Disclaimer: I Disclaim: Sadly, I do not own anything you recognize from Due South. Not even a stuffed wolf. No money is made.

Author's Notes: I cannot thank Shrew enough for her endless help on this. She helped make this into what it is. I also need to thank M'lyn, Helleboredoll, and Kijikun for their read-throughs and comments. I am indebted.

Story Notes: This is the first installment in a trilogy which has gained the name: The Turnbull Manifesto. It stands alone as well.
Spoilers: It's set post-COTW. Consider that a wet blanket.

Scratching the Sheet

Sheet: The 138-foot long by 8-foot wide flat of ice upon which the sport of curling is played

Scratching the Sheet: Refers to the impact of the first stones curled on freshly laid (pebbled) ice

A taxi came to a stop on Stetson Avenue across from the Canadian Consulate. Its passenger fidgeted with his wallet and luggage in the back seat. John took a deep breath, opened the door, pushed his luggage out onto the sidewalk, and exited the taxi. He straightened his roughly six foot frame and ran a hand through his dark hair. He paid the driver in American bills, then just stood and stared. He vaguely heard the taxi drive off, too distracted by his own thoughts. He narrowed his blue eyes against the sun, but couldn't make out any distinguishing features on the guard standing outside.

This was where Ren worked. Hed found him. After eight years, he was going to see Ren again. Maybe this time he could at least manage to say goodbye to Ren, instead of waking up to find him gone. John squared his shoulders and shifted his over-stuffed backpack before crossing the street. He passed the sign indicating the buildings status, and headed up the stairs. John passed a Mountie in uniform and paused, thinking to ask where he could find Ren. As he looked at the Mountie, he realized that he didnt need to go any further. Hed found Renfield Turnbull.

John took a step back and set his bag down. Ren didnt even blink. This was not a good sign. John closed his eyes, marshalling his thoughts, before speaking. Ren. Its me. I know you left, and that was your choice. But theres something you need to know. John took a deep breath, exhaling slowly and studying Rens face. He still showed no signs of recognition. Not promising. This isnt going to get any easier, so Im just going to say it." That's what his father had always preached, even if he didn't practice it. You finished what you started. He *would* get through this.

"Then, if you want me to, Ill go. We tried to write, to tell you, but Mum thought you probably tossed it out when you saw the return address, if you even got it." Which means you probably hate me as much as them, eh? I never got that, but it's too late now. "Even she wasn't sure where you'd ended up. She took a guess off a paper she found in your room. You couldn't even write us?"

John took a deep breath, trying to refocus before he lost it. "But Im talking around things, avoiding them. The point is, Ren. Dads dead. There was an accident on the Edwards' farm. Dad was over there to help, didnt come back.

Ren blinked once, but showed no other reaction.

John snapped. I guess you never did like him much anyway, eh? So now its no big deal? You've been gone this long, so what does it matter? His volume was escalating and he was starting to wave his arms about. He wasn't to the point of striking, but he appeared to be approaching it with haste. Come on, answer me! Wont you at least give me that much? I thought I meant more to you than that!

A quiet voice startled him from behind. He cant answer you."

John whirled around. "What?"

"Hes standing sentry. Its an insult to the queen or somethin if he sneezes.

John scoffed. "Sentry. Good. Wonderful. Thank you ever so kindly. Now move along." He glared at the speaker. "This really doesn't concern you."

The blond leaning against the fence shook his head. Buddy, youre loud enough this concerns the neighborhood. Now, you can calm down and come inside with me until Turnbull here can twitch, or I can haul your ass the ten feet to the street and arrest you for assault. He got a thoughtful expression, Or, I could sic his commanding officer on you. Now she is a piece of work. So, whats it gonna be?

John looked at the blond, back at Turnbull again, then seemed to decide where the lesser of two evils lay. "After you."

The man nodded, "Good choice." He turned to Turnbull and patted his shoulder, grinning. "I'll stick him in the conference room until you get off. It's all good."

John followed the man into the Consulate and allowed himself to be escorted into a side room before he spoke up again. The man pulled off his jacket and dropped it onto one of the chairs, and a police badge became visible. John swallowed hard.

The policeman gestured to the free chairs. Take a seat, hes got half an hour on yet. At least, if Ive figured out the system, he does. You want some tea? Coffee? Water?

John shook his head, then thought better of it. Tea would be nice, thank you.

The policeman nodded. Figures. Youre Canadian, right? Always tea. I, he gestured dramatically, am going to get myself a cup of coffee. You stay put. And he vanished out the door. John could faintly hear clicking sounds on the floor. He realized after a moment that it was a dog, large from the sound of it.

The sound brought back memories of the old mastiff he'd grown up with. She used to stomp around the hardwood floors in the night, making exactly those sounds. John concentrated for a moment, and heard voices speaking quietly. A moment later he heard a door opening and shutting. John peered around the room, trying to recognize the books on the shelves to keep himself occupied. He snickered at the photo of Margaret Atwood under a "Chicago Public Libraries" banner.

John heard a door open and shut again, followed by heavy footsteps and the dog. A moment later he heard another door, and then there was silence. He was just thinking about getting up to take a closer look at the books when he heard another set of footsteps and the cop returned with two cups. He set one in front of John and retained the other for himself. So, whats your name?

John picked up his tea and took a cautious sip. John. Whats yours?

The cop sipped at his coffee and adjusted his shoulder holster. Ray. You have a last name, John?

John felt a blush creep up his cheeks. He felt like he was twelve again, getting into trouble for sneaking out of the house. John MacDonald Turnbull.

Ray choked on his coffee. Tell me you did not just say your last name was Turnbull. Please.

John looked confused, Why?

Ray coughed, trying to clear his throat, then took another sip of coffee and set it down. Youre related to him?

John nodded slowly. Yes, sir. Hes my brother. We havent seen each other in quite a while. I suppose I flew off the handle a bit.

A knock came at the door, followed by Constable Turnbull, who looked particularly anxious. Im terribly sorry, Detective Vecchio. This was a personal matter, there was no reason for you to be dragged into the middle of it.

Ray shook his head. Nah, I dont mind. Was here to pick up Fraser anyway. You gonna be okay? He glanced over at John, who was looking far more contrite than he had upon first coming in, and then back to Turnbull. When the constable nodded Ray grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. Lock up on your way out. Weve got a stack of witness reports to get through, and Im not bringin Fraser back here until theyre done.

When he was gone, Ren focused on John, who was staring very hard at the table. John?

There was a mumbled, Im sorry, and then Ren pulled him into a hug. They clung to each other for a long moment, before pulling back. I missed you, Ren.

Ren took in the changes in Johns face, his height, everything. Ive missed you too, John. He hugged him again. So, Fathers dead?

John nodded against his shoulder. Two, almost three months ago. Tractor accident. Mums holding it together, but I dont know if shell keep the farm.

Ren eased himself back again, turning and straightening a few unaligned books on the shelf. He turned back to John. He took a deep breath to steady himself, but his eyes staying surprisingly dry. Did you just get in? Where are you staying?

John smiled sheepishly. I flew in this afternoon. I havent found a hotel yet. This was rather last minute.

Ren nodded. Then youre staying with me. Let me just check the Inspectors desk and see if she left me anything else to complete. There shouldnt be anything, but one can never tell. He stepped out of the room, pausing to shift the arrangement of flowers by the door, then returned a moment later with a smile. Shall we be on our way?

- - -

John was unsurprised to find Ren's apartment immaculate. His brother had always taken their father's criticisms to heart. It was one of the consistancies John could remember from his early years. If a chore wasn't completed well, Ren would go back over it again and again. It didn't matter whether it was brushing down one of the horses and oiling the tack or doing the laundry, Ren would work until it was perfect. Ren had done the same with his homework, and insisted John learn as well when he was old enough.

"You can't make it right later, later is too late." His brother's patient reminder had been a regular feature of John's childhood. John had never thought to ask why later was too late.

The two brothers settled themselves around the kitchen table. Ren made something that John hadn't caught the name to, but smelled delicious. They opened their first beers of the evening, knowing there would be more, and spoke of the past. They covered the familiar territory of "You won't believe who married Jimmy King", who had left town and who hadn't, and Ren told John a little about life in the RCMP. Eventually they found themselves sprawled on the couch, nursing their beers.

"Do you think he ever forgave me?"

"Eh?"

"Oh, you heard me. Did he?"

John sighed. "I don't know. It shook him up. He didn't think you'd follow through. I still don't know what all it was about, he never would tell me. For years I couldn't bring up your name. And mum just said that it wasn't her place. And you were just gone."

Ren shifted, examining his beer bottle with an unnecessary focus. "Ive never forgiven him, dont think I can. It wasn't just a matter of following through. He said if I left, I was no longer his son. He knew what that meant to me. But I could not stay, to stay meant never leaving. He paused. I think I can almost understand mum, sometimes. I just don't know how she left me behind. Or if she did. Dad was never willing to discuss it, and then it was rather moot, I think. It's all a bit blurry back then. And then there was your mum, and you, and there was always work to be done. Price never goes up, eh?"

There was a dry chuckle. "It's a law of nature or something. 'Life shalt never get easier in rural Saskatchewan'. Mum's still working as a nurse over in Leader. Same as before. Some things never change, eh? Johns voice took on a harder edge. Was life back home really so bad?"

Ren sighed. "No, they don't. I... There were reasons, John. You know I wouldnt have left for nothing. What about you, though? You're all grown up. You still on the farm?"

"No, mum put her foot down after everything with you. John scoffed quietly. Not that shed tell me what had happened. I graduate University next year, biology degree. Don't know what I'll do with it, but mum wanted me to do something that would give me options. I'm helping with next summer's harvest, and then she's going to decide what to do." He paused. "What reasons, Ren? I'm your brother, if you can't tell me then you can't tell anyone."

There was silence. Ren stared pointedly at a spot on the wall.

"Ren? It wasn't anything I did, was it?" John's voice was so soft Ren had to strain to hear it.

Ren abruptly turned, and his heart wrenched at the look on his brothers face. "God, no, John. Don't ever think that. Leaving you behind was one of the hardest parts." He took a deep breath. "You said you're almost through University. So you know how it is back home, in a small town, compared with the cities?" He waited until he received a hesitant nod. "You can lose yourself in a city. No one knows that your mum left you and your dad when you were small. No one cares who you sleep with. None of that matters, not really. Or at least that's what I thought."

Ren laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. "Turns out I was mostly right, too. Just make sure your private life doesn't cross over into your duty and no one cares, eh? It's not like they encourage young constables to marry anyway. Although Ive got a friend in Legal, up in Ottawa. He says we might get same-sex marriage in the next ten years, so you never know."

A puzzled frown slowly resolved into amazement on John's face. "Same-sex Ren, are you saying you're gay? That's why you wanted out so badly?"

Ren flushed, but did not look away. "Yes. Partially."

John leaned over and cuffed him. "Why didn't you tell me? I wouldn't have cared. Mum wouldn't have cared, for that matter. Dad, OK I can see that one... But you could have at least let us know you were alive."

Ren winced and rubbed his head. "You were twelve. And I was only sorting it out for myself. You know I didn't socialize very much. It was as much the history and the looks as anything else, and those you know plenty about." He tipped his bottle back, taking a long swallow.

John gave a quiet sigh. "Yeah, I guess I do at that." He studied his bottle introspectively, then raised it in a solemn salute. "So, to Dad?"

Ren raised his in response. "To Dad. Not forgiven, and certainly never forgotten."

The clinking of the bottles seemed to echo in the heavy silence that followed, companionable though it was.

Each focused intently on different spots on the wall, lost in their own thoughts. A few moments later Ren rose and started getting things put away for the night. After a brief debate John was settled into the bedroom and Ren finished making his bedroll up on the living room floor. For the first time in eight years, Ren said good-night to his brother before climbing into bed.

It stormed that night, which seemed fitting. Ren woke at a noise from his kitchen. When he sat up he found John looking for his mugs. He rose, and shooed John to the couch. Ren then set about making tea. He came back into the living room to find John curled up on the end of the couch, staring out the window. It brought back memories he'd long since buried.

- - -

Comfort was something that Ren had always been good at. From a young age he'd sought, often in vain, for comfort from his mother's absence, and from the knowing looks of the people in town. When his father had married again, the looks had changed, but they were still there. Mary had tried to comfort him. She offered him what she knew he was lacking, and he loved her for that. But it had ended all too soon when John was born. Suddenly Ren had found himself the one doing the comforting as Mary went back to work less than a year after she had the baby. Ren spent that summer, and the few summers after, minding his brother while he did his chores, and he found that he enjoyed giving comfort. There was something wonderful in taking away someone's pain, making their life easier.

When Ren was twelve, John developed a fear of thunderstorms. He'd been caught out in the barn during one and for months afterwards every time the night sky lit up he was in tears until Ren guided him to the couch and settled him with a cup of sweet tea. They would sit together to wait out the storm. Sometimes one of the dogs would settle beneath them, poking his nose up in search of dropped cookies. It was also around age twelve that Ren learned he was rather handy in the kitchen. Now, he'd been able to manage simple things and reheating a bit earlier. He'd had to with Mary working at the hospital and his dad no good in the kitchen. And no one could make Kraft Dinner badly. But when he was twelve was when he discovered that he could *bake*.

It started as a Saturday experiment. Both boys had been bored, there wasn't much that needed doing that Ren could let John tag along for, and John kept pestering for cookies. In their absence, Ren decided to see if he could make some. Oatmeal Raisin was arbitrarily chosen and they set to work. Ren laid everything out in its proper amounts in bowls (mise en place, he learned to call it years later), then had John add each one as he followed the recipe. If the first batch was a touch burnt, neither boy cared, and the second pan came out wonderfully. A tradition began, and every weekend they would try a different recipe from Mary's battered "Joy of Cooking". It was why, upon entering The Academy, Ren had only ever eaten store-bought cookies (and rarely those). Cookies were too closely tied to "home" and things he had decided to forget.

It wasn't that his father and Mary were never around or didn't care. They had loved him, he was reasonably certain of this fact. But during the growing season his father worked while there was light, and in the winter he worked down the road at the Edwards' farm helping with the cattle. He would often be gone before the boys rose and would come in at the end of the day and sit quietly, smoking a cigarette or two and drinking a beer while he watched television. Never more than a few words were exchanged. They were not harmful words, merely quiet and tired, and if with a touch of annoyance, who could blame the man after a long day's work. At least, Ren tried not to blame him.

Ren had always wondered if there was something in his fathers past that made him fear his own children, or if he just couldnt be bothered by children until they resembled small adults. Their father was better with John, which led Ren to wonder if part of it was that his elder son merely reminded him too much of the wife hed lost. Ren had never asked and his father had never volunteered, and it was a moot point now. It had gotten some better as he'd gotten older, so he could only hope the same had been true for John.

The only thing his father had been strict about was the state of the house. It was to be spotless, and remain that way. Every Sunday, the one day that their father took off in the winter and worked less the rest of the year, he would look over the boys' room and the common areas, and if something was not clean enough he would shake his head and sigh. "I ask so little of you. Do you know what the boys on the Edwards' farm have to do? This is all I expect. It is not too much, do you think?" And Ren would shake his head, and study the braided rug by the stove, and John would copy his movements exactly. After a few moments of silence their father would give up and go back to the television, dismissing the boys for the night. Ren had mentioned once that he did more than keep things clean, and it hadn't been a pretty encounter. He'd never mentioned it again.

Mary had been much different, sitting with them and speaking quietly on the evenings she was home. Sometimes, after John had gone to sleep, she would ask Ren about his plans for the future, his dreams and interests. Ren had loved those evenings. But she worked swing-shift, which meant her shifts changed every 2 weeks, and more often than not those shifts were afternoon-evening sometimes running as long as 12 hours. In bad weather, she would stay over at the hospital, leaving everything to Ren. So Ren only saw her a few days a week when school was in, and she was often exhausted. Summers he was out helping his father when she was home during the day. By the time he was twelve he knew just enough to want to comfort her. He did this by taking on more of the household chores. He had figured out that his place was to give comfort, not to receive it.

- - -

Ren set a plate of cookies on the coffee table in front of John, then returned with their tea. They sat together in silence for the rest of the night, watching the storm. At one point, when the wind kicked up, Ren coaxed John to lie down on the couch. They settled into the familiar position with John's head in his lap that echoed their childhood evenings so closely. Ren stroked his hair and sang softly, and John's eyes slowly closed. When the first rays of sun broke through, Ren looked down to see John fast asleep. He glanced at his watch and stood, carefully transferring his still sleeping brother to rest more comfortably upon the couch and pulling the afghan over him. Ren yawned and headed for the shower. It was going to be a long day.

- - -

He was going to be late. He just knew it. Ren gave up all pretense at dignity, took off his hat, and shifted into a run. His height might have led to some inherent clumsiness initially, but it was a blessing when it came to sprinting. He was glad of the cool morning as he completed what he estimated to be an 8 minute mile and arrived at the consulate only slightly winded. Ren took the steps two at a time. When he arrived at the top he took a deep breath and checked his watch, sending off a quick prayer that the Inspector was stuck somewhere in unmentionably foul traffic. Unable to delay anymore, Ren thrust open the door. Right into someone.

Ow!

Ren winced. Not an auspicious start, and he wasnt even on duty for another five minutes. He offered up another quick prayer that the speaker hadnt been Constable Fraser and opened the door again more slowly. Ren found himself face to face with Detective Vecchio. Who was holding a bleeding nose and cursing profusely.

Ren flushed with embarrassment. Detective Vecchio, I am terribly sorry. He ushered the man over to a chair, Let me get some ice for that. He handed him a handkerchief to staunch the flow of blood, but Ray shook his head.

Turnbull, I really dont have time for this. Itll be fine, Im sure. Ive had worse.

Ren wasnt impressed and gave him a stern look. It looked foreign on his face. Ray had never seen him appear so sure of himself. It was enough to keep Ray in the chair.

I will be back in just a moment, and you will still be here. Ray nodded, vaguely impressed and wondering where this Turnbull had come from.

A moment later Ren returned from the consulates kitchen. He had an ice pack in one hand and a cloth in the other. He knelt in front of Ray and set his items on the floor. He gently pulled away the handkerchief Ray had been using for mop-up and shook his head. Well, at least the skin didnt break. He cupped the side of Rays face in his hand and raised the clean cloth, May I?

Ray nodded, and closed his eyes as he felt gentle strokes removing the blood from his skin. This felt different than Frasers clinical movements. There was nothing untoward, just different. It felt nice. He was having trouble equating these deft movements with the slightly ditzy receptionist who tripped over his own feet. He opened his eyes when the cloth was removed, and found an intent look on Turnbulls face. Hey, whats wrong?

I truly am sorry, Detective. There is the possibility I may have caused a break. Ill need you to hold still while I check. Ray was about to nod when he felt fingers pressing against his nose. Man, he was quick!

Yeah, ok. Um, how is it that you know what youre doing? His eyes widened slightly and he backpedaled. Not to be rude or anything, its just that you dont look like a guy whos broken his nose three times, thats all Im sayin. And you do seem to know what youre doing.

Ren paused, his fingers still on the bridge of Rays nose, One moment, please, He braced his fingers. By the time Ray had figured out what was going on there was a sharp pain and he could breathe through his nose again. Well, he was pretty sure hed be able to once the blood and junk was gone. He glared at Turnbull. Son of a bitch! You coulda warned me!! I dont remember it hurting that much. Christ.

Ren calmly waited out the tirade before passing over the icepack. In my experience, warning does little to no good. And it certainly doesnt make the setting easier. He started gathering together the soiled clothes and checking the floor and furniture for blood. In answer to your earlier question, my brother had the unfortunate luck to break his nose at the age of ten. His mother used the experience as a teaching opportunity. I have since had cause on several occasions to put the lesson to use.

Ren leaned in and whispered conspiratorially. It reflects badly on a trainee detachment if a member is discovered to have been brawling. He grinned and Ray found himself grinning back because he could see that: someone coming in at two in the morning and Turnbull patching them up. Ren rocked back on his heels and stood, then frowned, I dont suppose Constable Fraser would have a spare shirt

Ray looked quizzical. Huh? He followed Turnbulls gaze to his shirt. Which was rather blood spattered. Yeah, I dont even have a spare change at the station or Id just go in like this.

Turnbull opened his mouth to apologize again and Ray held up a hand, No more apologizing. This was an accident. You broke my nose, you fixed it, fair deal. You keep apologizing Im going to make you buy me dinner or something.

Turnbulls face lit up, A splendid idea. They both stood and Ray set about pulling off his shoulder holster and following that with his ruined T-shirt. John is in town, but you two have already met. Would you like to join us tonight? Ray had his shirt half off when it brushed his nose, which still hurt like the devil. Turnbull stepped closer and helped him ease it off his head without further damage. When the shirt came of he found himself standing face to face with the detective. It was disconcerting to be so close.

Yeah, thats fine. You got that whole mess sorted out?

Ren blushed and nodded. I believe so, yes. There was the sound of a throat clearing, and Turnbull winced and dropped his grip on Rays shirt. He straightened and turned to face Constable Fraser, and as Ray watched, he saw something flicker in Turnbulls eyes. Ray couldnt place it, but he was definitely curious. Sir?

Constable, while your personal business is your own affair, please restrict it to your off hours. You officially went on duty two minutes ago. Could you please turn the phones over? Turnbull blushed and hurried over to the desk, picking up the receiver and pressing several buttons in quick succession. A minute later he set the receiver back down and turned to Fraser.

Was there anything else you needed, sir?

Fraser opened his mouth to say something but Ray cut him off, Nah, hes good. Come on, Fraser. I need to borrow a shirt. He grabbed Frasers arm and dragged him back towards his office. Once they were there Fraser turned to Ray.

Ray, was that really necessary? I had several things to request Constable Turnbull add to his daily schedule. He took a moment to assimilate Rays need of a shirt. Of course you may borrow a shirt, what happened? He peered at Rays face and took in the swelling of his nose.

Ray waved him off, I had a disagreement with a door. Nothing big. Ill be fine. Bled like crazy, though. He held up the stained shirt in evidence. Turnbull helped me out. I figure you can cut him some slack, his day started badly enough.

Fraser frowned, Turnbull? Perhaps I should take a look and ensure it is correctly tended.

Ray waved him off, Ive broken it before. He knew what he was doing, itll be fine. Can I get a shirt so I can get into the station? Looks like youre not going anywhere today. He gestured to the paperwork adorning Frasers desk.

Fraser rubbed at his eyebrow, If you insist, Ray. And actually most of this is to go to Constable Turnbull. He normally handles most of the initial formwork and the Inspector and I sign off. Hes rather good at paperwork.

Ray nodded absently and pulled the closet door open, moving a grumbling Dief. Have any preference, or should I just take whatevers smallest?

Fraser waved a hand dismissively, Whatever youd like.

Ray pulled a shirt off a hanger and slipped it on. So you want to come along and help with witnesses on the Jeffers case?

Just give me one moment, Ray. He collected three stacks from his desk and his hat, then summoned Dief and they headed out. The stacks of paperwork he left with Turnbull.

- - -

When they made their way back to the consulate six hours later, both had had enough for the day. A suspect had been processed, the paperwork was mostly done, and Ray had decided he was taking the rest of the afternoon off. As Ray parked illegally in front of the consulate, he said something that caught Frasers attention. Think you could maybe swing getting Turnbull an afternoon off sometime this week?

Frasers head whipped around, Im sorry?

I feel bad about this morning, you know, the broken nose and all. I figure since his brothers in town Id put in a good word, see if maybe you could lighten up on him or something.

Fraser frowned, He hasnt mentioned having family in town. He paused, obviously thinking. In fact, Im reasonably certain his personnel file lists him as an only child. If you are correct, however, Im certain the Inspector would not object to him taking an afternoon of personal leave. He might even be able to request a full day. He hasnt taken a sick day since he was transferred. He may be an idiot, but hes a dedicated one.

Ray filed that away, Ill ask him, then. Hell probably say he cant neglect his duty, but its worth a shot. And he wondered how much of an idiot Turnbull really was, if he was cranking through a good portion of the consulates paperwork in an obviously timely manner.

They headed inside, Fraser led Dief back to his office and Ray headed for Turnbulls desk. So, how long is this John in town for? He done the tourist thing yet?

Turnbull blinked, then glanced down the hallway towards Constable Frasers office for a moment before responding. He arrived in town yesterday, I believe hes staying through the weekend. He called a few moments ago, actually. Apparently he is rather enjoying my internet connection. A concerned look appeared on his face, I informed him you would be joining us for dinner, is that still correct?

Ray nodded, Yeah, Im good. Listen, Im done for the day, do you want me to take the kid around, show him the sights?

Ren looked massively relieved, but fought valiantly, I wouldnt wish to impose, Detective.

Ray shook his head, No problem. I got nothing better to do, right? My turtle is *not* going to miss the company. This way Ill feel like Ive earned that dinner. He slung his jacket over his shoulder. Wheres he staying?

Ren blinked, looking lost for a moment. Oh! Im sorry, Detective. Hes staying with me for the duration. He scribbled directions and passed them over. You are certain this is not too much of an inconvenience?

Ray grinned, Nah. I havent seen my own brother in forever, and we never got along well. I dont mind helping out with yours. Besides, its kinda fun to see the city through new eyes sometimes. Should we pick you up here when youre off-duty?

Ren nodded. I should be finished at six oclock. Is that acceptable?

Great. Catch you later! He headed out the front doors, leaving a stunned Turnbull in his wake.

- - -

Ray glanced at the sheet again and parked. He snickered, Frasers sense of humour strikes again. There were no cardboard boxes in sight. It was, in fact, a rather nice neighborhood. It figured Turnbull would live in Andersonville. And the irony was he probably didnt know the areas reputation. He took the front stairs and found his way to apartment 2A. He took a deep breath and knocked, reminding himself again why hed volunteered to do this.

He wanted to learn more about Turnbull, what that flicker in his eyes had been when Fraser had appeared, what he was like outside of work. Because for the first time, he was realizing that Turnbull was just a normal guy. And hey, so he was a Canadian. In his experience they made pretty good friends, even if they were a little strange. He just had to remember not to take courtesy for flirting and he was fine. Then the door opened and he was forced out of his musings.

It was the same guy hed seen the day before, all 61" of him. He made a quick mental comparison between the guy looking quizzically at him through the doorway and Turnbull. John was shorter, and more delicately built, with darker coloring. They shared the same eyes, but the facial structure definitely varied. If he hadnt known, he wouldnt have pegged the two as siblings. He wondered why Turnbulls file would list him an only child. The two were obviously related. Although there was something going on there, something was off in the way he spoke about his past. Ray just couldnt figure out what. He realized hed been staring when John cleared his throat, Were you looking for Ren? Because I think hes at work right now.

Um, yeah. No. See, he broke my nose this morning. He gestured to the rather obvious dark circles under his eyes. And he did a really nice job setting it. So I offered to give you the locals tour of Chicago while hes stuck at the consulate, and hes going to buy me dinner. So, pitter patter. Ray waved his hands in a shooing motion and took a deep breath, hoping that hadnt been as jumbled as it seemed to him. Apparently it wasnt, because John nodded hesitantly and stepped back a pace, opening the door further.

Ah, have a seat or something, Ive got to grab my shoes.

Ray stepped in and shut the door while John disappeared into what Ray assumed was the bedroom. He looked around. It was a comfortable one-bedroom. If what hed heard was true, it was nicer than Frasers old place by a bit. And hey! No picture of the Queen prominently displayed *anywhere*. He was startled out of his musings by Johns return. Hed grabbed a backpack and jacket to go with his shoes. Smart kid.

They headed down to the car and took off, chatting about the weather and Johns first impressions of Chicago. The standard checklist when playing nice with someone youve just met. Ray took Foster up to Lake Shore Drive and turned to do the scenic drive along Lake Michigan, figuring it would give him time to sort out where to go next.

So do you curl?

John jumped slightly at the question, then turned to peer out the window. No. I prefer football and hockey. Outdoor sports, eh?

Ray grinned. Me, I like baseball, with a side of hockey. But I thought it was some kind of requirement for Canadian citizenship or something, you know. Love of curling, falling right after love of snow on the list of boxes to check. Did Turnbull pick it up after he left home then?

John turned to glance sharply at him, then looked away again. He focused on the lake, and for a time Ray was convinced he wasnt going to get an answer. Eventually the boy shifted again and spoke. Ren left when I was twelve. One night there was a fight, and the next morning he was gone. My parents wouldnt tell me what had happened, just that hed decided to leave. That was the year I stopped going to the curling rink. I didnt fit in without him, you know? I was small for my age. Hed said that when I turned thirteen hed start teaching me to throw the full size stones so I could play in the regular league once I was old enough. Then Id be big enough. But he was gone, and no one else wanted to deal with Rens little brother. So I joined the hockey team.

Ray was silent, giving the story time to settle. After a few minutes he turned, shifting gears as well as apparent moods. So, youre a biology major. Do you have any interest in a Science Museum? The Field just got in some famous dinosaur skeleton apparently...

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly, and neither brought up curling again. John shied away from topics that too closely involved his past and Ray respected that. Hes pushed enough for one day, it seemed. He was not often patient, but in this case it seemed the only option.

When they pulled up in front of the Consulate Turnbull was just emerging. John jumped out, full of news and excitement from his afternoon. Ray grinned at the sight, and found that he was telling the truth when he told Turnbull he had enjoyed the time as well. They all settled into the car a moment later, and headed for dinner.

- --

Ray got home that night feeling relaxed and happy. When he tried to go to sleep, however, his thoughts wouldnt rest. They kept running in confusing circles that lead straight back to Turnbull.

Bits and pieces of the day kept coming back, and Ray couldnt make everything fit. Everything hed seen today of Ren didnt reconcile with the image of innocent incompetence Ray had carried in his mind. He started thinking about what hed seen before, what he really knew about Turnbull. The Ren hed seen this evening had been confident, sarcastic when necessary, and intelligent. Ren hadnt seemed clumsy in the slightest, which was really unusual. He seemed just like a normal guy from the neighborhood. Ray began to wonder exactly how much of what he had previously assumed was a bit too far in left field for comfort.

Ren had a thing for the Queen. Ray smirked as he remembered Turnbull clutching the painting of Elizabeth II as he ran out during the fire-bomb scare. That was a rather impressive dedication to an old lady. Ray'd just thought it was strange.

Ren had a tendency to faint. There was the time that Fraser had come back to life, and there was an incident in the morgue that Fraser had mentioned. Now, Ray couldnt really blame Ren for the one in the morgue, he didnt like the place either.

Ren liked to clean. Ray considered himself reasonably well kept for a bachelor, but he had no clue what half the liquids and spray bottles Ren wielded were for. Ray had seen the array of gear that Ren had put into use over the past year. He wasnt sure he wanted to know.

Ren broke fragile items on a semi-regular basis around the consulate. Ray had heard Fraser come as close to whining as he ever did when remarking on Turnbulls clumsiness. Ray could recall 2 vases, and a startling number of pieces of the everyday china, which Fraser had bemoaned over the years.

Ren was confusing as hell on the phone when he wanted to be. Although Ray would admit that Turnbull had been better once hed started recognizing his voice. How anyone could be that literal defied belief.

Ren had a fierce regard for the uniform. That seemed to be part of the mountie DNA structure, or something. Come to think of it, hed never seen Turnbull out of the uniform. Even Fraser put on real clothes occasionally. But then, Fraser lived at the Consulate. Ray'd never seen Ren outside of a work environment.

Ren was a country music fan. OK. Everyone had their faults. At least that singer had been decent. Although if Turnbull was anything like Fraser he moved like a block of wood. Except Fraser was way too graceful at everything else. And he got music, so he had *some* kind of rhythm. Had Fraser been faking? But Fraser didn't *do* that, right? But if Fraser did, then maybe Ren was too...

Ray knew Ren was a good cook. Ray had heard stories from Fraser about an incident involving some complicated dish and the consulate wall. But hed also come in on the odd afternoon and been tempted to poke his head into the kitchen and beg a meal. So Turnbull got points for that one.

Ren loved curling. Yeah, so he was Canadian. But housekeeping on ice? Most men had interests that were just slightly redeemable. Like baseball. The Canadians had baseball teams. He'd seen one play the Cubs last season. The Canadians had won. And wasn't that depressing.

Ren would stand up for himself, but only when his superiors werent around. In retrospect, that struck Ray as odd. At the time, hed just been pissed that Turnbull wouldnt vacate the room and hadnt given it further thought. But digging through the memories of his incarceration, Ray realized that it had *only* been when Fraser was out of the consulate that Turnbull had spoken up. And hed never seen Turnbull even attempt to explain himself past a small muttering when he was dragged onto the rug by his superiors. The incident with the broken nose was just the last in a line of non-explanations, if Rays observations were correct.

Ren had an amazing tolerance for young children. Which, knowing now that he had a younger brother who was *that* much younger, made sense. At the time, when Fraserd told him theyd found Turnbull tied up behind the Ice Queens desk, hed found it funny and put it down to incompetence. But Turnbull was a big guy. He could probably do accidental damage to the kids if he wasnt careful. Ray wondered if that lead into his general lack of physicality. Being the biggest kid on the playground must have been tough. Not that Ray ever had that problem, but he could empathize.

And he was thinking entirely too much about Ren.

The thought struck him again of how gentle Rens hands had been earlier that day. Strength and skill in a competent touch. He found he couldnt move away from the feel of them, first softly stroking his skin with the cloth, then easing his shirt off. Now he was *really* thinking too much about Ren. And that lead to other places he wasnt sure he wanted his mind going, but it didnt seem to be listening. He shifted and tried to move his thoughts to other topics, knowing the morning would come all too soon.

- - -

Wednesday seemed to fly by in a blur for everyone involved. Rays subtle pressure had worked, and Ren found himself free of Consular duties for most of the day. He spent the day showing John his favorite haunts in the city, museums and the like. The two slowly allowed themselves to fall back towards the relationship that had been abandoned so many years before.

Ray, on the other hand, spent Wednesday pacing back and forth in the courthouse rehearsing his testimony in a case that was three weeks old and steeling himself for a meeting with Stella.

When the meeting did occur, he was surprised to find that it didnt effect him nearly to the degree that he had come to expect. Maybe he was starting to get over her. He scoffed, yeah. And maybe hed start watching curling, too.

- - -

Thursday morning the Consulate was in a tizzy. Apparently Inspector Thatcher had misplaced her schedule, and forgotten that she was committed to a meeting with a Canadian business official. This would not have been a problem, had not Constable Fraser also been obliged, by the Inspector, to attend a meeting with an environmental rights representative over something involving Soft-wood lumber. As the two went pelting out the door in as dignified manner as possible, Turnbull sighed and picked up the phone to alert his brother that he would not be meeting him for lunch.

John was on his way out the door when the phone rang. He paused a moment, then picked it up. Hello?

John? Its Ren. I apologize, but something has come up here at work. Im not going to be able to meet you for lunch as we had planned. Inspector Thatcher was rather insistent I not leave the grounds until she returns at four. There was muffled talking in the background. No, hes in meetings with an environmental group, Detective.

John spoke up. Ren, you sound busy. Listen, Ill be fine. Ive got the info you left me, I know where the closest CTA stop is, what can go wrong, eh?

He heard more muffled talking, then Ren seemed to focus on the phone again. John? All right, I will trust that you can fend for yourself. If you have any problems, stop in at the Chicago Office of Tourism and ask for Molly. Shes a friend of mine, she can help you with suggestions for where to go. Please be back by six; I have a curling match tonight.

John blinked, surprised that Ren had found somewhere to curl down here, then shrugged. This was Ren. Hed curl anywhere, feasible or not. Ill be home by six, no worries.

Right, again Im terribly sorry John. Good bye. The phone clicked. John set it down and peered around for the papers his brother had left out the night before. Upon finding them, he glanced through, noting the exhibits at the local art galleries as potential options, then decided to stop in at the Tourism Office to see if there was anything worthwhile that Ren didnt know about. Stranger things had happened. Really.

He locked up and made his way to the CTA station, then to 77 E. Randolph, as indicated on the sheet his brother had provided. He entered the bustling Visitors Center tentatively, wondering if he had the right place. There was certainly information. But Ren had said something about his friend being a graphic designer, not a visitor services representative. He adjusted his backpack, put on a smile, and walked over to the first person he saw with a nametag. Phyllis.

The name fit. She was only about 1.65 m tall, had short grey hair and a businesslike expression. May I help you?

Hello. I was looking for someone named Molly? Phylliss eyebrow shot up.

And what would you be wantin with her?

John cleared his throat nervously, Shes a friend of my brothers. He told me to stop in since hes busy today. His names Ren Turnbull.

Phylliss eyes widened. Turnbull. Well, why didnt you say so. Come with me, shes back this way. She cocked her head, looking him over as she rounded the counter.

You know, now that you tell me, I can almost see the resemblance. She grabber his arm and pulled him along through a doorway marked Staff Only, and up a flight of stairs. She didnt release his arm until they had reached a door marked Design and Layout that emanated suspiciously loud music. She knocked hard a few times and the music stopped. Molly, yah got a visitor. She patted John on the shoulder and turned, disappearing down the stairs.

A moment later the door opened, a dark red head popping out to peer around before settling on John. She opened the door further, frowning. Im sorry, do I know you? I didnt *think* I had anything due for another week Youre not from the mayors office, right? Because I *told* them, they have to wait their turn.

He blushed lightly. You dont know me, no. He ran a hand through his hair, settling it and himself. Im uh Ren Turnbulls brother. Hes stuck in the Consulate today, and suggested I look you up if I wanted advice for where to go today. He took in the cluttered office behind her. That is, if you have the time. I dont want to disturb you.

She colored a bit herself, Oh. No, not a problem, come in. Rens brother, huh? He never mentioned you. She look at him curiously. You from up North, too? She took a few steps back, allowing him into her office. It was small. A desk with a computer, a mini-tower, took up most of the corner and side wall. Various pictures showing what looked to be family members were scattered on the shelves beside books on computer design and a few small statues. A metalwork star hung on the back wall. She indicated the chair across from her own and he sat.

John nodded. Yes. There was a falling out in the family. His face darkened.

She nodded, That makes sense. He never talks about his family. And of course when Ren and I get together I don't stop talking about mine. At least it used to be. I don't see my family so much anymore. She looked thoughtful for a moment, eyes on one of the picture frames. He followed her gaze and noted four teens, crowding for the camera with bright smiles on their faces. She shook herself and turned back to him, blushing when she realized hed noticed her distraction. Im sorry, I didnt catch your name?

Ah. Yes, its John. John Turnbull. She accepted his offer to shake hands.

Molly Sheridan. So, what can I do for you?

He smiled. Ren mentioned that you had the most current information on exhibits in the area. I thought Id stop in and see whats good since Ive got the day to myself.

She reached over and rifled through a few folders. What are you interested in? Art, science, theatre, music?

He grinned, What can I do under twenty dollars a ticket?

She glanced up, A cheapskate, huh?

He shook his head. Im just a Uni student with an eye towards self-preservation. Opera tickets run *expensive*.

Her eyes gleamed. You like opera?

He shifted in his seat, Possibly. Why?

She smirked. Because I have 2 tickets to Chicago Lyric Operas La Boheme, Friday Night.

He sat up straighter. Really. She nodded. Well, Molly, I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

She laughed. He found he liked the sound, rather a lot. Not so fast, who said Im giving them to you? Maybe your brother has a hot date.

He snickered. Right, and Mexico just won the Stanley Cup. Nah, his idea of a hot date is a cold beer and a curling match. He leaned forward and put on his most charming expression. Now myself, on the other hand. I have more discerning tastes.

She laughed again. Like my opera tickets, for example?

Her phone rang, and she picked it up, her good mood vanishing as she argued with the caller. A moment later she slammed it back into the cradle, and remembered she wasnt alone. Im so sorry about that. Ive been getting calls from the mayors office all week over a project they want bumped to the top of the list. Apparently they dont understand the word no.

He nodded sympathetically and she cast a quick glance at the clock. He noticed, and took the hint. Would it be better if we continued this discussion over lunch?

She bit her lip, and nodded. Im sorry to rush you out. But I do have projects that I need to finish. Umm. She opened the top folder again, pulling out several sheets covered in small type. This is a listing of all the exhibits that have started in the last month or so. I hadnt had a chance to send all of them on to Ren yet. I get off for lunch at twelve thirty? She looked at him hopefully.

He grinned. I think I can manage that. He turned and left, shutting the door behind himself.

- - -

She sank back into her chair, staring at her computer screen without seeing it. What the hell was she doing? Shed just offered up her hard-earned opera tickets. Shed had to fight off half the office for those. All because he was pretty? No, because he was Rens brother, and because not *all* of them could be gay. Right? The fact that he apparently liked opera didnt mean he was gay. God, she hoped not.

Well, what was done was done, she concluded. If lunch went badly, shed give him the tickets and tell him to take his brother. If not, who knew? Maybe shed lucked into a nice guy.

- - -

Ray was at a curling match. Not even a real one. Nope, this was a practice curling match. Turnbull had asked if he would consider coming for the evening, seeing as his brother wasn't a curler and the two had gotten on well on Tuesday. Turnbull looked rather desperate, and he'd offered to pick up the tab for drinks afterwards. Against his better judgment, Ray had found himself agreeing. This was *curling*. House-keeping on ice. He counted this as a sacrifice in the name of research. He would go because if nothing else, it would give him another chance to observe Turnbull outside of the consulate. Because he seemed to be far more interesting than Ray had ever given him credit for.

All things considered, it hadn't gone too badly. John seemed to have put aside his melancholy about the sport, and spent the evening avidly watching and explaining the proceedings to Ray. Ray had brought his glasses, and between being able to see and Johns running commentary he followed along. And it *was* more interesting when you could see and follow what was going on, he'd admit that. Just not out loud.

The other thing Ray would never admit out loud was exactly how good Rens ass looked when he threw. That wasnt something you told someone you were attempting to become friends with. Never mind that they might be stereotypically gay. It just wasnt something you did. He hoped to God John hadnt seen him staring. Everyone spent periods of time leaning against the glass to focus on the curlers below. Although it wasn't like Ray was the only one leaning over, staring down at the ice, he winced every time his chair squeaked. It made him feel incredibly conspicuous. Next time he was grabbing a different chair. Of course that implied there would be a next time.

John stood up, grinning, and Ray glanced down and found that the last stones had been thrown. He stood as well, grabbing his coat, and they headed down to the locker room to meet Ren.

After Ren had assured everything was cleaned up, they headed to a bar down the street for drinks. Ren was riding the high of a hard won victory, and Rays lack of complaint didnt hurt his mood either. Ren grinned. Ray really had been a good sport about it. And it looked like Ray and John had managed to stay entertained while he curled. He probably owed Ray a drink or two. They settled themselves at a table and Ren rose to get their drinks, pausing to chat with the bartender over his win before negotiating to get his hands around three healthy sized beers.

Ray accepted his with relish and glanced around. The bar didn't look too bad. It tried for that air of 'old world', and fell a little short, but the result was a casual and comfortable establishment. And from the taste of his beer, they carried imports. All in all, hed had a good evening. And on top of everything the bruises under his eyes had finally faded. Ray settled back in his chair and grinned over at Turnbull. Ren, he corrected himself. They were both Turnbull, which had been confusing at first.

It had come to a head in the car on the way to dinner Tuesday night. Turnbull had grown exasperated and turned to him. He said, Just call me Ren. Its quite appropriate to use my first name, Detective.

John had burst out laughing. So, let me get this straight. He has to use your first name out of courtesy to *me*, but you wont use his?

Ren had reddened, It is simply a matter of courtesy, John. Detective Vecchio and I work together, to use less than his title would be disrespectful.

John shook his head, No. Play fair, Ren. Youve got to use his too.

Ray had merely concentrated on driving, soaking in the sibling banter. It had been a long time since hed been that comfortable with his own brother. Hell, itd been 4 years since Ray had even seen his brother, since back before he and Stella split. And if it got Turnbull to use his first name, who was he to argue? Ray was pulling into the into the Mexican restaurant Turnbull had chosen when the argument had finally come to an end. Ren had shifted uncomfortably in his seat before speaking. Detective, would it offend you if I used your first name outside of work?

Ray shook his head, Nah. Ive asked yah to before, anyway. As long as you dont call me Stanley, you can call me whatever you want. They had piled out and made their way inside, where they passed a pleasant evening. Turned out that unlike Fraser, Ren actually had a life outside of the Consulate. Who knew? Ren certainly had never mentioned it before, although Ray had to admit hed never bothered asking either. Although come to think of it, Ren had been out like a shot when his shift ended when Ray had been under arrest at the Consulate. Ray had dropped the two off at Rens apartment building closer to midnight than not, and gone home with a smile on his face. God, it had felt good to get out and actually socialize.

Now, he found himself in a bar after a curling match, settling into a beer with two Canadians. It felt surprisingly good. He took another sip and concluded that yes, it was a good beer. He relaxed, waiting to see where conversation led. It started with the match, but soon fell into a discussion of the merits of the various curlers. Ren was doing a lot of the talking, but Ray didnt mind. Hed had a long day. And John seemed all right with it as well, although it soon degenerated into banter again, something about an incident at their hometown curling rink. Ray perked up.

So Ren gets passed over for Skip, and everyone knew he should have had it. Ren was named vice skip, but that didnt carry much weight. And Jim Ghillies just had to rub it in, eh? John glanced at his brother, who was looking rather sheepish.

Now, this was before Ren had put on his last twenty-five centimeters, so he was shorter than I am now. And Ren didnt want to fight, but Ghillies really wanted it. Hed been passed up completely, and he was mad. He starts in about how Ren's never going to make skip, that everyone knows it. That Ren only got Vice because people feel sorry for him. The two of them went out behind the rink, and five minutes later back comes Ren, one black eye and thats it. You know what he did to Ghillies?

One broken nose, one black eye, two broken fingers, severe bruising of the abdomen. Ren turned to his brother, Did I leave anything out?

Ray blinked, surprised. He had assumed that Ren had received hand-to-hand training with the RCMP, but he wouldn't have pegged him for a fighter before that. Something else to add to the list. Along with the strange way he kept referring to his mother. Ren only referred to her by her first name. There was a story there. Something to poke around at another night.

John grinned. Nope. You should know, you spent the rest of the winter doing extra chores because of it. I never could figure out how you still managed to practice.

Ren smiled, a far away look in his eyes, It was Mary. She let me go. As long as I worked steady while I was home, she let me stay for practice two days a week. And she didnt tell Father. I was so lucky she had regular shifts that winter.

John blinked, Mum? But she was maddest about you fighting. She got so upset whenever you had bloody knuckles. No way.

Ren nodded, She believed me when I said I hadnt started it. She knew Father wouldnt care, hed only care about the end result. Ren shook his head, clearing it.

So, Ray, what did you think of the evenings match? It was only a practice match, but it follows the same guidelines as a formal competition.

Ray nodded, I hate to say this. I really do. But I didnt mind it, I think it kinda grows on you. Like toe fungus, sorta. And its better in person, yeah?

Ren smiled, I am so glad you enjoyed yourself. I had worried after your last reaction to the sport you might look less than favorably upon it.

Ren, I had a concussion. I wasnt good for much of *anything*. Trying to follow the rules in curling? Forget it. It was easier to pick a fight for entertainment.

John grinned. So, Ray, you got a boyfriend?

Ren choked on his beer. Ray sat back and grinned. No, John, I cant say that I do. He held up his arms. Skinny, 30-something Polack? Not much on either side of the gender lines looking for this, baby. You?

John looked like a deer in headlights, Um. No. See there was this girl, up at Uni, but that kind of ended back in June on not-so-hot terms, and nothing since then. Still kind of stuck on her, I guess.

Ray nodded sympathetically. Ren tried to sink into his chair. Or possibly merge with the wall. Yeah, I got divorced two, two and a half years back now. Separated two before that. Couldnt let it go. Was a while ago, though. He raised his beer in a mock salute. You get over it, though. Time heals most wounds.

He took a sip, then paused to consider the glass. So, John, not that Im offended, but whyd you ask if I had a boyfriend? Thats not the normal thing you ask a cop, you know?

John looked startled, Oh. Well, first with everything Tuesday, and then you coming along tonight and all. Id kind of been wondering if, you know He glanced between his table companions and gestured helplessly. Ren turned scarlet and stared at his beer as if it had grown wings.

If we wereoh. Oh. Um. No. Ray took a quick sip of beer to stave off any other questions. He glanced over at Ren, and was mildly alarmed by how dark his blush was. John beat him to the punch, though.

Hey, Ren, you all right over there?

Ren sat up testily, Im quite fine. Unlike some of us, I actually subjected myself to physical exertion tonight. As a result I am feeling a bit warm, that is all. He shot a quick look over at Ray, who was studying his drink.

Beer was a manly drink, Ray was deciding. Which was good. Not one of those wimpy drinks with umbrellas. And if he squinted hard enough, he could almost read the writing on the side of the glass. He finally gave up his perusal as John and Ren escalated. "John, the Leaf's wouldn't know exertion if they skated over it!"

"And I suppose the Flames are 'Oh so much better'? How many Stanley Cups do they have? And their trade rates! They're even more commitment shy than you are!!" Ren's face blanked, and John realized he may have gone a little too far, but he couldn't back down. This was *hockey*.

John, knock it off. Its not like hes the first single guy ever. I learned a long time ago, dont poke where youre not wanted. Ray sighed. It never does anyone any good.

John grumbled something into his beer, but he let up.

- - -

The topic didnt come up again until lunch the next day, when John met Ren at the consulate and they walked to a nearby restaurant. After they were settled and had placed their orders John set his elbows on the table and leaned over, looking his brother in the eye. Why dont you date?

Ren balked. I beg your pardon?

John shook his head. You heard me. And dont say no ones interested, because thats bullshit. You need to get a life, Ren. You know, go on dates? Maybe even have sex occasionally? Because if the expiration date on the lube in your bathroom is any indication, Im not sure youve gotten laid since you moved *down* here.

Ren turned bright red. Didnt your mother teach you not to poke about in other peoples cabinets?

John grinned. See, my mum was out a lot when I was growing up. I learned a lot from my brother, he kind of raised me. Hes a cop. And Im a little worried about his *descent into monkhood*! Youre not changing the subject that easily. You edit other peoples porn for a hobby, for Christ sake.

Ren looked up from the napkin hed been fidgeting with, startled. What are you-- How did you--?

John shrugged, attempting to look innocent. I went to check my Email on that wonderful computer of yours. Turned out a hotmail account was already logged in. Seriously, you copyedit peoples porn?

Ren looked around nervously, but no one seemed to be noticing their conversation. Thank God for booths. Ren prayed that their food would arrive and pause the inquisition that this was turning into. No such luck. Ren sighed. I beta, or edit, for a few people on a few mailing lists, yes. Its a hobby, John. Most people have hobbies. The caliber of their writing is quite good. And the correct term is erotica.

John groaned. Youre missing the point. Youre copyediting erotica about characters from TV shows. You need to get yourself a boyfriend, Ren. This isnt healthy.

Ren looked indignant. Extrapolation from presented material is a common phenomenon. While some of what I deal with is explicit, only the JAG lists are solely so. The Stargate list merely uses an age-verification requirement to prevent problems over homosexual pairings. It really is standard procedure in these kinds of things

John was waving his hand in his face. Ren. Thats more than I needed to know. Honest. I think youve made my point. Ren opened his mouth to argue and John cut him off. You curl, wonderful. Youve always been good at that. You edit stuff. What else do you do with your time? I mean theres got to be time in there to fit in dating, so why arent you? And before you start, dont say no ones interested. I saw how Ray was looking at you.

"Ray?" Ren frowned. "Im sure youre quite mistaken. If Ray were inclined in that manner, which your less than subtle questioning at dinner last night seems to have indicated, Im sure if he were interested he would be in a relationship with Constable Fraser. The two spend all of their time together, even off duty. And they have been displaying marked interest in each other since they met. A sexual relationship is the likely conclusion, and I have it on good authority that Constable Fraser has no misgivings about homosexual relationships. Ray's not even in my rink. He shook his head firmly, focusing on his salad and refusing to meet John's eyes.

John blinked, taking that in. Interesting. Before he could reply their food had arrived. There was a period of quiet while they ate. When John had finished his sandwich he shifted and began to poke at his fries. So what youre telling me is that since Im straight I cant possibly be reading Ray correctly. And that if hes bi, hes obviously only got eyes for his partner, your boss. He reached over and hit Ren upside the head.

Do you really have that low of an opinion of yourself? Wait John took a deep breath. Forget I asked, unless youve changed drastically of course you do. Trust me on this, he was checking you out. And not in the he-works-for-my-partner,-maybe-hell-tell-me-what-size-ring-he-wears kind of way. Is this getting through?"

Ren looked up from the side salad hed been mauling. His voice was quiet, with a touch of resignation. I understand your sentiment, John. However, Rays unlikely interest aside, I am nearing twenty-eight years old. Theres not quite the same urgency in dating that one finds at your age. I have found, in my line of work and experiences, that it is better to be conservative than to seek out partners. I have friends, and there is the potential I will meet someone who will become more. But that is all. Im not willing to go in for flings. I think you can understand why.

John sighed and nodded. You want a stable relationship, long term. I get that. And if what Ive heard is true, its harder to find a nice guy who wants that too. I get that. What I dont get is why youre not looking. You dont get anywhere with your head buried in the sand, eh?

Ren shifted and took a good look at him. Youve grown up. Matured. Your mum must be proud. Rens tone was sincere, no trace of mockery. Ill keep my eyes open, but Im not promising any more than that. Will that satisfy you? John nodded.

Good. Now, let me get the cheque and we can be on our way. I am needed back at the consulate for the Inspectors one oclock meeting. And you have museums to see. Ren grinned, and flagged their waitress.

John looked sheepish. "About the museums. I'm not going to be back for dinner tonight."

Ren shifted, eyeing his brother warily. "And why not? Tell me I'm not going to have to pull strings to keep you out of jail. Please."

John grinned. "Of course not! I'm meeting someone for dinner and an opera."

Ren blinked. "The opera- Are you sure you can afford that, John? You do understand the conversion rate, yes?"

John smirked. "Yes, Ren, I know how much money I have. But I'm not paying. Well, not for the opera. Your friend at the tourism office had a spare ticket." He raised his hands innocently. "It's all above board, I promise."

Ren nodded hesitantly. "When shall I expect you back? Are you coming back tonight? You do realize you have a flight tomorrow..."

John waved him off. "I don't know when it'll get out. I'll get home fine, and I have your number if anything happens. Yes, I know I have a flight tomorrow. Yes, I'll be home tonight. Have a little faith."

Ren frowned. "I have plenty of faith in you, John. Just not all of it is in your judgement. You are twenty one, after all. Act respectably with Molly, she's been a good friend. I don't want to hear things later, do you understand?"

John laughed and nodded. "No worries. I know how to be courteous." Ren opened his mouth to indicate otherwise, but the waitress chose that moment to finally bring over the check. John was out the door before Ren could bring it up again.

Ren waited up that evening until John made it in, at two thirty. Ren didn't pester for details, merely nodded in greeting before settling down on the floor. John's grin had said enough.

As Ren was dozing off that night, he took the time to seriously consider Johns words about Ray. No. He concluded. He has Fraser for the asking, why would he have interest in me?

- - -

Ray showed up the next afternoon to give John a lift to the airport. Ren had protested that it wasnt necessary, but Ray had waved him off. Youve only got one brother. Well go for drinks or something afterwards. Itll make me feel better knowing he made it to the airport safe, okay?

Ren couldnt decide if he should be pleased or offended at the implied lack of faith. He settled for mild confusion and pushed it to the back of his mind as they arrived at OHare. Ray parked, and they walked in. John was checked in and ready to go in half an hour, thanks to his lack of checked-baggage.

They chatted for a bit, then saw John through security and to his gate. When boarding was called, Ren watched his brother disappear, Stetson clenched firmly in hand and worrying the brim. Ray placed a hand on his shoulder, Hey, no sweat. Hes through the worst of it, and hes going to call you when he gets in, right?

Ren nodded. I... I know this is going to sound silly, Ray. But Ive never flown before. And as you can imagine that added to watching him leave and all. Its a bit of a strain. He took a deep breath and stopped worrying the hat, straightening. Im sorry. I sound like a child.

Ray rubbed his shoulder a minute longer before angling him towards the doors. Dont sweat it. Youve had a lot come at you this week. And to be honest? I would never have guessed youd handle it this well. He reached up and gently knocked on Turnbulls forehead. I think theres more going on up there than you get credit for most of the time.

Ren blushed, and thanked everything he could think of that he hadnt started to cry when John had walked through security. Leaving him once had been hard enough. They had made it back to Rays car and he had just pulled out when it hit him. He caught sight of an airplane overhead and something snapped. He shifted as much as he could in his seat, trying to be inconspicuous as tears started falling down his cheeks. Ren took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to calm himself. It only seemed to fuel the sudden burst of emotion. He leaned against the window and hoped that by some miracle Ray wouldnt notice his tears, that the radio was loud enough to cover his unsteady breathing.

He managed for a few minutes, until they were onto the highway. Ray made a lane change to the right and saw something that tipped him off. Ren felt Rays hand again on his shoulder, stroking gently as he drove. It had to be an awkward angle, but Ray didnt say a thing. He only removed his hand when he needed to downshift to exit. When the car stopped Ren realized they had reached his apartment.

Ray shifted around and dug on the floor in the back seat and came up with a slightly crumpled box of tissues. He offered it up. Ren took it gratefully. Hey. Its not so bad as all that, right?

Ren nodded against the window, not willing to look at Ray until hed gotten this under control. Re took several deep breaths, wiped his eyes, and blew his nose twice before he would sit up again. Ren turned to face Ray, fully expecting pity at the best. He was surprised to see genuine sympathy. Ray patted him on the shoulder. You ok to head up?

Ren nodded. I believe so. Im terribly sorry. I dont normally- That is to say its been quite a while since Ive- I mean Ren took a deep breath and let it out slowly, visualizing the calm rolling wheat fields of his youth. I did not intend to make a mess in your car. I apologize.

Ray was following him up the stairs. He shook his head. Nuh-uh. That does not qualify a mess. If youd puked all over, yeah that would be a mess. But a few tears never hurt anyone, and they didnt even touch the leather. He paused while Ren fumbled the door to his apartment open. After three tries he finally managed it and they made it inside. Ray continued as he settled on the couch. Like I said before, I was kinda surprised how well you were handling all this. I mean your dads dead, you just started talking to your brother for the first time in ages. And now hes gone again. And phones aside, gone is still gone. My brother moved with a job 4 years ago and I think Ive heard from him once since then. So you got full rights to water works. Just get it done now, so you can get on with your life.

Ren watched him incredulously, frozen in the kitchen on the way to a beer. After several moments of silence, Ray turned towards him and noted his location. You need any help in there? Should I head home? I thought you might want some company since itll be just you for the first time in a week. Hell, you might want the quiet, how would I know. He took a quick breath and looked up. So, you want me to beat it? Or should we check the hockey listings? Because I am in no way watching 4 hours of curling to make you feel better. Not today.

Ren couldnt help it, he laughed. And that seemed to make everything inside of him ease up enough to start functioning again. He grabbed two beers from the fridge and joined Ray on the couch, finding that there was indeed a hockey game on. Their hands met as he passed over the bottle, but he shrugged off the pleasant feeling it gave him. John had said he needed a social life. Friends was a social life. It would do just fine for now.

~ Finis ~