Author's Notes: For tx_tart, who provided the bunny.

It's weird, which, well, isn't saying much since it's Fraser, and stuff with Fraser's always like that. But what's really odd is when things go all normal on them.

Things never go normal in any pattern or anything. One minute they're hip-deep in performance arsonists (and Russian spies and shellacked corpses), and then they pull a plain old ordinary murder investigation. Guy meets girl. Guy marries girl. Guy shoots girl. Guy goes on the run, Fraser tracks him, Ray has a hunch, together they catch him, and they're home in time for primetime hockey.

And then the next day things go all hinky again.

But Fraser's there. Fraser's always there and that's the thing that--

See, that's the thing. He went undercover and he knew he was covering for a cop. Okay, right. Stupidest see-through undercover gig in the history of stupid see-through undercover gigs, but so what. It serves its purpose. He serves its purpose. And in the meantime he gets himself a Mountie...except that he didn't expect it would be like this.

He knew from the file that Vecchio was big with the gestures, all that stereotypical Italian stuff, except without the Godfather kissing you (because, ew, even if it is Brando. No, especially if it's Brando). But yeah. Loud, touchy-feely. So he'd called out his name and hugged him on first sight.

Except now it's this stupid circle of freakiness because of this fucking endless circle of second guessing and rethinking and twenty-twenty hindsight, because now? Now, everything looks different. New light. Fresh eyes. Different.

Stupid buddy-breathing. Of course it didn't change anything. Of course it didn't. It couldn't. There wasn't anything to change. It's been like this from the start, hasn't it? Hasn't it.

And Fraser's looking at him like he's worried he's sick or nuts or the food's been poisoned. It's that unhappy look Fraser gets when Ray has a plan that definitely does not meet with the Mountie seal of approval, and the food's getting cold, and there's nothing grosser in the world than cold moo goo gai pan, no matter what Fraser says about the insides of rotting caribou carcasses (because that could not possibly be for real. And if it is, he really does not want to know).

"What?" he says, and so what if he's kind of cranky.

"You look--"

"I'm fine!"

And there's that look. The other one. That little crease, the worried lip-lick. Always with the lip-lick. Next would be the eyebrow rub. And finally words. "Right you are, Ray," Fraser says on cue. Except it's quiet. It's not the usual fake cheer of trying to smooth something over.

And great, silence. Not too awkward since they're good at this, after all, but what the hell does he say to that?

At least there's still food. And hockey.

He tears into the bag of egg rolls and shoves one in his mouth. And damn it, the Mountie is still looking. And his eyes are doing something weird, something bright, and fuck--

Fuck.

Holy shit, he's not wrong. Holy fuck. Because he really, truly, seriously believed he was dreaming.

And no way is he going to choke on an egg roll while Fraser's watching. He'd never hear the end of it, either from Frase or the wolf, so he chews, slowly, twenty times like his Mom tried to make him when he was seven years old and wouldn't shut up at the dinner table (until his dad threatened to send him to bed without dinner). So he chews and watches the game and watches out of the corner of his eye as Fraser does the chopstick trick and finishes off the lemon chicken and all his steamed rice without dropping a single grain. Mountie freak.

Still, it's comfortable on the couch with him, just like always.

And there's no reason, no reason at all why he does this, but maybe he's feeling a little mean or daring or like he's got to one-up Fraser a little. And that's when Ray leans forward, grabs another egg roll out of the bag and licks the tip of it before putting it in his mouth. Then he sucks it a little, okay maybe more than a little, because hey, it's leaking juice--he doesn't want it all over his shirt or anything. And it's all he can do not to burst out laughing when Fraser starts coughing next to him, and he has to focus hard on eating the damned thing without gagging on it before he can finally say with anything close to a straight face, "You okay, Frase?"

But fuck. He's expecting a red-faced Mountie. He's all geared up to play outward straight-man (ha), while inwardly laughing his ass off at making Fraser blush, since making Fraser blush is fun. Sometimes teasing him into a good flush and stammer can make his day.

But the Mountie isn't blushing.

Instead he's looking at Ray with what any detective worth his shield could only call intent. It's intense intent, too, and now Ray's the one blushing and Fraser isn't even pretending to look away. He isn't pretending about the intent either, and Fraser? Flirting? Fraser flirting with him?

Holy fuck.

"Uh, Fraser," he says when he finds his voice.

"Ray." And there's still all that intent and everything, only now it's vocal and the sound of his voice is just--but there's something more in his eyes now. Something serious.

"Wh-what?" he stutters and yeah, that's smooth.

It takes Fraser a long moment to answer him. "This may sound a little strange, Ray, but I wondered if perhaps you might do something for me," Fraser says, and his voice is all quiet and low and distracting and it takes Ray a second to figure out that no way in hell is Fraser asking for what his pornographic mind wishes he were asking, since this is Fraser. But also, Fraser? Asking for something for himself? Not an everyday occurrence.

So he answers, "Sure, Frase, name it."

And Fraser's voice is practically a whisper and Ray can't help leaning in a little to hear. And Fraser looks down at his hands, blushing a little (finally!) and then looks back up at Ray and says slowly, "I wondered if perhaps, sometimes, you might call me Ben."

And then the blush is full-on and he's rattling on about appropriate formality at work or something and laughing a little to cover his nerves, which just blows Ray's mind. It's such a little thing, but a big thing and still really nothing at all, and then Ray's grinning and god, he really could just lean in and kiss him, but he doesn't, because he knows the difference between fantasy and reality. At this juncture, anyway. So instead Ray says, "Ben," and watches him blush and grins at him some more like the idiot Ray is.

Fraser's still snickering and shaking his head. Weird to see him so self-conscious. Weird to see him with intent, too, but that's mostly gone. They're in a new place now, because this, this gorgeous guy sitting on his couch in sweater and jeans is a guy named Ben. Is a guy Ray hardly knows at all.

"Ben," he says, thumbing down the volume of the game and turning sideways on the couch.

"Yes, Ray?" And there's a little uncertainty now, along with the rest of the mix of feelings Ray can see floating around behind his eyes.

Ray smiles and resists the urge to say, you're cute when you're nervous. Instead he says, "So, I figure I know all kinds of stuff about Fraser. How about you tell me about you? Ben." And he really doesn't have any idea what he's doing, since this is his partner, this is Fraser, this could ruin everything. But also, he can see the look in the eyes staring back at him, and Ray knows, he knows this could be greatness. Better than greatness. Golden.

And Fraser smiles back and says, "I'd like that." Except that it's Ben.

And it's good, but weird. And good. And right. And the cool thing is, Ray knows that's the same as always, too.