Disclaimer: Kowalski, Fraser and all things due South belong to people with a lot more money and more lawyers than me, please don’t sue it won’t get you anywhere. However, I’d like to put in a plea for Kowalski if you ever get bored of him *bg*

Rating: R? Bad language and m/m relationship (no sex, sorry!) so I guess R is right, yeah?

Pairing: Fraser/Kowalski (I’ve been told that’s a good choice *L*)

Author's Notes: This is a companion piece to Don’t Plan To Cry, told from Frase’s POV this time, I just hope I got him right (he’s harder to get than Ray). Going with the theme of naming the stories with lyrics from songs on the Two Houses album (it’s still on repeat) this is called Breath Of Forgiveness.
Many, many, many thankyou kindlies to all those who mailed me with get well soon wishes, positive feedback and encouragement - this is for you. I’d also like to thank Paul Gross and Callum Keith Rennie for their portrayals of Fraser and Ray, without you the world would be a darker place. Although I’m willing to bet this kinda thing wasn’t the reaction you were expecting *w*

I know you’re supposed to wait a decent amount of time before posting a companion or sequel, but they wouldn’t stop buggin’ me and it’s a little difficult to concentrate on Broadcasting Theories when they won’t leave you alone in lectures ... is nowhere sacred?! Besides you know what they say about fanfiction; it's a harder habit to kick than cocaine *w*
Once again this wasn't betaed so any mistakes are mine.

All comments, advice (on the story, not my mental health) and flames to wylt@hotmail.com, I need feedback like Kowalski needs Frase, gimme!

Breath Of Forgiveness (c) Wylt, October 1999.

He leant his head back against the pillow of the small cot in the corner of his office, sighing deeply. The pain inside his chest was eating away at him, destroying his strength and leaving only bitter worry and sadness in its wake.
His reason told him that Ray hadn’t meant the words, he was ill and as a result irritated, striking out, as Ray was wont to do, without thinking. But that didn’t help the pain he was feeling from being so forcibly ejected from his partner’s apartment. Ray had sworn at him, loudly and colourfully, yelling at the top of his lungs with his face so close he could have leaned forward the inch that separated them and pressed his lips to Ray’s, given in to the urge and tugged on that distracting lower lip until the Four Horsemen heralded the Apocalypse.
But he hadn’t. Instead he’d retreated behind his walls and left, hardened his heart against the hurt and walked out. Turned his back when Ray needed him, because the pain of being in his presence was too much. Because he was a coward.
The fear of rejection coloured his every waking moment. Not just Ray’s rejection of him if he discovered his feelings for him. But fear of rejection in general, of his touch, his presence, his manner. Everyone he had ever let get close to him had left him. His mother, his father ... intellectually he knew his mother had had no choice, but the child who’d been left behind was still inside him. The hurt was still there. The fact that his father had chosen to come back after his death was neither here nor there. And there were times when it felt like too little, too late, as the saying went. Not to mention the sheer irksomeness of his usually unhelpful advice. His father had abandoned him before, and now that he was dead there was nothing to stop him from doing it again.
Victoria, Ray Vecchio; they had both left him of their own free will. His lover and his brother. Only Ray had stayed with him, Ray and Diefenbaker. But there was only so much affection one could have for a wolf. So he tried to keep everyone at bay, carefully hiding behind his defences, his politeness, his aloofness. Except that Ray hadn’t played by the rules. He’d ignored and then kicked his way through all of his walls, demanding that he particpate in, respond to, the world around them. Except that, too, had backfired. Because it wasn’t the world, but Ray he responded to. Ray with his “experimental hair”, Ray with his quicksilver moods, Ray with his pale blue eyes that could appear to stare right into your soul that had made him feel like a real person and not a concept. He wasn’t the Perfect Mountie. He’d tried, but God knew he was only human. Victoria more than proved that point. As did the fact that he had fallen in love, once again, with the wrong person. He was like a moth to a flame when it came to love, it pulled at him with a call he could not deny. However, whereas Victoria had been dark, possibly even evil, had been a criminal, Ray was not. He was a hyperactive bundle of nervous energy that stormed through his life, with his small friendly touches and brilliant smile. The only reason Ray was the wrong choice was because he was a man, a very smart and achingly sexy man, but a man all the same. And for the homophobic environment they both worked in that was unacceptable. His choice was unacceptable. Particularly when the object of his affection was not only unaware of his feelings, but a divorcee who still loved his ex-wife and always would. He knew that Ray was no longer *in* love with Stella, but the fact that he *had* loved her, had married her, and still did love her spoke volumes of the kind of person he would fall for. And that didn’t include men.
He didn’t know when he’d fallen for the blonde Detective, when Ray had smashed his way through his defences and taken up residence inside his heart. He just knew that he did. He needed Ray, needed the constant challenges that the other man threw at him, needed that wonderfully compassionate heart that he hid behind the gruff exterior. Their relationship - working relationship, he quickly amended - was a confusing mixture of instinct and intellect that somehow managed to work. They were like two pieces of a puzzle, only when they were together was the whole picture visible ... complete. Ray completed him, and he hoped that Ray felt the same way about him, at least when it came to their work. It was too much to hope that he would return his love.
His eyes slowly focused on the ceiling above him, and he stifled a second sigh without conscious thought, wondering how Ray was feeling. Calmer, he hoped with a small smile. He himself was so rarely ill that he tended to forget how anxious and irritable it could make you. He should have expected that, should have expected that reaction from Ray and not stifled him. But, typically, he’d worried despite Ray’s assurances that he would be fine and kept on pushing at him to rest, to eat, to get well until the temperamental man had exploded. He couldn’t blame him really, he’d pushed too hard, let his fear for Ray get in the way of his rationalism. If he lost Ray ... he shook his head, refusing to dwell on if’s, might’s and maybe’s. Ray’s illness was not serious, there was no threat of death. The only way he could lose Ray was if he blundered, let his emotions get the better of him, and he was the master at hiding his feelings, he was up to the challenge.
Ray had been badly hurt by his break-up with Stella, his insecurities had resurfaced stronger and deeper. He wouldn’t be a part of the pain that shone in Ray’s eyes when he forgot to hide his feelings. So when he’d pushed Ray too far with his worry, he’d simply offered a silent plea for forgiveness and walked away. But that had been two days ago. Two days filled with anxiety, aching loneliness, and absent minded daydreaming that was starting to show itself in his work. Even Inspector Thatcher was beginning to notice something was wrong and had banished him to his office to rest and ‘get over it’.
He turned his head slightly, resting his gaze on the window and was startled to discover that dusk had started to fall, the city outside would still be a hive of activity, brightly lit by the yellow streetlights that obscured the stars. He missed the stars of the North. Missed the peace, the simplicity of his life there. But he knew he’d miss Ray more if he left.
It didn’t bother him, that the fact that he was in love with another man indicated that he was gay, or bisexual. That was a term, a label, used by other people for the most part. To him, it was simply love. There was so little of it in the world that he would take love wherever he could get it, whatever the package it came in, despite his complete lack of experience with same sex relationships, or even relationships in general. He knew that Ray loved him, in his own way, and for the moment that was enough. The privilege of being allowed to spend time with him, work with him was enough to quiet the longing in his soul. But he dreaded the day when it would no longer content him to play a small part in Ray’s life, because he wasn’t foolish enough to believe that day would never come. There was also the possibility that Ray would find someone else, a woman, and settle down with her. Remarry, have the children he had always wanted, and be happy. If *that* day ever came he knew he’d die. Maybe not physically, but the part of him that could love would shrivel up and fade away. He would leave, return to his frozen home - a man with a heart of ice, never to be warm again. It seemed fitting, all things considered.
He felt cold suddenly, wrapping his arms around his body in an attempt to warm himself, dispell the fear at losing Ray. But he was certain that would be the outcome if he revealed his true feelings. What did he have to offer? He couldn’t fulfill Ray’s dream of children. He couldn’t even offer him a relationship that was publicly acceptable, it would be a secretive and deceitful tryst that would be frowned upon by all their friends and family if they ever found out. There would be no touches whilst in public, no hugs, nothing to throw suspicion on them that anything untoward was happening. And he couldn’t ask that of Ray, wouldn’t ask that. Ray deserved something so much better than he could offer, than he could give. So he would bide his time until the day came that he could no longer keep quiet and then he would leave to mourn the shattered partnership that meant so much to him.
He stared out of the window, up at the clouds that glowed with the reflective light of the city, but his eyes saw only Ray. Vibrant Ray who’s deceptively slim body reverberated with life. He watched quietly as Ray turned, his angluar face lit up with his rare smile, and saw him watching. He held his breath as those pale blue eyes widened, as unbelievably the smile expanded to encompass him and a graceful hand rose, long fingers reaching. For him. He bit back a sob, the daydream was unobtainable and it was foolish of him to torture himself this way, but he couldn’t help it.
The desire to see Ray was suddenly overwhelming, as was his worry about his partners health. Rolling off the cot and to his feet in one graceful movement he unhooked his jacket from the back of his chair and shrugged into it. Dief lifted his head from his paws and looked up at him questionningly.
‘I’m just going to check on him. We won’t stay long. Besides you need a walk after all those potato chips you consumed this afternoon.’ Dief whined pathetically, and lay his head back down. ‘I know that it’s cold outside, but you’re an Arctic Wolf for God’s sake.’ When the wolf refused to move he let his head drop back, closing his eyes briefly in frustration. ‘Fine. I’m sure that Ray has some cookies in his apartment that I’m certain he wouldn’t mind sharing with you.’ The wolf bounded to his feet, his long tail waving enthusiastically and he bit back a sigh. It was a strange world when you had to bribe a wolf to do anything with junk food.

It was cold outside, the streets covered with a thin layer of snow and a treacherous frost. Above him the moon was battling with the fast moving clouds to show her face. The brisk air cheered him, and he could feel the skin on his face turning a healthy red. Dief trotted obediently by his side, occassionally racing ahead a few paces and then running back to join him in an effort to get him to walk faster. By the time he reached Ray’s apartment building the cold air was burning in his lungs, but he forgot about the slight discomfort when he caught sight of all the activity buzzing about outside. Fear rose to choke him as an ambulance pulled up, a paramedic jumping out to open the back doors for another man wearing the bright green jumpsuit of the emergency services. His first thought was that Ray’s illness had been worse than he’d realised, that his friend had collapsed and was now being rushed to hospital. That what they’d both thought to be flu had become pneumonia. And he’d left him. A keening wail started from somewhere inside of him before he managed to clamp down on it, and get his brain working. There were police cars parked outside, too many for a simple illness. Something else had happened. He stumbled forward a step as someone pushed past him, an automatic apology springing to his lips, and found himself reaching out, instead, to ask them what had happened. Suicide, someone had jumped off the roof. He managed to mutter a thankyou kindly as the irrational fear surged through him once more, even as he knew that it wouldn’t have been Ray. It couldn’t.
He pushed through the crowd to race up the stairs, his body shaking uncontrollably. He listened carefully when he reached the door to Ray’s home, but he couldn’t hear anything despite a dim light shining weakly under the door. He knocked, calling Ray’s name, but there was no answer and his fear became terror. He’d just begun banging against the wooden portal when, roused by the noise he was making, Ray’s landlady appeared. He explained about Ray’s illness, and she kindly disappeared to fetch the master key, letting him into Ray’s apartment. He failed to notice the understanding look she threw at him as he tore through all the rooms looking for his friend, and missed the small sigh of regret as he emerged from the bedroom after finding it deserted with his shoulders slumped. She patted him gently on the arm, then offered to let him stay and wait until Ray came home. He nodded gratefully, holding himself together until she left and then went to stand by the window to wait.
The living room smelled of cigarette smoke, and despite the fact that he knew Ray didn’t smoke there was an ashtray, a packet of cigarettes and a lighter lying on the small coffee table, mocking what little he knew of his friend. He wondered angrily who’s they were, Ray’s or someone elses?
The rattle of keys outside the door broke his reverie, but he chose to remain looking out of the window, or rather at the reflection cast by the small lamp in the corner.
He watched motionless as Ray tiredly pushed open the door, turning only when he realised how depressed his friend seemed. Involuntarily he took a step forward, relieved beyond words to see that his friend was, physically at least, still in one piece. Ray’s glance flicked past him to settle on Dief curled in a corner, then moved back to study his face. Before he could do or say anything Ray’s spine curled under the force of a coughing fit that suddenly overpowered his body and he leant back against the wall for support as he struggled to catch his breath. Without thinking he crossed to his side, reaching out to capture the slim wrist of the hand being held out to him in entreaty. He could feel Ray’s pulse, fast and strong beneath his fingers as he tugged that shuddering body against him, unable to stop himself. Ray needed him, needed his support. And that’s what he’d get. He rubbed gently at his back, soothing and relaxing the taut muscles. When he was certain that the fit was over he tugged at the wrist still cradled between his fingers, drawing him over to the couch where he made him lay down. Not trusting his voice, his emotions still too raw, he kept silent, content to just *be*. Removing Ray’s shoes he was surprised to see twin wet patches on the knees of Ray’s jeans, wherever he’d gone he’d been kneeling in the snow. Or was that collapsed? Had he collapsed to his knees when his illness got too much?
Ray’s eyes closed, his chest heaving as he slowly regained control of his breathing. He left him, moving to push shut the front door and stop the cold draft from the outside hallways from dispelling what little warmth there was in the apartment. He entered the kitchen, filling the kettle, his mind preoccupied by the heat he had felt rising from Ray’s skin when he’d touched him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ray struggle to sit up, eyes still closed and hurried over to push him gently back into the cushions. Long eyelashes swept up, startled, at his touch and he smiled gently.
‘Lay down, Ray.’
Ray shook his head, gesturing wildly for the box of tissues on top of the TV. He could feel him fighting the light pressure of his hand against his shoulder and he snatched it away.
‘Lemme up Frase, ‘less you want me to die of asphyxiation.’
The sentence was gasped, that nasal voice that he had come to love was hoarse and sore and he began to cough once more. He hurried to pass him the tissues as requested, his back stiffening as their hands brushed. He retreated back to the kitchen, leaning against the wall to support himself against the worry threatening to overwhelm him and forced his features to go blank. Ray didn’t need him to protect him, he didn’t need him to look after him. But he found he couldn’t help himself.
‘That’s what smoking does to you, Ray.’
Ray groaned, falling back onto the sofa and he smiled affectionately. Obviously Ray was expecting a lecture, but he wouldn’t do that. Ray could make his own choices. The best thing you can do for those you love is set them free. If they choose to stay then so much the better. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Like shit.’ Ray’s voice was muffled as it floated to him over the couch.
‘Have you eaten?’
‘No appetite.’ He bit back a sigh. If Ray wouldn’t look after himself how could he expect his friend not to try. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t not care. The need to leave stabbed at his heart, he felt trapped. Damned if he stayed, damned if he didn’t.
‘Frase?’ Ray’s voice was quiet, an undercurrent of something he couldn’t decifer making it sound uncertain and he stiffened as the blonde man joined him. He looked up from the tea he was making, and nodded to himself. Time to go. Ray had asked him not to smother him, and he had to get out before he started to do just that, because the worry was knawing at him.
‘I just wanted to check that you were okay, Ray. I’ll go now.’
He started to brush past the other man, heading for his coat that he’d draped over a chair, but his path was abruptly halted by a hand clamping itself around his wrist in what felt like desperation.
‘Frase, I’m sorry ‘bout yellin’ at ya. Y’know, the uver day when I tol’ ya to fuck off. I din’t mean it. I’m sorry if I hurt ya, or anythin’.’
The words were low, but sincere, he heard that in his voice and he slowly raised his head to stare into Ray’s eyes, shocked by what he saw. Dark hollows circled those pale blue orbs, a sea of pain, fear, loneliness and need stared back at him. He barely noticed as Ray’s grip around his wrist loosened and those beautiful hands buried themselves in his shirt.
‘Don’t go.’ Ray begged desperately. ‘Please, don’t ...’
His heart ached for the other man, his defences crumbling against the hurt and despondency that leaked out in his voice. The love he felt for this man consumed him, the strength of its fire burning away the fear, because he knew that Ray would never consciously hurt him, no matter what.
‘Ray?’ His hand rose, burying itself in that wonderfully soft blonde hair that rose in spikes from his scalp. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Drowning.’ Ray gasped, giving him a glimpse into his soul. The hopelessness in his voice terrified him, as did the black depression he could feel the other man struggling not to give into.
‘What can I do? What do you need?’
Gently, he pulled him towards him until Ray’s face was buried against the base of his neck, until those mobile lips with it’s devasting lower lip pressed against his collarbone.
‘You. Need you. Your light.’ Ray whispered the words against him, his breath leaving a small moist patch against his skin. Then, as the moistness became dampness and then soaking he realised that Ray was crying. His beautiful Ray, Golden Ray, sobbing and shuddering against him, trusting him with his pain, with his need, with his soul.
His fear shrivelled up and disappeared. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for this man, nothing he wouldn’t give him. He cradled that deceptively strong body against him, hands caressing him, offering comfort as he best he could.
‘It’s yours.’
He lost himself in the forbidden touch, in the feel of Ray trembling against him, and they sank down to huddle on the floor. He leaned back against the door, Ray’s head buried in his shoulder and suddenly realised that he was murmuring comfortingly into Ray’s ear, over and over ... just repeating the first thing that came into his head as he rocked him back and forth like a child that refused to sleep, scared of more bad dreams.
‘I love you, Ray. Everything’s going to be alright. I promise.’
At almost the same time Ray pulled back to gaze up at him with teary eyes and a tear stained face that only served to make him look even more endearing. Those eyes searched his for a moment and he held his breath, not sure what to expect; fear, anger, rejection, all of the above?
But it seemed to have been the correct thing to say, for those eyes widened, the smile that he’d dreamed about threatened to split Ray’s face and his hand rose, long fingers reaching. For him.
Not even hesitating, he grasped them, twining their fingers together. His fear and doubts had disappeared, he brushed his lips against Ray's heated brow and pulled him closer to enfold him in a protective embrace, planning never to let go. Ever.

finis