Author's website: http://www.slashcity.org/~rushlight

Disclaimer: This is a piece of non-profit fan fiction and is not meant to infringe on the copyright of the original copyright holders.

Author's Notes: Many thanks go to Beth for beta-reading, and for being willing to discuss these characters at length. Even if we don't always see eye to eye. :)

Story Notes:

The Right Price
by, Rushlight

Fraser straightened the collar of his leather jacket as he stepped out of his apartment building, glancing up at the sky as Dief brushed past his legs on his way out the door. The Chicago sky seemed greyer somehow this morning, heavier, more oppressive than he could ever remember seeing it. He'd never been particularly fond of urban skies in general, but today, for some reason, the sight was disturbing him more than usual.

Shaking off the mood, he moved forward to where Ray was waiting for him at the curb. The painstakingly preserved Riviera looked entirely out of place in this neighborhood, as it always did. Fraser had to suppress a fond smile at the sight of it. Ray made no effort to conceal his distaste for the neighborhood that Fraser called home, and yet he was here every morning to pick him up, without ever having to be asked.

"Good morning, Ray," Fraser said, opening the door of the car and pulling the seat up so Diefenbaker could slip in ahead of him. Since it was his day off from working at the Consulate, he was dressed in civilian clothes this morning. The uncommon comfort of blue jeans and a soft sweater were a welcome change from the stiffness of his uniform.

"Hey, Benny." Ray sounded tired. He spared Fraser only the briefest of glances before he threw the car into drive and pulled away from the curb.

Fraser glanced at him in concern, but refrained from commenting. There were dark smudges beneath his friend's eyes that hadn't been there the night before, and his face was haggard. Lord knew the past couple of days had been difficult for both of them. The case they were currently working on was causing him his own share of sleepless nights.

In Fraser's estimation, kidnapping cases were the worst. Worse than murders, worse than thefts, worse than the most violent assault cases imaginable. There was a feeling of urgency to them that those other crimes lacked, an exigency, a staccato rhythm that beat in time with his pulse telling him that if he didn't solve the case right now, then there would be disastrous consequences. And it certainly didn't help when the victim in question was a child.

Melissa Hammond had been abducted out of her bedroom three evenings ago, and had since disappeared without a trace. Her father was the owner of a lucrative import/export company that had its corporate office based here in Chicago. The morning after the abduction, Mr. Hammond had received a call from a former employee by the name of Martin Buehler, who had previously been in charge of maintaining the integrity of his company's computer systems. Buehler was caught stealing money from the company several months ago, and Hammond had taken it on himself personally to fire him. The two men had parted on somewhat less than friendly terms, to say the least.

In his phone call, Buehler claimed to be the one who had taken the girl, and said that he would be calling back shortly to let them know what he wanted for her. It had been two days now without further word.

The Hammonds were justifiably terrified for their little girl's life. Fraser could understand why Buehler might feel prompted to attempt to recoup his losses through a ransom demand, but what he didn't understand was why that demand had never been made. The situation disturbed him deeply, and he knew it was affecting Ray the same way.

It occurred to him suddenly that they were not heading in to the station as he'd anticipated. "Do we have a specific destination in mind?" he asked, glancing at Ray curiously.

Ray sighed. "Yeah. I got a call this morning from a low-life snitch from downtown, who says he has information on where Buehler's keeping the girl."

Fraser stared at him, unable to discern a reason for the unexpected hostility in Ray's tone. "That's good news, isn't it?"

"Sure. If what he tells us is worth anything."

"You don't sound entirely convinced that it will be."

Ray glanced at him briefly before turning back to the road. "This guy has a reputation of only dealing with a very select clientele. He'll sell information on both sides of the fence without hesitation, if the price is right."

Fraser considered this for a moment. "I assume he's in a position to have access to a great deal of saleable information, then."

"Yeah, Nathan Hawthorne'll tell you just about anything you want to know. For the right price, of course."

"You've had dealings with this man before, then?" He was honestly curious.

"Oh, yeah." Ray didn't sound particularly happy about it. "The guy's a user, Benny, pure and simple. You gotta watch your back in this place."

Fraser found Ray's description distinctly unilluminating. "So this man is a criminal, then?"

Ray snorted lightly. "Not in the legal sense of the word, no. I mean, he doesn't sell crack to kids on street corners or nothin'. He just ... sells information."

"For a price." Fraser felt his brow furrow.

"Yeah, Benny. For a price."

The conversation was cut short as Ray pulled the Riv to the side of the road in front of a dilapidated line of buildings. Fraser looked around inquisitively as he emerged onto the street, taking in the unpainted walls, the iron bars over the windows, the piles of garbage strewn haphazardly along the edges of the sidewalk. Above them, the greyness of the sky was oppressive.

"Not a particularly auspicious neighborhood," he commented, nodding politely at a passerby and receiving only a sullen glare in return.

"It's a dump, Benny. And look who's talking. You live in a bit of a demilitarized war zone yourself, as I recall."

Fraser shot him a disapproving glance. "I was merely referring to Mr. Hawthorne's choice of venue. For someone who apparently makes a great deal of money in his line of business, it's curious that he would choose to work in such an environment."

"He's got to stay where the customers are, Benny. And believe me, this particular guy's got no problems living among the rats."

Fraser had a feeling Ray wasn't referring to the typical four-legged variety of vermin, but before he could question him on it, Ray was pulling open the door of a shabby, two-story building with a brightly painted sign over the door proclaiming it "The Patriot". Colorful neon signs glowed behind the dirty windows, announcing the sale of several domestic brands of beer, which led Fraser to believe that they were headed into a local bar.

That assessment was borne out when he stepped inside. The interior of the building was poorly lit, but he had no problem seeing the low tables and chairs that hugged the floor under the windows, and the long bar that stretched across the far wall. A shadowed stairway next to the bar offered access to the second floor, which presumably housed either offices or living quarters. Fraser was surprised to see that there were actually customers at this early hour of the morning, but what few there were paid them absolutely no attention as he and Ray entered. Which was odd in and of itself, as he was rather used to unintentionally drawing the public eye.

There was a man standing behind the bar, and Fraser's attention narrowed on him as Dief wandered off to explore the room. The man was young, maybe in his mid-twenties, with dark olive skin and short black hair. He was dressed casually in jeans and a white T-shirt, and there was a thin gold chain hanging around his neck.

"Detective Vecchio." The stranger stepped forward from around the bar to greet them, giving them a friendly smile. At Fraser's side, Ray tensed visibly, although Fraser was certain that no one in the room could have noticed it but him. "I was hoping you'd be stopping by this morning. Who's your friend?" His gaze flickered toward Fraser.

"Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP," Fraser offered. "And you're Mr. Hawthorne, I presume?"

The man laughed outright at that. "Nathan, please, Constable. You call me 'Mr. Hawthorne' and I start looking around for my grandfather, you know?"

Fraser nodded. "As you wish."

Ray made a low sound of discontent and reached into the pocket of his coat. "All right, you called us. So let's not waste any more of our time, okay?" He waved a handful of folded bills under Nathan's nose perfunctorily, as if he were acting out the choreographed moves of a dance. "What can you tell us about Martin Buehler?"

Nathan leaned back against the bar and crossed his arms over his chest, ignoring the question. "So what's a cop doing waltzing around downtown Chicago with a Mountie for, anyway?"

Ray smiled tightly. "It's a long story," he said, obviously holding onto his temper by a very fine leash. "Now do you know anything about Buehler or not?"

Dark eyes narrowed and fixed on Fraser appraisingly. "He's very pretty," Nathan commented, as if he hadn't heard Ray's question. Fraser shifted slightly under the directness of that gaze, feeling a twinge of uneasiness move through him. It was quite obvious that Nathan wasn't referring to Mr. Buehler.

Ray gave a low snort of frustration. "Yeah, we rent him out on weekends." His tone was caustic. "Now, where's Buehler? When you called the station, you said you know where we can find him."

Nathan grinned at that, and Fraser felt his unease deepen. He wasn't sure what disturbed him more: the blatant appraisal in this man's gaze, or the fact that both Nathan and Ray seemed inclined to speak about him as if he weren't actually here.

"I might know somethin'," Nathan said after a moment, and again Fraser felt that shiver of wrongness move through him. He glanced at Ray, and was relieved to see that Ray seemed to be aware of it, too.

"Okay," Ray said, with marked patience. It was clear by the narrowing of his eyes that he suspected a trick of some kind. "What can you tell us?"

Nathan smiled again, and Fraser was reminded uncomfortably of the look that Diefenbaker got when he was hunting prey. "It's gonna cost you, you know."

Ray's eyes narrowed still further. "How much?"

"A night with the Mountie."

Fraser had barely processed the words before Ray's hand was on his arm, propelling him toward the door. He flushed hotly, understanding the implicit meaning behind Nathan's demand, and he followed Ray numbly, quite unable to think of an adequate response. He barely heard the angry words that Ray said to Nathan as they departed.

At the door of the bar, he couldn't resist the temptation to cast one last look over his shoulder. Nathan was watching him with a small smile of amusement, and as Fraser watched, the younger man let the tip of his tongue slide across his lower lip to moisten it. Flushing again, Fraser turned away and let Ray usher him outside, Diefenbaker at his heels.

The air felt uncomfortably cold against his heated skin as the door whooshed shut behind them, and Fraser took in a deep lungful of it, trying to regain his equilibrium. Nathan's demand had been unexpected, but now that they were outside again, he was embarrassed over his reaction. Beside him, Diefenbaker whined softly, wanting to know that he was all right.

Ray had let go of his arm as soon as they cleared the building, and now he stalked agitatedly toward the Riviera where it was parked at the curb, jamming his hands deep into the pockets of his coat. "God, Benny, I'm sorry," he said, and the words were clipped short with the anger that sang through every tense line of his body. "You shouldn't have had to hear that. Damned pervert."

Fraser regarded him with some degree of his customary serenity as he paused at the side of the car. "There's no reason to apologize, Ray. Although I do have to question the wisdom of leaving without at least trying to ascertain what information this man might have about Mr. Buehler's whereabouts."

"You honestly want to bargain with that guy?" Ray stared at him incredulously, stopping in mid-stride.

For some reason, Ray's sudden attention made him uncomfortable. "I was only suggesting that--"

Ray turned away from him angrily. "You're not gonna start giving it out in trade to pay our informants, Benny! Just ... no, all right?"

Fraser flushed darkly. Suddenly, he was very much aware of the sound of his heartbeat pounding away inside his chest. "No, of course not. I ... I didn't mean--"

Ray sighed and ran a hand back over the top of his head. "It's okay, Benny," he sighed. "It's just that I saw your face when he said that to you. Sometimes you just seem so ... I don't know, innocent. And it pisses me off that people would want to take advantage of that."

"It's a trying world, Ray," he said, trying to sound nonchalant even though Ray's words had struck a deep chord within him. The thought that Ray would want to protect him was unexpectedly pleasurable. "There's always going to be those who seek to prey on others, for whatever the reason."

When Ray turned to him again, the familiar smirk was back in place, and most of his anger seemed to have faded. "You sound like a freaking fortune cookie sometimes, you know that, Fraser?"

There was so much affection buried in the words that they hardly qualified as an insult, and Fraser couldn't help but smile in response. "Understood, Ray."

Ray laughed and moved toward the door of the car. "Come on, Benny. Let's go see if we can't find some way to track down the kidnappers in a way that doesn't involve auctioning off your virtue, shall we? There's got to be more than one way to shake a cat out of a tree."

Fraser was still puzzling over the metaphor as he and Dief climbed into the car. Concentrating on Ray's choice of phrasing helped turn his mind away from the fact that they were still no closer to locating Melissa's kidnappers. His smile faded completely as he turned his gaze once again to the overbearingly grey sky outside the window.

Two days and counting. He couldn't help but wonder how many more of them Melissa had left.

They were no closer to finding a solution when they stopped at Lou's Diner that afternoon for lunch. The restaurant wasn't remarkable for either the food or the service, but they tended to frequent it because the owner didn't mind when Dief came in to join them. The day had not markedly brightened, and Fraser couldn't help but flinch under the glare of the harsh fluorescent lighting as he and Ray took their seats in their customary booth at the back.

Ray's expression was grim as he sipped at his coffee. As much as Fraser wanted to respect his partner's obvious desire to enjoy his lunch in silence, he felt compelled to say, "It's been two days now, with no word from the kidnappers."

Ray sighed, sounding world-weary. "Can't we just let it go for the time being, Fraser? We just spent all morning tracking down snitches and begging for clues, and we've got bupkis. What do you want from me?"

Fraser nodded, trying to look duly chastened. He turned his attention to his sandwich for a moment before he said, "We don't even know if she's still alive, Ray."

"Yeah, well, we don't know that she's dead, either. I thought you were supposed to be the guy who's always looking on the bright side of things. What the hell's wrong with you?" His expression was vaguely disgusted, as if he felt personally offended by Fraser's lack of optimism.

Diefenbaker seemed to be the only one of them with an honest appetite this afternoon. Giving up on any attempt to eat his own meal, Fraser leaned back and fixed Ray with a steady stare. "That man at the Patriot knows something. We have to go back there and find out what it is."

Ray snorted indelicately and took a bite of his burger. "The guy wants to get in your pants, Fraser," he said around a mouthful of food. "That doesn't mean he knows where Buehler is."

Fraser flushed, caught off-guard by the crudity of Ray's assessment, but he refused to drop his gaze. "Perhaps not, Ray. But he does know something, otherwise he wouldn't have called you."

Ray waited a moment longer, but when Fraser didn't back down, he threw his sandwich back down on his plate in disgust. "What do you want me to do? I can bring him in to the station for questioning, but he's just going to say he doesn't know anything. I've already offered him money, and he doesn't want it. Just what do you suggest we do, huh?" His gaze was challenging.

Fraser was very uncomfortable with this entire conversation, but he knew that he owed it to Melissa to do everything he could to ensure her safety. Even if it meant facing down his partner's inexplicable aversion to pursuing this particular avenue of inquiry. "I'm not suggesting that we ... give in to his demands." Saying the words made him shift uncomfortably in his seat. "I just think it would do us good to go back and talk to him again. Maybe he'll change his mind once he realizes that there's a child's life at stake..."

"Guys like him don't care, Fraser." Ray sounded almost as if he pitied him. "That's one thing you haven't figured out yet. Most of the people in the world aren't like you. They're out for one thing and one thing only, and that's to look out for number one. Anything else is just a ... a distraction."

Fraser regarded him with a sense of unpleasant surprise. "Is that really how you see the world, Ray?"

"It's how the world is, Fraser. And you'd better get used to it, or it's gonna eat you alive."

Without another word, Ray snatched up the check from the table and moved toward the counter to pay their tab, leaving most of his burger untouched on his plate. Fraser glanced down at his own unfinished meal and decided that there was no way he would be able to finish eating, either. Checking a half-hearted sigh, he moved his plate to the floor so Dief could finish off the remains.

He found Ray's reactions to their encounter with Nathan Hawthorne completely inexplicable. If he didn't know better, he'd think that Ray was jealous. But that was absurd. Wasn't it?

And if Ray was jealous, then what did that mean?

"Hey, Fraser, you coming?"

Looking up guiltily -- although he had nothing in the world to feel guilty for -- Fraser stood and reached for his coat. "Yes, Ray."

Diefenbaker whined, and Fraser glanced down at him in irritation. Dief's eyes were wide and dark as they gazed up at him.

"Ray is a fine policeman," he scolded, not quite sure why he felt the need to defend his friend's honor. "I'm sure he has a perfectly logical reason for not wanting to question Mr. Hawthorne further. And he's probably right that nothing further would be served by talking to him."

Diefenbaker just stood there, looking up at him without saying a word. Fighting back the ridiculous urge to ask him to apologize to Ray, Fraser reached down to put the empty plate back on the table and then hurried toward the door. Diefenbaker whuffed softly in what almost sounded like exasperation before slipping out the door ahead of him.

There were times, Fraser decided, when it didn't pay to discuss your innermost thoughts with a wolf.

The station house was virtually deserted when they showed up after lunch to check in. Fraser thought it was odd how he'd come to think of Ray's workplace as an extension of his own, but no one seemed to be unduly bothered by it, least of all himself. He'd gotten so used to spending his free time helping Ray with his caseload, the 27th felt like a second home.

There was a tension in the air here today, though, that jarred on his nerves. Diefenbaker seemed to feel it, too, and stayed close by Fraser's side as they made their way in through the hallways toward Welsh's office.

"So, have you found anything?" Welsh seemed to know the answer to that question already, but apparently felt he had to ask for protocol's sake. He looked tired today, washed out, as if the greyness outside had somehow found its way into the office and taken up residence there.

Ray shook his head. "No, nothing." For once, there wasn't a trace of sarcasm in his voice. "No one's talking, no one knows anything, no one wants to know anything. It's a dead end, sir."

"Bite your tongue, Detective." Welsh looked irritated at Ray's choice of words. "Mr. and Mrs. Hammond are talking about calling in for federal assistance on this. Do you know what that means?"

Ray's eyes sparked at that, but he held back whatever he'd been about to say with an obvious effort and said only, "I'll be off the case, sir."

"That's right. So I suggest that you get out there and solve this thing before it turns into even more of a madhouse than it already is. Am I making myself clear?"

"Perfectly, sir." Ray's words were clipped, and his scowl deepened as he turned to leave. The tension he felt was evident in the harsh line of his shoulder blades as he stepped out of the room.

Fraser nodded to Welsh and smiled in what he hoped was an encouraging manner. "Leftenant," he acknowledged before following Ray out into the hall.

It was an effort to catch up to Ray's long-legged strides, and before he knew it, they were back out on the street again. Ray was walking hunched-over with his hands jammed deep in his coat pockets, which was always a sign that he was disturbed about something. Deciding that in some instances discretion truly was the better part of valor, Fraser chose not to comment on his friend's posture and merely fell into step beside him.

Diefenbaker whined softly and licked at Ray's hand as he reached to open the Riviera's door. Ray stiffened for a moment, but then he relaxed visibly and reached to touch the animal lightly on top of the head. Another moment passed in tense silence before he sighed and looked up at Fraser.

"All right," he said, biting off the words as if they left a bad taste in his mouth. "We'll go back and talk to Hawthorne again."

Fraser felt curiously ill at ease now that Ray had finally given in to his request. Nevertheless, all he said was, "Thank you, Ray," as he slid into the car.

Ray didn't say anything further as he drove them back in the direction of the Patriot. If anything, the day was growing even more overcast, and Fraser had the feeling that they'd be seeing rain by evening. The thought disturbed him; usually he was fond of nature in all its various incarnations, but there was something unwholesome about Chicago rain that he truly wished he didn't have to deal with right now.

Of course, it was entirely possible that he was letting his mood reflect on his opinion of the city's weather. Ascribing malicious intent to a rain cloud was perhaps the lowest he had ever fallen.

Mentally chastising himself for letting his feelings take control of him like that, he barely registered when the Riviera pulled up in front of the same stretch of buildings they'd visited that morning. He was startled when the steady roar of the car's engine faded into silence.

Without looking at him, Ray tightened his grip on the top of the steering wheel and said, "I want you to stay in the car, Fraser."

Biting down a reflexive surge of irritation, Fraser replied, "I don't see where that would help our investigation, Ray." He couldn't help but think that while it may have been a pleasant surprise to know that Ray wanted to protect him, the attitude could unfortunately be taken to extremes.

"Look, if we go in there dangling what he ... what he, uh, wants in front of him, he's never going to tell us what we need to know." Still, Ray wouldn't look at him. "You know what I mean?"

Unfortunately, Fraser did. "I understand, Ray." He certainly wasn't used to being an object of lust for malfeasants, and it was an extraordinarily uncomfortable experience.

"Well, good." Ray gave him a tight smile before opening his door and stepping outside. "I'll be right back, then."

Fraser watched him go with a certain apprehension, feeling as if someone had grabbed a hold of his heart and squeezed when Ray reached the door of the Patriot and disappeared inside. He would wait a reasonable amount of time and then go in after him. Surely Ray couldn't expect any more from him than that?

With that decision made, he settled back to wait. The air in the car was chilly, but not cold enough to be uncomfortable. Nevertheless, he was able to see his breath fogging the window in front of him.

He turned in his seat to look at Diefenbaker, glad that at least he had not been left in the car alone. He was surprised to see that Dief's gaze was already fixed on him, and that the wolf's ears were pressed back slightly against his white-furred head.

"Well, I couldn't very well have gone in there with him," Fraser said defensively, wondering if he was imagining the accusation he saw in his friend's eyes. "Police work is a delicate thing; many times you just have to rely on instinct to decide what will work. You understand instinct, don't you?" He couldn't quite keep the twinge of sarcasm out of his voice.

Dief yawned to show that he wasn't impressed, showing all his teeth.

Fraser pressed his lips together to hold back his growing irritation. It was amazing how no one else in the world could get under his skin like this ungrateful, half-breed wolf did. And the damned animal wasn't even saying anything.

"Of course I understand the importance of instinct in police work," he said. "It's just that you can't rely solely on instinct. You understand what I mean, don't you?" When Dief continued to not say anything, Fraser took it as encouragement and continued, "Instinct and feelings can lead you astray if you're not careful, which is why it's always important to balance them out with a fair amount of logic and reason. Feelings are untrustworthy. Take Ray's reaction to this case, for example. He takes everything so personally, and I know he wants to find a way to catch Melissa's kidnappers, yet he was willing to let a perfectly valid line of inquiry go simply because he didn't want me to feel uncomfortable with Mr. Hawthorne's demands. What do you suppose that means, Diefenbaker?"

Still, Diefenbaker declined to comment, although he looked honestly interested now.

"I mean, it's not the first time he's shown this kind of behavior." Fraser ran a thumbnail over his eyebrow pensively. "Did you know he said that he feels a desire to protect me? That's instinct of a sort, I suppose, but I'm not sure how trustworthy it is in this instance. I mean, I've had just as much training in self-defense as he has. Probably more. Although I suspect he meant that he wants to protect me from more ephemeral concerns."

Dief regarded him with interest, cocking his head to one side questioningly.

Fraser sighed. "He mentioned that he sees me as an innocent," he explained. "And I suppose I am, in many ways. I do try not to be so ... naive all the time, for his sake. Although the fact that he seems not to want my 'innocence' broken suggests that he finds it appealing in some way, doesn't it?"

Dief whuffed in agreement, his tail swooshing softly over the seat behind him.

Fraser frowned, feeling suddenly as if they were having two different conversations altogether. "What are you suggesting? I'm more than willing to accept any amount of friendship that he'll offer me. He's my best friend, Dief." Cutting off the disgruntled whine before it could be uttered, he quickly added, "Yes, of course you're my friend, too, but you're more like family, if you know what I mean. Ray is ... different."

Dark eyes gleamed at him with entirely too much knowledge in them, and Fraser turned away from them for a moment, lowering his voice unconsciously. "Ray has offered me his friendship, and I'm very grateful for that. I'm ... hesitant to expect any more from him."

A flash of motion out of the corner of his eye alerted him to Ray's emergence from the bar, and Fraser hastily turned back around in his seat to watch him approach. To his immense relief, Ray appeared to be unharmed.

Ray's spine was taut as he slid into his seat behind the steering wheel, and his expression was shuttered. He flashed Fraser a tight smile, though, as he started the car.

"He says we should talk to a guy named Carter out on 32nd. Seems he was an old business associate of Buehler's, and there's not any real love lost between the two of them." The tires of the Riviera squealed as they pulled away from the curb.

Fraser nodded, acknowledging the information even as he puzzled over his friend's sudden shift in mood. He wondered suddenly what had been said inside the bar in his absence. "That's good news, isn't it?" he ventured after a moment.

As if sensing the direction of Fraser's thoughts, Ray let his breath out in a gusting sigh and said, "Hawthorne says that if we want to know any more than that, he'll only talk to you about it. And he wants you to wear your uniform."

The words made Fraser's stomach tighten uncomfortably, even as he appreciated Ray's ability to be honest with him. Casting a glance back over his shoulder, he found Dief looking at him with an expression of mild sympathy.

Ray caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to look at him with a faint smile. To Fraser's relief, he seemed to be relaxing as they moved further away from the Patriot. "You're not using the wolf as an excuse to talk to yourself again, are you?"

Fraser blushed lightly. "No, of course not."

"Good." Ray's grin stayed in place as he turned forward again, although the tension in him never truly dissipated.

It wasn't much of a surprise that Lawrence Carter didn't know anything of note to help them. Fraser made his way back to the car with a distinct feeling of annoyance toward the world at large, lifting his face to the light rain that had begun to fall while they were inside Carter's house. He couldn't help but feel as if every second was like a grain of sand in an hourglass, slipping past their fingers. Melissa's time was running out; he could feel it, deep in his bones where he kept his rare experiences with intuition.

"Fucker sent us on a wild goose chase, Benny."

Fraser glanced at Ray in some concern; Ray's language tended to get more colorful as his moods deteriorated. "We're doing everything we can, Ray. Lieutenant Welsh isn't going to expect any more than that from you."

He'd meant his words to be encouraging, but they only seemed to upset Ray further. Ray glared at him across the top of the car and said, "I honestly don't give a damn about the Lieutenant right now, Fraser. What I want is to find this kid and get her home to her mom and dad."

"Of course, Ray. I didn't mean to suggest otherwise." Fraser felt immediately contrite. He knew full well that Ray's first concern would be the safety of the child they were trying to find. Regardless of what his superiors expected from him, Ray would expect nothing less than absolute perfection from himself. It was a dangerous attitude, but one that Fraser was well familiar with from personal experience.

"Ah, Benny, I didn't mean to snap at you." Ray slid a hand over the top of his head once they were both seated inside the car. He stared straight ahead through the windshield, watching the haphazard patterns that the rain made as it trailed across the glass. "I just feel so helpless, you know? Like nothing I can do is gonna help this girl."

"We'll find her, Ray."

Ray turned to look at him, surprised. One corner of his mouth quirked up in a small grin. "Is that that eternal optimism of yours showing its face again?"

Fraser couldn't help but smile in return. "Yes, Ray."

"Well, good." Ray turned the key in the ignition with renewed enthusiasm. "'Cause I missed it."

Although it was only four-thirty, the shadows were already thickening as they made their way back toward the station. The sky overhead was little more than a charcoal smudge, a layered tapestry of weathered clouds and grey rain. Somewhere to the east, lightning lit up a low-hanging bank of clouds at the horizon.

Elaine was just turning off her computer in preparation of going home for the day when they stepped into the bullpen. "The Hammonds called in the feds," she told them as they passed by, looking up as she shrugged into her coat. She sounded sympathetic.

Before either one of them could reply, Welsh abruptly called for them to come into his office, cutting Ray off in mid-curse.

There was a young Hispanic man standing in Welsh's office when they got there, dressed smartly in a light tan suit and a dark, all-weather coat. He looked up curiously as they came into the office, giving them a small smile.

"Good timing, gentlemen," Welsh said, leaning back in the chair behind his desk and looking up at them dispassionately. "This is Special Agent Anthony Mormino from the Investigative Support Unit out of Quantico. He was visiting the FBI branch office here in Chicago for a crime management seminar, which is why he was able to respond so quickly to the Hammonds' request for additional assistance. Agent Mormino, this is Detective Vecchio and Constable Fraser. They've been working the Hammond case for the past two days."

Mormino raised an eyebrow inquisitively as he reached out to shake Fraser's hand. "A Mountie?"

"Benton Fraser, RCMP," Fraser confirmed. Seeing Mormino's gaze drop down to the wolf standing beside him, he added, "And this is Diefenbaker."

"It's a long story," Ray cut in, his words curt. He glared at Welsh without making any significant effort to curtail his brimming resentment. "I suppose this means I'm off the case, sir?"

"Quite the contrary, Detective." Welsh gave him a wry look. "Agent Mormino has requested that you be kept on the case, so that the two of you can pool your resources."

"That's right." Mormino regarded Ray warily, obviously sensing the hostility that was being directed against him. "I was hoping we could get together this evening and talk things over. I'm a profiler; I'm just here to provide assistance, if I can." His gaze moved to Fraser, and then back again. "Maybe the three of us can go out and get something to eat? Talk things out over dinner?"

Ray stared at him for a long moment, his brow furrowing. Judging by their past experiences with the FBI, Fraser could understand his confusion.

"Uh ... sure. If you want." Ray glanced at Fraser uncertainly. "Benny?"

Fraser nodded his approval. "That sounds like it would be a constructive use of our time."

Ray suggested an Italian restaurant that wasn't too far away, and then they were on their way with the lieutenant's blessing. Mormino had no problem at all with Ray's assertion that he would have to sit in the back seat of the Riv with Diefenbaker as they drove.

"Are you sure we have to leave him outside?" Mormino complained as they pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant. "It seems kind of unfair, you know?"

Fraser glanced back at him with some surprise, watching as Dief allowed the FBI agent to ruffle the scruff of fur behind his neck. Apparently the two of them had bonded during the short drive.

"Don't worry; he's used to it." Ray gave in to the urge to give Diefenbaker a parting pat on the head, and the wolf gazed up at him with adoring eyes. Fraser checked a sigh, knowing that both men would be bringing back a doggie bag filled with leftovers for Dief to eat when they got home. It seemed that even on the worst of days, Ray was not immune to Diefenbaker's wiles.

Ray outlined the case succinctly over garlic sticks and salad while they waited for their meals to arrive. Fraser was surprised to discover how very hungry he was, although he supposed he shouldn't be considering that he hadn't eaten much of a lunch. Mormino listened attentively as Ray talked, and Fraser watched the two men avidly as they interacted, fascinated by the changes he saw in Ray as he reluctantly relaxed into the FBI agent's presence. For the first time in what felt like forever, Ray was beginning to relax. Fraser felt a twinge of jealousy that Mormino's presence would have been able to provoke the response that Fraser's own presence could not.

A moment later, he squashed the thought. Mormino was an FBI agent, after all, and he brought the entire combined resources of the American government to their disposal. No wonder Ray was relieved to have him helping out. And the fact that this particular FBI agent was so unlike the others they'd dealt with on occasion had to be a tremendous relief for Ray.

Their entrees had arrived by the time Ray finished, and Mormino dug absently at his spaghetti with the fork in his hand as he pondered what Ray had told him. "So you're sure it's Buehler who took the girl?"

Ray nodded. "The man on the phone identified himself by name as Martin Buehler, and Hammond verified that it was his voice. Apparently he and Buehler have been going head-to-head for some time now, and when Hammond fired him from his job, it was the last straw. The guy just snapped."

Mormino said nothing further, although his expression was grave as he turned his attention to eating. Fraser regarded him curiously for a moment before asking, "Does any of this tell you where we might find the kidnapper, Agent Mormino?"

The light from the votive candle in the middle of their table caught in Mormino's eyes as he looked up at him. "I'm afraid not. But one thing I can tell you is that this doesn't follow the pattern of any kidnapping I've ever seen."

"What do you mean?" Ray frowned, his own dinner forgotten.

Mormino leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "Well, basically, children are abducted for one of three reasons: they're taken by kidnappers for profit; they're taken by child molesters for sexual gratification; and they're taken by lonely, unstable people who desperately want a child of their own.

"My concern here is that this kidnapping doesn't fit any of those profiles. I mean, Buehler identified himself up front and has made no attempt to hide his identity. He has no history of sexual assault. He's asked for no ransom of any kind. His antagonism with the victim's father is well known. As near as I can figure, his only motive here is vengeance."

Ray stared at him. "What are you saying?"

Fraser felt as if a hand had clamped down over his throat, cutting off his air. Without taking his gaze away from Mormino, he murmured, "He means that Buehler has no intention of letting Melissa go free."

Mormino nodded, looking extremely unhappy. "I can't see any reason why he would."

They finished their meals perfunctorily after that, more from recognition that they needed to eat than from any real enjoyment of the food. Ray insisted on paying the tab, and then they picked up their coats to get ready to leave.

Outside, the streetlamps spilled watery light through the falling rain, reflecting eerily off of the blackened pavement. The rain was coming down in sheets now, and they half-ran as they made their way to the Riviera. Once there, they tumbled inside with a minimum of difficulty while Dief whined a greeting and Ray cursed the damage that the rainwater was doing to his upholstery.

"God, I hate this weather," Ray groused as he started the car. The windshield wipers gave a protesting squeak as they came to life, swiping a slow path across the windshield. He turned the car's heater on with a flick of his wrist and then cupped his hands together, blowing air into them to warm them. "Wet and cold. Whose bright idea was that?"

Mormino settled against his seat in the back, pulling his long coat tightly around him to ward off the chill. "So what's our game plan, gentlemen? Do we have any idea at all where to start looking for Buehler?"

"No." Fraser stared hard out the window beside him, feeling vaguely discomfited by the way his reflection on the glass was being dissected by the shimmering layers of the rain. "We've spent the past two days looking."

"He's right." Ray's voice was more tired than anything else. "It's like the earth swallowed him whole."

Without turning away from the window, Fraser said, "Ray, would you take me home? I don't believe there's anything further that we can accomplish here tonight."

Mormino nodded, running a hand absently over Dief's back beside him. "You're right. We can go home, get some rest, and start fresh in the morning. I'm sure something new will occur to us then."

"Yeah." Ray didn't sound entirely convinced of that. He bit hard on his lower lip as he pulled out of the restaurant's parking lot, turning them in the direction of Fraser's apartment.

The sound of the rain pelting against the roof of the car echoed eerily around them as they drove, and the darkness outside seemed to be pressing in close from all sides, making it difficult to breathe. Fraser chastised himself inwardly, irritated at his emotions' ability to influence his thoughts, and he schooled his mind deliberately to refrain from any thoughts at all.

He thanked Ray politely for dinner once they reached his apartment, and promised to meet the both of them early the next morning to continue their investigation. With the Styrofoam box of leftovers in hand, he jogged for the entrance to his building and then stopped inside the door to shake the excess water off his coat. The Riviera honked twice at him in farewell before pulling away outside.

Fraser looked down at Diefenbaker briefly and then turned toward the stairs. "Come on, Dief," he said, solely for the comfort of hearing his own voice.

He opened the box of leftovers once he reached his apartment and set it down on the floor by the kitchen table. Dief immediately dove into it, devouring the food greedily as Fraser shed his coat and hung it by the door. Shaking his head at this ill-mannered display but refusing to comment on it, Fraser stepped around him and headed for the shower down the hall.

Two days. Two days with no word from Melissa's kidnappers. This thought ran repeatedly through Fraser's mind as he stripped out of his clothes and folded them neatly on the floor beside him. The hot water of the shower felt unexpectedly good against his skin, and he gave in to the indulgence with unaccustomed pleasure as he washed the day away.

Two days, and a man who had identified himself up front when he stated his reasons for taking her. Agent Mormino was absolutely right -- Buehler's only possible motive in this was vengeance. There would be no further phone calls asking for ransom from Melissa's parents.

In the end, his choice was easy. There was only one person in the entire city who might possibly know where Buehler was hiding. And there was only one person that man was willing to negotiate with for that information. Once Fraser was finished with his shower, he toweled his hair dry and dressed into a clean red tunic and jodhpurs, cleaning up after Dief's impromptu dinner as he went.

He had a feeling that Hawthorne would appreciate him wearing the red uniform.

Ray gripped the steering wheel tightly as he drove, trying to pin down the faint tingle of wrongness that was wriggling through him. It was damned irritating, but he was so tired he could barely think straight, let alone figure out the mysteries of his battered psyche.

This case had been hell from day one, and it was wearing on him. He couldn't even begin to understand what would possess a human being to steal another man's child. It was enough to make him want to scream and rail against the injustice of the universe, except that he knew perfectly well it wouldn't do a bit of good. Some people were just wired wrong, and it was left to guys like him and Fraser to pick up the pieces.

That was one of the things he admired most about Fraser, even if it was one of the things he found most irritating about him. Fraser was the kind of guy who took personal responsibility for everything and everyone, like he'd given his solemn oath to God to defend the rights and lives of every blessed person on the face of the planet.

God knew Ray wasn't like that. He'd learned over the years that there was only so much one man could do in pursuit of justice, and he was content to do his part and leave the rest alone. Sometimes a particular case would get to him, but mostly he just concentrated on doing his job to the best of his ability, and kept his emotions checked cleanly at the door. If he took on any more responsibility than that, he'd go insane. He honestly didn't know how Fraser did it.

But Fraser did do it, and he did it on a daily basis. He was like Superman, swooping in out of the sky to do good deeds and then disappearing again just as quickly. And it didn't help that the do-gooder was wrapped up inside such a heartbreakingly attractive package.

The truth was, Ray had spent more than his fair share of time mooning over that package -- and for the endearingly frustrating soul that lived within it. The feelings he had for Fraser were both powerful and complex, and more often than not, they left him lying frustrated in his bed at home with little else but his growing hunger and his own right hand for company. It seemed he'd spent the greater part of his life feeling lonely in one way or another, but the sad truth was, he was well-used to yearning after things he couldn't have.

And it wasn't even so much that Fraser was a guy, but that he was Fraser -- Fraser the Saint, Fraser the Boy Wonder. He was so ... so perfect. Tough and capable, yes, strong-minded, yes, but innocent in a way that made Ray's mouth water, made him want to rip that flawless Mountie facade away and see what lay underneath. It made him want to take Fraser away into some quiet, dark corner and muss him up, get him sweaty and sticky and make him a little less perfect, a little less innocent.

The thought made Ray's heart pound fitfully; and these were dangerous thoughts, weren't they? Because it was ridiculous to think that Fraser would ever settle for a two-bit con artist-cum-police detective like himself. It was something Ray had made his peace with long ago, because he'd known from the start that once he started down that road, he could never be content with anything less than the whole package. He wanted Fraser, but he wanted all of him -- body, soul, and everything in between -- and that was just far more than he was willing to expect out of this life. If anything, asking for it would only drive Fraser away from him, and that was something he was not willing to risk, by any stretch of the imagination.

So he resigned himself to joining the ranks of those who longed after Fraser from afar, and if he wasn't wholly satisfied with the depth of their relationship, well, he could at least pretend to be content with it. So he wanted Fraser; heaven knew he wasn't the only one. Sometimes it seemed there wasn't anyone who met the guy who didn't fall in love with him.

And that held true for people on both sides of the law, it seemed. God, it pissed him off that Hawthorne had had the gall to make an offer like that. Sure, "Give me the Mountie and I'll give you Buehler." Fucking bastard. Benny'd looked like he'd been hit by a two-by-four when he heard those words.

The windshield wipers dragged a stuttering trail across the glass in front of him as he sucked in his breath in shock.

"Fuck," he whispered.

In the seat behind him, Mormino stirred. "What is it?"

Ray had almost forgotten the FBI agent was there. Silently cursing the rain, he pulled the Riviera off to the side of the road and waited for a break in traffic so he could turn around. "I think that Benny's about to do a very stupid thing," he said by way of explanation, drumming his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel as he waited for the traffic to clear. A moment later, he saw an opening and went for it, pressing the accelerator as close to the floor as he dared.

Mormino's head appeared in the space beside him, looking worried. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I hope to God I'm wrong." Ray realized that he probably wasn't making a great deal of sense, but he was truly too frightened to care. The thought of Benny in the hands of that bastard was enough to make him physically ill. Lowering his voice, he muttered, "Goddamn you, Benny, you'd better hope I'm wrong."

Mormino made no further comments as Ray drove them back in the direction of Fraser's apartment. The rain was coming down by the bucketful now, reducing visibility nearly to zero, but he refused to slow more than he absolutely had to. He let out a gusting sigh of relief as Fraser's building came into view ahead of them, and he barely had the car shut off before he was outside and running toward the door.

Mormino, thankfully, didn't ask any questions as they pounded up the stairs. Ray knocked twice on Fraser's door, and when there was no answer, he swung it open without any hesitation whatsoever. A quick check of the rooms confirmed his fears.

Fraser was gone.

"Goddamn you, Fraser," Ray said again as he went into the bedroom. Dief whined when he saw him, tail thumping the floor half-heartedly. Fraser had chained him to the trunk at the foot of the bed, which was about the only way to ensure that the wolf wouldn't find a way to sneak outside during his absence. Ray bent down to unclip the chain from Dief's collar before turning to leave the apartment.

A quick knock on the neighbor's door confirmed that Fraser had asked to use Mr. Mustafi's phone to call a cab before leaving more than half an hour ago. Ray ground his teeth together at this news, but managed to thank Mr. Mustafi kindly before he turned away. Fraser would have been proud.

"Where is he?" Mormino sounded completely bewildered, but he followed Ray without question as Ray made his way back down the stairs. Dief followed silently at their heels. "Where would he go?"

Ray could hardly breathe through the ball of ice that had taken up residence inside his gut, but he managed to answer, "He thinks he's going to find out where Buehler is." He couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice, and he barely even felt the cold as he stepped outside. The frigid slash of the rain felt good, it felt like penance, and he turned his face up into it as he made his way toward the car.

"But do you know where he is?" Mormino demanded, glaring at him in frustration over the hood of the car. He hunched his shoulders against the rain, looking utterly miserable.

Ray opened the driver's side door to let Dief jump in ahead of him. "Yeah," he said curtly, sliding in and starting the car before Mormino even had a chance to fully scramble in beside him. The sound of his heartbeat was loud in his ears, a steady roar of stop him, stop him, stop him that sounded like harmony against the rain.

"I know exactly where he's going."

Fraser carefully closed his dark umbrella as he stepped in through the door of the bar, removing his hat and running a hand back over his hair to shake out the excess droplets of moisture there as he looked around. There was a significantly greater number of patrons here now than there had been this morning, but again, not one of them so much as gave him a second glance as he entered. He got the impression that they truly didn't want to remember anyone who came to visit with Nathan Hawthorne. From what he understood of Mr. Hawthorne's business dealings, he couldn't say that he blamed them.

Nathan was standing behind the bar, chatting amiably with several of his patrons, but it didn't take him long to notice the Mountie standing at the front of the room. One eyebrow rose in question as he met Fraser's gaze, although he didn't honestly look surprised to see him.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Fraser moved into the room.

"To what do I owe this honor, Constable?" Nathan asked, leaning forward on his elbows across the bartop and meeting Fraser's gaze with a small smile. The thin gold chain around his throat swung forward, drawing Fraser's gaze as it caught the light.

Around them, several of the patrons moved away to find other seats in the crowded room without being told to do so. Fraser was glad at least that they seemed to have relative privacy. "I've come to negotiate," he said, keeping his voice low. "We have things to discuss."

Nathan nodded slowly. "That we do," he agreed, his eyes flickering down to take in Fraser's red-clad form appreciatively. He grinned suddenly. "From what your partner told me, I didn't think I'd ever be seeing you again. I believe our conversation went somewhere along the lines of 'a cold day in hell'."

"I ... suppose it would have." It was a struggle to keep his voice even; the last thing he needed was to be thinking of Ray right now.

Nathan regarded him levelly for a long moment, then nodded toward the stairs beside the bar. "Maybe we should go somewhere more private to discuss this?"

Fraser nodded in reply, ignoring the wash of coldness that moved through him with the words. "Perhaps that would be best." In any case, he would appreciate being out of the public eye during their conversation.

The stairs led to a narrow upstairs hallway with a handful of doors opening off from it. Nathan led the way to the far door on the left and ushered Fraser inside.

It was, as he'd feared, a bedroom. The floor was half-covered by a tattered oval rug, and the room's only adornments were a large, quilted bed and a rickety wooden desk against the far wall. A small lamp on the desk clicked on at Nathan's touch, and it flooded the room with a sickly yellow light that reflected eerily off of the rain-streaked window beside them.

Fraser cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I don't want you to have the wrong impression. As I said, I've merely come to negotiate for the information you possess."

"You mean barter."

"Yes."

"Good." Nathan perched on one corner of the bed and crossed his arms over his chest, looking up at him curiously. "I'm listening."

Fraser wet his lips absently, trying to gather his thoughts. "I need to know where Martin Buehler can be found. I'm asking you to tell me because it's the right thing to do. Perhaps you aren't aware that a young child's life is hanging in the balance."

Nathan nodded. "You know my price," he said matter-of-factly. "I think the question here is just how much you're willing to give away to help that girl. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Fraser felt suddenly chilled. "I believe I do." What he understood was that this man was a true psychopath, acting for his own self-interests without guilt or remorse. Whatever fate befell Melissa didn't matter to him in the least. Ray had been right all along.

He took in a deep breath and then let it out slowly, trying to ignore the rapid pounding of his heart. "I'll offer you anything within my power for the information you can give us, Nathan," he said, recognizing with some degree of revulsion that the statement was absolutely true. "But I..." -- his voice caught slightly -- "I can't give you what you've asked for."

One of Nathan's eyebrows rose sharply. "Can't, or won't, Constable?"

The question was a valid one. Fraser dropped his gaze to the floor, feeling the heat rise in his face as he tried to figure out a way to answer. "I ... believe that I am incapable of giving in to your demands," he said after a moment, hating himself for saying it. Logically, there was no reason that his own fears should take precedence over his desire to save another's life, and yet he could not -- could not -- do as this man asked.

The silence in the room was deafening. Fraser waited stiffly in the casual parade rest stance that he'd unconsciously fallen into, waiting for Nathan's verdict. And what would he do if Nathan chose not to allow a renegotiation of his price? Would he just thank him kindly for his time and leave, leaving Melissa to her fate?

The answer to that question was all too clear, and it terrified him.

After a few moments, Nathan spoke. "Take your coat off, Constable. Stay a while." His voice was tight with dark amusement.

Fraser glanced up at him sharply, but moved to obey without comment. He shrugged out of his coat and moved to hang it carefully over the back of the desk chair, setting his umbrella and hat down on the desk beside it. His heart was pounding almost painfully inside his chest, and he took a moment to simply concentrate on his breathing before he turned around to face the man who could possibly save Melissa Hammond's life.

Nathan was regarding him with calm interest. "So you can't give me what I want," he said once he had Fraser's full attention again. There was something predatory about his expression that made Fraser distinctly uncomfortable. "So give me something else, then. Talk to me. Tell me something about you that no one else knows."

Fraser blinked, not quite sure how to interpret the unanticipated request. "W-what would you have me say?"

Nathan shrugged. "Tell me about your feelings for your partner." He laughed when he saw Fraser's stunned expression. "I saw the way you looked at him," he explained. "And I heard the way he talked about you. Talk to me, Constable. Tell me what you think of him."

It was a moment before Fraser could speak. "Ray Vecchio is ... is the finest man I have ever known," he said, wondering why it felt like such a betrayal to say so under these circumstances. Nevertheless, he held Nathan's gaze steadily and went on, "When I first came to Chicago on the trail of my father's killers, he was the only one who would help me. He ... he took care of me, took me under his wing. He is a fine detective, and I have nothing but respect for him as a police officer and as a friend."

"That's beautiful." Nathan sounded as if he actually meant it. He gazed up at Fraser with keen interest. "But that's not enough for you, is it?"

Fraser stared at him, his throat almost too dry to respond. "Sometimes I ... I do wish that there could be more between us," he agreed reluctantly.

"You want to make love to him."

Fraser closed his eyes in sudden pain. This man's perception was terrifying. "I would never ask for more than he's willing to give me."

"You might not ask for it, but you want it, don't you?"

He was starting to feel that it might have been less of a violation to allow Nathan to fuck him. "Yes," he hissed out through gritted teeth.

"How do you want him to touch you?" The expression on Nathan's face was hungry, as if he were receiving some manner of vicarious thrill from listening to Fraser bare himself in this way.

For a moment, Fraser was too angry to respond. How dare this man ask questions of such a personal nature? But that was the price Fraser had agreed to, wasn't it? That Fraser would talk to him, that he'd answer all of his questions. Taking a heavy breath, Fraser replied, "I ... I want him to kiss me." His voice was little more than a whisper.

Nathan nodded encouragingly, his eyes gleaming. "And do you want to kiss him?"

A pause. "Yes."

"Do you want him to touch you with his hands?"

Fraser was shaking hard now. He'd barely been able to acknowledge these feelings to himself, and now this stranger was demanding that he share them. The thought infuriated him, shamed him, but all he could do was stand there and try to remind himself that there was a reason why he was doing this. "Yes," he said, dropping his gaze to the floor.

"Where?"

And it just kept getting more painful, now didn't it? For a moment, he couldn't respond, and he just stared at the floor, knowing that his face had to be as red as his uniform.

Nathan waited patiently, seeming to realize that he needed to steel himself before he was able to sell himself this further bit. Finally, Fraser was able to slow his rapid breaths enough to say, "I want him to touch me on my ... on my back." No reason to mention that that was where Ray had shot him over a year ago, in a single moment where his life had both ended and begun again. He'd dreamed of having Ray's hands there, soothing away both the physical and the emotional pain.

"Mmm," Nathan said contemplatively. "Back rub?"

"Yes." Oh God oh God oh God...

"Do you think he'd be good at it? Giving back rubs, I mean."

Fraser took another deep breath. "Ray has ... beautiful hands. And a perceptive nature. I feel he would be quite good at giving ... back rubs."

He could almost feel Nathan smile. "What else do you think he'd be good at, Constable?" His voice had softened, become slightly more intimate, as if they were two good friends sharing their innermost secrets.

Fraser licked his lips, trying to swallow past the dryness in his throat. It seemed impossible, but he had to answer. "I feel that Ray would be a ... a generous lover."

"I'm sure he would be." Nathan's voice was kind, which somehow made this whole thing harder than it would have been otherwise.

Sensing that further clarification was called for, Fraser kept his eyes on the floor and continued, "He is very ... sensual ... in nature. He holds back nothing of himself in anything he does." Oh God, Ray, I'm sorry... Talking about Ray in this way without his knowledge or his consent seemed like the grossest of injustices. But what else could he do? What else could he possibly do?

"And what do you want to do to him?"

"I ... I want to ... to taste him." Forgive me, Ray.

"Taste him?"

"His skin. His hair." He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, but the images were there in his mind now, inescapable. Impossibly, he felt himself begin to harden.

"Do you want to fuck him?"

The words startled him into looking up and meeting Nathan's gaze. Nathan's eyes held him for a long moment.

The small smile that Nathan favored him with was almost pitying. "Don't bother answering that. I can see the answer in your eyes clear as day."

Fraser tensed, heart pounding, as Nathan stood up and walked toward him. But Nathan only walked past him to the desk and tore a piece of paper off the notepad there. He scribbled a couple of lines onto it and then held it out. Fraser took it from him numbly.

"Here you go. This is the address where you'll find Buehler and the girl."

Fraser stared down at the paper in his hand. "I--" He couldn't quite bring himself to thank him.

"I always pay my debts, Constable." Nathan's eyes gleamed with faint amusement and lingering arousal as he turned to leave.

Fraser watched him go with a feeling of profound uneasiness. It seemed surreal that the interview could be over so suddenly. He felt wrung out, every nerve ending scrubbed raw and exposed, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to get his panicked heartbeat under control.

He wanted to hate Nathan for what he'd done, for what he'd made him say, but the truth was, everything that had been said here tonight was a result of Fraser's own choices. He was the one who had chosen to come here, chosen to disregard Ray's warnings, chosen to give in to Nathan's demands. The thought made him feel suddenly soiled in a way that he had never experienced before, and he held his payment for it right here in his hand.

That realization was what he needed to slam the door on his interior discourse and turn his mind once again to the task at hand. No matter the means, he now had the information he'd come for. Hastily, he went to the desk and picked up his coat and hat, tucking his umbrella under his arm as he headed for the door. He couldn't afford to be worrying over past choices and betrayals until he'd caught Melissa's kidnappers and ensured that the girl was set free. That was what was important, what demanded his full attention right now.

There would be time to worry over his troubled conscience later.

Ray pulled up in front of the Patriot and let the engine's steady rumble fade away into an uneasy silence. He was out of the car before the echo died, and he ran toward the building without pausing, barely aware of the rain that pounded down against him.

It was Dief's sharp bark that alerted him to the figure emerging from the door of the bar. Ray's heart seemed to skip a beat as he recognized it as Fraser -- and Fraser was wearing the red uniform now, which tended to make him look like a cross between an angel and a thousand-dollar hooker. Shit, shit, shit. Fraser noticed him at the exact same moment, and the sudden flash of emotion that crossed his face was impossible to describe.

Ray's first thought was that Fraser couldn't have gone through with it, that there hadn't been enough time for Hawthorne to do anything to him, and the relief he felt was so profound that it nearly sent him to his knees. Then he noticed the rigid line of the other man's shoulders, and took note of the fact that aside from that first stunned glance, Fraser was refusing to meet his gaze.

Ray felt a sudden chill move through him, but he tried to sound lighthearted as he stepped up to his friend and said, "You look like you've seen a ghost, Fraser."

Fraser did not respond. He looked past Ray's shoulder to where Mormino had come up behind him and said, "I know where Buehler's keeping the girl."

Ray's heart plummeted, and he stared at Fraser in shock. What the hell? Hawthorne had given him the address? His mind rebelled instinctively against the thought of what Fraser might have had to do to pay for it. But there hadn't been enough time! There hadn't been enough fucking time!

Mormino was excited by this news, oblivious to Ray's distress. "Way to go, Fraser!" He was already moving back toward the car, and Fraser fell into step beside him. Ray stood frozen for another moment before he was able to follow them.

They piled into the car again with a minimum of fuss, and Ray took the folded piece of paper that Fraser handed to him without comment. The chill didn't leave him as he radioed the address in, requesting back-up as he turned the Riviera in the direction they needed to go. The flashing red glow of the emergency beacon on the dashboard reflected eerily against the rain, making it seem as if they were driving forward through a storm of raining blood.

The address belonged to an attractive tract house in one of the suburb neighborhoods of the city. Ray had doused the police light before they came into sight of it, and now he pulled up cautiously a short distance away, parking parallel to the sidewalk.

"Doesn't look as if anyone's home," Mormino commented, leaning forward to peer through the windshield at the darkened and silent house.

"There is," Fraser said softly, but whether that was one of his rare cases of intuition or just wishful thinking wasn't entirely clear.

It was excruciating to wait until their back-up arrived, but Ray wasn't willing to do anything that might endanger Melissa's life unnecessarily. If she was even still alive, he reminded himself, and the thought made his stomach tighten in sudden pain. Beside him, Fraser still wasn't deigning to look at him or even acknowledge his existence. This unaccustomed frigidity in his friend made Ray distinctly uneasy, as if he were sitting next to a stranger.

A part of him knew full well that Fraser was a grown man, and that he was fully capable of making his own decisions. But there was another part of him that couldn't stand seeing his friend in pain, and would give anything to prevent it. Fraser just seemed so fragile at times, even if Ray was the only person in the world who saw it. Maybe Ray was the only one that Fraser allowed to see it.

And more than sorrow, more than pain, there was an even darker part of Ray that felt distinctly jealous of Hawthorne, as if he had any rights at all to dictate who Fraser chose to share his body with. He couldn't erase the image from his mind of Fraser on his knees, those expressive eyes fluttering closed as Hawthorne's fingers wound tightly into the silken thickness of his hair, hurting, taking, demanding obedience in exchange for Melissa's life. Or worse yet, there was the image of Hawthorne's fingers spreading out across bared skin, touching what didn't by any stretch of the imagination belong to him, and Fraser's face turning away in shame, those beautiful eyes dimming, closing...

God. The thought made Ray's pulse pound in helpless fury, and his fingers tightened painfully around the steering wheel as he stared forward into the night, listening to the savage rhythm of his heart. The nightmare images paraded through his mind, one after the other, and he was helpless to stop them, helpless to do anything but seethe and silently curse Nathan Hawthorne with every fiber of his being.

The time it took for the back-up team to arrive was probably much less than the eternity it seemed, but Ray felt as if he had aged a hundred years by the time they got there. As soon as the first patrol car came into sight, he threw open his door, glad for the chance to finally focus on the business at hand, to do something other than dwell on the self-inflicting torment of his thoughts. Suddenly freed from the self-imposed restraints that held him, he emerged into the rain with a feeling of almost manic glee, glad for the chance to finally do something.

It was all over rather quickly. It was obvious that Buehler hadn't been expecting anyone to find out where he was, and within minutes of the time the cops stormed down his door, he was being led away in cuffs. Ray watched him go with a curious feeling of detachment, taking in the unkempt blond hair and the scraggly blond beard, the stocky form encased inside worn blue jeans and a dirty T-shirt. Somehow, Ray's mind had built the expectation that Buehler would somehow visibly look like the monster he was. But Martin Buehler was just a man, like a thousand others he saw every day. Somehow, that was both a relief and a disappointment.

A flicker of red out of the corner of his eye drew his attention to Fraser, who was following Dief out into the hall. Ray moved to follow after making sure that the uniformed cops seemed to have things well in hand -- Buehler's girlfriend was being read her Miranda rights in the kitchen, screaming obscenities at them and threatening to sue the entire police department for brutality if they didn't get their hands off of her right this second. Ray tuned her out as best he could and stepped up behind Fraser when Dief stopped in front of a narrow door at the end of the hallway. Dief looked up at them and whined.

Ray tried the door handle, not entirely surprised to find that it was locked. He shared a brief glance with Fraser, then took a step back so Fraser could let fly with a well-aimed kick to the door jamb. The door flew open with a splintering of hinges.

A narrow stone stairway led down into a dimly lit basement, and Dief immediately moved forward with the silence of a wraith, holding his tail out stiffly behind him. Fraser followed without hesitation, and Ray followed close behind, holding his gun at the ready.

The basement of the small house was completely bare of furnishings except for a thin mattress set on the floor against the far wall. Ray lowered his gun and stared at the grubby child who sat there with her knees pulled up to her chest, dressed only in a tattered white nightgown. The girl's eyes were huge, staring up at him with confusion and fear.

"Melissa?" Fraser's voice was soft as he stepped slowly into the room. Ray watched as his partner moved up to the girl with all the caution he would show a wild animal, keeping his tone soothing. "Melissa, my name is Constable Fraser. This is my friend, Detective Vecchio. Detective Vecchio is with the police, Melissa. He's here to take you home."

Ray held himself perfectly still, not daring to breathe for fear he would frighten the child further. Melissa's eyes moved to him, silently weighing, then back to Fraser and finally to Dief. When Fraser reached down to pick her up, she made no move to resist. Ray felt a tightening in his chest as she curled in against Fraser's shoulder, wrapping her thin arms tightly around his neck.

The look Fraser cast at him then was full of brimming happiness, the light in his eyes so bright it burned. "She's alive, Ray," he said hoarsely, sounding awed.

Ray grinned, unable to fight the elation that sang through him. "She sure is, Benny." And for a moment it didn't matter how they'd gotten here, just that they had gotten here, and that they'd made it in time.

His euphoria held as they bundled Melissa into the ambulance that was waiting outside, and he called her parents on his cell phone to tell them the news personally. The medics assured him that the girl seemed tired and hungry, but aside from some understandable stress reactions, she appeared to be in good health. She smiled at him as the ambulance doors closed.

Then there was nothing but the rain, and the uncomfortably distant presence of Fraser at his side. And then it all came back in a rush, and he closed his eyes tightly for a moment, trying not to think about how they'd come to be here.

"That was good work, Detective," Mormino said, stepping up behind him. The rain was finally tapering off, softening from a deluge to the more familiar Chicago downpour.

It was a moment before Ray could answer. After the adrenaline rush of the past hour, he felt rather bereft.

"Thanks," he said shortly, turning toward the car. He'd leave it to the boys in blue to mark the crime scene, and he really wouldn't be expected to fill out any paperwork on the case until the morning. There was nothing else for him to do now but go home and do his best to pretend that none of this had happened.

He couldn't even find it in him to be upset about the damage that rain-soaked clothes and wet dog would be doing to his upholstery as they all piled into the car. His mind was strangely blank as he started the car and turned them in the direction of the city.

This time, he took care of Mormino first, driving him to the room at the Holiday Inn that he presently called home. He surprised himself by actually being grateful when he thanked the man for his help; working with FBI agents wasn't something he wanted to make a habit of, but it seemed to have worked out in this one instance. Mormino congratulated him again on his successful handling of the case before he turned to go.

Then it was just the two of them and Dief, and the silence in the car was nearly palpable as Ray pulled out of the hotel's parking lot and pointed them in the direction of Fraser's home. Fraser stared out the side window without speaking, and again Ray felt that by-now-familiar chill at his friend's unusual behavior. If nothing else, Fraser was a talker, and his sudden silence now was scaring Ray to death.

Finally, it was just too much for him to take. Without moving his eyes away from the street in front of him, he took a deep breath and said, "What the hell did Hawthorne do to you?"

Fraser looked at him quizzically. "Ray?"

"You know what I mean," he said, unable to keep the heat out of his voice. "He gave you that information. What the fuck did you let him do to you?"

It was a moment before Fraser answered. "He didn't touch me, Ray," he said quietly.

"Well what, then?" Ray finally turned to look at him, his throat tightening.

Fraser shook his head and moved his gaze away. "Nothing." Dief whined softly in the back seat.

They passed the rest of the drive in an uncomfortable silence, with neither one of them willing to break it. When they pulled up in front of Fraser's apartment building, Ray got out of the car and followed him inside without waiting to be asked.

Fraser looked as if he was going to protest, but then he gave in with a sigh. He didn't say anything as they entered the building, and Ray trailed behind him tensely, taking in the hard line of the other man's shoulders as they ascended the stairs. It occurred to him suddenly that Fraser was uncomfortable with his presence here, but he couldn't make himself leave until he found out what had happened tonight. He wouldn't be able to leave unless Fraser came out and told him to.

Once they were inside the apartment, Ray went to the stove without speaking and started water boiling for tea. He couldn't touch the stuff himself, but he knew that Fraser found it calming. The simple actions also helped him get a hold of the anger and the guilt that tore through him, making the emotions somehow more manageable to bear.

In the room behind him, he could hear Fraser moving around, hanging up his coat and puttering around, doing Fraser-type things. The sound was comforting, soothing, and Ray closed his eyes as he relaxed into it, letting it soothe his fears away. No matter what else had happened, Fraser was here, and he was safe. Anything else, they could deal with.

The sound of the kettle whistle startled him, and his heartbeat spiked for a moment as he hastily moved to turn down the flame. Removing the kettle from the burner, he carefully poured a steaming cupful of water over the tea bag in the mug he'd set out and then set it aside to cool. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the soothing scents of chamomile and spice.

He carried the hot mug to the table, where Fraser was waiting patiently for him with his hands folded on top of the table and his eyes downcast. At least he wasn't pretending that they had nothing to discuss. Ray sat down carefully, not taking his eyes off of him.

"You want me to leave?" he asked as he set the teacup down on the table.

Fraser's eyes flickered up to meet him. "No."

Ray regarded him solemnly for a moment, feeling mournful. The expression in those eyes was vulnerable, making Fraser seem very young suddenly. Something of Fraser had been lost here tonight; there was really no other way to describe it.

Ray sighed heavily, glancing down at Dief. The wolf was curled up in a tight ball of silvered fur under the window beside them, already lost in the world of innocent lupine dreams. Ray envied him.

"Talk to me, Benny," he said suddenly, feeling a surge of helplessness grip him. He leaned forward across the table, trying to meet Fraser's eyes. "I know you won't lie to me. Tell me what happened."

Fraser's gaze dropped down to the table again. For a moment, Ray thought he wasn't going to answer. "He just wanted to talk," he said after a moment.

"Talk?" He wasn't quite sure he'd heard correctly.

"Yes." Fraser sighed. "He wanted to know ... something about me that no one else knows."

Ray waited patiently, but when there was no further explanation forthcoming, he said, "So, what then? You sat down and had a personal conversation?" He said the words with some measure of relief, even though he was fully aware that something about this was still troubling Fraser deeply.

"Something like that, yes." Fraser blushed lightly, sipping at his tea.

Ray hesitated, not knowing quite how to convince Benny to open up to him. "You want to talk about it?" he asked, trying to keep his tone gentle.

Fraser laughed softly. "No, not particularly."

Ray considered his next words carefully. Trying to convince Fraser to talk to him wasn't something he had much experience doing; usually, it was all he could do to get him to shut up. The comparison did not amuse him.

"Do you realize that you haven't met my eyes once since we found you at the Patriot tonight?" he said. And suddenly the anger hit him again, anger that anyone would have dared make Fraser feel this way. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, Benny. Whatever that bastard did to you, it wasn't your fault, all right?"

Fraser finally looked up to meet his gaze. "It wasn't like that, Ray. He just ... he wanted me to talk about you." He flushed darkly.

"Me?" Ray said incredulously.

"Yes." He laughed again, caustically, wiping at his eyes.

Ray stared at him for a long moment, taking in the taut line of his friend's shoulders, the bowed head, the shaking hands. There had to be more to this than Benny was telling him, but he didn't want to push it, not when it was causing his friend this much distress. Apparently, being forced to talk about things he'd prefer to have kept hidden had been what put Fraser in this state to begin with.

"It's all right, Benny," he said, wanting to reach across the table to touch him, but not daring to. "You don't have to talk about anything you don't want to with me, okay? God, I'm sorry. I'm doing the same thing he did, aren't I..."

"No!" Fraser's denial was vehement. "You're not anything like him, Ray. It's just that he ... he saw things between us and he..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

Ray felt a faint fluttering in his stomach at those words, and his hatred for Nathan Hawthorne abruptly deepened. "What did he see between us, Benny?" he asked quietly.

Fraser's eyes were anguished as he lifted his gaze. "He saw that I want more from you than just friendship, Ray." He smiled bitterly, obviously bracing himself for a negative reaction to the admission.

For a moment, Ray couldn't speak, and his world was consumed by the echoing roar of the blood that pounded in his ears. He'd never imagined that Fraser saw him as anything other than a friend, never dared dream that there could be anything more than friendship between them, no matter how much he wanted it. Fraser had always seemed unobtainable, untouchable, like some precious objet d'art that had been entrusted into his care -- something to be admired, longed for maybe, but never possessed.

"I'm sorry, Ray." Fraser's voice was soft.

Ray stared at him, feeling his insides twist at the quiet anguish he saw in the other man's eyes. "No, Benny," he said, willing him to understand. "There is nothing wrong with having feelings like that for another man. For me." Somehow, Hawthorne had seen the desires that Fraser had been unable to express -- desires that Ray himself had somehow been unaware of -- and twisted them, made them into something that Fraser felt he had to be ashamed of. Never had Ray felt so much like committing cold-blooded murder as he did at that moment.

Fraser smiled again, but it was another of those wrong smiles that made him look as if he were someone else. Ray was really beginning to hate those smiles. "I don't think you understand, Ray. I used you. Nathan wanted me to tell him what I ... I see in you, what I..." -- his voice broke slightly -- "what I want to do with you."

The thought made Ray break out into an almost instantaneous sweat. What did Fraser want to do with him? "It's okay, Benny," he said automatically, trying to diffuse the intense guilt that he could see eating Fraser alive in front of his eyes. There had to be more to this than the fact that Fraser had told Hawthorne he had feelings for his partner. Feelings for him. Jesus.

"It isn't."

"It is."

Fraser's expression was haunted, lost. "I would have let him fuck me, Ray."

That brought him up short. "What?" And suddenly the rage was back, sharper than before, mingled with the horror he'd felt earlier at what could have happened, what Benny might have been forced to live through.

"I would have let him do it. To save Melissa." His fingers were tight around the mug in his hands, white-knuckled. He refused to meet Ray's gaze. "What does that make me?"

"Ah, Benny." Ray gave in to the impulse to reach out and touch Fraser's arm this time, refusing to pull his hand back when the other man flinched away from him. "It makes you a hero. You would've done anything to save that kid, I know that. I'm just glad that..." He trailed off, caught for a moment by the thought of what could have been, and wasn't.

"Glad that what, Ray?" Fraser's voice was little more than a whisper.

Ray sighed. "I'm just glad you weren't hurt."

This time, when Fraser met his gaze, it was actually Fraser looking out at him, instead of the wounded, guilt-stricken creature that Ray had met standing outside the door of the Patriot that evening. "So you aren't angry that I used you that way?"

Ray shook his head, feeling a little exasperated that Fraser had missed the point so completely. "You didn't use me, Benny. Hawthorne used us both. End of story."

Fraser nodded, seeming to at least process this, even if he didn't entirely believe it. "And you're not upset that I have ... feelings for you?"

"Uh ... no. Not at all." Ray glanced down suddenly, unable to stand the earnestness of the other man's gaze. Having the full scale of that Mountie intensity directed against him was not an easy thing to deal with. He flushed slightly as he said, "I don't think you're the only one that Hawthorne was picking up signals from."

It was a moment before Fraser replied to that. "So you have feelings for me as well?" His tone was cautious, as if he didn't quite dare to believe it.

"Well, yeah. I mean ... yeah." No point in being anything less than totally honest when Benny had just bared his soul so completely, now was there? Ray leaned back in his chair, meeting Fraser's gaze hesitantly. "I'd be lying if I said I ever seriously considered it, though. It's just that you've always seemed so far out of my league, there wasn't any use even hoping, you know?"

Fraser was staring at him now. "I believe I do, Ray."

Ray smiled at him, folding his hands together in his lap to try and keep them from shaking. There was something inexplicably profound about this moment, as if it were the beginning of something he couldn't even imagine. "So are we okay now?"

Fraser nodded, and his lips curved in the faintest shadow of an answering smile. A real one this time, Ray was relieved to note. "I think we are." He sounded just as relieved as Ray felt. He paused a moment, then said, "Will you stay with me tonight, Ray?"

Ray felt a shiver move through him, but there was something warm about it that set his heart to pounding pleasantly. "You mean here?" he asked, stupidly.

This time, Fraser's smile was more pronounced. "Yes. Here."

Ray swallowed hard, then nodded. "I'd like that." Talk about your classic understatement. There was still a part of him that couldn't believe any of this was real.

He watched as Fraser stood up in seeming slow motion and came around the table to stand in front of him. Ray stared up at him for a moment, almost certain he could hear the frantic knocking of his heart against his ribs. He felt inexplicably shy suddenly; the suddenness of this new turn in their relationship had caught him entirely by surprise, and he wasn't quite sure how to deal with it.

"You don't have to stay," Fraser told him, sounding uncertain. His eyes gleamed darkly as they stared down at him, filled with emotions that Ray couldn't begin to put a name to.

Ray took a deep breath and stood up, meeting him eye-to-eye. "I want to stay," he said.

His eyes fluttered closed as Fraser leaned in to kiss him. Warm lips, soft breath across his face, just the slightest of pressures, there and then gone. His breathing had turned slightly ragged by the time Fraser withdrew.

"Was that okay?" Fraser whispered, and Ray almost laughed aloud. His hands were still shaking.

"Yeah, Benny." His voice was hoarse. "That was just fine."

Fraser smiled at him, a warm, tender smile that Ray had never seen on him before. It almost took his breath away, and he determined right then and there that he'd be doing whatever it took to see that smile more often.

As much as he had been dreaming of this moment, there really wasn't anything he wanted to do to Ben right then other than get him out of those clothes. He always looked so stiff in them, even if they did make him look good enough to eat. "C'mon," he said, reaching up to loosen the lanyard around Ben's neck. The soft cord felt like silk under his fingers, and his hands shook slightly as he felt Fraser's warm breath waft across them. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he said, "Let's get you to bed, okay? It's been a hell of a day."

Fraser acquiesced without any further urging, and Ray watched in some degree of awe as he reached up to open the Velcro collar at his throat, then proceeded to unfasten the complex array of buckles and buttons that held his uniform tunic in place. Fraser met his gaze and smiled, and Ray felt something deep inside him stir restlessly at the sight of it.

Fraser had some spare clothes that he was willing to lend him, and Ray fled to the shower then, needing the space to get his emotions in order, as well as craving the chance to scrub the stress and frustration of the past few days away. Concluding a case like Melissa's kidnapping always left him in a post-adrenaline slump, and he was more than willing to relax into the relative comfort and security of the warm water that pounded down against his skin. When he returned to Ben's apartment, he was relieved to find that Ben had already changed into a T-shirt and boxers.

Ray felt inexplicably exposed suddenly in his own T-shirt and sweats. Although he and Fraser were about the same height, Benny had at least twenty-five pounds on him, and he felt somewhat like a kid playing dress-up in a grown-up's clothes. The only thing holding Benny's sweats up over his narrow hips was the thin grey tie cinched tight around his waist.

Benny's sweats.

He was wearing Benny's clothes, and was planning to go to sleep with Benny in his bed.

Dear Lord.

Somehow, he managed to make it into the bedroom without having his knees give out on him. Fraser was sitting on the edge of the low bed, bending to massage lightly at his ankle. He looked good dressed only in a white T-shirt and pale cloth boxer shorts, and Ray had to swallow forcefully before he could force himself to speak.

"You hurt your leg?" he asked, and then his protective instincts raged into full gear, overriding his hesitation. He stepped forward and dropped to his knees beside the bed, reaching out to probe gently at the ankle Fraser was favoring.

"No, it's an old injury." Fraser closed his eyes briefly and sighed, a small puff of air that warmed Ray's face where it brushed against him. "That feels good, Ray."

Ray let his fingers press harder once he realized that he wasn't causing any pain, glad for the chance to give some comfort. "It's the weather," he guessed, talking without really thinking of the words as he said them. "This damn rain'll make you aware of every bump and bruise you ever got." And this was the same leg that Fraser had been stabbed in, wasn't it? And shot in. Damn, this man was a patchwork of job-related injuries. It was a wonder he managed not to fall apart at the seams.

"Yes," Fraser agreed, and his voice had taken on a meditative hum that spoke of equal parts pleasure and exhaustion. Ray smiled and patted him lightly on the side of the leg.

"Let's get some sleep, Benny." His own exhaustion was acting somewhat like a tidal pull, making it an effort to keep his eyes open even through the novelty of being here in Fraser's bed.

It felt oddly natural to climb in underneath the blankets and lie down at Fraser's side. Fraser was a warm, solid presence beside him, and Ray leaned against him instinctively, closing his eyes as he drank in the heat and pressure of the body behind him. There wasn't room enough in Fraser's small bed for anything less than full body contact, for which he was grateful.

Fraser's arms moved around him hesitantly, pulling him close. "Is this all right?" he whispered, his breath warming the skin behind Ray's ear.

Ray shivered lightly. "Yeah. Yeah, that's good."

Fraser sighed in contentment, letting his head nuzzle down into the pillow behind Ray's head. Ray stared forward into the darkness, wanting to commit every moment of this to memory, not wanting to let go of the incredible elation he felt at being here, finally, in Fraser's arms. But in the end, the pressures of the day proved more compelling than the happiness he felt, and he had no choice but to let exhaustion claim him.

Fraser woke to the unfamiliar realization that there was someone in his bed with him. He flexed his arms around the warm body he held, reveling in the clean scents that surrounded him as he awakened, enjoying the feel of the soft hair that bristled against the skin of his cheek when he sighed.

Ray.

He smiled to himself as he opened his eyes, savoring the moment as he looked down at the man lying sleeping beside him. In sleep, Ray looked strangely innocent, all his sharp edges smoothed away. He looked so very young suddenly, so trusting, that it made Fraser's heart clench tight inside his chest. He couldn't resist the urge to bend down and nuzzle lightly at his cheek, breathing in the scent of his skin.

He still had trouble believing in the feelings that Ray had confessed to him. Fraser had spent so long wanting this man that it seemed like second nature, and it felt odd to realize that he actually had him. Hawthorne had made him feel like a whore last night, but obviously that couldn't be the case if Ray wanted him. Ray wanted him. The thought still left him reeling.

Ray began to stir in his arms, and Fraser fought down a twinge of guilt for waking him. It was still early -- the sun had just recently risen over the street outside -- but Ray would be expected to fill out his reports today about the kidnapping. And Fraser couldn't shirk his duties at the Consulate no matter how much the idea might appeal to him. The thought made him smile ruefully.

Ray's eyes blinked open slowly, and he looked disoriented for a moment before he remembered where he was. Then he stretched slightly and relaxed back against the sheets, smiling up at Fraser with half-lidded eyes. "'Morning," he said, his voice still thick with sleep.

Fraser stared at him for a moment, his throat tightening. Ray looked undeniably sultry when he first woke up in the morning, all loose limbs and easy complacency, eyes dark and hazy with the lingering aftereffects of sleep. Fraser felt suddenly dizzy at the sight of him, hit by a wave of emotion so strong it nearly choked him.

"Benny?" Ray said, looking uncertain.

Fraser touched a hand to his face to soothe him, tracing a thumb over the delicate line of his jaw. How could he possibly explain how much this meant to him, having Ray wake up beside him? How to explain how much he wanted this, every morning for the rest of his life?

Not knowing how to put his churning thoughts into words, he settled for, "I love you, Ray."

He watched, fascinated, as the light seemed to coalesce in Ray's eyes, fragmenting into shades of colors that he had no real name for. The thought crossed his mind that Ray had never looked more beautiful, lying there half-awake and unshaven, dressed in Fraser's clothes and lying in Fraser's bed.

Ray smiled at him. "I love you, too, Benny. You know that, right?"

And Fraser nodded, because he did know. There were some things that words just couldn't say.

He gazed down at Ray very seriously. "May I kiss you?"

One corner of Ray's mouth quirked up in a small grin. "Sure," he said, but the low-burning intensity in his eyes belied the casual response. "I'd, uh, I'd be kind of disappointed if you didn't."

And that was all the permission that Fraser needed. He tightened his fingers around the side of Ray's head as he bent to press a kiss to the edge of his jaw. Ray's face half-turned toward him, and Fraser closed his eyes as he let his lips trail up across the stubbled skin, letting his tongue dart out to taste him in passing.

Ray's breath hitched. "Jesus," he whispered, and it sounded like nothing less than a prayer.

Fraser nuzzled the soft skin lovingly, enjoying the feel of morning stubble against his face. He breathed in deeply, absorbing the clean, morning scents of Ray, letting himself drift lost for a moment in the knowledge that this was real, that Ray was here with him. He trailed a hand down Ray's side, feeling the warm hardness of the muscles that slid under his palm, separated from him only by the thin fabric of the T-shirt Ray wore. Ray shivered under his touch, but made no move to pull away.

There was a pleasant warmth pooling in Fraser's groin, causing him to ache restlessly. He ignored it, opening his mouth again to taste more of Ray, letting his tongue slide over the curve of Ray's ear, moving upward, dampening Ray's skin slightly as he tasted his fill. And Ray tasted good, tasted so much better than he could ever have imagined, and he couldn't get enough of him. He wanted to spend all day like this, right here, learning Ray's body through touch and taste and scent.

Ray's breathing had deepened noticeably, and his hands were moving now, gliding up over Fraser's back, his shoulders, cupping gently over the back of his neck. Such beautiful hands. Fraser pulled back to look at him, and his breath stilled when he saw the naked arousal burning in Ray's eyes. Dear Lord, there was something heartbreakingly honest about Ray's emotions that made Fraser distinctly envious of him. He shuddered slightly when Ray's hands slid down to the hem of his shirt and burrowed up underneath it, trailing his fingers lightly across the smooth skin of his back.

Fraser shivered against him, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as those hands moved over him. He did what he could to help as Ray slid the T-shirt off of him, and then Ray's hands were back, long fingers splayed across either side of his spine. Fraser made a small sound in his throat as Ray's thumb swept gently over the faded scar there, and Ray touched him again, even lighter this time.

"Still hurts?" Ray asked him softly, pressing a kiss to the smooth curve of his shoulder, and Fraser shook his head.

"Not all the time," he replied, knowing that was a yes.

Ray was silent a moment. "I'm sorry," he said, and there was a note to his voice that Fraser had never heard before. Fraser opened his eyes, seeing the faint stirring of sorrow in the eyes that looked up at him.

"I know," he whispered, bending down to kiss him lightly on the lips. And then, even softer, "So am I."

Ray's breath was warm against his face. He didn't need to ask what Fraser was referring to.

Fraser shivered again as Ray's hands moved over him, tracing light patterns over his skin, offering forgiveness without words. Fraser melted into the touch with a breathless moan, unable to stop the sound from escaping him. Not for the first time, it occurred to him what a precious gift Ray Vecchio was, and he felt a sudden sharp pain in the vicinity of his heart at the thought that he might ever lose him, that he might someday choose to leave.

Ray sensed his sudden fear immediately. "It's all right, Benny," he soothed, and his dark green eyes were very serious. His voice shook ever so slightly when he said it. "I know you're not the type to do one-night stands. Neither am I, okay?"

Fraser stared at him, feeling his breath start to quicken. No, Ray wasn't the type to offer his love lightly, for whatever the reason. The thought made something within him tighten almost unbearably, filling him with an almost blinding joy.

Ray was offering him love.

Ray's hand was moving then, lifting cautiously to touch his face, his hair, giving him the chance to pull away -- as if he could, as if he would -- and then there was nothing else in all the world that mattered because Ray was leaning in to kiss him.

He didn't remember closing his eyes, but they were closed now. Ray's taste overwhelmed him, consumed him, clever tongue dancing across his own, taking his breath away. Fraser's entire world narrowed to the feel of the body in his arms, warm and hard and alive against him, not sleepy at all anymore, but full of life and heat and need. Ray's enthusiasm was contagious, and Fraser made a soft sound in the back of his throat as Ray's hands moved over him, filling him with pleasure everywhere they touched him.

Ray opened to him sweetly, and Fraser accepted the invitation without hesitation, enjoying the freedom to touch as his passions demanded. It was almost frightening how much he wanted, how much he needed, but Ray took in his passion the way he took in everything else about him, accepting him utterly. Fraser groaned deep in his chest, achingly hard now, and slid over Ray's body to cover him.

Ray made a strangled sound that was half-whimper, half-curse. "Hold on, Benny," he murmured, and Fraser had barely enough presence of mind left to back away so that Ray could slide the shirt off over his head, tossing it on the floor beside them.

Fraser's hands were at the ties of Ray's pants before he even realized his intention to move, working at the simple knot clumsily, hissing between his teeth in frustration as his passion-fogged mind refused to focus on the task at hand. Finally, the soft cord came undone in his hands, and he slid the grey sweats off Ray's body, shedding his own boxer shorts as he went. And then Ray was lying naked before him, long body laid out like an offering, olive skin dark against the pale sheets.

Fraser froze, wetting his lips reflexively. "You're beautiful," he whispered, reaching out to lay one hand over the curve of Ray's hip. His eyes swept over Ray's body, drinking in the sight of him, lingering on the long cock that twitched restlessly just next to his hand.

"Look who's talking," Ray shot back, his voice an unsteady whisper. The sound of it sent chills racing down Fraser's spine. Ray's hand trailed across Fraser's thigh where he knelt beside him, eyes wide and dilated as they flickered up over Fraser's form. "God, Benny. I mean ... God."

Fraser's own verbal abilities were deteriorating rapidly. He slid his hand over Ray's side as he laid down beside him, barely aware of anything but the need that was clawing at the inside of his skin like a living thing, trying to get out. His eyes trailed over Ray's body, barely able to encompass the truth of the moment -- that Ray was here, naked, in his bed, waiting for Fraser to make love to him. Fraser felt suddenly as if his skin were two sizes too small, too small by far to contain the sheer aching need that burned within him, scratching at his skin, making him sweat, making nothing in the world seem quite so important as finding the nearest part of Ray so he could rub against it and quench the fire that was building in his veins.

Ray was panting now, staring up at him with eyes that seemed far too large for his face, far too dark, too green, too everything for Fraser to get a grip on the feelings that were slithering through him. He bent to kiss Ray again as he rolled on top of him, delighting in the sweat-slick friction of skin against skin, tongue against tongue, their two bodies fitting together with a perfection so sweet it made him ache inside. Ray spread his legs immediately to welcome him, letting him settle comfortably between his thighs, and Fraser made a sound deep in his throat that he could only describe as a moan, smothering the sound against Ray's neck as Ray's body arched up against him.

"That's it," Ray whispered to him, sliding a hand heavily along his spine in encouragement, and that was all Fraser needed to let go of himself completely.

God, Ray felt good, all long lines and lean contours, and Fraser flexed his hips against him eagerly, excited by the answering hardness he felt there. It was so easy, so easy to love Ray like this, to be with him like this, to find a nice, smooth stretch of skin to press his erection against and just thrust, over and over and over, letting the rhythm carry him deep into his body and then straight up and out of his mind.

He let his tongue flicker out to stroke against the hot skin of Ray's neck as he moved, wanting to taste him again, wanting that connection between them. Ray tasted like salt, like heat, and Fraser closed his eyes in ecstasy as he licked him again, laving a moist trail across Ray's skin up to his ear. Ray sighed, a lost, desperate sound, and Fraser shuddered deeply, feeling the answering tremors in Ray's body vibrate up into his own.

And Ray matched him for every thrust, strength against strength, pleasure for pleasure, evenly matched with him in this as in all else. Fraser buried his face against Ray's neck and breathed in the scent of sweat-dampened skin, smelling the high, wild scents of their sex, wishing he could breathe in Ray, whole and unadulterated. His mouth watered with the sweetness of it, and he nipped lightly at Ray's ear, unable to completely hold back the possessive growl that scratched at the back of his throat, fighting for release. Ray groaned against him, a feral sound that ratcheted Fraser's need up higher than he thought he could bear, turning it into something unfettered, something he no longer wanted to control.

Ray's fingers were hard against his backside now, gripping him, bruising him -- God -- and Fraser bit down hard on Ray's shoulder as he thrust against him, not sure which of them was making the harsh, moaning gasps he heard echoing in his ears. His skin felt like it was on fire, and the heat that coiled in his groin was nearly painful, shuddering out through his body to burn in his fingers and toes. He wanted it to last forever, he wanted it to never end. It made him feel as if he were somehow rising above his body, transcending the world around him, as if he had suddenly become nothing other than pure pleasure, pure need. It would have been frightening if he hadn't known Ray was here to catch him when he fell.

And then there was no more time to wonder, no more time to wait, and his body took on a mind of its own, thrusting mindlessly against Ray, his rhythm broken, and Ray was whispering to him to come on already, to just let it all go. And then all of a sudden he couldn't not let go, because the pleasure was everywhere, Ray was everywhere, pressed up against him, through him, shattering him with his sheer presence, the sheer, indomitable fortress of his will.

Fraser choked on a ragged sob that might have been Ray's name as his entire body tensed, and then he was coming hard, spurting out his ecstasy in hot, rhythmic pulses that filled the sweaty crevice between them, rapture surging through his veins like liquid fire to leave him shattered and trembling in its wake. He sucked in a deep, gasping breath as he shuddered through the aftershocks of it, reveling in the sound of Ray's hoarse voice panting his name, desperate, pleading, fingers digging into his back, sweat-soaked skin sliding hard against him. Ray's thighs tightened around his hips, quivering -- shaking -- and then Ray went rigid beneath him, tiger-lean body bunching whipcord-tight inside his arms an instant before Ray fell over the edge to join him, shouting his name as he went.

And then there was nothing but the stuttering rhythm of their heartbeats as they frantically tried to find their former pace, breaths slowly evening out and lengthening between them.

"Ray," Fraser whispered, pressing a kiss to the patch of skin that was closest to him, running his tongue across his lips to savor the sweet-salty taste of Ray that he found there. And then again, just to hear the name spoken aloud again: "Ray."

Ray gave a contented sigh, rustling the hair at the top of his head. "I hear you, Benny." His hand rubbed a small circle over Fraser's back, muscles lax beneath him.

Fraser tightened his arm around Ray's waist as he settled beside him, enjoying the residual tremors of pleasure that vibrated through his muscles. Ray's body curled instinctively around him, and Fraser returned the favor, not surprised in the least to find that Ray made for an exceedingly comfortable cuddle. Ray murmured contentedly against his shoulder, gazing up at him with sleepy, sated eyes.

Fraser knew they should probably be getting up to start getting ready for work, but it couldn't hurt to savor this moment just a little while longer. He bent to kiss Ray one more time, unable to keep himself from doing so. He had a feeling that he would be stealing kisses as often as the opportunity arose, as many kisses as Ray would be willing to offer him. He breathed in deeply, savoring the scents that surrounded him: sex and sweat and something else that was uniquely Ray.

After a moment, Ray's mouth turned up in a small grin. "You're still arrogant, you know." His tone was wry.

Fraser smiled at him, feeling suddenly as if all was right with the world. "Understood."

"And stubborn."

"Yes, Ray."

"And you're always running off to save the world without thinking of the consequences."

"Yes, I do seem to have a habit of doing that," he allowed, choosing not to point out the inaccuracy of the statement.

"And sometimes you're damned annoying."

The smile threatened to show itself again, but Fraser subdued it with an effort. "Yes, Ray," he said, nodding seriously.

"But it worked out in this instance." Ray regarded him sternly for a moment before settling back down against his shoulder. "So I'll forgive it this one time. Just don't ever do a thing like that again, capisce?"

Fraser felt a chill move through him at the memory of his time with Hawthorne. "No," he agreed, bending to brush his lips across Ray's shoulder in a kiss that was both comfort and vow. "Never."

"Well, good, then." Ray snuggled in against him, apparently content to let the matter rest.

And it didn't seem to matter to Ray in the least that he was arrogant, and stubborn, and annoying, or that he had a penchant for rushing off to do what he felt was right without stopping to consider the consequences. It seemed sometimes that Ray was the only person in the entire world who saw him as he truly was; most people couldn't see past the uniform, or past the face that he had always thought of as more of a hindrance than an asset. When Ray's eyes looked at him, they truly saw him -- the real him -- including all of the faults and shortcomings that made him who he was.

It may have been brought to his attention recently that he'd be willing to give just about anything to anyone for the right price, but there were some things that couldn't be bought, only freely given. Fraser felt a surge of gratitude that Ray would have found it in him to offer what he needed, and to accept what he was offering. The knowledge of that truth warmed him, filled him, touched him with the certainty that he had been witness to a minor miracle. No matter what else the universe chose to throw at them in the future, he knew that neither one of them would be facing it alone.

To Fraser, that was the greatest gift of all.

The End
10/5/01

End The Right Price by Rushlight: n_sanity75@hotmail.com

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