Disclaimer: They are not mine. But I love them dearly and would do nothing to bring them harm. Please don't sue, no profit is being made by this author, unless you count the warm fuzzy feeling writing gives me.

Author's Notes: After several months of lurking here, I finally started a story. It began as a response to the Inuvik challenge on Live Journal and sort of grew legs of its own. The plot bunnies multiplied and I couldn't stop them. Then Inuvik changed to Aklavik because I needed a smaller town.

Story Notes: Post COTW. Kid Fic - sorry. And though I've rated this NC-17 it takes about 17,000 words before I manage to get the boys into the sack together. I apologize in advance for my verbosity.

The lights came up and the music faded in the crowded theater, signaling the return from a commercial break. An elegantly clad woman with long blond hair sashayed down the stairs on the left and moved gracefully to the microphone at center stage. She was famous for hosting a wildly popular television show that had little to do with her own singing talent. As such she was highly unlikely to be at odds with any of the entertainers at tonight's awards show, though friendly taunts and jibes were both given and taken with good humor. Small jokes always went over well with the fans.

With a well-practiced flip of her hair, the woman smiled prettily at the camera and went straight to the script. The show was already running long and they were only just starting to get to the more interesting awards.

"Now here to sing the fifth and final song nominated for the Juno Awards 'Single of the Year' is a band that has also been nominated for the best new group of the year. From the far north town of Aklavik, here is '56 Days' singing their breakout hit 'Just Dance'."

The blond woman turned toward the stage behind her, applauding as she moved. The lights faded to black and the woman disappeared into the darkness. Moments later, a spotlight focused on a slender figure clad in red. The blond was instantly forgotten.

The figure stood, back toward the audience, as a drum beat sounded. The lights eased up as a guitar joined the beat and by the time a keyboard had played two bars, the musicians were visible behind the standing figure. They were young men, in their mid-twenties, dressed casually in T-shirts and jeans. The drummer was of Inuit heritage and wore his hair longer, pulled into a braid down his back. The guitarist wore a denim jacket that had been autographed in permanent marker in several places. All three men wore heavy, serviceable boots that had been scuffed and well worn.

The music held a soothing beat and thrummed in such a way that forced toes to begin tapping. The figure in front bounced in time to the beat and long curling hair swayed back and forth. On the next downbeat, the figure suddenly turned and a pretty, dark-haired young woman grinned at the audience.

Her eyes were the clear blue of a perfectly cloudless sky. She was of a similar age as her companions. Her hair was a riot of dark curls about her head. The red coat she wore was unmistakably that of an old RCMP dress tunic, though all the patchwork and pins had been removed. She smiled, a sweet secretive grin. The tip of her tongue ran across her bottom lip as she lifted a microphone and then she began to sing.

"The first thing I can remember is crying in my bed one night. The darkness was all around me I couldn't find the light.

But Papa came and rescued me And held me up in one strong arm. Don't be afraid he said I'll keep you safe and warm.

Papa taught me to dance Just dance. Dance when you're afraid Dance when you're being brave And you'll always dance Just dance."

The bouncing beat of the music continued. The young woman twirled and hopped across the stage. Her movements couldn't really be called dance steps. They seemed too random for choreography. She moved with a carefree enjoyment of the music, singing as she swayed.

"So many winters nights we spent with my feet on top of his. You can't do it wrong he said When the music feels like this.

Papa taught me to dance Just dance. Dance when it is dark outside Dance when it is light And you'll always dance Just dance."

The vocals stopped as the girl spun across the stage. The music took over and she whirled in joyful abandon. Her hair fanned around her and the red tunic billowed like a cape as she bopped and hopped around her band-mates. The music increased in tempo and the key went up by a fifth. When the vocals started up again, the tune had a more prevalent rock sound, nearly chanting.

"Just dance. Dance when you're happy, Dance when you're mad. Dance when you're lonely, Dance when you're sad.

Dance when the snow's deep. Dance through the black. Dance when you're low and when the sun comes back.

Dance in the good times Dance when you're bored Be like David and dance before the Lord.

Just dance... Just dance... Just dance...

JUST DANCE!"

On the final note, the girl leapt high into the air. Her moccasin clad feet curled beneath her and for a moment, she looked like a big red bird suspended above the stage. She landed with a thump that was perfectly synchronized with the last beat of the drum and sudden blackness as the lights dramatically went out.

The audience went wild.

--

"And the award for best single of the year goes to..." There was a dramatic pause as the blonde hostess tore open a folded envelop. "To '56 Days' for 'Just Dance'!"

There were squeals from the audience and a thunderous applause. The band came from behind stage to collect their award, as they hadn't had time to return to their seats after performing. The foursome looked a little dazed as they blinked into the cameras.

"Congratulations," the hostess said. She handed the lead singer the award and kissed the girl's cheek.

"My goodness," the young woman gasped. She glanced back at her band-mates questioningly. The three men immediately deferred to her to speak on their behalf. Turning back to the microphone, the girl rubbed her eyebrow with the back of her thumb. Then she smiled. Her grin was nearly blinding. "This is greatness," she said. "Thank you all so very much."

"We'd like to thank everyone who ever came to see us play, especially those who paid money to do it." That comment brought chuckles from the audience. "We'd like to thank our manager Jack Huey without whom, we'd still be playing for free. Special thanks go to Dan Robertson of Robertson's Pub in Inuvik for giving us our first real gig even before we were old enough for our driving permits. Thank you to everyone in our hometown of Aklavik, all 812 of you, because I know for a fact that every single one of you has a copy of our album.

Even if it was just a Christmas gift from my folks." This caused more laughter and a smattering of applause.

"But we especially want to thank our families for all the love and support they've shown us over the years. Without them, we'd have been dumb kids with a dream. But instead we're dumb kids living a dream. As for myself, I just want to say to my own family," the girl held the trophy up as she spoke. "Dad, Pops, look... we did it. I love you guys so much. I miss you. I really, really miss you." With a sniff, the young woman brushed away the tears that had formed on her cheeks. With a quick bow to the audience she repeated, "Thank you. Thank you kindly."

Then the band was being lead away off stage so that the award ceremonies could continue.

--

"Welcome back. If you are just tuning in, I'm Callum Rayborn with CTV." The tall man was ruggedly handsome in his tailored suit. He held a microphone in his hand as he spoke in the general direction of the cameraman following him. He spoke as he weaved his way through a crowd of people. "We're here at the Bessborough Hotel for the Juno post-award gala celebration. We've already spoken to most of this evening's winners and we're... Wait."

Rayborn gestured wildly at his cameraman. "In the corner to the left, Kevin," he said. He began to move in that direction and addressed the camera. "I've just spotted the group that has become the Cinderella story of this year's awards. The band '56 Days' won three awards tonight, including best new group."

As the reporter reached his quarry, he placed his hand on the young woman's shoulder to gain her attention. "Excuse me, Miss Metcalf? Callum Rayborn with CTV."

When the girl turned to him, her eyes were worry-filled and tired. "I'm sorry," she said politely. "But could we please have a few moments of privacy?" The young woman's body language was screaming with tension as she used every ounce of her physical stature to block the reporter's path. She wasn't a large woman, but she wasn't petite either. Slender, graceful were two words that were often used to describe her.

And yet, the girl radiated a presence that stopped the reporter's advance. She stood with her hand out and spine straight, almost at attention. She looked as though she would begin directing traffic at any moment. Behind her, the three young musicians stood in a tight bunch. One of the young men, the guitar player, was bent over clutching his knees as though he was about to be sick. The longhaired drummer was rubbing his back in large soothing circles.

"Is he okay?" the reporter asked.

It was the drummer who spoke up, explaining in a calm reassuring tone of voice. "The crowd has gotten to be too much for him," he said sounding as though he was trying to talk a jumper from a ledge. "We're just having a bought of claustrophobia. It will pass in a few minutes."

"Can we arrange to speak with you at a more convenient time, perhaps?" The girl spoke. Her voice was soft and polite but carried a firm tone.

"I've got a better idea," the reporter replied. "Let's go to commercial," he added, putting one finger to his earpiece. A moment later, he nodded to the cameraman to signify that his request had been answered. "Come with me," he said to the musicians. "I know a quiet place."

"In here," the handsome reporter said a few minutes later. He led the quartet into a small meeting room several corridors away from the celebration.

"Thank you kindly, Sir," the girl said. "I'm afraid our small town upbringing has failed to prepare us for extended periods among so many people. Del is particularly susceptible when he's overly tired."

The reporter smiled. "Don't mention it."

The girl nodded in appreciation, but the wary look in her eyes did not diminish. "We appreciate your thoughtfulness, Mr. Rayborn, but I'm sure you have other duties to attend."

Rayborn shrugged. "There are three veejays working this crowd tonight," he explained. "We've talked to just about anyone worth talking to anyway."

The young woman smiled knowingly. "And now you want to talk to us," she said.

The reporter bowed his head in the affirmative. "I'm not going to force myself on you," he said. "But should you want to talk with me for a bit..." He let the sentence drag on unfinished.

The girl looked toward her companions. The young guitarist still looked pale but he wasn't as shaky as he been earlier. The drummer shot her a gesture that was somewhere between a nod and a shrug. "It's up to you Dee," he said. "You know what Huey would say."

The girl smiled, "Free publicity is always a good thing," she nodded. She turned back to the reporter and said, "If you would be so kind as to get us some water?"

"Sure, sure," was Rayborn's excited response. "And something to eat," he added. "It has been a long night."

"Thank you kindly," she replied. With a sigh she sat down on a nearby couch and patted the cushion beside her. Her next words were directed to the still trembling guitarist. "Are you going to be okay, Del?"

"Yeah," he answered with a wan smile. "I kind of flipped out on you guys a bit. Sorry."

"S'okay Del," the singer told him. "We're all tired and stressed."

"And there's a hell of a lot of people out there," the keyboard player chimed in.

Several minutes passed as the band members relaxed on the couch. As they nibbled at some sandwiches and fruit, the reporter and his cameraman set up their equipment. As the group unwound a bit, the camaraderie among the band became apparent. They talked quietly, sometimes teasing each other gently. There was a shared devotion and affection between all four friends that was nearly tangible in the air around them.

"Are you ready?" the reporter asked them. The girl nodded. "Okay," Rayborn said. "We're just going to chat for however long you like. The studio will probably turn it into a series of 5 minute highlight pieces. Sound good?"

The red light on the camera came on and Rayborn went to work. "I'm Callum Rayborn with CTV and we're here with the band '56 days'. Thank you for agreeing to speak with me tonight."

Agreeable nods came from all the band members.

"First things first," Rayborn said. "Please introduce yourselves to our audience."

"I'm December Metcalf, lead singer," the young woman said.

"Jim McDonald, drummer," the longhaired man spoke.

"I'm Del Brown. I play guitar."

"Tommy Cruise, keyboards. No jokes, please. My mum liked the Mission Impossible movies," Tommy added with a shrug.

"So tell me about yourselves," the reporter urged. "'56 days' your band's name, I understand that is a reference to your hometown."

With a nod December Metcalf reclaimed her position as the band's spokesperson. "We're from Aklavik in the Northwest Territories. In the summer, Aklavik enjoys 56 days of continuous daylight."

"So you're all from the same hometown?" Rayborn asked. "Born and raised there?"

"Except for Dee," Jim the drummer said. "She was born in the States. The boys and I have known each other since we were toddlers. Dee didn't join us until what... grade six?" He looked to the others for confirmation. They nodded in return.

The reporter raised his eyebrows. "An American, eh?"

December laughed. "Only half. My mother was American but my father is as Canadian as they come. I remember nothing of my mother and very little of my life in Chicago. My official citizenship is with Canada."

"How does a city bred girl from the States wind up as far north as Aklavik?" the reporter.

"Well, to be honest I have been further north than that. We moved around a bit when I was young, until Pop put an end to it. We needed to stay somewhere long enough to grow roots, he said." December rubbed her eyebrow and then swept her long dark hair off her shoulders. "But it is rather a long story. I'm sure you have more interesting questions for us."

Rayborn poured on the charm and smiled. "But this is the stuff fans are dying to hear."

Jim nudged his elbow into December's ribs gently. "Go ahead Dee. It's a good story. Face it, the rest of us are pretty boring."

"That's not true Jimmy," she denied.

"Oh," Tommy chimed in. "But it is. None of us have anything any where near as interesting as you do."

"Tell the story, Dee." Del, the guitarist, was now relaxed and nearly asleep at the far end of the couch. He smiled warmly at his friend as he spoke.

"Go on Dee," Jim prodded one more time.

With a weary shake of her head, she gave in. "Very well." She sighed heavily and began, "I don't remember my mother and my dad rarely speaks of her. They were never married you see."

"Little bastard," Jim hissed under his breath.

December tossed him a grin, ignoring what was obviously an ages old joke between them. "From what Pop has been able to tell me, and the bits and pieces I've learned over the years, I firmly believe that I'm all the luckier for not having known her," she continued.

"Evidently my mother was not possessed of a charitable demeanor." December shrugged carelessly. "She had never even told my dad that I existed. He found out about me just before I turned four when children's services contacted him after my mother's death. My medical records from that time sound awful. I had been abused and neglected. But as I said, I have absolutely no recollection of any of it.

My earliest memory is of the orphanage. I remember hiding under a bed," December's face broke into an affectionate smile as she spoke. "I don't recall what had frightened me. But I was curled under the bed when I met my pop for the first time. He lay down on the floor and just started talking to me, didn't try to coax me out. He just talked.

I was so afraid. Dad says that he was even more terrified than I. Papa was the one who talked us both down from near hysteria." December smiled. "You've got to understand, my dad is a career Mountie, decorated several times over, famous in the Territories. But he always says that my pop is the bravest man he knows."

The reporter nodded encouragingly. "So that's where you got the tunic," he pried. "From your father."

"Yes," December smiled and fingered the cuff of one sleeve.

"There are people who feel you shouldn't wear it on stage," Rayborn said. "They feel it is disrespectful."

Jim leaned forward and frowned. "Those people don't know what that coat means to Dee," he answered angrily. "What it has come to represent for all of us."

December put a calming hand on her friend's knee and shook her head. "I've worn this tunic every single time we've performed before an audience, Mr. Rayborn."

The reporter nodded. "Because it represents your country?" he asked.

The young woman shook her head. She straightened in her seat and put one hand into the open coat. Just below her left breast, hidden previously by the curve of her body, there was a perfectly round hole in the material. It was large enough for her to poke her index finger through.

Rayborn's eyebrows shot up. "Is that...?" he gasped.

December nodded. "A bullet hole, yes. My father was injured during an assassination attempt on the Earl of Ulster. He nearly died. It happened on my thirteenth birthday.

Ever since, this tunic has served as a reminder that if you believe in something there is a price to be paid. There is a cost in following that belief. A sacrifice to be made." December's blue eyes were bright and hard. "My father believes in honor and duty. He has sacrificed love, time with his family, and nearly his life in pursuit of that belief. It is a stiff price, but worth it because without something to believe in, we are nothing."

"What do you believe in?" Rayborn asked in a hushed tone. He was stunned by the intensity in the young woman's voice.

The serious look on the beautiful face faded away to be replaced by a warm smile. "The music, of course," she said.

The reporter blinked for a moment. The girl's magnetic personality was drawing him in. "And the price?"

"My family, a place and people I love," she told him. "I left them to follow what my heart tells me I must. And I miss them every single day." She abruptly slapped the knee of the young man beside her. "But I am lucky," she said. "Because I haven't had to leave all my loved ones behind. I have three of the best friends a girl could hope for, and they are on this journey with me."

The three young men grinned at their lead singer. Jim placed one arm around her shoulders and gave her an awkward squeeze. December hugged him back and affectionately kissed his temple.

The reporter gestured between the two of them. "So, is there a romance going on here?" he asked.

December laughed but it was the drummer who answered. "Nah, outside of the fact that we each got our first kiss from Dee about a decade ago," Jim said. "And we each had our own crush going for her at one point or another."

With a dramatic sigh the girl replied, "I do my best to make them worship me."

The band responded with a chorus of groans and Tommy threw a decorative pillow at her.

Rayborn joined in the group's laughter. "Do you ever have issues, December? Being the only woman spending so much time with the men?"

The singer tossed him a flat, neutral glance. Del began to snicker at his end of the couch as the other band members shook their heads vehemently. The guitarist leaned forward to explain his amusement.

"December could kick all our asses and not even mess up her hair," he told the reporter. "She was raised by a Mountie and a Chicago cop. The day I met her she was demonstrating self defense techniques on the school yard bully."

"A girl needs to be able to defend herself," December's blue eyes flashed defiantly.

"Tell that to Buddy Mitchell," Del grumbled as he eased back against the cushions. "He never did regain full range of motion with that wrist."

December rubbed at her eyebrow nervously. "Lord was my father irritated with me. My first day in a public school and he was called in to see the principal." She rolled her eyes heavenward. "Not the way to put our best foot forward."

"But you made a lasting impression on Buddy Mitchell," Tommy chimed in.

Del nodded. "And earned the undying devotion of a small-for-his-age-music-loving-dyslexic geek," he added.

"December Metcalf is a unique individual, a real piece of work." Jim the drummer said. He shook the girl's slender shoulders as a blush crept across her face. "And we wouldn't have her any other way."

---

Twenty years earlier.

"Geez Fraser, you are a real piece of work, you know that?" Ray Kowalski shook his head in wonder though he knew Fraser couldn't see him. He bent over and rested his forehead against the top of his desk, sighing heavily into the cell phone he held to his ear. "You're being decorated. They're givin' you a medal for pity's sake! Where did you think they were going to put you for the week, a broom closet?"

"Of course not Ray," Fraser's voice was crisp with strain. "I understand the need to broadcast what my superiors feel is an important occurrence, but I find myself discomfited by these kinds of extravagances."

"So they've put you up in the Queen's bedroom at the mothership," Ray sighed. "Immense yourself in luxury for once in your life."

"Immerse," Fraser corrected automatically. He sighed in such a way that Ray could tell he was rubbing at his eyebrow. "Ray, the sheets are silk!" Fraser's voice took on that tone that was somewhere between overly-tired preschooler and Catholic-school librarian. "I'll never be able to sleep between them."

Ray grinned. "You never know Frase, you might like it. My advice? Take off the doctor dentons and sleep in the buff."

"Good god, Ray!" Fraser choked. Ray found himself really, really wishing he could see his friend's face right now. "It's the Queen's bedroom!"

Ray couldn't help it, his laughter burst forth. "Hey, I'm not bein' kinky here! I just figured all that red wool in between two pieces of silk... Bill Nye the science guy says that's how you make static electricity."

"Oh dear," Fraser's tone was so flat and miserable, Ray couldn't help snorting again. "I'm glad you find this so amusing, Ray." Fraser was angry and snappish at this point. "You're empathy for my plight is touching."

"It's only a few day's Fraser," Ray said. "I think you'll survive."

Fraser sighed heavily. In the background, Ray heard the ripping sound of Velcro as Fraser tugged at his tunic. "You should be here Ray," Fraser said. "I didn't bring Muldoon in by myself. Your efforts should be recognized as well."

"Yeah, right." Ray shook his head. This was an argument the two of them had been having ever since Fraser had first learned about this medal. "I was along for the ride, Fraser. You'd have caught him sooner if I hadn't been there to slow you down."

"That's not true," Fraser argued.

"It is."

"I wish you were here anyway, okay?" Fraser grumped.

Whoa. Fraser was being pissy past the point of snarkiness. He was really stressing out.

"You wish I was there to be rude to the press on your behalf, eh?" Ray asked.

"God yes."

The media attention Constable Benton Fraser had gotten following Muldoon's capture had been unrelenting. Even after Ray and Fraser had disappeared for eight weeks, adventuring for the hand of Franklin. But apparently, fifteen minutes of fame lasts far longer in Canada than it does in the States. The exchange rate is heavily skewed and nuclear submarines add to the disparity. Nearly four months after Muldoon's arrest, Benton Fraser was still heavily sought by the Canadian press.

The plus side to it all, from Ray's point of view, was that the media spotlight had sent Fraser running. He'd run straight back to Chicago to hide among the cynical populace of another country. He had resumed his posting at the consulate and now reported to a new inspector, a man Fraser had known at Depot.

Anthony Blair and Benton Fraser hadn't been friends at Depot, but they had known each other. They had even pummeled each other during a training course on hand-to-hand combat. As such, Fraser and his new inspector had a healthy respect for one another.

Inspector Blair was okay. Ray liked him, even though he was a bit stuffy at times. Blair treated Fraser way better than the Ice Queen ever did. He didn't mind Fraser living at the consulate and allowed Fraser to liaise with the Chicago P.D. whenever he liked, as long as his own work was finished first. Fraser only picked up the dry cleaning when he had uniforms of his own to collect. So things at the consulate were good.

For Ray, life at the 27th was almost okay - Almost, but not quite. In one of Fate's twisted little jokes, Ray was now partnered with Vecchio. Yes, Ray Vecchio. The same Ray Vecchio who was engaged to The Stella. The same Ray Vecchio who could have retired and moved to Florida but had changed his mind at the last minute and come back to work. The same Ray Vecchio who had been calling Ray "Stanley" ever since he'd gotten back from Canada. And the same Ray Vecchio who now had half the station calling Ray "Stanley" just to cut down on the confusion.

Ray really, really, really wanted to hate Ray Vecchio. Just out of shear principle of the thing. The guy was boffing Ray's wife, you know? Granted, Stella was his ex-wife but Ray felt he was entitled to a little annoyance about it.

As a result, the two Ray's weren't getting along exceptionally well. They were civilized and hadn't decked each other yet, though Ray often dreamt of doing exactly that. But they managed to tolerate each other and surprisingly enough, the police-work they did together clicked just fine.

The Ray and Fraser duet had become the Ray and Ray and Fraser trio. Which was the main reason Ray hadn't given in to his urge to deck Vecchio. Fraser wouldn't like it. Vecchio was Fraser's good friend and if Ray were to hit Vecchio, Fraser would be pissed. And Ray would rather stick a fork in his eye than do anything to make Fraser mad at him.

"Ray?... Ray?... Ray!" Fraser's repetition of his name finally broke through Ray's thoughts.

Ray sat up and shook his head. "Sorry Fraser," he said. "I was woolgathering."

"Well stop it," Fraser responded on cue. "Or I will kick you in the head."

Both men chuckled. It was a game they had begun to play while on their adventure. They would each use phrases that were common to the other, but weirdly amusing when spoken by the opposite partner. At times they'd gone on for hours before one or the other hit upon some particularly amusing line and they both collapsed in laughter.

Fraser's snickers tonight were nothing like the roaring guffaws Ray had been able to coax from him on the ice fields. That kind of carefree laughter took hours to entice from the uptight Mountie, perhaps days. It took time to nurture, patience to get under Fraser's defenses. Ray could do it, if he tried. But it took a great deal of effort and the proper actions at just the right moment. It was a lot like foreplay. And the sound of Fraser's laughter was the climax.

Ray lived for that sound.

There was nothing, in Ray's opinion, better than the sound of Benton Fraser laughing, except maybe Benton Fraser singing. They'd sung a lot on their adventure. Fraser had taught Ray the sea chanties and folk songs of his childhood. Ray in turn, had taught Fraser old Beatles songs and some John Cougar. After a while, Ray would pretend he'd forgotten the words just so he could listen to Fraser go on without his own scratchy voice ruining it.

"I need to go, Ray" Fraser said with a long-suffering air. "They are having a formal reception this evening in my honor."

"And you need to shine your boots again, eh?" Ray asked.

There was another deep sigh. "The Assistant Commissioner's aide stepped on my foot and scuffed the polish."

"Hang it there, Buddy," Ray told him. He felt Fraser's distress like it was his own, even if it was kind of amusing. Ray would've paid good money, non-Canadian, to be there in person to see Fraser squirm. But now wasn't the time to mention that. "Buck up. Push on. Carry forth. Maintain the right and all that. You can handle this."

"I can," Fraser replied firmly, as though trying to convince himself. "I am a Mountie."

"Damn right!" Ray cheered his friend on. "I'll see you in a few days, Fraser."

"Understood." Fraser answered. "And Ray? Thanks."

"De nada, mon ami," Ray replied. As he ended the connection on his cell phone, Ray turned in his chair to see Vecchio strolling into the bullpen.

Vecchio gestured to the phone and asked, "That wasn't Benny was it?"

Ray nodded. "Yeah, you just missed him."

"How's he holding up?"

"As well as you would expect." Ray rolled his eyes. "They've given him a fancy bed and they're gonna make him eat fancy food."

Vecchio's eye grew wide with mock horror. "What, he doesn't have to kill it himself? Those bastards!"

"Well, you know how it is," Ray said with a shrug. "You get south of the 55th parallel and you may as well be in the States."

Vecchio blinked at Ray in confusion.

Ray responded by waving off the other detective's unasked question. That was a good joke but it had sailed over Vecchio's head. Fraser would have gotten a kick out it. Ray made a point of filing the remark in his brain for later use, when he had a more appreciative audience.

Vecchio sat at his own desk and the two detectives began shuffling folders around, trying to decide which case would occupy their afternoon. They argued about it for a few minutes. Not because Ray cared either way, but because arguing is what he and Vecchio did best and Ray was loathe to mess with this almost-okay-thing that they had going.

They finally decided on the dead clown case. They didn't have any leads better than those they had yesterday. But a bullet-riddled John Doe wearing full clown makeup and floppy shoes stuffed into the trunk of an old Volkswagen Beetle at least had the advantage of being out of the routine. Dead guys, the CPD had plenty of. Half the folders on Ray's desk were about one stiff or another. But a dead clown, now that was out of the ordinary.

"And why the sad face?" Ray was saying. "I never got that. Why would they paint on a frown? Smiling faces I get. That make sense, clowns are supposed to be funny. But what's with the frown?"

Vecchio gave him that look. The look that meant he thought Ray was a few fries short of a happy meal. "How the hell should I know Stanley? It's just a clown."

Ray's incredibly witty and painfully scathing remark was cut off before he could think it up as a uniformed officer approached them with an interoffice envelope. "Currier just brought this from children's services for you Vecchio," the young man said. "I thought it looked important."

"Thanks, Denny." Vecchio took the envelope and eyed it critically for a moment.

Ray frowned. "Are we expecting info from CCS?"

Vecchio shook his head. "Not that I know of." He opened the package and pulled out several sheets of paper. As he scanned the documents, his face drained of color. "Son of a bitch," he gasped. He fell into his chair with a defeated thump.

"What?" Ray prodded. "WHAT?"

Vecchio looked up at him in shock. "Victoria Metcalf is dead," he said.

"Metcalf? Metcalf?" Ray's eyes grew wide as he recognized the name. Fraser had never spoken of her but Ray had read the file two years ago, when he had first gone under cover. Vecchio had filled in some more of the blanks while they'd sat on a stakeout one night. "Shit. Poor Fraser's gonna be torn up."

"It's worse than that, Stanley," Vecchio leapt from his chair and waved the papers in Ray's face. "This is a request from children's services to have us arrange a meeting with a certain Canadian government official of our acquaintance."

"What?" Ray stammered.

Vecchio's voice was increasing in volume with every word. "Evidently, some social worker thinks it might be a good idea to exploit our position as liaison to the Canadian consulate!"

Vecchio whirled around and began to pace, waving the sheets at Ray every couple of seconds as he hissed and grumbled. Ray snatched the crumbled paper from Vecchio's hand and read the first page, a formal request for an interview.

"Hey, I know her," Ray realized. When Vecchio turned to glare at him, Ray explained further. "This caseworker, Jenny Marcovich. I know her. Her mum was our room mother when we were in second grade. She made really good cupcakes."

"Great. Wonderful," Vecchio was practically snarling. "The two of you can reminisce about eating glue in grade school while she crucifies Benny." He ran his hands across his head and moaned. "God, please let it be a mistake. Let it be a terrible, awful mistake."

Ray was already reaching for the phone when he said, "Calm down, Vecchio. Let's not get our panties in a bunch before we gather all the facts." He dialed a number he found on the sheet of paper in his hand. A moment later his call was answered. "Jenny? Jenny Marcovich? Ray Kowlaski."

Ray paused for a moment and smiled at the friendly voice that greeted him.

"Yeah it has been a while," he nodded into the phone. "I kind of fell out of touch after Stel and I split up." Ray ignored the scowl on Vecchio's face. Vecchio never liked to be reminded that Ray had slept with Stella long before Vecchio had. "Well, I'm at the 27th now."

There was another pause as Ray listened to the caseworker talk.

"As a matter of fact, Ray Vecchio is my partner," Ray said. "I got your number off of the paperwork you sent over. Listen Jen, I can guarantee you an interview at the consulate but I need a favor from you first." He waited just long enough for the woman to agree. "I need to see the case file. Everything you've got, as soon as possible."

Ray glanced at Vecchio as he continued. "I know it's out of the ordinary. But if you didn't have the kid in custody, you'd be sharing the info with us anyway right? So we could help you find 'em. This is important Jen. We have an open case involving Metcalf and we just want to make sure everything is kosher before we close it."

Ray's face suddenly broke into a wide grin. "Greatness, Jen. Really. Can I get a copy of the file today? Can I come over and get it now?" Ray began to vibrate with excitement. "Excellent, thanks. Thanks Jen."

Ray hung up the phone. He and Vecchio exchanged a worried glance. Then without a word between them, the two men turned and nearly ran from the room.

-

Three hours later, Ray Kowalski was feeling sick to his stomach.

He and Vecchio had commandeered an interrogation room so they'd have room to work. The contents of the "borrowed" case file were strewn across the table. It wasn't pretty.

The earliest entry was barely three weeks old. It had been started when a child had been found hiding behind a couch at a crime scene. The relative newness of the case was misleading and was outweighed by the shear volume of documentation that now filled the manila envelope.

An enclosed police report detailed the initial incident. A 911 call of shots fired had led to the discovery of two bodies in what had undoubtedly been a murder/suicide. The woman had died from the first of four gunshots to the chest. Vecchio had no trouble identifying the woman as Victoria Metcalf.

The second corpse was of a young man. Half of his face had been blown away when he'd put the handgun to his temple and pulled the trigger. The landlord had been able to identify the man and confirm that the couple lived in the apartment together. The lease had been signed two years ago, under the name Vicky Williamson. The young man had moved in last spring.

At first glance it looked like your typical domestic dispute gone bad. But there were oddities that couldn't be overlooked. First of all, there had been no previous calls to the police. Domestic things didn't usually escalate like this without prior incidents. Second, the young man, one Matthew Dobbins, had bruises on his cheek, chest, and arms. Some of the bruises were days old. The others were inflicted only hours before his death. Metcalf didn't have a mark on her aside from the four bullet holes.

Third, no one had known there was a kid in the apartment. Not the landlord, not the neighbors, not the nosy old woman across the way, nobody knew there was a child. The police had found a twin bed in a second bedroom, various clothes, and three tiny pairs of shoes, identical except for the varied sizes and levels of wear. There were very few toys. And the only photograph in the place was a snapshot of a one-day-old infant tucked in a drawer with a birth certificate.

The birth certificate gave the child's name, December Metcalf. Female, born December 17th almost four years ago. The mother's name was listed as Victoria Metcalf and the father's as Benton Fraser.

As unsettling as the birth certificate had been, it had been the remaining documents that made Ray's stomach churn. Once removed from the blood-spattered apartment, the little girl had been taken to the hospital for medical evaluation per standard operating procedure. Upon examination, a number of bruises had been found on the child's abdomen and thighs. Small moon shaped scars speckled a small forearm. X-rays revealed a number of broken and subsequently healed bones. A long jagged line slashed across her left shoulder blade.

There were photos of each mark, like a catalog of hurts. Most of the pictures were close-up shots, a little arm, bruised legs, the ugly mark across her back that was still pink with healing. Only one of the images showed the girl's face and this was the one that twisted Ray's gut the worst.

Her dark hair was very short, not much longer than Ray's. Yet the locks still curled wildly around her head. Her skin was very pale but whether that tone was natural or a result of pain and fear, Ray couldn't tell. Her eyes were blue, dark and serious, with a sadness that seemed fathoms deep.

Ray had seen that look before. He had seen those sad, accepting eyes before. Ray had seen those same eyes as he stood beside Lake Michigan with his knuckles throbbing from contact with Fraser's jaw. It was a look he had never wanted to see again. Yet here it was, staring up at him from a photograph. Ray knew he'd see it again once Fraser got a look at this file.

With a sigh, Ray brushed his fingertips across the image of the little girl's cheek. "December," he whispered, trying to gauge the feel of her name on his lips. "December." He glanced up at Vecchio with smile tugging at his mouth. "Pretty name, isn't it?"

Vecchio slammed his palm against the tabletop. "Yeah, great," he growled. "Victoria couldn't be bothered to think up a proper name. She simply copied it from the first blank on the page. She just repeated the date."

Ray frowned at the photo in his hand, then glared at those spread out around him. "You think Victoria did this," he stated.

Vecchio nodded. "Yeah, I think she did this."

Ray shook his head. "What kind of a mother could do this to her own child?"

"Get this through your thick head, Stanley," Vecchio stood and pointed at Ray. "Victoria Metcalf was one crazy bitch. She left bodies in her wake. I, for one will sleep better at night knowing that she is gone for good."

"Fraser loved her," Ray argued. "Hell, he still loves her."

"You think I don't know that?" Vecchio cried. "It doesn't change the fact that she lived to make Benny miserable. She kept this kid around to hurt him."

"No," Ray gasped.

"Yes!" Vecchio grabbed a handful of pages from the table and shook them in Ray's general direction. "She beat the kid, made sure there were scars, so that Fraser would know. Victoria made this kid suffer so that someday Benny would suffer too."

Ray swallowed hard. "Damn."

"Yeah."

"We gotta get Fraser back to Chicago," Ray said. He dug in his pocket for his cell phone but before he could dial, Vecchio placed a restraining hand on his arm.

"Not yet," Vecchio said with a shake of his head.

"Come on Vecchio," Ray told him. "You're a cop. You know what it can be like for a kid lost in social services. She's scared and alone and wondering what has happened to her world, shitty though it may have been. We've got to get her out of there."

"What we need to do," Vecchio argued. "Is everything we can to make sure this is legit. For all we know, Victoria may have snatched this kid from somewhere and the birth certificate is a fake."

Ray waved the girl's picture in the air. "Can you look at this face and honestly tell me that you have doubts about who her father is?"

Vecchio sighed. "I can doubt anything and everything when it comes to Victoria Metcalf. And you'd do well to learn that yourself, Stanley. You'll live longer."

--

Ray waited as calmly as he could at the end of the corridor. The building was old, the floor tiled in an alternating pattern of black and gray. Someone had tried desperately to brighten up the atmosphere in the orphanage. Colorful images had been painted on the walls. Flowers, ladybugs, blue birds and bunny rabbits decorated the hallway. The drawings had been done in an unprofessional hand, shaky in places. They only served to creep Ray out.

Shifting back and forth from one foot to the other, Ray waited for the social worker. He hadn't told anyone he was coming here. He couldn't explain the deep need he felt to do it. And he was sure Vecchio would not have wanted to hear about it.

The plan, Vecchio's plan at any rate, was to get a paternity test done as soon as he could possibly arrange it. Mort had a vial of Fraser's blood in the lab, leftover from that thing a couple of weeks ago when the hemophiliac counterfeiter had tried to ditch an arraignment by putting his fist through a window. Vecchio was delivering the sample for genetic testing at his very moment.

"Ray!" A woman's voice called. Ray turned to see a round-ish woman with blond-streaked hair step out of a doorway about halfway down the hall.

"Jenny," Ray answered. He plastered his most charming smile on his face as he walked toward her. "It's good to see you."

The woman smiled in return. "I'm just sorry that we had to meet again under these circumstances."

Ray shrugged. "Yeah. Listen, Jen. I'd like to see the little girl."

The woman frowned. "Is there a problem, Ray?"

"No, no, no." Ray assured her. "But Benton Fraser, he's a friend of mine, a good friend. He'll do what's right by his daughter, I can promise you that."

"But?" Jenny asked.

"But," Ray grinned. "He's out of the country on business and we haven't been able to reach him just yet." He mentally crossed his fingers and failed to mention that they had not yet tried to contact Fraser. "He's Canadian."

"I had though as much when I found out that he works at the Canadian consulate," the social worker said with a wry smile.

"Yeah, okay," Ray replied with snort. "You always did get better grades than I did."

"Quit trying to butter me up, Kowalski." Jenny rolled her eyes as she spoke.

Ray laughed. "Right. So can I see the kid or what?"

Jenny nodded. "Follow me." As they walked down the corridor and climbed a flight of stairs she said, "There has been some emotional trauma. There's no telling how much of her mother's murder the little girl saw. She hasn't spoken a word to anyone since she was found, though all tests indicate that she is capable of speech. So don't take anything she does, or doesn't do personally."

"I saw the photos, the bruises," Ray said with a frown.

"Unfortunately, that level of abuse isn't an uncommon thing in my line of work," Jenny told him.

"Your line of work sucks big time, Jen," Ray answered.

She nodded. "So does yours." Jenny opened a door revealing a small room with two sets of bunk beds lining opposite walls. "The other children are in their arts and crafts session. December didn't want to go, so the two of you shouldn't be interrupted for a while."

Ray stepped into the room and looked around. The four beds were neatly made with red and pink sheets. One of the beds had a ragged looking doll tucked lovingly under the covers. The room seemed empty.

"Under the bed," Jenny answered Ray's questioning glance.

Ray went to the middle of the room and eased onto the floor between the beds. For a moment, he lay on his back and stared at the ceiling to give the child time to look him over. He turned his head to the left and glanced under the bunk. Nothing but dust bunnies there. He turned to the right and found himself being watched by a large pair of blue eyes.

"Hello Dee," Ray said softly. "My name is Ray. You and I are going to be good friends."

The little girl blinked at him.

Words began to tumble out of Ray's mouth. He had no idea what he was saying. But he continued with a stream of softly spoken words meant only to soothe the frightened child. He wasn't sure if she understood him or not, but he continued to keep his tone warm and even.

While Ray talked the girl eyed him cautiously. The intensity of her stare was a little unsettling. Ray was reminded of his adventure in Canada when he'd glanced up from his chores to find an elk buck watching him. For a long moment that seemed like forever, Ray and the animal had stared at each other. Then without warning the elk had bolted and with a graceful turn it had disappeared into the trees.

Ray smiled and told December about the elk. He told her about his adventure. He told her about a wolf friend of his and a Mountie that she'd be meeting soon. Ray was explaining the importance of a Mountie's Stetson when the little girl's face cracked wide with a yawn.

"I'm boring you," he said with a smile. "Get used to it kid. Be glad I haven't told you any Inuit stories or explained the hallucinogenic properties of a dead caribou."

The little girl's eyes were blinking slowly, sleepily. She shifted a bit and yawned again.

Ray rolled onto his stomach and pillowed his head against the backs of his crossed hands. He smiled and let his eyes drift shut for a moment. When he opened them again, December was eyeing him carefully and there was a ghost of a smile on her lips.

Something about that drowsy, crooked little smile reached into Ray's chest and squeezed his heart. Lying there on that hard wood floor, Ray fell completely under the child's spell. Perhaps, if he had known Victoria Metcalf, the speed and totality with which it happened might have worried him. But he'd never met Victoria, Ray only knew Fraser.

Much of what Ray felt now was simply overflow from his feelings for Fraser. He knew that. But this, this unconditional affection for his best-friend's child, Ray could not have prevented if his life depended on it.

"My name is Ray," he repeated gently. "Everything is going to be okay now. I promise."

--

But things weren't okay. Three days later, things were about as far from okay as Ray had ever been. The complete and total wrongness of it was pounding in Ray's brain like a jackhammer.

Fraser sat at his desk in the crowded little office, carefully reading the paperwork Jenny had brought with her. Fraser's face was a bit pale and he had that tightness around his mouth that always appeared when he was stressed. But still, he looked better than he had yesterday when Ray and Vecchio had told him about the situation. They had tried to be gentle, to ease Fraser into the knowledge that Victoria had betrayed him yet again. Hadn't done much good though.

Fraser had taken the news stoically. He hadn't said a word as the blood drained from his face. Then he'd promptly gone to the bathroom and thrown up.

Ray had tried to follow him, to help in some way, even if it was only to hold his lanyard and keep it from falling into the john. But Vecchio had stopped him, wrapped a hand around Ray's arm.

"Give him a minute, Stanley," Vecchio had said.

Ray jerked away from Vecchio's grasp and rushed to the bathroom. He stopped with his hand on the knob. The sounds of retching from within kept Ray frozen to the spot. Fraser was sick again and again while Ray stood there, his forehead against the wooden door, his fingertips caressing the oak panel between them.

After a few minutes all was quiet and Ray called softly, "Frase?"

There was a long, long pause before Fraser answered. "I am fine, Ray. I will require a few more minutes to collect myself."

"You're okay?" Ray asked.

"Yes Ray," came the weary reply. "I'm okay."

But really Fraser wasn't okay. He was currently discussing the custodial release forms with Jenny the social worker. With a simple signature, he was about to give December away. Vecchio stood nearby, grim-faced but nodding.

Ray felt as though he was about to explode. His head was throbbing and as he watched Fraser pick up his pen, Ray was abruptly seized by an overwhelming panic. He couldn't let this happen. He couldn't, wouldn't allow this to happen.

"Stop!" Ray suddenly found his voice and yelled more loudly than he had intended.

Three pairs of eyes swiveled to meet his. Ray stepped forward and grabbed the papers off the desk with such force that Fraser's pen left a long jagged line across the form.

"You can't do this, Fraser," Ray said.

"It's none of your business, Stanley," Vecchio chimed in. "This is Benny's decision to make."

"Look," Jenny interrupted. She held her hand up in a calming gesture. She was a woman who understood how to handle tense situations like this one. "This is all pretty new. No one wants to act in haste." She began gathering up her things and tucking them into her briefcase. "Why don't you take a few days," she said to Fraser. "Give yourself time to think this over before we do anything permanent. Perhaps you could meet the child before you decide."

"I appreciate that, Ms. Marcovich," Fraser told her. "But I think this is what's best for the girl. Meeting her would only make what needs to be done more difficult to accomplish."

"No." Ray stuffed the papers in his pocket, not caring if they tore. He looked toward the social worker and began talking rapidly. "A few days would be great, Jen. A little time, yeah, greatness." As he spoke, Ray began to bustle the woman toward the door, urging her out. "We'll call you in a few days, okay? Good? Good. Thanks." He slammed the door behind her retreating figure and braced his back against it.

"What the hell are you doing, Stanley?" Vecchio yelled.

"Giving you time, Fraser." Ray said.

Fraser sighed and ran his thumb across one brow. "Ray, you're only delaying the inevitable."

"Why?" Ray cried. "Just go see her Frase. Take one look at her and you won't be so willing to do this. You can't give her up."

Fraser stood so fast that his chair skittered across the floor. "This is the way it has to be, Ray!"

"Bullshit!" Ray railed at his friend. "You just don't want her because her mother was psychotic."

Fraser's temper was climbing. Ray could see the anger flaring in Fraser's eyes and he did his best to feed it. Ray knew that his only chance was to get behind the Mountie mask to the feeling guy underneath.

"Stay out of this Stanley." Vecchio stepped between Ray and Fraser, which in hindsight was probably a mistake.

Ray lost it. "Shut up!" he screamed. "You shut up!" He grabbed Vecchio by the lapels of his expensive jacket and tossed him against the filing cabinets. It didn't matter that Vecchio had a good twenty-five pounds on him. Ray had the strength of rage on his side. "You're not helping him," Ray growled into Vecchio's face. "You're not protecting him."

"Neither are you!" Vecchio yelled back. "Stick a knife in his gut why don't you? Can't you see how this is hurting him?"

"You don't get it," Ray argued, slamming Vecchio a couple more times for emphasis. "He has to do the right thing. He always does the right thing."

"Ray," Fraser said quietly. "This is the right thing."

Ray whirled on his friend and hissed, "It is not!"

"I have nothing to offer her!" Fraser wailed. His shoulders slumped in defeat as he gestured at the office around him. "This is my home. Everything I own I can fit into a single duffle bag. I can't take care of a child, a little girl, let alone an emotionally traumatized girl with special needs.

What would you have me do, Ray? Tuck her in the corner on a stool while I work all day? Drag her back to the Territories to live in isolation when I eventually get called back home?" Fraser sat down again, rubbed wearily at his temples. "I have thought this over Ray. Truly I have. At least this way she can be adopted by a loving couple, a mother and a father who can care for her properly."

Ray stalked across the room, flattened his palms on Fraser's desk and leaned forward menacingly. He pulled out the big guns. "How old were you, Fraser?" Ray snarled. "How old were you when your mother died and Bob Fraser had to make this same choice?"

Fraser flinched.

"Do you really think I'm doing this for her sake, Fraser?" Ray's voice softened and he tilted his head as he spoke. "Do you?"

Fraser sighed and licked his lower lip nervously. "I have a responsibility to do what is best for the child," he whispered.

"I have a responsibility too, Frase," Ray told him. "I have a responsibility to my friend, a guy I care about a lot. A guy who has spent so much of his life alone that he's not sure what to do around people. I really, really like that guy, Fraser. And all I want is to see him happy."

"Well at the moment you're doing a lousy job of that," Vecchio interrupted.

Ray ignored him. "You can't let her go, Fraser. If you do, you'll regret it for the rest of your life. I know you will. Someday you'll be Robert Fraser all over again. You'll die alone in the snow just like he did. But this time there will be no one to avenge the dead Mountie. This is your chance Fraser, your only chance to become something other than a copy of your father."

"I have nothing to offer her," Fraser repeated.

"Only yourself," Ray said.

Fraser shook is head slowly. "It isn't enough."

Ray bowed his head, blinking back tears. He couldn't give up this fight. The stakes were too high. An idea began to form and his head snapped up before it had fully taken shape. "Fine," he said. "Okay, fine. Then give her to me."

"What?" Vecchio and Fraser asked simultaneously.

"Give her to me," Ray repeated. "I'll adopt her. Hell, I'll do it anyway. Stella can fix me up with a good adoption lawyer. I'll petition with Jenny myself."

"No one in their right mind is going to give you a kid, Kowalski," Vecchio said with a frown.

Ray began to pace, he jittered and shook with tense excitement. "Then screw them, I'll take her. No one will ever see either of us again. I know procedure. I know how to avoid the Amber alerts. I know undercover. Poof," he gestured wildly with his arms. "We will be so gone."

"Why would you do that, Ray?" Fraser gasped. "Why would you risk it?"

"Because she deserves to know that someone gives a damn," Ray answered. "I can't let her grow up thinking she was no more than a piece of luggage to be shuffled from one place to the other. Because once upon a time there was a boy just like her, and I couldn't help him. I still can't help him."

"It's not that I don't care," Fraser said in a soft voice.

Ray crossed his arms and nodded. "If I thought for a moment that you didn't, Frase, I'd let you sign the damn papers."

--

A day later, Fraser sat sullen and quiet in the passenger seat of the GTO. He frowned wordlessly at the man sitting behind the wheel. Neither spoke. Fraser wondered for a moment at how many people tended to underestimate his hyperactive partner. Ray's fumbled words and jittery movements left many thinking the detective less than intelligent. Even Fraser had occasionally been guilty of underrating Ray's skills.

Fraser would never do it again. He'd spent the last twenty-fours hours subjected to the whirlwind that was Ray Kowalski. Ray Kowalski was on a mission, and Ray Kowalski on a mission was an unstoppable force, a wall of determination and persistence. As a Mountie, Fraser had thought his own tenacity to be unparalleled. But he had met a formidable match in his slender blonde partner.

It had been emotional blackmail in its purest form and Ray had worked it like a pro. He knew Fraser too well, knew exactly which buttons to push. Fraser was forced to either take custody of his daughter, or watch Ray sacrifice everything when he abducted the girl himself. Once Fraser had given in just the slightest bit, Ray had pounced on the opportunity like Diefenbaker on donuts.

Fraser found it to be more than a little distressing. It was all being done for the wrong reasons. He could not fathom why Ray was so insistent.

Once recognized, Ray's power over him was like a tidal wave, growing in intensity as it swept Fraser along. Ray had bullied and pushed and argued and nagged continuously. Both men knew that Fraser could not take his daughter to the consulate to live. But Ray had been unwilling to wait long enough for Fraser to find a residence. Instead he had emptied a second bedroom Fraser hadn't realized he had and moved Fraser into his own apartment.

Fraser had watched in stunned disbelief as Ray made room in his home by simply tossing things into a dumpster. A bicycle, a recliner, a bookcase and the junk piled on it, had all disappeared within minutes. Dust covered boxes, untouched since Ray's divorce, had been hauled from the spare room and discarded without a second glance.

A small bedroom set was purchased and installed in the new room, complete with rainbow-colored linens and a plush teddy bear. Fraser's cot was set up in the living room beside the turtle tank. A folding screen provided a small measure of privacy.

"It will have to do for now," Ray had said with a shrug. "At least it will buy us time to find a bigger place."

As the GTO slowed to a stop in front of the orphanage, Fraser swallowed hard. To say he was anxious would be a huge understatement. Ray of course, could sense it.

"Scared?" he asked.

Fraser twitched his neck to one side, allowing the crackling noise to hang in the air for a moment. "Apprehensive," he said.

"Scared."

"Hesitant," Fraser countered.

"Scared," Ray said more forcefully.

"Concerned."

"Scared," Ray repeated.

"Terrified," Fraser admitted with a sigh. "Hurt, angry, upset and deeply saddened," he continued in a rapid, clipped tone.

"Yeah," Ray agreed with a nod. "Well you can hate me some more later. That's what I am here for you got that? I am your official dumping ground for all that hurt and anger."

"Ray!" Fraser gasped. "I am not going to take my feelings out on the child!"

"I know that." Ray waved a hand in the air as though batting away a fly. "You'll take one look at this kid and do your best to lock all those feelings down tight. But this isn't going to work that way, Fraser." Ray's gaze held Fraser's. "This little girl needs to be loved and you need to learn how to do that. And we've got to get past all the crap to get to the good stuff."

Fraser looked away from those piercing eyes that saw him all too clearly. "I know how to love," Fraser whispered.

"I know you do," Ray said. "But for some reason you believe that you have to hide it, bury it deep so no one else can see. But I've been there; I've seen it, bought the T-shirt. It's time to let someone else in."

"I've never had much luck with it," Fraser said with a sigh.

Ray smiled. The grin was one of those bright honest smiles that always seemed to transform Ray's face. "I think our luck is changing, Frase. It's going to be okay. I promise."

"How do you know?"

"'Cuz I won't let it be any other way," Ray answered. "Come on. Let's pick up December and take her home."

After Fraser had completed the paperwork and signed what felt like a hundred forms, he and Ray sat in Ms. Marcovich's office waiting. Fraser tried desperately to relax, but had settled for standing at parade rest. He stared out the window, idly watching a handful of children play on the fenced-in playground. He thought of the wide-open spaces of his own childhood and it struck him suddenly, how terribly sad it was to keep children locked behind these high gates.

"She only knows the city," Fraser said.

"She'll learn about the ice fields," Ray answered.

Fraser turned and smiled weakly at his partner. Ray always seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. "Ray," Fraser waited until the other man had looked up to meet his gaze. "I don't hate you, Ray."

Ray's smile flashed brightly once again. "I know." The grin vanished as he went on. "But this isn't going to be easy. As a matter of fact it's going to be damn hard. We've got nowhere else to vent our frustrations except at each other."

Fraser nodded. "It won't be the first time."

"Won't be the last," Ray agreed. "But we'll be fine, Fraser. You'll put up with my crap and I'll put up with yours. Because that is what buddies do."

"Understood." And suddenly Fraser did understand, perhaps more than Ray realized. Fraser knew that this was more than buddies. Ray was fighting for him. Ray was fighting with him for his own good. Ray was forcing him to face the bitter so that he might one day experience the sweet.

There was a small sound from the doorway. Fraser turned to see that Ms Marcovich had returned. Ray grinned and rose from the chair in which he had been sitting. "Hi Dee," Ray said. "Remember me? My name is Ray, remember?"

Only then did Fraser allow his gaze to move to the small figure standing at the social worker's side. She was perfect, absolutely beautiful. In the riot of dark curls around the child's head, Fraser could see the genetic influence of her mother. He looked for other signs of Victoria but could find none. The girl frowned slightly creating a small line between her brows. She tilted her head inquisitively and Fraser could suddenly see his father in her.

"She's got your eyes, Frase," Ray murmured gently.

"My mother's eyes," Fraser replied.

"December," the social worker said. "This is your father and his friend. Your father would very much like you to visit with him. So I want you to be a good girl. I'll come see you tomorrow, okay?"

Solemn blue eyes shifted from the woman holding her hand, to the two men standing before her. She did not answer in any way. She just blinked at the adults.

Ms. Marcovich continued to speak, directing her words toward Ray. Which was just as well because Fraser could not tear his eyes from the little girl.

"I'll need to do a site visit every day for the first week," the woman explained. "Then, if all goes well we'll gradually reduce the frequency to once a month or so until everything is finalized. I'll be dropping by at different times and not all the visits will be announced."

Ray was nodding as he took the plastic bag Ms. Marcovich offered him. The bag seemed to contain a pitifully small number of clothing items.

"Do you have a car seat?" The social worker asked.

"Yeah," Ray answered. "The booster seat kind, sales lady said that was the right one for a four-year-old."

Ms Marcovich nodded. She walked toward Fraser, bringing the little girl with her. It was only through a great deal of personal restraint that Fraser kept himself from backing away. The social worker transferred the small hand into Fraser's large one and then stepped back.

For a long minute, Fraser stood there and stared at his daughter. Her wide blue eyes stared back. Ray's voice murmured in his ear and Fraser was a little startled to find him so close. When Ray spoke, Fraser could feel warm air on his cheek. Yet he did not move his gaze from the little girl's.

"Breathe, Fraser," Ray told him.

Fraser gasped as instructed and allowed the air to exhale in a nervous stutter.

"Good luck to you," the caseworker told them with a reassuring smile. "And take good care of this little one."

"I will do my best, Ma'am." Fraser promised.

-

He did try. Fraser knew he was completely failing as a father, but it wasn't from lack of effort. Over the days that followed, he scrupulously tended to his daughter's physical needs. He cooked all her meals, bathed her nightly and made sure she properly brushed her teeth. He washed and pressed her growing wardrobe of clothes. He walked with her each night when he took Dief out and designed a detailed schedule of her day.

From the social worker's point of view, things were progressing nicely. The child was well cared for, fed and tended to. She was protected and safe.

But it wasn't working. It wasn't right. Fraser couldn't relax and the silent girl grew wary and tense in his presence. Her solemn, watchful gaze only served to increase Fraser's anxiety, which in turn manifested itself in even more rigid behavior on his part.

Fraser's only saving grace was that he worked all day. Once he came back to the apartment each evening, cooked dinner and gave December her bath, the hour was usually rather late. Thirty minutes worth of the Discovery channel following their walk and then it was time for bed. It pained Fraser to rely on the television in that manner but he eased his conscience with the fact that it was educational.

The worst part was that Ray had vanished from his life, leaving Fraser to fend for himself with the tiny stranger. The day they had brought December back to the apartment, Ray had volunteered to work the graveyard shift. So just as Fraser was coming in from work, Ray was going out. They saw each other in passing, with barely enough time to exchange information and instructions.

It only made sense. Someone needed to care for the child during the day. Ray had been insistent about December acclimating to her new surroundings before they placed her into a day care environment. So Ray worked from 6 PM to 6 AM. He arrived back at the apartment each morning just in time for Fraser to leave for the consulate.

Fraser had no idea when Ray was actually finding the time to sleep. Each night, the apartment showed signs of a great deal of daily activity. Even before this change in their lives, Ray had always left a path of clutter in his wake. Disorder seemed to follow him everywhere. Adding a preschooler to the equation had not helped matters.

So each day, Fraser found things like origami hats of newspaper tossed on the table, colored markers and crayons stuffed into the couch, or chalk drawings on the linoleum of the kitchen floor. Fraser didn't fuss. He simply tidied up each mess, accepting his role as housekeeper in their odd little group.

Ray of course, continued to push. He began leaving lists of chores for Fraser to do each evening. The lists were written in Ray's hurried scrawl and said things like: scrape the peanut butter out of Dief's fur, blow bubbles in the bath tub, sing a song at bedtime. Fraser found it both highly irritating and terribly endearing.

One night, as Fraser was removing his coat and Ray was shrugging into his, Ray said, "We went to the library today."

"Really?" Fraser asked in surprise. "I didn't realize you had a library card."

"Well," he replied. "To be honest, I couldn't find it, so I had to fill out the forms to get a new one."

"Do you know how to use it?" Fraser asked seriously. "I could give you a quick refresher."

"Har dee ha, ha, Fraser." Ray stuck out his tongue. "I left a book on the counter for bedtime," he added. "Curious George. I think you'll both learn something from the moral of the story."

Fraser tilted his head inquisitively. "Moral?"

Ray nodded. "Don't put weird things in your mouth."

"Ah," Fraser replied. "Yes. As I recall the little monkey swallows a puzzle piece."

"Exactly," Ray said. "And the man who takes care of George wears a big hat." Ray had winked, tossed Fraser a jaunty grin and slammed the door behind him as he left for work.

Fraser dutifully read the book at bedtime. December eyed him silently while he read the story. Fraser spent the entire time with the distinct impression that he was doing something wrong, though he wasn't sure what it could be. So he simply soldiered on. He plugged away, going through the motions, feeling more and more inept with every passing day.

Three weeks passed, during which Ray had worked every single evening. The few days that Fraser had been off, he had spent preparing for Ray Vecchio and Stella Kowalski's wedding. Fraser was serving as best man so there was a great deal to be done. As a result he saw Ray Kowalski hardly at all.

Early on Thursday morning, Ray came in from work and announced that he was not expected back at the precinct until Monday evening. "I am outta there for almost five whole days," Ray grinned. He ruffled December's hair as he passed her on his way to the coffeepot.

"Impressive, Ray," Fraser said when the blonde seemed to be waiting for some kind of response. Fraser set a glass of juice on the table in front of December and turned back to the stove. He checked the oatmeal before asking, "How did you manage that?"

Ray plopped into a chair beside December. "Some guys owed me some days," he said. "I swapped a couple shifts so I could have extra time off this weekend." He frowned over the edge of his coffee cup and added, "What Frase, you thought I worked twenty days straight for the fun of it?"

Fraser cracked his neck, stirred the oatmeal and ran a thumb across his eyebrow.

Ray grimaced. "You thought I was being scarce to force you to spend time with the kid."

"Of course not, Ray," Fraser denied. He immediately recanted. "Well, perhaps. Didn't you?"

"It didn't work did it?" Ray asked with a sigh.

Fraser focused his gaze on the about to boil cereal. He couldn't face Ray and the look of disappointment Ray undoubtedly had on his face at this moment. Fraser shook his head.

"You've got to relax, Frase," Ray told him. "This isn't a drill. You aren't being tested."

Fraser swallowed. It was uncanny how Ray seemed to be able to pinpoint exactly how Fraser felt. Fraser startled at the warm touch of Ray's hand on his shoulder. He hadn't even heard Ray get out of his chair.

"Let yourself care about her," Ray said. He squeezed Fraser's shoulder gently. "Let yourself love her."

"It is difficult to remember how," Fraser whispered.

"You remember," Ray said. "And I can prove it."

Fraser turned to look at his partner curiously.

Ray's face broke into a crooked grin. "I love you, buddy," He said with another warm squeeze to Fraser's shoulder.

Fraser looked down at the floor, unable to suppress the smile that rose on his face. "And I you, Ray," he responded automatically.

"See?" Ray asked. "You remember."

For a long minute the two men smiled at each other. Fraser felt a wave of affection wash over him. He felt very lucky indeed to have Ray at his side. Despite anything else Fraser may have wanted but feared pursuing with this man.

The moment ended and Ray abruptly clapped his hands together. "So," he said cheerfully. "Big day coming up. Today you've got to pick up tuxedos, right?"

"Yes," Fraser replied. He removed the oatmeal from the stove and began to spoon the cereal into three bowls. "We have a final fitting this morning. The rehearsal is tomorrow afternoon at four."

"Okay." Ray looked at his watch and ran one hand through his hair. He yawned. "What time is Vecchio expecting you for the tuxedo thing? Do I have time for a shower?"

"He'll be here at 10."

"Good," Ray said. "I've got time to wash the streets off me."

Fraser set one bowl in front of December who picked up a spoon and began eating. "You should eat something, Ray. And try to get some sleep."

"No need," Ray waved off Fraser's concerns. "I made sure I'd be home to watch the sprout this weekend, 'cuz I knew you had a lot to do. I'll sleep during naptime."

Fraser looked up at Ray and blinked in surprise. "We have naptime?"

Ray laughed. "You can't get a four-year-old out of bed at six in the morning and not take a little rest after lunch."

Fraser frowned. "Oh dear," he sighed. This was one more thing he hadn't thought about.

"Hey Fraser," Ray reassured him. "Don't worry about it. I've got it covered. Best time of the day really. We snuggle up on the couch under that blanket my mum made. We sort of watch Sesame Street until we drift off."

Fraser sighed again and stared at his daughter. Her blue eyes were watching him again, making him feel inadequate to the task placed before him. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat but couldn't quite manage it.

"Frase." Ray must have sensed his distress, read the sadness in Fraser's eyes. "Relax. It'll be okay."

Fraser nodded. He took a deep breath and made an effort to shake off his melancholy. "Take your shower, Ray." Then Fraser tucked into his cereal, not glancing up when Ray left the room.

-

"Okay Benny, you are not allowed to look better that me," Ray Vecchio told him. "You are only the best man here. I'm the main event."

"I was my understanding that the bride is the focus of attention during a marriage ceremony," Fraser replied.

Ray laughed. "True, but I'm the one who has to make her look good."

"Raymondo!" Mama Vecchio batted her son's shoulder as she scolded him. "Now is not a time for jokes. What can we do?"

"Calm down, Ma," Ray said. "We'll think of something."

"Both of your nieces getting chicken pox at the same time," Mama Vecchio moaned. "It is a bad omen, Raymondo."

"Ma!"

Ray's mother smacked his arm again. "We have no flower girl!"

Ray sighed. "We'll just get another kid," he said. "What about cousin Phillip's brat?"

"She's fourteen," Mama replied with a shake of her head. "Too old."

"Uncle Marty's step-daughter?" Ray asked.

Mama crossed herself in horror. "And have your Aunt Maureen upset with me? No, no."

Ray rolled his eyes with a long-suffering sigh. Inspiration suddenly struck. "Hey!" he exclaimed. "I got it. We'll get your kid to it, Fraser."

Fraser frowned. "I don't know, Ray. She is quite young."

"Nonsense. Four is the perfect flower girl age." Ray told him. "Old enough to follow instructions yet young enough to be adorably cute. Besides everyone is dying to get a look at her."

Mama Vecchio clapped her hands. "Oh yes, Benton. Wonderful, wonderful! We'll need to alter the dress to fit her. You bring her by the house when you've finished here Benton, and I'll make the changes." A moment later she whirled on her heel and was gone, hurried off to her next task.

Fraser tugged at his collar. "Ray, I'm not sure how December will handle the attention of so many people."

Ray waved away his concerns. "Ah she'll be fine, Benny. There will be cake. She'll love it."

"May I borrow your phone please?" Fraser asked. "I need to ask Ray about this."

"Benny," Ray Vecchio said with a frown. "She's your kid. Not Stanley's. You don't need his permission to take her somewhere."

"Ray has spent a great deal of time with December," Fraser explained. "He'll know if she's ready for something of this nature. And I value his opinion."

Ray thought it was a really good idea. Fraser was mildly surprised by Ray's willingness to allow it seeing that the wedding in question involved his ex-wife. But Ray seemed fine with it, excited by the prospect of showing December off a bit. He even volunteered to come along to baby-sit while Fraser attended to his duties as best man.

"Are you sure, Ray?" Fraser asked once more.

"It will be fine, Frase. And I promise to behave myself." Fraser could hear the smile in Ray's voice.

-

Ray parked the GTO on the street in front of the Vecchio residence. The driveway could have held a couple more automobiles. But parking at the curb had the additional advantage of allowing Ray to leave whenever he wanted without playing musical cars as other relatives showed up.

"Well Dee, here we are." Ray glanced at December's reflection in the rearview mirror. She sat quietly in her car seat with one hand buried in Diefenbaker's fur. The wolf lay curled in the spot at December's side, fast asleep. Turning in his seat Ray faced the girl with a smile on his face. "These folks are a little loud... well okay, a lot loud. But they are going to adore you. And Mama Vecchio makes an awesome cannoli."

Ray climbed out of the car and opened the back door. It only took a moment to lift December out of the GTO. He left the girl perched comfortably on his hip as Ray let Dief out of the car. Following the wolf up the sidewalk, Ray snuggled the little girl in his arms. When she rested her head on his shoulder, Ray rubbed his stubble-covered cheek through her soft curly hair.

"Now there is a Kodak moment."

Ray grinned at the sound of Francesca's voice. She must have been watching for his arrival and was now standing in the open doorway. As Ray reached the steps leading to the porch, Francesca came forward to meet him, pulling the front door closed behind her.

"Can I see her for a minute?" Frannie asked. "Before the hordes descend, I mean."

Ray nodded. "December," he introduced. "This is our good friend Frannie."

Francesca stepped closer and placed one hand on the little girl's back. "Hello there sweetheart," she whispered. "Aren't you precious?"

"Well of course," Ray said. "Like Fraser could possibly have an un-perfect kid."

Frannie snorted. For a long moment she gazed at the girl in wonder. "I knew he would make beautiful babies," she breathed. Her lower lip trembled for a second. Then she smiled sadly. "I just wanted to be the one to give them to him you know?"

Ray shrugged. "You don't have to give up on him, Frannie," he told her. "I mean... Fraser likes you. Really he does."

The feisty little woman's eyes lost their softness. "I haven't got a chance."

"Why not?" Ray asked with a frown. "He'll want to try and find a mother for December. He may be looking to get married soon."

Frannie scoffed. "You think I want him like that? No. I'll marry for love or not at all." She smiled at the little girl again. "Besides, I think that position is already filled."

"How so?" Ray asked.

Francesca shook her head at him. "Fraser won't go looking for a wife. Why should he? He has you."

"It's not like that Frannie," Ray said with a sigh. "I'm just helping out for a while."

"Keep telling yourself that, Kowalski," Frannie chuckled. "But don't expect me to believe it. Not when you're holding his child in your arms like she belongs there."

Before Ray could form some kind of response, the front door opened again and Fraser stepped onto the porch.

"Is everything all right, Ray?" he asked.

Ray and Frannie glanced at one another for a moment, silently agreeing not to share the topic of their conversation.

"Everything's fine Fraser," Francesca replied. She held out her arms to the little girl. "Come on December. I have a pretty new dress waiting inside for you."

December looked at Ray with large questioning eyes.

"It's okay," he assured her.

The little girl allowed Frannie to take her. Ray held his breath for several heartbeats, waiting for December to panic as Frannie moved away. But there was no fuss from the child, just a silent acceptance.

"Brave kid," Ray murmured as Frannie went inside.

Fraser nodded. "Perhaps it would be best if we stayed close."

The two men nodded at each other. They moved in tandem toward the door and into the chaos that was the Vecchio household.

-

Ray leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. He was doing his best to stay out of the way as the Vecchios did their thing. December stood on a chair in the middle of the living room while Mama Vecchio and Francesca circled around her. The little girl seemed to be swimming in the white lace dress. It had been intended for Maria's eight-year-old daughter so it was several sizes too big for December. But Mama Vecchio had made the dress, so it wouldn't be difficult for her to alter it.

Frannie was on her knees with stickpins in her mouth shortening the hem. Mama kept grabbing handfuls of material around December's waist and pinning the folds into place. "Now don't move, caro," Mama would command each time the pins neared flesh.

"We'll need to put a few more darts in the bodice," Francesca muttered around her mouthful of pins.

Mama nodded. Grasping December around the waist, Mama smiled brightly. "Just you wait and see, mia preziosa. The dress will be perfect and you will be molto bella. Your papa will be pleased."

Ray looked up and smiled at Fraser, who had taken a similarly withdrawn position on the opposite side of the room. Fraser's lips curled up in return. It was the wary look that suddenly crossed Fraser's face that gave Ray his first warning. As a result, when a voice spoke at his side, Ray wasn't startled.

"Hey."

"Hey," Ray replied without looking her way.

"Are you okay?" Stella asked.

"Sure," Ray said. "No reason I shouldn't be."

"Could I interest you in a cup of coffee?"

Ray did turn toward her then. His smile brightened. "Always."

Ray followed his ex-wife into the kitchen and sat at the table. Stella spoke as she quickly poured two mugs from the carafe on the counter. "I was hoping you and I would get the chance to talk." She set a cup in front of Ray and sat in the chair beside him. "Are you okay, really?"

"Really, Stell," Ray told her.

"How are you doing with all this?" she asked gesturing ambiguously to the surrounding air.

Ray sighed. He took a sip of coffee before answering. "Well it was weird at first, ya know? I mean come on Stell, Vecchio? I thought you had class, Hon."

"Ray," Stella scolded, a frown marring her face.

Ray laughed. "But I've gotten used to the idea. It's still weird but I think my tolerance levels for weirdness got realigned in Canada. And Vecchio's a good guy, a good cop. As long as he makes you happy, Babe, that's all that really matters."

"Thanks Ray." Stella smiled.

"But if he ever hurts you, I will personally put a bullet in him," Ray vowed. His voice took on a lighter tone as he continued. "Which I'd kind of rather not have to do, because the Lieutenant gets ticked off when you shoot your partner. So if you've got doubts say so now, okay?"

Stella shook her head and chuckled at him. "You're incorrigible, you know that?"

"So that's a no then?" Ray pushed. "You're sure? You're happy?"

"Yes Ray." Stella reached out to take Ray's hand. She squeezed it. "I am happy."

"Good. That's good," Ray said. "Because I have to make nice with the guy for Fraser's sake."

"And what about you, Ray?" She squeezed his hand again. "Are you sure? Are you happy?"

Ray frown in confusion. "Huh? Sure about what?"

"About you and the mountie."

"Um, Stell," Ray said. "You've got it wrong. Fraser is my best friend. I'm helping him with his little girl is all. I'm not sleeping with him."

"Honestly?" Stella seemed surprised. Ray wasn't sure but he thought maybe he should feel insulted.

"Why would you think that I was?" Ray gasped.

"Well," Stella grew wary. "The general consensus is that he's gay."

Ray slammed one palm down on the table in anger. "But he likes girls! I know he does. He even has a kid!"

"Bisexual then," Stella argued. "Listen, I've seen dozens of women throw themselves at him. He never seems interested."

"He doesn't like to be pursued," Ray growled. "Those women treat him like a piece of meat. Fraser isn't looking for sex. He just wants a companion, someone to share his life."

"And he's found you," Stella said quietly.

"I'm not gay, Stella," Ray pointed out. "You of all people know that."

"I know that there is nothing you would not do for someone you love." She took a deep breath and went on. "All those years, I always knew you would do anything I asked."

"That was different." Ray shook his head. "You were my..." The words caught in Ray's throat and his mouth dropped open in shock.

"I was your best friend," Stella finished gently.

Ray nodded.

"You loved me," she continued.

Ray nodded again.

Stella smiled a soft, sad little smile. "He is your best friend now. You love him."

"Yeah," Ray answered slowly. "Yeah I do."

"If he asked," Stella told him. "You'd give him anything."

"Do you really think so?"

"I know so," Stella confirmed with a brisk nod.

Ray sat there glaring at the bright yellow coffee mug on the red and white checkered tablecloth. Ray's heart thudded painfully in his chest as his world seemed to shift and re-align itself. Ray felt as though the confusion he'd been staring at all along had finally become clear. Like one of those pictures with all the dots that were just dots until you looked at it the right way and then a skateboarder or a giraffe or a bowl of fruit suddenly jumped out at you.

"Ray?"

Wide-eyed and fearful, Ray looked up at Stella. His mind raced with images, actions and conversations he'd had with Fraser in the past. What had before seemed innocent was now colored with innuendo.

"How long?" Ray whispered. "Have you suspected that I would... that he... that we were..."

Stella shrugged. "From the first time I saw you together I suppose."

Ray closed his eyes and sighed. "The Orsini case?" he groaned.

"You could have stayed with me that night if you had really wanted to," she said. "The fact that you left made me wonder what had changed between us."

"I swear to you Stella." Ray grabbed her hand and held on tight. "I've never thought of Fraser like this before."

"Not consciously perhaps," she told him. "But I've seen the two of you together, Ray. Anyone who knows you can see how you feel about him."

"God," Ray buried his hands in his hair.

"Take a deep breath, Ray," Stella stood and moved to his side. "Don't flip out on me, okay? Okay?"

"Geez Stell," Ray gasped. "You've just tossed my entire self-image on its ass. Give me a minute."

"I'm sorry," Stella hugged his shoulders tight.

"It's not your fault Stell," Ray said. "I've been living with my head in the sand. I was bound to get a clue sooner or later."

-

Ray wanted a cigarette so bad he could taste it. His chest ached with the need to inhale a lungful of nicotine and tar. Ray had smoked his last cigarette almost five years ago, when Stella had told him to quit or else. He'd quit, but eventually the or else had come anyway. And now Ray wanted a smoke in the worst way.

They had been at the Vecchio house for hours and Ray wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of there. Okay, yeah he wanted a cigarette more than he wanted out of there but neither seemed to be in Ray's immediate future.

Since his little chat with Stella, Ray had managed to stay away from just about everyone else. His sudden change in mood had made the Vecchio family wary of him. And Ray had done an outstanding job of avoiding Fraser.

Fraser could undoubtedly tell that something was wrong. He kept hovering at the edge of Ray's vision. But every time the mountie tried to speak with him, Ray found an excuse to be somewhere else.

With a jittery twitch, Ray saw Fraser approaching and decided that this would be an excellent time to walk Diefenbaker. He slipped out the back door with the wolf in tow. They didn't walk far. Ray went straight to the GTO and began a thorough search of the vehicle. The glove box, trunk and every hidden compartment were scoured. There were no cancer sticks to be found. Which of course, there wouldn't be because Ray hadn't owned the GTO then, not that he would have smoked in the car if he had.

Ray straightened and placed his palms on the roof of the car. With a weary sigh he laid his forehead against the cool metal, banging his head a couple of times for good measure. Diefenbaker whined at his side.

"I suck," Ray said to the wolf. When Dief showed no response, Ray said it again. "I suck."

Ray threw a punch in the air. He wanted to hit something but couldn't bring himself to punch the car. When flailing at the nothingness around him failed to bring satisfaction, Ray tried kicking the tires a few times. It didn't help either.

"Ray?"

Ray flinched at the sound of Fraser's voice. He turned to find the mountie standing on the sidewalk. December was at Fraser's side holding his hand.

"Mrs. Vecchio is finished with us," Fraser said. "December will need to try the dress on again tomorrow, but they have no further need of us tonight."

Ray nodded, only half listening to Fraser's words.

"Ray, are you all right?" Fraser asked.

Ray cut him off with a sharp gesture. "Get in," he demanded. Ray stalked around the front of the car and climbed in. He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel as he waited for Fraser to fasten his daughter into her seat. Ray started the car and had pulled away from the curb almost before Fraser could close his door.

"Ray?" Fraser tried again.

"Not now," Ray growled.

"Stella said something to upset you didn't she?" Fraser asked. His voice tightened with that prissy, pissy tone he got when he was annoyed.

"Not now, okay?" Ray shot a meaningful glance into the rearview mirror where he could see December. "I promise, we'll talk about it, but not right this minute. Please?"

"Understood."

They drove most of the way in silence. The streets of Chicago were dark and traffic was relatively light at this time of night. At a red light not far from home, Ray checked the back seat and saw that December had fallen asleep. She was slumped over like a puppet with no strings and her head lolled to one side. Only the very young could manage to sleep in such a contorted position.

Ray shifted his attention forward as the traffic light changed colors. He drove another block before he opened his mouth to speak. "Are you gay?" Ray asked.

Fraser looked like he'd been hit in the face. "What?"

"You heard me," Ray said. Granted, he probably could have been more delicate, worked up to the question. But there it was, out in the open and hanging between them.

Ray kept his eyes firmly forward, but he could see Fraser at the edges of his sight. The mountie swallowed and rubbed at his eyebrow with the back of his thumb.

"Well, strictly speaking," Fraser began.

"No," Ray cut him off. "No technically, no partial truth. Just answer the damn question. Are. You. Gay."

Ray could feel the weight of Fraser's eyes for a long minute. With a deep sigh Fraser finally said, "Have I found myself attracted to like-gendered persons? Yes. Have I been," he paused, rubbed at his brow and continued. "Involved in a relationship of a physical nature with another male? Yes. Have I found such inclinations to be exclusive of the female gender? No."

"So," Ray said slowly, trying to decipher Fraser's meaning. "Not entirely gay, but still gay."

"On Kinsey's scale of sexual orientation I would rate a four," Fraser agreed.

"Four what?"

"Just four," Fraser explained. "In 1948 American biologist Alfred Kinsey developed the scale to..." Fraser stopped abruptly. He sighed and rephrased his words. "Not entirely gay."

The remaining drive to the apartment was done in silence. Ray focused all his concentration on steering the automobile. When he pulled into his regular parking spot, he turned off the car and sat staring out the windshield.

Several minutes had past before Ray spoke. "Okay," he said. "We are going to go upstairs and put December to bed. I am going to have a belt, maybe two. Then we will sit down and figure out what the hell we're supposed to do now."

"Ray," Fraser said. His voice was very carefully neutral. In its steadiness, Ray could hear Fraser's anxiety. "Please look at me."

Ray took a deep shuddering breath and looked over at his partner. Ray could see how pale Fraser was and how hard he struggled to remain calm. Ray bit down on his trembling lower lip but could not stop the tears that welled in his eyes.

"Fraser," Ray whispered. "Do you find me attractive?"

Fraser nodded. "Very much so."

Ray turned away. There was suddenly no air in the car and Ray was gasping for breath. Only days after they had met, Fraser had said those same words. All this time, Ray had been oblivious to their true meaning.

"I should have known this, Fraser." Ray swallowed hard at the lump in his throat. "Why did I not know this?"

"It wasn't relevant," Fraser replied. "Ray, nothing has changed. What we had between us this morning has not changed."

Ray pressed his head against the cool glass of the driver's side door. "Everything has changed."

"Why?" Fraser pleaded.

"Because I love you," Ray told him.

"And I you Ray. Nothing has changed." Fraser leaned forward a bit, trying to see Ray's face. "Our friendship is not lessened in any way."

"Come on Frase," Ray sighed. "This is more than buddies and you know it. Has been for a long time. I love you, honest to God I do. But I don't know that I can..." Ray choked on his words for a moment and had to swallow hard to regain his voice. "I don't know that I can be... that we can..."

"I would never ask it of you, Ray," Fraser said.

Ray whirled around to face his friend. "That's why it's wrong!" he cried. "I know what it's like, to love someone, to want someone and know that they don't want you back quite the same way. I know what it means to love someone and be loved in return but just not loved enough. I can't do that to you Fraser. I can't."

"Ray I think," Fraser began.

"Look," Ray interrupted. "Let's go upstairs." He glanced meaningfully at the startled little girl in the back. Their raised voices had woken her.

While Fraser took December to her room, Ray went into the kitchen and took a bottle from the cupboard. He poured himself a generous portion and downed the amber liquid in one gulp. The alcohol burned his throat, making him cough. He poured a second serving and leaned against the counter as he sipped at the drink.

Placing one hand over his eyes, Ray rubbed at his temples with his thumb and middle finger. "Think Kowalski," he murmured. "What are our options here?" He couldn't ask Fraser to leave. Even if Ray wanted to, which he didn't, no way would he make little December homeless by kicking her daddy into the street.

Ray could leave. But he had nowhere to go and the thought of starting over again, alone, was hopelessly depressing. And frankly, Ray didn't want to go. He liked his life. Ray had fallen into this life with Fraser and his daughter as though Ray had been waiting for it. It felt good. It felt right. It fit like nothing else had in a very long time, if ever.

Ray tossed back the rest of his drink and gave serious consideration to pouring a third. Instead he put the cap back on the bottle and returned it to the cupboard. Being sober right now really sucked, but it was the only way Ray would be able to make a sensible decision.

"Ray," Fraser said quietly. "Perhaps I should,"

"No Frase. I don't want you to go." Ray said. He turned to face his partner and saw that Fraser had removed his hat and coat. They stood and stared at each other for long minutes. Ray couldn't think of anything to say. He could only sit there like a lump and gaze into Fraser's wounded eyes.

Ray hated that look. He had to fix this, take that look off of Fraser's face. Ray was moving before he realized it. He stepped close to Fraser and raised one hand to the pale face. Ray's fingertips whispered over Fraser's brow and across his lashes forcing Fraser's eyes to close.

There was no conscious decision made. Ray simply reacted. As one motion led to another, Ray felt a strange sense of calm overcome him. He traced Fraser's lips with his thumb and watched enthralled as Fraser's tongue appeared briefly.

"If this isn't good," Ray whispered. His voice was low and husky. "If we aren't compatible this way...Tomorrow we'll just pretend it never happened. Okay?"

"You don't need to do this, Ray." Fraser's words scratched from his throat as though it hurt to speak them.

"But I do," Ray told him. Leaning in closer, Ray said, "I need this. I need to know."

Then they were kissing. It was strange, Ray thought, that a man should have lips so soft. Yet Fraser's lips were also warm and sweet...and addictive. Oh yeah. Ray was ready to check his luggage and stay right here at Hotel Fraser until the end of time.

Strong arms wrapped around Ray's back and pulled him close. Ray's hand buried in thick dark hair as the kiss went on and on. When Fraser's mouth opened and his tongue met Ray's, Ray welcomed it. Ray sucked on Fraser's tongue a bit before he sent his own on a scouting mission in Fraser's mouth. He licked at Fraser's teeth, giving extra attention to the crooked one that made Fraser's smile so wonderful.

Ray couldn't remember what he'd been worried about. This was greatness. A warm hand stroked the flesh on Ray's back as Fraser pushed Ray's shirt aside. But it wasn't enough. Ray growled and reaching one hand over his head, he grabbed his t-shirt between the shoulder blades and yanked it off.

Better. This was better, flesh on flesh, warm hands caressing Ray's skin. More kissing was needed. Ray dove in for a second exploration of Fraser's tonsils. Raising one leg, Ray hooked his knee around Fraser's waist so that he was wrapped around Fraser's body. As an extra bonus, this resulted in Ray's crotch pressing against the bulging seam of Fraser's jeans.

Oh nice, very nice. Time to set up camp and stay a while. Ray started to rock himself on Fraser's thigh. The kiss continued and they breathed each other's air in quickening pants. Ray humped Fraser's leg like a big sex starved puppy but he didn't care. He couldn't stop. He'd die if he had to stop.

Ray threw back his head and gasped. Fraser's hands were on his ass kneading him back and forth in a rhythm that matched his thrusts. Ray heard a low primal moan and realized with some detached part of his brain that the sound had come from his own throat.

Ray moved in for another kiss but he missed Fraser's mouth altogether. Ray licked a path across Fraser's jaw instead. He licked Fraser's cheek and across one eyelid. Then his tongue wet a trail across Fraser's temple and into his hair. Ray swirled his tongue around the curve of an ear and groaned, "You taste so good, Ben."

Fraser's body jerked as though he'd been hit with a live wire. His entire body stiffened and he squeezed Ray hard. For a moment, Ray's sex-stupid brain couldn't figure out what had happened.

"Say that again," Fraser purred. His voice was smooth and warm and as sweet as honey.

"Huh?" Ray blinked.

"My name," Fraser grinned. His tongue flickered across Ray's lips and he repeated, "Say my name."

Ray smiled. "Ben." They kissed and then Ray whispered, "Ben. Ben. Ben."

"Yes Ray?"

"Ben, did you just come in your pants?" Ray leaned his forehead against Fraser's as he spoke.

"Yes Ray."

"Hmm," Ray licked the end of Fraser's nose. "I suppose I should be flattered."

"You could look at it that way."

"Ben," Ray said with a frown. "I don't feel very flattered. I feel kinda gypped. And this thing in my pants is really distracting."

Fraser's face broke out in a slow sexy grin that was probably illegal in some states. "Oh I'm not finished with you yet Ray."

"You're not?"

Fraser shook his head. "While frottage is quite nice, there are other things I have to show you tonight."

"Yeah?" Ray grinned wildly.

"Hmm," Fraser stroked his fingertips down Ray's back, bringing goosebumps to his flesh. "After all, I have only one night to prove we're compatible."

Ray leaned back to allow Fraser easy access to his neck. The Mountie nibbled a trail down Ray's collarbone. "It think I may have caught the clue bus on that one, Frase," Ray gasped. A breathy groan escaped him as Fraser suckled at Ray's left nipple.

"Do you like that?" Fraser breathed across the wet nub making Ray shiver.

"Oh yeah, oh really yeah," Ray replied. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Fraser's shoulder. Hugging the other man as close as he could, Ray started moving against Fraser again in long slow thrusts.

"Ray," Fraser growled. "Come to the bedroom with me."

Ray eased back. His mind tingled with anxiety for a moment. But the blood racing through his veins and the gasping breaths heaving in his chest squashed the small fear. "Okay." With one word Ray hurtled past the point of no return. And he truly didn't care.

Ray wanted this. He wanted Fraser, wanted him badly. Ray's arousal was painful in its intensity and he was light-headed. He was probably hyperventilating or suffering from loss of blood to his brain or something. The thought made Ray giggle as Fraser dragged him into the bedroom and tossed him onto the unmade bed.

In the blink of an eye Ray's pants disappeared and he found himself lying naked. Fraser peeled away his clothing in mere seconds and knelt on the mattress at Ray's side. Reaching out with one hand, Fraser cupped his palm around Ray's member and gave it a gentle squeeze. With a gasp Ray's eyes closed and his breathing sped up.

Leaning over, Fraser whispered into Ray's ear, "Not yet." A moment later the hand was gone, Fraser had straightened up and turned away.

Ray cried out, a desperate needy sound that would have embarrassed him if he'd been in any condition to care.

"Patience is a virtue, Ray," Fraser said from the bedside.

"Fuck patience," Ray hissed. "I'm dying here."

Fraser's laughter was low and warm and teasing. "To my knowledge, no one has ever died from sexual frustration, Ray." As he spoke, Fraser returned. He had the bottle of baby oil Ray kept in the nightstand for ... medicinal purposes.

"You evil Mountie," Ray panted. "What have you done to the real Fraser?"

Straddling Ray's legs just above the knees, Fraser grinned. "He's gone," Fraser purred. "My prodigious sexual aptitude proved to be too overwhelming for his puritanical sensibilities. He died from the shock."

"Oh god," Ray groaned. "I love it when you talk dirty in Canadian."

When the bottle popped open, Ray nearly came just from the smell of mineral oil in the air. Conditioned response. Ray's brain interpreted mineral oil as the signal to masturbate.

But Fraser didn't apply the oil where Ray was expecting him too. The mountie's large, strong hands went to work on Ray thighs, massaging the muscles hard. He slowly worked his way up, skipping over Ray's jutting erection to smooth slipperiness over Ray's stomach and chest.

Ray whimpered and thrust his hips into the air. Fraser shifted to one side and placed a knee between Ray's legs. Ray was past thought. He was drowning in sensation and reached out blindly for more. He followed Fraser's lead, letting his thighs fall apart.

Fraser kissed him, sucking at Ray's lower lip while the fingertips of one hand circled a slick nipple. With his other hand, Fraser rubbed at the back of Ray's knee coaxing it to bend. When Ray's left foot was planted firmly on the mattress, Fraser caressed the back of Ray's leg from knee to buttocks and back.

"Please," Ray begged. "Please Ben."

Fraser pulled away from Ray's lips and shifted position. Without warning, Ray's cock was suddenly in the warm, wet cavern of Fraser's mouth. Ray bucked uncontrollably. He was close. He was so close. Ray clutched at the sheets beneath him and held on for dear life.

Ray was gasping for air, riding that incredible feeling at the edge of orgasm. And then the unbelievable suction was gone, replaced by long stripes of tongue and soft lips pressed against Ray's throbbing vein. "Ray," Fraser murmured. Ray could feel the mountie's smile against his cock. "Say hello to your prostate."

Until that moment, Ray hadn't even realized that a finger had entered his body. But there it was, rotating carefully as Fraser resumed the wonderful suction on Ray's dick. The finger pressed in further and pushed... something. Ray shattered. White light exploded behind his eyelids as his climax ripped through him.

Ray must have slept. When he blinked his eyes open, the apartment was dark. The glowing red numbers on the alarm clock read 1:12 AM. Fraser was sitting cross-legged on the mattress between Ray's legs. The lights from the street illuminated Fraser's fair skin so that Ray had no trouble seeing him. "Hey," Fraser said.

"Hey yourself," Ray answered. He couldn't have stopped grinning if his life depended on it. With a contented sigh, Ray hooked one heel over each of Fraser's hips. Using his legs, Ray pulled himself closer to Fraser until the cheeks of his rear end pressed against Fraser's knees.

"Are you okay?" Fraser asked warily.

"Oh yeah," Ray breathed. He arched his back and stretched like a lazy cat. "I am very okay, Fraser my friend. This right here is what you might call the cloud nine of okay."

Fraser's low chuckle was sexy as hell.

Ray closed his eyes and just wallowed in the warm comfy feeling of sexual satisfaction. "Hmm," Ray sighed as Fraser's thumb caressed circles around one knee. "So... a four on the Kismet scale, eh?"

"Kinsey," Fraser corrected.

"Whatever," Ray replied. "So what number would I get?" he asked. Ray opened his eyes and grinned mischievously. "I'm a ten right? You're going to tell me I'm a perfect ten."

"Actually the Kinsey scale only goes up to six."

"Well now I really feel gypped," Ray snickered. "I only rate a six."

Fraser leaned forward and lay on his stomach in the v of Ray's legs. He propped his chin in his hands, allowing his elbows to rest on the mattress, one on each side of Ray's hips. "No Ray, I'm afraid you'd be given a rating of 1."

"One?" Ray gasped. "You wound me, Fraser. A one."

"On Kinsey's scale, one represents a predominantly heterosexual individual with only incidentally homosexual characteristics," Fraser told him.

Ray thought through the bunch of syllables in that sentence. He reached down and stroked Fraser's hair thoughtfully. "Mostly not gay," Ray translated. "Only gay for you, Frase."

Fraser smiled and leaned into the hand Ray had in his hair.

This was nice. This loving, touching, caressing was really nice. Ray was warm and comfortable in this relaxed floaty place and he really never wanted to leave. The languid, almost sleepy, exploration of each other's bodies was heart-wrenchingly sweet. But when Fraser took Ray's hand and sucked the long fingertips in to his mouth, Ray's entire body sat up and took notice.

Things started to heat up and Ray began to squirm as his body begged for more. Touching became licking and licking morphed into nibbling until Ray's skin tingled everywhere. Ray's hips began to rock and when his erection brushed against Fraser's it felt like heaven.

"Ray," Fraser gasped.

The bottle of baby oil opened again. Ray flinched when a cold stream of the stuff dripped on to his stomach. But Ray didn't care. He parted his thighs and lifted one knee for Ray learned quickly when given the proper incentive. Ray was rewarded with that hot wet mouth on his cock and a long slippery finger in his ass.

"Oh, yes!" Ray moaned. This was incredible. Ray liked this just fine. In Ray's opinion, Fraser could keep on doing what he was doing until the end of time.

Suddenly Ray's ass wasn't so happy. There was a new feeling going on back there, a second finger working its way in. It felt weird. Not really hurting but a lot of pressure, moving in a really unfamiliar direction. Then Fraser did something with his tongue, increasing the suction on Ray's dick, and the fingers were forgotten.

Ray's arousal increased. The wonderfully talented mountie tongue was ratcheting Ray's excitement higher and higher. Ray was only barely aware of the twinge that came when a third finger joined the others.

When Fraser's mouth left Ray's erection, he was nearly out of his mind with unfulfilled arousal. The lips that met Ray's were wet and tangy as they kissed.

"Ray please," Fraser groaned into Ray's mouth.

"Yes!" Ray cried "God yes." A minute later, Ray got the shock of his life as he realized what he had just agreed to.

Fraser held the back of Ray's knees in his hands and folded Ray in half like he was a newly laundered shirt. Ray's feet were in the air, his calves resting on Fraser's shoulders as a hot bluntness pressed against Ray's ass. It felt a hell of a lot larger than Ray knew to be possible.

Fraser surged forward, all rippling muscles and slick skin. There was a sharp sudden pain of penetration burning through Ray. He gasped, his entire body immediately tensing at the invasion.

For a long moment both men were frozen in place. Then Fraser whispered into Ray's ear, "Breathe Ray. The pain will pass quickly."

Ray heaved a deep shuddering gulp of air. Fraser lay motionless on top of his partner, panting heavily. He rested his forehead against Ray's and said, "I'll stop if you want me to."

Ray took a couple of deep breaths before asking, "Was that hard to say?"

"Unbelievably," was the tortured reply.

For some reason, Ray found that to be incredibly funny and he started to laugh. Fraser propped himself up on his arms, looking down at Ray with a confused grin on his face. Unable to express the feelings overwhelming him, Ray reached up and grabbed Fraser's face in his hands pulling him in for a kiss.

As the kiss deepened, the discomfort in Ray's backside eased. Ray stroked one hand down Fraser's back coaxing him. Fraser responded with a groan and in one deep thrust buried himself to the root in Ray. The pain flared again making Ray cry out. He gasped as Fraser pulled back slowly, so very slowly, and then pushed forward a second time.

On the third thrust, Ray cried out for a different reason. Pain vanished and was replaced by the most incredible feeling of satisfaction. There was no rhythm, just Fraser's agonizingly slow withdrawal followed by a strong drive forward.

God but it was good. It was really, really good. It was almost great. The sensations Ray was feeling were boarding on fantastic. He tried to help, tried to meet Fraser's thrusts with his own. Now that the pain had gone Ray wanted more, he wanted deeper, harder.

But Ray could do little more than squirm. He was pinned beneath Fraser's body and could barely move. Fraser's hands grabbed Ray around the hips as he tried to halt Ray's wriggling. Ray's back arched instead and he writhed with the almost-but-not-quite-perfect pleasure running through him.

With a growl of frustration, Fraser pulled out of Ray's body. Grabbing Ray around the waist, Fraser flipped him onto his stomach. He tucked his forearm under Ray's hips and yanked him up so that Ray was on his hands and knees. When Fraser's hardness plunged into Ray again, the angle was different. Fraser hit that magical spot with every thrust, pressing in so hard and so deep that Ray saw stars behind his eyelids.

And now Ray could move. He could participate in the act rather that just be a victim of it. Ray quickly found that he could sort of do a half pushup just as Fraser was thrusting forward. The result was an explosion of greatness that made Ray shudder.

They found their rhythm. Fraser pounded into Ray faster and Ray met him with an equal fervor. Ray rocked his hips hard and frantically. He was going to be sore as hell tomorrow but he didn't care. Right now, he didn't care about anything except the hard sweating body thrusting against his own.

A long low moan escaped from Ray as he felt his body racing toward climax. He rested his forehead against the bedspread beneath him and reaching out with both hands, Ray fisted the blankets between his fingers and held on tight.

There was no telling which of them cried out in orgasm first. Ray's body convulsed with pleasure again and again, until he was no more than a puddle of happy little nerve endings. Fraser collapsed against him and Ray was more than content to lie beneath him in a smothering, sloppy pile of arms and legs.

They were a mess. Sweaty and smelling of sex, Ray wasn't sure which parts of him were slick and oozing with cum and which were smeared with baby oil. When Fraser finally rolled to one side, Ray could breathe again but the cool air on his damp body made him shiver. For several minutes they lie side by side, gasping, as their heart rates slowed to something near normal.

Fraser rolled his head to one side to gaze at Ray. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Ray thought about that for a moment. "I'm not sure," he replied honestly. Turning his head, he looked at his partner. A frown creased Ray's forehead as a disturbing realization dawned on him. "Son of a bitch," he swore softly.

Fraser's eyes grew wide with concern.

"Son of a bitch!" Ray snatched up a pillow and smacked Fraser with it. "I've known you for two years, you nitwit!" Ray hit Fraser again. The pillow landed on Fraser's head with a muffled whump. "We could have been doing this for two years!"

Fraser barked with startled laughter.

"My God, Ben." Ray dropped the pillow and collapsed onto Fraser in exhaustion. "You should have bent me over my desk that first night and fucked some sense into me."

"I doubt the Lieutenant would have endorsed such behavior," Fraser replied with a smile.

Ray snickered. Fraser managed to find enough available blanket to cover them both so Ray snuggled until he found the most comfortable spot on Fraser's chest to use for a pillow.

"Good?" Fraser asked as he caressed Ray's back.

"Hmm," Ray nodded.

"We're good?"

"Yeah Frase, we're good." Ray yawned.

"You frightened me today," Fraser admitted softly.

"I'm sorry." Ray hugged his mountie hard. "But how was I supposed to know that heterosexuality is so highly overrated?"

Ray smiled at the sound of Fraser's laughter rumbling through his chest. "You know what, Ben? The best sex is the kind with laughter in it. Don't you think?"

"Definitely."

-

Ray leaned against the column and tried not to smile. It was a losing battle of course. Ray had been grinning uncontrollably for most of the past thirty-six hours. Every time he and Fraser made eye contact, their smiles grew. It was pretty sappy, but Ray couldn't seem to stop.

Yesterday's wedding rehearsal had been tortuous. It wasn't like they could have been spending all their free in time in bed. After all, they had a young child living with them. But at home, in the privacy of their own apartment, Ray and Fraser could touch each other, hold hands and snuggle on the couch. These were all perfectly innocent things that wouldn't upset December.

The not so innocent things they had reserved for after bedtime. The lock on Ray's bedroom door got used for the first time ever. Thank god it worked. Last night had been much like their first night together, hot and passionate and messy. And there had been laughter. Ray found that he liked to feel Fraser laugh, especially when the vibrations were traveling through the cock shoved up Ray's ass.

And who knew Ray would like doing that so much? Go figure. But like it Ray did, very much so. So much so in fact, that he and Fraser had overindulged somewhat and Ray was now more than a little tender in certain areas. Which in turn explained why he was standing in the back of the church instead of sitting in one of the hard wooden pews.

The wedding wouldn't start for another twenty minutes, so Ray could hover here for a while longer. His position gave him a perfect line of sight for watching Fraser. Fraser was doing his thing, talking to people as they came into the church, chatting up the Vecchio's. He was rather dashing in his black tuxedo with the hunter green cummerbund. Ray wanted to eat him alive.

Something of Ray's thoughts must have shown in his face because at that moment, Fraser looked over at him. A moment later, the Mountie's face flushed an alluring pink. Ray laughed to himself as Fraser resolutely turned away to greet another guest.

On the opposite side of the sanctuary, a wooden door opened and Mama Vecchio emerged. She had December with her. The little girl was all decked out in her flower girl dress. Her dark hair had been painstakingly arranged into large Shirley Temple-like curls. Tiny sprigs of baby's breath circled her crown.

"Go on little one," Mama Vecchio was telling her. "Show your papa how beautiful you look." Mrs. Vecchio pointed the child toward them and December ran down the aisle.

Fraser bent and effortlessly scooped the little girl into his arms. The smile on his face was bright and open. "You know," Fraser said. "When I met your mother, I thought she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Today, I have to amend that opinion."

Ray shook his head in wonder. This was this first time he'd seen Fraser relaxed with his daughter. When Fraser turned and smiled at him over December's head, Ray realized that he'd had it backwards. Ray had thought Fraser would learn to open up to others by learning to love his child. But instead, it was in opening up to Ray that Fraser had learned to love his child.

Unable to stay even this far away, Ray crossed the yards that separated him from the center of his life. Ray placed one hand on December's back and the other on the arm Fraser held her in. He smiled at the little girl as she fiddled with the green silk ribbon that belted her waist. Her small hand fluttered at the lace collar around her throat.

"Do you like your dress, December?" Fraser asked her.

The girl looked at him, blinked and said, "It's itchy."

Ray and Fraser exchanged a frantic look. These were the first words either of them had heard her utter.

"Yes well," Ray replied seriously. "That is often the price we pay to look this good."

"Are you itchy too?" the small voice asked.

"A bit, yeah,"

For a long minute, Fraser and Ray just grinned at each other while December tugged at her collar in an eerily familiar manner.

Then December said, "Ray, are you my papa?"

Ray's jaw nearly hit the floor. But with out missing a beat, Fraser answered. "Yes December. I am your Daddy and Ray is your Papa." He affectionately bounced the little girl in arms. "And together with Diefenbaker, we are your family."

"Everything is going to be okay now," The little girl said.

Ray smiled and kissed her soft cheek. "Yes Baby, everything will be okay. Right Frase?"

"Yes Ray, I believe you're right."

-

the end