Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine and I'm not making any money off this.

Author's Notes: So many people to thank! dessert_first for a fantastic prompt, mrs_laugh_track and snoopypez for feedback and cheerleading above and beyond the call of duty, and most of all inseriatim for a truly kick-ass beta. Seriously guys, she went through the entire massive thing with me on chat AND was really insightful and amazing and enthusiastic.

Story Notes: Written for ds_harlequin, for this prompt: "80. Character A isn't much of a gambler, but seems to have either skill or dumb luck whenever s/he does happen to play. When a high-stakes poker game ends, A finds him/herself the lucky winner. of Character B. B's significant other, C, got carried away on betting fever and too much alcohol, and gambled him/her away. From the way C spoke, A had thought C was betting a racehorse or a beloved pet or a car or something, and is horrified to find B is actually a person. A of course immediately releases B from the conditions of the bet, but to no avail. B is so furious to have been gambled away like so much property, s/he proclaims s/he will honor the terms of the bet, and spend six weeks (or however long a span of time was wagered) with A. Over the course of the following six (or however many) weeks, B makes him/herself a general nuisance to A, hanging around, refusing to leave, offering to do nice things for him/her, freely offering his/her opinion about A's wardrobe, home, dating habits, diet and general lifestyle, rearranging things A didn't want rearranged and messing up things A didn't want messed up--in short, turning A's orderly life upside down. Meanwhile, a hangdog C tries desperately to court B into forgiving him/her, but is it too late? Can insufferable but charming and kind-hearted B win A's heart? Will A realize s/he's won the bet of a lifetime before it's too late?"

Prologue

Spring 1995.

"Jesus, Kowalski, did you tie that thing in the dark?" Vecchio asked, flapping a hand at him. "Come on, come over here and let me fix it."

Ray shuffled across the bullpen floor to Vecchio, fighting the urge to do a little twirl, a little softshoe in the shiny shoes that went with his rented tux. He hadn't tied his tie badly on purpose. It wasn't like he actually knew how to tie a bowtie right. But when he'd looked in the mirror and seen that crooked, sad knot, he'd thought, Vecchio will want to fix that. He tilted his head up and let Vecchio touch him, trying not to shiver at the casual brush of Vecchio's fingers against his neck.

"There," Vecchio said with satisfaction, giving his tie a little pat. "Is the wire in place?" His hand hovered over Ray's chest, where the transmitter was taped under his clothes along with his badge.

Come on, mind on the job. Not your partner's fingers and all the places you wish he'd put them. "Yeah," Ray said distractedly.

"Did you have any problems with the cufflinks? Because those were my grandfather's, and if you lose them I will kick you in the head."

"Hey, that's my line," Ray said with mock indignation, holding up his wrists for inspection. Ray was pretty sure Vecchio's grandfather had been in the mob. The cufflinks were kinda tacky, smallish rubies set in the shape of a V on large gold ovals. They'd have gone better with Vecchio's ridiculous tan suit and purple shirt, which made it even more pathetic that wearing them gave Ray a thrill.

"Oh, no," Vecchio said. "You are not wearing that."

Ray followed Vecchio's eyes to his ball chain bracelet. Shit, he'd meant to take it off at home. "Hey, it's classy," he said, trying to hide his wrist behind his back.

"Yeah, and I got two Ferraris at home and another one in the shop," Vecchio snorted. He sighed. "Here, give it to me. I'll keep an eye on it for you."

Ray undid the clasp reluctantly. He hardly ever took the bracelet off anymore, even to sleep. It wasn't even that it had been one of Stella's first presents for him. It was just that he'd worn it for so long, it had started to feel like part of him. He didn't want to lose that. He couldn't lose that. Fuck, you're a loser, he told himself, jerking it off his wrist and dumping it in Vecchio's outstretched palm. Vecchio started to put it in his pocket. "You lose that, I will kick you in the head with my stupid shiny shoes," Ray said gruffly.

Vecchio looked him over, frowning. Then he rolled his eyes and wound the bracelet around his own wrist, fiddling with the clasp for a second before it snapped into place. "There," he said. "Perfectly safe. You happy now?"

Ray looked at his bracelet gleaming against Vecchio's smooth Italian skin. "Yeah," he said. "I am."

###

It became apparent about half an hour in that the guy Welsh wanted Ray to schmooze with wasn't gonna show. But Ray couldn't leave, because their guy always played poker with these tools and Ray needed to be invited to come back. So there he was, in a fucking rented tux, playing poker with a bunch of sketchy rich assholes. At least he wasn't stuck in the fucking surveillance van with Huey and Louie, like Vecchio. He grinned to himself. He waved over a waiter and asked for a glass of wine.

Playing poker was really a lot like undercover. You had to hide how you felt about stuff, and you had to watch everyone, pick up their tells, figure out their hand and how they'd play it. Ray was great at the watching, not so great at the hiding--which was funny, because Vecchio was exactly the opposite. If you kinda smooshed them into one guy, you'd have the best undercover agent ever.

Or, if you didn't, you'd have the best fucking team in Chicago.

Ray leaned back, let his eyes travel around the table. Yeah, these guys were good. Not a lot of tells at all. Take the guy across the table from him, for example. Broad-shouldered, clean-cut, looked like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. Tux perfectly pressed, face like the fucking chalkboards after the nuns made Ray wash them--blank and just begging you to write something on it. Preferably something obscene. But knowing this crowd, he probably imported third-world children for prostitution and sold the ugly ones to glue factories.

He saw Ray looking. Most guys would have narrowed their eyes, but his actually widened, going extra-extra-blank. The waiter appeared with Ray's wine, and he quietly ordered the guy a brandy, just to see what he'd do.

When it came, the guy did the whole brandy thing. He swirled it, he sniffed it, he sipped it. He looked right at Ray, the corner of his mouth curving up a little. Then he put the glass down and didn't touch it again.

Ray leaned forward. He wanted to see what kind of poker player this guy was. Because all the signs said he should be great.

###

Midnight. Just the two of them now. Ray knew he was right about this guy. Fucking great poker player. Didn't matter, 'cause Ray had a fucking straight flush.

"I see your ten, and I raise you fifteen."

That was a big pile of money. Was he bluffing? Ray squinted. Hard to tell. Too blurry. Should have eaten dinner. Should have worn his glasses.

"If you don't have the stake--" Fucking reasony voice. Fuck him.

"I got it, I got it." Fuck. What could he stake? What else did Ray have? Gold cufflinks swam into view, but Vecchio would hurt him. Vecchio. He grinned to himself. Vecchio's smart mouth and warm smile and fuzzy head. No one could refuse that bet. And Ray had a fucking straight flush, and the department could use that money. "Vecchio," he said.

###

Ray froze. God, like this evening wasn't awful enough. Kowalski was such a fucking lightweight. Two glasses of wine and listen to him, he was totally sloshed.

"Did he just bet you?" Gardino asked, a look of dawning delight on his face.

"Maybe...maybe it's a code," Ray said desperately.

"None of his code words are your name, Ray," Huey said. "That would be stupid. Kind of like your partner."

"You guys are so lucky the rest of those goombahs are too drunk to notice this," Gardino crowed. He was right. There were guys in that room who might have recognized the name Vecchio, if they hadn't been too busy passing out or feeling up hookers by now.

"Shut up so I can hear."

I'll stake a week of Vecchio, Kowalski's voice came through again, static-y but unmistakeable.

Er...Vecchio? The other guy, the unknown who wasn't in any of their files, sounded as confused as Ray felt.

Sleek lines. Italian.

Jesus, Ray hadn't heard Kowalski this smashed since the night his divorce went through. Actually, this might be preferable to listening to him cry and talk about Stella's legs.

I'm not sure that-- Thank God, someone was going to say something that made sense.

But Kowalski didn't give him time. Hey, are you insulting Vecchio? You stupid mother-- Kowalski was going to make a scene, again. And Ray and Huey and Louie were gonna have to bust in and save his ass, again.

"Aw, he's defending your honor," Gardino said. "I think that's sweet."

But the unknown didn't want a scene either, and he was taking the fucking bet.

Kowalski had just bet him in a hand of poker. Ray tried to think of something more humiliating and failed. At least when his dad had pulled shit like this Ray wasn't surprised.

Two minutes later there was a stream of cursing from Kowalski like Vecchio had never heard from him.

###

By some miracle Kowalski made it out to the street and around the corner to the van on his own power. "Fucking royal flush, fucking fucker," he said. Then he threw up on the sidewalk. Ray held him up, smoothed his hair back from his forehead, and thought, I hate you.

Kowalski looked at him, his eyes blurry and unfocused. "I'm not gonna let him take you," he slurred.

"You are such a jackass, Kowalski," Ray said. "I can't believe you fucking staked me in a poker game." I don't fucking belong to you. But maybe Kowalski thought he did.

"Hey Jack, didn't some guy in Jersey get whacked for doing that to his wife?" Gardino asked, obviously enjoying this hugely. "Made her fuck the guy."

"Yeah," Huey confirmed. "Her brother was connected."

Gardino grinned, and Ray gritted his teeth. "Hey, Kowalski, was this guy good-looking? 'Cause I wouldn't want Vecchio to have to do anything unpleasant."

Shit. Did Gardino know about him? Ray's stomach knotted.

"Fuck you!" Kowalski lunged sloppily at Louie, the arm he had around Ray's shoulders pulling painfully at Ray's neck.

"Shut the fuck up, all of you," Ray said. "Kowalski, you're about to fall over. I'm taking you home so I can kick the shit out of you in the morning."

"Okay," Kowalski mumbled and fell against his side, warm and trusting and mostly passed out.

I hate you.

"Oh yeah, he's crashing at your place now, isn't he?" Gardino asked, cracking his gum. Ray imagined it was the sound of the asshole's neck snapping. "It's gonna be hard for him explaining to your mom how he gambled you into a week of sex slavery."

"No more manicotti," Huey said, shaking his head mournfully.

"If I wasn't holding up Kowalski right now, you would both be digging pieces of recording equipment out of every orifice you got," Ray snapped.

"Hey, look on the bright side," Gardino said, sniggering. "At least you'll get some action. 'Cause I'm thinking Kowalski here is the closest you've gotten to second base in a long time."

Ray's heart pounded. Did Gardino know what a fool Ray had made of himself? Had Kowalski told him? Was it a joke to him? Or was Gardino just talking about the way Kowalski was clinging to him right now? Ray smirked. "Jealous, Louie?"

"You got my bracelet, Vecchio?" Kowalski mumbled. God, the guy had unerringly shitty timing.

"He gave you his bracelet?" Gardino said. "Are you guys going steady now?"

"Yeah, his letterman's jacket's waiting in the Riv," Ray told him. He burrowed his left hand deeper under Kowalski's arm, praying they wouldn't see the bracelet. Why the hell had he put it on? "Have fun tearing down the van."


Day One

For the ten millionth time Ray smoothed out the crumpled piece of paper he'd found in Kowalski's pocket. In painfully neat cursive, it said, Canadian consulate. Ask for Fraser. Kowalski had gambled him away to a Canadian, go figure. Hoping his nerves weren't showing, he picked his suitcase back up and walked into the consulate, past the uniformed Mountie on duty by the door. "Hi," he said to the attractive redhead behind the front desk. "Is--can I speak to Fraser?"

She smiled at him, but it wasn't a nice smile. It was a private-joke smile. "Well, you can, but he won't answer you. Not for another two and a half hours, anyway."

"Ohhhkay. Can you just tell me where he is?"

"He's out front," she said. "Guard duty."

Ray did a double-take. "Guard duty?" He ran back outside, looked around, and--yeah, there was only one person out here. The Mountie in full dress uniform, standing absolutely still on the sidewalk to the left of the steps. "You're Fraser?" he said to the guy. "You're Fraser?"

The guy didn't answer, didn't move, didn't even look at him. Ray remembered what the woman had said. He went back inside. "The Mountie? The Mountie is Fraser?"

"Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP," the woman confirmed with a little smirk. "Deputy Liaison Officer."

Goddamn undercover cops. This was dumber than the time he was doing a major buy-bust, buying a dirty bomb from the biggest schmuck he'd ever met, and when the money changed hands they both pulled out their badges at the same time. He'd cultivated that ATF asshole for weeks.

Ray went and stood in front of the guy. "Look," he said, "I know you're not supposed to talk, but you won me in a poker game last night, so here I am. And look, I know the rules about turning all winnings over to your department but I'd really rather not be official Mountie contraband, okay? But I'm sure as hell not going home because Kowalski needs to learn the error of his dumbass ways. You won me, you're stuck with me for a week. So maybe you could just give me your address and I'll go wait for you there?"

No response. Was the guy even blinking? Oh good, yeah, he was, which meant at least there wasn't any direct evidence he wasn't human. Ray set his suitcase down and sat on the steps next to it. "I'll just wait, shall I?" he asked.

"Sir, I'm sorry to bother you, but there's no sitting on the steps." The redhead had poked her head out the door and was giving him a politely implacable look.

He flashed his badge and grinned at her. "What are you gonna do, call the cops?"

"This is technically Canadian soil," she informed him. "You have no jurisdiction."

He shrugged. "You gonna call him?"

She looked at the Mountie, sighed, and ducked back inside.

Ray watched Fraser. The guy really was standing perfectly still. How the hell did he do it? Ray thought about Kowalski given an assignment like that and almost cracked up. The guy couldn't sit still for five seconds, and as for keeping his mouth shut--Ray resolutely didn't think about Kowalski.

"God, how can you take this?" he demanded after fifteen minutes of thinking about Kowalski and completely destroying the structural integrity of a couple of paperclips he'd found in his pocket. "Are Canadians trained from birth to like being bored? And why can't you guard the consulate and talk at the same time? This is worse than Mass! At least in church there were pretty girls to look at!"

Nothing.

Just then a couple of kids came over and stood in front of the Mountie. They started by making faces and rapidly descended into poking, jeers, and waving hands dangerously close to the guy's eyes, which remained firmly focused on the middle distance. At first it was kind of funny, but then it just started to seem unfair. The guy was just doing his job.

Then one of them pulled his chewing gum out of his mouth and bent down like he was gonna stick it on the guy's boots. That was some really well-kept leather.

"All right," Ray said, getting up and flashing his badge at the little fuckers, "Break it up, Chicago PD, that's enough." They took off running. He shouted after them, "I see you here again and your mothers are getting a visit from the truant officers!"

The guy still hadn't moved. But his jaw was clenched so tight he was gonna need dentures before he was forty.

"Hey," Ray said, because by now he knew he wasn't getting an answer, but he couldn't help himself, "you okay? Kids are assholes."

Nothing. Two hours later Ray was bored and chilly and really, really annoyed. So when Kowalski pulled up in his crummy motor pool Ford and got out, looking hang-dog and defiant and a little desperate, there was a part of Ray that wanted to run down the steps into his arms. Except that Kowalski didn't want Ray in his arms, so that would be a stupid thing to do. He stood up, though. No way was he having this conversation with Kowalski taller than him.

He opened his mouth to say something biting as soon as Kowalski got within hearing distance, but Kowalski was quicker on the draw. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Vecchio?" he demanded. "Sneaking out of the house while I was asleep, not telling me where you were going--"

"I didn't sneak," Ray pointed out. "I kissed Ma goodbye and talked her down to only giving me one frozen lasagna to take with me. It's not my fault you were sleeping off the worst hangover in three counties!"

Kowalski shaded his eyes as if the sun hurt them. He probably did have a hell of a hangover. Ray didn't give a shit. "I had two glasses of wine," he said. "I don't know what the fuck happened, but--"

"Maybe if you ate occasionally you wouldn't be such a goddamn lightweight," Ray snapped, then realized that worrying about Kowalski's weight wasn't proper angry detached partner behavior. "How did you find me, anyway?"

Kowalski glared at him. He hadn't bothered to do his hair that morning--it was flat and lifeless and probably really soft without all that gel in it. "I spent the entire morning listening to the damn surveillance tapes over and over. I realized the guy talked like a Canuck. Thought they might know who he was here."

Ray raised his eyebrows. "That's him," he said, pointing at the Mountie.

Kowalski stared. "Jesus," he said after a minute.

"Yeah," Ray said. "Plus he's on guard duty and won't talk. But he's off in fifteen minutes, and I figure then we can go back to his place, get me settled--"

"What do you mean he won't talk?" Kowalski demanded. "He'll fucking talk to me." He stepped right into Fraser's personal space. "The deal is off, okay? Just tell me what you want instead so we can get this over with." The Mountie didn't answer.

Ray hid his grin. Kowalski hated being ignored. It was like torture for him. "Look, stop harassing the guy," Ray said. "he's off shift soon, and--"

"You think this is funny?" Kowalski got right up in the Mountie's face. The guy didn't even blink. "'Cause funny is gonna be your face after I shove my fist through it! So cut the crap and talk to me!"

"Kowalski--"

Kowalski shoved the guy on the shoulder, hard. The Mountie rocked back on his heels, but apart from that he didn't budge, didn't even look at him.

"Kowalski--"

"You fucking son-of-a-bitch, look at me!" Kowalski said, and drew back his fist.

He pulled his punch the second Ray got between him and the Canadian, but his knuckles brushed Ray's cheek anyway. Ray flinched back and Kowalski--shit, the look on his face. For a second they were frozen there.

"Just come back," Kowalski said at last, real low, and Ray couldn't stand how much he wanted to.

"Why the fuck should I? Look, you want to stake me like a fucking poker chip, like something you own, then fine. Don't be a sore loser. I'll be back in a week."

"Vecchio, I was drunk." Kowalski reached out and grabbed Ray's sleeve.

"I've been drunk before, Kowalski, and I don't remember gambling you away."

Kowalski gripped his sleeve harder--Ray could feel the strength in his fingers through the thick wool of his coat. "No, but you did--"

"We don't discuss that!" Ray took a step backwards and walked right into the Mountie. Solid chest against Ray's back, and then Ray regained his balance and stepped to the side, resisting the urge to brush the guy off like maybe Ray got a wrinkle on him. "Sorry," he said, momentarily distracted from his desire to throttle Kowalski.

"You can't do this!" Kowalski said weakly. "We--we have paperwork!"

He just looked so helpless and unhappy, like he had no idea what to do but he'd do anything to make Ray change his mind--it was hard not to let a note of softness creep into his voice. "Great, maybe you can use this week to learn to spell."

"What am I gonna tell Welsh?" Kowalski said, obviously not sure what his advantage was but trying to follow up on it.

"That you have a gambling problem?" Ray suggested. "Come on, Kowalski, it won't be that bad. And you can learn a valuable lesson about not treating your partner like a marketable commodity."

Kowalski lunged forward, grabbing the front of Ray's coat and hanging on. The scent and heat of him slammed into Ray like a tidal wave. "Vecchio," he said urgently, "you can't do this. We don't know who this guy is or what he wants--"

Ray highly doubted the guy wanted him, despite Huey and Gardino's wisecracks the night before. No one had wanted him in years. Straight-as-an-arrow Kowalski sure as fuck didn't, not the way Ray wanted him to, so where he got off telling Ray what to do-- "Get your hands off me," he said, raising his chin. "I can do whatever the fuck I want."

"No," Kowalski said, pulling Ray closer as the clock started to chime the hour. "Vecchio, listen--"

"I'm sorry," a voice behind them said, "but if you continue to assault this man on Canadian soil, I'm afraid I will have to place you under arrest." Ray looked around, and the Mountie had come to life and was standing--really quite close, looking at them with apparently genuine apology and embarrassment.

"Fine," Kowalski snapped, bristling like a pissed off cat and not backing off one step. "Vecchio, come down to the sidewalk with me."

Ray stepped back, prying Kowalski's hands off his coat and trying not to feel anything, even when he saw the bracelet he'd taken off and refastened around Kowalski's wrist last night. "No," he said. "I think I'll stay here."

"You heard the gentleman, Detective Kowalski," Fraser said. "Now I must ask you to leave the premises, unless you have urgent questions about Canada, the RCMP, or Canadian-American diplomatic relations."

"Uh, okay, sure," Kowalski said stubbornly. "What do the different grades of maple syrup mean? I always bought the Ambers, 'cause they sounded like beer, but Stella said neither of us could taste the difference anyway so I should just get B cause it was cheaper."

Ray covered his eyes with one hand.

"A very good question," Fraser said. "The grades give a rough guide as to when in the season the syrup was produced. The lighter syrups, of which Grade A Light Amber is the lightest, are from earlier in the season, whereas Grade B is made later. The darker grades are generally used for cooking and baking rather than eating raw--for example, with flapjacks. Of course Canada uses a different grading system, running the gamut from Canada #1--which includes AA or Extra Light, A or Medium, and--"

"Oh, for God's sake," Ray said. "Beat it, Kowalski."

"Vecchio--"

He narrowed his eyes. "Now."

To his surprise, Kowalski went. "I'm keeping an eye on you," he called back from the curb.

"Stalking's what you do best, isn't it?" Ray called back, just to see him flinch. "I'm not your fucking ex-wife, Kowalski." If I was, maybe you'd want to kiss me. Then, Shut up, brain.

"Nah, she's got more hair," Kowalski yelled back, and Ray flinched too, started down the steps to--

"Detective Vecchio." Something in the tone stopped him, held him there. Kowalski must have seen it, because he slammed his car door and drove off with a squeal, taking the corner way too fast.

Ray turned around, slowly. "That's me," he said. "Constable Fraser, right? Okay, so we were calling each other by name, but how'd you know I'm a detective?"

"You're both wearing badges, but you're not in uniform. Besides, I guessed that your partner was an undercover detective a couple of hours into the evening."

Ray felt a thrill of fear mixed with indignation. "Kowalski's good," he said. "How could you tell?"

"His wire deformed his tuxedo by 3 millimeters," Fraser said.

Ray stared.

Fraser stared blankly back.

"Okay," Ray said. "I can't cope with this on an empty stomach. You want lunch? I know a place."

###

"You're sure my suitcase will be safe at the consulate?" Ray asked.

Fraser just nodded. He was probably getting tired of that question. But jeez, just leaving a suitcase in an empty office, even if it was an empty office that was technically part of Canada--it seemed wrong.

"This place used to have the best bird's nest soup in Chicago," Ray said wistfully as he dug into his spareribs. "That was before the Tong took over the neighborhood. I think Mr. Lee kind of lost his enthusiasm after that."

Fraser didn't say anything, although he was methodically eating his way through a plate of pig intestines. Kowalski had a weird stabby skill with chopsticks--waiters tended to wince when they saw the way he held them, but he could clean every grain of rice off a plate. Fraser, on the other hand, looked like he'd been trained in proper technique by Buddhist monks. If Kowalski moved to an imaginary soundtrack of jazz or eighties punk or maybe eighties punk covers of jazz songs, then Fraser was definitely hearing classical.

"Come on, Fraser, I know you know how to talk. You did it before."

Fraser swallowed, and Ray felt low-class for talking with his mouth full. "I don't mean to be rude," the Mountie said with a look on his face that suggested he meant to do exactly that, "but I fail to see what we are doing here. I'll be happy to release you from the terms of Detective Kowalski's wager, and then--"

Suddenly Ray was almost as annoyed with Fraser as he was with Kowalski. "You took the bet," he said sharply. "No one made you do that."

"I was undercover, in a delicate situation, and to be perfectly frank I thought you were a car."

Ray blinked. "A car?"

Fraser lifted an eyebrow in a gesture that was almost sarcastic. It was pretty much the first sign he might be a normal human being. Well, maybe not normal, but Ray felt reassured anyway. "'Sleek lines, Italian'?" the guy quoted back, and Ray had to admit that yeah, that sounded like a car.

"You wanted an Italian car?" He didn't seem like the type, but then, who could resist fine Italian automotive expertise?

"I don't drive," Fraser said.

Ray almost choked on his tea. "You don't drive? What, you take the el to work? Dressed like that?"

Fraser looked suddenly uncomfortable. "As a matter of fact, I'm staying at the consulate," he said.

Ray did choke on his tea that time. He recovered quickly, but not before he discovered that Fraser's idea of a hearty back-slap was much, much harder than his own. "You're staying at the consulate? So, what, they have like, little Canadian hotel rooms upstairs or something?"

Fraser mumbled something.

"What?"

"Not exactly," he said clearly, glaring at Ray. "I have a cot in my office."

"You live in your office? Does Canada not pay you or something?"

"Oh no, my salary is quite adequate for my needs," Fraser said. "Of course, it's in Canadian funds, but--"

He kept going, but Ray wasn't listening. He was trying to imagine living at the precinct. Actually, he had spent a night or two there when things were really bad with Angie. The pitying looks from the guys on morning desk duty were the worst, but the cricks in his neck, the ache in his back, and the way he never really felt clean or comfortable the next day were a close second, third, and fourth. And living there? Not--not having a home?

This guy needed help.

"Is there room for me?" he asked. "Because Kowalski is living at my place right now, so I'm staying with you."

"On the cot? Doubtful."

Ray felt himself blushing. "Not on the cot. In your office."

Fraser looked dubious.

"I'm gonna go make a phonecall," Ray said.

When he got back, Fraser was standing by the window, watching the street. When he saw Ray he came back immediately. "I just wanted to check on Diefenbaker," he explained.

Ray rolled his eyes. How the hell did Fraser get away with not just living at work, but keeping an enormous dog there? Wolf, he corrected himself, just like Fraser had in the car on the way over.

Well, Ray would find out. "A hundred pounds of muscle and teeth, anything happens to him I think we'll hear the screams."

Fraser nodded reluctantly.

"You got family back in Canada?"

The riot gates came down over Fraser's face. "No," he said shortly.

Ray sighed. "Fine, then you wanna tell me why you were at that poker game? We weren't informed that a Canadian undercover guy was gonna be there."

Fraser flushed slightly. "I apologize. However, I wasn't really there in an official capacity, so I thought--"

"Wait a second--you weren't there in an official capacity? Does that mean you didn't have a backup team?"

"I prefer to work alone." Fraser's voice was hard.

"Good way to get yourself killed," Ray commented, ignoring the fact that he'd worked alone for years before he and Kowalski were assigned together. Well, and he'd almost died a bunch of times. "The guys at that table don't fuck around."

"I know that," Fraser said, his voice even harder. "I have reason to believe that one of them is responsible for the recent shooting death of a Canadian tourist."

Ray blinked. "A Canadian tourist with connections to the mob? Because shooting random tourists isn't really those guys' thing. It tends to attract attention."

Fraser shook his head. "Mrs. Marcotte assures me her husband was clean."

"Oh, well, if the guy's wife said it. What makes you think it was one of those guys?"

Fraser took a small sip of water. "I found a pawn stub on the sidewalk outside Mrs. Marcotte's brother's apartment building. Acting on a hunch, I spoke to each of his neighbors in turn. Mr. Badawi in Apartment 101 frequents a different pawnshop and showed me several stubs, both redeemed and unredeemed, as evidence. Mrs. Gagarin in Apartment 103 told me she never visited pawnshops as she considered pawnbrokers--I believe her phrase was 'greedy bloodsucking'--" He coughed.

"Yes?" Ray asked impatiently.

"Well, she used an anti-Semitic slur," Fraser said. "I told her I believed the pawnshop in question was run by an Armenian, but she--"

"Okay, tell me later," Ray said, giving up. "I don't get it, Fraser. You're a liaison officer, right? Doesn't that mean you're supposed to, you know, liaise? I think Huey and Gardino have the Marcotte case. I'm not saying they're geniuses, but they could at least access the database for you, get you a backup team, all that."

Fraser sucked on his lower lip. "Yes, I'm sure that Detectives Huey and Gardino would make the death of a Canadian their top priority."

Ray thought about the stack of unsolved cases on Huey and Louie's desks and cringed. They'd gotten that case because it was low priority and everyone knew it. A year ago, before Kowalski, it would have been Ray's case.

Wait a second. Fraser...Fraser..."Oh shit, the dead Mountie thing--what, nine months back? That guy was related to you, wasn't he?"

Fraser's gaze dropped. "He was my father."

Shit. "That was Huey and Gardino's too, wasn't it? Did you come in to talk to them?"

"They assured me that they would look up my list of suspects in their database the very first moment they had a chance."

He was pretty sure he already knew the answer to this next one. "They ever call you?"

"No. To be fair, they did seem very busy."

Ray felt like crap. Before Kowalski that would have been his case too. Would he have been any better about it? Probably not. "Look, no one likes Huey and Louie," he said. "Do you still need the information?"

Fraser smiled a little. It wasn't a nice smile. "No, all the men involved in my father's death have been brought to justice. Well--the ones that didn't end up going over a cliff."

"You killed them? You?"

Fraser looked shocked. "Of course not. They were pursuing my dogsled on snowmobiles and failed to notice the sudden drop."

"Did you go over the cliff?"

"Fortunately I was able to turn aside in time," Fraser said, which Ray was betting wasn't the whole story, but hey, they killed the guy's dad, he was entitled. "I concluded the investigation with only minor gunshot wounds."

"Only minor gunshot wounds?"

Fraser coughed. "Well, and a few abrasions and cuts from the explosion."

"The explosion?"

"I suppose I did have to wear a sling for a few weeks, but it was only a hairline fracture. It's quite healed now."

Ray buried his face in his hands.

"Is everything all right?"

"No, Fraser, everything is not all right! That is exactly why you should not work alone! I'm sorry about Huey and Louie, but there are other cops out there, you know. Having a partner is great. I mean, I'm not gonna get all mystical about it like Kowalski and his duet crap, but knowing someone's got your back--it's the only way to stay sane in the job."

Fraser blinked. "I wasn't aware Detective Kowalski had a mystical side." And that was the most sarcastic he'd sounded all evening.

"Yeah, well, there's a lot you don't know about Kowalski, so shut your trap."

"Understood," Fraser said dryly. "I'm sure he's a lovely person."

Ray had to laugh. "Yeah, his mother probably thinks so. But he's a good cop, and I'd be dead a hundred times over if it wasn't for him."

"You would also be at home," Fraser pointed out.

He shoved down the sick feeling in his stomach. "Look, this whole mess--it's my fault, not Kowalski's. I maybe gave him the wrong idea"--right idea--"about some stuff."

"The wrong idea about how the law views bartering human beings in games of chance?"

"Well, no, but--just drop it, okay? It's all working out, right? I'm thinking maybe the whole thing was a sign."

"A sign?"

"A sign that I'm supposed to help you get over this whole working alone thing. Show you how to be partners."

"There's no chance I could persuade you to drop this idea?"

"No chance in hell, Fraser."

"Do you always live with your partners?"

Ray flushed. "I don't--I don't live with Kowalski, exactly. He's just been crashing at my place since his divorce. He and his wife, they were together since they were kids. He's still kind of a wreck about it."

"I see. How long ago was the divorce?"

"A year."

"Hmm."

"What is that supposed to mean, hmm? I should just kick the guy out, is that what you're saying?" Ray knew he sounded defensive, but that was fair because he was defensive. So he liked having Kowalski around. Was that so wrong? And yeah, maybe it wasn't healthy to live with the guy you had a thing for. Maybe it wasn't healthy to go down to the kitchen every morning in hope and fear that today might be one of the days Kowalski didn't bother to put a shirt on for breakfast. Maybe it wasn't healthy to get all mushy and miserable while looking at the guy's toothbrush in the bathroom. So fucking what? Fuck healthy.

"Of course not. I'm simply saying that that is rather a long time to trespass on the hospitality of a colleague."

"We're not colleagues, we're partners," Ray said. "And he's not trespassing. We got an extra room."

Fraser said nothing.

Ray swallowed nervously. He got the feeling Fraser saw too damn much. "You done eating?"

"Yes."

"Okay, pick your fortune cookie--hey, don't open it!"

Fraser looked at him like he'd lost his mind.

"The fortune cookie game is the best part," he explained. "It works like this: you ask the cookie a yes-or-no question, and if the cookie answers it, cookies get a point. If the cookie doesn't answer it, humans get a point."

"I see," Fraser said like he didn't see at all. "Do you keep a running tally?"

"No point. Kowalski says the cookies always win." Kowalski had probably been sitting in that exact same chair when he told Ray that, leaning forward and tapping his finger on the table like he was about to share the location of J. Edgar Hoover's personal collection of incriminating photographs.

"Ah. Very well. Perhaps you might go first, so that I can see how it's done."

"Sure." Ray looked at his cookie. He could never resist the urge to ask it something he really wanted to know, like this was for real and not just some dumb game. "Is Fraser gonna get that partners is the way to go?" He opened the cookie. Well, fuck. That was embarrassing.

"What is it, Ray?"

"It says, 'The mood is right for a friendly chat to lead to romance,'" Ray said, handing the fortune across to Fraser.

"Ah," Fraser said, examining the tiny piece of paper closely, and then looking right at Ray. Ray couldn't remember what color his eyes were. They looked dark in the dimly lit restaurant, and Ray caught his breath. For the first time he noticed that Fraser was actually a pretty attractive guy. "Does that answer the question?" Fraser asked.

"Of course it doesn't! Jesus."

"One point to sentient beings, then."

"Humans, Fraser."

"Don't be silly, Ray, I certainly plan to bring a cookie down for Diefenbaker." Fraser picked up his cookie and eyed it seriously. "Is Canada the world's largest producer of zinc?"

Ray slumped in his seat. How was it possible for one guy to be this clueless?

"'You will soon receive an unusual proposition,'" Fraser read.

"What is this, sex night at the cookie factory?"

###

It was weird, having Fraser in the passenger seat instead of Kowalski. And the wolf kept practically trying to climb over the gearshift. "Hey!" Ray said. "Don't make me buckle you in!"

"He can't hear you, Ray, he's deaf," Fraser said, twisting around and giving the wolf the evil eye. "Diefenbaker, you're embarrassing me in front of a fellow officer."

"What, so he reads lips?"

"Certainly. All right, Diefenbaker, I'll give you the cookie, but you have to promise not to get crumbs on Detective Vecchio's upholstery."

The wolf whined. Fraser raised his eyebrows. After a suitable pause, he pulled a fortune cookie out of his pocket. Ray hadn't even seen him ask for an extra.

"You have to ask it a yes or no question, Diefenbaker," Fraser explained. There was another pause. "It's an American custom."

The wolf barked.

Fraser opened the cookie and read the fortune aloud. "'For a good cause, wrongdoing may be virtuous.' Well, that certainly doesn't answer the question."

The wolf barked again.

"Oh, for heaven's sake. Doughnuts are not a good cause!"

Ray shook his head. This guy really needed to get out more.

"I thought you said the cookies always won," Fraser said, and then they turned the corner and the Consulate came into view. Ray grinned when he saw what was happening on the sidewalk.

Fraser coughed. Several times.

"Well, you did tell me there wasn't room on your cot," Ray said innocently.

"I was planning to take the floor," Fraser said dryly.

"And now you won't have to." Ray parked and walked up to the knot of Canadians and bed deliverymen, Fraser close behind him.

"No one here ordered a bed!" a guy who looked like some kind of glorified accountant--round, gold-rimmed glasses and a three-piece suit--was saying.

"It's okay, fellows, I ordered the bed," Ray told the deliverymen. "If you'll just carry it inside, Fraser here will show you where to put it."

"Who--who are you?" the accountant guy sputtered.

"Ray Vecchio, Chicago PD." Ray smiled and flashed his badge.

"And you have ordered us a bed because..."

Fraser stepped forward. "I'm afraid that was my fault, sir."

The guy sighed, a not-this-again kind of sigh. Looked like Fraser was real popular with his superiors. "Ah, Constable Fraser."

"I am currently liaising with Detective Vecchio on the Marcotte case, sir."

The guy waited.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Fraser said with a charmingly embarrassed smile. "Detective Vecchio, this is my superior, Inspector Moffat."

This guy was a cop? "Pleasure to meet you," Ray said, sticking out his hand.

Moffat shook it. "Likewise, I'm sure." He turned back to Fraser with an expectant look.

After several silent moments, the redhead from earlier said impatiently, "And the bed, Constable?"

Something crossed Fraser's face, and suddenly Ray was sure--the more he annoyed these people, the more Fraser was gonna want him around.

"Well, you know," Ray said easily. "Fraser said he had an extra cot, but my back goes out on me if I sleep on one of those things. We're all getting older, right? I figured it's just a twin, you can fit it somewhere."

"Yes, but it's hardly usual for--"

"I felt that the reputation of Canadian hospitality was at stake, sir," Fraser said. "And of course Detective Vecchio paid for the bed out of his personal funds." He fixed that blank gaze on his boss, and the guy just wilted.

"Oh, well, in that case," he mumbled.

Fraser smiled. "Gentlemen, do you need any assistance lifting the bed?"

The three guys built like trucks snorted and chewed their gum.

"Then if you'll follow me, please."


Day Two

Fraser eyed him. "Please remember that Mrs. Marcotte is recently bereaved and unused to Chicago."

Ray snickered and slapped him on the back. "Yeah, yeah, Fraser, I won't embarrass you."

Fraser didn't look comforted, which sort of annoyed Ray. He'd been talking to next-of-kin since he was twenty-two. It couldn't be that different in Canada.

They stepped over a couple of junkies and edged past old Mr. Rossi, the bookie, who was talking to a terrified loser in front of apartment 267. "I'll do better, just give me a few more days, I've got something big going on," the guy was babbling. Rossi seemed unimpressed, which was bad news for someone. If you didn't know better, you'd think Rossi was just someone's grandpa, but he had a rep for not fucking around--and this neighborhood was crawling with guys who made him look like Glinda the Good Witch. Ray was glad he'd come along. Fraser stuck out like a sore thumb with his crisp brown uniform and his perfect posture, but this was Ray's turf.

"What the hell are Canadian tourists doing here anyway instead of in a nice crummy motel?" he asked.

"They're staying with Mrs. Marcotte's brother," Fraser explained. "He rents apartment 276."

"He got any quarrels with anyone?"

"Not that I can discover. Ah, here we are." He bent down to talk to a junkie who was slumped against the door. "I hate to inconvenience you, but I need to speak to someone on the other side of this door."

"Fuck off," the guy mumbled.

"I'm afraid I can't do that. Are you in need of any assistance?"

The junkie's eyes opened. "Yeah. If I could just get to my sister in Springfield, I could get clean, but I ain't got the money for bus fare."

Ray rolled his eyes. "Yeah, pal, I never heard that one before. Now move before I bring you in for loitering."

But Fraser was pulling a twenty out of his--out of his hat, and handing it to the guy. "Good luck," he said seriously.

"Hey, thanks, man," the junkie said, heaving himself to his feet and putting a hand on Fraser's shoulder, God only knew what kind of germs the guy was carrying. "You're one of the good ones."

"He's one of the stupid ones," Ray said, taking a ten out of his wallet. "The bus to Springfield costs twenty-six bucks. Buy yourself lunch and--don't touch me."

###

Ray was trying to figure out how to spell "trafficking" and trying not to think about Vecchio with about equal success when Vecchio just breezed into the bullpen with the Mountie and a mousy woman--and a giant white dog, what the fuck--in tow. Ray watched him grab the mugshots from Elaine. He watched him introduce the Canuck and the woman--Constable Benton Fraser and Mrs. Marcotte, and the wolf was named Diefenbaker, what the fuck, 'cause hating Ray hadn't made Vecchio talk any quieter, and Ray was running background checks on all of them including the damn wolf the first chance he got, did they even make wolf licenses in Chicago? Then he watched Vecchio lead them in the direction of an interrogation room.

He couldn't not watch, it was like Vecchio was wearing Ray's-eyes-magnets or something instead of a truly awful green and yellow shirt. Meanwhile, Vecchio--Vecchio did not even look at Ray. Not once. He sure looked at Elaine though, at the way she was eyeing the Mountie like he was a double-dipped fudge cone, and he looked pissed. Snapped his fingers in her face, told her to focus and everything.

Well, fuck that.

Ray caught up with Vecchio just as he was ushering the two Canadians and their wolf into the interrogation room. It was easy because they'd been going slow to allow for the women hitting on the Mountie with every step. "I'm doing great, Vecchio, thanks for asking," he snarled, pushing him against the wall.

Constable Fraser looked at Ray like he was two inches from citizen's-arresting him for being unworthy to talk to Vecchio. Ray glared back and shifted onto the balls of his feet because yeah, come on, just try it. Christ, a fight would feel great right now. I'll bash your pretty little nose in.

But Vecchio just gave a long-suffering sigh under Ray's hands and said, "It's okay, Fraser, I'll be in in a minute."

Fraser stayed where he was for a long moment, and then he went into the interrogation room and shut the door.

Ray let go of Vecchio, but he kept a hand on the wall by his head in case he tried to make a run for it.

Vecchio straightened and looked at Ray like he didn't even know him. Ray hadn't even realized how much that look of exasperated loyalty meant to him until it was gone. "You wanted something, Kowalski?" He sounded--fuck, he sounded like Stella, like from now on Ray just saying hello was gonna get a back off or a drop dead.

And Ray felt lower than dirt, all of a sudden. Felt like just slinking back to his desk with his tail between his legs, and no way in hell was he gonna do that, so fuck Vecchio and his self-righteous bullshit, and fuck the supermodel Mountie. "A bed?" he hissed. "You bought a fucking bed?"

Vecchio's face contorted into one of his expressions of sneering incredulity, and Ray pressed his hand into the wall until his wrist ached to keep from kissing him. "How the hell do you even know that, Kowalski? Putting a tracker on my credit card? Staking out the Consulate? Does Stella know you're cheating on her?"

"Fuck you!" Ray snarled. "You put it on your undercover credit card. I had to cover it to keep Welsh from flipping out, so you do not get a rent check from me next month. And he was already pretty unhappy about you being MIA."

Vecchio at least had the decency to look embarrassed. "Oops."

"Yeah, oops. So you wanna explain what vital policework you and the Mountie needed a bed for? For that price it had better be a king-sized waterbed with Magic Fingers and a built-in porn soundtrack."

Vecchio glared at him. A serious glare, like he was actually hurt. Like Ray was trampling on the pure flower of his and the Mountie's love. Ray's stomach twisted. "You think you're so damn funny, don't you? Not that it's any of your business, asshole, but it was a twin. He didn't have an extra bed."

"So? Two people can fit in a twin!" Like he hadn't spent hours thinking about where Vecchio would fit in his own twin at the Vecchios'. About how they'd have to sleep real close. About the way Vecchio's stupid silk pajamas would feel pressed up against his back. Or his chest, he wasn't picky.

Vecchio closed his eyes like he was praying for patience. "Yeah, I'm sure you spent half your childhood in Stella's twin, but--"

"Shut the hell up about Stella!" Ray exploded.

Vecchio went still. "Yeah, okay, I wouldn't want to profane the sacred flower of you and your ex-wife's ex-love. Are you done with your little meltdown? Because if you are, I should probably go talk to our witness with my partner."

God, the way he said partner, all sharp and mean and bright-eyed like he knew exactly how it made Ray feel that he was talking about someone else--for a second Ray couldn't think of a thing to say.

"Great," Vecchio said, adjusting his jacket. "I'll tell Benny--"

And that was just it, the last fucking straw. Ray's other hand shot out of its own accord and slammed Vecchio into the wall so hard Vecchio drew in a sharp breath, wincing. "Benny? You call him Benny? You don't even call me by my first name!" Which was stupid, because Ray loved the way Vecchio said his last name, the long A and the full L, like his name was drunk and drowning in Vecchio's mouth.

"Yeah, well, you tend to get upset when I call you Stanley," Vecchio said, rubbing his shoulder and weirdly sounding less pissed off. Sounding kinda distracted, actually. "Look, Kowalski, can you do me a favor? See if you can get the Marcotte case from Huey and Gardino?"

He sounded so normal about it that Ray instinctively calmed down a little, stepped back and ducked his head. "Yeah, okay."

"Thanks," Vecchio said, still sounding distracted. "I'll--"

The door of the interrogation room opened and the Mountie stuck his head out. "Ray," he said, perfectly politely. Ray and Vecchio's heads both turned, before Ray realized that of course, he meant Vecchio.

"Yeah, Benny," Vecchio said easily, and shit. Maybe Vecchio'd missed being called by his first name.

"Mrs. Marcotte recognizes a face. A Mr. Canavacciuolo?" He didn't have Vecchio's sexy accent, but the competent way he said the name--not stumbling over it the way Ray would have--it had its own sexy. No wonder Vecchio's neck stretched towards him like Turtle when Ray brought over the bag of crickets.

"Oh, shit," Vecchio said, not even noticing Ray anymore, and went into the room with Benny and shut the door.

So Ray went off to harass Elaine about looking up who the hell this Canavacciuolo guy might be. Luckily Elaine was better at spelling in Italian than Ray was. Or maybe she's just heard of the guy, Ray thought as he looked at the printout. Well, shit.


Day Three

Ray set down his cross on the empty desk he'd been using for a dresser, next to Kowalski's spare glasses. Ray always carried a spare pair with him, since Kowalski's track record for being able to locate his own at key moments wasn't the greatest. He ran his finger over the thick black plastic, feeling a twinge of--guilt? Nah. Worry, maybe. What if Kowalski got hurt, out there by himself and too stupid to know when to call it quits?

Someone knocked on his door, and Ray jerked his hand back. "Come in!" he called. At this hour he was pretty sure there wasn't anyone at the Consulate but Fraser. And really, it was kind of nice not having to vet it first to make sure it wasn't Frannie wanting him to program the VCR or one of his nephews with a toilet training emergency or, worst of all, his ma because there was no saying no to Ma.

Fraser opened the door, opened his mouth to speak, and then just kind of stood there for a minute. He licked his lip, his mouth curving a little at the corners.

Ray deflated a little. "It's okay," he said. "You can make fun of my pajamas." He'd never realized there was anything ridiculous about them until Kowalski moved in. But man, Kowalski didn't shut up about them, and then when Ray'd finally given in and started getting dressed before leaving his room in the morning, Kowalski had had the nerve to look disappointed. Like making fun of Ray's pajamas was the highlight of his day. Which was kind of sad, really.

Although not as sad as having your sleepwear mocked by someone wearing a union suit.

"Actually, I was wondering if you were really going to use all of those pillows," Fraser said with a small, private smile. He closed the door and came around to Ray's side of the desk, leaning on it.

Ray tried to look indignant, but he couldn't help smiling back. "Hey, those are vital to my continued well-being," he said. "Pardon me if I don't want to get my guts clawed out by foxes."

Fraser looked confused by that for a second. "Oh, spartan," he said finally. "I always thought it was too bad the boy's bravery was in the service of breaking the law."

"You would." Ray tried not to be distracted by Fraser's nearness. "So, tomorrow, another exciting day of trailing the mob's most fearsome hitman? 'Course he doesn't seem to vary his routine a lot, likes the Marcottes' neighborhood, but hey, that corner shop's got great pastries so--"

"I like stripes," Fraser said, something low and thrumming in his voice.

"Figures. I mean, you've got that long one on the side of your pants, right?" Not that Ray'd been noticing. Okay, maybe Ray'd been noticing. Fraser had nice legs, which was not really something Ray'd ever thought before about someone who wasn't wearing a skirt at the time, but there it was.

"Yes, Ray," Fraser said. "Dark blue trousers with yellow-gold strapping is traditional in the British cavalry. Many urban Canadian police forces likewise wear a red stripe in imitation of infantry uniforms." While he was talking he reached out, slowly, and ran his thumb along the edge of Ray's ear and down the side of Ray's neck, a long stripe that should have tickled but actually set Ray's entire body tingling. He stopped with his hand resting on Ray's shoulder, and looked at Ray.

Ray looked back, heart thumping loud enough to make paperwork sit up and take notice. He scanned Fraser's face for some sign this meant something, that he was as nervous as Ray, but all he could see was quiet intent. And hell, that was great too. It was great to have something he didn't have to work at, didn't have to fight tooth and nail for. This just was. This was right.

Fraser must have read it in his face--must have read something in his face, anyway--because he leaned in and pressed his lips to Ray's. His mouth was purposeful and his hand heavy and firm on Ray's shoulder, and Ray couldn't move closer, couldn't get Fraser to speed up the kiss, couldn't do anything but follow Fraser's lead. Long, focused kisses, until Ray was shaking with it, until he didn't care what Fraser's plan was, he would back it. When Fraser finally sent his tongue darting out in a silent question, Ray was ready with his yes.

He opened his mouth under Fraser's, couldn't believe Fraser's tongue and the things it could do. Fraser tasted like toothpaste and...jerky? Whatever. He reached up to grip the back of Fraser's neck, hold him there where he couldn't get away. When his fingers burrowed into Fraser's hair, Fraser moaned into his mouth and suddenly it wasn't enough.

Ray shoved hard enough to dislodge Fraser's hand holding him in place. He ignored Fraser's sudden tension, turned and grabbed and pulled and yeah, that was it. Now Fraser was holding onto the desk for balance, sorta sitting on the edge, and Ray was between his legs, pressed up against him, nothing separating them but thin layers of cotton and cotton-silk blend.

Somewhere, Dief started to bark. "Ignore him," Fraser said.

"You got it." He grinned at Fraser from a few inches away, intoxicated with the ease and heat of this, and yanked Fraser's mouth to his. Deepening the kiss, he clutched at Fraser's bicep with his free hand, rubbing up against Fraser. He could feel Fraser's erection bumping against his, and it was enough to make him almost lose it. It had been way too long since anyone had a hard-on for him.

"Ray," Fraser murmured against his mouth, a big hand on the small of his back suddenly, pushing them together, and yeah, Ray was pretty sure this meant something.

Which was of course when Kowalski slammed open the door and said, "I knew it!" Dief erupted into the room on his heels.

The sudden attack of killer seagulls in Ray's stomach was so ferocious he almost didn't notice the way Fraser's hand tightened possessively on him, or the way Fraser sighed before letting go. Ray backed up a couple of steps, tried to cool down, tried to calm the seagulls.

He finally looked up at Kowalski, but Kowalski wasn't trying to meet his eyes. Kowalski was staring at the way he was tenting his pajamas with this look on his face, this look of horror that sent the whole thing tangling in Ray's gut, the seagulls and the heat and something else he was pretty sure was love and fuck, he was gonna throw up.

"You don't get to look at me like that, Kowalski," he said furiously. "What I do on my own time is none of your damn business!"

"What own time?" Kowalski snapped. "Before this week you didn't have own time! If it weren't for him we'd be watching baseball right now!"

"You seem to be conveniently forgetting that it was you who offered Detective Vecchio as a stake," Fraser said, his voice deep and steady and at the same time pissed off, and Ray took an instinctive step closer to that support.

Kowalski's fists started clenching and unclenching. He didn't say anything.

Suddenly Ray was pissed. He left Fraser behind, rounded the desk and faced Kowalski. "You wanna hit me, Kowalski? Is that it? You wanna do a little queer-bashing? Well, here I am, come on, show me what you got!"

Dief pushed between them and shoved at Ray's legs. "Ray. Ray!" he heard from behind him, coming closer. But his world had narrowed down to Kowalski's hands.

Kowalski stared at him. "Queer-bashing? Are you outta your fucking mind, Vecchio? Yeah I wanna fucking hit you! I wanna hit you because you--you--we're partners! I didn't queer-bash you after Christmas, did I?"

"Christmas?" Fraser asked.

"Nah, Kowalski, you were a real gentleman about the whole thing." Which had hurt more than the rest of it put together. Kowalski hadn't mocked him at all. Which for Kowalski was a huge concession. Like maybe Kowalski felt sorry for him. "Look, I already apologized for that. I said I was too drunk and stupid to know what the fuck I was doing. You gotta keep throwing it in my face?"

Kowalski did try to punch him then, would have punched him if Fraser hadn't grabbed his wrist, quicker than thinking. "I do have jurisdiction here," he said.

Kowalski turned on Fraser and fuck, this was possibly the worst moment of Ray's life plus Dief was barking like he might actually eat Kowalski, but Fraser's hand on Kowalski's wrist and the way they were glaring at each other--it started something going deep inside Ray.

"So I'm the embarrassing mistake and you're something to take home to Ma, huh?" Kowalski snarled. "Fucking freak!"

"Why wouldn't anyone be proud to introduce you to their parents?" Fraser said in his driest voice. Shit, that was not a good place to go with Kowalski, not after Stella. Ray had to put a stop to this because in a second they were both gonna be bleeding.

"Shut the fuck up, both of you," Ray said, low and hard, and felt a grim satisfaction when they both snapped around to look at him like he had them on fucking strings. He hated that voice, the voice old man Zuko always used when Mr. Finelli was late with his piece of the action, he avoided it like the plague. But man, it worked. "Let him go, Benny. He'll be good, won't you, Kowalski?"

Kowalski eyed him sullenly.

"Perhaps Diefenbaker and I should simply escort Detective Kowalski from the premises," Fraser said. "He doesn't seem inclined to listen to reason."

Kowalski jerked on his wrist. Fraser's hand didn't budge, and Kowalski hissed in a pained breath, his fingers spasming.

Ray sharpened his voice. "Won't you?"

Dief head-butted him, and Kowalski slumped in defeat. "Yeah," he mumbled.

Fraser didn't look like he wanted to, but he let go.

"Back off, Dief," Ray said, and to his amazement Dief did. Even bumped his head into Kowalski's hand in apology. "Come on, Kowalski, what are you even doing here? I know I always say you need a babysitter, but I kinda thought I was exaggerating for comic effect. You really can't do without me for one week?"

"Yeah, I can do without you for a week," Kowalski said, rubbing his wrist. Fraser'd grabbed him right over his bracelet. "If you come back at the end of it."

"Well, of course I'm coming back at the end of it!" Ray said, shocked. "Jesus, Kowalski."

Kowalski's eyes darted to Fraser, and he gave a feral grin. "Don't think he knew that," he said. "Anyway, asshole, I'm here 'cause you told me to get the Marcotte case, and I did, and I have some info I was gonna share with you, and no one answered the fucking door."

Ray wasn't listening for the second half of this. Because he had looked at Fraser after Kowalski grinned, and Fraser looked--yeah, like he hadn't known that. Jesus, he looked like a kid whose parents had just told him that not only was there no Santa Claus, but Christmas was cancelled this year.

"Thanks, Kowalski," Ray said. "Can we talk about it tomorrow? Lunch, maybe?"

"No." Fraser collected himself with an obvious effort. "If it's information pertaining to the case--"

"Tomorrow," Ray said. "Twelve o'clock, Joe's Diner. Now scram, Kowalski."

Kowalski looked like he was gonna protest, but Dief just kinda bared his teeth. Not even a growl, just a reminder that he was there. Kowalski pointed two fingers at Ray. "Partners," he said.

"Yeah," Ray said, because he couldn't not, even though Fraser's jaw tightened visibly. "Partners. If I don't kill you in the next five minutes."

Kowalski took a deep breath. "Yeah. Okay. And you need more security in this place. 'Cause I just broke in with a credit card."

"Thank you kindly," Fraser said in a suffocated voice.

Dief followed Kowalski out, and Ray shut the door behind them. He could hear Kowalski talking to the wolf--hey boy, I know it's not your fault, he's your human, right?--and Dief wuffing, his collar jangling like Kowalski was scratching behind his ears.

Finally the front door of the Consulate slammed, and then he said, "Look, Benny--"

Fraser flinched. "Understood," he said quickly.

"What's understood? Listen, I--me and Kowalski are partners, okay? I can't just tell him to fuck off."

"What are we, Ray?"

"I--I don't know," Ray said. "Something. Maybe even something important." He didn't know how to talk about the kiss. "But that doesn't mean I'm gonna just leave Kowalski."

"What happened at Christmas?" Fraser asked, an edge in his voice.

We don't talk about that, Ray almost said. It was instinct by now. Instead he went over and flopped down on his bed. The softness of everything comforted him a little, made it easier to say. Looking at the ceiling instead of at Fraser helped too. "I got drunk," he said. "I kissed him."

"Did he kiss you back?"

"No!" Ray exploded. God, he could feel the humiliation of it crawling all over his skin, just like it had that night. Even drunk out of his mind, he'd felt it. "No, he just fucking stood there and stared at me! Like he was too shocked and appalled to even push me away." Ray ran a hand over his face, but since Kowalski wasn't actually there, it didn't do a lot to block out the image.

"So--it wasn't a mistake?"

Ray sat up. "Look, we don't gotta talk about this."

"I think we do."

Ray bit his cheek. "It was a mistake, because it could have fucked up everything I got with Kowalski. But I did it on purpose. I woulda done it sober if I had the guts."

Fraser nodded. Then he said, in this voice like he was walking on broken glass but he just had to keep going, "Detective Kowalski--that is--he doesn't seem entirely indifferent to you."

Ray felt like he was melting. "Come here, Benny," he said.

Fraser eyed him warily. "I think perhaps I should remain where I am, Ray."

"Come on." Ray waved him over.

And yeah, he'd known Fraser would. When he was close enough, Ray tugged him down to sit on the edge of the bed. "You're too nice for your own good," he said. "Unless you're having second thoughts about earlier."

Fraser sucked on his lower lip. "What do you mean?"

Which wasn't an answer, but fair enough. No reason the guy should go out on a limb for Ray after the last half-hour. "Fraser, Kowalski is straight. He just doesn't have any friends 'cause his wife got them all in the divorce. He's freaking out 'cause he thinks if something happens with us, I won't bother with him anymore."

Fraser looked skeptical. "Ray, he very clearly stated--"

"Shh," Ray said. "I'm not gonna lie to you--I got a thing for Kowalski. I have for a long time now. But I got a thing for you, too."

Fraser's eyes darted to Ray's. "A--a thing?" he repeated, sounding noncommittal and nervous at the same time.

"Yeah," Ray said. "Look, I'm not really in the mood for much after that, but--you wanna sleep here? I think we could both fit."

The corner of Fraser's mouth turned up. "I've shared significantly smaller bedrolls over the years," he admitted.

"Is that a yes?" All at once, Ray's heart started to pound, like he'd just realized he really cared about the answer.

Fraser hesitated a moment longer, and sighed. He nodded. "I'd like that."

Ray's heart just got louder. "Great," he said, and moved over to pull up the covers.


Day Four

Since he wasn't meeting Vecchio and the Mountie for lunch until noon, Ray decided maybe interviewing the Marcotte brother-in-law would be a good idea. Lean on him a little. Sal "Slug" Canavacciuolo hanging around the neighborhood right before Marcotte got shot might be a coincidence, but the odds were it wasn't. Maybe the brother-in-law would know more about Mr. Marcotte's shady doings than the wife.

Ray glanced at his watch, then rubbed his exhausted eyes--hadn't gotten much sleep last night, what with the agony and the drinking and the possibly drunk-dialing Stella but he was hoping that part was just a nightmare. Christ, he wanted to talk to Stella. She'd have something smart to say about this whole fucked-up situation. After she'd explained to him in great detail how it was all his fault, of course. He stared at the watch until he could actually bring the hands into focus and walked a little faster. Didn't want to be late for lunch. He passed the mouth of an alley, glanced down it by habit--and froze.

Vecchio was at the end of the alley, three blocks down, and someone who looked an awful lot like Slug Canavacciuolo's mugshot had a gun on him.

Ray ran. Vecchio was alone, why the hell was Vecchio alone? He was alone with his hands up and Canavacciuolo was on the other side of him, maybe four feet farther away. Ray didn't have a clear shot and anyway he wasn't wearing his glasses, why the fuck wasn't he wearing his glasses? He fumbled at his jacket pocket and picked up speed, but he knew already he was going to be too late. Vecchio was supposed to have backup. Vecchio was supposed to have Ray. He shoved his goddamn glasses onto his nose, and while his eyes were refocusing he heard the gunshot and the thud.

He jerked up his arm, ready to smoke the motherfucker since the shot must be clear now--don't think about it 'til he's down--but Vecchio was still standing, and on the other side of him was a crumpled heap of arms and legs, and a rapidly spreading red stain.

###

Ray hated hospitals. Fucking hated them, especially the last year, because they meant either he was in pain or Vecchio was.

Turned out he hated them almost as much when it was Fraser. It was no fun enjoying a guy's pain when he got it saving Vecchio's life.

Dilated blue eyes blinked open and focused on him--and Fraser's drugged, vague look shifted in about .2 seconds to absolute horror. "Ray," he croaked.

"Hey, hey," Ray said, scooting his chair closer without meaning to. "Vecchio's fine. Not a scratch on him."

Fraser's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Where is he?"

"I ain't lying to you," Ray snapped. "He'll be back soon. I sent him to get you something better to eat than hospital food. Feeding people calms him down."

Fraser's whole body relaxed. He even smiled a little, like he thought that was cute. Shit, the guy really cared about Vecchio. Which maybe the jumping out of a second story window onto a hitman with the safety off should have tipped Ray off. "And he left you to watch over me?" Fraser asked with what Ray thought was just the faintest hint of sarcasm.

"Sure, we're partners, right? Plus it wasn't like you were gonna pop off while he was gone. A few stitches aren't usually fatal."

Fraser sighed. "Is that all it is?"

Ray laughed. "Well, that and a fuckton of bruises. Feels like more, huh? It always does."

Fraser gave him a rueful smile that reminded Ray forcibly that, if he was honest, he'd chosen Fraser to go up against in the poker game because the guy had sex appeal that could knock you out at twenty paces. Even in a hospital gown you could see it.

Ray sighed. "Vecchio's gonna be bummed," he said. "He really wanted to sell you on the whole partner thing, and now..." He gestured at the hospital room.

Fraser looked at the ceiling. "I've been injured before while discharging my professional responsibilities," he said slowly. "But this is the first time anyone has come to the hospital with me."

Christ on a unicycle, that was fucked up. Ray'd been a cop for thirteen years now, and he'd never once woken up alone in the hospital. Stella even still came to see him when he got really hurt. "Do you want me to scream at the nurse until she doubles the morphine drip?" he offered. "Vecchio did that for me last time I was in the hospital and it made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Or maybe that was the morphine."

Fraser smiled again. "No, thank you."

Ray scooted his chair closer. "Look," he said real fast. "You saved Vecchio. I owe you. So you ever need anything, you got it, no questions asked. Okay?"

Fraser didn't answer. Instead he looked at Ray very carefully, like--fuck, like he could see inside him. Ray squirmed. "I don't want to take him away from you," he said at last, gently. "I don't think I could."

"Hey, I don't own Vecchio," Ray said, feeling ashamed. "I know that. I just...you ever feel like who you are, it's--well, like you don't know who you are? Like that's all tied up in someone else, and if they were gone, you wouldn't be you anymore? You ever feel like that about somebody?" And why the hell had he said that? To Fraser, of all people? There was just something about the guy and his deep blue eyes that pulled it out of him.

Fraser tilted his head and gave Ray a tiny crooked smile. "No."

Which made Ray feel even more lonely and stupid than he already did, but it was sad, too, because from the look on Fraser's face Ray had the feeling it meant Fraser'd never had anyone he coulda even begun to feel that way about. "You, uh, you want me to read to you or something?"

###

"This asshole oughta be in jail for sexual assault!" Ray was saying when Vecchio walked into the room carrying an enormous paper bag.

"You got something on the case?" Vecchio wanted to know.

"No, Ray," Fraser said, and Jesus, the look on Vecchio's face. Like he just realized Fraser was gonna be okay. Ray jumped up and took the bag of food away before Vecchio dropped it, ignoring the sudden stinging in his own eyes.

Inside the bag were nestled a carton of minestrone, four soft Italian rolls, a cheeseburger, French fries, and an entire bag of doughnuts.

"Doughnut fan, huh?" Ray asked Fraser.

Fraser gave Vecchio this soft little eye-crinkly smile. "No, I imagine those are for Diefenbaker."

The wolf liked doughnuts?

"Hey," Vecchio said, with a soft little smile back, and Ray was gonna vomit, he really was. "This has to be stressful for the furball too."

"Thank you," Fraser said.

"So fill me in--who's sexually assaulting who?"

"Whom, Ray," Fraser corrected.

Was this guy for real? "No one, I was just reading Fraser this book I stole from Frannie," Ray explained. "This guy, it's like he's supposed to be the hero, but the girl kept saying no and he just--"

"Of course, studies have shown that many women do enjoy fantasizing about rape, in a purely imaginary context," Fraser said, but he'd been disturbed too, Ray knew it. "Perhaps this is merely a healthy expression of female sexuality." Yeah, the guy sounded unconvinced.

"This isn't porn, Fraser, it's a romance novel," Ray said, pointing to where it said Romance right on the cover, right over the--okay, the ripped bodice. "It's supposed to be happily ever after."

"Yes, but pornography is a resource more readily available to men," Fraser pointed out. "Whereas a novel such as that can be purchased by a woman in any supermarket without raising an eyebrow."

Vecchio was looking back and forth between them like he didn't know what to make of this, the two of them not fighting. Hey, Ray was sure they'd be back to it in a minute, but if it made Vecchio look this confused maybe it was worth it to draw it out.

"Why don't you ask Frannie?" Vecchio suggested finally, then looked like he'd eaten a lemon. "Wait, no, don't ask Frannie, I don't want to know."

Ray grinned at him. "What, you don't want to know if your little sister has a thing for cuffs?" he asked. "Hey, Fraser, you want soup or a cheeseburger?"

Fraser licked his lip, looking indecisive. "Soup is more nourishing, don't you think?"

"Cheeseburger it is," Ray said, handing it over. "Ketchup?"

"Ray--" Fraser sighed, and Ray felt a stupid little tingle, because that was the first time Fraser'd used his name. "Yes, please."

Ray snagged the minestrone, which left Vecchio with the hospital lunch and the doughnuts. Hey, served the asshole right for this entire week, and also for scaring the shit out of Ray this morning.

Fraser didn't start on his cheeseburger right away, though. "Ray," he said abruptly. "How is Mr. Canavacciuolo?"

If anything could have told Ray how much he was the third wheel here, it was that. Because he knew just as well as Vecchio what had happened to Canavacciuolo and Fraser'd obviously been wanting to know. He could have asked Ray. But he'd waited for Vecchio--his partner--instead.

Vecchio glanced up from negotiating with the wolf over how many doughnuts he could eat and bit his lip. Ray tried to look absorbed in breaking his roll into chunks and dumping it in his soup.

"He's dead, Benny," Vecchio said at last. "His own bullet went right through the artery in his thigh and he bled out."

"I see."

"But listen, you got nothing to feel guilty about. He woulda been whacked anyway. Dumb enough to try to shoot a cop and botch the job? We knew his name. Incompetent and indicted is not a good combination in his line of work."

Ray looked up. The line of Fraser's jaw was hard and his eyes were lost. Ray dropped his eyes. Fraser didn't want him seeing that.

"I know," the guy said quietly.

"Plus the guy was a junkie," Ray offered, not taking his eyes off his soup. "Getting worse all the time. Botching jobs. Maybe skimming to pay for his habit. The feds were pretty sure he was gonna get offed soon anyway."

"How do you know that?" Vecchio demanded.

"Called a feeb I know," Ray said smugly. "Still almost a stand-up guy. We used to be on a team together back before he started talking in unison."

"Of course, now we can't question Mr. Canavacciuolo about his employer's grudge against Mr. Marcotte," Fraser pointed out.

"None of this makes sense!" Vecchio threw his head back and stared angrily at the ceiling. "We've spent the last two days interviewing everyone who knows anything about Marcotte and he was clean. No connections to the mob, no shady loans, no history of gambling even. Not him, not the wife, not the brother-in-law. How many times have you licked his passport and spare underwear by now? A hundred? A thousand?"

"Licked his passport?" Ray interjected, startled.

Vecchio waved his hands. "It's a Canadian thing. The point is, there is nothing connecting Canavacciuolo to Marcotte, except that he was hanging around the neighborhood. Maybe this wasn't a mob hit at all. Maybe it's a coincidence."

Ray sat bolt upright. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, wait a second. Why was Cana-whatsit even there this morning? What the hell would he be doing still hanging around if he already got his guy?"

"The two twenty-two caliber bullet wounds behind the ear are characteristic of a mafia assassination," Fraser pointed out. "And while it's become something of a truism, it's a widely documented phenomenon that criminals return to the scene of their crime."

"Maybe in Russian novels, Fraser, but not in the mob," Vecchio said, rolling his eyes at Kowalski, and yeah, this was great, they were on the same page again, they were partners. Ray could feel things clicking and whirring, their detective mojo working again, finally. "What, you think he's wracked with guilt?"

"Yeah," Ray said. "He musta been on a new job."

"In the same neighborhood? On the same block, even?" Fraser asked skeptically.

That was it. Fuck, that was it. "Or--" Ray grinned, drawing it out till they were both looking at him expectantly. "What if it was the same job? You said the first day you went over to the brother-in-law's place, you passed Rossi harrassing some schmuck, right? What did you say the apartment number was?"

"267," Fraser said promptly.

"And the Marcottes live in?"

There was a pause. "276," Fraser said slowly.

Ray leaned back in his chair triumphantly.

"No," Fraser said firmly, but he didn't look firm at all. "Surely no one would be so careless as to carry out a contract on the wrong man."

"I think Kowalski's right," Vecchio said. "He said Canavacciuolo was a junkie. Anyway, these guys are scumbags, not rocket scientists. It's happened before. In Donnie Brasco, he talks about these guys--"

"God, could you have more of a crush?" Ray interrupted snidely. He turned to Fraser. "We were introduced to Joey Pistone at a conference a few months ago and I really thought Vecchio here was gonna faint. Or else ask him for his autograph."

Fraser glanced at Vecchio. The corner of his mouth twitched.

"Hey, Joey Pistone is an Italian-American hero," Vecchio said, grinning at Fraser. Fuck, they were flirting. Ray was sitting two feet away and Vecchio was flirting with an injured man. "Now which one of us is gonna go over and get Apartment 267 out of there until we can get ahold of Rossi?"

Ray thought about making Vecchio do it. But just then Fraser shifted in his hospital bed and took in a sharp breath.

Vecchio's head snapped up. "Does it hurt, Benny?"

Fraser smiled at him, raised an eyebrow a little. "Yes, Ray."

Fraser needed someone to take care of him, and fuck if he'd want that to be Ray. Plus, it wasn't like they could get up to much with Fraser feeling the way he did.

"I'll go," he said. "And I'll call the feebs. You take Fraser home. But you owe me, Vecchio."

Vecchio gave him a sharp look. Jeez, he looked almost--disappointed? It faded after a second, though, and he just looked grateful, making Ray's stomach twist. "Thanks, Kowalski," he said. "I'll come over at seven and relieve you so you can get some sleep before we take on Rossi. And I'll keep my cell phone on. Check in every hour on the hour, yeah?"

"No fucking way," Ray said. Like he wanted to spend every phone call listening as if he could hear what Fraser and Vecchio had been doing before he called. "Fraser needs his sleep. I'll call you if I get shot, how's that?"

"Yeah, Kowalski, you're real generous," Vecchio said. "And you don't check in every hour, I'll flush your turtle."

"That's not funny, Vecchio! The turtle is sancti--sacked--sa--"

"Sacred?" Vecchio suggested, starting to smirk. "You want I should build him a shrine?"

"I believe he means 'sacrosanct,' Ray," Fraser said.

"Yeah," Ray said, jabbing a finger at Fraser. "See, he gets it. The turtle is sacro-whatsit. No jokes."

"Good, 'cause I wasn't joking."

###

"Ah, fuck--uh, sorry--okay, just a little to the left--you got it?" The Canadians hadn't exactly been eager to help Ray move his bed to the ground floor so Fraser didn't have to climb the stairs or sleep on a cot, but after Ray'd made a few meaningful gestures in Fraser's bandaged, bruised direction and also a few meaningful threats, talking right over Fraser's polite demurrals, they'd come round. The inspector asshole had already almost dropped his corner on his foot, but the redhead was holding up her end pretty good.

"This really isn't necessary," Fraser said for the eight millionth time.

"You say that now," Ray said, "but believe me, you'll be grateful tomorrow morning."

Actually, Fraser was already looking pretty grateful by the time Ray had explained to the Canadians that no, Fraser wasn't making up the rest of his shift tonight, he was taking a sick day, Canadians had sick days, right? And they left the two of them alone in an unused office. Fraser'd been standing ramrod straight while his countrymen were in the room, but now he let himself sag a little, lowered himself gingerly onto the bed with a few quick gasps, and Ray was overcome with--something, that Fraser was willing to let him see that. Tenderness, maybe. Shit.

Ray opened his mouth to say something, probably something sappy. Thank him for saving his life, all that crap.

Luckily Fraser started on the case instead. He'd clearly read a lot about the mob, but he hadn't grown up in Ray's neighborhood. He didn't get it. He didn't understand why the cops couldn't just bring them all to justice.

Ray tried to explain it, how they were everywhere and how there was no evidence because who was gonna testify against them? Who was gonna sit on that jury? "You think it's bad now, you shoulda been here when I was a kid," he said at last.

Fraser's eyes focused on his face.

"My pop, he wasn't the greatest husband and father in Chicago. I always thought my ma deserved better. Yeah, okay, we're Catholic, but Catholics get divorced. Even then there were cases. But--there were these girls, they lived down the street from us. Northern Italian, blond girls. Faces like Botticelli paintings."

Fraser's eyebrow went up a notch, like he was surprised Ray had heard of Botticelli.

"So their ma leaves their father, right? And this guy, everyone knew he was a made guy. He drove a Cadillac. No one in my neighborhood had a Cadillac. And they fixed it somehow, maybe they owned the judge or bribed him or threatened him, but this guy got sole custody. No visits for her, no nothing. He didn't even want the kids, sent 'em both to boarding school as soon as the papers were final. Just didn't want her to have them. So I figured maybe my ma had her reasons." He glanced at the clock. Nine minutes to five. Kowalski should be calling soon.

"Your father was a made man?"

Ray snorted. "Nah. He wanted it, but somehow when it was time to send in names, it was never his turn."

Fraser thought about that for a minute. "My mother died when I was six," he said finally.

"That's rough."

"I don't think my father made her very happy," Fraser said slowly. "He didn't--he was never there. He was always out on patrol, usually not even within radio distance. He had a partner--Buck Frobisher. Their territory covered thousands of miles. They were apart for months at a time. But he told me that they always knew they were partners, even so. Lately I've wondered if he and my mother felt the same way. If it didn't matter to her that he was gone so much because she knew. If I've been angry at him all this time for nothing." He laughed a little. "I'm sorry, that wasn't very relevant."

"It's not a deposition, Benny, it's a conversation."

"I suppose."

Ray didn't think Fraser even noticed what was missing from his story. "Hey, anyone ever tells you they aren't angry at their parents they're either lying or a robot," he said. "Besides, you didn't know."

"What?"

"You were his kid. You shoulda known. If a kid can even know a thing like that."

Fraser didn't answer that. Instead he stared at his bandaged hand. "That's how he died," he said quietly. "He went out alone. He couldn't ask for help. He didn't call his partner."

Ray's phone rang. Five o'clock on the dot. "Kowalski?"

"You getting confused over there, Vecchio?" Kowalski's staccato voice came over the line, amused and steady, and Ray relaxed. "I'm Kowalski."

"Wiseguy. Where are you?"

"I got Mr. 267," Kowalski said. "His name's Mario Lombardi. We're at the Super 8 on I-94. No one followed us, plus I flashed my badge around a bit at the apartment building so hopefully they'll back off."

Ray listened to Kowalski's voice, took a couple notes, but there was no big news. Mostly Kowalski bitching about how Lombardi smelled like garlic, and how the guy who invented Pringles should get a Nobel Prize.

"How's Fraser?" he asked finally.

"He's okay. He's resting."

"Yeah, he looked pretty worn out." Kowalski sounded weirdly relieved. "Stella always said sleep is the best thing for letting the body heal itself. Well, sleep and vitamin C. Man, she used to force-feed me oranges whenever I was sick, she'd buy like twelve of them and--"

"Yeah," Ray interrupted. "I don't got any oranges."

By the time he hung up and made his way back to Fraser, the Consulate had closed and emptied. There was no one around but him and Fraser, and they had an hour before they'd be interrupted again. Ray started to sweat. He knew what he was going to do, he just couldn't decide if it was stupid or not.

But he was tired of waiting around for Kowalski. They were partners, Kowalski maybe even loved him in a partner-y way, but--he still hit on his ex-wife every time he saw her. He'd gambled Ray away. He'd sent him home with Fraser. If that wasn't giving them his blessing Ray didn't know what was, and if Kowalski could do that there was nothing to wait around for. Here was something new and perfect and Fraser'd risked his life for him today. Ray was going for it.

He went in and sat on the edge of the bed. "Hey, Benny," he said.

"Ray," Fraser said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "How are things with Detective Kowalski?"

"Good," Ray said. "He's got Mr. 267 in the Super 8 on I-94. They should be good for the night." Ray didn't think about Kowalski alone in a motel bed, doing their job while he was sitting here warm and cozy with Fraser.

Fraser relaxed, but only a little. "Did he seem in good spirits?"

"Fraser, stop talking about Kowalski," Ray said, reaching across him for his right hand because the left one was covered in surgical tape. He'd never seen a guy wrapped in so much bandaging--any excuse to keep their hands on Fraser had seemed to be the policy of the nurses at the ER. "Look, last night I let him mess things up for us, and I'm sorry." He heard the gunshot again, saw the tangled bodies and the blood. "You coulda died today," he said. "And--we're cops, right? We could die any day. But I gotta feel like if it happened--I gotta feel like I wouldn't have done everything different if only I'd known it was coming. And today I felt--" His hand clenched around Fraser's. "I'd have been sorry we hadn't--" He couldn't keep going, didn't know what to say to explain, to make Fraser understand his urgency. So he bent down and kissed him, just went at it, the want and the incredible rush he felt slipping into Fraser's mouth along with his tongue.

And Fraser moaned and gave it back, opened under him and gripped his hand hard enough to hurt. Ray was drowning in Fraser's need and it was a good way to go. He was so lost in it, it took him a minute or two to realize Fraser was shoving at him. Both their fists were pressing into his chest hard even though Fraser was still kissing him.

Ray pulled back, gasping. "What is it?"

"Ray," Fraser said raggedly. "You don't have to. If one of us had been killed, I would have been sorry for any number of things we hadn't done. Sex is the least of them."

Ray raised his eyebrows. "Really? What's the most?"

Fraser blushed, hard, and looked away.

"Is it sappy?"

Fraser glanced back, smiled a little. "As you say, Ray."

Ray grinned at him. He waited a second, but Fraser didn't elaborate, and Ray could always dig it out of him later. "I know I don't have to," he said. "I want to. Are you gonna let me?"

"I'm not--" Fraser gestured at himself. "I can't do much, Ray."

"I know," Ray said. "I wasn't figuring on anything too athletic. But your gut's okay, right? The only time I ever really had to stop having sex with Angie or, you know, doing myself, it was 'cause I got hit in the gut. But this, I figure I can kinda work around. Unless you really don't feel like it. I mean, if you don't, we can just talk. Or I can try to lug the TV in here from the conference room. Or I can just bring the cot down and we can get some sleep, you've had a long day--"

"Ray," Fraser said, his voice amused but his eyes intent.

"Yeah?"

"I feel like it. I--I don't think I've ever felt like it more in my life." And now he was blushing again and Ray felt like he'd just won the lottery. What had he been doing, thinking of this like it was second best?

He leaned down again, kissed Fraser. Softer this time, holding back just enough to manage Fraser's buttons without fumbling. Undershirt underneath, but Ray slid his fingers down and under the hem, and he was touching Fraser's stomach. That was all, just his hand resting on Fraser's flat, smooth skin, but Fraser's breath came shallow and fast. He panted into Ray's mouth, kissing Ray with short, urgent, distracted kisses like begging without words.

"Yeah, Benny," he murmured. "I got you." He'd been planning to go slow, let Fraser know he meant it, but if Fraser was already this worked up--he slid down the bed, tugging gently on the waistband of Fraser's sweatpants until Fraser lifted his hips with a tiny, strained grunt. Ray pulled down his pants and boxers together, and Fraser dropped back onto the bed with a gasp that sounded more like surprise than pain. Ray just took a second to stare at Fraser's dick, big and uncut and curving along his stomach.

"Ray," Fraser said, sounding uncertain and impatient.

"Sorry, Benny. You're--you're bad for my concentration."

Fraser raised an eyebrow at him. "Thank you," he said, and then he took Ray's hand in his, brought it to his mouth and started licking it. Careful, slow strokes of his tongue, getting it nice and wet so--so Ray could jack him. Jesus. His eyes were on Ray's the whole time, dark and solemn and open, his breath still coming fast, and Ray couldn't remember the last time he was this hard.

The second Fraser let go, Ray's hand was on him. Fraser's dick was solid and heavy in his hand, and Fraser made these noises, these tiny bitten-off moans like he was trying to be quiet and just couldn't, that was how good it was. Ray went hard and fast, watched Fraser's face. Tried to show Fraser with his hand that it was okay to want it, it was okay to make noise, that Ray got it. God, he could do this for hours--except that Fraser was already biting his own fist and spurting all over his stomach and Ray's hand, Jesus, he'd lasted maybe a minute and a half.

"Been a long time, huh?" Ray asked, feeling warm and flattered and really, really turned on.

Fraser's chuckle sounded semi-hysterical. "Yes, Ray."

"For me too," Ray said. He leaned down and kissed him.

When he pulled back, Fraser was watching him, his face blank and his eyes big and kind of nervous like he had no idea what to do next. Like he had no idea what he was supposed to do or if he was doing the right thing and it was making him crazy. Sure, Ray had no idea either, but maybe he was more used to that.

"I--your hand--I believe there is a box of Kleenex on the front desk."

Ray looked down at his hand, still resting on Fraser's softening cock. It was pretty covered in Fraser's jizz, and yeah, he didn't want to wipe it on his clothes. He met Fraser's eyes and knew suddenly what Fraser would do in his place. And it sounded gross, sure, but--he looked at Fraser and something inside him started to vibrate like a plucked guitar string at the idea. He raised his hand real slow, keeping his eye's on Fraser's face, and then he licked a drop of come off his index finger.

Fraser drew in a sharp breath.

Okay, that hadn't been so bad. Ray took another lick, his thumb this time, got a bigger taste of the stuff. It tasted weird, sure, but not bad by any stretch of the imagination, and the look of awe on Fraser's face--that was great. Ray kept going, slow and surer, now. Then he took a deep breath, balanced himself with a newly clean hand on the bed, and leant down and licked Fraser's stomach.

Ray hadn't even realized Fraser was tense, but at that the guy's entire body relaxed into the bed, like maybe things were okay after all. "Ray," he murmured. The stuff still tasted weird, but his tongue was on Fraser's stomach--his tongue was on Fraser's cock--and Ray's dick didn't seem to think this was weird at all. It seemed to think this was a fantastic idea. Shit, Ray wasn't gonna be able to sleep without taking care of that, and there was no way Fraser was up to anything else tonight.

Ray gave Fraser's stomach one last lick, regretfully, and sat up. He gave Fraser a crooked smile, his heart swelling with pride that he'd done it, that he'd done it and it was fine. "You feeling okay? Didn't pull anything?"

Fraser smiled at him and yeah, Ray had to do something about his erection now. "You took excellent care of me."

Ray ran a finger down Fraser's cheek. "I'm--I'll be right back, okay? I gotta get the cot."

Fraser grabbed Ray's arm. "Stay," he said. "Please."

"There's no way we can both fit in this bed with you all bruised up, Benny," Ray said. "I'll elbow you in the night, damage something. I'll be fine with the cot, I promise."

"That's not what I meant, Ray," Fraser said. "That is--I assume you also plan to take care of that while you're out of the room." He gestured at Ray's--okay, at Ray's extremely tented slacks. "And I'd like you to do it here."

Ray's heart stopped beating for a second. Which sure didn't seem to stop blood from rushing to his cock. "With--with you watching?"

"Well, I certainly don't plan to shut my eyes, Ray. Although you can, if it makes it easier."

His heart was back now and it sounded like a jackhammer. "I--I don't know, Benny, I never--"

"You watched me," Fraser pointed out quietly.

"Well, yeah, but that was different, I mean, we were having sex and anyway that was you! I mean, you're fun to look at!"

Fraser frowned. "So you believe that I want to have sex with you, but not that I enjoy looking at you? That hardly seems like an indicator of a healthy self-image, Ray."

"Hey, you want to psychoanalyze me, buy a couch," Ray snapped. "The bed is mine. I just--" He looked at Fraser uncertainly. "You really want to see that?"

Fraser swallowed hard and nodded. "If you wouldn't mind."

It was that swallow that convinced Ray. "Okay," he said. "Okay, but if I feel too stupid I'm gonna stop." He put his hand on the button of his slacks, and Fraser's eyes shot there so fast Ray grinned. He pulled down his zipper slow, real slow, watching Fraser's look of concentration. He waited for a second after that, stroked a finger up himself through his pants. He hissed through his teeth at how damn good it felt.

Fraser shot him an annoyed little glance and Ray grinned wider. "Hey, I like to take my time," he said. "Unlike some people."

At that Fraser smiled sheepishly and put his hand on Ray's thigh, and fuck but Ray's dick liked that. Ray had his hand inside his pants and his dick out so fast they should probably put him in the Guinness Book of World Records. He'd been watching Fraser's face, but now it was hard to tear his eyes away from Fraser's hand, warm and heavy and pale against his slacks. He stroked himself a little too hard, not caring if it wasn't comfortable because it just felt so good, and Fraser's hand was right there, his fingertips were on Ray's inner thigh, and when Fraser stroked along the seam of Ray's slacks Ray almost came then and there. He sped up, and Fraser made a hungry little noise like that was the hottest thing he'd ever seen.

Ray looked at Fraser's face again and man, he looked like he didn't just want this, he needed it. Ray twisted his wrist, let himself moan and thrust into it because fuck, this wasn't anything like doing this alone in his room. Fraser's fingers tightened on his thigh and Ray spread his legs, bringing his other hand around to cup his own balls.

Fraser's eyes widened and Ray got this, suddenly. It wasn't just about seeing. It was about being allowed to watch, about trust, about being partners. He pictured things being flipped, pictured Fraser taking himself in hand, stroking himself, letting it all go with Ray watching, Fraser showing that to Ray and liking it. It was dirty and hot and Ray felt this yearning. He let go of his balls to brace himself on the mattress, leaning forward and kissing Fraser--sloppy, lots of tongue. When he pulled back, Fraser followed, trying to lever himself up before gasping and falling back against the pillows. Ray braced himself above Fraser, just far enough away that Fraser could look down and see if he wanted to. "Jerking off should not feel this good," he gasped. "But Jesus, Benny, the look on your face, I could come just from that--"

"I like the look on yours too." His voice--and then Fraser slipped his fingers off Ray's thigh and between his legs and pressed, right behind his balls, and Ray's orgasm took him completely by surprise. Fraser was saying something else, but Ray had no idea what it was, he just knew he wanted to hear Fraser's voice when he came for the rest of his life.

When it was over, he was still braced above Fraser, his face maybe six inches away. He took in a deep breath, and another, staring into Fraser's eyes, and then it was maybe a little too much, all of this. Too much, too fast, too--too something. He leaned in and kissed Fraser, a gentle peck, and then he sat up. "This time I am gonna go get the Kleenex," he said. He looked down at the wet spot. "Or maybe a towel or something."

He was pushing himself off the bed when Fraser said, sounding tired and relaxed, "Ray?"

"Yeah, Benny?"

"If either of us had been killed today, I would have been sorry not to have told you that I find I do enjoy working as a team."

Ray opened his mouth to tell Fraser not to get all mushy--except Ray was a firm believer in romantic mushy crap in relationships, always had been, plus what Fraser had said wasn't actually all that mushy. "I'd have been sorry not to hear it," he said instead, embarrassed by the hitch in his own voice, and hurried out of the room in search of something to clean up with.

He was just considering a cupboard full of Canadian flags when he heard his phone ring. Shit, Kowalski! He'd actually forgotten Kowalski. It seemed like a bad omen, like if he'd forgotten his partner then maybe his partner would be taken away. He snatched a box of Kleenex and sprinted back into the room, conscious of Fraser's eyes on him as he fumbled with the phone, almost dropping it in his guilty haste. God, he was a mess. "Vecchio," he said.

"You getting confused over there?" Kowalski asked, sounding way too amused by himself. "You're Vecchio."

The sound of Kowalski's voice, the way he said Ray's name--Ray's eyes shot involuntarily to Fraser. Fraser was watching him with the saddest expression of understanding Ray had ever seen, and Ray didn't want to know what was on his own face. He went over and plumped down on the edge of the bed, gripping Fraser's hand hard and not looking at the wet spot, not looking at Fraser's face, knowing it wasn't fair to ask for Fraser's support through this but needing it. "Yeah, Kowalski," he said. His voice was shaking. Shit. "Maybe I am getting a little confused. You still okay?"

"Hey, I'm fine," Kowalski said. "How are you? You don't sound so good."

"Just tired," Ray said. "It's stupid early but I think we're gonna call it a night soon anyway."

"I hear you. You sure you want me to keep calling? I don't expect anything to go down tonight."

"Keep calling," Ray said shortly.

"Your funeral," Kowalski said, and the expression sounded suddenly ominous. "Talk to you in an hour," and he hung up.

Ray folded up his phone and now, finally, felt like he could meet Fraser's eyes. Fraser was watching him, frowning and thoughtful. Ray didn't have anything to say, so he started wiping at his own drying come with the Kleenex, feeling suddenly like he'd gotten Fraser dirty. "Sorry about the mess," he said.

"It's quite all right, Ray," Fraser said. "I don't generally toss and turn much at nights, so it is unlikely to bother me." His politest, blankest voice, like he didn't know Ray was talking about more than just the wet spot.

"I'm gonna go grab the cot," Ray said, too tired to get into it. By the time he got back, Fraser was already asleep, or pretending to be. He looked beautiful and defenseless, with the cut on his forehead and the bruises on his arm. Seized by a sudden surge of affection, Ray went over and kissed him on the forehead. Fraser's breath hitched--he was only pretending after all, but Ray didn't say anything, just pressed another kiss to the tip of his nose and stretched out on the cot. He wasn't sure what to do with the phone--Fraser needed his sleep, but Ray wanted to be in the same room in case Fraser needed anything in the night.

In the end he slept with the phone under his pillow to muffle the noise, and all through the night he started from sleep to the sound of Kowalski's voice.


Day Five

When Ray got to the Consulate at seven-thirty, under strict orders from Vecchio to keep Fraser from overexerting himself, he was surprised to find the Mountie fully dressed and alert behind the desk in the downstairs office. The bruise around the cut on his forehead was already shading to yellow to match the brown and gold of his uniform. "Detective Kowalski," he murmured without looking up from his paperwork.

"Morning, Fraser," Ray said. "Shouldn't you still be resting?"

"Continued exercise is the only way to prevent stiffness from setting into the joints and muscles," Fraser said, glancing up.

Ray was startled by the total lack of friendliness in his face. What the hell had happened to friendly hospital Fraser? What happened to "Ray"? But he was too tired to care. "I'm just gonna crash for a few hours," he said. "Is it cool if I take the cot?"

"You're welcome to use the bed," Fraser said. "I put fresh sheets on it for you."

Ray's eyes narrowed. "Fraser, Vecchio would kill you if he knew you were fucking around changing sheets when you should be resting."

Fraser's head snapped up, his blue eyes meeting Ray's so coldly he could have sworn it let off sparks, like steel ringing on steel. But the effect was ruined by how he sucked in his breath as the muscles in his neck protested. "Please, Detective, I would appreciate it if you would watch your language on Canadian soil. Your concern is quite unnecessary."

"Yeah," Ray said sarcastically. "I can see that. I'll take the cot. If I get in the bed I'll be out for the count."

Four hours and three fuzzy phone calls from Vecchio later, Ray was pretty sure he'd got all the sleep he was gonna get. He closed the phone and sat up, rubbing at his eyes. Fraser was still doing paperwork with the same fierce calm.

"Is there coffee around here anywhere?" Ray asked.

"There should be a pot in the breakroom," Fraser said. "Would you like me to show you where?"

Seriously, what was the guy's problem? Was he just trying to spite Ray for telling him to take it easy? "Stay in your chair, I got it," Ray said shortly. It wasn't until the first few jolts of caffeine hit him that he realized this must have something to do with Vecchio. Man, he must have been tireder than he thought because that had been staring him in the face. He chugged the last couple inches of coffee and went to get some answers.

Fraser still didn't look at him when he walked in, so Ray just went right over, spread his palms on the desk, and leaned into Fraser's face. "Okay, what's got your panties in a bunch?" he demanded.

Fraser glanced up, his face a mask of polite confusion. "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that expression," he said.

Ray pointed two fingers right in Fraser's face. "Do not give me that, Fraser!" he snapped. "You know damn well what I mean. Yesterday you were all normal, or not normal because you're obviously a freak, but you were not acting like this! Did Vecchio tell you something about me, is that it? What did he say about me?"

Fraser didn't even flinch back, just watched him, mouth tight, and Ray started to feel that flare in his gut like from a really good interrogation, when he knew he was gonna have to go all the way. "No," Fraser said. "In fact, he requested that we not speak of you at all."

Sucker punch. It hurt like hell, but that just revved Ray up more. "What, then? 'Cause I thought Canadians were supposed to be polite, and this is the shittiest hospitality I've gotten since my great-aunt Louise served us one unopened can of tuna for dinner!"

Fraser straightened with an almost audible twang, his eyes glittering. Yeah, Ray still had it. "The Inuit have a story," he said, "about a young man named Irniq."

Ray narrowed his eyes. This sounded completely off the wall, but if there was one thing he knew, it was that once you made the perp start talking, you shut up and listened. He waited.

"Irniq was from a very rich, proud family. His father, however, made many poor decisions and lost the family's entire fortune--all except one thing. On his deathbed, Irniq's father gave his son a beautiful puzzle-box of birch and green dolomite. 'This box will restore the family's fortunes,' he told Irniq. Now, Irniq was a well-meaning young man, but he was neither industrious nor given to deep thought. He puzzled over the box for an hour or two, and then simply put it in his knapsack. After all, he thought, it would be there waiting when he was ready to solve it. One year after his father's death, Irniq was tracking a polar bear through the forest--"

"Wait a second," Ray interrupted. "He wasn't particularly industrious, but he tracked polar bears? How does that work?"

"In the winter, pregnant females experience a sort of walking hibernation, during which their heart rate drops significantly," Fraser said. "It makes them easier to kill, if you can find their den. Irniq came upon a man sitting in the middle of the forest. 'I am Amaruq,' the man introduced himself. 'Will you play at dice with me?' Irniq agreed at once. He lost his money, then his rings, until all he had left was the puzzle box. He knew he shouldn't stake his family's last great treasure, but he told himself he was sure to win on the next throw. 'Perhaps this is how the box will restore our fortunes!' he thought." Fraser paused.

"Well?" Ray asked impatiently, caught in spite of himself. There was something hypnotic about Fraser telling a story. Ray wondered if he liked kids. "Did he win?"

"No," Fraser said flatly. "He lost. Furious, he seized the box, hoping to run and escape payment, but the box flew out of his hands and into Amaruq's. It opened at the man's touch, and from within stepped the most beautiful woman Irniq had ever seen. He loved her as soon as he saw her. What was more, she wore a coat of the rarest seal fur there is and enough gold bracelets and rings to restore Irniq's father's fortune a hundred times over. Irniq stretched out a hand to her, begging her to stay with him. 'I was with you for a year,' she said. 'And in all that time you never looked for me.' And she and Amaruq vanished without a trace."

"That's it?" Ray asked incredulously. "That's the story?"

Fraser said nothing, only gazed at Ray, his eyes hard.

"So you make a mistake and boom, you're fucked? No second chance? I see why you got a job as a cop and not a guy who writes after-school specials, Fraser."

Fraser frowned.

"I mean he didn't look for her? 'Cause maybe that wasn't the end at all. Maybe that was a sign he should go on a whatchamacallit, a quest."

"Your ex-wife doesn't speak to you any more, does she?" Fraser said. "Perhaps there is a value in knowing when to quit," and there was another sucker punch, bam!

Ray's adrenaline spiked, his mind working overtime. Yeah, the story was about him and Vecchio, you snooze you lose, yadda yadda, he knew that. But he also knew this wasn't usual behavior for Fraser. He'd stake his shield on it. (Not Vecchio, though, he was never staking Vecchio again.) The guy was kind. Polite. And Ray remembered uneasily the stories he'd heard when he called up North, that first day, looking for dirt on the guy. Seemed like everyone had some crazy story about Constable Benton Fraser. He never fucking gave up, he tracked a guy over a frozen pass on a dogsled for fishing over the limit, he dragged some bank-robber chick out of the snow, almost froze to death himself, and the bank wasn't even in Canada.

So Fraser didn't believe the story. He didn't care about the story. He was just telling Ray to back the fuck off. He was fighting for Vecchio, pulling out all the weird-ass Canadian stops, and Ray got that.

During the story he'd relaxed. He'd gotten out of Fraser's face. But now he went right around the desk, sat on the edge with his boot on the arm of Fraser's chair, and leaned right into his space. "Vecchio's pretty fucking amazing, isn't he?" he said softly.

The mask slipped for a second, surprise and loneliness and burning determination twisting Fraser's mouth and shit, what was wrong with Ray? Because now he couldn't take his eyes off Fraser's mouth and this was fucked up. But Ray couldn't help it so he went with it, rode it, leaned right in and murmured in Fraser's ear, feeling Fraser's unwilling shiver in his own skin, "We both know he's gonna have to choose. Don't be so sure it'll be you."

Fraser's arm came out of nowhere, knocking Ray's foot off the chair so hard Ray teetered wildly, grabbing at the edge of the desk to keep from tipping over onto the floor. By the time he regained his balance, Fraser was standing several feet away, his breathing even but too deep and a hand on his arm where there'd been the worst of the bruises.

"You hurt yourself?" Ray asked.

Fraser turned away. "Perhaps," he said. "It's time for us to meet Detective Vecchio."

###

They didn't talk on the ride to the motel. Diefenbaker, in the backseat, didn't even make a sound.

"Hey, Kowalski," Vecchio said as he opened the door. His eyes softened, turned shy. "Hey Fraser."

"Good morning, Ray," Fraser said.

"How ya feeling?"

Fraser smiled. "Excellent," he said, his voice low and smooth and Ray looked at them, really looked at them as Fraser passed Vecchio to walk into the room.

No. Nonononono.

The door shut behind Fraser. As soon as he and Vecchio were out of earshot, alone in the parking lot, Ray stopped. Didn't grab Vecchio. He couldn't stand to touch him right now. "You fucked him," he said.

"Who, Mr. Lombardi?" Vecchio said, and he said it so natural Ray almost believed it for a second. "Yeah, you know I got a kink for poor hygiene and compulsive gambling."

It felt like Vecchio'd kicked him in the ribs. "I do not have poor hygiene!"

Vecchio grinned. "Did I hit a nerve there, Stanley? I was talking about our guy in the motel room."

"Do not do this to me, Vecchio," Ray said quietly. "Do not fucking do this to me. You fucked him."

"He tell you that?"

"If he had, he'd have a hell of a lot more bruises. The two of you--the way you stood. The way you looked at each other. I can see it." And yeah, he kept seeing it, fuck. The two of them, body to body. Vecchio's eyes fluttering shut. Fraser's mouth framing a moan. Stop.

"Yeah," Vecchio said finally. "Yeah, okay, you win, Mr. Detective. We fucked. What the hell do you care? You don't want me, but you don't want me to be with anyone else? What is that, Kowalski? What the--"

"I don't want you?" Ray shouted. "I don't want you? I want you so bad I am dying!"

Vecchio stopped mid-rant, his mouth hanging open. "What?" he got out, finally, sounding completely stupid and dazed.

"What the fuck planet are you living on, Vecchio? Has your brain gone on vacation to Canada? Of course I want you!"

"But I kissed you," Vecchio said. "I kissed you, and you just stared at me, and you never tried anything--"

"I was staring because I wanted it so bad! Usually when shit that good happens to me, I wake up! You're the one who said you were too drunk to know what you were doing. You're the one who decided we could never talk about that again! I wanted to talk about it. I wanted to fucking blow you in the supply closet every day for the rest of our lives! I had plans for us!"

Vecchio was still staring at him like he'd sprouted an extra head. "Yeah, well, your secret plans are real useful now," he muttered, finally.

"Do not put this on me. I was working on it! I was taking it slow. I was giving you time to warm up to the idea. You're the one who never gave a single goddamned sign that you--"

"I figured if I did, you'd ask for another partner," Vecchio said, and he said it like it was the worst thing he could think of. Shit. Ray knew this about Vecchio, knew Vecchio couldn't read signs but somehow he'd thought Vecchio must know anyway. Ray felt it so strong it must fill the entire world, right?

"Vecchio," Ray said. "Yeah. Come on. This is us, we're a team, we're perfect together--"

Something unhappy scuttled across Vecchio's face. "I know," he said in a low voice. "But Fraser--"

"But Fraser what?" Ray demanded. "You've known him for five days!"

Vecchio's face set. "Sometimes it doesn't take that long," he said. "I can't just--he needs me."

"Yeah?" Ray said. "Like that gun runner needed you? You got a history with shit like this, Vecchio. You're lucky I recognized her from the ATF before you did something stupid."

"That wasn't real, Kowalski," Vecchio said, and he still sounded--sad, and certain, and that scared Ray more than anything. "I knew that. That was just to distract myself from you. This is--I don't know what it is, but it's real."

Ray had nothing to say to that. Because maybe his bluff this morning had been for nothing. Maybe Vecchio had already chosen.

Fraser was right, he'd taken Vecchio for granted. He'd thought Vecchio would be there waiting when the time was right. He'd never really thought Vecchio would leave. Just like Stella. And shit, he couldn't do this again. "Vecchio--" he whispered, and hated the pleading in his own voice. "Don't. Please." He reached out a hand, finally, and Vecchio actually flinched back. And yeah, there it came, the gaping black hole inside him, begging to be filled with cheap jack and a new role, a new job. And he didn't want it. He wanted Vecchio, the softness of his skin waiting for Ray to discover it. Vecchio wanted him, he did, and Ray would be so good to him--

"I don't--" Vecchio bowed his head. "I don't know, Kowalski. I can't choose."

"Well, you gotta. We all know that."

Vecchio nodded slowly. "But--we're partners no matter what. I'm not going to give up on that."

It was more than he'd expected, really. More maybe than he deserved. But it would be stupid and a half to take it. "I dunno, Vecchio," Ray said, looking at his boots so he didn't have to see Vecchio's face. "I don't know if I can do that. You saw what happened with Stella. Partnering you when you're in a duet with him? I don't think--"

"Kowalski, I love you," Vecchio snapped.

Ray sneered so hard it almost hurt. "Right back atcha," he said. "But you got a lot of nerve saying it now. I'm not doing this to myself. We talk to Rossi and then you make a fucking decision."

###

"He simply agreed to forgive Mr. 2--that is, Mr. Lombardi's debt? Just like that?" Fraser asked when they were all of them back at the Consulate, Lombardi safely dropped off at his apartment and Dief eating wolf kibble in the breakroom.

"Well, nah, not just like that," Ray said. "Me and Kowalski had to throw our weight around a little." God, it had felt good after the week they'd had. The two of them again, working like a smoothly-oiled machine. It would be like that in bed, he just knew it, the two of them in tune, always knowing exactly where the other one was, moving into each other's empty spaces with perfect grace. How could he let that go when he'd never even had it? And he could have had it, all this time. Kowalski wanted him. Even now it felt like a goddamn miracle.

"So after a few judicious threats, he agreed as how if he were to be involved in any kind of illegal bookmaking operation, he certainly would not want to invite the closer involvement of the police, and that if Mr. 267 was hypothetically his client, then refraining from betting with him again would hypothetically be accepted in lieu of payment." Kowalski sounded satisfied, too. It killed Ray's high more than out-and-out sulking, because he knew that sooner or later the other shoe would explode on impact.

Fraser looked unsatisfied. "We still haven't gotten justice for Mr. Marcotte," he said.

"Yeah, Benny, I know," Ray said softly. "But Slug's dead. We got nothing tying him to Rossi and not much chance of getting it, and even if you get Rossi--guys like that are like goddamned cockroaches. You can't expect to take down the entire Chicago mob."

Fraser smiled at him a little. "Perhaps not in a week," he said. And shit, Ray thought he might really mean it.

"You better not take 'em on alone," he said.

"I don't want to," Fraser said.

Suddenly there was absolute quiet in the room. They were both looking at him, Kowalski and Fraser, they were waiting for him to choose and he couldn't. "I can't do this," he blurted out. "I mean, it's like that training we had at the academy, right? About how to deal with hostage situations and what to do if the guy asked you to choose who he'd kill and who he'd let live. I don't remember what you're supposed to do anymore but you're not supposed to just choose and anyway I can't."

"Don't make it sound like this is some fucking charity, Vecchio," Kowalski said. "You're not taking pity on one of us. You're telling us who you want to fuck more. So make up your fucking mind."

Ray looked at Fraser, but Fraser was raising his eyebrows at Ray with a he-said-it expression.

"Shit," he said. "I just--it's only been a few days! How am I supposed to know what I want?" But he knew what he wanted. He wanted both of them.

"Cry me a river, Vecchio," Kowalski said viciously. "You don't get to feel sorry for yourself, because either way you end up with someone and one of us wanders off to die alone."

Fraser was watching him now with that look of bottomless understanding that just killed him, every time. "There are," he said hesitantly. "There are cultures where situations like these are not unheard of."

Ray's heart felt like it had come unglued, bouncing its way up his throat, and any second now it was gonna pop against the top of his head. "Yeah?" he croaked.

"Well," Fraser said. "While reports of non-monogamous cultures among native peoples have been systematically exaggerated by researchers who failed to fully explore the complexities of native interpersonal relations and the semantic nuances of their sexual vocabulary, there are undoubtedly plenty of cases where strict monogamy such as is generally practiced in Western-European-influenced societies is not the norm. Even within those societies there are examples--the Mormons, for instance, although--"

"Yeah, Benny, I get the idea," Ray interrupted, his heart sinking again. Fraser subsided, turning his hat over and over in his hands. God, he was so greedy, two amazing guys and Ray just felt sick.

"Polygamy, huh?" Kowalski asked, eyes narrowed. Sounding like maybe he'd actually consider it. "Like, we get joint custody?"

"Technically the term would be 'polyandry,'" Fraser said, watching his hat. "Or I believe the popular term these days is 'polyamory,' as it has fewer connotations of the official sanction of marriage."

"It just--it doesn't seem fair," Ray said. "I mean, the two of you would be alone half the time and I'd be--" He paused, not sure how to say it. Not sure, either, if it would be okay for him to bring up how he got hot just looking at the two of them standing next to each other.

"Drowning in cock?" Kowalski suggested.

Ray snorted. "Not quite how I woulda put it, but yeah."

Kowalski looked him over, that careful, focused look Kowalski hardly ever gave anything. Then, to Ray's surprise, he did the same thing to Fraser.

He stepped up to Ray's shoulder so it was the two of them facing Fraser, like they were in a tight spot and he was letting Ray know he had backup. "You know, Vecchio," he said with a smirk, "if you wanted a threesome, maybe you should have picked a number three who wasn't quite so vanilla."

Fraser's head snapped up. "Vanilla?"

"Yeah, you know, the boring ice cream flavor. Means you're not adventuresome in bed."

Fraser's eyes narrowed. "Actually, vanilla was once considered an exotic and rare spice. Even today, it's rarer than most people realize. Nearly ninety-five percent of supposed 'vanilla-flavored' products are actually made with synthetic vanillin."

Kowalski rocked on his heels, tilted his head, gave Fraser a challenging grin. "Okay then," he said, as if Fraser were making any sense at all, "I got a little proposition for the two of you. I got us into this mess, right? Treated Vecchio like a poker chip. Turnabout is fair play, I figure. So the two of you, you play a few hands of poker. For M&Ms, maybe. Winner gets to fuck me."

The idea slammed into Vecchio like a full-body tackle. "Jesus, Kowalski, what is wrong with you? That's--" He swallowed. "The hottest thing I've ever heard, actually."

Kowalski bumped shoulders with him, casual and buddies, and somehow that just made the idea more perverse. More seductive. "I got my moments. Fraser, you in?"

Fraser licked his lip. The rest of him was still as a stone. "Two wrongs don't make a right."

"This isn't a wrong," Kowalski said, gentler than Ray'd expected. "I'm offering."

"Kowalski," Ray said slowly, "have you ever--have you ever been with a guy before?"

"Nah," Kowalski said easily. "But I been fucked before. Stella had a plastic dick." He smiled. "I been missing it, if you wanna know the truth."

"Wow," Ray said, meeting Fraser's eyes. Fraser's darkening eyes. "That would be even hotter if you'd ever seen Stella. She's tiny and blonde and very...no-nonsense."

"The two of you can't be serious," Fraser said, sounding frustrated and almost--almost desperate. "You'd really stake your futures on--on a card game."

"Hey, Benny," Ray said softly, putting a hand on Fraser's arm. Fraser jumped. "We're not staking anything, okay? It's just a game. And it's not our futures, either. It's the next couple hours. Just to see. Doesn't it sound...fun? At all?"

"Of course it sounds fun," Fraser said tightly. "That doesn't mean it's right, or wise."

"Yeah," Kowalski said firmly before Ray could answer. "Tonight, it does. Who's it gonna hurt?" To Ray's complete surprise, he leaned forward and brushed Fraser's lips with his own. "Come on, Frase," he said softly. "Live a little. We're offering."

Fraser drew in a sharp breath, his muscles tensing under Ray's hand. "And what does the loser get?" he asked.

For a second Kowalski looked nervous. Then he gave Fraser his cockiest grin and said, "He can negotiate that with the winner."

And that was starting up pictures in Ray's head that were dirtier than anything he'd ever thought he could produce, plus he loved Kowalski, he couldn't stand how fucking brave he was, how he could stand there and offer himself like it was no big thing when Ray knew that Kowalski wasn't the least bit casual about sex.

"Benny," he said, "I need to talk to Kowalski for a minute, okay?"

"Of course, Ray," Fraser said, his face suddenly blank.

"We'll be right back," Ray emphasized, and yanked Kowalski into the hallway with him. "Come on," he said, "he's got superhearing." So they ducked into a room across the hall.

"What?" Kowalski demanded. "Isn't this what you wanted?"

"Yeah," Ray said, capturing one of Kowalski's fidgeting hands with his own. "It's what I wanted. But you want out, you say the word, because--"

Kowalski pressed his cheek against Ray's hand, looked at Ray and Ray couldn't believe what he saw in Kowalski's eyes. Shit, he was looking at Ray the way he looked at Stella, except not--not unhappy. Kinda just--shining. "I am not ever gonna want out," he said.

Ray closed his eyes for a second, felt Kowalski's stubble against the back of his hand. "But you and Fraser--"

Kowalski smirked and let their hands drop. "Come on, Vecchio, you looked at the guy? Who's gonna say no to that?"

"This isn't--he's not a pro we brought in for the evening, Kowalski! You do this, we do this, then we're giving it a real shot, the three of us."

"Yeah? Dinner with your mom and everything?"

Ray shuddered, because that was not going to be a fun conversation, but--"Yeah," he said. "If it works out and you guys wouldn't rather do traffic duty for the rest of your lives than have anything to do with family holidays, yeah."

Kowalski let out a breath, went still. "I like him," he said, looking at their clasped hands. "He's crazy but in a weirdly addictive way. Plus he likes you so I figure that's a point in his favor."

"Don't get all mushy on me," Ray said, squeezing Kowalski's fingers. Their gazes met and held, and then Kowalski tugged, gently. Ray leaned forward and their lips met--slow kisses with no tongue. Ray was tingling and hot all over when Kowalski pulled away.

Ray licked his lips. "You know I gotta let him win, right? 'Cause you and me, we're already--"

"Yeah, course," Kowalski said with a little eye-roll. "But if you make him want to win he'll do all the work for you. Guy's competitive as hell and fantastic at poker."

###

"Everyone knows Canadians suck at poker," Kowalski said, slouching in his chair in a way that was somehow more suggestive than a giant neon sign saying Kowalski's Crotch Here! Ray wasn't sure because Kowalski was still in his old, baggy jeans from the day before, but he thought he might be hard. Fraser slid off his jacket.

"Shut up, Kowalski, it's not his fault," Ray said, ignoring the beads of sweat forming on his own forehead. "It's genetic. Probably something in the water."

"I beat you, didn't I?" Fraser asked, a hint of steel in his voice and his eyes on Kowalski's zipper. "Besides, if it's something in the water, it can't be genetic."

"I was drunk," Kowalski pointed out, pulling out a toothpick and sucking on it. "Otherwise you would have had to bow to my superior American know-how." He leaned so far backwards in the chair the front two legs left the ground. Fraser took off his tie.

"Yeah, Benny," Ray said. Jesus, he felt like he'd been hard for hours and the two of them were not helping his concentration. Better make this quick. "We got Vegas and the Wild West and you got what? A bunch of salmon."

"Poker is just as common in Canada as it is in the States," Fraser said, and went into this long speech about the Yukon Gold Rush, his father, and Canadian professional poker players that Ray ignored while he discarded his highest card and one of a pair of eights.

###

Ray dragged the desk chair around to the side of the bed and sat in it. Then he took off his tie and toed off his shoes. Waited. Fraser and Kowalski were eyeing each other more like circling dogs than like guys about to have sex. But they had to figure this out themselves, and Ray had faith in Kowalski's ability to seduce pretty much anything if he was motivated.

Turned out he should have had faith in Fraser, because Fraser didn't say anything, just cocked an eyebrow at Kowalski and pushed his suspenders off his shoulders. He started unbuttoning his shirt, and Kowalski went still and watched his hands like they were a Blackhawks game, the World Series, and Bullitt all rolled into one. When Fraser started to pull the shirt off, he winced a little, and then Kowalski was right there, easing his arms out of the sleeves. "You sure you're up to this?" he said. "'Cause we can wait. I just figured you would be, since you and Vecchio--"

"You know about that?" Fraser asked, looking startled.

Ray froze, waiting to see what Kowalski would say.

Kowalski made Fraser sweat a little, eyed him up and down, lifted his chin. "Hey, me and Vecchio can wait," he said finally, leering a little. "Just think of it as an initiation rite."

"Into what?" Fraser asked.

Kowalski shrugged. "The partnership. You're the new guy."

Ray let out a whole lot of breaths he hadn't realized he was holding. From the looks of it, so did Fraser. "I see," he said. "Anyway, I assure you there's nothing wrong with me but a little residual soreness. I am quite up to this."

Quick as lightning, Kowalski stepped into Fraser's space, cupped him through his pants. Ray bit back a moan. "Guess you are," Kowalski said, and snickered.

Fraser raised both eyebrows now, actually looking sort of amused. "Take your clothes off," he said. "And get on the bed."

"You're the boss," Kowalski said, his voice perfectly steady as he clumsily toed off his boots and fumbled with the buttons on his fly. He put his hands on the waistband of his pants, swallowed, and glanced at Ray.

Ray didn't deserve this, both of them, he didn't, oh God. He pressed his hand helplessly against his dick, swallowing another moan at the discomfort and the sweet hard jolt of pleasure. After an endless second Kowalski smiled at him, a shockingly sweet little smile, and shimmied out of his jeans.

Ray's eyes met Fraser's and neither of them said anything but he was pretty sure they were both thinking Damn, even if Fraser was phrasing it some more polite way in his head.

Kowalski grinned--he'd always loved attention, the asshole--and pulled off his t-shirt, too. Now he was wearing nothing but gray boxer-briefs, which were not exactly making it into Playgirl any time this century, but Jesus, Ray was this close to losing it. He'd wanted to wait until they were occupied with each other to start jerking off, but hey, he'd done it last night, right? So now there were two of them, that was all. He owed it to them to trust them, to let them see how much he wanted this, how--and apparently while he was rationalizing his hands were being smart and getting on with it, because he'd already unbuckled his belt and pulled down his fly and his own hand around his dick right now was one of the best things he'd ever felt.

"Jesus, Vecchio," Kowalski hissed, and tugged off his boxers. Ray's fingers tightened almost painfully at the sight of Kowalski's cock, as pale and smooth and beautiful as the rest of him, and hard. Then Kowalski turned around and crawled onto the bed, hands and knees, and Ray had to close his eyes for a few seconds, breathe hard, squeeze at the base of his cock, talk himself down. He didn't want to come before they even got started. But damn, all that rustling plus his imagination wasn't much easier to take than the real thing.

When he heard the little pop of a tube of slick being opened, he let himself look again. Fraser'd taken the rest of his clothes off--his bruises were still visible but they did seem to be getting lighter, and damn, his legs were even nicer out of the pants. "When did you buy lube, Fraser?" Ray asked.

Fraser glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, a flash of white teeth. "That's not important, Ray," he said, and Kowalski pushed backwards with a low moan. Jesus, yeah, Fraser had a finger in him, he was feeling around with this look of concentration on his face like he wasn't hard as a rock, like this was a freaking science experiment.

Like he was calculating angles.

Ray's throat went dry. His hand started moving again without any intervention from his brain.

Fraser was driving Kowalski crazy too. He kept squirming and pushing backwards onto Fraser's fingers--two of them, now--saying, "Come on, just do it, I am ready, I was ready last week, Jesus fuck Fraser--"

Fraser's hand stilled, and his other hand came down on Kowalski's shoulder. "Stay still, or I'll have to bind you," he said calmly.

Kowalski's mouth fell open. It looked like maybe half surprise and half arousal. Ray was pretty sure his own face looked about the same.

"Purely for your own protection, of course," Fraser said.

"Cuffs?" Kowalski asked, a hitch in his voice, and apparently Kowalski liked that idea.

"Probably," Fraser said. "I don't think Detective Vecchio would like me to wrinkle his tie." Didn't even look at Ray when he said it, and just the idea, that Fraser'd been thinking about tying Kowalski up with his tie, the strong line of Fraser's shoulder and arms in the light of the desk lamp, the calm, shadowed lines of his face--Ray'd never felt anything like this before.

He slouched down further in the chair, played his thumb over the head of his dick, waited to find out what Kowalski would do. He knew Kowalski was thinking about being stubborn on purpose, just to get Fraser to follow through, and damn, Ray could see it already. If he slitted his eyes Kowalski's bracelet and watch flashed silver like cuffs--

But Kowalski didn't. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep, relaxing against Fraser with a low, breathy moan. Patient, face soft and slack with pleasure while Fraser opened him up.

Finally, when Kowalski was trembling all over and Ray had had to take his hands off himself entirely, Fraser picked up the condom from where he'd set it down on the sheets and carefully opened the packet with his teeth. That mouth--at the little ripping sound, Kowalski moaned again and dropped his head down on his folded arms. Jesus, his hair, the back of his neck--Ray loved him so much, he wanted to touch them, both of them, wanted to slide the condom over Fraser's erection and kiss the bruises on his arm. He gripped the arms of the chair to keep from moving.

Then Fraser was pushing into Kowalski, slow and steady, and Kowalski was talking, his voice harsh and breathless and slipping into a moan every few words. "Oh, fuck, I forgot how great it feels," he said. "I missed this so bad. There's nothing like it--oh, fuck, Fraser, there. Yeah, oh. Almost right--there--"

"Like this?" Fraser asked, shifting on his knees and thrusting forward and up. That voice of his, that crazy voice was tight and there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead and his back.

"Yeah, maybe a little to the left, and harder," Kowalski said. They were figuring it out, working through it, and then Kowalski reared his head back and shouted.

Fraser actually grinned. He thrust again. Kowalski put up a hand to brace himself against the headboard and shoved back, and Fraser's grin slipped. "Touch yourself," he said. "Please."

Ray was glad Fraser was talking to Kowalski and not him, because if he so much as laid a finger on himself he was gonna come. Kowalski didn't look like he was in much better straits. "Yeah," he murmured hoarsely. "You're the boss." He reached back and grabbed himself and then, for the first time since he'd gotten on the bed, he turned his head and looked straight at Ray. Didn't move his hand, just let his eyes run over Ray, down to his dick which was sticking straight out of his pants. He probably looked pretty stupid but Kowalski didn't seem to think so. He stared at Ray's cock and licked his lips.

Ray's hips thrust forward so hard he almost fell out of the chair, and then Kowalski's hand was moving. Kowalski's head hung down as Fraser fucked him, the headboard creaking, his whole body strung tight. He gasped and came all over the sheets.

Fraser slowed, his hands gentle on Kowalski's hips, and when Kowalski had stopped shaking, Fraser stilled. "Do you want me to stop?" he asked.

"Jeez, do you hafta be so polite all the time?" Kowalski demanded, still sounding like he could barely breathe. Fraser tensed, and Kowalski must have felt it because he reached back, grabbed for Fraser. "Nah," he said softly. "Feels nice, being close to someone."

Ray was gonna have a heart attack, they were gonna kill him, he hadn't known his pulse could go that fast. Kowalski being sexy and cocky was one thing, but Kowalski being vulnerable was something else again.

Fraser drew in a shuddering breath and looked down at Kowalski for a long moment. Then he nodded, running a hand down Kowalski's spine. "Come on," he said, and turned Kowalski so they were both lying on their sides, with Fraser wrapped around Kowalski like they were spooning, his hand flat against Kowalski's belly. Ray could see Fraser thrusting, gentle and slow and shallow, and then Fraser leaned forward and just nuzzled Kowalski, rubbing his nose into the sensitive spot under his ear. And Jesus, the way Kowalski arched gratefully into the touch, closed his eyes and made a hungry noise like he'd been yearning for someone to just hold him--

Ray wrapped his hand around himself again, because he couldn't wait any more.

Fraser sucked on Kowalski's earlobe, kissed his neck, murmured, "Ray," his voice cracking, not talking to Ray at all, talking to Kowalski with all that tenderness, and that was it, Ray was coming with a groan, and yep, that'd be two or three heart attacks, right there.

For a minute he just sprawled there, spent and dazed. Then he saw Kowalski watching him, Kowalski's lazy, sweet smile as Fraser fucked him. "You get off on cuddling, Vecchio? Really?" And Ray didn't care about the bet anymore, he had to be on that bed now.

He climbed in, pressed up against Kowalski's front and kissed him. "Mmm, Vecchio," Kowalski murmured. "You gotta ask Fraser's permission."

"You have it," Fraser said hastily. "Please."

So of course Ray had to sit up, lean over Kowalski and kiss Fraser, too. Kowalski spread his warm fingers across Ray's chest, and Fraser kissed back, hungry and sweet. Ray ran his hand down Fraser's side, thumbing his nipple. Fraser started, which made Kowalski moan, his fingers twitching against Ray's chest, and say, "Do that again, Vecchio." So Ray did, kissing Fraser deeper and rubbing his thumb over Fraser's nipple in the small gap between Fraser and Kowalski's bodies until Fraser gasped against his mouth and shook, spilling into Kowalski.

"Ohhh," Kowalski said. "Yeah." Then, "What the hell did you buy a twin for anyway, Vecchio?"

Ray gave him a small shove. "So, Benny," he said, heart still thumping against his ribs, "you think this is something you could get used to?"

Fraser's face was pressed against the back of Kowalski's neck, eyes closed. At that, though, he darted a tentative glance at Ray. "You really--the two of you really want--?"

"Yeah," Kowalski said. "We want." Ray's heart swelled. He brushed a thumb over his cheekbone, and Kowalski smiled up at him, looking sex-hazy and content and warm with Fraser's arm still slung over his hip. "But only if you buy us a bigger bed, Fraser. And maybe rent an apartment that's not Vecchio's mom's place."

"I think," Fraser said slowly, starting to smile, "I think I can do that."