Once again, characters aren't mine, I just borrowed them, traumatized 'em a bit and then put them back. Heavy angst, two men who care for each other, childhood traumas.

Mild spoilers for Eclipse, Easy Money, Ladies Man and Mojo Rising. A relatively big plot point give away from the Pilot.

Many, many thanks to Mary Ann, for the very helpful comments and the ensuing improvements!

Quote and title inspiration from Tara MacLean's Silence, "That's Me."

"So if you ask me

I'll keep saying that I am fine

So just don't ask

And if you see me I'll keep

flashing that winning smile

Cause that's my mask"

"Ray!" Fraser saw his partner racing out of the precinct door, headed for his car. "Wait, I'll come with you!" Ray had the car started and took off as soon as the Mountie and the wolf were ensconced. "Where are we going?" Fraser asked.

"Missing kid. 1257 Racine."

"That's quite close to where I used to live."

"Yeah." Ray didn't seem particularly talkative.

"What are the circumstances?" Fraser asked.

"Probably snatched by his father."

"Well, that's probably a bit better for the child than a stranger abduction."

"Not really. Dad lost parental rights after tryin' ta beat the kid to death."

"Oh." Fraser mulled on this as Ray careened around the corner. "It does seem to me that we might do the child more good if we were to arrive in one piece," he said tentatively.

"What? Oh. Right." Ray slowed down. Some. He did not, however, say another word to Fraser until they pulled up in front of the apartment house. He parked the car and sat for a moment, taking a couple of deep breaths.

"Ray? Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Just these things ... they kinda get to me."

"Understood." Obviously Ray's desire for children made him take these cases personally.

Once in the apartment, Ray seemed to settle into his work, efficiently asking questions, getting photographs of the missing child and the suspect.

"I was real careful at first, you know?" the mother was saying. "But Johnny didn't try anything and Dev ... well you know how it is? Six years old and suddenly they're too old to hold your hand in public anymore." Her eyes were tearing up. Fraser handed her a handkerchief. She looked at him gratefully. "I keep hoping he'll just walk through the door and apologize for going to the park by himself."

"Well, it still could be somethin' like that," Ray told her. "But just in case, we're gonna go check on Johnny." The woman nodded.

"Thank you. I was so afraid you wouldn't take this seriously. The first officer I talked to ..."

"Didn't understand all the ram ... rami ..."

"Ramifications," Fraser completed.

"Yeah. Ramifications. Anyway, we'll put everything into this, I promise," Ray said looking her straight in the eye. "We're going to find Devon, I promise, Mrs. Lacey."

"Thank you Detective. Thank you," she broke down in tears again.

Back outside, Ray climbed into the car and just sat for a moment, staring into the distance.

"Ray. Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yeah. Just need to keep my head straight. Gotta find that kid, fast." He looked at his partner. "'Cause right now he's terrified."

"Perhaps his father won't beat him. Try to be hopeful."

"Doesn't matter if he hits him or not. Right now, even if Dad's bein' super nice and buyin' little Devon all the ice cream he can eat, Dev knows that at any moment it could all go sour and he'll be a punching bag."

"I hadn't thought of it that way," Fraser admitted.

"No one ever does." Ray started the car. "I want to get these pictures back to the station, have Frannie start gettin' copies out. We gotta find that kid fast, Frase."

"Understood."

At the precinct, Ray briefed the lieutenant and Frannie used the TRAK system to make up flyers with pictures of the missing boy and his father, as well as sending copies to all the other districts and allied law enforcement offices. Ray grabbed an armful of the flyers and headed back out. Fraser raced to catch up with him.

"Ray. Ray. Ray. RAY!"

"WHAT?!" Kowalski spun around to face his partner.

"Let me help," Fraser said softly. Ray looked at the Mountie, then at the ground, then back at the Mountie. Putting his hand up to his forehead, with a look of pain, he nodded. "Sorry. Wasn't thinking. You know me. Always actin' stupid."

"Ray, you're concerned about the child. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Right. Nothing at all." Ray flashed his partner a smile. It was meant to be reassuring, but it lacked conviction. Fraser was worried about the blond. He was still depressed about Beth Botrelle, and while she had nothing but good things to say to and about him, Fraser knew Ray was still blaming himself for everything she had gone through. The Mountie could tell that his partner hadn't been sleeping well and made an educated guess that his diet was probably something appalling. To be given a case involving a child right now - well they were emotionally the hardest thing for most officers to deal with.

"Let's go do that door to door," Fraser suggested, deciding to stick as close to Ray as possible for the duration of this case.

Ray handed Fraser half the flyers. "I figured we'd go apartment house by apartment house, floor by floor, door by door." Fraser nodded, taking the handouts.

"Shall we start here?" he said nodding to the building the GTO was parked in front of.

"Yeah. Why don't you do that side of the street and I'll take this one."

"Perhaps we should work in the same building and divide up the floors. That way if one of us finds something out, the other one will be closer."

"Yeah, okay. That's smart. That's good." Fraser looked closely at his partner. Ray had his hand up, massaging his forehead.

"Ray, are you all right?"

"Yeah. I'm good. Just worried about the kid, okay?" he turned to go into the building in front of them.

"You're certain."

"Yes! I said I was fine. Okay?" Ray's tone was just short of anger. "We got work to do here" They canvassed all the buildings on the street, talking to everyone who was home, leaving flyers for those who weren't. When they finished it was after 11pm, and they had turned up some possible sightings, but no real leads. Ray was sitting in the GTO, resting his head against the steering wheel, when Fraser got in. The Mountie looked at his partner with concern.

"I'm fine." Ray wasn't even looking at him, but had sensed the look.

"Ray ...?"

"Really. Just tired is all," he said, flashing his partner a weak grin. "Give ya a ride back to the Consulate."

"Thank you." They drove in silence. When Ray pulled up in front of the door, Fraser started to get out and then turned back. "Can I offer you dinner? You haven't eaten. I can whip up an omelet quite quickly."

"Nah, I'm not hungry. Thanks." Fraser was not convinced, but could not think of a way to make his partner stay. He got out of the car reluctantly, and standing with Diefenbaker on the sidewalk, watched Ray peel off around the corner.

The next few days, Ray worked Devon's case relentlessly. The small boy appeared to have disappeared without a trace. Kowalski put the minimum effort necessary into his other cases and concentrated on the missing child. He was obsessed. Fraser participated when Ray would let him, trying to make sure his partner stopped to eat and rest occasionally. It was a losing battle. Ray's face showed the strain, and his clothes began to look looser. The Mountie tried to talk to him, but the blond continued to insist that he was fine.

After a week had passed, Welsh called Fraser into his office. "What's with Vecchio?" he asked without preamble.

"I don't know, Sir. He seems to be having a difficult time with this case." They looked out of the office, over to where the Detective was sitting at his desk, phone to his ear, gesturing at his unseeing caller.

"Missing kid's a tough thing."

"Yes, Sir. However, I have never seen him become so ... intense. Frankly, I'm worried about him. There's something very wrong, and I have no idea what." Welsh nodded, frowning.

"Maybe I should reassign the case?"

"I think, Sir, that that would be an error at this time." Fraser sighed. "I don't know what to do." They looked again at the detective. He had hung up the phone now, and had cradled his face in his hands, massaging his forehead.

"Keep an eye on him Constable. Let me know if there's anything I can. And I do mean anything," Welsh said. Fraser turned, surprised. "He's annoying as hell, but he always gives his best. No reason we should do any less for him." Fraser nodded, smiling briefly, and then returned to his partner's side. Kowalski was still leaning forward, his head still in his hands.

"Ray?" Fraser asked softly.

"I'm missing somethin' Frase. I don't know what, but I am missin' something. I hafta find that kid. He's running out of time." He looked up at the Mountie. His face was drawn, but it was the look in his eyes that worried Fraser. There was concern, anger, frustration and something the Canadian could not identify, in those light blue eyes. Whatever it was, he found it frightening.

"Why don't we go to your apartment and run through it again. See if we can't take a look at it from a different angle; find something new."

"Why can't we do that here?" Ray demanded.

"Because there will be less distractions at your apartment, and I can fix you something to eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"Ray, you're falling apart. You're no good to Devon if you don't take care of yourself. When was the last time you had an actual meal? And I'm not counting candy bars and coffee!"

"I ate breakfast." The Mountie raised an eyebrow and looked directly at his friend. "Yesterday," Ray admitted.

"Come along," Fraser said, standing and waiting. Ray sighed and followed. Two hours later, he had eaten the meal the Mountie prepared for him and was sound asleep on his couch, while Fraser reviewed the case file. He went through everything, trying to find something he and Ray had missed. Not only for the child's sake, but that of his partner.

Ray woke up with Fraser gently shaking his shoulder. "What? Why'd you let me sleep?" he complained, groggily. His head hurt and his eyes felt gritty.

"I may have found a new angle," Fraser told him. That brought Ray to full consciousness. He sat straight up.

"Well, spit it out!" Fraser looked slightly taken aback and then decided that perhaps the blond didn't mean that quite literally.

"Several of these witnesses mentioned a children's party in the park."

"Yeah, but no one there saw Devon."

"There was a magician at the party. People would have been distracted. And lots of people would have been standing around watching."

"So?" Ray was massaging his forehead again, trying to concentrate.

"So perhaps we should be looking for a child who was dragged away from the magician, not a child who was dragged away from the park?"

"Wait - there was something." Ray was digging through the report copies. "One of the Moms said something about a child who wanted to watch the show having to leave early. Kid didn't want to leave, but he was cryin' that he wanted to watch the show, not that he was being taken by the wrong person. She was the only one who mentioned it." He finally located the statement he wanted. "Fraser, yer a genius. Let's go talk to her again. Maybe she can remember something else."

The mother didn't, but her daughter did. The little boy had been put into a blue car and the seven year old remembered the personalized plate, 'TYGER' because it was 'spelled funny'." The plate yielded an address and a name. Devon's mother recognized the name as someone she and Johnny had known in high school. A judge signed a search warrant, and Ray was off and running, the Mountie right alongside him.

Ray burst through the door of the apartment, gun drawn and ready. What he saw stopped him cold. A child laying still on the floor and a man standing over him, foot drawn back, ready to kick again. Ray flew across the room, slamming the man into the far wall, away from the child. "Big man. Beat a small child. You're tough. Oh yeah, you're tough." Each word was punctuated by Ray's fist into the man. Fraser pulled him off, "Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray, RAY!" he shouted into the blond's ear. Ray looked back at him. There was nothing but cold anger in his eyes. "The boy, Ray. Take care of Devon." Fraser put his hand on Johnny's chest, firmly holding him in place, while keeping Ray back with his other hand. Ray shook his head. The anger faded some and he turned to look at the child lying on the floor. He took a deep breath and nodded to Fraser, getting up and moving over next to the boy.

"It's gonna be okay, Devon. You're safe now. He can't hurt you anymore. I promise." One of the uniformed officers was calling for an ambulance on his portable. Ray took off his jacket and covered the boy, who lay still, looking up at the blond detective. Kowalski kept talking to him, kept reassuring him. He sat on the floor, next to him until the ambulance came, not looking up when Johnny was led out in handcuffs and ignoring all the commotion around them. It was only he and the boy, in their own world, in the middle of a maelstrom, Fraser thought. When Ray went with Devon in the ambulance, Fraser followed along in the GTO.

Fraser made himself comfortable in the waiting room for the Pediatric ICU. Ray was inside with Devon and his mother. The magazines present offering nothing of use, the Mountie pulled a memo detailing the latest legal updates out of his pocket and set to memorizing them.

"How's the boy?" Fraser looked up and saw a nurse from the E.R. standing in the hallway talking to an older doctor.

"Too soon to tell. His father really laid into him."

"Yeah, he sure did." They stood in silence for a moment. Then the doctor gave a wry smile. "My very first case as an intern in the E.R. was child abuse. I just remember looking at that little boy, lying on that huge Gurney. He didn't make a sound, wouldn't cry, wouldn't even talk. His eyes were the worst though. Like he'd already given up and was just waiting to die. If not this time, then the next. And that's what I really remember."

"Did he make it?"

"Out of the hospital. I don't know what happened after he went home. It's one of the reasons I decided to go into Peds, though. I wanted so badly to help that child." She smiled. "I've thought about looking him up, he had a pretty distinctive name. His father was a Brando fan ... stuck the kid with the name Stanley Kowalski ... a form of child abuse right there, but I've always been afraid of what I might find out. I hope he grew up, that his father never hit him again. That he's somewhere living a happy, productive life. But I'm afraid that I'll find that his father lost his temper again and killed that poor little boy." The younger nurse gave her a rueful smile. They walked off down the hall together in silence, leaving Fraser to ponder what he had just heard. Could she have been talking about his Stanley Kowalski? And Damian? The Mountie shook his head, trying to clear it. He knew that Ray and his father had problems, but he had never suspected anything like this. If it were true, it would explain his reaction to Devon's case. Then Fraser remembered Ray explaining the fear in Devon's mind even when his father wasn't hitting him. When Fraser admitted that he hadn't thought of it that way, Ray had said "no one ever does." The blond's expression; his voice. That knowledge had come from personal experience, the Canadian suddenly realized, horrified.

"You gonna sit here all night, or you wanna ride home?" Startled Fraser looked up. His partner was standing before him.

"Ray," Fraser began. Then he stopped, taking a closer look at his partner. The blond looked terrible. The Mountie realized that only will power was keeping him on his feet.

"What?" Ray asked in a weary voice.

"Nothing. A ride will be most appreciated." Ray nodded and started off down the hallway. Fraser followed.

"How is Devon?" he asked quietly.

"Too soon to tell."

"I'm sorry, Ray."

"Not your fault. Yer the only reason he's alive. Me, I blew it, missed that entirely." Fraser opened his mouth to correct that, but Ray held up his hand and shook his head. "Not in the mood," he said. They walked the rest of the way in silence. In the parking lot, Ray bent over to unlock the passenger door. He stopped, leaning forward against the car. Fraser placed a hand on his partner's shoulder. "Ray?" he queried.

"Guess I'm more tired than I thought," the detective admitted.

"Shall I drive?"

"Yeah. That'd be good." Fraser gently took the keys from his friend's hand and helped him into the car, fastening his seatbelt around him. When he slid in on the driver's side, Ray was leaning back with his eyes closed. Fraser started the car and headed out of the parking lot. The drive was quiet. He pulled into Ray's parking space.

"What are we doin' here?"

"You live here."

"I know that. I was givin' you a ride home."

"I'd like to spend the night on your couch, Ray." Kowalski turned slowly and looked at the Mountie for a very long moment.

"Why?"

"It's late. I'm tired. You're tired. It just seems like the logical thing to do," Fraser answered him evenly.

"Logic, huh?"

"Well, yes."

"My instinct," Ray said pausing for emphasis, "says that you're not tellin' me the whole truth here, Frase." The Mountie sighed. The problem with Ray's instincts, were that they were usually on the mark.

"I'm worried about you."

"Worried. About me."

"Yes. You look ... well, terrible."

"Thanks, Frase. I needed that," Ray smiled wryly. Encouraged, the Mountie continued, "So, logically, I would like to stay with you and make sure you're all right."

"I'm fine," the blond replied automatically.

"It's late Ray. We are both tired. You're in no shape to drive me home and come back. You have a perfectly comfortable couch. I would like to spend the night on it. Of course, if that's too inconvenient, then I will, naturally, walk home." Ray laughed quietly.

"Nice guilt trip, Benton buddy. I guess the couch is yours."

"Thank you kindly," Fraser smiled.

Ray led the way up the stairs to his apartment in silence. He let Fraser in, and then shut the door behind him, sliding the deadbolt into place.

"Lemme get you some sheets and blankets," he said, disappearing into his bedroom. Fraser took off his jacket and was surveying the living room, when Ray reappeared. "These should do ya," he said, handing him the bedding. Fraser accepted it. Ray stood there for a moment, awkwardly. Then "Can I get you a beer? Some tea or something?"

"Tea would be nice, Ray." Then looking at his partner. "Why don't I make us some?"

"Nah. You're my guest."

"I invited myself, though. I think that changes the rules of propriety."

"You'd know," conceded Ray. He followed Fraser into the kitchen and showed him which cupboard he kept the tea in. Then he hoisted himself onto a counter top and watched his partner.

"Frase?"

"Hmm?"

"You gonna tell me why you're really here?" Fraser turned startled. His friend was watching him, closely. "I know it's not 'cause you're too tired to get home. You're good to go; can see that just by looking at you. So what's up?" Fraser hesitated. "C'mon."

"I overheard something at the hospital," he began.

"What? Devon? You heard something bad didn't you?" Ray's voice cracked. "God, I was too late, too damn late ..." Fraser turned to his partner.

"Not about Devon, Ray. Not Devon," he said quickly, reaching up to catch the blond's hand before he smashed it into the wall.

"Do not do that to me, Frase. I can't ... don't do that. So what did ya hear?"

"I heard a doctor talking about the first case she ever saw in the E.R." Fraser hesitated again, then looking into Ray's eyes, forged ahead. "It was a number of years ago. A young boy, severely beaten by his father."

"Happens," Ray said in a guarded tone, waiting to see where the Mountie was going with this.

"This child had a memorable name." Fraser reached a hand up to the blond's shoulder, resting it there gently. "His name was Stanley Kowalski." There was a silence. Then,

"So, another Brando fan in the big city." Ray was not meeting Fraser's eyes.

"Ray, it was you wasn't it?" Kowalski didn't answer. "Ray, please talk to me."

"Why? Even if it was me. Long time ago. Stamp it, file it, stick it in a box marked 'Done.'" His voice was flat.

"It's not that easy, though. Is it?" Fraser asked gently.

"Ancient history, Frase. And I do not feel like goin' there tonight."

"Ray - take look at yourself. You are so wrapped up in this case, you've neglected everything else. You've hardly eaten or slept in the last seven days."

"I'm fine, Frase. Devon's safe. I'll sleep fine." He slid off the counter, shaking off the Mountie's hand. "'N fact, that's where I'm goin' now. Sorry ta not be the great host," he apologized over his shoulder as he vanished into the bedroom. Fraser watched him go, shaking his head. He turned off the heat under the water and went to sit on the couch. After waiting awhile, he determined that Ray was not going to return to finish the conversation, and went to bed himself.

When Fraser woke, early the next morning, he crept quietly down the hall to check on his partner. Gone. Somehow Ray had gotten past him during the night. "Damn," thought the Mountie, rushing back to the living room to get dressed.

"Where is he?" Ray came out of the room, like a bullet. "Where's Devon, the little boy I brought in last night?"

"The child abuse victim?" the nurse inquired.

"Yeah," Ray said, flashing his badge. "I brought him in. Where is he?" He fought to keep his tone even and professional.

"I'm sorry Detective. He didn't make it."

"What? What do you mean he didn't make it," Ray was uncomprehending.

"He died early this morning. At about 3 a.m."

"Right after I left. He died right after I left. I was too late and then I left too early," Ray said to himself.

"Detective, are you all right?" the nurse asked.

"Oh, yeah," Ray said. "I'm great. Gotta go. Thanks," he said as an afterthought and then left. The nurse looked after him, feeling sympathetic. She knew what it was like getting deeply involved with a victim.

"Excuse me," Fraser interrupted politely. The nurse looked up, saw the good looking man standing before her and smiled. Fraser smiled back. "I was wondering what had happened to the little boy in 417A?" The nurse's smile vanished. She was getting tired of handing out the bad news. "I'm sorry, you are?" she asked.

"Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police."

"I thought this was a Chicago PD case."

"Well, it is, but I currently work as a liaison with them," Fraser explained, opting for the shortened version.

"And you are involved in this case because?"

"Well, I'm actually looking for Detective Vecchio. It's his case. I seem to have misplaced him and I thought he might be with the boy."

"Detective Vecchio. That would be the tired looking blond with the independent hair?"

"Yes. You've seen him?" Fraser asked hopefully.

"About 20 minutes ago. I had to tell him that the boy died last night. I'm sorry." Fraser stepped back, shocked.

"Devon died?"

"Yes. Early this morning. I'm sorry," she repeated.

"No, I mean, thank you ... how did Detective Vecchio take the news?"

"He seemed upset."

"He didn't happen to say where he was going?"

"No."

"Thank you, kindly." Fraser hurried down the hallway, his worry for his partner intensified by fear of what this might do to push him over the edge.

Ray sat in his car, with his eyes closed, trying hard to keep back the tears. He had well and truly blown it. Thanks to his pathetic efforts, Devon was dead. Essentially, he was just as guilty of the child's death as his father. He wanted desperately to go talk to the Mountie, but he couldn't face the look of disappointment in Fraser's eyes ... the reflected knowledge that he was to blame. He leaned forward, slamming his head into the steering wheel, once, twice, three times. The pain was good. He thought of Devon, lying still in a hospital bed ... so like Robby. Except that Robby never even made it to a hospital. Remembering that, Ray made up his mind. He'd go back to where it all began. And there he would finish it all. No one else would die because of him. He turned the ignition and started the car. Pulling out of the parking lot, he didn't see Fraser racing into the parking lot, yelling for him to stop. He could hardly see the road for the tears rising in his eyes.

Fraser was back in the E.R. looking for a familiar face. He found her, in a street coat heading out the door. "Please, wait," he begged. The nurse stopped and turned around. It took her a minute to recognize the Mountie from the day before.

"I was just on my way home. Can someone else help you?" She really didn't want to discuss the dead child. That was painful enough without dragging it out.

"No, please. I need to talk to you. I need a favor. My partner ... I'm afraid he's in serious trouble." She nodded and turned back into the building, motioning him to follow her into the employee lounge.

"What can I do for you?" she asked, once the door had closed behind them.

"I need access to some hospital records."

"You don't need me for that. Devon's mother signed a release for his medical records to be given to the police last night."

"No. Not Devon's." Fraser paused for a moment. "Last night in the hallway, I overheard you talking with a doctor. She mentioned a child abuse case from early in her career. A case that involved a child named Stanley Kowalski. Those are the records I need"

"Why?" The nurse was intrigued in spite of herself.

"I believe my partner was that child. And I think he's in danger of injuring himself. I need to find him and help him. I might be able to figure out where he's going from those records."

"I thought your partner's name was Ray."

"It's a long story, but he was born Stanley Raymond Kowalski. Please. I don't think I have much time. He was very upset when he left today. He's ... fragile and I'm afraid Devon's death will push him over the edge. Please help me." Fraser was begging and he knew it. Swallowing his pride had never been easier though.

Carol stood up. "How old is this case?"

"I'm not certain. Probably 25 to 30 years old. Can't you access it by patient name?"

"I don't even know if it will still be on site. Come on though. Let's see what we can do." She led him out of the lounge and towards the elevators.

Ray pulled up in front of a small park. It wasn't as big as he remembered. That thought brought a half smile to his face. He parked the car haphazardly, got out and walked across the grass to a small playground. The round-about was still there. Probably the only one left in the city, he thought. Too many lawsuits from kids falling off when they got dizzy. What the hell did parents think were going to happen when their kids ran round and round and then jumped on a spinning metal circle? He sat at the edge of it, looked out across the ground and allowed himself to remember his past ... to remember that one awful day when he had screwed up his life forever.

The Mountie and the Nurse were following a man deep into the basement of the hospital. "Most of this stuff got moved off site. But we might get lucky," he told them. "We kept some of the stuff that we thought might be needed in a criminal case someday. No one's purged them in a very long time. It's possible that your patient's files might be included in them.

"I really appreciate this Jack," Carol said.

"No problem. How often do I get a chance to actively save a life?" he smiled back at her.

"Oh my God." Carol was looking at the pictures from the file. Even in black and white, they were horrifying. Fraser was scanning the admittance and treatment reports. Ray had a strong tendency to dwell in the past, and Fraser hoped that he would find a clue to his partner's whereabouts here. He glanced over at the pictures in Carol's hand and froze. The child in those pictures looked as bad as anything the Mountie had ever seen. His face was grotesquely swollen and bloody. The frail looking body, battered and bruised. Glancing at the admittance records again, Fraser saw that the child's jaw had been broken, along with most of his ribs and both arms. There was also internal bleeding and a skull fracture. Fraser closed his eyes for a moment, willing away the anger crowding into his mind. Focus, he told himself. You must focus. He opened his eyes again and looked down at the name of the child's parents. Damian and Barbara Kowalski. A notation in the chart indicated that the father was responsible for the child's injuries.

"He was lucky to have lived." Carol was reading over his shoulder. Fraser reached over and took the top photo from her hand. The picture was almost completely unrecognizable as his partner, except for the eyes. Even through swollen lids and in black and white, he recognized those pale eyes. More frighteningly he recognized the look in them. A look he had seen several times in the last few days.

"Where did it happen? Does the report say that?" Fraser asked.

"At home. 1235 W. Latham St., Apt 2D," Carol said, pointing. "Those buildings may not be there anymore."

"It's the only chance I have. He could be anywhere, really." Fraser stood. He hesitated. "Can I keep this one?" he asked, holding up the top photo. "I'd get it back to you later. I just think I might need it."

"You bring it back when I'm working and I'll make sure it gets back in the right place," Jack assured him. Carol nodded.

"Thank you, kindly," Fraser said. "If I could also borrow a phone?"

Ray was still on his back on the roundabout. He slowly moved around with one foot on the ground, watching the clouds, thinking back. They'd been playing ball. He and Robby. He smiled remembering his big brother. Robby was his hero. Always looking out for him, always showing him how to do things and letting him play with the big kids. Robby was the best at everything: sports, school. And now Robby was teaching him to play catch.

"Throw it here, Stan." He could see Robby standing in front of him, holding out his hands. He threw the ball. It landed between them. Robby ran forward and picked it up. He gently tossed the ball back to his younger brother. Stan caught it and grinned in triumph.

"I got it! I got it!" he yelled, with excitement.

"Good. Now throw it back. Really hard!" Robby told him. Stan took a deep breath, drew his arm back the way his hero had shown him and threw the ball, hard, as hard as he could. It left his hands and flew forward, over Robby's head, over the parked cars and into the street.

"Way ta go Stan!" Robby shouted, happily. "Wait, I'll go get it!" Robby raced into the street between the parked cars.

"Hey mister. Hey mister. Hey!" Ray's eyes flew open. Two small children were standing over him.

"What?" They looked at him and at the merry-go-round. "Oh. Right." He got up and moved away. He watched them play for awhile, then shrugged his shoulders and moved down the street. Leavin' the scene of a crime, he thought wryly to himself. One block down, a half block over and there it was. The first home he remembered. The front door was barricaded, the building condemned. But it had clearly been broken into by squatters. Ray had no trouble getting in either. He navigated the debris in the entry passage and went up the stairs, up to the second floor, down the hallway to his old apartment. He paused at the door, then smiled to himself. "I walked down the street, turned the corner, opened the door and entered a room." The door pushed open easily. The room was a mess. People had been staying here. Homeless and drug addicts most likely. Ray wandered through the rooms slowly, remembering.

"Here," Fraser said to the cab driver. The taxi pulled over. The Mountie handed him some money and went racing into the building. Dief was right on his heels. 2D. The chart had said 2D. He raced up the stairs and down the hallway. There. The door was open. Fraser forced himself to stop for a second, take a deep breath. Then he walked in. The apartment was silent. Dief sniffed the floor beside him and then led him through the living room, into a small hallway and down to what appeared to have been the master bedroom. The wolf walked straight across the room to where the blond detective was lying curled up, against the far wall, on the floor. Fraser was beside him in an instant. "Ray?" he whispered. He reached down and gently touched his partner's shoulder, holding his breath, praying he wasn't too late.

"Go 'way," Ray muttered.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," the Mountie told him, relieved to get a response.

"Yeah, ya can." Ray opened his eyes and looked straight at the Mountie. "Get out Frase. Get out now."

"No," the Mountie told him. Ray closed his eyes briefly, shook his head slightly and then looked back at his partner.

"Get ... out," he repeated firmly, bringing his hand out from under his jacket. In it he held a gun, which he pointed at the Mountie.

"No," Fraser repeated. He took a breath. "You won't shoot me, Ray."

"Yeah. Guess yer right about that." He turned the gun toward himself.

"Ray, put down the gun and talk to me."

"Get out, unless you want to watch. Won't be pretty." Ray's tone and eyes were flat, not seeing the Mountie, looking at something in the past.

"This is where it happened, isn't it?" Fraser asked.

"What?"

"Where your father beat you. It was in this room, am I right?" Ray focused on his partner.

"Yeah." He half laughed. "My dad had the right idea. Just someone pulled him off before he finished the job." He looked at the gun in his hand. "Think of all the people he could have saved from me, if he'd just hit a little harder." He brought the gun up to the side of his head.

"Ray, do you have any idea what this will do to me?"

"What!?"

"I'll never forgive myself. Ever."

"I'm tryin' to off myself 'cause I can't handle the guilt and you wanna add more?" Ray's voice was incredulous.

"I'm telling the truth Ray. I always do. If you do this, it will destroy me also. Do you really want to do that?"

"God, Frase. I don't need this right now. I really don't."

"Well, I can hardly discuss it with you after." Fraser pointed out, reasonably. "Please, Ray. Talk to me."

"I killed that kid, Frase. I blew it and he died. I should've caught that statement days ago." He was mentally back in the hospital room, looking at that small, broken body. Fraser took advantage of his distraction, grabbing the gun and twisting it back away from them. It went off. The loud blast startled Ray and allowed the Mountie to finish disarming him. He gave the gun to the wolf, who took it to the other side of the room and lay down, dropping it between his paws. Ray looked at the Mountie in horrified shock, his face sheet white. When he realized that he hadn't shot his partner, though, his attitude changed. "Gimme back my gun!" Ray demanded. "You have no right!" he struggled to get up, but Fraser held him down. "Give it back!" Ray demanded, fighting.

"No." Fraser managed to flip the smaller man on his stomach, twisting his arm into a control hold and keeping him in place. Ray continued to struggle and twist, but the Mountie's heavier weight and better condition soon won out. Ray stopped moving and lay quiet. Fraser didn't loosen his grip. Taking advantage of the moment, he reached down and removed Ray's boot gun, too.

"Leggo," Ray said quietly.

"Promise you won't try anything?" Silence. "I am sorry, Ray my friend, but I don't think that would be prudent."

"I promise," in a low voice. Fraser let him sit up. "Why'd you have to go an' do that, Frase?"

"Because you're my friend."

"Yeah, I've heard that song before." Kowalski studied his hands for a moment, then looked back up at the Mountie. "I don't know if I can do this."

"Live?"

"Yeah." His eyes were so full of pain, that for a moment Fraser almost considered giving the gun back. Almost.

"Let me help you, Ray. Please." The Mountie's voice was soft. He put an arm around his partner, pulling him into a loose embrace. "Please."

"Why? If I die, Vecchio's cover's better than ever."

"This isn't about Ray Vecchio. It's about Ray Kowalski," Fraser said quietly. "A good man, who goes out of his way to help others, while denying he cares. A man I've seen risk his life to prevent an injustice and bring men to task for their crimes. A compassionate man, who hurts so much at the death of a child that he can't handle it."

"That's not me you're describin' Frase. Me, I'm a screw up. I killed my own brother, for God's sake. Ruined my family. Failed at my marriage. Nearly got Luanne Russell killed just 'cause I couldn't believe she'd like me. And that doesn't even begin to touch what I did to Beth Botrelle. Hell, I even hit you. I don't deserve to live. If I'd never been born, a lot of people would have been better off. Wasn't supposed to be, ya know. Three weeks premature, which is not so much. But I got sick. Should've died then. But they pulled me through. So I killed Robby. Then my Dad had a try a few years later, but he didn't do the job right. So more people had to pay. I should have done this years ago."

"Ray, what happened to your brother?"

"I killed him." So much desolation in his voice.

"Tell me about it." Ray tilted his head, looking up at the Mountie. Fraser looked back at him steadily. Ray nodded, reluctantly.

"We were playin' ball. Him and me. He was showing me how ta throw." He smiled, seeing the past. "He was really good at sports an' stuff. Anyway, I threw the ball. It was my best throw ever ... right into the fuckin' street. Robby told me how great it was, then he ran after it." Ray fell silent for a moment. Fraser waited patiently. "He, uh, he ran into the street and there was this sound ... a really bad sound and he flew. Robby flew. I saw him. And I ran out and he was lyin' there and there was blood coming out of his mouth and his nose and his ears and other stuff too, and he just lay there. And I was yelling at him to wake up, but he wouldn't and other people were screaming and yelling." Ray's eyes were dark with the memory. "He didn't move. I just watched him. Watched him lyin' there until they took him away. Stayed there until my Mum came and got me. She didn't say a word. Just came and took me home. Only it wasn't home anymore. 'Cause Robby was gone and it was my fault. And without him, nothin' worked." His eyes were wet and his voice cracked, but he remained tense, locked in the past..

"Ray, I'm so sorry." Fraser gently rubbed his partner's back, trying desperately to think of a way to comfort his friend; of the right words to say. None came to mind.. Ray's mind was still focused on that small body lying dead in the street. The Mountie hugged him a little harder. The blond leaned into Fraser, closing his eyes, wearily. A tear occasionally ran down his face, but he was silent. The Canadian just held him, patiently, until Ray, exhausted by the events of the past few days, emotional and physical, simply fell asleep. The Mountie leaned carefully back against the wall. Ray stirred briefly. Fraser began gently stroking his hair. Kowalski settled again. They remained in that position for quite some time. Fraser began to drift off himself. Dief whined, a low warning. He opened his eyes. Footsteps were approaching. He looked to the wolf for guidance. Friend or foe, he asked with a raised eyebrow. The wolf relaxed and looked back at him, tongue lolling out of an open mouth. Friend then.

"How is he?" Lieutenant Welsh walked quietly into the room.

"I don't really know yet." Welsh nodded. He spied the gun lying next to Dief.

"Shall I take that?"

"If you would be so kind." The Lieutenant nodded and, reaching down, picked up the gun. Ejecting the clip, he then removed the remaining bullet and placed the gun in one overcoat pocket. Sliding the extra bullet into the clip, he placed that in his other pocket. Then he returned his attention to the two men before him. Fraser held out Ray's boot gun, moving carefully, so as not to wake his partner. Welsh took and dealt with that one too. Fraser was looking at him expectantly.

"I did what you asked. I talked to his parents."

"And?"

"Apparently there was an older child, Ray's brother. He was killed in a traffic accident and the family sort of fell apart for awhile. Damian started drinking. Barbara just shut down, mentally. And Ray was completely lost with no one to turn to. Mr. Kowalski said Ray sort of blamed himself for Robert's death." Fraser gave a wry smile at this understatement. "Anyway, Kowalski came home one night, drunk and Ray kept following him around the apartment and getting on his nerves - so he hit him. And Ray got quiet and went away. So that turned into a regular thing between the two of them, and it got worse and worse. Went on for a couple of years." The lieutenant was kneeling, across the room, speaking softly so as not to disturb his sleeping detective. "Then one night, Ray here broke something the older boy had made. Neighbors hadda pull his father off the kid. Mr. Kowalski says he'd have killed Ray otherwise. He went away to dry out, moved back home a month after Ray got out of the hospital and swears he never hit him again. For what it's worth, I think that's true."

"But?" Fraser caught the undercurrent in the Lieutenant's tone.

"I don't think it was just physical abuse. You talk to these people about the other boy ... all they can talk about is how perfect he was, still happy to trot out photos and show me and brag about him. Don't get me wrong; they love Ray. They were very worried by what I had to say and if you need or want anything, anything at all, from them, it's yours for the asking. But it's pretty obvious that they still idolize their dead son." Fraser nodded.

"So Ray has spent his life trying to live up to the perfect older brother, the one he believes he killed. His parents' favourite."

"That's about it." They both looked down at the younger man, still sleeping in Fraser's arms. "Explains a lot," Welsh said grimly.

"Yes. It does," Fraser agreed

"I thought I had it rough growing up," Welsh continued. "You know, my Dad drinking and always pitting me and my brother against each other, but compared to what I heard and saw tonight ... makes my childhood look not so bad after all. I don't know how he survived as well as he did." As if aware he was being discussed, the blond muttered something and shifted in his partner's arms. Fraser began stroking his hair again and Ray relaxed. Welsh watched.

"His hair ... ?" he suddenly asked.

"Surprisingly soft," the Mountie said, accurately guessing the question.

Welsh nodded thoughtfully. "It usually looks so ..."

"Antagonistic?"

"Yeah. What else can I do for you?" Welsh asked, shifting back to the more important subject.

"I'd like to take Ray away for a few days. Someplace quiet, away from the city. Away from all of this."

"You think that's a good idea?"

"If we take him to a psychiatrist, they will most likely want to commit him. That could endanger his job."

"True. But right now, I'm more concerned about his life."

"I think they go hand in hand to some extent. I think I can take care of him, Sir. He trusts me. He told me about his brother's death." He looked up at Welsh, pleading. "I don't think he'll talk to strangers."

"No, probably not." Welsh pondered this for a few minutes. "Look, my uncle has a small cabin up by the lake. It's about a two hour drive. There's a general store and a tavern about a mile down the road. Not too many other people in the area. It's pretty rustic, but it's available."

"Thank you, Sir. I think that would be ideal."

"So, what else do you need from me?"

"Well, time off for him and ..."

"Spit it out, Constable."

"If you could speak with Inspector Thatcher for me, please. I'd like to take him tonight and I won't have time to discuss the situation with her."

"You're going to go AWOL, Constable?" The Lieutenant was impressed.

"Well, under the circumstances ... I will naturally write myself a reprimand, if you would be so kind as to assure her of that."

"Of course." Welsh was bemused. "Does Ray have his cell phone."

"Yes, sir." Fraser had seen it in the detective's pocket when they struggled earlier.

"Okay. I'm writing down all my numbers here. You need anything, anything at all, Constable, you call me. Day or night. Understood?" He handed the Mountie a card. "And here's the directions for the cabin." He scribbled on another piece of paper and gave that to Fraser, along with a key he removed from his keyring.

"Understood, Sir. And, thank you."

"I'm taking a big risk here. If anything goes wrong, a lot of people are going to wonder why I let him go off with you instead of taking him to the psych unit. But I agree, if he's going to trust anyone, it will be you." He paused for a moment. "All those times I told him I could punch him or shoot him myself ... I wish I'd known. I ... well it was wrong anyway. But, now ... I really wish I'd known." He shook his head, looking down at his detective.

"I don't think Ray took it personally."

"I'm not so sure. I wonder if he believes that deep down everyone feels that way about him. Talking to his father ... it would be understandable." Fraser just nodded. So much about his partner was beginning to make sense. "Constable?" The lieutenant's voice brought him back to the room. "Call me." Fraser nodded.

After the Lieutenant left, Fraser let Ray sleep a bit longer, then shook him awake gently. "It's time for us to go," he told the detective.

"Huh?" Ray's eyes were unfocussed.

"Let's go," Fraser took advantage of his partner's confusion to get him up on his feet and out of the building.

"Where we goin'?"

"To your car. Do you remember where you left it?"

"By the park. That way." They quickly located the car. Fraser assisted Ray into the passenger seat, seatbelting him in. The detective, listless, was compliant. Fraser quickly got in and drove to the Consulate. Ray remained quiet, just staring at the street. The Mountie had never realized he could miss his partner's sarcastic remarks concerning his lack of ability to properly drive a car.

"We're just going to pick up a few items," he informed Ray, parking in front of the building.

"Fer what?"

"Well, Ray, my friend, you and I are going on a little trip." Fraser's voice came out just a little too hearty and he knew it.

"Whoa, there. I can't just pick up and leave town. I have way too much work to do. Welsh'll have my head." The blond was wide awake now.

"He's already approved it."

"What?! What are you doin' to me here, Frase?" Ray's eyes had narrowed. "I had a bad day, is all. I'm fine."

"Ray, you are not 'fine.'" Kowalski looked dangerously angry. Fraser sighed. This was not going to be easy. "We need to talk. You can't go on keeping this bottled up inside you."

"I'm fine," Ray repeated, enunciating carefully. "Now, get out of my car, so I can go home and get some sleep. And where the Hell are my guns?"

"The lieutenant has them."

"What?! He was there? He saw ... oh great. Thanks Benton buddy, really appreciate the help. I'm outa here." He started to climb out of the car. The Mountie reached out and grabbed his arm, holding him in place.

"I can't let you leave, Ray."

"Sure ya can. You just leggo my arm and I'm gone. I'm fine, Frase. Now let me go."

"Fine? Earlier tonight you were holding a gun to your head. In what way can that be considered 'fine?'"

"Overreacted a bit, s'all." Ray was now staring out the window at the Consulate. Fraser took his partner's jaw in his hand and turned it to face him. "I care about you, Ray. You are my friend. Beyond that, you are a good man and a fine officer." Fraser could see the disbelief in the blond's eyes. "It's all true, Ray. Every word. You know I don't lie."

"Then you obviously don't know me. If ya did, you'd've let me pull the trigger." His voice was quiet.

"All right. Convince me."

"What?"

"Convince me. Come with me. We'll talk. You tell me what makes you such a bad person. If you can convince me of that, I'll let you do whatever you want."

"Whatever I want?"

"Absolutely."

"Even if what I want is to off myself?"

"If you can convince me that you are a bad person."

"Do I have any choice about this?"

"None at all." Ray shook his head, giving Fraser a wry, half smile.

"Let's get this show on the road, then." Fraser didn't entirely trust his partner's sudden readiness to accompany him. Mouthing instructions to Diefenbaker as he got out of the car, he was pleased to see the wolf immediately cast a wary eye on the blond. Ray was not oblivious to this and shook his head, but he followed Fraser around the Consulate as the Mountie gathered what he considered to be the necessary supplies. They packed the gear into the trunk of the GTO. Ray looked at Fraser briefly, then just shrugged his shoulders and climbed into the passenger seat. "Wouldn't wanna tempt myself. Might decide to drive off a cliff or something." He saw the startled look on the Mountie's face. "Just kiddin.' I wouldn't do anything to hurt you, ya know" he said softly. "You're the best friend I ever had."

"Thank you, Ray. That means a great deal to me. For which reason, please consider: anything you do to hurt yourself, you also do to hurt me." Ray opened his mouth, then shut it, taken aback. Fraser got into the driver's seat and started the car.

They reached the cabin around midnight. Ray remained silent for the entire ride. Fraser got out of the car and retrieved the gear. Dief leapt out gratefully and headed for the nearest tree. That brought a slight smile to Ray's face. He was leaning on the side of the GTO.

"Let's go inside," Fraser said gently. Ray came along obediently. Inside, the cabin revealed itself to be one large room, and a small bathroom off to one side. Fraser was relieved. He suspected this Ray wouldn't be any more excited about going outside to use the facilities than his predecessor. There was one bed off to the side, a table and benches and a cooking stove, which appeared to do double duty as the heating system. All in all, very workable. He sat Ray down at the table, and checked the wood situation. Diefenbaker scratched at the door. Fraser let him in. The wolf went straight over and placed his head on the blond's knee. Ray gave him a weary smile and started scratching behind Dief's ears. The Mountie took advantage of the moment and started a fire in the stove, putting on a can of soup to heat. Then he went over to the bed and rolled out a sleeping bag. The other bag, he put on the floor.

"It's a big bed, Frase."

"What?"

"You might as well put both bags on the bed. That way if I hafta get up in the middle of the night to use the facilities, I won't have to worry about steppin' on ya." Fraser nodded and moved the sleeping bag. The room had started to warm up nicely and the soup was ready.

Ray ate his, silently and mechanically. Fraser could tell that he was operating on automatic. The Mountie guided him over to the bed, sitting him down. Ray's eyelids kept drifting down and then jerking back up. Fraser helped him strip down to his underwear and then into one of the sleeping bags. The one next to the wall. He gently pushed Ray down, so that he was lying on his back. "Go to sleep," he told the blond. Ray lay there, staring at the ceiling.

Fraser checked to make sure the cabin was secure and the stove had sufficient wood. Dief was lying happily in front of it, basking in the heat. The Mountie shook his head and muttered "disgrace to your breed" under his breath. But he was smiling as he said it. He was happy to have the wolf there, knowing that Diefenbaker also cared about Ray and would help. He returned to the bed. Ray was still staring at the ceiling. His face was drawn and his jaw was clenched. Fraser sat down next to him. "Try to relax. You need to sleep," he said quietly.

"Can't."

"Just close your eyes and try. Please." Ray obediently shut his eyes, but he didn't relax. Fraser stripped down to his long underwear and climbed into the other sleeping bag. For a moment he lay on his back, head turned to face Ray. Then he turned on his side and put an arm around the other man's sleeping bag, pulling it a little bit closer to his own. Ray opened his eyes, briefly startled, then shut them. They lay like that for a few minutes. Then the blond turned on his side and spooned back into Fraser's sleeping bag. The Mountie gathered him in closer, holding him in a loose embrace. He could feel Ray, first, slowly, starting to relax and then, eventually falling asleep. He held the smaller man, concentrating on creating a safe space for him. He had his work cut out for him. Somehow he was going to have to get Ray to understand that he was the innocent victim in all of this. That his feelings of insecurity and lack of faith in himself were undeserved. He was going to have to get Ray to rethink the last thirty years of his life. He hoped he was up to the task. He had to be, he told himself. There was simply no choice in the matter. When he was absolutely certain that Ray was out, he allowed himself to fall asleep as well.

Fraser woke the next morning, surprised by the sun. He had slept much later than usual. He was happy to find Ray still sound asleep, still curled up next to him. Fraser found what he considered to be a ridiculous amount of satisfaction in watching his partner sleep. It was such a small thing, and the opportunities were rare. He coveted them and remembered each one. Ray's face was so relaxed; so innocent. The most peaceful Fraser had seen it in days. He frowned, thinking back. How many clues had he missed, he wondered. He felt certain that there had been something and that he should have caught it. What if he hadn't found Ray in time? He really didn't want to think about that. The Mountie reached up and gently stroked the blond hair, which was currently being very "independent," as the nurse had described it. Ray stirred, but remained asleep. Fraser got up, carefully, so as not to disturb his partner. After letting Diefenbaker out, he pulled on his jeans and then added more wood to the stove, filled two pots with water and placed them on top. When the first one boiled, he took it up to make some coffee.

"Frase?" The voice was low and tentative.

"Good morning," the Mountie said turning. Ray was sitting up in his sleeping bag. His eyes were wary. Fraser poured two cups of coffee. Dropping a cube of sugar into one, he brought them over and sat down on the bed, next to his partner, handing him the sweetened cup. Ray took it and stared at it. "Drink," the Mountie ordered gently. Ray sipped obediently. Huddled in the sleeping bag, he looked so defenseless, Fraser just wanted to hug him and tell him everything would be all right. He was certain, though, that this would be a mistake, tactically. So he sat quietly, drank his coffee and waited. Ray was starting to fidget, a sign that he was waking up.

"So, what now?" he finally asked, not looking at Fraser.

"Well, it's an excellent day for a hike," the Mountie suggested.

"Thought we were here to discuss my screwed up personality."

"Ray, you are not 'screwed up.' All things considered, you are a remarkably stable individual."

"All things considered." The detective laughed, humourlessly. Then, "How much do you know?"

"Well, I know that you had a brother."

"Told you that yesterday."

"And that he was killed in an accident," he overrode Ray's interruption, repeating, "an accident, which you witnessed. I know that your father started drinking, which apparently had a deleterious effect on his ...

"A dealy what?"

"Deleterious ... bad ... effect on his temper and that he started to take out his grief and anger on you. That he hit you." Ray was rigid, trying to keep control, but Fraser could see his hands starting to tremble. "And," Fraser continued, "I know that one night your father nearly killed you." He reached out and gently removed the cup from his partner's hand, placing it on the floor along with his own. He moved in front of Ray. "And I know that you were an innocent victim in all of it." That got a reaction.

"Right. An innocent victim." His voice was mocking and the pain in his eyes cut right into Fraser. "Who threw the ball that got Robby killed? If I hadn't been such a spaz, he'd still be alive. He was great you know? I mean he really was. And I killed him."

"Ray, try to look at this reasonably. You were five years old! Your brother was eight; certainly old enough to know better than to run out into the street without looking."

"He bounced," Ray said quietly. He was staring straight ahead, back at the scene of his brother's death again. Suddenly, he jumped up, falling, tangled in the sleeping bag, scrambling out of it and racing for the bathroom, where he threw up.

Fraser followed. Ray was leaning on the toilet, his body wracked by shudders, both from dry heaves and crying. The Mountie wrapped a towel around his partner's bare shoulders and waited. When Ray finally sat back on the floor, Fraser stepped forward and flushed the toilet. Then he wet a washcloth and began wiping his partner's face clean. Ray sat quiet and compliant. When Fraser was done, he helped Ray back into the living room, handing him a t-shirt and flannel overshirt out of his pack. Ray put them on, along with his own jeans. Then he sat down on the floor and just watched the Mountie.

"Can I get you anything?" the Mountie offered. No answer. He reached out, putting his hand on Kowalski's shoulder. Ray blinked and looked him in the eye.

"I can't get it out of my head, ya know? I see him all the time, lyin' there in the street. Every time I see a dead body, it's Robby. And ever since the Academy, I dream about him set out in the morgue, someone cuttin' into him ... I get nightmares ..." he trailed off. Fraser was gently rubbing his shoulder. He waited patiently. "I threw the ball too hard. Robbie went to get it. He died. Shoulda been me," Ray finally finished.

"Ray, it was an accident. Things like that happen to families all over the world, everyday. Terrible, sad, tragic things. And families have to deal with them. Your brother was careless, just like children the world over are and have been and will continue to be, and unfortunately, that moment of inattention cost him his life. You are not to blame, Ray. You would never blame another child for this, why take the blame on yourself. It was not your fault."

"It has to be my fault."

"Why?"

"Because that's why my Dad hit me," Ray whispered. "Because I killed my brother." And suddenly Fraser understood. Saw the five year old's reasoning. If his father beat him, it must be deserved punishment. How else to explain a world gone awry?

"Ray, what did you tell me about Devon. Didn't you say that no matter what Devon did, no matter how good he was, eventually, his father would hit him. Just because." Ray looked at him. "Why is it any different for you?" The blond was silent. The Mountie stood, letting him ponder that thought for awhile. He walked over to the stove and started the 2^nd pot of water boiling, adding oatmeal, and moving it off the direct heat to let it simmer. When he looked over, Ray was still sitting quietly on the floor. Diefenbaker had moved over and put his head into the blond's lap, offering the soothing kind of comfort only an animal can bring. Ray was absentmindedly running his hands through the wolf's fur.

The day passed slowly. Ray was mostly quiet. They went for a walk, with Fraser consciously keeping the pace slow and even. Ray seemed to have slept well the previous night, but he still had dark circles under his eyes and was clearly lacking his usual energy. They drove to the store and purchased supplies. Ray evinced no interest in what his partner selected and picked out nothing of his own, even after Fraser suggested it. The blond just shrugged his shoulders and looked away. Fraser kept an eye on him, making sure that the smaller man wasn't just waiting for a chance to bolt, but Kowalski seemed to have accepted that this was part of the bargain he'd made, and remained in Fraser's view the entire day. Dinner was quiet. Ray ate the healthy food put in front of him, without comment. His appetite was still depressed, Fraser noticed, but at least he was eating. He responded to direct questions, but brought nothing up on his own. Fraser suggested they play chess, pulling down a board he'd noticed, up on a shelf. They played three games. This was a safe area for Ray, and he concentrated, winning one of the games handily and giving Fraser a run for his money on the other two. The blond gave his partner a shy smile. "Bet you were surprised when you found out I could play," he offered.

"That you were actually interested in playing, yes," the Mountie admitted.

"I used to play with Stella's Dad. He figured if I was going to be hangin' out with his daughter all the time, it would give him a chance to get to know me. See what kind of a guy I was and all."

"You liked him."

"Yeah. He was a good guy. Died about five years ago. I know he wasn't too enthused about me in the beginning, them bein' a Gold Coast family and all, and me bein,' ... well, me, but he was always straight with me. You know, as long as I treated Stella right, obeyed the rules he set up, then he was okay with it. Totally fair." He smiled remembering. "Yeah, I liked him a lot. I still miss him sometimes." Fraser nodded in understanding.

"Perhaps you wished he was your father?"

"Don't do that. Do not do that." Ray's tone was warning.

"What?" Fraser asked innocently.

"Try that psychoana - anal - babble stuff on me. You have no idea what you're talking about."

"So, tell me, Ray. Explain it to me," the Canadian suggested softly.

"You wouldn't understand."

"Try me." The two men looked at each other. Ray looked conflicted, then angry.

"Try you. Yeah, right. Like you could ever get it. You have to live it to get it. You have no idea what it's like! None!" His voice was growing louder and more stressed. "Never knowing what will set him off; make him get outta that chair and come after you. Do you know what it's like to lie in bed at night praying your father will start snoring soon, 'cause that means it's safe fer you to sleep? Only you don't really sleep, 'cause he might wake up before you and find something you did or didn't do, that makes him mad." He was pacing the floor now. "It gets so you can't think, can't talk, can't ... breathe, for the fear. And when he hits you, ya don't know whether to cry, 'cause maybe that'll satisfy him, or not, because the sound of your voice may just push him further over the edge." He stopped for a moment, breath ragged, chest heaving. Fraser waited. "An' your Mom, well she's no help, 'cause she spends all her time looking at your dead brother's pictures and you can hear her cryin' every night, which makes your Dad even madder. And the whole time, the whole time, you know that they wish it was you that was dead, instead. That no matter how hard you try and how good you are, it will never be enough, 'cause you're the wrong child!" He paused, tried to speak, stopped again and just looked at the Mountie, while he tried to bring his ragged breathing back under control. Fraser finally dared to approach his partner, getting up and walking over to stand in front of him, placing his hand on Ray's shoulder.

"No," he said softly. "I don't know what any of that is like. I do know that I am glad you aren't dead. That my life would be the poorer for not knowing you. That I do not in any way consider you the wrong person." Ray was still tense, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"But?" he asked.

"There is no 'but' Ray." The blond looked at the Mountie, searchingly, and then nodded.

"Thanks," he said. Then he gave a wry smile and a short laugh. "One of the reasons I do so much undercover work is 'cause I can pretend for a while that I'm wanted, ya know? That I'm somebody else, somebody ... well, needed at least." The honesty and vulnerability in that statement almost sent Fraser over the edge. It took everything he had to maintain. He had Ray talking; he didn't want to do anything to break the mood.

"I need you," he told his partner.

"Right," in a tone of utter disbelief.

"I do. I need you as my partner, as my guide in the wilderness you call Chicago and most importantly, as my friend. You bring a lot to my life, Ray. I am very glad that you're here. And I am very glad that you are my friend. What your parents did, was so wrong, Ray. You are a valuable and good person. Not because of your undercover work, though you do that very well, but because of that indefinable spirit that makes you, you." Ray looked less than convinced. Fraser sighed and continued. "I'm sorry that your brother died. He sounds like he was good to you. But he died in an accident and your parents wrongly took their grief and anger at losing him out on you."

"No."

"No, what?"

"It was my fault. I threw the ball. If I hadn't thrown it so hard ... I was tryin' to show off, impress him."

"You were five, Ray. Of course you were trying to impress him. He was your big brother." He sat down on the bench next to Ray, and took his partner's jaw in his hand, making the smaller man face him. "You once told me, and I quote 'I may be damaged, but I'm not stupid.'" Ray gave a slight smile at the memory. "You have been damaged Ray, through no fault of your own."

"I thought this was supposed to be makin' me feel better?" There was a very faint air of amusement in the statement, an ever so slight indication that the Ray Fraser knew and loved was listening.

"You also said 'there's more to living than dying.' So, you didn't think so little of yourself then, why now?"

"Hadn't killed Devon yet. Hadn't found out about Beth Botrelle ..." Fraser cut him off.

"Ray you didn't kill Devon; his father did. Thanks to your continuing efforts, he was found before he died, was at least allowed to feel safe for a short time."

"You did that."

"I doubt I would have, but for you. I was grabbing at straws Ray, to help you as much as Devon. I can't say that I would have noticed that clue, otherwise." The blond did not look convinced, but let it pass.

"And Beth? How about the Hell I put her through? 'Cause I screwed up."

"Because you were betrayed, Ray. Had you given that piece of paper to anyone else in that room, it probably would have been fine. But you gave it to your mentor, a man you absolutely should have been able to trust. What if you hadn't touched the paper and he'd been the only one to find it? Then Beth would be dead now. You may have contaminated the crime scene, that is true. But in the end, that fact is the one that saved Beth's life. Franklin put Beth Botrelle through everything that followed and would have killed her; again, but for you. You aren't to blame for her imprisonment Ray. You aren't to blame for your brother's death or your father's actions. You have to stop punishing yourself for these things. Ray, how many criminals have you met over the course of your career, who blamed their actions on a bad childhood? And yet here you are, having survived something truly terrible, and you are a good man and a dedicated police officer; someone I am very proud to call my friend."

"You keep sayin' that."

"I mean it. Ray, I'm so sorry for what was done to you. I wish I knew how to take all that pain away and make it better. How to make you see the man that I see and know that he is a good man, worthy of happiness. I know you can't erase 30 years of abuse overnight, Ray," he said noting his partner's mouth tightening at the word 'abuse.' "But whatever it takes, for however long, I'm here to help. To listen, to encourage, to remind you not to blame yourself for things that are beyond your control."

"Ta teach me how easy it is to be polite?"

"Well, that too," the Mountie said, smiling.

"Even though I'm this screwed up, you want to go through all that?" It was worded as a further attempt at humor, but Fraser could see the question in Ray's eyes.

"Absolutely," in a firm, reassuring tone.

"Yer a freak."

"Understood."

They went to bed not too long after that. Fraser lay quietly in his sleeping bag, watching his partner sleep. Ray seemed very restless, so he didn't try to hold him. The blond was shifting around in his sleep, occasionally mumbling to himself. Fraser eventually drifted off himself.

"No. Please. Please. I'm sorry." Fraser woke up and realized Ray was not beside him. He sat up, immediately awake, and looked around the room. Dief was standing guard on the far side, by the table.

"Ray?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Please." The pain and fear in his partner's voice were heartrending. The Mountie slid out of his sleeping bag and crossed the room. Ray was on the floor, curled under a bench, one arm up as if to ward off a blow. He looked right through the Canadian.

"Come back to bed, Ray," Fraser said softly. He reached down to help Ray up. The blond tensed. "Ray, it's me, Ben. Wake up. You're having a nightmare." Gently, he placed his hand on the smaller man's arm, noting how cold it was, and carefully coaxed him out from under the bench. Guiding him across the room, he continued to speak in calm, soothing tones. "You're safe Ray. No one will hurt you here, I promise. You're safe." Seating him on the edge of the bed, the Mountie grabbed the two sleeping bags and unzipped them, putting them together and zipping them back up into one large bag. He continued talking to Ray the entire time. Helping his partner back into the sleeping bags, he eased him down on his back. After crossing the room to throw another log into the stove, he returned to the bed and climbed in next to him. He wrapped himself around the smaller man, trying to warm him. Ray was still caught halfway into his dream and tried to move away from his partner. Fraser held on, gently, rubbing his hand in a circular pattern around the blond's chest, in a steady, calming motion. He was horrified to find that he could feel each and every one of Kowalski's ribs through the thin t-shirt he was wearing. Ray had lost a shocking amount of weight in a short time. Fraser berated himself again for having let things go so far. Some partner he'd been.

"Frase?" The voice startled him. Ray was tensing, uncertain, in his arms.

"I'm here," Fraser said, quickly. "It's all right." Ray relaxed.

"We're in the same sleeping bag," he commented after a few moments.

"You were sleepwalking."

"Oh. Haven't done that in a long time."

"Also, you're cold."

"Yer not," Ray said, sleepily.

"No," Fraser agreed, continuing to gently rub his partner's chest. Ray slowly fell back to sleep and the Mountie closed his eyes as well. But he didn't sleep. He thought about Ray, hiding under the bench, pleading with his father not to hit him. It tore at the Mountie. Fraser was not unacquainted with familial grief. He knew how hard it was to handle, how easy to cast blame, but this.... He opened his eyes to look at Ray, finally relaxed and sleeping peacefully in his arms. He understood now, the vulnerability in his partner's eyes; the constant need for reassurance and approval, and the immediate readiness to put himself down. The Mountie wanted so much to heal his partner, to make up for everything that had been done to him, but there was so much damage and it had been going on for so long. Fraser had been brought up to keep his feelings to himself, to present a reserved exterior to the world. He had been primarily true to that upbringing. Victoria had been a notable, and disastrous exception. He had been able to share certain feelings with Ray Vecchio, and they had been warmly reciprocated. But Ray Kowalski brought new, bewildering, emotions. Emotions that went beyond anything he'd previously experienced. At one time he had seen himself killing the man or men who had murdered his father, but deep down, he had known all along that no matter how many times he envisioned this outcome, he would not carry it out. It was simply not his nature. He remembered Ray Vecchio telling him he would understand if Fraser killed Gerard in retaliation for Gerard killing his father. Fraser had deeply appreciated Vecchio's sincere offer and the sacrifice and risk that it entailed, but at the same time had been appalled by the thought. Now, looking at Kowalski, he wasn't quite so sure. A coldly analytical part of his brain told him how easy it would be to beat Ray's father until he too pled for mercy and in a detached way, he momentarily enjoyed the vision of repaying this man in some small measure, for what he had done to his son. The feeling frightened him and the simple fact that he had it, told him his feelings for Ray Kowalski were something entirely different and new.

Fraser wanted to protect his partner; hold him close and keep him safe from all harm. He knew, realistically that he could not hope to accomplish that, but he was determined to at least provide his partner with a safe space. One where Ray could relax and know that he was accepted, respected and even loved, simply for who he was. Fraser moved his head forward, daring to press his lips gently, against the blond's hairline. Ray sighed and shifted. The Mountie froze and then relaxed, realizing his partner still slept. After a while, he too slept.

When Fraser woke up the next morning, Ray was still in his arms. The blond's eyes were open and he was looking at the ceiling. It took a moment before he became aware of the Mountie watching him. He turned his head and looked at Fraser.

"Mornin'," he finally said.

"Good morning, Ray." Silence.

"You gonna let me up?" Ray asked after a bit.

"What? Oh. Right. Sorry." Fraser let go of the smaller man, suddenly embarrassed.

"S'okay," Ray said and then, with a small smile, "I felt ... cared for."

"You are," the Mountie replied. Ray nodded and slid out of the sleeping bags and stretched. Then he reached for the flannel shirt he'd been wearing the day before. He caught Fraser watching him.

"What?"

"That was quite a nightmare you had last night," his partner said.

"Don't remember." Ray shrugged it off. "Coffee?" he suggested. Fraser nodded. Ray went over and put some more wood into the stove; then let Diefenbaker out. Filling a pot with water, he put it on to boil and then vanished into the bathroom. Fraser climbed out of bed and pulled on his own clothing. He was at the stove, putting coffee in the filter when Ray came out of the bathroom. Looking at his face, Fraser braced himself.

"Where's the razor?" Ray demanded. "There is no razor in the shaving kit!" He was shaking with fury.

"Why did you need it?" Fraser countered calmly.

"To shave!" Ray shouted.

"You were trying to kill yourself night before last, Ray. Can you blame me for being concerned? I don't use a safety razor." Fraser continued to speak in a calm voice, trying to bring his partner down.

"Do you really think I'd do that to you? Leave you out here alone to deal with all ... that? God, just what kind of a friend do you think I am?" Ray's voice was full of pain.

"Suicide isn't exactly kind," Fraser said easing towards his partner.

"No, but ... I mean ... I suck." Ray sat down on the floor, hard, his hands in his face. The Canadian was beside him in an instant. "Leave me alone." The blond's voice was toneless.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Fraser said, putting an arm around the smaller man. "You are my friend Ray."

"Yeah, ya keep sayin' that. Must be a great friend, though, to put you through all this crap. That you'd even have ta think ..." he shook his head.

"Stop it!" Fraser ordered, suddenly angry.

"What?" Ray tensed.

"Stop doing that to yourself. Stop putting yourself down. You are and have been a wonderful friend. That I am thinking about what you are doing, should only show you how much I care. And how much I care, should not reflect badly on you. Unless you think that little of me?" putting a twist on the end of it.

"You? No! Yer great. Anyone can see that. But me, I'm just a replacement. The wrong partner. You should never have been stuck with ..." the rest of the sentence coming out muffled as Fraser put his hand over Ray's mouth.

"I was not 'stuck' with you, Ray. We were thrown together under unusual circumstances, but I think it has worked out quite well. We make, as you, yourself, once told me, a 'great duet.' I am very interested in seeing that duet continue. There is nothing "wrong" about you or us as a team. Your parents hurt you, Ray. That was wrong. But what you do to yourself is also wrong. You are perpetuating their abuse." Fraser looked his partner in the eyes, trying to see if what he was saying was getting through. Ray looked startled. He was also looking a bit panicked. Fraser suddenly realized he was still covering his partner's mouth and blocking part of his nose as well. "Sorry," he apologized abruptly, removing his hand. Ray took in a deep breath and sat, silent. "Coffee?" Fraser suggested, thinking it would give them a break. Kowalski nodded, still breathing, still eyeing Fraser's hand and still not saying anything. "Right, then." The Mountie got up and finished making the coffee. Ray got up and went to the door and let Diefenbaker back in. The wolf looked quizzical, apparently aware that he had missed something. They had coffee and breakfast, still in silence. Fraser was beginning to wonder if he pushed a little too hard.

"Ray?" he asked tentatively. His partner shook his head, clearly not ready to continue the discussion. More silence.

"Hike?" Ray finally suggested.

"Yes," Fraser agreed, happy that Ray was apparently not angry with him over what he'd said. They packed a lunch and set out, Fraser still watching his pace so as not to overtire his friend. If Ray noticed that he was being humored, he didn't mention it, concentrating more on watching and playing with the wolf. Diefenbaker outdid himself that day, behaving in a most undignified manner, drawing first smiles and then laughter from the two men. Fraser was proud of his four-legged friend, though from a look he received, he knew there would be more paying later. Diefenbaker was a firm believer in the reward system. Still, whatever the cost, it would be worth it. Ray appeared truly relaxed for the first time in days.

The blond didn't bring up the subject on his mind until they were fixing dinner. "My Dad's not a bad guy, ya know."

"Ray, he beat you for two years and then he nearly killed you," Fraser told him.

"I upset him. I broke somethin' Robby made for him."

"That's no excuse for what he did to you."

"Wasn't that bad."

"I have a picture, Ray. It was that bad." Fraser spoke gently, watching his partner. Ray looked down at the vegetables he was washing. He was silent again. Fraser put down the bowl he was holding and moved behind his partner, taking the food out of his hands, leading him over to the table, sitting him down on the bench, sitting himself down, facing the blond, their knees touching. "Don't diminish what he did to you. Don't excuse him for it. It was wrong and it was not, I repeat not, your fault, Ray. You did not deserve that. Nothing you could have done would have deserved that."

"So, what. He's evil? I can't see that, Frase. He's my Dad."

"That fact doesn't make him right. Ray, you don't have to stop loving your parents to see that what they did was wrong. You just have to accept that they are human, flawed individuals, capable of doing wrong."

"He never hit me again ... after I got back from the hospital, I mean. I don't think he's ever had another drink. He tried ta make up for it. I told ya once, he took me to games, showed me how to play cards. And how to build engines. We just couldn't talk. Never learned how. So, he showed me stuff instead."

"And that's good. But it does not diminish what he did to you. It shows that he was sorry and that he loves you. But it doesn't excuse him for beating you or allowing you to believe that you were responsible for your brother's death. Or for allowing you to believe you were the "wrong" child."

"But I was. That was obvious. When Robby was alive, it was okay that he was their favorite, ya know? 'Cause I thought he was great too. I totally got it. And then when he was gone ... well, I still got it."

"Just because he was a wonderful child, didn't eliminate the possibility that you were also a wonderful child." Ray just gave him an ironic smile. He was quiet for a minute, then:

"We were mostly doin' okay, until I decided to become a cop," the blond said in a low voice. "Then he kind o' lost it. We had a really big argument. He told me what an idiot I was. That I was too stupid to waste an education on and I'd always have that stink on me. That everyone would know what a waste I was. I kinda thought he was gonna hit me again, and I guess he could see that in my face. We didn't speak again. I left college, he and my Mum left the state. I'd talk to my Mum on the phone. She'd tell me hi from my Dad, I'd tell her to say hi back and that was pretty much it ... 'til they came back."

"And how do you feel about them returning?"

"Confused." He looked at Fraser, his forehead wrinkled. "I know they love me, but it's like they don't really like me. Like they're still real mad about the whole cop thing. I feel like they're lookin' at me and thinkin' Robby would've turned out so much better. They don't talk to me. I mean, my Mum's always cleanin' my place, ironing my clothes and makin' me eat. And my Dad ... well all he can talk to me about is the car. I mean, I guess that's their way of showin' they still love me. But it'd be nice if they'd just talk to me, ya know? Like a real conversation that has nothing to do with food or the GTO."

"Perhaps you should tell them some of this," Fraser suggested. "Maybe they're just as afraid as you are of the past."

"What do they got to be afraid of?"

"Losing their remaining son?"

"They can't lose me. They're my parents. I mean, I love 'em. Still."

"Tell them that. Maybe then you can talk. Clean the air."

Ray chuckled. "Clear the air."

"Right, sorry. Clear the air. Clear the air. And maybe start a new relationship between you."

"Yeah. Maybe." Ray looked down at his hands. "I never talked about this stuff with anyone before. Not even Stella." Fraser reached out, placing a hand on his partner's shoulder.

"I consider it an honor that you trusted me."

"It's not like you were giving me a lot of choice."

"Well, no." the Mountie admitted.

"Thanks, though. I ... well, I don't know exactly how I feel. Real mixed up. But better, I think. A little bit better."

"I'm glad, Ray." Dief nosed up to the table to let the two men know that talk was cheap, but dinner was the big issue, setting them both to laughing.

After dinner, Ray was sitting on the floor in front of the stove, watching the flames flicker through the open door. Fraser had insisted on cleaning up and Ray, after some argument let him. He was still too worn out to put up much of a fight. He thought about what Fraser had said. When the Mountie came over to sit next to him, he looked over at him. "You said you had a photo. Here?"

"Yes," Fraser said tentatively.

"Where."

"In my coat pocket."

"I ... I want to see it."

"Ray,"

"Please. I need to see it. I don't ... well, I don't remember a lot of it. Just dropping the ashtray, watching it break. The look in my father's eyes as he came at me. It kind o' goes blank after that."

"You know what happened."

"I want to see it, Frase. I need ta see it." Fraser nodded and went to get it. Sitting down again, he handed the black and white photo to his partner, watching him closely. Ray's only reaction at first, was an indrawn breath. He studied the picture intently, turning it back and forth.

"Ray?"

"It was bad."

"Yes. It was." The Mountie put an arm on his partner's shoulder, trying to impart a sense of security. Ray gave a flicker of a smile in response, still studying the photo.

"I didn't want to come back home. I mean, I didn't like the hospital much, but at least ya knew where ya stood. My Mum, though, she told me that my Dad was never gonna hit me again. That he'd gone away somewhere to stop drinkin' and wouldn't come home 'till he was better. That we were moving someplace new, getting a fresh start. She ... she said she was sorry and that they'd make things the way they used ta be." He looked up at Fraser. "I knew she was lyin' 'bout that. Robby was still dead. Nothing would ever be the same." He looked back at the photo. "But he never did hit me again."

"But you were still afraid of him."

"Yeah. I was." He fell silent again, just gazing at the photo. Fraser stayed quiet, gently rubbing his partner's back, letting him take this at his own pace. Eventually, Ray handed him back the picture. Fraser took it, and getting up, went to place it back in his jacket pocket. While he was up, Ray got up and got down the chess board, looking at the Mountie with his eyebrows raised. Fraser nodded in agreement and Ray set up the game.

They played several games, concentrating. Ray did not appear to want to talk, so Fraser did not press him. Toward the end of the third game, the Mountie noticed that Ray's moves were not as studied. He looked closely at his partner and saw the tears forming in his eyes.

"Ray?" he asked, quietly. The blond just shook his head, and made another move. "Ray, talk to me. Please." Ray shook his head again and indicated the board. Fraser sighed and moved his bishop. "Checkmate," he said. Ray just nodded and began to set up the board again. "It's getting late, Ray. We should turn in."

"You go ahead," the detective said in a low voice. He got up and moved over in front of the stove, staring at the embers inside. Fraser moved over behind him, and pulled his friend back into a loose embrace. Ray tensed at first and then leaned back. "I really thought I was gonna die," he confided. "I didn't think he'd stop. Actually, he didn't. The neighbors heard him yellin' and I guess it sounded worse than usual, 'cause they came over and then they pulled him off o' me."

"So you do remember."

"Seein' the picture. Brings it back. I was so scared, Frase. But part of me was almost glad, thinkin' at least it'll be over, ya know? I won't have to do this anymore. I ... I had been up on the roof that afternoon, thinkin' about jumpin'. I mean, how fucked up is that? I was seven years old an' I was gonna jump off a roof." Ray's voice was extremely low and Fraser had to lean in to hear every word. He couldn't speak for a moment, caught up in the vision of his Ray, going through that, so young, so alone and unprotected. He had to swallow past the lump in his throat before he could talk.

"Extremely 'fucked' up," he finally managed. Ray twisted in his arms and looked up at the Mountie, an astonished expression on his face.

"You said 'fuck'!"

"Yes."

"Wow." Ray was clearly impressed. He fell silent again, leaning comfortably against his partner, relaxing. After awhile, Fraser became aware that the blond's breathing was getting deeper and more rhythmic.

"Let's go to bed," he suggested again, helping Ray to his feet. This time, Kowalski went along with his suggestion. After getting him into bed, Fraser went around the cabin, making sure that it was set for the night, including Diefenbaker, who was watching him from in front of the stove. Then he climbed into the sleeping bags. Ray was still half awake and turned towards him, placing his head on the Mountie's chest. Fraser wrapped his arms around his partner and held him close.

Ray woke up in the middle of the night. It took him a moment to remember where he was, but when he did it was with a sense that the world was all right. For the first time in a very long time, he thought that maybe his life might turn out all right. That there was hope. With that thought, he moved in just a little bit closer to his friend and went back to sleep.

Fraser woke him the next morning, handing him coffee. It had snowed during the night and there was a definite chill in the cabin. "We should probably think about returning," Fraser suggested. Ray looked startled and slightly fearful.

"Not yet," he protested. "I'm not ... it's not that cold. It'll be snowin' in Chicago too." Fraser looked at him, one eyebrow raised. "I'm not ready to deal with the world just yet," Ray finally admitted. "I can handle you and Dief ... but I don't think ... I just," he looked pleadingly at the Mountie who nodded.

"All right," he agreed. They spent most of the day inside. Fraser made sure the stove stayed supplied with wood and insisted that Ray add a pair of the famous red long underwear to the rest of his layers. They spent the day together in easy companionship, discussing nothing more serious than hockey, Dief's bad eating habits and, promisingly to Fraser's mind, the complete lack of edible food (Ray's opinion) versus a balanced and healthy diet (the Mountie's view).

That night, sitting on the floor, in front of the stove, Ray, for the first time in a long time, thought about Robby, really remembering him as he had been. He thought about what it had meant to have an older brother he adored, to be a member of a happy, cohesive family, the feelings of security and love that had been the first five years of his life. And for the first time, he really let himself think about all that Robby's death had cost him - thought about it without his usual self recriminations. Tears began sliding down his face. He made no noise, just cried silently as the feelings of his loss overwhelmed him. Fraser moved over behind his partner, spreading his legs on either side of Ray's. Without saying a word, he pulled Ray back into him, cradling him. The blond tensed at first, then relaxed, leaning against his partner's broad chest and feeling Fraser's arms wrapped around him. Security and love. He had craved them for most of his life, first from his broken family and then from his marriage. And now, in the most unlikely of places, an undercover assignment, he had found them. The tears continued to flow and Fraser continued to hold him, not saying a word, silently giving his partner what he needed most. They remained that way for some time, even after Ray had stopped crying. Fraser continued to hold him, quietly and comfortingly. Ray finally spoke.

"Thanks," he said in a hesitating manner. "For taking care o' me ... for ... caring enough to take care of me."

"I am glad that I was able to, Ray. And I do care. As hard as you find it to accept, you are an easy person to care for."

"Me? Are you sure you don't have me confused with some other partner? You know, taller guy, really big nose, dark hair ... well what there was of it ..."

"Now Ray," Fraser remonstrated gently. He reached up and stroked Ray's hair. The blond leaned back into the caress ever so slightly. "I have never confused you with anyone else," the Mountie continued, "no matter how hard certain other people may have tried to make me." Ray grinned. Fraser couldn't see his face, but he could feel that smile, feel it warming the room and making his heart glad, bringing a grin to his own face.

"That was pretty funny," Ray said, chuckling. "First I thought you were just bein' kind of a jerk, 'cause I didn't know you, but every one said you were so by the book, I thought maybe you just couldn't bring yourself to play along. Then I realized that no one had told you what was goin' on and I thought about explainin' but I was having way too much fun."

"Fun? We were being stalked by a serial arsonist and you were having fun?"

"Yeah. I was. Workin' with you. Ya know, things were kind of crazy for me, tryin' to take over some other guy's life and then you showed up and it seemed like you were even more lost than me. Made things a little easier for me and by the end of the day, yeah, I was havin' fun."

"Ray, my friend, you are a freak," Fraser pronounced. That sent the blond into howls of laughter.

"Understood," he finally said through his laughter. "Understood, Benton buddy." Fraser relaxed, realizing for the first time just how tense he had been through the past few days. There was a note in Ray's voice he had never heard before. Something bright and he thrilled to the sound of it. He had gotten through. Ray had faced his past and was starting to move on. The journey ahead would be long and hard, no doubt. Fraser wasn't naive enough to believe Ray was healed yet. The blond had suffered too much and for too long for the trauma to fade away in just a few days. But they had made a start. And that would do for now.

Epilogue - Several weeks later

Fraser entered the Consulate and shut the door thankfully. Alone and out of the public eye, he allowed himself a yawn. Reaching up, he undid the velcro at his neck and then twisted, causing the vertebrae to crackle. It had been a very long day, topped off with a chauffeuring detail. Inspector Thatcher had lingered at the Swedish Consulate's party and it was now after midnight. Fraser quickly checked the building to make sure that all was secure. Then, finally, he allowed himself to head toward his office and his cot. Usually Diefenbaker came out to greet him. He noted the wolf's absence with a frown. If Dief had been locked in his room for all this time; well Fraser didn't want to think about the price he'd be paying for that. Cautiously he opened his door. Silence. He peered around the entry. In the light from the hallway, he could see Diefenbaker lying on the floor next to his cot. The wolf lifted his head and tilted it toward the cot and back toward the Mountie. Fraser looked into the shadows and could make out a figure lying halfway down. He quietly stepped into the room, reasoning that Dief would have warned him if there was a problem. On closer inspection, the Mountie smiled and relaxed. Ray Kowalski. From the looks of it, he'd been sitting, waiting, and then just slumped over sideways when he fell asleep.

Fraser stood watching his partner sleep for a moment. The last few weeks had been hard on Ray, he knew. They'd stayed up at the cabin for another two days, returning to Chicago when the blond became ill, clearly a by-product of the stress he'd been under. Fraser had moved in with him and looked after him for another week, until Kowalski was well enough to return to his routine. Welsh was keeping an eye on him at work and Inspector Thatcher had been unusually generous in making sure that Fraser had plenty of time to "liase." And Ray's father had started showing up at the police station. Fraser was cautiously encouraged by this sign that Damian Kowalski was trying to mend his relationship with his son. He had to chuckle when he realized that each visit had something to do with the car. Ray was right; the GTO was clearly more than a car to both men. It was a symbol of the love they were both afraid to express. Ray started to relax more into the visits, sometimes having coffee with his father and once even asking him to join Fraser and himself for lunch. The Mountie went along, still aware of the anger he felt toward the older Kowalski for what he'd done, but burying it in the interests of pleasing Ray and helping him. He'd also noticed that Ray had appropriated and was regularly wearing the flannel shirt he'd loaned him at the cabin, a fact that both pleased and puzzled the Mountie. He noted that Ray was wearing the shirt now.

Fraser crossed the room and gently lifted the blond's feet up onto the cot. Then he pulled off his boots and spread out a blanket, covering his still sleeping partner. Pulling his bedroll down from the closet, he unrolled it next to the cot and began removing his jacket.

"Frase?" Ray was blinking up at him.

"Hello, Ray."

"Sorry."

"For what?"

"Takin' yer bed. Thought you'd get back sooner." Ray sat up and stretched.

"Don't be silly. I don't mind."

"Nah. It's not polite, ya know," Ray smiled. Fraser smiled back. "So," Ray continued. "You said I could come by if I needed to talk."

"Yes, I did." Silence. "So, do you need to talk?"

"It's late. It can wait."

"I was thinking of fixing myself a cup of tea before bed. Would you care to join me?" Fraser offered, lifting his eyebrows and looking into Ray's eyes.

"Yeah. Yeah, that'd be good." Ray stood. Fraser finished removing his jacket and hung it up. He opened the door and waited. Ray crossed the room. The Mountie put his arm around his partner's shoulder and walked him down to the kitchen.

"So," Ray said as Fraser put the water on to boil. "I, uh, had dinner with my folks tonight."

"Ahh."

"Yeah, ahh. It was ... interesting. We talked ... some."

"And?"

"I think it was good. I uh ... well, I've still got your shirt."

"I noticed," Fraser was uncertain how this had come into the conversation.

"It's kind of helped me, makes me feel like you're there. Sort of encouragin' me. So, I was able to ... well ... we talked some about my Dad drinking and hittin' me."

"That's good."

"Yeah. I just ... it's hard."

"I know Ray. I'm proud of you." Ray looked at him startled and then gave a half laugh, half smile.

"For years that's all I wanted to hear from my parents, ya know? That they were proud of me."

"They should be."

"Thanks." The detective looked down at the table and then back at the Mountie. "Interestin' thing is ... I think it means more to me coming from you." Fraser looked startled and then smiled, happily.

"Thank you, kindly, Ray. That means a great deal to me." He set the tea on the table and sat down across from his partner. Ray began filling him in on more details of his talk with his father. Fraser listened and commented and the two of them basked in the warmth that their friendship offered, content in the moment.

Comments? Suggestions? Critique? katapult@gateway.net