Down East	   Down East

 by byob

  

 

 Disclaimer: They're not mine, they belong to Alliance Atlantis, and I'm
not making any money here. 

 Author's Notes: Huge thanks to Kalena, Justacat and Shell for dragging me
kick and screaming through this story. Additional thanks to Bluster for
the final read-through and my #discourse friends for their endless
support.

 Story Notes: My first full-length story. I hope you like it! Feedback is
always welcome.

 

 

 ONE. 

 "Circus peanuts are bullshit." 

 Fraser sighed. He and Ray were walking around St. Mary's Labor Day
Carnival, looking for Diefenbaker. Dief had apparently become enamored
with a young sausage vendor and followed her here in hopes of free samples
and excessive petting. They had only been at the fair for twenty minutes
and Ray was, of course, complaining. It seemed that he had done nothing
but complain for weeks now, ever since they got back from their adventure.


 "Well, the nutritional content is certainly questionable, but I don't see
why they should engender such derision." 

 "They're bullshit because there is not one goddamned peanut in here. It's
whatsit- false advertising." 

 Fraser rubbed his nose. He really wasn't up to another argument, but he
knew his role in this little scenario. "Well, Ray, I believe they are
referring to the shape, rather than the taste; much like candy corn, which
is a similar concept - " 

 Ray cut him off by shoving a hand in his face. "Do not say one word about
candy corn. It's an American institution. Geez, have some respect." 

 As Ray went on about the sanctity of American sugar rituals, Fraser
scanned the crowd desperately for Diefenbaker. He wanted to leave; the
noise and whirl of the carnival, Ray's incessant arguments, and the
stifling heat of the day all conspired to give him a truly monumental
headache. How had he survived so many summers here? His shirt was sticking
to his back, and he could feel the moisture condensing on the back of his
neck. The dust and grime kicked up by the swarming children adhered to the
sheen of perspiration on his face. He needed a cold bath. He needed a
quiet space. He needed to go home. 

 ..."So anyways, considering that 'mounted' doesn't mean 'stuffed and
hanging on the wall," you want to come with me?" 

 Startled, Fraser mentally rewound Ray's preceding monologue. What on
Earth? 

 "Helllloooo," Ray snapped his fingers in front of Fraser's nose. He
resisted the urge to bat them away. "Rodeo. Friday. You in?" Ah, a rodeo.
That made sense. It was kind of Ray to ask, but this was the third such
ungracious request he had offered up this month. 

 First, there had been the Blackhawks charity game. 

 *"What, you can't root for the Hawks for one night?"* 

 *"I'm sorry, but it would be unpatriotic. Canadians take hockey quite
seriously."* 

 *"That Queen of yours is just full of rules, ain't she?"* 

 The next week, it was a popular science fiction movie. 

 *"Fraser, I do not want to hear about how there's really no life on
planet X, and there's no way that ship could do those things and so forth.
You got me?"* 

 *"Talking during movies is rude, Ray."* 

 Ray had been on edge since their return from the Territories, and for
some reason, he was taking it out on Fraser. He had assumed it was related
to Ray Vecchio and Stella's blossoming relationship, but Ray had brushed
off his offers to talk about it and refused to bring up the subject again.
Stella wasn't normally a taboo topic of conversation. In fact, Ray was
prone to examining the minutiae of their relationship on a regular basis.
And normally, Fraser would be right there for him, poking and prodding,
being his supportive partner and friend. This time though, he was so tired
of the drama, of the Rays and their woes, that he just let it go. Ray was
an adult. He could solve his own problems. 

 His conscience sniped at him that he was being bitter and petty, and a
poor excuse for a friend. His childish crush on Ray was clouding his
judgment. What had he expected? That Ray would fall in love with him? Fall
in love with the Territories? Stay with him forever? It had been a foolish
dream, and he would do well to abandon it. 

 A flash of white caught his eye, and he spotted Dief lazing under a tree.
His belly was shamefully bloated with sausage and God knew what else.
"Well, Diefenbaker, I hope you have learned your lesson. You've earned
yourself a trip to Dr. Lewis." It was a sign of Diefenbaker's discomfort
that he didn't even try to run. He just rolled over weakly and moaned. 

 Ray scanned the area and turned toward the parking lot. "I think I can
get the Goat in here through that access road. I'll be back in a few to
pick you guys up. But, if the mutt barfs on my upholstery, you're paying
the bill and he's cleaning it." He saluted, and then took off into the
crowd. 

 Fraser sank down into the grass and closed his eyes. The color and
movement of the carnival were no longer assaulting him, but the heat still
choked him, and the sweat dripped down his eyelids. 

 He wished for ice. 

 TWO. 

 Ray plowed through the crowd, annoyed by the crush of people pushing at
him. When the fuck did Chicago grow so many people? He had gotten used to
being alone in the Territories, with only the dogs and Fraser for company.
Yeah, that was the problem, wasn't it? He was too frigging used to
Fraser's company. They spent way too much fucking time together. He needed
to branch out, mix it up a little. That way, he wouldn't have to listen to
Dewey's bullshit, or the rumors flying around the station behind his back.


 *"Hey Kowalski, how was the honeymoon?"* 

 *"So, what, Vecchio bangs your wife and you bang his best friend?"* 

 It was funny, nobody said dick when him and Fraser were partners --
partners was sacred, and that was that. But now that Fraser had been
promoted and Ray was partnered up with Vecchio, they didn't have a reason
to be in each other's pockets. Yeah, he'd like to get into Fraser's
pockets. Into his pockets, into his pants. Wasn't going to happen anytime
soon, though. First off, Fraser wasn't exactly pining for his bod; and
second, the last thing he needed was for the rumors to become reality. It
was hard enough that people suspected he was queer; he didn't want to find
out what would happen if it was true. He needed to meet some chicks, get
some other friends. He wasn't Frannie, and he wasn't going to sit around
pining for Mr. Untouchable. 

 He just wanted Fraser because he had nothing left, and that was a shitty
reason for a relationship. 

 His mind whispered, then why do you keep asking him out, asshole? Well,
who the fuck else was he going to hang around with? Huey, maybe, but Huey
had met one Officer Tina Jones at the last Policeman's Ball and he'd been
wrapped up in her ever since. Dewey was a grade-A asshole, thank you very
much; and Vecchio- well, there was way too much weirdness there. At least
Vecchio had been apologetic about snagging his wife out from under his
nose. 

 *"Listen, Stanley, it's not like you're married anymore, right? I like
her a lot, or I wouldn't be dicking you like this."* 

 He got to the parking lot and hopped into the GTO. That wolf had better
not get sick in his car. It was the best thing he had left. 

 THREE. 

 Fraser was sitting at his desk staring at a stack of immigration
applications, when the phone rang. "Corporal, Sir, it seems to be urgent.
Detective Vecchio -- ah, that is, Detective Kowalski-Vecchio -- was most
insistent to speak with you. He used ...profanity, sir." 

 Fraser physically restrained himself from rolling his eyes. "All right,
Turnbull, put him through." 

 "Jesus Christ, was he dropped on his head as a baby or what?" 

 "Ray, you should be accustomed to Turnbull's, ah, manner by now. Is there
something I can do for you?" 

 "Yeah, Welsh wants you down at the station. You got some time?" 

 Fraser already had his hat and coat on. "I'll be right down, Ray." 

 He wheeled around toward the door and immediately crashed into Ray
Vecchio. "Ray, I'm so sorry! I didn't see you there." 

 "That's all right, Benny, Turnbull let me in. What, was he dropped on his
head as a baby or something?" Ray waved his hand in a gesture that seemed
to indicate that it had been a rhetorical question. "Anyways, Benny, I
wanted to be the first to tell you." 

 "Tell me what, Ray?" 

 "That I'm getting married and moving to Florida." 

 Fraser was surprised, but not shocked. Ray and Stella had become very
close, and he knew that Ray had not been completely focused on his job
since returning from Las Vegas. But ... "Florida? If I may ask, what's in
Florida?" 

 Ray grinned. "I'm opening a nightclub. We're going to call it The Bowling
Alley. The hottest acts, the hottest people, and the hottest clothes." He
threw his arm around Fraser. "Can you picture it? Me and Stella, dancing
the night away. We might even have a thing where people rent those crazy
shoes." 

 "Renting shoes? That sounds rather unsanitary." 

 "Benny, don't play dumb with me. I took you bowling before, and you
already gave me your little 'Germs flourish in dark, sweaty places'
speech." Ray winked at him. 

 Fraser smiled. He had missed Ray dreadfully when he was undercover, and
he had not spent nearly enough time with him since his return. But, Ray
seemed truly in love with Stella, and he had grown increasingly frustrated
with his police work. Fraser wished him whatever happiness he could find
-- God knew it was in short supply. 

 "So, Benny, you gonna come visit me in the wilds of Miami or what?" 

 "Certainly, Ray. And ...I'll miss you." He paused. "You were my first and
dearest friend in Chicago, and you will always be like a brother to me." 

 Ray embraced him. "Aww, Benny. You're a sap, you know that?" But there
were tears in his eyes, and he patted Fraser roughly on the back. As he
pulled away, he said, "You tell Kowalski I'll take care of her." 

 Ray left, and Fraser stepped out into the hot sun, suffocating once more.
He motioned for Diefenbaker, and mentally revisited his every experience
with frostbite on the walk to the police station. 

 FOUR. 

 When Fraser arrived, the bullpen was in its usual state of chaos.
Apparently, Detectives Huey and Dewey had arrested a dozen rambunctious
Shriners who were in the city for a convention. Fraser personally thought
that it was a trifle early in the day to be so inebriated, but he did not
pretend to understand the ways of Shriners. He tipped his hat to Huey and
walked towards Ray's desk. 

 "...I don't care how small the cars are, the rule is one car per parking
spot...." 

 Ray looked up as he approached. "Good, you're here. Did Vecchio find
you?" 

 Fraser wasn't sure how much Ray had told Ray about his impending
marriage, or how Ray had taken it. He supposed it would be wiser to let
Ray take the lead in this discussion. "Ah, yes, he did." 

 "Ok. Let's go. Welsh is starting to get antsy. He keeps giving me the
evil eye through his blinds." 

 Was this the extent of the conversation? Was his and Ray's relationship
so fractious that they could no longer talk about anything but work?
Discouraged, Fraser followed Ray into Welsh's office. 

 Welsh motioned for them to sit down. "Gentlemen, I was wondering when you
two would be gracing me with your presence." He sat down heavily behind
his desk. "I have a police matter that requires Corporal Fraser's
particular brand of expertise." 

 "Is it a matter of Canadian national security, sir?" 

 "How about licking things? Is it licking things?" 

 Welsh grimaced. "Unfortunately, Detective, you hit the nail on the head."
Ray smirked at Fraser. 

 "Do you need me to track something, sir? I confess, you've always found
my methods somewhat unorthodox..." 

 Welsh cut him off. "A murderer. You heard about those three people that
died over the weekend?" 

 Ray nodded. "The Diner Deaths, right?" 

 "Kowalski, leave the station gossip at the water cooler, okay?" 

 "Yes, sir." 

 "As I was saying, three people have died so far, all while eating
breakfast, all seemingly of cardiac arrest. There doesn't seem to be any
relationship between the deceased, and there isn't any connection we can
find between the establishments." 

 "What about the food, sir? What were they eating?" 

 "Thank you for asking, Corporal. I'm so glad you're paying attention.
Being an inquiring individual, I asked the same thing. You know what I was
told?" 

 "No, sir." 

 Welsh leaned forward on the desk and lowered his voice. "I was told in no
uncertain terms that this is an election year; and that both serial
killers and food poisoning epidemics make this city and its mayor look
bad. The mayor wants to pretend none of this is happening. So, even if I
could convince some of my detectives to go against the grain, nobody in
Forensics is willing to take that risk. Any evidence we have would
probably be tied up indefinitely." 

 He leaned back and pointed his pen at them rather emphatically.
"Unexplained deaths in my district make me itchy. Something somehow tells
me that Corporal Fraser suffers from the same affliction. Kowalski, you're
not opposed to bending a few rules, are you?" "Rules? Rules are pretty
flexible, sir. More like guidelines." 

 "Yeah, I've been meaning to speak to you about that. So I presume you two
can resurrect whatever flimsy excuse we previously had for Corporal
Fraser's involvement with our police business?" He didn't wait for them to
answer. "Good! Be discreet, be fast, and we never had this conversation." 

 They walked out of Welsh's office, and Ray turned to him. "Partners
again, huh?" 

 "It would seem that way. I'm looking forward to it." 

 Ray seemed to think about that for a minute, and then grinned. "Yeah.
Pick you up tomorrow at 12? Check out those diners?" 

 "As you wish." 

 FIVE. 

 Beep. Beepbeepbeep. Beep. Beep. Beep. 

 What. The. Fuck? 

 Ray opened one eye. It was Saturday, goddamnit. There was absolutely no
fucking reason for his alarm clock to be making that kind of noise. 

 Oh yeah. Diners. Deaths. Fraser. Partners. 

 He smacked the alarm clock, sending it skidding across the room, and
stumbled into the shower. Three cups of coffee and a bagel later, he was
damn near human. 

 Christ, it was still hot out. Wasn't it supposed to be September? Ray
supposed that it wasn't nearly this hot in the Territories right now. If
he was there, he'd have gotten up about four hours ago. Fraser would be
making him oatmeal; they'd have their coffee together ...fuck. Nice little
domestic scenario there, wasn't it? Fraser by the fire, handing him
breakfast ...him, smiling and laughing as they teased each other. God, he
wanted it so bad he could taste it. Unfortunately, he did not exactly have
a stellar track record in the "attainable dreams" department. That shit
was about as likely as him and Stella settling down with a brood of kids. 

 He did his best to forget about it on his way to get Fraser. 

 Fraser was, of course, waiting for him outside the Consulate. "Hello,
Ray. I thought I would leave Diefenbaker with Turnbull. He's generally not
welcome in most dining establishments." 

 "Yeah, you're probably right. Are they watching curling?" 

 "Yes. It's a rather important bonspiel. You see, the --" 

 "You do know that I'm not going to understand it, even if you explain it
to me, right?" Ray grinned. "They're taping it for you, huh?" 

 Fraser looked slightly ashamed. Like Ray didn't know how much Fraser used
the consulate's VCR for Unofficial Canadian Business. "Ah, yes. They are.
It's really quite pivotal." 

 Ray smiled. This was just like old times. 

 They pulled up to the first diner, a place called the Cracked Egg. It was
one of those real old-fashioned dining car diners, with the silver roof
and just one row of booths and a counter. Ray remembered coming to places
like this with his old man on the weekends. They'd sit at the counter,
eating eggs and bacon, drinking coffee. Ray's dad always let him have
coffee, even before his mom said he was old enough. 

 Ray swung open the creaky screen door, and they walked up to the
register. Fraser took off his hat and smiled at the waitress. "Pardon me,
ma'am, would it be possible for us to speak with the owner?" 

 She cocked an eye at him. "We already gave to the Scout troop." 

 Heh. Nothing ever changed. Fraser was already marshaling his little "For
reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture" speech when Ray
stepped in front of him. "Detective Kowalski, Chicago PD." She rolled her
eyes and yelled over her shoulder "Mel! More cops!" 

 The owner came lumbering out of the kitchen and glared at them. "I
already talked to the cops. They said they were done here." 

 "Yeah, well, we just got a few more questions." 

 Fraser stepped forward. "We'd actually like to get a look at your
kitchen, if we may." 

 Ah, Christ. 

 The owner stiffened right up. "What the hell is this? The cops were here
Sunday, and they already poked their noses around my kitchen." He frowned.
"You got a warrant? If you don't got a warrant, the only way you're
hanging around is to eat lunch." 

 Ray held up his hands. "No problem. I was actually just getting hungry." 

 He dragged Fraser over to the nearest booth. "He's suspicious. We have to
play it low-key." 

 "Right you are, Ray." He scanned the menu. "I must confess, I don't find
any of this particularly appetizing." 

 "Fraser, I saw you eat straight caribou fat on our adventure." 

 "That was merely a matter of survival. Such extreme measures are not
necessary in the city." Fraser grimaced, looking as if he'd rather be
freezing to death and eating caribou innards than sitting in this greasy
spoon with Ray. Great. Ray looked down at his own menu. 

 "Ray, it might not be wise to eat anything in a restaurant suspected of
poisoning its patrons. Perhaps we should simply order what the victims
ordered, so that we might inspect it." 

 Ray nodded. "Point." He checked his notebook, then waved the waitress
over. "Two coffees and two orders of blueberry pancakes." He turned back
to Fraser ...who had somehow managed to disappear. 

 "Fraser, what the -- get out of there!" 

 "I am merely trying to determine if this substance on the table leg is
--" 

 "Fraser, I guarantee you there are a hundred different substances on that
table leg, none of which you would want to taste. Welsh said to be
inconspicuous, not to crawl around on that nasty-ass floor." 

 Somehow Fraser managed to jump up into his seat, looking as fresh as
ever, by the time the waitress came back with their food. "Thank you
kindly, m'am." 

 He leaned forward and sniffed the pancakes deeply, then stuck his finger
into the middle of the stack, and smelled that. "Curious." 

 Ray smiled at the waitress. "He's Canadian." 

 "Uh-huh." She stared at Fraser. "Does he want extra syrup, then?" 

 "Yeah, you better go get that." He leaned toward Fraser. "So, what do you
think?" 

 "There's nothing unusual about the pancakes themselves, but the
blueberries...there's a faint tang to them. I'm not exactly sure what it
is." 

 "Oh great, that's what we can tell Welsh. The blueberries are tangy." 

 Fraser leaned across the table, and stuck his finger into Ray's pancakes.


 "Hey! Ew! Cut it out!" 

 "I'm sorry, were you going to eat those?" 

 "No, but give a guy some warning." 

 "Hm. These blueberries have the same odd flavor." 

 "So what, we ask for a doggie bag?" 

 "Don't be silly, Ray. That would contaminate the evidence." 

 Fraser held up a small, labeled vial with a perfectly intact berry
inside. Ray wasn't entirely sure when or how the hell he'd done that, but
then, he never questioned Mountie Magic anymore. 

 "Great, we're good. Hey, that owner is giving us nasty looks." 

 They looked over behind the long counter. Mel was supposedly wiping it
down, but Ray doubted that filthy rag was really doing any good. 

 "We have what we came for. It's probably best not to antagonize him
further." 

 "Pitter patter, then. We still have two more diners to go." 

 SIX. 

 After leaving the restaurant, Fraser turned to Ray and said, "The
proprietor seemed rather unfriendly. Perhaps it wasn't the most opportune
time to investigate his establishment." 

 "Unfriendly is one word. Guilty is another." 

 "You think Mr. Abramson is hiding something?" 

 "He was pretty touchy about letting us in the kitchen. I smell a rat." He
paused. "Or at the very least, a few health code violations." 

 Fraser nodded. "Twenty-six, to be precise. I made note of all the
infractions I could see from the area where we were seated." He pulled out
his notebook. "I must admit that I'm not quite as familiar with American
sanitary regulations, but they can't be too different from their Canadian
counterparts." 

 "Yeah, 'no shirt, no shoes, no service' is pretty much universal." 

 "Right you are, Ray. It's just somewhat easier to enforce in areas where
frostbite is a risk." 

 Ray snorted and turned to look out the driver's side window. Their
relationship was far improved by them working together, though Fraser
could not be sure why. Whatever the reason, he was simply pleased that
they were back on the same page. Perhaps now was the best time to approach
the subject of Ray and Stella. 

 "Ray, I -- Well, that is --" 

 "Spit it out, Fraser." 

 "It's a rather personal question. I hope you don't find me too
presumptuous." 

 Ray shot him an unidentifiable look, edgy and hooded. "Uh...presumpt
away." 

 Fraser took a deep breath. "Ray Vecchio. That is, Ray Vecchio and Stella-
Are you ...are you all right with this?" 

 Ray blew out a big breath. "Yeah. I figured out a while back that hanging
on to Stella was setting myself up for a lifetime of shit. I miss her, and
it sucks, but there's nothing I can do about it." 

 "That's a wise decision, Ray. It shows a lot of growth." 

 "Growth, my ass. I just figured I was going to crack my skull if I kept
banging my head against that particular wall." He fidgeted for a minute,
then laughed. "Fucking Vecchio, though. I don't think I'd have picked that
one." 

 "Ray is a good man and a fine police officer." 

 "That may be true, but he's also kind of a dick." 

 Fraser privately agreed that, while Ray was a true and loyal friend, he
could be somewhat abrasive. 

 "Then again, Stella can be kind of a dick too. They're perfect for each
other." He sighed. "I'm glad they're moving to Florida, because it'll be
easier for me if it's not in my face. I just want to put that shit behind
me." 

 "That would probably be for the best." Fraser was pleased that Ray seemed
to be moving on, though now his recent irritability was even more
perplexing. He tried to think of any other antagonisms in Ray's daily
life, other than himself. 

 "Has Lieutenant Welsh been demanding of late?" 

 "Of late? You've met Welsh, right? Big guy? 'Demanding' is his middle
name?" 

 Ah, good point. "And Detective Dewey? Has he been-" 

 "What about Dewey?" Ray shot him an angry and -- scared? look. "Dewey's
just the same old asshole as always. Nothing new." He shifted
uncomfortably in his seat. "Why the fuck do you ask?" 

 Damn. Ray was angry again. Perhaps he had pushed too hard, or perhaps
Detective Dewey was, in fact, the problem. 

 "Well, you've seemed rather on edge lately." 

 "On edge? On edge?" Ray was starting to work up a good rant. "I'm just
under pressure, you know? And fucking Dewey ...ah, forget it." He slumped
down, deflated. " I need to find a girl. Get laid." Ray grabbed his cell
phone. "I'm calling Welsh to let him know what's up." 

 Well. That was painful. He really ought to stop setting himself up for
these falls, as his ego was bruised enough. If it had been romantically
optimistic to believe that Ray would fall in his arms during their quest;
it was nothing short of foolish to believe Ray would do so in Chicago.
Why, simply because they had nobody other than each other? It was an
inexcusably poor reason for a relationship, and now Ray was telling him in
no uncertain terms that he did indeed have intentions of finding a mate.
Good for him. 

 "This is it. Jeez, it's a worse dive than the last one." 

 Fraser looked up, blinking. "Well, let's get on with it, then." 

 He hurried from the car towards a decrepit little diner lodged between a
hair salon and a check-cashing operation. The aroma from the dumpsters
surged forward, borne on the afternoon's damp and smoggy air. He wondered
again why he was still in Chicago, when there was nothing for him here. 

 SEVEN. 

 Three diners, four orders of pancakes, and two muffins later, Ray was
convinced that "unfriendly" was just a hazard of the diner management
profession, not a sign of criminal activity. 

 He was also pretty convinced that he smelled like a vat full of grease.
It was time to hit the shower and forget about this whole goddamned day.
Shit, it had been just like old times there for a while. Then fucking
Fraser had to push at him. Had he heard what people were saying? Was he
asking about Stella and Vecchio just to see if Ray had gone queer? 

 Ray shook himself a little, and headed for the bathroom. There was no
point in thinking about that. He had a feeling that Fraser was getting
more and more frustrated with Chicago. He'd leave soon, and maybe Ray
would leave too. He didn't know where, but it might be time to get the
hell out of Dodge. 

 He stood in the shower a good long while, staring at the tiles and
letting the water wash over him. Through the haze of the steam he could
hear a vague banging sound. Fucking neighbors. The banging got louder and
more insistent. Screw it; he was turning into a prune anyways. 

 Once he turned off the shower, he could hear sharp whines punctuating the
knocks. Shit, that was Dief. He grabbed a towel for modesty, and promptly
tripped over the remains of last night's pizza and beer on his way to the
door. Smooth. He nearly lost the towel two more times before skidding to
the doorway. He opened the door, panting. "What's up? I'm kind of naked
here." 

 Fraser was -- what the fuck was he doing? He was shaking a little, and he
was hugging himself. Dief was whining and jumping up to lick his hands. 

 "I apologize for the intrusion. I really didn't want to bother you, but
Diefenbaker was most insistent." 

 "Shit, are you ok? You look like hell." 

 He ushered Fraser in and sat him on the couch. Dief curled up right next
to his boots, and looked up at him, snuffling softly. 

 "It seems that I'm having a reaction to whatever was in the blueberries."


 "Fuck, of course you are! You lick poison, what do you expect?" He
grabbed his keys. "We're going to the hospital." 

 "You're somewhat, ah ...underdressed." 

 Right. The towel. He ran into his room and threw on some clothes. He
yelled out "So, what do you feel like? No bright lights, right? No dead
relatives?" 

 There was a long pause. "No, no dead relatives as yet. Though I wouldn't
necessarily consider that a sign of impending death." 

 Ray ran back out. "Up and at 'em, Benton buddy." 

 "I assure you, I am not poisoned. I'd venture to guess that the
blueberries were tainted with some sort of stimulant. It's only a matter
of waiting until the effects pass." 

 Ray thought for a minute. "Hey, I bet they'd test your blood in the
hospital." 

 Fraser frowned. "Well, certainly, but I don't see how-" 

 "Like, they'd court-admissibly test your blood." 

 Fraser was nodding rapidly. "Right you are, Ray. If I may say, that was
excellent thinking." 

 "That's me, always thinking. It's a little quirk of mine." 

 "Of course. Shall we?" 

 "Yep, we're out of here." 

 EIGHT. 

 Fraser hated hospitals. He had only rarely used them prior to coming to
Chicago- in the Territories, Native medicine fixed all but the most
serious hurts, and children were born at home. Hospitals were where you
went to die. In fact, Fraser had come to this very hospital to do just
that after Ray Vecchio had shot him. 

 He shook off that thought as quickly as it had come. He was in a
sufficiently disagreeable situation. There was no need to heap doom and
gloom upon it. He was currently waiting in a small private cubicle for the
results of his lab work. The nurses had finally ceased their incessant
attentions only a few minutes ago. Fraser was surprised that they had so
much free time while working in a major metropolitan hospital. 

 "Mr. Fraser?" 

 "Corporal Fraser, actually." The nurse -- Eileen, by her nametag --
handed him a thick blue folder. 

 "Here are the results of your blood work. Do you need any help reading
them? I'm always available for ...private consultation." 

 "That won't be necessary, ma'am. I am quite familiar with medical
terminology." He took a few steps backwards and picked up his hat from the
table. "Thank you kindly." 

 He hurried out to Ray's car, where Ray had been waiting with Diefenbaker.
Apparently they had been playing some sort of guessing game to pass the
time. 

 "Your wolf cheats." Diefenbaker yipped in protest from the back seat. 

 "Well, the concept of fair play is unknown in the wild." 

 "I can see that." Ray looked at him, his brow furrowed. "Are you ok? You
gonna make it?" 

 "Yes, as I told you, the effect was quite mild." He held up the folder.
"I did get the results of the blood test." 

 "Cool. We'll take that puppy down to the station." 

 Fraser flipped through the report. "As I had suspected, the substance was
a stimulant. Amphetamines, to be precise." 

 "Excellent." Ray looked pleased. "Not only do we have evidence that a cop
-- a foreign cop -- has been poisoned, but he's been poisoned by drug
dealers. They'll be foaming at the mouth to get this one solved. It's
front page news." 

 Fraser nodded. He had unfortunately become quite accustomed to the
political and sensationalistic aspects of police work in Chicago. He liked
to think that, even in the larger cities, the RCMP was more concerned with
justice than with headlines or politics. Of course, that was probably a
rose-tinted view, fueled by homesickness and nostalgia. 

 "Do you want me to drop you off at the Consulate so you can get some
sleep?" 

 Fraser slid back in the seat, realizing that the narcotic no longer held
him in its edgy, twitchy grasp. The artificial awareness had slipped away,
weighting his bones and eyelids in its path. He felt like he could fall
asleep at any moment, right there in Ray's car. Still, he must attend to
his duty. 

 "No, we should deliver those files to Lieutenant Welsh." Fraser tried to
straighten himself. "Justice," he said, channeling his father, "does not
take naps." 

 Ray rolled his eyes. "Okay, but good little Mounties take naps when we're
done, got it?" 

 "As you wish." 

 NINE. 

 Ray fidgeted in the hallway, waiting for Welsh to finish reaming some
rookie. Shit, this could take a while, and Fraser was about to drop. He
was trying to hide it, but Ray knew a frayed Mountie when he saw one. 

 Welsh finally frigging opened his door and pointed the shaking rookie
towards the bullpen. "Now that we're clear, do you think you can handle
the complicated and difficult task of delivering that document to
Detective Huey?" The kid nodded. Or quivered. Ray couldn't tell which.
"Good. While one of us is still young." He shook his head disgustedly and
caught Ray's eye. 

 Ray grinned at him and held up the folder. Welsh grunted, "This had
better be good news." 

 Fraser stepped forward, hat in hand. "Well, that would depend on your
definition of 'good news'. Most people would consider narcotic-tainted
produce a serious threat to public health and safety; however, in this
particular circumstance..." 

 Welsh perked up. "Drugs? Oh, this is good." He waved them in. 

 Ray slapped the folder on Welsh's desk. "There's your evidence -- signed,
sealed, delivered." 

 Welsh flipped through the printout. He slowly lowered it to the desk and
folded his hands. 

 "Let me get this straight." He leaned forward. "The reason we have any
evidence at all is because Fraser poisoned himself?" 

 Ray flashed to an image of Fraser, still and cold in a casket. He
shivered. "Wouldn't be the first time, Lieu. Besides, you asked for it." 

 Welsh put his head in his hands. "I did, didn't I?" He sighed. "Corporal
Fraser, I would like you to meet my therapist someday." 

 "I would be honored, sir." 

 "Do you know what he would say to me?" 

 "No, sir." 

 "He would say: 'Harding, I see what you mean. This does explain
everything.'" 

 Geez, this could go on all day. Time to cut to the chase. "So, what's
next? We get the bad guys?" 

 Welsh nodded. "Lucky for you, I have a certain rookie named Besbriss with
some free time. Her and Frannie have been doing research all morning,
since you called me with the blueberry deal." He pulled out some papers.
"It looks like your diners have different produce suppliers, but the
blueberries are from the same farm -- Ned and Alma's Berry Land." He put
the papers down and looked at them over the top of his glasses. "You boys
are going to Maine." 

 TEN. 

 As usual in Chicago, the wheels of justice spun a bit faster when they
were greased. Thanks to the Mayor's immediate and public concern with the
"new" situation, Welsh had them on a plane that afternoon. "Stamped us
with a little gold star and shipped us off," Ray had muttered on the way
to the airport. Fraser was just glad that both he and Ray traveled light,
and that Turnbull had agreed to take Diefenbaker at the last moment. 

 They were flying from O'Hare to Logan International airport in Boston,
and then taking a commuter flight to Bangor Airport. The local police had
been apprised of their arrival and would meet them in Bangor. 

 Despite his perceived lack of experience with modern conveniences, Fraser
was all too familiar with the rigors of airplane travel. Very few of his
detachments had been within driving distance of one another, and he had
been transferred to several different provinces throughout his career.
There were also, of course, the trips to and from Chicago in recent years.
Ray, however, was not nearly so seasoned a traveler. 

 In what seemed like merely a few minutes, Ray had managed to get lost in
their own terminal and dump out half of his luggage in search of his
portable CD player. He also came frighteningly close to trading blows with
the security guard who detained him to ask about his gun. Thankfully, they
didn't have to wait too long for their flight. With a maximum of
difficulty, they found themselves ensconced in two business-class seats,
Ray next to the window and Fraser on the aisle. 

 Approximately five hours and one nearly disastrous layover later, they
went through the whole process in reverse, except with the added joy of
Ray being increasingly testy and caffeinated. Once they escaped the
clutches of the baggage claim, they were able to locate their local
contacts waiting in front of the small Bangor Police detachment near the
front of the terminal. 

 The two officers were engaged in a good-natured argument about the
relative merits of various snow tires when Fraser and Ray approached. 

 "Why would you want to spend all that money on tires when the
three-season ones work just as well?" the woman was asking. 

 Her partner, an older man with a slight paunch and a gray bottle-brush
haircut, responded, "That's the thing, Tina. They don't work nearly as
well because the treads --" 

 "If I may be of some assistance?" Fraser asked, stepping forward. "I
believe the gentleman is correct. The treads on snow tires are wider and
therefore have a far superior grip on the road's surface. You see, the
principles of surface tension vis--vis the water molecules on the road and
the rubber of the tire --" 

 Ray stepped forward and held out his hand. "Just ignore him unless you
want to grow old in this airport. Ray Kowalski, Chicago PD." 

 The male officer shook Ray's hand. "Joe Jackson, Ellsworth PD. And this
is my partner, Christina Hammersmith." Officer Hammersmith nodded and
smiled, giving Ray a brief appraising little glance. For some reason, this
endeared her to Fraser. He was constantly amazed at how few women seemed
to appreciate Ray's charismatic --and if he were to be honest, purely
sexual-- appeal. 

 "This must be the Mountie," she said. 

 "Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Pleased to make your
acquaintance." 

 She gave him a similar up-and-down perusal, but that was something he was
a little more accustomed to. Unfortunately, he had yet to get over his
embarrassment at attracting female attention. Considering that he was
nearing forty, Fraser suspected he probably never would. 

 Officer Jackson waved them towards the door. "I know you guys rented a
car, but we figured you'd want to chat on the way up. We drove the rental
up to your house." 

 "Our house?" Ray asked. 

 "See, Ellsworth is a pretty small town. People talk. As soon as word gets
out that there are a couple of city cops poking around, you're not the
ones they're going to be talking to. You get me?" 

 Ray nodded thoughtfully. 

 "Add on the fact that Ned and Alma Sterling are pretty well-loved, and
your investigation will be over before it starts. We figure we'd ask some
of the official questions -- we could say you guys called us -- and let
you two poke around on your own." 

 Fraser thought that this was a rather wise idea. Officer Jackson was
certainly attuned to the delicate nature of rural police work, the
complexity of which was often lost on the urban police force. 

 "So what's our cover?" Ray pulled out his notebook to make notes. 

 Officer Hammersmith grinned. "This is where I come in. My cousin Kate
owns a resort up on Graham Lake. There's an inn and a few freestanding
cabins on the property. We got you guys one of the more remote cabins. She
knows who you really are, but everyone else will think you're just a
couple of tourists." She paused to think. "Do either of you fish? That
would probably be the best excuse." 

 At their affirmations, she said, "Well then, we'll stop before we get to
town and pick you up some gear." 

 They arrived at Officer Jackson's vehicle, a black 1993 Ford Bronco.
Fraser and Ray settled into the back seat, and Ray immediately flopped
back and closed his eyes. "Man, I'm wiped. I hate airplanes." 

 Officer Hammersmith looked back over her shoulder. "Well, feel free to
snooze. We've still got about 40 minutes." 

 Fraser leaned forward to look out the window. Bangor was markedly cooler
than Chicago, and the difference felt quite wonderful. There were also far
less pollution and noise, despite the fact that Bangor was not a small
town by Fraser's standards. This is exactly- well, not exactly what he
needed, but it would do nicely for now. 

 ELEVEN. 

 Ray pretended to sleep through the stop at the sporting good store, then
all the way up to Ellsworth. He was damned tired from the plane ride, but
he was too jacked on coffee to actually sleep. It felt really nice to lie
back against the cool leather, close his eyes, and let the murmuring
voices of Fraser and the cops wash over him as the car bounced over the
crappy highway. 

 It was nice here. Clean. Quiet. Way cooler than Chicago had been. It
reminded him of their adventure a little, even though he wasn't in danger
of freezing his nuts off or being eaten by a caribou. It was all the
nature, maybe. Ray had never been Mr. Nature Boy, but Fraser had a way of
making him see things through his eyes. Ray hadn't quite been able to get
his old Ray-Vision back since they returned to Chicago. 

 Heh. And that would be Ray who, exactly? He was still a little fuzzy on
what he had left of Ray Kowalski, considering he was still running around
with Vecchio's best friend and working Vecchio's job. 

 He opened one eye and peeked at Fraser. He looked happy, relaxed in a way
that Ray hadn't seen since they left Yellowknife. Shit, Fraser had been
just as unhappy as he was. Did he know about all the bullshit rumors? Nah,
that probably wouldn't even bother him and Fraser was pretty out of the
loop of station gossip. The more he thought about it, the more Ray
realized how little Fraser had left in his life these days. Less than Ray,
even - at least Ray still had his parents. So why the hell was Fraser
still hanging around Chicago? Now that Vecchio was gone, he'd probably be
going too. 

 He wasn't going to think about that, or why the thought of Fraser leaving
made him want to punch the fucking window right out. He just needed to
focus on himself, and getting Mr. Ray Kowalski back on track and back into
action. 

 They pulled up to the main house of the Blueberry Hill Inn just around 8
o'clock. The inn was big and white, with a farmer's porch and a small
restaurant attached on the side. It was cool enough that Ray actually
shivered when he got out of the car, and he was glad he had thrown that
flannel in his bag. 

 The front hallway was decorated with the kind of kitschy-country stuff
that his mom loved, but it seemed to work a lot better in an old wooden
house than it did in their trailer. 

 Tina motioned them up to the desk, and...damn. 

 It had been a long time since Ray had looked twice at a girl. 

 He looked a few more times, just for practice. 

 She was tall, nearly as tall as Ray. She had dirty-blonde hair that was
pulled back in a ponytail, dark eyes and no make-up. In her jeans, old
t-shirt and hiking boots, she looked like she could be a wilderness guide.
She was so not Ray's type, but something about the snap in her eyes and
the damned fine ass in those jeans made Ray sit right up and take notice. 

 This was what he needed to get back on track. 

 "Ray. Ray. Ray. Ray." 

 "What?" 

 "Officer Hammersmith is introducing us to her cousin. This is Kate
Simmons." 

 He smiled his best "Hey, baby" smile and shook her hand. "Ray Kowalski.
It's a pleasure." He winked at her and she blushed a little. Cool. 

 She smiled back. "Nice to meet you. I'll show you guys where you'll be
staying." She pulled out a map. "I have to stay here and watch the desk,
but it's pretty easy. Just follow this road back and the cabin is on your
left. It's the one marked 'Borealis.'" 

 Ray grinned and turned to Fraser. "'Borealis,' huh? You'll be right at
home." 

 Fraser smiled. "Indeed, Ray." 

 She leaned forward, blushing a little. "If there's anything you need, Mr.
Kowalski...you can call me whenever you'd like. I'm usually here." 

 Hot damn, this was his chance. "Well, maybe you could tell me some more
about the town. Uh...like, over dinner or something. Tonight." Shit, he
was being rude. "Fraser too, of course." He looked at Fraser, who was
frowning. 

 "No Ray, you go ahead. I'm feeling somewhat fatigued from the trip." 

 Fatigued? Not freaking likely. Unless maybe Fraser was being a buddy and
letting him have Kate all to himself. Huh. Usually Fraser was pretty
oblivious to shit like that, but he'd take what he could get. 

 Tina and Joe dropped them off at the cabin, which was a lot bigger than
Ray had expected. It had a decent-sized living room with a fold out couch,
a bedroom, an eat-in kitchen and a small bathroom. Not too bad. There was
even a fireplace across from the couch. 

 Fraser managed to get everything unpacked and put away in about .25
seconds, which left him plenty of time to shower. 

 As he was fixing his hair, he thought of something. "Frase, uh, you going
to be okay here? Do you want something for dinner?" 

 "I believe that the restaurant will deliver sandwiches to the cabin. I'll
be fine." 

 Except he didn't look fine, or happy, or relaxed like he had when they
got there. He looked tense and hurt. Ray was suddenly not nearly as
excited about the dinner as he had been a few minutes ago. "Hey, Fraser
...Ben." Fraser's head jerked up. "Are you ok? You look a little down."
Nice understatement, asshole. 

 "Of course, Ray. Please, I don't want to keep you from you dinner. You
may learn something valuable for the case." He started back towards the
bedroom. 

 Ray finished getting ready and walked over to the bedroom door. He opened
his mouth to yell that he was leaving, but stopped short as he caught a
glimpse into the room through the half-cracked door. 

 Fraser. Shirtless. He was pulling on the red long johns with his back to
Ray. Ray just saw the briefest flash of broad shoulders, the dip of a
spine, and whoosh! It was all covered up by red wool. Ray leaned back
against the wall. His mouth was dry, his cock was achingly hard and his
stomach was in knots. He shut his eyes, only to see a hundred images of
Fraser flash through his mind. Fraser, laughing in their tent. Fraser,
asleep in his long johns. Fraser, washing his hair in the hot springs with
droplets of water beading on his bare back. 

 Shit. This was so not what he needed right now. He had forgotten, in all
the insanity of Chicago and Vecchio and Stella, how intense his feelings
had been on their adventure. He had chalked it up to adrenaline -- a
survival response. He figured that he'd be able to get over it when he got
his old life back. 

 Problem was, he had lost that life somewhere along the way and he wasn't
sure where to go about finding it - or if he even wanted to. 

 He shook himself off. He had a date tonight with a cute girl. That was a
good start, right? 

 TWELVE. 

 Fraser easily could have walked to the main house for his dinner, but
that would mean seeing Ray and Kate, so he (rather shamefully) called the
restaurant for delivery to the cabin. He had never felt comfortable with
the concept of "room service"-it was unbearably slothful-but his distress
was too acute this time. 

 It was strange being in such a large house, particularly without
Diefenbaker there to comfort him. Dief's brand of comfort usually involved
haranguing and smart comments, but Fraser still missed him dreadfully. He
walked out onto the cabin's porch and breathed in the cooling night air.
Pine, lake water, smoke. Smells that reminded him of home. He felt at home
here. Even the airport had signs and announcements in French, thanks to
the large population of Quebecois tourists. It made his homesickness
better and worse at the same time, and the decision ahead of him clearer. 

 It was time to go home. 

 Ray was quite obviously moving on with his life, and Fraser was sure he
could no longer handle being merely his friend. The urge to seize him,
kiss him, and physically restrain him from walking out the door had been
far too strong. He wanted Ray to be happy, and he wanted to find some
small measure of happiness for himself. At least at home in the
Territories, with nobody but Dief at his side, fully involved with the
RCMP as he had been before, he could find contentment. Not true happiness,
but chasing rainbows was a foolish pursuit, better suited to dreamers and
younger men. He needed to make the best of his situation. At least he had
Maggie for companionship, which was more than he had ever hoped for. 

 A car pulled into the driveway, signaling that dinner had arrived. Fraser
helped the young gentleman with the packages, then went to set the table.
After dinner, he would get to bed early. One could never anticipate the
sleep interruptions that might arise when working a case. 

 Besides, that way, he wouldn't have to look at Ray's joyful face when he
returned. Some things were too difficult to be borne. 

 THIRTEEN 

 Ray slipped back into the cabin quietly, figuring that Fraser -- yep, he
was right -- had taken the foldout bed in the living room, leaving the
bedroom for Ray. 

 The date had gone better than about 85% of Ray's past dates, and that
included most of his dates with Stella. Kate was nice, funny and
unpretentious. She had talked a little about her family, the challenges of
running the inn, and what she called "Tales of the Idiot Tourists." Ray
had talked.... well, some about his car and one kind of funny story about
the turtle, but mostly he talked about Fraser. He told Inuit stories. He
talked her ear off about their adventure. He even told her about Maggie,
and how he and Fraser had acted like idiots in front of her. On further
reflection, he figured that wasn't the world's best date story, but it was
funny, right? 

 So if the date had gone so well, why wasn't he feeling any different? Why
wasn't he having visions of blonde little wiseass hikers dancing in his
head? Why the fuck had he only kissed her chastely on the mouth at the end
of the night? 

 He was apparently something of a moron, which was not news to him. He
could never figure out what the hell he wanted, and this was no exception.


 Shit, he was fucking tired. Maybe that was messing with his head. It had
been one hell of a long day, and an even longer week. Time to hit the hay
so he could focus on the case tomorrow.  

 The next morning, he woke up to the sun streaming in through the useless
lacy little curtains and the smell of coffee wafting in from the kitchen.
Nice. He stretched, scratched his back, and stumbled out into the kitchen.


 There was Fraser, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and humming over the
stove. A pot of coffee burbled happily into existence, and Ray could see
sausages hissing in a pan. Fraser turned around and smiled at him. "Good
morning, Ray. I hope you're hungry. I took the liberty of walking down to
the market this morning for breakfast." 

 Ray could feel a lump forming in his throat and a big fat duh hitting him
smack between the eyes. How many times had he imagined this scene? He'd
wake up and there Fraser would be, cooking breakfast, smiling, humming.
Now that it was a reality, Ray wanted - shit, he wanted this domestic life
with Fraser. For-fucking-ever. He wanted it so bad he could taste it on
the back of his tongue, and he had to wrap his arms around his chest to
stop himself from grabbing Fraser and kissing him right there in that
damned kitchen. 

 He wasn't confused. He was just dumb. 

 No, that's not right. He was scared. Scared of what the other cops would
say, scared of losing Ray Kowalski, scared of losing Fraser like he lost
Stella. 

 Well. That settled it. Ray might be a little fuzzy on the details of
exactly who Detective Ray Kowalski was now that he wasn't Ray Vecchio
anymore, but he was damned sure he wasn't a chickenshit. It was time to
put up or shut up. 

 Plus, he owed Fraser for being an ass these past few months. Ray knew he
wasn't Miss Mary Sunshine at the best of times, but he'd been pretty testy
lately, and Fraser had to have noticed. 

 If Fraser felt the same way about him -- and God, he could only hope -
then Ray had some making up to do. 

 "...Ray, Ray, Ray?" 

 "Yeah, I hear you." He walked over and turned off the stove. 

 "Ray, those weren't quite finished --" 

 "Listen. I need to say something." 

 "Is this about your date last night?" 

 Ray looked closely at Fraser. (And when was the last time he had done
that?) This time, he saw the hurt in his eyes and the lowered tone of
voice when Ray said "date." Maybe Ray wasn't the only one being
chickenshit around here. 

 "Why are you still here? Not here -- you know, Chicago." 

 "Well, my job --" 

 "Try again. You can go anywhere." 

 "My friends --" 

 "Vecchio is gone." 

 "Ray Vecchio isn't my only friend.' 

 "You could have stayed after our adventure." 

 Now Ray saw was real pain, and also regret. Shit, Fraser thought he'd
done the wrong thing. He wished he'd stayed in Yellowknife that day, and
waved Ray happily off into the sunset. He thought he was alone. 

 "You stayed for me." 

 "Well, I --" Pause. "I did. I value you and your friendship immensely." 

 Ray moved forward, stalking across the kitchen and stopping about an inch
from Fraser. He could see that Fraser was terrified and unsure, which was
so alien for him that Ray found himself getting a little scared too. "I'm
an idiot." 

 "Hardly, Ray -- is there a point to all this?" 

 "Yeah." Ray leaned in and kissed him tentatively. Oh god, this was what
he needed. Even if Fraser ran out and never came back, it felt so good to
be fucking honest for a change. Fraser was gearing up to leave anyways, so
what the hell did he have to lose? 

 Fraser accepted the kiss for a moment, and then pushed back. "Ray -- why?
I don't understand...your date..." 

 Ray sighed. "My date. My date was fun. She's funny and pretty and nice
and not you." He closed his eyes. "She doesn't know me. I don't know her.
We're not...partners." He reached out and touched Fraser's shoulder. "I've
been too fucking afraid to admit what I need. I never even thought you
might need the same thing." 

 He took a deep breath. "Listen, I'm sorry. I've been an ass, and I
haven't even thought about how you might be sad or lonely ...shit, I
haven't been doing much thinking at all." He laughed. "Stupid, huh? You
let me follow you on our adventure, then you turned around and followed me
right back to Chicago. I don't know how I couldn't see that you couldn't
let me go either." He wrapped his arms around Fraser, and whispered into
his ear. "I don't want to let go." Fraser's eyes were closed and he was
breathing shallowly. "Ray -- I ...don't ...this isn't pity...I couldn't
--" 

 Ray laughed. "Yeah, I'm going to pity-fuck the hottest guy in the
Northern Hemisphere. Lucky me." 

 Fraser's eyes snapped open and he started laughing. Ray decided to shut
him up by kissing him as thoroughly as he could. Fraser stopped laughing
pretty damned quick and kissed him back, pushing forward as he was
kissing, so he and Ray stumbled across the kitchen floor, mouths fused
together, gasping and shaking. 

 Ray's back hit something big and cold, so he figured they'd made it to
the fridge. No place to go, but Fraser still kept driving forward. Kissing
him and licking him until he was dizzy, running his hands up and down
Ray's back, almost like he thought Ray would disappear if he broke
contact. "Frase ...Ben ...bedroom." 

 Fraser shook his head. "I don't want to stop. I don't want this to stop."
He grabbed Ray's T-shirt and pulled it off in one swift move, which caused
Ray to smack his head on the refrigerator door. When the stars cleared,
Fraser was also shirtless and doing the mind-bendingly hot thing of
unbuttoning his jeans with one hand while he braced himself up with the
other. Ray figured that was his cue to shimmy out of his sweats and lick
his way down from Fraser's neck to his shaking fingers. 

 "Oh, God, Ray." 

 Ray looked up. "Too much?" 

 Fraser pulled him up and pushed against him with his whole big, hot body.
"Too much, not enough. I want...I want so much." 

 Ray was new to the guy-on-guy thing, but he was a guy himself, so he knew
what it meant when a guy started shaking and sweating like that. He
reached down and slid his one hand around Fraser's cock while he reached
up with the other to grab the back of his neck pulled him close for
another kiss. Fraser made a sound that was halfway between a moan and a
yelp that got lost down Ray's throat as he surged forward. Ray was barely
hanging on himself, with Fraser sliding around on top of him. He just
wanted to push forward and rub himself all over that gorgeous fucking body
until he exploded, but Fraser was beating him to it...he shoved forward a
few more times and moaned deep into Ray's mouth, wetness splattering over
both of them. Fraser was still twitching and gasping when he weakly
reached down and wrapped his hand around Ray's full, aching cock. That was
pretty much all Ray needed, and he shouted into Fraser's shoulder as he
came until his teeth hurt. 

 Ray sank to his knees, and Fraser tumbled down on top of him in a sticky
heap. He closed his eyes and drifted, relaxed at last. 

 FOURTEEN. 

 Fraser took a few deep breaths to calm his racing heart. If not for small
details -- like the fact that Ray's elbow was jammed into his bladder, or
the fact that his back was now sweating against the clammy refrigerator --
he would have thought that he was dreaming. He shifted, suddenly aware of
his nudity. 

 Ray looked up and smiled. "The kitchen floor isn't my first choice for a
nap. I offered to go to the bedroom." 

 How on earth could Ray be so casual about this? Fraser felt like his
world had shattered just as he had glued the last pieces in place. He had
been moving on...and now he was back, far deeper than he could have
imagined. 

 "Hey, are you okay? Is this okay?" Ray waved his hand at the stickiness
cooling between them. 

 "No. Yes. I mean," Fraser blew out a big breath. 

 "I was fine. I was...moving on. I was going to be happy, as happy as I
could be." 

 Ray nodded, thankfully understanding him without further explanation. 

 "This is too easy. It's -- well, fairy tales don't exist." He rubbed at
his forehead. "Not for me." 

 Ray pointed at him. "So, let's get this straight." He stuck out his hand.
"Hi, I'm Ray. The only significant relationship I've ever had was with a
girl who saw me pissing my pants when I was thirteen. This girl then takes
the best years of my life and eventually breaks my heart. Slowly." He
grabbed Fraser's hand. "You must be Ben. I hear your ex-girlfriend shot
your lifelong companion, betrayed you, and basically destroyed your soul."
He snorted. "That's one hell of a depressing fairy tale." 

 "Actually, traditional fairly tales are often quite dark, with violent
psychosexual imagery -- " 

 "Fraser. Now is not the time." 

 "Right." 

 He brought his mind back to the subject at hand. "You're saying we
deserve to be happy." 

 "The way I look at it, life owes me a big fat boatload of happy." He
kissed Fraser quickly on the mouth. "I'm collecting." He grew sober for a
moment. "I just didn't know where I needed to look, ok? I can be kind of
dense sometimes." 

 Fraser opened his mouth to reply just as the phone rang. Ray jumped to
his feet and picked it up. Fraser followed suit and started automatically
cleaning up the mess they had made as Ray talked animatedly into the
phone. Goodness, the kitchen looked like a crime scene. 

 Ray hung up the phone. "That was Tina. I guess good old Ned and Alma
called to complain of a break-in at one of their storage facilities. These
might be our guys." 

 Fraser nodded and headed out to the living room for some clean clothes.
He started towards the bathroom but remembered that it was a little late
for modesty. He dressed quickly and was waiting by the door as Ray came
out of the bedroom, also fully dressed and wearing his shoulder holster. 

 "Pitter patter," Ray said, swinging the screen door open. 

 They got into the nondescript white sedan that had been rented for them,
and Fraser immediately found the map that one of the officers has left in
the glove box. It was a map of area attractions; both the inn and the farm
were clearly highlighted. He showed the map to Ray. "Our colleagues seem
to have this well thought out." 

 "I like those guys," Ray said. "For small-town cops, they've got it
together." 

 Ray grinned a genuine, light-hearted smile. Fraser realized just how long
it had been since he'd seen Ray truly happy. He was amazed to think that
he might have had something to do with it. Was Ray right? Was it really
this easy? 

 They pulled into the farm and saw that the local police were already
there. Fraser pointed at the side road that wound away from the main
building, which was a converted barn that sold various bakery confections
and locally-made knickknacks. They drove through a few stands of pine
trees and came upon a cluster of buildings. They had all been farm
buildings at one point, perhaps for housing livestock. Now they were
obviously used for packaging and shipping the flats of blueberries. There
were no workers visible, most likely due to the recent break-in. They
pulled behind one of the buildings and got out of the car cautiously. 

 Officers Hammersmith and Jackson exited the building across from them,
the largest one in the complex. "There we go," Ray said. "At least we know
where to search." 

 Fraser nodded briefly and turned his attention back to the officers. They
were speaking to an elderly couple, perhaps seventy years old - presumably
the proprietors. 

 Ned Sterling had obviously been a tall man in his youth, but years of
hunching over blueberry flats had robbed him of several inches. Alma was a
short, plump woman who was obviously distraught at the situation. She
alternated between wringing her hands and gesturing angrily towards the
crime scene, while her husband stood quietly by her side. The two local
officers led them toward the main house, obviously trying to reassure Alma
as they walked. 

 Once they were safely out of sight, Fraser and Ray hurried across to the
building. "Fucking haystack," Ray said. 

 "Beg your pardon?" 

 Ray pointed to the dizzying assortment of boxes, flats and harvesting
equipment that had been jammed into every available millimeter of space.
"Needle. Haystack. It's going to take us for-fucking-ever to find anything
in here." 

 Fraser mentally calculated how many boxes they might be able to search
per minute, then realized that Ray might not be looking for such specific
information. "I admit that I'm missing Diefenbaker's presence. His
assistance in this situation would be invaluable." He frowned. "Please
don't tell him I said that --" 

 Ray waved his words away. "Yeah, his ego. Trust me, I know." 

 "Perhaps the findings of the Forensics team would be useful." 

 Ray turned to look at him. "Forensics? They won't get Forensics in here.
Remember that this is just a break-in for these guys. They're not making
the murders in Chicago public, in case there's no link to Ned and Alma." 

 Of course. Even in this small town, criminal acts were shrugged off as
unimportant as long as nobody was killed. An uncharitable thought, surely,
but Fraser was feeling rather disillusioned with the American justice
system. 

 He realized Ray was looking at him. "We're going to have to rip apart
every one of these boxes, aren't we?" 

 Fraser nodded, steeling himself for the anticipated outburst.
Surprisingly, all Ray said was, "Better get started, then. I want to be
back in time for dinner." 

 "You don't mind?" Fraser asked, momentarily unguarded. 

 "Well, yeah, I mind. Why? It this your idea of a kick-ass first date?
Because frankly, your moves are a little rusty." Ray started pawing
through the nearest box, discarding its contents haphazardly on the floor.


 "No, I mean..." Honestly, what did he mean? As frustrating and irritating
as Ray had been of late, and as fractious as their partnership seemed to
have become, Ray had always been there for him. In some ways, in many
ways, Ray was as much of a foolish believer as Fraser. He went right
along, tilting at the windmills, supporting him when it counted. 

 Fraser felt a glimmer of hope. Perhaps Ray did love him, a little bit. 

 "Are you going to stand there all day counting dust bunnies? I was
serious about dinner, you know." 

 "Yes, yes, of course." Fraser began walking the perimeter of the building
in an attempt to determine if there were any inconspicuous entrances. 

 "Because mfffbrfmmt" Ray shouted, his voice muffled by the alarmingly
large crate that he was buried behind. 

 "I'm sorry, Ray, could you repeat yourself? Your voice was rather --" 

 "I said," Ray purred from right behind his ear, making him jump, "I
missed breakfast." He stayed there, just inside Fraser's personal space,
radiating heat and presence so intense that Fraser could hardly bear it. 

 He whirled around, nose-to-nose with Ray. They stood for a heartbeat,
staring at each other. Fraser opened his mouth to say something,
anything..."Ray, I -- a scent." 

 Ray furrowed his brow. "A scent? Do I smell?" 

 "No, no -- excuse me, Ray." Fraser pushed past him, towards the rear of
the room. "I can detect a distinct scent -- I think it may be the drug." 

 Ray followed him back behind some abandoned equipment. The rear plate of
an old riding lawnmower had been pulled back with some type of instrument
-- ten-inch Vise-Grip pliers, if Fraser wasn't mistaken -- to reveal an
empty compartment. On the floor several feet away was a small sealed
baggie, obviously dropped in haste. A dusting of powder trailed toward the
rear exit, suggesting that another bag had ripped and spilled. Upon brief
inspection, a larger quantity of the powder had been spilled inside the
compartment. 

 "Bingo," Ray said. 

 "Indeed. Rather sloppy for organized criminals, though." 

 Ray nodded. "Hey, sloppy crooks are a cop's best friends. Now we just
have to figure out who this belongs to and how it got into the blueberry
supply." 

 Suddenly Fraser heard whispered voices and muffled footsteps approaching.
"Ray!" he hissed. "Down!" 

 Ray drew his gun and hunched behind the nearest crate. He fumbled in his
pockets for his glasses, and Fraser suppressed a brief smile. Ray was so
endearing in his glasses, all the more so for the fact that he only took
them out to use his gun. That combination of boyish and deadly was
something that Fraser found shamefully appealing. 

 The rear door opened quietly, and several figures entered, hunched and
whispering. 

 "You asshole, how could you miss it?" 

 "The fucking cops showed up earlier than we thought!" 

 "Well, who screwed up the shipment and got the cops here in the first
place?" 

 Fraser stepped out of the shadows. "Gentlemen, if I may?" 

 The men in question -- boys, really -- stared in shock and drew their
weapons. Fraser guessed that they were no older than twenty-one, although
the dark-haired one was possibly younger. Local, if he hadn't missed his
guess. Farm boys never quite lost the rural look, as Fraser himself knew
quite well. 

 "Who the hell are you?" 

 "My name is Corporal Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police-"


 "Shit, a Mountie!" Both boys paled. 

 Fraser frowned. He wasn't used to that reaction. Most people in Chicago
--ah, wait. He had forgotten how close Maine was to the province of
Quebec. An idea flashed in his head -- perhaps the boys were selling their
wares to a Canadian buyer- that would account for the fact that they were
so panicky at the sight of a Mountie. 

 Apparently the same thing had occurred to Ray, because he stepped out
from behind the crate and said, "Yeah, he's a Mountie and I'm a cop. Our
bosses got together and sent us to shut down your little operation." 

 The younger boy was getting agitated, swinging his gun around wildly.
"Josh, what do we do? Mom's gonna kill us! The cops are gonna kill us!" 

 Fraser raised his hands calmly. "Nobody is going to kill anyone, I assure
you. Now, if you'd just place your weapons on the floor, we will discuss
your situation-" 

 The younger boy panicked and tried to throw his gun. Fraser heard the
shot and lunged forward -- everything slowing down and speeding up, a
crazy jumble of images and sensation that he always associated with the
rush of adrenaline. 

 He looked for Ray as he tackled the boys and saw him falling -- NOnono,
not now, not ever... "Ray!" he shouted. He kicked the guns out of the way
and quickly secured the perpetrators by lashing them to a tractor with his
lanyard. 

 He dropped to his knees next to Ray. "Ray! Ray, Ray..." 

 Ray opened his eyes. "Nobody's home. Call back later." He sighed and
struggled to sit up. "I'm fine, see?" He grabbed at his left leg, which
was covered in blood. "It just winged me. It looks worse than it is." 

 Fraser took out his knife and cut the leg of Ray's jeans open. Indeed, it
seemed that the bullet had neither hit anything vital nor passed too
deeply into the muscle. "You'll still need a few stitches." He quickly cut
a long strip from Ray's damaged jeans to use as a makeshift bandage. 

 "Yeah, I figured. Let's get these dumb-ass punks down to the station and
let the locals deal with them for now." He stood up, using Fraser for
support. "We'll deal with the rest after I get patched up." 

 "Are you all right to walk?" 

 "Yes, Mommy. Jeez." 

 Fraser used Ray's cell phone to call Officers Jackson and Hammersmith,
who were just on their way back to the station. They were thrilled that
the perpetrators had been caught, and rushed right back to the farm.
Apparently Ned and Alma wanted to come down to the barn to yell at the
youths themselves, but a junior officer was dispatched to keep them safely
in the house. 

 Officer Jackson walked into the building. He looked at the boys and shook
his head, "Josh Hanson. I wish I was surprised." 

 His partner cocked her head at the younger man. "Though, I am surprised
you managed to drag Timmy into all this. You boys are in serious trouble."


 Timmy Hanson paled and closed his eyes. "Mom is going to kill me." 

 Ray frowned. "Kid, you just shot a cop. And the drugs you guy are selling
killed three people in Chicago. Your mom is the least of your worries." 

 The officers cuffed the boys and escorted them into a waiting squad car.
They told Fraser to take Ray to the hospital and that they'd fax whatever
findings they had to the inn's office. 

 Fraser listened with only half an ear and thanked them mechanically. 

 If the boy had turned slightly, if Ray had stepped forward ...he could
have lost Ray, just when he had finally truly found him. 

 FIFTEEN. 

 Ray hated getting shot. That peculiar burning sensation that accompanied
the pain. The hospitals. The paperwork. 

 At least the wound was superficial enough that he could do the outpatient
thing, and the hospital was hick enough that they didn't have a huge line
in the waiting room. Still, after all was said and done, they didn't get
back to their cabin until 8:30. 

 "I am going to fall over dead from hunger," Ray announced. 

 Fraser said, "If you could hold off for a few minutes, I think I can
remedy that." 

 "Yeah?" 

 "I took the liberty of ordering a few things from the restaurant. I'm
quite hungry myself." 

 Ray relaxed into the couch. God, it had been a long fucking day. His head
lolled back on the cushion and he closed his eyes. His leg throbbed a
little, but it was okay. It was more annoying than painful, really -- once
they'd gotten him cleaned up, he'd only needed a stitch or two, and
whatever they gave him was taking the edge off. The idiot kid winged him
about two inches above the outside of his knee, so he was pretty lucky
there. 

 The doorbell rang, and...shit, there was Kate at the door with the food.
He'd completely forgotten about her. She was probably expecting to come in
and nurse him back to health or something. "Ray," she said, "I heard you'd
been shot. Are you ok?" 

 He sat straighter. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just really tired." He smiled.
"Starving, too. You don't mind if we just grab the food and chow, right?
I'm not in the most social mood." 

 There. Hopefully that would get her out of here without being rude. She
looked a little taken aback, but smiled and said that she understood.
"Feel better," she said and closed the door. 

 He and Fraser fell on the food like they hadn't eaten in months. It was
fish and chips, which was apparently their special for the day. It was
fucking heaven, is what it was. Crispy, flaky, fried fish, and fries so
hot he nearly burned his mouth. Awesome. 

 After they were done stuffing themselves, they saw that Kate had stuck a
few pieces of chocolate cake in the bag, and they managed to chow those
down as well. "I am not moving for a week," Ray declared. 

 "It has been an...eventful day." Fraser was fiddling with his mug of tea.
"Ray, do you think --" 

 "Fraser, I seriously do not even want to talk about the case right now.
The guys are caught. They spilled their guts. All that's left is to figure
out how the hell that shit got to Chicago, and Forensics -- both here and
in Chicago, I might add -- is working on that." He stretched and stood up,
wincing as his leg straightened out. 

 "Yes, of course." Fraser was still fiddling to the point of bursting, and
his eyes kept drifting towards the kitchen. 

 *Got it, Ray thought. "Ah," he said, leaning against the wall. 

 "Ah?" 

 "Yeah, 'ah". What, you have to be the only guy that gets to say it?" 

 "What are you referring to?" 

 "You're twitchy." 

 "I am not. I'm merely feeling the effects of the caffeine." 

 "Twitchy." 

 "Restless." 

 "Twitchy." 

 "Fine, I'm twitchy." Oooh, now he was twitchy and annoyed. Good, maybe
he'd talk. "It's just that I'm at a loss as to the ramifications of our
actions this morning." 

 "You mean the sex." 

 "Yes." 

 "You want to have a big relationship talk right now." 

 "Well, yes." 

 "Fraser." 

 "Yes?" 

 "I'm completely fucking exhausted. I went to bed last night thinking I
was never going to find the right woman, and I wake up to find out that
it's because I've met the right man. I have sex with my best friend, and
then get shot by some dumbass hick junkies. I spend the day getting poked
and prodded in the hospital, and I just ate my first meal of the day. Big
relationship talks? Not high on my to-do list right now." 

 Fraser nodded, smiling. "I see." He walked slowly over to Ray, grinning
shyly. "I'm the right man?" 

 Ray rolled his eyes. "Ask me that again, and I will not be responsible
for my actions." He reached out and threaded his hands in Fraser's hair.
"Do you know how much guts it took to do that this morning? I want a gold
star or something." 

 Fraser's eyes darkened, and suddenly there was nothing shy about him. "I
can reward you in some way, I think." He touched Ray's cheek softly. "If
you're not too tired." 

 "I think I can work up a little enthusiasm." Ray leaned against him.
"Let's get comfy, though. I don't think my leg can handle the kitchen
again." 

 Fraser helped him to the bedroom, wrapping his arm around Ray's torso. He
didn't try anything, but just the weight and the heat from Fraser's body
was enough to get him pretty damned enthused. 

 Ray eased himself onto the bed and took off his shirt. Fraser placed a
hot hand on his chest and said, "Don't." 

 Ray stopped, unsure. "Don't?" 

 Fraser moved his hand slowly down his chest, so Ray could feel the scrape
and friction of every one of his calluses. "Let me." He tugged on the
waistband of the scrubs Ray had borrowed from the hospital. 

 "Oh," Ray said faintly, suddenly lightheaded. Maybe he'd lost more blood
than he thought. Or maybe it was just flooding to a whole different
place...he was achingly hard, and the throbbing in his cock was starting
to overtake the throbbing in his leg. He felt Fraser's stubble against his
stomach, his lips kissing around Ray's navel as he slid the sweats gently
down his leg. 

 Ray squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on the nubby feel of the
blankets beneath him. If he thought about Fraser's mouth or his tongue or
that goddamned stubble that was the only thing providing enough friction
to satisfy his skin, then he was going to fly right the fuck off the bed
and lose his mind. Fraser just kept on tugging gently, kissing softly and
licking sweetly down Ray's whole body until he was naked, and his skin was
charged with an electricity that he hadn't felt in years -- God, he'd
never been so turned on in his life. 

 He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. Control. He needed
control. As much as he'd like to jump on Fraser and screw him into the
mattress, it was the trip that mattered here. They'd get there. Hopefully
soon. Very, very soon. 

 He pushed himself up on one elbow. "Jesus, Fraser. You're still dressed.
Fix that." Ray expected Fraser to undress neatly and carefully, but Fraser
wasn't paying attention to little details like that. It kind of gave Ray a
little zing to realize that was because of him. Ray watched as he stripped
quickly and tossed his clothes into a pile, never taking his eyes off
Ray.. He crawled onto the bed next to Ray's uninjured leg. 

 Ray figured it was time for him to give a little of what he was getting,
so he reached out and pulled Fraser in for a long, hot kiss. Fraser
immediately took control again, straddling Ray and pushing him up against
the pillow. His head sunk back into the down with a little puff of air,
the sides of the pillow squishing up next to his temples. 

 "Hey," he gasped. "Do I get to play?" 

 Fraser shook his head solemnly. "No, Ray. The doctor said to rest." He
smoothed his hands over Ray's face and chest. "I believe you should just
relax." He rocked back a little, finally giving Ray some of the friction
that he was looking for. He felt the warm, damp press of Fraser's body
against his cock and groaned, biting his lip. 

 "Are you okay?" 

 "Dying. Of. Waiting." 

 Fraser chuckled and slid down his body, kissing and nipping harder than
he had before. Oh God, yeah. That was what he wanted -- except it wasn't
really fair that Fraser wasn't getting any. Hmm, couldn't they...yeah,
they could. What he was thinking of was a little advanced, but then again,
he and Fraser were pretty damn good at teamwork. If he could just get
Fraser to move... 

 But before Ray could act on his idea, the feel of Fraser's wet tongue
hitting his cock pretty much cut off all higher brain function. Ray
hissed, digging his hands deep into the blankets. He struggled to get a
hold of his thoughts, but all he could feel was Fraser's hot, slippery
mouth closing on him. Shocks and shivers echoed from the tip of his cock
down his legs, making his toes curl. He just wanted more of that, wanted
to buck and shove upward into that heat and suction, yeah, faster, God,
yeah...no -- wait, wait, there was something else he wanted, something he
needed.... He reached down and tugged on Fraser's hair. 

 "Fraser? Fraser ...wait, stop." 

 Fraser raised his head slowly, letting go of Ray's cock with one last
lick. Ray winced a little at the cold air hitting his wet flesh. "Yes,
Ray?" Fraser's eyes were dark and unfocused. 

 He swallowed hard. "I want... here, just swing your feet up this way."
Fraser hesitated, and Ray could practically see the gears clicking. He
could tell the moment Fraser finally got it- he bit his lip and squeezed
his eyes shut tight, and yeah, Ray got that. It was so hard to do this
slow and make it right. Hard- yeah, that was the operative frigging word
here, wasn't it? 

 Fraser positioned himself next to Ray, careful not to jostle Ray's
injured leg. Ray slid his hands up Fraser's thighs, savoring the feel of
the bunched muscles under his taut skin, the hair scraping through his
fingers. He bent forward and tentatively bit the junction of Fraser's
hipbone and thigh, causing him to jump a little and gasp. 

 "Gotcha," Ray said, his voice slightly hoarse. 

 "Dying. Of. Waiting," Fraser replied, and Ray could hear the smile in his
voice. 

 Well, put up or shut up. Most of Ray's flimsy inhibitions had fled since
this morning anyway, and now all he could think as he bent down to taste
Fraser was, I want to make this so good... 

 He closed his mouth around Fraser's cock, tasting salt and heat. God, not
two seconds later, he felt the same wet heat wrap around him, and his
world rocked for a moment. I'm tasting what he's feeling he's tasting me
I'm feeling him... He concentrated on the hot sweaty flex of Fraser's
hips, rocking forward and back in rhythm, trying to ignore the building
pressure that felt like it was coming from his toes, not his balls. 

 He couldn't believe they were here, that they finally got here. Panting,
moaning, working in sync. What a fucking beautiful partnership. They had
it down now. Fraser was working in and out of his mouth, hard enough to
make his jaw ache and his eyes water. He was doing the same thing (The
same thing! The same fucking feeling! God!) to Fraser -- he could hear and
feel the little grunts and gasps every time he pushed deeper into Fraser's
mouth. No way could he hold on any longer. He could only hope that he
didn't choke or die or drown Fraser when he finally let go. 

 "Now," he gasped, to give Fraser warning, and jammed his head into
Fraser's thigh, biting and moaning as he came what felt like
for-fucking-ever into Fraser's mouth. Before the blackness swept in to
claim him, he leaned forward to suck Fraser again, slipped his hands
around Fraser's ass and squeezed. This was apparently a pretty brilliant
move, because Fraser groaned, pumped a few times and gasped "Rayyy..." Ray
wasn't about to be outdone here, so he closed his eyes and swallowed as
Fraser shuddered and twitched inside his mouth. 

 Then blessed, sweaty, sticky sleep finally took over.	

 Ray woke up with an urgent need to piss and an only slightly less urgent
need to shower. The next thought, which came right on the heels of the
shower-thought, was - 

 "Ow," he said. 

 Fraser blinked sleepily and stirred next to him. "Ray?" 

 "You're better than a painkiller. I totally forgot about my leg." 

 Fraser was immediately alert. "Is it bleeding again? Do you need a
doctor? Infection can be very dangerous if not properly-" 

 "I know, I know. It's just sore." 

 He waved off Fraser's concern and sat up, hating the loss of sleepy
warmth. He wanted nothing more than to flop his head on Fraser's broad
chest and sleep for another week, but his body had its own priorities. It
was looking like he had a whole big long future of sleeping on Fraser
anyways, if things worked out the way he intended. 

 Ray grinned at that thought as he limped towards the shower. By the time
he pissed, brushed his teeth (twice) and showered (for a good twenty
minutes, being careful of his bandages), Fraser was up and dressed. 

 There was some coffee in the pot and fresh muffins on the kitchen table.
"Where are these from?" 

 Fraser was absorbed in some papers on the coffee table. "Hmm? Oh, Kate
brought them when she dropped these off." 

 "Is that the Forensics report?" 

 "Yes, and the entire case file from Chicago." 

 Ray dropped down next to Fraser and sipped his coffee. Heaven. "Anything
interesting?" 

 "Well, as we suspected, the drug was the same as the one we found in
Chicago. The Hansons had hidden bags of it all over the farm, and some of
them leaked into the blueberry flats in the shipping areas." 

 Ray nodded. "Yeah, that makes sense. Those guys were idiots." As the
caffeine from the coffee started to tingle into his brain, the gears in
his head creaked into action. "But why just those three people? Were they
the only ones that had blueberries that morning? In all three diners?
That's pretty bad luck." 

 "Precisely. Look at these medical reports." Fraser leaned over to show
them to Ray. "The first victim, Emily Kilton, was taking diet pills that
had ephedrine as their main ingredient." 

 "She was on a diet and ordered blueberry pancakes?" 

 Fraser shot him a look and continued. "The second victim, Dolores Rowley,
had a heart condition. It was initially assumed that that was what had
killed her, but the problem was really too mild to do that much damage on
its own." 

 Ray flipped to the next page. "And the third?" 

 "Tom Donway. Perfectly healthy, except for a moderate case of asthma. He
had just taken two doses of his albuterol inhaler before eating." 

 "Let me guess, a stimulant, right?" 

 "Precisely. It wasn't the drug itself that killed them, but the
interaction between the it and other drugs-or, in Mrs. Rowley's case, her
preexisting condition-that caused their deaths." 

 Ray sighed. "I'd better call Welsh. Let him know we saved the day again."


 "You don't seem pleased that we solved the case." 

 "I am." Ray shook himself a little. "I am, really. But...what now? Those
people are still dead, and we've got two stupid kids that never meant to
kill anyone who'll be rotting in jail for a long time. The system worked
this time, and it still sucks all the way around." 

 He looked at Fraser, expecting to get the old "tuck your kids in" speech,
but to his surprise, Fraser looked as beat as he felt. "Police work can
be...wearing at times." 

 "Well, I'm worn all right." He rubbed his sore leg. "And I'm fucking sick
of being hurt." 

 Fraser rubbed his eyebrow. "Do you ever...have you ever thought of
quitting? Leaving the force?" 

 Ray's heart leaped. "Sure, all the time, especially lately. Quitting,
moving somewhere quiet...like Canada or something." Well, that was about
as un-subtle as you could get. Smooth, Kowalski. 

 "Canada?" Fraser looked him straight in the eyes, and Ray could see the
naked hope laid out there. "You would move to Canada?" 

 Ray grinned. "With you? In a heartbeat." He leered a little, just to make
Fraser blush. "They've got some pretty nice scenery." 

 Predictably, Fraser did blush - sometimes, it was just too easy - and he
asked, "Are you sure? It's cold." 

 "Heat sucks." 

 "You'll miss Chicago." 

 "I will? Which will I miss more, the loneliness or the smog?" 

 "Your family..." 

 "Is in Arizona." 

 "There are amenities in the city..." 

 "Are you forgetting that I've actually been to the Territories? I know
what I'm getting into." 

 Fraser leaned forward and wrapped him into a hug so tight he could hear
his back crack. "Call Welsh," he said breathlessly. "Tell him you're never
coming back." 

 Ray laughed, and damn if he didn't suddenly feel twenty years younger.
"You tell Welsh that. I like my ass in one piece." 

 Fraser smiled wickedly. "As do I, Ray." 

 Ray rolled his eyes, then picked up the cell to call the precinct and
give them the lowdown on the case. A soon as he dialed the first number,
though, Fraser put his hand over Ray's and said seriously, "Is this the
happily ever after part?" 

 Ray smiled, remembering that Fraser had never been married. "Nah, this is
the together ever after part. Happy is just icing on the cake." 

 Fraser's face bloomed into a big grin, his eyes crinkling up at the
corners. "I think that works for me, Ray." 

 Ray kissed him and dialed the phone. 

End Down East by byob: byob_kenobi@livejournal.com

Author and story notes above.