To Laugh in Troubled Times	 To Laugh in Troubled Times by Lucy Hale

  

 Title- To Laugh in Troubled Times
 Auther - Lucy Hale
 Rating - NC-17 <eventually>
 Pairings - Kowalski/Fraser, Turnbull/Other Spoilers - Ladies' Man, a
little. Nothing huge. Comments - This takes place right after the events
of Ladies' Man. It's gonna focus on two characters who're considered
minor, but try to give it a chance anyway. 
 Feedback - Oh...please? 

 

 (Stanley) Ray (Kowalski) Vecchio stood at the door for a long moment
before biting the bullet and heading for his desk. Man, he wished Fraser
had come in with him today. If there was one thing he didn't want to deal
with right now, it was the clowns in his office. Not after everything that
had happened. 

 "Hey, Vecchio." 

 Ray tensed, but it was only Jack Huey, and he was looking at him
seriously. Wanting to see where they stood with each other. Ray offered a
slight smile -- more than generous, he thought. "Jack." 

 That was it. He made it to his desk without further incident and plopped
down in his chair. He looked down at the disorganized stack of files with
a grimace. Again, he wished Frase was there to help him clear up the mess.
Or at least distract him enough to not let him worry about it. 

 "Vecchio!" 

 Oh, shit. Ray looked up into Thomas Dewey's grinning face, his fists
clenching instantly. "What?" 

 "Good to see ya back. Got any fair maidens to rescue this week?" Dewey
was beaming inanely. 

 "Uh...look, I got a lotta word to do here." 

 "More cop killers on the roster for the day?" 

 Ray paused, forcing himself not to jump up and hit the man. He'd wanted
to for over a week now, it was hard to resist. "Beth Botrelle isn't a
killer." 

 "Oh, yeah, so I heard. Lucky for her you came along, or she wouldn't have
been much of anything." Dewey chuckled, glancing over at his partner. Huey
sat at his desk, paying no attention to them. "Huh. Oh, well. Win some,
lose some." 

 Ray was out of his seat in a flash, seeing red. He grabbed Dewey by his
shirt front and yanked him forward. "What the hell do ya mean by that?" 

 "Whoa. Hey, relax." 

 "You stupid jerk! She almost died! An innocent woman was almost executed,
and yer makin jokes!" 

 Dewey shrugged in his grasp, careless. "You know what say. Laugh and the
world laughs with-" 

 Ray's fist swung out, and with some satisfaction he knocked the
ridiculous grin off Dewey's face. "Ya laughing now, you asshole?" Dewey
stumbled back, and Ray came around his desk, following him angrily. 

 Jack flew out of his seat, going to his partner and grabbing him, pulling
him away from Ray. He sent a quick glare in Ray's direction, but his anger
directed itself at Dewey. "What are you doing?" 

 Dewey reached up and put a hand on the red mark growing at his jawline.
He looked past his partner at where Ray stood, not answering. 

 Jack grabbed the shirt Ray had just released. "What is wrong with you,
man? I told you to leave him alone today." 

 Dewey didn't respond, his eyes still on Ray. 

 "Vecchio. Dewey. Get the hell in my office!" 

 Ray groaned slightly, but moved past the two men and towards Welsh
without a word. He brushed past his angered boss and into the office,
dropping into a chair, rubbing his hand absently. 

 A minute later Dewey came in slowly, his hand still on his jaw, sitting
without a look in Ray's direction. 

 Welsh slammed the door and moved behind his desk, glaring at his two men.
"Someone want to tell me what just happened?" 

 Ray seethed quietly in his chair. 

 Dewey spoke up after a minute. "My fault, Lieut. I egged him on." 

 Ray glanced over, slightly surprised, but didn't say a word. 

 "Vecchio?" Welsh wasn't taking silence as an answer. 

 "I overreacted." Ray shrugged. 

 "I'll sure as hell say you did. Dewey, go get some ice for your face.
Vecchio, you're lucky I'm not going to suspend your ass." 

 Dewey stood up stiffly. "That all, sir?" 

 Welsh glared. "For now. I'd suggest you two stay away from each other if
you can't get along." 

 Ray stood and followed Dewey out of the office. He shook his head darkly,
watching the dark-haired man going for the break room. "Friggin idiot," he
mumbled, heading back to his desk. 

 Dewey spun around, and Ray realized he hadn't been as quiet as he
thought. He looked back at the man defiantly, but it faded slightly when
he saw the look on Dewey's face. 

 If Ray had been angry a minute ago, Dewey was absolutely furious. He
stalked back to Ray, his eyes glittering with barely repressed rage. "You
ever call me that again, I'll kill you." 

 Ray opened his mouth to snap a response, but as he looked at the angry
brown eyes in front of him, for a moment he was certain Dewey was
absolutely serious. 

 It was Dewey's turn to grab him, and he did, shoving him back towards an
empty desk. "You hear me? Don't ever call me names again!" He was
practically shouting. "Don't touch me, don't even look at me!" 

 Jack came forward once again, putting a hand on his partner's arm,
holding him still. His eyes were locked on the normally light-hearted face
in shock. "Tom, calm--" 

 Dewey surged in his grasp. "You son of a bitch, you listening to me? I'll
kill you, you ever touch me again, I swear--" 

 "Dewey!" Welsh came charging out of his office and broke between Ray and
Dewey. "What the hell is wrong with you? Tell me I didn't just hear you
threatening a fellow officer." 

 "You're fucking right I did. You'd better be listening to me, Vecchio. I
swear to God, I'll--" 

 "That's enough! You're suspended. Two days." 

 Dewey broke away from his partner, grabbing his revolver out of the
shoulder holster and practically throwing it on the nearest desk. "Fine."
He yanked his badge from the chain around his neck and threw that down
next, and turned for the door. 

 "You don't come back here until you've got your act together, Tom." 

 Dewey didn't even acknowledge that Welsh had spoken. He was out the door
a second later. 

 Jack turned shocked eyes to Ray. "What did you do to him?" 

 Ray frowned, uncomfortable. "Nothin." 

 Welsh faced him. "Something made him snap. You say anything?" 

 Ray shrugged. "I...uh, I called him...you know. An idiot." 

 "That's it?" 

 "Yeah. Next thing I know he's on top of me." Ray glanced after the
enraged man, a slight shiver going down him as he remembered the sheer
anger on his face. "Man, that was weird." 

 "No kidding." Jack followed his gaze, his eyes concerned. "I've hardly
ever seen him even raise his voice. Lieut, you think I could..." 

 Welsh frowned. "Yeah, go on. Get back here sometime, though. I can't have
all my detectives gone." 

 

 Renfield Turnbull, RCMP, entered the police station quickly. Fraser had
wanted to come deliver this report to the 27th precinct, but Inspector
Thatcher had had duties for him. Nothing she trusted Turnbull with, of
course. Poor vacant Turnbull could keep enough thoughts in his head to sit
behind a desk and answer phones, or deliver files to the police station,
but beyond that the dear Inspector didn't put much trust in him. 

 The thought made Turnbull smile slightly. An ironic smile that usually
had no place on the blank face. He saw a familiar person approaching, and
the smile transformed to an inane grin. "Detective Dewey. Good day to
you." 

 Dewey's face jerked towards him, and he looked away again quickly, not
slowing his pace. 

 Turnbull observed him as he passed, noticing that his eyes were
unnaturally bright and he seemed fairly distressed. He didn't know Dewey
very well. He knew from brief observation and listening to Ray and Fraser
talk that the man wasn't very deep. As vapid as Turnbull, Ray had said
once. Turnbull had wondered where this Ray had learned a word like vapid,
but of course he beamed and said nothing. 

 Still, the comparison was interesting. Turnbull turned and watched
through the glass doors as the man described as a joker and an idiot went
storming across the street. 

 Dewey was halfway across the road when he stopped suddenly, his eyes
going back to the station behind him. For a moment Turnbull thought he saw
him, but his eyes went up to the windows above his head. There was a
strange expression on the man's face, one that immediately caught
Turnbull's interest. 

 Dewey stood for a moment, then turned again and continued across. 

 Turnbull watched a car come within a foot of the distracted man, but
Dewey didn't seem to notice that or the loud honks and shouts coming from
the car as it passed. 

 Interesting.... 

 Footsteps came from behind him, and Turnbull turned, blank smile in
place. "Ahh, Detective Huey. How are you today?" 

 "Oh. Hey..." Huey blinked. "I'm on my way out, sorry." 

 "Oh, but Detective, I was given this report to give to your Lieutenant.
Couldn't you take it? The Inspector would be furious if I failed to get
this document to it's rightful place." 

 Huey stared at him for a minute, taking the folder that was held out
reflexively. If it occured to him to wonder why Turnbull couldn't take it
up himself, he obviously didn't wonder for too long. "Do you know my
partner? Detective Dewey?" 

 "No, I'm afraid I don't know him. Not well, anyway. We did have occasion
to meet once or twice, but beyond a simple greeting we didn't exchange--" 

 "Yeah, all right. Thanks." Huey looked behind Turnbull to the empty
street outside, and heaved a sigh. "I'll just take this up then." 

 "Oh, I do appreciate it, detective." 

 "Yeah, sure." Huey turned and headed back for the elevator. 

 Least you can do for someone whose name you can't even remember, Turnbull
thought to himself with no malice. He was used to being ignored or
dismissed, it was comforting. 

 With a frown, it occurred to Turnbull that he spent a lot of time lately
convincing himself how comforting it was. 

 He watched Huey until he was out of sight, then headed out the door. He
crossed the street and headed after the dark-haired detective. He was
supposed to return to the consulate immediately, but this was infinitely
more interesting. 

 He could always come up with some harebrained story about being
distracted by something shiny on his way back. Inspector Thatcher would
have no problem believing that. 

 

 Thomas Dewey stalked down the street, his hands clenching into fists,
then relaxing, then clenching again. He tried hard to calm himself down. 

 Fucked up there, Tommy. Well, what else was new? 

 It was the name. That contemptuous tone, the sneer in Ray's voice as he'd
called him an idiot. It brought too much anger sweeping up over Dewey. For
once he couldn't conceal it with his lame grins and dumb jokes. For once
he had lost control and let Ray Vecchio the Second get the better of him. 

 Damn it all. 

 His eyes caught on the deli he and Jack went to every now and then, and
he changed direction. Going in, he grinned vaguely at the counter girl and
ordered his regular. He wasn't really hungry, but he needed somewhere to
just sit and think, alone. 

 Taking his turkey on rye, he sat in the furthest booth from the door,
scrunching himself in the corner. His back was to the wall, which was the
only way he could ever be comfortable. Mama Dewey's baby boy had learned
paranoia early on in life. 

 His thoughts swirled darkly as he stared down at his food. Damn it all to
hell. Maybe there was some way he could go back to the station and
convince everyone that nothing had just happened. Maybe he could go in
with a big grin and laugh at Ray for falling for that joke. They would
still be angry, of course, but they wouldn't be surprised. Tom Dewey
playing some stupid, thoughtless practical joke was just another every day
occurrence. 

 A flash of red caught in his sight and he looked up. His eyebrows went up
when he saw that Mountie that worked with Fraser, the one he'd almost run
into in the station. Turnbull. Now there was a man who was everything
Dewey tried to pretend he was. That guy had to be one of the happiest
people on earth -- he sure seemed to float around on some cloud. Dewey bet
he could call the guy every bad name in the book and Turnbull would just
grin and offer to make some tea or something. 

 Turnbull glanced around before spotting Dewey, and he immediately started
for the corner booth. 

 Dewey sat up in surprise. The Mountie was gonna talk to him? Shit on a
stick, this was not how he wanted to spend an hour. 

 "Detective," Turnbull greeted. "May I?" 

 "Uh." Dewey shook his head slightly and his usual crooked grin fell into
place. "Sure thing, man. Turnbull, right?" 

 "That's right. I couldn't help but notice that you seemed upset earlier."


 "So you followed me over here? Ain't that taking this whole polite
Mountie thing a bit too far?" Dewey smirked suddenly. "Hey, Turnbull, how
many Mounties it take to change a lightbulb?" 

 Turnbull's polite smile didn't change. "How many, Detective Dewey?" 

 Dewey snickered. "Two. One to--" 

 Turnbull laughed blandly. "Oh, that's humorous. I shall have to tell that
to Constable Fraser. He would certainly appreciate it." 

 Dewey sighed mentally. Jesus Christ. "I don't think Fraser's got much of
a sense of humor." 

 "Don't believe it, Detective. The Constable is one of the more clever
people I know." 

 Like that's saying a whole lot. Dewey almost laughed. "Yeah, well, I
don't guess your boss lady ever smiles." 

 "I don't have ocassion to see her smile often, that's all I can say about
it." Turnbull cocked his head slightly. "Are you not hungry, detective?" 

 Dewey looked down at the sandwhich and remembered suddenly that he was a
human vacuum. He picked it up and took a huge bite. "Mmank f'r mindng m',"
he said through a mouthfull. 

 Turnbull blinked. "Would you mind if I perhaps ate with you? I think we
should talk." 

 Dewey shrugged easily. 

 Turnbull stood and headed for the counter to get himself some lunch. 

 Dewey sighed, swallowing cardboard that usually tasted like a pretty good
turkey sandwich. Well, hell. What was with this guy? All he wanted was
time alone to get his act together. 

 Hmm. His act. If nothing else, Turnbull could unwittingly give him
pointers on how to act like a complete space-case. Maybe it wouldn't be a
wasted hour. 

 Turnbull returned a minute later with a coke and a bag of chips. 

 Dewey smirked at him. "I thought you Mounties were all into health food
and shit like that." 

 The sandy-haired Mountie shrugged. "Some of us. Sometimes. I have
developed certain weaknesses, I admit." 

 "Huh." 

 Dewey munched on his sandwich. Turnbull crunched his chips. There was
silence otherwise for a while. 

 Finally Dewey cleared his throat. "So what'd ya want to talk about? You
need some tips about Chi-town?" 

 "Not really, Detective. I already know much about this city." 

 "So, what then?" 

 Turnbull studied him for a long moment, setting the bag of chips down. 

 Dewey watched as the vacuum that was Turnbull's expression suddenly, and
for no good reason, cleared up. His blank eyes were suddenly studying him
with something resembling intelligence, and his constant grin faded into a
neutral expression. 

 "You remind me of myself, Detective." 

 Dewey swallowed his food, easily hiding his surprise. "Really? That's
kinda funny." 

 "I thought so. I've heard a lot about you from Constable Fraser and Ray
Vecchio." 

 "I'll bet. They tell ya about my wicked sense of humor? My flawless good
looks?" 

 Turnbull's expression didn't change. "Actually, they said you were an
idiot." 

 Dewey pretended to look wounded. "Ouch. Thanks so much for telling me
that." 

 "Please, Detective Dewey. Let's stop pretending for a few minutes. Don't
act like that offends you, because it doesn't." 

 Dewey was startled. "What do you mean? You don't think it should offend
me to be called an idiot?" 

 "No, I don't. Just like it doesn't offend me when people laugh in my
face. We can hardly feel bad for being recognized as what we both pretend
to be." 

 Dewey's grin returned. "I don't know what you're talking about, Mister
Mountie." 

 Turnbull studied him for a moment, then sighed. "Maybe you don't. Forgive
me, Detective. I was under the mistaken impression we could help each
other. It gets very lonely pretending to be something you're not. Maybe I
overestimated you." 

 Dewey's grin faded. His tablemate was absolutely serious. There was no
trace of the usual blank look. The difference was surprising. Almost
like...what he saw in the mirror when he was alone. 

 Before he could say anything else, Turnbull stood. In front of Dewey's
eyes he suddenly blanked out, his smile returning. "It's been most
pleasant, Detective. Thank you." He turned and headed for the door. 

 Dewey watched him go, hiding his astonishment. Was that what he looked
like when he put his own mask on to face the world? Had Turnbull seen
through it when no one else had? 

 And what was up with Turnbull anyway? Could he really be serious? Was his
whole attitude really just an act? Nothing more? 

 Dewey stood slowly, threw his trash away and left the deli. His thoughts
were still whirling -- he hadn't gotten anything settled as he headed to
his nearby apartment building. But he was distracted now. Thoughts of what
he'd do to make up for his blow-up at the station were now gone, replaced
by a familiar sense of loneliness, and a sudden desire to know more about
the strange Mountie who'd sat across from him at a deli, and seen right
through his carefully-set mask. 

 

 One advantage to living at the Consulate, Fraser was never tardy in the
mornings. 

 At least that's what he reminded himself of as he dressed. Forget the
obvious disadvantages of the place -- the biggest one being that if he
failed to spend the night there, someone would definitely notice. Which
meant he couldn't spend the night anywhere else. 

 Not that he had many places to sleep, but Ray had extended an invitation
to 'crash' on his couch the night before, one that Fraser had to, as
usual, turn down. Today he and Ray each had the day off. By all rights
they should have been able to stay up late, wake up late, and completely
waste a day. Something Fraser never would have done before Ray came along,
but which now he seemed to enjoy. 

 But he had to return to the Consulate, or people would talk. He knew the
kind of rumors that could form from his spending the night at another
man's apartment. They didn't bother him, much, except he didn't want to be
the focus of gossip if it wasn't true. Now, if it was true, that would be
a completely different matter. If Ray actually did invite him over for
something other than basketball and pizza, well then Fraser would simply
ignore the rumors. 

 But that day would never come. Fraser had accepted that. And now was
definitely not the time to think about it. He needed to be there for his
partner right now. Ray was distraught over this last case. He needed a
friend, he needed comfort. 

 A small voice inside of him asked Fraser what kind of comfort he could
offer. And it was true, he wasn't very helpful lately. Ray had opened up
to him, had cried in front of him, and Fraser had been so worried about
his own body's reaction to touching his partner, his own discomfort, that
he had done no more than put an arm on Ray's shoulder. Great help. 

 Dismissing his thoughts, Fraser dressed quickly and effeciently. Jeans
and a pressed flannel shirt. Ray would undoubtedly make another in a long
series of lumberjack jokes, but that was fine. Anything to make Ray smile.


 When he finally left his office that morning, he saw Turnbull at the
front desk, smile in place, ready to greet the world. "Constable." 

 Turnbull's face lit up. "Constable Fraser! Good morning to you, sir!" 

 Fraser returned the smile. "Yes, it is." 

 "I deduce by your clothing that today is your day off," Turnbull stated,
pride in his eyes at making the conclusion. 

 "Right again, Turnbull." 

 "Will you be spending the day with Detective Vecchio?" 

 Fraser nodded, glancing towards the door. "And he'll be here any minute.
Excuse me, Turnbull." 

 "Certainly, sir! Have a good day, and maintain the right, sir!" 

 Fraser went for the door and opened it, closing in behind him. A slight
laugh bubbled up. He liked Turnbull, sometimes. Whenever he was simply
saying hello to the younger man. If he actually had something he wanted
accomplished, he would stay as far away as he could. 

 A moment after he appeared on the sidewalk, the familiar black GTO pulled
up, and Ray flashed him a faint approximation of his usual smile. "Get in,
Frase. We got things to do." 

 

 Turnbull watched Fraser go, and as soon as he was alone he chuckled
slightly. If there was one person he always expected to see through his
sunny smiles and vacant words, it was Fraser. He hadn't lied to Dewey the
day before, Fraser was one of the most clever people he knew. He was a
good man. A good constable. But at times he had his head buried in the
sand even deeper than Turnbull. 

 Especially over one Detective Ray Kowalski Vecchio. Turnbull wasn't sure
yet if Fraser just wasn't aware of the huge crush he was developing, or if
he just didn't act on it. Either way it was a shame. The way Ray looked at
the dark-haired Constable when Fraser didn't see visibly demonstrated
matching feelings. 

 Ah, well. Someday they'd figure things out. Turnbull was just waiting for
the morning he came in and Fraser's office hadn't been slept in. He almost
wished when that day came he'd be able to offer his congratulations to
Fraser, but that wasn't him. No, he would have to practice looking frantic
and bumbling around trying to find the older Mountie. Maybe he'd knock
down a vase or two just to add to the confusion of that day. 

 He smiled thinking about it, lost in picturing Thatcher's reaction. To
the rest of the world, his distant expression and grin were just Turnbull
being Turnbull. 

 

 "Ya mind if we stop by the station, Frase?" 

 "Certainly not." Fraser glanced over at Ray and couldn't help but notice
the tension running through the blond's body. "Is something wrong, Ray?" 

 "Yeah, kinda. I been doin' some thinking, ya know? I, uh, I just wanna
ask Huey something." 

 Fraser nodded his understanding. "This has something to do with your
argument yesterday with Detective Dewey?" Ray had told him about the
fight. Fraser hadn't been very surprised to hear about it --Ray's temper
had been due for an explosion. He was shocked and disappointed to hear
that Ray had actually struck a fellow detective, and concerned for the
emotions that had driven Ray to do that. 

 Ray heaved a sigh. "Yeah, it does. I just wanna make sure the guy's okay.
I still don't know what I did ta piss him off so bad, but I know I was
just feeling angry 'cause of...you know...Beth." 

 "Well, Detective Dewey hardly seems the type to hold a grudge. I'm sure
he's fine." 

 "I dunno, Frase. I never seen him act like that before. All I did was
call him an idiot, but I know I been called that a few times in my life,
and I wanted to pop the guy who said it." He frowned. "I just wanna make
sure he's not still pissed. You know, getting suspended and all." 

 "I'm sure he's all right, Ray, but I am glad to see your concern." 

 

 Turnbull was debating whether or not he'd been too quiet today, whether
he should at least knock over a pile of papers or something to pass the
time, when the phone rang. 

 He picked it up with smile firmly in place. "Thank you for calling the
Consulate of Canada. This is Constable Renfield Turnbull, what may I do
for you today?" 

 There was a pause. "Renfield? That's your first name, huh?" 

 Dewey? Turnbull's eyebrows flew up. "Yes, it is. May I help you?" 

 "Yeah. Uh. Turnbull, it's Dewey." 

 "Greetings, Detective! Did you have some questions about the Consulate or
Canada that I could answer for you today?" 

 A nervous laugh sounded in his ear. "I gotta tell you, if that's all an
act, you belong in Hollywood." 

 Turnbull's eyes twinkled, but he stayed vacant. "Whatever do you mean,
Detective?" 

 "Uh. Listen...can we talk again? I've been thinking about some stuff." 

 "What stuff would that be?" 

 "Could ya drop the act for five seconds? Come on, I already feel like
enough of an idiot calling like this." 

 Turnbull glanced around to make sure the room was empty. He let his voice
drop down to normal. "Gets annoying, doesn't it?" 

 "Yeah. I'm sorry about yesterday. You took me by surprise, you know?" 

 "I can imagine." 

 Dewey hesitated. "Yeah. Well. You were...you were right. Can you get out
of there for a little while sometime today?" 

 "I get an hour for lunch, is that enough?" 

 "I guess. Meet me in that place we were at yesterday?" 

 "Sure." Turnbull looked up as a door from the back opened, and his voice
immediately became vacuous again. "Thank you for calling, sir. Canada has
many interesting facets that deserve further exploration." 

 "What are...oh. Someone's there, huh?" 

 "That's correct, sir. The third largest export in the country." 

 Dewey laughed again faintly. "All right. Is noon okay?" 

 "Splendid, sir. I think you should visit! Take the family!" 

 "Okay. See ya then." 

 Turnbull hung up the phone with a proud look on his face. He released a
happy I-just-converted-a-Chicagoan-to-the-wonders-of-Canada sigh. 

 "Turnbull!" 

 He turned immediately, standing way too fast and almost overturning a
pencil holder. He grabbed for it quickly and straightened it, flustered.
"Yes, I-Inspector?" 

 Thatcher didn't bother concealing her amusement or annoyance. "What time
is it, Constable?" 

 Turnbull looked at his watch dutifully. "It is seven minutes after ten
AM, Inspec..." A look of horror came over his face. "My God!" 

 "You were supposed to relieve Cooper seven minutes ago, were you not?" 

 "Oh, Inspector, I am so sorry! I had this phone call, and..." He hung his
head. "I accept whatever disciplinary actions you see fit to give me." 

 "Just get out there. Maybe a double shift standing guard will remind you
to be more punctual next time." 

 "Certainly! Excuse me, Inspector." He raced out the door. 

 

 Dewey looked up in surprise when a heap of red threw itself into the seat
across from him. "Jesus Christ," the tired-looking Mountie sighed. 

 "You okay?" Dewey asked with a laugh. 

 "My feet are killing me. I swear if I didn't work for that woman..." 

 Dewey chuckled, then studied him, remembering who it was he was looking
at. "Man, that really is some act you've got for yourself," he said in
admiration. 

 "I've worked hard to develop it. I'm sorry I'm late, she made me stand
extra duty." 

 "Ouch. What'd you do?" 

 "Let you distract me," Turnbull answered with a grin. 

 "Oh. Sorry." Dewey pushed a bag of chips and coke across the table. "I'm
treating." 

 "Thanks." Turnbull tore the bag open. "So what did you want to talk
about, Detective?" 

 Just like that, he was uncomfortable. "Well, you know. That stuff you
were saying yesterday. I got to thinking. You were right, you know. It is
kinda lonely being something you're not." 

 "So I was right about you." 

 "Pretty much. It's been a long time since anyone...well, since I told
anyone...showed them...you know." 

 "How you really are? I do understand, Detective." 

 "Tom, okay? If we're gonna share our secrets, we shouldn't be formal
about it." 

 Turnbull smiled genuinely. "Tom. All right." 

 "Is it okay to call you Renfield?" 

 "Sure." 

 Dewey made a slight face. "I don't mean to be rude, but that's just way
too formal for a first name. You have any nicknames?" 

 "None at all. I've been simply Turnbull for a long time." 

 "What about just Ren? Renny." 

 Turnbull made a face. "That reminds me of my...of things I don't want to
be reminded of." 

 "Oh. Okay, I guess Renfield will do." 

 "If you don't mind. I can call you Thomas if it makes you feel better." 

 Dewey laughed. "Whatever you want, man." 

 "Good." 

 "This is kinda strange." Dewey studied him. "Man, I guess I was so busy
trying to keep up my own front it didn't occur to me that anyone else
might have had one too." 

 "That's the way it goes. I think most people put one up to some degree.
People like you and I just get carried away with it." 

 "Yeah, well. It's not like there aren't reasons, you know." 

 "I know." Turnbull -- Renfield -- peered at him sharply. "And what would
your reasons be, Thomas?" 

 There was a pause. Dewey thought about it for a moment, then shook his
head. "That isn't exactly first date talk." 

 Renfield laughed. "I have to wine and dine you first?" 

 "Getting me drunk would be an advantage," Dewey replied easily. 

 Renfield's eyebrows rose. "Very well. One night we'll both get plastered
and exchange horror stories." 

 "Plastered? You don't talk like a Canadian, Renfield." 

 "You mean I don't talk like Fraser. I hate to tell you this, but that man
is hardly a perfect example of a Canadian. Most of us grow up in real
cities with indoor plumbing and everything." 

 Dewey grinned. "And you get drunk?" 

 "From time to time. A bad habit, I guess, but it helps relieve the
pressure." 

 "Yeah." Dewey paused. "So tell me, man. What exactly are you hiding from
everyone? You're not a dork, I guessed that much. You have like a 200 IQ
or something?" 

 "Not quite. It's in the 140s somewhere. Slightly lower than Fraser's.
Although both of ours are higher than the Inspector." 

 Dewey snickered. "How'd you find that out?" 

 "I get left alone with files and computers a lot. Thatcher leaves when I
clean her office. One advantage to being an idiot." 

 "You guys have your IQ scores in your files? How come no one's ever
noticed yours?" 

 Turnbull shrugged. "My guess is no one wants to face how low it could be.
If they have noticed, they probably think it's a typo." 

 "Huh. So you're a genius too. Anything else I should know? Any more
secrets? You a stripper on the weekends?" 

 Renfield laughed. "Afraid not." 

 "Why not? Good money in it. You got that whole Mountie body working for
ya." 

 "Well..." Renfield's eyes went to his companion. Dewey was noticing his
body? That was...interesting. Come to think of it, he had let Renfield's
wine and dine comment go by without the typical straight man's discomfort
or indignation. 

 He studied the young detective in a new light. Dewey wasn't unattractive,
that was for sure. In fact, now that he wasn't bothering pasting a goofy
grin to his face, he was quite handsome. 

 Banishing those thoughts quickly, Renfield grinned. "I'd be too worried
about Fraser being in the crowd." 

 Dewey laughed. "I get that same feeling. Nobody can be that much of a
tightass. He's gotta have something depraved about him. Aside from those
looks he gives Ray, anyway." 

 "They are blatant, aren't they?" 

 "Not as bad as how Ray looks at him. Jesus, that guy couldn't hide his
feelings with a mask." 

 "And yet neither of them have any clue." Turnbull shook his head with a
grin. 

 "And they call us clueless," Dewey replied. 

 Renfield met his eyes, and they exchanged smiles. He took a minute to
reflect how glad he was that Dewey had called that morning. He was glad
he'd noticed the detective looking upset the day before, and glad he'd
been lonely enough to call him on his act. This was nice. Not having to
think about his expression or his words, not having to disguise his
feelings. 

 Thomas was obviously reflecting his thoughts. "Man. This feels kinda
good, you know? I mean, I don't have it as bad as you do. I'm not hiding
any kinda smarts or anything, but I like not having to think up some
stupid jokes or make fun of everything." His eyes dropped. "Uh. But that
probably sounds dumb to a guy like you." 

 "Why would it?" 

 Thomas shrugged. "You know. There's a lot to you. I hope you weren't
expecting me to be some kinda hidden genius too, 'cause I'm really nothing
like that." 

 Renfield studied him. "I wasn't expecting anything, Thomas. I was hoping
for an hour when I could be myself. I was hoping for someone to talk to
who actually understood how I felt. I haven't been disappointed." 

 Thomas looked up uncertainly. "Yeah?" 

 "Sure." Turnbull hesitated, then shrugged mentally. "How about dinner
sometime?" 

 "You wanna? Yeah, I could do that. We still gotta get drunk and vent all
our stories, right?" 

 "Definitely. How about tonight? Just dinner, anyway. I couldn't show up
at the Consulate hung over." 

 "Nah, then people would start talking. Can't have that. Dinner's good."
Thomas smiled. "I wanna hear some juicy gossip about that chick you work
for." 

 "I've got a few good stories," Turnbull replied with a laugh, glad that
smile was back on the detective's face. He was feeling a lot more relaxed
then he had in a long time, and had Thomas Dewey to thank for it. 

 

 One Week Later 

 

 "Hey, Mountie!" 

 Turnbull stopped inside the door to the bullpen, folder clutched in hand.
He beamed towards the voice. "Detective Dewey. A pleasure to see you
again." 

 Dewey grinned back at Ray and Huey, lowering his voice. "This guy's a
real turkey. Watch this." He turned back, raising his voice again.
"Mountie, come here. I got a joke for you." 

 Turnbull made his way over immediately, knocking some files off a desk on
his way over without noticing. "I do love a good riddle," he said with a
vague grin towards Ray. "Detective Vecchio." 

 "Hiya, Turnbull. The Ice Queen letting Frase off his leash sometime
soon?" 

 "I believe the Constable has only a few more reports to fill out. He told
me to bring this to you. Apparently it's about a case." His gaze went
shifty. "I didn't let it out of my sight for a minute." 

 "Uh, yeah. I'm sure it was safe with you. Thanks." Ray took the folder. 

 "Hey, do you guys mind? It's joke time." Dewey smirked at Turnbull. "All
right, Mountie. Why'd the blond stop using birth control pills?" 

 "Oh, dear. I can't imagine, Detective. Why?" 

 "'Cause they kept falling out!" Dewey gave a loud, honking laugh. 

 Turnbull smiled politely. "Falling out of what?" 

 Dewey doubled over, roaring. 

 Ray exchanged glances with Huey. "Never mind, Turnbull. Tell Fraser
thanks for me." 

 "Wait! Come on, Mountie. I'll walk you out, explain it to you." Dewey
giggled as he led Turnbull out of the bullpen. 

 Ray watched them go, wincing as Turnbull inadvertantly ran into desk
corners on his way out. He shook his head at both of them before turning
back to his work. 

 

 Out in the deserted hall, Turnbull broke down, laughing along with his
friend. 

 "I'm sorry," Dewey chuckled, suddenly more in control of himself. "I
couldn't resist. This is too much fun." 

 "Yeah, you're the one who doesn't have to keep a straight face," Turnbull
retorted through a grin. 

 "Hey, it's good practice for you. Besides, you started it, knocking over
those folders, wearing that stupid grin." 

 "Stupid grin? I think you have a monopoly on dumb expressions, my
friend." 

 "You know, I bet Ray and Jack are in there shaking their heads at both of
us right now." 

 "Undoubtedly. Well, thank God I'm on my way out. I won't have to pretend
to have heard your explanation. Affronted Innocent Mountie is a hard one
to pull off." 

 "I'll bet. Hey, you cooking tonight or should I bring some takeout?" 

 "I'll cook. I know the kind of restaurants you go to." 

 Dewey stuck his tongue out at the Mountie. 

 "Say, where do you come up with those jokes of yours, anyway?" 

 Dewey grinned as he walked Turnbull to the door. "Internet. Joke A Day.
They email my personality to me every morning." 

 "I knew there was a reason I don't sign on." 

 

 "Renny, you gotta look at this!" 

 Turnbull came out of his kitchen and watched the small screen Tom was
glued to. There was Constable Fraser, speaking solemnly to some reporter
about the latest case solved. "I see this a lot, Tom." 

 "Yeah, I know. But look at Ray. Jesus Christ." 

 Turnbull's eyes went to the blond standing slighty behind his partner.
His blue eyes were locked on Fraser, listening to him raptly. The devotion
and attraction was plain as day. He laughed. "That boy has it bad." 

 Tom looked up at him from the couch. "I dunno how he thinks he can still
be in the closet looking at his partner like that." 

 Turnbull shook his head and went back into the kitchen. "You want a
beer?" 

 "American or Canadian?" 

 Renny barked out a laugh. "Guess." 

 "I think you're spoiling me with these Canadian brews." Tom appeared in
the doorway to the kitchen and went to the fridge. "I can't drink a Bud
any more, and I blame you." 

 "I accept full responsibility. There are a lot of things you Americans
have no clue about, beer just happens to be one of them." 

 "I'd fight you on that if you weren't so right." Dewey took a swig of the
brew. "When's dinner?" 

 "Give me five more minutes." 

 "'kay." Dewey left for the living room. 

 Turnbull watched him go and sighed, turning back to the pot of alfredo
sauce and stirring absently. His thoughts were focused on his dinner
companion, but what else was new? 

 As strange as he would have thought it a week ago, he was spending most
of his free time now with the detective from the 27th precinct. The two
men became friends quickly, if for no other reason than just the relief of
being themselves with someone else around. Renny had never realized how
annoying it had been to only let his guard down when he was alone, not
until he was fortunate enough to have someone there with him. 

 That was probably why he felt a growing attraction to the detective. Most
likely that was the only explanation. Tom was good-looking, sure, but if
Turnbull could be around Fraser all day and feel nothing for him,
obviously attraction wasn't that important. It had to be simply the
release that came with being around him. 

 Well, whatever it was, it was bothering the hell out of him. He spent
more time searching Tom's behavior for signs of matching attraction than
he should have. He even gave in and let him use the name Renny. Tom seemed
to like it, and Turnbull had to admit he liked it coming from Tom. It
almost, at this point, relaxed him to hear it. 'Renny' was synonymous with
Tom, which was synonymous with rest and peace and being himself. 

 Dangerous thoughts, especially if Tom didn't feel any matching attraction
for him. The last thing he needed was to ruin the best friendship he'd
found in Chicago by lusting after the friend. 

 From the living room came the loud sound of Dewey's laughter, free and
relaxed. It warmed Renny to hear it. One thing he'd discovered about his
new friend -- whether or not Dewey was masking any kind of higher
intelligence, he was masking a great deal of insecurity. Turnbull
suspected it was related to whatever stories Tom still hadn't told, and it
made him happy to be able to boost the confidence of a man who needed it
so badly. 

 It made him regret the fact that Tom put on the act he did. One thing he
never got, even from his own partner, was compliments. Dewey acted like an
idiot, and so he was called an idiot. That had to be hurting him, even if
he didn't realize it. 

 He turned off the burner under the sauce. "All right, come and get it." 

 Tom was there in a matter of seconds. "Great! I'm starving." He inhaled
deeply and followed Renny as he took the pot to the table. "Man, you are
one hell of a cook. Something else you're spoiling me with." 

 Renny smiled and turned, meeting his eyes abruptly. "Maybe I like
spoiling you." 

 Tom blinked and looked down instantly, moving around him and going to the
table. "So did you get a chance to steer Fraser towards those bank
robbers?" 

 Renny sat across from him after a minute, hiding his frustration with a
smile. "Yeah. I kept him at my desk this morning long enough to make some
completely random statement about what a shame even banks couldn't insure
our money was safe." 

 "And his light bulb blinked on, and he suddenly thought about insurance
fraud," Tom continued. "He was all proud of himself and thanked you for
your help." 

 "And of course I had to act confused." 

 "But you smiled real big and told him anytime." Dewey laughed. "Man,
you're good." 

 "Why thank you. Did you have a chance to speak to Ray?" 

 "Kind of." Tom smirked. "I had some pizzas sent to him in his name." 

 Renny chuckled. "That's an old joke, isn't it?" 

 "Just the kind of thing that reassured everyone I was back to my usual
self." He shook his head. "I don't know if Jack was pissed or relieved." 

 Renny's smile faded slightly. Jack. During the last week, he hadn't
developed much respect for Jack Huey. He had always considered partners to
be important to each other, and as much as it was Tom's own fault, he
found it abhorrent that Huey had no idea there was more to his partner
than he thought. 

 Tom noticed his look. "Hey, he's a good guy, all right? It isn't his
fault." 

 Surprised Tom had read his thoughts so well, Renny took a moment before
responding. "He's your best friend. He should have some idea." 

 "I don't want him to have an idea. We work well the way things are now.
He's comfortable knowing his partner's a moron." 

 "Why would he be?" 

 Tom shrugged. "He lost a partner right before I signed on. That hurt him
a lot. He and Gardino were real close. He needs to keep me at a distance,
that's why he doesn't see anything more than what I want him to see. I
don't want to make the guy uncomfortable." 

 Renny's eyebrows went up. "He told you that?" 

 "Of course not. Me and Jack never talk about stuff like that. It's not
that hard to figure out." 

 Renny met his eyes with a sudden smile. "You're much more perceptive
about people than you let on, Tom." 

 Once again, Tom lowered his eyes. "Nah. I just got to thinking about what
you said about how everybody disguises themselves, and I realized he was
doing the same thing about his old partner." He shrugged. "At first it
kinda hurt me, but I understand it." 

 "Hurt you?" Renny heard the sudden catch in the other man's voice, and
put it together with a few other signs he'd noticed when Dewey talked
about his partner. "You like him!" 

 "Sure I do. He's my partner." 

 "Not that way. You were interested in him." 

 Tom froze. After a minute his eyes came up, flashing almost defiantly.
"When I first met him, yeah. A little." 

 "Jack Huey." Renny shook his head, hiding his elation at the sudden news.
Maybe there really was a chance Tom could return his affection. 

 "Yeah. So?" 

 Renny was quick to reassure Tom that the nature of the attraction wasn't
what bothered him. "Why Jack? Of all the men in your department, why him?"


 Defiance was replaced by slight surprise. "You're not....I mean, hell. I
don't know. He's a great guy, really. And he tried so hard to hide how
hurt he was about Gardino. I just wanted to be able to make him feel
better, I guess. I learned real quick that it wasn't gonna happen, and I
got over it." 

 "Huey does strike me as being terminally straight," Renny agreed. 

 Deeper surprise flashed over Tom. "I didn't...uh, I didn't know you
thought about it." 

 "About Jack? I don't, not for any length of time." He grinned. 

 "No, I mean about...you know, guys." 

 Renny took a breath, then made the leap. "I've known I was gay for a long
time, Tom. I can't help it when my thoughts turn that way." 

 Tom's brown eyes grew round, but he swallowed and made every effort to be
casual. "That's something else you hide really well, Renny." 

 "That is definitely out of necessity. I don't think the RCMP would
respond much differently than the Chicago police about having homosexuals
in their ranks." 

 "Wow. That's...I mean, I'm surprised." 

 "I hope it doesn't make you uncomfortable. I suppose it was selfish of me
to tell you." He met Tom's eyes. "I like being myself around you, Tom. I
don't like hiding such a big part of myself from you. I suppose now that
you know this much, I want to be able to tell you everything." 

 "You can, Renny. I want to know everything. I'm glad you trust me with
it." He looked away suddenly, flushing. "You want another beer? I think I
want another beer." He jerked to his feet and moved towards the fridge. 

 Renny stood and met him halfway. "Tom, tell me if I've made you
uncomfortable. Be honest with me, please. If we can't be honest with each
other what's the point of any of this?" 

 Tom was stiff. "I'm not uncomfortable." He laughed faintly, nervous.
"Well, I am. But not because...oh, hell. I just wish--" He shut his mouth
abruptly. 

 "What?" Renny asked quietly. "What do you wish?" 

 Tom met his eyes, his expression suddenly and inexplicably sad. "I wish
you didn't know so much about me." He moved away from the kitchen,
forgetting dinner and beer and everything else. 

 Renny watched him go, confused. He went into motion a second later.
"Tom?" 

 Tom had his jacket in his hand. "Thanks for dinner, Renny. I gotta get
out of here." 

 Renny moved quickly, beating him to the door. "Tom, tell me what's
wrong." 

 "I can't, Ren. I'm sorry. I gotta go." 

 "Tom--" 

 "Just forget it!" 

 Renny searched his eyes for a moment, then stepped out of the way. "Fine.
I'm afraid I can't make it for lunch tomorrow." 

 Tom turned wide eyes to him. 

 "In fact, I don't think you should come over for dinner either.
Detective." 

 He flinched. "W-what...?" 

 Renny faced him squarely. "I meant what I said. If we can't be honest
with each other there's no point in us being friends. Something is
bothering you, something obviously important, and you won't talk to me. If
I can't trust you to tell me what you're feeling, how can I trust you with
my own feelings?" 

 "Renny, don't do that! Don't be like that. It isn't that important,
really. I just have to be up early and--" 

 "No! Don't say that!" Renny stalked away from the door. "It's bad enough
you don't tell me what's wrong. You could have enough respect not to lie
to me." He fell onto his couch, not even looking towards his guest. 

 There was silence for a long time. 

 "I'm sorry," Tom said finally, his voice almost a whisper. "I don't want
to mess this up, Renny. You're my best friend." He hesitated. "I know
that's gotta be kinda pathetic. I mean, we known each other a week really
and you're already my best...I know you're a smart guy and everything, I
don't really even know why you hang out with me. But I don't want to mess
it up." 

 Renny turned to him slowly. "Are you going to trust me? Can you tell me
what's wrong with you?" 

 Tom took a step closer to him, shrugging. "That was it, kinda. I mean,
you're really a great guy when you get past that act you put on. I'm not.
I'm not really much of anything." He took another step, awkward. "I got
these feelings I shouldn't have, you know? Renny, I...I know who I am when
I'm with you." He looked down at the ground, stopped in his tracks. "The
problem is you know who I am, too." 

 Renny got to his feet and went to Tom's side quickly. "I do know who you
are, Tom. Why should that be a problem?" 

 "Because I..." Tom smiled faintly, bitter. "I don't have any more
excuses. Like the ones I used for Jack, or any other guy I...liked. This
time around I can't tell myself you're straight. I can't tell myself you
might like me if you really knew me, 'cause you do know me. I got no more
excuses left." 

 Renny reached out hesitantly and touched the smaller man's cheek. "What
if you don't need an excuse?" 

 Tom looked up sharply. It was exactly the angle Renny needed to close the
distance between them and press their lips together. 

 Renny shut his eyes, surprised by the sudden rush of feelings caused by
so small a gesture. He kept the kiss gentle, waiting for some sign that
Tom was ready for this. 

 That sign didn't come. Tom pressed against him briefly, then jerked away
suddenly. His eyes were bright as he backed towards the door. "You...you
son of a bitch." 

 Surprsed, Renny could only stand there. 

 "Don't you do this to me, you bastard. I don't know what you're trying to
do, but...what was all that crap about honesty, huh? Jesus Christ, how
could you...do that?" 

 Renny got his feet to move finally. "Tom, wait. I'm not--" 

 "Damn it, Renny. I know you, remember? I know there's no way
I'm...this..." He shook his head, reaching the door and opening it with a
jerk. "I think you were right about tomorrow. I suddenly got other plans."
He slammed the door behind him. 

 Renny jumped slightly, startled. For a moment he could feel the bitter
pain of rejection, but that only lasted until he thought about the man who
had just left. He was certain Tom liked him now. Positive that his
feelings were returned by the insecure detective. So what the hell had
gone wrong? 

 And how could he fix it? 

 

 It was hard to smile when he got to work the next day. It was really hard
to face Jack and Ray and Frannie and everyone else with his typical
big-ass grin and act like he always did. 

 He hated Renny when he realized that. The guy had fucked him up majorly
with that act he pulled last night. The Mountie was an even better actor
than Tom thought. 

 "Hey, man, you all right?" 

 Tom looked up at Huey and grimaced. He transformed it easily into a
beaming smile. "Sure. Why wouldn't I be? Hey, Frannie, think you could
hike that shirt up a little higher? I think there are still a coupla guys
in the hall who don't know what color your panties are." 

 Francesca Vecchio pursed her lips at him. "Eat your heart out, Dewey,"
she retorted as she passed his desk without a pause. 

 "God, it's pathetic how much she wants me," Tom murmured when she was out
of ear shot. 

 Jack grinned, obviously appeased. "You hold on to your dreams, Dewey." 

 Tom almost made a face, turning to his files quickly. Frigging Jack. Why
had Renny made him think bad thoughts about his own partner? Tom knew all
about Louis Gardino, he knew why Jack kept him at a distance. Why he never
called him 'partner' and hardly ever called him Tom. He knew, and he
understood. Why was he now wishing Huey would look past his grins and
realize that something really was wrong? 

 Damn you, Renny, you pig. You screwed up my life with just a few words. 

 And a kiss. 

 Shit. Tom buried his head in the file. If Jack was still saying something
to him, he had no clue. His mind was back in Renny's apartment the night
before. He could see those serious blue eyes, looking right through all
his defenses, leaving him without protection. Right before he kissed him.
Jesus H Fucking Christ. 

 "--the hell out of here." 

 "What?" He blinked up at Jack, his mind half-realizing he was talking to
him. 

 "I said hurry up with that file so we can get out of here. Come on,
Dewey, focus." Jack was still grinning. 

 Tom resisted the urge to smack that look off his face. Hell, it worked
for Vecchio. Kowalski. Whoever. "Yeah, yeah. I'm done. Where we going?" 

 "We've gotta interview those witnesses from the hold-up." 

 "The bank job? I thought that was Vecchio's case." 

 "Apparently the Mountie had a brainstorm and figured out it was just an
inside job. The manager arranged it all." 

 "Uh huh. So now that it's not important anymore we get to do the clean-up
work?" Tom heard the bitterness in his own voice too late. 

 Jack frowned at his partner. "You sure you're okay?" 

 "Hell, yeah." Tom grinned again easily. Come on, Jack. You can tell
something's wrong. Come on. 

 "Let's get out of here then. Are you taking off for lunch again?" 

 "Nah. Wanna go to the deli?" 

 "Whatever." Jack got up and started for the door. 

 Tom stared after him with a frown, then stood and followed. 

 

 "Turnbull?" 

 Renny didn't have to fake surprise when the voice invaded his thoughts.
"Fraser! Oh! Constable, I'm sorry. Were you saying something?" 

 Fraser studied him. "Is everything all right, Constable?" 

 "Of course, sir. Am I late for guard duty? Oh, do tell me if I've done
something wrong! The Inspector will be so angry if I--" 

 "Nothing's wrong, Turnbull," Fraser said in a soothing voice. "I just
wanted to ask if you were doing anything for lunch." 

 Years of practice couldn't save him from frowning. "No," he said
honestly. "It doesn't look like I am." 

 Fraser's head cocked at him in that searching way. "Perhaps you would
care to join me?" 

 Surprise flashed over him. "You, sir? For lunch?" 

 "If you'd like." 

 "Yes, sir! I would! Where is Detective Vecchio?" 

 "Ray is skipping lunch to catch up on a few reports he's missed."
Fraser's voice clearly expressed his disapproval at that. 

 Turnbull glanced around the tiny desk and realized there was no pressing
work there. He stood. "I would be honored to join you for lunch, sir." 

 "Good, let's go." 

 Turnbull trailed after Fraser like an eager puppy dog as they walked out
of the Consulate and down the street. Neither of them said a word. Act
aside, Turnbull was so surprised at the invitation that he didn't even
think to fill the silence with ramblings about the Queen. 

 Not until they were in the small burger place and seated with drinks did
Turnbull finally speak up. "Is something troubling you, sir?" 

 "No," Fraser answered automatically. His eyes stayed on his menu as he
let out a sigh. 

 It didn't take Renny long to figure out the problem. Fraser's frustration
was getting the better of him. Hmm. 

 He wanted to help his coworker, but it was tricky. Hard to say much of
anything without blowing his cover. 

 "Does it have something to do with Detective Vecchio, sir?" 

 Fraser looked up in surprise. "Why would you say that?" 

 Renny adopted his most innocent wide-eyed expression. "Well, he isn't
here. You are usually more cheerful when he's here, sir." There, that
wasn't too perceptive. Was it? 

 "Do I?" 

 Renny almost smiled at the oppurtunity. "I could be wrong, sir. He is
definitely happier when he's with you, anyway." 

 Fraser latched onto that remark eagerly. "Do you think so?" 

 "I certainly do, sir. I have had occasion to visit the police station
once or twice, and I must say Detective Vecchio is quite a different man
when you are not there." 

 Too late, Fraser tried to be casual. "Oh, I don't know why he would be." 

 "Perhaps because he admires you so much," Turnbull replied blankly. "I
assume he admires you, anyway. He does give you the strangest looks when
you aren't looking at him. If it isn't admiration, I don't know what it
could be." 

 "Strange looks? Really?" 

 "Yes, sir. You know, it's funny. They're the exact same looks you used to
give Inspector Thatcher, before Ray Vecchio was...well, before he wasn't
Ray Vecchio any more." 

 Fraser almost choked on his water. "The same looks?" 

 The man turns into an echo when he's desperate, Turnbull thought to
himself with a grin he quickly masked. "Yes, sir. And since I know you
admire the Inspector very much, as I do, I assume that's what it is." 

 Fraser smiled. A wide, open smile that Turnbull had never seen before. "I
guess that must be it, then. Thank you for clearing it up, Constable." 

 Turnbull fixed his usual blank smile on his face, but inside he was
cheering. At last, something might get done here. "You're quite welcome,
sir." 

 Wait until Tom heard about this. Maybe he could do the same thing to Ray,
get the two men to... 

 Tom. Oh, damn. 

 Just like that, Turnbull's smile faded. He wasn't even aware of the
puzzled sadness that came over his face as he again wondered what the hell
he had done wrong confessing his feelings to Tom. Tom felt the same way,
he knew it. Why would he get mad and storm out that way? 

 "Constable?" 

 Turnbull focused on Fraser. "Yes, sir?" he asked distantly. 

 "Is there something I could maybe help you out with?" 

 Damn. Slipping. "Not at all, sir. I was thinking about the game last
night. I'm deeply sorry about Lemiuex hurting his ankle during the second
inning." 

 Intense blue eyes studied him carefully. "Constable..." 

 "Yes, sir?" For a moment, Renny wished like hell Fraser would push this
issue. He wished he could simply tell him what was wrong and ask Fraser's
advice. Like a friend. 

 "Nothing. It was a shame about that injury." 

 Turnbull nodded absently, wondering why it was so hard to open up to
anyone else. And why it had been so easy with Tom Dewey. 

 

 "Canadian Consulate, Constable Turnbull speaking. Can I help you?" 

 Tom bit his lip, noting the restrained greeting. "Uh. Hey, Renny." 

 Ther was a pause. "Tom?" The voice was quieter. 

 Tom realized there must have been someone there with him. "Yeah. Sorry to
bother you at work. Look, could I...could we meet later? At your place?" 

 "Yes! That would be nice." 

 He almost smiled at the enthusiasm, though he knew it was only for the
benefit of whoever was listening in. "Okay. I'll be there around eight,
okay?" 

 "Very good, sir." 

 He hung up without another word. The ache in his gut had grown a little
smaller, but he was ten times as tense as he was five minutes ago. What
the hell was he doing setting himself up like this? Just because he wanted
someone to talk to, and Renny was the only one who really listened. Maybe
he was just a glutton for punishment, maybe that was it. 

 Tom glanced around the bullpen, careful not to meet anyone's eyes. Jack
was over talking to Frannie. Again. Something going on there? Could be. 

 Ray was sitting at his desk looking utterly miserable at the amount of
paperwork he had left to do. Fraser wasn't there, which Tom knew was
adding to the man's misery. Poor guy. Poor fucking guy. 

 "Hey, Vecchio?" 

 Ray looked over at him and his expression was automatically wary. "Yeah?"


 Tom sighed to himself before he got up and went over to the desk. "You're
looking kinda down in the dumps. Want to hear the one about the Polish
doctor and the Lithuanian prostitute?" 

 "That's all right, Dewey." Ray did smile faintly. 

 Good, because Tom didn't know any jokes about Lithuanian prositutes. "So
what's wrong?" 

 Ray gestured at the paperwork. "I'm no good at this crap." 

 "I guess Fraser is, huh?" 

 A shielded look immediately came over Ray. "Yeah, he is." 

 "He must really like it, to. Otherwise why the hell is he always coming
over here? Imagine a guy with nothing better to do than other people's
paperwork." 

 "Hey, Frase has got lots to do, okay? He's not some kind of loser." 

 Tom leaned in closely. "Yeah, but you know what? I think he's kinda
fruity." 

 "Frase?" Ray's blue eyes were tinged with disbelief. And carefully
concealed hope. 

 Jesus. Everyone in the frigging world must be wearing a mask. "Yeah, I
think. And I don't mean to make you uncomfortable or anything, but he's
definitely hot for your skinny body." 

 Ray laughed, but it lacked spirit. "Yer nuts, Dewey." 

 "Could be, but why else you think Frannie tries to separate you guys
every time he comes in? She's jealous 'cause he doesn't look at her that
way. Man, soon as your back is turned, he's like watching your ass and
stuff. It's embarrassing how obvious he is." 

 "You makin' this shit up, man?" 

 "Hell no. Of course, I could be wrong. Maybe it's just a Canadian thing.
I'm sure Fraser's a real oversexed kinda guy. He's gotta be, the amount of
babes throwing themselves on him." Dewey rolled his eyes. "Ah, hell.
That's got to be it. Never mind, man. Forget I said anything." He slid off
the desk and loped back to his own. 

 He risked a glance at Ray a minute later, and saw he was still sitting
there, frozen. He could follow the detective's thoughts easily. He knew
full well Fraser was as prudish as they came, so Ray had to be considering
the fact that maybe Dewey's observations were right. 

 A small smile appeared on the thin face, and Ray his a flush by looking
down at the paperwork. 

 Tom sighed. Well, good. Maybe he'd finally open his big mouth and say
something to Fraser. Yeah, he would. They'd be okay, those two. 

 Great. As long as everyone's happy. 

 Tom ran a hand over his eyes, rubbing tiredly. He hadn't gotten a lot of
sleep the night before, and wondering why was driving him nuts. Okay, so
he was pissed off at Renny for being an asshole. So what? Just because he
had feelings for the guy that would never be returned, and Renny played
with his head by kissing him, so frigging what? He hadn't even gone a full
day without the guy, and he was acting like some heartbroken girl or
something. 

 It was ridiculous how much he let Renny affect him. Just stupid. Idiotic.


 Huh. That was Tom Dewey all over. He shouldn't have been surprised. But
geez, he wished he had someone he could talk to about it. 

 Maybe Ray. If there was one person here who suffered from unrequited love
(or so he thought), it was Ray. And at least Ray wouldn't bash him for
being interested in a guy. 

 Oh, who was he kidding? Ray would laugh in his face. 

 "Hey, Dewey, Jack, get your asses in here." 

 Tom looked up at Welsh and almost groaned. He shoved himself out of his
seat and pasted a smile to his face as he met his partner halfway to the
Lieutenant's office. They went in together and sat across from Welsh. 

 "Okay, guys. What the hell is wrong with you two?" 

 Jack and Tom exchanged puzzled looks. "What do you mean?" Jack asked. 

 "You wanna tell me why I haven't gotten a report from the explosion in
those apartments last week?" 

 "Uh." Jack shrugged. "We're working on it." 

 "Who's working on it? Jack, you're playing footsie with Fran Vecchio, and
Tom, you're too busy writing a comedy routine or something. You guys get
together and write the damned report. I want it on my desk before you
leave." 

 They stood together and trudged out of the office. Jack turned a frown to
Tom. "Good one, man, thanks." 

 Tom couldn't even fake a smile. "Me? What did I do?" 

 Jack shrugged and went for his desk. 

 Tom followed him, tense and angry and not really sure why. "You're the
one thinking with your dick, man. Tell me what I did." 

 Jack shot a glare back at him, but dropped down in his seat. "We gonna
write this thing or not?" 

 "Not until you answer my question." 

 "Come on, Dewey." 

 "Let me see if I can't guess. It had to be my fault, if only 'cause I'm
an idiot and a joker and I always get us into trouble. Am I close?" 

 Jack rolled his eyes, loosening the silk tie around his neck slightly.
"Would you just relax and pull up a chair? Jesus, Dewey." 

 "Fuck you, Jack." 

 Jack gaped up at him. "What?" 

 "I said fuck you. I'm tired of this. Man, I know it's my fault you don't
like me, but you take it too damned far. Maybe Ren was right. Jesus, maybe
there is something wrong with you." 

 "Who? What the hell are you talking about?" 

 "Nothing. Never mind." Tom turned and headed for his own desk, ignoring
the surprised look Frannie was shooting him. 

 "Dewey!" Welsh's voice rang out. "You have a report to write." 

 Tom turned a dark look to him, but had enough control at least not to say
anything. 

 "Get the hell over there and help your partner write this--" 

 "He's not my partner," Tom answered quietly. 

 "What?" Welsh's glare faded in genuine puzzlement. 

 "I said, he's not my fucking partner!" 

 God, Tom, get a grip. Get a grip. 

 "You mind explaining that to the rest of us, Detective?" 

 Jack was staring at him. Everyone was staring at him. Even Ray seemed to
have put his daydreams about Mounties aside to stare. 

 "Nothing. I'm sorry. I didn't say anything." 

 "You want to come into my office, Dewey?" 

 "Not really." 

 Welsh's glare was back, full force. "Fine. Then tell the entire bull pen
what your problem is." 

 "I don't have a problem," he shot back. "Jack's got the problem." 

 "What?" Jack stood up. "What the hell are you talking about?" 

 Tom faced him. "You can't have two partners, man. And I'm sick of being
second best." 

 Jack just blinked at him. 

 "I'm not Louis Gardino!" Tom almost deflated under the release of finally
saying that out loud. "I can't be. I'm sorry as hell, but it just isn't
going to happen. I know I'm kind of a dork, okay, but you don't have to
hate me for not being him. You're stuck with me. I know that doesn't make
you happy, but I'm all there is. You don't have to call me partner, and
you don't have to pretend you like me. You just have to accept it." 

 Jack was blanching, lowering himself back into his seat slowly. 

 Tom glanced over at Welsh, who was equally surprised. He hesitated before
speaking again. "I'm sorry, Lieut. I guess I'm just overreacting again." 

 Welsh blinked at him. "Tom, get in here." His voice was surprisingly
soft. 

 Tom sighed, but didn't argue. He slinked past the large form of his boss
and into the small office. 

 Welsh shut the door without a word to anyone out there. "Dewey, what the
hell?" 

 "I'm sorry, sir. Really. I shouldn't have done that." 

 "You been thinking that for a while, huh?" 

 "Yeah, I guess." 

 Welsh moved behind his desk and sat heavily. "I've been worried about
Jack. It wasn't easy for him, losing Louis like that. I gave him almost a
year before I even tried to assign him another partner. Didn't occur to me
that you might be getting some leftover bad feelings." 

 Tom immediately felt rotten for even bringing it up. "It's not that bad.
I...I haven't had a good couple of days, and I'm taking it out on him.
That's all it is, Lieut. Jack's cool, really." 

 "Look, why don't you take the rest of the day off. I'll talk to Jack, and
we'll work this out between us, okay?" 

 "Yeah, whatever." Tom heaved a breath. "Can I go?" 

 "Get out of here." Welsh waved him out. 

 Tom opened the door and stepped out into a silent bullpen. He briefly
thought about taking advantage of the spotlight and delivering a really
tasteless bar joke he'd heard earlier, but the whim came and left without
much of an impact. 

 He went to his desk to grab his jacket, and headed for the door. 

 "Tom?" 

 He turned and saw Jack coming towards him. With a sigh he forced his feet
to stay where they were. "Yeah?" 

 Jack met his eyes, guilt in his expression. "I'm sorry." 

 Tom accepted it. "No big deal, man." He turned and left, leaving Jack
behind him. 

 

 The knock on his door came much sooner than eight. In fact, he had only
been home from the Consulate for maybe forty minutes. 

 Not even thinking it was Tom, he opened the door. The sight of his friend
made words freeze in his throat. 

 Tom shifted unhappily. "You've ruined my life, you know that?" 

 Renny stood aside and let him come in. He couldn't think of a damned
thing to say. 

 "I mean, you really wrecked everything. I yelled at Jack today, I got
sent home. Everyone probably thinks I'm mentally unstable or something. I
can't stop thinking about...Jesus." He sat down on the couch, not even
looking at Renny. 

 Renny swallowed. "I can't stop thinking about it either. Would you tell
me what I did that was so wrong?" 

 "Why'd you kiss me?" 

 Renny moved slowly over to the couch. "Because I wanted to. I thought you
were trying to tell me that you had feelings for me." 

 Tom smiled mirthlessly. "I was." 

 "Then why did you leave?" 

 "Didn't you hear a word I was saying to you? Come on, Renny, look at us.
We based this whole...whatever it is. Relationship. We based it on being
honest, right? Not pretending like we do with everyone else. You know me,
I know you." 

 Renny shook his head, tentatively sitting near him on the sofa. "I don't
understand what that has to do with--" 

 "It's a long story, I guess." Tom glanced over at him. "You wanna hear my
secrets sober? I know that's not how we were planning it, but..." 

 "Yes, I would. I want a chance to make this better." 

 Tom met his eyes, then turned away. "You do, huh?" He sighed, slumping
over, his elbows resting on his knees. "Okay. I guess I act the way I do
'cause of the way I grew up. I was the youngest boy there, and my brothers
are all pretty big guys. I got picked on a lot. My stepdad was kind of a
bastard, you know? He loved calling me names. Idiot, stupid, whatever. All
the time, really. Him and my brothers would sorta gang up on me, and I got
upset a lot. I'd cry." He laughed faintly. "That was a mistake." 

 Renny watched him silently, wanting to find every one of those men and
make them suffer for driving Tom to hide himself. 

 "I don't know why it bothers me. A lot of kids go through a lot worse
than that, they don't get fucked up over it. But I kinda learned that the
only way I wouldn't get hurt was if I didn't show my feelings. One time
they were all there, you know, and for once I just laughed at 'em. Right
in there faces. I don't know if they thought I was crazy or what, but they
backed off. From then on, anytime they started up I'd just laugh at em.
Eventually I realized that if I could make them laugh back it was even
better. And that turned into what I am now, eventually. I still get called
an idiot a lot, I know that. But at least it's not in anger." He sighed.
"You know that day you followed me to the deli a week ago? I blew up. It
was bad. Ray was pissed off, he called me an idiot, and I swear he sounded
just like they did back then. He said it like he hated me. And that was
after he'd taken a swing at me. I couldn't take that." 

 Renny slid closer, placing an arm on his back in comfort. "I'm sorry," he
said quietly. 

 "For what? I'm the one that's screwed up." Tom stared straight ahead.
"Look, I'm not exactly smart, you know? But I've learned a few things.
Sometimes things can't help but sink in. No matter how I act, someone's
always around telling me what an idiot I am. I get it. It's hard to like
someone like me." 

 Suddenly it ocurred to Renny where this was going. He sat up straighter,
pulling his arm away in surprise. "That's why you left last night? You
think it's impossible that I like you?" 

 Tom glanced over. "I'm not that far gone. It's hard to like me, not
impossible. I've got a few friends." 

 "But friends are different," Renny observed. "Different than what I
wanted last night." 

 "Yeah. It is." Tom shrugged. "I'm not the kind of guy people want to
share their lives with, you know? And I know you probably just wanted a
night or two with me, but I can't do that." 

 Renny drew in a breath and held it. "Is it my turn now?" 

 Tom sat back, looking slightly more relaxed now that he'd said what he
had to say. "Yeah." 

 "I can't say there's anything specific that led to me acting the way I do
now. I've always been intelligent, and my parents were always supportive.
They sent me to the best schools, I had the best of everything. I had
tutors come during the summer. The one thing I didn't have was contact
with many other children. Not until high school did I finally go somewhere
with ordinary kids, and by then I was...I was horrible. I didn't know how
to talk to them. I was conceited -- my parents told me in no uncertain
terms that I was brilliant, I was better than other children. And I never
saw any reason to disbelieve it. Unfortunately I chose to inform my
classmates of how much better I was than them. They hated me, not
surprisingly. I mean really hated. I didn't have a single friend. And even
if I did get better grades than most, and I did do the best work, the
minute I chose to comment on it I lost favor even more." He sat back, his
eyes going inward. "It was very lonely. I could see the other kids talking
and laughing with their friends, and I wanted to know why I couldn't be
like that. I took to studying other people. I realized that intelligence
and high scores didn't measure a person's worth. It sounds obvious, but at
the time it was quite a surprise to me." 

 Tom was watching him impassively, slightly curious where he was going
with it. 

 "Anyway, as time went on I stopped caring about my grades and started
worrying more and more about being like other children. Thanks to my
grades I was accepted into some great universities, but I decided to go to
the University of Toronto. Which wasn't a bad school, but it was hardly
the best I could have chosen. My parents were furious, but it didn't
matter." He paused. "The day I went to my first class, I made almost a
sudden decision to change myself. I didn't answer any of the questions, I
deliberately missed answers on tests. I became the opposite of what I had
been -- dumb, but nice. People ate it up. I had friends actually give me
the answers because they felt badly for me. As far as they could see I
tried so hard, but just never measured up. People love an underdog, and
that's what I became." He smiled slightly. "I don't know exactly why I
made the decision to try for the RCMP. I wanted to get away from grades
and intelligence and everything related to it. I made sure to use just
enough intelligence to get accepted, and after that I became...well,
Turnbull. It was very hard to know what was overboard, and I'm sure I do
go overboard a great deal of the time. So people do laugh at me, just as
they always did. But, like you, as long as it isn't hateful I'm content." 

 Tom shifted, drawing one leg onto the couch and facing him more
completely. "I can understand that. It isn't easy being different, for
whatever reason." 

 "No, it isn't. Tom..." He hesitated, looking over at the man who was
making his heart thud in his chest. Learning the story behind Tom's
behavior and his insecurities only made him feel that much stronger about
him. He knew now with certainty that this went beyond physical attraction.
He cared a lot about getting that frown off Tom's face. "No matter how I
behave, people look down on me. I know what it's like. I know exactly how
you feel. You think because I'm concealing a higher IQ that the world is
wrong about me. You don't bother to think that even though you conceal a
gentle heart people may be wrong about you?" 

 Tom didn't meet his eyes. "It makes sense, doesn't it?" 

 "No. It makes no sense at all. You're not stupid, you're not bad. You're
not who you pretend to be, and you're not what your family called you
years ago." 

 "Yeah? Then what the hell am I?" 

 Renny leaned closer, reaching out and resting a hand on his without
thinking. "You said last night that you knew who you were when you were
with me. Is that true?" 

 "That's how I feel," he admitted quietly. 

 "It's the same with me. I don't feel like a superior genius with you, and
I don't feel like a stumbling moron. There's a place in the middle of
those two, and that's where I am now. When you're here." 

 Tom smiled somewhat. "That's exactly how..." The smile faded. 

 "Don't do that, Tom. Please. Don't let how others see you affect how you
see yourself. They're wrong about you, and they're wrong about me. What
difference does it make? We know the truth, the two of us. I know who you
are, and I think..." He swallowed. "I think I may be falling in love with
that person." 

 Shocked brown eyes met his. Tom was still for a long time. He finally
spoke just above a whisper. "You're such a good actor, Renny..." 

 "Not with you, Tom. Never with you." He grasped Tom's hand tightly. "We
promised to always be honest with each other." 

 Tom searched his expression, seeing the pained hope shining through clear
blue eyes. His own face reflected sudden amazement. "You really mean that?
What you said about...?" 

 "Yes, I do. Believe me, I made no plans to fall in love with you. But the
only way I'll regret is if you don't..." 

 Tom smiled, but the hesitation remained. "God, Renny, please don't be
playing with me here." 

 "I'm not. I wouldn't. You have to believe me, Tom." 

 "Yeah." 

 Renny's breath caught in his throat. "Yeah? You believe me?" 

 "I believe you. I love you. Yeah." 

 It was Renny's turn to be silenced with disbelief. 

 Tom twined their fingers together, smile in place. "See, it's not just
that I know who I am when you're here. I also really like who I am. That's
the first time that's happened. I like who I am, and who you are. I like
who you think I am, and who everyone else in the world is. Kinda stupid,
huh?" 

 "If it is, stupidity is contagious." Renny reached out with his other
hand and tentatively touched Tom's face. 

 A moment later Tom was in his arms, and that first shy, gentle kiss that
had driven them apart was forgotten as their mouths met passionately. 

 Renny was instantly overpowered by heat, and emotion, and sheer physical
pleasure. He held the smaller body tightly against him, warmth radiating
from every point of contact between them. His hands ran up and down Tom's
back restlessly, changing angle slightly to invade the warm mouth deeper. 

 Tom let out a faint groan against his lips, his own hands going through
the sandy hair and coming to rest on Renny's neck, holding him ever
closer. 

 When he was finally forced away from Tom to take a breath, Renny's eyes
were glowing in sheer wonder. "Tom..." 

 Tom smiled back at him breathlessly. "Renny, would you mind very much if
I spent the night here?" 

 The stirrings in Renny's lap sprang to full-fledged hardness instantly.
He pulled Tom back to him without answering, feeling the full lips open
for his exploration. He devoured the detective's mouth, his hands
wandering downwards to dig under the fabric of his shirt and caress warm
flesh. 

 Tom pulled away from him a moment later. "Renny! Ren, I...I never done
anything like this before." The desire in his eyes was tempered with
nervousness. 

 Renny took a breath, then slowly got to his feet. He held his hand out
and Tom took it, standing. "Let's go to the bedroom," he suggested softly.


 "O-okay." 

 "Don't worry, Tom. I'll make this good for you. If you want it to stop,
anytime, just say so." 

 Tom met his eyes, and nodded. "Somehow I don't think that's gonna happen,
but thanks for the offer." 

 Renny laughed quietly, and Tom echoed it. The tension drained away as
they went hand-in-hand down the back hall. 

 When they reached the room, Renny let Tom go in first. He stayed back,
letting his soon-to-be lover work through whatever he had to to be
comfortable. 

 Tom stood for a moment looking at the bed, and a shiver went down his
back at the thought of who would be in it in minutes. It was strange. He'd
never had the greatest success with women -- if any of them bothered to
try to get to know him, he was always scared off by the idea that they'd
see the real him and be disgusted. He'd never thought of another man like
this, but it seemed so natural for things to happen this way. Renny had
broken through every other facet of his life, it seemed only right that
Tom share this with him too. 

 The reaction of his body to the presence behind him and the anticipation
of what they were going to do told him there was much more to it than
that, of course. He really did love the guy. After a week. Geez. Other
people would think... 

 A smile crossed his face. Like Renny said, other people were wrong about
them. What the hell did other people know, anyway? 

 He walked to the bed and glanced back at the tall, broad form in the
doorway. He sat down on the edge of the bed and his hands moved up to the
buttons on his shirt. He was halfway down when he realized Renny hadn't
moved. He looked over, smiling invitingly. "You coming?" 

 Renny was by his side in a flash, knocking him into his back and seizing
his mouth in a ferocious kiss. Their tongues dueled together slickly as
Renny took over unbuttoning the shirt. He tugged it down past Tom's
shoulders and lifted his head to gaze at the muscular, tanned skin he'd
revealed. A gleam came to his eyes and he lowered his head to nuzzle the
soft skin of Tom's throat and neck. 

 Tom's head fell back, his eyes shutting. A faint moan came from his lips
as Renny's mouth suckled a steady path down his chest to a hardened
nipple. Renny licked and sucked and kissed until Tom was writhing and
shivering uncontrollably. 

 Thrilling in the responsiveness of the body beneath him, Renny travelled
back up to capture his mouth again. Tom's hands grabbed for the t-shirt
Renny was still wearing, yanking upwards impatiently until Renny leaned up
enough to remove it. They pushed back into each other, and the feel of
their bare chests pressing together wrung a groan from both men. 

 Renny's large hand moved between them, brushing against the bulge
straining against Tom's slacks. Tom jerked and arched into the touch.
"Ren! Oh..shit..." 

 Renny smiled at the strained words, rubbing his palm over the aching
hardness, taking him again in a deep, wet kiss. 

 Tom's shaking hands went for Renny's jeans, and he fumbled until he had
them unbuttoned and unzipped. Renny reached down just enough to pull the
jeans down past his hips, revealing bare flesh beneath, then turned his
attention back to his lover. He deftly unfastened the slacks and reached
past cotton boxer-briefs to free the pulsing erection. 

 Tom grabbed him and pulled him back down to his mouth. The larger body of
the Mountie pressed into his, and the two exposed erections grinding
together made all sense of reason fly from Tom's head. Their moans were
muffled by the other's mouth, and Renny braced himself with one hand,
worried about putting his whole weight on the smaller man. 

 As if sensing his concern, Tom suddenly rolled them over, resting his
full weight easily on the larger man without pulling away from his mouth
for a second. 

 Renny wrapped his arms around his lover and pulled him closer, and Tom
moved as though guided, lining up their slicked cocks and moving slowly,
rubbing the two hot erections together. Sweat and fluid leaking from the
flushed organs combined to make the skin slippery, and they moved together
easily, sliding together harder and harder. 

 The room was silent except for the sounds of flesh sliding together and
the empassioned moans of two men. Breathing hitched, grew harder and less
controlled, and the incoherent sounds got louder and louder. 

 Renny could feel the tightening that meant he was close to his peak, and
he pulled Tom down to him. "I love you," he whispered raggedly. 

 That was it for Tom. He cried out Renny's name and hot streams of fluid
pulsed between them. 

 The feel of Tom's eruption drove Renny over the edge, and he squeezed his
eyes shut as the orgasm rocked him hard, adding to the sticky mess between
them. 

 Tom fell limp on top of him, and for a couple of minutes they were
silent, regaining control of their breathing. Renny kept his arms tight
around his lover, bringing him down into a series of gentler, easy kisses.


 Finally Tom rolled off of him, falling onto his back with a whoosh of
air. "Jesus H," he breathed out, flushed and limp. 

 Renny turned on his side to face him, and Tom slid closer. They fell
silent again, content for a while to just enjoy the warmth of the bed and
each other. 

 Renny didn't move until the fluids in his chest grew cold, and he sat up
with a groan. "We're kind of dirty here." 

 "Mmmm." Tom's eyes stayed shut. "Wanna take a shower?" 

 "You read my mind." Renny grinned down at him as his eyes came open
slowly, and searched the brown depths for any sign of regret or remaining
trepidation. What he saw was love and contentment. That was enough to make
his sleeping cock stir to life. 

 He got to his feet and held a hand out to Tom, helping the other man sit
up. "I'll go start some water running." 

 Tom watched the large body trudge out of the room, and slowly got to his
feet to follow. 

 In the door to the bathroom he stopped, his eyes taking in the form of
his new lover. Geez, Renny was big. In every sense of the word. He was
tall, his chest was flat and broad and hairless, his skin was a pale,
perfect alabaster. Sandy hair curled in a thatch around an impressive
half-hard cock. Tom was surprised he could admire it so openly, but he
found himself thinking it was beautiful. Completed by strong, muscled
thighs and legs, Renny was about as perfect as they came. 

 He glanced down at himself. Skinnier, smaller, his chest was brushed with
dark hair, his own cock still sleeping but nothing to frown about. He
wasn't perfect by any means, but he hoped to hell he'd be good enough to
make Renny happy. 

 As if reading his mind, when he looked up Renny was studying him with
intensity. Tom watched as that beautiful cock swelled in front of his
eyes, and he dragged his eyes up to see Renny's smile. A hand was held out
to him, and he came forward and took it, closing the distance between them
and leaning up to press a kiss to the man who'd turned his life around so
completely. "Renny?" 

 "Hmm?" 

 "I love you too." 

 Renny grinned. "I had a feeling." 

 

 "Morning, partner." 

 Tom's huge grin wavered slightly as Jack came strolling up to him the
second he was through the doors. "Morning." 

 "Listen, Welsh is gonna corner us and force us to talk things out in
front of him, but I wanted to say a few things before that." 

 Tom held up a hand. "It really isn't--" 

 "Yeah it is. I have to say it." Jack shifted uncomfortably. "Look, I
think deep down I realized I was treating you unfairly, I just needed it
to be pointed out to me directly. I've been a lousy friend and a shitty
partner. I know you're not Louis, really. I know he's gone. I'm gonna try
to do better by you, okay? It won't make up for the last few months, but
it's all I can do." 

 Tom smiled easily and clapped him on the shoulder. "We'll start over,
man. That's fine with me." 

 Surprised at the easy acceptance, Jack returned the smile. "Good. Let's
make our first official act as new partners getting the hell out of here
before Welsh sees us." 

 Tom laughed. "Sure. I just gotta check one thing out real quick." He
gestured for Jack to stay put for a minute and headed further inside,
until his eyes caught on Ray. He went over. "Hey, Ray?" 

 Ray turned and practically beamed at him. "Dewey!" 

 "Did you talk to Fraser? I hope what I said didn't make things too
awkward." 

 "Awkward?" Ray's eyes were glowing. "I wouldn't say it made anything
awkward. Actually we got a lotta stuff straightened out thanks ta you." 

 "I guess that's good then, right?" 

 "Yeah. Real real good." 

 "Okay. Just making sure." Tom hid a triumphant smile by turning and
heading back to the door, where Jack, his partner, waited. 

 

 "Constable Turnbull?" 

 Renny turned to see the glowing face of Fraser behind him. "Good morning,
sir! Did you have a good night last night?" 

 "A wonderful night, thank you kindly for asking. I wanted to also thank
you again for our lunch yesterday. You were a great deal of help to me for
a situation that had been occupying my thinking for some time." 

 "Really?" Renny's face twisted in confusion. "I'm very glad to hear it,
sir, but what exactly--" 

 "Oh, don't trouble yourself about it." Fraser's eyes glittered with
poorly hidden contentment. "Don't you have guard duty?" 

 Renny glanced at his watch and his eyes widened. "Oh, heavens! I
certainly do! Thank you, sir. And a sunny day to you!" He headed off to
cheerfully stand at attention for an hour. That would give him more than
enough time to lose himself in daydreams about the man who'd be spending
nights at his apartment until one or both of them dropped dead of
exhaustion. 

 Fraser watched him go, wincing as Turnbull's big feet got tangled in a
throw rug and nearly sent him to the ground. After an awkward moment
smoothing the rug, Turnbull was whistling his way to guard duty. 

 Fraser shook his head as he went back to his office. 143 IQ? There must
have been a typo in that report. 

 Ah, well. He sat behind his desk and stared at the wall, reliving happy
new memories of his wonderful partner and lover. 

 

 The End