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

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this.

Author's Notes: Originally published in the zine 'Body Heat 1'. Beta'd by the lovely Josan, with my thanks.

Story Notes:

The question came out of nowhere, breaking the companionable silence that had grown between them. Fraser looked over at his partner, trying to read the man's expression in the dim glow of a nearby streetlight. He wasn't sure if he'd even heard correctly, or if the question had been some auditory hallucination, a product of long hours with little to do.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said," Ray repeated, his eyes never straying from the darkened building they were watching. "What do you want for your birthday?"

"For my birthday?"

"Yeah, you know - candles, cake, and cabbage. Look, you threw me a party when it was... well, when it was 'my' birthday. You even gave me that dream catcher you made for Vecchio."

"No, Ray." As lost as he was in this conversation, Fraser couldn't let that particular point pass.

"No, what?"

"I may have given you the dream catcher on the real Ray Vecchio's birthday, but I assure you, I made it for you. That sort of gift is not interchangeable like... well, like snowmobile parts."

"Fraser, you only met me a week before that. So what the hell was that spiel you gave me about how it takes forever to get the feathers?"

Fraser was grateful that the darkness of their surroundings hid his blush. "It can indeed be a lengthy process, as I explained. However, well, it just so happened that I was extremely fortunate, and that there were, in fact, some unclaimed eagle feathers at the repository when I contacted them."

He fully expected Ray's next question to be 'Why?'. Why had he led Ray to believe that obtaining those feathers had taken more effort than it really had? Why had it seemed so important for Ray to think he'd gone to so much trouble on his behalf? Why, indeed. He'd asked himself those very questions a number of times since then, had wondered why he'd felt the need to impress this man whom he'd known for only a handful of days.

But the question never came. Ray was silent for a moment, then said mildly, "You're changing the subject, Fraser."

"I... er, what?"

"Your birthday. I'd make you one of those dream things, but I don't know no catcher from my elbow so you're going to have to make do with some store-bought something-or-other."

"Ray, it really isn't necessary for you to buy me anything."

"Look, Fraser, you get me something, I get you something. You throw me a shindig, I get to do something special for you. That's the way it works here in the U.S. of A. So, what do you want?"

Fraser's mind was blank. He stared at Ray, baffled, long enough to draw a restless fidget from his partner.

"This ain't a million-dollar question here, Fraser."

"I'm just... not sure how to answer it."

"Geez, Fraser, just tell me what..." Ray trailed off, finally turning to face Fraser, eyes narrowing. "This is another one of those 'things', isn't it?"

Fraser frowned. "One of what 'things'?"

"One of those frame-of-reference things, like how you can't reminisce about all the fun stuff you used to do because you never did any fun stuff."

Fraser stifled a sigh. This was an old argument, one that he didn't particularly feel like re-hashing in a cold, dark car at three-seventeen in the morning. "I assure you, Ray," he said, rather stiffly, "I've had my share of fun."

"Uh huh. Did you ever get to go trick or treating? Or ride on a Ferris wheel? Or call somebody up and ask if their refrigerator's running?"

Fraser was about to protest about that last item when something in his mind clicked. "Are you deliberately trying to provoke me?"

There was a pause, then Ray chuckled. "Well, yeah, maybe a little. Beats the boredom of a stakeout."

This time, Fraser let the sigh escape. "You know, as much as it may seem to the contrary, my childhood really wasn't all that unhappy."

"Yeah, I know. I know that. But you still missed out on a lot of stuff us city-folks got to do. I just think that's kind of sad, that's all. I mean, did you ever go to a real birthday party when you were a kid?"

"Well, not often, since there was usually a shortage of kids my age within a reasonable distance. But I did go to a few."

"Yeah, and you played twister and pin the tail on the woodchuck 'till the cows came home. But did you ever get to have a party just for you?"

Fraser realized that Ray simply was not going to let the matter drop. "No, Ray," he said, resignedly. "I never did."

Ray thumped the steering wheel lightly with the palm of his hand. "See? That's what I'm talking about, Fraser - that's what sucks. And I bet no one ever asked you what you wanted to get, either, right?"

"Not to my recollection, no."

"Until now."

Fraser was suddenly suspicious of Ray's innocent tone. "Ray?"

"You, my polite, gift-deprived friend, are going to write out a wish list."

"A wish list?"

"That's right. Like a kid writing to Santa. I want you to write a list of all the things you want. Not things you need, not practical crap, just things you always wanted to get."

"Ray, I couldn't possibly ask you to buy me a list's worth of things."

"Chill out, Frase. I'm not going to max out my MasterCard over this, don't worry. I just want you to see that it's okay to want things, even things you think you can't have. Hell, who knows, maybe your most far-out, impossible wish might come true."

Fraser was intrigued - and a bit alarmed - by the turn this conversation had taken. "Has your wildest wish come true, Ray?" he asked curiously.

He heard Ray's breath catch, but his partner's voice was level as he answered, "I thought it did, a long time ago. Turns out I was just wishing for the wrong thing. But, hey, I'm not giving up hope."

Nor was Fraser, although, apparently, he was about to give up his sanity. Why else would he actually be considering writing such a list for Ray? Probably for the same reason he couldn't bring himself to deny Ray anything, these days. A reason that didn't need exploring at that particular moment, though; not when he was alone in a dark, enclosed space with Ray.

"All right," he said at last. "I'll make a list."

Ray gave him a small, bright smile. "Thanks."

Fraser was saved the trouble of changing the subject by the flash of headlights behind them, momentarily blinding them. A car pulled up to theirs, and a burst of static crackled from Ray's radio.

"Wakey, wakey, guys," Tom Dewey's voice came in loud and clear. "Anything exciting going on over there?"

Fraser froze for a moment before realizing that Dewey was most likely referring to the building they were watching, rather than the occupants of the GTO. He was glad once again that the darkness hid his suddenly flushed face.

"Not a peep," Ray answered in disgust. "I guess all the good little drug dealers are snug in their beds tonight."

"Yeah, while we freeze our nuts off out here," came the wry response.

"Shouldn't be a problem for you guys," Ray said sweetly, cutting off the transmission in mid-expletive and starting the car.

"So, what've you got going tomorrow?" he asked Fraser as they made their way through the empty streets towards the Consulate.

"Guard duty for most of the afternoon, I'm afraid," Fraser said ruefully.

"Damn. You wanna do something afterwards? Grab a pizza, or maybe shoot some pool?"

Really, it was absurd to feel such warmth at an innocent suggestion. "That would be nice, Ray."

"Cool."

Fraser's shift didn't begin until noon the following day. Despite having gone to bed rather late due to the stakeout, he'd woken early and found himself with spare time on his hands. Time which he should be spending doing something constructive like filling out reports, or taking Diefenbaker for a walk, or cleaning his closet - a task he was generally reluctant to undertake, since he could never be sure just what, or who, he'd find in there.

Instead, he found himself seated at his desk, staring down at a blank piece of paper, trying to come up with something - anything - to wish for. The task was more difficult than he'd imagined. He always prided himself on needing only a bare minimum to survive, and never really gave much thought to anything beyond that.

What did he need? His office adequately suited his living requirements - more or less. He had shelter, clothing... ah, well, he did need some new underclothes, as Dief had been displaying an unfortunate tendency lately to practice hunting and dismembering skills on Fraser's shorts, leaving them rather tattered around the edges, and often in embarrassing locations around the Consulate. He really should have another talk with that wolf about his disregard for... Fraser shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and willed himself to stay focussed on the task at hand. He was not going to ask for underwear for his birthday. Besides, Ray had made it quite clear: nothing practical.

Was there anything he craved? Anything from home he might occasionally long for, perhaps? He thought back to Maggie's recent visit, and to his sister's impromptu breakfast. He smiled longingly, grabbed a pen, and wrote: pemmican.

It was a start, though he really didn't think Ray would accept a list of one item. Fraser took another quick look around his office. Well, he had been thinking of getting himself a new cot to sleep on. His current one was a squeaky, rather lumpy contraption that Turnbull had dug up somewhere, and while he'd certainly slept in worse conditions, the thought of enduring too many more nights in needless discomfort was not appealing. Which, of course, made him consider just where he'd prefer to be sleeping, and with whom, and he quickly put a halt to that train of thought before he started feeling discomfort of a completely different sort. He took up his pen again, adding 'cot' to the list.

He was beginning to feel a bit more enthusiastic about this, now that he was on something of a roll. He cast his mind back to last night's conversation. 'Like a kid writing to Santa', Ray had said, and Fraser did know, at least, what he'd wanted as a kid.

When he'd told Ray that no one had ever asked him specifically what he'd wanted, he'd been speaking the truth; he had, however, made requests for certain toys, on his own initiative, though always with the same result: instead of the plaything he wanted, he'd invariably received a book, which had then taken its place inside his toy box, or inside the nearest walrus, as the case may be. That list came easily to his mind now, as it invariably did when he was thinking of or talking about his childhood - with anyone who cared to listen long enough, that was. With a slight pang of nostalgia, he jotted down: toy bulldozer; go-cart; Johnny Seven. He'd spare himself the embarrassment of asking for a guppy; besides, he didn't think it would live very long in the vicinity of Diefenbaker. And, with a grin, he added: a ride on a Ferris wheel.

What else, what else, what else? He had often felt that the Consulate, a rather dark and oppressive building, was a bit quiet for his tastes. While he couldn't be surrounded by the sounds of home - the whisper of the wind, the cry of the wolves (and no, Dief's grumbling didn't count), the call of the arctic ptarmigan - well, he'd always thought some music might be nice. Some Canadian musicians - Stan Rogers, Susan Aglukark, Tracy Jenkins - and perhaps a small, inexpensive CD player to play them on.

There. Surely that was enough even for Ray's standards. It had taken him quite a bit of time and concentration, but he'd finally come up with a list of his wants and desires... at least, those that he could share with his partner. As for his more... private desires...

Contrary to what he'd told Ray, to what he often tried to tell himself, Fraser did indeed have wishes - more, it seemed, than he could list in a lifetime. Things he wished he could say, or feel, or do with Ray; things that he wished could be said, or felt, or done to him by his partner, with his long, slender, capable fingers, his lush, expressive mouth, his slender, strong body, his...

Hardly knowing what he was doing, Fraser picked up his pen and a fresh sheet of paper and began to write a new list.

Some time later, he was startled out of his reverie by a soft knock at his door. He looked up, a slight blush tingeing his cheeks, to see Turnbull's apologetic smile.

"It's nearly noon, Sir." If the younger Constable noticed Fraser's apparent discomfiture, he thankfully made no mention of it.

"Th... thank you, Turnbull," he said, not quite breathlessly. "I'll be out in just a minute."

"Yes, Sir." The door closed softly, and Fraser took a deep, calming breath, releasing it slowly, trying to will his body to relax from the heightened state it tended to get into whenever he thought of Ray in that way. When he had finally regained a measure of composure he picked up the list for Ray, folding it neatly; he'd hand it over when they met for supper later that day. The other list he slipped furtively beneath a pile of forms on the corner of his desk. He'd take care of it later, when he had a bit more time and a lot more privacy.

He slipped on his Serge tunic, looking forward, for once, to standing guard duty. Hopefully, the fresh air would do him some good.

Renfield Turnbull's whistling faded just a little as he stepped into Constable Fraser's office. He was always a tad wary about entering this room, ever since the day, several months previously, when he'd come in to discover the legendary Bob Fraser seated at the desk. Granted, the subsequent conversation he'd had with the great man had been most interesting; nevertheless, it had left him a bit unsettled since, if he were to believe Constable Fraser - and Turnbull did, implicitly - by that time, the gentleman in question had been dead for some years.

A cursory examination of the room, however, revealed no one but a sleepy wolf, so his usual cheerful countenance returned full force as he carried his armload of files into the crowded quarters. His cheerfulness was short-lived, however, as his boots suddenly snagged on something and he stumbled, catching himself in time to avoid falling but, in the process, losing his grip on the files.

Turnbull stared in dismay at the jumble of papers now scattered across the surface of Fraser's desk. He glanced down at his feet, noting the tattered cloth tangled around them, then cast a rueful glare at Diefenbaker who was most certainly responsible for having left it there. Diefenbaker stared back at him with an unreadable expression in his eyes, and Turnbull sighed, wishing that Constable Fraser would consider buying a muzzle for that animal - or, at the very least, a lock for his underwear drawer.

With a resigned shake of his head, he set to work sorting through the mess. Thankfully, most of the files hadn't strayed too far from their folders, and he was able to put them to rights with little effort. That left only the pile of forms that had originally been set on a corner of the desk. Kneeling down to pick up the few papers that had fallen to the floor, he noticed one that seemed to have gotten a bit folded along the way, and opened it in the hopes of smoothing it out a little.

Then he caught a glimpse of the words on the paper and he froze, his mouth dropping open, his cheeks reddening. He shouldn't be doing this. He was invading Constable Fraser's privacy. And this letter most certainly was private, and personal, and... stimulating.

Oh, dear Lord! It was stimulating.

Well, he knew now just why Fraser had seemed so flustered earlier. He'd assumed the Constable was a little under the weather, maybe feeling a cold coming on. Reading more of the list in his hands, Turnbull realised that Fraser was suffering from a fever of a different sort. Who knew that stolid, serious Benton Fraser could want - or even imagine - anything like this? And with Detective Vecchio, of all people! A loud, crude Yank who disrespected the Queen, the Uniform, and Curling with reckless abandon!

And yet Fraser wanted to... wanted Detective Vecchio to... with his... and their... in the... and even on top of the... for pity's sake, was that even physically possible? Well, it was no business of his what Constable Fraser wanted to do in the privacy of his own bed, or elsewhere, and with whom. If Fraser really wanted this so badly, Turnbull wished him all the best.

He heard a low noise, and raised his head, finding himself face to face with Diefenbaker. Turnbull lifted a finger to his lips and whispered, "Shhh." He could have sworn the wolf gave him a conspiratorial wink before turning around to resume his nap.

Turnbull picked up the rest of the papers and stood, stacking them back neatly on the desk. He re-folded the list and was about to slip it under the forms when he noticed a second folded paper, this one with 'Ray' actually printed its side. Deciding, for the sake of decency as well as for his frazzled nerves, to leave that one undisturbed, he quickly put everything on the desk back to rights, and, with as much dignity and grace as he could muster, fled the room.

By the time Constable Fraser's shift of guard duty ended, Turnbull had regained his composure and was seated, filling out a report, at the Consulate's main desk. He glanced up as Fraser passed by him on his way to his office, then again when Fraser stepped out several minutes later. Fraser had replaced his uniform with civilian attire, and was placing something - a folded piece of paper, it seemed - into his jacket pocket. A sly-looking Diefenbaker trotted along behind him. As Fraser neared the desk, he paused, looking a little puzzled. "Turnbull, did you..."

"Sir?" Turnbull put on his most innocent expression, praying for the wolf to keep his secret.

Fraser stared down at him for a moment, then shook his head. "Never mind," he said, and headed for the door.

Whistling a jaunty tune, Turnbull turned back to his paperwork.

Fraser had a brief moment of panic when his shift ended and he went back to his office. He immediately noticed the new files that had been brought in - by Turnbull, most likely, since Inspector Thatcher tended to avoid his work/living quarters, having walked in on him changing once too often - and his sharp eyes noted that his pile of forms were a few millimetres out of position. In fact, he could see a corner of his... other list peeking out from under it. Had Turnbull...? Feeling unaccountably guilty, he turned questioning eyes on Dief, who stared back at him innocently. Deciding that his conscience was simply playing tricks on him, he dismissed the discrepancy. He knew Turnbull; the younger Constable had probably just jostled the desk, causing the papers to shift. Yes, that must have been what happened.

The alternative was... unthinkable.

His work for the day having been completed, he changed out of his uniform then picked the 'real' list from his desk, slipping it into his hat. He'd give it to Ray at the station. As he headed for the door, though, he hesitated. That other list was really not something he should leave lying around his office, at least not in such a precarious position. Anyone might find it - Turnbull, the Inspector, even - God forbid! - his father. With a rather furtive air, he returned to his desk and retrieved the paper, shoving it deep into his jacket pocket as he left the room.

As he passed Turnbull at the front desk, he imagined he could see a hint of embarrassment in the man's face, and Fraser felt another momentary pang of unease. Of course, Turnbull spent half his time embarrassed about one thing or another, but still...

"Constable Turnbull?" he asked, not quite sure what he really wanted to ask. "Did you..."

Turnbull turned large, guileless eyes up to meet his. "Sir?"

Fraser searched that face for a moment. No, he must have been imagining things. He'd been unusually jumpy since having written that list. "Never mind," he sighed, and left the building.

He arrived at the 27th Precinct to find it in chaos. No sooner had he entered the bullpen than he was waylaid by Ray.

"C'mon, Fraser. We finally got a witness who'll talk about the DiFranco thing."

Ah. The drug dealer they'd been watching for the night before. "Right you are, Ray," he said, following his partner out of the room.

The next few hours were a blur of interviews, dead ends, sudden leads, shoot-outs, and, finally, one lengthy chase through a maze of back alleys, culminating with a suspect in custody and a rather unpleasant encounter with a dumpster.

Despite the pandemonium of the case, Fraser managed to take advantage of a brief moment of calm, and handed the folded piece of paper to Ray.

"What's this?" Ray asked distractedly, his eyes fixed on the building currently in the process of being surrounded by police officers.

"My list."

"Your what?"

Surely Ray hadn't forgotten so soon, not after having made such a big deal of it the night before. "My birthday list."

"Look, Fraser, now's not really a good time to..." Ray trailed off, staring down at the paper in his hand, then up at Fraser. "You actually wrote a list?"

"Yes, Ray. I told you I would."

"Yeah, I know, but I thought..." Ray shook his head, then gave Fraser a bright smile. "That's great, Frase, thanks."

Fraser was about to reply when shots erupted from the building and their attention was called abruptly back to the case. He did notice, however, that Ray carefully placed the paper into his pocket before raising his weapon and entering the fray. A small action, granted, but one that nonetheless filled Fraser with an inexplicable warmth.

Ray dragged his weary self up the stairs and into his apartment, not even bothering to turn on the lights before collapsing onto the couch. God, what a day! Between the stakeout last night and today's fiasco, he was completely beat. And add to that the fact that he'd had to stay late and write up the damned arrest report and he was ready to crash for at least a week.

At least Fraser had been there, helping out, even taking over typing when Ray's fingers felt like they were about ready to fall off. Ray tried not to feel guilty about that, about taking advantage of Fraser like that, like so many people tended to do. Sometimes it seemed like Fraser's red uniform was some sort of sign that said 'Use me'.

That particular thought, of course, sent a jolt right through him. Use Fraser. Yeah, he could use Fraser all right, and he'd be willing to bet - with real money, thank you very kindly - that if he did, Fraser'd get a whole lot more out of being used than he normally did...

God! He must be exhausted if he starting thinking things like that about his partner. His friend.

And, besides, it wasn't like Fraser didn't want to do stuff for people, was it? If Fraser really didn't want to help out with the paperwork after a case, he wouldn't keep hanging around the station, would he? Fraser sure as hell wasn't getting much police work done at his own job - maybe he just missed the pace of it. Even the mind-numbing writing part.

If there was a little voice in the back of his mind suggesting that maybe Fraser had other, non-police-related reasons to be hanging around the station, well, Ray'd gotten used to ignoring that little voice a long time ago.

It still ticked him off, though, how Fraser always seemed to be doing stuff for other people - for Ray, Frannie, his neighbors, complete strangers - but nobody ever seemed to do anything nice for him. That's what Ray wanted to do... something nice just for Fraser, for once. There wasn't anything wrong with that, with wanting to do something for a friend. Really, there wasn't.

And who the hell was he trying to kid, anyway?

He had a sudden thought, and he shifted over enough to reach into his jeans pocket. He'd had to change clothes when they got back to the 27th, after that whole dumpster thing, but he'd kept the... yeah, there it was. He pulled out a slightly crumpled piece of paper.

A list. Fraser's wish list.

Fraser'd hit him with it out of the blue, right before a major bust, for Christ's sake. It had taken Ray a minute to figure out what the hell it was that Fraser was giving him, then another minute to get over the shock that Fraser had, for once, actually done what Ray'd asked him. Not only that, but he'd actually done something that involved sharing, and feelings, and expressing desires, and all that new-age Oprah stuff that Stella'd always been on Ray's case about.

Desires. Oh, yeah, he wished Fraser would express some desires. Ray had a few of his own he could share. But, sadly, he really didn't think that's what he was going to find on the paper. Oh, well, that's what dreams were for, anyhow. And besides, he hadn't been lying when he'd told Fraser he hadn't given up hope.

Curious, he unfolded the paper, blinked at it blearily for a second, then sighed, reaching over to turn on a lamp. Once his eyes got accustomed to the light he picked up the paper again and started to read.

After a moment, his eyes widened.

And a moment after that, he started to smile.

Fraser walked into the bullpen several days later, his eyes instinctively searching for Ray. There was no one at his desk, but his jacket hung on the back of the chair, which was a good sign. Suddenly, Francesca caught sight of him and approached, rather hesitantly, for her.

"Ray's in with Welsh," she told him, and something in her tone alarmed him.

"Has something..." he trailed off as a voice - unmistakably Ray's - shouted something unintelligible, and was answered calmly, almost placatingly, by the Lieutenant's gruff tone. Then the door flew open, slamming shut again behind a whirlwind of blond fury. Ray stomped to his desk, grabbed his jacket, and all but flew out of the room, passing by Fraser without even a glance. Fraser started to follow when a voice made him turn back.

"Constable." Welsh was standing at the doorway to his office, looking not nearly as... peeved... as Fraser would have expected, given the circumstances.

"Sir?"

"Look, it wasn't Vecchio's fault. It was a bad deal all around."

Utterly confused now, Fraser could only repeat, "Sir?"

"Tell him to take tomorrow off. Cool down a bit." With that, Welsh retreated into his office, leaving a thoroughly confused Mountie behind. Francesca patted his arm and gave him a sympathetic look, and Fraser gently extricated himself from her grasp and went off in search of Ray.

He found Ray, surprisingly, in the station's parking lot, leaning against the gleaming trunk of the GTO. Fraser approached him cautiously - Ray appeared outwardly calm at the moment, but he knew from experience how volatile Ray's temper could be. Ray ignored his presence, though he shifted a bit when Dief, utterly tactless, as usual, trotted up to him and nosed his hand in concern. Fraser thought he could see a hint of a smile on Ray's sullen lips, though, and he heard a muttered 'damned wolf' that held a hint of affection.

Finally, Ray looked up to meet his gaze. "Look, Fraser, I'm sorry you had to come all the way over here for nothing. I'll give you a ride back to the Consulate, if you want."

Fraser waved aside this inconsequentiality. "What I'd like, Ray, is to know what happened."

Ah, there it was, that flash of anger in Ray's expressive eyes. "What happened, Fraser, is that god... damned... son of a bitch DiFranco's god... damned... lawyers got him off on a god... damned... fucking technicality."

Fraser frowned. "What technicality?"

"I don't know! Someone forgot to say 'Simon Says' when they booked him. What the fuck does it matter, Fraser? He's out on the streets again, selling poison to kids, and more people are going to get hurt now 'cause we fucked up."

"Ray, 'we' did nothing wrong. Lieutenant Welsh was quite adamant that you were in no way at fault in this matter."

"Yeah, I know. I know that. It still pisses me off, though." Then he sighed. "Guess I better go back in there and face the excrement."

"Well, actually, Ray, the Lieutenant suggested you go home."

Ray's expression was unreadable. "He did, huh?"

"And, er, take tomorrow off as well." Fraser saw Ray's lips open, and he hurriedly cut off the protest. "After all, you have been working long shifts for over a week now, without much of a break."

Ray eyed him suspiciously for a long moment, then sighed again. "Okay. Fine. I was gonna call in sick or something tomorrow, anyway, so it might as well be official."

He stepped away from the vehicle, motioning Fraser towards the passenger door. Fraser ushered Dief into the car before taking his place beside Ray. As they drove - towards Ray's apartment, Fraser was glad to note, and not towards the Consulate - Fraser asked curiously, "Tomorrow?"

Ray looked embarrassed all of a sudden. "Yeah, well. I knew you had the day off tomorrow, too, and I wanted to spend your birthday with you." He shot Fraser a quick, uncertain look. "I mean, if you want me to."

Fraser was momentarily speechless. "That would... that would be delightful, Ray," he managed to say after a moment.

Ray looked relieved. "Okay. Great. 'Cause I... um... made some plans."

A feeling of warmth spread through him, but he protested, "Ray, that's really not - "

"I know it's not 'necessary'. I just wanted to, okay?"

Fraser knew it was useless to argue further. "Okay, Ray. Thank you."

That hint of a smile emerged again. "Don't thank me yet. You don't know what I got planned."

Fraser willed his mind not to explore the possibilities Ray's words conjured in him. "Understood," he said instead, with a small smile of his own.

They were seated on Ray's couch, each man lost in thought. Several half-empty cartons of Chinese food were stacked in the kitchen, well out of wolf-reach. For once, neither the stereo nor the television was on, and Fraser welcomed this chance at a rare, quiet moment with Ray. Ray's mood had lightened considerably, but he still looked troubled.

As if reading his thoughts, Ray sighed, breaking the silence. "Tell me again why we do it, Fraser. Why we bust our butts to put the bad guys away when half of them come right back out again."

Fraser regarded Ray carefully before answering, weighing his response. "Ray, only a tiny fraction of the people we meet are 'bad guys'. Even in our profession, where we see more than our share of the bad, the good ones still vastly outnumber them. It's for them that we have to keep doing what we do.

Ray looked at him. "For the good guys, huh?"

"Yes, Ray."

There was a long, silent pause before Ray spoke again.

"You know, Fraser, you're one of the good people."

"As are you."

Ray snorted, but conceded, "Yeah, okay, I guess I am. But not like you. You're, like, good-good."

Fraser arched an eyebrow. "Good-good?"

Ray smiled. "Okay, that didn't come out right. Look, I just... I just wanted to say thanks."

Fraser frowned. "For being good?"

Ray looked away sheepishly. "Yeah. For being good, for giving me something to go on for."

Fraser heart lurched, and he opened his mouth to tell Ray that he had it all wrong, that Ray was the reason why Fraser could go on, that life without Ray, now, would be unimaginable. Instead, he simply said, "You're welcome, Ray."

But perhaps something of his thoughts had made its way to his voice, or to his expression, because all at once Ray went still, watching him with dark eyes gone suddenly wide. He looked like... he looked like he wanted to...

"Ray," Fraser said in a voice gone suddenly shaky. "Do you..."

"Yeah," whispered Ray, and he leaned forward, pressing his lips firmly to Fraser's.

Sensations exploded in Fraser like a shower of sparks as the kiss deepened. The hint of ginger and of Ray on his tongue, the scent of hair gel and of arousal, a moan, almost a whimper, and the feel... oh, dear Lord, the feel of Ray's hands slipping under Fraser's shirt, stroking up his chest.

Yes, oh yes, he wanted to say, echoing Ray's words, but he didn't dare drag his mouth away from its new haven. All too soon, though, Ray pulled away slightly.

"Fraser?" he asked breathlessly.

"Benton," Fraser replied automatically.

Ray blinked. "Benton?" Then he smiled. "Benton. Yeah. You okay with this, Benton?"

'Okay'? Could there be a word less suited to express the elation he was feeling at the moment? With a burst of humor, he thought back to their earlier conversation.

"I'm good, Ray."

Ray laughed. "That you are, Benton."

Then Fraser found himself on the receiving end of another incendiary kiss; this time, though, he leaned back, pulling Ray along with him until they were both lying on the couch.

"Oh, yeah," Ray whispered into Fraser's mouth before moving his lips away to trail along Fraser's jaw, and down his throat. Fraser moaned, throwing his head back, offering more but, maddeningly, Ray pulled away once again, tugging at the hem of Fraser's shirt.

"This has got to go."

Fraser's eyes shut tightly for a moment as he imagined being pressed against Ray, chest to chest, skin to skin. "Yours too," he growled.

"Yeah, okay. Right." Ray sat up, straddling Fraser's hips, drawing his T-shirt up and over his head in one smooth motion.

Fraser's eyes roamed hungrily over Ray, and he hardly even noticed as his own shirt was removed. He reached up to trail his hands over Ray's shoulders and chest, tracing the contours of Ray's muscles, finding his taut nipples, playing with them gently.

Ray gasped, his hips bucking against Fraser's, and both men groaned at the contact. Then Ray's hands were scrabbling at Fraser's jeans, unbuttoning them, reaching for the zipper. Before Fraser could reciprocate, Ray moved off him and was drawing Fraser's jeans and boxers down over his hips, revealing his erection.

"Ray," Fraser gasped as he felt strong fingers close around him. Then words failed him completely as he saw Ray smile, and bend down, and... Fraser groaned, a wordless sound of utter pleasure, as the wet heat of Ray's mouth encircled his aching cock.

Fraser willed himself not to grab hold of Ray's head, not to thrust himself up into that welcoming, sweet suction. This was... oh, God, this was better than he could possibly have imagined, or dreamed, or... An urgent thought suddenly penetrated the haze in his mind. This was exactly as he'd imagined. This entire scenario was, in fact, identical to item number 3 on his list, the one he'd hidden away, the one that... With a sudden sinking suspicion, he realized that, in all the confusion, he must have given Ray the wrong list. And now Ray was... he was... to be charitable, he was...

Now, Fraser did take hold of Ray's head, gently but firmly lifting it away from him. This was, indeed, all he could have hoped for, but not even for the sake of fulfilling a dream could he be willing to let Ray do this for him. Simply because Ray felt that Fraser's birthdays had somehow been lacking in the past...

Even though giving up this particular present was going to take strength that he wasn't entirely sure he possessed.

Ray was looking up at him now, concern vying with confusion in his expression. "Benton?"

"I... I can't..."

Ray's eyes widened, and he was up and off Fraser like a shot. "Jesus, Benton - Fraser - I'm sorry. I thought you wanted..."

Fraser stood too, awkwardly pulling up his jeans, trying to compose himself, wanting to reassure Ray. "I did. I do. I... Ray, I do want you; just... not like this."

Ray took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "Yeah. I guess we were going a little fast. It's just -" he gave Fraser a rather shy little smile, "- I finally had you where I've been wanting you, how I've been dreaming about you for so long. I guess I just didn't want to risk waking up."

Fraser started at him. Where Ray had wanted him? Ray had wanted this? He'd dreamed about this, as Fraser had?

He realized, suddenly, that Ray had certainly seemed to be enjoying what they'd been doing. Was it possible that he hadn't been doing it just to be nice? And, good Heavens! Fraser had put a stop to it?

What in the world was wrong with him?

"Ray," he said slowly, "I am an idiot."

Ray frowned. "Huh?"

Instead of replying, Fraser drew Ray back into his arms, kissing him lightly, then more firmly. He felt Ray's tongue brush against his, tentatively, and the banked fires in his groin flared up again.

As they parted for air, he said, "I, too, have been dreaming of this, as you know. But now I realize that the reality is so much better than that dream."

Ah, yes, that was it. The list he'd written, all the different situations he'd imagined in which he and Ray had come together, none of them were anywhere as intense, or as thrilling, as having Ray actually in his arms, kissing him, wanting... more.

Just as Fraser wanted more, wanted more than a quick, pleasurable fumbling on Ray's couch.

"Let's go to bed, Ray," he said, his voice husky with his renewed arousal.

Ray's eyes widened, and he smiled wickedly. "Understood," he said, taking Fraser's hand and leading him to the bedroom.

Ray was just putting the finishing touches on breakfast when he heard sounds of stirring from the other room. He smiled - perfect timing. Holding up a halting finger to Dief, who had perked up, too, he went to the doorway of the bedroom, avidly taking in his new favourite sight - sleepy, rumpled Fraser.

God, what a night it had been! He never would have imagined, when he'd actually taken the plunge and kissed his partner, just how responsive Fraser would be. Well, except for that freaking-out thing he'd done just when things had gotten going on the couch, but he'd seemed to get over that pretty quickly, if the rest of the night had been any indication.

At the thought of what they'd done, the memory of Fraser's taste, of the feel of his hands, of his mouth, the feeling of rightness of it all, Ray felt a fresh stirring of arousal, though he quickly clamped it down. This time was for Fraser; there'd be time enough for... stirrings... later. He hoped.

In the bed, Fraser stretched, yawning, then slowly opened his eyes. He looked a bit disoriented for a moment, this his gaze landed on Ray, and his smile lit up the room. "Good morning, Ray."

Well, that was promising. With a smile of his own, Ray approached the bed and sat on its edge, leaning down to place a brief kiss on Fraser's lips. "Hey, Benton. Happy birthday."

He tried to pull back, but Fraser's hand reached up to hold his head in place for another, deeper kiss. "Mmm," Fraser said at last. "Thank you, Ray."

Fraser started to get up, and Ray placed a restraining hand on his chest. "Hey, where are you going?"

Fraser looked a bit uncomfortable. "I need to... er... use the bathroom."

Oh. Right. "Gotcha. Sorry about that, I was just going to, you know, get you breakfast in bed."

Now Fraser looked embarrassed. "That's really not necessary, Ray. You've done so much for me already."

Fraser's tone was firm, and Ray gave in with a sigh. "Okay, have it your way. No arguing with the birthday boy."

He swooped in for another kiss before leaving Fraser to take care of business. He was pouring hot water into two cups a few minutes later when Fraser stepped into the living room, fully dressed. He paused a moment to chat with Dief, who was apparently wishing him many happy returns. Ray stirred his coffee, waiting for the question he knew was coming.

"Ray, what's all this?"

Bingo. With a smile, he brought Fraser his tea and waved a hand towards the pile of brightly-wrapped packages on the coffee-table. "They're called presents, Benton. One of those cool things that happen to you on special occasions.

He shot Fraser a look, daring him to make any objections. For once, Fraser didn't seem to have any. He just looked at the presents, then turned suspiciously bright eyes on Ray. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Now, come get your breakfast."

But obviously the surprises weren't over with yet, judging by the way Faser's eyes widened as Ray set the plate on the table.

"What's this?" he asked.

"Well, according to your sister, it's supposed to be pemmican."

Fraser looked at him blankly. "Pemmican?"

"Yeah; I couldn't find any in town, and I remembered you telling me Maggie had some when she was here, so I gave her a call and she shipped it down."

Fraser was still looking shell-shocked, so Ray added, "Geez, Benton, is there something about sex that kills those Mountie brain cells? Pemmican. Food of the Canadian gods. It was on your list, I thought it's what you wanted."

"But, Ray, you... the list..."

Ray wasn't sure whether to be amused or concerned at Fraser's incoherence. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the now-crumpled list, and scanned it. "Yup. Pemmican, toys, tunes. This is what you gave me."

"Ray, that's my list."

"Way to state the obvious there, Benton."

"But I thought... the other list..."

Now Ray was confused. "What other list?"

"The one I..." Fraser trailed off, looking really uncomfortable now. Ray stared at him - was Fraser blushing?

Suddenly Fraser was up and headed for the door. Alarmed, Ray sprang up to intercept him. "Jesus, Benton. What's wrong?" But Fraser wasn't leaving, he was reaching into the closet, pulling out his jacket and searching the pockets. Finally he drew out a folded piece of paper and opened it, scanning it intently.

Ray watched him silently for a few seconds, then said, mildly, "Benton?"

Fraser looked at him. "Yes, Ray?"

"You want to back us up? I missed the exit to the twilight zone."

"Ray?"

"What's that?" he asked, indicating the paper now clutched tightly in Fraser's hands.

Yeah, Fraser was definitely blushing now. "Ah, well, I'm afraid I was operating under a misapprehension."

Shit. What the hell did that mean? Was Fraser regretting what they'd done? "What misapprehension would that be," he asked slowly, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.

Fraser must have picked up on his concern, because he suddenly looked contrite. "Not about us, Ray!" he said emphatically. "I just..." He took a deep breath. "I wrote two lists, Ray. I thought, last night, that I'd given you the wrong one, that's all."

What in hell could Fraser had written that would have gotten him so worked up? "Two lists?"

Fraser hesitated a moment, then thrust the paper at Ray. Curious, Ray glanced at the paper, read the first item, and - Holy Shit! He read through the list, his face flaming. This is what Fraser wished for? His eye caught on one item, and he suddenly realized what had caused Fraser's 'misapprehension'.

"This is exactly what we did on the couch."

"Yes, Ray," Fraser said. "So you see, I thought you'd gotten this list, and that you'd... that you were..."

So this is why Fraser had freaked out. "You thought I was just putting out to give you a birthday present."

Fraser winced. "I'm so sorry, Ray. I... I wasn't thinking clearly. That's why I pushed you away; I wanted it to happen, but..."

"You wanted it to be real, not just some sort of wish-fulfillment."

"Yes."

He got that. He did. And it gave him a nice feeling that Fraser would place that much importance on their relationship. He looked Fraser in the eye. "It was real, Benton."

Fraser's eyes went hot, and he said, "Yes, Ray. It was indeed."

Then Ray held up the paper. "Now, about this birthday list, Benton. What the hell were you thinking?"

Fraser blushed again. "I apologize for that, Ray."

Ray smiled, scanning the list once again. "You'd better. I mean, how the hell are we supposed to get all this done in one day? We're not exactly teenagers, Benton."

Fraser looked at him in disbelief. "Ray?"

Ray shook his head. "Nope, can't be done. It's gonna take a lot more than just one birthday to get through it all."

Finally, Fraser caught on, and he smiled. "Yes, I suppose I was a little over-enthusiastic when I wrote it. However," he added, his voice dropping low and sweet, as he reached out to pull Ray towards him, "we might get a good amount of it done, if we start now."

Ray gave in to the kiss with a groan, Fraser's words sending jolts of heat straight to his groin. He wanted to agree, wanted to just drag Fraser back to bed for the rest of the day, but he forced himself to stay focused. "God, Ben, I'd love to, but we got a busy day ahead of us."

Fraser looked a little disappointed, though interested, too. "Ah, the plans you mentioned yesterday?"

"Yeah. Sorry - I wasn't counting on having to budget for between-the-sheets time."

"Well, then, may I suggest we hurry?"

He laughed. "Yeah, that sounds good. So, presents. Get to 'em."

Fraser gave in with a laugh. "All right, Ray. Though I did ask you not to get me so many."

Ray looked at the rather large pile. "Well, it wasn't all me. Maggie sent the pemmican, and Frannie and the guys at the Precinct chipped in on this one," he said, indicating a large cardboard box. Fraser opened it, revealing a large selection of toys. He looked at Ray questioningly.

"Well, we didn't think the Johnny Seven was PC enough nowadays, but the bulldozer's in there, and some other stuff. We figured you'd probably like to donate them to a shelter, or something."

That earned him an "Oh, Ray!" and a kiss, which pretty much set the tone for the rest of the gift-unwrapping. Fraser seemed to like the portable CD player and assorted disks - a signed copy of Tracy Jenkins' latest, a bunch of Canadian groups, including some duo called Koss and Greeley who were big on the charts up north, and the 'Sounds of the Arctic Wilderness' nature CD caused Fraser to give him a particularly eye-crossing liplock.

Finally all the wrapping paper lay in a neatly-folded pile, and Fraser and Ray were seated together on the couch, hands linked. "Don't get too comfortable," Ray warned, "there's still some stuff left on your list we gotta do."

"Hmmm?"

"I thought we'd take a drive out of the city today; we could take a picnic lunch, and there's this great park about an hour away, where they have this fantastic go-cart track."

Fraser smiled. "Is there a Ferris wheel, too?"

Ray grinned. "Yup."

Fraser squeezed his hand, a look of contentment on his face. "Then I couldn't have asked for a better birthday, Ray."

"Well," Ray admitted, "I did miss one thing on your list. Your 'real' list," he added with a leer.

Fraser frowned for a moment, then said, "Oh, well, Ray, you've already given me so much. I really don't need a new cot."

"Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of a bed."

"A bed wouldn't fit in my office, Ray."

Ray hoped he didn't look as nervous as he suddenly felt. "No, I meant a bed here. My bed. If... if you want it."

Fraser froze, his eyes going wide.

"So, um, what do you say?" Ray asked tentatively.

Fraser smile would have melted ice caps. "I say we definitely have enough time to try out that particular present," he said, then pounced on Ray.

Renfield Turnbull was preparing a nice healthy dinner when his telephone rang.

"Hello? Ah, hello, Sir. A very happy birthday to you. ... My refrigerator? Why yes, Sir, it is running. ... Ah. Thank you for pointing that out, Sir, I'll get right on that. ... Yes, Sir. Goodbye."

He hung up the phone and returned to his pots with a smile. It seemed that Constable Fraser was having a very happy birthday indeed. 15

End Fraser's Wish List by Sylvie: sylviegrenon@rogers.com

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