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

Disclaimer:

Author's Notes: Many thanks go to Kathleen, Beth, and Jennie for the beta, and to Manna LaDroit for answering my newbie questions about Ray's past. Also, heartfelt gratitude to Kathleen for inspiration, and for her insistence that I give RayV a chance when I first watched the episodes. :)

Story Notes: This is my very first attempt at writing F/V slash, so I would really appreciate some feedback on it. Liked my characterizations? Thought they were horrendously awful? Please let me know! It's the only way I'll learn.

The Sound of Silence
by, Rushlight

Ray lifted his face to the wind and listened to the sound of his boots crunching through the new-fallen snow. It was a mild day, at least for the Northwest Territories, and the sun shone with a curiously golden light that he couldn't remember ever seeing in the States. It gilded the drifts of powder-soft snow that spread toward the horizon in front of him, tracing patterns of delicate golden filigree across the ice that hung from the weighted branches of the trees.

He felt Ben's eyes on him and forced a faint scowl, hunching his shoulders against the cold and burying his gloved hands deeper into the pockets of his coat. "All right," he said after a moment, trying to remember just why it was that he'd argued so strenuously against this early-morning stroll. "You win. It is kinda pretty up here."

Ahead of him, Ben turned and smiled, and the expression seemed to take ten years off his face. The cold favored him; his skin pinked in the chill northern air, darkening his normally pale complexion, and his eyes were bright with a warmth that seemed completely incongruous with their surroundings. His hair, usually so perfectly arranged, was tousled by the wind.

"I knew you'd like it, Ray," he said, "without the usual threats to our continued well-being that seem to plague us every time we visit." Even his voice smiled, sharp with a kind of child-like happiness that asked for nothing more than the sun and the snow and the presence of Ray here by his side. It was humbling, to be the object of such studied devotion.

It had been Ray's idea to make a second attempt at their Canadian vacation after their first effort had failed. Involuntarily, his mind flashed to the last time he'd come up here. For a moment, his thoughts were consumed with the memory of carrying a blind and paralyzed Ben through the woods, fearing for their lives as they struggled relentlessly to catch a sociopathic killer. Not exactly one of their finest moments, but it was one of many that had solidified in his mind how very much Ben had come to mean to him over the years.

"Ray?"

Ben's voice had softened, become faintly quizzical, and Ray deliberately turned his thoughts back to the present, trying to erase the small shiver of dread that always burrowed into him whenever he thought about those harrowing few days. He could have lost Ben then; hell, he almost had lost him. Ben's eyes were unusually subdued as they looked at him, as if he understood perfectly well the direction that Ray's thoughts had taken.

"Yeah, Benny," Ray said, hearing the roughness in his own voice. "I'm fine."

Ben regarded him solemnly for another minute, then held out one dark-mittened hand. Ray smiled softly to himself and reached out to take it.

"We're almost back to the cabin," Ben said, turning again to continue crunching his way forward through the snow. Ray followed docilely at his side, feeling the warmth of the hand that held him even through the layers of both their gloves. As usual, Ben made no mention of the brief lapse in Ray's mood. Ever since they'd become lovers, Ben seemed to prize personal privacy -- both his and Ray's -- more highly than he ever had before. It was a good thing, since they worked together, slept together, and practically spent their entire lives in each other's pockets. That kind of an arrangement would quickly grow unbearable if they didn't take steps to keep themselves separated on some level.

Despite the coldness of the air, the sun was pleasantly warm on Ray's face. It was kind of nice, actually, walking through the snow with Ben. Holding hands and walking through the snow. Who'd have thought that this was something he would ever find enjoyable? It wasn't something he'd ever done with Ange. Maybe that was where they'd gone wrong -- not enough privacy between them, and not enough time spent holding hands and walking through the snow. Things like that could ruin a marriage, and he spent a moment feeling viciously grateful that the problems that had plagued him and Ange were conspicuously absent from his relationship with Ben. Maybe, over time, he'd learned how to be a better mate, a better husband. Or more likely, he was just a whole lot better at the marriage thing with Ben than he was with anyone else.

His calf muscles ached with the stress of plowing through the snow with every step, so despite his enjoyment in spending time outdoors with Ben, he was grateful when the cabin came into view ahead of them. It was a raised, squarish structure, dark against the whiteness of the snow, not markedly different from the way it had looked the first time he'd come here, despite the renovations they'd made to it. Except that this time, those walls had been rebuilt with his and Benny's hands. So in a way, Ray supposed that meant it was his cabin, too. His and Ben's. The thought made him shiver pleasantly, and not from the cold.

Ben favored him with a warm smile before pulling open the door and stepping inside. No locks on the doors, not here. Ray kicked his toes against the stoop to shake off the excess snow before following, turning to cast one last glance over his shoulder at the spreading vista of snow and hills around them.

The interior of the cabin was pleasantly lit by the sunlight that streamed in through the broad windows. There was cider simmering in a huge steel pot over the stove, and the air was thick with the scents of cinnamon, oranges, and spice. Ray breathed it in heavily as he unwound the scarf from around his neck and dumped it on the floor beside the door with his gloves.

"This is heaven, Benny," he pronounced, moving forward into the room to sprawl across the rumpled couch that sat against the far wall. "And I don't ever want to leave."

Ben favored him with an indulgent smile as he shed his outer layer of clothing with a brisk efficiency that spoke of years of experience at the task. Underneath it all, he was dressed in a dark sable sweater and worn blue jeans, which always tended to get Ray's heart beating somewhat faster than the norm. Fraser in jeans was not a sight to be missed. Of course, Fraser dressed in anything (or, for that matter, in nothing at all) was indelibly erotic, but there were moments when Ben's choice of attire gave Ray an honest appreciation for the virtues of good old American jeans.

"That would be inadvisable, Ray," Ben said, and it took Ray a moment to realize that he was responding to his earlier statement. "I doubt that your superiors would understand if you failed to show up for work next week. And Inspector Thatcher would be ... less than pleased if I were delayed."

Ray grinned, unable to resist the temptation to tease. "But think of the fun we'd have. You, me, alone in the cabin. Maybe we can tell them we got snowed in. I'm sure we'd be able to think of something to do to keep ourselves occupied..."

The expression Ben favored him with was disapproving, although his eyes glittered with humor. "As pleasant as the idea sounds, Ray, I doubt that it has much in the way of practical merit. Surely, sooner or later, they would send someone to check on us."

Ray swallowed his next hypothetical objection when Ben crouched in front of the fireplace to add a log to the embers of last night's blaze. The hard line of his back was outlined clearly against the dark contours of his sweater, and Ray had to swallow forcefully as he pictured that back encased in the fine, clean lines of red serge. That was the Ben he used to hold in his mind's eye -- a toy soldier, dressed in red, standing at the ready to accept whatever life had to offer. Wind him up and he walks, put him in front of a bullet and he bleeds...

Ray swiped a hand surreptitiously over his eyes, grateful that Ben wasn't watching. It was inexcusable that he'd never really thought of Benny as an honest-to-God human being before Victoria had come into their lives. It had just never occurred to him that Ben was a man with needs, with desires, with ... failings, just like any other man. And that was unforgivable. Because Ben was a man, a man that Ray loved, that he'd loved for a very long time. Even before he could actually admit it to himself. And love was a scary word, wasn't it? Scarier than death, scarier than life; experience had taught him that.

Ben turned away from the newly flickering fire, a long match smoking in one hand, and met Ray's gaze from across the room. His brow tightened in question -- obviously he recognized something amiss in Ray's expression -- but he didn't say anything other than, "Would you like some cider, Ray?"

Ray forced a smile as he drank in the sight of Ben's face in the firelight. "Yeah, Benny, that'd be great."

Ben nodded and stood, pressing his palms against his thighs for leverage. He tossed the used match into the fireplace and vanished into the small kitchen alcove without another word.

Sometimes, Ray mused, silence could be a way of granting privacy. And sometimes, privacy could be an excuse for repressing things that you didn't want to talk about.

They'd spent the past two weeks up here, working together to rebuild the cabin from the explosion that had decimated it, and there hadn't been a single moment of awkwardness between them. But now that the work was done, now that they had the time to sit back and enjoy their newly constructed haven, Ben's silences were starting to feel less like respect for Ray's privacy and more like avoidance of issues that neither of them wanted to address. And that thought disturbed Ray more than he wanted to admit.

He listened to the low clink as Ben pulled mugs down from the shelf in the kitchen, and the sound was homey, comforting. Sighing, Ray unsnapped and unzipped his coat, finally shedding his layers of outdoor clothing as the warmth from the fireplace began to seep into the rest of the room. As much as he loved it here in Ben's country, he could not get used to the cold. Ben seemed to understand, and made no mention of the fact that Ray seemed to require a brief reacclimation period whenever they came in from the snow.

By the time Ben returned, Ray had stripped down to his own loose sweater and jeans. He knew for a fact that he didn't fill them out nearly as well as Ben did his, but still it was a pleasure to feel Ben's eyes drift over him in unstated appreciation as he came into the room. Ray knew that he wasn't exactly supermodel material, but Ben always managed to make him feel as if he were something special to look at, without saying a word. In certain intimate moments, Ben had been known to wax poetic about his eyes, and his hands, and even his completely ridiculous nose, but it was never anything less than absolutely sincere. Ray had had a lot of experience at detecting insincerity in his lifetime, and it was something he honestly believed Ben was incapable of.

"Thanks," he said, accepting the mug that Ben handed to him. The steam that rose from it was pungent with spice, and he breathed it in deeply, enjoying the heat against his palms as he folded the mug into his hands.

Ben smiled at him, pausing before taking a sip from his own drink. His eyes were bright in the light from the windows. "You're welcome."

They sat on the couch together in companionable silence, while Ray pondered the mysteries of love, and loss, and need. Ben's shoulder was warm where it pressed against his, and he leaned into it without thinking, drawing comfort from the tactile reminder that Ben was here with him, unharmed and alive.

"There's something we need to talk about," he said without intending to. He took a slow sip of his cider, taking refuge in the bittersweet heat that made its way down his throat.

Beside him, Ben froze. Several seconds passed before he answered.

"Yes," he said simply, and Ray was relieved that he hadn't been required to say Victoria's name aloud.

Ray nodded as if this were something he expected, and he took another sip without taking his eyes away from the wall in front of him. "You've never even mentioned her name since ... well, since it happened."

Again, Ben paused. "No," he agreed, seemingly fascinated by the same expanse of wall that had captured Ray's attention. His shoulder had stiffened where Ray was pressed against it.

Ray sighed, turning his gaze away from the wall with an effort. "Look, Benny, if you don't want to talk about it--"

"No." Ben rubbed a hand over his eyes and sighed heavily, leaning further against the back of the couch and hooking one foot up on the edge of the battered coffee table in front of them. The stiffness left his posture as if it had been drained away, and suddenly he looked so very human that Ray couldn't imagine where he'd ever gotten the image of the red-clad toy soldier in his mind's eye. "You're right. It's something that we ... that we haven't sufficiently discussed yet."

For a moment, Ray was gripped by a sudden terror of finally having this conversation; it was something they'd been putting off for far too long, but at the same time, he dreaded it. His blood seemed to run cold, then hot, and he took another drink from his cider to hide the conflicted emotions that he was sure were chasing across his face. He wasn't sure why he was pressing this issue now, when everything was going so good between them. After all, he and Ben had been together as a couple for months now, and Victoria's memory had never once come between them.

Except that somehow, being up here in the snow, in the cold, in all these open spaces, made the silences almost impossible to bear any longer.

The silence spread like a fog, thickening the air around them. The only sound was the faint rattle of a windowpane in the wind, and the almost inaudible popping of the fire. Suddenly uncomfortable in that once-peaceful void, Ray did what he could to break it.

"You were mad at me for shooting you, weren't you?"

Ben sighed again, still refusing to look at him. "It was an accident, Ray."

"But you were still mad at me for it." Suddenly, this seemed like a direly important point to Ray. He wanted Ben to admit that he had been angry, that he, the flawless, infallible Mountie, had given in to the sin of wrath. It seemed vital for reasons that he couldn't explain, even to himself.

It was a long time before Ben answered. Finally, he turned to meet Ray's gaze, and nodded. "I was angry." His voice was so soft that Ray could barely make out the words.

Ray felt something inside of him tighten. Perversely, the coveted admission only made him feel worse. "Are you still mad at me for it?"

Ben smiled slightly and reached out to touch his cheek. Ray leaned into the caress without thinking, following the warmth of the fingers as they were withdrawn. "No. I'm not."

One corner of Ray's mouth quirked up in an answering grin. He had to accept the truth of Ben's statement; after all, Ben was the sincere one, the one who couldn't tell a lie. Especially not to someone he loved. "Is that because I took a bullet for you in return?"

Ben laughed, a faint expulsion of air across Ray's face. "No. It was an accident, Ray. My initial reaction was ... irrational." Almost immediately, his smile faded as his eyes turned inward into memory.

"But something still bothers you about it." Ray felt more certain of this than ever. Before he could voice another objection, however, Ben was leaning in to kiss him, a soft brush of lips against his own. Ray closed his eyes, parting his lips on a sigh as Ben's mouth moved over his again.

And damn if the Mountie wasn't trying to seduce him into forgetting about this particular line of questioning. He was quite sure that this wasn't something that was taught in general training at the RCMP.

Nevertheless, it was something Ben was unexpectedly skilled at. His hand slid up to massage the back of Ray's neck, and Ray let his head fall forward bonelessly until their foreheads pressed together between them. Ben's breath was warm on his face.

"I think," Ben said softly, and the moistness of his exhalations sent little shivers of need burrowing deep into Ray's skin, "that there's something you aren't telling me."

Ray shook his head slightly, unable to think of sufficient words to refute the accusation, not when Ben's fingers were working such magic against the back of his neck. Such strong hands, workman's hands. Cop's hands. His own hands were too slender, too weak to do half the things that Ben's did. Ben was so strong, so capable, so suited for dealing with everything that life could throw at him. He'd even forgiven Ray for shooting him, hadn't he? Ben was as near to perfect as Ray had ever seen in this world. He was perfect, and Ray was ... was ...

Angry. He was angry. The realization made him flush in sudden shame, but he didn't turn away, instead letting his head slide into the crook of Ben's shoulder, letting Ben cradle him there. He was the one who had shot Ben, and he was angry at Ben because of it. What kind of a sick bastard was he?

"Ray?" Ben said softly, his voice a soft breath over Ray's ear.

Ray squeezed his eyes shut and folded himself even more firmly into Ben's embrace. His cheeks burned with the force of his shame, but he couldn't keep it inside anymore now that the question had been asked.

"I was mad at you, too, Benny," he said, hearing the quiver in his voice and hating it. His voice was muffled against Ben's shoulder.

Ben made no immediate reaction. "Because you shot me?" His voice was low, questioning without passing judgment.

Ray nodded. "Because you were there to be shot. What the hell were you doing there, Benny? What the hell were you going to do?"

Again with the silence, with that goddamned fucking silence, and it was almost too much to bear. And abruptly Ray realized that it takes two to make a silence, that the silences had been there because neither one of them had filled them, that it wasn't all Ben's fault this subject hadn't been broached until just now. Apparently Ray had had his own reasons for not wanting to open this kettle of worms, and he almost laughed aloud as he thought again about repression, and silence, and need.

The pause before Ben spoke next was almost imperceptible, but it was there. "You know the answer to that, Ray," he said quietly, and his voice had the hushed tone of a Catholic in a confessional. He let out his breath in a short sigh, and then he gave in and said, "I was running away. I was going to go with her."

Ray froze, listening to the sound of his heart knocking in his ears. This was something that Ben had told him before, although he'd made a deliberate effort not to think about the repercussions of it. For all anyone else knew, Ben had only been trying to apprehend a fleeing criminal on that train platform. Ray had covered up for him, lied for him, but inside, he'd been well aware of the truth. Somehow, he'd known the choice that Ben would make before Ben himself did. Because Ray knew about the price of love, and he knew about the price of betrayal. And he knew that sometimes, the lines between them were blurred.

"I apologized to you," Ray said, wondering where the words were coming from. Ben's hand pressed hard against the back of his neck, holding him there against Ben's shoulder as if he were afraid Ray would jump up and run from the room if given the opportunity. "I took a bullet for you. I fucking bought you a fucking hand saw to fucking help rebuild the cabin that I fucking blew up, Benny. And never once did you tell me you were sorry for almost running out on me."

The scent of the cider seemed sickeningly sweet to him now; his fingers had cramped around the mug where he held it in his lap. He was sweating, too hot suddenly in the swiftly growing heat that oozed from the fireplace. The snow-covered hills outside called to him like a siren song, all that white, empty, cold expanse of silence broken only by the sounds of nature, untouched by the hand of man. Shame and rage and betrayal and love writhed within him like a pit of vipers, each biting him over and over again with their venom, making him feel sick. Only the feel of Ben's arms around him seemed real, and he let himself drift lost in the smell and feel and sound of the body that held him.

"Ray," Ben said, and there was a note in his voice that Ray had never heard before. He felt warm lips brush across his ear, warm and soft and then gone. "I'm sorry."

Ray stiffened. "Ben..."

"I'm sorry, Ray." Ben's arms around him refused to let him go. His voice was thick, and Ray wondered suddenly if Ben's silences since they'd become lovers had been filled with guilt more than anything else. Guilt for a betrayal that he hadn't been allowed to make. Guilt, because while the betrayal itself had been stopped with one unfortunately placed bullet, the choice to betray had already been made.

"I love you," Ray whispered, closing his eyes against the softness of the sweater under his cheek and breathing in the dark, salty musk of the skin in front of him.

A delicate shudder passed though Ben's frame at that. A moment passed between them, fragile as newly formed ice, and then Ben moved, the hand on Ray's neck sliding forward to cup his jaw, one strong thumb stroking up over Ray's cheek, branding him where it touched. Ben pulled Ray's head away from his shoulder, and their eyes met for one tremulous second before Ben leaned in to hit him with a patented Ben Fraser blitz attack.

Ray barely managed to set his cider down on the coffee table before Ben's arms closed around him, and a strong, demanding body pressed him back against the corner of the couch until he could barely breathe. Ray clenched his hands in the loose material of the sweater over Ben's arms as he felt that warm mouth open over his, demanding entrance, and he groaned low in his throat as he felt Ben's tongue sweep in over his own, staking claim to everything he was. Ben tasted like spice, like heat, and the feel of that hard body pressing against him sent Ray's heart fluttering in his chest like a trapped bird.

"Love you," Ray whispered again, nonsensically, and his eyes closed dizzily when Ben's teeth nipped at the edge of his jaw, startling him with the bright sting of pain. "Oh God, Benny. Ben..."

It was hot. It was so very hot in here, and how could he have ever thought that these northern territories were cold? Ben's mouth felt like a furnace, his breath, his warmth, and his hands ignited shivers of heat wherever they touched him. Ray leaned back against the corner of the couch, obeying the instruction of those hands without hesitation, allowing Ben to peel off his sweater and run callused fingers over his chest, touching him, owning him. Ray had never been so passive during sex before, but when he tried to reciprocate, Ben growled at him, and the look in his eyes was full of quiet warning. And so Ray quieted, and let Ben use him as he saw fit, because he recognized what he saw in his lover's eyes, and what he saw was need, pure and simple.

And maybe there was something to be said for silences, because there were some things that words couldn't say. Ray let his head fall against the back of the couch, and let Ben love him, as warm hands and warm lips slid sensuously over his chest, his stomach, the insides of his thighs. His erection was pressing painfully against the inside of his zipper, but he ignored it, knowing that this was a part of the healing process for both of them. Around him, the silence roared, thick with the rhythm of rushing blood and beating hearts, life-rhythm and lust-rhythm and love-rhythm all tied up one in the other, circling around in an endless cycle until Ray couldn't tell where he left off and Ben began.

He gasped, bucking his hips up sharply as Ben's mouth closed over his erection through the fabric of his jeans, sucking lightly. Ben was ready for him, though, and strong hands closed around his hips, steadying him. Breathing heavily, Ray glanced down at the body that lay stretched out between his thighs across the length of the couch. Ben's sable head was bent over his waist, eyes dark and glittering with uninhibited pleasure as that dangerous mouth moved in again to suckle him through the cloth. Beautiful. Benton Fraser was the most beautiful man he had ever seen, inside and out. What had Ray ever done to deserve him?

Except that maybe, just maybe, they deserved each other. An eye for an eye -- lex talionis incarnate. The thought brought with it a certain amount of grudging satisfaction, as if his own faux pas in shooting Ben had finally found reparation. Justice. It was the nature of the universe that a balance be kept.

And then all further thoughts broke apart and scattered away into nothing as Ben's fingers pulled at the closure of his jeans, opening the fly and freeing his erection to the warm cabin air. Ray closed his eyes, unable to watch, and his breath hitched in his throat as he listened to the happy hum that Ben made deep in his chest just before he leaned in to swallow Ray's erection whole.

Ecstasy. Ray's hands clenched at the sides of the couch, his back bowing with the force of the sensations that crashed through him. Ben's mouth was hot, and wet, and the feel of Ben's lips and tongue paying homage to him in this way was almost more than Ray could bear. Ben had been unexpectedly skilled at this when they first became lovers, but whether that was because of prior experience or his own uncanny knack for excelling at everything he tried, Ray was never quite certain. It wasn't something he actually wanted to stop and ask about when he was on the receiving end of Ben's skills, and afterwards it never seemed to matter.

His release hit him with all the subtlety of a nuclear explosion, and Ray jammed his forearm against his open mouth to hold back the scream that Ben seemed intent on sucking straight out through his cock. It seemed impossible that so much pleasure could be packed into one measly human body, and for a moment he was afraid that his nerves were going to short-circuit, just jump right out of his skin and take the first train back to Chicago and leave him behind. Ben's body was hard and heavy against his thighs, holding him down, and for a long moment Ray just lay there, gasping and breathless, as Ben gave a pleased little hum and proceeded to lick him clean.

Ray didn't even wait until his breath was fully recovered before he pounced. Giving an entirely heartfelt growl of his own, he slid out from under Benny and pushed him back toward the other end of the couch, bending down to kiss him thoroughly, licking the remaining traces of himself off of Ben's lips and tongue. God, Ben tasted good, he tasted like Cuervo Gold and Ma's pasta and Godiva chocolate all rolled up into one, and the presence of Ray's own rather unique flavor was a heady addition to the mix.

Ben moaned under him, and that was just the sexiest sound ever and then some. Ray's hands shook as he reached for the closure of Ben's jeans, and he swore under his breath as his fingers slipped on the button, knuckles scraping almost painfully against the rough nap of the cloth. Ben leaned back further to accommodate him, and for a moment Ray was transfixed by the sight of that smooth, pale throat stretched out in front of him, head tipped back against the arm of the couch, hard Mountie body arranged in an inelegant sprawl beneath him. Ray felt a sudden stab of joy that he could see Ben like this, that Ben would allow him to see him like this. Joy, and gratitude, and lust, and why the hell did Benny have to wear such tight jeans, anyway...

He finally triumphed over the recalcitrant button, and Ben let out a gusting sigh as Ray's hand slid into his jeans and underwear to curl around his demanding erection. Hips arched up into Ray's hand, and Ray let him move, crooning softly to soothe the line of tension that had appeared between Ben's closed eyes. The scent of need was strong in the air, and he did what he could to encourage Ben to give in to it.

And Ben did, his stoic resolve cracking in those last moments, as Ray's hand pumped steadily over him, drawing the pleasure out of him, and his hips moved mindlessly over and over and over again into Ray's grasp. Ben's hands curled into claws where they clutched at the edges of the couch, at Ray's body above him, and he was sweating now, hair curling damply against his forehead and around the edges of his face, high spots of color appearing on his cheeks and giving him the look of a debauched angel. Ray leaned in to lick at the single droplet of sweat that tantalized him from the edge of Ben's jaw, and that was all it took. Ben's body stiffened beneath him, and Ben came with a hoarse cry that held nothing of his public toy-soldier persona and everything of what Ray loved best about him.

Afterwards, they lay together there on the couch, holding each other and listening to the sounds of the wind whispering by outside the windows. Ray shifted so that his head rested comfortably on Ben's chest, feeling the softness of the sweater scratch under his cheek, and contentedly allowed the soft rhythm of Ben's heartbeat to join the background sounds of the wind and the fire.

"We okay now, Benny?" he asked, beginning to shiver a little as his body relaxed into the pleasant lassitude of post-coital afterglow. Beneath him, every muscle of the Mountie's body was lax with satiation, but at least Ben was still mostly dressed.

"I think so, Ray." Ben's fingers traced an absent pattern over the bare skin of his back, and Ray arched into the touch with a sigh. After a moment, Ben reached for the thick blanket that was draped over the back of the couch and pulled it down over them, obviously unwilling to unseat either of them long enough to redress Ray into his discarded sweater.

Ray closed his eyes, finding comfort in Ben's words. "I really like your answer to these little lapses in communication we have," he said, unable to resist the temptation to dig a little. As always, his accent thickened perceptibly after sex. "Me, I woulda kept talking for hours about it, but not you. I gotta remember this trick the next time we have an argument."

He could almost feel Ben's eyebrow rising in affront at that, even though he couldn't see Ben's face. "That wasn't an argument, Ray. It was a ..." He faltered slightly, groping for an appropriate word. "A discussion."

"It was an argument, Benny," Ray said firmly. "But that's okay, right? I mean, you gotta take the bad along with the good. And at least we forgive each other, right? For what we did, I mean. Back there on the train platform."

Ben nodded. "Yes, Ray. Absolutely."

Ray still felt vaguely disturbed, and after a few moments passed he added, "And we forgive ourselves, don't we?"

A pause. "Yes." He sounded surprised that he'd come to this realization, but there could be no doubt that he was telling the truth.

And that was really all that needed to be said, because Ben didn't lie, and that meant everything was all right now. Ray inhaled deeply, breathing in the scents of wood smoke and spiced cider and sex and newly-felled wood. It was the scent of the future that he and Benny had carved out for themselves over the past couple of weeks, slowly mending the broken faith between them one tremulous plank at a time. If they could find it in themselves to forgive each other, to forgive themselves, then anything was possible.

After all, there was a whole future of silences stretching out ahead of them, waiting to be filled.

And that suited Ray just fine.

The End
9/8/01

End The Sound of Silence by Rushlight: n_sanity75@hotmail.com

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