Author's Notes: Many thanks to Stormy Stormheller, Lyn Townsend and LilyK for their betas. Y'all are appreciated. Also, thank you to Annette and Rose.

Ray looked up to give Fraser and Dief a half-wave as they stomped into the cabin, winter wind swirling in behind them.

"Sure, Stell," Ray said, nodding as though she could see him from a couple of thousand miles south. "Thinking about it isn't going to make any difference," he insisted, phone receiver pressed to his ear. "Yeah, okay, but I'm telling you, I'm sure. Yeah, I'll call you back. I promise. Bye." He hung up and shrugged. "That was Stella."

"So I gathered," Fraser said, taking off his heavy coat and hanging it on the peg near the door. "Is she well?"

"Mostly, I guess. I don't know." Crossing the plank floor to the converted alcove that served as their kitchen, he poured two coffees and handed one to Fraser. "How was patrol?"

For Ray, of course, the last three days had pretty much sucked. Not like there wasn't anything to do when Fraser was gone. Hell, there was plenty to do. Plenty to do around the cabin, plenty to do in the little machine shop he'd built for himself, plenty to do in the village for that matter, but without Fraser to share it with, it all pretty much sucked and it all pretty much blew and not in a good uplifting way, either.

"Cold. Quiet." Fraser took an appreciative sip of his coffee, then sat on the small stool stationed at the front door to remove his boots.

"Same here," Ray said, fidgeting a bit before lighting on the edge of the sofa to scratch Dief's ears.

Half a year of living up here in Freeze-Your-Nuts-Off-Land had taught him to give Fraser a couple of minutes to get back to normal, back to civilized, after he'd come off patrol. As edge of nowhere as their place had seemed to him in the beginning, he knew the places Fraser patrolled might as well have been on the dark side of the moon and that the wilderness seemed to pull the wildness out in Fraser.

It had shocked the shit out of him the first time he'd glimpsed the primitive side of Fraser. Somehow, he'd forgotten that the polite, pressed-perfect Mountie he'd met in Chicago was merely a fraction of who Fraser truly was. Somehow, he'd overlooked that the reason Fraser was able to live, Christ, to thrive, in the wild dangerous environment of the tundra was because Fraser was a wild and dangerous motherfucker in his own right.

On their quest for the Hand of Franklin, as things had temporarily turned amazingly and utterly dismal, he'd looked on as Fraser, whom he'd believed would never dream of hurting so much as someone's feelings, had hunted and killed, practically with his bare hands, to ensure their survival.

There, as he lay shivering, wrapped tightly in his sleeping bag in front of their campfire, Ray saw a fraction of Fraser he'd been unaware of. There, dark hair blowing in the icy-bitter wind, smear of blood across his pale cheek, roasting some small, recently butchered animal to stave off their starvation, was the Fraser that had been hidden from him in Chicago.

Elemental Man, he'd privately dubbed him.

Later, after he'd eaten his fill and Fraser was sucking the last bits of scorched flesh and marrow from the bones, he'd begun to list Elemental Man's many attributes in his head.

Elemental Man, able to leap over ice fields in a single-harness dog sled. Elemental Man, able to start roaring fires with a tiny twig. Elemental Man, handsome and helpful Mountie by day, treacherously clever crime-stopper by night.

Elemental Man, able to hear like a bat, sing like a bird and remain completely blind to what's right in front of his stupid, pretty face.

Even now, two and a half years after they'd been thrown together, nine months after Ray had walked away from everyone and everything he'd ever known, Elemental Man was still oblivious to the oh-so-obvious. Even here, in this little nest of domestic bliss, where the two of them were snug as a bug in a rug, Elemental Man couldn't seem to get his eagle-eyes to focus on what was as apparent as an igloo in Wrigley field.

Sometimes, what they had was enough. Best buddies carving out a pretty fucking decent life here in Ice World. There was a kind of quiet perfection in this basic living that sort of seeped into his soul. Sometimes, he was happiest he'd ever been.

Sometimes, he wanted to shake the shit out of Fraser and scream, "Fucking see me, you freak!"

How could Fraser be so courteous, so damned attentive to every minute detail of his feelings and needs and not have a goddamn clue about his feelings and his needs?

Denial, he'd decided about eight months ago, must be one of Elemental Man's superpowers.

"Were you lacking anything in my absence, Ray?" Fraser asked, rising from the stool to sit on the far side of the sofa.

Yes, you stupid bastard. "Nope. Everything was greatness. Plenty of food, plenty of hot water. I even picked up a couple of jobs."

"That's good, Ray."

It would only be buddies to cut Fraser a little slack here, he knew that. The first couple of months after Fraser had been stationed here permanently, the guy had worked like a demon to prove himself to his superiors. To prove that the whole 'save the world from terrorists' thing was not a fluke and that he could do the day-to-day bullshit, too. Fraser had also looked under paperwork rocks, called in favors, spun on his head like a freaking top, anything he had to do to find a way for Ray to be able to open his own business in Canada.

In pure Elemental Man fashion, Fraser had never questioned why Ray wanted to stay. Nope. Ray wanted to stay, so Fraser made it happen.

There was something different about Fraser this evening, he realized. A sadness, a weariness that he hadn't noticed before. Maybe things had sucked on patrol a whole lot more than Fraser was letting on. That would be just so fucking... so fucking Elemental Man not to admit that he'd had a rough couple of days. For some reason, that well and truly pissed Ray off.

"Yeah, it was good, Fraser," he lied. He wanted to shout, "Fucking notice me!" as Fraser leaned his head back on the blue sofa cushions and closed his eyes.

"You were right about the phone, too, Fraser. Worked great the whole time."

Fraser's eyes snapped open. "Did it?"

"Well, not that I got many calls. One from Mark Morris about some snowthrower repairs, one from my mom. Oh, and the one from Stella."

"Yes. Stella."

He felt childish and petty and pleased with himself in equal measures. Fraser was no fan of Stella's and vise versa, but while Stell was pretty much blatant, Fraser was pretty much polite. Except now, he was looking a little angry. Fine. If he couldn't get Fraser to see the elephant in the living room, perhaps he could interest him in the giraffe in the kitchen.

"It was like Stella was right here next to me."

Fraser sat up. "Oh?" There it was, the hint of prissy that Fraser liked to keep hidden.

"Yeah, the reception was so good," he waggled his eyebrows suggestively, "I could almost smell her perfume."

"I'm certainly pleased the enormous expense of running the phone lines out here has finally been justified in your eyes."

Very prissy and on his way to being pissed, Ray thought with satisfaction. "I'm saying you were completely right on this one, Fraser. Me? I thought a walkie-talkie was enough. I thought the phone cost too much."

"And now you don't."

"Nah. I mean, sure we needed it for emergencies, like you said. I totally get that." Seeing Fraser sit up ramrod straight gave Ray the incentive to continue goading him. "I guess what I didn't see before was how much enjoyment the phone would be. That it could be a real what do you call it? Um, a luxury item."

"Ah." Fraser's voice, tight with anger, was soul music to Ray's ears. "The price of the telephone is acceptable to you now because you see it as being somehow luxurious?"

Ray flopped back, sprawling across the sofa until only a few inches separated his legs from Fraser's. Noticing me now aren't you, you sanctimonious son-of-a-bitch.

"Yeah. That's a good way to describe it. Talking with Stella was luxurious." He drew the words out, flavoring them with innuendo. "Very luxurious."

"I see."

He watched as Fraser attempted to obscure his emotions. Not this time, Elemental Man. No hiding allowed.

"Stell had a real interesting proposal for me."

"Did she?"

"Yeah." He waited.

Five, four, three, two, one. "Would you care to share it?"

"Share it?" Enjoying the smoldering, focused fury in Fraser's eyes, he feigned ignorance for a moment. "You mean the proposal?"

"Yes, Ray. Stella's proposal."

"Oh. See, since Stell and Vecchio moved back to Chicago last month, things have been popping for her." Funny how saying Stella and Ray-fucking-Vecchio, how pairing their names together in his brain and pushing them out of his mouth, didn't have the power to hurt him anymore. Maybe he'd really, truly finally moved on. Or maybe there was only room in his life for one person to rain the pain down on him and right now old Elemental Man held that position.

Whatever the reason, there was only a tiny prick of uneasy near his heart when he thought of Stella with Vecchio instead of the gaping wound that once encompassed his chest.

"Ray?"

Smiling he said, "You ready for a warm up on that coffee?"

"No, thank you, Ray. If you'd kindly finish, or rather begin, telling me about Stella's proposal, however, I'd be most appreciative."

Fraser's white knuckled grip on the mug reminded him how very thin Elemental Man's veneer of polite civilization could be.

"Okay, sure." Pushing Dief's nose from his lap, he leaned forward. "You know Stella is a dynamite lawyer." He waited, forcing Fraser to give a terse, begrudging nod before he continued. "So, when she blows back into town, the DA's office offers her the old ADA job back. She says 'no' only she does not mean 'no'."

"That certainly sounds like the former Mrs. Kowalski." The mild tone and bland expression could have fooled nearly anyone else, but Ray knew a bordering-on-bitchy Fraser comment when he heard one.

Do you finally see me spitting in your Cream of Mush, Elemental Man?

"What she meant," he went on, "was that she'd be available if they had something bigger and better ready for her." He downed the last sip of his coffee and set the cup under the sofa.

"And?"

"And they did." Dief nosed at the empty cup and, with a huff of disappointment, padded over to nap on the rag rug in the alcove-kitchen. "The DA's office was looking for someone to head up a new terrorist task force that would be working in, uh, conjunction with the Feds."

"Most impressive, Ray. Stella and Ray must be very proud."

"Yeah, I'm sure Vecchio is over the fucking moon."

"I'm sure he is. Both Ray and Stella are ambitious individuals."

Anyone else might have thought that Fraser was giving the happy couple a sly insult, but he knew better. Fraser was genuinely happy for them. Well, in all honestly, probably more for Vecchio's sake than for Stella's, but Ray knew Fraser thought the two of them were, in Mountie lingo, well-suited for one another. They really were a pretty decent match, he supposed.

"Ambitious." A thought occurred to him. "You kind of admire ambitious, huh, Fraser?"

"Ambition certainly has its place, yes. To say I admire it wouldn't be exactly correct, however. I think many atrocities have been committed in the name of ambition. On the other hand, many discoveries and creations have been brought about due to ambition."

"True, right and I get that," he interrupted, a nugget of insecurity lodged in his throat. "What I'm asking is...what I am saying is, you like that. You know, that Vecchio is ambitious. That Vecchio likes to move and shake and that he isn't satisfied with following somebody around and getting his nails dirty working on engines and shivering his ass off in the middle of Ice-and-Snow-Where."

"What ever are you talking about, Ray?"

"Nothing." Reining in his self-doubt, he shook his head. "Nothing important. Anyway, Stella's got kind of a free hand in how she wants to run this thing and she's looking to hire a lead investigator. She wants her own man, right? Someone she knows she can trust and they don't want Vecchio on account of him being married to her."

"The DA's office views the present husband as constituting nepotism, but not the former."

"Right," he answered quickly, refusing to allow Fraser to hide behind his Marion-the-Librarian vocabulary. Not when Elemental Man was a mere poke, hit and emotional jump away. "Sure you don't want some more coffee, Frase?"

"Quite sure, thank you, Ray. If you'd be so kind as to continue with your news, please?"

No one could pull polite and fuck-you-very-much like Benton Fraser. Normally, it amused the shit out of him, but not today. Today was too important. He wasn't a hundred percent positive why, but he had that do or die feeling in the pit of his stomach right now and he trusted his instincts. Clearing his throat, he smiled and continued.

"The job looks to be a damn great gig. Not that I got a hard-on for the Feds or anything, but with their connections I'd get to play with some fucking cool gadgets."

"I never realized you were such a technology devotee."

"No? Technology is cool. I'm more of the Ms. Pac Man generation than the Resident Evil clan, but I like that kind of stuff."

"I see," Fraser said, although it was glaringly apparent to Ray that he didn't. "Aside from the gadgetry, what else does this 'great gig' have to offer?"

"Aside from the toys, the money would be half again as much as I was pulling down as a detective."

"Money is an allure for many."

But not for Fraser, he knew that. He'd always known that. Fraser was about a lot of things, but not prestige and sure as hell not money. Fraser was about truth and justice and the Mountie way. He was about duty and honor and kindness. He was about the right thing and the good thing and standing fast for the principle of the thing and Ray had gotten that from almost the beginning.

Money wasn't worth the powder to blow it to pissdom come for Fraser. The guy was satisfied with the minimum, the most elemental.

He'd never seen Fraser's apartment building in Chicago. It was burnt brick and rubble by the time he'd come along, but from the chatter around the 2-7 water cooler, fried crispy had been an improvement.

Fraser'd been content with Spartan quarters in the Consulate. Once the two of them had hit the adventure trail, he'd shown Ray just what pared down to nothing really meant.

Ray, who'd lived his life surrounded by things he wanted more than needed, had been jerked up by the short hairs when it finally had gotten through to him. Everything they were going to have on the Quest was piled high, like condiments on a Whopper, on the back of a dog sled.

There were no bicycles that would never be ridden, no CDs that would never be listened to, no too large, shiny shirts that would never be worn, no cans of pumpkin or yams that would never be eaten, no delicately wrapped birthday gifts for exes that would never be given. Every single item, each carefully purchased, picked and packed piece on that dog sled had been selected because Fraser knew they would need it.

The cabin had been much the same at first. Every item within the walls was of dire necessity for survival. Everything except Ray, of course. And after a while, he'd begun to dot the cabin with the same kind of useless stuff that his place in Chicago had sported.

Fraser brought the essential; he brought the frivolous. Fraser bought hunting knives, kerosene and pemmican; he bought Ramones anthologies, Cannon towels and Nestles chocolate bars. Fraser thought of survival; he thought of comfort. (Except for that telephone thing which he laid squarely upon Fraser.) Fraser slept on a bedroll; he slept on the bed, which, in his head, pretty much exemplified their problem.

"Ray. Ray. Ray. Ray. Ray."

"Yeah?" he snapped, wondering just how long Fraser had been calling his name.

"This job..." Fraser rubbed his eyebrow then coughed politely.

"Yeah?" He wasn't going to help.

"This job sounds like a wonderful opportunity."

For what, Elemental Man? For getting rid of a pain-in-the-ass cabin guest?

"The job is a real peach all right." The quick flare of pain in Fraser's blue eyes sparked him off again. This time, he'd speak Fraser's language. "Working with Stella again would be good," Fraser's clenched jaw was his hole-in-one, "but the job itself is a big one. I mean, it would be a chance to, uh, help bring security and safety to the people of Chicago."

Fraser nodded seriously. "It's good work, Ray. Important work."

Too late he realized he'd totally fucked up.

He'd wanted Elemental Man to come out and play, to come out and finally take what was waiting for him, right here and right now.

Somehow, he'd managed to splice up the wires. Instead of bring Elemental Man front and center, sort of making like Jesus with Lazarus, he'd conjured up Willing-to-be-Last-in-Line Martyr Fraser. This fraction of Fraser was one he'd seen far too often in Chicago. This fraction of Fraser would willingly sacrifice everything he wanted for what he believed to be right.

Martyr Fraser was the guy who'd put up, shut up and take the leftovers. This was the guy who'd accepted exile, had slept on a cot-of-nails and had let the bullshit from everyone--the Ice Queen, the RCMP, the Feds, even fucking Ray Kowalski himself--flow right off his back so he could continue doing what he perceived to be good and important work.

Martyr Fraser would neatly pack Ray's duffle bag and wave goodbye from the Yellow Knife airstrip. If Ray didn't figure something out pretty damned quick, he'd be scarfing down Sandor's pizza, looking out over Chicago rush hour traffic and wondering what the hell happened by sometime tomorrow night.

"Yeah, Fraser, it would be good and important work." A sliver of hopelessness stabbed at his spine. "More important than fixing snowmobiles, right?"

"If one were speaking honestly..."

"And you usually do," he stalled, not sure if he wanted to hear Fraser's thoughts or not.

"Whenever I'm able, but what I was attempting to get at was that all things are of relative importance. If, for example, one were in danger of being affected by terrorists in Chicago, then the job with the DA's office would indeed seem important. If, however, one were say, living in a glacial type environment, where a snowmobile might be necessary to reach shelter and supplies, then the maintenance and fine-tuning of a snowmobile engine becomes of the utmost importance."

The splinter, okay log, of inferiority he'd been carrying around in his belly since he'd first heard of Vecchio's return and subsequent appointment to the mayor's council on organized crime, vanished. Fraser really didn't look at Vecchio's life and judge it to be of greater worth than he did his.

Fraser shifted forward on the sofa. "A man is like a boulder."

"Huh?"

Cutting through the air with his hands for emphasis, Fraser said, "My father once said a man is like a boulder. You see, a boulder breaks free from a mountainside and rolls until it settles in the place it belongs. In the same way, a man journeys from childhood to discover his place in the universe."

"And again I say, 'huh?'".

"What my dad meant, Ray, is that the place a man belongs is the place he is. What is the end of a life journey or the ultimate goal for one person isn't the same as it is for another. A spear fisherman and an astronaut are of equal worth in their own sphere."

Oh yeah, he recognized this fraction of Fraser--Earnest Guy.

This was the guy who thought a busboy and a crime boss deserved equal time and consideration. This was the guy who captured pirates on the high Great Lakes not merely because they were criminals, but because they dared to besmirch the good names of long-dead, honest sailors.

This was the guy who had, just days after they'd met, been proud to call Ray his partner and his friend.

Just his damned luck. He'd wanted the Fraser who would gnaw on his flesh and suck the marrow from his bones and instead, he'd gotten Earnest Guy. Earnest Guy who would gladly explain to him why, in the grand scheme of things, that little Stanley Kowalski was just as wonderful as little Raymond Vecchio and if he didn't do a little fancy dancing really quick, his ass might still wind up in Chicago by late tomorrow night.

Do or die time. He knew it as surely as he knew that Levi's would always be in style and rock-and-roll never forgets.

"And what if the boulder's place is right here?"

In less time than it used to take for Dewey to piss Welsh off, Fraser's eyes took on a sharp, calculating light. Ray could practically hear the gears shift and crank and turn in that pretty-boy Canuck head.

He knew this Fraser. The first time he'd sat in on a performance starring this particular Fraser fraction, he'd thought of it as Smart Guy Fraser. It took a couple of weeks till he'd seen that Smart Guy Fraser was more than an egghead, he was Laser Fraser.

Those big blue eyes and librarian-trained mind were able to skim away the hinky crappola and churn the remaining stuff up and down until it made butter-smooth sense.

Laser Fraser had been able to melt away the perfume and good gams and half-truths of a lady card shark, swirl what was left around in his brain, and not only stop a crime from being committed, but solve an old crime as well. Laser Fraser had been able to re-solve an eight year old case that Ray himself had botched by stripping away rookie memories and sorting through tampered evidence and spinning it around in his head in time to save a woman's life and a friend's sanity.

Laser Fraser had been able to separate the agony of losing his mother, the betrayal of his father's silence and the sting of injustice to bring a murderer to trial and save the world from nuclear terrorist attack.

So, was it too goddamned much to hope that Laser Fraser might turn his amazing powers of deduction in the direction of their cabin? Was it too much to hope that Laser Fraser would scrape away the just-buddies varnish that was spread over their relationship, shake up the clues like a can of paint and pry off the top to see reality?

"And," Fraser said carefully, "the boulder is...?"

Do or die. Pony up to the bar or spend eternity alone in Illinois.

"Ray?"

"Me, Fraser," he said, the words coming out strong and steady now that he'd finally found the balls to say them. "The boulder is me."

Fraser tugged at his ear as he stood, then crossed the room to stare out a shuttered window. "I see."

He wondered if Fraser did.

He wondered if the man looking out into wooden nothingness was the 'I have no earthly idea what you're getting at Fraser'--the Blank Face Dude.

In Chicago, Ray had watched in amazement as Blank Face Dude had politely, firmly turned away scores of lovely women and a couple of persistent guys. Ray'd chomped down hard on a toothpick more than once as Blank Face Dude had used his block of bland to niggle a point to fucking death. Funny when it was happening to someone else, not so funny when he was the recipient.

He'd slept through enough psychology classes before he dropped out of junior college to know Fraser used his Blank Face Dude fraction as a defense mechanic. Defensive mechanism, whatever. Fraser used it to keep from having to deal with things like Frannie and the Ice Queen.

He was afraid, sick to the point of puking afraid, that Blank Face Dude would be the guy he'd see when Fraser turned back from the window. Would the last view he had of Fraser, before he was politely, firmly ushered on a States bound plane, be that of the Fraser who looked as though he'd never ventured further than the hallways of the Eskimo Town Library?

Honest to Christ, he'd rather have a knock-down-drag-out with Elemental Man and have his ass hoisted into the cargo compartment than have Blank Face Dude bid him a hearty "good luck and Godspeed." At least if Elemental Man was hustling him up the ramp and flinging his duffle bag in behind him, he'd know that Fraser was feeling something for him. Something that was raw, brutal, and alive, and that ate away at Fraser's control.

"Um, Fraser?" He really wanted a shot or a smoke or maybe just a do-over where this itchy spot in his heart hadn't made him bring all this shit up in the first place. What the fuck had he been thinking?

Maybe things weren't just like he wanted them, but he had a lot more than most of the mooks he'd grown up with. Hell, he had more than he'd had with Stella. He had a weather tight cabin, a business he loved in a town he liked, a couple of pretty decent sled dogs and a best friend who treated him damned good.

It wasn't enough, though. He totally got it today. All this wasn't enough.

"Fraser?"

"Yes, Ray?" The tone was neutral and Fraser didn't turn around.

Jumping off the sofa, he stood behind Fraser, hand outstretched. Unable to breach the space between them, he dropped his hand before making contact with the other man's shoulder.

Worse case scenario, he got Blank Face Dude. Best case scenario, maybe he got some fraction of Fraser he hadn't even met yet. Maybe some fraction that only Victoria-the-cunt-Metcalf had been privileged enough to spend time with. Someone with hot eyes, a sweet mouth and hands that would touch a lover right into craziness.

"Do you know what I meant?"

"I think so. That is, I'm not sure, Ray." Fraser kept his face forward. "No, Ray, no. I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."

"You don't know or you don't want to know?"

"The job in Chicago would be fitting for you, Ray."

"Maybe, but that's not what I asked."

Fraser continued as though he hadn't spoken. "You'd return to the city. Your city. Your country, actually. You'd be doing the sort of work you enjoy and for which you were trained. You'd have the kind of position of which your father would be proud." There was a slight hesitation. "You'd be with Stella."

"True, all true and I'd be bringing home a shit load of cash. Don't forget that part." Despite his best intentions, he was starting to get royally pissed off again. Giving himself a full mental and physical shake, he tried again. "You do not know what I meant, Fraser, or you do not want to know what I meant?"

"I sincerely wish I had some idea of how to answer that."

"It's not electrical science, Fraser. It all comes down to this. Here is where I want to be. Is here where you want me to be?" Fearing Fraser would give a pat, polite platitude, he hurried to add, "Not until winter, Fraser, or until I get bored, or start sniffing around some girl's skirt, I mean, do you want me to stay here?"

"And by staying here, Ray, you're referring to this cabin? Canada?"

"Sometimes you make me want to fucking pop you one, you know that?"

"Yes, Ray. That I know perfectly well."

He could hear the smile in Fraser's voice and it simultaneously cooled his jets and warmed his heart. This was Benton Buddy, the fraction of Fraser who'd helped him keep it together on more than one occasion.

Benton Buddy was the guy who'd attacked Councilman Who-the-fuck, Stella's bad news boyfriend, with a car door to the crotch. All very politely, thank you kindly. Benton Buddy was the guy who'd forgiven him when he'd left Fraser alone and Warfield's goons had pounded the living snot out of him. Forgiven, hell, Benton Buddy hadn't even blamed him.

Benton Buddy was the guy who'd believed in him when he hadn't been sure he'd believed in himself. Benton Buddy was the guy who'd sheltered him from the mob and the law by wrangling every Canadian/American precedent he could get his capable hands on.

Benton Buddy was the guy who had stood by him through thin and middle and thick and had wanted to stay Ray's partner even if a couple of thousand miles stretched out between them.

Benton Buddy had put his own life on hold so that he could drag Ray along on a grand adventure.

And when it was all over and Ray was at loose ends, Benton Buddy was the guy who had gladly taken him into his home.

This home. The very home he was standing in and never wanted to leave.

Do or die.

"Fraser?" This time he closed the breach. He laid his hand, palm flat and fingers spread, on the strong back before him. The muscled heat seeped through the dense fabric of Fraser's shirt and into his skin. "Whatever you say, I understand. Whatever you say cannot change the way I feel, okay?"

"Perhaps not, Ray, but it has the potential to change everything else."

"True." Ray took a half-step forward so that only a few inches separated his front from Fraser's back. Christ on a crutch, the man smelled good, like snow and wind and stability.

He wanted to press his lips to the strip of smooth white flesh outlined between the coarse, blue edge of Fraser's collar and the bristly, black edge of Fraser's hairline.

Resisting was hard, but not impossible. Of course, over the last couple of years, he'd had lots of practice resisting Fucking Gorgeous Guy. Ray had resisted him when he'd been dressed up in a tux, hanging out in RCMP sweats, buttoned up in a stupid fucking red serge or buttoned down in tight, faded jeans and brown leather jacket.

Good sense and a healthy dose of self-doubt had made resisting his impulses concerning Fucking Gorgeous Guy a reasonable course of action. Now, the same bravado, the same reckless foolish hope that had allowed him to swoop down and make Stella his wife, was pouring through him.

"True," he said again, sliding his hand up Fraser's back so that he could brush that tantalizing bit of nape with his fingertips. "True and factual and you're, um, right as usual, Fraser, but just think. For once, it's up to you. You get to be the chooser. Not the Mounties, not your old man, not your boss or your wolf or even me. Just you."

"Oddly, Ray, I don't find that as liberating as one might believe."

"Fuck you, Fraser," he said mildly. "It's not like you didn't do pretty much what you wanted to most of the time." He didn't even want to remember all the times he'd had a sit down with Passive-Aggressive Bastard. The first instance was most definitely within two hours of their first case. The last instance was maybe an hour before Fraser left for his last patrol.

"I always swim in the sea I'm set in."

"If that's Inuit for 'I am a goddamned bullhead,' then yeah." Before Fraser could contradict him, he went on, "I'm not talking about then, Fraser. I'm talking about now. Right now. Is this where you want me to be?"

"I'm not one hundred percent certain that I wish things to change, Ray."

"Well, I'm one hundred percent certain that they have to, Fraser. Your call. Your choice."

Fraser cleared his throat. "What about your choice?"

He gently rubbed the skin beneath his fingertips, allowing himself to enjoy the creamy texture for the first, and possibly the last time. Whether this was the beginning or the end, he wanted to remember this forever. He wanted to carry this moment in his head until the day he bit the dust. Fraser strong and beautiful, him with hope and dread jumping around in his belly, the future, filled with every opportunity, stretched out before them.

If he'd learned anything from his marriage and divorce, it was that moments like this needed to be snapped like a photograph and squirreled away for when life completely, utterly sucked. Moments like this gave a guy the courage to drag his drunken ass up off the barstool and try again.

"I made my choice, Fraser, and I'm pretty sure you know that and you've known that for a long time." Do or die. "This is where I want to be. Is this where you choose for me to be?"

"If you mean, do I choose for you to be with me always, Ray..."

"And that's exactly what I mean," he interjected.

His hand was suddenly covered by Fraser's. "Then, Ray," Fraser said, turning to face him, never releasing his hand, "I choose for you to stay. I want this to be where you are. With me. Always."

Before he had a chance to see which fraction of Fraser had finally gotten it, Fraser kissed him, wet and hard. Before he had a chance to say anything, to think anything, Fraser was dancing him backwards, slick as a tango master, toward the bedroom.

As the back of his legs hit the bed, as he was tumbled down into a nest of handmade quilts and feather pillows and old fashioned lust, he realized his daydreams, okay, more like fantasies, about this moment were nothing like the reality.

In his daydream, he would climb up and down Fraser like a fireman on a hook and ladder truck. He would show the country boy a couple of dozen dirty city dances, awesome footwork thrown in free of charge. He would be the fucking Lord of the Dance and grab Fraser by the dick and rock his ridiculous Polly Purebred world.

In reality, this fraction of Fraser might have been more familiar with the Virginia Reel than the Bosanova, but the sneaky son-of-a-bitch had definitely done his share of dancing before partnering up with Ray.

Before he could decide if that buttered his muffins or not, this fraction of Fraser, this Amazing Lover fraction was showing him just how wicked, how hot and slick and fucking wicked, a tongue could be as it traced a path from ear to lip to neck to navel.

He was sure he sounded like a moron as he begged Amazing Lover to stop, don't stop, never stop but he didn't give a good goddamn.

Apparently, neither did Amazing Lover as he said nothing more intelligent than, "Ray, God, Ray," over and over. Amazing Lover nudged and kneaded and suckled at his body until Ray wondered if it were possible to just fucking die of pleasure. If it were possible to just fucking expire from the sheer joy of being touched by the one person who meant everything.

Then Fraser's crazy, wicked tongue started lapping at his cock like Dief on a donut and he knew that it would be plain stupid to die of pleasure or expire from joy if a guy could just manage to live and live and live and enjoy the single-minded attention of Amazing Lover.

When he wondered if he just might start shouting the nails right out of the cabin roof, Amazing Lover slipped his soft, pink mouth over the head of Ray's cock. Then Amazing Lover began bobbing his tender mouth up and down and Ray barely had enough breath left in his lungs to whimper. "Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop."

And when Amazing Lover added his wicked tongue to rub the underside of his dick and Amazing Lover added his callused hands to gently squeeze his balls, Ray wasn't even sure where the cabin roof was any more.

He was, however, very sure that Amazing Lover had spent more than a few nights polishing his steps at somebody's dancehall.

Then Amazing Lover swallowed him deep, deep to the root, caressing his almost too sensitive shaft with his fucking recital perfect throat and mouth and tongue and teeth. Jesus. All that mattered now was the bright light flashing behind his eyelids and the streaks of pure pain-pleasure that shot through his body and burned through his dick and nearly turned his brain to Cream of Mush.

***

Dief's soft snores woke him up.

No, not Dief, he decided. The breath that huffed across his neck was sweet and human, not sour and wolf. The skin pressed against his was smooth and sleek, not hairy and coarse.

Not Dief. Fraser.

He opened his eyes, wanting to savor the luxury, the real luxury, of lying on his back with Warm Naked Fraser snug against him. With that gorgeous head cradled on his shoulder, strong arm draped over his chest. Sometime after his nuclear meltdown, Warm Naked Fraser much have pulled a quilt over them; Ray certainly hadn't had the energy.

Satisfaction buzzed in Ray's belly and not just because of his nut busting orgasm. Here, he thought smugly, was not only where he wanted to be, but it was obviously where Fraser wanted him to be.

He wondered what fraction of Fraser--Amazing Lover, Elemental Man, Earnest Guy, whoever--would wake up in his arms. The room was mostly dark. They hadn't exactly taken time to burn scented candles or any of that other basically girlie shit that he enjoyed on occasion, but enough light spilt from the other room through the open door for him to settle back and study the beautiful sleep slack face turned toward him.

Christ Almighty, Fraser looked fucking perfect. Except Ray knew he wasn't. He knew as soon as Fraser blinked open those blue eyes and yawned open that soft mouth that the imperfection would appear. Perfect Fraser was a fraction that existed not at all.

And suddenly Ray got it. Really got it. Fraser wasn't fractions, he was a fracture. No, not a fracture, a what-do-you-call-it. A math thing.

One dismal semester at junior college, just before he'd decided to fuck the finance degree his old man wanted him to get and head for the police academy, he'd taken Intro to Mathematical Concepts. It was pretty much a math for dumb asses class, but Stella had promised to help if he'd give college one more try.

The class had sucked. Remedial math full of fractions, sets, inverted bullshit times what-the-fuck, but one thing had blown him away.

On the far end of the too bright classroom had been three posters. One had been of the staircases that led nowhere but back into themselves. It used to make him want to puke on the mornings he'd crawled into school hungover.

One poster had been that Dolly thing. The melted clocks dripping off tree limbs. It had reminded him of the two times he and his high school buddy, Mike Lebue, had tried blotter acid. Looking at it had kind of given him a headache.

The third poster, though, he'd been fucking mesmerized by that third poster. It had been the silhouette of a guy, nothing spectacular, until he looked real close. The silhouette had been made up of about a zillion other silhouettes, each tiny silhouette an exact copy of the big silhouette and each other.

Fractal. Not fractures or fractions, but a fractal. Each piece, each building block, a perfect replica of each other that, when added all together, became a big, completed version of the building blocks. Fraser was a fractal.

Every single piece of him was good and pigheaded. Every single angle of him was handsome and irritating. Every single part of him was honest and devious, faithful and clever.

How had he missed that?

Fractal. Sort of like those art things that Stella's mom had been so fond of. Those pictures made of tile things. Mosaics.

Except in the mosaics that he'd been forced to ooh and aah over, the tiles were of a multitude of colors used to kind of paint a picture. Fractals used a single shape, over and over, interlocking like a mathematical jigsaw puzzle until it was a mirror image of itself. In this case, in the case of the man sleeping on him, a Mountie jigsaw puzzle

Seriously, he'd been right in this guy's face for a couple of years. How had he not gotten that?

Elemental Man was Benton Buddy. Hadn't Elemental Man been a true friend? Hadn't Elemental Man carried his greenhorn ass through the snow and fed his screaming belly when he just fucking couldn't take care of himself?

Benton Buddy was Passive Aggressive Bastard. Hadn't Benton Buddy used all his passive aggressive skills to keep one Chicago flatfoot locked up safe and tight in the Canadian Consulate?

Passive Aggressive Bastard was Earnest Guy. Hadn't Passive Aggressive Bastard been completely earnest in his belief that, Ice Queen's opinion and petty punishment notwithstanding, a Canadian Mountie belonged partnered up with an American cop?

Earnest Guy was Blank Face Dude. Hadn't Earnest Guy hidden his vulnerability and too tender heart under the smooth skin of Blank Face Dude?

Blank Face Dude was Unbelievably Gorgeous Guy. Although, to be honest, that was pretty goddamned self-evident. Fraser was great looking. Blind lesbian armadillos would have to give a unanimous yea to that. It was one of those geometry things...a given truth...an axiom.

Fraser was an unbelievably gorgeous guy. Fresh pressed or wrinkled or talking or slurping Chinese or staking out a dog pack or typing a report or leaping off a fucking building, Fraser was gorgeous.

For that matter, there was a good-sized slice of Martyr Fraser in every piece of him. The guy had practically made long-suffering self-sacrifice a lifestyle.

That was the point, though, right? That everything Fraser is, is everything Fraser is?

Gorgeous Guy was Laser Fraser. Under that oh-so-fine face was an equally beautiful brain that clicked and whirled continuously. Hadn't he finally seen that Ray was crazy about him? That Ray was staying? That Ray was a damned boulder?

Laser Fraser was Amazing Lover. Hadn't Laser Fraser figured out if he used his ultra intelligent tongue to lick at the same time he used his smart as shit mouth to suck that Ray would come so hard his teeth sparked?

Amazing Lover was Elemental Man. Hadn't he used a beat-on-his-chest competence in his lovemaking?

Every piece, every part, every angle, every view of Fraser was big brave Mountie and little motherless boy.

Like every other person on the planet, himself included, Fraser was the sum total of his parts. Hell, maybe he'd learned more in that Intro to Mathematical Concepts than he'd thought.

What he knew for damned sure was that every parcel of Fraser was sincere and dangerous, naive and brilliant, lovely and trustworthy, bitchy and loyal. Every part had the potential to drive him fucking nuts and he was fucking nuts about every part.

"Ray?" Fraser's drowsy voice was full of a sweetness that he'd never heard before, but he was certain he'd hear it plenty over the next fifty years or so.

"Yeah, Frase?"

"You're a boulder?" The thread of amusement was unmistakable and familiar.

He tightened his arms around Warm Naked Fraser. "Yeah, Frase."

"I'm glad," Fraser said, drifting back to sleep.

He yawned. "Me, too."