Telephone	   Telephone

 by The Hoyden

  

 Author's website: http://theburrow.net/ds

 Disclaimer: Not mine, even remotely.

 Author's Notes: Heartfelt thanks to Harukami, for the beta and
encouragement. And a tip of the hat to Aurianrose, for thinking it could
work. 

 Story Notes: AU after MOTB, and vague spoilers after that point.

 

 

 I have never played the American sport of football as such; had I known
that living with Ray Kowalski would be remarkably similar, however, I
might have invested in some protective gear. 

 Ray was sitting beside me on the couch, channel-surfing in such a way
that Buffy the Vampire Slayer seemed to come up incredibly often, and for
extended periods of time. I was about to open my mouth to voice my opinion
on the conflict between the characters Buffy and Faith, when the phone
rang on the end table beside me. 

 Ray dove for it, ending up in my lap and pinning my hands (still holding
the book I had been intermittently reading) beneath his torso. "Kowalski,"
he grunted into the phone. 

 I debated shoving him off my lap and onto the floor, when Ray's voice
turned pleasantly surprised. "Chris! How are you?" He picked himself up,
albeit with a great deal of discomforting wriggling. "Yeah, no, I'm still
living in Chicago, yeah. No. No, Stella and me, we split up a few years
back. Nah, I - hey, don't apologize. No, I - hey where did you end up -
what the hell is in Massachusetts besides snow and tea parties? I - wait,
hold on a minute," he said, and then covered the mouthpiece with one hand.
"We were, um, friends during my one year at college. Haven't talked in
forever." He uncovered the mouthpiece. "So, what's new?" 

 Ray shut himself in his bedroom, which was rather considerate of him. I
could still hear him, since the walls were somewhat thin, but it was the
thought that counted when you shared a living space. 

 I turned back to my book, which had suffered a few bent pages in Ray's
spontaneous display of athleticism. I wondered half-heartedly if the young
lady in question was named Christine. Perhaps it was Chrissy. Ray was in
the habit of shortening the names of close associates to one syllable, if
at all possible. 

 "...so weird. Nothing turned out the way we thought, huh?" 

 I stilled in my effort to straighten out a few pages. 

 "Me, I'm alone, you know? And a cop. Jesus, back then I thought I was
going to finish college, and me and Stella were for keeps. And you - hey,
are you still in the Air Force? Wow. Wow, that's wild. No, that's great.
We all thought we'd have to kick your butt out of bed every morning for
ROTC." A sudden laugh. "No, I was Polisci, remember? Only thing I liked.
Couldn't do math for shit, you know?" 

 It wasn't eavesdropping if I couldn't help it, was it? I felt some
measure of guilt, but I couldn't deny my curiosity about these pieces of
Ray's life, made suddenly explicit where they had only been alluded to
before in the course of our friendship. I imagined Ray in a college
lecture hall, black-framed glasses resting on his nose. 

 And what did he mean, alone? 

 "No, I have a roommate. Oh, that's so cute. Like I haven't heard that
before. He's my partner - no, idiot, my cop partner. Except he's a
Mountie. Well, he came to Chicago on the trail of...never mind. Just. It
takes too long to explain." 

 I looked at the ceiling and sighed. 

 "You're in town? Hey, you want to get together? Nah, I don't have a
life." 

 I stiffened at that, and thought of my grandmother's warnings about the
consequences for those who hear conversations not intended for them. 

 "Sure, no, that's cool. Not this Friday, but the next? Yeah, I can do
that. When are you taking off again? End of the month, huh - that's a long
vacation." 

 End of the month. There was a bad taste in my mouth suddenly, my insides
twisting. 

 I had to tell him. I had to tell him soon. Tonight. 

 The conversation continued for almost a full hour, and Ray's voice became
quieter and more indistinct as time went one. Finally he came out his
bedroom. "That was so weird. I haven't talked to Chris in almost fifteen
years, and then - boom! Out of the blue. We're going to have dinner in a
couple of weeks, though." 

 "I'm sure that will be enjoyable," I told him, mostly out of reflex. 

 My voice must have betrayed my anxiety, because he looked at me
strangely. "You okay?" 

 I took a deep breath. "I received an official notification." 

 "Good news, bad news?" 

 I smoothed one eyebrow with my thumb, which had the unintended
consequence of visibly alarming Ray. "I've been offered a transfer to
Toronto." 

 Ray took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Like the last time, then?"


 The last time I had been offered a transfer, it was to Ottawa, but I saw
no need to quibble. Not when there was something larger at stake. "A bit
different from last time. They've offered me a promotion, a position in
the CFSEU." 

 "The what?" 

 "The Combined Forces Special Enforcement Units. They are integrated teams
of police officers and other government agencies, such as the RCMP, with a
mandate to expose, investigate, prosecute, dismantle, and disrupt
organized criminal enterprises." 

 Ray was looking at me as if I have ceased to speak English, which only
served to make me babble on. "Apparently, our joint efforts here in
Chicago with local organized crime have led the RCMP to believe that I
would be an effective official liaison to the division dedicated toward
combating the threat of Eastern European Organized Crime, which, as I'm
sure you know, is responsible for significant amounts of the total
financial fraud in Canada, and - " 

 "Fraser!" 

 I shut my mouth so quickly I thought I could hear my teeth snap together.


 "You're going to take the promotion, aren't you." It wasn't a question,
and I was unsure of what emotion was filling Ray's voice. 

 "I don't know," I said carefully, folding my hands in my lap. 

 "That is such bullshit," Ray said, both voice and body tense. "You
wouldn't be so fucking nervous about telling me if you hadn't already
decided to take it. When did you get the letter?" 

 "Recently." 

 "Fraser! Do not do that thing with me, that omission thing. Tell me: when
did you get the letter?" 

 I sighed heavily, knowing that I could not and would not lie to him.
"Monday." 

 "Monday? You found out on fucking Monday and you're just now telling me?"
The tendons on Ray's neck were visible, as was the vein in his forehead. 

 "Please, Ray, I simply wanted some time to think the matter over by
myself, and - " 

 "You decided without me," he said quietly, anger giving way to naked hurt
with dizzying speed. 

 "I didn't-" 

 "That's not buddies, Fraser." 

 There was nothing I could say to that, no suitable defense I could make. 

 "How long?" he asked. 

 I didn't insult him by pretending to misunderstand the question. "They've
given me a month to wrap up my affairs here before reporting for duty." 

 He closed his eyes, and when they opened again, the emotion was shuttered
away. "Guess I'll be looking for a new place to live in the next couple
weeks. I can't - it doesn't make sense for me to live here in a
two-bedroom by myself. I'd better...I'd better go make some calls." He
retreated backward a few steps, slowly, as though there were something
dangerous in the front room that would spook if he moved too quickly. 

 "Ray, please listen to me. If we could just talk - " 

 He shut himself firmly inside his bedroom. 

 For the first time this evening, I looked to Diefenbaker, who was lying
in his usual corner. He whimpered, and I bowed my head in shame. 

 "I don't know how I could have handled this worse," I confessed.  

 "Gyah, not. I haven't had that crap in years. Nah, I like Guinness and
Newcastle. Hell, I even like Moosehead. Fraser's right - Americans can't
make beer for shit." 

 We slipped into a booth, one in which Ray had a good view of the bar over
my shoulder. 

 "I'm not seeing him yet," Ray said, absentmindedly tapping the table with
one fingertip. 

 "I'm quite certain your informant will show. We are, after all, a half
hour early." I was unsure whether Ricky Marciewicz would be of use, but
since Ray had threatened to break at least his fingers, I was confident
that he would make the appointment. 

 Ray was fidgeting, seemingly unable to get comfortable. "Fuck it. Might
as well have a beer while we wait. They've got Newcastle on tap, and I've
been wanting one since last Friday." He flagged a bored-looking waitress
over, one who seemed disturbingly young to me to be working in such an
establishment. "I'll have a Newcastle, and my friend here, he'll just have
wat-" 

 "The Pilsner Urquell," I interrupted. The waitress wandered off, but Ray
stared at me. 

 "Since when do you drink beer? Since when do you know anything about beer
at all?" he demanded, looking as though I had just told him that the
Canadians had won the World Series again. 

 "Really, Ray. Simply because I just chose not to drink on even a
semi-regular basis doesn't mean I'm ignorant on the subject," I told him,
my voice just this side of haughty. I did not see fit to inform him that I
had picked the beer almost at random off the list, purely on the basis of
it being the only representative of the Czech Republic. 

 "Huh," he said, sinking back into the booth. He said no more until our
drinks arrived, but his eyes were thoughtful. 

 The Czech beer was rather dry and not exactly to my taste, but sheer
perversity made me continue to drink it. I carefully watched the level in
Ray's own glass, and made an effort to match him as best I could. 

 Ray pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He never seemed to
smoke regularly, per say - it was more situational. Sometimes, during
particularly difficult cases, I could find him out on back stoop of the
27th, chain-smoking and scowling at the expanse of asphalt. Sometimes,
after one or two cigarettes, he would stand up suddenly, grind the last of
the cigarette under his heel, and pull me off to wherever a flash of
intuition led him. Sometimes, it was six or seven cigarettes, and nothing
would come to him. Those times, he usually allowed me to coax him back to
his desk so that we could go over the evidence again, to see if logic
might not do where instinct had failed. 

 He lit the end of the cigarette, and I was struck again that nobody made
smoking look anywhere near as attractive as Ray Kowalski did. Prior to his
unexpected arrival in my life, I would never have described the scent as
sensual, but paired with the visual of Ray's lips and long fingers, it was
nothing less than intoxicating. 

 You're leaving, I reminded myself. No more watching Ray Kowalski court
cancer with seductive grace. No more long evenings with the warmth of his
knee against yours, or his wry and sarcastic humor deconstructing the
crowd around you. 

 Without thinking about it overmuch, I reached across the table and
plucked the cigarette out of his hand. 

 He frowned at me, and made an abortive attempt to retrieve it. "Hey, I
was smoking that. And don't give me any grief, this is definitely a
smoking establishment, and what the fuck are you doing?" 

 I took a hesitant drag off the cigarette, my lips where his had been. It
made me cough slightly, and I looked up to see Ray staring at me,
dumbfounded. 

 His shock didn't last long. "Jesus, don't - look, when you inhale, just
hold it in your mouth, don't try and suck it down into your lungs. Jesus
Christ. You're like - you're like, Anti-Mountie tonight. Drinking and
smoking. What the hell's gotten into you?" 

 I took another drag, holding the smoke in my mouth as he had suggested. I
didn't cough this time, and exhaled smoothly. "Maybe there are things you
don't know about me." 

 He gave me a measuring look, and lit another cigarette for himself. "So
much for anti-tobacco campaigns."  

 "Sometimes I go out, yeah. Never find what I'm looking for, though. Plus
all the kids make me feel really fucking old, when all I want to do is
dance." 

 It was a Saturday, and a rather domestic one at that - Ray was prodding
what will be stir-fry in our wok, and I was doing laundry. 

 Dinner was starting to smell quite delicious, but... "Maybe a little
garlic," I suggested. 

 Ray pointed a cooking implement in my direction. "Do not do that. Do not
backseat cook with me, or I swear I will beat you to death with this
wooden spoon." 

 I hid a smile and continued to fold the pile of warm clothes into
appropriate baskets. After sharing a domicile for a year, we'd ceased to
do separate loads of laundry. Dirty shirts, jeans, socks and underwear all
went into one communal hamper, and Ray claimed that, contrary to popular
legend, he had actually been gaining socks since I started doing laundry,
as opposed to losing them. I told him that was just silly, but he muttered
something about my being unable to take a compliment, and I finally
replied that he was welcome. 

 "Aren't there red peppers in the drawer?" 

 Ray glared at me. "What did I say? What did I just say? When I want your
opinion on dinner, Fraser, I'll give it to you. And there are not red
peppers in the drawer, because you know I hate them. They're like the
fruit of the devil and they have no fucking business being in our fridge."


 "Strictly speaking, I think they're a vegetable." 

 He made an exasperated noise and scrubbed one hand through his hair,
before turning around and rooting through the vegetable drawer in the
refrigerator. He was silent for a moment before turning around. "Aw,
you're fucking with me, aren't you? This is revenge for E! Celebrity
Weddings last night, isn't it?" 

 I flashed him a quick smile before schooling my expression to
disapproval. "Two hours, Ray. And that sort of program only encourages the
invasion of privacy by individuals of the media." 

 He rolled his eyes before putting a saucepan of water on to boil. 

 I pulled a shirt out of the pile - one of his, one which I had never seen
before. It was a rather nice shade of blue, one which I thought would
surely complement his eyes. Some sort of rayon blend, I thought, though
the tag had been snipped off, so I couldn't be certain. "Is this a new
shirt?" I asked, holding it up. 

 "Huh? Yeah. You were at that thing at the Consulate, so I decided to go
out dancing for awhile. Wanted something new to wear, so I wouldn't feel
so fucking old at the club." 

 I eyed the shirt. It looked rather smaller than usual - it would
undoubtedly be tight on him. The mental image of Ray wearing this shirt,
dancing in a club, surrounded by strangers - his body sweaty, undulating
rhythmically - 

 "Did you have a good time?" I asked, aiming for casual. I rubbed my ear,
which seemed a bit warm to me. 

 "Not really." He took the stir-fry off the burner. "I ended up coming
home, like usual." 

 Our eyes met for a few moments before returned to our tasks.  

 "Can you hang on for a second? I gotta - yeah, I'll be right back." 

 "Dammit, dammit, dammit - Fraser, can I come in?" 

 I paused in the middle of shampooing my hair. "Yes," I called over the
noise of the shower. 

 The bathroom door exploded inward, and it seemed that Ray had forgotten
he had an appointment at court today, and had overslept. At least, that
was what I deduced from the steady stream of profanity. 

 "Fuck, fuck, fuck," Ray chanted. "God, Fraser, I have to shave, I can't
go in looking like this." 

 I stepped out of the spray to soap myself up. "Go ahead." 

 Ray turned on the faucet and the water from the showerhead went
distinctly chilly. "Can you hand me the blue bottle?" 

 I fished through the jumble of products in the shower basket, before
pulling the curtain aside a bit to hand it to him. 

 Ray was standing in front of the sink, bare-chested, boxers rumpled, hair
sticking every which way. He was shaving carefully, more so than he was
usually wont. I retreated back into the shower, rinsing off quickly. 

 "Fraser, can you hurry it up?" His voice was impatient, with a grating
edge of a whine attached. 

 I bit back a sharp rejoinder, though part of me wanted to snap at him
that it was hardly my fault that he overslept and was now behind schedule.
I groped for a towel and tried to cover myself best I could, after
stepping out of the shower. The bathroom was small, and had in fact been a
drawback when we had gone apartment hunting - but in the end, we'd decided
that it would do just fine for a pair of bachelors. However, I don't think
either of us had quite envisioned the need to be in there at the same
time. 

 We switched places in what might almost have qualified as a dance; Ray
shucked his boxers unselfconsciously and restarted the shower. "What are
you going to make for dinner tonight?" 

 I frowned at my reflection in the mirror as I combed my hair. "Entirely
up to you - I'll be at the Consulate until seven tonight." I paused.
"Also, it's your turn. In fact, I think it's been your turn the last three
nights running." 

 "Look, I said I was sorry - stupid Anderson case, and - fuck me sideways,
this is Stella's case today. Just what I need," he moaned. "Gimme that
moisturizer, will you?" 

 I handed it to him. "You're welcome," I said under my breath. 

 He heard anyway. "Thank you. Jesus, Fraser, what's your deal this
morning? You've been giving me a hard time since I woke up - cut me some
slack, will you?" 

 That was such an offensive piece of revisionist history that I was really
forced to turn on the faucet with no warning. 

 He howled seconds later as the inadequate plumbing of the bathroom
exacted its price, and I made short work of shaving. "Swear to god,
Fraser, if I wasn't bare-ass naked, I would snap your ass with a wet towel
so fast..." 

 "You could try. But you'd be even later for court." 

 "FUCK! Oh fuck, I bet my blue suit's still at the bottom of my closet." 

 "It's hanging up in your closet," I replied tartly. "I ironed it last
week. For which you are also welcome." 

 "Lifesaver. Hey, look - want me to pick you up for lunch today? You can
buy." 

 For that, I was forced to flush the toilet, as well.  

 "Me and Fraser - we're like a duet, you know? We've got something good
going on." 

 At seven o'clock, I walked in the door and knew that Ray's day had not
improved since this morning. We had been unable to meet for lunch, as he
had to go track down an important witness. 

 Ray was in the kitchen, stirring something at the stove with sharp
movements. 

 "How was your day?" he asked shortly. 

 I cleared my throat. "Well, it was rather -" 

 "How about I tell you about mine? I've had a day. In fact, I've had an
incredibly shitty day. I woke up late for a court date, which is always
fantastic." He slammed the stirring spoon down on the stove with a noisy
clatter, and slowly stalked toward me, his body radiating tension and more
than a hint of menace. 

 "Well, Ray, perhaps if you put your alarm clock across the room, you
wouldn't turn it off in your - " 

 "Do not start with me. Moving my alarm clock later will not change the
fact that I woke up late today." He bounced a bit on the balls of his
feet, in a stance that was rather alarming in its similarity to the
prelude to a boxing match. 

 "How was court?" I asked, trying to move to safer conversational ground. 

 "Court was fun. Court was great. Because my ex-wife was a first-class
bitch to me in public, 'cause guess what? Yes, ladies and gentlemen,
because she's screwing the judge and she wanted to make sure that he knew
that her ex was dirt beneath her perfect shoes." He came to a stop in
front of me, his jaw jutting out, his body angry and aggressive, coiled to
spring. 

 I frowned at him. "Ray, while Stella is not always strictly professional
in her dealings with you, you're going to have to allow for the fact that
she is, in fact, your ex-wife, and there is a high probability that any
future companionships might be cultivated within the work environment,
since statistically - " 

 "Stop it, stop it, shut up, Fraser! What is that, are you saying she had
a right to treat me like crap?" 

 "Of course not, Ray, I'm merely suggesting that perhaps you ought to
allow for - " 

 "I'm done allowing. The way I figure it, the world ought to be allowing
me a couple of things, but no! Instead, just for fun, I have to skip lunch
to interview a witness, who turns out not to know shit, but she's related
to deputy mayor and insists on having her statement taken. After all's
said and done, I come home and find out that we don't have enough of
anything for a complete dinner, so I gotta go to the store because my
partner was a complete asshole about everything this morning." 

 "Well, if that isn't the pot calling the kettle black, I don't know what
is," I retorted hotly. "You were ill-tempered and completely ungrateful
from the minute you walked in the bathroom, and I think I've been plenty
patient under the circumstances." 

 He paused for only one shuddering indrawn breath. "Patient, huh? So how
are you, Fraser? 'Cause from where I'm standing, you seem to have had a
good day. And why not? After all, you're leaving this shitty place, this
shitty job, you're leaving me, and you're going to go off and have
yourself a grand old Mountie time, aren't you?" 

 I felt my jaw clench. "I told you, Ray, the promotion is the logical
career move and - leaving you?" I glared at him, having moved beyond
irritated to quite furious. "It seems to me that you won't lack for
companionship, what with your lady friend making a reappearance in your
life - in fact, Ray, I don't quite see how you'll miss me at all." 

 He scowled at me. "What the hell are you talking about? Is that some sort
of dig? What the hell is that, because you know damn well there aren't any
ladies in my life, not if you're in a thirty-fucking-feet radius - " 

 "Chris!" I snapped. "Chris called, and don't bother telling me that you
weren't absolutely thrilled - perhaps you'll rekindle your old romance,
perhaps she'll be the next Mrs. Kowalski - " 

 "Well, she won't, because Chris isn't a lady!" He was now yelling, and I
wasn't much better. 

 "Well, I'm sure she'll be happy to hear that," I retorted. "Though I
would've thought you'd think more highly of her since - " 

 "You asshole, will you shut up and listen to me? Chris is a man." 

 I froze. "Excuse me?" 

 "Chris is a guy. You know what that means, don't you?" He asked
defiantly, right up in my face. "You say I don't know everything about
you, but Fraser, there are days when you don't know jack shit about me." 

 I took a step back. And another, and another. "Diefenbaker," I said, in a
voice I barely recognized as my own. "I think we should go for a walk." 

 Diefenbaker whined in reproach, but joined me as walked out the door,
down the stairs, and onto the cold street below.  

 "He has this wolf. Well, half-wolf. Named Diefenbaker. Dunno. Some old
Canadian president or something. Loves his donuts, believe you me." 

 I was walking briskly, as the thought of physically running seemed to be
a far more literal symbolism than I could really stomach at the moment. 

 Ray might have had his parting shot, but Diefenbaker was just getting
warmed up. 

 "You don't know that! In fact, you can't know that. This has been a
terrible house of cards since the very beginning, faulty assumption after
faulty assumption. If Chris is a man, we cannot logically suppose that
they were involved in the past." 

 Diefenbaker growled slightly. 

 "Well, it's all very well for you to say that the past doesn't matter
here," I said in a huff. "Tell me, what would you have done in my
situation, hmm? Made a grand stand, confessed your love, carried him off
to Toronto? The problem, Diefenbaker, is that you forget to allow that I
had absolutely no evidence that Ray would be at all receptive to such
advances." 

 He sniffed contemptuously, and I came to a dead halt. 

 "Now, see here. I'm very glad for you and your superior sense of smell,
but human beings make decisions based off of things other than pheromones.
Ray has a life here, one that he likes - he has a job, family, friends, a
turtle - even if everything we wanted were to fall in our laps, what kind
of future is there for Ray in Toronto? In the end, Diefenbaker, even if he
loved us and came with us, in time he would grow to hate us. And then he
would leave," I concluded soberly. 

 Diefenbaker tossed his head back in the direction of our apartment, and
gave a mournful whine. 

 I sighed heavily. "You're right. We have to go back. We have to put
things right before we leave."	

 Ray was waiting when I opened the door to our apartment. I had a horrible
feeling in the pit of my stomach, an almost paralyzing uncertainty. Ray
was seated at the kitchen table, looking calm and composed. He looked like
as if he were about to interview a suspect; oddly, this afforded me some
measure of relief. At least I knew which part to play. 

 "Have a seat, Fraser," he said. It wasn't precisely an invitation, but I
crossed the room and stiffly sat down across from him. 

 At some point, he must have run damp fingers through his hair - it was
slightly subdued from its earlier frenetic look. He looked off to one
side, and began to speak, almost meditatively, his voice a near murmur.
"You make me so crazy sometimes that I can't think straight. Sometimes I
think you do it on purpose. But I've been thinking, Fraser, and I never
did that well at math, but something doesn't add up here." 

 I almost retorted reflexively that Ray was perfectly capable of basic
mathematical skills, although his calculations for tips at dining
establishments sometimes left something to be desired. Instead, I
ventured, "What would that be, Ray?" 

 He leaned forward, finally making eye contact. "See, there's something
hinky going on here. One day, pretty much out of the blue, you tell me,
'So long, Ray, I'm off for a part of Canada that doesn't really turn my
crank all that much, been nice sharing a dom-i-cile, have a great life.'
Now see, that should have told me something wasn't right. You weren't wild
about Ottawa - you thought an underwater swim and pirates and me were
better than that. So, you know, we haven't had any pirates lately. So I'm
starting to think that I'm part of the problem." 

 "Ray!" I protested. That he should think himself to blame for our
separation tore at me, but he continued on. 

 "But that's not exactly it, either, is it? 'Cause I know a thing or two
about you, Benton Fraser. And one thing I know is that you're pretty damn
considerate. So why wouldn't you tell me about the transfer the day you
found out, huh?" He leaned even closer, as if to impart a secret. "See,
the only way I can figure that you didn't tell me right off, your best
friend, your roommate, was because you weren't going to take it." 

 I sat up even straighter, if that were possible. "Ray, that's not true, I
had every intention of - " 

 He cut me off with a sharp motion of his hand. "I'm not done, Fraser. I
think you weren't serious until I got that phone call. I think you felt
good that they offered you the job - means that they think you do good
work, and I get that. But I think you were a little unhappy, too - which
not telling me about is completely not buddies, by the way - but not
enough to rock the boat. Which brings us to the phone call. My 'lady
friend.'" He said this with a wry smile, an acknowledgment of my colossal
misunderstanding. "That's when you made the decision, wasn't it?" 

 I shook my head. "No, I had been thinking about it before, Ray - the
CFSEU is quite an honorable posting, I would be able to serve the
interests of the public in ways I am unable to -" 

 "'You won't lack for companionship,'" he said softly, and I realized he
was quoting me. "That's what this is about, isn't it? We were buddies, we
were good, except we weren't - you were holding out on me." 

 "Ray!" I felt shocked. "I would never lie to you!" 

 He shook his head. "Yeah, okay, not to me. But holding out on yourself,
maybe. 'Cause maybe you tried to tell yourself that we were fine just the
way we were. But I think this all got to you." He indicated the apartment
with a slight wave, before returning his hands to rest on the table. The
silver of his bracelet winked in the dim lighting of the room, and I
stared at his hands, rather than meet his eyes. 

 "What got to me?" I asked, still tracing the shape of the bracelet with
my eyes. 

 "Home," he said simply. "So you wanted the job, you wanted Canada - those
are good things to want. But you wanted me too, only you didn't trust me
enough to ask the big question." 

 His hands reached across the table to rest gently against mine, fingertip
to fingertip. "See, you gotta give a guy some warning. You have to say,
'Ray, my friend, would you like to come with me to a city that's
freakishly clean and has a bad hockey team, and share everything with me?'
That's what you gotta say. 'Cause I'm here to tell you, I love you, and I
don't want to be anyplace you aren't." 

 I looked up, and he was smiling. Ray was wrong - in the end, I did trust
him, I trusted him with everything. I took a deep breath. "Ray, my friend,
would you like to -" 

 "Yes," he interrupted, squeezing my hands. His voice was breathtakingly
fond. "Of course. Freak." 

 "Understood," I answered him warmly  

 "Nah, me and Fraser will be cool old bachelors, you know - hanging out
with the wolf, bitching about dry cleaning." 

 "Have I told you about the part where I fucking love this city?" Ray
asked as we shouldered in the door to our new apartment. 

 "Every day, Ray, roughly around the time you visit the bakery on the
corner." Diefenbaker's ears perked up, no doubt at the reference to baked
goods. 

 Ray opened the refrigerator and took out the milk pitcher. "Milk in a
bag," he muttered. "What will you Canadians come up with next?" 

 "Universal health care. Same-sex marriage," I offered blandly. 

 He quirked a grin. "Again with me and loving this city." He looked at the
answering machine on our counter. The red light was blinking steadily. "I
don't care if it's the Queen, Ben, we've been working since one in the
morning, and I am not hauling my non-Canadian ass back downtown for the
Crown or even a freaking teapot." 

 I raised an eyebrow. "Ray, I seriously doubt a teapot would commission
your services." He suppressed a smile, and I hit the button on the
answering machine. 

 "Stanley, honey, this is your mother. You did promise you would call to
talk, and you had some time to settle in, so I thought I'd give your new
phone number a try. Give me a call when you get in." 

 A strange look crossed Ray's face. "I dunno if I'm ready for this." 

 I stared at him, disbelieving. "But you were ready to fill out domestic
partner paperwork at headquarters?" 

 He squirmed and ran his fingers through his hair. "S'different. This is
Canada, Frase. You people are all civilized-like. My mom - see, she's
crazy, because she still remembers when I was four and running butt-naked
through the backyard, you know?" 

 I picked up the cordless phone from the cradle, and held it out to him.
He looked at it warily before clearly gathering his nerve and taking it
from me. He started off in the direction of the bedroom, but stopped
suddenly and turned around. I was surprised and a little bit confused as
he took my hand and led me to the sofa. "Sit," he said. 

 I sat, but he frowned and looked impatient. "No, no, sit with me." 

 It dawned on me what he wanted, and I obediently scooted back on the
couch and made room for him to sit between my legs. "Ray, I thought you
were going to call your mother." 

 He settled against me and made himself comfortable, an activity that
seemed to involve a great deal of shimmying and wiggling about. "I am,
hold on to your big hat." 

 "But Ray, isn't this supposed to be a private conversation?" I protested.


 "Yeah. Private, as in between you, me, and my mom." Before I could say
anything further, he dialed the number. "Hi, Mum." 

 "Stanley, honey, how are you? Oh, your father and I didn't know what to
think, you suddenly leaving Chicago and going up to Toronto - did you
bring enough sweaters, honey? I can send you more." 

 Ray rolled his eyes at me. "I'm good, Mum. I mean, I'm warm and all." I
slid my fingers under the hem of his shirt and felt his warm skin. Purely
in the interests of verifying the truth of Ray's statement, of course. 

 "Oh, I'm so glad, sweetie. We didn't have a lot of warning before you
packed up and went to do...Stanley, dear, what is it that you do up there,
anyway?" 

 Ray's mind had clearly taken filthy turn, and he struggled not to laugh.
"I'm, um, I'm a liason. To the American Consolate up here. Me and Fraser
tangle with these bleached-blond gangsters who steal people's credit cards
and stuff." 

 It was evident from Mrs. Kowalski's pause that she was not quite certain
how to respond to that. "Well, that's nice, honey. Much better than all
that work you did undercover. Did you and that nice Constable find a good
place to live?" 

 He switched the phone to his other ear, and grabbed my hand, running his
fingertips over my knuckles. "Yeah, we found a good place. Pretty roomy
for the location, okay with the wolf. Bigger bathroom," he said pointedly,
craning his head around to mock glare at me. "Oh, plus Fraser got a
promotion. He's a Corporal now." 

 "Oh Stanley, how wonderful for you two!" his mother exclaimed, and Ray's
eyes widened appreciably, and he mouthed, "You two" with evident surprise.


 I shrugged gently, equally mystified. 

 "Thanks, Mum," Ray said cautiously. "So we're doing okay up here." 

 "Oh, I knew you boys would be fine together. You be sure to give your
father and I a call the next time you two have a vacation - it's so cold
up there, honey, we worry about you. You can come down to Arizona when you
have the chance." 

 "Yeah, okay. I gotta go now, Mum, but I'll call again real soon, okay?" 

 "Oh, of course, Stanley. You give our best to your Constable Fraser,
honey." 

 "Okay, Mum," he said, sounding slightly strangled. "Loveyoubye." 

 He hangs up the phone and is still for a moment. "Holy shit, Ben, my mom
knows. My mom knows that you have knowledge of me of the Biblical variety.
I really need a cigarette." 

 "I thought you were quitting." 

 "I am quitting. I'm quitting as soon as my mom stops giving me the
heebie-jeebies." 

 "Hmmph," I said against the back of his neck, kissing the sensitive skin
there. 

 Ray switched on the television with the remote. "Oh, I forgot. Leafs vs.
Hawks tonight. The battle of the sucktastic teams." 

 I pulled aside the collar of his shirt to get to that particular place
where his neck meets his shoulder, and was rewarded with a remarkably
stirring little moan. 

 "I could probably, mmm, even cheer on the Leafs, 'cause the Hawks can't
skate for shit." 

 I smiled against his skin. "I think that's practically treason, Ray. I'll
make a Canadian out of you yet." 

 He twisted around, so that we were face to face. "You wish. You'd have to
make an honest man out of me first." 

 "Well, if that's all it will take..." 

 He kissed me and smiled. "Freak. One thing at a time, huh? Let's order
some weirdo Canadian pizza, watch some crappy hockey. It's good to be
home." 

 I felt myself smiling back. "Understood." 

End Telephone by The Hoyden: thehoyden@livejournal.com

Author and story notes above.