"I cannot believe we are finally here--airborne--instead of stuck behind the desk. This, Benny, is heaven."
"Well, actually, Ray, you were the only one behind a desk; as I have no real jurisdiction in the United States, I therefore was not assigned a desk and---"
"Just be quiet, wouldya?" Ray Vecchio slid a sideways glance at his friend and partner, Cst. Benton Fraser. "You talk way too much for one man." He perused Fraser for a moment, his face thoughtful. "You never did cut your hair. After, I mean. You planning on leaving it like that?" He braced himself as the small plane climbed higher, leveled off into the setting sun.
Fraser ran a hand through his shoulder-length hair, passed his fingers over the stubble on his cheeks and chin. It was odd to feel so...ungroomed, but adequate to the situation. The assignment of the previous three weeks had called for him to operate undercover, deep within a nest of crime and dissolution, and his long-haired, shabby guise allowed him to slip in and out of those shadowy parameters with little difficulty. "I hadn't thought about it," he answered finally, pausing to toss a brief glance at Vecchio. "I..."
There was something he needed to say, but as happened so often of late, there was nothing there. He couldn't articulate the pressing horror that nestled underneath his breastbone; the choking feeling that awakened him now nearly every night. He'd never felt so out of control as he did now; as he did ever since he'd fatally mistaken his duty, and she'd died as a result.
"Benny?" Vecchio peered at him closely, his kind face creased in a frown. "Hey--you alright?"
"I'm...fine, Ray. I'm fine." Fraser forced a smile, turned towards the window. The dark horror of it clung to him, clasped him in its cold embrace and would not let him go. 'If I could say it, Ray, I'd tell you,' he thought, but he knew he could not articulate this revulsion to anyone, not even Ray. It lodged there, like a stone in his heart.
The road up to the cabin was little more than a muddy strip, winding indecisively between the towering trunks of ancient trees. The cabin sat at the very end, rising resolutely out of the ground, as solid as if planted in stone. Fraser breathed a mental sigh to see it; now, at last, there would be some peace, some space to think.
"Here we are." He gestured to the building as he ascended the three steps leading to the porch, heaved his knapsack onto the wooden decking. "My father cut the trees himself to build this. Every board, hand-hewn."
"That's real nice, Benny." Ray grinned and clapped him on the back. "You can tell me carpentry tales later. At the moment-- -" Vecchio glanced around him in a significant manner. "Say, where's the facilities? My top teeth are floating."
Fraser gestured towards a stand of trees some several yards distant. "There's an outhouse over there. I think." He pondered for a moment...damn! Why was it so hard to think of anything these days? "I guess it's still there."
Vecchio nodded. "I'll find it." He left Fraser and went off in search of the bathroom.
"What's this?"
"It's stew, Ray. I made it myself." Fraser turned from the woodstove, where he was toasting bread over the damper. "It's really very good, despite appearences."
"Yeah, well, that's great because it looks like---"
"Ray, please." Fraser busied himself buttering great slabs of toast, passed the plate of bread across to Vecchio. "Eat up. We'll be hiking out tomorrow to the ridge, do some fishing. There's this hidden lake up there---"
"Benny, what the hell is going on with you?!" Ray slapped his fork down, pushed back his untouched plate.
"Ray, I really think---"
"Answer me." Vecchio's copper eyes were wide, serious; he would not be deterred. "There is something really wrong here; this entire pastoral scene reminds me of a Hitchcock film."
Fraser stared at him for an eternal silence, abruptly looked away.
"You look like hell." Vecchio's tone was soft, but incisive. "Is it what happened when we were in prison? Is that it?"
"No."
"Come on! You kissed me, for God's sake; I got pissed off with you. Let it go." Vecchio reached for the toast. "It was hardly a big deal, given the circumstances."
Fraser pressed the heels of his hands into his closed eyes and inexplicably, burst into tears.
"Jesus God!" Vecchio stared at him, open-mouthed, suddenly paralysed. What was going on here? How had the context of their conversation so suddenly changed?
"I couldn't--stop it..." Fraser's voice slid eerily up the scale, distorted in agony, dissolving into some traumatic horror. Vecchio reached across the table and clutched his arm violently, his fingers digging into the Mountie's skin. "I should have done something...it's all my fault..."
"Benny..." Vecchio felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle; over by the fire, Fraser's wolf raised his head and stared at them. It was imperative that he talk slowly; otherwise, who knew what might happen? "Come on, now; you're scaring me."
"That little girl..." Fraser raised his head and stared at Vecchio, his eyes wild with a discrete despair. "I thought I was- --"
Vecchio swallowed hard, the gist of it hitting him in the gut like a fist; he immediately intuited the root of it all. "-- tough enough to do the job and take it--"
"I thought I could save her life. I got cocky, I was---"
"--arrogant, thought I could fix it, get to her in time before the gun went off--" Vecchio's eyes were huge, his mouth a hard line; this was a fable that he'd told before.
"--and they *killed* her, Ray!"
Vecchio moved around the table; pulled the extra chair out and sat next to his friend. "You gotta talk to me, Benny. Tell me." 'Jesus,' he thought, 'did nobody debrief him properly?' It seemed incomprehensible that Fraser's superiors could know the awful depth and breadth of his mission and then let him bear the burden all alone....
A child porn ring, operating cross-border, out of Chicago. Fraser had been sent in to bust it, but there was a little girl...eight years old...they'd been using her for kiddie porn films, S&M flicks, until finally---
Vecchio pressed a fist to his mouth to quell the rising outrage; he'd heard of snuff films, but---
Fraser was suddenly still, a man carved out of marble. It frightened Vecchio, somehow. "I have to go for a walk, Ray."
"Benny--" It had started to rain; the late-summer evening was cool. "You'll get wet."
"I have to--get out of here." Fraser groped his way up from the table like a blind man, moved slowly to the door. "I'll be back later." It sounded perfectly sane, calm and reasoned--
--it sounded perfectly insane, it sounded like some kind of soul-death, a suicide--
"I can't let you do that--" Vecchio moved to intercept him.
"Why don't you *fuck off*?!" Fraser rounded on him with a force that Vecchio had never seen; his eyes were wild, his face white and contorted in some horrific emotion; both hands came up and slapped Vecchio backwards, the clap of palms a sudden sting against his chest. "Who the fuck do you think you are, Vecchio, you fucking wop?!"
Jesus Christ, Benny, who are you all of a sudden?
"You know nothing, do you hear me? *Nothing*!" Fraser
slammed out of the house, the screen door rattling on its hinges. Vecchio
watched him striding through the storm, then sank down
slowly on the floor. His chest hurt where Fraser had slapped
him, and for some inexplicable reason, his throat hurt as if he
were close to tears. He pulled himself up, went to the door,
peered out into the night, the rain. "Benny?...Benny!" The rain
beat an angry tattoo on the roof, rolled down the walls in
rivulets like tears. "Benny, get back here, you stupid bastard!" He called
me a wop, Vecchio thought. It was so unlike Fraser to-- - "Benny! Come
back!" His voice lost itself in the storm; his
eyes were wet with rain, he couldn't see; his eyes were wet...
...with rain.
The first shaft of sunlight caught an unwary corner of the window, thrust its way into the cabin, lighting everything within. Ray Vecchio lay where he'd fallen, across the daybed, a crumpled heap of clothing. His head was pillowed on his arms and he was dreaming of sunlight, he was dreaming of morning--
Vecchio sat up with a start. "Benny?"
He rolled off the daybed, glanced around the cabin. Diefenbaker raised his head, gazed for a moment at the American, and went back to sleep. The screen door stood open, just as he'd left it the night before. The print of his shoulder was probably in the door-jamb, from where he'd stood until he could stand no longer.
He found Fraser a few hundred yards from the cabin, collapsed in a heap under a tree. His clothing and hair were damp, clinging to him. He'd obviously been out all night. "Ben?" Ray slapped the Canadian's cheek gently. "Benny?" He was burning up with fever. Oh God, this is a nightmare... "Benny, listen to me: you gotta get up, I can't carry you, you're too heavy--" But remember the time I did, when you were hurt and we were all alone in the middle of nowhere. Vecchio hoisted Fraser onto his shoulders with not a little difficulty, staggering for a moment under the taller man's weight. The forest reeled around him for a moment, and he found that he was sweating. Haven't eaten, he thought dizzily; Benny's bad stew last night...
"Benny, you gotta snap out of it." Every step towards the cabin was an agonised stagger; twice his knees buckled and he nearly fell but managed to hang on. The cabin loomed ahead, and he staggered eagerly towards it, laid Fraser down on the smooth decking of the porch.
"Ray." Fraser's eyes flickered open, startlingly blue against the whiteness of his face; twin spots of colour burned high up on his cheekbones. "I went for a walk."
"You sure did, you stupid asshole." Ray viewed him with some rancour. "You ever do that to me again---" But Fraser had lapsed into unconsciousness and wasn't listening.
Days swirled into night, and finally Fraser awoke. He was aware of sounds at first: the snapping of the fire, Diefenbaker's gentle snuffling in his sleep, the squeak of Ray's chair under him whenever he shifted in his seat.
Thirsty. He ran his tongue around the edges of his lips, tasting dryness, a faint sheen of salt. "Ray..."
"What is it?" Vecchio was bending over him, holding a glass of water. "You thirsty?" He levered Fraser into a sitting position and held the glass, waited until the Canadian had drained it before venturing to speak. "You've been sick for three days."
"I'm sorry." Fraser felt tears well up; this happened so often ever since, it wasn't like him, he---
Vecchio leaned forward awkwardly, took him into his embrace in silence. Fraser's heart beat against him like a caged bird: uncertain, flighty. "You can't keep doing this, Benny." He made no move to loosen his grip on Fraser, his hug was reassuring, warm.
"Ray, I can't do it anymore. I can't continue being---" Ray's sweater was rough against his cheek, his fingertips; his hand sought the flat landscape of the other man's back, came to rest between the shoulderblades. "I want to talk about it."
Vecchio nodded. "You okay now?" He released his grip, moved to sit back against the daybed, leaning over Fraser. "You scared the hell outta me--you know that, right?"
Fraser nodded, a slight smile creasing his lips. "Yes."
"The next time I need a favour, you're there for me, right?"
Fraser nodded. "Yes."
"Deal."
"What happened in prison, Ray. It opened something in me." Fraser's gaze was open, guileless; his face had an air of fragility, recent sickness. "I couldn't let them hurt you; I knew they'd rape you if I wasn't there, and I couldn't let that happen."
Vecchio nodded, listened in silence.
"I probably shouldn't have done what I did, and I apologise for it---"
"Well, hey--" Vecchio smiled widely. "I kicked your ass for that one, right?" But it didn't matter, did it? Why was he so eager to defend his macho honor all of a sudden? He didn't need to defend himself to Fraser... "I'm sorry." His gaze flickered away for a second. "I find myself thinking about it a lot."
"I never realised exactly--" The Canadian's composure wavered. "I mean--"
"I liked it." Vecchio's words hung between them for a moment. "That's why it scared me so bad. Because you did that for me, you put yourself on the line for me, you made us look like a couple of---"
"Ray, please--"
"--and I don't *care* Fraser! You did that for me, you--"
"Ray." Fraser sat up, grasped Vecchio's arm just above the elbow. "I could go a lifetime without saying--"
Oh God, here it comes--
Vecchio's throat knotted itself closed; he couldn't speak, couldn't breathe--
"I love you."
Jesus God--
Something burst inside his chest as he leaned across and caught Fraser's lips with his, forced his mouth wide open, urgent, violent. He felt Fraser's hands come up, clutch at his shoulders, reach to cup his face between palms that were warm and familiar...
He wasn't resisting; Fraser wasn't resisting. He wasn't pushing him away or voicing his disgust or---
His mouth was warm, the insides of his lips smooth; the tip of his tongue coaxing, slippery...
That's his hand on the back of my neck...that's his chest, pressed against mine, those are his legs wrapped into me--
God. Oh, God. Heat and bliss; a tangle of limbs and sex, suddenly, it all made sense. "I want you, Ray--" A heated whisper, hissing like releasing steam, a smooth tongue-tip flicker underneath his earlobe, against his neck. Whose hard thighs were these, underneath his palms; whose were the definite points of shoulders, the smooth skin of the neck, the secret hollow at the base of a throat where a pulse flickered urgently...
"Jesus, Benny--" Meaning, I never thought you had it in you, I never thought that we would ever, I never thought--
Whose hands were these, slipping inside the waistband of his jeans, whose lips were these, sucking at his throat, his cheeks, flickering on the skin of his forehead...
"I have never, in my life--"
"Neither have I--ohhh, that, please, again--"
"Jesus, Benny--" Smooth liquid agony of bliss, clothing shed in piles on the floor, the urgent, skin-jumping joy of being pressed like this against him... "...beautiful, you're beautiful..."
"I've loved you as long as I can remember..." Fraser, his head flung back, the long column of his throat exposed, vulnerable...
I'm lying on you, I'm pressed against you, there is nothing in this world but you
I'm underneath you, pressed against you, there is nothing in this world but you
"Love me..." This was the missing piece, the thing forgotten, forbidden...
Remind me of those prison showers, your palms on my arms, my face, your mouth, the flicker of your tongue...
Bend and take him into your mouth, swallow him deeply down your throat; those are his hands on your head, his palms sliding down your back; this man loves you...
And raise your head and watch him in that final second, his beautiful face contorted as the bliss takes hold and he shivers in the grip of it...
"Benny?"
"Yes, Ray."
Lying together in the bed. Naked. Skins pressed together. Safe, now. Safe.
"I couldn't say it. I'm sorry."
"Mmmm...s'alright." His hand, slipping down the slender line of your back, pulling you against him. "I love you, Ray."
Amazing, this: the wanting, the needing; you suddenly cannot bear to be apart from him, you need to feel his skin against you. "I think you're beautiful."
And he is.
THE END