Disclaimer: I don't own anything at all, except events and dialogue, and in fact am feeling especially inadequate after writing this.

Author's Notes: Uh, I intended for this to be over, but, er, I've become obsessed. The site listed is there, but it's still under construction and I have a TON of new stuff still to put up. I'm having some trouble. Brain no work. Bad things happen. Thanks to everyone who is responsible for making me do all this crap. With a gun to my head. Yeah. Thanks. Love ya.

Story Notes: No major spoilers I can think of.

SequelTo: Talking to the Dog X: You CAN Get There From Here

Talking to the Dog X and a Half: Hot Town, Summer in the City (music and lyrics by John Sebastian)

"Please flip Fraser off with both hands," Diefenbaker said softly, panting, lying crossways on Ray on the bed.

Ray raised both hands over his head, offering the requested salute, saying "This is from Dief, but I agree with him."

"Ray, really, he's bad enough without the use of your hands as well as his mouth," Fraser said, flinging his serge onto a chair. It was so sweated-in there was no point in hanging it ultra-carefully from the suit rack and saluting it or anything.

"Dief, get off, you're hot," Ray said, humping his hips underneath the weight of wolfdog. "And I still say it was your fault, no matter where you get the words."

"It was *your* fault," Dief bitched. "You forgot until you remembered the star charts you used to study as a kid--"

"You studied star charts as a child, Ray?" Fraser said, trying to get his pants off, but his boots were still on. The heat kind of messed with him sometimes.

Dief was continuing "--and you got a picture of the constellation of the Fox in your head and the name printed across it was 'Vulpecula'," Dief continued, drooping over toward the air conditioner, his tongue hanging, saying "and you slapped yourself in the forehead and remembered that 'vulpine' was 'foxlike' and 'lupine' was 'wolflike' because the first time you heard it meaning 'wolflike' it cracked you up because it made you think of the Monty Python skit."

"The one with John Cleese as the Robin Hood character, yes," Fraser sighed as Dief turned the A/C up with his nose. "Dief!" Fraser bitched, but he obviously wasn't up for a real fight.

"You cannot blame me for this," Dief said. "Screw the fucking ozone layer. I'm an arctic wolfdog and I'm *dying* here."

Ray added dully "I'm a Chicago native and I'm dying here. You oughtta be dead already, both of you," Ray said. "I hate heat."

"You hate cold, too."

"I should be thought weird for hating to be boiling hot or freezing cold either one?"

"A human of your body type should be able to handle heat more easily than cold," Fraser said, as he continued to get naked without even slowing down. "I, on the other hand..."

"...are getting naked," Ray grinned blearily, "which is always a good thing, even if I couldn't touch you right now unless we both cooled off in a meat locker for a while first."

"No meat lockers. I had to wear meat to keep warm in one because my partner of the time was just too paranoid to be able for any reason to get stripped to our underwear and wrap up in our clothes with me."

"Was Vecchio insane? What the hell--wear meat?"

"We were trapped in a meat locker. Ray is ethnic Italian, Ray, his mother was from a village just inland of Venice and his father's family was from Sicily originally. He is also Roman Catholic. The emotional displays of such men can be very physical, but there are certain very strict codes of behavior that *we* do not see, which they are following at all times. And a mistake can be irrecoverable, socially. It's much like the Japanese custom of bowing, which to us simply looks like quick, un-thought-out bowing, but which to them communicates and acknowledges a vast quantity of social information, including as only one factor who has greater face in the encounter--so that how low to bow, how long to bow, the exact posture to use when bowing, how long to hold the bow, who bows first and how long the second party waits before bowing, and even more--"

"So Italian men may kiss each other to say hello, but they do not strip down and cuddle even if it means death for both parties not to, I get you. Well, I may be playin' an Italian on TV, but *I* still like you gettin' naked. You naked is a good thing. Ain't it a good thing, Dief."

"Hey, *I* fucked him," Dief agreed, shrugging, flopping down in front of the air vents on a chair. "Could somebody get my water dish? Put some ice in it? I got fur I can't take off and I can't reach the freezer."

"Will you two stop bringing that up?" Fraser said, and actually hesitated before pulling his sweaty shorts off, though both persons present had seen him naked so often it hardly mattered now. "And go to your own water."

"Ah, I'll do it, I gotta get naked still," Ray said, peeling himself up from the bedspread and pulling his t-shirt off. He toed off his boots and socks, let his jeans fall, and he was naked.

"Don't you *chafe*?" Fraser wondered for about the hundredth time.

"No, because I am built like a fairly-well-endowed but *normal* human male, not a goddamn caribou." Ray shuffled naked to the kitchen for Dief's dish and some ice for it, then shuffled back in holding the metal, icewater-filled dish close like it was a long-lost friend. "Feels nice."

"Gimmie," Dief croaked, and Ray deposited the dish in front of Dief where he was lying in the chair in front of the cooling vents, eliciting a Dief noise that was probably intended as thanks; he then went and plopped down on the bedspread again, where Fraser was now lying, naked as a jaybird, on his back with his feet hanging off the side.

"Uh, shower," Fraser said.

"Yes, but...like..." Ray waved his hands vaguely to indicate that without careful instructions such as Dief had given him, his brain was too dehydrated to work well enough to figure out the intricacies of getting them both showered. Do we go together? We don't wanna fool around, we want WATER, so together wouldn't be good 'cause we're both too big to get it at once, so alone? If alone, which first? Am I polite? No, but are you in greater need and since I love you will I let you go first 'cause it's personally painful if you're in distress? Yes, so--

"I'll go first," Fraser said, cutting off the no-longer-needed-saying-out-loud arm-waving monologue, and started levering himself up. Ray let him, knowing the Mountie was probably suffering like hell and just refusing to let it show beyond the red flushing all over his body. It looked interesting as all get out, but that was about all Ray was in shape to do about it--notice.

While Fraser was in there making noises like sex, fairly deep and quiet but audible to Ray, making Ray smile but not getting to his equipment 'cause he was still too hot and tired, his cell rang.

"Yeah, what. Vecchio."

"Ray, it's Turnbull. I--oh--" there was the sound of a clonk and then the unmistakable sounds of retching.

A phonefumble noise, and then: "Ray?" Thatcher's voice. "Turnbull insisted on standing the guard duty hours today, though I gave him the option of a foul-weather reprieve; he said those were for cases when the weather was dangerously cold or otherwise inimical to the health of anybody who had to stand motionless in it in the dress uniform for hours, and he's right, but--"

"He's puking from the heat."

"And he won't get out of uniform while he's here. I told him to get undressed and sleep for a while in one of the bedrooms, but--"

"He won't."

"I asked him if he had a window air conditioner at his--"

"He doesn't."

"Can I leave him with you until he's well again? He should be fine by tomorrow, and he likes sleeping on hard surfaces. He'll be better by the morning, I'm sure, and my wife and I...well..."

"You and Frannie got plans and she'll kill you if you come home with a dying giant mountie, buddy of hers or no, and she has to nurse him back to health instead of whatever she was counting on."

"Exactly. Much as she likes Turnbull, Frannie has promised a...surprise, and will expect me to make other arrangements for him in light of that. I'll put him in a hotel by force if I have to, but I'd rather not leave him alone. And if I walk in the door at home with him over my shoulders..."

"...you'll be sleeping on the couch for a week, which by that point your back will not need."

"Possibly more than a week," Thatcher sighed. "Italians take both romance and grudges extremely seriously."

"Bring him over, Megs. We'll look after him. Sounds like he won't be doing much but lying in the air conditioning anyway. Was he trying to ask us?"

"He was trying to tell you that he was fine and you shouldn't listen to me." There was another explosive retch and splash in the background and Thatcher made a faint concerned-yet-disgusted noise. "Good Lord."

"You at least got the serge off him?"

"Yes, he couldn't fight me that far, or maybe he didn't want to throw up on it, I'm not sure."

"You think he'll be okay? Even Fraser's not puking."

"Fraser wasn't standing on the south side of a brick building surrounded by cement and no cover all day."

"Good point. Crank the A/C in your car, get him here, and get home before your wife bursts a capillary with anticipation--or you do--and we'll throw him in the tub with a bucket to puke in while we wash his clothes, and I'll get him back to his place after he's had some rest out of the heat."

"I'm giving him an RCMP credit card," she said, "It'll be in his serge, which I'll bring with him, so check the front pockets. When he's up to physically tolerating such a thing, tie him to your kitchen wall and put the knots where he can't reach them. Then go buy an air conditioner with the card. It's in Fraser's name, and the limit is high enough both for a decent number of BTUs and anything else you might need to install the air conditioner in a window at his apartment; I don't know much about such things, but the building is old, so there may be incompatibilities you'll have to deal with--Fraser won't have any trouble with that. Uh, please."

"S'okay, you been in order-giving mode all day. We can do that for poor stupid-about-killing-himself-for no-good-reason T; I do it all the time for Fraser. I'll warn Frase to expect you. He's in the shower at the moment."

"My thanks to both of you. Also Turnbull's. Thank the wolf for any help he provides, while you're at it, and give him my good wishes for his health in this weather."

"I will."

"Thanks for saving my marriage. I'd hate to see its first major crisis happen in less than a year from the ceremony. I'll see you when I get him there--a few minutes."

"I might be in the shower, but somebody'll see you. Later."

***

Ray was interrupted, in his vain attempts to make his hair stand up, by the bathroom door opening, Dief yelling from somewhere out of sight, apparently just to help out, "Gangway!", and Fraser staggering as fast as Ray'd ever seen a guy stagger, under a sweat-gleaming Turnbull's half-naked weight. "Help me with his boots," Fraser said, setting Turnbull down on the toilet lid. "The Inspector was able to get everything off him but his trousers, and anything beneath or below."

"So I see." Turnbull was a solid sheet of sweat-sheeny skin, both white and red, pale with his normal complexion and blotched with expanded capillaries. His cheeks bore two bright splotches that made him look like a semiconscious Raggedy Andy. "I imagine he would have fought pretty hard, her trying to get him naked at the consulate."

"Well, it was probably less his sense of decorum and more that he knew that at some point, he was going to have to get out of the car and cross whatever distance necessary to a building door," Fraser said, managing one boot with lighting Fraserhanded speed, then finishing the one Ray was working on. "Here we go," he said, "I'll hoist him; you yank down his trousers and shorts."

"Aw, *me*?"

Fraser gave him a sour, yeah-sure look. "Do *you* want to lift him?"

"Er. Okay, I'm the nudity team. Let's hear an l-i-f-t." Fraser gave him one, with a soft oof, holding Turnbull around the ribs so that he was half over Fraser's shoulder, long arms hanging; and Ray yanked, everything, pants and suspenders, shorts and boxers--cripes, those freaking sock garters--and socks, and Fraser instantly turned and went to his knees carefully, letting Turnbull down assfirst over the tub, feet still hooked over the edge, and laying him against the tub back. He then reached over and pulled the knob on, spraying Turnbull with lukewarm water, which finally got a reaction out of the guy. It wasn't spluttering or anything, but he did open his eyes a moment, then turn his now-scrunched face away from the spray, toward the back wall of the tub.

Ray lifted Turnbull's legs and feet in, and adjusted the shower spray to cover as much of the other man as he could, saving his face, checking to be sure it was just coolish, not cold. "You wanna stay with him or should I?"

"I'll do it. Turnbull and I have seen each other. Naked, that is--changing into uniform at the consulate, and in other such circumstances. When it's purely utilitarian, Turnbull tends to take little or no notice of seminudity or even, with--certain specific people--complete nudity, not as a matter for embarrassment, at least. If I'm the one with him when he's more coherent, and I tell him we've put him in here to relieve his obvious case of severe heat exhaustion and that I'm present to assist him, he won't be made uncomfortable by his state of undress, though his having become ill will have him apologizing no end--since from what you told me, Inspector Thatcher probably had to drag his collapsed person inside the consulate, determine he was suffering heat exhaustion and not prostration, and care for him to some degree before the phone call occurred."

"You are a noble man, Benton Fraser. Then again, lookin' at Turnbull in his birthday suit isn't exactly rough duty."

"Thank you sort of kindly, Ray." Fraser smirked; Ray smirked back. T was hot in more than one way at the moment, no doubt there. "Would you bring me a pair of my button boxer shorts?"

"You got it."

Ray went for the shorts; Dief was lying on his back, the A/C vents blowing across his belly fur, airing it out. "How you doin', furface?"

"Better," Dief said. "I hate summer. I'm half-breed Siberian husky and arctic wolf. I need snow, I need ice, I need maybe a fucking Dreamsicle at least. This *sucks*."

"If anybody's built for this worse than Fraser, yeah, it's you," Ray muttered, finding the shorts and closing the drawer. "Just lie there and cuddle with your metal icewater bowl 'til the sun goes down, and we'll take you out, unless you're exploding before that."

"Times like this I wish I could use the toilet."

"I pretty much always wish that if it's my turn to take you out."

"I didn't make the law that says you gotta clean my shit up; you humans did that."

"I know, I know...shut up and cool off." Ray went back to the bathroom, where he could hear soft voices, the stronger one Fraser's.

He handed Fraser the shorts silently. Fraser took them and set them on a towel shelf with a nod of thanks and said "You'll be fine now, Turnbull. I've put a large plastic tumbler of water behind the curtain to your right; please drink it all and then give it back to me, and I'll refill it."

"I don't...want...my stomach..."

"I know you feel unwell, but at least sip it until your stomach settles. We have Alka-Seltzer if you like."

"That might..."

Ray got the box out of the cabinet and Fraser reached around the shower curtain, procuring the tumbler; Ray ripped the packet open and plop plop fizz fizzed the pills, and Fraser waited 'til they'd largely dissolved. He then handed the tumbler back around the curtain. "All right, now please drink the water as quickly as you comfortably can. Don't worry if you spill. I know your coordination is poor right now. We have more Alka-Seltzer. The aspirin will help reduce your body temperature, as well."

"Thank you," came in a tiny voice, breathy and weak, as Fraser's hand reappeared from around the curtain.

"How is he?" Ray mouthed silently.

"He'll be all right, but he was in serious heat exhaustion," Fraser whispered back under cover of the shower noise. "The Inspector had been checking him every hour, though he didn't know it; she said he'd been still and upright, not weaving, or anything else that might have let her know how close things were getting, at one check--but at the next check he was down and unconscious, so she doesn't know how long he was like that, save that it was less than an hour."

"Poor bastard," Ray mouthed. "You sure he'll be okay?"

"He's conscious now, and, as I'm sure you noticed, he was still sweating, and his capillaries were still open; his blood volume hadn't dropped to the danger level, but it was a very close thing. He'll be weak and feeling ill for a while."

"I'm done, sir," Turnbull said, and his hand, flushed all up the back of it, appeared around the curtain, holding the thirty-ounce tumbler.

"I'll get you more," Fraser said, started running the cold water to get it as cool as possible, and asked "Ray? Some ice, if you would?"

"I am the ice patrol," Ray said, trudging to the kitchen. He came back with a full tray and dumped it all into the tumbler, nearly filling it with ice. Fraser turned and filled the rest of the space in the tumbler at the faucet, then handed it around to Turnbull. "Once again, drink as fast as you comfortably can. Refill the cup from the shower stream, drink it all again, and keep that up until the ice has become depleted."

"Thank you...but really..."

"Turnbull, you came close to doing yourself real damage. I can't say I approve. You've made yourself very ill for no good reason, and that shows poor judgement. If it happens again, it will reflect on your next performance evaluation."

"I...I'm sorry, sir, I won't trouble you like..."

"Don't talk; drink your water, just as fast as you comfortably can--no faster. You don't want to get nauseated and throw up again; it would waste fluid. Don't push it *too* much, and ask for more Alka-Selzer if you need it."

"Yes, sir," Turnbull said, sounding tired and sad and sick, and Ray frowned.

"Poor guy, be soft with him," he chided Fraser. "He's just doin' his best. Even if that means acting like a complete zitbrain. He fucked up, but he only hurt himself."

"He could have hurt himself much worse if the inspector wasn't keeping a surreptitious eye out. He pushed it to fainting *in* that heat, rather than coming inside when the symptoms one always experiences began to warn him of the danger, so that he couldn't've gotten *out* of the heat if she hadn't been watching. Which he didn't know she was doing, remember. If she hadn't been, that could easily have killed him or damaged him badly. I have to make him understand that this can't be tolerated--he'll do this again unless he understands that the Inspector and I are *angry* about it...even if that isn't true, or even if we're only angry at him for worrying us. He needs to believe we'll report it as irresponsible conduct, as an indication that he can't be trusted to ask for help or relief when needed in extreme conditions, *unless* he agrees to take care of himself in this heat. You would be chided for the same things, Ray--not calling for backup if needed to prevent danger to yourself, continuing to work when you knew you were severely under par--enough to endanger your life or someone else's--especially if the activities in question were *not* at all crucial, nor situations where you had no choice about it."

Ray sighed and nodded. "In other words, since he refuses to be afraid of death by heatstroke if he has even just some piss-ass duty to perform, and since he's in Chicago where you can't count on anybody to come see what's wrong with him if they see him lying on the sidewalk, you have to make him *more* afraid of erring on the side of heatstroke than on the side of taking it too easy on himself."

"Exactly. It's cruel to be kind, Ray. I'll make sure he knows that he *has* to take the oh-so-unthinkable chance of coming in out of the heat *before* he absolutely, last-minute, *has* to--and that this course is my and the Inspector's express wish and instruction. He might have gotten brain damage even without full heatstroke. As I said, the Alka-Seltzer was also to lower his temperature."

"And brain damage, that guy definitely don't need."

Fraser shrugged in a you-said-it-I-didn't sort of way, but saying aloud only "No one needs it, Ray."

Ray nodded. "I'll be in the bedroom naked if you need me."

"I'll be thinking of you." Fraser leaned down and kissed his pierced nipple, in which Ray was wearing his fancy nipple-barbell. Ray smiled and kissed his cheek, then went into the bedroom again.

"How's T?" Dief asked as Ray flopped onto the bedspread again.

"Fraser says he'll be okay. Meg got him in just before he could fuck himself up bad by lying there in the sun and getting heatstroke."

"That's a relief. I really love him, you know."

"He feeds you. Worse than me."

"Yeah," Dief said, in a tone that made it sound like "Of course, you nincompoop." "But I like all the human folks who can talk to me. Shows they're okay. Even Meg's cool, at least when she's fucked up, but she's okay even when she can't hear me."

"Uh, you love Frannie. She can't...or can she?"

"No. Frannie is lovable. She's just got priorities. Also, she doesn't look at me as a person like you or her; she looks at me like she might look at a human baby. She loves me, but as far as she knows I don't have 'sentience', no more than a human newborn."

"Well, she does love babies. So I guess she loves you too."

"Of course she does. I'd be awfully unfriendly to humans if I only liked the ones who could understand me."

They lay there silent in the cool for a bit.

"You mad T showed up?" Dief wondered.

"I could hardly be *mad* at him, except for doing this to himself in the first place, which I can't because he's Turnbull and this is the kind of dumbass by-the-book thing he lives to do. I mean, I like him and everything, but his priorities don't just need reorganizing, they need to be burned down and started over. I was mad at anybody, it'd be Megs and her 'Ray's such a pal and Fraser's my subordinate so since Turnbull ain't dying I'll fling him at them and run like a bitch' thing, here, but I guess I can forgive her 'cause the Wrath of Frannie is to be feared and avoided and generally not fucked with. And besides, Friday or no Friday, it is 'Too hot! To fuck!'," Ray said, with the inflection of the words "Too Drunk to Fuck" in the Dead Kennedys' classic.

"Well, good. By the way, did you know 'run like a bitch' refers to hunting dogs?"

"Huh?"

"I hang out with Fraser, I know everything. You can't really use male dogs to hunt with in English-type horseback fox or whatever hunting; they won't obey commands, they've been bred until they're nuts--more ways than one--and they can't see anything go by without trying to fuck it or kill it, stuff like that. Your hunting bitches are your main hunting dogs, those and male culls that've been neutered. 'Run like a bitch' means run as fast as a hunting hound, and also refers to determination and not slowing down until you've gotten what you're after. Anyway, it doesn't mean 'run 'cause you're a coward', or at least it didn't."

"Huh. Okay, for your sake I will try to remember that unless I don't care."

"Fair enough. You're the only person alive I think she'd ever let call her 'Megs', by the way. Even Frannie calls her Meg unless they're getting romantic, in which case it's 'mia Margo bella'. Meg's always liked the nickname 'Margo' but didn't have the guts to insist on it before it was too late and 'Meg' was a fact of her life. Don't give me that look. She talked to me a lot when she was still kinda beat up and couldn't sleep because of it. And anyway, human people say a lot of things in front of me."

"Of course they do, you're a friggin' dog. Lupine dog. As far as 'Megs'...I think she thinks of me as the brother she didn't have anywhere near long enough, so I get a dispensation."

"I think you're right. And I think it's nice you do that for her."

"It don't take nice. Megs is a sweetheart once you kill yourself gettin' over the wall and the barbed wire and the Dobermans and the shark moat to get to her. Like somebody else I could mention. Though he'll be Fraser-mask courteous, instead of super-efficient past the point of polite like Meg can, even if you never make it past his barbed wire, much less the other shit."

"You're the only person besides Frannie who'd call Thatcher a sweetheart, dispensation or no."

"Probably. Shut up, I wanna nap."

"You shut up. Nap sounds good to me."

***

In the bathroom, Fraser was leafing through his latest MacLean's, which he always got late, but there were usually still interesting articles the topics of which he wouldn't have heard all about already.

"Sir? Are you there?"

"I am, Turnbull," Fraser told him, turning a page. "Right here, reading; I'll stay until you're done. Inspector Thatcher had to get home to Francesca before something indefinable but unforgivable took place involving her absence. Ray and Dief are in the bedroom naked. That is to say, *Ray* is naked, Dief being attired as customarily in fur, but--"

"I think I'm done, sir."

"How do you know? You were nearly baked, you know."

"I'm conscious, and the water has become less refreshing than clammy. I've washed up a bit, so I can get dressed without offending. And if I drink any more, I'll pop."

"Ah. That does sound done." Fraser stood up, putting his magazine down, and pulled the curtain open. A wet and raggedy Turnbull-creature gazed forlornly up at him, pale as a ghost, freckles just visible even at a distance. He was partly folded up in order to fit in the tub, lying sort of fallen to the wall side with his knees bent. Also, the tumbler was sitting on the tub edge totally empty, which meant Turnbull had refilled it with coolish water and drained it enough times to melt all of the ice that had been cram-packed in it. "Oh, poor dear. I imagine you'd like a hand getting out of there." He was turning off the water and pulling the curtain out of the way. He only realized he'd said "poor dear" instead of just "oh dear" along about while he was moving back to help Turnbull up. Oh, well. Turnbull would still know he'd better not push the heat again; Fraser was rarely if ever sharp with him, and he had been, by their usual standards, earlier. He'd make sure Turnbull understood that the minute he began to feel weak or have trouble standing, he was to come out of the heat, and no two ways about it.

Fraser leaned down and let Turnbull get an arm around his neck; he got his unclad arms around the other man--it was humid in the bathroom, and he was wearing a pair of neatly hemmed jean shorts and a tank undershirt-- and they succeeded in getting Turnbull upright, but when Fraser started to step back and away Turnbull just kind of kept right on coming and Fraser leapt forward again, preventing the other man from crashing to the floor tiles. He helped hold the bigger man steady as one leg, then the other, was dragged over the side of the tub.

"Why don't you have a seat on the toilet lid...here." Fraser had placed a towel on the lid to sit on already, and now dropped a towel on Turnbull's head and started briskly rubbing him down with another, changing the direction of his rubbing depending on which way Turnbull was starting to list. He picked up a big long arm and used it to steady the other man as he rubbed, scrubbing in clefts and crevices so Turnbull would be sure to be comfortably clean. Turnbull himself was apparently without the resources to keep track of staying upright *and* rub his hair with his own towel, which was actually the one Fraser had used when he got out of the shower, so Fraser had to make sure Turnbull didn't fall while they both mopped him dry.

"Oh dear. I seem to have appropriated your towel," Turnbull said blearily from under said towel.

Fraser blinked, then, beginning to rub again, said "How do you know it isn't Ray's?"

Turnbull let his head towel fall in his lap and said, still blearily, "It's August, sir. I can tell if one or both of you have even been in the room recently."

"Ah, of course--heat always heightens the sense of smell. For, ah, reasons to numerous to go into at the moment--Turnbull--" Fraser took the broad shoulders in his hands and rattled them. "Stay awake until we can get you to the bedroom, Turnbull."

"Yes sir, of course..." he slumped, his head on Fraser's shoulder.

"Oh, dear," Fraser sighed, torn, as always, between sweetness at the trust Turnbull never failed to show in him, and the aggravation of him showing it in markedly inconvenient ways. He then barked "RAY! Some help in here!"

There was a muttered protest, then a squeak from the bed and the bathroom door was pushed open wider, a pair of pale blue eyes under a wild shock of lain-on-undried-gel yellow hair appearing in the gap. "Somethin' wrong?"

"He'll be all right now with rest and fluids, but I can't carry him myself--well, I can, but he can't help me at all right now, and I'm not taking him over my shoulder when he's full of about a gallon of water and he's been vomiting recently, seltzer or not."

"Oh. Yeah. That could be bad." Ray yawned and came all the way into the bathroom, still nude as a newt, rendering it pretty jammed in there, and said "Really think he can wear your shorts?"

"He has worn my shorts. He has a slightly more narrow waist--and hips--than I do, proportionally."

"Ain't nobody--" Ray got Turnbull's other arm over his shoulder and helped Fraser lift the semiconscious mountie at least theoretically to his feet, "--got a narrower waist than you, Frase. But we'll find some way to cover him while we wash that rank mess he was wearing when he came in."

"I said proportionally. Take a look at his shoulders."

"Oh. Um...I guess, yeah. He's built more like an all-arounder athlete than a gorilla, big or not. But I bet your shorts are short on him and he falls out the pee hole."

"That's why I only loan him the ones that button."

"How many times's he been--" Ray broke off and yawned again as they lowered Turnbull to the bed; Fraser had Ray hold Turnbull steady on his side while he finished drying more delicate areas. Then the half-conscious mountie turned and curled up on Ray's pillow, going still as a stone. "--borrowing your underwear? Though I guess he won't be doing it 'til he wakes up, poor drowned-rat-lookin' guy. He hasn't got his own? No wonder I have to wash yours constantly--here's the credit card." Ray picked the card up from the bedside table and stuck it in Fraser's hand. "It's in your name, like she said. Sign the back. We'll go tomorrow and buy him an A/C."

Fraser sighed, nodding, wandering out to the front room for a pen, and Ray climbed up on the bed and relaxed on Fraser's pillow, after throwing the light afghan--a hand-sewn gift from Turnbull at Ray and Fraser's announcement of permanent live-in status, actually--over their lower bodies.

Fraser came back in to two naked (except for a light quilt) humans on the bed and a (technically) naked lupine-canine lying in the air conditioning. He sighed and trudged back out to the front room to get his cot. He actually *liked* the cot, which he couldn't get Ray to understand, and would sleep on it nights when Ray was working without him. He brought it into the bedroom and set it up--no freaking chance of disturbing any of *those* three--and put the mattress a nearly frothing Ray had insisted he start using on it, whether Fraser liked it or not, 'cause he didn't want to be prying some poor bastard with a bad back's ankles off his shoulders at a really lame time and be calling the paramedics and shit, and Fraser threw a quilt over the cot mattress, pulled off his clothes, then lay down on it and fell easily and comfortably, in the cool breeze of the A/C, to sleep.

He woke up because something quite large and heavy, though agreeably smooth and soft-surfaced, hand landed on him, hard.

"Oof!"

"Agh! Oh--I'm sorry, sir, I didn't know you were there, and it's become dark while we were---"

"It's all right, Turnbull, just my kidney, get your--there. Phew."

"Are you all right?" Turnbull said. He hadn't moved except to stop crushing Fraser's kidney, and he felt a bit trembly to the other man.

Fraser put his arms up and rested his hands on Turnbull's shoulders. "I'm fine, but you seem a bit weak. Not unexpected, of course, but--I assume you were going to the bathroom?"

"Trying, yes, and I'd better keep trying unless you want to be peed on, sir."

The light clicked suddenly on. "Nah, we ain't into water sports. My, my. You guys look cute."

Fraser hadn't exactly failed to notice all the skin contact happening--Turnbull was naked and Fraser was in undershorts--but he found he'd become a bit chilled during their long nap in the maxed-out air-conditioned, close-doored room; the air conditioner was in the bedroom because that was the south side of the building, but with the door open it could comfortably cool the entire apartment, and he was actually feeling chilled. Suddenly having a big, warm, comfortably familiar person land on him had felt good enough that he didn't mobilize at once to get the other man off.

Despite the fact that it hadn't been Turnbull's *elbow* in his kidney. And now he'd let them both in for Ray's brand of humor in such situations--he'd just have to keep Turnbull facing away from Ray as they got him to the bathroom.

Turnbull and he had both winced in the light, but could see now; the lamp was a three-light-level type and Ray had turned it only to the lowest setting. "Looks cuddly." Ray wagged his eyebrows. "Think you could bring a little of that up on the bed?"

Turnbull protested "Ray--I was just trying--"

"To pee, I know, and Fraser was in the road. But you're still both awfully pretty like that. Why don't you help him to the can, Frase, he looks weak."

"Ray, control your libido, Turnbull isn't feeling well. And I will help him to the can, he *is* shaking a bit," Fraser said, and managed to lever Turnbull and himself both upright.

"I can go on my own--"

"He doesn't have to hold it for you," Ray said, sitting up too. "Though I could understand if he wanted to--"

"I can go alone," Turnbull said frantically, somehow escaping Fraser's hold and immediately crashing to the floor when he tried to stand.

"T!" Ray said in alarm, getting up to scuttle over around the foot of the cot and help Fraser get the bigger man up. "I'm just kidding with you, sorry. You, uh, turn pink kinda all over when you're embarrassed. That's cute."

"That won't make him feel better, Ray," Fraser glowered at him, reaching down to get Turnbull's other arm around him. "He's uncomfortable about his erection, and he was probably hoping you wouldn't see it."

"Oh. Hey, sorry, T, landing on your immediate naked superior with an immediate naked pee woody probably *is* kinda--oh my *God*." Said woody had been in sight for some time, but Ray hadn't bothered looking until just now, as they got T to his feet.

Turnbull hid his face in Fraser's shoulder.

"That's why he was hoping to get into the bathroom *without* your notice," Fraser sighed. "Keep your eyes in your head, Ray, and let me take him from here."

"Uh, sure. I mean. Wow. That's. Sure. Here." He made sure Fraser had Turnbull steady and released them both. "You *had* better go with him. He's gonna need help holding that thing down."

Turnbull whimpered, Fraser glared at Ray again, said "Put some shorts on, will you, Ray?" and conducted the mortified Mountie into the bathroom, closing the door behind them.

"So, you know Turnbull's horrible secret," Dief said as Ray was fumbling in the dresser.

"I didn't know you were awake."

"I wasn't, until the poor schlub hit the floor when you panicked him."

"I didn't panic him. He panics. That's T."

"He also doesn't panic. As you'll recall from his having pounded the shit out of a couple of guys who'd had guns trained on him, and him armed with nothing but a fountain pen. Or a couple more when he got pissed 'cause they'd made his beloved Inspector fall down in a disgusting alley--"

"Okay, okay, *sometimes* he panics. He was naked, and realized he'd woke up with a pee woody, and I woke up...and okay, I panicked him. You and Fraser obviously knew already."

"Yeah. So does Thatcher. Nobody else in the States, as far as we know."

"Is that why he's kind of...asexual? He's embarrassed about the size of his dong?" Ray wondered, coming over where he could whisper in Dief's ear as he pulled on a pair of sweatpants. He sure felt like covering up *now*, boy. He had nothing to be ashamed of in that department--he came out (and *nobody* could tell him that every other guy in the goddamn world who could get his hands on a measuring tape didn't check, too) an inch or two longer than the standard six, and a decent average width. Fraser was bigger, but still on the human side of the line. But *shit*. T had him feeling practically like a *girl* or something. "That makes no sense. He oughta have a maple leaf flag wavin' from that thing. That's one *hell* of a...thing."

"He's hurt people with it."

Ray froze. "Oh. Ohmigod. And T's so...oh, God. Bad? Like...like seriously bad?"

"From the way he described it, it's more that *he* took it very hard when his partners just finally had to ask him to stop--hard in that he hurt them, not that they made him stop. You gotta understand just how important and emotional sex would be to a human like T, and here he is *hurting* people. With his *dick*. He thinks he's scum."

"But if it was--'Okay, let's give it a try--ouch--okay, let's move this way--hm, still hurts--try it with me on top--ah, damn, I guess this just isn't gonna work, sorry, man.'--which is what it sounds like it pretty much was, from what you say--he's gotta know it wasn't his fault, he quit when they asked, didn't he?"

"Of course he did. The last few, he quit *before* they asked when he saw a suspicious expression--one that might not've been a *good* kind of grimace--or heard a suspicious moan--"

"One that might not've been a good kind of moan."

"Right. That's what he told me--he even said that those three tried to get him to keep going, work it out, find a way to do it good, 'cause sometimes all it takes is hitting on just the right positions for everybody, and one even said it wasn't hurting at *all*, and wanted to know what he thought he was doing, pulling out in the middle--but he refused to try again, those last few times, he was sure it was hopeless, he was just some kind of evil monster dick and never, never again, and he meant it. He hasn't had sex with another person in seven years."

"But that's *nuts*! He never assaulted anybody, never hurt anybody bad, always listened and did just what his partner suggested they try until they finally gave up the actual fucking angle for something else--"

"He doesn't do *anything*, Ray. I told you, he thinks he's personally evil and horrible and hideous in the sex department, that his dong makes him shameful in itself, and by the way, that's part of why he's here. Some of the people he tried with, they were his mountie friends and compatriots."

"Oh my God, he disappointed somebody with power, somebody who only saw his face and his hunky body and that amazing dick, and they sent him here as--"

"He *requested* to be transferred out of Canada to a posting where there'd be only a few mounties present. He couldn't stand the thought of ever running into any of those people again."

"Did they...resent him or something?"

"Well, not much--I think you humans can't help but resent it some if you end up lying there dazed, barely aware of some lingering discomfort and the door slamming behind a half-dressed guy with the coolest dong you'd ever seen. I only *know* what he's told me, but you know...I'm pretty cool in the communication department. I can read T pretty well, and get more out of what he says than just what he says. I think those people must have pitied him, Ray. They could see how sensitive he was, and knew he'd have a horrible time with something like this, never be able to handle the situation very well. They were probably...especially careful of him afterward. But that only played it up, naturally. And he knew that when they looked at him, they weren't seeing *him* anymore--they were seeing a love missile the size of Toledo. And the really rotten thing is, he's likely *right* about *that* much. And he didn't want that with you. He really likes you, Ray. He even finds you attractive. The first time he met you, he and Fraser were doing a little Canadian humor, something you likely wouldn't get, and you didn't; and when Fraser explained the joke to you, you laughed your head off, thought it was a real thigh-slapper--"

"I remember that," Ray said, with a soft smile, as he pulled down the covers on the bed and Dief got up to come sit with him while they talked, so they could keep their voices down, below air-conditioning and Mountie Ear level. "I remember." He absently put his arms out, and Dief hesitated only about a picosecond before moving into them and curling up against Ray, saying "He couldn't stop talking about your smile for *days*. 'Such a beautiful man. Such a beautiful, beautiful smile...' and then he'd get really quiet."

Ray's eyes closed in pain. "Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, and now I've..."

"Turnbull's the warmest-hearted human I may ever have known, though Frannie gives him a close run. He loves Thatcher. She's safe. He knows her no-nonsense attitude makes his big ol' lovin' tool just not an issue to her, even though she's seen it in its glory."

"When was *that*?"

"He wouldn't want that discussed, Ray. Suffice it to say it wasn't sexual, it was just stupid and embarrassing, and they had to see each other to help each other out, it went both ways--but really, I think it made them more comfortable with each other, rather than less. She saw his awful shame and it didn't even make her blink. She made some sympathetic comment about how it must be quite a hassle for him to deal with at times, and that was the end of it; with her it was like, seen, noted and logged, the end. It's really okay. The same way he feels about Fraser. Although since Fraser's a constable too--maybe a couple more stars, maybe more rank in their posting positions--it's a little too close for total comfort and if he had to pick anybody to see him in his skin and a hardon, he'd rather Thatcher. Besides, his love for her is the kind that will never have sex as a component."

"Oh. Is T...?"

"He's bisexual, technically, and he loves women as people--he's actually more comfortable with them, usually--and some of them he's been *very* attracted to, as in get-hot attracted, as well as just liking them. But as a general, everyday thing, he's always mostly preferred men in the getting-hot department. Yes, he told me that. People talk to dogs, Ray, like you said. Even the guy you stand in for talked to me. Anyway, T was so happy when you and Fraser got together. It took you both out of the pool, to him. He didn't have to feel like the little frissons and wiggles he sometimes gets around Fraser, even now, could ever even possibly lead to--as he sees it--disaster. And it meant you were taken, too. Yeah, he's happy as a clam the two of you are together."

"T...um...is somebody I wouldn't mind sharing Fraser with. He's a friend, a friend that good. And who could ever feel threatened by T? He'd be more than welcome to bring his horrible shame he shouldn't be ashamed of around and join us, if you're askin' me, at least."

"Oh, Jesus--don't ever, ever let Turnbull know that, Ray. You'll only finish the ruin you've already begun."

"But I love T." Ray's voice was sounding near like he could cry, after what he'd heard had happened to T and what he was still going through that he hadn't been able to touch another person with good-lovin' intent in seven *years*. "I've done this fucking stupid thing, I gotta help, I gotta fix this somehow, I can't let him be afraid of me. And Fraser, he's already not afraid of him, and there's a ton of stuff we could do that would show him he doesn't need to be afraid of his friggin' dong. Christ, no wonder he's ass-backwards sometimes, I would be too if I feared my own dick. We can show him that he can use it to make people feel good, even if he can't stick it directly into anything below the waist with most people, at least not all the way."

"Jesus fuckin' Christ. Ray. Listen to me. Let him be. If he came to you, that would be one thing. But I don't know what the hell he'd do if he thought you were looking at him and seeing that *thing*, which is how he thinks of it, and he's *already* desperately afraid of that. You've gotta let him know you're like Fraser, like Thatcher, you don't care, it's no big. Just don't treat him any differently at all, and pretty soon...look, that's your best chance, at least, to help him be okay with you again. I don't know if it'll work--you've probably already blown it, since everyone and his literal dog could tell that you think T's got it going for him in a big way, even without the dong issue. He needs your friendship, Ray. Don't blow it because you've been noticing him for a long time, and now this..."

Ray was flabbergasted. "I thought--yeah, this evening, but I was just playin' around, you know, tease the guy sharing a room with a couple of poofs, whether or not he is one. How do you know--that I--"

"Oh, Christ, Ray, you're a *goat*. It's obvious when you're attracted. Your smell changes so much even Fraser can tell. He can also see a lot of things about your behavior that I'd have missed if he hadn't told me about them, 'cause I'm not human. Fraser knows it. He just doesn't mind. He knows everyone you're attracted to, including Frannie. And Thatcher knows you like a nice eyefull of Turnbull, but she just knows his thing looks big, but not much bigger than Fraser's--not porn-hero gigantic--when he's soft; she didn't expect you'd ever know the rest, even leaving him here to recuperate. She probably didn't think you'd all be sleeping naked in the same room. Women would have stayed up longer and gotten things a little more settled before they fell over like bowling pins. In particular they would have put on some kind of pajamas with a guest in the house, and most particularly offered some to said guest, first."

"Uh, Fraser tried in the bathroom, but T passed out on him."

"Explains that. Though I didn't even think T would be able to *keep* from forcing himself to enough consciousness to get some of Fraser's shorts and maybe an undershirt on; it's that important to him, and I was asleep when you brought him in or I'd've made sure Fraser remembered that it was an issue--Fraser doesn't really think about it any more. Which brings us back to my point. You need to not think of it as anything unusual, even though it is, and try to convince him that that's the way you see things."

"Oh," Ray said, and knew he sounded disappointed. And here he'd thought, when he woke and felt the big smooth-skinned, warm presence next to him--and found it was T, and that he was still naked...he'd been careful not to wake him, and gone back to sleep after edging a little closer to the bigger man--he'd thought maybe T had kind of wanted to be naked in bed with Ray, since he still was, even if no sex went on...

So Ray felt like an idiot, on top of everything else. And Dief hadn't finished. "You've gotta do something, Ray, but it can't involve trying to prove to him he's not a monster dick, that he could be--and probably is; that man is desperate to please at *everything*--a real bedroom bonanza. You've gotta let him know he's still the *same* to you. Ray--" Dief sighed. "I love T. He's a rare soul. He's one of my best friends. I don't want to see him have to live in fear of you when he liked you so much. He'll go into a depression that'll probably only be rectifiable by another transfer, and he doesn't want to leave Thatcher and Fraser. He likes his home here. He misses his family sometimes, but he sees them as often as he would have anyway, on leaves and vacations."

"I would *never* hurt T. I could--"

"Not in any way you could help, no. But make any kind of deal at all about his dick, worse than you already have...it may be too late, I admit, there may have to be talking. We'll just have to see."

Ray sat in miserable confusion--he didn't accept Dief's insistence that he couldn't make T see there was nothing monstrous about his dick, it was just really big, and off the scale when he got hard--some guys just *had* those, and it didn't destroy their sex lives. It was *relevant* to their sex lives, your equipment just *is*, but it didn't mean T had to become a porno star anymore than his being tall meant he had to join whatever Canada had for an NBA. He just had to be more careful, do different stuff maybe, use the old imagination a little. It was just that T was so innocent, even if he was no virgin. Innocence was a personality trait with him, not a state of unrectified ignorance.

But he couldn't take the chance on scaring Turnbull even worse, just like Dief said. And it sounded like Fraser wouldn't be exactly helpful and supportive if Ray broached the subject of their trying to show T that his dick, properly used, could be a wonderful thing, not a painful thing; Fraser cared about T, and he wouldn't want to risk the safety Turnbull only felt with him because of Fraser's lack of any (apparent) awareness or interest in the fact that T's dick was a whale-dick kind of dick. The fact that T was a third party at all probably wouldn't even register with Fraser. Hell, it was *Turnbull*. The most non-threatening human being in existence. Well, as long as you didn't piss him off.

"I wanna cuddle him," Ray sighed. "At least. I'll spoon up behind him and keep my hands where they can't bonk it if he gets a high hard one. He'll know I'm not afraid then."

"It's his own desire he's afraid of, and that would only aggravate it!"

"Then I'll give him a two-fisted hand job he'll never forget."

"Ray! Take this seriously, damn it. It's a good man's feelings you're screwing with here. I know you mean well... but--"

"I wanna! T loves cuddling. He cuddles you, even in his uniform. He touches Fraser and Meg whenever he can make it look not on purpose, I've seen that, I'm into body language."

"You're into it with Frase and T, anyway," Dief muttered sourly. "Besides, some part of T touches everything in the room just when he's trying to turn around."

"I *am*, I'm very sensitive to body language. He likes touch."

"Right now, he won't. Let him have the cot, and--"

"He can't sleep on that cot. Fraser is the only one who can be really comfortable on it. I'm just barely too long to get all of me on it unless it's got the mattress on it. Turnbull'd never make it, mattress or not, he's too *big*, on top of too long."

"He'll insist, and he's slept in worse places. Let him have the cot. He won't mind. He can sleep anywhere. He can sleep in a tree."

"That's 'cause he has the enthusiasm of ten because his heart is pure. Right now his heart is scared. He won't sleep a wink."

"Then let him take the bed with Fraser and you take the cot. With the mattress on it, you fit fine."

"That'll just make it look like I'm scared to be in the bed with him!"

Dief pondered. "Shit. That *is* probably what he'll end up thinking. All right, sleep in the bed with him, but no touching. Act like you didn't see a thing. Don't say or do anything different than if you hadn't seen his, uh, criminy, it gets old finding ways to say 'penis'."

"Shuffle through my vocabulary. I got plenty of words for 'penis'."

"Yeah, but you won't catch me saying a good two-thirds of 'em. You get the idea, anyway."

"Yeah, I get what you're saying, but--"

"Shit, here they come." Dief scrambled for the chair, and Ray reluctantly let him go. "Lie down and pretend to be barely awake. Don't pretend to be asleep 'cause he'll see right through that, but groggy, he'll believe. Down. Now."

Ray lay down, now, under the covers. Dief had been alerted by the light streaming from the opening bathroom door; they only barely had time to rearrange themselves.

They came in, Fraser first, and Turnbull was saying "Honestly, sir, I'd prefer the--"

"The cot is too small for you, Turnbull. You've been ill; you need room to relax and get some rest. There, Ray is nearly asleep; just take the other side of the bed. I like the cot; that's why I've kept it, for nights when he's working. Dief is insufferable the next day, but I still sleep on the cot because I like it so well."

"Why is he insufferable?" Turnbull's voice was small, and his dick had calmed with what had to have been a mammoth piss, though Fraser probably had made him drink another tumbler of water and he might have to make another trip. He was wearing the shorts that had been on the towel shelf.

"Because he gets the bed to himself."

"Sir..."Turnbull's voice was entreating.

"Turnbull...it'll be all right. Ray won't bother you. He can be insensitive, it's true--"

Ray would get him for that, Mr. Super-efficient s.o.b.--

"--but he's very fond of you, and he knows he's genuinely upset you. He's sorry. He'll leave you alone. Don't worry. I'll drag the cot around to where you won't trip on it if you have to get up again, and Ray can sleep through anything. If he does anything to bother you, Diefenbaker and I will do him an injury, and he's quite aware of that."

"I appreciate that, sir, but..."

"Turnbull..." Ray, peeking through closed eyes, was startled as hell to see a hug taking place, Fraser rocking Turnbull a little. "You can count on Ray. If nothing else, he won't want to displease *me*, because I can make his life eighty kinds of hell if he does anything so unfeeling as what you're worried about."

"I'm...more worried about me, sir, or rather...about my..."

"He'll be asleep. Just don't face him if you have to get up again. I have t-shirts that I think are long enough to cover...to cover you to the thighs. Let me check the drawer...here we are." An oversized white undershirt, purchased by Ray in a package of X3 shirts by accident, went over Turnbull's head, covering him, as promised, down to the thighs and a bit past. "Better?"

"Yes. Thank you. I'm sorry to be so much--"

"Shh." Fraser hugged him again. "Just lie down. He'll know it isn't me, even asleep, because I sleep naked or in my shorts at this latitude, no matter what time of year it is."

"Oh," Turnbull said, and it sounded a little more like a wondering or surprised "oh" than simple acknowledgement. Must've got a visual, Ray thought, and grinned, then hastily turned the grin into a yawn.

"Frase? You guys back? I got the covers down, T, hope that's okay. Got cold in here with the door closed. You comin' back? You'll never fit on that cot."

"Um..."

"Yes, he is," Fraser said. "I know you auto-cuddle, Ray, but try not to; Turnbull isn't used to it and he needs his rest tonight."

"Oh, sure. I'll stay on my side. Here you go..." he patted the pillow next to him, then rolled over to face the wall.

He felt the bed dip and was almost conscious of Fraser's relief; he must have kept them in there a bit so that Dief could explain the situation. He didn't know whether to feel comfy-cozy that he and Frase had that--had had it even before the sex and living-in thing--or pissed that Fraser didn't trust him any farther than to be so relieved he wasn't acting like an asshole. Then again, he *had* had to be convinced by Dief to leave Turnbull alone...

Not that he'd ever said he totally completely would.

Maybe groping the guy was a bad idea, but T was his friend. Ray couldn't let him think he was a horrible person and didn't dare unleash his dick around innocent people for fear it would do someone damage he couldn't control. He already *had* controlled it, every time, stopped when asked, stopped *before* asked, never even *started*, and et cetera. He couldn't let T think he had to go through life with no sex, meaning no relationship--such as whatever sort of marriage; T could have it either way--that entailed sex. T was someone who would be so terribly sad at that idea, Ray had no idea how he could be so cheerful all the time.

Well, he probably jerked off a lot, but that would only relieve that particular pressure, not get him close with someone to share himself with. He had to be envious of all the couples happening around him--his co-mounties, most of his friends...it had to make him sad, knowing he'd never have that, no matter how brave a face he put on it. Thatcher and Fraser were trying to be as kind as they knew how, but both of them had emotional-retardedness problems. They couldn't get that you don't leave a friend in that state, even when it's what they seem to want and it's what you'd want yourself...

...well, at least, S. Raymond Kowalski fucking didn't.

He turned his shoulders, reached over and stroked Turnbull's hair. "I love you, T. Get some sleep." His voice was offhand-sleepy, and he just pulled his arm back and settled down again, no fanfare.

There was a silent moment, and then Turnbull whispered "I love you too, Ray. Thank you."

T knew. He knew Ray knew, and was *not* going to see nothing but a giant penis when he looked at Turnbull. He was also going to drop the let's-all-boff jokes until and unless he thought he could get a genuine yes out of Turnbull.

People, he thought, who didn't like T, were all too ready to believe he was an idiot; and people who did like him were all too ready to fall down trying to take care of him, such that they discounted the facts that the guy was, in a good number of disparate spheres, capable and reasonable, and definitely smart.

But Ray knew T was smart. Ray didn't count that factor out. Ray knew people meant well when they did it--Gods knew, Fraser meant well when he made Ray so goddamn mad he could punch him to the goddamn *moon*. People forgot that Ray was smart, and in some ways that was Ray's fault; letting them think he wasn't that bright got him out of a lot of obnoxious shit and came in handy in other ways, especially in investigating, especially if he was undercover--in a less general way than the overarching gig he was covering at the moment. But he knew that it wasn't hard to make people think you were dumber than you were, and that T probably had some good reasons to use that particular little fakeout. He was a divergent thinker, and he'd probably been given a healthy dose of just what it was like to be a different sort of person in this batshit-boring xenophobic world. Better just to make yourself overlooked, by and large.

Ray was going to get him alone, and they were going to drop the fakeout. Just the two of them. Nobody else had to know. They'd be the only two who knew. They wouldn't tell Fraser, Megs, Frannie, Welsh, *hell* not Welsh; nobody at all.

And once that was understood, they'd have a little talk about a not-so-little problem.

***

"Hi, T."

"Hello, Ray." Turnbull smiled at him. For the last two weeks, Ray had been absolutely no different with Turnbull, and it hadn't been as hard as he thought it would be. He knew how to *lie*, of course, lying was no problem; it just wasn't as easy to be *himself*, yet *not*. His first inclination every time he saw T was to kind of bound up to him and stand in front of him grinning like a fool for no reason. But he'd managed to reliably fake his own usual behavior, no doubt backed up by Fraser, who seemed quite pleased with him for having made no mention of T's "problem" even in private, nor taken any opportunities for comment that presented themselves.

'Fraser,' Ray thought, 'I love you, but sometimes you're just a little too let's-not-talk-about-it for your friends' good. You and Meg are both giving T what you'd want in his position. But what you'd want wouldn't be all you needed to settle for--you especially suck about that, Benton buddy, settling for, have all your life. You and Megs both are both pretty stoppered up. You're great guys, and I love you, but I'm T's friend too, and I don't need anybody's permission to help a friend if I think it's the right thing to do.'

He'd kept telling himself that all the way over. T didn't belong to Fraser and Meg. Even if they had more rank, Turnbull was not their child or their property. The fact that Ray was risking the very real possibility of serious repercussions from Meg--and Frannie, if she found any of it out--and, worst by far, of Fraser, was inescapable, but he'd made up his mind. He was going to let Turnbull know there was somebody he could talk about it with besides Dief--who, while a good friend, wasn't human, and couldn't fully understand what this would mean to someone like T. Turnbull probably told himself that since he had so many nieces and nephews and sisters, all of whom loved and/or doted on him, he didn't need anything more in the area of family, and he was lucky to have so much. That wasn't wrong, so much as not right *enough*. Turnbull *could* have it all. He just had to learn how to not be *afraid* of such an important part of his own body.

"Fraser says you don't have to do that dinner thing at the Balfour tonight."

"No, thank heavens," Turnbull smiled. "No one but the officer serving as consul and her second are required; I had the option, as I'm basically the rest of the RCMP staff, but fortunately I was allowed to turn it down. I do enjoy the dinners when they're well done, but you wouldn't believe the mistakes they make both in cooking and serving at the Balfour. It's nothing but an exercise in frustration. The inspector doesn't care--she's too busy making sure we're well-represented here to care much about the food or the serving either one--but Constable Fraser is in for an annoying evening, I'm afraid. Fortunately he dismisses such things easily."

"Yeah. Hey, he's partnering with me, ain't he?"

"You're an exception to quite a few rules, Ray." Turnbull gave him a to-die-for shy smile, and Ray felt like a shit. Lure the guy in, then make him deal with what he was gonna make him deal with.

He mustered his assholishness and went on jovially "Well, I'm gonna be at loose ends; Dief's at the Reilly's kennel again doing stud duty--apparently the longer legs he gets from the wolf part are actually an advantage if you mix 'em down once more with husky and you're careful not to let the cubs imprint "prey" on anything but a sack of Purina; he's been out there a few times a year for a while now. I love my turtle, but turtles aren't much on conversation, and I've gotten spoiled--everything on TV tonight looks like hell. I wondered if you wanna have dinner. We can go out, or I can take us to the grocery store, you can point out what to buy, and spend an irritating evening trying to teach me to cook again, instead of being frustrated by poorly served bad food with the wrong wine. Whattaya think?"

"I think going out sounds pleasant. I'm afraid it's been quite a long couple of weeks, what with the heat and all; I'm barely up to my own kitchen these days."

"I bet. Where sounds good? I'm buying."

"Oh, Ray, that's not necessary. We can go to a nicer place if we split the check."

"You want a nice place? We can do nice. Um, that tea and scones place you like--like that?"

"I was thinking more of the Commonsard."

"Ooh. A suit place."

"We don't have to--if you'd rather something more casual. I always have a good time with you, Ray."

Ray smiled, looking like he knew he felt--a little pink. "That's...that's nice of you, T." God, please don't say shit like that or I'll kill myself. "But bring something to change into, and come back to our place after. We can't really hit anything but insanely overpriced bars after if we're all tarted up, and I think I'm gonna feel like a drink." And like feeding you a few, too.

"Oh, certainly. That would be delightful. Perhaps Meg and Francesca could join constable Fraser when he comes home, and--"

"I think Frannie will be wanting to get the hell home after that dinner-panel-hell thing." As Meg's wife, she was going to be there; it turned out that the lovely and mid-high-ranked Inspector--having married an equally lovely young woman--had, rather than becoming persona non grata, become, with said wife, very popular as a recruiting, advertising, and general PR asset to the RCMP. That they were both quite attractive and "feminine" in appearance helped, Ray was willing to bet. If Meg had married a diesel dyke, he bet the RCMP would have been instituting "no spouses" rules all over Chicago for such functions. And Meg's being so photogenic just had the recruiters and PR people dancing in the streets about the whole thing. There was talk of her being made a Superintendent soon, which would make her the youngest person ever to attain that rank who'd started where she had. She might be recalled home, then, or maybe not; in any case, right now, she was useful where she was.

At this function, the heads of consulates from all over the city would be meeting in goodwill-ambassadoring, rule-and-diplomacy-privileges-examining, and some short panel discussions toward that end, as well as the dinner. Meg was to be on nearly every panel, her beaming and beautiful wife in the first row of attendees with the other spouses.

Frannie hadn't got the mountie she'd thought she wanted for so long, but damn, she'd sure got more of what she wanted out of life than she ever would have had as Fraser's wife, Ray reflected, not for the first time. He was just glad for her sake she was so pretty. It was an exceedingly ugly fact that an ugly wife would not have been looked on with nearly the joy for the PR opportunity as Frannie was. The fact that she was from the States--that Meg had basically brought home a woman yank and married her--could have been bad; but fortunately, the US's behavior about such things lately was making it look so grossly uncultured to be homophobic that the idea of a young, pretty, family-minded woman fleeing to Canada to escape repression in the states, well...it had its uses.

If Meg had been with the CIC or some weird-ass thing like that, or if her wife had not been planning to change nationalities completely when Thatcher was reposted in Canada as she did, that might not have been so good; but Meg was with the RCMP, and if Frannie's family was going to (officially, at least) throw her out like bad rubbish for marrying a woman, she had no pressing reasons to remain a US citizen, since hell, Chicago wasn't that far from Ottawa or Toronto by plane. She wouldn't be forced to change nationalities or give up her job at the station--and helping Ray with the cover--until Meg was no longer Chicago's consular head; Frannie's stated intent to do so on moving permanently to Canada was sufficient, and understandable.

"Yes, Francesca...is always...pleased by the Inspector's....conduct at such functions," Turnbull said, waaaay too carefully. Frannie watching Meg in her dress uniform--damn but she loved those uniforms--being the stud muffin Meg was among other consuls and ambassadors, generally turned Frannie into a raving sex-starved lunatic. (Once out of the public eye, of course. She was the picture of decorum until then.) Meg usually kind of wobbled around and wore scarves wrapped in odd places for a few days after bringing Frannie to such functions. Lucky asshole, Ray chuckled to himself, but he was just as lucky, and he knew it. God, he knew it.

Which brought him back to, what were we doing? Oh yes--fucking that up, trying to seduce Fraser's subordinate. Well, not seduce. Kind of seduce.

Ah, screw it. Whatever happened.

"So we'll go and have ourselves a nice dinner, then go back to my place and be guys with drinks and bad TV. You can stay over if you need to. Fraser loves his freakin' cot."

"Oh...no, that won't be necessary. I'll get a cab, if you don't feel you're up to driving me," Turnbull said, his gaze slipping downward, the smile shrinking dramatically. Of course, he'd think at once of the last time he'd stayed over at their place.

"I like sleepin' with you," Ray said offhandedly. "Fraser hogs the bed and talks in his sleep."

"Oh, not that much. I've shared accommodations with him. He's not bad."

"Nah, not really, I'm just yanking him. I do like sleeping with you, though. I did, a couple weeks ago. I was just sorry you felt so rotten from that heat exhaustion thing. How's the air conditioning working for you?"

"I use it as instructed," Turnbull said, with a smirk. "The Inspector came over and permanently locked the controls with the timer--I could fix that, but I wouldn't dare--so that I can't turn it all the way off; only down to a certain point, and only during hours of absolute darkness. I have to admit, even with the noise, I've been sleeping much better in the cool, and my little neighborhood friends are always waiting for a rest in the cool and a dish of cold water with their snack when I get home for lunch, just as they know where to come on nights when the temperatures go below freezing."

Many cats, over time; once two escaped pet rats of cream-color with gold splotches (he had them examined, then bought them a rat maze at once and taken them to a pet store, before they could catch anything that would necessitate their destruction); one or two dogs; and occasionally human children who either had no human caretakers or didn't receive much care had attached themselves to Turnbull. He variously found them homes if they were clearly without such, or, every now and then, he would see if he, Fraser or Dief could get one or more of them to explain their situation so that Turnbull would know whether to take them in for shots and tags (or to bring in Child Welfare or not), so he'd be called if animal control picked them up, or if they already had to-that-degree-neglectful owners on whom the two mounties would then lean until such measures were taken. Making themselves obnoxious as hell for the best and purest of reasons was something, according to Ray, they were quite good at, and they had no problem using the talent in a good cause, occasionally sharing secret fits of hilarity over it with Ray. Turnbull couldn't keep all his little nonhuman friends as pets, but he could help, and they all knew that if they were sick or hurt, they had a place to go. (Children in the neighborhood knew this, too, and would occasionally come find him at work, where he would quickly be forced to call Fraser and/or Ray to come and help.) Ray had come there with him in the evenings on occasion for some reason, usually involving Dief, and there they'd all be, sitting along the wall under the eve that led up to his doorstep. If it was raining hard or snowy, they'd be on the trestles under said wooden doorstep, waiting quietly, none of them raising a claw or hackle to another.

There was just no end to the sweetheart Turnbull could be, Ray thought. Some woman or man or whatever he *wanted* ought to be counting their lucky stars to have someone so thoughtful, and here he was, afraid of his...well. Afraid of any situation that might bring certain subjects up. God, the poor guy probably couldn't think it himself, either.

"That's good." Ray leaned over from where he was perched on the edge of T's desk and laid a hand on his shoulder. "I worry about you down here. All your family out of reach, nobody but a couple of nutcases, me, nutcase dog, some more nutcases at the station--"

He was grinning, and Turnbull was forced to blush and smile again. "But nutcases that make excellent friends."

"Yeah," Ray said, and let his hand rub up and down a little on Turnbull's shoulder. "Nutcases we love to death. When should I pick you up?"

"I'll need time to shower and change--the Inspector may need me to do a few extra things this evening...eight o'clock?"

"Eight is good. I can get a reservation still, I think. If I have to make it for nine or something, I'll tell you, but I got contacts." He grinned, then suddenly leaned forward and kissed Turnbull's forehead. "Lookin' forward to it."

"Oh, I am too, of...of course," T blinked, his head bobbing a little with the force of the kiss. Ray had never done that before. Gay men, quite including the butch ones, could be very kissy, as Turnbull had every reason to know, but Ray personally never had been. Ray hoped he hadn't pushed things right over; as he'd noted before, T was not stupid. Selectively smart at worst.

"Love ya." He winked at Turnbull as he pushed the door open and headed back out to his car.

Turnbull had been smiling. Thank God.

***

"This is nice."

"I thought you might like it. Do you want to try to pronounce it again?"

"Hell, no, the look on your face the first time I tried was bad enough." Ray sipped from his wineglass again. "At least I know it's the perfect thing to compliment whatever I just ate. And I don't want to hear you pronouncing that again, either. 'Baked fish' is real good with me. I had some really great fresh baked fish. With a wine that tastes good, instead of like it evaporates on your tongue and you gotta look for your water before you can take another bite."

"Yes, I know you don't favor the very driest vintages."

"How? Never mind. Fraser."

"Yes, he complains to me from time to time about trying to get you to eat somewhat besides that which is less healthy than its own packaging, and to appreciate something more complex than batch-fried finger food. Not that there's anything intrinsically *wrong* with finger food." He popped another cocktail shrimp into his mouth.

The table was covered with seafood, or the remains of it, at least. Ray wondered if he was being too obvious, but didn't even think of the connection until too late and so blamed the fact that he was in the mood for "fish, stuff that goes with that, stuff that swims" because of the weather. "But if they bring anything that still has the prickles on it, you're eating it."

Turnbull's response had been a snort and an assurance that you probably couldn't get puffer fish or anemone or anything like it anywhere other than Japan or Pacifica without paying a couple of weeks salary for it. So he'd let Turnbull order, and even keeping economy in mind, they'd ended up with an appetizer plate which Turnbull was still slipping bits from, and a tasty single plate dinner each, with a couple of dishes of dipping sauce, and of course the wine, which they were now working on the second bottle of.

"I'm glad you like wine, at least. Fraser pretty much doesn't drink unless it's to the queen. Why the hell is that? That if you drink to the queen it has to be alcoholic?"

"I believe that in toasts at wedding celebrations, or to your monarch, non-alcoholic beverages are supposed to render the toastee equally 'impotent' as it were, alcoholic drinks being considered 'potent'."

"So if you do it at weddings there'll be no kids and no general getting wealthy and comfortable, and if you do it to your monarch it's like wishing the country to be impotent and wussy."

"That covers it, yes, I believe."

"I, uh, got a couple bottles of a wine someone recommended to me at home. You wanna help me decide if they were worth the bucks?"

"You spent the money on good wine and you want to share it with *me*? Shouldn't you be asking Fraser?"

"He's got the mighty wine palate, all right, but you're better with just...does it freaking *taste* good or not. Like this stuff. I bet it's a dessert wine. Besides, I don't wanna have to tune Fraser out if he looks at it like I'm holding a glass of Night Train under his nose."

"This is a table wine, light and very sweet for its type. I thought you might appreciate that. Dessert wines are stronger."

"See, you're more interested in that I like it than that I learn something from it. I wanna find out if I should spend the money on the wine I got at home again, and I'd rather do it with you than Fraser, who will tell me just whether and just why I ought to buy it again, instead of letting me decide if it tastes like sweat and I don't like it, or it tastes like...like--"

"Something more flavorful."

"Yeah, I like good wine as much as Fraser, but our definitions of good are totally different. He thinks good is about eighty stages of preparation done just right, I think good is--it was worth not just picking up some Cream Soda instead."

Turnbull laughed softly. He was a little pink with wine, and relaxed with after-dinner kick-back effect. He was so relaxed and cute.

And Ray was gonna blow it. He was.

Just ALL to hell for him, a nice evening like T got so rarely, just *ruined*.

Ah, fuck. He couldn't do that. They'd just go back, drink the wine, watch some sports channels, and Ray would wait 'til Fraser got back and let Frase take T home. Who did he think he was anyway, Dr. Ruth?

Maybe the way to approach this was Fraser. Fraser might be able to convince T that there was no reason to be afraid of talking about it, that Ray didn't see him as nothing but a big...hell, Dief was right, it got old coming up with ways to say that over and over, even in your head. *Thing*, dick, convince him that Ray didn't see T as a talking penis, and that he was worried because he didn't think T needed to go celibate forever. He was even willing to help him experiment. The fact was he was way *more* than willing to help him experiment, but it was because it was *Turnbull*, not because of the, er. Issue. Turnbull's issue. But could Turnbull see that, or would he only think Ray had come to see him as a fascinating freak he wanted to "experiment" with only for his own perverted reasons?

No way to tell if Fraser would even have any part of it. He'd just have to see, if it came to it.

Ray snitched the last shrimp, chomped it, and double-dipped it, earning him a smirk from Turnbull. "You do those things when Fraser's not around on purpose, don't you," Turnbull said.

"Well, sure," Ray said, with a genuinely puzzled look. Eating at a nice restaurant without Fraser was like going to the grocery store without your parents. You did (bought) stuff just because you *could*, just because they weren't there to lecture.

"Still, double-dipping is beneath even your sense of decorum, Ray. I think it's against the rules of propriety even at Pizza Hut."

"I don't have any nasty germs to share. You may dip after me."

"You finished the shrimp.

"So I did. Another faux pas, I should've asked if you wanted it. Forgive me."

Grinning, they paused while the table was cleared except for their wine and the glass or so still chilling in the bucket next to the table, their second bottle of the evening. Despite that, they were only relaxed, not drunk; T was huge and not an absolute teetotaler, and Ray drank beer several times a week and it too more than a few glasses of wine to get the best of him. Two regular-sized bottles of fairly sweet wine weren't going to have them tripping on their way out the door.

They finished the wine, splitting it this time, while they went over the check, left sufficient money for check and tip in the little leather gizmo, and rose to their feet, both of them with the expressions of humans checking to see if they were going to need to walk carefully.

"I'm gonna unload my bladder," Ray said. "You need to?"

"I, uh. Of course." Turnbull followed Ray without blinking an eyelash beyond that initial brief hesitation, and in the men's room he headed straight for a stall, closing the door behind him.

Well, Ray'd noticed before that he did that, but assumed it was just shy T. Now he knew why. He wondered how the poor guy had ever made it in barracks--kept himself at a constant level of near-dehydration, he supposed, and/or the total mindless stark fear of an erection might be enough to keep one from happening for any other reason, at least in Turnbull's case. Ray wasn't sure how old Turnbull had been at the time--hell, he wasn't sure how old Turnbull was *now*, except that Ray couldn't see him being much over thirty.

And besides, right now, there was always whiskey dick to count on. Ray supposed he must just use stalls all the time out of habit, just to be safe.

"You think we need a cab?" he called as he was retucking himself. There was the sound of a flush.

"Walking is wonderful for the digestion," Turnbull offered, emerging from the stall. "It isn't far. It's nice outside now, if one doesn't mind a bit of mugginess."

There was more than a bit of mugginess, but they were going to change clothes at Ray's, so who cared. "Great. Walk sounds good. Burn off some of that butter sauce, maybe some wine, so I'll be able to appreciate that stuff I bought. Or not, if it stinks. This is pathetic, you know. A guys' night getting tilted on fine wine."

"Well," Turnbull shrugged, and grinned. "I'm told it goes with the territory."

Jesus, was Turnbull making a reference to his non-straightness? Or only Ray's? Ray just grinned back and they proceeded out, to cordial good-evenings from their wait staff and the maitre d'. This was a nice place, but not too "nice" to be friendly to the likes of him and Turnbull.

***

The walk had been nice, actually; the air was even smelling pretty decent this evening. Of course, they were just barely tipsy, and in the mood to laugh, and give everything the benefit of the doubt. But it had been good to get in out of the mug, as well, when they arrived at Ray's where the A/C was on. After they'd changed, Turnbull had opened one of the two bottles Ray removed from the fridge to show him, and they'd settled on the couch with their glasses. The TV was on, but they hadn't turned off the mute yet.

"Ain't this more fun that that dinner panel thing?" Ray grinned, resting his head on the back of the couch with his eyes closed.

"Oh, my, yes. I feel positively awful for constable Fraser. He's a consular second now due to...his circumstances, since he couldn't be recalled with the other civilian staff when the operational methods of Chicago's consulate changed, and his rank is unusually low for such a position, which could be read as a compliment to him, to those who don't know those circumstances--most don't, outside RCMP members closely associated with the events that led up to his being posted here. He'll be deflecting questions all night, not to mention admirers," Turnbull added in a mutter, his lips twisting in a half-amused, half-annoyed smirk.

Ray chuckled. "Yeah, I bet you're the guy to know, too--*except* when Mr. Tripped-on-a-cloud-lump-and-fell-to-earth is around."

Turnbull's acknowledging this via a smirk, rather than deflecting it with the flexible-drawn-brow look that said "I'm sorry, I was born of an immaculate conception, I don't understand you at all" as he usually would have, proved he was a leeeeetle drunk. "Well, in any case, he does have to deal with that aggravation, while I'm spared it this evening, at least. Anyway, administrative duty may be something I personally enjoy--though I admit I can't think of any duty I've been given that I actually hated, with the possible exception of giving myself heat exhaustion--but it *is* something we all have to do for a brief time at *some* point; it's de rigeur that we all take a turn baking the bread and driving the buses, as in many law enforcement organizations. Until we reach a certain age, at which point we usually finish our careers with the RCMP in administration--in higher-ranking positions, or course--that call only occasionally for direction of our underlings in the field. Much as your city police. That's a very rough outline, of course."

"And I bet you guys fight that permanent desk tooth and nail, just like we do."

"Mm. Harder."

"So what do you think? Was I told nasty horrible lies here?" Ray swished his glass and had another sip.

"You appear to like it quite well, at least. Perhaps your advisor was recommending for you, rather than in general. Who was it, by the way?"

"Frannie."

"Recommending for you," Turnbull chuckled. He sipped, too. "And yes, I do like it. Crisp, but not too dry."

"Kinda like Fraser."

Turnbull smirked and sipped again.

"Can I ask you a personal question, T?"

"Mm." Turnbull was sipping again, so Ray took the noise as acquiescence.

"I, uh...I never see you with a girl. Or a guy. Or I guess I should say 'woman' at our age. My age. You're younger. A little, at least. But you go to these cooking things, and the doily-tatting thing, and you do the junior hockey thing with other instructors, and the public-safety gun thing and the sharpshooting thing--anyway, you meet people at work and outside work, people who are interested in the same things you are, and it just seems like, you know...you're likeable. *Plants* like you. My *turtle* recognizes your voice, and he'll barely bother to talk to *Fraser*, even, he's kind of a snot--I mean the turtle. It just seems like..." there was coldness emanating from the other side of the couch, but Ray couldn't tell if it was anger or nerves or what, and he blundered on. "...you get out, and people like you, and...well, I just kind of wondered. If I'm rude, pretend I didn't say anything." He hoped, mildly drunk as he was, that this wouldn't be enough to rattle Turnbull--if the guy had a story he used for that question, it left him open to use it, or to invent one, or just to tell Ray he didn't like to talk about such things--his modesty thing, that he did so well. But maybe he did want to talk about it, and Meg, well, just no way, and Fraser, well, no real help there; the guy was in serious need of love advice himself, or at least he had been until Ray. Maybe T was appreciating their quiet 'cause he thought they were both inept-but-lucky in the love department and liked that they were handling his secret shame by totally ignoring it, 'cause he frankly didn't think they'd be much in the way of help. Or maybe Ray had just acted like a real big butt. Too late now. He stuck his nose in his glass and prayed as Turnbull looked at him.

Then T leaned forward on the couch, slowly, resting his elbows on his knees, and letting his head hang a bit. He let out a long sigh. "Ray. Is this by any chance leading up to a come-on?"

"Huh?" Ray stared. What the--then he thought. Wining and dining, directions the conversation had taken that evening, more wine at home instead of stopping at a bar for a glass or three just to round out the evening...nice restaurant...but Turnbull had picked the fancy place. Turnbull drank the wine, even ordered it, knowing what kinds of effects it would or would not have on him. They'd done things together before, and he'd never asked Ray if...

Ray tried "Look, buddy, you chose the Commonsard, not me, and I said fine when you wanted to do dutch treat. I've been living with your, uh, Fraser for over half a year. Why would you wonder if it was a come-on? Has somebody been saying--?"

"No--" Turnbull leaned back and rested against the sofa back, but he was too tall to rest his head on the back without scooting so far down his ass would fall off the cushions, so he just let his head droop over his wineglass. "No. Please don't pretend you don't know why I'm asking."

He deserved that much. "Okay. You're making sure I'm not a size queen who's fascinated by your..."

"Call it whatever you like. It all gets old after a time. Believe me, I know."

"...by the size of your erect penis," Ray enunciated carefully, eliciting a small, winey snort from Turnbull. "No, I do not want to have relations with anything that, if it could bend around enough, would come out my mouth if it were stuffed up my ass--" Turnbull winced, and oh, brilliant, you stupid fuck, Ray. He finished more quietly "And...and no, I'm not just fascinated by it in general. Really."

"That is a lie. Everyone who finds out is at least interested. I can answer a few of your questions right now. No, I don't faint because all the blood rushes out of my head when it gets hard--it just doesn't take that much blood. Yes, it is pretty easy to get rid of it when I don't want one, because most of the reasons I don't want one involve pain if I don't get rid of it, which I do not find any kind of a turn on and in fact can lose an erection just *thinking* about; yes, I have been given nicknames because of it, and no, I'm not going to tell you even *one* of them; no, I do not--"

"Turnbull! Wait, hold it, it's not like that. Yeah, your dick is pretty amazing. I guess you could say I'm interested in it, but only as far as it affects...your life, now. You're my friend. I think you...you have a problem related to having this dick. When it's soft, you look damn well hung, yeah--but it doesn't give a clue that you get anywhere near that big when you're hard, and I have told nobody, and will tell nobody, so don't think you've been outed to the world or anything. I'll never breathe a word. It's just that I think it's a problem for you. I think you don't have anybody to talk to about it except a wolfdog, and that just ain't--"

Turnbull's eyes closed in furious chagrin. "Diefenbaker. I simply *must* kill Diefenbaker. If that blasted creature weren't off bitch-hopping at the only blasted sled dog breeding establishment within a hundred miles, I would wring his miserable neck. It was Diefenbaker who put you up to this, wasn't--"

"No, it was NOT! It was Dief who told me there was a problem, and then he told me on no uncertain terms that the problem meant I was to leave you utterly and completely alone about it. He told me the story, in outline, but the parts that were important, at least. Then he told me that all that was why I hadda *never* say anything to you about it, do the routine--well, it's not a routine, it's just what they do--Megs and Fraser are doing. No big deal. Leave it alone. I know it reassures you they still see you as you, not as a big penis, but...I don't wanna deal with the knowledge that way. I *know* you're suffering when you *shouldn't* have to be suffering, taking blame you shouldn't take, and punishing the hell out of yourself for something that's not even remotely your fault. I don't got any caribou stories, and I can't make you smile just by patting your back like Meg can. All I can do is tell you that I'm your friend, I'm worried about you, and I want to tell you what I think you ought to hear, cause nobody's saying it to you."

"Oh, and what exactly might *that* be, Dr. Ray?" Turnbull demanded, turning to face Ray on the couch, throwing an arm over the back. It was encouraging; it didn't look like a prelude to getting up or to killing Ray or to totally withdrawing. It looked like T was willing to have *some* kinds of words about this, even if only briefly.

"First off, I love you. You believe that?"

Turnbull blinked, then blushed, his gaze, bright with wine and agitation, dropping to the couch cushions. "Yes," he whispered, the power going out of his chesty voice and the familiar Turnbull softness returning.

"Do you trust me?"

Turnbull was quiet a moment. Under ordinary circumstances, Ray knew the answer would have been an instant yes, but right now...well, T didn't trust *anybody* but Fraser and Meg and Dief about this, and what he trusted them to do was not care and never mention it, even in terms of how it affected Turnbull's life. "I...don't believe you'd willingly *hurt* me over anything, Ray. I just..." he shook his head, lips pressed together, staring into the distance, looking on the edge of quiet tears, and jeez, so young.

Ray took a deep breath. "So you know--" he reached over across the couch back and rested his hand on the big, warm biceps in the Henley shirt that Turnbull was wearing over his jeans, "that when I get touchy or generally personal it's not 'cause I'm making any kind of comment on your...body, right?"

Turnbull gave a brief laugh, still looking at the couch cushions. "There was a time I would have wished you would try, would make such comments, would follow up--if it weren't for...for the issue."

"Really?" Ray smiled.

Turnbull looked up. "Ever since I saw you laugh, after we were introduced." He shrugged and looked toward the TV, but vacantly, just as someplace to rest his gaze, not like he was watching it. "I fell in love with your smile. I imagine you must hear that, or similar sentiments, quite often."

"No, I don't," Ray said softly. "I don't. Thank you."

"Well. You have a beautiful smile." Turnbull killed the wine in his glass and got up, out from under Ray's hand, and went into the kitchen where the open bottle was. Ray heard the glugging of wine with half a cork floating in the bottle trying to pour past the cork, which cork had ruptured in Ray's attempts to get it out with the corkscrew. He never had been much good at that.

Turnbull said "Did you know I was married once?"

Ray gulped. "No. I...no. Can I ask...?"

"I wouldn't have brought it up just to leave it there. Her name was Kelsey. She went by Kel or Kellie. She was a very gentle person...very quiet. She...was pretty, and very...very feminine. I was afraid to touch her, almost, because she seemed so delicate. She was like a flower. Like a lily, very fair, and...she had very green eyes. I hoped our children would have her eyes. Washed-out blue is such a common color. Fraser's eyes aren't even completely blue, they're grey-blue, like mine, but a very deep shade, even and dark and beautiful...her eyes were green like that. So large. She had a...small face, with little bones, she...weighed maybe half what I do. About a hundred pounds, or a bit over. About five feet, three or four inches tall. Blonde hair. Shiny and smooth, the palest natural hair I've ever seen. She had a little nose. A little baby nose." He sipped from his glass, holding it carefully in both hands. "She thought I was...sweet. She felt safe with me, she said, because I was such a gentleman, and...she loved my way with animals, though she was afraid of most of them herself...I never bothered to say that I could talk to many of them, not because I was ashamed of it, but because...I think she knew. It just isn't the kind of thing that you can really talk about. She knew...that despite being so large, and physically capable in combat, different sorts of skills I practiced...that I was...much like her."

"You are, it sounds like. Very...very much like her." Ray had a feeling he knew where this was going, and he was starting to feel sick already.

"Thank you. She was lovely, Ray. She wanted children, and so did I. But she had been raised...she was Catholic, and she...it was easy for me to respect her boundaries. Some men might have found it more difficult, but I didn't. They were right for her. And the last thing I ever wanted to do...was upset her."

Oh God. Here it comes, Ray thought.

"We...kissed...we touched, gently, we held each other for...oh, for hours. When she smiled at me, I felt like I was...was the best person in the world, because someone like Kel--the only person alive just like Kel--loved me, and--and liked how I--how I honestly respected her. She'd had men treat her with decent respect, of course, but she knew I was different. And I thought she was bright, and funny, and well worth listening to, because she was well read and thoughtful, and..." he took a shuddering breath. "And always knew the right thing to say to me."

"What happened?" Ray said gently. Might as well get it over with, let T know that he understood T'd pretty much worshiped this woman, girl, T hadn't mentioned how old they were. "But tell me how old you were, first."

"I was twenty-two. She was twenty."

"And you were getting married...when? You said you *were* married..."

"In my mind, we spent more than twenty-four hours as husband and wife, Ray. But legally...we were never married."

It hit Ray, in a horrible rush. "She was an old-fashioned girl. She saved it for the wedding night. And when she saw..."

"She burst into tears and fled into the bathroom of our hotel suite."

"Oh, Jesus," Ray whispered.

"I tried to...I tried to reassure her, tried to get her to come out and talk--but she must have realized the same things I did, over that night, all that night that she wouldn't come out of the bathroom. Not once. She *was* an old-fashioned girl, Ray, and had been in a very well-respected Catholic boarding school from about grade three."

He sighed. "But the next morning, she came out of the bathroom and sat down next to me on the floor, where I had been sleeping by the door, and woke me. She explained to me that she simply couldn't handle what it would take to live with me and...keep me satisfied...and as far as having children with me...Kel couldn't even bear..." T closed his eyes and tears dripped. "She couldn't bear the thought of what we would have to do...doctor's offices, clinical procedures...this act of love she had made so special and perfect in her mind, to have children between us--she couldn't let it be turned into that. She cried, quietly, and she spoke on through it, telling me calmly why she couldn't do this. Couldn't...marry me.

"She knew she had limitations. She just thought she had found the perfect man, a man who truly wouldn't *mind* her limitations, who seemed to feel the same way about these things as she did, and would be as happy in what would make her happy as she would. Everyone looks for that, Ray--for compatibility. She thought she'd found it."

"And this one thing--one thing, *just* that your--your penis was so big--"

"You've seen it, Ray. It's not just big. It's literally monstrous. People have told me they have never seen in any sort of porno movie a man with an erect penis any larger than mine unless it was a fake."

"Geez god..." Ray let his forehead fall to his arm on the sofa back.

"It's freakishly huge, Ray."

"I hear you! I...I hear you, T. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell. But I've seen it, and it didn't scare me. Set me back, yeah, but not scared me."

"You weren't Kellie."

"No. No, I can see that. I can guess the rest of this, T. You guys got dressed--"

"She went back into the bathroom so that I could dress--we were both in bathrobes--and asked me to leave the suite for fifteen minutes while she dressed."

"You're kidding."

He shook his head. "That wasn't an odd request for Kellie. She was very..."

"Very warped by the nuns and her family. I'd like to hate her for making you annul the marriage the morning after the ceremony, but...I admit I feel kinda sorry for her. I knew girls..." he sighed, and wondered where some of those girls were today. Still lying back and thinking of England? Without the power to even say no, because the church prohibited that?

"She would have little intervals of quiet crying for days after she had even regular trips to the doctor, Ray. After...after pelvic examinations, she often couldn't come out of her room for much but meals. All women hate those, but she was really debilitated by them."

Ray knew he and Stella had been no older, certainly, but they were both vastly more worldly. There had been the Pill, and easily accomplished checks and tests for diseases or any abnormalities--just standard, just to have the info, no big deal--and lube and toys involved in their wedding night, which had actually taken place the following morning because they'd been too beat by all the fooferaw and the plane trip to their honeymoon in Niagara Falls--kind of pedestrian, Stella had acknowledged with a shrug, but it wasn't as though they couldn't take a more interesting trip later on. It *certainly* wasn't as though there was much left to get excited about that way anyway. They'd been having sex for years before they got married. Their mothers mostly handled it, and that was fine, whatever--they were sure it would be nice, fancy clothes and a cake, pretty tablecloths and decorations, and get them nice pictures taken with their families, and...and still just *nothing* like what Turnbull and Kellie had done, just *nothing* like that, nothing at *all*. "T, I'm sorry. I don't know how to tell you how sorry I am. I should never...I'm an idiot, you know I'm an idiot, I should have listened to Fraser and Dief. I'm sorry."

"No." Ray realized Turnbull was filling his glass again, killing that bottle, and T immediately turned to the fridge to get the other bottle out, coming around the divider to get Ray's glass. "Let me just make sure you get at least *some* of your own wine." Ray was still too crushed by his own insensitivity to protest at Turnbull took the wineglass and returned to the kitchen.

"It happened much as you said, then," he went on, skillfully opening the second bottle without even the slightest pop, though the wine just barely sparkled. "We went down to the courthouse and filed for an annulment on the grounds that we were unable to fulfill marital obligations together, and the marriage was impossible to consummate. We spoke with a judge briefly and the annulment was granted that very day. An annulment in the church wasn't necessary, since the one thing I couldn't do for her was convert to Catholicism, and we weren't married in the church. But I insisted she let me be present to verify things, because she wanted to tell her priest--without details--that the civil marriage was unconsummated and annulled. Kellie was even still a virgin.

"There was no protest from her family; they quite naturally hadn't wanted her marrying a non-Catholic, but weren't sure that they could afford to take the chance of protest--they weren't sure she'd be marrying at all. She'd spoken of possibly having a vocation more than once--"

"That's where she belonged."

"I hope it's where she is now. But she was an only child; her parents wanted grandchildren. My own family...well." He sighed. "They had never approved of my marrying Kellie. I think they felt sorry for her, more than felt any animosity--I'm speaking of my five sisters, you see--but they had been caring for me since I was small, my mother dying in birthing me; they knew perfectly well how I'm built in all respects. They knew what must have happened. The general outline, at least, if not details. We...don't talk about it. They didn't press me; I was obviously shattered enough."

"Did you see Kellie again?" Ray wondered softly, after a major swig from the glass Turnbull handed him.

"A few times. It was too difficult for both of us. I...you do understand why I didn't fight her decision, don't you, Ray?"

"Of course I do, my God. T, you're one of the most gorgeous men I've ever had the privilege to see naked. But a girl like that...and you're so generally *big*...it must have been terrifying. Especially sitting all night on the bathroom floor, thinking about what she'd have to do, all her life--her church says she's gotta keep you satisfied, and inside the church or not, she'd still be bound by that, feel she was, at least. What you said would be what would go. She knew you were...kind...but you were a guy, and I know what they teach Catholic girls about guys. I went to Catholic school, but not boarding school or one-sex school--and it was bad enough where I was. Even if you didn't demand she...she hold still for intercourse, she'd was thinking she'd have to do other things, and to her those other things were probably horrible to think about. And you outside the door, knowing what she must be thinking, realizing it all for the first time yourself--"

"It wasn't the first time I'd thought of it, Ray. I put her through the whole wedding without discussing my...my deformity and what it might entail for her, for us, in a marriage. I was a selfish cad. I hoped she'd just...go through with it anyway, find some way to make it...manageable for herself, not that I wouldn't have helped any way she asked me to...but I put her through that, *knowing*. I wasn't as innocent as all *that*. I had some idea. I don't know what I thought--that if I ignored it, it would go away? I don't know. I honestly don't know. It wasn't the sort of thing I think of myself doing at all. I..."

Ray got up to follow Turnbull into the kitchen, where he'd returned to keep going through the motions of putting the remaining wine away in the fridge, and the empty bottle into the container for glass with paper labels, in the recycling bins Fraser had installed at one end of the kitchenette, on the side with the stove. He was just closing the 'fridge door when Ray came in and put his hands on T's shoulders from behind, and Turnbull turned around and pulled him close, pressing his face into Ray's hair, making a little whimper into Ray's ear.

"Okay, it's okay...I got you..." he rocked Turnbull gently. "You were a kid, T. You were in love. You hoped...you hoped she'd understand enough to get past it, that's all."

"But--"

"No, no but. It sounds like you've been taking all the blame for this on yourself all this time, and you've gotta realize that you wouldn't have known how to approach talking about this either. She'd never even *seen* all of you until your wedding night. That and other things sounds like you were making all the sacrifices but one; being baptized into a church you didn't believe in, which would have been wrong--you don't join a religion to make someone else happy. *Everything* else, you bent over backward to do her way. You hoped she'd accept you as you were, and she couldn't, and that was the end of it. You both tried your best--maybe a little more than your best, in your case. You have to have thought about it. You have to have wondered."

"I did. I told you. And I didn't--"

"Would she have tolerated an honest, in-depth conversation like that, or did you know--didn't you know--that she'd've been shocked that you expected it of her without being married to her? Does a good-to-the-point-of-being-bodily-assumed Catholic girl talk about such things with a man she's not decently married to?"

"Well, not Kel, really, but she...she might've been shocked, but it would have been the lesser shock."

"It still means that the rules she had for you both brought part of it on her. She wouldn't let you deal with the subject openly without there being a wedding band on both your fingers *before* it was all right to be open about that kinda thing. She set that limit. Maybe you think you should have been...cruel to be kind--" thank you, Fraser, he thought briefly, and continued "--and pushed your way across that limit, but you were afraid it would end things right there if you did. That sounds like a pretty unreasonable situation. An unspoken ultimatum.

"I'm not saying she was wrong to do what she finally had the guts to admit needed doing--it actually probably took some serious bravado to march into that courthouse and get an annulment for one of the very few reasons you can get an annulment, and confirm as a matter of record things about your sex life, or lack of one. And she didn't point the finger at you totally; she just said you were incompatible together. In fact, she hadda have known people would probably figure *her* for a chicken, knowing her at all; that she just couldn't face it, with NO sexual experience at *all* right up until the biiiiig curtain. And there's a well-known problem some very intensely Catholic women have where they just can't *ever* enjoy sex, married or not, 'cause they've been programmed so intensely, practically conditioned, to fear it and hate it so much--'til they get married, at which point they're just supposed to suddenly say 'switch!' and have a normal happy sex life. Yeah, right.

"To make a long tirade shorter, she needed to believe it was all some kind of magic, poof, the stork, put up with something disgusting for a few minutes a night and don't think of it the rest of the time, and--it's a blessing from God, imagine that! She didn't want to *know* about the nuts and bolts. In a situation like that, guess how many people are actually having sex? One. The guy. And he's likely not getting much out of it that he couldn't get in the bathroom with a handful of shaving cream. The woman's just waiting for it to be over, and that was what she expected she could do with you. It'd otherwise be all cuddles and innocence, and she'd grit her teeth and let you stick it in once in awhile *until* she got pregnant, and that would be it until time for the next little miracle. I know this, T, I know Catholic girls, I went to school with Catholic girls--and most of them had a way better attitude about it, didn't have dead libidos, they were like Frannie, wouldn't let their normal instincts for love and affection and sex be killed by their constantly being told that just *wanting*, much less doing, something humans are wired at the very basis of our being to want, is an execrable, disgusting, hellfire-rating sin. They couldn't buy that so totally that they were wrecked forever.

"But some of them, their families--sheesh. T, I think she wanted you because she knew you'd never even *ask* if she didn't put out a green light--unspoken, of course, you'd have to learn to read her code--her you-may-proceed, *first*, so she'd never have to worry about rejecting you. You wouldn't ask unless she made it plain she was girded up to tolerate it that night. This woman--girl--does not sound like she was without serious, *serious* hangups. When she saw what she'd be dealing with, she cracked--no pretending it all away, no stork. Serious paying attention and *dealing* and focusing and stuff would have to happen, with you. A dick like yours has to be dealt with, just like one that's so small the woman can't tell if you've started. Dealing with it. And she didn't want any dealing with it. She wanted to deal by not dealing."

"Yes. I know. My 'nuts and bolts' as you put it made it obvious that while we might have managed to get her pregnant, there never would have been any of the 'just happens, it's a miracle from God' feeling. It would have been quite obvious, textbook-level obvious...she told me, when I asked if she believed it, that she knew I wouldn't ever hurt her--at least not on purpose--I was a virgin, too--but as far as hurting her, did Dief tell you--"

"He said that yeah, people who *have* wanted to do it with you did end up getting hurt sometimes, but he also said you always, ALWAYS stopped immediately if they either said to, or just said "ow"; or even if you had *any* suspicion that they were in pain--or even just not having much fun."

"I did. But it's just...it's just too much of a risk. I can't even...couldn't even...I was so afraid of hurting..."

"You...got soft, when you tried, toward the end, after the last few times--Dief said there were three that actually got peeved you weren't willing to work harder at coming up with something to do, but you couldn't, could you?"

Turnbull shook his head a tiny shake, sniffing, his damp face still pressed to Ray's hair.

"Turnbull, hell. I understand how awful this is. But you *don't* need to go celibate. There are other guys in the world with dicks as big as yours. They get married sometimes, they have lovers, they have relationships. They have *sex*."

"I just can't, Ray. Please. I tried, I *did* try, don't think I didn't *try*, I did, over and *over*, and it kept...it kept being just what I knew would happen...Ray, you don't know what humiliation is until..."

"Okay, I'll give you that. I can't pretend to know what it's been like for you. I can't. But *maybe* things have changed some, because you've changed. You're not the same guy now you were seven years ago. You have different perspectives, maybe even some different priorities in that area--seven years ago can't have started much after you...didn't get married."

"I'm thirty-two."

"So that meant only about three years of trying, probably not very often, before you quit entirely. Jeez, T!" He pulled back a little, reached over and found a napkin in a pile of takeout leavings, and mopped Turnbull's face a bit.

"Can you tell me," he said, picking up their wine glasses by threading them through his fingers, and with the other arm around T, steering them toward the bedroom, "why you wanted to get married when you mostly like guys? Did you only figure that out later?"

Turnbull balked only a minute when he saw the direction they were going, and Ray just said "Relax, leg room," and Turnbull came along quietly.

"We should turn off the TV."

"No, let it stay on. Fraser can bitch at us later for it, he likes that."

Turnbull made a soft hee-hee, and Ray smiled, hoping he could salvage poor Turnbull's emotional state at least a little.

They sat on the bed, and Ray handed Turnbull his wine glass. "Yes. I only figured that out later. Well...what I figured out was that I *like* women. They're just...nice. It'd be nice to be married to one, she could have me and I would have her, and..."

"And there'd be good sex, but mostly it would be like having the swellest best friend ever, legally attached, that no one could take away. That's not a bad thing to want, T." Ray sighed. "I should know."

Turnbull's mouth quirked. "Ray, your sexuality is a thing which never shuts up. How do you suppose you managed to learn enough sensitivity to *other* people's to word their thoughts for them so well?"

Ray looked away, embarrassed. "I guess that's Mountie for quit putting words in my mouth."

"No, it was an honest question. You simply do not care about gender. I've often wondered--do you find exactly the same things attractive in a man that you do in a woman?"

Ray shook his head. "I might find the same thing attractive in this man and this woman, but not in this man and *that* woman, or find it attractive at all in this person over here no matter what sex they were. It's just the whole goddamn package. There are things you like, but when you're so bi you get your pronouns mixed up, which I do sometimes, and it has nothing to do with women acting butchy or anything, or guys flaming--you can never tell. The whole person...sometimes I've caught myself thinking 'If so-and-so were a woman...' or the other way around. Gender's just one more characteristic--it's only *society* that makes it THE characteristic. It isn't, naturally, but we're socialized the whole time we're growing up, so we end up that way."

"So your gift of understanding is just one of the advantages of being married to Constable Fraser." Turnbull slid his hand over to run a fingertip over the claddaugh wedding ring on Ray's hand.

"You commenting on my commenting? Yeah, I guess." Ray grinned. "I listen to it long enough and no matter how I try to tune it out, it soaks in. I gotta admit it can be a timesaver. T, would you do me a favor?"

Turnbull immediately looked guarded and took refuge in his wineglass.

"I'm sorry. I honestly don't mean to scare you shitless here."

"You may succeed in irritating me, but you won't scare me shitless, Ray."

"Yeah, you've been drinking. Okay...would you maybe sleep over? With me?"

"I think Constable Fraser--"

"--likes his cot."

"--is home."

The front door opened and closed. A long sigh was heard, Ray called "Me and T are in here," and they heard Fraser's deep chuckle, and he came in to find them sitting there, wineglasses in hand, looking a bit overstuffed and bleary and teary.

He sighed again and smiled at Ray, his eyelids a little droopy. "The cot?"

"If you don't mind. If you do, I'll go home with T, if you really need the bed--"

"Ray, I don't need the bed," Fraser said gently, with the air of one trying to explain something for the millionth time. "Even that mattress is an...indulgence; my bed in the apartment I had before the building burned down always felt a bit overdone. I've grown up, and then spent my life in the RCMP, sleeping on similar cots."

"You feel more securely walled away from the day in them--more like it's time to forget and sleep," Turnbull said mildly, and then looked abashed and hid in his wineglass again.

"Forgive him. We're having deep thought night," Ray said.

"I can see that. A rather emotionally charged one, too. Well, he's right," Fraser said, "Shall I set it up in here or out in the front room?"

"Front room," Ray said, and "we'll wanna whisper and I don't wanna keep you up; you look beat. But God, we'll get the cot. You just get out of the uniform and shit. How'd Frannie look?"

"Quite beautiful," Fraser said, "and she was a great relief to me all evening." He was smiling, as Turnbull's ears perked up. Turnbull loved Frannie.

"Was she wearing the blue lace and tulle tea-length? She's been so frilly since the wedding--" Turnbull sounded like this amused, even delighted him, rather than annoyed him, but Ray had elbowed him gently.

"C'mon, let's get him a bed. Then you can quiz him."

"She was wearing something like what you describe, and her hair was up in what looked like a new style--with a little bun, and many curls, and what seemed to be a hair ornament wound through, pale green with tiny white cloth flowers..." slowly disrobing, he followed them out to the front room as they went to the storage closet to unlimber the cot. "Since the Inspector kept slapping the worst conversationalists, or those with the stupidest questions, in my direction--I can't blame her for that; she did need to do the real work of the evening, and what I was doing really was, unfortunately, the larger part of my function there as her second--to answer the dull questions and converse with those whose questions, points and complaints were so ludicrous as to be beyond her diplomatic skills. And I will allow that there is very little *completely* beyond our Inspector's diplomatic skills. Occasionally, when confronted with...oh, a longtime role model...but there are very few of those in Chicago at the moment. It also helps if Frannie's there--for one thing, she never has to wonder if the next question or conversational sally is going to be some kind of veiled sexual harassment, though her status as the first same-gender married woman, and the first to do so and announce the fact, in the RCMP, can cover fairly well when Frannie isn't available."

"And you can get along with a fire hydrant, of course," Ray grinned. "which is why I love you," he added quickly, holding up a hand to ward off Fraser's mock glare as the mountie pulled off his serge tunic. "As can Frannie, when she wants."

"As I said, she made things considerably easier for me. I am so glad that she and the Inspector opted for wedding rings. The Inspector doesn't wear a diamond, but she does wear a band, and Frannie attached herself to me, as I said, most of the evening that we weren't part of an audience, or in any other circumstances anyone might approach with an opinion or observation to offer or request, at any time. And of course, there were the occasional interesting points and conversations."

"I think you guys got a good thing. Keeps the vultures off you both. Frannie can flash the diamond while she practices her old 'He's mine, get the hell away from him' glare. Damn, that was a good glare. She's got eyes like sweet, beautiful deep pools of destructo-laser."

"I have to admit, it does the trick. She can also help me wonderfully with the conversational idiots. She has a natural knack, and quite a bit of practice at her job in the precinct."

"Yeah. Did she tell you the one about the lady who ordered the pizza?"

Fraser just grinned again as Turnbull muffled a snort in one hand. Apparently that one had gotten around.

***

Fraser didn't bitch at them about the TV. He did, however, turn it off rather ostentatiously, then toss the remote over the sink bar to land on the coffee table with a clatter.

Ray, tucking a quilt around the cot mattress, smirked. "Sorry, Frase."

"Oh, you are not."

"His fault," Turnbull said, pointing a playfully accusing finger at Ray. "He did it. He left it on."

"Squealer. Toss me that pillow when you get the case on it."

They got the cot finished and stood back. "My. That's a bit larger cot than the one you keep at the consulate, isn't it?"

"A bit. Ray insisted on one of a size to take a twin cot mattress, because he worries about my back and won't let me sleep on it otherwise. I find the one in my office still feels homey enough on the occasions when I do have to use it. And he can't complain at me about that, because those cots in the private holding cells that he uses when he's trapped at work are like sleeping in a cheap hammock." Fraser emerged from the bathroom in boxers and undershirt, wiping damp hair back from his freshly washed face. "You'll be wanting to leave the door open, Ray?"

"Yeah. If we talk quiet, you can tune us out okay, right? I don't know if we've ever tried that with an air conditioner running..."

"The air conditioner fan will probably actually help. Gentlemen, there is something I want to say," he announced, sitting down on the cot, then getting up to turn the front room light off and coming back to sit again," and I've been wanting to say it all night."

"What's that?" Ray wondered.

"Good night."

Ray and Turnbull both chuckled as Fraser grinned and fell over on his cot, head hitting the pillow. He didn't pull up the covering duvet folded in a fluffy pile at the cot's foot; he just stuck his feet under it where it sat and, apparently, sacked right out.

"Bored to a coma," Ray sighed, "poor bastard." He leaned down and kissed Fraser's cheek, which caused Fraser to make an mmm-ing noise and reach for him, and they exchanged a few soft kisses before Fraser released him again and went back to his somnolent state.

"Pleasant, non-stupid-consular-function dreams, babe," Ray said, stroking the thick, glossy hair gently, making Fraser smile without waking up. Ray then stood and tossed his head to Turnbull, indicating they should go back into the bedroom. Smiling too, Turnbull went with him.

"Ray..." Turnbull picked up his wineglass. "Why do you want me to stay?"

Ray considered saying just for the company, and that he'd got Turnbull into this mood and it seemed heartless to throw him in a cab and send him home to a comfortably-dehumidified-but-devoid-of-human-company-apartment, though that was all true; Turnbull would be able to guess that much. So he told him, which he'd sorta been planning on anyway if he was gonna actually do this; it was the point, really.

"I wanna cuddle with you. So that you can find out what it's like to sleep with someone who knows, who knows...at least the worst thing that's happened because of it, if not probably a bunch of seriously traumatic shit that happened after--I do know *about* that, though, just no details, unless you feel like telling me--"

"Another time."

"Don't blame you. What you've said's more than enough to have to drag out at once. Anyway, a person who knows, and doesn't think it's such a bad thing. Doesn't think you should be calling it a deformity, definitely, for crying out loud. Deformities are a bitch, and I got nothing but sympathy for people who really have them, but you don't. A problem, yes, you have a serious problem and no one could deny that, knowing you. A cock that hits you in the breastbone when you're hard is not a deformity, it's a problem, unless you're the kind of guy who'd like to make a living as a porn star, which you have the body for but never in a million, billion years would even be able to think of doing."

"I'm glad I don't have to explain *that*," Turnbull whispered, smiling.

"Wanna climb in? Between dinner and all this wine, I'm ready to be horizontal."

"All right." Turnbull started pulling at the T-shirt he'd changed into.

"We've barely had these clothes on for an hour--you can borrow a pair of Fraser's shorts and wear these again tomorrow."

"Yes, they'll be fine."

Turnbull sighed, then finished stripping to his underwear, hanging his T-shirt, socks, and jeans from one hanger in the closet. He hung his socks from the little clips on the bottom rung thing that Ray had always wondered what the hell were for, since anything you hung from them would have teeth marks in it when you went to put it on, and thought maybe hey, they were sock clips. Put your whole outfit for the day on one hanger. Neat. "What are you thinking?"

"Oh...a lot of things. Honestly, Ray, giving me alcohol and then bringing up these matters and making me discuss them, you could..." he paused, still facing away from Ray, and then took a shuddering breath and continued "...could easily be dooming yourself to spending the night comforting a maudlin drunk."

"I love that maudlin drunk, he's my friend," Ray said quietly, and Turnbull turned around to see Ray in his underwear too, his own clothes tossed on Dief's chair, watching him with a half-smile, his head tilted to the side, sort of swinging back and forth in place a little--a pseudo-dance, or comfort rocking, perhaps. Or maybe I just wanna see if I'll fall over, Ray thought.

Turnbull said "I love that expression. Yes, the one you're wearing. It's shy. It's...a relief to think that even you can be shy, sometimes."

"I can be a real doofus, T," Ray said, looking down at the floor, playing with his fingers too now. "Yeah, I can be...shy. I'm just hoping...I'm hoping you'll understand this isn't some kind of weird dick-fright-night thing for me. What I'm thinking about is you. How you feel about it. How you react to it. Does anybody ever think about guys with dongs the size of--well, real big ones, who don't like having 'em? Who'd rather having something nice but normal? How it might make 'em feel, make 'em act in some situations...how they might get tired of the same shit over and over when anybody found out about it--well, except for the ones who didn't just act like they *didn't* know about it? I'm not pissing on Meg and Frase; they're doing their best to make you comfortable, and with them, you know it's true, they really don't care, except maybe as far as how you feel about the thing--but if it were them, *they'd* want to be left entirely alone about it, so they're giving you that. They don't really know what else to give you. I...this is what *I* wanna do, to make you understand it's okay to me. Not that I--" he sighed at himself, and sat on the bed, picking up his wineglass and having a swig out of it. "I don't mean I get approval rights or anything, just--once I got over the shock, all I could think was how somebody like you must have felt, all this time, with your dick being your worst enemy. That'd make me pretty damn nuts. You handle it...real well, I think."

"Thank you," Turnbull said quietly, and sat down next to Ray. "So you're having me sleep over to prove to me you aren't afraid of it?"

Ray grinned, and so did Turnbull. Ray laughed softly, and said "Something like that. More that you're still *you* to me--except maybe I understand a few more things, now, about you. Or maybe not. You'll have to...correct me when I'm wrong, and like that."

"Oh, Ray, you never...you know, I can feel the way you're looking at me."

"Then you know that I don't want you to be polite about it. I don't mean rude, I mean be *real*, don't be polite. Be as gentle as you want, and you're real good at that, but be real."

"If you...really want me to..."

"I do, I do, I do." He kissed Turnbull's cheek, and Turnbull made a little gaspy noise and raised a hand to his face, and looked back up at Ray. He could only look for a moment.

Ray flushed, and his breathing deepened a moment, and then he cleared his throat and said "Yeah. Um, c'mon." Ray set his wine down, took Turnbull's near-empty glass and set it by his own, then pulled the covers of the bed down. "You got a side you like?"

"The outside. I bang into the wall."

"Yeah." They slid in, Ray first, putting the light out en passant. "Jesus. I'm a little snockered, so...anytime you feeling like saying no or stop or--"

"I will, but I'm a little drunk too. Not badly. I know what I'm doing. Who I'm with." He let his hand, long enough to do it, cup the side of Ray's face, hairline to chin. "You. Ray."

"Oh, Christ. Hold onto me, T, put your arms around me."

"Gladly," Turnbull whispered back, and folded Ray close, and though Ray was only a few inches shorter, he was built wiry-lean, where Turnbull was smooth-limbed, broad-chested, wide-shouldered, though as Ray had noted some time back he was no gorilla, but more like an athlete in the all-around, except possibly too broad-shouldered for the distance running. He had a nice neck.

Ray pushed his face into it. "I like your neck. It's long and strong and pretty."

"Thank...thank you."

"I like everything about your body, but I think I've already mentioned that, so maybe I should try to find something else to talk about...oh, God you're sweet, you're gettin' hard. You're not scared to?"

"Not right now. What with...the wine, and it...it being you, you knowing...everything, and being...being so attractive." He almost whispered the last part, and pressed his face into the puff of Ray's hair.

"I like it."

"It's probably partly the wine..."

Ray chuckled. "It's all right, I figured that. Pee time comin' up for me, too. Fraser ever inspire...?"

"Oh, of course. I wished..." He sighed and shook his head. "I have a lot of wishes. I do a lot of wishing. Fraser figured in a lot of it, for a long while. He's...unbelievable."

"I know. I was hopin' you thought he was something cool."

"Um...any special reason?"

"I guess...just another thing we have in common. And...what if he...you know...he wanted to show you the dick thing was okay too? Would you?"

"Ray, you and Fraser..."

"You're here with me."

"He knows it, though, and we...we're only..."

"I'm rubbing you up, T. You don't seem to mind."

Turnbull blinked, apparently realized suddenly that Ray *was* pressing a hardening penis against his hip, with a slow, gentle half-rub, half-rock, side-to-side.

"I don't mind. Would Fraser?"

"No."

"Then can I do the same to you?"

"*Yes*," Ray almost whimpered, "yes, you can touch me with it, I like it, it's nice--take your shirt off--"

They struggled out of underwear for a moment, and Ray was the first to catch Turnbull close this time, but Turnbull wasn't slow on the uptake, realigning them as they'd been, and Ray began to moan softly. "Mmm. Mm. Mmm. This is so nice. I could do this all night..."

"We might, thanks to the wine."

Ray cackled. He grinned at Turnbull in the low light and said "Think we should go pee and get it out of the way?"

Turnbull nodded, and kissed Ray, firm and gentle, on his closed, smiling mouth. Ray whispered "Thank you--" and Turnbull looked puzzled, maybe he thought Ray meant about the peeing, until Ray kissed him back, the same kind of kiss, firm, sweet.

"Let's go--"

"Naked?"

"Why not?"

"...good point."

They got up and scuttled, as well as two naked giggling men could scuttle, to the bathroom, where Ray casually fooled with his erection until he could get it pointed where it needed to be, and let go. "Something wrong?" he asked, when Turnbull hesitated.

"Sometimes it gets away from me when I'm hard," he said. "If I'm...not at my most coordinated."

"Oh. Don't wanna piss all over creation, good idea," he grinned. "Give me a second and I'll give you some help."

Turnbull stared, but Ray was to be done, finishing shaking off. He continued to stare as Ray reached over and took hold with both hands. "Okay, I'm on the job. They teach us to handle fire hoses for emergencies. Go for it."

"Ray--"

"Hey, sometimes a guy just needs his willy held while he goes, you know? So go."

"If you make me laugh I can't."

"Sorry. Think of something sad. Shit. No. Don't think of something--"

But it had worked, apparently; Turnbull went, in the same hard this-thing-won't-go-down stream as Ray. "Thank you," he said in a small voice, as Ray shook him off--then paused, went back and wiped him with a bit of toilet paper. "It...sometimes drains for a few seconds..."

"Yeah, once it's in the chute you can't push as well...there, you're done. And getting softer, which at the moment I bet is a relief."

"Yes, rather," Turnbull said, pink as a box of Playtex. Which Ray still sometimes caught himself looking for, in the bathroom, out of the corner of his eye, he realized, as they washed hands--which Turnbull did so matter-of-factly that Ray just shut his face and did, too--since they'd been talking about the marriage thing. It had been a lot of years, and when he thought of Stella, sometimes an old reflex or two kicked in for a while.

Years. Turnbull hadn't even had one night. Rather, he'd had it lying on a hotel room carpet outside the bathroom, spending at least a small portion of that time wondering if he could EVER have to go bad enough to whiz in a sink.

They moved silently back into the bedroom so as not to wake Fraser, and got back in bed, where Turnbull instantly engulfed Ray again.

"Mm." Ray engulfed back. "You feel so good," he sighed. "You got great skin."

"I'm...used to wearing sunblock all the time."

"So the snowburn don't get you?"

"Yes. I'm not from as far north as Constable Fraser by any means, but at certain altitudes, you don't want to be without it, even when you don't have to wear your snow goggles."

"You from the mountains?"

"I spent a lot of time there. Skiing. Cross-country and downhill. Some of my sisters live there now."

"What about you? Where's your place?"

"I...don't really have one. When I have leave, I stay with one of my sisters. Or more. Or when...when I'm at loose ends for some other reason, a shorter reason, I just stay in hotels or inns or whatever is native to the area."

"You sound more like Fraser the better I get to know you."

"He has a...well. Had."

"Yeah. I think he still thinks of it that way. But from what I understand, he hasn't got anything you could actually live in."

"He has you, Ray."

"And if it comes to it, he'll marry me to get me into Canada if he gets reposted, but I've been hanging on for the early retirement package...guess I'll keep at it until then, as long as he's posted here."

"He seems...content enough...now, I mean. With you, he..."

Ray kissed his collarbone. "It'll be a while before I stop being enough recompense for having been exiled, I guess." He kissed the collarbone in question again, and again, slowly.

"That feels very nice..."

Ray stroked the big body slowly with both hands. "How's this?"

"Wonderful. You'd better be careful, Ray. You don't want me falling in love with you."

Ray lifted his gaze to Turnbull's. "I don't?"

"It might prove inconvenient for you, what with my working with constable Fraser."

"He wouldn't mind except to hope you were okay. Frase and I don't have leashes around each other's necks, T. We got this thing where we tell each other stuff. Trust. Look at us. He knows. He doesn't mind. He knows I got my reasons, and that it doesn't mean I feel any different about *him*."

"Are you...polyamorous, then?"

"I think so, now. I've found out--I mean, I always wondered how a person could swear to love or to not love. You can't do that. You just can't. And now I know it's true. I never thought I could stop loving Stel, but I did, and she did before I did. You can lie to yourself, you can fake it, you can shovel your real feelings under, but it's always gonna come out in some way, shape or form that's gonna hurt the other people around, your spouse and kids, if--God help you--you have any, and you find out too late that loving and not loving isn't something you can make yourself do. You can swear to stay and try to treat that other person decently, no matter how miserable you get; more, ain't nobody can *promise*. And I think it's not fair to that other person, to be promising what nobody can deliver on demand, or even request. Love is or it isn't, and there's no reason in the world it has to be one person at a time to be real. With me, I think it's related to...what you said earlier, how I just don't notice people's gender any more than I notice anything else about them, any more. Skirt-chased a long time, but that was reflex--get a Stella replacement. Anyway, now...with Frase, everything makes sense. The gender thing, it doesn't mean it's not important, just not any *more* important than anything else about a person."

"I'm...afraid I don't see the connection, though..."

"I don't either, right off, it just feels like there is one. Like limits like that are...*arbitrary*. I mean, they don't exist with other animals, even ones that supposedly mate for life. Sometimes they mate for life with a member of the same sex, or sometimes they don't mate for life. All the animals that are halfway closely related to us are bi and polygamous. Even most human populations are polygamous in one way or another. Who ever got the idea that the proof of true love is that you don't ever love anyone else? That's just nuts. Not loving anyone else doesn't prove you love that person. It just proves you have to try to look like you do, and not *show* your love for anyone else. If it were true that loving one person were definable by that you didn't love anyone else, you couldn't even love all your own kids."

"I think probably the Judeo-Christian rules and such in the west, here, is where it comes from. Just one specific religious mythos. We may not all follow the religions, but it's shaped even our most secular aspects of society."

"Yeah, you're probably right." Ray pulled Turnbull's mouth down to his own, and kissed him softly, for a long time.

"Did that feel to you like I *don't* love Fraser, or like I *do* love *you*?"

"Ray..." Turnbull hid his head in Ray's neck. "I said that...what I said, for a reason. It...wouldn't be hard..."

"Poor baby...it's okay, I'm dragging you through too much shit in one night. You need to just get some rest, and that's the big reason I wanted to do this. I didn't mean to get into that."

"I know. I sort of brought it up."

"Don't go blaming yourself. I took the ball and ran right out of the stadium with it, not you. Hmm...mm. Would you mind, if I...?" Turnbull's penis was firming up again a bit; Ray rested his hand on the uncut head, gently.

"If...did you want...?"

"I'd like to make you come. Failing that, if you're not in the mood, I'd just like to...feel a little. It's different but the same, and all that."

"Whatever you want, Ray. It feels nice...whatever...happens. I wouldn't want to...leave you unsatisfied, though..."

"Oh, believe me, T, if you come, I will, too. Maybe not at the same time." He was stroking, gently, now having to use both hands. "Damn. You must feel so goddamn *vulnerable* all the time."

"Yes, rather. It seems like there's always this...thing, at the back of my mind. I imagine it must be like having a chronic illness. Never being sure just what you can and can't do, with, and around, other people--how far you can push without revealing yourself or hurting yourself, just...something you can't *ever* completely forget about, not *ever*, or it could be the utter ruin of you, in one way or another."

"I can see that. I'm sorry...man...dick skin is like no other skin. Even pussy skin, which is about the softest skin you'll ever feel on a human, is different. And you got yards of this type skin...even when you're not really hard-hard, just...sort of full, like now."

"This in-between state is one reason I thank God for my uniform, but right now it feels good." Turnbull was smiling, a little hesitantly, but he was smiling, and his breathing was changing; his eyes would close a little every now and then, and his hands moved over Ray's back and shoulders, the lower arm holding him, with Ray's head resting on the biceps, the top hand moving more freely. But he always stopped at the waist.

"You can touch me too, you know. Anyplace you want." He caressed Turnbull's ass with one hand, hearing a soft indraw of breath, which made him snuggle his face closer, kissing T's shoulder.

"I'd like to...do what you're doing, but I don't have much experience with other men that way, and I'm afraid that because of my...size...what I like to do for myself involves my shoulder muscles to a degree that might..."

"...rip my dick off, yeah, I see what you mean, and you're strong enough to do it. I can see it now, I scream, Fraser comes exploding in here and I'm in a little pile in the middle of the bed, going 'really it's okay'..." he smiled and said "Why don't I show you. Here, gimmie this hand...and...mm...there you go. Nothing to it. A little tighter, a little faster when it seems like...ohhh...like I'm gettin' into it more, you know...oh, jeez..." His head rolled against Turnbull's arm.

"Like now?"

"Yeah," Ray said, his hips rocking helplessly. "Like now. Oh. Oh you got big hands. An'...so *delicate*... Gentle. Mmm..." He rolled over on top of Turnbull, turning them, and said "Hold onto me. Hold on tight. Wrap your arms around me and hang on--"

Turnbull already was, Turnbull was with the program, kissing him back deep and wet and hard, because even though Ray had never had to concentrate on keeping his *chest* against his buddy's when they were doing this as teenagers, as well as his groin and belly, this was still something that came so natural even people with as much trauma and as little decent experience as Turnbull could do it. It was the first thing everybody did, after they started kissing and noticing that their hips wanted in on the action, it was less about sex per se and more about just feeling good, and feeling together--showing how you felt, and feeling good, just *good*--though if orgasms happened in there, that was also a good thing, a real good thing, except it meant whoever had one kinda had to rest for a second, leaving the other guy sorta chewing and humping on him. Guys and girls both did it, with each other, and with members of the other sex. Ray's first orgasm with another person had been with Gary Bertram in the ninth grade, doing just this. He offered a silent thanks to Gary, and wished him the best wherever he was.

And Ray came first, but he didn't let Turnbull down--or poor tired Fraser, either, he mashed his mouth to Turnbull's lower shoulder and kept it quiet--and kept it going, 'cause hell, old fart that he was to be doing this kinda thing or not, it still felt good, and Turnbull had his face buried in Ray's hair near his ear and was making tiny whimpers that made it pretty easy to keep going--when the other guy is obviously having a fantastic time, you don't wanna let him down, even if your point of view has kind of moved to the sidelines. But it didn't take long. That thing was a *pole*, it was a length of *pipe* or something--whoa, and he'd never been creamed all on the underside of his chin before.

Turnbull fell back. "Oh, my god." His breaths were shuddering and uneven, and Ray soothed, and petted, kissing and stroking, and made a long arm and got his tee shirt from Dief's chair, because Turnbull could pump some water from the well, no shit, and he had made a decent contribution himself. Wine or no wine. Just getting loved on and hugged could really help when you were nervous. Back to serious basics. It was what T needed--to start over, do it right this time. If that meant going back to rolling around humping, well, rolling around humping was *fun*. Silly, well, maybe if Turnbull had felt that way, but he obviously didn't. This was obviously a very big, new deal to him, what specific part of it being new Ray didn't know. They could work on more sophisticated stuff later.

Yeah. Later...

"Oh, Ray," Turnbull said. He didn't get any farther because Ray started kissing him, and then Turnbull rolled Ray over and kissed him back, on and on.

Finally, they fell into nuzzling and stroking, and then sleep. It was hard to know who went first, because they lay there whispering, still and quiet, just stupid little things involving stuff like "nice" and "good" and "love you", and smiling, 'til they just kind of drifted off...

***

...and Ray drifted back in again listening to soft murmurs from the front room. Fraser was up early or something. Was it a weekend? The alarm hadn't gone off--oh yeah, it was a weekend, that consular thing was Friday, and ohhhh, yeah. Mmph. Mm. Coolness. Ray stretched, smiling.

"Hey," Fraser's voice came from the doorway.

Ray's eyes flicked to him. "We *got* that communication thing, buddy," he smiled, as Fraser approached him with a cup of coffee. He sat up as Fraser sat on the bed, dressed in his casual stuff.

"Turnbull is beside himself," he reported, still smiling. In fact, that smile was starting to look a little strange.

"Beside himself good?"

"That would depend, Ray. His falling in love with you will mean complications."

"Is. He. O. Kay."

"Yes. He can't completely stop giggling, even when he doesn't make any noise about it."

Ray grinned. "Swell. So he...uh...did he go into a lot of detail or are you just not at total idiot and have a nose like the rest of humanity, here?"

"Not detail, really, but he did give me an overview of your evening. You'd told him you didn't fear my misunderstanding anything, so he saw no reason not to."

"Well, yeah."

"Yes."

"Okay, I give, what is that weird smile on your face and why are your eyes trying not to bug and shit?"

"Because he felt relieved enough about everything in his life in this area in general that he told me of his crush."

"On you?"

"Yes. And that I still figure in--well, he wanted to apologize if I found it insulting, and I told him I didn't."

"Nothing insulting about it. At least he never grabs your ass, unlike some zillions of people--"

"And that you had no problem with his having a crush on me."

"I fucking *married* you, screw legalities. How could I not understand other people thinking you're the shit?"

"He thinks you are also, as you put it, the, ah, um, 'shit'."

Ray actually had to laugh softly at that one. "Don't strain yourself, Benton buddy. Are you just happy about this or what?"

"Why don't you grab a shower, and we'll all go out for breakfast and...talk about my facial expression?"

"Uh, is that all you got for me as yet or somethin'?"

"I'm afraid so." The threatened grins and giggles were still barely restrained behind Fraser's slightly bugged blue-greys and twitching lips.

"Then I guess I better shower. Can't go out covered in oh, heheh, yeah. I'll just get that shirt in the sink. Good thing for the air conditioner."

"Um. Yes." That seemed to be the end of Fraser's powers of speech for the moment; the giggles were really, really trying to break free, apparently. He just kissed Ray real fast and scuttled from the room.

Ray lay there a while, thinking about last night, and decided that since he could not stop grinning, couldn't get the grin off with a propane torch, he had probably done good.

And Fraser apparently thought so too.

As did, if Fraser was telling the truth, Turnbull.

So, barring one resentful tee shirt, no problems. Ray laughed, kicked the covers off with both legs and rolled out of bed to hose off and go get some eats with a couple of hot Canadian guys. Especially good thing that the mouthy damn wolf was still off gettin' laid this morning; he'd be lyin' around--"Morning, baby"--havin' a cig in bed with his latest, watching the early movie, before promising to call and heading for the next cage.

"It's a dog's life, you know?" he told the tee shirt as he picked it up on his way by. Bluing, gonna need the bluing...