Disclaimer: Due South belongs to Alliance Atlantis. Written for love, not money.

Author's Notes: Many thanks to Stormy Stormheller and Val for the betas, and to my friend Liz for the encouragement.

Some kind of wonderful. Yeah, right. In what universe?

Ray pulled into a parking spot outside his building and turned off the engine, silencing The Drifters in mid-chorus. He slumped in the seat and scrubbed at his face roughly, trying to get the energy together to make it up to his apartment. It had been a long and frustrating week: none of his leads had gone anywhere, none of his informants had any tips, and one of his witnesses ended up dead in an alley. Weeks like this made it hard to remember why he'd ever wanted to be a cop.

To top it all off, Fraser had been stuck at the Consulate all week, working long hours getting ready for some big shot's visit, so he hadn't been able to liaise. That didn't happen very often any more -- Fraser's current boss was a lot more reasonable than Thatcher ever was -- so when it did it really sucked.

But as he got to the top of the stairs Ray could hear Fraser's voice, so he must have finished up and got out on time. That was something anyway. He'd have dinner started, and Ray was sick of Chinese and pizza, which he tended to live on still when he had to fend for himself. After years of living with Fraser, he'd actually come to enjoy vegetables. Who knew?

As Ray opened the door, Dief came running down the hall to say hello, trying, as he always did, to get in a few good licks before Ray could get his hands up to defend his ears. It was a game they played that Ray almost never won, but he was used to it now, and after the week from hell he wasn't going to turn down any signs of affection.

After a few seconds, though, Ray grabbed Dief's muzzle and shoved him off. "Okay, enough already! Geez, get down." Dief got in another lick but finally dropped to the floor, and Ray wiped at the wolf spit in his ear. Dief whined and butted his head against Ray's thigh, so he knelt down to bury his hands in Dief's ruff and give him a rub. "I'm okay. Happy to see you too, wolf." Ray's ear being once again within range, Dief stuck his cold nose in it and gave it another swipe.

"Diefenbaker! Let Ray get his coat off and sit down!" Fraser came out of the kitchen drying his hands on the apron he wore that said "Kiss the Cook". Ray had got it for him for Christmas two years ago as a joke, but Fraser always used it when he was cooking, and Ray always kissed him when he did. Hey, he wasn't stupid. Any excuse, right?

Fraser reached down and pulled Ray to his feet and into a hard hug. Ray buried his face in Fraser's neck and held on tight; he needed this. But there was a burbling and a hiss from the direction of the stove as something boiled over, and Fraser released him and turned away to rescue it, leaving Ray standing, alone and a little lost, in the hall.

"Ray, go, take your coat off and wash up. Dinner is almost ready. You need to eat and relax. You look exhausted."

Ray gave himself a mental shake. "Yeah. It's been a helluva week." He shrugged out of his coat and hung it up by the door. "I missed you. Could really use your help with this Borden case. I'm not getting anywhere." Walking back to the bedroom, he unbuckled his holster and dropped it on the dresser with a satisfying thud. Some days taking it off felt like a real weight off his back. "There's gotta be something I'm missing, but I just can't pin it down." Ray raised his voice so Fraser could hear him in the kitchen, but when he turned around he found that Fraser had followed him back to the bedroom and was leaning in the doorway watching him, still wearing the apron. Ray cocked his head, smiling at the picture he made. Three quick strides brought him back within arms' reach, so he slid them around Fraser's waist and took his mouth in a deep kiss. Oh, yeah. That was more like it.

But after much too short a time Fraser broke off the kiss. "Come on, Ray. Dinner's ready."

"Okay, yeah, something smells good. I'll be right there." Ray toed off his boots and, feeling deprived, frustrated, and--let's face it--cranky, kicked them under the bed. A quick trip to the bathroom to wash his hands (and his ears), and by the time he got to the table Fraser had two big bowls of chilli dished up and waiting, along with a basket of cornbread muffins. Ray took two, broke one down the middle, slathered on some butter and took a big bite. Fraser just looked at him.

"What?"

"Nothing, Ray; I just like to see you enjoying your food." Fraser smiled and took a muffin for himself. While he was busy with the butter Ray dropped the other half of his muffin onto the floor for Dief, who snapped it up. Fraser sighed. "Ray, please, you really have to stop feeding him. He's getting fat." Dief barked sharply and Fraser glared at him. "Yes, really. A constant diet of baked goods and junk food will do that. It's funny how that works." A sneeze eloquently expressed Dief's opinion of that remark.

"Aw, lighten up. Me'n Dief'll go for a run tomorrow and work it off while you're at the Consulate. That is, if this damn case doesn't blow up in my face." Ray took a spoonful of chilli, then a bite of muffin. "Frase, you ever have one of those Murphy's law things, you know, that thing where everything goes all to hell?"

"Actually, Ray, I believe I have. Did I ever tell you about the vacation Ray Vecchio and I took to rebuild my father's cabin?"

"Nah, I don't remember that. What happened?"

"We were on our way to Inuvik and were changing planes in Yellowknife. A prisoner being transported shot the pilot and hijacked the plane, flying it south instead of northwest. After approximately two hours he parachuted out of the plane, leaving us without a pilot. The plane stalled and I was unable to get it started again, so we crashed. Ray was unharmed, but I suffered a concussion and a probable subdural hematoma, which first left me temporarily blind and later caused me to become paralyzed from the waist down. Ray was forced to lead me and then carry me on his back over many miles of rough terrain as we tracked the prisoner. We found a river and built a raft, and while trying to use the raft to return to civilization, we encountered a waterfall and were nearly drowned. Ray, as he reminded me repeatedly during and after the trip, had given up two weeks in Miami for this. He was quite put out about it."

Fraser took the last bite of his muffin and chewed thoughtfully. "On the other hand, he told me that he had always wanted to go camping when he was younger, so he had a wish come true there. Probably not quite what he had in mind, but still, something. We never did make it up to my father's cabin though."

Ray barked out a laugh. "Okay, you've got me beat again. You're even better'n me at having a bad week. Hijacked, for God's sake. Blind and paralyzed." Ray shook his head in disbelief. "What happened to the prisoner? Tell me you at least brought him in with you. You got your man, right?"

"Well, in a manner of speaking. It was most unfortunate, but Ray accidentally killed him. He had us pinned down, shooting at us as we built the raft, and Ray had exhausted the ammunition for his backup weapon so he was trying to disarm the man using a bola that I had made -- it's somewhat related to a slingshot, Ray -- but he missed and caused a piece of the rock face to fall on the man's head."

"Jesus H. Christ! -- a dead perp to top it off. My week wasn't that bad -- okay, I do have a dead witness, but I didn't have anything to do with him getting dead. All my leads have just gone fucking nowhere, and I've got this gigantic headache from banging my head against the wall." Ray pounded his fist on the table, causing the cutlery to jump on the plates.

Fraser reached out quickly and put his hand over Ray's fist before he could do it again. "You'll figure it out. I'll help in any way I can. I'll be free to come to the station again on Monday. You're a good detective, Ray. You've got the best solve rate in the precinct. You'll figure it out."

Some of the tension bled out of Ray's shoulders. "Thanks, buddy. But we've got the best solve rate in the precinct."

Fraser smiled. "That's right, Ray. I set them up, you knock them down. An unbeatable combination."

Ray smiled back then, a real smile, and pulled his hand out from under Fraser's so he could get up from the table. "I'm going to have a beer. You want one?"

"No, thank you. I think I'll make some tea after I do the dishes."

Ray bent over to pull a bottle out from the back of the fridge. As he straightened up he felt Fraser's arms go around his waist and a kiss pressed against his neck, followed by a little lick behind his ear. Ray shivered slightly, crossing his arms over Fraser's, feeling the rasp of stubble as he dropped his head back onto Fraser's shoulder.

Caught in a surge of emotion that rolled over him, Ray wallowed for a moment. He wished he had the words to make Fraser understand what it meant to him that Fraser loved him and believed in him like that, but Fraser was the one who had the way with words. And then it occurred to him that when they were really clicking they communicated without any words at all -- like that time on the ghost ship -- and if there was one thing Ray was good at, it was non-verbal communication.

Ray turned in Fraser's arms and reached around him to put the now unwanted beer down on the table. "Forget the dishes. Dance with me."

Wrapping his right arm around Fraser's waist, and taking his other hand, Ray started to sway gently, then to move slowly around the kitchen table. As they circled the room, Ray could almost feel the week's frustrations draining away. Dancing was good. Dancing with Fraser was greatness. Prolonged exposure to Ray had done wonders for Fraser's sense of rhythm: they were a duet on the dance floor now the way they always had been on a case. Ray squeezed Fraser's hand and tightened his arm around his waist, drawing him in closer before spinning him around in front of the sink. Ray found himself humming the song that was on the radio when he came home.

Maybe it was some kind of wonderful after all.