A Streetkid Named Desiree

DISCLAIMER: Sadly, the Due South universe does not belong to me; I'm just visiting for a short time...
PAIRING: Fraser/Kowalski
RATING: NC-17 for sex, violence and language
SPOILERS: A teeny little one for 'Strange Bedfellows'; blink and you'll miss it. Also Eclipse.
FEEDBACK: Oh, pretty please...
NOTE: Thanks to everyone at Serge for bearing with me :-)

A Streetkid Named Desiree

by Sylvie Grenon

"You want me to do what?"

"Well, it is for a good cause, Ray."

It was bad enough that Ray Kowalski had to spend the morning in the morgue listening to Mort and Fraser exchanging amusing corpse anecdotes; he was not about to become a participant in any weird experiment. It seemed, however, that his opinion on this particular matter didn't count for much.

"No way, Frase. There is no way in Hell I'm lettin' Mort stick that thing in me. Who knows where it's been?"

Fraser's patented patient Mountie look seemed to be wearing thin. "Now, Ray. Mort is a professional, and I'm sure all his instruments are quite safe. Besides, these kinds of tests are performed all the time."

"Yeah, on dead guys. You know, that's the thing about dead guys, Fraser; they don't feel pain."

"Ray, it's a simple DNA test. All she is going to do is take some blood."

Blue eyes widened. "She? Whaddya mean, 'she'? I thought Mort was gonna do it."

"Well, Ray, the point of this is for Mort's new assistant to practise her skills."

"Aw, geez. You mean I gotta give up my blood to that Morticia Addams wannabe?"

"Edna."

"What?"

"Her name is Edna, not Morticia. Though how on earth did you know that her last name was Adams?" He didn't think Ray had even met Mort's new assistant.

Ray stared at him for a moment, then shrugged gamely. "Instinct, Frase. A cop's gotta have razor-sharp instincts."

"Ah. Right you are."

The door to the examining room swung open, and Mort ushered in his trainee. In the two weeks she had been at the precinct, Ray had only seen her a few times, and never spoken to her. He knew that she was a highly intelligent medical student, and that she was specializing in forensic pathology, doing fieldwork as Mort's new protegee... but he still couldn't help the shudder that gripped him whenever he saw her. Oh, she was young and pretty enough to turn almost any guy's head, he supposed; there was just something about her jet-black hair, matching lipstick and nail polish, and various bodily piercings that would have turned Ray off even if he wasn't already involved with someone . She did fit into the morgue's decor pretty well, though, even if she did look to Ray like she could have caused the decease of most of the corpses there, most likely through the vigorous application of sharp fangs. But Fraser seemed to like her, and Ray had learned over the course of his partnership with the Mountie that his friend was a pretty good judge of character.

As the lady in question walked into the room, a sudden yelp drew Ray's attention. He looked down just in time to see Dief bolt for cover, and he was cheered by the thought that he wasn't the only one to have an adverse reaction to her. Sadly, he didn't have the option of just running away. He turned back to where a pair of sharp dark eyes were fixed on him expectantly... hungrily, Ray thought, uneasy . He was about to refuse once and for all when he caught the look in Fraser's eyes. He knew that his lover wouldn't let this rest; a lady needed his help, and far be it for Ray to disappoint Fraser's sense of chivalry. Sighing, he pushed up his left sleeve and held out his arm, with the air of a martyr being led to the stake. Edna's black-tinted lips lifted in a surprisingly sunny smile. "Thanks, Detective Vecchio. I promise, this won't hurt a bit."

"Yeah, right." He'd heard that one before. Besides-go figure- he was sceptical about long, hard, sharp things sticking into him. Well, for the most part, he thought, with a quick glance at Fraser. Not that his lover was particularly sharp, mind you...

His thoughts were interrupted by the cold, wet sensation of Edna swabbing his arm. He took a deep breath, ignoring the sharp odour of the rubbing alcohol. His eyes were now rivetted on the hypodermic needle gently held in her pale hand. He willed his body to relax, telling himself that it really wasn't going to be that bad, that hell, he'd been shot once, dammit, how bad could this be? It wasn't working. His rising panic was squelched flat, though, by the voice of his lover whispering in his ear, "You're being a very brave boy, Ray. When we get home, I'm sure I can find a treat to give you."

Even through his shock at the Mountie's boldness, Ray felt a tingling warmth spread through him at these words, as he imagined the kind of treat he might be getting. A low chuckle invaded his thoughts and his eyes darted to Edna's, only to meet her knowing gaze and uplifted eyebrow. "Wow," she said, sounding highly amused, "I sure can't compete with that. I was just going to offer you a lollipop."

Ray closed his eyes, his face reddening in embarrassment. Geez, he thought; what with the blood rushing to his face and to other parts of his anatomy, it was a wonder she could get any for her test. He was so wrapped up in thoughts of silencing his overly talkative lover that he was startled when Edna patted his arm and thanked him for his help. He looked down and bit back a groan: she had covered the needle-mark with a colourful Winnie-the-Pooh band-aid. "Very funny," he grumbled. She just shot him a grin before taking his sample off to the lab, leaving Fraser to deal with his poor wounded partner.

"I swear, Ben, that... person... is a vampire."

"Now, Ray, don't be silly. You know full well that vampires don't exist. Although, you know, I have heard some rumours that in Toronto-"

"Ben?"

"Yes, Ray?"

"What were you saying before, about a treat?"

Fraser smiled warmly. Ray loved that smile. "I do seem to recall having mentioned something along those lines, Ray."

"Race ya to the car."

Ray was checking his pockets the next morning, looking for his keys, when he became aware of large lupine eyes focussed on him. "Ben, why is your wolf starin' at me?"

"I believe he has a favour to ask of you, Ray."

"A favour? What, he needs to borrow some money?" This was met with a low grumble from the wolf in question.

"No, I believe his savings account is adequate for his needs. Actually, he'd like to accompany you to the station today."

"Oh yeah? How come?"

"Well, Inspector Thatcher has been rather... out of sorts lately, and after her comments yesterday about making herself a nice wolf-skin rug, Diefenbaker thinks it would be rather prudent to stay out of her way for a while."

"I don't blame him. Why doesn't he just stay here?"

Dief whined pitifully. "It would appear that he still feels a little uneasy when left alone with your turtle."

"Yeah, right. And I'm sure the precinct's bein' a donut-friendly place doesn't hurt any, either, right?"

Dief wuffed, and Fraser sighed. "That too, I'm afraid."

Ray finally found his keys, hidden deep in his jacket pocket, and jerked his head toward the door. "Okay then, pitter patter Furface."

Diefenbaker trotted out the door, not dignifying that last remark with a response.

Several hours later, Ray was drawn out of a very pleasant daydream, involving his Mountie and a can of whipped cream, by a soft voice behind him. "Is that a wolf?" He turned his head to see a young woman sitting over by Dewey's desk. He vaguely remembered having seen her come in about fifteen minutes earlier, just before an urgent phone message had called the other detective away.

She looked to be about fifteen or sixteen, though small for her age, with shoulder-length light blond curls and large, expressive blue eyes framed by a pair of cheap-looking glasses. She was dressed in the layered baggy fashion of the local streetkids, but she didn't give off any of the bad vibes he normally associated with that scene. She wasn't overly pierced, for one thing, and her eyes lacked the glazed, haunted look he found in the teen druggies and hookers he usually dealt with. Of course, the fact that she was sitting calmly and unbound by a detective's desk meant that she probably wasn't here due to any criminal actions.

He suddenly remembered that she had asked him a question, and he looked down at the warm lump of fur curled up on the floor by his desk. "Well, that's what they tell me," he said with a small smile. "Actually, he's half wolf. We're not sure what the other half is, but I'm pretty sure whatever it is only lives on donuts and milk duds."

The wolf in question lifted his head with a hopeful snuff at these words, always on the lookout for free sugar. Ray shot the girl a 'see what I mean?' look, and was rewarded with a bright, pretty smile. "He's also supposedly deaf, but he can read lips. 'Course he's gotta have eyes in the back of his head to be able to see what I'm saying when he's asleep like that."

That smile flashed again. "Maybe he's just psychic. Wolves are supposed to be really smart, aren't they?"

At this, Dief got to his feet, wuffed huffily in Ray's direction, and trotted over to this new person who didn't smell like she had any treats on her, but who certainly knew a thing or two about wolves. He happily submitted himself to an enthusiastic head-rub and ear-scratch as the girl spoke again. "What's his name?"

"Diefenbaker. We call him Dief."

"Hello, Dief," she solemnly said to the wolf, still ruffling his fur, "I'm Des." Dief yipped happily, submitting to her attentions with what Fraser would certainly call most undignified pleasure, before dropping back down to the floor and curling around her feet, well satisfied.

Ray grinned. "Now you'll never get rid of him."

Just then Dewey strode back into the bullpen with Assistant States Attorney Stella Kowalski at his heels. "I don't have all day, Detective," she was saying, "I need that information on the Miller file right away."

Dewey looked exasperated, but managed to keep his voice level. "It'll have to wait, Ms Kowalski. I have to talk to this young lady here about an important matter."

Ray shook his head in silent sympathy for his fellow detective. He knew from past experience that no one said 'no' to The Stella and walked away unscathed. And by the looks of it, she was heading for nuclear meltdown mode. As much as he disliked Dewey, he figured he could save them all a lot of hassle and help him out a bit.

"Dewey, you go ahead with Stella. I'll talk to the young lady."

"Gee, thanks, Vecchio." Dewey's expression, though, showed he was anything but grateful at being sent off with the irate attorney. Stella, for her part, turned her glare towards her ex-husband. "So where's the Mountie? I thought you two were joined at the hip."

A while ago, out of some misplaced sense of guilt, he had informed Stella of his relationship with Fraser. Needless to say, she had not taken it well, though, to her credit, she had kept the news to herself. And he'd been quite surprised at how little his ex-wife's disapproval actually mattered to him. Just another reason to be amazed at the positive effects his Mountie lover had had on his life. Without thinking, he murmured "I wish." With a look of disgust, Stella turned and stalked out of the bullpen followed closely by Dewey.

An awkward silence filled the room. Finally, sympathetic blue eyes directed at him. "So you're Ray, huh?"

The detective stared after Stella for a moment longer, then sighed and stood, pulling an empty chair over to his desk. "Ray Vecchio." He motioned to the chair. "Have a seat."

The girl stood up, gingerly displacing the sleepy wolf. Dief was surprisingly uncomplaining; he simply moved with her and, after she had reseated herself, lay comfortably at her feet again. She smiled up at Ray. "He makes a good foot warmer."

Ray grinned back. "That he does." Then, grabbing a pad of paper and pencil, he got down to business. "All right, miss..."

"Desiree."

Ray quirked an eyebrow. "Ya got a last name? Or is this a Cher/Madonna kind of thing?" Of course, most of the 'ladies' he met in his profession only used one name, but there was still something about this kid that nagged at him. He'd be willing to bet she wasn't into any of that shit.

"Smith," she said wryly.

Then again, he'd been wrong before. "Your name is Desiree Smith."

She sighed. "I don't have parents; the system named me 'Smith', and some sadistic social worker stuck me with Desiree. You want to see I.D.?"

It sounded like a story she was getting really tired of telling. A lot like his own, actually, before he'd become a Vecchio; the whole Dad-had-a-thing-for-Brando spiel had been getting pretty old. He started to feel a certain kinship with this kid.

"All right. Desiree Smith; gotcha." He looked at her enquiringly. "What can I do for you, miss Smith?"

She nodded, seeming to steel herself, and he wondered just what had brought this tough-sweet kid to the precinct.

"I think I saw something going down yesterday. Something bad."

His skepticism must have shown on his face, because she bristled slightly. "Look, detective Vecchio, I may not be a rocket scientist but I do know enough to figure out when something is wrong."

He raised a placating hand. "All right, okay. Look, why don't you tell me what you saw, and we'll go from there."

"Okay. I was taking Mrs. Martin's kids home - she runs the shelter; I watch her kids after school for her. Anyway, we were walking down Pine street, and we were just passing by that alley near the dry cleaner's there..." she glanced at Ray, who just nodded, "when I heard glass breaking. It was getting pretty dark, so I couldn't see what was going on, and I wanted to get the kids away from there, just in case, you know, so I didn't stop to look."

Ray looked up from the notes he was scribbling to nod in encouragement. "Go on."

"Well, we were waiting at the intersection for the light to change, when this guy came running out of the alley. I probably wouldn't have noticed him except he bumped into Annie and just about pushed her into the traffic. And he was also dressed a lot better than most guys you see in that neighbourhood."

Ray frowned. "Is the kid okay?"

She seemed surprised at his question, but said, "Yeah, but she was pretty scared. She's only four. Jen's six, and Tommy's ten," she added.

Ray nodded. "And what time was this?"

"Around six thirty."

"Isn't that kind of late to be takin' kids home from school?"

He hadn't meant that as a criticism, but her pale cheeks flushed. "I didn't mean to be that late. We stopped at the library on the way home, like we usually do - Annie and Jen go to storytime, and I help Tom with his homework; he's got a learning disability. He had some tough math problems to do, and so we were a bit later than I planned."

Okay, this was not the normal breed of Chicago streetkid. Ray was intrigued.

"So, um, you live at this shelter?"

She shot him a suddenly wary look. "Sorry," he grinned a little sheepishly, "none of my business, I know. I was just curious."

She looked him over, sizing him up. There was something about this cop, a feeling that she knew him from somewhere, and that she could trust him. There weren't a lot of people she'd tell her story to, but she felt somehow that he really wanted to know.

"I was abandoned just after I was born," she began softly. "I lived in foster homes until I turned fifteen- that was last year. They weren't bad places; I mean, I wasn't abused or anything, but, you know, I just got tired of not being wanted. I always felt like I was just there because no other place would take me, and I got to the point where I just couldn't take it anymore. I went into this massive depression." She kept her eyes locked on her hands which were fiddling with the sleeves of her jacket. "Well, let's just say I went through some pretty bad sh... stuff."

Ray could only imagine what scars lay hidden beneath those sleeves, and he had to stifle the wave of anger that passed through him. "So you ran away?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I don't know what I was looking for; acceptance, maybe, or love. But I sure didn't find it." She smiled sadly. "In the foster home, all your friends end up leaving. But on the streets your friends go to jail... or they die." She shuddered, and Ray had a sudden overwhelming urge to wrap his arms around this girl - this child, really - and protect her from any more pain.

"I had a little money saved up, enough to keep me from starving. I wasn't doing drugs, or anything, but I got a lot of offers. It was only a matter of time before I would've given in. I was heading for something really bad, and I didn't know how to stop; I felt like I was falling off a cliff, you know?" Ray nodded, meeting her blue gaze as she lifted her head.

"Then I met Mary - that's Mrs. Martin. She took me to her shelter, and helped me clean myself up, outside and inside. She let me do stuff around the shelter for her, dishes and laundry and things like that. She got me reading again; I used to love reading, before. And now, she trusts me enough to look after her kids for her." Her voice was full of wonder. "No one ever trusted me before, or even cared whether I lived or died."

Ray smiled gently. "She sounds pretty special."

"She is. That's why I came down here."

"Why's that?"

"I'm not sure what went on in that alley, detective, but I do know what happens to people who talk to cops. I'm just starting to get my life together, and I don't really want to die." She glanced quickly back down at her intertwined hands. "But I don't want anything dangerous happening near Mrs. Martin, or near her kids."

Ray shook his head in wonder at this old soul in a young girl's body, at her impressive courage. "Don't worry, miss Smith," he assured her, "I'll check out that alley, see if somethin' turns up. It probably wasn't anything to worry about anyway."

She smiled faintly. She stooped down to give Dief one last pat, got a lick on the hand as a reward, then got to her feet. "Thanks, detective Vecchio." And she turned and left the room.

Fraser had been standing in front of Ray's desk repeating the detective's name for almost a full minute before his presence was noted.

"Huh? Oh, sorry Frase. I got something on my mind."

"Obviously, Ray," Fraser teased. "May I ask what's bothering you?"

"Aw Frase, you know you can always ask me anythin'." Ray said with a mischevous glint in his eye. "'Course, I might not always answer."

Fraser smiled back. "Understood."

Ray gazed fondly at his lover for a second or two, then sighed. "It's just this kid that was in here earlier."

"Ah, I see. Yes, the number of delinquent youth in this city can be quite troubling."

"Nah, Frase, it wasn't like that. She was in here reportin' a crime, not commitin' one. Well, she thought it was a crime anyhow."

Fraser frowned. "She wasn't sure?"

"She heard somethin' queer in an alley, and a guy ran out past her. I told her I'd check it out."

"Well, Ray, since I have finished my work for the day, would you like me to accompany you?"

"Yeah, Frase, that'd be good." As he rose from his desk, he called back over his shoulder. "Ya comin', Furface?"

Diefenbaker grumbled as he followed the men out of the bullpen. Ray caught Fraser's look of disapproval, and grumbled a little himself. "Hey, the furry little thief stole three donuts this morning. Good thing Frannie showed up with another box; I think the duck boys were talkin' about forming a lynch mob."

Fraser glanced at his wolf only to be met with a look of complete innocence and a whine that seemed to question Ray's truthfulness... and sanity. Fraser sighed as he let Dief into the back seat of Ray's GTO; some days, he wasn't entirely sure if he was a Mountie or a kindergarten teacher.

As they drove toward the supposed crime scene, Ray filled his lover in on the details of his conversation with Desiree. "She's a good kid, Frase," he concluded. "She kinda reminded me of someone. I can't figure out who, though."

"Well, I'm sure it will come to you eventually."

"Yeah, sure," Ray agreed, distracted. They had just turned onto Pine street near the area Desiree had mentioned. He found a place to park and the two men - and one wolf - quickly made their way to the shady passage. A quick glance told Ray what he was expecting. It looked like any other alley in this part of Chicago: a scattering of junk and dirt with a liberal sprinkling of filth. There was an overflowing dumpster a hundred yards or so from where they stood, and behind it, a large collection of rust that, in the distant past, used to be a car. Ray turned to Fraser, indicating the wreck. "She said she heard broken glass." Fraser nodded, and the men proceeded cautiously into the alley.

A whine from Diefenbaker, who had trotted off ahead of them, caught their attention, and they quickly followed the wolf. Dief, mindful of the shards of broken glass on the ground, was whining and pawing at the car's front door.

With a cautioning glance at Fraser, Ray drew his gun and the two approached the car. A quick look inside had Ray grabbing his cell phone to call for backup, and for an emergency medical team, though judging by Fraser's expression as he examined the prone body inside, the latter wouldn't be needed.

Ray watched impatiently as the crime scene unit finished their work in and around the abandoned car. The coroner's people were working over the body of the guy Dief had found; among them was Mort's trainee, Edna Adams. Probably getting more fieldwork in, Ray guessed. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Fraser doing his Mountie thing, nosing around the back parts of the alley, putting all sorts of disease-laden things in his mouth. He sighed, knowing full well that he of all people couldn't complain about the uses Fraser put his mouth to; all he could do was accept his lover's eccentricities, and, for his own peace of mind, keep their medicine cabinet well-stocked with Listerine.

"Detective Vecchio?" A soft voice drew his mind back to the matter at hand. He turned to see Edna approaching him, stripping off her rubber gloves.

"I see Mort lets you get out into the outside world once in a while."

She eyed him cooly. "Well, it's close enough to sundown, so I thought I'd take a chance."

Ray blinked at her for a moment, and she burst out laughing at his shocked expression. He tried to look peeved for a few seconds, but finally had to smile back at her.

"I need all the overtime I can get," she explained, glancing towards the body bag being lifted into the coroner's van. Ray's smile disappeared. "So what can you tell me?"

She sobered instantly, sensing Ray's concern. He was grateful for that. "Well, detective, it would appear that this man was strangled, very efficiently, probably with a length of wire."

"A garrotte?"

She nodded. "It's hard to tell for sure from a quick examination, but I'd say the wounds are consistent with that sort of weapon. Whoever it was, was very strong, and very quick. Our John Doe struggled - the glass probably came from his foot hitting the windshield - but not for very long." Her dark eyes met Ray's blue ones gravely. "Whoever did this knew exactly what he was doing."

Ray suddenly felt numb. "A hit?"

"That's your department, detective." She shook her head in sympathy. "That's all I can tell you right now; if we find anything more in the post-mortem, I'll let you know."

"Right, thanks," Ray said as she walked away, and he turned to see Fraser approaching him, concern evident in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but Ray beat him to it.

"It was a hit, Frase. She witnessed a hit going down, and she saw the guy that did it," he said bleakly. "She's probably got a contract out on her right now."

Fraser's heart went out to his worried partner. "Now, Ray, we don't know that for certain."

"Don't try to bullshit me, Frase. This guy was a pro. When pros get spotted, they remember it. And when the person who spotted 'em turns up at a police station, that person ends up dead."

Making sure no one was in the immediate area, Fraser reached over and placed a comforting hand on Ray's shoulder. For all his staunch support of human virtues, he knew that Ray's words were, unfortunately, probably true. "Well then, Ray, we had better find this man before that can happen."

Ray turned grateful eyes on his partner and, with Dief in tow, they quickly made their way back to the GTO.

Supper had just been eaten, the dishes done, and Mary Martin was entertaining thoughts of going up to read her youngest daughter a bedtime story - and knowing Annie's tastes, she'd be stuck with Cat In The Hat rhymes in her head all evening, when a knock sounded on her office door.

"Come in," she said, curious. She made herself available to talk to any of the teens that lived in the shelter, but at this time of the evening they usually all congregated in the large rec room. Expecting a troubled young soul, she was understandably surprised to find herself faced with two men and a... wolf?

The handsome dark-haired one in the bright red uniform addressed her. "Excuse me, ma'am, but we're looking for a Mrs. Martin."

"That's me," she assured him. "Can I help you?"

The other one, rugged-looking with punky blond hair, spoke up. "My name is Ray Vecchio; I'm with the Chicago PD. This is my partner, Benton Fraser." He flashed a badge proclaiming him to be a detective. "We'd like to talk to you about a kid you have here... Desiree Smith?"

Mary was shocked. Of all the troubled youth she had worked with, Desiree was the last one she'd suspect of criminal behaviour. "I'm sure you must be mistaken, Detective Vecchio. What is it you think she's done?"

He quickly reassured her. "Nah, she hasn't done anything wrong. We just need to ask her a couple of questions, and we figured you should probably be in on it too."

She felt a glimmer of concern pass through her. "Have a seat, gentlemen, and perhaps you can tell me what this is about. I'll call Desiree down; she's upstairs helping my daughter with her bath." As she turned towards her phone, Ray and Fraser moved to the empty seats she had indicated. Ray's fingers were drumming nervously on the arm of his chair, and Fraser stifled the impulse to take his lover's hand in his. He leaned over to speak to Ray.

"Mrs. Martin lives in the shelter?"

"I've seen the setup before. It's like a group home; the kids stay on the first floor, but there's an apartment up top for the person who runs the place. They're usually pretty secure."

Fraser nodded, and the two turned their attention back to Mrs. Martin, who had just put down the receiver.

"She'll be down shortly," she announced, and Ray nodded. "Now, perhaps you can explain to me what's going on. Is Desiree in trouble?"

Ray sighed. "I don't know if she told you, but I talked to Desiree this morning at the precinct. She told me she thought she saw a crime bein' committed near here, and that she might've seen the guy who did it. We went down to check the area out, and, uh, we found a body." Mrs. Martin gasped, appalled, but Ray went on. "We think the guy she saw was probably the murderer."

"Oh my God!" Mrs Martin was aghast. "Is she in any danger?"

Ray shook his head, but his eyes were grim. "Probably not, but in cases like this it can't hurt to be too careful. We're stepping up patrols in this area, so there shouldn't be any problems here. We just need to talk to her, get a description of the guy, and anythin' else she can tell us."

Just then the door opened, and with a wild yelp Diefenbaker launched himself at the newcomer. Desiree exclaimed in delight and kneeled down to greet the tail-wagging wolf with an enthusiastic scratch behind the ears. Ray turned and grinned at Fraser's bemused expression. "Oh yeah," he murmured, "forgot to tell you. I think Dief's in love."

Desiree got to her feet, and approached the group, giving Ray a small smile. "Hello again," she said a little nervously, sitting on the edge of Mrs. Martin's desk. Mary reached out and placed a comforting hand on the girl's shoulder.

"Desiree, detective Vecchio has a few questions to ask you about what you saw yesterday."

Blue eyes fixed on Ray. "Something did happen, didn't it?"

Ray met her gaze solemnly. "Yeah, Desiree." He decided to cut to the chase. "We found a body." He saw her eyes widen in shock, and once again he felt the irrational urge to reach out to her, but he desperately required answers first. "I need to know exactly what you heard, and anything you can tell us about the guy you saw."

She glanced momentarily at Fraser, who had taken out his notepad, and then at Mrs. Martin, who nodded in encouragement. She closed her eyes, trying to cast her mind back twenty four hours. "I just looked quickly into the alley when we passed it, and I was looking away again when I heard the glass breaking. I saw a car back there in the shadows, and I figured it was just a couple of boys busting the windows or something. Then when we were waiting to cross the street that guy came running out of the alley, right past us."

At this, Fraser interjected, "Did he turn left or right out of the alley?"

Desiree thought for a second. "Left. He turned left onto Pine, and then left again onto Carter. I didn't see him very well," she added apologetically. "It was getting dark, and I mainly saw his back. He was pretty tall, he had dark hair but he was going bald, and he had a mustache. I think his eyes were dark, but I can't be sure. He was wearing a long black coat, and expensive-looking shoes." She concentrated a little longer, then shook her head and opened her eyes, looking helplessly at Ray. "That's all I can remember, sorry."

He smiled reassuringly. "That's great, Desiree. Thanks."

"Will it help?"

"At this point, anything'll help," he told her. "But this'll sure narrow it down for us."

She looked nervously down at her hands, then up at Ray again. In a scared, soft voice she asked, "Do you think he knows I saw him?"

Ray forced himself to put on a smile. "Probably not," he lied. "It happened pretty quickly, and there were other people around."

"Yeah, but I'm the one who went to the police about it," she insisted.

"Look, he's probably long gone by now anyway," he told her, and was relieved to find a glimmer of hope flicker in her eyes. "Tell you what, I'll arrange to get a couple of guards posted here for the next few days, until we catch the guy."

At this, though, Mrs. Martin interrupted. "Detective, could I have a word with you?" He frowned at the woman, and the two stepped away, leaving Desiree alone with Dief and Fraser. She looked him over curiously.

"You're the Mountie, right?" she guessed, looking at Fraser's red serge uniform. He raised an eyebrow, and realized that they hadn't been introduced yet. "That's right, miss Smith. My name is Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police." Before he could go on to explain just why he was in Chicago, she went on. "Is Diefenbaker your wolf?"

"He chooses to stay with me, yes."

She smiled down at the animal in question. "I guess it's easier to have a wolf in Chicago than a horse."

"Well, yes," he had to admit, though, considering the amount of trouble Dief had gotten into over the years, he suspected that having a horse in the city might be a little less harrying. "How did you know I was a Mountie?"

"The uniform kind of gives you away," she smiled. "Besides, that lady at the precinct mentioned detective Vecchio's partner was a Mountie."

"Which lady was that?" Perhaps she had spoken with Francesca.

"I think her name was Stella something-or-other. Pretty, blonde, but... Well, to tell you the truth she was a real bitch." Fraser seemed startled, and the girl blushed lightly. "Sorry."

He merely smiled weakly, wondering just what Ray's ex-wife had said in front of this girl. Besides, he didn't trust himself to comment on her description of the woman; he came perilously close to agreeing with her.

Either Desiree wasn't aware of his discomfiture or she chose to ignore it. "Isn't it kind of weird for a Mountie to be working with a cop, though?"

"It isn't normal, no. However, Detective Vecchio and I are only... unofficial partners."

"Ah," she said, giving him a speculative look, and he began to see just how Ray could find that mannerism disconcerting. "That would explain the glare she gave him."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well, she was talking about your partnership like she wasn't too happy about it. But if she was talking about your... *partnership*..." She let the implications hang in the air, and it took a minute for Fraser to catch on. Then he felt his own cheeks flush.

"Miss Smith, I... I mean, Detective Vecchio and... that is to say..." Sensing that he was quite capable of blathering on indefinitely, she took pity on him.

"I think that's pretty cool, actually."

"You do?"

"Yeah. I mean, one thing in this world there's a real shortage of is love. Too many people just don't realize how precious it is, in any form."

Fraser was torn between being profoundly embarrassed, and profoundly touched. Before he could answer, though, Mrs Martin had returned, followed by a scowling Ray.

"Constable," she explained, "this is a very difficult situation for me. On one hand, Desiree's safety is extremely important, but on the other hand, there are a dozen youth here that I'm trying to reach, and the presence of police officers in the area isn't going to help me gain their trust." Fraser could understand her predicament, but he recognized the need to protect this girl, as much for Ray's sake as for her own. "Perhaps we could speak to the states attorney tomorrow about arranging protective custody for miss Smith."

Ray's expression told him just what he thought the chances of that were, especially if they had to deal with Stella. Ray met his glance, then turned back to the girl. "We'll figure somethin' out," he assured her. "Just stay in the shelter tonight; we'll come by tomorrow and let you know what the plan is."

"Will we be safe?" she still seemed uncertain. Her smile had evaporated.

"Absolutely," Ray stated. "Just stay in the building, for now. Nobody's gonna try anything here."

A sudden yelp turned everyone's attention to Dief. Fraser quickly conversed with his wolf, before turning back to the group. "If it's all right with Mrs Martin, Diefenbaker has volunteered to stay with Desiree until other arrangements can be made."

"It can't hurt," Mrs Martin consented with a small smile, grateful for the delight she saw in the girl's eye. Desiree crouched down to give the wolf a hug. "Thanks, Dief," she whispered, making sure he could see her lips, and he licked her face affectionately in return.

With that taken care of, Fraser and Ray made their goodbyes with a promise to return the following day, and left the shelter. As they entered the car, Fraser reached out and grasped his lover's hand. "Dief will take good care of her," he told him.

"Yeah, right," Ray gave him a grateful look. "He sure has a thing for cute blonds, doesn't he?"

Fraser gazed warmly at Ray's own golden spikes. "There are times when even I have to agree with his tastes."

It was Ray's turn to blush, and, noting the growing arousal in his partner's eyes, he quickly started the car, heading for home.

Ray tightly gripped his sanity - and his sheets - with both hands as Fraser did his best to pound him into the mattress. Words had abandoned him long ago, and the room was filled with his incoherent moans of pleasure.

Reaching underneath his writhing lover, Fraser drew Ray to his knees, changing the angle of his thrusts slightly to bring the tip of his solid shaft in closer contact with Ray's prostate, and sending the volume of ecstatic whimpers to a whole new pitch.

Fraser's hands were busy now, one caressing and rubbing Ray's already over-sensitive nipples, the other moving down to stroke his lover's rock-hard, weeping cock. This was the final straw for Ray, who threw back his head onto Fraser's shoulder, all but screaming "Oh God, Ben!" as he shot spurt after spurt of hot semen over his lover's hand and the bedspread. Fraser was not far behind him, tightening his hold on Ray, burying his face in the trembling shoulder in front of him, moaning "Oh, Ray! Oh, Ray!" as he spent his own seed deep within his lover's passage.

The two men fell forwards onto the mattress in a heap, dazed, trying to catch their breath. Fraser drew his arms around his lover, slowly easing his softening penis out of him and gently turning him over. Ray snuggled into the warm embrace, resting his tousled head on the Mountie's strong shoulder. They stayed that way, not talking, just enjoying each other's closeness, until a growl from Ray's stomach brought their attention back to more mundane matters, like the fact that neither of them had eaten yet. Well, not food, anyway.

"Why don't you go take a shower, and I'll order us a pizza?" Fraser suggested, and Ray heartily agreed. "Yeah, Frase, that sounds good," he answered, watching affectionately as Fraser stepped into jogging pants and a sweatshirt. 'Geez, no underwear' thought Ray with a slight thrill, 'guess I'm startin' to rub off on the guy.' Chuckling at that particular mental image, and storing it in the back of his mind for future reference, he padded, naked, into the bathroom.

He stood under the hot spray, sighing with pleasure as the water washed away the assorted remnants of a frustrating day, and eased the ache in his tired muscles. He cleared his mind of worries, and focussed on the young streetkid he had met that morning. He couldn't explain the pull she had on him; he felt like he knew her somehow, and he was sure she reminded him of someone, though he still couldn't figure out who. All he knew was that the memory was a good one. With a sigh, he shut the water off, drying himself hastily.

He emerged, still slightly damp, from the bedroom just as Fraser was closing the door, a large pizza box in his hands, the smell of cooked pineapple wafting deliciously after him. They settled themselves on the couch with the pizza on the coffee table, for once not having to worry about keeping it out of Dief's reach.

They said little to each other as the meal was decimated, both men having worked up quite an appetite in the past hour or so. Finally, when each had eaten his fill, they cuddled up together, contentedly. It was at times like these that Ray was most grateful that Fraser had agreed to move out of the Consulate and into his apartment; when the two could just be together for a short time, away from the hassles and worries of their everyday life. He thought once again about that kid, alone in this harsh world, just trying to make her existence a little happier, and sighed, snuggling closer to his warm lover, wishing everyone could be as happy as they were.

"Vecchio, anything new on that John Doe from yesterday?" Lieutenant Harding Welsh's voice rang through the bullpen. Ray looked up from his position beside by Francesca Vecchio's desk.

"Yeah, Lieutenant. We got a pretty good description of the suspect; we're running it through now."

"What's this *we*, Ray?" he heard Frannie mutter under her breath, as her fingers moved over the computer keyboard. No one had been more surprised than Ray when she had actually started to get the hang of her Civilian Aid job, but he was certainly grateful for her newly-developed skills.

The flutter of her fingers faltered, though, as a blur of red approached the desk. She looked up at the newcomer, plastering the usual sultry smile on her face. "Hello, Fraser," she purred huskily. Ray rolled his eyes and did his best not to make gagging noises behind her back, though he was faintly amused at his lover's discomfited blush.

"Francesca," Fraser acknowledged, nodding curtly before he and Ray turned away, heading for the detective's desk.

Someday, Ray thought, noticing as Francesca's face fell in disappointment, they were going to have to tell her about his and Fraser's relationship. Preferably via long-distance call. Intercontinental.

Putting the wrath of spurned civilian aides out of his mind for a moment, he turned back to the matter at hand. "We still haven't I.D.'d the guy from the car," he informed Fraser, "but accordin' to forensics, he was clean. No blood, except for where the guy cut his foot on the glass when he kicked the windshield. But nothing on the killer, no fingerprints, no hair, nothin. Huey and Dewey are workin' the mob angle, seeing if they can figure out who the stiff is, and who might've wanted him dead."

Fraser nodded. "Were you able to secure protection for Desiree?"

"Not yet. We still gotta talk to Stella about it; she should be down here soon, actually."

Fraser raised an eyebrow. "Should I leave, then? My presence might hinder your discussion."

Ray smiled wryly. "Nah, Frase. You're a part of this, too; you should be there. Besides, even at her worst, Stella'd never let her feelings get in the way of her work."

Fraser conceded with a nod, and with a certain sense of satisfaction. While he had never resented the fact that a certain part of his lover would always remain linked with his ex-wife, he was nevertheless relieved to note that as his own relationship with Ray grew deeper, his feelings for her changed. Now that Ray had removed the pedestal from underneath Stella he was better able to see her as human, and to note her flaws as well as her virtues.

He suddenly remembered something. "Desiree mentioned having seen Stella here yesterday," he remarked.

Ray nodded, wondering how Fraser and the kid had gotten on that topic. "Yeah. She needed a file or somethin' from Dewey. She asked where you were, said somethin' about us being joined at the hip." Fraser's eyes widened at this, and Ray grinned. "Actually," he said with a wink, "that kinda sounds like fun to me."

Fraser felt his face getting warm as he pictured that particular scenario, but before he could react, he heard the familiar clicking of high heels at the entrance to the bullpen. Without even a glance in their direction, Assistant States Attorney Stella Kowalski strode into Lieutenant Welsh's office, shutting the door firmly behind her. Ray made a show of counting off the seconds on his fingers, smiling in satisfaction when the call came. "Vecchio, get in here!"

Ray got to his feet and strode to his superior's office; Fraser followed, not without trepidation.

It didn't take the men long to figure out that the meeting was not going to go well. Stella was completely businesslike, of course, but the cold looks she threw Ray told him she wasn't about to do him any favours anytime soon. She never even glanced at Fraser.

"I'm afraid that's impossible," she was telling Lieutenant Welsh. "We don't have the budget to place her in a protection program, and I'm sure you don't have the manpower to keep someone in her situation protected for an extended amount of time."

Welsh gritted his teeth, not liking to be told what he could and could not do, even if it was obvious. Unfortunately, his subordinate didn't have his self-control, and he sighed in resignation as Ray launched his counter-defence.

"'Someone in her situation?' Jesus, Stella, she witnessed a mob hit. What does someone have to do to get protected, watch the freakin' president get whacked?"

Stella's eyes flashed. "Ray, this girl barely saw a man who may or may not have committed a crime. She's not exactly star-witness material."

Fraser cleared his throat. "If I may, Ms Kowalski... ." She turned her glare on the Mountie. "The evidence at the crime scene correspond to Miss Smith's statement, and her description of the suspect has been enough to enable us to get a lead on his identity. I believe that her life might very well be in danger, if this man decides to silence her."

Stella continued to glower at him for a moment, then looked away, sighing. Turning back to Welsh, she said, "Look, Lieutenant, without a definite I.D. of the killer my hands are tied. We can't waste our resources protecting some... some streetkid from shadows."

Ray tensed. "So she's not worth protecting 'cause she doesn't have parents, is that it? Just another piece of street trash you have to pass by to get to Starbucks?"

"That's enough, detective," Welsh finally spoke, putting an end to yet another post-domestic dispute. "Assistant States Attorney Kowalski's right; we just can't put all our manpower on this one case. Constable, you know that drill."

Fraser nodded, a grim expression on his face as he thought back to a certain shoemaker. "I do indeed, Leftenant." Turning to Ray, he said, "In that case, Ray, we should hasten to find this person before he can do anything to Desiree."

"Yeah, sure Frase. It's up to us to keep her alive," he all but spat in Stella's direction, before stalking out of the room. Fraser glanced at the Lieutenant apologetically before heading out in pursuit of his angry partner, gently closing the door behind him.

Ray was waiting in the GTO by the time Fraser made it to the parking lot. The blond detective's head was down, resting on the steering wheel, and Fraser could only imagine the frustration and anger coursing through his lover.

As Fraser was arranging his seat belt snugly, Ray finally spoke. "We're gonna get this guy, aren't we Ben?"

Fraser gently placed a hand over Ray's. "Of course we are, Ray," he assured his lover.

Ray took a deep breath, then nodded, straightening up and starting the car. As he manoeuvred out of the parking lot, he shot a careful glance at Fraser out of the corner of his eye. "Hey Frase?"

"Yes Ray?" Fraser was busying himself by trying to ignore Ray's various traffic violations.

"I was thinking, maybe she'd be safer at the apartment."

Surprised, Fraser turned to look at Ray. "Well, Ray, it's your decision, of course."

Ray frowned. "Whaddya mean, 'my' decision? It's our place, Ben; you got a say in this too."

Fraser was moved beyond words for a few moments. Though he had moved in with Ray a few months back, he still considered the apartment Ray's, and was touched at this new display of his lover's acceptance of him. "Thank you, Ray," he said softly.

The light before them turned red, and Ray took the opportunity to turn towards Fraser. "You don't have to thank me, Ben. It's just that... for a while now... well, I think of that place as kinda like our home, now. I thought you did, too."

The tinge of uncertainty in Ray's voice tore at Fraser's heart, and he hastened to reassure the man. "Oh, Ray, I do. It's just that... well, I've been without a home for so long that I didn't dare hope..."

Ray shook his head fondly, reaching over to place a hand on the Mountie's shoulder. "You don't have to hope, Frase; you got it. My home is yer home, from now on, okay?"

Fraser's smile shone with pure joy. "Understood, Ray."

A honk from behind them turned their attention to the now-green light. As they continued on their way, Fraser thought about Ray's earlier proposition.

"I believe you're right about Desiree. She would be safer at... our place," he flashed a smile at Ray, who grinned back.

"Well, let's get at'er, then."

Desiree glanced curiously around her as Ray ushered her and Dief into the apartment. The place was... not quite what she was expecting; though, of course, it was always hard to tell that sort of thing. And it only stood to reason that a couple as - interesting - as Detective Vecchio and Constable Fraser would live in an equally interesting apartment.

"Well," Ray was saying, placing her one small bag on the floor, "here we are."

"Nice place," she said dutifully, and he smiled.

"It ain't much, I know, but it's home." For some reason this brought a rather sweet smile to his lips.

Desiree wandered over to the window, glancing with interest into the turtle tank. She looked up at Ray with a small smile. "Let me guess: Shelly, right? Or Speedy?"

"Actually," he admitted, "it's Stanley." He'd always hated that name for himself, but thought it suited the turtle pretty well.

The girl gazed at the creature for a moment, then nodded. "It fits him," she decided. "I think Stanley's a nice name." Ray wasn't sure just why that pleased him, but he was glad she liked the name, even if she didn't know it was his.

She had moved on to the pictures displayed on the desk. In a prominent place was the picture of Fraser with his parents that his lover had received the previous Christmas. "Looks like a happy family," Desiree commented, rather wistfully.

"Yeah," answered Ray. "But I think that was just before his mum died."

She nodded thoughtfully, then moved on to one of Ray and Fraser together that Frannie had taken at the precinct a few months earlier. Desiree examined it for a moment, then turned and smiled at Ray. "You two do make a very nice couple," she said shyly, and Ray felt his face redden. Fraser had told him that Desiree had guessed their relationship, and that she had been cool with it, but it was still a novelty for him to have it accepted so easily by someone.

Next was the only recent picture Ray had of his own family - a pre-wedding photo of his parents and him, and Stella. He'd kept it for his parents' sake, though he had made absolutely sure first of all that Fraser didn't mind. And the fact that Fraser didn't mind was just another facet of the man that made Ray love him all the more.

"That's the woman from the precinct," Desiree noticed, and Ray nodded.

"Yeah, Stella's my ex-wife."

Without thinking, Desiree exclaimed, "Oh you poor man." Then, with a stricken look, she said, "Oh, God! I'm sorry, it's just that she seems..."

Ray smiled to let her know he wasn't offended. "That's okay. You're right, I'm a lot happier now with Ben. You just happened to see Stella in a bad mood, that's all."

Desiree raised her eyebrows, but tactfully said nothing, moving instead to the last picture in the row. Her brow furrowed as she looked it over, and she reached out to run a hand lightly over the print. She was about to say something, when Ray's cell phone rang, startling them both. Reaching into his pocket, Ray smiled apologetically at the girl.

"Vecchio!"

It was Huey. "We got a lead on your killer."

"Right, I'm on my way."

He hung up, and turned to see Desiree watching him expectantly. "I gotta go," he told her. He gestured around him with his hand. "Just make yourself at home, help yourself to anything in the fridge. We'll order a pizza or somethin' when Frase and I get home." A sudden thought struck him. "You like pineapple?"

She grinned. "Love it!"

Ray had to grin back. This was truly a kid after his own heart. "Great," he said. "I'll see you in a couple of hours. Just stay in here, and don't answer the phone."

"Right."

He was almost out the door when he heard a low "Be careful." He turned and gave her a jaunty wink before heading out.

Desiree sighed into the empty apartment, and took another tour around the room, wondering at the bicycle mounted on the wall, stopping to examine the rather extensive collection of CDs. Choosing Sarah McLachlan, she slid the cd into the player, setting the volume on low and swaying a little in time with the sweet notes, before moving to the couch and sitting down heavily. She immediately found her lap full of wolf, and accepted Diefenbaker's nuzzled comfort gratefully. Burying her face in the soft white fur she whispered, "I hope it'll be okay, Dief."

The two stayed that way for a very long time.

"Who exactly are we supposed to meet here, Ray?" Fraser asked as he and Ray made their way through a maze of Chicago warehouses. He had been granted the afternoon off, the Consulate having been closed for the rest of the day due to an unfortunate incident involving Constable Turnbull and the electric floor buffer, and had been more than happy to spend his free time helping Ray with the case.

"One of Dewey's informers," answered Ray. "He recognized a picture of the dead guy. His names Lennie Ricci, some low guy on the Bellini family ladder."

Fraser recognized the name. "So the killing was indeed mob-related."

"Yeah," Ray said grimly, and Fraser shared his feeling of foreboding. Thinking back on his previous experiences with organised crime, he wondered, "Will that make it more difficult to indict the killer?"

"Depends on how important he is to the family. You're thinkin' of the Warfield case?" Fraser nodded. "Well, this time the crime's a bit more serious than slappin' a busboy, and we got a credible witness who's willing to come forward. If she can ID the guy we bring in, we're home free."

Blue eyes met grey for a moment, each pair reading concern in the other as they thought of that witness, and of the possible ramifications of her actions. This was indeed very different from the Warfield situation, and Fraser doubted that this time the powers that be would be satisfied with just a beating. And, of course, provided that the States Attorney could make a case against the man. He stated as much to Ray, who snorted in disgust.

"Yeah, right. But maybe it'll be enough to get Desiree some protection. Besides, it'd probably be the best thing for the kid - a new identity, a chance to start over."

Fraser watched his lover carefully as the man put the car in park. "You seem very fond of her, Ray."

Ray nodded. "Yeah, I am. I dunno, it's like I know her, like we're connected somehow." He shook his head. "I don't want to see her get hurt."

"Neither do I," Fraser agreed as the two men got out of the car. Ray led them toward a nearby warehouse, identical to a dozen others in the area. "We're supposed to meet the guy just around the corner there," he explained, and Fraser nodded.

As they approached the pre-arranged meeting place, Ray lifted his fingers to his lips, drawing his gun, wary of an ambush. He was so intent on watching the surrounding shadows that as he turned the corner he tripped over the fallen mass on the ground... a fumble that probably saved his life, as a bullet struck the wall where his head had been seconds earlier.

Scrambling quickly to his knees as a second shot rang out, barely registering out of the corner of his eye a flash of red as Fraser dove for cover, he scanned the rooftops above him, trying to catch a glimpse of their attacker, all the while fumbling for his glasses. A quick movement upwards and to his left caught his eye, and he looked up into the cold gaze of the hitman, who turned and bolted before Ray had a chance to bring his gun around. Ray shot off a round at the escaping man, knowing full well how futile the action was but not caring; he'd gotten a good enough glimpse of the man to recognize him as Desiree's suspect.

He turned his attention to the body at his feet, no doubt Dewey's poor snitch. Checking for a pulse and finding none, he pulled his cell phone out to call for an EMT. Turning back towards Fraser, he suddenly felt his heart lurch into his throat: his lover was lying motionless, face down on the dirty pavement, blood pooling beneath him.

"Fraser!" The scream echoed among the empty warehouses.

Fraser woke to the sensation of throbbing pain in his shoulder, and the late afternoon sun shining in his eyes. Opening them warily he saw Ray sitting at his side, gently holding his hand, head bowed in exhaustion or worry. As Fraser softly squeezed the cold fingers grasping his, Ray's head shot up and the cop gave him a weary smile.

"Hey, Ben. How're you feeling?" he asked, concern showing in his eyes despite his smile.

"Well, Ray, I've been better," Fraser answered candidly. "My shoulder hurts a little." Frowning, he thought back to that morning. He could remember Ray gesturing for him to be quiet, then... blackness. "What happened?"

A flash of some emotion - anger, perhaps, or guilt - lit Ray's eyes for a moment. "We walked right into a trap. Dewey's snitch was dead when we got there, and you..." his voice trailed off, and Fraser clasped his now-trembling fingers more firmly.

"I was shot," the Mountie concluded, and Ray nodded. "The doctors said you blacked out from the shock. Jesus, Fraser, I saw you lyin' on the ground, and you were bleeding, and I just..." He was looking down at their intertwined hands, not meeting Fraser's gaze. "You know, Ben, I don't know what I'd do without you."

Fraser's heart went out to him as he heard the pain in his lover's voice. "I'm still here, Ray," he said, squeezing the hand reassuringly. "And I have no plans to go anywhere. Besides," he added, trying to lighten Ray's mood, "I think the hospital worries when I don't come in wounded every six months or so."

He was rewarded with a wan smile. Whatever Ray was going to say in response, though, was cut off as Fraser's doctor entered the room.

"Well, Constable," she stated, looking over his chart, "you certainly were lucky. The bullet passed cleanly through your shoulder, with minimal damage." Fraser sat patiently while the doctor examined his would, checking the stitches. Finally, he was given a clean bill of health and, after promising solemnly not to over-use his arm for the next week or so, and to notify her immediately if any problems came up, he was released into his lover's care.

When they got back to their apartment, they found Desiree stretched out on the couch, one of Fraser's books in her hands and a wolf at her feet. She glanced up at their arrival, took one look at the sling across Fraser's shoulder and chest, and jumped to her feet in alarm.

"What happened?" she exclaimed in shock.

Ray carefully helped Fraser over to the vacated couch, while Dief nosed up to his wounded packmate in concern. The two men traded glances, and Ray turned to Desiree.

"We were going to talk to someone about the case, and, well, the killer showed up..." he tried to explain, not wanting to alarm the girl unnecessarily.

Shocked blue eyes turned on Fraser. "You got shot?" she whispered, appalled.

The Mountie looked rather dismayed at the girl's reaction. "It isn't bad, Desiree," he tried to reassure her. "Just a flesh wound."

She shook her head. "I don't care if it was just a paper cut," she stated. "You still got hurt." Her eyes filled with tears, and she blinked furiously to keep them at bay. "You could have died because of me. You both could have," she added, gesturing towards Ray.

Ray finally gave into the impulse, and placed a comforting arm around her trembling shoulders. "Look, Desiree," he said gently, "Ben and I are cops. We knew the job was dangerous when we took it." She looked up at him sceptically, and he smiled. "Besides," he added, more seriously, "whether or not you're involved, there's still a guy running around out there killing people, and we have to stop him."

She stared at him for a moment, then his words seemed to sink in, and she nodded. Turning back to Fraser, she asked, "Are you really alright?"

He smiled. "Yes, I am," he told her. "Just a little sore, that's all."

Ray gave her shoulder a last little squeeze, then made a show of rolling his eyes. "You know, Des, I think we're in for a worse time than he is. You don't know how demandin' he can get when he's hurt."

"Now Ray," protested Fraser, "that is completely..." His retort was cut off by a short bark, and he glared down at the wolf. "You know, Diefenbaker, I wouldn't talk if I were you. I seem to recall how sulky you were the time you ran across that porcupine... literally, I might add."

The wolf grumbled sullenly in reply, and both men were gratified to hear a stifled giggle from their young guest.

"Tell you what," Ray told her with a wink. "You get his highness over there some water, and I'll order a couple of pizzas."

Fraser settled back into the soft couch cushions with a sigh, ignoring the twinges from his injured shoulder, watching the three of them, basking in the warm hominess of the scene before him.

The evening passed quietly, but enjoyably. Over dinner, they had a lively discussion about pineapple versus lichen as the best pizza topping, and the two men told Desiree about some of their more outlandish cases, bringing happy laughter from the girl on several occasions.

Shortly after the pizzas had been demolished, the painkillers started taking their toll on Fraser, and he excused himself, heading for the bedroom with a yawn. Desiree watched him go, shaking her head admiringly. "Lucky guy," she said to herself and Ray, overhearing, raised an eyebrow.

"Him, or me?" he asked, teasing her. She blushed, answering, "Either one." Flattered, Ray smiled and said, "Yeah, we are."

He and Desiree had discovered a shared love of hockey, and after a brief 'Hawks rule / Habs rule' debate, they settled down to watch the game on tv. It was a good one, going into overtime, and Ray found the time spent with the girl so pleasant that he didn't even mind when Chicago let in the winning goal.

Finally, seeing Desiree stifle a yawn of her own, he disappeared into the bedroom for a few moments, returning with sheets, a pillow, and one of Fraser's Hudson blankets. "The couch is pretty comfortable" he assured her.

"Thanks," she said. "I'm sure I'll be fine. Besides," she added, "Dief'll watch over me." They glanced fondly down at the dozing wolf, who was snuffling in his sleep. After a moment, Ray cleared his throat.

"Well, goodnight," he said softly. Desiree watched him, her expression unreadable. Suddenly, she took two steps towards him, and he found himself on the receiving end of a tight hug.

"Thank you, detective Vecchio," she whispered into his chest. He felt a jolt, as her words reminded him of another woman whose life had lain in his hands. He vowed silently to himself that he'd try to do a better job protecting this kid than he had Beth Botrell.

His arms tightened around Desiree, and he rested his cheek on the top of her head, a feeling of warmth and contentment filling him. Soon, though, he felt her loosen her hold on him and, suppressing a sigh, he drew his arms away.

"You need anything, let me know."

"Sure," she said softly, blinking away the moisture in her eyes. Turning towards the couch, she added, "Goodnight."

He watched her for a moment, then replied, "Night, Des," moving toward the bedroom door. Before entering, though, he stopped and turned back to her. "We're gonna get him, Desiree."

She gave him a wan smile, but said nothing.

Several hours later, Desiree sat in the dark, quiet room, unable to sleep, deep in thought. She had a decision to make, probably the biggest decision of her life, maybe even the last. She brought the tissue clutched tightly in her hand to her eyes, wiping away the moisture on her cheeks, tears of sadness and of fear.

Over the past few days she had developed quite a strong attachment to Detective Vecchio and his Mountie partner. It had unnerved her at first, the care and concern displayed towards her by two complete strangers; and coming so closely on the heels of her acceptance by Mrs. Martin at the shelter, she was beginning to feel for the first time in her life that she was wanted, that she even actually deserved the respect and consideration of others.

Mrs Martin had been very kind to her, yet Desiree had always had a niggling suspicion that the kindness was due more to the woman's job as a social worker than through any action on her own part. With these men, it was different; they had acted above and beyond the call of their duty to help her; they had opened their home to her, in order to protect her; they had even placed themselves in great danger for her sake.

That, of course, was the cause of her present torment. All the explanations and rationalizations in the world would not alter the fact that Constable Fraser had been shot that day. It didn't matter one bit to her that the wound was not serious; it had still happened, and Desiree was certain it would not be an isolated incident. As long as the two police officers stood between her and the killer, they would be targets.

As silently as she could, Desiree got to her feet and made her way to the bedroom door. Opening it just a crack, she peered inside. There was just enough light coming in through the window to illuminate the figures on the bed, and she stood for a long while, watching them, feeling something akin to awe.

Constable Fraser was asleep on his side, facing her; Detective Vecchio was spooned up behind him, his arm curled protectively around his lover, mindful even in sleep of the Mountie's wounded shoulder. There was a look of peaceful contentment on both men's face, and Desiree could feel the love between them as an almost palpable force in the room.

She thought of every slur, every remark she had heard spouted in hatred and disgust about relationships like theirs; gazing at the sight before her, she could only shake her head at how fundamentally wrong those people were. In fifteen years of living in foster homes and, recently, on the street, the one thing she had found an almost complete lack of was love, and seeing it displayed for her now brought fresh tears to her eyes. The relationship these two men had with each other was the most beautiful thing she could ever hope to witness, and she was damned if she'd let anything happen to destroy it.

Quietly, she shut the door again, moving back to the couch and slipping under the warm blanket. She had made her decision, firmly beleiving it was the best option for all concerned. A great weight seemed to lift from her chest, and she sighed almost happily as she drifted off into much needed sleep.

With a certain feeling of déjà-vu, Fraser woke with pain in his shoulder, though this time it was the early-morning light shining in his eyes. He spent a few moments in comfortable silence, enjoying the warmth of his lover against his back, feeling Ray begin to stir in his own waking-up ritual.

"How're you feeling?" the soft voice brushed his ear.

"Wonderful," Fraser answered sleepily, nestling further back into Ray's arms, which shook as the cop chuckled.

"I meant your shoulder, babe."

"Ah, well, I admit there's still a certain amount of discomfort."

"In other words, it hurts like hell," Ray concluded sympathetically.

"Actually," admitted Fraser, "it does. It's manageable, though."

"Manageable?" The voice was suspicious now. "You mean, like manageable for stayin' home and relaxin' all day, right?"

Fraser had been expecting this discussion. Turning so that he now faced his lover, he said, "Ray, I have been hurt far worse than this before and managed to stay on the case."

"Yeah, well, that was before you had someone to care about your health for you. Besides, you promised the doctor you'd take it easy for a couple of days."

"I don't intend to overuse my arm, Ray."

"You didn't intend to get shot, either."

"Now, Ray," protested Fraser. "That was a completely unforseen incident, and it is highly unlikely that..."

Ray leaned forward and pressed his lips to Fraser's, effectively cutting off the Mountie's words. When the tender kiss had ended, Ray rested his head on Fraser's chest, sighing in resignation.

"Okay, look, here's the deal. You can come with me to the precinct, but if you start getting tired, I'm bringing you back here."

That seemed reasonable enough to Fraser, and he stroked the tousled blond head gently. "I am worried about her too, Ray," he said gently. "The investigation will go faster if I help."

"I know," Ray agreed with a sigh. He raised his head to give his lover a mock glare. "You let me know the second you get too tired, or your shoulder starts acting up, got it?"

"Understood."

The two men quietly washed and dressed, Ray forgoing his usual morning coffee, not wanting to wake Desiree who was still fast asleep on the couch.

Ray gazed down at her for a few moments, feeling a tightening in his chest. She looked so young, so vulnerable, though she'd been through so much in her short life. Reaching down, he gently brushed a stray golden curl back from her face. He looked up to find Fraser watching him, understanding evident in the Mountie's eyes. Then Ray glanced over at Dief, who was also looking at him.

"You take care of her," he told the wolf, and got a soft yip of acknowledgement.

"We'll be back in a few hours," Fraser added on their way out.

Left in the silent apartment, Diefenbaker padded over to the couch and lay down on the floor, his muzzle resting on his forepaws, eyes locked on the sleeping girl.

The next few hours were futile and frustrating. There was now a full-scale manhunt out for the man who had dared to shoot a cop, but no one had managed to get any new leads on the killer. After spending a few long minutes persuading Francesca that Fraser was alright, Ray had settled down with her at the computer to work on a new composite of the shooter; after all, Ray had gotten a clearer look at the man than Desiree had.

Fraser, meanwhile, briefed Welsh on the girl's situation. The man was less than happy to hear that she was being hidden at their apartment, knowing that it put all three of them in danger, but he had to admit that there were no other options.

"Just be careful, Constable," he told Fraser gruffly. "If this guy's taking shots at cops, he isn't going to hesitate to shoot a kid."

Fraser nodded grimly. "Are you certain that she can't be placed in protective custody? Surely the situation has escalated enough to warrant it."

Welsh sighed. "Ms Kowalski is looking into it, but I wouldn't get my hopes up just yet. We might have to wait until the kid is personally targeted."

Fraser closed his eyes briefly in frustration. "By which point it would be too late."

The look he got from Welsh made it clear that the older man was well aware of that fact. Fraser nodded, and walked out of Welsh's office, making his way over to Frannie's desk.

"Greatness!" Ray was saying as Frannie handed him a computer printout sheet. Looking up at him, Ray said, "We got him, Fraser."

"His name's Lorenzo Giacco," Frannie put in. "He's done time for assault and attempted murder, and a bunch of possession charges. Guy's got a pop sheet as long as my arm."

"Rap sheet," Ray corrected automatically, scanning the sheet for a current address.

The civilian aide rolled her eyes. "I was just joking, Ray." Under her breath, she added, "God, you'd think you'd be less annoying now that you're getting laid on a regular basis."

Ray stared at her in shock, then glanced sharply at Fraser who, unsurprisingly, had turned a bright shade of pink. "Excuse me?" Ray asked cautiously.

She snorted. "What, you think it's some big secret?"

Fraser was still speechless, and Ray frowned. "But you... I mean, just the other day you were flirtin' with him..."

"Well," she retorted, "after three years it's gotten to be kind of a habit. Besides, a girl can always hope, can't she?"

At this, Fraser found his voice. "Francesca," he told her gently, "I don't want to hurt your feelings, but..." he trailed off as she placed a hand lightly on his arm.

"I know," she said with a smile. "I'm just teasing you. Geez, guys, give me some credit here. I'm not a complete airbag, you know." Ray, prudently, kept his mouth shut. "Now, go out and get the bad guy."

Fraser glanced at Ray, who only shook his head in amazement, and the two men walked out of the bullpen. Francesca watched their retreating forms with a sad smile before turning back to answer her ringing phone. She listened for a moment, then said, "Just a second, Ms Kowalski, and I'll put you through to the Lieutenant..."

They were almost at their apartment before Fraser realized that it was indeed their destination. Ray anticipated his lover's protest. "C'mon, Ben, you promised. You're not in any shape to be out in the field."

Fraser knew that, in this case, resistance was futile. "All right, Ray. Diefenbaker should be taken out anyway." He turned to Ray as they stopped outside the building. "Just promise me that you'll wear a vest." At Ray's lifted eyebrow, he smiled. "You aren't the only one who worries."

Ray reached over and placed his hand on Fraser's. "You got it, Benton-buddy."

As they entered the building they were met by the landlady, who was looking a little flustered. "I think there's somethin' wrong with yer wolf," she told them without preamble.

"My wolf?" Fraser asked with a frown.

She nodded. "Usually I don't hear a peep outta him, but he's been howlin' all morning, and I thought maybe..." She found herself talking to air; her two tenants had sprinted frantically for the stairs.

Fraser and Ray heard it at the same time: a long, frantic wail, sounding strangely muffled. Worried, Ray drew his gun and entered the apartment, expecting the worst. Giving the kitchen and living room a quick check, and noting nothing out of the ordinary, he motioned Fraser in and moved quietly into the bedroom.

Ray felt a rush of relief as he realized that there was nothing wrong or dangerous in the apartment, when the thought hit him like a splash of icy water: the place was empty. Desiree was nowhere in sight. Shit! Then he remembered Diefenbaker.

Fraser had hurried to the bathroom door, finding it shut tight. The yelps behind the wood had grown frenzied as the wolf became aware of their presence, and they heard a vigorous scratching as Dief pawed at the barrier. Fraser gingerly turned the doorknob and pushed, and was nearly run over by a streak of white fur as Diefenbaker raced around the apartment, sniffing furiously, trying to locate his missing friend.

Fraser moved back into the living room to find Ray holding a piece of paper in one shaky hand. He hazarded a guess: "She left a note?"

Ray glanced up at him bleakly. Not saying a word, he handed the paper to Fraser and went to sit on the couch. Fraser read the note in his hand.

Dear Dt. Vecchio and Const. Fraser,

I know you're going to read this and blame yourself, but, believe me, that's the last thing I want. It was my decision to make, and it's probably the first right choice I ever did make.
Please don't try to look for me. Look for the shooter instead, and make sure he doesn't kill anyone else. Like maybe you. I couldn't live with myself if one of you got killed over this; you guys have treated me like I really mattered to you, like I was worth something... and you showed me that there really is love in the world. That's why I'm doing this; I hope you can understand that.
I just wanted to thank you for everything you've done for me, and to let you know that the last couple of days, even with all the bad stuff, have been the happiest ones of my life.
Love,
Desiree

P.S. Please tell Dief that I'm really sorry. I had to shut him in the bathroom or he wouldn't have let me go. It's not his fault.

Ray sat, stunned, not noticing when Fraser sat down beside him and pulled him close, not hearing his lover's explanations to the guilt-stricken wolf, knowing only in his heart, that he'd failed and that this time the lady in question wasn't going to get a last-minute reprieve.

He didn't know how long Fraser had been repeating his name when he finally heard him; turning, he stared blankly at the Mountie for a second, then shook his head as if to clear it. His eyes turned hard.

"I'm gonna go find the bastard," he stated, getting to his feet. Noticing Fraser reaching for his Stetson, he reached out a warning hand. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Ray, you can't possibly expect me to stay here under these circumstances."

"What, you think you can help her with that shoulder wound?" Ray snapped. Noticing Fraser's hurt expression, he sighed. "Look, Ben, you're not a hundred percent yet, and I can't be worryin' about both of you out there. Besides, she might come back."

Fraser knew that the chances of that happening were infinitesimal but he reluctantly agreed with Ray's brand of logic.

A sharp bark drew their attention, and Ray glanced down into intense brown eyes. In a rare moment of perfect communication he realized just how badly Diefenbaker must be feeling about having lost Desiree go. He glanced up at Fraser, who nodded, then jerked his head toward the door. "C'mon, Dief, let's go."

The wolf was gone in a flash, followed closely by a grimly determined Chicago cop. Fraser made his way back to the couch, Desiree's note still clutched in his hand. He noticed with a pang of dismay that the sheets Desiree had used were folded neatly and placed on the armchair. Picking up the phone that sat on the coffee table, he dialled Lieutenant Welsh's number.

"Welsh."

"Leftenant, this is Constable Fraser..."

"Ah, Constable, I was just about to call you. Is Ray, with you by any chance?"

Fraser frowned. "No, sir, he's checking out a lead. Is there a problem?"

"Nah, it's good news for a change. I just got off the phone with Stella Kowalski. She says there's enough evidence now to get Miss Smith some protection."

Fraser felt a cold clamminess settle deep within his belly. "Good God," he whispered.

After a few moments, Welsh's voice came back, tinged with worry. "Constable, are you alright?"

Fraser sighed. "Sir, we have a problem. Desiree has run away. She felt she was putting us in unnecessary danger."

Now the pause was on Welsh's end of the conversation. "Shit," he finally growled.

"Indeed," answered Fraser. That expression seemed to cover this situation perfectly.

"What's this lead Ray was checking?"

"Francesca found the killer's name and possible address."

"Great." Voice had now taken on a 'why me?' tone. "All right, I'll send Jack and Dewey over, make sure everything goes okay."

Fraser felt somewhat relieved. "Thank you kindly, Leftenant." And as the other man hung up the phone, muttering something about 'stupid reckless cops', Fraser sat back with a sigh... and waited.

Ray sat in the GTO, his eyes trained on the empty house, his thoughts matching the gloominess of the darkening sky. Two blocks down, he could make out the unmarked car where Huey and Dewey sat patiently, waiting for Giacco to put in an appearance. Beside him, Dief made a low noise and Ray idly stroked a hand through the white fur, grateful for the wolf's presence.

He thought back to the phone conversation he'd just had with Fraser, who had warily told him about the State's Attorney's decision. Ray knew Fraser thought he'd go postal over that news, but he just didn't have it in him right now to get angry; he was too busy worrying.

Dief whined softly and Ray glanced at him. "It's not your fault," he told the wolf. "She didn't want you getting hurt, either." Diefenbaker barked and Ray ruffled his fur again. "I know you're worried too, but we'll get this guy, and then we'll go find her." The wolf looked doubtful, but gave Ray's hand an acknowledging lick, and Ray smiled a little as he turned his gaze back to the building.

Suddenly the two of them perked up. A black car with tinted windows had pulled into the driveway of the house they were watching, and Ray noted with grim satisfaction as their quarry stepped out of the vehicle. With a sudden burst of adrenalin Ray had his gun drawn and was out of the car, setting up a clear shot at the man.

"Freeze, Chicago PD!" he shouted, not surprised when Giacco drew his own weapon, preparing to bolt. The hitman hadn't counted on the presence of the two other detectives, though, and when Dewey's car pulled up behind him, Huey's voice ordering him gruffly to drop his weapon, he didn't hesitate to comply, especially when he heard the sirens of an approaching squad car.

It took a lot of will-power for Ray not to just shoot the smarmy man; this was, after all, the scum that had shot Fraser, and who was gunning for Desiree. He settled for grabbing the man by the back of the neck and throwing him non-too-gently face down on the hood of the police cruiser, cuffing his hands firmly behind his back. As he read the man his rights, the duck boys moved to examine the man's car.

Giacco was glaring at Ray, protesting loudly. "I didn't do nothin'!"

Ray glared back furiously. "What do you call shooting a cop, asshole? What do you call murder?"

The cold dark eyes narrowed. "The clown in the red suit? He ain't even dead."

With an inner strength that surprised even Ray, he kept from kicking the greasy bastard in the head. "I'm talking about the guy in the alley the other day. Ricci."

"You can't prove nothin'."

"Oh yeah? Tell it to the judge, brainiac. We got a witness."

A sudden smug look flashed across the man's features. "You got nothin'!" he sneered as he was shoved into the back of the cruiser, the door slamming shut. Ray felt coldness fall over him. What the hell had he meant by that?

A sharp call from Huey brought him over to the rear of the Lincoln. "You find anything?" he asked, suddenly very worried.

Huey gestured into the car's empty trunk. Ray peered into the dark space, wondering what he should be looking for, when he spotted the stains. The blood stains, relatively fresh. Diefenbaker was at his side in an instant and, after sniffing for a moment, the wolf let out a long, agonized howl. Ray wanted nothing more than to do the same.

"Absolutely not, Detective," Welsh stated vehemently. "I'm giving this case to Jack and Dewey."

The fury that Ray had been keeping at bay had now taken hold of him, and it was all he could do not to slam his fist into the nearest wall... or into his superior officer, which would, he had to admit, have been suicidal.

"C'mon, Lieu. Just let me interrogate the fucker."

Welsh just sat watching the detective, not without some compassion. Finally the younger man seemed to deflate slightly, dropping down onto the small couch, his head in his hands.

"Something happened to that kid, Lieutenant, and that jerk in the holding cell knows it." He lifted his head to meet Welsh's gaze with furious determination. "I gotta know where to find her."

Welsh sighed. "Ray, you know how hard it's going to be to make any charges stick against this guy. We can't take the chance that he'll get off on a technicality, and, frankly, I don't think either of us can trust you anywhere near him until you cool off a bit."

Ray glared at him for an endless moment, then got to his feet. He slowly reached into his jacket, bringing out his shield and tossing it onto the desk between the two of them. "Go to hell, Sir," he said coldly, then turned and slammed out of the office.

The Lieutenant shook his head, picking up the discarded object and dropping it into a drawer. This, too, could wait until Ray cooled off, and the detective could definitely do with a day or two off right about now.

Fraser looked up, somewhat startled, as Ray barged into the apartment, slamming the door behind him. The cop ignored the whine of protest from Dief, who had narrowly escaped having his tail crushed, and paced furiously around the room. "Goddamn sonofabitch motherf..." The Mountie raised an eyebrow; he'd never heard Ray quite this... colourful before. He let his lover's anger run its course for a few minutes, the approached him, reaching out to stop his pacing and drawing him into his arms. Ray tensed, resisting for a moment, then with an anguished moan he buried his face in Fraser's good shoulder.

"I spoke with Leftenant Welsh," Fraser said gently, rubbing Ray's back, hoping to soothe his lover's frustration. "You did good work."

Ray snorted. "Yeah, right. Fat lot of good that did Desiree."

"You caught the man who wanted to kill her."

"Yeah, but too late. There was blood in his car, Fraser."

"There's no proof that it's hers, Ray."

"Dief smelled it."

Fraser glanced at the wolf, who was watching them intently. "Dief has been wrong before, Ray."

Ray opened his mouth to protest further, but Fraser headed him off. "We will go out tomorrow and look for her. All of us," he added for the wolf's benefit, and was rewarded with a grateful yip. "And perhaps Mrs. Martin at the shelter will have heard something."

Ray lifted his head, a faint smile playing at his lips. He knew his lover was just trying to cheer him up, and he was grateful for it. "Thanks, Ben," he whispered.

Fraser smiled gently back. "You're welcome, Ray."

"I love you, you know," he said, melting into the warm embrace, hoping Fraser'd get the hint. He wasn't disappointed, as the Mountie led him towards the bedroom, his hands moving to the cop's shirt buttons. "And I you, Ray."

Ray sighed, moving to embrace Fraser again as his shirt was drawn off his chest. "Make love to me," he whispered. He felt a sudden overwhelming need to feel comforted, to connect with someone on this basic level, to lose himself and his worries for even a short time. Sensing this need in Ray Fraser nodded, quickly removing the rest of their clothing and leading them to the bed. He ignored the sporadic twinges from his shoulder; Ray's pain was far greater than anything he himself was feeling.

He kissed Ray, a deep, long exploration of the other's mouth, lips, teeth. Their tongues slid together, duelling, caressing. Lack of air separated them briefly and Fraser moved downwards, brushing light, licking kisses along Ray's jawline, down his throat, to the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Here he paused for a moment to suckle the soft skin, and was thrilled to hear a low moan coming from the area under his lips.

Further south, he discovered a rapidly hardening nipple and he drew it between his teeth, nipping slightly, his fingers reaching over to stroke and tweak the other small nub. Ray was arching off the bed now, pressing himself closer to Fraser to prolong the delicious sensations. He murmured a protest as Fraser's mouth moved away, only to turn the sound into a moan as the wet tongue dipped into his navel at the same time as a strong hand grasped his now rock-hard cock.

Ray could feel his thoughts slipping away as that hand gripped him firmly and began to stroke, and he bit back a cry of pleasure when he felt the hot moisture of Fraser's mouth at the tip of his cock, licking away a pearly drop of pre-ejaculate.

As Fraser's lips and tongue moved further and further down Ray's quivering shaft, he moved his hand down to gently caress his lover's soft balls, fingers stroking the perineum and exploring the hidden cleft beyond, while his other hand reached up to caress a nipple. Ray was groaning and whimpering almost constantly now, bringing one of his own hands to stroke and rub the other nipple, tangling his other fingers through Fraser's thick hair.

Fraser had managed to draw Ray's cock fully into his mouth and down into his throat, and he worked it lovingly, stroking the shaft with his lips and tongue, applying increasingly stronger suction, riding out the thrashings of the body beneath him. His exploring fingers had discovered the small, puckered entrance to his lover's body and he traced small circles around it. As he gently inserted the tip of one finger into him, Ray stiffened, crying out loudly and incoherently, spurting his sweet cream into his lover's willing mouth. Fraser, on the edge himself, buried his face in Ray's belly, reaching down to grasp his own rampant erection and, with a few quick strokes, spent his seed with a muffled groan.

Fraser crawled back up the bed to take Ray back into his arms. His lover, taking long, shuddering breaths, reached over to cup his face in gentle hands, pulled him close for a sweet, soft kiss.

"You, know, Ben," Ray sighed, "you'd make a great therapist."

Fraser chuckled. "Somehow I doubt I could be as effective with anyone but you, love." He tightened his hold on the man, listening as the man's breathing slowed and deepened before following his lover into sleep.

The phone rang way too early, robbing Ray of the pleasures of waking up slowly in his lover's arms. His eyes still closed against the harsh reality of the early morning, he fumbled around on the night stand before finally grabbing the phone.

"What?" he grumbled, wishing a whole lot of pain on whoever was on the other end of the line.

"Geez, took you long enough, Vecchio."

Ray stifled a groan. He couldn't stand Dewey at the best of times, let alone at - he glanced at the clock - six-freaking-thirty in the morning. "What the fu.. what do you want, Dewey?"

There was a pause, and Ray was suddenly wide awake. Dewey's voice, when it came, was remarkably free of his usual obnoxiousness. "We got a call from a couple of dock workers, Ray," he said softly. "They found... well, their description matches that kid you were looking for. Jack and I are on our way down now; I just thought you might want to know..."

Somehow Ray managed to say "Yeah, thanks" through numbed lips. He barely heard the other detective's muttered "Sorry, man"; he sat for a moment just staring down at the phone in his hand. Beside him, Fraser lifted his head, blinking sleepily; he was just in time to see Ray drop the phone as if it had gone red-hot, stumble out of bed and make a mad dash for the bathroom. Fraser hesitated for a moment between the discarded phone, from which he could hear someone repeating Ray's name, and the violent retching sounds emanating from the other room.

All semblance of politeness fled from his mind at the thought of his lover needing him, and he absent-mindedly replaced the phone on its cradle and made his way to the kitchen to get Ray some water.

He found the cop sitting cross-legged on the bathroom floor, his head cradled in his hands, his entire body shaking with violent shudders . Alarmed, Fraser dropped down beside him, setting the glass of water aside and pulling Ray to him.

"What was that phone call about, Ray?" he asked, horribly afraid that he knew the answer.

"They found Desiree down by the lake, Fraser." Ray answered in a strangled voice. "She's... she's dead."

Fraser felt tears stinging his own eyes. "Oh, Ray," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"She was just a kid, Frase. She deserved so much more than what she got. Christ, Ben, all she wanted was to make sure nobody else got hurt..." His voice trailed off as he started to shake again.

Fraser just held Ray tightly as he wept, knowing that he had no words to say that could possibly help his lover right now. The two men were startled by a sudden presence beside them; Diefenbaker had nosed up to Ray, settling down on the other side of the cop and placing a gentle paw on his arm, as if to provide any comfort he could. He whined sadly and Fraser nodded to him gratefully. Ray reached over to slip an arm around the wolf, and the three of them sat there, huddled together, just trying to ease each other's grief as much as they could.

The last two days had been absolute hell. Obeying Welsh's command to cool off a bit, Ray had stayed away from the station; he needed the time off to pull himself together, too. Fraser had been invaluable, lending him all the support and comfort he could take, understanding even when Ray had taken himself away for long walks or aimless car rides, needing some time alone.

Fraser had gotten in touch with Mrs. Martin at the shelter. The social worker had been devastated to hear about Desiree's death, but had offered to make arrangements for the girl's funeral, for which the Mountie was profoundly grateful. He knew Ray wouldn't be able to handle the task, and he himself was too busy caring for his grieving and guilt- stricken friends: both Ray and Dief had taken her death very hard.

Huey and Dewey had called several times, keeping them updated on the progress of their case... or cases, since Welsh had handed the Ricci murder over to them. To Fraser's concern, this news hadn't seemed to upset Ray overly much, nor had the fact that it seemed Giacco was going to get away with both murders, due to lack of evidence. Welsh had called, too, assuring Fraser that Ray's outburst the other day had been forgotten, and that Ray was on leave until he was ready to reclaim his badge.

By Friday evening Fraser was beginning to get very worried about his lover, who seemed to alternate between states of depression and apathy. He was therefore relieved when a knock at the door broke the tense silence that had been developing in the apartment. He opened the door to find Francesca Vecchio loaded down with an armload of food containers.

"Francesca," he greeted her, taking the packages from her and placing them on the kitchen counter. As she entered behind him she said, "Ma sends her love... and about a week's worth of food."

"Be sure to thank her," Fraser replied gratefully, lifting the lid off one of the plastic containers and inhaling the delicious aroma of Mrs. Vecchio's prized lasagna. Dief trotted into the kitchen, apparently drawn by the same smells, greeting Francesca happily, and Fraser was relieved to see Ray not far behind the wolf.

Frannie took in Ray's haggard appearance, and a look of sympathy crossed her face. She walked over to him and drew him into a tight hug. "How're you doing, bro?" she asked gently.

He smiled wanly back at her. "I'm okay, Frannie. Thanks,' he added, indicating the food.

"No problem," she assured him. Glancing over at Fraser she said, "Just glad I can help."

Ray moved away to feed Dief, and Francesca approached Fraser. "Um, Frase, we were all wondering when the funeral was gonna be."

"Sunday," he replied, touched by her question.

"Do you think he'd want us to go?"

"I think he'd like that very much," Fraser responded, and she smiled, somewhat relieved. "Well, okay then. I guess I'll see you guys on Sunday."

Fraser saw her to the door, then returned to the kitchen to see what he could do about getting his lover fed.

Ray was surprised at how many people showed up for the funeral. Mary Martin was there, of course, with her family and some of the kids from the shelter. But he hadn't expected the others - Welsh and the duck boys, a handful of assorted Vecchios... hell, he'd even seen Turnbull blubbering away into a large white handkerchief. He watched the crowd, torn; he knew that most of them were there more for his and Fraser's sake than for Desiree. Still, he thought, it would have made her happy to know how many people she had touched in her life, and just how much she was actually cared for.

"Detective Vecchio?" A soft voice behind him and a light touch on his arm made him turn.

"Mrs. Martin," he acknowledged. "That was a nice eulogy you did for her. She would have liked it."

Tears welled up in the woman's already reddened eyes. "Actually, she would have hated the attention, and I wish to God I hadn't had to do it. But thanks, Detective," she said with a sad smile.

They stood together for a few moments. Finally, Mary broke the silence. "It wasn't your fault."

Ray stiffened. "I should've caught the guy sooner."

"And I should never have let her leave the shelter," she snapped back.

His eyes widened. "Look, you can't blame yourself for this!"

She stared pointedly at him until his face reddened and he looked away. She laid her hand on his arm again. "I know we're both going to have a lot of stuff to deal with over this, for a very long time, Detective," she said gently. "But you know Desiree wouldn't have blamed either one of us."

He thought back to the note she'd left back at the apartment. "I guess," he finally conceded. With a final squeeze of her hand she released him, leaving him to wrestle with his conflicting thoughts.

After a time he sighed and turned to look for Fraser, finding his lover standing by the grave, in deep conversation with Mrs. Vecchio. As he approached them she turned her attention to her other adopted son. "Caro," she scolded him affectionately, "I have been telling Benton that he isn't taking good enough care of you."

Ray glanced at the sheepish-looking Mountie, thinking wryly that he really should stop being so shocked at how easily people seemed to be accepting their relationship. After having them all but swear on the Bible that they'd eat every bite of the food she'd sent them *and* come to dinner more often, she left the two men alone by Desiree's grave.

He gazed down at the closed, cold coffin, thinking about the sweet, gentle girl that lay inside, along with one final gift from Ray; earlier, he'd slipped in the dream catcher that Fraser had given him in this very cemetery. He hadn't been able to make her life on earth any easier, but maybe this would help put her troubled soul to rest.

With a trembling voice, he whispered, "Bye, Desiree." Fraser reached over to take his hand, and Ray grasped it gratefully, for once not caring who the hell saw them.

As they turned to go he caught sight of Stella standing a little ways away from them, her expression a mixture of sympathy and disapproval at their still-clasped hands. She made as if to approach them and Ray quickly turned away, pulling his startled lover towards the parking lot. He hadn't decided yet just how he felt about Stella's part in all this, but he knew that now was not the time to confront her about it.

Diefenbaker noted that his packmates were ready to leave, and realized he had to finish his own task quickly. Gently grasping the stem of the rose between his teeth he trotted over to the grave and dropped it gently onto the coffin. He howled once, a long mournful cry, and turned away, heading off to rejoin his humans.

Early Monday morning found Edna Adams hard at work in the lab, going over Desiree's blood work. She knew full well that being a doctor had its downsides, and that there was very little joy to be found in the work of a forensic pathologist, but she was still troubled by what had been her first official case under Mort's tutelage.

It always struck her deeply when children were killed, this young woman no less than any other. She supposed that if there was anything good about this situation at all, it was that the girl had died quickly from the single bullet wound to the head, and that she didn't appear to have been abused in any way prior to her death.

'What a horrible thing to have to be thankful for,' she thought sadly, turning her focus back to the report on her desk. One figure in particular caught her attention and she frowned, pushing aside a stack of papers and picking up another similar file.

She glanced from one to another, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. After carefully double- checking the figures she slowly got to her feet and moved to the door.

"Mort?" she called over the sound of whatever aria he was entertaining the corpses with this time.

"Hmm?"

"I just found something interesting with Desiree Smith's blood work. Can you come look at this for a second?"

Intrigued, Mort pulled off his rubber gloves and stepped into the office. He took the two files from Edna and glanced through them. Suddenly his eyes widened. "Oh dear!"

Mort and Edna shared a long, conspiratorial look. "Do you think we should tell him?" she asked finally.

"We don't really have a choice, do we?"

She wrestled with her conscience for a second, then sighed, shaking her head. "He's not going to take this well, is he?"

"Let's just say we might want to prepare for an influx of customers," he answered dryly, and she winced. "Oh, great."

He handed her the files, glancing pointedly to the phone. Resigned, she squared her shoulders, braced herself, and reached for the receiver.

They were on their way to the consulate when Ray's cell phone rang. Knowing Fraser's attitudes towards road safety, Ray reached into his pocket and handed the phone to his lover.

"Detective Vecchio's mobile phone, Constable Benton Fr..." He was cut off by whoever was on the line. "Ah, Doctor Adams. How are you?"

Ray rolled his eyes as his lover chatted with Morticia for a few moments, wondering idly why she was calling him in the first place.

"Yes, I'll tell him," Fraser was saying, "Thank you kindly."

"So what did the witch of the 27th want?" Ray asked as Fraser hung up the phone.

Choosing to ignore the slur to the woman's name, Fraser answered, "She needs to talk to you about a report; she'd like you to stop by when you get to the precinct."

Ray groaned. "Great. Perfect way to start a Monday, with a trip to the cold meat party."

Fraser frowned. "You know, Ray, Leftenant Welsh did say you could take as long as you need."

"Nah, Frase. I'm through moping around, and besides, somebody's gotta keep an eye on the duck boys, make sure they go by the book with Giacco."

Fraser said nothing, but watched Ray out of the corner of his eye. While Ray kept insisting he was alright, there was still a listlessness to him that concerned the Mountie, and he was all-out worried about Ray's attitude towards Giacco. The hitman was being held for shooting Fraser, but with Desiree's death there was absolutely no evidence to tie him to either Ricci's murder... or hers. Fraser himself felt a great deal of anger over that; he could only imagine how Ray must feel.

As if sensing his thoughts Ray turned his head to look at him with a half-hearted grin. "It'll be okay, Frase. I promise I won't do anything stupid."

Fraser smiled back, not entirely relieved. "I know, Ray. I trust you."

They finished the ride in companionable silence, and soon Ray had parked in front of the consulate. As Fraser was reaching for the door handle, Ray leaned over and pulled him into a brief kiss. "I love you, Ben," he said impulsively, and Fraser was warmed, as he always was when he heard his lover say those words.

"And I you, Ray." He gave the now-traditional response, and rejoiced inwardly at the genuine smile that briefly lit up Ray's face.

"Don't want to keep the Ice Queen waiting," the cop said, grimacing slightly as Dief gave him a quick lick on the cheek on his way out of the car. He waited until the two were safely in the building before driving off, shaking his head affectionately at his unique little family.

Ray strode into the morgue, saying a quick "Hey Mort!" to the older man while making sure not to look at anything he might be doing. In this place, you couldn't be too sure.

"Hello, Ray," Mort answered. "She's in the office."

Something in the man's tone of voice set off warning bells in the back of Ray's mind, but he diligently continued on into the small office, where Adams was writing something in a file.

"What's up?" he asked.

She glanced up at him in surprise. "That was quick."

"Yeah, well, I came straight over. Fraser said you had a problem with a report?"

She hesitated just long enough for him to start getting suspicious, before motioning him to the empty chair across from her. "Please have a seat, Detective."

A sudden thought struck him. "This is about Desiree, isn't it?"

The dark eyes watching him filled with sympathy. "Yes, Detective. Something surprising showed up on her post-mortem blood test."

Ray frowned. "What, was she sick or something?" He wondered just why this was so important now, when it was far to late to do anything about it.

"No," Edna assured him. "She was in perfect health. But when I was looking over her DNA results I noticed that they seemed familiar..." She looked at his uncomprehending expression, then sighed. "Look, Detective, I might as well be completely frank about this. Remember that test I did on your blood the other day?"

"Yeah," he replied slowly, not quite sure where this was going. Or, not wanting to know.

"The DNA results for both tests were almost identical." She held his gaze, making sure she had his full attention on this. "Detective Vecchio, there's a 97 percent chance that Desiree Smith was your daughter."

Ray sat back abruptly in the hard chair. His mind was spinning, his heart pounding violently with shock. Her words echoed in his head: his daughter... his daughter?... his daughter! "Are you sure?" he heard himself say, and he felt a strong hand laid gently on his shoulder. It was Mort, who had just entered the office.

"Yes, we both double checked the figures." He squeezed Ray's shoulder, adding, "I'm sorry, Ray."

"Oh God," he whispered. His kid, and now she was dead. She never knew...

Mort shot his protegee a concerned look, but Ray suddenly straightened, seeming to pull himself together. Standing up, he gazed from Mort to Adams. "Thanks for telling me," he said softly.

"Are you alright, Ray?" Mort asked, still concerned.

"Yeah, Mort, I am."

"If you need anything..." added Edna, and Ray nodded. "Right, thanks."

Turning, Ray walked slowly out of the office. He stopped short at the sight of Mort's 'operating' table, thankfully bare now, where just a few days ago Desiree's... his daughter's! body had lain. As he stared at the cold, hard surface the numbness that had been overwhelming him was replaced by a more tangible emotion, a cold fury which started in the pit of his stomach and quickly spread through his body, and he strode purposefully out of the room, taking the stairs up two at a time.

Mort watched him go, then reached over to pick up the phone, asking the desk clerk to patch him through to Lieutenant Welsh.

It was with a great effort that Ray managed to look halfway normal when he entered the bullpen. Frannie glanced up at his arrival, greeting him with a smile. "Morning, Ray."

"Yeah, hey Frannie," he said nonchalantly, glancing around the almost empty room. "Where is everybody?"

"Some big drug bust," she replied vaguely. Then, almost as an afterthought she added, "Jack and Tom are talking to Giacco."

"Oh yeah?" His voice sounded surprisingly calm to his ears. "Where, main interrogation room?"

"Ray," warned Frannie. "Welsh told you to stay away from this one." Her eyes darted over to the Lieutenant's office, where she could see him answering his phone.

"I just wanna make sure everything's jake on this one, Frannie." He managed to look hurt. "Geez, what do you think I'm gonna do, jump Bogart on the guy with the duck boys right there?"

Without waiting for her response he strode off in the direction of the interrogation rooms. She hesitated for a second, then got up, heading for Welsh's office.

Jack Huey knew that there were probably scumbags out there more disgusting and evil than the man sitting in front of them, but at the moment he was hard pressed to remember one of them. This jerk had sat through every attempt to interrogate him tight-lipped and with a smug grin that Huey wanted to wipe off his face with a two-by-four. Getting the guy to admit to having shot Fraser had been like pulling teeth, and he was definitely claiming no knowledge of the other two murders. As badly as he and his partner wanted to put the man away for life, they knew the case against Giacco was very weak, and it burned him to know that any moment now Stella Kowalski was going to come by and spring him, or send him to friggin' Disneyland or whatever it is the States Attorney's office was doing for killers these days. Hell, Huey thought grimly, it was surprising the Feds hadn't stepped into the case yet, adding their own brand of wacky mayhem.

A knock at the door was a welcome relief, at least until he opened it to find Ray on the other side. "Vecchio..." he began, but was interrupted by Ray, who motioned him out into the hallway. With a quick glance to Dewey, who just nodded, Jack followed Ray.

When the door had closed behind them Ray got straight to the point. "I wanna talk to him."

"No way, Vecchio. We got little enough on him as it is, we don't need..."

Ray's voice was cold, but calm. "I won't lay a hand on him, I swear. Just let me talk to the guy."

Huey's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Just what have you got to say to him that's so important?"

Something flashed in those blue-grey eyes. "I just gotta tell him a couple of facts, that's all. Jog his memory about the murders."

Jack knew that what Ray wanted him to do was wrong, and that it might even cost him his badge, not to mention this case. But something in his fellow detective's eyes told him that not letting the guy into the room would be an even greater mistake.

"Okay," he said finally. "You got five minutes, and Dewey stays in there."

Ray flashed him a grateful look, and disappeared into the interrogation room, just as Welsh and Frannie came hurrying down the hall. The Lieutenant glared at Huey. "Tell me I didn't just see Vecchio go in there."

Without waiting for the obvious response, Welsh reached for the door, but Huey's hand on his arm stopped him. "He needs to do this, Lieutenant."

Welsh glared at the man, then thought back to the conversation he'd just had with Mort, and to what he himself would do in this situation. "Fine," he grumbled. "If he screws up this case, it's your badge, Huey." The darker man nodded, and Welsh turned to go. "Tell Vecchio I want to see him as soon as he's out of there."

"Yes, sir." Huey and Frannie exchanged an anxious glance, then turned to watch the door.

The two men looked up as Ray entered the room. Ignoring Dewey's frown, Ray approached the sneering hitman, watching in satisfaction as recognition grew in the man's eyes and his smile faltered a bit. Ray finally broke the tense silence. "You're makin' a big mistake here, asshole."

The man stiffened, shooting a glance at Dewey. To his credit, the detective didn't interfere. He didn't know what Vecchio was up to, but he'd let this play out a bit.

Giacco trained his eyes back on Ray. "Is that a threat, cop? 'Cause if it is, I bet my lawyer'll be glad to hear about it."

Ray pulled open his jacket, showing the man his empty holster. "Take a good look, shithead. No badge, no gun, no cop."

"What do you want from me?"

"I want you to confess. I want you to tell the States Attorney all about how you killed Ricci, and how you killed the kid."

Giacco snorted in disgust. "You want me to go to jail for something no one can prove I did?" He leaned back in his chair with a hard smile. "Go fuck yourself."

Something in Ray finally snapped, and he slammed his hands down hard on the table in front of Giacco, causing the man to jump. Dewey tensed, but didn't move. Ray leaned down until he was face to face with Giacco. "Listen to me good, you son of a bitch," he snarled. "I don't give a fuck about some jerk you whacked in an alley, but the cop you shot was my lover, and the girl you killed was my daughter." Ignoring the shocked gasp from Dewey, he narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice. "You're gonna tell the States Attorney every detail, and you better pray that they put you in jail for the rest of your life 'cause if you set one foot on the streets again, you cocksucker, I swear it'll be the last move you ever make."

Giacco's eyes grew wide as he realized the truth behind those words. This was no empty threat; the man in front of him would definitely kill him, given half a chance.

Ray saw the dawning comprehension on the man's face, and he knew he'd said enough. Straightening abruptly, he turned and stormed out of the room, leaving behind a now-terrified hitman, and an astonished detective.

Huey and Frannie watched him, worried, as he all but slammed the door shut behind him. "He's all yours," he told Jack, who nodded, heading back into the room. Frannie took one look at the man in front of her, noting his trembling shoulders and paler-than-usual complexion, and moved to pull him into her arms. He buried his face in her hair for a few moments, letting her presence comfort him slightly, before releasing her.

"Welsh wants to see you," she told him gently, and he nodded.

"Right. Thanks Frannie." She knew he didn't just mean for the message from Welsh, and she smiled. "Anytime, bro."

"I thought I told you to leave this guy alone, Vecchio," Welsh said without preamble as Ray walked into his office.

Ray shrugged. "You told me to wait till I cooled off. I'm cool."

"You're cool? You're so cool you had to go in there and try to blow this case all to hell? What, Vecchio, you want this guy to walk?"

Ray's eyes flashed. "I want this guy dead, Lieu, or in jail. Anywhere he's off the streets."

"And I suppose you told him that?"

Ray said nothing, gazing down at Welsh's desk. The older man sighed. "Vecchio, your behaviour was reckless and just plain stupid, but," he added, not without sympathy, "I don't blame you for it. I probably would have done the same thing in your place."

Ray looked at his superior officer warily. "I guess you talked to Mort, huh?"

"He was afraid you were going to do something drastic." Welsh raised a questioning eyebrow. "Are you?"

Before Ray could answer there was a knock at the door. Jack Huey stepped into the office, followed by his partner. Both men glanced over at Ray as they entered, Huey with suspicion and Dewey with some unidentifiable emotion that could have been admiration. Huey addressed the Lieutenant.

"Giacco's lawyer finally showed. The guy just confessed to everything," he stated without preamble. Welsh's gaze darted to Ray, who had closed his eyes in relief. If the older man saw a small measure of disappointment in his subordinate, he chose to ignore it.

"Is this going to stick, gentlemen?" he asked, and the three detectives heard the underlying meaning of his words: had the interrogation been strictly by the book?

"I didn't touch him, Lieu," Ray protested. To his surprise, Dewey spoke up. "He's right, Lieutenant. All he did was suggest the guy rethink his plea."

Ray shot Dewey a grateful look, before turning back to await Welsh's verdict. The Lieutenant contemplated his men for a long moment, then opened his desk drawer and took out Ray's shield. Tossing it to the man, he said, "Good work, Vecchio. Now get the hell out of my office, all of you."

As the three men trailed out into the bullpen, Ray turned to Dewey. "Thanks," he said quietly. The other man smiled. "No problem, Vecchio. Look, I'm sorry about the kid."

"Yeah, thanks," Ray said, not really wanting to deal with it right then. Besides, he could hear familiar footsteps approaching.

Dewey nodded an briefly clasped Ray's shoulder before moving back to his desk. The footsteps moved into the bullpen and stopped behind Ray.

"Ray? What did you do to Giacco?"

He took a deep breath before turning around. "I didn't do anything to him, Stella."

Her eyes narrowed. "I suppose he just confessed in a fit of remorse, then?"

"I guess so," Ray said evenly. "Dewey'll swear that I never laid a hand on him; hell, I didn't even have my badge at the time, so it wouldn't be police brutality in any case."

"Oh, that's convenient, Ray."

He forced himself to let the comment go, knowing that it wouldn't do either of them any good right now to go to war over this. Besides, he had more important things on his mind.

"Look, Stella, this case was really important to me; I wasn't gonna do anything to mess it up. Everything was legit, I promise."

"You're still upset because of that kid," she said with a touch of her usual sarcasm. "You only knew her for a week, for God's sake, and all of a sudden you act like she was your d..." Ray flinched at her words, and she trailed off as the realization struck her. "Your daughter?" she gasped, surprised.

Ray noticed that they had the sudden, undivided attention of everyone in the room; he didn't care. "Stella, we need to talk about this."

She shook her head in shock, or maybe disgust. "I don't believe this," she said, almost to herself. "How could you..." She stared at him as if she'd never seen him before. He moved towards her and she quickly stepped away.

"Stella," he began.

"No, Ray," she said faintly. "Don't." Turning, she marched out of the room. Ray stood in the middle of the bullpen, staring vacantly into space for a long moment until he became aware of the half-dozen pairs of curious eyes trained on him. Avoiding their gaze, he clipped his newly- returned badge to his belt and quickly left the room.

Several hours later Ray sat on his couch, hanging up the phone with one hand and picking up the unopened bottle of Jack Daniels with the other. He had spent most of the day following a long, cold paper trail, and the conclusion it had led him to was not an appealing one.

As he twisted the cap off the bottle and poured himself a generous shot of the liquid he smiled humourlessly to himself. Fifteen years... Stella had every right to look as shocked and upset as she had. True, fifteen years ago they hadn't been married yet, not even officially engaged, but still...

His attention was caught by a reflection of sunlight on a piece of metal by the window. Putting aside his glass for the moment he walked over to the desk where just a few days ago Desiree had been looking at his and Fraser's pictures. He remembered that she had lingered over the last one, but he had been called away before she could ask him about it.

Picking up the delicate silver frame he brought it over to the couch, taking his glass and draining it in a single gulp before pouring himself another, and settling back to examine the faded picture.

To all appearances he hadn't moved at all by the time Fraser found him there later that evening. The Mountie had had to work late at the consulate to catch up on what he'd missed the previous week, and was surprised to come home to a darkened apartment.

"Ray?" he called out tentatively as he entered. He'd seen the GTO parked outside and knew his lover must be home. Perhaps he was asleep...

A low-pitched "Hey Frase" answered him, and the Mountie frowned slightly. Turning on the lights, he approached the couch, his eyes lighting on the opened liquor bottle. Gingerly sitting down next to Ray on the couch, he watched his lover who was still staring absently off into space. "Frase," he said, and the bleakness of his tone alarmed Fraser. Something had obviously gone very wrong today. Had Giacco gone free after all?

His attention was caught by the object clasped in Ray's hands. It was an old picture of Ray's grandmother that Mrs. Kowalski had dug up somewhere and brought over on their last visit. As Fraser examined the picture he was shocked to notice the physical similarities between the woman in the photo and Desiree. He looked up at Ray in amazement.

"I knew she reminded me of someone, Frase. I just couldn't figure out who before today."

"The resemblance is remarkable," Fraser admitted. Did this have something to do with what was upsetting Ray?

"She didn't just look like her, either," Ray went on. "They were the same on the inside, too. When I was a kid, Nana was my favourite person in the whole world. She told the greatest stories, she never made me feel like dirt, like my dad did sometimes when my brother did stuff better than me. And she gave the best hugs." Ray smiled sadly at the memory, though Fraser could see a moistness in his eyes. He hastily placed his arm around Ray's shoulders, and the cop leaned into the embrace.

"Ray, what's wrong?" Fraser asked finally, suspecting that it was something very, very bad. Nothing, though, could have prepared him for Ray's next words.

"Desiree was my daughter, Ben."

A wave of shock passed through Fraser, and he gasped, "What!"

"That's what Adams wanted to see me about this morning. Her blood test matched mine; I'm... I was her father."

Fraser pulled his lover tightly to him, still stunned by the news. "My God, Ray! A thought struck him. "Did you know?"

Ray pulled away from him suddenly, furious. "What the fuck, Fraser? Of course I didn't know!"

Fraser quickly tried to reassure him. "Ray, I didn't mean to imply that you knew Desiree was specifically... I meant, did you know, when she was born... oh dear..."

Ray relaxed, finally grasping Fraser's meaning. "No, Frase. It was kind of a rough time, neither of us were thinking straight."

"Ah," said Fraser, nodding. He couldn't blame Ray for what was obviously a youthful indiscretion, no matter how regrettable the consequences might be. "Do you know who her mother is?"

Ray snorted. "Oh yeah, Frase, I knew right away. I just couldn't believe it until I checked out a couple of things today. I still can't believe it, actually."

"Are you going to tell Stella? After all, she is assigned to this case, and it would be prudent for her to know, although if you don't think she should... Did she know the mother?" He stopped, noticing a strange look in his lover's eyes.

"Frase," Ray said sadly, "Stella was her mother."

Fraser stared at him blankly. "Are you certain?"

Ray nodded. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure, seeing as Stella was the only person I slept with until... well, until the divorce. Unless Desiree was some sort of immaculate contraception thing, there aren't many other options."

Fraser was now speechless, the stunning revelations about his lover coming too quickly for him to process. "Are you... are you going to tell her?"

"She already knows, Frase. She figured it out this morning, and she shot me down about it in front of the bullpen." He laid his head back down on Fraser's shoulder. "Hell, I don't want to talk about it anymore, either." He waved an arm in the general direction of the liquor bottle. "And that sure ain't working."

"How much have you had, Ray?"

The cop shrugged. "Just the one glass. I thought I needed to get drunk." He glanced up at Fraser, almost shyly. "Turns out what I really need is you."

Touched, Fraser reached up to cup Ray's face and pressed his lips to his lover's, trying to convey to him through the action all the sympathy and pain he was feeling for him. Ray reached around to embrace him, tightening his hold, clinging to Fraser as if afraid to let him go. He deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue into Ray's mouth and entwining it with his lover's, sucking gently until they had to break apart to draw breath.

As one, the men made their way into the bedroom, shedding their clothes along the way. As Fraser finished removing his boots and straightened, feeling a jolt run through him at the sight of his lover already sprawled naked on the bed, watching him undress with darkening eyes. "C'mere, Ben," he said huskily.

Slipping in alongside Ray he took him in his arms again. Their mouths sealed together while their hands explored familiar territory. Fraser reached for his lover's hardening cock, stroking it gently until Ray's hand moved down to stop him. In a low voice the cop said, "Fuck me, Ben."

The words echoed all the way to Fraser's own cock, which grew even harder as he whispered, "Are you sure, Ray?"

The blond man nodded. "Oh, yeah, Ben. I want you inside me. I want you to make me forget all about today. I want you to pound the memories right out of me." Each sentence was punctuated by a slow, sucking kiss to Fraser's jaw, to his shoulder, to his neck. When Ray finally murmured "Please, Ben," the Mountie was so wildly aroused that all he could think about was fulfilling Ray's desires.

He pushed Ray non-too-gently onto his back as he reached into the bedside drawer, removing the tube of lubricant, unscrewing the cap as he bent down to take the head of Ray's penis into his mouth. Ray gasped at the sensation, then moaned as Fraser rubbed a slick fingertip over and around the small puckered entrance to his body.

Fraser felt a thrill as his lover's "Oh, yesss!" filled his ears, and he slowly pushed the digit inwards, massaging the lube deep within the hidden passage. He added another finger, then a third, waiting for Ray's taut muscles to relax, searching for the small nub... Suddenly Ray cried out in pleasure, arching his back and thrusting his hips forwards. "Oh God, Ben," he gasped. "Fuck me!"

Fraser withdrew his fingers, pausing to coat his own throbbing shaft with the slippery substance before positioning himself over his lover. Ray raised his knees and parted his legs further to accommodate him, and Fraser placed the tip of his cock at the slick opening, hesitating.

"Now, Ben, please, hard," came Ray's breathless pleas, and with one slow, firm stroke Fraser buried himself in that tight, hot passage.

The two men's harsh cries intermingled as the connection seared a path through their bodies. Fraser raised himself up on his hands and thrust deeply, grunting in satisfaction as Ray's long, slender legs wrapped around his hips. Ray's hands reached over his head to grasp the headboard tightly, and he thrust his ass repeatedly upwards to meet Fraser's every stroke, his groans and sighs filling the room. His entire being was slowly spiralling down to a single point; he knew almost nothing but the hard cock driving into him, and yet it still wasn't quite enough to banish the day's events from his mind.

"Harder," he pleaded, and Fraser gritted his teeth, striving to comply, pounding more and more forcefully into the slender body beneath him, harder than they had ever done it before, slamming into Ray's prostate with every thrust, making his lover writhe and moan beneath him.

Suddenly Ray threw his head back with a shuddering cry, his cock spasming and shooting a creamy white stream between their bodies. Fraser felt the sticky wetness, his mind filled with the thought that it was that same seed that had helped create a baby so many years ago, and he cried out Ray's name as his own orgasm ripped through him.

They lay in a collapsed heap for a long moment, trying to catch their breath. Fraser slipped gently out of Ray, reaching down to grab a discarded undershirt to wipe up with, when he noticed a shudder pass through his lover's body. In shock he realized that Ray was crying, the harsh sobs tearing into his heart.

"My God, Ray," he said, aghast. "Did I hurt you? I didn't mean to be so rough..."

Ray shook his head, reaching his arms out to Fraser who quickly pulled him close.

"She was so sweet, Ben," he sobbed, "so gentle. And she was my baby. I could've known her all her life, I could've been her dad, and she's gone!"

Fraser gently rubbed his lover's back, rocking him like a child, trying to soothe his grief while hiding his own sudden rage towards the woman who had not only denied Ray a chance at fatherhood but who had blatantly stolen that chance from him.

Some time later, Ray fell into a troubled slumber, but sleep was much longer in coming for the Mountie.

Late the following afternoon, Fraser was in his office filling in various forms when his phone rang. "Canadian consulate, Const "

"Yeah, I know who you are, Frase," Ray said, sounding amused, and Fraser smiled fondly. "Listen, I gotta go follow a lead, and I don't know when I'll be done."

"That's all right, Ray," Fraser assured him. "Dief and I can manage without you for a little while, just this once."

"Gee, thanks, Fraser. I guess you just keep me around for sex, right?"

"Of course, Ray," he answered. "That, and the fact that I love you madly and would spend every moment of the day with you if I could, that is."

There was a pause, and Ray's voice returned, a little huskier than before. "Oh, God, Ben, me too."

Fraser wanted nothing more than to let the loving silence linger, but more urgent matters brought him back to reality. "Have you spoken to Stella yet?"

Ray sighed. "Nah, she's not answering my messages. I don't think she's ever gonna, either."

"She owes you an explanation, Ray."

Fraser could imagine Ray running a weary hand over his face. "Frase, Stella's number one rule is that she doesn't owe anything to anybody. She's not gonna break that rule for me, not now."

He forced his jaw to unclench. "That's hardly fair to you, Ray."

"Well, Frase, you know the only fair deal life ever gave me was havin' you love me. Listen, Welsh is callin' me, I gotta go. I'll see you tonight, and we'll talk, okay?"

"Of course, Ray," he replied softly, and hung up the phone. He sat staring down at the instrument for a moment, then checked his watch he had approximately half an hour until the end of his shift. Not that he was getting much work done; his thoughts were constantly returning to his lover's problem.

He suddenly sat up straighter as an idea struck him, and a hard glint filled his eyes. Ray was too vulnerable right now to risk Stella's wrath by confronting her, and she was definitely not going to take the initiative... someone had to make the next move for them.

Picking up the phone he made two quick calls, satisfied with the results: the wheels were now in motion. With greater diligence, he finished the forms he had been working on, and thirty minutes later he and the wolf were on their way to the precinct.

It had been surprisingly easy to get hold of the pictures. On arriving at the precinct he had immediately gone down to the morgue, knowing Mort usually took his break at around that time. He was met by Edna Adams who looked a little nervous, but mostly worried; she handed him a thick brown envelope.

"Here you go, Constable. Just make sure you get them back to me by the end of the day. They have to go down to records tomorrow morning."

"Understood," he nodded.

"Just hope it helps," she added softly. "He's a good guy."

Fraser smiled. "Yes, he is." He grasped the envelope, and with a "Thank you kindly" he strode out of the room. Edna shook her head; the 27th precinct was turning out to be a very interesting place to work.

Frannie quickly glanced up as Fraser entered the bullpen. "She's talking to Welsh," she told him. "Ray left on a case about twenty minutes ago, then he said he was going home."

Fraser nodded. "Thank you kindly, Francesca." He glanced around the room, relieved to find it relatively empty. He didn't know quite how Stella would react to his presence, though he feared the worst, and the fewer witnesses to that, he supposed, the better.

Just then the door to Welsh's office opened and Stella Kowalski walked out. Her eyes widened slightly as she caught sight of the Mountie, then narrowed as she attempted to walk past him without actually acknowledging his presence.

"Ms. Kowalski, could I have a word with you?" He couldn't quite bring himself to say 'please' to the woman.

"No," she said sharply, trying to manoeuver between Fraser and Dewey, who had just come in with what looked to be a large assortment of hockey equipment.

"It regards an extremely important matter, ma'am."

Still not looking at him she spat, "What part of 'no' don't you understand, Constable?" She tried to move past him on the other side, but found her way barred by a hostile-looking wolf. With a sigh, she turned to Fraser. "All right, you have one minute. What do you want?"

"Perhaps we should converse in a more private location," he said, trying to give her a chance to keep her dignity.

"Perhaps you should tell me what you want before your minute runs out."

Inwardly, Fraser cheered, taking a small amount of satisfaction in the knowledge that this conversation would be witnessed after all.

"I have something here which I believe you ought to look at, Ms Kowalski," he told her, moving to the nearest empty desk Ray's and opening the envelope in his hand. Curious now, as well as irritated, she moved around to face him, keeping the desk between them, he was happy to note. Stepping over beside the desk, he placed himself between Stella and the rest of the room, effectively cutting off her exit. She noted this with a frown, realizing her control of the situation was diminishing rapidly.

Fraser reached into the envelope and drew out a dozen or so large photographs, laying them out on the desk, glancing at them only briefly, and barely managing to keep his own reaction in check. Stella caught her breath in shock and disgust: the pictures showed crime scene and forensic images of the young woman they had found the previous week.

"Constable," she gasped. "Is this some kind of sick joke?"

"No, Ms. Kowalski," he answered coldly. "This is your daughter."

A steel fist seemed to grip her insides as she stared down at the pictures, now seeing in the pale still figure the young woman whom she had seen in this very room only a few days earlier. Her body had been found in lake Michigan, she knew, and though she had spent only a brief time in the water the pictures were quite... difficult to look at. Her face had been unmarked, though, and Stella stared at the features framed by the muddy blond curls, features that were as familiar to her as her own.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Constable," she said finally.

"Don't you? Your reaction to Ray yesterday would indicate "

"He may be the father, Constable, but I don't recall having undergone any maternity tests lately."

"That isn't necessary, ma'am. According to Ray, you are the only woman with whom he could have fathered this child."

She snorted. "Condoms aren't a hundred percent effective, Fraser."

His gaze darkened. "Abstinence is."

She stared at him. Ray had told her she had been the only one for him, but she hadn't actually believed him; they had been in college, for God's sake. Finally, she found her voice. "I realize this is covering old territory, Constable, but what the hell business of yours is this anyway?"

Fraser felt the first flickers of rage surge through him. "Ray's happiness is my business," he told her firmly. "And I seem to be much more mindful of it than you ever were."

Her eyes flashed dangerously. "Why, because you've been sleeping with him for a couple of months? You think because you're fucking him that you know more about him than I do? He was in love with me since we were twelve, Fraser. I know him."

"Yes, you do. You know that he had complete faith in you, that he felt you were the one person who would never betray him. You know that he's a good man. You know that he would make a first-rate father, given the chance, which you refused him. As a matter of fact, Miss Kowalski, you know that he wanted a child with you more than anything in the world."

"He wanted a fairy tale," she snapped. "A happy-ever-after, lovey-dovey wife in the kitchen and dozens of kids at his feet. He never clued in that a fairy tale isn't real."

"No, Stella, he wanted you, and he wanted your child. Was that really too much for him to ask?"

"Yes, goddamn it! I had the future to think about. I was about to go to law school; I wasn't even married yet, I couldn't have a baby!"

Fraser quickly did the math in his head; the result astounded him. "You were engaged to Ray at the time," he said, almost wonderingly. "You knew you were going to marry him, and that even then he desperately wanted a baby."

"He was just a big baby himself," she said sarcastically, and Fraser tensed in anger.

"He would have loved that child; he would have been the perfect father, if you'd given him the chance."

She snorted. "He would have taken up even more of my time. I had plans, Fraser. I had a career to start. He was clingy enough as it is."

"And so you had the baby secretly?"

"I told Ray I was going to find myself for a few months. I went to my aunt's house upstate until the baby was born, then we left it with a social worker in the city. End of story."

"Until Ray found out."

"I never meant for that to happen. Or for her to get killed either."

"No," he said grimly. "You merely denied her protection from the man who wanted her dead. Actually, Ms Kowalski, you should probably have had an abortion sixteen years ago; it would have been the same result, with much less pain for everyone involved ."

He didn't see the blow coming, and the sharp slap of her hand across his face echoed through the now-silent room. "I think we're finished here, Constable," she hissed.

"Not quite," he said, ignoring his stinging cheek. Were you planning on telling Ray about all this?"

"Me? I would have thought you'd take great pleasure in doing that yourself, Constable."

"I assure you, Ms Kowalski, that I take no pleasure whatsoever in anything involving yourself. Ray, though, is still rather fond of you, and though he is somewhat upset over this, I think he deserves to hear the particulars from you."

She simply glared at him, and he reluctantly moved aside to let her pass. She pushed past him, and stopped, suddenly remembering that they had not been alone in the room. Huey, Dewey, Francesca and several others had been staring at them, shocked by their words, and were now openly casting hostile glares in her direction.

Stella's face flushed in embarassed anger, and she stalked out of the bullpen, the sharp clicking of her heels thunderously loud in the shocked silence. Then the spectators turned to Fraser and, as one, applauded loudly.

With a flush of his own, Fraser turned away from the group and retrieved the scattered pictures, gathering up the last remnants of Ray's little girl. He felt a presence behind him, and turned to see Welsh regarding him intently.

"Good work, Constable," he said.

Fraser raised an eyebrow. "Thank you, sir."

"Next time, keep it out of my bullpen."

"Understood."

He wasn't able to leave quietly, either. Frannie embraced him in a sisterly way, with a look that didn't bode well for Stella the next time she saw her; and the duck boys approached him.

"That was awesome, Fraser," gushed Dewey. "The bitch deserved everything she got."

"Don't worry," Huey assured him. "Ray might be a spaz sometimes, but he's a good cop. We'll make sure this doesn't get around. And Fraser," he added with a pointed look, "we're cool about the other thing, too."

"The other thing?" Fraser asked, then remembered that Stella's comments had pretty much outed him and Ray to the whole room. He glanced at the group, grateful for their understanding. Nodding his thanks, he left the bullpen, heading back down to the morgue to return the pictures he hoped to God Ray never had to see.

Ray glanced up as Fraser entered the apartment. His greeting died on his lips when he saw his lover's appearance, though, and he exclaimed, "Geez, Fraser, what the hell happened to your face?"

Fraser looked startled. "My face?"

Ray reached out gently to stroke the injured cheek. "It's all red; looks like someone smacked you one."

"Ah, yes," answered Fraser. It hadn't hurt after the original stinging had worn off, and amidst all the other events today he'd forgotten all about it. "Well, Ray, someone ... er ... slapped me."

Ray's eyes narrowed. "Who?"

Fraser ran his thumb over his right eyebrow. "Ray, it really doesn't matter..."

"Who?"

"I don't think..."

"Dammit Fraser, answer me. Who hit you?"

Fraser sighed. "Stella."

Ray stared at him, stunned. "Stella? Why the hell would Stella wanna hit you?"

"Well, Ray, judging by the recent developments in our relationship I'm sure she has several reasons to want to..." He suddenly found himself in Ray's arms, being kissed rather fiercely. When they finally separated, Fraser stared at Ray, confused and a little aroused.

"Best way to shut you up," Ray explained with a grin. "Now tell me what happened to make Stella go ballistic on you."

Fraser opened his mouth to speak when a knock sounded at the door. With a groan of pure frustration Ray stormed through the entranceway and yanked the door open, finding himself face to face with a startled Stella Kowalski. After a moment's silence she gestured into the apartment.

"Can I come in?"

Ray stepped aside to let her through. As she entered the living room he saw her tense up, and noted curiously that Fraser had done the same.

Dief whined suddenly and Fraser glanced down at him, grateful. "Ah, I believe Diefenbaker needs his walk. If you'll excuse us..." and the two all but sprinted for the door.

A tense silence filled the room as Ray and Stella gazed at one another. Finally he looked away, moving into the kitchen; she followed him tentatively.

"You want some coffee?" he asked, pouring himself a cup.

"Thanks," she said, accepting the drink from him somewhat awkwardly.

Without quite meeting her gaze, he asked softly, "So why'd you hit Fraser?"

She tensed. "What did he tell you?"

"It doesn't matter what he told me; I wanna hear it from you. Why'd you do it?"

"He was rude to me," she said defensively.

Ray stared at her in disbelief. "Rude to you? He's not even rude to mobsters, Stella."

Her eyes narrowed. "I knew you'd take his part in this."

"Jesus, Stella," he said in exasperation. "I don't even know what the hell happened!"

She took a sip of her coffee. "Fine," she said, staring down into the dark depths of the cup. "He accosted me in the bullpen of the 27th. He made several accusations and forced me to look at some very disturbing pictures. He basically ruined my credibility in front of the entire room, so yes, Ray, I slapped him. He's lucky I don't sue him."

Ray digested this information silently. He could guess what those accusations had been, and he sighed inwardly; he should have known Fraser would do something like this. And he didn't even want to think about those pictures. He suddenly felt very tired; tired of this whole damn mess, and tired of Stella's little games. "What do you want, Stell?" he asked softly. "Why are you here?"

"I was told we should talk," she answered with a touch of sarcasm, and he bristled.

"What's to talk about, Stell? You had a baby, my baby, and you took her away without even telling me about her. End of story, right?"

"That's right, Ray," she retorted hotly. "It was my decision to make; it was my life."

"No, Stella," he snapped, "it was her life. Not that she ever had much of a life, goin' from one cold home to another, watchin' her friends disappear or die. She even tried to kill herself once, you know, 'cause of the 'life' you made her live."

Stella's face flushed angrily; she could feel herself floundering, and she held tightly to her original defence. "I didn't have a choice, Ray. I wasn't even out of school yet; what the hell would I have done with a baby?"

"Loved her, Stella," he cried. "We would've loved her. It was the only thing she wanted in the world, to be loved, and we could have given it to her, and now we can't Stella, now I can't because she's DEAD!" His voice broke, and he turned away from her, resting his forehead against the wall. "Oh God, Stella, she was our child, our... our legacy, and now she's gone."

Stella stared at her ex-husband, aghast. Never in over twenty years had she seen him in so much pain. "I am sorry she died, Ray," she said finally, and he uttered a brief, humourless chuckle.

"Yeah, you even went to the funeral and everything. Real big of you, Stella, after all you did to protect her."

She flinched as though he had struck her. "Ray, I did all I could for her."

He turned his head, piercing her with his bleak gaze. "I'm sorry, Stell, I shouldn't have said that. You did do your best."

Neither of them convinced by his words, they remained silent for a time; and in that moment Ray realized that he no longer felt anger towards Stella. Actually, he no longer felt much of anything for her, except maybe pity.

"You'd better go, Stella," he said finally. "Frase'll be back soon."

She nodded slowly, perhaps realizing too that something irrevocable had just been lost. She moved towards the door, turning back one last time. "Take care of yourself, Ray," she said, meeting his blue gaze one last time.

"You too, Stell."

Ray was just starting supper when Fraser and Dief came in from their walk. The Mountie glanced at his lover in trepidation, but the blond's demeanor revealed nothing.

"Ray?" he asked warily; the other man didn't turn, still calmly stirring the boiling noodles.

"In the bullpen, Frase?" he asked at last.

Fraser winced. "I am sorry about that, Ray, but I did suggest we go somewhere private. She insisted..."

"Yeah, Frase, I'm sure she did."

Fraser scrutinized his lover closely, still trying to read the man's emotions. "I couldn't let her hurt you anymore, Ray," he said softly, and at those words Ray finally turned around to face him. Expecting to see anger and disappointment in those expressive blue-gray eyes, he was relieved to find instead only affection and a certain sad weariness.

He quickly moved over to Ray, drawing him into his arms. Ray settled into the embrace with a sigh, laying his head down on Fraser's shoulder. "I know, Ben, and I appreciate it, I really do. Although you mighta picked a more subtle way of doin' it," he added with a glint of amusement.

"How did your conversation with Stella go?" Fraser asked, ignoring the teasing statement.

"Ah, Frase, you know, Stella's Stella. She made a choice fifteen years ago, and she's still stickin' to it now." Glancing up to meet the Mountie's gaze, he added gravely, "It's over, Fraser. All of it."

Fraser knew he didn't just mean this particular event. "I'm sorry, Ray," he said truthfully, knowing how much Ray's past meant to him.

"Yeah, well, I'm not, Frase. Sorry, that is. I mean, I am sorry that it all had to happen the way it did, and I'm really sorry that I only met Desiree last week instead of when she was born... actually, I'll be sorry about that for the rest of my life. But the stuff with Stella, that should've been over a long time ago."

"It's a part of you, Ray," Fraser protested.

"So are you, Ben," Ray answered vehemently. "And I like your part of me a hell of a lot better than I liked her part of me."

Fraser puzzled over that statement until he realized he had something much more important to do instead: he gently cupped Ray's head in his hands and whispered "I love you" before claiming his beloved's mouth in a long, tender kiss.

EPILOGUE

Ray slowly approached the grave, slowing down and stopping in amazement as he read the inscription on the newly-carved stone. Ignoring the sudden tears that prung to his eyes he smiled fondly, wondering how Fraser - or maybe Mrs Martin - had managed it, but eternally grateful to them for it. He stared down at the simple grey stone for a long time before kneeling down and placing the bouquet of lilies he had brought on the slightly raised mound of dirt.

He ran his hand gently over the inscription, tracing the contours of the words. "Hey, Des," he murmured unselfconsciously. "I brought you some flowers. They're Easter Lilies; I figured, hey, it's Easter, good time for 'em... and, um, they made me think of you.

"I miss you, Des. I know I only knew you for a short time, but I do anyway. You were this bright spot, like a little bit of happiness in that whole ugly mess with Giacco. He got life, by the way; I know that doesn't make up for what he did to you, but at least he ain't goin' anywhere. We got 'im for you, Des. Least I could do for my daughter, right?

"You know, I always used to wonder, if Stella and I'd had kids, what they'd have been like. I kind of hoped they'd be smart, and good, and nice, and good-looking and all that. I'm glad to know I was right. I'm so proud of you, of who you became, Des. I wish I could've told you that.

"I wish I'd been there for you, though, Des. I missed your first words, and your first steps, and your first day at school; I never got to play catch with you, or be proud of your report cards, or give you chicken soup when you were sick. I never got to teach you how to clean an engine, or ride your bike or feed Dief a donut without losin' half your hand..." He wiped his streaming eyes with his sleeve, and gave a small smile. "I didn't get any of your firsts, Des, but I got your last hug, and I promise you I'll still be feelin' that when I'm a hundred and ten."

He stayed there silent, on his knees on the cool grass, taking deep shuddering breaths. Finally, he calmed down a bit, and reached over to stroke one of the lily's petals.

"Mom and Dad are back in town. I told 'em about you. I think Mom's gonna come by and see you in a couple of days; just give her a little time to process it all. She was kind of upset but she'll get over that, she's pretty tough. Dad just sorta looked at me. I told 'em about how you reminded me of Nana, and that made 'em happy. They wish they'd met you, though. I told 'em about Fraser and me, too, but turns out they already knew. Go figure, huh?

"Turns out the only person who had a problem with us was Stella. Doesn't' matter anymore, though, since she's gone. She couldn't work with the 27th anymore anyway, since that day with Fraser. So she got a job in New York, workin' for some guy named McCoy. She says it's best for her career anyway, and since that's what's important to her, I guess it's a good thing.

"You know, Fraser told me what you said about Stella after you saw her in the bullpen. How you thought she was a bitch and all. I guess you're glad you didn't know she was your mother; that'd suck, wouldn't it? She wasn't always like that, you know. But I guess it doesn't really matter to you now..."

He stood there a while longer, lost in thought, until a distant bark brought him back to reality. With a final "See you soon, Des," he turned, and walked towards the Mountie and wolf who were patiently waiting for him. His family.

A solitary figure stood, shaded by a large oak tree, watching him leave. She wiped tears from her own eyes, using her left hand as her right one tightly held a lovingly-crafted dream catcher. The blond girl watched as the cop was warmly embraced by his friend, who led him towards their car, trailed happily by a white wolf. As they disappeared from her sight, an older man appeared behind her, laying a hand on her shoulder. "It's not quite time yet," the man told her, gazing too towards where the men had been. "Come on, dear, Caroline can't wait to meet you."

The girl nodded, and the two gently faded into the twilight, leaving behind the silent graveyard and the newly carved stone: In Loving Memory of Desiree Kowalski.

The end.