Author's website: http://unhinged.0catch.com

Disclaimer: Due South belongs to whoever produced it. Paul and Callum belong to themselves. Fraser and RayK belong together, so I'm just doing part.

Author's Notes:

Story Notes: Third in the Fairy Tales Series-Essentially unconnected AU's in which Fraser and Ray meet in strange places under even stranger circumstances

This story is a sequel to: Fairy Tails-The Real World

Fairy Tales: If Only in My Dreams
By MR

The first time I saw him he was leaning against the far wall of my room and I thought he was a hallucination. Give how tranqd they've got me, seeing things that aren't there's pretty much standard operating procedure. Plus he had the fuzzy look you get with Perindolol hallucinations; like a vid that isn't quite tracking right. I figured give him a couple of days and he'd go away. They always do.

The second day he'd lost the fuzzy quality and seemed more solid. I'd never had a hallucination do that before. The docs told me two or three months ago I was pushing the upper limits of the Perindolol protocols. If it quits working it'll be time to break out the Enequidine, and I'll do nothing but sleep 20 hours a day. Not that sleeping is a bad thing. When I'm asleep I don't hurt. One of the side effects of the tranqs is that they keep you from dreaming. Which's okay by me. I don't want to dream.

The third day, when they brought me back from my clinic visit, he'd moved. Instead of sitting against the far wall he was in the chair next to the window. I'd just had a boost and was even mellower than usual, so I studied him for a while. If he was a hallucination, then he was a damn strange one, cause I could've sworn I'd seen him before. About as tall as me, with thick dark hair cut short and eyes the color the sky used to be on cloudless days. He was wearing a red suit of some kind; a uniform, I decided, but for what? Put me in the mind of how the doormen at fancy hotels used to dress, but that didn't explain the hat. I'd never seen a doorman wear a hat like that.

I must've dozed off, because when I opened my eyes again he was kneeling next to the couch, and one hand was stroking my bad arm. Gently, like he knew how much it hurt. He looked so sad I wanted to tell him it would be okay. Then it occurred to me that none of my hallucinations had ever touched me. They talked to me, they argued with me; hell, a few of'em threatened to beat me up. But none of them ever lay a hand on me. How could they?

That started me wondering if maybe he was real. Which was impossible, because if he'd been real the guys from the clinic would've noticed him when they picked me up. Security around here's so tight it squeaks. I'd always assumed they monitor our rooms too, though that's mostly a guess, since I never bothered to check mine over and find out. I figure if they wanna watch me sleep and talk to myself, more power to'em.

"Don't."

He immediately stopped and sat back. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Not hurtin' me." I managed to get myself upright and snagged my glasses off the coffee table. The shot had kicked in pretty good, which may be why I did what I did then-reached out and touched his face.

The docs touch me all the time, but they're impersonal touches; they give me shots, or take measurements, or run tests, and they always wear those heavy rubber gloves. I've never touched any of them, never wanted to. I know where I stand. I'm useful as a lab rat, but they still live in constant fear of me infecting them.

I couldn't remember the last time anyone let me touch them.

"You're real." I finally managed to whisper, suddenly afraid to speak out loud.

"Yes. And no."

You do weird things when you're tranqd, especially if you've just had a booster, and for some reason that struck me as the funniest thing I'd ever heard and I got a case of the giggles. Hysterics, really, because I went from laughing so hard I couldn't breath to crying so hard I couldn't talk in about a second and a half.

Just like that he was off the floor and on the couch with me, and the next thing I knew he'd pulled me into a careful hug and started stroking my hair, like mom used to do when I was a kid and hurt myself. Made me cry harder. Which was not good, cause I figured any minute now the Secs were gonna bust down the door and start asking questions I couldn't answer.

It took me a couple minutes to get myself under control, and then I realized I didn't want to let go of him. Like maybe the only thing keeping him here was me holding him.

"I won't go away." His voice was soft. "I promise I won't go away. Can you trust me?"

"Dunno." I pulled back, wiping my nose on my shirtsleeve. Immediately he produced a clean handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to me. For a long moment we sat there staring at each other.

"What does yes and no mean?"

"Ah." He rubbed a thumb against his eyebrow. "I'm a revenant."

"A what?"

"A ghost of sorts."

"So you're dead?"

"In a way."

"How can you be dead 'in a way'? Either you're dead or you aren't."

"You'd think so wouldn't you?" He shook his head. "The afterlife isn't nearly as peaceful as I'd hoped."

Something about the way he talked struck me odd. "You're not American."

"I'm from Canada."

"Shit." I dragged a hand over my face. "We managed to fuck you over too?"

"Excuse me?"

"It isn't bad enough we blew up half our own country; we had to go and screw the rest of the world while we were at it."

"Oh no. The damage extended a short way beyond the US/Canadian border, but very few people died. Certainly nowhere near as many as died here."

"It got you."

He's thumbing the eyebrow again. "I was in Chicago at the time. I worked at the Canadian Consulate. I'd just gotten back from vacation and was looking forward to seeing Ray Vecchio again; not realizing he'd been replaced."

My stomach did a triple somersault; for a minute, I was sure I was gonna puke. "That was me! You were supposed to meet me, except I wasn't there. The Lieu sent me to Portland for a conference the day before; said you'd still there when I got back. Oh Christ!"

"Ray." He laid a hand on my arm. "You're not to blame for what happened."

"It was a stupid mistake!" I struggled to keep my voice steady. "It was supposed to be an anti-terrorist weapon, not that anybody alive knows what kind. I've heard rumors even the scientists working on it didn't know what the hell they were doing; the government split them into a dozen different groups, with each group working on part of it."

"Except they didn't separate the groups," He said, as if he'd been there when it all went sour. "They had them isolated in an underground research facility about 15 miles outside the small town of Reeder, Massachusetts. Each group was in a different section of the building, but all the necessary components were in one place. If they'd just put the groups in different facilities, spread them across the country..." He touched my arm. "This would've never happened."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. I try not to think too much about what happened the morning of March 2, 2002, cause I learned early on thinking about it makes you crazy. Now that I've got The Burn I'll be crazy soon enough, thank you very much. No sense in starting early.

I know now why he looks familiar. "Your name's Benton Fraser. You first came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of your father, and for reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture you remained, attached as a liaison with the Canadian consulate. The Lieu said that'd be how you'd introduce yourself. All I had to do was convince the general public I was Ray Vecchio."

"I would've known you were an imposter the minute I saw you. You look nothing like him."

"That's what I told Lt. Welsh. He said he'd take you aside and fill you in soon as you arrived." I clear my throat, suddenly self-conscious. "They showed me a picture of you, ya know. Said, 'Ray, this is who you're gonna be working with. He's Canadian and a Mountie, a good man and a good officer.' I remember wonderin' what you'd be like; nobody at the 27th really seemed to know you that well. I always wished I'd had a chance to talk to Vecchio before he left."

He smiled sadly. "So do I."

"They didn't tell you?"

"Ray called me shortly before I was due back from vacation; I was in Canada at the time. All he said was that he wouldn't be there to pick me up when I arrived in Chicago. I've realized since that he couldn't tell me anymore; that, in his own way, he was trying to say good-bye.' He glances at me, blue eyes haunted. "I was walking to the precinct building when...it happened."

I shiver, even though the room's almost too warm. "Did it hurt?"

"Not really. I saw a flash...and I wasn't alive anymore. Though it took me a while to figure that out. It wasn't till I found myself talking to my father that I learned the truth"

I try to imagine what it must be like to be alive one minute and dead the next, and realize I don't want to know. "That was two years ago. Where've you been since then?"

He looks over towards the window, at the light that's rapidly fading. "The sky's the same color all the time now. The only way to distinguish day from night is whether it's gray or black. There's no sun, no moon. No stars at night. Did you know the west coast is still mostly intact?"

"No."

"The Rocky Mountains seem to have slowed things down. The sky there's still clear most of the time. They were much less effected than the east coast and inland states."

"So there are people alive that aren't sick? Towns and stuff?"

"You don't know?"

I gesture at the room. "This's been my life the last 18 months. The docs don't talk about what it's like outside. All they've ever said is that I was half-starved and almost crazy from the pain when they found me."

"Before that?"

"I can't remember." His eyes meet mine, and I see my own fear reflected back at me. "I lost four months of my life somewhere out there, Fraser. I don't wanna know how I survived."

"That's why you let them keep you drugged." It isn't a question.

"I think that's how it started, they tranqd me up cause I still remembered what'd happened. I already had The Burn. It wasn't like they could do any more damage to me."

He reaches a hand out, then pulls it back. "Your arm doesn't look that bad, Ray."

"Doesn't, does it? Know what the real bitch is?" I stand up, unbuttoning my shirt.

"Ray..."

"The real bitch is that you've gotta get up close to see the collateral damage." I slide the shirt off and do full turn, letting him see my back and chest, somehow perversely happy at the sharp intake of breath it provokes. "I've got one good arm, and thus far it's stayed below my neck and above my waist. The docs can't figure out why, since most people who got sick were dead in a few weeks. They wanna try and find out what makes me special. They say maybe if they know that, they can fix a vaccine so no one else gets sick." Suddenly tired, I slip my shirt back on and sit down.

"I saw Ray Vecchio in Las Vegas. Or what's left of it." He's staring out the window again. "What towns remain are run by gangs; anarchy being the order of the day. As if what's already happened weren't sufficient chaos for anyone to stomach."

"Beggars can't be choosers, Fraser."

"No, they can't." He looks at me. "Ray Vecchio was sent undercover to impersonate a mob boss; he was working with the FBI to try and break the hold organized crime had in Vegas. He was one of the good guys." He turns away, staring at the wall. "Now he runs Las Vegas, just as the man he replaced used to. Thanks to him the city's doing quite well, as far as the survivors having enough to eat and somewhere safe to sleep at night. He's a dictator, albeit a relatively benevolent one where women and children are concerned. But he answers to the name Armando. The true Ray Vecchio, the Ray Vecchio that was my first real friend in Chicago, is as dead as if he'd been standing at ground zero."

"I'm sorry."

He sighs. "I've spent the past two years drifting from place to place, trying to find some way I could help, only to discover most people can't even see me, unless they're unusually sensitive to psychic phenomenon."

"Or stoned to the gills."

He looks at me, a slight smile quirking his lips. "Or drunk. The inebriated posses an uncanny ability to see revenants. As do the dying. But I couldn't help any of them because I couldn't touch them."

I frown. "You touched me."

"I know. You're the first living person I've been able to touch in the two years since my death. I tried before, but I always failed." His eyes are far away. "When I finally realized I was dead, I asked my father why I was still here. He told me I had unfinished business, something left undone, but he couldn't tell me what. He said I had to find the answer myself."

"And you think I'm your unfinished business?"

"Being dead allows you to see forward and backward in time, Ray. I know what the world will be like in 50 years, and believe me when I say it's not pretty. What happened March 2nd was just the beginning." He shifts on the couch so he's facing me. "I also know you and I were destined to meet."

"Destined?"

"You used to believe real love was forever, didn't you?" I nod. "You believed you and your wife were forever, but that's not how it turned out, is it?"

"You know about Stella?"

"I've met her."

I'm not so far gone I don't get what he means. I've always known there was no way she could've survived; not that close to the blast site. Just like I know Welsh and everyone at the 27th are gone.

Fraser reaches out and wipes tears I didn't even know were there off my face. "You and I were supposed to meet and become friends. We would survive everything life could throw at us, even almost dissolving our partnership, and come out stronger for it. And eventually, when the time was right," he tilts my face up so I'm looking at him, "we would become lovers and spent the rest of our lives together."

I remember when Welsh showed me his picture thinking that he was one damn good-looking guy, almost too beautiful to be real. Everyone at the 27th talked about him like he was Superman, but it didn't take me long to realize they didn't see him as human. He was like a department store mannequin in a red suit. He never got hurt or angry or scared.

"I knew it was a lie," I say softly, eyes locked with his. "You felt things as much as anyone; maybe even too much. But you couldn't let anyone know you were scared or angry; you had to keep it locked inside."

"My father and my grandparents had vastly unrealistic expectations as to what I was capable of. I spent my entire life striving to be better than anyone else. Yet all it took was a split-second to make everything meaningless."

"So what now? If I am your destiny, what you've been looking for, it's too late for it to be forever. Shit, Frase, you're dead already, and I've got one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel. There can't be a forever anymore."

One corner of his mouth quirks. "True. But there can be now, Ray. If you want, I'll stay here with you."

"You'd do that?" He nods. "Cause I can't promise I'll love you, Frase. Even if I do...between The Burn and you bein' dead, I don't foresee any sex in the near future. You wanna spend however long I've got left with a tranqd, permanently cranky guy who spends most of his time asleep?"

He smiles. "Perhaps if you had someone to talk to you wouldn't sleep quite as much. You're obviously hungry for news of the outside; I could tell you what I know. As for the sex...it would be nice if it were possible, but it's not the be all and end all, Ray. Just having someone to talk to who can see me and touch me is more than I'd ever hoped to find."

I close my eyes. "I'm scared, Frase. I've been alone too long. I don't know how much time I've got left."

"No one does." His hand touches the side of my face, and I feel the barest brush of his lips against mine. "I just know that I need to be here with you. You deserve better than dying alone and unremembered, Ray Kowalski. Isn't now enough?"

I open my eyes and look at him, and realize I've actually got a choice. If I tell him to go away he will, even though it'll hurt him. If I let him stay...I won't be alone anymore. I'll have to think about someone beside myself, and I'm not even sure I remember how to do that. Things will change. I won't be able to sleep as much. I'll have to start thinking about what happened. Maybe...maybe I'll eventually remember where I was before I came here, what I did to survive.

I've lived so long with the only certainty being the tranqs and the pain. Fraser's offering me something to hold onto besides the drugs; someone to talk to besides myself or the hallucinations. He's as solid as the couch and the chair and the table. He's not going to look down on me when I cry because the pain's so bad I wish I'd just die and get it over with.

I can tell him to leave and be alone till I die, or I can let him stay and try to start living again.

"Yer a freak, you know that?" He nods, the corners of his eyes crinkling. I yawn. "Shit. I feel like I've been awake for days."

And smooth as you please, he's got us arranged on the couch so I'm lying on one side with my head in his lap. I can feel his fingers brushing against my hair. "I need to get it cut." I yawn again. "It's getting so damn long I feel like a friggin' girl."

"I like it." He says, and continues to stroke it, humming quietly under his breath. "It's beautiful."

That makes me snort again, and I close my eyes. "Frase?"

"Yes, Ray?"

"Do you mind...would it bother you if I called you Ben?"

Even though I can't see his face, I can tell he's smiling. "I'd like that very much, Ray. Do you know what today is?"

"No." I haven't seen a calendar since I got here.

"Christmas Eve."

I roll over on my back and look up at him. "Really?" He nods. "So. We gonna have a white Christmas?"

"If you wish." He brushes my hair back out of my eyes. "Do you want a white Christmas, Ray?"

"Sure." I roll back over and begin to sink into sleep, already dreaming of snowflakes dancing in the air. Just before I'm completely gone, I reach down and take his other hand. "Merry Christmas, Benton Fraser." I whisper. "Here's to us and now."

FIN

End Fairy Tales-If Only In My Dreams by MR: psykaos42@yahoo.com

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