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Change Partners
and Dance
MHH
Bundled efficiently against the cold bite of an Arctic breeze, battened and flattened and fortified approximately 813 kilometers NNE from importunate civilization, Benton Fraser wrapped himself around his second American partner and smiled. For a man who claimed to suffer hives from air devoid of automotive exhaust and blindness from lack of caffeine, Ray Kowalski had adapted to Northern life and Northern ways with a natural aptitude that surprised only those inclined to judge a man by words over deeds. Fraser smoothed a hand across Ray's thermal-and-down-clad chest, checking for gaps in the fabrics, before tucking that limb tidily in the near-warmth between Ray's abdomen and Diefenbaker's furry bulk.
He felt Ray quiver under his arm. Alarmed, he asked, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Just thinking."
"About what?"
"Vecchio."
A frequent subject for Ray's thoughts lately, then. Fraser didn't entirely understand their antipathy towards one another, but thought it might be something subconscious and primal. He held an overly-vivid mental picture of the two men scratching the ground and marking boundary trees, like rival wolves. The undeclared competition between them had taken an unexpected turn when Ray Vecchio eloped with Ray Kowalski's ex-wife, Stella.
"What about Ray?" Fraser tried to keep his voice level, not shouting over the skirl of the wind.
"Just thinking how Vecchio would crap if he saw us now. Bet you never did this with him, did you, Fraser? Bet you never slept with your good buddy Ray Vecchio," Ray laughed with an edge that held no amusement.
Fraser debated a few moments, torn between the literal truth and the laws of friendship. Ray's habit of viewing almost everything they did together through a prism of comparisons to his predecessor tipped the balance toward blunt home truths. "Actually, Ray, while Ray Vecchio and I didn't have the opportunity to camp on the tundra during a blizzard, he spent many nights in my bed. In Chicago. With me." Fraser waited for Ray to respond.
"You slept with Vecchio?" The keening storm made Ray's quiet question sound weak.
"Yes."
"Ray Vecchio? Big nose, hair impaired, dresses like a lawyer? That Ray Vecchio?"
"I'm not acquainted with any other Ray Vecchios, Ray."
"The Ray Vecchio who's sleeping with my wife?"
"Your ex-wife, and as for the rest, I wouldn't theorize ahead of my data."
"And what's THAT supposed to mean?" Ray squirmed and wriggled until he and Fraser were nose to nose. Dief grumbled at the upheaval, but declined to take himself somewhere more tranquil.
"Just what I said. People marry for many reasons, and you shouldn't presume to know Ray and Stella's conjugal arrangement. They may not share a bed at all."
"How do you figure that? I'v slept with Stella, I know what she's like. You've slept with Vecchio, as gross as that sounds, so you know he doesn't have some big preference for sleeping alone. Why do you think he wouldn't be sleeping with her?"
"I didn't say that. I was merely trying to point out that speculation about the nature of their relationship is unlikely to be accurate, considering that we have very little hard data to work with."
Ray glared, but subsided, eventually pulling the hood tighter around his face and turning away. Fraser was relieved. Arguments with Ray were always quick and fierce, flashes of bright heat that could prove destructive in the confines of a single sleeping bag.
"Fraser?"
"Hmmm?"
"You *slept* with Vecchio?"
"Yes."
"Slept as in slept, or slept as in, um, what you said, uh, 'conjugal arrangement'?"
"Slept as in slept."
"Huh. That's good."
"What's good?"
"You and Vecchio didn't, uh, 'conjugate'."
"If we had, what difference would it make?"
"It's totally gross, Fraser. You and Vecchio? Ick. That's sicko."
"Is that how you feel about homosexual relationships in general, Ray, or is it something about me and Ray Vecchio specifically that you find repellant?"
"Is that ... ? No, Fraser, I'm cool with the gay thing. For other people, I mean, not for me. I got a cousin Jack who's been living with a big guy named Duke for about forever. Just not my thing. But you're so totally straight you could moonlight as a straightedge, and Vecchio's such a hetero tightass he'd completely flip out if you put the moves on him."
"How do you know I'm 'so totally straight'?"
"Fraser, I've seen you dance. You dance like a straight white guy. There's no way a gay guy'd dance like that."
"And that's why the thought of me and Ray together ..."
"Battle of the whitebread."
"I see." Fraser let the matter drop. He strongly believed that sexual behavior or proclivities should never be discussed with third parties, and therefore had had no intention of revealing Ray Vecchio's homosexuality to anyone. Not even the man who'd taken his place for two years.
Still, there was a inescapable temptation to confide in Ray, if only to prove that he didn't know as much about his predecessor as he thought. A selfish and petty reason to betray a confidence. Fraser drew warmth from the memory of Ray's steadfast affection, and resolutely turned his mind to the perils and precariousness of the present. Survival first, then feelings.
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Fraser walked into the bar and stepped nonchalantly to one side of the entrance, giving himself a moment to adjust to the changes in atmosphere and illumination. Peering with some difficulty through the haze, he spotted his quarry at the bar, pensively sipping an amber concoction from a Manhattan glass. He approached undetected.
"Buy you a drink, stranger?" The line was old, and corny, and obvious. Fraser used it anyway, and watched annoyance transform to surprise and, thankfully, pleasure.
"Benny!" Nearly two years of Florida sea and sun had darkened Ray to a warm sepia, highlighting the whiteness of his teeth and sclera. He looked faintly piratical in the stobe-lit gloom, confident and dangerous. Fraser swallowed.
"Hello, Ray." He politely offered his hand.
Ray grasped Fraser's hand and used that vantage to pull the Canadian into a brief-yet-vigorous embrace. "It's good to see you, Benny. It's *weird* to see you. Why am I seeing you? Are you on the trail of a killer? Or a litterer? Maybe a jaywalker, or did you somehow get word that I blew a stoplight last October and you're bringing me to justice?"
Fraser smiled and glanced away. "None of the above, I'm afraid. I just wanted to see you again. My extended leave is nearly up; I don't know when I'll be able to get away again."
"Last fling before settling down, eh? What do you think of Florida?"
"It's very warm." Fraser was framing a diplomatic yet truthful expansion on the topic of a place he found uncomfortably humid, distressingly crowded, and appallingly overbuilt when someone brushing behind him stroked lingeringly across the seat of his jeans. He yelped and lurched forward, into Ray's arms, surprising them both.
"What's the matter, Benny?"
"Someone startled me, Ray. That's all." Fraser took a steadying breath and stepped away from Ray. "Do you think we could go somewhere quieter to talk?"
"Sure. I'm done here tonight, anyway. Let's take a walk on the beach." Ray left his drink on the bar and led Fraser confidently through the crowd, passing through an exit at the back of the building.
Outside, the air was warm and still, the darkness assaulted at intervals by indiscreet neon. Ray took Fraser's hand and strode forward. The beach was silver-bright beside the dark slash of water, dotted here and there with what appeared to be large rocks.
Passing near one low-lying formation, Fraser was startled to hear a moan. Peering down, he quickly realized that the forms were not inanimate silica, but very animate humans. He averted his eyes and hurried on.
Ray had looked over at the sound, and smiled at his friend. "Bothers you?"
Fraser was too enervated by the heat to alter the pedantic sound of his reply. "It bothers me to inadvertently witness what ought to be a private act. I have no objection to the act itself, but object strongly to my unsought role as observer." A rude noise from another recumbent grouping on the sand made him realize he'd been overheard.
"We'll duck behind the pier, then, where they won't disturb you." As good as his word, Ray clambered over some boulders, real ones, and crossed a wooden pier. He dropped lightly to the sand, and patted the spot next to him in invitation.
Fraser sat stiffly, more commentary on a long flight and old wounds than present irritants. "This is nice. How have you been, Ray?"
Ray sighed and leaned against a stony bulwark. "Good. Bad. Everything in between. The Vecchio news in a nutshell: the bowling alley's surprisingly great, Stella's going back to Chicago, I'm still not out to my family, and all the guys I meet are looking for fun without commitment."
"That would be good, bad, bad, and good?"
He felt Ray turn his head as he took a moment to count. "No. Good, then all bad. I'm getting tired of fun, Benny, it's too much work. They're marking time with me and waiting for Mr. Right."
"What about your Mr. Right?" He let nothing in his casual question alert Ray to the importance of the answer.
"I don't think he's been born yet." Ray laughed, "That's funny, because that's what the ideal seems to be. Impossibly young, buff, and a bushy head of hair. Mr. Right's probably doing pushups in diapers right now."
"Is that what you're looking for, Ray? Youthful, athletic, and fully-follicled?"
"Nah. I'd settle for old, paunchy, and bald, as long as he's got a good sense of humor and will settle for the same." Ray shifted again, pressing his shoulder against Fraser's arm. "What about you? Any prospects for making baby Bentons? Some nice Inuit girl maybe?"
Fraser was ridiculously pleased that Ray had remembered to say 'Inuit' instead of 'Eskimo'. "No, not at the moment. In fact, well, that's partly the reason I came to see you. It may take me some time to explain. Are you comfortable?"
Ray fidgeted a bit more, settling deeper into the sand. "Ready when you are."
"You aren't going to complain about my long stories?"
"Benny, honest to God, I've missed your long, stupid stories almost as much as I've missed you. You could spend the next ten hours reading the phone book, and I'd still be a happy camper." He nudged Fraser. "No pun intended."
"Yes, well, what I wanted to ask, that is, what I ... Ray, I'm going to tell you some things that may seem unrelated, but I think they are related and I think they may be important. I'd appreciate it if you'd hear me out before drawing any conclusions or forming any opinions."
"Okay. Sure. Talk to me."
"First, the main reason I stayed in Canada after we apprehended Muldoon and Bolt was ... no. That's not where it starts. Before I went to Chicago, the largest city I'd ever been assigned was Moosejaw. I barely lasted nine weeks there, I was so far out of my depth. Too many people, too many expectations; I was overwhelmed.
"When I first came to Chicago, I remembered what had happened in Moosejaw and fully expected to be sent home in disgrace. Thanks to you, that didn't happen."
"No, you ended up in Chicago in disgrace. Some help I was."
"Please, Ray, you don't know how precious your friendship was to me then, and how vital you were to my survival there. It was because of you that I learned how to navigate in an urban environment."
"By triangulation, right?" Ray chuckled.
"No, by focusing on the people in my immediate surroundings, making them my home community, and breaking the unimaginable millions into manageable groups of individuals."
"You did that yourself, Benny."
"It was you, Ray, befriending me and showing me how easily you could belong to different groups. I met your family, and saw the man of the house. I met your coworkers, and saw the detective. You were my model, Ray, and it's thanks to you that I adjusted to city life as well as I did."
"Only you would call me a model, Benny."
"It's the simple truth, Ray. Where was I? Oh, yes, Chicago. My experiences in Moosejaw led me to think that homesickness was inevitable, but for the first years I was in Chicago any longing for the Territories was faint and transient. I was surprised at how little I missed, and how full my life had become.
"The last two years were quite different. More and more, I thought of returning to the Territories and of everything I'd left there. Homesickness of the most virulent kind. I felt restless, and unsettled, and deeply dissatisfied. Feelings that persisted through every day and every case and every activity I undertook to placate them.
"After Muldoon was apprehended, Ray and I traveled over some of the wildest and most remote areas of Canada. We seriously thought about sledding to the North Pole, but we hadn't left enough time. You wouldn't recognize him, his experiences in the past two years have tempered him, given him a confidence and independence that I think he's been trying to regain since before his divorce."
"He called here last week, looking for Stella. That's how I knew you guys got back okay."
"Is she going back to Chicago because he asked her?"
"I don't think so. She's been talking about it for awhile. I can't really blame her. Making change and serving Sno-Cones isn't much of a challenge. She wanted to get away from Chicago, now she wants to go back. But don't say anything to him, okay?"
"My lips are sealed. On that subject, anyway. I tried to persuade Ray to stay in Canada, he shows a strong talent for training sled dogs. Good enough to make a living at it, if he wanted. But he's a detective, through and through, and now that he knows he has other choices, he wanted to get back to work. Said he was homesick for bad coffee and good pizza.
"Homesick. That's right. The point is that the restless, unsettled feeling came back, even while we were in the most desolate part of the Yukon. I thought it might be hypoglycemia, but I've paid careful attention to my diet and that explanation doesn't hold up. I looked for other possible causes, and I realized that I'd stopped feeling homesick when I saw you at the Hotel California. That's why I had to visit you here, to confirm what I suspected."
Fraser waited patiently for Ray to work through what he'd said. Ray sounded skeptical when he finally broke the silence. "You were person-sick?"
"So it would appear."
"That's demented."
"Perhaps. But it was a testable hypothesis, so I tested it. I've been at peace with myself since I saw you at the bar. That's sufficient proof for me."
"Not for me. I'm not even sure what you're telling me here."
"That's alright, I wasn't sure about what I'm telling you now, either. Not at first. But I started to notice something, while Ray and I traveled. We'd talk, mostly inconsequentials, but occasionally we'd touch on more personal matters. He talked about the formative relationships in his life, as did I. He'd tell stories about his parents, and I'd tell him stories about my grandparents, or my father. He talked about childhood friends and childhood ambitions. I told him about playing hockey in the dark every day after school with Mark Smithbauer.
"There was parity, that way. But when he talked about Stella, I talked about you. He described how they met, and I told him about Detective Armani. I could have stayed silent, or talked about Victoria, or related some memorable story about adolescent puppy love, but I spoke of you. When he recalled vivid details about their senior prom, I talked about the dance at St. Fortunata's. I've been to other dances, Ray. With more conventional partners. He talked about their divorce, how it felt to walk into their empty apartment, and all I could think of was walking into the squad room that first day without you. I couldn't tell him that, of course, but I think he knew. In fact, he's the one who pointed out to me that I talk about you whenever the subject of life partners arises."
"I'm still not sure where you're headed with this," Ray objected. Despite his protest, he seemed uncomfortably aware of the direction Fraser was steering the conversation.
Fraser breathed deeply, filling his lungs with the aroma of beach-toasted wrack, ocean algae, and Ray. He remembered the advice his father never gave in life, 'stay the course'. He'd presented the evidence, somewhat disjointed but complete. To him, the conclusion was inescapable. "I'm saying that I love you, Ray. I love you, and I want to be with you."
"Be with me?" Ray seemed truly puzzled.
"I want to be your lover." Fraser resisted the impulse to hold his breath.
Ray didn't leave him in suspense for long. Very, very softly, he said, "Uh, Benny? We've had this conversation. You're straight. You told me you're straight. 'Totally flickerless', you said."
"I'm flattered you remember. Apparently, I was mistaken."
"Benny, you don't just wake up one morning and decide to be gay. Sexual orientation doesn't work that way."
"Ray, it's not my sexual orientation that's changed. I'm not even saying that my feelings have changed. The difference is that now I understand things I didn't recognize before, about myself and how I feel. I'm pretty sure I've loved you for a long time." Fraser looked directly ahead of him, studying the sandy landscape for support he knew would not be reflected in Ray's eyes.
He felt Ray shake his head. "This is weird, Benny, even for you. Are you saying that you're suddenly attracted to guys in general, or just me?"
"Just you. And it wasn't sudden."
"So, you haven't actually experienced ... ?"
"Anything."
Ray spoke even more gently. "Benny, you're over forty, you're on your own, it's natural for you to look at a close friendship like ours and wonder if maybe it couldn't be more. I'm flattered. Really. But it's the loneliness talking. You don't want me, you just don't want to be alone."
"Ray, if I'd, er, 'flickered' when you first told me you were gay, would you have wanted to sleep with me?"
"At the time, yeah, I harbored a few impure thoughts about you. That doesn't mean anything."
"But, because I told you at the time that I wasn't interested, you won't reconsider?"
"Pretty much."
"If we'd met in that bar tonight for the first time, would you be thinking about sleeping with me?"
"That's different."
"I'm just trying to understand your reluctance. You said you're not seeing anyone, you said you'd like to meet someone who's ready to settle down. I'm all that. Am I not your type?"
"Geez, Fraser, look at it from my side, okay? You're a great guy, but you're basically straight, inexperienced, and desperate. That's nothing but trouble from where I'm sitting." Ray put a sympathetic hand on Fraser's shoulder, and rocked him softly. "You understand, don't you?"
Automatically, he replied with the polite, if not entirely accurate, conventional response. "Of course. I knew it was a remote possibility when I booked the flight down here. You could have been involved with someone, or not looking. I think I'm neither completely straight nor the least bit desperate, but I concede that those are difficult points to assess objectively. Would you do me a favor?"
"Sure."
Mustering as much calm dignity as he could, Fraser looked directly into Ray's moonlit green eyes and asked, "Would you kiss me? Just once, so I'll know how it feels."
"Sure, Benny, I can do that." Gently, Ray framed Fraser's face with his hands and let his right thumb brush softly over the parted lips. Just a quiet kiss between friends, amiable instead of amatory. Fraser closed his eyes to concentrate on the feel and feeling of the moment. Despite Ray's accusations of loneliness and desperation, he knew himself as a man whose loves were rare but profound. He'd waited ten years for a woman he'd loved with half the intensity of his feeling for Ray. There'd be no one else.
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