Author's notes: It's still dark and it's still nasty. If you didn't like the first part then you won't like this either. Ray and Fraser don't behave like this, I know; but in this world they do.

BEST SERVED COLD

They were here again today, Lieutenant Welsh and his cronies from Internal Affairs. They seem to think that I had something to do with Ray's precipitous departure. Nonsense, obviously. I think I am slowly making them see that Ray was always unhinged, on edge; he left me in the woods after he beat me, that's not the sign of a rational man. Undercover work has obviously become too much of a strain for him. He needs our help and our sympathy, not our animosity. It's been almost two months now and there is still no sign of him.

As I lock the door of the Consulate I can't help sighing with relief. Without Ray there is little in the way of stimulation for me now. I still don't know if I can expect a new partner at the 27th, if we will have to go through the charade of a new Vecchio. Hopefully someone higher up will realise how ridiculous that would be and come up with a better plan. We got away with it once; I can't imagine that we'll get away with it again.

I go into my office and stop in the doorway. Somebody has been here. I have been away from the office for no more than an hour, finishing up reports and generally making things good. And in that time someone has been in here. Little things give it away; my telephone has been moved, probably no more than a couple of inches from its normal position; the portrait of the Queen no longer hangs straight, and other little things.

I look at Diefenbaker, surprised that he hasn't given me warning; he looks back at me with supreme indifference, and I can't help but feel a small surge of something in my stomach. Hunger is the best description I can think of.

"Ray?" I look around the office, opening the closet door. It remains a closet. Diefenbaker would not react to Ray being in my office; he regards Ray as one of his own; another wild animal trapped in an urban environment.

"Was he here, Dief? Was Ray here?"

The telephone rings, surprising me. I automatically pick it, eyes still scanning the small room, looking for any signs of forced entry.

"Canadian Consulate, Constable Benton Fraser speaking..." I begin. There is a click and then silence.

"Is it him, Dief?" I almost whisper, gently replacing the phone. "I know he's going to come back to me one day. Is it now?"

I leave my office and begin a systematic search of the Consulate, looking for any sign that somebody else is here. I can't find anything tangible, but I keep finding odd things ornaments have been moved a little out of true; doors usually kept closed are slightly ajar. I begin to find it a little unsettling, and when I think I hear footsteps behind me, I turn too quickly and almost knock over an antique vase. There is nothing there, and I chide myself for my foolishness.

A small yelp of what could almost be welcome startles me, and I run down the stairs to find Diefenbaker staring fixedly at the front door of the Consulate. The door, which I had just locked securely, is now standing open.

I turn around and stare into the shadows leading down to my office.

"Ray!" I shout, my voice echoing through the supposedly empty building. "Ray, where are you?"

No answer.

I turn and lock the door again, ignoring the faint prickle on the back of my neck. Somebody is here and they are watching me.

The faint click of a door closing alerts me. I leave my office but there is nothing. Then I see it; the ghost of a movement on the stairs, shadows stirring on the landing. The slightest hint of footsteps above my head.

I'm drawn. I have to see who it is up there. If it's him I have to make him see reason. I have to make him realise that he loves me.

The door to the Queen's Bedroom is ajar and I push it completely open.

It's him. He's sitting in the middle of the Queen's bed, looking tired and a little bit wild.

"Hi Fraser," he says casually, belying the look in his eyes.

"Ray," I answer, stepping into the room and closing the door firmly. There's an air of inevitability to this; we've been waiting for each other.

I lean against the closed door and he stays where he is on the bed. My beautiful, wild Ray. He's come back to me.

"IA been to see you yet?" he asks, and I nod.

"They think you've gone rogue," I answer. "They're checking into all your old cases, trying to find you." Ray grins.

"They won't," he says simply. "You taught me how to hide, Fraser. The man who is truly hidden, 'member?"

"What are you doing?" I ask. "How are you surviving?"

"I get by."

He shrugs, then climbs off the bed, approaching me. He's lost weight and I can see the tension in him. Wherever he's been and whatever he's been doing, it's costing him.

He doesn't stop until he is only inches from me. I can smell him; the sweat, the fear. Underneath all that I can smell *him * Ray, who belongs to me.

He reaches out one hand and cups my face.

"Came back to see you," he says. "Wanted to see you again."

"I'll take care of you, Ray," I say. "You know I will. Just don't fight it." I put my own hand up and rest it on his shoulder. So tense.

I lean forward and kiss him. He doesn't fight. He's finally realised this is where he should be.

I reach down for the buttons on his jeans, but he pulls away, taking a step back.

"Ever made out on the Queen's bed?" he asks, and there's a light in his eyes. Anticipation I think, and something else; something almost predatory.

"No," I say. "You know we shouldn't really be here."

He takes another step backwards, still looking at me. His hands go to the fly of his jeans and he unfastens the top button.

"Come on," he says. Another step, another button.

I am hard for him. Only him. He wants me as much as I want him. I always knew I'd win.

I cover the ground between us and push him back onto the bed, then quickly straddle him, grinding myself against him.

"No, stop!" he says. "It doesn't have to be rough Frase, okay? You've got me, let's just take our time."

I pull away and let him sit up. He pushes himself onto his knees and stares at me intently. One of his hands dips into his jeans and I watch as he strokes himself.

"Let me see you Fraser," he says. "Let me see you come."

I reach out and take hold of his wrist, pulling his hand out of his jeans. I lick the tips of his fingers, tasting him, then put his hand on the front of my own jeans so that he can feel how hard I am.

"That for me?" Ray says, and I nod.

"Only for you Ray. It always was."

"Show me," he says, pulling his hand away. "Do yourself. Let me see what you like." He reaches for me again and slowly opens my zipper, not taking his eyes off my face.

I pull him to me and kiss him again, at the same time reaching down and freeing myself from the too tight confines of my jeans.

He sits back on his heels and watches me as I stroke myself, showing him what I want. I can't take my eyes off him; he's so beautiful, like a wild animal. I'll show him everything I like; he'll learn to love it all.

The thought of the pleasure he'll give me sends me over the edge and I come, spilling over my hands and belly, shivering with a combination of release and anticipation.

When I have my breathing back under control, I reach for him again, and he comes willingly enough into my arms. He lies back on the bed so that I can lean over him, my hand going again to the buttons of his jeans, but he pulls me down so that I'm lying next to him, then he leans over me, taking my hands in his and holding them on the bed above my head. He smiles and leans down to me. I close my eyes, expecting the kiss, but am shocked and distracted when he takes the delicate cartilage of my ear between his teeth and bites hard.

I buck against his hands, but in his turn he straddles me, still smiling. This time the smile is feral, dangerous. He reaches above my head, sliding his hand under the pillow.

"Got you, you bastard," he says.

The metallic clink of cuffs on my wrists has a finality about it. The end game is here.

I kick out but he's ready for me, and climbs off me. Crouching behind me he pulls my hands towards him. If I don't want my shoulders to dislocate I have to go with him.

There is another sharp click of metal. He has wrapped another set of cuffs around the first one and locked the whole lot around the brass fittings at the head of the bed.

He climbs off the bed and watches me as I struggle against the restraints. When I subside, having only succeeded in bruising my wrists, he smiles again.

"How does it feel now, Frase?" he says mockingly. "To be the one tied up, helpless?"

"Let me go, you little fucker," I growl, unable to help myself.

"Er no," he says, dodging as I lash out with my foot.

"No," he says again. "You need to be taught a lesson for what you did. You ruined my fucking life just because you wanted me. Couldn't take no for an answer, could you? So confident that you were right, just the same as always."

He walks away from me towards the window, still talking.

"I miss you Fraser. I miss the friend I used to have; the man I could talk to about anything. You ruined that just because you wanted a piece of my ass. Man, I would have * died * for you. You should have listened."

He bends down and picks something off the floor then turns around. The light glints off the blade in his hand.

"You should have listened," he says again conversationally.

"Ray, stop this," I say. "Let me go and we can talk about it, okay?"

"What, in the same way we talked about it just before you raped me?" Ray says. "I don't think so."

What do you think you'll get out of this?" I ask. "You think you'll get away with it?"

He doesn't answer. He climbs on the bed again, straddling me, the knife resting on my chest.

"I could cut your fucking heart out and it wouldn't make any difference to you," he says. "Because you don't ever use your heart. Always your head, right?" He shuffles down so that he is trapping my knees and he rests the blade low down on my belly. I buck frantically, trying to get him off me, but he doesn't move.

"Or I could cut your dick off," he says. "Because that's what you deserve."

"Ray, come on," I say. "We can work this out. You want me to apologise? Fine, I'll apologise. You want me to say I was wrong? Well I was wrong."

"Don't fucking lie to me Fraser!" Ray digs the knife tip into my shirt and I try and pull away.

"You're not sorry," he continues. "You don't know the meaning of the word. You took something that wasn't yours to take, so I think you owe me something, don't you?"

"What?" I say. "What do you want?"

He doesn't answer. Instead, with delicate, deft movement, he cuts open the buttons on my shirt, the edge of the knife just nipping my skin, causing marks to appear. He doesn't break the skin.

I don't know this Ray. This isn't my Ray. My Ray would be shouting at me by now, then he would let me go and we would carry on as if nothing had happened. This silent, intent Ray is new to me. He almost frightens me.

He spreads the two halves of my shirt apart and strokes the knife blade down my chest.

"Why did you have to do it Frase?" he asks. "Why couldn't you take no for an answer?"

"Because you didn't mean no," I say. "You just didn't know what you wanted. I had to show you that."

"Wrong answer," he says, digging the knife in. This time he does break the skin and I can't stop the involuntary flinch.

He slides off my legs and I kick out at him immediately. This time I catch him on the thigh and he grunts.

"You want me," I say to him. "You know you do. You're just not man enough to admit it. Take these off me and I'll show you what you're missing."

"You just won't fucking give up, will you?" He sounds surprised.

He changes his grip on the knife and begins to pull my jeans and boxers off. He drops them on the floor then stands back again, looking down at me.

"Not so hard now, are we?" he says. "Don't you like this, Fraser?" He reaches down with the knife and cuts through the white cotton of my boxers. I can't help drawing in a breath as the cool blade touches my cock.

"Ray, stop!" The words are out before I can think. "Stop this."

"Oh Fraser, you know you don't mean that," he says. "You know that you want me to do this really. You just don't know it yet.

"Don't worry," he says. "I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm not like oh, you for example." He runs the side of the blade down my exposed cock and I turn over on my side to get away from him. It drags at my arms but I don't care.

While I'm on my side, he slits the back of my shirt then cuts off each side individually, so I'm left completely naked and vulnerable.

"So what are you going to do?" I ask him.

"The worst thing you can imagine, Benton Buddy," he says. "I'm going to leave you here, like this, chained to the bed. Tomorrow the Ice Queen or Turnbull will find you and you'll have to explain how you got here in this totally humiliating position. Who could possibly have caught the great Constable Fraser with his guard and his pants down? Will you tell them?"

"Ray don't be ridiculous!" I say. "You can't leave me here."

"Why?" he asks. "I left you in the woods and you got back. I'm sure you'll be able to slime your way out of this one, but I think you'll have to squirm first. I'd kinda like to see it, but I'll be long gone by then."

"Where will you go?"

"Dunno," he answers. "Depends how much money you've got in that office of yours. Do you see what you've done Fraser? I steal now. I beg. Hell, I'd probably fuck if anybody was interested in my skinny little ass. But at least I won't have to face my colleagues tomorrow, buck naked, chained to a bed, covered in my own come. And then I won't have to think of a reason why there's no sign of a break in."

He gets up from the bed and takes a couple of steps away. Then, as if he has forgotten something, he turns back. He rolls me onto my back and looks up and down my body a couple of times before meeting my eyes.

"What makes you think I would ever want you?" he says. "You're not worth it." He strokes down my stomach with the knife and at the last moment reverses it, driving it into my stomach. No more than half an inch, hardly through the layers of fat below the skin, but it still hurts. Blood begins to spill over the pristine sheets of the Queen's bed.

"Something to remember me by," he says. "Some people carry their scars on the inside, Frase. He puts the knife in again, making a large cross. "But you can carry yours here. Look in the mirror and see me. Every time you reach for your dick, see me."

He stands up and wipes the blade clean against my face. I can smell my own blood.

He leans down and takes my face in his hand, forcing me to look at him.

"You were the best friend I ever had," he says quietly. "And I will miss you every day."

He goes back to the window and opens it. He obviously used the knife to slip the lock on his way in.

He doesn't look back.

It's only then that I realise he never went into my office.

He's right. I can't get out of these cuffs; I'm trapped here like this until morning. But then I will be free. And I will find him and I will make him pay.