Touch and Go    Touch and Go by Beth H

 Author's notes: Finally...a story with a beginning, a middle, and an end!
Those three things belong to me. However the characters of Benton Fraser
and Ray Kowalski (and various and sundry others) belong to Alliance, Paul
Haggis, and Paul Gross (and probably all sorts of other organizations and
individuals). Oh well. 

Spoilers for "The Ladies Man," "Mountie on the Bounty," and "Eclipse." 

Thanks and thanks and more thanks to Carla and Christine for beta. And
Christine gets one more "thank you" for acting as midwife at the birth of
my first ever story. 

  

 Touch and Go
 By Beth H
 c. October 2000 

 

 "...okay? Something like this happens again, don't let me go off
half-cocked, huh, Frase. Not that I need you to - hey, ya think that maybe
when the paperwork's put to bed on this thing, we could...." 

 Ray's erratically-paced narrative continues as it has done most of the
afternoon, energetically jumping from topic to topic but always, always
returning to the events of the past week. 

 "...that it worked. I still kinda can't believe it's over. Keep thinkin'
that I'm gonna wake up and it's gonna be too late. You ever dream about
stuff like that, Frase? You know, where...." 

 At the station this morning, getting a start on the interminable
paperwork associated with closing a case of this type, Ray's demeanor was
professional and calm. However, since leaving the station at noon and
returning with me to his apartment, his mood has transformed into a
curious mixture of ebullience and sudden brief flashes of panic. Perhaps
he cannot quite believe that his determination and dogged effort on behalf
of Beth Botrelle has finally paid off. Nor does he seem able to remain
seated for more than a minute or two at most, although his near-exhaustion
is plainly written in his uncharacteristically awkward movements. 

 "...said she was okay. I know you told me I could..." 

 I watch his progress around the room and wonder when the recent lack of
food and sleep will force him to rest. Steeling myself, I resist the
impulse to play nursemaid and urge him to eat. Last night, when Ray broke
down and wept in his car in front of the Botrelle home, the tentative
comforting touch I tried to offer proved wholly ineffectual in stemming
his sudden rush of tears. I wish I could find a way to be useful to him in
some more practical fashion this afternoon. 

 Ray pauses and leans against the back of the couch on which I'm seated,
brushing the knuckles of his hands against my shoulder blades as he does
so. I question briefly whether I should lean back into his touch, but
before I can determine whether the timing is right, the moment passes. Ray
returns to his circuit of the livingroom until the muffled sound of his
cell-phone rings from somewhere deep within the heap of jackets, bags, and
papers he threw on his bed earlier. He mutters some comment I cannot quite
make out and then grins at me over his shoulder as he goes in search of
his phone. 

 At a time like this, I must question my own rarely-shaken belief in my
powers of observation. How is it that I could have remained so long blind
to the depth and degree of Ray's affection for me? The signs were there
from the outset of our admittedly unorthodox partnership, and had I only
opened my eyes to what now seems so very obvious, I have no doubt but that
I would have seen them for myself. 

 When I refer to signs of his regard, I do not include such things as
Ray's willingness to risk his life for me, something which he demonstrated
from the very start. Ray is a fine police officer, and despite his early
protestations that he would not risk his "neck for anybody," I have come
to believe that his deep sense of duty and honor will always demand
nothing less than full acceptance of his sworn promise to protect and to
serve. 

 Nor do I wish to suggest that it is simply the amount of time Ray has
spent in my company over these past months which has indicated to me that
he feels something deeper than the closeness which I have learned can
arise with a good partner and friend. The truth is that neither
partnership nor friendship are concepts with which I have had a great deal
of personal familiarity in my life, and I believe I have Ray Vecchio to
thank for helping to teach me that I am still capable of forging a lasting
relationship with someone other than a deaf wolf. For some time, despite
ample evidence to the contrary, I naturally assumed that Ray Kowalski's
primary motivation in spending time with me on and off duty was due to the
nature of his undercover assignment, yet I have slowly come to be
disabused of that notion. 

 Instead, there is something in the way Ray reaches out to me with both
his heart and his hands that drove me to reappraise the nature of our
relationship and to realize that I, too, share Ray's feelings. It is true
that neither he nor I have taken any active steps to change our
partnership to one of a more... intimate nature, but I believe this change
will come soon, and I am certain that Ray believes this as well, for all
of his actions point to a desire for more intimacy. Almost before I had
discovered anything so basic about Ray as his real name, he afforded me a
glimpse of the vulnerability that lives just below his prickly surface,
and since that long-ago day in the crypt, I have noted an increasing
reluctance on Ray's part to bury any of his true self underground, at
least where I am concerned. 

 Recently, I have made a great effort to respond in kind, but my lack of
any sustained experience in this area makes expressing myself on an
emotional level extremely difficult, even with Ray. It seems that far too
often my attempts to open myself to my partner fall somewhat flat, and
what begins life as self- revelation tends to end up as a rather
impersonal anecdote - something from what Ray laughingly calls my
anthology of caribou stories. Lately, however, I believe I have started to
learn how to share something of my inner self with him, as Ray shares his
with me. 

 "...want a drink, Fraser? I'm gonna go put some water on...." 

 Perhaps part of the reason it took me so long to recognize that Ray's
feelings were engaged is because the typical American style of
interpersonal communication - at least among the people I have met during
my time in Chicago - is still something quite alien to my nature. Instant
familiarity and casual embraces seem to be the rule here, rather than the
exception, even among the merest of acquaintances. Ray touches me
frequently, but so do many other individuals in this city, so it took me
some time to understand that his touch signaled something more meaningful.


 I share the same need for simple human contact as other people do, yet I
find this need hard to convey, and my innate emotional reserve has always
proved disconcerting to those around me. I recall that even as a small
child I drew back slightly from physical contact, even from the rare
embraces of my grandparents, the result of which was that these embraces
became less and less frequent in my life. I have always believed that both
my grandmother and my grandfather cared for me, and I have no doubt
whatsoever that in distancing themselves from me physically, my
grandparents believed that they were giving me what I needed and wanted.
Yet sometimes I hungered for them to just ignore what they believed they
knew about me and simply take me in their arms. 

 Ray, though, opened his arms to me on the first day we met. I do, of
course, understand that he was doing no more than playing a role at that
time, but his arms have remained open from that day. How strange it is
that even before Ray and I have actually discussed the nature of our
feelings, I should already have found more much-needed affection in the
person of a Chicago police detective than I ever found in my family or the
friends of my youth. 

 Not even Ray can keep his slightly disjointed monologue going
indefinitely, although up until this point he has seemed content with my
occasional interjections of "ah" and "hmm." It comes as something of a
welcome surprise that Ray has so quickly learned to interpret my evidently
peculiar responses to a degree Ray Vecchio never quite managed. Ray
appears to understand that I am not, this day, challenging or questioning
his words, but merely attempting to acknowledge his feelings about the
case and to provide him with some encouragement to continue making sense
of his still turbulent thoughts. 

 The whistle of the kettle on the burner in the kitchen coincides with one
of his rare silences. Ray has given up pacing back and forth across the
room and has finally sat down, so I automatically rise from the couch to
go and prepare something warm for both of us to drink. 

 "Hey, Frase, you don't have to...I mean, I know I've been talkin' yer ear
off for hours." Ray makes an effort to push himself back off the couch.
"The least I can do is make you something." "Don't be silly, Ray. I am
perfectly capable of finding my way around your kitchen." As if needing to
demonstrate my foraging abilities, I reach into the back of his cabinet
and triumphantly draw out two slightly dusty coffee mugs, one bearing the
cartoon image of Bugs Bunny and the other of Elmer Fudd. "Sit, Ray.
Everything will be fine in here." 

 "Yeah? Okay, then." 

 I watch out of the corner of my eye as Ray sinks back tiredly into the
cushions, and I feel an almost embarrassing rush of tenderness. Although I
rarely wear my heart on my sleeve, I know my own weaknesses where emotions
are concerned, only too well. My affections have been given foolishly in
the past, but this time, the sense of rightness and certainty that Ray
feels what I feel is so strong that there remains no room for doubt. 

 By this time, Ray has stopped talking entirely, but he has come to join
me as I finish preparing the drinks. The tension I could sense in him
earlier seems to have disappeared; he has abandoned the stiff posture he
wore like a shield through this very difficult week and has once again
adopted his more habitual slouch. Ray leans his hip against the kitchen
doorframe, blocking my way back to the livingroom. 

 The sun has just set, and most of the lamps have yet to be switched on
for the evening. The only light in the apartment is provided by a single
small table lamp in Ray's livingroom, but this provides relatively little
by way of illumination. Ray is backlit by the lamp so that I, even with my
excellent vision, initially see little of his features. Instead the light
wraps his body in a soft glow. I smile at the picture this sight presents,
and I can see Ray return the smile, tilting his head slightly as he does
so. 

 Increasing warmth against my fingers reminds me that I am still holding
our freshly-made drinks, his coffee and my tea. I turn slightly and place
the steaming mugs on the kitchen counter, and then I move forward, closing
the gap between myself and Ray. I don't know where I finally find the
courage, but the timing, the mood, the setting could not be more right.
Tilting my head until it is in perfect counterbalance to his own, I lift
my hands and trail my fingers lightly down Ray's cheeks. When they come to
rest, cupping his beautiful face in their palms, I lean in, close my eyes,
and touch my lips to his lips for the first time since that day on the
*Henry Allen*. 

 Almost undone by the sheer joy of finally sharing our breath in love, I
deepen the pressure of my mouth against his and flick my tongue out to
nudge it against Ray's teeth, sure it will find entry. However, Ray is
strangely still. 

 I pull back slowly from the kiss and open my eyes. 

 I see no hint of any of those things I had so foolishly come to believe I
would see in Ray's face at this moment. No relief. No contentment. No
excitement. No joy. Instead, I see only a slowly dawning understanding and
the merest touch of pity on Ray's countenance directed at me, his partner,
who has clearly misread each and every sign from the start. 

 Ill at ease as I have never before felt with Ray, even on the day we
first met, I force myself to keep my own face from registering the extent
of my humiliation, wanting desperately to believe that masking the
resultant emotion will somehow erase the fact of its origin. I am aware of
that brief instant when my tongue darts out to moisten my dry lips, but in
that usually comforting action I find no relief. My lips taste bitter, as
if this freshly burning shame is already leaving layer upon layer of ashes
as it moves swiftly through my body. 

 To his credit, Ray has not allowed the shock he must surely now be
feeling to breach his surface calm and explode in a display of anger.
However, perhaps the uncharacteristic stillness and silence is, in fact,
the calm before the storm, for the truth is that although he has yet to
move at all, an almost palpable tension radiates from his body. Finally,
however, Ray's innate energy takes over and impels movement. The fingers
of Ray's right hand curl inward as he begins to raise his arm, and I am
ashamed to confess I instinctively take a half step backward in self
defense. But of course Ray has no intention of hitting me. His hand
continues on its path until it reaches a habitual spot near his mouth,
thumb pressed slightly against his lower lip. Ray reaches across his
stomach with his left hand to support his right elbow, moves backward two
steps, and stands like this for a second or two, still saying nothing. 

 Breaking into the silence is a rapid staccato beat, the sound growing
increasingly louder in my ears as the moments pass, and I belatedly
recognize the sound as my own accelerating heartbeat. If Ray will not or
cannot speak, then I must. Amends must be made, somehow, if I am to
salvage any shred of this partnership. This friendship. I draw as deep a
breath as I possibly can from my suddenly aching lungs and speak. 

 "Ray." 

 I find I can manage only this single word. 

 "So, Fraser," Ray begins, slowly and more gently than I deserve. "What
was that? Some kind of Canadian thing?" 

 I close my eyes for an instant, trying to provide some relief for the
unusual stinging sensation that the sound of his careful words engenders.
"It was a kiss, Ray." 

 "Yeah, I figured that much. I mean...like buddy breathing? Or...like
something else?" 

 Only honesty will serve. "Not like buddy breathing. I thought...." I
pause, searching fruitlessly for the right words. 

 "What did you think, Frase?" Still that same odd gentleness in his voice;
I can feel my control start to slip away. 

 "I thought...we've been so...your touches, Ray. They...I came to believe
that they meant something. That...that they meant something more than
you.... I see that I was wrong." 

 "Fraser." 

 "No, Ray, please don't say anything." I cannot meet his gaze. My hands
start to tremble slightly, needing to hold something to still their
motion. I move forward awkwardly, careful to avoid touching Ray as I do
so, and my eyes dart frantically about the livingroom until they settle on
my Stetson, which is still resting on the speaker where Ray is accustomed
to place it. Walking briskly across the room, I take my hat and grasp it
tightly in my hands. "I am sorry, Ray." 

 All thoughts of explaining myself further - for Ray's sake as much as my
own - disappear in the midst of my rapidly growing anxiety. I walk out the
door and head for the relative safety of the Consulate before he or I can
say another word. 

 @-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@ 

 Fraser still ain't talking. 

 Words are coming out of his mouth - "Yes, Ray." "No, Ray." "Three bags
full, Ray." - but he's not really saying anything, not like
before...before whatever the hell it was that happened at my place last
week. 

 Before the kiss. 

 Except for a couple days when I didn't see him or hear from him at all,
Fraser's been coming down to the station like he always did, but these
days, even when he's sitting at my desk like he's doing now, he's got that
frozen-in-place, sentry-duty thing going on: feet planted firmly on the
floor, shoulders back, eyes straight ahead. Might as well be standing
guard outside the Consulate as here at the station. 

 I take a step closer, trying to get a look at the file he's called up
from the CPD database, and he flinches like I'm gonna pop him or something
if we get too close. Or maybe it's not a flinch, exactly, but whatever it
is, he's making damn sure that foot-wide gap between us doesn't narrow. 

 Some perverse side of my nature forces me to test the waters a little, so
I brush up against his shoulder with my hip. The back of his neck flushes.
I can tell he's uncomfortable having me hovering over him, and it doesn't
take more than a couple seconds before he stands, clutching my notebook to
his chest. 

 "I'm going downstairs to speak with Sergeant McKellar, if that's all
right with you, Ray. Perhaps he has been able to locate the whereabouts of
the missing Parker file." 

 "Knock yerself out, Fraser. You get anything from McKellar, I'll be here
sparring with the computer." 

 He glances over at the antiquated machine that sits on my desk and says
stiffly, "Of course, if you need my assistance with something of a
technical nature, I can put off going to..." 

 "Nah, go on." 

 The look of relief on his face as he walks away from me is so obvious I
can't believe the whole squad room don't notice, but everyone's minding
their own business for once. 

 Except I can't ignore it anymore. Half the time, it's like the guy can't
stand being around me, and it's starting to piss me off. 

 I'm not the one who did anything wrong. 

 I sigh and drop heavily into the chair Fraser's just vacated. There's a
lingering warmth there, probably something to do with that extra layer of
sub-something fat he's always talking about. Could probably use a layer of
that myself; maybe you grow it if you live in the Territories long enough?


 I shake my head and try to get back to the work in front of me. The
information up on the computer's probably important - hardly ever known
Fraser to get any info that wasn't - but everything's sort of a blur on
the monitor, and I can't get my eyes to focus. 

 Fuck. 

 Okay...so he didn't do anything wrong, either. 

 

 Hard to believe I'm still chewing on that same thought three days later,
but it probably makes some kind of screwed-up sense that this Fraser thing
is running around my head like a hamster on a wheel. 

 It's like in that book that my mom made me read when I was a kid because
she liked it when *she* was a kid, sort of like the way they always make
you go put a sweater on when they're the ones who are cold. Anyway, in
this book - *Through the Looking Glass* - there was this thing that I
memorized when I had to recite something for school. This girl, Alice, is
being dragged all over the place by the Red Queen from a chess set.
They're running and running, and Alice can't figure out why they're not
getting anywhere, until the Queen says, "here...it takes all the running
you can do to keep in the same place. If you want to get somewhere else,
you must run twice as fast as that." 

 Right now, I got that running-in-place thing going with Fraser, and I
know the reason I'm not getting anywhere is cuz he ain't budging an inch. 

 I swear, Benton Fraser is the stubbornest thing I've ever met in my life,
and that's including Stella. I've been waiting for him to say something -
anything - about how come he kissed me and then left me hangin'. I'm no
Supreme Court justice, but even I can recognize kissing-with-intent,
especially when it's a Mountie planting one on me. Fraser meant it, all
right. But it's been over a week and he hasn't said anything. For about a
minute I could've sworn he thought I didn't want him, but now, well...I
don't know. Maybe he's figuring the kiss wasn't up to Mountie standards or
something, and if he don't talk about it, it'll go away. And you know,
that's sort of pissing me off, too. What? The kiss sucked *that* bad? 

 Okay, maybe it did suck that bad; maybe I need a refresher course. I know
I haven't been so turned on by a guy since those make-out sessions with
Danny Kessel during my Academy days, and that was before me and Stella got
married. 

 But it sure don't look like a Fraser refresher course is gonna happen
anytime soon, especially if he keeps giving me the silent treatment
instead of talking everything to death like usual. Every time I get even a
little close to pushing at him about that day, he puts on that blank
Mountie stare and acts like he don't know what I'm talking about, or
worse, he waits until my back is turned and does a vanishing act. 

 Take today. Things had been going pretty good. I mean, he wasn't looking
like he was gonna pass out every time I opened my mouth to talk to him.
Some kind of improvement, right? So I kinda forget for a minute that we
got this alternate universe thing going, and I ask him if he wants to come
over after work and watch the game. Okay, maybe a few vague thoughts
having to do with a little replay of that kiss are whirring around
somewhere in my brain, but I'm not showing it. Don't want to spook him. 

 Anyway, you never seen a guy work so hard to come up with some bullshit
story. I'm hearing something about tribal elders and beavers and ice floes
and I don't know what-the-fuck else. Yeah, Fraser's starting to sweat a
little as his story gets to the finish line, but it still sounds just
weird enough to be true. 

 Except I'd run into Turnbull this morning, and he was practically
salivating over the fact that the Consulate was closing down this
afternoon for a long weekend and he was going up to Windsor to play for
the RCMP Curling Team at a bonspiel and did I know what Constable Fraser's
plans were because he'd invited him to come and cheer on the side, and
perhaps I too would find it an enjoyable experience and...yap, yap, yap. I
mean, good for Turnbull, but the upshot of the whole deal is that there
ain't no Consular duties for the next four days. 

 Which means Fraser lied, and *that's* even weirder than the story he
told. 

 Anyway, about five minutes after I ask Fraser over to my place, he starts
making noises about remembering he has to pick something up for Dief and
that he'd only be a minute. That was over an hour ago, and I haven't seen
him since. 

 I figure he must've done a runner, and I've resigned myself to spending
the rest of the day working on a stack of boring paperwork alone, when out
of the corner of my eye I see a flash of bright red. It's gotta be him,
right? I keep my eyes down on the case file in front of me...don't want to
freak him out again by getting in his face too soon 

 I look up casual-like, magnum...um...magnanimously intending to hold off
interrogating him about where he went for at least thirty seconds. 

 Damn. 

 When did Stella start wearing bright red suits? 

 "Hi, Stella." 

 "No." 

 "No, what? I haven't asked you anything." 

 "Just a little long-range planning, Ray. Like building a fallout
shelter." Stella says over her shoulder as she passes by my desk and heads
for Welsh's office. 

 "Ha ha. Yer such a wit, Stella," I call after her, but the door to the
lieutenant's office has already been shut. 

 That's great. I got nothing but doors slamming in my face these days. 

 

 By the time Welsh and Stella are done talking, I'm actually getting some
real work done and don't even notice Stella until she sits down on the
edge of my desk. I look up, but don't say anything. Don't want to get my
head bit off again. 

 "I'm sorry, Ray." Stella reaches out and covers my hand with her own. "I
really don't know why I act like such a bitch around you so often." 

 "You know what they say, Stella...you only hurt the ones you love." 

 "Ray," Stella begins, "I don't...." I just grin at her, and finally she
laughs, still holding my hand. 

 And *that's* when Fraser decides to come back to the station. 

 I must've been watching for his return cuz I notice as soon as he walks
in the door. I see him outa the corner of my eye, just standing there, and
I don't know how I know, but I just *know* that the only thing Fraser's
taking in is the scene at my desk - me sittin' with Stella, holding hands
and laughing - and just as quick, he's back *out* the door. 

 All right, this is getting ridiculous. I grab my jacket, and start after
him. 

 "Ray? What is it? Where are you going?" 

 Wow. Forgot all about her. I force myself to stop for a second and say,
"Sorry Stella, gotta run. Got an emergency I just remembered I gotta take
care of." 

 "You *forgot* you had an emergency, Ray?" 

 "Yeah, well, you know me, mind like a..." I trail off, still looking at
the door. Maybe if I get out of here fast enough, I'll catch up with
Fraser. 

 "Go, Ray," Stella sighs, and I do. 

 

 Of course, there's no sign of Fraser when I get out of the building. 

 I check Welcome Waggin', the pet supply store Fraser sometimes goes to,
just in case he really did have to get something for Dief, but they say
they haven't seen him all week. 

 Okay...where else could he be? Come on, detective: detect, already. 

 I head back to the station, planning to stay just long enough to let
Lieutenant Welsh know I'm leaving for the day. Stella's back in Welsh's
office, some files spread out on the lieutenant's desk, but it don't look
like they're talking about any of her cases. 

 I knock on Welsh's door, and Stella looks up first. "Emergency over,
Ray?" 

 I shuffle my feet slightly and look at the floor. "Yeah, well,
not...um...not completely...um...no." One of these days I'm not going to
revert to bein' a twelve year old when I'm around Stella. 

 Welsh glances quickly at Stella, then looks back at me. "This department
prides itself on finding solutions to emergency situations, detective. So
may I take this opportunity to encourage you to take care of
your...emergency. And may I suggest further that toward this end you might
find it useful to liaise with Constable Fraser, who I am given to
understand has just walked into the Canadian Consulate." 

 "Lieutenant?" 

 "Constable Turnbull just called, looking for you, Kowalski." Both Stella
and I jump a bit at Welsh's use of my real name. "He was saying something
about Constable Fraser not looking quite the thing, which I believe is
Canadian for looking like crap...and expressing some concern that he would
not be able to aid the Constable as he was setting off to attend some
Mountie...well, honestly, I stopped listening at that point." 

 Welsh gets up from behind his desk and pats my shoulder. "Run along,
detective. Go take care of your emergency." 

 

 I pull up in front of the Consulate and park the GTO. The car's already
locked and my keys are pocketed when I hear that voice start in my head:
"You know, Ray, this spot is...." Shit. Now I'm getting legal advice from
Fraser even when he's not around. 

 Get back in the car, drive two blocks down, park the car again...legally,
slam the door behind me. There, you satisfied now, Mountie? 

 Walking back to the Consulate, it hits me that I'm not even sure what I'm
doing here. I mean, what am I gonna say to the guy? "Hey, Frase, how ya
doin'? So, you wanna be my boyfriend?" Yeah, that's going to go over real
good. Don't even know if he wanted more than just that one kiss and I'm
already thinkin' about going steady with the guy. Maybe I *am* twelve
years old. 

 The Consulate door looms up in front of me, and...weird...I'm feeling
kind of shaky. Enough that I almost turn around and go back to the car.
But I stand my ground; one of us has to make a move here, and it don't
look like it's gonna be him. 

 It's quiet inside. The only sound I hear is the steady tick of the hall
clock counting off the seconds. 

 The door to Fraser's office is open, but no lights are on inside, and I
wonder if maybe he's gone. Then I hear the soft whine of Dief from
somewhere in the darkened room, and I walk in. 

 Diefenbaker pads over to greet me, pushing his muzzle up into my hand,
and I lean down a little to scratch behind his ears. When I straighten up
and switch on the overhead light, Dief slinks off to hide under the desk. 

 "Don't, Ray." 

 I turn to the sound of Fraser's voice. His uniform exchanged for jeans
and an old cream-colored sweater with a tear in the neck, Fraser is facing
away from me, leaning against the top of his file cabinet. 

 "Don't what, Frase? Don't turn on the light...or don't be here at all?
Cuz I gotta tell you, whatever's been going on between us, well...it ain't
buddies." I'm getting mad now. "You want me to fuck off, tell me and I
will. But I can't keep playing this game of yours when you're not even
telling me the rules." 

 Fraser's shoulders stiffen. "There's no game, Ray." 

 "Well what is it then? Dammit, Fraser," I'm almost yelling by this point,
"if all this weirdness is because you think the kiss was lousy, then say
something. Or tell me if it's something else. I'm not a damned mind
reader." 

 "It's not...it's..." His voice sounds scratchy, tired. 

 "What? What is it? Come on...tell me." I walk across the room until I'm
standing just behind him and take hold of his shoulders. "Come on, Frase.
Talk. Maybe whatever it is ain't that big a deal." 

 Fraser whirls around abruptly, ashen faced. "It is. It is that 'big a
deal' to me, dammit!" he barks out, voice suddenly thick with tears, then
lowers his head and wraps his arms around his chest. 

 In six seconds flat, I've gone from almost wanting to deck the guy to
wanting to hug him. I reach out hesitantly and push at Fraser's forehead,
tilting his face up toward mine, but he still won't look at me. 

 "Hey," I whisper, "It's a big deal to me, too." 

 Tears slip out from beneath his lowered eyelids, and when he doesn't make
a move to wipe them away, I do. My hands come up, almost of their own
volition, and my thumbs brush softly across his cheeks. 

 Finally, shaking slightly, eyes red-rimmed, Fraser meets my gaze. I reach
out, wanting nothing more than to hold him, but before I can touch him, he
pulls back. His face instantly turns into a mask, expressionless - nothing
to read there - and his shoulders are drawn back and stiff. Almost
everything about the way Fraser looks right now says "hands off." 

 Shit. 

 So what's the deal? He's okay now? Doesn't really want me to touch him?
Doesn't want me? Maybe me thinking he did is just another example in a
long line of Kowalski relationship screw-ups. 

 The thought's barely crossed my mind when I wonder how the hell this
became all about me so fast. It was supposed to be about Fraser. 

 Fraser was crying, for fuck's sake. Fraser never cries. Now me, I can cry
over anything, just not so anyone else can see... 

 ...and then I know. 

 I move closer to him. Once again, I reach out to him, and once again he
stiffens at my touch. 

 But this time I'm not letting him go. 

 @-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@-@ 

 Ray's arms are curled loosely around my back, hands sliding lightly over
my shoulder blades across the top of my thick cable sweater - so lightly I
can barely feel it, then over the edge of my collar...touching my skin. My
skin burns where his fingers touch. 

 Again I pull back, the old instinct to break free such a strong one, but
my body will not cooperate. I cannot break free. His hands are so gentle
on my neck, my face...so damned gentle. He's barely touching me, and I
still cannot break free. I have wanted his touch for so long, but not like
this...not in pity. I want.... 

 I don't know what I want. 

 Then Ray takes his hands away from me. 

 And that's all it takes, such a little thing...such a little thing and I
know what I want, what I need. I need Ray. I need him. God, I need him. My
chest hurts. 

 I cannot move. 

 "Fraser?" 

 I wet my lips to reply, but can find no words. 

 "Ben?" 

 And all at once, Ray takes me again in his arms, holds me, tightens the
embrace, his right hand snakes up, fingers burying themselves in my hair,
drawing me to him. 

 God. This feels so good, so right...just to be held by this man. 

 Then it is no longer enough to be held, but I must hold Ray as well. I
enfold him in my arms, close the space between us, brush my lips against
his chin. I press harder, tracing Ray's jaw line with my mouth, needing to
feel the sharp rasp of beard stubble scraping against my lips. Ray
tightens his own embrace, twists his head around to join his mouth to
mine... 

 ...and a breath I think I have been holding for more than thirty years is
released. 

 

 I am not at all certain how much time has passed, but I do know that at
some point, Ray has steered me out into the hallway. We sit down on the
stairs, Ray's arm wrapped around my shoulders. 

 Diefenbaker emerges from my office and trots over to Ray's side. He rests
his head on Ray's knee and stares up at me with a reproachful expression.
I fear it will be quite some time before Diefenbaker allows me to forget
my recent behavior. 

 Too tired suddenly for any contest so draining as matching stares with a
wolf, I concede temporary victory to Diefenbaker and drop my head
slightly. Ray chuckles, and I can feel his fingers brush against my neck,
then bury themselves in my hair and start to rub the back of my head. I
glance up to see Ray's other hand occupied with ruffling the fur behind
Diefenbaker's ears. 

 "Okay, Frase, up and at em',' says Ray, tugging gently at my belt loops
and pulling me up with him. He nods in the direction of the door, where
Dief is now waiting. "Looks like the wolf's got the right idea. Let's get
out of here." 

 "Ray, shouldn't we discuss..." I start, but before I can complete my
sentence, Ray's mouth is back on mine, effectively driving all thoughts of
speech from my mind. 

 Still holding me in his arms, Ray drags his mouth away from mine and
rolls his eyes. "Okay, here's a discussion topic." Immediately he begins
nibbling at my bottom lip, then says, "You like the subject so far,
Mountie?" 

 I do. 

 

 Three o'clock in the morning, and still sleep will not come, yet I am
oddly content just lying awake here in Ray's bed...in Ray's arms. I shift
slightly and Ray turns with me, matching his movements to mine even in
sleep, and not even the sharp memory of my childish behavior these past
days can erase this almost overwhelming feeling of happiness. 

 After arriving at Ray's apartment, we talked for hours this evening, Ray
and I, really talked for the first time in weeks - or maybe for the first
time ever, I am not certain which. And yet we both acknowledge there is
still so much more to be said, so much more that cannot yet be put into
words. 
 Perhaps there will never be enough time to say all the words we need to
say to each other. Never enough time to simply hold each other. To love
each other. 

 But we have made a start.