DS Characters ... not mine, alas. Alliance's. Crooks and doctors are all mine though.

The book referred to is Farley Mowat's "Ordeal by Ice" (Highly recommended!)

Spoilers - COTW - also, some liberties taken with the "epilogue" portion of COTW , so sort of AUish (it's a word ... really!)

Name and origin of the turtle - from a long ago challenge on Serge

This is the seventh in the "Mask Slip" series (which didn't start out as a series ... so it doesn't trace back without the following list ...) It will work all right without reading the rest - but some parts will make more sense if you've read the others.

1. The Mask Slips 2. Seeking (&) Understanding 3. Fast Friendship 4. Staying Power 5. Gift of Fate 6. A Matter of Heart - and now this one.

To all the lovely people who wrote and asked when this would be posted - thank you as well! It was nice to know people were still interested. I apologize for the many delays. I really didn't intend to leave the guys separated for so long. (There's this whole silly RL thing ... really gets in the way of good fic sometimes!) Hope you find it worth the wait.

Solo

Ray Kowalski stood in the doorway, suddenly uncertain. Everything looked the same and yet, it was completely different. He watched for a moment. Huey and Dewey were having a conversation, oddly punctuated by Huey mimicking drum roll motions. Franny was talking on the phone and frowning at her computer screen. The janitor was mopping the floor and inching closer to Ray by the second, and Welsh was in his office sounding off to some unfortunate soul. It was with extreme reluctance that Ray turned to view his old desk. Vecchio wasn't there and for a brief moment, Kowalski felt relief, as though maybe it was all a dream and if he turned around, Fraser would be standing behind him. But then that would mean that the rest of it had been a dream. Right now, he wasn't sure which would be worse. Being here alone, without Fraser, or not having shared the time with Fraser in the snow shelter. God, he missed the Mountie.

Frannie hung up the phone, muttering "Needlehead" under her breath. The blond smiled. At least one thing would never change.

"That's pinhead," he corrected.

"Pin, needle, thread. What's the big deal?" she said looking up with a big smile, that belied the sarcastic tone of her voice. She jumped up and enveloped him in a hug. "It's about time! Where ya been? I've been worried sick! How come you didn't answer my calls!"

"Whoa! One question at a time," Ray said, laughing and hugging her back. "I've been stayin' with my folks since I got back. Didn't go home 'til last night."

"All right. I forgive you then."

"Thank you ... kindly." She stepped back.

"Are you all right?" she asked, surveying him with a critical look.

"Yeah. Gettin' better every day," he assured her.

"Ve ... Kowalski!"

"Our master's voice," Franny whispered. Ray grinned.

"Hey Lieu." He walked into the office, sidestepping the hapless recipient of Welsh's tirade fleeing the office. Inside, Ray stood in front of the Lieutenant's desks

"How ya doin'?" Welsh asked, looking the blond up and down. Ray's skin still had an unhealthy looking pallor and he was obviously underweight.

"Don't even try ta tell me you're ready to come back to work," the Lieutenant advised the younger man.

"Yup. Got my medical clearance right here." The blond fished a crumpled letter out of his pocket and handed it over. Welsh glanced at him sharply, then put on his glasses and began to read. After a minute, he looked up, over his glasses, giving the blond a skeptical look.

"And if I call this Leighton guy, I'm gonna find out he's a legitimate doctor, right? AMA and all that?"

"Yes, Sir," Kowalski said with a faint smile. The Lieutenant pursed his lips, clearly not quite satisfied. He looked back at the letter and then back at the blond. Finally,

"All right. Though, personally, I think you look like Hell."

"Thank you, Sir," with an impudent grin. "It's good to see you too." Welsh looked at him sharply and then laughed, sitting forward and putting the letter down on his desk.

"Welcome back, Detective. I'll put you back on the schedule starting Monday."

"And my leave request?"

"I'll have the paper work for you on Monday. Any idea when you want it to start?"

"No, Sir. Not exactly. I'm kind of waitin' on Fraser. He's got that trial to get through." The Lieutenant nodded.

"All right. I've got a friend in Personnel. If I ask, he'll hang on to it until you do know and then push it through. The more notice he has, though, the easier it will be."

"Thank you, Sir." Welsh looked at him for a moment and then sighed.

"There is one more thing." Kowalski picked up the tone of voice.

"Yeah?" warily.

"Your partner."

"I don't need a partner."

"Yes, you do. Constable Fraser is not here. Policy says you work with a partner." Ray sighed, telling himself it was only temporary.

"Who?"

"Vecchio."

"What?! No way. No. Don't do that. Do not do that to me."

"Sorry. He's the only other detective without a partner and he's talking about retiring at the end of the year, making you both short timers. I don't see breaking up another team under those circumstances." Ray just shook his head. He understood the logic, but still ....

"Me and Vecchio - I ... I just don't know. I mean it's not that I really have anything against the guy, but we weren't mixing so good the last time, ya know? Like oil and water."

"You're both professionals, Detective. I have complete faith that you will be able to work out any difficulties. Now - rest this weekend. And eat something!" he ordered as the blond stalked from his office.

"Ray! Ray! Ray!" He spun around. Francesca was calling him. He waited as she came up to him. "I ... just ... do you wanna come to dinner tonight? Ma's been dying to see you. She wants a chance ta say thanks and everything. You know, now that she can." Ray took a deep breath.

"Thanks, Frannie, but I don't think I'm up for that just yet."

"Come on. It'd make Ma happy. She likes nothing better than to feed a skinny guy. She's been dying to have you over ever since I told her you were comin' back. We couldn't before, 'cause everyone in the neighborhood woulda known ya weren't really my brother, but now there's no reason we can't. Please? She's just gonna nag me 'till you come." That brought a smile to Ray's face. He laughed.

"All right, all right. Gotta keep Mothers happy, right?"

"Yeah." Frannie smiled. "Six. Be there or I'll come after ya!"

"Yes, ma'am." Ray walked off, laughing.

Kowalski showed up for work on Monday morning, feeling very apprehensive. He'd spent the weekend trying to convince himself that he and Vecchio would be fine working together. He'd known he would have to see Vecchio, but he hadn't counted on this little twist. He knew it would mean a great deal to Fraser for the two Rays got along, though, and intended to do his best. After much hesitation, he had worn the flannel shirt the Mountie had loaned him so many months before. Kowalski had come to look upon the shirt as a kind of a shield. It reminded him that Fraser found him worthy, which in turn made everything else easier to handle. When he walked into the office, Vecchio was there waiting for him. Since he hadn't been at dinner Friday evening, it was the first time the two had seen each other since the shooting at the mall. Both men regarded each other uneasily for a moment, then Vecchio sighed.

"Hey, we both survived the Mountie. We oughta be okay, right?"

"Yeah. Right." They continued to look at each other, unconvinced.

"Coffee?" Vecchio suggested. "I can bring you up to speed on my ... our ... cases."

"Sounds good," Kowalski allowed. The Italian tilted his head toward the break room and the blond nodded and headed that way. As they left the room, Francesca and Welsh, both watching from the latter's office, relaxed and let out breaths they hadn't been aware they'd been holding.

The initial peace did not last, however. By the end of the day they were taking snide potshots at each other and by Thursday, the rest of the precinct was taking bets as to how long it would be before they came to blows.

At the end of his first week back, Ray Kowalski sat alone in his apartment watching his turtle, Evi. He was exhausted. Between trying to act healthy, trying to maintain with Vecchio and trying desperately not to miss Fraser, he was completely worn out. And this after only one week back at work. He didn't know how he was going to survive the month or two this was supposed to take.

"I survived 36 years without him," he told the turtle. "I can do a couple months." He hoisted his beer, saluting Evi. Evi did not reply. "God, I can't even convince the turtle," he muttered. Tomorrow he was supposed to go over and spend the day with his parents. They were leaving early Sunday morning to return to Arizona. His mother's still healing bones were aching in the damp Chicago air, and with Ray planning on leaving, there was no real reason for them to stay in the city. They had offered to stay until Ray left, but he had refused. Even though he logically knew the accident that injured his mother hadn't been his fault, he still felt a certain responsibility and under no circumstances did he want her suffering any extra pain on his account. He wanted desperately to call Fraser; to hear his voice, but knew that a call would only worry the Mountie. Fraser had enough on his plate with the upcoming trial and dealing with all the emotional aspects of Muldoon's arrest. The blond had tried to encourage him to talk, but Fraser had only been willing to admit that it was dredging up a lot of memories and he had a lot to sort through. Ray had initially hoped that he would have to stay and testify at the trial, but it had been decided, that due to his health, they would try to avoid it. "Gotta be strong," Ray told himself. He glanced over at the carving Fraser had made for him. "Dief's Pack," he whispered. He had to be an equal partner. Ben deserved no less. Maybe there'd be a letter tomorrow, he thought hopefully. Fraser wrote great letters. Ray could almost hear his voice when he read them. He took another drink of his beer and then looked at the bottle and back over at the carving. Sighing, he got up and went to pour the rest of the beer down the sink.

The second week of work didn't go any better. Vecchio came in late Monday, looking like he'd been through the wringer the night before, and found Kowalski seated at his desk, looking through one of his files. Immediately territorial, Vecchio crossed the room. "Looking for something? Or just trying to make my desk the same disaster yours is?" he demanded.

"Nice ta see you decided ta come in today. Work interferin' with yer life or something?" Kowalski snapped back, all of his good intentions out the window.

"Yeah, well, that's the beauty of actually having a life." Watching Kowalski's face, Vecchio knew that he'd gone too far. "Look, what ... what do you need?" he asked, trying to step back.

"Never mind." The blond got up and moved away.

Things did not improve between the two men as time went on. Francesca frowned, watching them in the middle of yet another argument.

"Oh, so that's your idea of a partnership," Vecchio said snidely. The blond took a deep breath.

"Look," he replied tersely. "I just ... I think if I talk to her again, I can get her ta tell us what we need ta know. She trusts me. Just you can't be there. She doesn't like you."

"Whaddye mean, she doesn't like me?"

"Yeah. What a shock. Must be your sparkly personality." Kowalski growled. Vecchio glared at him.

"So, what, I just sit aside and let you have all the credit?"

"No. No. We're partners," the last came out a bit scornfully. "Share and share alike."

"Sure. Sharing. You're real big on sharing, aren't ya, Stanley."

"What?"

"You don't think I know what this is all about? You wanna break the case; show everyone how good you are. This is all about proving you can make it without Benny, isn't it? Guess what? You aren't half the man he is. And wearing his shirt every day? That's not gonna help either." Kowalski stiffened and looked at him for a long hard moment, then slowly backed up one step and then another. He took a deep breath, holding his fists tightly clenched at his sides.

"What the Hell is your problem?" he demanded in a low tone. "Thought we were supposed to be workin' a case. You don't like the idea? Fine. Come up with another one. I don't care." He turned and walked away, half expecting Vecchio to be right on top of him at any moment. //He's Fraser's friend.// Kowalski kept telling himself. //I can't hit him.//

"What are you doing?" Francesca demanded, cornering her brother

"What?"

"What are you doing? He's tryin' to get along with you and all you do is dump all over him."

"Oh and he's perfect?"

"No. But he's the one that's alone. You've got your family. His is gone. And you've got Stella."

"Shh!" her brother said, looking around. "We haven't told him yet."

"Yeah, I know," she said pointedly. "He's not stupid. He's gonna figure it out, and how well do you think it's going to go over that you were sneaking around behind his back."

"It was her idea."

"Oh, and I bet you fought her every step of the way."

"He's got Fraser," Ray said, trying to sidestep that particular discussion.

"Is that what's buggin' you? He and Fraser are goin' off and doing something without you? It's like you didn't get to have all the toys, so yer gonna throw a tempter tantrum? That's mature," she said in a scathing tone.

"Look, he's drivin' me crazy, Frannie. No matter what I say, it sets him off."

"Oh, yeah. That crack about how he's not half the man Fraser is ... that was real sensitive bro. That was real ... partner like."

"Yeah, okay. I shouldn't've said that," Vecchio admitted. "But what about him?"

"He's a good guy, Ray. Give him a chance. You'd like him if you got ta know him."

"Why doesn't he have to try."

"He does."

"Then why're you talking to me?"

"Because he's in the men's room and you aren't."

"Oh." Frannie walked back to her desk and Ray watched her go, smiling. He had to admit, he liked the "new" Francesca. Her job at the precinct had alarmed him at first, but it seemed to have done her a world of good. Kowalski came in and stopped by her desk. The Italian detective watched the blond and his sister talk for a minute. He quickly bent his head to his desk and was at least pretending to concentrate on his reports when Kowalski came back towards him.

"Look, Vecchio ...," the younger man started using a carefully modulated tone.

"I was way out o' line, Kowalski. I'm sorry. Look, you go talk to the lady. I'll wait in that coffee shop on the corner. Then, if she comes through, we can go bust the guy."

"Yeah?" Kowalski looked at him suspiciously for a moment, wondering where the sudden cooperation came from. Then he nodded and offered a tentative smile. "Okay, then."

The peace lasted three days. Both men came stalking into the precinct late Thursday afternoon. The rest of the room immediately recognized the danger signals and fell silent. The Rays were oblivious.

"What the Hell do you think you were doing? You could've got us both killed!" Vecchio yelled.

"Yeah, well maybe if you'd actually been paying attention, we wouldn't got in that situation in the first place. God. I was safer with the Mountie and he didn't even carry a gun!"

"Don't go there, Stanley."

"Where? Towards the truth? Yer so busy having private conversations on yer cell phone, yer not payin' attention to the job. And you an' Stella ever plannin' on tellin' me what's going on, or did you just figure on sneakin' around until I left town?" Vecchio was stunned for a moment, but rallied quickly.

"That's what this is really about isn't it?" he said in a nasty tone. "You can't stand it that you lost her and I got her. You're just jealous."

"Enough!" Frannie yelled. Startled, both Rays turned and stared at her. She stood and signalled. Huey and Dewey each grabbed an arm and picked up Kowalski and carried him out of the room. Welsh watched discreetly from behind his blinds. Vecchio was smiling at the scene, when two other detectives picked him up and carried him out in similar fashion. In short order, both men were unceremoniously tossed into the supply closet. The door was slammed behind them. "And yer not comin' out until you make friends!" Frannie's voice was clear through the door.

After a stunned moment, Vecchio reached up and pulled the light cord. Kowalski stood as far away as he could get, watching his erstwhile partner with an expression of anger. They just watched each other for a few moments. Finally Vecchio sighed.

"Look, I'm sorry. That ... ... the crack about Stella ... that was really low and uncalled for."

"Yeah. It was," Kowalski agreed.

"Frannie's right. This doesn't make sense. We're both adults. We oughta be able to make this work."

"So why can't we?"

"I don't know. Jealousy maybe?"

"What? You think this ... this is all about Stella? Don't even try that one. Do not. In the first place, I'm not in love with her anymore. I don't like you sneaking around behind my back is all. That's just wrong. And besides, you got her, so why should you be upset?"

"No, not just Stella," Vecchio said, holding up his hands in a pacifying gesture. He was silent for a few minutes, organizing his thoughts. Kowalski waited, arms folded across his chest. "All right," Vecchio finally said. "When I came back. Well first off, it was pretty sudden. I didn't really have any time to think about it, ya know? And we kind of got off on the wrong foot."

"I get that. I been there, ya know. I've done undercover. Not like that; bein' a mob guy an' all. But I know it can take awhile to ... readjust back to yourself."

"Okay. Good. So maybe you'll get this. At first, in the hotel, I was kind of off balance. You know? My cover's been blown, but it hasn't. My gig is over, but it isn't. Then when we finally get that sorted out and I get out of the hospital, I'm back and everything should be going back to normal. I'm real happy to be home, see my family and friends again. And I'm kind of expecting ... I don't know ... maybe not the hero's welcome exactly ... but somethin' because I've been gone, doing a really dangerous job. Only, all anyone talks about is what a great guy my replacement is. Frannie likes ya, Welsh likes ya, even Huey says nice stuff about you. And Benny, the best friend I ever had in my whole life ... well, let's just say I can tell he's got someone else on his mind all the time we're together. And then. Then, I meet this amazingly wonderful, beautiful, intelligent woman, and even she keeps saying nice stuff about you. It's like I left and you not only took over the life I had, but you even beat me to the life I'd like to have!" Kowalski listened to all of this quietly. Vecchio watched the blond as he turned the other man's words over in his mind.

"Yeah. Okay. I get that," Kowalski finally said, thoughtfully. He was silent again. Then, "Ya know, when I agreed ta be you ... I was in ... I was in kind of a bad place, between the divorce and a couple o' cases that didn't go so well. Anyway, they offered me this assignment, and I thought it'd be a chance to do a good thing, and kind of ... well ... get away from ... from ... me ... for awhile. So, suddenly I'm living this whole new life. And it's an okay life. I mean, except for Frannie, I didn't really get to spend much time with your family, 'cause it might've blown your cover, but I really got to like havin' a ... a sister. It was ... it was fun. And you got a great boss. I mean Welsh, he yells a lot, but ya always know where ya stand with him. He's fair. And if he thinks you're right, he's totally behind you. Most o' the guys here are pretty cool too. And ... uh ... and there was Fraser. He's totally different from anyone I ever met before. He's ... well he's really a good guy, ya know? Like in the movies. The guy with the white hat."

"Yeah." Vecchio agreed, finding that as good a description as any.

"Yeah." Kowalski smiled, remembering, and Vecchio was struck by the sweetness of that smile. "First I just figured, ya know, that, uh ... that he was just pretendin' ta like me, for you an' all. I mean, everyone ... everyone told me how tight the two o' you were. But then ... then I started to think he might actually like me, just for me. And I ... I needed that. Ya know? Fraser ... he's ... special."

"That he is." Vecchio smiled, just thinking about it. Then he looked over at the blond. "So, if Fraser liked us both, we must both be okay, right? 'Cause Fraser ... he's a good judge of character."

"'Cept for that Metcalf woman."

"Yeah, well, if the guy got out more, he might recognize a snake when it bit him," Vecchio said darkly. "But you leave out the sex part, and his judgement's always been good." Kowalski looked a little startled by that comment, but let it go by. "So," Vecchio continued, "We know the people here must like both of us, or they wouldn't have stuck us here in this closet; they'd have just let us kill each other. And you got Fraser and I got Stella. And both of 'em still like the other of us."

"Stella hates me," in a low voice.

"Nah. She gets mad at you sometimes, but trust me, Ray. She does not hate you. She still cares a lot about you," Vecchio said gently.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. She was real worried when we heard you were sick up in Canada. She's wanted to come by and see ya, but she's been afraid you'd get mad at her for goin' out with me."

"I kind o' was." The blond looked down, studying his hands. "See, I ... uh, I liked yer life. Liked it a lot. And then you came back and I thought ... that's it. Game over. Fraser ... he was so happy ta see you at the hotel ... it was like I wasn't even in the room. So, I uh ... I wasn't too happy ta see you. I mean, I was glad you were safe an' all, but ... well ... you know. And comin' back, now, I know me and Fraser ... we're ... good. But, he's not here and my parents are gone ... You got your life back, but I don't have my old life or my new one ... and then hearin' about you and Stella ..." Vecchio nodded, understanding. Kowalski looked up again. "I still care about Stella, ya know? I know we're ... over, but I can't just stop caring. I worry about her. I want her ta be happy."

"So do I. Honest." The blond looked at him searchingly for a moment, then slowly nodded.

"Okay. I guess I can handle that. Yer a big improvement over that Orsini guy anyway." Kowalski suddenly flashed an unsettling grin. "Of course, ya hurt her, I'll kill you." Vecchio smiled, interpreting that as Kowalski's blessing on his relationship, even while acknowledging from the look on his face, that the blond was absolutely serious about the threat.

"Understood," he said. They looked at each other self-consciously for a moment.

"There is one other thing," Vecchio finally said.

"What?" warily.

"The Riv?"

"Oh, that." Kowalski waved a hand dismissively. "I did ya a favor. Stella woulda hated that car." Vecchio stared in disbelief for a moment and then laughed. The blond grinned at him. Then they fell silent again.

"So ... now what?"

"We try to work together? Stop taking potshots?"

"I could go with that. Kind o' start fresh?"

"Yeah." Vecchio smiled. "I've been reading up on some of your cases with Fraser. I think we could do pretty well if we actually acted like partners." Kowalski acknowledged that with a half smile. They were quiet for a moment. Then Vecchio held out his hand. "Hi, my name is Ray Vecchio. I understand we're gonna be working together." The blond looked at the outstretched hand. After a brief moment, he reached out and shook it.

"Hi. Ray Kowalski. Nice ta meet you." They took back their hands and looked self-consciously at each other.

"Will Frannie let us out now?" Kowalski finally asked.

"Only if we beg," Vecchio said glumly.

"You hungry?" the blond suddenly asked, a mischievous look on his face.

"Yeah, why?"

"Ta da!" Kowalski reached in his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. "How do ya feel about pizza?"

"In the closet?"

"Maybe Frannie'll let us out if we offer to share."

"You think you're gonna get the pizza past her?"

"Oh yeah. I got pizza connections," the blond said confidently, while he was dialing.

****

"Ray?" Kowalski looked up from his report. Stella was standing in front of his desk, looking uncertain. It was the first time he'd seen her since he and Vecchio had "come out of the closet" as Dewey insisted on putting it.

"Hey, Stel. What's up?"

"Do you have a minute?"

"For you? Always! You know that." He flashed her a smile. If anything it seemed to make her even more uncertain.

"Could we go somewhere else? Somewhere ... more ... private?"

"Uh ... sure. I ... uh, I already know 'bout you and Vecchio, though" he said.

"I know." She took a breath. "Can I buy you a cup of coffee?"

"Yeah. Okay." He stood and grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair. "If yer buyin' though, it's gonna be a good cup. Not from the machine!"

"You're on," she said, finally smiling back.

Seated at the corner coffee shop, she studied her latte, seemingly fascinated by the foam.

"Stella?" Ray asked gently.

"Sorry," she blushed and then looked up at him. "Actually, that's what I wanted to say. I'm sorry, Ray."

"Fer what?"

"For the way I've behaved for the last year. And for not telling you about Ray Vecchio."

"Ah."

"You learned that from the Mountie," she commented dryly. "Vecchio does it too."

"Yeah. It's kind of handy. All purpose. Why?"

"Why?"

"Why were ya so mean? And why didn't ya tell me about Vecchio. I mean, I'm working with the guy." His voice was even, but she could see the hurt expression in his eyes. She shook her head, sadly.

"I just .... Every time I let my guard down, you'd get this hopeful look in your eyes and I really didn't want to do that to you either. I guess somewhere in the back of my mind, I thought that if I was a complete bitch, you'd get over it sooner."

"It doesn't work that way."

"I know. And I really am sorry, Ray."

"I still love you. I always will. That's never gonna change Stel. I fell in love with you the minute I saw you. Ya don't just stop lovin' someone 'cause they're rude to you. I get mad sometimes and sometimes I even hate you, but I can't stop caring."

"I know. I still love you too, Ray. God, you were my first ... everything. And I have no regrets about all those years. I really don't. I just think we had preconceived notions about how we were going to grow up and how things were going to turn out."

"Yeah," Ray agreed, remembering.

"And there were things you never told me, Ray. Never let me in on. I had no idea that your father had beat you until your mother mentioned it a couple of months ago. Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you trust me?"

"Wasn't a matter of trust. Guy's supposed to take care o' the girl. Not supposed to be weak."

"Is that why you were able to tell Fraser? Because he's a guy, too?"

"He ... uh, kind of caught me at a ... bad ... moment," Ray said, his eyes shadowing at the memory. Stella reached out a hand and laid it over his.

"I'm sorry, Ray. I don't think either of us was what the other needed. For a long time all I could see was how you failed me. I thought I was all right with you being a police officer, but then you started going undercover, and that was really hard to deal with, especially after you got shot. But you kept accepting more jobs. I'd just sit home every night, terrified of the phone. The only thing that seemed to push back the fear was concentrating on my job, so I did, more and more. I didn't know then that I was failing you, too." She took a sip from her latte.

"Ray Vecchio? He ... he is what you need?" her ex-husband asked after a moment.

"I don't know. We're taking it slowly. Both of us have ... issues. But I like him. I like him a lot. It helps that he's retiring in less than a year and he's promised not to go undercover again."

"Yeah, that makes sense. He's ... uh ... he's a good guy."

"Yes, I think he is. And I'm sorry we didn't tell you. It just ... well, it seemed ... awkward, to put it mildly."

"Oh, that's a fact."

"Are you okay with it?"

"Don't really have a choice, do I?"

"I don't want to hurt you anymore, Ray." He looked at his coffee for a moment and then back at her.

"I'm gettin' okay with it."

"Thank you," Stella said softly.

"Sure." He started to stand.

"You haven't finished your coffee." Ray looked at her uncertainly.

"Thought we were done. Usually that's my clue ta split."

"We could change that," Stella suggested shyly. "I really would like us to be friends, if that's possible. You're too big a part of my past to just ... lose. Sit down. Talk to me. Tell me ... what it was like up north. Your mother said you were going back."

"You really want to know?"

"Yes. I really do." He smiled and sat back down.

"It was amazing up there, Stel. So ... big ... like ... like empty and full at the same time."

*****

"Vecchio! Kowalski!" Welsh called from his office. Both men, working separately at their desks, looked up and then at each other, eyebrows raised. "Today, gentlemen!"

"We haven't done anything, have we?" Vecchio asked, getting up.

"Just you threatening to smack that kid in the rear," Kowalski reminded him.

"Nah, that can't be it," Vecchio muttered. "Besides, he'd have deserved it, after kickin' me in the shins."

They entered the Lieutenant's office tentatively. Things had been going better between them since their talk. They still had arguments, but at least now they were productive and usually work related, rather than sniping. A genuine respect was rapidly building between the two men.

"Sit down," Welsh ordered. After they were seated, he continued. "I'm sure you're aware of the recent rash of car thefts."

"Uh ... last briefing notice mentioned that. Expensive, newer models, taken from all over the city," Kowalski offered.

"Couple of the vics felt they were being followed before the theft," Vecchio added. "We were wondering if that Mercedes day before yesterday was part of it."

"Quite possibly," Welsh said. "Last night the1-6 had a carjacking. Brand new Jaguar. The victims thought someone was following them. They were right."

"And someone thinks the carjacking is connected to the thefts? Doesn't really play. Usually burglars and car thiefs are trying to avoid contact with people," Kowalski mused. Vecchio nodded his agreement.

"Seems the Jaguar owner had reported an attempted auto theft last week. Same car. He left work early because he wasn't feeling well. Found someone trying to open his car door."

"Could be coincidence," Vecchio said, playing devil's advocate.

"Pretty big coincidence, though," Kowalski said, thoughtfully.

"Precisely. And since the Jaguar owner is also a big campaign contributor, the Mayor is taking a strong interest in the investigation," Welsh advised them, leaning back in his chair.

"How strong an interest?" Vecchio asked, warily.

"Task force strong," Welsh said. Kowalski groaned. "You have an issue with this, Detective?"

"It's just that most task forces ... well, they sort of get too big ta accomplish stuff."

"That may be, but the words have such a nice ring when the Mayor announces them to the press. The theory for now is that we'll all work separately within our own districts, since we know those best, and pool all information and reports. If it is the same people, they're escalating. We want to get these guys before someone gets hurt. So far we've been lucky that way."

"So, we just keep up on the information unless something happens here?"

"That and go through our stolen vehicle reports for the last three months. Francesca's pulling them for you. See if you can find a pattern of some kind. Do some asking around. Maybe they're targeting other areas to keep away from their chop shop. I do want this investigated."

"Yes sir," Vecchio said smartly, turning to leave.

"Oh, and Vecchio?"

"Yes sir?"

"Next time a 10 year old kicks you in the shins, just arrest him for battery on a peace officer. It's much easier for the department to justify than a threat to 'smack him one,' no matter how much he may deserve it."

"Yes Sir. I will try to remember that. Thank you, Sir." He could see Kowalski trying to bite back a smile and just shook his head as they walked out of Welsh's office.. "Don't even think it!"

"Think what?" the blond with his most innocent expression.

"Don't try that look with me ... I've worked with the Mountie, remember? I know all about innocent looks!" Kowalski grinned at him.

They spent the next two days going through prior stolen vehicle cases in the 2-7 and found five that seemed like they might match. Two of the victims had mentioned feeling like they were being followed. All of the cars were newer and very expensive models. And none of the vehicles had been recovered. They began compiling a notebook with their cases and those from other districts.

The next carjacking occurred one week later in the 22nd district. A brand new BMW, its occupants enroute home after a late evening celebrating their anniversary. The man had fought back, refusing to give up his shiny new car. He'd been severely beaten with a tire iron for his efforts, and his doctors were predicting permanent brain damage. The description of the suspects was predictably vague, but the MO seemed to match the other carjacking. The car was new and expensive. A car pulled in front of the victim vehicle, which was distracted by someone driving behind them with their brights on. Two men, one on each side, ordered them out of the car. The criminals were carrying "really big guns," wearing coveralls and had nylons pulled over their faces. The car to the rear vanished before anyone got a look at it. The one that blocked the roadway had been stolen shortly after the last carjacking. Kowalski and Vecchio, while busy with their regular caseload, made the time to speak to their contacts, but no one seemed to know who was behind the carjackings or where the vehicles were being taken.

"They can't be disappearing into thin air," Welsh reflected, several days later, after listening to what they had to say.

"No, but they might as well be at this point," Vecchio said, sitting on the couch and leaning back. Kowalski was sitting in a chair, fidgeting, distracted.

"Do you have something to add?" Welsh asked him.

"Huh? Oh, uh. No. Nothin'." The Lieutenant gave him a long look, but the blond seemed oblivious. Finally Welsh sighed and dismissed them with a wave of his hand. The Rays left the office quickly.

"What's wrong with you?" Vecchio asked?

"What?"

"What? You weren't even in that office. All week you've been ... I don't know. Not here."

"Whaddya mean not here? I helped you collar Radovitch yesterday!"

"Yeah ... but you're not *here* ... you're just here."

"I'm just tired is all. I'll be fine. Good night's sleep."

"And maybe a meal? You get much thinner, I'm gonna lose you through a grate. Benny'd kill me."

"Nah. He'd just give you one of those 'Ray, I'm so disappointed in you' looks."

"A fate worse than death," Vecchio agreed. "Seriously, though. You sure you're all right?"

"Geez, now yer gonna turn into my Mom? Back off." Kowalski's tone was mild, but the tone was clear.

"Sorry." Vecchio threw up his hands in mock surrender. "But as long as we're on the subject of Moms; how 'bout comin' over for dinner? Ma's making lasagna. She'd love ta see you."

"Thanks, but ... I got stuff I gotta do tonight." Kowalski told him.

"That's what you said last week."

"Gotta get stuff ready ... for the trip."

"Ya heard from Benny lately?"

"He's pretty busy with the trial comin' up and all."

"Makes sense."

"Anyway - tell yer family I said 'Hi'" Kowalski said, picking his jacket up and heading out of the door. Vecchio looked after him, frowning. Then shaking his head, he grabbed his own coat and left.

Kowalski sank back into his couch and, using the remote, turned on his TV. Then he sat back and, closing his eyes, ignored it. A part of him thought wistfully about dinner at the Vecchio's. He knew he'd still be welcome if he showed up, but he just didn't think he had the energy required.

"Hey Evi," he said to the turtle. "How was your day?" As a conversational partner, the turtle was lacking in wit, but he was certainly a good listener. "Mine sucked." Ray told him conversationally. Actually it hadn't. It had been fairly productive. Any other time, he would have said it was an okay day. But in the one really important thing, it had sucked. He had received no letter from Fraser. He sighed and looked at the book he was reading on the Franklin expedition. Maybe he could pretend the Mountie was reading it to him. After half an hour, he gave up. Grabbing his jacket, he went out for a walk. He did a lot of walking at night. He figured it was better than drinking. He'd walk until he was exhausted, stumble home and pass out until it was time to get up and go to work.

Three days later the carjackers threw an elderly woman out of the car and onto the roadway when she failed to get out of the car quickly enough to suit their needs. She suffered a heart attack and was pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital. Her grandaughter, who had been driving, described the two suspects as wearing coveralls and nylons. The stolen car was a new Mercedes SUV.

"I don't need to tell you gentleman, that the pressure is rising. We've had three of these so far and not a solid lead yet." Welsh had called them into his office, immediately the next morning.

"If it were a really large gang, something would've leaked by now," Kowalski said, massaging his forehead. "Too many people is too hard to control. This has to be a small, really tight, group." Vecchio nodded in agreement.

"So work harder. We need to step this up. Lean on your sources. Find something! Anything," Welsh ordered.

"There is something," Vecchio offered. Kowalski looked up startled. Vecchio smiled apologetically at him. "I was talking to Stella last night. She said something about two different friends of hers getting their cars stolen out of their driveways a couple months ago. It got me thinking and I want to go over the reports again. Most of our victims live in the suburbs."

"So maybe that was the start?" Kowalski was right with him.

"That's what I'm thinking. Security got stepped up in those areas. More people parked in their garages, more police patrols. What if the perps just started following their vics into the city?"

"Explaining why several of them have felt like they were bein' followed!" Kowalski was getting excited and Vecchio grinned at him.

"It does seem to fit. Stella's going to get me the information on her friends' thefts. I thought we could look into those reports ... see if there was something there that might help."

Welsh was nodding. He looked pleased. "Good thinking, Detective. It's definitely worth following up. Let me know which departments are involved and I'll try to get 'em to expedite copies of their reports to us."

"Yes, Sir." Kowalski left the room and his partner started to follow.

"Vecchio?" He turned back. Welsh motioned him to remain. After Kowalski was out of earshot, he asked, "What's going on with him?"

"How do you mean, sir?" Vecchio didn't want to give anything away until he knew where the lieutenant was going.

"He looks like Hell," Welsh said bluntly. "You two fighting again?"

"No. I don't know what's wrong. He won't let me in." Welsh nodded, pursing his lips thoughtfully.

"He's volunteered for overtime every day off he's had for the last three weeks."

"What!?" Vecchio had missed that. "I know he's in early every day."

"Stays late, too. I'm supposed to be lookin' out for him. Promised Constable Fraser I would. But Kowalski won't talk to me. Just keeps sayin' everything's fine and he's saving money for his year off." He looked at Vecchio. "Heard from the Mountie lately?"

"No."

"Has he?" tilting his head toward Kowalski's desk. Vecchio thought about that for a minute.

"I'm not really sure," he said slowly. Welsh nodded again.

"Might be interesting to find out, Detective."

Vecchio's plans to talk to the blond were derailed by the investigation. His idea concerning the suburban thefts, seemed like a good one, but instead of bringing them new clues, it just added more cases to the pile. There had definitely been a rash of car thefts. The Rays went through the reports, one by one. Any where the vehicle had been recovered was dismissed. Two appeared to be part of a divorce dispute and others were tossed aside as the cars seemed too old or commonplace.

"I was hoping this would help us," Vecchio groaned.

"It may yet," Kowalski said. He sat back and rubbed his forehead. Vecchio narrowed his eyes.

"Headache?"

"Yeah. I get 'em sometimes."

"Stella told me. Said you used to get them all the time when you were stressed." Kowalski looked up with an amused glint in his eyes.

"We're gonna have ta make up some rules here. It's not fair using information from my ex-wife. It's cheating. 'Sides, if you guys can't think o' something more interesting than me to talk about ... well, you got real problems, buddy."

"Yeah, well, odd as it may seem, we both have an interest in keeping you healthy. Like it or not, Ray, people care about you." Kowalski smiled shyly.

"Yeah, I'm gettin' that. Thanks." Vecchio shrugged it off.

"You okay to work?" he persisted.

"Yeah. I'm good.

Vecchio made an effort to be in early the next morning. Looking over at Kowalski's desk, he saw the eternally present cup of coffee sitting there. It was only half full, but there was steam coming up off of it. "Damn," Vecchio muttered under his breath.

"Forget something?" Startled, Vecchio spun around to to see the blond walking up behind him, a file clutched in one hand. "Jumpy!" Kowalski said grinning. The Italian grinned back. The blond walked past him and sat down at his desk, taking a large sip of the coffee.

"You're in early again," Vecchio said.

"Yeah. Couldn't sleep. Thought I might as well get some paperwork done." Vecchio frowned at that. Everything he knew about the blond, said that paperwork was not exactly a pressing concern. Threats were usually involved before he would complete it. Frannie had confided that she'd also tried to talk to Kowalski, with a similar lack of success. Vecchio sighed. He'd had enough. Sitting on the edge of his partner's desk, he waited.

"What?" Kowalski looked up.

"What's going on?" Vecchio asked gently.

"Nothing. What? I'm working," defensively.

"Look, you can't keep going on like this."

"Like what? I'm fine." Kowalski looked back down, to all intents and purposes, concentrating on his files, but the Italian could see him tensing up.

"No. You're not fine." Veccho was determined to get to the root of this. "There's obviously something wrong. Let me help. Please. What's going on?"

"Nothing," in a low voice.

"Ray, look at me." Reluctantly, the blond looked up. Pale blue eyes looked into warm green ones. Vecchio was shocked at the expression in those eyes. Fear. Vecchio reached out a hand to his partner's shoulder. "Talk to me, please," he said. "Let me help." Kowalski gave him a half smile.

"Ya can't," he said.

"Yo Rays!" Dewey sang out behind them. "Can't you hold these heart to hearts in the closet!" Kowalski shook his head and returned to his report. Vecchio sighed. The moment was lost. Getting up, he headed off to the break room to get his own coffee. In passing, he jerked his head at Francesca, who had just come in. She quickly followed him.

"Well?" she demanded.

"He's not talking."

"I wish Fraser was here. He'd know what to do." Ray looked at his sister thoughtfully. "Well, he would," she defended herself.

"When was the last time Ray really talked to you about his adventure?"

"I dunno. It's been awhile."

"Yeah, it has. Hasn't it."

"What? You think something happened? They're not going?"

"I don't know. I think I'd like to talk ta Benny though." At this point Kowalski entered the room. Both Vecchios immediately fell silent. The blond looked at them.

"Hey, don't let me stop you talkin' about me," he said with an ironic smile, going over to the coffee pot for a refill.

"We're just worried," Francesca told him.

"I'm fine. Look, I just haven't been sleeping so good. I do that sometimes. It'll go away. Did before. Really, it's no big deal." The siblings looked at him with matching raised eyebrows. The blond laughed at their expressions and shook his head. "Look, it's nice you guys care. But, I'm okay. Just need a couple nights o' solid sleep and I'm good ta go." He lifted his coffee cup in a mock toast and left the room. The Vecchios looked at each other.

"We need to find out what's going on with Benny. Elaine found him up there for me once. Do you think you can do the same?" Francesca nodded.

"I'll find him," she promised.

The carjackers hit in the 27^th that night. And killed again.

Vecchio didn't make it to the scene until about 7:30 am. He'd been held up by road work. Welsh was standing near the Coroner's Wagon. A dark blue sedan was parked in thee middle of the roadway. The body had been removed, but the pitifully small chalk outline said everything. Uniformed officers were taking measurements and photographs and making sketches. The media was off to the side, talking to an official police spokesperson. Vecchio looked again at the small outline and crossed himself. Then he went over to Welsh.

"How bad?"

"Bad. Johnny Denton. Four years old. His mother was taking him and a friend to day care. She rushed the other kid inside because he was carsick. Came back out a moment later to get her son and saw them driving off. Apparently the carjackers didn't notice Johnny in the back seat right away. Guess they figured she only had the one kid with her. When they did find him, they threw him out of the car right into oncoming traffic. The guy who hit him never had a chance. One minute he's driving home to be with his wife after a night shift; the next minute he's running over a small child." Welsh shook his head. "An old lady and a kid. These guys don't care who they kill."

"Kowalski was right. They're getting cocky. They feel safe. Untouchable."

"I want to touch them. I want to touch them hard." Welsh said in a low voice. Vecchio nodded in understanding.

"Where is Kowalski?" he asked. Welsh nodded down the street. Vecchio followed his gaze to see the blond sitting hunched over on a park bench about halfway down the block. "What gives?" he asked. "I mean I know kids are tough, but it is part of the job ..."

"Don't go there, Detective." Welsh sighed. "His brother was killed by a car when they were kids. He witnessed it. He was workin' this, but he didn't look so good. I told him to take a break. Didn't see any point in torturing him. He's not overly fond of the morgue either, if you get my drift." Vecchio digested that information.

"He never said anything."

"He wouldn't. He didn't exactly tell me either." Welsh shook his head, clearly remembering something. Vecchio knew there was a story there, but he also recognized that this was not the moment to ask.

"You ... uh, you need me here?"

"No. I'll want you guys to interview the driver and the parents. Frannie's making up flyers and we'll get the press to help us look for witnesses." He looked over at the chalk mark and shook his head sadly.

"We'll get to it, " Vecchio promised. He started heading down the street towards his partner, then changed his mind and veered into a coffee shop first.

Kowalski looked up startled when the Italian sat next to him. "Here," Vecchio said, shoving a cup in his hand. "Drink."

"Thanks," Kowalski said in a quiet voice. He took a sip, without taking his attention from the scene. "Welsh tell ya?"

"Yeah. The basics," Vecchio said, uncertain as to whether the blond was talking about his past or the current case. Kowalski nodded.

"They threw away a kid, Ray. They just threw him away like he was yesterday's garbage. I want to get these guys." His voice was low but determined.

"We'll get 'em," Vecchio said, reaching out a hand to the blond's shoulder, massaging it gently. They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the uniforms work the scene.

"I'll talk to Mort," Vecchio offered. Kowalski tilted his head sideways to look up at his partner.

"It's part o' the job. I can handle it."

"Never said you couldn't."

"'Sides, Mort'd miss seein' my back." He drank again from the cup. Vecchio watched him for a moment before speaking again.

"I know I'm not Benny, but ... if ... uh ... if you ever needed to talk about anything ... well, I can listen pretty well."

"I'm good," Kowalski said automatically, as he stood. He started to walk away and then turned back. "But ... uh ... thanks. It's nice ta know. I mean that."

"Anytime, partner." They looked at each other somewhat awkwardly, and then Kowalski jerked his head back toward the scene.

"Let's get to it."

It was a long and exhausting day, physically and emotionally. Between interviewing the man who had run over the child, thereby becoming yet another victim of the carjackers, and the child's parents, both Rays were completely wiped out. And in between, there had been the trip to the morgue. Vecchio noticed that Mort was going out of his way to shield the younger detective from seeing the small body, but hearing the rundown of the injuries hadn't been easy on either man. Vecchio kept thinking how easily it could have been one of his own nephews. He couldn't even imagine what Kowalski's thoughts must be like. After interviewing the parents, the Italian drove himself and his partner to the Vecchio home.

"What's up?" the blond asked as they pulled up in front of the house. He'd been so engrossed in his notes, he hadn't noticed they weren't going to the station.

"You're coming in. Ma saved dinner for us and don't even try to get out of it. I am much too tired to explain how I let you get away this time. You have no idea how many creative excuses I've had to come up with to explain why you're not taking her up on her invitations."

"You're good with that sort of thing." The blond grinned. "I read about the magic bullet that traveled all over your body."

"Very funny. Get out of the car and go make my mother happy."

"What is this? An order?"

"I'm senior to you in years on the job. I'm pulling rank."

"Just this once, I'll let you. Only 'cause I'm too tired to argue, though."

"Fine. Just as long as you go." Both men exited the car and wearily walked up the steps, to where warmth and a good meal awaited them. A necessary reminder that some part of their world was still sane and untouched; still worth fighting for.

His plate empty, Kowalski sat back. "I'll never move again," he groaned.

"You sure you had enough?" Mrs. Vecchio asked anxiously, ready to bring out more food.

"Yer tryin' ta kill me with kindness, aren't ya?" the blond teased.

"You are much too skinny," she informed him.

"Hey, it's not like Ray and Francesca are candidates for a diet," he protested.

"No, but at least I know they eat," Mrs. Vecchio pointed out. "I'm not sure you even know where your kitchen is."

"Sure I do. It's where the coffeepot is." Ray Vecchio watched the exchange with much amusement. This was a side of Kowalski he rarely saw. It was this engaging personality, he realized, that had helped draw his friends and family to his "substitute." That and his tenacious determination to do his job and do it well. And he had, Vecchio suddenly realized, free of any jealousy. Ray Kowalski had done everything he could to protect Ray Vecchio's life while he was gone and he had returned it almost completely intact. The only changes were ones the younger man could never have predicted.

"I'm too tired ta drive you back to the station," he suddenly said. "You'll have ta bunk here tonight."

"I can call a cab," Kowalski said.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Mrs. Vecchio was as appalled as her son had predicted.. "We can make you up a nice bed here and I'll have a good breakfast for you both in the morning. You have to be at your best to work on this case. You need to catch these terrible men."

"That's a fact," Kowalski agreed.

"Now you have to stay," Vecchio teased. "Ma sees a chance to feed you another meal."

"When we find these guys and I lose 'em in a foot pursuit, you know whose fault it's gonna be."

"I'm prepared to take that risk."

Vecchio went to check on the blond a bit later. He found him sitting on the couch, watching the TV. The sound was off.

"Let's get your bed made up," Vecchio suggested.

"I'm good," Kowalski said. "Just need a blanket."

"C'mon. The couch folds out. It'll be a lot more comfortable," Vecchio insisted, gently. Kowalski stood, reluctantly and helped make up the bed. Then he looked at it, a trapped expression in his eyes. His posture, with his shoulders hunched slightly forward in a self protective gesture, was frighteningly vulnerable. Vecchio wanted badly to help the younger man. He wished again, that the Mountie were here. Benny had a knack for getting people to confide in him.

"Ray?" Vecchio asked, concentrating on being as Fraser-like as possible. "What's wrong?"

"Keep seein' the body," the blond admitted quietly.

"Whose?" Kowalski looked up, startled. "Welsh told me about your brother."

"Oh. Both, I guess." He looked back at the bed. "I think I better go home," he said.

"No." Vecchio reached out and put his hand on the other man's shoulder. "I don't think you need to be alone tonight."

"I ... I get ... uh ... get nightmares. Prob'ly wake you all up."

"That's part of being family. Like it or not, you've been adopted into this one."

"That's the way it is, huh?" Vecchio was pleased to see the beginnings of a smile.

"Yeah," he said, smiling back. "Come on. Ma makes this great drink. Guaranteed to make you sleep."

"Guaranteed?"

"Absolutely," Vecchio assured him.

"Sounds good," Kowalski admitted.

Francesca came down to check on Kowalski an hour later. The drink had worked its magic, aided by the sleeping pill Vecchio surreptitiously mixed into it, and the blond was sound asleep. Francesca was not surprised to see that he had already kicked the covers half off. She pulled them back up, carefully tucking them around the sleeping man. Unable to resist, she reached out and brushed his hair back.

"Ben?" Ray whispered. "S'nice." He squirmed deeper into the pillow, still asleep, while Francesca stood over him a moment longer, her expression thoughtful. Then she left the room, turning out the light behind her.

"God! You are so pathetic," Vecchio sneered. "How could you possibly expect Fraser to want to go anywhere with you? You can't even take care of yourself in a city you grew up in, and now you want to go off on some grand adventure in the middle of nowhere? You think Fraser's gonna carry you the whole way? Of course, he's not writing you! He's probably running in the other direction as fast as he can, just like everyone else that ever got to know you. What did you expect, Ray? Ray? Ray?" The Italian grabbed his shoulder, demanding an answer.

"No!" Kowalski cried out, trying to push him away.

"Whoa!" Vecchio backed off from the couch, carefully holding a cup. "Easy there!"

"Huh?" The blond sat up and looked around the room, puzzled for a moment, until reality kicked in. He shook his head to banish the last of the nightmare.

"Hate to disturb yer beauty rest, but we gotta go to work." Vecchio told him. Kowalski looked at him, with a strange expression on his face. "You okay?" the Italian asked.

"Uhh. Yeah. Weird dream is all."

"Guess so. You're lookin' at me like I got two heads or something."

"Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. Coffee?" He held out the mug. Kowalski reached for it gratefully.

"Thanks," he said after a couple of healthy swallows.

"Sure," Vecchio shrugged. "Shower's down the hall. The blue towels are yours. I got some sweats you can wear. You got a change of clothes at the station? Or do we need to run by your place? I'd loan you something, but I figure it would offend your sense of ... style." He smiled to take the sting out of the words.

"I got stuff at the station. Real clothes. Like normal people wear," Kowalski teased back, grateful for the distraction.

"Yeah, you just keep telling yourself that," Vecchio chuckled, as he left the room. The blond watched him go and then took a deep breath. The dream had seemed so real, but there was none of the condescension or scorn in the real Vecchio's eyes, that he had seen in the dream. Only friendship and concern had appeared in the Italian's eyes. Shaking his head, Kowalski forced himself to his feet, still clutching the coffee mug, and went in search of the bathroom.

Two nights later, Welsh, Francesca, Huey, Dewey, Stella and the two Rays were ensconced in the break room, going over reports and trying to find similarities between the carjackings. Pizza boxes and empty soda cans were scattered about on the tables. It was 1:00 a.m. and the group had been at it since five the previous afternoon.

"I can't take much more of this," Huey groaned, sitting back and rubbing his eyes. "All the words are starting to run together."

"We need the Mountie," Dewey said. "He'd have been able to make sense of this."

"Yeah, well he ain't here, so we're just gonna have ta make do," Kowalski said sharply, glaring at him. Welsh looked at Vecchio, who shook his head in a barely imperceptible motion. Welsh let the comment go. Kowalski looked back at the report he'd been going through. "Hey, Frannie. You got the one from the 18^th, right?"

"Yeah."

"Anything about a tow truck?"

"Anything? Could you be a little more specific?"

"Any of the witnesses mention seeing a tow truck in the area after the incident?"

"Let me check." She began flipping through the notebook again.

"I got one," Huey said, suddenly sitting up interested. "In the 12^th. Witness saw a tow truck cruising by right around the same time as the crime. Nothing on the hook though."

"Yeah, here it is," Frannie said after a minute. "Same thing. Two people remembered seeing a tow truck in the neighborhood. So what?"

"Gimme a sec." Kowalski leaned back, his eyes closed, his right hand making odd motions in the air. Then he sat back up and looked at the group. "Okay ... think about it. You steal a car. You take it right from the people, so you know the cops'll be combing the streets for it pretty quick, checking everything that matches as it drives by."

"Where are you going with this?" Welsh asked.

"How closely do you look at what's on the back of a tow truck?"

"Yeah!" Vecchio said, suddenly enthused. "You're looking for someone trying to make a getaway in the stolen car... not a broken down car on the hook."

"Maybe change the plates to be sure ... who's gonna look twice?" Welsh said smiling. "You may have something, Detective."

Re-energized, the group went back through the reports. They didn't all mention tow trucks, but enough did to make it interesting.

"We need to re-interview victims. See if we can find more who saw these trucks and find out if anyone noticed what company it was from," Welsh said.

"Then what?" Dewey asked.

"They get a new employee," Kowalski told him.

"We'll have to find the right guy," Welsh said, standing up. "But yeah, I think that's worth a shot."

"You have the right guy, Sir. Between quitting college and waiting ta get into the Academy, I worked for a tow yard. Plus, I got the mechanical skills. I can do this."

"I don't know about that, Ray."

"I want these guys."

"We all want these guys," Vecchio said gently.

"Yeah, but we don't all have the right background. I do."

"How do you know you'd get hired on?"

"First we find the company. Maybe they're hiring. If not, odds are someone can be liberated. We look hard enough, somebody'll have a warrant. I just need to get in and look around. See what's what."

"You think the whole company's going to be involved?" Welsh asked.

"No. Like I said before. I think this is a small, tight group. Big groups have weak links. They get caught."

"I agree," the Lieutenant told him. "All right. Regardless of who's going in, first we have to see if we can come up with the right company." He pushed back from the table and stretched. "I want you to tackle those interviews first thing in the morning." He stood and shook his head. "I hope this turns out to be something. Good night." He left the room. Francesca and Stella followed. Huey and Dewey looked at each other.

"Bada Bing," Dewey said. Huey nodded. They got up and walked out of the break room.

"Freaks," Kowalski muttered, half smiling.

"You got that right," Vecchio agreed. He looked over at his partner, concerned. "You sure you're up for this?"

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be? Just 'cause I didn't do the mob thing, I'm not good enough?" His tone was defensive.

"That's not what I'm saying."

"I'm good," Kowalski insisted in a defensive tone. Then catching the look in the green eyes, he backed down. "I'm good," he repeated in a calmer tone. "I want these guys and I'm the one who's got the best chance to get in there. I promise, I'm okay for it." Vecchio looked at him, frowning and then sighed.

"I want 'em too," he said. "Just remember, I'll be sticking close by." Kowalski smiled.

"I was kind o' countin' on that," he said

The interviews had been a nuisance, but it looked like they finally might be onto something. On re-questioning, several more of the victims and witnesses had remembered seeing a tow truck in the area. They had continued to look for other coincidences as well. Many of the victims frequented the city. Some had even crossed paths, but there was no one thing they all had in common. The tow trucks appeared to be the largest common denominator. Several of the witnesses thought that the trucks had been white. Others could only remember that it was a light color of some kind. And the security service in one of the more exclusive neighborhoods from an earlier theft had logged in a truck from Romero's Tow Service. Francesca, enjoying herself enormously had phoned all the tow companies in town looking for the one her "Stupid sister" had used and left her "favorite black blazer" in. Romero's Tow Service was the only one that used all white tow trucks in Chicago. Preparations were underway for Kowalski to go to work there. But first, Welsh had insisted he get a medical clearance. The blond had dutifully agreed, and promptly run up his friend, Jack Leighton. Things were not going quite as well as he'd anticipated, however.

"You look like crap," the doctor told him.

"I'm not that bad," Ray said in a defensive tone.

"Yes, you are that bad. You're obviously not sleeping. You haven't put on any weight. And don't think I'm not noticing you trying to hide that headache." Silence.

"Please," Kowalski finally said in a quiet tone. Jack shook his head. He got up and moved around the desk, to sit in the chair next to the blond.

"Talk to me," he said. There was a longer silence. Leighton waited patiently. Finally, Ray spoke.

"I'm just ... I'm not ..." He trailed off into silence again.

"Tired? Hungry? What?"

"I dunno. I mean, tired. Yeah. But when I sleep ... well, it's like my dreams are gangin' up on me. So ... I kind o' ... don't like sleeping ... much." Jack nodded, slowly.

"What's your priority right now?" he asked.

"Ta solve this case," Kowalski answered immediately.

"What about your trek north with the Mountie?" Jack asked.

"First things first," Ray said, not meeting his friend's eyes. The doctor sighed.

"If you want me to write your clearance, you're going to have to talk to me," he said.

"I don't ... I don't know. I haven't heard from Fraser ... recently. And I can't really deal with that right now. I can't, Jack. I really can't. I need to solve this case." He looked straight at his friend. Leighton recognized the truth when he saw it. Taking a deep breath, he reached over and picked up the clearance form. He signed it and handed it to the blond.

"Thanks, Jack."

"Stay in touch, Ray. That's an order. If you don't, I will come find you. Case or no case. If I have to I'll go through your Lieutenant. I mean it." He looked steadily into Kowalski's eyes. "You need to start eating. I don't care if you're hungry or not. If you want to stay on this case, you have to take better care of yourself. I'll give you a prescription for something mild to help you sleep as well." He was scribbling on his pad as he spoke

"No drugs."

"At least until you go undercover, Ray. It will help. You need the sleep, badly. How much good are you going to be out there if you're fighting exhaustion?" The blond nodded, reluctantly accepting the prescription. "If you need to talk to me, call or page me. I'm always available to you. You know that. And this thing with the Mountie ... I'm sure it will work out. I could see how much he cared for you. That doesn't disappear overnight." Leighton's tone was reassuring, and his eyes bespoke his knowledge. Kowalski gave the doctor a crooked grin, but his eyes showed his doubt. "It'll be okay," Jack said. He put a hand on the blond's shoulder. "Trust me." Ray nodded slowly.

"Thanks," he said softly.

"That's what friends are for, Ray. Now, take care of yourself! Doctor's orders." Ray nodded and stood, offering a mock salute. He took the clearance letter off the desk and headed for the door. He paused for a moment and looked back.

"I mean it, Jack. Thanks a lot." Leighton nodded and smiled. The smile faded as he watched his friend walk out the door. He recognized depression when he saw it. He also recognized that the only thing keeping the blond going right now was this case. He shook his head and wondered how one went about contacting a Mountie.

One week later, Ray trudged up the stairs towards his apartment. Shifting the grocery bag on his hip, he began searching his pockets for his house keys. He was tired, he thought. So tired. Tired of having to pretend he was fine in front of Vecchio and Welsh; tired of dragging himself in and out of his apartment everyday. Tired of the nightmares that plagued his sleep. Tired of existing basically. The only thing keeping him going right now was the case. Tomorrow he was going undercover, escaping himself yet again. Stan Markowitz had been hired earlier that week on the basis of a phone interview and recommendations from a couple of former employees and his parole officer. His gut told him he was on the right track here. One way or another he was going to get these people. And after that ... well ... he had absolutely no idea. He just knew he was getting dangerously low. He knew too, that he should call Jack and talk about it, but he was afraid that if he really opened that particular door, he wouldn't be able to jam it shut again. //First things, first,// he reminded himself. //Get the bastard that killed the kid. The rest ... it'll just have to wait.// He reached his floor and started down the hall, fighting his coat lining for possession of his keys. Glancing up, towards his door, he stopped short.

"Hi, Ray." Kowalski stared. He'd truly lost it, he thought. Now he was hallucinating. The hallucination had been sitting on the floor next to his door. Now it was getting up and walking toward him. And now it was standing right in front of him. Ray closed his eyes tight and then opened them. Still there. "Hello," it repeated.

"Frase?" the blond whispered.

"Yes." The Mountie reached out and took the bag from Ray, inclining his head to the door of the apartment. "Shall we?"

"Huh? Yeah. Right." Ray was still staring. It was a full minute before he suddenly shook his head sharply, then headed for his door. Opening the door, he took his bag back from Fraser, leaving the Mountie free to pick up his pack, leaning against the wall.

Inside, the Mountie put the pack down, carefully shut the door and turned to look at his friend. Ray was just watching him. The pale blue eyes were uncertain ... confused ... even a little afraid. Fraser smiled cautiously, somewhat uncertain himself. The Mountie and the detective regarded each other quietly. Finally, Fraser sighed. Reaching into his pack, he pulled out a large bulky envelope and held it out to Ray. The blond took a step forward and tentatively took it. He looked at it as if it might bite him.

"They're my letters, Ray. To you."

"What?"

"I didn't realize they weren't being mailed. The trial was postponed and I was given a temporary assignment far away from regular mail service. I had to leave immediately, so I didn't get a chance to call you. I gave my letters to a man who claimed to be delivering them to a postal station every week. I didn't find out he wasn't until recently. I'm sorry." He looked steadily at his friend. Ray watched him carefully for a moment and then dropped his eyes down to the envelope. Slowly, he opened it and emptied it onto the counter. A number of smaller envelopes slid out ... all addressed to him. He looked back up at the Mountie.

"How did you find out?"

"Ray Vecchio. He and Francesca were able to get a message to me. He said you needed me."

"And?"

"That was enough," the Mountie told him. "On the way down, I stopped in to see the man, and found that he still had all my letters. He was saving up to make the trip worthwhile, he told me." Fraser's tone of voice expressed how he felt about that lack of responsibility.

"You came just 'cause Vecchio said I needed you?"

"Yes." Fraser walked over and stood directly in front of his friend.

"And if, uh ... if I had called and ... and said I, uh ... I needed you. You woulda ... you woulda come?"

"Yes, Ray." Fraser tentatively reached out a hand, resting it gently on his partner's shoulder. "I would have come. Immediately." The pale blue eyes looked into the darker ones. Fraser could still see doubt written large. "Why didn't you call?"

"I was afraid," Ray admitted in a low voice. "You weren't writin' ... or so I thought. An' I thought I knew what that meant. But I hoped I was wrong. And if I'd called ... and you'd said 'no' ... I don't think I coulda handled that."

"Understood." Silence. Then, "You look dreadful," Fraser told the smaller man.

"Thanks, Benton buddy. It's good ta see you too," Ray grinned at him. It was a good grin; the one that always made Fraser want to grin back. So he did. Then, moving his hand up, he gently traced the outline of Ray's jaw.

"You haven't been putting on any weight."

"Been walkin' a lot. Gettin' fit for our adventure." Ray went for the bluff. Fraser shook his head.

"And the sleep deprivation?" He carefully traced the dark circles under his friend's eyes. "Preparation for the Land of the Midnight Sun?"

"Yeah. Exactly," Ray smiled. Fraser couldn't stand it any more and pulled the blond into a hug.

"I've missed you, Ray. The best part of each day was writing you. I'm so sorry you thought I might have abandoned you," he confided.

"S'okay. Not your fault," Ray said relaxing into the embrace, allowing himself to enjoy the warmth and the solidity of Fraser's arms around him.

"I wish you'd called. It hurts that you didn't have that faith in me." Fraser told him, softly.

"Not you!" Ray pushed back, startled. "Never you! Just ... just ... without you here, I uh ... I mean, Vecchio's a good guy, once ya get ta know him, but he's not you. He doesn't make me feel the way you do. I guess, I felt kind o' lost and then I started thinkin' maybe I was imagining things ... imagining us. Thought maybe you woke up and realized what a pain I was ... Pretty pathetic, huh?" He looked down, his whole being dejected.

"No, Ray. It's all right."

"No it isn't! What the Hell kind o' partner am I gonna be for you out there?" Ray suddenly sounded angry. "Just drag you down. Get you into trouble."

"Shhh. You'll be fine," Fraser said, soothingly, reassuringly. "I have no doubts about that, Ray. None."

"Well ya should. I'm a loser." He was pacing now.

"Ray," the Mountie began,

"No ... I wanted ta be an equal partner. Not someone ya gotta look out for all the time. That's no good. That's not buddies."

"You'll be fine," Fraser repeated. He reached out and caught Ray by the shoulder, pulling him back. Putting a finger over the other man's lips to cut off his protests, he said, "Look at what you've accomplished here."

"What? Got the Vecchios thinkin' I'm such a loser they gotta call you down from Canada ta come rescue me?"

"That they are concerned about you, should reflect well on you."

"What?"

"Ray, do you want to know what I see when I look at you?" The blond looked at him, hesitantly. Fraser took a deep breath. "I see a warm and caring person who can bring the sun into a rainy day with his grin. I see a brave man, who goes out of his way to help others. I see a man who hasn't used the pain of his past as an excuse for his future ..."

"Frase, no ..."

"Hush. I'm telling you what I see," the Mountie said firmly. "You don't get to disagree with that. I see a generous individual who, no matter how much he protests, will readily risk his life to save another. A man who is not only working with, but has formed a friendship with the detective who is dating his much loved ex-wife. I see a man whose biggest flaw is a lack of faith in himself. But that's all right, Ray. I have enough faith in you for both of us."

"Freak," Ray whispered, trying not to break down under the kind words.

"Takes one to know one?" suggested Fraser, slyly.

"Takes one ta know one? Nobody says that anymore." Ray fought a smile.

"It's a perfectly good phrase," the Mountie insisted.

"For a third grader, maybe."

"For any age," Fraser said, smiling. "I promise, Ray. I am not disappointed by you in any way. I have every confidence in your abilities and there is no one I would rather have as my partner on this adventure."

"Say that again?"

"There is no one I would rather have as my partner on this adventure." the Mountie repeated firmly. Ray stood quietly for a moment. Then, with a half smile on his lips,

"When I first came back, it was supposed ta be temporary, ya know? But then my parents left and that was kind o' lonely. Then, I wasn't hearin' from you and I started thinking, 'what if this is it? What if this is my life from now on?' I kept lookin' at Vecchio and Stella an' they're really happy and I am glad for em' and all, but it just made me feel ... so ... alone. An' everyone around me seemed ta have a life an' a purpose and I was just in this weird in-between space. It got so I was havin' trouble rememberin' who I used to be, let alone who I want ta be."

"Who do you want to be?" Fraser asked curiously.

"I don't know exactly. Just know that I was finding out bein' around you. But without you ... felt like I was gettin' lost on the way. I mean, how pathetic is that? Guy who doesn't even know who he is?" Fraser thought back to when he'd first come to Chicago. Thought about how life would have been in this huge city without first Ray Vecchio and then Ray Kowalski. Remembered his earlier, less than successful, ventures in much smaller cities and wondered if he would have been able to hold onto his self-identity in Chicago without first Ray Vecchio and then Ray Kowalski to give him an anchor.

"I understand," he said, meaning it. "And I don't find it pathetic at all." Pulling the blond closer to him, he ran a hand gently up and down the slender back for a few moments. When he felt the smaller man relax, he allowed his hand to stop, pointedly, over the ribs.

"Ya tryin' ta tell me something?" Ray finally asked.

"You're much too thin. You're going to freeze up north."

"You'll keep me warm."

"I'll certainly try, but it would be nice if you gave me something to work with, Ray. In my experience, skeletons tend to have a problem retaining heat." He pushed back slightly, looking into Ray's eyes. "I can't take you adventuring up north like this." Fraser saw the fear flicker into the pale blue eyes and sighed. "I have no intention of canceling our adventure, Ray. But I don't intend to lose you on it, either. You're too thin and too tired. We need to get you healthy before we head off."

"We? You gonna stick around?"

"I'll be around for a bit. I've been given some duties to attend to while I'm in Chicago. The new Inspector at the Consulate has requested I help him out until I have to go back. It seems the complete changeover in staffing there has created some problems. The trial is now scheduled to start in two months. I'll have to return for that. You could always come with me," he suggested hopefully. "We could start getting you acclimatized. The weather is warmer now and your lungs should be much healthier. Is your leave approved?"

"Basically. Welsh set it up so I could go when you said, but .... "

"But?" Fraser looked at him, concerned.

"I gotta go undercover tomorrow. Don't know for how long."

"Ray, you're in no shape to go undercover."

"Sure I am. 'Specially now." He smiled at the Mountie. "I gotta do this. These guys ... I wanna get 'em. I won't be good for much of anything until I do. This one's kind o' personal." Fraser sighed, recognizing the look of determination in Ray's eyes.

"You can tell me about it over dinner," he said. "Do you have anything edible in that grocery bag?"

"'Uh ... yeah. It's all ... well, it's edible ... ta me." Ray stepped back and turned to the bag, emptying it onto the counter. The Mountie looked at the contents and then to his friend, speechless.

"I got all the food groups here," Ray said mischievously.

"Ah. And you would be adhering to which dietetic principle?" Fraser was shaking his head.

"The police principle. Got caffeine, sugar and ... and pizza. Something from each of the important food groups."

"Perhaps we could order out?"

"Yeah. We could do that, since ya asked nice," Ray allowed.

"Thank you, kindly."

They had finished dinner and were sitting on the couch. Ray was leaning against Fraser, who had one arm wrapped around the blond. He set down the letter he'd just read.

"Your letters ... hearin' em ... it's almost like bein' up there," Ray said.

"I'm looking forward to the opportunity to show you my home."

"I'm lookin' forward ta seein' it."

"Mmm." They sat quietly in a companionable silence for a few minutes.

"I should probably get ta bed. Get some sleep before tomorrow."

"That would be wise." They were silent again, neither man making a move to get up. Fraser leaned back on the couch, enjoying the feeling of Ray's weight against him. Touch was important, he suddenly thought. Odd how many years he'd denied himself, when all the factual evidence said that human beings required it. He reached up and ran a hand through his partner's spiked hair, enjoying the sensation of crushing the gel.

"I like that," Ray told him.

"As do I." They were quiet again.

"Uh, Frase?"

"Yes, Ray?"

"We .. uh ... we never talked ... I mean ... I don't ... us ...," he trailed off.

"Ray?"

"I love ya, Ben."

"And I you, Ray."

"But ... I'm ... I mean ... I'm not ... I don't know ... ya know? About ... us ... ya know? What us ... means." Fraser followed this train of thought more easily than he would have thought possible.

"I believe that was part of what we were going to explore during our adventure."

"Yeah. Just ..."

"What?"

"Would you actually want to ... I mean, with ... with me?"

"Want to?"

"You know ... do the deed?" Ray was blushing, something Fraser found endearing and distracting. Suddenly he grasped what the blond was saying and blushed himself. Ray flashed him a quick grin, recognizing that they were now on the same page.

"Do you?" Fraser asked, neatly tossing the ball back into the blond's side of the court.

"I don't know. I mean ... I like bein' held by you."

"And I like holding you," he was assured.

"But I don't know if I'm wired that way. I mean ... I know I said I'd try anything once, but I wasn't thinkin' ... I'd never thought about ... havin' sex ... making love with another guy." Having got the words out, he was bright red and studiously avoiding the Mountie's eyes.

"You know that I would never force you to do anything you didn't want to. I love you for what's inside your head and your heart, Ray."

"So, what? You're sayin' you don't like my body?" Kowalski's tone was suddenly defensive.

"I believe I told you once before, that I thought you were attractive," Fraser assured him, trying to suppress a smile.

"Thought you were just tryin' to get me out of the crypt and down to the station."

"I was, but I was also speaking the truth."

"So ... does that mean you're interested ... in tryin'?"

"I think it might be ... enjoyable."

"You ever had sex with another guy?"

"No."

"Me either."

"But I have always appreciated the beauty of the male form," Fraser admitted. Ray looked startled and then laughed.

"'Course ya would. Doesn't explain what yer doing with me, though."

"You are beautiful," Fraser whispered.

"You need my glasses, Benton-buddy." Fraser sighed.

"Ray ... you don't get to argue with what I see, remember?"

"Just confirms my original opinion. Yer a freak," Ray said in a fond tone. They sat quietly for a moment. "So?"

"Perhaps if we take an incremental approach?"

"Kind of go step by step? Work up to it?"

"Precisely."

"I can go with that," Ray said. They were quiet again. After a few minutes, Fraser became aware that Ray was growing heavier. "Come on," he said, easing his friend into an upright position.

"I'm good." the blond said, yawning.

"You'll be better in bed," Fraser told him and then blushed. Ray chuckled.

"What happened to that incremental approach," he asked with a mischievous look in his eyes.

"I thought you wanted sleep tonight." Fraser hedged.

"Yeah. I need it." He looked shyly at the Mountie, "I was kind o' hoping I wouldn't be alone."

"Come on," the Mountie said, standing and holding out a hand to assist the blond. Ray smiled and pulled himself up. They went into the bedroom. Ray sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his boots, then his shirt. Fraser watched for a moment, admiring the play of muscles in Ray's back. Cricking his neck sharply, he began removing his own clothing. Down to their underwear, both men looked awkwardly at each other across the bed.

"We done this part before," Ray said.

"True enough." They climbed into the bed, one on each side, leaving the middle empty. Ray turned out the bedside light and they lay quietly for several minutes.

"Ray?" Fraser whispered, reaching out and touching the blond's shoulder lightly. Ray immediately rolled towards him and Fraser pulled the smaller man into his arms, spooning up behind him. Ray wriggled until he was comfortable. "All right?" Fraser asked.

"Yeah," Ray said in a contented tone. His body relaxed and his breathing gradually evened out. Fraser lay holding him and enjoying the feeling. He'd missed this, missed Ray. The blond had edged his way into the Mountie's life and then his heart. Ray belonged with him now and vice versa. He hadn't realized how simple it was, until Vecchio had called. There had been no question in his mind about going. His only thoughts had been logistics and how quickly he could get to Chicago. He gently kissed the back of Ray's head and then matched his breathing to that of his partner's and allowed himself to drift off to sleep.

He awoke in the middle of the night to find Ray propped up on one arm, staring at him with a strange expression on his face.

"Ray?" he asked, reaching up a hand. The blond flinched. Fraser halted his hand midway. "Ray?" he repeated, concerned.

"You real?" the other man whispered.

"Yes." Ray took a deep breath and offered up a tentative smile.

"Wasn't sure. I have these dreams sometimes, see. But they're only ... I mean I know they're only dreams, but ... I just ... I ...."

"I'm real, Ray. I'm here." Fraser carefully placed his hand on the other man's face. "I'm here." The blond nodded. He slowly lowered himself back down, his head on Fraser's shoulder.

"Sorry."

"Shh," Fraser whispered. He maneuvered them until he could reach his partner's back. Gently rubbing it, he assured his partner by touch. Ray relaxed back into sleep.

Morning came much too quickly. When the alarm went off, Fraser was startled . It took him a moment to realize where he was. In his arms, Ray moaned and tried to bury his head under the covers. Fraser reached over him and turned the volume down on the radio. Then he turned on the light. Ray groaned.

"Not yet," he mumbled.

"You're the one who set the alarm, Ray."

"Yeah - but see," interrupted by a yawn, "yer supposed ta hit the snooze button a few times. Sorta work into the whole idea of being awake. You don't just dive right into the day."

"Ah." Silence. Ray groaned again.

"S'pose I might as well get up. Make that good first day impression." He sat up and blinked groggily. Fraser watched with amusement. The blond slowly dragged himself from the bed and stumbled over to his dresser. He rummaged out some clean underwear and then turned around and looked at Fraser, self-consciously. The Mountie, who was still watching him, suddenly blushed. Ray chuckled. Fraser quickly got up and headed for the bathroom. Kowalski watched him go, the look in his eyes, partially amused and partially regretful. He shook his head. As nervous as he was about the idea of trying to make love to another man, he also had to admit to a growing curiosity about what it would be like with this particular man. He thought of the way the Mountie focused on a piece of evidence and then thought about Fraser concentrating the same intensity on him .... He shook his head, trying to banish the distracting images that came to mind, and began scrounging on the floor for his clothing from the day before. Fraser returned from the bathroom and watched with raised eyebrows.

"Aren't you going to shower?" he finally asked.

"Nah," Ray said, pulling on his jeans.

"Oh." Ray caught the tone and looked up, grinning.

"I'm supposed to be a con, who just got out o' prison last week. I live in a rooming house and the shower is down the hall. Also, I don't have a large wardrobe yet. It's why I need to get a job ... and why I really, really need money."

"Ah," in a tone of understanding.

"It's the details that help you get into the whole undercover thing."

"That would explain the careful attention to detail with Ray Vecchio's cover," Fraser said smiling. "Especially the suits."

"Yeah, well that was gonna be weird no matter how I played it. It would take a lot more than a suit ta make me look like Vecchio." Dressed, he looked at his partner. "Coffee?" he suggested.

"That sounds good."

"I'll go make some. For you, I'll even use the coffee maker." Fraser opened his mouth and then shut it, deciding there were some questions he might not want the answer to.

Fraser came into the living room after showering and dressing, to find Ray leaning over the turtle tank, offering his pet some morsel.

"Coffee's ready," Ray told him. "Breakfast is ... well, it's pretty much ..."

"Coffee?"

"Yeah." Ray turned and grinned at him. Then, "You ... uh, you gonna stay here?"

"If that's all right."

"'Course. You mind feeding Evi?"

"No." Fraser looked at the turtle, and realized he'd never heard her name before this. "Ray?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you made provisions for ... Evi? While we're in Canada, I mean." Ray gave him an odd look. Fraser continued. "Turtles aren't known for their love of arctic weather."

"Yeah. That's why I was kind of surprised when you tried ta point 'em out from the plane," Ray said, chuckling.

"Well, it was a spur of the moment diversion. And it did work."

"Uh huh. Been meaning ta talk to you about that. Not buddies, throwing yer partner out of a plane."

"It's all in how you look at it."

"Yeah, well I was lookin' at it from way up with the ground coming at me real fast."

"Yes, well, that's not important right now. What is important is Evi. Have you figured out what you're going to do with her?"

"Him," Ray corrected, still grinning.

"Him?"

"Yeah. Evi ... Evidence ... he's not really a pet, Frase." The Mountie looked startled. "He's evidence in a drug case. They used ta paint his shell different colors according to what they had to sell and then stick him in the store window."

"That doesn't explain what evidence is doing in your apartment."

"He looked so miserable stuck down in the property cage. Don't give me that look! It's not his fault he was used by crooks. I signed him out. We still got a chain of evidence!"

"Ray, your apartment was broken into last year. How do you know they didn't switch the turtle?"

"I know Evi, Ben. 'Sides ... who's gonna steal a turtle? It's not like he's crucial to the case; it's just one o' them weird things where they couldn't figure out what ta do with him."

"Hmmm."

"That a bad Hmm? Or a good Hmm?"

"Hmm?" Ray just shook his head and laughed.

"Whatever. Feed the evidence, Fraser. It makes you feel better, I'll sign a property tag turnin' him over to you. Me, I'm not really worried about it." He went to pour himself more coffee and get his partner a mug.

Finally it was time for Ray to go. Fraser unconsciously clenched his fists, to keep from grabbing the blond and holding him back. Ray saw the motion and smiled.

"I'll be fine Frase."

"You'll be careful?"

"Hey, how tough can it be? It's not like I got this large red target standing next ta me, trying to risk my life in bizarre and unusual ways."

"Promise," Fraser said, refusing to let the younger man joke his way out of it.

"I promise," Ray said softly.

"Thank you kindly." They stood looking at each other, awkwardly.

"This is kind o' weird," Ray finally commented. Fraser looked at him questioningly. Kowalski took a deep breath and then stepped forward and quickly hugged the Mountie good bye. "Think I could get used to it, though," he added.

"As could I," Fraser agreed.

"See ya around," Ray said. Then he left.

Ray stayed quiet his first day, watching everyone there and trying to decide who he needed to befriend. His prior experience in a tow yard made the training relatively easy. The trucks had changed, but in ways that made the job easier. He watched everything, trying to see if anything stood out. It didn't, but then he hadn't really thought it would. If the criminals were that obvious, they'd have been caught long ago. At the end of the day, he refused an offer to go for a drink.

"What, you too good to drink with us?" one of the men asked. Mark, the dayshift dispatcher.

"Nah. Just my parole officer would love an excuse to bust me back ... and I ain't never goin' back." Ray said.

"What were you in for?" That was Lance. Just coming on for night shift, he was watching the group from a short distance.

"What's it to ya?"

"You brought it up," the other man said in a challenging tone. Ray studied him for a moment.

"Assault and Battery," he finally said.

"Lost your temper, huh?" Lance goaded.

"No. I didn't," Ray said calmly. Then he left.

At his rooming house, Ray sat on the bed and looked around. The room was small and dingy, but it fit his character perfectly. Stan Markowitz belonged in this room. Ray shook his head and went to dig his cell phone out of his bag. He called Welsh, checking in and giving him a list of names to run.

"You suspect anyone yet?"

"Kind o' soon. If it was that easy, we'd have caught 'em a long time ago."

"Any hunches?" the Lieutenant persisted, knowing his detective.

"Maybe that Lance guy. He's a little off. But I don't really have anything to base it on."

"All right. I'll have the histories on these guys for you tomorrow. Be careful."

"Geez. What is it with all you guys? Think I can't take care o' myself?"

"Surprisingly, given your attitude, we would actually like to see you return safely from this detail," the Lieutenant chided him.

"Yeah. Okay. Thanks."

"Good night." Ray disconnected and looked around the room for a good place to hide his phone. He finally found a floor board that came up. Apparently previous tenants had had "valuables" to hide as well. Then he returned to the bed, and flopped back on it. He needed to get something to eat and figure out how to spend the next couple of hours. Alone. Ray sighed. There was a time when that would have been all right, but knowing that Fraser was at his apartment was killing him. He desperately wanted to call the Mountie, but knew he didn't stand a chance of completing this assignment if he gave in to that temptation. And he had to finish this. No way was he going to let someone who would throw a child into traffic ... a child too young to effectively testify against them ... get away. He took a couple of deep breaths and then got up and grabbed his jacket and went out to find dinner.

The second day passed much as the first. Ray's ... no, Stan's, he corrected himself ... trainer was pleased with his progress and his mechanical skills. He ate lunch with two of the other guys, but offered little in the way of conversation, establishing himself as a listener. On his way out at the end of the day, Lance stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"So, Markowitz. You like to fight?"

"It has ... moments."

"Like when you're winning."

"I always win," Ray said, flashing him an edgy look.

"Maybe you'd like to try me sometime. We could make a bet on it to make it interesting. I'd look real good in that leather jacket o' yours."

"I told you. I'm not goin' back ta prison."

"We could work something out. I'd like to see your moves." Ray laughed.

"No. Ya wouldn't," he said, in an assured tone. Then, shaking the other man's hand off, he left.

Back in his depressing room, Ray lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. He reviewed the events of the day, going over them to see if anything stood out. Nothing. Except the strange conversation with Lance, of course. But all that proved was that the guy was weird. And Ray had already figured that out. He shook his head and sat back up. He hadn't really expected to find anything this soon. Usually he didn't mind the time spent to get into an assignment. But usually he didn't have a Mountie waiting to take him away on an adventure. He was going to have to be especially vigilant. Trying to hurry would just blow his cover. He checked his watch. Time to call Welsh.

The Lieutenant didn't really have anything significant to tell him. There were several ex-cons among the employees, including two for car theft. Welsh was waiting on the actual crime reports, but judging from the time served and the charges, it didn't look like anything but small time stuff. Still, crooks had to start somewhere. Lance had a history of getting into fights, which was hardly a surprise, but that was it. Welsh also told him they were sending someone in as a state auditor to take a look at the company's financial records.

"You gonna have 'em look at the time cards? See who worked on the days o' the thefts?"

"That is the plan, Detective." Kowalski chuckled. Nothing like telling Welsh the obvious, he thought, as he disconnected the call. After putting the phone back under the floor boards, he went out to find something resembling dinner.

The rest of the week passed much the same. At the end of it, "Stan" had finished training and was given a space in the rotation, working nights. That put him on the same shift as Lance. The other man continued to offer to fight him and Ray continued to ignore him. He started to talk more, "loosening up" now that he was off training. He complained bitterly about the crappy rooming house he was staying in, about his lack of money to move to a better one and about the pain-in-the-ass rich people who could afford to buy any car they wanted but then didn't have the brains to take care of it. But through it all he provided courteous service to the company's customers. Control. That was the image he wanted to project.

The second week went by in the same manner and the third followed suit. Ray was having trouble sleeping again and his days off were enormously frustrating. He started signing up for overtime, figuring it was a safe way to up his chances of catching someone doing something suspicious, while highlighting "Stan's" need for cash. Fraser was here in Chicago and he couldn't go see him; couldn't take the chance of being seen hanging out with another cop, let alone one as straight looking as the Mountie. When he did manage to sleep, he would find himself having nightmares, wherein he returned to find Fraser had partnered up with Vecchio again and either changed his mind, or denied there was anything between them in the first place. Or he failed so miserably at his undercover job that more children were killed and Fraser would have nothing to do with him. Awake, he knew that Fraser would never betray him, but asleep his mind played tricks on him. Through it all, he kept going though. Kept his cover on straight and continued to report nothing to Welsh. He went and visited a fictitious parole officer every week too, summarizing everything he'd found out and picking up whatever information they had for him that Welsh hadn't been able to fill him in on in their short conversations. The time cards didn't tell them anything. Ray was disappointed to find that Lance had been off for a number of the thefts. The guy was really getting on his nerves, the way he kept needling him for a fight. In the fourth week, he joined a gym near the tow yard, figuring he could take some frustrations out there.

The next day, he dragged himself out of bed early, intent on murdering a punching bag. Grabbing his gear, he threw it into a duffel. He'd shower at the gym, he decided. Even without his glasses on, he could see how filthy the shower down the hall was. He was halfway out the front door, when the desk clerk called him back.

"Hey, Markowitz. You gotta package." Ray turned and walked back, puzzled. The clerk reached under the desk and pulled out a small box. "You never struck me as the reading type." He held it out. Ray reached out and took the package. A local bookstore's name appeared in the corner.

"Yeah, well, there's a lot you don't know about me," he told the clerk, shrugging. He took his package and went to the corner coffee shop. Seated in the back, he looked at the box for a moment before turning it over and opening it. Books. He'd been expecting something work related. He turned them over and smiled. Books on the search for the Northwest Passage. There was no card; nothing to indicate that Stan Markowitz hadn't ordered these books. But the message was clear. Fraser was thinking about him. Ray opened the first book, a compilation of journals by various explorers, edited by Farley Mowat, and began reading. When he went to work that night, the book went with him, comforting him with its presence.

Later that week, he was eating dinner in an all night greasy spoon with one of the other drivers, when a call for service came in. Tommy, a nice kid, if not overly bright, was a great source of gossip. He saw and heard everything and loved to repeat it all. Kowalski didn't even have to pry to get him talking. Tommy had just dug into his ice cream sundae when the radio crackled. Lance was off sick that night; a fact that had brightened Ray's day. But it meant, technically, only one of them was allowed to take a break at a time. Ray was the one officially clocked out. Tommy looked at his sundae, stricken.

"I'll take it," Ray said. "You go ahead and finish that."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." Ray got up and threw some money on the table to cover his bill and went to the truck. A BMW broken down on West Wacker. The owner wanted it towed to their garage. When he arrived, he found a businessman standing impatiently next to the car.

"Who are you?" the man asked.

"Name's Stan. You called for a tow?" Ray reminded him.

"I know that. I just ... never mind." The man shook his head.

"You want me to take a look at the engine?" Stan offered.

"No. Just tow it to the garage. My wife's on her way there to pick me up."

"Whatever you say. Yer the customer." Stan quickly got the car onto the truck, noticing that it was quite new, but already had two bumper stickers plastered on the back and one of those stupid suction cup toys stuck to the rear window. He rolled his eyes to himself. Guy buys an $65,000 car and then goes and junks it up. Where was the dignity? He didn't even want to think what Damian Kowalski would have done to him for doing something like that to the GTO. The businessman was fairly quiet, but polite. Just sort of blended into the passenger seat. When they arrived at the garage, his wife was waiting, in her recent model Volvo. Just your basic yuppie couple, Ray thought. Kids were at home, probably with the nanny. Rough life. It would make good fodder for Stan to complain about tomorrow. The man tipped him and got in the car with his wife. They waited while Ray unhooked the car. Shaking his head, he left it in front of the garage and then drove away.

"We had another carjacking last night," Welsh informed him the following day.

"Damn! Anyone hurt?"

"Just bruised. One thing about the publicity. People are a lot more willing to sacrifice their cars now."

"Better than their life."

"Precisely."

"Where did it happen?"

"West Shore Drive. Black 2000 BMW. They took it around midnight. As usual, no one got a good look at the perps and they went around a corner and vanished."

"Midnight, huh." Ray was thoughtful.

"You got something?" Welsh picked up on his tone.

"Maybe. I towed a new black Beemer from Wacker last night. Guy wanted it taken to a garage because it had broken down. Didn't want me to look at the engine though. Could just be 'cause he doesn't trust anyone but Hans to look at his valuable car. Did the stolen one have anything distinguishing about it? Bumper stickers for example?"

"No. It was perfectly clean. Still had paper plates." Ray thought about that.

"I may have something Lieutenant. I'm gonna check on something. I'll get back to ya."

"Kowalski!" Ray disconnected the phone before that conversation could go any further. He still had an hour before work. Not really enough time to go check out the garage. But during his shift ... he figured he could manage that. He could use the excuse that he thought he'd dropped his pocket knife near there. He quickly took his knife out of his pocket and placed it with the cell phone in the floor boards.

It was about 3:00 a.m. before he was able to get back to the garage where he had towed the BMW. He parked slightly down the street. He didn't want to pull attention right away if anyone was there, but he knew that if he was really searching for his knife, he'd be in front. Taking a flashlight, he began playing it on the ground. No one came out to question him. The garage appeared dark. After a moment, he went over and banged on the door. No answer. He peered in through a window. One car inside. An old beat up Plymouth. Kowalski pulled out his glasses and made a note of the plate. One beater car, a whole lot of empty space and tools. "Weird garage," Ray muttered to himself. He heard the radio crackling in his truck and went back to find he had a tow waiting.

"I think I got something," he told Welsh on the phone the next day.

"I can't believe you went there alone," Welsh told him, clearly furious.

"I wanted ta check before I sent everyone shooting in the wrong direction."

"And if they'd been shooting last night?" Welsh pointed out. "Fraser will kill you, if he finds out."

"So, don't tell on me. If he kills me, I can't finish this job. Ya still need me." Ray said smartly. "Look, I'm thinking I start carrying a pager. You page me the minute we hear about another carjacking. I head over to the garage. I talk to 'em, try to get 'em to admit to it, by claiming I want a piece of the action. They admit to it, back up comes in and arrests 'em."

"Back up. What a novel idea, Detective. I'm so glad you thought of it. You would be wearing a wire to this meeting, I presume?"

"Maybe we could wire the truck or somethin'? These guys are pros. We know that already."

"Which is why you went to check out their potential headquarters without the aforementioned back up last night ..?"

"Yeah, okay. So maybe not the brightest thing I ever did," Kowalski finally conceded.

"Your plan does have some potential." Having made his point, the Lieutenant was willing to give credit where credit was due. "I'll make sure you get what you need at your parole meeting this week."

"Greatness!"

The next several nights were quiet. Ray drove around the city, hooking cars and performing minor mechanical services. The plate on the beat up Plymouth had come back to a beat up Plymouth over on the east side of the city. Fraser and Vecchio had checked the car in question and found it sitting in front of it's proper address, without a license plate attached. //Have ta kind of admire these guys,// Ray thought. //They're nothing if not thorough.// Between tow calls, he checked the pager's batteries and resisted the temptation to call Fraser. He also resisted the temptation to drive by his apartment and see if the lights were on. He checked the batteries again. He'd also picked up a small police scanner. Lance picked up on his heightened mood and began pushing for a fight again, even trying to start a shoving match. Ray held tight, maintaining control, even while a part of him was just begging for the release. He just gave Lance his most psychotic look and walked away. He continued to check in with Welsh before and after work. When his pager finally did go off, five nights later, he was just finishing up with a call. He unhooked the car on his truck and requested a lunch break. Once cleared, he took off to the warehouse and parked around the corner. He quickly got out and went to a spot he'd scoped out on his last visit. It gave him a clear view of the garage, but was in the shadows. Then he waited. When the tow truck came around the corner and pulled up in front of the garage, Ray let out a sigh of relief. He took note of the car. A new model Jaguar was on the hook. It had two familiar bumper stickers on the rear. The driver was Lance, making Ray very happy, and the passenger ... was the same man Ray had brought to this garage with his BMW. Ray waited and watched while they unhooked the car and put it in the garage. The two men worked together in silence. They had obviously done this before. Lance came out and got back in the tow truck and left. The other man waited, glancing at his watch, clearly irritated. The Volvo pulled up a moment later. Ray chose this moment to walk out of the shadows.

"Hey," he called out. Startled, the man reached into his pocket and pulled out a gun. Ray held his hands out from his side. "No worries," he said. "I just want to talk."

"About what?" The man watched him warily.

"Your operation here. Whether or not you got space for another guy. Maybe somebody who's not quite so eager to get into a fight."

"Yeah, Lance mentioned you. Says you won't fight him."

"So you know who I am."

"Yeah. I asked about you after that other night. Guess Lance underestimated you."

"People usually do." Ray shrugged, casually, still holding his hands in plain sight. "I read the paper the next day. Came back and checked this place out and found it empty. Put two and two together and here I am."

"How'd you know we'd be here tonight?"

"I picked up a police scanner. Ya can get all kinds o' interesting information that way."

"So, what do you want? Money?"

"Yeah ... but I'm willing to earn it. I want in. I want to make enough money to blow this town, go somewhere where I don't gotta report in every week on what a good little boy I been and worry that I might o' been seen talkin' to the wrong guy. Somewhere I can have a beer if I want. I want to get the hell out of that dive I been livin' in and start livin'. I can't do that as a tow truck driver. But workin' for you ... I could save up some money I bet. Enough to find my way out o' this miserable place, anyway." The man was watching him. Ray shrugged. "Think about it. I could do you some good. I got all the right skills. And I'm thinking you could use another driver. That thing with me the other night ... that wasn't planned. Let me guess. Lance was out sick. I know that. But you had a customer. You needed the car. You figured you'd use Tommy, who's not so bright. But how many times can you use him before even he tumbles? Me, I already know. I could be a big help." He wanted to talk the guy down. Had to convince him. This wasn't enough. There were more people involved and Ray wanted them all. But mostly he wanted the guy that threw the kid out of the car. The gun lowered. The man still held it, but he was watching Ray carefully.

"Stan, right? " Ray nodded. "So, Stan, how do I know that I can trust you? It'd be a lot easier to just dump your body than have to worry about you."

"You see any cops in the area? If I was gonna turn you in, I'd've already done it. There's a pretty good reward out there, but I'm guessing I can make more working for you."

"Again, why shouldn't I just dump your body?"

"'Cause you don't know what kind of information I've left lyin' around," Ray said, grinning an evil little grin.

"Why work with us instead of blackmailing us?" The guy was trying to figure the angle.

"Gives you less reason to wanna off me. Gives me a chance to work with someone who actually knows what they're doin' would be nice. Who knows? Maybe I'll branch you out into some other city. The tow truck angle. That's slick!" Ray's tone was admiring.

"You a mechanic."

"Try me."

"I'm going to." The man came closer and motioned Ray to move his arms higher. He quickly patted him down. Finding no weapons, he stepped back. "All right now. Here's how this is going to work. You're going back to your truck and call in that you don't feel so good. Then you're spending the night under my watch. And tomorrow we'll have a little test."

"You're the boss," Ray said, shrugging. He motioned down the street. "You gonna follow me ta the truck? Make sure I'm a good little boy and all?"

"Absolutely." Ray walked back to his truck and called in. He drove the truck back to the lot and clocked out sick. Exiting the yard, he found the man waiting for him. Shrugging into his jacket, he climbed into the passenger seat of the Volvo. He knew the man was holding a gun on him in the back seat, but acted as if that was no concern.

"You got a name?" he finally asked.

"Weller. Mr. Weller, to you."

"Whatever," Stan shrugged. He looked at the woman driving the car. "And you must be the lovely Mrs. Weller." She smiled, but it wasn't friendly. He sat back in the car and relaxed as best he could.

"Damn!" Welsh swore. He was furious. Vecchio sat on his desk, watching the Lieutenant pace back and forth in the office. "How could you let him go off with these people?"

"How could we not? It's the way he played it. And if we want to get the rest of these guys, we're gonna just have to sit tight. There's gotta be more guys in on this than just those two. If we just take them, we could be losing the most important people," Vecchio said in a reasonable tone. He wasn't looking at Fraser though. No way could he take the look in the Mountie's eyes.

"The tracer's still working?"

"Yes, sir. Huey and Dewey are on it."

"But we don't have the wire anymore."

"No. That was with the truck. He was right about that though. If he'd been wearing it, they'd have found it."

"Damn!" Welsh swore again.

Ray spent the night locked in a bedroom of a suburban home. He looked around the room and figured he might as well try to get some sleep. Now that he was actually in, he found himself relaxed. Alert and aware, but relaxed. He'd been in this kind of position before and there was nothing else to be done. He lay down on the bed and tried to get some sleep. He was awakened the next morning by a sharp rap on the door.

"Get up. We're leaving in 5 minutes." Ray smiled to himself and rolled his head sharply, cracking his neck. "Time ta rock and roll," he muttered under his breath and then went to greet the morning.

"Heads up," Dewey said into the radio, as he and Huey watched from down the street. They saw Ray walk out and climb into the driver's seat of the Volvo. Around the corner, Fraser and Vecchio waited to pick up the tail. Fraser was abnormally silent and Vecchio was having trouble handling it. Adding to the silence was the odd conversation he'd had with his sister, that morning.

"Ray?"

"What?"

"You know how you once said that guys like Fraser don't marry girls like me?"

"Vaguely."

"So ... what kind of guy is he?"

"What kind o' question is that?"

"Well, you know. Is he one of those kind of guys?"

"Frannie, what are you talking about?"

"It's just ... well, something Kowalski said. Made me kind of wonder."

"Wonder what!?" Vecchio felt like he was being sucked into a black hole. Not only didn't he know where this conversation was going; he wasn't even sure he knew where it had started.

"If they're ... you know. Together."

"No, they are not together. Fraser is here. Ray is undercover."

"Not that kind of together. Together, together!" Vecchio finally grasped what his sister was trying to say.

"NO! No way! Not Benny. No. No. I just meant ... well ... he's just so ...." Vecchio trailed off. The word he'd been about to use was virginal ... pure... but that had been before Victoria. "Just ... no."

"Good. I mean, not that it would be, you know ... bad ... necessarily. Just ... a really huge waste." And with that she had wandered off, leaving Ray with half his face shaved and a question he really hadn't wanted to think about.

Now, as he was waiting to follow Ray's car, he had to admit, there was a certain tenseness emanating from the seat beside him, that he had never observed in the Mountie before. Of course, Vecchio reasoned, he had no idea how Fraser had behaved when he was in a similar situation, with the Mountie somewhere else, unable to directly interfere. This might be how the Canadian always reacted when his partner was in danger and he wasn't there. That had to be it. The car carrying Kowalski passed them. The blond was sitting in the front passenger seat. He looked unharmed. Beside him, Vecchio, could feel a slight release in the tension. He glanced over at Fraser. The Mountie's expression was unreadable. Hating Francesca for even putting these thoughts into his head, Vecchio looked back at the target. They let the vehicle travel a good distance down the block before following it. The tracer was still working, so they weren't overly concerned about losing Kowalski that way. The men watching the garage had advised that the car was still there and that another man had shown up that morning. Lance.

At the garage, Ray found himself facing the other tow driver.

"Well, look at you," Lance said walking up and trying to stare him down. "Think you're pretty smart, don't you?"

"Smart enough," Ray told him evenly.

"Knock it off, Lance." Weller came up to the them. He had discarded his suit this morning, in favor of jeans and a t-shirt. No longer the innocent businessman with the broken down car, he was ready to go to work. "Stan here wants to join us. I'm giving him the chance to prove he's got any talents we're interested in. He can help us get the car ready."

"And if he doesn't"

"He dies," Weller said shrugging.

"Not till I get ta fight him."

"If I'm gonna die, why in Hell would I want to fight you?" Ray asked him. He turned to Weller. "What do you want me to do?"

The day passed fairly quickly for Ray, who was busy inside the garage. It was considerably longer for the men on the outside.

"What can they be doing?" Fraser asked for what felt like the 100^th time.

"Getting the car ready to move out," Vecchio repeated yet again.

"Maybe we should go check."

"Fraser, Welsh only let us be here, 'cause we promised we wouldn't interfere. We gotta trust Kowalski. He's good at this, Benny. He's a smart guy. Knows how to handle himself." Evening came and still no one left the garage. Around 8:00 p.m., another man went in.

"It's about time!" Weller said, walking over to him. "The car's been ready for the last two hours. Where have you been?"

"Relax," the new man said. "Everything is under control. He looked over at the Jaguar, which was now painted bright red. "All ready?" he asked.

"Yeah, it's ready. No thanks to you!"

"Overtime shift with the parking service and before you get all bent out of shape, I picked up some great information." He pulled a small notebook out of his pocket and handed it to Weller. "Big fundraising luncheon. All kinds of big money there in their very fine cars." He smiled.

"All right," Weller said grudgingly. "You're lucky we had help though, or we'd never have finished in time."

"Help? Who?" Daly demanded.

"That new tow driver I mentioned. The one that picked up that tow when Lance was home throwing up."

"You brought in someone new? Without asking?"

"Hey - he found us. I figured this way I could keep an eye on him. He's sharp. A lot more controlled than Lance, too. Might be, he's what we're looking for."

"A small group, John. We agreed on a small group. There was a reason for that." Daly's eyes narrowed in anger. Ray watched the exchange from a discrete distance, partially blocked by a pillar. Weller looked toward Lance, who was busy cleaning up the paint supplies and lowered his voice. He and Daly carried on a quiet conversation, punctuated by hand gestures. Finally Daly nodded. Weller looked up and motioned Ray over.

"Oh, Shit! What's he doin' here?" Daly yelled.

"He's the guy I been talking about ... Stan."

"He's a cop, you idiot! His name's Vecchio. Works out of the 27th."

"You sure?" Weller had stepped back and was regarding the blond with a doubtful look.

"What the Hell you talkin' about?" Ray demanded in an angry tone. "Who's Vecchio?"

"Don't deny it Vecchio," Daly said menacingly. Ray turned to Weller.

"I am not this Vecchio guy. I mean, fer cryin' out loud, do I even remotely look Italian?"

"Could be Northern Italian."

"Yeah, right. Look - call his station. Ask 'em ta describe Vecchio. I just bet he ain't no blond, blue eyed ... Italian." Weller looked back and forth between the two men, suddenly uncertain. "Go ahead. Call 'em!" Ray demanded.

"What if it turns out he is a blue eyed blond?"

"Then I guess I'm in a world o' hurt."

"Make the call," Weller directed.

"He's a cop."

"I said make the call," Weller snapped. Turning back to Ray, he trained a gun on him. "I'm sure you won't mind if I take some ... precautions ... while we wait?"

"Whatever. I got no worries," Ray shrugged. They waited. Eventually Daly came back.

"I can't get a straight answer. I think they're afraid I want to off him ... well actually, I guess I do," he said coldly smiling at Ray as he approached. "I'll do him," he told Weller. "It'll be fun to kill someone who actually knows what hit him." Ray forced himself to remain calm and still. Daly grinned at him. "Killin' a kid and a little old lady ... well, that's hardly sport. But you ... you could be a lot of fun."

"We don't have time for your games, right now," Weller interceded. "I'll take care of our little ... problem. I'm sure you'll understand we can't take chances," he said waving the gun at Ray. "Turn around." Numbly, the blond complied, knowing he had nowhere to run; nowhere to hide. //I blew it, Ben,// he thought. //I am so sorry.// He felt a sharp pain in the back of his head and the world went dark.

"The Jaguar's leaving. Two occupants." Welsh said over the radio. "It's red. Plate is 393WRC. Southbound on Wacker. And the Volvo's going too. Northbound. One occupant."

"Jaguar's heading this way," Vecchio told Fraser.

"There!" The Mountie pointed.

"He's speeding. We got probable cause for a stop." Vecchio reached for the radio. "We've got the Jaguar. It's definitely in a hurry. Just ran a red light."

"The tracer's moving. Southbound," Welsh came back. "Kowalski's in the Jag. We're going into the garage. Marked units will follow your lead, Vecchio. Huey, you and Dewey take the Volvo."

"Copy," came Dewey's voice over the radio.

"We're on the Jag," Vecchio confirmed. "Vehicle is still proceeding Southbound on Wacker. Roadway is clear. Speed is 47." Fraser reached out and took the radio from Vecchio, to allow the Chicago detective to concentrate on driving. The Mountie continued calling out the direction of travel, speed and road conditions for other responding units. They had not activated their sirens yet, not knowing what the situation was, and not wanting to endanger Kowalski. The Jaguar continued to speed up, though. Finally, Ray activated the emergency light and put it on top of the car.

"Gotta let people know we're coming. Can't have 'em getting in the way," he said to Fraser.

"Understood," the Mountie told him, firmly focused on the car in front of them. The Jaguar took a sudden and sharp turn to the left. Vecchio followed it and Fraser relayed the change in direction. Now that the driver of the stolen car knew he was being chased, he had nothing to lose and poured it on. Vecchio and Fraser, knowing Kowalski was in that car, hung on with grim determination.

"They threw a small child out of a car," Fraser whispered.

"I know, Benny."

"They won't have a problem killing Ray."

"They don't necessarily know he's a cop."

"What else are they going to think?"

"Coincidence?" Vecchio tried. The Jaguar took another sharp turn, rear tires fishtailing out behind it. Ahead, officers in marked patrol units were closing off side streets, keeping the roadway clear; protecting citizens from crossing paths with the chase. Spike strips were probably being laid up ahead as well, the Chicago detective knew. He just kept his eye on the car, letting Fraser worry about where they were. The driver of the Jaguar flung the car into an alley, sending garbage cans flying. Vecchio followed. The Jaguar took another turn and suddenly Vecchio knew where he was trying to go.

"Yes!" he muttered.

"What?" Fraser's keen ears had picked up the quiet word.

"He's heading for the freeway."

"Then they can lay spike strips."

"No, Benny. They tore down the overpass last week. He's gonna run out of road."

"What do you mean?"

"There's no more road. Chase over."

"What happens when there's no more road?" Fraser asked quietly.

"There's signs, Benny. He's gonna have to crash through 'em. He should have plenty of time to stop."

"And if he doesn't?" Both men were silent. Vecchio began to let up on his speed just a little, giving the car in front the chance to slow down some. The driver of the Jaguar, punched it instead. He swung into the turn for the overpass. Too, late he saw the warning signals. The Jaguar blasted through the road closed signs. Brake lights suddenly appeared and the rear of the car fishtailed from side to side and then, finally spun, out of control. Vecchio held his breath as it slid to the the edge of the roadway and slightly beyond ... and stopped.

The car teetered at the edge. Vecchio and Fraser sat, momentarily paralyzed, then at the same moment, jumped from the Riviera and ran towards the tenuously balanced car. One of the suspects suddenly scrambled out of the driver's side and took off running. Vecchio headed him off and tackled him. In the ensuing struggle, he didn't see the Jaguar slipping over the edge. The sound of the crash was his first clue. Still holding the criminal down on the ground, he turned his head in time for the ensuing explosion and watched as a ball of fire rose into the sky.

"Oh God," he whispered. Silhouetted against the sky was Fraser, standing immobile, looking over the edge. The Mountie swayed and Vecchio suddenly found he couldn't breathe; could only watch in terror and then sharp relief when Fraser fell to his knees, still on the roadway. The Chicago detective stood and hauled the suspect to his feet. Dragging him over, he roughly handcuffed his prisoner to a light pole, then ran to his friend.

"Benny?"

"Ray." Something in the Mountie's voice, told Vecchio that it wasn't his name that Fraser was saying.

"Oh, God. Kowalski ... Benny. Oh, God," Vecchio repeated, stunned. Fraser didn't hear him, just continued staring at the blazing car below. Ray. His Ray. Gone. He should have held him back that morning at his apartment, should have gone with him, should never have let him leave Canada ... should have done something ... anything. The first sob spilled raggedly out of his throat, of its own volition. Vecchio had never heard so much pain in one sound. He knelt next to the Mountie, wrapping his arms around him, trying to impart any measure of comfort that he could. Oblivious to the sound of sirens and the flashing lights that appeared around them, Fraser choked out his pain to the world. Visions of the blond kept appearing in his mind, each a new source of pain. Kowalski flashing his sunny grin. Sleeping peacefully in his arms. Confessing that he loved him.

"I should have been with him," he tried to say, but he couldn't get the words to form between the wracking sobs. //I can't do this// he thought. //I cannot bear this. It is too much.// He became aware of Vecchio, holding him, saying over and over again how sorry he was, and felt a flash of resentment. If Vecchio had remained undercover, his Ray might still be with him. He quickly dismissed this for the unreasonable thought that it was, but shook off Vecchio's hands. He did not want to be comforted. Could not be.

"Come on Benny. Come on." Vecchio tried again, taking his arm and trying to guide him away from the edege. Tears were running down his face as well.

"No," Fraser choked out. "I need ... I want ... I can't ..." He gestured at the burning car helplessly. Other officers had arrived now, and the Italian could hear fire engines being called and directed to the roadway below. He concentrated on his friend.

"Remember him the way he was," Vecchio pleaded. "Trust me. You do not want to see this."

"I can't leave him. I promised," Fraser whispered. //Oh, Ray. I promised you my hand and my time. There was supposed to be time.//

"Please, come away." Vecchio was begging, but didn't care. The look on his best friend's face was terrifying him. The fire department was pulling up to the car and Vecchio badly wanted to get Benny away before they found anything ... or anyone. He moved between Fraser and the view. "He'd want me to take care of you. Please let me do that for him."

"Ray. His name was Ray." Fraser looked at Vecchio, his face distorted and ugly with grief. The blond had been his. How dare Vecchio presume to know what the blond had wanted. It hadn't been much: friendship, security and love. So little for a person to ask. So much to receive ... and Fraser had wanted nothing more than to give him those things.

"Come on," Vecchio was tugging at him, trying to pull him away from the scene. Fraser ignored him, staying put, forcing himself to breathe deeply; to regain some semblance of control. The only thing he could do for Ray now was be with him on his final journey; make sure that he was not alone at any point of it. The thought of the blond lying alone in the morgue, a place he'd dreaded and feared so much, brought more pain, but he shoved it down brutally. He had to be strong now, had to get through this for Ray. And when it was over, when Ray had been laid to rest, he could return to Canada, journey to his father's cabin alone and collapse there. Vecchio watched him. Saw despair settle over the Mountie's face and then watched it being replaced by an expressionless mask. The grief had been bad, but this ... this was worse, he realized. //I am way outta my depth, here,// he thought, looking around frantically for help. There was none. Everyone else on the scene was concerned with the mechanics of the crash, leaving Vecchio to handle Fraser alone. //Help me, God. Please.// he offered up as a silent prayer.

"Come on, Benny," he tried again.

"No. I will remain here. Thank you, kindly." Fraser stared straight ahead at the scene below. His voice was completely devoid of emotion. Vecchio stepped back, afraid. This was not Benny. This was ... a robot ... Benny with all the life sucked right out of him. Behind him, he heard his name on the radio in his car. He ignored it, preferring to concentrate on his friend.

"They are calling you Ray."

"They can keep calling. You're who's important here, Benny."

"Don't be silly." The words were right, but the voice ... the voice was so wrong. "They may have a question regarding the case and since Ray Kowalski saw fit to give his life for it, the least that we can do is make sure that it is brought to a proper and successful conclusion."

Vecchio stumbled back to the car, still keeping his eye on the Mountie. He answered the radio, trying to keep his voice calm. It was Welsh. Still focused on Fraser, he missed what the Lieutenant was trying to tell him.

"What, sir?" he asked.

"He's here," Welsh's voice repeated. "Kowalski. He wasn't in the car. He's here. We have him here." Vecchio leaned against the side of the car, suddenly dizzy. He took a deep breath.

"How ... how is he?"

"Concussed. Cold. Mad 'cause he missed all the excitement." Vecchio let the breath out. Fraser, his sensitive hearing having caught part of the conversation was staring back at the car, a terrified look on his face.

"We'll be right there, sir."

"Don't bother. He's going to County General to be checked out." In the background, Vecchio heard a squawk of protest and smiled, tears flowing down his face again. He looked up. Fraser began hesitantly approaching the car, afraid to ask, afraid to hope.

"We'll ... we'll see you there," Vecchio managed. He stood up and met the Mountie halfway. "He's alive. He's okay."

"You're certain?" Ben pleaded.

"Welsh wouldn't lie about that. And I heard him in the background. He's alive, Benny." Fresh tears were tracking down the Mountie's face.

"Please?" he whispered.

"Right away," Ray assured him, sliding into the driver's seat. "Come on."

Lieutenant Welsh was waiting for them in the E.R. "He's being seen. We'll just have to wait." He looked the Mountie up and down and smiled kindly. "He should be fine. They knocked him out and tossed him in a tool locker. Took away his clothes. Guess they figured it would slow him down some if he escaped. Explains why the tracer was in the car." Vecchio nodded. Welsh looked at him and then down at his arm. "You look like you could use some attention too, Detective."

"What?" Puzzled, Vecchio followed the lieutenant's eyes down to his hand. It was covered in blood and swollen.

"Must've got it when I was fighting the perp'. Didn't even notice."

"Get it looked at," Welsh said, jerking his head. Vecchio opened his mouth to object, looking at Fraser. "Go," Welsh ordered. Then, catching the look of concern in his Detective's eyes, he added, "I'll wait here with the Constable." Vecchio smiled gratefully.

"Yes, sir." He went and spoke to one of the nurses, who showed him back into a curtained room. Welsh nodded toward the seats in the waiting room and Fraser followed him, obediently. They sat quietly for a few minutes.

"He'll be fine, Constable. He's pretty tough." There was no question as to who Welsh was referring to.

"That's what he wants everyone to think," Fraser said softly. Welsh looked at him sharply, then smiled.

"I don't mean he's Superman, or anything like that. But he's strong enough, especially where it counts. Inside. Stronger than most. Think about all he's had to deal with this last year? How many guys you know who could've survived half the crap he's been through, even with the help of a good friend such as yourself?"

"Not many," Fraser was forced to admit, on reflection.

"Besides, he's not going to let anything interfere with that adventure of yours."

"No," Fraser said, finally smiling a little. "I suppose not." They sat in a companionable silence, the Canadian looking up anxiously every time anyone came out of the patient area. Finally, Vecchio emerged, his hand wrapped and his arm in a sling. He walked up to his friend and his boss.

"I'll be fine," he announced. Then, trying to lighten the mood of the room. "Just can't hit anyone for a week or so."

"I can see where that might prove to be a serious inconvenience," Welsh commented dryly. "I'm glad to hear the blow didn't rocket through your body, causing permanent disability."

"You're never gonna forget that, are you," Vecchio said.

"It's unlikely," Welsh acknowledged.

"Hey, Benny," Vecchio said, with a sideways glance at Fraser. "I could use a little help here." The Mountie was still concentrating on the patient area.

"Excuse me?" He looked at his friend, startled.

"I'm being accused of heinous crimes and you're miles away."

"I'm sorry, Ray. I'm afraid I wasn't paying attention."

"It's okay. Just I could use some back up here." Fraser suddenly stood up and walked away.

"It would appear that the Constable has other things on his mind right now," Welsh commented, looking to where Fraser was headed.

Kowalski, dressed in hospital scrubs, was limping towards them, accompanied by a doctor. As Vecchio watched, Fraser reached them and took off his jacket, wrapping it around the blond. Kowalski smiled and leaned into him ever so slightly. The doctor looked at Fraser.

"You must be the Mountie," he said.

"Yes." Fraser said, a questioning look on his face.

"He said we had to release him, because he had a Mountie to look after him."

"Ah," Fraser said, understanding.

"Can't get better than that," Ray assured the doctor, who just shook his head and began giving Fraser the necessary instructions for the care of the blond. The Mountie was was listening intently as Welsh and Vecchio approached.

"Every two hours, then," the doctor was saying to the Mountie. Then turning to Ray, "and try to stay off that ankle as much as possible for a couple of days." Welsh looked toward the blond.

"I'm good, Lieutenant. Bump on the head an' I kicked the locker a little too hard." The doctor nodded in confirmation.

"That is essentially correct. He's concussed and sprained his ankle. Some bruises and abrasions. I expect he'll be quite stiff by tomorrow. He's not to go back to work without a clearance."

"He's pretty good at coming up with those ... how about a timeline?" Welsh suggested. Kowalski shook his head in resignation.

"At least four days," the doctor told him.

"Thank you."

"You're cold," Fraser said, looking at the blond, who was standing with his arms wrapped around himself.

"Yeah. But yer an expert in that," Kowalski grinned.

"Lieutenant?" Kowalski turned to Welsh, suddenly serious.

"What?"

"Daly?"

"Probably dead."

"Probably?"

"Pending the autopsy of the body in the car. We need that to confirm it."

"It has to be him. He can't get away. He wanted to kill me bad. He likes it. He's the one that did the old lady and the kid."

"We know who he is, Detective. If by some miracle he escaped that car, we'll find him."

"I gotta get over there!" Ray insisted.

"No and that is an order," Welsh said firmly. "The only place you are going is home and you are going to stay there until the Mountie thinks you're well enough to leave. You can write your reports there and I'll come by and pick them up when you're done."

"But, Lieutenant ..."

"No buts, Detective. If he gives you any problems, Constable, I'm authorizing you to handcuff him to the bedpost. We'll consider it a citizen's arrest."

"But ..."

"Ahh!" Welsh raised a cautionary hand, cutting the blond off before he could vocalize his protest. "Not another word!" he ordered. Then, softening. "You did good, Kowalski."

Ray flashed him a shy smile. "Thanks," he said.

"Now - Go!"

"Come on. I'll drive you guys," Vecchio offered.

Inside the apartment, Ray turned to Fraser, about to say something. The Mountie pulled him into an embrace, holding him tight, reassuring himself that the blond was still with him.

"Uh ... ow?" Ray finally protested.

"Sorry!" Fraser released him immediately.

"S'okay," the blond said, showing no inclination to move away. "Just maybe not so hard." He yawned, then winced, reaching up to rub his head. Fraser put his arms back around Ray, holding him more gently.

"Headache?"

"Killer, " Kowalski said. Fraser nodded and continued to hold his partner, gently rubbing his back.

"You scared me," he finally admitted.

"You really thought I was dead?"

"Yes. I ... I saw the car go over the edge ... and then it exploded. We ... I ... believed you were in it." His voice betrayed some of the anguish he'd felt at that horrible moment.

"I'm sorry," Ray said, bringing his own arms up around the Mountie. "Thought I was a goner myself, for a bit there. I guess they just smacked me over the head. I thought ... I knew he was gonna shoot me. And I was so sorry I'd screwed up ... blown us, ya know?" Fraser pressed his forehead against the other man's.

"It would hardly have been your fault, Ray."

"Whatever. Guess Lance stole my jacket. That's where I had the tracer. He really wanted it. Kept tryin' ta get me ta fight him for it. I liked that jacket."

"Better the jacket than you," Fraser pointed out.

"That's a fact," with a half laugh. Then, "I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"I don't want to do it again," Fraser told him honestly. Ray looked at him, suddenly uncertain. "I love you," the Mountie told him, reassuringly. "It's just that, when I thought you were ... gone ... that I had lost you ... it was ... more than I could bear," he whispered. He closed his eyes, fighting the chill that memory brought. He was startled by a soft touch on his forehead and then his nose. He opened his eyes as Ray moved down to kiss his lips, lingering there. Fraser leaned into that kiss. It was gentle and friendly and it warmed him. Ray suddenly jerked back. The Canadian looked at him, alarmed. The blond yawned, a wide, bone-cracking yawn. Then he blinked his eyes and looked back at his friend.

"Sorry," Ray said in a sheepish tone.

"It's all right. Let's get you to bed."

"With you?" in a hopeful tone.

"I'm not letting you out of my sight."

"Works for me."

Ray slept well for the first time in what seemed like forever, despite Fraser's waking him up every two hours and asking questions.

"Who's the prime minister of Canada, Ray?"

"We're checking for head injury, not brain transplant, Frase."

"Right you are."

"Just kiss me and let me go back to sleep."

"Understood." The rest of the night and a good portion of the following day passed in a similar pattern.

Ray woke alone the next afternoon. Confused for a moment, he sat up and looked around, wondering how much of it had been a dream. The still persistent headache and the general soreness of his body answered part of his question. Looking at the clock, he saw that it was 3:30 in the afternoon. Running a hand through his already disheveled hair, he climbed out of bed. Pulling on a pair of sweatpants, he stumbled into the living room in search of Fraser and coffee. He was caught short by the sight of Welsh and Vecchio sitting on his couch.

"Good morning, Detective. Sleep well?"

"Uh ... yeah ... Sir." Kowalski folded his arms over his bare chest, wondering how disrespectful it would be if he fled back into his bedroom.

"Have a seat. I'll get you some coffee," Vecchio said, standing. "Fraser's down getting laundry or something. He should be right back." Kowalski nodded and limped over to the chair and sat. Vecchio brought him a cup of coffee and he clasped it gratefully in his hands."

"Thanks."

"Sure." Vecchio returned to his seat next to Welsh. The Lieutenant was shuffling through papers the blond recognized as the statement he had dictated to Fraser in some of his wakeful periods. He took a sip from the coffee.

"Hey this is good!" he said in surprise.

"You think I'd take a chance with anything you'd keep in the kitchen?" Vecchio teased him. Kowalski was saved from having to think of a clever reply by Fraser's return.

"Hello, Ray."

"Hey," the blond said, smiling. Fraser carried a pile of neatly folded clothing past him into the bedroom. A moment later he returned, holding a flannel shirt, which he gave to Kowalski. The smaller man slipped it on and sat back feeling considerably more at ease. Fraser sat down on the floor next to Kowalski's chair, close, but not touching.

"Well, Detective. It looks like you had figured out most of it from your statement here. I just thought you'd like to hear what's going on."

"Yeah, thanks."

"The body in the car has been positively id'd as Daly." He looked over his glasses. "You owe Mort for that. He worked overtime so you could have a positive answer as soon as possible." Kowalski nodded. "Daly was picking up information on cars through his work at the valet parking company. We're checking to be certain, but I think we'll find all of the victims attended an event where he worked. That was our missing link between them."

"Yeah. Daly said something to Weller about having to work late, but gettin' a bunch of new cars, when he came to the garage. So when he parked 'em, he'd go and look for the registration and copy down the address."

"Exactly. Then when they needed a particular car, they would just look through his list and go pick it up. Lance had a key to the tow yard and a deal with the dispatchers where he would slip them a couple bucks and borrow the trucks to "moonlight." When the suburbs got too hot, they started following the victims and snatching the cars when the owners parked 'em. The carjacking's started when they ran out of time to get one of the cars. They had customers waiting."

"Sounds like Weller and Lance are doin' a lot of talking."

"Yes. They have indicated a strong willingness to make a deal. They both know that if this goes to trial, they'll get slammed with that kid's murder. Whether or not they actually threw him out of the car won't make any difference. They were involved in the crime. The old lady's death is icing as far as that's concerned. They have a lot of information on their customers and are in a good position to make a deal."

"So ... what? They're ... they're just gonna walk?" Kowalski's voice was rising. "They were involved with that kid's death. They kept goin' after. They didn't stop or turn in Daly ... they just kept takin' more cars. How long before another kid got killed?" He stopped, wincing and putting his hand to his forehead.

"Relax, Detective. They will do time. A lot of it," Welsh said in a gentle tone.

"Stella's on top of it, Ray," Vecchio added. "She won't be prosecuting since she's so involved, but she's making sure that it goes right. They'll get a hope of parole someday and in exchange, they'll help shut down some other car rings ... maybe prevent other deaths." Kowalski was still breathing hard through his nose, trying to slow the pounding in his head.

"Weller did save your life," Fraser said suddenly. The blond slowly turned to look at him.

"Yeah, he did," he admitted after a moment.

"Weller figured if you were a cop, he wanted you alive," Vecchio told him. "He knew that you just vanishing wouldn't make the rest of us go away. He says he's been looking for a way out since the guy got hit with a tire iron. His wife is Daly's twin sister though. Made things a little complicated."

"If ya believe him. He was pretty slick ... pretty smart. I think he just figured the angles and the risks."

"Probably. But he won't get off, Ray. You know Stella wouldn't let that happen. And look on the bright side. They make a deal, there's no trial. They'll still do hard time. Daly's dead, so he can't hurt anyone anymore. And you and Benny are free to go off and look for that hand thing. Personally, if I was taking time off, I'd be thinking sunny beach in Florida, not freeze my ass off looking for some dead guy's body parts, but to each his own I guess," he said grinning.

"Right," Kowalski said, giving him a crooked smile.

The Lieutenant and Vecchio left shortly after. Fraser walked them down to their car. When he returned, he found Ray still in the chair, his eyes closed and his head leaned back.

"You're going back to bed," he said.

"I'd argue ... but I want to lose," the blond said, opening his eyes slightly.

"I can tell. Come along." Fraser reached out a hand and pulled Ray to his feet and then into his arms. He held him close for a moment and then stepped back and led the smaller man into the bedroom. Ray crawled back onto the bed, collapsing on his face. The bed creaked beside him, as the Mountie sat down. "Turn onto your back," he instructed. Ray complied, slowly, his eyes still closed. Then he felt Fraser's hands, one on each side of his head, gently massaging his temples. "Just relax," the Mountie told him.

"S'nice," he commented drowsily.

"That was the general idea." Ray could hear the smile in his friend's voice and it brought one to his face as well. Then he gave himself up to his exhaustion and the soft touch of Fraser's hands and drifted off to sleep.

Two weeks later, they stood at O'Hare Airport waiting for the first of several planes that would take them to their destination. Muldoon's trial was scheduled to start in four days and Ray was going with Fraser. Weller and Lance had both accepted plea bargains. Ray had made it to court to listen to them plead guilty, but other than that he'd spent most of his time sleeping. He'd gotten sick again and was just now recovering. Leighton had made several house calls. Two days ago, he'd just shaken his head and consigned the blond to the care of the Mountie.

"His body will carry him as long as necessary. Once whatever is keeping him going is over, though ..." he'd told Fraser.

"He collapses."

"Pretty much," agreed the doctor. Now, at the airport, Fraser found himself keeping a watchful eye on his still recovering partner. Kowalski was standing slightly apart from the group, speaking in a low voice with Stella. The conversation looked serious. Vecchio, standing next to the Mountie, motioned with his chin.

"Should I be concerned?" he joked. "Good thing you're taking him outta here."

"You have no need to be concerned, Ray. Ray ... Kowalski ... is no longer in love with Stella."

"I know," Ray Vecchio assured him softly. He looked at the Mountie, looking at Kowalski and shook his head. He'd watched them last night at their farewell dinner at the Vecchio household as well. Both men always seemed to know exactly where the other was at all times. But that didn't mean anything. He and Fraser had had a similar instinct when they were working. He shook his head. //Women!// he thought. //Why'd Francesca even have to bring it up?//

"Something wrong?" Fraser was watching him, a concerned look in his eyes.

"Nah. I'm glad I get to say good bye this time. It didn't feel right last time ... I didn't have a choice. You know that, right?"

"I know," Fraser said.

"You be careful, Benny. You understand? I expect to see both of you back here, safe and sound one of these days." Fraser smiled and Vecchio basked in its glow.

"Thank you, kindly, Ray. You be careful too."

"Are you kidding? Here in Chicago? What could possibly happen?" Fraser raised his eyebrows and Ray started laughing. "Everything you're thinking of only happened 'cause you were around. My life was boring before that. Geez, I'd even been driving the same car for ten years."

"So you were in a rut?" There was a glint in the Mountie's eyes.

"A rut?" Vecchio protested, still laughing. Then, thinking back, he sobered. "Yeah, I guess I kind of was."

"As was I."

"You? In a rut? You have to be kidding me."

"No. My rut was isolation. Only coming to Chicago took me out of it." He hesitated, looking down at his hat for a moment and then looking back up t his first friend in Chicago, with an earnest expression. "I would never have survived here without you."

"Sure you would've, Benny," Vecchio said smiling at him. "Just it wouldn't have been as much fun."

"Fun?" Fraser thought back and then grinned. "Right you are." Vecchio stepped forward and gave the Mountie a quick hug.

"Don't let the polar bears eat you."

"Well, actually, Ray. There is little threat of that. Polar bears ..."

"I don't want the lecture, Benny. Just ... take care."

"Understood." Kowalski and Stella came over, interrupting them. Kowalski jerked his head up to the loudspeaker and Fraser nodded.

"They're calling our plane for boarding," he said. Stella leaned forward and kissed Kowalski on the cheek. Then she moved over and gave Fraser a quick hug.

"Take care of him," she said. "He's the only ex-husband I've got. I'm kind of fond of him."

"I will," Fraser promised. She stepped back to stand next to Vecchio, who put his arm around her. Kowalski and the Mountie shouldered their carry on luggage and with one last smile, turned for the gate. Stella and Ray Vecchio watched them go.

"I'm going to miss having him around," Stella confessed.

"Me too. Both of them," Vecchio said, understanding.

"Good thing we've got each other." Vecchio smiled down at her.

"Yeah. A very good thing." They watched their friends board. Kowalski turned around for a last wave and then they were gone. Vecchio kissed Stella on the top of her head. "Let's go home," he said

An hour later, on the plane, a sleeping Ray leaning against his side, Fraser thought he was as happy as any man had a right to be. He tilted his head slightly, drinking in the scent of his partner. They'd come a long way, he and Ray, since their first meeting. But Ray had summed them up right from the start. They were a duet. Each man was all right alone, but together ... together they formed something truly special. The object of his thoughts shifted and opened his eyes.

"Frase?

"Yes?"

"Not a dream?"

"No."

"'S'good."

"I think so."

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