Takes place right after Mojo Rising - some spoilers from Mojo Rising, major plot point spoilers from Ladies Man, the Pilot, Victoria's Secret & Letting Go.

This is a sequel to "The Mask Slips." It will make lots more sense if you read that first!

Thanks again to Mary Ann for the lovely comments and terrific suggestions - and to Sarah for nagging me (in a very nice way of course,) until I finished it. Any errors, however, remain mine ... or perhaps they belong to my evil twin ... yeah, that's it.

The characters still belong to Alliance.

"Can you hear the child in tears

Whose paradise was taken from his hands.

Can you hold him in your arms

And tell him that you'll try to understand

When there's no way in hell you can."

From Silence by Tara MacLean

"Hey Frase," Kowalski had the phone propped between his shoulder and jaw, while he filled in a property sheet. "What's the ice queen torturin' ya with today?"

"Ray," Fraser's reproving tone came over the line quite clearly. "My superior does not 'torture' me. She merely expects me to perform my duties to the fullest of my abilities. That hardly qualifies as torture."

"So what's she got ya doin'?"

"I'm going over some 20 years worth of cost reports to prepare a database of ongoing expenditures along with recommendations to cut costs, while preserving the same high level of service that our country expects of us."

"So, she's torturin' ya," Ray said.

"I wouldn't term it torture ... rather ..." Fraser trailed off and the Chicago detective suspected that he was having a hard time thinking of a positive slant on his latest assignment.

"So, anyway. What I was wonderin' is if you were up for a movie tonight? We could go see that weird soundin' period piece you were talking about. If you wanted to that is?" Ray suddenly trailed off, thinking to himself that this sounded suspiciously like when he asked a woman out ... right down to offering to see a chick flick ... or Mountie flick in this case. Like he was asking Fraser on a date. Which of course he wasn't. Because he wouldn't. Ask a man out on a date that is. He became aware that Fraser was replying and he hadn't been paying attention; a dangerous move with the Mountie. One ended up agreeing to the oddest things. He paid attention.

"Perhaps another night," Fraser was saying. "Tomorrow? Tonight I have other plans."

"Other plans? What? Ya gotta date?" Ray had a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"I have to meet with some people tonight Ray. It's ... a follow up to an investigation I am conducting."

"I can go with you. I'm not busy tonight." Ray offered.

"It's a rather delicate situation, Ray."

"I can be delicate." The blond was offended.

"I am well aware of your ... capabilities in that area, Ray. It's just that in this particular situation ... well, I don't think it would be wise." He paused, then: "I am free tomorrow night, though, and I would very much like to go and see that movie with you."

"Yeah. Okay. Tomorrow then." They exchanged a few more pleasantries and then hung up. Ray sat gazing at nothing. Fraser had plans and he, Ray, wasn't invited. He couldn't remember the last time that had happened. Actually, since the two of them had returned from Welsh's uncle's cabin, Fraser had pretty much been available every evening. So the fact that he was busy should be a good sign. It meant he trusted Ray to be alone again. But that thought wasn't making the Chicago Detective as pleased as he thought it should. He frowned. Was he getting too dependent on the Mountie? After all, he had been able to occupy himself for years worth of evenings, before he was partnered with Fraser. But they hadn't been nearly as much fun, he thought to himself. Not counting the years with Stella of course ... but they hadn't been so great towards the end either. He shook his head sharply. He was wasting time. He turned back to his reports.

"Vecchio!" Ray sighed and looked up. Welsh was beckoning him into the office. Wondering what he'd screwed up this time and wishing Fraser was around to talk him out of it, he trudged slowly into the Lieutenant's office.

"I need a favor," Welsh told him.

"What?" This was the last thing Kowalski was expecting.

"A favor? You are familiar with the term,"

"Yeah ... I mean ... whaddye need?"

"Can you do a stakeout tonight?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure."

"It's that warehouse deal on 78^th. The one we think the stolen goods are coming through."

"I thought Lace and Tolassi were on that one."

"Yeah. But Lace broke his foot on his kid's skateboard this morning and Tolassi's got a family emergency. I got no one else to cover it tonight."

"Sure, uh. Yeah, let me ... uh ... review the case. What time do I need to be there?"

"7 pm."

"Yeah, okay. I'll uhh ..." He had been going to say he'd call Fraser, but then remember the Mountie was busy.

"Yes, Detective?"

"I was gonna call Fraser, but he's got another assignment tonight. S'okay. I can do it alone."

"Actually, Detective, unless you have strong objections, I'll be your partner tonight."

"You?" Ray said in a shocked tone of voice.

"Do you have a problem with that?" Welsh demanded.

"No. No sir. No problem."

"My Mother-in-law has descended for two weeks. I could use a night off. Besides, it's not a bad thing for me to get out in the field once in awhile,"the lieutenant explained.

"Yeah. Okay. I'll uh ... see you in the parking lot at 1830 hrs?"

"Thank you, Detective." Welsh watched Ray return to his desk. His mother-in-law was in town and Welsh was actually enjoying her visit enormously, but he wanted a chance to observe his detective on the street. Despite Fraser's repeated assurances that the blond was doing fine, the Lieutenant needed to see for himself. And from something he'd overheard the Mountie asking Francesca the day before, he was pretty sure that Fraser had something he wanted to do without his partner around.

Fraser hung up the phone, looking contemplative. Since his and Ray's return from the cabin several weeks ago, he had spent most evenings with his partner. Ray still had a lot of issues to work through and the Mountie wanted to make sure he was around whenever the blond needed him. He kept reliving the moment he walked into that ruined apartment and saw his partner crumpled on the floor against the far wall, not knowing if he were alive or dead. Fraser didn't know what he would have done if he hadn't found Ray in time - didn't want to even think about it.

"You love the Yank, son."

"What?" Irritated at having his reverie interrupted, Fraser turned to see his father sitting on his cot.

"When are you going to admit to your feelings?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Ray is my partner. Of course I have feelings for him."

"Dodging the issue won't help. You have to meet these things head on."

"I'm not dodging anything. And I've got something more important on my mind than explaining that to you."

"You're going to visit his father?" Robert Fraser couldn't argue with his son's last statement, so he switched topics instead.

"I'm considering it."

"What do you hope to accomplish?" Fraser looked up at his father sharply, but the expression on the older man's face was benign.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I just need to talk to them. To find out why ... how ... they could have done what they did. What they still do!"

"You overheard his conversation with his father, yesterday, then."

"He called him a 'stupid son of a bitch.'" Fraser looked at his father, confusion and anger at war on his face. "He encouraged Ray to confide in him. He knows what Ray's been going through. But he turns and just throws that out. He might as well still be hitting him. They say they love him. That they'd do anything for him. But this ..." He just shook his head. His father watched knowingly.

"It's a pattern son. It's an old and long standing pattern. It won't disappear overnight, anymore than the Yank's feelings about it. Even after I realized I was neglecting you, it wasn't something I could just turn around and stop. Habits become ingrained. Even bad ones." Fraser's surprise at his father's admission was evident. "Oh, subconsciously I knew what I was doing. Just as the Yank's parents know. Just didn't want to admit it to myself. Too much guilt." He cricked his neck. "Go ahead and see them, son. Just don't expect too much."

Ray met the Lieutenant in the parking lot. He held up a thermos and a bag. "Coffee and junk food. Vital to any successful stakeout." Welsh held up a thermos of his own.

"Our eyeteeth will be floating," he commented sardonically.

"But we'll be wide awake," Ray said cheerfully. Welsh took a deep breath. He wasn't sure he would survive eight hours in close proximity to this man. Ray's hyperactivity was already getting on his nerves and they weren't even in the car yet. He sighed. His detective paused at the car. "Uhh. You wanna drive or ya want me to?" he asked.

"You drive," Welsh said, tossing him the keys. They had pulled an old Chevy Impala from the pool under the theory that it would blend better than Ray's GTO or the Lieutenant's regular car. With Ray at the wheel, they headed off to the warehouse.

Fraser looked out the taxi's window at the trailer. The lights were on inside. He took a deep breath and got out. Walking up to the door, he paused again, took another deep breath and finally knocked. The door opened almost immediately.

"Come in," Damian Kowalski said, standing aside.

"Thank you," Fraser said, entering. "I appreciate your seeing me on such short notice." They stood looking at each other for a moment.

"Ray's Mom, she promised to drive a neighbor somewhere tonight. She'll be back later," Damian explained. Fraser nodded. "Coffee?" Damian offered.

"Yes, thank you." Fraser was unsure, now that he had come, as to how to proceed. He knew exactly what he wanted to say. He just wasn't quite certain how to start this particular conversation. Damian poured him a cup of coffee and led him to a chair, taking one directly opposite. They faced each other silently. Finally Damian sighed.

"My coffee's pretty good. But we know that's not why you came."

"No, sir. It's not."

"Stan ... Raymond," the older man stated.

"Yes. I wanted to speak with you about him. To try to and gain some understanding or perspective if you will. I thought if I sat down and discussed it with you ... but I am having some difficulty in formulating my thoughts on the subject ..."

"You're angry with me," Damian interrupted, cutting straight to the point.

"No. Well, yes." Fraser admitted.

"About what I did to Raymond."

"Yes."

"I don't know what I can say ta make things any different. I beat the boy. Damn near killed him. Nothin' I can say or do will ever change that."

"No," the Mountie agreed. "I know that. But, I needed to see you anyway. Ray ..." he trailed off. Damian waited patiently. "I want to help him," Fraser finally continued.

"You are," Damian told him. "You are."

"It's not enough. He's still so ... wounded."

"I know," Damian said softly.

"Then why don't you help him more? Why do you keep hurting him?"

"What are you talking about? I haven't hit that boy since he was 7 years old! No matter how much he deserved it. Figured I'd beat him enough for a lifetime and then some," he looked down at his hands. "But I haven't touched him since."

"You don't only hurt with your fists. You hurt him with your words. You've let him think that he was responsible for his brother's death. That he isn't any good. That he is, in fact, inferior. You still say hurtful things to him. I've heard you!" Fraser's voice was rising. He got up to try and walk off some of his anger, but as he paced around the small trailer, he just became more and more infuriated. "Look around you!" He pulled a small picture off of a shelf. It was an old photo of two small boys. "Ray and Robby?" Damian nodded. Fraser walked around the room pointing at other photos. "Robby? Robby? Robby again. And yet another photo of Robby." He was furious now. "Robby lived eight years. Ray's 36. Where are his pictures? You've got one picture of Ray - with Robby. What the Hell kind of message do you think that sends?" He shook his head. "Every time Ray comes over you reinforce the same message you've been giving him for years. That he's not good enough. He deserves better - so much better!"

"We've been trying," Damian protested. "Talkin' about it, workin' through it."

"But how far does it go? Have you ever told him you don't think his brother's death was his fault? Told him you were proud of him for something he's accomplished? Have you ever really tried to apologize for what you did? Or do you just blame it on the drinking? Convenient, isn't it? You drank, you hit him. You stopped and it all disappeared. But it didn't. Not for Ray. He lives with this every day. The memories, the fear, the insecurity..." Fraser's voice cracked thinking of everything his partner had gone through; everything he was still going through.

"I can't erase what I did," Damian said.

"What we did," a new voice interjected. Both men turned startled. They had failed to hear Barbara Kowalski come in. "I had a part in this too," she said. "Don't forget that."

"But you're the one who made it stop," Damian told her. He looked at Fraser. "She told me that if I didn't stop drinking, I could never come back home. And that if I ever had so much as another drink, she'd take the boy and leave. And she meant it."

"It wasn't just the drinking though," Fraser told them. "What about the emotional abuse?" Both Kowalski's looked a bit puzzled. Fraser continued. "You've convinced Ray that he could never be good enough for you or anyone, simply because he wasn't his brother. Listen to yourselves. You keep calling him 'the boy.' How about 'my son' or 'Ray,' which is what he likes to be called?" He looked around the room. "When he comes over to visit, you talk about Robbie, don't you? Reminisce about the good old days when you were 'still' a family? Hurt him again and again." Damian and Barbara stood silent. "I can always tell when he's been here," the Mountie said softly. "His whole demeanor changes. It's different when you meet at his place or at a restaurant. But here ... this hurts him."

"Why doesn't he say something?" Barbara asked, bewildered.

"He can't. He's still the victim. You don't even begin to see that, though, do you? You have no idea how much damage you did ... continue to do. You have been perpetuating that abuse for 30 years. Did you know that last month he tried to commit suicide? I found him in your old apartment, in the master bedroom, holding the gun. If I had come along much later, I firmly believe he would have been dead." Ray's parents were both clearly surprised. For a moment, Fraser wondered if he should have revealed that; then he pushed on; the Kowalskis had to understand exactly how much was at stake. "Just because he's an adult and takes care of others now, doesn't change how he feels when he's around you. Look at the way he was about the car! Terrified to tell you, for fear you'd get mad at him, maybe even leave again. It wasn't even his fault! But he believes you care more about that car, than you do about him. It's all part of the same pattern. And old patterns are the hardest to break," he finished, remembering what his father had told him.

"We'll fix it," Damian said. "Or at least, we'll try." He paused for a moment. "It's not simple for us either. He ... Ray ... wasn't an easy child, even before any of this happened. And he's not an easy adult either."

Fraser glared at him. "He's very easy. He just needs to know that someone cares!"

"He does," Barbara said. "He knows that you care. And with your help, we'll show him that we care too." She walked over and picked up one of the pictures. "All this time, we were afraid that we'd forget Robbie. Stanley's alive. We see him. We talk to him. But that's exactly what you're saying isn't it? That Stanley is alive and we should focus on him." She shook her head. "Does he have any idea how lucky he is to have you as a friend?"

"Doesn't it ever occur to you that I might be the lucky one?" Fraser asked softly.

Ray clearly nervous about working in such close proximity with his boss. They had replaced the earlier team and were parked with a good view of the entrance to the warehouse. The blond was fidgeting and it was getting on the Lieutenant's nerves.

"Just try to pretend I'm like any other partner," Welsh instructed.

"Not really used ta havin' a partner," Ray confided. "'Cept for Fraser, I've mostly worked alone. Ya know, the undercover thing."

"Right." Welsh sighed.

"Kind of a weird thing. Didn't think it'd work at first. Me and the Mountie," Ray admitted.

"Surprised the Hell out of me," the Lieutenant confessed.

"Why? Ya think I'm that screwed up?" the blond was immediately anxious.

"Nah. Because Vecchio and Fraser were so tight. I mean, I figured the two of you, being professionals, would make it look like it was working. But you really do work well as a team. Most of the time. A very peculiar team, mind you."

"Yeah." Ray was noncommital.

"Really." Welsh paused for a moment. "In some ways, the two of you work better together than they did."

"Yeah?" Now Ray was intrigued.

"Vecchio, he wasn't worth much until Fraser came along. Not because he wasn't capable, but because he didn't have the confidence in his own abilities. The Mountie encouraged him, helped him find that confidence. But it was pretty much one sided for a long time. Then of course, there was all the guilt."

"Guilt?"

"Yeah. Vecchio felt guilty for brushing off Fraser when he first showed up. Then Fraser felt guilty for getting Vecchio blown up. Then Vecchio felt guilty when he shot Fraser. Then Fraser felt guilty when Vecchio took a bullet for him. That's a Hell of a lot of guilt for a friendship."

"Hell of a good friendship to survive all that," Ray said wistfully.

"True enough. But you and he have a pretty good friendship."

"Feels kind o' one sided. Him always takin' care of me."

"I don't think he feels that way. He's been a lot more ... relaxed ... for a Mountie anyway, this past year. That has to have something to do with you."

"Probably just figured out he was a city boy at heart." They looked at each other and then in unison: "Nahhh."

Facing forward again, Ray thought about what the Lieutenant had said. That maybe he and Fraser did have a good friendship, apart from Vecchio's cover. He desperately wanted to believe that - was starting to panic about what would happen when the Italian returned and demanded his life back. Kowalski wasn't sure he'd be able to move on if ... when, he reminded himself, when ... that happened. He'd known from day one that this was a temporary gig. Just the way he like'd 'em, he'd told himself. But now ... the idea of a life without Fraser in it was beginning to look ... lonely. Unbelievably lonely. He didn't want to go there right now and concentrated on the warehouse door instead. They sat in silence for a few minutes.

"Beth Botrelle came by the other day," the Lieutenant mentioned casually. Ray stiffened. "She wanted to see you; was disappointed that you were out." No answer from the blond. "She wanted to see how you were doing."

That got a response. "How I'm doing? Me? I stole eight years of her life, put her through sheer Hell, and she wants ta know how I'm doin'?"

"Seems she's worried about you. Thinks you might be taking the whole thing a little too personally."

"Too personally? I screwed up. Me. I didn't read the note. I contaminated the crime scene. She was on death row. They nearly killed her. My fault."

"Detective, you didn't read the note because you needed to check out the source of the noise. That is called officer safety. We at the department approve of officer safety. It helps to ensure that our officers live to work another shift. And if Franklin had been on the up and up, he'd have properly processed that note. He was the dirty cop. You remember that Detective, and that's an order!" Welsh was vehement and startled his subordinate.

"I trusted him," he whispered.

" Of course you did. You had no reason not to. No one suspected him. For years he got away with all that crap. He would have gotten away with murder ... two murders, if you hadn't stopped him. Think about that for a change, instead of beating yourself up over it." Ray did not look entirely convinced, but he remained silent. Welsh sighed. "You take too much guilt on yourself. Things happen in this world, Detective. Things you have no power over. Stop blaming yourself for them. It won't change the outcome. It just hurts you. You're a good cop. Annoying as Hell, but a good cop. You've helped a lot of people. You'll help a lot more before you're done. Try to concentrate on that instead." More silence. Welsh contented himself with the fact that at least there was no argument.

Fraser and the Kowalskis were now seated around the dining table. Barbara had brought out a coffee cake she'd made earlier and the act of breaking bread together had relaxed the atmosphere some. Damian was making the effort to ask Fraser about some of his and Ray's cases, when the phone rang. Barbara went to answer it and returned a moment later. "Constable?" Puzzled, Fraser stood up. He could only think of one person who would know where he had gone, and surely she wouldn't call. But she had.

"Fraser?"

"Francesca!?"

"Lt. Welsh just called. He heard us talking earlier today about you going out there tonight, and I know you wanted it to be a secret, but under the circumstances, I thought you would want to know, so I thought, you know, that I'd take a chance and ..."

"Francesca!"

"Yes?"

"What circumstances?"

"Oh, right. Sorry. Got a little carried away there, didn't mean ... right. Ray's been hurt."

"What? How badly?"

"I don't know all the details. He's at Cook County. The Lieutenant figures he'll probably want you there."

"Of course. I'm on my way. You sure you don't have any details?"

"No. But Fraser, if it were real bad, he'd have said so. I'm sure of it. Do you need me to come get you?" Fraser looked over his shoulder. The Kowalski's were watching him, apprehension on their faces.

"Just a moment," Fraser told Francesca. He turned to Ray's parents. "Ray's been injured. He's at a hospital. I don't have any other details."

"Let's go," Damian said, getting up and picking up his car keys.

"I have a ride Francesca. Thank you kindly."

"Sure, Fraser. Like I said, if it'd been real bad, I'm sure he would've said. He didn't say hurry, or offer to send a squad car. That's a good sign. I promise."

"Thank you," Fraser said before hanging up. He was slightly encouraged by her last words, but still could barely keep from letting the panic he was feeling overwhelm him. Ray, hurt. And he hadn't been there to protect him.

Ray was out of the car, stretching, when he heard the truck come down the road. Ducking down, he watched it approach the warehouse. When it had parked and started unloading, he poked his head back up, watching. Welsh carefully exited the car and joined him.

"There's only two guys," Ray whispered.

"I called for back up. They should be here in a few minutes."

"I'm gonna try and get closer. That way if they rabbit, I can ID 'em later." The blond motioned to the crates that littered the alleyway. "I should be able to get pretty close without bein' seen."

"Go slow and be careful. We want these guys, but not enough for you to get shot."

"Yes, sir." Ray grinned impudently. "Nice to know you care about my health."

"I'm just thinking of myself, Vecchio. Do you have any idea how much paperwork I have to fill out if you get your ass shot?"

"Understood," Ray said in a tone very reminiscent of a certain Mountie. He began edging his way down the alley, staying low and keeping cover. He was able to get quite close and watch the two men as they unloaded the truck. They were talking, but he couldn't make out what they were saying. Fraser would have been able to hear it, take it down in dictation and probably have it typed out before they were arrested, Ray thought to himself, fondly. Oh well, since SuperMountie wasn't around, they'd just have to settle for one astigmatic detective. Ray was thankful he'd remembered his glasses. Things were proceeding very nicely, until a patrol car came careening down the alleyway, lights flashing and headlights on bright. "Great," groaned Ray to himself. The perps were off and running. One towards Welsh, the other into the warehouse and, no doubt, out another exit. Ray was off and running after him. Racing up the stairs, he plunged into the dark building. Diving behind a pile of pallets for cover, he waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He could hear footsteps going down and away from him. Cautiously, he stepped out into the aisle and followed the sounds. They continued, towards the far end of the building. Ray stepped up his pace. He came to an open door. He watched it for a moment, then moved forward. Stepping up to the side of the door, he listened and on hearing silence, stepped out in a crouch, gun at the ready. The door smashed into him hard, sending him to the ground and his gun flying. His assailant wasted no time. Taking advantage of the surprise, he jumped out from behind the door and leapt on the detective. Grabbing Ray's head, he slammed it into the ground twice. Seeing stars, the blond still managed to get a hand up and punch the other guy in the jaw. Twisting his body, he was able to throw the suspect off of him, but only for a moment. As he started to get up, a boot caught him in the rib cage, throwing him back down on his side. Gun, Ray thought. Where did I lose my gun? He was trying to look around, but his opponent wasn't giving him any time. Another swift kick to the stomach and Ray found himself instinctively going into a curl to protect his body. That earned him a kick to the back. Shit, he thought. Focus. Gotta Focus. He rolled away from his attacker. The other man leapt on him, pounding his fists into Ray's sides. The blond tried to break free again, but his assailant was bigger and heaver. After pummeling his sides, the attacker managed to get Ray pinned to the ground on his back. Then he wrapped hands around the blond's throat and began squeezing. Ray struggled harder, but the guy had him. Slowly, he could feel himself fading out. He continued to fight as hard as he could, but he knew he was losing; knew he was dying. Oh God, Ray thought. I'm sorry, Fraser, I'm sorry. I tried. As the edges of his vision started to blacken, his primary thought was that the Mountie should know that he had tried to live. But there would be no one to tell him. No one at all.

Ray returned to consciousness slowly and painfully. His head and ribs throbbed and his throat - well there was no describing how his throat felt. He cautiously attempted to open one eye. Light. Pain. He closed it again.

"Welcome back, detective." The low, pleasant voice was soothing. The lights dimmed in the room. "Try again," the woman encouraged. Ray blinked. It still hurt, but it wasn't as bad. "That's good," the voice came again. A soothing hand brushed across his forehead. "I'll go get the doctor." Ray tried to say something, but nothing came out. He waited.

There were several doctors, and they all had something to say to each other, but no one seemed to be talking to Ray. He managed to wave a hand. The nurse returned to his side. "Don't try to talk," she said. "Your throat is going to be very sore for awhile."

"Where?" he whispered.

"Cook County. Don't talk," she repeated. "There are some people who would really like to see you. I'm going to let them in, but if you say one word, they're leaving. One word - understand?" she looked into his eyes, sternly. Ray nodded and wished he hadn't. A few minutes later, his room was full of people. Ray's eyes first lit on Welsh. Yeah, that made sense. He wondered how much paperwork the Lieutenant had to fill out for detectives that were beaten versus being shot. He was sure he'd hear about it eventually. Francesca. That was nice. 'Course it was probably to protect her brother's cover. She obviously considered him to be a royal pain in the ass at work ... kind of like he'd always thought a real sister would behave. And beyond her, coming in together, anxiously staring at him ... his parents and Fraser. The Mountie walked straight over to the bed and gently picked up Ray's hand, just holding it in both of his. The warmth felt good, Ray thought. Really good. He blinked up at all the people surrounding him.

"Just wanted to make sure you were really alive," the Lieutenant said gruffly. "Paperwork and all." That brought a faint smile to the detective's mouth.

"Hey, bro." Frannie walked over and kissed him gently on the cheek. "Not many sisters wouldn't take advantage of the fact that you can't talk. So you remember how nice I'm bein'!" She walked out with the Lieutenant, under the nurse's strict eye. Damian and Barbara Kowalski hovered uncertainly for a moment. Ray heard a slight cough from Fraser, and then his parents moved over next to him. His mother leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. "I'll be home cooking all your favorite soups. The doctor said you'd be eating soft foods for a couple of weeks."

"You scared the Hell out of us, son." Damian said. Ray blinked at him. Damian sighed and reached out a hand to his son's forehead, stroking it tenderly. "Don't do that again. If anything were to happen to you ... well, we don't like thinkin' of you bein' hurt ... or worse. I guess we don't make that clear to ya, but it's true." Ray's eyes widened in shock and then teared. His mother kissed him again and then his parents left the room. Fraser stayed, quietly, just continuing to hold his hand. Charmed the nurses, Ray thought. Typical. But he was glad of the company ... and the comfort. There was something he wanted to tell him. He just couldn't remember what. But it was important. He opened his mouth to try, but Fraser laid a finger gently across it.

"Shhh, Ray. If you try to talk, they'll throw me out. The lieutenant convinced them you'd be more cooperative if I were here. So just rest now. We'll have plenty of time to talk later." Ray looked somewhat mulish. Fraser smiled, considering that to be a good sign from his partner. "Shhh," he said again. "You need sleep. I'll be here when you're able to talk. I promise." He moved his hand up, stroking Ray's cheek. "The Chicago detective closed his eyes and drifted back off to sleep, feeling secure ... and loved.

It was late the following afternoon. Fraser helped Ray up the stairs. The blond, despite repeated protests that he was fine, leaned heavily on his partner. Fraser searched Kowalski's pockets patiently until he found the right keys. Letting them into the apartment, he helped Ray to his couch and then went back to shut and lock the door. When he returned, Ray was struggling to remove his jacket. Fraser sat down and quietly assisted him. Ray leaned back into the cushions, wearily closing his eyes.

"Sorry," he whispered.

"For what?" Fraser asked, puzzled.

"You stuck takin' care of me again."

"I'm not 'stuck' Ray. I volunteered and I'm happy that I can do it. Really." Ray turned his head and opened his eyes, looking searchingly at his partner. Then he gave a slight smile and nodded.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." Ray closed his eyes again. "Now, let's get you into bed," Fraser said.

"I'm good."

"You'll be more comfortable in bed. Come on." The Mountie put an arm around his partner and helped him up. Carefully supporting him, he led the smaller man into the bedroom and sat him down on the edge of the bed. Ray tried valiantly to assist, but it was all he could do not to topple over.

"Good drugs," he whispered.

"Ahh."

"I'm, uhh ... I ..." he was fighting to keep his eyes open. Fraser gently stripped his partner's shirt off and carefully pushed him back on the bed, moving down to remove his boots and pants. Ray lost his fight with the medication, falling asleep. Fraser gently picked his legs up, moving them onto the bed and then sat down beside him. The Mountie allowed the concern he felt to show in his face now. Ray's body was a mass of bruises, scrapes and contusions. He had fought hard. And then there was his neck. Fraser reached down and carefully traced the dark marks on his partner's throat.

"Ray," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I wanted to take care of you; to protect you." He pulled the covers up over his friend and watched him for a minute, making sure that he was asleep. The blond moaned and shifted. Fraser stroked his hair gently, a tactic that had worked in the past. Ray quieted. When the Mountie was certain that his partner was sound asleep, he got up and went into the living room. Checking the contents of the refrigerator, he found that Barbara Kowalski had been busy. There were three different kinds of soup and two pastas as well. Also juice and frozen juice bars in the freezer. At least he wouldn't have to worry about what to feed Ray for the next few days. He puttered about the kitchen for a few minutes, making himself a cup of tea, then returned to check on the blond. Ray was still sleeping. Fraser watched him for a few minutes and then forced himself to return to the living room. He sat down in a chair and picked up a book he had been reading. Ray had loaned it to him. It was a novel and the Mountie was thoroughly enjoying it. Some of the characters were behaving in utterly ridiculous fashion, and the detective that was the main character was sadly unprofessional, but still he couldn't remember having so much fun reading anything in years. Not since the assigned fiction in school. He had left the bedroom door ajar, so he could hear Ray if he woke up. He settled into the book.

Ray was fighting and he was losing. He kept trying to call for help, but no sound would come out. Tears of frustration were running down his face. He was going to die. There was nothing he could do about it. The air was being choked out of him bit by bit and he hadn't told Fraser how he felt. He couldn't die yet ... he tried to fight harder.

"Ray, wake up. Ray! Ray! Ray!" He heard the words, felt someone gently slap his cheek. "Wake up!" The detective's eyes shot open. Startled, he looked at Fraser, not quite recognizing him, still partly lost in his nightmare. The Canadian sat down on the bed and pulled Ray into his arms. The blond was perspiring and still shaking. "It's all right, Ray. It was just a dream. You're safe." he told his partner. Ray just continued looking at him, dazed. "It's all right," Fraser repeated, patiently. Slowly, Ray's breathing calmed. After several minutes, he tried to speak and winced. Fraser got up and fetched some water. Returning, he helped the blond sit up and handed him the glass. Ray took a few sips and handed it back. Fraser took the glass and placed in on the bedside table, then turned his attention back to his partner. Ray sat quietly for a moment and then leaned back, into the Mountie. Fraser wrapped an arm loosely around the smaller man, noting that he was still trembling slightly.

"Bad dream," Ray managed.

"I gathered."

"Yeah. Guess so." They sat quietly for a few more minutes, then, "Frase?"

"Yes?"

"You gonna tell me what was up with you and Welsh last night?" the blond whispered.

"I afraid I don't understand your meaning."

"Yeah, ya do." Ray smiled, slightly. "I'm not stupid ya know."

"No, Ray. You are not."

"So? You expect me ta believe Welsh's sudden need to go on a stakeout and you disappearin' on the same night, then turning up at the hospital with my folks is just one of those bizarre coincidence things?"

"I needed to talk to your parents," Fraser admitted. "And the Lieutenant wanted some time with you. The opportunity for the stakeout seemed ... fortuitous."

"Fortuitous ... there's another one o' them Canadian words." Ray started to chuckle and then caught his breath.

"Ray, you probably shouldn't talk so much. I imagine your throat is pretty sore."

"S'okay. Need ta talk. So, you an' Welsh, ya both happy now?"

Fraser laughed. "Yes, Ray. I think we are."

"'Kay." He fell silent again. Then, "So, I'm guessin' Welsh is still worried I may go sideways on him. You got reason ta think that Benton buddy?"

"Not at the moment."

"Frase...?"

The Mountie sighed. "We worry about you Ray. Last month you scared the Hell out of both of us. We feel a certain amount of responsibility toward you, the Lieutenant and I. We will both, undoubtedly, continue to keep an eye on you. But the fact that you're still carrying your gun should tell you something." Ray nodded and mulled that over in silence for awhile. Fraser relaxed, but the blonde wasn't done yet.

"An' what ya talked about with my folks? It wasn't somethin' you could ask me?"

"No, Ray. I needed to talk to them. I needed to understand something."

"And now ya do?"

"No. Now I understand that I will never understand."

"What's that mean in non Mountie talk?"

"It means I will never understand how they could hurt you Ray. I thought if I talked to your father, I might be able to make some sense out of it somehow. But I can't." He reached up and started stroking the blond hair. Ray closed his eyes, minutely moving his head into the caress, still listening. "It's hard for me to talk to your parents," Fraser continued. "Usually, I can mentally step aside, separate myself, from a situation. I can come to some sort of understanding, even if I don't agree. But in this case I cannot, no matter how hard I try. And, I'm afraid ... well, I rather lost my temper tonight."

"You?" Ray sounded incredulous. Fraser wasn't quite certain if he was being teased.

"Yes," he admitted. "I ... I yelled at your father."

"Why?"

"I was angry with him. Very angry."

"Ya yelled at him for hitting me?"

"And other things."

Ray nodded, slowly. After a moment's thought, he said, "Thanks."

"You're thanking me? For yelling at your father?" Now Fraser sounded incredulous.

"Yeah. No one ever did that for me before. Not even my Mom. Not once." Fraser reflected that it was a good thing the senior Kowalskis weren't present. The sense of betrayal in his partner's voice was enough to make his blood boil again. Ray could feel the Mountie's muscles tensing. "S'okay, ya know. I got over it," he assured his partner.

"Did you, Ray. Did you really?" Fraser whispered. Silence.

"No. Not really," the blond finally admitted in a low voice. Fraser nodded. It was the honest answer. He forced himself to relax, thereby allowing Ray to relax again as well. They remained quiet for a bit, comfortable in the silence.

"Was your nightmare about your parents?" Fraser asked, finally. Ray smiled ironically.

"Nah. Change o' scenery. Always thought that was what I wanted. Turns out I kinda like the old dreams better. Least I know where I stand, ya know?" he was getting tense again.

"What did you dream about, Ray?"

"I ... uh .. I was back in that alley, an' that guy was chokin' me. I really thought he was gonna kill me, ya know. That it was over." He was quiet for a moment; Fraser could feel him starting to shake again. He leaned his head on top of the blond one, reassuring his partner by touch. Ray took a deep breath and spoke again. "I ... I didn't want to die, though. A month ago, I'd've been thrilled if this scumbag had tried to take me out. It would have been so easy to just ... give up. But last night. Last night I wanted to live and I was so ... so afraid I wasn't going to." His voice broke. Fraser closed his eyes and briefly thanked God. He had been waiting so long, it seemed, to hear those words. "I just kept thinkin'" Ray continued, "that there was still so much I hadn't done, hadn't said ta people. That I couldn't leave now. And I was so sure that I was gonna die. That it'd just be ... over." Ray sighed. "Pretty screwed up, right? Can't seem to make up my mind."

"It would appear that you made a decision last night."

"Yeah, guess so." He thought about that for a minute. "Wouldn't've made it without you. You know that, right?" He twisted his head to look up, anxiously, at his partner. Fraser smiled.

"I'm glad, Ray." The blond nodded and put his head back down, still leaning on his friend. They sat in silence for a few more minutes. Ray shivered. Fraser wrapped his arms around him a little tighter.

"Just keep thinkin'... ya know if Welsh hadn't showed up ..." he trailed off.

"I know," Fraser said softly. "I keep thinking about it too." Ray nodded. They sat quietly, Ray slowly relaxing again. The blond was almost asleep, when he felt the Mountie carefully maneuver out from under him easing him back down onto the bed and then starting to get up. Ray reached out a hand to stop him, looking up at him, sleepily.

"Stay?"

"I am." Fraser assured him.

"No. Here." he tried to keep his tone neutral, fearful of rejection.

"Ahh." Fraser looked closely at Ray. There was a pleading look in the pale eyes. Fraser capitulated. "All right." Ray moved over on the bed. The Mountie removed his shoes and then lay down next to his partner.

"Feel safer," Ray told him.

"Understood." The Mountie pulled his partner into his arms. As Ray relaxed, cradled against the Canadian, he reflected that this was not a situation he would ever have imagined himself in. Asking ... no pleading with a guy to share his bed. But this wasn't any guy, it was Fraser, his partner and his friend ... and the one human being Ray completely trusted, not just with his life, but with his soul. It was both an exhilarating thought and a frightening one. Exhilarating because finally he had someone he could feel that safe with and frightening because Ray was no longer certain he could survive without him. He wanted to tell Fraser, but didn't know how to put it into words; was afraid that if he succeeded, he'd scare the reserved Mountie away from him. So he just eased himself a bit closer into his partner's arms and allowed himself to fall asleep.

Fraser lay quietly, holding his partner. Being with Ray both brought him a tremendous sense of peace and terrified him at the same time. He trusted the blond absolutely and felt a sense of happiness and self-comfort he had never found with anyone else, not even Ray Vecchio, who had been the closest friend Fraser had ever known. But, at the same time, Kowalski confused and confounded him. He was unsure what his feelings for Ray were. He knew with absolute certainty, that he would not hesitate to do anything to protect Ray. He knew that more than anyone else he had known in his life, he cared about the blond. What Fraser couldn't decide was what, exactly, his feelings meant. Did he lust after his partner? He had never thought of himself as interested in men, but he had to admit, he admired Ray's lithe movements and slender physique. Surely an appreciation for a human body could exist without an accompanying desire to ravish it, though? Perhaps he cared for his partner as the brother he'd never had. Certainly, he agonized over Ray's mental well being as much as his physical. Fraser was not a man accustomed to confusion. He lay, quietly holding Ray, trying to analyze his feelings; put them into a logical context.

Ray suddenly mumbled in his sleep and twisted. A moment later he started coughing and then sat bolt upright, his face a mask of pain and confusion. Fraser quickly sat up with him, soothing him, gently rubbing his back. He got Ray to drink some water and take another pain pill and then held his partner again, while he went back to sleep. When he was certain that Ray was settled, he closed his own eyes. Curled protectively around his partner, Fraser suddenly realized that it didn't matter how; that it would be enough for now just to acknowledge to himself that he loved Ray. Loved him with all his soul. He drifted off to sleep himself, unaware of his father standing in the corner, watching over him, smiling.

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