Author's website: http://snowee.50megs.com

Disclaimer: Alliance owns 'em. I'm just having a little fun.

Author's Notes: MR who challenged me to write a fic along with NIN's The Perfect Drug.

Story Notes: Honestly, if you've got any NIN hanging around and pop it in while reading, it could only add to the effect.

The Perfect Drug

First Time, Last Time
The first time we made love
In your mother's unmade bed,
I felt nothing but feeling,
I noticed nothing but you

The last time we made time
To make love in our own bed
I felt nothing
But I noticed the ceiling needed painting

Is that the law of diminishing returns? - Billie Myers

Especially when the woman of your dreams is still breaking your heart.

So it was him who said it first and I stared at the steering wheel of the GTO as if it would dance. I don't think he noticed. He was staring at the leaves rushing against the window as the wind and rain pounded the car.

You know something? Stella loved the rain. She'd listen to it and make love to the rhythm, but it made me nuts. All I could think about was wet socks and my leaky boots, the wind blowing stuff in my face so I couldn't see and the cold making my glasses fog.

He changed that for me, you know. Telling me that he loved me when the weather out there was atrocious made me want atrocious for the rest of my life. If it got us talking and admitting and loving, that's what I want forever.

Then a couple days later, it started to snow. It snowed all night long while he sat on the couch. We watched movies and ate popcorn like stupid kids, but outside the snow was falling too hard for me to drive him home, let alone let him walk it. So there we sat until morning and the sunrise came in through the windows. I remember walking over to look out over the fire escape from the bedroom. He had the biggest grin on his face; all that fresh snow covering every damned thing reminding him of home, I guess.

He looked at me, then, and said he wanted to go out. He started to climb onto the fire escape, but I stopped him and told him we'd go down into the street. We walked down the stairs and outside with the sun peaking through the clouds, but it was still snowing, just a little. I have to admit that it was kind of pretty the way the little bit of light poked through the clouds onto the falling snow and still he had that big stupid grin, but then he turned and looked at me. Our eyes met.

To tell the truth, I'm not sure who kissed who. I do know it felt good and right like nothing I've ever known before...

...Or since, because nothing ever feels like that first time, you know? Nothing's ever as sweet or as good as that first time. Just to make your wheels spin, just to make everything equal, you have to ask me about the last time. The last time he kissed me was the middle of the night when it was so cold that we curled up before a fire, sharing the sleeping bag. It was dark and clear and I could see a thousand stars, even with the Northern Lights. I kissed him and he kissed me, but the distance was stifling. It was sad - painful even - but we both knew. Funny that I should even remember that last kiss, but I think it's because I knew it was the last.

Oh, so your wheels aren't spinning enough? Try this on for size. It isn't that groping like twelve year old virgins every time you're bored isn't fun. It just isn't real. We played that game for a year and a half at least. Can you believe that? A year and a half. Why?, you ask, thinking we're completely insane or something as we played celibate with each other and the world. Because we weren't gay. {{Laughing}} Hey, it made sense at the time. A lot more things made sense at the time than make sense now.

Let's not discuss being gay right now anyway. My wife doesn't like to talk about it, but who can blame her? It's not that it upsets her. Of course not, because she likes being in a marriage where she can fuck Pool Boy while I'm sitting in the kitchen eating lunch. Why should it bother me? If I need anything, she's more than happy to let me hop on back like a trained monkey - that is unless I catch her dressed up and ready to go off to one of her cultural events.

It works fine. Anyone else in this world and I might get lost in emotional attachment, but the good news is she's just as fucked up as I am so if I even think about becoming attached in any way, shape, or form, she's the first to remind me that this is convenient. It looks good and that's all that matters. Best part is she's ready for the act. Out in public we see someone and she'll give me a kiss so passionate that if I close my eyes, I forget it's not Fraser for a second.

Before you ask, yes. She knows about him. She knows day one to day last, including my regrets. Yeah, there are a thousand and maybe she doesn't know them all, but she knows I regret not remembering that last fuck. I remember the first like yesterday - lonely tundra, but warmer than it had been. White snow everywhere, but the first day without a cloud in the sky in months. It was awkward and painful and generally not as much fun as I'd wanted it to be which is why I am really pissed that I didn't pay attention to the last fuck since by then we were practiced and downright skilled. It was probably a great fuck and even if it wasn't, I'd remember it that way because it was the last. I just don't. Remember, that is.

I can hear you thinking it. I'd wonder too. Why am I telling all this, thinking it all and killing myself fifteen years later? Why am I even concerned and why haven't I let go? Maybe it's because I swear to God that tall dark haired man in the hotel lobby is none other. I'm sitting by the pool playing nice with her ritzy friends and when I look through that window right there, I wonder if the guy at the desk could possibly be Fraser because you have to ask why he'd be here in the most expensive hotel in Venice on a Tuesday afternoon.

Broken
4 September 2002
"It's interesting what determines an enemy. It can be a life changing event causing two people to end up on opposite sides of the law. It can be a moment of extreme pain.

"Or it can be the most simple thing in the world."

~16 October 2003~
Fraser looked back at the pages of the open journal, wanting badly to weep, but not allowing it. He felt so alone at times like this. He'd made one mistake during those years in Chicago. He let it get personal. He'd let his polite faade hide the truth beneath. After all that, he'd made the mistake of trusting.

Realizing now that he should have seen it coming, he glanced back at the pages of the journal.

15 August 2001
"I knew today when I looked into his eyes that it was pointless to continue the journey. I should have known he could never adjust to my life. In Chicago I'd always had to follow him. I could be myself, but he was more or less in charge because he understood. He understood the wildlife, the terrain, and all that comes with it, but this was my terrain. This was what I understood. Now I was in charge and he didn't like it. He couldn't handle letting someone else be in charge. He couldn't let someone else give the orders.

"Perhaps it lies deeper, though. Perhaps it is more personal. After all, I know this area and he does not. I know the way and he does not.

"Many times I saw that streak. I watched him take control of a situation using whatever techniques were necessary. Sometimes it was violence, often it was manipulation of the situation.

"The problem here is that he cannot manipulate me. I allowed it for so long because he was in charge of the friendship in his world, but now I'm in charge because it's my world and he can't handle it."

Fraser lifted his head and looked out into the falling snow. The stupid thing, he now knew, was that Ray had hid behind an excuse. It wasn't about them or love or sex. The excuse wasn't reality. Ray had pushed him completely from his life over something he had blown out of proportion. He let his imagination mix with reality until he didn't know the difference anymore.

2 September 2001
"When I first began to understand what was wrong, I wanted things to be better between us. I wanted them to return to the state of peace. I wanted to be forgiven for imperfections. I understood the art of unconditional love between friends, but he did not. Perhaps I only thought I understood because now I am glad. Our separateness is what allows me to progress rather than be held back. I have faith in myself and the world. He wanted to control me and I didn't let him. The thing Ray clings to most is his ability to control a situation or a person, but I no longer allowed it."

Other times I realize it was the best thing that ever happened to me because beneath all the secrets, I was privy to information that I could use later. Ok, perhaps not privy, but I made the connections that would help me get what I deserved. What do I deserve? Well, for starters, the government handed fat checks to Vecchio for what he did and what did I get for my trouble? Ass fucked and dumped. Not that I'm bitter.

So I went back to Chicago and I looked up the people who knew more than they should and figured if this is all the thanks I get from the government, from Fraser, and from Vecchio, I was going to write my own checks. Drop a few names and a few hints and the next thing you know, you're swimming in a perfect blue pool with hotel employees asking your wife if she wants any more drinks with little umbrellas. You don't really blame me, do you?

And that's what brings us to this point. It's been an hour since the dark haired man left the lobby and I've convinced myself it wasn't him. I've hopped into the pool and I'm swimming a lap, but as I come up, I see him standing by the gate and as he surveys, there's no doubt in my mind it's him, but the moment he sees me, I throw myself back into the water and swim to the other side. He hasn't had a chance to be sure, but maybe he wondered if it was me. Either way, I throw my elbows over the edge of the pool and look at the whitewashed iron table with a blue umbrella shade.

"Celia!" I yell, my wife turning her head. I wave her over and she looks confused and irritated, but she obeys. She squats low and I push myself up by a step on the inside of the pool. "See that guy by the gate?" I ask.

She looks up, shaking her head. I turn around and I see him walking toward us, but I can tell from that look on his face that he wants a closer look; he isn't sure it's me, but I'm still sure it's him. "The guy who doesn't look like he's here to swim?" I ask.

She looks the direction I was just looking and nods.

"That's Fraser," I say.

Her eyes meet mine and she smiles slightly. "Thee Benton Fraser?" she asks. She sees me nod and immediately leans closer. I'm expecting one of those show-kisses, but she leans into my ear and whispers the sweetest words I've heard from her lips. "Then I promise an Oscar winning performance." An instant later, her mouth is on my mouth, her tongue's in my throat and her arms are wrapped around my neck. She pushes me back into the water. I realize at once it looks fun and playful, but is he still watching? We come up out of the water and she's still kissing me, her legs wrapped around my waist, we're completely intertwined. I steal a sideways glance and see him staring, but he's still not sure. He's sure it's me, but he isn't sure I could be kissing a hot woman in a thousand dollar bathing suit at a place I'd have to spend a year's salary to spend one night in.

She pulls her lips away and sees the man staring. Smiling, she looks at me, still holding me close. "I'd fuck you right here if you think that would really screw with him."

I smile. I have to admit that even though I'm not in love with her, I do love the way she enjoys screwing with people's minds. "Ok," I respond. "Only let's go out to the garden patio in their courtyard and see if he follows." She nods and I lift her out of the pool. The moment I'm standing beside her, she wraps her arms around me and we begin to walk. I'm wondering if he'll say anything at the same instant I hear my name. I turn, holding Cecilia.

He's staring at me, still disbelieving. "Ray?" he says again.

I'm dying to say `Do I know you?', but that would be laying it on a bit thick so I just clear my throat. "Fraser," I state as though ordering another drink.

"I... I didn't expect to see you here."

Well, no kidding. Like I expected to see you? Ever? "I'm a little surprised to see you here, too," I say, trying to be cool, trying to pretend I never loved him with my entire being.

"What are you doing here?"

"Vacationing with my wife," I say, hoping it'll stab at him, but he doesn't flinch. "Oh, I'm sorry. This is Cecilia," I add. She plays the angel and holds out her hand for a polite salutation.

I see him hesitate before taking it and that gives me a rush. Her other arm is still around me and I can almost feel the tension from his fingers through her body and into me. It's hard not to be smug.

Fraser's staring at me and at her arm around me and at the smile on my face and I can see it's all making him tense. Finally he opens that mouth to speak again. "Can we talk somewhere?"

"Right here would be fine," I state.

"Alone?" he asks, glancing at Cecilia who looks to me to see if I want to be left alone with him. I do and I don't and all at once I forget that I'm supposed to be playing it cool and I stutter.

Thankfully, Cecilia notices and I guess she knows how much I don't want to look like a fool so she grabs my chin, pulls my face toward her, and kisses me. She then leans to my ear. "Why don't I go out to the gardens by myself and if you need to upset him later, you come find me there?" She then leans back and smiles and I'm glad she's calmer than I am as I nod.

Fraser watches her turn and go, but my eyes are on him completely because I just have to know what it is he wants to say to me. I'm hoping that after all of these years, he's thought of something to say that will make it easy for me to walk back out there and tell Cecilia that I've put this all behind me for good. (Yes, of course she'll know better, but I'd still like the chance to say it.)

She's gone and he turns to look at me. I've regained my composure and I simply stare without feeling.

"It's been a long time," he begins, stating the obvious. I only nod. "Too long. We could have talked," he adds and I smirk.

"I guess we had nothing to say."

Fraser takes in a breath and I fold my arms, fully aware that I seem judgmental now. "Ray," he says, and I can tell he's prepared to say a lot more, but suddenly I feel sick of this and I want to get away before the dizziness in my head turns to nausea. I don't want him to know that this upsets me.

"I don't think there's anything to say. Whatever happened between us must have been out of boredom and desperation because in the reality of this life I'm living now, I know for a fact that we were a mistake and there never was anything between us. It was all just pretend, Fraser. You and I both know it wasn't anything real." Funny. I didn't think he'd look hurt like that, but like I said, I just have to get out so I turn away.

"Ray," he says after me, and as I am hearing my name from his lips again, I want to hit something, but instead I deal a verbal blow.

"My wife's waiting for a good fuck so I guess if I'm in Canada, I'll see you around." I walk off and know that the words, whether true or not, are out there working for me to drive him away so I don't ever have to deal with him again.

Bruised
Ray brushed the snow away from the rock in the ground and picked it up. He moved it across, setting it beside the fire Fraser had built, wordlessly preparing it so they could use it to cook. It was Ray's fault they'd lost the pan they usually cooked on. Still, the rock with a flat surface would do. Just like everywhere they went, they were able to make do.

Having learned more than he ever expected about survival, Ray was getting good at not needing orders. Still, Fraser occasionally felt the need to point out what was now obvious to Ray. It was an irritating habit. "That rock will do," Fraser said just then.

Ray nodded. He knew that, of course. He wasn't completely incapable - at least, not anymore. Sitting on a log, Ray picked up the bowl of oatmeal Fraser had prepared while he was looking for the rock. Eating it slowly, he watched Fraser prepare the carcass to be cooked.

"You know, in Chicago, I used to go to a little Greek restaurant that served gyros made with real lamb."

"Really? You never took me there."

Ray shrugged. "They closed a week after we met. Sometimes I wonder if I'd suggested that place that first day when we went to dinner..." he shrugged again noncommittally.

Fraser looked at Ray. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

*Of course something's wrong. I've been hinting that I'm done with this, that I want to go home for months, but you're just not getting it.* He shook his head. "I was just remembering."

Fraser put the meat on the rock and moved it into the fire. Ray watched it cook slowly. "Don't you wonder what we're going to do when we're done?"

"When we're done what?"

Ray straightened, stretching his back as he met Fraser's gaze. "When we're done doing whatever it is we're doing out here."

"Searching for the hand of Franklin?" he asked.

Ray nodded.

"Well, you know, Ray. Searching for the hand was just a metaphor. We're looking for adventure, aren't we? I'm not sure how one ever completes a journey searching for adventure."

"I guess you just know when you're done wanting to try, huh?" Ray asked.

Fraser looked into the fire, checking their dinner, then back to Ray. "Yes, I suppose you do."

"Well, I do. I know I'm done. I want to go home."

Fraser looked surprised. "But it was you who wanted to make this expedition."

"I know, but I'm done now. I miss my bed and the city lights and the way a fire engine siren sounds."

"I'm sorry, Ray, I had no idea," Fraser said quietly, staring at the dancing flames.

"So can we call it a day? Can we go home?"

Fraser looked into Ray's eyes. "This is my home," he responded.

Ray sighed. "I know, Fraser. You love living like this, but I hate it." He saw the hurt in Fraser's eyes. "What about Toronto? Ottawa? We'll move to some city in Canada, then we'll both feel at home."

"It isn't just about staying in Canada," Fraser stated. "It's about freedoms that a city cannot give you."

Ray bit his lower lip and stared into the fire. "You're right." He let out a breath. "I'm sorry. I guess I just wondered if we could go." Pausing, he tried to think of something he could say to make the conversation disappear. "We'll be able to pick up supplies by Thursday, right? Because we really should get something better to cook on than rocks."

Fraser looked at Ray and nodded. "Yes. We should be there by Thursday."

Manipulation with amazing precision.
Sharing so much for this return?
The taste of venom still bitter
Acidic burning the flesh

Kindness bites
Friends more severe

Tired of letting them in
Tired more of letting go
Let in one more.
That was the mistake.

A seed of black
Grows into nothing more than all consuming frustration.

I've learned from my mistakes
Some of them
But others take a repeated pounding
To find a home in my heart

Betrayed by an open mind
Enemy to an idea.
Reality is so much more than this. - Snowee

Now it's been a dozen years and I'm sitting in said mansion, watching Fraser drink from the glass I gave him, not saying what he wants to say. I don't really care because I don't actually want him to say anything. It doesn't matter to me why he's here. I'm waiting for him to leave. He's told me about his life since the day we split up and truthfully? I'm tuning him out because I really don't care. I don't need to know. He stops and looks at me and I can feel his eyes boring into me, but so far the only things I've said are "Oh, it's you," and "Come in." Everything else was said by the pool in Italy or communicated with hand gestures.

So I scratch my neck and wait.

"What I suppose I'm trying to say," he begins, making me sick with cold formality, "is that I'm glad to see you've moved on with your life. You've got a new relationship and I'm certainly glad one of us did."

Just then, as though timed, I hear my wife scream from the bedroom. I meet Fraser's gaze steadily. He looks concerned. "Should we do something?" he asks.

"No," I respond.

"But it sounds like someone is in trouble."

"No trouble," I say with confidence.

Fraser looks at me a moment, relaxing, then asks, "Who is that?"

"My wife," I reply patiently.

"What is she doing?" he asks, the rhythmic, uninhibited screams still filling the air.

"The gardener," I say coolly.

Fraser looks puzzled and shocked. "Pardon?" he asks.

I glance at my watch for no particular reason. "Pool Boy doesn't work Mondays."

Which is, of course, the reason Cecilia does all the firing and hiring of the help in this house. She's the one who has to be happy with the staff, though I really did enjoy showing her that the third pool man was less committed to his work than he was gay.

It's ok that she fired him right then and there when she found us in the gazebo. I'd already come and was just enjoying a good ass fuck like I hadn't had in years. He was just another distraction and I didn't need it because I have enough. Smoking when you're wealthy is elegant. Buying old cars in perfect condition is endearing when you're rich. Driving them way too fast around the curves when you've got lots of money is eccentric.

And Fraser is confused as to why I can remain so calm while my wife is fucking the gardener, but he sets the confusion aside when I offer to take him for a drive. I suppose he figures I want to get away from that, but I've had and given better orgasms so I really couldn't care less.

We drive up the winding road and I'm going too fast and I can see Fraser is nervous. I pull up to my favourite spot that overlooks the city and with the sun moving toward the horizon, I know sunset is still a couple hours away. I'm looking out over everything, thankful for the fresh air now that the top is down, and he begins to speak. Something in me tells me that this time I need to listen so I stare at nothing, but my ears are attentive.

"I came back to Chicago with the only intention of seeing you," Fraser explains. "I didn't come for any other purpose."

"Why do you want to see me?" I ask, because after the things I said to him in Venice, I was sure he would leave me alone.

"I felt badly about the way things were left in Italy," he says, then touches my arm. "I felt badly about the way things were left in Canada."

"Fifteen years you had to feel bad about the way things were left between us and it took until Italy?" I say, not really wanting him to respond as I move my arm against my body, making his hand drop away. How can he touch me after everything? Does he really think I want to be touched by him ever again?

Fraser clears his throat and I know that sound. He's about to say something he feels uncomfortable saying. I spent years being understanding, being patient when he felt that way, but I have no investment now. I look at my watch and think about the gallery opening Cecilia wanted to attend tonight.

"I had hoped we could talk. I want to work things out," he says as though what he wants matters to me.

"Maybe I should head back. Celia has an art thing she wants to go to and I told her I'd go." I look at him, scolding. "You know, be the good husband." Fraser looks away and I smile. That got him.

He says nothing so I start the engine and begin back along the road, again going too fast for my own good. This would be fabulous. I imagined wrapping one of these sporty classics around a tree a thousand times, but doing it with my ex lover in the car would be poetic, don't you think? So he grips the dashboard as I speed up, rather than slow down.

We near the house and not a word has been spoken. I pull up into the drive, stopping before the house and I look at him. "We could have worked things out on the phone or you could have let it go. I don't want this anymore, Fraser. You and I are a slow poison for each other. It's a," I pause. What the hell was that stuff Cecilia told me about? She and I had a long conversation about it. It started with an A... "absinthe," I blurt out. "It's great while it lasts, a high like any drug, but it slowly kills you."

Fraser's brow is furrowed. Yeah, of course he's confused. I open my side of the car and put a foot out on the pavement. "I don't want this," I repeat, getting the point of my message across.

Looking at me, Fraser reaches over again and I can't make myself meet his gaze so I stare at the keys in my hand. "I still love you," he admits, quietly.

"What!?" I ask, because I can't believe I'm fucking hearing this.

"I came here because I had to tell you that I still love you. I keep trying not to, but you are still in me," he says.

I stare at him a moment, unable to speak. He thinks I'm shocked or glad, but suddenly I feel my face get hot and my features scrunch in anger. I get out and look at him. "Fuck you, Fraser," I hear myself saying, but I'm not sure why. My mouth blurts out words that must be true, but I don't know why. "Fuck you for coming here to say that. It was you who sent me back to Chicago and it's you who dragged me around. Every time I gave you something, you wanted something different. I gave you everything."

"You didn't," he argues. "I think that's the problem."

"You have no fucking idea what I went through to get over you," I say, slamming the door shut. "You have no fucking clue!" I storm into the house like an infant whose toy has been taken away, but he doesn't move. I go upstairs and into the bedroom to hear Cecilia in the shower. A minute later I go to the office at the front of the house with a bay window that overlooks the neighbourhood and look out to see Fraser just now getting out of the car. Fucking fool. I don't love him anymore and getting to the point of not loving was a hard road to travel. You think it sounds like I still love him, don't you? Because I married a woman I didn't love and don't care about or because I drive too fast and hope someday I'll drive off a bridge into the lake and that'll be the end of me? No, I didn't get over him by loving someone else or by no longer thinking about him. The only way I was able to get over him was to stop feeling.

Forgotten
I'm eating an hors d'oeuvre and drinking pale bubbly liquid from a glass that's too small while watching Cecilia work the room. She wore a new dress tonight. It's scarlet and tight and short. Her black stockings make her legs look too thin to hold up that body, but she turns around and an image flashes in my mind and I'm confused for a moment. The dress is the same shade as his uniform, the black legs too much like his in my mind. Walking over to her, I give her a little smile and she smiles back. I lean in close and whisper in her ear. "I need a fuck."

"As soon as we get home," she promises, not understanding.

"I need a fuck now," I say, already calculating location and the fact that I know she's in thigh high stockings because she hates pantyhose with a passion. "Right now."

She looks confused and shakes her head. "We'll leave in half an hour," she insists, but I grab her arm, probably too hard because I feel her squirming as I drag her through the gallery, past the buffet table, and into the greeting area. She glares at me. "What's wrong?" she asks. I can't think about an answer. I can only think about the dark alleyway outside the gallery so I push her out the door and wave at the driver of our limo before pushing her around the corner.

I shove her against the wall and kiss her. I kiss her. That's a first and I can feel that she's confused, but as I pull back and begin to undo my pants, she gives me a strange look. "I thought you wanted..." she begins.

"I do," I interrupt, but as she starts to turn around, expecting the only thing she knows from me, she's shocked when I stop her, pull up her skirt, rip off her underwear, and grab her thigh. I have my arm around her and lift her, telling her with my gaze and my hands to wrap her legs around me, which she does, and as I slide in she's staring at me, thinking I've gone completely insane.

I don't know if I have or not, but I fuck her against the wall and look at her face. When I'm staring at the back of her head I can imagine Fraser. I don't, of course. That would be sick, right? Still, I know I could imagine him if I wanted. Looking in her face, I'm fucking her, maybe for the first time.

And as I feel my orgasm, feel the cum escaping my body, I hear the words in my head so I shut my eyes, but there they are again and again. `I came here because I had to tell you that I still love you. I keep trying not to, but you are still in me.'

"Fuck you," I say out loud as she screams her orgasm and then slides from my body. "Fucking bastard."

She looks confused again and I shake my head like I can somehow shake the words and images physically from my brain. I hated it. I hated every fucking second; not because it was a woman, but because it wasn't Fraser.

Fraser stood out in the snow as though he was a shark who'd been dropped happily into a sea full of fish. He wanted to eat up every bit of the snow covered terrain.

Then he looked across the fire at me as though I was enough, but that image burned because obviously I wasn't.

I was sprawled in the sleeping bag staring at the fire and he's wrapped his arms and legs around me. I feel like he wants to take me in, to soak my body into his, but a moment later, we're standing by the dogsled and I'm thinking I love this man too much to go, but he wants me to leave so I have no choice. My heart is breaking and he looks glad to be rid of me.

We pull up in front of the house and I see my sporty car still in the driveway with Fraser sitting inside telling me he still loves me. I hurt for him, but I have to stop it because sometimes the emotions creep in and the only way to go on with this life is to push them back down. Cecilia gets out and waits. A moment later, she leans in. "Are you coming?" she asks me.

I can see she's concerned. We may not be in love, but we've become friends anyway. I shake my head and wonder why she's climbing back inside. She leans toward me. "If this is about Fraser, you know you've got to let go," she advises.

I look her in the eye and for the first time, I let her see my pain. I know she sees it because she looks surprised by it. "I can't," I whisper, resigning myself to what I feel.

I'm surprised that she puts her hand on my knee and leans even closer. I'm even more surprised by what she says. "You still love him."

"No," I snap. "No, I don't."

She nods. "Yes, you do, Ray. It doesn't matter how much you shut him out, shut out the memories, you still love him. He came here to tell you that he loves you, didn't he?"

"How did you know?" I ask.

She smiles. "Why else would he be here?"

"It doesn't matter," I say softly, not explaining what I mean.

She lays a soft kiss on my cheek and I furrow my brow at her, but when she speaks, it all makes sense. "Fucking me helped clear it up, didn't it? You knew it all along, but you had to do that to know." I look shocked and she smiles slightly. "You always knew, Ray. You and I can keep at this forever, but it's not going to change the answer."

I'm looking into her eyes and she's smiling and I'm wondering how she knew before I did, but then, she gets to be on the outside looking in, doesn't she? I know she's right, too. I could grab her and take her again right here in the back of the limousine, but I'd still love Fraser when it was over and she'd still be right.

She climbs out again and I watch her walking toward the house before I get out. I look at my convertible and then at her as she turns around. She watches me walk to the car and rummage through my suit for the keys, but of course I don't have them. She goes inside and is out a moment later, walking the keys back to me. She puts them in my hand, leaving her fingers in my grip a minute. "You know something, Ray?"

"What?" I ask, absolutely clueless.

"You are worth loving and maybe I love you a little too."

Her kiss on my cheek is friendly and I realize what she means because now that I'm letting myself feel, I realize she's been a friend in a way I could never understand. I embrace her and hug her tightly for a moment before letting her go. "You're the best thing this world's got to offer, Celia."

She chuckles. "Fraser's the best thing this world has to offer you, but I won't mind being here when you need me again," she comments.

I feel warm as she walks back to the house. I wouldn't have made it through the last twelve years without her. I know that now because as close as I got to the edge, she was there to tie on a rope. She wasn't skilled at bringing me back, but she was damned good at keeping me from going over that last step and thank God or I wouldn't have had the chance to find out that I still mean something to Fraser. I wouldn't have had the chance to find out that he still means something to me.

Sore
"Then go back to Chicago!" Fraser yelled, the anger finally bursting through his surface like a volcano that had been pushing to erupt for a thousand years. "Go back and get out of my life!"

"All I want is for you to come with me!" Ray screamed. "It's all I ever wanted!"

"It's not what I want. Don't you see that, Ray? It doesn't matter what lies you tell me trying to coax me back, trying to make it seem like the obvious choice, it's not what I want!"

"Screw what you want! I want to be with you and I want to do that in Chicago!"

"I don't want that place! I don't want that life. Who am I without wilderness and wolves and all of this? I'm nothing! This is who I am!" Fraser insisted.

"Then maybe I don't know you!"

"Maybe you don't! I thought it was the real me you fell in love with out here. I was crazy not to see that you fell in love with that shell that lived in Chicago."

"I loved the real you, Fraser. Out here is where we first fucked!" Ray argued.

"But there was where we first started to feel it. That's the truth, isn't it? Whether we like it or not, that's the truth!" Fraser hissed. He saw Ray without an answer, so he turned away. "So go back. We'll take you to the pass and into town where you can charter a plane. You'll be back in Chicago before the Cubs play the first game of the season," he sneered.

Why did I let myself have hope? Why did I let myself go all the way to Chicago in hopes of a friendship that was lost the first time we kissed? I suppose I thought if I could make my life work in Chicago, make our friendship work again that I wouldn't feel so alone. I just wanted to tell him...

Fraser stared at the page in his journal. What did he really show up to tell him? He'd convinced himself that it was only to tell him that he wanted friendship, but he'd blurted out that speech about love. True as it was, he shouldn't have said it. Maybe it was the real reason he'd gone there, just as he said, but he shouldn't have said it.

Letting out a long breath, Fraser closed his eyes a moment. Those blue fierce eyes stared back, but they weren't what he wanted. "I have to go," he told himself. "I have to go home because if I stay here, I'll only put myself through all of this pain again."

Closing the journal, Fraser tucked it and his pen into the backpack on the table in the tiny, dirty hotel room.

Too Fucked Up To Care Anymore
I thought when I got into the car that I was going to go straight to his hotel. I'd seen the tag on a key sticking out from his pocket before he noticed it and pushed it deeper into the pocket when he came to my house so I knew where to find him. Even if I hadn't, I had connections.

Then I started to drive and the road wound around while I drove too fast and nearly felt myself loose control. How many glasses of champagne did I have? I hadn't even kept track. Still, I can't go to his hotel. Not yet. There's still one thing between us. There's still a world between us.

He accused me of loving someone else, of loving the man he was in Chicago. It was years before that pissed me off. It was years before I realized I loved him raw better than trained which was why we fucked in the first place. Until then, it had been fun and games, but the man I made friends with, the man good enough to fool around with was more the man I could love once we hit ice. I didn't see a lifetime ahead of us in Chicago, but in Canada, I did.

And yet, I let him tell me I didn't know him and I let him send me back to Chicago where I swallowed my pride and never admitted what I knew.

This is what I knew. Chicago. I grew up here. I loved here and lived here. Now, ever since Fraser, ever since the ice fields and polar bears I've floated here. I'm not sure I want to cook a penguin over a fire, but I am absolutely positive that if Fraser was there, I wouldn't give a fuck what we're doing. If he doesn't want Chicago, a city, or any of it, then he doesn't have to have it. Alone with him is my home. No building or lack thereof is going to change that.

I see this bend and it's a tricky one. I know from experience. I drove a '66 Mustang off the curve. Not a scratch on me, but that car was totaled. The wind is slightly cold on my face and the road isn't lit. I notice they still haven't fixed that lamppost.

Loving him hurts, though. He turns me inside out and rips me to shreds at times because he and I are different. As much as my heart wants it, my head knows better. It wasn't just about going back to the city. I hated the way he knew more than I did and made sure I knew it. I hated the way it made me feel when he got cold and distant. He'd told me about his family, but was that an excuse? Blocking me when he felt something real was just as painful as sending me back here.

Maybe more so because I could see it in his eyes, but he didn't know how to share. I tried to make him fight back, tried to make him show me what it would take for him to lose it, but you know what did? The one thing that made him finally blow his top? It was when he told me to go. He sent me away. The first time we fought, it was over style, but that was Chicago. Things were never as painful in Chicago. Maybe because we didn't share as much there. That night we... we made love. I tell myself it was a simple fuck, but it was so much more. I thought we were sharing everything, but still, he held back.

It hurt to know that he still couldn't give me his heart so I picked, trying to find that heart and he never gave it to me.

Until today when he told me he loved me. Why couldn't he have said it like that back then? Why couldn't he have meant it?

I find myself in front of his hotel and that's when it finally dawns on me that I have to tell him or I'm going to lose him. What am I going to tell him? That I love him? What's the point? I'll still be afraid to trust my own heart and I'll still be afraid that he isn't going to share, to make himself one with me. There is no point.

So I pull out into the street and see him walking out of the hotel. I stop and watch him put a bag and a backpack into the back of a cab before climbing inside. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know why I'm following.

Yet, I do and when he gets out at the airport, I know I'm about to lose this chance forever, yet I sit there in the car staring as he goes through the doors.

Dammit, Fraser. Why can't you be my everything? Why can't I be yours?

Setting his bag on the conveyer belt, Fraser caught himself wondering. Was Ray at home right now, fucking the pain out? Was he driving too fast like earlier that day and wrapping his car around a tree? Was he...

"Fraser!"

He heard his name through the crowd, then heard it again. He knew the voice, but he was afraid to turn. A few steps and he'd be through the security stop. A few more steps and they wouldn't let Ray follow him further. He took one step.

"Fraser! Stop!"

Fraser froze. He swallowed down. It was just pain. Nothing could come of any of this except more pain because Ray was married and even if she was sleeping with the gardener, he was happy. He was in Chicago.

"Fraser!" he heard so close to him now, that he knew he'd feel a hand on his arm any second. The last instant, he snatched his pack before it disappeared for scrutiny and turned.

Ray nearly had to screech to a halt to avoid running into Fraser. As he did, he put his hand on Fraser's arm. "Fraser," he said, breathlessly.

Fraser stepped aside to let someone through, Ray following his move, not letting him gain an inch between them. Unable to speak, Fraser stared as Ray huffed. "Fraser, I... I..."

"It's all right, Ray. I think I understand," Fraser said softly.

Ray shook his head. "No. No you don't." He gasped once, then took another step closer. "Dammit, Fraser. I don't want to love you," he said.

Fraser was hurt, but he tried to hide it. "I know," he whispered. "If you'll let me go, I'll catch my flight and you'll never have to see me again."

Ray brought his other hand up to Fraser's shoulder, then pulled him close. He kissed him hard, wrapping his arms around and forcing Fraser's body to meld into his own. He bit at the lip and tasted with tongue, wanting to remember everything in one moment. Finally he was able to bring himself to pull away and as he did, he spoke. "I don't want to, but damn. I do and I will and nothing's going to change it."

Shocked by the words, Fraser could only manage to stare. He swallowed and Ray continued to hold him. "I don't care what we have to go through, I don't care about any of those things I hated. You don't have to share everything with me, you just have to let me be in your life, ok? I don't want to love you, but as long as I do, I want to do it with you, not without you. Biggest mistake I made was walking away."

"The biggest mistake I made was letting you go," Fraser admitted softly. "Second only to not listening when you tried to tell me. I should have listened."

"Then you'll start now."

"I'll share it, Ray. I'll share everything."

Ray smiled and pulled Fraser close again, kissing him as Fraser kissed back.

The End

NIN: Perfect Drug is quoted, Section titles (Broken, Bruised, Forgotten, Sore - Too fucked up to care anymore) from Somewhat Damaged Billie Myers: Her poetry to go along with the song First Time.

End The Perfect Drug by Snowee: alaskanrose515@hotmail.com

Author and story notes above.