Author's website: http://theburrow.net/ds

Disclaimer: Not mine, even remotely.

Author's Notes: Heartfelt thanks to Harukami, for the beta and encouragement. And a tip of the hat to Aurianrose, for thinking it could work.

Story Notes: AU after MOTB, and vague spoilers after that point.

I have never played the American sport of football as such; had I known that living with Ray Kowalski would be remarkably similar, however, I might have invested in some protective gear.

Ray was sitting beside me on the couch, channel-surfing in such a way that Buffy the Vampire Slayer seemed to come up incredibly often, and for extended periods of time. I was about to open my mouth to voice my opinion on the conflict between the characters Buffy and Faith, when the phone rang on the end table beside me.

Ray dove for it, ending up in my lap and pinning my hands (still holding the book I had been intermittently reading) beneath his torso. "Kowalski," he grunted into the phone.

I debated shoving him off my lap and onto the floor, when Ray's voice turned pleasantly surprised. "Chris! How are you?" He picked himself up, albeit with a great deal of discomforting wriggling. "Yeah, no, I'm still living in Chicago, yeah. No. No, Stella and me, we split up a few years back. Nah, I - hey, don't apologize. No, I - hey where did you end up - what the hell is in Massachusetts besides snow and tea parties? I - wait, hold on a minute," he said, and then covered the mouthpiece with one hand. "We were, um, friends during my one year at college. Haven't talked in forever." He uncovered the mouthpiece. "So, what's new?"

Ray shut himself in his bedroom, which was rather considerate of him. I could still hear him, since the walls were somewhat thin, but it was the thought that counted when you shared a living space.

I turned back to my book, which had suffered a few bent pages in Ray's spontaneous display of athleticism. I wondered half-heartedly if the young lady in question was named Christine. Perhaps it was Chrissy. Ray was in the habit of shortening the names of close associates to one syllable, if at all possible.

"...so weird. Nothing turned out the way we thought, huh?"

I stilled in my effort to straighten out a few pages.

"Me, I'm alone, you know? And a cop. Jesus, back then I thought I was going to finish college, and me and Stella were for keeps. And you - hey, are you still in the Air Force? Wow. Wow, that's wild. No, that's great. We all thought we'd have to kick your butt out of bed every morning for ROTC." A sudden laugh. "No, I was Polisci, remember? Only thing I liked. Couldn't do math for shit, you know?"

It wasn't eavesdropping if I couldn't help it, was it? I felt some measure of guilt, but I couldn't deny my curiosity about these pieces of Ray's life, made suddenly explicit where they had only been alluded to before in the course of our friendship. I imagined Ray in a college lecture hall, black-framed glasses resting on his nose.

And what did he mean, alone?

"No, I have a roommate. Oh, that's so cute. Like I haven't heard that before. He's my partner - no, idiot, my cop partner. Except he's a Mountie. Well, he came to Chicago on the trail of...never mind. Just. It takes too long to explain."

I looked at the ceiling and sighed.

"You're in town? Hey, you want to get together? Nah, I don't have a life."

I stiffened at that, and thought of my grandmother's warnings about the consequences for those who hear conversations not intended for them.

"Sure, no, that's cool. Not this Friday, but the next? Yeah, I can do that. When are you taking off again? End of the month, huh - that's a long vacation."

End of the month. There was a bad taste in my mouth suddenly, my insides twisting.

I had to tell him. I had to tell him soon. Tonight.

The conversation continued for almost a full hour, and Ray's voice became quieter and more indistinct as time went one. Finally he came out his bedroom. "That was so weird. I haven't talked to Chris in almost fifteen years, and then - boom! Out of the blue. We're going to have dinner in a couple of weeks, though."

"I'm sure that will be enjoyable," I told him, mostly out of reflex.

My voice must have betrayed my anxiety, because he looked at me strangely. "You okay?"

I took a deep breath. "I received an official notification."

"Good news, bad news?"

I smoothed one eyebrow with my thumb, which had the unintended consequence of visibly alarming Ray. "I've been offered a transfer to Toronto."

Ray took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Like the last time, then?"

The last time I had been offered a transfer, it was to Ottawa, but I saw no need to quibble. Not when there was something larger at stake. "A bit different from last time. They've offered me a promotion, a position in the CFSEU."

"The what?"

"The Combined Forces Special Enforcement Units. They are integrated teams of police officers and other government agencies, such as the RCMP, with a mandate to expose, investigate, prosecute, dismantle, and disrupt organized criminal enterprises."

Ray was looking at me as if I have ceased to speak English, which only served to make me babble on. "Apparently, our joint efforts here in Chicago with local organized crime have led the RCMP to believe that I would be an effective official liaison to the division dedicated toward combating the threat of Eastern European Organized Crime, which, as I'm sure you know, is responsible for significant amounts of the total financial fraud in Canada, and - "

"Fraser!"

I shut my mouth so quickly I thought I could hear my teeth snap together.

"You're going to take the promotion, aren't you." It wasn't a question, and I was unsure of what emotion was filling Ray's voice.

"I don't know," I said carefully, folding my hands in my lap.

"That is such bullshit," Ray said, both voice and body tense. "You wouldn't be so fucking nervous about telling me if you hadn't already decided to take it. When did you get the letter?"

"Recently."

"Fraser! Do not do that thing with me, that omission thing. Tell me: when did you get the letter?"

I sighed heavily, knowing that I could not and would not lie to him. "Monday."

"Monday? You found out on fucking Monday and you're just now telling me?" The tendons on Ray's neck were visible, as was the vein in his forehead.

"Please, Ray, I simply wanted some time to think the matter over by myself, and - "

"You decided without me," he said quietly, anger giving way to naked hurt with dizzying speed.

"I didn't-"

"That's not buddies, Fraser."

There was nothing I could say to that, no suitable defense I could make.

"How long?" he asked.

I didn't insult him by pretending to misunderstand the question. "They've given me a month to wrap up my affairs here before reporting for duty."

He closed his eyes, and when they opened again, the emotion was shuttered away. "Guess I'll be looking for a new place to live in the next couple weeks. I can't - it doesn't make sense for me to live here in a two-bedroom by myself. I'd better...I'd better go make some calls." He retreated backward a few steps, slowly, as though there were something dangerous in the front room that would spook if he moved too quickly.

"Ray, please listen to me. If we could just talk - "

He shut himself firmly inside his bedroom.

For the first time this evening, I looked to Diefenbaker, who was lying in his usual corner. He whimpered, and I bowed my head in shame.

"I don't know how I could have handled this worse," I confessed.

"Gyah, not. I haven't had that crap in years. Nah, I like Guinness and Newcastle. Hell, I even like Moosehead. Fraser's right - Americans can't make beer for shit."

We slipped into a booth, one in which Ray had a good view of the bar over my shoulder.

"I'm not seeing him yet," Ray said, absentmindedly tapping the table with one fingertip.

"I'm quite certain your informant will show. We are, after all, a half hour early." I was unsure whether Ricky Marciewicz would be of use, but since Ray had threatened to break at least his fingers, I was confident that he would make the appointment.

Ray was fidgeting, seemingly unable to get comfortable. "Fuck it. Might as well have a beer while we wait. They've got Newcastle on tap, and I've been wanting one since last Friday." He flagged a bored-looking waitress over, one who seemed disturbingly young to me to be working in such an establishment. "I'll have a Newcastle, and my friend here, he'll just have wat-"

"The Pilsner Urquell," I interrupted. The waitress wandered off, but Ray stared at me.

"Since when do you drink beer? Since when do you know anything about beer at all?" he demanded, looking as though I had just told him that the Canadians had won the World Series again.

"Really, Ray. Simply because I just chose not to drink on even a semi-regular basis doesn't mean I'm ignorant on the subject," I told him, my voice just this side of haughty. I did not see fit to inform him that I had picked the beer almost at random off the list, purely on the basis of it being the only representative of the Czech Republic.

"Huh," he said, sinking back into the booth. He said no more until our drinks arrived, but his eyes were thoughtful.

The Czech beer was rather dry and not exactly to my taste, but sheer perversity made me continue to drink it. I carefully watched the level in Ray's own glass, and made an effort to match him as best I could.

Ray pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He never seemed to smoke regularly, per say - it was more situational. Sometimes, during particularly difficult cases, I could find him out on back stoop of the 27th, chain-smoking and scowling at the expanse of asphalt. Sometimes, after one or two cigarettes, he would stand up suddenly, grind the last of the cigarette under his heel, and pull me off to wherever a flash of intuition led him. Sometimes, it was six or seven cigarettes, and nothing would come to him. Those times, he usually allowed me to coax him back to his desk so that we could go over the evidence again, to see if logic might not do where instinct had failed.

He lit the end of the cigarette, and I was struck again that nobody made smoking look anywhere near as attractive as Ray Kowalski did. Prior to his unexpected arrival in my life, I would never have described the scent as sensual, but paired with the visual of Ray's lips and long fingers, it was nothing less than intoxicating.

You're leaving, I reminded myself. No more watching Ray Kowalski court cancer with seductive grace. No more long evenings with the warmth of his knee against yours, or his wry and sarcastic humor deconstructing the crowd around you.

Without thinking about it overmuch, I reached across the table and plucked the cigarette out of his hand.

He frowned at me, and made an abortive attempt to retrieve it. "Hey, I was smoking that. And don't give me any grief, this is definitely a smoking establishment, and what the fuck are you doing?"

I took a hesitant drag off the cigarette, my lips where his had been. It made me cough slightly, and I looked up to see Ray staring at me, dumbfounded.

His shock didn't last long. "Jesus, don't - look, when you inhale, just hold it in your mouth, don't try and suck it down into your lungs. Jesus Christ. You're like - you're like, Anti-Mountie tonight. Drinking and smoking. What the hell's gotten into you?"

I took another drag, holding the smoke in my mouth as he had suggested. I didn't cough this time, and exhaled smoothly. "Maybe there are things you don't know about me."

He gave me a measuring look, and lit another cigarette for himself. "So much for anti-tobacco campaigns."

"Sometimes I go out, yeah. Never find what I'm looking for, though. Plus all the kids make me feel really fucking old, when all I want to do is dance."

It was a Saturday, and a rather domestic one at that - Ray was prodding what will be stir-fry in our wok, and I was doing laundry.

Dinner was starting to smell quite delicious, but... "Maybe a little garlic," I suggested.

Ray pointed a cooking implement in my direction. "Do not do that. Do not backseat cook with me, or I swear I will beat you to death with this wooden spoon."

I hid a smile and continued to fold the pile of warm clothes into appropriate baskets. After sharing a domicile for a year, we'd ceased to do separate loads of laundry. Dirty shirts, jeans, socks and underwear all went into one communal hamper, and Ray claimed that, contrary to popular legend, he had actually been gaining socks since I started doing laundry, as opposed to losing them. I told him that was just silly, but he muttered something about my being unable to take a compliment, and I finally replied that he was welcome.

"Aren't there red peppers in the drawer?"

Ray glared at me. "What did I say? What did I just say? When I want your opinion on dinner, Fraser, I'll give it to you. And there are not red peppers in the drawer, because you know I hate them. They're like the fruit of the devil and they have no fucking business being in our fridge."

"Strictly speaking, I think they're a vegetable."

He made an exasperated noise and scrubbed one hand through his hair, before turning around and rooting through the vegetable drawer in the refrigerator. He was silent for a moment before turning around. "Aw, you're fucking with me, aren't you? This is revenge for E! Celebrity Weddings last night, isn't it?"

I flashed him a quick smile before schooling my expression to disapproval. "Two hours, Ray. And that sort of program only encourages the invasion of privacy by individuals of the media."

He rolled his eyes before putting a saucepan of water on to boil.

I pulled a shirt out of the pile - one of his, one which I had never seen before. It was a rather nice shade of blue, one which I thought would surely complement his eyes. Some sort of rayon blend, I thought, though the tag had been snipped off, so I couldn't be certain. "Is this a new shirt?" I asked, holding it up.

"Huh? Yeah. You were at that thing at the Consulate, so I decided to go out dancing for awhile. Wanted something new to wear, so I wouldn't feel so fucking old at the club."

I eyed the shirt. It looked rather smaller than usual - it would undoubtedly be tight on him. The mental image of Ray wearing this shirt, dancing in a club, surrounded by strangers - his body sweaty, undulating rhythmically -

"Did you have a good time?" I asked, aiming for casual. I rubbed my ear, which seemed a bit warm to me.

"Not really." He took the stir-fry off the burner. "I ended up coming home, like usual."

Our eyes met for a few moments before returned to our tasks.

"Can you hang on for a second? I gotta - yeah, I'll be right back."

"Dammit, dammit, dammit - Fraser, can I come in?"

I paused in the middle of shampooing my hair. "Yes," I called over the noise of the shower.

The bathroom door exploded inward, and it seemed that Ray had forgotten he had an appointment at court today, and had overslept. At least, that was what I deduced from the steady stream of profanity.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Ray chanted. "God, Fraser, I have to shave, I can't go in looking like this."

I stepped out of the spray to soap myself up. "Go ahead."

Ray turned on the faucet and the water from the showerhead went distinctly chilly. "Can you hand me the blue bottle?"

I fished through the jumble of products in the shower basket, before pulling the curtain aside a bit to hand it to him.

Ray was standing in front of the sink, bare-chested, boxers rumpled, hair sticking every which way. He was shaving carefully, more so than he was usually wont. I retreated back into the shower, rinsing off quickly.

"Fraser, can you hurry it up?" His voice was impatient, with a grating edge of a whine attached.

I bit back a sharp rejoinder, though part of me wanted to snap at him that it was hardly my fault that he overslept and was now behind schedule. I groped for a towel and tried to cover myself best I could, after stepping out of the shower. The bathroom was small, and had in fact been a drawback when we had gone apartment hunting - but in the end, we'd decided that it would do just fine for a pair of bachelors. However, I don't think either of us had quite envisioned the need to be in there at the same time.

We switched places in what might almost have qualified as a dance; Ray shucked his boxers unselfconsciously and restarted the shower. "What are you going to make for dinner tonight?"

I frowned at my reflection in the mirror as I combed my hair. "Entirely up to you - I'll be at the Consulate until seven tonight." I paused. "Also, it's your turn. In fact, I think it's been your turn the last three nights running."

"Look, I said I was sorry - stupid Anderson case, and - fuck me sideways, this is Stella's case today. Just what I need," he moaned. "Gimme that moisturizer, will you?"

I handed it to him. "You're welcome," I said under my breath.

He heard anyway. "Thank you. Jesus, Fraser, what's your deal this morning? You've been giving me a hard time since I woke up - cut me some slack, will you?"

That was such an offensive piece of revisionist history that I was really forced to turn on the faucet with no warning.

He howled seconds later as the inadequate plumbing of the bathroom exacted its price, and I made short work of shaving. "Swear to god, Fraser, if I wasn't bare-ass naked, I would snap your ass with a wet towel so fast..."

"You could try. But you'd be even later for court."

"FUCK! Oh fuck, I bet my blue suit's still at the bottom of my closet."

"It's hanging up in your closet," I replied tartly. "I ironed it last week. For which you are also welcome."

"Lifesaver. Hey, look - want me to pick you up for lunch today? You can buy."

For that, I was forced to flush the toilet, as well.

"Me and Fraser - we're like a duet, you know? We've got something good going on."

At seven o'clock, I walked in the door and knew that Ray's day had not improved since this morning. We had been unable to meet for lunch, as he had to go track down an important witness.

Ray was in the kitchen, stirring something at the stove with sharp movements.

"How was your day?" he asked shortly.

I cleared my throat. "Well, it was rather -"

"How about I tell you about mine? I've had a day. In fact, I've had an incredibly shitty day. I woke up late for a court date, which is always fantastic." He slammed the stirring spoon down on the stove with a noisy clatter, and slowly stalked toward me, his body radiating tension and more than a hint of menace.

"Well, Ray, perhaps if you put your alarm clock across the room, you wouldn't turn it off in your - "

"Do not start with me. Moving my alarm clock later will not change the fact that I woke up late today." He bounced a bit on the balls of his feet, in a stance that was rather alarming in its similarity to the prelude to a boxing match.

"How was court?" I asked, trying to move to safer conversational ground.

"Court was fun. Court was great. Because my ex-wife was a first-class bitch to me in public, 'cause guess what? Yes, ladies and gentlemen, because she's screwing the judge and she wanted to make sure that he knew that her ex was dirt beneath her perfect shoes." He came to a stop in front of me, his jaw jutting out, his body angry and aggressive, coiled to spring.

I frowned at him. "Ray, while Stella is not always strictly professional in her dealings with you, you're going to have to allow for the fact that she is, in fact, your ex-wife, and there is a high probability that any future companionships might be cultivated within the work environment, since statistically - "

"Stop it, stop it, shut up, Fraser! What is that, are you saying she had a right to treat me like crap?"

"Of course not, Ray, I'm merely suggesting that perhaps you ought to allow for - "

"I'm done allowing. The way I figure it, the world ought to be allowing me a couple of things, but no! Instead, just for fun, I have to skip lunch to interview a witness, who turns out not to know shit, but she's related to deputy mayor and insists on having her statement taken. After all's said and done, I come home and find out that we don't have enough of anything for a complete dinner, so I gotta go to the store because my partner was a complete asshole about everything this morning."

"Well, if that isn't the pot calling the kettle black, I don't know what is," I retorted hotly. "You were ill-tempered and completely ungrateful from the minute you walked in the bathroom, and I think I've been plenty patient under the circumstances."

He paused for only one shuddering indrawn breath. "Patient, huh? So how are you, Fraser? 'Cause from where I'm standing, you seem to have had a good day. And why not? After all, you're leaving this shitty place, this shitty job, you're leaving me, and you're going to go off and have yourself a grand old Mountie time, aren't you?"

I felt my jaw clench. "I told you, Ray, the promotion is the logical career move and - leaving you?" I glared at him, having moved beyond irritated to quite furious. "It seems to me that you won't lack for companionship, what with your lady friend making a reappearance in your life - in fact, Ray, I don't quite see how you'll miss me at all."

He scowled at me. "What the hell are you talking about? Is that some sort of dig? What the hell is that, because you know damn well there aren't any ladies in my life, not if you're in a thirty-fucking-feet radius - "

"Chris!" I snapped. "Chris called, and don't bother telling me that you weren't absolutely thrilled - perhaps you'll rekindle your old romance, perhaps she'll be the next Mrs. Kowalski - "

"Well, she won't, because Chris isn't a lady!" He was now yelling, and I wasn't much better.

"Well, I'm sure she'll be happy to hear that," I retorted. "Though I would've thought you'd think more highly of her since - "

"You asshole, will you shut up and listen to me? Chris is a man."

I froze. "Excuse me?"

"Chris is a guy. You know what that means, don't you?" He asked defiantly, right up in my face. "You say I don't know everything about you, but Fraser, there are days when you don't know jack shit about me."

I took a step back. And another, and another. "Diefenbaker," I said, in a voice I barely recognized as my own. "I think we should go for a walk."

Diefenbaker whined in reproach, but joined me as walked out the door, down the stairs, and onto the cold street below.

"He has this wolf. Well, half-wolf. Named Diefenbaker. Dunno. Some old Canadian president or something. Loves his donuts, believe you me."

I was walking briskly, as the thought of physically running seemed to be a far more literal symbolism than I could really stomach at the moment.

Ray might have had his parting shot, but Diefenbaker was just getting warmed up.

"You don't know that! In fact, you can't know that. This has been a terrible house of cards since the very beginning, faulty assumption after faulty assumption. If Chris is a man, we cannot logically suppose that they were involved in the past."

Diefenbaker growled slightly.

"Well, it's all very well for you to say that the past doesn't matter here," I said in a huff. "Tell me, what would you have done in my situation, hmm? Made a grand stand, confessed your love, carried him off to Toronto? The problem, Diefenbaker, is that you forget to allow that I had absolutely no evidence that Ray would be at all receptive to such advances."

He sniffed contemptuously, and I came to a dead halt.

"Now, see here. I'm very glad for you and your superior sense of smell, but human beings make decisions based off of things other than pheromones. Ray has a life here, one that he likes - he has a job, family, friends, a turtle - even if everything we wanted were to fall in our laps, what kind of future is there for Ray in Toronto? In the end, Diefenbaker, even if he loved us and came with us, in time he would grow to hate us. And then he would leave," I concluded soberly.

Diefenbaker tossed his head back in the direction of our apartment, and gave a mournful whine.

I sighed heavily. "You're right. We have to go back. We have to put things right before we leave."

Ray was waiting when I opened the door to our apartment. I had a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach, an almost paralyzing uncertainty. Ray was seated at the kitchen table, looking calm and composed. He looked like as if he were about to interview a suspect; oddly, this afforded me some measure of relief. At least I knew which part to play.

"Have a seat, Fraser," he said. It wasn't precisely an invitation, but I crossed the room and stiffly sat down across from him.

At some point, he must have run damp fingers through his hair - it was slightly subdued from its earlier frenetic look. He looked off to one side, and began to speak, almost meditatively, his voice a near murmur. "You make me so crazy sometimes that I can't think straight. Sometimes I think you do it on purpose. But I've been thinking, Fraser, and I never did that well at math, but something doesn't add up here."

I almost retorted reflexively that Ray was perfectly capable of basic mathematical skills, although his calculations for tips at dining establishments sometimes left something to be desired. Instead, I ventured, "What would that be, Ray?"

He leaned forward, finally making eye contact. "See, there's something hinky going on here. One day, pretty much out of the blue, you tell me, 'So long, Ray, I'm off for a part of Canada that doesn't really turn my crank all that much, been nice sharing a dom-i-cile, have a great life.' Now see, that should have told me something wasn't right. You weren't wild about Ottawa - you thought an underwater swim and pirates and me were better than that. So, you know, we haven't had any pirates lately. So I'm starting to think that I'm part of the problem."

"Ray!" I protested. That he should think himself to blame for our separation tore at me, but he continued on.

"But that's not exactly it, either, is it? 'Cause I know a thing or two about you, Benton Fraser. And one thing I know is that you're pretty damn considerate. So why wouldn't you tell me about the transfer the day you found out, huh?" He leaned even closer, as if to impart a secret. "See, the only way I can figure that you didn't tell me right off, your best friend, your roommate, was because you weren't going to take it."

I sat up even straighter, if that were possible. "Ray, that's not true, I had every intention of - "

He cut me off with a sharp motion of his hand. "I'm not done, Fraser. I think you weren't serious until I got that phone call. I think you felt good that they offered you the job - means that they think you do good work, and I get that. But I think you were a little unhappy, too - which not telling me about is completely not buddies, by the way - but not enough to rock the boat. Which brings us to the phone call. My 'lady friend.'" He said this with a wry smile, an acknowledgment of my colossal misunderstanding. "That's when you made the decision, wasn't it?"

I shook my head. "No, I had been thinking about it before, Ray - the CFSEU is quite an honorable posting, I would be able to serve the interests of the public in ways I am unable to -"

"'You won't lack for companionship,'" he said softly, and I realized he was quoting me. "That's what this is about, isn't it? We were buddies, we were good, except we weren't - you were holding out on me."

"Ray!" I felt shocked. "I would never lie to you!"

He shook his head. "Yeah, okay, not to me. But holding out on yourself, maybe. 'Cause maybe you tried to tell yourself that we were fine just the way we were. But I think this all got to you." He indicated the apartment with a slight wave, before returning his hands to rest on the table. The silver of his bracelet winked in the dim lighting of the room, and I stared at his hands, rather than meet his eyes.

"What got to me?" I asked, still tracing the shape of the bracelet with my eyes.

"Home," he said simply. "So you wanted the job, you wanted Canada - those are good things to want. But you wanted me too, only you didn't trust me enough to ask the big question."

His hands reached across the table to rest gently against mine, fingertip to fingertip. "See, you gotta give a guy some warning. You have to say, 'Ray, my friend, would you like to come with me to a city that's freakishly clean and has a bad hockey team, and share everything with me?' That's what you gotta say. 'Cause I'm here to tell you, I love you, and I don't want to be anyplace you aren't."

I looked up, and he was smiling. Ray was wrong - in the end, I did trust him, I trusted him with everything. I took a deep breath. "Ray, my friend, would you like to -"

"Yes," he interrupted, squeezing my hands. His voice was breathtakingly fond. "Of course. Freak."

"Understood," I answered him warmly

"Nah, me and Fraser will be cool old bachelors, you know - hanging out with the wolf, bitching about dry cleaning."

"Have I told you about the part where I fucking love this city?" Ray asked as we shouldered in the door to our new apartment.

"Every day, Ray, roughly around the time you visit the bakery on the corner." Diefenbaker's ears perked up, no doubt at the reference to baked goods.

Ray opened the refrigerator and took out the milk pitcher. "Milk in a bag," he muttered. "What will you Canadians come up with next?"

"Universal health care. Same-sex marriage," I offered blandly.

He quirked a grin. "Again with me and loving this city." He looked at the answering machine on our counter. The red light was blinking steadily. "I don't care if it's the Queen, Ben, we've been working since one in the morning, and I am not hauling my non-Canadian ass back downtown for the Crown or even a freaking teapot."

I raised an eyebrow. "Ray, I seriously doubt a teapot would commission your services." He suppressed a smile, and I hit the button on the answering machine.

"Stanley, honey, this is your mother. You did promise you would call to talk, and you had some time to settle in, so I thought I'd give your new phone number a try. Give me a call when you get in."

A strange look crossed Ray's face. "I dunno if I'm ready for this."

I stared at him, disbelieving. "But you were ready to fill out domestic partner paperwork at headquarters?"

He squirmed and ran his fingers through his hair. "S'different. This is Canada, Frase. You people are all civilized-like. My mom - see, she's crazy, because she still remembers when I was four and running butt-naked through the backyard, you know?"

I picked up the cordless phone from the cradle, and held it out to him. He looked at it warily before clearly gathering his nerve and taking it from me. He started off in the direction of the bedroom, but stopped suddenly and turned around. I was surprised and a little bit confused as he took my hand and led me to the sofa. "Sit," he said.

I sat, but he frowned and looked impatient. "No, no, sit with me."

It dawned on me what he wanted, and I obediently scooted back on the couch and made room for him to sit between my legs. "Ray, I thought you were going to call your mother."

He settled against me and made himself comfortable, an activity that seemed to involve a great deal of shimmying and wiggling about. "I am, hold on to your big hat."

"But Ray, isn't this supposed to be a private conversation?" I protested.

"Yeah. Private, as in between you, me, and my mom." Before I could say anything further, he dialed the number. "Hi, Mum."

"Stanley, honey, how are you? Oh, your father and I didn't know what to think, you suddenly leaving Chicago and going up to Toronto - did you bring enough sweaters, honey? I can send you more."

Ray rolled his eyes at me. "I'm good, Mum. I mean, I'm warm and all." I slid my fingers under the hem of his shirt and felt his warm skin. Purely in the interests of verifying the truth of Ray's statement, of course.

"Oh, I'm so glad, sweetie. We didn't have a lot of warning before you packed up and went to do...Stanley, dear, what is it that you do up there, anyway?"

Ray's mind had clearly taken filthy turn, and he struggled not to laugh. "I'm, um, I'm a liason. To the American Consolate up here. Me and Fraser tangle with these bleached-blond gangsters who steal people's credit cards and stuff."

It was evident from Mrs. Kowalski's pause that she was not quite certain how to respond to that. "Well, that's nice, honey. Much better than all that work you did undercover. Did you and that nice Constable find a good place to live?"

He switched the phone to his other ear, and grabbed my hand, running his fingertips over my knuckles. "Yeah, we found a good place. Pretty roomy for the location, okay with the wolf. Bigger bathroom," he said pointedly, craning his head around to mock glare at me. "Oh, plus Fraser got a promotion. He's a Corporal now."

"Oh Stanley, how wonderful for you two!" his mother exclaimed, and Ray's eyes widened appreciably, and he mouthed, "You two" with evident surprise.

I shrugged gently, equally mystified.

"Thanks, Mum," Ray said cautiously. "So we're doing okay up here."

"Oh, I knew you boys would be fine together. You be sure to give your father and I a call the next time you two have a vacation - it's so cold up there, honey, we worry about you. You can come down to Arizona when you have the chance."

"Yeah, okay. I gotta go now, Mum, but I'll call again real soon, okay?"

"Oh, of course, Stanley. You give our best to your Constable Fraser, honey."

"Okay, Mum," he said, sounding slightly strangled. "Loveyoubye."

He hangs up the phone and is still for a moment. "Holy shit, Ben, my mom knows. My mom knows that you have knowledge of me of the Biblical variety. I really need a cigarette."

"I thought you were quitting."

"I am quitting. I'm quitting as soon as my mom stops giving me the heebie-jeebies."

"Hmmph," I said against the back of his neck, kissing the sensitive skin there.

Ray switched on the television with the remote. "Oh, I forgot. Leafs vs. Hawks tonight. The battle of the sucktastic teams."

I pulled aside the collar of his shirt to get to that particular place where his neck meets his shoulder, and was rewarded with a remarkably stirring little moan.

"I could probably, mmm, even cheer on the Leafs, 'cause the Hawks can't skate for shit."

I smiled against his skin. "I think that's practically treason, Ray. I'll make a Canadian out of you yet."

He twisted around, so that we were face to face. "You wish. You'd have to make an honest man out of me first."

"Well, if that's all it will take..."

He kissed me and smiled. "Freak. One thing at a time, huh? Let's order some weirdo Canadian pizza, watch some crappy hockey. It's good to be home."

I felt myself smiling back. "Understood."

End Telephone by The Hoyden: thehoyden@livejournal.com

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