Author's Notes: More thanks than I could ever convey to SK, who routinely keeps me from embarrassing myself. For Z., because I said I would.

"Ray. Ray. Ray. Ray."

Ray opened his eyes, because, man, Fraser sounded pissed.

"Hey, Fraser, buddy buddy buddy buddy buddy." Ray blinked. Fraser was red. And fuzzy. "Fraser, you're fuzzy. Maybe you oughta get a phys -- fuzz -- doctor to look at that."

"Ray, I am wearing my pajamas," said Fraser. He was tall, like a tower, like the Sears building, like something else really tall.

"You're tall," said Ray.

"Why are you laying on the floor of the Consulate foyer?" asked Fraser. He suddenly wasn't tall anymore. That's because his knees were bent, Ray decided.

"You're not tall anymore!" said Ray. He lifted his head off the ground. "Ooof."

Fraser sniffed him, sniffed his neck and his collar.

Ray lifted his head again and smiled and sniffed back. "Don't get fresh with me, young man," he said, and licked Fraser's neck. Fraser tasted like sweat and some other stuff, like the way he smelled all the time, like wool and all that crap, but also like the outdoors, like no one could ever take the trees away from him and shit. It was kind of cool, actually. Ray licked him again.

"Ah, I see," said Fraser, and then he was tall again, and his hand was big, and in Ray's face. "Come, Ray, stand up."

Ray knew that what Fraser meant must have been that Ray should get up off the floor -- which he didn't actually want to do, since the floor was lovely and cold, and exactly the right place for him to be, what with the walls spinning and everything. Except what Ray heard in his head was Fraser telling him to get up, to come, and that plus the sniffing plus the licking plus the eight shots of Jack that Ray did with Huey to celebrate taking down the guy who was bonking old ladies on their heads and stealing their Social Security checks -- which they had done without the Super Mountie helping them and sniffing everything, thank you very much -- it all added up to Ray wanting to lick Fraser's neck again, that's what it added up to. And Ray would know, because he was a detective, even if everyone thought he was someone else, which they did. But he was still himself.

"Ray," said Fraser again, and Ray put his hand into Fraser's and let Fraser pull him up.

"Whoa," said Ray. "The world is all spinning."

"Why did you come to the Consulate, Ray?" asked Fraser. He was moving. Oh, he was walking. So was Ray, come to think of it. "Did you need something?"

"Eight shots of Jack, Fraser, buddy," said Ray. "Eight shots of Jack and six beers."

"So the Consulate was the only address you could remember to tell the cab driver?" said Fraser. He got a funny look on his face. "Please tell me that you did not attempt to drive the GTO in this state, Ray."

"What other state would I drive it in, huh?" said Ray. "Illinois! That's my home! That is where I drive my car. But I didn't drive it drunk. I am an officer of the law, Fraser. I don't have a cape. You do not have a cape. I am not a superhero."

"Ray, I doubt even a superhero could drive the GTO this inebriated."

Now, normally at this point, Ray knew, Fraser would sigh, because Fraser was so put upon with his stupid Chicago cop partner who wasn't even the right partner, but Fraser didn't sigh. Fraser, in fact, leaned a little closer to Ray -- probably to make sure Ray didn't fall over -- and sniffed him. Sniffed him again!

"I don't smell beer, Ray," said Fraser.

"Yeah, you can't smell everything," said Ray, and he sighed, because if Fraser wasn't gonna take the sigh just laying between them, Ray would, thank you very much!

"That's an interesting hat," said Fraser. They walked into his office, and Dief woofed.

"Hey, dog," said Ray, and Dief woofed again, and that was how Ray knew he was really drunk, because Dief's noises were starting to sound like talking, and that was fucked up. More fucked up than when Ray dropped acid that one time (four times, total, but this was the first) and thought his fingers were growing and each of them was a dick.

"Listen," said Ray to Dief. "You gotta behave. I am inbriated."

"Inebriated," said Fraser.

Ray leaned over a little to talk to the dog -- "Half wolf," said Fraser's prim voice in his head -- and overbalanced, fell onto the cot.

"Oh, I am going to stay here," said Ray.

"That's fine, Ray," said Fraser. "Perhaps you'd like to remove your jacket?"

"Nah. So you like my hat?" said Ray. His hand went to his head. Huey had made it for him, out of eight paper napkins and a cocktail umbrella.

"Yes, Ray, it's lovely," said Fraser. He crouched down on the floor.

"No way," said Ray. "You are not sleeping on the floor! There is plenty of room for both of us." Dief whuffed softly in Ray's face and jumped off the cot. It was like being on a boat. A ship. It rocked. Ray's stomach turned over. He stared at the ceiling and scrunched himself as far against the wall as he could. "Come on, Fraser, see?"

"Ray, I think it would be best if I slept on the floor. You're rather..."

"Unctuous," said Ray smugly.

Fraser laughed, kind of chokingly, and Ray smiled.

"Yes, you are full of organic matter," said Fraser.

"Ha. Ha. Ha. Listen," said Ray, and then interrupted himself with a yawn. "Listen," he said again.

"I'm listening, Ray," said Fraser.

"Listen, Fraser, that is the only more-syllabled word I know, okay?" Ray yawned again, let his eyes close.

"Okay, Ray." Even with his eyes closed, Ray could tell that Fraser was trying not to laugh at him. That was okay. He was a funny drunk. A good drunk. Sometimes a really mean drunk, but he never hit a woman or a child or anyone who wasn't asking for it, so he figured it all balanced out in the end.

The the light behind Ray's eyes went dark, blue instead of pink. Fraser made all the lights go away.

"Come up here," said Ray. He felt the words all blend together in his mouth, but the cot rocked, which meant Fraser climbed onto it. His body pushed against Ray's.

Suddenly Ray was way too hot and needed to be laying on the floor again. He sat up.

"I gotta go to the floor."

"Do you mean the bathroom?" asked Fraser.

"No, I mean the floor. I am warm, Fraser, I am hot, I am steaming up the windows here."

Fraser put his hand on Ray's chest -- his hot hand, his too hot hand that was making Ray overheat -- and pushed him back down.

"Go to sleep, Ray," said Fraser softly. "I will sleep on the floor."

"Do not sleep on the floor. What is wrong with you? The floor is not good. You gotta stay up here. You like my hat?" said Ray.

"Yes. What does it say?"

Ray grinned. "It says I am the king of love, Fraser."

"And what does that mean?"

Ray put his arms behind his head and crossed his legs. "It means something, Fraser, that you are not old enough to know."

"Mmhmmm," said Fraser. "Are you sure that you don't want me to sleep on the floor."

"Do not be throwing aspersions over me, Fraser," said Ray.

"Ah, all right, then. Goodnight, Ray. Goodnight, Dief."

Dief barked. Ray barked back.

"Hey, Fraser?" said Ray after a few minutes of trying to see the ceiling through the dark.

"Yes, Ray?" said Fraser.

"I'm hot."

"Yes, Ray," said Fraser.

"Don't make fun of me," said Ray, and he was trying to sound like a badass, but he thought maybe he ended up just sounding like a whiny bitch.

"I'm not making fun of you, Ray." Fraser sounded like he was gonna haul off and pop Ray one, and that would be funny. Except not. Ray's jaw still clicked sometimes when it rained and he was opening his mouth too far. "I realize that you are overly warm. Perhaps you'd like to revise your opinion of taking off your jacket?"

"Are you trying to get in my pants?" said Ray. "Nah, just kidding. Am I still wearing my jacket?"

"Yes, Ray," said Fraser. And Ray moved his hands and sure enough he was still wearing his leather jacket. It smelled like cigarette smoke.

"Hey, Fraser?" he said.

"Yes, Ray?" replied Fraser.

"Do you smell that?"

"Smell what, Ray? I smell several things at the moment."

Fraser never moved. It was amazing. He just laid there, all stiff and still.

"Do you smell cigarettes?" Ray sniffed his jacket, pulled it off without knocking Fraser off the cot, and sniffed under his arms. "I smell like onions."

"You smell like sweat," corrected Fraser.

"Do not correct me!" said Ray. "I smell like onions. I smell like pierogi!"

"I quite like pierogi," said Fraser.

Ray tossed his jacket over his head. Dief let out a sharp bark. "Sorry, buddy!" said Ray. He yawned.

"Hey, Fraser?" he said.

"Yes, Ray," replied Fraser.

"You like me, huh? You think I smell like pierogi? You think I'm a good guy?"

"Yes, Ray," said Fraser. "I think you're a good guy. And I like you."

"Yeah, I thought so," said Ray. He turned onto his side, and tucked his face into Fraser's neck. It smelled like Fraser, but also like whiskey. His pajamas were fuzzy. Ray could tell they were red even in the dark. He put a hand on Fraser's shoulder and felt Fraser tense a little under his hand. He sniffed Fraser again, sniffed his pajamas -- wooly, fuzzy, made his nose itch. Ray sniffed Fraser's neck, licked a long stripe from his collarbone to his chin. "You taste good," he said, and Fraser might have said something else, but Ray had already fallen asleep.