Rated: R (m/m)
It was, Fraser decided, a circus of confusion which left him by turns amused, confused but mostly, despairingly excluded. It was beyond the scope of his understanding this 24 hour, non-stop ritual where stores were venerated with more respect than churches and people thought more about the perfect Christmas dinner than about a certain infant born two thousand years ago. There was a crashing knock at the door which startled the Canadian immensely because, preoccupied, he hadn't heard footsteps approaching. Really Ben, you've allowed yourself to grow soft, he berated himself as he opened the door. Ray bustled, all light and disgruntled energy, into the room, waving his arms theatrically as he loosed his habitual stream of remonstrances about Fraser's building, the lack of locks and the temperature.
"Yes, Ray," Ben interjected meekly at the salient points and went to make the demanded coffee.
"Fraser?"
"Yes?" He looked up keenly.
"What's the date today?"
He frowned; Ray was often obtuse lunging off at tangents and pursuing the most illogical avenues of thought. Still he usually remembered the date and, as it was but two days to Christmas, it should be even more memorable. "It's the 23rd of December, Ray," he supplied politely.
"Exactly," the other replied, looking smug for some reason. He trotted happily over to the window, pointed imperiously to the spot next to him, and tapped the glass. "Describe what you see, Fraser," he ordered in that ominously patient voice of his.
"Er, Chicago?"
A soft sigh. "Very good, Benny. And ... "
"Oh. Six cars, the riviera parked in a Fire Zone - you realise that's dangerous? Yes, of course you do - a number of pedestrians, a man crossing the street - am I getting warm yet, Ray?"
"No."
"Oh." Perhaps this was a quaint American custom. "The pizza shop - I believe Angelo is making a mushroom and pastrami pizza - street lights, erm, Christmas decorations ... "
"Stop!"
"Yes, Ray."
"What did you say just then?"
Fraser shuffled. "I said, 'yes, Ray.'"
"Will you stop that! Before that."
"Oh, I said 'Christmas decorations.'"
Ray beamed his pleasure as though he had just solved the New York Times crossword. "Exactly."
Oh dear. "Ray ..."
"Shut up. What do you see in here, Benny?" The patient tone was back accompanied by that passive smile.
"Erm. I see - is this really necessary?"
"Yes..."
"I see Diefenbaker chewing his bone, the bed, four walls ..."
"I'll make this easier for you, Benny."
"Yes please."
"What do you see out there that you don't see in here."
"Cars?"
"No."
"Sidewalks?"
"Fraser."
"Pedestrians?"
*"Fraser."*
"Shops?"
*"Fraser!!"*
"Puddles?"
*"FRASER!!"*
"I don't know, Ray, what can you see out there but not in here?"
For answer, Ray grabbed Fraser bodily, swung his jaw round until he had no choice but to look first outside then inside. "Lights, Fraser, sparkly happy lights!"
"Oh." He had thought Ray had spotted some villainous scenario. Ray's jaw dropped open at Fraser's perplexed slightly unimpressed expression. He felt his temperature rising, his bloodpressure squeezing up those extra few inches to overload.
Fraser watched with mounting confusion as Ray's face flooded red and the man began jumping up and down, waving expressionate sign language with his arms and muttering in Italian. He's cross, Ben deduced.
"Why?" the detective managed at last.
Another hesitant shuffle and Ben cast a despairing glance at Dief - help me. Dief snorted at him rudely.
"Um."
"Why, Fraser?" Ray was prodding at his chest. "Why are there no fairy lights, twinklies, lanterns or festive illuminants of any species in this apartment."
Realisation dawned! "Oh! I see!" He felt rather pleased. Then he frowned, "I haven't got any - except my hurricane lamps."
"I'll ignore that last comment. Benny, Ma has eight boxes full of trimmings. She has enough lights to circumnavigate the globe. She'll lend you some lights - hell, she'll lend you the whole lot!"
"That's a generous offer but I don't need any."
"This place is like a morgue. It's Christmas, you're allowed to indulge yourself. You can even - and I know this will shock you - relax and have *some fun.*"
Ben was regarding his shoes.
"What?" Ray asked in resignation.
"Well, it is just a little silly, Ray, for a grown man. My grandmother used to say - "
"No. It is not silly, it is not ridiculous, it is not inappropriate." Ray's voice suddenly softened. "Is it so difficult to unbend, Benny?"
Fraser considered his seasonal schedule. If he had been Home, he'd have trekked along to the Inuit village to donate the Christmas hamper invariably presented to him by his superior. Then he'd have phoned his father, stood relief duty at the outpost and spent the evening in the Church Hall serving turkey dinners to the settlement's needy. Christmas decorations were scarce so far north and he objected to uprooting a perfectly healthy tree in order to drag it indoors to die for a fortnight. Here? Well, last year had been his first experience and, thankfully, he'd been spared the worst excesses by accompanying Ray on the Donelly case. He'd donated his turkey to Mrs Gamez settling himself on a cheaper more economic chicken. This year ... ah, well, he'd attend Mass to give thanks where it was due, assist the soup kitchen as they dispensed to the city's needy - whose northern counterparts at least had homes and some form of income - and probably read a chapter of his father's diary. Diefenbaker had already expressed the wish to spend Christmas Day with his packmate Maggie. It didn't sound 'unbending,' in fact he slightly resented the charge. It seemed a harmless enough itinerary to him; plenty of diversity, the opportunity to serve his neighbourhood and a healthy mixture of activity, both mental and physical. Ben chose to ignore the teeny tiny voice inside his head that expressed the opinion that the 'harmless enough itinerary' was just an excuse to get him away from the tomb-like loneliness of an apartment which was more isolated for all that it was in the heart of a throbbing city than the cabin eighty- one miles away from the nearest habitation. Get him away too from the melancholy childhood memories which seemed even more poignant at this time of year. Ray, when he looked up from his uninspiring shoes, was staring at him, his mobile face screaming for understanding.
"What would you have me say, Ray?"
Silence for a moment whilst Ray sought a way past the barriers in Ben's eyes and Ben concentrated on that heated place in his heart. Then Ray shrugged his trademark shrug.
"You could come round to Ma's. I keep inviting you - why won't you come?"
"Thank you kindly for the offer, Ray, but as I explained to your mother, Christmas is a family affair." And I'm not family, Ray, he thought to the back of his eyebrows, nor will I be treated like a charity case.
"No you're not, Benny," Ray replied quietly as he picked up his coat and made for the door, feet heavy, "you're not my family. You're my best friend. You're equal to my family, not secondary to it." He paused at the old wooden door, saw Ben standing there all dignified and alone. He shook his head sadly as he said,
"Think about that, Benny."
Christmas Eve and a morning hovering round the phone and the door for Benny to call or magically appear at the door, Stetson crooked neatly under his arm. Nothing. Ray wandered into the kitchen, navigated neatly past Maria carrying a heaped tray of cookies into the larder and a nephew throwing a tantrum because he wanted Santa NOW and slid onto a stool next to his mother who was busily icing cakes.
"Hey, Ma."
"What's the matter, Ray?" asked his ma directly.
The detective grinned slightly at his mother's insight which never seemed to fail. "Nothing much."
"Ha!" replied Mrs Vecchio succinctly as she scooped more icing into the bag. "You think your ma hasn't noticed? All those glances at the phone, not eating, those sighs?"
"Okay! So I want him here! Is that so terrible, ma?"
The woman speared her son with her level gaze and his ire dissolved.
"Sorry," he placated.
"Apron on and start measuring out the flour for me - if Benton's coming, I'll need to do extra muffins."
Obediently sifting flour, and getting it all over the floor, Ray objected,
"But he said he ain't coming."
"Nonsense! He'll be here," Ma Vecchio prophesied decidedly and ordered over the sugar. And that was that.
He'd spent Christmas Eve morning at the Orphanage - sorry, 'Holding Centre' - and was scrubbing the crayon marks, cherryade and vomit (little Maizie, it transpired, was allergic to chocolate) from his uniform jacket. Diefenbaker had grumbled that it was his own fault for wearing the impractical outfit in the first place and Fraser, upon reflection, had to agree. But he remembered the little ones' wondering expressions and decided their uninhibited joy at all the brass buttons and straps was worth a few hours elbow grease.
There was a brisk knock, then Ray was erupting into the quiet again. "Okay, okay," he was saying placatingly as though they were in the middle of a longer conversation and Benton knew exactly what he was on about, "I know what you said and I'm not here to change your mind, right?"
"Right," Ben parroted.
"But I thought I'd drop these off now anyway." He thrust a carrier bag under Fraser's nose and continued his wild gesticulations. "I mean, I know you've got this philosophical objection to enjoyment - and. hey, that's cool - but those won't transport you to unseemly rapture so I guess they'll be okay."
He still hadn't the faintest idea what Ray was alluding to - but then that was nothing new - but he smiled encouragingly and opened the bag to see five very gaudy presents inside. He looked up. Shocked.
"It's okay, Benny, they're not all off me. Just the red ones - you see 'em, on the top there. The big one's off Ma, the small one's off Maria and Tony. Frannie's, in case you didn't guess, is the one covered with lovehearts."
"Ray?" Fraser's voice was very quiet.
"Yeah?"
"This is shameful - I neglected to buy your family anything." He was blushing furiously.
Ray stifled a grin. "So? Relax, Benny, we don't go in for that garbage, okay? We buy presents because we want to, not because we expect them in return." Silence. Ben wanted so much to ask Ray if he could stay for Christmas after all, tried to frame the words but a lifetime of independence, a lifetime of passively accepting your fate with dignity and restraint prevented him.
"Thank them for me, won't you, Ray? It really is most generous of them to think of me." Ben placed the little collection of presents on his father's trunk; the gift from Francesca smelled faintly of cologne.
Long slender hands, the fingers perfectly manicured, toyed absently with the twinkly, swirly bows and Ray's voice, soft as new laid snow, murmured, "You could thank 'em yourself if you came over."
Their eyes met and Fraser nodded. "Thank you kindly, Ray," he mumbled, aware of how much - this time - he meant that oft-uttered phrase.
Ray had dashed off, muttering about Santa hats for some inexplicable reason, after extracting a promise from Fraser that he would be on the Vecchio doorstep at two. Ben had sagged onto the bed for a moment, overcome by a silly childish desire to cry at his friend's generosity, at the memories it conjured up. Diefenbaker whined at him; he was tugging over his favourite rug.
"What is that supposed to mean? You said you were spending Christmas with Maggie. I presume you have condescended to change your mind?"
A growling affirmative.
"Ah. Your sudden change of heart has nothing to do with Mrs Vecchio's culinary expertise, hmm?" Fraser shook his head at Dief's petulant retort, "Yes, I know Ray's invitation was extended to you too and there's no need to assume that tone with me, thank you. Really, Diefenbaker, I'm surprised at you - where did you learn such words anyway. Ray? Oh." He pulled on his hiking boots and coat. "Come along then. To the store. We have to buy the Vecchios some gifts. Yes, 'we,' Diefenbaker. You can withdraw some money from your savings, I consider it a worthy enough cause."
They were on the doorstep at exactly two, not a second before, not a second after. Fraser dithered for a moment whilst voices inside debated - loudly - whose turn it was to answer then he slid his hat under his arm, replaced it and eventually settled on holding the brim ready to doff it politely the second someone opened the door. The door creaked open, emitting a warm red glow, the evocative scent of pine needles and apple sauce and a beaming Ray Vecchio.
"Good afternoon, Ray, may - "
"Benny!" And before he could finish his painfully polite spiel of greeting, Ray was hugging him hard and happy, soft lips brushing his cheek. "Merry Christmas, Benny. Merry Christmas, Dief!" Then the cop was chivvying him into the hall, his hands warm at his elbows through the thin cotton of his jacket, his eyes fervent and intimate.
"Oh well, thank you kindly, Ray. Merry Christmas," he stuttered back, aware of his own gauchness at saying the unfamiliar greeting and hating himself for it. Ray just smiled a secretive smile and, tugging at Fraser's arm, led him in the general direction of the living room to be welcomed. The Vecchio home was heaving with people as they fought their way to greet Mrs Vecchio; it always seemed to be slightly 'overcrowded' whenever he came, even during the day - Maria's children making dens in the porch, Frannie's girlfriends curled on the sofa painting each other's nails and tweeting on the phone and old uncle Lorenzo muttering about the Mafia - but this time ... More people seemed to be crammed into that one gracious building than lived in the entirety of Inuvik. Children were racing up and down the stairs, Tony appeared to be in at least three places at once - screaming from the upper landing; ploughing his way through the porch and sticking his head out the kitchen door, turkey leg in hand and half down his shirt - and there appeared to be an entire company of silver haired, querulous old ladies, wrapped in black shawls. Diefenbaker whimpered and shot off for the kitchen.
"Pardon me," said Fraser as a distinguished elderly gentleman wavered past, the frailty of his bearing countered by the swiftness of his stick which delivered powerful cuts to ankles and buttocks. Aunt Sophia, Ben had met the lady five dinners ago, thrust her way past in the old gentleman's wake, gushing Italian and windmilling her arms in that patented Vecchio fashion. Ray had just managed to drag Fraser into the living room when Francesca, a brood of sticky fingered children and another two black clad widows thundered in, the latter creaking over to the rocking chairs whilst the hoard of children dove for the television. Frannie waved a lethal looking knife in Ray's face, berating him about red currents before she realised they had Company. Her manner changed instantly.
"Benton, how nice of you to drop by," she simpered, wriggling her hips suggestively, hand going to her immaculate hair.
"He's staying so back off, Frannie." Ray replied rudely before Fraser could get past a stuttered apology and was dragging the man through into the kitchen, adroitly sidestepping a toddling nephew, in search of the elusive Mrs Vecchio. In the corner, next to the stove, feeding Dief titbits and singing timorously in Italian was yet another silver haired widow. Fraser blinked.
"Benton!!!" screeched Mrs Vecchio, causing her nervous guest to half climb the nearest wall. She lumbered over, planted two fat kisses on his flushed cheeks and had him sat down at the table in front of the dill stuffing before he could collect himself.
"How do you do?" Fraser managed a little faintly to the singing widow.
"She's senile," said Ma Vecchio succinctly and dropped a colander of peas into his lap. "Shell those."
"Ah," said Benton.
They'd returned to the living room where Ben was installed on the couch with a glass of orange juice in one hand, a gurgling infant across the lap and a mince pie which he was too polite to refuse in the other. The Christmas tree lights kept drawing his eyes, their arrhythmic flashing as mesmerising as a snake's eyes. The lights could play tunes too, Terri (Ray's five and three quarters year old niece) told him and insisted on demonstrating repeatedly. The tree, despite the bazaar lights, was a triumph of elegance. It was, Ben noticed with a twinge, a Canadian spruce which, by its pungent smell, had been dug up five days ago to die of too little water and too much heat in the living room. The decorations, however, were arranged with an artist's detail - only Ray could have achieved such an effect. A positive mountain of presents sat unstably underneath.
Ray was now hollering an announcement out in the hall and was becoming irritated because no-one was listening. "I said, everyone in the living room! Now. Let's go, Terri, let's go! Move it, willya, Maria? We've got to send the letters up the chimney." Fraser, who had been politely escorting various relations to the comfortable chairs, looked up in surprise.
"Pardon me?"
Tony grunted sourly on his way to the peanuts. "Each year, we do this. Hey, Raymondo, are you listening! Each year!"
"Shut up," said Maria pithily.
"Keep your huge gob shut for a change, Tonio. It's a tradition. That's a big long word, I know - " Ray began.
"Antonio. Raymondo. Quiet," said Mrs Vecchio in that patented mother tone and the two men subsided immediately.
Ray flopped onto the floor next to Ben, snagged up a toddler who was
investigating too close to the open fire and said,
"Yeah, each year we all make a wish, write it down, you know? We
fold 'em and then we let them fly into the fire. If they drop or catch
fire - bad luck. But if the paper shoots up the flu, the wish'll be granted."
Silver pens and pieces of brightly coloured paper were being handed out. Terri, Paul and Marky, the younger generation of the swarming Vecchio clan, had already made their wishes on huge pieces of sugar paper; Fraser could imagine them, button nosed, faces screwed with concentration, sat at Ma Vecchio's huge kitchen table surrounded by glitter and glue, writing out their painstaking wishes in their childish laborious handwriting. Francesca was giggling nervously and tried to peep at aunt Sophia's paper. Ma Vecchio was helping uncle Lorenzo with his and two widows were in deep Italian discussion in the corner. Benny felt the tide of panic rise; he had absolutely no idea what to write. He had no wishes - well, none he could write down anyway and certainly none that were material in nature.
After another minute, Ray grabbed a little trumpet from the tree, gave it to his wriggling nephew who blew it lustily and waved for silence.
"Okay! Finished?"
Everyone was nodding enthusiastically. "Come on, uncle. You first," squealed Maria and the game was begun.
The teeth pulling exercise continued down the ages. Ma Vecchio announced she wanted peace on Earth, her children happy - this with a significant look at Ray and Fraser - and a new rolling pin. Maria wished for a new fur coat whilst Tony petitioned for a porsche. Frannie came next and there was suddenly undefinable tension as Ray materialised at his sister's side and whispered something in her ear as her paper was loosed.
"What did you wish for, cara," asked Mrs Vecchio as Frannie's paper curled up in the ashes, its edges curling redly.
"Er, well you know," Frannie replied with a guilty glance in her brother's direction, "just for a new make up case."
Ray's turn and the man appeared to be deep in sombre thought as he knelt by the open grate. He looked raw with disappointment as the paper flew directly from his hand into the fire's heart. There appeared to be undercurrents present in this room, significant hidden agenda he knew nothing about, Fraser thought, as he watched his friend shrug lopsidedly and refuse to say what he'd asked for.
The children gathered next, solemn and wistful. The grownups played along, hiding smiles and teasing gently when dreams of sindy houses, Buzz Lightyear and an iguana (?) went up in smoke. Ben had thought he'd got away with it but no, Ray was signalling him peremptorily over to the fire. Dief emerged too with his wish - Ben had gravely helped him translate it onto paper - and whined in disgust when his paper sank resoundingly. He slunk over to Mrs Vecchio who cuddled him close and sneaked him a cookie. All eyes turned to Fraser. He smiled politely, trying for the children's sake to enter the spirit of the occasion. He folded his paper, muttered an Inuit incantation for effect and let fly -
"Way to go, Benny!" whooped Ray as the tiny slip went dancing up the flu.
"You've got your wish, buddy!" And the whole clan erupted into jubilation, considerably startling him with expressive hugs - he suspected that Francesca had hugged him at least three times - and pecks on the cheeks. When some peace had been restored, Ray, who had his arm round his shoulders, re-filled his orange juice and asked lightly, "So what did you ask for? A posting in Canada? A dog sled? No more wars?" Fraser was aware of all eyes fixed on him. He blushed and lied for the first time that year. "The latter, Ray." And as Frannie groaned in disgust and Tony swore in Italian, Ray's eyes lingered and knew the truth.
Christmas Eve dinner was an unsettling mixture of delight and torture. Mrs Vecchio ordered Fraser to take the place of honour next to her and force-fed him like the second turkey basting in the oven whilst Ray, eyes twinkling at his friend's stupefaction, fielded the more probing comments, ordering Frannie to 'stow it' and Maria's youngest, who wanted to know why Uncle Ben was blushing following a particularly ribald joke of Francesca's, to 'cut the chatter or Santa won't come.' Ben volunteered to do the washing up whilst the flock of children were shepherded up to bed and then escaped with a full bellied Diefenbaker to the garden which was empty except for two feeble old ladies rocking in their chairs. He'd been there over an hour, trying not to wish too hard - his solitude broken only by the occasional car horn, fire truck siren and shriek from a mini-Vecchio who didn't want to go to bed - when a hand touched his shoulder and stayed there.
"Too much for you, huh?" It was Ray, his eyes luminous green with indulgent amusement and some worry.
"Ah, well, they are a little" he searched for the right word, "voluble."
"Yeah. Come on. Carol singing time."
"Pardon me?"
"It's traditional. We all gather round the old piano and trill. Ma insists - says it does the family good or something. Me, I'm all for tradition, you know, but I'd rather have my finger nails extracted by the Donelly brothers."
Diefenbaker whined at Ray but the cop shook his head firmly. "Nice try, wolf. But if I have to put up with dotty cousin Felicia roaring 'Good King Senseless' then so do you."
Aunt Sophia was enthroned at the piano with various family members gathered round; Ma Vecchio beaming fit to burst, Tony looking mutinously at his wife who was commanding him to enjoy himself and Frannie whose disposition improved when she saw Ben. The elder Vecchios, including Uncle Lorenzo and three of the widow-clones, sat cackling merrily on the sofa. 'Silent Night' was followed by an ... eccentric rendition of 'Away in a Manger' - Ray kept repeating the first verse, Ma Vecchio was 'da-da-da-ing' and Maria was mixing up bits from all the verses - and then the choir began on 'We Three Kings.' This had always been one of Ben's favourites although, he discovered, the Americans knew a different version to the one he had learned.
"We three kings of Orient are, one in a taxi, one in a car, one on a scooter pomping his hooter, following yonder star," sang Ray with gusto.
It wasn't until 'Oh, Come All Ye Faithful,' which only Ben and Dief knew, that Frannie, who had been edging closer to the mountie for the last two songs, kicked out at Maria's leg unbalancing her and neatly sidestepped into the space thus created next to the mountie. She stared studiously at the piano and -
"Oh dear! I've spilt my wine, Benton!" she pouted theatrically and thrust her heaving bosom towards him so he could inspect the scarlet rash.
"Oh, dear!" Ben parrotted mesmerised.
"Have you got a hanky or something?" said the artful one and delicately wiped at the not inconsiderable expanse of flesh.
A hanky was pushed into her face and Ray was shoving her away, eyes steely. "Here."
"Thanks," she spat venemously.
"Oh, and Frannie?" Ben couldn't help overhearing his friend whilst the introduction to 'Little Town of Bethlehem' began, "you might wanna ask for a bigger bra from Santa - that one looks way too small."
The carol singing, Fraser discovered, had been rather enjoyable. The singers had made up for their lack of pitch, tone and skill with plenty of Italian gusto; hugging and laughing with each other when they made a mistake and singing with their hearts and souls. Tony had wrapped his arms round Maria's waist and Frannie, her spat with her brother forgotten, had rested against Ray's chest, swaying gently. It had been quite a humbling experience and he doubted a trained choir could have pleased the Lord more than the bright smiles and uninhibited worship of the Vecchios. Diefenbaker, whose musical sensitivities had been injured despite his deafness, disagreed but then he would. The adults dispersed, still laughing and kissing a lot; Maria and Tony donned thick overcoats to visit the bar - despite Ma Vecchio's vociferous objection - Francesca trotted off to change and Ma Vecchio escorted various elderly relatives (a fourth black shawled, frail old lady had materialised during 'Noel.') to their rooms whilst Dief slunk into the kitchen to stare soulfully at the first turkey.
Ray changed the CD from 'Party Hits 3' to more carols and flopped unceremoniously onto the settee. Fraser hovered uncertainly until the cop patted the space next to him imperiously with a 'will you get down here. You're hovering like a vulture, Benny.' Some moments of silence followed whilst Fraser just sat and watched his friend's lax face, the slight smile and the heavy lidded eyes. Ray is so much less of an enigma here, he thought, surrounded by his family. Time unfolded gracefully, each second precious here in this great house next to this sweet man with the changeable eyes. Eventually the clock struck midnight.
"Ray?"
"Mmm?"
"I was wondering. I think we might turn in now - if that's all right?"
"Sure," and there was an eruption of movement as Ray struggled into an upright position, pulled on his jacket and switched off the CD simultaneously. "Come on up. We're sharing my room, I'm afraid. My great great aunts Julia, Dorothia and Sylvia have bagged the other spare room." Ah, three of the widows evidently. "Where's the other staying?"
"What?"
"Your other great great aunt."
"I only have three, Benny. And uncle Lorenzo."
Oh dear. "Then, who are those four old ladies? All dressed in black, frail looking...?"
An expansive shrug. "Beats me."
Ben blinked. "You don't know who they are?"
"Never seen 'em before in my life." Ray didn't seem to be too bothered by the possibility that four or more old ladies could have wandered into his house. "They've got the Vecchio nose so I guess they must be related somewhere along the line."
"Ah," said Ben sagely.
Ray's room was a solace of warmth, musky smell and 'Rayness.' Fraser found himself relaxing completely as though his body knew it were home.
"Okay. You get the bed. I get the camp bed. And you," Ray addressed Dief's muzzle, "stay outta my face, okay, or no turkey tomorrow. The bathroom's free - just take what you need from the top shelf of the cabinet, you know toothpaste and stuff."
"Thank you kindly, Ray, but I must insist that I sleep on the camp bed."
Ray looked quite shocked. "No way, Benny! You're a guest. No arguments. I'll be up in a while." He went bouncing down the stairs, all compact muscle and energy. Fraser smiled at Diefenbaker under the radiator and went to use the bathroom. There was a lock but no key.
"Oh dear." He considered pushing a chair under the handle like he did at the apartment but that didn't seem very polite somehow and might ruin Mrs Vecchio's paintwork. Perhaps if he were very quick... He filled the bath, bribed Dief into standing guard outside, tipped in a drop or two of Ray's bubble bath (it was after all Christmas) and clambered in, still a little wary but considering that if the worse came to the worse and Francesca came rushing in, he could cover himself with his stetson. He'd just reached a nice fuzzy place when the door crashed open. The stetson was in position within milliseconds but, when he dared look up, he saw a very puzzled Ray looking down at him.
"Ray!" Didn't your mother teach you how to knock, he thought, slightly perturbed but instead he said, "I'm terribly sorry, I thought you were Francesca."
"This some weird Canadian thing?"
"Pardon me?"
"The hat, Benny. You bathe with it, right, or do you have one surgically implanted down there?"
Fraser blushed furiously, humiliated and not a little uncomfortable. There was a put upon sigh and Ray was plucking the hat away. "We're gonna have a talk about this modesty crap, Benny, but right now you can relax. Frannie's rushed out - seems she's forgotten an urgent present for someone so she's high-tailed it round to Dario's. I just came in to give you the towels."
"Thank you kindly."
"And the key's on the lintel, see? We keep it there cos of the kids." Ray was still staring at him, it was most perplexing.
"Thank you," he repeated firmly, with what he hoped was a polite air of dismissal.
"Aw, Benny!" Ray said and Ben didn't understand his tone, slight exasperation, tolerance but something warmer too. The cop was still smiling as he galloped back down the stairs.
Ray passed a dozing black-frocked old dear on the stairs and snuck, mysterious bag in hand, into the living room whose door he closed softly behind him. He had work to do. He slid his jacket off and crossed to the fireplace for the first task, rubbing his hands in anticipation at the awe on the children's faces in the morning. Made it all worthwhile; the slogging round stores, the astronomical phone bills and the tantrums after a too big Christmas dinner. And he had an added bonus this year - Benny. He stared at the open fire, remembered the letter game and his own dashed hopes; remembered too Fraser's blushing expression and confusion as his note fluttered up the flu. Christmas was a time for dreams though; some of which, he knew, came true. It didn't take him long; five minutes to leave the evidence and to clear away scrupulously afterwards. He smiled and was just reaching for his jacket when -
"Ray?"
"Fraser!" Ray plucked the mountie into the room, gesticulating wildly in his ire. The dopey canuck could have ruined everything. "What the hell are you doing down here, huh? Checking for polar bears? For goodness sake - " Fraser shuffled his feet and cast his eyes down in that sweetly childlike fashion.
Wallop.
And after everything that had transpired that day; the showdown in the apartment, the exuberant hug at the front door, the glimpses of pale naked flesh in the bathroom, it was this, this palpably Fraser-esque gesture that did it. Broke through the walls of self-imposed restraint like a polar bear gone berserk. Ray grabbed hold of Fraser's arms, pulled him close and caught his babbling mouth in a singeing kiss. He'd expected ... something. What, he didn't know. For Benny to faint, recoil, recite an Inuit tale about saliva. But Ben simply returned the tight embrace and simply repaid kiss for kiss.
They broke apart at last and Fraser caressed Ray's ears, smiling his lopsided smile and looking up through his lashes. "That was very nice, Ray. Is that my Christmas present?"
The cop did a double take at the Canadian actually telling a joke then he grinned naughtily. "Nah, Benny, that's up in my room." He tucked his arm round Ben's waist and was escorting him to the door when the mountie stopped and, for all the world like they were on a case, stopped, distracted by the fireplace.
"Interesting..."
"No, Benny, not interesting. Interesting is what's gonna happen upstairs, interesting is not what's happening here! Will you stop that!"
Fraser was kneeling by the evidence tonguing it gently. "I'm sorry, Ray, but this appears to be soot."
"Fancy that - soot near an open fire. Call Agent Mulder!"
"I agree this footprint in the soot is fascinating but I believe there is no need to call your friend Mr. Mulder."
"Fraser!"
"Size ten - interesting. Tony wears size nine as do you. I'm size ten but my shoes have no such pattern on the insole. This imprint was made by the left foot of what I believe was a wellington boot." He sniffed, "Yes, a rubber wellington boot - quite old though, well preserved. I'd say the bearer was a slight man, perhaps 68 kilos."
"So?" Ray sounded irritated.
"Well, um, among other puzzling inconsistencies, like the fact that the wearer appeared to have hopped to produce this particular imprint, why is there only one print, Ray, from one shoe? The amount of soot - "
"Fraser!"
"And this." He indicated more evidence, an empty glass; sniffed it. "This whisky was consumed recently, else the vapours would have escaped."
"You *know* who it is, Fraser. What's with the histrionics! C'mon, let's go to bed."
"Well in a moment, Ray, certainly but, as to your first clause, I'm afraid I don't know who it is."
"Who wears wellies, is covered in soot and drinks whisky?"
"Not you. The build is right, you had the motive and opportunity but I couldn't taste any alcohol when we kissed. And I didn't see any wellingtons fitting the description in your room or under the stairs. Tony is flatfooted and anyway he and Maria have not returned yet. Your uncle - does your uncle wear wellington boots, Ray?"
"No, you dope! Santa Claus, okay! It's Santa!"
Fraser stared at his friend momentarily then looked swiftly away. "Well, but, Ray, Santa Claus is just a myth."
"From myth springs truth," Ray quoted guilelessly. "Come with me." Hereclaimed Fraser's hand commandingly and led him through to the kitchen and out into the chill garden. "There." An empty plate lay beside a washing up bowl. "The kids left Santa's reindeer a carrot and a full bowl of water," he continued, "No carrot, no water. Elementary, my dear Holmes." He sounded smug about that.
"But Ray, Diefenbaker could have drunk the water - "
" - He's been with you! And how did he unlock the kitchen door?"
" - Or a fox, a cat, even a dog."
"Or a reindeer."
"Ray."
"What?!" Ray's arms were back to windmilling as he warmed to his subject.
"You sniff dog piddle, munch on fingernails and leap to conclusions based on soap suds and empty closets but you won't accept a flying sledge and an elderly gent dressed in fleecy red? Something wrong with you, Benny!?"
The mountie turned away suddenly, inexplicably but not before Ray had read the pain in the clear candid eyes.
"What is it, lover?" Gently. That grave serious voice he'd heard Ray use only in times of deep emotional trauma. Am I that upset? Fraser wondered with startlement, for the subject of Santa Claus seemed such an innocuous one, incapable of creating such a potent, random flood of emotion as the one he appeared to be presently experiencing. A tear leaked down his cheek; as surprising as the kiss earlier, as surprising as Ray's gentle enquiry, as surprising as this whole business. But there was a weight in his chest, a pressure that refused to allow him to form the words and all he could do was shrug his shoulders in apology and lead the way back inside.
Ray regarded his friend in perplexity, saw the demons dance in the blue eyes. "Do you, you know, wanna come to bed? I mean, sleep, you know, not sex ...." He'd never felt this awkward around women.
Ben rustled up a slight smile - only Benny could look grave smiling. "No, Ray."
"Oh." He felt his heart flip-flop. "I'm sorry, Benny - look, I'll drive you home if you want. You know I didn't mean to push, I thought - "
"Shush, Ray."
He shushed.
"I don't want to go to bed to sleep, Ray."
"You mean..."
"I want to go to bed to make love to you."
And the two men climbed the stairs together hand in hand. He fancied, as he followed Ray into the womblike interior of the cop's room that he could hear the sound of bells outside, but Ray's mouth was descending on his and he lost coherent thought.
Ray took command with the gentlest authority, leading the way in this foreign land and encouraging Fraser to relax, to trust. The latter was especially difficult, it transpired, for Fraser brought up from an early age to light his own fire, catch his own fish and invent his own amusement, had never had to consciously defer responsibility to someone else. They kissed, starting light and slow, gathering pace like an avalanche caused by just one displaced rock. Ray's mouth was hot against his, delightfully pliant and expert, sliding wicked tongue between his lips, across his teeth. He had to pull away at that point before it all got too much for him and his inexperience took him over the edge too soon. Ray smiled reassuringly and began to get undressed, slinky, unhurried, arousing. Ben shook himself out of his trance and, because he didn't want to be left feeling silly and conspicuous once Ray was naked and because he'd discovered it was usually better to hasten into icy waters with one good plunge than to creep in toe by toe, he began to undress too. He'd reached his shorts and was debating with himself whether to retain them, shed them or see what Ray had done, when the cop appeared in his field of very focused vision and took his hand.
"C'mon, Benny love, let's go to bed." His hand was captured and, dazed with that wooliness he usually associated with alcohol, he slipped under the covers. Ray's hand, still joined to his, a reassuring pressure through all this newness, travelled lightly across his chest and he jumped with the shock of it as it raked his nipple but already the touch had moved on, sweeping his belly, cupping his hip bone where it jutted from his shorts and coming to rest, after a quick reconnoitre of his side, at his shoulder. Ray's hand gave his a soothing squeeze, released it and then just rested there on his body, a skin-presence against his shoulder. It felt .. nice. Not overtly familiar, hardly sexual but certainly sensual. He snuggled against Ray's welcoming body, content to be held, to lay his head on the ready pillow of Ray's prickly chest.
He observed the changes in his own body with a curious detachment - a scientist poring over a microscope slide; the steady increase in his heart rate, the peaking of his nipples from lax flattened indentations to hard, painful little peaks which rubbed against Ray's body and sent thrills through his nerves, the dilation of his eyes, the whooshing sound of the blood singing in his ears and, infinitesimally at first but growing second by second, lazy and unhurried, the unfurling of his sex against his thigh. There was a new smell in the air too - musk, that particular odour, so masculine and so potent.
And then Ray was cupping his jaw, devouring his mouth and there was nothing remotely clinical about his response now. He felt the storm rage through his body. Ray grinned, confident, enigmatic and supremely sexy, before he plunged down Ben's sweating torso, yanked away his shorts with no aplomb and - Nothing in his experience could be compared to this. The intimacy was ... shocking. Ray so close, able to see his every inch laid nude, able to smell his essence, feel the scratch of hair and roundness of testicle. His nose bumped his belly, his hands holding his hips with a firm pressure, as his mouth suckled his penis. Thought vanished at that point and he gave in to that most primitive of needs. He was hard screaming flesh, pounding blood and distended balls; he was the swollen vein which ran along the length of his shaft as it was lipped and gently grazed and, finally, he was nothing and everything as his world exploded and he came deep in Ray's welcoming throat.
Ray let Ben slip from his mouth, awed and a little shaken by his lover's release. He licked him clean, very carefully knowing the sensitivity here, then crawled up the heaving, sobbing body and dove his mouth into Ben's.
"Benny," he whispered, replete.
Blue eyes opened, a slight smile twisted the corner of those gorgeous pouting lips. "Thank you."
"Merry Christmas, love." The cop gathered the pliant mountie into his arms, ignoring his own raging need, and held him again, content to drift, to dream and maybe to plan their future together in his mind's eye. He knew immediately when something was wrong with his partner. There was no outward sign of the change from contentment to discomfort, of course, no recoil, no gasp of misery but he didn't need those - he just *knew.*
"Tell me, Benny," he murmured into the quiet and perhaps had it been any other night save Christmas Eve, Ben would have refused, locked the pain away until it dulled or until he engineered a specific enough defence against it that it could be safely ignored. But not tonight.
"I'm sorry, Ray."
"Hush." A kiss. "Now tell me."
"It's just I never ... What you said about Santa Claus." Fraser sat up, Ray going with him, arms still sheltering. "I was three years old - I remember it quite clearly. My grandmother called me over - I recall standing in front of her, the fire warm at my back and the smell of lavender talc - and she told me, matter of factly and firmly that Santa did not exist."
"Aw, hell, Benny, but why? Why did she take it away from you?" Ray, Ben knew, this product of a sneering abusive father and over protective mother, child of emotion, of hot Italian blood, couldn't comprehend, considered it malicious and ruthless. For himself, he'd never dared question his grandmother's motivation before, never dared examine the raw place in his heart each Christmas. Ray lay silent for some moments, just gazing into those exposed blue eyes, then, "Come on, Benny. Got something to show you."
He dressed unhappily, feeling chill and humiliated. Ray was going to take him back downstairs, was going to pretend that Santa made that ridiculous footstep - was going to insist on it, in fact - and he hated him for it. Oh, his motives were sterling, bless him but Fraser was an adult, it was ... undignified, humiliating. His grandmother had been correct, the demise of Santa had been just the first of a long line of disappointments he'd locked tight away where nobody could see them. They crept into the hall but instead of going down, Ray was leading him up to the next floor. He followed, deeply miserable and feeling betrayed, the stickiness in between his legs only adding to the emotional discomfort. Up and up they went until Ray had quietly unhooked the attic ladder.
"Climb, Fraser," he urged when he saw the Mountie's mutinous face and so, passive because he knew no other trait, he clambered up and stepped out onto the roof.
Tears filled his eyes as he saw.
Two fresh tracks in the virgin snow.
"He ... really exists?" He knew he was clutching at Ray as the man laughed with delight, sharing the humour, never mocking him.
"I dunno, Benny. Maybe. I know one thing though - Santa's spirit exists. It exists here," a warm hand brushed his chest, delving inside the thin robe to lie over his heart, "and here," the hand moved to Ray's own chest, "and all over this city. Santa breathes in the kid who lies awake listening for sleigh bells, he lives in the mother who pawns her only jewellery to buy her kid the bike he's always wanted and Santa breathes, Benny, in this very house. Every Christmas, my dad would roll home from Finelli's as pissed as a you know what. He'd roar at ma, reduce the little ones to tears and drag me upstairs..." Ray trailed off, unwilling to remember what would happen next. "Anyway, Christmas was pretty joyless, you know? I mean we had a huge turkey, all the trimmings and ma would do her very utmost to make it special but ..."
"I'm sorry, Ray."
A shrug. "Yeah well, I never believed in Santa either, Benny, not in the way it matters but when pop died. The change in this house - it was like we'd been born again. There was laughter and joy and carols and - "
" - And Santa?"
"Yeah, Benny," Ray breathed against his lips before he kissed him sweetly, "and Santa."
They drew each other close, stared out, cheek to cheek, across the cityscape, tracking the mysterious marks in the fresh snow from roof to roof. Finally Ray shivered and pulled back to regard Fraser critically.
"I think it's about time I gave you your present, Benny," he said as innocent as a lamb. Despite the cold, Fraser blushed as Ray slid the robe off his shoulders and cupped his erecting genitals in his soft-skinned hands.
"Oh! Actually," he squeaked when his brain remembered how speech worked, "I was thinking it was about time I gave you my present."
"Benny." Firmly. "I thought I told you not to get me anything. You've a growing wolf to feed - " His words were cut off as Ben knelt before him, yanked open his robe and, there, on the rooftop, took him deep into his mouth.