It was pretty normal as far as dreams go. I'm driving the GTO out in the country somewhere on a pristine blacktop, really opening her up, needle tipping 90 and buttery smooth as vintage leather jacket. The windows are down and the wind's blowing back my hair and I'm laughing, totally free, not a thing to weigh me down. I turn and look and Fraser's in the seat beside me. He's laughing, too, a little nervous about the speed but not lecturing me about it. The speed makes him giddy. He's enjoying it as much as I am.

The road gets curvy and we're heading up into some hills so I slow down. It's real scenic, so I'm only doing 35 or so, just coasting and looking around at all the trees, one hand on the steering wheel, the other hand tapping a mellow rhythm on the gear shift. Fraser's got one hand out the window, riding the air currents. There's no music playing and we're not talking but that's OK, that's greatness, because we don't have to say anything. We're just hanging out, enjoying the drive, listening to the wind and the birds and the sound of a river off somewhere to the right. There's a gravel drive and I take it and head down this narrow lane through the woods. The leaves are turning bright red and orange and yellow and there's just a hint of a chill in the air, just enough to make your blood pump.

It's maybe the most beautiful day ever and I'm out in it, no perps, no overdue bills, no ex-wife, just me and my best friend spending time together. The gravel road ends and we're at a lookout over this sparkling blue lake with a waterfall just to the left and beaver dams and everything. Fraser turns towards me and smiles. I smile back. I've never felt so content in my whole life. He opens his mouth to say something, and what comes out is a grating, BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

That's when I rolled over and slapped my alarm clock hard a few times, searching for the snooze. I burrowed back down into the covers and kept my eyes closed, still lost in the warm, perfect feeling of the dream. Just me and Fraser hanging out. At the thought of Fraser my toes curled a little bit and I could feel a goofy smile spreading over my face as my heart sped up.

I pushed the covers down and opened my eyes. What the fuck? I closed my eyes again, made myself think about Fraser. The same thing happened--my heart started to beat faster and this warm feeling spread all through me.

I sat straight up in bed. I knew that feeling like I knew the GTO, no way I could misidentify it. Fuck. I was in love with Fraser. I was in love with Fraser. With Fraser. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I won't lie--I started to hyperventilate a little bit as that hit home. Then...well, then I panicked. I got dressed at light speed, threw some clean shorts and stuff in a bag, made sure the turtle had enough food and water to last a few days, and took off. It was early yet, so I took a gamble and called Welsh's office. Thankfully, he wasn't in, so I just left him a quick message. "This is Vecchio. I'm maybe having a mental breakdown, so I won't be in today." I turned my phone off and tossed it onto the passenger seat. Fraser's seat. Fuck.

I headed up to Skokie, which sounds crazier than it really was. I wasn't looking to hash out my sudden sexual awakening with my folks or anything. I just needed to get out of the city. They weren't even there, since they'd flown back to Arizona to visit some friends, which meant I had an empty trailer to freak out in where nobody'd bother me.

I'd thought about it before, had sometimes wondered if maybe I leaned that way, but then when I thought about it some more I always figured out that I didn't really want to do anything with another guy. It was just this thought that crossed my mind sometimes, but I didn't mean it. I wasn't wired that way or anything, only apparently I was. I was queer. I really was. I knew that feeling, knew without a doubt that it wasn't a mistake or a blip or just something to think about. I wanted Fraser, wanted him the same way I'd wanted Stella, loved him the same way I'd loved her. I thought about Stella and it hurt, but just a little bit. It was more like the good ache you feel after a workout than the true pain of taking a bullet, and when had that changed? I thought about Fraser and I felt happy and scared and horny and nauseated all at the same time.

I white knuckled the entire drive, not sure if I was going to cry or puke or pass out. I didn't do any of those things. Well, OK, maybe I cried a little bit, but it wasn't sissy crying or anything. If a guy realizes smack in the middle of his life that his entire world has irrevocably changed, I figure he deserves a tear or two. Irrevocably. I'd been around Fraser too long, or maybe not long enough. I didn't know. I didn't know anything.

I got to the trailer and went inside and cracked the windows and turned on the air because those things are like solar heating boxes. I dropped my bag in the spare room and headed towards the kitchen to look for something to eat, then turned back towards the hallway and ended up pacing the length of the trailer for maybe an hour or two. I went over every past attraction in my head, went over every time I'd wondered if I was maybe queer, every time I'd been in the same room with Fraser, every look, every touch. God. Had I been flirting? I had. I'd been flirting with him and I hadn't even known it. Nice of my brain to let me in on that little secret. Stupid brain.

After a while I started to feel caged, pacing like that, so I dug in the cabinet above the fridge where my mother couldn't reach even standing on a step stool. That's where my dad hid his smokes and candy and liquor. I ate two candy bars and washed them down with a swig of whisky and popped a cigarette in my mouth before I remembered that Mum would tan my hide for smoking in the trailer. I found my dad's lighter and headed onto the small cement slab they called their back porch. I sat right on the cement and smoked the cigarette to the filter. It was my first smoke in nearly three years--you never stop loving the taste.

The porch was furnished nice and flowery, like my mum, and she had a long curtain up in the corner to hide the fact that my dad had hung a punching bag there. I pulled the curtain aside and smiled. That's what I needed, something to get my mind off things. I didn't have wraps, but I'd go easy. It wasn't a real heavy bag, anyway.

I went back in and got the whisky and my sunglasses, then returned to the porch where I started in on the bag. Halfway through the bottle I realized that I was getting drunk and beating the shit out of a punching bag; I really had turned into my father. Normally that would have freaked me out, but I'd already met my quota of unwelcome realizations that day and didn't have any panic left over. It was almost funny. Hey, I really was going to turn out just like my dad, only queer! What else? I slammed my fists into the bag over and over again.

Maybe I'd realize I hated being a cop. Maybe I'd realize I'd want to start robbing banks instead. Maybe I'd realize I was an alien and sprout another head. Nothing could have shocked me, not after the shock of that morning realizing that not only did I have a hard on for my best friend, I was also in love with him and more than a little queer. I worked the bag until my arms felt rubbery, and the entire world seemed tilted a little bit to the left.

I was putting the cap on the bottle when I read the label. It was Canadian whisky. God had a sick sense of humor. I think I finished the entire bottle, but I don't really remember. I woke up the next afternoon on the kitchen floor, puke crusted all down my shirt and pants. I dragged myself to the bathroom and stripped and crawled into the bathtub. I turned on the shower and let the water wash me clean, breathing slowly through my mouth, hoping the heat of the water would take away some of the ache. My hands were bruised and swollen; some of my knuckles were bleeding. I flexed them slowly and felt each bone. Nothing felt broken. I turned off the shower with my foot but hurt too much to get up. Each movement of my head felt like getting hit with a thousand splinters. I pulled a towel over myself and, shivering, fell asleep right there in the tub.

I don't know how long I slept but when I woke up my hair was dry and it was dark out. I was freezing, but at least I could move without feeling like I was going to die. I got up and took the longest piss of my life, wrapped the towel around myself and headed into the hallway to turn off the air conditioning. I got a pair of gray boxer briefs out of my bag and a worn white t-shirt and pulled them on before closing all the windows. I made sure the doors were locked and looked at the mess in the kitchen for a while. Apparently I'd decided to raid the fridge and spread everything out over the counter. And the table. And the floor. I decided cleanup could wait until morning and dragged myself off to the guest room where I climbed into bed and silently thanked my mum for her firm belief in electric blankets.

The next time I woke up it was early morning. I didn't hurt anymore, not from the hangover, anyway. My hands were throbbing from going nuts on the punching bag and my shoulder and back were stiff from sleeping in the tub, but the hangover was completely gone and I was starving. I figured I'd make a pot of coffee, grab some cereal, and try to make a dent in the mess I made. First, though, I had to get rid of the carpet that had grown on my tongue. As I brushed my teeth, it seemed like I could already smell the coffee brewing.

When I got to the kitchen, I saw that there really was coffee brewing and that the kitchen was completely spotless. I had a moment of panic, thinking my folks had come home early, but it was worse than that--way worse. Fraser was sitting at my parents' kitchen table with a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of tea. He wasn't in uniform, just in jeans and a sweater, but he had the uniform posture going on, a steel rod for a spine. He had to have heard me come in but he didn't look up, he just stared at his oatmeal for a long time.

"Hey, Frase," I said. My throat felt raw from all the cigarettes I'd smoked.

"Ah," he said brightly. "I see you're awake. Good morning, Ray. Did you sleep well?" He was seriously pissed. I could tell. Anybody else, maybe they wouldn't notice the daggers shooting from his eyes or the sharp edge to his voice. Me? I noticed.

"Um...yes?" I scratched a spot that itched right below my tattoo. "You, uh, you didn't have to clean up, you know. I was gonna do it."

"Nonsense, Ray. Why would you want to ruin your impromptu vacation with something as tedious as housework? Surely you've got better things to do. Drink yourself into oblivion, perhaps? Smoke several packs of cigarettes? Maybe you could vomit all over your clothes again. That would be great fun."

"Fraser, I..."

"No, no Ray, forgive me. I've no right to take you to task for your behavior. I'm just your friend, ostensibly your best friend. What right do I have to be concerned for your welfare?"

"Fraser--"

"You disappear suddenly and without warning, you can't be reached on your cellular telephone, and you leave a message with Lieutenant Welsh questioning your own sanity. What was I supposed to do? I was worried about you, Ray. I was terrified that you'd done something rash, but when I found you I discovered all of my worry had been for naught. You were in no danger, you'd simply gone on a bender." He said the last word like it was the dirtiest thing he could imagine.

I started to defend myself, then stopped. "Wait. Something rash? Is that your way of saying you thought I might off myself?"

"I, well, no, not necessarily." He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair, making it stand up a little in front. It was a good look for him. "Not that I thought that you...that is to say that normally I don't think of you as the type..."

"You thought I was gonna off myself," I said softly. "Fuck, Fraser, I'm sorry." I poured myself a cup of coffee. Fraser'd left a square of chocolate right next to the coffee machine. I dropped it into the mug and poked it down with my finger.

"You could have called," he said softly.

I sat down across from him and borrowed his spoon to stir my coffee. "I really couldn't, Frase."

"Why not? You're...that is, I thought that we..." He huffed, suddenly, and said in a very icy tone, "Yes, I'm well aware of the fact that my own sanity has often been called into question, thank you very much. You're not very much help in that regard, I'll have you know."

"Yeah," I said, "especially when you have arguments with imaginary friends." I didn't hold it against the guy that sometimes he had conversations with people who weren't there. Me, I had an imaginary friend named Mike when I was a kid. He went to work the coal mines when I was seven and I never heard from him again.

"I wasn't...that is I don't...well, if you would let me finish a sentence without butting in--" He stopped talking and looked straight at me. "I'm terribly sorry, Ray. Perhaps I'm, well, perhaps I'm really not the best counsel when it comes to matters of mental health."

I grinned and sipped my coffee. I was in love with the crazy freak. It didn't make me want to cry or puke or pass out, it just made me kind of warm inside. Some of the warmth was from the coffee, but a big part of it was the love.

"You were worried about me, huh?" I asked, nudging his foot with mine.

"Yes," he whispered. He was looking straight down into his oatmeal but I could still see the flush on his cheeks.

"Didn't mean to worry you. I just had a whatsit. An epiphone."

"Epiphany," he said. He didn't look up.

"Yeah. That. I had an epiphany and needed to work some stuff out on my own. Didn't even realize it might scare you. I really am sorry."

He did look at me, then. "Thank you, Ray," he said. His eyes were gentle as he gazed at me, full of relief and something else. Longing? Yeah, longing.

That moment, I had another epiphany. Fraser loved me, too. He was going to be my life from then on. He was it for me and I was it for him. It felt amazing. Terrifying, but amazing. I took another sip of coffee and rested both my bare feet on the toes of his hiking boots.

"Your feet are cold."

I grinned. "How can you tell through the boots?"

"That's not important, Ray. What is important is...that is, if I may ask, your epiphany..."

"Love you, buddy."

"And I you, Ray, but your epiphany, what was it about? You needn't tell me, of course, as a man's epiphanies are often quite personal--"

"I love you, Fraser."

His breath hitched. "Oh."

"Yeah. Caught me off guard. Freaked me out a little."

"Judging from the utter chaos I encountered in this very kitchen, it 'freaked you out,' as you say, quite a lot."

I nodded. "Yeah."

"I see." He cleared his throat and pushed his chair back. He stood and grabbed his untouched oatmeal and his full teacup, carried them to the sink.

I followed him, stood right behind him. He didn't reach to turn the water on, just braced his hands on the counter like he needed it to hold him up.

"What do you see, Frase?" I asked. From as close as I was I could smell him, smell his warm skin and a light touch of creamy soap, like the oatmeal kind my mom washed her face with.

He slammed his hand down on the counter. "No, your opinion does not count! You have no say in this."

"Imaginary friend, again?" I asked softly, placing one hand on his shoulder.

He laughed weakly and shook his head. "Not as imaginary as I'd like, I'm afraid." He turned around. "You must think I'm insane."

I shrugged. "There are worse things."

He nodded, closing his eyes. "Indeed. Ray, if your attraction to me upsets you so much, I simply cannot...I can't cause you further pain, Ray. I won't."

"Doesn't upset me that much anymore," I told him. "Don't know if I'm ready for bumpin' uglies quite yet, but I'm OK with the love thing."

He opened his eyes. "Bumping...?" His laugh was bright. "That's quite a colorful expression."

"What can I say? I'm a colorful guy." I stepped forward, put my hands on his shoulders. Yeah. That felt right. "I'd probably be OK with a kiss, too."

He leaned forward, just a bit. "Are you sure, Ray?"

"Yeah," I whispered. Then I kissed him. That felt right, too. It was different just because I'd never kissed a guy before--he was as tall as me, for one, and his shoulders were stronger than any woman's--but it wasn't weird. He nipped at my lower lip as we parted and, man, did that ever rev my engine.

"Was that all right?" His eyes were closed and his cheeks were flushed.

"Yeah," I told him. "Yeah, that was good." I moved forward again until our feet were touching. He slid one arm around my waist and the other around my back, his fingers just touching the nape of my neck. I relaxed against him, let him hold me.

"What changed?" he asked as he trailed his fingers through my hair. I pressed up into his touch. If I could purr, I'd have been purring. "What made you go from abject terror to acceptance in the matter of a day?"

"I don't know."

He pushed me away a little bit, his spine straightening. "How can you not know? There must have been a process, a series of steps on your way to--"

"Not really." I kissed him again, just a peck. "You know me, Frase. I'm all instinct. I freaked out for a while and yeah, maybe my brain was going through steps or whatever, but I don't know what they were. I was unconscious most of the time, anyway. Logic and process, that's not how I work."

"Then how can I...?"

"What?" I asked. "Be sure?"

He nodded.

"Because you're my partner, and you're my friend, and you can trust me." That was surprisingly easy to say.

He looked at me for a really long time. He closed his eyes. He pulled me closer and nuzzled against my temple. Finally he opened his eyes and said, "All right, Ray. I'm sure. I trust you."

I could have asked him what the process he just took was, and he probably could have told me, but it didn't matter. He meant it. He meant it just as much as he meant it when he said he believed in justice and purpose and other stuff he believed in. Eating your vegetables. Being polite. Canada.

He ran his fingers over my cheek, stroked my lips with his thumb. He looked at me for a long time, just looked at me, though it didn't feel like just anything. It was like he could see me, really see all of me, and that he liked what he saw. It made me kind of dizzy, though that could have been the residual hangover.

"Ray," he whispered. "Ray, Ray...oh, Ray. There's so much that I..." He broke off and kissed me again, real soft. "I hardly know where to begin," he whispered against my mouth.

I grinned. "What? You wanna bump uglies?"

Fraser shook his head. "No, Ray." It wasn't his fake seriousness, either, the kind he puts on when he thinks he's being funny. He really didn't want to.

"Oh," I said, shrugging like it was nothing. "Yeah, that's OK, I mean--"

"Ray." He only said my name once, but he said it so deep and raw that I felt it all the way to my bones. "Once you're ready for further intimacy between us, what I would like very much is to make love with you."

"Oh." I swallowed hard. My bones had turned to rubber. I held on to him tight and pressed my face against his neck. Jeeze. Why'd I always have to fall so hard for that romantic stuff?

"I..." His hands were warm and strong, one stroking my back and the other one carding through my hair. "I take it that you would be amenable to that course of action?"

That course of...? "Yeah," I whispered against his neck. "Yeah, Frase, that sounds good." I slipped my hands beneath his sweater in the back, tugged his undershirt out of his jeans so I could touch the warm skin at the small of his back.

He hummed softly and brushed his cheek against my hair and we just stood like that for a long time, just holding each other, swaying slightly. After a long time, he sighed and kissed my temple. "As lovely as this is, Ray, I believe you're in need of a hot shower."

I pulled away slowly and raised one arm to sniff at my armpit. "Yikes. Kinda ripe there, huh?"

"A bit, yes."

"Sorry. Alcohol sweat's always the nastiest."

"I've smelled far worse. I do live with a wolf, after all."

"Where is the furball, anyway?"

"He refused to accompany me. He thought I was being silly. And, oh, the lectures I'm going to get once he learns of the new development in our relationship. Almost since the beginning he's been encouraging me to, well, I won't repeat what he said. Suffice to say it was quite inappropriate."

"He told you just to sniff me then mount me, huh?"

"Oh, if only his language were as clean as that. He really can be astoundingly vulgar when he puts his mind to it. You know, I suspect he does it just to vex me."

I couldn't help but laugh. I married this girl, I crossed this road, I lost the girl, I took this job, got on this bus, turned the corner and found a beautiful man with imaginary friends and a smart-ass wolf.

"OK," I said, pulling away from him. "I'm gonna shower. You gotta head back to the city right away or you wanna wait for me?"

"Well, I was hoping you might permit me to ride back with you." His eyes were focused on my mouth, so I licked my lips and smiled when his pupils dilated a bit.

"But what about your...do not tell me you walked all the way up here, Fraser."

"As you wish."

I surged forward and kissed him, hard. "You're insane, walking all the way to Skokie." I was grinning as I said it.

"Well, I was quite worried about you, and I didn't walk the entire way. I was nearly halfway here when I was picked up by a most colorful character by the name of Annie May Peachtree, who--"

I kissed him again. "You can tell me about it in the car, Fraser. Eat your oatmeal. You're going to need all your strength for later."

He took a deep breath and flicked his tongue over his lower lip. "Understood," he said. It sounded more feral than I'd ever heard his voice before. It sounded like a promise. I smiled a goofy smile and did a little dance step as I headed for the shower because it was going to be a beautiful day.