Like An Animal	Like An Animal

 by Snowee

  

 Author's website: http://snowee.50megs.com

 Disclaimer: They belong to Alliance. I'm just playing around.

 Author's Notes: Can be read independent of series.

 Story Notes: COTW

 This story is a sequel to: Wham Bam Thank You Mister 

 

 It only took a few days for Kowalski to make himself comfortable in his
new role. He wasn't Vecchio anymore, but by remaining at the 27th
district, he maintained his circle of friends and manner of comfort that
had been established since taking over Ray Vecchio's life. 

 Content in his own life again, he was partnered with Vecchio, a fact that
only bothered him for five minutes. Once Vecchio realized Kowalski was no
threat, he let the testosterone level go and the two became - well,
friends would take some time, if it happened at all - but they worked
together as productive partners. 

 Kowalski and Vecchio stood beside Huey's desk, chuckling over a case Huey
and Dewey had just closed. Francesca stepped between Huey and Kowalski,
reaching through and dropping a file. "Welsh wanted me to ask you to check
the spelling," she said to Huey. "What are you all talking about?" 

 "Cop stuff, Frannie," Stan responded coolly. 

 She looked him over with distaste. "Oh, I'm sorry," she sneered. "I
forgot my private club card." Rolling her eyes, she glanced at Ray, seeing
the laughter in his eyes that he refused to share. "Anything over my
head?" she asked him. 

 Ray tucked the file in his hand under one arm. "Everything's over your
head," her brother responded, getting a chuckle from the other boys. 

 Frannie glared at him before turning away. As she did, she spotted Fraser
who was just entering. Seeing the group, Benton started toward them and
Frannie stayed where she was, sidled between Huey and Kowalski. 

 Ray saw Francesca looking past Dewey, so he looked up. "Benny!" Vecchio
said as the red uniform approached. 

 Benton smiled warmly, acknowledging everyone in turn, but spending an
extra instant on Kowalski that no one noticed except the two of them. 

 Dewey looked at Fraser and shifted. "Oh, hey, Fraser. I was hoping to see
you today. New apartment just opened up in my building. Pretty cheap and I
thought you might want to check it out." 

 Fraser appeared surprised, but Stan spoke before Benton had the chance.
"Pretty cheap isn't cheap enough. Fraze needs a cardboard box." He glanced
at Fraser and smiled. 

 Vecchio leaned one hand on Huey's desk. "What's this about an apartment?
What's wrong with the one you got?" 

 "He doesn't have one," Huey jumped in. "He's been living at the Consulate
since his place burned down." 

 "Right, when my house burned down," Ray said, pondering. "Well, why
didn't you say something, Benny? Frannie made sure the insurance coughed
up for the new house and it's got a guest room now. Why don't you come
stay with us?" 

 "No, thank you, I..." 

 "You can't stay at the Consulate," Francesca cut in. "It can't be
comfortable and the guestroom has a new bed." 

 The conversation was happening far too fast for Kowalski's taste. He
grunted and held up a hand. "Don't pressure the guy!" he said. 

 "Thank you, Stan," Fraser said. "I already have a place." 

 "Where?" Huey and Francesca asked in unison. 

 Fraser cleared his throat. "I've moved in with Stan," he explained. 

 "On the couch," Kowalski filled in quickly. "Suits him just fine." 

 "But at our house, you get a whole room to yourself." 

 Fraser tugged at his collar and swallowed. "I truly appreciate the
offer," he said, then glanced at Stan, who shrugged and offered no way
out. "Perhaps I can think about it." 

 "What's to think about?" Frannie asked. "I'll call Ma," she added, taking
off. 

 Fraser tugged on his collar even more. Uncomfortably, he glanced at all
the men, then stepped beside Ray Vecchio. "I'm not entirely certain it
would be a good idea." He paused, then was suddenly inspired with an
excuse. He found himself hoping that he could lie convincingly to a man
who knew him well. "It's Francesca. I would feel uncomfortable. After all
the things she's said to me and the expressions she's made toward me, I
don't think..." 

 Vecchio began to chuckle and Fraser stopped. "So you do know what's going
on?" he asked, then shrugged. "Well, I guess I can understand. You staying
in the same house, you'd never know when she'd come to you in the middle
of the night." Sighing, he patted Fraser's back. "All right, Benny. You're
off the hook." Pausing, he suddenly looked concerned. "Oh, damn. I better
stop Frannie from calling Ma or I'll never hear the end of it." Scurrying
away, Fraser's color began to return to his face. He took a step sideways,
putting him beside Stan. 

 "How're things at the Consulate?" Kowalski asked, looking at Huey's desk.


 "They are the same as usual, Ray," he said. "Stan," he amended quickly.
Huey had started talking to Dewey on another subject, so Fraser turned
toward Kowalski. "How were things here this morning?" 

 "Not bad," Stan said, then turned and started toward his desk, watching
from the corner of his eye to make sure Fraser followed. "Ray stayed and
caught up on that paperwork last night after all, which helps." The phone
started to ring and Stan smiled slightly at Fraser. "Violent Crimes," he
said quickly as he sat down. 

 Fraser watched him on the phone a moment, then turned to see Ray and
Francesca arguing beside her desk. She looked angry, but as he started to
walk away, he held up his hand. "That's the way it is, Frannie. Get over
it." 

 She huffed and folded her arms. Ray approached Benton and shook his head.
"Really burst her bubble," he said, then looked at Stan. "Important?" 

 "It appears that it is," Fraser replied. 

 Ray nodded and sat down, taking the file he'd been carrying under his arm
and tossing it on the desk. He opened it and reached for the coffee cup in
front of him, drinking from it as he looked over the papers. A moment
later, he took a pen from the pencil cup on his desk, made a note, and
closed the file. Looking up, he leaned back. "Bored, Benny?" 

 "I am finished with my work at the Consulate for the day," Fraser
responded. 

 Ray nodded and watched Stan now as he hung up the phone, finished his
notes, and looked up. "Looks like we're heading to Booker Park for lunch.
Want to pick something up on the way?" Stan said as he stood. Tucking the
notebook into his pocket, he grabbed a pen and his keys. 

 "What's going on?" Ray asked. 

 "Well, they're down there with a body. You know the line of trees at the
back?" Stan waited until Ray nodded. "Some kid shot through the head back
there." He shook his head. "So let's go." 

 Ray stood, gathered a few things, and followed Stan. Fraser was close
behind with Dief on his heels. 

 Nearing the park, Kowalski drove around back. There was a parking lot
near the line of trees, but the back side of the park was over a hill and
not frequented often. No one else was parked there and as the three got
out, they could see the team of investigators who had dragged their
equipment from the other parking area. 

 Stepping up to the body, Kowalski closed his eyes. Ray shook his head and
moved up beside it, squatting low. Fraser neared and examined the things
visible with the naked eye. As Esther Pearson made some notes, she glanced
at Ray, then the Constable. She smiled a little as Stan stepped up behind
Fraser. He knew he had to look, but he didn't want to. Swallowing, he
stepped beside Benton so he could see. 

 "Good afternoon, Dr. Pearson," Fraser said politely. 

 "Hello, Constable," she responded, then looked back to the body. 

 Fraser moved closer and squatted beside Ray. "I take it this happened
this morning?" Stan watched with interest. 

 "That's my guess," Esther said. 

 "It looks like a suicide," Ray commented, looking at the gun beside the
young man's right hand and the wound through his right temple. "Pretty
simple. Got an ID?" 

 "Yes. His wallet was intact with a lot of money. His keys were on him. It
certainly wasn't theft." 

 "Who is he?" Stan inquired. 

 "Richard Blackwell, III. He's the son of Richard and Elaine Blackwell,"
she responded. 

 "Blackwell?" Stan asked quickly. "Like Blackwell Memorial Library,
Blackwell Autos, Blackwell everything?" 

 She nodded. 

 Fraser glanced at Ray, then Stan before looking back at the body. "Can
you account for the redness on his wrists and ankles?" he asked. 

 Esther met Fraser's gaze. "Rope burns. Nothing complex." 

 Stan took a step closer and looked, now seeing the raw skin Fraser had
noted. Inside the left wrist of the body was a black stamp. He leaned
closer. "What's that say?" he asked as he pointed. 

 Ray leaned in. "Rush. Club stamp?" He glanced at Stan. "We'll check it
out." 

 Esther pulled back the collar of the shirt. "A few bruises as well, but
so far I haven't seen anything serious. We'll get him back to the morgue
and take a better look." 

 Ray stood and looked into Esther's eyes. "You have anything specific
yet?" 

 She stood. "It'll all be in my report." 

 "I just mean something we can go off," he pressed. 

 She smiled. "My report," she responded, then smiled at Fraser and Stan as
she passed them. 

 Diefenbaker stepped up to the body and seemed interested in the hand.
Fraser looked at it a moment, then moved onto his stomach, holding himself
in a push up position and leaning in close to sniff. Stan watched with
increasing interest as Fraser stared at the gun beside the hand before
standing. 

 "Something up, Fraze?" Stan asked. 

 Fraser looked at him. "I'd have to say that his hand smells strongly of
beer and lemons." 

 "Beer and lemons?" Ray asked. "His hands smell like beer and lemons?
What's that supposed to tell us? That club is probably a bar." 

 Stan nodded. "Right. Maybe he spilled a little and likes lemons. You had
to sniff the guy?" 

 Esther returned to oversee the wrapping of the hands just before the body
was moved into the coroner's bag. 

 The team was gathering the last of the possible evidence and cleaning up
as Ray, Stan, and Fraser walked the area. Dief circled a tree stump and
barked. Fraser turned. "I'm certain many people use this park every day,"
he said as he walked toward the animal. 

 Stan spun. "He find something?" 

 "What do you mean, did he find something?" Ray asked Stan. "He probably
found a dead bird." 

 Stan gave Ray a barely amused grin and started walking toward Fraser.
"What is it?" he asked. 

 Fraser squatted near the tree and held a tuft of grass in his hand. 

 "Benny, don't..." Ray began, but Fraser brought the tuft and barely
touched it with his tongue. 

 "Fraze!" Stan yelled and turned away. "That is disgusting!" 

 Fraser stood and Ray looked to him. "Well?" 

 "Someone was here." 

 "Lots of someone's come through this park every day." Ray said,
exasperated. "Come on. Let's get going." 

 Fraser nodded slightly. "Though, didn't you both say that people don't
come back to this side of the park very often?" 

 "Yeah, sure," Ray said. "Still, some people do come." 

 Fraser nodded, still concentrating as he followed the others back to the
car. 

 "You've seriously got to stop tasting stuff," Stan said as Fraser got
into the back seat with Dief and Ray sat in the passenger seat of the GTO.
"It's... it's unsanitary." 

 ******Part 2
 Ray knocked on the door to the opulent manor before putting his hands
behind his back. Fraser stood straight and tall while Stan sniffed and
buttoned his jacket. "Cold," he breathed as they waited. 

 A few minutes later, they were seated in a large receiving room, staring
at flower arrangements and waiting. Finally, a tall, thin woman with black
hair stepped into the room. She looked them over, then held out a polite
hand. "Hello," she said. "I'm Elaine Blackwell," she introduced. 

 Ray glanced at Stan, then back to her. "Ma'am, we're with the Chicago
Police Department," he said, feeling the need to be as formal as he knew
how. 

 She tilted her head. "Is there something that I can help you with?" she
asked with obvious confusion. 

 Stan cleared his throat. "Uh, we're Detectives and this is Constable
Fraser," he said, stalling. He averted his eyes a moment, then met her
gaze. "Is Richard Blackwell your son?" 

 "Yes," she responded slowly. "Is he in some kind of trouble? Should I
call my husband?" 

 "We... we found your son in the park today," Stan explained. 

 "I'm afraid he was... he was dead, Ma'am," Ray finished. "I'm sorry." 

 Mrs. Blackwell looked too shocked to respond. She took a step back, then
one forward. "I... He... Rich? When?" 

 "We just came from the scene," Stan said. "It looks like he may have been
there since this morning," he added. 

 She threw her hand over her mouth and fell into a chair. She was doubled
over and as her dark hair fell over her face, they could hear her sobbing.
"Ma'am, would you like us to contact your husband?" Ray asked. 

 She shook her head and stood, supporting herself on the chair a moment,
but still not looking at them. "Please, wait..." she murmured as she left
the room. 

 They each took turns looking at each other as they heard her sobbing in
another room. It was difficult to hear her voice, but they could tell she
was talking to someone. Several moments passed and when she returned, she
was still upset, but had a modicum of composure. "My husband asked me if
you could wait. He's going to come home now," she said and waved them to
the couch. "Please?" she asked, a tear falling down her cheek as she did. 

 "Uh, yeah," Stan said and looked at the couch a moment, feeling
uncomfortable with the thought of sitting on it. He watched Ray sit so he
moved over and lowered himself gently as Fraser took the chair beside it. 

 She was shaking as Ray leaned forward. "Ma'am? You don't have to wait
with us. If you want to go... go..." 

 She shook her head and sat on the love seat across the grey marble table
from them. "I want to know what happened." 

 "Maybe we can wait until your husband gets home," Ray suggested. 

 She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and touched her eyes. 

 They sat uncomfortably in the silence for a while before Ray shifted.
"Uh, as long as we're here, then, ma'am, maybe we could ask you a few
questions." 

 She sniffed lightly and dabbed her eyes again before taking a deep
breath. "Yes." 

 "Well, maybe you can tell us what your son has been doing. It's possible
a friend or someone he associates with might have information," Ray
explained. 

 She took in another deep breath to steady herself. "He's been at
Princeton for the past four years. He is home taking off a few months
before going back to get his Master's Degree." She paused. "Was," she
corrected in a whisper. "He was living in an apartment alone." Standing,
she walked to the corner table and reached into the drawer. A moment
later, she was writing on a piece of paper which she handed over to Ray.
"That's the address. I really don't know very much about his friends, but
he told us about his friend Kyle on a number of occasions." 

 "Thank you kindly," Fraser said. "Do you know where he liked to spend his
free time?" 

 "Yeah. We think maybe he went to a club called Rush. Do you know anything
about that place?" Stan jumped in. 

 She thought and shook her head. "No, I hadn't heard of it. He came here
for dinner several times a week, but the evenings he kept to himself." 

 "Anything else you can tell us?" Stan asked. 

 Looking at the arrangement on the table, she shook her head, then brought
the handkerchief to her eyes again as she was apparently overcome again.
Stan cleared his throat and looked at Fraser. 

 Eventually, Mr. Blackwell came home. He stepped into the room and saw his
wife on the chair. Stepping over, he knelt beside her. "What is it? What's
wrong?" he asked. 

 "Richard Blackwell?" Stan asked. 

 "Yes, that's me," he responded. 

 "I thought she said she called you and told you," Stan commented. 

 He turned his head. "She was upset. She couldn't say what's wrong, but
said the police were here to tell us about Rich. What about Rich? Is he in
trouble?" 

 Stan glanced at Ray before straightening. "I'm afraid he's dead, sir." 

 Elaine let out a sob and Richard pulled her to her feet. "You go, honey.
I'll handle this." She shook her head, but he was guiding her from the
room. "It's all right," he said softly. "Everything will be all right." As
she finally succumbed to his insistence, he moved her into the foyer
before unlatching the tall doors from the wall and closing them. 

 He neared the Detectives and Mountie again before speaking. "What is this
about? What happened?" 

 "He was found in the park this afternoon and..." Ray began. 

 "The park? Which park?" 

 "Booker park; south side," Stan filled in. "We believe he may have been
there since this morning." 

 Richard looked away and shook his head. "I simply don't understand. What
happened to him?" 

 "We can't be certain," Ray explained, "but he was shot and it's possible
it may have been a suicide." 

 The man took in a quick breath. "Suicide? My son?" Astonished, he
loosened his necktie. "You're not certain?" 

 "There are signs that indicate it may have been something else," Fraser
said quickly. "The medical examiner will be working on learning more
information today." 

 He nodded slowly. "Suicide," he repeated somberly. 

 "Sir?" Ray asked, noting the look on the man's face. "Is there a reason
you believe he might have wanted to kill himself?" 

 Richard looked at them and sighed. "I haven't said anything to his
mother, but he has seemed depressed. I thought perhaps when he went back
to school, he'd be all right. He enjoyed his studies." 

 "Then that doesn't seem like an extraordinary possibility?" Fraser asked.


 Blackwell shook his head. "I had no idea it was this bad. He seemed... he
seemed all right. I thought he was just a little sad or lonely without his
friends from school." 

 "Have you met Kyle?" Stan asked. 

 "Kyle?" Richard asked with confusion. 

 "Your wife told us that the only friend she's heard him mention was a
Kyle," Stan informed him. 

 "Oh," Richard said slowly. "Yes, Kyle. He and Kyle are good friends, but
I haven't met him. Rich mentioned him at dinner a few times." 

 "Are there any other friends or acquaintances we could speak with?" Ray
asked. 

 Richard shook his head. "I really can't think of any. I really can't
think of anything else." He paused and looked distant. "I'm afraid it's
all starting to... to sink in," he breathed. 

 Ray and Stan looked at each other before Stan stood. "Mr. Blackwell?
Thanks for what you've told us. We'll leave you now. Maybe we could come
back to ask more questions later?" 

 Mr. Blackwell nodded and showed them to the door. 

 ******Part 3
 Driving to the address Mrs. Blackwell provided Ray, Stan, Fraser, and
Dief were greeted by a gated complex with dark green grasses and full
flowers. Following the directions to the manager's apartment, they found a
large apartment with new paint and clean ironwork. 

 Explaining their situation, the manager took them to the apartment and
opened the door. He held it for them as they entered. "If you need
anything else," the tall man with blonde hair said as he waved toward his
apartment, leaving the door open as he left. 

 "Big place," Stan commented under his breath, fingering through the stack
of bills on the kitchen table. 

 Ray moved to a corner desk and peeked under the cover of a computer, then
dropped the corner of the cover and opened the top drawer. He pulled out a
black book and flipped through it. "Address book," he said, moving it to
his left hand as he continued to finger through the drawer. 

 Stan moved down the hall to the bedroom. It had obviously been decorated
by a professional, but was made home by the rustled bedspread and fluffy
pillows tossed to the floor. Hearing a sound, Stan turned and saw Fraser.
"I'll check the dresser," he said under his breath as Fraser walked to the
closet, holding his hat in one hand as he looked inside. Shirts were hung
neatly beside nice pants. The shelf above held perfectly folded sweaters. 

 A little shorter than the average man, a blonde haired man stepped up the
stairs and noticed the open door. *He's home,* he thought as he approached
the threshold. "Rich? Where did you go last night? I looked for you
every..." He noticed the balding man at the desk who turned around and
froze. Taking a backward step, he held up his hands, sure these thieves
would have guns. Swallowing, he wondered if he should run or say
something. 

 Just then, another thief came from the hallway at the sound of his voice
and behind him... A red uniform? 

 Ray reached to his belt and the young man froze, going pale until Ray
pulled his badge and held it up. "I'm Detective Vecchio," he said. 

 The man relaxed. "I'm sorry. I thought... never mind what I thought." 

 Ray waved to Stan. "This is my partner Detective Kowalski and that's
Constable Fraser." 

 Fraser held out his hand, but the young man didn't move so Ray continued.
"Your name?" 

 Confused and still a little frightened, the young man furrowed his brow.
"What are you doing here?" 

 Ray and Stan glanced at each other before Stan spoke. "We're looking for
information about Rich Blackwell." 

 "Whatever it was, he wasn't involved. Rich is a very good man. He
wouldn't..." 

 "Are you Kyle?" Stan asked, taking a chance. 

 The man nodded slowly, puzzled, then finally stepped further into the
room. 

 "You're friends with Rich," Ray stated. 

 Kyle nodded again slowly. "What happened?" 

 "I'm sorry to tell you, but Rich died this morning." 

 Kyle's eyes widened. "Dead? Rich!?" He moved to the couch and fell into
it. "When? I was just with him last night and..." 

 "You saw him last night?" Stan clarified. "Where?" 

 "We went to the bar and had a couple of drinks." 

 "Rush?" Fraser inquired. 

 Kyle nodded. "That's the name of the bar we like to hang out at." 

 "Did you see him with anyone? Do you know if he left with anyone?" Ray
asked. 

 Kyle rubbed his face, suddenly looking as though every response took
great concentration. "No. I figured he found some friends. Sometimes we go
out and he runs into old friends and gets talking. I knew he had money for
a cab so after a while, I just decided to come home on my own." 

 Stan raised his eyebrows. "Come home? You live here?" 

 "I live downstairs," he commented. 

 "Then you didn't see him with anyone?" Ray asked again. "Maybe he hooked
up with a woman and..." 

 "He didn't hook up with a woman," Kyle said quickly. "He didn't hook up
with anyone. He may have seen some friends, but he's faithful." 

 "Faithful to whom?" Fraser asked. 

 "To me," Kyle responded as if it were obvious, then tilted his head. "You
didn't know?" he asked. 

 Stan and Fraser glanced at each other as Ray shook his head. "No idea. No
one said anything." 

 "Who'd you talk to?" Kyle asked. 

 "Mr. and Mrs. Blackwell," Stan responded. 

 Kyle let out a breath and ran his fingers through his short hair. "His
mom doesn't know and his father wishes he didn't. Rich and I have been
together since he got back from Princeton. His father wanted him to go
back to school there and get his Master's Degree, but Rich wanted to stay
here with me." 

 Ray nodded. "You think maybe there was too much pressure on him? Maybe
that was getting him down?" 

 "Down?" Kyle asked confused. "No, he wasn't down. He was happy. It
bothered him a little that he couldn't be completely honest with his
family, but he was still happy." 

 Stan cleared his throat. "Kind of strange you left him at the bar, isn't
it?" he asked. 

 Kyle shook his head. "Rich took a cab from time to time. He liked to
socialize with everyone." 

 "Big flirt?" Stan asked. 

 "No, nothing like that. He was just friendly. He grew up around here and
knows everyone." 

 "Did you see anyone suspicious at the bar? Maybe someone was watching
him," Stan said, but Ray glared at him. 

 Stan furrowed his brow and Ray shifted, looking back at Kyle. "We think
he may have killed himself. We'd like to know what his state of mind..." 

 "No, no," Kyle said firmly. "He wouldn't have. He couldn't have." 

 "But that's how it looks," Ray insisted. 

 "On the contrary," Benton argued. "There were signs of..." 

 "No, Benny," Ray said quickly. "Doesn't matter. I just want to know his
state of mind." 

 "The facts," Stan snapped. "That's what we're looking for." Their
conversation was interrupted as Ray's phone rang. Reaching into his
pocket, he took out the small phone and answered. "Vecchio - Why? - all
right. We'll head back now," he said, then hung up and looked at Stan.
"Welsh wants us back. He'll tell us why when we get there." 

 Stan looked at Kyle, then stepped toward him and passed him a card.
"Look, if you think of anything, you call us. Do you know anyone else who
might know something?" 

 "Rich had a lot of friends down there at the club, but I can't think of
anyone really. I was asking if anyone had seen him after we got separated,
but no one said they saw him." 

 Ray and Stan started to walk out, but Fraser stopped. "Did Rich like
lemons with his beer?" he asked. 

 Kyle furrowed his brow, then nodded. "Yeah, well, he would eat a couple
slices when he was drinking," he explained. "He said it cuts the taste." 

 Fraser smiled and nodded, then followed the others out.  "You're working
the Blackwell case?" Welsh asked once he had the detectives and Fraser in
his office. 

 Stan nodded. "Yeah. We've got some leads and..." 

 "No leads. No need," Welsh said. "The ME declared it a suicide." 

 "But sir," Stan said quickly. 

 "It's a suicide, Detective. You've got a lot of cases that need attention
and I'm not going to let you waste it on an open and closed case." 

 "Yeah, but it couldn't have been. He had rope burns....." Stan attempted.


 Fraser cleared his throat. "Sir, I think I have some information that may
shed light on this," he said. 

 Welsh furrowed his brow. "It's been closed, Constable," he said, waving
them away. 

 In the bullpen, Stan immediately turned to Fraser. He wanted to ask about
the information Fraser had mentioned, but Ray interrupted. "The rope burns
don't mean anything," he said to Stan. 

 Stan turned his head. "Sure it does. He was tied up or something. Can't
shoot yourself while you're tied up." 

 Ray looked annoyed and stepped to his desk. "Nothing says he was tied up
at the time he was shot. He may have been tied up in some sicko pervert
domination thing and decided to shoot himself afterwards." 

 "And what says that's the case?" Stan asked. 

 "Come on," Ray responded. "Some fag kid gets picked up in a bar. It's all
perverted. They're into that sort of thing." 

 Stan's eyes widened and it took everything he had not to turn to Fraser
or to hit Ray. "Just because he's gay, doesn't mean he's into that sort of
thing," Stan sneered. 

 Ray shook his head. "Sure, whatever," he said under his breath and looked
at the desk. "Doesn't matter anyway. Kid shot himself and..." 

 "He didn't shoot himself!" Stan argued, then looked at Fraser. "You think
he shot himself, Fraze?" 

 "No," Fraser responded. 

 "What?" Ray asked. 

 "His hands smelled of beer and lemons," Fraser began. 

 "Yeah, we got that. He was at the bar," Ray said. 

 "No blowback," Fraser said. "I was unable to detect any smells that would
be consistent with blowback from firing the weapon." 

 "Welsh said it's closed," Ray said. "I say we move on." 

 "Wait a second," Stan argued. "You're saying he didn't shoot himself?" 

 "Yes," Fraser said. "That's precisely what I'm saying." 

 "Blowback or not, bondage or not. It doesn't matter," Ray debated. "We're
dropping the case. Let the kid lie in peace." 

 Stan shook his head. "I'm not giving up that easily," he snarled as he
walked from the bullpen. 

 ******Part 4
 Feeling the warm arms around him, Stan took Fraser's hand in his own. The
spooning position was so familiar now, nothing else seemed right. He let
out a breath. "Fraze?" 

 "Yes," Fraser responded quietly, having nearly fallen asleep when the
voice brought him back to reality. 

 "I really want to respect Vecchio because he's your friend," Stan said. 

 "He is my friend," Fraser said. "He's your friend also," he added. 

 Stan nodded a little. "I'm sorry that we have to hide things from him. I
don't want you hiding from your friends because it makes things hard." 

 "Yes," Fraser responded. 

 "After today..." Stan began, then let it trail off. 

 Fraser leaned over Stan and looked down at his face. "After today?" 

 "How can you ever tell him? He'll never understand." 

 Fraser let out a breath. "I'm sure that given the right circumstances,
you'd be surprised how understanding Ray can be. He may only have said the
things he said because he lacks knowledge." 

 Stan shrugged. "He's a jackass," he whispered. 

 "Ray," Fraser scolded, then cleared his throat. "Stan." He closed his
eyes, realizing the change of names was more difficult than he
anticipated. "Ray doesn't understand. Perhaps we'll have to explain it to
him." 

 Stan shook his head. "I don't want to. I don't think he deserves to
know." He heard Fraser take a deep breath, then he spoke again before
Benton could. "Good night," he said quickly, then snuggled back against
his partner and closed his eyes. 

 Fraser sat quietly a moment. "Good night," he said finally, relaxing into
the pillows.  Kowalski saw Dewey and Ray laughing beside Ray's desk when
he walked into the squad room. Crossing to his desk, he passed the men and
overheard the words that made his hair stand on end. 

 "So his dad don't want word to get out that his kid's a queer. Who can
blame him?" Dewey was saying. 

 Stan stopped and turned to them. "What's this?" he asked. 

 Dewey looked over Ray's shoulder. "Rumor on the floor is that Blackwell
made a big gift to get your case buried." 

 Stan raised his eyebrows and looked to Ray for answers. Ray shrugged.
"That's what they're saying. There's suddenly an excess in the funding for
the police department and it makes sense. No one knew his kid was a fag
and as long as it's declared suicide and buried, no one has to know. They
let us investigate and all the dirty facts float to the surface." 

 His nose flaring slightly, Stan's eyes narrowed and he turned to his
desk, then looked back up at them. "See?" he said to Ray. "This is why we
should do it. Someone's got to find out who did this and stop it." 

 Ray scoffed. "Come on, Kowalski. Just drop it. No reason Mr. Blackwell
should be humiliated just because you and Fraser have your little theory."


 Stan turned back to his desk and tried to concentrate, but at this point,
it was far past broken. He picked up the phone and dialed a number as Ray
and Tom went back to their conversation. 

 "Constable Fraser," Stan said into the phone, then watched as Huey
approached. He was still on hold as the two men included Huey in the
rumor. 

 "Who can blame him?" Dewey repeated as Stan listened. 

 Huey shifted. "I don't know. Whether or not the guy is gay has no bearing
on whether or not a crime was committed." 

 Stan looked at Huey, meeting his gaze a second before Huey looked at
Dewey who was now speaking. "So what? They want it gone. Ray and Stan
should just follow orders," Dewey said. 

 "Follow orders?" Huey mumbled as he walked away. 

 "Constable Fraser," came the voice, getting Stan's attention back where
it belonged. 

 "Fraze. Look, I need to talk to you. You got some time today?" Kowalski
asked. 

 Fraser hesitated only a second. "Why, yes sir. I have those reports for
you as we speak." 

 Stan furrowed his brow. "Something wrong, Fraser?" 

 "I'll fax them to you by 1 o'clock this afternoon." 

 "Fraze?" 

 Fraser sounded stiff as he continued. "You are correct, sir. Inspector
Thatcher is standing here. Would you like to speak with her?" 

 "Oh. Ice Queen. Then you're saying you'll be here after lunch?" 

 Stan could hear Fraser clear his throat slightly. "Well, if you don't
need to speak with her, then just remember that the fax will be there
after lunch. Thank you. Good bye." 

 Hearing the click, Stan hung up and chuckled. Ray turned to him, his eyes
questioning. Looking up a moment later, Stan shook his head in amusement.
"Fraser's getting reamed by that woman again." 

 Ray smiled a little. "That mean he won't be by?" 

 "He seems to think she'll be finished with her rant after lunch so I
guess we'll wait for him." Stan looked down at the report he'd been
making. As Dewey went back to work, Ray stepped beside Stan and looked
over his shoulder. Seeing the report was about Rich, he shook his head.
"We're dropping it. Welsh wants it that way. Mr. Blackwell wants it that
way. Who are we to argue?" 

 "Someone killed him and I'm going to find out who and why." Ray grabbed
the paper from Stan and tossed it aside. Stan jumped to his feet.
"Justice, Vecchio!" he responded simply. 

 Ray scoffed. "Justice? Fraser's rubbed off on you, hasn't he? Look, it's
not that I think this kid doesn't deserve anything, it's just that if this
is the command we've been given, I'm not wasting my time. ME says it's a
suicide, that's all that matters. Case closed." 

 Glaring, Stan moved to pick up the papers and set them back on his desk. 

 "Besides," Ray continued. "What about that case we dropped yesterday to
investigate this?" 

 "We were waiting on the fingerprints. Get anything yet?" 

 Ray nodded. "I got the name first thing this morning. We just have to go
pick him up." 

 Stan conceded, standing and following Ray to go pick up the guy they'd
traced by prints from the scene of an assault and battery the day before. 

 By the time they had him in custody, booked, and set, it was lunch time.
Stan and Ray went into the lunch room and stared at the snack machines.
Pushing the buttons, Ray finally decided on egg salad. Sliding open the
door, he removed it and tore off the plastic while Stan tried to make a
decision. 

 Taking a bite, Ray made a face and swallowed hard. "I didn't think there
was enough mustard in the world to make a sandwich taste that bad," he
commented. 

 Stan chuckled. "Yeah, I stay away from anything with a recipe," he
commented as he selected a lunch meat sandwich. Moments later, he was
peeling back the plastic and scrunching his nose. "Course, that doesn't
always work," he remarked as he showed Ray the mold on his cheese. 

 "Oh, that is disgusting. They need to do something about these machines,"
Ray said. "I can't take it anymore." 

 Stan smiled a little at the outburst. 

 "Hello," came the voice from the door and both men turned. "Are you
having lunch?" Fraser asked as he looked at the sandwich in Ray's hand. 

 "Only if you're treating us to something other than moldy sandwiches with
too much mustard," Ray replied as he dropped his sandwich in the garbage. 

 Stan smiled. "I see she let you go." 

 Fraser raised his eyebrows before he glanced at both men and nodded.
"Perhaps," he responded. 

 "Perhaps what?" Ray asked. 

 "Perhaps let me go is a strong observation." He stepped forward. "She has
left for the day and will not be aware of my absence." 

 Stan chuckled. "Hooky," he said under his breath as he glanced at Ray.
"Well, I wanted to talk to you," he added and started for the door. Fraser
turned to follow and Ray came up behind. A moment later, Stan turned and
looked at Ray. "Uh, alone. I just have a question," he said. "You don't
mind, do you, Vecchio?" 

 Ray shrugged, turning back to the bull pen. "I'll see you in a minute,"
he said as he walked away. 

 Stan led the way to the first interview room and held the door for
Fraser. Letting it close behind them, he folded his arms. "I found out
that Mr. Blackwell made a big donation in order to bury this case on his
son." 

 Fraser furrowed his brow. "Why would he do that?" 

 "Because he doesn't want the word to get out that his son was gay. He's
trying to cover it up like it's humiliating." 

 Fraser turned his hat in his hands. "What do you suggest?" 

 "I suggest we follow it up on our own. I want to know who did it and why
they did it, because it just makes no sense. Obviously it wasn't theft.
Hate crime maybe? If someone's wandering the city hunting down gay men, I
sure as hell want to know about it." 

 "Then perhaps we should bring Ray into this conversation," Fraser
suggested. 

 "Vecchio made it clear he doesn't want to be involved." 

 "If we explain to him that you are concerned for the safety of other
citizens..." 

 "He made it very clear that he doesn't want in on this, Fraze. I'm not
going to fight him every step of the way, wasting time until the next
hit," Stan argued. 

 Fraser took in a breath. "The two of you are partners. You should reach
an agreement before moving on a case - especially when you've been given
the specific command by your superior officer to do something else." 

 Stan shook his head a moment, dropping his arms to his sides. "Maybe
you're right. In most cases, I'd say you are, but this time, I'm going. If
you're not coming with me, I'm going it alone." He turned to open the
door. "I'm going down to talk to Esther and find out what it took to make
her report it the way she did." He paused to meet Fraser's gaze. "Are you
coming?" 

 "What about Ray? You said we'd return in a moment." 

 Stan gave Fraser a look that told him his thoughts. Stop worrying about
Ray or I'll handle this on my own. 

 Fraser swallowed and stepped behind Stan. "All right," he agreed. 

 ******Part 5
 "Dr. Pearson," Stan said as the blonde woman stepped from the back. "Hi."


 "Hello," she said, then nodded to Fraser. "What brings you down here?" 

 "I thought you might be able to give up some information on the body we
picked up yesterday." 

 "Blackwell," she sighed. "I sent my report to Detective Vecchio hours
ago." 

 "I know," Stan responded. "I just thought you may have missed a couple
things." 

 She looked away and shook her head. "I didn't miss anything," she
replied. 

 Taking a step closer, Kowalski furrowed his brow. "I know what's going
on. I just want some information." 

 She looked him in the eye, challenging him. "I have nothing and even if I
did, I left it all in my report so you'll just have to accept it as
written." 

 Stan grunted. "I just didn't see you as the type to be bought," he
commented. 

 "Excuse me," she sneered. "I'm very busy." 

 "Dr. Pearson," Fraser said as he stepped beside her. "We aren't looking
to contradict your report," he lied, quite convincingly. "We only want to
know if you think perhaps a mistake has been made." 

 She looked him in the eye. "Yes, but my hands are tied," she responded,
picking up the file she'd come in for. "Excuse me," she said again and
went back through the door she'd come through. 

 Stan looked at Fraser and let out a breath of exasperation. "Now what?
You want to look at the body and see what you can get?" 

 "I've seen the body, Ray," Fraser responded, neither of them catching his
error. 

 Stan nodded and looked through the window into Esther Pearson's office.
She sat at her desk and began to work. Turning, he looked through the
double swinging doors and saw Mort speaking into a microphone. Opening the
door, Fraser followed Stan inside. 

 "Mort," Stan greeted. 

 Mort looked up and smiled. "Ah! Detective Kowalski and Constable Fraser.
Two of my favourite investigators," he greeted. 

 Smiling, Stan walked up to the table. With the sheet completely covering
the body except one exposed arm, avoidance was easy. "Dr. Pearson was
working on a kid brought in yesterday. Young man in his early twenties,
short dark hair?" 

 "Blackwell," Mort said. "I heard Esther talking about the wealthy
family." 

 "What did she say?" 

 Mort looked back at the hand and cleaned under the nail. "Nothing of
interest," he responded. 

 "Did you happen to have a view of the body at any point?" Fraser asked. 

 Mort looked up, past them at the door, then shifted his eyes to them
while he reached around the table and hit a button to stop the recording
he'd been making. "I saw enough," he responded quietly. "He had rope burns
on his ankles and wrists and bruises all over his body aside from the
gunshot wound," he enunciated through his accent. 

 Stan nodded and Fraser took a step closer. "We noticed those things as
well. Do you believe it was a suicide?" 

 Mort shook his head. "It most certainly was not. Before Dr. Pearson got a
phone call, she was gathering samples from his hands." 

 "No blowback," Stan assumed, to which Mort nodded. 

 "He could not have fired the weapon that killed him," Mort added, then
walked around the table. He folded his arms. "There was something else." 

 "Oh?" Stan asked with interest. 

 Mort nodded and cleared his throat, checking the door again before
leaning in to speak in confidence. "He had definitely been entered anally
previous to his death, but within minutes. I would conclude that whoever
actually shot him may also have raped him beforehand." 

 Stan rubbed his temple and turned. "Thanks for the 411, Mort," he said as
he started for the door. 

 Fraser stood a moment longer. "Did Dr. Pearson get samples from that
region before she stopped the report?" 

 Mort nodded. "She really was given no choice on the matter, though I
could tell this upset her. I was also given clear instructions on my
duties." 

 Fraser smiled a little. "Thank you, Mort. We'll be certain your job is
not placed in jeopardy." 

 "Thank you, Constable," Mort responded and watched him follow Stan from
the morgue. 

 In the hall, Stan waited for Fraser. He started walking without look,
knowing the Mountie would follow. "What do you suggest we follow as our
next course of action?" Fraser asked. 

 Stan straightened, but kept walking. "I think we have to go ask a few
questions at the club." 

 Fraser nodded. "Perhaps someone saw Rich and knows more information
than..." 

 Stan stopped and took in a breath. "Actually, I'm thinking we go in
without badges and, well," he waved to Fraser's outfit. "No uniforms. We
go in as a couple guys. That way, we don't scare anyone off before we have
a chance to find out the motive. Most of these guys are in the closet and
aren't going to want that to come out to a couple investigators. Might
feel more friendly if they think we're just one of them." Stan saw
Fraser's apprehension at the idea, but began walking again. "So we're
basically under cover. No one has to know and if we find out anything,
we've got our resources to track the killer down." 

 "Are you certain we shouldn't try to go through official channels and get
reinstated on the case?" 

 "No, Fraze. Money buys politics down here and Blackwell bought the right
to stop this case dead in its tracks. If we want to solve it, it's our own
time and our own asses or it's not going to happen," Kowalski explained
sternly.  "Well, the club won't be hopping for another few hours, but I
don't want to go back and deal with Vecchio right now," Stan said as he
drove. "What do you say we play hooky this afternoon and deal with the
consequences tomorrow?" 

 Looking at Fraser, Stan knew the man was considering the
inappropriateness of the act, but as Stan pulled into the parking lot of
their apartment building, he really didn't care. "Come on, Fraser. We
never just take a day for the hell of it." 

 Fraser looked at him as he opened the door. He got out, saying nothing as
they went inside and approached the elevator. Inside, Stan pressed the
button to their floor and smiled at Fraser. "You ever just want to take an
afternoon to do whatever you want?" 

 "On occasion, but I rarely find an excuse worthy of doing so. It always
seems my duties at the Consulate speak louder than my desire to do other
things," Fraser responded. 

 Stan looked at him an instant, then moved close. He grabbed Fraser and
started to kiss him, pushing him against the side wall of the elevator.
Pressing his lips to his and running his tongue firmly along Fraser's,
they held their arms around each other. 

 All at once, Stan leaned to the side and pushed the big red button. The
elevator slammed to a halt and Fraser pulled back from the kiss to look at
him. Stan smiled. "How's this for desire?" he asked, grabbing Fraser to
press his lips against him again. 

 Feeling his pants beginning to constrict, Stan quickly undid them, then
pressed himself against Fraser as he undid his pants. He followed the act
by sliding his hands around and cupping that ass he loved to hold. 

 Fraser's heart was racing with fear and anticipation. As inappropriate as
this was, it only added to the excitement as he felt himself swelling
while he licked Stan's lips. Pressed even harder against the wall of the
elevator, Fraser felt those lips break from his and the body slide down
his own. That caused his erection to grow harder, the warm body close as
it moved. He threw his head back and leaned it on the wall as he felt Stan
free his cock just before taking it into his mouth. 

 Letting out a quiet moan, he jumped as a bell began to ring. The
emergency stop of the elevator had finally triggered the alarm, but it
made no difference. The building was old and there was no maintenance or
management to care whether or not the bell rang all evening. In fact,
Fraser suspected, the only reason this building had a functioning elevator
was pure luck and the fact that stairs from the first to the fifteenth
floor was too much for the old ladies who lived up there. 

 Stan explored the shaft in his mouth with tongue and lips, pressing and
sucking as he licked and massaged each inch. He could hear Fraser's
breathing getting louder and more defined as he moved on him. Tugging down
on the pants, Stan then slid his hand in and massaged the scrotum as he
went, sending Fraser into ecstasy. His knees feeling weak, Fraser leaned
more weight on the wall and let out a low moan. 

 Putting one hand on the rail that ran thigh high around three walls of
the boxy contraption, Fraser put his other hand on Stan's head. His whole
body was warm, growing warmer as muscles tensed. All at once, he felt
everything center on his groin. "Oh!" he groaned as he felt the spurting
of his cum into Stan's mouth. 

 Stan swallowed once, then held his mouth over the penis and moved a few
more times until Fraser's body began to relax. Sliding his body back up
the Mountie, he grabbed one of Fraser's hands and wordlessly threw it
around to grasp the bar. Now facing the wall, Fraser could feel hands on
his hips pulling him away until his lover stopped and moved toward his
ass. The warm cum fell from Stan's mouth as he licked Fraser's hole while
rubbing the other man's thighs. A moment later, he raised himself again
and freed his strong erection completely from his underwear and pushed it
against Fraser. Stan ran his hands under and up Fraser's clothing, rubbing
his back as he slowly pressed himself inside, thrusting very deliberately
into him. 

 The bell was beginning to get on Stan's nerves. As he gritted his teeth,
he closed his eyes and tried to drown it out with thoughts of where he
was, what he was doing. It seemed a good idea at the time, but as he moved
his hands from under the clothing and grabbed Fraser's arms, he threw his
hips into the man and let out a low groan. He pushed the sounds away and
concentrated on his dick in Fraser's ass, the tight sensation and smooth
movements. "Dammit," he breathed, taking a step back as he hastily tried
to do up his pants. It was a struggle getting himself back inside, but as
Fraser began to do up his own, Stan shook his head and hit the red button
again. 

 The elevator started, not stopping again until it reached their floor.
"Damn alarm," Stan breathed. "I forgot about that stupid obnoxious..." he
unlocked the door, moving in and turning to watch Fraser close the door.
He found himself looking back at that ass as he tossed his keys across the
kitchen counter, not even paying attention as they skidded across and fell
to the floor. He was no longer distracted by the ass. His attention was
stolen by the kiss Fraser gave him, firm and forceful. Pushing him toward
the couch, Fraser stopped beside it. "Try again or you want me to do
something for you?" he asked, smiling. 

 Stan looked at him a moment, then let out a breath. "Trying again without
the damned bell would be something enough for me," he responded, then
watched as Fraser undid his pants again and pushed them to his ankles
while undoing his uniform jacket and removing it. 

 Undressing as Fraser took off the last of his clothing, Stan looked at
the couch. Once he was finished, he guided Fraser to the couch, kneeling
behind him as he pushed Fraser's stomach over the arm. Moving his knees
closer, the simple act was making his erection remember where he'd left
off and as he put one hand on the back of the couch and the other on
Fraser's shoulder, he positioned his dick against the fine backside and
pressed himself inside. He gently brushed the hand from Fraser's shoulder
down his back and put it on his hip, thrusting his hips against the ass
again while pulling back on the pelvic bone. 

 Fraser held himself up against the arm of the sofa as he took in a quick
breath. Stan's dick played inside him, touching him deep as the repetitive
thrusting made his heart beat harder. He felt warm and wondered a little
if he was going to come again. His muscles tensed and he suspected that if
Stan didn't come soon, he was going to find himself verging on another
orgasm. Breathing deeply, he pushed back for each of Stan's thrusts and
tried to moisten his mouth. His saliva was running dry in the moment of
passion, but as he felt himself getting hotter, he heard Stan grunt, then
let out a sharp breath. At that, he began to moan deeply with each
undulation and an instant later, Fraser felt the muscles of his ass and
Stan's cock fighting each other. 

 Stan pulled out and Fraser felt the cum run down the back of his thighs.
He licked his lower lip, swallowing hard while his arms began to shake. 

 He felt Stan leaving in a hurry. Surprised, Fraser turned to see Stan
moving toward the window. It was then that he realized that it had started
to rain. Watching as Stan closed the window, Fraser stood. "Is it raining
very much?" 

 Stan turned and smiled. "Yeah. I just realized." He looked down at the
table under the window. "Just a little came through with the wind. Didn't
do much damage." Pausing, Stan walked toward Fraser again. "Just bills
anyway. Who cares?" 

 They could hear the rain splashing on the windows. Stan glanced at
Fraser's watch. "We've still got some time." 

 "Yes," Fraser agreed, following Stan into the bedroom. 

 ******Part 6
 Stan Kowalski stood in the bedroom as he listened to the shower run and
stared at the ringing phone. The fancy gadget told him exactly who was
calling, but he wasn't going to talk to Vecchio right now. It stopped
ringing and he waited, but as the phone indicated there was a message, he
turned it off and slipped it into the top drawer of his dresser. As he
tucked it to the back, he heard the shower turn off so he slid the drawer
closed. 

 He'd showered quickly first and now, wearing only his boxer briefs, he
stood before the closet and stared at the pitiful collection of clothes.
Having little option, he chose black pants and the newest of his t-shirts,
a plain pale green. 

 Poking around the closet, he fingered through Fraser's uniforms. What the
Mountie would wear was beyond him. Something pastel caught his attention
from the back of the closet. Stan pushed the uniforms aside and found
himself looking at a slate blue dress. He stared at it a moment, but just
as Fraser entered, he tucked it back into the closet. His train of thought
was forgotten a moment for the man in his towel. 

 Stan smiled and Fraser smiled back before opening the drawer Stan had
emptied for him to retrieve his perfect white boxers. Watching him, Stan
said nothing and neither did Fraser. 

 "I'm not certain what would be appropriate," Fraser said at last. 

 Stan shrugged. "Might have to go with your Levi's," he commented, then
looked back into the closet. "Sweaters, button up shirts. Here, wear this
blue shirt," he commented as he took the pale blue shirt from his own pile
and handed it to Fraser. 

 Fraser looked at it a moment. "Are you certain..." he began, but Stan
interrupted. 

 "Yes." 

 "I could wear this over it," he said, touching a button down plaid shirt.


 Stan held up a hand. "Just that," he stated. 

 Looking at his partner a moment, Fraser relented and pulled the shirt
over his head. "Are you sure we shouldn't dress a little less casually?" 

 Stan reached back into the closet and produced the dress. The blush that
immediately covered Fraser's face amused him. "You'd rather wear this?" 

 Fraser tugged at the shirt, losing the effect as he realized that wasn't
the cause of his feeling restricted. Clearing his throat, he stared at the
dress. "It was... it was... I had that because..." 

 "If it has to do with you dressing like a woman, I don't want to know." 

 Fraser relaxed. "All right." 

 Stan saw how quickly Fraser quieted which made him all the more curious.
"Does it?" 

 "Does it what?" 

 "Have to do with you dressing like a woman?" 

 "You said that if it did, you don't want to know." 

 Stan's expression became demanding. "Well, now I do. So?" 

 "I seem to recall informing you..." 

 "When?" 

 "In the crypt shortly after we met. You asked..." 

 Stan shook his head. "Doesn't matter. So, you ... what? Do this when
you're bored?" 

 "No!" Fraser said, the redness burning his cheeks again. "It was an
assignment. Someone had to go inside a catholic school for girls and I
would have seemed incredibly out of place in my uniform." 

 "And there was no one else?" 

 "No," Fraser replied. 

 "But you kept the dress." 

 Fraser shifted. "I thought perhaps I might need it again." 

 "For undercover assignments, of course." 

 "Of course!" 

 Stan chuckled, leaning in to hang it up as he leaned into the closet. 

 "Can I help you find something?" Fraser asked. 

 "Wig. You must have had a wig." 

 Fraser considered telling him where he'd hidden it, but instead he took a
step closer to Stan. "Then we're appropriately dressed for the club?" 

 Stan straightened and looked at Fraser. He decided to let the Mountie off
the hook and shrugged. "Clubs are unique places, Fraze, in that you'll see
everything from dress clothes to what we're wearing. It all depends on
what you want to say." 

 "What do we want to say?" 

 Looking at Fraser in his shirt, he saw that the many washings had made it
shrink slightly. "I'm hoping 'Talk to me, but I'm taken,' but the truth
is, I have no fucking clue." He grinned as he sat to start putting on his
socks. 

 A moment later, he was putting on his black boots as Fraser did his belt.
Stopping, he looked out the window into the darkness. The rain hadn't
stopped and as he listened to the pitter patter, he felt content. "We
might want to split up once we get there. I'm thinking it would be either
suspicious or intimidating for us to both be asking questions." He stopped
and looked up into Fraser's eyes. "You know what you're going to ask?" 

 Fraser looked back a moment. The expression told Stan he didn't know what
he would say, but that he could figure it out. 

 Stan shook his head. "Don't be obvious, ok? Don't ask if anyone knows who
killed Rich. It's too obvious." 

 Fraser furrowed his brow, turning to get fresh socks from his drawer.
"Then what would you suggest?" he asked, knowing that maybe he'd have
handled this sort of thing badly when he first arrived in Chicago, but now
he felt he'd learned a lot and could easily figure these things out. 

 "I was thinking I'd ask questions about Rich, actually. If two of us are,
people will wonder what's up. I'll bring up the name. You just try to pay
attention and get people to tell you if they've seen anything queer." He
paused. "Weird. Damn. I never noticed that before," he said under his
breath. 

 "Noticed what?" 

 "How often I use that word," Stan responded as he stood and checked his
appearance in the mirror. "You think that will work? Think we might get
anything this way?" 

 "I believe you've made good points," he hesitated, "Stan." 

 Stan grinned. "I hate it too, but it's a hell of a lot easier than
fighting Vecchio for the rights to my name." 

 Fraser smiled back and stood. Now that he was fully dressed, he looked at
the time. "It's getting late," he observed. 

 "That's when the party starts," Stan responded. "Let's get going." 

 ******Part 7
 The music blared through the walls, booming into the parking lot as
Fraser and Stan walked toward the entrance. Inside, the darkness stopped
instantaneously for flashes of blinding lights, occasionally longer as
coloured lights roamed the crowd. A wall was completely taken by a bar
with three bartenders moving back and forth while people leaned over the
counter to place or pick up orders. Half the remaining room had saloon
tables and bar stools, most with smoke rising from ashtrays in the center.
To one side there were longer tables, too. The other half was a moving
mass of people, rhythmically shifting to the beat. 

 Stan looked around, making his way further into the room as he did.
Groups and couples seemed to take up every inch of the place. Unnerving
and comfortable at the same time, he watched men kissing each other
without abandon. The hand on his ass freaked him out only for an instant
until he spun and saw the hand was attached to a smiling Fraser. He smiled
back and leaned close, forced to yell because of the volume of the music.
"Let's split up! I'll meet you by the doors in one hour to check in!" 

 Fraser nodded and walked toward the tables as Stan went to the dance
floor. An hour later, they met up to say that they had nothing. They opted
to meet in another hour to check in. 

 Stan shifted to the bar and ordered a beer. The bartender passed him a
glass of amber liquid with white foam and watched him until he'd taken it
to a long table. Stan drank the beer half way while listening to the
people at the other end of the table. It was hard to hear, but if he
concentrated, he was able to pick up a few words. 

 Someone sat beside him and he straightened. Turning his head, he saw
Kyle. Kyle smiled. "What brings you here, Detective?" 

 "I'd prefer it if you didn't call me that right now. We're trying to get
information about your friend." He looked at him a moment, then put his
hand against his beer. "I kind of thought you'd be home mourning." 

 Kyle looked away, then shifted more firmly into the seat. "I heard you
guys closed the case already. I came down here hoping to get information
myself. Something I could take to you guys to show you that Rich was
obviously the victim of foul play." 

 Stan nodded. "I know he was," he responded. "We were called off, but me
and Fraze weren't ready to let it go so easily." 

 "I see," Kyle said, giving Stan a knowing look. 

 "You see what?" Stan said. "We're just trying to be nice guys." 

 Kyle looked him over and smiled again, then leaned a little closer. "I
won't tell anyone," he said as he slipped off the stool and disappeared
into the crowd. 

 Stan took in a small breath and finished his beer. His mind was working
overtime on what Kyle had said, but was stopped short when his ear caught
a key word. 

 "You hear what happened to Rich?" said the voice. 

 "Rich? That guy you introduced me to last weekend?" inquired another from
the group. 

 "I didn't hear anything about him," said another. 

 The first spoke again, leaning close and speaking softer, making it
harder for Stan to overhear, but he strained. "Killed himself two nights
ago. Rumor is running around that he went out to Booker Park and shot
himself." 

 "No! That can't be right! I saw him here two nights ago. He was having a
great time." 

 "I saw him going off with someone. Maybe Kyle got upset and is just
spreading rumors. I don't buy it." 

 "It's true," confirmed the first again. "Kyle's really upset about it. He
won't accept it so he's trying to tell everyone it was murder, but I heard
that the cops have already called it a suicide and left it at that. I'm
going to take their word over Kyle's." 

 Stan looked down at his empty beer and gritted his teeth. Hearing those
words suddenly brought to his attention just what a failure they'd be if
they didn't learn the truth. He'd never realized before, never thought
about the faith anyone placed in them. Usually he just got doughnut jokes.
He shook his head and pushed the glass away. 

 Pondering his next course of action, he looked up, moved down two stools,
and leaned into the small group. "I didn't mean to overhear, but Rich was
a good friend of mine," he said. "You all knew him too?" 

 Most of the group was sitting, now looking at him, but as the one that
had been standing took a seat, he leaned toward Stan. "Yeah, we knew him.
At least, we hung out with him while he was here." 

 Stan nodded. "I heard about him getting killed too. Tragic." The others
agreed and he decided he'd gotten enough confidence. "Somebody saw him
leaving with someone?" 

 A tall, thin black man in the corner raised his hand. "I saw him leaving
with someone who wasn't Kyle. I thought it was strange because he and Kyle
had a pretty good thing going." 

 "You know who he left with?" Stan asked. 

 The man shook his head. "No, but he wasn't much of a looker. Nothing
wrong with him, but he really wasn't my type. Or Rich's for that matter." 

 "What did he look like?" Stan asked without thinking. 

 "What are you? The cops?" someone asked and several chuckled. 

 Stan smiled. "Just thought maybe I'd know him." 

 The tall man shook his head. "My height. Black hair. He was dressed as
though he just came from a barn raising," he commented, then laughed at
himself. A few others chuckled as well. 

 Watching them a moment, Stan saw them delve back into their own
conversation. He waited for a few more seconds before standing. He looked
into the crowd, then to the dance floor. He finally spotted Fraser near
the wall talking to someone, so he pushed his way through the crowd. By
the time he got to Fraser, the other man was gone. 

 Fraser smiled and Stan looked at him. "Find out anything?" Fraser shook
his head. "Well, I think I did," Stan informed him. The man at a nearby
table seemed very interested in their conversation so Stan took Fraser's
arm and pulled him to the dance floor. They barely moved, dancing like
straight white people as Stan spoke again. "Someone saw Rich leaving with
another man. They didn't know him, but I'm thinking Kyle might." 

 "Should we leave now to ask Kyle some questions?" Fraser asked. 

 "Kyle's here," Stan remarked. "I ran into him back there." 

 Furrowing his brow, Fraser leaned in. "Why did he come here?" 

 "Same reason we did. He wants to find something. Dangerous game, but he
left before I had a chance to tell him to be careful." Someone bumped Stan
and he fell against Fraser. Standing again, he looked around. "I feel out
of place," he yelled over the music. "Anyway, let's find Kyle and see if
he knows who Rich might have left with." 

 Fraser nodded and Stan looked at him, suddenly aware that if he kissed
him right now, in public, no one would even notice. He smiled and put a
hand behind Fraser's head, giving him a good long kiss before turning away
to go find their new little friend Kyle. 

 Stan finally found Kyle having a pinkish red drink at a table with
another man. Walking up behind the stranger, he smiled at Kyle, then
winked. Kyle waved them to the two empty seats. "This is Doug," he said as
they sat. "He talked to Rich the other night," he added. 

 Stan nodded and Fraser politely shook his hand. "Nice to meet you." 

 Doug gave a half smile. "I was just telling Kyle that I don't know much.
I talked to him and he seemed happy. Shocked the hell out of me to hear
that the cops think it's a suicide." 

 "Do you have another explanation?" Stan asked. 

 Doug nodded. "He bumped into some guy when he was going to pick up
drinks. The guy called him a damned fag and took off. Now, we hear those
things every day, but not here, you know? I thought it was really
strange." 

 "Could you describe the man's appearance?" Fraser inquired. 

 "Yeah, he was kind of tall, taller than me anyway. He had dark hair.
Really dark. Once he said that to Rich, I thought he looked really out of
place." 

 "What do you mean?" Stan pushed. 

 "I don't know. I think it's because he was wearing torn up pants and a
ragged shirt. I mean, it doesn't really matter how he was dressed, but he
looked like he just stepped off the street. I thought it was strange, I
guess." 

 Stan nodded and leaned toward Fraser. "Fits the description I got from
over there. Think he wasn't leaving completely voluntarily?" he asked
quietly enough that only Fraser would hear. 

 Fraser nodded and turned to Doug again. "Did he come back with the
drinks?" 

 "Yes. He lost his smokes, though, and said he was going to get more. He
didn't come back." 

 Fraser glanced at Stan, then to Kyle. "Did you learn anything else that
might prove to be valuable information, Kyle?" he asked. 

 Kyle shook his head. "Most of his friends just had a good chat. He told
them he was going to find me in a little bit so we could go home." 

 "Thanks," Stan said. "Anyone else you think we should talk to?" 

 Shaking his head, Kyle watched Stan stare at him a moment before he
smiled and leaned toward Stan. Speaking softly, he put his hand on Stan's
arm. "I didn't mean to freak you out," he commented. 

 Stan shook his head. "You didn't," he said quickly, then stopped Kyle
from moving away by putting his hand over his. "I just wondered how you
knew." 

 Kyle smiled. Obviously they were very new at this. "Let's just say I have
a sense," he replied, then shifted and leaned closer. "Don't worry,
though. The only other people who are going to know are gay men. In fact,
it took me a while to figure out what it was that was strange about you
guys. It was the other Detective that threw me off." 

 Stan smiled at him and chuckled slightly. "So I'm not wearing a sign?" he
asked. 

 Kyle shook his head. "Only to me and everyone in here," he said with a
wink, then moved his hand. He spoke more clearly for Fraser to hear also.
"I'll let you guys know if I find anything else." 

 "Just be careful," Stan advised. "Asking questions could get you in
trouble." 

 Kyle nodded and stood, then left. Stan thanked Doug again, then he and
Fraser stood, moving toward another group of people. "We'll start looking
for this guy and see if anyone knows him by name," Stan said. 

 Fraser agreed, but as they moved through a crowd, the two were separated.
Stan shrugged and moved to the bar. Stopping a bartender, he began to ask
questions. He knew nothing and as Stan straightened, he looked around.
*There's something to be said for the red suit,* he thought as he looked
around for Fraser. It was difficult to see anything in the crowd. He knew
the first time he'd mostly been lucky to find Fraser so easily. 

 Moving to one of the long tables, he put a foot on the rung of a stool
and lifted himself to look over the crowd. Surveying, he turned slowly and
just as his eyes reached the entrance, he saw the pale blue shirt
disappear through it. Furrowing his brow, Stan jumped down and pushed
through the crowd. 

 Hitting the pouring rain like a brick wall, Stan squinted toward the
truck's taillights. All at once, a man with dark hair pushed Fraser
against the tailgate and a group of several men surrounded him. 

 Reaching for the gun he'd hidden in his boot, Stan suddenly felt a sharp
pain at the back of his head. He fell to the ground, his head hitting the
pavement as he felt a painful thrust into his abdomen. Hit on the back
again, he watched the rain run along the street as he lost consciousness. 

 "Got him," yelled one of the men as two more approached the truck. "You
sure you don't want us to bring him too?" 

 "No room," said one of them as the men worked to throw Fraser into the
back. "This is the one I saw asking questions anyway," he added. Two men
climbed into the cab and as the truck started, Fraser felt his wrists
being bound. Inside the club, he'd felt a gun at his back. He'd had no
time to react, but saw the exit as his chance to make a move. Before he
could, however, someone had hit him over the head and while he wasn't able
to fight, he was conscious enough to hear what was going on. 

 He felt ropes at his ankles and more hands than he could ever fight. The
truck was speeding along the street now and as his mind began to clear,
someone hit him again. At that point, everything went black. 

 ******Part 8
 Francesca heard the loud banging on the door as it dragged her from
sleep. At first she thought it was rain, but then she knew it was too
loud. The doorbell rang and she slipped from her bed, throwing on her robe
as she moved to the window. Opening it, she looked down and to the side.
She could see the figure banging on the door loudly, then pressing the
doorbell a few more times. 

 She crossed her bedroom and opened the door to the hallway. 

 "Ma, it's ok. I've got it. Go back to bed," Ray was telling their mother
as he ushered her back into her room. He turned and saw Francesca. "It's
ok, Frannie. Go back to bed." 

 Francesca tied her robe as she stood in the hallway. "I think it's Stan,"
she mumbled, confused. 

 Ray shook his head. "Don't worry about it. I'll handle it," he told her
as he took her arm. "Probably something stupid," he added as he pushed her
back into her room and ran down the steps. 

 Ignoring his command she followed down after him, stopping on the step to
watch the action in the doorway. 

 Throwing the door open, Ray stared at the dark figure. "What the hell are
you doing, coming here in the middle of the night and waking my fam..." He
stopped as his hand found the light switch and lit the porch. He saw the
blood running down Kowalski's face and onto his shirt, rainwater making it
thin and pink. 

 "They got Fraze," Stan stated simply, gasping and out of breath.  Two
towels under him, one around his shoulders and one over his lap was still
not enough to warm Stan as Francesca wiped the blood from the back of his
neck. She'd already put a small bandage on his forehead and when she saw
the other wound, she began to work. 

 Ray hung up the phone. "Huey and Dewey are going to meet us by the park."


 "The park? What makes you think they're there?" 

 "You get my message?" Ray asked. 

 Stan shook his head. As soon as everything had happened, he'd kicked
himself for not bringing his phone, but the message had been forgotten
anyway. 

 "I got to thinking about what you and Huey said. I made a couple phone
calls and did some research. Found out a guy filed a report that he'd been
raped back there. He dropped the charges and all, but it was reported in
the same spot six months ago. No way of knowing, but if it's the same guy
involved, maybe it's the appeal of the location." 

 Stan nodded and started to move to his feet. 

 "I'm not finished," Francesca said. 

 Stan looked at her. "Thanks," he said, then looked to Ray. "Let's go,
then." 

 Ray led the way out, shutting off the lights Francesca wouldn't need as
he went. "How many did you say?" 

 "I'm thinking about 5 or 6 by Fraze, but whoever hit me wasn't alone,"
Stan responded. 

 "He's moved up from rape to murder and gained supporters on the way.
Seems strange to me," Ray commented. 

 "He didn't step up, he added to," Stan corrected. 

 "What do you mean?" 

 "Didn't want to say it in front of Frannie, but Fraser and I went down
and got a little from Mort. Pretty much no question that Rich was gang
raped moments before they killed him." 

 "So maybe they tried to make it look like a suicide because they didn't
expect to kill him" Ray commented. 

 "Could be, but hard to guess, huh? Could just be that someone dropped the
gun, but it makes more sense than a planning to make it look like suicide
and then botching it that badly." 

 Ray agreed and pulled onto the street.  Fraser was aware that much time
had passed. Unconscious, he had no idea what had happened in that space,
but he knew he was in the back of the truck, a few bruises more, but not
many. 

 The truck stopped and Fraser smelled the air. The wet grass and spring
leaves made him suspect they were at the park. Blindfolded, he relied on
smell and sound to guide his conclusions. Dragged from the back of the
truck, he could feel enough firm hands that no matter how hard he fought,
he wasn't going to gain an inch. 

 Still, he struggled as they moved him. He could feel the rain soaking him
even though it had eased up. Listening to the splashing of the grass and
mud, he was thrown to the ground. Forced onto his knees, they held him and
pushed him over an object. *The tree stump,* he confirmed by the smell. It
is definitely the same park. The same place. Find me, Ray. You'll find me
here! 

 The next sensation of touch was cold against the back of his neck.
Pressed in, he felt the shape and knew immediately it was a gun. His knees
were in a puddle, the smell of the wet stump strong in his nostrils as he
finally heard them speaking. 

 "You want him first?" someone asked. 

 "Yeah, just make sure you hold him good," said another. 

 Stan! Fraser felt a tug on his waistband and an instant later, his pants
were halfway down his thigh. He swallowed hard. 

 "Fuck the fag. I'm next!" 

 Fraser felt a body against him an instant later. As something pushed into
him, he jerked, desperately trying to crawl out of his skin, but they held
him too tightly. He struggled against the sensations of penetration. His
ears rang so loud in his mind that he didn't even hear himself scream. 

 I need you!  Stan held his head as Ray whipped around the corner. He
thought any moment now he would vomit, but the thought of Fraser in danger
kept it at bay. Mort's words rang through his mind as he pressed his
temples, hoping to keep his head intact. Hang on, Fraze. Just hang in
there for me. I can't do this without you. Stan began to think about life
without Fraser and his muscles tensed. This can't be real. 

 "There they are!" shouted Ray as he lifted the CB from his rearview. "We
need backup on the south side of Booker Park! No sirens. I repeat, come in
silent!" 

 Looking up, Stan saw Huey and Dewey in wait, pulling out to follow them
around to the back entrance of the park.  Forcefully pulled to his feet,
Fraser felt a lump in his throat as they pulled his pants back around his
hips and half dragged him across the grass. He collapsed when someone
kicked the back of his knees. 

 Fraser was suddenly more aware of the bonds on his wrists rubbing the
skin raw. In the darkness caused by the blindfold, he was more aware of
his body than he wanted to be. So many men had been in him now, he felt
the slippery stickiness in him and on his skin, against his clothing. His
left knee was on a rock, pressing painfully into the bone. The hands that
grabbed his arms were not kind, and he found himself wondering just how
hard Rich had fought. The threat of a gun may have been enough to
intimidate him into cooperating, but it didn't matter. Either way, he
would have ended up dead. 

 Fraser swallowed. He wasn't afraid. He never felt fear. I am a Mountie he
reminded himself as he did every time he felt apprehension. An instant
later, he caught his breath as the cold steel met his temple. Where are
you, Stan? I need you! The clicking of the gun as the shooter cocked it
was shattering. Benton felt it to his core and clenched his teeth. Under
the blindfold, they had no idea that his eyes were shut tightly. 

 "Come on, man. Do it. We gotta get out of here!" 

 "Yeah! And don't drop the gun this time," another yelled. 

 "What's the matter? You afraid? Come on!" 

 "Do it, man!" one of the remainders yelled, then Fraser could hear
someone running away. "Someone's here!" the voice yelled out in the
confusion. 

 He felt the gun leave his temple and heard running. Frozen to the spot,
Fraser couldn't even think as he heard the running, the cars screeching. 

 "Stop!" he heard, then a gunshot. In another moment, he heard men running
toward him, around and past him. Someone had stopped nearby and was
quickly pushed to the ground. He recognized Ray's voice, but wondered
where Stan's was. 

 Stan ran across the field, oblivious to Ray, Huey, and Dewey who were
keeping their guns on the assailants they'd caught and cuffing them. Other
officer's jumped from their vehicles and assisted the pursuit as they
arrived, but Stan wasn't paying attention. He fell to his knees before
Fraser and pulled off the blindfold in the same instant he threw his arms
around the man. 

 Eyes closed, Stan hugged Fraser so tightly, it made Fraser aware he
hadn't taken a breath in several seconds. Suddenly expelling the air from
his lungs, he was gasping. 

 Ray took his knee off one of the criminal's backs after clasping the
cuffs on and glanced across to where he saw Stan and Fraser. He barely had
time to take in the sight before Kowalski's hands moved from around Fraser
to each side of his face. Pulling Fraser into a kiss, Kowalski didn't care
what anyone thought anymore. It didn't matter. None of it would have
mattered if he'd lost Fraser. 

 Ray swallowed hard as the instantaneous kiss lasted a second. He glanced
at Huey and Dewey, then saw that they were staring at the scene with the
same amount of shock. He turned back as one second turned into five
seconds of lips and movement and passion. Five turned to eight, then nine,
then Kowalski threw his arms around Fraser again, eyes closed as he held
him in another tight hug. 

 "Would you consider loosening the bonds on my wrists?" Fraser finally
asked in broken tones, getting Stan to let go. 

 ******Part 9
 The Riv was silent as Ray stared at the road, distracted by his thoughts.
Fraser sat in the back seat, his head bowed with Stan beside him watching,
staring, observing, and wondering. 

 Ray turned left where Stan thought he should have gone straight so he
looked up. "Where are you going?" 

 "Hospital," Ray replied coldly. 

 Fraser raised his eyes slightly. "I don't want to go to the hospital," he
admitted, thinking of what they would put him through, word getting back
to his superiors, the humiliation. 

 "You have to, Benny," Ray replied, his voice showing his reluctance to
admit that it had to be done. 

 "I'm all right," Fraser argued. "I wasn't hurt that badly." 

 Ray let the silence back in before he took in a sharp breath. "Sorry,
Benny, but if you're not going to do it for you, you're going to do it for
evidence." 

 "He's not evidence!" Stan snapped. 

 "Come on, Stan! Think about it! If we don't do this, we might lose the
strongest point in our case. These guys have to spend life in jail for
what they did." 

 Stan glanced at Fraser. *They deserve the electric chair for what they've
done,* he thought as he watched the Mountie's head fall in shame. Stan put
his hand on Fraser's knee. "I'll be there the whole time, if you want," he
said. 

 Fraser shook his head. His pained eyes finally looked at Stan. 

 Bringing his hand up, Stan gently touched a wound on Fraser's face. The
light from the street flashed every second and as soon as Fraser noticed
the blood stained bandage on Stan's head, he tentatively brought his
fingers near it. "Are you all right?" Fraser asked. 

 Half smiling, Stan responded. "Not you who should be asking." 

 Fraser looked down, dropping his hand as he shook his head slowly. "I'll
be all right," he breathed. 

 Pulling up to the emergency entrance, Fraser reached to open the
passenger door. Pushing the seat forward, Stan held it for him while he
got out. Stepping out behind him, Stan glanced at Ray, but Ray wouldn't
make eye contact with either of them. As they walked inside, Ray lagged
farther behind with each step. By the time they entered, Ray had stopped
outside the doors. 

 When Ray found Stan a few minutes later, he was leaning against a wall in
the waiting area, his head bowed. Moving up to him, Ray let out a breath.
"Well?" 

 "They took him into a room," Stan responded, waving toward an area with
several beds, a few with curtains closed around them. "He's in there." 

 Ray nodded, then waited to speak. "Well, I guess we're just lucky he's
not dead." 

 Stan looked up, meeting Ray's gaze and realizing the man appeared angry.
"What's that supposed to mean?" 

 "Stupid what you did. Could have gotten you both killed." 

 "We had a choice?" Stan hissed. 

 Ray shrugged. "Could have tried talking to me." 

 Stan scoffed. "Oh really? And what would you have said? What would you
have done?" 

 Ray looked away. "Dunno," he said softly, then walked down the hall. Stan
watched him as he found a nice space to begin pacing.  Stepping behind the
curtain, Stan watched Fraser stare distantly at a table until he cleared
his throat. Turning his head quickly, Fraser met Stan's gaze, then averted
his eyes just as quickly. 

 The sounds of the hospital faded away as Stan took a step closer. "I
almost lost everything tonight," he said quietly as he touched Fraser's
wrist above the IV. 

 Fraser lay still a moment, then finally looked at Stan again. "It's not
over," he commented. "Everyone knows." 

 "Not everyone," Stan reminded him. "Ray, Huey, Dewey, but that's it. It's
not out of control." He paused. "I'm sorry, but I was scared for you and
I... I..." 

 Fraser nodded, letting Stan know that he understood. 

 "Doctor says you can go when he finishes the paperwork. He doesn't seem
concerned about any of your wounds and they got everything they needed,"
Stan said. 

 Fraser nodded. "Yes, he told me the same thing."  Ray stopped in front of
the apartment building. After Stan and Fraser climbed out, he leaned over
the passenger seat. "You need any help?" 

 Stan shook his head. "Just wait here for a few minutes, ok? I'll need a
ride to the station and to get my car from your house." 

 Ray nodded and watched as Stan put his arm across Fraser's back, his hand
over the Mountie's shoulder while he guided him inside. Curling his lip in
annoyance, he closed his eyes and rested his head on the steering wheel. 

 Stepping off the elevator, Stan kept an arm around Fraser all the way to
the apartment and opened the door. Letting Fraser inside first, he
followed directly. "You should lay down. Doctor said to rest," he said,
then held out a small bottle. "These should help with any pain and help
you sleep." 

 Fraser took the bottle and stared at it. "I want a shower," he said as
though he were confessing a crime. 

 Stan nodded. "Take one, but then go to bed, ok? I'm going back to the
station to help Huey and Dewey with this asshole and then I'll be home." 

 Fraser took in a breath and nodded. "I have to take a shower," he said
and turned. 

 Stan watched him walk into the bathroom. He pushed the heel of his hand
against his temple and sighed. "I'll be home soon," he promised the now
empty room before he turned to leave.  Ray and Stan walked without
speaking to each other toward the interview rooms. Huey stood in the hall
and as they neared, he looked up. First he took in Ray's appearance, then
he glanced at Stan. "Just came out for some fresh air," Huey said. "We
needed some files anyway." 

 "Want me to get them?" Stan offered. 

 Huey shook his head without looking. "I'll go. You can watch from Two if
... if that's why you came," he said. 

 Stan pushed the door open and went inside. Turning on the intercom, he
watched as Dewey and the dark haired man stared at each other. Ray stepped
into the room, hanging back behind Stan to watch. 

 Huey returned and put down the cream folder before sitting. "Well, it
looks like we don't need your name anymore. You've got an ID in the
computers," he said. 

 The man still said nothing. 

 Huey slid the file to Dewey. "Interesting thing is that you're showing up
as reporting a rape, not committing one." 

 Ray and Stan shot each other a glance. Ray stepped toward the glass. 

 "It says here you claimed you were the one raped six months ago by
another man, but you dropped the charges. Now, why is that?" 

 Stan looked at Ray again and Ray shook his head. "I didn't see his
picture. Didn't even bother to look," he commented. 

 "I've got your charges here filled with bigoted remarks about gays and
here you are? I don't get it, Mathis. Explain it to me," Huey added. 

 The man shook his head, refusing eye contact. 

 Dewey jumped up. "Talk!" 

 "Not without my lawyer!" the man yelled back. "I already told you that.
Not a word!" 

 "We can't do anything with this," Huey said, holding up the file. "Can't
prosecute you for dropping charges," he explained. "I just want to know
why. Why did you drop them?" 

 "Figured out my own way of handling things," Mathis replied. 

 "Oh yeah? Raping and killing gay men to get back at them?" 

 Mathis shook his head. "You think you'll trick me into a confession?" 

 "I think you're a fucked up individual," Huey responded. "You made a
mistake this time, though. The guy you almost killed's a cop. You think on
the stand he's not going to be able to send you up the river?" 

 Mathis shrugged. "What if I say it wasn't my idea?" 

 "What if you do?" Dewey asked. 

 "I'm a small fry," Mathis said. 

 Huey scoffed. "You were holding the gun. What defense do you have for
that?" 

 "I didn't arrange it. I just joined this group," he said. "They claimed
they were going to get the gays off the street and I thought that sounded
pretty good so I joined up. Peaceful protests, that's all. Perfectly
legit. How was I supposed to know they were going to take him to the park?
I didn't know they were going to shoot him. I was just along for the ride,
but they forced me to take the guy." 

 "They who? Which one? Which one's the ringleader?" 

 "Think I'll tell you if you're not going to help me out?" Mathis asked. 

 Stan grunted. "Don't do it. Don't let him go," he mumbled. 

 "They'll handle it," Ray said. 

 Stan turned. "You think they're going to handle it, letting him back on
the street?" 

 "Huey's good at..." 

 Stan slammed his fist against the wall. "After what he did to Fraser!?
After what he almost did!?" He turned and stormed from the room. 

 Ray followed. "Hey, don't worry! Huey and Dewey aren't going to let him
off after that. They'll just be sure that he rolls over on the guy who
started this. Isn't that who you want to stop?" 

 Stan narrowed his eyes. "I don't like it. I don't like deals," he growled
as he stared at the door to Interview One. 

 "Yeah, but if you go in there, you'll kill him." 

 "Damn right, I will." 

 "And then one of us will have to arrest you. Look at the situation, Stan.
We're better off this way." 

 ******Part 10
 Stan finally arrived at home, ready for the few hours sleep the
Lieutenant ordered him and Ray to have before returning to work after
lunch. He stepped inside and heard running water. Furrowing his brow, he
stopped to listen. As soon as he realized it was the shower, he hurried
across the apartment and swung open the bathroom door. 

 Fraser leaned face forward against the wall, the water running down his
back. Stan pulled back the curtain and saw that the skin was red, but as
soon as he realized there was no steam, he reached in and put his hand
under the stream. 

 "Christ!" he yelled, throwing off his shirt so it wouldn't get wet, an
act that made sense as he was doing it. Leaning in, he shut off the water
and grabbed Fraser's trembling body in a hug. Pulling him out, he
simultaneously reached for a towel. "You're freezing. You could have
gotten pneumonia!" Stan scolded. 

 Fraser didn't seem to hear as he stepped out, shivering, and let Stan put
a towel around him. Guiding him to the bedroom, Stan made Fraser sit on
the bed as he searched for warm clothes. Bringing a pile and sitting
beside Fraser, he noted the deeply wrinkled skin on his fingers and toes. 

 Seeming to look at nothing as he put on the clothes Stan handed him,
Fraser swallowed. His mind was numb and now that his body was as well, he
was comforted by the fact that they matched. 

 Stan sniffed as he watched Fraser dress. Fraser stood to pull on some
RCMP sweatpants and Stan leaned across the bed, straightening the blankets
wordlessly. Ushering Fraser into the bed, Stan moved in beside him. He
brought the layers of blankets over them and firmly wrapped his arms
around Fraser who had is own arms across his chest. As they faced each
other, Stan eventually felt Fraser's body change from cold shivering to a
slow shaking, Stan gently kissed the cold lips and smiled. "I'm sorry I
can't do anything," Stan said softly. 

 Closing his eyes, Fraser buried his face in Stan's chest. "Just being
here," he said simply. 

 Stan sighed deeply. "I'm sorry I didn't get there sooner." At those
words, Fraser moved his arms under Stan's, hugging him at the chest level.
"Fraser, ah, I..." 

 Fraser held tighter and Stan could sense that he was trying desperately
to hold something in. "Please don't say anything," Fraser said finally. 

 Stan nodded slightly, holding the body that was warmer now, but still
quaking. Held by the arms that needed him as much as he needed them, he
closed his eyes. Sleep was slow, but for him it eventually came. 

 For Fraser it didn't. He'd close his eyes and see everything, whether it
be memory or distortions, it was there, bright and playing out before him.
Minutes passed like hours, but at least he wasn't afraid anymore; not with
Stan beside him, trying as hard as he could to be whatever Fraser needed. 

 You don't even know what you need. How are you going to tell him? Being
here will have to be enough. 

 The garbage truck pulled under the window, squealing and thundering as it
emptied the dump outside. From a few floors up, it wasn't that loud, but
it was loud enough to wake Stan. When Fraser saw his eyes opening, he
looked at him, meeting his disoriented gaze. He'd noticed a dozen times
the way Stan's eyes glowed lighter blue when he was just waking or
extremely tired. They were that colour now. 

 Starting to see realization come back into Stan's eyes, Fraser shifted.
Stan pulled the blankets that had tried to escape back over his shoulder.
"Good morning," he said quietly, his voice raspy. He cleared his throat
and lifted himself to see over Fraser and look at the clock. Falling back,
Stan lay there. He groaned, not wanting to move. Still, the second he felt
Fraser move, he was immediately at attention. "Where are you going?" 

 Fraser looked at the bathroom door. Stan smiled. "Oh," he said, then
watched Fraser stand. As soon as the door closed, he reached across to the
telephone beside the bed and dialed the number of the Consulate. 

 Turnbull answered, as Stan expected, but he insisted on speaking to Meg.
After a brief discussion on the subject, Turnbull finally got her and when
she answered, she sounded annoyed. 

 "Inspector Thatcher," she said. 

 "This is Detective Kowalski," he introduced. 

 "Turnbull said he thought it might be you. Do you know where Constable
Fraser is? He's very late and I suspect you're behind it," she scowled. 

 Stan sat up and rubbed his eye. "Yes, I do. He's here." 

 "Where is here?" she inquired. 

 "My apartment," he stated. "He's not coming in today." 

 "I beg your pardon?" 

 "He's sick so he's going to stay home and sleep," Stan explained. "On the
couch," he added quickly. 

 Meg was quiet. "Is... Is he all right? He is never sick." 

 "Well, then, it's about time," Stan answered. "I have to get to work
myself, but I'm leaving him here so I just wanted you to know he's not
coming." 

 "All right," she said after another hesitation. "If he needs anything..."


 "I've got it," Stan said. "Uh, since it's my apartment and all," he
added, somehow fearing that everyone he spoke with would not only suspect,
they'd insult. Superiors had that added fear of getting them fired. "I
mean, I think he just needs to sleep," Stan muttered. 

 "Well, then, thank you, Detective - I suppose," she said. "Tell him to
call if he... if he will be in tomorrow." 

 "Yeah," Stan said. "Good-bye." 

 He hung up just as Fraser opened the bathroom door. "Who was that?" he
asked. 

 "Inspector Thatcher." 

 "I should call and explain my tardiness..." 

 "I already called. I told her you weren't going in today." 

 "But I..." 

 Stan stood. "Don't argue, Fraze. You're going to get back in bed and get
some sleep," he insisted. 

 "I can't sleep," Fraser admitted quietly. 

 Stan looked around the room, then walked to the dresser and took the
prescription the doctor had given him. Opening it, he took out a pill and
held out his hand. 

 "I don't like to..." 

 "I don't care what you like, Fraze. You're going to take one. You're
going to go to bed. You're going to skip work today and sleep while I go
to work." 

 "Perhaps I should..." 

 "Take it," Stan insisted. 

 Fraser took the pill from his hand and swallowed it without the aide of
water. Stan smiled slightly and nodded. "No one's bugging you today." He
put an arm on Fraser's back and sent him into the bed. "I'm not a good
mom, but I do know how to make you stay put." 

 Lying back, Fraser suddenly reached out and took Stan's hand. Stan sat on
the corner of the bed. "You ok? - I mean as ok as... as..." 

 "Yes," Fraser interrupted. "I'll be all right." He squeezed Stan's hand. 

 Stan looked at him a moment. "Don't you want to talk about anything
before I go?" Consciously, he knew what had happened to Fraser, but he
couldn't find a way to comfort that so he pondered what he could do to fix
the surface. 

 Averting his eyes, Fraser shook his head. 

 "You sure?" 

 "Last night was very intense," Fraser said softly. Stan nodded. "I'm not
sure I can make sense of it yet," Fraser added. 

 "Oh," Stan said, then leaned close. "You're right. All I know is that it
made me appreciate you," he said. 

 Fraser caught his breath. Staring at Stan, he blinked slowly. "What did
you find out about the men?" 

 Stan considered not telling him for a moment. "You sure you want to
know?" 

 "Yes," Fraser said. "I want to know that justice will be served for what
they did to Rich." 

 *And you,* Stan thought, nodding. "Huey and Dewey interviewed them. They
all pointed a finger at the dark haired one they talked about at the club
as the ring leader. He keeps saying it was someone else, though who he
claims changes every time we provide an alibi. He was trying to cut a
deal, but he lost it when all the others fingered him. We've got some
evidence and testimony, plus the ME is redoing the autopsy on Blackwell." 

 "Motive?" Fraser asked. 

 Stan let out a breath. "Uh, turned out six months ago, he got raped back
there in the park. The others said he started this little group to control
the population of gays in the community so it was pretty much a hate crime
like we thought, but more brutal because he wanted revenge. Huey had to
call psych because none of it made much sense." 

 Fraser nodded slowly, then looked at Stan. "I was afraid," he admitted
softly. 

 Stan touched Fraser's head. "I know," he responded. "You were afraid for
your life and I was scared I was going to lose you." Fraser raised his
eyebrows and Stan continued. "Look, I know you hate to admit that you're
ever afraid, but you don't have to worry about that with me. You know that
right?" 

 "Yes," Fraser responded. 

 Stan smiled. "I've got to go. Ray will probably be waiting to taunt me or
something." He leaned over to kiss Fraser, then stood. Fraser watched him
leave.	Ray attempted to do his job away from Stan as much as possible.
Writing individual reports and following Huey and Dewey around, Stan was
beginning to get annoyed. After lunch, Ray moved to his desk and glared at
Stan. 

 Stan looked confused, but ignored it. "You guys find anything new before
I got here this morning?" 

 "Huey got one of them to produce some documents on their little meetings.
Just a few notes he had on times and places they were going to meet.
Mathis is still ranting to Dewey about how the sick fags deserved..." he
paused. "Sorry." 

 Stan felt his stomach turn. "Don't apologize. It doesn't mean much coming
from you," Stan said. 

 Ray narrowed his eyes. "So maybe the sick fags that did that to him
deserve to be killed." 

 "What about the ones who didn't? You think they deserved it?" 

 "No, but look at what this is coming to. The more we accept, the more
they get out of control." 

 "They who?" 

 Ray looked away. "Fags," he breathed. 

 "What the fuck's your problem!?" Stan sneered. 

 "What'd you do to Fraser?" 

 "What?" 

 "Brainwashed him with your little fag tendencies?" Ray asked, pushing
Stan. 

 Stan jumped Ray and punched him. Both went down and as Stan threw his
fist again, Ray moved his head. Hitting the floor, Stan screamed and
grabbed his fist. Ray pushed him off and threw a punch, hitting Stan in
the eye. 

 Stan felt himself pulled off Ray and as he struggled, he saw that Huey
was helping Ray to his feet. Assuming Huey had him, he turned to see who
did. "Fraser?" he asked, stunned when he saw the man. 

 "What's going on?" Huey asked. 

 "What're you doing here?" Stan asked Fraser. 

 "Laying in bed was only making things worse. I thought by coming here I
could take my mind off of things, but I see there's enough going on here
as well." 

 Stan shrugged from Fraser's grip. "Go home," he grunted. 

 "I'm not going until you tell me what's going on here," Fraser said
firmly, stepping between the two men and looking back and forth. 

 "Yeah, Vecchio. What's your problem?" Huey asked. 

 Ray stepped away from Huey. "It's him!" he exclaimed. "Minute I left he's
all over the Mountie, changing him. Turning him into one." 

 "One what?" Huey asked, then looked at Stan who was glaring at Ray. He
realized then it was a stupid question, but Stan ignored it so it didn't
matter. 

 "It's none of your business!" 

 Ray stepped forward so Fraser held out his hands, signaling the two to
stop. "Benny's my friend! That makes it my business!" 

 "What difference does it make to you!? You weren't usin' him!" Stan
hollered. 

 "What!?" Ray snarled. 

 "What?" Fraser asked, simultaneously. Dropping his arms to his side, he
looked at Stan a moment, astounded by what he'd said. Stan was too angry
to realize the look, but just as it hit him, Fraser brushed past him and
walked out of the squad room. 

 "Wait! Stop!" Stan yelled, awarding Ray one more glare as he swung the
door open and ran into the hall. 

 Pushing between people, Stan rushed behind Fraser. "Stop! Fraze! I didn't
mean that to come out the way it sounded! Fraser! FRASER!" People were
coming at him, slowing him down, but for Fraser they parted. He couldn't
get close enough. "Wait!" he yelled again, but it was useless. 

 When Stan got outside, he looked around, the sun piercing through the
rain clouds as a lighter rain fell. Fraser was briskly walking through the
parking lot toward the street. Running after him, he finally caught up.
"Fraser, wait. Talk to me!" 

 Fraser stopped and turned. Stan had never seen so much pain in those blue
eyes. Never had he seen pain like that in his life. "It came out wrong." 

 Staring, Fraser had a way about him that was making Stan feel worse than
shit. He swallowed, not knowing if he could say anything else. Finally,
Fraser spoke. At first Stan hoped the words would be healing, but when he
heard them, he wanted to fall apart. Any pretense of the Mountie cover was
gone as he said things that were on his mind, the way they came without
his own censorship. "I've been through a hell of a lot in the last 24
hours and the one thing - the ONE thing that kept me going was you. It was
knowing that you wouldn't stop until you found me, that I was more
important than anything, but now I find out that you were just using me." 

 "I wasn't. I didn't mean that when I said it. It's not how I feel." 

 Fraser held up his hand. "I knew for a fact that you loved me
unconditionally. I didn't need trust. I knew. How can I know that now?
I'll always be wondering." 

 "Fuck, Fraze..." 

 "And I don't want to wonder." 

 "Then don't Fraze. Just forget it. You are everything to me." 

 Fraser looked at the ground, then turned, walking away. 

 Stan grunted and shook his head. He thought that if they made it through
Kiana, they could make it through anything. Now he knew it was his own
mouth that would ruin everything. 

 Hearing the door to the precinct open, Stan turned and saw Ray coming
from the building. He watched the other man observe Fraser walking away,
then looked at Stan as he stood there. 

 Ray approached him and Stan could see that he was about to speak, but
Kowalski had so much more to say. "You think I converted him? You think I
did something to make him a fag like me? You don't even see it, do you?
Inside of him is a good man. You look up to that, just like I do. He's
stronger than either one of us and you know that, but you don't want to
see it. Look at him, though! How could you not want something so strong
and safe and good in your bed?" 

 Ray's eyes widened in shock. 

 "People like you just don't understand love," Stan continued. "People
like you will never understand." 

 ******Part 11
 Stan started looking at home, hoping Fraser may have gone there. He knew
it was wishful thinking. He wasn't going to go home after all that had
happened. Driving to the Consulate, he wondered if the Mountie would feel
safe there. 

 When he found the place empty, he sat in his car and pondered. The park
where Fraser had told him that horribly demented story came to mind, as
did Inspector Thatcher's, Turnbull's, and the Vecchio house. By the time
he'd checked all those places, it was late evening. Deciding that there
was no question Fraser would turn up at the Consulate eventually, he went
there to wait. 

 As he waited, it grew dark, though the rain finally stopped. He saw
Fraser walking along the street so he jumped out and stopped him on the
sidewalk. "Fraser!" 

 Benton stopped. 

 "I didn't know if I'd find you." 

 Benton didn't respond. 

 "Look, I want to talk about this," Stan said. He was greeted with more
silence so he stepped to the sidewalk. He noticed the uniform Fraser wore
and realized he wasn't just looking for a place to stay. "You're going to
work?" 

 "I have a duty," he responded coldly. 

 "Yeah, but I talked to Thatcher. You've got a sick day and that's nearly
over." 

 "I'd rather work," he stated. "I'm sure I can find something to do." 

 Stan took in a breath. "Where were you? I looked for you everywhere." 

 "Walking," Benton replied in a short tone. 

 "Where'd you get the uniform?" 

 Staring a moment, Fraser finally raised his eyebrows. "I was forced to go
back to your apartment for a few minutes to change." 

 "Forced? My apartment? Come on, don't do this to me," Stan pleaded.
"Don't shut me out before we've had a chance to talk about it." 

 Fraser's mask finally fell away and he looked genuinely upset. "I trusted
you with my heart." 

 "I know." 

 "You can't make it go away. Those words will always be here now hanging
in the air." 

 "I know that, too, but I don't want to imagine my life without you now
that I've got you in it." He shifted and shook his head. "It didn't come
out the way I meant it to. All I wanted from Ray was to know why he cared
so much. The two of you... the two of you are only friends, right? So
why's it his concern?" 

 "Because we are friends. He's never pretended to be anything else. Ray
doesn't have to prove anything to me and he'd never try to prove anything
to himself if it would mean lying to me. He would never use me." 

 "Fraser, no. I didn't mean I was using you. I meant Ray wasn't. I mean,
Ray was yelling and I couldn't figure out why it was all so important to
him unless he wanted you and it just came out." 

 "I'll always wonder," Fraser said. "I told you that. You can't say
anything now that won't make me wonder." 

 "I love you," Stan said, quietly taking a step forward. 

 Benton looked at him a moment. He could see that Stan was begging for a
response, but only four words came to mind. He stared into those eyes and
wished Stan's words had never been said. Maybe he'd regret these words,
but more likely he'd feel the sweet relief of saying exactly what he felt
at the time he was feeling it. Fraser took in a short breath and looked
away. 

 "Fraser," Stan begged quietly. 

 Meeting his gaze again, Fraser's eyes filled with all the pain. "You
broke my heart!" he yelled. 

 Stan froze at the words. He couldn't feel or think anything anymore. He
couldn't make his body move as Fraser turned around and walked briskly
away.  Stan lay in bed staring out the window as the dark clouds floated
along, shape shifting as they moved. He wanted to sleep. His body and soul
were completely exhausted, but sleep would never come. 

 He imagined himself back in the bull pen. What should I have said? He
thought of how he'd followed Fraser. What could I have said? There has to
be something I can do or say to make him understand, make him trust, make
him stop wondering. I can't go on like this, knowing what it is I'm
missing. 

 Mostly staring at the ceiling and sky throughout the night, morning came
eventually. He looked at the empty side of the bed. So empty and cold,
he'd hoped it would never be that again. Now that it was, Stan curled into
the blankets and sniffed. 

 Daylight came, waking him from the brief, light sleep he'd had. Looking
at the clock, he knew he should get up, but he refused. Not until he's
back in my bed. I can't face the world without seeing him first. Not
anymore. 

 Mid morning, the phone rang several times. From the bedroom, he could
hear the answering machine, but he just continued to stare. 

 "Detective Kowalski," came Welsh's voice mixed with static interference.
"I understand you had a rough night the other night, but Vecchio has
managed to come in. You'd better be on your way." 

 *Fuck off. 

 Possessive. I'm possessive. I need. God, how confused and angry Fraser
must be about what happened to him and all I'm doing is thinking about how
much I needed him. All I can do is say the wrong thing and hurt him on top
of everything else. I didn't realize how much I needed him until this. 

 An hour passed before the phone rang again. Stan had barely moved.
"Kowalski, I want to see you in my office immediately, do you understand?
Pick up the damn phone or get your ass here NOW!" 

 *Fuck off! 

 Why did Fraser have to be a victim of insanity, revenge, payback? Why did
he have to go through the ordeal and the pain and the fear just so that I
could hurt him five minutes later? 

 The third time he was only awarded half an hour. "That's it, Kowalski.
When you decide to get your messages, pack up your gun and shield and
bring them into my office. I'm not ..." 

 "Fuck off, Lieutenant," Stan used as a greeting when he picked up the
phone and interrupted the recording. 

 "Kowalski! I'm..." 

 "Fuck! OFF!" he yelled and hung the phone. When he laid back again, he
found himself staring at the ceiling. Stupid cottage cheese with glitter
stared back at him until he heard a knock at the door. He rolled and
looked at the clock to see that an hour had passed. He shook his head,
realizing that while time seemed to move slowly without Benton, it still
passed. 

 Getting out of bed, he brushed his feet along the floor as he went to the
door. "If this is Lieutenant Welsh, I think you heard me loud and clear,"
he mumbled as he unlocked it. Pulling it open, he furrowed his brow. 

 "Not Welsh," Ray said. 

 "What are you doing here?" 

 "Looking for you. Wondered what kept you from coming in to work. You look
like shit." 

 "Thanks," Stan responded. "I didn't feel like working." 

 Ray looked at him a moment, then pushed past him and into the apartment.
Looking around a moment, he realized he'd never been here before. He
turned to Stan. "Look, we want you to know that we didn't say anything.
We're not going to say anything." 

 "Whose not going to say anything about what?" 

 "Huey, Dewey, and I aren't going to say anything about... about... about
you and Fraser," Ray stuttered. 

 Stan nodded. "Thanks, but no big fucking deal." 

 "What?" 

 Straightening, Stan finally pushed the door closed. "Makes no difference
now. Fraser's not talking to me, not coming home, not..." he explained,
then sighed. 

 Ray shrugged. "So maybe it's better this way." Stan met his gaze and he
continued. "Look, it was a big shock to me at first. Now I realize
everyone was just confused." 

 "Oh fuck," Stan breathed. 

 "So now that everything is out, we can all move on like this never
happened." 

 Shaking his head, Stan looked away. "Oh, fuck off! We're not confused or
stupid. We didn't make a mistake. Whatever you might be thinking, that's
not what this is. I love Fraser and maybe the problem is that I'm not good
enough, not that we made a mistake. Don't you get that? Neither one of us
had to - what did you say? - brainwash the other? We both knew how we felt
and kept it quiet a long time. We... we came up with this independently,
but now... now it's just him over there and me over here fucking
everything up like I fuck everything up and it doesn't have to do with you
or me or anyone else." 

 Ray didn't know what to say. As he stood there, thinking and staring at
the floor, it suddenly occurred to him that he didn't know what Fraser was
thinking about all of this. Looking again at Stan, he shifted. "So, what's
the plan here? You going to stop going to working and sit around like a
moping woman?" Ray scoffed. 

 "Get out," Stan said, opening the door again. 

 "Oh, come on. I..." 

 Stan made a jolting move toward Ray, his hand balled into a fist. "Get
the fuck out before I hit you again." 

 Ray gave Stan a fierce look, making it clear that he wasn't leaving out
of fear of getting hit - almost daring him to do it anyway. Passing him,
he kept an eye on the other detective and left. 

 ******Part 12
 "Hey, Turnbull. Fraser in?" Ray asked. 

 "Why, yes he is, sir," Turnbull responded. "Shall I announce you?" 

 Ray chuckled. "Naw, I'll announce myself." 

 When Fraser heard the soft knock, he looked at the door. Angry as he was,
he felt disgusted with himself for wanting to see Stan's face. Be strong.
If you let him in, you'll only be accepting more pain. The knob began to
turn and he clenched his jaw. 

 "Benny?" he heard before the door opened enough to reveal Ray. 

 Visibly relaxing, Fraser looked back down at the reports he was working
on and began to write. "Hi, Ray," he said, trying not to sound
disappointed. 

 "Thought maybe we could talk," Ray said as he entered. 

 "Now is really not the best time," Fraser informed him. "I have several
reports to file today and I've accepted some of Turnbull's assignments to
keep my mind..." He stopped and looked up, unable to finish. 

 "Off things?" Ray filled in for him. 

 "Yes," Fraser responded. 

 "Well, look. I just want to talk. Maybe you could come by after work." 

 "Perhaps." 

 "Ma's garden is mostly dead. I could set up a little fire and put ice in
your boots. You'll feel at home," he said with a smile. 

 Fraser looked up and barely smiled back. "Perhaps," he repeated. 

 "Just come, ok? I'll make sure the family stays inside and we can have a
nice talk. So much catching up to do." 

 "Yes," Fraser responded coolly. 

 "Benny?" 

 "Yes?" he said, now looking up again. 

 "Uh," he began, then shook his head. "Never mind. We'll talk tonight." 
Ray cleaned out the corner where the kids' swing set had killed the
garden, moving the swings to the other side of the yard before making a
pit and trying to build a fire. He didn't know why he felt he had to do
it, but he did it anyway. He was still trying to start it when he heard
footsteps behind him. 

 "There he is," Francesca said, pointing to Ray's back as he stood. 

 Ray turned. "Thanks, Frannie. You can go now." 

 "Ray," she argued. 

 "Please?" he asked in a tone that told her to drop it. She turned on her
heel and went back inside. 

 Ray looked at Fraser who was staring at the pile of wood and the ring of
rocks. "You didn't have to go to all this trouble. I didn't come for the
fire." 

 Ray shrugged. "I know, but I thought we could reminisce and somehow this
seemed better." 

 Fraser took the matches from Ray and squatted. Moving a few things
around, he used one match and lit the fire. In moments, they were sitting
cross legged in front of it, warming their hands. 

 "It's all right that you got confused, Fraser. We all spend so much time
together that we start to know too much about each other. It's ok that
women intimidate you. They intimidated me too. I deal with it by acting
confident. You've just got to realize that you're just friends and things
got weird." 

 Fraser looked at the campfire with intense interest. "I once knew an
Inuit woman named June. I was friends with her brother, Innusiq. We grew
up together and made friends, as there weren't many friends to be had. As
she got older, she fell in love with an Inuit boy and soon they were
married. 

 "She loved him and trusted him with her whole heart, but one day he left.
There was no explanation, no apparent reason. He was simply gone.
Eventually, another woman in the village confided to June that he left
because he wasn't in love. He never had been in love with her. He married
June because it gave him status in the village and he left because he
loved someone else." 

 "Fraser, what does that have to do with anything?" 

 Looking up at last, Benton met Ray's gaze. "After that, she developed a
philosophy about love that I'm now inclined to follow. Perhaps it is
destined for one person to love another more than the other is capable of
returning." 

 "What are you saying, Benny? Stan's got a hot thing for you and you're
just going along for status? See, this is why I hate your stupid stories,"
Ray commented. 

 Benton took in a quick breath and kept his eyes on Ray. "He was using
June, Ray. He used her because he didn't love her the way she loved him." 

 Ray furrowed his brow a moment, then looked surprised. "You're saying you
think Stan used you, but you love him?" He straightened. "You love him!?"
he repeated. "Benny, I think you've been sniffing too much of your
Needfoot Oil or whatever you call it." 

 Benton looked hurt and stared back into the fire. Ray saw the hurt and
immediately furrowed his brow. "Hey, I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean
anything by that." He paused. "Well, maybe I did. You can't be in love,
Benny. Maybe your friendship just went too far." 

 "Why is it not possible for me to love?" Fraser asked solemnly. 

 "Not that you can't love, Benny. You just can't love him." 

 "Why not?" 

 "Because it's not right, Benny. It's unnatural." 

 Fraser nodded, but while Ray took it as affirmation, it wasn't what
Fraser intended. *He doesn't understand you,* Fraser told himself. *All he
understands is what he's supposed to understand, what he's been told to
understand; not what he wants to understand deep down. How can anyone not
see that love is more basic than anything in the world? How can he not see
that love is nature and these things we tell ourselves about who we're
allowed to love is the unnatural part?* 

 Ray saw that Fraser was lost in the fire. He let the man think, though he
desperately wanted Fraser to talk. It was a long time before he said
another word. 

 "Inspector Thatcher has already been told about the situation that
occurred. Apparently word has already made it to her superiors." 

 "So fast?" Ray asked, astounded. 

 "They were able to obtain the police reports written by you and
Detectives Huey and Dewey." 

 "So what? Make much difference?" 

 Fraser shrugged. "Not much, however, the publicity may not be kind. I
went against the orders of a superior officer. Granted, Lieutenant Welsh
isn't my superior officer, but I assisted Stan in going against him
nonetheless. A suspension was suggested." 

 "Suspend you? For catching a killer and proving everyone wrong?" 

 Fraser held his hands up to the fire again and looked at Ray. "I believe
they feel uncomfortable with the situation into which I was put." 

 "Oh," was all Ray could think of as a response. "But they don't know
anything, right? I mean, not about you and Stan, right?" 

 "No. I do, however, seem to have planted myself firmly in Chicago for
another period." 

 "Every time you think something's blown over, the next thing comes along,
huh?" 

 "It would appear so," Fraser responded. 

 "So, that's good, right? I mean, me, Frannie, Ma, we're all your family
now." 

 "Stan," Fraser remarked simply. 

 "What about him? You guys are having a disagreement or something. If
this... if you... if... if..." He stuttered and mumbled, but couldn't make
himself say it. Finally, he cleared his throat. "It's a stumbling block.
Everything will be fine in no time," Ray assured. Fraser stared into the
fire and it was then that something occurred to Ray. "Why was it an issue
that you're staying in Chicago? Did you ask for a transfer?" 

 Fraser looked intently into the dancing flames. "I had hoped that
removing myself from the situation would make it easier." 

 "Running away? The Mountie is running away?" 

 "I have no intention of running away. It simply didn't seem prudent to
remain here when I want to go home now that there's nothing left for me
here." 

 "Nothing left? You're not even going to try to work it out?" 

 "I can't, Ray. It hurt too much," Fraser responded. 

 Ray looked at him a moment and swallowed. "I know. It always hurts, but
the thing is, I think there's something left to save." 

 Fraser raised his eyebrows. Those words sounded almost supportive. 

 Ray fought his mental barriers and rubbed his hands together. "If you,
uh, guys, uh, love each other as much as you say you do, there's something
worth fighting for." 

 Fraser continued to stare. That sentence moved passed almost supportive
and straight into encouraging. 

 Ray breathed into his hands and shrugged. "Stan made a mistake, maybe,
ok? He said the wrong thing. Everyone makes a mistake now and then and as
much as sometimes it hurts, it doesn't mean you should give up." Unable to
make eye contact, Ray stared into the fire. It was easier, somehow, trying
not to think about the gender of the people in the conversation. As long
as he kept it abstract, he didn't mind the idea. 

 "I'm just not sure..." Fraser began, but was interrupted. 

 "Benny? I never thought I'd say this, but you gotta go back. I know that
you've had a lot of things happen to you over the past couple das, but you
and I both know there's only one person that's going to help you through
it. Yeah, sure, what he said hurt you, but I think it hurt you more
because of what else happened. The big mistake would be letting that be
the thing to come between you." 

 Fraser looked at Ray until he raised his eyes and met his gaze for only a
moment. Blowing warm breath on his fingers again, he looked back into the
fire. 

 "Thank you," Fraser said and stood. 

 ******Part 13
 Since Ray left, Stan spent the rest of his afternoon and evening doing
nothing. He laid in bed and toyed with a little reminiscing, but mostly he
was a brooding idiot. 

 Finally, lack of sleep got the better of him. Some time after the sun
went down and the room got dark, he drifted into sleep. He felt he'd only
been asleep for an instant when he heard a sound. Startled awake, he sat
bolt upright and listened. It was a key he heard in the door. A key. Only
one other person had a key to their apartment and as Stan jumped to his
feet, he was striding across the room, swinging the bedroom door open and
stepping into the main room. 

 Hitting the switch to turn on the lamp as the doorknob turned, he saw the
dark haired, blue eyed man pushing the door open. Don't get your hopes up.
It's not real. It's just "A dream?" he murmured aloud. 

 Fraser stepped inside, his eyes fixed on him. "Are you asking me or
telling me?" 

 "Fraze?" he said, becoming less disoriented with each step the Mountie
took toward him. 

 Fraser stopped three feet away and took in Stan's appearance. His eyes
sunken and his clothing a wrinkled mess, he could see crease marks on his
arm indicating that he'd been sleeping, or at least in bed. His eyes were
lighter, almost like a northern ice pack, Benton noted. He'd been asleep,
Fraser concluded. The shadows played of his black eye, barely swollen and
not as bad as Fraser suspected it would be when he'd first seen the red
mark. 

 Stan stared at him a moment. "Are you staying?" he asked, eagerly hoping
the answer would be what he wanted to hear, but fearing that the man would
say he just came to pack. 

 Fraser nodded. Stan moved toward him. "For good?" 

 "I know we've both made mistakes," Fraser said softly. 

 "No, not you. Only me. It was me." 

 "My mistake would have been letting you go," Fraser stated, then smiled
faintly. 

 Stan moved to Fraser and put his arms around him. The move was so fast,
Fraser didn't have time to stop his reaction, which was to pull away.
Stiffly, he cleared his throat. "I'm here and I want to be here, but I....
I..." 

 Taking Fraser's arm slowly, Stan guided him to the couch. They both sat
as Stan stared into the face he feared he'd lost. "What is it, Fraze?" he
asked gently. 

 Fraser was quiet a long time. His thoughts played out selections of words
until he found the ones he wanted Stan to hear. "It isn't as though I
wanted to talk about what happened, but if ever I needed you, this was
when I needed you most." 

 "It was bad timing. You know if I hadn't said it, that if I just kept my
mouth shut and let Vecchio say whatever he wanted to say then I'd have
been here for you. I was here anyway, but ..." 

 Fraser took in a long breath. "But I couldn't trust you to know these
things. I didn't want you to know because you weren't the same person to
me that you were two days ago." 

 "I know," Stan admitted. "You mean more to me because I almost lost you,
but I mean less to you because I hurt you." 

 Fraser shook his head. "You don't mean less to me. I just needed time to
think." 

 Stan nodded slowly. "Just when I figured out that what we're doing wasn't
a game, I had to watch you walk away. With Stella, I hated it when she
worked late because it was time away from me. Maybe it's selfish, but it's
the same with you. I like you being mine, but ever since Ray got back,
it's like something's pulling you away." 

 "Ray and I have a strong friendship..." 

 "I know. I'm a little jealous of it, even. You're not the same with me,
but that's ok. You're more with me, but for some reason, I started to
wonder if he'd stayed and I hadn't come here, would you have hooked up
with him instead? If it wasn't me here, would he be?" 

 Fraser nodded slowly. "Which is why you assumed the only reason I wanted
to be with you is because Ray wasn't..." 

 "Using you," Stan muttered. "I just got stupid. I didn't expect it to
sound like I wanted anything other than love from you. I didn't want to
screw this up, but I thought somehow I could make you see what I was
feeling." 

 "Ray may have had a point when he implied that I blew things out of
proportion due to extenuating circumstances," Fraser said. 

 "You talked to Ray?" Stan asked. 

 Fraser nodded. "Just recently. He made some good arguments and made me
realize I couldn't give up yet. He convinced me to come here, to talk to
you." 

 Stan curled up one corner of his mouth in a knowing grin. 

 "What?" Fraser asked. 

 "He was here, too." 

 "Looking for me?" Fraser asked. 

 "Looking for me," Stan responded. "Surprises me that he ... that he said
anything. I didn't think he understood." 

 "I still believe he may have reservations, but it's more important to him
to see me happy than to be concerned with what may or may not be
considered politically correct." 

 Stan nodded. "He may never get it." 

 "We may have to enlighten him," Fraser stated. 

 They looked at each other a moment, then Stan let out a breath. "Look,
Fraze. I know you've got a lot going on in your head right now. I just
don't want to make it worse." 

 "I know," Fraser acknowledged. 

 "So I'm going to let you call the shots. You're here now which says to me
that you weren't ready to let me go and I am telling you that I'm not
ready to let you go. I've figured out a lot about myself today, figured
out I've got to think before I speak and I've got to let you know how much
I care about you so you don't forget. I know trust doesn't just happen,
but I need you to try." 

 "I will," Fraser said. 

 Stan smiled. "Good, then," he said and put his hand on Fraser's thigh. 

 Fraser cleared his throat. "But it will be a while." 

 Stan nodded. Somehow he knew that already. Trust would take a while, but
so would intimacy. Together they went into the bedroom and climbed into
bed. Holding each other, they fell asleep. 

 The End
 Next in series: You Let Me Complicate You 

 5 

End Like An Animal by Snowee: alaskanrose515@hotmail.com

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