Disclaimers, I don't have any rights here, but am grateful for the loan of these guys....

Summary: Sequel to The Fall. Ray is recovering from his addiction when Fraser is drawn into Landry's need for revenge.

Warning: Slash, violence, language

Pairings: F/RayK

I have so many people to thank I feel like I'm at the Emmys. Thanks, Caroline, Kat and Mary Ann for encouraging me and bouncing ideas back and forth. Couldn't do it without you. And thanks to Necessary Angel for a virtual education in her beta. Thanks to Miriam who saw what I was trying to do and guided me to changes that make this story better and stronger. And finally, thanks to all at 5ps for their crit.

Please send feedback to: Calista Echo

THE WINTER
by Calista Echo

Ray watched Fraser and Dief waiting at the glass doors. It was time to leave this place. Time to go home. He resisted the urge to bolt back to his room. They said he was ready to leave. They ought to know.

There was Fraser, and Ray soaked in the sight of him. He was looking in, looking for him, his body tilted forward in obvious anticipation. Ray stayed out of sight. He needed another minute here to quell his racing heart. He could do this. He could go out there and greet Fraser, rough house with Dief, go back to work, be a cop.

He walked the long corridor to the glass doors. He stopped and found it hard to look at Fraser head on. He dreaded seeing pity or obligation in his eyes, but he couldn't stand here all afternoon, so he risked it and looked up. He saw Fraser's face break into his glorious smile. Ray put his hand on the glass and stopped. Fraser met his hand with his through the glass and mouthed, "I missed you."

Oh yeah, he was ready to get out.

Landry hung up the phone. It had taken a few weeks but he now had the pieces that had been missing. The only one who could have finked him out was Clarice and he felt the familiar pain in his heart at that thought. She was clever, he'd give her that. When confronted with Vecchio, she had kept her head and feigned ignorance and indifference. And he'd bought it! How naive could a guy be? So Vecchio lived and had gotten clean and Clarice was no where to be found.

OK. Plan A had been a dismal failure and Plan B was clearly out of date. But Plan C, ah, this would take the bitter taste out of his mouth. It would take another few weeks to liquidate his holdings and get the kind of money he would need. Good. A few more weeks and the heat would die down. Let Vecchio think his life was back to normal. Let Clarice figure him for a fool. He was a patient man. He could wait.

"Vecchio! Get in my office now!" Welsh's voice boomed out over the desks. Ray's head snapped up and Welsh cringed; yelling at Ray right now was counter productive. He watched as Ray quickly shuffled the pages of the file together and headed toward him.

"Yeah, lieutenant? You wanted to see me?"

Welsh looked at Ray and shook his head. Ray had gained back some of the weight but still looked much too thin. His clothes had the rumpled appearance of being slept in, although the dark smudges under his eyes seemed to indicate there was little of that going on.

What worried Welsh more than the physical reminders of Ray's recent ordeal was the way Ray was acting. Or not acting. Very little sound or motion was coming out of Ray. He'd only been back a few days. Perhaps that's the way recovery went. Still, watching the hesitant way Ray approached the work on his desk, the unnatural way he tended to hunch over with his arms wrapped around his stomach... And then there was the lack of volume coming out of his mouth...well, it made him wonder just what they did to him at that rehab place. This was not the Kowalski he would have predicted to come out of the mess Landry had made.

Ray knew Welsh was watching him, evaluating him. Hell, everyone was. Watching him to see if he would fuck up. Watching him to see if he was a junkie at heart. And what could Ray tell them? He didn't know.

Each day was still a struggle. He woke in the middle of each and every night with the same nightmare. Landry was coming towards him with a syringe and Ray was filled with both horror and anticipation. The aftermath was always the same. He'd get up, shaking, wet with sweat and rush to the bathroom. If he was lucky, he got there before the retching started. Afterwards he would start a shower and let the water pour over him until it turned cold. At that point he knew the night was over for him.

He'd started going out, getting coffee at the all-nighter down the block. He would sit in a booth, cupping the heat from the coffee, willing himself to loosen up, to dismiss the dream. The feelings that drove the dream...they weren't so easy to dismiss. The hollowness that inhabited him seemed to get bigger and blacker, deeper and colder. The relief a hit would bring was like a siren song, calling to him to crash his body on the rocks. Just do it, do it, do it. Get it over with. You're gonna do it. So do it.

Spending time with Fraser was the only thing that seemed to make the encroaching darkness back off. Ray turned the truth of that around in his mind. When he was with Fraser he could still laugh. He watched as Ben did the smallest things-- adjust his hat, scrape a thumb over his eyebrow, argue with Dief-- and he felt like the world made sense, like you could predict how things might go, like there was a point to all this. Ray figured Fraser must have noticed how intently he watched him these days, but Fraser never called him on it.

When Fraser was busy at the Consulate, Ray worked from memory. I do this in the morning. I drive here. I go through this door, I greet those people, I sit at this desk. He didn't want to get it wrong or alarm anyone. He didn't want to be sent back to Knowlewood.

Fraser wanted to scream at Turnbull. The man had misplaced all the paperwork for the Millora couple and he was forty -five minutes late meeting Ray. Inspector Thatcher was away for the week and it seemed like there had been one crisis after another, all requiring his attention. He hadn't been able to spend any time at the precinct with Ray and even after work he often had to cut their time short in order to deal with routine projects that were, nevertheless, beyond Turnbull to get right.

He'd tried calling Ray's cell phone but there was no answer. Finally the paperwork was unearthed and Fraser was free to leave. It was only late November but already the winds off of Lake Michigan carried Arctic air. The mild fall had turned into a harsh winter. Fraser ignored the cold moisture in the air as he raced down the block to the Taxi stand.

As the cab wound it's way through the Chicago streets, the dread he had managed to push aside through file after file and drawer after drawer now threatened to swamp him. Ray shouldn't be somewhere waiting alone and wondering what was going to happen next.

Ray was in no shape for suspense these days. No shape for surprise, no shape for change, no shape for being alone. It scared Fraser that his Ray was now this Ray.

The ever -flowing energy that was his signature had been stopped. Ray would come into a room full of purpose, only to falter and sputter to a halt, derailed. Conversations would begin as before, full of opinion and digression. Ray would be smiling, enjoying the push/pull of it and then Fraser would say something like, "You're wrong, Ray," A sentence that had been guaranteed to ratchet the discussion up a notch but instead would bring the chat to a sudden end. Fraser would look over to Ray, thinking, *He's marshalling his argument, oh, when he lets this one fly it will be a one for the books.* Instead, Ray would stay silent and Fraser could see he was actually embarrassed. It would take awhile before he would look at Fraser after that, which was itself odd. Stranger still, Ray had fallen into a habit of tracking on Fraser like Dief on the scent of a donut. At first it had made Fraser uncomfortable. What was he looking at? What was he looking for? Then he realized that, as Ray watched, him the tension that gripped Ray would start to ease. The smile would peek out, the laugh, escape. His Ray would be back. True, not altogether back and only temporarily back, but it heartened Fraser to know his Ray was still in there. And he'd take what he could get these days.

Fraser paid the taxi driver. He quickly entered and searched the restaurant looking--ah, there. Ray sat at the bar, a drink in front of him. His hair had grown longer and if it was going to keep its experimental designation it would need to be cut. He looked rumpled and forlorn and Fraser felt like smacking Turnbull for being such a dolt sometimes. He hoped Ray hadn't had too much to drink. It didn't happen often but more now, since Landry. Ray had his eyes closed and Fraser approached him gently, not wanting to spook him.

"Ray?" Ray's eyes snapped open.

"I'm so sorry I am late. Turnbull lost, well...it hardly matters whose fault it was. I had to stay and I'm sorry." Ray's eyes seemed to be trying to focus.

"Frasher?" Ray reached out a hand and grabbed Fraser's, pulling him in close. "Benton, buddy, sit down next to me." Ray scooted over.

Fraser sat down. "Ray? Are you hungry? Let's order some food." Fraser said this as he tried to open the menu with one hand. Ray seemed disinclined to let go of the other.

"No. Not hungry." He traced patterns on the top of Fraser's hand.

"Come on, Ray, I want you to eat. You need dinner." Fraser hoped he didn't sound too patronizing. The touch from Ray's fingers was sending heat up his arm and making him shiver. That didn't make sense, he knew, but there it was. Heat and goosebumps.

Ray looked at him sideways, "Frayz, I'll tell you something." He spoke with the solemnity of the drunk. He paused, dramatically.

"I want to go home."

"All right, Ray. I'll make you something to eat there. I'll settle the bill and we'll just be on our way. Where's your car?" Fraser helped Ray get out of the booth.

"In the back."

Ray was surprisingly steady as he watched Fraser take care of things. He watched intently, as Fraser studied the bill, removed his wallet, counted the money, left a tip. They were small everyday things but Fraser did them without hesitation. Ray took enormous comfort in Fraser's confidence, in his knowing how all this worked.

Fraser leaned his bundle against the wall next to door, putting his hand on Ray's chest as he worked to fit the key into the door. Ray started to slide down the wall and Fraser put his shoulder into Ray's chest to keep him upright. He could feel Ray leaning into him, his head dropping on Fraser's back. Fraser heard a small snuffling sound and didn't know if it was a snore or crying. "Ray?" Fraser barely whispered his name. No answer, just Ray rubbing his head against him, as if he were trying to get comfortable.

Finally the door was opened. Fraser looked at Ray, asleep on his feet. He slid his one hand under Ray's shoulders and one under his knees and hefted Ray up, cradling him close. It was easier than it should have been. Ray was still much too thin.

Fraser flashed to a month ago, carrying Ray much the same way. Then Ray had been bleeding, drugged, fragile. Fraser kicked the door closed behind him and carried Ray into the bedroom. He promptly walked back out and deposited Ray on the couch.

The bed was a wreck, such a mess that Fraser actually turned the light on to reassure himself there was no blood anywhere. Just pillows and sheets flung around the room, the mattress half off the bedstead. It didn't take long to remake the bed with fresh sheets and bring the room back into order. He turned the sheet down and fluffed the pillow. He wanted Ray to feel safe in this bed, not driven from it, as he obviously had been the night before.

Back in the living room, Ray was sprawled on the couch, one arm above his head. In sleep, his body was relaxed. Fraser thought about the rarity of that, before and after Landry. Before Landry Ray's body had vibrated with excited energy, barely contained. After, the twisted tension that inhabited Ray's body seemed to extend to his soul.

Fraser crouched next to the couch and gently shook Ray. Ray batted the hand away but didn't wake. Fraser left him and surveyed the contents of the kitchen. Not much there, but something simple would be best anyway.

The sounds from the couch started out as light snores and progressed to harsh breathing. Then a sharp inarticulate cry and before Fraser could get to him, Ray had flung himself off the couch and was trying to back away from an invisible menace. Ray's eyes were open but fixed on an internal landscape. The despair Fraser read there was heartbreaking. Fraser approached him slowly but rather than show alarm, Ray turned towards him and flung himself into Fraser's arms.

"It's okay, Ray. You're home." Fraser hoped that was a comfort.

"m'kay...just..." Fraser waited for Ray to finish his sentence and push away. Instead, Ray's voice trailed off and he relaxed into the arms that held him. Almost immediately, a snore resumed and Fraser noted that Ray was once again asleep. He settled Ray against him, reaching around and snagging the afghan. He wrapped that around Ray's slender form. Fraser leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Ray was in his arms. He pulled him in a little closer and ran his hand down Ray's back. He was worried about Ray, the changes that had come, the pain that was still there, the fear that Landry would be back...but right now he had Ray in his arms and it was a gift and he was grateful.

Fraser woke to faint morning light coming through the windows. Ray had slipped down during the night and now had his head on Fraser's lap. Ray's arms encircled Fraser's waist. The need to get up and relieve himself warred with the need to tighten his hold and never let go. He ran his hand through the blond hair, feeling the skull that held the brain he had come to love. He traced the curve of Ray's eyebrows, realizing he was mimicking his own familiar gesture. Oddly, the same release the movement gave him when he did it to himself was there as he did it to Ray. Ray shifted under his touch, burrowing his face into Fraser's thigh. At that Fraser felt himself grow hard. He could feel Ray's soft, warm breath. It went right through his jeans and warmed his cock. Fraser's hand gripped Ray's hair and a quiet moan escaped him. Ray reacted to the tug on his hair and lifted his head. "ar..um..ah..geez...frase?"

Fraser reached under Ray's arms and lifted him off his lap. He knew his face was red and the bulge in his pants was unmistakable.

"Ray! You're awake! Good!" Fraser pushed Ray into a sitting position and quickly stood up.

Ray put his hands over his head and flopped facedown into the couch. "Don' shout, Frase...head hurts."

"I'm sorry, I should have realized you would have a residual side effects after last night." Fraser went into the kitchen and got a glass of water.

"Hangover."

"Yes, a hangover. Here." Fraser carried a glass of water and aspirin to Ray. "Take these."

Ray raised himself off the couch and took the offerings. He absently rubbed his temples. He motioned to the couch. "Did you sleep sitting up all night?"

"You looked so comfortable and it seemed like you had a need for sleep, so...."

"Geez Frase!" Ray began with some heat but stopped when Fraser flinched. "I mean, you shouldn't a done that, bad for your back and all." Fraser relaxed. Ray seemed oblivious.

"My back is just fine. Are you hungry? I'll make breakfast." Fraser retreated to the kitchen. He could hear Ray moving into the bedroom. "Hey, you didn't have to clean up...but thanks." The sound of the shower gave Fraser pause. He felt a shiver at the thought...there was no thought....at the feeling...what was that feeling? He pushed it aside. Ray should eat. It was Saturday and Fraser needed to do a few things. Dief was at the Consulate and would be wondering.

"Ray? The oatmeal is on the stove. I need to check on Dief. I'll call you later." Fraser had pitched his voice so it could be heard in the bathroom. He thought he heard a muffled, "Wait." But that word sent the feelings spinning inside him and he knew he had to go. He grabbed his jacket and left Ray's building.

The trip to Addington House took awhile. Two bus transfers and twenty minutes on the L. and Fraser still wasn't entirely sure why he hadn't told Ray about Clarice. About a week after Ray had entered Knowlewood, Clarice had appeared at the station.

Fraser had watched the woman walk towards him. She had that street hardened look he'd never seen before coming to Chicago. Her approach was tentative but her shoulders had a determined set to them.

"I'm looking for Ray Vecchio."

"Which Ray?" Fraser asked so softly he had to repeat it to be heard.

"Either Ray Vecchio."

Her voice...the woman on the tape. And somehow she knew of both Rays.

"I'm Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, and Ray Vecchio's partner. May I help you?"

"Which Ray?"

"Pardon me?"

"Which Ray is your partner?"

Fraser hesitated. "Both."

"Okay, I don't get this, two guys with the same name, the same job, the same desk and the same partner, but I'll just hold off on that explanation until my head stops hurting. I need to talk to Ray."

"Which Ray?"

"Either, both. Someone who can tell me what the hell is going on and get me some help."

Fraser reached out and put his hand on her arm, slowly guiding her to the chair. He wanted her to stay and tell him all she knew, and she looked nervous enough to bolt at the least provocation.

"I am someone who can help." Fraser did the thing he almost never did and deliberately turned on the charm He looked in her eyes and instead of keeping the filter in place he allowed this woman free access. "You are the woman who placed the phone call which allowed us to save Ray's life. I am indebted to you. What can I do to be of assistance?"

Clarice narrowed her eyes at him. "How'd you know it was me that called?"

"I recognized your voice from the 911 tape. It was a very brave thing that you did, making that call."

Clarice waved her hand at him. "It was stupid is what it was." She looked at him and Fraser could see she was trying to decide if he was a joke. He saw that look often on the streets of Chicago and usually dismissed it. But this woman could hold the key to Ray's safety and he needed her confidence.

"No, I don't believe it was an act of stupidity, I think you have a good heart."

"Ha! Shows what you know."

"Obviously, I know very little about you. May I ask your name?" Fraser held his breath.

"My name? My name is Clarice Dowling and don't bother looking me up in your computer. I've been arrested but never convicted." She looked at him defiantly, and Fraser knew the reaction she usually got to that announcement.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Now, what kind of help were you looking for?"

She paused, clearly pondering the wisdom of placing her safety in his hands. "Tell me again, just what are you?"

"I am a constable of the Royal Canadian Police and Ray's partner. Both Rays."

"So you're some kind of cop, right?"

"Yes, that is correct." Fraser just barely stopped himself from telling her he had no jurisdiction here in Chicago. It wasn't quite a lie as it stood and to be any clearer risked losing her confidence.

"Well, OK then. Look, calling 911 was ...." Clarice's formidable survival skills seemed to take over and Fraser watched as she bit back the word stupid.."...it was, the hardest thing I ever had to do but I knew it was the right thing." She said it all in a rush, trying to sound sincere.

"I am... all of us are, deeply grateful to you for making that call, Miss Dowling."

"Yeah, well, Mars is a good guy, really, he is, except sometimes..."

"..he isn't?" Fraser filled in.

""Yeah, sometimes he isn't."

"Tell me about Marsdale Landry, or is it Lars Aus?" Fraser leaned in towards Clarice. He tried to remember just how Ray handled his snitches, how he managed to win their confidence. Ray would have this hard and fragile woman in the palm of his hand by now. They could speak the same language and he'd have given anything if he could have Ray beside him doing what he did best. But he wasn't here and if Fraser was ever going to get him back to this desk and where he belonged, he needed this woman's cooperation.

"He's always been Mars, since he was a kid, and the Aus went bye-bye when he went to prison. Mars and I, we go way back, to when we were kids. Grew up on the south side. My brother Phil was best friends with Mars. He was just always there." Clarice stopped, her face softening as she remembered growing up.

"He always looked out for me. So I still see Mars every once in awhile and we're cool. I was working at this men's clothing store. D'Amico's? Ever heard of it? Yeah, well it's gone now but that was one hot store. A real education in the finer life. That's where I met Ray." Clarice stopped and looked around the bullpen, her gaze darting to each desk as if sure Ray would materialize.

"He's not here, is he?" she asked wistfully.

"No, I'm afraid he is not here at this time." Fraser waited for her to go on but she seemed preoccupied. She had gathered the papers on Ray's desk together and was busy shuffling them into a tidy pile.

"You met Ray Vecchio and began a relationship with him?" Fraser prodded.

Clarice seemed to collect her thoughts. "We began...we began the best year of my life. Ray was good to me, took me places, showed me how to look good, introduced me to his family. He always treated me like I was special, like I mattered." Clarice looked at Fraser as if to challenge him to contradict that statement.

"Anyone can see you're special, Miss Dowling."

"Nice try, Constable, but I've had a lifetime of people somehow missing that quality." Clarice smiled ruefully at herself. She sighed. "Anyway, after about a year I can see Ray is getting itchy. I try everything I can think of, but...well, you know how it is. These things have a certain shelf life and our 'thing's' expiration date had just been hit. So I try to get on with my life but D'Amico's has closed and I never did graduate and there ain't much out there for a girl like me. One thing led to another and I was turning tricks. Which really ain't so bad...except when it's bad." Clarice laughed at her joke.

"That sounds like a hard life." Fraser didn't trust himself to say more.

Clarice spun the chair to the left and then to the right. "Well, it's no picnic, let me tell you. You do what you have to do. And then after awhile, to do what you have to do, you gotta do some other stuff."

"What kind of other stuff?"

She pushed her sleeves up and silently offered her arms for inspection. Fraser didn't need to look closely to know what she was telling him. He sat back and noticed for the first time how her nervous energy spun in random directions. He had to smile, Ray's chair hadn't gotten such a good workout since Ray had been taken by Landry.

Clarice pulled her sleeves back down and put her hands on her hips in defiant pose that gave Fraser yet another glimpse of the child Clarice had been. "So. You still think I'm special? Are you gonna help me or not?"

"Miss Dowling, Clarice, I will do everything in my power to help you. What are you afraid of?"

Clarice jumped out of her chair. "Marsdale Landry! He is sure to have figured out it was me that called the cops and Mars might like me and Mars might think of me as a pet but Mars ain't gonna let that one go. He will come after me." She threw herself back into the chair.

"Why did Landry kidnap Ray and addict him?" They had come to the million-dollar question.

"Oh man, I don't really know. He had some idea that Ray, my Ray, the real Ray, had been the cause of my downfall. Yeah, that's just how Mars talked, like he was some TV preacher and I was his lost lamb. In Mars' eyes I was just peachy keen until Ray loved and left me and then, boom! I'm a whore and an addict. So he thought that getting Ray hooked would somehow restore my lost dignity and return me to my innocent state. "Course he didn't say that exactly."

"What did he say?"

"He said... he stood over that poor schmuck, lying there in heap, and said, 'Isn't this just sublime?' I mean, whadya supposed to say to something like that, especially when I don't even know the guy lying there? "

Fraser felt chilled hearing the way Landry had regarded Ray. He didn't know what a man like that was capable of. He didn't know if he'd let go of his fixation with Ray. He didn't know the lengths he would go to, to harm Miss Dowling. It was time to speak to the Lieutenant.

"I think Landry has left Chicago, Miss Dowling. In any case, he has his hands full simply outrunning the police."

"Hey, I take some comfort from that but Mars will regroup and then -look out." She leaped out of her seat making herself a human exclamation point.

"Let me talk to Leftentant Welsh. I'm sure we can arrange a safe house for you until we capture Mr. Landry."

"Yeah, whatever." Clarice had slumped back into the chair; her burst of energy had exhausted her.

And Fraser had yet to fill Ray in on the remarkable Miss Dowling.

Fraser had promised Clarice he would visit her. She had gone to the safe house and lasted three hours before it became clear she was going through major withdrawal and needed help. Clarice had been more than willing to go to rehab, the highs no longer making up for the payment they extracted. She'd entered Addington House under an assumed name two weeks ago and this was the first time she was allowed visitors.

"Constable Benton Fraser to see Miss Carol Welsh." The Lieutenant had been surprisingly willing to lend his name to addicts in need of help. Fraser showed his I.D. and was waved through to a room crowded with patients and their visitors. He spotted Clarice across the room. She was in an animated conversation with a short bald man who clutched his paper cup full of coffee protectively. He could hear her. She was arguing, "Jung is full of it, Clifford."

"My name's not Clifford."

She ignored that. "The whole idea that we all share the same imagery and meaning is nuts! C'mon, you telling me anyone on the North side sees high heels the way folk on the South side sees high heels? " Clarice was poking a finger in Clifford's chest, barely missing the cup.

"My name's not Clifford."

"Clifford, Charles, Andrew, what the hell is the difference? You look like a Clifford. So what's your name?"

He looked chagrined. "My name is Charles."

"So Chuck, what's your take on this Jung guy?"

"My name's not Chuck." Clarice threw up her hands and turned, spotting Fraser.

"Benton!"

Clarice came at him, arms outstretched. He was enfolded in a hug and Clarice dispensed little kisses all over his face. Fraser stood still and tried to feel something. Clarice was supple and smooth, smelling of the faint aroma of roses and musk. Inhaling deeply, Fraser was disappointed to find his body had no reaction to Miss Dowling at all.

He kissed the top of her head and put his hands on her shoulders saying, "Let me look at you. You look much healthier."

It wasn't a lie. Clarice did look healthier. The transformation from the woman who had sidled into the precinct into the woman before him was stunning. It wasn't just the new haircut and the color in her cheeks. It was her life force, evident in every hand gesture and quirk of eyebrow. Fraser could see the woman the real Ray Vecchio had found enchanting.

"You only have one more week here."

"Yup. I'm gonna graduate for the first time. Will you come?"

"I will try. I would like that.'

"And then what?"

"Pardon me?"

"Then what? Where do I go from here?"

"Back to the safe house."

Clarice made a face.

"You don't want to go back to the safe house?"

"How'd you guess?"

"Do you have somewhere else to go where you would be safe?"

"No. But maybe...maybe I could stay with you."

"Oh, no, that wouldn't work, I'm afraid. I live at the Canadian Consulate, you see, in my office." Fraser had never been happier about that decision.

Clarice looked crestfallen. She brightened as she conveyed her news. "Now that I'm clean, I have plans. I'm going to get my GED. I'm going to be a High School graduate!"

"That is great news, Clarice. Maybe we can work out something at the safe house, so you can start right away." Fraser beamed his pleasure at Clarice, having no idea the effect it was having on her.

The trip back to the Consulate was cold. Fraser tended to forget how his body had adapted to the more temperate clime. It was time to get the long johns out and remember to wear gloves. The late afternoon sunlight was thin and offered no cheer. Seeing Clarice doing so well should have made his day. She was happy and feeling empowered, ready to take back her life. The contrast with Ray couldn't have been greater. Ray was still too pale, too thin, too lost. Ray was a fighter, in spirit and in fact, but the will to win seemed to have fled. All that was left was a man trying to stay on his feet, unsure he could go the distance.

Not for the first time Fraser wished he could peer into Ray's mind and see into the hidden corners. His impatience with being away from Ray grew as the bus rattled down Wacker Drive. He knew his exit from Ray's apartment had been precipitous. Why had he felt compelled to leave then and like that? Fraser shook his head, he couldn't quite remember what had caused the pressure to leave. While true that Dief had been miffed, and Clarice needed to be seen, he had left the oatmeal on the stove. He knew Ray had probably left it untouched. He would make it up to Ray. They'd go out to dinner.

There was no answer at Ray's apartment. Fraser pondered the moral choices and then used the key Ray had given him. Perhaps Ray had fallen asleep. The place was empty, and as Fraser had suspected, the oatmeal sat on the stove, exactly as he had left it. Fraser slowly circled the room, noting the small pieces that made up Ray's past. The pictures of Stella, the CD's stacked haphazardly, the book on snowshoeing. Fraser's circuit came to a halt as he looked at the books piled on the side table. Snowshoeing, the Art of Arctic Survival, Tracking in the Frozen North, and Navigating by the Stars. When had Ray developed an interest in these subjects? When Fraser heard the key in the door, he put the book down.

Ray came in, oblivious to Fraser's presence. He looked cold, his cheeks chapped red from the wind, his hair in disarray. He had on a jacket, utterly inadequate for this time of year.

"Hello Ray."

At the sound of a voice, Ray's head snapped up and he backed away. Fraser saw the fear that flashed through his eyes before he registered that it was Fraser.

"FRASER!" Ray clutched his heart in mock drama. "Want to get arrested for B and E?" The lighthearted tone Ray was aiming for missed. His voice cracked, revealing the anxiety Fraser's unexpected visit had created.

"I'm sorry. I let myself in with the key you gave me."

"Oh." Ray stepped into the room. "Well, hmm, did ya get all the things done you needed to do?"

"Yes. I wondered if you might want to go to dinner with me tonight?"

Ray seemed to think about that and then said, "Not really hungry."

For the first time Fraser realized Ray was carrying a small paper bag. He gestured to it and said, "Take out?"

"Take out!" Ray was aghast. He peeked into the bag. "It's okay, he didn't mean it," he crooned to the bag. Reaching in he pulled out a small brown turtle.

"Another turtle, Ray?'

"Yeah, well, Turtle seemed kinda lonely since..." Ray's voice trailed off as he absently petted the shell. He moved over to the bowl. "Turtle? This is...." He looked up to Fraser. "Any ideas?"

"Is it a boy turtle or a girl turtle?"

"I dunno." Ray put the turtle on its back and peered at it. "What difference does it make?"

"None, really. Except you wouldn't want to call a boy turtle Jane for instance."

"I repeat, what difference does it make? It's not like turtles know Jane is a girl's name or that they come when you call them."

"Point taken, Ray"

"I'll name him, Tuttle. Tuttle meet Turtle."

"Good choice, Ray. Are you quite sure about dinner?"

Ray seemed to reconsider and Fraser waited hopefully.

"Nah, Frase, I'm good. I'm...tired. Gonna go to bed early."

Fraser rubbed his thumb across his eyebrow. "If you're sure, Ray because...

"No, no...I'm sure. I know you got a lot to do, what with the Ice Queen gone and all."

"That's true, but-"

"G'on, get yourself home to Dief. I've got a turtle to acclimate." At Fraser's raised eyebrow, Ray added, "One of Frannie's calendar words."

Fraser collected his hat and coat, "Well, goodnight Ray."

"Goodnight, Ben."

It wasn't until Fraser was a block away that he realized Ray had called him Ben. He wondered what that meant. Probably nothing, but, still, he never did...He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't feel the blow that spun him into oblivion.

Ray understood Fraser keeping his distance. During the six weeks he had been locked up and high, something had gotten damaged. More damaged, Ray amended. Knowlewood had...they'd tried to fix him. They tried to get him to understand just how powerless he was...how much the addiction was him...how he needed to exorcise the willfulness that had created the need for drugs. His arguments that he hadn't chosen to be an addict, that it had been done to him had caused them to bring out the heavy guns.

It was after his first session with the shrink. He tried to tell Dr. Maxim what had happened. For some reason it made the doctor exceptionally angry and he had grabbed Ray by the arm and twisted, laying it between them.

"You don't get track lines like that because someone does it to you, Mister!" He held Ray's wrist in a punishing grip, causing Ray to panic and try to break free. Dr. Maxim seemed to relish the physical confrontation. He held onto Ray and pushed the intercom. "Marie, send Davis." Then he pulled Ray's arm behind his back, holding him in a painful hold Ray knew only too well. Ray forgot he was with a doctor, forgot he was in a clinic, forgot he was there to get better. All he knew was someone was hurting and containing him. In panic, Ray struggled harder, ignoring the pain in his arm and shoulder. He had to get away. He couldn't go back. Davis entered, took one look and punched Ray in the face. Ray swayed and the doctor released him, pushing him to Davis' hands.

"Take Mr. Vecchio to the intake room. Make sure he's comfortable." Ray heard the words and the tone and knew he was in trouble.

The next two weeks were blurry. He was alone a lot. He was tired and seemed to sleep much of the time. Sometimes he had sessions with the doctor. The doctor did all the talking. Ray found it difficult to pay very close attention. His mind would drift off. He liked that part. He could see the snowscape, Fraser and Dief in the distance. They were all going home. His head would nod. A sharp shake would bring him back from his journey, back to the room with the angry shrink. Eventually he learned to say yes after certain sentences. He learned to nod his head affirmatively.

At the beginning of the third week he was put back with the other patients. Somehow, they knew he was damaged because they all stayed away from him. He was almost as alone as he had been before.

When he got out he knew he had to be careful. It would be so easy to slip up and let Fraser and Welsh and Frannie see what he was. And what he wasn't. Fraser had already figured something out and was putting distance between them. That was okay. Ray could live with a little distance if it meant Fraser wouldn't leave altogether.

The phone was ringing. Ray stabbed at and eventually connected fingers to receiver. "Yeah? Vecchio." Ray waited to hear a familiar voice tell him something was up at the precinct and to get his skinny ass in here, now.

Instead he heard a familiar voice say, "I've got your Mountie friend, Vecchio. I've got him and I'm going to have some fun with him." Ray heard the sound of a chair moving and then a groan. Fraser groaning. Ray jumped out of bed, the adrenaline, flowing. "You bastard! This is between you and me, Landry! You leave him out of this, you hear me?"

"I hear you, and I raise you. Listen up. If you ever want to see your friend alive and in one piece you will keep quiet, capice? Do not tell anyone. In ten minutes you will leave your apartment. Not eleven minutes or twelve minutes. Ten. For every minute beyond ten, your faithful Tonto will lose a finger. You will leave the apartment and you will go across town to the Murdock Hotel on Chase. You will check in as Mr. Raymond. You will stay there until I contact you. I have the phones tapped, so don't get smart."

The phone went dead. Ray sat frozen on the bed for thirty seconds and then scrambled into action. He looked at his watch 2:14. He pulled out a bag and threw his gun, holster and clips in, along with his wallet and cell phone. He pulled on his jeans and shirt and shoved his feet into his shoes. On the way out he snagged his jacket and the car keys. He checked his watch again, 2:22. He flew down the stairs and burst out the door, looking around wildly. He couldn't see anyone but he was sure the rat bastard had him in his sights.

The hotel was on the edge of downtown. The L passed by the fifth floor window at regular intervals, shaking the entire building. Ray was on the seventh floor, in a tiny rectangle of a room with a window that overlooked the tracks. All the surfaces had a white smeary look to them, as if volcanic ash had settled in and petrified. Ray sank onto the bed, the only place to sit. It was 2:50 and he knew Landry would call. He stared at the phone, willing it to ring.

What had he already done to Fraser? Put the first hit into him? Beaten him? Ray got up and wrapped his arms around his abdomen in a gesture that was becoming habit. He slowly paced the small room, trying to think. The phone rang and Ray looked at it. He had to answer it but the fear of what he would hear was paralyzing him. On the third ring he lifted the receiver. "Vecchio."

"Ah, Detective Vecchio. I trust you like your room? Comfy? Dry? Warm? All more than can be said for your dear friend."

"I want to talk to Fraser."

"All in due time. Now that you are where I want you, you are going to do a few things for me."

"Why don't you just take me and let Fraser go? It's me you want, Landry."

"I've had you, Detective Vecchio. And you've had Clarice. And now I have Constable Fraser. Let the games begin."

Ray clamped his mouth shut. Screaming and yelling wasn't going to get the job done. He waited in silence, knowing Landry wasn't finished yet.

"There's a convenience store down the block, it's open all night. I want you to take the gun I'm sure you brought, and go into that store and rob it. You have fifteen minutes. I'll be watching. If you fail to show up, or you're late, or you use the phone in your room, I will...well, the choices of what to do to your friend are a veritable feast."

"I want to talk to Fraser. I want to know he's still alive, Landry."

"Fair enough. Constable Fraser? You have a phone call." Ray could hear the sound of the phone being moved.

"Rrray?" Fraser sounded drugged, or like his face had been smashed in.

"Fraser! You okay? Hang in there, I'm gonna get you out of this." Ray talked fast, knowing Landry would give precious little time.

"There, you see? Still among the living. Now go, and don't hide your face. I want the camera to get a nice clear view." There was a click and then silence. Ray held the phone tightly, his one link to Fraser, hating to let it go.

Think, Kowalski. Ray got his gun out. He left it empty. Not that it mattered. The sight of it would still cause some poor clerk to pee in his pants. He grabbed his cell phone. He had to let someone know what was going down. If anything happened to him, no one would know where to begin to look for Fraser. He dialed Welsh. He'd leave a message. Instead, "Yeah? This better be good," growled the Lieutenant and it was music to Ray's ears.

Just before he dialed, he had wondered if Landry had a scan going. "Kowalski, sir." He figured if Landry heard that he would lose interest. "There's trouble. Big Red's gone and I've been told to do something and, well, if this something goes bad I wanted you to look for Red. He's with the planet."

"What the-? Kowalski? Where the hell are you?" Welsh didn't miss a beat, taking in all the code words.

"Corner of Chase and Sheridan. 706."

"You stay there. I'm coming." Ray could hear the big man putting his pants on.

"I hope I'm here but I've got to go. He's watching. No time left." Ray hung up and put the gun in his waistband. Taking the steps two at a time he was on the street and looking at his watch. He had two minutes to get to the store. There it was. He swung the door open and took out the gun. "You. Take it easy and give me the cash."

The kid who was all of seventeen, threw his hands in the air and looked ready to cry.

"O-k-k-kay. Don't do anything." The clerk put the cash on the counter.

"It's gonna be okay, kid. I ain't gonna hurt ya. Put the money in a paper bag." Ray had kept his voice low and steady. He wanted to get this done with the least amount of trauma to the boy. The clerk handed the bag to Ray. "Ya done good, kid. Thanks."

Ray backed out of there and put the gun away. He went around the block before heading back to the hotel, looking for any sign of a stakeout. He saw nothing. He circled the hotel checking out the back entrance and then went in through the front. The night clerk had his nose in a book and barely looked up. It felt like the elevator traveled one floor every two minutes and Ray thought he would be sick before he got to the room.

His fear for Fraser had crowded out the terrible cost of doing what he had to do. He'd just robbed a store. He'd used his gun to terrify a boy. He'd taken money that didn't belong to him. That part wasn't so bad. He knew he'd give the money back. But what about the kid? How was a boy like that ever going to get his sense of safety back? Ray made it to the bathroom and his stomach heaved. My god, if anyone knew what it felt like to have a gun waved in your face when you were too young to fight back, it was Ray. And he knew what that moment had done to him. He knew the pain he still carried from that day. And he'd done it to that boy. *God, Kowalski, you fuck-up. You're a walking disaster for the people who get involved with you.* Ray got off the bathroom floor. He was cold and starting to shake. He felt like he was suddenly a hundred years old. He left the bathroom. The money went under the bed; Ray didn't want to see it. He put a clip in his gun and put the gun in the nightstand. The shaking was growing in intensity. Pulling the blanket off the bed, Ray wrapped it around him and sat with his back to the headboard, the phone in his lap.

Welsh knocked on the door. No answer. Oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, let Ray be here. He knocked again. The door was whipped open. Ray stood there, dazed.

"Ray, ya wanna let me in?"

"Ah, sure. Did you come in the back?"

"Whadya take me for, a rookie? 'Course I came in through the back. Welsh surveyed the room and the man before him. Ray looked like hell. Welsh could tell he'd been sick, and exhaustion was evident in every breath he took.

"C'mon, Ray, sit down before you fall down." He steered Ray back to the bed and pulled the blanket around him tighter. "Tell what's going on."

Ray sat next to Welsh on the bed and filled him in. Welsh stayed remarkable quiet until Ray had come to the part about the robbery. "Damn it!" Ray jerked back as if Welsh had hit him. "No, no, Ray, it's not you. It's Landry. He's determined to take you down and ruin your career. The guy has a fertile imagination."

"That's the least of my worries! Who the fuck cares what happens to my stupid career. He's got Fraser and who knows what he's doing to him!" Ray kicked at the night stand. Welsh listened to his tirade in silence and the stood up and clamped a hand on his shoulder.

"Ray, we'll find him. He's going to be all right."

"You can't know that." Ray protested, but he seemed to take comfort in Welsh's words.

Welsh let out a sigh. Kowalski was in no shape to handling this. He had barely been keeping it together as it was, and now this.

The sound of the phone startled them both and Ray held up his hand, letting it ring a second time. He hit the speaker button and with the look of someone fortifying themselves to go onstage said, "Vecchio."

Welsh leaned in to the phone and had no trouble hearing Landry on the other end.

"Vecchio. Vecchio the drug addict. Vecchio the criminal. Welcome to the club! Wait until you do the time, then you'll understand the true meaning of the word brotherhood. In the meantime, I'm not done having fun. You are to meet me at our favorite warehouse, at Win and Hood. You have 20 minutes to get there. I have to confess Fraser is holding up a little less well than I would have expected. So don't dally. When I'm bored, I get creative."

There was the sound of a click. It hardly seemed possible but Ray's face went a whiter shade of gray. He hung up the phone slowly and looked up at Welsh. "I gotta go." He stood up, gathering his gun and keys.

Welsh put a hand on his arm. "Ray? I'm here. We're in this together. You take Howard, I'll take Devon. I'll keep out of the way but I'll be there." He waited for Ray to acknowledge his words. Finally Ray looked up at Welsh. His face showed a mix of misery and rage.

"Yeah, that sounds good. I gotta go." Ray left the room without looking back and Welsh knew that Ray was not counting on anyone but himself to get Fraser out of Landry's hands.

Fraser sat on the floor, his hand cuffed to the same pipe that had held Ray's wrist four weeks ago. He had spent the last few hours trying to pull the pipe from the wall and cursing the fine craftsmanship of American plumbing. He didn't know what Landry had in mind. The man showed no interest, just a certain offhanded malice towards him; all of his thoughts seemed to be with Ray.

This worried him. He wished he could deflect some of Landry's hatred away from Ray and to himself. He had tried telling the man just what he thought of him but Landry had waved him off like an irritating gnat. Now he waited, knowing Landry was building toward the climax of his revenge and knowing he was going to play a part in it. Fraser's head fell forward. as he gave into despair. He had thought his helplessness when Ray had been missing was the torture of the damned. Now he knew better.

Fraser's head snapped up. Ray. Fraser heard Ray gasp. Heard because he couldn't see very well, his eyes had swollen shut. Fraser could hear someone moving through the outer room. The sounds were stealthy and that would indicate it was Ray.

Fraser had lost track of Landry and now didn't know if he was close or not. Ray was walking right into a trap and there was nothing Fraser could do about it. *Don't do this Ray. Don't let Landry use me against you. *

"Fraser!"

Ray was in the room. Fraser battled the conflicting emotions of fear and comfort created by the sound of Ray's voice.

"Oh God, buddy, are you all right?"

He could feel Ray lightly touching the side of his face where it had been scraped raw from being thrown against the wall. He couldn't hold back the moan when Ray jostled the arm that he pressed to his side.

"Ray, look out! Landry's close." Fraser tilted his head, trying to search with his hearing.

"I know, I know." Ray was fumbling with his handcuff keys, trying to set Fraser free.

They both stilled when they heard the chuckle.

"Indeed. The Mountie wins the big stuffed bear. " Ray looked up to see Landry in the doorway, the gun in his hand pointing at them.

"God, Vecchio, what an idiot. You make this way too easy." Landry sauntered closer. "Drop your gun and kick it over here."

Ray did as he was told. He had one aim here and that was to get Fraser clear. Beyond that, he didn't care. Maybe, when Fraser was safe, he'd let his anger range out towards Landry. Maybe he'd get a chance to act on that anger, but right now he kept the rage lidded. What he felt didn't matter here. Fraser mattered. And Fraser's arm under his hand was cold and trembled and Fraser was in pain and it was all because of him.

"What do you want, Landry? I'm here now, whadya want?"

"I want Clarice the way she once was. I want her innocent and happy and clean. But you can't always get what you want. I learned that. I understand that. Now you're going to understand that."

"Look I think you should know-" Fraser began, but before he could finish, Landry stalked over and grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head back.

"I don't want to hear what you think, Constable, so just shut the fuck up."

Landry let go of Fraser's hair. He looked down at Ray. He reached down and grabbed his wrist. He pulled out a set of handcuffs and attached Ray to the same pipe. "There. All cozy."

He moved to other side of the room and knelt down by a bag and started unpacking. Fraser recognized the paraphernalia that Landry was pulling out, and saw that Ray had pressed his body against the wall in an attempt to put some distance between himself and Landry. Ray was trembling and he couldn't seem take his eyes off the familiar ritual.

"Detective Vecchio. I have a little multiple-choice quiz for you. I can inject your friend here with some lovely little juice I had imported, or I can inject you."

Ray's eyes were wide and unseeing.

"Detective?" Landry moved in front of Ray and crouched down. He slapped Ray, twice, hard. "Detective?

Ray blinked. "Me," he whispered.

"What did you say, I didn't hear you."

"Me." It wasn't said any louder.

Landry backhanded him and grabbed his chin in hard vise.

"That won't do, Detective. I want you to be quite clear."

Landry still held Ray's chin. Ray tried to nod his head and Landry released him.

"Please. Do me. I want you to do me."

Fraser's heart broke as he heard how Ray was trying to make his voice strong and steady.

"Good, true to form. You're stupid," Landry slapped him lightly and stepped back, "but you're consistent."

By stretching his arm out, Fraser could just barely brush his fingertips against Ray's arm. Ray gave no indication that he was aware. His eyes were riveted on Landry's every move.

"Ray. Ray. Ray." Fraser called his name.

Slowly Ray turned his head to look at Fraser. "Fraser?" He sounded lost.

"It will be all right, Ray. Whatever happens."

Ray slowly swiveled his head eyes back to Landry watching as he methodically put a hit together. He watched as Landry drew near. He watched as Landry took his arm and propped it on his knee, pulling the plastic tubing around his upper arm. He turned his head away and looked out the door as Landry inserted the needle and plunged the drug into his system.

Landry patted his cheek in a show of affection. The he turned and drew more heroin into the syringe. One down, one to go."

"No! You can't give him more!" Fraser pulled at the restraints futilely, unable to prevent Landry's next move.

Ray showed no sign of hearing.

"Oh, I'm not going to give him another hit. I'm going to give you one."

Ray's head had sunk to his chest and the arm with the tourniquet hung limply by his side. At those words his head came up and he looked wildly at Fraser. "Oh, God, no, you said him or me. Him or me! You do me. Do it again if you want, not Fraser!"

As Landry came in to grab Fraser, Ray went wild, thrashing his legs and trying to connect with any part of Landry. Landry easily sidestepped him and delivered a blow to his face. Ray's head snapped back, hit the wall and then came forward; all animation brought to an abrupt halt.

"Ah, some peace and quiet at last." He addressed himself to Fraser. " Now, think of this as a little exercise in empathy. You will be able to say you know just what this feels like. The rush as the drugs takes you high into the sky and the adrenaline that comes as you feel the ground coming at you at a speed too fast to compute. Of course, you won't be able to say you know what it feels like when your skin itches so bad you want to peel it off, or how the stomach cramps make you feel like you're being turned inside out. And you won't know the how it feels when your blood has grown so used to sharing space with these chemical compounds that the lack of them in your veins makes you want to weep with the desolation."

The syringe was held up to the light and tapped with precision. Landry reached over and yanked the tubing off Ray's arm. He moved towards Fraser.

Fraser jerked away as Landry attempted to bind his arm. Landry stood up, walked over to Ray and kicked him in the kidneys. Ray's body jerked but he remained unconscious.

"You want a repeat of that, keep resisting. I will happily kick the crap out of Detective Vecchio until you are ready to get with the program."

Once again Landry approached Fraser and knelt down, holding out his hand. Fraser looked at that hand, knowing what he had to do. He held his arm out to Landry and watched passively as his arm was bound, the needle inserted, the drug delivered.

"The reason you won't be empathizing with your good friend, the loser, is because you are going to be dead. Your little ride is laced with rat poison." Fraser heard the words but they seemed to have no power. Life? Death? It all seemed theoretical at this point.

Landry moved back to Ray and unlocked the cuff. He leaned down and put his shoulder into Ray's stomach and flung him over his back in a fireman's carry. "The fun I am going to have when he comes back to earth. Vecchio will be a wanted for the robbery of a grocery store, back in the clutches of Mr. Jones and responsible for his best friend's death. It really doesn't get any better than this."

Fraser wanted to argue and plead but his mouth had gone numb and his tongue was three times its normal size, threatening to choke him. The last thing he heard before he lost consciousness was the sound of the door closing.

Welsh paced the corridor outside of the Emergency room. He had been making good time on Devon Street, when a drunk going the wrong way clipped him. Welsh had been banged up but mobile. His car, however, was history, and he had to wait for the paramedics to deal with the drunk, who wasn't wearing a seat belt. By the time he got to the warehouse, Ray was gone and Fraser was in a bad way.

He turned and ran right into the doctor, who held out his hand. "Lieutenant Welsh? Your man is going to recover just fine. The main fear with this kind of tainted drug is the depression of the respiratory system.. The paramedics were there in good time to keep that from happening and he will make a full recovery."

"Oh thank God." Welsh sank down the seat behind him and put his head in his hands. Big Red would recover. This was something. Fraser would be all right and Landry no longer had him. Now to retrieve Ray.

"How soon can I see him?"

"He's conscious now and we'll be moving him into a room in about twenty minutes. Go ahead." The doctor motioned him into the room.

Welsh hesitated. He'd let his men down. Fraser was in there, beaten, poisoned, wanting to know where Ray was and what was being done to find Ray. A lot was being done but so far nothing had come of it. Landry had had Ray for six hours and so far there had been no leads.

Welsh took a deep breath. No use making Fraser wait to hear the bad news. He was unprepared for the sight that met him. Both of Fraser's eyes were bandaged. Black smudges seeped out from under the white and covered nearly his entire face. It was hard to tell if Fraser was awake, he was so still.

Welsh walked to the bed and placed his hand on Fraser's arm. "Constable?"

Fraser turned his toward the sound of Welsh's voice. "L-lieutenant?" His voice wavered, then, stronger, "Have you heard anyth-thing?"

"Nah, nothing yet, but we have some leads..." Welsh knew Fraser would see right through that.

Fraser turned his head away. "I can't believe he just p-picked Ray up and t-took him. If I hadn't been so oblivious to my surroundings, all of th-this could have been avoided. I placed R-Ray in that madman's power and now we have no idea what he's doing to Ray." Fraser's voice cracked.

Inwardly, Welsh groaned. Lord save him from people who had an over developed sense of responsibility. "Constable, that's a bunch of garbage and I hope it's the aftereffects of the drugs that have you spewing such nonsense."

Fraser's hands plucked at the covers in agitation. "I c-can't even look for him this time. I can't do anything for Ray."

Welsh covered the shaking fingers with his big hand, stilling them. "You did the very best thing you could do for Ray. You stayed alive. That will make him happy, I know this. You just wait and see." Welsh heard a sigh and a small hiccup. He bent down and said in a low tone that he hoped still had the ability to command, "Go to sleep, Constable. I'll see you in the morning."

The next day brought snow, whipped into eddies against the windowpane by a cruel north wind. There was no sunlight to soften the cold florescent light in Fraser's room. The bandages had been removed from his eyes, the swelling having receded during the night. He could view the world through slits, but there was nothing he wanted to see. He waited patiently, grateful for his austere upbringing. It had prepared him for this existence, this time when there was no hope but there was nothing to do but hope. He waited for Welsh to come. He waited to hear the catch in the Lieutenant's voice as he told Fraser the dreaded news. He knew Ray was not going to survive this round with Landry. He was too depleted and Landry was too insane. There was no Clarice to save the day.

Clarice!

The thought that seized Fraser was stunning in its simplicity and audacity. Clarice could save the day. It would be at some risk to her...but all they could do was ask.

Fraser fumbled for the phone and dialed the precinct. He quickly got a hold of Welsh and laid out his plan. Clarice was brought to Fraser's room by Huey. The smell of Clarice's perfume was evident a good forty seconds before Clarice herself made her entrance. She stopped so suddenly in the doorway that Huey ran right into her. "Oh, honey," Clarice was obviously shocked, seeing Fraser "are you going to be all right? Did Marsdale do this to you?" She leaned over Fraser and stroked his forehead, one of the few places without bruises.

Fraser tried to stifle his impatience with her comforting and his discomfort with her proximity. "I am going to be fine. In fact, they will be releasing me this morning. And yes, Marsdale Landry did th-this. But he's doing far worse to Ray ri-right now and that's why-"

"Ray! He found Ray! Oh my God! What are you doing to find him?" Clarice had forgotten her tender loving care of Fraser at the mention of Ray's name.

Welsh stepped forward. "We have an APB out on Landry."

"You've had an APB out on him for a month! Fat lot of good it's done. What else?"

There was a pause. "What else?!" There was hysteria brewing. "Nothing? You have no leads?" She looked wildly around the room.

"That's why we contacted you. At this time, you are our only-"

"HOPE? I'm your only fucking hope? Oh Christ, Ray's history."

Fraser groped for Clarice's hand. His depth perception was impaired. He fumbled around, cursing his clumsiness with women. He needed Clarice's co-operation.

After a few seconds she seemed to understand what Fraser was searching for and gave him her hand. "Here. Now tell me your brilliant plan for rescuing Ray.'

"I don't think you realize jus--st how attached Landry is to you, Clarice. Everything he's done has been in so-some perverted way for you."

"You think Mars cares about me?"

"Most definitely. Deeply, in fact."

Clarice tilted her head, considering this as if it had never occurred to her. "Whadya want me to do?"

"We're thinking of some th-thing along the lines of a newscast, perhaps about my surprising recovery or some such nonsense. You would be by my side. The h-hospital will be identified. It's a long shot, but I believe Mars won't be able to help himself. He'll need to s-see you, talk to you-"

"-hurt me." Clarice finished for him. "But that's okay. I'd do anything to save my Ray."

There was a sudden stillness in the room as the men all realized the misapprehension Clarice was laboring under.

"Hmm. Clarice. It's not your Ray."

Clarice stared at him, her face blank. Then, "Oh, thank God. Thank you, thank you, God." Clarice sunk down on the bed. Fraser looked to Welsh. They needed to find just the right words to get Clarice to risk her life for a man she didn't know or care about. Fraser began to beg for her cooperation "Clarice..."

"So when do you want to do this fake newscast?" Clarice idly played with Fraser's hair. He was so grateful, he didn't mind.

Welsh spoke up. "It will take the day to put it in place. Sometime tomorrow . Can you do it?"

"Oh, man, I'm gonna miss my Spanish test. I wonder if they'd accept a note from the police department?"

Welsh smiled. "Yes, Miss Dowling, I'm sure I can convince them to accept your absence."

The newscast was filmed without a hitch, Clarice showing unexpected talent at being both front and center and discreet. It played on the 6:00 news and by 8:20, they had Landry in the interrogation room. "I can't believe that bitch played me again and I fell for it." Landry kept repeating that as if he couldn't get over it.

"Tell us where Detective Vecchio is."

"I mean, fool me once shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me." Landry was having a conversation but it didn't include anyone in the room.

"Tell us where you stashed Vecchio!" Huey's low voice actually squeaked with frustration.

"Women. You give them your heart and they-" Dewey reached over and grabbed Landry by the shirt collar, pulling him out of his chair. "I don't give a fuck about your philosophy on women. I want to know where Ray Vecchio is and I want you to tell me now." Dewey released Landry with a shove that sent Landry toppling backwards onto the floor.

"Hey!" Landry was indignant. He watched as the men filed out. Clarice came in. She was wearing a simple gray dress that made her look a bit like the schoolgirl he had once known. He looked her over and was surprised to see the color in her face, the swing in her hair. She had gained some weight and now had curves where there had been jutting bones. He realized he was seeing the old Clarice, the one he had said he wanted back.

"You look good, babe. Real good." Landry lurched to his feet and propped his hip on the table, trying to look casual.

Clarice approached him, her hands on her hips. "You schmuck. You have the wrong fucking Ray, Mars! How many times do I have to tell you, Ray Vecchio is an Italian. He looks Italian. Hell, he speaks Italian. He is not a skinny little Polack. Can't you tell the difference?"

"Yeah, right. He's not the right Ray, he's not your Ray, but you call the cops anyway."

"I called the cops, all right. I might have been a whore and a junkie but I still have some morals. And they don't let me see some innocent jerk suffer and get killed for no good reason." Clarice folded her arms in front of her and glared at Landry. "Now you tell me where you stashed the cop, Mars. You tell me now or so help me..."

Landry scrambled back and threw his hands up. "Okay. I don't actually have him. I dumped him yesterday in Chinatown."

"You what?!"

"I gave him a couple hundred bucks and I dumped in Chinatown."

"I don't get it. Why'd did you go to the trouble to take him if you were gonna give him money and let him go?"

"Clarice. Doll. You have to understand. I badly miscalculated my first time out with Vecchio. I thought giving him the habit would make it a done deal. I didn't realize I had to strip the man. I had to take him down, take away who he was and what he did and who he loved. And I did that this time. I took a cop and turned him into a crook. I made him a pariah in his world. I killed his best friend. And then I gave him enough money to finish the job. Oh, the beauty of it. As he goes down, he'll have no one to blame but himself. That ought to bring the lesson home."

Clarice stalked over to where Landry lounged and sharply cuffed the back of his head.

"You're bringing the lesson home to the wrong guy, you dope. Even if you had the right Ray, it would be pointless. Ray didn't turn me into anything. I lost my virginity the fall you went to college, thanks to Phil."

"No way. You were fourteen."

"As if Phil was keeping track of my happy birthdays." Clarice moved towards Landry and he had the good sense to back off. "No man would ever have the power to make me into what I became. No, Mars, I did that. I did that and I stopped that."

Landry looked at Clarice and realized he was seeing someone he thought had been erased.

"You're gonna have to do your best to fix this godawful mess you made, Mars. Tell these guys where you left Ray."

Landry looked up to see men from before reenter the room. "Hey, I left him at Poppy and Crescent."

"Was he standing?" This from the older guy.

"Yeah, sorta. He was coming down from his fourth hit and he was out of it, but when I looked at him through the rear mirror, he was still upright."

"Dewey, get the call out, I want everyone on the lookout for Ray. Huey, book Landry and don't mess up the paperwork. I don't want any technicalities haunting us."

"And me?" Clarice asked.

"Honey, you done good. Go back to the hospital and let Fraser know what's happening." Welsh put his arm around her and escorted her to the door.

"Clarice?"

She turned.

"Keep in touch, okay?" Landry looked at her, the plea hanging in the air.

She shook her head. She looked at him and Mars crossed his fingers.

"I'll think about it, Mars." Clarice left and didn't look back.

Ray stood in the doorway, watching all the people hurry by. He fingered the plastic pouch in his pocket. He had planned to wait until dark to do this but the wait was killing him. The physical pull was strong. But it was the sort of pain he could live with. The need to check out, to not have one single thought in his head, screamed at him. He looked around. Thought about banging his head against the wall. Would that do it? Would that bring the relief he needed? Make him forget Fraser was dead? He wished he had his gun, but he could always walk in front of a truck. No. That was too quick. It was good to wait until dark. The time in the dark, the moon cold overhead, the street slick with dirty snow, he would wait for that moment. He wasn't sure why it was important to wait, except he held Fraser in his head and by doing that he kept Fraser alive a little longer.

The pain was good. It would do him good to wait. He leaned back against door. He was shaking violently from the cold. He leaned against the door and slid down, letting his head fall forward. Fraser. Fraser was dead. That didn't seem possible. Fraser in his head was so alive, he pulsed with life. He centered Ray's life. Now the source of all the warmth was gone. It was good to shiver from the cold. He'd robbed a store. He was back to being an addict. And Fraser was dead.

Ray laughed. It was an ugly sound. A time machine would be good. One that would take him back to the time when the choice was given. "Will you go undercover as Vecchio?" "No." Good answer.

Then Fraser would be alive. The grocery boy wouldn't be having nightmares. Go back even before then. Go all the way back. Make sure his mother had a headache on that night. Think of the misery that could have been skipped. His father would have been spared the embarrassment of a son who was a cop. Stella could have married right the first time. Beth Boetrelle would never have spent years in jail. They would have found someone else to be Fraser's partner.

He could go to Welsh. Try to explain. Maybe they would let him see Fraser. Let him say good-bye. The knowledge that he would never hear Fraser's voice patiently droning on, or see him running in full passion, determined to bring down a criminal, or listen to one side of a conversation with Dief, crashed in on him. When Landry told him Fraser was dead, Ray had lunged at him, ready to break his neck and die in jail. The handcuffs had brutally brought him up short and Landry had laughed and then explained. Explained how this was Ray's doing. Ray had put this all in motion. It was his karma. None of it had made any sense but Ray's brain, chock full of brain candy, took it in and held on. It didn't make sense, none of it did. That was his life in a nutshell.

Night came and Ray moved deeper into the shadows. He pulled out the things he needed and laid them on the cold ground. He methodically went through the steps that would bring him oblivion. He didn't know if it was the cold or the anticipation but it was hard to keep his hand steady enough to do its work. He managed. He sat back on his heels. There. It was official. He had bought and cooked and shot his first voluntary hit. All the pieces had fallen into place and Fraser was dead and he...well, he was this. He felt himself nodding. Good, that was good. He listed to the side and drifted away.

The next morning found Fraser pacing his room, waiting for his discharge papers. Dewey was due any minute to pick Fraser up. He was anxious to get on the street. Ray had been out there for 36 hours. He must be hurt or concussed, otherwise he would have checked in with Welsh. Dewey was bringing Dief. Fraser held on to the fact that he and Dief had found Ray once before.

Frannie carried the tray carefully through the hallway. She had coffee for the three and tea for her one. She wished there were more she could do. They were five days into the search and exhausted. They had finally gone home last night and crashed. Now they were trying to come up with a new strategy. There were no new strategies. Every avenue that could be explored had been. No one had given up hope. They were too tired to make that kind of mental shift.

Welsh had a map of Chinatown out and was studying the areas that had been marked. "Thanks Frannie." He took the mug absently.

She held the tea out to Fraser. The bruising had faded considerably. Aside from the way he tended to hold his side, the physical signs of his trauma were subtle. The mental signs were a lot easier to read. Fraser had a haunted look in his eyes. His hands shook as he took the tea. He had developed a slight stutter. "Th-thank y-you, Francesca."

"Okay people, Ray has been out on the streets for five days." Welsh stood before his motley crew. "As you know, there's been a general APB out on Ray but so far nada. We don't know much but we do know that Ray was left in Chinatown, he had money, and Landry may have kick started his addiction."

"Not his ad-addiction."

"Pardon, Constable, you had something to add?"

"It's not Ray's addiction. He di-didn't take those drugs." Fraser felt compelled to make a distinction.

"While I appreciate the fact that Detective Vecchio did not voluntarily become addicted, it does not change the fact that he is. Was."

Fraser straightened up in his chair. He didn't want the drug that had poisoned Ray's body to now poison his relationship with his fellow detectives. If they started to see him as a junkie, well, Ray's effectiveness would be seriously compromised. He looked around the room. The small group gathered was there because they cared about Ray. He was one of them. A heroin dependant Ray would no longer be one of them.

"No one fitting Ray's description has shown up at clinic, hospital or shelter. He's somewhere out on the streets either trying to kick this on his own or using." Welsh shrugged. "I know that sounds harsh, but that's the way I see it."

"He could be injured or have amnesia, sir." Frannie was going to bat for Ray.

"Yes, Miss Vecchio, those are also possibilities. Small-"

"But real." Frannie finished, not willing to let the Lieutenant diminish her scenario.

"Right. We may be looking for a disorientated Ray, I think we can all agree on that."

Nods all around.

"Sir, it seems to me that Ray," Dewey hesitated, "might not want to be found."

Frannie's head snapped up. "Whadya saying here? Ray wants to stay an addict? Give up the search and leave Ray on the streets?" Frannie's voice was high pitched with outrage. She advanced on Tom and he had the good sense to back up and place himself behind Fraser. Fraser stood up and moved his chair, clearing the path for Frannie.

Dewey threw up his hands in defense. "No, no, of course not. It just changes the way you look for someone. There's looking for someone who wants to be found and looking for someone who doesn't want to be found, and they call for different tactics. That's all I'm saying."

"You have some suggestions, Detective?"

"Well yeah, maybe Huey and me could go over some of the people who were at Knowlewood with Ray and check them out. See if they know anything."

"Good idea, get on it." Welsh turned his attention to Fraser. "What do you have planned?"

Fraser stood up. His eyes reflected the hopelessness he felt but his voice was resolute as he said, "I'm going to re-trace my st-steps in Chinatown." At Welsh's look, he added, "I know there is only a slight possi-sibility of finding Ray in such a manner but unless you have another suggestion...?"

"No, Constable, I don't have any other suggestions, except that maybe you should be getting some more sleep, maybe eat something." Welsh put his hand on Fraser's shoulder as he walked him to the door. "I know you want to find Ray, hell, we all want to find Ray, but you're still recovering from what Landry did to you."

"Thank you kindly for your concern, Lieutenant, but I'm fine, really." Fraser looked around the bullpen for Dief, sighting him at Frannie's desk, looking hopeful. He squared his Stetson and turned to face Welsh. "I realize you think my plan lacks merit."

"Ah, hell, Constable, I know you have to do something, just don't keep going until you collapse."

"Understood, Lieutenant."

"I doubt it, but I won't stop you." Welsh turned back to his office, his own weariness evident in the slump of his shoulders.

Marcy held her puce colored coat close to her thin body. She had left her corner for a reason, a very good reason, what was that reason? She was headed uptown and that made no sense to her. She never walked in this neighborhood. She stopped to think and look around. If she couldn't remember there was no point in going on. Marcy, Marcy, Marcy, she chided herself, you really have to get a grip. It was something important. Oh. Yes. Ducks wasn't doing so well. She needed to find the man with the dog. He'd know what to do. This was Ducks' neighborhood. She looked around, no sign of the man in red. She approached a guy standing in the doorway.

"Hey, you seen a man in a red suit around here?"

"You mean like Santy Claus?" He asked without malice.

"No, like Nelson Eddy." Marcy was sure that was right.

"Nelson Eddy? Never heard of the guy."

"Like...like a Canadian." Oh, Marcy was proud of pulling that one out.

"Oh, you're looking for the Mountie." He shook his head. "Haven't seen him today."

Marcy had been listening hopefully and when the man said he hadn't seen him, her face crumpled and she started to cry.

"I really need to find him." She had remembered how she had left Ray and the urgency that had propelled her to this strange neighborhood was back. She wasn't sure if she had found Ray or he had found her.

"Well, if it's an emergency..."

"Yes, it's an emergency!"

"I'll call the cops for you." He turned to walk back into the bar but Marcy grabbed at his sleeve.

"No, no, no cops, oh God, no cops." She was frantic, she knew cops were no good, no good at all, no good in this situation.

"All right, I hear you, no cops." The man removed her clutching hand and patted it. "Let me think.....I could leave a message at the Canadian Consulate. What should I say?"

"Oh good, yes, that's a plan, you should say that Ducks needs him and he's with Marcy."

"We're getting all excited because of some ducks?" The man didn't know whether to be angry or amused.

"Not ducks, the bird, Ducks, his friend. It's his friend who needs him. Tell him that. Please?"

"All right, I'll do that for you."

"Right now?"

"Yeah, yeah, right now, I'm going to call right now." She watched as he walked into the dark bar. She watched as he paged through the phone book and picked up the phone. "See? I'm calling. Hello? Yes I want to leave a message..."

At those reassuring sounds, Marcy headed back to her nest. She didn't like leaving Ducks alone the way he was. He'd never be able to keep Ratchek or the others from hurting him. They never bothered Marcy or the other women, but she'd seen what they'd done to the infrequent man that stumbled into their territory.

"What's this Turnbull? A message for Fraser about some ducks? Oh for goodness sake, the man is distracted enough without this kind of nonsense. "Inspector Thatcher crumpled the paper, tossed it out, and left Turnbull with his mouth hanging open.

The cardboard box that defined Marcy's home barely kept the wind at bay and did nothing to stop the cold from seeping in. Ray opened his eyes to see that it had finally stopped snowing. He became aware of how hard his body was shaking and he knew it wasn't the cold. Or it wasn't only the cold. He slowly pulled himself upright, biting back a moan of misery. He was cold, hungry and thirsty but right now there was only one thing on his mind, only one need he wanted slaked. He wanted oblivion and he wanted it now. He rummaged through his pockets, looking for his kit. He pulled out the bits and pieces that would send him on his way to la-la land. When he pulled out the empty plastic bag he looked at it in disbelief. He felt around some more, hoping there was a second plastic bag, full of powder, though he knew there wasn't. He pushed himself to his feet and stood there, swaying as the cold wind buffeted him. A strong gust almost sent him sprawling onto the pavement. He had to find some dope. He needed to find the way back to blackness again and dope knew the way.

*******************8

Ray didn't see the three men who came up behind him and when they spoke, he didn't understand a word they said. They looped their arms through his, laughing, and in a parody of camaraderie, marched him along to an alley and showed him a different way to oblivion.

This time when Ray woke up it was dark. He was cold and his face was laying on something damp. It took him a moment and then he recognized the musty smell of a cellar. He tried to push himself up. His hands were tied tightly with what felt like wire. His feet were also fastened together. He couldn't feel his hands, the wire was so tight and he imagined he had been here a while. His other clue was his raging thirst. He managed to get himself upright. The darkness was profound and Ray tried to stave off the panic welling up in him. He had never liked the dark, and being alone in the dark, cold, hungry and thirsty made the sense of doom even stronger. He would die down here and no one would ever know. The sadness he expected to feel at that thought never materialized. When he died maybe he'd see Fraser. He really, really wanted to see Fraser. He leaned back against the rough, cold, wall. He felt impatient with this dying process and wished he could hurry the whole thing along.

He heard a rustling and then squeaks. Ah, great, rats, another one of his favorite things. Ray stamped his feet at them. That sent shooting pains from his ankles up to his hips .He contented himself with yelling and shuffling his feet. After a few hours his voice was gone, his throat on fire from the effort and lack of water. He felt himself tilting and didn't have the strength to stay upright. His head hit the hard packed earth and he lay there, his eyes open with nothing to see. The cold of the ground was leeching out the rest of his small reserve of warmth. The shivers that had been present for sometime graduated to tremors that wracked his body. He closed his eyes on the nothingness and willed it to enter him, to fill him up and take him away.

She'd left him right here. In her space, tucked into her cardboard box all cozy. The newspapers she had used to keep him warm were scattered over the street. She'd hurried back, worried for nothing. He'd moved on. He could've waited and said good-bye, she thought, a little peeved. Maybe his friend had already come and gotten him. That was quick.

***********************8

After a long frustrating night of searching, Fraser warily entered the Consulate. Inspector Thatcher had grudgingly given her consent to his absence, but her impatience with the extra work and Turnbull as her primary companion had made Fraser avoid her as much as possible.

Turnbull looked up and automatically started to say, "Welcome to..." when he realized it was Fraser. "Good Morning, sir."

"Yes, Good Morning, Constable, is the Inspector on the premises?"

"I'm sorry, no sir, she's gone to that meeting with the French Consulate, it being the third of the month." Turnbull beamed at him. "Any word on Detective Vecchio, sir?"

"No, nothing yet. I just came in to feed Dief and tidy up." Fraser started to head for the kitchen.

"Oh, sir?" Fraser reluctantly turned at the sound of Turnbull's query. He felt like the whole grit of the city had settled into his clothes and behind his eyes. He really didn't believe he would be able to maintain any semblance of a polite conversation at this time.

"Yes?"

"Well, Inspector Thatcher thought you really shouldn't be bothered with this and it does seem ridiculous but the man sounded quite sane and concerned and I just thought, well, after all it was a message left for you, not Inspector Thatcher..."

"What? What is it, Turnbull?" Fraser had turned back and waited, impatience easily read in his stance.

"Well, maybe the Inspector was right and..." Fraser closed in on Turnbull and leaned down until they were face to face. "What?" It was as close to yelling as Fraser ever got.

Turnbull pulled back and much to Fraser's surprise, got on his knees. "There was a phone call from a man," Turnbull was rooting in the wastepaper basket, making a mess, "and he said a woman named Marcy had told him to call..." At this point, Fraser joined him on the floor, taking out bits of paper, spreading them out. He didn't know what Turnbull was looking for but at the mention of the name Marcy, his heart had leaped.

"Go on." Fraser stopped, he'd found a piece of paper that had Marcy's name on it.

"He said, Marcy was worried about some ducks and that you should go to her right away."

Fraser was studying the message that said the same thing. Ducks, oh my, Ray was with Marcy.

"Dief! Come on, I'll get you a pizza later." Fraser nodded to Turnbull. "I am in your debt, Constable."

Fraser tried to hail a Taxi but Dief's presence was enough to keep the cab drivers blind. Fraser soon gave up and he and Dief began to run toward Ray's neighborhood.

They got to Marcy's corner and saw her sitting on a broken chair, chatting with the pigeons.

"Marcy! Where's Ray?" Fraser's panting created a cloud around his face.

"Who?" She looked around, confused.

"Ray. Ducks. My friend." Fraser wanted to grab the dear, daffy old lady and shake her upside down until the answer to where Ray was fell out of her confused brain. Instead he waited patiently while she sorted through the information she had haphazardly stored in her mind. He was relieved when her face brightened and she said, "Ducks! You've come to help Ducks!"

"That's right. I'm here to help Ducks, my friend. Where is he?"

She looked around, shaking her head. "He was here. He was right here. And then I went to find you and when I came back, he was gone, all gone. No good-bye."

Dief had picked up Ray's scent and was pacing. Fraser still needed to know some things. "Is Ray all right?"

"Oh, I don't think so. He can't hardly walk. I had the devil of a time getting him back here. And he won't eat anything, pushes everything away. And he shakes so hard I could barely get water in him." She leaned in close to Fraser. "I think he's one of those -you know what."

"No ma'am, I don't know what." Fraser clutched his hat, waiting to hear Marcy name Ray a drug addict.

"I think he's one of those vampires. They can't eat food, you know. He needs blood to drink, but he was real polite to me, never tried anything. Last night, we slept and when he nuzzled my neck. I could tell he wanted some bad, but he didn't even nip. " She was obviously proud of Ray's restraint.

"Yes ma'am, that would be Ray, very polite. I'm going to follow Ray's trail now. Thank you kindly for your assistance and most especially for getting a message to me."

Dief had led Fraser to a dilapidated apartment building. Many of the windows were covered with cardboard giving it abandoned look. Fraser could see little faces peeking out the second story window. The front door was propped open and Fraser watched as Dief followed Ray's scent into the building. He moved cautiously, not wanting to spook Ray, not sure of what he would find. Fraser could see a bit of moving white he knew to be Dief. Dief was circling, confused by the myriad of scents where three corridors converged. Dief looked up and he howled, a mournful call that rumbled through the hallway. Fraser knew Dief had more information than mere location. Dief knew something was very wrong.

Fraser saw Ray lying on the ground. He rushed to Ray's side and lifted his wrist to feel for a pulse. It was then that he noticed Ray's hands and ankles were wired together. Ray's fingers were an alarming shade of blue. He tried untwisting the wire but Ray's hands had swelled, making it impossible. He needed wire cutters. He needed to get Ray warm. He needed to get Ray out of here.

He pulled Ray up and held him in his arms. Fraser gently tapped Ray's face. "Ray? Can you hear me Ray?" Ray looked bleached of life. His face so pale it was tinged with blue. There were bruises developing along Ray's cheek and jaw, the incipient color contrasting with the dead white of Ray's face. His lip was split . Fraser bent down to listen for Ray's breathing and was reassured when he saw Ray's chest moving in and out in a gentle rhythm. "Come on, Ray, please." Fraser ran a hand through Ray's hair, feeling for bumps. "Ray, wake up." Fraser hunched over Ray and slowly started to rock, crooning, "Time to wake up now." He felt Ray shudder and he tightened his hold.

"Dat you, Ben?" Ray's voice was hoarse and he kept his eyes shut tight.

"Yes, Ray, I'm here. You're going to be all right."

"Well, I'd think so. That's the whole point of heaven, isn't it? ....Ben? Why am I so cold? ......And why do I still hurt? .......We are in heaven, right? I mean, I know you would go to heaven, me I'm not so sure of, but if I'm with you, then we're in heaven, right?"

Fraser pulled Ray even closer to him. "Ray you're not dead."

Much to Fraser's surprise, Ray started to cry. "But I want to be dead. Need to be dead. Need to see Fraser. I want to see Fraser!" Ray was trying to sit up.

"Open your eyes, Ray. Ray? Open your eyes."

Ray reluctantly lifted one eyelid and looked up at the voice. "Fraser? Is that really you

Fraser hugged Ray. "Yes Ray, it's really me and we're both very much alive."

"Oh God, Fraser, he told me you were dead, I thought you were dead."

"As they say, news of my death has been greatly exaggerated." Tears were on Fraser's face now.

"What happened? Was Landry lying and I stupidly bought it?" Ray was trying to bring his hands up to wipe away the tears. Fraser pushed his hands down and pulled up his shirt, using the hem to gently dry Ray's face.

"Tell me what happened, Ben." Fraser didn't want to tell Ray about the heroin with the rat poison. He knew Ray would feel responsible and he didn't want to go back to that time when Ray was being taken away from him.

"Ray, I'll tell you all about it, la-later. I've got to find wire cutters and get you free." Fraser looked around the dark space. He started to prop Ray against the wall so he could do a proper search.

" Where ya going? You leaving?" Ray sounded resigned, even as he ineffectually clutched at Fraser's sleeve.

"No, Ray, I'm staying right here. I need to at least get your feet free so we can get out of here. Who did this?" Fraser had found a work bench and was searching for anything that could cut the wire.

"I don't know. Think I invaded some gang's territory. To tell you the truth, never did figure out what their beef with me was."

"Do you think they'll be back?" Fraser found a pliers that looked like it might work and hurried back to Ray.

"Don't know, didn't understand a word they said."

Fraser bent down and carefully positioned the pliers. Ray groaned as the pressure increased.

"Sorry, Ray, this can't be helped."

"Go ahead, Fraser, I just want the damn wire off."

Ray sucked in his breath but held still and in just a moment the Fraser was able to pry the wire off. Fraser gently rubbed Ray's arms, encouraging the circulation. "It's going to hurt when the blood starts moving, Ray." Fraser apologized.

Ray cracked one eye open and looked at him. "Yeah, I know."

The ankles were dealt with next. Ray's shoes had been taken and his feet were cold and white with vivid red striations where the wire had dug in.

Fraser put his hands under Ray's arms and lifted him to his feet. Ray tried to stand but his legs were still numb from the lack of circulation. Fraser maintained his hold and half-carried Ray up the steps, Dief bounding ahead.

A small boy peeked around an apartment door and Fraser could see a woman standing in the kitchen. "Ma'am?"

Hustling to the boy, the woman stared at the two men.

"Ma'am, if you could just call an ambulance?" Fraser 's voice trailed off, as the little boy was yanked back inside and the door firmly shut. Fraser shifted Ray closer to him and was dismayed when he saw that Ray's head had fallen forward and he seemed to be unconscious. Fraser lifted Ray into his arms and started to carry Ray outside, when the door opened and the woman stood there, holding her boy.

"You wanna come in?" She gestured with her wooded spoon. "Bring him in, I called for the ambulance."

Entering her apartment, Fraser was greeted by three more pairs of eyes. Three little girls sat primly on the couch and watched as Fraser carefully lowered Ray to the floor. One of the little girls hopped off the couch and padded over to get a closer look. She leaned over Ray and announced, "He don't look so good." At this news the other two girls flew off the couch and scattered. Fraser watched them leave in bemusement. "He'll be okay." He called to them. "I don't believe he's contagious." He tried to sound reassuring but his focus was with Ray. He settled Ray against him.

Bringing a glass of water from the kitchen, the mother looked Ray over and said, "The Peabodies got him, eh?"

"Peabodies?" Fraser was at a loss. He lifted Ray's head up and tried to guide some water down his throat. A bit went in Ray's mouth but much more simply dribbled out.

"This is their turf." She snorted. "Bunch of punks with nothing to do. At least they usually don't kill. Just beat and wire."

The little girls came back into the room. They carried a small suitcase between them and settled down next to Ray. The first little girl, the diagnostician, pulled out a small medicine bottle. "He needs to take his medicine," she solemnly explained to Fraser.

"Yes, you must listen to Dr. Maria. She's a good doctor." The second in command girl beamed him her best bedside manner smile.

Maria opened the bottle and shook out three-M&M's. She handed them to Fraser. "Be sure he takes these when he wakes up."

One of the other little girls was handing 'Dr. Maria" a shot for Ray. As the number two pencil came towards Ray's arm, Fraser asked, "What is in the syringe?"

"Sa-ringe?" Dr. Maria was baffled by the question.

"What is in the shot?" Fraser wondered what they thought would help.

"Oh! We put lots of good things in the shot. We put some sunflower seeds in and some lipstick and a little bit of honey and glitter."

"That does sound like excellent medicine." Fraser could hear the paramedics coming in the front door. "I'll make sure he takes his pills."

Leaving the cold cellar behind seemed strange. He'd thought to die there and maybe meet up with Fraser. With Ben. And somehow he had met up with Ben. With Fraser. Yet he hurt too much to be dead, because if you hurt this much dead, then you might just as well stay alive.

Ben was carrying him. That couldn't be easy, but Ben didn't seem to be having any trouble. Ray wondered when was the last time he'd been carried like this, cradled. He could remember the last time he'd tried to get carried. They'd been out to see Aunt Louise and he'd fallen asleep on the way back. He woke when they pulled into the garage but he'd kept his eyes closed, hoping his dad would scoop him up and carry him to bed. That felt a little like having your own carnival ride. Instead his dad had looked back and said, "C'mon Stan, who do you thinking you're kidding? Let's go." And although Ray had stayed as quiet as he could with his eyes shut tight, he still heard his father walk away and knew he wasn't going to get his wish.

But he got *this* wish. He got to say good-bye to Fraser. Good-bye and Hello and maybe everything in between. He opened his eyes, they were entering someone's apartment and Fraser was starting to kneel and put him on the floor. Ride over.

Ray leaned against Fraser's chest. He could hear the dull lub-dub of Fraser's heart, he could feel the strength of muscle in the arms that encircled him, he could see the competent square hands that pushed his hair out of his eyes and gently stroked his cheek. He heard little girl voices and one saying, "He don't look so good." *Ya got that right, little girl, don't look so good, don't smell too good and really don't feel so good.* His hands felt hot and throbbed with every beat of his heart. He could live with that. The cramps that had started earlier were really building now, and although his hands felt hot, the rest of him was freezing. He knew it was the need growing, like a pod person in his basement, ready to take over his life when it fully matured.

Fraser's attention seemed to be centered on the girls and Ray wondered how long he would be able to hide the appalling strength of the monster that was knocking at his door. Ray could her Fraser's voice rumbling in his chest and tiny voices answering him, but like the night before, when those thugs had grabbed him, he couldn't pierce through the sounds to get to the meaning. He stopped trying and just let himself drift.

Suddenly Ray felt himself plucked from Fraser's arms. Ray wanted to clutch Fraser, to keep the comfort of him near but his hands just lay there, fat and uncooperative. In no time at all he was being loaded into an ambulance. He looked around but he couldn't see Fraser. *Oh God, did I hallucinate him? He wasn't really here. He's dead, you moron. No wish come true, just the sound of footsteps, walking away. Fraser is dead.* With that thought, Ray passed out.

It had been a day and a half and Ray had not regained consciousness. The doctors were frankly baffled. And while the dehydration had been serious, IV's had taken care of that in the first six hours. The blood work had revealed residual heroin in his system, but certainly not enough to keep him under. There really was no reason he had stayed in an unconscious state. Fraser had parked himself in the chair and left only to use the bathroom.

At first he had sat poised on the edge of his chair, sure that it would only be a short while and Ray would open his eyes. After a few hours Fraser had come to the conclusion that Ray was simply exhausted and was now sleeping. After the afternoon and evening had passed with no change, Fraser had begun to feel the real stirrings of panic. The doctors were optimistic and reassuring but Fraser knew the battering that Ray had taken in the last month. What if he just gave up?

"Ray? Ray? Ray?" Fraser's voice cracked a little. He knew it was ridiculous but he hoped the familiarity would magically bring forth a response. There was none.

Fraser began to speak. "Did I ever tell you about my Grandmother's theory on child raising? She was convinced that the only goal a parent should have, was that a child should grow up and function. To this end, much of what passes as parenting was dismissed by Grandmother as sentimentality. She seemed to view attachment as a detriment to life in the wilderness. Self-sufficiency was the only sensible way of life in the territories and she set up many a lesson plan, the chief objective of which was to have me solve the problem by myself and survive. Now, I ha-have," here Fraser's stutter came back, surprising him, "a problem that cannot be s-solved. Because I cannot not s-survive this by myself. All of Grandmother's hard taught lessons have been blown away since I came to Chicago."

"First it was Ray Vecchio. I needed him to survive this alien landscape and I came to count on his friendship. But it seemed he too, had some lessons for me to learn ...or re-learn about attachment. Then th-there was you. I think I told you how much you su-surprised me. You interpreted that to mean I was expecting Ray and got you. That was the least su-surprising thing about you, Ray. The first time we met, you put your arm around me, do yo-you remember that? It probably meant nothing at the time to you. Just some Chicago police camaraderie, your idea about playing the part of Vecchio. But I had been away a month. Alone once again. The return to Chicago without Ray to welcome and guide me--well,--I rather hate to admit it, but I felt-- a bit lost-t. And then your arm came around my shoulders and you sounded so happy to s-see me." Fraser stopped talking and looked at Ray. He was as still and pale as he had been before.

"And now it seems you have some lessons to teach me. I should say a new lesson, because Ray, my friend, I've learned a lot from you. I learned about instincts and trust and..." The sob Fraser had been trying to suppress, escaped and for just a few minutes he allowed himself to cry, allowed himself to feel the fear of Ray leaving him.

After a bit the tears stopped and he looked at Ray, all still and safe and removed and he felt a hot wash of anger go through him.

*How dare he leave me? How dare he make me need him, make me count on him, and then leave me?* Fraser stood up. He took Ray's face in his hands and he lifted one eyelid. "Are you in there Ray? Because if you're in there, I want you out here, right now!" He put Ray's head back on the pillow and shook his shoulder. "RAY!" He shook it harder. "RAY!" The sobs came again and he felt an arm go around his shoulder. "Ray?" Ray was still in the hospital bed. Fraser looked up and saw the Lieutenant.

"He's gonna be okay, Constable. He's stubborn and tough. He's just a little tired right now. You're a little tired right now, too, Constable. Why don't you come down to the cafeteria with me and eat a little something?" Fraser resisted the Lieutenant's efforts to push him out the door.

"No, no, I couldn't possibly leave. Even when he's awake, sometimes he drifts and I need to call his name-- and I call but he never answers at first, although I think he hears me--so I say his name again and then usually just once more and then he answers me, then he's back and I want him to come back but I've called his name and he hasn't come back..."

Welsh gently pushed Fraser into the chair and knelt down. "Constable. You're making no sense." Fraser was trying to lean sideways to keep Ray in sight. "Constable Fraser." Welsh used a sterner tone.

"Yes, sir."

He had Fraser's attention now. "You are exhausted. You are still recovering from being poisoned." Welsh spoke slowly and tried to keep eye contact. "If you don't take care of yourself, you'll collapse and then when Ray wakes up he'll feel guilty. You don't want Ray to feel guilty, do you?"

"No-o."

"Good. You sit here. I'm going to make some arrangements." Welsh stood up. Fraser's immediately focused on Ray. Welsh shook his head. Both men were wrecks. He didn't see how he could get one well without the other. He went to talk to a nurse.

As the door closed behind him, Fraser scooted his chair closer to the bed once again. He placed his hand on Ray's arm through the handrail.

"I'm so-sorry I let myself go like that." he started and then realized he wasn't sorry, and continued, "My Grandmother was a believer in containment. I embraced containment and it served me well. In fact, it served so well, I never gave it a thought, until Victoria. And then last year, I went to James-s Livingston's funeral."

Fraser paused, remembering that day. " He was the rookie cop who was killed in that drug shoot out. He was Jewish. I had never been in a synagogue. At the ce-cemetery, as they lowered him into the ground, his mother cried out his name and then she began to wail. The sound was eerie and...unCanadian. I felt horribly uncomfortable. As she continued to wail I realized something. This was what happened when one was not contained. This kind of pain occurred. It was terrible in it's intensity and I bless-sed my Grandmother for teaching me to avoid it."

Fraser sat back and rubbed his face. "Except she didn't teach me to avoid it, she merely taught me how not to ex-express it. I feel that wail inside me, Ray. If I let myself make that sound, will the pain ease up? I would do it but I know the nurse would come and lead me away from you, thinking to help me c-contain my-myself. What she doesn't realize is it's too late."

Fraser stood up and leaned over the bed. "I am going to wail now, Ray." He bent his head and touched Ray's mouth with his mouth. Then a sound vibrated in the air, a quiet, desperate, oddly intense sound. Ray's eyes opened. Fraser started to pull back but Ray's hands came up and clumsily held Fraser's head in place. Fraser could feel Ray humming back. It tickled. The sharing of breath and sound ended and they broke contact. Fraser stared at the green-gray eyes and shut his own in gratitude.

"Fraser, are you really here?" Ray's voice was low and uneven and music to Fraser's ears.

Fraser opened his eyes, reached through the bedrails and pinched Ray, hard

"Ow! Jesus, Frase, what was that for?"

"I wanted you to be sure you were awake and that you knew it was me. I didn't want you drifting away again." Fraser rubbed at the red mark he'd made.

"I'm awake." Ray put his hand over Fraser's and squeezed.

"Now what was that?" Ray was looking at Fraser quizzically.

"What was what?" Fraser asked innocently.

"You know what, that mouth humming thing."

"Oh, that. I was wailing." Fraser looked away, hoping Ray would let it drop.

"You've lost me here, Frase. My mouth bears no resemblance to an ocean."

"Not whaling, Ray. W-a-i-l-i-n-g. Making a sound of bereavement." Ray wasn't going to let it drop.

"Why on earth would you do that?" *Never mind why on earth you would do that in my mouth because I liked that part.*

"Because you were gone and I was afraid you were never coming back and I found that I no longer cared to be contained. And so I wailed."

"In my mouth?" Ray's confusion was profound.

"In your mouth." Fraser waited for the disgust to come now that the mystery had been cleared up.

Ray looked at Fraser. "Are you all right? Did Landry hurt you?" He was looking for an explanation of Fraser's behavior.

Ray struggled to a sitting position. He reached out, snagging Fraser's jacket and pulling him close. Ray's hands touched the fading bruises and scabs on Fraser's face.

"I'm fine, Ray."

Fraser put his hand on Ray's chest to settle him back in bed. Ray stopped his upward movement but did not lay back. Instead he stayed right where he was.

The heat from Fraser's hand was spreading from his chest to his stomach and from his stomach to his groin. Fraser moved his thumb and Ray gasped. Fraser's other hand to braced Ray's back, and he stroked Ray's arm in a soothing motion. Ray relaxed into his hold and sighed. He felt Fraser lower him back to the bed.

Welsh entered the room, trailed by a nurse. He could see that Ray was sleeping with Fraser hovering over him.

"He was awake, he came awake, but he fell back asleep." Fraser's sentence had begun with joy and ended expressing his fear.

The nurse had already begun to take his vitals and looked up at Fraser. "He's doing just fine. We're moving him to another room, one that you can share and get some sleep in."

Welsh saw the beginnings of protest, damn that Mountie pride, and held up a hand. "You either take the bed next to him to you will be barred from his room. Those are your only two options."

Welsh was glad to see Fraser knew defeat when it was staring at him.

"How soon will they move him?"

"An orderly will be in soon." The nurse answered.

It couldn't be too soon to suit Welsh. The Constable was dead on his feet. The sooner they both napped, the sooner they could get up and play.

Ray woke first, his eyes automatically going to the chair next to his bed. It was empty. *I did not imagine that humming thing. Nope, that's too weird for me to have made up. Fraser was alive and being a freak, a good sign. Maybe that humming thing was like dry buddy breathing. And probably means as little and will change as much. Damn.*

Ray swallowed his disappointment. What did he want anyway? What did he want to change? Things were good with him and Frase. A little more distance since his fall into the arms of addiction, but Ray understood that. The return of Vecchio would bring an end to this time and this friend soon enough. Ray didn't want to risk losing Fraser before he had to.

Ray shifted to look out the window. Fraser was in the bed next to his.

Ray's heart beat a little faster with the joy of having his friend close and then it beat faster still with fear. What was Fraser doing in a hospital bed? He had said he was okay. Something had happened. Ray struggled to untangle himself and get out of bed. The world did a loopdy loo and Ray held on to the rails. When things settled back down, he stood up and shuffled to Fraser's bed. Ray couldn't see any obvious wounds, no bandages, no IV's, no splints or casts. Ray lifted the blanket up and peered under, all was well. He put the cover back and tucked it around Fraser. Maybe a relapse from whatever Landry did?

Ray put his head on Fraser's chest and was immediately comforted by the slow rise and fall of his body and the thump of his heart, strong and steady. He started to pull away when he realized his hair was entangled by Fraser's fist and his head was being held in place.

"Frase?" Ray's voice was muffled and distorted. "Youmm wake?"

"Hmmmm."

"What are you doing in bed? You all right?" Ray's voice was still muffled, as Fraser had not let go of Ray's hair.

"Oh, yes, I am fine, Ray." Fraser seemed to realize he had a hold of Ray's hair and let go. Ray turned his head to look into Fraser's blue eyes, leaving his head resting on Fraser's chest, the effort to stand back up being beyond him at the moment.

"If yer fine, why are you in a bed at the hospital?" Ray asked reasonably.

"Lieutenant Welsh felt I needed to sleep and when I wouldn't leave, he arranged to make us roommates." Ray looked into Fraser's eyes. He could feel Fraser absently rubbing his temples. Ray's arm lay across Fraser and he realized they were in a sort of embrace. Fraser's eyes got wide as he seemed to realize the same thing. Ray could see the beginnings of panic in Fraser but he was comfortable and not about to move.

"Yer hungry." Ray announced. "I can hear your stomach making feed me noises."

"I imagine you are hungry as well." The weight Ray had gained following the original kidnapping was history. Fraser rubbed his thumb across Ray's cheekbone.

"Let's call room service." Ray spoke with purpose but made no move to get up.

There was a sound outside the door and that seemed to galvanize Ray into action. He stood up quickly and promptly keeled over in a faint.

"Ray!" Fraser scrambled to get out of the bed. He knelt by Ray and pulled him into his arms. *This is getting to be a habit. I'd like it better if I wasn't always so worried about Ray's well-being at these moments.* Fraser felt the back of Ray's head and was relieved to find no sign of an injury from his fall. He reached up and found the call button. He should have used it as soon as he saw Ray was awake. Welsh and a nurse came in, the nurse immediately tsk-tsking.

"What happened here?" She shot her accusation to Fraser, as if he'd hauled Ray out of bed and thrown him on the floor on purpose.

"Ray was standing, well, not exactly standing, more leaning over my bed and then he stood up, and I, uh, believe he fainted."

"Let's get him back to bed and see what his vitals tell us." The nurse orchestrated the move with Fraser and Welsh's help and set about charting her patient. "You." She pointed at Fraser. "Go to the cafeteria and bring back something edible." Fraser hated to leave but Ray was hungry. He'd just be a minute.

Ray came to in the middle of her ministrations. "Wha? Where's Fraser?"

Welsh moved to where Ray could see him. "He was sent down to the cafeteria to get the two of you something to eat. He'll be right back. How're you feeling?" Welsh gestured to the white bandages covering Ray's wrists.

Ray looked down, surprised. His wrists hurt. Had they been hurting all this time? He hadn't noticed. They hurt like hell right now and he looked at Welsh as if it was his fault "My wrists hurt." He sounded like a 5 year old who'd skinned his knees.

"Anything else?" The nurse asked, lifting his lip to look at the stitches.

"No evpling else ish okay." Ray said around her latex covered fingers. He wasn't about to let them know where it hurt if he could help it.

"Stay put and the doctor will come in, in just a few minutes." The nurse turned to Welsh and said, "I'm leaving you in charge."

Welsh nodded. "Ray, we have to talk."

Ray waited to hear what the lieutenant had to say. He figured he would be booked as soon as he left the hospital. He hoped they wouldn't do it at the 27th. The idea of being a felon sickened him but he could live with that as long as Fraser was alive.

"Thanks to Clarice, we have Landry in custody." Ray saw that Welsh was watching for his reaction to that news.

"Good. He won't make bail, will he?"

"It doesn't look like it. Kidnapping a police officer and attempting to murder a RCMP make him a bad flight risk."

"What did Landry do to Fraser?" Even though Ray had seen that Fraser was fine he still felt filled with rage that Landry had hurt Fraser because of him.

"Fraser's recovered, Ray." Welsh looked like he regretted mentioning the attempted murder.

"Yeah, yeah, he's fine but what did Landry do?" Ray had that stubborn tilt to his chin that said he wasn't about to let this go.

"He injected Fraser with heroin cut with rat poison."

Ray went very still at this information. He tried to process that Landry had actually put that crud in Fraser. Heroin was one thing. The idea that Fraser had been forced to accept that evil broke something inside him. And then that Landry had added poison into Fraser's bloodstream...Ray's closed his eyes.

"Ray? Ray? Ray!" Welsh was calling him. He reluctantly opened his eyes to take in the rest of what Welsh had to say.

"Ray, Fraser is fully recovered. Well, except for the stammer."

Ray didn't acknowledge that reassurance. He was staring off into space.

Welsh took a good guess. He took Ray's chin in his big hand and turned Ray's head towards him. "This had nothing to do with you. He was after the real Ray Vecchio. And hell, it wasn't the real Ray Vecchio's fault either. Landry's nuts. Obsessed with Clarice. There wasn't a damn thing anyone could have done to head this off. Let it go, Ray"

The look in Welsh's eyes said he believed in Ray's innocence. Ray looked back, at first utterly resistant to the message and then, when Welsh didn't flinch or waver, his eyes softened with tears. Ray took in the acceptance and hung on to it. It was a lifesaver tossed to him in his ocean of fear. Welsh took his hand from Ray's chin and wrapped it around the back of Ray's head and pulled him towards him in a hug. Sobs racked Ray's body and Welsh held on. Ray quieted but Welsh still did not let go and Ray closed his eyes and let himself be held by the big man.

The sound of Fraser coming in filtered to Ray and he pulled back from Welsh. "Uh, thanks, Lieu, sorry to be such a wuss. Gotcha all wet." Ray tried to dab at the wet spot on Welsh's shoulder. Welsh took the hand and started to squeeze it. He patted it instead. "If you're a wuss, I'm a wuss, too." He indicated the wetness on his face.

"Ain't we the pair." Ray sighed. Time to find out what lay ahead. "So I guess I'll be released soon."

"The doctor said this afternoon."

"Will I be booked at the 27th?" Ray was methodically smoothing out the sheet.

"Booked? What are you talking about, Ray?" Fraser looked at Ray, who looked away, not meeting his eyes.

"Ray." Welsh's voice held sympathy.

Ray didn't look up. He didn't want to see the look on Fraser's face when he learned what Ray had done, what he'd done to that poor kid.

"Ray, you aren't going to be booked. Landry's in custody and between his statement and the fact that you called me-well, there was no crime."

At this Ray looked up. "What? That's not right. I terrified that kid, I threatened him. That's a crime. That's terrorism, at the very least." Ray bunched the sheet up and pulled it to his chin.

Fraser looked confused. "What happened?"

"Landry is one sick fuck. He set it up so Ray had to rob a grocery store."

"I held a gun on a kid, fer cr'sakes. I screwed him up, I came in out of nowhere, waving a gun at him and he thought he was going to die and he had no way of knowing the gun wasn't loaded, all he knew was his worst nightmare had just walked in and he was going to get his head blown off..." Ray's tumble of words was stopped when he was pulled into a hug and his face was buried in Fraser's chest.

"Shh, shh." Ray felt Welsh rubbing his back.

"The kid's fine. I interviewed him myself. He felt quite proud of how he handled himself. Whatever you said to him in the store must of reassured him you didn't plan on hurting him. He's a hero, with a great story to tell. You can go talk to him yourself at some point."

Ray's hold on Fraser tightened. "I didn't want to do it but I had to, couldn't let him hurt you Frase, but he hurt you anyway and I'm so sorry, so sorry."

"Ray, there's nothing to apologize for. None of your actions hurt me. We were at the mercy of a man driven insane with jealousy. We survived. It's all going to be all right." Ray tried to absorb that. He felt Fraser's hands stroking his back. He wanted to believe Fraser.

Fraser had kept his hand on Ray's back and Ray wondered if Fraser's sensitive fingers could feel the goosebumps through his hospital gown.

Welsh cleared his throat. "Ray? I'm going to see about getting you out of here."

"Ray?"

"Present. Sort of. Yeah?" Ray was finding it difficult to form complete sentences or even coherent thoughts with Fraser's hand spreading warmth on his back.

"When you get released, you shouldn't be alone. I was wondering if you would allow me to stay with you for a little while?"

"You want...you want to stay with me?" Ray was dumbfounded.

"You can't do much with your hands the way they are."

Ray looked down at his hands. The wrists were bandaged but it was the hands themselves that were grotesque. The swelling had receded a bit but his fingers were still misshapen and red. "Yeah, I guess I'm not going to be doing any knitting for awhile. You sure you don't mind?"

"Quite sure, Ray."

"Okay, then."

Ray looked at the steps ahead of him. They seemed unnaturally steep. He looked at Fraser behind him. He looked unnaturally cheerful. Ray sighed and began the ascent to his apartment. He was coming home and while happy to be free of the hospital, he wanted to smack himself on the side of the head for ever agreeing to let Fraser come with him. He'd just have to undo that agreement and pronto, before Fraser tuned into who he had become.

Ray fumbled and finally got the door opened and Dief entered first, checking carefully for any tidbits that might be lying around. "Sorry Dief, ain't been around here long enough to get careless with food." Ray went into the kitchen and hunted for the dog chow he'd bought. "Here ya go." He poured a generous bowl and set it down. Dief looked unimpressed and settled down to wait for some real food.

Ray turned to Fraser, who was just standing there, watching without comment. "What?" Ray challenged.

"It was good of you to buy Dief dog food, Ray."

"Yeah, well, even I know a dog can't live on pizza alone." Ray put the water dish down and moved to the turtles.

The silence was awkward. "Has Tuttle gotten acclimated?" Fraser peered over Ray's shoulder. Ray moved away.

"Tuttle's a tough old turtle. He can adapt to anything."

"And Turtle?"

"Turtle likes things to stay the same, so this new guy on the rock...let's just say I can tell he's a little shook."

"How Ray?"

"How what, Fraser?"

"How can you tell he's shook?"

"Oh, that's obvious, see how he hasn't stuck his head out once?" Fraser looked at Turtle. "That's not Turtle's natural MO at all. Naw, he's a stick yer head out and look around kind of guy, usually."

"What can you do?"

"About Turtle? Nothing, he just has to find his own way out of his shell. He will. He'll get bored in there. Let's face it, this ain't no cartoon, there are no itty bitty TV's in there."

"Yes, I see your point. Time will take care of this."

Ray was gently stroking the back of Turtle. "Guess so." He tried to get the cap off the food but his fingers were still swollen.

Fraser came forward and said, "Let me help," reaching to help.

"It's okay, I got it." Ray held the bottle up to his mouth and took the cap off with his teeth. He tapped some food out. Tuttle showed keen interest but Turtle stayed put. Ray shook his head and plopped down on the couch.

Fraser was fussing in the kitchen, making tea, Ray supposed and being, generally all set to be helpful. Ray dug his fingernails into the palm of his hand in an effort to get his mind off the pressure that just kept building. He could feel the sweat trickling down his neck. He wanted to scream or break stuff, or bash his head against the wall. He did not want to drink some tea.

When Fraser came back in room, Ray saw that he's taken his jacket off. He moved with his natural grace, concentrating on the tea. He set it down carefully on the table and looked up at Ray. "I hope you like this tea, Ray, it's got valerian root in it, very good for relaxing."

"You think I need to relax?" Ray snarled, suddenly tired of Fraser's front parlor manners, his root tea, his easy place in the world.

"Yes, Ray, I believe you need to relax." Fraser sat down next to Ray on the couch. "And we need to talk."

Ray had known this was coming. It was like the elephant sitting in the middle of the room, kinda hard to ignore. He really didn't want this conversation. The one about his problem and the possible solutions, the one where Fraser clucked and said everything was going to be all right. Ray didn't think he could bear to hear Fraser express his confidence that Ray could beat this thing. Because Ray really didn't want to argue the point and yet he couldn't look at Fraser's open, hopeful face and say "Sure thing. I'll beat it."

It didn't feel beatable. Sorry Fraser but that was the truth. Course he was going to try. He had to try. But he remembered how hard it had been before and that was after treatment and before he'd actually bought the drug. When he could tell himself, 'This isn't me'. But even then it had been him and now it was getting bigger than him. Ray was tired, worn out from fighting and succumbing, fighting and succumbing. He looked at Fraser sideways and his heart did a little lurch. Fraser looked so beautiful. Yeah, not a word a guy ever wants used on himself. Not a word guys ever use to describe each other, but what other word was there to describe Fraser? So sorry again Fraser, but you are and there you are, looking at me with those eyes, the compassionate ones you view the world with, and yer looking at me, wanting to fix things, like always, and you can't.

Fraser was hesitating. He could see that Ray was on edge. He'd read about recovery. Researched various treatments and approaches. Cataloged options. Faced with Ray and the obvious signs of his addiction, all the words faded away, lost their power to guide, instruct, comfort. What could he offer Ray against this, this.... perversion. He had to gather his wits here, Ray was looking at him, waiting to hear what they had to talk about.

"Ray.."

"Fraser..."

They spoke simultaneously.

"You go ahead, Ray."

Now Ray hesitated. He didn't want Fraser's feelings to get hurt. He didn't know how to tell Fraser to go away without offending him, but he had to find a way. The next few days would be make or break time and Ray knew from before, ugly. Because of Ray, Fraser had already had too much ugly. Just say it. Hurt him and set him free.

"Frase, it was real good of you to offer to stay with me, but I think I want to be alone. Think I need to be alone. Ya gotta go."

Fraser didn't look surprised at those words, didn't look hurt. "Ray..." he reached out and put his hand on Ray's arm, "I can't do that."

"Whadya mean you can't do that?" Ray couldn't believe Fraser was going make this harder. "Last time I checked I was still an American citizen, not under arrest. If I tell ya to go, ya gotta go." Ray shook Fraser's hand off his arm and stood up.

Fraser sat there, his head down and repeated, "I can't do that."

"Don't make me pop you, Fraser, God, after everything, don't make me hit you to get you to listen to me." Ray couldn't believe he'd just threatened Fraser with violence and yet he was desperate. Soon he'd be on the floor, groaning and he so did not want Fraser here for that performance.

Fraser looked up and Ray saw the determination, no, the damn Mountie stubbornness in those eyes, and he could see he was indeed going to have to pop him. Looked harder and saw that even hitting Fraser wasn't going to work. He was going to have to get mean, say stuff, rip at Fraser...Do a Stella on him.... He threw himself back on the couch. Fuck. He couldn't do that, he just couldn't. He felt the tears coming down his cheeks and knew this was just the prologue to the humiliations he was going to have to go through with Fraser as his witness.

Fraser had steeled himself. He knew Ray would do anything to get him to leave. Ray was like an animal, willing to gnaw through his own leg, if only he could get free. And to Ray, Fraser was the trap, keeping him in pain.

Didn't matter, he wouldn't go, couldn't go.

Fraser was surprised when Ray sat back down. He'd expected yelling, maybe hitting, not sitting and not this silence.

He looked over at Ray and saw that Ray was staring sightlessly ahead, tears trickling down his face. Ray was making no move to wipe them and Fraser was tempted to reach over...oh, the things he was tempted to reach over and do, but he did nothing. He couldn't give Ray the thing Ray wanted, and he didn't want to magnify Ray's defeat.

"Ray...." Fraser stopped and cleared his throat, "I know this is going to be hard. I know you want to do this alone, but-please..." Fraser's voice dropped to a whisper, "please don't send me away."

Ray made no indication that he'd heard that plea for several heartbeats and then without looking at Fraser, he said, "You can stay. Don't have it in me to make you go." Ray stood up. "I'm gonna take a shower." He walked slowly into the bathroom and closed the door.

The sound of water against tile began and Fraser let it fill his head. He didn't know what to do next, how to make Ray let him help. * I can't make him do anything.* Fraser slumped on the couch in a posture that spoke of exhaustion, fear, and hopelessness. He closed his eyes and hoped some bit of inspiration would come and guide him to an answer for Ray.

Ray leaned against the wall of the shower and let the water hit him in the face. He took the washcloth, soaped it and started scrubbing away at his skin, the casing that held the poison in. His hands lacked strength and dexterity and he repeatedly dropped the cloth. After the third time, he reached down to pick it up and decided to join it at the bottom of the tub. He lay there and let the water pour down on him, the heat gradually turning cool, then cold. Still, he lay there, welcoming the sensation of ice filling his veins, his heart, his soul; leaving him numb and protected. He was shivering and glad of it.

He was walking in a snowfield. He was lost. He knew Fraser was near, he'd heard him calling his name. Ray hadn't answered. He didn't know exactly why, but he was tired of being the one that had to be found, tired of being the screw-up, the one trailing behind. He was going to find his way on his own this time. Ben wouldn't always be here to blaze a trail.

Vecchio would return and this duoship of theirs would come to an end. That would be hard enough...to see Vecchio at *his* desk, answering *his* phone, using *his* name, teasing *his* sister...but then to watch Vecchio greet Fraser, put his arm around him, tell a joke, make Ben's face light up with a smile, or even rarer, a full out laugh...watch as they left the precinct, heads so close together they almost touch, as they map out the day's work...no, not hard, fucking unbearable. So Ray slogged through the deep snow, wrapping the cold around him, hunting for a way out, a way in, a way...and seeing only white, white and more white.

Fraser lifted his head. He must have slept. The shower was still going. Ray had been in there an awfully long time. Fraser wondered if he should check on him. He wanted to, he wanted Ray in his sight, but he knew Ray would get angry. Fraser got up and took the now cold tea back into the kitchen. He tidied up and took inventory for dinner. A grocery run was desperately needed. Fraser hunted for coffee, hoping it would make up for the tea. He found a small stash and set about brewing Ray some caffeine. As he rinsed the coffeepot he waited impatiently for the water to warm up. After a minute, he realized it wasn't going to and that meant there was no more hot water and yet still the shower ran. Fraser dropped the coffeepot and raced to the bathroom. He halted at the door and forced himself to knock.

"Ray? .... Ray...Ray!" No sound but the sound of the shower. Fraser opened the door. "Ray?" he pulled the shower curtain back. Ray was lying there, blue and shivering while freezing cold water poured down on him. His eyes were closed and Fraser's own blood ran cold at the sight. He quickly turned the water off and knelt by the tub. Fraser reached in and tried to pull Ray up but his angle was all wrong. He stood and pulled Ray to a sitting position. Ray's eyes remained closed, his lips blue, the shivers so violent, Fraser was having a hard time keeping Ray from banging his head against the hard tile. He pulled Ray all the way out and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around Ray and hauling him into his arms. Ray clothed and dry had been difficult to carry. Ray naked and wet was nearly impossible. Fraser half dragged, half carried Ray into the bedroom and got him into bed, unmaking it and piling the covers on top of Ray.

"Ray?" Fraser patted the covers in place. Ray's eyes remained closed and the shivering didn't seem to be abating. Fraser took off his boots and crawled in next to Ray. He lay on his side and put his arm around Ray's shivering form. He realized Ray needed body warmth. He got out of bed and stripped to his long johns. He hesitated before climbing back in. He didn't know how Ray would react to finding him in bed with him. Fraser imagined he'd be angry, perhaps kick him out and never let him come back. He looked at Ray and knew if that were the price he had to pay, so be it. Ray needed him, needed the warmth he could give him, right now. He didn't need another round with EMT's poking at him and being whisked to the hospital. He didn't need to wake up to white walls and the sound of monitors. That would only serve to make him colder. Fraser climbed in and carefully lifted Ray's head, putting his arm underneath. He pulled Ray closer, until Ray's head was tucked under his Fraser's chin. Fraser could feel Ray's teeth chattering and tightened his hold, willing the warmth of his body to enter Ray's. They lay like that for some time and Fraser noted the slight lessening of the tremors, Ray's breath started to even out and then he sighed and the tension eased out of his body.

The white just went on and on and now Ray couldn't tell which was the ground and which was the sky. For a moment, he felt a terrible rush of vertigo and he flailed around, trying to keep from falling up. Then he fell facedown, into the snow and was grateful to know just where he was. Cold, lost, and alone, but on ground he recognized. He lay there, trying to summon the gumption to stand. After awhile he came to the conclusion he didn't have the gumption and that he was going to lie there and let the cold kill him. Well, you had to die of something and cold was as good a way as any. His body didn't seem nearly as willing to submit as it began to shake in an attempt to maintain body heat and keep his blood circulating. He wanted to will it to stop, to make it let go and let the end come, but he didn't seem to have the ability to override his body's need for survival.

From a distance, he could hear noise, a voice. He didn't have the strength to lift his head out of snow. He knew he must be near invisible in the whiteness and he waited for the voice to fade and leave him in peace. It didn't fade and hands, reaching into the dense nothingness to pull him out joined the voice. Everywhere the hands touched, there was heat and Ray clung to that. How had he ever imagined he could live without this touch, this warmth? He hadn't, of course, that's where the dying came in.

"Ray!" Ah, the voice belonged to Fraser.

Ray tried to say, "Yeah?" but nothing got past his chattering teeth. Ray could feel the rough wool against his chest as Fraser moved him. Ray opened one eye a slit and could see red, in addition to the white. Fraser must be taking him to his cabin, to Fraser's real home. Home. This cold, this white, this emptiness was Fraser's home. Ray wanted to cry at the thought of little Ben learning his way around this forbidding landscape. Wasn't right, growing up in this kind of cold without a mom or a dad. How had Fraser survived, learned to manage this wasteland, learned to love this emptiness, learned to love...? No one could. No one should have to try to find their way in this place alone.

*Fraser has me now. He's not alone...*

*Fat lot of good yer doing the Mountie. Half the time he has to carry your skinny ass around.*

*And half the time he doesn't.*

• Great, now I've got a split personality I'm arguing with.*

Ray felt himself being put in bed and covers thrown over him. He was colder now that Fraser's arm wasn't around him and lonelier, too. He felt the bed dip and the arm come across his chest. Better. He tried to take a deep breath and get some control back. Then the arm was gone and cold swept through him. Ray wanted to protest, grab the arm back, bring back the weight holding him, acting as his anchor. The chattering prevented any words from getting out. The bed dipped again and Ray felt his head lifted. He was moved and adjusted until Fraser's chin was on his head. Fraser's drew him even closer and Ray leaned into the heat of Fraser's body. Ray tried to absorb it, absorb the warmth and the meaning of the warmth. He could hear Fraser talking and as the cold started to recede, he started to make out some of what Fraser was saying.

"Ray, Ray, am...I...do? You...how...come...back....sorry...please....no ....can't...don't....you...Ray...." After awhile the jumbled words sort of blended together. "Ray, Ray, you, please, Ray, me, Ray, you, me. Please..." and Ray liked the sound of it, a little like a rap lullaby, and he sighed and fell asleep.

Opening his eyes, Ray saw red. He smiled into the fabric of Fraser's long johns. He was still pressed tightly to Fraser's chest and one of Fraser's legs was thrown across his hip. He felt warm and the pressure that had been unrelenting had eased. Some part of his brain said, * Weird. Snuggling with a guy and liking it.* Another part growled, *Shut up!* And a third part was just so damn happy to be seeing red, instead of white. He closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep.

The room was bright when Fraser woke. He looked down at Ray who was still sleeping. The front of his long johns was wet from Ray drooling and Ray's hair was a wild mop that tickled Fraser's nose. He instinctively hugged tighter and Ray stirred. Fraser immediately loosened his hold and watched to see if Ray would come awake. Ray's eyes stayed closed but Fraser felt himself pulled closer and patted on the back.

"Ray?"

"Ya?"

Fraser rolled Ray onto his side. Ray's eyes were open and Fraser was surprised to see how young he looked after all he'd been through and how relaxed. Fraser pushed Ray's hair out of his eyes and asked, "How are you feeling?"

Ray seemed to give the question serious consideration and then he said, "Warm." He paused. "Hungry."

"I've got just the thing." Fraser started to untangle from Ray.

"Food?" Ray looked hopeful. He moved his leg to make it harder for Fraser to leave.

"Lieutenant Welsh was kind enough to stop by this morning and bring supplies." Fraser had stopped and was now studying Ray. Every time Fraser had made progress towards leaving the bed, Ray had compensated, the net result being Fraser was still in bed.

"Ray?"

"Hmmm?"

"What's going on here?"

"Here? Whadya mean?"

"I mean I can't seem to get out of bed."

"Maybe you still need to sleep." Ray snagged Fraser's arm and pulled him closer.

Fraser let himself be drawn in, hope and fear jockeying with each other for position. What did he fear? The loss of Ray. What was his hope? Ah, that he had never dared name. Hope was perhaps the most dangerous emotion Fraser had ever encountered. In order to hope you had to articulate the longing. In order to articulate the longing, you had to let down the barrier of containment. You had to poke around and see inside the dark, sealed off part of your soul. And as you explored those tucked away corners and the bits and pieces of yourself you gave up on long ago, you have to be prepared to grieve. And having done all that. exposed all that, risked all that, all that's left is to hope. A passive thing, hope. Can't will it to fruition, can't nail it to the door, can't drag it home for supper. Hope, a crap shoot if there ever was one. Maybe yes, maybe no. More often no. Almost always no. So did he dare hope?

Fraser gazed down at Ray. What did Ray want? What did he dare hope for? He seemed unnaturally at ease with a man in his bed. Maybe Fraser wasn't the first man he'd tangled with. That thought hurt, even as it nudged the hope further out into the light of day. Ray was watching him, waiting for him to respond to his gentle suggestion.

"I think I've slept quite enough, Ray."

The corners or Ray's mouth turned down and Fraser realized he'd seen a plethora of emotions cross Ray's face but never a pout. Until now. "You're pouting."

"I'll get cold again." Now Ray was whining. Fraser didn't know what to make of this.

"Aren't you cold?" Was Ray batting his eyelashes at him?

"You're teasing." Fraser couldn't help the shock and the thrill that went through him as he realized Ray was teasing. This was Ray, Ray was back.

"Na, uh. Get your butt back into this bed." Ray held the blankets up and Fraser belatedly remembered he'd put Ray into bed with no clothes on. Body heat. Fraser's cheeks turned red, which seemed to clue Ray into his state. He looked down to where Fraser's eyes had fixated and slammed the covers back down.

"Oops. Sorry, Fraser, didn't realize..." Now Ray's face turned red. *Oh, God, Kowalski, you've gone and done it now.* He'd just wanted the solid comfort of Ben for a few minutes more. The implications of what he'd implied hit him. *Ah, geez, what would be going through Fraser's mind? Fraser would think I wanted...him. That couldn't be good.* Ray watched Fraser closely for signs of anger. Fraser was putting his pants on, his back to Ray. It was hard to tell if the ramrod stiffness of Fraser's back was anger or embarrassment or both. Ray burrowed a little deeper into the covers. He'd let out a lot of the heat when he'd thrown the covers back and he could feel the chills starting again.

"I'll just start breakfast Ray."

"Okay." Ray's voice was small and muffled.

The pressure that had eased during the night was inching it's way into Ray. He felt the pressure and a terrible restlessness. He threw back the covers and swung out of bed. There was no more sleep to be had, no more warmth to be coaxed from the bed now. He stood up and just as quickly, sat back down. The world was an unpredictable place, when the laws of gravity could just shift on you like that.

Ray took a deep breath and pushed off from the bed once more. He managed to navigate to the closet and get dressed. He sat on the bed after putting his socks on and wondered if his help in the kitchen would be welcomed. Time to see how bad the damage was.

He rose and walked to the door but before he opened it, he leaned his forehead against it, hoping to gather the strength he needed to go out there and act like nothing had happened. Maybe before he could have pulled that off but now as he stood there, he knew he couldn't. He turned around and putting his back to the door, slid down.

*Kowalski, how the hell are you going to fix this? *

*Just go out there and tell him you didn't mean nothing by all that.*

*So lie to the Mountie?*

*Lie?*

*You meant something?*

*Lie to the Mountie, don't lie to yerself*

*Oh God, what did that mean?*

*Wake up and smell the wood smoke, Ray.*

*You want that man in your bed. And not just for his BTU's either.*

Ray groaned. He'd feared Vecchio's return, knowing it would bust up the best friendship he'd ever had and now he goes and tears it. *Okay, okay, okay, get a grip. Fraser doesn't have to know.* *Fraser knows.* *Okay, Fraser knows.* Ray groaned again.

"Ray? Are you alright?" Fraser tried to open the door but Ray was still sitting with his back to it, effectively keeping Fraser out.

"I'm fine, Frase."

"Are you sure, Ray, I heard groaning."

"I'm fine, I'll be out in just a jif."

"Okay, Ray, breakfast is just about ready."

*Fraser sounds okay. Not mad, not freaked. So maybe it'll be okay. Time to see.* Ray got up and opened the door. The table was set and the smell of toast and coffee hinted at domestic normality. Ray sat down and Fraser deposited a cup of coffee by his elbow.

"Fraser."

"Ray."

"You first, Ray."

"About this morning....um...sorry if I embarrassed you. I wasn't really awake, exactly."

"It's all right, Ray, I, hm, I wasn't embarrassed. Do you want more coffee?"

"No, ah , Frase?'

"Yes?"

"What were you going to say just now?"

Fraser was busy soaping the dishes but he turned to Ray and said, "I was wondering if you might change your mind about methadone."

The fork clattered to the table and Ray looked at Fraser, betrayal in his eyes. "No Fraser, I haven't changed my mind."

"Ray, I've done some reading and it is a good way to deal with addiction."

"By creating another one? I don't think so." Ray pushed away from the table. His heart was racing at the very idea of a needle coming his way, but he wasn't sure if it raced with fear or anticipation.

"Ray, you have a physical addiction. Your body has been made dependant on a foreign substance. Methadone could ease the symptoms of withdrawal." Fraser stood there, dish in soapy hands, trying to make an addict come to terms. "I'm not interested in easing the symptoms. I want it gone from my body. I don't care what it takes to break free of this, but I ain't lining up in the street with the other junkies and letting the government become my pusher."

"Ray, that's not how it is..."

Ray interrupted. "You think they're gonna let a cop who had a habit out on the streets? A cop who had a habit so bad he signed on to a drug welfare program? Get real, Fraser. If I kick this on my own, no one has to know...they never have to know how deep...how much..." Ray's voice trailed off and he hunched over the table.

"Okay, Ray, we'll try it your way. I need to go out and purchase a few things. Will you be all right until I get back?"

"Yeah, Frase, I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

Fraser leaned on the kitchen table. "I worry about you, that's just the way it is."

Ray looked up. "Don't wantcha to."

"Well, you can't always get what you want."

*Can't always get what you want....can't always get what you want....was there a Canadian code in there somewhere? Code for, I see that you're hot for my body and it ain't never gonna happen? Or more polite but worse, I see what you want and as soon as you're on your feet, I'm out of here?*

Ray paced his apartment. The toast and coffee, so welcome as a sign of being home, were threatening him with a trip to the bathroom. *I'm straight. I was married. I've never looked twice at a guy 'cept to compare. This some bizarre side effect no one ever talks about? God, if it is, they should. No straight guy would go near the stuff. Maybe that was just a little withdrawal waking up thing.*

Ray tested that theory. He pictured Fraser as he had seen him this morning. Clad in his red underwear, his hair a mess, well, messier than usual anyway, his eyes sleepy and startled at the same time. One part of his brain, okay, body, told him that Fraser in the morning was indeed what he wanted. Another part of his brain immediately started cataloging how tired and stressed Fraser looked.

So that theory didn't quite pan out. His dick was hard, thinking about a freshly woken Mountie. That piece of information didn't alarm him as much as realizing how worn out Fraser looked and knowing he was the cause of that. He needed to get Fraser back into bed, not for fun and games, but for a nap.

He sat down. *So he wanted Fraser. News flash, he had always wanted Fraser, it was just now all of him wanted all of Fraser. Oh, God, a junkie and queer. This had not been a good month. Queer. Gay. Homo. That would kind of imply he liked guys right?

Okay then, Tom Cruise. He looked down, nothing.

Brad Pitt...zilch.

Rupert Everett... nada.

Fraser...Bingo.

So whadya call a guy who doesn't like guys, just one guy?*

In love. Seriously fucked up.

The enormity of this slammed into Ray and he started to shake. Fraser was going to see him in withdrawal...puking, shaking, unable to sleep, living in the bathroom. That couldn't be helped unless he managed to convince Fraser to leave...Worse, Fraser would be able to tell how much he craved a hit. And now, after this morning, Fraser would be tracking Ray's reaction to him. Ray groaned. How was he going to hide all the monkeys? The one on his back and the one in his pants? Ray thought again about what it would take to get Fraser to leave.

His stomach seemed to want to weigh in on the subject and Ray just made it to the bathroom before he tossed his breakfast. He wondered if he was bulimic on top of everything else. Nah, you had to want to do that and this was one thing Ray was sure he didn't want to do. Ray brushed his teeth. He looked at the shower and shivered and decided he was clean enough. He heard Fraser at the door.

Fraser had several bags, some from the grocery store, some from the drug store.

"Whatcha got there, Frase?"

"If you are going to kick this at home, you're going to need help. It would be best if we worked with a physician and obtained prescription drugs but I knew you would object so I got over the counter medications."

"Kaopectate? Pepto Bismal? Tylenol? Ben Gay?" Ray lined up all the bottles. "Geez, it's like a shopping list for an old people's home."

"Ray, these will help combat the symptoms of withdrawal and make you more comfortable." Fraser was unloading the grocery bag.

"Ah, Frase, you, um...thought of everything." Ray kept picking up one bottle and then another. *Help. Fraser had brought help. Maybe he could be helped.* The despair that had infiltrated his life over the last few months eased a bit.

Ray had finally fallen asleep. Fraser allowed himself to slump into the couch and leaned his head back. What a day. Ray's body was purging itself of Landry's poison and Fraser hated to see Ray struggle. He struggled with the pain and misery and worse, he struggled to hide the pain and misery.

And Fraser struggled to keep himself from letting on, either with touch or look, how much he loved Ray.

Funny how easy that was to think and hard that was to live. Fraser didn't quite know what to make of the fact that he loved Ray. He didn't know just when his feelings of affection and concern had morphed into love and desire. He wondered if he had known when his feelings were changing, would he have been able to stop them? Would he stop them now, if he could?

Fraser pondered that. It would be so much easier if his feelings for Ray were contained in the box marked platonic. There would be no risk then, no worry about Ray finding out and punching him once again. Punching him and walking away. The punch didn't hurt nearly as much as the walking away part. No risk.... since when did anything good come his way without risk? What kind of coward had he become that he would let fear make his decisions?

Dief and Ray were fast asleep cocooned in the blankets. The snow was starting to pile up outside and a heavy layer of frost obscured the view of the street below. Fraser leaned in the doorway watching them sleep. He felt and fought the urge to crawl in next to Ray and tangle himself with Ray in the melange of quilts, legs and pillows. He envied Dief the freedom to take in sleep next to Ray. As he observed the two, he could see Dief was going into a chase dream. He moved to the bed with some hope of keeping Dief from waking Ray. Too late, Dief's legs jerked as he pursued and caught Ray square in the chest. Ray screamed and rolled away in panic. His eyes wide but clearly not awake he pressed against the headboard looking wildly about. Fraser approached the bed slowly trying not to add to Ray's fear. Dief was awake now too and looking at Ray with concern but keeping his distance.

"Ray?" Fraser crooned. "It's me. It's Fraser. It's...Ben." Ray had quieted at the sound of his name spoken by Fraser.

"Ben?" Ray sounded lost, lost in whatever place Dief's kick had sent him to. Fraser didn't like to imagine all the choices Ray had for nightmare material. He climbed on the bed, nudging Dief aside and sat down next to Ray, leaning against the headboard. Ray sat with his knees up to his chin and his arms wrapped around his legs.

"Tell me about it, Ray."

He started rocking gently. He turned his head on his knees to look Fraser's way. "I don't want you there."

"I want to be there. I want to be where you are." Fraser held out his arms and was rewarded by the feel of Ray pressed against his chest. He massaged Ray's back and Ray settled in deeper. Fraser could feel Ray's lips through the cotton of his T-shirt, could feel the warmth of his breath. He imagined Ray's breath could penetrate his skin and bone and take residence inside him.

"Tell me."

"When I was in the basement, in the dark...Thought you were dead....All I wanted was to become the dark, to find you, to track you were you'd gone. And every time I got close, a fucking rat would come over and try an' take a piece of me. And even though I was all set to die, it really pissed me off that they were trying to snack on me. So I'd get jerked back."

"God bless the rats." Ray felt the hold on him tighten.

"Huh? Yer blessing the rats?"

Fraser kissed the top of Ray's head. "They kept you from slipping into the dark, Ray. If you'd gone there..." Ray felt something wet on the top of his head. "...I never would have found you, since you were still in the light." Ray finished. "Yeah, I guess I have something to thank the rats for." Ray tilted his head to look at Fraser and saw the tears.

Fraser bent down and pressed his lips to Ray's. Fraser didn't know how he decided to throw the dice but he had. For once, he didn't let himself think. He let himself act. Act on all his feelings that had begun the very day he met Ray.

Fraser continued the kiss and allowing his tongue to explore the interior of Ray's mouth. Ray's mouth, the vehicle that expressed so much of Ray. His tongue traced the inside of Ray's lip and then darted in to experience the sensation of being inside Ray. So far Ray had not done any of the things Fraser had expected. He hadn't shoved him away at the first touch, nor bitten his tongue, or yelled, "Just what the hell do you think yer doing, Fraser?"

No, Ray was kissing him back. Kissing him back.

Fraser moaned at the knowledge that Ray was kissing him back. Ray's tongue was doing its own exploring and Fraser tightened his hold on Ray. His hand snaked under Ray's shirt and brushed across a nipple. Ray shivered and Fraser pulled the shirt up and his brought his mouth to bear on the nipple that was causing the shivering. Ray groaned and attempted to levitate off the bed. As Ray arched, Fraser slipped his hand between Ray's legs and begin a secondary exploration.

"Uh,uh, Frase?" Ray's managed to rasp out. "Let me, let me...." His voice trailed away as if there wasn't enough thought to keep it going.

"Let you, what, Ray?" Fraser was marveling at the long, hard feel of Ray's erection through his sweat pants.

Fraser watched as Ray wiggled around, his hands trying to grasp at his clothing but failing. The moans were a mix of frustration and anticipation.

Fraser saw the difficulty and said, "Shhh, easy there, let me." He said it as he nuzzled Ray's ear, which had the opposite effect of easing Ray. Ray redoubled his efforts to move his pants. Fraser had to grab his hands, which were in the way and making his task all the harder. He held Ray's hands in one of his own and then carefully eased Ray's sweats down, gazing into Ray's eyes the whole time.

Ray had a look of desperation and hope on his face, overlaid with such trust it near broke Fraser's heart. Fraser let go of Ray's hands and unbuttoned his own pants, wiggling them off with and tossing them aside. He pulled Ray on top of him and retook his mouth. As he gently thrust his tongue into Ray he rocked him in counterpoint. Ray took up the motion with enthusiasm and now it was Fraser who moaned. He stopped kissing Ray and held him closer, murmuring, "Oh God, Ray, oh, oh..." in a deluge of tumbled words. "Need to slow down. Too close."

Ray groaned and rolled off Fraser. He put his head on Fraser's shoulder and panted, trying to cope with the overload of sensations. He had never touched a man like this before but there was nothing foreign about Fraser. He was friend, brother, son, lover. He was home and haven. It surprised Ray how much he needed this. He wanted to touch Fraser's cock and memorize all it's landmarks, but his fingers did not currently have the fine motor skills necessary to embark on that expedition. He contented himself with running his hands up and down Fraser's torso. Flat, where there usually were curves. Hard, where one expected soft. It was Fraser's flatness, the hardness was Fraser and it was all right and all sweet.

Fraser smiled listening to Ray's sounds. The sounds, which at one point had had the urgency of marathon runner nearing the 24th mile, had now subsided into a rumbly purr. Fraser placed his hand on Ray's erection. His thumb rubbed the sensitive head and he loved the sound that that elicited from Ray. Fraser looked at Ray, his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth slightly open, his head thrown back, long neck exposed, and Fraser was once again hit with beauty of Ray, the beauty, the fragility and the strength layered and intertwined, open to him, wanting him.

"FRAS-SER! Oh, God, Fraser, don't, don't..."

Fraser took his hand away, concerned. "Don't what, Ray? Am I hurting you?"

"You stopped." Ray sounded outraged. "Don't stop, don't stop."

"Understood."

And Fraser began stroking Ray's erection, watching the pleasure in Ray's face along with a kind of pain, the pain of exquisite sensation taking you far away from every safe place and Fraser could hardly hold himself back, he wanted to be there with Ray. Fraser lay back down and pulled Ray on top of him and his body rejoiced at the rejoining. Ray put his elbows on either side of Fraser's head and looked at him, a small distracted smile on his lips, his eyes filled with intensity and wonder and Fraser felt Ray place his warm mouth on his lips and nip and thrust and withdraw, nip, thrust and withdraw and that was it, he bucked under Ray, coming, hot semen hitting Ray and landing on Fraser and then Fraser felt Ray tense, "Ahhhh, Ben....Ben...Ahhh...Ahhhh...." And Fraser could feel the warmth of Ray's come along his chest and there it was, they were mutually baptized. Ray collapsed on Fraser, the tension gone, puddle of Ray remaining.

"Ben?" Fraser heard Ray, felt his breath tickle his ear as Ray breathed his name.

"Right here, Ray." Fraser illustrated that point by licking at the sweat making it's way down Ray's temple.

"Oh God, Ben, that was...that was...greatness."

They lay together for a bit, hammering hearts quieting, breathing getting easier.

Fraser thought maybe now was time to try and say the speech that should have come before the sex.... "Ray...You know, before...in the hospital, before Knowlewood, I told you I loved you?"

Fraser could feel Ray nodding his head against his chest, the stubble of Ray's beard making his nipples come erect again.

"I should have said something when you got out. I should have told you again how much I loved you. But I was afraid. I knew I wanted this, and I never dared hoped you'd want this and my loving you, well...it seemed like a burden I would be putting on you. And I never wanted it to be that. I never wanted you to feel like you had to deal with my love."

"Deal with your love? Deal with it? Deal with this?" He vaguely indicated the mess they'd made. "Any day, any week, any year, any millennium, I will happily deal with your love Ben."

Fraser grinned. He smoothed the hair from Ray's forehead. "That's one of the things I've always admired about you . I've never known you to be afraid of messy things."

"I have hopes that we'll be getting a lot messier, Ben." Ray nuzzled under Fraser's ear, his breathing getting deeper as sleep was already reaching in and taking him down.

Fraser felt Ray's body ease into sleep and he gazed at the face that made sense of the turmoil that raced through him. He had fought the need and the need had won. Not just won. The need had expanded, dominated, and seized the wheel. And so he had arrived at this place. Mostly naked, messy, tired and simultaneously sated and aroused. Lying with Stanley Raymond Kowalski in his arms. A mostly naked and messy Stanley Kowalski. A man. He expected his mind to have something to say about that. He waited for the shock, the outrage. He poked a little. Any dismay? Disgust? Nothing. He was happy and there didn't seem to be any edges where the happiness trailed off and other feelings lurked. No, everywhere he looked in there was covered by a blanket of happiness. He sighed, brushed his lips across Ray's forehead and joined him in sleep.

Each day took Ray further and further from the gaping hole that opened at his feet. The need for heroin, which had taken up residency in his body, pounding out it's demands, had quieted. The physical symptoms were fading. Fraser still had to fight to get anything with nutritional value into Ray. Ray seemed content to eat nothing but sugar, but at least that had resulted in his regaining some weight. Fraser and Ray had begun running, trying to rebuild muscles and stamina lost.

At first, it had been a sad sight indeed, Ray, with his hands on his knees, panting, the sweat pooling and turning to ice on the street. Fraser marveled at Ray's tenaciousness. His only complaints were voiced to Dief and seemed to come from the perception that Dief was laughing at him. By the second week, Ray was running with energy and fluidity. Fraser loved those mornings, the snow muffling the sound of their feet, the air; clearly from Canada; cold and sweet. Ray by his side, concentrating, pushing himself to keep up with Fraser's easy stride. One could almost believe in Christmas, in gifts and in hope.

Ray turned the light off in the living room and padded barefooted back into the bedroom. Fraser slept on his side facing Ray. His face was lit by the candle and it made him look nearly angelic in his beauty. Ray could hardly believe that that face and body wanted his face and body. Fraser was so out of his league in the physical department. Hell, in all the departments. After all, Fraser was getting a skinny, divorced, ex-addict without a name and he was getting Canadian's finest. The world's finest.

Before his little pity fest could go much further, Ray called a halt. He might be skinny and damaged but Ben had chosen him. And above all, he trusted Ben.

Ray slipped into the bed behind Fraser and spooned, his cock getting ahead of him. He placed his arm around Fraser and tucked him in even closer. Fraser must have felt the added warmth and wiggled back into it, moaning a little in his sleep. Ray felt Fraser's ass cleaving with his erection and tried to contain himself. It had been a long day. Fraser was bushed, he needed his sleep. Ray's good intentions could not command his body and he slowly thrust against Fraser in a gentle rocking motion. Fraser moaned again and parted his legs allowing Ray's cock to position itself even closer. Fraser rocked back and Ray reached over to cover Fraser's erection with his hand and was unsurprised to find it hard and damp. Ray pumped it, teasing the head and spreading the pre-cum to make the action heat up. Fraser put his hands back and gripped Ray's hips. They rocked a bit, Fraser coming more and more awake. Fraser reached over and pulled the drawer open. His hand sorted through the contents until he found the lotion and he sighed and leaned back against Ray.

"Whatcha got there, Ben?" Ray's arm encircled Fraser's chest and Fraser could feel Ray kissing his back.

"Lubricant, Ray, I hear it makes the world go 'round."

Fraser pulled Ray on top of him and sighed, feeling the solid, welcome weight of Ray along his body. He kneaded Ray's back and coming to his ass, he gently searched for the entrance. He pushed at the tightness he found there with his slicked up fingers and Ray groaned this time and spread his legs. The invitation was clear and Fraser continued his exploring. The sensation of feeling just his finger inside Ray was almost too much. The breaching of this private space created an intimacy that filled Fraser with a fierce tenderness. That Ray was allowing this, was, in fact, welcoming this intrusion, floored him. He wanted Ray's vulnerability and yet it frightened him. He had felt the strong bones and muscle that made up Ray's self but there was a delicacy about Ray, a fineness that could not be hidden. And all of it was his in this moment. The strong, finely made body and the vulnerable heart.

Fraser fucked Ray with his finger, then fingers, the tight muscle yielding to Fraser's thrusts, Ray making sounds that conveyed his deep pleasure and desire for more, sounds that even managed to sometimes sound like "more" and "please" and "oh god" as Fraser marveled over the hot, tightness of Ray. He swung Ray on his side and pulled his leg over his hip and that new angle seemed to be marked X because Ray cried out. Fraser took Ray's penis in his other hand and found he had to do very little as Ray thrust into it, keeping time with Fraser. He felt Ray groping and then latching on to his penis, Ray's fingers caressing and then settling into pumping, his hand cool at first and then hot, so hot and Fraser felt Ray tense and groan his name as he came. Fraser bit his lip, holding back, just for a minute, wanting to see Ray consumed by his orgasm. The minute was more like a second and Fraser felt the tide come in and wash him out to see as he came and came and came. Finally beached, he lay his head down next to Ray, his arm thrown across Ray's smooth and heaving chest.

Ray lay there, his chest warm under Fraser's arm, his body limp and sated under Fraser's attentions, and wondered when he had last felt so, so...filled. Filled with Fraser's love and acceptance, filled with his shared life force.

Ray took Fraser's hand in his. "Frase. I want you to know...I....Oh, hell." Ray turned and kissed Ben, his tongue teased and probed and then he paused. And then he wailed. Fraser's eyes opened wide at the sound and Ray tried to convey the almost inarticulate love he felt for this man.

The kiss ended. The hum vibrated in the air.

"Oh, my."

"Yeah, well now you know." Ray was panting slightly.

"Yes. Now I know." Fraser's mouth tingled with the leftover vibrations, Ray's molecules still dancing in his mouth.

Fraser put his hand to his mouth, wondering if he could actually feel the vibrations and then put his hand lightly on Ray's mouth, tracing his lips with his thumbs. He kissed Ray and Ray kissed him back. As simple as that.

"Good. You hungry?"

"Ravenous."

Ray slapped his hand away from his cock and said, "Not that kind of hungry."

Fraser considered. The idea of getting out of bed held no appeal whatsoever. "Do they deliver pizza at 8 in the morning?"

"Nice try, Frase. Come on. I have plans for you and you'll need your strength." Ray smiled that cheerful but dangerous smile that always heralded adventure.

"Understood."

The End

Please let me know what you thought. Calista Echo