Author's website: http://starfish.mrks.org

Disclaimer: Standard witty disclaimer #2.

Author's Notes: Multiple thanks to the beta-team of Alanna, AuKestrel, BethH, Carla and Kalena.

Story Notes: This was originally The Story I Wasn't Going To Write. People told me I should. So here it is.

The scene in the bullpen was utter chaos, which wasn't really anything out of the ordinary, even for a Tuesday. What made it stand out was the complete lack of any sort of criminals, suspects, perpetrators, or malfeasants; the usual causes of such uproar. No, this chaos was created solely by the men and women of the 27th.

Ben looked around him at the sea of animated faces. Faces he knew well, for the most part (although the blonde from Traffic had been merely a passing acquaintance until that point). Voices called out to him, a din he could barely understand, let alone respond to.

"--new red bikini--"

"--all your paperwork for a month--"

"--lifelong dream--"

"Please, Fraser, you've got to--"

"--don't want to pull rank, Constable--"

"--or maybe the black one-piece--"

"--so who's it going to be, Fraser?"

Just when he'd wished himself not only as deaf as Dief but also miles away and running, the door to the squad room opened.

"Ray!" he shouted over the tumult.

The excited babble stopped for a microsecond, then rebuilt itself, tinged now with indignation and desperation.

"--should have known--"

"--not fair--"

"--new red bikini--"

"--three months and that's my final offer--"

Ray just stood by the door, shaking his head. Then he walked back out the way he'd come with a raised eyebrow and a glance over his shoulder at Ben, who slipped out from the center of the throng and hurried after him.

In the relative quiet of the hallway, Ray's voice was soothing and very welcome.

"The hell was that? You win the lottery or something?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Ben said automatically. "I've always thought it seemed foolish to spend money in that fashion. One's chances of winning the lottery are, after all, somewhat smaller than one's chances of getting struck by lightning."

Ray smiled tolerantly. "Yeah, so? What's with the crazy people?"

"Ah," Ben said, tugging on his collar, which always seemed to tighten in moments of stress or embarrassment. "It seems I've won a cruise for two. To Acapulco."

Ray stopped walking, which was just as well, as they'd covered a complete circuit of the hallway and were back outside the doors to the squad. "You won a cruise," he said in a strange voice, looking at the wall.

Ben nodded. "All expenses paid," he added. "Although that apparently doesn't include airfare, which I thought was odd."

"To Acapulco," Ray said to the wall, as though Ben hadn't spoken.

"Yes, Ray," he said patiently.

Ray looked at him finally. "I go away for two days to watch my cousin get married and you win a cruise? How is this possible for a guy who doesn't believe in gambling or lottery tickets?"

"Francesca was . . . well, I thought she was speaking hypothetically, but . . . one of Maria's children needed to sell only one more raffle ticket to make her quota, and . . . apparently I said I'd buy it. I couldn't very well renege."

"Of course not."

"And then she came in today and said that I'd won . . . "

"And it was open season on Mounties."

"Precisely," Ben said, grateful that Ray had grasped the essentials at last.

"So who's the lucky duck who gets to go with you?"

Perhaps he hadn't grasped them, at that. "You are."

And Ray's face registered panic and dismay in equal parts as he said, "Hell no, I'm not."

Fraser gaped as Ray continued. "I told you, no more boats. The last one sank."

"Actually, Ray," Fraser said, and Ray could have predicted that, would have bet money on it, in fact. Any statement he made lately was followed by *Actually, Ray . . . * and a long explanation of why he was wrong. Made him want to scream sometimes.

"The last boat we were on was the replica of the HMS Bounty, which survived a battle with colors flying, so to speak. And besides, cruise ships are extremely safe."

"Tell that to the Titanic," Ray muttered, but his heart wasn't in it. Fraser was going to talk him into this, just like he always did, and it was going to be blubber-and-lichen pizza all over again. And how Fraser'd talked Tony into that when Ray could hardly get pineapple was a mystery for the ages. Now it was on the freaking menu, and Ray ordered it sometimes even when Fraser wasn't coming over for dinner, which was probably one of the signs of the apocalypse.

"Ray. Ray. Ray."

Right. Back to reality. Which evidently included a fucking cruise. He looked at Fraser, who was looking a little worried and hurt.

"If you truly don't want to go, I'll understand, it's just that --"

Ray nodded. "It's just that you're likely to get jumped again the minute they find out I'm not going." He sighed. "When do we leave?"

And Fraser's face just lit up with a smile like Ray'd never seen before. "Not for two weeks. Plenty of time to arrange your vacation, and my leave, and airline tickets . . . oh, and I'll need to board Dief. Have you been inoculated lately?"

Ray shook his head in disgust. Fraser evidently took it for a no. "You should do that as soon as possible."

"Yeah, okay," Ray said. "I'll let them stick me full of holes, and I'll get on another boat --"

"Ship," Fraser said.

Ray frowned at him. "I'll get on another ship with you, but just remember -- when it all goes to hell, I will say 'I told you so.' "

On the plane, Ray finally started to relax. It might have had something to do with the Dramamine, or maybe it was just the sense of inevitability finally catching up to him, pinning him down, and sitting on him. Either way, he took a deep breath of stale airplane-air and felt kind of calm for the first time since Fraser'd 'invited' him.

He looked over at Fraser, sitting at attention in the window seat, obviously determined not to miss a single detail of the trip. After a second, Fraser looked at Ray and frowned.

"Is everything all right?" he asked. "Did you forget something? I'm sure there'll be a gift shop of some sort --"

Ray held up his hand to stop the flow of words. "I'm good," he said. "Just . . . soaking up the moment, okay?"

Fraser still looked doubtful. "I suppose . . . " he said. "But you look a bit . . . frazzled."

"Frazzled?" Ray's voice was louder than he'd intended and he felt a few people staring, so he turned down the volume almost to a whisper. "I'm not frazzled, thank you very much. I don't get frazzled. In fact, I *was *starting to relax."

"Ah," Fraser said, nodding. "My mistake. Terribly sorry. I'll let you get back to it, then." And he turned to look out the window, back so stiff Ray's mother could have used it as an ironing board.

Dammit.

"Fraser," he began. "I didn't mean . . . "

Dammit dammit dammit.

He reached out his hand and gripped Fraser's shoulder. After a minute, he could feel a thaw starting, and he squeezed once and took his hand away. Fraser turned back around and sat back in his seat, feet flat on the floor, hands clasped in his lap. "No, Ray, I really do apologize. I'm aware you're here under duress --"

"Duress?" Ray almost-shouted again. "No, that's . . . okay, yeah, earlier, like last week I was feeling a little . . . duressed," and he waited for the reaction, got a tiny smile at the corner of Fraser's mouth, and went on. "But today? Not at all. Notice the lack of handcuffs?" He waved his hands around in front of Fraser's nose and got another small smile for his trouble. "I'm good with this, really. Hell, I'd have to be nuts not to want to go somewhere warm in the middle of winter, right?"

Fraser gave him a real smile then, and said, "Well, I suppose that's true, but I'm not sure we can safely assume that your desire to go somewhere warm is any firm indicator of actual sanity."

Ray punched Fraser on the leg, just a tap, really. "Hey. Be nice."

The stewardesses came around then checking seatbelts. Ray would have bet Fraser's was fastened just fine, but that certainly didn't stop "Hi-my-name-is-Mandy" from fiddling with it for about five minutes. Ray looked at her hopefully, but she only gave his seatbelt a quick glance before moving on. He looked at Fraser's face, which was the picture of uncomfortable, and decided to skip the smart-ass remark. Just that once.

They sat through some half-audible emergency instructions, and then the plane started to move. And move, and move, and move . . . Ray closed his eyes and swallowed. This was the bad part.

Once they were safely in the air, Ray unbuckled his seatbelt and stretched. He watched as Fraser rummaged through his backpack and came out with a Walkman.

"What's that for? You get some throat-singing tapes from Columbia House?"

Fraser gave him a don't-be-silly-Ray look. "I thought it prudent to brush up on my Spanish. It's appalling how one's language skills can deteriorate when not used."

"Oh, sure," Ray said. "My Serbo-Croatian's gone way downhill."

Fraser opened his mouth to reply, shot a quick look at Ray's face, and closed his mouth again. He put the headphones on his ears and pushed the play button ostentatiously, closing his eyes and leaning back against the headrest. But Ray could see from the crinkles in the corners of his eyes that he was fighting another smile. "Ten points for me," he murmured happily, and dug his book out of his carry-on.

It took him about ten minutes to find his place, since the receipt he'd been using as a bookmark had gotten dislodged at some point, but he finally recognized the part where he'd left off. This Bourne guy was really screwed. Every time he turned around, someone was trying to kill him or betray him.

Right in the middle of the really exciting car-chase on page 97, something hit the back of Ray's seat. "Hey," he said automatically, turning around to look. A mousy-looking girl of about twenty stared back at him.

"I'm so sorry," she said, her eyes wide. "I'm just . . . really, really sorry."

"It's okay," Ray said, pacified in the face of such sincerity. She nodded nervously and moved away up the aisle, looking behind herself a couple of times. "Hunh," Ray said, and went back to his book. It wasn't two minutes later that he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He looked up again and saw a young guy walking up the aisle. There was something in his manner that made Ray look harder. It seemed like he was . . . well, *sneaking;* trying to look casual and failing totally. Ray's cop-brain suddenly yelled "stalker!" and he carefully marked his place in the book and put it down.

He reached over and tapped Fraser on the knee. Fraser opened his eyes and said "Hola, Ray. Como estas?"

"Same to you," Ray said in a low tone. "Listen, I think something's going down up front. Stay here and cover the aisle for me, okay?"

Fraser sat up straight, going from relaxed to alert in no time flat. "Of course," he said, taking off his headphones and stowing them in his bag; sliding into Ray's seat as Ray stood.

Ray moved down the aisle after the guy, catching up just in time to see him pull open the bathroom door and slide in. The door latched, and Ray moved closer. He put his ear to the door and heard a loud thump, followed by a soft cry. He was poised to bust the door down when he heard something else.

*"Ohhhh, Eric! Yes!"*

Son-of-a-bitch.

He walked back to his seat in disgust and shooed Fraser over. As he flopped down, he closed his eyes and scrubbed at his face with his hands.

"Ray?" Fraser said. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Ray said into his hands. "Just two kids joining the Mile-High Club."

"The Mile -- Oh. Yes. I see." Fraser shifted in his seat until he was almost at attention. "Well. I'll go back to my tapes, then, shall I?" He whipped out the headphones and shut his eyes again, which was fine with Ray: one less witness to his near-humiliation.

Landing safely at LAX was almost an anticlimax. The wheels bumped the ground right on schedule, and Ray was standing even before the sign was off, until Fraser pulled him back down. He stared at the pattern on the back of the seat in front of him, counting the little squiggles until the whole plane was empty. On the way down the aisle (finally) he smiled hopefully at Mandy -- who was, of course, staring past him at Fraser.

*Note to self: Ditch the Mountie if you want to pick up chicks,* he thought, and walked briskly down the hallway into the airport. Baggage pickup was to the left, and he jittered anxiously under the sign, waiting for Fraser, who finally appeared, deep in conversation with (of course) Mandy. "Fraserrrrrr," he yelled, making it as loud and annoying as he could. "We got a schedule. C'mon." He held back a smirk as Fraser blinked and then nodded, saying what was obviously goodbye-and-thank-you-kindly to Miss Mandy before approaching Ray.

"How do you do that?" Ray asked, falling into step beside Fraser. For a nice change, Fraser didn't ask what Ray was talking about.

"There was no effort involved on my part, actually. She apologized for staring and said I reminded her of someone."

Ray rolled his eyes. "Yeah, okay, like that's not an old one."

"Pardon?"

"That line's been used since before singles bars were invented."

Fraser stopped abruptly, looking a little offended. "Are you saying she was . . . hitting on me?"

Ray didn't stop, just turned and walked backwards so he could see Fraser's face. "I'm saying the possibility exists, yeah. Welcome to LA."

Fraser shook his head, sighed, and moved to catch up with Ray, touching him on the shoulder to turn him back around. "Look, Fraser," Ray said carefully. "You know about, um, Frannie, right?"

"Francesca? I ... yes. I am aware that she . . . Oh, look, here we are. I think that's your bag right there."

Ray turned so fast he almost knocked over one of those carts full of luggage, missed it by half a beat, and grabbed his bag off the carousel without a second to spare. Smooth on the topic change, he thought, but when Fraser came up with his big-ass duffel over his shoulder, Ray decided to let the subject drop.

"Okay, here's what I think we do. Go find where we're supposed to catch the boat and do some sightseeing along the way, maybe grab a bite. We got three hours, right? Shouldn't be any problem."

Two-and-a-half hours later, stuck in traffic three miles from their destination, the plan was revised. They paid off the cab and started walking, but only after Fraser dug the sunscreen out of his bag and insisted Ray use it.

"But," Ray said, out of habit, before he realized that 1) arguing with Fraser was like arguing with Dief, only worse because he could hear you and still ignored you, and b) the sun was really fucking hot. He grabbed the bottle and gooped some out, shivering a little as it hit his skin.

"Don't forget your ears," Fraser said, not seeming to care that they were on the side of the freaking expressway with about a hundred people staring at them.

"What about your ears, huh?"

Fraser raised an eyebrow and put his hat on. "Ready?" he said, and picked up his bag again.

Ray wiped the last bit of sunscreen onto his nose rather defiantly and put his sunglasses back on. "Yeah," he said. "Lead on, MacBeth."

"Actually, Ray . . . "

Ray held up his hand. "Don't."

"Understood. Shall we?"

They arrived at the dock literally seconds before the ship sailed. In the flurry of tickets and identification and cabin assignments, Ben hardly had time to glance around him. But as they walked along the deck, he noticed a curious fact. All the people waving from the rail, all the people milling about, all the people seated in deck chairs -- they all seemed to be . . . rather elderly. A reasonable guess would put the median age at 65, adjusting for cosmetic surgery and hair-coloring.

"Oh dear," he said without thinking.

"Fraser," Ray said at the same time, "what's with all the old folks?"

"I'm not quite sure, Ray, but please keep your voice down," Ben said, keeping his own voice pitched low.

"Why? You don't think they know they're old?"

"Ray."

Ray continued walking toward their cabin, not one whit chastened. "C'mon, this suitcase has gained fifty pounds since I packed it, and my feet are screaming after that hike. Let's find our room, we'll argue later."

They wove their way through the crowd to the elevator, which took them to their deck. Their cabin, when they arrived, was small but comfortable. Ben's eyes scanned it quickly, taking in details (beds, twin; walls, eggshell; carpet, blue; dresser, four-drawer; desk, adequate) before letting his duffel slip off his shoulder to the floor.

"This is nice," Ray said, dropping his own suitcase and throwing himself onto the closer of the two beds. "Think I'll just die for a while."

"Don't you want to unpack?" asked Ben, beginning the process himself.

"Shh, busy right now," Ray said, eyes closed. He was wriggling out of his boots as he spoke, and they fell to the floor with loud thumps as he succeeded. Then he lay absolutely still, a phenomenon heretofore unknown. Ben watched for a moment, glad of a chance to look without having to think of a reason, then turned back to his unpacking.

Ten minutes later, he was done. Ray's eyes were still closed and he hadn't moved, but his breathing hadn't deepened, so Ben assumed he was still awake "I'm going to get changed and go up on deck. Do you want to join me, or are you still dying?"

"Nah," mumbled Ray, eyes still closed. "I think I can manage to reanimate myself."

"I'm glad to hear that," Ben said, taking a pair of swim trunks from the drawer he'd just filled. "I wasn't looking forward to the paperwork when we got back." He unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. "Losing a partner on a holiday cruise entails fifteen different forms."

Ray's response was a cross between a snort and a snicker. He opened first one eye, then the other, regarding Ben muzzily. "Hey, you got shorts?"

Ben looked down at himself, half-in and half-out of his jeans, then back at Ray. "Yes," he said slowly, "I have shorts. And since we are traveling to a tropical climate, I thought it wise to bring them."

"Okay, good. I wasn't sure, is all." Ray sat up slowly and peeled off his socks.

"Honestly, Ray," Ben said, trying to hide his exasperation, "did you think I'd pack my thermal underwear? Chicago gets quite warm in the summer -- I'd hardly have survived the last few years without making some changes to my wardrobe."

Ray held up his hands as though warding off an attack. "Okay, okay, sorry. Didn't mean anything by it." He sat on the edge of the bed and stretched while Ben finished putting on his trunks, then stood up, groaning.

"Do you want me to wait for you?" asked Ben, slipping his feet into the pair of sandals he'd bought especially for the cruise. He devoutly hoped he wouldn't have to run anywhere in them, and they made him feel rather silly, but they were appropriate footwear for the climate, so he'd endure them.

"Yeah, I'll only be a minute here," Ray said, burrowing in his suitcase and emerging triumphant with his own trunks. "Tah-daa! Watch me set a new speed record."

Ray's rest seemed to have rejuvenated him, Ben thought, as his partner quickly stripped. The invitation to watch was not taken at face value, however, since that was a line he'd never cross. Raised as he was, it had taken him a while to get used to locker-room behavior as practiced at Depot and the CPD, but he knew for certain that actual watching was very much taboo. Personal insults of any type were allowed, on anything from the size of one's . . . equipment to the amount of hair on one's back, but nothing else. Especially not staring.

Staring was bad.

He quickly picked up a leaflet from the desk and started to read through it. "Ah, there's a 'Welcome Fiesta' starting in five minutes by the pool," he said, risking a glance at Ray, who was just pulling up his trunks.

"I'm all over that," Ray said. "Think I can go barefoot?"

"Probably not in the public areas, and I imagine the decking gets fairly hot in the sun."

"Yeah, I figured you'd say something sensible like that. Okay, I know I packed my sandals in here somewhere . . ." Ray delved further into his case and found both sandals. He frowned as he put them on.

"Is something wrong?" asked Ben.

"Nah, just a stupid memory-moment. Last time I wore these was on my honeymoon." Ray shrugged awkwardly. "Let's go to the fiesta."

"Ray, if you'd --"

"I'm fine. I'm good. Fiesta." Ray started toward the door with a determined stride. He turned when he realized Ben wasn't following him. "Look, see, it's nothing. Sometimes I just . . . get blindsided. Stupid stuff. But I'm not going off the deep end again over Stella. That's doneski. Can we go have fun now?"

"Absolutely," Ben said, with a smile he didn't feel -- the subject of Ray-and-Stella was always a sore one. He bit his tongue instead of voicing his opinion as he followed Ray through the now-open door and into the corridor, checking his pocket for the key before closing the door behind them.

They walked the three flights up to the pool rather than wait for the elevator, and as they went through the doors they were nearly flattened by a conga line going past. Mariachi music blasted from speakers around the railings, and, as before, every person there with the exception of Ben, Ray, and the crew was --

"Older than dirt," Ray said, looking around at the revelers. "It's like The Golden Girls meets The Love Boat here. What have you got me into this time?"

Ben dragged Ray back through the doors into the quiet of the stairwell, so that they could talk without shouting. "First of all, I hardly think it's fair to blame me," he said.

"Yeah, well, you're my chief suspect right now."

"That's ridiculous. Why on earth would I want to do such a thing? It makes as much sense to say that -- that Francesca planned this." And as soon as he'd said it, he realized --

"Fraser."

"Yes, I know."

"Fraser, Frannie did plan this. She made all the reservations."

"Yes, I know."

"Frannie set us up with old people."

"Ray."

"On a big boat where there's nowhere to hide."

"Ray."

"I mean, I know we fight some --"

"Ray."

"But I never thought she hated me for real."

"Oh for God's sake, Ray. Francesca doesn't hate you. I think you may just be an unfortunate victim of circumstance in this case." Ben paused, uncomfortable with his conclusion, but unable to avoid it, either. Before he could voice his thoughts, however, Ray leaped ahead.

"She made sure there wouldn't be any competition, didn't she? Yeah. Shit. You need to have a talk with her when we get back."

"I'm not going to chastise her for this."

"No, I mean you need to tell her thanks-but-no-thanks. If, um, that's what you want to tell her." Ray's face turned scarlet, and he looked down at the floor. "Didn't mean to, uh, presume or nothing, I just figured . . ."

"That if I'd wanted to ask her out, I've had ample opportunity?" Ben said. "Yes. Well. Ah. I have tried to tell her, believe me, but it never seems to go according to plan."

Ray nodded. "Okay, I can see that'd be a problem." A squeal of feedback came over the loudspeakers just then, cutting off the music. Ben tensed, ready for what he wasn't sure, but relaxed again when a jovial voice started speaking, the words muffled by the closed doors.

"Shall we?" he said, inclining his head toward the outside world and hoping that Ray would at least try to enjoy himself, despite his opinions of the company.

"Yeah, we shall," Ray said, and he marched to the doors, holding one open and gesturing for Ben to precede him. "After you, of course."

"Thank you kindly," Ben said, and walked out into the sunshine and noise. A young man in a uniform was standing on a small dais.

"--welcome you aboard. I know some of you have done this before, but for those who haven't, let me just go over a few things. You're here to have fun. If there's anything you need, just ask any member of the crew, and they'll help you out. Tonight's events include a Karaoke competition after dinner, should be a good time, so don't miss it. And there'll be sign-up sheets posted for the dance marathon and shuffleboard tournament on Sunday; get your names down now before all the spots are filled.

"A few other things -- " Ben closed his eyes and tipped his head back, enjoying the warmth. The words washed over him meaninglessly as he basked like Ray's turtle under his sunlamp. Then someone jostled him and he opened his eyes, jolting back to reality.

"-- please read the emergency instructions in your rooms when you get a chance. We don't expect any icebergs, of course," the announcer said, pausing for laughter, "but you never know.

"Now let's get back to the fiesta!" He put the microphone down on top of a speaker, causing another horrific squeal. He quickly moved it and flipped two switches and music started to play again. Ben sighed in relief and looked around for Ray. After a few moments, he spotted blond spikes under the bar canopy and saw that Ray had, somewhat predictably, attracted female attention. He walked over, trying not to mind too much -- this was Ray's vacation also, after all, and Ben certainly shouldn't begrudge him his choice of companionship.

"Hey, there you are!" Ray said when Ben reached the bar. "Fraser, this is my new friend Desiree." He waved his hand at the bartender, a faded blonde wearing rather more than a moderate amount of makeup and jewelry-- not Ray's usual type at all. "Desiree, this is my partner, Benton Fraser."

"It's a pleasure, ma'am," Ben said, inclining his head.

"Same here," said Desiree with a cool smile. "What can I get you to drink?"

Ben looked at the beverage in front of Ray. It was an interesting shade of pinkish-orange and had a skewer of fruit pieces in it. "That looks refreshing," he said, pointing at Ray's glass.

"Coming right up," Desiree said.

"Uh, you better make that a virgin," Ray said. "Fraser doesn't drink."

"I don't think one will hurt me, Ray," Ben said, feeling miffed. He wasn't a child, or feeble-witted -- surely he could make his own choices. And he was on holiday, after all.

"Suit yourself," Ray said, with a raised eyebrow and a puzzled look.

Ben's drink, when it arrived a second later, was indeed refreshing, and he had to force himself to sip it slowly. He could taste at least four different fruit juices -- orange, pineapple, grapefruit, and cranberry -- as well as the alcohol. "This is very good," he said to Desiree. "May I ask what it is?"

She smiled a bit more warmly then. "It's something I invented a while ago. I call it a Red Sun at Night."

"Hey, that's catchy," Ray said. "Hit me again." He slid his empty glass across the bar. Desiree caught it before it hit the floor and raised an eyebrow at him. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. She shook her head.

"Let me guess. You haven't eaten anything since airplane-food at lunchtime, right?"

Ray's look of astonishment was priceless. Desiree went on. "And you probably didn't eat much of that, or breakfast either."

"So?" asked Ray, a bit belligerently.

"So go get something to eat off the buffet, and then we'll talk." She pointed across the deck to another canopied area. Ben could just make out a table piled with food through the shifting mass of people around it. Ray turned to look as well.

"Okay," he said with a sigh. "Fraser, you want anything?"

"I'll go with you," Ben said immediately, and started to get up.

"Nah," Ray said, pushing him back down with a warm hand on his shoulder. "You save our seats here. I'm better at this kind of thing anyway -- you'd end up serving everybody else and we'd never eat." He grinned and winked and then turned and loped off. Ben watched the easy roll of his hips for a moment, then turned back to the bar. He took another sip of his drink, and when he looked up, Desiree was watching him closely. He felt a touch of irritation -- why in God's name does this always happen? -- before he realized it wasn't that kind of watching.

"Partners?" she said mildly.

"Yes," he said, matching her tone. "We're police officers."

"Ah," she said, as though he'd answered more than the question she'd asked. Another patron claimed her attention then, and Ben was free to turn and people-watch. Or, to be truthful, Ray-watch. He was easy to spot, even in the crowd, his height and hair making him stand out like a yellow birch on the tundra. And he was showing no signs of discomfort or disdain for the company as he chatted and 'worked the table,' as Ben was sure he'd call it. 'Schmoozing.'

"Been together long?" Desiree's voice came from behind him, not quite startling him. He turned back to face her, scrutinizing her face for an explanation of her interest. He could find none.

"Ray and I have worked together for a couple of years," he said, by force of habit giving the impression that this Ray was the only Ray, even to a complete stranger thousands of miles from Chicago.

"Hm," Desiree said, and Ben remembered how Ray Vecchio had always taken him to task for his one-syllable non-answers, and felt a sudden understanding. *I get it now, Ray,* he wanted to tell him, wishing for the thousandth time he could call, or even write.

He also found himself wanting to explain his relationship with the current Ray further; to say It's not like that or We just work together, really or even, as Francesca might have said, In my dreams. Instead he took another long pull at his drink. Desiree stood and regarded him, arms crossed, until Ray returned and broke the silence that had started to feel like an interrogation.

"What's up?" Ray asked, putting two well-loaded plates down on the bar and looking from Desiree to Ben and back. "What'd I miss?"

"Nothing, we were just chatting," Ben said quickly. "Thank you for the food, it looks wonderful," he added, looking at his plate and seeing a dizzying variety. "No problem, there's lots more if you want it." Ray took a bite of what looked like chicken teriyaki and chewed thoughtfully. "Wow, this is great. Food was definitely a good idea," he said to Desiree. "You want some?"

She shook her head and smiled at him. "No thanks, I can't. Not allowed to eat while I'm working."

Ray grimaced. "Dunno what I'd do if they told me that," he said. "Seems like most of the meals I eat are on the job lately. I'd probably fade away to nothing." He grinned at Ben companionably, inviting him to share the joke.

"Your mother would step in, I'm sure," Ben offered gamely, trying to play along and feeling awkward under Desiree's scrutiny. Everything he said seemed to be tinged with intimacy, but Ray wouldn't thank him for ruining his chances with what was possibly the only eligible female on board.

"Your partner says you're cops," Desiree said to Ray then, and Ben was sure he'd heard a slight hesitation before the word partner. Ray seemed to notice too, and squinted at her as he replied.

"Yeah, well, I'm a cop, Fraser's a Mountie -- same thing, I guess."

She looked puzzled. "A Mountie? Like from Canada?"

"Yeah, it's a long story," Ray said, and took another bite of chicken. He didn't seem inclined to expand further, and Ben wondered at that. Ray's usual response to an interested female was to become quite loquacious -- sometimes embarrassingly so, to Ben's mind.

Desiree was called away again then, and Ben realized that while Ray was halfway through his plate of food, he'd yet to touch his own. He picked up a skewer of grilled vegetables and made a start.

"Everything okay?" Ray said quietly, not making eye contact.

Ben looked at him, puzzled by both Ray's question and his manner. "I'm fine, why?"

"Looked a little tense when I came back over, that's all. Like somebody'd said something." Ray's eyes flickered upwards then, and his gaze was intense and almost fierce. Do I need to kick some heads? it seemed to ask.

"Ah. Yes, well, Desiree was . . . it seemed as though she was curious as to the . . . nature of our partnership."

"Hamm?" Ray raised an eyebrow and swallowed a mouthful of potato salad. "Is she still curious?"

Ben sighed. "It would seem so. Although I did try to tell her."

Ray nodded. "Yeah, I kind of got that too." He shrugged. "C'est la vie, I suppose."

"You're not . . . upset?"

Ray shook his head, but was prevented from answering by Desiree's return.

"Another drink?" she asked them both.

"Yes, please," Ray said, and she turned to Ben.

"I'll switch to the non-alcoholic version, if you don't mind," he said.

"Coming right up," she said, taking down two fresh glasses and scooping ice into them. "So are you here working on a case, then?"

"Now? Hell, no, this is a vacation," Ray replied.

"Oh," she said, seeming vaguely disappointed. She placed their drinks before them on the bar. "Listen," she said to Ray, "my shift's about over, and I was wondering if --"

Ray's cellphone rang, interrupting her. " 'Scuse me," he said, and pulled it out. "Yeah?"

His face softened. "Hey, Ma, I was going to call you tonight after we -- The flight was fine. I don't -- It's a very nice room, yeah. -- No, I didn't forget the sunscreen. Fraser made me -- Yes, I'm eating right now, in fact. I -- what? No, you can't talk to him. Give the phone back. Give the phone back. Ma? I'll call later, okay? Bye."

Ray snapped the phone shut with a smile. "That was Ma," he said to Ben.

"I gathered," he replied.

"And Frannie."

"Why did -- oh."

Ray smile turned very smirk-like. "Say 'thank you,' Benton."

"Thank you," he parroted, sincerely relieved at being spared that particular conversation. Ray nodded and turned back to Desiree.

"My, uh, sister's got a thing for Fraser."

"Ray," Ben said chidingly.

"So what were you going to say?" Ray went on, pointedly ignoring Ben.

"Oh," Desiree said. "I . . . wanted to know if you wanted a tour of the ship, that's all."

Ray made an unintelligible sound around a piece of melon, swallowed, and said, "Sounds great. You can show us where all the fire extinguishers are. Just in case." He turned to Ben and winked.

Had he thought he was in good shape? Ray couldn't remember. His only current thoughts were this is a big freaking boat and oh, look, there's another fire extinguisher. That last thing was beginning to make him want to giggle, which he tried to pretend was the sun getting to him. Or maybe there'd been a little more booze in those drinks than he was used to.

Another thing that struck him was that Desiree, between the tour-guide comments, had been grilling him and Fraser the whole time. Between them they'd spilled the 'came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of my father' story and the 'foiled a bank hold-up' story (Ray left out the humiliating part) and the 'Great Lakes pirate/ghost ship' story. And the questions just kept coming.

They'd stopped to look at the sunset from the top deck when she hit them with, "Have either of you ever been shot?"

Ray waited for Fraser's answer, and when it didn't come, looked over at his face. It was totally blank. Frozen. Shit. He scrambled for a deflection.

"Lots of cops get hurt one time or another," he said. "I had a buddy once who saved all the bullets they dug out of him."

"That's very . . . morbid."

"Yeah. He wasn't a real close friend, mind you."

Fraser came out of his trance and cleared his throat. "I . . . please excuse me. I need to . . ."

Ray to the rescue again. He made a big show of looking at his watch. "Oh, that's right, you got that thing."

"Yes," Fraser said, fumbling for the rope Ray had thrown him. "I do. I have a . . . thing."

And something evil made Ray say, "The Karaoke thing," which snapped Fraser's head around so fast Ray thought it might fall off.

"Yes," Fraser said again, more slowly this time. "And I believe you wanted to sign up for the dance marathon. Isn't that right, Ray?"

Bastard. He grinned, torn between sheer admiration and homicidal rage. "Yeah, that's right."

And Desiree said, "Sounds like fun. I'll come with you."

Halfway through the second version of "The Girl from Ipanema" (which had never been one of Ray's favorites, but which was now rapidly becoming Number One on the list of Songs He Never Wanted To Hear Again) Ray noticed Desiree scribbling something on a scrap of paper. Instinct (or maybe just nosiness, it was always a fine line) made him squint to read it, but it seemed to be in some sort of shorthand. When she noticed him noticing, she hastily folded it in half and jammed it into her pocket. "Shopping list," she whispered, and turned her attention back to the stage. He glanced over to see if Fraser had seen, but he was busy fending off a lady barracuda in low-cut blue sequins.

Which was better than the show on the stage, actually. Ray'd always figured Frannie was the North American amateur champion in the roving-hands category, but this lady had definitely gone pro. Way more subtle then Frannie'd ever figured out how to be, too. And didn't it just figure that even here, surrounded by senior citizens, Fraser still had 'em lining up.

And nobody even noticed anything was going on, which for sure wouldn't be the case if he ever tried out any of those moves on Fraser. Not that he would, of course. Because Fraser was his partner, and his friend. He respected the guy's personal space, mostly. Except when it was absolutely unavoidable. Or he thought he could get away with it, like when he'd had an extra beer, and really just couldn't help weaving and leaning. Or . . .

Christ on a crutch, not "Memory" again. Ray stood up and mouthed "bathroom" at Fraser, who leapt to his feet, almost knocking over Blue Sequins' drink as he did it.

"Excuse me, I'm terribly sorry, I'll be right back," Ray heard him say as he disentangled himself. Ray turned away to hide his smile and headed for the head, Fraser on his heels.

The glare of the fluorescents made him wince, and the one over the mirror was doing that flickery-thing that always drove him batshit, but on the whole it was a huge improvement over the lounge. Like, three hundred percent.

"You doing okay?" he asked Fraser, while they were washing their hands.

"I'm fine," Fraser said, sounding like he was on auto-pilot. Ray wondered whether it was stage-fright or just Blue Sequins that had Mr. Logic so distracted.

"Can I ask you a favor?"

"Certainly."

"Please don't sing 'Girl from Ipanema.' "

Fraser chuckled. "You'd have to hold a gun to my head."

Not stage-fright, then. "So what's the deal with Mrs. Octopus?"

Fraser paused in drying his hands. "She's certainly very . . . friendly."

Ray nodded. "Outgoing."

"Yes."

"And old enough to be your mother."

Fraser sighed. "Yes, well . . . "

"Hey," Ray cut in. "Run far, run fast. She doesn't want to give you milk and cookies."

Fraser laughed outright at that. "No, I don't imagine she does." He peered at himself in the mirror, running his fingers through his already-perfect hair and making one little bit stand up in back. "I sometimes wish. . .."

"Wish what?" Ray said. He lounged against the sink counter and thought bad thoughts about bad things he could do with Fraser that would make his hair look even worse.

Fraser turned his head just enough to notice the sticking-up part, and slicked it back down. "Nothing."

"Yeah, okay, enough primping. It's probably your turn by now."

They walked out of the men's room and right into Desiree. "Oh," she said, "I was . . . um . . . just coming to look for you."

"Indeed?" Fraser said.

"Yeah, I was . . . they sent me to, um, find you. It's your turn."

"Thank you," Fraser said, and did that little head-nod that somehow never looked dumb.

"Come on, Ray," she said, still staring at Fraser, "I'll buy you another drink."

"We get them free," Ray protested, but he let her take his arm and guide him back to the table, while Fraser climbed up onto the stage like a lamb to the slaughter.

"It's a nice trophy," Ray said, finally sick of the silence in the small-and-getting-smaller-by-the-minute cabin.

Fraser looked up at him without speaking.

Ray grinned in what he hoped was a disarming manner.

Fraser grunted and went back to his book.

"Okay, look, would it help if I said I was sorry?"

This time he got a look that seemed to say 'try it and see, why don't you?' Ray raised an eyebrow and said, very deliberately, "I'm sorry."

That seemed to be the signal for Fraser to explode, quietly. "Five encores, Ray. Five. You must admit that's excessive."

"Hey, be fair -- they weren't all me. That redhead in the blue dress really liked you."

"Indeed she did. In fact, she gave me her room number so she could properly express her . . . enthusiasm . . . in private."

"She did not."

Fraser raised an eyebrow of his own. His mouth twisted in what was probably distaste. "B-437."

"Wow."

"Indeed."

"Imagine what you could do if you were trying."

"If I was -- Ray, how could you think --"

"Yeah, yeah, 'only use your powers for good,' I know," Ray said. His plan to make nice with Fraser didn't seem to be going well. Time for a topic-change. "So what do you think is up with Desiree, anyhow?"

Fraser blinked, clearly surprised. "What makes you ask?"

Ray shrugged. "Something's . . . queer, I dunno. I just get this feeling. Not that kind of feeling," he added hastily when he saw Fraser's knowing look. "A cop kind of feeling. She asks a lot of questions and never really answers any herself. Did you notice?"

Fraser nodded slowly. "I did think that something in her manner was . . . odd. Perhaps we should -- no, that's just silly."

"What?"

"I was going to suggest we keep an eye on her, but it's ridiculous. And we have no jurisdiction."

"Never stops you at home," Ray said.

Fraser smiled. "In this case neither of us has it, nor do we have any real cause to be suspicious. She's probably just . . . curious."

"Mmm," Ray said, not wanting to jump to another conclusion like he had on the plane. A yawn caught him unaware then, and he felt his jaw pop with the force of it. "Okay, I don't know about you, but I'm beat. With the time change and all, it's like two a.m. back home."

Fraser looked at his book guiltily. Ray knew that look. "Right in the middle of a good part, are you? Don't sweat it, I can sleep with the light on."

"I'll just finish the chapter . . ." Fraser said, kind of doubtfully. Ray smiled as he got up, grabbed his shaving kit and headed for the bathroom. He got a warm feeling in his gut from the inside knowledge that Fraser'd probably be up all night -- that Fraser, all things being equal, had trouble stopping if there was any kind of cliff-hanger. That one little flaw made it seem like there was maybe hope for the rest of the humans.

When he got out of the bathroom, though, Fraser's eyes were closed and the book propped on his chest was about to fall out of his grasp. Ray carefully plucked it up and put in the bookmark. A few words caught his eye, and he did a double-take. Words like 'manly' and 'heaving' didn't belong in a book called (he checked the dust-jacket again) Koviashuvik: Making a Home in the Brooks Range. He slipped off the paper cover and read the spine, smothering a hoot of laughter when his brain registered the title. He couldn't stop a couple of giggles from escaping, though, and Fraser's eyes flickered open.

"You're reading Sword of Desire?"

Fraser turned redder than Ray had ever seen him, including the day Frannie'd worn the halter-top and Welsh had sent her home to change. "I'm . . . it's . . ."

"Mmmhmm?" Ray was enjoying himself. Fraser didn't embarrass easily -- damned if he wasn't going to milk this for all it was worth.

"It's a fascinating example of the genre," Fraser said, so seriously it made Ray laugh out loud.

"Fraser, I've read it. Well, parts of it. It's a pulp romance novel."

"Potayto, potahto," muttered Fraser, in as close to a sarcastic tone as Ray had heard in a while. It made him grin again.

"Can I just ask -- why?"

"I thought it might give me . . . some insight."

"Into what?"

And somehow Fraser turned an even brighter shade of red. His mouth opened twice before he said, "Francesca. It . . . well, at the time it made sense."

And yeah, it almost did make sense, in a Fraser sort of way, because God knew he wasn't ever going to be able to figure out Frannie on his own -- they were the most polar of opposites. "So this is like . . . research?" he asked, getting his amusement under control. Fraser nodded, his face slowly returning to its normal color.

"Okay, then," Ray said. Then he grinned and said conspiratorially, "But we must never speak of this again."

Ben was relieved to note, the next day, that Ray seemed to have truly declared a moratorium on teasing him about his choice of reading material. Aside from one amused glance when they'd each sat down and pulled out their books, he'd taken no further notice of it. After an hour's quick reading brought Ben to the end of the novel, however, he was no clearer about Francesca's motivations or thought processes than before. All he knew for certain was that he was very glad he didn't live in the world created by the author. He closed the book and put it under his chair, then closed his eyes and leaned back.

The sun was quite warm, and it took an effort of will not to fall asleep like a cat drowsing on a windowsill. He heard (or maybe felt) Ray turn to look at him.

"Done with your book?"

"That one, yes," he replied, eyes still closed.

"So?"

He opened his eyes and turned toward Ray. His partner was smiling sleepily, as if he, too, was about to succumb to the power of the sunshine.

"I thought we were never going to speak of it," Ben said.

"I lied. I do that."

"You do not."

"So?" Ray said again, not distracted at all. Ben sighed.

"Do you understand women?" he asked, remembering a similar (and fruitless) conversation with his father on the same topic. Ray laughed.

"Any man who says he does is lying. I used to think I understood Stella some, but even that . . . not so much, as it turned out."

"Hamm," Ben said, not best pleased at having another Stella-conversation.

"I do understand Frannie a little, though. Understand . . . chasing what you want, even though you know you can't get it, even though . . . the thing you want most is so far out of your reach it might as well be on the moon." He fell silent for a moment.

"I was there, Fraser, I was right there where she is now. And I never thought about it that way before."

And unwilling though he was to dive back into Stella-infested waters, Ben had to disabuse Ray of that notion immediately.

"You were married to Stella; it's not as though she'd never given you any encouragement. It's not --" He stopped, considering his words carefully. "You weren't chasing a fantasy. What you wanted was simply the return of what you'd once had. Francesca, on the other hand --" He shook his head, reluctant to speak ill of her even to Ray.

"What?" Ray said softly.

Ben sighed. "The first moment she saw me, it seems, she decided she was in love with me -- not based on who I am, but how I look. And even now, after all this time, I still don't think she knows who I am. Or . . . wants to." He closed his eyes again, not sure why that hurt so much. He felt a gentle hand on his arm, patting. It was gone after a moment, but he could still imagine he felt it there, grounding him.

Ray's voice, when it came again, was blessedly normal. "You think it's time for lunch yet?"

Ben smiled. "I'm sure if it isn't, there's a morning-snack buffet set up somewhere."

"Mmm. I could eat. You want to come with?"

Ben thought about that. They'd been -- what was the phrase? -- joined at the hip the whole time so far, with the exception of his time on stage the previous night. Perhaps Ray wanted time alone. But he'd made the offer . . .

"Fraser, it's not a test."

Ben's eyes flew open. "How did --"

"You get this little frowny-line right between your eyes." Ray poked him on the bridge of his nose.

"I -- " It hit Ben in that moment that while he was sure that Francesca didn't know who he really was, he was equally sure that Ray did. He had to stop and clear his throat. "Thank you."

"So. Food?" Ray asked, reducing life to the essentials, as usual.

"I'm fine for now, if you're just having a snack."

Ray nodded. "Yeah, okay, I'll just get some fruit or something. Save my seat?"

Ben looked around at the scores of unused chairs on their side of the deck. He said solemnly, "I'll defend it with my last breath." He could see Ray's answering grin (*"We have a lot of fun, don't we, you and I?"*) even after he'd closed his eyes again.

When he heard the chair creak after only five minutes he said, "That was quick. Wasn't there anything you wanted?"

"What was I supposed to be looking for?" replied a voice that was definitely not Ray's. Ben's eyes flew open. Desiree sat beside him, and Ben fought an impulse to tell her to get out of Ray's chair.

"Hello," he said warily.

She cocked her head to the side and regarded him as she had the previous day. "You were a big hit last night. Folks are talking."

Ben felt his face turn hot. "I . . . well . . . yes. Thank you."

"Don't you want to know what they're saying?"

Of course he did, he was human, after all; and of course it wouldn't do to ask. And of course it didn't matter, as Desiree seemed bent on telling him anyway.

"Eloise Clairborne was quite taken with you."

Ben wished he had Ray's ease of expression; he'd have a good sarcastic rejoinder for this moment -- perhaps something along the lines of "You think?" Ben regretfully settled for a non-committal "Hm."

"Word is she's looking for hubby number six. Not too choosy about how she gets him, either."

"Why are you telling me this?" Ben asked, honestly curious.

"Because frankly you seem like the kind of guy who'd actually believe a woman who's been married five times could have a reputation that could be ruined, and feel obligated to make things right. And I like Ray."

It took Ben only a moment to make the connection between her two statements. He began to splutter, upset at both her presumption that he'd be unfaithful and her continued interest in his non-existent sex-life. "Ray and I are not . . . you seem to be under the mistaken assumption that we . . . our room has twin beds, for heaven's sake!"

Desiree nodded wisely. "Most of them do. And most of them can be converted into a queen-size."

Ben had absolutely no reply for that. He wanted to ask how, purely out of curiosity, but bit his tongue at the last second. No sense giving her more fuel for her fire. Finally he said, "The whole point is moot."

"Whatever you say," she said, not sounding at all convinced.

Ray came into view just then, carrying a plate of fruit and a tall glass of what looked like pineapple juice. "Just keep repeating that -- it keeps him happy," he said. He moved around Ben to the opposite side and put his plate and glass down, then took a bottle of water out of the cargo-pocket of his shorts and handed it to Ben. "Drink up, buddy, you're looking dehydrated."

"Thank you," Ben said, touched by Ray's thoughtfulness, unable to keep from smiling at him.

"Got to keep you from passing out before the shuffleboard match, don't I? Be pretty embarrassing to get beat by geezers." He flopped down onto his chair and took a bite of mango, grinning as though he'd invented insouciance.

"Ray."

Ray continued, as usual undaunted. "I figure with your curling skills and my strategy, we should wipe the decks with those guys. And if that doesn't work, we cheat."

"A Fraser doesn't cheat," Ben said indignantly. It struck him that those words would serve also as a reply to Desiree, and he looked at her as he said, "Ever."

She had the grace to flush, and said, "Of course not. I shouldn't have . . . Listen, I have an aerobics class in five minutes. I'll see you around." She stood and quickly walked away, leaving Ben quite relieved.

Ray ate in silence for about a minute, then said, "Why do I get the feeling that wasn't all about shuffleboard?"

Ben sighed. "Because you're very perceptive."

"She still thinks we're a thing?"

"Clearly."

Ray nodded. "What's the rest of it?"

"She came up here to warn me about Ms. Clairborne -- the woman in the blue dress from last night -- and managed to imply that I'd . . ." Ben stopped, feeling silly, but again Ray knew exactly where he was headed.

"Cheat on me? No way."

"Thank you for your faith in me."

"When I said that before, about the shuffleboard -- you got that I was joking, right?"

"Of course."

"Good." Ray ate in silence again, for two minutes this time, before saying, " 'Sides, you know I'd scratch your eyes out."

"Ray."

"Deep down I'm a jealous bitch, you know that."

Ben turned in his chair slightly, so he could see Ray's face more clearly. "I suppose I'm glad you can make light of it."

Ray shrugged one shoulder. "What am I going to do? Get mad? It's not . . ." He toyed with a piece of fruit for a moment, then leaned over and put the plate on the low table between them. When he straightened up he looked Ben in the eye and said, very carefully, "It's not an insult." Ben blinked under the force of Ray's words.

Ray continued. "She's wrong, and it's none of her business besides, but I'm not going to get bent out of shape about it and raise holy hell, because it's not an insult."

"But --"

"Fraser," Ray said warningly, "That whole 'don't ask, don't tell' thing is fine for the military, but I personally think friends and partners should be able to get beyond that. And since you just got done telling me how perceptive you think I am, don't ruin it now by telling me I'm full of shit."

"I would never say that," Ben said truthfully.

Ray grinned. "Not in those words, anyway."

"My grandmother's lessons on the subject of needless vulgarity were quite effective, thank you," Ben said, barely suppressing a shudder. "I can still taste the soap."

"Ack."

"Indeed."

"I think I was out of high school before I ever swore in front of my mother," Ray said, and Ben was glad they'd drifted off topic again. He'd never been comfortable discussing his feelings under any circumstances, and talking with Ray about his sexuality . . . there were far too many pitfalls. He only hoped Ray wouldn't bring it up again.

So Ray'd said it, and Fraser hadn't denied it -- had, in fact, kind of confirmed it, as much as Ray'd ever expected he would. A direct question like "So, you queer or what?" might result in a broken nose in other circumstances, and it wasn't Ray's style anyway. But if you flew in under the radar, and paid close attention to the clues . . . .

Bingo.

Now he just needed to decide if he was going to do anything about it. It was one thing to have an idle thought like this guy's pretty hot, I'd really like to do him, and a whole 'nother thing entirely when it was your partner. And not even your partner, but actually some other guy's. The Italian Stallion. And the few subtle inquiries he'd made around the station had given him the firm impression that despite the wardrobe, not only didn't Vecchio swing that way, he'd likely be one of those guys that'd take a swing if you suggested it.

Which, now that he thought about it, explained why Fraser'd thought he might go postal.

Which was a real shame, because it was one more pothole on Ray's Road to Getting Some of That.

"Ray."

Dammit, he'd done it again. "Mmm?" he said, blinking his eyes and trying to pretend he'd been asleep.

"I was asking you if you thought we needed to do something about Desiree."

"What, like have her capped? Sorry, all the guys I know are back in Chicago."

"No," Fraser said, in a tone that was like a slap upside the head without the physical contact, "but perhaps a bit of discreet surveillance would be in order."

"You're just freaked out 'cause she likes me more than she likes you."

"I am not."

Are too, are too, are too the five-year-old in Ray's head chanted. "Uh-huh," he said, trying to convey the same sentiment.

"I'm not. But it does seem odd that she's insinuated herself into our lives as she has."

"Maybe she's discreetly surveilling us," Ray said, just to be difficult.

"For what possible purpose?"

"Dunno, but it seems to me that if she's following us, we'd be wasting our time following her."

"Ah. Good point."

"Yep," Ray said, satisfied at beating Mr. Logic at his own game for a change. But since Fraser wasn't usually wrong about this kind of stuff . . . "Tell you what -- I'll ask around a little."

Thirty minutes later Ray returned from his fact-finding mission. He threw himself down into his chair and began talking with no preamble. "Larry-the-purser says she's only been on board for three weeks. Doesn't mix much with the rest of the crew. And Robert-the-bartender says she only chats with the men, never the women. And they've both seen her writing stuff in a little notebook, but they have no idea what or why."

"That's remarkable results for so short a time."

Ray shrugged, seemingly pleased by the compliment. "Wasn't hard, really. I didn't have a badge to flash, so I told 'em I was writing a book about cruise ships. They both want to be in it."

"Ah," Ben replied, impressed anew at the facility with which Ray could think of these things, and the added ability to make people believe him.

"Didn't seem like either one of them knew her that well, even though Robert says he's worked at least three shifts a week with her. She never wants to talk about herself, which you must admit is pretty weird for a chick."

"Hmm."

"And get this -- even though she says she's from New York, she's never been to the Statue of Liberty."

Ben was about to reply to this when a look of horror crept across Ray's face. "What's wrong?" he said instead.

"Two years ago, in New York -- the Black Widow killer -- remember? She cozies up to rich old men, gets money from them, and then they die, mysteriously. Only it's not so much mysterious as it's she's killing them."

"Ray."

"No, really, I think this could be something. I gotta call the Lieu." He fumbled in his pocket for his telephone.

"Ray."

Ray didn't pause in dialing. "Stop with the Ray, Ray, Ray. I hear you, I'm ignoring you."

"Ray, they caught the Black Widow killer."

"They did?"

Ben nodded. Ray switched off his phone and flopped back against the cushions. "Damn."

"That's not to say that Desiree isn't some sort of copycat, though."

"You think?" asked Ray, brightening visibly.

"I have to allow for the possibility. It would certainly appear that she's up to something."

"But -- wait a minute, why's she leeched onto us? Neither one of us is rich -- or old, for that matter. And if it's like you said and she thinks we're a couple, I really don't get why she's not moving on to greener pastures."

"Unless . . ."

"Unless what?"

"Since she knows we're police officers, she may think she's been found out -- that we're here to arrest her."

"So she's biding her time, waiting for us to leave again?"

"Or perhaps trying to ascertain how much we know. It would explain why she's been paying us so much attention."

"I dunno, there's something that still doesn't fit. Like why's she been so snippy with you, and nice as pie to me?" He slammed his hand on the arm of the chair. "Ow. Dammit, all we have are more questions."

"To which we may yet get answers. I think it's fairly safe to say she'll turn up again soon -- perhaps this afternoon at the shuffleboard match."

Ray shook his head. "She has to work all afternoon -- she told me so. No way we'll see her there. My money's on dinner tonight."

Fraser was lining up his last shot of the last inning (or whatever the hell they called it) when Ray spotted Desiree leaning against the railing. He watched Fraser's puck-thing sail down the board, bump three of the other team's pucks completely off the map, and spin to a stop in the exact center of the last space. Ray was pretty sure he'd just seen the equivalent of a miracle, but instead of jumping up and down like a normal person, Fraser just turned to the other team and nodded and smiled. The geezers smiled back, in a way that made Ray think they might need a bigger boat. Then Fraser walked back over to where Ray was standing.

"Hey, Fraser . . ."

"Yes, I know. I spotted her approximately five minutes ago."

"I was going to say nice shot, but yeah. She's here."

Fraser smiled. "So I was . . . right?"

"The jury's still out on that one. Maybe she really likes shuffleboard."

"And maybe I was . . . right?"

Ray started to grin. Fraser hardly ever started this game. "It's possible she just wanted some fresh air . . ."

Fraser shifted his stance and bumped Ray with his shoulder. "And it's also possible that I was . . . right."

*Man, get this guy out of the city for a couple days and look what happens,* thought Ray. Aloud, he said, "Anything's possible, I guess. UFOs, alligators in the sewers, you being right . . ." He bumped Fraser back and then looked Desiree's way again. She was watching them, and when she noticed Ray was looking, she raised her hand to wave. Guiltily, Ray thought. Then she started to move toward them through the crowd.

"Okay, here's the plan," he said, and he could feel Fraser snap to attention beside him. "We find out which cabin is hers and I search it while you keep her busy." "I feel compelled to point out once more that we have neither probable cause nor jurisdiction in this matter."

"What's she going to do, chain me in the engine room? Or maybe throw me off the boat?"

Fraser gave him a look. "Do you really want to find out?"

"No," Ray said, feeling sulky. "What's your plan?"

"Sadly, I have none. Perhaps some discreet questions may reveal her true purpose."

"What is it with you and discreet?"

"I have, in the past, found discretion . . . quite useful," Fraser said meaningfully.

"Oh, um, yeah," was all Ray had time for before Desiree was right there in their faces again.

"Nice game," she said, mostly to Ray.

"Thanks," he muttered, feeling awkward around her now. "Fraser made me look good, though."

"Yes, I was noticing. Have you ever competed?" she said, this time to Fraser's shoulder.

"Not at this," Fraser said stiffly.

"The two of you certainly do look good together. Very smooth. Good form. You must . . . practice together a lot."

Fraser did the thumb-across-the-eyebrow move. "No, we really don't have many opportunities to do so in Chicago."

The situation was going downhill fast. Serial killer or just plain nosy, Ray didn't care anymore. He decided discretion could go fuck itself. "Listen," he said to Desiree, "I don't know what your deal is, and believe me I'm going to find out, but just to start with I'd really appreciate it if you'd stop with the nudge-nudge-wink-wink shit. Me and Fraser aren't together. Which I think he told you."

She looked from Ray to Fraser and back again. "You don't need to cover it up, you know. I can keep a secret." She shrugged. "Not that it's much of one."

"Why do you care anyway?" he almost yelled. People turned to look, so he lowered his voice, though not his anger-level. The next words came out through gritted teeth. "What the hell does it matter to you whether we're sleeping together? How is it any of your business?"

"Ray," Fraser tried to say, but Ray was having none of it. He advanced on Desiree, making her step backwards a foot or so, until she was right up against the railing.

"The way I was raised, if somebody's not hurting you, you leave them alone. But you've made up your mind we're lying about this, and you just won't leave it alone, and I really want to know why."

He felt Fraser's hand on his shoulder, and he knew it was supposed to be some kind of calming influence, but he was too far gone to care.

It was obvious Ray wasn't going to stop with a simple touch, so Ben exerted a bit more force and tugged backwards on his shoulder. Ray swung around slightly.

"What?" he growled, although Ben was pretty sure he already knew he was acting in an extremely rash manner.

"Please stop," Ben said in a low voice. "It's not necessary."

"It damn well is; your life's not a freak-show."

Ben couldn't help smiling at that. "It's kind of you to say so, but people are beginning to stare."

"Shit," muttered Ray, so low it was barely audible. "Sorry." Ben squeezed his shoulder.

"Um," said Desiree. They both looked at her. She gestured vaguely. "Stuff like that makes it pretty hard to believe in the 'just friends' story."

Ben looked at his hand on Ray's shoulder. "Ah," he said, "Yes, I see your point." He moved his hand, which suddenly seemed to glow like neon. As he brought it back down to his side, he could still feel the smooth cotton of Ray's t-shirt, and the warmth underneath, and he felt bereft. He glanced then at Ray's face, which seemed to mirror the feeling for a moment -- surely a trick of the light -- before Ray turned back to Desiree.

"Still doesn't explain your attitude," he said, his tone still challenging her.

She shrugged again, looking so uncomfortable that Ben, despite the animosity he'd felt earlier, took pity on her. "Perhaps we might find another venue more conducive to this discussion," he said, mainly to break Ray's focus.

It worked, of course. "I personally would enjoy a venue which serves beer," Ray said. "And maybe we could get out of this sun, which I am finding conducive to getting a headache."

"There's a bar on C deck that's not usually crowded this time of day," Desiree offered tentatively. "I think maybe I should explain."

"Damn straight," muttered Ray, irrepressible as always, but he stood back and motioned for Desiree to precede them to C deck.

Once they were all seated in a dim corner with their beverages of choice -- beer for Ray, ginger-ale for Ben, and tonic water for Desiree -- Ray's metaphorical gloves came off again. "So?" he barked.

Desiree flushed and pulled a small notebook out of her handbag. She opened it and placed in the middle of the table, angled so they could read it. Then she sat back, looking both uncomfortable and defiant. Ben leaned forward to try to make out the words -- the lighting was very poor -- and Ray took his glasses out and put them on, squinting as he always did before his eyes adjusted. He began to mutter aloud, fragments of what Ben was also seeing. They finished at almost the same time, and Ray sat back, blinking and frowning.

"I don't get it," he said. "Why're you writing stuff about us?"

"It's not really you --"

"Bullshit. It's not our names, but it's us. At least some of it is."

"Ray," Ben said, finally making a leap of logic he should have made hours before, "she's writing about us because she's a writer. A published writer, too, unless I miss my guess."

Ray looked sideways at him. "And you know this how?"

"Something she said to me before -- it was almost word-for-word a line from what I believe to be her novel."

"Okay, that's another thing I don't get. How can you remember all that stuff?"

Ben smiled slightly. "It wasn't terribly difficult in this case, as I'd only just finished the novel in question."

"You -- she --" A slack-jawed Ray turned to look at Desiree. "You wrote Sword of Desire?" he said incredulously.

She grimaced. "I was just trying to pay the rent, you know? And then suddenly I've got an agent, and a contract, and a publishing house . . . and I just couldn't write another romance. So I thought maybe I'd try a whodunnit. But it kind of . . . fizzled."

"Fizzled," Ray repeated. He turned to look at Ben again. "You buying this?"

"Well," Ben said, "it does fit the available facts, I suppose."

Ray grunted and took a long swallow of his beer.

"So I thought maybe a change of scenery," Desiree continued. "I'd tended bar before Sword took off, and it seemed like a good way to . . . get material. It's hard work, but at least I'm doing something. Plus I seem to get a lot of really good ideas when my hands are in soapy water." She shrugged.

"Last month I realized I needed a hook, something different about my detective. And I thought maybe he'd be, um, gay." She said the last word so quietly Ben wasn't sure he'd really heard it. Except that of course he had, it was the only thing that made sense.

"My agent Sheila thought it was a terrific idea. But then I couldn't get into his head. I figured I needed to do some research, maybe talk to actual cops. But it's been three solid weeks of retired accountants and stockbrokers and law professors . . .. And then you guys came along, and . . . I guess maybe I saw what I wanted to see. And I got frustrated when I thought you were covering up." She sighed deeply and looked at Ben. "I'm really sorry. I should have believed you."

Ben cleared his throat and said awkwardly, "Apology accepted. Think nothing of it."

Ray put his empty bottle down and said, "What Fraser means is no hard feelings."

She grinned at him and said, "I got it, thanks."

"Yeah, so, maybe next time you should say, 'Hi, I'm a writer, can I ask you some questions?' See how that works out for you."

"Hi, I'm a writer, can I ask you some questions?" she said right back to him.

Ben nearly fell off his chair when Ray nodded and said, "Let me get another beer first, but yeah."

"Really?"

Ray shrugged and said, "Sure."
Desiree stood up. "Don't move, I'll get your beer. Be right back." She walked quickly over to the bar. Ben grabbed his chance for a private word with . . . whoever this person was at the table with him.

"Ray? Are you sure this is wise?"

Ray smiled at him and said, " 'S'okay, Fraser, I can handle two beers just fine."

"I'm aware of that, I wasn't questioning that. I was --" He stopped when he realized he didn't really know what he was questioning.

Ray looked down at his hands. "It's like this. I'd rather know she gets good information." He looked at Ben then as he said, significantly, "The real story."

"Ah," Ben said, his syllable of refuge in times of confusion.

"Yeah, so, you don't have to stick around, you don't want to."

Ben said slowly, "I don't think I'm going anywhere just yet." Ray nodded. In the dim light it was hard to be sure, but Ben thought his cheeks were turning slightly red.

Desiree came back with a tray of fresh drinks for all of them. Ben sipped his ginger-ale gratefully, glad of something to do. It suddenly seemed possible he'd been operating under a mistaken assumption about Ray, and the prospect made him almost dizzy.

He watched and listened as Ray filled Desiree in on the mundane details of life at the 27th -- paperwork and chain-of-command, following orders even when they were the wrong orders, the right way to hot-wire a car, and why the coffee was always so bad. An hour passed quickly by, and still Ray talked.

And then Desiree said, "I hate to bring this up again, but . . . well, do you know any cops who are gay?"

Ray studied the backs of his hands intently for a few seconds, and then said, "The thing you gotta understand is -- see, nobody would talk about it. A guy might tell his partner, if they were good friends, or he might not. I've had some partners I wouldn't tell the right time of day. But it probably wouldn't be common knowledge anyway." He sighed. "It's not because of prejudice, either, not really. Just -- personal stuff like that, you just don't share it. Like if a guy's breaking up with his wife, you might not even know until three months later. Makes everybody else act weird when they know stuff like that. Like they have to be extra careful around you, like you're fragile. It, um, kind of sucks."

"I see," said Desiree. Ben fought fiercely with an impulse to cover Ray's hand with his own. As though he could read his thoughts, Ray looked over and gave Ben a wan smile.

"So if, for example, a cop was gay or bi, there'd be no way everybody'd know. If he was smart. Because all it comes down to is this: you want to be one of the guys. The only thing you want to stand out is how good you do your job."

Desiree looked from Ray to Ben and back, then said, "Thanks, I think I get it now."

Ray nodded. "Okay, well, I got a date with the swimming pool. You coming, Fraser?"

"Certainly," Ben said, surprised at the abrupt change of subject. "I'd just need to change into my trunks."

"C'mon, then," Ray said. He stood up and headed for the door. Ben lingered another moment with Desiree, who was putting her notebook and pen back into her bag.

"I think we'd both prefer it if you didn't use our names," he said.

She looked up into his face and studied him for a moment. "Okay," she said finally.

"Thank you kindly," Ben said, and followed after Ray.

He found Ray pacing outside their cabin. "You got your key? 'Cause I forgot mine, or lost it, or something." He shook his head. "Along with my mind, apparently. Can't believe I thought she was a serial killer."

Ben unlocked the door and held it open. "Your key's in your pocket," he said. "The little one on the left."

Ray checked the pocket in question and pulled out the plastic rectangle. "Oh," he said, and walked into the cabin. He seemed unable to settle, pacing back and forth between the beds -- he seemed to be quite nerved-up, in fact, and Ben was fairly sure he knew why.

He followed Ray in and closed the door, standing by it to keep out of the way. "It's okay," he said, as though calming a skittish horse. Ray looked at him then, his eyes wide.

"What're you talking about?"

"What you were talking about earlier. I think. Friends and partners . . . and 'personal stuff' . . .?" He raised an eyebrow, willing Ray to understand. Hoping he hadn't jumped to a horribly wrong conclusion.

Ray remained tense for another few seconds, then dropped his shoulders and blew out a breath. "Yeah," he said, "Okay. I'm just -- I'm sorry I didn't say anything before. But -- I was --" He let out a bark of laughter. "I guess you could say I haven't really been myself, right?"

Ben nodded. "That's very true. But I know who you are," he said deliberately, taking two steps toward Ray, who was finally standing still in the middle of the room. His body was tingling all of a sudden, and his breath felt harsh in his throat.

"Yeah," Ray said again. "You do." He licked his lips and took a step toward Ben, and then another, until he was only inches away. "Is this a good idea, though? I mean, my judgement lately's been for shit, so I'm trusting you on this, but -- what if we -- what if I fuck it up?"

"You won't," Ben said, believing it wholly and completely. "I won't let you."

Ray looked hard at him, right inside him, it seemed. "Okay then," he said, and kissed him.

They stumbled sideways until they reached one of the beds, falling onto the slippery bedspread and almost sliding off. Ray's hands were deep in Fraser's hair, where it felt like they belonged, and Fraser's hands were holding on to Ray's hips like they'd been Super-Glued, which was just fine by Ray. And Fraser's mouth was locked onto Ray's, their tongues sliding and tangling, a messy, dirty, sexy kiss that went on forever, until Ray thought it couldn't get any better without one of them crawling inside the other's skin and living there.

What he was feeling was so huge -- it was like a dam had burst, and all the villagers were fleeing for their lives while the great flood of Ray's Lust was bearing down on them. No, wait -- not lust. Love.

"Love you," he managed to mumble against Fraser's mouth when they broke for air.

He felt Fraser's breath catch. "Yeah?" Fraser said softly.

"Duh," Ray said, and Fraser laughed.

"Yeah," Fraser said again, barely out loud, and Ray heard the me too behind it.

The next kiss was softer, but deeper somehow, less tongue, more soul, more . . . everything. It didn't take very long for it to heat back up, though, and Ray freed one hand from the allure of Fraser's soft-soft-soft hair and started undoing buttons. Six on his shirt, one on his shorts. Fraser caught on quick and started working on the problem, pushing back long enough to slide Ray's shirt off his shoulders and then all the way off, and whip his own t-shirt over his head. They both shimmied out of their shorts as their mouths came back together again.

Ray decided that feeling Fraser's naked body up against his was absolute proof that there was a God. Warm, soft skin; hot, hard dick; big hands clutching and grabbing -- heaven enough, he thought. He grabbed his own handfuls of Fraser and held on tight as they kissed and thrust and moaned and kissed and humped their way to the most intense orgasm he'd had since . . . ever. Bells ringing, earth moving, the whole nine yards. He felt Fraser's start just after his, and it almost set him off again.

"Jesus, Fraser," he said, when he could.

"You don't have to call me that when we're alone," Fraser mumbled, and Ray burst out laughing.

"I can't believe you know that joke," he said when he got his breath back again. Fraser looked confused.

Fraser wasn't joking. So . . ..

Duh.

"Ben or Benton?" Ray asked, moving one hand idly down Fraser's back.

"Ben is . . . fine," Fraser gasped, sounding distracted.

"I'll work on that."

"Thank y--ooooh," he breathed, as Ray's hand reached his ass.

"Anytime," Ray said, and kissed him again.

It didn't take long before they discovered how little room there really was for two grown men on a twin bed. But after a quick survey of the hardware underneath and some muttering, Fraser made a few adjustments and the two beds were joined together.

"Much better," Ray said, flopping back down and pulling Fraser with him. They pulled a sheet over themselves and lay in silence for a few minutes, and then Ray said, "You think I've lost my instincts?"

"No!" Fraser said, fast enough to make Ray believe he meant it. "If you're referring to not figuring out what Desiree was up to, neither one of us had any inkling."

"Uh-huh," Ray said, "but what about how long it took me to figure this out?" He waved his hand to indicate their position on the bed.

Fraser smiled. "Just remember it took me longer," he said.

"Oh yeah," Ray said, "that makes me feel much better. I'm slightly less clueless than you." Fraser laughed, and God, it was so damn good to feel that. He experimented with kissing again, keeping away from Fraser's mouth and traveling to unexplored parts. Wondering as he did if they'd be going to the dining room for dinner, and also wondering if giving Fraser a hickey was too high-school for words. He'd just about decided no to the first and yes to the second when Fraser spoke.

"When we go back --"

Ray stopped, his lips hovering over Fraser's left shoulder. "Mmm?" he said encouragingly.

"Never mind," Fraser said. "It's not important."

And even if Ray really had lost every instinct he'd ever possessed, there was no way he'd believe that. "Speaking of home, did I tell you they were talking about raising the rents in my building?" he said, like it had just occurred to him.

"No," Fraser said, sounding slightly puzzled.

"Yeah," Ray said. "I hope it won't be more than I can afford on my own." He left it hanging there, willing Fraser to pick it up and run with it. And Fraser did.

"You know, Ray," Fraser said, settling back onto the pillows and smiling slightly, "I think I might be able to help you with that problem."

"Hey, I'd appreciate that," Ray said. "That'd be really good." He bent his head again, kissing Fraser so hard it made his eyes water. "Really . . . good," he repeated.

End Sea Change by Starfish: starfish@mrks.org

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