Disclaimer: Disclaimer: Aren't mine, don't own 'em, thought they were cute and might like
to have some fun. Besides, talk about subtext. This is JiM's fault, and Bone's. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Author's Notes:

Story Notes:

This story is a sequel to: Walls of Pride

Knockin' on Heaven's Door

Knockin' on Heaven's Door

Cecil is starting to work my nerves by the time Christmas starts getting closer. He's got a half-dozen reasons any given week to keep Fraser tied up at the Consulate, and it's pissing me off in particular today because I'm working a major theft ring sting and today would be a day that it would be nice to have my backup be somebody else besides Huey and Dewey.

Don't know how, but they made it up after the dustup in the bullpen a couple of months back, and maybe they don't seem to get along quite as easy, but hey, they get along. Partners have to.

Huey and I still get along fine, whatever he may think about me and Fraser in private, but Dewey. We circle each other pretty wary, trying not to step over the line, and I have to admit, I'm glad that it's not just Dewey watching my back today.

There's a couple of cars out there, including the surveillance van, and I'm wired in more ways than one, not just wound up, but wearing a wire. I press the buzzer and listen for the lock and the door opens. Guy standing there is a little beefy, gut slopping over his belt, and he's got about two days worth of stubble, lank hair falling into his face, but he's just a gofer for Mahan, guy who runs this circus. I grin at him and ditty bop into the warehouse like I own the place. A man with style is a man who can smile, like I always say, and look over the top of my shades at the gofer.

I've met with Mahan before, and showed him the color of my money, of which there is a lot-not mine, of course-in the case I'm carrying. Thankfully, the wire I'm wearing is top of the line, no telltales if they pat me down. Thank God.

Mahan nods at me when the gofer shows me into the office.

"Ya got the merchandise?" I ask him and pat the case. "I got the cash."

He looks at the gofer, who leaves in a hurry. "Let's have a look."

I put the case on the desk and pop it open. Riffle the stacks to show him that they're all green. Snap it shut again. "Let's have a look," I tell him, cocky grin.

The gofer comes back with another guy who's carrying a matching case. Second guy looks at me funny, and I look back, still cocky. Mahan takes the case and the second guy goes back out. Mahan pops the case and there are the goods, lots and lots of high tech Defense Department circuitry. I look over the goods, checking close, and then nod, and we switch cases.

Second guy comes back in. "Sorry, boss, Jackie needs a quick word with you."

"We done?" I ask Mahan.

He nods absently. "Doors are locked. Joey'll walk you back out. I'll be in touch."

I nod back, let him walk out and wait for Joey, figuring he's got stuff he doesn't want me to see, and since I've got what I need, I'm not going to take any stupid risks.

So, Joey's walking me out again, and I hear footsteps behind me as we're heading for the door.

Quick footsteps, and I swivel fast, grab Joey's arm and pull him in front of me, and Mahan is looking pissed and he and his two guys are both armed and pointing those weapons at me.

"What the fuck is this?" I snarl, and draw my own weapon. "A double-cross?"

"You oughta know," Mahan says. "Come on back this way, Crocker."

"The hell," I say, and I'm hoping like hell that Dewey and the guys are getting this, but I have no fucking clue what comes next. I press the barrel of my Glock against Joey's temple, but the safety's still on. "Give me the keys," I tell him, fast and hard. "Give me the fucking keys."

Joey's not moving, so I start patting him down, watching three gun barrels point at me.

Where the fuck is everybody, I wonder, and I start wondering, I just start wondering, and that's about all I have time for because Mahan shoots Joey in the forehead and Joey's a big guy, dead weight against me, and I spin and roll behind a stack of shipping crates, which is about as much cover as a pile of matchsticks, and sure enough, bullets are flying.

"Any day now," I yell, and I'm yelling at the guys outside, and then I'm rolling again, scrambling for cover. I'll be scared later, I tell myself, right now staying alive is the fucking priority, and I scoot between two lines of crates towering over my head, take a quick look and sure enough, they've split up, they're flanking me, and I'm gonna be fucking toast if I don't keep moving.

So I take a quick look around, figure out where to go next, and it's not easy, I'm trying to keep hold of the fucking case to keep from blowing the whole thing, and if Fraser were here, he'd wash my mouth out with soap after he did something creative to get us to cover. I slide down another one of those aisles between the stacked crates and dart a look around a corner, duck back in as somebody shoots, and there's splinters in my cheek now. Too fucking close, and I zig around the other corner and I'm in a corner, I'm fucked, I'm backed up against the warehouse wall.

And it caves in, right about then, or explodes in as a car just drives through, and Mahan pops around the corner and takes his shot while I'm dodging the car and trying to stay out of the line of fire. Big punch to the right side of my chest and I'm up against a crate trying to breathe without much luck, and hot/cold/numb, and the case falls to the ground because my arm goes dead, too.

World is starting to narrow down to tunnel vision and I'm still trying to breathe, not having any luck. I cough and taste blood and that's just the icing on the cake, Fraser's going to kill me if this doesn't, but hell, I was doing my job and doing it right, and where the fuck was the backup?

I see Mahan, that's all I can really see, and he's aiming again, going to finish the job and then he gets a funny look on his face and there's a big red stain on his white shirt and he topples over like one of those big fucking trees and that's about it for me, I slide down to the warehouse floor, and it's cold against my face&.

Huey's there, and he's pressing hard against my chest and it fucking hurts and I can't get the breath to tell him to leave me the fuck alone. "Hang in there, Ray," he says, but it doesn't sound reassuring, he sounds a little panicked, and he's bleeding from a cut on his face.

I try and snarl at him, but like I said, I still can't get a decent breath, and then all of a sudden, I can, sort of, not a great one, and I can hear sirens. Oh, good, I think, and start to fade a little, but Huey smacks my cheek. "Come on, Ray, stay with me, Red's gonna be pissed at me if you don't."

That doesn't make a lot of sense to me, but I try and snarl again, still don't quite make it. I do manage to tell him that I'm fucking freezing on this floor, or something close to that.

He keeps talking and I let it mostly wash over me, and there's a part of my mind that's trying to figure out what happened, what went wrong, and Welsh is leaning over Huey, touches my face to get my attention. "Ambulance is almost here, Kowalski." Gruffly. "Hang on."

I'm hanging on, I think irritably, and Huey's killing me, still pressing hard on my chest. 'Course, that's probably the only reason I can breathe, but that thought keeps slipping away and all that's left is the pain.

Gets a little worse when the medics get there, but hey, I can let go a little then, because they're working like crazy, and I sort of grey out.

Come back in the ambulance, and hear them talking on the radio to the hospital about a thirty-seven year old male with a gunshot wound to the right side of the chest. Boy, Fraser is going to be so pissed at me, I think hazily, but honest to God, I was doing my best, not doing anything stupid.

Unless you count on your teammates, anyway, and I push that kind of thinking away, and the mask over my mouth and nose is annoying the hell out of me, but damned if I can figure out how to get it off because my body feels kind of distant.

I grey out again, and that's about all she wrote for a long time.

Total drug haze, and my mouth is dry and one side of my body hurts like holy hell, and I can't seem to see too well, keep slipping back under the drug haze. People are bothering me, talking to me, and my stomach feels a little iffy, and I immediately try to slip back under, but there's a woman who keeps talking to me. "Ray. Ray. Ray. Ray."

Only one person says my name like that, and it's not a woman, so I think about telling her to fuck off, but instead I squint at her and there's this fuzzy blue-green shape with blonde hair and then I remember I'm in a hospital. I think.

She says something in a soothing voice, and I try and close my eyes again, but they're rolling me, which makes my stomach feel iffier. "You're doing fine, Ray," she says, and I think, yeah, right, and the movement makes every nerve hurt, never mind there's this big weird ache on the right side of my chest that hurts even through the drug haze.

Can't hold my brain together long enough to figure things out, so I let it ride until they shift me off the gurney to the bed, and I grey out a little at that.

Lots of things around me beeping, but the beep stops after a minute, and there's a weird clip thing on my left index finger, and I sort of remember what's going on again, just long enough to see a flash of red in the room, and oh, yeah, there's Fraser.

Warm fingers around my cold wrist, and it feels good, but I go under again for a minute. When I come back, I squint and his expression changes from grim to a smile that doesn't make it all the way to his eyes. "Ray," he says and I can feel his fingers against mine. "I'm here."

Good, I say, or at least think I say, and I let my fingers curl around his. Go under again, way under, and the only thing that wakes me up is that I'm fucking dying of thirst. Little spongy thing, I remember that, did that a lot for Fraser when he had his surgery. So I'm in and out, and most of the time when I wake up, Fraser's there, and sometimes a nurse.

I sleep through the rest of the day, and into the night, and when I really wake up hurting, I've got one of those pumps, and Fraser folds my fingers around it. I can almost feel the burn as it hits the vein, and then the pain blurs down to a dull ache, and I blink at him. I get real ice water this time, and boy, I'm all over that, I'm dying of thirst again.

"Sorry," I mumble, when the little plastic cup is empty. "Think I zigged when I shoulda zagged."

That eases the line between his eyebrows. "Oh, I don't know, Ray, it might have been worse if you zagged."

I'm just fuzzed enough I think that's funny, even if I can't quite make it all the way to smiling. "How bad is it?"

"Not as bad as it could have been," he says and leans in to kiss my forehead. "You're doing very well, although I don't imagine it feels that way."

"Not really." I squint at the clock on the wall. "'s late, how come they didn't kick you out?"

"The staff remembers me from a few years ago," Fraser says, and this time the smile almost makes it to his eyes. "I promised I'd bring Dief around to say hello."

I close my eyes for a minute. "Boy. Shoulda worn a vest today, I guess."

Fraser doesn't say anything, but he kisses me again, on the temple this time. "Just rest, Ray."

"Sucks," I say. Got one of those plastic things under my nose again and it's going to end up making me crazy. "So it's not too bad?"

"They retrieved the bullet and there was much less damage than anticipated," he says, and turns back to pull his chair closer.

I'm fading again already. "Good." Blurry already. "Think I'm gonna sleep a little, Ben."

"Good idea." He takes hold of my hand loosely. "I'll be here, Ray."

"You oughta go home, Dief's gonna be pissed off."

"He'll have to get past it." Fraser squeezes my hand. "In any case, he's visiting Constable Munro for the night. As Munro had dinner with Francesca tonight, I daresay Dief is getting all the attention he needs."

I think about that, but I'm too tired to process, so I just close my eyes and go under again.

I surface a couple of times in the night, mostly just to punch the button on the pump and when the nurse comes in to check me, and everytime, Fraser's still in the chair on the other side of the bed. Tunic off, sleeves rolled up. Worries me a little, but he said I was doing good, and if I know one thing, I know the Mountie doesn't lie to me.

He's gone in the morning, and to tell the truth, I'm feeling too shitty to mind. I hate this, hate this, and when I get a look at my chest, I hate it worse. I mean, it's not totally gory or anything, but it's a bigger incision than I expected. I get to put up with a perky nurse and a sponge bath, and crappy bland stuff that's pretending to be Cream of Wheat, and Fraser shows up again, wearing his civvies this time. I'm so whipped by that time, I practically get choked up when I see him.

I swear, he can read my mind these days, I get a careful hug and he rubs his cheek against my hair. "I went home to get some things for you," he mutters, and draws back to look at my tray. "That looks awful."

"It was." How lame is it that I feel better with him back in the room?

I'm past letting it scare me, I guess, because even after worrying a minute I let it go. Of course, that could be the really good drugs I'm getting. "Looks kinda bad, Ben. You sure you're not forgettin' to tell me everything?"

He smiles a little. "Well, you were still fairly well under. You're going to make a full recovery, Ray, but the bullet did do a fair amount of damage. Hollow point."

Even stoned, I wince at that. "How much damage?"

"You were fortunate in some ways-the arteries weren't damaged, but the bullet tumbled sufficiently that I'm afraid they had to remove your spleen. There was some damage to the middle lobe of your lung-"

This is making me queasy. "Summary, Ben."

"You're going to be fine." He takes hold of my hand again, between both of his own. "You've got a bit of recovery time ahead, but you're going to be fine, Ray."

I'm still feeling queasy and the fake Cream of Wheat makes it worse. I push at the tray and Fraser pushes it to the foot of the bed, gets it out of my line of sight. "How long?"

"I tend not to rely too greatly on predictions," he tells me seriously. "Or at least to balance them with what I know of the patient. The doctor says eight to twelve weeks, but I suspect it will be less than that."

God. "I don't have to stay here all that time, do I?" A little panicked. I hate hospitals. Well, nobody sane likes 'em, I admit, but if I have to be here for eight weeks, I'll lose my mind.

"No, no, not at all." He leans forward, kisses my knuckles. "At any rate, remember that doctors' predictions tend to be conservative."

"Okay. Okay." I try to take in a deep breath, end up coughing, and boy, that hurts like hell. "Okay," I finally say, when I get it under control. "So how long do I have to be here?"

"They tell me at least a week, Ray." He squeezes my hand reassuringly. "You'll be home for Christmas, don't worry."

That's one consolation, I guess. Hell, what am I saying? I know what happens when bullets do the circus routine inside a human body. I could have ended up with the damn thing in my spine, or close to it, like Fraser did. I could have ended up having it tear up a lot of stuff. "I don't need a spleen, right?"

He smiles a little. "Well, it's helpful, but not required."

My head's a little clearer today. "Mahan made me," I tell him, frowning. "Somebody either recognized me or somebody leaked something."

"I believe that Lieutenant Welsh is pursuing the investigation quite aggressively." His smile is gone, and there's something in his eyes. "It would appear that there was some delay in backup arriving." Whoa. I know him. When he goes formal with me, he's totally pissed off. "I'm afraid I didn't think to call your parents until quite late last night, Ray, so I waited until this morning. I apologize, I simply wasn't thinking."

"You called them?" I let my head flop back. "Oh, Jesus, were they upset?"

He gives me the classic Are-You-Unhinged look. "Of course they're upset, Ray. I believe they'll be here very shortly, but I was able to assure them both that you're doing very well."

I'm definitely thinking clearer today. I study his face, and I can see some tension in his jaw. "What's the matter? And don't tell me nothin', Ben."

Another classic look. "Ray, you're lying in a hospital bed." Not quite snarky, not really, but definitely crisp. "What else could be wrong?"

I'm wobbly all of a sudden. "Hey, I did my best."

He looks horrified. "Good God, Ray, you can't possibly think I'm blaming you for this!" I have to clench my jaw to keep from breaking down. Suck it up, I tell myself, and then I'm getting another careful hug. "Ray, Ray, Ray, don't be ridiculous." Soft voice, and another kiss and I'm okay, yeah, I'm just shaky from the drugs and all the other shit.

"Sorry," I manage to say.

This time, the smile goes clear to his eyes. "Don't be, Ray. But don't be silly. We're both officers of the law, we run these risks. Acceptance of that fact doesn't mean that I'm happy about it."

I got that, believe me. He sits back down and the door opens again. My folks come in fast, their faces worried, and I try to smile at them.

My mom comes over and kisses me, and she's got tears in her eyes. "I'm fine, honest," I tell her. "I mean, considering."

My dad, for God's sake, looks like he's about to bawl. That shakes me, but worse than anything, he actually leans over and gives me an awkward hug. He hasn't exactly hugged me on purpose since I was a kid, and that really makes me wobbly.

All I can say after about twenty minutes is that I'm glad I'm on drugs. With my dad and Fraser trying carefully to avoid talking to each other, and my mom's fussing, I'm happy to just float. So that's what I do, and after a while, I notice that Fraser and my dad are actually exchanging complete sentences and Mom has calmed down some.

Frannie shows up around noon, and brings me real coffee, Italian style, and since nobody says I can't have any, I just nurse it along between hits from the pump, and my folks finally leave and Frannie leaves, but she comes back with some really good soup, a lot better than what they replaced my breakfast with. She brings Fraser a sandwich and gives him a little hug, and for once, he gives her one back, and that confuses me so long that Frannie starts to laugh at my expression.

That makes me crabby, so I get a hug, too, and then Frannie leaves us alone, and that's good, that's great, real greatness, and I go to sleep listening to Fraser read to me about Franklin.

I'm counting the days down now. Six fucking days and I'm ready to get the fuck out of this hospital, never mind everybody is bringing me decent food, from Welsh to Frannie to Huey to Munro, for God's sake.

Not that I'm complaining. I like the baby Mountie. Alex Munro, Christ, he's like something out of a Canadian Recruiting pamphlet, Fraser's younger twin. Well, except, of course, he likes Frannie and Fraser likes me.

Well, more than likes me. He's put up with me grouching for the last two days, put up with people in and out of my room, and hasn't rubbed his eyebrows once, except when I was complaining that the pillows sucked because of the plastic covering underneath the pillow case.

He stood there and rubbed his eyebrows, picked up the telephone and asked Frannie to stop by our apartment and bring me a pillow.

Talk about feeling like an ass. I tried to apologize, but he wasn't having any of it. "Ray, I've been through this," he tells me softly. "If I can make things easier by getting you a better pillow, it eases my mind and heart."

God.

Cecil must be feeling bad, too, he's letting Fraser play pretty fast and loose with his schedule, and that's okay by me. Helps a lot having Fraser along to steady me when I'm tottering along the hallway with the IV pole. Or when I'm coughing. About a gazillion times a day, I get to hold a pillow against my chest and make myself cough. Hurts like fucking hell, but after the doctor explained what would happen if I didn't, I took the pillow. Fraser gets behind me on the bed and helps with the pillow, or I honest to God think I wouldn't have made it through the first day of doing this.

So I'm lying here today, feeling dumb because I miss him and he's only at the fucking Consulate. I mean, the guy's got a job. I'm still whipped, but I'm doing good enough that I'm antsy as hell and want O-U-T out.

There's a knock at the door and Frannie pokes her head in, grins at me. "Are you still growling today?"

I shake my head. "Come on in, Frannie. Did ya bring me lunch again?"

"Of course, Ma would have a fit if I didn't. Once a Vecchio, I'm guess you're stuck with us."

Oh, boy, and it's more homemade soup, with some pasta this time. My mom's feeding me, too, I'm probably going to end up gaining weight by the time this is over. My mouth waters at the smell, and I dig in happily. "So how's Munro treatin' you? Am I gonna have to kick him in the head?"

Frannie blushes, believe it or not, Miss All Over Mounties blushes. "He's treatin' me fine, Ray. You aren't really my brother, ya know."

"Somebody's gotta look out for ya." I take a bite and close my eyes for a minute, just enjoying it. "I need to ask you a favor, Frannie."

That gets me a suspicious look. "What kind of favor?"

"A shopping favor." I pull a tattered piece of paper out of my bathrobe pocket, the back of an envelope from my mom's purse from a visit the night before. Begged a pen from the nurse's station on my morning stroll, and I've got a list. "I don't think I'm up to Christmas shopping."

She takes the list, looks at it. "A sedgewhacker?"

I snatch the paper back. Squint at my own handwriting. "Must have been after my pain pill," I tell her grudgingly. "It's supposed to be sweater." Even squinting, I can't see how she came up with sedgewhacker. "What the hell is a sedgewhacker?"

She gives me a look. "That's what it looked like."

I grab the pen, turn the paper over and painstakingly print the list out again. "See if you can liberate my checkbook from the desk in my apartment."

Long look. And then a real sweet smile. "Don't be stupid, you can get it when you go home."

I feel my face go hot. "Thanks, Frannie."

She gets up and gives me a hug. "I'll do my best," she promises, and then touches my cheek. "Did anybody tell you about Dewey?"

I frown. "What about Dewey?"

She looks away for a minute. "Well, he's suspended."

My jaw drops. "What for?"

She sits down on the edge of the bed. "Well, there's some question about how fast he moved when they knew you were in trouble. Ah, looks like Huey had stepped out to, um, you know. And when he got back in the car, he heard you yelling for them, I guess. Dewey&.Dewey says he was waiting for Huey to get back."

My appetite just goes away, like that. He was waiting, I think, and lean back against the pillows. "Huey drove through the wall of the warehouse."

She nods. "Welsh says Huey probably saved your life." Quiet Frannie. A little teary all of a sudden. "IA's having a look at what happened, how they figured out you were a cop."

Dewey might be an asshole, I think, but he wouldn't sell me out. Would he? I feel a little sick. "Oh."

Frannie pats my knee through the blanket. "Fraser decked him."

My jaw drops. "Fraser did what?"

She blushes. "Well. Yesterday Dewey came in to talk to IA, and Fraser was there talking to the Lieutenant. He went over to talk to Dewey, you know, like he usually does, polite and reasonable. And then all of a sudden, Dewey goes crazy on him, takes a swing at him. Whammo, Dewey ended up flat on his back."

Somehow, that's a relief. Fraser wouldn't just up and hit somebody, and the day he does is the day I think he's been living with me too long.

She pats my knee again. "I got him some ice for his hand. You guys, I swear." Trying to joke a little, but her smile fades. "He was pretty angry. You know, it's hard to tell with Fraser, most of the time, but this time I could tell. Lieutenant Welsh took him back into the office and talked to him for a while before he let him leave."

I'm not sure what all this means, and now I'm feeling whipped again. I try and eat a little more to make Frannie happy, and she gives me another hug again, like she's worried she upset me.

She did, but she didn't, if that makes sense. I mean, eventually, IA's going to get around to talking to me, so it's not like I wouldn't have figured out what was what, she just happened to be the messenger.

I'm down when Fraser comes in around two, and he picks up on it right away. Slides in behind me to help with the coughing thing, and then doesn't move away, just sort of holds on.

"How come you didn't tell me you flattened Dewey?" I finally ask, my head against his shoulder.

He thinks about it. "I suppose because I was embarrassed. At least partly. How did you find out?"

"Frannie came by at lunch." Even my voice is down.

"Ah." He nuzzles me. "I suppose it was largely embarrassment. And also, I'm afraid I was still angry, too angry to talk about it."

I think about that. "It's okay to get mad sometimes." Almost automatically.

He sighs. "Yes, that's true. But I can't wholly claim I was defending myself, I was so angry by that time, I'm afraid I let it get the better of me."

"Frannie says it looks like he hung me out to dry."

He doesn't even try to evade it. He tightens his arms a little. "Apparently, that's part of the focus of the investigation." Reluctant tone. "Lieutenant Welsh seems to feel that Dewey's response to the situation was&.tardy, to say the least."

"What's Huey think?" This is going to be the kicker, I think, and I brace myself for it.

"Officially, I don't know. Privately, he's told me that he's requesting another partner."

Okay, it's official now, I feel really, really, really sick. I want to go home. I don't want to be here. I don't know where I want to be, but as long as it's someplace with Fraser, I'm okay with it. "I want out of here," I tell Fraser. "Tomorrow, I'm tellin' the doc, and if he won't release me, I'm going to fuckin' sign myself out AMA."

"Ray," he begins and then stops. "Very well. But you must still follow whatever strictures the doctor suggests."

I carefully shift to my side, and he stretches out his legs so I'm between them. Fuck it if the nurses come in or complain. I need this. I need the warmth. I need Fraser backing me up if I'm going to do this. I'm not sure I'll ever trust anyone else again.

"Detective Huey was quite disturbed," Fraser says quietly.

And then I remember, Huey drove through the wall. Okay, maybe I can trust Huey, too. And Welsh. But who else? I mean, Dewey and I didn't always get along, but he was a cop, one of the brothers in blue. And whatever else I can believe, I can't believe he'd sell me out. He's always been clean, and that's saying a lot in Chicago.

"Frannie says he saved my life."

"Possibly, yes. He sealed the wound so you were able to breathe until the paramedics arrived." Fraser rubs his face against my hair. "For which I am profoundly grateful."

"I want to go home." I close my eyes, put my fingers on his forearm. He changed before coming over, and he's wearing that old sweater I like, the one with the unraveled bit on the collar, and this sleeve is pushed up, so my fingers are on warm skin. It's as close as I'm going to get to home, at least tonight, and I just want to stay here like this.

"Ray," he whispers, "Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray." Rubs the back of my neck. Kisses the spot. Hums under his breath and rubs my back. I keep my eyes closed, letting it soak in.

I fall asleep that way, but when I wake up, my dad's voice is a low rumble, and Fraser's chest vibrates when he answers him quietly. I keep my eyes closed, mostly because I'm a little freaked to have my dad come in and find me sleeping in Fraser's arms.

Pretend long enough, and you go back to sleep, so I do, and when I wake up again, it's dark and Fraser is talking to me, telling me that supper is here.

My mom is there, and she's brought me some goodies, Christmas baking, and the hospital food doesn't look too bad tonight so I drag myself up and Fraser gets up and adjusts the bed so I can face the tray.

I'm digging into the spaghetti when my dad comes back in carrying two of those Styrofoam cups of coffee. He smiles at me. "How ya doin' today, son?"

I mutter something, and he gives one cup to Mom, kind of leans over to hug me one-armed. Weird. My dad's hugging me and I'm not even dying. In October he tells me I'm not his son, and in December he's hugging me, and the weirdest thing is that it helps the slump I'm feeling. I manage to sort of grin at him.

Fraser and my mom are talking about breaking me out, which helps more, but my mom's a little worried. My dad says, "It's not a problem. We'll keep an eye on him when you're at work."

That's kind of scary even though it's nice. I look at Fraser wide-eyed, and he just grins. "I think that's an excellent idea. He has a tendency to push himself."

Oh, Jesus. Only good thing is that the way I feel I'll be doing a lot of sleeping.

Once my folks leave, Fraser gets back on the bed with me. I pretend to grouch at him a little, but I'm all over that, bad as a little kid.

So I'm kind of zoned on the pain pill and watching TV in a glazed sort of way, and he's behind my back, his arms around me, and he says, "Ray, if it helps, Dewey was alone in his behavior."

"I know." I do know. It does help, some. But it still makes me feel sick, because I think I know why Dewey pulled this shit, and it's got nothing to do with me hitting him in the bullpen that day. It's got to do with who I'm living with. Or what, I guess. A guy. A guy Mountie, who's a smarter, better cop than Dewey on his best day. Although I think it's the fact that Fraser's a guy that counts in Dewey's book.

I wish I knew how the rest felt. I mean, I know how Huey and Welsh feel, I guess, and I guess I can tell by who's come by to see me, which means Tommy, Susan, Jake Martinez, and Mack Morrison could give a shit one way or another. I don't know a lot of the rest real well, not at the 2-7, but I haven't seen any of my old buddies from other stations either. Guess word is out.

And now I don't know what to think about my job.

I put my face against Fraser's shirt, keeping half an eye on the television. "I know," I tell him again. "It does, I guess."

He ruffles his fingers through the hair on the back of my head. "I love you, Ray." Very softly.

That helps a lot more. "Me, too." I let my eyes close again. "I'm goin' home tomorrow, Ben."

He sighs. "Very well, Ray. I confess, I want you there, I'm just concerned, that's all."

I get that. "I'll feel better at home."

"So will I." There's something somber in his voice, but I'm still feeling warmed and I decide it's just him worrying, same as I did when he was here for surgery.

I tighten my arm around his chest to try and give him the same comfort, and then I'm floating again, not all the way under, just as comfortable as I can be, considering.

I wake up a little when he gets out of the bed and presses the button to ease it back. I reach out and he takes my hand, leans down to kiss my mouth real gentle. "I'm just moving to the chair, Ray."

I pull him in for another kiss, and then let myself sink again.

I hate hospitals. Like I said. Hate having them come in to take blood and check vital signs and all that shit, I never can get back to sleep. This morning isn't any different, and now I'm listening to Fraser shower because he wouldn't let me shower with him.

He said he'd give me a hand later, now that I'm actually allowed to try and take a shower. I can't wait. Sponge baths are embarrassing, and my hair feels like somebody put shellac and bacon grease on it.

Welsh shows up when I'm studying the oatmeal on my breakfast tray and Fraser's laughing at me.

He brought bagels, which shows Welsh has been around Fraser too long. I'm craving a sugar fix like a junkie, and he brings bagels. But he did bring cream cheese, too, so I'm all over the bagels, a little loopy from the morning pill.

"You're lookin' good, Kowalski," Welsh tells me gruffly. "Better than anybody expected."

"Hey, I'm tough, Lieutenant." I give him a goofy grin.

Fraser sighs and takes a bagel and spreads it with cream cheese, nice and thick. If I didn't already know, this would prove that the Mountie's soft on me, he buys the low fat kind for home. He hands it to me and looks at Welsh while I dive in. "How is the investigation progessing?"

"Interestingly." Welsh looks at me. "Looks like somebody leaked your cover."

That's the end of the bagel. I put it down.

"Not Dewey," Welsh says quick. "At least not deliberately. Looks like he was talking to a buddy from the 3-2, only said buddy is currently under investigation."

I look away for a minute. "Okay, so he didn't mean to almost get me killed, right?" Kind of rough around the edges.

"I don't think he did." Welsh sounds tired. "I think he's a fuckin' idiot, but I don't think he did. Doesn't matter, he goes before a board now. He blew security to hell, he sat on his ass too goddamn long, and he's going to pay the price for it."

Fraser's got the stone face on now. I look at him, and I feel kind of uncertain. "Lieutenant, if it was a mistake-"

"Forget it Kowalski. Dewey's going to take the hits he deserves." Iron voice.

I know better than to argue with that voice. I look back at Fraser, who generally tends to argue for clemency, but he's still wearing that stone face. His eyes, though, his eyes are weird, really pale, like his pupils have all contracted.

"Eat your breakfast," Welsh says gently. "IA is gonna want to talk to you. I managed to hold them off another couple of weeks, so just relax. Wouldn't hurt if you and Sergeant Fraser here wrote out what you remember, though. Might help later on."

I nod, but my voice seems to be gone. Welsh nods at Fraser, nods at me and then he's gone. So's my good mood.

"I'm gonna take a shower," I tell Fraser.

He looks a little alarmed. "Ray, you really need to eat something."

"I got the all clear yesterday, I can take a shower." I'm grouching at him. "I'll eat something later, I'm sick of myself."

He doesn't like it, I can tell, but he finally nods, gets out the stuff he brought me.

I don't let him get back in with me, so he stands right outside the shower curtain until I at least get my hair washed, and then I let him hover and rub me carefully down with a towel, and get me into sweats and help me back to bed.

Hot water sucked some of the energy out of me, I think, and it feels so good to be clean that my appetite is back and I eat two bagels before I'm so damn sleepy I crash.

I wake up and Fraser is talking to the doctor in this voice, the same voice he used on the Henry whatever when he asked what's his name if he'd really thought the men of the Robert McKenzie would let him get away with it. I push the button so I'm mostly sitting up, and they both look at me. "I'm going home today," I tell the doctor, young guy, Hanrahan. "Like it or lump it."

"I don't think that's wise," says Hanrahan.

"Then I'll leave AMA," I tell him. "Because I'm goin' home."

Fraser arches an eyebrow at Hanrahan, who looks totally pissed.

I feel a little bad about that, Hanrahan sure isn't Donnelly, but he's okay. But I'm not backing down.

Upshot is that with Fraser backing me, we get a four page list of stuff I have to do-including the coughing and this thing I have to blow into, yadda yadda, and check my temp couple of times a day, and if it goes up at all, whammo, I come back, and by noon, I'm in a wheelchair and Fraser has the GTO out front and I'm fucking delirious with relief

Naturally, I crash in the car, sleep part of the way home, and Fraser's worried about getting me up to the apartment, but wonder of wonders, the elevator's working and I make it up there without falling down. He gets me settled on the bed, and then goes back to unload the car, and I'm dozing with my arm over Dief when he comes back into the bedroom to tell me he's going to pick up my prescriptions now.

I yawn and rouse up a little. "I'm gonna lie on the couch."

"No, you are not," he says firmly. "I'll bring the television in here."

I blink at him. "No cable hookup in the bedroom."

"Actually, there is. I just hadn't gotten home to move the television." He smirks at me, and I can tell he's pleased that I'm confused.

He goes into the livingroom, comes back in the with the television, and in my dimbulb mind I remember this is the guy who had back surgery just a couple of months back, and I yelp at him, a little panicked.

He gives me one of those calm looks he does so well. "I'm fine, Ray." Sets the television on the dresser and pulls a coax cable from behind the dresser to hook up.

I'm staring at him like he just grew another head. He grins at me, goes to the bedroom closet and pulls out some extra pillows, actually plumps them before putting them behind my shoulders. Kisses me and gives me the remote. "I'll be back very shortly, Ray."

Oh, yeah, this is home, I think and hook my arm around his neck, which has the effect of making him sit on the edge of the bed. Kiss him back and put my face in his neck. "This is good."

He cups one hand against the back of my head, and his other arm goes around me tight. Not too tight. Just perfect. "Yes," he says huskily. "It is."

"I'm good," I tell him, because it puts a lump in my throat, hearing that in his voice. "I'm good, Ben. Just need a little time, that's all."

"I know," he says softly. "And you'll have it, Ray." Hugs me again. "Now, you promised me you'd rest." He pulls back, rubs a fingertip over one of my eyebrows. "Is there anything in particular you'd like me to get while I'm out?"

"Roast beef from the deli," I tell him. "Horseradish. French fries. You."

He grins, rests his forehead against mine. "I'll surprise you."

"Okay." I let myself down easy on the pillows, grin at him. "I like surprises."

"You're a surprise all on your own," he tells me and gives me one more kiss before he gets up. "Dief, behave. Make sure Ray stays in bed."

Dief growls and tosses his head in agreement.

Damn dog always switches sides. I ruffle Dief's ears and listen for the front door to close.

I feel better already.

Fraser stayed home the first three days after I got sprung, but he's off at the Consulate today after I swore on my mother's soul that I was not going to do anything I wasn't supposed to, and that I would do everything I was supposed to, like the coughing shit.

Doesn't stop him from calling four times in the morning to make sure I'm doing it. Not that he says that, he just says he was feeling needy and wanted to hear my voice, that I was all right.

Makes me choke up, you want to know the truth. And I do exactly what I'm supposed to and around noon, my mom and dad show up, and my mom goes into a cooking frenzy and my dad sits in the bedroom with me and we watch old movies until I go to sleep. I swear, that's all I do is sleep lately, and yeah, I know, it's part of the drill, body's got to have energy to heal, and Fraser and my mom are feeding me like crazy and I'm sleeping like Rip Van Winkle, and it must be working, because I can at least stay awake longer when I am awake. Get around a little bit, and the coughing isn't hurting quite as bad these days.

Still isn't a treat.

My folks actually stay and have dinner with us after Fraser gets home, which is enough to rock me back on my heels, so to speak, and I get to eat on the couch instead of in bed, and my dad's actually talking to Fraser about Canada in an interested way.

I want to ask my dad who he is and what he's done with my real dad, but Fraser would tell me not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Heard people say that all my life, but Fraser's the only one explained to me where it came from and what it means, strictly speaking.

He's explaining stuff to my dad about the Inuit and Franklin and Mom is watching them like I must be. Fraser helps my mom clear up the kitchen and my dad leans against the counter listening to Fraser talk about the Erebus and the Terror.

Mountie's a freak. A magical sort of freak. He's got my dad won over and he wasn't even trying. Well, at least enough that my dad is being decent, and that's good enough for me.

They leave before it gets too late, and Fraser nags me into getting up and going back to bed. He locks the apartment up-which is hysterical, I think he only does it because he knows I'm city paranoid and wouldn't leave my door unlocked except at gunpoint-and then comes in, smiles at me, and sits down on the bed to take off his boots.

I'm like eight days out of a gunshot wound, and even though my dick is probably down from the count with the drugs, I want to touch him. "I wanna get naked with you," I tell him.

He looks at me, surprised, hands still busy with the laces on his boots. "Ambitious, aren't you?" Teasing a little.

I shrug. "Hey, it feels good. Might not be able to actually do anything, but it feels great." I grin a little. "Besides, I still got hands, don't I?"

He chuckles. "We'll see. But if that feels good to you, who am I to object?" He pulls the boots off, puts them neatly beside the bed. "It certainly feels good to me, whether or not, as you say, we actually do anything." Heartfelt look, and his eyes are almost midnight blue.

See, that's it. I can deal with the Dewey thing now, a lot better than when I was in the hospital. Even when he's at the Consulate, I know he's here, sort of. So I lie on my side and watch him while he gets undressed, and hangs up his trousers.

He gets an extra blanket out of the closet and grins at me when I roll my eyes. "I got my own heater when you're in bed, Ben."

He spreads the blanket out anyway, strips off his long johns, and gets into bed with me. Oh, man, this is great, so great, he's warm against me, and I fold myself up against his side, put my head in the hollow of his shoulder. "So how was your day?"

He rubs his palm against my back. That's the weirdest thing about this, no exit wound. I'm fucking lucky, over all, to be alive, and that's hitting home more every day. Gives me the creeps. "Moderately busy," he says. "There's a trade conference coming up after the first of the year, so we've been busy making the security arrangements."

"Sounds kinda dull."

He laughs a little. "It can be. This one is less political than business oriented, though, so the arrangements are fairly straightforward."

I sigh against his throat. "You think if you wanted to, you could get a transfer back to Canada?"

He goes very still. "I don't know, Ray. Why?"

"Just wondering."

He shifts, slides down so my head is on the pillow and we're eye to eye. "Why would I want to, Ray?" Little line between his eyebrows.

"I-Dewey left me hangin', Ben, because&because of us. Because I'm living with a guy, because I'm in love with a guy."

He closes his eyes for a minute. Pulls me a little closer. "We can't know that for certain." But I can hear it in his voice, he believes it, he agrees with me, at least that far. "But even if it's true, Ray, he's one man."

"I'm not stupid, Ben. I was stoned, but I picked up a lot of what you and the doc talked about. I know how bad I was when they brought me in." It's hard to talk about this, I haven't wanted to let myself think about it, let myself know. "It was pretty close, wasn't it."

"It could have been." He doesn't try and tell me different. "A millimeter higher, yes, it would have torn through the arteries." His hand cups my cheek. "If it had tumbled even a few inches more, Ray-" His voice trembles a little and he kisses me, slow and gentle. "It was close."

I wrap my arms around him and we're lying face to face. I can't even imagine how bad it would be to watch him die like that, gives me a good picture of how he must have felt. We hold onto each other like that, and he rubs my back. "I don't wanna die because some asshole won't cover my back," I finally whisper. "Who am I gonna trust to cover me but you?"

He shifts again, sighs. "We knew it wouldn't always be easy," he says, but he sounds tired, and upset. "I don't know, Ray. I can't make that kind of decision for you, but the truth is-my first impulse, once I knew you were going to be all right, was to book two airline tickets and to call Ottawa."

In spite of everything, I can't stop myself from laughing a little. "Protective Mountie, huh?"

"Yes." He says it seriously. "Absolutely. What would you have done if it were turn about?"

I shudder. "I'da called Ottawa and then booked the tickets."

He makes a sound that isn't quite a laugh. "And taken me back to Canada?"

"Well, you can carry a gun up there," I tell him, a little confused.

He hugs me, not too hard, he's still being pretty careful. "Point taken."

I'm tired again, and we end up tangled together, with me half on top of him, listening to his heartbeat. "I dunno, Ben. I guess I just wanted to know that if things went that way, you weren't stuck here. I mean, if I give up my shield, there's no reason for you to be locked into Chicago."

"Your feelings matter to me, too, Ray." Softly. "I told you once, we'll work things through, one way or another. Home isn't only in Canada now, you know that, I hope."

I do. "Well, we can think about stuff, that's all."

"Absolutely," he agrees and nuzzles me again. "Go to sleep, Ray."

I grin against his chest. Close my eyes. "Damn bossy Mountie."

"Protective," he corrects me and then laughs a little. "It's my turn, after all."

That leaves me smiling, even when I feel myself going under.

So, I've got Canada on my mind, anyway, even though I'm not thinking about anything too seriously. Mostly, I'm just trying to get my legs under me again. Couple more days go by, and my folks are worrying less, although they still come up for a while in the middle of the day. I'm doing the coughing thing faithfully, which sucks, and doing all the fucking exercises with my lungs that I'm supposed to, and it all still fucking hurts, and I'm in a bad mood right up to the point that Fraser comes home around seven with a potted Christmas tree. Well, a Christmas shrub, sort of, one of those little potted trees they sell with the teeny, tiny ornaments on it, you see people use 'em a lot as decoration. Anyway, you'd think I was about eight years old, seeing that thing makes me remember it's almost Christmas, it's only a week away, and I get this wild hare going that I want to stop into the station.

For one thing, I haven't talked to Frannie in a couple of days, and if I don't figure out if she's had any luck with my list, I'm going to have to break quarantine and take a cab downtown to make sure that at least one of my Christmas plans goes through.

Fraser finally gets me to promise that if the doc says it's not a good idea, I won't do it, and then says he'll be glad to take me in if Hanrahan does okay it. But even that doesn't bring me down, that stupid little tree gave me a big lift, and I'm wandering around the kitchen underfoot while Fraser dishes up the food my mom brought earlier. And the kitchen isn't that big.

Fraser doesn't seem to mind at all, he keeps looking at me and just smiling, and when I finally ask him why, he just shakes his head, looking happy. "No reason, Ray."

Maybe the tree lifted his spirits, too. Dief's moping because Fraser's been leaving him at home with me, and I frankly think the wolf is bored. "I think you should take Dief to work tomorrow," I tell him. "He thinks I'm boring."

"Diefenbaker's judgement is occasionally questionable," Fraser says and steers me back toward the couch with a plate in my hands. "And no, I would prefer to leave him here for the moment."

"Leaving the wolf to babysit?" I ask, giving him a long look.

"Precisely," he says, and sits down next to me with his own plate. "I'm afraid your mother doesn't think I'm capable of cooking."

"S'okay, Fraser, remember, she used to come over and iron my shirts. I don't think she thinks I know how to do anything." I lean up against his shoulder, grin at him. "You tell Dief to bite me if I do anything I'm not supposed to?"

That gets an eyebrow rub, which strikes me as funny. "No, just to immobilize you." One of those smooth as cream looks, and that cracks me up, which makes me cough, and he has to rescue the plate, gives me a couch pillow to hold against that damn incision. It doesn't kill the laughing, exactly, but it does take me a while to get it under control.

Thing is, I wouldn't really put it past him to tell Dief something like that. "You're a freak," I finally tell him.

"Understood," he says, and his mouth curves a little. "Better?"

"Yeah." I drink some of my water, take back my plate, and dig in. We talk about normal stuff, and I tell him if I have to stay in the apartment for six more weeks he's going to have to put me in the funny farm.

"Oh, that reminds me, I spoke to the landlady about any two bedroom apartments that might open up, and she says that there should be one after the first of the year." He arches an eyebrow at me. "Are you still feeling the need for more space?"

I grin. See, I love this guy, he remembers the littlest thing I say to him, files it away, and has it right on hand when it's time. Sometimes that drives me nuts, but you know, we're working through it, just like he says, and I'm getting to where I really appreciate it. "We could look at it."

"I'll tell her, then."

I can tell he doesn't get it, exactly, but he's willing to go with the flow. I'm a lot more willing to do the logic thing, and he's a lot more willing to do the instinct thing, and I wonder if I'd just planted one on him way back what would have happened. Of course, I wasn't ready to let myself know that's what I wanted, and I don't know when he started feeling what he feels, so maybe that wouldn't have worked.

"What?" he asks, looking at me funny.

"Just thinking. What would you have done if I'd kissed you instead of punched you back before the Henry, um, Allen?"

His expression goes a little startled. "I'm not sure." Slow smile, and he rubs his eyebrow. "I would certainly have been startled."

"You were startled anyway." I'm laughing, remembering that craziness.

"Yes. You, on the other hand, panicked." He's laughing back.

"I was tryin' to figure out if I could pass it off as a weird American custom."

He belly laughs then, leans back against the couch and just lets go. Let me tell you, listening to that laugh is incredible, and he doesn't do it enough, but he does it more with me than anybody. "That explains driving over the curb," he finally tells me and wipes his eyes.

"Hey, I thought I'd blown the whole thing. I pissed you off and then I kissed you? I knew you wouldn't punch me, but I was worried."

He bumps his shoulder against mine. "Unnecessarily, but yes, I do see your reasoning." Warm smile.

Yeah, Christmas trees and Benton Fraser. Still got good things to think about, it's not all downers, so remember that Kowalski.

I watch a kiddy cartoon Christmas special while he clears up the dishes, and when he comes back out, he sits on the other end of the couch, takes my feet in his lap and starts to rub them.

God. I'm practically purring. Nobody ever told me how good it could feel to get your feet rubbed, and he likes my reaction so much, he pulls off my socks and really gives me a good working over.

Feet, who knew?

After a while, he smiles at me. "If you'll get into bed, I'll give you a real massage, Ray."

Oh, yeah, that one's a no-brainer. I'm in bed without clothes in a New York second, and God, he knows what he's doing with those hands, he always has, but this feels so damn good after too much recuperating flat on my back. My dick even perks up a little, never mind I figured it was down for the count until I was really back on my feet. Of course, having a half-naked Mountie giving a massage is probably enough to wake the dead, let alone my dick, and when I roll over so he can do my chest, he doesn't ignore it.

Warm hands and then he's lying on his side, and I am, and oh, yeah, I can get into some serious making out, especially with one of those warm hands stroking me. "Ben," I gasp, "Ben, Ben, Ben." Holding onto his shoulders for dear life, and he's pressing himself against my thigh, concentrating on me, so I try to get my head together enough to return the favor.

He's slick at the tip, and that makes me groan, bury my face in his neck. He pulls back from that, covers my mouth with his and we're kissing slow and sweet and deep and the taste and feel of him pushes me over the edge.

As far as intensity goes, it's not much, let's face it. But hey, it's better than good, it's fantastic, it reminds me I'm still alive, still got Benton Fraser in my life, and how bad can that be? Sure, there's shit I'm going to have to deal with, but I can do that. So I sort of pant and hold on to him and bring him off, and that's fantastic, too, hot and messy and then we're sort of petting each other. Well, he's sort of petting me, I barely have the energy to lift my clean hand and put it in his hair. Soft, dark hair, and this close I see he's got a few flecks of silver starting just above his ears. Just a few.

I like the idea of being around to see the rest go grey, but we're both in law enforcement, and that's kind of a scary thought. Just another thing to think about, I guess. Even if I can seriously stop being a cop, I don't know that he can stop being a Mountie. It's like it's bred into him, with his dad and all. So instead of thinking about it now, I hug him, since we're both already sticky and slippery, and then he kisses me and uses my t-shirt to do the cleanup enough that we don't stick together.

I'm asleep in no time.

Doc says he wants to see me before I go traipsing around town, and since I'm still not supposed to drive, Fraser shows up to take me. I get thumped and examined and listened to, and Hanrahan finally allows that I'm doing good and I can actually visit the station, go to the store, do shopping, whatever. As long as I don't burn up my reserves, he tells me, a little snarky, but I don't mind that so much.

So Fraser and I head over to the station and we walk in and Frannie sees us and jumps up. Lots of attention then, and I'm surprised and a little relieved when people start coming up. Frannie makes me sit down-"Before you fall down, Ray"-and she and Fraser exchange a look that tells me he agrees.

So I sit down, and Huey comes over with a cup of coffee. We look at each other for a minute, and I get up. We give each other a manly sort of hug and I pull back. "Thanks, man. I kept breathing, thanks to you."

He looks embarrassed, hands me the cup of coffee. "Hey, man, you'da done the same."

I grin, he grins, and that's about it for drama, I guess. Welsh comes out of his office and almost smiles, catches himself in time. "You distracting your teammates, Kowalski?"

"Just didn't want you to forget I still work here." I give him a cocky grin.

He shakes his head. "Like we could." Gruff voice.

Fraser's standing there with his hands behind his back, and I look over to see him looking around the squadroom. He's got his investigation expression on, and I wonder what or who he's looking at, but then somebody else comes up to say hey, and I lose track.

We don't stay long, but Frannie gets a minute to whisper in my ear that she's gotten part of my list done, and do I want to get the rest?

I think I'd like to, and I still have to get something for my folks, so I tell her yeah. She gets the list and puts it back into my hand, tells me she'll bring the other stuff by for my approval tomorrow, and we're good to go.

I talk Fraser into making a stop on our way back to the apartment, so I can do something about my folks' present. There's a place that puts gift baskets together, so I do something goofy, lots of stuff my dad likes, lots of stuff my mom likes, and the girl who writes everything down is so fascinated with Fraser that she lets me get away with murder on the price.

I'm still laughing when we go out to the car. "Good thing I know how you feel about me, Ben, or that would have totally pissed me off."

He gives me a blank look, unlocks the car. "What?"

"Ben, that girl was sizin' you up." I grin at him and get in on the passenger side. I'll be glad when I can drive again, I hate being a passenger.

He slides in behind the wheel, gives me a puzzled look. "Sizing me up?"

"Checkin' you out." I lean my head back on the side window so I can watch him blush. "She was, Ben."

"I think you're exaggerating my appeal, Ray." He lifts one eyebrow, daring me to contradict him.

"The hell," I say comfortably. "I know you notice it more than you let on. That oblivious Mountie act is good, but I see through it."

He laughs a little. "Yes, you always have." Affectionate pat on my knee, and he starts the car. Hums a little under his breath as he backs out of the slot, and pulls out into the street.

I think about that, because it obviously made him happy. Maybe it goes back to the night we took our partnership a step further, I think, when he got so pissed at me for saying he was a hero. He is a hero, at least I think so, but now I get why it made him mad. Maybe I even get why he likes it that I see through a lot of that Mountie mask. Not all of it, not always. But we're working it through, just like he says, and I think he sees through a lot of my shit, too.

We stop at a traffic light. Fraser drives the GTO like it's made out of glass, and even though it makes me crazy sometimes, I kind of like it that he's careful with it, like he knows how much it means to me. I mean, hey, even when my dad disowned me at the hospital, he didn't ask for the car back. And he brought it all the way from Arizona, kept it up all that time like it really mattered to him, so yeah, I know it's a car, not a human being, but it matters.

I let my head fall back on the seat, and let my eyes half-close. I'm tired, but it's not such a bad kind of tired, it's kind of nice to be out again, to feel tired because I actually walked around a little instead of tired just because I'm still healing.

Everything happens real fast then, I hear Fraser make a sound, not quite a gasp, and then he's yanking me down hard, and it hurts, and there's this loud explosion, which turns out to be the car windows, and Fraser's lying across me, and even though I know what just happened, I'm so stunned that I can't make sense of it.

My ears are ringing, and Fraser shoves me further down, onto the floor, and then lifts his head real slow. "They're gone." Still calm. "Are you all right?"

Well, I'm mostly okay, I think, even though my chest hurts like hell from being pushed down hard. "'m good," I tell him. "You okay?"

His cheek is bleeding a little, not bad. But I start shaking, realizing that it's from the side window, he got us both down just in time, or we'd both be fucking dead. He would, anyway, and that's enough to put more chill into me than the winter wind whistling through the shattered window.

Sirens coming up behind us, somebody must have called it in already. I'm shaking like crazy by the time the uniforms get out, and Fraser talks to them, gets me sitting in the front of the patrol car while he gives his statement. I didn't see squat, I had my eyes closed, and then an unmarked car pulls up, and I look at it suspiciously until Huey and Tommy Hathaway get out.

Fraser's face has stopped bleeding; he's been holding one of those handkerchiefs of his over it and checking it, and I wonder if the wind is what stopped it. He and Huey talk grimly, and if I wasn't feeling so damn cold and shaky, I'd be out there in Fraser's face right now, because I want to know what the fuck is going on.

Tommy opens the patrol car door and hunkers down. "Fraser says you didn't see anything, huh?"

"Had my eyes closed." I'm huddled up in spite of the fact that the engine is on and the heat is blasting out of the vents. "First thing I know, I'm on the floor."

He nods, looks at me hard. "You okay, Ray? You're kinda pale."

My chest hurts a little, but not bad, more like a bruise. "Yeah, I'm good. Just cold."

"We're almost done, we'll give you guys a ride home. You wanna use my cell to call your insurance company?"

"Got the number at home, but thanks." I'm shivering.

Fraser comes over and takes one look at me and says, "Hospital."

"Fuck that," I say.

He touches my throat. Shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Ray."

Fuck this, I think, and get out of the car, but my legs don't want to hold me.

We head out for the hospital with Huey's bubble light clapped on top. I'm totally pissed and totally woozy, and when Fraser tugs my coat open, there's blood on my shirt. Tore something open, I guess, but hey, I didn't get shot again, so I try to keep that in mind.

Fucking great, though, they're worried I might be bleeding inside and it's past midnight by the time they get me restitched and figure out it's just the incision split a little because I was pretty much folded in quarters. Looks like the crash was mostly just the shock of the cold and being half-asleep and realizing that Fraser could have gotten his head blown off if he wasn't such a Mountie.

Which is embarrassing as hell, honestly, and I'm pretty quiet in the cab on the way home. We're in a cab, but even so, I feel warm fingers fold around mine, and that puts a lump in my throat.

I still can't quite figure it out. It's not like I'm the only eyewitness to Mahan trying to kill a cop, after all. Huey, yeah, and even Dewey, and there's the fucking surveillance tape, and then, of course, they got the goods I went in to buy in the first place. Killing me doesn't make sense.

When we get into the apartment, Dief is all over us, and Fraser has to take him out. I crash on the bed, but when he comes in, smelling of snow and winter wind, I push myself up. "You into anything you oughta tell me about?"

He gives me a long, long, long look. "I've been working on the investigation with some of the Internal Affairs detectives. Unofficially, of course."

Of course. "So who was the target, me or you?" I'm holding myself together with spit and baling wire right about now.

He sits down on the bed, rubs his eyebrows and cracks his neck. "It's hard to say for certain without more evidence."

I'm up off the bed faster than I should be for a guy tore open his incision. "Are you out of your fucking mind? You think anybody in IA is gonna watch your back?"

He looks alarmed for a second, tries to grab my wrist, but I'm bouncing off the walls, I'm so mad and so scared. "You don't have anybody out there looking out for you, this is like the Warfield thing all over again!"

"No, Ray. It's not. I do have backing, Lieutenant Welsh, Detectives Huey and Hathaway. And as we don't know precisely who fired those shots, I think it's premature to leap to conclusions. You're working yourself into a state without reason."

I lean against the bedroom wall. "Without reason? Without reason? They nearly blew your head off!"

He's looking at me steadily. "And yours, Ray."

I shudder, slide down the wall, and fold my arms around myself. After a minute, he comes over to crouch in front of me, wraps his hand around the back of my neck. "Come to bed, Ray," he says gently and tugs a little.

I let him pull me forward, and then up. "I can't-" I'm not sure what I'm trying to say, "I can't-don't do this. Don't get into this, Ben."

He pulls me closer, puts both arms around me. "You can't what, Ray?" Softly.

I knot my fists in the front of his shirt, trying to hold him away. "I can't stand it, Ben, I can't-I can't lose this." I try and shake him, but it's not easy when a guy outweighs you by about twenty or so pounds. "You don't do this."

He shuts me up by kissing me, but that's only good for a minute or two. "I know," he says, before I can draw enough breath to start again. "I know, Ray. That's how I feel right now."

He doesn't look away, and doesn't let me look away, and I realize I'm being a total asshole and my eyes are burning.

Yeah, he does know. So I lean in against him, rest my forehead on his. "Please," I say tiredly, and I'm not sure who I'm saying it to. Fraser or maybe the God I used to believe in and then wasn't so sure about. Please keep him from getting his head blown off. Please don't let him do anything Mountie reckless when I'm not there to haul him back. Please, please, please.

He's just holding on, his hands moving in small circles on my back. Not fighting with me, not saying anything at all.

Finally moves, edges us both back to the bed, and okay, I get rid of my sweater, and he leans down to help me with my boots and then I'm under the blankets with a warm living blanket wrapped around me.

I'm sinking fast, but this stupid piece of a song runs through my head as I go under. "&take this badge off of me//I can't use it anymore&.knock, knock, knocking on heaven's door&"

I hope not. I really do. Seems like all my life, though, when things were good, I learned not to relax.

The crash always comes.

End Knockin' on Heaven's Door by anonymous co: JimPage363@aol.com

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