"That thing. That thing you did." Ray glances around the diner, drops his voice even more to add, "To me." As if it might need clarification, as if Fraser might be confused. Then returns to a more normal volume to add, "Ancient history, okay? No, more like---ancient mythology. Never happened at all. Everything's normal, nothing's changed, we're good, right?"

Fraser almost blurts in anger, "To you?" Because---it hadn't been like that, not at all. Yes, Fraser had made the first move that wasn't part of the---scuffle was the only appropriate word, really. Ray'd pulled the car up in front of the Consulate last night and then, when Fraser started to get out, Ray reached over, and, snickering, snatched Fraser's bagful of takeout from his hand. Refused to give it back, held it out his own side window and laughed. And Fraser'd been laughing too, diving back into the car and lunging for the bag, over Ray, with the steering wheel digging into his side. Then suddenly had a moment of startling---clarity, awareness, of Ray is laughing under me; Ray is laughing with his perfect mouth inches away. And it seemed as if there ought to have been a moment of decision as well, of I can't take this anymore, but there wasn't; Fraser bypassed the decision-making process entirely and was suddenly kissing Ray. But--after the first moment, at least--it wasn't to Ray, it was with him. Ray opened his mouth, tilted his head back; groaned and put a hand on Fraser's face, so gently, thumb stroking Fraser's cheekbone.

It was lovely, it was Fraser's nightly fantasies come to life, and then Fraser remembered that they were sitting in front of the Consulate on a public street, my God, and he took his mouth from Ray's, hauled himself awkwardly off the steering wheel and back into his own seat.

Ray sat silent, immobile. A passing car's headlights made his eyes shiny and flat and unreadable, and Fraser couldn't bring himself to ask anything important, contented himself with, "May I have my food, Ray?"

"Sure," Ray said, still looking straight ahead, and pulled his left arm back into the car, handed Fraser his takeout bag. "See you tomorrow, Frase," he said.

Fraser climbed out onto the sidewalk and watched him drive away, and only then noticed that somewhere in that---scuffle---Ray had thoroughly crushed his pad thai, which was now leaking sauce onto his boots.

And now---now Fraser almost reacts with anger. Because---this is why Ray wanted to meet him at a diner, isn't it? So that Fraser wouldn't, couldn't say, "I'm pretty sure you were kissing me back, Ray," but he's going to, damn it. And then he really looks at Ray, and---Ray is terrified.

He's ghastly pale. His shoulders have hiked up near his ears, and he's been shredding sugar packets manically since they sat down; his side of the table is confettied with bits of Dixie Crystal wrapper.

Fraser does the only thing he can think of, a gesture of comfort and angry proof of Ray's complicity all at once; he moves his curled hand across the tabletop, through the gritty sugar, until the side of his hand brushes the side of Ray's.

And just from that tiny contact Ray gasps, a harsh bitten inrush of air, and shivers. Then looks Fraser in the eyes for the first time since they sat down, a look that's equal parts desirous and despairing.

"It will be okay, Ray," Fraser says, and wills them both to believe it.