Author's Notes: First, a huge thank you to Jennifer, who gave me the idea in the first place. Also, thanks to JustBreathe80 and SecretHappiness, who are the best betas a tempremental author could hope for.

Ray was in a great mood to start with. Well, okay, not a great mood, but he was all right. Content, even. It was seven o'clock on a Friday evening, he didn't have any open cases, and he was warm and dry in his apartment. It had been pouring rain all day, but he'd come home, taken a warm shower, and was curled up on the couch in his coziest sweats. He had a beer in his hand and was watching the sports recaps on ESPN. Life was greatness.

When there was a knock on his door, he didn't jump. He knew by the polite, soft rapping that it was Fraser, and that was greatness, too. He had a fresh carton of milk in the fridge and even some tea that his mom had bought for him because she thought the lower caffeine levels would be better for his health. He and Fraser could watch hockey or something. He'd have his beer, Fraser'd have milk or tea, and they'd just hang out the way they always did.

He got to the door and unlocked it, swung it open and was just about to say, "Hey, Frase," when he caught sight of his friend.

Fraser was covered, head to foot, with sludgy brown water.

Ray couldn't help it. He laughed. "What the hell happened to you?" he asked. The only thing better than seeing Fraser muddy was seeing the pissy look on Fraser's face.

"I'll thank you not to make fun," Fraser said, voice tight, as he walked in. He wasn't wearing the uniform. He was in jeans and one of his plaid button-down shirts, tucked in all neat and tidy. He stopped just inside Ray's front door and leaned down to untie his boots. "I was on my way to, well, suffice it to say that when busses drive through large puddles, they make quite an impressive spray."

Ray grinned but didn't laugh out loud, even though the thought of muddy water daring to splash up onto Fraser was hilarious. "Come on," he said once Fraser had his boots off. "I think I probably got something that will fit you."

"No need, Ray," Fraser said, unbuttoning his shirt efficiently as he walked into the living room. He opened the bottom doors of Ray's hutch and pulled out a pile of clothes--jeans and a Henley, white boxer shorts and clean socks on top.

Ray paused in the hallway. "You keep clothes at my place?" How the hell had he missed that?

Fraser turned to look at him. "Yes. You were here when I placed them in the hutch."

"When was that?"

"Nearly a year ago."

"Wait. You've had clothes in my hutch for a year and I didn't know about it?"

"Well, not to pass judgment, Ray, but your housekeeping skills are somewhat lax." Fraser shrugged off his button down and folded it, setting it neatly on the floor. He peeled off his undershirt next, and then began to unbutton his wet jeans. "And it's a good thing I was prepared for such an eventuality. Proper preparation prevents poor performance, as you well know. Or, in this case, proper preparation promotes punctuality, as I'd be late for my engagement this evening if I had to go all the way back to the consulate to change."

Ray tipped his head to the side. Out of all of Fraser's big words, he'd only really keyed into one. Engagement. That was Fraser-speak for "date."

"You got a date tonight?" Ray asked, trying to sound casual about it.

"Ah," Fraser said, looking up at Ray. His wet jeans were halfway down his thighs. "Well, I wouldn't call it that, exactly. I'm..." He cracked his neck. "I'm meeting a friend."

Ray nodded. He felt like he was going to puke. In all his life, he'd never once thought he'd wish that Benton Fraser wasn't standing in his living room naked. He'd never considered how bad it would hurt to be able to see everything that he was never going to get, because Fraser had a date. A date with someone who wasn't him. A date with a "friend." Jesus Christ.

Ray turned away, partly to give Fraser his privacy and partly so Fraser wouldn't see the expression on his face. He'd always known that his whole fantasy life with him and Fraser ending up together was just that, a fantasy, but to have reality shoved in his face like that--Fraser in nothing but wet boxers in his living room as he changed for a date with someone else--Ray wasn't sure he could stand it.

"Would you mind terribly if I left these here?" Fraser asked.

Ray turned around and Fraser was dressed in dry clothes. He was holding his folded clothes in a neat bundle in his hands. He was practically standing at attention, and Ray could feel the nervous tension practically rolling off him.

"I'll retrieve them tomorrow, if that's all right."

"Yeah," Ray said softly. "Yeah, that's fine."

Fraser nodded and straightened up into his guard duty posture. "Do I look all right?"

He looked fantastic. Jeans that hugged his thighs and package just enough, Henley tucked in, showing off his broad shoulders and flat stomach. "You look good."

"Thank you, so much," Fraser said as he headed towards the door. He put his boots back on and laced them quickly. "I'll...I'll see you tomorrow."

Ray waved a goodbye as Fraser walked out of his apartment. Out of Ray's apartment and on his way to...where? A bar? Ray couldn't see that. A restaurant? Maybe. Somebody else's apartment? Oh, jeez. He sat down on his couch and stared at the wall above the TV.

Fraser'd said he had an engagement, and that could be anything, right? It didn't necessarily have to be a date. He said he was meeting a friend. Of course, Ray was pretty sure Fraser didn't have any friends besides him. Oh, there was that woman who worked in records that was always throwing herself at Fraser by offering him bark tea. Was that who Fraser was going out with? The bark tea woman? Fraser always seemed comfortable enough around her, not reverting to his deer-in-the-headlights routine like he did with most women. Maybe he'd taken her up on that bark tea offer, and they were going to spend the night listening to Inuit neck singing and drinking bark tea and then...

Ray shook his head. Fraser wouldn't. Not on a first date, he wouldn't. Fraser wasn't that kind of guy. Only, maybe it wasn't a first date. Maybe Fraser'd had tons of engagements with bark tea lady. Maybe Fraser was in such a hurry because he and bark tea lady had an engagement to get it on.

Ray flopped down onto his side and pulled a pillow to his chest. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe. He had to concentrate on something, anything else, or he was going to puke.

Three hours later, Ray was a little more calm and a lot more drunk. Well, he wasn't calm so much as really, really drunk. He'd switched from beer to straight whisky, and he was getting a little weepy.

He was at the point where usually he'd call Stella and cry while he promised he'd be a better husband if only she'd take him back. He didn't want to call Stella, though. He didn't care about Stella. Stella didn't love him. Fuck Stella. Nobody loved him. Fuck nobody--everybody. Fraser didn't love him. Fraser could fuck off. Fraser was probably fucking bark tea lady at that very moment.

He was slumped on the couch, whisky bottle in his hand, trying not to remember the way Fraser had looked with his jeans around his thighs, wet boxers plastered to his skin. He was trying not to think about Fraser naked and hard with some woman who snorted when she laughed, but he wasn't doing a very good job. It was like he could see all of it, every kiss, every touch. He could hear Fraser telling her how beautiful she was and how good it felt, he could hear the wet slap of their bodies as they moved together.

He got up off the couch, not even noticing when he dropped the whisky bottle halfway to the kitchen. He leaned his elbows on the counter, let his head hang down, sniffled and turned his head to wipe his tears on the sleeve of his t-shirt. He looked up, then, and reached for the phone.

**********

"Fraser! Fraser buddy buddy, you're not home. Not that you have a home because you live in your office, which I do not because I do not have an office, I have a desk, and I do not live in my desk, which you know because you do not keep clothes at my desk, you keep clothes at my house, which is an apartment, because it is one house in the middle of an even bigger house because that's what apartments are. Do they have apartments in Canada? Do they have enough people to have apartments in Canada? I do not care what the answer is. I don't care about Canada. I don't give a fucking shit about Canada, or about you by extease, exton, oh fuck it, you know what I mean and do not lecture me, Fraser. Do not lecture me for swearing because I am in my own home and I can fucking swear all I fucking want, you know why? Because this is my home and I am the king of my home and you are not the king of anything because you live in your desk. You live in your desk and you think you're so fucking smart all the time but you're not.

"You and me, we were supposed to be buddies, but you're not even smart enough to know what buddies means because you are not my buddy. Buddies tell each other things, buddies tell each other when they're sleeping with people who drink tea and sing with their necks and you did not tell me and don't even start with the whole gentlemanish shit, Fraser, because you could tell me you had a date--that's right, I said it. You had a date. You had a fucking date and you didn't tell me because you are not my fucking buddy. Buddies don't date other people behind their buddy's back, Fraser. This is America, and in America, buddies don't treat their buddies like that, do you understand me? That's not what buddies do, you stupid, stupid fuck and I hate you so fucking much. I hate you so much and I can't stand it. I can't stand it, Fraser, how you treat me and look at me and touch my arm and my inner calf and it's nothing. It's fucking nothing to you because you're a liar. You're a liar, Fraser. You can call it whatever you want, but you lied to me, you lie to me all the time and I can't take it and I hate you."

The line went silent for a moment, then Ray took a deep, shaky breath.

"I don't mean it. I don't mean it, Fraser. I don't hate you. I don't. I don't hate you. Fraser? Fraser, are you there? Why won't you talk to me? I don't hate you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Fuck. I'm such an idiot. I'm an idiot, Fraser. I'm an idiot and I hate myself for being so fucking stupid all the time. You're my buddy, aren't you? If you're my buddy, why do you lie to me? Why'd you say it wasn't a date? You're on a date, Fraser. Just fucking say you're on a date, OK? Because I'm stupid and I'm, fuck, I'm so drunk. Just fucking...just tell me the truth, OK? Just tell me the fucking truth, even though you know. You have to know, right? That's why you didn't tell me? But I'm not...I'm drunk, but I'm not stupid, OK? I'm not simple or anything. I can handle the truth. We're buddies, and you should tell me the truth, OK? Just...fuck. Fuck."

Fraser took a deep breath and placed the phone back onto its cradle. He'd listened to the message several times, and while it was never entirely coherent, Fraser understood. Ray was right. He was a terrible friend for not trusting Ray enough to tell him the truth.

**********

Ray groaned and slithered one arm out from beneath his covers. He found his alarm clock and slapped it a few times, but the knocking didn't stop. Fuck. Cell phone. He sat up and cringed. The light made it feel like his eyes were being stabbed with hundreds of tiny needles.

He got up and stumbled to the kitchen, was just about to pick up his cell phone when his brain connected enough to realize that knocking meant door, not phone. He shuffled into the entryway and fumbled with his locks until he finally managed to get the door open.

The coffee Fraser held in one hand made Ray's nerves buzz with excitement at the same time as his stomach rolled over.

"I debated over whether or not to bring coffee for quite a while," Fraser said softly. "While it actually causes the body further dehydration and is, therefore, one of the worst things for a hangover, I also know that it would bring you the sorts of psychological benefits that you wouldn't get from something like tomato juice."

Ray reached out for the coffee with a shaky hand. "Tomato juice, Fraser? Don't talk about stuff like that to a guy that's busy trying not to see his breakfast again."

"You've eaten breakfast?" Fraser asked hopefully.

"No." Ray took a sip of the coffee. It was mocha. He loved Fraser. He paused for a moment, decided he wasn't going to puke, then took another sip as he shuffled towards the couch.

"I could make you something," Fraser said. "For breakfast, that is. What would you like? Even in your kitchen I'm sure I could find the ingredients for something hearty. An omelet, perhaps."

Ray groaned as he sprawled across the couch. "Do not mention eggs, Fraser."

"Ah. Right you are. Pancakes?"

"I'm good." Ray lifted and turned his head so that he could see over the back of the couch. Fraser was standing there with the Stetson in his hands like he was waiting to be invited in. "What's with you?"

"Ah. Well." Fraser spun the hat a few times, then looked down as if he just realized he'd been doing it. He set the hat on the bar and rubbed his hands on his jeans.

Ray sunk back into the couch and cradled his coffee to his chest. "How was your engagement?" Even with the coffee he was just going to be snarky about things. He couldn't help it, not that he really wanted to.

"Ah. It's quite good of you to ask. I...I've come here this morning in the spirit of reconciliation. I...that is to say..."

"Fraser, come sit down. Your voice floating around the room like that is making me dizzy."

Fraser sighed and came around to sit on the chair next to the couch. He sighed again, a long, worried sigh.

"Fraser. What?" Ray couldn't help but snap at him. All Fraser's fidgeting was making Ray nervous, and he did not need that on top of the hangover.

"I'm here to apologize to you, Ray. Your phone message last night, while hurtful, has made me realize that you're correct. It isn't buddies, as you say, for me to keep things from you."

"Wait," Ray said, opening his eyes a slit. "My phone message? Oh, God, Fraser, I didn't drunk dial you, did I?"

"I believe you were quite inebriated when you made the call, yes."

Ray groaned and struggled to sit up. "You cannot..." He set his coffee on the table. "Fraser, you cannot take anything I say when I'm drunk seriously. I get sad, OK? I get sad and feel down and get angry and I call people and it's always bad. It's always bad. So whatever I said, just..." He winced and took a deep breath, let it out slow, took another deep breath.

"Are you all right, Ray?"

"Yeah, just got a case of the tummy rolls there for a second. Look, Fraser, whatever I said, I'm sorry."

"I appreciate the apology, but you did make a very good point, Ray. You said that it was wrong of me to lie to you last night. I would like to be able to say that I simply withheld the truth for your own good, but even with my rather remarkable powers of denial I can't say it any other way. I...I lied to you. I have been lying to you. They are lies of omission for the most part, but that doesn't make it right."

"Wait, so I didn't, uh, cry or anything on the phone, then? I mean, not that I would, but--"

"Well," Fraser said. "I wouldn't call it crying, exactly."

Ray pulled his thighs up to his chest, wrapped his arms around them, and buried his face in his knees. He wished his couch would open up and swallow him whole.

"That's not important, Ray. What is important is that I have come here to tell you the truth. A truth I suspect you already know. I had a date last night."

"Mmmph," Ray said from his hiding spot in plain sight on the couch. The last thing he wanted to hear was the details of Fraser's hot date.

"I had a dinner with an acquaintance by the name of Joshua. It was, well, not to speak ill of the man because he is quite lovely in many respects, however it was not exactly my cup of tea."

Ray lifted his head up and looked at Fraser. "What?"

"I kept the matter of our engagement, our date, a secret from you because I feared the repercussions were you to know that I am, well technically I suppose you'd say I was bisexual, though to be honest my attraction is most often towards other men. I kept this from you because of my own fear, because your friendship means a great deal to me, but as you said last night in your message, it's not much of a friendship at all when one of the friends willfully lies and keeps secrets from the other."

"I said that?" Ray asked.

"Not in so many words, no. You said that it wasn't buddies, and that you could handle the truth."

Ray didn't know what to say. Fraser liked guys? Fraser was dating guys? "Wait. What?"

"Can you handle it, Ray? I thought about it on the walk over, and I realized that I have no reason to assume you are a homophobe. In fact, you seem quite concerned and caring when we deal with gay and lesbian members of the community. I realize that such an attitude of acceptance towards your own friends doesn't necessarily follow, but you seem--"

"No," Ray said, "no, I'm good. I...I don't care. Why should I care?"

Fraser sighed again, and Ray could tell how relieved he was.

"Well," Fraser slapped his thighs, "then I'll just leave you to your recovery. I would normally lecture you on the dangers of overindulgence, but judging from your current condition, you're already aware of the negative consequences that come from imbibing too much alcohol."

Ray didn't quite catch all the words, but he figured Fraser was telling him he'd save the lecture for later when Ray wasn't so fucked up.

"Thank you, Ray," Fraser said as he got up to retrieve his hat. "Thank you for being so understanding. I realize now that it was merely my own cowardice that kept me from telling you the truth, for you have always been a good and trustworthy friend. I'll take my leave." He paused just long enough to pick up his muddy clothes from the night before.

Ray nodded and watched Fraser go. He reached for his coffee, then paused, then bolted to the bathroom. He really was going to puke.

**********

It was Sunday afternoon, and Ray didn't have anything to do. He'd spent most of Saturday alternating between sleeping and dry heaving, but by Sunday morning he'd felt mostly human. He got up and put music on, but he hadn't wanted to dance. He was antsy, so he picked up the living room, then the kitchen, then his bedroom. He'd done a few loads of laundry. He thought about changing the oil in the GTO, but it wasn't due for another two months. He walked down to the garage he rented anyway, and detailed the car, but there was hardly a speck of dust on it anywhere, and it only took him half an hour.

He went back to his apartment, took a shower, then sat on his couch watching reruns of sitcoms he hadn't even liked the first time around. Finally, around three, he gave up and grabbed his coat and his keys and headed over to the Consulate.

He didn't know what to say. Hey, Fraser, since you're mostly queer and I'm mostly queer, maybe we can be mostly queer together. Yeah. That would go over like a lead balloon. Fraser obviously wasn't interested in him. Fraser was interested in guys named Joshua. Joshua, who was probably a forest ranger or something. Ray didn't know if they had forest rangers in Chicago or not, but if they did, it was a good chance Fraser'd date one of them.

"Good afternoon, Ray," Fraser said brightly when he opened the Consulate door. He was in jeans and a Henley again. "Has there been a break in the McKellar case?"

"Nah," Ray said with an easy shrug. "We're still waiting on extradition from Wisconsin. You know how bureaucracy is."

"Indeed. Well, come in. Diefenbaker and I were just keeping up with our correspondence."

Ray followed Fraser back into his office and sat on the cot while Fraser sat at his desk. He started to put his stationery away when Ray waved his hand. "No, hey, don't stop on my account."

"Well, Ray, I don't want to be rude. You are a guest, after all."

"Nah. You write your letters, I'll just chill." He slouched back against the wall to emphasize his point.

Fraser hesitated.

"I mean it, Fraser. I'm just gonna sit here and do nothing, and you go ahead and finish corresponding to your heart's content. It was either this or sit on my couch doing nothing, and it's way less boring hanging out with you, even if I'm still doing nothing."

Fraser nodded and seemed somewhat pleased by that. Ray closed his eyes and tried to think of how to start the conversation. Should he just come right out with it, tell Fraser he was queer? Obviously, Fraser hadn't figured it out or he wouldn't have worried about telling Ray the truth. But then if he said it, what if Fraser fell all over himself making sure that Ray knew he wasn't interested? That would suck. And if Fraser tried to act like he was interested in Ray just to be polite? That would suck even worse. The thing that really, really sucked, though, was that Fraser was right. It wasn't buddies to keep something like that from a guy you considered your best friend.

"So, how was your date?" Ray asked. He hadn't opened his eyes, but he could feel Fraser staring at him, and the soft scratch of pen on paper had stopped.

"I, well..."

"Not your cup of tea, you said?"

"I...yes."

"Why not? He not your type?" Ray opened his eyes. "You got a type?"

"Not physically, Ray, no. Not as such."

"Me neither. I mean, sure, for years my only type was Stella, so after the divorce I thought blondes with blue eyes were it, but there's all types of people in the world, you know? Why limit myself to just one type?"

"Indeed."

"So he wasn't ugly. What was it? He a big fan of environmental pollution?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"You gonna make me drag it out of you? We're buddies, Fraser. This is buddies. You had a bad date, you can tell me about it."

"He, well, that is to say he expressed a certain amount of disgust with women in general due to the appearance of their, well, I won't repeat the word he used, but he appears to be disgusted by their genitalia."

Ray barked a laugh. "Fraser, did you just say genitalia?"

"It's a perfectly valid word, Ray." Fraser was trying to look pissy, but the blush ruined the effect.

"So, wait, he said he didn't like...oh. Oh, I know what word he used. He used the bad word, didn't he Fraser?"

"There are many 'bad' words in the English language, Ray, in fact--"

"Yeah, but he said the bad bad one. He said the one a guy never says unless he wants a slap in the face or kick in the balls, am I right? He said the c-word."

Fraser pursed his lips and nodded.

"Guess he didn't know that all women are our sisters."

"I did try to explain it, Ray, the impropriety of such language to refer to either a woman or her, well, woman parts--"

Ray bit the inside of his cheek hard to keep from laughing.

"--and that it was quite inappropriate for dinner conversation, regardless. He seemed to, well, he didn't say it outright, but he seemed to think my attitude made me a stick in the mud."

Ray clucked his tongue and shook his head. "Yeah, but I know you're really more fun than a barrel of monkeys."

Fraser's mouth twisted into an almost-smile. "Are you mocking me, Ray?"

"Who? Me? No way. You're tons of fun. In your own way."

Fraser did smile, then. He seemed to know Ray was mocking him, but not in a cruel way. "I have to say, I didn't expect you to be this understanding about things."

"About you and the forest ranger?"

"What forest ranger?"

"The guy. Joshua. I decided he was probably a forest ranger."

"Ah. No. He works on the Board of Trade, actually. I was pleased with your positive response yesterday, but I didn't imagine you'd be so comfortable as to encourage me to tell you about it."

"Hey, I'm a comfortable guy. Uh, and the other thing? See, um, it's kinda weird, but, yeah. I, uh, I date guys too. Sometimes. So I'd be a real hypochondriac if I gave you guff about it."

"Hypocrite," said Fraser.

"Yeah. That's what I said. You can, uh, you can go back to your letters, now. Sorry for interrupting you."

Fraser looked at him for a long time, then sat up straighter in his chair and picked up his pen.

Ray closed his eyes again. He was mostly chilling, except for the way he couldn't keep his right knee from bouncing all over the place. It was out. He'd said it. He'd said it and Fraser hadn't freaked, hadn't told Ray to very politely fuck off, hadn't said anything, actually. Ray had secretly been hoping for something--a declaration of love, maybe. He knew it was stupid, but nobody'd ever accused him of being too bright, especially when it came to matters of the heart.

He listened to Fraser's pen scratch over the thick white paper he always used as stationery. "Who you writing?" he asked.

The scratching stopped. "Maggie. Would you like to include a note? Diefenbaker has already dictated his message to me, so it wouldn't be an imposition at all if you wanted to do the same."

"What? Oh. No, that's OK. Just tell her I say hi."

So, OK. OK. Fraser knew and obviously didn't care. Ray had no right to feel disappointed about the whole thing. He'd been worried for so long that Fraser would hate him that he knew he should be grateful. Fraser being all nonsh, nonche, casual about the whole thing, that was good. That was greatness. He and Fraser were buddies and neither one of them cared that the other dug guys. Ray could handle that. Ray was A-OK.

"...Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray," Fraser was saying. Ray didn't know how long he'd been saying it, but it had probably been a while.

"Yeah?"

"You seem restless. Diefenbaker and I haven't yet gone on our afternoon walk. Would you care to join us?"

"What? Oh, yeah, sure. Whatever." Ray stood and stretched his back. He didn't care what Fraser said, that cot wasn't comfortable.

He leaned against the doorframe as Fraser said, "Dief, Dief, Dief, Dief," then finally leaned down and took Dief's muzzle in his hand. "Diefenbaker, we're going for a walk now."

The wolf whined and placed his head back on his paws.

Fraser sighed. "How many more times do you expect me to apologize?"

Dief whuffed.

"Well, you don't need to take that tone with me. I said I was sorry. Besides, you didn't have to accompany me the entire ten miles."

Dief sort of grumbled, then got up, scratched the rug, turned around in a circle several times, then settled back down.

"All right, but if you need to go out--"

Dief made a noise that Ray thought sounded suspiciously close to real words. It made Ray think maybe he spent too much time with Fraser.

Fraser sighed, then dropped his head, the way he did whenever he gave in. "All right, but I'll have you know that this isn't simply our domicile, if the Consulate is robbed--"

Ray could practically hear the fuck you in Dief's tone.

"Well, if you're going to be that way about it, perhaps I should just lock you in," Fraser said at the same time as he went over and unlocked his window and opened it just enough to allow the wolf in and out.

"Wolves," Ray said with a grin.

"Indeed," Fraser said with a sigh as he grabbed his hat.

Ray turned right as soon as they got down the Consulate steps. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked slow, knowing Fraser would walk alongside him, not try to hurry him along.

"Ten miles?" Ray asked after a block or so. "You ran ten miles this morning?"

"Well, jogged would be a more apt term, Ray."

"Why so far?"

"It helps me think."

Ray nodded. He got that. He usually danced when he needed to think, knew how sometimes when your body was moving, all the niggling parts of your brain shut off and your mind was clear like it was standing still.

Just around the corner, diagonal from the park entrance, there was a crime scene a day or two old. Ray hadn't known it was there, but it didn't really surprise him. There were blood spatters on the ground and a section of the sidewalk was roped off.

Ray glanced at the crime scene tape and the blood spatter on the sidewalk, and just kept going. Like violent crime was any surprise in the Consulate's shitty neighborhood. He turned to ask Fraser if he wanted something to eat, but Fraser wasn't there. Fraser was standing at parade rest, looking at the crime scene.

"Not our scene, buddy," Ray said.

Fraser nodded.

"What? You see something out of place? Do not lick anything, Fraser. Do not lick human blood or I swear to God--"

"No, no," Fraser said absently. "I don't see anything amiss, it's simply that, well, not to speak ill of the city, Ray, but have you noticed that there seem to be an inordinate number of murders for a city this size?"

"Yeah." Ray took Fraser by the arm and pulled him away from the scene.

"It doesn't bother you?"

Ray glanced both ways before jogging across the street into the park. He then had to wait for Fraser, who was holding up traffic to allow a Girl Scout troop to cross.

Fraser tipped his hat to the troop leader, and then joined Ray at the edge of the park.

"You should have been here five years ago," Ray said as they started down the path. "The murder rate was way worse, then."

Fraser frowned.

"What? Fraser, if you haven't noticed, Chicago's a city of gangs. You got the Italian Mob, the Irish Mob, the Russian Mob, the Chinese Mob, you got your People and your Folks, you got your everyday politicians who are just as corrupt as mob bosses most times. And you know what gangs do?"

"Terrorize the citizenry and break innumerable laws for their own gain?"

"No. They make money. Lots and lots of money, and you know what money does to people? It makes them dirty. If money's involved, people will do anything, even kill. You got a lot of gangs, you got a lot of money changing hands, you're gonna have a lot of murders." He looked over at Fraser, waiting for him to argue, waiting for the truth, honor, and goodness speech. Fraser didn't give it. Instead, Fraser sat down on the nearest bench, took off his hat, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Ray sat down next to him, feeling like an ass. He'd forgotten why Fraser was there in Chicago, that it had been money and corruption and the murder of his own father that had landed him there.

"So, hey," Ray said, bumping Fraser's shoulder with his own. "Yeah, it bothers me. It bothers me a lot. Why do you think I became a cop? It wasn't just because of that whole bank robbery thing. I hate cheaters, Fraser. I hate liars and hypocrites and all those guys who make money off of other guy's backs. My dad, he worked years in the slaughterhouse, came home stinking of flesh and blood, and who protected him? Not the unions, cuz by that time they were as corrupt as the bosses they were supposed to protect the workers from. I hate those guys, Fraser, the smiling rich aldermen and businessmen who pretend they're so clean when really they're dirtier than the gang kinds hustling on the street corners. I hate them and I love this city. I do. I love Chicago the way you love Canada, even though Chicago probably doesn't deserve it. So, yeah, it's got problems and a high murder rate and a lot of gangs, but we fight against that. We solve this one murder and sure, if there are eight hundred murders a year it doesn't seem like much, but we solve it and put one more crack in the bad guys' armor. Sometimes it feels useless, like we're not doing a damn thing, but you know what? We got one guy off the street, and next week we'll get a couple more, and we keep working and keep going and next year, maybe there will only be seven hundred and fifty murders, and the year after that, seven twenty, and the year after that, seven hundred, you know?"

Fraser was looking at him, and Ray couldn't tell if he was more shocked or pleased.

"I think that's the most I've ever heard you say at one time," Fraser said.

"Yeah, well. It seemed like time to make a speech. Don't go expecting it again."

Fraser smiled, just a little bit. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"You OK?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You just...I mean, me bringing up the whole corruption and murder thing and, you know, your dad getting killed for money and all."

"Oh. Yes. Well, the past is in the past."

Ray squinted at him, then decided that was Fraser's way of saying he didn't want to talk about it, and Ray was OK with that, too. When Fraser had something to say, he usually got around to it in his own time. All Ray had to do was wait and let Fraser know it was all right to be a human being. He leaned so he could bump Fraser's shoulder with his own. Fraser leaned and bumped him back. They sat there on the park bench and watched the city's inhabitants go by.

After ten or fifteen minutes, a guy came jogging up the path in flimsy running shorts and a sweat-soaked tank top. He was ripped--not in that steroid gym-pumped way, but the way a guy was when he just had the right genetics for it. He was young, maybe in his mid-20s, light brown hair, pretty mouth. He paused at the Y-intersection to the left of the bench and ran in place for a little bit, then stopped and moved onto the grass where he started to stretch.

Fraser cleared his throat. He was watching the guy, too. It was hard not to. He was young, gorgeous, muscled just right.

"Christ," Ray said. "Makes me feel old."

"You're not...old, Ray." Fraser seemed very distracted by the way the guy was stretching out his hamstrings.

"You go to the bars, all the guys look like that. Then there's me, the freak among gods."

Fraser's attention snapped away from the young man and towards Ray. "I've told you before, Ray," he said softly. "You're a very attractive man."

Ray rolled his eyes.

"I mean it. I find you..." Fraser scraped his thumb over his eyebrow. "I find you to be a very attractive man, indeed."

Ray cocked his head to the side. He looked at Fraser's face, but when Fraser was teasing there was a tiny little telltale wrinkle beside his left eye. Fraser wasn't teasing. "You...I mean, I know we haven't had a chance to talk about this. I kind of dropped a bomb on you earlier."

"Not at all."

"Do you...I mean." He raked his fingers through his hair. Fuck it. "OK, look, here's the thing. I...I find you attractive. And not just, you know, as a buddy type thing."

Fraser took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring.

"I wasn't going to say anything, and I won't, I mean this won't have to change anything, but you were right. It's not buddies to keep something like this from you so, there it is."

"And if I want it to change things?"

Ray swallowed hard and nodded. "Yeah, that could...we could do that."

Fraser looked straight ahead, out into the park. "This...that is to say, were two friends to embark on such a course of action, the consequences..."

"Yeah," said Ray.

"We perhaps, well, this may not be the most appropriate location for the conversation we need to have."

Ray nodded and looked down at his hands. The skin on the tips of his left middle and ring fingers was starting to peel, but he resisted the urge to pick at it. "We can, uh...if you want to do it now we could head over to my place."

"I think that would be wise." Fraser was still staring straight ahead, as if he didn't dare look in Ray's direction.

They walked back to the car in silence. Ray expected Fraser to head inside to get Dief, but he didn't, he just walked to the passenger side door of the GTO and waited.

Fraser fidgeted with his hat the whole drive. Ray didn't call him on it, though, since he couldn't keep from tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and jiggling his left knee up and down.

They didn't say a word, were all business as they walked into Ray's apartment building, up the stairs, down the hall. They walked quickly and with purpose, the way they did when they were hot on a case.

Ray was pretty impressed that he kept his hands from shaking as he unlocked his front door. He took off his gun and shield, set them on the counter next to where Fraser set his hat.

Ray turned, and he was going to say something about partners or consequences or something, but Fraser was right there and Ray couldn't stop himself from kissing him.

Fraser kissed back. Fraser didn't hesitate, not at all. All that talk about consequences, maybe it had just been talk to get Ray somewhere private. Or maybe Fraser wanted it as much as Ray did, consequences be damned. Maybe Fraser could be his partner and his best friend and his lover all rolled up into one.

Ray's hands were shaking. He couldn't think. All he knew to do was to hold on to Fraser, to press himself to Fraser's body. He got like that sometimes, when things got too intense, he just froze up. Fraser stroked his back. "Ray," he whispered. "Ray, are you all right?"

Ray nodded, nuzzling his face against Fraser's neck.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yeah," his voice came out breathy and low.

"Then may I suggest we move this to the bedroom?"

Ray nodded again, let Fraser walk him backwards past the couch and into his room. He was glad Fraser didn't let go. He didn't think he could take Fraser letting go of him.

"Ray," Fraser whispered again.

"I'm good," said Ray. "I'm good, Fraser. I'm just...God."

"Should we slow down?"

Ray shook his head, held Fraser tighter, ground their hips together. Fraser shivered, but he was with the program, knew exactly what to do. He pulled off Ray's shirt, stepped back to pull his own shirt off and then Ray had that whole expanse of chest to press up against, those broad shoulders, and he remembered to move again. He kissed along Fraser's collarbone, nipped at his neck, kissed and licked his way down to Fraser's nipples and, yeah, that was good. That was good because Fraser gasped and gripped the back of Ray's head in his hands, holding him right there, over the nipple that Ray was licking and sucking and teasing with his teeth.

Ray switched to the other nipple, grinned as he heard Fraser's desperate whimper, bit down gently, then harder until Fraser's fingers were digging into his shoulder and the back of his head and Fraser's hips were rocking against nothing but air. He pulled from Fraser's grasp, dropped to his knees, and undid Fraser's fly. He did it slow and careful, didn't want those tight jeans injuring anything important. His heart was pounding and his stomach was in knots, but there was no way he was stopping. He'd wanted this for too long to let a little thing like nerves slow him down. He tugged the jeans and Fraser's boxers down together, easing them over Fraser's hard on. As soon as it was freed, Fraser's cock slapped up against his belly once, then jutted out at a sharp angle. Ray slid his hands from Fraser's thighs up to his hips, wrapped one hand around the base of Fraser's cock, and took it into his mouth.

Fraser jerked forward at the first touch of Ray's lips, but that was okay. Ray had planned for that, and his hand kept Fraser from thrusting too far into his throat. He stroked Fraser a few more times, keeping just the head of Fraser's cock in his mouth, getting used to the feel and the taste. Fraser had a foreskin, which was cool. Ray used his tongue to play with it, get the feel of it, and when he slid his tongue beneath it Fraser cried out and dug his fingers into Ray's shoulders. His legs were shaking. Ray understood. He was pretty shaky, himself.

"Lie back," Ray whispered. Fraser was looking down at him with lust dark eyes, his lips parted, his breath coming fast. He guessed it was Fraser's turn to freeze up. That was OK, too. He pressed on Fraser's hips, pressed him backwards until he hit the edge of Ray's bed and sat down suddenly. "Lie back," he said, and Fraser did as Ray tugged his jeans down, remembered Fraser's hiking boots and fumbled with the laces, pulled them off, got Fraser's jeans off all the way and tossed them aside, thankful that Fraser hadn't been in uniform--he never would have gotten the big brown boots off. He ran his hands up Fraser's legs, pressed them open, moved in between them and started to lick Fraser's balls.

Fraser shuddered and moaned as Ray lapped at him with the flat of his tongue. He reached down to rest his hand in Ray's hair--he didn't tug or pull, just laid his hand there lightly. Ray hummed with pleasure and Fraser shuddered again. He kissed his way up the underside of Fraser's cock, slid the foreskin back with his hand, and wrapped his lips around the tip. Fraser pulled his hand free of Ray's hair, and when Ray looked up he saw that Fraser had propped himself up on his elbows so he could watch.

Ray pulled back and grinned, then licked the slit and slid down on Fraser's cock again. He'd never known making eye contact could be so fucking hot. He could see Fraser's every expression as he slid his mouth down as far as he could take it, and then slowly moved back up. Fraser swallowed hard and his mouth opened as if he was going to say something, but no words came out. Ray did it again, just as slow, then again, taking a deep breath and trying to relax his throat. He couldn't always do it, but he could that time, and he pressed his nose against the curls at the base of Fraser's cock, swallowed once, then pulled up just as Fraser dropped his head back and said, very softly, "Fuck."

Ray hadn't even known that was a kink of his, but hearing Fraser curse sent a shock of pleasure through him, making his cock throb. He reached down and undid his own jeans and began stroking himself as he kept up the slow stroke of his mouth on Fraser's cock.

"God, Ray," Fraser gasped. "God, please..."

Ray's bad knee was starting to ache, so he pulled back, stood, pushed his jeans down and toed off his shoes. He climbed up onto the bed next to Fraser, planning to stretch out and continue the blowjob, but Fraser had other ideas.

Fraser grabbed his upper arms and shoved him onto his back, climbing over him and settling down so their cocks were aligned. Fraser began to thrust against him and yeah, OK, screw the blowjob. Ray was totally OK with rubbing against each other until they came.

He wrapped his arms around Fraser's waist, slid his hands down to grip Fraser's ass and pull him down harder with every thrust. Fraser ducked his head down, pressed his cheek to Ray's. His breath was coming hard against Ray's ear.

"So good," Ray panted. "So fucking good. Good, Fraser, wanted you for so long. Need you so much."

Fraser dipped his head and bit Ray's neck, right where it met his shoulder. Pain wasn't really Ray's thing, but it felt different than just that. It felt somehow primal, like maybe Fraser was claiming him, and Ray was good with that--that was greatness. He arched into the bite, wrapped one leg tight around Fraser's waist and moved his hands up, clawing at Fraser's sweaty back.

Fraser released the bite, kissed Ray's neck where he'd bit him, kissed him there hard over and over again. His entire body shuddered and he gasped, "Fuck, oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, Ray."

And if that was the hottest thing Ray had ever heard, the cry Fraser made just before he came was a very close second.

Ray didn't say anything as he came, just felt Fraser's come hit his skin and then bit his lip and held on tight as white hot pleasure flooded his entire body.

He wanted to say something, but his brain wasn't exactly working. He patted Fraser's shoulder weakly and thought he should stay awake, figured they should probably talk or something, but he'd never liked talking about relationship stuff, and the lure of sleep was so strong. The last thing he remembered was Fraser kissing his neck, his face wet for some reason, his voice hoarse as he whispered, "Ray, Ray, oh Ray..."

When Ray woke up, he was under the covers. He turned to the side and saw Fraser sitting on the edge of the bed. The room was dark except of stripes of yellow light coming through the blinds.

Ray scooted across the bed and placed a kiss between Fraser's shoulder blades. "Come back to bed." His voice was thick with sleep.

Fraser turned and offered Ray a nervous smile. "I...it's quite late and the Consulate--"

"Will still be there tomorrow. Come back to bed."

Fraser hesitated for just a moment, then nodded once and said, "All right, Ray." He got back into the bed, and Ray slid his hands over that broad expanse of skin. He pulled Fraser into his arms and slid his fingers through Fraser's hair. He smiled against Fraser's temple and closed his eyes let himself slide into sleep, Fraser's fingers gentle as they stroked the skin over his tattoo again and again.