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

Author's Notes:

Story Notes:

• Waiting for the Thaw ***

Waiting for the Thaw

Chicago heat, midsummer, and while Fraser was glad of the brown uniform, which meant he didn't roast, he was still glad to get home.

The chill of air conditioning dried the sweat on his skin when he entered the apartment and he sighed with relief tinged with guilt. The use of extra electricity always gave him a bit of a twinge, but he had discovered an unexpected streak of hedonism in his nature in recent years and it was always exacerbated by a heat wave.

"I'm home," he called, and Dief followed him to collapse over an air vent.

No answer, although he'd seen the GTO downstairs in the parking lot. He loosened his tie, peered into the kitchen, wandered back to the bedroom, and heard the sound of the shower running.

Definitely, he was becoming a hedonist. Unable to resist, he hastily shed his uniform, using a few choice words he'd picked up over his years in Chicago when his bootlaces resisted for a moment.

Pale shape behind the frosted glass of the shower doors, he tugged one open, stepped inside and Ray yelped, grinned at him. "Give a guy some warning, hey."

The water was lukewarm and felt wonderful; Ray felt wonderful, too, and he wondered distantly, while licking water from the back of Ray's neck and shoulder, if he was ever going to grow accustomed to having Ray in his life. Not just partners, but more, not just buddies, but more.

"Ben buddy, you keep doing that, you're gonna seriously turn me on." Husky voice.

Ray seemed to suffer from the same ailment. Oh, they worked together without difficulty, as if somewhere inside their heads they'd erected an invisible wall, but away from the squadroom, away from the Consulate, he smoldered and Ray burned brightly, and it was all they could do not to touch. He smiled against Ray's wet skin. "Really?" As if it were no more than academic curiosity. "Like this?" More licking, tasting a little salt, a lot of water, and a bit of soap.

Ray quivered and leaned into him. "Oh, yeah, just like that."

He slid his palm over Ray's belly, down what Ray called the treasure trail, cupped Ray and felt the shaft twitch and thicken. He nipped the crook of Ray's shoulder. "And like that?"

"No teasing," Ray told him hoarsely. "I want you."

Ray's earlobe, gently between his teeth. "How?" Purring the word.

Ray twisted in his arms, turned to face him. Pupils dilated with arousal. "Like the first time, Ben."

The first time. All his blood supply seemed, as Ray was prone to say, to have gone south.

The first time.

Memory spun backward in the space of an instant, and he sealed his mouth to Ray's, trying to silence it.

Memory, thought and dream&.

"This guy's a psycho," Ray said blearily, "He's been running his own little operation on the south side for a year or so. Drugs, guns, prostitution - your basic American dream. Ow!"

"Sorry," Fraser said sincerely and went back to cleaning the cut. Despite the seriousness of the situation, he was conscious of the most ridiculous joy. Ray had come to him, Ray had trusted only him. He was losing his mind, that was all, he told himself sternly.

Ray sniffed. "What is that?"

"It will prevent infection," he told Ray. "You were discussing Mr. Volpe?"

Ray wrinkled his nose, and it was another sign of his mental disturbance that he found that endearing. "It smells. . . The word is he's getting ambitious lately, so naturally I'm anxious for a face-to-face. I get there, and it's a setup."

Ray smelled, too, Fraser thought, trying with limited success to focus on the task at hand. Cinnamon, the street, night dampness, and a little of blood. "You think somebody hit you?"

Ray shifted in the chair, wrinkling his nose again. "This stuff smells. . . I don't remember. I wake up, Volpe's dead, and I got this uniform blasting away like Yosemite Sam - bang, bang, bang. I take off."

Fraser applied a bit more ointment. "And you have no idea what happened to Mr. Volpe?"

Ray squinted up at him. "This stuff really stinks. . . Ah, somebody shot him. It could've been anybody. It could've been me."

This last was said in a voice that would have seemed steady to anyone but Fraser. Or anyone else who knew Ray well, he admitted to himself. "I see." He did not believe that Ray had shot Volpe, could not believe it. He'd already determined that Ray's volatile style was on the order of a 'good offense,', to keep from being taken in, to project street toughness.

Which meant nothing in and of itself, of course, but it was part and parcel of a man who danced when facing the demon insomnia, who still yearned after his ex-wife, and who acted tough when in pain.

Ray shifted, squinted at the ointment. "What is that?"

Fraser studied him, thinking hard. Given the current climate in Chicago politics, it seemed likely that Ray was in a great deal of trouble. No apparent witnesses, and Ray had fled from the scene, albeit with good reason, given that a uniformed officer had chosen to shoot first and ask questions later. Surely the Police Academy trained officers better than that, even in Chicago. "It's a concoction I made from the mucus membrane of a pregnant. . . It's not important. What is important, if I may recap, is that you were lured to a meeting with a gangland figure, and at this meeting, the gangland figure was murdered, an event of which you have no memory. The uniformed officer arrived, you resisted arrest, and you then fled the scene of the homicide. Do you agree these are the facts of the scenario?

Ray's brows drew together. "Did I just say that or do I have a head injury?"

He had to bite back a smile, this was far too serious a situation for amusement. The way he saw it, there was only one way to keep Ray safe while determining precisely what had occurred, and who had set Ray up to take the blame. "Well, Ray, I'm afraid that I have no option. By the powers that are vested in me by the government of Canada, I am placing you under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you without charge. Do you understand these rights?"He retrieved handcuffs from Inspector Thatcher's desk, took them around to Ray and placed them on slender wrists.

Ray stared at him. "You're arresting me?"

"Yes, Ray, I am. I'm afraid that you're going to have to remain here."

Ray blinked at him. Blinked again, and then seemed to understand. "Oh."

Excellent. Now, he merely had to find the perpetrator, clear Ray's name, and deal with the Chicago Police Department, not necessarily in that exact order.

Ray had come to him for help, sang his heart, and he was not going to let Ray down.

Fraser didn't know how or when Ray Kowalski had become this important to him. Ray Vecchio had been a friend, been almost a brother to him, but this Ray, this Ray had somehow gotten deeper inside his heart than anyone had ever done before.

Even Victoria, and thinking this brought no shadow of grief or loss or pain for a change; this was different.

From the first moment in the precinct, despite his shock and disappointment, this Ray had been both an annoyance and a delight. This Ray was a toucher, all energy and motion. At first, he'd merely envied that, feeling himself to be stolid and unmoving in the face of mercurial emotion and activity, but then he'd come to enjoy as a counterpoint to his own solidity and logic.

They were, as Ray had said, a duet.

Whenever or however, the fact remained that he was not going to allow Ray to be punished for a crime he had not committed, not while there was breath in his body.

Which was why, he supposed, he was willing to take his father's somewhat obscure advice, and keep Ray from leaving the Consulate, by force if necessary.

Or by Diefenbaker.

"Come on. . . Stupid dog, stupid dog, stupid- . . . Get out of my way. Come on!" Ray's frustration, clearly, had boiled over.

He kept his calm. "Ray? Where are you going?"

Ray scowled. "Hey, I can't wait around for Cahill and his goons to come and arrest me. I got to do something."

"Do what, Ray?" Patiently. "And where? Everyone in this city on both sides of the law is looking for you."

Ray's frustration seemed only to increase. "Well, yeah, that may be, but I gotta do something."

"Yes, you do. You have to trust me." He pitched his voice for maximum persuasion, reason, logic, and prayed Ray would hear what he was saying.

Ray's expression was tight. "Trust you, Fraser? I don't even know if I trust me. You know, I don't think I whacked Volpe. But I can't remember details. That might have been my finger on the trigger."

Ah. There was the heart of the problem, Ray had come to doubt himself. "You didn't shoot that man."

Ray's temper flared. "How do you know? How do you know? How can you be so sure?"

That was simple. "Because I know you. You're my partner. And you're my friend."

For once, he'd found the right words. Ray looked at him. "Was that hard to say?" Wanting to believe him, to believe in him.

"Not in the least." He stood his ground, held Ray's gaze.

Ray took in a breath. "Are you going to call your dog off?"

"I'm afraid I can't do that," he said gently. "Come on, let's go watch some curling."

Evidently, he had said the right things, for Ray did, indeed, go with him.

And in spite of his worry, in spite of what remained to be faced, his heart felt...antic, young, and hopeful.

He really was losing his mind.

Turnbull had gone, Ray was asleep, and Fraser had locked up the Consulate, had had a final cup of tea, and gone over Ray's files again. Lieutenant Welsh had warned him that he had only until tomorrow morning, and while he had strong suspicions, there was little solid evidence to confirm it.

He was going to have to be very devious indeed. It made him feel only a little better that his father appeared to approve. This was Ray's life, after all, but it was the only option he had.

He was going to have to lie. More or less.

It was in the interest of justice, and to prevent an innocent man's conviction, but it was still a lie.

There were times he found his upbringing a handicap, although he would not have admitted this to anyone else, not even under torture. Stacking the files, he stood up and stretched. Drat, he'd left his extra blankets in the closet in his office, and Ray was asleep. An annoyance, but if he took off his boots, he should be able to get in and out with waking a man who badly needed at least one night's untroubled rest, who needed time to heal from self-doubt, to process Fraser's belief in him.

He removed his boots and put them on the floor outside his office door, still thinking through the facts. Opened the office door very quietly, very slowly, and listened to Ray's slow, regular breathing. Ray was, it seemed, soundly asleep and he smiled approval, stepped into the office.

Sleeping hadn't been the only thing Ray had done in this room; his nostrils flared at the scent of sex. He stood in the doorway and breathed it in, and every synapse in his brain seemed to short-circuit and burst into flame. Ray, he thought, and moved into the office, soundlessly closed the door behind him.

His skin burned underneath his clothing, as if he were standing too close to a fire, nude. The darkness seemed potent with sensuality, with magic, and with the scent of Ray, of Ray's self-pleasuring and, absurdly, the hand lotion he kept in his bottom desk drawer for precisely the same purpose.

That scent, God--he turned his head, tracking it to two sources. One was the wastebasket; he found a handful of crumpled sticky tissues and lifted them to inhale deeply.

All his blood seemed to have pooled below his waist, he was hard, almost painfully so. For Ray. It should alarm him. It did not.

Dropping the tissues back into the wastebasket, he turned toward the cot, crouched beside it, and let his eyes grow accustomed to the dark, to the faint light from the street that filtered through the window in spite of the buildings that surrounded the Consulate. Details remained unclear, but he could see the line of Ray's shoulder and arm, see where Ray's hand vanished into the too-large sweatpants. The second source of the scent, and it was strong here, too; he leaned in, inhaled. Dizzying, carnal scent, and it only made him, impossibly, harder.

Ray, he thought, and closed his eyes for a moment. He was not going to do this, he thought distantly, but his hand rose, tugged delicately at the stretched waistband. Ray was touching himself even in sleep, as a child does for comfort. Leaning down, he put his tongue out, touched the skin of Ray's lower abdomen, tasted salt and astringence even as the voices in his head woke up and began to shrill a warning.

He ignored them. Ray sighed in sleep, a heartbreaking sound, and he put a gentle hand on Ray's hip to settle him, leaned in and lipped the head of Ray's quiescent sex, took it into his mouth, tasting, tasting, and tasting....

This is insanity, said his daylight self, this is wrong, this is a Very Bad Thing.

But it didn't taste like a Bad Thing, and Ray's flesh seemed to concur in that judgement, blossoming against his tongue with startling speed. Ray made a sound, not quite awake, but no longer asleep; Fraser's body decided for him, he took more than the head into his mouth, slid his hand under the waistband of the sweats to cup the curve of buttock and pull Ray in more deeply.

"Wha--" Definitely awake and puzzled, but, "God!"

He sucked harder, licked the underside of the shaft, tracing the vein, pulled back so that his lips massaged the tip and Ray's hips arched. "God! Fraser, what're--" Hiss and arch again, "Oh, God, God, God."

His daylight self seemed to have made a quick retreat; what was left of him wanted more than this, good as this was. He fumbled one-handed with the buttons of his trousers, freed himself, let Ray's cock slip from his mouth to lick his way up Ray's belly with singleminded determination, and Ray, astoundingly, did not fight him, did not threaten to kick him in the head, did not punch him in the face. Instead, when he'd reached Ray's mouth, Ray's lips parted for him, Ray's tongue thrust against his. Yes, he heard in the underpart of his mind, a complacent and satisfied voice that he'd only heard once or twice in his life.

Yes, yes, yes, yes.

He nudged Ray over, paused to strip off his Henley and trousers, nearly knelt on the hand lotion as he rid himself of socks and underwear, and then they were skin to skin, kissing like they were both starving, dying of thirst, dying of loneliness.

Perhaps they were.

But he had a goal, which was primarily to taste every centimeter of Ray's flesh, and he started with nipples that appeared to be astonishingly sensitive if Ray's reaction were an honest indicator. Salty skin, nub going hard under his tongue, and he paid the same attention to the other nipple, and Ray was writhing under him, hands clutching at his shoulders.

No more words, nothing more than sighs and moans, held deep inside Ray's throat, and he licked and tasted, and cleaned Ray of his solitary pleasure, licked out the inside of Ray's navel. Moved down and pushed Ray's thighs apart, distantly hoping that the cot held up through their exertions. He had to kneel on the floor anyway, given what he was aiming for, which was all of Ray.

Ray groaned when Fraser nipped his hip, bumped himself gently against Fraser's chin, but he ignored it, licked and nipped from one of Ray's hips to the other, stopping to spend a sloppy, delicious few minutes in the middle, where semen had soaked into Ray's skin.

Ray's fingers were wound tightly in his hair, not quite tightly enough to cause pain, but tightly enough that it felt as if Ray's touch completed some loop, some circuit, something that bypassed reason and logic. Fraser buried his nose in the silky-coarse hair, licked the base of Ray's cock, and heard a pleading whimper.

Yes, yes, yes, said that voice again and he pushed Ray's thighs apart, slid his hands beneath Ray's ass and shifted him bodily so that he could simply dive in, tongue the softness of Ray's balls, take them one at a time into his mouth, savoring them. Ray's legs settled over his shoulders, more or less and the muffled sounds grew more muffled, as if Ray were biting down on the pillow. He licked the smooth skin behind Ray's balls, sucked on it, tasted it, and moved lower.

There was a sound resembling protest then, but he ignored it, licking and probing with his tongue until Ray melted against him, until the sounds turned back to helpless moans and Ray's flesh surrendered. Yes, said that voice again, yes, yes, and yes again, and he found the hand lotion one-handed, flipped the top and squeezed some onto his fingers. He didn't dare touch himself; he was afraid he'd simply explode if he did, but he did lick upward again, rolled one of Ray's balls on his tongue while he slid a finger inside Ray and probed upward. Again, there was a faint initial sound of protest, but then he found the spot he wanted, stroked it ruthlessly and heard a strangled sound, felt Ray buck against him, as if seeking more.

Yes, and he captured Ray's cock, licked the fluid that had leaked and ran his tongue around the crown, flicking lightly under the very underside before closing his mouth over it. Second finger, and he could reach that spot even better, stroked it more, and Ray was writhing, legs pulling him closer.

Now, carefully, oh, so carefully, oh so carefully, and it was hard to be careful, it was hard to stay focused with Ray's cock in his mouth, sliding against his tongue, with Ray's flesh clenching tightly against his fingers, but he was, he slid the third finger in and Ray simply seemed to go crazy for a moment, thrusting back against his fingers wildly. Then, out of the darkness--"Do it. Do it!" Hissed, almost angrily. "Do it, do it now."

He released Ray's cock with one last swipe of his tongue over the crown. Pulled his fingers out slowly, and fumbled for the lotion. More lotion, and he pressed it into the tight, private opening of Ray's body, more lotion and he let it drip straight onto his cock, the chill slowing him down, holding him back from the edge.

He knelt carefully on the cot, slid his hands beneath Ray again, pulled Ray's buttocks up on his thighs, pressed his cock down to guide it. Tight clench, he rubbed a slippery finger around the ring of muscle and heard Ray take in a deep breath, felt Ray open to him. Slid slowly in, unable to hold back, and Ray made no sound of protest, no sound of complaint, simply an almost-fierce sound of need, of assent.

He was going to die. So hot, so tight and this was Ray, Ray Kowalski, energetic and irritating and dearly loved, and he was unable to think past the joining of their flesh beyond wrapping his fingers around Ray's flagging cock and stroking him back to full arousal. Only then did he dare to move, to push into that heat and tightness, and lean over so that Ray's legs folded around him. Angle, he told himself desperately, the right angle, he had to find it, had to make this as good, had to make it worth remembering.

Thrust again, had to swallow his own groan to hear Ray's sudden gasp of pleasure. Yes, yes, that was it, and he repeated that motion, began to find a rhythm, and Ray caught it, pushed into him at just the right moment, at just the right spot, and he felt sweat beading on his body, leaned down and nipped at Ray's mouth, pushed in again.

Ray whimpered and pushed back, head thrown back, only the gleam of half-open eyes visible in the light from the window. He nipped and sucked at Ray's throat, found a nipple and sucked on it hard enough to leave a mark, his mark. His. Pulled out and then pushed in again and they were speeding up as if by mutual decision.

Inside Ray, inside Ray's body, and that was good, that was amazing, that Ray had let him. He wanted to be inside Ray in every way, but he was a fool, that was all, and this would do, more than do, this was something he hadn't allowed himself to know he wanted, to know he needed.

Ray's cock was hard against his belly, he reached between them, stroking lotion over hot, thickened flesh, and Ray made crazy noises, moans and grunts and whimpers. So did he, no shame in it, the pleasure wrenched it from both of them, and he felt Ray's flesh clench him again, heard Ray make a keening sound and knew, he knew, and that pushed him over the edge all the way. He felt the heat at the base of his spine, thrust in hard and deep and Ray followed him over, slippery heat pulsing between them, inside Ray.

Colors behind his eyelids, never mind it was dark, and then he leaned up on one arm, and that one trembling, to keep from crushing Ray. Hung over Ray, gasping a little, listening to the thud of his own heartbeat and the sound of Ray panting, little almost sobs that drove him wild, never mind he'd just finished.

More insanity, and he arched back carefully, eased himself out and leaned down, licking Ray clean, and Ray quivered and whimpered, clutching at his shoulders again. He took Ray's softening cock gently in his mouth, cleaned it, too. and then he was gone again, had to collapse beside Ray on the narrow cot.

"Don't talk," Ray told him thickly.

"Ray," he began and a hand was over his mouth, not gently.

"Don't talk, dammit!" And then Ray, who panicked at some things, but was reckless enough to step in front of him to take a bullet, Ray began to sob, almost silently.

He pulled Ray close, ashamed and guilty, and Ray put both arms around him, seeking comfort. Perhaps it wasn't what they'd done, perhaps it was Volpe, he told himself desperately, Volpe and self-doubt and the possibility of losing all that Ray had worked for. "It's going to be all right, Ray. I'm not going to let anyone send you to prison for something you didn't do." Softly, rubbing Ray's back.

The sobbing ebbed, Ray rubbed his forehead on Fraser's bare shoulder. "I trust you." Hoarsely. Then, out of nowhere. "I'm so fucked up."

"You aren't," he whispered. "You aren't."

And then there were no more words. Ray's muscles loosened gradually, and Ray slept in his arms.

Madness. Insanity. But he'd done it, and Ray was here, with him. Had been with him from start to finish, aside from a moment of surprise.

But he had to ask himself, holding tightly, if he could have brought himself to stop if Ray had not.

And that question kept him awake for a very long time.

Ray woke sometime in the night, Fraser woke up when Ray began to touch him, and neither guilt nor shame could stop him from responding. There was desperation in the kiss, in the way Ray touched him, as if Ray feared he might vanish; he tried to slow it down, but Ray was still slick from earlier, slick and hungry and desperate. He ended up flat on his back with Ray straddling him in the dark, taking him in deep with a muffled groan. The shock of pleasure made him cry out, he held Ray's hips while Ray moved on him, trying to remain sane enough not to bruise.

"Touch me." Desperate tone, too, and he used one hand to take hold of Ray's cock, found it was only half-hard.

There was something wrong with that, but he was drowning in sensation, could only obey, bringing Ray to full erection, and then things went faster, too fast, it was as if Ray had started ahead of him, and he couldn't quite catch up.

Heated clench on him, and he could barely get his breath, pulled Ray down for a kiss anyway, and Ray's fingers dug into his shoulders. Small panting breaths into his mouth, hungry tongue exploring it, and one of Ray's hands shifted to the back of his neck.

Pleasure built, almost painfully quickly, and he drove upward, matching Ray's need, stroking Ray almost ruthlessly. Ray lifted his head, the hand on his shoulder braced hard as Ray slammed down again and again, groaning, thrust into his fingers with equal force. Guttural cry and then hot wetness pulsed over his hand, Ray slowed, gasping, hanging over him..

He gentled his fingers, let go, and brought his hand up to lick it. The taste was all he needed, there was the wrench of fire along his spine, and he came, gripping Ray's hip hard enough to bruise, this time.

Ray sagged over him, breathing hard, little whimpers on each exhalation. He pulled Ray down, kissed him hard, and cradled him close. Slowly, too slowly, his brain began to work again. "Ray?" Huskily.

"Don't talk!" Fiercely. "Don't, Fraser."

It hurt. But worse, it alarmed him, and set his brain on track again, cleared away the drugging mist of need and sex and....whatever it was he felt for Ray. "All right," he said calmly, even while his heart thudded painfully. "I won't. Not now. But we have to--"

"Good." Ray sighed against his skin. "Don't."

He bit back the words. Let it rest. Ray had enough to worry about, he told himself, and he was capable of patience. Perhaps it was enough for the moment simply to have this, Ray's body pressing him into the thin mattress of the cot. Enough to feel sweat damp skin beneath his fingertips.

Enough to sleep with Ray beside him.

He hoped ardently that he was right.

Ray was cleared, Cahill was arrested, and somehow, things were not going as he had hoped in spite of that.

Well, not entirely.

Ray behaved as if nothing had happened between them. Business as usual. When they were together in the station , of course, there was neither place nor opportunity to discuss anything this...personal.

Nor were they spending free time together these last few days.

So, he left Dief at the Consulate and walked over to the precinct on the fifth day, once he was off duty.

Ray was on the telephone, waved at him. Foolish to be warmed by that, when it was Ray as always. "Yeah," Ray said into the phone, "Yeah, yeah, I got it." Rolled his eyes at Fraser. "Yeah, I got it, I'll be there. Nine sharp. Yes, I'll have the file with me." Another roll of the eyes. "Yeah, I'll be there. Count on it."

Fraser waited until the phone slammed back in the cradle, arched an eyebrow in question. "Nine o'clock?"

Ray sighed. "Court. That little weasel is one of Stella's colleagues. So, you wanna grab a bite to eat?"

He tried to read Ray's eyes, Ray's expression, but it was all still ordinary, as if there had been nothing shared in the dark of night. "Yes, I believe I would," he told Ray.

"Pizza okay? I gotta get home and get out of these clothes, been in 'em two days now." Ray grimaced. "Took a call on my way home last night, slept in the break room."

"In the break room?" Fraser's eyebrows both arched this time. "That sounds uncomfortable."

"Yeah, 'specially spread out between two chairs," Ray told him and got up. "I thought sleepin' on the floor was bad." Crooked grin. "Wasn't so bad until Dewey came in and kicked the chairs apart."

"That does sound uncomfortable," Fraser agreed. "If not painful."

"Nah, landed on my ass, not my back, coulda been worse." Ray snatched up his keys. "Pitter patter, Fraser, and I recommend you leave the window down, cuz I'm pretty sure I'm gettin' ripe."

Oh, my. He rather wished Ray hadn't said that, it had an unfortunate effect on him, and he was wearing his jeans. Fortunately, he could hold the hat down until they left the building, and perhaps by that time his inappropriate arousal would subside. He hoped.

Ray continued talking non-stop as they left the station, darting from the call the evening before, to what kind of pizza sounded really, really good, to the court appearance he had to make the following morning.

"Gotta wear a suit tomorrow," he finally said and unlocked the door for Fraser. Fraser nodded, bemused. Ray clearly had been running on caffeine for most of the day, even his hair looked under the influence of stimulants. He opened the passenger door and got in, even as Ray slid behind the wheel.

"So, what you been up to, Fraser?" Ray started the car, checked behind them, and pulled out. "Ice Queen keepin' you busy?"

He rubbed his eyebrow. "Well, actually, Ray, Inspector Thatcher has been attending some economic meetings in Ottawa, so she left me in charge."

"Yeah? Figured she wouldn't dare leave you in charge of the house again after--" Ray braked at a red light, veered conversationally into a discussion of the merits of pineapple on pizza and whether or not blubber was really edible.

Ah. So. Came the wind from that quarter, did it? He sighed inwardly. It was going to be harder than he'd thought, and he hadn't entertained any ideas about it being easy. Patience. He'd learnt patience in the course of his career; he could practice it a bit more. Eventually, he hoped, Ray's skittishness would resolve itself. He wasn't sure his patience would last that long, but he was willing to try. It was too important to him, and he hoped it was too important to Ray, whether or not Ray was willing to admit it.

Which thought made his stomach knot a little, but he launched into a discussion of the many uses of blubber. For once, Ray didn't cut him off, didn't stop him, didn't complain, and that in itself was worrying.

The conversation then veered to lichens, and he knew Ray to be completely uninterested in lichens, but dutifully described several edible types while Ray listened with every evidence of interest, all the way into his apartment.

"Ray," he finally said. "Ray, we need to--"

But Ray had started punching numbers into his cellphone, held up a hand. "Just gotta order the pizza, any preferences besides blubber and lichen?"

"Whatever you like," Fraser said and sighed, turned and put his hat on the coffee table, listening with only half his attention while Ray argued with Sandor. He turned to see Ray walk toward his bedroom, still arguing.

Oh, dear. He sighed, and sat down. Perhaps he should have brought Dief. It might have reduced Ray's skittishness.

Ray reappeared in the hallway. "Gonna take a quick shower. There's tea in the cupboard, if you want some."

He was reduced to wondering if that was a good sign, that was how low he'd sunk, he told himself, and nodded thanks before Ray vanished again.

He was watching a saucepan of water come to a boil when Ray came into the kitchen behind him, rubbing his hair into spikes with a towel. "Jeez, you coulda turned on the television, put some music on, Fraser, you don't have to watch the water boil."

He turned his head and his mouth went dry, just that quickly. Ray had dressed in jeans and a clean shirt, but he was clean and damp and barefooted, and that small intimate change sent the blood rushing somewhere it had no business rushing at the present moment. He jerked his head back to see the water was ready. "Actually, Ray, my grandmother used to say that you should never let the water for tea boil." He turned the burner off, poured water over the teabag in the one clean mug he'd found. "She said that in order to truly bring out the flavor of the tea, the water should never boil."

"Oh." Ray blinked at him. "How come?"

"I don't know," he confessed. "And it was never sufficiently interesting enough to me to find out."

Another blink. "And lichens are?"

He found himself wondering what Ray would look like, sleek with water, hair slicked against his skull. Definitely not a wise image to entertain. "Well, Ray, if I'm stranded somewhere and run short of supplies, I need to know what's edible and nourishing, and what's not."

"Sure, sure." Ray wandered back to the couch, evidently hunting for the remote for the television. Little sound of triumph and the television clicked on.

Fraser picked up his mug, bobbed the tea bag a few times, and discarded it, too distracted to think about reuse. "Ray--"

"Hey, there, you never saw Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, didja Fraser? Come on in, you're gonna thank me for this."

He somehow doubted that, but sitting on the couch with Ray was far better than standing in the doorway trying to talk to a Ray who was decidedly avoiding the discussion.

The movie was amusing, but it was hard to keep his attention focused on it with Ray so close; he was grateful when the pizza came, if for no other reason than it assuaged at least one hunger. It also stirred the other, watching Ray eat, which was utter lunacy, that he should be aroused by watching Ray eat and remembering the taste of Ray's kiss.

"Ray," he finally risked, once Ray had stopped wolfing his pizza and was idly chasing bits of pineapple on the inside of the box with a fingertip. "We really should talk about what happened."

Ray didn't look at him, Ray's shoulder came up a little, a self-protective bit of body language if ever he'd seen one. "No." Soft voice, flat tone. "Nothing happened."

Dismay made his stomach clench. "Ray, something did happen. And you've been avoiding me since."

"Nothing happened." A muscle twitched in Ray's jaw. "So there's nothing to talk about. We're friends, we're partners, we're buddies, you got that?"

He did indeed, and oh, how it hurt. He rose quickly, reached for his hat. "Understood." Woodenly.

Ray's fingers closed around his wrist before he could reach the Stetson. "Where you going?" Eyes too bright, fear and anger visible in equal measures. "That's not buddies, Fraser."

Utterly bewildered now, he hesitated, sat back down. Rubbed his eyebrow. "I thought perhaps you'd like to me to leave."

Ray's fingers still bit into his wrist. "Did I say that?" Sharp voice. "Did I?"

He shook his head, swallowed hard, trying to reorganize his thoughts. "Ray--"

"No!" Ray shook at his wrist. "There's nothing to talk about." Now fear, panic, and definite temper. "Just--just forget about it."

That was going to be difficult, he thought and closed his eyes briefly. "Understood." Faintly.

Ray's fingers loosened briefly, then tightened, and suddenly, shockingly, he had an armful of Ray, and he was drowning, sinking, Ray's mouth sealed to his, hot and hungry and needful.

Utterly confusing, and utterly desirable, and impossible to resist, especially when Ray was suddenly in his lap, both hands at the back of his neck to hold him.

Ray needed him. He didn't understand anything else, but he understood that, put an arm around Ray's waist, and pulled him closer. Ray needed him as he needed Ray, or so it seemed, and when Ray pulled away to gasp, "Bed," he didn't protest or quarrel, let himself be led.

This time, at least, he could see Ray, see the lean body he'd touched and tasted, and Ray shed jeans and t-shirt without looking at him. Lean, almost too thin, pale skin still marked by his passion, a bruise on one hip, nipple still marked by his kiss, and it was all beautiful to Fraser. Rampant cock, a sign of arousal that couldn't be hidden by Ray's determination not to speak of it.

He made short work of his own clothing, tumbled them both on to Ray's bed, and Ray's kiss was just as hungry, just as needful, Ray's cock jerked at his touch. Lovely, lovely to be able to see what he tasted, what he licked, it turned his own desire into something inflammable, something that had to be indulged, and he indulged it, licking and nipping and sucking as Ray shifted and squirmed and gasped beneath him, wordlessly begging.

By God, Ray might not want to talk about it, but he was going to make sure Ray remembered it, he took Ray's cock into his mouth, felt long fingers tangle in his hair again and felt unworthy satisfaction at that for a moment before he lost himself in the taste and smell and scent of Ray.

Too soon, Ray's fingers tugged him away, Ray's fingers tugged hard, and he raised his head, freshly bewildered, looked up at Ray's face.

"Do it," Ray told him huskily, then squirmed away, leaned over far enough to nearly fall off the bed and rummaged in the drawer of the bedside table. "Here." He leaned back and held out a small plastic bottle and Fraser's brain completed shutdown, he looked at the bottle and at Ray and something primal inside him woke up and stretched and didn't care that Ray was behaving like a man in serious denial.

The slickness was more satisfactory than hand lotion; he let it warm on his fingers while he knelt between Ray's legs. Impatient, Ray reached down to touch himself, and Fraser fended that off with his free hand, gave Ray a warning look that made Ray groan and close his eyes.

There was still enough of his daylight self left to remember care and gentleness, he worked the slickness into Ray with first one, then two fingers, and Ray's legs spread farther apart, Ray's ass came up into the strokes, and Ray's head tilted back as if it were nearly too much.

Which was nearly too much for him. He let the slickness stay cold when he applied it to himself, reckoning that it would hold him back a bit, but some inner darkness made him push smoothly into Ray's body, no holding back, no hesitation, and there was a cruel satisfaction in seeing Ray's fingers tighten on the bedclothes and Ray's teeth catch his lower lip, in hearing Ray gasp and pant.

Instantaneous remorse, and he waited, panting a little himself, waited for Ray's body to adjust, waited for Ray's signal to continue, and it didn't take long, Ray hooked long legs around him somehow, arched into him.

He set a slower rhythm this time, resisting Ray's wordless insistence on fast and hard, penance for that fast slide inward, and set about driving Ray out of his mind with the same focus and diligence he applied to everything else. Lips and hands and cock, and if Ray's writhing and half-uttered profanities were any indication, he was doing very well.

But he was only flesh, and too soon his own need drove him, he reached between them and stripped Ray's cock hard, feeling ecstasy hovering too near, but he wanted Ray to explode for him, wanted to taste Ray on his fingers, and Ray's hands tightened on the bedclothes again, Ray began chanting, a litany of "Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuck," and then a hoarse guttural cry as wetness pulsed over Fraser's hand.

And it was just as well, because he felt lightning strike, starting at the base of his spine, and he thrust in hard, closed his eyes, and cried out, almost a roar of triumph, cried out and emptied himself into Ray's body.

When he could breathe again, he was lying atop Ray, very likely crushing him, given the difference in their relative body weights; he levered himself up on one arm, looked down at Ray, at himself.

Ray was still panting, eyes half-closed, mouth puffy from kissing; Ray's body was still marked by flush, pale skin splotched with rosy areas. Sexual flush, he thought and felt himself throb, softening though he was, still caught inside Ray. Instead of speaking, he kissed Ray again, putting all his need and emotion and want into it. Ray's fingers closed around the back of his neck, holding him there, and he thought or hoped that he was feeling the echo of his tangled emotions in Ray's reaction.

He moved from Ray's mouth to the lightly stubbled jaw, nipped it, moved to Ray's ear, and drew his tongue around the whorl. Ray shivered, sighed.

He risked words. "Are you all right?"

Ray shivered again. "Scare the neighbors." Thickly.

"Mmmhmm." He licked the side of Ray's throat, felt himself slip free and shifted to his side, leaned down to lick Ray's belly. The taste made him throb, never mind he was unlikely to be able to do anything about it, and Ray whimpered, put a hand in his hair.

How long had he wanted this? How long had he refused to face it? Had he wanted it from that first day, when lunatic Ray had stepped in front of a bullet for him? Had he wanted it from the moment Ray had confessed his greatest moment of humiliation? Or perhaps since he'd seen Ray's grief over the loss of Stella. He hadn't liked Stella a great deal, and he'd liked Orsini less. Orsini--at least he could understand that, Orsini was as crooked as a dog's leg, but Stella was a beautiful woman, and when she wasn't responding with reflexive unkindness to Ray, seemed both intelligent and decent.

He dipped his tongue into the cup of Ray's navel, teased a little just to hear Ray's groan, pressed his nose into damp, silky-coarse hair and inhaled, flicked his tongue at the base of Ray's cock and got a shudder, felt fingers tighten in his hair again and shifted back up.

Ray kissed him desperately again, sucking on his lower lip, nipping at it until he tasted the faintest trace of copper.

He broke free, cupped Ray's face and stroked his thumbs across Ray's cheekbones, wishing he could see inside Ray's head. Wishing he knew better how to deal with this obdurate pretense. If this was buddies, he obviously had a great deal to learn about American mores, he told himself, lunatic hilarity.

Ray sighed, eyes half-closed, sinking toward sleep, and Fraser kissed his eyelids. "'S good."

"Good." Softly. He had the rapidly blossoming suspicion that Ray had used him as a sleeping aid, as something to blot out whatever pain Ray carried around, and while it stung a bit, there was also the fact that Ray trusted him enough to let him in this far.

If he were patient, perhaps Ray would let him in even farther. It was all he could do, hold onto that small hope. He wasn't strong enough to say no, he didn't think. It was what had gotten him in trouble with Victoria. He hadn't been strong enough to say no, even while his brain had put the pieces together.

Ray bumped a hip against him, shifting to find a more comfortable spot, and he shifted in response, and they were suddenly spooned together. Fumbling, he tugged and pulled until the sheet and thin blanket could be spread over them both, and Ray sighed, muscles going lax.

This was enough for now, he told himself sternly. It would have to be.

As days passed, Fraser found himself rethinking that point frequently.

Nothing had changed in their partnership, in their work together. Which was to the good, he told himself, but in their off hours, he was finding that Ray had a pattern, a pattern he found disturbing.

They were nothing more than friends, buddies, until such time, which was usually every three or four days, that Ray turned to him with hunger and need, and even then, he wasn't allowed to talk about it, wasn't allowed to discuss it, wasn't allowed to share what he felt with Ray.

At first, he thought it might be enough, that he could be patient. He thought he could wait until Ray resolved and untangled whatever was knotted up inside him, could wait until Ray's self-donned armor was shed, but matters came to a head unexpectedly when he discovered the limits of his patience.

Such a small thing, such an odd thing, but the confusion over Inspector Thatcher's desire to have a child ended by leading him to Ray's apartment once it had been clear to him that he had nearly disastrously misinterpreted her odd behaviour.

Aside from his father's ill-advised remarks, he didn't want Margaret Thatcher. He didn't love Margaret Thatcher. There were days he wasn't certain he even actually liked Margaret Thatcher.

He did want Ray. He liked Ray. He more than liked Ray, he loved Ray, so his response to Ray during the Bennett case had been the epitome of the Freudian slip. That was fine, he was ready to face it now.

To face Ray, and if necessary, to make Ray face it as well.

Ray opened the door and regarded him with surprise. "Fraser, hey, buddy, what's up?"

"Nothing in particular," he told Ray, "but I was wondering if you'd like to join me for dinner."

Ray blinked, opened the door wider to let him in. "I was just getting ready to order something in, what you in the mood for?"

He walked in; let Ray close the door behind him before turning to Ray. "You."

Ray took a step backward, shaky grin. "Cute, Fraser. What are you in the mood to eat?"

He took a step forward. "We have to talk."

"No, we don't." Ray's head moved in negation. "There's nothing to talk about. We got nothing to talk about, Fraser, don't do this."

He advanced on Ray, seized one of Ray's wrists. "Yes, we have something to talk about, Ray." His ability to think was washed away by a rush of emotion too complex to analyze completely; he could only identify anger and love and need, and there was no way for him to dam the flood, to hold it back. "We have to, Ray. We can't keep pretending nothing's happening."

Ray tried to wrench his wrist away. "There's nothing to talk about, Fraser." Desperation flaring into anger. "Let go of me, dammit."

Instead, he pushed Ray back up against his own wall, leaned in and kissed Ray's mouth hard.

A moment of resistance, and he nearly pulled away, but then Ray kissed him back, hunger overcoming temper, and they were suddenly stumbling to Ray's bedroom, tearing at each other's clothes with something akin to savagery. He tumbled Ray back on the bed, squirmed his way down Ray's body, punctuating each lick and kiss and nip with, "This is happening, it is, it is."

And Ray kept shaking his head, even as his body responded, even as his hands clutched at Fraser's shoulders and hair, even as he arched up for more contact.

It drove him mad, this obduracy, and he peeled Ray's jeans away, licked, and nipped the inside of Ray's thighs. "You want this," he told Ray. "You want me."

Ray made a sound in his throat, "Just do it, damn you!"

It was like being doused with cold water. For the first time in what seemed weeks, he felt clearheaded and sane again, drew back from Ray, sank back on his heels on the bed. "Do what, Ray?" His voice seemed to be disconnected from the turmoil in his heart; it was calm, reasonable. "Make love to you?"

Ray wouldn't look at him. "That's not what we're doing." Flatly.

No, it was like being doused with something worse, like being doused with gasoline, and Ray was holding the lighted match, and to save his own life, he could not keep from asking, "What are we doing, then?" Reasonable tone, mild curiosity.

Sudden movement, and Ray was on his feet, pulling his jeans back up. "What do you want from me, Fraser?" Raggedly. "We're fooling around, buddies fool around sometimes, we're fucking, is that what you want? Sometimes I need something, sometimes you do. We're fucking, but it doesn't mean a goddamn thing. So quit this shit, willya?"

He'd been wrong. This was, in some ways, worse than Victoria. At least, with Victoria, some inner weakness of his own, some secretly held darkness had allowed him to blind himself. This time, he had walked into it with open eyes and still managed to delude himself. "Fucking," he said quietly, and Ray's eyes widened briefly. "I see. So, we're buddies. Friends. Nothing more."

Ray looked away, wrapped his arms around himself. "We're friends, Fraser. Why isn't that good enough?"

He rubbed his eyebrow, cracked his neck. "Friends are good." He'd had few enough in his life. "But I seem to have been suffering from some misapprehensions." The understatement of the century, he thought distantly, aware that his head had begun to ache. "My fault, I'm afraid."

His jeans were still open, his shirt still unbuttoned. He looked down and absently began to put himself in order.

Ray's breathing was ragged. "Are we still friends?" A little desperately.

"Of course," he said mildly. Was amazed at his own calm. It had been his fault, his loss of control that had caused this and swept Ray along with him. Then, as an afterthought, "I'm sorry for the misunderstanding." And he got off the bed, wondering if he'd dropped his hat in the living room. Inside his head, inside his heart, he would have to construct a strong door and shut all this behind it. Keep it shut. Nail it shut if necessary. He could use memories of Victoria to help keep it sealed shut. Fanciful notion for him, he supposed, he was more used to logic, to reason, to honesty.

Ray was watching him, his expression peculiar. "Fraser." Shaky breath. "Fraser, you don't have to leave. We can still--" Another shaky breath.

He managed to look at Ray. "No, we really can't, Ray. And I think I should go. I'll, ah, I'll see you tomorrow." If he had to. He needed time, time to reconstruct his own armor, his own barriers. "I'm sorry to have interrupted your evening."

Ray stood there for a moment. "We're still friends?" Very quietly, as if he expected otherwise.

Fraser paused at the bedroom door, looked back. "We're still friends, yes, Ray." As gently as he could. "This isn't your fault. I'm sorry."

Yes, his hat was there on the floor, he collected it and left the apartment, closing the door quietly.

He was a fool, that was all, and perhaps a dangerous fool, at least with regard to personal matters. He'd been right the first time, when he'd thought he was meant to be alone, and it wasn't Ray's fault that he was a fool.

It was his own.

That didn't keep tears from blinding him as he walked back to the Consulate, didn't prevent the ache in his chest.

He was a fool.

But he closed the door, a thick sturdy door, or at least that's how he imagined it. Thankfully, his father had either not noticed or had forborne to comment on either his involvement with Ray or his state of mind. If he was a bit short of temper with Turnbull, Turnbull gave no sign, and when Inspector Thatcher returned, she kept him busy enough that several days passed before he needed to make an appearance at the precinct.

He did, however, leave a message regarding his schedule with Francesca and asked her to pass it on to Ray. He'd told Ray they were still friends, and with his emotions once more under control, he intended that Ray not doubt that.

So, he made an appearance after several days of disciplining himself, and was able to greet Ray naturally, pleasantly, exchange greetings with Francesca, and in a small way, it was a relief to do so.

The door was shut and sealed. It was going to be all right.

Even if Ray was still skittish and irritable, an irritability that he could not deflect or ease, and which bred an equal irritability in him until they were bickering at every turn.

All of which came to a head on a rooftop overlooking the lake with gunfire exchanged in both directions.

Having taken limited shelter, he considered their options. "All right. The way I assess it is, we could stand our ground and wait for backup, or we could give up. Now, if we stand our ground, they'll likely shoot us. If we give up, well, they'll likely shoot us anyway. What else could they do?"

Ray checked the position of their pursuers. "Well, they could surrender but I wouldn't count on that." Just short of a snarl.

He couldn't entirely blame him for that. The lake beckoned, tantalizingly close. "You know something? We could jump."

Ray shot him an incredulous look. "Like hell we could."

It was possible, though, it was just possible, and it was certainly preferable to being hit by hostile fire, or by ricochet. "No, no. Would you make a jump like that if you didn't have to?"

Another look. "Look, I have to and I'm not gonna."

He considered that. Ray was prone to panicking at odd times, perhaps he was afraid of heights. "All right, I'll go first."

A third incredulous look, this one veering toward stubborn. "No."

They were still under fire. "All right, you go first."

"No means no!" Ray snapped and peered out again.

His own frustration boiled up. "What is wrong with you?"

Ray was silent for an instant, then leaned out and fired three times toward the upper storey. "I can't swim." Grudgingly.

Well, he could, and surely it was better than dying of gunshot wounds. "The quality of the water alone will probably kill us."

Ray glanced at him again. "Look, does this conversation seem strangely familiar to you?"

He had to admit, he was experiencing a strong sense of deja vu. "Oddly, yes. All right, on the count of three."

Ray made a frustrated sound, but--"One."

They ducked out of cover and ran for the edge of the roof. "Two," he shouted, and then, for once, they were in sync with one another, they both shouted three and leapt.

The distance from the roof to the water meant they hit hard, and Ray came up sputtering and panicked, clutching at him.

"Ray. Ray. Ray. Ray!" He shoved Ray back under for a moment, managed to get behind him, got an arm around him. "You're fine, I've got you."

More sputtering. "Jeeesus, Fraser!"

"I've got you, Ray," he repeated and began swimming toward the concrete abutment. "Just take it easy, I'm not going to let go."

"Yeah, fine, okay." Short of breath, and coughing, Ray managed to obey. "Are those sirens?"

They were indeed. He peered back up, saw confusion apparently reigning with regard to their erstwhile pursuers. Oh, dear.

He stroked more strongly.

"Those are sirens, Fraser," Ray said, managing to sound indignant and out of breath at the same time. "Fraser, that's our backup."

He was afraid so. It probably meant that their leap had been unnecessary, but still, better safe than sorry.

"We wouldn't have been up on the goddamn roof to begin with if you hadn't decided we needed to go after them before we got backup--urgh."

The last was evidently caused by a splash of water. He rather unworthily hoped for more before they reached shore, it would keep Ray from talking.

No such luck. "We coulda waited for backup."

After days of Ray sniping at him, he felt his own temper rise in response. "You didn't have to follow me."

Ray floundered, coughed. "Fraser, you don't have a fucking gun!"

There was no sense in having this argument, he was trying to swim, so he let Ray rant on, and occasionally get a faceful of water, until they reached the steel ladder that was bolted into the abutment. He wrapped Ray's hand around one rung and ascended, distantly surprised that steam didn't rise from his uniform, he was getting that close to losing his temper.

Ray followed; he turned at the last moment to give Ray a hand up, trying to ignore the stream of complaints.

"If we had waited two seconds, they woulda been there."

His temper snapped. "What if they hadn't come?"

"You're a maniac, Fraser!" Ray stood in front of them, both of them wet, both of them chilled, waving his arms and completely ignoring all sense and logic.

But he was a maniac. Of course. "You are overreacting."

"I'm not overreacting!" Now Ray was shouting.

How was he supposed to counter this? And did he even want to bother? "What do you propose we do, Ray? We are officers of the law."

"I know that. We're cops. I don't have a cape, you don't have a cape."

What the devil was that supposed to mean? "No, but I do have a uniform. You carry a badge. And my Sam Browne is sort of a -"

"Look, why are you arguing with me?"

"I am not arguing with you!" He took in a breath, trying to calm down, trying to be rational.

Ray clearly had no intention of calming down. "Yes you are! That's that thing again. You're correcting. You're niggling. You're doing that thing with the T's and the I's, and I say 'A' and you say 'B'. I say 'night' and you say 'day'."

One day, he thought, he would be able to keep his emotions from ruining things, from ruining perfectly good partnerships and friendships, but at the moment, all he could do was loathe the weakness that had let him ruin this one. "I think you should be reasonable. I don't do it all the time."

Ray virtually bounced in place. "Look! You just did it again!"

He couldn't win this. He knew he couldn't win this. "I-"

Ray bounced again. "You just did it again! It's like some kind of disease!"

No, he thought, no and no and no. "It's not a disease!"

Ray flung his hands out. "Look, I don't want to hear it! I don't want to hear it! I don't understand, I don't want to hear it!"

From bad to worse, and from worse to even worse. "Ray, would you just listen to me?"

It only made Ray angrier. "Look - I swear - I swear to God I will punch you right in the face. Fair warning."

And his own temper grew worse, his own grip on it more tenuous. "Well, what does that mean, you're going to punch me?!"

Ray was fairly dancing with fury. "Just look, I'm going to punch you in the face! Why don't you listen to me?!"

He was listening, or he was trying to. "Just think calmly," he began, but it was wrong, the wrong thing to say, Ray's fist flew at him, cracked against his jaw, spun his head around.

As punches went, he'd had worse. Much worse. This one bloodied his lip a little, but the pain wasn't in his jaw.

He put his hand up to his lip, looked at Ray for a long moment, not understanding, not really caring if he did. The pain filled his chest, and there was really nothing more to say.

Ray looked almost shocked. Took in a deep shaky breath, but said nothing.

He said nothing. Nothing more to say, nothing more to do.

He turned, then, turned and walked away, putting his hat on as he did. Walked away, trying not to think. Trying not to ask himself why.

But hurting just the same.

Ray's call had surprised Fraser, but not in a good way. Ray's tone was anything but encouraging, and neither was the news that, for some unknown reason, Ray had been offered a transfer.

He didn't like to think what that meant for Ray Vecchio, but no one was telling him anything, he was merely the Canadian liaison.

He didn't like to think what that meant for Ray Kowalski, either, but there was no point in harrowing his soul over it. Ray had clearly reversed himself on the desire to remain friends. Even that crumb of comfort was to be denied him, and even though he knew full well that was pathetic and self-pitying, it was true. So, close it behind the door, even if it meant opening it just a crack. Slam the door again and this time, this time, nail it closed and never open it again.

Numbness was better than this, he told himself, and he had a job to do, and yes, he agreed to meet Ray on the site of their quarrel, even though what Ray wanted was to be punched in return.

Ray was silent, almost sullen; they walked in silence to the edge of the abutment.

"This is where it started, so this is where we'll end it." Ray told him.

He nodded. "All right, uh, I was...over there."

Ray nodded, and they shifted positions.

Ray wanted to be punched, tit for tat, even steven, turn and turn about. But even with the door nailed shut, he hadn't achieved numbness, couldn't bring himself to strike Ray like this, not coolly without any heat of anger or necessity for self-defense. "I can't do this, Ray."

"Look, you have to."

Some remaining pathetic need made Fraser ask. "This is for good?" No chance of friendship, beyond their work together, no chance of anything good coming out of their time together?

"You put in your transfer, and I'll put in mine. It's quits." Firmly.

Why was hope so hard to kill, Fraser wondered, why was it so painful? "You're sure about this?"

Ray straightened his shoulder, braced himself. "Do it."

And with that death of that last hope, Fraser found he could. He swung, swung hard, spun Ray right around, and nearly knocked him over.

And regretted it bitterly on the instant, not merely because his knuckles ached unmercifully.

Ray straightened after a moment. Turned again to face him. "There. Done. Pleasure working with you." Short of breath, and one hand came up, wiped blood from his lip before he turned and walked away. "Come on, I'll give you a lift."

He wasn't sure he wanted one. His vision blurred for a moment, and his throat hurt. But he was suddenly weary, weary of all of it, followed Ray silently to the car, and got in. Ray sat silently for moment, hand to his mouth, but he didn't speak.

Fraser looked at his hat, kept his silence. What more could there possibly be to say?

Ray turned the key in the ignition and there was a thud, a man landed on the hood. For a heartbeat, it was as if they were both paralyzed, and Fraser moved first, got out and carefully turned the man, who was still alive, though his eyes were beginning to glaze.

"Treasure," the man gasped, and then, "Chest."

He could hear Ray calling it in, and Ray got out on the other side, looked the body and leaned heavily on the hood, looking down at his feet.

"He's dead," he told Ray unnecessarily.

Ray sighed heavily. "All right. Okay. One more case, then we're done."

He thought about that. Work had always been his salvation, he told himself and nodded.

Ray was trapped. They had followed this case to the Henry Allen and now Ray was trapped.

The water was rising quickly, too quickly, but Fraser refused to panic. Refused to accept that there wasn't a way to free Ray, presently handcuffed to a pipe with only his head above water, at this point.

Ray was counting on him. Looked at him with both hope and panic. "So. You got another plan?"

Of course he did.

What was it?

Panic gibbered at the edges of his mind, wanting entrance, and he refused it. "You betcha I do. I'm going to pick the lock." If he could find something to use to pick it. In the meantime, he had to ensure that Ray would have air if the water rose at the present rate. Ah, there, a large bucket on a shelf under the water; he dove down and pulled it out.

"Pick the lock, that's good, Fraser, that's very good. Come on, come on."

He brought the bucket to Ray. "Here, I want you to put your head under this bucket."

He heard, like a ghostly echo, "Thanks, Fraser. I guess."

He found a small metal pin, dove under. It was, he discovered, supremely difficult to pick a tiny lock underwater without the proper tools or, failing that, goggles. And the water was still rising too fast, he popped up for more air and Ray was yelling his name, the sound reverberating. No panic, no panic, he told himself firmly and ducked under the bucket, put a hand over Ray's mouth. "Ray, please. You have to stop yelling. The echo in here is just, well, it's very jarring."

Ray's eyes widened over his hand. "Mmmmmph."

His thought processes were going to hell, he yanked his hand away. "Sorry."

"Get my gun." Ray enunciated clearly.

"Oh." He blinked water out of his eyelashes. "I imagine you would like me to shoot off your handcuffs."

The water had risen high enough that Ray had to keep his head tilted back. "Yeah, sometime this week would be nice, Fraser."

He dove again, opened Ray's jacket, but the shoulder holster was empty. Panic threatened again, he fended it off, rose back up. "Your gun is gone."

Ray, clearly, was losing patience. "Not that gun! My boot gun, my boot gun!"

Yes, he was starting to succumb to panic, that much was evident. "Boot gun. Right." He dove again, managed to unfasten the ankle holster and get the gun free. Now, if it would only fire. Some guns were averse to firing after having been submerged.

He surfaced again. "Ready?"

"Ready," Ray agreed and this time went under with him, holding his hands as far apart as possible.

His marksmanship had always been good, but this was something else; he focused, fighting the pull of the water, pulled the trigger, and for once Luck smiled on them, the gun fired, the links broke and Ray popped up like a cork in a flood, literally bounced across the small storage space, yelling.

He half-swam, half-ran after him, managed to get the bucket off Ray's head, and Ray turned on him. "See?! This is why we're gettin' stale, Fraser. Communication - we're not doing it!"

He felt unfairly attacked. "What are you talking about? I thought we communicated remarkably well considering you had a bucket over your head!"

"Yeah, well it's gotta be like instinct, like breathing!" Ray panted, started toward a door.

If he heard one more thing about instinct, he was going to say something snide about Ray's instincts in bed--no, he wasn't, that was beneath him, and to do so, he'd have to allow himself to remember Ray's instincts in bed and none of that was particularly constructive at this particular moment.

Ray tugged at the door handle, which reminded him that it might not be the best idea. "Ray, that door, I'm not sure that--"

Ray turned on him, snarling. "What?!"

And that was it, sense and sanity flew out the window. "All right, Mr. Instinct," he snapped.

Ray opened the door, and as he might have predicted, the flood rushed in upon them. Instinct, he thought wrathfully, bobbing in the tumult, and trying, not altogether successfully to reach Ray, so much for instinct.

He caught Ray's collar, yanked him up as the water slammed them against the shelves. Yes, that hurt, he thought, and was therefore a little less than gentle; he used Ray's hair to pull his face out of the water.

Ray gasped, blinked, and shook his head. "Oh."

Exactly, he told himself grimly, but the flood subsided, left them awash, but able to make it to the stairs that led up to the hatchway. He had to swim, towing Ray by his collar; the water was too deep until they were through the hatchway, but let go of him gladly.

Was Ray grateful? Not noticeably. He was treated to a litany of complaints about the case, about the temperature of the water, and finally, absurdly, about Ray's cellphone.

"I paid 300 bucks - 300 bucks! - for this stupid thing, and it doesn't even work."

Master of the obvious, he thought and said, "Well, you know, generally speaking, water and electronics are not a good mix."

"Generally speaking," Ray said sarcastically.

"Yeah." They were approaching a porthole. A large and healthy looking trout swam past, which diverted him from his growing annoyance. "Oh, well. Look at that!"

Ray looked up from fruitlessly punching buttons. "It's a fish." Flatly.

"Yeah," he agreed. "It's an encouraging sign."

Ray gave him a dangerous look. "It's not a sign, Fraser, it's a fish."

He had to admit to himself, that tone brought out the worst in him. "Well, it's a trout, to be exact, which is a sign that the water quality of the Great Lakes is actually returning."

Ray's eyes sparked at him again. "Look, why are you arguing with me, Fraser? It's not a sign, it's a fish! That means the boat's sinking and we're dying!"

Put that way, he could see Ray's point. "Well, yes," he admitted, "It's a sign of that, too." He turned down the side corridor, searching for a pathway out of the doomed Henry Allen, focused again on necessities.

Behind him, Ray called after him, "Fraser, I got a signal!"

He ignored this for the moment, seeing a turn in the corridor that held promise. Heard Ray shouting, and returned to hear Ray uselessly tell whoever was on the other end of the line that they were sinking.

He had to fight the urge to throttle Ray. "Give them our coordinates, Ray. I think we're roughly 47 degrees latitude north. . ." Stopped to calculate as Ray, blessedly, repeated this without argument. "85 degrees longitude west."

Again, repeated without argument. He began to feel less fraught, less aggravated.

"Lieutenant, Lieu--" Ray shook the phone. "Battery's dead." He threw the useless cellphone over his shoulder. "Now what?"

"Now we find our way out of here."

The corridor, unhappily, led them to a dead end, but a dead end with a duct grate in the ceiling.

"You wouldn't happen to have a screwdriver, do you, Ray?"

"Not on me." Ray began looking in the lockers, already awash.

Fraser climbed up on top of a cabinet, peered up at the grate. "Oh. That's too bad."

"Yeah, well I left my garage in my other pants." Sarcasm again.

He ignored it. "All right. Mental note: Equipment myself with a portable waterproof all-purpose toolkit." He took out his knife, used the point to painstakingly unscrew the bolts;

Ray floated over, and climbed up beside him to steady the grate as he worked. He found the space for to feel gratitude for that, at least they could still work together at something.

The water was inexorable, it was nearly up the grate by the time he had all the bolts out, they had to duck out of the small airspace to move the grate out of the way and Fraser popped up into the air, found Ray had not followed and saw a leg float by.

"Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray!" He caught Ray's leg and tugged him back, lifted him into the duct.

Fortunately, Ray had not inhaled any water, a single gasp and he left Ray, started forward down the duct.

"It's dark as sin in here." Ray followed him, no hesitation.

It warmed him a little. Not a lot, but a little. He found his waterproof matches, struck one.

"Your matches still work?" Ray's tone was surprised.

"Yeah, they're waterproof. It's standard issue for every Mountie" He held the match up to peer ahead of them, but it sputtered out too quickly.

"They don't last very long," Ray said. "Come on, light another one."

"I think we should save the others for an emergency," he told Ray.

"And this is what? Recreational swimming?" For once, Ray's tone was more curious than sarcastic.

It let him answer without temper. "Well, Ray, you know, any situation can deteriorate--"

And, of course, the situation deteriorated, the bottom of the duct vanished and he lost his balance, tried to warn against it. "Ray!"

They both fell, and when he emerged from underwater, they were in no good place at all. "Oh, dear."

Ray coughed, gave him a panicked look. "What?"

He swallowed. Took a breath in against the desire to panic, to give up. "We're trapped."

"Trapped?" Ray's voice rose. "As in we aren't going to get out of this?"

"As in, possibly," he admitted. "I'm not giving up yet, Ray. Take a deep breath and wait here." He dove under, found a narrow conduit filled with cables. Swam to the end of it and found an access hatchway.

It was a long way to swim. He swam back, trying not to think of how he was going to get Ray down this far. Ray had stayed where he had been, one small bit of cooperation that made him feel better about what he was going to have to ask Ray to do.

"There's a way out," he told Ray. "All right, we have to go this way." Ray's teeth were chattering, he thought, unless Ray's lips had been moving in silent prayer. Ray had never struck him as a praying man, however, and if he had to factor hypothermia into the equation, he'd give up right now.

Ray balked. "Come on, Fraser, hang on a second. A hundred fifty yards underwater?"

"Well, it's meters, actually."

Ray rolled his eyes. "Meters, yards, you think my lungs know the difference?"

There is was again, the urge to throttle Ray senseless and just drag him along underwater, which was hardly conducive to getting them both off this sinking ship alive. "It's our only option."

Ray blinked. "That's an option?"

Well, put that way, he supposed Ray was right, the word option suggested that there were other choices to be made, and here they had none. "Well, no."

"No? What kind of logic is that?"

Why were they arguing over this? The water was rising and Ray was arguing. Yet he was the maniac. "Well, it's logic of a kind," he said defensively.

Incredulous look. "How?"

"Well, it's a sort of like a strange loop." Then, inspired, "It's like Goedel's theorem."

If anything, that made matters worse. "Who's Goedel? Goedel? Who the hell is Goedel?"

Oh, dear lord, he might have known. "Goedel was a German mathematician who founded this theorem that, loosely translated, means, everything I say is a lie." There was definitely something surreal about trying to explain Goedel while trapped in the engine room of a sinking ship.

Ray blinked at him. "So everything he said was a lie." Clearly not getting the connection.

"Right. Except that what he just said was the truth." Please, God, let Ray see what he was saying so they could get moving and get out of here. He was definitely beginning to experience a bit of claustrophobia.

Another blink. "So everything he said was a lie and the truth at the same time."

"Exactly, see, it loops back in on itself." It was, he supposed, an apt description of their relationship as well.

Ray nodded. "A loop. I see. This I get, this is good. I can go with this."

And of course, his mouth worked faster than his brain, he couldn't leave well enough alone. "Well, it's also a function of logic."

He thought for a moment, Ray would hit him again, up in his face, furious. "Logic! See? There you go again! You always got to take it one step further, right? One step over the line!"

This wasn't getting them anywhere, and as wrong as it was, he let his temper and worry flare. "Why are you yelling at me?"

"I am not yelling," Ray yelled.

But he wasn't backing down. "You are yelling--"

"I'm not yelling!"

"--you are yelling at me!"

They stared at each other for a heartbeat. Ray swallowed hard. "I can't swim."

Oh. Of course. He knew that. "Right. Right." How in the name of heaven was he to teach someone to swim in thirty seconds? "Well, then, a quick lesson is probably what's called for right now. Okay, coat off."

It made his throat hurt to see Ray nod, to see him shed the jacket. God, he had to get them both through this, he swore to himself that he would get them through this. If they went down with the Henry Allen it wouldn't be for want of determination. "I want you to try to think about- think of yourself as a flower that opens by day and then it closes down at night. All right? So think, bloom, close, bloom, close." He demonstrated as he explained, praying that Ray would focus, calm down.

Blessedly, Ray seemed to be calmer faced with even the most marginal of solutions. "All right. . . What do I do with my feet?"

"Just kick. Kick as though you were interviewing a suspect." Bizarrely, Ray nodded as if he understood. Fraser swallowed hard. "You ready? Big breath." He took in one of his own, demonstrating, and dove under.

Nightmarish journey in the near darkness, and he sped ahead a bit, wanting to get through this to clear air, worried about Ray behind him. With good reason; a faint sound transmitted through the water brought him back, Ray was caught on a stray line, close to panic, and he freed him, tugged him along to the hatchway.

The hatch was unwilling to open at first, unequal water pressure on either side, he supposed, and then noticed that Ray had drifted away from him. Panic seized his heart, he turned, saw Ray floating above and slightly away from him, eyes going glazed, face going slack.

By God, no, he wouldn't allow it, and he swam to him, slapped his face sharply, and got life back into those eyes for a moment. Sealing his mouth to Ray's, he breathed into Ray's lungs, sharing his air, praying they had time to get someplace not submerged before he ran out. Live, he told Ray silently, and when he drew back, there was sense again behind the blue eyes. Puzzlement, a trace of fear, and sense.

He pulled Ray back with him toward the hatchway, and evidently, he'd loosened it enough, he was able to open it, slip through. He glanced back long enough to see that Ray was following, and there was dim light above, he kicked and swam for it, arrowing up through the cold and wet.

And Ray was not behind him. Calling himself a fool, he spun back, found Ray caught again in a line, and untangled him, fighting Ray's panic and his own. Ray was doing badly again, he could see it in the desperate moves, he physically took hold of Ray, or at least the back of Ray's pants, and tugged him up, up, up...

They popped up like corks, into blessed air, with something beneath their feet. Ray gasped, great lungfuls of air, and he took in a few of his own as well.

He wasn't sure they were in any better shape here, looking around, but there was light and air and perhaps he'd gained them a moment or so to think.

"What was that, Fraser?" Ray demanded, still gasping.

He turned back toward Ray. "What was what?"

"That thing you were doing with your mouth."

For the love of heaven, Ray didn't seriously think..."Oh, that. That's buddy breathing. You seemed to be in a bit of a, well, having a problem. I have excess lung capacity, so. . ." He shrugged.

Ray's expression was conflicted. "Buddy breathing."

"Standard procedure," he told Ray, although it wasn't quite standard, it was an emergency procedure, and it wasn't quite a lie, he had learned about it at the Academy.

Ray nodded, but looked confused. "Good. Okay. All right."

Fraser turned back to survey their surroundings, thinking hard. They were closer to the upper deck, he rather thought he could find them an exit from this point, now he looked more closely, but there still remained one very real danger.

When the ship went down, it would create a vortex, sucking down anything in close proximity. He had to think of a way to break them clear of that. Had to, or all this was for nothing. How, he asked himself, think, think, think--where was his father when he needed real help?

Behind him, Ray's voice interrupted desperate thought. "Nothing's, like, changed or anything, right?"

He turned and looked at Ray, baffled. What? Their relationship? Their non-relationship? Their partnership? Their predicament? The answer was the same regardless of the question. "No."

Ray still looked conflicted. "Okay."

"Yeah." He looked around again. Flotation devices weren't sufficient, they needed something that could break them clear--and he suddenly remembered. The fire extinguishers might...

"Thanks."

He turned, a little incredulous. Ray was thanking him? "You're thanking me?"

A scowl, and Ray's temper flared. "Look, don't get too excited, Fraser. The jury's still out on this partnership thing, okay?"

Bitterness rose in him. "Oh, well, don't worry, Mr. Instinct, I'm not excited." Relieved, perhaps, he almost added, but bit back the words.

Electrical lines above them suddenly exploded as they short-circuited, and Ray ducked back under.

They had to get out of here. Fire extinguishers, he told himself and dove under again, fighting the cold and weariness.

Ray was counting on him. Again. And he still wasn't going to let Ray down.

Somehow, against all odds, against all hope, they were all right. Partners again. Perhaps friends. Standing on the wharf at Sault Ste. Marie, Fraser stole a sidelong look at Ray, who was cheerful. "Ah, Ray, if you'd prefer, Dief and I could return with Inspector Thatcher."

Ray gave him a startled look. "The Ice Queen? Nah, come on, ya gotta leave the dance with the guy that brung ya." Winked at him.

Still friends, then, perhaps. He hoped. He thought he hoped at any rate. His father had been remarkably helpful after all, but he wasn't sure where that left them, precisely. "If you're sure."

Brief glance back at him. "I'm sure."

Oh, he was truly pathetic, that those two words lifted his heart, lifted his spirits that his company wasn't unwelcome to Ray.

It didn't stop him from getting in the car, however.

They talked about music, about movies, about everything but nearly drowning, about everything but their partnership, which had, he thought, been rather vaguely resolved on the Bounty, but he was unwilling to press, unwilling to push Ray to dot every 'i' and cross every 't'.

"I think," Ray had said, and he'd heard uncertainty in Ray's voice, which had eased his own anxieties somewhat.

Ray was as confused as he was over how to re-establish the boundaries of friendship, he realized, and somehow that made things better, made it easier to sit and talk as if the most they'd ever shared was a pizza and a television movie.

It was safer that way.

When they reached the Consulate, Ray drummed his fingers lightly on the steering wheel. "So," he said and drummed his fingers again. "Um, I guess I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow? Well, assuming I get my Consulate duties caught up, I'm afraid I'm behind on reports." He looked at Ray, arched an eyebrow. "I'll call you at work, let you know."

"Good. Good." Ray drummed his fingers again. "We could catch a bite to eat tomorrow. Sort of celebrate living through this whole thing." Tentative grin.

"That would be nice," he agreed. "Perhaps Chinese?"

"Sure. Good." And then a real smile. "Get some rest, Fraser, buddy. You look cleaner than me, but still pretty damn beat."

He was, in fact, bone-deep exhausted. Bruised, and not just in body, but he rather thought both might heal now. The door was tightly closed, and somehow, against all odds, they'd found ground upon which they could stand. He looked at Ray, wanted to ask if they were friends again, but it seemed foolish, reckless, and far too risky. "Tomorrow, then."

Ray nodded, almost happily. "You bet."

Things were better, though. On the Whaling Yankee, they had worked well together, almost synchronized in their actions, and he'd never felt more right about anything. Nodding, he opened the door and got out, held the seat back for Dief.

"Hey, Fraser, you want to get something to eat now?"

It startled him. "No, no, thank you, Ray, I think I'd better try and get some rest, get caught up a bit. But thank you."

Ray nodded again. "Okay. See ya tomorrow, then. Make sure he gets some rest, Dief."

Dief tossed his head and whined.

Fraser chuckled and shut the car door, stood and watched as Ray drove off. Dief made a sound. "Yes, I know you wanted pizza. I want a bath."

Resigned whine.

He smiled a little, turned toward the Consulate. Tomorrow, he told himself, and this time, he would stay clear-headed no matter what.

Stay sane. Stay sensible.

After all, that door was firmly locked.

Fraser glanced at Ray across the small fire and sighed. He'd been doing very well, he'd thought, at erasing memories and emotions until he'd seen Ray with Luanne Russell, until Ray had insisted on talking about Luanne Russell.

It was difficult to tell for certain which had bothered him more.

And now, naturally, he felt guilty that Ray was punishing himself over his lack of trust in Luanne, never mind Ray had apparently felt scant guilt over--no, that door was shut, even if the lock had unaccountably come open. He was going to leave it shut. He was going to try and help Ray.

Or not.

"Why couldn't I trust her? I mean, if I trusted her, I would be sitting with her tonight instead of sitting out here in the wilderness." Ray looked at him unhappily.

Right. With him. Benton Fraser. "We aren't actually in the wilderness, Ray. We are in a park in the middle of downtown Chicago." His heart felt arid, barren. He poked at the fire with a stick, wishing there were ice. Wishing for winter, for a vista untainted by other human beings, wishing for...isolation.

"It's not you, you know. Those things I accused you of? It's me. I mean, I looked at her. She's drop-dead beautiful. She looked at me. She's actually interested in me. And right away I - click - I start thinking, okay, so what's wrong with her? What kind of guy is that? What does that say about a guy?"

Ice. Snow. The wind sweeping down from the north. The way the light changed as the days grew shorter. He was suddenly, bitterly homesick. "Lou Skagnetti looked at the princess who sat across the stone table in the stone cabin high atop Sulfur Mountain, and the princess smiled at him. And for a brief second, Lou Skagnetti could hear his own inner bell ring as though it were rung by a thousand angels. And he took his hand and he placed it over his heart, and Lou Skagnetti vowed that never again would he kill and eat another princess as long as he lived. . . unless, of course, she were covered in choke cherries and brown lichen and a sprinkling of dust -" What did that mean, he wondered distantly and checked the pot.

Ray was silent for a moment. "Fraser?"

"What?"

"That is one dark story."

Good, he thought and nodded. It was intended to be dark, even if he had no idea what he meant by telling it. "Yes, it is. The spaghetti's ready."

And that was, thankfully, the end of Ray's discussion of Luanne Russell.

With the meal finished, and Dief returned from his explorations to clean up the pot, they cleared up the campsite, and Fraser carefully buried the remains of the fire, tamping down each last remaining ember. There was something symbolic in that, he thought, and smiled thinly in the dark.

"Hey, I'll carry some of this," Ray offered.

"No, I've got it." He knelt and swiftly packed the items into a small tight roll, slung it over one shoulder. "No trouble at all, you see?"

"Yeah, I got that." They walked in silence toward Ray's car.

He tilted his head toward Ray, cracked his neck. "Well, I'm glad you joined me, Ray. I'll speak with you tomorrow."

"Come on, I'll give you a lift."

"No, no, I think I'd rather walk. The night air will do me good." Dief, beside him, whined. "No, you need the exercise more than I do," he told Dief. "All that pizza seems to be going to your midriff."

Ray hesitated, shifted from one foot to the other, peering at him through the darkness.

Given Ray's vision and marksmanship without glasses, he wondered how Ray had managed to keep a restriction off his driver's license, but since Ray obviously could see well enough to drive, it wasn't his business.

He was getting good at reminding himself of that. Very good indeed. And he shouldn't have to, it should be second nature by now, all these months later, and the fact that he had to keep reminding himself proved that he was precisely the fool he'd once thought.

Perhaps even more of one than he'd once thought. "Good night, Ray," he said, trying to nudge Ray toward the car.

"You okay, Fraser?"

"I'm fine, Ray. Never better." He smiled, and it felt false on his face.

"Sure you don't want a lift?"

"I'm quite sure, Ray." He lifted a hand in farewell, turned in the opposite direction, and started for the Consulate. Dief complained again, but fell in beside him.

He'd nearly reached the corner before he heard the GTO start.

Back at the Consulate, it was easier to slip back into his own skin, to let himself simply be.

"You're going to have to resolve this, son."

His father's voice made him jump, he turned to see his father standing at the closet door. "Resolve what?" he asked irritably. If there was one thing he did not want to discuss with his father, it was Stanley Raymond Kowalski. Well, at least in any personal sense; his father's advice on their partnership had proven sound, and he was grateful for that.

"Your feelings about the Yank."

"There's nothing there to resolve," he snapped, and rubbed his eyebrow. "It's simply a matter of patience and waiting. Our partnership will be fine, things will get better."

His father looked troubled. "Are you sure of that?"

"Quite sure." He was snapping again, he rubbed his eyebrows again and sat down on the cot. "They'll have to, won't they. It will get easier." He kept telling himself that, perhaps it would one day be true. One more layer of ice wrapped around his heart, and that wasn't altogether a bad thing.

If he was meant to be alone, better to have those layers of ice.

He looked up again, but his father had vanished. Which was a relief.

The last thing he needed was his father's advice on something as disastrous as this.

"Five card, one draw," Ray told him and dealt. "What tipped you off?"

He found it distantly amusing that Ray's reaction to finding Denny Scarpa in his long underwear was similar to what his own would have been on finding, say, Luanne Russell in Ray's. Always presuming, of course, that Ray owned any long underwear.

What he didn't find quite as amusing was that Ray had risked his neck crashing through a glass ceiling.

Not that he didn't appreciate the backup, of course. He sorted through the cards, mentally calculating the odds. "Well, there was something about her manner at the hotel room that suggested that she wasn't truly in any mortal peril. Also, she claimed to have been a medical student at New York University, but there was no record to support that claim. What's the ante?"

Ray looked baffled for a moment. "I don't know, we'll, uh, play for air."

It was a peculiar suggestion, but as he'd told his father, it had to get easier, and it was getting easier. "All right. Ante is in. In addition, when she was kissing me--"

"Wait a minute, you kissed her?" Ray's tone was a little sharp.

He offered Ray a guileless look. "Well, no, she kissed me."

Ray studied him. "What was it like?"

He arched an eyebrow. "The kiss? Delightful."

Ray looked down at his cards. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"That the kiss was delightful?" Now he was confused.

Ray gave him the look that usually came before Ray called him a freak or unhinged. "Not the kiss, not the kiss. That you suspected her."

Ah. "Well, I wasn't sure. And as you had instructed me, there are certain cards that are better left hidden until they are absolutely needed." Guiltily.

Slow faint smile. "So you were bluffing."

"Evading," he countered.

"Bluffing," Ray pressed.

"Delaying," he insisted.

"Bluffing!"

"Equivocating."

There was a kind of glee in Ray's voice. "Bluffing."

He surrendered. "Bluffing."

"Thank you." Ray seemed to be secretly pleased about something. "What do you think that the odds are that in this universe Francesca will take to that dog?"

He considered that. He knew better than most just how hard it was to calculate odds where the human heart was concerned. "Oh...Difficult to compute. But Ante needs a good home and Francesca has a good heart." It was a pity, really, that he'd imprinted Francesca as sister, and therefore not conceivably in the arena of potential partners. Denny Scarpa was beautiful, of course, and his body had stirred quite satisfactorily to her kiss, but he'd been down that route with Victoria once, and he wasn't going to delude himself again.

"How many cards?" Ray asked.

"I'll take none, thank you," he told Ray politely.

Ray stared at him. "None?"

He nodded. "None."

Ray shot him a challenging look. "Okay, two can play that game...I'll take none too. Bet?"

"A hundred."

"Of?"

He gave Ray a curious look, wondering if Ray had already lost track of the ante. "Air." Patiently.

Ray nodded. "Okay, I'll see your hundred and raise you fifty."

Recklessness, he thought, amused. "All right, I will see that fifty and I'll call."

Ray turned his cards over. He was more amused. "Whattya have?"

He turned his own over. "Once again, a Crowded Home."

Ray stared. "House."

"Crowded House."

"Full House," Ray said, sounding mildly perplexed.

"Full house, full house." And he felt his mouth twitch. "I'll take that air now, Ray."

Ray blinked at him. "I'm tapped out."

His mouth twitched again. "I'll accept an I.O.U."

Ray's eyebrows rose. "An I.O.U. on air?"

"I want you to honor your wager." Patiently.

"That's stupid." Ray stared back at him.

"Nevertheless, it's a matter of honor. You anted up. You shouldn't have anted up if you weren't willing to meet your obligation." He held Ray's gaze.

Ray's eyebrows slanted down. "That's so stupid, Fraser, when you gonna collect?"

"That's beside the point."

Ray shook his head. "Fraser--"

He smiled, and it felt a little thin. "Very well, Ray."

Ray rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine. Let me get a pen and some paper, I'll write ya an I.O.U." He got up, shoving his chair back, went to find the items in question and returned. "To Benton Fraser. Ray Vecchio owes 100--"

"One hundred fifty," Fraser corrected.

Ray shot him a dark look. "One hundred fifty air."

"Shouldn't you put your real name on it?"

Ray crossed out Vecchio and wrote Kowalski. "You're a freak, Fraser. You let anybody see that, won't be good for my cover."

He smiled in satisfaction. Took the piece of paper. "I assure you, Ray, there are few others who are quite as appreciative of Ray Vecchio's dangerous situation, and I'm not in the habit of sharing my private papers."

Ray looked at him, temper fading. "What does that mean?"

He picked up the tuxedo jacket and carefully put it on. His back hurt; perhaps that was why he was feeling this distant irritability. "It simply means that Ray is my friend, and I'm unlikely to do anything to jeopardize my friend's life." He looked back at Ray again, arched an eyebrow. "What did you think it meant?"

Ray shrugged, looked away. "You're gonna have a hard time tearing Dief away from that dog."

He followed Ray's gaze. Dief was curled up with the poodle. Poodles. He'd never much cared for them, but it wasn't their fault that a noble hunting animal had been bastardized into miniature lapdogs. "Well, it's an inappropriate match. The sooner he gets over it, the better. Imagine wolf/husky/poodle offspring."

Ray laughed, a short bark of a laugh. "Yeah. Scary."

He moved to Dief, took hold of Dief's muzzle. "We're going home now."

Dief whined in his throat.

"I know you want to stay, but Ray is taking Ante to Francesca. You'll be able to see her again, I assure you, no one will take Ante to the pound." He scratched Dief's ears. "You have my word on it."

Dief made a small sound in his throat, got up reluctantly.

Ray was still standing near the table, his expression suggesting indecisiveness. "Come on, Fraser, I'll give you a ride back to the Consulate."

"That's not necessary, Ray."

Ray shook his head, grabbed his jacket, and shrugged into it. "Fraser, don't be stubborn. My back hurts, I can imagine what yours feels like. You do not need to walk miles to the Consulate."

It was unexpected kindness towards a freak and he nodded. "Very well, thank you kindly, Ray."

They walked out of the precinct in silence, and Dief trailed disconsolately behind them. "What about Ante?"

"She's got a little bed right there, and food and water. I'll come in early and make sure she gets walked, and then I'll give her to Francesca. Be easier to suck her in with those brown eyes lookin' into hers."

He nodded. "Right you are."

Ray unlocked the passenger door and held the front seat back for Dief. "So, Fraser, how are you planning to collect." Guileless tone, no more temper or sarcasm.

He gave Ray a sharp look. "Well, Ray, I won't have to, unless there comes a time when I'm drowning and need it."

"Not gonna happen." Ray gestured vaguely and let the seat fall back into place, walked around to the driver's side. "You swim like a fish. If you're drowning, I'm already gone."

The statement struck him as rather darkly humorous, and he was still smiling when he got in.

"What?" Ray's eyebrows rose again. "I say something funny?"

"No, Ray." He managed to smooth his expression. "I was trying to imagine a trout in red serge."

"You're a freak," Ray told him and put the key in the ignition.

Ah, yes That he was. "Understood."

Ray sat still, not turning the key. Turned to him in the seat. "Uh, Fraser, you know, when I say that, it's kind of a joke. I don't mean it, uh, literally. Just kind of symbolically."

It seemed he wasn't the only one off balance and out of sorts. "I know, Ray. That doesn't mean there isn't some truth in it."

Ray's expression was uncertain. "I mean, you're different, you're Canadian, ya know, and so you're different from most of the people here."

"I know, Ray." He felt the beginnings of a headache, rubbed his eyebrow, and cracked his neck.

Ray nodded, still uncertain, shifted forward again and started the car.

They rode in silence for a while, and he was grateful. He was tired, sore, and not up to conversation, and he closed his eyes, just letting himself enjoy the ride, the night, the faint sound of the radio, the rhythmic tap of Ray's fingers on the steering wheel.

"Hey, Fraser, you like hockey?" Ray's voice jarred him from a near doze.

He blinked, tried to orient himself again. "Hockey," he repeated. "Yes, Ray, I enjoy hockey."

"Wanna catch a game? Leafs are in town this weekend."

He rubbed his eyelids, tried to focus. "Ray, I thought you said the Leafs sucked."

"Well, yeah, but they're Canadian, thought you might wanna see 'em play." Ray was looking at him, he could feel it.

Ray's logic was often....odd. He sighed, rubbed his eyelids again. "Actually, I think that might be enjoyable."

Ray's fingers drummed. "That a yes?"

He felt a strange wave of affection and turned his head to smile at Ray. "That's a yes, Ray. I haven't thanked you yet for your somewhat precipitous entrance tonight."

Ray shrugged. "Damn Feds were takin' their time, didn't want to see you get caught in the grinder." Tentative smile.

"I'm very grateful for that, thank you kindly." He wasn't sure where his earlier irritation had come from, but he was glad it had gone.

He rather thought Ray looked relieved. "Great. Greatness. I'll get the tickets tomorrow." He reached reflexively, realized he had no money on him. "You must let me reimburse you, Ray."

As usual, the wrong thing to say. Ray scowled. "Hell, no, Fraser. You tellin' me I can't do something nice for a buddy?"

He was too tired to argue. "Not at all, Ray."

"Good." The smile returned, tentative again. "Great. Greatness."

The light changed, and Ray drove through, took the right turn, humming now.

It was a good feeling, hearing Ray hum, seeing Ray pleased. Somehow, they didn't seem to have enough of those moments lately. Ray snapped, he mis-stepped, Ray overreacted, he got angry....buddies. Whatever that meant to Ray, it was a good thing to hear.

"Here ya go, Fraser. Get a nice hot soak, that'll loosen up those sore muscles." Ray looked at him.

He nodded, opened the car door. "I will, thank you kindly."

"You got any, ya know, Ben-Gay or anything?" Ray leaned down to see him.

"I have something," he told Ray.

Ray blinked at him. "But you got nobody to put it on."

"Ray, I'll be fine." He smiled, genuinely touched. "Honestly, I will."

"Sure. Okay. Good." A nod punctuating each word. "Night, Fraser."

He smiled again, closed the car door, and started toward the Consulate steps. His back had gotten tighter while in the car; Ray's suggestion of a hot bath was a good one. He took the steps slowly, reaching for his key at the top step.

"Fraser, wait a minute."

He turned his head, surprised. Of course, he hadn't heard the GTO pull away, and now the engine stopped, Ray got out and slammed the driver's side door. "You're walkin' like a ninety year old cripple, Fraser, get inside and get that hot bath, I'll put some of that whatsis stuff on you--" Ray was climbing the steps rather slowly himself, Fraser thought absently. "Wait, it doesn't stink like that pregnant mucous stuff, does it?"

He couldn't help laughing. "No, Ray, this is simply liniment."

"Get on inside then, Fraser." Ray took the key from him, unlocked the door. "Jeez, you guys have to have the worst locks in the world, Fraser, get a locksmith."

"I'll see if the budget will allow it, Ray." He found himself smiling at nothing at all. "If you'd like to watch television while I soak, please make yourself at home."

Ray stood in the foyer, looking around as if the place might have changed in the last several months. "Yeah. I can do that."

He hesitated. "Would you like some tea, Ray? I'm not sure we've got anything other than the enormous coffee--"

"I'm fine, Fraser." Skittish again, Ray put his hands in his pockets. "Go soak. Go on, I don't wanna stay up all night."

Well, it was his own fault Ray was skittish here in the Consulate. "Right you are, Ray." It dimmed his mood a bit, but he was tired, he told himself, that was all, tired and in some degree of pain, however little he wanted to admit it.

The hot bath helped, although he had to curtail his desire to simply soak until the hot water began to cool. Once he'd felt the muscles loosen up, he got out carefully, dried himself and dressed in sweats before padding back to find Ray watching a late night horror movie. "Ah, the liniment."

Ray started, glared at him. "You didn't soak."

"I assure you, I did," he told Ray, bewildered. "The muscles are much less tense."

Ray only scowled at him more. "Fraser, you shoulda stayed in that hot water at least thirty minutes."

Now he was completely confused. "I didn't want to keep you here too late, Ray."

Ray's scowl deepened. "I didn't mean you had to--never mind. So, where you want to do this?"

'Well . . ." he hedged, trying to think of neutral ground. "The kitchen, Ray, I could sit on one of the kitchen chairs."

Ray looked at the bottle of liniment doubtfully. "Doesn't sound too comfortable, Fraser."

"Oh, it will be fine." Suddenly, he just wanted to go to bed, wanted to sleep for twenty-four hours even though it was unlikely that long ingrained habits would allow him to sleep that long. "But actually, you know, it's quite improved just from the hot water. Really, Ray, I'm not even sure the liniment is actually necessary." Wonderful, he was beginning to blither. "Although I thank you kindly for the offer."

Ray gave him a look from under blond eyebrows. "Kitchen, Fraser."

He went.

He had to admit, even if facing the back of the chair wasn't particularly comfortable, Ray knew what he was doing. He'd folded his arms and rested his chin on top of them, and Ray's hands rubbed the liniment into his lower back with a sure, strong touch.

It was relaxing, once he allowed it to be, and he let his eyes close, sighed in relief as the liniment began to work.

"Jeez, Fraser, I hope you learn from this. Stairs, what a concept, huh? No more jumpin' out of windows, okay?" Ray rubbed additional liniment into Fraser's lower back. "You're going to be one hurtin' puppy in the morning."

He was already, to use Ray's words, one hurtin' puppy, but oh, it was better, and he sighed again, felt the pain ease. Ray's hands moved upward, to the middle of his back, strong, comforting touch and the hot-cold feel of the liniment and he was so tired. "I'm sure I'll be fine," he said blurrily. "You're doing a great deal of good with that liniment already." Then, because it was generous and honest: "You were quite right, Ray."

"Gotta be some kind of a moment, here. You tellin' me I'm right."

He smiled a little. Ray's tone was light, Ray was ribbing him. That was fine, and no doubt well deserved. "You're frequently right, Ray. I hope I tell you more often than that."

"I'm just kiddin' ya, Fraser." Lightly, and Ray's hands continued working, all the way up to his shoulders.

He groaned involuntarily as Ray found knots there. "Oh, dear."

"This sore, too?" Ray's voice was matter of fact. "Figured it might be, the way you've been holding yourself all day."

"Right again." He smiled a little, let his head tilt forward over the back over the back of the chair. Ray's fingers worked at the knots, smoothed the liniment in, loosening tension and he let his eyes close, let himself simply be, simply experience the unexpected kindness.

He could almost sleep this way, he thought distantly, he hadn't felt this comforted since...well, in a good long while.

Ray's hands came together at the nape of his neck, strong thumbs stroked the muscles there, and he sighed again. "If you ever decide to give up police work, Ray, you would make an excellent masseur."

Ray made a soft sound, an aborted chuckle. "Me? Nah, ya gotta be pretty to be a mass--masseur. And maybe about eighteen."

He puzzled over that for a moment. Understood suddenly and laughed. "No, Ray, I mean a therapeutic masseur."

"Ah, you mean there's a difference?"

He was being teased again. It felt....good. They had too many sharp exchanges in the course of their work together; it was easy to forget that they were friends. "Perhaps only in methodology."

Ray laughed out loud then. "Fraser, I think you just made a joke."

"I hope so."

Ray's fingertips fanned into the short hair at the nape of his neck. "You just keep surprisin' me, Fraser." Affectionately.

"Well, it wouldn't do to become too predictable," he murmured, even though he knew very well it was true. He was predictable. He was a freak. But it was kind of Ray to say it. He sighed again, let his eyelids close all the way before he realized that Ray's hands had stopped.

"Your hair is really soft," Ray whispered.

He processed that, and suddenly every muscle in his back went stiff, his eyes opened and he sat up straight, thumping Ray with the back of his head. "That's much better, Ray, thank you kindly, it was a great help, but it's getting late, and I know how tired you are."

"Jeez, Fraser, give a guy some warning, okay?" Ray sounded offended.

He reached for his abandoned sweatshirt, hastily tugged it on. "I'm sorry, Ray, I was nearly falling asleep, and that wouldn't have been the most comfortable place to sleep. It's getting late anyway, and you've got to be at the precinct tomorrow."

Ray looked at him for a moment, one corner of the mobile mouth turning down. "Yeah. Okay. You good?"

"I'm good," he agreed, and folded his arms to keep his hands from shaking. "Very good indeed, thank you kindly. I'll just walk you out, shall I?"

Ray gave him another look. "Nah, you get to bed, Fraser. I'll lock up on my way out, for what good it'll do. Locksmith, Fraser. I don't like you sleepin' here with no decent locks on the door."

"I'll look into it," Fraser agreed. He was blithering again, or on the verge of it. Why not merely admit it to himself, he was terrified, and his back hurt abominably again, and he wanted Ray gone with an urgency he had once felt over making Ray stay. "You're sure you don't mind walking yourself out?"

Ray shrugged back into his jacket, gave him a hooded look. "I'm sure, Fraser, I've been doin' it since I was six and in first grade."

"Right you are," he said nervously, but shadowed Ray halfway down the corridor. "Thank you again, Ray."

"No problemo." Ray headed for the door, not looking back, but paused there. "Get to bed, Fraser."

"Yes, of course." He opened the door to his office, went in and closed it behind him. Leaned against it, rubbing his eyelids.

What in the name of everything holy had just happened here? Beyond him going into a full-fledged state of panic that he hadn't felt since--well, since he'd been an adolescent.

He couldn't comprehend what would make Ray, well, do something so deliberately provocative. It was cruel, and Ray wasn't cruel. Volatile, yes, sometimes inadvertently unkind, but never cruel. Even the occasional unkindness was inadvertent, the kind of thing that simply happened in the course of relating to other people, because Ray wasn't insensitive.

Which made things all the more confusing, unless he considered the strong possibility that he'd overreacted to an entirely innocent touch and comment.

Sitting down on his cot, he sighed. It didn't bear thinking about, not in his current condition. He wondered if Inspector Thatcher might still have some aspirin in her desk, decided against it.

The liniment was there, it would do its work, if he let it.

Even if it did take a long time to get his muscles to loosen up enough to sleep.

Fraser was used to being lonely at Christmas, it was practically second nature at this point in his life. But the entire matter of Warfield had stripped away his defenses on that, he felt lonelier than ever, standing in a precinct packed with people, most of whom he knew well, some of whom were friends. A few, at least.

He held the framed photograph and looked at it, a small version of himself between two adults. His mother, who was almost no more than a memory of warmth, the scent of snow and pine, warm arms around him and soft laughter. His father, who was entirely too present these days, only this man was younger, laughter in his eyes.

Even in the photograph, his mother and father were looking at each other. The little boy between them looked at the camera, uncertain, solitary. He thought perhaps his parents had been everything to each other, wondered what place he had between them, if he had been an afterthought, an accident, something that had barely disturbed what they'd had between them. It would explain a great deal.

"Merry Christmas, son," his father said softly, from behind him.

He swallowed hard, willing self-pity away. He walked a solitary path, that was all, and there was no sense in whining or feeling sorry for himself. Whether it was by birth or by choice, that was life, and he was going to make the best of it, by God.

"Let's see, Fraser." Ray was still wearing his hat.

He glanced at that, almost reluctantly tilted the photograph so Ray could see it.

"That your mom? Guess you get your looks from her." Ray studied the photograph. "Pretty serious lookin' kid, Fraser."

His mouth curved humourlessly. "Right you are."

Ray looked at him, face expressionless. "You doin' okay, Fraser?" Soft voice, concerned voice.

He opened his mouth, closed it again. Sighed. "I think I'm tired, Ray. Do you know who did this for me?"

Ray shook his head, eyes widening. "No note on it?"

"No." He rubbed his eyebrow, rubbed his eyelids. "I'd like to thank them. It was a great kindness."

"I'm sure they'll figure it out, Fraser." Ray put a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, let me give you a ride."

He rubbed his eyebrow again. His ribs ached, that was all, and he was tired, and bad company even for himself. "That's not necessary, Ray, I can walk."

"Fraser." Ray shook at his shoulder lightly. "Fraser, come on, it's Christmas Eve, let me give you a ride."

He looked at Ray, saw concern and warmth, felt a slow flush at his own foolishness. "Thank you kindly, Ray." Humbly.

"That's buddies, Fraser. We gotta stick together--" Ray squeezed his shoulder. "I meant what I said in the car, Fraser. I'm proud of ya." A little embarrassed.

That warmed the cold places inside him. "Thank you, Ray."

Ray flushed. "Nah, you were right. Come on, get your coat." He took off the Stetson, put it on Fraser's head, albeit crookedly. "Doesn't suit me near as much as it suits you." A wink and Ray went off to get his own coat.

Sighing, Fraser went to collect the sword Inspector Thatcher had given him. Poor Inspector Thatcher, Dewey had mortally embarrassed her, she'd avoided him for the remainder of the party.

It was slightly painful to shrug into his coat, despite the assurances he'd given Lieutenant Welsh. His ribs were still badly bruised, and there was a headache trying to gain strength, starting at the back of his head and spreading forward. He was getting older, he supposed, he was nearly thirty seven, and while that was scarcely elderly, it might explain the fact that he didn't seem to bounce back with the speed he'd once taken for granted.

Ray appeared again. "Okay, made our excuses, let's go."

He looked around. "Ray, you don't have to leave on my account."

Ray scowled. "I'm not, Fraser, just come on." He started for the door, leaving Fraser no option but to follow.

It had snowed again, which necessitated clearing the car windows, but Ray wasn't letting him help, Ray let Dief into the back seat, where Dief sulked over having to leave the party, ordered him into the passenger seat and started the car before clearing them.

He let himself sink into the seat, rubbed at the nagging pain in his ribs, and closed his eyes. His family, he thought, rubbed his thumb on the box that held the precious photograph. Who, he wondered, had given him his family?

Dief whined from the back seat. He turned a little, ruffled Dief's ears. "Yes, I know, you can see her tomorrow, Dief." Dief and Ante, now there was a strange pairing. At least Dief had chosen someone who apparently returned his affections, which thought made him laugh, if a little bitterly. Dogs have all the fun, Ray was right, and he turned further in the seat to give Dief another scratch behind the ears. A sharp, stabbing pain in his side made him gasp, he was still holding his hand to it when Ray got in the car and gave him a long look.

"Fraser?"

He took in a deep breath, focusing on the spot. No, he still didn't believe anything was broken, but clearly he'd torn some cartilage. Or, to be accurate, the thugs had. "Just a twinge," he told Ray, his tone regrettably short. "I turned too sharply."

Ray studied him. "Fraser, I think I should take you right to the emergency room."

"Not necessary, Ray." Another breath and he eased back; the pain subsided back to a dull ache. "Nothing's broken, I just turned too sharply in the seat."

"Fraser--"

"I'll be fine, Ray." Sharply, and he regretted that, too. "I'm, ah, sorry, I didn't mean to be short with you. It will be fine in a few days, I assure you."

Long silence. "It better, Fraser buddy, because if it's not, I'm taking you in by force."

He found the space for a smile. "I thought we'd established already that you wouldn't do that."

"Try me." Just as short as he'd been, and that was fair.

They sat for a moment like that, the engine running, plumes of exhaust billowing in the cold winter air. "Look, Fraser," Ray said, suddenly tentative. "You got plans?"

He laughed softly. "No, Ray, unless you count liniment and going to bed."

Ray nodded, drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "So, you want to hang out a little? Watch sappy Christmas movies, grab something to eat? I don't have any plans, either, and I hate spending Christmas alone."

Oh, don't, he thought and rubbed his eyebrows. Please, don't make me feel guilty, Ray, I'm too tired.

"Thought we could hang out together." Ray looked at him uncertainly. And then in a rush, "You know, you could stay at my place tonight, sleep in a real bed, I can take the couch."

It was an appalling temptation, but the thought of sleeping in that bed, the bed where he'd made love to Ray on more than one occasion before everything had become clear--"Ray, I'm sorry. If you'd like to come to the Consulate, we could eat there, and of course, there's the television, we can watch television if you like, but I really think I'd be more comfortable at home."

"Come on, Fraser, you gotta be kidding, sleeping on that cot? You got the shit kicked out of you."

"The cot is quite comfortable, Ray." He risked looking at Ray. "Honestly."

Ray looked at him, looked away. "Fraser, I've slept on that cot."

Semi-hysterical laughter bubbled up; appalled, he quelled it. "Well, perhaps I'm accustomed to it. It seems quite comfortable to me."

Ray scowled, looked forward through the windshield. Fat, picture book snowflakes were falling; they hit the windshield and melted, now that the inside of the car was warm. "Okay, okay. Home it is. I gotta stop by my place, grab something, if that's okay."

"Of course, Ray." He took in another deep breath. Much better, he thought, and felt a wave of vague irritation with his body.

They rode in relative silence, and he nearly dozed, smiled a little as he recognized that for comfort in Ray's presence in spite of everything. Nothing was that dire, he reminded himself, Warfield had been dealt with, Warfield's powerbase had scattered, and he'd actually accomplished something, however difficult that path had been.

He'd had his friends behind him; there was no reason to feel dispirited.

Ray pulled up the curb outside his apartment building. "You'll be okay for a minute?"

Turning his head, he smiled at Ray. "Of course. No hurry."

Ray hesitated, just looking at him. "You look better," he said suddenly. "You've been kinda low lately, it's good to see ya smilin' again."

That startled him, but Ray was out of the car before he could respond. Had he been? Aside from the Warfield business, that is?

Dief whined at him, no doubt wondering why they had remained in the car. He risked turning again, moving more carefully. "Ray's going to come to the consulate with us, Diefenbaker. No pizza," he added and Dief whuffled indignantly. "Yes, you do, you're quite shameless about it. It's Christmas Eve, so I do hope that you'll behave yourself for once."

Bland look. From a wolf. He laughed a little, eased himself back to face forward, content to wait. The car was warm, almost too warm, but in lieu of changing Ray's adjustments to the heater, he unbuttoned his coat, loosened his tunic collar. The warmth made him sleepy; he might have dozed a little, the sound of the door opening made him start, and Ray grinned at him, put a paper sack between them. "Ready?"

He arched a questioning eyebrow, but Ray ignored it, winked at him, and slid into the driver's seat. "Gettin' plenty cold out there." Nodding absently, he leaned over to try and see what was in the bag, but Ray's gloved hand gently pushed at him. "No peeking, Fraser."

He couldn't help laughing. Got one of Ray's sunniest smiles in return. "Good to hear you laugh again, too, Fraser buddy. Christmas get you down?"

It was unexpected. He blinked suddenly, uncertainly. "Well, not precisely." Rubbing his eyebrow absently, he considered it. Cracked his neck. "I don't suppose I've thought about it, I didn't realize I was, ah, down. Aside from, well, this Warfield business."

Ray nodded. "Hits me that way, too. 'Specially since the divorce."

He felt a pang at that, remembering Ray's invitation to Stella and her response. Remembered Ray's comment after that. Perhaps Stella responded with anger when she was uncomfortable, not unlike her mercurial ex-husband.

Ray turned on the radio, found a station playing jazz, and drummed along to the rhythm of the music, humming tunelessly as he drove.

It was, Fraser realized, entirely restful; he might not be able to consider sleeping in Ray's bed, but this, this was both comforting and restful. Ray seemed cheerful, almost buoyant, and it felt contagious, he could feel his own melancholy lifting a bit.

By the time they'd reached the Consulate, he was very nearly content. Nor did that feeling evaporate once inside; he went back to the kitchen to see if it might be possible to make a small pot of coffee in deference to Ray's tastes and Ray followed him back, still carrying the sack.

He found a coffee maker in a cupboard, covered with dust. "Aha," he said and pulled it out. "Now all we need is coffee."

"Nah, Fraser, can't drink coffee tonight, it's Christmas Eve." Ray gave him a grin, pulled a quart carton of prepared eggnog out of the sack.

He didn't have the heart to tell Ray that the contents bore little relationship to eggnog and shared only the name. "Ah, of course." The coffee maker went back into the cupboard and he rummaged for cups, found those used for punch. "Here we are."

Ray grinned at him. "If I thought you'd have any, I'da picked up some beer. Something Canadian."

He laughed at that. "Egg nog is good enough for me, Ray, but you could have brought something for yourself."

"Nah, don't need it, this is fine." Ray continued unloading the bags, and Fraser watched, slightly bemused as Ray pulled out a package of something that looked like onion rolls, a small jar of horseradish, a small jar of spicy mustard, and a grocer's package of what appeared to be sliced roast beef.

When Ray looked up, Fraser arched an eyebrow, and Ray flushed. "Good stuff," he muttered. "Figured there wouldn't be anything in the Consulate and you looked pretty beat."

"It looks wonderful," Fraser told him. "I didn't know you liked horseradish, that's all."

"Read someplace it's good with roast beef." Ray shrugged. "Damn, I forgot paper plates, Fraser--" He frowned.

"Not paper plates, Ray." Fraser smiled, went back to the cupboard. "It's Christmas Eve, we'll use the real thing." He got down two of the china plates used at Consulate receptions, found flatware and brought it back to the table.

Ray looked....Ray looked relaxed and pleased, and opened up the package with the rolls. "Now these, Fraser, these you're gonna love. I'll bet you can't find 'em in Canada."

"Certainly not in the Northwest Territory," Fraser agreed, and handed Ray a knife to slice the rolls open.

"Make some of your tea, Fraser buddy, and I'll put these together." Another unguarded grin.

Definitely his melancholy was lifting; Ray's warmth had always been hard to resist. He supposed that was what had gotten him in trouble anyway, his response to that warmth. He knew better these days, he told himself, and put the kettle on. "Are you sure you won't have any coffee?" he asked, finding it in the same cupboard as the tea. "It's no trouble, Ray."

Ray looked up from stacking roast beef, thought about it. "No chocolate with me." Faint grin.

"There's sugar," he offered. "And real cream, if I'm not mistaken."

Ray hesitated. "You sure the Ice Queen won't bust your, er, butt for that?"

He laughed. "It's Christmas, Ray."

Ray grinned. "Yeah. Okay. Sure, coffee's great, Fraser."

It was, Fraser reflected, going to be a far cheerier Christmas than any he'd had for too many years. Once the coffee was brewing and the teapot ready, he turned back to help Ray, who pointed a mustard covered knife at him. "Go. Get rid of the uniform. Get comfortable."

"Oh. Certainly." He started out of the kitchen, grateful for the suggestion.

"And we aren't watching curling." Ray said, without turning.

He grinned. "Understood."

When he emerged in jeans and his Henley, Ray had finished the sandwiches, and placed three on each plate; he was pouring hot water into the teapot when Fraser came in. "We're good to go, Fraser buddy. I'll get the plates and the eggnog, if you get the coffee and your tea."

"Right you are," he said, smiling, and had to bite back laughter as Ray balanced said items and started toward the lounge, with Dief at his heels. He followed shortly after with coffee and tea and found Ray in front of the television, flipping channels, his jacket draped over one arm of the sofa.

"There we go," Ray said, sounding satisfied. "Isn't Christmas without a sappy Christmas movie."

He grinned, sat down on the other end of the sofa. Ray had carefully put the plates on a side table; when Ray joined him on the sofa, he handed one over.

"Wait, that reminds me, Fraser." Ray reached for his jacket, pulled out a small tube. "Sports rub, and I know a guy who follows the five P's has got some kind of tape. Those ribs need to be taped, I know." Sage look. "I know what to do, remember, I'm a boxer."

"Ray, I'm fine. It's just going to take a few days--"

Ray pointed at him. "Fraser, do not I'm-fine me. I saw you in the car. Tape. Scissors. Hell, even an ace bandage is better than nothing."

Ray had been like this earlier, too, when he'd refused to go to the hospital. "All right," he agreed and sighed. "Don't feed Dief."

Ray gave him an offended look. "Fraser, would I do that?"

"Repeatedly. Resist, Ray." He pushed himself back off the sofa stiffly, went in search of the required items.

Ray's head whipped around guiltily when he returned, and Dief was licking his muzzle thoughtfully.

"Ray, you didn't."

Ray flushed. "Well, it was just a little piece of roast beef, Fraser, I stacked it up pretty good."

"No." Fraser looked at Dief sternly. "You, at least, know better."

"Shirt off, Fraser." Ray stood up. "Sit there on the arm of the couch, okay, it'll be easier that way."

He sighed, took the Henley off with care. The bruises were still spectacular, but less livid. Ray hissed at the sight of them. "Dammit, Fraser, you shoulda seen a doctor."

"Ray, I've had broken ribs before, I know what it feels like."

"Could still be cracked." Ray scowled at him. "Fine, good, if that's what you want, you get to put up with medical care from a boxer turned cop. Hold your arms out a little."

Ray's fingers were cold, and none too gentle. He caught his breath when Ray hit the sore spot. "Sorry," Ray muttered, "Sorry, okay, here's where we want it nice and snug, Fraser."

"Try not to compress my lungs," he said, trying to joke.

"Right, all that excess lung capacity you got." Ray took the tape, his face serious. "But I'll tell ya, Fraser, you aren't feeling better in a couple of days, I'm going to drag you at gunpoint to see somebody."

He smiled faintly. "Ray, if I'm not doing better in a few days, you won't have to."

Ray gave him a long look. "Right. Okay. Good."

The tape was an annoyance, but Ray was quick and deft, and he did have to admit it was easier to move once Ray had finished. "There," Ray muttered, smoothing the tape down. "That'll do ya."

"Thank you kindly, Ray." He reached for his shirt.

Ray held up a hand. "Turn around. 'S not that long since you hurt your back, I'm just gonna rub some of that sports rub on it. Doesn't stink as much as your liniment, and it's got aspirin or something in it."

"Ray, that's--"

"Fraser."

He sighed. "Right you are, Ray." Shifted on the arm of the sofa so Ray could get to his back.

Ray's fingers had warmed somewhat, thankfully, although the salve was cool. "Jeeeeesus, Fraser. You pissing blood?"

Startled, he turned his head. Ray was looking at him, more than serious, downright somber. "A little," he admitted, "No worse than I've had at other times."

"Not good." More salve. He had to admit, there was only a very slight fragrance to it, but at the moment he felt as if Ray were rubbing nothing more than hand cream on his back.

"Shoulda kicked Warfield in the head," Ray grumbled. "Or you, for bein' so damn stubborn. Or myself, for not backin' ya up."

"Ray, you couldn't very well have backed me up," he began.

"Fraser, shut up." Ray's mood seemed to have taken a turn for the worse, but his hands were still gentle. "Okay, I'm done. You look like shit, Fraser. Beat to hell."

He reached for his shirt, pulled it on, and turned to find Ray brooding. "Ray?"

Ray didn't look at him. "I shoulda backed you. I knew that bastard would try and take you down. I fucking knew it, but I didn't buck the system."

"You did what you could, Ray. You couldn't very well buck the system, you might have been suspended. At which point, he would have won one round, and cost you your job."

Ray laughed shortly. "Big fucking deal. You're lucky he didn't want you dead then, or they'd have beaten you to death." He looked away. "Jesus."

He sighed. "Well, it didn't happen. And it was my choice to risk that, Ray. So sit down, pour me some eggnog, please?"

Ray looked at him again, not entirely happily. "I don't get why you aren't mad as hell at me, Fraser."

"You're my friend, Ray." He held Ray's troubled gaze for a moment. "And now I'm hungry, too. Sit down, Ray. It's done, it's over, and the worst is some stiffness and bruises."

Ray nodded after a moment, sighed, and shook his head. "You're a freak."

He smiled faintly. "Understood." From Ray, he supposed it was almost a term of affection.

Sheepish look. "Remember what I told ya, Fraser, I just mean you're different."

His smile widened. "Understood. Merry Christmas, Ray."

"Merry Christmas, Fraser. Now sit down yourself, try that roast beef."

Laughing, he obeyed.

Ray came up beside him as Maggie's cab sped away.

Fraser glanced sidelong. Managed a smile. "I have a sister."

"Yeah. No wonder I liked her." Ray looked at him, also sidelong.

How strange, Fraser thought, that he should find that warming instead of troubling. Sudden relief made his knees wobble; he was past it, finally, past it, and it had just been his own comfort with Maggie that had triggered his resentment of Ray's attention to her. Well, that could have been singularly disastrous, and he hoped his father appreciated that. "Thank you kindly, Ray," he said happily.

"You're--what for?"

He smiled sunnily at Ray. "That was a compliment, wasn't it?"

Ray looked wary. "Yeah, I guess it was. You aren't going to go all big brother on me, are ya?"

"Only if your intentions aren't honorable." He tried not to think of his own weaknesses in that area.

Ray looked mildly unsettled. "Oh." He rubbed his chin. "Wanna get some lunch?"

"It's four o'clock in the afternoon, Ray."

"So?" Ray gave him a challenging look. "Did you eat lunch yet? I didn't."

"Well, no." He had to admit that he hadn't.

"Go on, son," his father told him. "You've had a busy few days."

He shot his father a warning look. Ray followed his gaze, blinked. "So, lunch?"

"Well, I am a little hungry," he admitted. "What did you have in mind?"

"Italian, I think. You're lookin' a little peaked, lately, Fraser. I think some good Italian food is just the ticket."

"Aren't you falling into this role a little too well, Ray?" he asked.

Ray looked at him again, suddenly grinned. "That was another joke, hey."

"I do try," he said mildly.

"You do all right," Ray allowed and pointed. "Car's there. Ready?"

He looked at Dief. "We'll have to take Dief by the Consulate if we're going out."

"If we go by the Consulate, the Ice Queen'll jump you. Okay, I'll call and order it to go, we can eat at my apartment."

"Won't that take rather longer than your usual lunch hour?"

"Hey, I busted two notorious bank robbers, I can take a long lunch if I want." Challenging look.

He wasn't about to challenge it. He was feeling far too mellow. "Lead on."

"Great. Greatness." Ray beamed at him and started for the car.

He was over it. The relief was so great his knees felt wobbly. The fever had broken, the crisis had passed, Ray was his friend, nothing more. Which in itself was very good. He could live with that, he thought, and motioned to Dief to follow Ray.

Ray ordered lasagne, which was fine with him, and salads, and they sat at Ray's coffee table and ate.

"So, what's Inuvik like?" Ray asked suddenly.

He looked at Ray. "Well, I believe I've told you on other occasions." Unable to quell the faintest sense of resentment at that.

Ray paused, fork halfway to his mouth. "The Inuit stories, right. Right. I got that." Apologetic look. "I meant like, uh, the town."

He looked back at his lasagne, smiled a little. "Ah, Ray. There's nothing like it. Of course, my grandparents moved about a great deal in the Territories, but still, I was born in Inuvik, and I still consider it home. It didn't actually exist as a town until several years before I was born, you know, and of course with the discovery of oil in the Beaufort Sea there are a lot of oil workers in and out, but it's still home." He closed his eyes for a moment, summoning familiar vistas.

A wave of homesickness swept over him without warning, he longed for clean, white snow, for the silences that meant home. "I miss it a great deal," he said, and hated the sound of sorrow in his voice. Busying himself with the salad, he took a bite, thought about Maggie again. He had a family, he had a sister, something that included him in a small circle of three. Dief, Maggie and himself, and Maggie had liked Dief a great deal, and Dief had liked her. Ray had liked her, too. Which reminded him. "Crush my sister's smokes?"

Ray looked startled. "Oh, you know, um, gettin' up close and personal with your sister."

He frowned, puzzled, then understood. "Good God, Ray! Surely you didn't really think--"

Ray stared at him. "Well, Fraser, it sure looked like you might be, looked like you had a thing for her!"

He was so shocked, he couldn't find words. He stared at Ray, dumbstruck. Finally found his voice. "At first, I didn't realize she was my sister, Ray, I admit that, and yes, I liked Maggie, I felt comfortable with Maggie, but I'm not in the habit of tumbling into bed with people on first acquaintance."

Ray turned a dull red, looked back at his lasagne.

It was his turn to flush as he considered that Ray might be forgiven for thinking that way. "Never mind," he said unhappily and poked his fork at his salad. Now his appetite was gone, but he took another bite anyway.

Ray was doggedly eating his lasagne.

The atmosphere was, to say the least, decidedly tense. He cast about for any subject that might ease the tension, snatched ill advisedly at the first one. "I think I'll go home for my vacation this year, see if I can get some more work done on my father's cabin."

"Yeah?" Ray jumped at it, his expression relieved. "When's that?"

"Well, I have a great deal of time saved up, I'm afraid. I'll have to see when Inspector Thatcher would be willing to authorize it." He took another unwanted bite.

"How long you got coming?"

"A few months, at least." He took another bite. "Spend some time at home, get Dief back in fighting trim." Dief, predictably, whined in complaint. "You know very well that you need it, Dief."

"What are you gonna do up there in the wilderness for two months, Fraser?"

He smiled, seeing home in his mind's eye. "Breathe, Ray. I'm going to breathe clean air. Perhaps rethink some of my goals in life, I don't know. I've been feeling rather at a dead end of late." He glanced at Ray, saw definite alarm. "I won't be leaving right away, I expect. It will be much easier to work on the cabin when spring comes."

"Wait, uh, wait a minute, rethink your goals? What's that mean?" Ray's tone was odd.

"I don't know, Ray." He smiled a little. "I just know I'm feeling a bit stale, and finding out about Maggie makes me realize that I'm basically marking time here. Not that we haven't done good work, mind you, I think we've done some very good work indeed. But..." He looked at Dief. "I just have to think, Ray. If I'm still unwelcome in the RCMP back home, well, perhaps it's time to reconsider things." He glanced at his watch. "Oh, dear. Look at the time. I told the Inspector I'd be back by five thirty."

"That's quitting time anyway," Ray objected.

He looked regretfully at the lasagne. "Perhaps you can reheat that later for yourself, Ray. No, no, you finish your lunch, I'll walk. I'm getting a bit out of shape, it will be good for me."

Ray got up anyway, trailed him to the door. "Fraser," he began, but when Fraser turned, he shook his head. Subdued. "Hey, I'll see you later, okay?"

"Not tonight, Ray. Tomorrow." He smiled. "I'm afraid my paperwork is behind, what with this Torelli business."

Ray nodded soberly. "Yeah. Okay. Good. Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, ah, insult you about Maggie, Fraser."

It must have cost Ray something to say that. "It's all right," he said gently. "I know you didn't. I didn't mean to snap at you. I was just...." He shrugged, not willing to open this particular Pandora's box, not when he had locked it firmly and nailed the lid closed.

Ray nodded, a little jerkily. "So we're good, right?"

"We're fine, Ray." He held the door open for Diefenbaker, went out after him.

The weather was mild for this time of year in Chicago, he thought, but he didn't expect it to last. He could smell the cold weather behind it, but he was rather looking forward to it. Mild weather in February was almost alien, as alien as, oh, the notion of Florida palm trees at Christmas.

He hadn't expected to say those things to Ray. He hadn't realized he'd felt them until today. Home, he thought, and that homesickness swept over him again, the lump-in-the-throat, unsettled stomach sort of homesickness.

He reached the Consulate at precisely 5:27, and when he entered, Inspector Thatcher was standing there impatiently, watching the clock.

He must have looked unhappy, because her expression went from annoyed to carefully bland. "Did you see your sister off safely, Fraser?"

"Yes, sir, thank you kindly."

Thatcher nodded. "I'm glad to hear that she's, ah, been reinstated and this whole matter cleared up."

"Yes, thank you, sir." He stood politely for a moment. "Well, sir, if you'll excuse me, I'll need to get those reports completed for you."

"Yes, Fraser, carry on. Ah, you don't have to have them in until tomorrow afternoon, if you like."

He paused, surprised. "Oh. Ah. Well, thank you, sir, if you're certain you won't need them before then."

"Quite sure, Constable," she told him briskly. "Just get a good night's rest and be ready for a full day's work.

"Understood." He felt at a loss, though, as he went to his office. Sighing, he opened his closet door and went in. There was a fire burning brightly in the fireplace. "Dad?"

"Over here, son." His father was standing near the window. "What's the matter? You look like the dog stole your dinner."

"I'm feeling oddly out of sorts." Fraser sighed, rubbed his eyebrow. "Dad, it's occurred to me that perhaps--that perhaps I might consider leaving the RCMP."

His father's surprise was almost comically evident. "What?"

"It's just a thought. I just feel as if I'm not really accomplishing that much here. I'm getting soft. Dief is getting soft." He sat down near the fire, brooding. "I guess when there wasn't anyone to connect with back home, it didn't bother me as much."

"So this is about your sister?" His father joined him at the fire.

"Yes. No. I don't know, Dad. I just feel like...." He sighed, cracked his neck. Looked at his father. "Like there's something else I need to be doing."

His father studied him for a moment. "Ben, work things through with the Yank before you do anything."

"Oh, that." He sighed. "We're friends again, Dad. That's been worked through."

His father shook his head. "You know very well what I mean, son. You were rather more than friends."

He was thirty-seven years old and he felt his face go the color of his tunic. "Dad, I--"

His father shrugged. "You see things differently when you're dead, son."

For one very brief instant he ardently wished he was. Dead, that is. "What does that mean?"

"It means that just because I don't comment doesn't mean I'm not aware of your feelings." His father gave him a long look.

Good God, he thought, and rubbed his eyelids, his eyebrows, and cracked his neck. He was most definitely not capable of discussion either emotion or sexual activity with his father. "Ah."

"Don't 'ah' me, son. I'm certainly not passing judgement. I like the Yank. He's a good man."

"Yes," Fraser agreed, his voice a little strangled, "He is."

"Damaged, as he says. Has it occurred to you that he tends to get angry when he's afraid?"

Trust his father to note the obvious. "Yes, Dad, I had noticed that."

"Had you applied it to your personal difficulties with him, or would that be far too objective for you?"

That stung, he raised his head again, frowned. "I've never had any difficulty being objective. Not even with Victoria."

"Let's not divert the discussion into nonproductive areas, son." Mild tone.

"Dad, I am not going to discuss this with you." Not even when he was dead.

"That's just as well, son, I'm afraid I couldn't advise you very well."

Even this conversation was giving him a headache. "Dad, never mind. I need to, ah-" He took in a breath. "I need to finish my paperwork."

"Snow tomorrow, son."

He fled, closed the closet door just in time, Inspector Thatcher walked into his office. He sighed inwardly. He wished the woman would learn to knock. "Sir?"

"Er, Constable Fraser. I just realized, that is, that tomorrow is Saturday." She looked uncomfortable. "So, just so long as you have those reports by Monday afternoon."

Oh. He'd forgotten, too. "Certainly, sir. Thank you."

She nodded, flushed, and went back out.

He sat down slowly in the chair behind his desk. Saturday. Another weekend stretched out ahead of him, only now he wasn't settled and ready to simply enjoy it. No, he was unsettled and feeling off balance, and his father had only made it worse.

He was past feeling whatever he'd felt for Ray. Sure this sudden and urgent homesickness was proof enough of that. Surely the fact that he could look with equanimity on Ray's attraction to Maggie proved something.

Ray was a good man, a good friend, and he valued that, had always valued that too highly to let his own muddled emotions destroy it.

His headache was growing worse. Dief whined at him.

"Yes, I think a walk might be good," he agreed. "And no, we aren't going back to Ray's apartment. By this time, he's probably at work again." Even though it was tempting. "But a walk will be good. I'll change, and we'll go."

Dief whined again.

The fresh air cleared his headache, and the park was virtually deserted by the time they reached it. He walked through it slowly, letting Dief ramble, stopped at a familiar spot and smiled. Camp spaghetti, most of it fed to Dief on the sly, and Ray still didn't realize that he'd noticed it. There were memories here in Chicago, not merely here in the park. The question was, he wondered, if the memories were enough to keep him here.

He was beginning to get the decidedly hollow feeling that they weren't. He was beginning to get the decidedly hollow feeling that he'd made too many mistakes in his life. Too many mistakes, too few connections, and God, he was homesick.

Even the faint smell of the snow predicted by his father didn't help.

He and Dief walked around and through the park, emerged where they'd entered and there was a black GTO parked at the curb. His heart thumped hard, once, and the driver's side door opened and Ray got out.

Put his hands in his pockets, watching as Fraser approached.

"Ray," he said, trying to sound welcoming. "What brings you here?"

Ray shrugged. "Went by the, uh, Consulate, nobody was home. Figured I'd check here."

"Is there something wrong?" Ray's expression was peculiar, it worried him a little.

One of Ray's shoulders's twitched. "Nah, I just wondered what you were doing. If you got your paperwork done, if you wanted to grab a bite, see a movie, or something."

"Oh. Well." He looked around the street. "Yes, I suppose I could eat something."

"Yeah?" Ray looked a little more cheerful. "What sounds good?"

"I don't know, actually. You choose."

"Yeah, well, I think it should be something you like, Fraser, I always pick."

He sighed, rubbed his eyebrow. "Ray, tonight, I'm afraid I'm not capable of deciding whether to go right or left."

Ray studied him. "Somethin' wrong, Fraser?"

"No. Yes. I don't know." He offered Ray a rueful smile. "You see."

Ray nodded suddenly. "Yeah. Okay. So, how's Hungarian sound?"

He considered. "It sounds&.Hungarian. Shall we?"

Ray laughed. "Yeah. Come on, Dief." He opened the driver's side door, pushed the seat forward to let Dief in. "Pitter patter, Fraser, I'm hungry."

"Right you are, Ray." He moved to the other side of the car.

"Fraser?"

He stopped, his hand on the doorhandle, looked over the top of the car. "Yes, Ray?"

Ray looked at him, looked away. "You wouldn't just, ah, quit and leave without tellin' anybody, would you?"

His father, he realized unhappily, was right. "No, Ray," he said gently. "You're my friend, I wouldn't leave without warning."

"Yeah. Okay." Ray flicked him a quick smile. "Get in."

He got in.

It had snowed, and after a week, he'd been more homesick than ever, which was how they'd come across Muldoon.

Who was now being led away in handcuffs by several of Buck Frobisher's men.

Ray trudged across the snow toward him, looking oddly diffident. "Ya did it, Fraser."

He smiled. "We did it, Ray."

Ray rolled his eyes. "Yeah, like I'm not excess baggage up here."

There was something wistful in Ray's tone, it made him take a closer look at his partner. "You did very well, Ray, for someone who's never been up here at all."

Ray gestured vaguely, watching Frobisher. "Don't pacify me, Fraser."

" I'm not patronizing you, Ray. You kept up amazingly well. I was sincerely worried a few times, but you surprised me."

Ray looked at him doubtfully. "You're puttin' me on, right?"

"Not in the least." He held Ray's gaze.

Ray shrugged again, a little flushed, or perhaps it was just the cold. Even his ears were pink.

Not a good idea. "Ray, put a hat on."

Ray squinted at him. "A hat?"

"A hat. We lose a great deal of heat from our heads in cold like this."

"You're not wearing a hat."

His hood had fallen back, of course, and he hadn't replaced it. "I'm acclimated."

Ray eyed him. "You've been livin' in Chicago three years, explain to me how that makes you accl-acclimated."

Ray had a point. "I have more body fat than you, so I'm better insulated."

Ray snorted. "So bein' skinny is grounds for discrimination?"

"Frostbite can lead to gangrene," he said and reached out to tweak Ray's ear.

"Ow!" Ray put a hand up, finally nodded grudgingly. "So where'm I going to get this hat?"

Good point. Ray was still wearing the gear from Muldoon's plane. "I'll see what I can do."

"One of those furry ones could be nice." Ray gave him a guileless look.

He found a spare stocking cap among Frobisher's crew, came back and was unable to resist simply pulling over Ray's head.

"Cute, Fraser." But Ray grinned at him. "I see your face is still broken."

"Not at all, Ray, it's finally working properly, that's all." He grinned back.

Ray's smile faded a little. "So what now, Fraser? We lived through this, right?"

"Right you are." He studied Ray's face. "You aren't serious, Ray."

"What, about the adventure? That was a like a sort of deathbed resolution thing, only I wasn't in bed and I didn't die. So now I gotta go find that hand, that reaching out hand."

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "Ray, it could be dangerous."

"Right, like falling out of a plane?" Ray looked away. "How much more dangerous could it be?"

"How much more dangerous could what be?" Buck Frobisher came up to them. "Good work, Benton."

"Thank you kindly, but I couldn't have done it alone."

"Don't be so sure," Frobisher said. "How much more dangerous could what be?"

"How much more dangerous can looking for Franklin's hand be. Than falling out of a plane, that is." Ray shrugged. "Can't be worse than that, can it?"

"Looking for the hand of Franklin?" Frobisher looked at Fraser. "What's the Yank talking about?"

"Retracing Franklin's route, sir." He felt sudden embarrassment. "I'm afraid I've triggered some desire for Arctic adventure in Ray."

"Hey, hey, you didn't trigger it, death triggered it."

"But you aren't dead," Frobisher pointed out.

Ray rolled his eyes. "That's the point."

"Ah," Frobisher said and nodded. "An excellent idea. As to falling out of plane, I would have to say it depends on the plane's altitude and what you're falling on."

"See," Ray told Fraser, "see, I told you. Way high, that's what the altitude, and thirty feet of snow wearing my street clothes."

Frobisher nodded, appeared to calculate. "With the right gear, enough supplies, and a good dog team, it shouldn't be any more dangerous than that, no."

"I told you." Ray looked triumphant.

He didn't know whether to laugh or lose his temper. "Sergeant Frobisher is talking about someone used to this country."

"This wouldn't be a bad time to go," Frobisher said thoughtfully. "Spring's on the way."

"Not for a while," Fraser said, and Ray's expression was decidedly&.he wasn't sure what it was, but it made his chest ache. "Still, I suppose I could arrange to use up some of my leave."

Ray looked at him sidelong. "Yeah?"

"Of course, Ray, you'd have to make the same kind of arrangement. I don't doubt that Lieutenant Welsh is expecting you back in Chicago as soon as possible."

Ray sighed. "Nobody's expecting me back in Chicago, Fraser. Welsh doesn't even know what the hell to do with me now, they'll probably transfer me out." He tugged at the edge of the cap. "Besides, like Thatcher said, you'll get any assignment you want. You planning on coming back to Chicago?"

He wasn't, he didn't think, and felt some guilt over that. "Are you sure this is what you want to do, Ray? Think about it, please. At least overnight, all right?"

Something unidentifiable illuminated Ray's face from within. "Yeah, oh, yeah, Fraser, but I'm not changin' my mind."

He felt absurdly happy himself, with that light in Ray's eyes.

"I think we can outfit you at the post," Frobisher said thoughtfully. "Supplies, the sled-of course, you'll need to get the Yank more suitable clothing."

Fraser nodded thoughtfully, feeling just the slightest frisson of excitement. It was possible, he thought, and looked at Ray's face again. If it weren't arrant lunacy to say so, Ray was fairly aglow. Over an adventure in the Arctic. After falling from a plane, after having to learn to snowshoe in thirty seconds, after having suffered hypothermia and altitude sickness-Ray wanted an adventure. "Ray," he said, trying to bite back a smile. "Ray, you're a freak."

Ray's eyes widened, Ray looked around at the Mounties and the snow and began to laugh. "Understood, Fraser."

Laughter bubbled up inside him, for once in his life he set it free, laughing along with Ray while Frobisher regarded them with mild puzzlement.

He insisted on a more modern tent than Frobisher deemed necessary, but after getting a look at Ray out of outerwear padding, Frobisher's grumbling subsided to the occasional mutter.

"You're going to have to keep him well fed," Frobisher told him, the night before they left. "The Yank doesn't have much extra on the bone, there."

"I know." He glanced over at Ray's sleeping self, near the fire in the RCMP post. "He's stronger than he looks."

"Obviously." Frobisher looked down at the map in front of him. "Ah, if I were even twenty years younger, I'd throw everything over and go with you two. A noble adventure."

Fraser nodded and went over his mental list. Ray had entered into the outfitting with an almost antic happiness, credit card in hand, and he'd had to remind Ray again of the fact that they only had one sled. Ray's desire to do this still amazed him, and Ray's joy in the preparations completely bewildered him.

Ray, as he had once said, was more of a 'big picture guy', but he listened seriously to Fraser's advice, for a change.

He'd also promised that if it came down to Fraser's experience, he would obey orders. How well he did that remained to be seen, but Fraser was willing to take him at his word.

Ray had never broken his word after all.

It was only now, watching Ray sleep, that Fraser felt the first faint twinge of worry about the prospect of spending days alone with Ray. His father had been right, there was a good deal unresolved, and while he personally saw no way of resolving those things, he hoped it didn't affect their dealings together.

"You're worried about the Yank?" Frobisher's voice was gentle.

"He's very-urban." Fraser smiled faintly. "I don't think he realizes what he's agreed to do."

"He seems very intelligent to me," Frobisher said, leaning forward, arms on knees. "He seems to understand that there's a great deal he has to learn, and appears willing to learn it."

Fraser considered that, nodded. "True." He dragged his gaze away from Ray's sleeping shape. "Perhaps I'm worried about myself. I've been in the city for quite some time."

"Take it slow, and keep your options open at every step of the way." Frobisher smiled and stood up. "I'm going to turn in, Benton. You were born and bred to this land, you'll do fine." Pat on the shoulder and Frobisher started back toward his room, leaving behind the faintest unmistakable reminder of his presence.

He laughed softly, wrinkled his nose, and bent to unlace his boots. Frobisher was right. If, at any time, he felt there was unnecessary risk, he could turn back. He and Frobisher had planned the route so that he and Ray had far more access to emergency help than Franklin had ever had, despite Ray's grumbling about safety nets.

He suspected Frobisher had spoken to Ray about that, because the grumbling had subsided.

"It's not an adventure if it's too safe." Ray's voice startled him.

He looked over, saw Ray watching him. Smiled. "But it's not survivable if we don't take some steps to put that net up."

"You could survive," Ray told him sleepily. "You're worryin' about me, I guess. Chicago city boy, can't take it."

He laughed softly, took his boots off. "Don't sell yourself short, Ray. You've already managed to survive more than most city dwellers face."

"Sure. You hauled my skinny ass up the mountain and down again, and Delmar got us out of that goddamn crevice. Crevasse, whatever."

He smiled. "We weren't as well prepared, Ray. Throwing items into a crate and out of a plane doesn't meet the 5P requirement."

Soft laughter. "Yeah, you maniac. Turtles."

The firelight gilded Ray's skin and hair and Fraser's throat hurt suddenly. "Well, I had to get you out somehow."

"Can't believe I lived through that." Ray yawned. "Never thought I'd say it, Fraser, but I gotta say, I like it that you're a maniac."

That startled him. He arched an eyebrow at Ray for a moment before shedding his outer clothing, turned to find Ray studying him unselfconsciously.

He was glad that his long underwear covered him from neck to ankles, abruptly. "Ray?"

Ray's eyes closed. "Goin' to sleep, Fraser. See ya in the morning."

Relieved, he unzipped his sleeping bag and slid into it. "Right you are, Ray."

"Sunrise, right?"

He grinned. "Thereabouts, yes."

Ray studied him. "Thanks, Fraser."

'For what?"

"For not shoving me on a plane back to Chicago at gunpoint. For helping put this together." Ray's expression was curiously intense. "I figured you'd wanna get me back outa your hair."

He blinked. "But Ray, why? Have I given you some reason to think so?"

Ray's smile was sheepish. "It's just-hey, I know we haven't always been on the same track, ya know. I'm not stupid."

"I know you aren't, Ray. Far from it." He held Ray's gaze. "And disagreements don't necessarily destroy friendships."

A briefly wistful look. "Yeah. How come they do sometimes?"

A good question. He rolled on his side to face Ray. "I don't know. Perhaps because sometimes disagreements seem to be based on the person instead of ideas? I'm not sure. Or perhaps the disagreement hurts so much, it becomes impossible?"

Ray sighed, eyes heavy-lidded. "Even after I hit you, you kept asking me if I was sure. Fraser, why didn't you just tell me to fuck off?" He laughed softly and Ray rolled his eyes. "In your own Mountie-like polite way, I mean."

"Because I valued our friendship and our partnership, Ray. Why were you so sure?"

Ray shook his head. "I felt like shit. Blowin' a fuse and hittin' you." His expression went somber. "I mean, that was part of it, anyway. I dunno about the rest."

He smiled, hoping to lighten Ray's mood again. So mercurial, so&feeling. "Well, it doesn't matter. We muddled through."

Faint smile. "That we did, Fraser. Think we'll muddle through this okay?"

"I'm sure of it," he said.

But in that, he was somewhat overconfident.

The first four days out, they made excellent progress. Ray threw himself into the journey, learning the routine of a winter camp almost eagerly. They sat at the fire at night, looking up at the stars, and he was amazed at how many of the constellations Ray recognized. He hadn't expected that knowledge in a man born and raised in the city, where the lights bled up into the atmosphere, but Ray was surprising him more and more lately.

At night, they bundled into their sleeping bags, with Dief often between them. On the third morning, he woke to find Ray beside him instead, only a tuft of blond hair showing above the edge of the sleeping bag, and Dief on the far side. He was unsettled a bit, but said nothing; with Dief on one side and himself on the other; it seemed that Ray had been seeking greater warmth in his sleep, so logically, it was a good arrangement.

On the fifth day, the wind shifted, blowing stinging particles of snow into their faces; they made camp early, even seated on the sled, Ray looked pinched and cold, and there was little talk at the fire that night.

He woke in the morning, and Ray's hair was less than a hand's breadth from his face. It worried him a little. "Ray?" Softly. He touched Ray's hair lightly, tugged down the edge of the sleeping bag. "Ray?"

Ray rolled over on his stomach. "'m wallowing, Fraser."

He smiled at that. "I'll make coffee." If he was complaining about wallowing, Ray was fine, he told himself.

An inaudible mutter came from the sleeping bag and the edge was tugged back up over Ray's head.

He laughed again. Got himself up and lit the propane stove before dressing to attend morning necessities; Dief followed him and the dogs stirred. The wind was still strong, but had changed direction again so that the bitter edge was dulled. There was a hint of weather to the sky in the west, but he rather thought they had a few days before it made up its mind what it wanted to be. Snow for the dogs' water, for his tea and for Ray's coffee, and he put the pan on the stove when he came back in.

A smothered groan from the sleeping bag and he grinned, looked down to see reproachful eyes peering at him. "Ya let in the cold air, Fraser." Grumbling.

He crouched. "Let me see your hands," he ordered.

Ray gave him an owlish look. "Why?"

He arched an eyebrow at Ray, silent reminder of his promise, and Ray flushed, pushed himself upright and held out his hands. They were going slowly enough that there shouldn't be a problem with altitude sickness, and the beds of Ray's fingernails were a healthy color. Ray's fingers seemed warm enough, and he let go, grinned. "You're doing very well."

Ray flushed again. "I'm not stupid."

"I know." He held that gaze. "But you have to admit, I have more experience in these conditions."

Ray grinned suddenly. "I had more experience in Chicago, you never listened to me."

"That's not true," he said, mock reproachful. "I just frequently disagreed."

"Even when it was life threatening," Ray gibed. "Like Warfield, for instance."

He arched an eyebrow. "Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray. Didn't you tell me you were proud of me?"

"Doesn't mean you listened to me. You interrupted my wallow." Ray lay down again, eyed Fraser.

"Apologies," he said and could not resist the urge to ruffle Ray's hair, got a growl in return.

The water was hot by the time he was ready to begin packing up the sled; he stirred instant coffee into one cup of hot water, and let his tea steep while he began to carry things out the sled.

The dogs were ready to be fed, they greeted him with a great deal of enthusiasm and less discipline than he'd expected, but Buck Frobisher was fond of his dogs; he crouched in the snow and ruffled heads, spoke soothingly and then put their food down.

Dief ate pickily, as always. "Suit yourself," he warned. "I'm not letting Ray feed you." A disgruntled whuffle. "I'm serious."

He scooped up more snow, took it in to melt for oatmeal. Ray was sitting up, the sleeping bag draped around him, sipping at his coffee. He wrapped it more tightly as Fraser entered the tent, gave Fraser a look that matched Dief's whuffle.

He bit back a smile. "The wind has shifted, I think it will be more comfortable today."

"Good." Rusty voice and when he glanced back, Ray was staring at the tent wall, his expression somber.

"Ray?"

Ray sighed, looked at him. "I don't wanna go back to Chicago."

His heart thumped hard. "Why not? It's your home."

Ray shrugged, avoided his eyes. "All good things gotta come to an end, right?"

Abruptly uneasy, Fraser studied him. "Well, not necessarily-Ray's, what's wrong?"

Sudden smile. "Borrowin' trouble, don't worry about it. Haven't finished my coffee yet."

Fraser doubted the authenticity of the smile, but if Ray wanted to talk, Ray would talk; he'd learned that much in their time together. Usually, Ray didn't, but sometimes&.sometimes he did.

After Beth Bottrelle had been cleared-Ray had talked. He'd have to hope Ray would talk again.

Oatmeal and cleanup and then they were off again. The weather stayed promising for most of the day, but mid-afternoon, the wind shifted again, back into their faces.

He'd only thought it was bitter the day before; this wind held the threat of a storm, and he could smell it, almost taste it. He should have smelled in the morning, he thought, realizing the signs he'd missed. They needed better shelter than a tent, and he'd been a fool to bring them out in March, no matter how much joy it brought him to show Ray his home.

He stopped the sled and brought out the map. Ray turned, got out of the sled and leaned close, only his eyes visible above the muffler, and the hood of his parka down low over his forehead. "What's up?"

"Weather coming in." He had to pitch his voice to be heard over the wind. "We need to be out of it when it hits."

Ray nodded comprehension. "How far?"

Too far, a little voice whispered, but he wasn't going to accept that. "We'll make it. Back in the sled."

Ray looked at him, but obeyed.

The snow began a few hours later.

"Ray, we have to stop." Fraser had to shout the words over the wind. The worst of the snow hadn't yet hit, but now that it was too late, his senses were operating clearly and he could feel the weight of the storm behind the wind. Ray's face was almost completely hidden behind the muffler, Ray's head moved in assent.

They had reached a rocky outcropping, the closest thing he'd seen to possible shelter in hours; he'd been a fool, guilty of criminal overconfidence, and it was Ray he was worried about. Softer or not, he'd been through weather like this, and as bad as it had been on the mountain&.

Ray moved stiffly to put on snowshoes, got off the sled. Leaned close. "Tell me what to do."

He pointed. "The dogs."

Still shouting against the wind.

The dogs attended to, Fraser started with the tent, and Ray leaned in again. "I can do it." Loudly.

"Against the rock, there, Ray. Under the overhang." He drew a line in the air. "Angled this way." Ray leaned closer, pretended to cup an ear. He leaned in closer, pitched his voice louder, and repeated it.

A nod and he helped Ray get it started. Then, unloading the sled became the next task. Snow saw, and he had to build them a wall, up against the sled, right, and it became his sole focus. Saw, snow, shift the misshapen block, and drive it into the snow. Saw, snow, shift, place, and suddenly mittened hands appeared and took a block from him.

"Dogs're in the tent," Ray shouted, close to his ear. "Tell me what to do."

He demonstrated, didn't tell, and let himself look at what he'd done. Better, better, the urge to panic again over Ray's well being had eased up. The sled was locked up on the side, forming a windbreak, a bulwark against the driven snow. Perhaps a bit more, out toward the back of the tent, just for safety's sake, and they began working together, just a different kind of task for their partnership and he was tired, was grateful for the help.

It seemed to take an eternity, working with the wind and the snow and he was out of shape, too long in the city, he was so tired, but Ray wasn't born and bred to this. Left to his own devices, he'd have done about half, nested with the dogs in the tent and simply outwaited the storm. Ray would need more, would need more, and even nested with the dogs, Ray was going to suffer a bit.

All too much thinking in weather like this, and when he looked again, Ray had leaned over, one arm resting on the half-built L, clearly exhausted. His pulse spiked upward, he slogged through fresh, soft snow and lifted Ray, shoved him toward the lee of his windbreak, toward the tent. "Get inside," he shouted, and Ray's head came up, moved from side to side. "Get inside, I'll be in soon. Go, Ray!"

Ray's head stopped moving. He could barely see the small strip of exposed skin between muffler and cap and hood. Finally, something that resembled a nod. His own feet were beginning to get numb despite his exertions, he shoved Ray a little, and Ray caught himself, began to move.

It slowed his heart rate, he looked at the wall they'd built, decided just a bit more would do and then it was back to saw, shift and place.

He wasn't sure after how long he stayed at it. But his fingers were growing numb, and it was time for him to go in before frostbite became a real threat, he trudged around the edge of his own wall and toward the tent, tripped over something large and bulky before he got to it, and then it was too late, panic did more than creep up and wave threateningly: he was in full fledged, heart thumping, hand trembling mode.

"Ray!" He managed to get an arm around Ray's chest, under Ray's arms, dragged Ray toward the tent. Dead weight, and that was enough to send another heavy jolt of adrenaline through his veins.

Oh, dear God, this was bad, if Ray was asleep or unconscious, it was very bad, worse than on the mountain, and he'd been alarmed then.

Not alarmed enough, evidently, not alarmed enough to resist foolish risks.

Inside the tent to discover that not only had Ray managed to get the tent up and the dogs inside, he'd set up the stove and left a lantern lit, unrolled the sleeping bags and blankets. And then, he thought, wrestling Ray's boots off, come back outside to help him.

Dief whined at him; Dief had staked out the sleeping bags, which meant that Dief's body heat might have warmed them somewhat.

He had to strip his gloves away to manage the zippers of the sleeping bags; his hands shook badly, he had to take in a breath, had to remind himself that haste encouraged mistakes, and he couldn't afford to make any.

Deep breath in, breathe out, and he was glad of the small warmth provided by the dogs and the lantern, went back to wrestling with Ray, who at least stirred and made sounds of complaint.

That was mildly encouraging.

He got his own boots off, his own outwear, and then focused on Ray, stripping socks and gloves away to check fingers and toes, hands and feet. Pale and cold, but the skin felt pliable, not hard, perhaps a bit of frostnip and that relief gave him the renewed energy to get Ray into the double sleeping bag, still wearing underlayers of fleece and thermal underwear. Body heat, that was the ticket, he told himself and slid himself in; at this point, he didn't dare rub those extremities, not with Ray more or less unconscious. That was a Very Bad Sign, even without frostbite.

Dief whined at him again.

"I know," he said and slid into the sleeping bag beside Ray. Ray was shivering, a Good Sign in the midst of all the bad ones; it meant Ray's core body temperature had not dropped as badly as he'd feared.

Ray made a sound in his throat and pale eyelids fluttered. ".&le' me 'lone, tryin' a sleep&."

Better and better, and he took in another deep breath, deliberately slowing his pulse. His own hands and feet were beginning to tingle, just coming back to life, and as clumsy with cold as his hands were, he still managed to strip off his own clothes, leaving them as extra padding inside the sleeping bag.

Ray whined like Dief when Fraser's fingers touched his skin, another good sign, that complaint of cold. Still, his legs were warmer than Ray's, and the skin on his chest and belly went to goosebumps when he pressed himself down on Ray, willing his own warmth into chilled skin.

A little struggle then, Ray was clearly unwilling to be bothered, and he peeled Ray's knit cap off, replaced it with his own, which was still mostly dry. A cold hand tried to bat at him, and he tucked it under his arm, not without a shudder. Capturing the other one wasn't quite as simple, not lying almost atop Ray, and he let it go for the moment.

Resting on his elbows-do not think about echoes, he told himself distantly-he cupped Ray's face, checking for frostbite there. Cold ears, but they were flushed already with renewed warmth, and the skin felt pliable there, too. No suspicious spots on Ray's nose or face, which was another Good Sign. "Ray," he said, "Ray. Ray. Ray. Ray!" The last in Ray's ear. "Wake up for me, Ray, come on, we've got to get you warm again."

"&.'m try'na sleep&" Irritability was another Good Sign. Faint grimace and Ray tried to turn his head away, free the hand trapped beneath Fraser's arm. "&.'s cold&."

"I know, Ray, we have to get you warm."

Ray's eyelids lifted a bit. "&.m'hand&."

"I know, I've got it, Ray, it's all right, I think you might've gotten a bit of frostnip."

Ray's eyes closed for a moment, opened again. Not quite all the way, but a line appeared between blond brows, as if he were thinking. "Oh." Slow blink. "Where's your clothes, Benton buddy? You're going to get that hypothermia thing." Rusty voice, not quite all there. Obviously.

"I'm trying to get you warm, Ray."

Ray's gaze shifted, over to the lantern. "Oh." His eyes closed again.

"Ray," he said, and his heart sped again. "Ray. Ray-"

"&.'m tired." Ray's eyes opened again and Ray scowled at him, but the flesh beneath him was warming up. "Hey, Benton Benny Ben buddy, my clothes are gone, too. Wha' happened?"

"You frightened me," he told Ray sincerely. "I thought-" And then Ray tried to shift under him. "Sorry, Ray, but I can't exactly get off you yet, not while you're still chilled."

"Mmmmhmmm." Ray's eyes closed briefly, Ray sighed, but it didn't seem to be an unhappy sound. "Feels good, Benton Benny Ben."

Oh, dear. Definitely, Ray was showing signs of confusion. A Bad Sign. The bad and the good signs were confusing him, as well, and he was already tired, he was afraid Ray wasn't the only one not thinking clearly. He'd been in the cold a long while, too, after all, and suddenly Ray's free hand came up to settle on his back, between his shoulder blades.

"Feels real good." Another sigh and Ray's gaze focused on him. "Nice n' warm."

It shook him. Badly. For lack of any sensible response, he put his hands up to cup Ray's face gently. Warmer, definitely. "Good."

"Missed you," Ray told him blurrily. "Been so long, Benton Benny Ben, been so long, and this is good."

Oh. Dear. He blinked hard. "You frightened me." Stupid response, but what else was there he could say? "Just lie easy, Ray. You're going to be fine."

Ray sighed again, Ray's body shifted beneath him again, almost restlessly. "I know, it was me, I fucked up. Cuz I was so scared, ya know, so scared of feeling anything for you, so scared to want you."

Oh, dear, oh, dear. Oh. Dear. "Shhhh, Ray, it's all right, you're just a little confused."

"I'm not." Another frown. "'m trackin', Benton Benny."

He didn't know for certain that he was tracking, he told himself wildly. "Ray, you need to just lie easy, I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying close enough attention." Babbling.

"I was so scared," Ray told him and sighed, eyelids sliding shut again for a moment. "And then you were like a zillion miles away, and I knew I fucked up, and I couldn't fix it. I suck, I know, I suck and I hurt you, and now you're gonna stay up here and I can't go back to Chicago, got nothing there." Words came in a rush and Ray's eyes opened again, too bright. "'m trackin', just tired. 'n cold, too. But you're nice 'n warm, feels so good." Solemn, almost owlish look. "Never gonna be warm again back in Chicago."

Oh. Dear. His throat hurt suddenly. "Ray, Ray-don't, please."

"Too late, huh." Ray's eyes closed again. "I suck. Too scared to say it, and now it's too late. Just gotta shut up." Just a mournful whisper, not defeated. Not hopeless. Just accepting.

That undid him, undid the armor he'd carefully built for the last year. "Ray," he said, "Ray, don't-we can talk about this later."

Ray's eyes were still closed, Ray turned his face away, trying to get free of Fraser's hands. "Not gonna." Faint whisper.

Oh, God. "Ray," he said, a little desperately, "Ray, you don't suck. If you didn't know that I love you, if you were afraid-so was I, Ray. If you didn't know that was real, that's my fault, Ray, not yours."

Silence for a moment. He sighed, rested his forehead on Ray's shoulder. So tired, he was so tired, his limbs felt heavy with exhaustion and effort. The sleeping bag was warm, and the dogs had crowded nearer to them, seeking reassurance, Dief lay on the other side, growled a warning when they got too close.

"You mean it?" Rusty whisper.

"Yes," he said tiredly. "Yes, Ray, I mean it."

Deep shaky intake of breath. "'S that a good thing or a bad thing, Fraser?"

Fraser again. "I don't know, Ray. I don't think it's either, I think it just is." He raised his head, trying to think. Ray needed warm fluids, warm food. But that would have to wait a bit. Ray was still shivering a little, not nearly as badly.

"Okay. Right." Still rusty. "'M trackin', Fraser. I'm just tired." Repeating it. "An' I mean it. I didn't wanna need anybody after Stella, didn't wanna love anybody, let alone Super Mountie, my partner."

He tilted his head, looked at Ray's profile. "I'm not Super Mountie." A little irritably. "I'm a human being just like every other human being on the planet."

Ray made a sound that he had to interpret as laughter. "Not even close, Benton buddy."

It hurt, and it shouldn't. He released one of Ray's hands, captured the other, and put it under his other arm, focused on what needed to be done instead of this lunatic conversation.

"Fucked up again, huh."

He looked, saw Ray looking at him, eyes far too bright again. "I'm flesh and blood," he said, swallowing his hurt.

Ray's warmed hand rested on his shoulder. "I know. But you're about as average as&you aren't like any other human bein', that's all I meant."

Oh. He sighed, swallowed hard. "I was afraid, too." Then, because it was honesty: "I'm still afraid, Ray."

Ray nodded, holding his gaze. "Me, too." Shakily. "Scared I'm gonna be cold for the rest of my life because I fucked everything up."

There wasn't any sane response, at least none that he could think of. So he let himself fall, let himself slip back into insanity, kissed lips that were still cool. Gently, neither of them was in any condition for anything more, but Ray's arm went around his neck. Tears were hot, unshed, burning his eyes, and he kissed the corner of Ray's mouth, kissed one eyelid, and tasted salt. They were both insane, both suffering from the cold, both confused, and right now he was willing to pray they stayed that way, and if that wasn't total barking madness, he wasn't sure what would qualify.

Ray sighed. Shifted under him. "Meant this, too. Feels good. Feels great."

"Idiot." The word escaped him. "You could have died." But his tone was gentle, and Ray didn't appear to take offense, Ray turned his face so that Fraser could kiss the other eyelid.

"I dunno what happened. I don't remember much after getting the tent up."

"I found you lying in the snow. Ray, I panicked." He shifted to ease his elbows, looked down at Ray. Pale skin was pinking again, but he didn't see any suspicious spots on Ray's face.

Steady gaze. "You never panic."

"I did," he said and frowned. "Ray, you were lying in the snow, unconscious."

"Asleep," Ray countered.

"It hardly matters." He frowned again. "By all rights, you should still be unconscious and very confused, very disoriented."

Ray blinked at him. "Sorry. I know where I am and who I am and who you are, and I know that if I have to go back to Chicago I'm gonna die. Oh, yeah, I'll be breathin' and walkin' around, but I'll be dead."

His eyes burned again. "Don't say that, Ray. Don't ever say that."

"Sorry." Warm breath against his lips and then Ray moved that finger's breadth, Ray's mouth fastened over his, a warm tongue brushed his lips, trying to part them.

He was so startled, he jerked his head back, and Ray stared at him, eyes wide for a heartbeat. He took in a deep breath and Ray began to babble apologies. "Shut up, Ray," he said absently and leaned in again, deepened the kiss.

Surprised sound from Ray's throat, and Ray's arm tightened around his neck. He tried to draw back, and Ray arched up under him, trying to keep him there and he nipped Ray's mouth, almost sharply. "Ray," a little breathlessly, "Ray, Ray, Ray."

Ray's arm loosened. "Don't change your mind." Shakily. "I know I deserve it, but please, don't."

"No, I won't, it's all right, Ray." He was shaking a little, too, delayed shock. He had nearly let Ray slip away from him, from life. "But we're both exhausted, and you're still chilled, I think your ambitions are overshooting your physical ability." Trying to smile.

Ray nodded, sighed, breath warm against him. The warmth of that was another Good Sign, but he was still worried. He inched down, put his lips against Ray's collarbone. Warmer still, but he was nervous. "You need warm liquids and hot food."

"Not hungry. Or thirsty." Ray sighed. "Just tired. Don't move, okay?"

He sighed, shifted a little, careful of his weight, spread one of his legs over the outside of Ray's. "I don't dare. You need warming."

"Yeah, I do." Heavy lidded look and Ray yawned suddenly. "S'okay if I sleep yet?"

His heart turned over. "Oh, yes, definitely. Perhaps we'll both rest a bit, and then I'll see to food and tea."

"Just don't move."

"If I moved, you wouldn't get warmed properly."

Ray's eyelids slid to half-mast. "Right you are, Benton buddy." And Ray's mouth curved slightly. "We can't have that."

"It's not a joke," he protested.

"Shhhhh." Ray's hand moved, ruffled the hair on the back of Fraser's neck. "Go to sleep. You're tired, too."

He was. He was exhausted. And worried. And feeling guilty. He was good at that, of course, he'd had more than enough practice. But Ray was reassuring him, and that was bizarre, considering he'd been terrified Ray would slip away from him in the deathlike sleep of hypothermia. Perhaps sleep was the best recommendation for both of them.

Ray shifted again. "Sleep." Owlishly.

He reached out of the bag, pulled his coat closer, and used it to pillow his head, to keep from resting too heavily on Ray's body. "Very well."

Another sigh and Ray's eyes closed all way.

He didn't close his own until Ray's breathing became slow and regular, and when he did, he slipped into the dark waters of sleep with almost frightening ease.

Too soft, the thought he took with him&..

Fraser dreamt of his childhood, when he was small, right after his mother had died.

His mother had once read him a story, the story of the Ice Queen, and now that his mother was gone-gone forever, said his grandfather, gone to be with Jesus in the sky, said his grandmother, although not precisely in those words-he wished he had a little piece of the Ice Queen's wicked mirror into his heart.

His father was gone, too, and now he lived with his grandparents, and while he supposed they were all right, they weren't his mum, or even his dad.

Be a little man, his grandfather told him again and again, especially when he was sad. Don't cry, go and help your grandmother, and be a little man.

Before he'd come to live here, after his mother had gone away forever, he'd had one of her oldest sweaters to help keep him from crying, but he'd lost it. He rather suspected that his grandfather or grandmother had taken it away because they thought it made him sadder. That wasn't being a little man, he gathered, and he didn't have anything of his father's, anyway.

Perhaps if he wished very hard, Jesus would send him a piece of the wicked mirror. Surely, it wasn't so much to ask, since Jesus had taken his mother away. It scarcely seemed a fair trade, but he'd asked his grandmother already if Jesus would give her back, and his grandmother had gotten very strange with him. By which he understood that Jesus wasn't inclined to give people back once he'd taken t hem.

A piece of the mirror was the very least Jesus could give him. A piece of the mirror in his heart, to keep him from missing his mum so very much. Or his dad, although Dad was often gone, he was used to that.

So he prayed, he prayed for a piece of the mirror. Prayed not to miss his mum so much, not to care so much that his grandmother and grandfather didn't hug him the way Mum had.

Prayed for a piece of the wicked mirror to turn his heart to ice, like Kai's in the story.

And Fraser woke to find that he was anything but cold, although there was a bit of a nip in the tent, and the sides still shifted with the wind. Ray was warm against him, although they'd shifted positions and Ray was now tucked deeper into the bag, his face pressed against Fraser's shoulder.

His dream stayed with him, although the details were murky, like a watercolor painting left out in the rain. The Ice Queen's mirror, he thought and shifted to his side. It somewhat dislodged Ray, who made a noise of protest and complaint and then went back under.

Ray, he thought, Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray. Irritating, hyperactive, annoying, endearing, well-beloved Ray, and for once, as Ray was wont to say, they were on the same page. He put an arm around Ray, and closed his eyes again. On the same page at the same time, at least he hoped so. There was lingering doubt, lingering fear that it had been hypothermia talking, at least on Ray's part.

Jesus, or whomever, had failed to answer his prayer. He'd never found a sliver of the Ice Queen's mirror. He'd had to make do with strong walls built around his heart, strong doors to shut away the memory of love, the desire for love, the need for love.

He had no idea how long they'd slept, but he needed to move, needed to feed them both, warm liquids, and the stove would add heat to the tent. His clothes were all around them in the sleeping bag, as were Ray's, he really did not want to get out of the sleeping bag without anything on, and he really did not want to wake Ray, and the indecision triggered by those mutually incompatible desires kept him right where he was.

Long warm body against him and Ray stirred, burrowed against his chest. Sighed against his skin.

Warm breath, warm Ray, and Ray stirred again, pulled away a little and stretched out again, face to face with him. "Hi." Sleepily. "Still blizzarding?"

He blinked. "Yes, I believe so." His voice was rusty, he coughed to clear his throat. "How do you feel?"

One corner of Ray's mouth lifted. "I'm good. You?"

The tip of Ray's nose was a little pink. Frostnip, nothing more, it wasn't red, it was slightly pink, as if Ray had been out in the sun too long. "Your nose is going to peel."

Ray blinked. "Yeah? It's not going to fall off, is it?" He touched it, as if making sure it was still there. "Skin's a little sensitive."

"Like sunburn," he agreed. Then, belatedly, "I'm fine."

Long look. "Yeah?" And Ray's leg slid between his, nothing too overt, just a motion that braided one long leg between his own.

"Ray," he began, "Ray, I'm not sure that's a very good idea-"

"What else is there to do?" A look from under blond eyebrows that completely wiped out his brain.

If Ray in denial had driven him mad with desire, Ray being flirtatious was going to kill him. "Um," he said, trying to remember what he'd been thinking about before Ray had woken up and blown his ability to think straight to bits. "I&that is, ah, I need to make us something to eat."

"I'm not hungry." Ray shifted closer, touched the tip of his nose. "Benton buddy, your nose is pink."

"So is yours." The words were irrelevant, all his attention was on the warmth of the leg between his own, on the way it felt to have the sole of Ray's foot rubbing the back of his left calf.

Ray moved closer, and put an arm around his neck. "So, do we do something about all the time I wasted, Benton buddy?"

Time. Wasted. Do. There was something he ought to be doing.

Unhappily, he couldn't recall what it was, and what in the world was he thinking about it for anyway when he had an armful of warm and willing Ray bent on seducing him?

He was an idiot.

Not that much of an idiot, he leaned in and accepted the kiss Ray was leaning in to give him, licked his way into that kiss with the banked hunger of a year. Food, he thought distantly, and tea or warm water, and it could wait.

He wasn't perfect, wasn't Super Mountie, he was a lonely man who had just received everything he'd wanted, and he wasn't just thinking about the hot, silky length of Ray's sex against his hip, which was definitely there and told him that Ray really wasn't hungry.

At least not for food.

There was a brief struggle over who was going to be tipped over and explored, and Ray won it, laughed victoriously. "My turn," Ray told him, eyes glinting with something more than desire. "My turn, Benton buddy, you guys got all the licking for the last year, it's my turn."

That was it. His brain completed shutdown, and the first touch of Ray's tongue at his collarbone was more erotic than anything anyone else had ever done to him. Yes, that was nice, and oh, my, that was even better, and when Ray found a nipple and paid some ardent attention to it, he realized those sounds were coming from him.

His hands moved restlessly over what he could reach, and Ray was definitely well warmed, and feeling a good deal more energetic than anyone who'd been mostly asleep in the snow should be, and while he wasn't inclined to believe in divine intervention for the most part, he was willing to grant credit where credit was due.

"Oh, my God," he gasped, when Ray's mouth found him, took him in. Probably more of a scream than a gasp, but the dogs didn't stir, so perhaps it just seemed that way to him. Ray was less than expert, but he wasn't going to complain, God knew he was no expert either, and Ray's hunger and enthusiasm were sufficient that expertise wasn't missed at all.

It was better than he'd imagined it would be, better than-dark thought, that-anything that Victoria had done to him, and he was close to the edge far too quickly, he didn't want it to end. Tugged at Ray's shoulders to bring him up, and then there were more kisses, sloppy, wet and entirely satisfying. Licking and nipping and Ray was over him, straddling him, rocking their hips together. He groaned, pulled them body to body, needing more contact, desperately needing it.

Ray squirmed free, started over again, seemingly lost in the taste of him: the inside of his wrist, the soft flesh beneath his upper arm, the ridge of ribs and the hollow of his navel, and then back up again, teeth nipping his jaw. "Got anything slippery?" Breathing hard, leaning down to nip his jaw again.

"Slippery?" Stupidly.

"I want you."

He tried to focus. Ray wanted him. Ray wanted something slippery.

Oh. He was an idiot.

"Ray," he said, trying to sound sensible, "Ray, I'm not sure that's a good-" He was kissed into silence, into breathlessness. "Ray!" Almost a squeak. "I don't." Deep breath. "This is good." Rocked up against Ray, showing him, setting a rhythm. Then, because he thought he saw disappointment, "We can get it later. Next town."

"Oh, yeah." Little whimper and Ray's mouth closed over his again. "Oh, God, I am all over that, Benton."

"Ben," he hissed and closed his eyes. His grandparents had called him Benton and he did not want to find himself thinking of his grandparents at a moment like this.

"Ben," Ray agreed and kissed him, rocking them together ever harder, finding just the right spot.

Oh, God, friction was good, this was good, this was amazing, the curve of Ray's buttocks under his palms, Ray's body stretched out against his, the regular pressure as they moved together. Ray in denial had still been arousing. Ray enthusiastic was downright incendiary. He was making sounds again, in spite of himself, and Ray was making them right back, little effortful sounds that could have denoted pain but didn't.

He was so close, so close, and Ray evidently was, too, Ray's sounds grew a little more&.not quite frantic, but close, and then Ray tilted his head back and groaned, he saw an incredibly arousing line of throat and tendon, and there was heat between them, and that pushed him over, he arched up and cried out, an utterly abandoned sound that he didn't recall ever making before in his entire adult life.

Ray kept rocking, more slowly, made these little sounds like whimpers and then collapsed against him. "Oh." Into his throat.

"Unhh." He agreed with that. Closed his eyes, caught the last flickers of color, shuddered at the throb in his flesh. One hand splayed over the small of Ray's back, stilling him. "Mmm."

Soft chuff of laughter on his throat. He smiled at that, even though he thought he was glazing over.

"Made a mess," Ray said blurrily.

"Mmmhmm." Yes, they had. He drifted for a few moments, felt around inside the bag and came up with his own shorts. "Lift," he suggested, and Ray pushed himself up, submitted to being swabbed clean, took the shorts and returned the favor. Ray's chest was flushed, Ray's face was flushed, and Ray collapsed on him again.

Long sigh. "Good thing we haven't shaved."

He briefly admired Ray's ability to string words together in a sentence, then puzzled over the meaning. Oh. True. Both of them had passed the stage of sandpaper stubble and were well on the way to almost beard, which he supposed was better. "Mmm."

Ray was wrapped around him, a warm living blanket, and he suddenly realized that Ray should probably be under him, to keep from becoming chilled, particularly after this, and they engaged in a small power struggle, ended up face to face.

"Quit worryin'," Ray grumbled.

He wasn't about to, but settled for pulling the extra padding of clothing and blankets around Ray. "We need to eat," he finally managed to say.

Ray's eyes were already closed, but Ray's fingers closed around his wrist. "Later." A sigh, but it wasn't an unhappy sigh "This is greatness."

It was better than greatness. He was probably dreaming. As long as he never woke up, that was better than greatness, too.

Ray fell asleep between breaths, so he closed his eyes. No sliver of mirror needed, he told himself, and then followed Ray.

Another day of the wind howling around them, another day of unreality, another day for Fraser to store up images of Ray in his mind: Ray eating and talking, free hand moving in earnest gesture; Ray sleeping in his arms; Ray sitting up crosslegged, wrapped in clothes and blankets, both of which Ray shed as soon as he could get Fraser back into the sleeping bag with him; Ray naked against him, face glazed by desire and pleasure.

He wasn't sure he expected it to last. Desperately, desperately, he hoped he was wrong, but if experience had taught him anything, it was to expect loss.

On the second night, the storm blew itself out, the morning was crisp and clear. Without discussion, they both began to pack up gear.

"Ray," he said, "I think that perhaps we need to wait on this journey. Just a month or two."

Ray looked up from rolling blankets. "A month?" Eyebrows drawing together. "How come? You backin' out of our adventure, Ben buddy?"

"Not at all. But I'm not going to take chances again. I was quite concerned about you on the mountain, and this was simply too close." He held Ray's gaze. "I feel sure it won't take long, but we're going to take as long as it takes."

After a moment, Ray's eyelids fell. "So I'm not so hot at this, I guess." One corner of his mouth lifted, but Fraser saw little humour there. "City fit."

"This is a harsh environment, Ray. I was born here." He felt obscurely troubled. "I'm used to the demands, although I admit, I'm a little softer than I'd like. The delay will be good for me, we'll both get better suited for the time we take to acclimate."

"You aren't havin' any trouble." Flatly.

"Actually, I am. I should have sensed the storm well ahead of time, in plenty of time to find us good shelter, I was caught unaware. And I think, perhaps, I've been in the city long enough that my own exhaustion at the end of the day was sufficient to dull both my sense of the land and my awareness that you, ah, weren't eating enough to sustain the requirements of this journey."

There was a silence. "You're not just sayin' that are you? You really think you've been having trouble, too?" Still not looking at him.

He leaned in, close, managed to get Ray to meet his gaze. "Ray, if I had not been having trouble, my judgement would have been better. If my judgement had been better, you would not have..." He took in a breath, forced himself not to blush by thinking of cool wind. "Well, I'm afraid I overestimated my own readiness, and I think that both of us need to get a bit more acclimated."

Long look. "That's all?"

He blinked. "Er, yes."

Ray's fingers moved restlessly on the blanket. "So where do we do this?"

His heart thumped. "I thought, er, that is, my father's cabin might be a good place. There's work to do there, I can teach you a bit about managing the sled so we can spell each other."

Ray's face lit from within. "Yeah? Greatness. I better talk to Welsh about a longer leave. Probably gotta be unpaid, but hey, an adventure is an adventure."

So much for giving Ray an escape route, he thought and fairly leapt over the rolled sleeping bags and blankets to tumble Ray back to the floor of the tent. Long deep kiss and Ray laughed outright into his mouth. "Unhinged."

"Very likely," Fraser agreed.

Ray grinned, sighed. "'S good." A murmur. "Feels good. Feels right. Stupid, bein' scared."

His heart turned over. "No, it's human. No one has the power to hurt us like someone we love."

Little intake of breath. "Yeah. Yeah, that's for sure. You gonna do that?"

It stung. "What?"

"No, I didn't think so. Well, I did once, but you know...." Ray tugged Fraser's hand up, flexed their fingers together. "But we're good, aren't we?"

Oh. Reassurance, that's all, and he could give that, couldn't he? Did he have enough faith in himself? "We are, Ray. But there will be times when we hurt each other unintentionally. I hope not many, but we're human."

"Times," Ray said softly, still watching their joined hands. "Like time ahead? Like the future? What are we talking about here? Canada? Chicago? What?"

He tightened his arm. "I don't know." Stark honesty. Then, in a rush. "I'm not sure I care, Ray. As long as--" Perhaps that was more honesty than Ray was ready to hear.

But Ray surprised him again. "As long as we're together?"

Ray, who panicked about nerve gas and sinking ships and jumping from airplanes, his Ray, braver than he was, more willing to risk, and whatever had scared Ray a year ago, it was probably related to the end of his marriage, and the scar that left. Because this Ray was fearless.

He had to match that this time. "As long as we're together," he agreed.

"Great." A sigh. "Greatness. So we can talk about it. We can decide what we want to do together, right?"

Oh, Ray, he thought and his throat hurt. "Yes." All he trusted himself to say.

"I don't make some dumbass decision without asking you, and you don't just decide, right?" Pushing a little.

Fair enough. A year ago he'd behaved shamefully, losing all control and sweeping Ray along with him. "Exactly."

"Great." Happily. "Greatness. Don't need to keep distance between us any more, right? Gotta be a way to work it? So I can work and you get time at home, too. 'S not fair for you to be stuck somewhere you hate."

He considered that. Home, he'd thought since he'd been back here in Canada, but what was home? He didn't have to be alone any longer, he didn't walk the path alone. No longer solitary. "Yes, that would work. I earn a certain amount of leave each year, and if we timed things correctly, we could take our vacations together."

Ray quivered against him briefly. "Great." Delight underlying one simple word. "Sounds good."

He nipped at Ray's mouth, was pulled into another deep kiss. "Oh, yes." Prayerfully.

"And we're gonna talk stuff over, nobody's gonna go off and decide things on their own."

That made him feel vaguely guilty. "No."

Ray's smile was almost incandescent, Ray poked him. "We're partners. We think stuff through together."

Together. It was quite possibly the finest word in the entire English language. "Together," he agreed

"How far to your dad's cabin?"

"Possibly two days."

"Got a real bed?"

He grinned. "More or less."

A Ray grin, crooked and mischievous. "What're we waitin' for, Ben buddy? Pitter patter."

He laughed softly, nipped Ray's throat and pushed himself up. "Pitter patter, Ray."

"Ben, you lost your place here?" Ray was breathing heavily, rubbing up against him. "Here, give me your hand, I'll show ya."

He laughed softly, glad to be pulled back to the here and now, let Ray tug his hand down and closed his fingers over rampant flesh. "Like this?"

The water was growing cooler. Ray shuddered at his grip. "Bed?" he asked. "Or here."

"Bed, bed, bed." Ray thrust against his fingers again. "Bed."

He reached in and turned off the water, tried to hold on to a water slick Ray, but Ray was impatient, Ray slipped free, laughing, and snatched a towel before leaving the bathroom.

He followed more slowly, the burn of arousal too good to hurry. Ray was all wildfire and lightning, and he wouldn't have it any other way; still, it was good to tease Ray a little now and then, to draw things out when Ray's urgency became importunate. Ray was on the bed waiting for him, stretched out, skin golden in places from the summer sun.

They hadn't found Franklin's hand, they'd finally found each other, kept each other. Chicago was&.Chicago, but it was also Ray, and Inspector Thatcher had been right, he had been offered his choice of assignments, and he'd made the choice to return here, with a promotion in hand.

Inspector Thatcher, of course, thought he was insane.

"You," he told Ray huskily, "are splendid."

"Too much talking." Ray's hands slid down his own body, restless movements that lured him in.

This bed was bigger, big enough he could kneel between Ray's legs. "Just like the first time?"

Heavy lidded eyes. "Uh huh."

"But you're already hard. And isn't it my turn?"

Ray whimpered, put an ankle over his shoulder. "Please?"

Put that way-he leaned down and kissed Ray's belly, wished briefly that Ray hadn't showered; he loved the taste and smell that was uniquely Ray, even at the end of a hot Chicago day. Ray's cock was hard against his tongue, he licked the tip and Ray whimpered again. Fingers tangled in his hair, not tugging precisely, and he folded his fingers around the base of Ray's cock, lost himself in taste and sensation until those fingers did tug.

"Too close," Ray moaned. "Oh, God, Ben, what you do to me."

He released Ray's cock, pushed Ray's legs apart, licking and sucking, his own hunger past banked and well back into flame again. Circled the ring of muscle with his tongue, teasing Ray until Ray had both legs pulled up, granting him whatever access he wished.

He wanted everything, moved his mouth briefly to suck on the sensitive skin of Ray's inner thigh before going back to probe with his tongue, and Ray melted against him, babbling incoherently, language sacred and profane. Finger in his hair again, barely able to reach him comfortably and he understood. Licked his way back up again, rubbed his face on Ray's belly and held out a hand for the bottle of lubricant.

"Yes," Ray hissed. "Want you, want you now."

Cool slickness and he warmed it a little, stroked it into Ray. "Yes, Ray, yes." Getting close to the edge himself, yes, he was, and when Ray's heat clenched around him, he had to take in a deep breath and think of dead caribou for a moment. "Don't. Move."

Ray made an incredulous sound. "Why?"

He clenched his teeth, thought fixedly of paperwork. "Because if you move, I'm afraid I'm the only one who's going to enjoy this."

Ray took in a deep breath of his own. "Gotcha, Ben, gotcha, oh, Christ, just do it, fuck it, do it." Babbling.

He leaned forward, supporting himself on his hand, unable to resist movement after all, and then he was thrusting hard and fast, and Ray was, as always, incredibly vocal, driving him harder and faster until Ray arched up against him. It felt like lightning down his spinal cord, watching Ray come, feeling Ray come, the scent of Ray no less powerful or arousing than it had been five years earlier. That lightning wrenched him out of his body, let him float free in ecstasy as he followed Ray over the edge, pumping in hard, and then staying there&..oh, yes, incredible, and no less so for four years of hunger slaked.

He sagged over Ray, was pulled down and held tightly. Four years, he marveled and licked the side of Ray's throat. He never would have imagined he would still be in Chicago and happy to be there.

He never would have imagined being here with Ray.

"'S good," Ray muttered, "So good."

It generally was, or at least from his admittedly biased point of view it seemed to be. "Always."

That got him a kiss and a dazed grin. "Oh, yeah, Ben." Then, more seriously, just the hint of a frown. "You happy?"

"Not at all, I'm miserable." He kept his face sober for a heartbeat more before Ray nipped his jaw rather sharply. "You know I am, why do you ask me?"

Ray blinked. "Just checking, that's all. I gotta hear it, that's all. No regrets?"

"The only regret I would have had is if I hadn't come back." Ray needed his own reassurances at times, which was somehow comforting. He still needed them himself on occasion. "Unless, of course, I had abducted you and kept you prisoner in the frozen North, which might not have been to your tastes, and would therefore have made me unhappy."

Ray sorted that out and shook his head. "I could have stayed."

"Perhaps. But you see, this way, we both have the careers we chose. With the added benefit that we can still work together." Not quite as they had, of course; his duties were different now, and he wasn't quite as free as he had been. "Isn't that what we decided? Together?"

Ray nodded. "I just have to check," he murmured.

It seemed to be a cyclical thing; Fraser sometimes wondered if it were related to the end of Ray's marriage to Stella. "I don't mind." Which was true.

"Don't need that wicked mirror, right?" Ray held his gaze.

He'd told Ray about his childhood fantasy, told Ray the story of the Ice Queen and Kai. "I should say not." Soberly. "Nor would I want it."

Ray smiled then, a smile that he rather thought only he had seen. "Me, either."

Four years, he thought again, drew Ray close against him and shifted to his side. No regrets.

None at all.

finis

End Waiting for the Thaw by anonymous co: JimPage363@aol.com

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