RATING: NC-17; Fraser/Kowalski.
SPOILERS: None.
SUMMARY: Sometimes, it *is* what it looks like.
ARCHIVAL/DISTRIBUTION: Hexwood, DSX, Serge, SergeAsylum, and anywhere else it seems of interest, as long as my name, et al, remains attached.
FEED THE MUSE: miriam.heddy@verizon.net
AUTHOR'S WEBSITE: http://fangirlz.net/miriam.heddy/
DISCLAIMERS: No profit but pleasure.
NOTES: Many thanks to both Resonant and Sigrid for their fine beta work. And, of course, thanks to CKR, for inspiring many a fantasy, some of which I may put into words.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Monday.

Welsh was taking a sick day--a sure sign of the apocalypse. Ray sat at his desk, shuffling manila files. If he waited long enough to decide which file to start typing up, a case just might walk in.

He looked over at the door, for a second imagining he saw a flash of red. But it was just a red umbrella on someone's arm moving down the hallway, and he sighed.

He could call Fraser. On the other hand, he didn't really have anything to say.

Berger, Fredericks, Jackson, Mallory, Nichols, Shelley, Thompson. Okay, so now they were alphabetized. He could start with T or B.

Mallory, Fredericks, Shelley, Thompson, Berger, Jackson. Yeah, that was better. Welsh'd be asking for them based on how old they were, right? Right.

He opened the Mallory file, pulling out his handwritten notes and grabbing a few blank forms, then got up and got a cup of coffee. The pencil was dull, so he got up again and got it good and sharp. Was he hungry? Maybe he should start this after lunch.

"Going to lunch," he said, to nobody in particular. Nobody answered, or even seemed to care one way or the other.

He was halfway to the Consulate before he realized where he was going, and slowed down, about to turn around. He should've called first. Fraser probably had things to do. Diplomatic stuff. He pulled over and parked the car, grabbing his cellphone.

The guy who'd replaced Fraser when Fraser became the new "Ice Queen" answered the phone and he got connected to Fraser's office and waited while the phone there rang, once, twice. He almost hung up, but then Fraser picked up.

"It's me. I was, uh, wondering if you had--"

"Excuse me for a moment, Ray--Yes? Two o'clock. Yes. I see." There was silence at the other end of the phone, then the sound of someone talking to Fraser, and then Fraser again. "I'm sorry, Ray. You were saying?"

"Lunch," he said. He shouldn't've called. Fraser was busy, and anyway, he'd see him in, what, five hours?

"When will you be free?"

"It's a slow day. Welsh's out."

"I do hope it's nothing serious?"

Ray rolled his eyes involuntarily. "Nah. He got the flu. It's going around."

Fraser cleared his throat. "The, ah, blue flu?"

"Nah. Just the regular kind."

"Ah, well, be sure to drink fluids, Ray."

"At lunch, I'll drink fluids. You can buy," Ray suggested, figuring Frase'd do just that--and probably force-feed him chicken soup--just in case.

"Understood, Ray." He could hear Fraser smile in response. "I will be free in fifteen minutes. Would that give you time--"

"Got it," he answered, hanging up and looking around for a place to park the car for ten minutes.

*************

"You meet anyone new today?" It was a regular question. Fraser's people weren't much more interesting than his own, but at least they usually were on the up-and-up--tourists who lost their passports or wallets or Americans who wanted to get married on the Canadian side of Niagara Falls.

"Well, this morning, there was a young woman--" Ray grinned and Fraser's eyebrows raised as he continued, "She was pregnant and considering giving birth to the baby here, in Chicago."

"So the kid'd be a citizen?"

"Yes, that was her initial thought, but she then worried about health insurance for the child. Canada's--"

"Yeah, yeah. We got no national health insurance here. I know. So'd'ya straighten her all out?"

Fraser nodded, not looking too irritated at having been interrupted. "I was able to provide her with referrals to the proper agencies who could provide her with the relevant information so that she could best weigh her options. Her situation was complicated, as she is a student in her last year at the university."

"Single mom?"

"At the moment, yes, although the child's father is also Canadian and considering altering his citizenship, which further complicates matters."

"Huh. Sounds like a mess. So, you meet any *attractive* women?"

"The young woman in question was quite attractive." Somehow--and it wasn't just the Mountie thing--Fraser got away with saying things like that without sounding like a lech.

"Yeah, and what--six months pregnant?"

"Eight, actually, which made the matter rather more pressing."

Ray laughed as Fraser stopped with the innocent act and grinned.

"So the baby might decide for her is what you're saying."

"That is a distinct possibility," Fraser agreed.

"Well... I got nothing."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Unless you count Mrs. Jenson."

"She is a widow, I understand."

"She's sixty-five."

"Ah, but in some cultures, age in a woman is a highly revered trait. There is much to be said for--"

"Experience, right, yeah. Well, she knows how to serve a donut, if that's your thing."

At that, Ray felt a push at his leg--and Dief peered over his knee.

"Not here, Dief. Jeez. Doesn't anybody feed you anymore?"

Fraser frowned at Dief, and Dief subsided back under the booth. "As I have not had the opportunity to visit the station as frequently, Dief's diet has seen much improvement."

"Bet he's getting cranky, though."

Fraser shook his head. "True, his attitude has suffered somewhat from your absence."

Ray smiled at that, considering that Dief wasn't the only one with an attitude. He leaned over and patted Dief's head. "Miss me, boy?"

Dief's head rose up to meet his hand, and Ray scratched behind his ears.

"Excuse me."

Ray looked up from petting Dief, but Fraser was already headed for the men's room in back.

**************

Saturday.

"Mrs. Orphan_Account's finally moved outta 2B." Ray shifted from his left foot to his right, in time to the bass beat coming from next door. The walls of Fraser's building weren't exactly paper-thin, but they were pretty damned close.

"Yes, I had heard that."

"Got a new job in Springfield."

"That is good news. I spoke with her last week. Angel has often asked me what the country was like."

"An-hel?" Ray asked, mimicking Fraser's soft "g." He'd always forgot and called the kid Angel, himself. It occurred to him that it was kind of strange that he even knew the names of all the kids in Fraser's building. Well, almost knew their names. Trust Frase to know how to pronounce all of 'em. And he probably did more than talk to Mrs. Orphan_Account. Knowing Frase, he'd packed up all her stuff for her, too. And probably cleaned up the apartment so she'd get her security deposit back. Assuming they even *had* security deposits in this dump.

"Her son," Fraser clarified and Ray nodded.

"Yeah, right. So it's a two bedroom...."

"Yes, I had supposed it was."

Ray glanced over and saw that Fraser was still reading the paper, only half-listening to him--although if he called him on it, Fraser'd say he was 'quite capable of paying attention to two things at once,' but then he'd probably apologize for being caught out being rude. Not that Fraser ever really *was* rude, but it was kinda nice that he felt comfortable enough to be rude to Ray, so he didn't like to say anything when it happened.

"How much you think it is?"

"Hmm?" Fraser looked up over the paper, drawing it down a bit to see over it.

"The rent on Mrs. Orphan_Account's place."

"Ah, yes. Well, my own rent is $250 a month--"

"And this is a studio, right? So I asked Fernandez about it." At that, Fraser drew the newspaper down to the table and Ray continued. "See, my rent's already 400, and I figured...."

"You would move here? I do remember you called this building a--"

"Well, uh-- yeah." He wasn't gonna fill in the blanks. Fraser seemed to pick apartments like some people picked charity cases--the scruffier, the better. And since Frase'd moved in here, he'd come up with a few names for this place, none of 'em exactly complimentary. Roach Motel (Fraser'd seen the commercials and argued that there were actually very few roaches in the building). The Ho-John (Fraser hadn't got that one). The Wrecking Ball--

Fraser cocked his head to the side and nodded, "It *would* be more economical. And the building is quite safe--"

"Yeah, I know, I know it is," Ray agreed. He'd looked into it, and his own building'd been broke into twice this year anyways. The neighbors hardly even knew he was a cop. Hell, they didn't know each other's names like they did in Fraser's building. So, yeah, it was safer here, in some ways, figuring that everyone'd know there were *two* cops in the building. Who'd wanna rob the place with practically a substation inside?

Fraser nodded again, seeming to come to some sort of decision. "I think that's a fine idea, then."

"You do?" Ray asked. Wow. That was easier than he'd thought it was gonna be. "So you wanna start packin' up now?"

"Certainly, Ray. As soon as I finish my tea...."

"Yeah, sure. Take yer time."

He got up from the table and started to pace, looking around. There was hardly anything here to pack. It'd take--what--a half hour?--to get it moved to 2B. Then they could start on his stuff. Not all of it today. He'd already told the landlord he was leaving--thank god for month to month rentals--but nothing was boxed up yet at his place.

Anxious to get started, now that the decision was made, he moved to the bookshelf--Fraser's recent stab at getting actual furniture, and it wasn't even second hand--and started pulling books off of it, stacking them on the floor.

"Ray. Ray? Ray!"

"What?" Ray looked up, shutting the book on star maps that'd fallen open to a bookmark.

"What are you doing?"

"Uh--this a trick question?"

Fraser frowned.

"I'm getting stuff ready--y'know." Ray shrugged.

"Ready?"

"Yeah--you got any boxes left?"

"Left?"

"You got an echo in here, Frase. Left, from the Orphan_Accounts' move."

"Ah. Yes, in the hall downstairs there should be--"

"Yeah--right." Raising off his knees, Ray headed to the door. He'd seen those coming in but hadn't known if they were garbage or free. "I'll go get a few. No, you just finish yer tea."

"Ray. Ray? Ray!"

Ray turned back in the hallway, balanced on the top step. Fraser was leaning outside his doorway looking confused.

"Downstairs, right?"

"Yes, but--"

Ray bounded down the stairs and returned with five flat boxes--more than he'd need for Fraser's whole place, probably. "Here," Ray pushed past Fraser, who was still standing in the doorway, and went back to the books. He straightened one of the boxes out and went to the kitchen for the box tape in the utility drawer, rummaging through five different kinds of tape--what'd Frase need with all this stuff? He hardly owned enough stuff to fix. There. Still half a roll left from Mrs. Orphan_Account.

"Ray? Why are you putting my books into boxes?"

"What?--I mean, I suppose we could carry them down in our arms."

Fraser opened and closed his mouth, then rubbed a thumb across his eyebrow.

Ray groaned. "There a problem?"

Fraser looked uncomfortable. Definitely a problem. "I believe I had misunderstood your proposition."

"My... uh, proposition?" Ray felt himself flush.

"You--that is, you meant for the both of us to move into Mrs. Orphan_Account's flat?"

"Uh, yeah?" Ray asked, dropping the empty box down next to the pile books.

"Oh."

"What'd you think I meant?"

Fraser frowned.

"Frase--?"

"I had assumed you were interested in moving into Mrs. Orphan_Account's flat."

"I am," Ray agreed, seeing Fraser frown again and finally--finally!--figuring out what went wrong. "You thought I meant *just* me movin'?"

"Yes, I--"

"So you don't wanna move?"

"I--that is I--"

"S'okay, Frase. Hey, it don't--look, it's not like we signed a lease or anything." Ray dropped to his knees and picked up a book, not seeing it as he reshelved it, then another. Damn. He hadn't exactly signed a lease, but he'd already notified his own landlord and kinda sorta put the idea past Mr. Fernandez already. Shit, no wonder it'd been so easy. Nothing with Fraser was ever that easy. It was a stupid idea anyway--him and Frase moving in together. He'd just thought that after Canada....

"Ray?"

He didn't look up, but he heard Fraser walk across the room, then saw his large stockinged feet standing next to the box.

"I merely hadn't given it any thought. You and me--sharing quarters. But I was initially correct. It would be economical--for both of us."

"Yeah, that's what I figured," Ray agreed, still re-shelving books until Fraser's hand reached down and took the next book from him, placing it instead inside the empty box.

"We do spend considerable time together already." Fraser picked up three books and gently laid them in the box.

"Yeah," Ray finally forced himself to look up and saw Fraser was smiling, just slightly. "What I figured. Save on gas, too. An' food."

Dief, who'd been asleep in the kitchen since his morning walk, finally got up and started poking his nose in the boxes. Probably lip-read the word "food" or something. Ray reached over and rubbed his shoulders, digging his fingers into Dief's dense fur.

Dief barked and Fraser's smile broadened. "I believe Dief has given approval to the plan."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

He brought Dief's nose face-forward with his own and whispered, "Great. Great minds think alike, right Dief?"

Ray heard but didn't respond to Fraser's mumbled, "And fools never differ."

After all, Fraser'd said yes.

**************

Three weeks later.

"Where the hell is the--"

"Upper shelf, beside the cornmeal."

Ray opened the cupboard over the stove and shook his head. "It *belongs* *here*." He demonstrated--opening the door over the countertop and placing the jar next to the bag of sugar--then slammed the door closed.

"That is inefficient, Ray."

"Dat's inefficient, Ray," Ray repeated, under his breath. "Yeah, well it don't make sense to put it up where ya have to reach for it."

"But you don't need it often. If you consider it, Ray, you'll find--"

"Right. I gotta *find* it. And I *do* use it often. *You* don't use it often. Yer gettin' us confused again."

"Oh. Well."

"Yeah. Exactly. So it goes *here*, got it?"

"Got it."

Now that that was settled, he looked over at Fraser and felt a little guilty. With Stella, it had always been *his* kitchen, 'cause he did all the cooking. But this was Fraser's kitchen too, and the problem was... well that was the problem right there. Okay, so yeah--he always was the kid with the "doesn't play well with others" t-shirt. Slamming his hand on the countertop for emphasis, he opened and shut the oven door.

"Yell when it buzzes, okay?"

"Should I--" Fraser was moving toward the stove, reaching for the oven door handle. Ray batted his hand away.

"Did I say touch it? Don't touch it. Don't add anything. Don't talk to it, taste it, or pull it out when you think it's good and done. Just *yell* when the timer goes, got it?"

"Ray, I fail to see how talking to it would--"

"Frase--"

"Nor can I imagine why I might *want* to talk to--"

"Frase--" This time, he glared. "Just say: understood, Ray."

What might've been a smile twitched across Fraser's face. "Understood, Ray."

"Good."

Yeah, it was all good.

And just because he knew it ticked Fraser off, when he got to the living room, Ray turned the TV up *and* put the sound through the stereo. The game was halfway over, and the Cubs were up by five.

He shut his eyes, knowing that as soon as he fell asleep, Fraser'd turn the sound back down again.

A few minutes later, he felt the springs creak as Fraser sat down on the sofa next to him.

He grinned, sliding down against the sofa arm, stretching out a little. It'd work out. They just had to negotiate--like Fraser was always saying--compromise. Yeah, that was it. He felt Fraser shift aside, and kept stretching, until he could feel Fraser's thigh pressed up against his toes.

Fraser didn't move, and as Sosa scored another run, he relaxed, easing into sleep.

**************

Friday night.

"So I drag Fraser to the movie and he sits there, frowning the whole time, and after, I ask what he thinks and he says, 'The film lacked realism' and I'm like, 'Frase--it's a bunch of guys on Mars,' and he says, 'There is no evidence to suggest life on Mars would exist in that form, if it exists at all,' and he's off on some science story he read somewhere about life on other planets. And I keep telling him, it's *fiction* and he says, 'That's no excuse for promoting misinformation on that scale. There were children in the audience' and so I tell him that it's rated R and mosta dose kids shouldn't be dere without parents to explain how it's fiction, and then he's off and complaining about the 'laxity of rules enforcement in the theaters', and did I notice dere were people in the third row who'd brought in prepopped popcorn?" Ray laughed and shook his head and Linda laughed too.

"So Fraser's your--"

"Partner." Ray finished the last bite of his steak and leaned back in his chair.

"Right. The Mountie."

"Yeah. He works over at the, y'know, Consulate."

Linda smiled. "I passed it a couple of times. Is he one of those guys in red that stand by the door like a--"

"Beefeater," Ray finished for her, glad he'd remembered the name.

"Yes."

"Useta be. Useta be a Constable, but he got promoted last year 'an now he's a Lieutenant and ordering other guys to play toy soldier."

Linda smiled again. She had a great smile. Perfect white teeth with just a little overbite that made her look human. He was big on that, since Stella.

"That was after we got back from the Northwest Territories."

"In Canada? I've never--"

"Yeah. We went up for a couple of months and had an adventure. Then, we come back and Fraser's got a big promotion, except the catch is he's gotta stay in Chicago--"

"He didn't want to stay here?"

Ray shook his head, taking another swallow of wine. "Hell no. He's got this thing for all that snow an' ice. One day, we're gonna retire an' freeze our asses off."

"You *both* want to retire in Canada?"

Linda sounded surprised and he shrugged. It wasn't like he thought about it, much, but it made sense, didn't it? "Well, yeah, not now. I've still got some time. But you gotta think about it, right?"

"I guess you do."

He poured out some more wine into their glasses and she held up a hand. "And you and Fraser work together?"

"Yeah. Well, we did. He was liaison to the precinct, worked w' me after he got off standing guard. Long story short. But now he's done w'that. No time." Ray sighed. It wasn't the same without Fraser, but things changed, and change was supposed to be good for you, wasn't it? "The idiots up North who didn't want him up North finally figured out Fraser was good at diplomatic-type shit--big surprise there--so they promoted him an' gave him the Consulate to run."

The words that had been tumbling out suddenly stopped, and he realized she was staring at him with a funny look--a kind of half-smile, almost... wise--wist--wistful? Kinda sad, anyway.

Then she smiled again and whatever she'd been thinking was gone and she was back again, bright and shiny and beautiful. And here with him. "I'd like to meet him sometime. He sounds... interesting."

Ray nodded, finishing off his wine and topping off his own glass again. "Yeah, you'll meet him. And Dief."

"Dief?"

"Oh, yeah. Dief's short for Diefenbaker. Fraser's got this deaf half-wolf...."

And soon, he had Linda laughing about the time Dief fell in love with a poodle. Women loved that story.

**********

They pulled up to her house and he walked her to the door.

"I had a nice time, Ray."

"Me too."

"I'll--"

"You gonna invite me in?"

Normally, he wasn't this pushy, but Linda was nice. Hell, she was the nicest woman he'd met in a long time. And so maybe it was strange that she was a blond lawyer and worked for the Prosecutor's office, but it wasn't like he met many women who weren't perps or cops or lawyers anyway, and he didn't go for perps anymore, and cops--well there were *lots* of reasons not to date another cop. So he was left with lawyers. Blond lawyers.

Linda paused a second too long, and he held his breath. Shit, he'd done something wrong and she was gonna say she had an early day tomorrow and he'd have to try to recover and give her a goodnight kiss and--

"Hang on."

And the door was open and she held it there and he stepped inside.

***********

"Tea? Coffee? Sherry?"

"Coffee'd be great."

"I just bought an espresso machine."

"Sure. Whatever's fine."

While she did her thing in the kitchen, he looked around the house, taking in the furniture--the sofa and chair, brown leather, soft and new looking--and the prints on the wall--some modern stuff he didn't recognize, and a couple of things he did. Nice. And a TV in the living room, which was a good sign. Last woman he dated didn't have one, or she did, but it was hidden somewhere. In the bedroom maybe.

Linda came back with two mugs that looked like those bowls of coffee they sold at the new Starbucks knock-off by the hospital. He tasted his and had to lick the steamed milk off before he got a milk mustache. At least the coffee was strong. Kind of bitter, though. She smiled at him and sat down next to him on the sofa. Yeah, that was a good sign. Okay.

He set the coffee down and moved a little closer to her. He watched and she didn't tense up, which was even better.

"Ray, I--"

"Yeah?" he asked softly.

"I *would* like to meet Fraser sometime. And Dief, of course."

"Hmm. Yeah, sure." In the soft lamp-light, you could see the rainy night had given her a frizz halo on top of her wavy blond hair. He reached out to touch it but then she did tense and he let his hand fall to the back of the sofa. Not too casual, but not bad. Maybe he shoulda said yes to the sherry? Except he was already a little relaxed and had to drive home. 'Course, if he got lucky, he'd have plenty of time to sober up...

"Ray, I really like you--"

"And I really like you," he agreed, smiling, he was sure, a little stupidly. It'd been too long. The last girl--the one who didn't watch TV--had been four months ago. And they hadn't gotten any farther than a few heavy kisses in the GTO, like a couple of teenagers or something.

"But--Ray, I--I mean, I just want to say that I understand."

"You do?" he asked, watching the way her cheeks were pinking up. Not as bright as Fraser got when he was embarrassed.

"Yes," she sounded firmer that time, like she'd made a decision.

"So whattaya understand, Linda?" He liked saying her name. Linda Stein. Linda meant pretty, didn't it? Fraser'd know. Linda Kowalski. Nah. Probably Linda Stein-Kowalski. He reached out again and this time fingered the little gold star at her collar, tracing the thin chain up along her neck, placing his finger along her pulse, then following the chain down again, to where it dipped slightly at the top of her cleavage. Her skin was damp there and smooth, and she gasped as his finger brushed against her skin, gently, and then he drew back, watching her brown eyes go wider.

"I thought--"

He leaned forward just a little, and she didn't back away, and then he was reaching up again, letting his hand cup the back of her head, not really pulling her. He edged closer on the sofa, and then their mouths met and he pressed against her, waiting for her lips to open. He could already feel himself starting to get hard. And she would be so soft and warm against him. He wondered if she dyed her hair, and what color it really was....

But she pulled back.

"You're not--"

"What?"

"I thought for sure..." And now Linda was frowning, one hand coming up to touch her mouth where her lipstick was a little smudged, the shine taken off it, probably rubbed onto him. He licked his lips and tasted the waxy gloss on his lower lip. He'd even missed that.

"Ray, I don't think this--"

"Okay," he agreed, easy--not wanting to push. Well, he wanted to push, but he wouldn't. Never did. He'd waited years to get Stella into bed. He wasn't in a hurry.

"Look, I'll call you."

"Isn't dat my line?" he asked, trying to keep it light.

"Ray..." she sighed.

Shit. Why did this sound so much like a brush-off? And she hadn't, he realized, really responded to the kiss. She hadn't opened her mouth, except to tell him to leave. Shit. "You really going to call?" God, that sounded pitiful. What's she gonna say, no?

"Ray, I just think we should be friends."

"Friends? Sure. Greatness. But--"

"I like you, Ray. Really." Her cheeks were starting to pink up again.

"Shit. You *like* me? So what'd I do?"

"Nothing!"

"So what's with friends all of a sudden?"

"You--it's not you, it's--"

He ran a hand through his hair and glanced at the wood table, at the cold espresso. "Riiight. C'mon, 'least be straight w't me. What--was it the restaurant? I pick the wrong date movie? What?'

"Ray, Ray--" and then she had that tone of voice, exactly that tone of voice--it was familiar, but he couldn't place it, couldn't figure out why it made him suddenly so angry.

"Look, I haven't done this much since the divorce." And suddenly he remembered being sixteen and in the pushed down backseat of the car and apologizing to Stella, 'cause he hadn't done it before, and she was blushing and looking at the floor of the car, just like this, exactly like this, and he'd wanted to sink into the floorboards and never come out again....

"Ray, it's--"

He stood up, his knee banging into the table and splashing some of the espresso and foam into the saucer. "Great. Greatness. *Don't* tell me. We'll just be *friends*, dat right?"

"Ray, I just--I thought you were--"

"*What*? What'd'ya think?"

"I just assumed you were--"

Ray noticed she'd stood up and was backing away. Shit, so now she thought she had a violent date on her hands? He held up his hands in surrender and tried to look calm, taking a deep breath and only after a second did it catch up to him what she'd said.

"You thought I was *what*?"

She repeated it again, so softly he almost didn't catch it.

"You thought I was...?"

She nodded, and stood her ground as he stepped around the table and came a little closer to her. Okay, so she didn't think he was dangerous. She just thought he was... *gay*??

"Why the hell'd ya think dat? Dat I was--" Shit, he couldn't even say it. "Not dat I got anything against 'em," he added, wondering why the hell he was apologizing. *She* wasn't gay. Was she? Aw, hell. "Is that it? Are *you*...?"

"What?" She blinked, flushed darker, and he had a moment of pleasure at that. "No. I thought *you*--"

"Yeah, I got dat." He nodded. "So--what--you thought I was--" C'mon, force it out, Kowalski--just say it--"gay--an' askin' you to dinner and you say yeah?"

She swallowed and seemed to consider that. "No, I, I mean there were rumors, but I don't usually listen--"

"Rumors?"

She nodded, repeating herself. He was glad he had her off-balance. "I don't usually listen, but then at dinner--"

"What? What happened at dinner?" Shit, he knew he sounded defensive. He brought his voice down, trying to stay calm. He was calm. It was just one of those misunderstandings, right? She just assumed wrong.

"It's just that-well," she paused and clenched her fingers, then splayed them out against her skirt, smoothing it down, or maybe wiping the sweat off them. "You kept talking about Fraser."

"He's my *friend*--"

"And you said he was your partner--"

"I *said* we used to work together!"

"And you live together."

"It's cheaper in a two-bedroom. He's my best friend and--"

"And you're going to retire together. In Canada."

He opened his mouth to object and realized he was sunk. She was a *lawyer*. Hell, she was a *prosecutor*. Case closed. He reached behind him for the sofa and realized he was too far away from it to sit down again. He really needed to sit down for this.

But she wasn't finished. He could see that--see that she was a lot like Stella, actually, except for the overbite and the wider hips and the Jewish thing. She was a lot like Stella. So it wouldn't've worked out anyway, probably.

*Even if she didn't think you were gay.*

"So, okay, so you thought I was--except I'm not. And you're not. Right?"

"Yes. I mean--"

"So what's the problem?" He shrugged, truly stumped. "I'm not--shit, I was *married* for--"

"Oscar Wilde was married. With two children."

"You--" he slapped his forehead, running his hand through his hair and shaking his head. "Hold on. Hold on. This isn't about what you *thought*. You don't believe me," he said, softly, looking up and facing her. "You still think it. Because I didn't have any kids you think I'm a fag?" Okay, so there went the "let's make nice" voice he was trying for, but shit--this was just too much. This was nuts. They were gonna be friends? Well, this sure as hell wasn't buddies.

"Ray, I--I don't know what to--."

"I'm not," he repeated, wondering whether it was worth arguing at this point. But it wasn't like he was never going to see her again. He'd see her in court, at the station...

"I believe you, Ray. I just--"

"What? You just *what*?"

"When you and your *friend* retire... can you honestly say you think you'll be married? Will he?"

"I...." Okay, so he hadn't thought about it in those terms, but yeah, probably, 'course they'd be married. Linda Stein-Kowalski. He laughed and shook his head. Now *that* wasn't looking so likely.

"Ray?"

"Yeah, look, I should be going."

"Ray--I'm sorry, I--"

"'sokay. You just call 'em like you see 'em, lady. I'll do the same."

He walked to the door and she followed, and he turned on the porch and looked at her, studying her, trying to figure out what just happened. She looked upset, worried. She wasn't gloating. Hell, she wasn't anything like Stella.

Maybe he could salvage things. It wasn't her fault she read things wrong. "Linda, look-- I appreciate your bein' honest w' me. We just got our wires crossed or somethin'."

She nodded, and just for the hell of it, he leaned forward and kissed her, once, on the cheek, before she could pull away.

"Goodnight, Ray." Yeah. That's how it was.

"Night," he responded, turning away and running down the steps, hunching his shoulders into the rain that'd gotten harder. By the time he got past the front lawn and into the GTO, he was wet and cold, and he sat back in the seat for a second before turning the ignition key, shaking his head and letting the water spatter the car's interior. What a screw-up. Fraser'd get a real kick out of this.

He headed home, realizing he wasn't going to tell Fraser about any of it.

*************

Saturday morning.

It was four a.m., and he couldn't sleep and lying in bed was just giving him too much time to think some more. He got up and took a leak, then stopped outside Fraser's door. If it was closed, Fraser was still asleep.

It was closed. He turned the handle quietly and pushed the door in. Fraser was lying on his front, the blanket kicked down to the end of the bed, the sheet still pulled up to his waist.

"Frase? You awake?"

Good. No answer. He didn't know why he was doing it, but he crept over to the bed, standing next to it, looking down at Fraser's back. There was enough light coming in through the window now so he could see Fraser pretty well, and he watched the rise and fall of his back as he breathed into the pillow. His right arm was up by his face, his hand curled into a fist there. His other hand was lying flat under the pillow, propping it up slightly.

Fraser moved, and Ray held his breath. But he didn't seem to wake up, and Ray released it again in a long, quiet sigh. Dief was ignoring him--and he was glad he didn't have to worry about him, at least.

Focusing on Fraser, Ray tried to see it--what women saw, no what they *felt*, when they looked at Fraser. He knew Fraser was handsome. Hell, he wasn't blind or anything. He just didn't ever really bother looking. So yeah, Fraser looked like a poster-boy for "Discover the Northwest Territories" or something. And asleep, he looked younger than he was--the lines around his eyes smoothed out. He could pass for thirty-five, still, in his sleep at least. His hair wasn't even going grey yet, and he still had all of it, though Ray could see how it was going to go at his temples first, creeping backward a little at a time. He probably wouldn't lose it all, though. He'd seen that photo of Fraser's dad--who still had most of his at sixty something.

Okay, so the guy still had his hair--nice and neat, even when he was sleeping, hair. Good for him. Ray grinned at himself. Did women think like this when they looked at Fraser? Did they notice he had good skin? Probably never had acne in his life. Even now, his beard stubble was just slightly visible in the low light--a slight shadow that emphasized the smooth paleness of his cheek above it.

Another twitch and Ray waited, tensing, and then Fraser was rolling over onto his back, his right hand falling to his side, his left staying up by his face. The sheet was pulled down further, and Ray could see where his boxers were--

He looked away. Give the guy a little privacy, Kowalski.

He looked at it again, because he wasn't interested, right?--so there wasn't any reason he couldn't look. It wasn't like he *wanted* to look. He didn't make a habit of it or anything. So it wasn't wrong, right? Except the fact that Fraser was asleep and this was creepy. What kind of guy watches his buddy sleep?

A guy with something to prove.

Except he didn't have to prove anything to anybody. The old saying was right. Assume and you make an ass outta everybody.

"Ray?"

Shit! "Yeah?" he answered, because he wasn't sure what would happen if he pretended he wasn't there. Fraser had his eyes open and was staring at him, blinking back sleep. A yawn and Fraser seemed to be waking up some more and looked at his clock.

"It's four-thirty," Fraser informed him, and blinked at him again.

"Yeah. I, uh, couldn't sleep."

Fraser nodded and didn't seem to worry about why not being able to sleep meant Ray was hovering over his bed at four-thirty a.m. on a Saturday morning.

Trying for a diversion, he said, "You want breakfast?"

It was too early for breakfast. It was too early to be awake, in his book, but here he was, awake, and Fraser answered, "Pancakes, I think," propping himself up with his hands braced behind him. Fraser's sheet slipped down further and the fly of his boxers gapped open a little and Ray saw a flash of dark pink skin, a flash of dark brown hair, before forcing his eyes to casually move up back to Fraser's face again. Along the way he saw Fraser's stomach--still mostly flat, but not hard looking. Then his chest, nearly hairless, his muscles *there*, but not really cut. Like the rest of him, thick and smooth and...

What'd Fraser just say? "You want pancakes?"

"Yes."

"Uh--okay. Sounds good. I'll, um, go take a shower while you get it together."

Fraser blinked, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Of course, Ray. *I'll* walk Dief and make pancakes while you... shower."

Ray offered a grin, getting that he'd been misunderstood. But hell, who was he to argue? "Look, how 'bout I'll make us some eggs. My pancakes suck."

Fraser didn't argue, standing up and stretching his arms above his head. Ray quickly looked away, at the door, which didn't help any. He could still *feel* Fraser stretching behind his back. He forced himself to just face it.

"Uh, right. I'll go... you wanna shower first?"

Fraser shook his head. "I'll walk Dief. You may have the first shower."

"Right. Have fun," he said, then wondered where that'd come from. Have fun. Like Fraser was going to have a great time watching Dief sniff at fire hydrants.

'Course, it was Fraser, so who knew?

He shrugged and stumbled off to the bathroom, suddenly so tired he knew he could fall asleep again if he got near his bed. He'd take a shower. A cold shower. And then breakfast.

**********

Later that day, at a more reasonable hour of the morning.

"So what's the plan for today?"

Fraser took another forkful of eggs, chewed, swallowed, then finally answered. "Dief favors a trip to the park. I thought we might bring a picnic."

Dief barked and pushed up against Ray's leg. He slipped Dief a bacon strip and patted his head. He found himself about to agree, then stopped. A picnic? The two of them on a blanket with a dog?

"Maybe we should, uh, invite someone."

"Were you thinking of someone in particular?"

Actually, he had no idea who he was thinking of. A quick run-through and he couldn't think of anybody they could invite. Where the hell were all of their friends? They did have some, didn't they?

"Frannie," he filled in, quickly, because she'd probably--no, definitely--say yes. He saw Fraser wince, but pushed on. "We haven't seen much of her lately, right?"

"You see her everyday at the station, Ray."

"Yeah, well, you don't. So, I'll give her a call."

Fraser looked an awful lot like he was trying to think of a reason to object, so Ray stood up and grabbed the phone.

He'd already dialed before it occurred to him that she was probably still asleep.

"Wha--?"

"Frannie?"

"Who's this? Ray? It's--"

"Yeah. You doing anything today?"

A muffled sound, like she dropped the phone, and then she was back. "It's seven a.m., Ray."

"Yeah, I got that. So you wanna go on a picnic with us today or what?"

"A pic--Fraser's coming?"

"Yeah, a'course," he answered, glancing over at Fraser, who was pretending not to listen, finishing up his omelet.

"Um, okay. What time?" He heard her yawn and grinned, turning to Fraser and whispering, "What time?"

"I thought we might leave at one." Fraser sounded a lot less enthusiastic than he had a minute ago. Ray felt a twinge of guilt, but shook it off just as quickly. Frannie was okay. You just had to learn how to handle her.

"One o'clock. We'll swing by and pick you up. And wear something picnic-y."

"I know how to dress myself."

"Yeah," he agreed, rolling his eyes. She hung up, harder than necessary, and he guessed she was probably still going to show up in one of those tight-fitting numbers that got tighter when you sat on a blanket.

He looked at Fraser and smiled, and Fraser smiled at him, raising his mug of tea. He found himself smiling back and gripped the phone a little tighter before putting it down again.

*************

Saturday, 1:30 p.m..

The spot they picked was nearly empty except for a yuppie family with two little kids still in strollers. Frannie spread out the dropcloth, then the extra blanket Ray had brought along. The grass was still a little damp from the rain last night, and Ray kicked off his tennis shoes and sat on the blanket, cross-legged, finally leaning back and staring up at the sky, giving Frannie and Fraser some privacy. Frannie was leaning over the picnic basket--one of those mostly unused wedding presents he'd somehow ended up with after the divorce--giving Frase an eyeful as she got out the pasta salad.

He saw, out of the corner of his eye, Fraser's desperate looks his way, but for once, he ignored them. Frase was a big boy.

He shut his eyes, willing *that* thought to go away. When it didn't, he thought about Frannie. She didn't seem to get that Fraser didn't go in for the hard sell. If she'd just wear something decent for a change....

"Ray--wake up."

He opened his eyes, shielding them from the sun before rolling over. He must've dozed off, because now the food was all laid out and Frannie was looking like Fraser must've said something. Or maybe failed to say something. Either way, Fraser was looking uncomfortable too. Ray rubbed some of the sleep out of his eyes and grabbed the plate Fraser was holding out, starting to pile on some of the food. Most of it was from the deli down the street, but Fraser had insisted on making the sandwiches himself, so he made sure he had one of those. Fraser was a pretty good cook for someone who didn't have anyone to cook for.

***********

"What're you going to do when you retire?"

They'd plowed through the food and Fraser looked as if he'd run out of stories to tell, so Ray figured he'd help out. Besides, he was still thinking about it. Not what Linda thought--but just about retirement. Seeing Fraser relaxed--or as relaxed as he ever got in Chicago--made him wonder what it'd be like to not work--to just lie around all the time if you wanted to and go on picnics and just *do* things without having to plan ahead and count leftover vacation days--to just take off if you wanted to take off, and come back when you wanted to come back. If you wanted to come back.

Frannie sighed. "I haven't thought that far ahead."

Ray kept his mouth shut on how far ahead that really was. She was thirty-something, so maybe to her it did look like a long way off. Not that it was that close for him either, but it didn't hurt to think about it--save some money--plan ahead. Like Fraser was always saying. You gotta plan things.

Fraser was looking off into the distance, watching Dief chase something Ray couldn't even see. Without his glasses on, all Ray saw was a grey-brown blur against the green and brown blur, with the sky another blur above him--all the garbage sort of edited out, all the shit smoothed over. Chicago looked better if you didn't bother to squint.

He shut his eyes, feeling sleepy again, thinking about Canada and those long stretches of white on white, the sun glaring off everything, flattening it out unless you looked close, and then when you did, the snow glittered different colors, blue in the shadows and sometimes even green and yellow--not the piss-yellow you saw in Chicago, but sunlight-yellow. Sure, it was grey and slushy in the cities in Canada--just like it was everywhere else there were people--but if you went out away from the city, the trees were taller than anything you saw in Chicago--hundreds of years old pines that cast long, dark shadows against all that white, and you couldn't see any footprints except your own, and you could pretend you were the only person on the planet--the first person to see it--just him and Fraser and Dief.

"I believe I will return to Canada."

Ray turned and Fraser was still watching Dief, but now he had a small smile on his face, like he wasn't in Chicago anymore.

"Yeah, that'd be good," Ray agreed, wanting to say more but suddenly he couldn't. It'd just sound stupid. Hell, he probably *was* going to end up retired in Chicago, one of those old guys who sat on the benches by the Lake they called Michigan, leaning over their canes and looking kind of lost and confused and near-sighted as hell--like they couldn't even see the water anymore. Or the trees that somehow managed to live in the city. Maybe they couldn't see the garbage, either, even when it was up in their face.

Or maybe he'd just take a bullet somewhere quick and clean.

He looked over at Frannie, and the mood must've been catching, because she had a frown on her face. 'Course she was looking at Fraser, who didn't seem to notice the way she was looking at him--like someone looking at their last chance on earth. The way he usually looked at Stella, probably, which always made her mad now, even though she used to love it, back when she used to love him.

Fuck it. Fuck Canada. What Ray Kowalski really needed was--he just needed to get laid.

************

Wednesday night.

"'nudderadasame."

He shoved his glass down the counter, a wet ten-dollar bill under it. A few more and he knew he wasn't going to wonder why the hell he was getting drunk in the middle of the week.

Because there were rumors.

Bright color at the corner of his eye made him turn--slowly--on the barstool, just enough to get a look. Not bad. She was--one, two, three--three stools down, not a mile away. He squinted and rubbed a hand over his eyes, trying to make them focus a little better in the smokey low light of the bar.

Yeah, not bad. If you liked long legs, short skirts--*really* short skirts--smallish tits. Thick, dark hair. Pale with rosy cheeks. Not bad, if you liked the type.

The beer went down cool after the bourbon, and he waited until the mellow feeling came back before he made a decision.

Hell, he told Frase he had a date, right? So now he had a date.

He slid off the barstool and shook his head to clear it, reaching back for his wallet. Okay, so he had enough. Great. Greatness.

************

Shit. Holy *shit*. What the *fuck* did he just do?

He rolled over, feeling for the edge of the bed and gripping it hard.

Deep breath. In and out.

Orangey walls and ratty dark red carpet was all he could see past the nightstand, and his head felt too heavy to lift up much beyond that. The clock on the nightstand said "6:34."

A.M.? Thursday?

He slung a hand up and grabbed for his wallet, bringing it down to the floor, next to the bed. Not empty. Great. Greatness.

He'd got lucky--what--three times? She hadn't cleaned him out, and one of them had the sense to put a rubber on him--assuming, of course, that that was *his* used rubber on the floor.

He shut his eyes and buried his head in the pillow, wondering if it was possible to smother himself like this.

Suicide. Picking up a prostitute. Shit. What if she'd been a cop? What the *hell* was he gonna do if she was a cop? Plead drunken stupidity? He was probably real charming last night, wasted out of his mind. *That* woulda gone down real well.

He snickered, realizing he wouldn't've even had the pleasure of ruining Ray Vecchio's good name this time.

Nope. The only person who got screwed on this was one Ray Kowalski.

All for only a hundred bucks, plus whatever this hotel cost him.

Pretty good deal, he decided, rolling over onto his back and fighting back the wave of acid that threatened to come up the hard way.

Pretty fucking good deal.

***********

That night, after work.

"Hey--"

"Ray," Fraser nodded, not stopping his stirring of whatever was on the stove.

"I, uh--"

"Yes Ray?" Fraser put a lid on the pan and set the spoon down.

"Nuthin'."

"Hmm."

"What's for dinner?" Nevermind that his stomach was still rolling with the hangover.

"Spaghetti."

"That the sauce?"

He reached around Fraser's shoulder and lifted the lid back off the pan. Fraser stepped back as the steam rose and Ray stumbled backwards, dropping the lid on the stovetop with a metallic clatter.

"Sorry," he mumbled, getting out of the kitchen, putting the counter between them.

Fraser nodded, and didn't seem ticked off. The wooden spoon went thunk, thunk, thunk as Fraser started stirring again. He was out of his uniform, wearing a white undershirt and a pair of jeans.

And for just a second, Ray had felt the heat of Fraser's body all down his front.

He rubbed a hand over his face, wiping the sweat off his skin. Damned air conditioner never fucking did what it was supposed to.

"Going to change," he mumbled, heading for the bathroom before Fraser could say something.

He stripped off his clothes: the same jeans he'd worn yesterday, but with a clean t-shirt he had stuffed in his locker. The shower was cool and he scrubbed hard with the soap, Even though he'd taken a shower at the motel, he still felt it all over and kept his head under the stream of water until he heard Fraser's knock on the door and knew it was time to come out.

*************

The following Friday.

"I got a date. So I, uh, won't be here. There. Home. For dinner."

The silence on the other end of the phone got quieter and went on for about a minute, and then he heard a rustle of paper and Fraser clearing his throat.

"As a matter of fact, I will miss our dinner as well."

"You--you got a date?"

He said it too loud and Frannie was looking at him funny, and he turned his chair and cupped the phone to his face.

"I--you might, that is--."

"Huh. Well, uh, that's good, then. You, uh, you wanna use the apartment, you go on ahead."

"Use it?"

Shit, was Frase kidding or....

"Just, um, y'know--to bring her over or something. It's okay, 'cause I'm...." What?--what was he going to do? Pick up another fucking hooker? Stay at a cheap hotel? He banged his fist on his desk, pulling back right before it made noise. "I'll be out."

Another silence, and more paper shuffling, then Fraser came back on. "Thank you kindly, Ray."

"Welcome."

"I expect I will talk to you tomorrow, then?"

"Yeah. Yeah. Tomorrow."

Silence. More fucking silence. What was Fraser thinking? Why the hell wasn't Fraser at the 27th anymore?

He shook his head. Who was he kidding? Even when Fraser was here, he never could figure out what the guy was thinking.

"Have a good evening, Ray."

"Yeah. You too. A good, um--yeah. See ya."

The line clicked off and Ray set the phone down harder than he needed to.

Great. Fraser had a date. It was about time. Fraser needed to get out more--get laid once in a while. Fraser needed....

Ray shut his eyes, and when he opened them, he made sure all he could see was the pile of paperwork in front of him. Any minute now, there'd be a break in the Hinks case, and he could get back to working and stop all this goddamn thinking.

***********

Saturday.

He opened the door quietly, then shook his head. It was noon already, and if Fraser's date was still here, then she was just going to have to meet him and put up with a few awkward silences.

The clicking of toenails sped up as he opened the door wide and he was almost knocked off his feet by Dief.

"Hey, Frase?"

Nothing.

He knocked on Fraser's door, then opened it. The bed was made.

As he passed the stereo, he turned it on, just loud enough to drown out the silence of the apartment. Ella's voice seemed to echo off the thin walls, sounding strange and hollow.

"Dief, where'd Fraser get off to, huh?"

Dief had no answer, and so they both headed for the fridge.

It was empty. Shit. When was the last time they'd gone shopping? "I got nothing for you, boy."

"Ray--could you--?"

He whipped around, hand on his holster, and Fraser was at the front door, propping it open with one knee, his arms full of grocery bags, and two more on the floor.

He relaxed, meeting Fraser at the door, taking a few of the bags and hauling them to the kitchen table, starting to put things away.

"So, how'd it go?"

Fraser sighed, shutting the cupboard above him. "The fresh greens were not quite as fresh as advertised, and the produce section as a whole was quite disappointing. I notified the manager, as they seem to have a case of fruit mites."

"Fruit...? No, last night. How'd it go?"

Fraser froze, his hand still inside one of the paper bags. Then he began to move again, and for a second, Ray wondered if he was seeing things. "Quite well. And you?"

"Uh--okay, y'know."

Fraser cocked his head to the side, as if he didn't know, and Ray shrugged.

"She stay over?"

Fraser did that freezing thing again, just for a half second--and it was like looking at one of those mannequins in the store window. Or like watching Fraser when he used to stand sentry duty, except, even then, he had more life in him than this.

"Frase?"

"Ray, it is not polite to--"

"Kiss and tell. Yeah, sorry."

"You need not apologize, Ray."

"Fine. I'm not sorry." He shrugged, grabbing a beer out of the fridge and opening it, taking a long swallow.

"My dinner engagement did not, in fact, spend the night."

Ray shrugged again, casual--no skin off. Not like he was that surprised.

He looked over at Fraser and saw he had that pinched, white-lipped tense thing going on and gave up trying to make small talk, taking his beer into the living room.

Easing onto the sofa, he groaned when his ass his the cushion. His lower back hurt--the damned hotel bed was too hard. But at least this time it was a decent hotel. And he'd woke up without a hangover. And with a hard-on. And all his money.

"Ray--Ray--Ray--"

"Yeah, what?" he snapped, then sighed. "I hear you."

Fraser sat down beside him, the cushions bearing down under his weight, the spring making a small creaky sound as he sat forward and rested his hands on his knees.

"Ray--I believe I owe you--"

"Frase--you don't owe me nothin'. This ain't the locker room."

"The--ah, yes. Locker room. No, it isn't. However, I still--"

"Look," Ray hauled himself up, one hand still on his back, and stepped around the coffee table, turning to face Fraser, who was leaning forward even further now, his hands wrapped around his middle. "Hey--Frase--you okay?"

Fraser straightened up abruptly and leaned back, this time setting his back so straight that, to Ray, it looked like something inside him was gonna snap if he kept it up for much longer. "Ray--if you would please allow me to continue?"

Fraser's face was going for that whiter shade of pale thing, and his voice was tight, edgy, the way he talked to Dief when he was ticked off.

"Yeah, sure. Go ahead. *Do* continue." He made the zipped gesture at his mouth and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the far wall, not sure why he was suddenly so pissy--but he was, and somehow, he was pretty sure this was *not* going to be a good conversation.

"Thank you kindly. As I said, I believe I owe you the truth." Fraser glanced up from the coffee table and Ray nodded, but didn't say anything. Since when didn't Fraser tell the truth?

"Yesterday, I was not wholly honest with you." Another pause and Ray pressed his lips together, holding back the questions.

"I did, in fact, have an appointment that would have delayed my appearance at dinner. But it was not a date, as I led you to believe. It was work-related, not a social engagement, and it ended at nine o'clock last night, at which point I returned here. Alone."

Ray waited, his lips still zipped. Ella got through two whole choruses, and then finally he couldn't wait anymore. "So you didn't have a date? So why'd you li--uh--lead me to believe you had a date?"

"I--I'm not quite sure, Ray."

"Huh."

Fraser nodded, as if that was the most profound thing he'd ever heard.

"So you do this sorta thing a lot?"

"This?"

He motioned with his hands. "This. This lead-me-to-believe thing. This not-quite-honest thing?"

Fraser's eyes widened. "No, I certainly!--but of course, once bitten..." Fraser bit his lower lip and sighed loudly, as if he'd just taken the biggest breath in the world and had to let it all out again.

Ray suddenly felt guilty for making Fraser feel guilty. "Don't matter."

"Of course it matters, Ray. Honesty is--"

"Over-rated."

"I must disagree, Ray. Honesty is the foundation of trust, upon which all personal relationships are built."

"Yeah, okay. But so's, uh, equality, right?" He ran a hand through his hair, for once wishing he was a lawyer and not a cop who wasn't too good with the right words.

"Yes, but--"

"So foundation-wise, if we're even-steven..." He motioned with his hands.

"Ray, I'm afraid I don't follow you."

Ray pushed off from the wall and started to pace, trying to find another way to say it.

Finally, when Fraser didn't say anything, he spat out, "Look--I didn't have a date last night either. Okay?"

Whoa. Way to be defensive.

Fraser stood up, banging into the coffee table and shoving it forward. "But you didn't come home last night!"

"Yeah, well." Let Fraser figure that one out.

Fraser appeared to think about this, then opened and closed his mouth again, nothing coming out but a quiet, "Oh. Where did you--"

"I stayed at a motel."

Fraser nodded, looking thoughtful, which was a step up from confused. "I see."

"Yeah."

"I will reimburse you, of course."

"You what?"

"For the cost of the room." Fraser had stood up, dug out his wallet from his jeans and had it open before Ray could put a hand out and shut it again. Only then did he realize he'd somehow moved across the room and gotten right in Fraser's space, his hand closing over Fraser's over the wallet.

He tried to pull back, but his hand seemed to have got tangled in Fraser's and the wallet dropped to the floor between them, bouncing off his boot and spilling change onto the area rug.

And Fraser was still holding his hand and looking at him, like he was frozen again.

"Frase--c'mon. I lied first. You don't owe me anything," he offered, leaving his hand where it was. If he moved, something might happen. He wasn't sure what.

"But I had ample opportunity to clarify the misunderstanding between us."

"Yeah, well. So'd I, and I didn't."

Fraser inclined his head--agreeing with him?--and Ray wondered what the *fuck* was going on here. Reimburse him because he made up a date? And why the hell had he done *that*, anyway? Hell, he knew why *he'd* done it, but what was Fraser's angle?

And here Fraser was, right in front of him, and damned if he could figure out what was going on in the Mountie's head. Fraser's eyes were the windows to--well, Canada or something. Big, open, ice-blue like the sky reflected on a snow bank, and altogether completely empty of clues.

Ray shivered, feeling cold, and hot, and more than a little rattled, and suddenly--*wham*--his mouth was on another planet, having some conversation without him. "See, I'm not in da closet or somethin'."

"Of course not, Ray. You're in the living room."

"Dammit, stop bein' so literary."

"I don't--"

"I'm not gay, got it?" He was shouting, right in Fraser's face, but Fraser just blinked--long and slow--like he was refocusing his eyes, or his head, or something.

"I have never had any cause to think otherwise."

"Yeah?" Once again, way to be defensive. But there were rumors, right? He almost backed up, pulled away, but something made him wanna take a stand and keep it.

Fraser didn't say anything, which shoulda made him relax, but it didn't.

"Yeah, good." Let it drop, already--he told himself, but apparently, he wasn't listening to himself, 'cause his mouth opened again and--*wham*--up popped the Kowalski auto-pilot--like that blow-up toy in them *Airplane* movies. "Good. 'Cause I'm not, got it?"

Fraser cleared his throat before answering. "Certainly, Ray. As you say, close it, dot it, put it in a box marked done."

What the--was Fraser makin' fun of him?

Fraser wasn't smiling, but his eyes were crinkling at the corners, showing those little lines that made him look forty-two, and real, and a little more human.

"I was married...." The Kowalski autopilot wasn't working so good now. It was starting to feel a little deflated, a little like the crash was gonna come anyways, 'cause he was starting to get deja vu all over again. Kowalski 0, Prosecution 2. But hell, three time's the charm, right? Right. "Mosta my life, y'know? And Stella..." he left off, not sure what point he was trying to make there. "So I'm not...."

Now get your hand back, Kowalski, and maybe Fraser'll believe ya.

Common-sense was screaming *jump*--get the hell out while the getting's good, but he suddenly couldn't move, couldn't even think of taking his hand back. Fraser's fingers were wrapped too tightly around his--and even though both of their palms were sweaty, there didn't seem to be any chance that they'd slip away from each other. They were stuck there, cemented, and suddenly Ray realized they probably *both* looked like mannequins in a store window, caught shaking hands--shake, Kowalski, shake--just like two buddies selling casual clothes.

Except nothing like buddies. Nothing fucking casual about it. Christ no, nothing at all like buddies.

"Frase, I'm--"

But Ray couldn't finish the thought either, because time started back up again, somehow slower now--nothing happening in real time--and the big hand gripping his tightened almost enough to hurt, crushing his fingers together, then somehow, just when he was about to fight it, Fraser brought their hands up and they untangled and Fraser stepped closer so that the hold changed and was comfortable, easy, their fingers interlaced, his own thinner fingers sliding easily between Fraser's, their palms damply pressed together, cupping the heat between them, like they were holding something there, keeping it safe.

And Fraser was leaning forward, closing what little distance their was between them, so that their hands were now trapped awkwardly between their bodies and the only thing keeping their bodies even slightly apart. But there was nothing keeping their mouths from touching, and Fraser leaned in, his lips parted just a little bit, and Ray had to close his eyes when he started to go cross-eyed and just went with it, leaning in too, until they were sealed together, breathing the same air back and forth. Buddy breathing, except Ray was pretty sure that they were both gonna drown this time.

Then just as suddenly, he was free again, and he blinked, trying to clear his head, gasping in some new air that didn't taste nearly as good as it should, as Fraser's mouth had tasted against his own.

The whole thing could've just been a hallucination, but he looked down and their hands were still laced together, and Fraser didn't show any signs he was gonna let go. He licked his own lips and tasted Fraser's chapstick on them, slick and waxy and slightly sweet.

He tried again. "Frase, I'm--"

"Yes. It would appear so."

"So what--you tellin' me *you're*--"

"Likewise." A small smile? frown? and then Fraser's face was blank again.

"Are we..." talkin' about the same thing? Losin' our minds? Agreeing, for once?

"Yes." A stiff nod. "Yes. At least, I think so." Fraser's voice was quiet and soft--softer than normal, and--gentle. Like someone talking to a little kid. Or a complete idiot. "Is that all right?"

"Yeah. Sure. It's great. Greatness. No worries." Score one for the complete idiot, who didn't *sound* too sure.... so why wasn't he arguing?

Then, faster than he could track, they were in the hallway, standing outside the two doors, and Fraser seemed to make a decision, leading them both to his door at the end of the hall, pushing it open with his free hand, pulling Ray along behind him, until they were at the foot of the bed, all hospital-cornered.

Fraser's hand pulled away from his, and Ray clenched his empty fingers into a fist, not noticing he'd done it until Fraser's hand came up and wrapped around it again, thumb digging in until he eased up, flexing fingers that were stiff and tense.

"Ray--"

"I'm cool." A trickle of sweat ran down his back between his shoulders, settling in a pool there with the rest of the sweat pouring off him. He shivered again.

"Yes, you are," Fraser replied, and this time, Ray knew Fraser *was* making fun of him, but he didn't care.

He stood still as Fraser let go of his hand, bringing both his hands to Ray's hips, resting there for just a second before finding the edges of his t-shirt and dragging it upward. Ray cooperated, lifting his arms up at the right moment and tucking his head as Fraser pulled the sweaty t-shirt all the way off. Ray didn't reciprocate, but Fraser was already working again, his fingers unbuttoning Ray's jeans, sliding the zipper down, then back at his hips again, drawing the jeans down as Ray widened his stance a little to help.

He looked down, and Fraser was on his knees, unlacing Ray's hiking boots, trying to pull them off. Ray rested his hands on Fraser's shoulders and lifted each foot until he was barefoot, the jeans on the floor next to his feet--and then he waited, wondering at how quiet Chicago had suddenly got, or maybe he'd just gone deaf, like Dief, and the car horns and ambulances were still roaring into building like they usually did. He couldn't hear Ella anymore, or his own breathing, although he felt it, coming so fast that he wondered if he was going to pass out.

Fraser was still kneeling at his feet, his hands resting on Ray's hips, over his briefs, his fingers curling back and touching Ray's ass through the thin fabric. Ray gasped, his breath hitching wildly as he watched Fraser lean forward, putting his mouth against the front of Ray's briefs, barely a kiss, just breathing against him, inhaling and exhaling moist, heated air against his already hard cock.

In front of him was that poster of the Great White North, and he stared at the snowy mountain, whiter than the flat white walls, trying to convince himself that he'd really been there, once--just a tiny speck on toppa all that whiteness.

He had to shut his eyes, and suddenly the air was cooler, and he knew Fraser had stripped him again, this time to nothing at all.

His knees gave out, and he sat down, not really caring if he ended up on the floor, his bare ass just catching the edge of the bed. He couldn't open his eyes, but could hear the rustle of fabric, the soft, muted sound of cloth hitting the carpeted floor, and the metallic grating of a zipper undone.

Which proved, at least, that he hadn't gone deaf. Blind maybe, yeah, but not deaf.

Another sound--one he recognized as boots being undone, and kicked off, and socks being removed, and jeans being thrown over a chair, the metal buttons jangling against the wood.

And then one last fabric susseration, the slow slide of a pair of boxers coming down, and Ray gasped as his sight returned, his eyes opening wide, then wider, as he caught a long, lingering look--expanses of pale skin, and then an arrowing of dark curls and the dark flushed pink erection jutting out, the head peeking out of the foreskin and pointing directly at him.

"God, Fraser. Oh God." He was gonna be sick.

"You're cool," Fraser said, and Ray blinked, his eyes traveling up until he could make out Fraser's face again, seeing Fraser's lips quirk up into a smile.

"I, uh, hate to break it to you but--" God, his voice was just about *gone*. He sounded like an asthmatic. He took a deep breath, letting it out, then again, until he felt less like he was gonna pass out.

"Yes, Ray?"

He shook his head, whatever protest he was gonna make gone as his eyes traveled down again, drawn down as if by gravity, his eyelids feeling so heavy, like sleep, hypnotised--so that he *had* to look again at that cock. No choice at all. Kowalski autopilot fully engaged and filling back up again.

He'd read somewhere that if you were flying blind in a plane taking a nose-dive, you couldn't feel the Gs or the tip, and if you couldn't see the horizon anymore, it all felt perfectly normal--smooth and easy and great--until *wham*--and then you were smashed to bits and it was too late to do anything about anything.

All he could see was the view from up here--and it was pretty damned good. His eyes were taking the scenic route, and he happened to notice what he'd always noticed--that Fraser was pretty amazing, if you liked the type: big-boned and smooth muscled, nearly hairless on his chest, except for a few stray black hairs around his nipples, and a darkening line over his belly, which drew in and out as Fraser took those deep lungfuls of air--in and out--that made his cock bob some more, waving hypnotically as Ray watched, awed and then, as he felt himself relax a little, amused in a disconnected, floaty, light-headed, hyperventilating kind of way.

It was just a cock, after all. Right? And who the fuck knew where the horizon was anymore?

He looked down at his own, seeing it was still standing at attention, heavy and hot, the shaft a little thinner and cut, curving into his belly more, with more of an arch to it than Fraser's uncut cock--which stood just as straight as Fraser usually did. Maybe the RCMP trained 'em that way.

He grinned, and Fraser grinned back, and then--God--it was suddenly okay again, just him and Fraser. Naked. But cool.

He pulled himself back up onto the bed, sliding and shimmying until he was lying up by the pillows where he would if he was going to sleep. In Fraser's bed. Naked. And he watched as Fraser put his hands onto the bed and climbed up toward him, on his hands and knees like an animal, with quick, graceful movements that stopped when he was hovering over Ray, one leg on either side of Ray's own, one hand braced beside each of Ray's arms.

Ray nodded and Fraser lowered himself, stretching out full-length on top of him. Damn, he was heavy!

He felt the heat of Fraser's body all along his front, hotter still where their hips joined together. And he thrust up into that heat, rubbing his own thighs against Fraser's, enjoying the texture of hair there, the smell of Fraser's sweaty skin on his, and he drew his hands around Fraser's narrow hips, resting them on Fraser's ass, digging his fingers into the soft flesh there, forcing Fraser's pelvis down even further against his own.

He could only breathe because Fraser was still sort of propped on his elbows. So he drew his hands up over Fraser's back, to his shoulders, to his neck, pulling Fraser down on top of him, into a kiss that was wet and long and breathless, keeping at it until his own lungs were pleading for air, which he gulped in great gasps before diving in again, then riding out the next wave as Fraser rode over him.

There was hardly any rhythm between them, and he felt clumsy, his limbs too heavy to catch the beat, neither one of them exactly leading things along. But it was okay, because somehow, it worked, the thrusting getting harder and faster, eased by a patch of wetness on their bellies--not at all like thrusting into a woman, but still... so *good* that he grunted with each thrust, grinding his hips into Fraser's, wrapping their legs together, finally drawing his own legs out around the outside Fraser's thighs, so that Fraser slid down a little and made an odd sound, almost a word.

Ray lifted his hips up and down, not sure what he was doing, and this time he could feel Fraser's cock slide down, down against the underside of his balls, pressing between them, and this time, he heard it clearly.

"Fuck!"

Fraser said it, and Ray shifted again, determined to make Fraser say it again, even though it meant less pressure on his own cock. But this time, Fraser just made a little hoarse, grunting sound, which was almost as good.

The slick head of Fraser's cock against his balls was a surprise, but the pressure as Fraser pressed back behind them made him shake and pull away, a part of him wondering what would happen if he didn't pull back, and if Fraser'd do that, and if Fraser was going to say yes. Or if he was gonna have to say no. Fuck no. Abso-fucking-lutely *not*.

But his pulling back was enough, and Fraser twisted his hips, grabbing at Ray's biceps and pulling them both over onto their sides, so they faced each other. And Ray leaned in and kissed Fraser again, short wet kisses that almost landed on his lips, most of them missing and scraping against his stubbled cheek and his nose and his eyebrows and his eyelids.

"Mmm."

"Wait--"

He didn't wait, kissing Fraser's chin as it lifted, then licking a line down Fraser's exposed throat, running his fingertips under Fraser's arm as it lifted and stretched out. He glanced over to see Fraser fumbling with his bedside drawer, pulling something out, and watched as Fraser worked a white, flip-top bottle with one hand, spreading clear liquid onto his fingers.

"Wait."

Ray couldn't wait, it all felt too good, but Fraser didn't seem to notice his kisses, bringing his large, slick hand around to Ray's back, sliding between his cheeks, pressing there down behind Ray's balls, over that stretch of skin where it had felt so good to have Fraser's cock, but further behind, pressing right over his asshole, rubbing back and forth there, back and forth.

He moaned, not sure whether he liked the feeling, and had to close his eyes again, willing himself not to panic. It felt good, didn't it? Just a little? Weird, but--

Little sparks of good, little shivers of it, in between the panic. Yes. He pushed back against Fraser's fingers, his back stiffening, reminding him of the ache there, now mostly forgotten. His cock was softening as he felt one finger actually start to slip inside of him. Probably just a fingertip, but still--the heat and pulling tension there--and still, there were those little shivers of good, a tingling warmth that said, "Yeah, more" just as he was opening his mouth to say "Stop. No."

Then more pressure, the strange backwards sensation of opening up, and Fraser was kissing and sucking on his neck, wet, open-mouthed kisses there. Ray tipped his head, finding Fraser's mouth again and latching onto it, pushing his tongue in and licking Fraser's tongue, nice ta meetcha-like, what's a guy like you doing in bed with a guy--

He gasped, arching his back, pushing forward and backward, thrusting up against air for a few seconds until he coordinated enough to grab hold of Fraser's body and pull him close again.

"What was--?"

And it happened again--a sudden fit--losing all control as those little sparks were suddenly coming all at once, an electric shock that sent a pulse back down to his cock. It's alive, he thought, glad it was back again, hard and ready, because maybe now he could stop waiting and *come*. And again, it happened again, and "What the fuck?"--but instead, he managed to squeak out, "Please--"

Fraser reached inside him again and pressed and twisted, and Ray choked back a groan, caught somewhere between inhalation and exhalation as he cried out, as he was spilling over onto Fraser's hot skin, thrusting into him for more pressure, then pulling back, at last, when the pressure was too much.

And then he was spent, limp, collapsing his head against Fraser's shoulder in relief.

"Oh!"

A second flood of wet didn't startle him as much as that one word, softly gasped out, as if Fraser was surprised by it, as if he'd never felt it before.

Ray forced his eyes open, lifting his head up to meet Fraser's eyes, and Fraser's eyes were still dark, but now he thought he could see everything in them, and he tried to open his mouth and say something, but gave up, the words just not coming, as if everything that *could* be said had already been said. And Fraser just nodded, like he got that, and so Ray relaxed as Fraser's arms drew him closer into a loose embrace.

************

Later.

"Hmm." He shivered and drew closer to the warmth, feeling her struggle against him with--

He opened his eyes and realized he was practically climbing onto Fraser, who was pushing him off. He rolled off of him, shivering again, this time not from the cold air. "Sorry."

Fraser didn't say anything, and he wondered if his shock showed, or if he looked cool with it. Awake, now, he went for "cool with it" and hoped Fraser didn't look too close. "Hot?"

Fraser rolled onto his side, tucking a hand under his pillow. "The air conditioning has been on for some time."

"But you're still hot, right?"

Fraser ran his hand over his forehead, messing up the damp hair that was curling there. His face was flushed, his nose shiny with sweat. "Yes."

"We can turn it up some," he offered, not really wanting to move. If he moved, if he stood up, he'd be naked. 'Course he was naked now....

"You're cold as it is."

"Yeah, well you're too warm."

Good one, Kowalski. Let's just get a thermometer in here and we can settle this.

Fraser's forehead wrinkled, like he was working out some complex problem he couldn't solve. The room, the bed--hell, *Fraser*--smelled like sweat and sex. He tried not to notice that, but found himself inhaling deeply, like he was still making up an oxygen deficit from before. Other parts of him were starting to wake up, and he tried to draw the sheet up between them and over himself, but Fraser was laying on top of it. He could get under the covers, but then he'd be trapped there. In bed. With Fraser. Naked.

"Look, we compromise: you turn it up--I'll put some clothes on."

"I'd prefer you didn't."

He was already sitting up, legs swung off the bed, his back to Fraser so he couldn't see Fraser's face. "What--compromise?"

Fraser didn't answer, and so he turned partways around, and saw that Fraser's color had deepened, high on his cheeks.

"Okay, so you don't like the heat. And I don't like the cold. But I shouldn't turn the a/c up because..?"

"You will get dressed." Fraser said, so soft Ray had to lean in to hear him. "And to adjust the thermostat would require you to leave this bed. I would prefer you do neither."

"So I should just stay here, naked, while you melt?"

Silence, but Fraser pretty clearly *would* like that. Already, Ray could see his cock was firming up again.

Since he didn't know what to say to that, he didn't say anything. And Fraser didn't say anything back. And they were stuck again, frozen despite the heat. Staring at each other. Naked.

"Frase--"

"Yes, Ray?"

But whatever autopilot function had gotten him through the last hour was gone, and he felt the panic of free-fall. What the *hell* should he say now? Sorry, I believe you misunderstood my proposition? I didn't actually mean we should live together in the same *bed*.

Except he wasn't sure that that *wasn't* what he'd meant, packing up Fraser's books. Close it, dot it, retire to Canada in fifteen years. He'd have to, like, send Linda some flowers or something.

He looked back at that picture of Canada, because it didn't look back at him all hopeful and tense.

"Frase--you ever want an office, at home, where you could, y'know, do office stuff at home?" I repeat myself when under stress. He looked back at Fraser and didn't wait for Fraser to say he wasn't following. You could see it on his face. "'Cause it looks like we got an extra empty bedroom dere." He knocked on the wall between the rooms for emphasis, and they both jumped a little at the loud, hollow sound the wall made.

But it was the right thing to say, exactly, and Ray watched as the tension eased from Fraser's body, the weirdness level in the room going back down to a normal state of freaky that he was used to with Fraser. And suddenly he wasn't just playing it cool. He *was* cool. Okay, so maybe he was still a little panicky here. But he could deal. At least he was sorta used to the adrenaline-endorphin rush of following Fraser into some scary, life-threatening place where he ended up hanging by his toenails. They hadn't done anything this wildly stupid in--what-- months. Almost a year. So maybe it was just overdue, building up while Fraser did his diplomacy thing and he went back to his ordinary, pre-Vecchio, hardly ever pulling his gun anymore, cop routine.

Yeah, this was all pretty familiar, except for the being naked and sweaty and hard part. Even the way Fraser was staring at him now, just like he did that first day, like he was trying to match up some idea in his head to what he was seeing right there in front of him.

And then Fraser smiled, like something matched up and clicked. "I would very much like an office."

"Great." He didn't know he was holding his breath until it came out in a long hiss. "So we're speakin' the same language here--right?"

"Approximately, yes." Fraser's voice had gone low and soft and a little breathy--like he'd been running.

"Riight. Approximately. You say tomato...."

"Let's call the whole thing off?" Fraser supplied.

And what the hell was he supposed to say to that? Yes? No?

It figured Fraser knew his musicals, being--well--whatever he was.

'Course, even *he* knew *that* song. It was Astaire, after all. And Astaire wasn't a... whatever he wasn't. Ray bit his lip, trying not to laugh, not even sure any of this was funny.

At least he knew which one of them was gonna be dancing backwards, if he had anything to say about it. Which he would.

So, it was all good, right? Astaire rocked and they were on the same wavelength, sorta. But still, he might as well be dancing with a broom for all the help Fraser was giving him here.

Frustrated, Ray tried to figure out what had to come next. How'd this post-coital with a guy *go*, anyway?

"So we're...." Ray shrugged and left the rest blank, not sure what he was trying to say. And hell, it'd worked before. Maybe Fraser just needed a little prompting to get going.

The idea of just *touching* Fraser occurred to him, but he dismissed it. He didn't even know where to start.

Fraser waited so long to answer, Ray'd almost forgot his question. And Frase's voice was so super-cool you'd think it didn't matter to him. "Yes. If you like."

Ray saw the little twitch of his cock as he said it. So it was all up to him, that it?

"I'd, um, yeah. I'd like." His own nerves were remembering those little shivers, and then the big bang that came after.

He swung his legs back onto the bed, turning onto his side so he could see Fraser better. And Fraser was watching him, bypassing his face completely and just *staring* down at his cock with this *look*.

"Yes, it would appear so."

This time, Ray saw that they both twitched.

"Hey, Frase?"

"Hmm. Yes Ray?" Fraser looked up at him through lowered lashes, and Ray could see the smile there.

"Great minds think alike, right?"

The smile filtered down to Fraser's mouth. "Minds? I'd always suspected you of thinking with your--"

"Heart, Frase." Ray interrupted quickly. "You were gonna say heart, right?"

"Yes, yes of course. How romantic. Just as you say." Fraser's lips curled like he was trying to hold something in, and then he sorta laughed, a strange, nearly hysterical barking laugh that Ray could deeply, deeply empathize with. It was the first sign of sanity so far, and he latched onto it and joined in.

"Always the diplomat, eh Frase?" he managed, when he finally got his voice back and his own giggles subsided into the occasional hiccup.

"Of course Ray." One last gasp and then Fraser seemed to pull himself together. "You do know what they say. Where there are two nations, divided by a common language, diplomacy is--"

"Frase?"

"Yes, Ray?"

"I don't care what they say. I really, really, don't care. I'm convinced. You've convinced me, got it? You win."

"This is hardly a contest, Ray."

Ray opened his mouth to argue that he didn't know *what* it was, but there was still a small smile around Fraser's eyes as he licked his lower lip, putting a shine back on it where the chapstick'd worn off.

"Sure it is. Sure it's a contest." His own voice sounded rough, raspy, and turned on.

Fraser raised an eyebrow. "Precisely what are we playing for?"

"Air, Frase. What else?"

"Ah, yes. Yes, of course. Well I must remind you of my excess lung capacity."

"Prove it."

The challenge, once laid down, was accepted, engaged, and *wham*, Fraser was all over it--and suddenly all over *him*.

"Two outta three," Ray gasped as Fraser finally let up and let him breathe, still pushing him into the mattress, leaning across his chest with one heavy arm.

"Four out of five would not improve your chances, Ray."

Ray protested, but it turned out Fraser was right. After a few minor setbacks, Benton Fraser finally scored. Which in itself was sorta ironic, if you thought about it, considering it turned out they were both apparently playing on the same team.

Ray definitely preferred not to think about it.

The End.

~~~~~~~~~~~