Author's Notes: For the Laying, Lying ds_flashfiction challenge

Ray frowned at Turnbull. He almost always frowned at Turnbull.

"What does that mean? `Constable Fraser is indisposed'? What, is he naked back there? Sick? On the toilet? Spell it out for me."

Turnbull's blandly appealing face didn't change. "Detective, I've been asked to relay to you Constable Fraser's regrets about breaking your dinner appointment and to ask that you call him in the morning before picking him up."

What the fuck, Ray thought, his lips parting in angry surprise. He recognized a Canadian brush off when he saw it. More polite and less bloody than a Chicago brush off, but a brush off just the same. Somebody didn't want him to see Fraser and that just didn't make any sense.

Ray leaned forward, putting one fist down on the reception desk. "Let me clue you in on something, Turnbull," Ray began, his other hand emphasizing his words. "Fraser's my partner. More than that, he's my friend and if there's something wrong with him, I gotta know about it. So start talking. Is he here?"

Ray could see Turnbull weakening. He was the recipient of both a deer-in-the-headlights stare and a deep blush. "I...didn't mean to deceive you, Detective, but I have a duty to Constable Fraser and I must see it through."

"Yeah, I got that. But I got a duty, too. It just might be that he needs me. So, I promise, I'll fix it with him if you tell me where he is. I'll tell him I shoved bamboo shoots under your fingernails until you talked." Ray straightened, his humor gone. "So, come on. Where is Fraser?"

Turnbull swallowed hard. "He's at the hospital."

~*~*~*~

Ray set a new record for running red lights and stop signs and pulled into the hospital parking garage less than 15 minutes after he'd left the Consulate. His legs were all wobbly but he jogged inside to the information desk and got directions to the oncology ward. He took the stairs and by the time he found the right hallway, his lungs felt like they were going to burst.

Ray's hands were shaking and he closed them into tight fists as he walked down the hall, looking for the room number he'd been given. What was he going to do when he found it? He wasn't wanted here. This was private, it didn't involve him. But it did. It was Fraser and anything that involved Fraser, involved Ray. That was just a fact of life.

He found the door but Ray hesitated before going in. He just stood there, debating whether to knock or just walk in or turn around and get the hell out of there. He stood there long enough that a nurse tapped him on the shoulder, startling him out of his cowardly thoughts.

"Sir, are you a family member?" she asked with the kind of compassion that strangers offer when someone has died.

"No, I was looking for a friend of mine. He's a Mountie. Red uniform, big hat..."

"Yes, I'm glad you came for him. Everyone's been gone for nearly an hour but he's still in there. Take him home."

"Yeah," Ray replied, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth. Drawing in a deep breath, he pushed the door open and entered. The room was in shadows, vertical blinds closed against what was left of the late afternoon light. All the machines were dark as well, but the red serge still lit up the room. Ray eased into the room as silently as he could. Fraser sat on the stripped hospital bed, with his back to Ray, his hat on the bare mattress beside him. Fraser's dark head was down, lower than Ray could ever remember seeing it and that freaked him out.

It wasn't his usual Mountie posture, all stiff spined and alert. This was bad. This was misery and heartbreak.

And the sight hurt Ray more than anything ever had.

Ray didn't stop until he was standing next to the bed. Fraser didn't move, didn't look up.

"Fraser?" Ray spoke gently to his friend. "Come on, buddy. Let me take you home." My home, Ray was thinking.

Without speaking a word, Fraser leaned forward, and his bowed head was burrowing into Ray's side and without taking time to think about it, Ray put his hand into Fraser's hair, holding him there, rubbing and petting and muttering softly when Fraser's uneven gasps turned to something that sounded like sobs.

"I've got you now, Frase. It's all right, I'm here, I've got you..."

~*~*~*~

Ray called Welsh while Fraser was in the shower, telling him that he was taking a personal day. By the time Fraser reappeared, dressed in a pair of Ray's sweatpants and the biggest tee shirt he owned, Ray was on the sofa and had a hot cup of tea waiting for Fraser on the coffee table.

"Thank you kindly, Ray," Fraser said quietly as he sat down on the other end of the sofa.

"Yeah, no problem."

Ray watched Fraser sip at the tea, not sure what the hell to do next. After your best friend has cried all over you and you've held him in your arms, what is the next step? After you throw him into the shower and make him tea, that is. Ray crossed his arms over his chest, trying not to remember how it made him feel to have Fraser lean into him like that, to trust him like that, need him like that. His body was still humming with the greatness of that feeling but Ray ignored it. Now wasn't the time.

"Inspector Thatcher received the call six weeks ago." Fraser just started talking and Ray let him. He was going to sit there all night and listen, if that's what Fraser needed him to do.

"There was a child," Fraser said, quietly, huskily, like his throat was all scratchy. "Leukemia. Advanced. She and her family drove by the Consulate quite often and she was fascinated by our uniform. Her parents asked if someone could visit her in the hospital."

"And Thatcher made you go," Ray surmised with a sneer. Typical, Ray thought to himself. Give Fraser the hard stuff while you host another party.

"She broached the idea and I agreed. I felt that it was the least I could do. I spoke to the child's mother on the phone and she was, of course, utterly broken-hearted but so caring and kind. I thought one visit, maybe two, and that would be the end of it."

Ray looked at that beautiful, noble face and something tender and protective welled up inside him. "But you kept going back," Ray offered, sounding gruff but feeling like he was about to break into a million pieces.

Fraser smiled crookedly and nodded. "You're familiar with the term, old soul? Well, that's what Miranda was." Fraser's blue eyes clouded over and filled with tears again and Ray sat frozen, feeling his chest burn with grief for a child he'd never met. "She was so dear and so sweet to me, as if I were the one who was in need of comfort. She was that way to everyone."

"Jeez, Fraser," Ray choked out, wanting to pull him close again, wanting to run from this feeling and keep on running.

"Life can be so cruel," Fraser went on like he didn't even hear him, his voice thin, fragile, breakable, which is something that Fraser never was. "Without warning, the people that you love the most can be taken away from you and you're left with so many regrets. Things you didn't do, things you didn't say, things you were afraid to say..."

Fraser looked at him and suddenly, Ray's pulse began to race. He couldn't breathe and he couldn't move. But that was okay, because Fraser moved. He slid over on the sofa until his thigh was pressed against Ray's and his big hands were in Ray's hair and his lips were on Ray's mouth.

And Ray couldn't do anything but hang on, which he did, hooking one arm around Fraser's neck so that he wouldn't be tempted to pull away. There was a knot in Ray's throat the size of a baseball but Fraser was kissing him and Ray was kissing him back and he didn't ever want to move again. Ray wanted to die here because there would never be a greater moment than this.

And just when Ray thought he was going to pass out from lack of oxygen, Fraser did pull back but their foreheads remained pressed together. "Ray," he said, holding Ray's face between his hands, brushing a kiss against the corner of Ray's mouth, "there's something I have to tell you."

Ray managed a congested laugh. "Yeah, Fraser, me, too."