Disclaimer: Recognisable characters belong to Alliance/Atlantis, who aren't doing anything with them. Original characters are mine

Author's Notes: Notes: HUGE thank you to my betas. I've been working on this story off and on (mainly off) for almost exactly a year and there's no doubt that it would still have been unfinished in another year if it hadn't been for them.
Janne took the time to read even though she has an actual RL. Hope she likes the changes. littleb poked and prodded my grammar into submission and laughed in all the right places. Extra special thanks to threequarters for above and beyond beta, for sitting through what feels like endless drafts, for helping me with Americanisms and just generally making this better.

Story Notes: Set two years post CotW
Warnings: Nothing I can think of. Blink and you'll miss 'em spoilers for Series 3 & 4 and some m/m action. And a lot of romance :)

Part One: Inuvik Airport - 11.30am

Shit. Shittity, shittity, shit.

Not yet. I won't cry yet.

Bite inside of cheek, refuse to blink. Yep, that's it Kowalski. Control the tears. Not yet.

Two more minutes we'll be in the air. I'm the only passenger on this Cessna, so no one will know if I ball.

That's it. That's it.

Our pilot today is Charlie Chambers. He's done this run with me pretty much every time for the last two years. Doesn't do a double take anymore when I get off at Yellowknife with red puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks. And, if he hears anything over the roar of the engines, well he never comments. But, I do normally manage not to break down in front of him. Normally.

Deep breaths. He turns back to give me the thumbs up and slips me a sympathetic smile along with it. Manage to return both, had a lot of practice at this whole tear suppression thing, but it still hurts like hell.

And then we're up. Up and away. Flying through clear, cold blue skies away from Inuvik; away from Ben.

This is too damn hard, and it's getting harder every time. We fell in love in Chicago, but we couldn't do much about it, touch as often and as inconspicuously as we could, hold hands wherever we were sure no one would see - alleys for example, and Stanley Smith's chest, hmm, never been totally convinced as to the logic of that one.

I'm out and open now. Kind of. There'd always been rumours about Kowalski, but I was Vecchio then and I wasn't about to screw up his career by labelling him queer. So we waited.

We waited 'til Canada. 'Til we were off on our adventure. The day we set off, when Buck Frobisher saluted Fraser, was the last time either of us saw Buck; he died pretty soon after. I know it warms Ben a bit to know that the last time we saw his father's partner he was so obviously proud of us.

We set off, and as we rode across Canada - don't ask me which part, my internal compass hadn't kicked in yet - I felt keyed up and scared and excited. It was a damn good job the wind and the dogs made it impossible for us to talk to each other 'cause nothing out of my mouth would have made any sense. Hmm. Like that's a novelty. Stop it Ray, my internal Fraser tells me. He hates it when I put myself down, doesn't seem to get that I often don't really mean it. Still, I love that he minds.

We made camp near a lake that night, just a little puddle really when you compare it to the one they call Michigan, but beautiful all the same. Ate dinner pretty much in silence, but not an uncomfortable silence. Don't know if you've ever noticed, but I talk. A lot. Especially when I've got nothing to say. It's like biting my nails or jiggling my leg, drumming my fingers or beating a rhythm on the steering wheel. I have a problem keeping still and quiet when I'm wired, so maybe it was the night air, or the stillness, or maybe just the way Fraser seemed to be sliding through my veins but I felt totally content just to sit still and let whatever happened happen.

After we ate and put everything away, Fraser led me a little way from camp, down to the edge of the lake, and put his arm around my waist. I reached for his other hand and he curled his fingers around mine while his thumb stroked my palm.

"I'm so glad you're here, Ray." He whispered and then he kissed me.

The kiss was good bordering on great. We were both kind of nervous. No tongue to start with, just four hot, moist lips clinging and sucking. Then I needed to know what his mouth tasted like and slipped my tongue in. He moaned gratefully, and sucked my tongue into his mouth, swirling his own around it. It's weird, we could have had our first kiss back in Chicago, could have been playing tonsil hockey in my apartment for months, in his office even, anywhere where we wouldn't have been seen. But, even without discussing it, we both knew that neither of us wanted that. We didn't want an illegal, snatched relationship, with both of us scared of getting caught and blowing my cover. I've never blown a cover and I wasn't going to start now, especially not when the guy I was covering for was Ben's best friend.

After that kiss, we embarked on two simultaneous adventures; hunting for Franklin's lost fingers by day, and exploring each other by night. We traced our warm line for six months and by the end, the land didn't feel so wild and savage; it felt like home.

*

It was sometime after that that he started with the "darling" thing. First time he said it I flipped my lid, I mean really. It was like it tripped some long buried switch in me and all the old hang ups I used to have about what it meant to be queer came crashing back around me. I was half way through yelling at him, when I realised he wasn't trying to argue back, just looking down at his hands, shoulders slumped.

"You're right, Ray." He said softy, when my voice died away. "I'm sorry, I should have known you wouldn't like it."

Well, that made me feel crap, but all I said was, "Well, good." And for the first night since we started questing we slept with our sleeping bags separate.

*

It didn't come up for a couple of days, then when we were seeing to the dogs, kneeling in the snow side by side he asked me why I hated it so much.

"Fraser, it's a girly name." I thought that should settle it, it was clear enough, but no.

"That's a matter of perception, Ray."

"Yeah," I ran my hand through Reese's fur - Ben named his half the team after Canadian Prime Ministers, I named mine after Steve McQueen characters - checking for all the gross things I'd been taught to check for, "It is a matter of perception, and my perception is it makes me sound like a girl, or a wimp, or... or..."

"Or what?"

"Or a fag, Frase."

*

Well, you can imagine how well that went down, and after that we had a kind of tact... tactic... tacit agreement not to mention it again. But Ben was hurt, and I can't stand that. Finally, in the middle of the night, I rolled out of my sleeping bag, climbed into his. "Why?" I breathed against his ear. "Why's it matter so much to you?"

"Because it reminds me of my mother," He said quietly, which I have to admit is not something I'd expected. "My mother was a tough woman, she had to be. But she could also be kind and gentle, perhaps those times were extra special, because of her normal toughness. Sometimes, mainly when she was happy, or when I was in need of comfort she'd call me her darling. No one else has ever had a pet name for me like that; I suppose I don't invite them. When my mother called me it I felt safe and loved. You're the one who makes me feel that now, and I just wanted to show you how much I appreciate it... you."

I kissed him, and I haven't complained about the darling thing since. It's not as if he does it in public - more importantly, he doesn't do it round my dad - and it's not as if he's trying to emanci... emasci... make me feel girly. And he doesn't say it in that affected, Hollywood way that people do on TV. He just says it like he means it, like I really am his darling. And how can I object that?

*

We reached the Beaufort Sea at the end of September and though we hadn't found Franklin and Co, we did get to stand where they must have stood, and to be honest that felt almost as good. After that, we wandered back to Inuvik and dumped ourselves on Maggie.

I put it off as long as possible, but eventually I had to call Welsh and Fraser called the Mother Ship. Welsh told me Vecchio had gotten married (tactfully missing out to who. Ah, whom, Ray) and gone to Florida, so I could basically have my old job and my old desk back, without even having to lose my name. The Canadians told Fraser that he could be posted wherever he wanted to go. Except Chicago. See, it seems that after Turnbull unearthed his political streak and Thatcher went commando (ewwww, not in that way. Gah, terrible mental images) the Mounties' reign over Chicago came to an end. They now have actual consular staff at their consulate. Go figure.

Fraser decided he wanted to be posted in Inuvik so he could spend some time back where he belongs getting to know Maggie. Then ... then he told me that he wanted me to take up Welsh's offer, that he wanted me to go back to Chicago. That was a shock, I can tell you. We hadn't discussed it, but I'd taken it as given that we'd stay together. I didn't care where I was or what I was doing as long as we were together. To be honest, I still feel that way.

But he told me he didn't want me giving up my life for him. He said we'd make it work, but I didn't listen. I thought it was all some horrible, ultra-Canadian way of breaking up with me, and I went mad. I yelled at him, called him names, and then I threw stuff, which was a pretty shitty thingy to do, especially as the stuff I threw - and broke - was Maggie's. The sound of breaking china and glass, the sight of tiny shards exploding across the room pulled me up short. I stopped yelling instantly and so, after a beat, did he (if things had been different, I would have been seriously impressed that I'd finally got to him enough to make him yell). He wrapped his arms around me and kissed me full and hard and endlessly on the mouth giving me no chance to restart the argument.

"Ray, Ray, Ray" he chided me softly, making me look him in the eye. "What has gotten into you?"

I shrugged, "Thought maybe you only wanted me when we were out in the snow and no one would give you grief for bein' with a weird-ass, American guy."

He just blinked at me for a long, long moment, then his arms fell away from me and he paced across the room.

"Do you really think I would do that?" he asked, well, okay, snapped, his voice sort of sad, "Don't you realise how much I love you?"

I felt suddenly really tired and sank down onto the sofa, "I thought you did, but now you want me to go away. I don't get how you can love me and not want to be with me. 'Cause I want to be with you every second, wherever."

He crossed Maggie's tiny living room and knelt down in front of me. " I want to be with you." He said very seriously. "But I don't want to get in the way of your career. I know you say that nothing but us matters, and that is wonderful, Ray, very romantic. But it's not practical. You've built a life in Chicago and I don't want you to give that up. If it were viable, I'd come back to the Consulate, but sadly that avenue is now ..."

"Nuhuh," I interrupted, "No. If I'm not allowed to give up my career then you're not allowed to give up yours either."

He smiled at me, "So, you understand our problem. I'm sorry, Ray, I didn't think when I asked you to go back, I should have explained my reasoning better. My only excuse is," he blushed "You seem to understand me so well that I forget I sometimes need to communicate in words. I'm not trying to push you away darling, I swear, but at the moment there is just no place for us in each other's country."

I slid off the sofa and wrapped my arms around him tight. "What are we going to do?" I asked his neck.

Over the next few hours we made plans. Worked out how much leave we had left (after our 6 month sabbaticals - not much); how often we could take leave; who should visit who (whom). He had it worked out as a four-day trip once a month; I was gunning for every weekend. Then finally, we took each other to bed and made love.

We'd have sex before, obviously. But we'd never taken that final step, gone all the way. We'd done a hell of a lot, but to be honest, it's just too fucking cold in a tent, to... er... fuck. Plus, I was kind of scared. I hadn't told Ben that, but I reckon he must have picked up on it, 'cause he never forced the point, just waited 'til I was ready. I'd been with guys before Ben - well two anyway. Both at college during one of Stella's "we can't commit to each other properly until we've experienced other people" phases. But it'd never gone beyond fumbling, touching and groping. I'm bi, but Ben's properly gay. Except for the Metcalf chick, which was more about loneliness than sex, he's only been with guys, so he was ready whenever I was. And I knew he wanted it, wanted to go that extra step, it's just damn hard to turn off all that conditioning crap that says guys that let guys do that aren't real men.

So that night we made love, and as I lay on my back, writhing and gasping and feeling things I'd never thought possible I promised to love him no matter where we were, and as he came deep inside me he promised me the same adding forever.

The next day we called our bosses and asked for our jobs back and, a week later, we were standing on the tarmac holding each other, whispering nonsense, then I was on the plane on the first of my three connecting flights to Chicago and the tradition of my mile high breakdowns began.

That was a little over two years ago. It feels like an eternity. For the first month, we spoke on the phone every night (we still do), but we didn't see each other once. Neither of us had the money or the leave. That was hell so we began weekend visits. For six weeks, we spent all weekend travelling just to spend one night together. Ben made the first visit, then I went to Inuvik the next weekend and so on.

It was wonderful to be together so often, but absolutely no good in the long term. Which ever of us was travelling that week would leave straight after work on Friday, fly through the night, and (assuming all the flights ran to schedule) arrive Saturday morning dog tired, but refusing to rest and so waste time together. We'd have the rest of Saturday, Saturday night, and Sunday morning together - all wonderful - then fly back Sunday afternoon arriving home on Monday just in time - hopefully - to start work. I would have stuck it out myself, despite the exhaustion, despite the cost - which was pretty damn astronomical, but just about manageable what with the bonus the Feds gave me for the Vecchio gig, and the money Ben saved by living like a monk for most of his adult life. I think Ben would have carried on too, but neither of us could stand the thought of the other going through it. So we hit on the monthly idea.

Once a month we both take five days off and one of us flies in to be with the other. We have to do double shifts and work weekends to build up the leave, but it's worth it for five days together. Luckily, our bosses are cool with us jigging our hours around like that, in fact they've both been brilliant.

I was kind of worried Welsh would freak when I told him about me and Ben. I know I sarc the guy, but he means a lot to me. Wouldn't tell him that, but it's the truth. I knew him before the Vecchio gig, and the Feds told me that he asked for me personally, which was cool. I told him about us straight after getting back 'cause I thought he had a right to know. Also I wanted to know as quick as possible if it was going to be a problem. But he was fine with it. We don't shove it in his face, but he honestly doesn't seem to have a problem with the fact I love a guy, or maybe it's more that that guy is the Canadian freak who littered his district with good deeds for three years. Like most people, he seems to think that being in love is one of the least wildly bizarre things we've done.

The plan was that we'd take it in turns to travel, but in reality, I come to Inuvik more often than he comes to Chicago. Like I said, Inuvik feels like home to me too now, and I want to be there as often as possible. Beside which, Fraser's boss - who reminds me a lot like the Ice Queen - is on maternity leave so Fraser is acting Sergeant and simultaneously trying to implement some new policing scheme the top brass have decided to guinea-pig on some of the little local postings like Inuvik. So, although he still manages to take his five days he feels better if he's at least around for them to contact in case something goes hinky. So here I am now. Flying home after five days with the man of my dreams (he blushed scarlet and rolled his eyes when I called him that, but I'm sticking to it) and in four weeks, I'll be doing it again. But in three weeks and two days he'll be meeting me at Inuvik airport and I'll feel warm in a place that only feels warm when he's with me, and that's what makes it worth it.

*

By the time we reach Yellowknife, I'm all out of tears and sitting back in my seat, warming myself on memories of the last few days. Jeez, I'm getting sappy. I'm not depressed; the tears aren't a sign of imminent breakdown; I just hate saying goodbye. The actual separation thing I can mostly deal with now, but saying goodbye to him does me in every time.

We touch down in Yellowknife without any problem at all and once we've taxied off the runway and parked, or stopped, or whatever, Charlie appears in the cabin doorway and this time when he grins, the one I give in return feels convincing.

"Enjoy the flight?" he asks.

"Yep." I undo my seatbelt, stand up stiffly and stretch, "Though you still ain't fixed up that in-flight movie we talked about."

I won't tell you what he says, 'cause you don't need to know that Canadians can swear, but he grins too so I know he doesn't really mind me panning his Pan-Am, which is handy 'cause I do it all the time.

"So, am I picking you up next month or am I flying Corporal Fraser down?" he asks as we walk across the tarmac to the one tiny coffee bar this airport boasts.

"Nope, you're stuck with me again." I grin, "'Spector Booth's baby's due pretty much then so there's no way he can get away."

Charlie stops us outside the caf and turns to face me. "You heard the rumours?" he asks, looking uncomfortable.

I blink at him for a moment, confused. There were a lot of rumours about me and Ben when we first blew in to town after our adventure, but we confirmed 'em so quick that no one bothers anymore. Then I get what he's talking about and burst out laughing. "You mean about Booth's kid?" When he doesn't answer, just blushes redder, I put a hand on his arm. "I've heard two," I tell him "One where the kid's Ben's and she and him are having some secret, passionate affair. The other whereby the kid's still Ben's, but this time she's having it for us as some sort of surrogacy thing. Are there any others I haven't heard?"

"Um, well, I've heard both of them, and I've also heard one like that second one you said, only this time you were the father, not Corporal Fraser." He's still looking damn uncomfortable, so I punch his arm where I was touching it before.

"It's all crap," I tell him firmly, "I don't know who the father is, but it sure as hell ain't Ben and I'd of noticed if it was me."

He finally relaxes and we go into the caf. We sit down at the nearest table, and as we're waiting for our coffees, I remember something and start to laugh. Charlie raises his eyebrows, "What?"

"Nothin'" I wave a hand at him 'til I can stop laughing, then explain, "What you said reminded me of something that happened when we were in Chicago. Ben's boss decided that she wanted to have a baby and told him she wanted him 'involved in the process'. Well, the poor guy was terrified, thought she wanted him to ... you know. So he got all dressed up, bought her a big bouquet of flowers and went a-courtin'."

He grins at the picture, then asks, "What happened?"

I wink, "Turns out she meant adoption." And he bursts out laughing.

The girl brings our coffee, we thank her, and then he leans forwards. "So, if she had meant what he thought she meant, would you have let him do it?"

"To be honest, I woulda wanted to scratch her eyes out and tear out all her hair, but it wouldn't have been any of my business, we weren't together then. We didn't even know that we both wanted us to be together."

"That was on the sailing ship, right? After you stopped those guys from polluting Lake Superior."

I blush "Do I do anything but talk at you about Ben?"

Charlie finishes one coffee in the same time I down three and then he gets up, telling me he wants to get home before it gets dark and promising to drop in on Ben to tell him I got this far safely.

*

Countless hours and an unimaginable number of cups of coffee later, I'm crossing through arrivals at O'Hare International looking for Frannie. The only time this place is ever interesting is when I'm here with Ben and he tells me the story of the guy they named this place after. He was a pilot in World War II and if Ben's to be believed (which he always is) he got up to some seriously cool stuff.

When Ben's been visiting me, he doesn't let me come to the airport with him. He knows I break down at goodbye time, hell he's had to physically force me onto the plane in Inuvik in the past, and I think he's worried about me driving the GTO while upset. Cute, huh?

I find Frannie. Of course she's here, she always is. She throws her arms around me and kisses me on both cheeks. We have a friendly, siblingly (why not? You can have brotherly, sisterly) squabble about who carries my case. I win; she's driving, and then she leads me to the 4x4 where kids one, two and three are waiting.

Frannie was one of the people we were most scared of coming out to. Not that I thought she'd have a problem with the gay thing, just that she'd want to kill me for 'stealing' Fraser. I told her last, after I'd told Welsh and my folks and the turtle. Partly because I was a coward and putting it off as long as possible, but also because I knew once I'd told her the Frannie-bush-telegraph would have got to everyone before I did. She cried when I told her, which made me feel like the lousiest son-of-a-bitch ever to live, but then she sort of shrugged, smiled, and hugged me. "At least that means I didn't repulse him" she sniffed, and that was that.

Kid one is called Maria after Ma Vecchio; kids two and three are twins and she called one Benjamin (I think the father rebelled at Benton) and one James (which is apparently the father's middle name). About now you want to ask me who the father is, don't you? And the answer? Hanged if I know. Ma thinks they're immaculate conceptions, but I know my 'sister' a little better than that. We've all asked, but she won't tell. Even Stella's pulled the curious sister-in-law card, but nada. I think Elaine might know, they were always friendly and since she transferred back to the 2-7 they're pretty much never apart.

Kid one greats me with shrieks and clapping and "Uncle Ray!"; the twins gurgle, but that might be wind rather than bein' pleased to see me.

"Did you have a good trip?" Frannie asks after we've left O'Hare and are cruising down the interstate.

I grin at her, knowing I've got a daft, dreamy look on my face, but to be honest not giving a damn. "It was absolutely fan-fuc...er fan-friggin'-tastic." Note to self: Do NOT swear when there are kiddies around.

"D'you boys get up to anything exciting?"

I waggle my eyebrows at her and wink "Ooh yeah", making her choke, laugh and blush all at once.

"I didn't mean it like that, you know I didn't!" She's still scarlet, but I know she doesn't mind me teasing her like that. I made sure she was over Ben, and wouldn't mind anyway before I started. Besides, I have this theory, one that Ben completely disapproves of, that Frannie likes the idea of two guys together. Likes as in how I like *coughs* liked the idea of two girls.

*

The next week or so passes fairly okay. I miss Ben, he misses me, but we phone each other every night, sometimes more than once, and Welsh is keeping me really fucking busy. After the sub thing, and the Vecchio thing, the wise leaders of the Chicago PD decided that they wanted to promote me. Well, that's fine and dandy, but the thing is, I've already made Detective First Class, which means that a promotion would make me a Lieutenant, and that's a desk job. You can imagine what I said.

On some levels, I'd be really proud to be made Lieutenant and with Welsh as my role model, I reckon I probably do okay. But me and deskwork are not close associates, we don't even nod when we pass in the corridor. Besides I have no plans to work anywhere but the 2-7 and not even that rabble needs two Lieu's. So I gave them my politest thanks-no-thanks response.

They settled by giving me another citation - it's getting crazy, if they give me any more the top shelf of my closet (where I can keep them and see them everyday, yet still look as though I'm not too bothered and not trying to shove them in anyone's face) will give out. Welsh understood my reason for turning down the promotion, but he told me it wasn't over yet - he hasn't said it in so many words, but everybody reckons he's getting me ready to take over from him when he retires, which he's talking about doing more and more lately since he got married.

Everyone at the 2-7 knows about Fraser and me. Those who weren't here when we left thirty-odd months ago, just know that Kowalski's queer. What they think of that I don't know, I don't ask. Personally, I don't give a shit about anyone's opinions, and I'm not worried on a safety level. Welsh has made it perfectly, but subtly, clear that if I ever call for back-up and it's even two minutes later than it needs to be whoever's to blame will be out of the CPD so fast they'll have rubber tracks on their ass. The people, who were here, know that Kowalski's queer with the good lookin', kind, polite Canadian who always helped them out and asked after their grandma, and that gets me a kind of respect.

Yep, everyone at the 2-7 knows about Fraser, and me but only certain people know. Like everyone knows that Dewey smells of bacon bits and fish (oh, yeah, the Duck Boys are back - forgot to mention that, didn't I?) but only a few of us know that that's because he works double shifts at his brother's restaurant after he finishes at the 2-7 so that said brother doesn't have to hire staff and can afford to send his kid to college. Yep, Tom Dewey is a prince among assholes.

So, I'm sitting at my desk warily eyeing a huge tower of paperwork that I'm refusing to touch on the principle that last time I breathed near it the thing fell down, when I see a flash of true red serge out of the corner of my eye. And although I know he's in Canada, I know he isn't in Chicago and I know he doesn't wear the red anymore I'm half way out of my chair before any on if becomes (as Frannie would say) known.

I slump back down, feeling as if my heart just slipped out of my navel, when I realise that no, it might not be my Mountie, but it's not a totally unknown one either.

"Hey, Turnbull!" I yell.

He looks around, seemingly kind of startled, which is odd 'cause who else could he be here to see? The startled look fades and his expression slides back to normal - expressionless. Now I get a proper look at him, not just a heart stopping flash of red, I can see that he's not actually wearing the serge. He's just wearing a sweater that happens to be exactly the same shade as the red uniform. Guess he can't quite let go of the RCMP.

"Detective Vecchi...er, Kowalski." He says politely crossing the bullpen to my desk and I'm once more seriously considering just changing me name. Vecchierkowalski would be a hell of a lot easier on everybody.

Yeah, Stanley Ray Vecchierkowalski, quite a ring to it.

Maybe Stanley Ray Vecchierkowalski-Fraser.

Okay, come back to reality Stanley, you're getting a little bit carried away.

Turnbull limps a little as he walks over. That's a remnant of his brush with the bus, but hell, it could have been a lot worse.

"Howdy T, take a pew." I offer as he reaches me, and as he does, I add, "What brings you south?"

"Well, detective, I was in the general vicinity of Chicago on business, which I'm sure you won't mind if I fail to divulge, and I thought it would be quite delightful to call upon some of my old friends in the city." Heh. Turnbull still talks like Turnbull. Well, like Turnbull, but a little less embarrassed and hesitant, reckon finding something he's good at must have upped his confidence levels.

We chat about nothing for a little while and if feels kind of forced, to me at least, 'cause although I like the guy, I don't really know him. Not his fault, I just kind of got a little distracted by someone else whenever I was at the Consulate.

Then he asks "And how is Constable Fraser?" and I'm instantly on a role. I may not be much of a conversationalist, but that's a topic I'm fluent in. Not sure who told him about us, but I don't think it came as much of a surprise. Our Renfield saw a lot from his little desk in the entrance hall.

He lets me waffle and enthuse for far longer than a lesser man would have been able to stand, then, probably in self-defence, asks "Is Francesca not at work today?"

"No, Jamie's got some kinda ear infection whatsit so she's staying at home at the mo." I tell him before it occurs to me that oh shit, Turnbull kinda liked Frannie before he went away, does he know about the kids?

"Is James alright?" he asks sounding concerned, and I remember that of course Turnbull knows about the babies. He dropped by about a year ago and Frannie let him stay at the Vecchio house after his hotel reservation fell through, so he knows about Maria at least.

"Yeah, sure, he'll be fine. You know what little kids are like, they pick up everything going." He nods, but he still looks worried. Turnbull's the kind of guy who'd cry if your Granny died, shouldn't of told him the kid was sick.

We chat a bit more, then Welsh pops out of his office and asks in that way of his whether I had considered doing any work. Turnbull immediately jumps up, babbling apologies for having kept me, and, as he's backing his way out of the squad room, we make arrangements to meet for a drink (it's so going to be non-alcoholic) before he heads back to Toronto.

Once Turnbull's gone, Welsh calls me into his office.

"How we doing on the Rosenberg case, Detective?"

"Er, didn't I solve that one, sir?"

He stares at me, very patiently "Did you?"

I did, I know I did. I might not do paper work, but I don't forget cases. "Yes, sir, yesterday, sir. I found the jewels, they're in the evidence locker awaitin' processin'."

"I see." Long pause. Shit, I did good on this one, what's he getting at? "And were I to look in this bag of jewels would I also find the perpetrator or perpetrators of the crime that caused them to arrive in said evidence locker?"

Ah. (Damn it all, I'm becoming a Canadian.) "No sir, but Senator Rosenberg said that she wasn't worried about catchin' the perps as long as she got her diamonds back, and you yourself said to make the jewels top priority."

"Top priority, Detective, not only priority. I'm not sure if you've yet encountered it, Kowalski, but in this country we have a happy little thing called justice. And, regardless of what Senator Rosenberg, or others, may say, we in the police department have a duty to enforce said justice to the best of our abilities. Do you understand the point I'm making, Detective?"

"Catch the perps, sir?"

He nods slowly "Catch the perps, Ray."

I'm just leaving, thinking that wasn't actually too bad, when he stops me. "Kowalski."

"Sir?" I turn back into the room.

"Will we be seeing Corporal Fraser around here anytime soon?"

"No, sir." Wonder if Ben realises how many people miss him? Hope I remember to tell him. "The Canadians are introducing some new system or other and they're keeping him up there to set it up."

"Must be hard for you."

I tilt my head. "Hard, sir, yes. No way impossible, though."

He looks at me hard. "Good to hear." He tells me gruffly. "You've got a good thing here, Kowalski, don't blow it."

I gape at him. Welsh is giving me advice on my relationship? My Lieutenant is giving me advice on my homosexual relationship with another cop? I stare so long that he comes as close as Harding Welsh is ever going to come to blushing. "That's all. Get out." He snaps.

I escape back into the squad room, where at least I understand the insanity. Dewey is showing Huey a bright yellow, wind-up duck, which is waddling happily back and forth across his desk. God knows why he's got it, but I decide not to ask.

At my desk I pick up the phone and call Elaine. When I got back from our Adventure, Welsh did his best to find me a partner. We both knew it wouldn't be possible to replace Fraser, but I promised to give the new guy a go. I did, and he went. In the past two years the longest partnership I've managed to sustain was two and a half months, and that's only 'cause Brent was on sick leave for a month in the middle. It's not that I'm an ogre; I really, truly, honestly try. Every time. Well, apart from with Watson, but, for Heaven's sake, the guy was an ignorant, bigoted, bastard who even Dewey detested. (Watson and I lasted eleven wondrous days.) I do try, but I'm also not the most patient person ever, and when I'm in a situation and the guy / girl I'm working with doesn't understand me on the same level Fraser used to, then I tend to get ... snarky.

Welsh and I have finally reached a kind of understanding. He'll stop fielding new guys at me and let me work on my own, if I'll respect the rules and not go into a situation without back-up. Works for me - I got no desire to get shot, for the first time since half way through the Stella Years I've got a reason to live forever. Lately though, I've taken to involving Elaine in my cases as often as possible. She might not have made detective yet, but at the rate she's going it won't be long. It won't do her promotion chances any harm to have some detective level experience, beside which I'm not a solitary person; I get lonely working by myself.

Officer Besbriss and I meet on the corner of Jenner half an hour later. I haven't seen her since before I left for Inuvik and she's full of questions about my trip. Well, okay, about Fraser, but let's not split hairs. Sometimes, I feel guilty about taking him, I really do. So many of our female friends have crushes of various magnitudes on him, that it's a wonder they haven't ganged up against me and formed a lynch mob. But Elaine, like Frannie before her, just took it in her stride. Least, that's what she tells me anyway.

The thing about Senator Rosenberg and her stolen gems is that they had a high sentimental value, but weren't actually worth much in money terms. That, and the fact that she's not actually bothered about who stole them as long as she's got them back, means that even if we find them their sentence will be so light it's almost a waste of money prosecuting them. But it looks really bad, when our senators are targeted and Welsh's boss, Commander Murphy is breathing hot and heavy down his neck. Personally, I'm not too sure about this Murphy woman. I've hardly ever spoken to her, and if she's as scary as Welsh says then I'm very, very glad. From what I've seen of her, though, she doesn't seem all that menacing, so I'm thinking she may have been exaggerated to scare poor little detectives. Kinda like the boogieman or that little Russian granny ... Nostradamus, no, ... Nautilus.

We got the jewels back yesterday after a tip off from a guy who's fast becoming my favourite snitch, but the perps got away. Gonna make it all the harder this time, 'cause no way are they dumb enough to go back to the warehouse where we found them, and even if we do find them they won't have the jewels on them so it's ten times harder to prove they had anything to do with the robbery.

Elaine and I are going back to the warehouse, just in case they were dumb enough to leave anything we can turn into a forwarding address. We're in the car and I'm daydreaming about Fraser, which makes me think about Inuvik, which makes me think of Inspector Booth, which makes me think of kids, which reminds me what I've been meaning to ask Elaine.

"Who's the father of Frannie's kids?" I ask her as we accelerate to the get through the lights before the red light starts to look convincing, hoping to surprise an answer out of her.

She looks at me, big, dark eyes growing bigger and darker as she tries to look innocent. "How would I know, Ray?"

I was about sixty percent certain that she knew, but since I got that look it's rocketed to ninety-five. Chicks never look that innocent unless they're really, really guilty.

"Okay, look, I'm not asking for a name," and I'm not, but I sure as hell would love one, "Is he a good guy, does he deserve her?"

Elaine grins at me "You're not a Vecchio anymore, Ray."

"Don't avoid the question." Truth is Frannie might not be my sister, but she sure as hell feels like it sometimes, especially now that her real brother's gone off again.

Elaine's smile grows wider and she reaches down and squeezes my hand, "He's a good guy, I promise. If I was worried I wouldn't be so ready to keep her secret." Suddenly she sits up straighter, focusing on something out the window. "Hey! It's him!" she yells pointing at a car that's just passed us on the opposite side of the road "Waverly!"

Swing the car round in a ridiculously illegal u-turn (Ray!) and head off after him. Waverly's the guy we think is behind the robbery and considering he just left the general area where we found the diamonds it's dollars to donuts the gang did leave some clues behind and he went back to fetch them. If that's the case and we can catch him with said clues Commander Murphy will cease to haunt Welsh's dreams for a while.

I debate for a moment whether or not to use the siren. Almost never did with Fraser 'cause there was never any chance of loosing anyone with him around. Have just decided not to use it, when Waverly, obviously realising that the big, black GTO is not on his tail to sniff his ass; stamps on the gas, speeds through a red light and disappears down the first turning on the right.

I yell "Shit!" and "Siren!" at pretty much the same time, but luckily Elaine only takes one of them as an order and slams the pretty, wailing light onto the GTO's roof. And we're off.

Know I should be over it by now, but the adrenaline rush from this kind of cop work is something else again. Cars jump out of the way; little kids stop and stare; even adults look impressed. This, ladies and gentlemen, is a car chase.

Twice around the block, zigzagging through the side streets until we hit the warehouse district again and just beyond is Lake Michigan. The lake they call Michigan ... Lake Michigan. And there, ploughed into the side of a grass bank, is Waverly's car.

The GTO screeches as I slam on the brakes and we probably pop a few blood vessels going from ninety-five to zero in five seconds, but, hell, what a ride. For a moment after we've stopped Elaine can only gape at me, then she hoots "Wow!" before throwing open the passenger door and hurrying to Waverly's car. I follow her, and with our combined and extensive police training we can tell two things. One, the car is empty. Two, he didn't leave any evidence behind.

Spinning round I see there are warehouses and offices on three sides of the grass courtyard-thing where we're standing and the lake is on the forth. Nowhere looks any more likely to hold a guy resisting arrest as anywhere else.

"Fuck!" I swear, slamming my hands down hard on to the crashed car's boot. "Where the hell is he?"

Elaine ignores me, so I glare at the car instead. The back wheels and the number plate are splattered with light grey mud.

"If Frase were here he'd lick that and tell us exactly where Waverly's hiding." I say.

Elaine nods, "Yeah, it's disgusting what that guy'll put in his mouth."

I may be royally pissed off, but I'm never one to let an opportunity pass, and am just about to offer up a smutty, innuendo filled joke, when I realise she beat me to it.

I whirl round, glare, and receive another innocent look. "Green does not suit you, Officer." I tell her sweetly.

She opens her mouth to retort, when *crack* a bullet lands five inches from my right foot and we both swear and jump back. I start pulling out my gun and hoping to God I can find my glasses when a second, and then a third, bullet crashes around us and we're heading as fast as possible for the shelter of the nearest building.

"Well, we know where he is" Elaine offers cheerfully as we hunker down behind one the support columns at the front of the closest warehouse.

"Greatness." I snap, "Personally, I'd rather be alive and never find him."

"Now, Ray, you'll never get a citation thinking that way." She darts into the open and fires three quick shots at the open office window three floors up on the opposite side of the courtyard, then darts back.

"Kids," I slam on my glasses "and Mounties," I lean round the pillar and fire off my own round, "I don't mind dying for. Fish and jewellery I can live without saving." Duck back out of Waverly's sights.

She shoots me a look, "Fish?"

But Waverly is shooting more than looks so I snap, "Tell you later," and scoot out for another go.

He's keeping well back from the window when not firing and hiding in the shadows when he is so I can't do anything but shoot blindly up at the window and hope I get lucky. I do. I stop firing and step out of his line of sight. He takes the bait, steps forward to look for me, and yes, get my gun trained on him and bang, shoot the gun out of his right hand and bang, wing him through the left shoulder to discourage him from escapin' again.

Wham, bam, shake bad guys, shake.

*

We take Waverly back to the 2-7 for processing and then head out for a drink to celebrate. What with the firefight and the car-chase and the arrest I'm in such a good mood that I even invite the Duck Boys along.

It's turning into quite a party and the booze is flowing and I'm about four and a half sheets to the wind, mind buzzing along happily, independent of my body. The outside world's going kinda fuzzy at the edges, but I feel glowing and happy and peaceful so I ain't gonna complain.

Sink back in my chair and listen as to Dewey tell jokes. Like normal they're not very good and like normal Huey's been relegated to providing the imaginary cymbals.

The drunker they get the lewder their jokes are getting too. Elaine puts in the token protests against the most girl offensive jokes and I do my bit against the queer ones, and the Polack one they even manage to slip in, but really neither of us minds much. We know the Duck boys. Know that it's just their way of sayin' Love You, Guys.

Huey *ka-klings* after a particularly gross queer joke, which is, though I won't be admitting it, pretty funny, and I sit up a bit and wave my beer bottle at him.

"He-hey." I slur. "Queer's the new cool, you know."

They bust out laughing at that, and so do I. Don't know where the fuck I heard that; got a bad feeling I just made it up. But hey, it works and I'm sticking to it.

Elaine hasn't said much for a while, just been starin' down into her wine glass, but suddenly she lurches upright and grabs my hand.

"Ray." She says, all serious-like, leaning across the table. "Is Fraser good in bed?"

Huey and Dewey make gagging noises, but I squeeze her hand and tell her, "Oh yeah."

She gets a dreamy look on her face, "I bet he's beautiful naked."

Just hearing those words sends blood, which, let's face it, I need in my brain, plummeting down to the thing I think with.

"Fuck, yes." I tell he. "He ..."

Huey interrupts. "Swear to God, Kowalski, you tell her how big Fraser's dick is an' I'm outta here."

"Like I'd tell you!" I'm trying to sound dignified, but I'm probably failing.

"Bigger 'n' yours, K'walski?" Dewey asks.

To be honest, neither me nor Ben've got anything to complain about in the endowment stakes, but I'm only telling you that 'cause I'm ratted, and I sure as hell ain't gonna be tellin' Dewey that any time soon.

My cell phone suddenly starts ringing, so yay, no need to answer him at all. Scrabble around in my pockets, find it, and check the LSD ... no, LCD screen.

"Ben-Home" flashes across the little green screen and I instantly get hit with a happy stick.

"Hey, Ben." I say as I press answer, hearing my voice go soppy, but not caring.

Tom and Jack chime in with a chorus of "Hi, honey!", "Kissy-Kissy, Fraser." But I ignore them and concentrate on Ben.

"Ray," I think he sounds tired, "I called the apartment, but you weren't there." He's not checking up on me, it's just that I always call him if I won't be home in the evenings. Didn't know this was gonna turn into a par-tey so I forgot.

"Sorry, Ben. We caught some baddies, just doing a little celebrating with the guys."

"You have guys?" Hmm. I'd be a bit insulted by that if he didn't have a point. I'm really not the sort of guy who has guys, and even if I did I definitely wouldn't call 'em that.

"Sure ... if you count Elaine as a guy, or Huey and Dewey at that." I giggle at the faces they pull at me, Ben laughs too.

Then he asks me softly, "Are you drunk, Ray?" Ben almost never drinks, but he doesn't mind when I do, as long as I'm not drowning my sorrows. Fact, he's admitted that he finds me sexy when I'm drunk. There's something about alcohol that turns him on; I think it has to do with the loss of control.

"Mmmhmm." I purr, turning away from the others and whispering into the phone. "Really, really drunk."

He goes quiet, but when he answers he doesn't sound turned on like I thought he would; he sounds tired and a little sad. "I miss you, Ray."

"Ben?" I get up from the table; sway across the bar and out the door. The night air should give us a little privacy and hopefully get me a bit soberer. "What's up?"

"Nothing." I wish I could see him, it'd make it easy to tell if he was lying.

"You sound low."

"I just miss you. And I ..."

"And what?"

"Nothing, Ray."

"Ben." I'm trying for a coaxing tone. "Baby, you know you can tell me anything. Has something happened?"

"No." He falls silent again and I'm just about to interrupt it when he says, "I wish I could see you."

"Two weeks, Ben, that's all."

"I know." I can almost see him sit up straight and pull himself together. "I'm just being silly. It's been a hectic day and I'm overtired. Ignore me."

"Never."

I can sort of hear him smile, then he changes the topic. "Did you say you'd completed a case, is it one I've heard of?"

He wants to change the subject so I go with it. We chat about the Rosenberg case, the 2-7, and Inuvik for a while, but he still sounds a little off and I'm not completely reassured. As we're saying goodbye I try one more time.

"You sure everything's good, Ben?"

"As long as I'm talking to you, everything's fine, Ray." He says, which isn't an answer, just confirms my suspicions that he's avoiding, but I let him get away with it. Can't force him to talk. At least not without touching him.

"Okay then. Night, Ben."

"Night, darling."

He hangs up and I'm left outside in the cold, in the middle of Chicago, feeling about as homesick as I've ever felt.

*

Feel a little hung over the next day, but Welsh has given me the day off so I don't worry. Commander Murphy must have been really scary for Welsh to be this appreciative over me finding one little perp. Still, free day off, like I'm going to complain.

The day passes quickly. I take my fortnightly trip downstairs to pay my landlady (she makes me pay the month's rent in two halves, mainly I think because she thinks that as I'm a cop I'm likely to die and leave her out of pocket) and can't help the little swell of excitement that settles in my belly when I tell her that I won't be here in two weeks time 'cause I'll be in Inuvik. After last night I'm almost jumping out of my skin to see him.

In the afternoon, I drive out to Skokie to say hi to my parents. I don't think they'll be staying in Chicago much longer. Mum really hates the winters we get here, and my brother's wife is knocked-up again. Lon and I both reckon that once they go down to Phoenix to visit the new baby there'll be no getting them back up here again. I don't mind really. It wasn't the not seeing them that I minded so much as the not being able to see them, if that makes sense. Knowing that I couldn't just get on a plane and go visit was hard.

Dad and I converse via car related metaphors and Mum tells me I need to eat more then forces three helpings of everything down my throat. Mum asks me about Fraser, Dad pretends to have gone deaf as I tell her. Mum hugs me when I leave, tells me she'll be round to do my ironing next week. Dad tells me that the GTO's radiator could do with a check-up and that we'll have to do it next time I'm up. Then we shake hands. Mum hugs me again. And I leave. Identical visit to the last twenty or so I've made.

The only thing that's any different and slightly strange today is that when I climb into bed at just gone midnight Ben hasn't phoned. I'm refusing to be worried or to call him, because this isn't the first night he hasn't called me when I was expecting him to. Just the first night in about eight months. Last time he didn't call I worked myself into a panic only to find that he'd been called out to help with the search and rescue of a plane that had come down a little way out of Inuvik. That'll be the reason he hasn't phoned tonight too, something like that. I will not panic. What I will do though, is pull one of the pillows from his side of the bed into my arms and curl up around until I finally manage to fall asleep.

*

At work the next day, I find out why Welsh gave me the day off yesterday. It was to fortify me for the biggest loads of paperwork I have ever seen in my life, and which Elaine and I have now been at my desk working on for four hours straight.

"God." I lean back, and stretch in my chair, groaning luxuriously.

"It's not that bad." Elaine tells me, not looking up from the forms she's diligently filling in.

"Yeah, well, you were a Civilian Aid, this stuff's easy after that."

That makes her look up. "Ray Kowalski!" She cries pretending to be shocked. "Are you finally admitting that my job was harder than yours? Is Mr "Before Next Christmas, Elaine", Mr "Now Elaine!" finally conceding I had more to do than your photocopying?"

"When did I ever say that?!" I take my own turn at feigning shock. "I'm sure that I thanked you kindly for ever piece of selfless help you gave me, and was the soul of patience and understanding."

She snorts. "Something like that, yeah."

I grin at her. She grins back. We go back to the stupid, damn forms.

About five minutes later I lean over to grab my stapler from Elaine's corner of the desk and I see a flash of red out of the corner of my eye. My heart flutters, but I refuse to react this time. Fate is being really, seriously cruel, so I ignore her and concentrate on the correct placement of the staple.

Concentrate that is, until Elaine nudges me hard with her elbow and squeaks out an excited, "Fraser!"

I look up so fast I get a crick in my neck. Oh my God. It is him. He's here. How the hell?

He sees me and smiles and suddenly I don't care that it's impossible. I'm out of my chair and practically running across the room towards him. "Ben, how ...?"

I stop just in front of him, one hand already raised to pull him toward me, but I hold back, tuck the hand back into my pocket. We're always careful about PDAs - almost always anyway, there was one time at the Beaufort Sea with some trappers and, never mind - We don't want to make anyone uncomfortable, not to mention anything but the most innocent touch is likely to make Ben uncomfortable as hell. Not the touching, you understand, he has no problem with people knowing he's queer, but the idea of letting his guard down, of the vulnerability it implies, freaks him out. Fraser needs his defences in public.

He doesn't answer my question and I take a good look at him. He's always pale, but today he looks like chalk, heavy shadows under his eyes, and unnaturally red lips robbing him of pretty much all colour. I could put it down to exhaustion after his flight, but I don't think it's that. "Ben, what's wrong?" I asked quietly.

He shakes his head. Not yet, he means. And I get that. Without even looking, I know everyone is watching us. He looks like shit though, and I can't help myself. I put a hand on his arm, feel him tense, but below that feel him tremble and that's it. Screw it. I pull him in for a hug. Just a quick one, just to show him I'm here. He does stiffen, but not as much as I expected, and then my brain threatens to explode with shock as his arms come up and return the hug. I clutch him tighter, suddenly scared; Fraser hugging me back in public is like one of the signs of the apocalypse or something. I press my face into the crook of his neck so no one can see as I kiss the soft, warm skin I find there.

He's wearing the red serge, I finally realise as my face is pressed into it, that's unusual. But I guess it makes sense. The 2-7 was the place he wore it most, kind of like a shield so people wouldn't try to get close to him. Heh, that worked well.

He pulls away all of a sudden, blushing, when half the squad room starts cheering and clapping, Donald Duck's nephews the loudest of the lot. I flick my fingers up at the room in general, get a disapproving "Ray" from both my internal Fraser and my real one, and lead him over to my desk and to Elaine.

She grins and hugs him. "I didn't know you were coming!" she exclaims, giving me a puzzled look over his shoulder. I shrug at her.

"No." Fraser clears his throat. "This was a ... er, a spontaneous visit. I had some leave and ..." He's floundering. He's crap at lying. So I jump in.

"And you couldn't keep away, huh?" Wink at him.

He smiles gratefully. "Exactly."

Elaine grins, obviously satisfied. "Well, I hope you're here for a while, no way is Welsh going to let Ray go early today." She indicates the piles of paper scattered everywhere across the desk and the floor beneath it.

Fraser cracks his neck. "Oh dear."

"Yeah. Bombsite central." I get him a chair, and he sinks into it, almost slumping, which must mean he's shattered. I squeeze his shoulder. "You want you could go home and rest. I might be here a while."

"No," he shakes his head. If the hug I got was anything to go by, he wants to be around me at the moment. This is freaking me out.

"We'll get finished as soon as," I promise.

Ben leans forward, "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Yeah, you could teach him how to file." Says a gruff voice from just behind me and I jump.

Welsh comes round the desk and Fraser stands up again and they shake hands. "Corporal, I didn't know you were expected." He glowers at me, I'm not sure whether to deny guilt or not. It looks a little bad if I don't even know when my own partner is coming for a visit.

Fraser makes the decision for me. "It was a spur of the moment decision, sir."

"Huh." Welsh shrugs. "Yeah, hate when you wake up one morning and decide to fly four thousand miles. It unnerves me enough when I have to make an extra trip to the supermarket."

Fraser laughs, though to me it sounds forced. "The rewards are adequate to justify the trip." He says with a little smile for me.

"Nice to know someone appreciates me."

I say for it Welsh's benefit, but he ignores me. Instead saying to Fraser, "These two are going to be tied down for a while, come sit in my office, I can get you real tea and you can catch me up on life up north. Ray says you guys are setting up some new thing?"

Ben looks like he's going to refuse, but I nod at him to go, and he does, with a little backward glance at me.

*

A while turned out to be another two hours, but Elaine and I have finally finished, I've rescued Ben and we're walking up the stairs to my apartment.

Mrs Agnew follows us up as far as the second floor, but after she turns off towards her apartment we're alone in the stairwell and Ben comes up close beside me and slides his hand into mine.

I squeeze his fingers, "What's wrong?"

He stops, turns to face me and I think I'm going to get an answer. Instead, he puts his other hand on my hip, pulls me against him, and has a go at kissing the life out of me.

I moan and lean in to him, but make myself pull back. "Ben," I trace his lips with my finger. "You're avoiding."

"I am," he concedes, bringing me in to kiss again. This kiss is hotter, there's a lot more tongue and he's exploring every inch of my mouth. I know I should be pressing him for answers, but no way am I going to stop this. Instead, I press my hands against his back and grip his shoulders through his tunic. He swings me round so my back's to the inside rather than the banisters and pushes me hard against the cold, concrete wall.

Ben releases his grip on my hip and pushes his hand up underneath my t-shirt, laying it flat against my belly. I quiver and groan into his mouth. There's a thought banging on my brain asking to be let in, but I ignore it until Ben slides his hand up, strokes my nipple, and I finally, but reluctantly have to stop him.

"We cannot do this on the stairs, Ben." I pant.

He looks at me, his eyes dark and his skin flushed.

"Not on the stairs." I repeat 'cause he doesn't look like he's getting it.

Finally I must get through because he looks around, seeming shocked. "Good lord." He breathes. "That would be most inappropriate."

"Come on." I take his hand, drag him up the rest of the flight, along my landing and to my door. My hands shake as I try to get the damn door open, he tries to take the keys off me, but we drop them and laugh. Finally I get the door open, he pushes me inside and we're back to where we were on the stairs, only this time I'm about fifty times hornier, if that's even possible.

He's got both hands under my t-shirt, rubbing my nipples with his thumbs as he kisses me. I'm close already, which is crap, so I try to slow him down, but he's having none of it.

"Ben!" I plead, trying to thrust up against him, but meeting only air and the inseam of my jeans. He slides his hands down my chest, caresses my sides and finally settles back onto my hips again. Lower, I beg silently. Lower would be really nice. He doesn't though, just folds his arms around my lower back and squeezes me to him tight as we kiss again. I could thrust now, but I don't think that's the plan, and a minute later it turns out I'm right as he stops the deep diving exploration of my tonsils, kisses my lips lightly and finally pulls away altogether. He takes my hand, and drags me into the bedroom.

A long time later, I feel the tension that's been thrumming around in his body all day ease away. He relaxes with a sigh, pulls out of me gently and falls down onto his back, arms coming up to hold me as I snuggle up against his side, head on his upper arm, arm across his chest. He kisses the top of my head lightly, "I love you, Ray." He whispers as I close my eyes.

*

We've been dozing for about an hour now, but I'm not letting myself fall asleep. Something is really worrying Ben, and that's worrying me. I don't think I can be the problem; Benton Fraser would not fuck someone if he were going to break up with them.

He's not asleep either, but his eyes are shut, so either he's trying to sleep or he wants me to think that he is so he doesn't have to talk.

Not the right attitude.

He keeps far too many things bottled up and then they tend to explode inside him. Um, that's got a name of its own ... implode, hah! Yeah, they implode inside him ... no that doesn't sound right ... anyway, it keeps all the damage contained so no one else has to deal with any messy pieces of Fraser-hurt. Yeah, well, I love him; I want to deal.

I roll over onto my stomach and gently stroke his chest, "Wakey-wakey." I murmur in deference to his supposed sleeping. Deference? Shit, I'm becoming the Chicago flatfoot version of a Canadian.

He blinks up at me and maybe he was partly asleep 'cause his eyes look kind of muzzy.

He's so damn cute I have to kiss him. Just a little though, 'cause while I could certainly go another round that's not the plan for right now.

He smiles softly and pulls me down so I'm on top of him, head on his chest, being held tight. Kiss his nipple, but again only lightly.

"Tell me, Ben." I ask.

He goes stiff and his arms tighten around me pretty hard.

"I love you" he says fiercely.

I snuggle closer, kiss his chest again, trying to sooth him. "I know, baby."

He doesn't seem to hear me, just squeezes harder. "I love you so damn much."

My heart stops then races. Oh shit, Ben said damn. He doesn't swear like ever. Something's really, really wrong.

A thought strikes me, right in the heart, and I freak.

Pulling away, I push myself up so I'm propped up on my arms looking down at him.

"Ben," I say and my voice is shaking, "You're not ill, are you?"

He looks at me for a moment and a tiny frown breaks up his forehead. Then his expression melts, and he grabs me again, flips me onto my back and starts kissing my face hungrily. "No," he tells me, "No. No. No." More kisses. "No, darling, I'm fine. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

Freak that I am, I actually feel my eyes well up. "Okay," I push him away and sit up, "Just tell me."

He sits up as well, pulls a corner of the comforter over his lap. Guess that make sense, I feel a little weird have a serious discussion while buck-naked too.

"Ray," he looks me in the eye, "I'm going to be a father."

What?

What?

WHAT?

I just stare at him. It's as if there's a block between my brain and my thoughts.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm going to be a father," he repeats. He reaches out to take my hand, but I pull away from him, slide back against the headboard and draw my legs up in front. Wish I was dressed.

"How can you be a father, Ben? I'm not pregnant." How do I sound so calm?

He comes towards me again, but stops when I flinch. "It appears," he says quietly "That the baby Inspector Booth is carrying is mine."

I'm going to be sick. "It appears?" My voice is starting to rise, anger is burning through the cold numbness, "How can it appear? Either it is or it isn't."

"It is."

I really am going to be sick. I push myself off the bed but he jumps up too and grabs my arm.

"Ray!" he says desperately.

Try to pull away from him, but he's strong and using his strength. Turn my face away instead. Hot, angry tears are burning my eyes and I don't want him to see them.

"Please Ray ..."

I don't want to talk, I don't want him to be here. "You fucked her." I say, my voice shaking. "Why would you do that? We were good."

He grabs my other arm, drags me around so I have to look at him. He's white, looks terrified. "I did not sleep with Inspector Booth."

Don't lie to me. "Then how the fuck is she having your kid?"

"Sit down and I'll explain."

No way. "Not in this life time; let go of me."

He doesn't, if anything his grip tightens.

"Ray, I did not have sex with Inspector Booth."

I snort, but he ignores me, carries on talking. "She came to me last year because she wanted to have a child and didn't want to lose her chance waiting for the right man. She asked me to donate sperm and I agreed. We went to a registered fertility clinic, there was no question of sexual intercourse."

You know, a second ago I would have said he couldn't hurt me more. Guess I was wrong.

"You deliberately knocked her up?" I ask. The tears are flowing freely now, but he's holding me so tight it's not like I can do anything about them. "That's the worse fucking betrayal there is." Tears are getting into my voice and I'm choking on the words.

"Ray," sounds like he's crying too, but I can't see him anymore. I feel his hand reach up and cup my face, but I knock him away blindly, slapping him hard.

"Get the hell away from me!" I yell, "You should have told me, you should have talked to me about it. It's a damn big thing to decide on your own."

"Ray, I'm sorry, I should have told you. I didn't mean to betray you; I just wanted to help the Inspector. It wasn't until she showed me an ultrasound picture yesterday that I realised the enormity of what I'd done."

"How could you not get that it was a big deal? Did we mean nothing to you?"

His grip had been loosening, but at that he grabs my shoulders tight. "Don't talk about us in the past." He begs.

"Why not? We are."

He releases me and sinks down onto the bed, head dropping into his hands. "I'm so sorry, darling. I thought ..."

"Don't. Don't call me darling. Not anymore." Don't know which one of us is hurting most at the moment. My heart feels as if it's being pulled slowly apart and simultaneously trying to break out of my chest, so it could be me.

"Get out, please."

His head comes up. "No, please. Don't ask me to do that." The look in his eyes is desperate.

"Get out." I repeat. "This is my apartment and I don't want you in it."

He stands up and silently picks up his clothes. We don't speak.

I think about how I felt when he was tearing those clothes off and I can't hold back the sob.

He looks up sharply, but whatever he sees on my face makes him stay quiet. He looks away. Continues to dress, holding his body stiffly, like he hurts as much as I do.

He finishes dressing and stands up straight. Looks into my eyes. I don't blink.

"Ray ..." he starts, but I cut him off.

"Go home." I say coldly. "Go home and play happily families with Booth."

He nods absently, picks up the bag he hasn't even unpacked, and heads towards the door looking lost.

I follow him, stand in the bedroom doorway, watching as he slowly unlocks the front door and pulls it open. He hesitates in the open doorway, but doesn't turn around. Then he goes. Shutting the door behind him.

Oh. God.

I run to the door, but catch myself before I can open it.

Can't. Can't talk to him. Can't take him back.

God. I hurt so much.

I sit down on the floor, right in front of the closed door.

Fuck.

Part Two: Woody's Bar, Chicago - Midnight

I'm back at Woody's. The same bar we were in ... God, was that only two days ago?

I'm in the corner, alone at a little table, kinda sprawled across it. I've had a lot to drink.

No, not a lot. A fucking lot. A stupid amount. And I'm still going. Don't think I'm gonna stop. Ever.

Don't think I can stop. If I stop, I'll start thinking. If I think, I'll fall apart.

So, I'm drinking. The bar tender's tried to stop giving me drinks twice now, but I won't let him. I gotta keep drinking. I've got money. Lots and lots of it. This is planned drunk. Went to an ATM. Took out a lot. Not like I need it for anything else anymore. Used to be I had a reason to save money, I'd even want to 'cause it meant I could go see Fraser. Not much point saving for that anymore.

I started on beer. That felt good last time, thought it might help. It didn't. Whiskey's better anyway. Somewhere at the back of my mind I keep remembering this thing they told us at college, I gotta remember something from that damn, wasted year, right? Something about beer and liquor? Something like beer and liquor'll blow up your ticker? No, I don't think that's right. Whatever it is I don't really care.

They've left me with the bottle. Stupid thing to do. No way I'm complaining.

The bar's spinning round me. I've got the shakes and I'm so far past feeling sick that it seems normal now. Gotta keep swallowing, and each swallow's got a whiskey chaser.

Can't believe he's done this to me. Can't believe I loved him. Can't believe I love him. No, shut up. Shut, shut, SHUT UP!

My mind won't quit. It keeps replaying those words. Those words that came out of his mouth and told me what he'd done. I am such a stupid asshole. I thought he loved me.

Guess I'm a mess. My face's all wet and the bar tender's looking like he really is gonna chuck me out this time.

I grab the bottle, splash some whiskey into the glass, and all over my hand and all over the table, but never mind. Down it. Lick the stuff off my hand too. Bar guy's coming over. I down another shot and another. Shit. Bad idea. Things go from swimming to almost blacking out.

He pulls me to my feet, says something. It sounds kind, not angry. Can't work out what he's saying. He's cute though, cute and young. If I could get my tongue unstuck I'd proposition him. Fuck no. No, I wouldn't. Ben's the one who cheats. Not me.

I pull away from the bar guy and straightaway walk into the nearest wall. This is bad, bad, bad. I'm seriously fucked.

He grips my arm tight, walks me outside. The cold air hits me hard, and my head clears the tiniest bit, but I'm still shaking all over, and pretty much totally out of it.

Pretty bar guy has a really piercing whistle. Makes my head hurt. Big, yellow car pulls up. Taxi. Okay, yep, good idea.

Between them the bar guy and the taxi guy get me inside. The taxi guy complaining clearly enough for even me to hear that I'm gonna puke up in his car. Try to tell him I won't. But that might be lie. And lies are bad. Ask Fraser. Hah. If I thought I could do it without falling apart, I'd laugh.

I sit in the cab, let them do my seat belt up like a good little boy. Then the bar guy squats down in front of me in the open doorway. I grab his hand.

"Come wi' me." I slur.

He laughs. "Not a good idea, guy."

"Why?" Gimme a break, okay. I can sound whiney. I'm drunk.

He taps the ring I've got on my left hand. "That didn't get there by chance."

I stare at the gold band. Fuck. No, it didn't get there by chance.

*

It got there one month when, instead of staying in Inuvik, Ben and I went up to his dad's cabin. His friend Eric took me out for the day to teach me the kinda stuff Quinn likes to go on about, and Ben stayed behind. I remember being pissed at that, 'cause hell we only get ... shit, got four days per trip. Kinda like ... liked to actually see him.

But then when we went back to the cabin, Eric wouldn't come in though I asked him twice, and when I got inside I found out why. Place was decorated up really nice, really tasteful.

There were lights on all the walls, like my chilli lights, but different colours, warm autumn colours. Really beautiful and sort of home-like. The dining table that we'd found in the lumber-room was sitting in the centre of the main living-area. Dark blue tablecloth, and candles, on it.

And there, the most beautiful thing of the lot, my Ben, sitting at the table, dressed in dark jeans and a dark sweater and smiling at me.

He stood up as I stared and walked over to me. His hair was damp and his feet were bare. He looked so damn hot. He took the bag out of my hands and set it down by the door. Then he stood in front of me, held my hands and asked, "Did you have a good day?" I nodded at him, stupidly, mouth still half open.

"Ray, you look like a fish." He teased gently, making it sound like love-words.

I laughed and grinned at him. "Yeah, but what does that say about you? You fancy me. Ben, what's with the beautifulness of the house?"

"Do you like it?"

"Didn't I just say it's beautiful? It's amazing. But why?"

He blushed. Good. That meant I was going to get an answer. "I wanted today to be special." He admitted.

"If I was a sap, I'd say every day with you is special, but I ain't so you'll just have to assume I've said it." That confused a laugh out of him, but the laughter died and he looked serious again when I asked, "Why today, especially?"

"Today is my parents' wedding anniversary." He told me quietly.

I gripped his hands, "Shit, Ben, why didn't you tell me. I would have stayed around."

"I know, but I wanted you out of the cabin." He leant forward and kissed my nose. "I had plans."

"Meeting up with your other man?" I joked.

"Well, that, yes." Deadpan. "But also ... this." He indicated the room. "See, Ray, I ..." he rubbed his forehead just above the eyebrow. "Today was a very special day for my parents, Dad always made sure he was home on this day, every year. And I remember they used to set out candles and we'd have a special meal, then my parents would send me to bed. The ... the final year, before my, er, before well you know, before she ..."

"I know."

"Yes, well, the final time they celebrated their anniversary, when I suppose, I must have been five years old, I was lying in bed when I heard soft music coming from the gramophone downstairs. Thinking that they must be having a party to which I hadn't been invited I crept downstairs and watched them through the banisters. It wasn't a party, obviously, just my mom and dad, and I remember they were dancing. They looked so very much in love." He cleared his throat and blinked for a moment.

I leant forward and kissed him lightly, tasting almost tears in his mouth.

After a minute he continued. "I didn't let myself think about that for a long time. After my mom's death ... murder, Dad never acknowledged the date. But recently I've started to think about that time again. They were very much in love, and for a long time I envied them that. I didn't think I would ever feel that emotion, not in the way they did." He smiled at me. "I feel it now, and I finally understand why they wanted to celebrate their love like that every year. Now," again with the blushing, "I know we can't have a wedding anniversary as such, but ..." his eyes filled up without warning and he stopped talking.

"You think they'd like for us to use their anniversary? Kind of like carrying on the tradition?"

"Yes," he said, a bit thickly "Yes, that was exactly what I was thinking. If it's not too ..."

"Weird?"

"Yes, if it's not too weird for you."

"It's not weird Ben. Weird is licking electrical sockets. Weird is jumping out of a plane. Weird is loving some skinny Polack with toilet-brush hair. What you're talking about is romantic."

He smiled, "Really?"

"Really." I pulled him close and he came willingly into my arms. Then both of us, couple of saps that we are, were crying a bit and kissing a lot. And luckily the dinner that he'd made didn't mind a bit longer in the oven, 'cause we didn't get to it for quite a while.

The rings came about later that night. After dinner, after sex, after we'd shared a long, hot bath, when we were lying in bed touching and kissing gently, but not wanting to break the mood by taking it any further.

"Ray?" My Mountie breathed across my neck.

"Mmm?"

"What I said earlier, about us being unable to have a wedding anniversary of our own..."

I turned lazily in his arms so I was on my side facing him, "Yeah?"

" I was just wondering ... well, obviously it isn't legal for us to marry formally in either the United States or Canada as yet, but there are ways in which similar ceremonies can be performed ... the Inuit ritual of ..."

"Ben," I interrupted "What are you saying?"

"A lot of blither, as usual." He said wryly. "What I'm asking is do you wish to get married, or at least to have some form of ceremony? I can, I can understand if you would, I mean, there is something permanent about the idea of marriage."

"You saying we're not permanent, as we are?"

"No!" he sounded satisfyingly horrified, "Of course I'm not."

"Are you asking me to marry you?"

"No, not as such. I'm asking if you would wish to marry me."

"In some Inuit ceremony?"

"Yes, at the moment that is the only viable option, unless you wish to move to the Netherlands."

"D'you want to get hitched?"

"Do you?"

"I asked you."

"Please, Ray ..."

"Okay, look I just ... I love you." I kissed him. "I love you. I don't need a wedding, I've had one, it wasn't that great. If you want or need us to have a ceremony, I'll do it, and I'll love you just the same, but I don't need one."

I held my breath, I'd been honest, and now I was scared that I'd hurt him. Instead though, he smiled at me. "Thank you." This time he kissed me, "And it's remarkable, the way you've managed to put into words exactly my own opinion on the subject."

"That's me ... Mister Words." I winked.

"I don't need a wedding either. But Ray, may I ... may I give you something?"

That got me interested. "Presents?"

He laughed. "In a manner of speaking." He rolled away from me, sat up, reached into the top draw of the bedside cabinet. Memories of what we normally get out of that draw had me drawling like that dog Frannie's always on about, but this time he drew out a small, square wooden box. "Hold out you hands."

I obeyed and he placed the box against my palms. It was light. "Just hold it for a moment." He slid back beside me under the covers lying on his side, but supported himself on one elbow so he wasn't really lying down. He took the box back and looked at it for a moment. Ran his fingers across the gently flowing engravings. "These were my parents'." He said opening the box.

Inside were two thin gold bands. One a bit smaller than the other, both glowing richly in the muted light from the not-chilli-lights. I stared. Speechless for the second time that night.

"You don't have to wear it." He rushed in, immediately. "I just wanted you to have it." He picked up one of the bands and fingered it for a second before offering it to me. I let him place it on my palm.

"This was your mum's?" It was a good solid ring, just as thick as the other one, not a dainty little thing like I bought Stella. Made sense, from all I've heard of Caroline Fraser she wasn't a dainty sort of girl.

He nodded

I had to blink fast, "I'd ... Ben I'd love to wear it, if that's okay?"

His tears were flowing but he nodded.

"But no way could your mum's ring fit me." I was instantly really disappointed. I wanted to wear that ring.

He coughed "I...I took the liberty of having it altered. I wouldn't ask you to wear it if you didn't chose to, but I wanted you to be able to wear it if you did. It's been altered to the size of your school ring."

I squeezed the ring tight, then threw myself on him, kissing him and clinging to him as we both realised that today was now sort of our anniversary as well.

He held me and kissed me back, then he took my still closed fist in his hand, gently disentangled my fingers and freed the ring. His mum's wedding ring. My wedding ring. "May I?"

"Please."

He held my left hand lightly in his own, then slid the ring onto the correct finger, over the knuckle and pushed it securely into place. My wedding ring.

Shit. When someone puts a ring on your finger it means forever. How could he? This is just Stella all over again, just another person who promises to spend their life with me then decides they want something else and doesn't bother to take me along with them. I'm so fucking sick of it.

*

"Hey guy, you okay?" The bar tender's face swims in front of my eyes

"He's letting her have his baby. That bitch is having his baby. He gave me a ring not her." I sob.

He looks confused, but he still clucks commiserating-like. "Man, that sucks."

Yeah, it really, really does.

"You got somewhere this taxi can take you?"

"Don't wanna go home." I mumble. And it's true. I really, really, really don't want to go home. Home doesn't exist anymore.

"You got a friend you can go to?"

"Frannie." She'll look after me. I hope.

"Right, where does she live?"

Stop with the questions. My head's hammering, and I really am gonna puke. Manage to give the address, then have to really concentrate on not dying as the taxi starts up and each and every problem I've ever had with motion sickness comes back with a bang.

Manage somehow not to puke, and we get to Octavia Avenue. The guy won't take any money, which probably means the bar tender gave him some which means I'm gonna have to go back there sometime. Damn.

I get out of the car and promptly collapse on the pavement. Taxi guy asks if I'm okay, which I'm not but I say I am. Drag myself up and weave down the Vecchios' front drive. Stand on their big, wide porch. Stare at the electrical socket by the door that's still as exposed as the day Fraser first licked it. Want to cry again.

I try to press the bell, but my finger slips. Great, even the doorbell sounds slurred.

There's no answer for a long time. Long enough for me to practically pass out there and then. Wouldn't be too bad. Frannie'd take me in, in the morning. And I wouldn't freeze. Never freeze in Inuvik, it wouldn't happen in Chicago. Yes, but in Inuvik you have me. Shut up!

I nudge the bell again, and finally, finally the door opens. Frannie. Obviously. Wearing very little. That's not exactly new, but this is bedroom kind of very little, and I know I've interrupted something. Damn.

"S...Sorry, Fran .. Frannie." I'm slurring worse than before. And I suddenly realise what a mess I am. "Really, really sorry. I'm so sorry Frannie." Hope to hell she can understand me. I can't. I'm slurring and sobbing and trying not to puke.

"Ray, what the f... hell?" She grabs me and pulls me inside and I'm in her hallway leaning hard against the wall before I even notice I'm moving. Takes my head a minute to catch up.

Shit, it's hot in here. Really, really hot. Sweat suddenly breaks out all over me. My hair is soaking and I can feel it running down my face. Everything spins.

Frannie grabs me before I pass-out, but I'm too heavy for her to hold so I'm kinda slumped over in her arms, feet still on the floor, but upper body too weak to support itself.

"I'm so sorry."

"Shh." She coos, rubbing my back.

She smells of perfume and wine and a little bit of sex. I smell of sweat and stale alcohol. The carpet smells of must and detergent. Someone cooked onions here not too long ago. I can suddenly smell everything. Shit.

Push her away and try to stagger up. "Sorry" I gasp again, "Gonna..." Clamp a hand over my mouth. She gives a little squeal and pushes me into the downstairs bathroom, which is, thank God, not far from where we were standing.

I crash to my knees, only puking a little bit into my hands before I reach the toilet, where let's face it everything I've ever eaten comes pouring back up. Not gonna describe this in detail, if I do, I'll spew again, but let's just say it isn't nice. I cough and retch and cough until my stomach's empty then I spend some time throwing up bile and stomach acid. Both of which burn like hell.

Think I'm going to die. My eyes are burning and watering. My stomach and diaphragm kill. I'm shaking like a washing machine.

Feel a gentle hand on my back, she rubs circles between my shoulder blades. "Finished?"

"Yeah." I whisper, wincing at how much it hurts to talk. "Sorry."

"Stop saying that." She leans over me, pulls the handle. Then sets the toilet lid down and helps me up to sit on it. I slump over. So damn tired. "Drink." She shoves a glass of water into my hand. God, never realised I could be this thirsty. I down it in two gulps, and when she goes to refill it from the mineral water bottle she's holding I grab that off her and try to down it too.

"Slowly." She clucks. She's gonna be fantastic when her kids are old enough to do crazy stuff like this. "If you gulp it, it'll all come back up again."

I listen and sip, but the water's still gone in about two minutes.

Okay, feel a bit better. Might not die just yet.

"Want to talk about it?" Still soothing.

My eyes leak, but I'm gonna put that down to the throwing up. "No." Voice breaks. "But you're gonna make me."

She squats down in front of me, holds my hands in both of hers. "I won't make you. But you should." She stares at my hands for a moment, then suddenly looks up, eyes wide and scared "Ray, has something, ... has something happen to Fraser, is that why ...?"

Well, done, Kowalski, you scared the pretty lady. "No, no, Frannie, no. He's hunky-dory."

"Same kind of hunky-dory you are?"

I sigh. "I guess."

"So you guys had a fight."

"No." Headshake, which it turns out is a bad idea, 'cause things spin again and my head is really starting to kill. "Not a fight he ..."

I can't talk. Can't say it. Told the bar man, sort of, but I've got soberer since then. Maybe after another drink ... what is wrong with me?!

"Okay, don't tell me now." She kisses my forehead gently. "Why don't you take a shower, I'll get you some clean clothes, then we can talk about it in the living room, yeah?"

I pull her close and cling to her. "I love you, Frannie."

She laughs, squeezes me, then pulls away. "You're drunk."

*

The shower sobers me. Mostly. I'm still a bit light headed and emotional, but I know what I'm doing again, which is a relief.

Sober suddenly seeming not so good though, as I slide open the frosted glass door, step out of the steam and into the cool bathroom air. Whoa, just reached hangover central. The light's too bright, my head aches, I ache. Everywhere. Inside and out.

There are clean sweats and a long sleeved t-shirt on the toilet. Don't know how they got there, didn't notice Frannie come in.

I towel dry myself tentatively, and get dressed. These must be Vecchio's clothes, 'cause they don't fit too bad. No way would any of Tony's stuff stay up on my skinny body. Vecchio's tall though, bit taller than me, and almost as slim, though on him it looks good not malnourished. Hmm. If I hadn't kicked him out, my internal Fraser would be nagging me for slating my appearance right about now. I miss him.

Frannie jumps up from the sofa when I enter the living room. Thank goodness the light's dimmer in here, I don't have to keep my eyes shut.

She puts her arms around me and hugs me. I'm surprised but very, very grateful and I hug her back willingly. "Feel better?" she asks, pulling back to look at me.

"Yeah."

She rolls her eyes, "Liar."

She puts an arm around my waist and leads me over to the sofa and I lean against her willingly. I've never been attracted to Francesca Vecchio, the whole brother thing put paid to that, but I love her, and right now I need people who love me. She sits me down, and I curl up into the cushions.

"D'you want coffee?"

Tempting. "No, better not, I'm shaking enough as it is. Can I just have some more water, please?"

She fetches me a glass and I sip it like a good boy, while she sits in the armchair opposite regarding me with a concerned look on her face.

"He came down for a visit this morning," I tell her, not looking up from the glass in my hands. "Totally unexpected."

"I know, Elaine told me."

Right, makes sense. "I thought he just wanted to see me." Tears are pricking my eyes, and I have to clear my throat.

She leans forwards, takes the glass out of my hands and slips her tiny little paws in instead. "But...?"

"But he didn't. He was here to tell me something." I seriously cannot say this.

"Did he break up with you?" She sounds doubtful, like that can no way be true.

"No." Sniff. "He thinks that everything's fine, that we can still be together, even after this."

"After what, Ray?"

"You know I told you about his boss, Inspector Booth?"

She blinks, but not to worry, she'll understand the link soon enough. "The one you said reminded you of the Dragon Lady?"

I manage one hell of a weak grin. "Ice Queen, sis. We're in the era of Kowalski now, remember?"

She smiles.

"Yeah, her. And ... did I tell you she was having a baby?"

"Yes, that's why Frase hasn't been down much lately."

"Yeah. Well, she's not having a baby. She's having," I choke, force the words out, "She's having his baby."

Frannie stares at me. Then her mouth opens and she finally allows herself to say what she didn't say on the porch. What good little Catholic girls should never say. "Fuck."

I nod miserably. And she launches out of the chair, climbs onto my lap and wraps her arms around me. "Oh honey, oh Ray, I'm so sorry. Shh. Shh." She strokes and kisses my hair.

I cling to her 'til I've got myself under some kind of control, then she sits up, but doesn't remove herself from my lap. "I can't believe Fraser would do that to you." She says gently.

"He doesn't see it as a problem. Says he was just being nice. She wants a baby he gives her one. He didn't even think how much it would hurt me."

She stops and cocks her head on one side. "He did this to give her a baby, he's not actually having an affair with her?"

"Doesn't matter. Doesn't matter if he slept with her or not. The point is he's given her a baby. And it didn't occur to him to ask me."

"He hasn't slept with her?"

"No, was one of those ... not surrogacy ... those other things." I flounder. Right, yeah, ask Frannie for help with words. She's as bad at them as I am. "Donor things."

"Ray!" she smacks me on the head and slides off my lap. "Ray." She grips my head and makes me look at her. "That is not Fraser cheating on you. That is Fraser being Fraser. He sees someone who needs help and he gives it."

"No. It's not Fraser cheating on me. It's Fraser acting like our relationship doesn't matter. That it shouldn't be my business if he wants to give his sperm to someone. If I was a woman he wouldn't do that without asking."

"If you were a woman, you'd be having his baby." She says seriously.

I shrug. "I guess."

"You're jealous."

"Of what? Of that two bit whore?" Okay so that's out of line, but in my mind, Booth is destroying my family. I get to call her names.

"She's having Fraser's baby. You'll never be able to do that. It's understandable, Ray."

"No, no, no." Shake my head. Ouch. "No, that's not it. That's not what this is about. This is about him doing what he always does, going off and making decisions without asking me. It's his damn logic thing again."

She holds up her hand and I realise that I'm yelling at her in place of yelling at Fraser, "Ray, I'm not saying you don't have the right to be upset. Of course you do, it was a shitty thing for Fraser to do to you, of course it hurts. But I don't think you should treat it as the end of your relationship."

"You don't?" This little mini-me of hope is jumping up and down in my empty chest cavity, like it thinks my heart might get put back some time soon.

"No." She sits down next to me - not on me - this time. Holds my hands again. "You and Fraser are the singularly most in love people I have ever met, it's the sort of love you have every right to fight for. Do not give up on it." She smacks my head again, harder this time.

"Ouch!"

"Sorry. But I just wanted to make sure you'd remember."

"By how? By killing off the few remaining brain cells I haven't managed to kill?" I grin at her, but only for a moment, then I remember how freaked out I am. "You really think we can get past this? It's a pretty major thing."

"You want to?"

"God, yes."

"Then you can."

"But ..." Fear number two. "Supposing he doesn't want to? I threw him out. I told him to go play happy families with Booth. Supposing he has?"

She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. "Do I need to hit you again? There are some seriously good reasons why that won't happen. Mainly, he loves you. Oh and yeah, he's gay!"

"He's been with a woman before. He might ..."

"That Victoria bitc...er, woman, right? That's the only girl he's ever been with?"

"Yeah."

"Well then, I think your safe. Just get up to Inuvik before Booth makes him steal any diamonds and you'll probably find he hasn't slept with her."

"I should go to Inuvik?"

I think she thinks I'm stupid. "Duh! Tomorrow if I were you. You need to sort this out, I don't need you puking up on my door step tomorrow night too."

"I didn't ..."

"Near as."

Yeah, she's got a point. She's been having a lot of those lately. "I am sorry, sis. I didn't mean to interrupt ..." Oops. Let's bite off that tongue.

Her eyes go big and she drags her flimsy little wrap closer around her body. "What makes you think you're interrupting anything?"

"I ... er..."

"I might dress like this every night."

"Do you?"

She blushes. And I take pity on her. "Frannie is... the babies' father here?"

She nods. "Yes." She lifts her heads defiantly, just daring me to ask to meet him. I wouldn't dare.

"Oh, Fran, I'm sorry. I'll get lost."

"No. Don't be silly. You're not sober enough to go anywhere. You can sleep anywhere you like. Take your pick."

When I was Vecchio and I had to stay over at the family home, I never used his bedroom. Ma Vecchio was keeping that safe for when her son got back, but the guest room I used kind of developed into Ray's room mark two. "My room still available?"

She smiles. "Of course."

She gets up and I try to follow her, but the moment I'm on my feet the room tips and throws me onto the floor.

Shit. I land on my ass and it smarts. Shake my head and clear away most of the foggy-ness.

Frannie drops down onto her knees beside me, looks at me anxiously. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Try to clear my head again. "I... I don't really know what happened there, Frannie, sorry."

"It's part of your ongoing reaction to the alcohol in your body, Detective. As you know alcohol is a poison and while you have managed very effectively to expel the majority there will still be some remaining." Says a deep voice.

I get half way through thinking that whoa Frannie's balls have dropped, when I realise that I recognise that voice.

Look up sharply, "Turnbull?"

He smiles at me vacantly, "Detective Kowalski."

Is Frannie having some kind of party? What with me and the babies' father and now ...

Oh.

Is this Shock the Hell out of Ray Day?

I stare at Turnbull, then at Frannie, then back to Turnbull. He's wearing sweats and a t-shirt, which on Turnbull looks almost as indecent as the lingerie Frannie's sporting.

They both grow red as I carry on staring. Finally manage to make my voice make a sound. "Huh."

My inarticulate noise obviously reassures them, 'cause Turnbull steps forward and offers his hand, "May I be of assistance?"

"Thanks," Take his hand and let him pull me to my feet. Head's spinning less, but that might just be 'cause it's got other things on its mind right about now.

We stand there. Me, Frannie and Turnbull. Neither of us speaking. My mind's in a whirl and I'm trying to engage my brain before I speak 'cause I don't wanna say anything I'll regret later.

"Ray?" Frannie says finally, when I've been silent long enough for her to think I must have died.

"Yeah," I hold up a hand "Processing."

"We, er, we were going to tell you." She says sounding nervous.

Turnbull gives her a look that quite clearly says, "We were?" but she glares at him and he doesn't say it out loud.

"So," I turn to them both, "You got yourself a Mountie, Frannie."

"Yeah," she smiles at me, still looking a little unsure, "Must run in the family."

That makes me laugh and the tension evaporates. I sit back down on the sofa. "So? Give me the when, how and why..."

Turnbull, oddly, takes the lead. "The when is shortly after Constable Fraser's funeral, the ..."

The words give me a nasty jolt even though I know full well what he means. That was, by far, the suckiest assignment we ever had.

"Oh?" I manage, then, when they look at me funny, manage "So, er, how come?"

"Francesca had been on my mind for some time by then, and during the time of Ms Tracy Jenkins's visit I finally raised the courage to confess my feelings."

"But I'd already met Klaus by that point." Heh, I knew she wouldn't be able to keep quiet for long.

"Klaus?"

She glares at me "My ex-finance?"

Oh. Don't think I ever knew what his name was. To be honest I'd forgotten he existed.

The whole seeing Fraser in his coffin thing creeped me out something awful, even though we weren't together then. I had nightmares for weeks, and he wasn't there to reassure me. Guess Frannie's non-wedding must have slipped my mind.

"Oh yeah, Klaus." I say like I hadn't forgotten. "What happened with him, again?"

"Ren and I had been on a few dates, but I was engaged and I still had a few other things to work through." She flicks her eyes nervously between me and Turnbull.

"Your thing for Ben." I supply easily. It doesn't bother me that she used to have a thing for him.

"Yeah," she nods "I broke up with Klaus, and Ren and I got together, but neither of us wanted the pressure of going public. So we decided to keep it quiet."

"Yeah, I get that." Hell, I know about keeping things secret. "But why still keep quiet after you got pregnant? Surely it'd be better for your reputation for people to know you're in a proper relationship."

"Ray, have you heard my reputation? Everybody already thinks I'm you know... kind of easy." She twinkles like she doesn't mind, but Turnbull and I both interrupt, falling over each other to contradict her. "Anyway," she says loudly over the top of us, "You know my family, if we told them they'd be at us to get married. I've been married and I got burned. Ren's job means he's always moving around. I want my kids to have a settled home and Ren wants a base to come home to. So this works for us."

"But doesn't it feel weird?" I can't help asking.

She rolls her eyes "Says the man who sees his boyfriend once a month." Pointedly.

I feel my smile fade as I start to think about Ben again. "Fair point." I think I sound normal, but she still looks at me sharply.

"It'll be okay, you know." She says softly.

Nod for a moment, let's think positively people. Then when she squeezes my hand I can't help asking, "What if he hates me forever? I was really mean to him."

Turnbull pats my shoulder awkwardly. "Corporal Fraser is a fine man; he probably feels nothing but sorry for the whole incident."

Hmm. That's true. Ben's capacity for guilt is legendary. "Yeah." Can't hold back a yawn, and blink at them apologetically. "Sorry."

Frannie tuts and clucks and wafts me off to bed, even going as far as tucking me in when I lie down.

"Don't worry about a thing." She says, kissing my forehead.

I grab her hand as she moves away. "Thanks sis," I tell her "And congrats on the Turnbull thing, he's a good guy."

She blushes and scuttles off, leaving me to try to get my brain to shut up and sleep.

*

I don't manage the sleep thing very well, too much going on in my head.

But the latent hangover makes me keep my eyes shut as much as possible so I do manage to catch a few hours.

*

Frannie pads into my room at just after seven. She's dressed and has a twin on each hip.

Handing me a cup of coffee (have I mentioned how wonderful this woman is?) she tells me that Turnbull pulled a few strings and got me on a 10AM flight from Chicago to Edmonton.

There are no words for the amount of gratitude bubbling up inside me so I settle for hugging her, careful of the babies - weird to think Ben's going to have one of these soon - and pulling her now mid-shoulder length braid.

Think she gets the message.

*

Frannie kisses me at the door and Turnbull drives me to O'Hare - not sure what I ever did to get friends like this, but I'm damn glad I did it.

One good thing about already having reached Hangoversville before going to bed last night is that this morning I don't feel anything as much like death as I should. My head's had better days and my hands have been steadier, but at least food and drink stay down and I don't ache too much.

Half way to O'Hare it suddenly strikes me that the guy next to me is sleeping with my 'sister', so I have a stab at the protective big brother routine. It fails miserably.

See I know Turnbull's intentions are honourable, how could they ever be anything but? And anyway, even a suggestion of this conversation makes him blush and stutter so we give up and hide in comfortable silence 'til we reach the airport.

"Good luck, Detective Kowalski." He says as I climb out of the car.

"Thanks," I duck my head back in, "And it's Ray. After all," I wink at him, "We're family now."

The guy blushes worse than Ben. Maybe they only employ people whose skin colour can match The Uniform.

Part Three: Back to Inuvik

Inside the terminal, I get round to calling Welsh.

He's ... unimpressed. "Kowalski, there better be a good reason why your butt isn't at your desk right now."

"Yes sir, there is."

Pause. He breaks first. "Do you think you could share it with me?"

"You remember when you told me not to screw things up with Fraser?"

"What have you done?"

Wow. Don't you love the faith he doesn't have in me? "I need a few days off to undo it."

"Take a week." He says, and hangs up.

WOW.

*

Next, I call Charlie and ask him to meet me at Yellowknife. He sounds surprised to hear from me, but agrees easy enough. I guess he must have picked up on there being a problem when Ben came back a day after leaving, but I don't find out the full reason for him being surprised 'til we meet on the runway in Yellowknife and I climb into the Cessna feeling shattered.

"Didn't think we'd be seeing you again." He says cautiously as I buckle myself up.

"No, uh..." I don't want to say too much, 'cause I don't want to damage Ben's reputation in the place where he works. "Fraser and I had a fight."

He raises his eyebrows. "I'll say."

"Huh?"

He sits on the empty passenger seat beside me. "Look Ray, it's all over town that Booth's having Fraser's baby."

"Oh..." I hesitate, not sure if it would be better for him to think that I lied when he asked me or that Ben lied to me.

"You didn't know, did you?" His not really a question saves me from having to make a decision.

"Uh... no."

"Wouldn't have expected that of Fraser." He says and I bristle.

"It's complicated; he didn't cheat."

"I know." He sooths quickly. "Booth told people the whole story when the rumours started getting too much." He puts a hand on my shoulder, "You okay?"

"Yeah," I shrug, "Least I will be when I get to talk to Ben."

He laughs "That a hint?"

"Yeah."

*

Yellowknife to Inuvik isn't a long flight, but today it feels endless.

I'm panicking.

About what to say to Ben, mostly, but also a bit about what he might say to me. What if he hates me? What if he really has gone to Booth? What if the lure of a proper family proved too much?

For the first time in my life, I'm grateful for turbulence 'cause it jolts me out of my bad thoughts. But course then I get a whole load of new ones. What if the plane crashes and I die before I get to tell him I'm sorry?

By the time we land in Inuvik, I'm praying.

Charlie grins as he watches me climb down shaking from head to foot. "That was fun, wasn't it?"

I pull a face. "Greatness." I mutter.

"C'mon." he slaps my back "I'll give you a ride to Mountie Ville."

"Nah. I've got no baggage, I'll take the Harley." I tell him, "Thanks though."

"Umm" he frowns "You might not be able to do that. Fraser's taken it to Mallard's garage, put it up for sale."

"He's what?" The Harley is the motorbike Ben got me for my birthday last year. He knew I missed the GTO while we were up here, and he knew that my thing for Steve McQueen extended to a thing for motorbikes. So when he saw a beat-up old Harley selling for not very much in Aklavic he phoned me and asked if I'd be interested. I told him if he let it get away then we were finished. I think he knew I was joking. Worked anyway. I fixed it up, painted it black and, as long as conditions are good and I don't mention the GTO around it, it runs like a dream. "He can't sell her, she's not even his!"

Charlie's squirming, but rallies with, "I don't think he thinks you're coming back. Guess he doesn't want it round as a reminder."

Okay, that's quite good. I'm still all for marching into Mallard's and getting her back, but Charlie convinces me to go see Ben first. "Anyway," this is his coup de whatsit "Everyone round here knows she's yours. They won't buy it until you're officially gone."

"Which I don't plan to be."

"Exactly."

*

We drive through Inuvik in Charlie's 4x4 with the top down, 'cause it's 50F which to Canadians is tropical.

The few people who notice me give me double glances and I slide down in my seat, trying to be invisible.

Charlie drops me off at the detachment.

This place is as little like the Consulate as you can get. It's a friendly, comfy sort of place, with no grand staircases or Queen's bedrooms, just a couple of offices and an operations room. They do proper police work here and Ben loves it.

One thing they do have is an officer on guard duty at the front door. It's not playing statues this time, though, but a sensible security measure and at least this time the guy is allowed to move and Fraser isn't one of the ones who has to do it.

Constable Straw is the lucky one this evening. Normally, we have a chat then he lets me through. Today, he steps smartly in front of the door and fingers his revolver.

"Detective Kowalski." He says properly as I reach him.

"Hey Jack." I say, aiming for light and breezy. "Fraser in?"

He stays where he is. "I'm afraid you're going to have to hand in all weaponry if you wish to enter the detachment today."

"Why on..." I blink, then laugh. "Oh, for God's sake, Jack. I'm not going to shoot Fraser. Or Booth."

He doesn't back down, but he begins to look a little embarrassed and apologetic. "You can understand why I'm worried, Ray."

"Yeah." I hand in my shoulder holster and my boot gun. Even let him frisk me. And once it's established that I'm not harbouring any WMD he lets me in.

"Corporal Fraser is in his office." He adds softly as I pass.

Ben's office here is at least six times bigger than the one he had in Chicago. Dief loves it; he even has his own bed in the corner.

It's second from the end of a really long corridor, and even though it normally feels like it takes forever to reach it, today I arrive wishing I had longer. Like another month or so.

Door's open slightly, so he's not busy, but instead of going in, I lean against the wall and count to one hundred. My heart's hammering, my hands are cold and sweaty. I'm scared stiff.

Finally, I manage to make myself push the door open and step in. He doesn't look up, don't think he heard me.

He's sitting at his desk, a pile of papers in the In tray on his left, and about four sheets in the Out tray on his right.

He's staring at the form or report or whatever that he's supposed to be working on, but he's not even holding a pen. His left hand's on his forehead, propping up his head, I see the dull glow of sunlight glinting off his ring. The fact he's still wearing it gives me a little jolt of hope.

His face is pale, even for him, and his eyes look red-rimmed and blood shot. There's the beginnings of stubble on his lip and jaw so he can't have shaved since before he got to Chicago.

My heart starts to ache when I think of him being in this kind of pain.

"You look like Hell." I say gently, closing the door and stepping further into the room.

He sits bolt upright, going even whiter.

"R... Ray." He stammers, standing up.

"In the flesh." I try to grin, but I'm not sure how well that works.

"I... I thought..."

"I know." I want to hug him, but that's just going to confuse him at the moment. Instead, we stand there looking at each other, shy and banter-less.

Eventually, he says. "How did you get here?"

"Charlie brought me."

"From Chicago?"

"From Yellowknife."

"Ah." He nods. More silence.

"Why... Why are you here?" He asks, looking wary as if he half expects I'm only here to punch him.

"'Cause I didn't get to say what I wanted to say the yesterday. I need you to understand why I'm mad. And then I need us to work through this shit 'cause we've worked damn hard to get where we are and I'm not about to lose it all now."

"Ray, I am truly so sorry..."

"Don't," I cut in, but he rides over the top.

"I have to. I'm sorry I lied to you..."

"No. Do not do that. Do not say sorry when you don't get what you've done. It's not the lying. Though that was pretty shitty, Ben. It's the fact that you haven't learned." I wave both hands at him in time with my words, hoping he'll get the message that even though I'm talking calm, I'm still pissed.

"Learnt?"

"It's the same damn thing that it always is, Ben. It's your logic getting in the way again. You looked at Booth and you saw it was logical to help her out. You didn't think about what it would do to us."

"That's not true." For the first time Ben snaps a little, sounding less scared that a harsh word will banish me back to Chicago. This is what I want. I want him not too scared to fight if we need to.

"Do you not remember the Henry Anderson?"

"Allen," he says, 'cause it's a physical compulsion and he can't help it.

"Allen, jeez. It's the same now as it was then. You stride ahead, being virtuous, and Mountie-like and you forget that not everything is about duty and logic and responsibility. Some things are about," I wave my hands, trying to claw a word out of the air, "feelings. You must have felt that is was wrong."

"Ray I do not consider my actions to have been wrong. I admit I was wrong to hurt you, I was not wrong to do this for Inspector Booth."

That stops me. "You don't think you were wrong?"

"No."

"I trusted you Fraser, and you betrayed that trust. That's pretty fucking wrong isn't it?"

His face is flushed, but his eyes are more lost than angry. "I don't understand."

Shit. Deep breath. Pace once around the room. I just suffered through hours of turbulence in a crappy old 'plane. I've still got blowback from my hangover. I'm too tired for this shit. Then I have it, one thing he does understand. "Partners, Frase. That's what this is about. You and me are partners, first and foremost, above anything else we're partners, okay? That means I don't go off on my own and make decisions on anything that's going to affect us and you can't either. We need to discuss shit like this, does that make sense?"

He nods, "It... It does. I'm sorry Ray, I didn't... I didn't think."

I nod, he looks broken open and it hurts to see. I reach out for him, "Com'ere"

He stands up, winces as if he's a little stiff and pulls me into his arms, "I never thought you'd want to see me again." He mutters against my neck.

"I went to see Frannie."

"Oh?"

"Did you know about her and Turnbull?"

He frowns, "Pardon?"

"Frannie's kids are Turnbull's."

He stares at me, his mouth slightly open. "Good Lord." He finally manages.

"Yeah, shocked me too. Least they're not yours, though."

We both wince. "Sorry, I'm sorry. Stupid thing to say. Guess we're not at the stage yet where we can joke about this."

He looks up at me, meeting my eyes. "Will we ever be?" He asks softly.

"Yeah," I grin at him shyly, "I hope we will."

"If we don't," I mumble into his shoulder, "I'll kick us in the head."

He laughs but there's a catch in his voice and I know we're not all hearts and flowers yet.

"I wish this had never happened," he says and I can feel his breath whisper through my hair. Tickles. "I wish I'd told you."

"Don't..." I say again, and again it doesn't work.

"Ray, if..."

I shut him up the best way possible by kissing those lips. He doesn't really respond, but he doesn't push me away either, which confirms how shaky he is. Can't imagine the Queen would approve of him making out with me in his office, I mean she seems a cool old lady, but I bet even she wouldn't approve of his fraternising with an American. His arms tighten around me, but he tries to carry on talking against my mouth. Can't have that. I slide my tongue out and lick his lips, over and over, 'til he shuts up. He shudders.

"Ray," Damn, but he sounds sexy, "Ray, we need to talk."

"I know," Kiss him again, because I want to this time, and because I was terrified I'd never get to again, "But I don't want to."

He smiles at me, "I don't want to either." Ducking his head to hide it in the crook of my neck.

He breathes in deeply and for a second I think he's crying, then I realise he's smelling me and I can't help but grin. Standing there, holding him, letting him do his wolf-man impersonation I decide that I'm happy. It doesn't matter that we're not fully back yet. Doesn't matter that my trust got a bit dented. Doesn't matter how much I hurt (past tense). Doesn't matter that we do still need to have that talk. We will one day be fine again. And that's what matters.

I also realise something else. Something that's been nagging my subconscious since I first kissed him. His mouth doesn't taste right. Normally he tastes of toothpaste (no matter what the time of day) and tea (bark or otherwise) and of himself. Today there's something else. A tangy, almost sweet taste.

"You been drinking?" I ask, suddenly recognising that taste.

He doesn't let go of me, if anything he presses his face in even closer.

"Ben?"

I gently pull back and make him look at me. He's blushing scarlet. "Yes Ray. Not, er, not recently. Not since this morning."

Shit. No wonder he looks bad. "Why?" I caress his cheek.

He looks down and mumbles "I thought I'd lost you. I..."

"Ben, you don't drink. I do fucked up shit like that; you don't."

"I just wanted to stop hurting for a little while, Ray." He looks thoroughly ashamed. "I am aware that alcohol is not a solution, but when I arrived back in Inuvik and went back to the house all I could think about was you. I knew I'd lost you and I knew it was my fault." He looks directly into my eyes, "I've never been in that much pain, and I couldn't stop thinking. So I decided to obliterate the rest of the dawn hours."

"Idiot." I whisper affectionately. I kiss each of his flushed cheeks in turn. "Alcohol's never the answer."

"So I discovered." He answers wryly.

"You got a hangover?" I ask brushing my hand around the back of his head, gently massaging the same place that the remains of my hangover are still lurking.

"A little. It's a strange feeling, isn't it?"

I don't answer; instead, I carry on massaging his scalp, running my fingers through his hair. He shivers.

"How much longer 'til you're off duty?" I whisper.

"I'm not actually on duty," he tells me, with a smile, "Officially I'm still on leave. When I, er, woke up today I couldn't face being at home and I didn't want another drink... ever... so I decided to come to work."

When I, er, woke up means when he came round, which means he drunk himself all the way to oblivion, that's just fucked up. Fraser doesn't do that shit. He knows how damn dangerous it is. It makes me feel crap; even I didn't get that far. Pretty damn close, but I never actually passed out last night.

I take his hand, and lead him to the door, "Let's go home." Half way to the door I stop, turn back and look round the room. "Where's Dief?" Let's not tell him I forgot him for that long, okay? It'd cost me a fortune in donuts to make for that.

"I believe he's with Maggie." Ben says stiffly, blushing and tugging on his collar. "He, er, appears to have taken issue with my behaviour last night, and I'm afraid I may have been quite short with him."

I try not to grin, poor Dief, he must have been so confused.

*

Ben lets me keep hold of his hand as we walk down the corridor, but just before the front door he gently pulls it away.

I don't want that. Not today of all days. I want to keep hold of him. I need to. There's no chance though, more chance of the Cubs wining the World Series than Corporal Benton Fraser RCMP walking down Inuvik High Street holding my hand. He's not ashamed of me; don't start thinking that. He just believes, and theoretically I have to say I kinda agree with him, that it's not right to flaunt it... us... in people's faces. Everyone in Inuvik knows that we're together, and pretty much every person has been really cool about it. In theory. They believe that what we do in our bedroom is our business, doesn't mean that they want to see it.

Mostly I'm okay with that. Today it sucks.

"You know people are talking, right?" I ask him, stopping him before he can open the door. "About us, and about you and Booth?"

"Yes, I know." He turns to me, kisses me quick, possibly just to check I'm still there. "I believe the rumours began when I arrived back early this morning when everyone knew I'd gone to Chicago. Then, rumours being what they are, they started to escalate. There was already some talk as to the paternity of Inspector Booth's baby and people put the rumours together and came up with some truly shocking things. Inspector Booth came around to ask my opinion on what we should do, but when she saw my, er, state she decided to put a stop to the rumours altogether." He's been very successfully avoiding my eyes while saying all that, so I punch him lightly on the arm.

"Hey."

He looks up.

"It doesn't matter. We'll ride out the rumours, Ben."

He flashes me his most incredible smile, and my knees literally go weak. I step forward into his personal space, press him against the wall and kiss him hard. He moans and kisses me back, turning us round so I'm the one against the wall. It's like we're back on the stairwell again, but without the awful urgency and desperation.

"God," I gasp, pulling my mouth away, and grinding my groin against him almost without meaning to.

He laughs, "Home, darling."

"Oooh, yeah." I breathe.

*

We get looks as we walk out of the detachment and through Inuvik.

Constable Straw manages to stay professional and Mountie-like, but his ears are red and I reckon he could hear what was going on behind the door. I'm betting he'll give us two minutes maximum before he's on the phone to everyone he knows telling 'em we're back together. Small towns are like that, gossipy. In this case I don't mind, though. They don't do it to be nasty, they do it 'cause they care. People like Ben and they even seem to like me. And I think they like the two of us together.

We pass a few people we know really well. They all do double takes and look like they want to stop and chat, but Ben just says, "Good evening" and hustles me on. Most people laugh and get the message.

Our house is slightly out of town. You go through the centre of Inuvik, right the way down the High Street and keep walking. Through a little estate of new houses built to cope with a miniature population explosion they had a few years back, down a path that cuts a little way into the woods, then five minutes later we're home.

It's a cabin not a house-house, all timber and open fires and polished wood floors and I love it. It used to be Maggie McKenzie's mom's. She left it to Maggie in her will, but Mags already had a home, so she offered it to Ben when he decided to stay. We've made a few changes, modernised it a little. I needed a toilet inside, but we've not done anything too drastic. It's still homely and comfortable, and whenever I'm stuck in Chicago on a stake out or freezing my ass off on the streets I dream about the warmth of this place.

Ben opens the door, and I'm hit with a wave of warmth. He must have left the boiler on this morning. Guess he didn't mean to, but I'm damn glad he did. It's gotten dark by now, and I'm chilly. The next wave that hits me is the smell of alcohol. It's pretty strong and I cough. Ben's goes bright red again, and starts to babble apologies. I don't get what for, for a second, but then I work it out. Duh. Ben doesn't own any alcohol, of course if he's gonna get shitfaced it's gotta be on mine.

"Hey, hey." I stop him mid ramble. "It's okay," I look at the empty bottle of scotch on the sideboard and try not to show in anyway that it was the good stuff and pretty expensive. "I reckon I drank enough last night that I'm never gonna wanna drink again."

That stops him. "You... you got drunk as well?"

I grin, "Didn't I mention that? I got slaughtered."

He rolls his eyes and steps towards me, "We're fools."

"Yeah." Press against him again. "Fools in love."

He lowers his mouth to mine and I kiss him willingly, gratefully. He pulls my jacket off without breaking contact and drops it on the floor behind me. Then his hands slip under my shirt and he flattens his palms against my back, pushing me against him and down his throat like I'm the most delicious thing this side of Pluto. Know that isn't true. He is.

"You taste good." Well, a little bit like stale alcohol, but under that he tastes of him, which is maybe even better than good. I lower my mouth to his neck and suck on him. I know I shouldn't, but I need to mark him, today. Need to know he's mine. He doesn't seem to mind, doesn't try to stop me.

I pull his brown Mountie shirt open and suck on his collarbone. My mouth feels hot against his cool skin, I must be burning him. Got a feeling he doesn't mind too much.

Carry on sucking and kissing my way down his body. There's a line of red marks running down his chest, reckon only the one on his neck'll turn into a hickey though. Well maybe the one I'm working on now too. Kneeling in front of him, his trousers undone and pulled back a little I'm sucking on inside of his left hip with all my might. Wonder if he realises how close to crying I am? I'm overwhelmed with him, with having him back. I'm overcome with the thought that I nearly lost him. I feel a breath hitch into a sob, and I know he heard it 'cause his gentle little moans stop suddenly and he tries to slide down next to me. I don't let him. Urge him back against the wall, and press my face into his still covered groin.

"Ray?" He asks hesitantly, his hands lowering to pet my hair and my cheek.

I shake my head against him, kiss his slightly wilted erection, and take a few breaths. "S'okay." I tell him, looking up and giving him what I hope isn't too watery a smile. "I'm good."

"Are you?"

"Yeah, just... just thinkin'; never a good idea."

He doesn't try to come down to me, though I can tell he wants to, just brushes my face with his hand. "I love you."

"Love you too." I reach up and finger the definite hickey on the inside of his hip. It's purple already. "Shit, sorry."

He shudders as my finger brushes the mark and my fake grin turns into a real one. "Benton Fraser, you getting turned on by a hickey?"

"N...no." That wasn't really fair; I licked it while he was trying to speak.

"Uhuh." Rock back on my heels "Guess you won't be wantin' another one, then?" I lean in and touch the tip of my tongue to the elastic of his boxers. "Hmm?" Lick my way all along the skin touching his waistband, don't let my tongue slide under though.

"Not a... not a hick... hickey, Ray... no."

"What then?" I'm evil.

"R...Ray." Heh, I've reduced him to moans. Should I feel so proud about that?

I pull his boxers off, sliding them slowly over his thighs, making sure he feels every inch they travel. His breathing stutters. "Ray."

"Shh." I soothe him by gently kissing the crease where thigh meets groin. Let his boxers drop and he steps out of them quickly, kicking them far away. We'll probably find them under the sofa in 10 years time and wonder how the hell they got there.

His hand comes back to my face and he caresses me gently. He's never once asked me to do this to him. I know he can say the words; he's said them in relation to what he's going to do to me. Think he just doesn't want to be demanding. I love doing this though, there are two things you can do when kneeling at the feet of a Mountie, and I love doing both of them. One thing at a time though.

I close my eyes and suck him into my mouth. He gasps and I squeeze him tight to stop him coming. He moans something, which I think is Thanks, but could just as easily be Hey!

I suck and lick and kiss him for a long time, keeping it gentle, never doing enough to make him come. Want it to be great, not a quick fumble. His hips start to pump against me and I know I have point five seconds if I want to do everything I had planned.

"Ben." I whisper softly, pushing against his hip a little bit. He gets the message and turns around, his breathing getting even more stuttered.

I kiss his cheeks gently, then kiss the place between them. He moans and bends forward a little, one hand braced on the wall, the other pressed flat against his belly, I reach round and put my hand over that one, interlocking our fingers.

"Come for me, Ben." I whisper as I slide my tongue in.

He goes completely still for half a second, then his whole body starts to shake and he's coming. Hard. Just like I wanted.

I'm ready to support him when his knees give way and I lower him down so he's kneeling beside me and wrap by arms around him. "Dear ... heaven." He gasps eventually.

"Okay?" I ask, pressing a kiss to his sweaty shoulder.

He doesn't answer, instead he swivels round and pushes me down onto the floor, climbing half on top of me as he goes.

I laugh, but the sound dies as he kisses me. And when I say that, I mean it. He kisses me. I have no chance of responding. My mouth is being devoured.

"I love you, Ray." He says when he finally lets me breathe.

I look up at him, he's flushed and sweaty. He's suspended above me, his weight supported on his forearms, which are trembling slightly from the force of his orgasm.

Reach up my hand and caress his face. "Hey."

He smiles at me. "Hey."

There's something wrong with his eyes; they're going misty.

"Hey, hey, hey. What's wrong?" I cry. I'm emotional. Ben does not cry. He shows about as much emotion as a piece of pemmican. I brush away the tears that have overflowed onto his cheeks and try to get him to meet my eyes.

He won't. Just lays his head on my chest. "I thought I'd lost you." He whispers.

"I know, I know." I stroke his hair. "But you didn't. You and me are gonna be fine. And you're going to have a baby, Ben. There's gonna be a little Fraser running around. That's incredible."

He doesn't speak, just wraps his arms around me, clinging to me so tight that I can hardly breathe. Now would be a bad time to tell him that though, so I stay quiet. He's not sobbing, but I can feel hot tears splash onto my chest every now and then. I need a way to convince him I'm here.

"Ben" I whisper. I trail my hand down his back, slide it over his ass and carefully slide a finger between his cheeks, just stroking the soft, hot skin.

He gasps and looks up at me, his eyes wide.

"Can I?" I ask.

He nods mutely, sniffs and wipes at his eyes.

I smile at him and he smiles back. Tentatively.

"Bedroom?" I ask.

He nods, climbs off me and gently pulls me to my feet.

*

I wake up wrapped in the duvet and sheets, feeling warm and snuggled.

Reach out a hand for Ben, but he's not there and for half a second I panic that last night was all a dream. Then I get a vague memory of Ben kissing me and telling me Dief came home in the night and he's going to take him out. So that's okay, then. The only person I don't mind being seconded by is the wolf. Who may or may not actually qualify as a person - we're still debating that.

There are noises coming from the hallway; footsteps, paw pads, and whispered mutterings. Yep, my boyfriend's talking to his wolf again.

Heh, wonder if I'll ever grow out of that joke?

I'd get up and go greet the mutt and his master, but I'm too damn comfortable. The duvet's pulled up to my chin and I'm fairly certain Ben tucked me in once he'd gotten up to walk Dief.

The foot / paw steps get louder and I hear the bedroom door creek open. Ben actually raises his voice to snap, "Dief, don't!" But one, raising your voice to a deaf animal don't help, and two, when has Dief ever done as he was told anyway?

The door opens and an instant later the bed dips almost as low as the floor as a ridiculously excited wolf throws himself on me and starts making intimate with every patch of skin he can reach.

"Dief!" I splutter, "Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!"

I get my hands up to protect my face and then have to suffer them getting slobbered too. "It's been two weeks, Dief, for goodness sake!"

"Perhaps," Ben suggests, sitting down on his side of the bed and watching us with a little grin, "Diefenbaker finds every second away from you feels like an eternity."

"Dief finds that?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, yes, Ray."

"Not you?"

"Well of course not, I'm a grown man."

"Oh, well," I make a show of getting out of bed. "I'll just be getting back to Chicago, then."

He throws himself on me, dislodging Dief who slides to the floor with a disgruntled woof. Then I get 180 odd pounds of Mountie on top of me, kissing my face, pinning my arms above my head and growling at me.

"You're not going back. I'm never letting you go."

I laugh, push his face up 'til I can breathe then smack him lightly on the forehead. "You know I have to go back." I tell him.

"Not today."

"No," I agree, "Not today. Not..." I suddenly remember something. "Hey, I've got a week off. I wasn't going to use it all, but," I wiggle suggestively "It's seeming kind of appealing."

"How do you have a week's leave?"

"Welsh. He... I told him I needed leave, he gave me a week. You know, I think we're his couple of the month or something."

"We could do worse," Ben tells me seriously, "Lieutenant Welsh is a fine man."

"Sherry certainly thinks so. You should hear them on the phone; it's sickening." A lot of people at the 2-7 were shocked when Welsh married Sherry O'Neil last spring. It wasn't so weird for me, 'cause I'd never been there when she was in charge, but Huey and Vecchio almost had coronaries.

Ben shifts himself so he's not crushing me, then lays his head on my shoulder, arms around me above the covers. "They were very lucky to find each other."

"Yeah, lot of that going round."

*

Ben spends the rest of the day proving just how lucky I was to find him. Snigger.

You know, I told Frannie once that Ben and I sometimes spend days together when we only get out of bed to use the can, but she just couldn't get her head round it.

Guess that kind of makes sense, Ben doesn't come across as the kind of guy who'd be comfortable with that kind of excess.

Course, he doesn't look like he'd be comfortable with his tongue up another guy's ass, but he sure as hell is. And me? Well, maybe comfortable isn't the word. Hard as a fucking rock, might be more like it. But it's all greatness.

Only slight issue of non-greatness is the fact that we still haven't had that talk. You know, that talk. The 'you got you boss pregnant and didn't tell me' talk. One that I'm sure all couples around the world have to face at some time or another. Up there with the 'who left the empty butter dish in the refrigerator?' talk - don't ask me, Ben's on about that a lot. Despite us not having a butter dish. Despite me not actually knowing what one is.

We don't spend the whole day having sex. Granted, we spend a lot of the day having sex, but not all of it. There are a couple of times when we just lie together, quiet and content, enjoying each other and the feeling of hot skin against hot skin.

It's during one of these, when the sun's been down for a couple of hours and we're spooned up together in the dark, that Ben starts to talk.

He shifts a little behind me so he's got one leg firmly between mine, and props himself up on one elbow, his other hand tracing soft patterns around my collarbone. I'm just starting to think again? when he leans down and whispers in my ear. "I've never been happier than I've been since I met you."

I blush, but it's okay 'cause it's dark. "You're only saying that," I say 'cause I know he's not.

He kisses the ear he just spoke into. "You make me feel like there's a reason for my life."

"Hey," I roll onto my back and look up at him, "There's always been a reason for your life; look at all the people you've helped."

He smiles slightly, "Granted my life had some meaning prior to meeting you," he agrees slowly, "But all the people I have tried to help only cared that somebody was helping them, they didn't care if that somebody was me. You," he kisses my temple, "Are the only person I've ever believed truly cared about me. You're the only person really who's ever seen me. That was why I was so afraid when I lost you."

"You didn't lose me, Ben. Just temporarily mislaid."

He laughs quietly, but then it fades. There's a silence that I don't break 'cause I know he's working up to something.

"I was going to refuse, initially." Ben says finally.

I reach up and stroke his cheek, "When Booth asked you?"

"Yes, I ... I had doubts over whether a child should be deliberately created in this fashion, merely to satisfy the desires of the mother. I was always taught that children should be the result of love."

"What changed your mind?"

"I watched her around children. She looked so ... so wistful. She wanted a child so badly and I was all that was standing in her way. I realised it would be the height of selfishness to deny her, so I agreed."

"And didn't tell me," I'm prompting for more information, not accusing, but he still tightens his arms and leg around me. Guess that makes sense; I did throw him out the last time we had this conversation.

"No, I ... It ... Ray, I know you're going to find this hard to believe, but until I saw the ultrasound picture I simply did not feel connected to the baby Inspector Booth was carrying. As far as I was concerned the child came from my seed, but it was her baby. It wasn't that I was hiding it from you, it just didn't occur to me to tell you."

"But even if you didn't feel like it was your kid, you could still of mentioned it. You know, I phone and say 'hey honey, how was your day?' You say, 'Good, thank you. I made intimate with a cup so my boss could get knocked-up.'"

That makes Ben laugh, like I was hoping it would. "Perhaps, subconsciously, I knew you would be unhappy with me. And I wished to avoid that possibility."

"Perhaps?"

"Yes. I can't be absolutely certain about the workings of my subconscious. It has been a constant mystery to me for some time now."

His dad. Ben told me once that he used to see his dad's ghost. That freaked me out I can tell you, but only for a while. This is Ben after all. Sure, he believes in some crazy shit, but never blindly. If he says he believes something then he has a good, solid reason for believing it.

He doesn't see his dad anymore, hasn't since the Muldoon thing. It used to piss him off when his dad's ghost would turn up uninvited, but I know he misses him now. Ben said his dad walked off into the sunrise with his mum. I like that. It's comforting. I never used to get all that worked up about the idea of dying. You can't if you're a cop. But the idea of losing Ben, of never seeing him again, that sends shivers through me like nobody's business. But well if his mum and dad get to be together forever, then I like to think that we can be too.

I like the fact his dad felt able to leave as well. Now I know I didn't know the guy, but it seems to me he was a fairly contrary old coot and he wouldn't have just gone wandering off into sunrises if he didn't think Ben would be okay here without him. I like to think that he knew Ben wouldn't be alone anymore.

"Ray?"

"Mmm."

"When the baby comes nothing will change between us; I won't let it."

The wind's picked up outside, making the windowpanes rattle and even though we're safe and warm inside I can't hold back a shiver. Ben lies down beside me again, pulling the duvet up tighter around us. I turn and snuggle up into his heat.

When we first started our Adventure, Ben worried a lot about me being cold, but pretty much the only time I'm ever cold is when it's a psychological thing. Like when I'm lonely or nervous or down. Right now I'm just a little bit anxious.

"It will change," I say into his chest, "You won't come down to Chicago anymore."

He tries to protest, but I talk over him. "Kids change a lot in five days, Ben. The first time you're away and miss his first words or first steps you'll never want to leave again."

"Ray, I will not put the baby above you."

He sounds kind of fierce, but I can do fierce to.

"You will. You better." I say struggling up a bit so I can look him in the eye. "You created that kid, whether it was for Booth or not. It's not the kid's fault that his mum and dad aren't together. You can't let him suffer because of it."

"Him?"

"Yeah," I shrug, "I kind of ... Whenever I imagine you with a kid it's always a boy. Just like ... just like when I used to image me and Stell with a baby it was always a girl."

"You used to imagine yourself and Stella with a child?" He sounds curious, rather than mildly hostile, which is how he normally sounds when talking about my ex-. Just like I do when I talk about the Victoria bitch, Mark fucking Smithbauer, or Innusiq.

"Only in the beginning. I pretty soon worked out it was never going to happen. She's just not a baby person," I grin at him, "Good thing Vecchio isn't either."

Ben gives me a soft kiss on the cheek, which I reckon means I'm sorry that that bitch broke your heart.

I pull him closer and give him an It's cool, it hurt for a while, but I'd so much rather be with you smooch in return.

Then Ben picks up on something I was kind of hoping he wouldn't notice, "When you say you've imagined me with a baby boy, do you mean you've imagined us with one?" He asks when we've finally stopped devouring each other.

I blush and roll onto my back putting an arm over my face. "I guess," I mumble into my elbow.

"Pardon?" He moves my arm out of the way.

"Yes," I glare at him. "Yes. Just ... you know, just one of those stupid daydreams where any shit is possible. It was our kid, and it was a boy."

"What was his name?" Ben asks me softly, stroking the bicep of the arm he just stole.

"Robert."

His eyes mist, "Robert?"

You know, this is either a hideously embarrassing conversation, or an incredibly intimate one. "After your dad. I wasn't sure about a middle name. I thought you might want Raymond after Vecchio, but then it'd look like I was being all ego ... egos ..." Deep breath, I can do this. He doesn't interrupt as I shake down my brain, and a small smile lights his lips when after a couple of seconds I carry on, "Egotistical. Like I was naming him after me. And anyway, Robert Raymond, that just sounds dumb. So I thought maybe Harding ..."

"What about Damien?" He asks quietly.

"I ... I wasn't sure how you'd feel about that. He hasn't exactly been waving any rainbow flags, and he's said some really shitty things to you."

"But he's your father. It would be nice to name out son for both our fathers."

Our eyes meet, and suddenly I can't see him anymore through the mist. He wraps me up in his arms and I cling on tight.

"Sorry," I mumble.

Ben kisses my neck and as his cheek brushes my skin I feel that his face is wet too.

"I would love nothing more than to have a child with you." He whispers, his voice a little hoarse and choked. "I don't know if it helps, but you will be just as involved with this child's like as I."

"What'll Booth say about that?" I know the kid won't really be ours, but the idea of sharing Ben's baby is almost as good.

"She knows we come as a package, darling."

"A package? That like a duet?"

"Exactly." He presses me closer.

"Like Lennon and McCartney?"

"Yes." His voice is drifty and I get the feeling he's falling asleep.

"Leopold and Loeb?"

"Mmm."

"The Three Stooges? Although strictly speaking they were ..."

"Ray?"

"Yeah?"

"Shh."

"Sorry ... Bacon and Eggs?"

*

The next morning Ben got a call from Mountie-Ville telling him the new super-Mountie computer-system had crashed and would he mind dreadfully dragging himself out of bed and coming in on his day off?

I said no, no, no, and even resorted to no, but still here we are. Ben at his computer doing God knows what, tapping keys, pressing buttons, and muttering under his breath.

I don't know what this new system is all about and I don't think I want to. And I also really don't know how someone who grew up out here where there weren't any computers until a couple of years ago knows how to make them do what ever he wants. When I go near the damn things they have this habit of blowing up.

What I do know is while I can normally watch Ben for hours on end and feel happier than I have any right to feel, there's something about repetitive actions on computers that sets my teeth on edge.

I'm sitting on the corner of his desk, swinging my legs out and kicking the table with a one-two thump every time I drop them back.

"Ray," He says, looking up after the sixth or so time I do that, "As much as I appreciate your company, you don't have to stay here. You're more than welcome to go into town. You could pay Maggie a visit or perhaps now would be a good time to collect the Harley from Alex?"

At some point during our day of debauchery yesterday I remembered to kick him in the head for trying to sell my wheels. Turns out Charlie was right; Ben was doing it 'cause the Harley reminded him of me too much. Anyhow, we phoned the garage and all Alex did was laugh and say we could collect it whenever.

Whenever does not, however, mean now. Reckon I'll wait 'til Ben can come with me. I know it's pathetic, but I'm feeling all clingy at the moment and I don't want to let him out of my sight. "Nah, s'okay. I'm not bored."

I don't feel guilty telling Ben white lies anymore 'cause we both know they're lies, and we both know we know. So it doesn't feel like lying. Does that make sense?

"I'm sure Maggie would love to see you." Ben presses.

"You trying to get rid of me, Mountie?"

He reaches over, snags my hand and raises it to his lips. Looking deep into my eyes he whispers, "Yes."

I try not to laugh, but fail miserably. Still, I slide down off his desk and take my hand back, "Fine," I sniff. "I know you don't love me. I know I'm nothing to you. Nothing more than someone to cook and clean and raise your children."

He's laughing too now. I'm hiding my face behind my hands, trying to keep up an image of injured dignity, but I peek through my fingers to see him get up and reach out to me.

"Don't," I wave a hand weakly in his direction, "The damage is done."

Still peeking, I wait 'til I reckon he's close enough then, pressing the back of my hand against my forehead, I swirl round and swoon against him.

He wasn't close enough. For a second I think he won't catch me, but he tries. Instead of trying to slow my fall, he tries to stop it, but I'm too heavy for that and we end up in a heap on the floor, both cackling like loons.

"You are incorrigible." Ben scolds, untangling us and rolling on top of me.

I squint up at him, trying to see him through the sunlight streaming through the window behind. "That good?" I ask.

He's just opening his mouth to answer when the door swings open and Inspector Cherie Booth stands in the doorway.

You know I said she reminded me of the Ice Queen? I didn't just mean personality. They look similar - not identical, but enough to suggest that the RCMP only hires attractive, tall women with dark hair. Booth looks more like the Ice Queen did before I knew her, though, when she had soft, wavy, shoulder length hair. Booth's eyes are so dark they're nearly black, rather than whatever the hell colour Thatcher's are. A colour that would be complemented by muted flecks of gold, apparently.

Ben rolls away and we scramble to our feet, both dress-uniform red.

Booth isn't much better, she looks about as comfortable as Vecchio in Army Surplus. "I... I..." She stutters, before suddenly seeming to snap back to normal. "I heard a crash Corporal, I just came to check you were uninjured."

"He's fine," I snap, glaring at her and stepping possessively close to Ben. I know, I know, I'm being mean to a pregnant woman - shit, I finally focus on her barely contained belly - a seriously pregnant woman. But, in my defence, she is pregnant with my boyfriend's kid, so I can be a little jealous, right?

Booth flinches, "Detective Kowalski," she says, not quite meeting my eyes, "I wasn't aware you were ... back."

"Oh yeah," I snarl. Shit, gotta stop this, so I try to make nice. "Yeah, I'm back. Got in yesterday."

"Well," She starts off hearty but it fades, "It's ... it's good to see you. Corporal," She flicks her attention to Fraser, "I really cannot condone that level of fraternisation in the RCMP building."

I snort, oh that's fucking rich, and she seriously doesn't know Ben at all does she, not if she thinks he'd really get up to anything in his office. "Not unless the fraternising'll knock you up, right?"

She goes white, but her retort is strong, "I don't remember asking your opinion, detective." She says tartly, before sweeping out.

I really do want to kill her, or at least yell some more, but Ben grabs my arm and swings me round to face him.

"That wasn't very nice." He says sadly.

"No," Something in me melts in the face of Fraser-disappointment, "Guess I'm not a very nice person."

He pulls me into his arms, "Green is not a particular attractive colour on you." He murmurs.

"I know," I sag into his hug, "I didn't mean to. I was doing good, but then she went and fucking ch... chase ..." Damn. "Chastised you, when you're the father of her fucking kid. She had no fucking right. And I know, language, Ray."

"Quite. And she has every right to chastise me, darling. She is my superior officer, and our behaviour wasn't exactly suitable for my place of employment."

Jeez, he can make me hard talking like that. "But you're not even on duty," I protest.

"Neither is she; she's on maternity leave, remember."

"Well, what the hell's she doing here then?"

"Probably the same as me. We have been working on this system together; it's a joint venture."

"Yeah, you and her got a lot of those going at the moment."

I don't need Ben's hurt sounding Ray! To make me feel shit about that crack. "Sorry, sorry, sorry." I mumble, kissing him. "Uncalled for, I know. Those might keep slipping out for a while, but I'll try and keep 'em in check."

He smiles at me. "Thank you. Now, go visit Maggie."

*

So I do.

Mags and me is a complicated one. When she was in Chicago that time I did have feelings for her. She wasn't like Luanne Russell, or Denny Scarpa, or hell Janet Morse, or Tracy Chapman, sucked into our little game of trying to pretend we weren't in love. I honestly did like her. 'Course it didn't hurt at all that she was a carbon copy of Ben and meeting her was like being handed everything I'd ever wanted and loved about him, but wrapped in a more socially acceptable package. But when it came down to it I don't love Ben for anything than for being himself and no one can compete with that.

All that's... what's the word?... academic now, obviously. I'm with Ben heart and soul forever, and she's his sister and one of my closest friends, but I still sometimes feel a spark of something between us. And we do have this bad habit of flirting, though I don't think Ben minds.

Maggie's not a Mountie anymore, by the way.

I know, it shocked me too. Thought she was like Ben - surgically attached to the serge. But when she got back to Inuvik after coming to Chicago on the trail of the killers of her husband, she found she didn't want to be a Mountie anymore. The RCMP had suspended her, they hadn't trusted her to do her job, and that knocked her faith for six.

Plus, her husband was dead, and she finally had to stand still and grieve.

By the time Ben and I swept into town after our adventure, she'd resigned from the RCMP and had set up her own youth group. It's for kids of all ages, white and First Nation, where they can go after class just to hang out, or chat, or do homework, or really do whatever they want.

Ben says it's done wonders for the town. They were having quite a problem with kids getting bored and restless in Inuvik and either going off the rails or high-tailing it out as soon as they were old enough. There really ain't all that much to do in Inuvik if you're a kid and not obsessively keen on old books or snow. Yeah, I know, there's more to do here than that, but it might not feel like it if you're fifteen and watching city kids on TV going to the mall and clubbing and shit.

So Mags gives them something to do. Or, if they prefer, a different venue to do nothing.

Maggie's house is just down the road from the RCMP detachment, which is cool 'cause she and Ben get to see each other all the time, and means that I've barely left the detachment before I'm climbing the couple of shallow steps that lead up to her front door.

I can hear high-pitched laughing and giggles, so it looks like she's got some of her nursery kids at the moment. That or some poor bastard is having a really tough time getting his voice to break. Oooh, and I think I smell brownies. Excellent. My timing is legendary - ask Ben.

"Hello?" I call, pushing the front door open and starting to unzip myself from my massive, padded coat. It's practically tropical here, but Ben worries.

"Hello?" Maggie's voice floats out of the woodwork. "We're in the lounge."

Hang my coat up and kick my shoes off and split a few more infinitives before heading down the corridor and into the lounge.

"Howdy all," I say smartly as I step into the warm, fire lit room. "All" is not actually that many today. Less than normal. Mags is in the middle of the room, helping two mini Inuit girls finger paint. Looks more like any body-part paint, 'cause both kids have it in their hair and all down their overalls, while Maggie has streaks of green and yellow on her cheek and noise. Looks like war paint.

Charlie's fourteen-year-old son is sitting reading in one of the arms chairs. Davie is a bit of an enigma. He's quiet and distant even for a kid his age, he reminds me of me when I was a bit older than him and starting to figure out that I didn't fit, and that I wanted things and felt things that no one else I knew seemed to want or feel. If that is it, then I'm hoping he'll talk to me - or Ben - about it. It's a freaky thing to go through on your own.

Only other people in the room are two teenage girls, Claire Atkinson and Isla Straw, who are over by the window hopping up and down and doing God knows what on plastic mats when some computer game on the TV tells them to. Think they said it was a dance-mat last time I was here, but damned if I know what that is. Shit, I must be getting old if kids' games no longer make sense.

"Ray!" Maggie's scream is piercing and everyone looks up as she dashes across the room and into my arms. "Charlie said you were home, I didn't believe him!"

She pecks me on the cheek, then draws back, scowls, and slaps me quite hard where she just kissed.

"Ow?!"

"You and Ben drive me crazy some times," she says, hands on hips.

"Yeah," I shuffle my feet, "But I think you'll be pleased with us at the moment..."

She half grins, "Really?"

"Yeah, we're good."

I get another kiss - talk about blowing hot and cold. "I'm so glad. Where is Ben?"

"Booth's got him chained to his desk."

She shoots me a look, but I shake my head. I know I probably will end up talking to her about all this, she's like my Inuvik version of Frannie, but not in front to the kids.

"Would you like some tea?" She starts to ask, but something in my expression must tip her off 'cause she laughs. "Davie, would you please get Detective Kowalski some coffee?"

"Don't you dare," I turn to him. The poor kid goes pink when I catch his eye and he stops half in and half out of his chair. "I'll get the coffee. Slave driver," I add to Maggie.

She grins and puts an arm round Davie; he goes redder. "He doesn't mind, do you Davie?"

"No ma'am."

"Heh, he's too scared to say anything else. You don't have to put up with this treatment, Dave, you know. You could break free, start a revolution or something."

The kid laughs shyly and drops his eyes. Damn, I remember being that awkward.

Over coffee, Maggie tries to make me talk about Booth and I try to pretend the rock cake I'm eating is the most fascinating lump of cake ever. Eventually, she pulls out the big guns.

"Has Ben told you about Booth's husband?"

I choke on the cake, images of angry, Grizzly Adams type husbands chasing Ben down with pitchforks or bolas running through my mind. "Husband?" I gasp out eventually. Maggie is watching me serenely, sipping coffee and making no attempt to stop me choking.

"They got married at the Depot," she says, "The way I've heard it, it was a fairytale romance. Love at first sight and all those things you believe in when you're nineteen. They graduated, moved to neighbouring detachments. He was killed on one of his first cases."

"Shit." Okay, so I don't like the woman, but that sucks.

Maggie nods, "She was very kind to me after Casey died. She told me about her own husband to show me that it's possible to recover. But, Ray I'm not sure she ever has fully recovered. That was nearly twenty years ago, she could easily have found someone else, but I don't think she wants anyone. We got to talking about children once, she told me she'd always wanted them, but with her husband gone, she'd never had the chance."

Well, that was subtle. "So 'cause she had a tough break you want me to say it's fine that she's having Ben's baby?"

"No," Maggie rolls her eyes. "I just want you to understand her."

"I do understand her. She saw something she wanted, knew Ben was a good guy and physically incapable of passing by a damsel in distress, and went for it. Went for him."

"Booth doesn't want Ben," Maggie says firmly, and though I'm not sure I believe her, it's still nice to hear.

The rest of the visit with Maggie is spent updating her on Chicago gossip. She met both Frannie and Turnbull when she was down in Chicago, and she's thrilled when I tell her about them. Then, just as I'm saying goodbye, Isla Straw - whose brother, Jack, is the Mountie who wouldn't let me shoot Booth or Ben yesterday - asks me if I'm going to the dance. The big, RCMP dance we're apparently hosting on Friday.

I tell myself I'm being dumb, it's not like he could take me dancing anyway, it's just... hell, why can't he take me dancing? That sucks. I know I should just keep quiet, but after dinner that night, when we're sitting on the sofa watching curling (Yes, curling, Ben likes it. Want to make something of it?) I have to ask.

He looks surprised, startled even. "I didn't know you'd be interested; I wasn't planning to put in more than an appearance."

"It's dancing Ben, of course I'd be interested." I try to keep my tone light, keep the smile on my face. This isn't a big deal; I just wish I knew why it matters to me so much.

He flashes me a self-depri... defec...deprecating smile, "Is this one of those things I need to learn about relationships?"

I laugh, "No, I save that for important things like empty butter dishes in the refrigerator. I'm just being silly, wishing you'd ask me."

"Then I'll ask and you shall go to the ball Ray Kowalski," he says, which makes me laugh while he tries to kiss me.

*

The rest of the week is absolute greatness. I'm normally so rushed on these trips that I only get to do one or two things. Now though, I got time so I can visit all my friends; work on the Harley; draw up some plans for the new outhouse.

It's actually a little weird, weirder that I'd thought it'd be spending this much time with Ben. I mean, it's great, it really is, it's the kind of thing I've been dreaming about for the last year and a half. But it's weird actually spending the day with him rather than just recapping it on the phone at night. It's kind of like when Stella and I first moved in together, only without the fights and the throwing of crockery.

Then comes the dance. It's not really a dance, more a convention that includes dancing, and Mounties seem to be coming from all over. Ben doesn't normally go to shit like this, but I can tell that even he's excited. Dief, meanwhile is beside himself.

The first half is dull in the extreme. Pompous Mounties talking about their pompous Mountie-ness. Most of them seem to know Ben, though to most of them he's "Robert Fraser's son," not Benton Fraser. I feel like cracking skulls together and telling them just how damn fine a Mountie he is, but that would be both un-Canadian and impolite. Not to mention, I'm kind of trying not to draw too much attention, 'cause Ben's career has suffered through enough shit without me adding to it.

Later, when the dancing starts, Ben and I are standing together, watching the couples on the dance floor. They're all so fucking young. I see Inspector Booth walk - or really, more waddle, she's really very pregnant - past, hesitate, then come over. "Constable Fraser," she says, nodding, "Detective."

Ben surreptitiously touches my arm, but I'm good. I'm not going to make a scene here.

"Are you not dancing Detective?" Booth asks, and I know she's just trying to be nice, "I heard you were an excellent dancer."

Ben's eyes flick back and forth between me and Booth and even though he's biting his lip I know what he wants to say. I should ask Booth to dance, it'll show people that everything's cool, help everything to settle down again, but I don't. I can't guarantee I wouldn't stamp on her feet, and that would make Ben pissed, so I mumble something an escape to the punch bowl.

I'm not allowed to hide there for long as I suddenly find myself with an endless stream of dance partners. Maggie, Charlie's wife Claire, a couple of imported girl Mounties, they all seem to be in league to not let me stand still for more than half a second. Damn, I'm not fit enough to cope with girls anymore.

Eventually, all the important Mountie people are gone and I've danced with every girl from Inuvik at least twice. I look up and see Ben coming back into the hall from seeing off the aforementioned Mountie people. They've been making him dance too and his skin is flushed, the curls at the nape of his neck are damp with sweat. I don't even think as I cross the room and stop in front of him.

"Dance with me?" I ask, holding out my hand.

He blinks at me, his pupils are a little big; looks like they gave him alcohol too. "Ray, I can't, not here."

I'm not backing down on this one, "Come on, what's the worse that can happen?" I take his hand and put it on my shoulder, slide a hand around his waist and step in closer.

"Ray..."

"All the assholes are gone Ben, it's just me, you, and our friends. Dance with me."

He laughs, shakes his head, then relaxes under my hands, letting me guide him around the floor. He's getting better at it. Not good exactly, Ben lives too much in his mind and not enough in his body to ever be good at dancing, but he knows how to do it technically, if not instinctively, and he feels good and not too awkward in my arms. I tighten grip and pull him forward so our bodies brush, resting my chin on his shoulder, letting him feel like he's leading.

People are looking at us, watching curiously, but no one is outright staring, at least not that I manage to catch. Maggie is dancing with Constable Straw, and she grins as we glide past them.

I glance up, don't even know why, must be the old instinct thing again. Inspector Booth is standing on the balcony above the hall, looking down. Her gaze flicks away the moment our eyes meet but I know she was watching us. First thing I feel is jealousy - stupid, irrational, I know. I'm the one here with Ben, dancing in his arms, making about the most public statement I could make that he's mine. Short of fucking him against the punch bowl, anyway. But I still feel jealous. I hate knowing that there's someone else in the world who feels they have some right to Ben, who watches him, who maybe even wants him.

I tighten my hold on Ben's waist and hand, flex my muscles, then dip him, not too far, but enough that his eyes go wide.

Ben comes up, laughing. He grips my shoulders to get his feet under him, and presses a quick kiss to my lips before stepping back. Everyone around us is laughing. It feels good.

Then the door swings open and Davie Chambers comes rushing in. "Corporal Fraser," he gasps stopping in front of us, "Inspector Booth's gone into labour."

*

The hospital is like a madhouse. Actually, no, I've been in a madhouse, remember Zoltan Motherwell? There the air was eerily calm and unnaturally quiet, this is like the exact opposite. There are Mounties pressed into every corner, red ones, brown ones, ones not even in uniform, but standing in a way that still screams Mountie! Inuvik hospital isn't all that big at the best of times, but right now I'm threatening to die of claustrophobia. It was okay getting in, everyone parted for Ben as he made his way down the corridors, and I was sticking close enough to him that I managed to get through before they closed ranks again. But when we got to Booth's room I had to stop. I didn't have a place in there. Ben was almost through the door before he realised I wasn't following, but when he noticed he stopped and turned back which was nice.

"Ray?" He asked, one hand on the door, one foot in the room one in the corridor.

"Go on," I waved him in, trying to look casual.

"Ray, you can come..." his voice trailed off, and he just looked sad.

"Go on," I gave him my fake smile. The one that doesn't fool either of us. "They need you in there. I'll be right here."

I go get myself some coffee then set up camp outside Booth's room. I know that's a stupid plan. I can hear her gasps and grunts and Ben's soothing voice, but I don't know where else to be. What's going on in that room has nothing to do with me and everything to do with me. Ben's life is changing and if Ben's life changes I can't really expect mine not to.

It takes hours. More than hours. I'd say days except the sun's risen once and hasn't set again. At some point I feel something soft and warm nudge my hand. Looking down, I see Dief's managed to slip past the nurses and the Mountie army outside.

"Hey, boy," I say softly, reaching out to scratch behind his ears.

He nudges me again, then trots over to the closed door. Scratches at it and whines.

"Nah, 'fraid not." I say, looking him in the eye, "Family only."

The look he gives me quite clearly states he considers himself family and when he comes over, lays his head on my knee, I get the message that I'm family too.

It's about four in the afternoon when it happens, Dief's lying under my chair asleep, tail protectively curled under his body after the third time the nurse ran over it with her trolley. I'm mostly awake, but dozing enough that when a sudden, piercing cry fills the air I jolt upright and reach for my absent gun. A second cry follows the first and then another. I'm out of my seat before I realise what it is, and then I collapse back down, feeling kind of weak. Shit, it's really happened.

The baby's cries rise to a crescendo like bullets in a firefight, then suddenly fade away altogether. The door opens and a nurse comes out, striping off blood-coated gloves that I have to look away from.

"It's a boy," she tells me with a smile.

Shit, my hands are shaking. Ben has a son. "Is..." I find my voice, "Is he okay? Got all his toes and that?"

I get another smile, "Oh yes, completely healthy. 3 kg."

She's still smiling so I guess that's good. Means nothing to me. Baby could weigh anything between Thumbelina and King Kong for all I understand metric.

I open my mouth to ask if I can see them, but instead mutter, "Thanks," and she goes on her way. I'm not sure I want to see Booth, I'm not even sure I want to see the baby - not sure I'm big enough not to resent it.

Instead I get up and go down to the canteen.

Ben finds me there a little later. I'm on about my tenth cup of coffee since we got here and while I'm sure it still tastes like shit my tastes buds are as numb as the rest of me so I don't care.

He looks good. Exhausted, dishevelled, but flushed, and happy, and good.

"Hi," he says, sinking in the seat opposite me with a groan.

I manage a smile and push my coffee towards him.

Ben reaches for it gratefully, showing the kind of desperation I thought only I could have for caffeine.

While he gulps it down, I try to compose myself, "So, a boy huh?" I say, when he sets the mug down. It doesn't come out bad, maybe a little high at the end.

He looks up and God, his eyes are so happy it just about kills me. "Yes. We're naming him Callum after Inspector Booth's late husband."

"Huh, good name." Well, it is. And besides, what else can I say?

Ben reaches over the table, squeezes my hand. "Ray? What's wrong?"

"Nothing." I try to perk up. "Nothing at all. This is cool, you've got a kid. He's got a good name. Callum Fraser, good, strong Scottish name." Yeah, I'm babbling.

Ben hasn't let go of my hand, which is nice, but weird 'cause we're in public. Although to be fair, "public" is a young couple who seem to be arguing about whether to put the milk into their tea first or second, and an old lady who is looking at us and giggling much to the intense, blushing embarrassment of the girl, probably her granddaughter, who's sitting with her.

Ben's voice pulls me back to myself and I find he's moved to sit beside me, still holding my hand. "Ray, I want you to love this baby." He tells me, his expression deadly serious. "I've only known him for a moment, but he feels like a part of me. I can't give him up. But I can't and won't give you up either. I need you to try to love him."

"I can't..." I cut myself off half way through. What the hell am I doing, trying to argue with that? It's a baby for God's sake. "Sure. Sure, Ben. I can do that."

His smile is radiant, "Will you meet him?"

No! my insides are screaming, but I nod, "Sure."

*

The baby's not with Booth, which is a blessing. They've taken him to a little room off the nursing station so she can get some sleep. It's better than those big rooms full of dozens of identically babies you get in big hospitals. If I had a kid, no way would I leave it in one of those. What happens if they get mixed up and you go home with the love child of Attila the Hun and Alanis Morisette or something?

Even though he's nothing more than a bundle of blankets, and pink skin, Ben has no trouble picking out his kid. His kid. Shit.

I follow behind, trying not to throw up, or scream in front of the kids. Their parents might blame me for giving them ideas. But then Ben picks up his kid - see, I can do it, I can say it - and something inside me shifts. The baby is dark like both his parents, but his eyes are huge and blue just like Ben's. I really don't want to like him, but he's a damn beautiful kid and I'm reaching out and stroking his chubby, hamster cheeks before I even realise it. The baby stirs, looks at me, then closes his eyes again.

"Callum," Ben jiggles the baby, talking to him like he's just a mini-adult and can understand every word. Guess that's how he was treated, at least after his mom died. "This is Ray, he's going to be very important to you."

I smile at Ben, then - feeling kinda silly - pick up one, ridiculously tiny hand and shake it gently. "Hey, Callum," I say softly, tucking his arm safely back under the blankets and touching his soft, downy hair.

I look up at Ben, he's looking back at me and his eyes are soft. "I love you." He says quietly.

*

Two days later, I'm back in Chicago. Things got a bit intense yesterday, they let Booth out in the morning, but while she and the baby got to go straight home, Ben and I got stuck talking to the entire town, all of whom seemed to want to know everything in great detail. Half of them seemed to be expecting Ben and Booth to set up home together - I, er, politely informed them that they're not. Then, when we finally got some space, Ben was torn between wanting to spend my last day there with me and wanting to watch his son breathe in and out.

We were both pretty snappy due to lack of sleep and the knowledge that I was about to leave, and I'd thought maybe it might be good to get back to Chicago for a bit - get some space and perspective.

But I've been back five hours, at work for two, and I already want to go back. I miss Ben, and I even, though God knows how, miss Callum.

I'm still staring, pen poised, at the same form I picked up when I came in this morning, and I know, suddenly, that this isn't going to work. I can't do this anymore. I love Chicago; I love a lot of the people here; I love my job, but even when you add it all up it still doesn't even come close to the love I have for Ben and now, weirdly, for Callum.

I get up, walk into Welsh's office, and shut the door.

"Kowalski," he says, looking surprised. "I was just gonna call you in."

I shrug, "Just call me psychic." I sink down into the chair in front of his desk. Bounce back up. Then stop in front of him, leaning over the desk. "Look sir..."

He holds up a hand, "Kowalski, whatever you're about to say, you're gonna want to hear this first." He glares at me, 'til he's sure I won't interrupt. Then he says, calm as you please, "The brass want to offer you a job."

"Lieutenant, I already..."

"Liaison," he says, as if I'm not talking, "To the RCMP. Based in Inuvik."

I gape. Then I have to sit down and quick. "There's no such job." There isn't. I'd know if there was.

He allows himself to smile, raises his eyebrows. "There is now."

I think I want to kiss him, would that scupper my chances at this job? "How?"

"I told my wife about Constable Fraser's new policing scheme, seems she liked the sound of it, told some important people. The upshot is they want someone up there to check it out. Work with it. Report back. And," he winked, "As you have such good connections with the Mounties up there, we thought you'd be ideal. Of course, if you'd rather I gave it to Elaine or..."

"No. No, no, no I'll take it. I'll... You are serious?"

"You'd have to be prepared to send reports, and give presentations. We'd need you back here at least once every month. That sound okay?"

"Yeah. Do... Do they know? Does Fraser know?"

Welsh smiles, "He does now. I phoned him ten minutes ago. He seemed... pleased."

I decide it wouldn't really be fitting to hug Welsh, so I settle for shaking his hand, which I think freaks him out just as much. Then I leave his office and waltz Dewey around the squad room.

*

Epilogue: Inuvik, 2 Years Later

So yeah, life went on. I moved to Canada finally - as pretty much everyone said in one way or another when I told them. Even my dad told me it was "about damn time".

Frannie and Turnbull are expecting kid five any time now, kid four having appeared about nine months after the night I found out about the two of them. They've told the Vecchios - and I got to lord it over both Stella and Vecchio that I knew before they did, which got me in shit with Frannie but was still so totally worth it - and if Turnbull gets the seat he's running for in Toronto they're gonna go public and get married.

Booth and I are getting on better these days. Well, we really have to; we work together for God's sake. We're civil; really, scarily, Canadianly civil to each other. We can even be in the same room without Mountie-chaperones and not kill each other, Ben is about as proud of that as he was of Callum's first word - "Pemmican", if you're wondering. The only thing Booth and I ever really bond over is Callum, but that's fine. That's probably how it should be.

As for me and Callum, we're getting on like a house on fire. He was cute when he was a baby, but I was a bit like a third wheel. All he ever really wanted was his mommy, and occasionally Ben was useful as guy-who-visits-and-brings-the-big-white-doggy. Now though we bond over his train set and the fact that when he takes his toy cars apart I can show him how to put them back together again before his mom yells at him. He still doesn't quite understand who I am, but he knows I fit, and I like to think he likes me.

And Ben... well, at the moment Ben's on a cleaning spree. Booth's going away for the week with her new squeeze (her partner, Ray) and she's leaving Callum with us. The house is so clean it fucking shines. After two years as a half-Canadian and another two as a full one, I really should be used to excessive cleanliness, but sometimes it sneaks up on me and freaks me out. I've tried reminding Ben that toddlers make a mess and are really unlikely to notice that the dust has gone from the top of shelf of the bookcase, but I don't think this cleaning thing has much to do with Callum. Even though he won't admit it, Booth's new guy is making Ben go all alpha and territorial. I think he's afraid that if they get serious enough to move in together Callum's gonna start calling the new guy Daddy or something. He won't, I'll see to that. And well, Ben can't call the new guy out, or ravage Booth in front of him, or drag anyone off to a cave by their hair - well, I wouldn't say no, but no one's asking me - so instead he's cleaning.

Booth and, whatshisname... Pete, will be here in about half an hour, but if Ben carries on at this rate, they'll be no house for them to come to; Ben will have dusted it all away. When he starts to squirt something strangely floral smelling into Dief's bed - Dief hiding under the table and watching him suspiciously - I decide it's time to take action.

"Ben," I say, getting up from the sofa where I've been obediently polishing silver since he thrust it into my hand. I step up behind him and lay my hand on his ass. He jumps and straightens up, which makes me grin. Two years of living together and in some ways the honeymoon still ain't over.

"Ray, I'm busy," he says, turning round all the same and putting his hands, still holding the duster and polish, on my waist.

"I think this place is about as clean as it's ever gonna get. You can relax now."

He shakes his head, "I still need to polish Callum's highchair. If they're not kept properly clean they can carry more germs than the average dog basket."

"Yeah," I lean into him, lay my head on his shoulder, "You told me. You told me last week while you were cleaning it. And again yesterday when you were giving it another clean just to make sure. Ben, you need to calm down. It's not like we've never watched him before." We have, many times. But this is the longest we've ever had him, especially considering Booth won't even be in town should we need her. I'm not being as anal about it as Ben, but I'm a bit nervous too.

"Seriously, Ben. Cal'll be happy as long as we're well stocked in Fruit Loops and Smarties." I squint. "Or is that me?"

Ben laughs, like he was supposed to, and his shoulders relax. He drops the polish and duster on the rug by our feet and kisses me.

When he draws back he's got the soft, wondering expression he normally only gets in the middle of the night or straight after sex. "I can't believe how lucky I am."

It took a while, but I've learned not to dismiss him with some flip comment when he says that. He doesn't open up to anyone but me, not because he enjoys being stoic, but because he honestly doesn't see how anyone would be interested.

I kiss him again and wrap an arm round his waist, sliding my hands through his hair and letting my tongue go exploring.

"Ray," he pulls away and breathes it in my ear and I have to remind myself that we don't have time. After two years of sex pretty much whenever I want you'd think I'd have developed some kind of self control. In reality though, not so much.

It's bizarre having a family, even if it's as strange and complicated a family as you'd expect Ben and me to have. I'm willing to bet that when my mum and dad looked at me in my little baby cradle they didn't see this in my future. But I'm happy - not constantly, The Waltons happy - but contently happy and I don't think there's anything that could happen in my life to make me happier. Or... I glance at the clock, then at Ben. Raise my eyebrows and slide my fingers under his belt. Maybe there is one thing, as long as Booth and Callum aren't early...

THE END

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