Losing Feeling	Losing Feeling

 by BJCochran

  

 

 Disclaimer: AA owns everything, but the ideas. They are mine.

 Author's Notes: Anita and Karen/s for the encouragement and close
monitoring for comma misuse and other stuff. Not sure what I'd do without
them.

 Story Notes: This is really pre-slash getting to the slash.

 

 

 Losing Feeling July 3, 2004
 By BJCochran 

 (dS, F/K, PG13 - sexual allusion) 

 Disclaimer: AA owns everything, but the ideas. They are mine. 

 Summary: An old injury comes back to haunt Fraser. 

 Acknowledgements: Anita and Karen/s for the encouragement and close
monitoring for comma misuse and other stuff. Not sure what I'd do without
them. 

 >>><<< 

 It had started as nothing, really. Diefenbaker lunged past him, faster
than usual, after a falling donut, and Ben had landed inelegantly on the
rather ill-kept, dusty parking lot behind the Twenty-Seventh Precinct. Ray
had given him a hand up, laughing as he'd tried to brush the dust off. He
made unfunny references to dogs chasing their tails, and Ben was not
amused. 

 "Pitter patter, Fraser, scumbag witnesses wait for no man." Which was
untrue, they do. Placing the Stetson on the dash of the Pontiac, Ben
noticed that his posterior did not protest as much as his shoulder
tingled. Odd. 

 Removing his uniform later that evening reminded him that his shoulder
was not as it should be. Nor, for that matter, was his arm or hand. There
was diminished strength and coordination. Unlocking the Consulate door was
a trial. Frowning, he made his way to his office-cum-residence to remove
his review order. The Sam Browne provided an incredible amount of
frustration, ending up tossed with vehemence against the door of his
closet. Once down to his boxers and athletic shirt, Ben sat on his cot
clenching and unclenching his right hand, wondering at the numbness.
Perhaps sleep was what was called for. A good night's sleep provided ample
cure for many maladies. 

 Rising to turn out the light, he noticed his right arm wouldn't easily
rise with him. He turned out the light with his left hand. 

 A good night's sleep had not been the answer. He had, in fact, slept
well, but found it excruciating to try to rise from his cot. Finally,
turning to his left side, he eased himself into a sitting position,
grunting as he went. When he'd finally had his feet on the floor, Dief
made an interrogatory sound. 

 "I don't know," Ben answered. "It doesn't hurt, per se." He
experimentally probed his forearm with his left hand. "I really have no
feeling." He sat for a minute, idly pinching and probing his right arm and
hand. 

 Fraser chose to struggle into a pair of jeans and pullover sweater this
morning. When he came out of his office, Constable Turnbull and Inspector
Thatcher ceased speak, their jaws still wide, staring at him. "Constable?"


 "Sir?" 

 "You're not dressed for duty." 

 "No, ma'am." He winced. "I have to request a sick day." 

 "A sick day?" she said. 

 "A sick day?" Turnbull echoed. 

 "I'm experiencing a - an unpleasantness in my right arm and shoulder." 

 Thatcher frowned and looked at his arm as it hung limp at his side. "When
did this happen?" 

 "Yesterday, I'm afraid." 

 Thatcher's frown deepened. "And why didn't you seek medical attention
then?" 

 Ben twisted his neck, not quite cracking it. "I thought it was an anomaly
and would right itself overnight." 

 "And it has not," she surmised. 

 "It has not." 

 "As soon as possible." Turnbull finished his phone call, putting the
phone down to turn triumphantly to Ben and the Inspector. "Detective
Vecchio is on his way." 

 "What?" Ben asked. "Why?" 

 Turnbull looked puzzled. "You would need a ride to see a physician." Ben
nodded slowly. "Wouldn't you also need to go with someone that would
render moral support?" 

 Pushing his tongue on his lower lip, Ben acknowledged the gesture.
"That's very kind of you, constable." 

 "Not at all, constable." Turnbull's ears pinkened. 

 "Will you be seeing your previous neurologist?" the Inspector inquired. 

 Ben blinked, not sure what she was asking. "Neurologist, sir?" 

 "I'm assuming this is related to your previous injuries." 

 "Sir?" What was she saying? 

 "The bullet in your back?" 

 "Allow me to tie your boots, Constable Fraser." Turnbull was holding the
desk chair out for him. Gratefully, Ben sank into the chair, resting his
Stetson on his lap. Rubbing his brow, he felt sweat there. 

 The bullet. His recovery had been so full, the injury occurring so long
ago, that Ben had put it so far from his mind. But the bullet was still
lodged in tissue close to his vertebrae, close to his spinal cord. 

 Falling on his hind end jarred him far worse than injuring his pride. He
closed his eyes against the emotions buffeting him. 

 "Should I notify the neurologist?" This was the inspector now. He opened
his eyes to refuse, but realized she was merely just waiting for him to
give her the doctor's name. "Dr. Barrington. His number is in my rolodex."


 Silently, he stared past Turnbull's shoulder as the other man made quick
work of tightening and tying the laces of his hiking boots. Emotions long
suppressed were vying for play in the moving picture inside his head. The
bullet, the most damaging of all souvenirs. It was the thing that kept him
apart from all the world around him, the event that sealed his solitary
life. 

 When he blinked back to reality, Ray Vecchio nee Kowalski was barging
through the Consulate door, looking a little wild eyed, as he so often did
when coming into the Consulate. Ben just stared at him mutely. 

 "What happened? When'd it happen? Are you in pain?" Ray loomed over him
like an avatar. 

 "I must have aggravated a previous injury when Diefenbaker tripped me
yesterday." 

 Ray shot a look at the wolf. Diefenbaker lowered his head to his paws
when he figured the 'but, it was a donut' defense wouldn't work. "Pain?"
Ray asked again. 

 "Not pain as much as tingling in my arm." Benton sighed. "And I fear the
arm is of little use." 

 "Christ," Ray muttered and ran his hand through his hair. "Where we
going?" 

 "To Chicago General," Thatcher said, coming out of her office. "Dr.
Barrington is in surgery until noon, but he wants you at hospital for
x-rays with your previous x-rays. I assume they're in your office." 

 "They are," Ben moved to rise from the chair, but Ray pushed him back
down. "Whoa, the nice inspector can get them for you." Ray shared a
narrowed eyed look with Ben's superior. The inspector nodded, and said to
Ben, "Under X, I presume." 

 She was off before he could answer. Ray was about to speak when Turnbull
came through from the back of the building carrying a back pack and a
thermos. "I took the liberty of packing a lunch and preparing tea." 

 "A picnic?" Ray asked. "This ain't a picnic, Turnbull." 

 "Of course not, Ray." Turnbull was not phased. "And I wouldn't want you
to have to worry about such mundanities as seeking out food." He placed
the pack on the table. "There are apples and oranges, 3 ham sandwiches,
snicker doodles and peanut butter crackers." 

 "Snicker doodles?" Ray liked his sweets. 

 "Thank you, constable. That's very kind." 

 "Not at all." Turnbull beamed. The Inspector returned with an oversized
envelope bearing the x-rays. It was time to leave. Filled with dread, Ben
stood. His three companions restrained themselves admirably from aiding
him. He knew they wanted to but was grateful that they didn't help him to
his feet. Ray grabbed the pack and the thermos while Ben held onto the
x-ray. Moving ahead, Ray had the door open and was on his way to unlocking
the car door. 

 >>><<< 

 The hospital hall was crowded and busy. They weren't in emergency but in
the Neurology wing waiting for Dr. Barrington to finish with surgery. Ray
was pacing. Ben had tried to read, but it was hard one handed. Add to that
the age and quality of the magazines, it was useless. 

 He leaned back in the uncomfortable chair, resting his head against the
wall. That was uncomfortable and caused an increase in the tingling in his
shoulder. He tried several positions before achieving semi-comfort by
listing to his left. 

 Ray stopped pacing in front of him. "You okay, Frase? Can I get you
anything." 

 Stopping himself from saying he was fine, he said, "I wish I knew how
long the doctor would be." He couldn't lie, but he didn't want to worry
Ray with his concerns, with his fears. 

 Ray looked down to the end of the hall that they assumed the doctor would
be coming from. "Yeah. They said another half hour, but I bet that means
two hours." Ben nodded. That wouldn't surprise him at all. 

 "There's no need for you to stay, Ray. I know you have several pending
cases that call for your attention." He didn't want to burden Ray. He
could do this alone. But the narrowed eyed stare he received from Ray was
bewildering. 

 "Now, see Fraser, that's where you're wrong. I'm where I want to be. I
ain't goin' no where." 

 Fraser was perverse, always pushing. "But surely Lt. Welsh-" 

 "Lt. Welsh has no say on what or why I'm here." His index finger was
punctuating every word. "I'm here because this is where I belong." 

 Unable to think of a response while fighting hard to keep his emotions in
tact, Ben pushed his tongue against his lower lip. Ray was glaring at him
fiercely, almost frightening Ben. "I merely-" he tried again, but Ray
flung himself into the chair beside him. 

 "I'm not leaving, Fraser," he said, softly. "Get used to it." 

 Ben dropped his chin nearly to his chest before saying. "As you wish." 

 >>><<< 

 Ben sat on the edge of the hospital bed in a drafty back opening gown. He
rubbed his face and hair vigorously. He was in hospital for the night.
Observation. 

 Just a formality, really. There wasn't much that could be done, Dr.
Barrington said. Still, the doctor would have a colleague of his from
Northwestern check in on him. Just to make sure everything that could be
done would be done. 

 The bullet had moved. Had been jarred from its resting place in his back,
moving it closer to the spinal cord, closer to sensitive nerves. 

 "Can you fix it?" Ray had asked, staring at the X-rays as if he knew at
what he was looking. 

 "No," Barrington said, pulling no punches. "The bullet will be with
Constable Fraser until he dies." He studied Ray's profile as Ray studied
the picture of the bullet. 

 "Will it move again?" Ray was getting his glasses out. 

 "Possibly. If it moved once, it's certainly possible to move again." 

 Ray squinted, moving closer to the lit panel holding the film. "So, it
could move back where it was yesterday, and we'll all be happy?" 

 "I said, possible. But the odds are against it." 

 Ray looked at the doctor, still squinting behind his glasses. "Give me
the odds." Ray almost always had hope. 

 Barrington crossed his arms over his chest. Ben, who sat quietly during
this exchange, recognized it as body language for delivering bad news.
"Odds are better for the Cubs winning the World Series." 

 Ben swallowed deeply when Ray's shoulders sagged. But his partner's chin
came up quickly. "You got someone to corroborate this?" 

 Hence the consultation tomorrow. 

 For obvious reasons, Ben had never liked hospitals. Even to visit. Infirm
people were rarely at their best, and he was no exception. He was not
wearing enough clothes to calm his modesty and could not help being
embarrassed when Ray had helped him into his gown and onto the bed.
Hospital staff and visitors hurried past his door, not even aware he was
there. He was hungry, but the back pack with the apples was on the chair
on the other side of the bed. He just didn't have the energy to get up or
get back up onto the bed. 

 He smiled at the wool socks Ray'd left on his feet. They were old and
marled and had been mended several times. Something familiar in a
frightening world of nurses, medicine and clinical sterility. A deep sigh
was driven from the depths of his soul. 

 Oh, yes, right, he chastised himself. No need to escape to self-pity.
You're here because you put yourself here. Flights of fancy sometimes
crash and burn. The deep seeded need for love took you to a place where
you'd abase yourself on any level to keep someone so to the opposite of
your own morals and values, it was reprehensible. 

 Ben had recovered. Nary a twinge of reminder after a few months. Back to
risking his life wildly in the name of justice. The bullet had been a
minor set back in a life devoted to the triumph of right over wrong. 

 Now he was being repaid for his lack of remorse in the few years past.
Losing Ray Vecchio to an undercover assignment. That was a punishment.
Punishment for taking Ray's friendship for granted. Assuming Ray would
always stand by his side, no matter how unworthy he was. 

 But Ray Vecchio had gone. Ray Kowalski took his place. One good Ray
replaced by a better Ray. Moving himself into the bed, he pulled the
ineffectual blanket over his bare legs. He liked Ray Vecchio, no mistake.
Ray Vecchio worked with him, took him home occasionally for his mother to
feed. It was a camaraderie he'd never experienced. 

 Ray Kowalski, a whole other kettle of fish. Ray Kowalski prided himself
on being 'in his face'. Up close and personal. In his pocket. Fraser's joy
was Ray's joy. Fraser's pain, Ray's, also. They shared meals, cases, and
life. 

 He meant to close his eyes for only a few minutes, but the hospital was
in overnight mode, judging by the dimmed lights in the corridor when he
awoke. Turning his head, he saw Ray wearing his glasses, nose deep in a
book. The other man must have heard Fraser move because he raised his head
and smiled. 

 The guilelessness of the smile nearly took Ben's breath away. Blaming it
on the unsettling, unpleasant business with his arm, Ben managed to smile
back. 

 "Benton, buddy, did you have a good nap?" Ray asked, dropping the book to
help Fraser into a sitting position. 

 "I believe I did." He pulled his limp arm onto his lap. He could not help
his stomach growling, he was still hungry. The nap hadn't changed that. "I
don't suppose there's anything to eat." 

 "There's still some fruit," Ray said, reaching for the pack that Turnbull
had prepared so long ago. "Sorry, I ate all the cookies though." He did
honestly look chagrinned. "Fruit would be fine." 

 Ray tossed him an apple, which he caught with alacrity, to Ray's
approval. Apples were a good choice, they could be eaten with one hand and
the core disposed of easily. The oranges were not so easy to manage. 

 "Have you been here long?" Ben asked between bites. 

 Scratching under his holster, Ray shook his head. "Just a few minutes.
Had to tie some things up at the station." 

 Ben frowned. 

 Ray caught it. "I'm taking tomorrow off. Gonna be with you when we see
Barrington's man." 

 "Ray, really-" 

 The hand went up to still Ben's objections. "There's still some tea in
the thermos. You want some?" 

 So, the topic was off limits. Ben narrowed his eyes on Ray. "Yes, Ray, I
would like some." 

 Turnbull had made the tea much sweeter than Ben normally liked it, but it
tasted familiar, and he savored it. "What time is it?" he asked aware that
his watch was in the night table, on his right side. 

 "Close to ten." Ray had gone back to his chair. Benton thought that was
too far away. 

 That was very late for hospital visitation. "Will you be back in the
morning?" 

 "Not going anywhere, Fraser." Ray pulled his glasses off and pocketed
them, crossing his arms, like he was waiting for a fight. 

 "You're not going to sit up all night. That's just - not necessary." 

 They sat their staring at each other, eyes narrowed, for a few minutes.
Ben sighed. "Very well." He paused. "What are you reading?" 

 Ray's smile was sheepish. "Andromeda Strain." 

 "That's -" 

 "An old book. I know that. It was on the library cart in the hall, and I
hadn't read it in, what, thirty years, and thought - why not?" 

 "Is it the same as you remember?" Fraser tossed his apple core at the
trash, unusually pleased at not missing. 

 >>><<< 

 They'd talked late into the night, Ray pulling his chair closer to the
bed. They talked about science fiction: Bradbury, Clarke, Asimov, as well,
as the popular Crichton. Somehow they'd talked out and fallen asleep. 

 When Ben awoke, Ray's wild hair was brushing the back of his hand. His
partner had fallen asleep with his head on the hospital bed. Slowly
raising his fingers, Ben indulged in a fancy he'd been nursing for years.
Most of the properties of the hair gel had broken down overnight, but the
hair continued to defy gravity in a way that was not quite bouncy, but not
quite 'bed head'. After a few minutes of indulgence, Ray stirred. Quickly,
quietly, Ben withdrew his hand. Ray rubbed his face back and forth on the
sheet, trying to rub the sleep away. He had been sleeping with his face
away from Ben, but now he lay facing him. The unshaved face showed the
sheet wrinkles, and Ben was enraptured. It was all he could do not to use
a finger to trace the lines on the stubbled skin. 

 The urge was answered for him when Ray opened one eye to locate Ben's
hand. Snagging it, he raised it to set it back on his hair. Closing his
eye again, he sighed, a beatific smile on his face. 

 But that was several hours ago. After the shame of having Ray hold up his
gown while he urinated, Ben was not sure if he could be humiliated
further. Holding his own and holding the gown were just not possible in
his current state. Ray, though, took it all with his usual equanimity. 

 Ray left to look for coffee when Ben began to struggle with his boxers,
and he was grateful. He hated to be out of control, hated losing that
control in front of others. Although it was difficult to dress himself
with one hand, he completed the task before moving back to the bathroom. 

 Ray had liberated his kit from the consulate. Brushing his hair and his
teeth were a new experience, but not totally impossible. Recapping the
tooth paste was difficult, but Ben knew there were varieties that had flip
top caps. He might as well begin to adjust to the new obstacle in his
life. 

 Now he sat shoulder-to-shoulder with Ray in front of Drs. Barrington and
Musselman. 

 "In conclusion," Ray prompted after long moments of what he called
techno-babble. 

 Musselman smiled and pushed his lips together. "In conclusion, there is
nothing that we can do at this time to reverse Mr. Frasier's current
paralytic condition." 

 "So, his arm is permanently out of commission?" Ray looked at Barrington
for confirmation. 

 "I'm afraid so." 

 There was silence for a few minutes as Ray digested what Ben was already
accepting. "Okay. So. There's nothing we can do, like rehab or, you know,
therapy?" 

 "Nothing that can't be done at home with a partner." 

 Ray was still frowning. "You gonna show me these exercises?" he asked the
doctors. 

 Now Barrington smiled. "No, we have physical therapists to do that." 

 "Ray, really--," Ben started to say that Ray did not need to put himself
out for Ben's sake, but the look from Ray stilled him and he let him
schedule an appointment to meet with a therapist. 

 "Okay. Okay." Ray stood and Ben did, too. "You have any questions for
these guys, Fraser?" 

 "None at this juncture." 

 "Okay, let's pay the ransom to get the car out of the parking garage and
go get some Chinese." 

 After thanking the doctors, lifting his left hand to approximate a shake,
Ben allowed Ray to hustle him out of the hospital into the car. 

 >>><<< 

 Chinese may not have been Ray's best idea, Fraser thought as he set the
chop sticks down rather forcefully. Ray ran his tongue between his lip and
teeth as he watched Ben stare at his full plate before pushing his own
fork toward Ben. The eyes he narrowed on Ray met with a lack of
repentance. He sighed and picked up the fork, looking back up into Ray's
eyes for reassurance. It was there, unwavering. 

 Gradually, Ben consumed all the food on his plate, refusing more when Ray
offered. After the last drop of tea was drained from his cup, he sighed.
"Perhaps it's time I returned to the Consulate." He was embarrassed to
ask, "If I could trouble you for a ride." The adjustment to doubling the
work of his left hand left him more tired than he would have expected. 

 Ray was sprawled in his chair, studying Ben. It was all he could do not
to squirm under the scrutiny. "No, don't think you'll be going back to the
Consulate tonight." 

 Ah. Well. "Ray, that's -" 

 "Not necessary. Yeah, Fraser, heard that one before." He came forward to
start cleaning up their dinner. 

 Fraser picked up his mug, tucking it between his arm and stomach before
picking Ray's empty beer bottle. He was going to do his part, no matter
what. Water was foaming the suds in the sink, dishes were being dropped
in. 

 "You can dry," Ray said. "The towels are in the middle drawer." 

 Ben couldn't have loved Ray anymore at that moment. Because he
understood. Understood his need to be needed, to be part of the process,
to be treated as if he were as he was yesterday. 

 Laying a towel on the counter, Ben laid the first plate down to dry it on
one side, before turning it over to dry the other side. After a half hour
of learning this new skill, sweat had gathered at his forehead. 

 By the time he had draped both towels to dry, Ray was leaning his hip
against the counter, arms folded across his chest, staring at him. 

 "So, tomorrow, we go to see the Ice Queen to talk about light duty, huh?
You have that in Canada, right? Workman's Comp? You got that?" 

 "An approximation of such, however, I was not injured on the job." 

 Ray looked grim. "That's right. Hmmm, maybe the city should be paying you
something." He moved over to his roll top desk. 

 "Ray." 

 "Wonder who I should call to find out." He was rooting through the
various cubby holes on the top of the desk. 

 "Ray." 

 "There should be a directory here some place." 

 "RAY." 

 "What?" Ray said, his face showing his irritation at the interruption. 

 "I will not take one additional cent from the City of Chicago," he said
with force. "That would be wrong," he added after a moment. 

 Ray sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "Okay. Yeah. Okay, I get that." 

 Ben lowered his chin until it nearly touched his breast bone. His
weariness had a home sick feeling to him. Not like he missed his cot at
the Consulate, but he missed - something. 

 "Okay, Fraser, it's time to get ready for bed." 

 "Ray, it's only four PM." 

 Ray looked at his watch. "Okay, maybe just a nap then, Fraser." 

 "Really, Ray - " 

 "Really, Fraser, just lay down for a few minutes. You have to be tired." 

 It was true. He was. Moving toward the couch, he was surprised when Ray
pulled him toward his bedroom. He opened his mouth, but Ray beat him to
it: "If you 'really, Ray' me, I'm going to have to cause you some serious
damage." 

 Clamping his mouth shut, Ben let himself be pushed onto Ray's bed. Ray
was at his feet working at his boot laces. "Okay, down you go," he said
pushing at Ben's shoulder once the boots were off. Grasping Ray's wrist,
Ben wouldn't let go as Ray tried to right himself. 

 It was slightly gratifying to pull Ray off balance. For the last
twenty-four plus hours, Ben had been off balance, his world slightly
tilted, and he wanted Ray to feel the same way. Instead of pulling back,
trying to right himself, Ray let his hands fall on either side of his
shoulders, resting on his arms as he looked down at Ben. Catching his
bottom lip in his teeth, Ben looked deeply into Ray's eyes. 

 There were so many things Ben wanted to say, needed to say, but the words
were just going to get tripped up on his teeth and tongue. This ordeal had
been difficult, well, quite more than difficult, excruciating, but Ben had
not been alone. For the first time he could remember - ever - someone had
been at his side. Sharing the unknown. 

 But, this was the beginning of what appeared to be a long-term
disability. Therapy would be hard, adjusting harder. He still had to speak
with the Inspector and the Human Resources Liaison to determine what his
position would be within the RCMP. Too many thoughts vied for importance
in his brain, too many to concentrate on just one. Yet there was something
Ray needed to know. 

 "Thank you, Ray." 

 Ray just smiled down on him. The smile from the hospital. The one that
Ben found so captivating. Ray eased his arms down, like he was doing a
push up on the bed. His smile softened and Ben felt his own lips curl
slightly to match it. "Don't mention it, Fraser." 

 "But, Ray, it's necessary for me - " 

 Again, Ray interrupted him. "I said - " 

 "Ray." It was Ben's turn to interrupt. He let go of the wrist and allowed
his hand to travel over the fine hair covering the forearm that held Ray
above him, stopping just above Ray's elbow. He felt the tiny tremors under
the warm skin; the muscles were not used to this position. Applying great
pressure with his thumb to the inner elbow, Ben released Ray's flexed arm
accepting his weight onto his chest, their faces were only a breath apart.
"Ray," he repeated. 

 "Yeah, Fraser." There was an odd shine in Ray's eyes. 

 "Thank you," he said again. Gently, he raised his lips to Ray's, tasting
something so very, very sweet. Small nips pulled at the lips above his; it
was a revelation that shook Ben to his soul. The taste was beyond him, so
rich and earthy. 

 He moved toward Ray's mouth when Ray pulled back, but then he realized
who and where he was and what he just did. "Oh," Ben said. 

 The small smile on Ray's lips now seemed shy. "'Oh' doesn't quite cover
it, does it?" he murmured, laying his forehead against Ben's. Ben almost
arched into the man whose body now nearly covered his when Ray ran his
stubbled cheek across Ben's. Where his own face looked patchy when he
didn't shave, Ray's looked rakish. And all too desirable. 

 "Ray?" He had to know. 

 "Fraser?" Ray pulled back to look at him, again with a depth that was
startling. 

 "A lot - a great deal - " Blast, he was not finding the words, but he
needed to plow on. "Much has changed in the last couple of days." Ray
rested his weight on elbows at either side of Ben's head. The proximity
was intoxicating. He pressed on. "I - I must say, that - " He stopped,
unable to speak what was twisting on his tongue, what his heart felt. 

 Ray stared at him a few minutes. Long minutes filled with a huge silence.
Ben swallowed, but could go no where: Ray had effectively trapped him. 

 "I know, Fraser." 

 A frown creased his brow as he looked into Ray's expressive eyes. "You
know?" A hint of tongue slid along his lower lip as the bristled head
lowered. Ben caught his breath. 

 "I know, Fraser," he reiterated. "I know and me, too." 

 "You, too?" His brain must be affected. What was Ray saying? He pushed at
Ray's shoulder with his left hand until he got his partner's attention. 

 The shy smile was becoming sure. "Me, too. I love you, too." 

 Out loud, it sounded beautiful after hearing the Ray in his head say it
for so long: I love you, too. He closed his eyes to give a prayer of
thanksgiving as he felt the sandpapered face once again brush his. Raising
his hips in arousal, Ben gave a frustrated moan when he met with air. 

 "Fraser?" Opening his eyes, he saw Ray's question. 

 "Could you, would you -" 

 "In a house?" 

 Ben didn't get that and frowned. "We're in an apartment." 

 "Seuss, Fraser." 

 "Ah," he said, bluffing that he understood. But, frankly, he didn't. 

 "Could I, would I what, Fraser?" Ray finally prompted. 

 "Assist me in, um, taking a nap." Ben was certain his color was quite
high. He was hoping that Ray would not think him too forward, but he
needed this closeness. 

 "Sure thing, Fraser, buddy." Ray enthusiastically crawled over Ben onto
the right side of the bed. Not wasting a minute, Ray dragged him into his
embrace, stopping only when Ben lay atop him. 

 "I'm not sure I can nap in this position," Ben said, holding himself up
on his good arm. 

 Ray smiled like sunshine. "Give it a try and see what happens." 

 A frown marred his face. "Won't that be uncomfortable for you, Ray?" 

 Ben hoped he never got used to that smile, it was so radiant. "Yeah,
Fraser, this is sooo uncomfortable." He spread his legs under Ben to ease
him further into his embrace. Ray pulled the tail of Ben's shirt from his
pants, letting his strong fingers stroke his back. "Put your head down,"
he whispered, and Ben complied. 

 Ray propped himself with both pillows, legs spread and slightly bent at
the knee to cradle Ben within his arms, his head on Ray's chest. The lazy
circles he drew at the base of his spine went far to relax Ben utterly. 

 Raising his head, Ben looked at the dark beyond the window. There was a
light beyond the bedroom door, but very little of it penetrated the
sanctuary of Ray's room. He must have slept for hours. He tried to push
himself off of Ray, but was held fast. "Where you going?" 

 "I expect you're tired of the-" How long had he lain there? 

 "Nope." The hand on his back continued its circles, soothing, relaxing.
Ben lay down again, nuzzling the collar bone through Ray's tee shirt. 

 He sighed. "Surely," he began again. 

 "Nope, never. This is where I want you." He paused to push Ben's face up
to look him in the eye. "This is where you belong." 

 He was serious. Achingly serious. 

 "Not just until you get better 'cause they say you ain't getting better."
Again, he paused, like it was important to get this right. Ben remained
silent, though he wanted nothing more than to interrupt. "The thing is, it
doesn't matter. I'm here no matter what." 

 "Ray," Ben said, also wanting to get this right, "you do realize that I
may never be able to liaise with you again. In effect, our partnership may
be terminated." 

 "Dunno, Benton, buddy. There are liaisons and there are partnerships. You
might not ever liaise with me again, but you're always gonna be my
partner." 

 It was silly, but Ben felt the hopeful part of his heart open and expand,
like light was setting it free. He blinked before cracking his neck to
clear his head. Looking down into Ray's eyes, he watched the brilliant
smile break in them before it leached out to infect his whole face. Ben
knew he was smiling back, his own face a reflection of Ray. 

 "Love you, Fraser. For real." 

 "And I, you." 

 For real. 

 The end. 

 Like it? Hate it? Tell me at bjcochran@epix.net. 

End Losing Feeling by BJCochran: bjcochran@epix.net

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