Author's notes: Feedback craved. Thanks to Ruthie for her comments and encouragement, as ever. This one's for her.

They buried Amy on a warm, sunny spring morning. Fucking ironic that, thought Ray Kowalski. She lived for the spring and the sunshine, hated the winter. Right up to the day she died, the days had stayed cold and grey, then like a shot to the gut, the sun came out. The small crowd of mourners watched as the new sunlight glittered over freshly turned soil, the brass ornaments on the coffin, on the ribbons on the flower arrangements - turning the hair of the bereaved husband into gold, while his heart turned to ashes within him. He tossed the dirt into the grave as he was expected to do, then turned on his heels and walked away, oblivious to his friends' sympathy, oblivious to all but the raging pain in his heart. Four fucking years. Was that all he was allowed to have? They had planned for a forever together, a golden old age together. Then she found the lump in her breast, waited six months for a doctor who didn't think she was too young to get breast cancer to take her seriously, and then it was too late - too late despite the mutilation, the chemo, the radiation. Too late for the children they planned, the travel they wanted to do, too late. Too late for Ray Kowalski. Too late for Amy Kowalski. "Beloved wife". His beloved.

Welsh told him to take two weeks off, but he was back in a week. He was going mad at home. He'd spent a year nursing Amy, helping her battle the vicious disease and the cruel treatments, and in the last three months, to battle her own treacherous body, that trapped and wanted to destroy the bright spirit it contained. During that time he had never been alone, never been without something to do. But with her death, came the being alone, the nothing to do, and it was driving him crazy. Welsh kept him at a desk for two weeks, and then let him go back to full duties. He worked double shifts when he could, overtime at any opportunity, anything to avoid going home before he was too exhausted to do any more than drop his clothes and fall into bed. And when he couldn't avoid it, then he drank, as he was doing this evening. Nothing heavy, just beer, but what had been one or two, became three or four, and now, watching television bleary eyed, the last of a six pack was in his hand and he didn't even know what it was doing there, how it had got into his fist. A small part of his mind knew this was no way to go on, but the rest of his brain didn't give a shit about that. He'd died two months ago. All that had happened since then was that his body didn't know when to quit.

The door buzzer jarred him, almost making him drop his beer. He swore and stumbled to the intercom, preparing to snarl at the moron neighbour who lost his key or the god squadders who couldn't leave a guy drink in peace. A voice from the past floated out of the tinny speaker.

"Ray? It's Fraser. Ben Fraser. Can I come up?" Ray looked at the intercom, wondering if he should bang it, or pinch himself. Fraser's puzzled voice spurred him into action. "Yeah, come in." He pushed the entry button, but made no move to open the door.

Fraser took much longer than he had expected to reach his door, but Ray still waited for the knock before he moved over and opened up. And there he stood, a shy smile on his face. "Ray?" he asked, no doubt surprised at the way his former friend was staring at him. Ray shook himself and beckoned the other man in. He watched, shocked, as Fraser walked awkwardly in, limping heavily and leaning on a cane. Ray saw his left arm was in some sort of support. There were other changes immediately obvious to him - Fraser was wearing glasses, and had lost a lot of weight. His hair was longer too, much longer than Ray had ever seen him wear it before. But the smile was the same. Fraser stuck out a hand. "It's good to see you, Ray." Ray took the outstretched hand, slightly surprised that it felt real - so it wasn't a dream. Before he quite knew what he was doing, he pulled Fraser into a hug, dimly aware that Fraser was hugging him back.

"Man oh man, Fraser, where the hell have you been?"

Still hugging him, his friend replied. "Long story. How are you, Ray?"

Ray pulled back from the embrace, seeing Fraser's kind blue eyes looking at him with sympathy. "You heard about Amy?"

"Yes, I did. I'm so sorry, Ray."

Ray pulled a face. "Yeah, people keep saying that." He stepped back. "You want a drink or something?"

"Tea would be nice." Ray rummaged around for the tea bags. "Still don't drink, Fraser?"

"Ah no, Ray. And at the moment, I'm not allowed to." Ray ignored this remark. He was suddenly conscious of the stale smell of beer, the bottles lying in the living room, his own dishevelled state of undress. He put the water on to boil, and told Fraser to sit while he dived into the bed room and put on a pair of sweats, and snagged the empty bottles from the coffee table on his way back to the kitchen. The alcohol he'd consumed and the sudden appearance of a man he hadn't seen for over five years pushed him off kilter, so he took extra care over his task as he made two cups of tea. He brought them over to the sofa and sat next to Fraser.

"So," he said, swivelling on his butt, back against the arm rest, looking at the other man. Fraser didn't answer, or look at him. Ray saw his hair was beginning to streak faintly with grey, and that he had some heavy duty crow's feet starting around his eyes. The glasses suited him, but they were a sign of his friend's physical decline. Since Fraser was only Ray's age or thereabouts, the changes were shocking. Ray prompted him again. "What brings you here, Fraser?"

Fraser forced himself to answer. "I wanted to see you, Ray. I heard about Amy from Francesca. I'm ... sorry I couldn't get to the funeral." Ray grunted. He hadn't expected Fraser to come - he hadn't heard from him in over a year, and assumed that Fraser had simply moved on with his life, leaving his Chicago friends behind. Now, thinking about it, he wondered why he hadn't questioned that more. It wasn't like Fraser to lose touch, even if it only meant a couple of letters a year. He hadn't come to Ray's wedding, but that was all right, since he was stuck in Inuvik last time he heard. Ray had been sorry, but not offended. What had really hurt was the silence over the last year, while Amy had been ill.

"Haven't heard from you for a while, Fraser? You been sick?" Fraser nodded. "What happened?"

Fraser settled back and looked directly at Ray for the first time. "I was in a car accident, Ray. In Ottawa, while attending a course. I ... was knocked down." Ray suddenly realised that the cane, the glasses, the arm support, must all be connected.

"When?" he whispered. Fraser half-smiled.

"A year ago. I was in hospital for six months." Ray was horrified.

"Oh my god, Fraser, I had no idea. Why didn't you tell me, tell somebody?" Again the half-smile, apologetic.

"Well, for the first month, I was unconscious, and then for the next two months I couldn't speak hardly at all. Then I was just trying to get well and out of the hospital. I'm sorry, Francesca told me about Amy, so I didn't want to worry you - or her."

"So, all this..." he gestured to Fraser's leg and arm. Fraser nodded again.

"Brain damage. Permanent, they say, but it's nothing like what it was before." Ray was struck dumb by the enormity of what Fraser was telling him. How could he have not known of this tragedy that had befallen his friend? Fraser was looking embarrassed, staring at his mug of tea, not meeting his eyes. Ray reached over and touched his wrist.

"Christ, I'm sorry, Fraser. That really sucks." Fraser's blue eyes lifted to his.

"It's okay Ray. I'm alive, and I can walk and talk. I'm lucky to be here." Ray stared at him. Lucky? He swallowed.

"So what about the Mounties....?" Fraser shook his head.

"I'm not in the RCMP anymore. Retired on disability. I get a pension, and there will be some sort of payout eventually from the driver's insurance, or so I'm told. I'm okay." Ray looked at his friend. It was too much. Fraser, poster boy for the RCMP, able to leap tall buildings with a single bound - a cripple, retired, brain damaged. Then Ray noticed another thing that was wrong, but hardly dared to ask.

"Where's Dief?" Fraser's stricken face was all the answer he needed, but he told him anyway.

"I had to have him put down. Just before the accident. He had cancer." Fraser's voice was gentle and sad, and that more than the actual words, undid Ray completely. He could no longer contain himself, and tears began to slip down his face. "Oh fuck, Fraser. Not Dief too. Not you. And Amy. Not Dief. He was there, I thought he was up there, in the snow. I used to think about him, used to...." Ray broke down completely, great heaving sobs wracking him. He dimly felt Fraser patting his arm, but he was inconsolable, the shocks of the past few minutes mingling with the grief of Amy's loss. Finally Fraser moved over on the sofa and took his weeping friend into his arms, soothing and patting him, and holding him, until Ray quieted, and fell asleep against him.

Ray woke and felt a comforting warmth against his face, and an arm wrapped around him. "Amy," he murmured, and snuggled closer for a minute or two, allowing himself to slowly wake fully. As he did so, he remembered this couldn't be Amy. "What the fu...?" He pushed himself up carefully and saw Fraser's head tilted back, fast asleep. 'Oh, Jesus,' he thought, and moved up slowly, so as not to wake his friend. The clock confirmed it was still night, two am. He slipped into the bedroom and grabbed a blanket and pillow from the cupboard. He put the pillow on the arm rest next to Fraser, put an arm under his shoulders and slid him down, and swung his legs up onto the sofa. He covered the still sleeping man with the blanket, gently removed his glasses and put them on the coffee table and decided against removing his shoes. He turned out the living room lights and fell into bed.

When he next woke, it was light out. Thank God it's Saturday. He felt the familiar dull ache of a mild hangover, and padded out into the living room to find aspirin. The sight of a man stretched out on the sofa was a slight shock, until he remembered the night before. Fraser was still out for the count - had hardly moved by the looks of it. Ray quietly found his aspirin, and went into the bathroom for a shower. When he emerged, Fraser still slept, and didn't stir while Ray dressed and put coffee on. Only when Ray clinked some china together by accident did Fraser finally wake, and was sitting up as Ray brought over the coffee. Fraser fumbled for his glasses, and thanked Ray for handing them to him. He passed coffee to him also.

"Sleep well?"

Fraser nodded. "Thank you, yes. You?" Ray ducked his head in embarrassment.

"Shit ... Fraser, I'm sorry for conking out on you like that..."

Fraser put up his hand to stop him. "No, don't apologise, Ray. It was my fault for coming over and giving you all the bad news in one go. I should have rung first."

Ray couldn't help but agree. It was still a lot to take in. "I don't know why Dief being dead hit me so hard - it was just that on top of everything else, you know?"

"I know, Ray, and I'm sorry. It was thoughtless of me."

The two men sat and drank their coffee in silence. Fraser looked at his friend carefully for the first time. Ray had aged a lot in five years, most of it in the past year, he thought. The blond hair was as spiky as ever, but here and there he thought he could see silver, and the furrows on his brow were more ingrained than ever. There were deep circles under his eyes, and his skin looked poor, as if he ate badly and too little. He suspected his friend drank more than was good for him, not that he could blame him. The years since he had returned to Canada had not been kind to either of them.

"Where are you stopping?"

"With Lieutenant Welsh. I rang him to say I was coming down, and he offered me somewhere to stay until I found something more permanent."

"You staying?" Ray was surprised.

"I haven't decided. There's nothing for me in Canada - only Maggie, and she's remarried, so I thought I would see if Chicago still had anything left to offer. I can't manage living in isolation anymore, so if I have to be in a city, I thought it may as well be where I have friends."

"You do have friends here. You have me."

Fraser's face twisted, but with what emotion, Ray could not tell. "Thank you, Ray ... that means a lot to me."

Ray had an idea. "Fraser, why don't you stay with me until you get a place?"

Fraser looked surprised, and not a little pleased. "Are you sure, Ray? You don't have much space ..."

"Yeah Fraser, I'm sure. Hell, I can't stand this place being so empty, and I could do with your company. What do you say?" Ray hoped he would say yes, and was not disappointed.

"It would be a pleasure."

Ray grinned. "Great - greatness. Look, finish that, have breakfast and then you can take my car over to Welsh's and pick up your gear. I'll straighten up while you're gone...." He stopped. Fraser was shaking his head. "What?"

"I can't use your car, Ray?"

"Why not, Fraser? It's not the GTO - I got rid of that a couple of years ago after Dad died."

"It's not that. I don't have a driver's licence any more." Ray was puzzled. "The injury .... the brain damage.... I have seizures." Fraser looked away from him, unable to bear seeing the pain this information was causing his friend.

"Oh, fuck - Fraser, I'm sorry, I had no idea. Look, I'll drive you, don't sweat it. Let's have breakfast first. " Ray bustled about, and made no further mention of what he had just been told, but his heart was racing. He had, during Amy's illness and Fraser's puzzling silence, imagined him and Dief, roaming the great white north, strong and fit, having adventure after adventure, and in Ray's mind, he went with them, remembering the excitement of their short expedition to find the Hand of Franklin before Fraser transferred back to Canada, and Ray back to the 27th Precinct. But in reality, Dief had been dead, and Fraser had been chained by injury to a hospital bed, alone, while Ray struggled, oblivious, tending his dying wife, nursing a dream which had been nothing more than that. He was grateful in a selfish way, that Fraser had concealed the news from him of his injury - to have known that while Amy was slipping away would have been too much to bear. Was almost too much to bear now. He realised that Fraser had come back to Chicago because he needed to, needed him. Maybe that was what he needed too - to be needed again.

On the way over to Welsh's house, Ray got the full details out of Fraser about his condition. Not a pretty picture. The medication to keep the seizures under control had a range of unpleasant side effects, one of which was the effect on his vision, already damaged by the accident, hence the glasses. He had a problem with memory - gaps which never got filled, remembering telephone numbers, odd things which he'd taken for granted. Ray suspected there were other, more private problems, but didn't dare ask. But he did want to know one thing.

"How did it happen, Fraser? I mean, you're... you were like a cat - how did you let a car hit you?"

Fraser's face darkened briefly, and he hesitated before answering. "It was my own fault. I got distracted for a split second, and the car driver wasn't looking where he was going."

"Distracted? You?" Ray was disbelieving - Fraser's powers of concentration were legendary.

"I... I heard a dog bark, and I thought it was ..." He couldn't finish, so Ray supplied the word.

"Dief. You thought it was Dief." Fraser nodded, and Ray felt tears pricking his eyes. He forced himself to concentrate on his driving, on the rain slicked road ahead. They drove the rest of the way in silence, each nursing their own pain.

Welsh was unsurprised at the change in accommodation arrangements, and Ray could have sworn he was actually pleased. He invited them to have coffee, which Ray accepted without hesitation. His lieutenant had become a close and supportive friend over the last year of Amy's life. Frankly, Ray didn't know what he would have done without him. He'd already heard the details of Fraser's accident from the horse's mouth, and accepted without further question his decision to return to Chicago, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Ben," Welsh used the first name easily, to Ray's surprise, "what are you going to do to keep busy?"

Fraser shrugged, and a more un-Fraserlike motion, Ray could hardly have imagined. "I don't know. Haven't thought about it, to be perfectly honest."

"You could teach?" Ray seized on his boss's suggestion enthusiastically.

"Yeah, Fraser, you could do that. You know I still got those contacts with the gang guys, and they're starting a programme of adult literacy. You could start with that."

Fraser accepted the idea politely, but didn't exactly pounce on it and run. Ray decided that he'd let the suggestion percolate for a couple of days and then maybe mention it again. Right now, he and his friend had a lot of catching up to do.

On the way back, it was Ray's turn to fill Fraser in on the painful events of the last year. He told him about the aggressive breast cancer which no treatment would halt. "It's worst apparently in the young ones - her mom died of it, they think it's hereditary. So fucking unfair, Fraser - she was so beautiful, inside and out. Not fair." He slammed the steering wheel. Fraser didn't answer, just let the fit of rage and grief spin itself out. Eventually Ray got hold of himself. "All she wanted to do was to die at home. She made me promise I'd let her do that. We had this hired hospital bed in the living room, and she slept there. I kept my promise, Fraser. She died right there, with me." He choked up again, and this time Fraser put his hand on his arm.

"Ray, it's okay. I'm sure that meant more than anything else to her."

"Crap, Fraser. That's fucking crap. What she wanted was to live - she had so much life in her, so much to give. Oh, fuck, oh fuck...." Tears blurred his vision and he heard his friend's gentle voice telling him to pull over. Somehow he managed it, without killing them both, and switched off the engine. Fraser unfastened his seat belt and leaned over, wrapping an arm around his shoulder while he cried. They sat like that for a long time, with the rain slapping the roof of the car, and the windows gradually fogging up from their breath. As the tears eased, and he got his breathing under control, Ray looked at Fraser and grinned weakly. "Must be some sort of record for you, Fraser - having me fall apart on you twice in 24 hours." Fraser snorted and sat up.

"Are you OK?"

"No, but I'll live." He pulled the keys out of the ignition and handed them to Fraser, who shook his head ruefully. "Christ, I forgot. OK, just give me a second." He concentrated on regaining control, and wiped his face with his hands a few times, until he was certain he could drive in a sane and safe manner. Fraser looked at him. "Okay?"

"Yeah." Ray started the engine again, and got them home in one piece.

The rest of the day was spent talking. Fraser had had an eventful time of it prior to his accident, and Ray filled him in one what had happened at the 27th since he left. Fraser knew most of it anyway, through Francesca, who, irony of ironies, had married a Canadian doctor and moved to Toronto. Fraser had kept in close touch with her, and knew about Ray Vecchio and Stella's two kids, about the moderate success of Jack Huey and Tom Dewey's comedy club, and how Ray had met Amy when she'd replaced Francesca at the precinct. Ray laughed till his sides hurt over former constable Turnbull's minor political role, and his ambitions to become prime minister. Even Fraser found that amusing. He listened with obvious interest to Ray's detailing of some of the big cases he'd worked on, one or two of which had involved criminals that they had put away together during Fraser's time in Chicago. Ray became absorbed in memories, and asked, without thinking, "Do you ever miss it, buddy?"

He'd had his eyes half closed as he spoke, but the sudden intake of breath from the other man made them snap wide open. Fraser looked as if he'd been struck with a clenched fist. Ray resisted, barely, the temptation to grab the rigid, pale-faced man next to him up into a hug. Instead, he watched as Fraser forced his breathing and his voice back into control. "The answer to that is yes, Ray." Ray swallowed.

"Gotcha, Fraser. I see that." Fraser remained still for several minutes, Ray respecting his need to get his emotions in hand. Eventually Fraser stood up, his difficulty in doing so, obvious, and painful to see. "I'm going to make some more tea. Would you like some?" Ray nodded, and Fraser busied himself in the kitchen, while Ray cursed his insensitivity. He'd been deceived by Fraser's calm demeanour up to now, the easy way in which he spoke of his injuries, even being able to talk of Dief without falling apart, but he now realised that Fraser's loss had been nearly as great as his own. At least Ray still had his job, a role in life. Fraser had lost everything that had meant anything to him, and more besides. Amy's death was a single, although terrible blow, to be overcome with time and love and friendship. But Fraser was never going to overcome his disability, regain what had been ripped from him. At that moment, Ray swore that he would make it his mission to help Fraser get something back, learn a new purpose in life. His friend was all he had left.

They carefully kept the conversation light, meaningless for the rest of the day. Fraser was amused by Ray's well-stocked freezer. "Hey, I can cook. And when Amy got sick..." He didn't continue, and changed the subject. They settled on the sofa after supper, tea for both of them. Fraser didn't comment on Ray's lack of a beer, and Ray didn't feel up to explaining. Even without the alcohol, he felt himself relaxing. His friend was here, back for who knew how long, and for Ray, for now, that was enough. That night he slept soundly, without the need for exhaustion or booze, for the first time in over two months.

Looking back, Ray was surprised at how quickly the rhythm of life, the pattern of the days and weeks, settled down. It was obvious Fraser couldn't stay permanently at Ray's small apartment, but on a visit to Mrs Vecchio's, the problem was easily solved. She lived on her own now, all her children had moved away now that Maria, her husband and three children had moved east in search of work. She readily persuaded Fraser that for him to rent a ground floor room from her was doing her the favour, not vice versa. Fraser also picked up Welsh and Ray's suggestion and began volunteer tutoring on the literacy project. Since the days of 100 words a minute typing were a distant memory, he bought a state of the art Apple Mac portable computer, and a voice typing programme, and prepared his lessons that way. On Ray's free weekends, and days off, he stayed over at Ray's apartment, or Ray occasionally stayed at Ma Vecchio's.

For Ray, Fraser's coming back was an unalloyed blessing. He could hardly imagine how he would have coped without him - but could easily imagine that he would either be a full-fledged alcoholic or dead from a slip-up at work which put him in the road of a merciful bullet. Fraser centred him, gave him an outlet, gave him something to think about. He even helped him sort out a couple of cases, talking Ray though the case file and spotting things that had been missed. Ray considered asking Welsh if Fraser could work as a consultant, but didn't feel brave enough to broach it with either man. He could see his friend was still haunted by the loss of his career, and although his new teaching work was undoubtedly fulfilling, and he was achieving excellent results, it was never going to replace the thrill of the chase, the sheer joy of the hunt and capture. For his friend's sake, he hoped that he would, eventually, put the hunger behind him, but for now, he could only watch as an unnamed longing crossed Fraser's face from time to time, when he thought Ray couldn't see.

And so they continued in this way, for eight months, and may have done so for longer, if it hadn't been for that one Saturday. Fraser, as usual, had slept on Ray's sofa, and as usual, was up before his friend emerged.

"Hi Frase," he greeted him, grabbed a cup of coffee and dived into the bathroom without further ceremony. Fraser went on with preparing his breakfast - Ray habitually skipped this meal, unless he'd missed dinner the previous evening. He noted casually that his friend had gone back into his bedroom to dress, but was surprised a few minutes later when Ray came back out, in a good suit.

"Do you have an appointment this morning, Ray?" The other man looked at him carefully, as if judging whether he should tell him or not. Fraser filled Ray's coffee cup and waited for an answer, which finally came.

"I ... Fraser...." Ray stopped. Fraser gave him an encouraging tilt of the head. Ray started again. "Look, I gotta go somewhere today, and I don't know if you want to come or not. Just say so if you don't."

"Tell me what it is Ray, and I'll let you know," he said gently. Seeing nothing but friendly interest in his friend's blue grey eyes, Ray told him.

"It's ... uh... Amy's birthday and I .... always got her roses for her birthday, so I..." He stopped again, embarrassed and with tears starting. Fraser laid his hand over Ray's. "I understand. I would be honoured to accompany you, if you'll have me." Ray gave him a watery smile. "I was hoping you'd say that."

They finished breakfast, and Ray drove them to the florist to collect the bunch of yellow roses he'd pre-ordered. Then they headed to the cemetery, and Ray parked up. He made no move to leave the vehicle. Fraser spoke quietly. "Would you like me to wait for you here?" Ray looked at him gratefully, glad he could offer what he'd been afraid to ask for, and nodded. Fraser watched him walk over to the grave in the distance.

Ray knelt at the grave, now grassed over, and placed the roses at the base of the simple granite headstone. With his long, delicate fingers, he traced the incised letters of his beloved's name. "Happy birthday, honey," he whispered. "I miss you. I miss you all the time." He swallowed back his tears. "See, I got you your favourites again. Beautiful, like you. Do you remember the first ones I gave you, when we got engaged? You looked so pretty holding them, like a princess. Then you pricked your finger, and I kissed it better. You said, 'you make me feel better all over', do you remember that, Amy? Only I couldn't make you better, could I? Couldn't kiss that better." He stared into nothing, seeing his wife as she was in her last days, emaciated, weak, too frail to speak. Being unable to ease her pain, being unable to let her go. God, it hurt. It never stopped hurting.

He didn't know how long he knelt like that. When at last he made his eyes focus, he was aware on a shadow on the grass beside him, and a hand on his shoulder, its warmth seeping through his jacket and shirt. He lifted his head and saw Fraser looking at him with deep compassion - and pain? For a moment he saw a reflection of his own loss in Fraser's eyes, which disconcerted him. Fraser didn't even know Amy. Was he simply sad for his friend? Ray shrugged it off mentally. He took the hand Fraser extended to him, and stood up. He looked at Fraser, wiping a few random tears off his face with his hands, and then stood, shoulders slumped, staring at his wife's grave, as if by doing so, he could bring her back to life. Then he felt Fraser's arm across his shoulder and it was too much for him again. He turned into his friend's broad chest and sobbed and sobbed, feeling Fraser's hand stroking his back, soothing, hearing him saying gentle words of comfort, trying to take the pain off his own shoulders. He heard him ask if he wanted to go, and he nodded against his friend's shoulder, and let Fraser lead him back to the car.

He slumped behind the wheel, wishing that today of all days, that Fraser still had a licence, or that they had at least taken a cab. Fraser waited for him to compose himself, looking out the window at the elegant, well tended lawns and handsome trees. He heard Ray's voice, and turned back to him. "Thank you, Fraser."

"You're welcome. Anytime." He infused the words with as much warmth as he dared, to let his friend know that he would support him, even when he had been forced to abandon him to his troubles before. Ray smiled.

"Don't know where I'd be without you, buddy." He started up the engine and drove them back into town. Fraser wondered if Ray would prefer to be alone today, but was assured that was the last thing he wanted. Even so, he was careful to give him as much privacy as possible. Ray spent much of the afternoon in his room, looking at photos, and reading love letters. Fraser worked quietly on his laptop. Around six, Ray emerged, looking calm, although pale, and he had obviously been crying again. Without a word he began supper preparations, while Fraser searched the TV guide for something which would occupy their brains without too much challenge for the evening. They had rented films on a few occasions, but it was difficult to find one which were not ridiculous but which also didn't touch on themes of loss and grief, or mystery. Even the video shop was a minefield for the unwary heart.

Fraser found a documentary which would hold their interest for an hour or so while they ate the excellent lasagne Ray had made. As he cleared the plates, Ray asked suddenly, "Fraser, would it bother you if I had a beer?" Fraser stopped his cleanup and looked at his friend's face. On it he saw apprehension, but of what he was not sure. He had picked up before that Ray was embarrassed about the state in which Fraser had first seen him, and he had been cautious to the point of virtual teetotalism about drinking in front of him. He wasn't sure what Ray was asking - did he mind if he had a beer, or did he mind if he got drunk? Neither worried Fraser, so long as it didn't degenerate into a worse problem. Then he realised - Ray was relying on him to stop it from being a problem. Well, he could do that. He cleared his throat and answered. "Not at all, Ray. Let me get it."

He fetched a bottle and opened it before passing it to Ray, who took it, but did not drink from it, instead holding it between his hands in front of him. He looked at it for a couple of minutes, then lifted his eyes to Fraser's. "Don't know why today should be worse. Sometimes I can't remember the date Amy died, but I could never forget her birthday. Shouldn't matter any more, should it?"

Fraser didn't know, himself, exactly what Ray was feeling. "I know when Dad died. his birthday was always more difficult than the anniversary. I guess it was because his birthday was something we celebrated while we were together, but his death, he did that alone. I really don't know how you must feel. I'm only sorry I can't help."

"You help, you do. You're just lucky you haven't been through this." He missed the shadow of pain that crossed Fraser's face at his words, and continued. "Don't you regret it, Fraser? Never being married? It's not like you didn't have your chances. Francesca would've had you like a shot. What was it with her, anyway? I thought after that scene in the hospital, with the Muldoon thing, you and her were gonna get together for sure, then ... nothing?" He gave his friend an enquiring look, then took a pull on the beer which was rapidly warming in his hands. The taste was sickening, and he put the bottle on the coffee table with a wince of disgust. At least that wasn't going to be a temptation. Ray focused on the documentary. Fraser was quiet for so long, he'd almost forgotten that he'd asked a series of rather personal questions, until his voice cut into his concentrations.

"Yes I do regret not being married. Francesca came to see me after I transferred back, and we talked, but she decided she didn't want to be second best, so we left it at remaining friends."

"What the hell are you talking about, Fraser? Second best? You mean there's someone else?" He stared at his friend as if he had just grown horns. Fraser wouldn't meet his eyes, but Ray kept staring until he reluctantly answered.

"I gave my heart a long time ago to someone else. The fact I am not with that person doesn't change that." Ray suddenly understood.

"Victoria. You're still in love with her." Fraser didn't deny it, but looked at the mug he was holding. Ray was exasperated.

"Man, you're something else, Fraser. How long are you going to keep pining over something you can't have?"

"Forever, if that's what it takes." The simple words were like a death sentence on Fraser's heart, and Ray was determined to set him free.

"No, you can't do that. You gotta get out there and find love, like I did. It's worth it, for all the pain."

Fraser shook his head. "I have love, Ray, it's just not returned. And I did try to forget. There were ... a couple of relationships. In Canada. They didn't work out."

"What happened? Who were they?"

Fraser set his mug down and gripped his hands like he was afraid they might fly off his wrists. "A woman - a civilian aide at the depot. And ... another mountie."

"A lady mountie - like Maggie?"

"No, not a lady Mountie. A man." Fraser's voice had dropped almost to a whisper. Ray boggled. He didn't know what was more astounding - that Fraser had had not one, but two relationships without his knowledge, or that one of these was with a male. He was determined to draw his reticent friend out. He placed a hand over Frasers clenched fists. "Tell me," he ordered gently. Fraser took a deep breath, and then another. When he spoke, his voice shook slightly.

"His name was Patrick. He was ... much younger, and he had formed a crush on me. He was very kind, and attentive ... and I was lonely. I tried to make him happy, but in the end I couldn't. It never got past the hand holding, kissing stage, and it was he who finished it. I didn't mind - he wasn't what I wanted."

The raw pain he heard in the other man's words tore Ray's heart. He squeezed Fraser's hand. "It's okay, buddy. I understand."

"You do?" Fraser looked surprised.

"Yeah, sure I do. After Stella, no-one else could fill her place. It was only when I met Amy that I found someone who almost made me forget Stella ever existed. You'll find someone, you'll see. Just keep looking." Fraser shook his head again.

"Somehow I doubt that, Ray." The bleak tone ripped at Ray, as did the look of pain that shadowed over his friend's face. The same look he'd seen earlier at the cemetery. Something very deep, and very scary, was going on in his friend's head, and his heart, but Ray didn't think he felt brave enough to explore there. He looked at the open beer bottle in front of him, and realised that, tonight, he needed more than this. He tipped the beer out and washed the bottle, then fetched down the unopened bottle of Scotch he'd been given for Christmas, and a glass. He placed them on the coffee table and sat back on the sofa next to his friend. He picked up the glass and poured a double and held it up to Fraser. "Just tonight, OK?" Fraser nodded. They sat in silence the rest of the evening, while Ray drank and Fraser thought.

Ray woke with a start. Deja vu. He was sleeping against Fraser again, who couldn't go to bed until his inconsiderate friend took his drunken body off his bed and into his own. Despite knowing this, Ray was tempted to remain where he was for a few minutes more. Fraser's arm was wrapped around him, a warm, comforting embrace, and his chest was a soft pillow, with the steady, calming thump of his heart under his ear. It couldn't hurt, Ray thought, as he lifted his head gently to look at his sleeping friend. Who wasn't sleeping. Who was looking at him tenderly. Who was no doubt wondering why his male friend was snuggling against him like a teenage girl at the movies, and using him like a sleeping bag.

"Uh, Fraser.... sorry, I fell asleep..." Ray made to sit up, but Fraser's arm restrained him.

"It's all right, Ray." Again, that gentle, tender - loving - look. Ray glanced at the Scotch bottle - a lot was gone, but he was pretty sure he'd accounted for all of it. Fraser didn't look drunk. He struggled upright, and this time there was no restriction. He stood up. Fraser kept looking at him, but he couldn't stand it any more. "Bed. G'night." he mumbled and went into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

He lay awake, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Fraser had to be whacked out on something - maybe the anti-seizure meds. That would be it. But that didn't explain how much he'd enjoyed being held like that, how comfortable he felt in his friend's arms. Shit. He could explain it by the lack of bodily contact since Amy died - since she got really sick, actually - and he trusted Fraser with his life. And they had slept together, in a fashion up north, sharing sleeping bags a couple of times when the temperature got out of hand. But that was pure necessity. The sheer indulgence of falling asleep against someone like that, was shocking, sinful almost. One thing for sure. Fraser was gonna be embarrassed about it, so Ray vowed not to mention it.

When he got up, he remembered his promise to himself of the night before, and, ingoring the whisky headache, set his face in a determinedly cheerful expression before opening the bedroom door. But Fraser was gone. Alarmed, Ray looked in the bathroom, before going out to the living room and finding the note. "Ray," it read," I hope you remembered that I promised Mrs Vecchio I would accompany her to visit her aunt this morning. I'll see you this evening. Fraser." Ray sagged with relief. Fraser hadn't bolted, it was simply a pre-arranged excursion which had totally slipped his mind. Fraser had even told him he was going to get a cab early to save him driving over to the Vecchio's house.

Ray showered and dressed, then removed the Scotch bottle and glass from the coffee table where he'd left them. He straightened up some, then felt at a loose end, and in need of company. He made a phone call, then drove over to Harding Welsh's house. The two men relaxed over coffee. Welsh asked how he'd spent Amy's birthday, and Ray admitted it had been tough.

"How's Ben?" Ray was somewhat surprised at the question, but took the opportunity which had been given him.

"Uh, he's kinda what I wanted to talk about."

"I guessed that. Shoot."

"You remember that Victoria Metcalf chick?" Welsh's eyes narrowed. Yes indeed, he remembered her, and with no pleasure.

"Go on," he grunted.

"Did Fraser .... did you know he was still in love with her?" Welsh looked stunned.

"Did he tell you that?"

"Yeah - well, he said he'd been in love for a long time, and when I said, 'Victoria' he didn't deny it. So, yeah, I guess he did."

Welsh sighed. "Kowalski, you've been a cop for how long?"

"Fifteen years."

"And a detective for how long?'

"Nine years." Ray was getting slightly annoyed, but it was still his boss he was talking to, friend or no friend.

"I think I said something once about your powers of deduction making my head spin. Beg the court's permission to withdraw that remark."

"What are you getting at, Lieutenant?"

"What I'm saying, *Detective*, is that if there is one thing on God's earth you can be sure about, it is that Benton Fraser is not in love with Victoria Metcalf. She nearly got him killed, for Christ's sake."

"I know that, boss, but..."

"Ray, you're a detective. So detect, will ya?" Welsh would not be drawn on the subject any further. Ray stayed for another hour, talking about sports, then rose to leave. Welsh put his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Ray, Ben needs a friend. Talk to him. And, by the way, you've got tomorrow off. You've been working too hard."

He overrode his detective's protests and waved him off. He hoped he hadn't been too subtle for his bull-headed friend.

Ray drove home in a daze, and spent the rest of the day sitting on the sofa, turning the surreal conversation with his boss over and over in his head. He could understand Welsh not believing Fraser was in love with the psycho bitch from Alaska anymore - hell, he had trouble with that himself - but who else was there? Francesca, he'd ruled out himself, and Fraser, though no longer a Mountie, still didn't lie. It had to be someone he knew, or he would have said something. Ray went down the list of female suspects, before remembering Fraser's admission of a relationship with another man. So, he added possible male names to the list. Someone at the precinct? At the consulate? The thought of Fraser in love with Turnbull made him have a fit of the giggles, but he pushed that one aside as being too bizarre. The most likely male candidates were Ray Vecchio - and himself. The thought was like a bucket of cold water over him. It couldn't be that, not Fraser. But when he examined the evidence, as Welsh had urged him to do, he was drawn to the conclusion that it was indeed himself that Fraser was attracted to.

Oh shit. He'd never been in this position with a man or a woman, and he didn't want to break his friend's lonely heart more than it had been. Maybe he was wrong. He spent a good hour and a half convincing himself that he was wrong, mental effort which he knew was a waste of time as soon as he heard Fraser come in and saw the shining, loving smile turned upon him. He forced himself to be calm, to wrap a welcoming smile on his own face, but inside, his guts were churning. He went through the mechanics of conversation before announcing he needed a shower, and bolting into the bathroom. There he examined his face for a long time, trying to see how it was possible that his handsome, and hitherto presumed to be heterosexual friend could have fallen in love with the visage he saw in the mirror. He sat on the toilet seat, trying to decide how to handle it. He could ignore it, and condemn Fraser to the lonely life of solitude he had embarked upon. He could confront it, and tell Fraser that there was no hope for it, and make the man deal. He could pretend he loved him back, and then end it later, to show Fraser how hopeless it was. That option he rejected immediately. He could never hurt him like that. Was there another option? Could he accept the affection which Fraser seemed ready to offer, and see how it went. It was risky. He didn't know if he could do it, without showing revulsion, without showing how nervous he was. Then he remembered who he was dealing with - Fraser, his best, most trusted friend, who had never knowingly hurt a living creature. A gentle, kind person. A good looking one at that. He didn't make his flesh crawl, that's for sure. He remembered also the promised he'd made to himself eight months ago, to do whatever he could to make his friend happy. Well, if what it took was to hold and kiss and .... whatever ... his best friend, he could do it. He'd slept with people for a whole lot less reason.

He washed his face, relieved and scared at his decision, when the cause of his anxiety knocked at the bathroom door.

"Ray, are you OK in there?"

"I'm fine, Fraser."

"Shall I start supper?"

"Yeah, go for it. I'll be out in a few minutes." He decided a shower was a good idea after all, if a seduction was in the offing. He stopped at that thought - was he ready for that? He decided he was, if Fraser was.

He scurried into the bedroom with a towel around his skinny hips and changed into sweats and a T. No underwear. One last check in the bedroom mirror, then he strode out into the living room, with a smile on his lips, his guts in a knot. Fraser gave him an answering smile, and dished out the reheated stew. They ate companionably, then Ray cleared away, then turned down most of the lights in the apartment. They settled on the sofa as usual, and Ray switched on a live classical concert he knew Fraser wanted to watch. Fraser lifted an eyebrow at Ray's choice, but didn't comment. His enjoyment of the music was obvious, and he was relaxed and happy looking. Good. Ray decided now was the time to make a start. He yawned ostentatiously. Fraser immediately looked concerned.

"Are you tired, Ray? Perhaps you should go to bed?"

"Yeah, I'm tired, but it's too early to sleep. Would you mind if I stretched out?" Fraser shook his head. Ray put his head on the arm rest and his feet almost touching his friend. He felt uncomfortable, and looked it. That was the plan. He didn't have to wait long.

"Uh, Ray, would you be more comfortable with your head at this end?"

He nodded, and without further invitation swung around and put his head against Fraser's thigh. He saw Fraser jump slightly, and had to resist the temptation to grin evilly. Oh, yes, you want me, don't you? He was surprised how the idea didn't frighten him as much as he thought. He wriggled about until, as if by accident, his head was suddenly in his friend's lap. Fraser jumped again, but Ray kept his eyes on the TV, and gradually he felt Fraser relax once more. It felt nice, and when Fraser's arm came over his chest, it felt even nicer. He felt himself drifting off. What the hell - Fraser can't go anywhere until I move, he thought. He let himself fall asleep.

When he woke, the concert was over, and the TV was turned low, to a news programme. He twisted up to look at Fraser. His eyes were closed, but his breathing was fast, so he knew wasn't asleep. He ran a hand gently up his friend's chest, up to his face, and stroked his cheek. He heard the breathing rate increase. He scootched up, until he was almost sitting up in Fraser's lap, then raised his hand again and drew the other man's head down for a soft kiss. Fraser's lips parted, and he met the kiss with tender force, letting Ray lead, but returning it in full. Then, just as gently, he pulled back. "Ray, don't" he said, quietly. Ray didn't let his hand fall, and went to draw him in again, but Fraser resisted.

"Please." Ray stopped. Fraser's eyes had remained closed while they kissed, but now they opened, and Ray was staring into beautiful blue grey eyes, that showed a world of pain. What was he thinking of - treating this like a game. This man was hurt, and he loved him. This wasn't a game. He stroked Fraser's - Ben's - cheek softly. "You want me, don't you?"

Ben's hands came up and held his between them. "Ray, I love you, but I don't need this. You don't have to do this." Ray moved until he was actually sitting on Ben's lap, and Ben's arms came round him and held him close. Ray closed his eyes, and rested his head on his friend's shoulder. He could hear the strong heart, as he had the night before, beating fast. A sound to sleep by, to live by. He loved being held by Fraser. He loved his smell, his warmth. He was suddenly desperate that Fraser's scruples did not deprive him of this. He spoke against his friend's body. "I want to do this. I want this. Want your arms holding me. Don't leave me, Ben."

He felt Fraser tense up then relax, then a hand stroked his hair. "I won't leave you, Ray. Ever. I promise," he whispered. Fraser placed a gentle kiss on the top of his friend's head. Ray snuggled closer, forgetting for now that he had planned a whole seduction scene for the evening, feeling too safe and comfortable to move.

He woke again, and the TV was off. He squinted and worked out it was after midnight. Thank God he had the day off. He realised he was sitting on Fraser, who appeared fast asleep but would doubtless be very sore and cramped unless he got horizontal. But Ray didn't want to part from him. He slid off Ben's lap, then shook him carefully. Sleepy eyes met his. "Come to bed, Ben." Fraser slipped down as if to get comfortable on the sofa, but Ray shook him again. "No, Ben. Bed, I said." He stood up and tugged gently until the other man was also upright, then he led him by the hand into the bedroom, supporting him carefully since he didn't have his cane. He lay him down on the bed, removed his glasses, then undid his belt and unzipped his jeans before drawing them off. He checked that everything else looked comfortable, then quickly undressed and slipped into boxers which replaced the sweats. He slid under the covers and curled around his friend, who had hardly woken up during the whole procedure. Ray fell asleep, feeling at peace.

Ben woke, and was disorientated. He felt a warm body next to him, holding him close. Ray. He fumbled one handedly for his glasses, but couldn't reach them. He was still semi-dressed. He relaxed. Nothing too untoward had happened then. He remembered the soft kiss he had shared with Ray the night before, and licked his lips, trying to remember how he tasted. He didn't know why Ray had suddenly upped the ante, so to speak, in their relationship, and they had to talk, but for now, he felt more happy and peaceful than he had for seven years, which was how long he'd been in love with this amazing, beautiful man. Somehow, in the past 24 hours, Ray had realised his love. Whether he returned it or not, they could not go back to the time when he was unaware of it, so they had to deal with it. At least he didn't seem revolted, for which Ben was unspeakably grateful. Still, he waited apprehensively for Ray to stir.

When Ray did wake, he felt more rested than he had done for months. He remembered where he was, and who he was with, but it didn't bother him. The rightness of the feeling was itself strange, but Ray had long ago learned to take pleasure and love from wherever he could, for it may not be there when you looked again. He touched Ben's face, and was rewarded with a shy smile. He couldn't resist - he reached over and kissed him full on the lips. This time Ben didn't pull away, and they remained against each other for a minute or more. It was Ray who broke it.

"'Morning. Sleep well?"

"Yes." Ben's dazzling smile said more than the one word confirmation, but then his face clouded. "Ray, we should talk."

Ray sighed. "Yeah, I guess."

"Could I have my glasses? I want to see you." Ray got up and found them for Ben, and then told him he was going to pee before getting back into bed. He found Fraser had stripped off the sweater and shirt he'd slept in, and was like Ray, now only dressed in boxers and a T. Ray found this strangely arousing, but slipped back under the covers before it became too obvious. He wrapped his arms around Ben again, who frowned. "Don't you have to go to work, Ray?'

"No. Day off, courtesy of Welsh."

"Oh." Ben relaxed. Ray was almost tempted to drift off again, but wanted to get this talking stuff out of the road.

"So. We need to talk. You're in love with me, right? It wasn't Victoria the other night, was it?"

"No, Ray. It's you, has been for a long time."

"Since when?" Fraser blushed.

"Since the day I met you, I'm afraid."

Ray looked at him in astonishment. "You're kidding?"

"No, I'm not."

Ray had no answer for this. He'd thought perhaps it had happened when they went north together, but to learn that his very male partner had been holding a candle for him for the two years they worked together was, frankly, mind boggling.

"So why didn't you say something?" Fraser shrugged. Figure it out Kowalski - you've been chasing everything in skirts since he met you. "I'm sorry, Ben." He stroked Ben's chest, and felt the other man sigh with pleasure. He kissed him again, something that got easier every time.

Ray touched the site on Fraser's head where the impact had occurred that had destroyed his friend's career. "It's not fair, this happening to you. Like with Amy - she was such a good person. *You're* such a good person - why you? It's not right."

Ben replied, calmly, a little sadly. "It is fair, and it is right - I deserve it." Ray started to protest, but Ben shushed him with a finger over his lips. "No, I mean it. I should have died when Ray Vecchio shot me - I deserved it then. I should have lost my career, my health then. But instead I got my health back, my career back - all of it. And what did I do with it? I was too frightened to tell you how I felt, denied my feelings, ran away - and now look what's happened. It's fair. I threw away an opportunity and I have been punished."

Ray wouldn't accept it. "No, Ben. You can't say that. It's bad luck, and you don't deserve it. You'll never convince me, so stop trying."

They lay together peacefully, but finally Fraser broke the silence. "Ray, I have to ask you, now you know, how do you feel about this?" God. He knew Fraser was bound to ask, but the truth was, he didn't know. So he said that.

"Dunno, Ben. I mean, I'm flattered as hell. I love you as a friend, and a brother - have forever. More than that, I don't know. I love to hold you, to be held. I think I like kissing you," reaching down to prove it, "but the rest..."

Fraser grimaced, then smiled. "Ah, well, I think you should know something Ray. The rest is something I don't think I can manage anyway."

"Huh?" Ray was puzzled.

"What I mean is, with the drugs and the brain injury, I suffer from erectile dysfunction."

"Which in English is?' Fraser didn't answer, but blushed beet red. Ray worked it out.

"You mean - there aint no lead in your pencil anymore?"

Fraser nodded. "Yes, as you put it, I am 'unleaded'." Ray couldn't help it. The solemn look on Fraser's face, and the bizarre way of putting it, gave him the giggles. He tried to stifle them knowing it was hardly a joke, but then Fraser grinned, then laughed, then the pair of them were cackling like fools. Ray wiped his eyes. "I'm sorry, Fraser, it ain't funny, but ....'

Fraser dared to pull him down for a kiss. "It's okay, Ray - that's the best I've felt about it for over a year. And it does mean your virtue is safe with me."

"What if I don't want it to be safe?" Ray was serious now.

"Ray, I can't offer you ..."

"Oh, crap, Fraser, there's more to sex than a hard on, you know that. And mine works just fine, thank you."

"Ray, think about this. You're offering to have a sexual relationship with someone you are not in love with, who can't reciprocate fully. Someone who is crippled - brain- damaged. A man. Do you really want this?"

Ray gazed into his friend's - his lover's - beautiful eyes. Despite the seriousness of the question, they were peaceful, and Ray knew whatever his answer, he could handle it. He rolled over until he was right over Ben, so that he was leaning on his chest.

"Ben, I love you. I trust you. I like you. Yes I want to fuck you - no, forget that, I want to make love to you, not fuck you. The rest doesn't matter. You being a man - no problem. You're beautiful. The brain damage - who cares. I'm damaged goods too. The hard ons - we'll deal with it. All I know is that I never want you to leave."

"But you're not in love with me."

Ray sighed. "No, I'm not. But that would be true of anyone at the moment, because of Amy. I still miss her, and to be in love with someone else, well, it would feel wrong. But that doesn't mean I don't want to be with you. Can you give me time? Is that enough for you?"

Ben brought his arms around Ray and held him close. "More than enough, my love. You are all I need. And I would wait forever for you."

They held each other tight as the morning brightened. At last, the demands of the body grew too great, and Fraser excused himself while Ray made coffee and toast and brought it in on a tray. They sat in bed, Ray holding Ben's waist while he ate, snuggling against his warm chest. Ben put the tray on the floor, then pulled them both down in the bed until they were flat out again. "Can I ...?" he asked hesitantly.

"What? What can I do?"

"Can I see you?" He spoke shyly, as if he thought Ray would refuse. To tell the truth, Ray was nowhere near as confident as he had made himself out to be earlier, but he stripped off quickly, and let Ben drink in the sight, which now include a semi-erect penis. Ben stroked his belly lightly.

"You're more beautiful than I remembered."

"Huh, been peeking, Fraser?" Ray was ridiculously pleased at the thought of Ben desiring his skinny body.

"Sadly, yes - when you used to box." His hand drifted lower. "May I?" Ray nodded and his fingers trailed over the penis which became fully erect. He looked again for permission, and received it. Still, he remained gentle, and he merely touched his finger on the sensitive tip, causing Ray to shudder. It had been so long - he hadn't had sex in nearly two years. That brought Amy to mind, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Ray?" he heard Ben's concerned voice. He made himself open his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Ben. Memories."

"Amy." A statement, not a question. Ray nodded. Ben rested his head against Ray's shoulder, but continued the light playing of his fingers over his stomach. "It's okay, Ray. I know how much you love her, and how much you miss her. I'm not trying to replace her."

"I'm not asking you to, Ben. Just give me time." He kissed him again.

"All you want, my love." He placed his hand more firmly on Ray's penis and gripped it. Ray shivered, then moaned quietly as Fraser began to stroke, without urgency. The sweet sensation was almost too much, and, sensing his pain, Ben increased the speed of his strokes. Ray's orgasm built quickly and he sighed as he came over Ben's hand. "God," he said quietly. He found Fraser looking at him, with love, with enquiry. "Thank you, Ben." He kissed him, and drew him close. He didn't know what this feeling was, but he would settle for it.

The rhythm of their lives altered only slightly. Fraser moved into Ray's apartment full time, but other than that, and the fact they slept together, nothing else changed. But Ray's colleagues noticed that he was a lot happier, and a lot calmer, and Welsh could not help but give a knowing smile when anyone commented on it. Ben blossomed in Ray's affection, and the bond between them deepened. Although Ray still could not honestly say he felt he was 'in love' with Ben, the difference was not important to either of them. Ben had the person to whom he had devoted his heart, and Ray had no- one else to whom he wanted to give his love and respect. It didn't feel like being married, but in some ways it was better.

On the anniversary of Amy's death, they both went to the cemetery, and this time, Ray brought Ben with him to the grave. He knelt down and touched the headstone. "Hello honey. It's a year already. Doesn't feel it. Feel's like yesterday you were here. I miss you, sweetheart. Do you know what's been happening? Can you see us? I hope you can. I hope you know how much I love you still. You'll be in my heart forever." Ray kissed the stone. "Goodbye, Amy." He stood up and held Ben's hand.

"Do you think she'd approve, Ray?"

"I think so - Amy was one of the least judgmental people I know, next to you that is. Sweet, kind, gentle. She'd want me to be happy."

"And are you, my love?" Ray looked at Ben, then kissed him gently.

"Getting there." He pulled him into a hug. "You know what 'Amy' means, don't you, Ben?"

Ben nodded. "Friend. Lover."

"That's what she was. My friend and lover. And that's what you are."

"Always, Ray. Always."