Stanley Raymond Kowalski, Detective First Grade, Chicago PD, gave a loud sigh and dropped his pen onto his desk, leaving his paperwork unfinished. His fingers were beginning to cramp, and it still seemed as though he hadn't even made a dent in the pile.

He ran his fingers through spiked wheat-blond hair and rubbed at his eyes, leaning back in his chair. Across the room, his partner's desk was also covered in unfinished forms, but at this rate, he'd end up filling those out as well. Vecchio had been just about to tackle his half of the pile when their friend and unofficial third partner, Benton Fraser (RCMP), had strolled into the station with that damned wolf and asked Vecchio if he'd like to go to lunch.

Kowalski felt himself pouting and forced himself to stop. So Fraser had asked Vecchio to lunch and not him. Big deal. He didn't need them to drag him around, he had his own life. Besides, whenever they did anything with Fraser, weird things started happening, and he could get into enough trouble on his own, thank-you-very-much.

He opened his eyes with a sigh and sat back up at the desk. The forms wouldn't write themselves, and if Vecchio and Fraser took as long a lunch today as they had the day before (and the day before that, pointed out a petulant little voice in his head), he'd be starting on the other half of the forms as soon as he finished these.

He looked up at Vecchio's desk again and groaned. It had seemed like such a good idea to divvy things up. They were partners now, after all, and partners divvied up the work. It was an 'I'll-scratch-your-back-if-you-scratch-mine' kinda thing, everybody knew that. So why did it seem like Vecchio and Fraser were too busy scratching each others backs to worry about his?

The absurdity of that image suddenly hit him and he smiled slightly, only to fall back into a frown almost immediately. "Stupid Fraser," he muttered out loud, "Why doesn't he do some of the paperwork, he's the one who gets us dragged through the mud lickin' stuff anyway."

"Talking to yourself, bro?" Came a friendly voice above him.

Startled, he looked up. "Oh.... Hi, Frannie."

Francesca Vecchio slid into the chair just in front of his desk. "You're pouting," she informed him helpfully.

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Nuh-uh!"

"If you're not pouting, then what's this?" She placed one finger on his lower lip, shrieking delicately as he nipped at it playfully, growling. Ray felt his mood lift immediately and he grinned at her gratefully.

Ever since his return from his trip to the Northwest territories with Fraser, he had enjoyed a closer relationship with Francesca Vecchio. Without the strain of having to pretend to be brother and sister, their friendship had blossomed. Now, they were best friends, almost as close as he and Fraser, much to her brother's dismay, and she seemed to know exactly what to do to cheer him up.

"So, you feel like gettin' lunch?"

"Sorry." Frannie shook her head reluctantly. "I already went."

"Figures." He grimace, standing and stretching. "Let him finish the paperwork, I'm done."

Frannie stood too, squeezing his shoulder. "A little paperwork'll do him good," she agreed, winking mischievously. "I think I can find a little more for him, too."

Ray grinned at her again and kissed her on the cheek. "Thanks. Ya know, maybe today won't be so bad after all."

However, his hopeful and slightly more optimistic thoughts were dashed as he headed out the door, only to be knocked to the floor as a large white blur exploded into the precinct in a haze of fur and teeth.

"Argh! Gettitoff!"

"Ray, Ray, Ray..." came Fraser's slightly disapproving voice, "You really must learn to enunciate."

"Graff.... mmmfff," was all Kowalski managed, as he turned his head frantically to avoid Diefenbaker's over-eager tongue. He caught a glimpse of expensive navy blue slacks passing by to his left as Ray Vecchio strolled untouched to his desk.

"Only you would French kiss a dog, Stanley," Vecchio remarked snidely as he sat down and shoved the pile of paperwork to the side.

"He's not a dog," Fraser argued mildly, making no move to help.

Kowalski, tired of waiting for assistance, reached up and, firmly placing his hands on either side of Dief's face, lifted his head slightly and glared directly into the wolf's large yellow-gold eyes. "Get-off-of-me-right-now!"

Dief gave a happy "whuff" and obliged, trotting over to Frannie's desk and gulping down the donut she offered him. Kowalski sat up, spluttering and wiping frantically at his saliva-covered face, his temporary good mood thoroughly ruined. Fraser handed him a paper towel.

"Anything happen while I was gone?" Vecchio asked, leaning back in his chair and running a hand over his shorn head.

"Yeah," Kowalski managed, still spitting away the evidence of Diefenbaker's enthusiastic greeting. "While you were out having a great time, I was stuck here doing paperwork. And don't expect me to help you when you're here until midnight finishin' yours."

"Anything else?" Vecchio prompted, irritatingly calm.

"Yeah," he grudgingly admitted, groping about for a tissue. "We got a call about a--jeez this SUCKS!--a haunted house."

"You should be flattered," Fraser told him, with something that sounded like envy in his voice. It took Kowalski a moment to realize he was talking about Dief. "He likes you. He liked you from the minute he saw you."

"No accounting for taste," Vecchio chimed in cheerfully, and Kowalski was hard-pressed not to slug him right then and there.

Fraser sighed a bit and shook his head in disapproval as Dief trotted around the precinct, accepting treats from anyone who offered. "He never licks me like that," he added, somewhat bewildered. "Well, except that one time, but he thought I was dead, and the relief--"

Kowalski interrupted with a rude snort, biting back a harsher retort. "Of course not, he knows better than to mess up your uniform."

"Yeah, but on you," Vecchio put in mischievously, "It hardly shows."

"Shut up, Vecchio," he snapped, feeling his emotions rapidly spiraling out of control. The casual and mostly playful remark caused his stomach to give an anguished twinge and his face to redden with an angry blush. "Who asked you?" He brushed self-consciously at his rumpled grey T-shirt and fur-covered black jeans. "I got my own style."

"Yeah, 'downtown slum.'" Vecchio smiled to take the sting out of his words, but Kowalski had lowered his burning face to his desk and didn't see it.

"Did you say 'haunted house'?" Fraser suddenly queried, in an obvious attempt to clear the air and start over.

"Huh? Oh..." Kowalski seriously considered telling Fraser exactly what he could do with his stupid peacemaking technique, but in the face of a full-blown 'big-eyed Mountie look,' relented. "Yeah," he sighed, the anger receding into a dull, painful ache. "That's what I said. Me an' Welsh think it could be one of two things. A: really clumsy robbers, or Two: an old lady with waaay too much time on her hands."

"What about option three?" Fraser asked calmly.

"And that would be-?"

"Ghosts."

Kowalski burst into humorless laughter. "Ghosts? Fraser, you are unhinged!"

"No, not that I'm aware of--"

"Fraser, there are no such things as ghosts."

Fraser just stared at him, and Kowalski's forced smile fell. "Are you telling me you believe in ghosts?"

Fraser hesitated, then answered carefully, "Shouldn't I?"

"No," Kowalski answered wearily. "Only freaks believe in ghosts."

"Well, you've told me I was a freak many times, Ray, so why shouldn't I believe in ghosts?"

Kowalski shrugged, unconcerned. "Whatever."

Lt. Welsh picked that moment to poke his head out of his office. "Vecchio!"

"Yeah," Kowalski answered, glad for the distraction, only to realize a split second later that his name was not Vecchio, Not anymore.... and that the other man had answered at the same time. Kowalski slouched down in his seat as Vecchio glared sharply at him, feeling his face slowly heating up. "Sorry," he muttered. He could see Fraser out of the corner of his eyes, staring thoughtfully at him but saying nothing.

"You too, Kowalski," Welsh added, graciously pretending he hadn't noticed. "Fraser too. And leave that dog out there."

"I'm sorry, Dief," Fraser sighed, rolling his eyes heavenward as Dief gave an affronted snort. "I'll speak with the leftenant later."

Kowalski stood slowly, trudging toward the lieutenant's office, wishing with all his being that this day would just end, already. And he hadn't even gotten any lunch.

"So, here we are," Kowalski chirped, pulling his black GTO to a stop in front of a large, rickety old house. "Let's go find some ghosts."

His mood had lightened considerably on the ride to the old house, after a series of lucky breaks. He'd won the finger-shoot to drive here, much to Vecchio's annoyance, and Diefenbaker had spent the whole ride practically in Vecchio's lap. I'll bet those pants are dry-clean only, too, he crowed privately. Vecchio would never again underestimate Kowalski's skill at 'Rock-paper-scissors.'

Fraser sighed as he exited the car, Diefenbaker at his heels. "I wish you wouldn't be so sarcastic, Ray. We really should investigate all angles."

"Oh come on, Fraser, ghosts? I'm sorry, but even you are not that much of a freak."

"Quit callin' him a freak, Kowalski, or I'll kick you in the head," Vecchio snapped. Apparently, Kowalski's volatile mood had been transferred to him.

"Just try it," Kowalski shot back, slamming the car door and strolling toward the front door. "There won't be enough left of you to fill a mayonnaise jar."

"Ray, please--" Fraser began, but Kowalski ignored him, reaching the front door and knocking three times loudly, sneezing as he was enveloped in a cloud of dust and cobwebs.

Vecchio gave a snort of laughter. "That look suits you," he told his partner, then turned to Fraser. "This place is incredible. Looks just like the old deathtraps in the movies."

"You're right, Ray," Fraser agreed from behind Ray, an odd tone in his voice. "It does have a certain cliched quality to it."

Kowalski sneezed again, just as the door gave a predictable creak and opened slowly, revealing a tiny old woman in a faded blue house dress. She grinned in relief when she saw the three men. "Oh, thank goodness you've come," she chirped, grabbing Kowalski by the arm. "Oh my," she said appreciatively, pausing in place and giving his bicep a squeeze. "Aren't we the bulky one?"

Kowalski paled. Aww, jeez....

"Yes, ma'am," Vecchio answered, obviously trying to hold back his laughter. "Detective Ray Vecchio, Chicago PD. I understand you're having a problem...?"

"Yes, yes," she nodded, dragging the hapless Kowalski inside. "I know you nice policemen don't normally deal with ghosts, but-"

She paused and looked Fraser up and down, noting the immaculate red serge and the bristling wolf at his feet. "You're not a policeman."

"Uh, no ma'am, I-"

"First came to Chicago on the trail of his father's killers," supplied Kowalski with a slight roll of his eyes.

"-And for reasons that don't need exploring at this particular juncture," Vecchio continued, distractedly eyeing the drafty interior of the house.

"-I have remained, attached as liaison with the Canadian consulate," Fraser finished, giving a curt nod and a slight tip of his ever-present Stetson.

"Oh," was the woman's only response. "Well... all right. Is this your dog?" She reached down to scratch Dief behind his ears, and Kowalski had to give the animal a sharp nudge with his foot to keep him from snapping at the poor woman.

"He's more of a wolf, actually," Fraser corrected politely.

She snatched her hand away, flying to relative safety on Kowalski's arm. "Oh dear!"

Dief growled menacingly at her, as if to emphasize the point.

Vecchio looked sharply at the wolf, then locked eyes with Kowalski. All kidding and all rivalry aside, something was definitely off. Kowalski himself didn't feel anything out of the ordinary, but Dief wasn't one to freak out over nothing, and both Fraser and Vecchio looked a bit spooked.

Kowalski cleared his throat and carefully extracted himself from the woman's grasp. "So, uh... ma'am...."

"Lorna," she corrected, batting rheumy eyes at him. "And what's your name, young man?

This time, Vecchio could not hold in his mirth. He pretended to cough.

"Oh, it's Ra--uhh... Stan."

"Stanley? I had a suitor named Stanley once," she told him, once again taking his arm and pulling him toward the kitchen. "Why don't I tell you about it over some tea?"

"Uhh, that really won't be necessary, Ma'am-"

"Oh, aren't you polite? I think you deserve the chamomile."

Kowalski tossed one frantic look over his shoulder, eyes begging for help, but he was ignored. He gulped once and then steeled himself for the inevitable. Why didn't the young and pretty ones ever fall for him?

"So," Vecchio said after a moment of uneasy silence.

"Indeed," muttered Fraser, eyes darting nervously about the room. Diefenbaker whined pitifully and Fraser glanced down at him, nodding slightly. "Yes, I agree."

"What did he say?" Vecchio asked, mentally questioning his own sanity for believing the wolf had said something in the first place.

"He said he doesn't like this place. He senses something...." Fraser paused, nose wrinkling slightly as if he smelled something rancid. Of course, knowing Fraser, he very well might. "Evil."

"Evil?" Vecchio swallowed convulsively, his heart pounding in his chest. "What do you mean, 'evil'?"

"You feel it too, don't you, Ray?" Fraser asked, though it sounded more like a statement than a question.

"Yeah," he admitted grudgingly, "I feel something, alright. You think... you think Kowalski's okay in there? They're awfully quiet."

Fraser shook his head wearily. "We really should've spoken to him before we came here. I fear he may be experiencing an acute sense of displacement."

"Yeah, you said so, at lunch."

"Yes, well, I think it may be even worse than I had thought. I had hoped the problem may have been alleviated after our long sabbatical in the territories, but it appears the trip only delayed the inevitable. And you certainly didn't help matters," he added reproachfully, "Making fun of his clothing the way you did."

"What, I was just kidding!"

"He didn't take it that way, Ray," Fraser pointed out grimly, "He was really very angry with you."

"Well, he wasn't too happy with Dief either," Vecchio pointed out, feeling suddenly defensive in the face of Fraser's observations. "Besides, he dresses like a street person, he should expect people to notice."

"I think he dresses just fine, Ray. And besides, Dief was only trying to cheer him up. He likes Ray, unlike some other people."

As they spoke, the two had been carefully walking around the room, observing, looking for anything out of the ordinary. So far, it looked just like any other very old, very spooky house, but the vague feeling of dread remained. Diefenbaker stayed close to Fraser, fur bristling and teeth bared, golden eyes somewhat panicked.

Vecchio let out a breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding and glared at Fraser's red-clad back. "I never said I didn't like the guy," he pointed out, "I like him just fine."

"You certainly don't act like it. I think you should tell him-" Fraser broke off in mid-sentence and picked up what looked like an antique gold candelabra. He sniffed it curiously, then stared off into space with a pout of concentration. "Hmm."

"Hmm? What does that mean, 'hmm'?"

"Hmm? Oh, nothing." Fraser put the candelabra down and wiped his hand on his pants, then looked somewhat shocked at what he'd done. "I... What was I saying?"

"Nothing," Vecchio said quickly, glad at the chance to avoid the rest of the lecture.

"My uniform, Ray, I--"

"It'll clean. So what did you find?"

"What? Oh... I don't know, it...." That curious pout was back, but Fraser's eyes looked wrong. "Strange.... Nothing I've ever smelt before... It felt... odd."

"Odd... how?" Vecchio was suddenly aware that the air in the room seemed to have gotten several degrees colder. Diefenbaker was snarling now, eyes dark and dangerous, but still not fixed on any particular spot in the room. Fraser's face had grown pale, his brow dotted with sweat despite the sudden chill, a noticeable tremor in his hands. His eyes were far away and unfocused.

"Something.... Not right, Ray.... Not...."

And then his eyes grew wide as they snapped into focus, widening with horror. "No!"

The flash of light was so bright that Vecchio was blinded for a moment. He heard an inhuman roar and then a very human scream of pure terror and anguish. "FRASER!"

But his own scream was lost as the light receded and he was enveloped in darkness.

"Wow, Peter, this is great!"

Peter Venkman rolled his eyes in amusement before turning back to Ray Stantz and placing a calming hand on his shoulder. "Ray, this is not great. 'Great' is a day at the beach, surrounded by nubile young co-eds. 'Great' is kicking back on the couch with a pizza and a beer to watch the Yankees beat the snot out of the Jaguars. This? This is not 'great'." Peter grinned at the younger man and slung an arm around his shoulder. "This is 'pretty okay,' at best."

"Really, Peter," scolded his blond colleague, Dr. Egon Spengler, pushing his sliding glasses back up onto his nose and peering at his ever-present PKE meter. "I think this will prove to be a very interesting case. True haunted houses are so rare these days; it should be a great opportunity to do some research."

"Everything's about research to you, isn't it, Spengs," Peter mock-complained, turning to their fourth colleague, Winston Zeddemore. "Tell him there's more to life than research, Zedd."

Zeddemore shook his head with a smile, but didn't remove his eyes from the road. "I am not gettin' into this, Pete, you're on your own," he declined as he expertly guided their moderated hearse, affectionately nicknamed 'Ecto-1,' down the highway toward Chicago.

"Aww...." Venkman stuck his tongue out at the older black man and then turned back to Stantz, who was practically bouncing in his seat with excitement. "Down boy, we're almost there," he teased, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. "Wake me when we get there."

"It'll be great, Peter, you'll see," Stantz grinned. "Besides, you'll get a chance to sample some real Chicago-style pizza!"

"Oooh, pizza!" came a sudden high-pitched voice from the trunk of the hearse, and a green blur shot up toward the front of the car and splattered slime all over the back of Venkman's brown jumpsuit. "Where pizza?" demanded the newly-revealed ectoplasmic stowaway, and four voices groaned in concert.

"SLIMER!"

Zeddemore gave a resigned sigh. "I wonder if we can find a hotel that'll accept pets?"

Ray Kowalski paced nervously outside the 27^th district's interrogation room, a forgotten cup of long-cold coffee clutched in his hands. Lt. Harding Welsh watched him, leaning against the wall with his hands shoved into his pockets, the illusion of calm only betrayed by the intense frustration in his eyes.

"Calm down," he told Kowalski quietly, but he knew it was useless. How could he expect Kowalski to calm down when he felt like screaming himself? It didn't make any sense. What could do that to a man; take every ounce of humanity in him and.... He shuddered involuntarily. That empty stare....

"Lieutenant?"

He jumped, muffling a curse. If Francesca Vecchio could come up behind him without him noticing, he must really be in bad shape. "Yeah, what?" he asked, too flustered to curb his rudeness.

"The Ghostbusters are here," she said unnecessarily, gesturing at the four men who stood just behind her.

Welsh looked them over critically, painfully aware of Kowalski's tortured gaze behind him. They didn't look like much, but they'd gotten here pretty fast and Huey seemed to believe they could help. Someone had to.

"Lieutenant Harding Welsh," he introduced himself, holding out a hand.

The one in brown stepped forward, giving him a firm handshake. "I'm Dr. Peter Venkman, and these are my colleagues, Dr. Egon Spengler--"

The blond one in red-rimmed glasses nodded smartly at him, fiddling with a weird looking gadget that looked like a walkie-talkie with antennae and blinking lights.

"Dr. Raymond Stantz--"

A slightly chubby young man with auburn hair and an eager grin waved, and Welsh forced himself to smile.

"And Dr. Winston Zeddemore."

"I'm not really a doctor," greeted the well-built black man who completed the quartet. "He just gets carried away."

Welsh sighed. "Yeah, whatever. This is Detective Stanley Kowalski, he was at the house when... during the incident."

Kowalski didn't speak. Welsh turned to see him leaning against the wall as if all strength had left his body. Francesca was speaking softly into his ear, his hand clutching hers tightly as if he feared she would vanish when he let go.

Welsh saw Venkman exchange a significant look with the blond Ghostbuster, and then he stepped forward, sympathetic green eyes locking with Kowalski's bloodshot blue.

"Can we go somewhere and talk?"

"I already told you, I didn't see anything."

Peter Venkman sighed slightly, mentally willing Kowalski to lift his eyes from the tabletop, but Kowalski had not looked at him once since they'd sat down in the interrogation room. Immediately upon seeing him, he'd been glad they'd convinced Slimer to lay low in Ecto-1's cargo space; it was obvious that the situation was far too intense to have to explain away Slimer's appearance on top of everything else.

He pushed the little green ghost out of his mind and concentrated on Kowalski. Judging from what the lieutenant had said, the injured Mountie was a good friend, and Kowalski was taking the incident very hard. So far, no one knew exactly what had happened, but Peter was sure that between the four of them, the Ghostbusters could puzzle it out and have everything back to normal by the end of the week.

Venkman leaned forward in his chair and placed his hands on the table, eyes flickering toward the one-way mirror on the far wall of the interrogation room, where he knew the lieutenant and the attractive civilian aide were watching and listening. "I understand that," he prodded gently, once again concentrating on Kowalski's bowed head and white-knuckled fingers, "but you were there, right?"

No answer.

"You were in the next room. Did you hear anything?"

"Heard him scream."

"Who?"

"Fraser." Slender fingers convulsed, and a small trickle of liquid splattered onto the table from the ruined Styrofoam cup now crushed in Kowalski's hands. "Didn't see it."

"What did you do?"

"Ran out there.... Vecchio was on the floor, and Fraser...." He looked up, finally. "Will he be okay?"

"Egon and Ray are with him now," Peter answered vaguely. He really had no idea what was up with the Mountie, but if anyone could figure it out, it was Egon and Ray. He said as much to the grim-faced detective. "Those two mad scientists could make a piece of cheese sing if they wanted to."

Kowalski's gaze dropped back to the table. "Oh."

Venkman took the opportunity to observe him more critically. There was an anger and exhaustion in him that Peter had recognized right away. The young detective was trying to be strong, but was failing miserably in the face of something he didn't understand. He was going to be a tough nut to crack, but if there was one thing Dr. Peter Venkman, eminent psychologist, was good at, it was cracking tough nuts.

"Stan," he said quietly, and those anguished brown eyes lifted and met his own. "I understand that you don't quite know what to say. It's frustrating that you didn't see what happened, and I know you're frightened for your partner-"

"Friend. He's my friend."

"Yeah. But look, he's in good hands now. Me an' the guys will catch this ghost. We'll figure out what it did to Constable Fraser, and we'll fix it. And then we'll put that thing away for good, so it can't hurt anyone else."

"How's Vecchio?" the man asked suddenly, his eyes back down to the table.

"Fine, he's fine. Just shook up a bit. He says he didn't see anything either."

"How could he not see anything," Kowalski burst out, rage exploding from him so suddenly that Venkman very nearly leapt out of his skin, his heart giving a fearful lurch and beating painfully out of his chest. "He was there, he was with him, how could he not see?!"

"I don't know, but I'm sure we'll find out," he answered with practiced calm, keeping his eyes level and cool. "I'm sure he had a reason."

"What kind of detective doesn't see anything? Geezus, he was right there!"

Venkman didn't say anything, merely watched as all the color drained from Kowalski's face, the rage melting from him like ice and replacing itself with despair and self-loathing. "I was right there...."

"Oh God...." Francesca lifted a trembling hand to the glass and rested it above Kowalski's image, while Lt. Welsh pursed his lips beside her and folded his arms across his chest. "No, Ray, don't blame yourself...."

"I knew it," Welsh mumbled irritably, pacing back and forth in the small observation booth. "I knew this was gonna get complicated. Jeez...."

"I'm going in there," Frannie declared suddenly, and started toward the door with determined strides.

"No!" Welsh grabbed at her arm, stopping her and pulling her back, turning her around and glaring into her hardened eyes. "No, Francesca, you leave this alone, you hear me?"

"But he needs me!"

"Your brother needs you. Go to him, and let Dr. Venkman handle this. He's a psychologist, remember? He knows what he's doing."

"But... but I-"

"Go to your brother, Francesca," he ordered, his voice gentle but unyielding.

Francesca turned once more to the one-way, and saw that Venkman had pulled a chair up next to Kowalski and had slung an arm around his shoulders, speaking quietly into his ear. Kowalski seemed to be listening, some of the tension gone from his posture.

"You see?" came Welsh's voice, whispered in her ear. "He's fine. Now go see about Ray."

Francesca sighed with resignation and steeled herself to go. "What room?"

"Interrogation room three."

She left him there, standing in brooding silence before the one-way, arms folded and eyes grim, as he watched over one of his own.

Interrogation room three was just down and across the hallway, so it didn't take her long to get there. She paused before the door, gathering herself together before she knocked tentatively.

The door opened a crack and suspicious brown eyes peered out at her before the door opened all the way and Det. Jack Huey waved her in with a weary lift of his hand. "C'mon in," he greeted her, ushering her in and closing the door behind her.

"Hi, Ray," Frannie said softly, her heart sinking as she laid eyes on her older brother. The doctors had wanted him to remain hospitalized another night, but he had refused, checking himself out as soon as his hands were steady enough to hold a pen. Now he was hunched over in his chair, his face a pasty grey and with dark circles under his eyes. He looked painfully thin, and his hands still held a visible tremor. Completing the pitiful image, Diefenbaker sat at his feet, whining softly, his head resting on his paws.

"Hiya, Frannie," Ray managed, but his voice was hoarse and weak. He reached out a hand to her and she took it, sliding into the seat next to him.

"So what happened, Ray? You look terrible," she added, forcing a quick smile and bending down to place a soothing hand on Diefenbaker's head. The wolf reacted, lifting his face to her and licking her fingers gently before sinking back down into his depression.

Ray smiled back, though it was more a stretching of lips than a true smile. "I got zapped by a ghost, Frannie, you don't exactly bounce back."

"...Zapped...?"

"Yeah." He looked back down at the table, at his fisted hands. "After it did... whatever it did... with Fraser, it came at me. Felt like it just drained all the energy out of my body. Doctor said I'd lost over ten pounds."

So it wasn't impossible. He had lost weight.

"What exactly did it do to Fraser?" she prodded, but Ray just shook his head. Huey spoke up in his stead.

"He says he doesn't know. Bright light, blinded him."

"But you heard him," Frannie guessed, feeling her throat close up.

"Yeah," Ray confirmed wearily. "I heard him." He looked back up then, worry coming into his eyes. "Where's Kowalski?"

"He's with one of the Ghostbusters. The cute one."

Vecchio made a face, rolling his eyes. "And that would be...?"

"She probably means Dr. Venkman," Huey answered, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Winston tells me he's a real ladies' man."

"Winston?" Frannie asked, grateful for a slight diversion.

"Yeah, the black one."

"Oh, okay." Then she looked embarrassed. "Not that I noticed... that he was black... as opposed to... not noticing... I mean...."

"Let it go, Frannie, before you really screw up," Ray advised, and Frannie shut her mouth, recognizing the wisdom in his words.

Peter Venkman stepped into Chicago Memorial Hospital, smiling politely at the elderly couple who passed him on their way out, staring suspiciously at his uniform. "Exterminators, Ma'am," he told them, turning on the charm full-blast. "Don't mind me, just visiting a friend." The woman pressed closer to her husband and they hurried away from him, casting worried glances over their shoulders all the way. Peter sighed, shaking his head slightly. He missed New York. At least there, when people stared at them, it was usually in admiration.

"Hey, Pete," came a slightly raised voice to his left, and he turned to see Winston Zeddemore coming toward him.

"Hey, Winston," he greeted, "Are the mad scientists in with the Mountie?"

"Yeah. Where's Kowalski?"

"Parking. I think I got him pretty calmed down. We dropped Vecchio home and then came straight over."

"The dog?"

"With Vecchio. They figure anything out yet?"

"I think Egon's got a hunch, but you know how he gets. He won't say anything until he's sure. Did Huey come with you?"

"No, he's back at the precinct. He's an old friend of yours?"

"Yeah, we met at a convention a few years back and we've been writing letters. We always said we should get together here in Chicago, but I wish it hadn't been like this." Winston shook his head regretfully. "I feel like I know these guys, you know?"

"This job is definitely gonna be rough," Peter agreed, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Winston recognized the look and sighed in resignation, asking the expected question. "Why's that?"

"Because we've got three guys named Ray."

"Just call me Kowalski, most people do," said a voice from behind them, startling the two Ghostbusters. "You're Winston, right?" Kowalski asked, holding out a hand. "I'm sorry, I wasn't payin' attention too good during the introductions."

"Winston Zeddemore," he confirmed, shaking the proffered hand. "And don't worry about it. You ready?"

Kowalski nodded determinedly. "Has Fraser come out of it yet?"

"No," Winston answered grimly as they started toward the elevators. "But don't worry, he will."

The trio spent the trip upstairs in silence, each man lost in his own thoughts. Stan Kowalski stared up at the changing numbers above the doors, waiting intently for the elevator to reach its destination. Peter Venkman leaned casually against the back wall, surprisingly alert eyes fastened upon Kowalski's back. Winston Zeddemore watched Peter, lips curved up into a smile, amused at the way he had already taken the younger detective under his wing.

When the elevator gave a slight lurch, stopping at the sixth floor, the three piled out wordlessly, letting Winston lead the way to Constable Fraser's private recovery room. "They moved him out of the ICU a little while ago," he told the two other men in a hushed voice, "because physically, he's okay. Like Detective Vecchio, he lost a few pounds and they put him on an IV, but his breathing's been steady and his heart rate is fine. He's just... not there."

Kowalski shuddered a bit, but said nothing, following Zeddemore into the already full hospital room.

Egon Spengler and Ray Stantz looked up as the three entered, and Stantz smiled sympathetically at Kowalski. "Hi."

Peter nodded back. "Found anything?" he asked lightly, as Kowalski stepped up to the side of the bed as if in a trance.

"Residual traces," Egon answered. "At least a class 7, maybe an 8. I read more residuals than I did from Detective Vecchio and the wolf, however, so it stands to reason that there is some sort of lasting effect from the manifestation."

"Yeah," Stantz added, somewhat grimly, "He's not just reacting to seeing the ghost, Peter, it did something to him."

"Well, we knew that, didn't we?" Kowalski regarded the four Ghostbusters suspiciously, tearing his eyes away from Fraser's prone form.

"Not necessarily," Peter told him gently. "He could have simply retreated into himself. Some people have extreme reactions to a traumatic experience such as this one."

"Not Fraser," Kowalski disagreed firmly. He turned back to Fraser, noting with dismay how thin the Mountie seemed. Sure, they said he'd lost weight somehow, but he looked terrible. His skin was stark white, accented by dark circles underneath his eyes, and his usually vibrant blue eyes were open, pale and watery, staring at nothing. Kowalski gulped slightly. Had he looked this bad yesterday? And had it been just yesterday? The night had flown past almost without notice.

He thought hard, trying to remember the sequence of events that had brought him here.

"Fraser...."

"Are you alright, Detective?"

Kowalski jumped, started, and flushed bright pink. Somehow he'd been back in that house; forgotten where he was. Had he spoken out loud...? "I'm fine," he answered curtly, stepping away from the bed and folding his arms across his chest. "So what are you gonna do?"

The blond--Egon Spengler--opened his mouth to answer, but Venkman interrupted him. "We thought we'd go back to the house and take a look around. You can stay here, if you like-"

"Actually, Peter," Spengler interrupted, "I thought the detectives should visit the house with us."

Venkman looked at him in disbelief. "Have you lost your mind, Spengs? Detective Vecchio is in no shape to face that house again, and--" He broke off, glancing apologetically at Kowalski. "--and neither is he."

"Their input could be invaluable to this case, Peter," Spengler disagreed. "In fact...." He eyed the unmoving Mountie. "I believe we should request permission to take Constable Fraser with us as well."

"WHAT?!" Winston Zeddemore felt the word burst from his mouth before he could stop it. "Egon, we can't bring him, he's... ill."

"It would be logical to believe," Spengler explained, "that the ghost had a reason for targeting Constable Fraser. If he were to return to the house, the ghost may manifest again and we would be able to trap it."

"If it wanted Fraser, then why didn't it just follow him here," Kowalski challenged, blue eyes flashing.

"It could be bound to the house," Stantz answered eagerly, his face lighting up. "Wow, Egon, that's a great idea! I'll bet that's exactly it! Maybe it needed something from the Constable in order to break free!"

"It's possible, Raymond," Spengler confirmed, "But I'm unwilling to give a definite answer just yet. There is a chance of failure...."

"Tell you what, Egon, why don't we go to the house without them first," Winston suggested practically, "and take a look around. Then if what we find confirms your theory, we'll come back and get all three of them. Okay?"

Egon looked thoughtful at that. "All right, Winston, that's a logical plan. Does that meet with your approval, Detective Kowalski?"

Kowalski looked startled, as though he hadn't expected his opinion to matter. "I guess so, yeah. Okay." Then he looked down at Fraser, brows coming together in confusion. "But how're you gonna get him there?"

"It's likely that he will be able to walk with assistance," Egon told them. "He shows all of the classic symptoms of catatonia."

"But he's not catatonic," Peter put in knowledgeably. "I'm curious, but I'm pretty sure I don't wanna know what you're thinking, Spengs, especially if it involves a class 7 or 8."

"What's a class 7 or 8?" Kowalski asked hesitantly, eyes moving from one Ghostbuster to the next, resting finally on Peter Venkman.

"You don't wanna know, kid," came the vague answer. "Look, why don't you go down to the cafeteria and get a bite to eat? We'll head on over to the house and take a look around."

Kowalski sighed and nodded his assent. "Okay, yeah.... D'you think I could eat here? In the room, I mean?"

"Maybe a cold sandwich," Winston told him, "But you might want to ask a nurse first."

"Okay." Kowalski stepped away from the bed and joined the Ghostbusters as they left the small room. "Thanks for coming," he said quietly. "For helping us."

"Hey, it's no problem," Venkman assured him, throwing an arm easily about his shoulders. "It's what we do!"

Kowalski managed a thin smile.

"Wow, look at this place!" Ray Stantz grinned broadly as Ecto-1 pulled up in front of Lorna Peterson's home. "It looks just like the house in the late, late, late movie we saw the other night!"

"What was it called?" Winston thought for a moment, then grimaced as the title came to him. "Oh yeah, 'The Creepy House on Elm Street Terrace.' Worst movie I ever saw."

"Aw, it wasn't that bad, Winston," Ray pouted, and Slimer, who had been allowed out of the cargo space for 'just a little while,' stuck his tongue out at Winston.

"Yeah, not that bad," repeated the little ghost. "Slimer had fun!"

"That's because you ate twelve pizzas, Spud," Peter reminded him, and Slimer giggled, licking his lips as he remembered.

"Yeah, yummy pizzas!"

"Gentlemen, there is a great deal of power coming from that house," Egon reported, squinting down at the PKE meter's wildly reacting antennae. "This could be bad."

Peter rolled his eyes and sighed loudly as he stepped out of the car. "How bad is 'bad,' Spengs? Are we talking about another giant Twinkie? Slimer, stay in the car."

"Aww," protested the potato-shaped ghost, but he obeyed, slinking back to the cargo space and disappearing out of sight.

"I hate giant Twinkies," Winston muttered, following Peter to the front door.

"No, I don't believe we'll be dealing with a Twinkie this time, Peter," Egon answered, his eyes twinkling with amusement, "But it may very well be... a larger-than-average Ho-Ho."

"Oooh, Ho-Hos. Those are even better," Peter deadpanned as he raised his hand to knock. No sooner had he finished coughing, the door creaked open, and Lorna stood looking out, her eyes moving hopefully from one man to the next.

"Stanley?"

"Hello, ma'am," Peter greeted her as smoothly as he could with dust and cobwebs still covering his uniform, "We're the Ghostbusters, and we're here to investigate your problem. May we come in?"

"Stanley didn't come?" She seemed to pout a bit as all four men shook their heads 'no.' She sighed. "Oh well. Come in anyway. Is poor Stanley alright? He was so upset when he left here before...."

"He's fine, ma'am," Ray assured her, "He's at the hospital--"

She gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. "The hospital! Oh no! Is he--"

"No, no ma'am," Ray corrected her hastily as Peter and Winston hid chuckles behind their hands, "He's just visiting with Constable Fraser!"

"Oh, yes," she nodded, immediately calming down.

"Man," Peter whispered to Winston, unable to wipe the grin from his face. "She's got it bad for poor ole Stanley. I'll bet he's got a friend in her for life!"

Egon nudged Peter sharply in the side with his elbow, then gestured with his PKE meter, ignoring Peter's dirty look. "Ms. Peterson, would you allow us to take a look around the house?"

"Yes, please do. We can't have anyone else falling victim to any ghosts, can we?"

"I'd like to ask you some questions about the ghost if I might," Peter suggested. "Would you mind, Ma'am?"

"Oh no, not at all!" She took his arm, pleased. "Why don't you come into the kitchen. I was showing Stanley my teacup collection. He's such a nice young man."

"Sure is," Peter nodded agreeably. "But about that ghost-"

"I once had a suitor named Stanley," the old woman bragged, and Peter sighed to himself, shooting a look back at Winston.

Winston grinned, turning to Ray Stantz. "He's just annoyed 'cause she's not falling for his charms," he whispered mischievously.

"Yeah, she's only got eyes for Stan Kowalski!"

"If you gentlemen would join me over here," Egon called suddenly from across the living room, his voice slightly disapproving, "I believe I have found the focus of the ghost's power."

Ray's face lit up. "Already? What is it?"

Egon pointed the PKE meter at an antique gold candelabra, and the meter jumped into life, antennae waving frantically, lights blinking on and off. "This artifact is giving off residuals of at least a class 7, possibly a class 8 demon."

"Man," Winston grumbled, looking around nervously. "I hate demons."

"Wow, this is great," Ray burst out, peering excitedly at the meter. "I'll bet you were right, Egon, I'll bet Constable Fraser touched it. Check it for his biorhythms!"

Egon did, and gave a short nod. "Yes, Raymond, Constable Fraser has, in fact, been in contact with this artifact. Hmm...." His glasses slid down his nose and he pushed them back up impatiently. "Most likely, the demon was unable to manifest until someone unwittingly set it free--by handling this candelabra."

"But I've touched it before," Lorna said suddenly from behind them. All three men jumped, startled.

Ray Stantz recovered quickest. "Ma'am, did anything... odd... happen when you touched it?"

"Odd?" She questioned, looking a bit lost.

"You know," Peter clarified from her side, "The room might have gotten colder, or maybe you felt eyes watching you from behind... maybe the lights flickered...."

Lorna thought hard about that. "Well, yes, as a matter of fact! Most times when I felt there was a ghost around, it was after I'd been cleaning, and had touched that candelabra. How very frightening! I thought it was merely an annoyance, or a curiosity.... You mean all this time, it could have done to me what it did to that poor Mountie?"

"No, I doubt that, Ma'am, or it would have already done it," Egon told her, and she went pale. Obviously, this was not a comforting realization.

"Well...." She struggled for words. "What do we do now?"

"We are going to make this ghost wish it had never tangled with us," Peter bragged, giving her a saucy wink. "You, on the other hand, are going someplace safe." He put an arm gently around Mrs. Peterson's frail shoulders and guided her back toward the kitchen. "Do you have some family you can stay with or a while, or should we get you a nice motel room?"

"I'll bet she wants to stay with Kowalski," Ray whispered into Winston's ear, and the other man nearly burst a blood vessel trying not to laugh.

Stan Kowalski barely looked up as the Ghostbusters filed back into Benton Fraser's hospital room. "So.... We goin', then?"

"Yes," Egon confirmed. "I believe we have located the source of the being's powers, and most likely, Constable Fraser's presence is required to flush it out."

"Yeah," Ray Stantz agreed. "I tried to touch it too, but nothing happened."

"Thank God," Peter retorted, glaring at Stantz. "How many times do I have to tell you--quit touching evil artifacts!"

"Aww, Peter...."

"Evil artifacts?" Kowalski looked around at them this time. "What?"

"There's a candelabra in that house that's the source of the ghost's power," Winston explained. "We're pretty sure Constable Fraser touched it, and that's why the ghost was able to get to him."

Kowalski looked doubtful. "So why didn't anything happen when you touched it?"

"We're not sure of that yet," Egon admitted reluctantly. "At any rate, we've already spoken to the hospital administration, and they have agreed to release the Constable into our custody."

"Okay, then...." Kowalski stood, his blue eyes sharpened to a flinty grey. "Let's get this show on the road."

It was Friday, late afternoon, and the sun was just beginning to fall below the horizon. Two cars pulled up to Lorna Peterson's house. The first--a converted hearse with a screaming siren--held four Ghostbusters, while the second--a vintage black GTO--carried two police detectives, a wolf, and a semi-conscious Mountie.

"You okay, Vecchio?" Stan Kowalski asked quietly as he parked the GTO in the long, winding driveway.

"Yeah," Vecchio answered weakly, sitting up from where he'd been leaning heavily against the door. "Just a little tired."

"You didn't have to come," Kowalski reminded him. "I still say you shoulda stayed home and gotten some sleep."

"How can I sleep?" the older man shot back, studiously avoiding the urge to check on the Mountie in the backseat. "I don't know what the hell's going on here.... How're they gonna fix this?"

"I don't know," Kowalski admitted, opening his door and stepping out into the darkening air. "But I know they will. I can just feel it. Everything's gonna work out." He opened Fraser's door and took hold of his arm. "C'mon, Benton-Buddy, time to get out. Pitter-patter, let's get at'er."

With some more coaxing and a bit of pushing and pulling on Kowalski and Diefenbaker's parts, Fraser was out of the car and standing quietly in the street, his face blank and his arms hanging limply by his side.

"Dief," Kowalski ordered, "watch Vecchio. I'll take care of Fraser."

Diefenbaker gave a whine of assent and nudged Vecchio's leg with his head, pushing him toward the house. "Okay, okay," Vecchio mumbled, voice somewhat slurred. "I can walk on my own."

The four of them joined the Ghostbusters as they stood at the door, proton packs at the ready. The house seemed to moan in anticipation as Fraser approached, and the seven others felt the hairs on the back of their necks raise. Diefenbaker growled, stepping closer to Vecchio's side, while Kowalski's hand tightened fractionally on Fraser's arm.

Egon Spengler turned to face them, his lips pursed. "Ready?"

They all nodded, and Peter stepped forward, unlocking the door with the key Lorna had given them.

All hell broke loose.

Afterward, none of the participants' accounts of the incident would match. They all ended the same way, and it was enough for the police report and the death certificate, but there were a lot of questions, regardless. Ray Vecchio had these questions on his mind as he sat at his desk on Monday morning, staring blankly at the pile of paperwork in front of him.

He was well aware of the sympathetic stares of his coworkers and the whispered conversations that stopped the second he came within earshot, but it didn't mean much to him. He didn't feel a thing. He supposed it was shock. He had to be in shock. Surely, one should feel something when one's partner was dead.

Vecchio glanced at Lieutenant Welsh's office, where behind the closed door, the Ghostbusters were completing the last of their statements. The official statements had already been made, but he suspected Welsh had a few personal questions about the whole thing. Despite his gruff demeanor, the lieutenant had been rather fond of Ray Kowalski, and he wouldn't be satisfied with the sketchy explanations that had ended up on paper.

Ray tore his eyes away from the closed blinds of Welsh's office and looked toward the doorway of the precinct, wondering if Benny would be coming in. He had seemed a bit shaky after it was all over, but who could blame him. His eyes fell upon Francesca, sitting quietly at her desk, staring blankly at the computer screen. Her hair was pulled back, and her black clothing only accented how pale her face had become. He didn't think he would ever forget the look on her face when they had told her Kowalski was dead. She may be annoying, but she was his little sister, and it tore at him to see her in such pain.

He hadn't been pleased at her close relationship with Kowalski. They were so close, in fact, that they were practically dating, and he most definitely did not want them dating. Her crush on Fraser was bad enough, but Kowalski?

He had to admit, however, that Kowalski had been a grood friend to her, and they'd had a lot of fun together. It would be hard for her to let him go.

He must have been staring at her rather intently, for she looked up and into his face with wide, liquid eyes. He managed a weak smile and mouthed 'okay?' She just shook her head and dropped her tear-filled eyes back down to the desk. Vecchio gave a weary sigh and looked away--directly at Ray Kowalski's empty chair and the forms that still sat, unfinished, in his in-box.

Kowalski had managed to finish most of his half of the paperwork before... he'd been interrupted... but Vecchio hadn't even started his. And now he'd have to finish Kowalski's too, plus the forms from that stupid haunted house case. Vecchio sighed in resignation. He might as well get his work done while he was still numb, it would only be harder to concentrate once it hit him.

He picked up his pen and started writing, his mind wandering back to the ruins of that house, and to the man who lay buried beneath its rubble.

The door didn't creak open this time, it burst off its hinges and flew inward, swept up in the winds that blew up out of nothingness from the inside. Peter Venkman gave a startled screech as he was lifted from the ground and dragged inside, and Egon Spengler grabbed hold of him, trying to hold him back, only to be pulled along with him. The winds were tornado-strength, forming a hurricane in the middle of Lorna Peterson's spacious living room, and at the eye of that storm stood the golden candelabra, pulsing with energy and light.

All eight of them were yanked inside, and as the door slammed shut behind them, the wind ceased, dumping them to the floor in an unruly heap. Ray Vecchio grunted, struggling to pull himself out from the bottom of the pile, and looked up, only to freeze in wonder and horror as he laid eyes on the evil demon for the first time.

"Holy shit," he heard Kowalski mutter from somewhere to his left, and for once, he agreed wholeheartedly with the younger detective.

The being was over eight feet tall, and resembled a white mist that rolled and pulsated just above the floor. An unholy light seemed to glow from the center of it, and with every pulse of light, its shape would change. He thought it might look like a cloud if it didn't have those weird silver eyes. Glowing, evil eyes that were now fixed upon the unmoving form of Benton Fraser.

"Hey!" he shouted hoarsely, "Leave Benny alone!" And the thing slowly turned those eyes upon him. Once again, he felt as if all the strength was being drained from his body. With a groan and a gasp, he sank back down to the floor, his head pounding.

"Ray? Oh, shit, Vecchio, you okay?" Kowalski was talking to him, but he couldn't answer.

"He's alright," came Egon Spengler's terse and whispered answer, "Just drained. Don't look into its eyes."

Vecchio felt hands on him, lifting him to his feet and moving him. He forced his eyes open with effort, and Kowalski smiled thinly at him as he and Spengler dragged him to the side, propping him against the wall.

"Stay here," Kowalski ordered. He glanced back toward the beast, and his eyes widened briefly as he saw an arm-like appendage slowly extend from the demon's bulk, beckoning to the hapless Mountie who merely stood and stepped forward calmly, a lamb to the sacrifice.

"No...." Vecchio whispered, barely able to move his lips now, "Don't let it get Benny...."

"Don't worry," Spengler answered for him, his voice grim, "We won't."

Spengler turned away, and at a signal from Ray Stantz, all four Ghostbusters raised their proton guns and fired at the demon, just as it reached out to caress the Mountie's stoic face. It shrieked in shock and agony, yanking back that wispy tendril, and Kowalski shot into action, leaping forward and grabbing Fraser about his middle, dragging him back and away from the writhing demon.

The demon let out a roaring scream and light exploded from it, repelling the proton beams and sending the Ghostbusters to the floor, their jumpsuits singed and smoking. It roared again, and that transparent tentacle, crackling with white lightning, shot out, reaching right through Ray Kowalski, who jerked and stiffened before he was thrown to the side, his head impacting with an audible thud against the wall. His body slid to the floor and lay still. Fraser jerked as he was enveloped in that crackling whiteness, his eyes widening and a gasp escaping his mouth.

Francesca Vecchio blinked rapidly to clear away her tears. The computer terminal in front of her was blurring, and there was no way she could finish her work this way. There were criminals to be caught, there was justice to be served....

A strangled sob escaped her throat and she clamped down on it, hard, her hand flying to her mouth.

She felt an intense stare upon her and she looked up, across the room, directly into her brother's eyes. He looked a question at her and she could only shake her head, defeated, before dropping her gaze once more. She could feel his sigh as clearly as if she'd seen the heave of his shoulders, or felt the breath leave his lips. He may be a jerk sometimes, but he'd always been her big brother when it counted. She could count on him for support.

She heaved a sigh of her own and glared determinedly at the flickering monitor. No way was she taking time off like Welsh wanted her to. At least the work would help her keep her mind away from what she had lost. It had been a long time since she'd had such a close friend, and it had been a shock when that person turned out to be Ray Kowalski, but he had proved himself to be great company. His surprisingly gentle manner and naughty sense of humor kept her entertained at work and after hours, and she had truly treasured the time spent with him. In a very short time, he had become one of the most important people in her life, and now....

The words on the screen blurred over again with her tears.

"Yessss...." the demon hissed, and it drew closer to Fraser, opening a mouth filled with razor sharp teeth and breathing in deeply, lapping at the bluish mist that was rising from Fraser's body.

Diefenbaker let out a pain-filled howl and leapt forward, only to hit an invisible wall surrounding the demon and its prey, bouncing off to land on the floor, where he lay still, panting and whining.

"Egon," Peter Venkman yelled, struggling to be heard over the rising winds. "What the hell's it doing? Why didn't the beams work?"

"It's too strong," Egon yelled back, frantically making adjustments to his proton pack and motioning for Ray Stantz to do the same. "It's feeding off of him, gaining strength! We've got to cut it off, it's the only way we can defeat it!"

"Cut it off how," Winston shrieked, fighting to get closer to the demon. "It's locked him in, we can't get to him!" He fired a short burst at full-stream and, sure enough, it merely bounced back at him, forcing him to throw himself to the floor to avoid being fried.

"Maybe you can't," came a familiar voice from somewhere behind them. "But I can."

Vecchio dropped his head onto his desk. "Shit..." he muttered, letting the pen roll from his fingers. "It just hit me."

"Did you just ask me to hit you, Ray?"

Vecchio looked up, smiling slightly as he met Benton Fraser's tired blue eyes. "Hiya, Benny. No, I didn't. Siddown."

"Ah. Thank you." Fraser sat down slowly in the chair in front of Vecchio's desk, wincing slightly as his sore muscles protested the movement. "What did you say, then?"

"I said it just hit me. What happened."

"Oh." Fraser flinched, and Vecchio was immediately sorry he'd mentioned it.

"So...." They sat in uncomfortable silence for a long moment. "How's Dief?" he asked, glancing down at the listless wolf who lad lain down at Fraser's feet.

"He's alright," came the quiet answer. "He hasn't had much of an appetite."

"Are you alright?"

"No."

Winston Zeddemore whirled around, mouth falling open as he saw who had spoken. "What the hell-?"

Ray Kowalski had gotten to his feet and was standing without fear behind them. His eyes were glowing a fierce blue.

Egon Spengler let out a choked gasp and dropped his PKE meter as it begin to squeal, smoke rising from it in a sudden burst of sparks. "Who... what are you?!"

Kowalski just smiled.

"Spengs... what are you talking about," Peter Venkman asked hesitantly, "and why is he glowing like that?"

"Class 13," Spengler answered in a hushed whisper. "He's reading as at least a class 13 benevolent specter."

"Tibias!" Kowalski stepped forward again, moving through the invisible force field as though it didn't exist. "Let him go."

The demon turned and it gasped, the tentacles dropping away from Fraser's still body. "Nooo," it seemed to hiss, and fear flickered in those hard, silver eyes.

"Oh, yes," Kowalski teased, stepping ever closer. "You've been a baaad boy, haven't you? Terrorizing nice old ladies and trying to eat my friends."

The demon seemed to gulp. "Why do you choose this vessel," it demanded desperately, gesturing at Kowalski's slim form and spiky blond hair. "It is hardly worthy of your great power...."

Kowalski glared at the beast, unafraid. "I have chosen this form carefully. You dare to question my judgement?"

"N-no... no, of course not! I merely-"

"You have overstepped your bounds, Tibias." Kowalski's voice grew louder, deeper. The glow surrounding him increased, and the Ghostbusters had to turn away. Ray Vecchio never saw it. He had lost consciousness not long after Kowalski left his side.

The demon's eyes narrowed, and it hissed, suddenly angrily. "I have overstepped nothing," it snarled, the fear evaporating from it and becoming replaced by contempt. "You have become weak in your new form. You have chosen to love these creatures, and for that, I will kill you."

Ray Kowalski's eyes narrowed and his lips thinned into a determined smirk. "You can try."

Benton Fraser blinked hard, holding back the tears that rose to his eyes by sheer force of will. It wasn't fair. None of it was fair. He shouldn't have had to die... not that way.

Ray Vecchio was watching him. He turned away, unwilling to see the pity in those light green eyes. He could feel the other gazes on his back from all over the room, but he ignored them. They didn't know, didn't understand. Ray Kowalski had died saving him, and he didn't know if he would ever be able to forgive himself for that. He didn't deserve their sympathy.

Fraser came back to awareness slowly. His entire body was stiff, and he found it hard to move. His eyelids felt heavy, and his mind was fuzzy, as if he were feverish. That confused him. He didn't remember being sick. The last thing he did remember was going to lunch with Ray Vecchio, and leaving the restaurant to return to the precinct. Everything after that was a blank.

He concentrated on dragging himself out of the fog. He likened the sensation to swimming upwards through gelatin, although that was purely an imaginary comparison. He had never had the opportunity to swim through gelatin, but he thought it might actually be a pleasant experience. He reminded himself to ask Ray Kowalski about it later. Not that Ray Kowalski had ever swum through gelatin, as far as he knew, but he had seen an interesting package in his kitchen cabinet... lime flavored gelatin. And hadn't Ray once said that he would "try anything"?

Fraser forced his thoughts back in line, fighting the urge to giggle. Not that he could have giggled anyway, that would take lung capacity that he didn't think he had at the moment.

As awareness grew, he realized that he was hearing something strange from nearby. It sounded like some sort of battle. Curiosity overwhelmed his fatigue and he forced his eyes open, struggling to a sitting position and willing his blurry sight to clear up. "Ray...?"

They were in a large house, that much was obvious right away. Its walls and floors were of a fine hardwood, but it had been worn with age. At present, the furnishings were blocked from sight by what looked to be a large white cloud in the middle of the room.

He narrowed his eyes at that, and an uneasy buzz churned in his already unsettled stomach. He realized with a small amount of shock that he was afraid of the cloud, even though he could think of no logical reason why. Perhaps it had something to do with that blank spot in his memory....

He catalogued the room in one quick sweep of his eyes. Four men he immediately recognized as the infamous Ghostbusters were scattered about the room, huddled on the floor, squinting into the swirling winds and crackling lightning of the angry white cloud. Ray Vecchio was slumped unmoving against the adjourning wall, eyes closed. Diefenbaker was in a similar state, lying on his side a few feet away.

He turned his eyes back to the writhing white cloud and squinted into its milky depths. He could see someone standing there, and in the midst of the battle sounds--the shouts, the thunderous clashes of lightning, and the roaring of the wind--he recognized a familiar spiky-haired form. "Ray...?"

That was Ray Kowalski, wasn't it? But what was he doing? Why weren't the Ghostbusters helping him? He had assumed from their presence that this white cloud was a ghost, so the fact that Kowalski was fighting it was rather illogical. His misgivings were banished as Kowalski raised his hands above his head and sent a burst of blue light into the very depths of the demon's bulk, and it let out a horrific scream as the blueness slowly enveloped it.

The winds increased, and Fraser was forced to curl up into a ball, protecting his face with his arms. He was immediately reminded of something Kowalski had once said about shoot-outs. "You know what that's like, ya hunker." Well, he hadn't really known at the time, but he presumed he did now. Of course, this wasn't a shoot-out, but Kowalski was always complaining about i's and t's anyway, so perhaps that one little difference wouldn't have mattered to him.

The demon was shrinking slowly, still screaming, and Ray Kowalski stood strong and unmoved in the face of its fury. The winds whipped around him, throwing his hair into further disarray, but he didn't flinch. He stood, arms held high, eyes narrowed with an intense glare as he directed all of his power at the demon.

Suddenly, the blue light was joined by four streams of blinding white. The Ghostbusters had regrouped and were now adding the power of their proton guns to the battle. It was too much for the demon. With one final shriek, it vanished into nothingness, sucked back into the golden candelabra, which then imploded into itself with a quiet "piff." The house was still.

Everything was quiet. No one moved, no one spoke. Kowalski slumped, arms falling to his sides, his face blank, the glow around him seeming to dissipate into thin air. Fraser swallowed convulsively, not sure that his voice would work, but needing to speak; needing to understand what had just occurred. "Ray...?"

Kowalski didn't answer. His thin form seemed to shudder convulsively, and he fell to his knees, the strength going out of his body all at once.

"Ray...?" Fraser forced himself to his feet, barely noticing as Peter Venkman slipped an arm around his waist, helping to support his wobbly legs.

Kowalski turned toward him, eyes bleary, voice soft and weak. "Fraze... you okay?"

"Yes," he answered, stepping closer. "I'm fine, Ray. Are you hurt?"

Kowalski nodded slightly. "Yeah...." He coughed convulsively, blood bubbling out from between his lips and trickling from the corners of his mouth.

Alarmed, Fraser leapt forward, stumbling on still-shaky legs. Only Venkman's strong support kept him upright. "My God, Ray! We've got to get you to a hospital!"

Kowalski shook his head, wrapping his arms around his sides and shuddering again. "No. Get out...."

"What do you mean, get out?" Venkman stepped closer to him, unsettled by the sudden weakness in the other man's posture.

"You've got to leave... now." He gave one last shudder and his arms fell from his sides as he toppled forward bonelessly, sprawling facedown on the floor.

"Ray!" Fraser lunged at him, reaching, only to snatch his hand back as Kowalski's body burst into flames. "No!"

Venkman swore and yanked him backwards, ignoring his struggles and protests.

"No... Ray!"

"Come on, Constable!" Venkman was yelling in his ear. "We've got to get out of here!"

"Ray...!" The house was rapidly being consumed by flames. Winston Zeddemore had gathered Ray Vecchio into his arms, Ray Stantz was doing the same with Diefenbaker, and both men were already running for the door. Egon Spengler joined Peter Venkman at his side, dragging him away from the body already reduced to ashes right before his eyes. "No... we have to--"

"It's too late for him!" Spengler was screaming in his ear, trying to be heard over the roaring flames.

Then he was outside, trapped between them. The house collapsed inward in a burst of flame and debris, and Fraser knew nothing more.

Fraser blinked rapidly, but this time, he was unable to stop the tears that splashed out of his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. "Aww, Benny...." He heard Ray Vecchio's sympathetic sigh, and he buried his face in his arms, shuddering deeply and trying to keep his shoulders from shaking with his sobs. He felt Vecchio's callused hand fall on his shoulder, and he accepted the contact, drawing strength from it even as guilt screamed at him to pull away, to leave the precinct and never return.

Someone came up behind him and stood quietly. It wasn't Francesca, he would have recognized her footsteps. This was someone he didn't know--the footfalls were unfamiliar. He struggled to control himself, lifting his head fractionally and wiping the tears from his face. He wouldn't be able to hide his red and swollen eyes, so he didn't attempt to. He turned and faced Peter Venkman, head held high. "Dr. Venkman," he greeted coolly, his voice thick.

"Constable," the man nodded, his eyes sad. The other three Ghostbusters came to stand behind him, their faces grim and sympathetic. "I'm sorry," Venkman told him. "Kowalski... he was a good guy."

"Yes, he was," Fraser agreed. "I... I'll miss him.... he taught me a lot."

"That's funny," Venkman said with a thin smile. "He told me the same thing about you."

"Did he?" Fraser gave a tiny smile of his own. "I never thought he listened."

"If you're thinking of those crazy Inivit stories he said you always tell, he ignored those."

"Inuit," he corrected automatically, the smile becoming more genuine as he imagined Kowalski baiting him with similar mispronunciations. Venkman was a lot like him.... "They were Inuit stories."

"Whatever," Venkman shrugged. "He was... he was worried about you."

"We all were," Vecchio put in, placing a hand on Fraser's shoulder. "We're... we're glad you're okay, Benny."

Fraser shrugged off the hand, standing abruptly. "At what cost, Ray?"

He realized he'd spoken too loudly. Everyone in the room had turned and they were all looking at him. Ray's face had gone pale. "I... I'm sorry...." He had to get out. He couldn't stand to be here anymore, couldn't face them. "I'm sorry, Ray...."

He turned, pushing his way through even as Winston Zeddemore stepped before him, holding up a hand to stop him. Have to get out.... Dief... Where's Dief...? An arm reached out for him... and someone screamed.

Frannie had finally managed to get herself under control and was looking up a license plate for Detective Dewey when it happened. Fraser had come in a few minutes earlier, looking about as bad as she felt. He didn't nod a greeting at her the way he usually did, instead heading to her brother's desk with slow, determined steps. His broad shoulders were slumped, his mouth downturned.... Diefenbaker trailed behind him, tail between his legs, even ignoring a donut offered to him by one of the Sergeants. Fraser had sat there for a moment with Ray, having a quiet conversation, and then he'd dropped his head to the desk, burying his face in his arms. Oh, how she'd wanted to run to him right then and there and cry with him, but it would have destroyed what little self-control she had managed to muster. Instead, she turned away, refusing to see the way his shoulders shook just slightly as Ray placed a sympathetic hand on one of those strong arms.

Her attention had been drawn there once again when the Ghostbusters stepped out of Welsh's office and joined the two men, Peter Venkman in the lead. Once more, soft words were exchanged, this time with slight smiles. Maybe they were remembering him, she decided.

Back to the terminal. She wet her lips, pushed some hair out of her eyes. What was this guy's name she was looking for? No, it was a plate, a license plate. God, she had to get her head together or Welsh would fire her just to get her out of the station.

The door to the precinct opened and out of habit, she glanced upward, only to freeze in shock as a tall, blond figure came into view. So achingly familiar....

Francesca screamed.

Ray Kowalski jumped, his hand flying to his chest as someone screamed the second he stepped into the precinct. "What-?" He began, and then he realized that the room was utterly still. Immediately, he tensed, eyes darting around. Was there a perp with a gun loose? Who the hell had just screamed? And why the hell was it so quiet?

He suddenly realized that they were all staring wide-eyed at him. Frannie, at her desk, half out of her seat, with tears rolling down her face; Ray Vecchio, skin utterly white, hands clenching the arms of his chair so tightly that his own arms trembled; and Fraser.... Fraser, in the middle of the room, looking as though he was not sure whether to run away from him or toward him. Diefenbaker gave a nervous whine, moving as if to charge him, then glanced up at Fraser and sat back, pressing closer to him, offering support.

He forced his muscles to relax and gave a nervous smile. "Uhh... hi. Is, uhh.... I got somethin' in my teeth?"

All hell broke loose. The crowd surged forward and Diefenbaker let out a joyous bark and lunged, knocking him clear off his feet and to the floor, licking him all over. Kowalski gave a grunt and a whimper, trying in vain to turn his face away. "Dief...! Gerroff!"

Simultaneously, Frannie fell to her knees next to them, pulling Diefenbaker away, and throwing herself into his arms. She was sobbing, her chest heaving with every breath, her hands tangled in his hair, clutching at him....

"Jeez...!" He held her tightly, struggling to a sitting position but unable to stand under the onslaught. "Frannie, what the hell's the matter with you?"

"God... oh my God...." She moaned the words into his ear, and the pain in her voice stopped him short. He felt his own throat tightening in sympathy, without even knowing exactly what the fuss was about.

"It's okay, Frannie," he soothed her, running his fingers through her hair. "Shh, it's okay...."

Diefenbaker danced away, tail wagging joyously as Ray Vecchio crouched down next to them. "Hey, Kowalski," he grinned, eyes shining suspiciously bright. "Where you been?"

"Uhh... home?" He looked around at all the eyes still upon him; up at Fraser, who still stood motionless a few feet away. "Am I that late?"

Vecchio's grin grew even wider. "Naw, you're not that late." He placed one hand on Frannie's back and the other on her arm, pulling her gently away. "C'mon Frannie, let him up. Give him a little room."

She backed off, but only a little. Only enough to let him stand, and then she was on him again, face buried in his shoulder. "God, Ray," she shuddered, and he let his hands rub up and down her back reassuringly.

"I thought you said he was dead, gentlemen." Four men he didn't know, but who looked vaguely familiar all the way down to their matching jumpsuits with the weird patches on the shoulders, stepped forward, a rather annoyed Lt. Welsh on their heels.

"He was," The auburn-haired one asserted, eyes wide with confusion.

Ray was about to protest this rather bald-faced lie when he was cut off. The blond in the glasses was frowning, pointing some sort of weird walkie-talkie thingie at him. "Hmmm."

"'Hmm'? What's 'hmm' mean?" the tall, brown-haired man asked, and Kowalski shot a grin toward Fraser. How many times had they themselves had that same exchange? But Fraser still didn't move. Didn't blink. Kowalski's grin faded.

"It means," the blond answered slowly, "That he shows no trace of having been in contact with a ghost at all."

"Ghost?" Kowalski burst out, rolling his eyes. "Come on, you can't be serious. There's no such things as ghosts."

Ray Vecchio sucked in a startled breath and the fourth, a well-built black man, looked sharply at him, eyes narrowing. "You mean you don't remember what happened? The haunted house, the candelabra... Constable Fraser...?"

"What about Fraser?" He was totally confused by now. It suddenly occurred to him who these men were. The Ghostbusters. He'd seen them on TV, but had thought it was all some sort of joke. After all, they were headquartered in New York, weren't they? And New York was a pretty strange place. But what were they doing here? And since when had he been dead?

"Ray...." Fraser spoke for the first time. He stepped forward hesitantly, eyes wide and wet. He cleared his throat, seeming to shake himself back into awareness. "You don't... you don't remember anything?"

"I remember goin' to bed last night and wakin' up this morning. That's plenty."

"What's today, Detective?" Welsh asked abruptly, seriously.

Kowalski was suddenly nervous. "Ummm... Wednesday?"

Welsh shook his head. "Nope. It's Monday. You died on Friday, which would explain why you can't remember it." Then he seemed to realize what he'd just said and shook his head, turning and heading back to his office. "God, I can't believe I just said that. I need a vacation." The door closed quietly behind him.

"It's.... Monday?" Kowalski looked around at all the eyes still upon him, then back into Fraser's shell-shocked face. "But... what?"

Ray Vecchio stepped forward, putting an arm around him and leading him to his desk. Francesca disentangled herself from him, but hovered near his side, her hand clutching his arm as though she was afraid he'd disappear. "Okay, here's what happened. Wednesday afternoon, while me and Benny were at lunch, you got a call about a haunted house, you don't remember that?" The rest of the crowd gathered around them, apparently as eager as he was to hear Vecchio's story.

"Umm... no."

"Well, you did. We got assigned to it, and the three of us went over there."

"To a... haunted house."

"Yeah."

"Okay...?" He looked around at Huey, who could only shrug and smile at him. Apparently, he didn't understand any of this either.

"Long story short, a demon was there, it attacked us, tried to eat Benny's soul, and knocked me out cold. You were in the kitchen at the time."

"Why?"

"Why were you in the kitchen?"

"Yeah."

"Because the old lady who lived in the house had a crush on you."

"What?!"

The brown-haired Ghostbuster snorted a laugh into his palm and the blond shot him a disapproving look. The other two Ghostbusters shared a secret smile. Kowalski made a mental note. He'd definitely have to ask about that later.

"Anyway, Huey said we should call the Ghostbusters, so we did, and they got here Thursday afternoon. Dr. Spengler decided we should go back over there, and take Benny with us, 'cause he was the key to catching the ghost, or something."

"Wait, why was Benny--I mean, Fraser--why was he the key?"

"'Cause he'd touched the candelabra. You gonna let me tell this or not?"

"Yeah, okay." Kowalski sat back, still utterly confused, but content to let Vecchio finish his story. Maybe Fraser could explain it better later. He snuck a glance at said Mountie, and was shocked to see how pale he was. Apparently having his soul nearly eaten was wearing on Fraser. Another mental note.

"Okay, so the eight of us-"

"Eight?"

"You, me, Benny, Dief, and the Ghostbusters. That's eight."

"Oh, right."

"The eight of us went in there, and the thing zapped me again when I tried to stop it from finishing Benny off."

"The soul thing...?"

"Yeah. So it's there munching on Benny's soul when the Ghostbusters hit it with those gun things they have--"

"Proton guns," The blond man supplied helpfully, and Vecchio shot him an impatient look before continuing smoothly.

"--With their proton guns, only that just made it mad. And I don't know much after that 'cause I... well, I was hurt."

"He fainted," Huey broke in.

"I did not faint, Huey, I was unconscious!"

"Yeah, sure."

"You weren't even there!"

Kowalski ignored the bickering and turned to Fraser for the rest of the explanations. The Mountie met his eyes and read the question there, sighed slightly, and ran a finger along his eyebrow, clearing his throat. "Well.... I'm afraid my recollections of the rest of it are... shaky, at best...."

"I'll explain it," the brown-haired Ghostbuster offered, and Kowalski was intrigued by the look of sheer gratitude the man received from Fraser. This was most definitely something to look into later.

"I'm Dr. Peter Venkman, by the way," the man introduced himself, holding out a hand. "I'd assume if you don't remember the past few days, you won't remember me either." Then he struck a dramatic pose and tried to look wounded. "And I thought we were friends!" The crowd around them chuckled.

The blond shook his head, though a tiny smile quirked his lips. "Really, Peter."

Venkman grinned and quickly introduced the rest of his colleagues, earning a mild protest from Zeddemore when he erroneously referred to him as a doctor.

"So...." Venkman took a seat in front of Kowalski's desk and put his feet up on the pile of unfinished paperwork in the inbox. "Vecchio was hurt over in the corner where you and Spengs had dumped him, and demon-breath is trying to take a bite out of the Mountie. He's succeeding pretty well, too. You tried to stop him, but he just threw you aside like you weighed next to nothing. I tell you, kid, when you hit the wall, I thought he'd killed you for a minute there."

"Actually," Spengler broke in, pushing his sliding glasses back up onto their proper place on his nose, "I believe it did."

Everyone's attention turned to him. "What do you mean, Egon?" Stantz asked, excitement making his voice go high.

"It is my theory that the impact with the wall broke the detective's neck, killing him instantly. I am almost positive I saw his neck bent at an unnatural angle when he hit the floor."

Kowalski flinched at the description, and Frannie's hands tightened a bit on his arm.

"However," the blond continued studiously, "this gave the being that eventually defeated the demon a perfect opportunity to inhabit his body."

"Oh." Kowalski thought about that for a moment, then realized he hadn't understood a word that was said. "What?"

"Some really powerful class 13 took control of your body and saved all our butts," Zeddemore explained patiently, "But when it was all over, you just...."

"Burst into flames," Fraser supplied quietly, his voice hoarse.

Kowalski's mouth fell open. "I did what?!"

"The house burned down on top of you." Fraser's voice was impossibly soft, his eyes fixed to the floor.

"But... but what about the old lady? Where's she living now?" It wasn't the question he really wanted to ask, but it was the only one he was able to voice.

"Don't worry, Lorna's fine," Venkman assured him. "She's in a nice hotel, crying her eyes out over your untimely demise." He gave a wicked grin. "I oughta call her.... tell her you're alright."

"Peter," Stantz scolded sternly, but his grin gave him away.

"Wait a minute, wait... so why doesn't he remember anything?" Vecchio asked, eyeing his confused partner speculatively. "He's forgotten stuff from before he died."

"It appears as though the benevolent spirit has attempted to erase all traces of its appearance, since even our instruments detect no residual traces," Dr. Spengler speculated. "However, it seems likely that in doing so, it also removed the detective's memory of recent events."

Venkman shrugged. "Maybe it didn't want him to have to remember his own death. I bet that'd be pretty disconcerting."

"But if I died," Kowalski argued, brow furrowed in confusion, "why am I still here? You said I burned in that house."

"You did," Stantz insisted, "But it brought you back. I think it liked you, Kowalski. I'll bet it was watching you even before this started!"

"Why d'you say that, Ray?" Zeddemore asked curiously.

"Because it called Detective Vecchio and Constable Fraser its friends. Remember? We thought it was still Kowalski."

"A very astute observation," complimented Spengler. "It is entirely possible that the being had been present before the events in that house. Of course, it is no longer here now. Perhaps it has completed its purpose." He turned to Kowalski, a strange, eager light in his eyes. "Would you mind if I ran some tests on you?"

"Tests...? What kind of tests?" Kowalski asked suspiciously, his eyes straying to Peter Venkman, who stood wide-eyed behind Dr. Spengler, shaking his head in warning.

"Nothing complicated," Spengler assured him.

"Will it hurt?"

"No," Spengler answered, even as Venkman nodded emphatically.

"Well...." Kowalski looked from Venkman to Stantz, who grinned at him.

"It'd be for science," the auburn-haired man urged, and Kowalski shot one more nervous glance at Venkman before reluctantly agreeing.

Venkman gave an exaggerated moan. "Nice knowin' ya, kid. There's an electrode with your name on it."

Ray Kowalski lay quietly, head propped up on his folded arms, watching Benton Fraser sleep soundly in the bed next to his own. Fraser had fallen asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, and Ray Vecchio had grumbled and complained quite loudly as he'd dutifully pulled off the red serge and tightly laced boots before gently tucking Fraser into one of the two twin beds in the room, but Fraser hadn't awakened. Kowalski himself had been tucked in by Frannie before she'd left to go back to the precinct, and Vecchio had promised the both of them that they would come to severe bodily harm if they ever told anyone what they had seen. Through their giggles, they had agreed to keep their collective mouths shut.

Welsh had ordered Fraser home when all of the excitement died down and it became obvious that he was having trouble staying on his feet. He couldn't very well go back to the Consulate in his current state, despite the fact that he lived there, so the Vecchio home was the logical alternative. Kowalski had been pleasantly surprised when Vecchio offered to let him "crash" there along with Fraser. He felt fine, but everyone around him seemed nervous after his brush with death. He figured he could miss a day of work if it made them feel better.

Fraser suddenly let out a whimper and a low moan, clutching the sheets in his fists as he tossed in his bed, and Kowalski sat up, eyeing the Canadian nervously. Diefenbaker, lying quietly in the corner of the room, stood immediately and jumped onto the bed, curling up next to his companion. Fraser quieted immediately, and Kowalski smiled slightly. "Good boy, Dief," he whispered, even though the wolf lay with his back to him and couldn't see.

He lay back down with a sigh, rolling over onto his back and staring up at the ceiling. They had been placed in the room of two of the Vecchio kids--Maria's twins. Fraser lay in the girl's bed, surrounded by pink ruffles and lace, while he had commandeered the boy's. Cowboy sheets were annoying, but not nearly as annoying as all that pink. Besides, he rationalized, Fraser had been half-asleep by the time they got upstairs anyway, so it wasn't as if he'd minded.

He was counting the ceiling tiles when the door opened slowly and Ray Vecchio poked his head in. "What're you doin' awake?" his partner asked, somehow managing to sound annoyed even when he was whispering.

"I'm not tired," Kowalski shot back, sitting up and swinging his legs off the side of the bed. "What're you doin' here?"

"Checkin' to make sure you hadn't burned the place down yet." Vecchio stepped inside and shook his head when he caught sight of Fraser and Diefenbaker tangled together on top of the sheets. "Benny okay?"

"He's been sleepin'," Kowalski answered. "I thought he mighta been havin' a nightmare a little while ago, but he quit movin', so maybe it ended."

Vecchio looked thoughtful. "Maybe." He straightened and turned to face Kowalski, eyeing him speculatively.

Kowalski started to squirm. "What're you lookin' at?"

"You," Vecchio returned, smiling a bit. "Listen, you wanna take a walk with me? I gotta talk to you."

"Me?" Kowalski glared suspiciously at his partner. "Why?"

Vecchio rolled his eyes. "Look, it's important! You comin' or not?"

"Okay, okay." Kowalski stood, pulling on his shoes before following Vecchio down the stairs and outside. "Stay here, Dief."

Diefenbaker didn't even bother to respond.

It was a nice day--sunny and warm enough not to need a jacket. The two walked in a somewhat uneasy silence for several minutes, seemingly with no real destination in mind. Kowalski finally lost his patience. "What?!"

Vecchio jumped, startled out of his thoughts. "'What,' what?"

"What do you want, Vecchio? We been walkin' for ages, and you haven't said anything. You said you wanted to talk, so talk!"

Vecchio sighed and slowed to a stop, turning to face Kowalski solemnly. "I'm sorry."

That threw him off. "What?"

"I said," Vecchio repeated with exaggerated patience, "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, I heard that, but.... What?"

Vecchio rolled his eyes and started off again, redirecting his gaze to the sidewalk. "For all the stuff I said to you. About your clothes and stuff. I'm sorry."

Kowalski shook his head, his thoughts whirling. "Yer apologizin' to me.... Why?"

"I was going to, earlier," Vecchio admitted, "but I didn't get the chance, before you.... Well, I just didn't. See, I didn't really mean any of it, I was just teasin', but Benny said you weren't takin' it that way. That's why we went to lunch on Wednesday.... You don't remember, but he and I went to lunch without you on Wednesday. He was worried about you and he wanted to talk to me about how I was treatin' ya. He didn't think I liked you very much and he was askin' me to just be nice. But see, I don't not like ya. I'm not sayin' I like ya, 'cause I don't, but I don't not like ya either."

"Gee, thanks."

Vecchio mock-glared at him. "You know what I mean, Stanley! Anyway, I'm apologizin', even though I shouldn't have to, since I didn't mean anything by it, but it'll make Benny feel better if he knows I did it. Happy?"

Kowalski shrugged. "Whatever. Like I care."

"You know ya do. You get this look on your face when your feelings are hurt."

"I do not!"

Vecchio grinned, more at ease now that the deed was done. "Do too! Frannie calls it your 'whipped little puppy-dog' look. You can't hide it, Stanley, it's obvious." He grinned even wider. "You care what I think of you. Admit it."

Kowalski's face was bright red. "I'm not admitting anything. And quit callin' me Stanley."

"I'm not gonna call you Ray," Vecchio retorted. "I'll call you Stan, but that's my last offer. 'Kowalski' takes too long to say."

Stan rolled his eyes. "Alright, fine, whatever. But I just want you to know that Ray was my name a long time before it was my name when I was bein' you."

Vecchio stopped walking again, raising an eyebrow. "What the hell did you just say? Was that English?"

Stan ignored him, pushing past him on the sidewalk, hands shoved deep into his pockets. "And I do not look like a whipped puppy-dog." He pouted angrily, still blushing. "What kinda talk is that?"

Vecchio started to laugh.

Fraser awoke with a start, the memory of his dream fading even as he opened his eyes. All he could remember was fear. No, not fear, absolute terror. And despair.

He let out a deep breath, closing his eyes and willing his racing heart to slow. He could feel Diefenbaker's comforting weight beside him, and the wolf's worried whines and questing tongue on his face calmed him somewhat. "I'm alright, Dief. Thank you."

When he could breathe normally again, he sat up and gazed at his surroundings. He was in Ray Vecchio's house, that much he remembered, but the room was unfamiliar. Judging from the small furnishings and the two narrow beds, he inferred that he was in the twins' room. He glanced down at his bedding and made the further deduction that someone had placed him in Rosa's bed as opposed to Michael's. Perhaps as a joke? He had never felt that pink was his color.

Michael's bed was unmade. This led him to believe that someone else had lain there at some point during the day, since he knew from previous stays at the Vecchio home that Maria would not let her children out of the house in the morning until their beds were made. He speculated that the person in the other bed had been Ray. Kowalski, of course, since there was no reason for Ray Vecchio to sleep in his nephew's bed when his own room was only three doors down.

"Ray?" He listened for a short while, then raised his voice and called again. "Ray?"

No one answered. Fraser stood as Diefenbaker jumped to the floor, noting with some puzzlement that he was wearing only his underclothes. The he blushed, remembering that Francesca had been with them when they arrived at the house. Had she...?

Fraser felt a guilty flush rise to his face. It wasn't that he didn't like Francesca, heavens no. She was a beautiful and charismatic young woman. He was simply of the opinion that he and she were not compatible.

"Ray?" His heart began to pound again. Where was Ray? He couldn't have dreamed Ray's miraculous return to the precinct that morning. He had seen Ray with his own eyes, touched him, spoken with him.... Smelt him. Yes, he could detect Ray's distinct scent even now.... He bent and sniffed at Michael's pillowcase. Ray had been here, in this very room, in this very bed.

He wondered for a moment if he should consider it odd that he knew his unofficial partner's scent, then dismissed it. Of course he should. He knew everyone else's scent, why shouldn't he know Ray's? That curious blend of coffee, cinnamon, mint, and... something uniquely Ray... had become very familiar to him over the past year-and-a-half. Ray Vecchio's scent had changed slightly since his stint with the mob, but he had recognized him regardless upon his return. Indeed, even if he were to be struck deaf and blind, he would still recognize his friends.

Fraser got dressed quickly and padded out of the room in stocking feet, Dief at his heels. The forgotten dream had upset his stomach somewhat, but he was hungry and most likely something light would not irritate it any further. A quick perusal of the refrigerator revealed some leftover pasta and sauce, a container of what might have been chicken salad, assorted cold cuts, and a loaf of homemade bread. His stomach decided for him, and he removed the cold cuts and bread from the bin, setting them up on the kitchen table as he went in search of flatware.

He had just begun to cut the bread when the front door opened, and Ray Vecchio's laughing voice floated into the room. "Woof, woof!"

"Shut up, Vecchio, I mean it!"

Fraser frowned. Kowalski sounded positively incensed. He decided to investigate. "Ray...?" He stepped into the foyer and regarded the two men with a puzzled frown. "Are you barking?"

"Yeah, he's barking," Kowalski barked, his face burning pink. "Why doncha ask him why?"

Fraser, taken aback, decided to play along. "Why are you barking, Ray?"

"Forget it, Benny," Vecchio chuckled, stepping up to him and placing a hand on his forehead. "You shouldn't be out of bed."

"I feel fine," Fraser protested, quickly pulling away. "I was hungry, so I came down for a bite to eat." He turned to Kowalski. "Would you like a sandwich, Ray?"

Kowalski looked relieved, now that Vecchio's attention was elsewhere. "Yeah, sure, what kind?"

"Cold cuts," Fraser answered, placing a hand on the small of Kowalski's back and guiding him into the kitchen. "Turkey, ham, roast beef, pastrami--"

"Sounds great," Kowalski interrupted. "I'll have one o' dem."

"Which one, Ray?"

Kowalski gave him a sidelong look. "I gotta choose? Can't I just have 'em all?"

"I... suppose so," Fraser answered, somewhat taken aback. How anyone as thin as Kowalski could eat as much as he did was beyond the scope of his understanding. "Ray?"

"Yeah, sure, Benny," Vecchio answered. Then he laughed. "Ya know... I dunno how you do it, Benny, but somehow 'Ray' and 'Ray' sound completely different when they're comin' out of your mouth."

"Well, you are different, Ray."

"I know that, but--" Vecchio shook his head, a tiny smile still on his face. "Never mind. Listen Benny, I gotta talk to you. About... everything. You feel like sittin' with me for a minute?"

Fraser suddenly felt very nervous. "Now?"

"Whenever you're ready. Doesn't haveta be now, but soon, okay?"

Fraser sighed as he put the finishing touches on Kowalski's king-sized sandwich. "We can talk now, Ray. Shall we go sit outside?"

Kowalski rolled his eyes. "Eatin' lunch without me again, huh? Gettin' ta be a habit."

Fraser, startled, felt his ears start to turn red. "No! I didn't mean--"

Kowalski waved him off. "Forget it, Fraze. Go ahead. I'm okay." He took his sandwich and sat down at the kitchen table, Diefenbaker at his feet.

"But--"

"Nah, it's okay." He took a bite of his sandwich and spoke with his mouth full. "Go ahead, knock yerselves out. I'm gonna--"

"For God's sake, Kowalski," Vecchio burst out, turning away. "That's disgusting!"

Kowalski made a show of chewing with his mouth wide open, so Fraser and Vecchio beat a hasty retreat out the side door. Kowalski's laughter followed them all the way.

Ray Vecchio was very nervous. Upon glancing over at Benny, he could tell the Mountie was just as nervous as he was, without even knowing what they needed to speak about. He wondered if he should have waited until after they had eaten. Benny had said he was hungry, and chances were, he hadn't eaten much since Kowalski's death. No one could do the guilt thing as well as Benny, he decided, and not eating was the perfect way to wallow in guilt.

"Have you eaten, Benny? I mean, since Friday?"

Fraser seemed confused by the question. "I suppose so, Ray. Why?"

"Well, I was just thinkin' that if you were really hungry, ya know.... If you hadn't really eaten since Friday, we could do this another time."

"Now is fine."

Ray nodded, then decided to begin with a simple, if loaded, question. "So.... You okay?"

Fraser took a long time before answering, his gaze unfocused. "I'm fine, Ray." He sank down onto one of the wooden benches in the Vecchio backyard, nervously folding his hands in his lap. "I will need time to recover physically, as will you--"

"I don't mean physically, Benny," Ray interrupted impatiently. "I mean emotionally."

"Ah." Another long pause. "I believe my answer would be the same."

"So you're okay, but you need time?"

Fraser nodded, his head dropping to his chin as he stared sightlessly at the ground.

"You wanna talk about it?" Ray held his breath, watching Fraser's profile carefully for any involuntary reaction. Fraser didn't move but for a tiny smile.

"Isn't that why you brought me out here? To talk?"

"I'm just sayin' I'm here for ya, Benny. If you want to get somethin' off your chest, I'll listen."

"I... appreciate that, Ray. I know that it would be helpful to speak about what I'm feeling, but I'm not good at... at feelings, Ray."

"Yeah, you told me once that there's nothing more unnerving than a man talking about feelings." Ray smiled. "Remember?"

"Yes." Fraser finally looked up at him, returning the smile. "I remember."

Ray leaned back and slung an arm around Fraser's shoulders, squeezing gently. "So unnerve me."

Fraser's smile remained on his face for only a few more seconds before it disappeared, and tears began shimmering in his eyes. "He could have died, Ray. He did die, and it was my fault."

"Okay, and how was it your fault?" Ray forced his voice to stay level. He had expected this, but it still caused a spark of something resembling anger when he heard it from Fraser's lips.

"I... He was trying to save me. He shouldn't have.... Not his life for mine."

"Would you give your life for him?"

"Yes, of course--"

"For me?"

"Yes, but--"

"Then shouldn't we be able to do the same for you?"

"NO!" The word burst from him with such vehemence that both men were startled. "No," Fraser repeated, this time with forced calm. "You both have lives, Ray, families.... I've no one to leave behind."

"I'll admit that you have no life," Ray joked lightly, purposely ribbing his friend, "but you've got a sister now, don't you? Maggie? That's family."

Fraser shook his head. "She lived for thirty-four years without a brother before we found out. She would be hurt, but she doesn't need me. Not as your family needs you."

"She just found you, don't you think she'd be devastated if anything happened to you? What would you do if something happened to her?"

"Nothing will happen to her," Fraser said flatly. "Nothing can happen to any of you. I'll die if--" He cut himself off, standing suddenly and turning away, wrapping his arms around his torso. He was still and silent for a long moment before speaking again, his voice low and hoarse. "I need you, Ray. Both of you, all of you. I spent so many years alone; I can't go back to that. I can't be alone again."

Ray stood too, coming up behind Fraser and placing a soothing hand on his shoulder. "I know, Benny. It's okay...."

Fraser let out a strangled sob, and Ray turned him around, gathering the trembling body into his arms. Fraser held on to him tightly enough to hurt, his face buried in Ray's collarbone as his shoulders shook with barely contained sobs. Ray held him just as tightly, murmuring nonsense syllables into his ear and running one hand up and down his back.

"I was... so afraid...." Fraser's words were low and broken, interrupted by sobs and hiccups. "I c...can't.... Don't leave me...."

"I'll never leave you voluntarily, Benny, and neither will Stan. We'll be here for you. You don't have to worry about being alone, not anymore."

He was startled as another pair of arms wrapped around the two of them and something furry pushed its way between their legs.

"Aww, jeez, Fraze, lookit you...." Stan smiled slightly, his own eyes suspiciously bright as he and Diefenbaker joined the hug. "Yer getting' him all wet an' sticky...." Then his grin widened and he shrugged against Ray's back. "Good job."

"Ha ha, very funny, Kowalski," Ray snarled, but he shot the other cop a grateful look when he felt Fraser chuckle against his shoulder.

Fraser pulled away, breaking up the group hug, wiping first at his own face and then at Vecchio's shirt. "Ray's right, Ray. I got... crud... all over you."

"Crud?" Vecchio felt the whine creeping into his voice. "Aww, Benny, this shirt is dry clean only!"

"Tortured soul?!"

Benton Fraser flushed as Ray Kowalski's indignant yelp echoed throughout the Ghostbuster's firehouse.

Kowalski was bare-chested; attached by electrodes to several machines and monitors, and wearing a large metal helmet on his head. At first, he had complained about its weight and how terribly it clashed with his "style; persona; aura," but had since been distracted by other topics. More specifically, why the demon Tibias had chosen to have Benton Fraser, RCMP, for lunch.

"You don't have a tortured soul, what the hell kinda talk is that?"

"Maybe you and the demon have different ideas about what exactly a tortured soul is," Ray Stantz suggested as he fiddled with the dials on one of the machines.

Egon Spengler 'hmph'ed his agreement. "Cough, please."

"Fraser's not tortured," Kowalski insisted, gracing the distracted scientist with a half-hearted cough. "I don't care how you define it."

"Actually, Ray, there are certain... issues... that I deal with every day," Fraser admitted quietly, "worries and fears that--while they do not consume my every thought--are always with me in some shape or form. Perhaps the word 'tortured' would seem an exaggeration, but it is possible that those fears are what attracted the demon to me."

Kowalski nodded thoughtfully. "Yer talkin' about what we talked about before...? At Vecchio's house?"

"Yes." Fraser smiled warmly at him, grateful that he had been discreet. Although logically he knew that he had nothing to be ashamed of--that everyone had phobias and fears--he still did not wish to discuss his shortcomings with the Ghostbusters. He had already been speaking extensively with Peter Venkman regarding the incident and its ramifications, and he suspected that Kowalski had been doing the same. Ray Vecchio, who had stayed behind in Chicago, seemed to have worked through his issues already. If not, there was always the police psychiatrist.

"Okay." Kowalski nodded, seemingly appeased. "I can deal with that. I still say you're not tortured though. That demon musta been pretty desperate."

"Thank you, Ray." Fraser quickly decided to end the conversation, knowing that Kowalski was quite capable of arguing over such things for days on end. "I'm glad you have such faith in my mental state."

"I never said I had faith in your mental state, Fraser. Your mental state is, like, the eighth wonder of the world or something."

"Understood."

Kowalski sighed and poked at his helmet. "I'm sweating like crazy under this thing," he complained, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "I can't believe Peter and Winston just left us here like this. Maybe I wanted to see a movie too!"

"If I remember correctly, Ray," Fraser pointed out blandly, "You told Dr. Venkman that you would rather remain here."

"Yeah, well, that was before I knew they were ready with this testing thing. Are we done yet?"

"Just a little bit longer," Stantz promised earnestly. "Egon's almost done, right Egon?"

"Hmmm."

Kowalski glanced to Fraser. "You speak 'hmm,' was that a yes?"

"Hmmm? Oh, I believe so, yes."

"Good."

Spengler shut off the main computer with an aggrieved sigh and a slight roll of his eyes. Stantz giggled in reaction before speaking. "Thanks for doing this, Stan. Just think of the contribution you've made to science!"

"Science sucks," Kowalski grumbled, earning a cold and indignant glare from Spengler. He quickly undid the strap under his chin that held the helmet in place, and lifted it up and off with a groan. "My hair is gonna be flat for a week, squashed under this thing."

"I'm sure your hair will be fine, Ray. Besides, you look very fetching with your hair flat."

"I thought you weren't qualified to judge that sorta thing, there, Fraze. You get anything interesting off me, Spengs?" He had picked up the nickname from Peter Venkman, much to Dr. Spengler's annoyance.

"No," Spengler answered wearily. "The class thirteen that inhabited you was more powerful than anything we've dealt with before. It shouldn't have been able to erase all traces of itself, but it did. None of our instruments are picking up residuals of any sort."

"Wow," Stantz breathed, his eyes running over the printouts of all of the data they had collected from the reluctant Kowalski. "It's a good thing it was on our side, huh, Egon?"

"Indeed," the scientist agreed dryly. "Though I think it would be wise to endeavor to strengthen our capabilities. The existence of a benevolent class thirteen would certainly indicate the likelihood--" Spengler was still talking as he and Stantz drifted from the room, leaving Kowalski and Fraser alone.

"So you really think I look 'fetching' with my hair all flat?" Kowalski ran his fingers through his hair, trying in vain to fluff the subdued spikes.

"You always look very nice, Ray," Fraser assured him graciously.

"Sure, whatever." Kowalski stood with a smile and headed for the door, throwing an arm around Fraser's shoulders as he passed. "C'mon, let's do some sightseeing. I wanna get a good vacation outta this little trip before we gotta go back to Chicago."

"Certainly, Ray. Perhaps a visit to--"

"No museums, Fraser."

"Ah. Never mind, then."