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      	  Finding the Words 
 by Berty  

 Disclaimer: If they were mine - do you think I'd tell you lot ??? No
infringement intended on anyone or anything.

 Author's Notes: This story was a labour of love. And one I'll want to
revisit again - so although it's not a series yet, I'm thinking it might
become one. It was alpha read by my lovely Nicci, whose insight is
perfect. It was beta read by Cimmie and MissApocalyptic - thank you guys -
I know it was a bugger. It was written for Sean, who knows about this
stuff and who was an inspiration to me for his courage and his willingness
to embrace the future, no matter what.

 Story Notes: NOTES: Hay River is a real place. Looks really nice, too. So
is Yellowknife, obviously - and I'm sure it's nicer than my rather rude
description. Sorry, Yellowknife. Endurance isn't a real place, as far as I
know. If you know different, say Hi to Ben and Ray for me and draw me a
map, will ya? 
Liberties have been taken with timelines - i.e. Maggie's in here, but CotW
hasn't happened. 
I did research Head Traumas, but only used the bits that were relevant to
this story. It's the nature of fiction to.well.fictionalise stuff and in
reality of course, this stuff is a whole lot more complex to say nothing
of devastating. I didn't mean to offend anyone and I realise some of my
facts are skewed towards my devious ends. 
Fanfiction is a hobby, one I love hugely - and it takes you to places
you've never been and into situations you don't know. I've spent a lot of
time reading up on Canada, the Aurora Borealis, Great Slave Lake, Apraxia
of Speech, Chicago and Malamutes. I will look up a fact for a single throw
away line and find myself still researching it an hour later, totally off
at a tangent, but enjoying every minute. It gives me a list of things I
want to do/see/buy/experience/know more about - things I would never have
considered before. But for the purposes of this story, I've not been able
to 'know' everything I've written about. If I've made mistakes, I
apologise. 

 

 Finding the Words 

 "I walked down this street, I turned this corner..."

 I see the instant he decides to do it. I wish I could say it's a
surprise, but he's pulled enough of these stunts that I just fucking knew
it was coming, so at least we're shoulder to shoulder as he breaks cover. 

 "Chicago PD, stand where you are and throw down your weapons," I shout.
Yeah, like how many times has that worked in my life? So, of course, they
run... we run... everybody runs. And shouts. And there's shooting. Fraser
is dodging from pillar to pillar and I'm doing my level best to cover him
as he works his way closer to the bad guys. 

 Underground parking garage - what a fucking clich. The metallic pings and
shatter of glass make me glad we left the Goat outside. There's the stink
of cold rubber and gasoline in my nose as I fumble for my cell while they
have us pinned down. 

 I don't wait for niceties. "This is Vecchio - we need that back up now.
We're under fire," I yell. Fraser's looking to move again, and I almost
puke as he ducks out from behind the nice safe concrete and starts running
right at the perps. Amazingly, he's not taken down instantly, and as I
follow him out, gun first, I see the door of the service access swing
shut.

 "Fraser! Wait! They're on their way." 

 But he's already at the door, back against the wall. I quickly relay
what's happened to control and that if they'd care to join us, we'll be in
the bowels of hell. And then, with a short nod, I follow him through the
door.

 They have this low energy light thing down here; the fluorescents spaced
out to give precisely not enough fucking light. The corridors still echo
to the sound of running feet, so they don't have much of a start on us. He
moves out, but I yank him back by a sleeve and glare at him, then wave my
gun in front of his nose. Freak! Me, gun - go first. You, no gun - go
second. I deliberately change my clip and pushing my glasses up my nose, I
take point. 

 I hate these kinds of chases - all blind corners and lefts or rights.
They all look the same. We move fast, following tunnel after tunnel and it
seems that they're as lost as we are. Their raised voices sound angry and
confused, so I reckon they are starting to realise they're cornered. But
there's still five of them and two of us - and one of us still doesn't
carry, so I'm in no hurry to spook them into a last stand kinda deal. 

 I've seen those movies. 

 They never end well.

 I flatten myself against the wall, Frase at my side, and quickly stick my
head around the corner. Sure enough about twenty-five yards away they've
come to a locked door. Three of them are attempting to shoot off the lock,
but it looks pretty solid. One of the jerks notices me and takes a shot,
so I pull back. And finally, in the distance I can hear our backup just
entering the tunnels. They should have this place locked down by now, so
even if the perps get through that door - wherever it goes - there's no
way out.

 I guess the bad guys have figured that out too, but the thing about bad
guys is they just don't know when to quit. So I'm about to launch into my,
'Don't do anything stupid, if you put down your guns and come out with
your hands behind your heads' thing when my attention is distracted by a
dull metallic skitter. Frase looks down and his eyes go wide. At our feet,
spinning slowly to a halt is a hand grenade. 

 A fucking  hand grenade. 

 Who the fuck has a hand grenade with them?

 For one second we freeze, then I feel that familiar tingle again; the one
I get whenever I know what he's gonna do next. And he would, I know he
would; he'd fucking throw himself on it to save me. So I move first. I
kick it away and push him as hard as I can back up the tunnel, we run for
a few stumbling steps, trying to get our feet under us, but Ben is going
down. As I fall on top of him, struggling to cover as much of his head and
body as I can, I see the flash of the grenade going off. The blast hits
before the noise, it seems to me, and I hold onto him as hard as I can
when I feel us lifted off the concrete floor by the wave of heat and
energy.

 The next thing I know is pain. Everywhere. And Fraser's face, very close
to mine, calling my name. I want to keep my eyes open to check he's okay,
but they won't cooperate. Someone - Dewey? Why is he here? - is yelling
into a radio that an officer is down and that we need medics. Shit. Frase
must be hurt. But he's still saying my name, so it can't be too bad,
surely. I try to tell him to hang on, it's okay, but there's dust in my
mouth and it's so dark and if I speak they might find us.

 "Ray, stay with me, okay? Ray?" Wow, he sounds really scared. I guess
he's got a thing about the dark.

 "Always," I murmur, which is good, because that's when the lights go out
completely.

 ^^^

 Someone is talking to me. 

 No. Reading to me. 

 It's Frase, I'd recognise that perfect enunciation anywhere, so I don't
have to open my eyes. 

 He has a nice voice, but that is some weird shit he's reading. Something
about a wedding and a bird and a lot of ice. He's a freak - who brings a
book like that on a... stakeout?

 ^^^

 It's the warmth that gives it away. The rest of me is kind of cold and
numb, but my hand is warm, almost sweaty. With an effort, I open my eyes a
little and am surprised to find it's nighttime; but there's a lamp on
somewhere close, because I can see him. 

 He's asleep, his head tipped back in a chair that doesn't look
comfortable enough for someone to actually fall asleep in it, let alone
someone with as straight a spine as Frase has.

 I look down to where his hand holds mine, and notice how different we
are. Where his hands are broad and sturdy and pink, mine are long and slim
and so white as to be almost see-through. I try to curl my thumb over his
pinkie, but instead my whole hand twitches, which is weird.

 I look up to ask him why it would do that - he knows that kind of shit -
and he's awake now. For a moment I can't place what's strange about him,
then I realise that he hasn't shaved - Fraser has dark beard stubble and I
don't remember having seen that before. His mouth is moving and his eyes
are as blue and as wide as the sky. 

 Almost in reaction, mine slide closed.

 ^^^

 Frase is talking again. 

 Does the guy ever shut up? 

 I crack open my eyes. It's daylight - what the fuck? 

 He's standing by the window, his forehead pressed to the glass and he's
talking to himself.

 "...how I spend my free time is no concern of yours..."

 Must be Dief he's talking to. 

 "He's my friend, Dad. My partner. You of all people should understand
that."

 He sounds really upset. Dad? Is my Dad here? Has he pissed Ben off? And
why is Ben calling him Dad? I can't see anyone else; maybe they're behind
me. If only I could turn my head...

 "Well, I'm not you, to your heartfelt disgust I'm sure," Fraser chuckles
darkly.

 "Frase?" I say, but it doesn't come out right. Sounds like "hays". What
is "hays"?

 Fraser spins from the window suddenly. His face is tracked with tears,
his eyelashes all clumped together. In shock, I try to lift a hand to him.


 What has my bastard of a Dad said to my friend to make him cry for
chrissakes? Father or not, I'm gonna pop him one. Where is he? 

 With effort I manage to lift my arm, but the sight of the IV lines all
taped over bruises in every shade you can imagine pulls me up kinda short.

 "Ray!" Fraser gulps and dives for a button on the wall beside my bed.

 Wait. 

 When did I get a button on my bedroom wall?

 "Don't move," he says urgently. Wish I could, buddy!

 Sinking down onto the bed beside me, he lifts his hand and brushes the
hair off my forehead. Feels weird, in a good way. Feels like no one has
touched me in weeks, and all my nerve endings seem to fire at his warmth
and the pressure of his fingertips and the slide of his skin. And I'm
crying, 'cause nothing has ever felt so wonderful.

 "Frase?" I croak. "What's going on?" But he frowns; he doesn't understand
me. His hand is still in my hair; his eyes are full of confusion. I try
again. 

 "Fraser?" But it comes out wrong. Have I got something in my mouth?

 I hear a door open and Frase snatches his hand away, quickly moving off
my bed.

 "No," I yelp, desperate for him to stay close. Fucking hell, Frase. I
can't speak, can't move properly and I have no idea where I am. This is
not a good time to go, buddy!

 A woman appears in my line of sight, where Frase was... a woman with a
uniform. And now I'm really scared and I cry even harder; the tears feel
cold on my hot face. Sudden warmth covers my other hand.

 "It's okay, Ray."

 "Hays...fff?"

 "I'm here." His face comes into view for a moment; he's smiling, his
tears are gone, but his eyelashes are still spiky. Then he squeezes my
hand and is still squeezing when he moves away again. 

 The... nurse?... is writing things, reading things. Touching my arm where
those tubes are in me. 

 "Hi," she says. "Can you tell me your name?"

 Yeah, it's like Fraser just said. It's... 

 I just stare at her. I can feel the tears making my pillow cold beneath
my cheek. I can hear 'phones ringing in another room somewhere. I can feel
Fraser's hand, tight and warm on mine. I can smell something that I can't
quite pin down as disinfectant. And I have no fucking idea what my name
is.

 "Hays? Wuh... ww... name?" Fraser will know.

 "He knows my name," Fraser says quietly. 

 I want to see the face that goes with a voice that soft - there's
something seriously crappy going on here.

 She doesn't answer him, which is just bad manners. "Do you know where you
are?"

 "Na... hays? Hays?" I'm trembling and my nose is running and I don't
think I've ever been this scared. 

 Someone else in a white coat comes into sight and takes the charts from
the nurse. 

 "Good Morning, Mr....?" the white coat asks cheerfully then mutters
something to the nurse who scurries off.

 "Hays?" I yell.

 "Just calm down, everything's fine. You will feel a little confused. It's
perfectly natural for head injury patients," the doctor says gently. 

 Head injury? Who has a head injury? Me?

 She's pretty and confident, and doesn't seem at all concerned that I'm
shaking apart here.

 "Mr Hays?" the doc asks, frowns and flips a page on her stupid fucking
chart.

 "Fraser, he's saying Fraser. That's my name," I hear my partner say. I
clutch at his hand, convulsively. This much I know, Fraser's here, so this
can't be as bad as it feels.

 "Ah," she says, looking across at Frase for the first time. "Well, that's
good. Very good."

 It is? Well fucking greatness! 'Cause where I'm laying, lady, it doesn't
look good at all.

 The nurse reappears at my side and fiddles with one of my tubes and I get
the weirdest sensation of something cold snaking up the inside of my arm.

 "What's that?" Frase asks sharply. 

 "Mild sedative, Mr. Fraser. It's very distressing waking up from a trauma
like this, so we will need to keep him calm for a few days until he can
stay awake for prolonged periods of time."

 And Fraser doesn't do it. He doesn't correct her. He doesn't say
'Constable Benton Fraser. Royal Canadian Mounted Police.'

 What about first coming to Chicago on the trail of his father's killers?
What about this juncture? What about the liaising? 

 As I slide back into la-la land that has me more scared than anything.

 ^^^

 Day One.

 This fucking sucks.

 ^^^

 March 26th

 The therapist assigned to Ray has suggested he keep a journal to record
his thoughts. As it seems to be his spoken language rather than his
written that is causing him the most distress, she thought this might help
him to express himself. She has told him that no one else will read it and
it is purely a tool to help him come to terms with his injuries. He didn't
seem very taken by the idea and I was quite glad she wasn't able to
understand him when he expressed his view on the scheme.

 He did write in his journal, after she left, but I fear his entry must
have been quite brief as it took him less than twenty seconds to complete.

 In a probably misguided sense of solidarity and support for my friend, I
have decided to keep a journal also. It was a strange comfort to me to
have my father's memoirs and tomorrow I will take some of his logs with me
to the institution where Ray is currently receiving treatment. Maybe
reading some of Dad's idiosyncratic ramblings will encourage Ray to commit
to paper what he feels unwilling to vocalise. Even to me. 

 I seem to have more success than most when it comes to understanding Ray.
I'm unsure whether this is due to the close nature of the relationship we
share or years of being able to understand Diefenbaker's often dreadfully
inappropriate utterances.

 I am glad that Ray has been moved from the hospital. The specialist unit
he is now in seems much better equipped for his needs. He continues to be
concerned by unknown people and the constant change of nursing shifts was
very wearing on him. Even though he would encounter the same healthcare
professionals on a daily basis, he seemed unable to recall having met them
before. I have been assured that this is normal and not necessarily
permanent. But it is distressing to watch Ray struggle in this way,
particularly as I can tell that he is aware of his affliction.

 The Scarfe Institute is very highly thought of in brain trauma
rehabilitation cases and I hope that their expertise can help Ray regain
what he has lost. He seems frustrated by the pace of his progress, but I
can see marked improvement already in his cognitive and behavioural
skills.

 And of course, Diefenbaker is now able to visit Ray, which gave them both
a great deal of pleasure today. Dief has missed Ray terribly and was
surprised at the change in our friend since he last saw him. I am very
hopeful that with spring just around the corner, we will be able to take
Ray out with us when he gets a little stronger.

 ^^^

 Day Two

 Today fucking sucks too.

 Day Three

 Dief brought me some of the cookies Frannie gave him today. They were in
a bag, free of wolf slobber, so I ate them. Frase brought me back my
bracelet; he had it round his wrist for safekeeping. I was wondering where
that'd gone. Cool. Apart from that today fucking sucks.

 ^^^

 March 30th 

 It has been six weeks since Ray's injury and I took the opportunity today
to remind him how far he has come since those first terrifying days. He
seemed content at my assurances, as he always does, but I know he will
need reminding of his progress again tomorrow and the day after that. 

 He weeps easily, which distresses him more than it does me, I'm sure. He
always did wear his emotions for all to see; his open nature was always
such a refreshing contrast to my own 'buttoned up' style, but now he has
little or no control over his outbursts, he seems pained by his inability
to dissemble.

 He still has no recollection of the incident and only the sketchiest
details of the three months leading up to it. He still has difficulty
retaining new information, and today his shortcomings in this area were
highlighted when he had one of his assessments with Dr. Duval. Due to my
working hours not corresponding with Dr. Duval's, this was the first time
I had not been present at one of Ray's evaluations. I received a telephone
call at the consulate to ask me to attend at my earliest convenience and
never has the last hour of my shift weighed as heavily.

 I must admit that I prevailed on Turnbull's generous offer to cover for
me so I might leave early and I made it across town in record time, Ray's
loan of the GTO paying back dividends.

 It was not, as I'd feared, that the assessment had uncovered further
damage, but Ray's behaviour that had prompted them to request my
attendance. He had become extremely distressed at his inability to
complete the set tasks; tasks he knew he should be able to perform easily.
He refused to continue the assessment and withdrew into himself, unwilling
to let anyone touch him, calm him or help him.

 When I arrived he was extremely pleased to see me and almost knocked me
off my feet with his enthusiastic behaviour. He insisted that we leave
immediately and began to collect his belongings to that end. It was
physically painful for me to have to deny him and when he began to cry, I
must admit that I too felt very close to tears.

 I was able to distract him shortly afterwards with news of the 27th
District and he was quite cheerful again by the time I left that evening.
I wish I could say the same. 

 I miss him. Every improvement he makes just encourages me to assume that
he will be returned to normal, which makes his next uncharacteristic
outburst even more painful to bear. I should be thankful that he has come
so far already. His evaluations show continuous progress and although the
neuropsychologists are unwilling to make long-term predictions, they are
willing to say that they are cautiously hopeful that Ray will be able to
live in a 'modified independent' manner upon his release.

 God, grant that it is soon. 

 As ridiculous as it sounds, I miss the feel of his bracelet on my wrist.
I have never been fond of adornments of that nature upon my person,
finding them distracting and frivolous. But I always found the sight of
his metal beads reassuring, slung low almost onto his hand; so very Ray -
unexpected and contradictory. And when I wore them, I even found their
weight comforting once I was used to it. But Ray was very pleased to have
his chain returned and that pleases me.

 ^^^

 Day Eleven

 Apart from Welsh visiting and Fraser spending the whole day with me,
today sucked. Dief was here too and we went walking in the gardens until
it got too cold. 

 I remembered Joanne's name today - she's the nice therapist.

 Someone, maybe Frase, brought me M & M's so my coffee tastes better.

 Day Thirteen

 Today sucked. I hate this. I really, really fucking hate it.

 I still can't say Fraser. Or Chicago. Or fucking Kowalski. Karmic
justice, eh? I can say Vecchio. I can sing all the words to 'Waterloo', no
problem. (Frase brought my CD player for me.) But I can't say my best
friend's name. And that sucks.

 Sometimes he looks at me when I say things, and I know I've said
something stupid, or hurtful or forgotten something important. It kind of
rips me up, but he always smiles and dismisses it.

 I hate the evening when he has to go home. I've read back all my entries
and I guess he has been here every day since I arrived. I wonder if he
came every day at the hospital too.

 ^^^

 April 9th 

 Ray's condition continues to improve. His gross motor skills are normal
and his fine motor skills are much better too. His speech Apraxia is
continuing to frustrate him, but I can see progress. Ray's short term
memory is still of some concern and consequently, he still feels
uncomfortable in the presence of others, myself excepted.

 His long-term memory appears to be mostly intact and resolving itself
into a coherent body that he can access at will. His concentration span -
although never his strongest point - is lengthening gradually and he seems
less easily confused. His reading and writing were never a big concern as
they seemed largely unaffected by the head trauma, but his mathematical
skills have suffered greatly.

 I have seen flashes of his former self. An occasional grin, one of his
endearing, if incomprehensible colloquialisms and his stubborn demeanour
remind me that this is still my partner and my friend. But that lightning
mind that leapt from subject to subject like a hyperactive child's has
been slowed. His responses are considered, his trademark sarcasm missing
and his spontaneity extinguished. I miss them, but I can appreciate the
new qualities he has gained from his ordeal too.

 His emotions still rule him although he is gaining some measure of
control over when and how he displays them. He is still unable to say
"Fraser", and it seems to distress him unduly. As is common with this form
of speech disorder, if he says my name in the context of a statement, he
has no difficulty at all. Today, when asked what his name was, by the
occupational therapist, he immediately responded, " You'd better ask
Fraser; he knows." But when asked what my name was directly, he was unable
to reply beyond his usual "Ffff...," or "Hays."

 After the therapist left, Ray seemed quite depressed, which is common
behaviour for him recently. When I asked him what was wrong, preparing to
tell him how well he had done, he asked, "Can I call you Ben?" I hope my
expression didn't display the pain his words caused. 

 Ben is what he called me when we were off duty and alone. It was a kind
of distinction we made between work and home, between our careers and our
personal life. It was something we had begun at Christmas when our
relationship had changed and deepened, and, given his posttraumatic memory
loss, something that has been erased from his knowledge. 

 Just one thing among many. 

 ^^^

 Day Twenty

 They say my behaviour could be inappropriate in social circumstances, due
to my impaired something. It's freaking me out. I've started to watch what
other people do when they greet each other. I notice that no one else hugs
when they meet, the way I hug Fraser. What does that mean? 

 I know I don't always answer when people talk to me; I can hear them, but
it's like they don't apply to me. I know Stella expects me to kiss her
when she comes to visit - or I think she does - but it doesn't feel right
for some reason, so I don't. But it does seem right to touch Ben. I asked
if I could call him Ben, and he said yes, although it seemed to make him a
bit sad, I think.

 Ben doesn't seem surprised when I hug him. And I'm always happy to see
him. Like he has no idea how happy. I know I'm a moody bastard, but never
at him. If he didn't show up, God, I don't know what I'd do.

 Day Twenty-Two

 Something weird happened today. The occupational therapy guy, Steven,
said something about my long-term plans, about me going home and having to
work out the care arrangements with my next-of-kin. Well of course, I told
him that I didn't need "care arrangements" and that if he thought I was
gonna have my mom and dad living with me, he was a small fries short of a
Happy Meal. He said that if I continued to improve, I wouldn't need full
time supervision. I said he didn't know my Mom. Then he said - and this
was the weird part - that I should discuss it with Benton Fraser and that
he would speak to Ben later about it. 

 Well, I kind of freaked out. As if Ben hasn't done enough bringing my
candy and looking after my turtle and apartment and all. Now he's expected
to talk my Mom into leaving me alone - or worse still, persuading Stella
to sign me out of here? So I got a little pointed with Steven.

 That's when he said that Benton Fraser, as my legally nominated
representative, would be making arrangements for my long-term care. Well,
that shut me up.

 ^^^

 April 16th 

 On my way to see Ray this evening, I was detained by Dr. Bean, who told
me that Ray had become confused during his therapy session today owing to
a conversation concerning his future plans. As it became apparent that Ray
had discovered that I have been making all his medical care arrangements,
I was deeply concerned that he would feel that I had been disguising the
nature of my involvement in his affairs.

 However, when I reached Ray's room, he didn't seem unduly concerned at
all. He greeted Dief, sharing some muffins that Mrs. Vecchio had baked for
him. Then he gave me his customary hug and we spoke about this and that.
We watched some sport on television and he seemed relaxed and content.

 As I was leaving though, he stopped me. "We're close, aren't we Ben?" he
asked. I told him that we were, yes.

 "Like really, really close. Like best fff..." I knew better than to
supply the word he was trying to articulate. Surprisingly, after
struggling with it for a few seconds, he sighed and spelled 'friends' out
in ASL. He grinned when he saw my shock. I had no idea he had been
learning sign language.

 I recovered and told him that we were indeed the best of friends. That
seemed to please him. "That exp... sns... eeex..." he signed 'explains'
slowly, "why you're my nee... nex..." His right hand flickered 'Next of
kin'. 

 He was watching me very closely as I nodded, not trusting myself to
speak.

 "Kay. That's good. Greatness," he beamed and hugged me hard once more. He
murmured 'thanks Ben' into my shoulder and I had to leave in a hurry, so I
didn't embarrass myself in front of him.

 April 20th 

 Ray would say I got my "ass chewed" this morning by Inspector Thatcher. I
could see she was uncomfortable having to define the ongoing nature of my
involvement in Ray's recovery. I am aware that my work of late has been
less than exemplary and that my time keeping has been sloppy at best. 

 I think she has sympathy with Ray's situation, but fails to totally
comprehend my commitment to his continued improvement. As my duties at the
twenty seventh precinct have dwindled to nothing without my partner and
the fact that I have moved into Ray's apartment while he is away have
improved her opinion of me, I think she considered that my dedication
would mean that I would spend more time attending to my consular duties.
Sadly, her dry-cleaning has been woefully neglected over the past few
months.

 I accepted her 'buck your ideas up' speech without comment and no doubt a
younger Benton Fraser would have redoubled his efforts to please his
commanding officer accordingly. 

 Instead, I thanked her for her advice and her patience, changed, and went
straight to see Ray. His shy smile and heartfelt hug of welcome are worth
more to me than any promotion, decoration or commendation. 

 After my experience with Victoria Metcalf, I never thought I would feel
that way again. I'd resigned myself finally to a life of service to my
country and a life without a mate.

 And no one was more surprised than me to realise that was what he had
become - my mate - even before we both admitted it. He called us a duet on
the first day we met, and he was totally correct. You can sing alone, but
the song means precious little without the harmony; without the
counterpoint. How much more beautiful is it when you sing together?

 He would laugh if he ever read this, my Ray. He used to tease me about my
poetic tendencies, but I didn't mind, because I'd already seen the way his
eyes flared when I told him of my love for him. And his hands and lips
were always a lot more eloquent than my best thought out words.

 ^^^

 Day Thirty

 Frase took me out in the GTO today. It was cool even though he drives
like my mother. They won't let me drive anymore and they won't say how
long until I can. Which sucks.

 So we went down to the lake he won't call Michigan and watched the boats
go by. Dief enjoyed chasing the gulls and bumming snacks off gullible
kids. Ben called him shameless, but seemed so glad to be out, he didn't
stop him. 

 And it was good to be out; I really needed the exercise. It's gonna take
a while to build up my stamina again and my bodyweight. I used to look
like a garden rake, now I look like a garden rake that has been sick and
only missed rake heaven by a prong - or something. 

 So we stopped off to buy hotdogs - well, I did - but, of course I did my
mentally impaired thing and couldn't make the fucking words come out
right. The guy was looking at me like I was a whack-job, all nervous and
twitchy, so that just makes me worse and I can feel myself beginning to
snivel. Then Ben came up beside me and ordered for me, and when the hotdog
guy looked relieved, Ben put his arm around me - which freaked the guy out
even more. That was kinda cool.

 But all I could think about was that Bruce Spender guy and how dependent
he was on his brother to protect him from the world and how weird he
seemed for all that he was a good guy. And by then I was crying so much, I
couldn't eat the dog anyway. 

 I got as far as "Do you remember," before Frase said, "You're not him.
This is totally different."

 So he was thinking it too. 

 And Kevin ended up trying to get Bruce killed. 

 Ben isn't my brother; it's not his responsibility to look after me. And
he's been here every day - every fucking day. 

 He shouldn't have to deal with this, but if he goes, I don't know what
the fuck I'll do.

 ^^^

 April 25th 

 Yesterday's trip was less than successful. Although Ray seemed happy to
be out, an incident with a street vendor upset him badly. I was so hoping
that he would be able to do this simple thing for himself, but as he
became more agitated it was plain to me that my assistance was desired. I
stepped in, and for good measure I gave Ray a hug, so he wasn't the only
one receiving curious looks from the man.

 As soon as I sat Ray down with his nitrate heavy snack, I knew what he
was thinking, and I interrupted him, just as I had been advised not to do
by his speech therapist.

 One of our first cases together was a man with an unusually meticulous
and ordered mind, Bruce Spender. He had a mild form of autism, which he
had learned to repress so he could function, more or less, in society. He
was easily frightened and vulnerable, but hugely intelligent, a
combination that his own brother had ruthlessly exploited to his own ends.


 I could see why Ray's mind would equate his own injury with Bruce's
lifelong condition. They are both easily overwhelmed, both nervous in
groups and both perceived as somewhat unusual by a society obsessed by
conformity. 

 But that is where the similarity ends. I have no intention of feeling
pity for Ray Kowalski, which is what finally stayed Kevin Spender's hand,
I'm sure. I have no obligation to care for Ray, no familial
responsibility. I do it for the simple reason that I love him. Even after
the subtleties of his condition have made his character change somewhat.
Even though I know that he will never fully return to the man I fell in
love with. Even when I know that he will always need some assistance to be
able to live independently. And even though he has no idea that we were
lovers for a brief seven weeks before his accident. 

 ^^^

 Day Thirty-two

 New levels of sucking, today.

 Fraser was late and I lost it. I thought he wasn't coming.

 I told him all the stuff that was scaring me, when he finally showed. I
told him about how I didn't know why he stuck around and why he didn't go
and find a life rather than coming here every day. I told him that I
thought it was guilt that made him come; guilt that I had been injured and
he hadn't. I told him that his guilt and his pity weren't needed here. 

 He stared at me like I'd hit him. Again.

 Then he told me the reason he was late, was that he'd been discussing the
possibility that I might be allowed to accompany him on a trip to visit
his sister in Canada in June.

 Then he gave me some M & M's, the CD's I'd asked for and he left.

 Dief stayed. He's sleeping on my bed with me. 

 I can't seem to stop crying.

 I suck.

 ^^^

 May 8th 

 The past days have been very trying for me. I have been lucky enough to
avoid being the target of Ray's aggression up to now. I've more often
played the role of consoler, when he'd lost his temper with someone else
and was dealing with the subsequent remorse and confusion.

 It has been documented by the care staff that Ray finds my presence
calming and reassuring, and that he appears to perform better in tests
when I am present. Although I would like to see more into this than is
apparent to the eye, I believe it is an issue of familiarity. He is still
uncomfortable with people he has met since his head trauma and I am given
to understand that this will likely be an ongoing symptom.

 So, since his outburst at me, his recovery has shown evidence of
regression. He is reverting to behaviours from last month, being
uncommunicative and sullen. His actions begin to lack purpose and become
more automatic. This is highly disturbing, but his neuropsychologist seems
to consider that Ray's recent slide into depression since our trip to the
lake is playing a significant role in his apparent decline.

 I have been visiting him every day as always, but his usual smiles and
affectionate touches have been pointedly absent.

 May 10th 

 Today we visited Ray's apartment together. He was very pleased to be in a
familiar environment and was quite his usual self again. He recalled
everything about his home without prompting and each of his successes
spurred him onto greater effort on his part.

 He obviously felt secure enough to raise the subject of my involvement in
his affairs again and it was with some trepidation that I agreed to
discuss it with him, deciding to only volunteer the information he asked
for and not more.

 Ray's inquiries took the form of further discussion of our working
relationship and asking me what had made us take the step of legally
naming each other as our next-of-kin. I was able to tell him, with all
honesty, that it had been his idea. We neither of us had anyone else close
enough to nominate unless it was Ray's parents or my sister. But as I have
known Ray longer than Maggie, I chose him. Ray asked why he hadn't left it
with Stella or returned it to his parents, and I hedged by telling him I
didn't feel qualified to answer. I got the impression he wasn't totally
convinced.

 I find it quite difficult to judge how far back along the path to being
Ray Kowalski he has come. Some of his actions are so much like I remember
that I'm certain it's only a matter of time before he tells me I'm a freak
and kisses me. And then at other times I am morbidly convinced that he has
come as close to my lover as he ever will.

 Of course, the more progress he makes and the more his new
characteristics become integrated into the new Ray Kowalski personality in
my mind, the harder it becomes for me to ignore him physically. While he
was recovering, it was not an issue. My overwhelming relief at his
survival and his erratic early behaviour served to put that aspect of our
relationship out of my head. But now he looks whole and beautiful, his
personality is regaining all those little things that I used to find so
irritatingly endearing, and I find my body reacting to him as it used to.

 The inappropriate nature of this is not lost on me. His loss of memory
covering the entire period of our relationship and the rather charged few
weeks leading up to it make the situation difficult. 

 I know that Ray had an attraction to me for some time before we became
aware of each other's feelings, indeed, he admitted that he thought I was
'hot' from the very first day he met me, but to assume that he still feels
that way now would be foolhardy in the extreme. Without the catalyst of
those few weeks leading up to our first kiss, can I assume that he would
have made the same choice in admitting his attraction? I don't think so.

 I have to wait for him to fall in love with me again. 

 Or not.

 Either way, it is my pleasure and a source of great comfort to me to be
able to help him in his recovery. And whether he turns to me again in
love, or not, I intend to be the one who cares for him, for just as long
as he will let me.

 ^^^

 Day 49

 Ben has drawn two red squares on the calendar in my room, because the
whole time/date thing is still a fucking nightmare for me. The first one
is in six days. That's when I am moving back home. Ben is going to stay
with me until I'm used to it, then a healthcare provider is going to be
assigned to come and check up on me every day, to make sure I haven't done
anything too freaky, and remembered to take my medication. It still amazes
me that I don't piss in rainbow colours, all the shit that they insist I
need each day.

 So the second square is when we're going to Canada. Never been there
except that one time in Toronto with Frase. We're going to Hay River in
the Northwest Territories to see Maggie. She's been there for seven months
now. I'm looking forward to it. Frase says he's gonna teach me to fish.

 Frase didn't put the other date on the calendar, the one that he's been
avoiding talking about. My case is going to be reviewed by the Police
Department - I've been on disability since the accident. Frase thinks I'm
not gonna be able to cope when they retire me, but I'm brain injured - not
stupid. I know how this works. I wasn't much of an asset before, but now,
unless scrawny, emotionally unbalanced, speech impaired Polacks are
suddenly in demand, I'm pensioned off at the age of thirty-eight.

 That sucks.

 Day 51

 So, in preparation for my release, I have been having counselling for the
kinds of situations I am likely to have difficulty with once I am back in
the real world again. One of the things they mentioned was my libido.
Can't tell you how thrilled I was to have to discuss that with a
sixty-year-old female doctor. And she looked like my mother.

 Anyway, the skinny was that in some patients the libido is depressed
long-term - like forever - and in some patients the opposite problem
occurs and they have to deal with feeling horny all the time - even in
inappropriate situations. 

 Now what their idea of inappropriate is, I don't know, but I can tell you
that I'm not going to be in that first category, for sure. I don't know
about the second, I don't think I'm constantly thinking about it; it's
just when Frase is around - and that might well be inappropriate, but it
sure as fuck isn't new. 

 The guy is hotness - the only way you wouldn't notice that would be if
you were dead - and maybe not even then. In fact the only person who
doesn't know it is Frase. Fucking oblivious Mountie - got half the
precinct throwing themselves at him and he doesn't even blink an eye.

 I don't want to freak him out; he's put up with enough of my shit
already. But if he is going to move in with me until I'm "independent",
then I'm going to have to be really, really careful about keeping my
thoughts and my dick to myself.

 ^^^

 May 20th

 Ray left the Scarfe Institute today. He seems relieved to be out which
pleases me as I had concerns that he might feel anxiety at leaving their
full-time care. On the contrary, he is happy and chatty and already
bemoaning the fact that he has to return there for ongoing therapy twice a
week.

 On his insistence, I have moved my cot from the consulate and it now
takes up the corner of Ray's living room. I was thoroughly prepared to
sleep in my bedroll, to save space, but Ray said it would make him feel
even worse about me having to "nursemaid" him.

 Although one of the areas they covered in his assessments was Ray's
ability to successfully plan for the future, he hasn't yet brought up any
long-term ideas as to his direction or indeed my continued presence in his
apartment. I have decided to wait for him to raise the issues, unless they
become more pressing. I tell myself that this is to give him the space and
time he needs to consider his options. In my heart, I know it's because
I'm afraid he will send me away. 

 As to my own long-term plans, I have none. The ones I had made at the
beginning of the year are like echoes from someone else's life now. Ray
and I had started to cautiously suggest some changes to our lives now we
had embarked on a relationship. 

 I had pondered a two bedroom apartment in Chicago and a convenient cover
story while my impetuous lover had leapt in with both feet, suggesting we
move north and try to find me a posting close to my old home. Although my
heart had leapt at his commitment to me, however premature I felt it might
be I had counselled that we wait before making a decision like that. Ray's
job was important to him, and although Chicago had never been a place I
loved, it felt suddenly a whole lot more like home since I was sharing it
with him.

 Now, he'll have no job by the end of next week and my own career at the
consulate will become ever more unendurable without my work with Ray to
engage me. It was only ever helping the Chicago PD that made my exile here
bearable; well, that, and the friendship of my partners.

 Ray's parents must be a consideration, even though they only ever intend
to be in Chicago for five months a year. Their nomadic lifestyle could
cause a problem if they were to become Ray's primary point of contact. And
of course, Ray has friends in Chicago. As it is still a problem for Ray to
bring himself to trust new people, it will be important for him to be in
an environment that makes him comfortable.

 I will be content with my consular duties and being with Ray, if he'll
let me, but perhaps, he might be persuaded to visit Canada with me from
time to time, when funds and leave will allow. The alternatives are
unthinkable.

 I find myself thinking in circles - so much depends on him. 

 ^^^

 The door finally closes behind Frase and Dief, and I'm somewhere between
relief and utter panic. 

 For three days he's been here twenty-four hours a day. I don't know how
he stands it... stands me! 

 Mom has been round twice already and I can tell you that having Frase
here is a godsend. He's already thought of everything of course, so Mom
has no excuse to fuss me. 

 I hate it when people fuss me. 

 It has made things a little sticky between the two of them. Frase seems
to tense up whenever my parents are around, and they are equally prickly
with him. It makes me wonder what I've missed 'cause my Mom used to love
Frase, always asking after him and pleased to see him. At the Institute
they told me that I'd have trouble with "non-verbal communication skills"
- that's body language to you and me - but this stuff is coming through
loud and clear. They've had words about something, I'm sure of it.

 So, here I am. Home. Alone. Feels weird. But in a good way. I have a
shower, make some coffee, talk to the turtle and within an hour I'm bored.
I should have asked Dief to stay; we could have gone walking. Frase has
been helping me build up my stamina again; we've been hiking a few times
and we're walking the wolf further each day. My sparring days are over,
but maybe I can persuade Fraser to come to the Gym with me one day. It
would be good to see the boys; and a few weights and a heavy bag can't
hurt me.

 I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and stop to look more closely;
something I've been avoiding up to now. All the bruising is long gone, but
I still look pale. My hair is a mess. There are short patches where they
shaved my head, but the rest of it is really long. They had a hack at it
in the Scarfe, but it's just not right. I grab a comb and some gel, and
try to make it look like it's meant to look like this, but it's hopeless.
And then I know how I'm gonna spend the rest of the morning.

 I grab my jacket, my keys and my wallet then go to the door. I pause and
think, like they taught me, forward planning and all that crap. I go back
and check the kettle is off, then I'm out into the Chicago spring sunshine
and I'm feeling fine. This is just what I need; if I look more like
myself, maybe I'll feel more like myself.

 There's this little place, about six blocks away where I get my hair cut.
The old guy in there, he doesn't look like he's it, but give the man some
clippers and he'll go to work. It's like art, you know?

 The bell tings over my head as I push through the door and I'm
overwhelmed by the smell of coffee, shampoo and cigarettes.

 "Ray!" Louis calls with a genuine smile, "Be with you in five."

 So I nod, sit down and pick up the sports section. I'm good. I'm doing
this. This is me, getting some life back.

 When I sit down in the chair, I'm quite calm, doing my breathing thing
that Frase taught me. 

 "Jeez, Ray! Where you been, man? What happened to the hair?" Louis is
laughing and ruffling my mop of hair. He looks like everyone's favourite
uncle; well padded, pink-cheeked and jolly.

 "Eee....hee..." I breathe again, thinking of Fraser's soothing voice
telling me not to push it when a word doesn't want to come.
"Eee...experiment," I finally get out. Louis' eyes catch mine in the
mirror and I can see what he's thinking. I look away, at my own reflection
but that's no better. I'm thin, pale and my eyes look kinda sunken with
purple shadows underneath. I'm only fooling myself if I think a haircut is
gonna make a difference. I look like a sick person or a drug addict. I see
what Louis sees and I can't blame him for the questions in his gaze.

 He blinks. "So, what are we doing here?" he asks, his voice a little less
loud and a little more sympathetic. 

 I don't think I can talk right now, so I show him an inch and a half with
finger and thumb.

 "You want the sides short again?"

 I nod and avoid his eyes for the rest of the time I'm in the chair. He
does a good job - it's short, it's tidy and he rubs some wax through it to
make it look kinda funky. So I smile, and I do look better, I'm pleased to
notice.

 Of course I'd forgotten the money thing and I can feel myself beginning
to freak when I realise I have to pay the man. Louis tells me how much and
my head starts to swim. I dig in my wallet to buy myself some time. Is a
twenty more or less than what he said? Fuck. Shit. I try counting up from
twenty, but now I've forgotten what he said it would cost. I fumble with
the bills, pulling them out and putting them away again, trying hard not
to blow this.

 Finally I give up, pull out five bills and show them to Louis. "C... c...
can you take the right one?" I ask him. And he's a good man, he doesn't
stare, he doesn't say a word, just takes one of the bills and rattles some
change out of his cash box. I shake my head when he offers it to me.
"Thanks, Louis," I say quietly.

 "Any time, Ray." Then he raises his voice again as I turn to leave. "Hey,
you come back when you get fed up with going grey, okay? I got some of
that orange you used to like so much." He's grinning from ear to ear,
teasing me and I'm... I'm flying. 

 I did it. 

 I actually did it. 

 I point at Louis with two hands and give him a wink, then walk back out
onto the windy sidewalk and head for home. The boy is back - battered,
worse for wear, but still most definitely in the game.

 And I'm feeling fine, riding the wave all the way until I realise I'm
lost. I mean not lost, lost, but just kind of turned around or something.
I even know where I am; I've lived in Chicago all my life, so I know damn
well that this is West Cullerton, and I know my address, but getting
between the two suddenly seems totally impossible. I cannot fucking think
of what I have to do to get from here to there. 

 I can feel myself starting to panic, so I keep moving thinking the next
turn will make sense and I'll know which way to go. So I make random lefts
and rights and nothing is making it any better. My heart is pounding and
I've got my hands stuffed in my pockets so they can't shake. I'm trying so
hard to hold it together; I almost get knocked down by a taxi as I cross
the street. Now I have no idea where I am at all, not even a street name.

 I should ask someone, I know I should. But I also know that I'll do the
whole brain damage thing on them too, and start stuttering and crying. So
I sit down by the kerb, close my eyes and try to remember what Fraser said
about not getting in a panic. I've got my head on my forearms and I must
look like a total freak, sitting in the gutter and fighting to hold back
the tears. 

 The sidewalk is cold on my ass and I have no idea how long I've been
sitting here, but my back aches like a bastard. I've stopped crying at
least, when I hear Fraser.

 "Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray," he's saying quietly. I look up, thinking I've
really lost it now but there he is, still in his dress uniform and looking
seriously weirded-out. I've never seen anything so fucking wonderful. The
wolf obviously thinks so too and I get a face full of Dief kisses. Like an
idiot I leap up and throw my arms around Fraser and start crying all over
again, hating myself for it, but unable to stop. 

 His arms come round me - in the middle of a city street, in broad
daylight - he's hugging me so hard, I can feel my bones creaking. He
lowers me back to the kerb and sits down beside me, never taking his arm
from my shoulders.

 He looks at me very seriously and I think I'm in for the mother of all
ass-kickings. "I like the hair, Ray," he says softly and suddenly I'm
laughing like a lunatic.

 Only God knows what we must look like. Well, he looks like a fire hydrant
obviously, but sitting there in all his redness and Canadian-ness and me
in all my snot-nosed teary-eyed state, but with extremely sharp hair, it's
a wonder we don't get picked up by the cops.

 He squeezes me one more time, and then lets me go. Dief takes over,
seemingly intent on making sure I'm all in one piece, or frisking me for
hidden food, I'm never sure which. 

 "Huh...Huh...h." Fuck it. I spell out H-O-W.

 "Ah, well. When you didn't answer the telephone for so long, I came home
to check on you. I found your hair gel and comb in front of the mirror in
the living room and guessed you'd gone to see Louis." 

 I have no idea how he knows about Louis, but that can wait.

 "He told me you'd been in and you'd left at about 10.45 and he was kind
enough to provide Diefenbaker with this." He pulls out a little tub of the
wax Louis used on my hair. I'll be damned. The wolf can track me in
downtown Chicago because my hair smells of coconut?

 Fraser smiles at me again. He looks calm now; I guess I must have given
him a bit of a run-around.

 "Are you okay?" he asks simply.

 God, I love this guy. I mean I love this guy. There's no drama, no
accusation in his voice, no asking me what the fuck I thought I was doing.
Nothing. Just quiet reassurance.

 "'m fine, Ben. I just g... g... got...turned around I guess. I know where
I need to be, I know where I am, buh... buh... buuuut I just couldn't put
the two together."

 He nods and takes a deep breath before standing up and brushing down his
ridiculous pants. Then he reaches down and offers me a hand, which I take.
When we're eye to eye, he fishes in a pocket and hands me my cell phone
with a small smile and a raised eyebrow. Ah, shit.

 Of course it seems painfully obvious to me where I went wrong on the walk
back to the car. I feel like a total prick when I realise that I've been
walking in circles all morning.

 Frase drives me home and instead of going back to work, he calls in and
asks to be excused for the rest of the day.

 "You don't have to do that. I'm ff....okay," I tell him when he puts down
the phone.

 "Ray, as you yourself have pointed out, I have several years worth of
sick days. Besides, I'm sure that there's nothing Inspector Thatcher can
give me that can't wait for a while...or probably longer."

 Yeah, that's gotta suck. Not only has he got a head-case ex-partner to
worry about, but also he doesn't get to leap off buildings or jump on cars
or lick stuff or do any of the things he used to love anymore. Just a
lackey to the Ice Queen these days - that's gotta be tough.

 "You should call W..ish. Weee...wish. Fuck." I spell out Welsh, even
though I know Frase has got it. "He'd have you back in a shot. I'm sure
there's someone else you could par... pat...argh!" P-A-R-T-N-E-R.

 "He called me actually, Ray. And he did indeed offer me a continuance of
my duties at the twenty-seventh precinct. But I think for now at least,
I'll confine myself to the consulate."

 He's not saying it, but I know he's thinking it's because his duties
there are easy to drop if he needs to come running because I've fucked up
again. And the guilt is back. He shouldn't have to put his life on hold
for me; it's not fair on him. I'm not saying I wouldn't do the same if it
were him who needed the help. I'd be there in a heartbeat, but that's
because I kind of have this whole 'in love' thing going on about him. Have
done for the longest time. But that's just me.

 "Look, when we come back from Canada, we'll get the pull... people at
Mental Health to get the nurse in and you can get your l... life back,
Ben." 

 "Ray, it's no hardship for me to be here," he says, watching me intently.
"I enjoy your company."

 "Me too, buddy. B... bah... but we'd both be lying if we said this was
gonna be a short-term gig. Look at what happened today. Just getting a
fucking haircut! We're good ends... fan... " F-R-I-E-N-D-S "...Frase, but
you don't owe me that."

 He looks so miserable; I think back over what I said. What did I say?

 He closes his eyes briefly and takes a quick deep breath. "I'll leave it
up to you, Ray. You decide when you're ready and I'll... I'll go."

 "After Canada," I say immediately. Because if I stop now - if I put it
off again, it will be another three months of his life wasted on me. I
know he has guilt, I'm pretty much certain that's why he's done all that
he's done for me; that I got blown up and brain injured and all he got was
a dislocated shoulder and a concussion. I still can't quite believe that.
Who gets blown up by a hand grenade in downtown Chicago? Fucking nuts!

 "Right you are, Ray," he says, and he smiles the most brittle smile I've
ever seen. It doesn't reach his eyes, which hold mine for just a shade
longer than they should, as if he's trying to tell me something. Feels
like a punch in the gut. "Do you mind if I have a shower?"

 I shrug and he's gone.

 It's for his own good, but I still feel like a bastard. If I let him,
he'd stay forever, making sure I was okay, managing all the fucking stupid
things I can't do myself anymore; telling me the time, reminding me to eat
meals, paying for stuff with cash, keeping me calm when new people want to
talk to me, translating for me. I could go on. It's not a short list;
let's be realistic here - I'm hard work. But I can't let him do that - not
for guilt. 

 Once I'm off his hands, he can apply for a transfer. I know he hates it
here, he's never settled here. What kind of commitment does it show when
you live in your office? He hates Chicago. With Vecchio gone and me out of
the picture, the twenty-seventh won't keep him here.

 I hear the shower come on. I'm safe for a minute, which is good, because
here come the tears. Again.

 ^^^

 May 28th

 Today was Ray's hearing. Given the number of people present, it was all
over quickly, thankfully. Lieutenant Welsh gave evidence, as did I on the
kind of officer Ray was, and the whole thing was pretty much a formality.
Ray had been injured in the line of duty through no fault of his own so
there were no reasons why he shouldn't be retired with full benefits and
compensated for his injury. 

 The issues of Ray's undercover status, although not discussed in this
meeting, are being addressed. I can only imagine Ray Vecchio's face when
he returns from his assignment to find that's he's been retired.

 Stella was there, presumably making sure that Ray's lawyer was getting
him the best deal. Once again Ray was strangely ambivalent to her presence
in stark contrast to when I first knew him. If she were so much as in the
same building as him, he used to behave irrationally, displaying symptoms
of anxiety and was so eager to please her, that it used to make me
uncomfortable to watch.

 He seemed philosophical about the end of his career, as he has throughout
his convalescence. I tried to ask him how he felt about it in my inept way
on the drive back home. 

 "What's to feel, Ben?" he asked me. "You told me what happened - it was
the only way it could have gone. We're lucky to be alive at all."

 His bravery astounds me and I'm ashamed of myself for thinking that he
would be somehow less without his badge. Ray Kowalski has such life inside
him, such drive and he will apply it to whatever he does going forward. 

 ^^^

 It's about ummm... 10 pm, I think. I went to bed early because today was
kinda a lot to take in. We had the police hearing thingy and there were a
lot of people there; union reps., lawyers, medical specialists - lots of
people I don't know, basically. And that always sucks these days.

 Frase has been watching me like I was made of glass all week, expecting
me to shatter or something, and I guess he has a point. Being a cop is all
I know how to do, so what does that make me now? So, yeah, I can see why
he's concerned, but it still pisses me off, even though he's doing it ever
so covertly. 

 He's a low-key kind of guy anyway, so it's not like he's toned down his
behaviour or anything, but when I've gotten angry about stuff this week,
he's been less matter-of-fact and more... what's the word? Conciliatory?
You know, like he doesn't want to argue back. And sometimes I need him to
argue back, like he used to. 'Cause I'm still me - bit broken - but still
good. 

 He's the only one who has never looked at me with pity in his eyes. He's
the only one who believes I'm still here, not someone who looks like me,
but who's somehow not anymore. He's balance and normality and stability.
Even when I cry and get angry and sound like a crazy person with this
fucking speech thing. Even when I can't remember a sequence of digits,
like a 'phone number. Even when I freak out 'cause there're too many
people. Even when I'm as unreasonable as all fuck. He treats me just the
same as he ever did. 

 And without that I would have given up at the start.

 I'm not sleepy. You can get away with shit like going to bed while it's
still light when you're brain damaged - one of the perks; no one thinks
you're behaving badly. I just went to bed because I can't find a way to
make things right between us. Ever since we discussed the home care-worker
taking over from him, he's been quiet. 

 I want to find a way to make him see that it's good for him - that he's
off the hook now - that he's done his bit, paid his debt and all the other
fucking stupid notions of duty to me that he has in his thick head. But
how do I say that? One, I don't have the right words to do that tactfully
and two, two sentences is about all I can manage without stuttering; a
speech by me might take up the rest of the night.

 Finally I give in and get up. Thinking about it isn't helping. Frase is
still reading by the stupid dim light of the table lamp. I slump down
beside him on the couch and scritch Dief's ears. Wish I'd put a sweatshirt
on; Frase has got the window propped open again. I pull the blanket off
the back of the couch and wrap myself in it.

 Ben smiles and carries on reading. 

 "Hey, Wolf," I murmur, "You being good? Not eating Raphael or nothin'?"
It's not my best icebreaker, but I know it'll get a reaction.

 "Ray, I promise you, your turtle is in no danger. Your refrigerator,
maybe, but animals of the order Testudines do not figure highly on
Diefenbaker's list of snack options. Too crunchy. Not enough MSG."

 The wolf humphs and slopes off in a snit.

 "Ben," I ask before he can disappear back into his book again. "Could you
tell me about the aaah... aaa... accident again?"

 And there it is; the straight back, the carefully neutral expression and
the 'step away from the Mountie' aura. When is he gonna get over this?

 He takes a breath, like he's about to report to the Ice-Queen or
something, so I quickly think of something to burst that 'Constable
Fraser' bubble. I sneak a hand out from under my blanket and grab the hand
he has resting on his thigh.

 His eyes drop to where I've threaded my fingers through his and he looks
kinda stunned. I'm pretty stunned myself. I'm not sure, but I don't think
this is buddies. His eyes meet mine and they're wary. I could play the
"head injury" card again and pretend I don't realise what I've just done,
but I'm thinking he probably knows me too well for me to be able to pull
it off. So I squeeze his hand quickly, just once.

 "They left the warehouse just after three pm, we followed. They drove to
the McCormick Place Convention Center and entered the underground parking
facility. You called in for backup. We followed them down on foot. Their
buyers were waiting in a black Ford Explorer, three men dressed casually."

 His voice is measured, kinda hypnotic. I've heard this before - I can see
it in my head, like a scene from a TV show. Like I'm watching it from
somewhere safe and far away from the soon to be related fuck up.

 "When the transaction was completed, we were still awaiting the arrival
of our backup. We were concerned that if they were able to return to their
vehicles, we would lose them, so we identified ourselves to them and asked
that they surrender. They opened fire on us and we took cover. They
entered the service access door..."

 This is all rehearsed. These are exactly the same words he has told me
every time I've asked. It's bullshit, it's not real; it's like the
scripted version of the end of my career and nearly my life. I have no
idea what it felt like, what it smelled like, if I was scared, if I was
mouthing off.

 "What were you ring... wuh... w... wearing?"

 He falls silent, his mouth still working until he regains control and
snaps it shut. He looks down to where our hands are still twined together,
so tightly my fingers are beginning to tingle.

 He starts to talk, stumbles, and then clears his throat. "I was wearing
a...uh...well, I was wearing jeans and a... a grey check flannel shirt..."

 I've thrown him. I've derailed his little story. Interesting.

 "So, they run through the door. You fff... follow them. What do I do?"

 "You called into control and told them the suspects were moving and where
they could find us."

 "What did I say?"

 "You said... you said, 'Wait, Fraser. Backup's on the way'."

 "And then w.. ww.. ?"

 "Well, then I followed them through the door." His cheeks darken and his
hand is completely still in mine. I think I see our problem.

 "Okay, so they run down into the vis... ser... service tunnels. I went
fff... ff...?" Fuck. F-I-R-S-T.

 "Th... that's right. You grabbed my arm, re-loaded and we followed."

 I wait for him and after a minute, he picks up his story again. His voice
is expressionless now. He's just trying to get to the end. He puts down
his book and rubs a thumb across his eyebrow. Poor Ben.

 "We cornered them, they were caught at the door which led to the
ventilation control room, it was steel, and they were unable to get
through. You looked around the corner, they shot at you. We heard the
sound of our backup entering behind us and spreading out. They threw the
grenade and..."

 "Where were you?" He's been expecting me to interrupt, I can see it in
the way his eyes close and his jaw tightens.

 "I was beside you Ray, against the wall."

 "And the grenade..?"

 "Landed at our feet."

 "Was I sss...ssss... ad... ss...?" S-C-A-R-E-D.

 "I don't know."

 "Did I look sss...?"

 "I don't remember." 

 He does.

 "Www.... Wh...." W-H-A-T "...was I wearing?"

 "Fawn jeans, black boots, white t-shirt, black sweater and your leather
jacket," he replies instantly. Right, he noticed all that, but he didn't
notice if I was scared? Bullshit.

 We didn't wait for backup. He must have done his gung-ho, can-do Mountie
thing and I must have trailed my lame ass after him. And now he thinks
it's his fault I'm only eating with one chopstick.

 "Ray..."

 "S'not your fault," I cut him off.

 "Ray..." he says, so quietly. He bows his head down to his chest.

 "So I kicked it and we ran a... aaannn..."

 "The blast blew us against the end wall."

 "Was I awake?"

 "Briefly. You were sliding in and out of consciousness. I was trying to
stop the bleeding without moving you too much. Head wounds always... there
was a lot of blood... so much, and I couldn't..." He clears his throat
again. "I asked you to stay with me."

 W-H-A-T D-I-D I S-A-Y?

 "You said... you... said 'Always'."

 His face has gone so pale and I can feel his hand trembling in mine,
clinging on still.

 There's a cool splash on the back of my hand and I look down in surprise.
It's a tear, and for once it's not mine. Ben is weeping silently; only the
slight tremor and the wetness on my skin give him away. Should have known
he was the strong, silent type.

 "S'not your fault," I tell him again, pouring as much conviction as I can
into this simple sentence.

 "If we'd waited..." he grinds out.

 "Then maybe other people would have been hurt. L... lllaaa... lots of
other people."

 He's shaking his head. He's been carrying all this unjustified guilt
around since February, thinking it was his fault I was hurt and that's why
he's been here every day since then. 

 I don't need that. I don't want it.

 "Enough." I'm talking low, but he jerks at the harshness of my voice
nonetheless. "No more, Ben. We're buddies. Buddies don't do this. It was
n... not your fault I was hurt. You do not o... oww..." O-W-E "... me. It
makes me feel s... s... ick that you have been beating yourself up
ov...ohhh..." O-V-E-R " ...this. I don't need you to be here because you
fff... feel g... guh..." G-U-I-L-T.

 "That's not why I'm here," he says and his words are stronger now. "I'm
here because this is where I want to be."

 "But for what re...rrea..." R-E-A-S-O-N.

 "You're my best friend, Ray."

 How can he say that without it sounding lame? How does he do that? If I'd
said that I would have sounded... well, more brain injured.

 "You think I don't know that?" I squeeze his hand. "I get it, Ffff...
hays. I get that. And now you've done all a best friend sh... shu...should
and you're going into the realms of psycho obsessive guilt tripping. Do
not go there, Ffff... fff...hays. Do n... nn... not make me kick your
ass."

 He nods and with my view of his profile, I can see the corners of his
mouth curl up a tiny bit. The old Kowalski charm is still working. I
decide to push my luck to see if I can get a full-blown smile.

 "People are gonna start talking about us," I grin. "Geez, no wonder my
Mom and Dad are pissed. They probably think we're g...gg..."

 "I need to take Diefenbaker out," Ben barks. And he's gone. Again. My
hand lays where he dropped it in his hurry to get away from me. I'm so
stunned by his abrupt mood change, I can't find anything to say to stop
him when seconds later, he's got his boots, jacket and hat on and is
closing the front door behind him.

 Stupidly, I curl my fingers shut to retain the warmth of his hand.

 ^^^

 It's dark and quiet in the apartment. Can't sleep. I feel all prickly and
restless like it's one of those August city nights, where you sweat and
sweat, and would sell your soul for a breeze. But it's not; it's still May
or March or something. It's still cool at night, whatever. 

 I was thinking about Ben and how much he keeps to himself. He wouldn't
talk to me next morning, when I asked him about leaving like that. I guess
he and my parents really have fallen out about something. I wish he'd tell
me. I'm not good for much, but listening is one thing I can do. Of course,
if he wants me to remember it all, that's another matter. It's probably
some kind of 'honour thy parents' thing that being Canadian demands that
keeps him so tight-lipped.

 I'm trying to lull my mind into a quiet place, so I can catch some sleep,
but it's not playing ball. It's like my body knows that Fraser is just on
the other side of that wall and it is teasing my brain with crazy images
of the two of us; images that are sweaty and dirty and impossible. The
ghost memory of sensations I've never felt dance on my nerve endings
making me shiver and ache.

 His tongue has never touched me in the places I'm dreaming of, but I know
what it would feel like if it had. Warm and slightly rough, hot, slick and
so incredibly good I know I could come just from that. How could I
possibly know that the calluses on his hands scrape in a way that makes me
jerk when he strokes me with them? And I couldn't know that when he's
about to come, he growls so low in his chest that I can feel it rumble
through my spine and set up a resonant echo in my whole body. 

 I rock against my mattress pathetically, my dick so rigid and throbbing,
I can feel my pulse thump through it. Oh God, and it's not enough, the
sheets are too smooth, too forgiving, I need ...

 I roll onto my back, careful to be quiet. Fraser sleeps so lightly and
now would be a really bad time for him to stick his head around the door
to ask if I wanted some water or something. At that thought my traitorous
dick swells further still, so I can add exhibitionism to the things I
didn't know about myself.

 I swallow the groan that rises from my toes as I slip a hand beneath my
shorts and close my cool fingers around my burning cock. God, that feels
good. I stretch out and get comfy, knowing that this won't take too long. 

 When I close my eyes, Ben is there again, waiting for me. And they're his
hands on me; his wide fingers stroking just right and twisting beneath the
crown in that way that makes me whimper. Shit! I can't whimper right now
without waking him. My head spills visions of Ben marking me, so vivid, I
can feel the sting on my collarbone and the soothing lap of his tongue,
then he blows a cool breath over the spot, making the skin around it rise
into goose bumps.

 His mouth traces lower, licking the contour of my bottom rib, the swirl
of the fine hairs around my navel and the creases that run from hip to
groin. He murmurs his appreciation of my taste, my smoothness, my beauty
as he works his way, so breathtakingly slowly to my dick.

 My world shrinks to that one sensation as I feel his lips kiss the
moisture from the tip, then open to slide down my shaft in a long,
dragging glide. My toes curl, my spine arcs and I come in hard, wrenching
pulses, spattering my belly and chest with scalding strings. My ears are
ringing and I have no idea if I cried out. As I ride out the aftershocks,
I'm half expecting Ben's voice, asking me if I'm alright, but it seems I
was quiet enough. 

 I bask for a while, relishing the bone-deep weariness that moulds me to
my mattress. First a quick trip to the bathroom to clean myself up, then I
know that I'll be able to sleep. I slide, loose and lazy, from my bed and
pause in the doorway. 

 Dief is out cold in the couch and I can see the shape of my best buddy
and jerk-off fantasy spread out on his tiny cot. In the dim glow from the
streetlights outside, his hair and eyelashes show up as shadows against
his pale skin. His lips are slightly parted and his breathing deep and
even. I start to move away before my affectionate thoughts become
something more perverse, when a slight movement from him catches my eye. A
twitch from beneath his covers, then another resolves itself into a
rhythmic pattern of movement. Considering that I've just been doing the
same thing, it takes me longer than it should to figure out what he's
doing. And that's because this is Fraser we're talking about.

 Fraser.

 I just stand there like a dumbass for a few moments trying to take in the
fact that this is Fraser doing something so... so... human. I mean it
hasn't escaped my attention that he's a guy; I get that. But I always
thought... that is, I imagined that... I just assumed that sex was
something almost theoretical to Fraser.

 I know there was that woman he had the hots for that made Vecchio shoot
him, but that wasn't on my watch. I never got to see what Fraser in heat
looks like - and I haven't seen any evidence of it first hand - and I've
been watching very closely. The guy can't flirt and if he does manage to
say something to a woman that could possibly be taken as vaguely
interested, he then retreats to a safe distance to blush... sometimes for
days.

 So Fraser, jacking himself, so quiet and controlled like that - well, it
kinda short circuits my brain a bit. I step back into my room and think.
Nah. He's gotta be scratching or practicing semaphore or something.
Cautiously I peer around the door again. Ben has rolled his head to the
side, bottom lip tight between his teeth, and his eyes are squeezed shut.
If that's semaphore he's doing, he's concentrating really, really hard.

 His even breathing is beginning to get a little ragged and I know I
should be giving the guy some space, but as my eyes adjust to the darkness
of his corner of the room, I can see how incredible he looks. His hair is
everywhere, curling onto his forehead and around his ears in damp waves
and his head rocks a little with each stroke 'cause he's so lost in this.

 God, I wish he'd cry out or groan or something. I want to hear him. I
want to see him let go. I want to know this Fraser - at his most basic and
honest level, 'cause seeing him like this makes me wonder how much more he
keeps locked away in there. Like he's been holding out on me for the past
couple of years. He seems more real and approachable to me now than ever
before and that's just sad.

 I go back to my bed quietly and wipe my stomach and chest with my
discarded t-shirt. I can wait for that trip to the bathroom. 

 I doubt he'd make a sound when he came, but I try not to listen for it
anyway as I settle down and wait for sleep to come. 

 I think it might take a while. 

 ^^^

 June 2nd.

 I'm taking this opportunity to update my journal in an effort to calm my
nerves and pass the time while Ray sleeps. The drone of an airplane is
something that often lulls me to sleep too, but I want to stay alert in
case Ray should wake and become disoriented. This is a small space with a
lot of unknown people and he has difficulty with that.

 Every action that has got us this far has been like salt in an open
wound. Just five months ago Ray and I made this exact same journey under
different circumstances. Then we were full of expectations and barely
suppressed desire. It was at Maggie's cabin that Ray and I finally had the
conversation that we had been building towards for a few weeks - or since
he first took Ray Vecchio's place would be a more accurate description.

 The catalyst had been a hostage situation. To Ray's disgust, I had been
the hostage. The man in question had been quite obviously psychotic and my
usual logical discourse hadn't appeared to be to his liking. As it had
become apparent that the man's wildly optimistic requests would not be
met, I had tried to formulate some sort of plan to effect an escape,
hindered it must be said by my captor's vigilance and his knowledge of
knots. I'd been secured very successfully to a radiator.

 The deadline had passed and the malfeasant had demanded the delivery of
his ransom. When Ray had walked through the door with his hands on his
head, I could have sworn. He'd passed a bag to the hostage-taker, looked
me over once, long and hard, then carefully chosen his moment. 

 The man had never known what hit him. So he hadn't been a hardened
gunman, but his unstable mental state had made him equally as dangerous -
if not more so due to the unpredictability of his actions. Ray had known
this and had wasted no time with discussion, but had run at him when his
attention was distracted by the contents of the bag. 

 I later learned that the bag had contained no more than Ray's gym
clothing, assorted fast food packaging and a rubber duck. Obviously the
perpetrator had been taken aback by this collection of unlikely items and
Ray had seized his advantage and knocked the man to the ground, disarming
and cuffing him quickly and efficiently.

 However instead of radioing his success immediately, in line with
procedure, he had crawled across the room to where I'd been secured and
knelt before me, serious and silent.

 With the strangest, most heart-wrenching look in his eyes he had shaken
his head at me, conveying both confusion and disappointment. I'd started
to explain my actions to him but he had reached out a hand and gripped my
jaw, instantly silencing me. By now there had been anger in his gaze too,
a fierce, lost expression that had rendered me breathless. Then he'd
leaned in and kissed me, just once; hard and fast.

 And for two weeks we had managed to avoid talking about it. We'd danced
around it once or twice, but neither one of us had been sure enough of the
other's reaction. Then one day as we we'd been engaged in a particularly
dull and cold stakeout, and I'd worked myself into a fit of anticipation
and terror, I asked him to come to Canada with me for Christmas the
following week. And he'd said yes - as simple as that.

 That first night in Hay River, Maggie had been called out to a
disturbance in town between the Royal Canadian Legion Ladies Auxiliary and
the local broomball team. Ray and I had talked ourselves hoarse trying to
rationalise our attraction to each other, trying to find some way to
define what this meant, as if our distance from Chicago had given us the
courage to face it. Then when words had failed us, we'd just gone to our
room, pushed our beds together and stopped trying to capture something
that was essentially emotion and instinct. We'd got a lot more solved that
way.

 It is with a heavy heart, as my Grandmother would say, that I'm embarking
on this trip to my sister's home. Although it will be wonderful to see her
again and I'm pleased to be spending more time with Ray, I know that this
is most likely our swansong. As soon as this week is over and we return to
Chicago, I'll be homeless once again. And alone. Once again.

 I should have told him straight away, as soon as he was awake, I should
have reminded him what we were to each other. As soon as I knew he had no
recollection of our affair, I should have explained. But he looked so
fragile and afraid, and things were coming back to him day by day, so I
thought it would be better if he remembered by himself. I now know that my
actions were not those of a worried friend, but of a coward. What if it
was pure chance? A fluke? What if it was a right place, right time
situation, and only those particular circumstances would achieve the
desired result? A thousand doubts and a million 'what if's'.

 So I have to learn to live with the fact that I may have robbed both of
us of a chance to be happy. 

 ^^^

 After Chicago, Yellowknife feels like Hicksville - does Canada have
hicks? Whatever, it feels like the ass end of beyond. Thankfully, we're
only on the ground there for two hours before we get into something that
feels about the size of the GTO and make the hop across Great Slave Lake.
Yellowknife doesn't even look pretty from the air. It's a mining town,
that the Canucks call a city purely on the basis that it has buildings
over two stories high.

 Fraser tells me the origin of the name (First Nation peoples with copper
blades), the history of the mining there (gold and now diamonds) and
several stories about Great Slave which leave me wondering if there is any
such thing as a happy ending in Canada.

 Hay River makes Yellowknife look like New York. We get a good view of it
as we come in to land, and it's small; wharves, boats, warehouses and a
grid of streets. Maggie is waiting for us on the tarmac and she hugs us
both as soon as we squeeze out of the tiny airplane. She makes that blue
uniform look pretty good, almost as good as Frase. She looks at me
critically, then smiles and claps me on the shoulder. Just like her
brother, she isn't one for stupid questions or unwelcome sympathy.

 As we walk over to her waiting jeep, a smiling, dark haired man detaches
himself from the engine of a small plane and comes over.

 "Benton, Ray!" he calls, wiping dirty hands on dirtier overalls in order
to shake. Fraser stiffens immediately, but greets the man.

 "Tom, how are you?" he asks warmly. Tom says he's fine and turns to me,
taking my unwilling hand in a strong, friendly grasp. My eyes flick to
Fraser's and I see them widen in concern.

 "Ray, heard you've been sick, but you look alright to me. Bit skinny. You
come by the bakery tomorrow, Mother'll sort you out."

 I try a smile and nod. "Thh...thhh..."

 "Thanks, Tom. That's very kind," Fraser steps in, subtly putting himself
closer to me and slightly between me and Tom.

 "No problem. And without Dief here, you might get to eat some of it this
time, eh?" He nudges Frase and, with a grin lopes back to his work.

 I immediately look at Fraser, but he won't catch my eye, and I don't know
Maggie well enough that I can force the issue in front of her without
looking rude. I think she's picked up on it anyway, judging from the look
she is darting between Frase and me. 

 That guy knew an awful lot about us - and about me in particular - for
someone I've never met before. Fraser must have told his sister about my
injury in great detail. Now I know there's not exactly a buzzing nightlife
scene up here, but for a story about Maggie's brother's partner to be a
topic for local discussion is just fucking freaky. Don't these guys get
cable? Or, I dunno... dominoes or something?

 "Shall we?" Fraser asks politely and tosses his duffel bag and my
rucksack in the back of Maggie's jeep. He quickly jumps in the back,
leaving me to ride up beside Maggie.

 She tells us that she's on duty 'til ten pm and that we're to drop her
off, and then make ourselves at home.

 I'm not feeling quite right. I'm sort of disoriented and my brain is
doing loops, so I'm none too chatty. Thankfully the detachment is only
five minutes away and Maggie's saying goodbye, and Ben is getting out to
drive us the rest of the way. I see her quickly ask him something as she
takes off and her eyes flicker to me, sitting like an invalid in the
passenger seat. Fraser replies, staring at the ground, then looks up to
meet her shocked gaze.

 Hello? Does anyone know I'm still here? I can see you guys and it's
pretty obvious you're talking about me. I hated it in the Scarfe when they
would tell Fraser stuff about me, like I wasn't privy to that information,
like I wasn't worthy of their attention. It used to bug Fraser too, but
here he is doing exactly the same thing to me now. I scowl at them and
look away, giving them their moment alone. 

 I shouldn't have come.

 "So, you've been here before?" I ask Ben as he turns the jeep around and
takes us back the way we came. "You seem to know the way," I observe when
he says nothing.

 "Yes, I came here at Christmas," he offers simply.

 Ah. The scrambled part of my memory. That makes sense. I still haven't
got most of December or January back as far as I know. I don't remember
Christmas or any of the specific cases we were on in those months. It
sucks and I try not to think about those weeks that it seems I've lost
forever or else it makes me feel kinda incomplete.

 Maggie's place, when we finally get there is a few miles out of town.
It's a little wooden cabin set up a forest track beside a creek and it
looks like Goldilocks should be along any time now, it's so fairy tale.
Inside it's simple but comfortable (of course the key was on the nail by
the door - Canadians! They do my head in - what's left of it). Inside
there's more wood. Lots of wood. Have these guys never heard of man-made
materials?

 The verbal stalemate continues. If I thought it was strained in the days
leading up to coming here, this is the next level, man. Ben's face is
tight and his actions controlled to the point that he looks like some sort
of robot. I decide to give him some space and head for the bedroom to dump
my bag and start unpacking.

 As I start loading my clothes onto the bed I get a sudden sensation of
the ground disappearing under my feet. I stagger back a few steps and
brace myself on the dresser. 

 I knew where our room was.

 I went straight to it, no searching, no asking. How is that possible? And
I knew it was our room. What the fuck is going on here?

 I push off and out into the hall to find Frase, and come face to face
with a frame full of photos. My Mom had something similar at home; a big
plain glass frame with lots of different pictures of family and friends.
Maggie's has dogs, people in uniform, some older pictures of a light
haired woman who looks enough like Maggie for me to assume it's her
mother, some of Ben and there, centre left, is me. 

 That world missing sensation I was worried about? That's all gone. Now
it's my whole fucking universe that's suddenly AWOL. I feel like I'm
free-falling. There are pictures of me, in this frame, in this cabin, in
the ass-end of the planet, and I have no recollection of any of them being
taken.

 In one I'm wrapped up in hat, gloves and parka on a dog sled. I'm
pointing the way and Fraser is behind me, smiling directly at the camera
looking so incredibly happy, I can't place ever having seen such a smile
on him before. In another Ben and I are knelt either side of Dief with a
Santa hat on. I look flushed and silly, and Dief looks pissed off. In yet
another I'm grinning like a fucking head-case over Ben's shoulder, with my
arms wrapped around his neck. His hands are on my forearms and he's
leaning back into me with that smile again.

 That's...what the fuck is that? That looks like they're... I mean they'd
have to be... You can't mistake that. That guy, whoever he is with Ben?
The guy who looks just like me? He and Ben are lovers. It's obvious. It 's
apparent in each picture of them together, the touches, the body language,
the smiles. And that guy, the blonde one with the slightly crazy look,
Ben's lover... it would seem to be me.

 Falling, falling, down, down, down...

 "Ray. Ray... Ray? Ray."

 I don't know how long he's been standing beside me saying my name, I only
notice when he touches my arm. I look at him stupidly, unable to pull
together the necessary words.

 "It's okay," he reassures me quietly. "I'll explain..." The 'phone starts
to ring and with a flicker of annoyance, Ben turns to the kitchen to
answer it.

 From the half that I hear, I know it's Maggie.

 "Don't worry," he tells her. "Yes, he's seen it...he's fine, Maggie...you
had no way of knowing, please don't' blame yourself...he's
fine...yes...yes...see you then."

 Ben puts the 'phone down gently and seems to count to three before
turning back to me. He looks tired, agitated and resigned. 

 "Wh...waaa..." W-H-A-T-'S G-O-I-N-G O-N?

 "It's okay, Ray. I can explain," Fraser says, advancing on me slowly,
like I'm gonna bolt or something. He lifts a hand towards me and I'm not
sure if he wants me to take it or if he's gonna try and grab me.

 He must see my fear, because he drops his hand again and doesn't come any
closer. "If you come and sit down, I'll tell you what happened." The lines
around his eyes are pronounced, the effort of having kept this secret
suddenly plain for me to see, so I let him lead me to the couch.

 And that's how we spend the rest of the afternoon; me freaking out and
Ben trying to calm me down. He tells me that we were lovers, that we
became "intimate" just before Christmas (and bless him, he blushes as he
tells me), that I spent Christmas up here with Maggie, Dief and him. That
we went dog-sledding and snowmobiling and made friends in the town, that's
how come Tom Ballard knows me - and I allegedly know Tom. 

 He has been trying to find a way to tell me, but he'd wanted to get here
first in the slim hope that I would remember myself. He hadn't counted on
Tom or the pictures. He's so sad that he's caused me more trauma by
waiting.

 I sit and cry mostly, because that's the kind of thing you'd want to
remember; happy times, good times and being in love. And no matter how
hard I try, I just can't. Not even with the help of Maggie's photos.

 Ben tells me that we were making plans for our future, that we changed
our wills and our legal next-of-kin in late January, just a couple of
weeks before the accident. Ben tells me we were living together. Ben tells
me we were in love.

 When he's talked himself out the silence is deafening. I have so many
conflicting emotions I don't quite know how to react, so I say nothing. I
feel cheated, I feel stupid, I feel angry and relieved and so fucking
lost, I couldn't find my own ass with two hands.

 Why didn't he tell me sooner? Why did he let me flounder around like this
for so long? Why was he gonna let me kick him out of the apartment? Did we
fight before that accident? Were we still in love when it happened?

 I lift an unsteady hand to him and he takes it, lacing our fingers
together in a gesture that I'm guessing must be familiar to him, but it's
only the third time I've ever held a guy's hand.

 "I've missed you so much," he whispers, his face terrified and pale. And
yeah, Ben looking terrified is something I've never seen before - unless
it's in the Swiss cheese part of my mind - and it's something I never want
to see again.

 "I need some time," I say - amazed at how calm I sound. "More time."

 "Of course. Whatever you need, Ray. I didn't expect... I don't want you
to think..." He sighs. "Ray, if you decide this isn't what you want, then
I understand completely."

 "Ben, I could sss..sss...say the same thing. If you don't feel the same
ww..way now I'm...a whack-job, I can hardly..."

 "I do." He looks angry that I should have even said it, but it's true.
I'm not the same guy he apparently fell in love with. I know that my
personality has new sides to it and that I've lost some of what made me
me. "Don't ever question that," he growls.

 "Ben, I'm different now..."

 "No."

 "I wouldn't blame you if you..."

 "No." He looks really distressed now, not angry anymore. Who said that I
wouldn't be able to process visual cues? This stuff is easy-peasy.

 "Okay, Ben, okay," I soothe.

 "Please forgive me for not telling you. You were so confused at first, I
had no idea how much progress you were going to make. I didn't even know
if you were going to live for a few days. I didn't want to upset you more
than necessary."

 "Did you bring me here to hhh...help me remember?"

 "Not really. I can't say it didn't cross my mind, but I mostly brought
you here because you loved it here, I've never seen you happier." I
remember the pictures I've just seen and I guess he's right.

 "I think a lot of that must have had to do with you, Ben," I tell him and
he smiles - genuinely - for the first time in days.

 And I'd love to be able to jump into his lap and hug the crap out of him.
I'm in love with him - that's a no-brainer, (hardy ha ha ha). I have been
for a long time, but to suddenly find out that not only did I act on those
feelings, but that we were... what? Boyfriend and boyfriend? Well it's a
shock, is what it is. 

 Ben has all this experience of us together, as a couple. He knows stuff
about me that I don't know about him anymore. What were we like together?
What did we do? Had he done it before? Was I any good at it? I'm just a
little freaked out, is all. I need some space.

 "It's okay, Ray. Take your time. Take whatever you need," Frase says
gently, almost as if he's hearing the constant burble in my brain. "Well,
Maggie will be home soon," he says, getting to his feet and plastering his
'capable Mountie' face on. 

 I glance at the clock and am shocked when I work out that it's 9.30 pm.
Then I realise that we're north of the 60th parallel and that the sun
doesn't set 'til really late at this time of year. It still looks like
late afternoon out there. Weird!

 There's a lot of freaky stuff going on in my world at the moment. I guess
figuring it out up here, where the days are weird anyway is kinda poetic.

 ^^^

 June 3rd

 After the shock of yesterday, Ray was quiet today, but in a thoughtful,
not an unhappy way. This more than anything shows how much he has changed
since the injury. The old Ray Kowalski would have thought with his mouth;
ideas tripping over each other, wild theories proposed, evaluated and
dropped in his rush to come to a conclusion. Ray was always happy to have
me to sound off at and I always enjoyed the quirkiness of his thought
processes - so very original and unexpected.

 I'm sure that he knows I'm here once he is ready to talk.

 I'm trying not to think that maybe he doesn't want to talk. 

 I'm also trying not to scare him off or pressure him into anything and
the strain is unsurprisingly, quite considerable. If it wasn't bad enough
having him sleeping in the next room back in Chicago, now he is sleeping
in a bed not two metres from my own. It is certainly a test of my own
forbearance. 

 We went hiking today with Maggie's Malamute, Colin. His name is something
that causes Ray great hilarity for some reason. Apparently Canadians don't
know how to name their pets. It will be interesting to hear Diefenbaker's
thoughts on this when we return to Chicago.

 Ray was thrilled at the landscape as we walked through the forest along
the lake. And I was thrilled to see him so engaged by it and to notice how
much stronger he has become; I let him set the pace the whole way. He was
particularly entranced by the wildlife we encountered, especially the
beaver and the moose, though Colin's presence made it hard to see them
really up close.

 When we spotted a black bear on the drive back to the cabin, Ray was
excited to the extent that his Speech Apraxia became so bad he had to sign
out, "Frase - there's a fucking bear on the road."

 While we were walking he asked me to tell him about us and I confess I
was at pains to know what to tell him. So I sat him down and told him the
story of our last day in Hay River on our Christmas trip. 

 We'd been out on Maggie's sled since the sun had come up. Caught up in
the beauty of the trees and the snow, we had spent longer in the forest
than we'd imagined and by 6 pm we had been relying on the starlight and
the cleared snowmobile paths to get us home. The shush of the runners and
the creak of the sled were all the noise there had been, and even when
we'd got home, we'd both been unwilling to go inside and have the
adventure end. 

 So we'd put soup in flasks and hiked up to an outcrop of rock overlooking
the lake. We'd drunk our soup stretched out on groundsheets, watching the
stars wheel slowly over our heads and talked and talked like we'd never
meant to stop. Then Ray had gasped and we'd seen a single ripple of
blue/green light wave across the sky, slowly billowing in lazy curls. Ray
had been excited and babbling already when suddenly the whole sky had
burst into light, with more colours than we had names for. The waves had
chased each other from horizon to horizon, pinks and greens swooping and
spiralling. And we'd watched in silence until the last green glow had
flickered to nothing.

 Then we'd made love in the silence of a December night, working around
our layers of clothing, kissing every exposed inch of the other.

 I didn't tell him the last part.

 Tomorrow I will drop into town early, mostly to pick up permits, so I can
teach Ray to fish, but also because Mrs. Ballard at the bakery insisted
that we ate what she gave us every day we were in Hay River. Thankfully
Ray and Colin are more than happy to eat my share of the spoils.

 ^^^

 I know something's wrong as soon as I see the RCMP 4 x 4 outside the
cabin. I've been out walking while Ben's being polite to just about
everyone in town - it's a wonder Canadians get anything done. 

 After my disastrous trip to the barber's, I haven't been out by myself
until today. But I can't live like that, and although Ben was concerned he
never said a word when I told him I was going out for a walk this morning
- he just drew me a map and left it on the table by the front door. God, I
love that guy.

 So Maggie's back early judging by the jeep, so how come I don't have
Colin barking his head off at me? Weird, she was on early shift today and
she isn't due back for a few hours.

 Maybe my instinct hasn't totally left me, 'cause I've got 'freaky shit
going on' running its frozen fingers up and down my neck as I approach the
cabin. Something tells me not to rush in and start yelling for Maggie.

 Wish I had a gun on me. Emotionally stressed, brain injured ex-cops don't
get to carry guns - not even in the States and I feel its loss like
there's something missing from me at times like this.

 Something prompts me to bend down and pretend to tie my hiking boots,
while I look around a little bit. So, no Colin, Maggie's RCMP jeep parked
up, no Ben judging by the lack of cars. This could be anything - maybe
Maggie's sick; maybe she took the day off; maybe the dog is asleep. Shit -
I know that none of that is true. Dunno how, but I do. 

 Very carefully I unclasp by bracelet and stretch it across the path as
best I can without being obvious. If I'm wrong, I'll look like an idiot
and come out and get it back, if I'm right, and something is hinkey, maybe
Ben will see it in case I'm not up to whatever is going on in there.

 Right, that's the best I can do. I straighten up and walk to the door.
It's very quiet, no homely noises going on. I step inside and it's dark in
the hall after the bright sunshine outside, so I don't see her at first.

 "Hi," she says. Melodic voice, low, strong and confident.

 "Hi," I say and I get a look at her. Wow. Beautiful. Cold. Red lips, pale
skin and dark, full eyebrows arching over her flawless face. Her hair is
cropped short, black and curly. She smiles but it doesn't do anything to
relieve the coolness. I think I've seen this face before, but I can't
think where.

 "I'm Alice. I'm a friend of Ben and Maggie's," she says and holds out her
hand. I shake it, surprised to find it's warm, and try and stay calm.
Where is Maggie? Where is Colin? Where the fuck is Ben? I look around
quickly and see Maggie's boots are by the door, but I don't let her see
that I've noticed.

 "R... rrr... Ray," I introduce myself. "Where'd Maggie go?"

 "Oh, she took the dog out quickly, said she'd be back in ten," Alice
says.

 "Well, I'll make us sss... sss... tea while we waa... www... ait," I
smile winningly. I see the look cross her face - the look that people get
when I start to stutter and not keep eye contact - the one where they're
working out if I'm retarded or not.

 I go to the kitchen, my eyes scanning for any signs of a struggle,
anything to give me some kind of advantage if this is what I'm thinking it
is. But there's nothing.

 I clatter around, being deliberately clumsy, just to add to the
conclusion she's jumping to; that I'm no threat. There's nothing like a
stuttering, twitchy Polack to assure yourself that you have the upper
hand. She's followed me in here, as I knew she would, so I'm really laying
it on thick. I smash a mug and I spill water from the kettle all over the
counter, and in the confusion of me mopping up I manage to palm a knife
from the block and tuck it securely up my sleeve.

 A glance at her face tells me she is losing patience, so I change tack
and ask her about herself. Maybe she's one of those megaloscerous...
megalomanic... self-absorbed types that get off on talking about
themselves.

 "Ssss...so, hhhh... how do you know Ben and Mmm...?" And I'm not having
to fake the stutter. It's really that bad with this hard faced woman so
close to me.

 "Oh, we know each other from a while back now," she says quietly, turning
to keep her back to the wall as I go by. So, I'm guessing a concealed
weapon.

 "You're Canadian? You live near h... here?"

 "Yes. And no, I heard Ben was back in the Territories and came to
surprise him." A fleeting little smile crosses her face, full of a dark,
smug knowledge. "Knew he couldn't stay away from home for long."

 "And Maggie?"

 "Well, of course I've only known her since she found out Ben was her
brother." Again with the smile; insincere this time. "So nice for them to
have each other since they have no other family."

 "Yeah." The kettle boils and I make two mugs of tea, carrying them into
living room where I sit, but she stays standing.

 "So, Alice? What d...do you d...do?" 

 The longer I can keep her talking and unsuspecting, the longer it gives
me to find out what's going on and what she wants. And the longer it gives
Ben to get home from town. But then I'm scared for Maggie, my eyes roaming
over and over the same room looking for a clue.

 "Well, I move around a lot recently. I had some business deals turn sour
on me a few years back." And there's something, but I'm not sure what. Her
lips compress and I know that she's bitterly angry about something.

 She's worked her way over to the window, her eyes nervously scanning the
landscape outside. 

 "What about you, Ray? How do you know Ben?"

 "From Ch... shhh... ca.. ch..." 

 "Chicago?" she asks, turning her head back to me sharply.

 "Right." I'm not offering anymore than that, in fact that might already
be too much. She looks at me with a mixture of contempt and interest.
Right. Why would Ben hang out with a nut? I change the subject before she
can ask more questions and get to my feet. "Excuse me, I n... n... eed the
bathroom," I tell her and before she can object, I'm heading down the
hall.

 I can hear her trailing me and I know I've fucked up. I have no time
left, so I turn left into Maggie's bedroom instead of right into the
bathroom. What I see stops me in my tracks. Maggie's on her bed; still,
silent and bound. Her shirt is soaked with something dark and her hands
are red with blood. On the side of her head a purple bruise spreads into
her blonde hair, the only splash of colour on her pale face.

 It looks so wrong with the sunshine streaming in onto the quilt and the
safe, homely feel of Maggie's bedroom to have a still, bloody body in
here. Like some kind of bad joke. Bodies on Mort's slab, I can understand.
Bodies in crack houses, slum alleys and dumpsters - I've seen it all
before. They make me puke, but if you have to have a body, that's where it
should be. Not here. Not Maggie. And God, I can't see her chest rise;
she's not moving at all.

 From her half sprawled state I guess Alice must have hit her in here and
this is how she fell. I feel sick and cold; my heart is hammering in my
chest but it sounds hollow. 

 The chill click of a safety coming off reaches my ears and I turn slowly
to face the woman, my hands out from my body. The iciness of the knife in
my sleeve burns me and I'm certain she must be able to see it. With
horror, I feel tears pricking my eyes.

 "Put your hands on your head," Alice tells me quietly. She's so calm;
it's unnerving. I do as she says and she runs her tiny hands around my
waist, my back, my thighs, and for some reason I think of rat's paws. She
even crouches and checks my ankles, so I know she has played this game
before.

 "Is sh... sh... alive?" I whisper, feeling the tears pool then spill onto
my cheeks. Alice looks delighted at my lack of control.

 She ignores my question and gestures me over to the bed. "Bring her." 

 With shaking hands, I touch Maggie and am relieved to feel that she is
still warm despite her white skin. I look to see if I can find the wounds
that could produce that much blood, but the cold bluntness of the pistol
behind my ear interrupts me. As carefully as I can, I lift Maggie and wait
for directions.

 "In the living room," that too red mouth purrs. I carry Maggie and as I
cradle her, I can feel that she is breathing. Thank God. At a nod from
Alice, I lay her on the rug in front of the stove. Still she makes no
noise or gives any indication that she is awake.

 I'm bloody now too, but it's tacky and smudged, not fresh, so whatever
else is fucked up, Maggie's not bleeding badly now. Alice still has the
gun trained on me, so I move slowly, putting my hands back on my head. I
long to be able to scrub the tears from my face and face the bitch with
some dignity, but I don't have a whole lot of that since the accident.

 Out of the corner of my eye, through the living room window, I catch a
red flash; red like Ben's plaid shirt. I didn't hear the jeep and I dare
not try for a better look and give him away if it is him. 

 Alice binds my hands with nylon ties behind my back and forces me to
kneel beside Maggie. I tell you, a knife has never felt so cold and heavy
as the one lodged against my wrist. She takes a chair where she can see
the door and us, sitting placidly, prepared to wait it out.

 "Where is Ben today?' she asks quietly.

 Another flash of red through the glass, then it's gone. Oh God, please
let it be Ben.

 "Gone ing... fff... fffffishing. All day," I tell her.

 She smiles as if she knows already that whatever I tell her is a lie.
Man, I wish I could place that face. Maybe I met her up here in December.
She's beautiful in the same way that winter is; harsh, unforgiving and
deadly. So what the fuck is her story? Why is she here? It would seem to
be Ben and not Maggie she's interested in, seeing as we're sitting here so
cosy and everything.

 "So what's wrong with you?" she asks bluntly.

 "Head jury... in... jury," I admit trying to keep my eyes away from the
windows.

 "You're another one of Ben's projects? Another one he wants to save?"

 I don't reply, just avert my face and keep my eyes unfocussed, pointed at
the door. She chuckles throatily. With two fingers, I work my way up my
sleeve and begin to tease the knife lower.

 "He never learns. He thinks he can save everyone. He thought he could
save me, that's how we met. He saved my life, but that wasn't enough for
Ben. He wanted to save my soul too. What he didn't know is that it's the
other way round. I'm here to save his."

 And I know who she is suddenly.

 "Metcalf," I blurt. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

 The gun is suddenly trained on me with two hands again.

 She gets out of her chair and approaches slowly. "Did Ben tell you about
me?"

 I nod quickly. "Only g... ggg... good things," I add. She laughs, like
she's surprised, and then smacks me hard across the face before returning
to her seat.

 Ouch. 

 Note to self, Victoria doesn't appreciate sarcasm.

 As she settles in her chair again, I catch movement through the window
over her shoulder. It's Ben. He looks horrified and I can only imagine how
this looks with Maggie laid out and me with a bloody shirt and on my
knees. As slowly and nonchalantly as I can, I let my head turn towards the
window to my left, where I know she can't see him unless she moves. Then I
turn back and stare into his eyes, and he gets it. If he goes to the other
window, I know I can give him what he needs to give us a chance, without
her seeing.

 As much as I want to look at him, I keep my face turned towards the dark
hearted bitch. God, what I'd give to be able to look into his face and
draw some comfort from his presence. But what he needs is information, for
him to do his super-Mountie thing. So I decide to distract her as best I
can.

 "Yyyy... you've waited a long am... ttt... time," I say quietly, forcing
myself to look at her.

 "Well, dear Maggie here was a gift. A sister he never knew about, how
touching. I knew he'd turn up here eventually, so I made a friend at
Yellowknife airport who watched the passenger manifests for me. You can
imagine how pleased I was to hear his name was on the list the day before
yesterday. You must be the other passenger. Koskov?"

 Her eyes leave me with no illusions about her contempt for the retarded,
unstable Yank. I try to keep my face as passive as I can, hiding the fact
that I know what this woman almost cost Ben. What she almost cost me - he
nearly died on that platform, believing that what she was offering was
love. He just didn't know any better. Then I would never have got the
chance to show him. And I guess I still might not if this gets much worse.

 "What do yyy... want?"

 I avert my eyes, making it look like fear, I hope. Ben's at the side
window, he can see me clearly from there. I leave the knife for a minute.
Rolling my shoulders a little, I stretch my hands behind my back and I see
his eyes follow the movement. 

 V-I-C-T-O-R-I-A... A-L-O-N-E. 

 "I've come for Ben. If that bastard hadn't shot him, he'd have come with
me three years ago."

 M-A-G-G-I-E... A-L-I-V-E... H-U-R-T.

 "I don't think s... sss... so," I say quietly looking back to her face.

 "Really? Do you think I care what you think, freak?" But she looks
annoyed; like a cat when it flicks its tail in irritation. Well good. I
need to keep this side of the line though; I know this woman has killed
before.

 G-U-N.

 As I sign the N the knife slips an inch.

 I turn my head again. Frase nods quickly and I sign C-A-R-E-F-U-L then
P-L-E-A-S-E. His eyes flick to mine and he pauses, then nods once more and
disappears from sight.

 "Why? Why ccc... c...ome back?"

 "He's mine. He's been mine since that first night." 

 Ha! And she thinks I'm retarded. At least I'm not fucking delusional.

 "He owes me."

 "Www... what does he owe you?"

 "A life," she spits.

 I'm there with the knife, the blade resting on my palm, no longer cold,
but warm like my skin. I curl my fingers and try to turn it, so I can cut
these vicious plastic ties, but it's hard, she's fastened them so tight.

 "He gave you that, when he saved you," I tell her.

 "You think so? He turned me in the next day. That what you had in mind as
a life, Ray?"

 I'm surprised she remembers my name when it's so obvious that she thinks
I'm pond-life. I lower my face away from her strong jaw and hard eyes. I
want to provoke her, not make her snap. I need to keep her attention
squarely on me, so Frase can do his thing. I set her up, he knocks her
down. It's one of those things we do. 

 Used to do.

 I've got the knife against the plastic, but my hands are cramping from
the difficult angle and I can't get much force behind the blade.

 "He loves me," Victoria asserts, as if it's a matter of public knowledge,
as if she's not a murderer and a thief, as if it's her due.

 "You're sick." I snarl immediately. And okay, so that might have been a
tiny bit more than I was going for with the provocation thing as she's on
her feet again, those tiny rat-like hands caressing the pistol butt.

 "Well, Ray, you might be right, but if I am, he is too. He collects the
broken ones like us - didn't you know that?"

 She's coming closer, warming to her theme and I'm stuck with this damn
blade and nowhere to conceal it quickly enough. I look to the windows and
doors, but Ben isn't anywhere.

 She smiles as she draws near. "He needs us to give himself purpose, to
fill the empty places in his soul. That's what he thinks love is. That's
why he'll come with me today."

 I can't catch my breath suddenly; her words are hateful, bitter, but
somewhere in the darkest part of my mind they sound like they might be
true. Ben is a complicated man, full of contradictions and long carried
pains. Is this the reason that he hasn't had a relationship in all the
time I've known him? It's not like he doesn't get enough offers. Does he
think he can't have love? Doesn't deserve it? Does he only know this
feeling of responsibility instead of real love? Is that what he thinks I
want?

 Dropping the knife onto the rug between my calves, I quickly shift on my
knees to try and cover it. The next second the shiny silver thickness of
the gun barrel touches my temple, cool and smooth on my clammy skin. She
rubs the muzzle into my hair in a perverted stroking action, making me
twitch, making my breath heave waiting for the click.

 "Hello Victoria," a calm voice sounds from the doorway. Ben's voice. I'm
so fucking relieved I could cry, and let's face it, I probably will. But
at the same time I'm unsure. For the first time, I'm doubting him because
I honestly don't know what he's gonna do here. I got no tingles, I got no
intuition; nothing. And that scares the shit out of me.

 The demented bitch drives her hand into my hair and yanks a fistful,
touching the gun once again to my forehead as she turns. She drags me
forward a few paces and I scrabble on my knees to keep up.

 "You don't need to do that," Ben continues. I get my first glimpse of him
through tear-blurred eyes - she did pull my hair really hard. He's at
parade rest, his hands where she can see them, holding his hat in one of
them. His eyes are clouded, but he looks as calm as his voice sounded. 

 Again I'm struck by the surreal situation. Golden sunlight and the scents
of the wood flood in through the open door, giving a feeling of well-being
and health, Maggie's neat, simple, homespun cabin is welcoming and yet
here's Victoria, the world's sickest puppy spreading her particular brand
of poison over what should be a cover shot for "Canadian Country Living."

 "Hello, Ben," she says confidently and I can hear the smile in there.
Canadians! Always got time for politeness. 

 "Let him go, Victoria. This has nothing to do with Maggie or Ray."

 She chuckles a little and her hand loosens in my hair, but the gun stays
snug against my head.

 "May I check on my sister?"

 "Stay where you are, Ben. She's going to be out for a little while yet
and by that time we'll be long gone."

 "Gone where? What is the purpose of this? Just let them go and we can
discuss whatever you want." Ben is being so incredibly still and calm, but
this woman is cracked.

 "No discussions, Ben. We're going to be together from now on."

 "Why?"

 "Because I want you. And you want me, I know you do. I saw it in your
face when the cop shot you. You were coming with me, weren't you Ben?"

 "Yes." And his voice quavers just a tiny bit.

 And that's the first time I've heard that. The police report states that
Ben was trying to prevent Victoria from getting away when Vecchio
accidentally shot him, thinking that she was about to shoot him. I wonder
now how much of that story is on the straight. It all sounded too
convenient when I first read it, getting ready for the Vecchio gig. The
diamonds were recovered, Vecchio kept his house, the perp got away clean
and Ben didn't die. Neat. Except Ben is walking around with a bullet
lodged against his spine and here she is suddenly, having waited three
fucking years for her chance to get her revenge. And her revenge seems to
involve the rest of Ben's life.

 "That's right." And she jabs me none too gently with the muzzle. "Your
friend here seemed to think that wasn't the case. But he doesn't know us
and our history, does he Ben? He doesn't know this kind of love."

 "I doubt it, Victoria," Ben says quietly keeping his eyes fixed on her.
The posture is still ramrod straight, but there's an air of shame and
weariness about him. "Love is never what you expect it to be."

 And now Ben is looking directly at me. Telling me something. Something
important; something bad. I want to shake my head, I don't understand, I
don't get it, but I can't without Victoria feeling me move.

 She's quiet for a minute; I can almost hear her trying to work this out.
I remember that she outsmarted the Chicago PD for quite a while with her
twisted, sharp brain, so she's no slouch.

 "You were here in December."

 Ben looks surprised at her change in direction. "Yes," he answers
placidly.

 "A friend said they'd seen you here. Who was the blonde? Did you love
her?"

 Oh, this is bad. This is very bad. But Ben's good and he doesn't even
blink. "Not in the same way," he assures her.

 "We have a connection, an unbreakable bond, it ties us together
irrevocably. Isn't that right?" 

 This woman is way out there. Wherever she's been for the last three
years, it wasn't for the good of her mental health. She's forcing Ben to
agree with her each time, propping up her own delusions with his
assurances. I have no idea how she'd react if he disagreed with her but
I'm guessing it would involve pain, his or mine, so I'm in no hurry.

 "That's true. Our relationship, although brief has been extremely
intense." His eyes are back on her and he's keeping his voice soothing.

 "I never expected to find a love like this one. I didn't think I deserved
such a thing," he continues, sounding stronger and more certain with each
word. "I'm humbled to have had this connection in my life and I know that
I will remember it until I die."

 And that doesn't sound right at all. What is he saying? His eyes are
trained on her and he has this small smile on his face like he's
remembering something nice. It's freaking me out. I know he doesn't love
her; it's in his face whenever she's mentioned - a tightening of his jaw
and an involuntary blink. So why is he telling her this? He doesn't lie.
He prevaricates and dissembles and shit, but never an out and out lie.

 "I have no regrets about loving you, no matter who you are now, because I
know you. I see who you are underneath everything, and that's the person I
love."

 His eyes flick to mine and like a rush of ice water in my veins, I know
what he's doing.

 He's saying goodbye.

 It's not her he's talking about.

 It's me.

 The stupid bastard is telling me goodbye and leaving with this fucking
whacko to try and save Maggie and me. Fuck. That was not the deal. I draw
her fire, give her something to think about and he finds a way to get us
out - all of us. That was the deal. I set her up - he knocks her down. You
can't just change the fucking rules without telling your partner. That's
so not fucking buddies.

 He thinks he can outsmart her? He thinks he can lure her away, deal with
her and get back in one piece? Well, maybe he can. But are we going to
risk that? No fucking way. He's not leaving with her if I can help it. Who
knows what perverted truths she will whisper in his ear? I don't doubt
that Ben loves me, for whatever reason. But he loved her once too and if
he feels responsible for me, then he probably feels responsible for her.

 I open my mouth but nothing comes out, silenced by my fucking Apraxia.
Ben sees and jumps in before I recover.

 "We should probably go."

 "Ben, I hoped that you'd remember," she says ignoring him. "I wasn't sure
that you would. I thought I'd have to remind you, maybe." She's positively
purring, the evil fucking bitch. She steps away, but keeps the pistol
trained on me, her face warily exultant as she moves towards him. Weirdest
fucking thing is I can still feel the gun barrel against my head.

 "I remember. I'll never forget," Ben says, his words catching on a throat
as thick as mine feels, I expect.

 "Hhhhh... He doesn't mean yyy...yuh... you," I force out in a voice
that's too loud and panicky.

 Victoria stops and she turns back to me. Her smile freezes and her eyes
narrow. Ben shakes his head quickly and bites his bottom lip while she's
distracted. What's that buddy? Thought you had the monopoly on endangering
our lives in wildly bizarre ways? Think again.

 "He doesn't mean yuh... you," I stutter, more quietly now I have her
attention. "I'm the ond... bb... bla... blonde."

 She frowns a little bit, and then realisation dawns - told you she was
quick. Her eyes widen and her chin comes up. Two hands on the gun again.

 "Is that true?"

 I nod, desperately trying to feel behind me for the knife. But we must
have moved further than I thought and I can't find it, and any second now
she's gonna see it.

 "Ben, is that true?" She doesn't want to hear it from me; she wants it
from him - the honest Mountie.

 "He came here in December, yes," Ben confirms in a dull voice.

 And she lets out a peal of laughter, rich and low and utterly without
warmth. "Oh, my Ben," she chuckles and moves back towards me. "When I
heard you'd come with a blonde, I just assumed... oh, that's perfect. You
do take your responsibilities seriously, don't you? Only you could
possibly see something in this," she gestures at me with the gun. "I
wonder. What was it? Was it your fault that he's like this?"

 "No!" I grit.

 "Yes," Ben states as calmly as if someone is asking if he takes sugar in
his tea.

 "Poor Ray. And poor Ben. A relationship built on lies. But thankfully I
can relieve you of that responsibility, very easily," she drawls and I
close my eyes, slumping to the side in a last effort to find the fucking
knife, but it's no use. The barrel settles into its familiar place on my
head and I swallow instinctively.

 I open my eyes at a sudden thump in time to see Ben leaping across the
room with that massive hunting knife he carries in his hand. 

 The bang is deafening. The jolt runs through us, throwing all of us
forward. An unholy smell fills my nostrils, hot and coppery and I feel the
heat and spatter of blood plaster one side of my body. I can't stop myself
falling with my hands bound behind me and my head and nose hit the rug,
muffling everything further still. 

 The shot still rings, screaming in my ears, making everything else seem
dull and far away. I try not to taste the metallic heat of the blood on my
lips, I spit it away, but too late. My stomach revolts and I heave, puking
over and over, shaking apart.

 It can't be much later, but it feels like days before I realise I'm
sitting up and someone is rubbing my unbound wrists. Pain and tingles
shoot up my arms, and surprisingly, I'm crying. Who'd have thought? I open
my eyes as soft material swipes gently at my chin and mouth, then at my
tears. Ben has his hand cupped against my cheek and he looks so pale and
shaky, I feel I should be helping him, not the other way around. 

 On the floor behind him lies the crumpled body of Victoria, twisted and
grotesque, a dark stain spreading slowly from beneath her broken head. On
the couch Maggie lies still and panting, also unbound, and on the floor at
her side lays an ancient-looking service revolver, like Fraser's dad's.

 "Are you alright?" Ben asks, his fingers lingering on my face. "Will you
be alright while I get help?"

 "Go. Go!" He rubs a thumb along my cheekbone as he gets to his feet, and
turns. He whispers to Maggie, something I can't hear, and then he's out of
the door at a run.

 I need to get over to Maggie, but I know my legs won't hold me, so I
slide off the chair and crawl on knees that ache like a sonofabitch. But
if this girl can get loose from nylon binds, find a gun and shoot the bad
guys with a head injury like that, I can drag my sorry ass three yards to
see her.

 "Hey," I whisper and her eyes open a little. "He'll be back really soon,
Maggie. Just hang on." Her lips curl in a 'blink and miss it' smile and
she closes her eyes again. I take her hand in my numb aching one and I
guess hers must feel about the same, but touch is reassuring, for her and
me.

 "Yuh... you did really good here today, Maggie. Thank you, you just kept
me alive, I tha... th... think." Her pretty face is swollen and
purple/black already. I can't remember if she should stay awake, even if
she's been unconscious, so I talk to her - well, I stutter at her. I tell
her stuff about my therapy, I tell her that I miss being a cop, I tell her
that I don't know where I'm going from here and I tell her that I love her
brother. I dunno if she's hearing me or not.

 ^^^

 Very soon Ben is back with an ambulance not far behind him. And close
behind the ambulance is a guy who Ben introduces as Jon, Maggie's
boyfriend. Jon, of course has other things on his mind at the moment, but
the look he shoots at Ben tells me that I knew him before too, I just
don't remember.

 It feels like I don't see Ben all afternoon. First the police arrive,
then the coroner. Then Maggie is being taken out with Jon hovering at her
side. Then the police have questions; many, many questions. They take
about a thousand photographs before they finally take Victoria away. They
let me change and wash up, and I feel a little better able to cope after
that.

 I don't know if Ben has spoken to someone, but he is always in the same
room while I'm talking to the police. He brings me coffee when I look
confused and he rubs my neck and wipes my tears when I get frustrated and
scared. The sergeant asking the questions is patient and soft voiced, and
I know they need to know this stuff, but somehow keeping it together while
I was Victoria's captive has its payback now, and I'm a stuttering,
snivelling freak.

 The worst part, other than the terrible stain on the floor and the
spatters of blood, is when Ben has to show the police where the dog's body
is. That was why Colin was quiet; he was already dead when I arrived.
Victoria had already shot him. That's what the blood all over Maggie's
shirt was. They take his body away.

 When the questions are finally done, Ben goes into town to find out how
Maggie's doing. Frankly I'm stunned that a place this small has a
hospital. While he's gone, I roll up the rug, take it outside and burn it
then make a start on trying to scrub the spatters off the furniture and
the stain off the floor. It's better than sitting and shaking which seems
to be my other option.

 When Ben returns it's almost sunset. He looks tired and numb, and I can
only imagine what's going through his head. He tells me that Maggie's
okay, Jon's staying with her, but that she has been transferred to
Yellowknife, to a larger hospital where they have more specialised
equipment. Just to be sure.

 And then he kind of runs out of steam. Like a lost soul, he stands in the
middle of Maggie's kitchen and clasps his stupid, big hat, unsure of what
to do next. I wash my hands for about the seventieth time this afternoon,
dry them and cross the gap to Ben. Without a word I stretch my arms around
his waist and hang on. 

 At first he's stiff, then slowly with every breath he loosens, letting me
offer comfort, letting me support him as he moulds his body to mine and
rests his head on my shoulder. He doesn't speak for the longest time, but
somehow I know he's trying to. But how do you put today into words? Where
do you even start?

 "C'mon," I say softly when my back starts to ache too badly. He lifts his
face to mine, tiredness and worry etched deep into the corners of his eyes
and a kind of darkness too, like he's passed too close to evil to shake it
off completely.

 I take Ben's unresisting hand and he follows me to our room. He waits by
the door while I shunt the twin beds together and kick off my boots; he's
just watching, still numb. I go back to fetch him and bring him to the
bed. He sits where I tell him and it's only when I kneel at his feet that
he seems to come back to himself.

 "Ray," he murmurs, looking confused and with a flush of embarrassment I
realise why. I guess this is something that used to mean that he was gonna
get some. Well, maybe I'm not exactly ready for that yet. I lower my eyes
and yank at his bootlaces in my haphazard but effective way. He doesn't
say any more.

 When I've removed his boots, I take his jacket and shirt too, leaving him
looking even more confused in just his t-shirt and jeans. He's got my
bracelet looped twice around his wrist and my heart thumps at something so
simple. I quickly work down to the same jeans and tee, and then ease him
back across the bed, lying down beside him and moulding us, each to the
other; his dark head under my chin, my leg thrown over his.

 And it's okay. It doesn't feel weird or uncomfortable after the first few
acclimatising seconds. It feels like exactly what I need and hopefully
what he needs too. The last of the daylight steals from the room, taking
this terrible day with it and we fall into an exhausted sleep, tangled up
in each other.

 When I wake again, it's dark. Through the bedroom window I can see a
handful of pale stars using the few hours of night to remind us that come
mid-Winter this will be their domain.

 Ben is still, his head heavy and reassuring on my shoulder. In my sleep
I've carded my fingers into the hair at the back of his head and he's laid
a big, capable hand over my stomach. The rightness of waking like this is
wonderful - it fits, it's us and I feel the weight of yesterday's
uncertainties slip away a little bit.

 I got a hunch.

 "You cannot have known that she was still out there ahh... ah... fter
your ass," I say quietly.

 He snuffs a little, but doesn't move. "How did you know I was awake?"

 "Karmic chi thing going on," I smile at the ceiling. He lifts up off me
and it's hard to see in the dark, but I think he looks a bit better. Now
he can talk and he leaps in with both feet.

 "She was going to kill you, if I didn't go with her. I would never have
left you otherwise," he tells me seriously. That's what he's thinking? All
the crap that's happened today and he's worried 'cause he was going to
leave me behind?

 "She was going to kill me whatever, Ben."

 "But I had to try. If there was a chance that she'd let you live..."

 "S'okay, Ben. You did guh... guh..." I sigh and tiredly sign G-O-O-D. Not
that he can see me, probably. 

 "I can't be the cause of you ever being hurt again," Ben says with a
determination that has no less impact for its quietness. 

 I look at his solemn face, blue/grey in the starlight and see a subtle
kind of desperation there. I have no idea what to say. It doesn't seem to
matter that I don't hold him responsible for any of the things he feels
guilty about. So I wait.

 "I've always been a little reckless about my own safety. Until now, my
skills have always been sufficient for the task of achieving my objectives
and keeping myself in one piece. Self-sufficiency is something I was
brought up with."

 And that's the understatement of the century, right there. All his family
was dead by the time Ben reached seventeen, save his father. I know, I
read up on him when I started being Vecchio. His childhood was a crock, a
write off. If it wasn't bad enough that his mom died and his dad didn't
want him, to live out in the wilderness with elderly grandparents must
have been horrifically lonely. 

 Now, me? I was never a big mixer myself, always on the edges of things.
Always preferred to play on my own as a kid, until I met Stell. But at
least I had the choice - there were people to talk to; my big, noisy
family, guys from school, neighbours. If I'd wanted to, I could have been
part of a group, found a confidant, belonged. Ben never had those choices.

 "My primary purpose all this time has been the safety of the public,
putting their needs before my own. But I didn't realise that it also meant
that I put them before you. I've never been responsible for another's life
before, not like this. Not a life I know like my own. The experience I've
had of love up to now has been..." He scrapes a nail across his eyebrow.
"...limited and brief."

 He hasn't finished, I know, but I pull him back down anyway. It's hurting
him to say it and it's killing me to listen; the least we can do is hold
each other while it happens. He doesn't resist, but lays his head on my
chest, hiding his face from me.

 "And I made no concessions when we became lovers. Selfishly, I carried on
being the same person who has no one to answer to but himself. And it took
you being almost killed for me to realise how wrong that is. Now I have
someone who cares if I live or die..." I hug him tightly, my arms around
his head and shoulders, letting him know the truth of that simple
statement. After a second he hugs me back, hooking his arms under my
shoulders and holding on.

 "... I realise I have to rethink everything. I have to make my decisions
based on the concept of 'us' not 'me'."

 "Right," I say finally. "Starting with not making decisions involving you
guh... ga... going off with psychos."

 "There wasn't really a chance to discuss it, Ray," Ben says and I can
feel the small smile against my chest before we both remember the bit that
came after that. 

 When he says his next piece, it's so totally whacked that I don't really
register it, like it's not even English or something.

 "So I've decided to resign from the RCMP."

 That's it.

 It just sort of hangs there over us - a speech bubble from a surreal
cartoon strip.

 I suppress a giggle, until I realise from how stiff he's gone that he's
being serious.

 It's so weird, it's almost funny. It's like water deciding not to be wet
or Dief refusing doughnuts. It's like Superman hanging up his cape. It's
kind of impossible. It defies nature and physics and fuck knows what else.

 "Fuh... shhhhh... wuhhh...anggg... FUCK!" I spit in exasperation.

 "Ray." He sits up again, looking at me intently, as if the fight is
inevitable.

 "Fucking buh.. ba... shit!"

 "Ray?"

 "No!"

 "Ray."

 "No."

 "I've thought about this a lot, Ray and I think this is the right
decision. I've told you about my father, haven't I, Ray? Do you remember
me talking about my father? If you recall, a lot of my stories start with
'My father once said...' or 'There was one time my father...' Does that
ring any bells?"

 I sit up too. I'm not giving him the advantage of being able to talk down
to me, even if he's - well - talking down to me.

 "This is bullshit, Fraser. You know it is."

 "Well here's one maybe you haven't heard. When my mother died, he came
home to take care of me and to grieve. He didn't eat, he didn't speak, he
didn't cry. I didn't know what to do to make him better. Nothing I did
made any impact on him. Then after three weeks I woke up one morning to
the smell of oatmeal. He'd made my breakfast and I thought we were going
to be okay after all. That afternoon he left. I didn't see him again for
five months."

 "What has that got to do with this?"

 "Quite a lot, actually. You see, Ray, my father thought that being a
member of the RCMP was the answer to everything. He thought that if he was
a good Mountie, he was a good man. He couldn't see the distinction."

 "You are not your father, Ben. You are a good mm... muh..." Dammit to
hell. Gotta get this one out. "...man. I'm pretty sure that's why I'm
www... wha... with you."

 "No, I'm not my father, Ray. But in some ways that's what I've been
aiming for."

 "How long have we been ppuh... pah..." I switch on the bedside lamp with
impatient hands and sign P-A-R-T-N-E-R-S.

 He blinks, squinting into the lamplight. "Twenty-one months."

 "Right, and in that time, how many times have I asked yuh...yyy..." Y-O-U
"... to be anything but what you are?"

 "Well, right before the Henry Allen..." 

 Right, trust him to bring up my finest fucking hour. 

 "I asked you to trust me. I assss... ah..." A-S-K-E-D "... you to share.
Did I ever ask you to stop endangering my life in wildly bizarre ways? Did
I ever decide that the way you are was too muh...mmm..." M-U-C-H. "... for
me?"

 "I'm not going to make his mistakes, Ray. I have something that is worth
more to me than my job..."

 "I know you, Benton Fuh... hays... shh..." F-U-C-K-I-N-G F-R-A-S-E-R.

 "... of course, he's apologised now, but he missed so much, and so did I.
I needed him, and he wasn't there. He was never there..."

 "... accepted who you are and what you do."

 "... nothing out there that is more important to me than..."

 "... and it's why I fell in luh... llll... "L-O-V-E. "...with..."

 "...you."

 "...you."

 We scowl at each other in the sudden silence that falls. Then he rocks
forward quickly and kisses me so hard, my lips get bashed against my
teeth. As quickly as it started, it's over and he draws back, waiting for
me to freak, I guess. His level gaze is calculating and almost expectant,
as if he wants me to protest. Instead I slowly stick out my tongue and run
it deliberately across my mashed lower lip.

 Ben breathes harder as his eyes track the tip of my tongue. Then he leans
in again, slower this time and gentle. His soft, open mouth takes mine and
he licks along my bruised lip, slick and teasing. He moves back again, his
eyes dark and challenging. So I lick the taste of him from my mouth and he
smiles, like I've learned a new trick. Which in some ways I have.

 What's weird is that although this is the first time I remember kissing
him, none of it is unexpected. From the roughness of his jaw to the
softness of his mouth when he latches on to mine - it's comfortable, hot
as all hell, but almost familiar.

 He leans in for a third time as if he means to stay a while. Gently he
takes me back down to the bed, leaning over with just the tiniest part of
his weight on me. Suddenly that's not enough. 

 This was mine.

 This closeness, this intimacy, this man, body and soul, was mine.

 And I want it back. All of it. 

 Now.

 When he touches his mouth to mine, I drive my hands into his soft, thick
hair and hold him there. He grunts in surprise and tightens his arms
around me. His lips are relaxed and it's the work of a moment to push my
tongue inside, where it's hot and wet and so perfectly where I want to be.


 I open my eyes to find that his are open too. He looks hungry but wary.
I've got something he wants and he's trying to figure out if I'm gonna
give it to him. It's the most 'guy' response I've ever seen Fraser make.
And oh fuck, what a turn on. I made him look like that; aroused,
uncertain, wanting. 

 I lick deliberately out of his mouth and his lips try to follow, looking
to prolong the kiss. I pull back and smile, going for slow and sultry, but
it's probably still coming over as head-case.

 I lift my shoulders and roll him - okay, he lets me roll him - on to his
back. And I don't stop there; I keep rolling until I'm on top of him, full
body press from chest to thigh. Even as he "oooofs" in protest, his eyes
spark with excitement. A tentative wiggle of my hips assures me that his
eyes are not the only part of him that's excited. The layers of denim
still between us just serve to add to the friction.

 And I should be scared to death because this is unknown territory where
we're headed. He might know the way, but I sure as hell don't. And in some
ways it's worse that we've been together before because I can't help
thinking that all these months of waiting must have given him a skewed
recall of how we were together. He has expectations - and I have
performance anxiety! But I also know that this is Ben. My buddy. My
friend. I've never in my life trusted anyone more. If I suck...
metaphoric-thingy, he'll still love me. I know this.

 I take a second, just to stare at him beneath me. His eyes are dark with
need, his hair sleep tousled and a bit mad. His lips are slick with my
spit and the ache in my balls seeing him so wanton is getting more intense
with each breath I take.

 He's big and wide and hard and solid; nothing flimsy about this guy at
all. He can match my strength and then some. I realise that whatever I
dish out, he can take it and the knowledge is almost enough to make my
head spin. I crave that feeling; I want to know what it's like not to have
to hold back anything.

 He waits patiently while I stare, a slight smile on his lips and in his
eyes.

 Smug bastard. 

 He knows what I'm thinking.

 I twist my head and kiss that smirk off his big, big mouth, roughly
pushing into him again with my tongue. It's messy and wet, slippery and
hot as chilli night in Hell. He presses me, catching me and sucking on me
until my chin is slick and my dick is burning.

 Slowly, lazily he begins to rock his hips, softly humping against me. I
brace my knees between his and match the rhythm he's set, trying not to
push too hard. But, God, it's all I can do to stop myself. I just want to
hold him down and lay into him, as fast and as hard as I can. The pressure
to stay slow and easy is making me tremble - well that and maybe a touch
of the nerves showing.

 "Ray, Ray... Ray, Ray, Ray...?"

 "Whuh?" My voice is high and tight

 A hand sweeps through my hair, slides down to cup my cheek and forces me
to look at him; blue eyes, warm and familiar.

 "It's okay, Ray. Just relax. There's time," he says so gently that my
stupid throat closes up. I can't cry now. Please God - he'll think I don't
want to do this and I do. 

 "B... but I want... Ben, I need to..."

 He rolls me back with a smile and once again I'm looking up into his
intense, smiling face. "You Americans - you just can't wait for anything,"
he teases and I get the distinct impression that he remembers telling me
that before. His smile fades and he becomes serious. "If you are certain,
Ray. I'm don't want to push you. This is enough, if this is all you want.
Just to have you in my arms again. It's everything... it's more than I...
I had my doubts that you..."

 Look it! I made the Mountie incoherent. Gotta write that one in my
journal. I slide a hand down his spine, grab the hem of his t-shirt and
pull. He shuts up finally and quirks an eyebrow at me. Then when my yanks
become more insistent he sits back and helps me pull the thing over his
head. 

 As a reward I get an eyeful of Fraser by lamplight. And it's good. His
chest is smooth and about an acre wide with small imperfections that just
make him seem more fallible and more beautiful. His nipples are dark and
prominent against his pale skin as is the hair that curls from beneath his
armpits and I wonder briefly if it's normal to find that so incredibly
arousing.

 I drag his mouth back to mine with a hand curled behind his neck. With
greedy fingers I trace the knobs of his spine and the curve of his bottom
rib. He reaches back and brings my hand to his mouth, kisses the palm and
then flexes it back to expose my wrist. Softly he begins to kiss and it's
only when his licks spark a small sting that I realise he's tracing the
marks left by the ties. 

 He repeats the process on the other arm, licking the hurt and the fright
and the despair away. He kisses all around the graze on my face from
Victoria's fist and then he kisses my temple where she held the gun on me,
the warmth of his breath taking away the cold echo of the metal.

 And I'm calm again. He's so smart. But as his kisses return to my mouth,
telling me without words how afraid he was, how he hated seeing me with
her, I feel my passion rise again and I arch up at him, seeking some
connection other than our lips.

 He chuckles, the lowest, dirtiest noise I've ever heard from him, then
rears up and tumbles me out of my shirt. As I flop back down on the bed,
his hands go to the button of my jeans. Slowly, deliberately and without
looking away from my suddenly hot face, he pops the button and slides the
zipper down, tooth by fucking tooth. 

 His hand is cool against my hot, damp skin as he slips it inside my fly.
Skilfully he frees me from my shorts and I sigh - blissed out. His hand is
big and it feels so different from my own on me, but just as safe. 

 Kneeling between my thighs, with a handful of me, he hesitates. I can't
look anymore. I took one peek and almost came instantly.

 "Ben..." I grate out.

 I feel the huff of his breath on my cock head and it gives me the heads
up to grit my teeth and not come when his lips slip, silky over the tip
and down to the base.

 I think I must be making some embarrassing noises...could well be, but I
don't have a damn clue. But Frase is humming softly, making little growly
soothing noises and his free hand is rubbing circles on my belly. Yeah,
I'm pretty much yowling the place down, aren't I?

 I have no idea how he is keeping me right on the edge like this without
pushing me over. I've never known anything quite like it; the alternating
licks, kisses and sucks are disconnecting what is left of my poor old
brain.

 With my last shred of coordination, I scrape my nails over his scalp and
say, "Please." And I just knew he had it all under control because within
three seconds of asking nicely, I'm arching off the fucking bed and coming
down his throat as if I'd never come before in my thirty-eight years on
the planet.

 I open my eyes when the "Ray...Ray...Ray..." thing becomes too insistent.
He has that lopsided little smile going on.

 "Where did you learn that?" I ask, although it's a struggle to speak at
all. I feel like I've had all my bones removed or something.

 "Well, we were together for seven weeks before the accident, Ray. We
practiced. A lot."

 He tucks himself beside me and it would be so easy to sleep right now
wrapped in warm Mountie, but the guy has got to be uncomfortable over
there. It's only polite to repay in kind. Or...

 Yeah, I said I want it all back. I meant that. Enough time has been
wasted and we need to be back on an even pegging. I guess I'm still
frightened that this is all about pity. I might not be playing with a full
deck these days, but this relationship has to be based on equal
partnership - like it must have been before. If he cares for me then he
has to let me care for him right back, or no deal.

 I hook a fist over the waistband of his jeans and tug his groin against
my hip.

 "I want you."

 "You have, undoubtedly, got me," Ben murmurs, whimsically.

 "Now, Ben," I urge and he opens his eyes and looks at me. He props
himself up on an elbow, his expression solemn and unsure, but I'm pretty
certain that underneath that, the guy part of Ben must be pleading with
the Mountie part for some action.

 Before he starts with his logical, rational, "think about this, Ray"
thing, I try to explain. "I don't want to wait. I don't want to be
sensible. I'm in this thing for keeps. Okay? And there's this whole sto...
storis... ree..." H-I-S-T-O-R-Y. "... that you've got and I don't. I need
to get beyond that." It made sense in my head, but Ben has the frowny
little line between the eyes going on.

 "Partners, Ben. You and me. Equals. Neither one giving more than the
ther...er...o...er."

 "Other," Ben finishes for me uncharacteristically. He licks his lips, as
if he were nervous. I need him to understand how important this is without
me having to spell it out. I'm high maintenance these days, he knows it
and I know it. But I won't be the dependent in this relationship, if it's
to last. I have to have at least a semblance of give and take for this to
work. He can't treat me as anything but an equal or we're done for before
we begin.

 This must be hard for him. He's not used to sharing. His job is an
extension of himself - he'll give and give and never think of being the
one to be on the receiving end. It's where all his control issues come
from, I'm sure of it. Well, I can't live like that, no matter how much I
love him. I have to feel needed and as if I'm pulling my weight or else I
can't accept what he's offering.

 His eyes skitter down to the quilt, to the lamp, to the window. Then he
sighs and gazes at my face.

 "I was so scared, Ray. I was so afraid I'd lost you, first to the injury,
then to...her." He can't say her name and I don't blame him.

 "You can't be there every minute of the day, Ben. I wouldn't want that
either. I'm not gonna break. If you give up the RCMP, what would you do?"
He opens his mouth to answer, but I cut him off. "Miss it. You'd be ser...
bul... miserable, Benton."

 He reaches out a hand and idly begins to slide it over my side, my hip
and my back, seemingly unaware that my jeans and shorts are still trapped
around my thighs. And that's what I'm talking about - he's easy around me,
he's used to this. It's me that is feeling vaguely foolish.

 To cover this, I roll in and kiss him gently. There's more lip licking,
and an eyebrow rub and a deep breath before he comes to a decision. We've
got some big things to discuss; big life changing things, but thankfully,
he's gone for tackling the one we can solve right now first.

 "What do you want?" he asks, his voice low and gravely.

 Everything! All of it. Endlessly.

 "You. In me." He starts to roll onto his back, the arguments coming to
his lips in an instant, but I grab his neck again and bring my forehead to
his. Come on, Ben, I need you to get how important this is.

 With a tiny nod, he sits up and strips us both of the rest of our
clothes. His hands are controlled and steady, betraying his conflicted
feelings; there's no excited fumbling, no can't wait tremors. He gets up
and goes to his pack, burrowing in a pocket and returning with a white
bottle of...lube? Wow. That's... that's real.

 He lies back down beside me, kisses my shoulder, my neck. "How?" he
whispers in my ear.

 "Do the things I liked best," I murmur back. "You know them better than I
do."

 "Ray." Ah. That's his 'have you thought about this' tone. "It was a ...ah
...long seven weeks. We learned a lot together. I wouldn't want to...
ummm... maybe shock is too strong a word, but..."

 "Fraser, if I loved it then, I'll love it now."

 He kisses my brow. "You called me Fraser."

 "Don't change the subject. And getting off must be good for my prax...
aaah... xiapr... thing."

 I decide to move things along a little bit and rest my hand on his inner
thigh. I try to give the impression of being laid back, when in truth, my
mouth feels like I've just eaten twenty Saltines in a row. 

 His eyes narrow and he smirks. "Well, some things haven't changed. You're
still a single-minded, pushy Yank."

 "And you're still not getting with the gra... mmm... pro...gram." He gets
it.

 He fetches a towel from the bathroom and puts it under my hips. I feel
kinda ridiculous just lying here and waiting for him, but I don't know
what else to do. Normally watching a naked Benton Fraser wandering around
would make me incoherently horny, but the combination of just having got
off and being afraid of what's coming next means that my dick is
peacefully soft against my thigh.

 He pauses to look at me - and yeah, I'm taking the opportunity to look
him over too. His face is so tender and happy beneath the apprehension.
It's not slowing him down though, and he shows no embarrassment at all at
being hard for me.

 "Maybe you'd better roll onto your front this time. It's been a little
while," Ben says softly against my neck as he lies back down once again.

 "Do I like that?"

 He nods with a smile I can feel curve against my skin. "Yes, very much
so. You told me it's the sensation of being covered that you crave."

 "What do ooou... yuh... you like?"

 "I like to see your face when I fuck you. And when you fuck me."

 And hello libido.

 Ben swears? Ben says fuck? Sweet Christ and all the archangels, I'm never
going to survive a relationship with him if he's going to have that
pretty, perfect mouth say dirty things like that.

 Of course, he notices my cock jerk. "You like it when I say fuck, too,"
he informs me, deadpan.

 No. Really? This is one steep learning curve, but I can't stop now - it's
what I asked for.

 He arranges me on the bed and I try to stay calm. His patient hands
soothe me, pet me and before very long I feel the low, heavy heat in my
belly that means I'm becoming aroused again. It would be hard not to be,
right? I mean Ben is rubbing me everywhere, pressing kisses and licks to
my spine, my flanks, my shoulders. 

 His fingers trail lower and cup my ass, kneading gently, parting me. A
serious dose of the shakes sets in and he begins to murmur to me, soft
reassuring nonsense that I can't really take in except the odd word here
and there; "beautiful" and "love" and "mine".

 He bites my hip at the same time as the tip of his finger slips inside
me. My muscles seize; this isn't familiar at all. This is weird. "Ben?"

 "It's okay, it's alright. I can stop." I think I hear relief in there
somewhere.

 "No, don't stop." Because next time it will be worse, if we stop now. My
voice sounds shaky and small. It doesn't hurt, it's not even
uncomfortable, and I know this is a mental reaction, not a physical one. 

 He stills, and then puts his head down on my lower back, rubbing a cheek
across me. Very softly he kisses the curve of my ass, small warm huffs of
air against me, cold when he moves his mouth away. And that feels... nice.

 Soon after that I start to float; kind of detach from my reactions and
just feel them instead. He's patient and thorough, each step a tiny
progression from the last. His kisses and licks become more intimate and I
want to ask him how the hell we learned that felt so good, but I'm still
floating and too full of fuzzy to care.

 When he lifts my hips and gets my knees under me, a part of me knows this
is it, but it's a tiny voice and easily ignored in the overwhelming
sensation of Ben; Ben everywhere, holding me, warming me, the scent of
him, the lingering taste of his kisses, him heavy against my back, him
filling me. 

 Oh God, filling me.

 ^^^

 It's the sun that finally wakes us. It slants across us, heating our
tangled legs and slowly begins to work its way up to our hips. I doze, my
body pleasantly aching and my mind quiet for the first time in weeks.

 I came again; haven't done that in years - well, not with someone else
present and within a half hour. But I came without him even jerking me, it
was just from having Ben move inside me, and it was slow and long, and not
at all like I normally feel when I come. Definitely want to try that again
very soon.

 Of course I have no way of knowing, but I think it's a decent hour to be
waking up - sunlight could mean anything up here, but I feel rested and I
don't need to crash out again right now. Opening my eyes, I come face to
face with Ben. His cheeks are pink from our shared warmth, his face
relaxed and serene looking. 

 I kiss his eyelids and his lips curve into a lazy, sleepy smile.

 "Hi."

 "Hello, Ray."

 "Do we always end up mauling each other ther... raaa... thuh... than
finishing fic... cult... diff... icult discussions?"

 "It did quite often end up that way, yes. But in our defence, I would say
that that we were much more receptive to the other's views afterwards."

 "One of those little things we do, huh?"

 "Precisely."

 "I love you." Okay, not the smoothest delivery I've ever made, but it
gets the desired response.

 "I know. And I love you too." His eyes are open now; grey-blue and kind
of defenceless.

 "So, if we're going to live together..." Ben's eyebrows shoot up his
forehead. "...we both have to side... des... decide where we're gonna live
and what we're gonna do for money and what kind of car we drive and
whether or not vegetables have to happen every day. Right?"

 "Yes," he says warily and I should feel bad for jumping this on him when
he was all happy and post orgasmic and all - but I don't.

 "Right. A democracy."

 "Alright."

 "Good. Then I vote we go get Dief, move up here and you find us a nice
piece of land where we can build a place near your stin... puh... st... "
PO-S-T-I-N-G "... at Just-my-luck-buck and we live happily ever after."

 "A long-term plan, Ray. That's a significant step in your recovery. Also,
you're unhinged." 

 And he smiles.

 And there's all kinds of shit waiting outside that bedroom door for us;
Victoria, my parents, nationality issues, society's acceptance or
otherwise, Maggie's convalescence. But I believe that happily ever afters
are there for the finding - you just have to know where to look for them.

 EPILOGUE

 Day 243

 It's only six weeks until Christmas. I have to keep reminding myself that
this won't be our first Christmas together, and that there was this whole
festive thing at Maggie's last year. Ben must be sick of telling me that
story by now, but I like to hear it. I especially like it when I get him
all horny and tease him into telling me about our first time together
making love. He knows that if he tells me he gets the benefits, but he
pretends to be reluctant just for show.

 The dark thing is really weird and I'm dreading the first electric bill
because I have all the lights on all the time these days. I find I'm
constantly tired otherwise and a tired Ray is a grouchy Ray. And a grouchy
Ray pisses off Fraser and doesn't get any.

 I find I miss the freakiest stuff from Chicago. I miss the way it was
never quiet, not even at 3am on a Monday morning. It's quiet up here.
Really, really quiet. Quiet like you need to make a noise just to make
sure you're not suddenly deaf or having a stroke or something.

 I miss airplanes that have wheels instead of floats and where the pilot
doesn't ask for your advice about the best place to land.

 I miss the smell of onions cooking on every street corner from breakfast
'til nightfall. 

 And I miss street corners. Endurance has one street - no corners. 

 But this place kind of grows on you. It's nice - which just goes to prove
how Canadian I am these days even though I'm not officially Canuck yet.
Besides, the best things about Chicago came up here with me, and with them
here, I don't get much time to miss stuff.

 ^^^

 November 29th

 Ray's been in Yellowknife all day at the clinic and I couldn't accompany
him for the first time since we moved here. It is rather irksome that he
has to travel so far for his therapy sessions, but with their
instructions, at least we have been able to have his visits cut down to
monthly rather than weekly. 

 We have been spending our evenings productively going over the plans for
the cabin. Ray's ability to visualise the interior is nothing short of
astounding. Although the actual measurements and dimensions are a jumble
of meaningless numbers to him, the image in his head is crystal clear, as
is his insight. 

 I know I have been fretting about Ray's acclimatisation to the north. The
darkness is something that it takes a long while to become accustomed to
and it is unfortunate that we didn't get the opportunity to get to
experience more of the surroundings during the summer; it might have made
enduring the long months of winter a little easier on him. 

 But he shows no signs of depression or dissatisfaction with our location
or our accommodation, so I can only hope that he isn't missing Chicago too
much. Endurance must seem quite bizarre to him - maybe that's why he
insists on calling it "Just my luck, Buck." I think he does it to annoy
me. I let him think it does, to make him happy.

 I hope he would tell me if he were unhappy; I think he would. Ray is a
mess of contradictions, but at his most fundamental level, he likes to
talk problems over. It's something I am trying to learn. My meagre
experience of sharing my life with someone makes it natural for me to seek
answers from within. Ray is patient and is letting me learn this new skill
at my own pace. 

 But the rewards when I do express an idea for his opinion are instantly
manifested. His face lights up and he beams at me when I share in a
decision making process, even one as trivial as whether to have rice or
pasta for supper. And my heart thumps every time, because something so
simple can make him happy, and because I should have done this two years
ago rather than battling on alone and almost sabotaging our partnership in
the process. And because he's beautiful when he smiles like that.

 Like summer.

 Like a warm fire at the end of a cold day. 

 Like home.

 Fin.

  
  

End Finding the Words by Berty 

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