Author's website: http://www.geocities.com/khristaz

Disclaimer: They don't belong to me.

Author's Notes: Many thanks to go Erika and M-A.

Story Notes: This is part 4 of the Happy Holidays series (after Fireworks, Special Thanks, and Thanks Again). However, even if you haven't read those, this story probably won't confuse you.
Spoilers abound for Victoria's Secret.

This story is a sequel to: Thanks Again

It was approaching five o'clock on Friday afternoon, and Benton Fraser was keeping one eye on the clock, the other on the schedule in front of him. The Consulate was going to be hosting several important functions within the next few weeks, each one requiring intricate details and precise planning. He was trying to get as much of that done as he could before his shift ended and his long weekend began.

It was a difficult task. The thought of the upcoming three days of freedom was distracting him, despite all of his best Mountie efforts at control. Monday was a Canadian holiday, hence the Consulate being closed. Ray had arranged to have the day off as well, taking advantage of a welcome lull in the number of major crimes being committed lately to take what he referred to as a 'mental health day'... a term which he further explained to Fraser, later on, in the privacy of their bed, as an 'if I don't get my Mountie all to myself for a couple of days I'll go fucking nuts' day. A sentiment with which Fraser agreed whole-heartedly.

And not only would they have three glorious days together, but they'd also have all the peace and quiet they could wish for. Ray had surprised him that morning, dangling a set of keys in his face, explaining that he'd rented them a small cottage for the weekend, close enough to the city that they wouldn't waste too much down-time traveling, far enough away to leave the noise and concrete and dirt blissfully behind them.

The thought of Ray braving the elements - and his peculiar 'allergies' to the outdoors - made Fraser smile and daydream and further neglect his work. Ever since that fateful day, almost a year ago now, when he'd shamelessly invited himself over to Ray's apartment to avoid spending Canada Day alone, Ray had done his best to make Fraser happier than he'd ever imagined being. He found himself constantly amazed at his partner's acceptance and love, even down to Ray's strange - yet endearing - insistence on celebrating each and every Canadian holiday together. Fraser smiled fondly, remembering the near-fiasco of a forgotten Thanksgiving which had led to his making love to Ray for the first time, and which had strengthened Ray's resolve to never forget another...

Oh. Oh dear. With sudden dawning horror, Fraser flipped his desk calendar back to May. His eyes searched for a specific date - this upcoming Monday, the 21st - and as he read the tiny words printed beside the date, he nearly groaned. He'd been so busy lately and, combined with the anticipation of free time with Ray, he'd completely overlooked the reason why Monday was a holiday in Canada. Certainly, the celebration of a great and glorious monarch was all well and good, but, for obvious reasons, for the past few years he hadn't managed to summon up much enthusiasm for Victoria Day.

It wasn't so much that thinking about her was painful. In fact, that wasn't the case at all, not anymore, not since a spiky-haired detective had made him realize jut how misguided his feelings for her had been. No, what he couldn't bear to dwell on were his own actions throughout that entire ordeal: how he'd been ready to betray himself and everyone he cared about for a handful of diamonds and a heart full of snow. He didn't want to think about that, or about the depths he'd sunk to, and he certainly didn't want to have to admit that side of himself to Ray, whose gentle, open nature would surely be horrified at the admission.

These thoughts brought a fresh surge of guilt since, despite Fraser's soul crying out to the contrary, Ray deserved to know the truth about him. Truth he'd avoided telling, wanting selfishly to hold on to this newfound happiness for as long as he could. Ironically, it was through Ray's desire to make Fraser happy that the truth would come out, and it was going to tear them apart.

He knew that Ray had some suspicions. A few times he'd lain sleepy and comforted in Ray's arms while strong fingers caressed his back, lingering on the scar next to his spine, and while he'd been aware of the questions in Ray's eyes he had remained thoughtfully, thankfully quiet about it, trusting that Fraser would talk about it if he wanted to, respecting the Mountie's silence on the matter. Now, Fraser knew he couldn't abuse that trust any longer. He had to put aside his foolish sentimentality... buck up, as his father would no doubt tell him. He could deal with his broken heart afterwards, on his own. He would tell Ray everything ... after this one last weekend together.

Hours later, Fraser let himself into the quiet apartment. He'd worked much longer than he'd expected - or wanted - to, though an unpleasant little voice in the back of his mind suggested he'd also not wanted to face Ray just yet. Diefenbaker glanced up from where he was curled on the couch, giving him a questioning glance. Fraser ignored him, focussing his attention instead on the bags on the floor by the door. Ray must have packed them that evening in order to ensure an early departure the following morning.

Despite having worked non-stop since lunch, he felt more tired than hungry. Bypassing the covered dish he knew Ray had left for him in the fridge, he made his way to the bathroom instead. He performed his evening ablutions as quietly as he could, not wanting to wake his sleeping partner. He crept into the bedroom, shedding his clothes and neatly placing them aside, and gingerly slipped under the covers. Ray, attuned to him as always, murmured in his sleep and snuggled close to Fraser.

With a dull ache in his heart, Fraser wrapped his arms around Ray and lay awake long into the night, listening to the even sounds of his lover's breath.

He woke to the smell of coffee, and the general fuzziness that comes with too little sleep. Wearily, he dressed and wandered out to the kitchen, accepting a light kiss and a cup from Ray.

"I'm sorry I was so late last night," he said without preamble. "I should have helped with the bags."

Ray looked up amiably from wallowing in his early-morning coffee. "No problem, Ben. There wasn't that much to pack anyway, and you got your work done, so we can get out of here with a clear conscience."

Fraser suppressed a snort. A clear conscience. If only Ray knew... well, he would know soon enough. The coffee in his cup was suddenly rather unappetizing, and he hastily set it aside. "We have a long drive ahead of us; I suggest we get an early start."

His abrupt tone finally caught Ray's attention, and he looked at Fraser quizzically. "You okay?"

"Of course, Ray. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You just seem a little ... off, today." He looked uncertain. "You sure you still wanna go? 'Cause if you changed your mind, you know, we can do something else..."

"No, Ray!" Fraser said, with more force than he'd intended. Then, more calmly, he continued, "I really do want to go - I've been looking forward to this."

Ray still looked skeptical, so Fraser added, "I suppose I'm just impatient to get you alone in the woods."

That did it. Ray's eyes lit up with a wicked gleam. "Oh yeah? You got plans, Mountie?"

Fraser forced a smile. "You'll have to wait and see, won't you?"

Ray grinned. "Oh yeah, this is gonna be one hell of a weekend." Walking to the door, he hefted one of the bags over his shoulder, and called, "C'mon, Ben. Let's get the car packed; nature's waiting for us." And with that, he was out the door, followed by an equally eager wolf.

Collecting his own bag, Fraser followed them out with the sinking feeling that Ray was absolutely right: it was going to be a hell of a weekend.

At first, Fraser felt his spirits buoyed somewhat by Ray's infectious enthusiasm. As the miles sped by, though, Fraser's mind turned unerringly to the confrontation he knew had to happen. Perhaps Ray picked up on his morose thoughts, as even his unbounded energy began to fade, and they spent most of the trip in silence. After a while, Ray turned on the radio, an oldies station softly breaking through the growing tension in the car, and Fraser, lulled by the music and the rhythm of the engine, dozed fitfully.

Having had to stop frequently for food and/or wolf-breaks, it was mid afternoon when they arrived at the cabin. Fraser eyed the site with approval: a well-built structure, surrounded by a wide verandah. A path led from the rear of the cottage, down a rather steep slope to the lake where, he noted, a canoe rested upside-down on the shore. The interior of the cabin was just as impressive; a central room, dominated by a huge fireplace in front of which sat an old but comfortable-looking couch; doors led out of the room, presumably to the bedroom and bathroom. It was perfect.

Under any other circumstances Fraser would have been delighted to spend time alone with Ray in such a place, and his stomach clenched with a pang of regret. He became aware of Ray watching him, and he turned to see a hint of disappointment in those blue-grey eyes.

"You don't like it."

Fraser immediately pasted on a smile. "No, Ray," he assured him. "It's... it's wonderful."

Ray's lips twitched, a look of relief passing over him. "Well, okay then," he said, and his grin turned into a leer. "So, what d'you want to do first?"

Hide away with you here forever, Fraser wanted to say, but his traitorous voice replied, "I suppose we should unpack." Ray shot him a puzzled look, but obligingly went to retrieve their things. At that moment, though, Dief, deciding they'd spent too much time indoors, barked testily. Fraser looked apologetically at Ray.

"S'okay, Ben. You two go ahead, explore the wilderness; I'll get everything fixed up here."

If Fraser spent a little too much time out with Dief, Ray didn't mention it; when they returned to the cabin, Ray was doing some exploring of his own, inspecting the underside of the deck. After a rather distracted greeting, he ushered Fraser and the wolf into the cabin, where supper was simmering on the stove. Neither man had much of an appetite, though, and Dief found himself happily stuffed on the leftovers. Ray insisted on cleaning up the negligible mess, and Fraser wandered out to the verandah, settling heavily down on the wooden steps. The cooling air chilled him a little, and he yearned for Ray's warmth beside him.

As if reading his thoughts, Ray appeared, a cup in each hand. He handed one to Fraser - herbal tea, he realized - before settling down close to him on the narrow step. He took a few sips of his coffee before turning troubled eyes to Fraser.

"So, you wanna tell me what's wrong?"

Fraser couldn't meet that probing gaze. "I'd rather not."

Ray frowned, opening his mouth, but Fraser forestalled his protest. "At least, not yet, Ray; not tonight."

Ray sighed in resignation. "Okay. Sure." There was a moment's pause, and he added softly, "Whatever it is, Ben, you know, it's gonna be okay."

Fraser wanted so badly to believe that. He wanted to shout, to scream, to cry out at the injustice of having to lose this incredible happiness he'd found. Instead, he reached out and took Ray's hand in his own. "I love you, Ray."

Ray gently squeezed his fingers, and they sat together, holding hands, watching the stars come out.

Fraser was up and out of the cabin at dawn the next morning, trying to convince himself he was simply taking Dief for another walk. In face, he'd spent yet another sleepless night holding Ray close... and, come the grey light of dawn, he'd done the dishonourable thing and fled his obligations. Ray had been considerate enough so far, not pressing the issue of Fraser's grim mood. Fraser was well aware, though, that his luck - and Ray's patience - was bound to run out sooner than later.

The lake was perfectly calm, and he found a boulder near the shore where he could sit and watch Dief wander through the underbrush. It was there that Ray joined him, an hour later. He shifted over, giving Ray room to sit; a ways out across the lake a fish jumped, and Fraser watched the ripples spread out and fade.

"You know, Ben," Ray said after a moment. "If it's about us, you gotta tell me. Even if it's not - I wish you'd just let me help you."

There was a touch of pleading in that voice, and Fraser couldn't ignore it any longer. He stood suddenly, reaching down to pull Ray to his feet. "Walk back to the cabin with me, Ray."

Ray looked skeptical. "Are we gonna talk?"

Fraser shook his head. "Actually, Ray, I'd rather you just listened. I have a story to tell you."

Ray's eyes searched his, then he nodded, taking Fraser's hand and leading them back towards the path. And as they walked, Fraser began to speak.

"There was a bank robbery in Alaska; she drove the getaway car..."

It was an old story; one he'd told Ray Vecchio and Father Behan... one he'd told himself so many times over the last decade that it had become almost a legend in his mind, a fairy tale with an unhappy ending. When he thought of it all now, he could almost believe it had all happened to someone else. Well, he couldn't let himself do that this time; couldn't lose himself in the fiction any more. Ray deserved nothing less than the simple truth. There was no place for caribou stories and Inuit legends here.

And so, as they made their way back to the cabin, Fraser told Ray a new story. A story about a bank robbery and a blizzard, about a silent movie and stolen money, about an old lady who had asked for his help, and just why Fraser had refused to give it; about a snowglobe, and a train, and a bullet that could have, maybe that should have ended it all.

Ray listened to his story in uncommon silence, keeping pace with him until they reached the cabin. Fraser eyed him warily, for once unable to read his partner's mood. Was he shocked? Disgusted? Angry that Fraser had kept such a dark side of himself hidden for so long? Ray said nothing, though; he merely led Fraser into the coolness of the cabin, into the bedroom where the double bed sat unmade, then turned to face him. Fraser stiffened, standing his ground, expecting the worse as Ray drew closer to him.

And then... Ray kissed him, a slow sweet melding of lips and tongues.

At first, Fraser was simply unable to comprehend what was happening. Ray, who should be yelling at him, who should despise him by now, was ... oh, Lord, he was trailing his tongue along the line of Fraser's jaw, his hands working at Fraser's clothes, his teeth now nipping at his collar bone.

"Ray!" he gasped.

Ray lifted a hand, placing it gently over Fraser's mouth. "Shhh, Ben; just let me do this." He bent his head back to the task, and his capable hands moved further down to work at belt and zipper, and Fraser could only moan in aroused confusion.

Before he knew it he was lying on his back, on the bed, naked, an equally bare Ray leaning over him. They kissed once, again, and then that incendiary mouth moved lower, trailing kisses across his chest - lingering over his heart - before, oddly, moving down his arm. Ray laved the back of Fraser's hand with gentle swipes of his tongue before taking the fingers into his mouth, sending a jolt of arousal straight to Fraser's groin.

At Ray's bidding, he turned to lie on his stomach. He sighed as Ray's strong hands moved across his back, and when he felt Ray's lips touch that certain spot on his spine he suddenly realized just what Ray was doing. Ray was kissing away his wounds, trying to soothe him, to ease his torment by erasing all traces of her and of the pain she had caused him, trying to replace it with Ray's own warmth and love; the physical pain - his bullet wound, the slash across the back of his hand from Jolly's knife - as well as the heartache he'd suffered.

Fraser felt the sting of hot tears burning his eyes. He'd bared his soul to Ray and, far from turning away in disgust, Ray was offering him comfort in return.

Suddenly desperate to convey his overwhelming gratitude to Ray, needing now to give of his entire self, Fraser drew his knees up, offering... everything. There was a hiss of in-drawn breath behind him.

"Ben?"

"Please, Ray," he rasped, not trusting his voice to say any more. Thankfully, Ray understood. Fraser felt one last, soft kiss being pressed to the back of his neck, and then Ray was moving away. Fraser barely had time to register the loss of warmth at his back, though, before Ray returned to the bed, his hands smoothing across Fraser's shoulders once more, then moving lower, slick fingers parting his buttocks, stroking softly between them.

Fraser groaned with exquisite pleasure as first one, then two fingers penetrated him. He spread his legs further apart, lifting his hips a bit more, changing the angle of Ray's stroking fingers until - there, oh dear God, there - Ray was hitting that sweet spot over and over, and Fraser couldn't wait any longer. He had to have more of Ray in him - had to have all of Ray in him.

Ray heard his unvoiced plea, and he slipped his fingers out of Fraser, quickly replacing them with the blunt, thick head of his cock. Fraser groaned, a harsh, guttural sound, as Ray entered him, filling him up in one slow but steady thrust, and both men cried out as one at the contact.

Fraser braced himself, his fingers clenched in the sheets as Ray thrust into him again and again, one hand reaching down to grasp Fraser's erection, stroking it in time with the motion of his hips.

Through the haze of pleasure in his mind, Fraser wondered at Ray's silence - Ray usually being a rather ... vocal lover - until he realized that Ray, his face buried in the crook of Fraser's neck, was, in fact, whispering a soft litany of "love you, Ben, love you, please, love you" over and over, until Ray's thrusts quickened, and the hand on Fraser's cock tightened, and he was coming, a tidal wave of pleasure washing over his senses. He was dimly aware of Ray shuddering to his own climax, and the two men collapsed onto the mattress, too overwhelmed for the time being to do anything more than cling tightly to each other.

Fraser woke the following morning feeling more refreshed than he had in what seemed like years. A brief investigation revealed that he was alone in bed, though he could hear faint sounds though the door. He slipped out of bed, collected his scattered clothes, paused in the bathroom long enough to take care of rather pressing business, then followed his nose to the kitchen. Ray greeted him with a warm smile and a cup of hot tea. "You sleep okay?"

"I did indeed," he stated, taking a sip of the soothing liquid, watching fondly as Ray drank his own candy-sweetened coffee. He stood in silent contemplation as Ray cooked them breakfast; something about Ray this morning puzzled him. He pondered the question as they ate, and ignored the stray bits of food that invariably found their way from Ray's plate to Dief's place on the floor.

As they lingered over the dishes, Fraser having insisted on washing, and Ray agreeing only if he could dry, Fraser finally worked out what had been troubling him. Keeping his attention on the greasy frying-pan in his hands, he asked calmly, "How long have you known?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ray fidget a bit nervously. "I got the gist of the story from Welsh when I was getting prepped for the Vecchio job. Huey filled me in on some of it, too; not a whole lot, but I got enough to work out the big picture."

Fraser didn't know whether to be angry or relieved. Apparently, his deep, dark secret hadn't been so secret after all. All this time, he'd been flaying himself ... over nothing.

"So what I told you yesterday, you already knew."

"Not everything, Ben; besides, I figured you needed to get it out of your system. Am I right in thinking I'm the first person you've told this to since it happened?"

Fraser sighed. "Yes, Ray. But-"

"But nothing, Fraser. You needed some of that - whatsit - catharsis. Anyhow, I was tired of sharing you with that cold-hearted bitch."

Ray's blunt words shocked him. "Ray, you've never had to share me with her, or with anyone."

Ray shook his head. "There's always been this part of you I've never been able to touch, and I knew I never would until you got her out of your system."

Fraser reached over and tightly gripped Ray's shoulder. "Ray, that wasn't... that wasn't about her. Well, it was, but..." Annoyed by his sudden inability to express himself when it mattered so very much, he took a deep breath, steeling himself to continue. "What I tried to keep from you wasn't my - relationship - with Victoria, but rather the things I did, and the person I became when I was with her. I... I couldn't risk you knowing. I couldn't risk you finding out what I really am, and leaving me."

Ray closed his eyes for a moment, muttering "crazy Mountie" just loud enough for Fraser to hear. When he opened them again, they were filled with exasperation, affection, and, perhaps, a glimmer of understanding.

"You think I didn't do things I'm not proud of after Stella and I split up? Hell, you were there for the whole stalking thing."

"Ray, that's hardly-"

"Look, Ben, let's not do this. No way are we gonna get into a `who's a worse scumbag' competition, not on our weekend, not on your holiday." His eyes glinted. "So c'mere," he said, pulling Fraser in for a brief kiss, then wrapping him up in a bear hug.

Fraser accepted the embrace gratefully; after a long moment, though, a thought struck him. "Ray, why are we here?"

Ray's grip didn't loosen around him as he asked, "What do you mean?"

"I assumed you planned this as you did Thanksgiving, being that this is a Canadian holiday. I didn't think you'd realized the implications of the date."

"Oh, I realized them all right."

Fraser frowned. "Then why on Earth would you want to celebrate today, or expect me to want to?"

Ray drew back, his gaze fixed intently on Fraser's face. "We're not celebrating her, Ben. We're celebrating you, and how you're finally getting rid of her. I knew we had to hash this whole damned mess out, and I figured today would be good. Symbolic-like. What's what I planned on, anyhow."

Fraser lifted an eyebrow. "Your plan being to get me here to talk?"

Ray chuckled. "Yeah; get you out in the woods, make you spill the beans, then have lots of hot sex. Well, that was part of the plan, anyhow."

Through his blush, Fraser asked, "What would the rest of the plan be?"

Ray's smile faded. "C'mon." He took a puzzled Fraser out of the cabin and out into the woods beyond. Ray pointed to a fallen tree near the edge of the cleared lot, and Fraser stared in confusion at the dozen or so objects that had been placed along the top of the trunk.

"Snow globes?"

Ray nodded. "One of the not-so-useless tidbits I got from Welsh. Look, I promised you we'd celebrate all your Canadian holidays, and I'm not about to skip one just because of its name. If we gotta celebrate Victoria Day, we're gonna do it in style."

With that, he reached down to his boot, retrieving his secondary gun and handing it to a stunned Fraser.

"Ray, I couldn't possibly-"

Ray rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to turn you in, Ben, and we're miles away from anyone else."

This was illegal. It was idiotic. It was... it was, he realized, just the thing he needed to finally get past her. He leaned over to Ray and gave him a long, lingering kiss. "Thank you," he whispered into that warm mouth.

Then Fraser turned, raised the gun, sighted the first of the snow globes, and pulled the trigger.

End V-Day by Sylvie Grenon: khristaz@yahoo.com

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