Author's Website: http://uk.geocities.com/asylum_girluk/utopia.htm

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The face in the photograph is so familiar that it hurts. Even after all this time, all these years apart, seeing him makes me bleed inside. Benton Fraser. Still a Constable, still righting wrongs. Except now, something's happened, something's gone wrong. It takes me a while before I can tear my eyes away from him, and actually read the report the photo's attached to. When the words finally penetrate, I have to stop myself from swearing out loud.

He's dead. Vecchio's dead. Killed in fucking Nunavut, of all places, helping Fraser track down a smuggling ring. Christ, I bet he felt safe there; in the tundra, with Fraser. I never really cared where I was; with Fraser, I always felt safe.

Almost guiltily, I realise that my first thought was: `Is Fraser okay?' I never bonded with Vecchio, how could I? He came back, stepped back into his life, and took away the only thing I really wanted. Hugged him, called him `Benny', and never looked back. Took Fraser further away from me than I thought was possible.

I scan further down the report and find what I'm looking for. No, Fraser's not okay. Fraser's in hospital suffering from exposure and gunshot wounds. And, since even after all this time I know Fraser better than I know myself, he's also got a major helping of guilt over Vecchio's death.

"Kowalski?" The Lieutenant's voice finally penetrates the fog, and I look up. Fucking kid. Way younger than me, no idea of what it's like out there. It's the same everywhere now. Fast trackers they're called.

"Yes, sir?" I ask, still holding the photograph, rubbing my thumb across it, trying to connect with Fraser, let him know that I haven't forgotten him.

"You know this Mountie, don't you?"

I shrug. "Used to. Long time ago now."

"But you were partnered up with him, weren't you? During one of your undercover assignments? I've read it in the files."

Christ, he makes it sound like it's ancient history. Maybe he's right. Six years and counting, kid. Six long, lonely years.

"Yeah, okay, so I've worked with him," I say. "What about it?"

"Well, he doesn't appear to have any friends down here, or in Canada as far as we can tell," he answers. "He's obviously one weird guy. When they found him, he was ranting on about some fucking wolf, for god's sake..."

"He's not a `weird guy'," I snap. "He's one of the good guys. Just `cos he's got his own way of doing things doesn't make him weird. And Dief's a good guy, too."

"Dief. Would that be short for, er, Diefenbaker?" he asks.

No, fuckhead. It's short for Patrick. "Yes it is," I say out loud, and look back at the photograph of Fraser. Christ.

"Well..." he holds out a letter, and when I don't take it fast enough, he waves it impatiently under my nose.

"This is for you," he says. "It was left at the 27th Precinct."

I still don't move to take it. I know his handwriting. I've seen it over the years on reports. Why would he write to me after all this time?

"Kowalski!" He's losing patience now, so I reach up real slow and take it off of him.

"You've got vacation owing," he says. "So you can go at the end of the week."

"Go where?" I ask, confused, and he sighs, gesturing at the letter, but he doesn't speak.

I take it out of the envelope, not knowing what to expect. According to the date, he wrote it over a year ago.

`Ray.

I don't know how to begin. I don't know where we went so wrong.

This letter has reached you because something has happened to me. You know, I believe, that I don't have many friends in this world, and even though we parted badly, I still think of you as a friend.

I have named you as Executor in my Will, and if the worst has happened, I hope you will take care of any arrangements needed.

The main thing I have to ask is that you take care of Dief. He likes you and he would need your support at such a time.'

There's more, but I don't read it. I screw the letter up and throw it in the trash.

Bastard. Motherfucking bastard. All those years ago he decides that I could look after his `affairs' for him. But did he ever think about calling me, asking me? Noooo, not the great fucking Benton Fraser.

I kick the desk a couple of times, but the flash of anger's gone as fast as it arrived. Because Fraser thought about me, trusted me to take care of everything if he wasn't here anymore, trusted me with Dief, the most precious thing in his life.

Benton Fraser, who was lying in a hospital bed, drowning in his own guilt.

I reach over to the trash can and fish around until I find the letter, and smooth it out, resting it against the desk.

`I wish you hadn't left like that, wish you had let me speak to you, but I realise that you were hurt by what had happened between us, and by Ray Vecchio's re-appearance.

I see from reports that your career is going from strength to strength. Could I just suggest that if you could tone down your attitude a little bit, then you have every chance of promotion.'

I laugh a bit at that. Still thinking about my career. Still thinking about me.

So what else am I gonna do? I'm gonna call and find out exactly where he is, and then I'm gonna find out how I get there.

Christ, I hate hospitals. Even when they're the size of my living room, like this one. They smell of death and misery, and the people look worn down, like they're keeping real big secrets.

I stop the first nurse I see. Looks like my mom; scares the hell out of me.

"I'm looking for Benton Fraser."

"And who are you?" she asks, looking me up and down.

"I'm a friend of his," I reply. "Look, I know I look like sh.. I look real bad, but I've been travelling for 72 hours. I just want to see him."

"Are you Ray?" she asks, her face clearing just a little bit.

"Yeah, that's me," I say. "How do you know?"

She looks me up and down again, and shakes her head, pointing down one of the two corridors that make up this place. "He's been waiting for you," she says.

There are two doors on each side of the corridor, and they're all open `cept one. A quick glance into the other rooms shows me he's not in any of those, so I reach for the handle of the closed door.

And then I stop.

It's been six years, for fuck's sake. Six fucking years. We both must have changed without knowing it, and now he's got all the guilt to carry for Vecchio's death.

//Fight or flight, Kowalski. Which is it going to be?//

Stupid question, really. I take a deep breath and open the door.

The figure in the bed is lying real still, facing the wall.

"Hi, guy," I say softly, not sure if he's asleep. I see his shoulders tense up and realise that --of course - he wasn't. He probably heard me the minute I got off the plane. He doesn't turn his head though, so I take another step into the room.

"Heard what happened," I continue. "How you doing?"

Still silence. I reach the side of the bed, and my fingers are itching to just touch him, make sure he's there, alive and warm, but I don't. I don't think he wants me to touch him. I bet nobody touches him now. Only me and Vecchio ever touched him, anyway. `Cept Frannie, I guess, but that should be counted as groping, not touching. Frannie got married and moved to Long Island, last I heard, so now there's only me. Jesus. When did it happen? When did we both get so fucking alone?

I pull up a chair and sit. I'll wait until he's ready to speak, no matter how long it takes.

`Cept I suck at waiting.

"Frase? Frase, please talk to me," I say after about a minute. "I'm not going anywhere, so you may as well say something."

Silence for another minute and then, real quiet, I hear him. His voice is rusty, like he hasn't been using it much.

"I missed his funeral, Ray."

"Not your fault," I say. "You couldn't help it."

"He died in my arms." He's still speaking to the wall, but at least he's speaking. "I watched the light in him go out."

"Please, Fraser, don't blame yourself for this." I put a hand on the bed, not touching, but close enough to `accidentally' brush against him if he makes even the slightest move towards me.

"Please," I say again. "You couldn't do anything."

"I could," he says. "I could have made him stay in Chicago."

"From what I remember, you couldn't tell Vecchio to do anything," I snap. "If he wants - wanted - to be someplace, he'd go. And anyway, what if you'd been killed by those guys? Would you want Vecchio to live with the guilt? Would you want him to go through this?"

"His family ... they blame me." I can hear the terror and the guilt just below the surface, and without thinking I move my hand so that it's resting on his leg. I feel the muscles tense, but then relax, so I leave it where it is.

"They have to lash out at something," I say. "They don't blame you; they love you, Frase, they always have."

He turns over in the bed now, and I get my first good look at him. Christ! He looks old, worn down. So tired.

"Frase," I say, and then stop. I don't know what I want to say to him, not after all this time. I can't tell him the truth. `Jeez, Fraser, I'm sorry that your friend died, but it's brought you back to me, so that's a good thing, right? Oh, and by the way, I've missed you every day.'

"Hi, Ray," he says, and there's a softening in his eyes. "Thank you for coming. I've missed you."

"What else was I gonna do?" I ask.

"You could have ignored me," he says. "Could have turned your back on me. I wouldn't blame you."

How do I answer that? How do I say, //No, Fraser. I couldn't have turned my back on you. No more than I could have ripped out my own heart.//

"You don't ignore your friend if he needs you," I mutter, looking at my hand resting on his leg.

"No, that's right," he says quietly, then turns to face the wall again, shaking my hand off as he moves.

Shit. Good move, Kowalski. Drop him straight back down.

"Fraser," I say. "Please, Frase... don't blame yourself for this. It wasn't your fault."

"You weren't there, Ray, you don't know," he says.

"But I know you," I say. "You would have done everything you could to help him, to stop whatever happened. I know that much."

He doesn't answer, and when I put my hand on his leg again, he shifts so that it slips to the blanket.

We don't speak for a long time, and then he says, still staring at the wall, "Will you take care of Dief for me?"

"Sure I will," I answer, too fast. "I'll take care of him until you're out of this place."

"I believe you'll find him at the local police station," he says. "He suffered a few minor injuries, but nothing too serious. He's been well fed and taken care of, I'm assured, and I know that he'll be pleased to see you."

"I'll have to ask the landlady if she'll let him stay with me, but I'm sure she will."

"I was thinking more of you taking him back to Chicago with you when you go."

I look at him and blink. I can't believe what I just heard and I have to swallow a couple of times until I can actually say anything.

"You're not going to be in here long, Frase," I say. "We'll wait for you, and then decide what we do."

"You shouldn't ally yourself with me, Ray," he says, real soft. I can hear tears at the back of his throat. "People who do that end up dead."

"Frase..." I don't know what to say to him.

"Would you mind leaving, Ray?" he whispers. "Go and find Dief."

When the local cop opens the door, Dief's at his heels. When he sets eyes on me, he's pushed the poor guy out of the way, and I'm flat on my back in the street with a real close up view a set of serious fangs.

"Hi, wolf," I gasp, pushing his face away from mine. I know he's pleased to see me, but I don't plan on tasting his tongue anytime soon.

"You must be Ray," says the cop, helping me up and practically brushing me off.

"That's right. How's he been?"

"Oh, he's a pleasure to have around," says the cop bravely, and I just manage to not laugh in his face.

"What do I owe you for his keep?" I ask, and I'm waved away.

"No, nothing, it's quite all right. Erm... are you taking him away with you?"

"Just as far as the hotel," I say. "You can see him whenever you like."

"Oh that would be marvellous," he answers. "I'll definitely be along to see how he's getting on."

That earnestness reminds me of Turnbull, before Turnbull realised he had a brain and started using it. I shake my head. Another reminder of a past that was so much better than this present.

My landlady's okay. She knows who Dief is, and she knows the story, so she lets him stay in my room with me, as long as I promise to keep him quiet. I relay all this to Dief, who smiles at me and climbs onto the bed, turns round a couple of times, and goes to sleep.

I push him over as much as I can, and get on the bed as well. I've been travelling for just this side of ever, and I can hardly move I'm so tired. And I want to think about Fraser, think about what's happened to us, and where we go from here.

"I dunno, Dief," I mutter, squinting at the ceiling. "What do we do? Six wasted fucking years, y'know? We're all older, but I don't think we're any wiser. Has he been thinking about me, like I think about him? I did, y'know, thought about him, I mean. Nearly every fucking day."

Dief mutters and shifts position, resting his head on my chest so that I can hardly breathe. I put my hand down and stroke him. I haven't done that in six years, but I always used to like stroking Dief; always surprised by how soft his fur was. Is.

"Shit." I rub my other hand across my face. "We gotta get him back, Dief, before he goes too far away for us to find him. Fucking Vecchio, getting himself killed. Fuckhead."

I surprise myself by sleeping the next 12 hours away. I only wake up because Dief needs to go outside and do his thing.

We walk round the town, looking for somewhere to eat. I remember what I said to Frase about a town in the ass end of nowhere, and I think I've found it. `Cept he won't come walking around the corner.

It's only when I see the sign that I realise I've come to the hospital without even thinking about it. I look down at Dief and shrug, then back up at the sign.

"Nah," I say. "We'll come back later. I need to think what the fuck I'm gonna say to him, and they won't let you in. Let's go eat and get you back to the hotel."

When I get back to the hotel, I make a phone call. Even after all this time it's a number I know by heart, and when Mama Vecchio answers, I nearly drop the phone back in the cradle.

"Hi, it's Ray ...," There's an intake of breath at the other end of the phone, and I quickly add, "Kowalski," cursing myself for being so fucking stupid.

"Ah yes, Ray, how are you?" she asks carefully.

"I'm good, I'm okay. I'm sorry about ... Ray."

"Thank you," she replies, and then there's silence.

"Was there something you wanted?" she finally says, and I wince.

"Yeah, yeah there is. Do you hate Fraser for what happened? Do you blame him?"

There's a long silence on the other end of the phone, and then she says,

"No, Ray. I don't hate him for what happened. For a little while I hated him for being alive when my son was dead, but I know it's not his fault. I know he would have done whatever he could to save my boy."

There's a rattly breath at the other end, and I know she's close to tears, but I just have to keep going for a little while longer. I just have to know.

"He blames himself," I say. "And he thinks you hate him. He didn't want to miss the funeral, you know."

"I know that. He's still in the hospital, I know that too. Ray, I can't say this in any gentle way, but I don't really want to see him, not for a long time, not until the pain begins to fade. I don't hate him, but I don't want to be reminded that he's still here, while my son is cold in his grave. Do you understand?"

She's started crying now, and I can feel my own tears. Christ, it hurts. Everything hurts.

"Yeah, I understand," I finally mutter. "Can I tell him that? Can I tell him that you don't hate him, that you realise it's not his fault?"

"Of course you can," she manages to say. "And you can also say that we'll see him again one day. Just not right now." She pauses, then I hear her take a real deep breath. "Will you take care of him for me?" she says. "I know you fell out, but he needs a friend, and you never stopped being his friend, did you?"

"No, ma'am, no I didn't," I say. "I'll take care of him for you."

"Thank you, Ray," she replies. "You're a good person."

"Hey, Frase." I push open the door with my foot since I've got my arms full of magazines and assorted crap. "Brought you some simulation ... no, stimulation. Something like that."

He's still facing the wall, but he turns his head a little bit to acknowledge that I'm here.

"I got Dief," I continue. "He's at the hotel, asleep, so nothing's changed there."

I dump everything on the table beside the bed and sit in the chair, putting my hand on his shoulder, but only briefly, just so he knows that I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere.

"Will you take him back to Chicago when you go?" he asks.

"I dunno," I say. "Do you wanna go back there or are you going to stay here? He's not my wolf, Frase, `member?"

"But I want you to look after him," he says. For some reason he's got a hold of this and won't let go.

"Frase, I'm not going anywhere until you're well, and Dief will be wherever you are."

"I'm not worth your time, Ray, and you shouldn't be here anyway."

"Why?" I ask.

"I told you," he says, shifting over onto his back, and staring at me out of those fuck off gorgeous eyes of his, "I'll bring you down with me, you'll be hurt if you stay with me."

"I was hurt without you," I say, before I put my brain in gear.

"I never meant to hurt anybody," he says, and he puts his hand on the blanket, close enough for me to touch if I need to. And I do need to, real bad, so I reach out and cover his hand with my own.

"It wasn't you, Frase," I say quietly. "It was me; I pushed it way too far, too fast. If I'd kept my stupid mouth shut, we would have been fine, but I had to say what I said, and I lost you because of it."

"No, I'm glad you said it," he whispers. "I'm not brave like you are, Ray. I can't show people what I'm feeling. You could tell, most of the time, and so could Ray..." His voice tails away again, and I squeeze his hand.

"I'm here now," I say. "I won't leave you again." I risk a look at him, but he's not looking at me, so I dive right in. Again.

"Spoke to Ma Vecchio - ,"

I feel his entire body tense up, and I let go his hand, sitting back, not sure what I've done.

"Why? Why did you do that?" he snaps. He's looking at me now, all right, and that direct stare of his is something I'd forgotten about until now.

"For you," I say, shrugging. I stand up and begin to fiddle with the fruit I bought him. Fucking expensive in a place like this.

"What do you mean, for me?" I can hear that Mountie tone coming back now, and I guess that's a good sign. It's still a long way away though; two hills over, but getting closer.

"Because you blame yourself over Vecchio's death," I say, turning to face him again. "And you think the Vecchios hate you. I think you * want * the Vecchios to hate you, so that you can wallow in that bed and never face the world again. Well tough shit, Benton Buddy; they don't hate you, they never have and they never will. They miss Ray, but they don't blame you for anything."

"You had no right to do that, Ray," he snaps at me. "No right at all."

"Yeah, I did," I snap right back at him. "I had the right because I don't want to see you lying in that bed looking like the world's ended. It hasn't, Frase. Do you think Vecchio would want this?"

"You have no idea what Ray Vecchio would want," he says, and this time his voice is so cold that I feel an actual, genuine shiver. "You never knew him, and I don't believe for a second that you care that he's dead."

"What?" I almost-shout. "Jesus, Fraser, what kind of person do you think I am? Just because we weren't buddies doesn't mean that I'm pleased he's dead!"

"I never said that you were pleased, Ray," he begins, but I don't let him finish.

"Because I'm fucking not! I missed you, Fraser, every fucking day, and I've never denied that I think ... thought ... what the fuck * ever * ... that Vecchio's an asshole, but I would never wish this on anybody!"

"What's going on?" The door to the room slams open and the nurse who looks like my mom appears.

"Nothing," I say, a bit too loudly.

"Well if you keep doing nothing at this volume, you'll have to leave," she says. "It's time for Constable Fraser's meds now, so if you'd be kind enough to stand aside?"

I do as I'm told, looking at Fraser. He looks back at me without any expression, and then, because I'm watching him so close, I see it. He raises one eyebrow, just a little bit, and I almost laugh, because I suddenly see Fraser ... * my * Fraser ... and I'm so fucking relieved I want to cry.

By the time, the medical staff finish fussing around him, we've both calmed down a bit, and when he gestures for me to sit down again, I do what he wants. Nothing new there.

"I'm sorry, Frase," I finally mutter. "I just want you to understand that you're needed. I don't want the guys who killed Vecchio to kill you as well." I reach out and take his hand again, running my fingers down the flat of his palm. His fingers curl in reflex, and we sit quiet, fingers touching.

After a while, his breathing begins to even out as the meds take effect, and I pull away, standing up, just looking at him.

He looks up at me, and shakes his head slightly.

"Don't go yet," he whispers. "Please stay a while."

"Sure," I answer. "Whatever you want." Not sure what else to do, I sit down again.

"You okay?" he says.

"I'm good."

"Good."

"There's something I should have told you six years ago," I say, not looking at him. I take a deep breath.

"I know, Ray. I know what you want to say," he whispers, and I feel his fingers, ghost light against the top of my head.

"I love you," I say to my hands. "When you walked away with Vecchio, I wanted to run after you and beg you to stay with me. But I couldn't because I didn't have the right." I finally look at him, and nearly wish I hadn't; he looks so sad.

"Sorry," I mutter.

"No, Ray, don't be sorry," he says. "You must realise something; I loved Ray Vecchio as my brother, and I think I'll always carry the guilt over his death. But I never wanted to choose between you."

I feel his hand on the top of my head again, and this time I let myself push into the touch.

"You had the right," he whispers to me. "I never left you, Ray, not in all these years we've been apart. Our partnership was one of the best times in my life, if not the best. You ... you taught me how to breathe again. I felt more alive with you than I had felt in years. I've never felt like that since." His fingers tighten on mine, and there's a half smile. "You took something with you when you walked away, and nobody, not even Ray Vecchio, could help me find it again."

"That hard to say?" I ask, and he smiles properly.

"You have no idea," he answers, and I laugh.

He cups my hand in his face, and I reach up and put my hand over his, pulling it so that I can kiss his palm. Then I put his hand back on the bed, keeping mine over it, keeping him safe with me.

"You've changed, Ray Kowalski," he says, slurring his words a bit. "You've lost some of your rough edges."

"You sleep," I say. "You need a lot of sleep. Gotta get better."

"You'll be here when I wake up?" he asks, and he looks so worried that I almost laugh again. Almost.

"I'm not going anywhere," I answer. "I'll be here."

"Good," he mutters, eyes closing. The drugs in his system are finally winning.

I put my head on the bed next to him, and make myself comfortable. Got a long wait ahead of me. It's gonna be hard, persuading him that this wasn't his fault, to stop him beating himself up over it. It's up to me to make him understand that he's needed. We'll deal with the Vecchio thing together, because we're a team, a duet, and wherever we go, from here on in, we go together.