Disclaimer: If they were mine - do you think I'd tell you lot ??? No infringement intended on anyone or anything.

Author's Notes: This story was a labour of love. And one I'll want to revisit again - so although it's not a series yet, I'm thinking it might become one. It was alpha read by my lovely Nicci, whose insight is perfect. It was beta read by Cimmie and MissApocalyptic - thank you guys - I know it was a bugger. It was written for Sean, who knows about this stuff and who was an inspiration to me for his courage and his willingness to embrace the future, no matter what.

Story Notes: NOTES: Hay River is a real place. Looks really nice, too. So is Yellowknife, obviously - and I'm sure it's nicer than my rather rude description. Sorry, Yellowknife. Endurance isn't a real place, as far as I know. If you know different, say Hi to Ben and Ray for me and draw me a map, will ya?
Liberties have been taken with timelines - i.e. Maggie's in here, but CotW hasn't happened.
I did research Head Traumas, but only used the bits that were relevant to this story. It's the nature of fiction to.well.fictionalise stuff and in reality of course, this stuff is a whole lot more complex to say nothing of devastating. I didn't mean to offend anyone and I realise some of my facts are skewed towards my devious ends.
Fanfiction is a hobby, one I love hugely - and it takes you to places you've never been and into situations you don't know. I've spent a lot of time reading up on Canada, the Aurora Borealis, Great Slave Lake, Apraxia of Speech, Chicago and Malamutes. I will look up a fact for a single throw away line and find myself still researching it an hour later, totally off at a tangent, but enjoying every minute. It gives me a list of things I want to do/see/buy/experience/know more about - things I would never have considered before. But for the purposes of this story, I've not been able to 'know' everything I've written about. If I've made mistakes, I apologise.

Finding the Words

"I walked down this street, I turned this corner..."

I see the instant he decides to do it. I wish I could say it's a surprise, but he's pulled enough of these stunts that I just fucking knew it was coming, so at least we're shoulder to shoulder as he breaks cover.

"Chicago PD, stand where you are and throw down your weapons," I shout. Yeah, like how many times has that worked in my life? So, of course, they run... we run... everybody runs. And shouts. And there's shooting. Fraser is dodging from pillar to pillar and I'm doing my level best to cover him as he works his way closer to the bad guys.

Underground parking garage - what a fucking clich. The metallic pings and shatter of glass make me glad we left the Goat outside. There's the stink of cold rubber and gasoline in my nose as I fumble for my cell while they have us pinned down.

I don't wait for niceties. "This is Vecchio - we need that back up now. We're under fire," I yell. Fraser's looking to move again, and I almost puke as he ducks out from behind the nice safe concrete and starts running right at the perps. Amazingly, he's not taken down instantly, and as I follow him out, gun first, I see the door of the service access swing shut.

"Fraser! Wait! They're on their way."

But he's already at the door, back against the wall. I quickly relay what's happened to control and that if they'd care to join us, we'll be in the bowels of hell. And then, with a short nod, I follow him through the door.

They have this low energy light thing down here; the fluorescents spaced out to give precisely not enough fucking light. The corridors still echo to the sound of running feet, so they don't have much of a start on us. He moves out, but I yank him back by a sleeve and glare at him, then wave my gun in front of his nose. Freak! Me, gun - go first. You, no gun - go second. I deliberately change my clip and pushing my glasses up my nose, I take point.

I hate these kinds of chases - all blind corners and lefts or rights. They all look the same. We move fast, following tunnel after tunnel and it seems that they're as lost as we are. Their raised voices sound angry and confused, so I reckon they are starting to realise they're cornered. But there's still five of them and two of us - and one of us still doesn't carry, so I'm in no hurry to spook them into a last stand kinda deal.

I've seen those movies.

They never end well.

I flatten myself against the wall, Frase at my side, and quickly stick my head around the corner. Sure enough about twenty-five yards away they've come to a locked door. Three of them are attempting to shoot off the lock, but it looks pretty solid. One of the jerks notices me and takes a shot, so I pull back. And finally, in the distance I can hear our backup just entering the tunnels. They should have this place locked down by now, so even if the perps get through that door - wherever it goes - there's no way out.

I guess the bad guys have figured that out too, but the thing about bad guys is they just don't know when to quit. So I'm about to launch into my, 'Don't do anything stupid, if you put down your guns and come out with your hands behind your heads' thing when my attention is distracted by a dull metallic skitter. Frase looks down and his eyes go wide. At our feet, spinning slowly to a halt is a hand grenade.

A fucking hand grenade.

Who the fuck has a hand grenade with them?

For one second we freeze, then I feel that familiar tingle again; the one I get whenever I know what he's gonna do next. And he would, I know he would; he'd fucking throw himself on it to save me. So I move first. I kick it away and push him as hard as I can back up the tunnel, we run for a few stumbling steps, trying to get our feet under us, but Ben is going down. As I fall on top of him, struggling to cover as much of his head and body as I can, I see the flash of the grenade going off. The blast hits before the noise, it seems to me, and I hold onto him as hard as I can when I feel us lifted off the concrete floor by the wave of heat and energy.

The next thing I know is pain. Everywhere. And Fraser's face, very close to mine, calling my name. I want to keep my eyes open to check he's okay, but they won't cooperate. Someone - Dewey? Why is he here? - is yelling into a radio that an officer is down and that we need medics. Shit. Frase must be hurt. But he's still saying my name, so it can't be too bad, surely. I try to tell him to hang on, it's okay, but there's dust in my mouth and it's so dark and if I speak they might find us.

"Ray, stay with me, okay? Ray?" Wow, he sounds really scared. I guess he's got a thing about the dark.

"Always," I murmur, which is good, because that's when the lights go out completely.

^^^

Someone is talking to me.

No. Reading to me.

It's Frase, I'd recognise that perfect enunciation anywhere, so I don't have to open my eyes.

He has a nice voice, but that is some weird shit he's reading. Something about a wedding and a bird and a lot of ice. He's a freak - who brings a book like that on a... stakeout?

^^^

It's the warmth that gives it away. The rest of me is kind of cold and numb, but my hand is warm, almost sweaty. With an effort, I open my eyes a little and am surprised to find it's nighttime; but there's a lamp on somewhere close, because I can see him.

He's asleep, his head tipped back in a chair that doesn't look comfortable enough for someone to actually fall asleep in it, let alone someone with as straight a spine as Frase has.

I look down to where his hand holds mine, and notice how different we are. Where his hands are broad and sturdy and pink, mine are long and slim and so white as to be almost see-through. I try to curl my thumb over his pinkie, but instead my whole hand twitches, which is weird.

I look up to ask him why it would do that - he knows that kind of shit - and he's awake now. For a moment I can't place what's strange about him, then I realise that he hasn't shaved - Fraser has dark beard stubble and I don't remember having seen that before. His mouth is moving and his eyes are as blue and as wide as the sky.

Almost in reaction, mine slide closed.

^^^

Frase is talking again.

Does the guy ever shut up?

I crack open my eyes. It's daylight - what the fuck?

He's standing by the window, his forehead pressed to the glass and he's talking to himself.

"...how I spend my free time is no concern of yours..."

Must be Dief he's talking to.

"He's my friend, Dad. My partner. You of all people should understand that."

He sounds really upset. Dad? Is my Dad here? Has he pissed Ben off? And why is Ben calling him Dad? I can't see anyone else; maybe they're behind me. If only I could turn my head...

"Well, I'm not you, to your heartfelt disgust I'm sure," Fraser chuckles darkly.

"Frase?" I say, but it doesn't come out right. Sounds like "hays". What is "hays"?

Fraser spins from the window suddenly. His face is tracked with tears, his eyelashes all clumped together. In shock, I try to lift a hand to him.

What has my bastard of a Dad said to my friend to make him cry for chrissakes? Father or not, I'm gonna pop him one. Where is he?

With effort I manage to lift my arm, but the sight of the IV lines all taped over bruises in every shade you can imagine pulls me up kinda short.

"Ray!" Fraser gulps and dives for a button on the wall beside my bed.

Wait.

When did I get a button on my bedroom wall?

"Don't move," he says urgently. Wish I could, buddy!

Sinking down onto the bed beside me, he lifts his hand and brushes the hair off my forehead. Feels weird, in a good way. Feels like no one has touched me in weeks, and all my nerve endings seem to fire at his warmth and the pressure of his fingertips and the slide of his skin. And I'm crying, 'cause nothing has ever felt so wonderful.

"Frase?" I croak. "What's going on?" But he frowns; he doesn't understand me. His hand is still in my hair; his eyes are full of confusion. I try again.

"Fraser?" But it comes out wrong. Have I got something in my mouth?

I hear a door open and Frase snatches his hand away, quickly moving off my bed.

"No," I yelp, desperate for him to stay close. Fucking hell, Frase. I can't speak, can't move properly and I have no idea where I am. This is not a good time to go, buddy!

A woman appears in my line of sight, where Frase was... a woman with a uniform. And now I'm really scared and I cry even harder; the tears feel cold on my hot face. Sudden warmth covers my other hand.

"It's okay, Ray."

"Hays...fff?"

"I'm here." His face comes into view for a moment; he's smiling, his tears are gone, but his eyelashes are still spiky. Then he squeezes my hand and is still squeezing when he moves away again.

The... nurse?... is writing things, reading things. Touching my arm where those tubes are in me.

"Hi," she says. "Can you tell me your name?"

Yeah, it's like Fraser just said. It's...

I just stare at her. I can feel the tears making my pillow cold beneath my cheek. I can hear 'phones ringing in another room somewhere. I can feel Fraser's hand, tight and warm on mine. I can smell something that I can't quite pin down as disinfectant. And I have no fucking idea what my name is.

"Hays? Wuh... ww... name?" Fraser will know.

"He knows my name," Fraser says quietly.

I want to see the face that goes with a voice that soft - there's something seriously crappy going on here.

She doesn't answer him, which is just bad manners. "Do you know where you are?"

"Na... hays? Hays?" I'm trembling and my nose is running and I don't think I've ever been this scared.

Someone else in a white coat comes into sight and takes the charts from the nurse.

"Good Morning, Mr....?" the white coat asks cheerfully then mutters something to the nurse who scurries off.

"Hays?" I yell.

"Just calm down, everything's fine. You will feel a little confused. It's perfectly natural for head injury patients," the doctor says gently.

Head injury? Who has a head injury? Me?

She's pretty and confident, and doesn't seem at all concerned that I'm shaking apart here.

"Mr Hays?" the doc asks, frowns and flips a page on her stupid fucking chart.

"Fraser, he's saying Fraser. That's my name," I hear my partner say. I clutch at his hand, convulsively. This much I know, Fraser's here, so this can't be as bad as it feels.

"Ah," she says, looking across at Frase for the first time. "Well, that's good. Very good."

It is? Well fucking greatness! 'Cause where I'm laying, lady, it doesn't look good at all.

The nurse reappears at my side and fiddles with one of my tubes and I get the weirdest sensation of something cold snaking up the inside of my arm.

"What's that?" Frase asks sharply.

"Mild sedative, Mr. Fraser. It's very distressing waking up from a trauma like this, so we will need to keep him calm for a few days until he can stay awake for prolonged periods of time."

And Fraser doesn't do it. He doesn't correct her. He doesn't say 'Constable Benton Fraser. Royal Canadian Mounted Police.'

What about first coming to Chicago on the trail of his father's killers? What about this juncture? What about the liaising?

As I slide back into la-la land that has me more scared than anything.

^^^

Day One.

This fucking sucks.

^^^

March 26th

The therapist assigned to Ray has suggested he keep a journal to record his thoughts. As it seems to be his spoken language rather than his written that is causing him the most distress, she thought this might help him to express himself. She has told him that no one else will read it and it is purely a tool to help him come to terms with his injuries. He didn't seem very taken by the idea and I was quite glad she wasn't able to understand him when he expressed his view on the scheme.

He did write in his journal, after she left, but I fear his entry must have been quite brief as it took him less than twenty seconds to complete.

In a probably misguided sense of solidarity and support for my friend, I have decided to keep a journal also. It was a strange comfort to me to have my father's memoirs and tomorrow I will take some of his logs with me to the institution where Ray is currently receiving treatment. Maybe reading some of Dad's idiosyncratic ramblings will encourage Ray to commit to paper what he feels unwilling to vocalise. Even to me.

I seem to have more success than most when it comes to understanding Ray. I'm unsure whether this is due to the close nature of the relationship we share or years of being able to understand Diefenbaker's often dreadfully inappropriate utterances.

I am glad that Ray has been moved from the hospital. The specialist unit he is now in seems much better equipped for his needs. He continues to be concerned by unknown people and the constant change of nursing shifts was very wearing on him. Even though he would encounter the same healthcare professionals on a daily basis, he seemed unable to recall having met them before. I have been assured that this is normal and not necessarily permanent. But it is distressing to watch Ray struggle in this way, particularly as I can tell that he is aware of his affliction.

The Scarfe Institute is very highly thought of in brain trauma rehabilitation cases and I hope that their expertise can help Ray regain what he has lost. He seems frustrated by the pace of his progress, but I can see marked improvement already in his cognitive and behavioural skills.

And of course, Diefenbaker is now able to visit Ray, which gave them both a great deal of pleasure today. Dief has missed Ray terribly and was surprised at the change in our friend since he last saw him. I am very hopeful that with spring just around the corner, we will be able to take Ray out with us when he gets a little stronger.

^^^

Day Two

Today fucking sucks too.

Day Three

Dief brought me some of the cookies Frannie gave him today. They were in a bag, free of wolf slobber, so I ate them. Frase brought me back my bracelet; he had it round his wrist for safekeeping. I was wondering where that'd gone. Cool. Apart from that today fucking sucks.

^^^

March 30th

It has been six weeks since Ray's injury and I took the opportunity today to remind him how far he has come since those first terrifying days. He seemed content at my assurances, as he always does, but I know he will need reminding of his progress again tomorrow and the day after that.

He weeps easily, which distresses him more than it does me, I'm sure. He always did wear his emotions for all to see; his open nature was always such a refreshing contrast to my own 'buttoned up' style, but now he has little or no control over his outbursts, he seems pained by his inability to dissemble.

He still has no recollection of the incident and only the sketchiest details of the three months leading up to it. He still has difficulty retaining new information, and today his shortcomings in this area were highlighted when he had one of his assessments with Dr. Duval. Due to my working hours not corresponding with Dr. Duval's, this was the first time I had not been present at one of Ray's evaluations. I received a telephone call at the consulate to ask me to attend at my earliest convenience and never has the last hour of my shift weighed as heavily.

I must admit that I prevailed on Turnbull's generous offer to cover for me so I might leave early and I made it across town in record time, Ray's loan of the GTO paying back dividends.

It was not, as I'd feared, that the assessment had uncovered further damage, but Ray's behaviour that had prompted them to request my attendance. He had become extremely distressed at his inability to complete the set tasks; tasks he knew he should be able to perform easily. He refused to continue the assessment and withdrew into himself, unwilling to let anyone touch him, calm him or help him.

When I arrived he was extremely pleased to see me and almost knocked me off my feet with his enthusiastic behaviour. He insisted that we leave immediately and began to collect his belongings to that end. It was physically painful for me to have to deny him and when he began to cry, I must admit that I too felt very close to tears.

I was able to distract him shortly afterwards with news of the 27th District and he was quite cheerful again by the time I left that evening. I wish I could say the same.

I miss him. Every improvement he makes just encourages me to assume that he will be returned to normal, which makes his next uncharacteristic outburst even more painful to bear. I should be thankful that he has come so far already. His evaluations show continuous progress and although the neuropsychologists are unwilling to make long-term predictions, they are willing to say that they are cautiously hopeful that Ray will be able to live in a 'modified independent' manner upon his release.

God, grant that it is soon.

As ridiculous as it sounds, I miss the feel of his bracelet on my wrist. I have never been fond of adornments of that nature upon my person, finding them distracting and frivolous. But I always found the sight of his metal beads reassuring, slung low almost onto his hand; so very Ray - unexpected and contradictory. And when I wore them, I even found their weight comforting once I was used to it. But Ray was very pleased to have his chain returned and that pleases me.

^^^

Day Eleven

Apart from Welsh visiting and Fraser spending the whole day with me, today sucked. Dief was here too and we went walking in the gardens until it got too cold.

I remembered Joanne's name today - she's the nice therapist.

Someone, maybe Frase, brought me M & M's so my coffee tastes better.

Day Thirteen

Today sucked. I hate this. I really, really fucking hate it.

I still can't say Fraser. Or Chicago. Or fucking Kowalski. Karmic justice, eh? I can say Vecchio. I can sing all the words to 'Waterloo', no problem. (Frase brought my CD player for me.) But I can't say my best friend's name. And that sucks.

Sometimes he looks at me when I say things, and I know I've said something stupid, or hurtful or forgotten something important. It kind of rips me up, but he always smiles and dismisses it.

I hate the evening when he has to go home. I've read back all my entries and I guess he has been here every day since I arrived. I wonder if he came every day at the hospital too.

^^^

April 9th

Ray's condition continues to improve. His gross motor skills are normal and his fine motor skills are much better too. His speech Apraxia is continuing to frustrate him, but I can see progress. Ray's short term memory is still of some concern and consequently, he still feels uncomfortable in the presence of others, myself excepted.

His long-term memory appears to be mostly intact and resolving itself into a coherent body that he can access at will. His concentration span - although never his strongest point - is lengthening gradually and he seems less easily confused. His reading and writing were never a big concern as they seemed largely unaffected by the head trauma, but his mathematical skills have suffered greatly.

I have seen flashes of his former self. An occasional grin, one of his endearing, if incomprehensible colloquialisms and his stubborn demeanour remind me that this is still my partner and my friend. But that lightning mind that leapt from subject to subject like a hyperactive child's has been slowed. His responses are considered, his trademark sarcasm missing and his spontaneity extinguished. I miss them, but I can appreciate the new qualities he has gained from his ordeal too.

His emotions still rule him although he is gaining some measure of control over when and how he displays them. He is still unable to say "Fraser", and it seems to distress him unduly. As is common with this form of speech disorder, if he says my name in the context of a statement, he has no difficulty at all. Today, when asked what his name was, by the occupational therapist, he immediately responded, " You'd better ask Fraser; he knows." But when asked what my name was directly, he was unable to reply beyond his usual "Ffff...," or "Hays."

After the therapist left, Ray seemed quite depressed, which is common behaviour for him recently. When I asked him what was wrong, preparing to tell him how well he had done, he asked, "Can I call you Ben?" I hope my expression didn't display the pain his words caused.

Ben is what he called me when we were off duty and alone. It was a kind of distinction we made between work and home, between our careers and our personal life. It was something we had begun at Christmas when our relationship had changed and deepened, and, given his posttraumatic memory loss, something that has been erased from his knowledge.

Just one thing among many.

^^^

Day Twenty

They say my behaviour could be inappropriate in social circumstances, due to my impaired something. It's freaking me out. I've started to watch what other people do when they greet each other. I notice that no one else hugs when they meet, the way I hug Fraser. What does that mean?

I know I don't always answer when people talk to me; I can hear them, but it's like they don't apply to me. I know Stella expects me to kiss her when she comes to visit - or I think she does - but it doesn't feel right for some reason, so I don't. But it does seem right to touch Ben. I asked if I could call him Ben, and he said yes, although it seemed to make him a bit sad, I think.

Ben doesn't seem surprised when I hug him. And I'm always happy to see him. Like he has no idea how happy. I know I'm a moody bastard, but never at him. If he didn't show up, God, I don't know what I'd do.

Day Twenty-Two

Something weird happened today. The occupational therapy guy, Steven, said something about my long-term plans, about me going home and having to work out the care arrangements with my next-of-kin. Well of course, I told him that I didn't need "care arrangements" and that if he thought I was gonna have my mom and dad living with me, he was a small fries short of a Happy Meal. He said that if I continued to improve, I wouldn't need full time supervision. I said he didn't know my Mom. Then he said - and this was the weird part - that I should discuss it with Benton Fraser and that he would speak to Ben later about it.

Well, I kind of freaked out. As if Ben hasn't done enough bringing my candy and looking after my turtle and apartment and all. Now he's expected to talk my Mom into leaving me alone - or worse still, persuading Stella to sign me out of here? So I got a little pointed with Steven.

That's when he said that Benton Fraser, as my legally nominated representative, would be making arrangements for my long-term care. Well, that shut me up.

^^^

April 16th

On my way to see Ray this evening, I was detained by Dr. Bean, who told me that Ray had become confused during his therapy session today owing to a conversation concerning his future plans. As it became apparent that Ray had discovered that I have been making all his medical care arrangements, I was deeply concerned that he would feel that I had been disguising the nature of my involvement in his affairs.

However, when I reached Ray's room, he didn't seem unduly concerned at all. He greeted Dief, sharing some muffins that Mrs. Vecchio had baked for him. Then he gave me his customary hug and we spoke about this and that. We watched some sport on television and he seemed relaxed and content.

As I was leaving though, he stopped me. "We're close, aren't we Ben?" he asked. I told him that we were, yes.

"Like really, really close. Like best fff..." I knew better than to supply the word he was trying to articulate. Surprisingly, after struggling with it for a few seconds, he sighed and spelled 'friends' out in ASL. He grinned when he saw my shock. I had no idea he had been learning sign language.

I recovered and told him that we were indeed the best of friends. That seemed to please him. "That exp... sns... eeex..." he signed 'explains' slowly, "why you're my nee... nex..." His right hand flickered 'Next of kin'.

He was watching me very closely as I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

"Kay. That's good. Greatness," he beamed and hugged me hard once more. He murmured 'thanks Ben' into my shoulder and I had to leave in a hurry, so I didn't embarrass myself in front of him.

April 20th

Ray would say I got my "ass chewed" this morning by Inspector Thatcher. I could see she was uncomfortable having to define the ongoing nature of my involvement in Ray's recovery. I am aware that my work of late has been less than exemplary and that my time keeping has been sloppy at best.

I think she has sympathy with Ray's situation, but fails to totally comprehend my commitment to his continued improvement. As my duties at the twenty seventh precinct have dwindled to nothing without my partner and the fact that I have moved into Ray's apartment while he is away have improved her opinion of me, I think she considered that my dedication would mean that I would spend more time attending to my consular duties. Sadly, her dry-cleaning has been woefully neglected over the past few months.

I accepted her 'buck your ideas up' speech without comment and no doubt a younger Benton Fraser would have redoubled his efforts to please his commanding officer accordingly.

Instead, I thanked her for her advice and her patience, changed, and went straight to see Ray. His shy smile and heartfelt hug of welcome are worth more to me than any promotion, decoration or commendation.

After my experience with Victoria Metcalf, I never thought I would feel that way again. I'd resigned myself finally to a life of service to my country and a life without a mate.

And no one was more surprised than me to realise that was what he had become - my mate - even before we both admitted it. He called us a duet on the first day we met, and he was totally correct. You can sing alone, but the song means precious little without the harmony; without the counterpoint. How much more beautiful is it when you sing together?

He would laugh if he ever read this, my Ray. He used to tease me about my poetic tendencies, but I didn't mind, because I'd already seen the way his eyes flared when I told him of my love for him. And his hands and lips were always a lot more eloquent than my best thought out words.

^^^

Day Thirty

Frase took me out in the GTO today. It was cool even though he drives like my mother. They won't let me drive anymore and they won't say how long until I can. Which sucks.

So we went down to the lake he won't call Michigan and watched the boats go by. Dief enjoyed chasing the gulls and bumming snacks off gullible kids. Ben called him shameless, but seemed so glad to be out, he didn't stop him.

And it was good to be out; I really needed the exercise. It's gonna take a while to build up my stamina again and my bodyweight. I used to look like a garden rake, now I look like a garden rake that has been sick and only missed rake heaven by a prong - or something.

So we stopped off to buy hotdogs - well, I did - but, of course I did my mentally impaired thing and couldn't make the fucking words come out right. The guy was looking at me like I was a whack-job, all nervous and twitchy, so that just makes me worse and I can feel myself beginning to snivel. Then Ben came up beside me and ordered for me, and when the hotdog guy looked relieved, Ben put his arm around me - which freaked the guy out even more. That was kinda cool.

But all I could think about was that Bruce Spender guy and how dependent he was on his brother to protect him from the world and how weird he seemed for all that he was a good guy. And by then I was crying so much, I couldn't eat the dog anyway.

I got as far as "Do you remember," before Frase said, "You're not him. This is totally different."

So he was thinking it too.

And Kevin ended up trying to get Bruce killed.

Ben isn't my brother; it's not his responsibility to look after me. And he's been here every day - every fucking day.

He shouldn't have to deal with this, but if he goes, I don't know what the fuck I'll do.

^^^

April 25th

Yesterday's trip was less than successful. Although Ray seemed happy to be out, an incident with a street vendor upset him badly. I was so hoping that he would be able to do this simple thing for himself, but as he became more agitated it was plain to me that my assistance was desired. I stepped in, and for good measure I gave Ray a hug, so he wasn't the only one receiving curious looks from the man.

As soon as I sat Ray down with his nitrate heavy snack, I knew what he was thinking, and I interrupted him, just as I had been advised not to do by his speech therapist.

One of our first cases together was a man with an unusually meticulous and ordered mind, Bruce Spender. He had a mild form of autism, which he had learned to repress so he could function, more or less, in society. He was easily frightened and vulnerable, but hugely intelligent, a combination that his own brother had ruthlessly exploited to his own ends.

I could see why Ray's mind would equate his own injury with Bruce's lifelong condition. They are both easily overwhelmed, both nervous in groups and both perceived as somewhat unusual by a society obsessed by conformity.

But that is where the similarity ends. I have no intention of feeling pity for Ray Kowalski, which is what finally stayed Kevin Spender's hand, I'm sure. I have no obligation to care for Ray, no familial responsibility. I do it for the simple reason that I love him. Even after the subtleties of his condition have made his character change somewhat. Even though I know that he will never fully return to the man I fell in love with. Even when I know that he will always need some assistance to be able to live independently. And even though he has no idea that we were lovers for a brief seven weeks before his accident.

^^^

Day Thirty-two

New levels of sucking, today.

Fraser was late and I lost it. I thought he wasn't coming.

I told him all the stuff that was scaring me, when he finally showed. I told him about how I didn't know why he stuck around and why he didn't go and find a life rather than coming here every day. I told him that I thought it was guilt that made him come; guilt that I had been injured and he hadn't. I told him that his guilt and his pity weren't needed here.

He stared at me like I'd hit him. Again.

Then he told me the reason he was late, was that he'd been discussing the possibility that I might be allowed to accompany him on a trip to visit his sister in Canada in June.

Then he gave me some M & M's, the CD's I'd asked for and he left.

Dief stayed. He's sleeping on my bed with me.

I can't seem to stop crying.

I suck.

^^^

May 8th

The past days have been very trying for me. I have been lucky enough to avoid being the target of Ray's aggression up to now. I've more often played the role of consoler, when he'd lost his temper with someone else and was dealing with the subsequent remorse and confusion.

It has been documented by the care staff that Ray finds my presence calming and reassuring, and that he appears to perform better in tests when I am present. Although I would like to see more into this than is apparent to the eye, I believe it is an issue of familiarity. He is still uncomfortable with people he has met since his head trauma and I am given to understand that this will likely be an ongoing symptom.

So, since his outburst at me, his recovery has shown evidence of regression. He is reverting to behaviours from last month, being uncommunicative and sullen. His actions begin to lack purpose and become more automatic. This is highly disturbing, but his neuropsychologist seems to consider that Ray's recent slide into depression since our trip to the lake is playing a significant role in his apparent decline.

I have been visiting him every day as always, but his usual smiles and affectionate touches have been pointedly absent.

May 10th

Today we visited Ray's apartment together. He was very pleased to be in a familiar environment and was quite his usual self again. He recalled everything about his home without prompting and each of his successes spurred him onto greater effort on his part.

He obviously felt secure enough to raise the subject of my involvement in his affairs again and it was with some trepidation that I agreed to discuss it with him, deciding to only volunteer the information he asked for and not more.

Ray's inquiries took the form of further discussion of our working relationship and asking me what had made us take the step of legally naming each other as our next-of-kin. I was able to tell him, with all honesty, that it had been his idea. We neither of us had anyone else close enough to nominate unless it was Ray's parents or my sister. But as I have known Ray longer than Maggie, I chose him. Ray asked why he hadn't left it with Stella or returned it to his parents, and I hedged by telling him I didn't feel qualified to answer. I got the impression he wasn't totally convinced.

I find it quite difficult to judge how far back along the path to being Ray Kowalski he has come. Some of his actions are so much like I remember that I'm certain it's only a matter of time before he tells me I'm a freak and kisses me. And then at other times I am morbidly convinced that he has come as close to my lover as he ever will.

Of course, the more progress he makes and the more his new characteristics become integrated into the new Ray Kowalski personality in my mind, the harder it becomes for me to ignore him physically. While he was recovering, it was not an issue. My overwhelming relief at his survival and his erratic early behaviour served to put that aspect of our relationship out of my head. But now he looks whole and beautiful, his personality is regaining all those little things that I used to find so irritatingly endearing, and I find my body reacting to him as it used to.

The inappropriate nature of this is not lost on me. His loss of memory covering the entire period of our relationship and the rather charged few weeks leading up to it make the situation difficult.

I know that Ray had an attraction to me for some time before we became aware of each other's feelings, indeed, he admitted that he thought I was 'hot' from the very first day he met me, but to assume that he still feels that way now would be foolhardy in the extreme. Without the catalyst of those few weeks leading up to our first kiss, can I assume that he would have made the same choice in admitting his attraction? I don't think so.

I have to wait for him to fall in love with me again.

Or not.

Either way, it is my pleasure and a source of great comfort to me to be able to help him in his recovery. And whether he turns to me again in love, or not, I intend to be the one who cares for him, for just as long as he will let me.

^^^

Day 49

Ben has drawn two red squares on the calendar in my room, because the whole time/date thing is still a fucking nightmare for me. The first one is in six days. That's when I am moving back home. Ben is going to stay with me until I'm used to it, then a healthcare provider is going to be assigned to come and check up on me every day, to make sure I haven't done anything too freaky, and remembered to take my medication. It still amazes me that I don't piss in rainbow colours, all the shit that they insist I need each day.

So the second square is when we're going to Canada. Never been there except that one time in Toronto with Frase. We're going to Hay River in the Northwest Territories to see Maggie. She's been there for seven months now. I'm looking forward to it. Frase says he's gonna teach me to fish.

Frase didn't put the other date on the calendar, the one that he's been avoiding talking about. My case is going to be reviewed by the Police Department - I've been on disability since the accident. Frase thinks I'm not gonna be able to cope when they retire me, but I'm brain injured - not stupid. I know how this works. I wasn't much of an asset before, but now, unless scrawny, emotionally unbalanced, speech impaired Polacks are suddenly in demand, I'm pensioned off at the age of thirty-eight.

That sucks.

Day 51

So, in preparation for my release, I have been having counselling for the kinds of situations I am likely to have difficulty with once I am back in the real world again. One of the things they mentioned was my libido. Can't tell you how thrilled I was to have to discuss that with a sixty-year-old female doctor. And she looked like my mother.

Anyway, the skinny was that in some patients the libido is depressed long-term - like forever - and in some patients the opposite problem occurs and they have to deal with feeling horny all the time - even in inappropriate situations.

Now what their idea of inappropriate is, I don't know, but I can tell you that I'm not going to be in that first category, for sure. I don't know about the second, I don't think I'm constantly thinking about it; it's just when Frase is around - and that might well be inappropriate, but it sure as fuck isn't new.

The guy is hotness - the only way you wouldn't notice that would be if you were dead - and maybe not even then. In fact the only person who doesn't know it is Frase. Fucking oblivious Mountie - got half the precinct throwing themselves at him and he doesn't even blink an eye.

I don't want to freak him out; he's put up with enough of my shit already. But if he is going to move in with me until I'm "independent", then I'm going to have to be really, really careful about keeping my thoughts and my dick to myself.

^^^

May 20th

Ray left the Scarfe Institute today. He seems relieved to be out which pleases me as I had concerns that he might feel anxiety at leaving their full-time care. On the contrary, he is happy and chatty and already bemoaning the fact that he has to return there for ongoing therapy twice a week.

On his insistence, I have moved my cot from the consulate and it now takes up the corner of Ray's living room. I was thoroughly prepared to sleep in my bedroll, to save space, but Ray said it would make him feel even worse about me having to "nursemaid" him.

Although one of the areas they covered in his assessments was Ray's ability to successfully plan for the future, he hasn't yet brought up any long-term ideas as to his direction or indeed my continued presence in his apartment. I have decided to wait for him to raise the issues, unless they become more pressing. I tell myself that this is to give him the space and time he needs to consider his options. In my heart, I know it's because I'm afraid he will send me away.

As to my own long-term plans, I have none. The ones I had made at the beginning of the year are like echoes from someone else's life now. Ray and I had started to cautiously suggest some changes to our lives now we had embarked on a relationship.

I had pondered a two bedroom apartment in Chicago and a convenient cover story while my impetuous lover had leapt in with both feet, suggesting we move north and try to find me a posting close to my old home. Although my heart had leapt at his commitment to me, however premature I felt it might be I had counselled that we wait before making a decision like that. Ray's job was important to him, and although Chicago had never been a place I loved, it felt suddenly a whole lot more like home since I was sharing it with him.

Now, he'll have no job by the end of next week and my own career at the consulate will become ever more unendurable without my work with Ray to engage me. It was only ever helping the Chicago PD that made my exile here bearable; well, that, and the friendship of my partners.

Ray's parents must be a consideration, even though they only ever intend to be in Chicago for five months a year. Their nomadic lifestyle could cause a problem if they were to become Ray's primary point of contact. And of course, Ray has friends in Chicago. As it is still a problem for Ray to bring himself to trust new people, it will be important for him to be in an environment that makes him comfortable.

I will be content with my consular duties and being with Ray, if he'll let me, but perhaps, he might be persuaded to visit Canada with me from time to time, when funds and leave will allow. The alternatives are unthinkable.

I find myself thinking in circles - so much depends on him.

^^^

The door finally closes behind Frase and Dief, and I'm somewhere between relief and utter panic.

For three days he's been here twenty-four hours a day. I don't know how he stands it... stands me!

Mom has been round twice already and I can tell you that having Frase here is a godsend. He's already thought of everything of course, so Mom has no excuse to fuss me.

I hate it when people fuss me.

It has made things a little sticky between the two of them. Frase seems to tense up whenever my parents are around, and they are equally prickly with him. It makes me wonder what I've missed 'cause my Mom used to love Frase, always asking after him and pleased to see him. At the Institute they told me that I'd have trouble with "non-verbal communication skills" - that's body language to you and me - but this stuff is coming through loud and clear. They've had words about something, I'm sure of it.

So, here I am. Home. Alone. Feels weird. But in a good way. I have a shower, make some coffee, talk to the turtle and within an hour I'm bored. I should have asked Dief to stay; we could have gone walking. Frase has been helping me build up my stamina again; we've been hiking a few times and we're walking the wolf further each day. My sparring days are over, but maybe I can persuade Fraser to come to the Gym with me one day. It would be good to see the boys; and a few weights and a heavy bag can't hurt me.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and stop to look more closely; something I've been avoiding up to now. All the bruising is long gone, but I still look pale. My hair is a mess. There are short patches where they shaved my head, but the rest of it is really long. They had a hack at it in the Scarfe, but it's just not right. I grab a comb and some gel, and try to make it look like it's meant to look like this, but it's hopeless. And then I know how I'm gonna spend the rest of the morning.

I grab my jacket, my keys and my wallet then go to the door. I pause and think, like they taught me, forward planning and all that crap. I go back and check the kettle is off, then I'm out into the Chicago spring sunshine and I'm feeling fine. This is just what I need; if I look more like myself, maybe I'll feel more like myself.

There's this little place, about six blocks away where I get my hair cut. The old guy in there, he doesn't look like he's it, but give the man some clippers and he'll go to work. It's like art, you know?

The bell tings over my head as I push through the door and I'm overwhelmed by the smell of coffee, shampoo and cigarettes.

"Ray!" Louis calls with a genuine smile, "Be with you in five."

So I nod, sit down and pick up the sports section. I'm good. I'm doing this. This is me, getting some life back.

When I sit down in the chair, I'm quite calm, doing my breathing thing that Frase taught me.

"Jeez, Ray! Where you been, man? What happened to the hair?" Louis is laughing and ruffling my mop of hair. He looks like everyone's favourite uncle; well padded, pink-cheeked and jolly.

"Eee....hee..." I breathe again, thinking of Fraser's soothing voice telling me not to push it when a word doesn't want to come. "Eee...experiment," I finally get out. Louis' eyes catch mine in the mirror and I can see what he's thinking. I look away, at my own reflection but that's no better. I'm thin, pale and my eyes look kinda sunken with purple shadows underneath. I'm only fooling myself if I think a haircut is gonna make a difference. I look like a sick person or a drug addict. I see what Louis sees and I can't blame him for the questions in his gaze.

He blinks. "So, what are we doing here?" he asks, his voice a little less loud and a little more sympathetic.

I don't think I can talk right now, so I show him an inch and a half with finger and thumb.

"You want the sides short again?"

I nod and avoid his eyes for the rest of the time I'm in the chair. He does a good job - it's short, it's tidy and he rubs some wax through it to make it look kinda funky. So I smile, and I do look better, I'm pleased to notice.

Of course I'd forgotten the money thing and I can feel myself beginning to freak when I realise I have to pay the man. Louis tells me how much and my head starts to swim. I dig in my wallet to buy myself some time. Is a twenty more or less than what he said? Fuck. Shit. I try counting up from twenty, but now I've forgotten what he said it would cost. I fumble with the bills, pulling them out and putting them away again, trying hard not to blow this.

Finally I give up, pull out five bills and show them to Louis. "C... c... can you take the right one?" I ask him. And he's a good man, he doesn't stare, he doesn't say a word, just takes one of the bills and rattles some change out of his cash box. I shake my head when he offers it to me. "Thanks, Louis," I say quietly.

"Any time, Ray." Then he raises his voice again as I turn to leave. "Hey, you come back when you get fed up with going grey, okay? I got some of that orange you used to like so much." He's grinning from ear to ear, teasing me and I'm... I'm flying.

I did it.

I actually did it.

I point at Louis with two hands and give him a wink, then walk back out onto the windy sidewalk and head for home. The boy is back - battered, worse for wear, but still most definitely in the game.

And I'm feeling fine, riding the wave all the way until I realise I'm lost. I mean not lost, lost, but just kind of turned around or something. I even know where I am; I've lived in Chicago all my life, so I know damn well that this is West Cullerton, and I know my address, but getting between the two suddenly seems totally impossible. I cannot fucking think of what I have to do to get from here to there.

I can feel myself starting to panic, so I keep moving thinking the next turn will make sense and I'll know which way to go. So I make random lefts and rights and nothing is making it any better. My heart is pounding and I've got my hands stuffed in my pockets so they can't shake. I'm trying so hard to hold it together; I almost get knocked down by a taxi as I cross the street. Now I have no idea where I am at all, not even a street name.

I should ask someone, I know I should. But I also know that I'll do the whole brain damage thing on them too, and start stuttering and crying. So I sit down by the kerb, close my eyes and try to remember what Fraser said about not getting in a panic. I've got my head on my forearms and I must look like a total freak, sitting in the gutter and fighting to hold back the tears.

The sidewalk is cold on my ass and I have no idea how long I've been sitting here, but my back aches like a bastard. I've stopped crying at least, when I hear Fraser.

"Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray," he's saying quietly. I look up, thinking I've really lost it now but there he is, still in his dress uniform and looking seriously weirded-out. I've never seen anything so fucking wonderful. The wolf obviously thinks so too and I get a face full of Dief kisses. Like an idiot I leap up and throw my arms around Fraser and start crying all over again, hating myself for it, but unable to stop.

His arms come round me - in the middle of a city street, in broad daylight - he's hugging me so hard, I can feel my bones creaking. He lowers me back to the kerb and sits down beside me, never taking his arm from my shoulders.

He looks at me very seriously and I think I'm in for the mother of all ass-kickings. "I like the hair, Ray," he says softly and suddenly I'm laughing like a lunatic.

Only God knows what we must look like. Well, he looks like a fire hydrant obviously, but sitting there in all his redness and Canadian-ness and me in all my snot-nosed teary-eyed state, but with extremely sharp hair, it's a wonder we don't get picked up by the cops.

He squeezes me one more time, and then lets me go. Dief takes over, seemingly intent on making sure I'm all in one piece, or frisking me for hidden food, I'm never sure which.

"Huh...Huh...h." Fuck it. I spell out H-O-W.

"Ah, well. When you didn't answer the telephone for so long, I came home to check on you. I found your hair gel and comb in front of the mirror in the living room and guessed you'd gone to see Louis."

I have no idea how he knows about Louis, but that can wait.

"He told me you'd been in and you'd left at about 10.45 and he was kind enough to provide Diefenbaker with this." He pulls out a little tub of the wax Louis used on my hair. I'll be damned. The wolf can track me in downtown Chicago because my hair smells of coconut?

Fraser smiles at me again. He looks calm now; I guess I must have given him a bit of a run-around.

"Are you okay?" he asks simply.

God, I love this guy. I mean I love this guy. There's no drama, no accusation in his voice, no asking me what the fuck I thought I was doing. Nothing. Just quiet reassurance.

"'m fine, Ben. I just g... g... got...turned around I guess. I know where I need to be, I know where I am, buh... buh... buuuut I just couldn't put the two together."

He nods and takes a deep breath before standing up and brushing down his ridiculous pants. Then he reaches down and offers me a hand, which I take. When we're eye to eye, he fishes in a pocket and hands me my cell phone with a small smile and a raised eyebrow. Ah, shit.

Of course it seems painfully obvious to me where I went wrong on the walk back to the car. I feel like a total prick when I realise that I've been walking in circles all morning.

Frase drives me home and instead of going back to work, he calls in and asks to be excused for the rest of the day.

"You don't have to do that. I'm ff....okay," I tell him when he puts down the phone.

"Ray, as you yourself have pointed out, I have several years worth of sick days. Besides, I'm sure that there's nothing Inspector Thatcher can give me that can't wait for a while...or probably longer."

Yeah, that's gotta suck. Not only has he got a head-case ex-partner to worry about, but also he doesn't get to leap off buildings or jump on cars or lick stuff or do any of the things he used to love anymore. Just a lackey to the Ice Queen these days - that's gotta be tough.

"You should call W..ish. Weee...wish. Fuck." I spell out Welsh, even though I know Frase has got it. "He'd have you back in a shot. I'm sure there's someone else you could par... pat...argh!" P-A-R-T-N-E-R.

"He called me actually, Ray. And he did indeed offer me a continuance of my duties at the twenty-seventh precinct. But I think for now at least, I'll confine myself to the consulate."

He's not saying it, but I know he's thinking it's because his duties there are easy to drop if he needs to come running because I've fucked up again. And the guilt is back. He shouldn't have to put his life on hold for me; it's not fair on him. I'm not saying I wouldn't do the same if it were him who needed the help. I'd be there in a heartbeat, but that's because I kind of have this whole 'in love' thing going on about him. Have done for the longest time. But that's just me.

"Look, when we come back from Canada, we'll get the pull... people at Mental Health to get the nurse in and you can get your l... life back, Ben."

"Ray, it's no hardship for me to be here," he says, watching me intently. "I enjoy your company."

"Me too, buddy. B... bah... but we'd both be lying if we said this was gonna be a short-term gig. Look at what happened today. Just getting a fucking haircut! We're good ends... fan... " F-R-I-E-N-D-S "...Frase, but you don't owe me that."

He looks so miserable; I think back over what I said. What did I say?

He closes his eyes briefly and takes a quick deep breath. "I'll leave it up to you, Ray. You decide when you're ready and I'll... I'll go."

"After Canada," I say immediately. Because if I stop now - if I put it off again, it will be another three months of his life wasted on me. I know he has guilt, I'm pretty much certain that's why he's done all that he's done for me; that I got blown up and brain injured and all he got was a dislocated shoulder and a concussion. I still can't quite believe that. Who gets blown up by a hand grenade in downtown Chicago? Fucking nuts!

"Right you are, Ray," he says, and he smiles the most brittle smile I've ever seen. It doesn't reach his eyes, which hold mine for just a shade longer than they should, as if he's trying to tell me something. Feels like a punch in the gut. "Do you mind if I have a shower?"

I shrug and he's gone.

It's for his own good, but I still feel like a bastard. If I let him, he'd stay forever, making sure I was okay, managing all the fucking stupid things I can't do myself anymore; telling me the time, reminding me to eat meals, paying for stuff with cash, keeping me calm when new people want to talk to me, translating for me. I could go on. It's not a short list; let's be realistic here - I'm hard work. But I can't let him do that - not for guilt.

Once I'm off his hands, he can apply for a transfer. I know he hates it here, he's never settled here. What kind of commitment does it show when you live in your office? He hates Chicago. With Vecchio gone and me out of the picture, the twenty-seventh won't keep him here.

I hear the shower come on. I'm safe for a minute, which is good, because here come the tears. Again.

^^^

May 28th

Today was Ray's hearing. Given the number of people present, it was all over quickly, thankfully. Lieutenant Welsh gave evidence, as did I on the kind of officer Ray was, and the whole thing was pretty much a formality. Ray had been injured in the line of duty through no fault of his own so there were no reasons why he shouldn't be retired with full benefits and compensated for his injury.

The issues of Ray's undercover status, although not discussed in this meeting, are being addressed. I can only imagine Ray Vecchio's face when he returns from his assignment to find that's he's been retired.

Stella was there, presumably making sure that Ray's lawyer was getting him the best deal. Once again Ray was strangely ambivalent to her presence in stark contrast to when I first knew him. If she were so much as in the same building as him, he used to behave irrationally, displaying symptoms of anxiety and was so eager to please her, that it used to make me uncomfortable to watch.

He seemed philosophical about the end of his career, as he has throughout his convalescence. I tried to ask him how he felt about it in my inept way on the drive back home.

"What's to feel, Ben?" he asked me. "You told me what happened - it was the only way it could have gone. We're lucky to be alive at all."

His bravery astounds me and I'm ashamed of myself for thinking that he would be somehow less without his badge. Ray Kowalski has such life inside him, such drive and he will apply it to whatever he does going forward.

^^^

It's about ummm... 10 pm, I think. I went to bed early because today was kinda a lot to take in. We had the police hearing thingy and there were a lot of people there; union reps., lawyers, medical specialists - lots of people I don't know, basically. And that always sucks these days.

Frase has been watching me like I was made of glass all week, expecting me to shatter or something, and I guess he has a point. Being a cop is all I know how to do, so what does that make me now? So, yeah, I can see why he's concerned, but it still pisses me off, even though he's doing it ever so covertly.

He's a low-key kind of guy anyway, so it's not like he's toned down his behaviour or anything, but when I've gotten angry about stuff this week, he's been less matter-of-fact and more... what's the word? Conciliatory? You know, like he doesn't want to argue back. And sometimes I need him to argue back, like he used to. 'Cause I'm still me - bit broken - but still good.

He's the only one who has never looked at me with pity in his eyes. He's the only one who believes I'm still here, not someone who looks like me, but who's somehow not anymore. He's balance and normality and stability. Even when I cry and get angry and sound like a crazy person with this fucking speech thing. Even when I can't remember a sequence of digits, like a 'phone number. Even when I freak out 'cause there're too many people. Even when I'm as unreasonable as all fuck. He treats me just the same as he ever did.

And without that I would have given up at the start.

I'm not sleepy. You can get away with shit like going to bed while it's still light when you're brain damaged - one of the perks; no one thinks you're behaving badly. I just went to bed because I can't find a way to make things right between us. Ever since we discussed the home care-worker taking over from him, he's been quiet.

I want to find a way to make him see that it's good for him - that he's off the hook now - that he's done his bit, paid his debt and all the other fucking stupid notions of duty to me that he has in his thick head. But how do I say that? One, I don't have the right words to do that tactfully and two, two sentences is about all I can manage without stuttering; a speech by me might take up the rest of the night.

Finally I give in and get up. Thinking about it isn't helping. Frase is still reading by the stupid dim light of the table lamp. I slump down beside him on the couch and scritch Dief's ears. Wish I'd put a sweatshirt on; Frase has got the window propped open again. I pull the blanket off the back of the couch and wrap myself in it.

Ben smiles and carries on reading.

"Hey, Wolf," I murmur, "You being good? Not eating Raphael or nothin'?" It's not my best icebreaker, but I know it'll get a reaction.

"Ray, I promise you, your turtle is in no danger. Your refrigerator, maybe, but animals of the order Testudines do not figure highly on Diefenbaker's list of snack options. Too crunchy. Not enough MSG."

The wolf humphs and slopes off in a snit.

"Ben," I ask before he can disappear back into his book again. "Could you tell me about the aaah... aaa... accident again?"

And there it is; the straight back, the carefully neutral expression and the 'step away from the Mountie' aura. When is he gonna get over this?

He takes a breath, like he's about to report to the Ice-Queen or something, so I quickly think of something to burst that 'Constable Fraser' bubble. I sneak a hand out from under my blanket and grab the hand he has resting on his thigh.

His eyes drop to where I've threaded my fingers through his and he looks kinda stunned. I'm pretty stunned myself. I'm not sure, but I don't think this is buddies. His eyes meet mine and they're wary. I could play the "head injury" card again and pretend I don't realise what I've just done, but I'm thinking he probably knows me too well for me to be able to pull it off. So I squeeze his hand quickly, just once.

"They left the warehouse just after three pm, we followed. They drove to the McCormick Place Convention Center and entered the underground parking facility. You called in for backup. We followed them down on foot. Their buyers were waiting in a black Ford Explorer, three men dressed casually."

His voice is measured, kinda hypnotic. I've heard this before - I can see it in my head, like a scene from a TV show. Like I'm watching it from somewhere safe and far away from the soon to be related fuck up.

"When the transaction was completed, we were still awaiting the arrival of our backup. We were concerned that if they were able to return to their vehicles, we would lose them, so we identified ourselves to them and asked that they surrender. They opened fire on us and we took cover. They entered the service access door..."

This is all rehearsed. These are exactly the same words he has told me every time I've asked. It's bullshit, it's not real; it's like the scripted version of the end of my career and nearly my life. I have no idea what it felt like, what it smelled like, if I was scared, if I was mouthing off.

"What were you ring... wuh... w... wearing?"

He falls silent, his mouth still working until he regains control and snaps it shut. He looks down to where our hands are still twined together, so tightly my fingers are beginning to tingle.

He starts to talk, stumbles, and then clears his throat. "I was wearing a...uh...well, I was wearing jeans and a... a grey check flannel shirt..."

I've thrown him. I've derailed his little story. Interesting.

"So, they run through the door. You fff... follow them. What do I do?"

"You called into control and told them the suspects were moving and where they could find us."

"What did I say?"

"You said... you said, 'Wait, Fraser. Backup's on the way'."

"And then w.. ww.. ?"

"Well, then I followed them through the door." His cheeks darken and his hand is completely still in mine. I think I see our problem.

"Okay, so they run down into the vis... ser... service tunnels. I went fff... ff...?" Fuck. F-I-R-S-T.

"Th... that's right. You grabbed my arm, re-loaded and we followed."

I wait for him and after a minute, he picks up his story again. His voice is expressionless now. He's just trying to get to the end. He puts down his book and rubs a thumb across his eyebrow. Poor Ben.

"We cornered them, they were caught at the door which led to the ventilation control room, it was steel, and they were unable to get through. You looked around the corner, they shot at you. We heard the sound of our backup entering behind us and spreading out. They threw the grenade and..."

"Where were you?" He's been expecting me to interrupt, I can see it in the way his eyes close and his jaw tightens.

"I was beside you Ray, against the wall."

"And the grenade..?"

"Landed at our feet."

"Was I sss...ssss... ad... ss...?" S-C-A-R-E-D.

"I don't know."

"Did I look sss...?"

"I don't remember."

He does.

"Www.... Wh...." W-H-A-T "...was I wearing?"

"Fawn jeans, black boots, white t-shirt, black sweater and your leather jacket," he replies instantly. Right, he noticed all that, but he didn't notice if I was scared? Bullshit.

We didn't wait for backup. He must have done his gung-ho, can-do Mountie thing and I must have trailed my lame ass after him. And now he thinks it's his fault I'm only eating with one chopstick.

"Ray..."

"S'not your fault," I cut him off.

"Ray..." he says, so quietly. He bows his head down to his chest.

"So I kicked it and we ran a... aaannn..."

"The blast blew us against the end wall."

"Was I awake?"

"Briefly. You were sliding in and out of consciousness. I was trying to stop the bleeding without moving you too much. Head wounds always... there was a lot of blood... so much, and I couldn't..." He clears his throat again. "I asked you to stay with me."

W-H-A-T D-I-D I S-A-Y?

"You said... you... said 'Always'."

His face has gone so pale and I can feel his hand trembling in mine, clinging on still.

There's a cool splash on the back of my hand and I look down in surprise. It's a tear, and for once it's not mine. Ben is weeping silently; only the slight tremor and the wetness on my skin give him away. Should have known he was the strong, silent type.

"S'not your fault," I tell him again, pouring as much conviction as I can into this simple sentence.

"If we'd waited..." he grinds out.

"Then maybe other people would have been hurt. L... lllaaa... lots of other people."

He's shaking his head. He's been carrying all this unjustified guilt around since February, thinking it was his fault I was hurt and that's why he's been here every day since then.

I don't need that. I don't want it.

"Enough." I'm talking low, but he jerks at the harshness of my voice nonetheless. "No more, Ben. We're buddies. Buddies don't do this. It was n... not your fault I was hurt. You do not o... oww..." O-W-E "... me. It makes me feel s... s... ick that you have been beating yourself up ov...ohhh..." O-V-E-R " ...this. I don't need you to be here because you fff... feel g... guh..." G-U-I-L-T.

"That's not why I'm here," he says and his words are stronger now. "I'm here because this is where I want to be."

"But for what re...rrea..." R-E-A-S-O-N.

"You're my best friend, Ray."

How can he say that without it sounding lame? How does he do that? If I'd said that I would have sounded... well, more brain injured.

"You think I don't know that?" I squeeze his hand. "I get it, Ffff... hays. I get that. And now you've done all a best friend sh... shu...should and you're going into the realms of psycho obsessive guilt tripping. Do not go there, Ffff... fff...hays. Do n... nn... not make me kick your ass."

He nods and with my view of his profile, I can see the corners of his mouth curl up a tiny bit. The old Kowalski charm is still working. I decide to push my luck to see if I can get a full-blown smile.

"People are gonna start talking about us," I grin. "Geez, no wonder my Mom and Dad are pissed. They probably think we're g...gg..."

"I need to take Diefenbaker out," Ben barks. And he's gone. Again. My hand lays where he dropped it in his hurry to get away from me. I'm so stunned by his abrupt mood change, I can't find anything to say to stop him when seconds later, he's got his boots, jacket and hat on and is closing the front door behind him.

Stupidly, I curl my fingers shut to retain the warmth of his hand.

^^^

It's dark and quiet in the apartment. Can't sleep. I feel all prickly and restless like it's one of those August city nights, where you sweat and sweat, and would sell your soul for a breeze. But it's not; it's still May or March or something. It's still cool at night, whatever.

I was thinking about Ben and how much he keeps to himself. He wouldn't talk to me next morning, when I asked him about leaving like that. I guess he and my parents really have fallen out about something. I wish he'd tell me. I'm not good for much, but listening is one thing I can do. Of course, if he wants me to remember it all, that's another matter. It's probably some kind of 'honour thy parents' thing that being Canadian demands that keeps him so tight-lipped.

I'm trying to lull my mind into a quiet place, so I can catch some sleep, but it's not playing ball. It's like my body knows that Fraser is just on the other side of that wall and it is teasing my brain with crazy images of the two of us; images that are sweaty and dirty and impossible. The ghost memory of sensations I've never felt dance on my nerve endings making me shiver and ache.

His tongue has never touched me in the places I'm dreaming of, but I know what it would feel like if it had. Warm and slightly rough, hot, slick and so incredibly good I know I could come just from that. How could I possibly know that the calluses on his hands scrape in a way that makes me jerk when he strokes me with them? And I couldn't know that when he's about to come, he growls so low in his chest that I can feel it rumble through my spine and set up a resonant echo in my whole body.

I rock against my mattress pathetically, my dick so rigid and throbbing, I can feel my pulse thump through it. Oh God, and it's not enough, the sheets are too smooth, too forgiving, I need ...

I roll onto my back, careful to be quiet. Fraser sleeps so lightly and now would be a really bad time for him to stick his head around the door to ask if I wanted some water or something. At that thought my traitorous dick swells further still, so I can add exhibitionism to the things I didn't know about myself.

I swallow the groan that rises from my toes as I slip a hand beneath my shorts and close my cool fingers around my burning cock. God, that feels good. I stretch out and get comfy, knowing that this won't take too long.

When I close my eyes, Ben is there again, waiting for me. And they're his hands on me; his wide fingers stroking just right and twisting beneath the crown in that way that makes me whimper. Shit! I can't whimper right now without waking him. My head spills visions of Ben marking me, so vivid, I can feel the sting on my collarbone and the soothing lap of his tongue, then he blows a cool breath over the spot, making the skin around it rise into goose bumps.

His mouth traces lower, licking the contour of my bottom rib, the swirl of the fine hairs around my navel and the creases that run from hip to groin. He murmurs his appreciation of my taste, my smoothness, my beauty as he works his way, so breathtakingly slowly to my dick.

My world shrinks to that one sensation as I feel his lips kiss the moisture from the tip, then open to slide down my shaft in a long, dragging glide. My toes curl, my spine arcs and I come in hard, wrenching pulses, spattering my belly and chest with scalding strings. My ears are ringing and I have no idea if I cried out. As I ride out the aftershocks, I'm half expecting Ben's voice, asking me if I'm alright, but it seems I was quiet enough.

I bask for a while, relishing the bone-deep weariness that moulds me to my mattress. First a quick trip to the bathroom to clean myself up, then I know that I'll be able to sleep. I slide, loose and lazy, from my bed and pause in the doorway.

Dief is out cold in the couch and I can see the shape of my best buddy and jerk-off fantasy spread out on his tiny cot. In the dim glow from the streetlights outside, his hair and eyelashes show up as shadows against his pale skin. His lips are slightly parted and his breathing deep and even. I start to move away before my affectionate thoughts become something more perverse, when a slight movement from him catches my eye. A twitch from beneath his covers, then another resolves itself into a rhythmic pattern of movement. Considering that I've just been doing the same thing, it takes me longer than it should to figure out what he's doing. And that's because this is Fraser we're talking about.

Fraser.

I just stand there like a dumbass for a few moments trying to take in the fact that this is Fraser doing something so... so... human. I mean it hasn't escaped my attention that he's a guy; I get that. But I always thought... that is, I imagined that... I just assumed that sex was something almost theoretical to Fraser.

I know there was that woman he had the hots for that made Vecchio shoot him, but that wasn't on my watch. I never got to see what Fraser in heat looks like - and I haven't seen any evidence of it first hand - and I've been watching very closely. The guy can't flirt and if he does manage to say something to a woman that could possibly be taken as vaguely interested, he then retreats to a safe distance to blush... sometimes for days.

So Fraser, jacking himself, so quiet and controlled like that - well, it kinda short circuits my brain a bit. I step back into my room and think. Nah. He's gotta be scratching or practicing semaphore or something. Cautiously I peer around the door again. Ben has rolled his head to the side, bottom lip tight between his teeth, and his eyes are squeezed shut. If that's semaphore he's doing, he's concentrating really, really hard.

His even breathing is beginning to get a little ragged and I know I should be giving the guy some space, but as my eyes adjust to the darkness of his corner of the room, I can see how incredible he looks. His hair is everywhere, curling onto his forehead and around his ears in damp waves and his head rocks a little with each stroke 'cause he's so lost in this.

God, I wish he'd cry out or groan or something. I want to hear him. I want to see him let go. I want to know this Fraser - at his most basic and honest level, 'cause seeing him like this makes me wonder how much more he keeps locked away in there. Like he's been holding out on me for the past couple of years. He seems more real and approachable to me now than ever before and that's just sad.

I go back to my bed quietly and wipe my stomach and chest with my discarded t-shirt. I can wait for that trip to the bathroom.

I doubt he'd make a sound when he came, but I try not to listen for it anyway as I settle down and wait for sleep to come.

I think it might take a while.

^^^

June 2nd.

I'm taking this opportunity to update my journal in an effort to calm my nerves and pass the time while Ray sleeps. The drone of an airplane is something that often lulls me to sleep too, but I want to stay alert in case Ray should wake and become disoriented. This is a small space with a lot of unknown people and he has difficulty with that.

Every action that has got us this far has been like salt in an open wound. Just five months ago Ray and I made this exact same journey under different circumstances. Then we were full of expectations and barely suppressed desire. It was at Maggie's cabin that Ray and I finally had the conversation that we had been building towards for a few weeks - or since he first took Ray Vecchio's place would be a more accurate description.

The catalyst had been a hostage situation. To Ray's disgust, I had been the hostage. The man in question had been quite obviously psychotic and my usual logical discourse hadn't appeared to be to his liking. As it had become apparent that the man's wildly optimistic requests would not be met, I had tried to formulate some sort of plan to effect an escape, hindered it must be said by my captor's vigilance and his knowledge of knots. I'd been secured very successfully to a radiator.

The deadline had passed and the malfeasant had demanded the delivery of his ransom. When Ray had walked through the door with his hands on his head, I could have sworn. He'd passed a bag to the hostage-taker, looked me over once, long and hard, then carefully chosen his moment.

The man had never known what hit him. So he hadn't been a hardened gunman, but his unstable mental state had made him equally as dangerous - if not more so due to the unpredictability of his actions. Ray had known this and had wasted no time with discussion, but had run at him when his attention was distracted by the contents of the bag.

I later learned that the bag had contained no more than Ray's gym clothing, assorted fast food packaging and a rubber duck. Obviously the perpetrator had been taken aback by this collection of unlikely items and Ray had seized his advantage and knocked the man to the ground, disarming and cuffing him quickly and efficiently.

However instead of radioing his success immediately, in line with procedure, he had crawled across the room to where I'd been secured and knelt before me, serious and silent.

With the strangest, most heart-wrenching look in his eyes he had shaken his head at me, conveying both confusion and disappointment. I'd started to explain my actions to him but he had reached out a hand and gripped my jaw, instantly silencing me. By now there had been anger in his gaze too, a fierce, lost expression that had rendered me breathless. Then he'd leaned in and kissed me, just once; hard and fast.

And for two weeks we had managed to avoid talking about it. We'd danced around it once or twice, but neither one of us had been sure enough of the other's reaction. Then one day as we we'd been engaged in a particularly dull and cold stakeout, and I'd worked myself into a fit of anticipation and terror, I asked him to come to Canada with me for Christmas the following week. And he'd said yes - as simple as that.

That first night in Hay River, Maggie had been called out to a disturbance in town between the Royal Canadian Legion Ladies Auxiliary and the local broomball team. Ray and I had talked ourselves hoarse trying to rationalise our attraction to each other, trying to find some way to define what this meant, as if our distance from Chicago had given us the courage to face it. Then when words had failed us, we'd just gone to our room, pushed our beds together and stopped trying to capture something that was essentially emotion and instinct. We'd got a lot more solved that way.

It is with a heavy heart, as my Grandmother would say, that I'm embarking on this trip to my sister's home. Although it will be wonderful to see her again and I'm pleased to be spending more time with Ray, I know that this is most likely our swansong. As soon as this week is over and we return to Chicago, I'll be homeless once again. And alone. Once again.

I should have told him straight away, as soon as he was awake, I should have reminded him what we were to each other. As soon as I knew he had no recollection of our affair, I should have explained. But he looked so fragile and afraid, and things were coming back to him day by day, so I thought it would be better if he remembered by himself. I now know that my actions were not those of a worried friend, but of a coward. What if it was pure chance? A fluke? What if it was a right place, right time situation, and only those particular circumstances would achieve the desired result? A thousand doubts and a million 'what if's'.

So I have to learn to live with the fact that I may have robbed both of us of a chance to be happy.

^^^

After Chicago, Yellowknife feels like Hicksville - does Canada have hicks? Whatever, it feels like the ass end of beyond. Thankfully, we're only on the ground there for two hours before we get into something that feels about the size of the GTO and make the hop across Great Slave Lake. Yellowknife doesn't even look pretty from the air. It's a mining town, that the Canucks call a city purely on the basis that it has buildings over two stories high.

Fraser tells me the origin of the name (First Nation peoples with copper blades), the history of the mining there (gold and now diamonds) and several stories about Great Slave which leave me wondering if there is any such thing as a happy ending in Canada.

Hay River makes Yellowknife look like New York. We get a good view of it as we come in to land, and it's small; wharves, boats, warehouses and a grid of streets. Maggie is waiting for us on the tarmac and she hugs us both as soon as we squeeze out of the tiny airplane. She makes that blue uniform look pretty good, almost as good as Frase. She looks at me critically, then smiles and claps me on the shoulder. Just like her brother, she isn't one for stupid questions or unwelcome sympathy.

As we walk over to her waiting jeep, a smiling, dark haired man detaches himself from the engine of a small plane and comes over.

"Benton, Ray!" he calls, wiping dirty hands on dirtier overalls in order to shake. Fraser stiffens immediately, but greets the man.

"Tom, how are you?" he asks warmly. Tom says he's fine and turns to me, taking my unwilling hand in a strong, friendly grasp. My eyes flick to Fraser's and I see them widen in concern.

"Ray, heard you've been sick, but you look alright to me. Bit skinny. You come by the bakery tomorrow, Mother'll sort you out."

I try a smile and nod. "Thh...thhh..."

"Thanks, Tom. That's very kind," Fraser steps in, subtly putting himself closer to me and slightly between me and Tom.

"No problem. And without Dief here, you might get to eat some of it this time, eh?" He nudges Frase and, with a grin lopes back to his work.

I immediately look at Fraser, but he won't catch my eye, and I don't know Maggie well enough that I can force the issue in front of her without looking rude. I think she's picked up on it anyway, judging from the look she is darting between Frase and me.

That guy knew an awful lot about us - and about me in particular - for someone I've never met before. Fraser must have told his sister about my injury in great detail. Now I know there's not exactly a buzzing nightlife scene up here, but for a story about Maggie's brother's partner to be a topic for local discussion is just fucking freaky. Don't these guys get cable? Or, I dunno... dominoes or something?

"Shall we?" Fraser asks politely and tosses his duffel bag and my rucksack in the back of Maggie's jeep. He quickly jumps in the back, leaving me to ride up beside Maggie.

She tells us that she's on duty 'til ten pm and that we're to drop her off, and then make ourselves at home.

I'm not feeling quite right. I'm sort of disoriented and my brain is doing loops, so I'm none too chatty. Thankfully the detachment is only five minutes away and Maggie's saying goodbye, and Ben is getting out to drive us the rest of the way. I see her quickly ask him something as she takes off and her eyes flicker to me, sitting like an invalid in the passenger seat. Fraser replies, staring at the ground, then looks up to meet her shocked gaze.

Hello? Does anyone know I'm still here? I can see you guys and it's pretty obvious you're talking about me. I hated it in the Scarfe when they would tell Fraser stuff about me, like I wasn't privy to that information, like I wasn't worthy of their attention. It used to bug Fraser too, but here he is doing exactly the same thing to me now. I scowl at them and look away, giving them their moment alone.

I shouldn't have come.

"So, you've been here before?" I ask Ben as he turns the jeep around and takes us back the way we came. "You seem to know the way," I observe when he says nothing.

"Yes, I came here at Christmas," he offers simply.

Ah. The scrambled part of my memory. That makes sense. I still haven't got most of December or January back as far as I know. I don't remember Christmas or any of the specific cases we were on in those months. It sucks and I try not to think about those weeks that it seems I've lost forever or else it makes me feel kinda incomplete.

Maggie's place, when we finally get there is a few miles out of town. It's a little wooden cabin set up a forest track beside a creek and it looks like Goldilocks should be along any time now, it's so fairy tale. Inside it's simple but comfortable (of course the key was on the nail by the door - Canadians! They do my head in - what's left of it). Inside there's more wood. Lots of wood. Have these guys never heard of man-made materials?

The verbal stalemate continues. If I thought it was strained in the days leading up to coming here, this is the next level, man. Ben's face is tight and his actions controlled to the point that he looks like some sort of robot. I decide to give him some space and head for the bedroom to dump my bag and start unpacking.

As I start loading my clothes onto the bed I get a sudden sensation of the ground disappearing under my feet. I stagger back a few steps and brace myself on the dresser.

I knew where our room was.

I went straight to it, no searching, no asking. How is that possible? And I knew it was our room. What the fuck is going on here?

I push off and out into the hall to find Frase, and come face to face with a frame full of photos. My Mom had something similar at home; a big plain glass frame with lots of different pictures of family and friends. Maggie's has dogs, people in uniform, some older pictures of a light haired woman who looks enough like Maggie for me to assume it's her mother, some of Ben and there, centre left, is me.

That world missing sensation I was worried about? That's all gone. Now it's my whole fucking universe that's suddenly AWOL. I feel like I'm free-falling. There are pictures of me, in this frame, in this cabin, in the ass-end of the planet, and I have no recollection of any of them being taken.

In one I'm wrapped up in hat, gloves and parka on a dog sled. I'm pointing the way and Fraser is behind me, smiling directly at the camera looking so incredibly happy, I can't place ever having seen such a smile on him before. In another Ben and I are knelt either side of Dief with a Santa hat on. I look flushed and silly, and Dief looks pissed off. In yet another I'm grinning like a fucking head-case over Ben's shoulder, with my arms wrapped around his neck. His hands are on my forearms and he's leaning back into me with that smile again.

That's...what the fuck is that? That looks like they're... I mean they'd have to be... You can't mistake that. That guy, whoever he is with Ben? The guy who looks just like me? He and Ben are lovers. It's obvious. It 's apparent in each picture of them together, the touches, the body language, the smiles. And that guy, the blonde one with the slightly crazy look, Ben's lover... it would seem to be me.

Falling, falling, down, down, down...

"Ray. Ray... Ray? Ray."

I don't know how long he's been standing beside me saying my name, I only notice when he touches my arm. I look at him stupidly, unable to pull together the necessary words.

"It's okay," he reassures me quietly. "I'll explain..." The 'phone starts to ring and with a flicker of annoyance, Ben turns to the kitchen to answer it.

From the half that I hear, I know it's Maggie.

"Don't worry," he tells her. "Yes, he's seen it...he's fine, Maggie...you had no way of knowing, please don't' blame yourself...he's fine...yes...yes...see you then."

Ben puts the 'phone down gently and seems to count to three before turning back to me. He looks tired, agitated and resigned.

"Wh...waaa..." W-H-A-T-'S G-O-I-N-G O-N?

"It's okay, Ray. I can explain," Fraser says, advancing on me slowly, like I'm gonna bolt or something. He lifts a hand towards me and I'm not sure if he wants me to take it or if he's gonna try and grab me.

He must see my fear, because he drops his hand again and doesn't come any closer. "If you come and sit down, I'll tell you what happened." The lines around his eyes are pronounced, the effort of having kept this secret suddenly plain for me to see, so I let him lead me to the couch.

And that's how we spend the rest of the afternoon; me freaking out and Ben trying to calm me down. He tells me that we were lovers, that we became "intimate" just before Christmas (and bless him, he blushes as he tells me), that I spent Christmas up here with Maggie, Dief and him. That we went dog-sledding and snowmobiling and made friends in the town, that's how come Tom Ballard knows me - and I allegedly know Tom.

He has been trying to find a way to tell me, but he'd wanted to get here first in the slim hope that I would remember myself. He hadn't counted on Tom or the pictures. He's so sad that he's caused me more trauma by waiting.

I sit and cry mostly, because that's the kind of thing you'd want to remember; happy times, good times and being in love. And no matter how hard I try, I just can't. Not even with the help of Maggie's photos.

Ben tells me that we were making plans for our future, that we changed our wills and our legal next-of-kin in late January, just a couple of weeks before the accident. Ben tells me we were living together. Ben tells me we were in love.

When he's talked himself out the silence is deafening. I have so many conflicting emotions I don't quite know how to react, so I say nothing. I feel cheated, I feel stupid, I feel angry and relieved and so fucking lost, I couldn't find my own ass with two hands.

Why didn't he tell me sooner? Why did he let me flounder around like this for so long? Why was he gonna let me kick him out of the apartment? Did we fight before that accident? Were we still in love when it happened?

I lift an unsteady hand to him and he takes it, lacing our fingers together in a gesture that I'm guessing must be familiar to him, but it's only the third time I've ever held a guy's hand.

"I've missed you so much," he whispers, his face terrified and pale. And yeah, Ben looking terrified is something I've never seen before - unless it's in the Swiss cheese part of my mind - and it's something I never want to see again.

"I need some time," I say - amazed at how calm I sound. "More time."

"Of course. Whatever you need, Ray. I didn't expect... I don't want you to think..." He sighs. "Ray, if you decide this isn't what you want, then I understand completely."

"Ben, I could sss..sss...say the same thing. If you don't feel the same ww..way now I'm...a whack-job, I can hardly..."

"I do." He looks angry that I should have even said it, but it's true. I'm not the same guy he apparently fell in love with. I know that my personality has new sides to it and that I've lost some of what made me me. "Don't ever question that," he growls.

"Ben, I'm different now..."

"No."

"I wouldn't blame you if you..."

"No." He looks really distressed now, not angry anymore. Who said that I wouldn't be able to process visual cues? This stuff is easy-peasy.

"Okay, Ben, okay," I soothe.

"Please forgive me for not telling you. You were so confused at first, I had no idea how much progress you were going to make. I didn't even know if you were going to live for a few days. I didn't want to upset you more than necessary."

"Did you bring me here to hhh...help me remember?"

"Not really. I can't say it didn't cross my mind, but I mostly brought you here because you loved it here, I've never seen you happier." I remember the pictures I've just seen and I guess he's right.

"I think a lot of that must have had to do with you, Ben," I tell him and he smiles - genuinely - for the first time in days.

And I'd love to be able to jump into his lap and hug the crap out of him. I'm in love with him - that's a no-brainer, (hardy ha ha ha). I have been for a long time, but to suddenly find out that not only did I act on those feelings, but that we were... what? Boyfriend and boyfriend? Well it's a shock, is what it is.

Ben has all this experience of us together, as a couple. He knows stuff about me that I don't know about him anymore. What were we like together? What did we do? Had he done it before? Was I any good at it? I'm just a little freaked out, is all. I need some space.

"It's okay, Ray. Take your time. Take whatever you need," Frase says gently, almost as if he's hearing the constant burble in my brain. "Well, Maggie will be home soon," he says, getting to his feet and plastering his 'capable Mountie' face on.

I glance at the clock and am shocked when I work out that it's 9.30 pm. Then I realise that we're north of the 60th parallel and that the sun doesn't set 'til really late at this time of year. It still looks like late afternoon out there. Weird!

There's a lot of freaky stuff going on in my world at the moment. I guess figuring it out up here, where the days are weird anyway is kinda poetic.

^^^

June 3rd

After the shock of yesterday, Ray was quiet today, but in a thoughtful, not an unhappy way. This more than anything shows how much he has changed since the injury. The old Ray Kowalski would have thought with his mouth; ideas tripping over each other, wild theories proposed, evaluated and dropped in his rush to come to a conclusion. Ray was always happy to have me to sound off at and I always enjoyed the quirkiness of his thought processes - so very original and unexpected.

I'm sure that he knows I'm here once he is ready to talk.

I'm trying not to think that maybe he doesn't want to talk.

I'm also trying not to scare him off or pressure him into anything and the strain is unsurprisingly, quite considerable. If it wasn't bad enough having him sleeping in the next room back in Chicago, now he is sleeping in a bed not two metres from my own. It is certainly a test of my own forbearance.

We went hiking today with Maggie's Malamute, Colin. His name is something that causes Ray great hilarity for some reason. Apparently Canadians don't know how to name their pets. It will be interesting to hear Diefenbaker's thoughts on this when we return to Chicago.

Ray was thrilled at the landscape as we walked through the forest along the lake. And I was thrilled to see him so engaged by it and to notice how much stronger he has become; I let him set the pace the whole way. He was particularly entranced by the wildlife we encountered, especially the beaver and the moose, though Colin's presence made it hard to see them really up close.

When we spotted a black bear on the drive back to the cabin, Ray was excited to the extent that his Speech Apraxia became so bad he had to sign out, "Frase - there's a fucking bear on the road."

While we were walking he asked me to tell him about us and I confess I was at pains to know what to tell him. So I sat him down and told him the story of our last day in Hay River on our Christmas trip.

We'd been out on Maggie's sled since the sun had come up. Caught up in the beauty of the trees and the snow, we had spent longer in the forest than we'd imagined and by 6 pm we had been relying on the starlight and the cleared snowmobile paths to get us home. The shush of the runners and the creak of the sled were all the noise there had been, and even when we'd got home, we'd both been unwilling to go inside and have the adventure end.

So we'd put soup in flasks and hiked up to an outcrop of rock overlooking the lake. We'd drunk our soup stretched out on groundsheets, watching the stars wheel slowly over our heads and talked and talked like we'd never meant to stop. Then Ray had gasped and we'd seen a single ripple of blue/green light wave across the sky, slowly billowing in lazy curls. Ray had been excited and babbling already when suddenly the whole sky had burst into light, with more colours than we had names for. The waves had chased each other from horizon to horizon, pinks and greens swooping and spiralling. And we'd watched in silence until the last green glow had flickered to nothing.

Then we'd made love in the silence of a December night, working around our layers of clothing, kissing every exposed inch of the other.

I didn't tell him the last part.

Tomorrow I will drop into town early, mostly to pick up permits, so I can teach Ray to fish, but also because Mrs. Ballard at the bakery insisted that we ate what she gave us every day we were in Hay River. Thankfully Ray and Colin are more than happy to eat my share of the spoils.

^^^

I know something's wrong as soon as I see the RCMP 4 x 4 outside the cabin. I've been out walking while Ben's being polite to just about everyone in town - it's a wonder Canadians get anything done.

After my disastrous trip to the barber's, I haven't been out by myself until today. But I can't live like that, and although Ben was concerned he never said a word when I told him I was going out for a walk this morning - he just drew me a map and left it on the table by the front door. God, I love that guy.

So Maggie's back early judging by the jeep, so how come I don't have Colin barking his head off at me? Weird, she was on early shift today and she isn't due back for a few hours.

Maybe my instinct hasn't totally left me, 'cause I've got 'freaky shit going on' running its frozen fingers up and down my neck as I approach the cabin. Something tells me not to rush in and start yelling for Maggie.

Wish I had a gun on me. Emotionally stressed, brain injured ex-cops don't get to carry guns - not even in the States and I feel its loss like there's something missing from me at times like this.

Something prompts me to bend down and pretend to tie my hiking boots, while I look around a little bit. So, no Colin, Maggie's RCMP jeep parked up, no Ben judging by the lack of cars. This could be anything - maybe Maggie's sick; maybe she took the day off; maybe the dog is asleep. Shit - I know that none of that is true. Dunno how, but I do.

Very carefully I unclasp by bracelet and stretch it across the path as best I can without being obvious. If I'm wrong, I'll look like an idiot and come out and get it back, if I'm right, and something is hinkey, maybe Ben will see it in case I'm not up to whatever is going on in there.

Right, that's the best I can do. I straighten up and walk to the door. It's very quiet, no homely noises going on. I step inside and it's dark in the hall after the bright sunshine outside, so I don't see her at first.

"Hi," she says. Melodic voice, low, strong and confident.

"Hi," I say and I get a look at her. Wow. Beautiful. Cold. Red lips, pale skin and dark, full eyebrows arching over her flawless face. Her hair is cropped short, black and curly. She smiles but it doesn't do anything to relieve the coolness. I think I've seen this face before, but I can't think where.

"I'm Alice. I'm a friend of Ben and Maggie's," she says and holds out her hand. I shake it, surprised to find it's warm, and try and stay calm. Where is Maggie? Where is Colin? Where the fuck is Ben? I look around quickly and see Maggie's boots are by the door, but I don't let her see that I've noticed.

"R... rrr... Ray," I introduce myself. "Where'd Maggie go?"

"Oh, she took the dog out quickly, said she'd be back in ten," Alice says.

"Well, I'll make us sss... sss... tea while we waa... www... ait," I smile winningly. I see the look cross her face - the look that people get when I start to stutter and not keep eye contact - the one where they're working out if I'm retarded or not.

I go to the kitchen, my eyes scanning for any signs of a struggle, anything to give me some kind of advantage if this is what I'm thinking it is. But there's nothing.

I clatter around, being deliberately clumsy, just to add to the conclusion she's jumping to; that I'm no threat. There's nothing like a stuttering, twitchy Polack to assure yourself that you have the upper hand. She's followed me in here, as I knew she would, so I'm really laying it on thick. I smash a mug and I spill water from the kettle all over the counter, and in the confusion of me mopping up I manage to palm a knife from the block and tuck it securely up my sleeve.

A glance at her face tells me she is losing patience, so I change tack and ask her about herself. Maybe she's one of those megaloscerous... megalomanic... self-absorbed types that get off on talking about themselves.

"Ssss...so, hhhh... how do you know Ben and Mmm...?" And I'm not having to fake the stutter. It's really that bad with this hard faced woman so close to me.

"Oh, we know each other from a while back now," she says quietly, turning to keep her back to the wall as I go by. So, I'm guessing a concealed weapon.

"You're Canadian? You live near h... here?"

"Yes. And no, I heard Ben was back in the Territories and came to surprise him." A fleeting little smile crosses her face, full of a dark, smug knowledge. "Knew he couldn't stay away from home for long."

"And Maggie?"

"Well, of course I've only known her since she found out Ben was her brother." Again with the smile; insincere this time. "So nice for them to have each other since they have no other family."

"Yeah." The kettle boils and I make two mugs of tea, carrying them into living room where I sit, but she stays standing.

"So, Alice? What d...do you d...do?"

The longer I can keep her talking and unsuspecting, the longer it gives me to find out what's going on and what she wants. And the longer it gives Ben to get home from town. But then I'm scared for Maggie, my eyes roaming over and over the same room looking for a clue.

"Well, I move around a lot recently. I had some business deals turn sour on me a few years back." And there's something, but I'm not sure what. Her lips compress and I know that she's bitterly angry about something.

She's worked her way over to the window, her eyes nervously scanning the landscape outside.

"What about you, Ray? How do you know Ben?"

"From Ch... shhh... ca.. ch..."

"Chicago?" she asks, turning her head back to me sharply.

"Right." I'm not offering anymore than that, in fact that might already be too much. She looks at me with a mixture of contempt and interest. Right. Why would Ben hang out with a nut? I change the subject before she can ask more questions and get to my feet. "Excuse me, I n... n... eed the bathroom," I tell her and before she can object, I'm heading down the hall.

I can hear her trailing me and I know I've fucked up. I have no time left, so I turn left into Maggie's bedroom instead of right into the bathroom. What I see stops me in my tracks. Maggie's on her bed; still, silent and bound. Her shirt is soaked with something dark and her hands are red with blood. On the side of her head a purple bruise spreads into her blonde hair, the only splash of colour on her pale face.

It looks so wrong with the sunshine streaming in onto the quilt and the safe, homely feel of Maggie's bedroom to have a still, bloody body in here. Like some kind of bad joke. Bodies on Mort's slab, I can understand. Bodies in crack houses, slum alleys and dumpsters - I've seen it all before. They make me puke, but if you have to have a body, that's where it should be. Not here. Not Maggie. And God, I can't see her chest rise; she's not moving at all.

From her half sprawled state I guess Alice must have hit her in here and this is how she fell. I feel sick and cold; my heart is hammering in my chest but it sounds hollow.

The chill click of a safety coming off reaches my ears and I turn slowly to face the woman, my hands out from my body. The iciness of the knife in my sleeve burns me and I'm certain she must be able to see it. With horror, I feel tears pricking my eyes.

"Put your hands on your head," Alice tells me quietly. She's so calm; it's unnerving. I do as she says and she runs her tiny hands around my waist, my back, my thighs, and for some reason I think of rat's paws. She even crouches and checks my ankles, so I know she has played this game before.

"Is sh... sh... alive?" I whisper, feeling the tears pool then spill onto my cheeks. Alice looks delighted at my lack of control.

She ignores my question and gestures me over to the bed. "Bring her."

With shaking hands, I touch Maggie and am relieved to feel that she is still warm despite her white skin. I look to see if I can find the wounds that could produce that much blood, but the cold bluntness of the pistol behind my ear interrupts me. As carefully as I can, I lift Maggie and wait for directions.

"In the living room," that too red mouth purrs. I carry Maggie and as I cradle her, I can feel that she is breathing. Thank God. At a nod from Alice, I lay her on the rug in front of the stove. Still she makes no noise or gives any indication that she is awake.

I'm bloody now too, but it's tacky and smudged, not fresh, so whatever else is fucked up, Maggie's not bleeding badly now. Alice still has the gun trained on me, so I move slowly, putting my hands back on my head. I long to be able to scrub the tears from my face and face the bitch with some dignity, but I don't have a whole lot of that since the accident.

Out of the corner of my eye, through the living room window, I catch a red flash; red like Ben's plaid shirt. I didn't hear the jeep and I dare not try for a better look and give him away if it is him.

Alice binds my hands with nylon ties behind my back and forces me to kneel beside Maggie. I tell you, a knife has never felt so cold and heavy as the one lodged against my wrist. She takes a chair where she can see the door and us, sitting placidly, prepared to wait it out.

"Where is Ben today?' she asks quietly.

Another flash of red through the glass, then it's gone. Oh God, please let it be Ben.

"Gone ing... fff... fffffishing. All day," I tell her.

She smiles as if she knows already that whatever I tell her is a lie. Man, I wish I could place that face. Maybe I met her up here in December. She's beautiful in the same way that winter is; harsh, unforgiving and deadly. So what the fuck is her story? Why is she here? It would seem to be Ben and not Maggie she's interested in, seeing as we're sitting here so cosy and everything.

"So what's wrong with you?" she asks bluntly.

"Head jury... in... jury," I admit trying to keep my eyes away from the windows.

"You're another one of Ben's projects? Another one he wants to save?"

I don't reply, just avert my face and keep my eyes unfocussed, pointed at the door. She chuckles throatily. With two fingers, I work my way up my sleeve and begin to tease the knife lower.

"He never learns. He thinks he can save everyone. He thought he could save me, that's how we met. He saved my life, but that wasn't enough for Ben. He wanted to save my soul too. What he didn't know is that it's the other way round. I'm here to save his."

And I know who she is suddenly.

"Metcalf," I blurt. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

The gun is suddenly trained on me with two hands again.

She gets out of her chair and approaches slowly. "Did Ben tell you about me?"

I nod quickly. "Only g... ggg... good things," I add. She laughs, like she's surprised, and then smacks me hard across the face before returning to her seat.

Ouch.

Note to self, Victoria doesn't appreciate sarcasm.

As she settles in her chair again, I catch movement through the window over her shoulder. It's Ben. He looks horrified and I can only imagine how this looks with Maggie laid out and me with a bloody shirt and on my knees. As slowly and nonchalantly as I can, I let my head turn towards the window to my left, where I know she can't see him unless she moves. Then I turn back and stare into his eyes, and he gets it. If he goes to the other window, I know I can give him what he needs to give us a chance, without her seeing.

As much as I want to look at him, I keep my face turned towards the dark hearted bitch. God, what I'd give to be able to look into his face and draw some comfort from his presence. But what he needs is information, for him to do his super-Mountie thing. So I decide to distract her as best I can.

"Yyyy... you've waited a long am... ttt... time," I say quietly, forcing myself to look at her.

"Well, dear Maggie here was a gift. A sister he never knew about, how touching. I knew he'd turn up here eventually, so I made a friend at Yellowknife airport who watched the passenger manifests for me. You can imagine how pleased I was to hear his name was on the list the day before yesterday. You must be the other passenger. Koskov?"

Her eyes leave me with no illusions about her contempt for the retarded, unstable Yank. I try to keep my face as passive as I can, hiding the fact that I know what this woman almost cost Ben. What she almost cost me - he nearly died on that platform, believing that what she was offering was love. He just didn't know any better. Then I would never have got the chance to show him. And I guess I still might not if this gets much worse.

"What do yyy... want?"

I avert my eyes, making it look like fear, I hope. Ben's at the side window, he can see me clearly from there. I leave the knife for a minute. Rolling my shoulders a little, I stretch my hands behind my back and I see his eyes follow the movement.

V-I-C-T-O-R-I-A... A-L-O-N-E.

"I've come for Ben. If that bastard hadn't shot him, he'd have come with me three years ago."

M-A-G-G-I-E... A-L-I-V-E... H-U-R-T.

"I don't think s... sss... so," I say quietly looking back to her face.

"Really? Do you think I care what you think, freak?" But she looks annoyed; like a cat when it flicks its tail in irritation. Well good. I need to keep this side of the line though; I know this woman has killed before.

G-U-N.

As I sign the N the knife slips an inch.

I turn my head again. Frase nods quickly and I sign C-A-R-E-F-U-L then P-L-E-A-S-E. His eyes flick to mine and he pauses, then nods once more and disappears from sight.

"Why? Why ccc... c...ome back?"

"He's mine. He's been mine since that first night."

Ha! And she thinks I'm retarded. At least I'm not fucking delusional.

"He owes me."

"Www... what does he owe you?"

"A life," she spits.

I'm there with the knife, the blade resting on my palm, no longer cold, but warm like my skin. I curl my fingers and try to turn it, so I can cut these vicious plastic ties, but it's hard, she's fastened them so tight.

"He gave you that, when he saved you," I tell her.

"You think so? He turned me in the next day. That what you had in mind as a life, Ray?"

I'm surprised she remembers my name when it's so obvious that she thinks I'm pond-life. I lower my face away from her strong jaw and hard eyes. I want to provoke her, not make her snap. I need to keep her attention squarely on me, so Frase can do his thing. I set her up, he knocks her down. It's one of those things we do.

Used to do.

I've got the knife against the plastic, but my hands are cramping from the difficult angle and I can't get much force behind the blade.

"He loves me," Victoria asserts, as if it's a matter of public knowledge, as if she's not a murderer and a thief, as if it's her due.

"You're sick." I snarl immediately. And okay, so that might have been a tiny bit more than I was going for with the provocation thing as she's on her feet again, those tiny rat-like hands caressing the pistol butt.

"Well, Ray, you might be right, but if I am, he is too. He collects the broken ones like us - didn't you know that?"

She's coming closer, warming to her theme and I'm stuck with this damn blade and nowhere to conceal it quickly enough. I look to the windows and doors, but Ben isn't anywhere.

She smiles as she draws near. "He needs us to give himself purpose, to fill the empty places in his soul. That's what he thinks love is. That's why he'll come with me today."

I can't catch my breath suddenly; her words are hateful, bitter, but somewhere in the darkest part of my mind they sound like they might be true. Ben is a complicated man, full of contradictions and long carried pains. Is this the reason that he hasn't had a relationship in all the time I've known him? It's not like he doesn't get enough offers. Does he think he can't have love? Doesn't deserve it? Does he only know this feeling of responsibility instead of real love? Is that what he thinks I want?

Dropping the knife onto the rug between my calves, I quickly shift on my knees to try and cover it. The next second the shiny silver thickness of the gun barrel touches my temple, cool and smooth on my clammy skin. She rubs the muzzle into my hair in a perverted stroking action, making me twitch, making my breath heave waiting for the click.

"Hello Victoria," a calm voice sounds from the doorway. Ben's voice. I'm so fucking relieved I could cry, and let's face it, I probably will. But at the same time I'm unsure. For the first time, I'm doubting him because I honestly don't know what he's gonna do here. I got no tingles, I got no intuition; nothing. And that scares the shit out of me.

The demented bitch drives her hand into my hair and yanks a fistful, touching the gun once again to my forehead as she turns. She drags me forward a few paces and I scrabble on my knees to keep up.

"You don't need to do that," Ben continues. I get my first glimpse of him through tear-blurred eyes - she did pull my hair really hard. He's at parade rest, his hands where she can see them, holding his hat in one of them. His eyes are clouded, but he looks as calm as his voice sounded.

Again I'm struck by the surreal situation. Golden sunlight and the scents of the wood flood in through the open door, giving a feeling of well-being and health, Maggie's neat, simple, homespun cabin is welcoming and yet here's Victoria, the world's sickest puppy spreading her particular brand of poison over what should be a cover shot for "Canadian Country Living."

"Hello, Ben," she says confidently and I can hear the smile in there. Canadians! Always got time for politeness.

"Let him go, Victoria. This has nothing to do with Maggie or Ray."

She chuckles a little and her hand loosens in my hair, but the gun stays snug against my head.

"May I check on my sister?"

"Stay where you are, Ben. She's going to be out for a little while yet and by that time we'll be long gone."

"Gone where? What is the purpose of this? Just let them go and we can discuss whatever you want." Ben is being so incredibly still and calm, but this woman is cracked.

"No discussions, Ben. We're going to be together from now on."

"Why?"

"Because I want you. And you want me, I know you do. I saw it in your face when the cop shot you. You were coming with me, weren't you Ben?"

"Yes." And his voice quavers just a tiny bit.

And that's the first time I've heard that. The police report states that Ben was trying to prevent Victoria from getting away when Vecchio accidentally shot him, thinking that she was about to shoot him. I wonder now how much of that story is on the straight. It all sounded too convenient when I first read it, getting ready for the Vecchio gig. The diamonds were recovered, Vecchio kept his house, the perp got away clean and Ben didn't die. Neat. Except Ben is walking around with a bullet lodged against his spine and here she is suddenly, having waited three fucking years for her chance to get her revenge. And her revenge seems to involve the rest of Ben's life.

"That's right." And she jabs me none too gently with the muzzle. "Your friend here seemed to think that wasn't the case. But he doesn't know us and our history, does he Ben? He doesn't know this kind of love."

"I doubt it, Victoria," Ben says quietly keeping his eyes fixed on her. The posture is still ramrod straight, but there's an air of shame and weariness about him. "Love is never what you expect it to be."

And now Ben is looking directly at me. Telling me something. Something important; something bad. I want to shake my head, I don't understand, I don't get it, but I can't without Victoria feeling me move.

She's quiet for a minute; I can almost hear her trying to work this out. I remember that she outsmarted the Chicago PD for quite a while with her twisted, sharp brain, so she's no slouch.

"You were here in December."

Ben looks surprised at her change in direction. "Yes," he answers placidly.

"A friend said they'd seen you here. Who was the blonde? Did you love her?"

Oh, this is bad. This is very bad. But Ben's good and he doesn't even blink. "Not in the same way," he assures her.

"We have a connection, an unbreakable bond, it ties us together irrevocably. Isn't that right?"

This woman is way out there. Wherever she's been for the last three years, it wasn't for the good of her mental health. She's forcing Ben to agree with her each time, propping up her own delusions with his assurances. I have no idea how she'd react if he disagreed with her but I'm guessing it would involve pain, his or mine, so I'm in no hurry.

"That's true. Our relationship, although brief has been extremely intense." His eyes are back on her and he's keeping his voice soothing.

"I never expected to find a love like this one. I didn't think I deserved such a thing," he continues, sounding stronger and more certain with each word. "I'm humbled to have had this connection in my life and I know that I will remember it until I die."

And that doesn't sound right at all. What is he saying? His eyes are trained on her and he has this small smile on his face like he's remembering something nice. It's freaking me out. I know he doesn't love her; it's in his face whenever she's mentioned - a tightening of his jaw and an involuntary blink. So why is he telling her this? He doesn't lie. He prevaricates and dissembles and shit, but never an out and out lie.

"I have no regrets about loving you, no matter who you are now, because I know you. I see who you are underneath everything, and that's the person I love."

His eyes flick to mine and like a rush of ice water in my veins, I know what he's doing.

He's saying goodbye.

It's not her he's talking about.

It's me.

The stupid bastard is telling me goodbye and leaving with this fucking whacko to try and save Maggie and me. Fuck. That was not the deal. I draw her fire, give her something to think about and he finds a way to get us out - all of us. That was the deal. I set her up - he knocks her down. You can't just change the fucking rules without telling your partner. That's so not fucking buddies.

He thinks he can outsmart her? He thinks he can lure her away, deal with her and get back in one piece? Well, maybe he can. But are we going to risk that? No fucking way. He's not leaving with her if I can help it. Who knows what perverted truths she will whisper in his ear? I don't doubt that Ben loves me, for whatever reason. But he loved her once too and if he feels responsible for me, then he probably feels responsible for her.

I open my mouth but nothing comes out, silenced by my fucking Apraxia. Ben sees and jumps in before I recover.

"We should probably go."

"Ben, I hoped that you'd remember," she says ignoring him. "I wasn't sure that you would. I thought I'd have to remind you, maybe." She's positively purring, the evil fucking bitch. She steps away, but keeps the pistol trained on me, her face warily exultant as she moves towards him. Weirdest fucking thing is I can still feel the gun barrel against my head.

"I remember. I'll never forget," Ben says, his words catching on a throat as thick as mine feels, I expect.

"Hhhhh... He doesn't mean yyy...yuh... you," I force out in a voice that's too loud and panicky.

Victoria stops and she turns back to me. Her smile freezes and her eyes narrow. Ben shakes his head quickly and bites his bottom lip while she's distracted. What's that buddy? Thought you had the monopoly on endangering our lives in wildly bizarre ways? Think again.

"He doesn't mean yuh... you," I stutter, more quietly now I have her attention. "I'm the ond... bb... bla... blonde."

She frowns a little bit, and then realisation dawns - told you she was quick. Her eyes widen and her chin comes up. Two hands on the gun again.

"Is that true?"

I nod, desperately trying to feel behind me for the knife. But we must have moved further than I thought and I can't find it, and any second now she's gonna see it.

"Ben, is that true?" She doesn't want to hear it from me; she wants it from him - the honest Mountie.

"He came here in December, yes," Ben confirms in a dull voice.

And she lets out a peal of laughter, rich and low and utterly without warmth. "Oh, my Ben," she chuckles and moves back towards me. "When I heard you'd come with a blonde, I just assumed... oh, that's perfect. You do take your responsibilities seriously, don't you? Only you could possibly see something in this," she gestures at me with the gun. "I wonder. What was it? Was it your fault that he's like this?"

"No!" I grit.

"Yes," Ben states as calmly as if someone is asking if he takes sugar in his tea.

"Poor Ray. And poor Ben. A relationship built on lies. But thankfully I can relieve you of that responsibility, very easily," she drawls and I close my eyes, slumping to the side in a last effort to find the fucking knife, but it's no use. The barrel settles into its familiar place on my head and I swallow instinctively.

I open my eyes at a sudden thump in time to see Ben leaping across the room with that massive hunting knife he carries in his hand.

The bang is deafening. The jolt runs through us, throwing all of us forward. An unholy smell fills my nostrils, hot and coppery and I feel the heat and spatter of blood plaster one side of my body. I can't stop myself falling with my hands bound behind me and my head and nose hit the rug, muffling everything further still.

The shot still rings, screaming in my ears, making everything else seem dull and far away. I try not to taste the metallic heat of the blood on my lips, I spit it away, but too late. My stomach revolts and I heave, puking over and over, shaking apart.

It can't be much later, but it feels like days before I realise I'm sitting up and someone is rubbing my unbound wrists. Pain and tingles shoot up my arms, and surprisingly, I'm crying. Who'd have thought? I open my eyes as soft material swipes gently at my chin and mouth, then at my tears. Ben has his hand cupped against my cheek and he looks so pale and shaky, I feel I should be helping him, not the other way around.

On the floor behind him lies the crumpled body of Victoria, twisted and grotesque, a dark stain spreading slowly from beneath her broken head. On the couch Maggie lies still and panting, also unbound, and on the floor at her side lays an ancient-looking service revolver, like Fraser's dad's.

"Are you alright?" Ben asks, his fingers lingering on my face. "Will you be alright while I get help?"

"Go. Go!" He rubs a thumb along my cheekbone as he gets to his feet, and turns. He whispers to Maggie, something I can't hear, and then he's out of the door at a run.

I need to get over to Maggie, but I know my legs won't hold me, so I slide off the chair and crawl on knees that ache like a sonofabitch. But if this girl can get loose from nylon binds, find a gun and shoot the bad guys with a head injury like that, I can drag my sorry ass three yards to see her.

"Hey," I whisper and her eyes open a little. "He'll be back really soon, Maggie. Just hang on." Her lips curl in a 'blink and miss it' smile and she closes her eyes again. I take her hand in my numb aching one and I guess hers must feel about the same, but touch is reassuring, for her and me.

"Yuh... you did really good here today, Maggie. Thank you, you just kept me alive, I tha... th... think." Her pretty face is swollen and purple/black already. I can't remember if she should stay awake, even if she's been unconscious, so I talk to her - well, I stutter at her. I tell her stuff about my therapy, I tell her that I miss being a cop, I tell her that I don't know where I'm going from here and I tell her that I love her brother. I dunno if she's hearing me or not.

^^^

Very soon Ben is back with an ambulance not far behind him. And close behind the ambulance is a guy who Ben introduces as Jon, Maggie's boyfriend. Jon, of course has other things on his mind at the moment, but the look he shoots at Ben tells me that I knew him before too, I just don't remember.

It feels like I don't see Ben all afternoon. First the police arrive, then the coroner. Then Maggie is being taken out with Jon hovering at her side. Then the police have questions; many, many questions. They take about a thousand photographs before they finally take Victoria away. They let me change and wash up, and I feel a little better able to cope after that.

I don't know if Ben has spoken to someone, but he is always in the same room while I'm talking to the police. He brings me coffee when I look confused and he rubs my neck and wipes my tears when I get frustrated and scared. The sergeant asking the questions is patient and soft voiced, and I know they need to know this stuff, but somehow keeping it together while I was Victoria's captive has its payback now, and I'm a stuttering, snivelling freak.

The worst part, other than the terrible stain on the floor and the spatters of blood, is when Ben has to show the police where the dog's body is. That was why Colin was quiet; he was already dead when I arrived. Victoria had already shot him. That's what the blood all over Maggie's shirt was. They take his body away.

When the questions are finally done, Ben goes into town to find out how Maggie's doing. Frankly I'm stunned that a place this small has a hospital. While he's gone, I roll up the rug, take it outside and burn it then make a start on trying to scrub the spatters off the furniture and the stain off the floor. It's better than sitting and shaking which seems to be my other option.

When Ben returns it's almost sunset. He looks tired and numb, and I can only imagine what's going through his head. He tells me that Maggie's okay, Jon's staying with her, but that she has been transferred to Yellowknife, to a larger hospital where they have more specialised equipment. Just to be sure.

And then he kind of runs out of steam. Like a lost soul, he stands in the middle of Maggie's kitchen and clasps his stupid, big hat, unsure of what to do next. I wash my hands for about the seventieth time this afternoon, dry them and cross the gap to Ben. Without a word I stretch my arms around his waist and hang on.

At first he's stiff, then slowly with every breath he loosens, letting me offer comfort, letting me support him as he moulds his body to mine and rests his head on my shoulder. He doesn't speak for the longest time, but somehow I know he's trying to. But how do you put today into words? Where do you even start?

"C'mon," I say softly when my back starts to ache too badly. He lifts his face to mine, tiredness and worry etched deep into the corners of his eyes and a kind of darkness too, like he's passed too close to evil to shake it off completely.

I take Ben's unresisting hand and he follows me to our room. He waits by the door while I shunt the twin beds together and kick off my boots; he's just watching, still numb. I go back to fetch him and bring him to the bed. He sits where I tell him and it's only when I kneel at his feet that he seems to come back to himself.

"Ray," he murmurs, looking confused and with a flush of embarrassment I realise why. I guess this is something that used to mean that he was gonna get some. Well, maybe I'm not exactly ready for that yet. I lower my eyes and yank at his bootlaces in my haphazard but effective way. He doesn't say any more.

When I've removed his boots, I take his jacket and shirt too, leaving him looking even more confused in just his t-shirt and jeans. He's got my bracelet looped twice around his wrist and my heart thumps at something so simple. I quickly work down to the same jeans and tee, and then ease him back across the bed, lying down beside him and moulding us, each to the other; his dark head under my chin, my leg thrown over his.

And it's okay. It doesn't feel weird or uncomfortable after the first few acclimatising seconds. It feels like exactly what I need and hopefully what he needs too. The last of the daylight steals from the room, taking this terrible day with it and we fall into an exhausted sleep, tangled up in each other.

When I wake again, it's dark. Through the bedroom window I can see a handful of pale stars using the few hours of night to remind us that come mid-Winter this will be their domain.

Ben is still, his head heavy and reassuring on my shoulder. In my sleep I've carded my fingers into the hair at the back of his head and he's laid a big, capable hand over my stomach. The rightness of waking like this is wonderful - it fits, it's us and I feel the weight of yesterday's uncertainties slip away a little bit.

I got a hunch.

"You cannot have known that she was still out there ahh... ah... fter your ass," I say quietly.

He snuffs a little, but doesn't move. "How did you know I was awake?"

"Karmic chi thing going on," I smile at the ceiling. He lifts up off me and it's hard to see in the dark, but I think he looks a bit better. Now he can talk and he leaps in with both feet.

"She was going to kill you, if I didn't go with her. I would never have left you otherwise," he tells me seriously. That's what he's thinking? All the crap that's happened today and he's worried 'cause he was going to leave me behind?

"She was going to kill me whatever, Ben."

"But I had to try. If there was a chance that she'd let you live..."

"S'okay, Ben. You did guh... guh..." I sigh and tiredly sign G-O-O-D. Not that he can see me, probably.

"I can't be the cause of you ever being hurt again," Ben says with a determination that has no less impact for its quietness.

I look at his solemn face, blue/grey in the starlight and see a subtle kind of desperation there. I have no idea what to say. It doesn't seem to matter that I don't hold him responsible for any of the things he feels guilty about. So I wait.

"I've always been a little reckless about my own safety. Until now, my skills have always been sufficient for the task of achieving my objectives and keeping myself in one piece. Self-sufficiency is something I was brought up with."

And that's the understatement of the century, right there. All his family was dead by the time Ben reached seventeen, save his father. I know, I read up on him when I started being Vecchio. His childhood was a crock, a write off. If it wasn't bad enough that his mom died and his dad didn't want him, to live out in the wilderness with elderly grandparents must have been horrifically lonely.

Now, me? I was never a big mixer myself, always on the edges of things. Always preferred to play on my own as a kid, until I met Stell. But at least I had the choice - there were people to talk to; my big, noisy family, guys from school, neighbours. If I'd wanted to, I could have been part of a group, found a confidant, belonged. Ben never had those choices.

"My primary purpose all this time has been the safety of the public, putting their needs before my own. But I didn't realise that it also meant that I put them before you. I've never been responsible for another's life before, not like this. Not a life I know like my own. The experience I've had of love up to now has been..." He scrapes a nail across his eyebrow. "...limited and brief."

He hasn't finished, I know, but I pull him back down anyway. It's hurting him to say it and it's killing me to listen; the least we can do is hold each other while it happens. He doesn't resist, but lays his head on my chest, hiding his face from me.

"And I made no concessions when we became lovers. Selfishly, I carried on being the same person who has no one to answer to but himself. And it took you being almost killed for me to realise how wrong that is. Now I have someone who cares if I live or die..." I hug him tightly, my arms around his head and shoulders, letting him know the truth of that simple statement. After a second he hugs me back, hooking his arms under my shoulders and holding on.

"... I realise I have to rethink everything. I have to make my decisions based on the concept of 'us' not 'me'."

"Right," I say finally. "Starting with not making decisions involving you guh... ga... going off with psychos."

"There wasn't really a chance to discuss it, Ray," Ben says and I can feel the small smile against my chest before we both remember the bit that came after that.

When he says his next piece, it's so totally whacked that I don't really register it, like it's not even English or something.

"So I've decided to resign from the RCMP."

That's it.

It just sort of hangs there over us - a speech bubble from a surreal cartoon strip.

I suppress a giggle, until I realise from how stiff he's gone that he's being serious.

It's so weird, it's almost funny. It's like water deciding not to be wet or Dief refusing doughnuts. It's like Superman hanging up his cape. It's kind of impossible. It defies nature and physics and fuck knows what else.

"Fuh... shhhhh... wuhhh...anggg... FUCK!" I spit in exasperation.

"Ray." He sits up again, looking at me intently, as if the fight is inevitable.

"Fucking buh.. ba... shit!"

"Ray?"

"No!"

"Ray."

"No."

"I've thought about this a lot, Ray and I think this is the right decision. I've told you about my father, haven't I, Ray? Do you remember me talking about my father? If you recall, a lot of my stories start with 'My father once said...' or 'There was one time my father...' Does that ring any bells?"

I sit up too. I'm not giving him the advantage of being able to talk down to me, even if he's - well - talking down to me.

"This is bullshit, Fraser. You know it is."

"Well here's one maybe you haven't heard. When my mother died, he came home to take care of me and to grieve. He didn't eat, he didn't speak, he didn't cry. I didn't know what to do to make him better. Nothing I did made any impact on him. Then after three weeks I woke up one morning to the smell of oatmeal. He'd made my breakfast and I thought we were going to be okay after all. That afternoon he left. I didn't see him again for five months."

"What has that got to do with this?"

"Quite a lot, actually. You see, Ray, my father thought that being a member of the RCMP was the answer to everything. He thought that if he was a good Mountie, he was a good man. He couldn't see the distinction."

"You are not your father, Ben. You are a good mm... muh..." Dammit to hell. Gotta get this one out. "...man. I'm pretty sure that's why I'm www... wha... with you."

"No, I'm not my father, Ray. But in some ways that's what I've been aiming for."

"How long have we been ppuh... pah..." I switch on the bedside lamp with impatient hands and sign P-A-R-T-N-E-R-S.

He blinks, squinting into the lamplight. "Twenty-one months."

"Right, and in that time, how many times have I asked yuh...yyy..." Y-O-U "... to be anything but what you are?"

"Well, right before the Henry Allen..."

Right, trust him to bring up my finest fucking hour.

"I asked you to trust me. I assss... ah..." A-S-K-E-D "... you to share. Did I ever ask you to stop endangering my life in wildly bizarre ways? Did I ever decide that the way you are was too muh...mmm..." M-U-C-H. "... for me?"

"I'm not going to make his mistakes, Ray. I have something that is worth more to me than my job..."

"I know you, Benton Fuh... hays... shh..." F-U-C-K-I-N-G F-R-A-S-E-R.

"... of course, he's apologised now, but he missed so much, and so did I. I needed him, and he wasn't there. He was never there..."

"... accepted who you are and what you do."

"... nothing out there that is more important to me than..."

"... and it's why I fell in luh... llll... "L-O-V-E. "...with..."

"...you."

"...you."

We scowl at each other in the sudden silence that falls. Then he rocks forward quickly and kisses me so hard, my lips get bashed against my teeth. As quickly as it started, it's over and he draws back, waiting for me to freak, I guess. His level gaze is calculating and almost expectant, as if he wants me to protest. Instead I slowly stick out my tongue and run it deliberately across my mashed lower lip.

Ben breathes harder as his eyes track the tip of my tongue. Then he leans in again, slower this time and gentle. His soft, open mouth takes mine and he licks along my bruised lip, slick and teasing. He moves back again, his eyes dark and challenging. So I lick the taste of him from my mouth and he smiles, like I've learned a new trick. Which in some ways I have.

What's weird is that although this is the first time I remember kissing him, none of it is unexpected. From the roughness of his jaw to the softness of his mouth when he latches on to mine - it's comfortable, hot as all hell, but almost familiar.

He leans in for a third time as if he means to stay a while. Gently he takes me back down to the bed, leaning over with just the tiniest part of his weight on me. Suddenly that's not enough.

This was mine.

This closeness, this intimacy, this man, body and soul, was mine.

And I want it back. All of it.

Now.

When he touches his mouth to mine, I drive my hands into his soft, thick hair and hold him there. He grunts in surprise and tightens his arms around me. His lips are relaxed and it's the work of a moment to push my tongue inside, where it's hot and wet and so perfectly where I want to be.

I open my eyes to find that his are open too. He looks hungry but wary. I've got something he wants and he's trying to figure out if I'm gonna give it to him. It's the most 'guy' response I've ever seen Fraser make. And oh fuck, what a turn on. I made him look like that; aroused, uncertain, wanting.

I lick deliberately out of his mouth and his lips try to follow, looking to prolong the kiss. I pull back and smile, going for slow and sultry, but it's probably still coming over as head-case.

I lift my shoulders and roll him - okay, he lets me roll him - on to his back. And I don't stop there; I keep rolling until I'm on top of him, full body press from chest to thigh. Even as he "oooofs" in protest, his eyes spark with excitement. A tentative wiggle of my hips assures me that his eyes are not the only part of him that's excited. The layers of denim still between us just serve to add to the friction.

And I should be scared to death because this is unknown territory where we're headed. He might know the way, but I sure as hell don't. And in some ways it's worse that we've been together before because I can't help thinking that all these months of waiting must have given him a skewed recall of how we were together. He has expectations - and I have performance anxiety! But I also know that this is Ben. My buddy. My friend. I've never in my life trusted anyone more. If I suck... metaphoric-thingy, he'll still love me. I know this.

I take a second, just to stare at him beneath me. His eyes are dark with need, his hair sleep tousled and a bit mad. His lips are slick with my spit and the ache in my balls seeing him so wanton is getting more intense with each breath I take.

He's big and wide and hard and solid; nothing flimsy about this guy at all. He can match my strength and then some. I realise that whatever I dish out, he can take it and the knowledge is almost enough to make my head spin. I crave that feeling; I want to know what it's like not to have to hold back anything.

He waits patiently while I stare, a slight smile on his lips and in his eyes.

Smug bastard.

He knows what I'm thinking.

I twist my head and kiss that smirk off his big, big mouth, roughly pushing into him again with my tongue. It's messy and wet, slippery and hot as chilli night in Hell. He presses me, catching me and sucking on me until my chin is slick and my dick is burning.

Slowly, lazily he begins to rock his hips, softly humping against me. I brace my knees between his and match the rhythm he's set, trying not to push too hard. But, God, it's all I can do to stop myself. I just want to hold him down and lay into him, as fast and as hard as I can. The pressure to stay slow and easy is making me tremble - well that and maybe a touch of the nerves showing.

"Ray, Ray... Ray, Ray, Ray...?"

"Whuh?" My voice is high and tight

A hand sweeps through my hair, slides down to cup my cheek and forces me to look at him; blue eyes, warm and familiar.

"It's okay, Ray. Just relax. There's time," he says so gently that my stupid throat closes up. I can't cry now. Please God - he'll think I don't want to do this and I do.

"B... but I want... Ben, I need to..."

He rolls me back with a smile and once again I'm looking up into his intense, smiling face. "You Americans - you just can't wait for anything," he teases and I get the distinct impression that he remembers telling me that before. His smile fades and he becomes serious. "If you are certain, Ray. I'm don't want to push you. This is enough, if this is all you want. Just to have you in my arms again. It's everything... it's more than I... I had my doubts that you..."

Look it! I made the Mountie incoherent. Gotta write that one in my journal. I slide a hand down his spine, grab the hem of his t-shirt and pull. He shuts up finally and quirks an eyebrow at me. Then when my yanks become more insistent he sits back and helps me pull the thing over his head.

As a reward I get an eyeful of Fraser by lamplight. And it's good. His chest is smooth and about an acre wide with small imperfections that just make him seem more fallible and more beautiful. His nipples are dark and prominent against his pale skin as is the hair that curls from beneath his armpits and I wonder briefly if it's normal to find that so incredibly arousing.

I drag his mouth back to mine with a hand curled behind his neck. With greedy fingers I trace the knobs of his spine and the curve of his bottom rib. He reaches back and brings my hand to his mouth, kisses the palm and then flexes it back to expose my wrist. Softly he begins to kiss and it's only when his licks spark a small sting that I realise he's tracing the marks left by the ties.

He repeats the process on the other arm, licking the hurt and the fright and the despair away. He kisses all around the graze on my face from Victoria's fist and then he kisses my temple where she held the gun on me, the warmth of his breath taking away the cold echo of the metal.

And I'm calm again. He's so smart. But as his kisses return to my mouth, telling me without words how afraid he was, how he hated seeing me with her, I feel my passion rise again and I arch up at him, seeking some connection other than our lips.

He chuckles, the lowest, dirtiest noise I've ever heard from him, then rears up and tumbles me out of my shirt. As I flop back down on the bed, his hands go to the button of my jeans. Slowly, deliberately and without looking away from my suddenly hot face, he pops the button and slides the zipper down, tooth by fucking tooth.

His hand is cool against my hot, damp skin as he slips it inside my fly. Skilfully he frees me from my shorts and I sigh - blissed out. His hand is big and it feels so different from my own on me, but just as safe.

Kneeling between my thighs, with a handful of me, he hesitates. I can't look anymore. I took one peek and almost came instantly.

"Ben..." I grate out.

I feel the huff of his breath on my cock head and it gives me the heads up to grit my teeth and not come when his lips slip, silky over the tip and down to the base.

I think I must be making some embarrassing noises...could well be, but I don't have a damn clue. But Frase is humming softly, making little growly soothing noises and his free hand is rubbing circles on my belly. Yeah, I'm pretty much yowling the place down, aren't I?

I have no idea how he is keeping me right on the edge like this without pushing me over. I've never known anything quite like it; the alternating licks, kisses and sucks are disconnecting what is left of my poor old brain.

With my last shred of coordination, I scrape my nails over his scalp and say, "Please." And I just knew he had it all under control because within three seconds of asking nicely, I'm arching off the fucking bed and coming down his throat as if I'd never come before in my thirty-eight years on the planet.

I open my eyes when the "Ray...Ray...Ray..." thing becomes too insistent. He has that lopsided little smile going on.

"Where did you learn that?" I ask, although it's a struggle to speak at all. I feel like I've had all my bones removed or something.

"Well, we were together for seven weeks before the accident, Ray. We practiced. A lot."

He tucks himself beside me and it would be so easy to sleep right now wrapped in warm Mountie, but the guy has got to be uncomfortable over there. It's only polite to repay in kind. Or...

Yeah, I said I want it all back. I meant that. Enough time has been wasted and we need to be back on an even pegging. I guess I'm still frightened that this is all about pity. I might not be playing with a full deck these days, but this relationship has to be based on equal partnership - like it must have been before. If he cares for me then he has to let me care for him right back, or no deal.

I hook a fist over the waistband of his jeans and tug his groin against my hip.

"I want you."

"You have, undoubtedly, got me," Ben murmurs, whimsically.

"Now, Ben," I urge and he opens his eyes and looks at me. He props himself up on an elbow, his expression solemn and unsure, but I'm pretty certain that underneath that, the guy part of Ben must be pleading with the Mountie part for some action.

Before he starts with his logical, rational, "think about this, Ray" thing, I try to explain. "I don't want to wait. I don't want to be sensible. I'm in this thing for keeps. Okay? And there's this whole sto... storis... ree..." H-I-S-T-O-R-Y. "... that you've got and I don't. I need to get beyond that." It made sense in my head, but Ben has the frowny little line between the eyes going on.

"Partners, Ben. You and me. Equals. Neither one giving more than the ther...er...o...er."

"Other," Ben finishes for me uncharacteristically. He licks his lips, as if he were nervous. I need him to understand how important this is without me having to spell it out. I'm high maintenance these days, he knows it and I know it. But I won't be the dependent in this relationship, if it's to last. I have to have at least a semblance of give and take for this to work. He can't treat me as anything but an equal or we're done for before we begin.

This must be hard for him. He's not used to sharing. His job is an extension of himself - he'll give and give and never think of being the one to be on the receiving end. It's where all his control issues come from, I'm sure of it. Well, I can't live like that, no matter how much I love him. I have to feel needed and as if I'm pulling my weight or else I can't accept what he's offering.

His eyes skitter down to the quilt, to the lamp, to the window. Then he sighs and gazes at my face.

"I was so scared, Ray. I was so afraid I'd lost you, first to the injury, then to...her." He can't say her name and I don't blame him.

"You can't be there every minute of the day, Ben. I wouldn't want that either. I'm not gonna break. If you give up the RCMP, what would you do?" He opens his mouth to answer, but I cut him off. "Miss it. You'd be ser... bul... miserable, Benton."

He reaches out a hand and idly begins to slide it over my side, my hip and my back, seemingly unaware that my jeans and shorts are still trapped around my thighs. And that's what I'm talking about - he's easy around me, he's used to this. It's me that is feeling vaguely foolish.

To cover this, I roll in and kiss him gently. There's more lip licking, and an eyebrow rub and a deep breath before he comes to a decision. We've got some big things to discuss; big life changing things, but thankfully, he's gone for tackling the one we can solve right now first.

"What do you want?" he asks, his voice low and gravely.

Everything! All of it. Endlessly.

"You. In me." He starts to roll onto his back, the arguments coming to his lips in an instant, but I grab his neck again and bring my forehead to his. Come on, Ben, I need you to get how important this is.

With a tiny nod, he sits up and strips us both of the rest of our clothes. His hands are controlled and steady, betraying his conflicted feelings; there's no excited fumbling, no can't wait tremors. He gets up and goes to his pack, burrowing in a pocket and returning with a white bottle of...lube? Wow. That's... that's real.

He lies back down beside me, kisses my shoulder, my neck. "How?" he whispers in my ear.

"Do the things I liked best," I murmur back. "You know them better than I do."

"Ray." Ah. That's his 'have you thought about this' tone. "It was a ...ah ...long seven weeks. We learned a lot together. I wouldn't want to... ummm... maybe shock is too strong a word, but..."

"Fraser, if I loved it then, I'll love it now."

He kisses my brow. "You called me Fraser."

"Don't change the subject. And getting off must be good for my prax... aaah... xiapr... thing."

I decide to move things along a little bit and rest my hand on his inner thigh. I try to give the impression of being laid back, when in truth, my mouth feels like I've just eaten twenty Saltines in a row.

His eyes narrow and he smirks. "Well, some things haven't changed. You're still a single-minded, pushy Yank."

"And you're still not getting with the gra... mmm... pro...gram." He gets it.

He fetches a towel from the bathroom and puts it under my hips. I feel kinda ridiculous just lying here and waiting for him, but I don't know what else to do. Normally watching a naked Benton Fraser wandering around would make me incoherently horny, but the combination of just having got off and being afraid of what's coming next means that my dick is peacefully soft against my thigh.

He pauses to look at me - and yeah, I'm taking the opportunity to look him over too. His face is so tender and happy beneath the apprehension. It's not slowing him down though, and he shows no embarrassment at all at being hard for me.

"Maybe you'd better roll onto your front this time. It's been a little while," Ben says softly against my neck as he lies back down once again.

"Do I like that?"

He nods with a smile I can feel curve against my skin. "Yes, very much so. You told me it's the sensation of being covered that you crave."

"What do ooou... yuh... you like?"

"I like to see your face when I fuck you. And when you fuck me."

And hello libido.

Ben swears? Ben says fuck? Sweet Christ and all the archangels, I'm never going to survive a relationship with him if he's going to have that pretty, perfect mouth say dirty things like that.

Of course, he notices my cock jerk. "You like it when I say fuck, too," he informs me, deadpan.

No. Really? This is one steep learning curve, but I can't stop now - it's what I asked for.

He arranges me on the bed and I try to stay calm. His patient hands soothe me, pet me and before very long I feel the low, heavy heat in my belly that means I'm becoming aroused again. It would be hard not to be, right? I mean Ben is rubbing me everywhere, pressing kisses and licks to my spine, my flanks, my shoulders.

His fingers trail lower and cup my ass, kneading gently, parting me. A serious dose of the shakes sets in and he begins to murmur to me, soft reassuring nonsense that I can't really take in except the odd word here and there; "beautiful" and "love" and "mine".

He bites my hip at the same time as the tip of his finger slips inside me. My muscles seize; this isn't familiar at all. This is weird. "Ben?"

"It's okay, it's alright. I can stop." I think I hear relief in there somewhere.

"No, don't stop." Because next time it will be worse, if we stop now. My voice sounds shaky and small. It doesn't hurt, it's not even uncomfortable, and I know this is a mental reaction, not a physical one.

He stills, and then puts his head down on my lower back, rubbing a cheek across me. Very softly he kisses the curve of my ass, small warm huffs of air against me, cold when he moves his mouth away. And that feels... nice.

Soon after that I start to float; kind of detach from my reactions and just feel them instead. He's patient and thorough, each step a tiny progression from the last. His kisses and licks become more intimate and I want to ask him how the hell we learned that felt so good, but I'm still floating and too full of fuzzy to care.

When he lifts my hips and gets my knees under me, a part of me knows this is it, but it's a tiny voice and easily ignored in the overwhelming sensation of Ben; Ben everywhere, holding me, warming me, the scent of him, the lingering taste of his kisses, him heavy against my back, him filling me.

Oh God, filling me.

^^^

It's the sun that finally wakes us. It slants across us, heating our tangled legs and slowly begins to work its way up to our hips. I doze, my body pleasantly aching and my mind quiet for the first time in weeks.

I came again; haven't done that in years - well, not with someone else present and within a half hour. But I came without him even jerking me, it was just from having Ben move inside me, and it was slow and long, and not at all like I normally feel when I come. Definitely want to try that again very soon.

Of course I have no way of knowing, but I think it's a decent hour to be waking up - sunlight could mean anything up here, but I feel rested and I don't need to crash out again right now. Opening my eyes, I come face to face with Ben. His cheeks are pink from our shared warmth, his face relaxed and serene looking.

I kiss his eyelids and his lips curve into a lazy, sleepy smile.

"Hi."

"Hello, Ray."

"Do we always end up mauling each other ther... raaa... thuh... than finishing fic... cult... diff... icult discussions?"

"It did quite often end up that way, yes. But in our defence, I would say that that we were much more receptive to the other's views afterwards."

"One of those little things we do, huh?"

"Precisely."

"I love you." Okay, not the smoothest delivery I've ever made, but it gets the desired response.

"I know. And I love you too." His eyes are open now; grey-blue and kind of defenceless.

"So, if we're going to live together..." Ben's eyebrows shoot up his forehead. "...we both have to side... des... decide where we're gonna live and what we're gonna do for money and what kind of car we drive and whether or not vegetables have to happen every day. Right?"

"Yes," he says warily and I should feel bad for jumping this on him when he was all happy and post orgasmic and all - but I don't.

"Right. A democracy."

"Alright."

"Good. Then I vote we go get Dief, move up here and you find us a nice piece of land where we can build a place near your stin... puh... st... " PO-S-T-I-N-G "... at Just-my-luck-buck and we live happily ever after."

"A long-term plan, Ray. That's a significant step in your recovery. Also, you're unhinged."

And he smiles.

And there's all kinds of shit waiting outside that bedroom door for us; Victoria, my parents, nationality issues, society's acceptance or otherwise, Maggie's convalescence. But I believe that happily ever afters are there for the finding - you just have to know where to look for them.

EPILOGUE

Day 243

It's only six weeks until Christmas. I have to keep reminding myself that this won't be our first Christmas together, and that there was this whole festive thing at Maggie's last year. Ben must be sick of telling me that story by now, but I like to hear it. I especially like it when I get him all horny and tease him into telling me about our first time together making love. He knows that if he tells me he gets the benefits, but he pretends to be reluctant just for show.

The dark thing is really weird and I'm dreading the first electric bill because I have all the lights on all the time these days. I find I'm constantly tired otherwise and a tired Ray is a grouchy Ray. And a grouchy Ray pisses off Fraser and doesn't get any.

I find I miss the freakiest stuff from Chicago. I miss the way it was never quiet, not even at 3am on a Monday morning. It's quiet up here. Really, really quiet. Quiet like you need to make a noise just to make sure you're not suddenly deaf or having a stroke or something.

I miss airplanes that have wheels instead of floats and where the pilot doesn't ask for your advice about the best place to land.

I miss the smell of onions cooking on every street corner from breakfast 'til nightfall.

And I miss street corners. Endurance has one street - no corners.

But this place kind of grows on you. It's nice - which just goes to prove how Canadian I am these days even though I'm not officially Canuck yet. Besides, the best things about Chicago came up here with me, and with them here, I don't get much time to miss stuff.

^^^

November 29th

Ray's been in Yellowknife all day at the clinic and I couldn't accompany him for the first time since we moved here. It is rather irksome that he has to travel so far for his therapy sessions, but with their instructions, at least we have been able to have his visits cut down to monthly rather than weekly.

We have been spending our evenings productively going over the plans for the cabin. Ray's ability to visualise the interior is nothing short of astounding. Although the actual measurements and dimensions are a jumble of meaningless numbers to him, the image in his head is crystal clear, as is his insight.

I know I have been fretting about Ray's acclimatisation to the north. The darkness is something that it takes a long while to become accustomed to and it is unfortunate that we didn't get the opportunity to get to experience more of the surroundings during the summer; it might have made enduring the long months of winter a little easier on him.

But he shows no signs of depression or dissatisfaction with our location or our accommodation, so I can only hope that he isn't missing Chicago too much. Endurance must seem quite bizarre to him - maybe that's why he insists on calling it "Just my luck, Buck." I think he does it to annoy me. I let him think it does, to make him happy.

I hope he would tell me if he were unhappy; I think he would. Ray is a mess of contradictions, but at his most fundamental level, he likes to talk problems over. It's something I am trying to learn. My meagre experience of sharing my life with someone makes it natural for me to seek answers from within. Ray is patient and is letting me learn this new skill at my own pace.

But the rewards when I do express an idea for his opinion are instantly manifested. His face lights up and he beams at me when I share in a decision making process, even one as trivial as whether to have rice or pasta for supper. And my heart thumps every time, because something so simple can make him happy, and because I should have done this two years ago rather than battling on alone and almost sabotaging our partnership in the process. And because he's beautiful when he smiles like that.

Like summer.

Like a warm fire at the end of a cold day.

Like home.

Fin.