Disclaimer: Characters owned by the usual suspects; this is just for fun.

"Yes, sir. Yes, sir."

Three bags full, sir, Benton Fraser added in his head as he escaped from the room, some Chicago snarkiness coming through his thoughts automatically, if silently. He carefully closed the door to Inspector Thatcher's office, drawing in a deep breath to compose himself. Fraser always felt an obligation to defend Inspector Thatcher whenever Ray called her "The Ice Queen," but lately, he did so more out of official duty than any true feeling of camaraderie. He couldn't pinpoint the moment that her regard for him seemed to turn sour, but Fraser thought it was around the same time he and Ray became lovers and moved into together. Yes, that was it. Almost to the day.

At his feet Dief whoofed and Fraser paused, giving him a stern look. "You know I can't do that. She's my superior officer. I'm surprised at you, Diefenbaker." The wolf seemed to grumble and trotted off with an offended air. It occurred to Fraser that Ray was becoming an increasingly bad influence on Dief, but before the thought had fully penetrated his brain, Fraser found himself smiling as he pictured Ray's bright grin and warm, loving hands on Dief's coat. Truth be told, Ray had been an influence on both of them.

For example, the trials and tribulations of the Chicago Bulls were becoming a subject on which Fraser could expound with some knowledge. And Ray had introduced him to a period of American music that he had somehow missed entirely, that which Ray termed 70's soul. It was great fun, to listen to the radio and be able to identify his favorites and Fraser found that he had a particular affinity for a group of gentlemen know as The Temptations.

He recalled when he had revealed this information to Ray. His partner had looked at him, his eyes becoming unusually shiny and he then had hooked an arm around Fraser's neck, giving him a hard kiss on the cheek. The next day, Ray had come home with a fistful of CDs by the Temptations, presenting it to Fraser without ceremony and with an endearing self-consciousness that made Fraser's heart beat faster. That had been a very good day.

"Constable!" Inspector Thatcher's voice rang out again, slicing cleanly through his thoughts and Fraser went once more into the breach. By the time he was done for the day, Fraser felt as if he were, indeed, done. A visit from a group of rambunctious middle-schoolers, three near-crises involving Canadian citizens living in Chicago, and Turnbull being stricken with a rather nasty case of hives after lunch (he claimed to be highly allergic to kiwi, an excuse that Fraser found highly suspect) had served to drain what remaining cerebral energy he had left. However, he had a blessed 48 hours off duty stretching before him. He imagined that he would need every minute of that time to replenish his spirits.

Fraser was discouraged at times, at the life he was leading here in Chicago, as opposed to the one he would have if he were back home in Canada. He had not been trained to spend his day in a wilderness that was composed of paperwork and concrete. Sometimes, he felt a physical ache for the snow and ice of home, the smell of smoke on the crisp air. But nonetheless, he *was* here and here he would remain, for as long as Ray would have him. In the meantime, there were vacations, and the promise of a permanent move, once Ray had secured his pension.

As he approached the door to the apartment he shared with Ray, Fraser's thoughts ran ahead to the weekend. Two days which he hoped to spend at home, sequestered with Ray, alternating between bed and kitchen and sofa, with no talk of work. He and Ray valued their time together and always spent it like the priceless capital it was.

Fraser unlocked the door and entered the apartment. "Ray?" he called out automatically.

"Hey, Fraser," Ray's voice called out the other side of the kitchen. Hearing music, Fraser moved closer and found Ray, sitting on the floor in front of the TV, looking at some sort of animated figures on the screen, his long fingers moving with graceful dexterity on a controller that was attached by a black cord to the TV.

"Ray, what are you doing?"

Ray looked over his shoulder, grinning and looking very young. "I bought a Nintendo64. The graphics are kickass, aren't they?" Dief made an attempt to dislodge Ray's hand from the controller with his nose and when he was sternly rebuffed, gave a little hurt cry and slunk off to the bedroom.

Fraser stood behind the sofa and observed the scene on the television, frozen still. A pastoral scene, with a thoroughfare cutting through the middle of it. "Yes, very lifelike."

"Now, watch this." Ray turned back to the TV and hit a button and suddenly, everything went into motion, a variety of cars careening down the road at breakneck speed, complete with squealing tires and honking horns. It was surprisingly disorienting, Fraser realized. Then, the car Ray was directing took a sharp curve, veering off the road and into a hapless cow, and the poor animal promptly exploded into packing plant-ready quarters. Ray burst into laughter, pausing the action again while he did so.

"Good God, Ray, you just slaughtered that poor bovine!"

"I know. Isn't it hilarious? Come on, play with me."

Fraser frowned at the back of Ray's head, as his partner had already turned back to the game and the race. That's exactly what he had had in mind when he walked through the door, *playing*, but now, it appeared that Ray was going to be otherwise occupied.

"I believe I'll take a shower." That was usually Ray's cue to say, "Want some company?" But tonight, no such question was forthcoming. In fact, it was clear that Ray hadn't even heard him. "Ray? Ray? I said I believe I'll take a shower."

"Yeah, go ahead," he finally responded, without looking away from the TV.

Fraser sighed heavily and walked back toward the bedroom. By the time he emerged again, clean and somewhat refreshed, Ray was where Fraser had left him, glued to the game, his upper body swaying left and right, as he maneuvered his vehicle around the race course. Coming closer, Fraser noticed that the location of the race had changed from rural to urban. In fact, it looked a bit familiar...

"Ray, is that Chicago?"

"It's supposed to be. I guess if you're on mushrooms, it would look pretty accurate. Come on. I'll show you how to work the controls."

Fraser straightened, fast growing irritated at Ray's absorption with this game. Ray had barely looked at him since he'd entered the apartment. Fraser thought that he could be standing here naked and Ray would be oblivious. "No, thank you, I'm quite hungry."

Ray continued to sway in front of the screen, not even acknowledging his answer.

"Ray? Ray? Ray?"

"Yeah, what?"

"How much did this contraption cost?"

At once, the action paused and Ray's blond head turned toward him. A frosty blue eyed gaze locked on him. "Don't go there, Frase. Okay?" he asked, evenly and quietly.

Having finally succeeded in gaining Ray's attention, Fraser backed off. "Understood."

"Okay." Ray turned back to the TV once again and Fraser went into the kitchen to hunt out a bite to eat. He was a little ashamed of himself, for purposely provoking Ray. Because in all honesty, he didn't want to go there, wanted never to go there again. Because the worst argument they had had to date had been over that, the most dangerous territory couples had to traverse - money.

It had occurred barely two months after they had returned from the North and decided to share Ray's apartment. Fraser returned home from work to find the tiny entryway blocked by a massive box, the name Sony placed in prominent places.

"Fraser, that you?"

"Were you expecting someone else, Ray?"

""Course not. Sorry about the box. But I needed to get it out of the way."

Cutting through the kitchen, Fraser moved around the bar to see Ray leaning casually against a huge television set. "Surprise!" Ray announced happily.

The room was barely large enough to comfortably accommodate a 25-inch television, but Fraser could only gape at the 60-inch behemoth that was now partially blocking one of the few windows in the apartment.

"Ray," Fraser had intoned ominously, "what have you done?"

Ray's expression had faded, obviously disappointed in his reaction. "It's a big screen TV, Frase. I've always wanted one."

"Don't you think you should have discussed this with me, before you made a purchase of this size, and I *do* mean that literally?"

"Well, no, Fraser, that would have defeated the purpose of trying to surprise you. See, when I said `Surprise,' I meant..."

Fraser had rubbed at his eyebrow, growing truly angry. "Ray, I know what you meant. I spent a lot of time preparing our budget, and if you're not going to adhere to it..."

"Fraser..."

"...we might just as well throw any rules out the window and go through all our money without regard to savings, bills..."

"If you would just let me explain..."

"You'll have to take it back. We can't afford it..."

"Fraser!" Ray had raised his voice to a level that Fraser hadn't had to confront since their bitter argument on the waterfront when Ray had hit him. It startled him enough that he stopped talking and looked at his partner, a little uneasy at the fury that had tightened his handsome face.

"Who do you think you're talking to, huh? Telling me I have to take it back? Are you off your rocker?"

"A budget is an essential component of an efficient household. If we're going to cohabitate, we have to have a plan, a well thought out strategy that will see us through good times and bad."

"Well, if this is your idea of a plan, putting a guilt trip on me when I decide to buy something with the money that *I* make, then our cohabitating is in serious fuckin' jeopardy!"

A cold chill had crawled up Fraser's spine at that declaration. "What are you saying, Ray?"

"I'm saying that nobody, least of all, you, is going to tell me how to spend my money. I'm not your fucking wife, Fraser, I'm a grown man, who's been taking care of myself since I was 18! I'm not a compulsive shopper and I'm not in debt! And if I decide to buy something and I have the cash money to pay for it, I'm gonna do just that!"

"You couldn't possibly have had the money to pay cash for this." Only after the words were out of his mouth did he realize how contemptuous they sounded.

Ray had snarled at him then, and Fraser's heart had begun to pound. He'd never seen him so angry, at least, not had it directed at him. All at once, he wished he could take everything back.

"If you had given me a chance, I would have reminded you of the phone call I got from my mom last month, when she told me one of my old maid aunts from Ohio died. She left me some money and I got the check today. I paid cash for everything."

Fraser had listened to his words, each syllable causing a flush of discomfited heat to his face. "So I was wrong about you not having the money," he continued without contrition. "But I think I was at least deserving of a phone call, don't you?"

"Fuck off, Fraser," Ray had spat in return, grabbing up his keys from the kitchen counter and after struggling around the huge, empty box by the door, left the apartment.

The next twenty-four hours were among the worst Fraser had ever had to suffer through, including and even surpassing that interminable period he'd spent in a caribou carcass. He waited up as long as he could and when Fraser went to bed, it was with the gnawing fear that something terrible had happened. Ray finally did return in the wee hours, smelling of alcohol and cigarette smoke. Even though he had been awake, Fraser couldn't bring himself to speak to Ray, not when Ray finally crawled into their bed and lay on his side, as far away from him as possible. And when morning came, Fraser rose and departed for work before Ray woke up.

Throughout the day, Fraser had waited to hear Turnbull to call him to the phone, with the preamble, "Its Detective Kowalski." But it never happened. And by the same token, Fraser never picked up the phone, either. Whether by providence, or mere circumstance, he had been too busy to have either the chance or the necessary privacy required for a phone call. Besides, Fraser knew that the amends he would have to make for this disaster would have to be delivered, on bended knee, in person.

Even knowing what he had to do, Fraser's hands were not entirely steady when he opened the door to their apartment that night. All was quiet and calm, and even Dief appeared confused at this unnatural state. Usually, if Ray were home, the TV was blaring, and sometimes, the radio was, too - he always seemed to fill whatever space he was in with life and that was never so apparent than at home. That stillness unsettled Fraser badly. He had come to love the way Ray's presence raised the volume and energy level in his life. He would never again have to face that dead, lonely emptiness of his room at the Consulate, or at his home in the north. Ray would be there, at least, he prayed that he would.

Where was he? Fraser wondered, moving through the apartment, his pulse elevated. Had he left for good? Mild panic started to set in as he walked through the apartment and into the bedroom. And it was there he found Ray. From the light cast by the only lamp in the room, he saw that Ray was on the bed, fully clothed, his upper body back against a mount of pillows, his face looking as haggard as Fraser knew his own must look.

"Ray," Fraser had said, his voice sounding hoarse and sore, as sore as his heart. More words stuck in his throat as he struggled to remain composed. He took off his hat and placed it on top of the only chest of drawers in the room without looking away.

"So, you came back."

"I live here," Fraser replied quietly, watching Ray swing his feet over the edge of the bed and stand up, his tall wiry body bobbing and twitching with the boundless energy that Fraser loved so much. "At least, I did when I left this morning."

Ray's gaze narrowed unpleasantly. "What does that mean?"

"What do *you* think it means, Ray?"

"What do I th...oh, no you don't." Ray shook his head, and his hands began to wave in agitation, those elegant hands gesturing and pointing as his voice rose. "This is sounding way too fucking familiar and I gotta tell you, Fraser, I'm not doing this. Me and Stella, we used to do this same song and dance, talking and not saying anything. Well, I refuse to do it with you. I like to think of myself as the kind of guy who learns from his mistakes and you and me, we're gonna work this out like adults. We're two grown men here and there's no reason we can't talk to each other, right?"

"Yes, Ray."

"Good. And that's just what we're gonna do. So, get comfortable, Fraser, because we're not going anywhere. We're gonna stay in this room until we get this thing settled and I don't care if it takes all fucking night, you got it?"

"I was wrong, Ray. It was my fault."

If the situation weren't so serious, Fraser might have smiled at the way Ray's head went back, as if he'd just narrowly avoided running into a wall. He shifted his restless body and put his hands on his hips. "What did you say?" Ray asked, turning one ear toward him, as though to hear his answer better.

"I said I accept responsibility for everything. It was my fault." Fraser smiled at Ray, expecting that that was the end of it, when Ray surprised him by getting red in the face all over again.

"Dammit, Fraser, you can't do that! Just give in before we even get started."

"It's not a question of giving in. I *was* wrong and I owe you an apology."

"Hell, yeah, you do, but that comes later. I wasn't finished yet. I had a whole speech planned!"

"A speech, Ray?"

"Yeah, defending myself and telling you it wasn't my fault my poor Aunt Erma died and left me $4,000 and how I never buy things on the spur of the moment and probably never will again and that you're not my father and how you gotta lighten up and go with the flow more - ah, to hell with it. It's ruined now."

"No, it's not. Go ahead and give your speech."

"Well - that was it."

"Ah."

Ray crossed his arms over his chest. "Okay, speech is done. Now, you can make with the apologies."

"Indeed. Ray." Fraser drew in a deep breath, gazing at Ray with all the honesty he could muster. "I had no right to speak to you as I did. You were right - the money that you make - or inherit - is yours. And I know that you don't spend carelessly. I am truly sorry."

A beat of time passed, during which Ray studied him, let his words sink in. "What about the tv?"

"The television stays. Okay?"

Then, Ray visibly relaxed, the fight going out of him. His blond head nodded. "Okay. So...I guess that's it. It's settled."

"It would appear so. And I'm sorry I ruined your speech."

One corner of Ray's mouth tugged upward and he looked down, a self-conscious expression that made Fraser's pulse jump. "It's all right. It wasn't one of my better ones."

Fraser smiled back, growing warm from the sight of him. "So does that mean we can leave the room now?"

His arms uncrossed. "Are you making fun of me?" Ray asked, ,taking a step forward, a kind of loose-limbed movement that, combined with the lazy way Ray's gaze moved over him, could mean only one thing. Oh, yes, only one thing...

Fraser took a step forward of his own, watching him, wanting him, growing hard just from looking at him. "Just a little, yes."

"You didn't call me today." His voice was a husky notch up from a whisper.

"You didn't call me, either."

Ray kept coming, his blue eyes locked onto Fraser's, unwavering, hot, hungry. "I was useless at work today. I couldn't think of anything but you. Thinking that I might lose you, thinking about your mouth, thinking..."

Their steps brought their bodies against each other. Fraser slipped one arm around Ray, pressing him closer, shoving his hand under Ray's tee shirt to skim over his warm skin. "What else were you thinking?" Fraser whispered, close enough to flick his tongue against Ray's bottom lip and he did exactly that.

Ray put his hand on the back of Fraser's neck, pulling his head closer. "This," Ray muttered, slamming his mouth against Fraser's, pushing his tongue into his mouth, kissing him hard and hot and deep, almost knocking them both off balance with the power of his need.

Fraser started working the buttons at the bottom of his jacket, a difficult task with Ray's arms around him, made even more difficult by the distraction of Ray's skillful mouth. Sometimes, Ray kissed him slowly, taking his time, drawing out their pleasure until they were both on the verge of orgasm. But other times, like this night, Ray was in a hurry, desperate for him, and Fraser's fingers fumbled with the buttons, so aroused was he by the wet heat of Ray's tongue, the provocative sounds he was making low in his throat, the erection in his trousers that was growing harder by the second.

He wrenched his mouth away. "Ray, wait," Fraser pleaded huskily.

"You wear too many damn clothes," Ray replied, his voice muffled as he licked and kissed a path from Fraser's jaw to his ear. But when Ray's hand moved down to rub against the outline of his erection, Fraser found inspiration.

"Oh, God," Fraser groaned, redoubling his efforts to free his aching body from the red serge, the lanyard and the Sam Browne. As soon as he did and pushed the suspenders off his shoulders, they pushed and muscled their way to the bed, Ray falling on top of him and kissing him anew. Fraser struggled for breath when Ray thrust against him, feeling such a flood of sharp pleasure that he thought he was going to come right then. With Ray's tongue in his mouth and his denim-covered cock moving against his own throbbing hardness, coherent thought ceased and Fraser's legs opened to allow Ray to fit more tightly against him.

"Oh, yeah, Ben," Ray grunted, moving his head to the side as Fraser dragged his mouth up Ray's neck and back down again, his hands sliding over Ray's back and down to his buttocks. "It was only a day but I fucking missed you."

Fraser started to move, countering Ray's thrusts, a tantalizing combination of constriction and stroking that had him groaning out loud, calling Ray's name, moaning his pleasure. He couldn't seem to keep quiet, the knowledge of how close he had come to losing Ray, to losing *this* compelled him to give voice to feelings he usually kept to himself.

"You can't leave me, Ray," Fraser growled, his breathing becoming more labored with every beat of his heart. "I won't let you leave me."

Ray lowered his head and his kiss was hard and wet and full of scorching need. "I'm here to stay, Ben," he said thickly, "fucking always. Ah, God, that feels... so good."

He loved Ray's voice, his Chicago accent, the low timbre of it, but it was never so arousing as when he was in bed, telling him how good he felt, what he was going to do to Fraser, how he loved Fraser's body. Fraser felt dizzy, disoriented, so great was his own passion, for Ray, for this, for the little corner of the world they had created for themselves. It was more precious than anything that he possessed and he would protect it with every cell in his body.

Ray's rhythm changed and he gripped Fraser's hips hard. "Ah, Jesus... I'm gonna..." Ray grunted against Fraser's shoulder as he came. That was all Fraser needed to see, to hear before he came, thrusting up against Ray until he was weak and lightheaded.

Afterward, Ray moved to the side and they lay there, Ray's hand on Fraser's white Henley. When their breathing calmed, Fraser leaned over and kissed Ray a while longer, unwilling to let him go. When he finally did pull back, Ray grinned up at him.

"And that, Benton buddy, is a little thing we Americans call make-up sex."

Fraser smiled to himself, recalling how they had laughed that night. They had showered, indulged in another round of make-up sex and then, Ray had showed him how to use the computer-sized remote control for their new television. The day that had begun as a serious threat to their relationship had ended with them on the sofa together, watching "The Godfather" on their new big-screen television.

"Hey, earth to Fraser, come in, Fraser."

Blinking, Fraser realized that Ray had entered the kitchen and was standing before him, watching him with a puzzled look.

"Where did you go? I've been standing here for five minutes."

Fraser gazed at his partner, feeling his expression soften. "Come here, Ray," he ordered quietly, holding out one arm in invitation. Still looking bemused, Ray came closer, allowing Fraser to put both arms around him in a fierce hug. Fraser breathed in deeply, his lungs filling with Ray's clean scent and before releasing him, he gave him a hard kiss on the cheek.

"Wow," Ray said, his blue eyes warm, as he reluctantly pulled back. "What was that for?"

Fraser smiled. "No reason. Now, come, show me how to play this game."

Ray's face brightened boyishly. "Yes! Come on, Fraser, I'm gonna kick your butt."

"Don't be too sure, Ray. You know, defensive driving is a required part of our training. I remember this one fellow - he had only a total of seven fingers, but he could execute a perfect 360 degree turn. A surprisingly difficult task on the ice..."

~*~*~*

Ray woke up during the night and realized he was alone. Grabbing for his glasses on the night stand, he glanced around the room once he had them on and saw no sign of Fraser. Fraser usually slept like a rock; insomnia was as uncommon to him as it was common to Ray. Likewise, the guy was never sick so it was with some concern that Ray checked of the bathroom as well. It was also empty and as he turned toward the den, he was mildly alarmed to see that the bedroom door was closed. What the fuck, Ray thought, pulling the door open fast.

What he saw made a slow smile light his face. His no-nonsense Mountie was asleep on the floor in front of the TV, his hand still attached to the Nintendo controller. Behind him, on the coffee table, a couple of empty bottles of Labatt Blue stood between a Snickers wrapper and an open bag of Lays.

Beer...check. Junk food...check. Video game obsession...check. If I can just get him into NASCAR and reality TV, my work will be done, Ray thought as he grabbed the remote off the table and pointed it toward the television, but he paused before doing so. Ray's smile widened. The screen showed the top 10 fastest times of the game and, blinking at the top of the list were three letters - BEN. What difference did it make that the other nine said RAY?

He turned the TV off and squatted down to shake Fraser's shoulder. "Hey, buddy, time to call it a night."

Fraser stirred and uttered a drowsy groan but didn't open his eyes. "Come on, Frase - there's more ass to kick tomorrow."

Ray got him to his feet and led his partner back to the bedroom. They settled under the covers, on their sides, Ray pressed up against Fraser's back.

"I won, Ray," Fraser muttered as he sighed comfortably.

Ray smiled and stamped a kiss on the back of Fraser's neck. "We both did, buddy. We both did."