together only too clearly, and I know that the man on his knees is me, but I can only catch it out of the corner of my eye. If I try to look at it directly, it yellows and fades and begins to burn like film caught in front of a projector lens for too long.

My next conscious realization was of waking up on the floor tangled up in my bunk roll with Arlan half on top of me to the sound of the key turning in the lock, and meeting Ray's eyes as he opened the door. For a long moment we simply gazed at each other in shock, then I opened my mouth to say...What? Hello, Ray, how was your flight and by the way, this isn't what it looks like? Arlan chose that exact moment to open his eyes and look at Ray too, then close them and burrow against me, a small smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

I knew what I was seeing in those blue eyes only too well. I'd seen it long ago in Chicago, when Ray and I had been stuck body-guarding Orsini. It had been there when he'd watched them him and Stella dancing on the boat, and at the time I would've done almost anything to make it go away.

And it had been there in Yellowknife after the trial, when Ray Vecchio introduced everyone to the woman he was going to marry. It was the look of a man who'd been betrayed so many times he'd simply been counting the days until it happened again. Except this time I was the one who'd put it there.

"Ray!" I pushed Arlan off me and tried to scramble out of my sleeping bag, but I was moving too slowly. Arlan had a hold of my arm, and by the time I'd finally pushed him away the door was closed and Ray was gone. I managed to dress myself at least halfway decently and stumbled out into the street, but he was nowhere in sight.

I wandered back into the office feeling oddly hollow. Arlan was trying to talk to me; he kept touching me, putting his hand on my arm, saying things about love and how I didn't need Ray. "Nobody ever knew what you saw in the Yank to begin with, Benton," he said.

I rounded on him furiously; he had the good sense to let go and step back. "What did you say?"

He shrugged, but he'd no longer meet my eyes. "Nothing," he mumbled.

"Speak up, Arlan. Who is 'nobody'?"

Now he looked at me, angry at what I suppose he saw as betrayal. "Everyone. Everyone at the RCMP office, with the possible exception of that old idiot Frobisher and Inspector Turnbull. You're a legend in the RCMP, Benton, or at least you could be. An even bigger legend than your father. But not so long as you've got that skinny foul-mouthed Yank following after you like a lost pup."

There have only been three times in my life that I've honestly thought of killing someone. The first was Gerard. The second was Muldoon in the mineshaft. Arlan was the third. Only the knowledge that he was still just a boy kept me from doing him serious harm.

"Get out," I said tightly, picking his clothes up off the floor and handing them to him. I had no clear idea of what I was going to do; all I knew was that I had to find Ray. I had to find him and make him understand that I'd been weak. I had to find him before both of us did something even stupider. "Once you are decently dressed, go back to Wittier's and pack your bags. I want you out of Kellekik before sundown."

"You won't get away with it," he said, struggling to lace his boots. "Do you really think I won't tell everyone what happened between us?"

"What I think is that I don't care if you do," I answered. Methodically, I began to gather supplies. "You are hereby relieved of duty. When you get back to Whitehorse tell Inspector Donnalson that Inspector Fraser has relieved himself of duty as well."

"What?" Clearly, Arlan had been expecting a fight, or at least some form of capitulation. "You can't just walk off and leave the post unmanned. They'll court martial you!"

"They have to find me first," I replied. I finished tying my bedroll on top of my pack, and made one last check of the room. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have someone I have to find. Inisqi! Huey!" The two of them came bounding out of the back room; they had exiled themselves from the front office some time during the night. They, it seemed, had more loyalty to Ray than me.

The last I saw of Arlan Hochstetter he was standing in the open doorway of the office only half-dressed. "You won't get away with this!" He yelled at my retreating form, but it no longer held any real conviction. Simply the pathetic whining of a small boy trying to get someone's attention.

It took me two days to track Ray. Thankfully, he hadn't been thinking clearly when he'd left; my relief on finding his plane was still housed in the shed on the outskirts of town made me dizzy. If he'd chosen to fly he would've surely shaken me. On foot I stood a good chance of finding him, especially with Huey on the trail. Huey's love of Ray bordered on the ridiculous at times, but now I was very grateful for it.

I hadn't, it soon became obvious, gone as soft as I'd believed; clear proof that the whole business with Kellekik had grievously affected my mental state. Ray and I still hiked and camped whenever we had time off. Ray had, over time, become quite proficient at wilderness survival. A far cry from our pursuit of Muldoon, when there were days I despaired of ever returning him to civilization alive.

So Inisqi and Huey followed his trail, and I followed them; half afraid I wouldn't find him, half afraid of what I was going to say when I did. What could I do, except throw myself at his mercy and beg forgiveness? I had betrayed him, and for what? A spoiled brat who had no interest in me beyond furthering his own career? I was old enough to be his father. That thought alone was sufficient to make me ill.

Night was falling on the third day after we'd left Kellekik when Huey took off at a dead run barking joyously. That he ended up leading me to a small bar in an even smaller town with the somewhat incongruous name of Still Meadows shouldn't have surprised me.

That morning I'd changed from my uniform into jeans and a flannel shirt. I'd left the uniform, including my boots and all my insignias, buried in a snowdrift next to where we'd camped for the night. So when I stepped into Lucky's Bar & Grill that night, I drew no more than a cursory glance from the other patrons. The Territories are full of men and women who drift from town to town, finding work where they can.

Ray was at the very back of the room, in one of the few booths available. An empty bottle of Stolya sat on the table in front of him, with a half-full bottle next to it. His blue eyes had the unfocused look of a man who'd managed to drown his pain for the time being. When Huey came bounding up and crawled onto the seat next to him it took him a moment to shift his attention, then his face lit up. "Huey!" He crowed delightedly, ruffling the dog's fur, seemingly not aware that Huey was trying to get onto his lap.

"Ray." I said his name softly. Again, it took his brain a moment to process the information, and then he looked up at me, blue eyes as cold as the sky outside.

"What the hell are you doing here?" It had been a while since I'd seen Ray truly drunk; I'd forgotten he tended to turn nasty under the influence. "Jesus fuck Ben, I can't believe you'd have the balls to come after me. Arlan decide you were too old for'im?"

"No." I said quietly, realizing that what I was receiving was no more than I deserved. "Ray...what you saw..."

"Don't tell me what I saw, Benton buddy. I know what I saw. And what I saw was you and the little RCMP clone sleeping off the sex. You think I'm stupid?"

"Never, Ray." I kept my voice low, knowing that to answer him tone for tone would only make matters worse. "I do not think you're stupid. I've never believed you were stupid. You're probably one of the brightest men I know."

"Damn straight," he nodded, and his gaze drifted to somewhere over my right shoulder. "So where's the little rat bastard now? Waiting at the motel while you and the boyfriend break up?"

"He's gone, Ray."

Clearly this was not what he'd been expecting to hear. His eyes became more focused, and he shook his head sharply and groaned. "Shit! I should know better than to drink Vodka on an empty stomach. Whatta you mean he's gone?"

"I mean he's gone. After your departure, he and I had words. I believe, though I have no concrete proof, that a certain faction of the RCMP sent me to Kellekik to keep me from embarrassing them further."

"Embarrassing them?"

"By being married to you. Arlan let slip a few remarks to the effect that the higher-ups were upset by the fact I'd chosen to marry an American."

He frowned. "You mean they been holding you back cause you married me?" I nodded. "I told you they were hanging fire on ya, Benton."

"And you were correct. You're almost always correct, Ray. But sometimes, sometimes I'm just not paying attention to you."

"Oh." He was totally focused on me now. "You're not wearing your uniform."

"That is correct as well."

"S'where is it?"

"Buried in a snowdrift about 50 kilometers outside of town."

I wasn't sure what I'd expected. Laughter perhaps. Lord knows I deserved it. Instead, a look of profound sadness came across Ray's face. "You buried your uniform in a snowdrift?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I realized that it no longer means anything to me. I've given the RCMP nearly 30 years of my life Ray, and they repaid me by posting me in a hellhole that would require a contingent of U.S. Marines to keep order. All because I chose to love you."

I saw his lips move, ghosting the words 'love you' to himself. "What about Arlan?"

"Arlan was a mistake. What you saw was the first and only time anything sexual occurred. Truth to tell, I can't even remember what we did clearly. I only know that it was incredibly wrong. You have never given me any reason to stray; you've stood beside me through 12 long years. I can't even really blame Arlan. I'm a senior officer. Stopping it was my responsibility."

Ray snorted. "Don't whip yourself too bad 'bout it, Ben. He was making goo-goo eyes at you the minute he stepped in the front door."

"Yes, and you saw that. You saw it and you tried to tell me, but I allowed myself to become so, " I struggled for the word, "obsessed with how badly things were going I quit listening to you. I quit touching you. I cut myself off from you when I needed you the most. And I don't even know why."

A burst of noise from the bar attracted his attention; three men who, apparently, had some issues with each other. The barkeep told them to take it outside.

Ray looked at me. "What now?"

"I want you to give me another chance. I know I've hurt you as deeply as Stella did, and if you truly can't forgive me then I..."

A finger pressed itself to my lips and I looked into Ray's eyes. He was leaning across the table. "'First of all, I don't ever wanna hear you comparing yourself to the Stella. Cause you are so much better'n her, Ben. Even when you're doing something stupid like fuckin' Arlan Hochstetter."

"I don't know that we actually fucked, Ray. As I told you, I can't remember precisely what happened..."

"Did I ask to be interrupted?" I shook my head. "It's a good thing you can't remember cause I don't wanna know what you and him did. Matter a fact we're making a new rule right here. You wanna get back together with me, you will never ever mention his name again. Got that?" I nodded.

He leaned back. "If it was anyone but you I'd kick ya in the head. But I can't hurt you, Ben. I've never been able to hurt you."

"I know." An idea was forming in my head, though whether it was workable was another matter. "This will be done entirely on your terms, Ray. But might I make a suggestion?"

"Long as it isn't a stupid one."

I reached across the table and took his hands in mine. "What would you say to starting all over again?"

And that is how we came to be here. Here being Yellowknife. We arrived via a somewhat circuitous route last week. The first thing I did upon our return was go see Turnbull and tell him what happened. I left nothing out, spared myself no blame, and he thanked me for my honesty.

Arlan, of course, had done exactly what I expected; run home and tattled. What I hadn't expected was how few of the higher ups paid any heed to him. From what I understand he's currently posted somewhere near the Arctic Circle.

"With a little luck, "Ray said after I told him the news, "he'll freeze it off and save everyone a lotta bother."

While the Powers that Be weren't thrilled at what took place in Kellekik, it did become clear that certain people had an active agenda against me. A formal review was called for, and for a precarious fortnight Ray and I dealt with the very real possibility that I could be court marshaled. In the end, however, it was determined that any complaints against me were made on strictly a personal bias (disapproval of my lifestyle) and were, therefore, in violation of the laws and statutes of the RCMP. I was offered a chance to be reposted anywhere I wanted or, alternatively, to retire honorably with full benefits. I think you can figure out what choice I made.

Tomorrow Ray and I will set off for my father's cabin. While things between us are still not perfect, they are getting better. We will, for better or worse, have to live with my mistake. But Ray is willing to forgive (if not forget), and for that alone I am exceedingly grateful.

And so I come to the end of my story, or at least the end of this story. I imagine there will be others to write in the future. Life with Ray will, I believe, remain eventful. And some day when we're old and gray, or at least older and grayer than we are now, we'll be able to look back on this and, perhaps, smile.

"Ben?"

Benton Fraser jumped as Ray's arms encircled him from behind. He was still amazed, after all their years together, that Ray could sneak up on him like he did. "Ray, what are you doing out of bed? It's," he checked his pocket watch, "2 a.m. I didn't wake you, did I?"

"Kinda," Ray said softly, rubbing his cheek against the top of Ben's head. "Woke up and you were gone. So I came looking for ya cause I'm getting kinda cold. Whatcha doing?"

"Just writing in my journal." He closed the book and half turned. "Ray?"

"Yeah, Ben?"

"You're...naked."

"Whoosh!" Ray made a gesture with his hand. "Nothin' gets past you does it, Benton buddy? So. You gonna join me here? Or do I need to go cuddle up to Huey?"

FIN

End Seeing with the Heart by MR: psykaos42@yahoo.com

Author and story notes above.