Author's Notes: NOTES: This came to me as a little AU, and I had to write it. Special thanks to esteefee and popkin16 for lending me their ears, and for megan_moonlight for the beta. This is a due South AU that diverges after Season 2, where Ray and Fraser never worked together, and where Ray left the force to become a bounty hunter slash private investigator.<br />
WARNINGS: Though this is a lighthearted story in tone and meaning, it does involve talk of professional sexworkers. If that is a squick, please bypass.

Ray stretched his tight, overworked muscles as the first rays of sunlight find their way through a slit in the drapes, the cotton sheets tracking against his bare chest as he moves, nipples hardening to little points that sent a jolt of pleasure down to his crotch - reminding him just how long it had been since he last got laid.

He resists the urge to push down his dick, and instead throws the covers off the bed and sits up, rubbing his face in his hands. Looking at the bedside clock, he realizes that it's almost time to head out and meet with his former Lieutenant, who often helps Ray with tracking down some of the leads he has trouble with. It's a benefit of being a former cop turned bounty-hunter and private investigator. Ray was rarely bored, and could count on former colleagues for help when the need arose.

Finally standing, he pushes his boxers down off his hips and lets them puddle at his feet. He kicks them into a corner, figuring where they land, which is near where the rest of his laundry is, is close enough to the hamper. He pads to the bathroom and turns on the shower, then steps under the warm spray as he thinks about his latest case.

~*~*~

Constable Benton Fraser is... Well, if he were honest with himself, a bit bored. Because of the Consulate being so overstaffed, what with Inspector Thatcher providing mandatory overseas service for what seemed like half the RCMP Depot graduates, Fraser often finds himself with quite a bit of time on his hands. And ever since Ray Vecchio of the Chicago PD went under cover, that amount of free time easily doubled. So much so that he and Constable Turnbull had begun a little side business that consists of 'round the house' type handyman services (Fraser), as well as house cleaning (Turnbull).

But as he was often told, starting a small business was usually quite slow, so Fraser frequently passed the time by sitting in his small office at the Consulate, waiting for his phone to ring. He glances at the clock, then decides to take Diefenbaker for a jog.

~*~*~

"Harding," Ray says as he sits down at the table in the little caf he and Welsh always used for meetings. He never thought he'd ever be close to a coworker before, especially someone that he'd worked under for such a short period of time. But after Ray left the CPD due to an IA investigation into another Detective - that was somehow unjustly framed to look like Ray was responsible - the Lieutenant had confided in him as he took his resignation, offering him help whenever he needed it. Which is why Ray and Welsh were meeting today.

"Jesus, Kowalski. You look like balls," Welsh responds. And it's true; Ray does look a little bit rough around the edges.

Nodding, Ray just agrees, "Yeah, I'm not sleepin' too good."

Welsh nods, then pulls an envelope out of his pocket. "Got you a lead on that Kaminski skip you were asking about last week," he says as he passes over the envelope. "One of my boys saw her hanging out with an ex down in Cicero." Cocking his head to the side, he asks, "You sure you're okay?"

"Thanks," Ray says to the waitress who brings him his usual mocha. He takes a sip, then licks off his whipped cream mustache and says, "I just gotta..." he says, but his voice trails off as a blonde woman walks by, and he hears Welsh sigh as he catches him shaking his head a bit.

"What you got to do is get your head back in the game." And with an accusing finger pointed at him like only the Lieu could manage, Welsh adds, "And get Stella out of your head." Welsh leans forward, causing Ray to do the same, and says, "It's been three years, Kowalski. Time to move on."

Ray splays back in his chair and nods his head, blowing out a heavy sigh. "Yeah, yeah," he manages, trying not to let his whole body tense up. "It's just hard, you know?"

"No, I don't know, actually," Welsh responds. "Theresa's put up with me for this long, and god knows I don't deserve her. But she's always been there for me." He clears his throat and asks, "Not that I want to know, but haven't you even met anyone?"

Shrugging, Ray just says, "Naah," as he leans back in his chair. "It's kinda hard... Especially with the hours I keep. Plus... Well, I'm not really a one-night-stand kinda guy." Ray wonders what makes him open up, but figures it's the lack of sleep and caffeine.

Welsh looks at Ray as he cocks his head to the side thoughtfully, as if considering something. He motions to Ray, who hands the envelope back as he pulls a pen out of his jacket pocket. Grabbing the paper, he puts it down on the table and then writes out something, and hands it back to Ray, taking another glance around.

"So you didn't hear this from me, but give 'em a call." Welsh gestures to the envelope with the pen before putting it back in his pocket. "Trust me - you look like you need it. And they'll take real good care of you."

Ray looks at the paper, then to Welsh, and then back to the paper. "Wait a minute... Is this like a hooker?" he asks, voice a little too loud for the setting.

Pushing his arms out in a 'keep it down' type motion, Welsh quietly explains, "It's a legitimate service, Kowalski. Now what they decide to do on their own time, I don't care. But just call. Get someone, spend a few hours, and get your head back in the game." He stands, straightening his jacket before saying, "Trust me on this, okay? They're..." he starts, and then as he rolls his hands, settles on, "Creative... From what I've been told, that is."

Ray feels a little skeeved about the whole thing. But in a way, it would solve his problem; meet someone for a meaningless thing to help him get over Stella, and then move on. Maybe it wasn't such a crazy idea after all. It takes him a few seconds before he starts nodding, and then he says, "Yeah, okay," then looks up at his former boss. "Okay, thanks," and then tucks the envelope into his pocket.

~*~*~

It's the following weekend, days after Francine Kaminski, a heartless, though cheap, gun for hire had been caught for jumping bail (providing Ray with quite a rewarding payday), that Ray's thoughts finally return to the phone number on the envelope. He walks around his apartment, phone in one hand and the envelope in the other, not sure exactly what to do. Well, he knows what he could do, but he isn't sure he can actually go through with it. But the throbbing erection that he's carried around for most of the morning keeps getting into the forefront of his mind, muddying his thoughts. So after a couple hours of debate, the thought of someone close to him, something on his cock other than his right hand, wins out. He lifts the envelope close enough to his face to be able to read, dialing as his mind wonders if that last digit is a seven or a two - the Lieu always did have messy handwriting. But before he can hang up and stare at the paper some more, the line picks up.

"Creative Services, Benton Fraser here. What may I assist you with today?"

'Creative Services'? Ray mouths, wondering exactly who came up with the name of this escort service. But before he puts too much thought into it, he says, "Uhh, hi there. I'm uhhh-" He pauses, not quite sure knowing what to say next.

"Good morning, sir," the cheerful voice comes through the line. "How would you like us to service you today?"

'Service me?' Ray thinks. "Yeah," he says, then clears his throat. "I'TMm wondering if I can get someone to come over."

"Certainly, sir," the voice cheerfully responds. "Currently it's just me and Turnbull, but I'm sure between us, we can meet your every need."

Ray instantly thinks, 'Two-fer!' but then dismisses the thought. He hasn't been with a guy for a while, though it's often fueled his fantasies, so he clears his throat and says, "Yeah, I just need one of you - not both."

"I see," the cheerful voice responds. "Well to help me help you, I'd like to let you know that while I'm particularly versatile and good with my hands, Turnbull is quite adept with a feather duster."

Ray pulls the phone from his ear, then wants to question - while simultaneously his brain screams, 'For god's sake, don't ask!' so instead he just clears his throat again. And while he was hoping for more, maybe starting with a handy wouldn't be all that weird. After all, it's better than using his own hand. "I think I'll go with you, if that's all right, Benton," he says into the receiver. "Can you describe yourself?"

There's a slight pause before Benton finally responds. "Well, sir. I'm approximately 180 centimeters tall and weigh 73 kilograms. That's just at 6 foot tall and just over 180 pounds imperial. I have dark hair, and light blue eyes... And if you would like, I have very good references." There's a shuffling of paper, and suddenly Ray has a beefy Boy Scout type in his head, handing him a recommendation from some lonely housewife who had stopped loving her husband decades earlier. "I assure you, sir, that regardless of my corporeal form, I'm capable of handling myself, and anything you can give me, with inventiveness, comfort, and ease."

"Yeah, yeah, that's fine," Ray mutters, his mind wandering at the mental image of this hooker as it careens through his thoughts.

"Before we go any further, sir, can I ask if you have your own tools? Or would you like me to bring mine?"

Ray reels just a bit at the thought, and then blurts, "Yeah, I'mma leave that up to you."

"Understood, sir," comes the response. "It's just that, in this line of work, I have occasionally found that people sometimes prefer me to use their own tools. It helps them feel more at ease, and I leave them one-hundred-percent satisfied. And you understand that I strive for satisfaction. Because if you aren't satisfied, then I haven't done my job correctly."

"Yeah, yeah," Ray says, his mind wondering just exactly what tools an escort would need, visions of the toy drawer, and the toys, he and Stella used to share. He has a small butt-plug that he crammed into the back of his dresser a while back and forgot about. Still, since he's been out of the game for a while, he just decides to play along. "Just bring your own, that's fine."

After a slight pause, the other line comes back with, "Very well sir. Of course I'll have to bring mine covered. Sometimes... Well, I hate to brag, sir, but my tools - which are the highest quality, as well as a great number in quantity - have often been coveted by others. I like to keep them under wraps so that others don't succumb to temptation, and I have everything that I need at my disposal to complete your job successfully, leaving you very satisfied." After a brief pause, he adds, "After all, and not to be presumptuous, but I'd like to have you as a repeat customer."

Ray shakes his head as he pulls the phone from his ear and stares at it for a second before putting it back to his ear. "Well, let's just get through this time, and see how it goes."

"Usually the folks I service don't need any additional help for months. But there are the occasional repeat customers that I look forward to helping out as often as I can. Turnbull as well."

Letting his mind wonder back to his Kaminski payday, Ray lets his mouth speak before his brain can kick in. "So, umm... How much for an overnight visit?"

There's a shuffling of papers again, and the voice finally comes back with, "Gosh," accompanied by a little laugh. "Well, it's not something that we routinely offer, Mister..."

Ray responds with the first name that comes into his head. "Vecchio," he blurts.

"Well, Mister, uhhh," and then there's a pause. "...Vecchio. My normal rate is fifty American dollars per hour-"

'That's queer,' Ray thinks, and then laughs at his own joke. Fifty bucks an hour is dirt cheap - but... "American?" he asks.

"Yes, sir. You see, I'm Canadian," comes the response. "And I find that, in this line of work, sometimes those of us that are classically trained can provide higher quality standards than those who just jump into this only thinking about monetary rewards, and no real training."

Ray knew he was definitely in the twilight zone now.

"If you'd like, I could provide high resolution digital images of my work, and those that I have serviced. You can quite easily see the smiles on their faces."

"Yeah, I uhh," Ray says, almost feeling like backing out. But throughout this conversation, the titillation has gotten to him, and he looks down at his cock, sticking out of the front of his boxers, quite happy with how the discussion has gone. "How about we just see how you do?"

"As you wish, sir. I'm assuming you are in need of my services immediately?"

Palming his cock, Ray nods before saying, "Yeah you could say that. Are you available in, say, an hour?"

"That would be most welcomed. Would you be so kind as to email me your contact information to bfraser at creativeservices dot net, I will gather my things and will be at your domicile in an hour's time."

Scribbling the email address down, Ray says, "Sure. Should I..." he asks, and then feels a deep blush suffuse across his face, warmth spreading down his neck and chest. He clears his throat and finally says, "Is there anything I should do to prepare for your arrival?"

"Absolutely not," Fraser replies. "I'd expect you to get comfortable, and just let me do all the heavy work."

Ray sniffs himself, and thinks he'll ignore the advice, and at least go get a shower. "Okay," he says. "Anything else you need from me?"

"Well," the voice on the line says, and then almost sheepishly adds, "Well, I wonder if you might allow me to bring along my canine companion. He's... Well, he hasn't been out quite as much as of late, and I know he enjoys meeting new people. Plus, he has a way of making everyone feel at ease with his antics."

"No!" Ray almost shouts into the phone. An escort is one thing - but his dog? This is just a little too freaky, even for him. He feels bad for some reason, and adds, "At least not this time," and then immediately shakes his head, figuring he truly is going mad.

"As you wish," Fraser responds. "I'll just make sure he's in Turnbull's capable hands, and then be on my way. I will see you within the hour. Just please don't forget to email me your contact information."

Ray just says, "Okay," and then hangs up the phone. He looks around the room, the picture of Stella from the night they celebrated her passing the Bar throwing accusing looks at him. When he can still feel the harsh gaze even from a dozen steps away, he first crosses back to the shelf and turns the picture over. Still not happy, he again turns, picks up the picture, and puts it in his dresser drawer before finally going to his laptop. He pulls it out and lets it boot up, and before he can overthink it, he starts up his email program and types in his information, sending it on to Fraser's email address. Blowing out a sigh, he shuts the lid and slides the laptop back into its case.

He gets up from the table and goes to the bathroom, but detours to the kitchen first where he finds a bottle of scotch. He takes a shot, then another as the surreal conversation with this Benton person replays in his head. With his hands on the counter to steady himself, he lets the scotch warm his throat and stomach, and finally goes to the bathroom to take a nice, long shower.

~*~*~

Benton Fraser finds the apartment building with ease, and walks up the stairs, his canvas tool-case hanging off of his shoulder. He finds the apartment that this Mister Vecchio had directed him to, and stops at the door. A thought passes through his mind; he must ask this new client if he is relation to the Vecchios that he used to work with. Just before he knocks, he hears a muttering inside, accompanied by what sounds like pacing. He raises his fist to knock, and does so, adding, "Creative Services, Mister Vecchio."

The pacing stops, and he hears barefoot footfalls coming towards the door, which opens with a crack, and a blonde head leans into the opening, hair looking damp. "Good morning. I'm Benton Fraser from-"

"Yeah, yeah," comes a quick response and the door is thrown open wide. "Come on in before I change my mind," the voice says, so Fraser steps across the threshold and into the apartment.

He takes a second to look around his surroundings, and then turns to the man who let him in, and seems to be... Well, if Benton has to describe it, it would be inappropriately dressed as the man appears to be wearing only a robe based on the quick flashes of skin he can clearly see. And for some reason, his new client is trying his best to - well, what appears to be - blending into the wall behind him. He draws in a breath, then puts his tool-bag down and extends a hand.

"Benton-" he starts.

"Jesus, is that your goodie bag?" the man asks, his eyes wide and mouth agape. "I mean I figured you might have a few little..." And Vecchio's voice trails off until he latches onto Fraser's gaze, "Little toys." Fraser watches him raise two fingers, barely two inches of air between them to convey the concept of small.

Shaking his head, Fraser says, "I can assure you, Mister-"

"Ray," comes the unsteady voice. "Just call me Ray."

"Ray Vecchio?" Fraser asks as he gives his new client a curious glance.

Suddenly Ray is shaking his head. "Sorry... It's- Well, it's really Kowalski. I just didn't want to use my real name on the phone."

"Aah," Fraser says, not sure why, but knowing Americans are a curious bunch, he decides to let it go. "Are you, perchance, familiar with a man by that same moniker?"

"Moniker?" Ray asks, glancing first down at the canvas bag, and then back at Fraser. "Oh, name? Yeah. He was a cop down at the 2-7."

"Detective, actually," Fraser says, wondering what a small world it is. "Ray Vecchio and I were close - quite close. I was his partner for over two years."

"Vecchio?" comes Ray's response. "Wow... I didn't know."

Fraser nods, adding, "Unofficially, of course. You understand." It was true; while Benton thought of his partnership with Ray Vecchio as something permanent and solid, it was never officially sanctioned by the Chicago Police Department. Still, it allowed him to help the Detective out, and they had managed to put quite a few dangerous criminals away. "Yes," Fraser continues, "Detective Vecchio took another assignment and left town while I was out of the country. It was most unfortunate, as I didn't even get to say goodbye."

Ray gets a curious look on his face, and says, "That sounds like a dick move."

"Yes," Fraser responds. "It was most unfortunate, and I cannot help but feel we have unfinished business, Detective Vecchio and I. But at least his absence has allowed me to start up my new occupation."

Fraser smiles at Ray, though his melancholy look is met with a giant, gawping expression, which just further cements his mindset that Americans are quite odd.

Clapping his hands, Fraser says, "Well now. Where would you like me to start?" He glances around the apartment, eyes searching for anything that looks out of sorts before turning to his customer.

"We can start in here," comes Ray's response, and Fraser watches as Ray pulls the belt of his bathrobe, letting it fall to the floor, the robe opening slightly. Then in one swift move, Ray shrugs out of the bathrobe completely, letting it drop to his feet and presenting his completely naked form to Fraser.

Feeling a blush paint across his face, Fraser just responds with, "Oh dear..."

~*~*~

There are laughs all around the small cabin, Ray, Fraser and their friends smiling and joking as wine and beer flows as easy as the jovial mood. "Seriously?" Availuk asks, her dark eyes sparking in the bright, colorful lights that adorn the Christmas tree. Fraser smiles as he tends to their other guests, passing a basket of treats and then filling a couple wine glasses before handing Availuk a bottle of water. "Oh Benton," she says, catching Fraser's eye and accepting the water as she holds her belly. "I can't believe he thought you were a gigolo."

"Hey, I ain't that high class," Ray counters. "I like to think of him as a himbo," he says, smiling up at Fraser as he sits back down, fingers messing up Ray's hair as he does.

Long-suffering Fraser, who has heard the story far too many times, leans over and drops a kiss to the side of Ray's head. "It was a simple mistake, Availuk," he says. "But with life-altering consequences, I will admit."

"Yeah, but we ain't tellin' the kid," Ray says, as he points to Availuk's belly. "Not until he's like fifty. Deal?" he says, Fraser nodding his head. He then turns to their friend, who is carrying Fraser's child. "You, too, Ava..." Ray then points around the room, smiling as he says, "That goes for all of you!" with a muttering of laughs and acceptance smattered throughout the sounds of the room coming as his reply.

Availuk leans forward, putting her hand on Ray's outstretched leg. "Do not worry, Ray," she says, eyes twinkling. "Your secret is safe with me."