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

Author's Notes:

Story Notes:

This story is a sequel to: In Cold Irons Bound

• Walls of Pride ***

Walls of Pride

Fraser's doing great, even the doc says so. He's back on half-days already, only three weeks later, even though I'm nagging him to take it easy. I've been back at work for two weeks, naturally, but things have been busy.

Frannie sat down with me when I got back and tried to apologize for letting the cat out of the bag, but we talked about it and I think I got it figured. Looks like Vecchio heard about Fraser's surgery and freaked out, insisted on coming up, and Stella talked to my folks just before they came. And it looks like Stella never told Vecchio that her ex had switched teams. But Stella and Frannie did talk, and that's what Vecchio overheard. She said he just imploded, and Stella dragged him off and talked to him, and then he took off.

Guess that's when Stella told him about my folks.

So, I'm sitting there on a Monday morning, more or less happy, considering I'm getting the grunt work while the other guys are still covering the Winthrop case, which may or may not be the Winthrop case any more, because it looks like Social Services put her on suspension and she's looking a lot like somebody who's trying to sell her townhouse and leave town. She and her attorney are dealing with the DA's office on the whole hit and run thing, and since nobody was hurt or killed, and since she's saying she didn't know, she thought we were muggers or crazy rapists or something, that's not even going to be enough to nail her place for a while.

I feel like shit about the whole thing, but even Welsh took me aside and said this had nothing to do with my fuckup. She's being careful. We can't nail her on the two syringes anyway, he said, because it turns out she's diabetic.

Which gives her another easy way to have syringes, but hey, we can't prove that either.

Nobody can.

So I'm clearing up the burglary shit and the con artists and the drive bys and so on.

Dewey's being a little weird lately, more so than usual, and he's been in my face a lot, and I've been figuring that it's my getting tossed from the case until he makes some crack about how weird it is that Stella ended up with Fraser's old partner, and Fraser ended up with Stella's old partner.

He makes it under his breath, which means I don't have to punch him out in the bullpen, but it makes my gut knot up.

Huey says something I can't make out, real sharp tone, even if the words are low.

Dewey goes red, looks away.

Huey gives me an apologetic sort of look.

That floors me, it really does. But I nod back, keeping my expression as smooth as I can. Rest of the morning goes okay, but then I'm dealing with a kid, Jack Regan, just turned seventeen, he's got a juvie sheet, and something from Social Services, and then the name on the Social Services sheet jumps out at me. Geraldine Winthrop.

I look over the rest of the sheet, mostly small time shit. I want this. I really, really want this. I want to talk to this kid and see if he can make any connections for us. But I already fucked up once, I'm off the case, and I really, really don't want to fuck up again. I want this one by the book.

So I leave him in the room and go to look for Susan Archer. Used to work sex crimes. She's good, really good, and she's assigned to the redball that isn't a redball any more because we've got no more vics-thank God for something--and no arrests.

"Might not be anything," I say, after explaining, "Might not be anything anybody can use."

She's chewing her lip. "What's he in for?"

"Boosting a radio from an electronics shop. Petty shit on his juvie sheet mostly."

She nods. "You got a hunch?"

I roll my shoulders. "Truth is, I dunno. You know I got tossed off the case."

She gives me a sympathetic look. "Yeah."

"So, I dunno if I just wanna have a hunch or if I've got one, Sue." I rake a hand through my hair. "But if I'm right, I think you oughta have a go at him."

She nods. "Do me a favor. See if you can locate his file in that Social Services stack while I talk to him."

I grin. "Long as you don't tell Welsh."

She grins back. "I won't."

So she goes into interrogation and I go through the files on the desk in back, where we're keeping 'em. Where the redball team is keeping 'em. I find the file, take a look at it real quick while I'm waiting. Bingo.

After a while, Susan comes out, yells at me. I'm there, Johnny on the Spot, and she takes the file. "I think I need you in here, Ray. Low key, though. No good cop, bad cop. He's at the wrong age to talk to me about the Social Services investigation, he's a tough guy, not a scared little kid like he was four years ago." She looks at me.

I swallow hard. "Yeah, okay, but-"

"Just go, I'll clear it with Welsh." She gives me a little shove, heads for Welsh's office.

I go back for my coffee cup, stop and get a can of soda from the breakroom before I go back in. This is usually where Fraser does the good stuff, I'm the one ranting and raving, and Fraser reaches in there and bonds with 'em, gets 'em to spill their guts.

So, okay, so I think like a Canadian. No, I think like Fraser. Might be easier these days. I open the door and go in. Smile at the kid a little. "Brought you something to drink, hope you like Pepsi."

He gives me a startled look. Behind the tough guy expression, I can see his eyes are a little red and that makes my stomach do a lazy roll. What the fuck do I know about dealing with this shit? Susan's the one with the touch, not me.

But I sit down, across from him. "Listen, I was lookin' at the Social Services thing. Need to talk to you about that social worker, Jerry Winthrop."

He looks away and his jaw clenches. "I got nothing to say about her."

"Well, reason is, see, she's suspended these days, looks like she fucked up some investigations real bad. Some kids-well, you remember a couple of weeks ago, the kids who got killed. Looks like someone's picking out a lot of the cases she worked on." I take a sip, clear my throat. "So, we're kind of backtracking on the investigations, tryin' to figure out why and who."

He looks back at me, but his jaw looks like it's locked.

I push the Pepsi over to him. Let things sink in a little.

"So?" he finally says.

"So, we find out that she closed down the investigations and said they weren't warranted, and she was wrong. Or covering something up. We don't know, we're still trying to figure it out."

"Covering what up?" He finally reaches for the Pepsi, but I can see his hands are shaking a little.

I look into my coffee cup, turn it for a minute, look back up at him. "Looks like she was mostly working incest, sexual abuse reports." Keeping my voice even, calm. "Maybe she was just incompetent, ya know, we don't know. We don't get it."

He takes a long drink. Puts the can down and stares at it. "She's a sicko." Almost a whisper.

My ears come to a point. "Yeah?"

Kid looks away again, I see his jaw clench. "You think maybe she's killing 'em?"

"We don't know," I tell him. "We honest to God don't know who's killing the kids. But we think it goes back to these investigations. We're looking at the parents, at everybody."

His mouth twists a little and he's not looking at me, he's looking at his hands. "She could be doing it." Shudders.

I lean forward a little. "You wanna tell me about it?" Real quiet.

He still won't look at me. "I need a smoke."

There's a machine in the hallway and a bunch of guys in the bullpen still smoke, even though they have to go outside now. "What kind? I'll see what I can do." We break the rules in here sometimes, if it looks like it'll grease the wheels.

"Marlboro Reds."

So out I go, and holler, and sure enough, somebody has some, and I take a couple and a lighter back in. He's drinking the Pepsi when I come back in, big gulps like he wishes it was something stronger.

I slide the cigarettes and lighter over. Pick up my coffee cup and lean back in my chair, taking the pressure off.

He lights up, and his hands are still shaking. "She called me a liar." Husky voice. "Told me it was me, that I was the one who did it. That I-" He takes another drag. Looks away. "You know, that I started it."

It. The abuse. I have to swallow hard, keep the rage from showing. "That ain't right."

He glances up, takes another drag. "So, it all got shoved under the rug. She was creepy. Told me God would punish me for lying." Fidgets in the chair. "I moved out last year, moved in with my gran. She's the only one believed me anyway." Deep shaky breath. "So, like a few weeks before school gets out, this bitch calls me, wants to talk to me again. I tell her no fucking way, but she keeps calling. Finally, my gran tells her if she doesn't stop, she's going to file a complaint. So, you know, I'm leavin' school the next day and she's there, waiting, wants me to get in the car with her. Gave me the creeps, she was just&.freaky. I wouldn't get in, and she started talkin' really weird. About being wrong, and God told her what to do to fix it. I got the hell out of there."

My heart is thumping hard. "So that would be in May?"

He looks at me and I can see he's trying to decide if I believe him or not. "Yeah, I don't remember for sure." Thinks about it again. "Before Memorial Day weekend, but not too long. School got out first week of June."

I'm memorizing it. I ask him if he remembers the car, and drag Susan's pad and pen over, start jotting stuff down. He does remember, it was Winthrop's Altima, and then I lead him through remembering, have him close his eyes and see if he can pull up any details from the inside of the car. Only thing maybe useful is that he remembers there was something white on the backseat, like a blanket. Or sheet, but that's my own note, he doesn't say that.

We talk some more about her behavior during the investigation. "You know that's bullshit, right?" I say to him, because I can't keep it behind my teeth any more. "You know you didn't do anything wrong."

He looks at me, and behind the tough kid with the goatee, I can see the thirteen-year-old kid who believed that bitch. "Yeah." But he doesn't sound certain.

"Trust me. You didn't." I growl it kind of soft, but he hears me, looks down at his hands. Nods finally.

Looks up. "I took the boombox. Stupid dare." His eyes are too fucking bright.

I nod. "Ya do stupid things when you're a kid. Did a few myself."

Brief flicker of a grin. "And they let you be a cop?"

"Quota system. They gotta have one dumb flatfoot per station."

He laughs at that, but just for a second. "So, you gonna get her?"

"We're going to get whoever did it. But me, personally, I think she's involved. And if she is, we'll get her."

Weird, he looks at me like he believes me. Weird and scary. Jeez, I wish Fraser was here.

Door opens then, Susan comes in. "Okay, Jack, how you doin' in here?"

His expression shifts back to tough guy, but I wink at him. "We're doin' fine, Sue, just talkin' stuff over."

She takes the cue, I figure she's been watching from the other side of the mirror, and we zig back into talking about the radio, Sue says she'll see what she can do for the kid since he's admitting he did it, not stonewalling us, and then I prompt the kid a little to talk about Winthrop and the investigation and he opens up to Sue a little.

She gives him the same reassurance I gave him, I guess, and after a little while, she has enough with my notes and her own and she tells the kid to sit tight and not play poker with me.

So I talk about nothing in particular with the kid, find out he plays basketball, should have figured from looking at him. Tall, lanky kid, long legs and good arms. "You oughta work at that," I tell him, "Keep you from doing stupid things."

He shrugs, nods. "So what's gonna happen with the social services thing. They gonna reopen it?"

I haven't even thought about that. "I dunno. I can find out. Seems like they would."

"Shit." He sounds tired. "Is it gonna do any good?"

"You got any kid brothers or sisters?" Sharp, tight nod. "Could keep them safe." I see his jaw clench at that. "You wanna start it now, I can make some calls."

Another sharp, tight nod. "Do it."

Tough kid. Brave kid. "Sit tight. I'll be back in a minute."

I step out of the room and Welsh is standing there with Susan. He gives me a nod and he doesn't look pissed, which is good. "Kid wants to reopen the abuse investigation."

Welsh's eyebrows go up, and Susan looks mildly pleased to hear that. "Good for him," she says. "Want me to make the call? I know somebody over there is itching to get at Winthrop's files now that all this shit is coming out."

"Yeah, do it. He's ready to talk about it now."

"Good work," Welsh tells me gruffly.

I shrug, rub the back of my head. "Sue did the prep work."

She gives me a 'bullshit' look, but doesn't say anything.

I go back in and tell the kid that Susan's making the call. "I gotta take another case," I tell him and reach into my pocket, pull out my wallet and hand him my card. "You run into any problems, let me know. And stay outa trouble, okay?"

He looks at the card, takes it. "Thanks."

"You want another Pepsi? Probably be a few before anybody comes back."

"Sure," he says. Then, almost a whisper. "I mean it, thanks."

"Thank me by staying out of trouble," I tell him, but I soften it with a grin. "I'm right out there, you need anything else."

Quick grin, and he nods.

I get the Pepsi, take it back to him, and then get back to my desk. Great. I got another file on my desk, and this one is another fucking drive by. I sigh, and knuckle down to reading the file.

Business as usual.

Maybe I made a difference, anyway, maybe we'll get this bitch, and maybe that kid will end up being okay. Wish I knew for sure.

I go home that night and I'm beat. Totally beat. Fraser's in the kitchen, and I give him kind of a sideways smile before I, ta da, actually hang up my coat.

"You look tired," he tells me and comes over to put his arms around me from behind. Kisses the back of my neck.

I lean back into that, put my hands over his. "Mmm, yeah. Long day. All over fucking town interviewing drive by witnesses. Nobody saw nothin'."

I get another kiss, side of my throat and I close my eyes. Wow, feels good. Wouldn't have thought anything would feel this good as tired as I was on the way home. But I'm feeling a little, what's the word, re-energized with his arms around me. "How was your day?"

"Uneventful, alas. I look forward to being released back to a normal work day." His mouth teases my earlobe.

"Keep that up, dinner's gonna have to wait," I warn him.

"Promises, promises." It's almost a growl.

I grin. "Uh oh, I think you're nearly healed up. That's the first growl I've heard in a while."

He growls again, this time no words, and oh, yeah, that feels good against my throat. "I gotta shower, I feel grimy," I tell him. "Wanna join me?"

"What an intriguing idea," he mutters, and lets me tug him toward the bathroom.

Dief looks up from his snooze, swear to God he sighs and puts his head back down.

So we get in the bathroom, and I got a seriously horny Mountie on my hands, heh, and he's stripping me down in about nothing flat, and thank God he changed out of his uniform, because I'm just barely keeping up as it is. We've done a little fooling around since the surgery, mostly in the last week, pretty low intensity, not that it was bad. Hey, sex with Benton Fraser, even at first when we were both nervous as hell and scared of each other, has never been bad. But this is one of my favorites, Primal!Mountie, and he's all over me, licking and nipping and biting and licking again, and I am hot and hard against him.

I have to stop and think why the hell I thought a shower was a good idea. "Bed," I tell him.

"Shower," he tells me and nips my lower lip.

Well, what the fuck ever, I decide and get in under the spray. I'm not sure what he's got in mind, but I'll go with it. What he apparently has in mind is washing down every fucking inch of me in a way that drives me out of my mind. And not letting me return the favor. Oh, yeah, Primal!Mountie is here, he's definitely feeling friskier, and he keeps his hands and his mouth away from my dick until I finally grab it myself.

Well, that doesn't go over, I get my wrists both grabbed and held behind my back while he's pulling me up against him for another hot kiss, and I'm laughing in spite of the fact that if he doesn't stop teasing me I'm going to kick him in the head.

Somehow, we make it to the bedroom and whoa, I'm on the bed on my stomach and he's sitting on the edge opening me up with fingers that suddenly got very slippery, and fuck, yeah, it's been more than a month, and I can't help pushing back into those fingers. My brain's melting down just from the possibility of getting his cock inside, and I'm past being able to talk, I'm just sort of begging by saying his name, again and again and again.

Of course, in the back of my mind, I'm also wondering how good an idea this is, because it's only been about four weeks since he got out of surgery, and he slides up on the bed, cushions his back with pillows against the headboard and pulls me up into his lap.

Okay, there goes that little worried voice, I can do all the work and get fucked, too, works for me. I reach down for his cock, and he's slick at the tip and he's gotten me good and slick, too. I lift up, sink down, guiding him into me, and he lets his head fall back on the headboard, his face is all flushed and hot and oh, man, those eyes, hungry, hungry, hungry.

I push down and take a deep breath and he's just inside, his fingers close on my hips, not real tight yet, he's waiting.

I don't want to wait, I push down hard, against the burn and stretch, gasp a little, and he makes a sound in his throat. "Ray-"

I put fingers over his mouth, push down again, and he's all the way in, and I'm panting, waiting for that burn to change. It doesn't take long, and his fingers are holding tighter, I'll probably end up with bruises, and hell if I care. I lean forward, rest my forehead on his. Kiss him, and one of his hands lets go of my hip, cups the back of my neck and man, this is soooo good, hot and wet and our tongues are moving together, against each other, and I start to move, following that rhythm. He groans in his throat, but he's letting me do the work, letting me move the way I want, and oh, man, that's even better.

His other hand leaves my hip and reaches between us and I can't help it, I have to push into his hand, into his fingers, slam down again on his cock. Infuckingcredible, and boy, it's been a long time, I'm fucking myself on his cock, my hands curling over the headboard to let me push and pull, to let me work myself on that slick, hot flesh sliding in and out of me.

I can feel beads of sweat or water from the shower, running down my chest and belly, and he's biting my mouth and it's making me crazy, and I want him to come first, I want that to tip me over, I want to watch him come, and I break the seal of our mouths and tell him. "Come for me, Ben. Christ, come for me, come inside me."

He groans again, tips his head back and I push down, nip at his throat, lean down to bite gently at a nipple. That's it, he slides his arm around my waist and pushes up, just a little, but fast, three times, and I watch his face change, see that look of almost pain that's really pleasure and he yells out my name, and yeah, that works, he's still working my cock and I can feel my balls tightening up, I shove into his hand and on the upstroke, I lose it, spilling all over him, colors bright behind my eyelids, coming harder than I can believe.

When I can breathe right again, I've got my face in his neck and I'm just wrapped around him with his cock still inside me. He's breathing hard, still got that arm around me. "Ah, God, Ray." Dazed voice.

Oh, yeah, me, too. "Been too long," I tell him blurrily and then grin. We're just spoiled, I think, from each other.

"Assuredly too long," he says, and he still sounds a little dazed.

It's probably a good thing it's not this intense every time or we'd both croak early. I'm feeling too lazy to move until he's finally softened enough to slip free, and then I flop on my back. I'm going to have to sit on my hip tomorrow at the station, and what the hell. He leans down and kisses me hard, gets out of bed and goes to get a washcloth.

I watch him walk away and my dick sort of throbs, Mountie makes me feel about sixteen again. I'm smiling about that when he comes back in, so I get kissed again, long and slow, and then we're stretched out together. I'm sleepy, even though I'm also hungry; I'll just close my eyes for a minute, I tell myself, and I'm gone until the phone rings.

Fraser rolls over and grabs it, hands it to me.

"Kowalski," I mumble.

"Ray, it's Sue. Just thought you'd like to know that we got a warrant for her residence and the bitch was a trophy keeper. We've got her."

I come wide awake and up off the bed. "Fuckin' A!"

"Damn straight. If you hadn't caught that on the kid's sheet, it would have taken us a helluva lot longer to finish following up every file. Thanks."

"My goddamn pleasure," I tell her, fierce and glad. "Make it stick, Sue."

"We're dotting every I and crossing every T. See you tomorrow."

"Good work, Sue."

"Didn't do it alone, Ray." She laughs and hangs up.

"They got her," I tell Fraser, "They fucking got her."

His expression is grim and pleased at the same time. "Excellent news."

Wow. I'm wired now, wide awake, and I rummage clean sweats out of my dresser. "Damn, damn, damn, that's great, that's greatness." I do a little dance step, a little one-two sparring punch.

He's smiling at me now, grimness all gone. "Shall we celebrate by eating dinner?"

"Sounds good, I'm starvin'." I get him some sweats, toss them to him. Dance my ass into the livingroom and Dief gives me a long-suffering look. "Yo, Dief, we got her."

He perks up, lifts his ears.

I hear Fraser chuckle in the bedroom, and I head for the stereo, put on some tunes, something rockin' to fit my mood. When I look up, I see Fraser watching me, leaning against the doorjamb and smiling. I grin back, head on over to get a bear hug and a kiss, and then I'm off again, can't stand still, start getting out silverware while Fraser checks the oven. "What's for dinner?"

"Roast chicken," he tells me, and Jesus please us, the Mountie gooses me. I yelp, jump and crack up, and wind up on the kitchen counter, with him standing between my knees and remapping the inside of my mouth. Friendly hello to my tonsils, I swear.

Maybe he has a kink for Hyperactive Kowalski, who knows, I'm not complaining.

Hell, no, I'm celebrating.

Great fucking deal.

When I get in the next morning, the whole atmosphere of the bullpen has changed. Even Dewey isn't being an obnoxious prick for a change, and when Welsh comes out of his office, he's not bellowing at anyone.

Susan fills me in on the where and whyfor. "Weird," she says, "She knew we were watching her, but she couldn't bear to get rid of her little box of souvenirs. It was in the flowerbed outside her back door, Tommy saw the earth looked like it'd been turned recently, but only on that corner."

I think about Gacy. Before my time, really, but there isn't a detective in Chicago hasn't heard about the details from the old heads. "At least it wasn't bodies."

She pulls a face at me. "God. Anyway, after Tommy hit the jackpot, we went through that place like the plagues of Egypt, found the morphine ampoules above the bathroom, little box resting on a joist."

I'm feeling uneasy, remembering Jack Ryan's comment. "She gonna go for insanity?"

Susan laughs, but there's not any good humour in it. "Her attorney's making noises, but she's got an ego like Ted Bundy. Swears she's not crazy. Guess the shrinks'll decide."

"Hope she convinces them." I say it fiercely, and even though I admit, I'm not always sure about the death penalty-look at Beth Bottrelle, look at what nearly happened-this is one of those cases I'd be glad to see the lady take a needle.

On the other hand, I think about it later, and even though I know in my gut she's the perp, I feel a little sick. Beth Bottrelle, I think, and rub a hand over my chin. But Susan's a good cop, and Tommy Hathaway, two of the best. Careful, by the book, and nobody's pulling anything. It's a clean collar, and damn, I'm glad.

Maybe I've just lost all my innocence about the death penalty these days.

Whatever. I'm not going to dwell on it now, I have a stack of folders on my desk that isn't going away, and the four open cases I started working yesterday.

Coffee. I need more coffee, and when I get back, Fraser's sitting at my desk reading one of the open files. Quick glance up, a smile and a nod, and he goes back to reading. Frannie comes over, flirts with Fraser like always, and grabs a batch of the files in my stack.

"What're you doing?" I ask her.

"You're not working fast enough, Lieutenant wants these divvied up." Typical smart-ass Frannie, but she winks at me and swivels her hips as she walks away.

Dewey stares after her like he's hypnotized. "Hey," I snap, "Keep your eyes in your head."

He gives me a startled look. "Hey, she's not your sister, Kowalski."

"She was," I snarl. "And since the real Vecchio went to Florida, I gotta keep an eye on her."

He opens his mouth, looks at Fraser and closes it, scowls at me.

I look over to see Fraser regarding Dewey with the Mountie mask. Makes me grin a little. Dewey might run his mouth on me, but Fraser's a different story. Good. That's just how I like it.

Fraser looks up from the file. "Shall we see about interviewing witness, Ray?"

I'm glad my back is to Dewey. "Are you supposed to be here?" I ask suspiciously, even though there's just about nothing better than working with Fraser.

"I have the all clear." Fraser smiles faintly. "Dr. Donnelly has released me to my normal duties with certain caveats."

"No throwing yourself out windows," I say.

"No leaping on cars," says Huey, who is going past.

"No jumping off tall buildings into the lake," Dewey pipes in.

Okay, I won't punch him next time he makes a crack about me and Fraser, just for that.

Fraser is regarding us all with mildly surprised look. "Well, yes, actually," he says, and stands up, picks up his hat. "Ray?"

I grab my jacket. "Right you are, Fraser."

I see Dewey shoot Huey a look and Huey ignores him. I ignore them both and Fraser and I head on out.

By two, we break for lunch, and my spirits are up again. I'm feeling so good, I let him talk me into getting something healthy, and he knows me well enough that he chooses Ethiopian. We've actually got a description of the vehicle involved from some of the people in the neighborhood even if we had to freaking canvas it to find anybody willing to talk. No plate yet, but I know some guys from that end of town might loosen up if I have a description.

Fraser's back, he's looking good, he's feeling good, and I have to say I'm damn happy to have him, especially if I'm going to get stuck with the kind of cases I've been getting lately. He looks happy, too. Happier, honestly, than ever, and that's something that makes me feel good, beyond good.

I smile across the table at him. "Hey."

He arches an eyebrow. "Hey?"

I grin and boy, it feels like a doofus grin. "Missed workin' with you."

That warms that smile a lot. "As did I, Ray."

Couple of saps. Can't say I don't like it. We finish lunch, head back out, I check in with a couple of those guys I thought about, and then we head back to the station.

Dewey's in Welsh's office, but I don't think anything of it, and Fraser and I buckle down on a couple of the other cases. One we can clear right away, it's not a homicide, it's a freak accident, and Sherlock Mountie comes up with the first clue.

Makes me feel like my brain is on strike once he asks me about it. "I think I need a vacation," I tell him, and write up the notes. He goes off to get something to drink from the breakroom, and Dewey comes out of Welsh's office looking pissed off.

He goes over to Huey and starts in, and I can't hear what they're saying, but Dewey's pretty hotheaded at the best of times, so I don't pay much attention until their voices get loud and then I look up in time to see Dewey take a swing at Huey.

Couple of the other guys grab Dewey, and I scramble over there with Tommy Hathaway and help Huey up off the floor. If I was a little kid, my eyes would be like saucers, I swear, because no matter how much they bitch at each other, they're partners.

Huey's fucking pissed, he tries to go for Dewey, so Tommy and I have to hold him back, and he's usually pretty level-headed.

About this time, Welsh comes out of his office and everybody freezes. "What the hell is going on?" He bellows it, and he's in a mood, I can see it.

Huey shakes himself free of us. "Just a misunderstanding, Lieutenant," he says, and his voice is like ice. "That's all."

Dewey is calming down, now it's too late, and he looks at Huey like he's just now realizing it. "Yeah, a misunderstanding," he agrees.

So the rest of us scatter to make it look better, and Welsh glares at Dewey and Huey and goes back into his office.

Dewey stomps over to his desk.

I'm watching him, totally confused. It's like I missed some big clue or something.

He's pulling stuff out of his inbox, slamming folders on the desk, and he looks up at me, snarls, "What are you looking at, faggot?"

For a second, I can't believe I heard it. And then, Tommy and Huey are pulling me off Dewey, and Dewey's jaw is puffing up.

Fraser comes up with a cup of tea and a cup of coffee right about then, shocked expression.

"I'm good," I say, through clenched teeth, and Huey lets go of me.

Puts a hand on my shoulder. "This asshole ain't worth it, Kowalski," he growls.

Tommy shakes his head, goes back to his desk. Just in time, too, because Welsh comes back out again. Surveys the bullpen with a deadly look in his eye.

I slide back into my own chair. Split a knuckle on Dewey's jaw, and I stare at it for a minute. Fuck. I should have known it was coming to this, Dewey's been itching for it. So, I hang tough, that's all I can do. Just hang tough.

Fraser hasn't said anything, but he hands me the coffee, gives me a long questioning look.

I shake my head tightly, get back to work. And that's how the rest of the afternoon passes.

Fraser asks me on the way back to the Consulate to pick up Dief. I knew he would. And I'm not going to lie to him. Maybe not tell him the whole truth.

"He just said something shitty and it pissed me off." I don't quite look at him. "He's been riding my case since I got tossed off the Winthrop case." Which isn't completely true, but it's close enough it only gnaws on my conscience a little. "I lost my temper, sorry."

He's got that line between his eyebrows again. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He's probably wondering why I haven't mentioned it. I roll my shoulders as we pull up to the curb. "Nah, it's&it's just Dewey, you know what a prick he can be. He's still a good cop." Which is true. "I just have to get my head straight, not let it get to me."

He nods, but I can tell he's still chewing at it when we go inside.

For once, Cecil is pleasant to me, and frankly, after Dewey, I'm ready to be pleasant to him, even if he is good looking and Canadian and probably spends more time than I get staring at Fraser's ass. So we chat while Fraser checks over some of Munro's stuff, and then he turns it in to Cecil.

Munro grins at me as Cecil walks away. "I believe I owe you and Sergeant Fraser thanks, Detective Kowalski. I'm having dinner with Ms. Vecchio tonight."

I do a double take, grin. "Hey, remember, I'm her adopted brother, you better have honorable intentions or else."

He laughs and blushes at the same time. "Oh, I quite understand."

Which doesn't mean he does. Heh. Well, hell, at least Frannie will have a good time.

It cheers me up a little, at least.

Fraser and me argue in a friendly way about what we're having for dinner and where, and if he's cooking or if we're getting takeout or pizza. Dief votes with a bark, and I say, "See, two against one. Pizza."

Fraser's eyes glint, but he surrenders. "Very well, pizza it is."

For some reason, the apartment seems&..too small. Crowded. Too much like the place I spent so much time feeling miserable in. "I think we need a different apartment," I tell Fraser. "There's some two bedrooms in this building. You could have like&an office."

Fraser blinks at me, hangs up his uniform tunic. "What would I need with an office?" Confused.

"A den. A library. A bedroom for Dief to entertain lady friends." I'm lying across the bed, feeling vaguely dissatisfied with my surroundings. "A bigger bedroom for us. I need to toss some shit, too. Too cluttered."

He comes over to the edge of the bed and sits down on the side next to my head and shoulders. "What's troubling you, Ray?" Rubbing my shoulders with one hand.

"I'm moody." I sigh and turn my face into his thigh. Wool, Fraser and a hint of leather from his boots. "I dunno, I want-this feels too temporary or something. I want something that's ours."

His fingers move up my neck to my hair. "You don't feel that this is ours?" Soft voice.

"It is, but it isn't." I sigh again. "I dunno what the hell I'm saying." I reach over and wrap my arm around his thigh, hold on.

He doesn't say anything, just keeps rubbing the back of my neck and stroking his fingers up through my hair.

Some of whatever's bothering me seeps away. Not all of it. But a lot of it. I don't want him to think it's him. Christ, he's the best thing in my life right now. My job-well, I don't even want to go there right now, and I don't exist for my dad any more, and since that happened, my mom's called a couple of times when he's been out, but the last time I heard from her was more than a week ago, and she didn't say anything at all, like what happened between me and dad hadn't happened at all.

Maybe he didn't tell her. That's what I wonder. I'm not going to. Hurts too bad to think of her turning away, too. Fraser's the one good thing left. Well, not counting good friends, and while I don't have a lot of those, I'm counting Frannie among them, and maybe Huey, too. Better than I knew, which is a sorry kind of thing to say, but it's true. Welsh is, sort of, as much as your commander ever can be. Sandor is, yeah. Fraser, though, he's everything: best friend, partner, lover, family, maybe even packmate, if you factor Dief and everything in.

Not so bad, Kowalski, I tell myself and nuzzle into the wool pumpkin pants. Two years ago, I had a marriage down the tubes, and thought my life sucked enough I took over somebody else's. This year, hell, if I gotta put up with the Deweys of the world once in a while, fuck it. I can deal.

"Are you all right?" Fraser asks me, concerned.

"I'm wallowin'." I turn my face up a little, smile at him to ease his mind. "Countin' the good things in my life."

Oh, that reassures him, all right. There's nothing like watching Fraser light up when I say the right thing. I let go of his leg, roll on my back and he leans down to kiss me, shifts so he can hug me hard.

Life goes on. I can think positive and hope that maybe my dad comes around, but I can't dwell on it. I can't worry about fuckwads like Dewey, because it's not going to make any difference anyway. Worst comes to worst, I'll toss the job, and talk Fraser into getting a transfer back to Canada. Might not be the best in the Northwest Territories, but hell if I can't learn.

"So, you wanna fuck before or after we order the pizza," I ask him conversationally, just working the word in to see how it flies.

He stares at me and I swear, if he had his tunic on, his collar would be too tight. "What?"

I waggle my eyebrows at him, grin, and hope for the best.

He gets flushed, and his eyes get that hungry look, so hey, there's another good thing, it turns him on. "I think before we order pizza," he says huskily, "And perhaps after it arrives."

Whoa. Ambitious Mountie. No complaints here, I am all over that, turned on Benton Fraser nipping at my mouth and throat, and sliding his hand into my jeans before I have time to get a breath again. My dick wakes right up and says hello to him, and I'm trying to get a hand down those pumpkin pants, and he's laughing into my mouth. "I think I can manage this a little faster," he says and bites my chin.

"What're ya waitin' for, then." I kick my boots off without getting up, toe off my socks, get my jeans unbuttoned, and shimmy out of them. He gets those pants off, and instead of hanging them up, he tosses them over at his dresser, and oh, yeah, that's a very good sign.

We do a little semi-naked wrestling on the bed, and I get him pinned, although I think he's probably letting me, and spend a lot of time mapping his chest and belly. Mountie isn't the only one with a licking fetish these days, and I spend a lot of time checking out spots haven't been examined since before he had the surgery.

He gets impatient, and we do some more wrestling, a little laughing, and a lot more making out until he pulls away and grabs my hair. "It's my turn, I believe." Hot look.

"Are you keeping count?" Smart-ass, even though looking at that expression is damn near enough to push me to the edge.

"Someone has to." Wicked curl of that tongue.

God. Okay, so I get the lube and he's an impatient son of a bitch, he grabs it and does the honors himself, and it's so fucking hot watching his fingers move in and out that I have to close my eyes and press hard to back away from that edge. I'm still a little nervous about his back, so I spoon up behind him, guide myself into him, slow push and he makes a sound of complaint in his throat. I bite his shoulder gently. "Slow down, or I'm the only one gonna enjoy this," I tell him, and boy, I sound hoarse. "I mean it, Ben."

Husky laugh. "Don't underestimate." And then he gasps, growls in his throat and pushes back and it's all I can do to hang on, I'm balancing on the edge. I reach around his waist, stroke his cock and he's already stiffening up again, hot and hard and slick. Feels so damn good, so damn sweet, and I'm taking deep breaths, slow breaths, and then I'm okay, I figure I can last more than thirty seconds.

Time slows down, and I'm narrow focused, the sweet-salty taste of his skin under my tongue, the heat that's gripping my cock, and the push and slide of him in my fist. How does it keeps getting better, not that I'm complaining, how the hell does he do this to me? The feeling just keeps expanding, not just the good old-fashioned lust for his body, which is plenty fine, but everything else, too, and even though I loved Stella, loved her with everything I had, I keep finding I've got more these days, like I'm the fucking Grinch and my heart keeps growing three sizes every day.

The sex, hell, I suppose that's just knowing each other better the longer we do this, knowing how to drive him crazy, and that's what I'm doing, teasing the head of his cock with my thumb, just stroking that sweet spot just under, and he's probably moving a helluva lot more than he should. I grab his hip hard, letting him know to just relax, and he moans, tips his head back and I lick the side of his throat, kiss the corner of his mouth. It's too good, too hot, and I'm muttering to him, telling him how sweet it is, all the stuff you babble at times like this when it's so good, and Jesus, I can't stop, I can't hold back and I'm coming, biting on the muscle of his shoulder and that sends him over the edge and he's shooting hot and wet over my fingers and his chest and belly.

Christ, I swear, it's hard to breathe, and I'm nuzzling him and he's making this sound, not quite a moan, not quite a sob, and sometimes it hits him that hard, and I'm gentling my hand down even though my brain's on total meltdown, gentling and kissing and so deep inside him I swear I'm not sure how we're going to get separate again.

Which even I know is orgasm-induced insanity, but hey, I'm used to it by now. We do a lot more nuzzling and kissing and I finally pull out, mostly slip out, with a kind of sigh. At least Dief doesn't want to watch any more, I think and grin, kiss the spot right underneath Fraser's ear. "You still alive?"

"Barely." His eyelids are heavy, almost sultry looking, and I kiss his mouth, pad into the bathroom for cleanup, bring him back a warm wet washcloth and take care of business. Once that's done, I sprawl flat on my back, too comfortable and lazy to move.

Fraser rolls up on his side, runs a fingertip down the middle of my chest. "Thanksgiving is coming."

"Not until November," I tell him.

"Canadian Thanksgiving," he says, and his mouth quirks up. "Second Monday in October."

My eyes open wide. "Jeez, next week. I suppose you get the day off."

"Right you are," he says cheerfully.

I consider that kind of regretfully. "I just got back from a week off," I tell him, "I dunno, Welsh might not want me to take a day off."

"Not to worry." He's drawing invisible patterns on my chest and belly. "I was just thinking about it, that's all. Do you know, I've never much paid attention to holidays, Ray. But these days, I'm feeling rather absurdly sentimental about them."

Boy, I'm all over that. Last Christmas-well, I'm looking forward to this Christmas. Last Christmas I had the shakes, thinking about the fact that Warfield's goons could have whacked Fraser in that alley and I wouldn't have known zip until somebody called the body in. Just thinking about it makes me shiver, and he gives me a curious look. "Does that tickle?"

"Yeah," I say and grab his hand, kiss the knuckles. "No getting' beat up this year, you hear?"

Blank look for a minute, and then he shakes his head. "Well, I didn't plan on it last year." Drily.

"Yeah, I know." I tug him down, hug him hard. "So, should we plan something special for dinner? Go out someplace nice?"

He settles back on his side with his arm over me. "We could." Comfortable voice, messy Mountie. Disorderly hair. Heh. Looks good enough to eat, except I couldn't get it up right now if my life depended on it. "Or I could prepare some traditional things."

Uh oh, wicked glint in those blue eyes. "No moose," I tell him, "And no musk ox, or whatever."

He chuckles. "No? Something less traditional?"

"What did you have as a kid."

Something like a shadow moves behind his eyes. "Oh, it varied."

I hug him hard again. "We could always start our own traditions," I tell him.

"There's an idea." I get kissed. "But for the moment, if we're ordering pizza, we'd better call it in before we get faint with hunger."

"Not a bad idea." I let go of him, stretch and roll upright. "What sounds good, besides pineapple."

He grins. "Canadian bacon."

I look down my nose at him, decide that's fair, and bounce off the bed. I make the call, and by the time the buzzer sounds, we're both dressed, Fraser in sweats, and me in jeans and a t-shirt.

I buzz Sandor in, or so I think, and when the knock comes, I grab my wallet and head for the door.

My dad and mom are standing there, and boy, does my mom look stubborn. My dad won't look at me. I back away from the door like there's something dangerous standing there, and turn to look at Fraser.

He's on his feet, and he's looking at my father with his Mountie mask on.

I'm too stunned to say anything, but my mom grabs my dad's coat sleeve and practically drags him in. "We are not," she says, more to him than me, "going to do this again for the next ten years."

I take another step back and bump into Fraser, who says calmly. "Please, come in and make yourself comfortable."

She actually smiles at Fraser. "Thank you, we will." Looks daggers at my dad.

I feel about twelve, which isn't surprising. My dad does that to me a lot. Fourteen tops. I scoot sideways, so I don't step on Fraser, who is asking my mother politely if he can offer them some tea, coffee, something to drink.

"Coffee would be very nice," she says, and I take this opportunity to head for the kitchen.

Fraser follows me in and stops me from putting twice as much coffee in the filter as anybody in their right mind needs. "Did you know about this?" I hiss at him. My heart is going ninety to nothing, talk about fight or flight.

He gives me a look I haven't seen in a long time, the Do-You-Need-Thorazine look. "Of course not."

Okay, I can deal with this. I can deal. If I can handle my father telling me I'm not his son while Fraser's asleep in his hospital room, I can handle this. I nod jerkily at him and head back around the counter to the livingroom. "Coffee's on," I tell my mom faintly.

She's shed her coat, and Dad is standing there with his hands in his pockets and staring at Dief. Mom gives him another daggers look and comes over to me. I barely manage to avoid backing into Fraser again, but she just hugs me hard. "I'm not going to lose you again," she tells me, and I can see tears in her eyes. "Just because you and your father don't see eye to eye."

Something flares in my chest. "Mum, it's not that. He can't-he said I wasn't his son. That's not me, that's his decision."

"Well, to hell with that," she says sharply.

I nearly fall down. Hearing my mom swear is like ten times more startling than hearing Fraser swear.

She turns to my dad. "Damien, you owe your son an apology."

This time I do back into Fraser again. My dad looks up at my mom, and I feel sorry for him for a minute. He's between a rock and a hard place, for sure, but since he got me with the rock, I can't hold on to sympathy. All I have is hurt, and I open my mouth to tell my mom that this isn't going to work, that she needs to just let it go.

"Damien, if you do this to him again, I will never, never forgive you." My mom sounds like she's about to cry.

That tears me up, my throat hurts, and my eyes are stinging. "Mom," I start to say, but my dad looks at me.

"I'm sorry, son." Husky voice. "What I said to you-that was wrong." He brings his chin up, though, and looks at me. "I don't approve of this. I don't like it. I'm not gonna pretend that I do. But I was wrong."

Oh, boy. I can't say anything, because if I do, I'm going to bawl like a kid. I settle for nodding. "Okay," I finally manage. "Fair enough."

He scowls at Fraser, which gets my back up, but Fraser just looks back at him calmly. "I realize this is difficult for you," Fraser says politely. "But I hope that you will treat Ray with greater courtesy in the future."

My head turns so fast I hear my neck crack. I stare at Fraser, look back at my dad, who looks away, nods kind of grudgingly. Fraser has never said one word about my dad, but I can hear some snarkiness under the polite words. My mom hugs me hard again. "You're my son," she tells me, kind of teary, "And even if I don't understand, I want you to be happy, Ray."

About this time, the buzzer sounds again, and Fraser steps around me to take care of it. This time it's the pizza, and since my dad is still standing in the middle of my livingroom in his coat, my mom grabs hers again. Takes Fraser's hand in both of hers while he balances the pizza box on his other hand. I rescue it, and Mom hugs him, which has to be freaking Fraser out. He bears with it with his usual courtesy, pats her shoulder when she pulls back again.

She says something to him, too soft for me to hear, and he blushes, looks down at her, and smiles. "I do, Mrs. Kowalski."

She pats his cheek, grabs my dad's sleeve again, and starts dragging him out. My dad gives me a long, pained sort of look.

"I'll talk to you later, son," he says roughly, and then they're gone.

Fraser closes the door, turns to study me. "Are you all right?"

I realize I'm shaking. "Yeah." I nod, but he's there all of a sudden, and his arms are around me and I'm wrapped around him. Not crying, just shaking. He holds me tight, and practically rocks me against his chest until I calm down. "Sorry," I say, finally. "I guess I was more upset than I thought."

"Hardly surprising." He ruffles my hair, kisses me long and sweet. "You love your parents."

"Yeah." I feel like I just went five rounds sparring with someone bigger than me. "I'm starving."

"Then it's a good thing we have food." He turns me toward the pizza box on the counter, and goes to get plates.

I open the fridge and yeah, thank God, I have a couple of beers. I grab one for me and a bottle of water for Fraser, and straighten back up to get a quick kiss again. Fraser's got napkins and plates, and I grab the pizza and we spread out on the couch and coffee table and eat.

I'm leaning against Fraser's shoulder when I realize that a year ago, we were still sort of struggling our way through this whole thing, and yeah, we made it. Makes the thing with my dad a little less painful. And my dad-well, I can understand him being upset, I can, but it doesn't make it any easier. "What did my mom say to you?"

Fraser pauses in mid-bite and blushes again. "Oh. Uh. She asked me to take good care of you."

I give him a challenging look. "Yeah? And who takes care of you?"

He grins. "You do, of course."

"As long as we got that straight," I grumble, but I bump up against his shoulder, just for the contact.

At least my dad doesn't hate me. I didn't let myself really know how bad that hurt, I guess. I'm still feeling shaky, a little. But he doesn't hate me, doesn't wish I was dead.

That's gotta count for something. At least, I'm going to pretend that it does until something proves I'm wrong.

"They love you, Ray." Fraser's reading my mind again.

I let myself lean a little more against him. "Yeah. So do you."

He arches an eyebrow at me. "Absolutely."

"So, even though I love them, too, I'm not going to stop loving you because it makes them uncomfortable." I scowl at him.

I get pounced on, then, and we do end up getting naked after dinner after all. I can't decide if that's what turned him on, or he just wanted to make sure I slept good.

Personally, I don't mind either way.

End Walls of Pride by anonymous co: JimPage363@aol.com

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