Author's webpage: http://www.slashcity.com/barb/duesouth.htm

Olympia and I are on a late night ICQ chat. I whine that I'm sick of writing angst. She says I should right something cute and fuzzy. I say, 'what, like something where the plot revolves around stealing candy from a baby?' Never, never late night ICQ with Olympia.

Thanks to Honisot for the beta job all mistakes and inconsistencies are still mine. None of these boys are mine, I just play with them.

This is a sequel to Return Home
www.slashcity.com/barb/returnhome.htm
and Taking the Bullet
www.slashcity.com/barb/takingbullet.htm

Candy from Strangers
Barb G.

Ray is not an easy sleeper, but that term is meaningless. He's certainly not a difficult sleeper; he closes his eyes and is usually asleep mid-sentence. It's endearing even with it being slightly annoying. When he wakes up again he's usually in no mood to continue the conversation and it takes him a while to move past the monosyllabic grunts. Not that I mind Ray grunting in any situation; any noise the man makes is fine by me.

He's tossing again, and I reach over to put a hand over his hip. It calms him down within a heartbeat, and he moves in his sleep so that he's pressed up against me. He's dreaming; his eyes are darting around under his pale eyelids and I hope that he's somewhere happy and safe. I worry about him sometimes.

He throws his leg over mine, and I can feel the heat of him against my hip. He's hard, and it makes me smile to think that he's having that kind of dream. I like being tangled up with him, but he starts moving against me in an obvious rhythm. I fear waking him up to continue this in a more alert state would only cause him embarrassment, and Ray needs his sleep.

His movements become frantic and if I don't help him along he'll wake himself up. There's no time for lubrication and groping for it on the floor where I heard it fall during the night would wake him as well. I lick my palm and reach for him. His skin is slick from a light night sweat and I infer from the purring sound he makes that this meets with his approval.

His body stops trembling for a heartbeat, and then he's spilling onto my belly. He's limp against me and his breathing is deep once again. His eyes have stopped moving; he's back into deep sleep.

His semen cools on my abdomen, and I gather it up with my hand as he rolls back to his side of the bed. The smile's still on his face though, and rather than leaving him to go wash off, I lick my palm clean. No hardship there.

He wakes me up the next morning by moving. I open my eyes and watch him dart his hands over the sheets, and when he looks at me he flushes. I keep my face expressionless as he obviously tries to form the words without tripping over any of them. "I...uh...had a dream," he says, embarrassed.

"Most of us do, Ray. In fact, if you deliberately deny cats REM sleep, they slowly go insane and then die," I say. "Not that they can set up an experiment to test to see if it's comparable to humans, but certain studies on prisoners of war might suggest-"

I should have stopped at the cat story; he's figured me out and he's annoyed. But in a good way. We look at each other, determining quickly that we both want to play, and he's back to being mock-outraged. "You jerked me off, didn't you?" he says, and in a flash he's sitting over my belly. I groan, but he shifts down against my morning erection, and it goes from merely being hard because of male physiology to being very hard because of a naked and...I glance down his body...aroused Ray against it.

I try the innocence card one more time, but I know it worked a lot better before we became naked with each other. "I'm sure I have no idea what you are talking about, Ray," I say, in my best, 'you're delusional and I'm too polite to mention it' voice, but he's just not buying it. He does this...movement with his hips, and suddenly my penis is against the cleft of his buttocks and it's very glad to be there. I try to pass the moan off as discomfort, but he knows.

"You were saying?" he asks.

His interrogation skills have improved considerably since I met him. "If anyone was taken advantage of, it's me," I say, damning the torpedoes.

His eyebrow goes up at that. But he's awake now, and that brain of his is on full spin. I love him like this, sharp and smart and I don't really mind who wins this argument because I know where it's going.

"There are whole sections of the penal code on consent, Fraser," he says. He says 'penal' with another one of his wicked hip moves, and I throw my head back and groan. He does it again, and then gropes for the lubrication on the floor; apparently he heard it fall too. My breath catches and the conversation goes on hold as he prepares himself. He works his fingers inside him, smiles, and moves against me.

"You forced yourself on me," I say, weakly. I want him so badly that my stomach clenches and my knees wouldn't work if the bed were on fire. He reaches for me, but rather than helping me inside, he holds me with his slippery hand to the small of his back and moves.

"Is that your final answer?" he asks. His hand moves again and he runs it along my perineum. My brain shuts down and I can't even break the word into its root form. I shake my head.

He strains backwards, and if he touches me anymore I'll explode. Truth, reality and subjective opinions mean nothing to me anymore and I'd agree to anything. "No," I say. Actually I know it sounds more like a croak and it's undignified, but Ray smiles and breaks away. No one has ever died from frustration...except for the one time...but I force myself not to think of the poor Inuit who tried to walk it off and got caught in a blizzard. I'm disappointed my childhood did not give me the vocabulary I need. All the names scribbled on the walls and stalls in Chicago seemed to put more emphasize on the completion of the act rather than the interuptus.

"Say it," Ray says. He's enjoying this.

"Say what?" I ask, trying to move against him, but he shifts up an inch and he's out of reach. I buck, trying to force him back, but he rides it out like a professional. He reaches down his body, slowly with his other hand and gathers up the drop of liquid off his tip.

He brings it to my lips, but stops an inch away. "Think of something."

"I should have woken you up," I say, dutifully. It never was an issue of consent, and we both know it.

He moves and I taste him, salty in my mouth, but the taste is nothing compared to what else he's done. I try to count backwards in Dog-Rib, but can't remember the number seven; name the sounds on Baffin Island in alphabetical order but lose it around C, and nothing detracts me from the heat and the engulfing tightness of Ray. I don't make an effort to clear my mind but it's empty and I'm spinning down into the mattress and I think I hear myself saying his name, but it could have been the sound of the blood rushing in my ears.

Dief wakes me up a while later; Ray's still passed out beside me. I feel his semen against my belly again, only it's starting to flake around the edges. Diefenbaker whines again and I wish, not for the first time, that he had opposable thumbs and he could let himself out. But it's not his fault evolution was cruel to his kind, so I force myself up.

Ray stirs beside me, but he's on a rare day off and I want him to sleep in. "I'm taking Diefenbaker out," I say, but Ray shrugs and continues to hunt for a clean pair of socks. I put them all away, which is probably why he can't find them, but he's likely get upset if I tell him where they are and I don't think I can handle it twice in the same morning after the night we've had. I don't know how he's feeling, but I'm stiff.

I kiss him once, between spitting out the toothpaste and rinsing his mouth, and the minty taste is almost painful. We don't speak, though, and go down to the street in companionable silence. He looks at me a couple times and smiles as though he's just caught sight of me again after a long separation even though I haven't left his side. I suppose it should be...odd, but I find myself doing the same thing.

We walk down to the park so Diefenbaker can run around. I'm used to Chicago weather by now to appreciate the not really hot morning, and when Ray collapses down, I join him. He looks like someone has spilled him onto the grass with his long legs and arms askew as he props himself up on his elbow so he can watch Dief. His fingers rake the grass and his legs are casually spread. I follow the line of the faded seam up his thigh--he catches me looking.

He just smiles; there are families walking down the paved paths and we're in clear view. I understand there are nefarious sections of the park exclusively for the acts I would like to commit on his person, but the sun's too bright and the air smells too sweet for it. I lay back and sigh. Time passes and eventually Diefenbaker decides that he's sniffed all that ought to be sniffed so he comes back to us. Ray pats his thigh and Dief crashes down, using the offered place as a pillow. Squatter. He glances over to me to ensure I'm seeing him, tongue lolling out of his mouth and then puts his head back down. Ray scratches behind his ear, lazily.

"Jealous yet?" Ray asks.

"Of which one?"

Ray sits back. "Either."

"He's only using you because your denim is a lighter colour than my denim and it absorbs less of the sun's heat," I say. Ray looks at me, shakes his head, and smiles.

Dief growls and sits up, and I follow his line of sight out of habit. A man walks down the path on the wrong side of the yellow line. Ahead of him is a young family with a toddler holding his mother's hand. The man is fairly harmless looking; I think Ray would call him a mouse and dismiss him. Other than walking too quickly behind the family, there is nothing that should have triggered Dief's reaction.

The child has a bag of sweets, and the mother takes it from him to pull off the bright red ribbon. She passes it back, but before the child can help himself to the piece of truffles, the man breaks into a run and grabs it, and runs into the trees.

Diefenbaker takes off before I can tell him too, and we're both after him. It's a short chase, and it ends in a clearing a hundred metres or so from the path. Dief's got the guy pinned to a tree, and when he sees me he drops the bag of truffles. Ray's still crashing along behind me, and before he gets here, Diefenbaker's got his nose in the bag.

The perpetrator has his hands up, but he motions to the bag as I approach.

"I...uh...wouldn't let him eat that," he says.

I have a feeling his concern is not solely because of the chocolate. Ray hasn't got his handcuffs or his gun with him, but the man offers no resistance as Ray reads him his rights. We troop back to the main road.

#

Lieutenant Welsh opens the door to the mirrored room, holding the arrest form in his hand. Ray's in the room alone, sitting backwards in a chair, and the man stares at his hands rather than at Ray. Ray's letting him sweat it out, I believe the term is, but the man seems impassive to it all, almost sad, actually.

Welsh taps on the glass, and Ray looks up, nods, and stands. He opens the door, and a moment later he's beside me. "How many times do I have to tell you not to do that, Fraser?" he asks. "Totally, totally gives it away."

"I was the one who knocked, detective," Welsh says. "I was wondering if you could clarify a few points on this sheet."

Ray bristles. "What's wrong with it?" he asks. I know he masquerades his defensiveness as anger, but Welsh doesn't appear to notice.

"For one thing, the charge. Mr. Edward Hopkins, mild-mannered pharmacist..." Welsh drifts off, letting Ray confirm what's on the paper.

"Stole candy from a baby. Yes, sir," Ray says, without batting an eye.

"And you come in on your day off to see that justice is served?" Welsh asks. He crooks his thumb in my general direction. "You have been spending far too much time in the mountie's company, Kowalski," he says.

Ray glances to me and smiles, quickly. "Probably, sir. But we're waiting to see what toxicology finds before I uh..."

"Amend," I supply, quickly.

"Amend the arrest report," Ray finishes smoothly.

Welsh glances through the class, and we both look with him. The fellow sitting on the chair looks like the kind that would let a spider crawl onto a sheet of paper before letting it go gently in the garden. There's a knock at the door, and I answer it. The technician hands me the toxicology and leaves, and I leaf through it as I turn. "Strychnine," I say.

Ray takes the file and glances through it. "He was trying to kill the kid?" Welsh asks.

"No, I believe he was trying to keep the child from consuming it," I say, and Ray looks up. "The question is who was he trying to kill."

"I don't think so," he says.

"Don't think what, Ray?" I ask. He glances back to the man in the room, and then back at Welsh.

"I don't think he was trying to kill anyone. Call it a hunch," he says. He looks at me again, smiles and leaves the room.

The door into the interrogation rooms opens, and Ray tosses the file down on the desk. The man jumps, startled, but Ray's face is hard. "Why'd you do it?" he demands.

The man opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it and shakes his head. "Trying to kill a kid; that'll buy you some real nice friends inside. I'll make sure they know all about you before you step foot in the door. You up for that, guy?"

The man doesn't look up, and Ray puts his hand over the toxicology file. "We find cyanide injected into a kid's candy and you're telling me you had no idea the poison was there?"

Hopkins shakes his head, looking down again. "It wasn't meant to be sold to the family."

"See, we figured that out. It's the fact that it was for private consumption that bothers us. Where'd you get the cyanide?"

HopkiH Hopkins meets Ray's eyes blankly. Welsh and I move to the glass instinctively, but Hopkins only shakes his head and looks down again. "From my shop," he says, and bangs his wedding ring against the metal table.

Ray stands up. "You're lying," he says. "Tell me who you're lying for."

"I am not lying! I poisoned the truffles. I did it. I didn't mean the kid to be hurt, that was an accident."

"The truffles were filled with strychnine, not cyanide. You should have known that. You didn't. Who poisoned the truffles?"

The man looked down again. "I want to talk to my lawyer," he says.

Ray slams his fist into the table, but the man presses his lips together and doesn't say anything else. "Someone will take you to a phone," Ray says, and leaves the room.

He's beside us. "Have someone deal with him," he says, and then looks at me. I follow without being asked. We go back to the bullpen and he pulls out a chair for me. "Look up his wife."

"You think she's the one he's trying to kill?" I ask, pulling up the search page.

He puts his hand on my shoulder and runs his finger down my neck. "No. I think she's the one he's covering for."

There's pain in his voice; he's thinking about Stella. I'm not jealous; there's nothing to be jealous about, but he hurts. I pull up the file instead of saying anything that would make it worse.

Elise Hopkins had no previous record. I scanned the report, nothing leaping out at me. On the screen she's a model citizen.

Welsh comes up and looks at us, "Constable, if you have a moment?" he asks. Ray glances at me, and I shake my head. I go into Welsh's office, and he closes the door behind me. "Sit down, Constable."

I do so, stiffly. Welsh does nothing to make me more comfortable. He takes a long sip from his coffee cup and then sits down as well. "Shall we speak hypothetically?" he asks.

"If it would make things easier," I say.

Welsh nods. "Let's just say that someone, hypothetically, is having a...relationship with one of my detectives."

It's my turn to nod.

"And if say...this person weren't actually partners with the detective but they work almost every day with him and interacts with him in his work place."

"Hypothetically," I say.

"That person would not be doing any favours for the detective by broadcasting the alleged relationship. Right or wrong, the detective does not need to have rumors and innuendo become more important than his skills or his ability solely because of who he spends a majority of his time with. Do you understand, Constable?"

"Perfectly. I hadn't thought we had been obvious, sir."

Welsh relaxes somewhat. "That's why they call it detecting, Constable."

"Understood, sir."

# # #

I wait for Fraser at my desk. He looks uncomfortable but not embarrassed. I suppose if Welsh wanted to tongue lash someone it'd be me. Tongue lash. I'm suddenly too hot, but I guess I'll have to wait for home. "No more closet-quickies?" I ask as he comes back. He's still kinda pink over the collar, and I find myself wondering how red he got.

"We've never..." Fraser says, horrified.

I hold my hands up, he figures out I'm being sarcastic. He nods, relieved. "He thought it might put a hypothetical detective in danger."

I nod. He's still looking uncomfortable, so I glance down to my watch.

It's just after noon. "You wanna grab something to eat?"

He nods. I take out my wallet and give him a ten. "Make mine a cheeseburger?"

He's confused, but takes the money. I don't want him around for the next level of questions for Mr. Hopkins. Whether he understands that or not, he goes.

I wait a heartbeat and go down to the holding cells.

Hopkins isn't looking at me. He's staring at the ground, totally still. For a long time, he doesn't say anything at all. "This is all just a big mistake," he says.

"I'm sure the lawyers will figure it all out."

"You're not supposed to be down here. I have rights. I asked for my lawyer."

I nod. "I'm not asking any questions here," I say. "I just want to look at you."

"Why?"

"I've been you. I mean, I haven't poisoned anyone, but I've loved someone that much."

He looks at me sharply. "What do you know about anything?" he demands.

The cell door opens, and Welsh brings in a lawyer in a suit and a woman in a red dress. I stand up; the woman is beautiful. Blond hair down past her shoulders and milk white skin, but there's something odd about her eyes. She doesn't look like a woman whose husband is being charged with a serious offense.

"Detective Kowalski, this is Mrs. Hopkins. This has all been a big mistake," the lawyer said.

"Naturally. The plunger of the needle happened to be pushed forty times by accident. How the poison got in it is a total mystery," I snap.

The door opens, and Fraser enters the hallway. The woman turns at the noise, and she's taken. I recognize the look; so does Fraser. He keeps his face completely impassive.

The lawyer coughs, and the woman shakes her head. "It wasn't meant to be sold. I was trying to kill a giant rat." She emphasizes the word rat too much, and then she looks back to Fraser. "Haven't you ever had to kill a rat?"

Fraser clears his throat. "Well, actually no, ma'am. Alberta and the NorthWest Territories are virtually rat-free. In fact, we have rat police that patrol the border. I suppose up north we have muskrats, which although they belong to the same genus, are different species all together."

The lawyer steps between them, and the woman has to look away. "If that's the last of the Canadiana, I'd like to take my client home with his wife. I'm sure the fact that Mr. Hopkins saved the boy's life outweighs the misdemeanor theft charge, and I am sure that his store would be more than willing to compensate the child with another bag of truffles. Is that all?"

"Did you have a license for the poison, Mrs. Hopkins?" Welsh asks.

She looks at him, and for a second...less than, I see the fury behind the blue eyes. The lawyer jumps in before she has a chance to say anything. "We realize the poison was carelessly handled. If you would like to file a complaint with the FDA, I'm sure the Hopkins will pay the fine in due course. Is that all?"

We have no choice but to let him go. Hopkins follows his wife out, head bent, and I go back to my desk. The lunch Fraser brought back is sitting on it, and I have the sudden urge to pick it up and hurling it against the wall. Fraser's there and even without touching me the desire to damage something slowly drains away. Welsh calls us into his office as soon as I calm down, and I start to think the man has radar or something.

"I'm not saying let this go, detective. Find the rat was she is trying to kill."

"Yes, sir," I say.

Welsh glances down to his watch. "Go home, detective. Constable. Take tomorrow morning off as compensation."

"Yes, sir," I repeat. Fraser grabs the lunch and we're out of there.

The phone message is blinking. Fraser pushes the play button as I turn up the air conditioning. My head is jumbled by the uselessness of the day and the way it brought up Stella without me wanting it to, so hearing the other Ray's voice on the machine is not good.

"Hiya...Benny. I uh...called you at the Consulate, but you weren't there. I guess you're not here either. Uh...give me a call. We're coming back home this weekend. Stella has a conference and I uh...am coming along. Call me."

Stella's name isn't a stab to the gut anymore. It's more like a stab to the arm or a stab to the lower leg. Shooting off a toe or something. Fraser looks at me. "He sounds upset," he says.

I make a non-committal grunt. He doesn't seem to notice. He punches in Ray's number, and I take Diefenbaker out for a walk.

For a deaf wolf, he's a pretty good listener. We go back out to the park, but I don't see any more felonies being committed. I buy a hotdog and split it with the mutt, and he looks at me like 'Fraser who?'

I didn't think I'd react this way. I mean, I'm happy. I have a Mountie and an adopted wolf who is kinda mine, and I'm happy. But there are certain rules that Ray broke. You don't go with the ex of your partner's new partner. It sounds good so I tell Dief, and he agrees with me. Of course he probably just wants the last bite of hotdog, so I give it to him.

Fraser's off the phone and in the kitchen when I get back. He pours leftover gravy over the cold fries while I watch and then sprinkles some grated cheese on top. "What are you doing?" I ask.

"It's called poutine. You'll like it," he says.

I stand there and watch him put it in the oven. If he doesn't want to talk about the phone-call I understand but I'm not bringing it up. We eat the reheated hamburgers and the...poutine...which turns out to be actually pretty good. I eat all of mine and Fraser doesn't seem to mind me stealing his.

Fraser stands up to put his dishes in the sink. "Ray will be here tomorrow night."

I nod. He can't see it, but I know he knows I'm doing it. We do the few dishes quickly, and the hot water makes me sweaty and sticky. I go into the bathroom to have a shower, and almost don't hear the door click shut. He joins me a heartbeat later, already naked. The water's coolish, and Fraser, always the prepared one, is already slick as he presses against me. All I have to brace myself against the tiles.

The position is too awkward to hold and I go all rubbery, so he follows me down to my knees and slips back inside me, and that's even better. The rush of water against the back of my head and my shoulders is cold that low, and if I turn my head I'll drown, so I concentrate on my balled-up fists holding me up and on Fraser's hands holding my hips. It's tight enough to leave bruises, but it doesn't hurt. I lower myself down so I can brace myself on one elbow and do myself. Fraser's hand comes over mine, but when I don't let go he leans over me and I'm not in any danger of drowning anymore. He knows exactly what I like, touching me in exactly the right places, and I love the sounds he makes. He can run a perp down a mile in the sun and he doesn't grunt like that, but it's when he goes all soft and...I dunno, whimpery, that I lose it. The water on me is cold but I don't feel it as I have to blink the salty sweat from my eyes. I'm close, and the heat spreads and for a second it feels so good it hurts.

I strangle out a sob as I come, and he's right behind me. We both gasp for air. I don't ask him to stay with me, but he doesn't get off his knees until I struggle to stand up. The water's still cold, but I don't feel it as I wash off. Fraser passes me the shampoo, once more the considerate boy-scout, but I don't mind, because I'm happy.

I just wonder why my jaw is clenched.

I spend the whole day Friday with a phone to my ear. Fraser's off doing something Canadian, and the squad room is basically empty. Welsh comes and goes, but other than nodding to me, he doesn't want to talk.

After six hours, Mrs. Hopkins looks good as a suspect, even though none of her associates...I mean friends... anything bad to say about her. Maybe it was the way they told me absolutely nothing useful; they all had...wariness in their voices. I finish work as soon as possible.

I drive home, and hear their voices even before I turn the key in the lock. They're in the livingroom, and I shut the door with a bang behind me. The conversation ends. I come around the corner, and Fraser looks at me.

VeccV Vecchio's in bad shape. I recognize the slump to his shoulders. Fraser's sitting there, looking uncomfortable, so I go back into the kitchen and take out the last two beers from the fridge. I pass one to Vecchio, who takes it automatically. He thanks me with a smile, and twists off the lid.

"May I see you outside, Ray?" Fraser asks. Vecchio and I both stand up, but this time, for once, I'm the one they want. Vecchio sits back down again and I follow Fraser out.

I wait for the door to close. "She dumped him," I say.

Fraser blinks. "How do you know?"

"I recognized the heart-ripped out look. He'll get over it. He'll just mope around for a couple years, get put undercover, meet a mountie, and bang. Trust me. It worked for me."

"That seems like a insensitive thing to say, Ray," Fraser says. There's real pain in his voice. I want to kick myself; it's his friend after all.

I sigh. "I'll talk to him," I say. Fraser's face looks wary, so I hold up my hands. "I promise to play nice."

VecchioVecchio looks up as we go back, and he almost hides his contempt for me. If he calls me 'Stanley' once with that whine in his voice, dumped or not, he gets a kick to the head. "She...uh...let the suit and tie thing fool her?" I ask, rubbing my eyebrow. I don't sit down until he motions the couch. Fraser's gone and so is Dief. I guess we're alone for a while.

He drinks his beer first before nodding. "Something like that."

I lean back against the couch. "What did she want you to do instead?" With me, it was always pushing for promotions. I didn't want to be chief of police, I just wanted to be a cop. Eventually that wasn't good enough.

"She wanted me to get into politics," VecchioVecchio says.

I nod. Politics is a tough one. "Kids?"

"She said not even to bring them up."

"Oh, yeah. That's Stella. She gets under your skin and then starts to eat," I say. VecchioVecchio sits back as well, nodding.

"That, too. So...uh...Benny," VecchioVecchio says, looking around the apartment. "And you?"

"Did he tell you that?" I ask.

"Did you not want him too?" he shoots back.

Both of us sit up from the back of the couch in a heartbeat, and while we're not exactly glaring at each other, it's close. I knock back some more beer and shake my head.

"What?" he snaps, and then drinks from his own bottle.

"I just can't believe your coming back freaked me so badly."

He sits back. I don't. "He looks happy."

"He always looked happy," I snap, annoyed. Maybe not happy, but...content. Fraser was always content.

"No. The...I don't know. He looks like he wants to be here."

"It didn't go so good for him up north," I say. I slowly sit back. We sit together, staring at our bottles. Mine's almost empty and we didn't have any more. "You want to go out?" I ask, sluicing the last of the beer around the bottle. Alcohol's not the best way to get over Stella, but it's a start.

Ray only hesitates for a heartbeat. "Sure." He doesn't ask about Fraser; Fraser would just feel out of place, and Ray looks like he needed to just go out and get drunk.

I come back hours later and I can't figure out why the key doesn't work on the door. I jab at it again, carefully, and the door opens without my participation. All right.

Fraser's there. His hair is still in place, so he probably wasn't sleeping. "You're intoxicated," he says.

"Drunk. The word is drunk. Say it with me, Frase, drunk," I say. I try to say it seriously, but the slight hiccup on the last 'k' makes me smile.

He looks past me. "Where's Ray?"

I look around too, and then hold my arms out; the 'ta-da' goes unsaid.

"The other Ray," Fraser says. He's not angry, just curious.

I know that one. I frown, wrinkling up my nose. "A hotel," I say when it comes to me. "With the GTO. You think it's safe? The number of cars he's managed to blow up...but then you're not with him. Bad things happen when you're around. You ever notice that, Frase? I mean, not bad things, but things that wouldn't happen if you weren't there. Take me, for example. I-"

He takes my shoulders and pulls me into the apartment. "Why a hotel?" he asks, cutting me off.

I want to continue my speech about my brushes with death ratio before and after I met him, but he seems to want to continue this other Ray thing. "Because," I say. I suddenly remember my shoes are on and I've gotten into this taking the shoes off at the door business, but before I can drop down to pull them off, Fraser's already at it. "He didn't want to be with you and me. I mean, in the other room. We'd be in the bedroom and he'd be in the other room and it would make him uncomfortable. In the other room. Not with us." I hiccup again. "Uncomfortable."

He pulls off my shoes, and I make it to the CD player. I don't have my glasses on so I can't see the writing on the jewelcases, but I know them all by colour. I grope through them, but finally settle on just hitting play. Something instrumental and slow comes on; must be Fraser's. "Dance with me," I say.

"I don't..." he says, but he moves to me.

"You don't have to. Just stand there and hold me up," I say.

His hands are warm against my hips. He doesn't keep the room from spinning on its axis, but this close to him I don't care. The music is slow and kinda...earthy, but even without the words I like it. He moves with me, carefully. He smells good, like warm grass, and since I'm already against his neck, I lick him just to make sure. Yup. Salty warm grass.

He pulls me closer, and I sigh, relaxing against him. I don't remember him putting me to bed, but when I wake up I'm under the blankets, naked, and my head's about to explode. Okay, I can deal with this.

The Aspirin and the glass of water on the bedside table is the first thing I focus on when I open my eyes. I grope for them and almost knock over the glass before I manage to swallow them. The water's lukewarm; it must have been out for a while, but I down it and stumble into the bathroom to fill it back up three or four more times. I've had worse hang-overs, but I scratch at my stubble and figure it's probably safer to leave it on than to attempt it with a shaking hand.

Fraser's gone; but the coffee's still hot. He's opened the window and a breeze comes in through the screen. The place smells clean. I sit down on the couch and wait for my headache to go away.

@ @ @

It is hard to be derelict in one's duties when one's duties are mostly ceremonial, but there are several tasks I have been...lax in attending to. The Lieutenant-Governor is scheduled for a Chicago visit in twelve days, and I had yet to actually attend to either his transportation needs or arrange for his stay at an hotel. I had no wish to wake Ray up to his hangover any earlier than he had to be, so I go down to the Consulate and make the arrangements.

I hang my hat up before I start, and stop for a moment in front of the closet. I open the door slowly, but as usual, it's just a closet. Three walls, seven coat hangers and my leather jacket I forgot I had brought down. No cabin, no arctic, and no dad. The sudden pain around my lungs is gone even before it fully registers, and I close the door again. It took me a while to understand he hadn't left me alone, but I still miss him.

The cars take most of the morning. I arrange for a limousine to meet him at the airport and to return him to it, but for his stay in the city, it's enough for him to have a town car and a driver. I call the service we usually use, but Joe, the regular driver, has moved and it takes some time to find another man.

The hotel room takes less time, but it's still noon before I gather my hat and go outside.

There's a Jaguar with the bonnet up just outside of the Consulate. Sanders breaks the rules and glances to me from his post, and I nod at him. The driver's blond, and it takes a moment to identify her as Mrs. Hopkins. "Do you have a moment, Constable?"

"Mrs. Hopkins, you really shouldn't be here," I say.

"I was on my way to lunch with friends, and the car just died on me. Can you see what's wrong with it?" she asks, continuing as if nothing happened.

I peer under the hood. "It would appear that you have pulled out all of your spark-plugs, Mrs. Hopkins. If you go inside, I am sure someone can help you find a phone to call a mechanic."

The GTO pulls up behind the Jaguar, but Ray's not driving. I mean, my Ray's not driving. Ray Vecchio gets out, but I'm at the door and letting myself in before he can do anything. Ray gets back in and starts the car.

"You're leaving a damsel in distress?" Ray asks. "That's new. Anything else Stanley changed about you that I should know about?"

"Drive please, Ray. This is...I'll tell you later. And don't call him Stanley, he doesn't like it."

Ray glances at me sideways, and I blink. I didn't snap at him, but I came close. "The woman is a attempted murder suspect," I say, mollified.

Ray looks at Mrs. Hopkins with his eyebrow raised as we pass her. "Really?" he says. He looks at me sideways again, and clears his throat. "It's his name, isn't it?"

"In the same way that I am Benton and you are Raymond, Ray."

"Is this the way it's going to be? You defending him all the time?"

"I wasn't aware that I was defending him. You called him Stanley. I asked you not call him that. That's not all the time. Nor is it defending him, considering that he never actually did anything to defend beyond having a name of a movie character he is not fond of," I say. My temper is getting short again. I rub my face.

Ray's staring straight ahead. The silence goes on for blocks, and we are rapidly running out of road to have this conversation. Ray clears his throat and glances to me, quickly. "Did you ever...with me?" he asks.

I don't know what he's asking, but I know the answer. "No, Ray," I say.

He relaxes slightly in his seat. He doesn't actually say 'good', but I know he's thinking it.

"And uh...the dress thing?" he asks.

"Merely what the situation called for."

He relaxes a little more. "So, this Ray...he's a stand-up guy?"

"Very," I say.

Ray shakes his head. "I just don't get it. I mean, he has no fashion sense at all. None. And he's a slob; look at his desk. I thought there were rules about guys like that."

I take a deep breath. "Ray--" I begin, but he waves me off.

"Forget it, just fooling around." He parks in Ray's stall, and tosses me the keys over the roof. "I guess his taste in men make up for it."

I flush as he starts to walk away. "You're not staying?" I call.

Ray turns around. "I don't think so," he says.

I let him go.

My Ray's feeling better when I let myself in. My Ray. The words make me smile, despite the unpleasantness in the car. Ray looks up, sees me, and smiles back. His pupils are only slightly dilated and the music he has on is at normal volume, so I assume his headache is better.

"Hey," he says, coming up to me. He's had a shower; his hair is darker and he hasn't done anything to it yet. He smells of soap, toothpaste and bacon, and he's even shaved. "Thanks for putting me to bed last night."

He moves into my space and his hand finds me through my trousers, and I'm instantly hard again. I don't have anything intelligent to say, and there isn't enough moisture in my mouth to form the words without my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth. His hips move, which pushes his hand harder against me. He bites at my neck, softly one moment, raking at it the next, and suddenly breathing is not the reflexive action once it was.

I manage to hold him off long enough so that we can get the serge off; my other one is at the dry-cleaners and they won't be open early enough tomorrow if I soil this one.

Dief's in the living room, so we move to the bedroom and Ray shuts the doors. He's still fully dressed, but he can undress himself faster than any man I've ever known. I stop myself...I've only known one man to undress. He's naked before he reaches the bed, and I pull him down to me.

For a moment it's awkward as we're suddenly all legs and arms and teeth, but he settles down over me and shudders as I stroke his back. He reaches between us and adjusts his penis next to mine, but after only a heartbeat, he's off me and going for the lubrication.

I spread my legs in the interim. My stomach clenches over how...vulnerable it makes me. He looks back at me and drops the lube. I love him like this, all awkward and clumsy, but I trust him. He runs his hands up my thighs, and my muscles start to tremble. His lips part and it takes him a minute to say something.

"You...uh..." Ray starts out, but then falters. "I mean..."

I smile at him and touch the back of the neck, pulling him closer. He flushes, a full body red, and then trembles. "Turn...turn over. It'll be easier for you."

I do. It hurts to begin with as he stretches me, but he goes slow. He's cautious; as cautious as I was not to inflict pain, but when he finally does enter me, there's not as much hurt as I thought there might be, and less than a minute later, it's abundantly clear why he likes the activity so much.

I like him moving over me, I like the feeling of the clean sheets against my belly as he forces me to move against the bed. His hand move under to touch me, and each touch makes me shiver. I love the way his breath catches, but I have to concentrate on his breathing to hear it. I get caught up in following his rhythms. He gasps and then holds his breath long enough to make my lungs ache and then finds the right angle inside me and it's like a staccato burst of movement that brings him against my prostate with unerring accuracy. He says my name into the back of my neck, and then groans. My hand touches his as he falters over me, and I squeeze my eyes shut. He starts to shudder and I'm over as well.

He collapses down next to me; I've just changed the sheets but the smell of us makes the room smell like a fresh meadow in the midst of a brothel. It's too late in the day to actually sleep, but I don't mind spending half an hour in bed with Ray as we recover.

He finally rolls onto his back and throws his arm up and over his head. I run my finger up and over the white skin covering his ribcage. I feel each bone down to his pelvis, and then traced his hipbone.

"Hey," he says, looking up at the ceiling.

"Hello yourself," I say.

We're silent for a while longer. "Vecchio?" he asks.

"What about him?"

"You guys are buddies, right? I mean, you're close?"

"He was my best friend," I say.

More silence. I want to know what's going inside his head, but his face is impassive. "Yeah, they said that about you two."

I sit up, he doesn't. I like the way he looks sprawled out and debauched. He runs his hands through his wild hair. "Did they?"

He rolls over. "Yeah, they did."
@ @ @

I spend the next day at the police station for official liaison purposes. We're about to leave when Ray gets called back to answer the phone. I sort through his files; careful not to disturb his 'system', and Mrs. Hopkins enters the bullpen.

The desk sergeant can't placate her. Ray glances up at my 'oh, dear', even though I say it under my breath, and his face tightens. I hear him trying to cut the conversation short, but the person on the other line won't let him go. He finally just hangs up and he and Mrs. Hopkins arrive at the same time.

"Is something wrong, Mrs. Hopkins?" Ray asks, looping his fingers in his belt. His voice is cold.

"I would like to swear out a complaint against my husband," she says. "He said he was going to kill me."

Ray doesn't look like he believes her. I don't believe her either. "You should go back to the desk sergeant and have him assign you an officer, Mrs. Hopkins," he says.

"You don't understand. I want protection. I want him to protect me," she says. She tries to grab my arm, but I back away and she doesn't follow.

"Constable Fraser doesn't work for the Chicago Police Department, ma'am," Ray says. His voice is edgy. "Like I said. If you go back to the desk sergeant--"

She turns around and walks out.

Ray shakes his head.

@ @ @

Fraser can't come to work with me; he says he has kids to take around the Consulate. I drop him and take Dief to work with me because the supervisor's afraid of dogs. I'll drop him back off at the Consulate after lunch. I want Fraser to come back with me, but he'll see it as mothering, so I don't ask. Vecchio's in talking to Welsh, and Welsh looks up, sees me, and shuts the blinds. Vecchio is coming back. I go cold inside but I have a visitor by my desk so I push the chill aside. My desk. Mine. Move me out with a bulldozer. Dief whines and trots up to Mr. Hopkins.

The man grabs onto the arms of the chair, but Dief only wants to lick his palms. My opinion of him goes up slightly. "Detective Kowalski?"

"Mr. Hopkins." I nod and sit down. Dief sits down at my feet.

"Your partner...he's not around?"

"No. He's a liaison with the department, not a full-time employee."

Hopkins nods. "That must be...inconvenient for you."

"We adjust. You got something to say to me, Mr. Hopkins?" I ask. Dief smacks his head back and hits me in the leg, so I scratch him.

"I...uh...do. I...uh...think that your...uh...partner might be in danger."

I sit up, but it's the only sign I give for how tight my fist is now dug into Dief's fur. Dief doesn't give me away. I force my hand to relax. "What makes you say that, Mr. Hopkins?" I say.

"My wife...fixates, Detective. I love her, but she's always had problems. I guess you'd know that, considering how many of her...friends that you have called. She called your partner a rat last night. I can't have her...do this again. I can't protect her from herself any more."

I nod. It's better than wringing his neck and takes less paperwork. He continues. "She has these little...fantasies in her head, and as long as people respond to them, she's fine. Your partner...didn't play by her rules. She wanted him to fix her car outside the Consulate, and he refused. She gave him a second chance, and he ignored her. I'm afraid, Detective."

"Where is your wife, Mr. Hopkins?" I ask.

He puts his head in his hands. "I don't know," he says. He starts to sob. I'm too cold to hear it. I'm reaching for the phone as it rings.

"Hello?"

It's Fraser. I leave Hopkins crying at my desk and take Dief.

Fraser's standing guard over a group of school children. Dief jumps out of the car, and suddenly the children are more interested in the wolf than the dead rat on the steps of the Consulate.

We drive back to the station. "You didn't tell me about the car thing," I say. My voice is calm, controlled.

Fraser coughs. "Other things came up."

"You're being eve...eva..."

"Evasive?"

"About this? Fraser, we're dealing with an insane woman here! You can't just...just..." My control is out the window and it takes me a heartbeat to realize he's quiet. "You're not even going to argue with me? What's wrong with you?" I snap.

"You're right. I was going to tell you, but then..."

I flush. We got busy. Shit. "You should have told me," I say, but it's softer. He puts his hand on my knee.

"Mr. Hopkins came to the station today," I say. Fraser blinks.

"And?" he asks.

"He says she wants you to play a role. I guess that's what made her do the rat thing. You didn't play her game with the car."

Fraser nods, pulling on his bottom lip.

We drive on in silence. Finally, I can't stand it any more. "Do you ever miss it?" I ask.

"What?" Fraser asks.

"Arguing like you mean it. I mean...all this understanding's making my skin crawl. Do you miss the arguments?"

"Arguments," Fraser says, and I know he's hiding his smile. "Do I miss the arguments? What kind of question is that?"

"A simple one. If we weren't so understanding all the time, we might actually have normal conversations."

"I hardly think we don't have normal conversations. And besides, if I wanted to be at your throat, Ray, it won't be because of an argument."

He does have a point. I park the car and we go in. Vecchio's moving to the desk they stuck me in when he first came back. Fraser goes to him so I go to my desk. They speak to each other with their heads bent close together; I wonder if he knows he does that.

@

We wait on the rat's autopsy, but it wasn't poisoned with strychnine like I thought it would be. Figures. Mrs. Hopkins doesn't look like the stupid type. The homicidal type, sure, but she's not stupid.

"Pizza?" I ask.

Fraser looks up. "No, actually it's a police report. If you would look here, it has your signature."

I glare at him, but he's doing his innocent thing and it's kind of cute. "Do you want pizza tonight?" I try again.

"Actually...I thought..." the innocent thing is gone, and now he's not looking me in the eye. He and Ray have already made plans.

"Hey, no prob."

"Would you like to come?"

I look at him, over to Vecchio, and then back to him, he needs his buddy time. "Nah, that's okay. I'll take the wolf back."

He looks at me as if he's looking for an excuse to cancel, but it's my turn to keep my face impassive.

"I'll see you at home then," he says finally.

"Great. Home," I say.

He nods and grabs his hat. He stops at the other Ray's desk. Ray puts away what he's working on and they go.

It's weird going home alone. I mean, Dief doesn't count. He bounds off as I let him out of the car, and I let him go for a run before we go back upstairs. We decide on left-overs, and we eat in the living room in front of the television.

The primetime movie ends and the late night movie starts after the news, but no Fraser.

I tell myself I'm not being the jealous boyfriend and I can call over to the Vecchios out of concern, but I just can't pick up the phone. Dief has to go out first, and if Fraser"s not back by the time we finish, then I'll call.

We make it down to the main street. I think. I remember growling; I think that was the wolf. And some groaning; I think that was me. The net they used on Dief had weights on it, I remember that as I was falling to the pavement.

I wake up trussed like a chicken. Humiliation meets lack of circulation with a hint of bladder discomfort and a whopping headache. I want to close my eyes and go back to sleep for a second, but then remember I'm tied up.

Shit.

"Where's the wolf?" I ask. She'd better not have killed him. For her own sake.

"She's not a killer, detective. He's safe," Hopkins says. The little man is perched beside me, trying to hold an ice pack to the lump on my skull, but he's too busy watching his wife pace up and down the window to hold it on still and the cold bag hurts. I jerk my head away, and the bag falls unnoticed from his hands.

"Where is he?" I repeat. The room is far too nice to be the scene of a kidnapping. It's done in pinks and whites and there is a tea set on the table. A freakin' tea set.

"I left him back with my demands," she says with a tight smile. She held the gun in one hand and poured herself a cup of tea with the other. "Even he has a small role in this," she says. "The sedative was mild, it shouldn't have knocked him out too long. Your partner obviously needs more encouragement to see we were meant for each other."

"And what part am I playing in your drama, lady?" I ask, but I'm looking at Harold. The poor guy's not looking at me; he's not looking at anyone. He's like someone turned him off by remote control. Damn.

She smiles, but it makes her look more unattractive. "Bait."

Well, that's original. I don't tell her that, she still has the gun. "Brilliant plan. We're in your house, Hopkins, how long is it going to take Fraser comes with all kinds of good-guys?"

"Well, if he does, you're a dead man."

I want to rub my head. "This is Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Canadian, do you hear me? He's at the station right now. This place is going to be surrounded by other cops and--"

She laughs. "I told him not to. The first sign of the police, and you're dead. Not very original, I'm afraid, but I had to make sure he'd come alone."

"He has to go to the cops, it's his nature or something. He doesn't break the rules."

"Then I guess you are a dead man," she points the gun at me. Conversation over. I take the hint well.

We wait. I expect the street to be crawling with police cars any second, but the night remains quiet and dark through the bay windows.

Red looks black in the lack of light. It's not until he's at the house that we see the scarlet of his uniform. He came alone, and I'm shocked. Fraser, breaking the rules. If the gun doesn't kill me, the astonishment will. The fact we're going to die together isn't as comforting as all the movies say it's supposed to.

Fraser raps on the window. She opens them, with the gun still in her hand, and Fraser bows his head an inch. "Thank you kindly," he says.

She doesn't say anything. Now what? We look at each other, but I'm not sure any one knows. This just reeks of wrongness. I mean, I've driven burning cars with this man. Jumped off buildings and out of airplanes. We've done...naked stuff. I don't want to die with a tea set all laid out for our captor to enjoy cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off before she shoots us both. It would be funny, should be funny, but Hopkins eyes are too serious. Too crazy. She wants Fraser to play house with her.

Fraser clears his throat. "I wonder if we might start with an amusing anecdote my father told me when I was a child," he says.

She nods, motioning him to sit. Fraser thanks her again, and I want to shake my head. But while she's all gracious and stuff with Fraser, I move and the gun jumps in her hand. Bait. My job here is done.

"Please, by all means," she says.

"One day, my father was called to a car accident scene. It was messy. A trucker, on his yearly run to Churchill, swerving to miss a deer, had overturned his truck onto an oncoming car. There were fruits and vegetables all over the road, and the car was completely destroyed. Both driver were shaken, obviously, and the passenger had to be taken to the hospital. There was nothing that could be done for the poor deer."

Fraser paused. I looked at him, and under any normal situation I'd yell at him for wasting time, but it didn't bother me so much here. "Go on," she says.

"Well, as I said, both drivers were shaken, so it took a while for my father to find out what had happened. The truck driver, after an entire night of not seeing another living soul on the highway, unsuccessfully attempted to swerve from hitting the deer only to topple his load and smashing onto the first car he'd seen heading south," Fraser finished. "It was quite the mix-up."

"Did that have a point, Constable?" Hopkins demands. She's upset now, her control is slipping; she's starting to shake.

"Actually, yes, it did. A very good point, actually," Fraser says.

The gun's safety off, and she's pointing it at me. Great, how fair is that. Fraser pisses her off, and she shoots me. I want to argue the point, but the veneer of hospitality has already been shattered. "And what *is* the point, Constable?"

"Never allow yourself to be distracted, actually," Fraser says. The gun's still pointed at me, and before I can mention that fact to Fraser in case he's missed it, the bay-windows shatters. She twists around, empties half her gun into the darkness.

It's not much of a distraction. She turns around, ready to empty the second half into me, but Vecchio's at the window with his own gun. Fraser knocks me off the bed and I hit, hard, and more gunshots go off. Plaster rains down on us.

Fraser gets off me as Vecchio carefully climbs up the broken bay windows. Harold hasn't let go of his wife, and she's fighting him, but his mousy little face is hard. Vecchio tries to pull them apart, but he doesn't let her go.

Vecchio arrests them both and takes the gun away. Within minutes we hear the sirens coming.

"Fraser?" I ask.

"Yes, Ray?"

"You good?" I ask.

"Yes, very, and you?"

"Still pretty much tied up, Frase."

He looks down at me, surprised, "I'm sorry," he says before he kneels down with his knife.

"Don't mention it," I say.

"Are you sure?"

"Quite."

Fraser cuts me loose. I rub my wrists as he examines the bump on my head. The black and whites have arrived, but all I can feel is Fraser's fingers on my skull.

"Yo. Boys. Can we finish this up at the station?" Vecchio calls. I glance to Fraser. Fraser looks back to me. That's not where either one of us intends to finish it.

Welsh gives me the morning off again, this time on account of being kidnapped and the whole trussed like a chicken thing, but I guess any partner of Fraser has to get used to a little bondage in his life.

I can't go to bed because of the blow to the head. We're both familiar with the drill. The heat spell has broken and we can sit in the living room together without broiling. We don't talk, talking hurts my head.

Dief's curled up at our feet, still working off the last of the sedative, but he's whining because he doesn't have Fraser with a cold cloth to wipe his brow. Fraser's all mine. Don't know if the cloth does much good, but occasionally he lets me lick his wrist as it goes past my mouth. I'm obviously not bleeding out 'cause the blood's going to a whole different part of my body, and by dawn I'm too tired. We shift and slide around each other and by spooning we both can fit onto the couch. Poor Dief whines at us again. We stay like that until poor Dief whines to be let outside.

I grope for something to throw at the wolf, but Fraser had to know what I was looking for 'cause he intertwines our fingers together and brings my hand back to my hip. "Stay here," he tells me. I don't argue.

"Well, no, he's not being lazy, he's had a severe blow to the head," Fraser tells Dief as he dresses. Silence. "Well, yes, I do understand you've been drugged as well, but that's not quite the same thing.

"Well, no, it's not the same thing. Not in the slightest. And no, you're not a police dog. You failed the exam, remember? I told you to study, but noooo... " Fraser continues. He shuts the door behind him I lie back, smiling.

My Mountie. My wolf...kinda. I'm happy.