Rated NC-17 for m/m RAPE/NC, so if you are underage or easily offended please leave via the exits to your top left hand corner, which are disguised, in the deceptive shape of a 'back' button.

Sequel to Extended Family. Ya'll have to probably read the whole series for this one to make sense.

These characters were brought to you courtesy of Alliance. Dief, Fraser, Ray, Welsh, Frannie and Stan do not belong to me. Shocking isn't it?

Not beta'd, they're my mistakes, an I'm proud of em. I think I need to warn you that this gets a bit dark half way through, I had just failed another driving test, pissed off is an understatement. My examiner was called Ray, coincidence? I THINK NOT. So I decided a little senseless torture would suit my depressed mood. Why should other people be happy? I'm a bitch, so sue me. Well, no actually, don't sue me. Please?!?

Dangerous Profession.

"I'm the desert, you're the rain,

When I'm cracked and dry you ease my pain,

When my aching body crumbles,

Wanting of a peaceful refrain,

I whisper to you softly, I'm the desert, you're the rain."

Paul Gross and David Keeley- Desert and Rain

"Another one?" Ray asked his partner.

"Yeah," replied the very frustrated blonde detective as he replaced the phone into the cradle. They had been after the same perp for almost three weeks. In that time he had now killed four male prostitutes, they had all been found, mutilated and probably raped. But with the victims being dead and prostitutes it was difficult to prove rape. They had also discovered no clues that could be described of as remotely useful. They were stuck, every time they thought they'd got a lead, they found a dead end. Whoever was doing the killing; they were very good at it. The seemingly motiveless murders had caused Chicago's gay community to voice, rather loudly, their opinions of the police force. That was not good publicity. Welsh had been chewing their asses off on this one.

The trio, plus the wolf, slowly traipsed out of the precinct, heading over to yet another murder scene.

0o0o0

They approached the cordoned off area, flashed their badges and walked over to the dumpster where yet another body had been none too carefully hidden. It was almost as if the killer wanted them found. Maybe they liked the attention. Most killers did. Sadistic bastards thought Ray disgustedly.

This body was much the same as the others, hands and ankles showed signs of being bound tightly, the body was naked and bruised. Ray noticed Stan keeping a wide berth of the crime scene, checking bystanders, doing anything to avoid the corpse. Ray used to think his partner's squeamishness was amusing, although now he fully understood why he decided to leave this area of the job to Fraser and himself. He wished he'd thought of it first.

The victims themselves didn't vary much either; the killer had a very specific MO. All the victims were blonde and skinny and in their early thirties. Ray shuddered at how much some of them reminded him of his lover. The thought of Stan lying lifeless in a dumpster was too much to take sometimes. He'd promised himself he wouldn't get too attached to him, but now he just couldn't imagine life without the other man.

The killer had left them no patterns to follow, even the time duration between the deaths had been seemingly random, not slowing not speeding up. The only thing they did have was all of the victims had number burnt onto the skin on their ass. The first victim had a one, the second had a two, and so on. The only thing forensics could tell them about he make was that it was burnt onto the skin using hot metal, similar to that used to mark meat in a butchers in the old days. The killer had marked them before the victim's death. It must have hurt like a bitch.

Stan approached them, standing with his back deliberately turned to the victim.

"Got an ID on the body, Nicolas Alford, street guy, same old same old though. No-one saw anything, heard anything or generally gives a shit," Stan paused, sending a fleeting glance to the body, "shall we get back to the precinct and write up a report?" he pleaded. Ray was only too pleased to have an excuse to leave the crime scene.

0o0o0

The killer was always one step ahead of them. He knew things that a killer shouldn't know, like where the police were. They had finally found a pattern in the dumping of the bodies, it seemed the killer was using numbered dumpsters in chronological order. The council had painted numbers on the side of the dumpsters to stop dispute about which dumpster belonged to who. It was Fraser who had first noticed the pattern. The killer was dumping them in the same number as the date, for instance the first body was found on the seventeenth and in dumpster number seventeen. By the second body they began surveillance at different dumpsters for each date. Of course the killer had known this somehow and changed, on the night of the twenty-fifth, while they were watching dumpster twenty five, a body was dumped the other side of the city in number three hundred and seventy.

The killer had known, that's what scared Ray the most; someone was most likely leaking information. They could have caught the bastard before anyone else had to die.

So now when they got back to the precinct Welsh called them into his office.

"What's happening gentlemen?"

"Not a lot lieu," Kowalski jumped in.

"That is precisely my problem Kowalski," Welsh took a long suffering sigh, "I'm tightening security on this case, I think it's quite apparent now that someone's leaking information," Welsh held up his hands before any of them could protest, "now I'm not accusing anyone, it's just a precaution,"

Ray sat down in the chair opposite Welsh, Stan and Fraser remained stood behind him.

"Could I be as bold to offer another scenario sir?" Fraser asked, waited until there was no protest, "we mustn't rule out the fact that the killer could be in the police force themselves, the killer appears to have extensive knowledge of police procedure, either that or they know someone who works in or around the station to be privy to that kind of information, they would also know how the investigation was progressing," the three Chicagoans paused horrified that they could be up against one of their own.

"What do you suggest we do?" Ray enquired.

"Well for a start, the only people who will be allowed access to any of the information regarding this case are those of us present in this room, understand?" Welsh paused to emphasise his point, "we also need to do something productive in this case, something prominent, so far all we've done is wait for the killer to strike again, that is not very good detective work gentlemen,"

"What are ya suggestin' lieu?" Kowalski asked impatiently, eager to move the investigation along.

"I haven't decided yet Kowalski, that is why you are all here," Welsh stretched out, his aching joints popping in protest, "what have we got so far?" the ever-resourceful Fraser brandished a folder and spread out photos of the victims, limited notes and forensics reports. They all bent over the desk, waiting for a sudden inspiration to hit one of them. Welsh absently flipped through the photos of the victims, looking at each one in turn. Then turned to the reports containing the personal information of each of them.

"Do we know where they were taken from?" asked Welsh.

"Not specifically, no," Fraser replied, "although all of the victims commonly frequented a club called the Bohemian," Welsh shot Fraser a doubting glance, "we also know that all of the victims are, or were in contact with a Byron Evans,"

"Pimp?" Welsh correctly assumed. Fraser nodded.

"Although, that in itself is insignificant and inconclusive, he controls most of.... that kind of business in Chicago, just by law of averages, you would expect most to have met or worked for him," Welsh studied each of them carefully, deep in thought.

"What are you thinking sir?" Ray asked.

"An undercover officer would be prolific sir," the Mountie helpfully supplied.

"Perfect," Welsh declared, "if we put someone undercover in the Bohemian, introduce them to Byron, it's a long shot, but at the moment I see it's the only shot we have," Welsh paused dramatically, forcing the detectives to agree with him. Fraser and Welsh both looked at the pictures, Stan was engrossed in the forensics report, trying to find something they'd missed.

Ray missed the scheming glance that was shared between his boss and his Canadian friend. He did not however miss the look they gave his lover. They had clearly noticed the physical resemblance of the victims and Stan.

"No way!" Ray declared. Stan's head came up, confused at the sudden outburst, looking at his lover, expecting an explanation. "No." Ray said finally, offering no discussion.

"Ray, this really is the best opportunity we have," Fraser tried to convince him. Stan, still confused, looking from one to the other, neither enlightening him on the situation.

"Detective, it really wasn't a question," Welsh said it almost sympathetically, Ray panicked for a moment, did Welsh know about the two of them?

"You can't order him to go undercover," Ray argued.

"Yes I can, and I will, if Kowalski can think of a good reason why he cannot take the assignment then we will find someone else. His partner won't let him is not a good excuse," They all looked expectantly at Stan, who finally knowing what was going on just shrugged apologetically at Ray. He couldn't think of an excuse, he didn't want to, this was his job.

"Good, go and finish your report and then come back here," Welsh dismissed them with a shake of his hand.

0o0o0

Ray was pissed, he was worse than pissed. He was fuming. He stalked out of Welsh's office and over to his desk. He looked up as a shadow was cast across the surface. Stan was stood there with Fraser.

"It's my job," Stan clarified. Like Ray needed reminding, it was bad enough when people shot at them, let alone his lover having to face a mad psycho killer, Stan cast him an assessing look, "I'll go get some coffee." He stated in annoyance and stalked off himself, leaving him with Fraser.

"I know what you're gonna say," Ray pre-empted him,

"It is his duty Ray, you want to catch the killer as much as he does,"

"What if something happens to him?" Ray asked in a scared voice, "how would you feel if Welsh put Frannie undercover as a prostitute?" Ray could see Fraser seriously thinking about that situation.

"He'll have us for back up, we're not going to let him get into danger. I'm not happy about placing Stan in anymore danger than necessary Ray."

"You mean other than risking my life in wildly bizarre ways, Frase?" Stan asked suddenly appearing behind them handing Ray a cup of coffee and sipping his own.

0o0o0

After finishing the report, they all went to meet Welsh, by that time it was almost dark, most of the other cops shifts had ended. The bullpen was almost empty, except for Francesca and a few detectives, including Milner. Ray shot him another heated glare as they passed his desk on the way to Welsh's office.

Welsh greeted them solemnly. That was never a good sign.

"Whassup Lieu?" Kowalski questioned.

"The undercover assignment, that we were planning tonight," Welsh cleared his throat, "it starts tonight as well."

"Excuse me?" Ray asked.

"The mayor even gotten involved in this one, I told him about our plans, he said he wanted them put into action straight away, there too much bad publicity surrounding this one, they want it solved gentlemen, and they want it solved yesterday." Ray blanched; they couldn't start tonight, not while Stan was mad at him.

"Kowalski, you can keep your first name, although we've changed your last name to McKenzie," the fact that it was Fraser's half sister's name was not lost on any of them. Changing first names was often dangerous, it was too easy to slip up and revert back to old habits, "if Constable Fraser is right and it is a cop, we've given you a rap sheet, little stuff, possession, soliciting etc," Welsh handed Stan his new ID, "you'll be staying at a motel," Welsh then passed Stan a set of keys. Ray froze //motel?// he'd never see Stan, but it was important to keep up the charade. Welsh looked at Stan, assessing, "you need to look like a street hustler," Ray thought Stan already did look like one in the tatty jeans and black tee shirt he had on. Welsh handed Stan a bag, Stan looked inside suspiciously. He pulled out an old pair of blue jeans that were more hole than anything else; he raised his eyebrows at Welsh. Welsh looked grimly back, apparently it got worse. Stan then lifted out a tiny black vest tee shirt.

"You CANNOT be serious,"

"I am and you will wear them detective, this has to be convincing," Welsh looked at the unmoving detective, "well?" Welsh made a shooing motion with his hands.

"You want me to put this on? Now?" Welsh nodded his head in exasperation. Sometimes his detectives could be inordinately slow.

"Interview one is free," Welsh informed the disgustedly glaring detective. Stan, grumbling, made his way out of the room carrying the already hated clothes. "You two are his back-up, understood?" they both nodded, "You will act as normal patrons in the club ok?"

Welsh continued to fill them in on the more detailed aspects of the assignment, Stan was to go to the Bohemian, make himself known, bump into Byron, hopefully get himself a job, without actually doing any work, and then Stan was just meant to live as a prostitute until they caught the killer. It wasn't exactly a very good plan. Fraser suggested they arrest Stan every now and then, take him to different stations, just in case it was a police officer that was doing the killings. Welsh agreed that it was a good idea, they would sort out times and places where they could meet. Stan was to keep his cell phone at the motel at all times, although he couldn't take it with him, doesn't really fit the image of someone short of cash. One thing Ray was pleased about was that Welsh was going to have someone posted outside the motel whenever Stan was there, he was going to give the job to Heuy and Dewey.

Stan returned looking sheepish and utterly delicious. The jeans were possibly two sizes too small and clung to him like an extra skin. The top had exactly the same effect. It was almost threadbare in places. It outlined every muscle and rib. Stan had put on his own boots. Ray looked appreciatively over his lover's new image; the jeans had a strategically placed hole over his ass, meaning no underwear. Perhaps this assignment wouldn't be so bad after all. Stan placed his guns, badge and wallet on the lieutenant's desk, giving everyone an even nicer view of his ass.

"One word Vecchio," Stan quietly warned.

"Wouldn't dream of it Stanley,"

"Kowalski..." Welsh started,

"McKenzie," Stan corrected,

"Whatever, you go home, you get your toothbrush some clothes and anything else you might need, then you'll get dropped off at the motel, you then walk to the club, Fraser and Ray will meet you in there."

"Frase, feed my turtle?" Stan asked,

"I'll feed him," Ray offered,

"Fraser, will you feed my turtle?" Stan asked again as if he hadn't heard him.

"I would be delighted to feed Reagan for you,"

"Ray-gun, Fraser, Ray-gun,"

"Hey!" Ray interrupted,

"No offence man, but I wouldn't trust you to feed a stick,"

"Please, this is a police station, not a playground," Welsh placated.

"He started it," Ray blamed Stan indignantly.

0o0o0

It was finally all arranged, if nothing happened tonight, they were to arrest Stan tomorrow on a street corner down the road from the motel, Stan was to stay in the motel all day, then go out again at night. Ray figured the people in the club would place them instantly as police, but Stan should blend in quite nicely.

0o0o0

Ray dropped Stan off at the motel, after a quick stop at the apartment.

Stan was not amused. The hotel was clearly a seedy, fleabag of a place. It was bad enough that he had to be separated from Ray until this thing was solved, let alone spend it in a mouldy smelling place only frequented by whores and low lives. But this was clearly the place where Stan McKenzie would feel at home. Stan dumped his stuff off as quickly as he could. He badly wanted to get changed; the clothes he was wearing were so demeaning. He understood what women were on about now when they complained about being treated like meat by men. The look Milner had given him as he walked out of the precinct made him want to throw up.

He felt cheap. But then Stan McKenzie was a cheap man. He had to stop thinking like Kowalski. That could only get him into trouble. He had to adopt psuedo morals of McKenzie, he'd do whatever it took, bar cheating on Ray, never that.

Stan walked briskly to the club, cold in his entirely unsuitable attire. The rush of the club hit him instantly, the sweaty heat pulsed out at him, and the music throbbed through his soul. He instantly spotted Ray sat at the bar and Fraser sat at a small table, clearly uncomfortable, dressed in civilians' clothes for once. A large man, a very large man, was chatting him up. He shot a glance to his lover and went to save the Mountie.

"Ya hittin' on my boyfriend?" Kowalski growled at the larger man.

"I could break your neck you scrawny piece of shit." The man yelled over the music. Kowalski, not to be outdone, planted himself firmly on the Mounties lap, Stan felt him grow uncomfortable, but then relaxed immensely when large guy moved on the pester someone else. He quickly repositioned himself on the seat next to Fraser.

"Thank you kindly,"

"Don' mention it Frase," hitting his thumb to the side of his nose, letting Fraser know he'd save him if he got in any more trouble with large blokes, Kowalski moved off to mingle on the dance floor.

0o0o0

Ray watched as his lover moved gracefully in time to the music. Although most of the clientele was gay and younger than Stan, he fitted in perfectly. Ray supposed Stan was gay. Hell, so was he. Ray wryly noticed that his lover attracted a lot of attention, he fought down the urge to go and knock someone's lights out as another man groped Stan in a none too friendly way. Ray watched carefully, just how were they supposed to notice if someone was taking more then a healthy interest in him? They weren't exactly going to wear a sign saying 'psychotic killer' were they? Ray knew he was being over protective, but he couldn't curb the desire to tell Stan to forget the assignment and go home. The only thing that stopped him was that he knew his lover would resent him for it.

Stan finally, sweaty from dancing came over and discreetly positioned himself next to him, buying a drink.

"Buy you a drink handsome?" he asked solicitously.

"What the hell do you think you're playing at?" Ray hissed. Stan turned to look at him in shock.

"Same thing as you, my job, or have you forgotten that I'm a police officer," Stan said the last part quietly, mindful of the people around him.

"I don't think you need to let half the club grope you to do your job," Ray spat.

"Ray, I am a whore now or have you forgotten? You think I like that? You think I can't wait to get home, to our apartment, alone?" Stan had begun calling his apartment, theirs, and it made Ray feel warm and tingly inside knowing how fully accepted and permanent it seemed.

"No," Ray replied sulkily,

"Wanna dance?"

"I'm fine here," still in sulk mood, Ray's eyes shot up as he caught a glimpse of someone over the other side of the dance floor, "Byron Evans," Ray said, looking natural, all cop again. Stan casually turned around leaning his elbows on the bar. Then spotting his target he downed his drink and made his way over to the man.

0o0o0

Byron Evans was fat; there was no other word for it. A large beer gut hung over his jeans that did not do up to the top button. The buttons on his shirts were pulled taut across the large expanse of his belly. He had an aura of fag smoke surrounding him, as he chain-smoked. His hair was either damp with sweat or grease; Stan hoped it was the former. As he neared the man he could smell the fetid stench of sweat underneath the stink of alcohol and cigarettes. He had mean beady eyes that watched Stan salaciously as he walked closer to the man.

"You Byron?" He asked when the man turned his full attention to him.

"You can call me Mr Evans kid," Byron leered.

"Yeh, whatever, I need a job, I was told you were da guy ta see,"

"Who told you that?" Stan panicked; he had no idea who worked for Byron. He was mainly in another district. He didn't bother the 2-7 very much.

"Dunno, big guy, I'm new here, don't know nobody," Byron gave him a scrutinizing glare, Stan felt nervous under the guys inspection.

"You'll do," he decided uninterestedly. Stan felt annoyed, how could tubby just dismiss him like that, "I take 50 percent, ya understand, try and rip me off and I will get to know about it, let me assure you I will not be pleased, not pleased at all, I may decide to collect payment in kind." Stan felt like either throwing up on the guy, or punching his lights out, "although with you I may decide to collect all of my payment in kind," Stan wasn't sure what to do, was an offer like that good? Was he supposed to be pleased that the boss guy was hitting on him? Byron was looking at him expectantly, apparently that kind of offer was great, fantastic, brilliant, although Stan had a tough time conjuring up an enthusiastic reply. He just smiled brilliantly at the guy. Byron looked inordinately pleased with his reaction. He ran a hand seductively up Stan's chest. Stan tried desperately not to pull out of the sickening contact, he closed his eyes and thought of Ray.

Ray

Ray was probably going ape shit watching this from across the room. That kind of thinking was counter-productive though. Ray. Concentrate on Ray. Although the hands were too chubby and too sweaty. Ray. Ray 's just got out of the shower. Yeh that works, Stan thought pleased. He's put on weight. Taken up smoking and drinking, smells like he hasn't showered in a month. Ok, it kind of lost its effect as Byron moved in closer as began to investigate his new merchandise more thoroughly.

"When do I start?" he was thankful to suddenly find himself asking. Byron distracted by the question looked up from his exploration.

"Tomorrow, what's your name kid?"

"Stan, tomorrow's greatness," Stan exclaimed without conviction,

"Be here at six," Byron ordered as he left. He made a quick exit back over to Ray, his lover, where he felt safe.

0o0o0

Ray stood stiffly, seething, the fat guy was touching up Stan, and was that his imagination or did Stan move into the caress?

He did.

Ray thought he'd actually throw up violently. He felt as if his heart had been ripped from his body, leaving a gaping abyss in its place. Stan was coming back over to him. It was his job Ray reminded himself.

His job.

Nothing more.

"I got me a job!" Stan exclaimed mock excitedly.

"Congratulations," Ray wryly commented, turning back to the bar.

"Hey, I thought we'd sorted all this shit out, this is my duty Ray, people are being killed." Stan hissed back at him, clearly annoyed at the persistence that Ray had put in to make the assignment harder for him. Ray kept his back turned toward Stan, ignoring his anger. He hurt too much to deal with his anger at the moment. "Fine!" Stan exclaimed, "be that way," as he stalked off back to the dance floor, where Ray remained to keep a diligent eye on him. Mad he may be, but careless with Stan's life he was not.

0o0o0

Stan was exhausted. He'd pretty much danced the whole night away. He hadn't done that for at least five years. He may be city fit, hell, after the hand of Franklin quest he may even be wilderness fit, but he was not club fit. That was for sure. He ached all over; he wanted nothing more than a big cup of coffee, a long hot shower and to snuggle up to Ray in a nice warm bed.

Two out of three wasn't so bad was it? He'd have to sleep alone tonight.

Stan walked back to the motel, he was aware of Fraser and Ray tailing him some distance away, if anything was going to happen this is most likely when it would happen. He trailed his hand along the brick wall of the building he was walking along, trying to make himself appear drunk, or at least tipsy. Vulnerable. If someone was going to do something, he wished they'd do it soon. He wanted to get back to Ray, he wanted to know what he'd done to piss him off so much.

By the time Stan reached the motel it had begun to rain pretty heavily, the thin material of his tee shirt was soaked, he saw Heuy and Dewey sat in an unmarked car across the road, he also notice Ray and Fraser carry on walking past him as if they didn't know him.

Stan felt alone.

Rationally, he knew people he knew and trusted surrounded him.

Rationally.

Emotionally he felt isolated. They feeling didn't go away as he entered the faceless motel. It was cold inside and there was no hot water. Scrap the shower. Stan had also forgotten to bring coffee. Pissed off, he went straight to bed and to sleep. It wasn't easy getting to sleep. He missed the warmth that Ray usually provided him with. The other pillow didn't even smell of him. Stan positioned himself on what would ordinarily have been Ray's side and waited a long time for sleep to claim him.

0o0o0

Stan finally crawled out of bed at lunchtime, disgusted to find himself still in his clothes from the night before. He didn't have time to change either. He was already going to be late meeting Fraser and Ray at the arranged rendezvous for them to arrest him. Ray was going to be mad. Madder, Stan corrected, Ray was already mad at him. Not having time for food, Stan brushed his teeth then sprinted down the road. He discovered the Riv positioned in an alleyway. Stan stood on the side of the road. He waited.

Now it was Stan that was annoyed, were they going to arrest him or not?

Eventually Ray, with Fraser following him, walked up to him.

"Taking the whore image a little seriously aren't we?" Ray asked spitefully referring to Stan's rumpled appearance.

"Whatever Vecchio," Stan replied dejectedly; he didn't have enough energy for any shit that Ray was going to throw at him.

"You're under arrest, anything you say..."

"We all know the words to that song Ray, get on with it," Stan was actually shocked when Ray forced him around, pulling his arms behind him harshly. The cold metal against the skin of his wrists finally sunk in.

"I don't fink dats necessary," Stan protested. Stan's only reply was to be pushed roughly in the direction of the car. Ray placed his hand on the top of his head, making sure he didn't hit it on the car as he was shoved into the back.

Stan had been in the back of Ray's car many times, although now it felt like a prison.

0o0o0

Ray couldn't even believe it when he found himself handcuffing Stan. And could it be that restraining Stan was arousing him? You betcha.

"Ray is that really necessary?" Fraser asked him over the car after Stan was inside. Ray looked inside the car, watching his lover unhook his legs so that his hands were bound in front of him. Ray felt guilty, of course it wasn't necessary he just wanted Stan to suffer a little after the sleepless, crappy night he'd had because his lover wasn't there with him. Ray sighed and got in the car, Fraser followed suit, like a good little Mountie.

"Hey, guys can we get some food? I'm starved,"

"You were late. Why were you late?" Ray demanded.

"Fifteen minutes Vecchio. 'Sides there ain't an alarm clock in that shit hole, overslept, I'm sorry," Stan held out his restrained hands, clearly expecting to be released after apologising. Although Ray was still mad and he kept his eyes firmly on the road, pretending not to notice the gesture. Stan slumped back into his seat, glaring angrily at Ray. Ray could feel those angry blue eyes boring into the back of his head, but he did nothing. He stopped at a caf on the way to the police station. Quickly left the car in search of some coffee for Stan.

"I apologise Stan, I really do not understand Ray's behaviour,"

"Ain't yer fault Frase, no one understands Ray's behaviour, least of all me,"

"Never the less I feel as if I should have prevented him from handcuffing you,"

"Don't worry bout it Frase, it ain't a big deal, I've been handcuffed before, I'm a big boy. You've even handcuffed me before,"

"True, but I did release you straight away afterwards, as could have Ray, he had ample opportunity." Fraser was cut off by Ray re-entering the vehicle. He handed Stan a steaming Styrofoam cup. Stan waged a battle, he'd love to refuse it just to piss Ray off, but his need for caffeine was too great, he accepted the cup using both hands, making the move appear as casual as possible, not due to his restrained hands.

"Where's Dief?" Stan questioned Fraser,

"He unfortunately ate a pair of Inspector Thatcher's more favoured shoes, I'm am almost certain it was not for the nutritious content, a desperate plea for more attention I'd guess. He has been placed under house arrest for the incident."

"We're going to the thirteenth," Ray brusquely interrupted.

"Why?"

"Turns out that all of the victims have been arrested or at the Thirteenth for some reason, we think it's worth a shot." Stan sat back in his seat and sipped the scalding drink.

"What's your excuse for taking me there? Surely Welsh never said we were investigating their guys? They'll kill us the moment we get in there."

"Welsh cleared it with their Lieutenant, said our holdings full, that you were only wanted for questioning about another incident, asked if we could borrow a room. Bastards wanted in on the act so agreed."

"What other incident?"

"That's where it gets interesting, you're claiming that you saw the murderer dump the body yesterday. We rip your allegation to pieces and hopefully piss the real killer off enough to make a move." Ray glanced at Stan in the mirror. Stan noticed he didn't look pissed off anymore, he looked kind of scared and lost.

The rest of the drive was spent in silence, Stan still pissed off about the handcuffs seethed in the back seat, that was no bad thing, it would make him appear more believable when they got there. Ray, concentrated on his driving, or concentrated on annoying Fraser with his driving.

0o0o0

Ray and Fraser climbed the steps to the thirteenth with Stan in-between them. He could see Stan take on a deliberately different stance, more relaxed and cocky. It would be easy for Ray and Fraser to fall into routine. They were police officers already. They were quickly shown into the bullpen, Fraser was left with Stan as Ray went to finalise details with the lieutenant. Clearly word had travelled around the precinct quite rapidly about the possible breakthrough in the now high profile case. Stan sat at the empty desk of one of the absent detectives, Fraser stood next to him, apparently guarding the prisoner. Fraser was surprised at first when Stan began to protest loudly about his treatment. Fraser looked into his friend's eyes and was shocked at the hatred glaring form them. Stan had apparently noticed his expression and softened his glare. Fraser realised that Stan was a terrific actor. He supposed that was all any undercover cop was; an elaborate actor in a play of deception and lies.

If Fraser was surprised when Stan was demanding to be released, then he was even more stunned when he started to come on to him. It was subtle at first, and then after a few cops had begun to surreptitiously watch them Stan upped the ante and promised that if he were released he'd make it more than worth his while. It took Fraser a while to work out what Stan was up to; he was merely advertising his chosen profession in case the killer was in the vicinity. Clever, once Fraser thought about it.

Ray returned and they all traipsed into an interview room, apparently Ray had heard what was going on and shot Fraser an angry glower. Surely Ray couldn't think that Stan was serious. Even if he did, he must also realise that neither Stan nor himself would do anything to hurt Frannie, or himself for that matter. But Fraser had quickly realised that when it came to Stan, Ray didn't think or act rationally.

0o0o0

Ray stood across from Stan. He had the benefit of height and freedom over the smaller man, but he still felt as if Stan was running the show. God help the interrogators if Stan ever did turn to a life of crime. The man was impossible. He was currently glaring defiantly at him as he asked routine questions. His hair stuck up even more freakily than usual due to the lack of grooming that morning. Ray wished he had a mirror. The state of his hair would quickly shut up his sensitive partner.

Stan was so convincing in his act of hatred towards the police. At least, Ray hoped it was an act, or not just directed at him. Stan had every right to be angry. He'd acted like a jackass all day. Ray felt so consumed with guilt when he saw the reddened, chafed skin around Stan's wrists where the handcuffs had been too tight; he thought he might actually be sick.

"What were you doing in the alley?" Ray demanded

"Whassit ta ya?" Stan cheekily back chatted.

"Why don't you just make things easier on yourself? If you are cooperative then we nay be lenient on the other charges," Ray attempted to bargain.

"Hey, I want the other charges dropped altogether," Stan demanded, "I got the info you guys want about that killer, so I'll spend a few months in jail, so what? Not like that's new, 'sides ya get free heating and food dere."

"I would have thought that you wanted this sicko caught, he's been killing guys like you," Ray almost yelled in his annoying lover's face.

"Hey, nothing ta do wit me what that guy does. Besides he's elim.. elimen.."

"Eliminating?" Fraser helpfully supplied, Stan thanked him with an exasperated glare.

"Yeh, 'liminating the competition," Stan grinned evilly at them, it Ray hadn't of known this was all an elaborate ploy, he would have truly believed Stan was that cold and calculating.

The rest of the mock interview continued that way, with Stan being as insolent and uncooperative as he possibly could. He gave little information about the actual murderer, average build and height, could be anyone. Although Stan stayed secretive and furtive throughout, making it appear as if he had more information. Ray was proud of him, that would make the murderer want to shut him up as well, a double motive. Ray knew some of the detective had to be watching from the viewing room, too eager and morbidly intrigued to stay away. Ray was also sure that the killer would most likely be among them, or someone who knew the killer.

The fact that Fraser had noticed the connection with the thirteenth was significant, that was hardly a coincidence, every one of them had been at this precinct at least once, that was strange. If it wasn't a cop here it had to be a cleaner or a civilian aid. Ray wished he could just get a warrant for all of them and search until he found evidence incarcerating one of them. He did not enjoy using Stan as live bait.

0o0o0

In the car on the way back to the 2-7 Ray stretched out tiredly. He had finally released Stan who was now rubbing his wrists and enjoying the freedom. Fraser had continually sent him disapproving glances, the Mountie needed to lighten up. They left Stan in the car as they both went up to the bullpen to inform the lieutenant. Stan was quite happily munching on a giant size sandwich when they left, having missed breakfast, lunch and now tea.

Ray let himself into Welsh's office, followed closely by the Mountie.

"Sir, everything went to plan," he informed his superior proudly,

"Good job gentlemen," Welsh congratulated them, "did you notice anything suspicious?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary sir," Fraser informed,

"Well after that little performance that I'm sure Kowalski put in it shouldn't be too long before the killer makes a move," Welsh looked tired, this was the first real smile that they had seen from the older man since the beginning of the case. They were finally getting a breakthrough. It felt good.

"His performance, as you put it sir, was certainly... entertaining," Fraser interjected.

"Well good, you two fill out a report, then go get a few minutes kip, I want you back here at seven, ready for another night on the town."

"Sir,"

"Sir, we've got to take Stan back to the motel first," Ray notified as he strode out of the door,

"You left him alone?" Ray was startled at the tone of his voice, he sounded scared, almost.

"Sir, he is outside a police station, what do you propose could happen?" Fraser defended their actions. Ray was stunned by a cold, dreading fear rising in his gut like bile. He had a sudden, desperate need to see his lover again. He'd never even considered danger here, and apparently neither had Fraser.

"I don't know it's just a bad feeling," Welsh explained,

"Like a hunch?" Fraser enquired,

"Jeeze, a almost sound like the crazy little shit," Welsh groused, but they were all flying out of the precinct at top speed, worried about their friend.

They raced out into the car park, desperately calling Stan's name, Ray raced to his car, only to find the back seat empty. His worst nightmare had just become a reality. He thought he'd be violently ill, and he was right, he promptly lost his lunch in a bin in the car park. Fraser was doing a perimeter search, trying to find some evidence; unfortunately without Dief it was not as effective. Welsh was already reporting a missing officer on his cell phone, Ray just stood there. Everything seemed to be in slow motion, he was detached from his surroundings. He felt everything go black, but he didn't even feel the rough cement as he hit it hard.

0o0o0

"Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray," He was aware of an irritating buzzing in his ears, then realised it was Fraser; he opened his eyes and was surprised to see the sky. The cold reality rushed back, he wished he could return to wherever his nice, fluffy, unaware place was.

"Not a dream?" He asked hopeful, already suspecting the truth,

"I'm afraid not, no." Fraser paused as Welsh came into view. He looked grimly down at the detective led on the floor.

"Vecchio, you ok?" he enquired, his voice touched with concern.

"I'm good sir,"

"Good, so stop lying down on the job, we've got an officer missing, he may need a lifeline." Ray sprang to his feet with a sudden burst of energy, he had a purpose, he would find the bastard who'd dare to touch his Stan and he'd rip their eye's out and spit in the sockets. He instantly demanded that someone go and get Dief immediately, he could serve the rest of his sentence after the crisis was over. He told Welsh they should check who had left the thirteenth that was there this morning.

"The security camera," Fraser exclaimed excitedly,

"I'll get someone to check the tapes right away," Welsh decided, barking orders at officers who had begun to surround the scene.

0o0o0

Stan woke groggily. He had one bitch of a headache. He felt strange, floating, oddly peaceful. His mouth felt as if something died in it and decomposed. He realised he must have been drugged; he had no idea where he was or how he got here. He should be panicking or fighting against his restraints just about now, but he just couldn't bring himself to care.

He looked around the room instead, that took less effort. It was expensively decorated. Pale blues and green, the sort of thing that Stella would have liked. It looked very modern, he was led face down on a very comfortable bed Well it would be comfortable if he weren't tied to the four posts by his wrists and ankles. He pulled against the black leather restraints, testing their strength. He was beginning to feel more alert, and the more alert he got the more scared he got, he must be in the killer's lair, nicely decorated or not, this was a place of torture. He pulled desperately at the buckles holding his wrists, but only succeeded in making his already sore wrists even sorer.

"Hey, bastard, stop hiding form me," Stan tried in a fake bravado, didn't help if your captor knew you were chickenshit,

"Oi!" he yelled. When it appeared his yelling was pointless, he strained his head round, trying to get a good view of the window, but it was too high, he couldn't see out of it at this angle, although he did get a good view of the sky, and was pleased to see it was still light, that either meant he'd just been abducted, or he'd been abducted then drugged for a day, or two, or a week. Ok now he was scared.

He wasn't sure how long he led there, alternating between yelling obscenities, fighting furiously and thinking of a way out. Sometimes it felt like hours, others a few minutes, the drugs, whatever they were seemed to have fucked him up pretty bad. Time perception had gone to pot; he also couldn't concentrate on anything for more than a few minutes before a raging headache consumed him. He lifted his head in shock as the door opened; the killer strolled into the room.

0o0o0

They had got a grand total of nothing in the way of evidence or leads. Fraser was becoming increasingly worried about Ray as well as Stan. Ray had started out efficiently, thinking of good ideas, following leads with a diligence only a man with a missing loved one could be capable of. But as the day began to end, he had started to become more hyper, Fraser thought he almost reminded him of Stan in his nervous bundle of energy way. He'd never seen Ray that wired before, it would only be a matter of time before he either blew, or blew out.

The security tapes had shown a masked unidentified man shooting Stan with what appeared to be a tranquilliser dart then putting him into an unmarked vehicle. Fraser had noticed that the villain kept surreptitiously glancing at the camera, meaning he knew the location of it, once more pointing towards a law enforcement member. They had checked everyone at the thirteenth. They were all clean. Fraser got worried when Ray adopted some of Stan's more colourful threats. Fraser wasn't sure if he was just posturing or not.

Now Ray sat with his head buried in his arms at Stan's desk, he could almost look like he was asleep, although the tensed muscled along his back betrayed his true emotional state. Fraser was already consumed in guilt about not protecting Stan, he also knew it must be a thousand times worse for Ray. With Stan being the youngest in their group, Fraser felt a natural desire to protect him, he'd felt it on the Henry Allen, he felt it on their quest and he felt it now. When Stan had truly needed them, they had let him down.

They had no leads. Fraser was worried about what would happen if they didn't find Stan tonight. They had never established a good estimate of the time between the people was abducted and killed. They didn't know how much time Stan had left. Dief had failed to come up with any useful information from the scents outside the precinct, which indicated that the killer most likely was around the precinct a lot so Dief would not think anything unusual.

Leftenant Welsh had called in every favour he was owed, asked everyone he knew, they were almost so desperate that he was even talking about bringing in the feds. Fraser could almost hear Stan's opinion of that idea; it involved a lot of cursing and words that he would never repeat. Fraser was determined not to give up.

0o0o0

Stan smiled, dizzy with relief.

"Milner! Buddy, it's sooooo good to see ya, quick get me out of here before psycho man gets back," Stan lifted his ankles and wrists, jangling them slightly to emphasise his point.

"I don't think so," there was something in his voice, a coldness that made Stan lift up his head to look at Milner,

"Ryan?" He asked confused,

"Stan," he smiled predatorily at him, Stan shivered. It couldn't be true; Ryan worked in their precinct. He was a murderer. He killed people. He was a cop. A renewed bout of fighting gripped Stan, he thrashed back and forth fruitlessly, this only seemed to amuse Milner further, he chuckled throatily as he slowly approached the bed.

"How the hell can you kill people? Yer a cop, ya never heard of justice?" Stan demanded furiously.

"This my friend, is justice. You walk around every day in those tight little jeans. You're practically begging for it, slut boy." He stated easily as he caressed Stan's thigh.

"What about those other guys? I bet they were just begging to be murdered," he spat viciously.

"Their deaths are nobodies fault but your own."

"You're saying I killed them? Geeze, I don't even remember!" Stan actually laughed at the ludicrously of the suggestion.

"I wouldn't have needed to kill them if I had you," Ryan stated almost sullenly, "I had to kill them, the little whores wanted paying, they also wanted to leave. They were fun for a while, but I wanted the real thing. You know the dirty little fuckers actually looked disgusted when I called out your name! They, were disgusted, by me," he laughed ironically at himself; it was a bitter, hollow sound.

"Ya couldn't have wanted me that much, ya never even asked me out," Stan stalled, hoping he could either delay the inevitable, or talk him out of it altogether.

"How could I? That bastard Vecchio was always hanging around, you could do so much better than him. But he was so possessive, I thought about killing him, getting him out of the way...."

"But?" Stan prompted desperately. He suddenly felt freezing cold. He wouldn't have hurt Ray, would he?

"You would have resented me for it, I couldn't have that. Besides he is much more useful as a pawn." Stan sighed in relief, pawns were good, pawns were alive.

Milner climbed up onto the bed, Stan felt it dip next to him. He lifted his head, watching what the other man was doing. Ryan pulled out a large knife. Stan's breath caught, he didn't want to die. But he especially didn't want to die in a bloodied mess, one that Ray would have to identify and have nightmares about for weeks. Ryan pulled Stan's ratty tee shirt out from his jeans and preceded to cut it along the centre, he then did the sleeves. Stan felt his back sting as it was viciously ripped out form underneath him. Ryan then gave his already have demolished jeans the same treatment. Stan felt ridiculous, he was led there, entirely naked save a pair of bright blue socks. Although Ryan didn't seem to mind, he didn't even seem to notice, he wasn't interested in Stan's socks.

Stan was scared. He had always hated the feeling of being totally helpless. Unless it was Ray making him feel that way, that wasn't scary, that was more exciting. But Stan was petrified. He wasn't so much scared about what Ryan was going to do to him. He was scared of what Ray would think. Living through this he could cope with, but living through it without Ray, he didn't think he could do it. Would Ray think that he'd been asking for it? Did he think he was just a slut? Stan berated himself, he knew Rat loved him; he'd told him enough and shown him enough for him to believe it.

Ryan straddled Stan's torso, he began to unbutton his belt, slowly releasing his straining erection. He shuffled forward and leant his hands against the wall above Stan's head. Stan waited patiently; he clenched his jaw tightly, so tightly he could feel the muscles spasm. Ryan glared down at the restrained detective in fury. He slowly brought his service revolver into view. Stan refused to be intimidated, he was probably going to die anyway, and he was nothing if not willing to wreck Milner's plans before he died.

"You'd better do what I want if you want to live," he sneered. Stan kept his mouth shut, defiantly staring back at him. Ryan pressed the butt harshly up against the side of his head, digging it into his temple. Stan still remained unfazed, a gunshot wound to the head was probably one of the best ways to go, quick, no pain, made a hell of a mess, but he wasn't going to be around to have to clean it up. "Or if you want your pathetic lover to live," he promised,

Ray.

He couldn't do anything that would endanger Ray, he couldn't live without him anyway, and it'd be like killing himself only worse. Pawn. Ryan's words started to make perfect sense. Ray was a pawn, something to threaten him with to make him behave. This time when his cock was shoved against his lips he opened them willingly. He could taste the salty, bitterness of his pre-cum, it tasted revolting, it wasn't dissimilar to Ray, obviously it was still the same stuff, but the taste of Ryan disgusted him and made him want to gag. Ryan started to move harshly in and out of his mouth, thrusting himself further down Stan's throat until he did gag, Ryan seemed to enjoy the sensation and continued to fuck his face with vigour. Stan could feel his throat begin to throb, man that would kill when he talked.

Eventually Milner came, nearly choking Stan as his ejaculate trickled down his throat, his desire to rebel returned, he desperately wanted to spit his cum back at the man, knowing that Ryan could easily kill or harm Ray soon stopped his insubordinate thoughts. Stan could feel a dribble of cum that he hadn't swallowed run down the side of his cheek. Ryan mopped it up with one of his stubby fingers. He viciously thrust the finger into Stan's mouth until he licked it clean.

Ryan grinned down at the smaller man.

"I knew you'd learn to enjoy obeying me."

"Fuck you," apparently his stupid side, that didn't know when to shut up, was still alive and vocal. Ryan just seemed to find it amusing.

"Oh, I intend to do just that," he said as he walked out of the room, leaving Stan alone to dwell in his own self-loathing.

0o0o0

Fraser and Ray continued to work diligently into the night, not that it did them any good, and they were no closer to finding Stan.

"What about people who used to work at the thirteenth? Ex-employees?" Ray theorized in his coffee hyper state.

"Good thinking Ray," Fraser was pleased, that was the first semi sensible suggestion that Ray had come up with for about an hour of their brainstorming session. Neither of them had even considered going home.

They left the break room and walked into the bullpen, still a hive of energy, a missing officer pulled in a lot of extra manpower.

"Francesca could you please run a check for all employees that have ever worked at the thirteenth,"

"Of course Benton," she looked tired; she started typing on her keyboard. She had adjusted well to her new job. Fraser was proud of her. They had only been together for a short time, but Fraser was quite sure he was in love with the youngest sibling of the Vecchio clan. He watched her fondly as she quickly retrieved all of the information they required. He offered her a small smile as she handed him the sheet. He didn't know what he'd do without her now that they had each other. Fraser looked at Ray with sympathy; deep lines of concentration furrowed the man's brow. He looked like he'd just lost a limb or something. Fraser supposed he nearly had, he and Stan had become inseparable; he must feel lost without the other mans presence.

He passed the sheet over to his partner who was sat at their missing partners desk. He scanned the list half-heartedly. Suddenly his head snapped up as he reread another line of text.

"Milner!" was all he said, Fraser looked at him in confusion.

"What does Detective Milner have to do with Stan's disappearance?"

"Everything," Fraser sighed, Ray's hatred for the man had been well known since the nasty incident when Stan had had amnesia. Fraser had hoped that Ray would have put that behind him by now. But when he saw the blatant hope reflected in the man's eyes, he didn't have the heart to quell the idea.

"Where are you going Ray?" Fraser asked as Ray wandered over to Milner's desk, casually placed himself in the man's chair before riffling through his drawers. Ray offered him no explanation and Fraser was just about to reprimand him about invading his privacy when Ray jumped up excitedly.

"Gotcha, ya bastard!" he exclaimed waving a photograph under Fraser's nose. It was a photo of Stan, nothing indecent, he was obviously not aware the photo had been taken. He was slouched against Ray's desk with a cup of coffee. He was wearing a pair of tight black jeans and a grey tee shirt. Stan was smiling at Ray who could just be seen in the corner of the picture, "Frannie what's Milner's home address?" he demanded rushing over to his sister.

"Detective Milner?" Frannie asked in confusion.

"Yeh, just find the address, don't try and do cop work, that's our job." Ray cut in nastily. A flash of hurt crossed her face, Fraser was annoyed, Ray may be hurtuign but that was no excuse for being rude to his sister.

"Ray," he warned,

"Sorry Benton Buddy, but we're so close, we gotta find him," his eye's pleaded desperately with him, and Fraser thought he'd let that one go.

0o0o0

Ray and Fraser sped along in the Riv, they halted abruptly outside Milner's apartment building. Ray ran out, sprinting up the step two at a time till he reached Milner's apartment.

"Ray, this is hardly the most convenient place to bring someone you've kidnapped," Fraser started, wanting to let his partner down gently.

"I know that," he huffed impatiently, "but there may be a clue to where he is."

0o0o0

Stan looked up again as the door opened, unsure whether to be scared. Ryan walked in carrying a container of Chinese food and a glowing red poker. Stan struggled desperately in vain; he remembered whet he'd done to the others. He supposed he'd be permanently branded as number five. He definitely wasn't prepared for the pain that spread cover the side of his hip as Milner held him down roughly. He could smell the distinct flavour of his own flesh. He thought he'd hurl. Stan was pleased when a strange greyness settled over him, blocking out the pain. Stan finally chanced a glimpse at his hip as Milner let him go, the skin looked red and angry, but in the middle was a very distinct 'R', supposedly for 'Ryan', great, that meant he was the toy he wanted to keep. Stan shifted slightly, the pain was more bearable now, he'd obviously burnt enough to kill the nerve endings. Stan sighed, that sounded like something Fraser would say.

"Hope you like chicken chop suey," he asked brightly, Stan balked at the naturalness of the way the question was asked. There was nothing else natural about the situation. But Stan could see this as an opportunity.

"I love it," he grinned, despite the pain and anger he was feeling, expecting to be released so he could eat, then hopefully kick the guy in the head, or at least steal his gun. He was bitterly disappointed when Ryan started to feed it to him with chopsticks, getting more of it over his chest and chin than in his mouth. Stan thought he'd puke it all back up when Ryan started to lick him clean. Ryan then turned and started to undo the restraints around his ankles.

"You try anything and I'll fucking kill, you, the Italian and the Mountie, you understand?" Stan was scared to speak, he didn't want to be raped by this man, hell, he didn't want to be in the same room as this man, "I said, do you fucking understand?"

"Yeh," he agreed dejectedly, all of his fight gone, he turned his head to the side and succeeded in hiding half of his face in the pillow. Ryan pushed his legs harshly over his shoulders; Stan could feel his aching muscles screaming in protest at the treatment and as the burnt skin was pulled taut unnaturally. He was completely unaware for the exquisite pain that erupted inside him as Ryan thrust himself brutally inside him. No lube, no preparation. Pain. Stan could feel a single hot tear escape form the side of his eye and trickle down his face until the pillow absorbed it. He could feel his inside begin to tear as Milner kept up the brutal punishment to his body. Stan closed his eyes as tight as he could; he tried to think of Ray, but couldn't seem to bring himself to. Thinking of Ray while he was being raped was kind of tacky and degrading his lover somehow. Also he could never believe Ray would ever treat him like this, he would never intentionally subject him to so much pain on purpose. Sure, he'd hit him once, but that was a spur of the moment thing, not a cold calculated crime like this.

Ryan thrust brutally in and out of Stan over and over. His speed increased as he reached the edge, screaming wildly as he came, spurting his seed inside to smaller detective. Stan could feel cold drips of sweat off of Milner drip onto his chest, shortly followed by a stated, flushed owner of the sweat. Stan's joints creaked ominously at the pressure of Milner slouching on him. His knees were shoved painfully into his armpits, his feet having no choice but to stick wildly up in the air still in their blue socks. Stan winced in pain as Ryan pulled his softening cock out of him.

"Get the fuck off of him!" the familiar voice of his lover yelled at Milner from the doorway. Great, he was hallucinating now as well.

The hallucination died and became reality as Milner jumped off the bed and grabbed at his gun on the side, he aimed at Ray. Stan shut his eyes, unable to watch. Stan heard a deafening crack as a gun went off, and then heard a lifeless body hitting the floor. Stan prayed to any God who would listen not to let the dead person be Ray. He was relieved to feel gentle hands undoing the restraints on his hands. He opened his eyes and saw the Mountie, for once he looked rumpled and not quite perfect, but to Stan he was the most perfect sight he could imagine. Well maybe a close second as Stan desperately scanned to room for his lover. Ray suddenly appeared in front of him. Stan threw his newly freed hands around him, clutching at him desperately, reassuring himself he was ok. He buried his face as deep as he could into the crook of Ray's shoulder. Ray didn't even complain that he was ruining his Armani shirt as he felt the warm tears spread across the fabric. Stan felt something warm being draped around him, covering his nakedness, it was warm and Stan hadn't realised till that point that he'd been cold. Stan looked up briefly to Fraser and thanked him wordlessly for the use of the sacred tunic.

0o0o0

Ray watched happily as they put his lover in the back of the bus. He'd probably have to spend the night at hospital, and then give a statement. Not that the statement would matter much, what with the large bullet hole through the front of Milner's head. Ray was pleased, that should make things easier for Stan, knowing that there wouldn't be a trail. His lover had seemed ok physically except for what that bastard had done to his ass. He wished he could bring Milner back to life, just so he could kill him again.

There would of course be the matter of the investigation. An officer was dead, killed by no less than another officer. That was bad news, with a capital BAD. Not that Ray cared. Stan was alive.

He could see his lover look around wildly for him, as the ambulance got ready to leave. Ray quickly jumped up with him, not wanting him to be left alone.

0o0o0

"How'd you know where I was?" Stan asked from his hospital bed.

"I broke into Milner's house, Fraser refused to break the law. I found a postcard from his aunt who'd moved to New Zealand, asking him to look in on her cabin on the lakes form time to time. We figured that would be the ideal place to... well.... you know," Stan had suddenly got very pale, "are you ok? Do you want me to get the doctor?" Ray asked him worriedly.

"Nah," Stan quietly assured, staring at his hands fisted in the white hospital sheets. Ray quickly took one of those hands in his, slowly caressing it, he wasn't sure if this kind of contact would be welcomed by Stan after what he'd been through, but although he refused to meet Ray's eyes, offered no protest and that reassured Ray. It would be a long recovery for the both of them.

A long, long recovery.

Finis

TBC

TYK