First fanfic - so be kind, people. All characters belong to Alliance, and I promise not to wrinkle them. Fraser' POV during, and so spoilers for, "Odds". Written in response to Marie-Andree's review of the ep - I couldn't agree Fraser was out of character at all.

Odds Against

by Chris BJ

*I could have let her go.*

Do not fall for her, Ray said

*I'm not.*

Do you know what you're doing here, Fraser?

*Oh yes.*

*Who says I trust her?*

He'd listened to her voice for hours, cramped in the monitoring van, trying to concentrate on the sounds coming in over the mike, above the inane chatter of Huey and Dewey. From time to time he heard Ray chip in some smartass comment, but Fraser could tell his mind was elsewhere - no doubt on the rolling tape in the equipment below. The mountie was bored, but the job was nearly done.

The sound of the explosion was like a physical blow. He and the duck boys shot out of the van, hearts pounding, legs pounding, up the stairs, fearing g*d knows what. He saw quickly, with relief, that the all too imaginable carnage had not happened, and Ray although dusty, was upright and unbloodied. No time to talk. A figure crashed through the window and Fraser rapidly assessed the chance of catching him by going back down the stairs. None. High on adrenalin, and oblivious to Ray's shout, he fell through the broken panes, trusting to his usually reliable cat-like ability to land well. Not this time.

He thought, for a few heart-stopping seconds that he had actually broken his back. He couldn't breath, couldn't move. *Not again* Only when Ray, calmly and chidingly, helped him up, could he realise that by good fortune alone, he had escaped serious injury. G*d, his back hurt, though. He could only barely appeciate the fact that Dewey was leading the woman out of the wrecked apartment. Slowly he registered that the beautiful voice belonged to a stunning figure, with flawless eyes. A little shaken from the blast, but poised nonetheless. The look she gave him was unexpected - appraising, knowing, faintly curious. Usually he attracted only two reactions from women - from the younger ones, a raw hunger, like Dief looking at your last doughnut; from the older ones, a warm, smothering mothering desire. He could deal with both, was indeed expert in deflecting both. Neither was a reaction to him as a person, and so did not touch him. Yet here was a stranger, whose eyes said simply, "I know you, the measure of you." The look of an adult, to another. It threw him. Yet, it was impersonal. She got in the van, and did not look back. He watched it pull away. Ray watched him.

Lady Shoes, Ray said. *Huh. Lady Trouble, I'd guess.*

The feds took her, and then promptly lost her, Ray and Fraser were unsurprised to learn. She'd left her dog, finding her was easy - too easy. He knew later, the dog had been no mistake. Even so, the way Ray fell into her hotel room through the unlocked door, shocked all of them. Fraser saw the surprise - and something else *?fear* - in her eyes. *She must have known we were coming* But then the man had burst from her room, and the next few minutes were full of excitement. When the two cops came back to see her shaking with fury, one shapely ankle handcuffed to a rail, Fraser was amused, despite himself, despite the fresh agony her friend's antics had caused. *Something you hadn't planned on, missie*. He led her out of the hotel, watching her pull herself together and turn on the charm - she thought he hadn't noticed. Putting people at their ease was one of *his* talents, and by the time they had arrived at the consulate, he knew she had labelled him as a pushover. He had only to wait for her next move.

Her lack of luggage caused some slight confusion. He could almost her laughing at his offering his longjohns, knowing the idea of her sleeping in his underwear was supposed to work magic on him. *You're not the first one, you know*. He covered a sudden, unbidden erotic flashback with the expected embarassed look, and left her to get on with it. The sleeping arrangements would have been irregular, but he didn't plan to sleep.

The inspector's tipsy arrival and departure surprised and irritated him - no, *aroused, dammit*. Did she think he was made of wood, of stone? Meg smelt like heaven - perfume and wine - and so lithe, all for that fool ambassador. She left as quickly as she had come and Fraser suddenly felt very alone. His groin throbbed slightly, the careless caress of his employer still warm on him and he longed for more. All the time the females he knew were trying to feel him, grab him, but their hunger made them unwelcome. So long since he had been handled generously, gently by a woman - Jill in the hospital had been the last, and professionalism on both sides had prevented that continuing past the end of his recovery. Since then he had only the rough, masculine contact from fellow cops, the blows of their prey. There had been one woman, a woman with a family, but it had come to nothing. Even Dief had a better sex life than him, he thought wryly.

He sighed, pushing unwelcome images and needs out of his mind, sat down and waited - for what he did not know. When the cards fell, he knew what for.

It was easy to play her game. He was tired, too tired to push her off, too tired to be polite even. And he didn't want to. *Even though I know what you're doing, Lady shoes*. His back hurt - it usually did in the evenings, a high tight ache from the bullet they couldn't remove, and the scars they made trying to get it out - and the bruises of the morning compounded it, made him stiff. Her hands were strong and skilled, cheating hands who dealt deceit, and he felt himself ease under them, even though he fought to play the role assigned to him - the patsy, the easy mark. Her scent, g*d, her smell overwhelmed him, and he felt he could fall asleep right there, safe and warm. He roused himself with difficulty at the door knock. *Careful, you were pretty far under there.*

Ray and the funny little artist broke the spell. Fraser could see Ray's confusion, and bit down on the desire to tell him how much exactly he was acquainted with the kind deadlier than the male. *It would shatter his faith in the virgin soldier*. He had no desire to have this Ray look at him the way he sometimes caught the other Ray looking at him, with suspicion and fear, that a woman would try destroy them again. Fortunately, this one had taken herself, and the dogs, to bed when the feds arrived, on cue, and now Fraser knew what she wanted.

It was easy to get Welsh and the feds to agree to the plan. Fraser let the boys "teach" him a thing or two about poker, knowing that the real game was going on elsewhere. He wished he'd been able to get some sleep, and that his back didn't hurt. It was a distraction he didn't need.

He watched her in the cell for a minute or two. She wasn't sleeping, he knew, and waited for her to watch him leave. She called to him, as he knew she would. She looked as tired as he felt, but behind her eyes, he saw her still calculating, working out the odds. The story about the brother didn't surprise him - he didn't know if he believed it, she'd lied already several times - but she believed he believed it. That was the important thing. When she reached for him, he knew she was reeling him in, but oh g*d the bait was nice. The taste of her, the smell of her. *just once, just once i'd like...* But he had pulled away. The woman was trouble.

He washed his face over and over, trying to wipe away the tiredness, her smell. He looked in the mirror and did not know the person who stared back. *Looking at myself through someone else's eyes.* Ray was there too. He looked wary, worried. *Just about me? Or about you if I'm not who you think I am?* Again the woman, coming between them. This Ray was like the other when he looked at him like that. Afraid for Fraser, afraid for himself, afraid of the strange siren voice calling them to danger.

The game was in a hotel, and despite his tiredness, despite his long years dealing with the lowest forms of human refuse, Fraser found anxiety welling up inside himself. Huey's suit felt odd - tight in the wrong places, smelling oddly of smoke and dry cleaning. He looked good, he knew, but he also knew that the male participants in the game were not likely to fall for his big-eyed charm. He hoped he would be able to keep his sights on the dangers he knew would be all around. Ray had confirmed his suspicions about the woman - there hadn't been time, or even the desire for Fraser to share his own information with him.

She was there when he entered, flawless, cool. He knew if he were to stand behind her, touching the long, bare back, her scent would be rising from the warm skin, and would envelop him. No time for that, and there never would be. As he watched the sharks swim into the room, and the game begin, he saw her watching him, with what, trust? pity? - even desire? But the game played out, as the hands were revealed, and stakes placed on the table, her eyes changed again, became cold and hard. He knew that look - he'd seen it before, on another, with long dark hair and brown eyes that could flash fire and ice. It warned him, even as he had not been warned before, and when the room exploded with glass, with Ray, with bodies and guns, he was ready.

He saw her move around the ledge, saw her slip and grabbed her, wrenching his back even more. With anger he saw she was still playing the angles, playing him for a sucker, and his anger made him cruel. Even though it was the pain of his back and his arm that made him change hands, it was the pain of loss which made him frighten her. He was coldly gratified at her terror, and then ashamed. Hauling her up like the sack of potatoes she most certainly did not resemble, looking at her suddenly diminished at the end of her desperate gamble, Fraser was disgusted with himself, disgusted with the female species, with the low lives and the violent hearts. He could not bring himself to speak to her as the feds took her away, and said little to Ray as they drove back in his car to the station. He was glad Franchescha had long since gone home.

Fortunately Ray was aching himself, and not inclined to ask too many questions. They played a few hands of poker, to wind down from the long, overwrought day. Fraser couldn't help mentioning the kiss. *d**n it, I am tired of being the token vestal virgin around here* Ray was surprised at the admission, but Fraser had played his part too well. The younger man felt sure that Fraser had swum unknowingly into the shark's net, and pitied him.

Later that night, lying alone, with the scent of a woman, with the memory of soft lips and strong, able hands upon him, Fraser felt pity too.

Why can't you trust me?

*Who says I don't*