The Bough That Breaks      The Bough That Breaks

 by Tira Nog

  

 

 Disclaimer: Characters don't belong to me, but I wish the guys did. No
money made.

 Author's Notes: This story is dedicated with thanks and love to Bluster.

 Story Notes: 

 

 

 Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine. No money made. The Bough That
Breaks by Tira Nog 

 "What is that?" Someone asked from behind him as Constable Benton Fraser
stared in shock at the framed black and white photo. 

 "It's my family," he softly replied, desperately trying to make out the
features of the woman buried in a fur parka at the far right of the
photograph. But Caroline Fraser's face was as lost to bad resolution as it
was to his childish, foggy memory. All he remembered of her was the scent
of her perfume and vague images of a blinding, angelic smile. And warmth,
maybe the only real warmth he'd ever known in his life. 

 Whoever had asked the question drifted back into the cheerful din that
was the 27th Precinct's Christmas party. Constable Turnbull was still
chasing Chicago cops around the bullpen with the death ray gun Ray had
given him, playing Assassin Santa. Inspector Thatcher, Ray, Officers Huey
and Dewey, even Francesca were all caught up in the merriment of the
season, Officer Dodds was giving a lovely rendition of *Silent Night*. 

 It was a wonderful party. And yet Fraser stood apart from the festivities
as he so often did. Normally, he was alone at such instances, but today he
was in the company of his father's ghost, a dead man who seemed to have
more of a Yuletide social calendar than his living son. 

 Robert Fraser's specter smiled sadly and wished him, "Merry Christmas,
son." 

 "Merry Christmas, Dad," Fraser replied, barely able to get the words out.
He stared down at the small picture in his hands for a moment, and then
softly asked, "Dad, did you give me this?" 

 "No, son, you know I can't manipulate material things anymore. I wish I
had, though. So many Christmases I missed - " 

 "That's all in the past now," Fraser cut in, unable to deal with the
other man's guilt. Right now the last thing the aching Mountie wanted to
be reminded of was all those pathetic Christmases he'd spent in his
grandmother's cabin, eagerly awaiting the return of a man who'd never
shown up for the holiday after his wife had passed away, not even once.
Fraser had meant what he'd said before about forgiveness, and part of true
forgiveness was forgetting, but...the adult in Fraser could forgive, maybe
even forget, but that lonely little boy could do neither. 

 The truth was, Christmas had never been anything but a painful period to
get through for him. When young, he had spent his holidays off from school
trying to remain cheerful in that somber cabin, with its burnt arctic tern
and buckthorn bush stinking the air. Those half-hearted attempts at
acknowledging the holiday had only accentuated what other normal children
had and he didn't. 

 Even in the arctic, other families managed to bring in a real Christmas
tree with real lights on it; others had a real turkey. But not the
Frasers, at least, not after Caroline had died. His grandmother would have
none of that expensive tomfoolery and waste under her roof. So, they made
do with wild, chewy tern, buckthorn bush and flare guns, while other
families celebrated in the traditional manner. 

 Somehow, Fraser would get through it, keep up a happy front. The last
thing he'd ever wanted to do was make his grandparents feel bad for their
attempts to please him. Even at the age of six, Benton had understood how
huge a burden he was to these old people, how difficult it was for them to
deal with a young child. So, he would put on his most cheerful smile and
endure, be polite and act like it was all wonderful. And, eventually, the
Christmas break would end and he'd be free to return to school - in the
years that he wasn't being home schooled, that was. 

 But even that reprieve from the unending depression of the Fraser cabin
would turn out to be a disappointment, for he would have a whole different
ordeal to endure with his schoolmates. He knew it was wrong to be
materialistic, that Christmas wasn't about things, but about spirit and
cherished people. Even so, it was hard not having the gifts other children
had, and harder still to observe the other youngsters show off the new
clothes and toys they'd gotten from Santa, while he'd sit there silently
reading the new book his grandmother had given him, trying not to be too
noticeable. Inevitably, some well-meaning schoolmate would ask what he'd
gotten for Christmas, and he'd have to suffer the pity in their eyes as he
showed off his new book. 

 Yes, he had a lot to forget. But he was trying. God help him, but he was
trying. 

 It was easier here in Chicago. He didn't have to spend Christmas alone,
patrolling deserted wilderness for wrongdoers while married constables
celebrated with their families. Not once, in all the years he'd worked in
those isolated outposts had anyone even asked him about his holiday plans,
let alone invited him to join them. They were Canadians, polite people who
didn't intrude into another man's business. Fraser had set himself up as a
loner, who preferred it that way, and his coworkers had respected that. 

 It had taken a brash American detective with his in your face attitude to
see that for the nonsense it was. If Fraser lived to be a hundred, he
would never forget the gratitude he'd felt that first Christmas here in
Chicago when Ray Vecchio had taken him and Dief home to the Vecchio
Christmas dinner after they'd finished booking the Donnelly Brothers.
Fraser had tried to insist that it wasn't necessary, that he didn't want
to intrude, but Ray had just given him one of those typical Vecchio
replies of 'What intrude?' and dragged the protesting Mountie off to the
finest Christmas he'd ever spent, then delivered him back home when the
overcrowded household had gotten to be too much for him. 

 God, how he missed Ray Vecchio. Fraser couldn't help but sigh as he
thought about his first partner, out there alone in the cold somewhere,
celebrating the holiday in the midst of ruthless criminals instead of with
his loving family. He could only pray that Ray was all right, that Ray
Vecchio had everything he wanted and needed. It was the not knowing that
was hardest. 

 "Well, son, enjoy the festivities. It's time I was away," Robert Fraser
said. 

 "You have an appointment?" Fraser tried to keep the sarcasm out of his
voice; he honestly did, but even so, he knew his bitterness still seeped
through. The man was dead, for God's sake. And even when he was dead,
Robert Fraser still couldn't find it in him to spend a full Christmas with
his son. 

 "Well, in fact, I do, Benton. My Group of Six are going to give our gifts
to the orphans in a little while." 

 Dead painters producing pictures for dead orphans. It made sense, Fraser
supposed. If there were dead orphans in the afterlife, their needs
certainly had to be seen to. Unable to be selfish enough to stand in the
way of charity to orphans, even if they were dead, Benton forced a smile
and answered, "Well, I guess you'd best be going, then. Merry Christmas,
Dad." 

 "Merry Christmas, son," Fraser senior repeated before vanishing into the
ether. 

 The awareness of being alone in the center of a group of happy, laughing
people only increased after his dad departed. Fraser knew that he wasn't
that good at socializing at parties. He had no experience at this. His
seriousness had a habit of bringing others down. He tended to stick out
like a sore thumb, which was actually about the only part of his body that
wasn't aching at the moment. 

 Wilson Warfield's goons had been quite efficient. Fraser hurt all over.
He knew it was sheer luck that that two by four he'd taken across his neck
and back hadn't killed him. 

 "Would you like some champagne, Fras-ur-e?" Francesca Vecchio's cheerful
voice interrupted his musing as she drew out his two syllable name into
three in the same charming manner her brother had. 

 Benton started, his alarmed gaze checking the immediate area for
mistletoe before he politely refused, "No, thank you, Francesca. As you
know, I don't partake of alcoholic beverages." 

 "Oh, yeah. Sorry, Frase," she grinned, turning to make sure she was out
of the line of danger as Turnbull raced by like an excited four year old
with his death gun. 

 Catching her profile, a pang went through him. Fraser couldn't help but
note the strong resemblance she bore to her absent brother, especially
when her hair was pulled back off her face, as it now was. They both had
that wonderfully distinctive Vecchio nose. Francesca's face was rounder
than her brother's, her eyes a warm brown while Ray's were a captivating
green specked hazel-brown, but basically, it was the same attractive face.


 Not for the first time, Fraser found himself wishing that he could make
her happy, that he could find the feelings inside him that she longed to
receive, but...as kind and lovely as Francesca was, and as strong the
resemblance she bore to her brother, Frannie would never be the Vecchio
that Fraser desired. It was just another one of those odd twists that fate
had put in Fraser's path, that the Vecchio sibling he wanted would be
eternally oblivious to him as anything but a friend, while Fraser felt the
same sexual indifference to the Vecchio he could have. 

 Glancing down at the photo in his hands, Fraser was struck with
inspiration. Francesca had kept careful track of the station's Kris
Kringle event to ensure that no one was left without a present on
Christmas Eve. Surely, she would know who'd put this gift under the tree
she'd taken such pride in decorating. 

 "Francesca?" 

 "Yes, Fraser?" 

 The hope in her perky features was almost heart breaking. It made him
feel like an utter cad, which wasn't particularly difficult to do after
the bitter self-discoveries he'd made over the last twenty-four hours.
Selfish, single-minded, obsessive, overbearing and arrogant, these were
not terms by which he was accustomed to being viewed or to viewing
himself. Yet both his father and Ray had leveled those accusations at him,
and, since neither were in the habit of lying to him, he had to accept
that it was true, that he had behaved that badly. Everything in him wanted
to deny the self-serving labels, but even the way he was willing to use
Francesca's feelings for him to obtain information to which he wasn't
legally entitled proved that everything his conscience and his father had
said was true. He was self-serving, for all his concern for others. 

 "Did you want to ask me something, Fraser?" she questioned. "Are you
feeling all right?" Her concern was almost palpable. 

 "I'm fine...thank you. What I was wondering was...well, I thought that
perhaps you might have seen who placed this box beneath the tree?" 

 Her smile was gentle, far too understanding. "The silver one with the
white bow on it?" 

 "The very same," he confirmed. 

 "I saw Ray put a silver box with a white bow under the tree." 

 "But...Inspector Thatcher drew my name from the Kris Kringle tree,"
Fraser distinctly remembered his superior taking one of the paper booties
when she'd been here last week. 

 "Well, maybe it wasn't meant to be a Kris Kringle present. You are his
partner, you know. Partners usually get each other something even if they
don't draw each other's name in the office pool," she explained. 

 "They do?" Fraser asked blankly. He'd always worked alone before Ray
Vecchio. And Ray had never... "Your brother and I never exchanged..." he
lamely began, something inside tensing at the sympathy that softened her
bright brown gaze. 

 "Ray always got you a Christmas present, Fraser. He usually ended up
giving it to you as a birthday gift." 

 "He did?" Fraser was careful to keep his expression from revealing the
dawning horror that he was experiencing. 

 "Ray knew that you were new to a lot of our customs and didn't want to
embarrass you when - " 

 "I failed to get him something," Fraser hollowly completed. "I see." 

 He looked down, feeling himself an utter failure. Ray Vecchio had never
said a word, but Fraser knew that his own thoughtlessness must have deeply
hurt his first partner. And now his present partner had been so unsure of
him that Ray Kowalski had left his gift under the tree without a nametag
on it. Fraser couldn't help but wonder what kind of a man, what kind of a
friend that made him. He wasn't at all comfortable with the conclusion he
came to. 

 "Fraser, please don't...be...don't feel bad. Ray was never upset. He..." 

 "Excuse me, Miss Vecchio, may I have the pleasure of your company for a
moment?" Constable Turnbull hesitantly asked, stepping forward in his
ridiculous Santa hat, beard and Mountie uniform. "I'm sorry to intrude,
Constable Fraser. If you'd rather, I can wait until you finish your
conversation with Miss Vecchio." 

 Seeing the brightly wrapped box Turnbull was attempting to conceal behind
his back, Fraser stepped aside with a mumbled, "No, it's all right." 

 "It is?" Turnbull asked, as though it were inconceivable to him that
another man would step aside and allow him a chance with Francesca. 

 A trace of bitterness entering her voice, Francesca agreed, "Yeah, you're
not interrupting anything, Renfield. Don't worry about it. See you around,
Fraser." 

 Realizing that he'd once again inadvertently hurt her, Fraser stood
frozen as Turnbull escorted the lovely young woman to a quiet corner. 

 Fraser looked around for someone to talk to. Ray Kowalski was on the
other side of the room, wearing his partner's regulation-issue Stetson and
chatting with a few of the other detectives. A pang went through him when
he looked at his hat, sitting there on Ray's head for all to see. He
wondered how many of the people in the room were aware of the significance
the cowboys in the American Old West had placed on a man wearing a buddy's
hat. Surely, Ray was ignorant of that particular trivia. 

 For a moment, Fraser allowed himself to fantasize that Ray knew fully
well what he was doing by wearing his hat and was sending him a message,
but he knew better. Just as he knew better than to allow his hopes to turn
in that direction. 

 Ray Kowalski was his partner, period. He would do nothing to jeopardize
this relationship, nothing to betray just how attractive he actually found
his partner, but not as a woman. He preferred Ray exactly as he was, as
male as they came. 

 He pulled his thoughts from that forbidden topic and returned his
attention to scanning the room. Inspector Thatcher and Leftenant Welsh
were engaged in what appeared to be a particularly serious conversation.
Detectives Huey and Dewey were joining Officer Dodds in a rendition of
DECK THE HALLS. His father was off giving imaginary paintings to imaginary
orphans. Even Dief was occupied with Francesca's poodle. 

 As usual, everybody had someone they belonged with, except him.
Remembering the last time that he'd truly felt a cherished member of a
group, Fraser glanced down at the photo clutched in his hands. Staring at
the grainy face of the woman he could barely see beneath the hood of her
furry parka, Benton wondered if even she would like him these days. Being
right had always been of utmost importance to his father, but as Fraser
fought through his clouded memories, he seemed to recall that it had been
more important to his mother that he be nice. And, whatever else he was,
Fraser was beginning to realize that for all his good deeds, he wasn't
really nice, not with the people who counted. He was just like his dad.
Right first, nice as an afterthought, but always polite. Oh, so, horribly
polite. 

 As he stood there alone, untouched in the center of all that merriment,
he seemed to hear his father's voice warning him, the bough that cannot
bend must surely break. 

 But he didn't know how to bend. He didn't know how to let injustice pass
unchallenged. His conscience wouldn't allow him to leave the kitten
stranded in the tree or the blind to blunder across a busy intersection.
He didn't know how to remain silent when someone had to speak up in the
name of justice. He could not not maintain the right. His duty was more a
part of him than the skin he wore. He was, Fraser realized with a sinking
heart, the bough that could not bend. And he was breaking, God help him,
but he was he breaking. And there was no one there to notice, let alone
care.  

 "...so, there the guy is when we bust into the hotel room, decked out in
this red velvet suit with expensive white fur trim and a real human hair
wig and beard. He's got these two young hustlers dressed up in elf
costumes with mistletoe wrapped around their..." Detective Dewey's voice
droned on with his anecdote as Ray Kowalski's mind wandered from the
conversation at hand, as it so often did when people talked for a long
time. 

 It had nothing to do with the content of the speaker's words. Ray was
never really bored. He'd just find his concentration drifting away, no
matter how hard he tried to stay focused. It happened so frequently that
he would hardly ever be aware of it, until his lapse was called to his or
the group's attention, then he'd be laughed at for being too stupid to
remember what he'd just heard or the person speaking would get insulted or
mad because he wasn't paying attention, and he'd get defensive and angry
himself, then the situation would devolve from there. It was just easier
to smile and pretend he was with the program, though half the time Ray
seriously didn't have a clue as to even which channel his companions were
tuned. 

 Like now. When Huey, Larson and Wilkins erupted into laughter around him
at whatever Dewey's punch line had been, Ray actually jumped, because he
hadn't been aware that he'd stopped paying attention. So, he pasted a
smile on his face and said, "That's a good one, Dew." 

 Larson started speaking then, Ray listened to the first few seconds, but
then his gaze started to roam the room. 

 Everyone was having a great time. It was good to see. Even the Ice Queen
had let down her hair. She and Welsh were cozied up together over at the
punchbowl, laughing and chatting like old school chums. The noise quotient
had toned down considerably in the last few minutes; he could actually
hear the choir. The reason became clear as Ray's eyes fell upon Turnbull,
who was standing still for a moment, his death ray gun tucked under his
arm as he grinned and nodded at Francesca. Ray's pretend sister was
talking a mile a minute, while clasping what looked like a fringed rodeo
shirt to her bosom like a baby. She was glowing brighter than the tree,
Ray thought, really happy. 

 It didn't take an Einstein to figure out that Turnbull had just given
Frannie whatever she had cradled to her chest and that she was very happy
about it. Looked like someone was gonna get lucky tonight, Ray thought
with an affectionate grin. 

 He was glad for them, even though there'd been a time he'd been sweet on
her himself. Since that was never gonna happen, he'd rather see Frannie
happy with Turnbull than chasing Fraser. As much as he loved his partner,
he knew Fraser would make this vivacious woman miserable. Frannie needed
someone who would appreciate her, and for whatever reason, Fraser was
blind to her charms, if not downright terrified of her. Turnbull now...he
was clearly enthralled by Miss Vecchio. 

 Ray's roving gaze left the unlikely couple and continued around the room.
Everyone was having a good time, even the dogs. He couldn't contain his
grin as he saw Dief ripping open a plastic doggie stocking to get at the
rawhide chews inside while Francesca's poodle helped. It would serve
Fraser right if he ended up with Frannie as an in-law, Ray evilly thought.


 Beside the dogs, the impromptu choir was going strong with a confused,
but enthusiastic rendition of MUST BE SANTA, while on the other side of
them...Constable Benton Fraser stood still as stone, all by himself,
precisely where Ray had left him more than a half hour ago. The bruised
and battered Mountie was standing beside the tree with a lost look on his
face, clutching the picture Ray had left for him like a scared kid with
his teddy. 

 Not for the first time, Ray questioned the wisdom of his gift. He'd
thought it would make Fraser happy to have a piece of his past returned to
him, but the photo appeared to have brought his friend down. 

 Damn, he cursed to himself, wondering how long his partner had been
standing there like that. Surely, not the entire time? But, try as he
would, Ray couldn't remember seeing Fraser conversing with anyone. Once
when his attention had wandered, Ray was sure he'd caught his partner
talking to himself as he so often did when Fraser thought himself alone or
unobserved, but aside from that one-sided conversation, Ray had no solid
recollection of anyone shooting the breeze with Fraser. 

 Mumbling an excuse, Ray tipped the brim of his borrowed Stetson at his
co-workers as he'd seen Clint Eastwood do in a dozen movies, then turned
to join the man he'd borrowed it from. He was struck with the sudden
concern that maybe Fraser was pissed at him for donning the Sacred Stetson
without permission. Fraser was inordinately attached to the hat, but, if
the hat were the problem, surely the Mountie would have made some snarky
comment, rather than just stood there looking all depressed - or as
depressed as a man who never allowed his facial expression to reflect his
emotions could appear. 

 It wasn't like Fraser didn't have reason to feel bad, even without his
stealing his partner's hat, Ray recognized. The guy had been ridiculed by
his associates, dismissed as being foolish, and beaten up, all for wanting
to do the right thing. Fraser's methods these last few days might have
been all wrong, but his reasons were right on target. 

 Ray wasn't sure if the men of the 27th's belated show of support would
have been enough to make him feel better if he'd been in Fraser's shoes.
Warfield's goons had worked Fraser over good. That should never have
happened. There was a part of him that reminded himself that it wouldn't
have happened at all if Fraser hadn't been so damn pig-headed and had only
listened to reason, but it was hard not to feel sorry for the guy. If
they'd all stood up to Warfield from the get go, the slime would never
have dared lay a finger on a cop, let alone beat said cop to a pulp and
then laugh about it. Warfield might be in prison now, but the situation
should never have progressed to the point it had. The sleeze should have
been stopped thirty years ago, just like Fraser had said. 

 Maybe that was what Fraser was down about. Maybe he was feeling betrayed.
Even though Ray knew he'd been right and that there was nothing they could
do about Warfield legally at the time, Fraser might be feeling like his
associates had all let him down. Perhaps that was what that forgiveness
Christmas toast had been about, maybe Fraser was trying to forgive them
all for not standing beside him the way Fraser thought they should have,
the way Fraser would have stood beside any of them. 

 His feet were moving with no conscious guidance, heading him toward that
terribly subdued figure. 

 "Hi, ya," he softly greeted, none too sure of the reception he was going
to receive. 

 This guy who could eavesdrop on a conversation a hundred yards away
started as if he hadn't seen Ray approaching. 

 "Ray," Fraser blinked, his eyes going very wide, as though surprised to
see him standing there talking to him. 

 There was no smile, but the gloom hanging around Fraser seemed to lessen
at Ray's arrival. He watched Fraser's gaze roam up towards the top of his
head, where Fraser's Stetson still sat at a cocky angle. 

 "Sorry. I shoulda asked. You mind?" Ray's hand darted to the hat, ready
to remove it instantly if that were the source of his friend's subdued
air. 

 "No, it looks quite fetching on you," Fraser absently replied. 

 Only his partner would use a word like 'fetching'. That Fraser would use
it when referring to another man was so beyond the pale that Ray didn't
even go there. Instead, he just smiled and said, "You think?" 

 "Do I think - what?" Fraser questioned in absolute earnestness. 

 "Nevermind. You okay, Frase?" 

 "I'm very well, thank you kindly for asking, Ray," Fraser answered in
what Ray quickly classified as his partner's automatic pilot polite mode.
For a guy who didn't lie, the Mountie did a lot of truth stretching in the
name of propriety. 

 "You've got three shades of purple in your face alone, Fraser. You're
anything but 'very well'. You in a lot of pain?" 

 Fraser gave a slow shake of his head, "No more than can be expected." 

 "You takin' anything for it? Why am I even bothering to ask that, of
course, you aren't. Do you know - " 

 "Ray, Fraser," A breathless Francesca hurried up to them, the bemused,
but happy looking Turnbull in tow. Her cheeks were bright with excitement,
her eyes glittering with joy. Ray thought that she had never looked so
beautiful as she continued, "Mom wanted to make sure you guys knew you
were invited to the family dinner tonight and to Christmas tomorrow.
Please say you'll come." 

 Even though she was standing there with an utter conquest at her beck and
call, Francesca's eyes turned entreatingly to the other Mountie, whose
bruised features remained remarkably unmoved. 

 "I'm sorry, Francesca. I - " 

 "If you change your mind," she interrupted before Fraser could embarrass
himself any further, "you come by. What about you, Ray? You free tonight?"


 He loved her for asking and sounding so hopeful, like she really wanted
him there. But he had met the Vecchio family and, as much as he liked them
and they seemed to like him, he knew that he wasn't the Ray they were
going to want to see at their dinner table. So he pasted on a smile and
lied, "Thanks, Frannie, but I'm spoken for this holiday." 

 She smiled back at him, her good nature shining through as she assured,
"Well, if you and your lady friend come up for air, be sure to drop by.
Mom's got enough food to feed this crew for a week."| 

 "Will do, Frannie. Thanks," he agreed, knowing that even if he spent
tomorrow with a TV dinner, he wouldn't be taking her up on the offer. He
was willing to be a stand in for Vecchio on the job, but he drew the line
at submerging himself into the guy's private life off duty. Even being so
close to Fraser pushed the envelope on that rule, only...he was pretty
certain that he wasn't just standing in with Fraser. Ray knew that he
might be proven wrong if Vecchio ever returned, but he'd really come to
think of Fraser as his friend and partner, to believe that their
association was more than just a sham on both their parts to keep Vecchio
safe. 

 "Well, Merry Christmas, Ray," she stood on tippy toes to kiss his cheek. 

 Kowalski happily ducked his head to oblige her, returning her sentiment
with a happy smile. He almost beaned her with the Stetson, but she tilted
her head at the last minute and escaped unscathed. 

 "Merry Christmas, Fraser," she hopefully offered. 

 Fraser just stood there stiff as a board, then politely responded, "Merry
Christmas, Francesca. And to you, Constable Turnbull." 

 "Thank you, sir," the junior officer gave a goofy grin, and then allowed
Francesca to lead him from the bullpen. 

 Ray shook his head as he watched them depart. Turnbull was caught, hook,
line and sinker. There was no arguing that. "She's gonna eat him alive." 

 To his astonishment, he heard Fraser agree, "Quite probably." 

 Glancing over quickly, he saw Fraser's eyes widen, as if Fraser had just
realized that he'd spoken the words aloud. 

 Chuckling, Ray affectionately patted his buddy's back. He loved it when
the real Fraser hacked his way out of that choking stranglehold civility
put on him. 

 Fraser stiffened up straighter. That bruised, yet stunningly attractive
face, gave an unconscious wince. 

 "Jeez, I'm sorry, Frase," Ray quickly apologized, realizing he'd hurt his
friend with that light pat. Worried, he wondered just how bad off Fraser
was. Maybe Frannie was right yesterday, maybe they should have forced him
to take off his shirt. This guy was so frigging stubborn that he wouldn't
seek medical attention until he fell over unconscious. 

 "I thought you said that most of your injuries were visible." 

 "I may have slightly underestimated the damage," Fraser softly admitted. 

 "How much underestimated? You need a hospital?" Ray checked, all his
protective instincts on overdrive, as they'd pretty much been since he'd
gotten his first look at that battered, handsome face. 

 "They were professionals, Ray. It will be a few days before I am back in
peak condition." 

 Not buying it, Ray persevered, "I wanta know how bad you're hurt. No
lies, no polite don't-worry-about-mes. You're limping. What's up with
that?" 

 "They knocked my bad leg out from under me." 

 A chill went through Ray at the pronoun. Of course, it woulda had to have
been they, because there wasn't a solitary man alive, armed or unarmed,
who could have done this to Fraser without back up. 

 "What else? I know you musta took a few blows to your stomach, but how
bad is the rest?" 

 Fraser drew a deep breath and released it through his nostrils in the
Mountie's equivalent of a put upon sigh. "They broke a two by four over my
shoulders and neck. The area is...quite sensitized. The rest is just
bruising and abrasion." 

 "Son of a-" Ray cut off the curse. Fraser hated foul language. There was
no reason to subject the guy to it when Fraser was already feeling so
rotten. "I'm sorry, Frase." 

 "For what?" 

 The honest confusion behind the question made Ray feel all the guiltier. 

 "This should never have happened," he quietly raged. 

 "And it wouldn't have occurred, if I had heeded your advice." 

 "What? Did you just admit I was right? You musta really gotten hit on the
noggin'," Kowalski mumbled. He was able to count upon the fingers of one
hand (and have several left over), the times that Benton Fraser had
admitted that his partner was right about something they were arguing
over. Not that Ray wasn't used to being ignored that way. Because of his
attention problem, most people just assumed he was stupid and didn't
bother arguing with him. At least Fraser always paid him the courtesy of
acting as if his opinion mattered enough to fight about. 

 "No, Ray, you were right on all counts. If I hadn't initially interfered,
Tommy would never have been struck. It was my intrusion into the conflict
that escalated the situation to violence. With my subsequent...arrogance,
I catalyzed the events that led to the assault upon my person." 

 Ray blinked under the verbal barrage, staying focused with an effort. He
always got lost when Fraser used those hundred dollar lawyer words. He
usually knew what they meant, only it took him a while to dredge the
definitions up from the murky waters that were his memories. 

 One thing was crystal clear. Fraser was coming down way too hard on
himself. Even though he might've thought everything Fraser had just said
was true, he'd known all along that Fraser was just trying to help. Fraser
had simply gone about it the wrong way. 

 "Look, none of this was your fault. You were right about this from the
get go. If it weren't for you, Warfield wouldn't be in prison right now.
Your methods mighta been a little..." Ray searched for a word that
wouldn't come across as too judgmental; seeing how Fraser was already
putting himself through hell over this, he didn't want to add to the pain,
"...impractical, but you were right." 

 "That's kind of you to say, Ray, but you were correct the other day. I
was utterly selfish, obsessive and arrogant." 

 That last bit sounded like a litany that had been running through
Fraser's mind non-stop for some time. Ray had meant the words when he'd
called Fraser 'selfish', but he'd never expected his partner to take them
to heart. 

 "I never called you obsessive or arrogant," Ray quickly denied. "And I
was outta line with that selfish crack, too." 

 "Ray, you don't have to-" 

 "I'm not," he cut in. "Look, you're hurtin' now. You're not seein' things
too clear, but you were right about everything. You just...went about it -
" Ray broke off. What was he going to do, put Fraser down when he was all
beat up and hurting? 

 "All wrong?" Fraser suggested. 

 Ray shrugged. "Something like that. But at least you tried to help.
That's gotta count for somethin', doesn't it? You did the best you could.
So quit blamin' yourself. We mightn't have any perfect worlds around here,
Fraser, but you do your damnedest to make it one." 

 For a second, Fraser's usual controlled mask seemed to slip. Ray was
shocked to see an insecurity hiding in this perfect man that eclipsed even
his own. 

 "You really believe that, Ray?" Fraser asked softly. 

 That wasn't one he had to think about or ponder. Ray nodded,
"Absolutely." 

 To his dismay, Fraser's eyes seemed to brighten with moisture. Ray
couldn't figure what he'd said wrong. Jesus, couldn't he ever get anything
right? 

 But, then, Fraser appeared to get hold of himself. Though still somewhat
over-bright, those eyes never leaked. "Thank you, Ray. I can't tell you
how much I appreciate that." 

 Touched by how much his words seemed to have meant to his normally
insouciant friend, Ray swallowed hard and muttered, "No problem, partner."


 A strange bubble of silence seemed to envelope them as they stood
isolated from the party proper. 

 After a few moments, Fraser questioned, "Ray, can I ask you something?" 

 "Sure." 

 "Did you give me that picture?" 

 He didn't know why Fraser's simple question made him feel so nervous. It
wasn't like he'd done anything wrong by restoring the picture to its
rightful owner, and, he'd known how much it would probably mean to Fraser,
so why did he feel so embarrassed by what was basically a thoughtful
gesture? 

 When the prolonged silence started to become uncomfortable, Ray gave a
reluctant nod and mumbled, "Yeah, I did." 

 "Where did you get it? All my things perished in the fire, or so I'd
thought." 

 Truly uncomfortable now, he shifted from one foot to another, and then
admitted, "I was going through the evidence for the Greta Garbo Trial when
I came upon that in October. Forensics kept it 'cause it had traces of the
starter on it. They were gonna toss it when they were through with it, but
when I saw the muck lucks, I knew it hadta be yours, and well...I knew
that everything else had been lost. It was all water damaged and burnt
around the ends. It had to be restored. They did a pretty good job with
it, didn't they?" 

 "Perfect, Ray. It's perfect. I will treasure it always. Thank you for
restoring it to me." 

 He'd never heard Fraser sound like that before. He'd heard his partner
angry, sarcastic, polite, pedantic, amused, but never...touched, not so
you could hear the emotion in Fraser's hoarse voice. 

 His own throat tightening up a bit, Ray tried to dismiss the effort he'd
made as meaningless, "It was no big deal, Fraser." 

 "To the contrary, Ray, it meant a very big deal to me." 

 "Well, that's good then, right?" 

 "Yes, I...will you...could you wait here a moment? I have something, I
mean, I will have something for...just wait. Please?" 

 A tongue-tied Fraser was normally an amusing sight, but today, all beaten
up as he was, it was oddly moving. Kowalski gazed into those earnest,
worried blue eyes and nodded, trying not to stare at the scabbing cut over
Fraser's left eye. "Sure, I'm not goin' anywhere." 

 Bemused, he watched his partner move slowly and stiffly to Ray's own
desk. After carefully placing the restored photo beneath his navy coat,
Fraser removed the bag that Turnbull had brought with him, taking a piece
of deformed wood that had been sitting next to it as well. Then Fraser
hurried as quickly as his gimpy leg would allow to the men's room. 

 Bewildered as to what his partner was up to, Ray stood waiting patiently
while the party started thinning out around him. The choir broke up as its
leader left for the day. 

 His interest sparking, Ray watched Welsh and the Ice Queen approach him
on their way to the door. 

 "Good night, Detective, and Merry Christmas," Welsh wished as he passed
by Ray's spot beside the tree. 

 He couldn't help but notice the hand his boss had on the Inspector's
elbow. 

 "Ah, Merry Christmas, sir, and you too, Inspector." 

 "Merry Christmas, Detective Vecchio. Constable Fraser drove over with me,
but I'm afraid..." Thatcher stopped speaking, her face turning a
delightful, flustered pink. 

 Giving a wicked grin, Ray said, "Don't worry. I got Fraser covered." 

 "Thank you, detective. Merry Christmas," she somehow made the benediction
sound like an order. She was some piece of work. 

 His speculations running wild, he watched the pair depart. Who would've
thunk it? The Ice Queen and the Lieutenant? Ray wouldn't take the Thatcher
on a dare if they were the last two people on Earth, but...she'd looked
almost human on Welsh's arm. Glad that his oftenlonely boss was going to
have someone to spend the holidays with, Ray went back to people watching.


 In less than five minutes, Fraser returned, with another brightly wrapped
present. 

 "What's this?" Kowalski asked as Fraser awkwardly held the package out to
him. 

 "Your Christmas present. I regret that it wasn't under the tree with the
others." 

 "You got me something?" Ray tried not to sound so shocked. The guy was
his partner, after all. It was only...with the exception of the shirts his
mom had sent from Arizona and the gun Dewey had given him earlier, Ray had
received no other presents this year. 

 "No, I made it for you," Fraser quietly corrected. 

 "You made it for me?" 

 No one had ever made him anything before. Well, that wasn't strictly
true. There was that dream catcher Fraser had given him when they'd met
last April, but that didn't really count, as Fraser had made it for the
Real Ray Vecchio and given it to him to commemorate Vecchio's birthday. 

 "Yes, I...well, I hope you like it, Ray. Would you care to open it?" 

 Unable to keep his smile off his face, Ray quickly tore open the cheerful
holly print paper. Wrapped in cushioning white tissue paper, Ray
discovered a figurine inside. Careful of the delicate sculpture, Ray
extracted it from its wrappings. 

 "Is this ivy, I mean, ivory?" Ray questioned, taking in the yellowish
white material from which the eight-inch statue was made. The figure
itself was that of a deer, a deer with long antlers and a really fuzzy
neck. 

 The workmanship was exquisite, finely detailed. Looking at the deer, Ray
couldn't understand what Fraser was doing wasting his time in police work,
not when he could make beautiful stuff like this. 

 "No, it's wood, Ray. I made it from the log we bought in the mall the
other day," Fraser looked as if he were going to say more, but then seemed
to think better of it. 

 "Cool. Thanks, man. It's great." 

 "Do you really like it, Ray?" 

 When was the last time anyone had sounded that worried over whether he
was going to care for something or not? His mom, maybe, but that was about
it. 

 "Yeah, Fraser. I really, really like it. Thank you. I mean that." 

 To his delight, a legitimate, if small, smile lifted Fraser's banged up
mouth. "You are most welcome, Ray." As if needing to break the intensity
of the moment, Fraser looked away quickly. "It appears that the party is
breaking up. I'd best locate Inspector Thatcher and - " 

 "The Ice Queen split," Ray informed. 

 "What?" 

 "She and Welsh took off together. I told her I'd see you home. You about
ready to call it a night?" 

 "Yes, I'll just be a moment to get my coat." 

 Going to claim his own jacket from the coat rack in the corner, Ray
watched his partner's stiff progress to his desk and back. The poor guy
looked like he was hurting like hell. 

 Another few minutes to track down the cookie-stuffed wolf, and they were
on their way. 

 Belatedly remembering that he was still wearing the Sacred Stetson, Ray
paused in the bitter winds as they stepped out of the building, into the
parking lot. It had started snowing again, not a lot, but enough to make
things slippery and hard to see. "You want your hat back now?" 

 Fraser glanced up at the headpiece in question, then looked at Ray's
eyes. For some reason, the moment felt very significant, as Fraser seemed
to consider the question. Finally, Fraser gave a slow shake of his head
and said, "Not unless you're bored with it." 

 "I like the hat," Ray admitted, feeling strangely shy. 

 The smile Fraser gave him had to have hurt his cut lip. "Why don't you
wear it for a while, then?" 

 "Thanks," Ray smiled back, feeling weird, like he'd just been pinned or
something. To his knowledge, Fraser never let anyone wear the hat. 

 The cold was bitter. Normally, Ray would have hurried to the car, but he
kept pace with his injured partner. Fraser's slow, careful steps told him
more about how bad his friend was hurting than any amount of complaining
ever could. 

 Ray made sure he got to the passenger door first so that Fraser didn't
have to wait in the cold. 

 Once Dief was in the back and Fraser was safely installed in the
passenger seat, Ray slid into his own side of the car. 

 "Yow! Damn, that smarts!" Ray rubbed under the hat, where it had struck
his forehead when the brim had impacted with the side of the door. 

 "Yes, it takes some time to learn to navigate properly," Fraser supplied
from beside him. "Perhaps if you remove the hat while driving?" 

 "No, I can manage," Ray denied, oddly unwilling to part with the Stetson
so soon. He just made it into the GTO with the hat on. The top of the
Stetson brushed the padded roof, but he wasn't taking it off until Fraser
asked for it back. 

 Ray tried not to fuss, but just seeing how stiffly Fraser was sitting
beside him gave him some idea of the discomfort level. Frase was by nature
a little uptight, but this was extreme even for him. 

 He didn't even want to think how that tiny cot Fraser slept on at the
Consulate was going to feel under all those bruises. Just sitting on the
damn thing was uncomfortable, with the way its supporting metal slats
poked through the thin mattress to jab into you. If Fraser weren't stiff
as a board now, he would be by morning, unless... 

 "Hey," Ray said pulling out into traffic. "I got an idea. Why don't you
come home with me tonight? Save those aching bones a night on that cot." 

 "Thank you, Ray, but that isn't necessary," Fraser instantly denied, as
Kowalski had known he would. 

 "Come on. It'll be fun," he cajoled, abruptly not wanting to go back to
that empty apartment alone on Christmas Eve. 

 "No, Ray, I - " 

 "No, what?" he interrupted. "You're not on duty. I know the Ice Queen
gave you the weekend off. It's not like you've got anything waiting for
you at the Consulate." 

 "Nevertheless, I - " 

 "You what? Look," Ray sighed, really not wanting to do this, but seeing
no other way for it. If he didn't tell the truth, Fraser would definitely
go home. Given the choice of a little humiliation or that empty apartment,
Ray opted for the humiliation, "it's Christmas. My family's a thousand
miles away. Yours are dead. You don't come home with me, we're both gonna
have a miserable, depressing time. I know that you'd rather spend
Christmas with the real Ray Vecchio, but since the Real Ray's not here,
can't you make due with the one you've got?" 

 To his own ears, he sounded pathetic. But, Christ, he really didn't want
to spend the next twenty-four hours alone. If he had to throw his pride
away to get some congenial company, so be it. Fraser wasn't the kind to
rub his nose in it. The polite Canadian wouldn't make him feel like a
loser. As long as Fraser agreed to come home with him, everything would
work out fine. 

 "I'm sorry, Ray." 

 He winced. He nodded once, stiff and accepting. A lumpy cot and an empty
office building closed for the holidays were preferable to his company. He
could deal. 

 "Okay," he said hollowly, "I'll take you home." 

 "No, Ray. What I meant was...I'm sorry I didn't think of your family
being so distant before. I would be honored to accept your invitation. In
fact, there is no one with whom I'd rather spend the holiday." 

 Ray glanced quickly from the road to his partner. Fraser sounded like he
meant the words, looked like he did, too. 

 "Yeah?" Ray checked. 

 "Yes, Ray." 

 "Great, that's...great." Recalling his near empty fridge, Ray asked, "You
hungry? If you are we better pick up some Chinese on the way home. I don't
think there'll be much else open tonight." 

 "No, I...there was quite a bit at the party." 

 It wasn't a lie. There'd been tons of food at the Christmas Party. Fraser
just hadn't touched any of it. Ray knew because the group he'd been
hanging with had been grazing while they talked. As far as Kowalski
remembered, Fraser had never left his lonely spot by the tree the entire
time. 

 "Well, I'm starved." That was a lie. He'd stuffed himself the same as the
other detectives. "There's China King. It looks like it's still open. I'll
just run in and get us something to nosh on." 

 "As you wish," Fraser allowed. 

 "You gonna be okay out here?" Ray asked as he parked the car in the lot. 

 "We're fine, Ray," Fraser assured. 

 "Good. I'll be back in a sec'." 

 Ten minutes later, he eased back into the car, careful of his packages.
This time, he automatically tipped his head so that he didn't bash the
Stetson again. 

 "Very good, Ray. You're a natural," Fraser approved. "What have you got
there? That's a lot of bags." 

 All he said was, "Dinner," though he knew that nose of Fraser's was bound
to be sniffing out the particulars. What he had was all of Fraser's
favorites. Something was bound to tempt the peckish Mountie's palate. He'd
gotten his own regular pork fried rice dish and an extra dozen spring
rolls for Dief. Fraser wasn't gonna be too happy about that, but tough. It
was Christmas and the mutt was part of the team. The wolf deserved a
treat, same as them. 

 The bags were still fragrant and steaming hot when they pulled into his
parking spot a few minutes later. 

 Opening his apartment door, Ray experienced a brief moment of panic. The
place was its usual mess, but more than that, he'd forgotten about the
artificial tree he'd put up a few days ago when he'd still had hopes of
luring Stella back for the holiday. As the apartment lights blinked on,
the tree stood bleak and undecorated on a card table by the window. The
abandoned boxes of lights and decorations on the floor around it seemed an
odd parody of the gifts of Christmas morning. 

 Kowalski was tensely anticipating some kind of comment on the mess or the
job half finished. Fraser was such a conscientious neat freak that
something like this was bound to offend his sense of order. 

 Instead, his partner's voice sounded brighter than it had since
Warfield's goons had worked him over. There was something very young and
animated about Fraser's reaction, like in that moment of surprise at the
unexpected sight of the tree, the poor kid that had been crushed into this
super-Mountie years ago peeked out from the controlled prison Fraser kept
him locked behind. 

 "Oh, you have a tree. It's very nice, Ray," Fraser approved as they moved
into the room. 

 The white wolf went immediately over to sniff at the newcomer and boxes,
excitedly wagging his tail. Kowalski was reminded how Dief had helped
Francesca decorate the precinct, how the wolf had really seemed to enjoy
his participation. 

 "It's pathetic, I know," Ray admitted, looking at the scraggly,
undecorated thing with an objective eye. It was a poor substitute for a
real tree or even for the full sized artificial one in the precinct. "But
it doesn't look too bad when it's got lights on it." 

 "I'm sure it will look wonderful once we place the lights and ornaments
on it. I've never actually decorated a Christmas Tree before," Fraser
offered in a somewhat hesitant tone, almost as if he were trying to warn
Ray not to expect him to do very well at the task. 

 Ray paused, a little thrown by his partner's misconception. He hadn't
brought Fraser here for that. In all honesty, he'd all but forgotten he'd
put the damn thing up. He'd been planning to just take the stupid tree
down and bury it away for a happier year, only... 

 In his uptight, restrained way, Fraser looked excited about the idea of
decorating a tree. And since he'd already put the thing up and it was
Christmas Eve...trimming the tree mightn't be such a bad idea. 

 So, rather than squashing Fraser's rare show of true excitement, Ray
replied to Fraser's comment about never having decorated a tree before.
"You haven't? I thought you said you had some kinda tern tree?" 

 When Fraser's smile blinked off, he knew that he'd unintentionally hit a
sore point. 

 In his normal pedantic tone, Fraser patiently explained, "No, Ray, the
arctic tern is a bird. We used to have it instead of turkey. In place of
an evergreen tree, we had a buckthorn bush." 

 "You didn't put lights on it?" Ray questioned, not seeing the point of
bringing in a tree if you weren't going to light it up. 

 "Unfortunately, the buckthorn bush was too flammable to risk candles." 

 "Candles?" Ray blankly echoed. 

 "We had no electricity, Ray," Fraser softly explained. 

 Seeing that same pain that had shadowed Fraser's Christmas 'forgiveness'
toast in his friend's eyes, he swallowed around the lump in his throat.
Ray couldn't even conceive of what this guy's childhood must have been
like. He knew Fraser's mother had died when he was six. For a little kid
without a mother to have no tree, no lights, no turkey...it must have been
horrible. His folks had always provided him with wonderful Christmases. It
was only after he'd gotten married to Stellanezer Scrooge that Ray's
holidays had sucked. But from the sound of it, Fraser had never known a
real Christmas. 

 Abruptly, Ray was very glad that he'd gone with the impulse to bring
Fraser here. With Vecchio gone, Fraser would have been miserable alone in
that big empty Consulate building. 

 At that moment, he wanted very much to give Fraser everything he'd missed
out on in childhood. "Well, we got plenty of electricity here and plenty
of lights. We don't have no turkey, but I got you chicken chow mein. Will
that do, or do you want to go out and have a turkey dinner?" 

 Fraser actually seemed at a loss for a moment after Ray's offer, then he
collected himself with a visible effort, swallowed hard and answered,
"Chicken chow mein will be wonderful, Ray. Thank you kindly." 

 "Good, let's dig in, then," Ray said with a smile, quickly clearing off
the coffee table. The kitchen was too big a disaster zone to even consider
bringing Fraser there to eat in it. Dief would probably be hunting out
there all night, Ray thought to himself as he braved the room to fetch
paper plates, cups, plastic utensils and soft drinks. 

 When he came back out with his arms laden, Fraser was in the act of
divesting himself of his coat. Ray smiled to see Fraser fight his bulging
coat closet for space. If Fraser thought that big navy jacket of his was
going to fit in there, he had another think coming. Honestly impressed,
Ray watched his partner successfully shove it in. 

 After dumping his armload of disposable dinnerware on the coffee table
beside the sacks of Chinese food, Ray tugged his own leather jacket off
his shoulders. The lump that started to fall out of his left pocket before
he caught it, proved to be his Christmas gift from Fraser. Still a little
in awe of his partner's artistic talent, he placed the deer on the table
with near reverence, in a place of honor next to his turtle carving, then
tossed his coat to a chair in the corner. 

 "Simple, but effective," Fraser stunned him by commenting when his jacket
landed in an untidy heap on the floor beside the chair. To Ray's further
astonishment, Fraser didn't race immediately over to straighten the coat
out. 

 He met his partner's gaze and broke into laughter. Fraser really looked
as if he were enjoying himself, pigsty and all. 

 "Sit down and dig in before Dief eats it all," Ray grinned, taking a seat
on the couch to sort out the food. He emptied the carton of spring rolls
onto a plate and placed it on the floor beside the couch. Dief pounced on
the offering as though he hadn't eaten in weeks. 

 Fraser settled himself on the cushion beside him more carefully, moving
with obvious difficulty. Ray tried not to mother hen, watching silently
out of the corner of his eye as Fraser first covered his tunic with one of
the large napkins the restaurant had provided, then investigated the bags
and loaded down his plate. 

 Ray was glad he'd insisted on getting the dinner, for it was clear Fraser
was close to famished. Fraser dug in like he hadn't eaten in a year, which
probably meant that Fraser had stood at that damn stakeout outside
Warfield's club without even allowing himself meal breaks. Little wonder
Dief had been so happy when he'd come to pick them up yesterday afternoon,
Ray thought. He smiled affectionately over at the wolf, who was currently
demolishing the plate of spring rolls with slightly less zeal than his
Mountie. 

 "Mmmm, that was very good," Fraser approved when his plate was empty. 

 Stunned, Ray realized that his friend had gone through two whole orders
while he'd barely made an inroad into his own rice dish. Even Dief was
behind Fraser as far as consumption went tonight. 

 "Sure was," Ray agreed, passing over the rest of his own pork fried rice,
"Go on and finish it. It'll just get thrown out." 

 Not wanting to make Fraser self-conscious by staring while he ate, Ray's
gaze roamed the room, finally coming to settle on the deer statue Fraser
had made him. 

 "Frase?" 

 "Mmmm...yes?" Fraser asked around a mouthful of rice. 

 "What made you make a deer for me?" he asked the question that had been
bothering him since he'd seen the exquisite carving. 

 "It's not a deer, Ray. It's an elk." 

 "Oh." Well, that made even less sense, since he obviously didn't know the
difference between an elk and deer. "There's a difference?" 

 "Yes, Ray. Elk are much larger. The males can be almost as large as a
moose at times. And, as you can see, the elk have a shaggy neck while the
deer are usually much smoother there." 

 "Yeah, but why an elk? Why not a wolf or a eagle or something more
familiar?" 

 "I was attempting to choose gifts that suited the recipient's specific
personality. For example, the sculpture of DAVID I made for Francesca. It
embodied what she admires most in a man." 

 "Good looks and a big - " 

 "Precisely," Fraser primly cut him off before he could get too explicit.
Chuckling at Fraser's reaction, he listened as Fraser continued with, "And
when I thought I was making a gift for Leftenant Welsh, I was crafting a
grizzly bear..." 

 "So let me get this straight? Welsh reminds you of a macho grizzly bear
and the guy that covers your back reminds you of Bambi?" Ray tried not to
sound hurt, but he just didn't get it. He knew Fraser couldn't be
intending to insult him, but it really wasn't very flattering. 

 "No, Ray. The choice was symbolic. I tried to base my decision on
personality characteristics that would associate the recipient with
certain Native totems. For instance, the Leftenant exhibits many of the
protective instincts of a bear and he can be rather..." 

 "Grizzly when annoyed," he laughed. "Okay, I can see it working for
Welsh, but a deer, I mean...a elk. How am I like a elk?" 

 To his astonishment, Fraser's cheeks turned bright pink. "Although the
bear is a perfectly respectable totem, most young men would much rather
hear from their tribal elder that they have elk medicine rather than bear,
Ray." 

 "Why?" Ray asked. "Don't get me wrong, that elk sculpture's beautiful,
but why would some young stud wanta be an oversized deer instead of a kick
ass predator like a bear or a wolf." 

 "I told you it was symbolic, Ray," Fraser repeated. 

 And suddenly, he knew his partner was evading him. "Yeah, and I still
don't know what that's supposed to mean. Symbolic of what?" 

 Fraser released one of those deep, controlled, Mountie, not-sighs and
softly admitted, "The elk is a symbol of male virility, Ray." 

 "Is that supposed to be a joke, Fraser?" Ray demanded, stung. "'cause if
it is, it's not funny." 

 "It wasn't a joke, Ray. I swear." 

 He glared into those earnest eyes, reading no malice. "How can a symbol
of male virility fit me? I haven't had a successful date since my wife
walked out on me. I've struck out with every woman I've even tried to..." 

 "All that, notwithstanding, the elk suits you, Ray. You have all the
necessary qualities." 

 "Such as?" Ray demanded, sounding angry, but scared underneath it 'cause
he still couldn't see how this could be anything but a gag. Except that it
was Fraser saying it, and he knew that his partner wouldn't joke about
this kind of thing. 

 "You are quite attractive physically. Despite your claims to the
contrary, you have great physical stamina and strength. Your natural
sensuality reveals itself in your very individual style of hair and dress.
You are charismatic and charming-" 

 "You really think I'm all that?" Ray knew his cheeks were flaming with
embarrassment. He hadn't meant for Fraser to recite a list of his charms. 

 "Evidently, or I would have chosen a more appropriate totem." 

 Ray had never asked another human being this in his life, but he found
himself voicing the question to Fraser. His partner knew stuff, maybe
Fraser would be able to explain this mystery to him. "If all that's true,
then how come I strike out so much with women?" 

 Ray tensed when he saw Fraser's head bow and that thumb come up to
outline the eyebrow of the eye that hadn't gotten beaten up. He mightn't
know as much stuff as his partner, but the one thing Stanley Raymond
Kowalski did understand in life was body language. He had to; when you
missed so much of conversations, accurately interpreting body language was
often your only key to understanding. When that thumb started outlining
Fraser's brow, it always meant trouble, for it meant Fraser was trying to
find the best way to say something. 

 "Don't worry about breaking it to me gently," Ray said, "Just spit it
out." 

 "I think it could be a presentation dilemma," Fraser cautiously
suggested. 

 Ray had been braced for something like bad breath or body odor. He didn't
have a clue as to what Fraser was talking about. Not that that was
anything new. "Presentation dilemma?" 

 Fraser nodded, then softly explained, "This is purely my subjective
opinion, of course, but close observation over the time I've known you
does seem to lend credence to the theory." 

 "What theory?" 

 "It seems to me that you approach your objective as though you expect to
be turned down. It's something of a self-fulfilling prophecy, I fear. You
expect to be rejected; therefore, you are." 

 "You mean, like, I program myself to fail?" he asked in a low voice,
considering the possibility. The fact that he had to ask Fraser these
questions at all pretty much confirmed that his self-esteem when it came
to women was in the toilet. 

 "So it would seem," Fraser gently agreed. Ray could almost feel how hard
Fraser was trying to avoid hurting his feelings or offending his pride.
"It's the only theory I can find to explain why someone with as many
positive qualities as you possess would encounter such inexplicable
difficulties." 

 "Inexplicable? That means like-" 

 "Unable to be explained," Fraser automatically defined. As always, Fraser
didn't seem annoyed at the necessity. Stella had always hated having to
explain herself that way. 

 "So, you really think that's the only reason?" Kowalski pressed, holding
his breath. Fraser always told the truth. Ray wondered if he'd even
comprehend his partner's version of 'you're too stupid to live'. 

 "It's the only thing I can think of, Ray," Fraser continued. "Your
divorce was quite a traumatic event. It's left many scars behind. I think
if you give yourself some time to heal, you'll find these difficulties
will soon be behind you." 

 Ray's eyes stung like someone had released a teargas canister into the
room. He looked quickly away. Fraser didn't think he was stupid? Just that
he was hurt and lacked confidence? 

 "Thanks," Ray said gruffly, not daring to look at his friend just yet.
His entire life, there had only been two people who'd never thought of him
as stupid. His mom and Stella, and he'd managed to show Stella how wrong
she'd been. That this man, who'd forgotten more book knowledge than his
brainy ex-wife could ever hope to learn, could view him as a symbol of
male virility was astonishing. 

 "For?" Fraser questioned, sounding genuinely puzzled. 

 "For what you said." 

 "It was just the truth, Ray." 

 "Your truth, maybe. No one else's," Ray muttered into his coke can. He
still couldn't believe that Fraser, who as his partner had more of a
reason to know his faults than anyone, would be oblivious to his major
shortcoming. 

 "I don't understand." 

 "No one else sees me quite like that. Most people..." Kowalski took a
deep breath and spat it out. "Most people think I'm stupid." 

 "Those same people think I'm hopelessly naive. They are wrong in both
cases, Ray." 

 Still fearing a snow job, he dared his partner's gaze. Fraser met his
eyes easily. Fraser's battered face was practically glowing with
conviction. No lies, no pretenses, just honest belief. 

 "But..." Ray stammered. 

 "Both our minds work differently than the norm, Ray. " 

 "But I'm not smart like you. I don't know things-" 

 "And I'm not what you would call 'street-wise'. That does not make either
of us stupid, Ray, just...different. And you do know things. In most
cases, you know exactly what I'm speaking about." 

 "But it gets lost inside my head and..." Ray shut up. What was the point?


 "Ray, I believe you have a mild case of aphasia, but that is not a
statement on your intelligence and in no way inhibits your ability to
perform your duties or-" 

 "Af..?" 

 "Aphasia. It's a condition wherein a person has difficulty verbalizing
his thoughts. The ideas, even the vocabulary, are all there inside the
aphasiac's mind, but something in the neural network doesn't allow the
aphasiac to easily articulate his thoughts." 

 Ray stared at his friend. He'd never spoken to Fraser about this before,
but that was exactly how it was. Everything was jumbled in his head and he
just couldn't get it out right. How Fraser could have known a thing like
that was beyond him. 

 "So how do you know that I'm not just stupid?" Kowalski quizzed. 

 "Because I know you. I've seen your intelligence in the field. I've seen
how quickly you assess complex situations and follow through." 

 "I've got good instincts," Ray argued. 

 "No, it's more than just instinct at work. You have explained some of my
vocabulary to Leftenant Welsh and others on occasion, demonstrating a
familiarity with language outside of the common street vernacular. You
understand things perfectly, it's only verbalization that appears to
present you with difficulty." 

 "And focus," Ray whispered. 

 Fraser's voice was oddly gentle as he replied, "Yes, but you've learned
to cover that well." 

 "You know," Kowalski nearly accused. 

 "Yes, but I observe things a bit more closely than most people do. And I
am your partner and friend. It is only natural that those closest to us
know our weaknesses." 

 Ray laughed at that. "Then why don't I know yours?" 

 "What?" Fraser started. 

 "You're a siphon, Fraser." 

 "A what?" Fraser blinked, his visible confusion making it clear that he'd
once again picked the wrong word. 

 "You know, like a puzzle. A siph - " 

 "Cipher?" Fraser supplied. 

 "Yeah, a cipher. You drive everybody nuts. You don't let anyone see that
you have any character flaws or weaknesses..." 

 "Ray," Fraser protested, sounding almost hurt, "you more than anybody
know that isn't true." 

 "Do I?" Kowalski challenged. "You're smart; you're brave; you're
trust-worthy; you're good-looking. You've got it all going for you." 

 Anyone else would have been pleased by the compliments, but Fraser seemed
as distressed as a man who never openly showed his emotions could get.
With his banged up face, cut and swollen lower lip, Fraser seemed
strangely vulnerable as he replied, "I'm not perfect, Ray. I have faults
the same as anyone. In fact, you spent several minutes yesterday extolling
them in front of Mr. Warfield's club." 

 Ray got lost on the 'extolling' word, but he figured out its meaning from
the rest of what his partner said. "I already told you that I was sorry
about that." 

 "I - " 

 "Your heart was in the right place. Maybe you were bein' stubborn and
pig-headed about it, but that doesn't change the fact that everything you
said about Warfield needing to be stopped was true." 

 "And being stubborn and pig-headed aren't faults?" Fraser softly queried,
sounding as though this entire conversation was hurting him too much to
continue. 

 "Not when you're standing up for truth, justice and the Canadian Way,"
Ray tried to lighten the mood. 

 His attempt at humor fell flat. For beneath that outer, unperturbed mask,
Fraser was obviously deeply hurt. "I'm not Superman, Ray." 

 "No, you're braver than he was," he shot back, not knowing how to cheer
his friend up. 

 "What?" 

 "It's easy to run around stopping crime when you're made of steel and the
bullets bounce right off you. You do what he did, only you do it without
the superpowers. And you don't even pack a gun." 

 "Ray, I'm not a comic book hero. I'm just a man, a very fallible one at
that." 

 Recognizing that this conversation wasn't doing anything but upsetting
his friend, Ray shrugged and conceded, "I know that, but the rest of the
world ain't as sharp as me. They believe your act." Thinking that a change
in topic would do them some good, he gestured at the tree and boxes. "You
still feel like trimming the tree?" 

 Still way too subdued for Ray's liking, Fraser nodded, "Yes." 

 "Great. I've got some Christmas CDs. I'll stick them in the stereo, get
some egg nog going and we'll be all set." 

 "You have eggnog?" Fraser appeared startled. Not without reason, Ray
realized. Most times when Fraser visited, he was lucky to have milk in
liquid form. More than once, what was living in the milk container turned
out to be a yogurt culture or science project. 

 "Yeah. I was hoping Stella might want to get together over the holidays.
Eggnog's the only thing she liked about Christmas." 

 He didn't realize how pathetic that statement sounded till it was laying
out there in the open between them. 

 But Fraser didn't remark upon the sorry state of his partner's love life,
asking instead, "Can I help you in the kitchen?" 

 "No, believe me, you'll sleep better not helpin' me in the kitchen." 

 That earned him a small smile, "Understood. I will sort the boxes out
while you're seeing to the music and refreshments, then." 

 "Great," Ray grinned, unable to remember the last time he'd had
enthusiastic company while decorating the tree. The most he'd ever hoped
for with Stella here was sullen silence. She'd really hated all the fuss
and sentimentality of the season. 

 As Fraser hobbled over to the cardboard crates and began to separate the
boxes of delicate balls and strings of beads, he began to wonder why he'd
wanted Stella here at all. Surely, even being alone had to be better than
being with someone who made him feel dumb for wanting to enjoy the season?
Struck with the unique thought that maybe it wasn't so much that he missed
Stella as much as he hated living alone, Ray loaded a bunch of discs into
the CD player, then went to the kitchen for the egg nog and anything that
passed for party food. 

 Five minutes later, the elk sculpture was sharing the coffee table with a
couple of mugs of eggnog, a bowl of M&Ms and a bag of Doritos. 

 As they began the exasperating task of untangling the lights for the
tree, Ray realized that the impromptu tree trimming party wasn't half bad.
The carols going in the background really set the Christmas tone. And he'd
never had such congenial company. If Stella had been here and he'd forced
her to help decorate the tree, she'd've been cursing the tangled lights by
now. Instead of angry profanity, Ray had quiet companionship. 

 Glancing over to where his oh-so-serious partner was coaxing the tangled
strings of lights apart in that careful, thoughtful way of his, he
realized that he was really enjoying himself doing this for the first time
in years. 

 "No, boy, I'm afraid you're not going to be able to help this time." 

 Ray looked over from the blond angel he was sticking on top of the tree
to see his partner arguing with the wolf. Fraser had a handful of
green-wired lights, which Dief appeared to be trying to take from Fraser. 

 "Why can't he help?" Ray wanted to know. 

 "He doesn't have hands, Ray. He can't-" 

 "Dief helped Francesca put up that whole tree at work. He's part of the
team. If he wants to help, we should let him. Right?" 

 Fraser's brow furrowed before Fraser winced at the pain it caused his
bruised face, "But how can he..?" 

 "Let him hold the lights while we string them. Just tell him not to bite
down. Okay?" 

 "All right, Ray," Fraser conceded, his expression very soft, despite the
fact that he wasn't smiling at the moment. "You heard Ray, Dief. Be
careful with them." 

 Shaking his head at his crazy partner, he secured the angel to the top
branch, then reached out for the strand of lights Fraser was holding out
to him. They spent the next half hour quietly loading the tree down with
as many lights as each branch could safely hold. Finally, the lights were
done - without a single curse word being voiced. Ray was amazed by how
well the three of them had worked together. Whenever one of the strings
would snag, Fraser would patiently work the green wire free while Ray
waited to secure it to the branch. 

 "I believe that is the last of the lights," Fraser said. 

 "Great. You wanna douse the overhead light while I plug it in?" Ray
asked, excited as a kid by the Christmas spirit. 

 He felt a little guilty for asking Fraser to move as his injured partner
hobbled over to the wall switch, but then Fraser was saying "All set,
Ray," and Kowalski was plugging in the tree lights. 

 The world blinked dark for a moment, and then the tree shimmered to life
with a thousand green, red, blue and yellow bulbs proclaiming the season.
It was as close to magic as you could get, Ray thought, shivering a little
as O HOLY NIGHT played in the background. Ray couldn't have set the mood
any better if he'd planned it. 

 He rose from the socket just in time to catch the fleeting expression of
delight that flashed across Fraser's battered features as the lights
blazed to life. It wasn't something Ray had seen very often, for Fraser
habitually squelched his emotions when he was able to. Though the
expression was quickly gone, Ray felt as if he'd received a rare and
priceless gift just by witnessing it. If he did nothing else for Fraser in
their time together, Ray wanted to make his friend feel comfortable enough
to laugh out loud with him. It happened every now and then, when his
partner's guards were down, but Fraser would usually cut his laughter off
fast, almost like someone had yelled at him long and loud for having fun. 

 Without his glasses on, each light had a little hazy halo around it, but
Ray sort of liked that effect. When he looked at Fraser standing backlit
by the tree, Fraser seemed to have the same kind of glow limning his trim
form. Fraser's brass buttons and epaulettes reflected the dozens of
colored lights like tiny kaleidoscopes. Ray found his gaze roaming as
often to them as to the tree. 

 "What next, Ray?" 

 "The ornaments and then the beads." 

 They dug into the compartmentalized boxes, carefully extracting the
delicate glass balls. Fraser seemed especially fond of the tear shaped
ones with the tiny stained glass and glitter fronts. Amused, Ray watched
his partner analyze the placement of each decoration as though he were
arranging a table for an important Consulate event. He hung his own with
less care, but far more visible enthusiasm than Fraser was displaying.
Nevertheless, Ray sensed that Fraser was having the time of his life. 

 "Are you all right, Ray?" Fraser solicitously enquired as Kowalski froze
beside him. 

 Grinning, Ray nodded. "Yeah. I just love this song," he explained as
FELIZ NAVIDAD's bouncy intro played through the room. 

 As always happened whenever Ray stopped thinking around good music, his
feet and hips soon picked up the beat. Before he was consciously aware of
what was happening, he found himself bopping around his living room the
way he would if he were here alone. 

 Suddenly, Dief was in front of him, wagging his tail a mile a minute and
making little whiney noises. Without thinking, Ray patted his chest for
the wolf to stand up on his hind legs, which Dief quickly did. Ray
chuckled as Dief's hot, moist dog breath wafted into his face. Then the
pair of them were shuffling around the box obstructed living room floor in
time to the exuberant Christmas song, with Ray singing at the top of his
lungs and Dief barking his head off. 

 It was only as the song came to its inevitable end and they stopped
dancing, that Ray came back to himself to find he was standing in the
middle of the floor with his partner's wolf giving his face a very messy
bath. 

 "That's a good dog," Ray said, easing the wolf back down onto all fours.
He couldn't count how many times his buddies had laughed at him in high
school when he'd lost control like that. He couldn't imagine what Fraser
must be thinking. Hoping against hope that Fraser had been too occupied to
notice his idiocy, Kowalski slowly turned back to the tree - to find
Fraser watching him. 

 "Ah, I..." Ray stammered for something to say that wouldn't sound too
lame. 

 "You dance very well, Ray. I had no idea Diefenbaker enjoyed dancing so
much," Fraser commented, and then turned to place a silver ball on the
tree. 

 "That's, like, all you're gonna say about it?" he asked in disbelief. 

 "I don't understand," Fraser said softly. Turning back to face him,
Fraser looked as though he genuinely didn't get it. 

 "A move like that's enough ammo to torture me for years," he explained,
at times like this still not sure this guy was human. 

 "Torture you?" Fraser repeated, blessedly blank. 

 "Yeah. Dancin' alone isn't not exactly cool." 

 "But this is a party, Ray. Isn't dancing a normal party activity?" 

 "Not usually with a wolf, Fraser." 

 "Well, it's only the three of us here, Ray. I'm afraid my injuries
preclude dancing at the present time. That leaves only Diefenbaker. I'm
sure anyone would understand." 

 "You mean you dance with your wolf?" Ray asked, unable to even picture
it. 

 "No, Ray, as I said, I had no idea he enjoyed the activity. What I meant
was, your dancing with Diefenbaker would be understandable since your
human companion was out of commission at the moment." 

 Ray supposed that made sense in Canada. In Chicago, it sounded weirder
than dancing with a wolf. 

 "You saying that if you weren't out of commission, you'd dance with me?"
he asked, sure he must have phased out of the conversation at a vital
moment. 

 "If you were so inclined and I was able to. It is a party, Ray." 

 "But it's just the two of us," Ray argued, trying not to show how weirded
out he was. 

 "Ah, I understand," Fraser started. "You see, in the Yukon, men far
outnumber the women. Very often at social functions, there are not enough
women to partner every man on the dance floor, so men will frequently
dance together. There are no social connotations to the pairing, beyond
that of necessity." 

 "Oh," Ray nodded, "figures." 

 "What figures, Ray?" 

 "Well, with the way the women are all over you, I'm sure you never had to
dance with a guy anyway." 

 "To the contrary, Ray. I habitually danced with other men," Fraser
corrected. 

 "But you said - " 

 Fraser gave one of those almost-sighs and patiently explained, "You may
have noticed that I am frequently...tongue tied in a young lady's
presence. At parties where the women were outnumbered, it was simply
easier for me to dance with another man." 

 "And at parties where the women weren't outnumbered?" Ray questioned,
sensing something more here. 

 Fraser gave a small shrug, winced in reaction, and then softly replied,
"I didn't usually dance at those parties." 

 Ray froze at that. He wondered if Fraser knew precisely what he'd just
admitted to there, but his partner's bland, unperturbed visage told him
Fraser didn't have a clue. 

 Ray opened his mouth to continue the line of questioning, but then closed
it. What was he going to do? Point out to Fraser that it was abnormal for
a guy not to want to dance with girls? And, abnormal by whose standards? 

 Maybe there was an innocent explanation for his partner's very
provocative statement, after all, he thought. 

 Ray had seen the way otherwise perfectly sensible women embarrassed
themselves by chasing after his reserved partner. He couldn't see women
being all that different up in the Yukon. No matter where Fraser went in
this world, he was going to be in demand. While being desired by every
woman he met might be most men's dream come true, that wasn't the case
with Fraser. With extremely persistent suitors like Frannie, the shy
Mountie was almost terrified of their aggression. Perhaps it was only
understandable that Fraser would prefer to let his hair down and dance
with a male friend, who wasn't going to be looking for a marriage proposal
after the second dance. It made sense in a weird way, in the same weird
way everything about Fraser made sense. 

 As if belatedly realizing how his reply must have sounded, Fraser
nervously offered, "I suppose that must sound very strange to you." 

 "No, not so strange. Well, no stranger than anything else about you," Ray
grinned, glad to see the strained edge fade from those battered features.
"Come on, let's get this tree decorated," he suggested, needing to change
the subject. 

 "Yes, it's looking quite good," Fraser agreed, visibly relieved. 

 Side by side, they went back to decorating the tree while the CD put
forth a backdrop of syrupy carols.  

 "Are the loops even now, Ray?" Fraser questioned, reaching up to the top
branch to adjust the angle of the top string of silver beads. 

 "It was even before," Ray replied. 

 Fraser noted that his partner did not even bother to look up from the
ornament boxes he was attempting to return to their original positions in
the large cardboard box that stored them. 

 Still not satisfied, Fraser stood up on tip toes to even out the bead
string...and almost fell right onto the tree as his back and shoulders
cramped up. The pain was surreal, like a red-hot poker across his
consciousness. His hands pin wheeled frantically, looking for a purchase
to halt his descent, but there was only the tree in front of him. He was
going to knock it over... 

 Strong hands halted his plunge, practically plucking him out of the air. 

 "Would you sit down before you fall down already?" 

 Fraser blinked into his partner's worried blue eyes, a little dazzled by
the rainbow of colored lights reflected in Ray's pupils. Ray was holding
him up, his lean, hard body wedged so close to him that Fraser could feel
the heat pouring off the other man. He could also smell the remaining
traces of Ray's soap and shampoo from his morning shower, as well as the
fresh, clean scent of the man himself. 

 His pulse starting to race at Ray's proximity, Fraser quickly taking a
step back from Ray. He could manage with Ray's hands on him, but their
whole fronts were touching, his body was bound to betray him. 

 "I'm sorry, Ray. I lost my footing. I'm fine. Really-" 

 "Fraser, you look like Foreman after Ali was through with him. I've been
telling you for a half hour to take a rest. Sit down, now," Ray ordered in
a no-nonsense tone, guiding Fraser over to the couch. 

 "But the beads..." Fraser protested, hating to give in to physical
weakness of any type. 

 "You supervise. I'll fix the damn beads," Ray said, his guiding hands
easing Fraser down onto the sofa. "You want more eggnog?" 

 Not knowing how to accept his partner's rough concern, Fraser gave a
wordless shake of his head. It shamed him how glad his aching body was to
be sitting. 

 "The beads..." Fraser began, stopped by the expression in Ray's face. Ray
had been so happy before, dancing around with Dief, still wearing Fraser's
own Stetson. Now Ray frowned under the Stetson's wide brim, visibly
worried, perhaps even a little guilty. Because of me, Fraser recognized.
His near fall had ruined the party spirit. 

 He watched as something akin to resignation flashed across Ray's
expressive features. "I'll fix them." 

 Ray moved quickly to the tree, adroitly maneuvering the string of beads
around without knocking off any of the glass ornaments. 

 Fraser studied the slim figure as Ray fiddled with the decorations. Ray
was such a puzzle. He was so rough and emotionally explosive that he could
be over-whelming at times, but there was a gentler side, too, which rarely
saw the light of day. It was true that the capacity for violence was the
first thing he'd noticed about his new partner, once Fraser had sorted out
that he wasn't going insane and that this wasn't the original Ray Vecchio.


 From the start, Fraser had sensed the powder keg of emotion just waiting
to erupt inside that lean form. Criminals were aware of it as well and
responded to it, as did Diefenbaker. Ray Vecchio might have threatened
many a miscreant with physical violence if they failed to cooperate, but
Vecchio was rarely believed. When Ray Kowalski told a criminal that he was
going to kick him in the head, there was no doubt in anybody's mind that
the detective would follow through if he weren't obeyed. It wasn't an
approach to law enforcement that Fraser was comfortable with, but since
most wrongdoers took the warning and behaved themselves, rarely was it an
issue in their partnership. 

 Watching Ray fiddle with the tree, Fraser could see the excess energy
almost sparking off the man. Ray was so rarely still, rarely quiescent. He
was a live wire, waiting to spark. It was like Ray was living on the edge,
just waiting for something to push him over. 

 Fraser would have almost been frightened to work with Ray, if that
hypertension and suppressed violence were all there was to the man. But
buried beneath all that posturing and bluster was a tender side, a kind,
lost soul, who lived in a world of self-doubt. Fraser liked that hidden
man quite a lot. 

 Praying that his observation would be credited to feeling unwell, he
watched Ray's whip cord thin figure stretch to adjust the placement of the
silver string of beads, impressed as ever with Ray's easy grace. Ray
Kowalski had a very distinct style about him. The faded mauve shirt he was
wearing, the ash grey down vest, the black jeans that hugged Ray's body in
all the right places so that you could see the flex of muscles in his
buttocks as he made the stretch...all complimented and showcased his lean
strength. The borrowed Mountie hat that Ray had yet to remove added a
charming, rakish air to his friend. 

 Ray looked...good in the Stetson. It suited his friend's rugged style. 

 Recalling their earlier, sensitive discussion about Ray's lack of success
with the opposite sex, Fraser was at a loss to understand it as he watched
his partner move now. The female of the species had always been a complete
mystery to him, but never more so than in their treatment of Ray Kowalski.
From their first meeting, Ray's innate sensuality had unnerved him. He'd
never met anyone who oozed such raw sexuality, and was so oblivious to his
desirability. 

 "How's that?" Ray asked, looking back over his shoulder. 

 Startled to realize that he hadn't been paying the least bit of attention
to the tree, Fraser took a quick look at the string of beads and approved,
"It's fine, Ray." 

 "It looks good, huh?" Ray grinned as he came to take a seat at the
opposite end of the couch. His blond hair and eyes were catching the tree
lights and reflecting the colors back like a prism as Ray surveyed their
work. 

 "Yes," Fraser absently agreed, not at all sure what he was complimenting,
for he certainly hadn't been admiring the Christmas tree. His body was
hurting far too much. His mind kept wandering, going to places it didn't
usually visit. Perhaps it was merely an effect of the beating he'd taken,
some kind of delayed shock, or maybe it was due to the aching
sentimentality of the seasonal carols playing in the background. Whatever
the cause, Fraser felt very raw inside tonight. 

 The silence stretched between them, comfortable and embracing as they
watched the tree glowing in the darkened apartment. 

 Fraser sensed Ray's head turning his way, could almost feel the weight of
those bejeweled eyes resting on him in the darkness. Normally, being under
Ray's observation wasn't the least bit disturbing, but tonight his
defenses were weakened and the truth of his heart was too close to the
surface. Fraser felt Ray's stare playing across his raw skin like static
electricity. It made it hard to breathe, hard to think. 

 "You look rough," Ray said at last. "You're hurting pretty bad, aren't
ya?" 

 He didn't bother to deny it. What was the point, after all? Ray had been
watching him hobble about all night and knew he was experiencing
discomfort. There was no shame in being honest with his friend, and it was
a believable explanation for his no doubt visible distraction. "They were
professionals, Ray." 

 "And you're treatin' your injuries like they were a paper cut. If you
don't take care of 'em, they're just gonna hurt longer." 

 "There's little to be done," Fraser commented. 

 "And you haven't even done that. Look, I want you to take some Advil and
have a hot bath." 

 "That isn't necessary, Ray," Fraser protested, hating to be fussed over.
"I'm - " 

 "You're black and blue from head to foot and stiff all over. You don't do
something now to loosen those muscles up, you're gonna wake up all
cramped." 

 "Ray, I - " 

 "I've been worked over before, Fraser. I know the drill. You do nothin',
you're gonna feel a thousand times worse in the morning." 

 "Nevertheless, I-" 

 "You what? What is it with you, anyway?" Ray demanded in a strained tone.


 "I don't understand what you're asking," Fraser admitted, not wanting to
spoil the night by ending it with another senseless argument. 

 "Why's it always gotta be so hard with you? Can't you ever just...relax
an' go with the flow?" 

 Fraser gulped and stared down at his hands as he looked for his voice.
He'd known things were going too good to be true tonight. Every time he'd
ever felt like he was actually becoming part of something, the rug would
be pulled out from under him and he'd either find himself left alone again
or ostracized for his strangeness. 

 "Apparently not," he whispered at last. 

 There was a change in the air. He didn't know what it signified, but the
tension level on the other side of the couch abruptly plummeted. 

 Ray released a deep sigh, before saying in a strangely soft tone, "Frase,
come on, Benton-buddy, I'm sorry, okay? It's just...you drive me nuts
sometimes." 

 "I know," Fraser answered without looking up, way too aware of the
shortcomings that had always kept him apart from others. 

 "No, I don't think you do," Kowalski said. "You don't understand
how...frustratin' you can be." 

 "Don't I?" Fraser challenged. 

 "No, you don't." 

 "I beg to differ, Ray. Both of my partners have gone to great length on
occasion to detail just how...irritating I can be. Ray, I mean, Ray
Vecchio used to say that I was the most annoying man on the planet." To
his consternation, Fraser heard the hurt he couldn't quite keep out of his
tone. 

 The unnatural silence drew his gaze to his normally talkative partner.
Ray looked shocked. 

 "Vecchio used to say that?" 

 Fraser nodded, still not breaking eye contact, for all that he wished to
hide. 

 "I thought you guys had, like, the perfect partnership, that I was, like,
a poor substitute," Ray muttered, the words seeming to be directed more to
himself than to Fraser. 

 "You are not a substitute, Ray, let alone a poor one," Fraser quickly
assured, shocked that Ray would think such a thing. "You are a loyal
partner and a good friend. Obviously, something I have done has given you
this false impression. I - " 

 "No," Ray interrupted. "I just...I know you still miss him." 

 Fraser nodded slowly, even that small, careful motion jarring his aching
body. "I do miss him. Ray Vecchio was a good friend." Seeing the pain that
flared and was quickly squelched in those Christmas-tree lit,
kaleidoscope-colored eyes, Fraser hastily stated, "I miss him the way I
would miss you were you to completely disappear from my life now, Ray.
Friends of such caliber as you and Ray Vecchio are hard to replace." 

 "You-you'd really miss me the same way you miss him? I thought he
was...that you guys were, like, the perfect duet." 

 There was a question there, beyond the obvious one Ray Kowalski had
voiced. "Ray Vecchio and I had a very successful partnership and strong
friendship, Ray, I would never deny that, but...it wasn't perfect. I
irritated him the same way I irritate you and - " 

 "What about him?" Ray interjected, his expression telling Fraser that
this was something Ray had wanted to ask him for some time. "Did he annoy
you the same way I do?" 

 Fraser opened his mouth to assure Ray that both his American partners had
irritated him at times, but then shut it again. "I would be lying if I
said that my reaction to you both was identical. Ray Vecchio had...certain
expectations of me. You don't have those same expectations of me; hence,
there is more...friction in our partnership." 

 "What's that supposed ta mean? Still sounds like a poor second from this
end, Fraser." 

 Was that how Ray saw himself - as a poor second? Fraser knew that his
partner had some self-worth issues, that Ray's self confidence had been
drastically undermined by his divorce, but he'd never realized the
situation was this severe. 

 Fraser thought for a moment, before admitting, "It means that Ray Vecchio
had some...impressions of me that weren't necessarily valid. When I was
first posted here permanently, I...terribly missed doing active police
work. I'm afraid I made a point of...showing off my tracking and deductive
abilities with Ray, so that he would include me in his cases. I'm afraid
he..." Fraser fell silent, not knowing how to voice this next part. 

 To his astonishment, Ray seemed to pull the thoughts straight out of his
mind, as his instinct-driven partner so often did. "Vecchio bought into
the Superman act, didn't he?" 

 Fraser lowered his head, ashamed. "To a certain extent, yes. And, I'm
afraid I..." 

 "Played up to it," Ray finished, no doubt in his tone at all. 

 "Yes." Fraser raised his head and met those eyes. Braced for a negative
reaction, the amused glint to Ray's gaze totally threw him. 

 "He let you get away with this super-Mountie crap. That's why we have all
these stupid arguments. You got your own way most of the time with him." 

 "Ray would always protest, but...." 

 "He'd let you talk him into it," Ray completed. 

 "Eventually, yes," Fraser agreed. "You don't let me run rough-shod over
you to the same extent Ray did and when I'm wrong, you make me admit it." 

 "That's the 'friction' you were talkin' about?" 

 Fraser nodded. 

 "So I do get on your nerves more than he did," Ray determined, but he
didn't sound particularly upset about it now. 

 "I suppose. You no longer find that thought...disturbing?" 

 Ray was quiet at the other end of the couch for a moment, then he
tentatively explained, "I guess I always kinda thought that you resented
that I wasn't him, that I couldn't meet your standards the same way he
could, but...you're not sayin' that at all. Are you?" 

 Fraser gave a quick, negative shake of his head. 

 Ray continued, "We just fight more because I won't let you call all the
shots and recklessly endanger our lives all the time." 

 The words should have stung, but the fondness in Ray's tone made them
almost a balm to Fraser's worried mind. "Ray Vecchio didn't allow me to
call all the shots, Ray - " 

 "He ever get you mad enough to go all sarcastic and call him Mr.
Instinct?" 

 Not understanding why Ray seemed pleased by that thought, Fraser gave a
negative shake of his head. "No, but I irritated him all the same." 

 "You can't help that. It's just the way you are." 

 "The way I am?" Fraser repeated. Another night, he might have let the
comment pass uncontested, but tonight he was feeling too...isolated not to
investigate what it was that set him apart from everyone, including his
closest friend. 

 Ray seemed to pick up on his change in mood, for Ray's attitude became
less certain as he shifted sideways on the couch to face him and began,
"You always give whatever anybody needs, with no thought of yourself." 

 "Is that a bad thing, Ray?" Fraser asked into the quiet, too bewildered
and hurt to play his usual stonewalling game. 

 "No, not really, but..." 

 "But?" Fraser prodded, bracing himself. This was where such personal
conversations usually went into how demanding he was, how much he asked of
his friends and how little he gave back. Ray Vecchio and he used to have
this very same discussion at least once a month. Vecchio had been the only
friend who'd ever stuck it out with him, and even his first partner had
reached his limits eventually and bailed out by taking that prolonged
undercover assignment...or so it seemed to one beaten up Mountie, whose
aches were making him inclined to feel sorry for himself. 

 The fact that Ray allowed him to get away with far less than Ray Vecchio
ever did did not bode well for where this conversation was going. Ray
wasn't going to sugar coat anything for him. For the first time in his
life, Fraser wasn't sure that he wanted to hear the unadorned truth. 

 "You do everything for everybody, and you never let them give back." 

 "What?" Fraser raised his head and looked over at his partner. That was
absolutely not what he was expecting to hear. He'd thought Ray would be
expanding upon his arrogance in needing to dominate their partnership by
'calling the shots' all the time. This sounded nowhere near
as...obnoxious. 

 "You don't ever let anyone even the score." 

 "It's not a game, Ray. There are no scores involved." Fraser protested. 

 "No? Then why won't you ever let anyone help you when you need it?" 

 "Ray, I ask for your assistance all the time. I am constantly dropping by
the station to - " 

 "Ask me to help you help some stranger. That ain't what I'm talking
about. I'm talking about you, Benton Fraser, refusing to allow anybody to
ever help you when you're hurting. I wanna know why you do that." 

 Fraser swallowed hard under that piercing stare. The Christmas tree
lights should have softened Ray's visage, but they only seemed to
highlight Ray's determination. "I-I suppose I don't want to be a bother to
anyone." 

 "You remember when Cahill set me up and I came running to you for help?" 

 He nodded. At times he could still hear that scream of 'Fraz-z-z-er'
echoing through his mind, that cry of utter despair Ray had let out when
he'd collapsed in the consulate hallway after his flight from the crime
scene. 

 "Was it a bother to you when you had to fix up my cuts?" Ray sounded
legitimately concerned. 

 "Of course, it wasn't," he swiftly replied, recalling clearly how Ray had
just lain sprawled in that chair like a child letting its mother fix a
hurt. Ray had complained all the while about how bad his healing
concoction smelt, but he'd still allowed him to put the stuff on him. The
trust this self-sufficient, suspicious man had extended towards him during
that entire affair had been heartening. 

 "So how is this different? How come when the tables are turned, I don't
get to help you?" Ray demanded. 

 He opened his mouth to explain, and then closed it again. Ray was right.
There was no difference. 

 "You never let anybody give back to you, Fraser," Ray continued in a
softer tone. "You give and give, let everyone lean on you, but when
something bad happens to you and we all want to help out, you go off alone
and lick your wounds. No one sees you till you can play the perfect
Mountie again." 

 Fraser swallowed hard. "You see me now, Ray. I am...hardly in peak
condition." 

 "Yeah, but...you're not letting me do anything to help you. That night
when I was going after Cahill and Kilrea, you talked about having to trust
your partner. It's like that trust only works one way, like I'm supposedta
trust you to take care of me, but you don't trust me to do the same for
you." 

 Everything in him wanted to protest the accusation, but honesty wouldn't
allow him to contest the truth. Ray was right. He did do those things.
Once again, he seemed to hear Ray telling him he was selfish, his father
stating how he was arrogant. Fraser realized that he was guilty as
charged. Acknowledging that truth made him feel as bad inside as he did
out. 

 "I'm sorry, Ray," he said at last, too ashamed to even look his partner
in the eye. "You're right." 

 "I don't care about bein' right," Ray protested. "I care about helpin'
you. Okay?" 

 He dared his friend's gaze, found those perceptive eyes filled with
compassion as they watched him. "Okay. What-what do you want me to do?" 

 There was no victory in Ray's attitude, only relief and maybe some shock,
like Ray had expected his arguments to go unheard. "I want youta take a
hot bath and soak, then let me rub some liniment into those muscles." 

 "All right," he instantly agreed, not pointing out that liniment would
only sting his abrasions. At this point, he would have let Ray rub salt
into his open wounds if that's what it would take to make Ray feel
appreciated. He was not destroying another partnership with his
pigheadedness. His father was right. There came a time when you just had
to swallow the pride. 

 "Great. Let me get you some more eggnog and some Advil. I'll start the
bath running." 

 Fighting back the urge to protest, Fraser gave a miserable nod. Ray was
up in a moment and hurrying towards the bathroom. 

 A satisfied "rrrrowwwwl" from beside the coffee table brought Fraser's
gaze to his wolf. "It is the height of impropriety to say 'I told you
so'." 

 Dief gave him one of those looks that said more than a dictionary-worth
of words and made another argumentative sound. 

 "Not everyone likes to be babied," another dissenting wolf noise had
Fraser back-paddling with, "Well, no. Strictly speaking, you are correct.
I have never...I mean...my experience in these matters is...limited to
non-existent. Nevertheless..." 

 "Dief's right." 

 He jumped at the low voice beside him. He hadn't heard or seen Ray return
to the room. He was more out of it than he'd thought. 

 "About?" he questioned, feeling a little spacey. This entire night was
taking on the surreal quality of one of his dreams. Usually, Ray laughed
in amusement at his exchanges with his deaf wolf, but Ray's expression was
so serious that it made him think that Ray had overheard and understood
every lupine argument. 

 "You shouldn't knock it till you've tried it." 

 Before he could even frame a reply, Ray was holding out a mug of eggnog
and a couple of little brownish pills. 

 "Here's your Advil." 

 Feeling those eyes heavy upon him, Fraser accepted the medicine without
protest and drank it down. 

 "Good. Come on, I've got your bath running. I found some hangers for your
uniform, and a robe and..." 

 More than a little overwhelmed, Fraser trailed his partner to the steamy
bathroom. The sink and commode were shiny new white porcelain, but the
claw foot tub that dominated the tiny room was so old that the porcelain
had rubbed off years ago, leaving a sandy white grain behind. To Fraser's
utter shock, his partner, who was usually less than fastidious in his
housekeeping, kept the tub sparkling white. 

 Hot water was presently gushing into the tub, frothing like a whirlpool.
Fraser despised the weak part of himself that eagerly anticipated the feel
of that hot liquid on his aching body. 

 "I, ah, know you're too banged up to want any Epsom salt in there," Ray
said, holding out a bottle of green liquid, "but I've got this bath stuff
Stella left behind. It smells pretty good and it doesn't sting cuts." 

 "Ray," Fraser gently pointed out, "Stella never lived in this apartment."


 Ray turned bright red, swallowed once, gave the little jerk of his head
that usually indicated he was braced for a fight and said, "Yeah, well,
she used to use it and I like it, so I bought a bottle of it. You got a
problem with that?" 

 He quickly shook his head. "No, Ray, that's a perfectly good reason to
purchase a product." 

 "So doya wanna try it?" 

 Touched by how hard his partner was trying to take care of him, when he
really didn't need any care-taking at all, Fraser gave another nod, "That
would be nice. Thank you kindly, Ray." 

 Ray opened the bottle and poured a cap-load of liquid into the churning
water. The heady scent of crushed pine needles immediately filled the
small room. The forest smell was comforting. It brought to mind a thousand
joyful memories of roaming the woods with Quinn or Eric, even a few rarer
ones of spending time with his dad. As always followed on the heels of
such vivid sensory memory, Fraser was hit with a burst of homesickness
that struck as hard as that two by four Warfield's men had wielded. 

 "You like?" Ray checked, looking prepared to empty the bath and start
again if Fraser found the potion displeasing. 

 "It's very nice, Ray," Fraser approved. 

 "Here's some hangers. Just leave the uniform hanging on the outside of
the door and I'll put it in the bedroom closet. I left a robe there on the
back of the door." 

 "It's a very fine robe," he commented, eyeing the spruce, blue and white
pattern. 

 "It's pretty lame, I know. Mum sent it to me for my birthday last year,
but I never wear it." 

 "Why not, Ray? It's quite a handsome garment." 

 Ray shrugged, "It just doesn't suit my style. There's a new toothbrush
and toothpaste in the medicine cabinet. Everything else is pretty much out
in the open. Use whatever you need. You need any help, give a holler." 

 Ray's nervous recitation told Fraser how rarely his partner had
houseguests. Touched by the effort Ray was making on his behalf, he gave a
small smile that still managed to rip at his banged up lip. "Thank you,
Ray. I'm sure I'll be just fine." 

 "Great. I'm gonna go look for that liniment." 

 "Ah, Ray?" 

 "Yeah?" 

 He paused, debating the wisdom of being honest here, but he knew Ray
would be upset if his attempts at nurturing actually caused pain. "I've
got some open abrasions. Liniment might not be the best - " 

 Ray gave a sympathetic wince. "Scratch the liniment. I'll find something
that doesn't sting. Go soak." 

 "Yes, Ray," Fraser agreed almost demurely. Bemused, he watched the blond
whirlwind of energy that was his partner wisk out of the room. Though
tiny, the bathroom seemed strangely empty once Ray was gone. 

 Fraser stood staring at the swirling bath for a few moments, and then
began to disrobe. His movements were, by necessity, cautious. Everything
hurt. Merely removing his tunic from his shoulders was a harrowing ordeal.
When it came to raising his arms to actually pull off his long sleeved,
white undershirt, the room seemed to spin around him. 

 He caught the wall and held himself up until the vertigo passed. Once he
was sure he wasn't going to pass out, he eased himself down onto the
commode seat and lifted his foot to undo the bootlaces. An eternity later,
he was completely undressed. 

 No matter how badly he'd been injured, a lifetime of discipline still
bred true. Fraser conscientiously hung his uniform outside the bathroom as
Ray had requested before he saw to his own needs. Only when his tunic and
jodhpurs were safely hung outside the steamy room did Fraser step into the
hot tub. 

 The water came almost up to his knees. It sloshed around his calves like
a piping hot sea or the pool of a hot spring. 

 Of all the things he'd lost from his West Racine apartment, that big old
communal bathtub was the physical thing he missed the most. His former
neighbors, of course, could never be replaced, but Fraser still kept ties
with them all. But that beautiful old tub was gone forever, lost in the
fire. The shower stall at the consulate was adequate as far as cleanliness
went, but when it came to easing aches and pains, nothing took the place
of a hot bath. 

 Ray's tub could have been a twin to the one at Racine, Fraser thought as
he relaxed against the warm porcelain and let the scented water swoosh up
his bruised chest. His bad leg felt like it had been given a second lease
on life as the heat soaked through it. Conceding that Ray was right, that
a long soak would do him a world of good, Fraser toed off the cold water
faucet and let the burning hot water surround him. 

 Closing his eyes, Fraser took a deep, pine-scented breath and eased
further down in the bath. Just like the one at Racine, the back of the tub
caught his neck in just the right spot and held his head above the water.
Absorbed in the sybaritic delight of all that liquid warmth embracing his
bruises, Fraser relaxed his body, making a conscious effort to do the same
with his troubled mind.  

 After safely stowing Fraser's uniform on the hook outside his bedroom
closet door, Ray retreated to the living room to listen to Christmas music
and watch the tree. The entire room glowed. The turtle's tank, every CD
jewel case, glossy book cover and polished wood surface was reflecting
back the colored Christmas lights. It was sort of like being inside a
cathedral when the sun was shining through a stained glass window. There
was color everywhere Ray looked. 

 He sprawled onto the sofa, listening to Loreena McKennitt's moody SNOW.
Stella had always hated that album, but Ray found it oddly beautiful, if
more than a little eerie. 

 It was good to just lie here and relax. Diefenbaker padded over and
rested his chin on his knee. Ray absently scratched at the wolf's ears
while the winter music played on. 

 He had feared that this first holiday without Stella would be the worst
Christmas ever. For a while this week, it had been shaping up to be a real
downer, but now...having Fraser and Dief come home with him had changed
everything around. It felt weird not to be depressed, to just lie here on
his couch and enjoy a piece of music he liked in front of the tree without
worrying about upsetting someone. For so many years with Stella, Christmas
had been like walking on eggs, never knowing what move or seasonal event
was going to set off her displeasure. He knew it wasn't her fault that her
mom had died right before Christmas, but it still made it hard to live
with her around the holidays. 

 He was glad that he'd brought Fraser home with him and not just for his
own sake, though he was more than grateful for the company. Fraser needed
to be with people more. Although outwardly one of the most amiable guys
Ray had ever met, his partner was too closed off from his fellow man.
Fraser might be the most capable individual Ray knew with his
library-worth of useless trivia, faultless manners, unshakable confidence,
and cool competency, but beneath it, the guy was suffering. The more Ray
watched Benton Fraser in action, the more he realized that Fraser didn't
have a clue about personal interaction. If it weren't written up in some
out-dated etiquette book or psychology text, Fraser didn't know how to
cope. 

 Take their whole argument about Fraser not accepting help. Since the day
he'd met this red-suited stranger he was supposed to take on as partner as
part of the Vecchio cover, Ray had been interpreting Fraser's refusal to
accept personal assistance as a sign of the competent Canadian's feelings
of superiority. Fraser always seemed...a cut above the rest of the world,
and very aware of that fact. Haughty, remote, self-righteous,
stuck-up...whenever Fraser got into his nitpicking mode, those were the
adjectives that ran through Kowalski's mind. During the first months of
their association, there were times Ray had nearly hated the Canadian for
that persnickety streak. But now...Ray was beginning to not just look, but
actually see Fraser, not for the perfect Mountie Fraser aspired to be, but
for the man he actually was beneath the uniform. 

 The one thing that had become increasingly clear during these last few
months was the fact that Benton Fraser was not the product of some loving,
perfect environment as Ray had originally assumed. Contrary to his first
impressions, Fraser was not a guy who lucked into things. From everything
Ray had gleaned about his new partner's past, Fraser hadn't had it easy,
ever. Fraser's mostly absent father had been a living legend, whom Fraser
had worshipped, but never truly known. His mother had died when he was
little more than a baby and he'd been left with a pair of old folks who
filled his head with out-dated codes of morals and exacting behavior that
set Fraser forever apart from his peers. It wasn't so much that Fraser
thought himself above everyone else, Ray had realized; it was just that
his partner had never learned to fit in. 

 But Fraser was doing his best to learn. That was what Fraser was doing
every day with him and what Fraser had probably done with Vecchio before
him. Fraser wasn't a natural at this interacting stuff. It obviously came
hard to the self-sufficient man. Ray could appreciate that. He was a loner
himself, but he knew when to let it go, when to give in and let someone he
trusted help. Fraser didn't know when or how to do that. Ray had been
trying to be more patient with his new partner, but it was hard when the
door seemed to keep slamming in his face at every turn. 

 Still, his patience appeared to be paying off. Last spring, no matter
what Ray had said, Fraser would never have allowed him to so much as force
him to take a rest when needed, let alone a bath and aspirin. Tonight's
capitulation was nothing short of miraculous. 

 It was almost scary in a way, though. Ray knew how much Fraser needed to
maintain his image. For Fraser to give in as he had and accept Ray's help,
his partner had to be hurting really bad, both physically and emotionally.
Ray honestly didn't know if he was up to the challenge. Ever since Stella
had walked, he hadn't been much good to anyone, even himself. The last
thing he wanted was to let Fraser down. 

 And yet...Fraser knew what an emotional mess he was and had still put his
faith in him. That had to count for something 

 As the CD changed, Ray realized how much time had passed. A little
worried, he softly trod to the hallway outside the bathroom. No sound at
all emerged from behind the closed bathroom door. No splashing, no water
running, no tooth brushing or toilet flushing, nothing but utter silence.
Really concerned now, he eased open the bathroom door and shook his head
at the sight that was presented to him. 

 Fraser was sound asleep in the tub, his head tilted back over the rim,
his body stretched out in the still steaming water. 

 As he stepped into the humid little room, his gaze roamed over the
submerged form. Fraser was almost perfectly proportioned. His solid,
muscular body spoke of his competence and physical strength, while the
angelic innocence of his sleeping features seemed to betoken Fraser's
character. 

 Ray knew that the last was misleading. Though few who knew the Canadian
would ever suspect it, Fraser was no angel. Ray was one of the few who
were aware of that fact, and he cherished the man all the more because of
it. 

 His gaze scoured Fraser's length through the foot or so of hot water
blurring him. Fraser hadn't exaggerated before. The men who'd worked him
over had been professionals. Fraser's arms and legs were mottled with
vivid purple and black bruises, as were his abdomen and torso. Ray winced
when he saw the lurid purple and red discoloring over his partner's left
hipbone. Obviously, someone had tried to kick Fraser in the family jewels
and Fraser had taken the blow on his hip. He had to be hurting like hell
with every movement, Ray realized. 

 "Hey, Benton-buddy," Kowalski called softly, not wanting to startle the
other man too badly. 

 Fraser's long eyelashes fluttered, parting with visible reluctance.
Fraser sat up, staring around in obvious confusion. 

 "I appear to have fallen asleep," Fraser commented in a thick voice. 

 "Yeah," Ray gruffly responded, still too affected by his partner's
collection of injuries to take anything in stride. "You wanta get out of
there now?" 

 Fraser gave a weary nod, started to move, and immediately froze up as he
was, no doubt, deluged by pain. 

 "Careful, there," Ray counseled, reaching out to grip Fraser's elbows and
help him up. He ignored Fraser's automatic protest of "Ray, you don't have
to. I'm perfectly fine," and bundled his wet friend into one of the long
blue bath towels. Then he took another towel and knelt at his partner's
feet to carefully blot the excess water from Fraser's hairy legs, to
prevent Fraser from having to bend to do so himself. 

 "This the bad leg?" Ray questioned as he dried off the left one, the knee
of which was somewhat swollen. 

 "Yes," Fraser replied, sounding like it was taking all his control to
sound normal in this embarrassing situation. By the time Ray had dried
both legs, Fraser had taken care of his torso himself. 

 "Okay, let's get you into this and then we'll work on relaxing those
muscles," he said, fetching the robe and holding it out to Fraser to
enter. 

 "Ray, the bath was sufficient. You don't have to-" 

 "We already had this discussion. I won," he reminded, grinning to take
the sting off his words. "Come on. We both know that a massage and some
sleep will do you a world of good." 

 His hair still a wet slick across his skull, which gave his scabbing face
a severe air, Fraser nodded. 

 His partner's uneasiness an almost palpable presence, Ray did his best
not to make this any harder on the proud, self-sufficient man. Grabbing
the bottle of body oil from its long, untouched resting place in the
medicine cabinet, Ray silently led his friend into the bedroom. 

 He switched on the upright lamp beside the door. The light reflected over
the hodgepodge of his personal effects, the books, photos and knickknacks
that were the material mementos of a lifetime of experience. Ray could see
Fraser's eyes taking it all in as he guided the reluctant Mountie over to
the neatly made double bed. Fraser would have walked to a firing squad
with more alacrity. 

 "Here, let me help you get that off," Ray offered, reaching for the robe
again. 

 "You want me to take it off?" Fraser asked, his modesty showing. 

 "It's fleece, Fraser. I can't really massage you through it; it's too
thick. Okay?" Ray tried to be reasonable, though he was losing patience.
They were both grown men, for God's sake. Neither of them were blushing
virgins. And even if they were, it wasn't like this was a date or
something. 

 It was a pathetic testament to the state of his love life that the first
person he'd be escorting to his bed since he'd moved in here would be his
male partner. 

 "All right," Fraser relented, standing still so that he could ease the
bright patterned robe off his shoulders. 

 Without further ado, Fraser turned towards the bed. 

 His gaze unconsciously raked over his partner's naked back as Fraser
moved the few feet to the mattress. Ray's eyes stopped on the pert curves
of those dimpled buttocks. He swallowed hard, not understanding his own
sudden nervousness. 

 Since he'd been hoping for Stella's company, the sheets were crisp and
clean. More than clean, they were pristine. Ray had been so tired last
night that he'd fallen asleep on the couch in front of the boob tube and
spent the whole night there. 

 Fraser climbed into the bed and turned over onto his stomach. 

 Seeing the wince Fraser gave as he looked over his shoulder while
awkwardly reaching for the sheet end, Ray offered, "I'll do it." 

 His hand was almost shaking as he reached to pull the crisp blue and
white patterned linen up over Fraser's lower body. For some unexplained
reason, Ray felt better when his partner's modesty had been restored. 

 Recalling what he was here for, Ray opened the bottle he held in his left
hand. A sweet, vaguely floral scent flooded the area. 

 "Rose adder," Fraser's voice was muffled by the pillow his face was
resting against. 

 "Huh?" 

 "Rose adder and chamomile, very strong healing herbs," Fraser explained. 

 "Oh, good." Having no further excuse to delay, Ray poured some of the
thick yellow oil onto his right palm. Carefully placing the open bottle
beside his family's picture on the junk crowded nightstand, Ray turned to
his partner. 

 He could almost feel Fraser's tension. Ray rubbed the oil between his
palms, warming it and coating his hands while Fraser lay there stiff as a
board. 

 When at last the oil and his hands were ready, Ray reached for those
broad shoulders, but he was almost afraid to touch. There was an angry
black and blue running across the middle of Fraser's upper back, starting
right at the base of the neck and going across and down for about four
inches in all directions. Whatever it was that had hit his partner there,
Fraser was lucky it hadn't snapped his spine or neck. 

 When his fingers finally made contact with that warm, soft-skinned body,
Ray found his partner's muscles tensed harder than a rock. From the
physical dread he could sense in the other man's body, it was clear to
Kowalski that Fraser was bracing himself for an excruciating experience,
like he expected Ray's hands to be rough and hurt him. Yet Fraser was
still offering himself up to him. Because he had asked it of him, Ray
realized. 

 "Relax, Frase. I know what I'm doing here. I won't hurtchya. I promise."
With that, Ray let his fingers feel out the thick muscles. He carefully
avoided the areas of actual bruising as he gauged how much pressure his
brutalized partner could take. Normally, a man with Fraser's dense
muscular structure could have handled an intense session, but the palpable
fear of being hurt that Ray found in those guarded muscles made him move
carefully. 

 Softer than he'd ever massaged even Stella, Ray began to work his fingers
in circular patterns on Fraser's neck. He rubbed the oil into his
partner's baby soft skin with feather-light, round motions, increasing the
pressure only as he seduced the fear out of the muscles. 

 Unsurprisingly, the area over Fraser's carotid artery was a mass of tiny
bumps of tension. One by one, Ray courted and soothed them, moving slowly
down the neck to Fraser's shoulders. The bruise there was so large that it
was difficult to work around, but Ray went to great pains to put no
pressure on already damaged tissue. When he managed to free a large knot
of tension from the shoulder area under where the black and blue mark
ended, Fraser released a startled sigh. 

 "Raay..." Fraser grunted as Kowalski found another ball of trouble, "you
are...quite good at this." 

 "Told ya," Ray grinned, before moving to Fraser's biceps to work down
each arm in turn. Apparently, Fraser hadn't been expecting that, for he
seemed almost stunned as Ray freed his upper limbs of aches. 

 Once he was certain the arms were okay, he moved back to Fraser's
shoulders, then began to make his way down the broad, sturdy back. While
he cautiously worked his thumbs down the vertebrae one by one, leaving a
slick trail of scented oil in his wake, Ray was almost overcome by the
fact that Fraser was actually allowing him to do this. He couldn't believe
that this proud and independent man would lie so helpless and defenseless
beneath his hands. 

 On some levels, he felt almost as though he'd tamed a wild forest
creature here. Fraser's normal skittishness when it came to touch was
almost like a feral wolf or mountain lion's. His partner kept himself so
apart from actual physical human contact, remained so aloof, that one
could almost believe that he didn't have the needs that every other man
did. To see Fraser open up like a flower like this was...heartbreaking.
For, with every touch he gave to this reserved man, it became clear that
this was something Fraser had never had before. 

 A man as good as his partner should not go thirty-eight years of his life
with no one to take care of him like this, Ray thought, saddened. For all
that his own life had fallen apart over the past two years, prior to that
he'd had someone to help him through the bad times. 

 Though, now that Ray thought about his own life with the person he'd
thought would always be there beside him, it did seem that he took care of
Stella this way far more often than she ever had him. Still, contact was
contact, regardless of which side of the fence you were on. To not have
ever had it at all was unthinkable. 

 Way too soon, Ray reached the obstruction he'd been dreading - the line
of sheet covering Fraser's lower body. It would be just like his proper
partner to refuse to allow Ray to continue the massage any further. 

 He waited at that linen roadblock for Fraser to say 'thank you, Ray,
that's quite good enough' or something along those lines, but Fraser
simply lay there stretched out. 

 Deciding to live dangerously, Ray reached out a hand to tentatively peel
down the sheet, ready to replace it at the first hint of protest. 

 His eyes roamed over the area revealed, pale flesh pinked from the bath,
lightly downed with dark body hair from the thighs down, nearly spotless
above, save for a small patch in the small of the back, right above the
buttocks crease. Fraser had truly beautiful skin, like one of those Ivory
Soap babies in the commercials when he was a kid. Except, of course, for
the smattering of Technicolor bruises irregularly dotting Fraser's legs
and even his left buttock. Aside from those temporary discolorations,
Fraser was perfect here, all artful muscle and smooth skin. 

 His mouth going strangely dry, Ray gulped, re-oiled his hands, then
tentatively reached for his partner's right thigh. He took his time,
working slowly down the right leg, massaging the tense hamstring and then
the calf muscle until they were loose as jello. 

 Then he switched over to Fraser's left ankle and started his way up the
injured leg. He was far more cautious here, too aware of the swollen knee
and livid bruises to apply any real strength, for fear of hurting.
Nonetheless, his ministrations appeared to be effective. Though quiet and
subdued as ever, Fraser kept emitting these tiny sighs and more rarely, a
stifled moan. All tension seemed to have fled Fraser's body. As Ray
carefully advanced up that powerful, bruised thigh. Fraser was like putty
under his hands, soft and malleable. 

 All too soon, Ray reached the top of the second thigh, his work stopping
as his greasy knuckles bumped into the soft, hot curve of the buttock.
Were this Stella, he would have just kept right on kneading his way up,
but... 

 He couldn't see Fraser wanting him to touch his butt. That just
seemed...intrusive somehow. He didn't want the handsome Mountie to think
his pathetic partner was copping a quick feel. 

 Ray gave a sudden gasp, hit by an unexpected flush of heat at the very
thought of feeling up his partner there. Shaking for no understandable
reason, Ray waffled uncertainly. He probably would have sat there frozen
forever if Fraser hadn't looked up over his shoulder at him out of
pleasure-dazed eyes. 

 Ray gulped and searched for his voice. The sounds that emerged were gruff
and hoarse, but they were understandable. "You-you gettin' bored with
this?" 

 There, leave it up to Fraser to decide. His prim and proper partner would
know what to do. 

 Ray was almost holding his breath, wondering if Fraser was going to
notice how weird his voice sounded or see how nervous he suddenly felt. 

 But those abstracted blue eyes seemed too focused on internal sensation
to take anything in. Appearing as uncertain as he himself felt, Fraser
haltingly answered in a tone that sounded like it was working around its
own bolt of cotton in the throat, "No, Ray, it's quite...
pleasurable...unless, of course, you wish to stop..." 

 For once Fraser's expression was an open book, no polite fronts or smoke
screens. Ray could clearly read his partner's confusion, Fraser's
reluctance to impose, but, more than either, Fraser's longing to continue.
There was a hunger there, a need for the solace of human touch that was
downright heartbreaking. 

 Not that Ray could blame the guy. It wasn't like Fraser had had that much
comfort in his life. Ray couldn't think of another person on this planet
that Fraser would have let close enough to him to perform this intimate
service. Probably not even his first partner, Ray realized with a burst of
childish, jealous pride. He'd met Vecchio's family. That strict, Catholic
Italian background could be as isolating as being raised by Victorian
grandparents in Eskimo land. Ray took delight in knowing that this was
something he could give to Fraser that Vecchio hadn't. 

 "I-I'm good to go," Ray whispered, oiling up his hands again. 

 He returned them to the relative safety of those slicked up thighs. He
kneaded and circled there for a while until his fingers just drifted
naturally up to the new territory. 

 Fraser tensed at his first, tentative touch, but then immediately relaxed
into the rhythm of his fingers. 

 Fraser felt good there. The well-shaped globes were muscular, but pliant
at the same time, softer than silk. As he worked over the firm mounds, Ray
couldn't help but compare the area to the last butt he'd massaged. Stella
hadn't really had a lot of meat on her. When he'd do this to her, he'd hit
bone right away, but Fraser had some flesh there to cushion his fingers.
Add in those strong muscles and baby soft skin and you had absolute
perfection. Fraser's butt was a treat to the fingers - which was a really
weird thing to be thinking about your partner's ass, Ray realized. 

 After a minute of two, Ray was shocked to hear a soft sigh come from up
above, not at all the grunting response that a massage usually elicited.
But then, he wasn't really using as much pressure as he usually would.
Fraser's left butt cheek had that livid bruise on it where butt met thigh
and Ray was being real careful to work around it, to not man-handle any
bruised or sprained muscles elsewhere. 

 He kneaded Fraser's butt for at least ten minutes, losing himself, as was
his habit, in the glide of flesh. Fraser's body seemed to be rising and
falling with the motion of his hands, sinking into the rhythm. Finally,
the last ball of tension faded from those powerful muscles. 

 Almost disappointed, Ray said, "I've done about all I can back here. Why
don't you turn over and let me work the front of your chest and legs for a
while?" 

 Ray's fingers felt those two simple sentences undo the last twenty
minutes hard work. Fraser's entire body turned to lead as he repeated,
"Turn over?" like the words were in one of the three languages that he
hadn't mastered yet. 

 "You've got two sides, don'tchya?" Ray smiled. 

 Fraser continued to lie there like a corpse. 

 "Come on, Frase. What's the big deal?" 

 "Thank you, Ray. I . . .think that will do for now. If you'll excuse me,
I'll - " 

 "You'll what? Jeez, get with the program. I'm only half done." Ray
laughed, and immediately saw Fraser further tense. 

 "Please, Ray - " 

 "Oh, for - enough already. Just turn over. You said you'd let me help
you." 

 "I'm sorry, Ray. I -" 

 "Fraser!" he snapped, losing all patience. 

 A stony silence followed. Finally, Fraser gave another of those sighs
he'd die before admitting to and said, "As you wish," in the tightest tone
Ray could remember hearing from him, which confused the hell out of him,
because after the massage he'd just given, there shouldn't have been
anything tight at all on his friend. 

 But as Fraser rolled as quickly over as he could, grabbing the corner of
the sheet in the process to instantly cover himself, Ray had his
explanation as he caught a glimpse of the huge red cock that was rising to
attention. 

 That had definitely not been in the game plan. No wonder Fraser was
freaking. 

 When he raised his gaze from the erection concealed by his blue and white
sheets, Ray found Fraser's battered face to be as bright as the flesh he
was hiding. Fraser's humiliation was a palpable presence. For once the
Mountie didn't seem to know what to say. 

 Ray could sympathize. 

 He could hardly blame Fraser. His friend had fought against this tooth
and nail. He'd forced Fraser into it, and his touch-starved partner had
had an unanticipated reaction to the stimulation. Whose fault was that?
Ray knew at the time that he shouldn't've been touching Fraser's ass like
that. 

 The mortified Mountie finally seemed to find his tongue. "I can't imagine
what you must think of me." 

 Ray knew that how he reacted now was going to either make or break their
partnership. He tried to think of what the right thing was to do in this
situation, and gave it up as a lost cause. Fraser knew what was right; he
only knew what felt right, which weren't always the same thing. But it was
all he ever had to go on. So, he did what he always did when his back was
to the wall and went with his instincts. "Shut up, Fraser, and lie back." 

 "What?" 

 "You think I've never seen one before?" he asked as lightly as he could. 

 "I - " Fraser's eyes squeezed shut and he gulped. 

 Reading how close his beaten up friend was to losing what little control
he had left, Ray said in his mildest, most calming voice, "It's all right.
Everything's gonna be okay. It's no big deal. It's been a while for you,
huh?" 

 Fraser re-opened his eyes and looked at him. The surprise in his face was
exceeded only by his bewilderment. "Over two years." 

 Honest, Fraser was always so painfully honest. 

 "Me, too." Ray blushed as Fraser's arctic blue gaze moved to check out
his basket. "No, I'm . . . I wasn't on the receiving end, but I do
understand. We're guys. It's like a knee jerk reaction, right?" 

 The deep inhalation Fraser took seemed to echo through the room. 

 "I suppose," Fraser agreed in a more normal tone. He still looked ready
to bolt buck naked for the door. 

 "So, what do you want to do about it?" Ray asked in that same mild tone. 

 "Do?" Fraser all but squawked. 

 "Yeah. You want we should make like I never saw and I'll go into the
living room so's you can take care of it on your own. Or do you want me to
lend a hand?" His own stomach clenched at that suggestion. He couldn't
imagine what it must have done to his spit and polish, uptight partner.
But, when you started something like this, even unintentionally, you had a
certain responsibility to see things through. And . . . he really wanted
to lend a hand. 

 "What are you suggesting?" Fraser asked in that schoolteacher tone that
normally got on his nerves something fierce. 

 But tonight, he had nothing but respect for it. Even when pushed over the
edge, Fraser would cling to his principles. 

 Ray found a smile. "I ain't Vecchio, and you ain't that innocent. So cut
the smoke screen. You want a hand or no?" 

 The bruised face turned to stone. "I don't need your charity or pity." 

 "You get one warning. Say something stupid like that again and I'm gonna
pop you in the head." 

 "What else could it be but pity? You're not . . . I mean, you don't - " 

 Fraser hadn't said no. He hadn't said 'Ray Kowalski, take your skinny ass
out of here and don't ever lay a hand on me again'. Hearing only the lack
of rejection, Ray softly said, "You're blithering." 

 Holding that gaze, he reached a nearly steady hand for the blue and white
sheet Fraser had clutched at his bruise mottled belly. 

 Fraser held tight to that last hold on propriety for a moment and stared
at him. Then he slowly released the sheet and allowed Ray to peel it back
from him in a gesture that felt oddly significant. 

 Ray saw the goosebumps that popped up on the unmarred sections of
Fraser's skin as his gaze moved down, saw that uncircumcised cock twitch
and grow even bigger. 

 "Lay down," Ray instructed. 

 To his shock, Fraser did. Of course, the Mountie's body looked stiffer
than a tv dinner fresh out of the freezer, but Fraser did as asked. 

 Ray could see how fast his partner was breathing. He could almost feel
the fear in the other man's body as Fraser stared up at him. 

 Somehow, that made it all easier. It wasn't right that Fraser should be
so afraid of a simple touch. Granted, playing doctor with your partner
probably wasn't the brightest idea in the universe, but it shouldn't
engender this much angst. 

 "We're gonna be all right, no matter what. It's just like, well, like
when you bring me coffee after I've been kicked in the head or something.
It's just one friend making his buddy feel better. There's nothing wrong
with that, is there? If we both like it and it feels good, what's the harm
in it, right?" Ray asked as reasonably as Fraser always was when he was
suggesting one of his hare brained schemes. Even his stupid, reckless
brain could figure out what was wrong with this, how dangerous it was to
their partnership and friendship, not to mention their battered hearts.
They were both walking victims, just waiting for the final shot that would
take them down for good. Ray hoped to God this wasn't it. 

 Just like when Fraser used that rational tone to suggest something
totally insane, it seemed to have a near hypnotic effect. Fraser was quiet
for fourteen breaths, and then he asked, "Have you done this before, Ray .
. . made a buddy 'feel better'?" 

 There wasn't any judgment in the questions. Fraser simply sounded curious
and nervous as hell. It sure beat that shamed tone he'd had before. 

 "Not since I was a kid. I took that 'forsakin' all others' vow seriously.
How 'bout you? Been here, done it, got the tee shirt or, in your case,
mukluks?" Ray managed a real smile. 

 It seemed to relax Fraser as much as him. "Not as such, no." 

 "If not as such, then what?" 

 The color was back in Fraser's cheeks. "I was too . . .afraid when I was
young. But sometimes, when I was grown - " 

 "You wanted to do more than just dance with the men?" Ray suggested when
Fraser seemed to run out of words. 

 Fraser nodded, his gaze having very much that deer-in-the-headlights
quality to it. 

 Ray didn't have to ask if Fraser had done anything about that desire.
That was what that 'not as such' Fraser code translated to. 

 "Well, we've already established that you're not up to dancing with me.
You up to this? Can I touch you, Benton Fraser?" 

 He had to ask. It wasn't something he was just going to do, even if
asking a guy if he wanted to be touched when he was turned on was about as
valid as asking a six year old if he thought candy before dinner was a
good idea. 

 He received yet another nod. Fraser cleared his throat and choked out,
"If it's agreeable to you." 

 Translation - yes. Fraser could never ask for what he wanted or needed. 

 So the proverbial ball was back in his court. It had been more than
twenty years since he'd touched another guy with intent. 

 Ray took a deep breath that filled his lungs with the scent of the
massage oil. He watched as his hand reached almost of its own accord for
Fraser's smooth chest. 

 Fraser gasped as his fingers landed, his body jerking as if an electric
current had shot through him. 

 Ray stroked across the satin smooth expanse, spreading a trail of oil as
he made for the nearest nipple. Another gaspy sound filled the room as Ray
took the little pink nub between his index finger and thumb and gave it a
gentle squeeze. 

 Fraser felt damn good beneath his hand. All smooth and hot. Ray played
with the bud of flesh for a few minutes. Then, he used his left hand to
remove the Stetson and lay it reverently over the stuff on his nightstand
before lowering his head to sample the nipple's taste. 

 Not surprisingly, it tasted of the oil on his hands, but once he'd laved
off that sweet, cloying coating, he got his first blast of Fraser flavor. 

 It wasn't fair. The Mountie tasted as good as he looked: all sweet and
salty, with a hint of spice...so different from the sometimes astringent
taste of Stella's perfume. He knew that he shouldn't be making those kinds
of comparisons at a moment like this, but he couldn't help it. He'd never
looked at Fraser and thought 'taste test' before. Now that he was sampling
him, Ray couldn't understand why the hell not. What was wrong with him?
Everyone who met Fraser wanted to get into his pants. 

 But Ray hadn't wanted to get into Fraser's pants; he'd wanted to get into
his head, to understand what made him tick. But Fraser was like one of
those million piece puzzles, where no matter how hard you worked it, there
were just too many pieces to try to put together to see the whole picture.
No matter how hard he tried, Fraser remained an astigma, no, an enigma to
him. As Ray moved his mouth across that broad, bruised chest, tasted the
sheen of sweat that broke out on it, and heard Fraser moan, he thought
he'd finally gotten there. This was a major part of what made his Mountie
who and what Fraser was. This was what got to Fraser where he lived. For
the first time since they'd met, Ray had a piece of that Fraser puzzle in
his hands that made sense to him. 

 So, he ran with it. He sucked those nipples until they were pink and
Fraser was crying out loud from the sensations. 

 Only then did he allow his mouth to move down those well defined abs to
investigate his partner's belly button. It was dark and shallow. It tasted
even better than the nipples. 

 His own breathing no longer anywhere near normal, Ray let his fingers
stroke over the tender, lower belly that still bore the marks of
Warfield's thugs' punches and kicks. 

 Ray kissed each one of the bruises, slowly and carefully, loving Fraser's
sighs. Who would've thought that the man of steel could be so all fired
responsive? 

 When he was done, he reached for that purple-red cock down below. 

 Fraser hissed in pleasure at his touch, his entire body seeming to rise
to meet him. 

 Now, this was definitely a new twist to a familiar theme. As Ray took
hold of his partner's shaft and felt the slippery foreskin for the first
time, he felt like a teenager again exploring virgin territory, which he
supposed in a way he was. Not the teenager part, but Fraser was definitely
virgin territory when it came to other men. 

 Hearing Fraser whimper at whatever feelings his tentative grip inspired
and recalling what his friend had said about his lack of prior experience,
Ray was struck with an overwhelming sense of sympathy. Those button-down
librarians had left the young Fraser too repressed and scared to reach for
what he really wanted, as for the adult Fraser . . . what did his Mountie
know of pleasure? It was all duty and selfsacrifice to Frase. A bigger
masochist you couldn't find. Ray knew that this could quite possibly be
the first taste of guilt-free sex his friend had had in his life. 

 Fraser had told him about that Metcalfe bitch. It hadn't sounded like
there was much joy there, either. His partner had never said so, but Ray
had gotten the strong feeling that Metcalfe was the sum total of Fraser's
experience. How wrong was that, that someone as fine as Fraser would only
have a doomed affair with a psycho ex-con and an accidental encounter with
a buddy to their sexual repertoire? 

 Ray tried to wrap his mind around the concept, even as he wrapped his
fist around Fraser's flesh. That foreskin took some getting used to. It
was slick and moved readily enough under Ray's palm, but he couldn't help
but fear that he was going to hurt Fraser by moving it too fast. Fraser's
bruised mouth slipped open as Ray acquainted himself with that thin fold
of skin. Apparently Canadian Anatomy 101 was a huge success, if the noises
his partner was making were anything to go by. 

 Finally convinced that sliding it around wasn't going to hurt the
foreskin any, Ray started to pump that meaty organ with his right hand
while his left trailed over the thick bush of pubic hair at its base,
slipping further down to Fraser's warm and heavy testicles. 

 God, the man was packed. Little wonder the women were trampling each
other to get their hands on this. 

 "Ray . . . ." Fraser looked utterly astounded as they found a rhythm. His
eyes were huge and incandescent, his cheeks flushed with excitement.
Fraser was breathtakingly beautiful, and, yet, innocent at the same time -
not that wide-eyed, butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth country bumpkin
routine that the Mountie used as a smoke-screen, but the kind of untouched
purity that couldn't be faked. 

 It hit Ray hard. 

 Loving that blown away look, Ray decided to put some other long neglected
talents to use. Hoping he still had the knack, he lowered his head over
Fraser's steamy groin, opened his mouth, and guided that thick cock in. 

 The flavor was surreal. All salt and musk and Fraser. Rich, hot, and
heady, it filled his mouth and his nostrils, percolating through his blood
quicker than his Mr. Coffee machine. 

 Fraser hissed in shock, his entire body stilling like one of those old
pinball machines going tilt when the action got too heavy to handle. 

 Before, the delay would have made him impatient, but Ray appreciated the
reprieve. He'd never put his mouth around anything this . . . massive.
Benton Fraser won hands down in the development department over the
fourteen and fifteen year old school chums he'd done this to. It took Ray
a few minutes to simply relearn the knack of breathing. But his body
remembered. 

 Once he thought he could handle it, Ray started to suck. 

 Fraser's hands grabbed his head, those strong, square fingers clutching
his hair in painful holds as the Mountie muttered, "Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray . .
. ." over and over like some kind of sacred mantra. 

 Feeling the pulse of Fraser's need against his tongue, and an almost
sympathetic throb in his own blood, Ray began to bob and suck, in a long
forgotten pattern that made the tango look easy. 

 He'd forgotten what this was like. The raw sensuality of going down on
another guy's cock, the mind-blowing intimacy of the whole thing. 

 His own pulse was drumming as wild as Fraser's. He was sweating so hard
that his tee shirt was sodden like he'd been dancing in it the entire
night. His jeans were adhered to his thighs and constricting his pounding
erection like a chastity belt. But, he didn't mind. It felt incredible. He
didn't feel dead from the neck down for the first time in . . . well,
since long before Stella had physically left him. She'd abandoned him
sexually nearly a year before her body drifted out of his bed. He'd all
but despaired of finding anyone who could ever give him the same kind of
charge that the Stella did, but . . . . 

 Fraser hadn't touched him at all, but he was tingling like he had the
first time Stella had let him put his hand down the front of her jeans to
feel that moist, secret place. But Fraser wasn't doling out that kind of
favor piecemeal to him in the same way he'd had to work to win the Stella.
No, his partner was giving him it all, opening himself to the pleasure and
letting Ray do what he would with this gorgeous body. 

 Curious to see just how far Fraser's forbearance went, Ray slipped his
hand down behind the balls he was fondling and let his middle finger slide
between Fraser's sweaty butt cheeks. 

 He was expecting Fraser to freeze up on him or ask him to get his hand
the hell out of there - in polite Canadian parlance, of course. What he
did not expect was for Fraser to light up like the Christmas tree in the
next room. The last thing he was anticipating when he pressed the ball of
his finger against that tight, hot opening was for Fraser to scream and
his mouth to be flooded with bitter jism. 

 But that's what happened. It was like getting a mouth full of seawater.
His ears ringing, Ray swallowed the briny gift down around the cock that
was still obstructing his breathing. 

 Fraser came and came like he was shooting out a lifetime's worth of come,
which, maybe he was. 

 Ray sucked it all down, greedy for more. He sucked until Fraser was dry
and that monster cock in his mouth was but a sliver of its former glory.
Only when Fraser's flesh had withered down to normal size did Ray raise
his head. 

 Fraser's eyes were still closed, his lips still parted, his throat bared.


 Ray couldn't resist bending back down to deposit a wet kiss against that
tempting white neck as he adjusted to the sour after-taste of Fraser in
his mouth. After just coming, the simple kiss shouldn't have had much
effect on his partner, but Fraser gasped in shock again, his hand coming
up to Ray's back. 

 As that palm started to rub his sodden mauve shirt in unconsciously
comforting circles, Ray tentatively rested his cheek against the strong
smooth flesh of Fraser's chest. 

 He was still uncomfortably hard himself, but Fraser's orgasm had
overwhelmed his own need. Here in the sweaty aftermath, Ray was left to
wonder what the fuck he'd done here. He'd just gone down on Benton Fraser.


 He had no reference points here. He didn't know where this was gonna go.
He'd so blithely assured Fraser before that everything was gonna be all
right, but . . . what if the spit and polish Mountie objected to what he'd
done? It wasn't like he'd really given Fraser a chance to say no. He'd
aroused his injured partner with that massage and then plunged him into
this hot sex with no thought to the consequences. Granted, he'd given
Frase the opportunity to refuse, but what guy could say no when their
balls were doing their thinking for them? For all his grandstanding,
Fraser was just as human as the rest of the world. You pushed enough
physical buttons and there was no 'no' left in a guy's vocabulary after a
certain point, even a vocabulary as gifted as Fraser's. 

 Fraser was gonna hate him for this for sure. He was gonna be so mad it
would make that time they'd fought on the dock look like kids stuff. 

 "You're shivering, Ray. Come to bed," Fraser said, sounding more asleep
than awake. 

 Ray reluctantly raised his head from the warm chest. 

 The naked Fraser lifted the blankets they'd discarded earlier and slid to
the opposite side of the bed with only a little wincing. Once there, he
held the covers up in open invitation. 

 Feeling himself start to shake, Ray toed off his boots, bit his lower
lip, and climbed in. The blankets settled over him, and so did Fraser's
right arm. 

 When Ray turned his head to look at the man on the other side of his bed,
Fraser was fast asleep. 

 They were the same in that. Once he came, he was usually out like a light
himself. Ray had to smile. 

 But it died fast. He knew he'd only postponed the inevitable. As soon as
Fraser's brains returned from their hiatus to his cock, there'd be hell to
pay. There was no getting around that. 

 Ray turned his head to face his partner, memorizing how that battered
face looked against his powder blue pillowcase. 

 Fraser wore so many masks that sometimes Ray didn't know if he'd ever
find the real Benton Fraser among all those millions of puzzle pieces. But
there was a tranquility in his partner's features that Ray couldn't recall
ever seeing before, for all that the beaten man still looked sore as hell,
even in his sleep. 

 Maybe everything was gonna fall apart in the morning, but right now it
felt good to by lying here in the dark beneath that strong and heavy arm.
He took a deep breath. He could get used to smelling Fraser's scent in his
bed and tasting that sour aftertaste in his mouth. He sure could get used
to that warm body lying so close to him. There were nights this bed felt
colder than the arctic tundra of Fraser's homeland - and just as lonely. 

 Ray couldn't help but wonder if Fraser might want. . . . 

 No. Just because he'd seduced his friend in a moment of weakness was no
reason to suppose that Fraser would want to tie himself to his bony assed
partner indefinitely. 

 How in the hell could he be thinking that kind of thing anyway? He hadn't
even gotten off himself and he was ready for the hearts and flowers
routine. They hadn't even kissed! Did he never learn? 

 Christ, Stella was right. He was pathetic. The neediest excuse for a man
the Chicago PD had ever accepted into its ranks. One blow job, and he was
falling. 

 But who wouldn't fall, Ray thought, staring at that lethally attractive
face. Fraser slaughtered them all. He walked around in that perfect body,
with his Canadian politeness and knights of the round table chivalry,
thanking everyone kindly and melting hardened city hearts with his
sincerity and kindness, oblivious to the conquests he made. And some time
tonight, Ray had unknowingly joined the ranks of those pathetic conquests.


 He couldn't help but wonder when his partner looked at him in the
morning, if Fraser would have that same trapped glint in his eye he got
every time Frannie cornered him. He didn't think he could live with that. 

 His mind filled with doubt, his heart with fear, Ray lay there studying
that familiar face. 

 He'd taken advantage of his best friend in a moment of weakness. His
injured best friend. How low was that? 

 Ray knew he didn't have a chance in hell here. He mightn't be Miss
Manners like Frase, but he did know right from wrong. He knew that the
existence of a weakness did not give a person the right to exploit it. In
retrospect, what he'd done tonight wasn't any different than if he'd
slipped his tea-totaler partner a mickie or gotten him drunk to have his
dirty way with him. This was wrong no matter what language you spoke. He
knew how his Maintain the Right Mountie dealt with wrongs. He'd seen how
utterly cold and scornful Fraser could be when it came to moral - what was
that phrase he'd heard Fraser use? Moral terrapin? No . . . turpitude. 

 He had moral turpitude. 

 He wasn't even sure what it meant, but he knew he had it. 

 Well, one thing was for sure, Fraser would define it in Fraserian detail
come morning. 

 But for now? 

 That warm arm was still across him, making him feel safe, making him feel
like that closeness was real and all for him - making him feel wanted, and
how long was it since he'd felt that? 

 Too tired to argue with his mind anymore, Ray let his eyes sink shut. He
knew that the other side of the bed would be empty when he woke up, but he
couldn't stay awake any longer. Mindful of the bruising, he carefully
settled his left arm across Fraser's bare chest. Lulled by the beat of
that stalwart heart, Ray gave himself over to sleep.  

 A ringing woke him. It wasn't the harsh blare of his alarm clock. This
sound was more metallic and resounding, but it still wasn't normal, and it
was a ringing, which usually meant he was supposed to get up, so . . . . 

 Ray snapped his eyes open, his body freezing immediately. He wasn't alone
in the bed. His nose and right cheek were smushed into a smooth, bare,
masculine chest. And there was a heavy arm banding his back. 

 What the . . . ? 

 Then, he remembered what he'd done last night, and with the memories came
the fear. 

 "Ray?" 

 Fraser was a master of implication. The Mountie's disapproving tone could
wither a wrong-doer from a hundred yards. But Ray could hear none of the
expected fury in Fraser's voice. His partner sounded nervous and
uncertain, but not mad. 

 Ray lifted his head and stared down at Fraser, who wasn't supposed to
still be here. The bed was supposed to be empty and he was supposed to be
on his way to losing yet another foundation of his universe. He wasn't
supposed to be lying here cuddling the Mountie. 

 His confusion must have shown, but Fraser misinterpreted him. They really
didn't even have a language in common, Ray realized as Fraser said,
"Church bells," like the meaning would be crystal clear to him. 

 "Huh?" he asked, desperately trying to bring his brain up to speed. As
usual, Fraser was wide-awake first thing and he was still off in lala land
trying to remember who he was. But today he couldn't afford the usual
morning stupidity. He had to be sharp. Too much was riding on this for him
to blow it because of morning stupor. 

 "It was the church bells ringing at midnight mass that woke you. Merry
Christmas, Ray," Fraser said so tentatively that it made Ray's guts clench
in reaction. Fraser really looked like he didn't know how to play this. 

 Ray could sympathize. 

 But 'Merry Christmas, Ray' was a hell of a difference from the righteous
outrage he was anticipating. Taking a deep breath, he answered with equal
nervousness, "Merry Christmas, Frase." 

 Somehow, that was wrong. Though very little changed in Fraser's
expression, he felt the emotional temperature of the room drop by twenty
degrees or so. Only he could screw up a Merry Christmas, he miserably
reflected. 

 "Perhaps, in light of our present circumstances, you might want to call
me Benton or Ben," Fraser said. 

 It was only then that Ray recognized the freeze for the fear that it was.
The emotion flashed through those grayish blue eyes so fast that Ray
barely caught it, but he was good at reading that kind of thing; with his
attention span, he had to be. 

 He was abruptly aware that his jean-covered lower body was pressed
uncomfortably close to Fraser's naked groin. Blushing, he tried to get a
handle on Fraser's mood, while simultaneously curbing his own urge to
panic. 

 Things weren't out of control - yet. If he could keep it together, maybe
everything wouldn't blow up in his face for once. 

 Ray knew he was kidding himself with that hope, but he was good at
self-delusion. It was all that kept him going most days, that pathetic,
doomed hope that somehow his life would get better, that he wasn't the
total failure that Stella's eyes always made him out to be. 

 But he didn't know how to handle this. He didn't know if he should pull
himself away from Fraser's warmth and give the man the apology he was
owed, or if he should try to bluff his way through this emotional
landmine. 

 Finally, he just settled on, "Merry Christmas, Benton." 

 It helped. Some of the nearly imperceptible tightness eased from that
banged-up face. 

 "About our current circumstances - " Fraser began and fell short, as
though all those sixty syllable words had deserted him in his time of
need. 

 "I-I guess I owe you an apology," Ray stammered, wishing that he'd had
the sense to keep his hands to himself last night. 

 "For?" Now it was Fraser who looked confused. 

 "What happened. I never should've . . . ." 

 "Did you intentionally arouse me?" Fraser asked in a tone that might have
been angry or just plain scared. 

 Ray shook his head. "No." 

 "Then it is you who is owed the apology. Your kindness should never have
been rewarded with such a sloppy, disgraceful lack of . . . umpf." 

 Ray covered his partner's mouth hard enough to stop the words, without
reopening the split lip. "I liked it. If you liked it and you're not mad
at me, we got nothing to apologize for." 

 Ray lifted his hand. 

 "Why would I be mad at you?" Fraser asked, seemingly legitimately
bewildered. 

 "You were injured and I took advantage of you -" 

 "But you already said that you didn't intend to," Fraser said. 

 "But I still did it. You trusted me and I - I screwed up again. Took
advantage of you when you couldn't say no. I suck," he said. Overwhelmed
by the magnitude of his latest screw up, he rolled over onto his back and
threw his arm across his eyes so that he wouldn't have to see the
disillusionment enter Fraser's gaze. 

 The bed shifted. 

 He could feel Fraser watching him. That stare was like a hot spotlight on
his skin. 

 His body jumped as his left nipple was fingered through the material of
his shirt. He hissed in a breath and lowered the arm from his face. 

 Fraser had turned on his side to face him, with his head propped up on
his right wrist. Fraser's left hand was still hovering over Ray's chest,
his index finger still resting against the prominent bulge of his nipple
that was trying to poke its way out of his shirt. 

 Like everyone who fell under Fraser's spell, his body was so hungry for
that touch. He wanted it so bad it hurt. 

 He felt naked and raw as he met his partner's eyes. He was sure that
Fraser must be playing with him, but . . . Fraser wouldn't do that kind of
thing. 

 Fraser was still observing him like he was a bug in a glass jar. He felt
sort of that way, like Fraser could reach out and squash him with his
thumb anytime he chose to. 

 "You don't 'suck', Ray, at least, not in the manner you mean," Fraser
qualified. 

 Great. Was Fraser gonna tell him how bad he was on the job now to
completely destroy what little self-worth he had left? 

 He was many things, most of them bad, but a coward wasn't one of them.
Finally, Ray couldn't take it another second and was compelled to ask, as
Fraser doubtless knew he would, "Then how do I suck?" 

 "Like heaven," Fraser answered. 

 He was so accustomed to being put down, in his own head, if nowhere else,
that at first he couldn't unravel the meaning of his partner's words. But
then he realized that Fraser was talking about what he'd done last night,
with that forthright Mountie honesty, and his whole world came to a
crashing halt. He could feel the heat in his face, knew that he'd just
turned beet red, but . . . his prim and proper partner had just
complimented his ability to give head. That was so beyond the pale that
Ray had no clue how to reply. 

 "Ray, did you mean what you said before when you said you liked it?"
Fraser asked in a tone so tentative that Ray suspected it must have taken
all of his partner's considerable courage to get the words out at all. 

 He couldn't remember how to breathe, but he knew he had to nod yes to
that, because at the moment, it was a lot more important that he and
Fraser understand each other than it was for him to continue breathing. 

 "Would you be adverse to continuing on a more even basis?" 

 Ray knew that they couldn't be speaking the same language again, because
he really thought he'd just heard his prim and proper Mountie proposition
him, in polite Canadian parlance, of course. 

 He knew he had to be reading this all wrong, but...what the hell else
could those words mean? 

 "Fraser -" the sharp glance that earned him had him quickly amending, "I
mean, Benton, did I just hear you ask me to sleep with you?" 

 He was relieved that he sounded almost normal, for all he felt that he
was going to fall apart any second. 

 Fraser gave a noisy gulp and quietly corrected, "No, Ray. We're already
sleeping together. I asked if you would consider making love with me." 

 Fraser couldn't be as uncertain as he appeared, but he really sounded as
though he expected to be turned down. 

 "You want to...make love...with me?" Ray stammered, unable to get his
mind around the concept that this man whom everyone wanted might actually
choose him. 

 "Yes, very much so," Fraser replied. 

 Ray's mind harkened back to the last time he'd heard those same words. A
mausoleum with stained glass windows throwing a kaleidoscope of color all
around. Beautiful, cold, Victorian angels that were made of stone lining
the walls, watching him fall apart, and one flesh and blood Victorian
angel in red serge that was nearly as untouchable. Another day when he was
dying inside and the only thing standing between him and despair was this
red-coated lunatic. 

 "You said that to me once before," Ray said. 

 He could tell that Fraser remembered exactly what he was referring to.
"Yes." 

 "Did you -" No, that was too direct, even for an honest Mountie, Ray
decided. "Was I one of those men you wanted to do more than dance with,
even back then?" 

 He watched that pink tongue tip pop out to lick across the split upper
lip. After what felt like forever, Fraser softly answered, "I was trying
very hard not to think of you in those terms, to remain professional." 

 "But?" Ray prodded, hearing more than what Fraser was willing to admit
to. 

 "But, yes, I would have wanted to do more than dance with you," Fraser
said. 

 Fraser had wanted him, back then, nearly a year ago? 

 "You haven't answered my question, Ray," Fraser said. 

 "Huh?" 

 "Will you make love with me?" 

 Ray shivered. This man knew words better than anyone. Fraser knew the
distinction between love and sex, but his partner was also big on
euphemisms for this kind of thing, and, in this case, Ray had to be
certain what they were discussing. They couldn't risk crossed translation
wires here. "Love, not sex?" 

 He could drown in those eyes. They were torn at the moment, fully as
uncertain as he himself felt. 

 "I've had sex, Ray. That's not what I want from you - at least, not all
that I want from you." 

 "What do you want, then?" Ray asked, wary. 

 With Stella, it had all started with the sex. She'd made him feel things
that none of his school buddies had and he'd done the same for her. From
the moment she'd let him inside her, Ray had been lost. He knew he was
good at the sex thing. If that's what Fraser wanted, he was his man. But,
as soon as the honeymoon glow had worn off, Stella had let him know in no
uncertain terms how utterly he'd failed in the love department. Good as a
bed warmer, not much of a conversationalist, not much of anything outside
of the sack... 

 His self-preservation instincts were telling him he was taking a turn
down the wrong road again, a road that might kill him. Fraser was so
brainy that he made Stella look like a dunce. How long would it be before
the glow wore off with Fraser? 

 A wistful tone that he'd never heard before entered Fraser's voice as he
answered, "I'd like to see you smile. To make you feel the things you gave
me last night, and, perhaps, experience them again, if you're willing,"
Fraser softly answered. 

 "How's that different from sex?" he asked, completely confused. 

 Fraser's brow puckered. "I don't know. I...my experience in these matters
is...terribly limited. But the last time I...had sex," Fraser seemed to
force himself to say those two words, "my whole world fell apart
afterwards. I don't want to be a hamster anymore, Ray. I want to be a man.
I want to love like a man." 

 Okay, one of them wasn't making any sense and Ray was pretty sure it
wasn't him that was off kilter for once. So he tried not to sound like a
moron as he repeated the incongruity in Fraser's uncharacteristically
emotional statement. "A hamster?" 

 Surely, he must have misheard. 

 "Everyone knows that hamsters loose all sense when they mate," Fraser
replied. 

 "They do?" Ray questioned in as normal a tone as he could manage in the
circumstances. 

 Fraser gave a solemn looking nod. 

 Seeing the worry and nervousness that Fraser couldn't conceal, Ray's
heart nearly melted. He hadn't a clue on God's earth what Fraser was
really feeling for him at the moment or even what Fraser was talking
about. The last part wasn't uncommon. Fraser lost him at least once an
hour in conversation, but...that hamster babble. His gut got the fear that
was the gist of it, even if his head couldn't decipher the meaning. 

 Once again, this brave man's fear and uncertainty helped ease his own
anxieties. Yes, Fraser was smarter than Stella. The Mountie might run
rings around everyone when it came to competency, strength, and
intelligence. But when it came to matters of the heart, Fraser was even
more clueless than he was. Benton Fraser wasn't some Gold Coast girl who'd
known she was too good for the likes of him from day one. The poor guy
thought he was a hamster. Who else but him could understand something like
that? 

 Ray realized that the bottom line was the same thing it had always come
down to between them - a man had to trust his partner. 

 So, he gave a small smile and said, "Turtles never lose their sense." 

 "They don't?" Fraser said, as if his response were perfectly rational. 

 Ray shook his head. "No. Even when they mate. They wake up next morning,
and they're both still there. Everything's still hunky dory in Turtleland.
We're turtles, Benton, not hamsters." 

 Fraser's eyes squeezed shut. Ray heard his friend gasp in a sharp breath.


 Emotions were always so hard for this man. But...Fraser had just reached
out for something he wanted. And he, Ray Kowalski, was that something.
Fraser's approach might have been awkward and incoherent to the point of
being surreal, but it was a real landmark for this prisoner of propriety. 

 They were going to be all right. Ray could feel it in his bones.
Hamsters, turtles, whatever the hell they were, they were going to be all
right. 

 He didn't leave his friend hanging in the proverbial breeze. He reached
out and put his arms around Fraser, then drew the bulkier man to his
chest. 

 It should have felt strange cuddling Benton Fraser like that, but it
didn't. It felt right, perhaps righter than anything else had ever felt. 

 Fraser clutched at him as though something to cling to was all he'd ever
wanted from life, and maybe it was, Ray decided. He rubbed that broad
back, being careful of the bruises, and pressed his lips against the warm
crown of that fragrant, soft hair. 

 They lay pressed together like that for what felt like forever. Then, at
last, Fraser raised his head up to stare down at him. 

 "I thought at first that you didn't want this. I could...feel your
misgivings before. But you do want this, don't you?" Fraser asked. 

 He could see that Fraser was trying to get things straight in his mind,
in that button down way he had of doing things. Fraser couldn't just go on
instinct and feelings like he could. His partner always had to know the
how and why of everything, but the how and why in this instance was pretty
embarrassing. Yet, as much as he wanted to hide, as he stared into those
bottomless blue eyes and clearly read the vulnerability there, Ray knew he
couldn't throw up a smoke screen, not with something this important. 

 Taking a deep breath, Ray softly admitted, "I was freaking a little
before." 

 "Over?" 

 "Stella was the smartest person I ever met until you. But you...you make
her look slow." 

 "I don't understand your point," Fraser said. 

 "I just...couldn't help but wonder how much faster you're gonna see
through me and move on," Ray whispered, looking quickly away. But he had
to look back. He couldn't just drop a line like that and not know how it
hit. 

 Fraser stiffened, pain and doubt flashing through his wounded features.
For a moment Ray was sure he'd ruined everything. But then Fraser released
a slow breath and simply stared at him for a long moment, his gaze seeming
to dig right through him. 

 "Why do you blame yourself for the failure of your marriage? It takes two
people to make a marriage work." Fraser said at last. Apparently, his
partner was as good at reading him in bed as he was at following muskrat
tracks up north. 

 "Yeah, well, if I'd been man enough to give her what she needed, she
wouldn't've left me, right?" He was resolved to be honest here, even if it
hurt. He couldn't take it if Fraser outgrew him the way Stell did. He
needed Fraser to see upfront what he was getting into. No more playing
outside of his league and hoping he could keep the act up. 

 "Wrong," Fraser answered in a steely voice that drew his gaze back to
those bruised features. "I know it is hard to see around the pain, but you
must try. I've seen the way Ms. Kowalski interacts with you. She is still
susceptible to your charms, Ray. I am certain that her leaving was in no
way a reflection upon your...manhood." 

 "Yeah, right," Ray said, wishing he'd kept his damn mouth shut on this
subject. 

 "You were both very young when you married, with limited experience on
both sides. Is it not possible that you were emotionally mature enough to
know your heart and know what you wanted, but that Ms. Kowalski hadn't
matured to that point yet? Perhaps it wasn't so much a question of her
outgrowing you as growing up." 

 "What's that mean?" Ray asked, because it still sounded like a put down
to him. 

 "Let's try this another way. What was your favorite meal when you were
ten years old?" Fraser asked in a complete non-sequitor. 

 "Spaghetti-Os," Ray answered. 

 "And today?" 

 "Umm...pineapple pizza." 

 "Would you have eaten pineapple pizza at age ten?" Fraser questioned. 

 "Ah, no. Are you sayin' that I'm like Spaghetti-Os to Stella now?" he
asked, almost getting what Fraser was talking about. 

 "It's possible, don't you think? When you married, you knew you loved Ms.
Kowalski and wanted to have a traditional family life with her. Isn't it
possible that Ms. Kowalski didn't know herself well enough at that point
to realize how important a career was going to be to her ten or twelve
years in the future? Isn't it possible that you were in no way lacking or
at fault, but that what you needed and wanted from your marriage turned
out to be completely incompatible with what Ms. Kowalski needed and
wanted?" 

 *Don't you understand that I can't be that girl anymore, Ray? I'm not
fifteen. I'm thirty and it's just not me anymore!* Stella's tearful
entreaty rang through his conscience. But.... 

 "It still sounds like she outgrew me," Ray said, only realizing afterward
how completely uncool it was to be discussing his ex at moment like this.
But Fraser didn't seem to mind. 

 "Ray, you are an extraordinarily dedicated man. You know your heart, and
give it fully. But not everyone is that...self-aware, especially when
young. Just because you were emotionally mature enough to know what you
wanted at eighteen doesn't mean Ms. Kowalski was." Fraser's hand reached
down to stroke his cheek, as though he couldn't resist touching him. 

 Dedicated, self-aware, emotionally mature - these weren't adjectives he
was accustomed to hearing in relation to himself. They sure as hell beat
obsessed, fixated, and unable to let go. 

 That last was so wrong, because Ray could feel it happening inside him as
he stared up into his partner's battered face. He was letting go, not so
much of Stella because he hadn't really had her to hold onto in years, but
letting go of the pain. 

 "You really believe that," Ray said, warmth like he'd never known
unfurling within him like those big canvas sails on that wooden ship
they'd manned last summer. For once, it wasn't a question; he had no
doubts that his demented partner meant what he was saying. 

 Ever literal, Fraser took him at his words. "Yes, Ray, I do. I think
having the conviction and dedication to act on the truths of one's heart
is the true definition of both courage and maturity." 

 "So what was with that 'not as such' 'only ever danced with the guys'
line you gave me last night? I know you're no coward and I never met
anyone more convicted than you, Benton Fraser." 

 He knew he hadn't said it right, but Fraser didn't take offense or
correct his grammar. Fraser's finger's just stroked over his cheek and
jaw, a pensive expression claiming his features as the Mountie watched his
fingers move. 

 Fraser seemed to be getting as much out of the quietly intimate gesture
as he was himself. After two minutes or so of that wordless petting,
Fraser cleared his throat and gave Ray some of that incredibly brutal
self-honesty that always floored him. 

 "My timing was never appropriate. I never felt the right things for the
right person at the right time - before tonight." 

 "Ah, Fra-Benton," he caught himself and turned his face to nuzzle
Fraser's sweaty palm. 

 "Also, the person was never appropriate. A prisoner looking for a way to
evade justice, heterosexual colleagues, a partner with Old World
traditions - " 

 "Vecchio?" Ray froze, stunned. He didn't know why he hadn't thought of it
himself, but it explained so much about Fraser. 

 That uncertainty he hated was back in Fraser's face as he nodded. "I
never told him, of course, but I think he guessed. I think that's why he -
" 

 "No," Ray cut in, seeing how much pain and shame his partner was
experiencing. "Vecchio wouldn't do that to you. You told me he called you
up North before he left. He broke cover and risked his life to send you
that 'cold out here heat me up' postcard. If he was runnin' away from you,
he wouldn't've done any of that. Believe me, I know what I speak of.
Stella couldn't've cared if I'd lived or died after she walked. I think
one of the comments Frannie made in the office once might've explained why
he took that assignment." 

 "A comment Francesca made?" Fraser seemed lost. 

 "You remember the time that old pretzel guy got killed in the park and we
found out how much he was worth? When Lt. Welsh told us to check out the
old man, Francesca said that we were investigating him because he was
Italian and that meant that his death had to be mob related. She was mad
as hell about it, and rightfully so, because that was the implication.
It's gotta be just as hard growin' up with that kinda crap as it is the
Polish jokes or the Streetcar Named Desire jokes. I think Vecchio took
that undercover gig to clean his own doorstep, to prove that not every
Italian American is painted with the same brush as the creep he's
pretendin' to be." 

 Fraser's entire body seemed to freeze on top of him, his expression
making it plain that he'd been blindsided by the thought. "I never
considered that." 

 "Your whole life fell apart the week Vecchio left, how could you? I know
what it's like when the world falls out from under you. All there is is
pain. Take my word for it, you're not the kind of man someone just walks
away from." 

 "People have 'walked away' from me my entire life, Ray. My father,
Victoria, friends I thought I could trust. I nearly even drove you away
last spring, before we became involved in the Henry Allen case," Fraser
said. 

 Ray rubbed his palm over Fraser's broad back. He didn't like to think of
how close they'd come to calling it quits that night, either. "I don't
know about any of those other people. All I know is us. Yes, things almost
fell apart last spring, but we pulled it together and were better
afterwards for it, weren't we? We didn't give up. You and me - we don't
give up. That's why this is gonna work for us." He gestured down at their
tangled bodies. "Everything's gonna be okay in Turtleland for us. No more
gerbils." 

 "Hamsters, Ray," Fraser softly corrected, his eyes bright with more than
laughter. 

 "Whatever," Ray said, and then Fraser was kissing him and it felt like a
sealed pact, like he'd just taken all those vows and put a shiny gold ring
on his finger again. Only, this time, he didn't feel like he was fighting
a losing battle going in. 

 Fraser pulled back from the kiss just long enough to gasp in a breath.
Ray's body tensed in anticipation as Fraser's dark head lowered again.
Warm breath danced across Ray's neck, raising gooseflesh, then a second
later, a hot mouth nuzzled his ear. 

 He hissed in a sharp breath as every nerve in his body jolted at the
rush. Christ, it had been so long since someone had touched him, so
terribly long. 

 He shivered as his partner's tongue flicked across the over-sensitive
area behind his ear, Fraser finding his hot spot by instinct. 

 Lick, lick, suck, suck...Fraser mightn't have much in the way of actual
experience under his belt, but his instincts were flawless. For once, Ray
found himself grateful for his partner's oral fixation. Fraser took his
neck apart nerve ending by nerve ending and left him a shuddering wreck. 

 Finally, Fraser raised his head up. His right hand grasped the collar of
Ray's shirt. Lifting it ever so slightly, Fraser asked, "May I?" 

 "Huh?" 

 At this point Ray would have handed him the keys to his GTO or a kinfe to
carve his heart out. Whatever Fraser wanted, it was his if he could give
it to him. 

 "May I remove your shirt?" 

 "Uh...sure," Ray answered, almost wishing Fraser had asked for the keys
or the knife. 

 As he ducked his head to allow Fraser to pull his shirt and undershirt,
he felt almost ashamed. He knew his uneasiness was stupid. Fraser had seen
him bare-chested dozens of times, but Fraser hadn't been looking at him
through a lover's eyes those times. He didn't have the abs, pecs, or
breadth that Fraser did. All there was was scrawny, underdeveloped him. 

 But Fraser wasn't looking at him like he was disappointed or turned off.
To the contrary, a heat entered Fraser's eyes that hadn't been there
before, and then Fraser lowered his head and put all that oral talent to
work on Ray's nipples, and he was gone, totally gone, as his body melted
to jello under that talented tongue. 

 He gently stroked Fraser's hair and bruised back as his partner worked at
his chest, needing that contact to prove that this was real and not some
bizarre wet dream. 

 When Fraser's mouth moved to claim his other nipple, Fraser's right hand
stroked down the center of his chest, over his lower belly and right down
to the front of his jeans. 

 Ray gave a shocked "Ahhh," as Fraser's hand carefully squeezed the bulge
there. The sensations that blasted through his body at that move were like
nothing Ray had known. It had been way too long for him and he was way too
sensitive. 

 This time Fraser didn't ask permission. He just undid the jeans button,
cautiously unzipped the zipper, and peeled Ray's pants and briefs right
off him. 

 Ray was vaguely aware of the pants being tossed off the bed. That, more
than almost anything else yet told him how much Fraser was into this. If
he hadn't been, his partner would have stopped to fold the clothes. 

 All coherent thought fled as Fraser's hand collected his throbbing cock.
No doubt Fraser was doing some freakish thing like listening to his
heartbeats to determine what he liked best, but whatever Fraser was using
to guide him, it was working flawlessly. Fraser pumped his shaft with
expert pressure, like they'd done this a thousand times before, like their
very souls knew each other. 

 It was like a wake up call to his sexuality. Fraser was igniting nerve
endings and feelings that hadn't been aroused in so long that Ray had
feared them atrophied. Delight was dancing through his blood like a
narcotic, like some sensual version of heroin that made him an instant
addict. As it was, Ray was lost, body and soul as this inexperienced man
brought him back to life. 

 He nearly felt like crying as the feeling rushed back into him. He wasn't
dead; he wasn't untouchable. Fraser's fingers were resurrecting, and, as
he saw that dark head lower over his pulsing groin, it was all Ray could
do to keep from screaming. 

 The mouth was so hot, so utterly perfect and juicy around his deprived
shaft. 

 His hands gripped those sturdy shoulders, needing something to anchor him
so this pleasure didn't blast him right off the planet. He tried to
remember not to squeeze too hard, because Frase was still recovering from
that beating, but it was all he could do to remember to breathe. Ray
sobbed in each lungful of air, exhaling with a moaning cry as Fraser gave
the first tentative suck. 

 Yes, this was what his hungry soul had needed, this kind of raw contact. 

 As lighting sparked through him from that one little suck, Ray's hips
thrust up, instinctively demanding more. 

 And then everything went wrong. 

 Fraser was gagging and coughing, pulling back, and straightening up in
the bed. 

 Raising his eyelids until they were fully open, Ray took in Fraser's
teary eyes and red cheeks, instantly knowing what had happened. Fraser was
a novice to this. His Mountie might be an annoying natural at most
physical tasks the first time Fraser tried them, but fellatio was
something that took practice. You couldn't just shove something the size
of his cock down a throat that had never done this before. 

 More than that, the tension in that handsome face told Ray that the
position itself was causing his partner pain. Ray remembered that Fraser
had been having trouble walking today. Bending over like that had to be
hurting his injured back. 

 As the color in Fraser's cheeks returned to normal and his eyes cleared,
Fraser instantly apologized, "I'm sorry, Ray. Let me try - " 

 Ray once again reached out to lightly cover that mouth and hush the
words. 

 "Your back's still a mess. You shouldn't be bending like that. We can try
that again tomorrow." 

 Ray moved his hand to Fraser's cheek as the mouth below it tried to
speak. 

 "But I want to - " 

 "I know. We're not in any rush. Come up here. This will be just as good,
maybe even better 'cause we'll both enjoy it." 

 "I was enjoying -" Fraser insisted. 

 Fraser was so proud, so stubborn - and so damn adorable, Ray thought, his
heart filling with love for this impossible man. Everything always had to
be so hard where Benton Fraser was concerned, but Ray was determined that
this wasn't going to be. Loving him wasn't going to devolve into some
angsty guilt fest. 

 For a moment, he was at a loss as to how to get his way without making
this into a major argument, but then his heart clued him in. Fraser was a
gentleman to a fault. He had to work that angle. Anything else was gonna
end up a shouting match. 

 Ray stroked his fingers over Fraser's cheek, trying to vanquish the
determined hardness and get his sensual lover back as he said, "I know and
I appreciate it, but you wouldn't want me to do something like that if it
were hurting me, would you?" 

 He was curious to see if Fraser would lie to him and pretend that his
back hadn't been bothering him. 

 The protest was there in Fraser's eyes, but after a minute or two of
staring contest, Fraser lowered his gaze and softly said, "No, I wouldn't
want to do anything that caused you pain." 

 "So don't ask me to do it, then. Come on up here." 

 Looking as defeated as if he'd lost a prisoner from the Most Wanted list,
Fraser moved back up the bed, even that small motion making him wince. 

 Ray was glad he'd noticed and called a halt when he had. Even though it
had felt great at the time, he would have felt like a louse afterwards if
Fraser had hurt himself trying to make him feel good. 

 But his proud partner was obviously viewing it as a personal failure, for
Benton didn't seem able to meet his gaze as he lie stiffly down at his
side. 

 "Hey," Ray called. 

 Fraser met his eyes, still tentative, still sulky. 

 Ray had never loved anyone more in his whole life as he did this
disappointed, crazy man. "I know your mouth's all busted up, but...can I
kiss you?" 

 Fraser's brows rose as though the request had startled him. "I wasn't
certain you'd want to, Ray." 

 "Why's that?" he asked, trying to figure out what was going on in his
partner's convoluted head. Fellatio was okay in Mountieland, but kissing
wasn't? 

 "Well," Fraser's thumb rose to do that eyebrow stroking thing, "you did
say this was 'buddies making each other feel better.' Do buddies kiss,
Ray?" 

 Damn, he couldn't even remember what he'd said earlier tonight - some
idiotic nonsense about this being no big deal to keep Fraser from
freaking. But it was a big deal, and if they were looking at this
differently, they were gonna have problems down the line, like maybe even
as soon as he got that first kiss, for Ray had a feeling there wasn't any
chance in hell of him keeping this casual. 

 "No, but lovers do." The hope in Fraser's eyes gave him the courage to
continue. "Stella always used to say that I was too...sentimental,
too...obsessed, that I fall too easy. Guess I oughta warn you. I don't
know how to keep this kinda thing casual. I know that sounds stupid. A
grown man should be able to play the field, but...." 

 "No, it's not stupid, Ray," Fraser said when his words ran out. "I think
it's highly honorable that your heart and body must be in accord for you
to be intimate with someone." 

 "I wanta be in accord with you. If that's what you want," Ray said,
feeling naked. 

 Fraser held his gaze as he replied in a strangely meaningful tone. "Yes,
very much so." 

 Those four words rocked him like they had that day in the mausoleum,
seeming to speak straight to his wounded soul. 

 Then Fraser was leaning towards his mouth, and nothing else seemed to
matter but that first kiss. 

 Too aware of the bruises on the left side of his partner's full lips, Ray
was careful in the amount of pressure he applied. 

 Fraser didn't seem to care, though. He dove right into it. 

 At the first poke of Fraser's tongue tip against his own chastely closed
mouth, Ray opened up and sucked his partner in. Juicy was his first
thought, then the taste hit him and his mind short-circuited again. 

 Fraser's hands came up to frame his face as he deepened the kiss. 

 Ray was still there enough to recognize an opportunity to get them where
he'd wanted them at the start of their discussion. He slipped his arms
around Fraser's chest and gently pulled towards him. 

 Still locked in the kiss, Fraser allowed himself to be led. He tensed a
little as Ray pulled him right up on top of him, but since that was pretty
much where Fraser probably wanted to be at the moment, his partner didn't
protest. 

 Years had passed since he'd engaged in frottage with another guy. Hell,
Danny Martin hadn't been a guy. Neither one of them could have been more
than fifteen, but the feelings aroused by pushing two hard cocks together,
even at fifteen, had been incredible. Ray couldn't imagine how good it was
gonna feel doing it with Fraser. No fear of anyone's folks walking in, no
stupid 'it doesn't mean anything' declarations afterward, just pure sheer
pleasure. 

 It was better than anything he could have imagined. 

 Ray felt the surprised start Fraser's body gave as their naked erections
settled next to each other. It was the same as his own. Fraser weighed a
ton, but Ray found that he liked the weight. The very solidness of
Fraser's body seemed protective. He could almost feel Fraser's warmth and
love encompassing him as his partner settled on top of him. 

 After such a long deprivation, the closeness felt good. Every inch of
Ray's body hungrily soaked in the other man's warmth, rejoicing at the
contact. Something hurt and scared inside him seemed to relax at long last
as Fraser's scent and heat inundated him. 

 Ray let his hands stroke down the baby soft skin of that broad, amazingly
hot back until he reached the rounded globes of his partner's ass. Mindful
of all the hurts Fraser's body still carried, he gave a careful squeeze. 

 His partner might have been raised by prim and proper, button-down
librarians to the point where he was a poster boy for propriety, but
Fraser was still very much a man. As the sensations of that squeeze
doubtlessly shot through him, Fraser broke the kiss and gave a sharp cry. 

 "Can you rock those hips a little?" Ray whispered into a nearby ear as he
squiggled around beneath Fraser's hardening erection until both their
cocks were fit snugly together. He gave a little thrust of his own hips to
clue Fraser in on what he was looking for. 

 They both gasped as their shafts pushed at each other's testicles. The
swirl of feeling through his long-deprived body was like champagne bubbles
dancing through him. 

 Normally, when it came to rhythm Fraser was like dead wood, but tonight
he was anything but stiff. After an initial awkwardness in which Ray got
the feeling Fraser was searching for a way to rock without putting too
much pressure on his black and blue hip, Fraser started to thrust back and
forth in a pattern that took Ray's breath away. 

 As Fraser's mouth covered his own again, the breath stealing became a
literal action as Fraser sucked the very air out of his lungs in an
attempt to seal them together. 

 Ray went with it and rocked his own hips back. Fraser went wild on top of
him, thrusting for all he was worth in a beautifully savage whirl of
passion. 

 His mind melting, Ray met those hips thrust for thrust. It felt like
Frase was pounding him right into the mattress. Ray entertained the
incongruously humorous image of them needing a crowbar to pry him out of
the mattress in the morning, but right now he didn't care if he ended up
in Mrs. Bruzzura's apartment downstairs. All he knew was that his body was
on fire, and his Mountie was feeding the flames. 

 They burned together for a glorious eternity. Finally, Fraser broke free
of the kiss, threw his head back, and came with a sob. 

 His own body convulsed with delight. Ray tightened his hold on Fraser's
shoulders and added his own hot squirts to the warm, sticky puddle that
was forming between their groins. 

 At last it was over. In the immolating silence that followed, Ray tried
to catch his breath. It was hard with all that weight pressing down on his
chest, but no way in hell was he complaining. If he died right now, he'd
go a happy man. 

 Fraser shifted a little on top of him and the pressure on his chest eased
some, so he sucked in a breath and met those eyes. 

 Even last night, Fraser hadn't looked so stunned and blown away. 

 "Ray?" Fraser whispered, sounding like he wasn't even sure whom he was
with. 

 Appreciating the feeling, Ray gave a sappy smile and answered, "Yeah." 

 "Is it always like that with buddies?" 

 Ray had to laugh at that. "I wouldn't know. Haven't done it with a buddy
since I was in high school. It sure as hell beat anything in recent
memory, though." 

 "Really?" Fraser sounded uncertain. 

 Considering how he'd mooned over Stella for the last year, Ray could
understand why Fraser might think he was giving him a snow job. Figuring
that it was time he gave Fraser some of that honesty Fraser always gave
him, Ray quietly admitted, "I think Stell lost interest in me a long time
before she started talkin' divorce. I wanted things to be like they were
when we were kids again, but no matter what I tried, I just...couldn't
move her in the bedroom like I usedta." 

 Feeling his face go scarlet with humiliation, he dropped his gaze. 

 "I've always thought Ms. Kowalski to be a most perceptive woman, but I
fear her judgment was off in this matter," Fraser said. 

 It took a minute or two for him to realize that he'd just been
complimented, Ray peeked back up at Fraser, who was still on top of him
and looking down at his face, and asked, "You do?" 

 "Having sampled your charms twice, I assure you that you are in no way
lacking in bedroom skills. To the contrary, you could arouse a dead man -
and did." 

 Blushing, Ray quickly objected. "You don't have to say things like that
to me. You can be honest." 

 "Ray, I am being honest. What we just shared was...incredible. Why can't
you believe that?" 

 Not wanting to lose this great thing he'd found by disabusing Fraser of
his latest insanity, Ray looked away. 

 "I guess I just...I don't ever get this lucky," he whispered at last. 

 "Nor do I, Ray. But I think with this, we will make our own luck." 

 Hearing the emotion Fraser couldn't keep out of his voice and sensing how
important this was to Fraser, he looked back at his partner. "You really
do believe that, don't you?" 

 "I believe in you." 

 There weren't any barriers between him and Fraser right now. No polite
facades, no perfect Mountie. Just him and his new lover. 

 "I think...that you're the only thing I really do believe in anymore,"
Ray admitted. "You really know what you're getting into here? I'm not like
spaghetti-os?" 

 "No, Ray, you're definitely pineapple pizza," Fraser softly assured. 

 "And you like pineapple pizza?" 

 "Certainly more than spaghetti-os." Ray could see tell that the absurdity
of the conversation had tickled Fraser's funny bone, but his partner was
doing his damnedest to keep his expression serious. "But if forced to
compare you to a food item, I would have to say that you were tea." 

 "That bark stuff with the sticks in it?" Ray asked nervously. 

 "No, the black tea that I have every morning. The black tea that I
promise you I will drink every single day for the rest of my life." 

 As far as sweet nothings went, this conversation was fully as freaky as
any that involved Benton Fraser. But despite its surreal slant, Ray knew
what he'd just been promised. 

 He couldn't hold back. He grabbed hold of Fraser's hair and pulled him
down into a deep, mushy kiss that seemed to last forever. 

 They separated after a long, juicy time. As they both took deep breaths
and tried to stifle yawns, another clamor of bells sounded outside in the
snowy Chicago streets as the midnight mass ended. 

 "Merry Christmas, Ray. Thank you for the best one ever," Fraser said with
such sincerity that it choked him up for a minute. 

 "Merry Christmas to you, too, Benton." 

 "Ray?" 

 "Yes?" 

 "Is it too soon to say I love you?" Fraser uncertainly questioned. 

 Ray swallowed hard. Obviously, he wasn't the only one who jumped without
looking in this partnership, but once again, Ray thought that could work
for them. If he could ever get the rock out of his throat. 

 "That's what the tea was before, wasn't it?" Ray smiled and assured,
"Anyway, we've been sayin' it for nearly a year without words. We might as
well say it," Ray found his voice at last. And then, to avoid forcing his
restrained lover from making that first, giant step, Ray softly added, "I
love you, Benton. In love love." 

 Fraser's expression told him how hard his declaration hit. Fraser gulped
loudly and answered with near solemnity, "I love you, too, Ray." 

 "In love love?" Ray checked, because the insecure part of him still had
to hear it, maybe always would. 

 "In love love," Fraser affirmed. 

 "Greatness," Ray said, giving in to his yawn. 

 "As you say, greatness," Fraser agreed. Being the polite Mountie he was,
he covered his mouth at the ensuing yawn. 

 Ray reached up, slipped his hand around Fraser's neck and gave a gentle
push down. "Come on. Time to crash." 

 Before he allowed himself to be guided down and therefore cut their line
of sight to each other's eyes, Fraser asked, "It's all right if I remain
here like this?" He, too, gestured at their embracing flesh. 

 "Far as I'm concerned, you can spend the rest of your life right there.
You can be the smarties in my coffee." 

 For once, there was no misunderstanding. Fraser's face filled with a
quiet joy before he gave a simple nod and lowered his head. 

 After they spent a few minutes shifting around to get comfortable, Fraser
quitly said, "I like Turtleland, Ray." 

 "Me, too, Benton, me, too." He rubbed that warm back, just because it was
his right to now. 

 "Did you know that turtles live significantly longer than hamsters, Ray?"
Fraser asked in a half-asleep voice. 

 Ray grinned. "No, but I knew you would." 

 "Turtles can live for hundreds of years, Ray." 

 "That's good, 'cause I think we're gonna put it to the test." 

 "There was a study on - " 

 "Sleep, now," Ray firmly interrupted before Fraser got caught up in some
scientific dissertation. 

 Fraser gave stifled giggle and a meek, "Yes, Ray." 

 How often did that happen? 

 Ray felt those long lashes flutter against his collarbone and mere
seconds later, Fraser's deep breathing told him his friend was fast
asleep. 

 Giving the top of that warm head a final kiss, Ray wasn't very far behind
him. 

 Finis 

End The Bough That Breaks by Tira Nog: tiranog2729@yahoo.co.uk

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