(Sweetness Follows)	  Turn down your lights (where applicable)
 

 This is part II of a novella entitled Near Wild Heaven. 
 
 I owe a debt to Mary Renault and her book, The Charioteer, which I felt
explained a great deal to me, but I have always wondered exactly how her
characters resolved the future and dealt with some practical realities. So
this is an attempt to explore some of those thoughts in a Due South
universe.
 
 This story does - must - take place in an alternate universe. CotW does
not take place, at least not as it did on the show, and Fraser has more
sense than to live at the Consulate for very long and this time he has
found an apartment with a bathroom inside it. All characters belong to
Alliance/Paul Haggis/Paul Gross. If they belonged to me I'd set 'em free
to compete in the marketplace.
 
 
 Sweetness Follows
 (Near Wild Heaven, part II) 
 ©May 1999 AuKestrel
         (Thanks to R.E.M. for the title, the song, and Automatic for the
People.)
 
 Readying to bury your father and your mother,
 what did you think when you lost another?
 I used to wonder why did you bother,
 distanced from one, blind to the other?
 
 It's these little things, they can pull you under
 Live your life filled with joy and wonder
 I always knew this altogether thunder
 was lost in our little lives
     "Sweetness Follows," Automatic for the People, R.E.M.
 
 
         "Benny, no!" I yell in frustration as I see the Mountie turn down
the alley where the five heavily armed suspects ran a few moments ago.
"Benny, I'm not following you! I'm calling for backup! I'm staying right
here!" 
         "Thank you kindly, Ray," Fraser's voice floats back. For once I
look straight at Kowalski and we share a glance of mutual frustration and
resignation, before Kowalski turns and pounds after Fraser's red back. I
call for backup before I follow. 
         Halfway down the alley I see movement on the fire escape.
Fraser's taking to the rooftops, his favourite pastime, and Kowalski's
right behind him. So the suspects must have headed up there to begin with.
Damn. I watch them a minute, trying to get a handle on which way they're
going. Dief barks, once, at me. Hell, it's better than climbing five or
six stories to the roof, so I follow him. 
         There's a warehouse at the end of the alley but Dief doesn't head
there; takes a sharp left instead and we start pounding down another
alley. I catch a glimpse of red - honest to God, the Mounties couldn't
choose a worse colour to put on a cop if they sat down and thought about
it for a week - and realise that at least Fraser and I are heading the
same way. And I wonder if Kowalski can jump across rooftops like Fraser.
I've met a lotta strange people undercover, people who are pathological in
every sense of the word, people who thought nothing about risking
everyone's life and their own, but I never met anyone who would leap into
the teeth of a situation like Fraser, let alone jump across five and six
foot gaps 5 stories up without a pause. I grin a little, knowing that
hanging with Fraser has helped me overcome, somewhat, my fear of heights,
and look up again, trying to see the Mountie or Kowalski. 
         Dief's about twenty feet ahead of me, where the alley feeds into
another, and he's slowed down. Kowalski and Fraser are nowhere in sight. I
slow down too, cover the next alley. They're not there. Due to some weird
acoustics, I can hear Fraser and Kowalski whispering. They must be
crouched down on the roof.
         "Where?" Kowalski's saying, managing to hiss a word with no 's'
in it.
         I look around, trying to orient myself. I knew it was gonna come
to this, and I sigh to myself as I find a fire escape and start up it,
quiet as I can. There is nothing but silence as I reach the rooftop, and I
can see Fraser and Kowalski immediately as I look over the edge. They've
switched to sign language, their own peculiar code, since I have trouble
catching on to some of it, but I get the part where Fraser's pointing out
who's where.
         Kowalski nods and jerks his head back towards me, his thumb
towards an air conditioning unit. Telling Fraser to go, get down. Fraser
just shakes his head, and suddenly makes a zigzag dash in the opposite
direction, finding minimal cover behind a tangle of pipes, ducking and
rolling as the inevitable gunfire sparks across the roof.
         Meanwhile Kowalski, who's looking pretty mad, takes advantage of
the diversion to get behind the a/c unit, and I take advantage too, able
to get to the shallow cover they were just crouched behind. Looks like the
guys are in two places, behind good cover, on the far side of the roof,
and it won't be long before they figure out a way down or before they
figure out there's five of them and only two armed cops and one extremely
stupid and courageous Mountie who won't carry a loaded weapon.
         Fraser draws their attention again with another dash to more
cover, and he has to dive into the gravel on the roof this time to avoid
the gunfire. Ouch. Kowalski moved up closer, after one frantic glance at
Fraser, and I make it to the a/c unit where he just was. Fraser's almost
parallel with the roof access now, where two or three of the guys are
hiding, and to my horror he begins to edge out on the other side of where
he is, trying to get a handle, probably, on who's where, but sticking out
his damn neck, and, what's more, his bright red Mountie back.
         Kowalski, who's got glasses on all of the sudden, slams his left
fist into the wall in utter frustration as he watches Fraser. He can't
yell, can't give his position away, but he wants to strangle the Mountie.
I know this because I do too. More shots and Fraser hastily pulls back,
glancing over at Kowalski, holding up three fingers and then putting them
together. Meanwhile I see one of them looking around from behind another
unit, almost straight ahead of Kowalski, and I hardly have time to get my
gun up before Kowalski's fired, taken the guy out in the shoulder. Whoa.
Nice shot. Fraser gives him a thumbs up. The second guy makes the mistake
of coming out from behind cover to pull the first guy in and Kowalski and
I both drill him, me in the leg, Kowalski in the arm.
         Meanwhile Fraser has taken it into his head to lose his mind, and
he dashes over to the roof access. No gunfire follows; the other three are
probably on the far side of the access right now, trying to figure out
what to do now that their flank is open.
         Fraser starts to edge around one corner and at the same moment we
see a gun come up and point down the wall towards us. Fraser's gonna step
right into a bullet in another second and I can't see anything but the
gun, and the sun in my eyes, when I hear a shot. I expect to see Fraser
fall, and I'm already up and moving, and I think Kowalski and I yell his
name at the same time, but Fraser's still standing, and the dazzle of
light where the gun was a second ago was gone. Really tricky shot,
something they won't teach in the academy because it can get too many cops
killed, and I can see where Kowalski is a good partner to have along in a
fight.
         Fraser's pulled back already and Kowalski and I take advantage of
the diversion to hit the gravel next to him, one of us on either side.
         "Fraser, you move again, I'll pop you," Kowalski whispers,
sounding absolutely furious. "Vecchio!" And he jerks his head around the
corner. 
         I hold up two fingers, then three.
         Kowalski holds up three and shrugs. Fraser holds up two. Even in
sign language, he argues.
         Oh, well. It's irrelevant. We have to go after them and backup's
never gonna find us up here. I go around the back wall and Kowalski ducks
around the front wall. This is the worst part. We both of us need a man at
our back, with a loaded gun, and there just aren't enough of us to go
around. I'm about halfway towards the other end, running as lightly as I
can, when I hear the goddamn Mountie's voice ring out.
         "Excuse me, gentlemen. I'm Constable Benton Fraser, of the Royal
Canadian Mounted Police, and you are under arrest. Kindly throw down your
weapons and step away from the wall."
         Holy shit. And I can just imagine the look on Kowalski's face. I
forget sneaky and barrel around the corner in time to see one guy raising
his gun, targeted dead center on the Mountie in the middle of the roof. I
waste no time in plugging him in the right shoulder while Kowalski comes
around the other side at the same moment and kicks the gun out of the
second guy's hand. 
         The third guy is sitting up against the wall, holding his hand.
He makes no move as I approach. He's not gonna kick up a fuss.
         Apparently the guys behind the a/c unit aren't so happy with the
situation because despite the fact that we got these three down, one of
them leans around the corner and takes a potshot at us, not aimed anywhere
in particular, but Fraser jumps backwards so I'm guessing it was headed
that way. In a wordless growl of rage and frustration Kowalski pounds
across the roof so fast the guy doesn't have time to process what's coming
his way. 
         "You are under arrest, dirtbag," Kowalski yells, grabbing the gun
out of his hand. Jesus, he's more insane than the Mountie. "Lay down,
hands behind your back! Now! Before I kick you in the head! You too!" he
yells at the other guy, who's down for the count, really, holding his leg
and moaning. 
         "You got the right to remain silent, so shut up. Anything you say
can and will, I guarantee, be used against you in court. And in prison.
You got the right to an attorney. If you don't got an attorney - and I'm
pretty sure you do - one will be appointed for you. At taxpayer expense."
         The familiar words roll off my tongue as well, without Kowalski's
asides, as I start cuffing the other three. Fraser's walking around
collecting firearms carefully, with his handkerchief, depositing them in a
pile.
         "Do you understand these rights?" Kowalski's finished handcuffing
his two. No answer. Kowalski sighs, raises his gun. "Do you understand
these rights, dirtbags?"
         They finally answer him and he glares at them a moment longer
before turning, still on an adrenaline high, I can tell, and moving fast
to intercept Fraser.
         "What the hell was that? What part of 'if you move again I'll pop
you' didn't you get, Fraser?" He is white faced, and shaking, yelling into
Fraser's face.
         "But, Ray," Fraser says in a voice I know all too well, "there
was no real danger with both of you here. I thought perhaps you would find
the distraction useful, as indeed you did."
         "Not as useful as sockin' you right now would be," Kowalski
yells, still furious. "You're nuts! You're nuts, you know that?"
         "Very nice shooting, Ray," Fraser says, placating him. 
         "Very stupid walking up to a guy with a gun and grabbing it from
him," I say, having to get that off my chest before Kowalski gets any
cockier.
         Fraser turns and looks at me in surprise. "The clip was empty,
Ray."
         I look at Kowalski, who is still furious with Fraser, and not
quite following either of us. "You counted the rounds?" Hell, he is as
crazy as the Mountie. I can't take stunts like that from Fraser, who I
expect to pull that crap, let alone a cop who ought to know better.
         "Of course," Fraser says, puzzled. "And it was very nice
shooting, Ray."
         Kowalski groans, turns on his heel and stalks away to the edge of
the roof, kickin' the gravel. He's spent way too much time partnering the
Mountie, that's clear.
         I walk over too, manage to catch his eye. "It's amazing what he
can do to your blood pressure, innit." Almost an apology, not quite, I
know. But the both of 'em are takin' years off my life.
         Kowalski snorts, shoots me a glance, and then the anger leaves
him almost as rapidly as it entered him. "Yeah," he agrees with a
curiously engaging grin. 
         I have my own words with Fraser as we follow the uniforms back to
the cars. "No more of this, Fraser," I say. "I am spending my vacation in
Florida this time, not in the hospital. Not on my way to Canada with one
of your charity cases."
         "Understood, Ray." 
         "I don't know what the two of you are gonna do without me to look
after you," I say. I surprise an odd look on Fraser's face as I look over
to see the effects of his words.
         "Aw, we'll be sure to leave a few cases for you for when you get
back," Kowalski says, coming up on the other side of Fraser. And I am torn
between hatred and relief. Relief that Kowalski is a good cop . . . and
hatred for just about everything else, including his cocky attitude. And I
don't understand their relationship. How Fraser can take Kowalski yelling
in his face so calmly. How Fraser can work with someone so impatient, so
full of energy. How I can work with someone so dissimilar to myself.
         
         I ponder many things while standing guard duty, and since Ray
Kowalski's return I have found it almost pleasant, to have hours of time
to remember and to mull and to think.
         I must confess that I cannot wait for Ray Vecchio's vacation. It
will give Ray Kowalski and myself some breathing room. It will take care
of the two practical problems, for the nonce. I'm looking so forward to
this that I have trouble thinking about other things such as walking, and
talking, not to mention my consular duties. 
         I wish I could think of a reason to ask for time off, partly to
avoid Inspector Thatcher's equally sharp eyes, and then scold myself
sternly for putting my personal feelings ahead of my duty. At present our
moments of love are stolen and careful; being able to let go will be
enough of a relief without having the additional indulgence of time off.
And after all, Ray Vecchio is leaving after Elaine's wedding. With fortune
smiling on us we will have all day Sunday . . . and all night. And
Inspector Thatcher has no reason to suspect that my lover is not a woman.
         Ray Vecchio is growing increasingly snappish. He dislikes Ray
Kowalski intensely, although I am aware that he accords him a sort of
grudging respect for being a good policeman. In addition, Ray Vecchio's
manner of dealing with me directly conflicts with Ray Kowalski's peculiar
code of protection which seems to go something along these lines: he is
allowed to yell at me and tease me all he wants, but no one else is. Ray
Vecchio is fond of taking the wind out of my sails, or attempting to, with
his cynical comments and he enjoys teasing me. Ray Kowalski doesn't
understand that cynicism. He's too straightforward. There have as yet been
no words passed between them on the subject, but I think Ray Vecchio's
restraint is because he's worried about upsetting me. He has handled me
with kid gloves since his return. Guilt, undoubtedly, and worry, possibly.
And Ray Kowalski is trying so hard to keep a rein on his temper since
returning to the 27th that it is almost humourous. 
         There are other things that Ray Vecchio is thinking about.
Several times since his return he has expressed, in more straightforward
ways than usual, his frustration with bureaucracy and even with his job.
And I am sure he feels more embittered since Ray Kowalski's return. I have
tried to balance my attention equally, but the truth is that Ray Kowalski
and I have been working together for over a year and, in addition, our
relationship seems to have given us a leg up on our unspoken
communication; and although I consciously attempt to include both of them,
the facts of the matter are that Ray Kowalski and I are more used to each
other, and more in tune with each other, than Ray Vecchio and I are now.
         Thoughts of attunement lead me to think about Ray's rage on the
rooftop. And it's a peculiar reaction on my part, but despite the fact
that he was enraged with me, I feel that he is truly back. He felt
comfortable enough, today, to lose his temper with me. It's an odd thing
to feel joy in, I realise, but I do nonetheless. 
         I turn my attention to the problem of Carl Oberst's bachelor
party. The curious activities of otherwise mature and theoretically
responsible (although I realise that that may be stretching a point when
the subject under discussion is Chicago police officers) males in an urban
civilisation prior to a wedding have never been of much interest to me,
and yet I must make an appearance for form's sake. I am not sure if Ray
Kowalski will be there. He is somewhat of a loner. Ordinarily I don't
believe he would go, but being on his best behaviour, he will probably put
in an appearance so that there is no perceived slight. Police officers can
be a touchy lot.
 
         ~~~
 
         It's pretty much the sort of party I expect, when cops get
together to marry off one of their own. And this is two of their own, so
it's even worse. Dancing girls and all. I know Fraser'll love that. I plan
to stay long enough to be polite, then disappear. I know Fraser'll have to
stay through it all. Politeness, the curse of the Mounties. Poor guy. But
just imagining his blushes takes my breath away.
         And speak of the devil, I spot Frase making his way towards me
with a full mug. "Er . . . someone was kind enough to give this to me,
Ray, and as you know I don't . . . "
         "Thanks, Fraser," I say, trying not to notice how great he looks.
The dancing girls are gonna be all over him. Ray Vecchio hails him, and he
gives me a half-smile before he disappears into the crowd again. I wander
around, exchanging hello's and greetings. I find some food. Congratulate
Oberst, in a brief moment when he's not surrounded by people.
         Party's getting louder, more raucous. Sure enough, the strippers
appear soon. I lean against the wall, on my third beer, watching 'em with
a small grin, thinking my own thoughts about Ben. Whom I don't see
anywhere. I'm not surprised. He's been in Chicago for over three years and
I'm sure he saw this one coming. I see a group of guys with one of the
strippers, and they're looking at me. Kinda furtive, but I notice it. I
don't react but my cop alarm starts going off. So their stripper starts
dancing towards me and alluva sudden I know what's up. Know that this is
some good-humoured fun and maybe not so good-humoured, not after Vecchio's
crack about the bracelet . . . 
         And I wanna be sick. 'Cause I was never into strippers anyhow;
and that goes double now. And too many people are watching for me to be
able to leave. So I just stand there while she comes over to me and starts
doing her number around me. Try to play along. Stick some money in her bra
and smile at her. Try to look like I'm enjoying watching her. She heats it
up, rubs up against me, kisses me briefly. I hear a couple of people
shout, "Whoo hoo!" This is too much. Do they think I'm gonna fuck her,
right here? She kisses me again, and her heavy perfume, her makeup, her
sweat, goes right to my head and makes it whirl sickeningly. I take an
involuntary step back and hear an indrawn breath from the crowd, realise
what I'm doing, and pretend I was shifting ground to put down my beer so I
can put my arms around her. More whistles and hoots from the crowd, which
is growing larger. Thankfully I don't see Fraser or Vecchio. Thank God I
don't see Fraser, 'cause I'd probably be sick all over her. 
         I start to dance along with her, look into her eyes. She's a
person. I gotta think of that. She's not enjoying this any more than I am.
I lean down to whisper in her ear. "I'm sorry," I say. "They'll get tired
of it in a minute." She looks up at me again, her heavily made up eyes
widening in gratitude, and she smiles, a real smile. I lean in to kiss
her, and we dance around some more. "They're playing a joke on me," I
explain in a further whisper, knowing it'll look like I'm coming on to
her. "However much they paid you, I'll give it to you again." 
         "You don't have to, " she whispers back. "Thanks for being so
nice." And she reaches up and kisses me again, a real kiss this time. And
suddenly I know, a little, how Fraser feels, and I smile back at her. The
crowd starts to thin out, evidently deciding that nothing more interesting
than Kowalski dancing with a stripper is going on here. Now the Mountie
dancing with a stripper, that would be something. But they know better
than to expect that. We continue to dance a little longer, waltzing
around. I ask her name, offer to buy her a beer, and she says sure. So we
sit at a table, drinking beers, not saying much, just enough so that
people think we're talking. And they leave us alone so I'm thinking I took
the wind outta their sails pretty good, just like I used to in high
school. I used to be pretty good at turning the teasing back on the
teasers, without them realising it, at least by my senior year. And
wonder, again, where Fraser is, and hope that he missed this, 'cause I
don't want him to be hurt by it. 
         "Hey, Lisa," I say to her. "You planning to stay? Or have you
made your quota?"
         She looks surprised, then nods. "Yeah," she says, "that last bit
was all I needed." She's eyeing me, thinking she knows what's coming.
Looks a little surprised (I am a cop) but not too surprised (this is
Chicago).
         "'Cause I'm getting ready to leave, and if you wanna use that as
an excuse, feel free," I say, knowing that that will not only get her out
of here - if she wants to go - but will be the icing on the cake for the
27th. Poor old Kowalski couldn't wait to get back and get laid, even left
with a stripper. Hell, they still think I busted a chick for a date. And
then I feel ashamed, for a moment, of using her just like they did.
         "Thanks. Thanks," she says, slowly at first, and then more
eagerly. "I just gotta get my coat."
         "Please do," I say with a grin. She flashes a happy smile and
runs off. I finish my beer, looking into the glass, and thinkin.' Then I
look up, like a string pulling me, and look right across the room at
Fraser. And I know he saw. And I know he's sad. And angry. And hurt. And
probably hating America. He's in popsicle mode right now, I can tell by
his body language. And there's nothing I can do. She comes back with her
coat, looking happy and excited. I hear a few teasing comments as we
leave, and I don't look at Fraser again.
         I take her home in the GTO. Not surprisingly, it's not the best
neighbourhood. In fact, while it's not the zero block of Madison, it's
close. She offers me a blowjob. I tell her to get lost before I remember
I'm a cop and then I give her a twenty as she gets out of the car.
"Thanks," she says again, studying me uncertainly. "Was I too - are you"
         "You're real sweet, " I say. "But I'm a cop." 
         "Oh," she says, thinking she understands. "Thanks again, then.
Bye, " and she runs towards her door.
 
         ~~~
 
         I am well aware of the capacity of man to exercise inhumanity to
man, but when I encounter it so blatantly it is sometimes quite difficult
for me to comprehend. I have been accused of seeing the best in everyone,
of seeing life in black and white, and have frequently been told it is not
so simple. Tonight, I believe that. Tonight, seeing these otherwise fairly
decent people, police officers all, waste their time, energy, and money to
embarrass and denigrate, two sentient beings, I temporarily lose all faith
in humanity. I go so far as to take a beer from a passing tray. I try to
ignore the pain and humiliation that I know Ray must have had to deal
with. I will deal with it later. Right now, I must act as if I noticed
nothing, and as if my feelings towards these people have not changed, and
will not change. But I confess I have never missed the Territories as much
as I do at this second. And I realise I would rather face a pack of hungry
wolves than these men. The wolves would show more humanity . . .or perhaps
the correct term is lupinity. They understand life with honour, and death
with honour. They honour the caribou by culling its herds. And they honour
those amongst them who may be sick, or weak, or different. Some they kill,
and that death is a mercy. Some they tolerate, for what reason no man
knows, but I choose to believe because they see something of value in that
wolf, something that the pack would be lessened by in losing.
         "Fraser! What's up? You, with a beer? Who's got a camera?" It's
Ray Vecchio, more than slightly drunk. 
         "It's a special occasion, Ray," I say, managing a smile. "Very
special."
         As if he hears an echo of an unspoken thought from my head, he
looks around and says, "Where'd Kowalski go?"
         I shrug, not committing myself. "I really couldn't say, Ray."
         "I know what that means," he says, laughing. "Hey, Dewey, where'd
Kowalski go?" And I see that Ray Vecchio, too, is bent on humiliating
Kowalski and, although he doesn't know it, me.
         "Oh, man, he left with that stripper," Dewey says as he walks
over to join us. "He couldn't keep his hands off her. They talked a while
and then left a few minutes ago. Guess she liked the bracelet." He grins
at Ray Vecchio and follows the grin with an elbow nudge. Ray looks
uncomfortable for a split second, glancing at me, and then grins back at
him.
         I feel yet another wave of anger, anticipated this time, as well
as frustration and helplessness intermingled with pride at Ray Kowalski's
quick wits; I am intensely uncomfortable with this conversation and with
Ray Vecchio, who has evidently changed much more than I was aware, and so
I look out at the room, pretending not to listen. Ray Vecchio probably
senses this, because he changes the subject quickly. 
         We talk in generalities for a few more minutes. Suddenly a
silence settles across the room, and we look up from our conversation to
see another scantily clad female approaching us. And I hear a hum of
laughter. At first I think they are bent on embarrassing Ray Vecchio, but
I realise quite quickly that it's me they have set their sights on this
time. And I look at Ray allowing the panic to show in my eyes. I know he
will not guess the true reason for the panic - I know that I have no
reputation except that as some sort of female magnet at the 27th - but
that he may, if he is not too far gone, take steps to stop it. Before I
must. And he does not disappoint me. His protectiveness takes over
rapidly. He hands her a twenty, turns her around, and says in a loud
voice, "What? What? I'm not allowed to have a conversation with my best
friend, here?" There is general laughter, mostly good-natured. They know
how Ray Vecchio is. They undoubtedly had bets on whether he would do
something just like that to protect the Mountie from the scary urban
world. And it is. Suddenly I am fraught for the second time in less than
half an hour with an intense longing for the Territories, for my cabin,
for solitude, even for loneliness. "Thank you kindly, Ray," I remember to
say. 
         "Aw, Benny," he says. "You know how cops are, when they get a few
in 'em. They were just yanking our chains." He looks at me apologetically,
as if he can feel the wave of coldness I am emanating. Yes, I am well
aware of how most people treat other people who may be different. Ray
Kowalski and I have more in common, it would appear, under the surface,
than one might think. And Ray Vecchio, it would appear, has more in common
with chain-yanking cops than I wanted to think.
         They succeeded admirably, I want to say, but I retain enough
sense to bite that comment back. And, sickened with myself as well,
deposit my untasted beer on an empty table.
         It is 3:30 a.m. before I succeed in getting Ray Vecchio to leave
the party. Lieutenant Welsh is kind enough to drive us to Ray's house. He
has fallen asleep along the way and rather than attempt to wake him I
sling him over my shoulder and carry him to the front door. I am touched
to observe that Francesca has been waiting. She hastens to let me in, her
finger to her lips. She motions to the stairs, and I carry him up and
deposit him, somewhat unceremoniously, I confess, on his bed. 
         Francesca follows me back downstairs. "You wanna sack out on the
sofa, Fraser?" she asks worriedly. "How are you going to get home?"
         "Thank you, Francesca," I say. "I need a walk."
         "Okay, Frase," she says quietly. "Thanks for looking after my
idiot brother. Be careful."
         "You're welcome, Francesca. I will see you later today. Good
night and sleep well."
         As I leave, I see Lieutenant Welsh, standing by his car. "I
figured you'd try to walk home, Big Red," he says. "Get in."
         "That's not necessary, sir - " I begin. 
         "Get in, Constable. That's an order." 
         "Understood." I know there is no use in arguing, no way to
convince these Americans that solitude and exercise can cure a host of my
ills.
         He doesn't say much, until we get to my neighborhood. Then he
says, almost as if he can't help himself, "Don't judge us too harshly,
Constable. You know how cops are. You know what kind of stresses they
have."
         "Understood, sir," I say again.
         "Wish I could be sure of that," he mutters. I am too tired to
wonder at his unaccustomed emotion. 
         I wearily climb the stairs to my apartment. Oddly, I can see a
light on under the door. And realise with a lift of my heart that I know
who it is. And suddenly I feel delight, relief, and a host of other
emotions not unmixed with pure desire. Ray Kowalski is stretched out on my
bed, asleep, with a book open on his chest. Diefenbaker whimpers as I walk
in but doesn't get up. I stand over Ray for a few moments, watching him
sleep. I can smell her perfume mixed with Ray's unique spicy scent. I
unroll my bedroll, ready myself for bed and then take his book gently from
him and put it on the chest. As I reach over him to turn out the light, he
opens his eyes and looks up at me.
 
         ~~~~
 
         I wake up to see Ben looking down at me, a startled expression on
his face, and I smile with pure joy at seeing him. I hold my arms up and
with a wordless moan he falls on me. He kisses me as if he can never get
enough. He's already mostly naked and soon I am too. 
         "Missed you, Ben," I mutter. He'll never know how great it feels
to have him on top of me, his body pressing me down, covering me, taking
care of me, holding me, loving me.
         "Shhh," he says. "Don't talk. Just be." And he kisses me again
with such urgency, such passion, I know he is trying to take away my pain,
and probably his own, from the events of the night. Know it, for sure,
when he pulls my right arm up to his mouth and licks my wrist under the
bracelet and then kisses me, hard, again. Distracted for a minute, wonder
who told him, what he heard . . . And then I feel his warm hand slide down
between us and encircle us both. It feels indescribable . . . our cocks
straining together, hot against his big warm hand, both of us moving
against each other . . .. As he strokes us harder, I cling to him,
thrusting into his hand, and he licks and then sucks my neck, moaning with
me in the back of his throat. And there are two points of ecstasy on my
body, where his hand and his lips are. And then they merge into one. 
         He reaches up soon after that to turn out the light. And before I
drift off to sleep again I hear him apologising for waking me up. Jeez. I
cut him off with a mutter. "Love you, Ben. Now go to sleep."
         I feel him smile against my neck, and we sleep in each other's
arms, mess and all.
         Some time before morning Ben's sense of preservation reared its
head. When I wake again, it's light out, and I'm alone in Ben's bed,
covered up. He is asleep on his bedroll, dressed again. No doubt
Vecchio'll be here soon to observe everything. And then I remember Ben's
love bite. And panic. And remember I went home with the stripper, and
relax again. I look at the clock and can't make sense of the time at
first. Nine o'clock? I have never, but never, known Ben to sleep this
late. Ever. And I don't know whether to be worried or feel complimented.
         I get up as quietly as I can. Get dressed, make the bed, Ben's
bed, which I never do at my own place, my hands lingering over the Hudson
blanket. Feed Dief, also as quiet as I can. I'm bringing him back from his
walk when I see Vecchio pull up in his Riv. He's not happy to see me, of
course, and looks pretty hung over to boot. Know he wants to ask what I'm
doing here. I don't give him a chance. 
         "Fraser's still asleep," I say before he can say anything. He
looks at his watch, looks at me, and looks at his watch again. "You're
kidding," he says, serious, as we climb the stairs.
         "Yeah," I say. "I fed Dief and walked him. What time did you all
finish up, anyhow?"
         "I'm not real sure," Vecchio says, a little shamefaced. He's too
taken up with that to worry, for the moment, what I'm doing here, and when
we go into Ben's apartment and he sees Ben on the bedroll, sacked out,
fully dressed, he won't give it another thought.
         "Musta been some party."
         "Yeah, it was. I see you had fun," and he raises one of those
sardonic eyebrows at me, which I take to mean he's noticed the hickey.
         "Yeah," I say, smiling softly at the memory, knowing he'll
misinterpret that smile.
         Ben's still asleep when we get to his apartment and I see Vecchio
relaxing as he takes in the picture. Can't wait for him to just go, get
outta here, on his vacation. Hate this. Hate his suspicions, if that's
what they are. Hate his jealousy. Hate the fact that I can't even go put
some water on for tea for Ben without Vecchio noticing it. Dief runs over
and licks Ben all over the face. "Diefenbaker! All right, all right!"
Fraser sounds almost angry. Then he sits up, notices the light in the sky
- and I know he knows, without even looking at a clock, that he's slept
very late - and then sees us. "Good God, how late is it?'' he asks,
startled.
         "It's only ten o'clock, Benny. I was gonna get some coffee and
doughnuts but I bet Mother Hen here'll say you need something more
substantial." 
         "Oh. I see. Well, I'll start with tea. Would you like me to put
some coffee on for you?" he asks, getting to his feet and heading to the
sink.
         "Not for me, thanks," I say. "I'm outta here. Fed Dief and walked
him. See ya later." I know he's telling me not to go but I ignore it.
Can't deal with Vecchio right now. Just wanna talk to Fraser. "Later,
Vecchio."
         "Yeah, later, Kowalski," Vecchio says, sitting down at the table.
"Yeah, I'll take some coffee, Benny. Extra strong."
         "Thank you, Ray," Fraser calls after me.
 
         ~~~
 
         I sit at the table, with a not-quite-headache in my skull,
feeling dull and heavy, no doubt a physical side effect of too much sleep,
hating Ray Vecchio for a moment or at least wishing him to the ends of the
earth so that I can have ten, even five, minutes alone with Ray. We had no
chance to talk last night and although I had intended to remain in control
something in his smile went straight to my heart and all thought, all
reason, flew out of my head. I can derive comfort only from the fact that
I awakened long enough to realise that Ray and I were in a rather
compromising position and was able to rearrange the apartment. This is
dangerous. I must try harder. And am relieved that I won't have to try,
after tonight, for two weeks.
         Abruptly I get up to fix some eggs for us.
         "Something wrong, Benny?" Ray asks. "You mad at me?"
         I often forget how perceptive he can be. And of course there is
no way to bring up the real reasons for my displeasure.
         "Why would you think that, Ray? I think I am unaccustomed to
sleeping so late," I respond, glad that my back is to him. 
         "Yeah, Kowalski seemed pretty worried about you. Guess he thought
I got you drunk. And heck, you're not even the one who went home with the
stripper." He chuckles. I smile inwardly, remembering last night in my
bed, and suddenly feel better.
         The atmosphere has changed and we eat our eggs accompanied by
desultory, good-natured small talk. 
         "Elaine married," he says, shaking his head. "And Carl. Hell. I
thought Carl was a bachelor for life. Whaddaya think, Benny, is love
enough?"
         I am startled beyond all reason for a moment; this question is so
apropros to the current situation that I cannot think.
         "Yes. No."
         "That's real clear, Benny." But he looks uncomfortable now, and I
know that he is thinking of Victoria, of the eternal shadow she cast
between us because of my foolish and weak inability to control myself, my
conviction that my love and trust were returned, my naïve belief that love
was enough. And then I remember Ray, his quick flashing grin, his energy,
his unparalleled ability to put almost anything in perspective in a pithy
phrase accompanied, usually, by a sudden movement of his hands, and I feel
my lips stretch in an involuntary smile.
         "It has to be, at least from an existential perspective, Ray.
Otherwise no one would attempt to attain the impossible, and in that
attempt discover more about the mystery of love.
         "Benny. Can I translate that? It's better to have loved and lost?
Is that what you're telling me? Is this more of your father's advice?
Because I don't think it's nearly as helpful as don't follow someone off a
cliff."
         I look at him solemnly. "How about this, Ray: every journey
begins with a single step."
         He looks back at me and shakes his head and suddenly we are both
laughing. It feels good. And though I miss my Ray, Ray Vecchio and I have
a pleasant morning after all. Finally he tells me that he needs to pick up
his tuxedo. I myself have ironing and polishing to do, I say, and we agree
to meet at Ray's house at four o'clock.
 
         ~~~~
 
         Go home, grab a shower, change. Then I do a load of laundry. Feel
pretty restless and know that what I really need is to see Fraser. Know
there were things left unsaid; know he's tearing himself up inside over
the dancing girl last night. Try to put music on, to dance, but I can't.
Don't need to. Just need to see Fraser.
         I raise my hand to knock at his door and I hear him playing the
guitar. He's practising the song for the wedding, I realise, and I stop to
listen. He's singing softly, just keeping up with the guitar, sounds
pretty content. Maybe I should just leave him . . .
         And hear Dief make one of those wolfish kinda grumbles he makes.
So he knows I'm there. I knock, wishing Vecchio would learn to do the
same. Hear him call, "Come in, Ray," and try not to think about how he
knew it was me. Didn't know I was so predictable. He's sitting
cross-legged on the floor with Elaine's guitar, a welcoming smile on his
face, surrounded by Mountie boots, shoe polish, brass polish, some kind of
oil, and various brushes. His ironing board is set up. And realise that of
course he's gonna wear his uniform to the wedding. 
         "I was hoping that you would come back," he says simply, which
makes me feel not quite so stupid.
         "Yeah, but you're busy, Frase," I say awkwardly. "Forgot you'd
have stuff to do."
         "Perhaps it's time you learned the proper care and feeding of a
Mountie's uniform," he says with a smile, motioning towards the can of
brass polish. I lean down to kiss him. Can't help myself.
         "I'm still working on the proper care and feeding of the
Mountie," I say with a wicked grin.
         "I think you have that figured out," he says huskily, and I
almost can't look in his eyes, they're so bright with love and happiness
and stuff like that. 
         "I think I need lots more practise," I say, and sit down beside
him. "Okay, show me what this stuff does. I can polish boots, you know,
Frase." He looks at my scuffed boots and then at his perfect boots and
then back again. "Not that those boots seem to need it."
         That gets him, I knew it would, and he sets the guitar aside to
show me exactly how dull and awful his boots look right now and how they
will look in a few minutes.
         Eventually he lets me work on his boots, now that I understand
that the polish has to be applied in a clockwise, circular fashion and
never raising the grain of the leather (the what?), and goes to work on
his brass buttons. Which I just realise he has taken off the uniform, and
will have to sew back on.
         "You're nuts! What did you do that for?" 
         He looks surprised. "Well, you have to polish the entire button,
Ray," he points out.
         "Fraser, who's gonna see the underside of a button?" I say. "And
now you gotta sew 'em all back on."
         "I like to," he says simply, and I get a whiff of what it means
to him to be a Mountie. And duck my head, 'cause I don't understand it.
But I like it. I work on his boots and watch him press his red coat. Then
he sews the buttons on, quicker than I would have thought possible, and I
realise he does it a lot. Then he presses the coat again even though I
couldn't see any difference. Then the pants. He finally hangs it next to
the other uniform, which looks identical to my inexperienced eye, with a
satisfied sigh. "I had hoped to do both this morning but I won't have
time," he says, shaking his head. 
         I can't help laughing. "If I mixed those up, Frase, you couldn't
even tell the difference," I say. 
         "Yes, I could, Ray." And he smiles back at me before sitting down
with me on the floor to begin polishing his Sam Browne belt with the oil.
And he begins to tell me why it's called that, and I think that maybe
paradise on earth is possible after all.
         We finish up the boots, him showing me how to get the highest
possible gloss. I practise while he picks the guitar up again, fiddling
with songs. He starts to play the one he played at the rehearsal - the one
Vecchio sang with him - something about riding forever and blue Alberta
skies. He's not really singing, just a few words from time to time, and
I'm enjoying listening. And it seems so natural, and I'm so happy, that I
reach out and kiss him alluva sudden. He stills the strings of the guitar
with the flat of his hand and closes his eyes as we kiss again. I feel his
response somewhere inside me. 
         "Sorry, Fraser," I say, sitting back. "Didn't mean to . . . you
gotta get ready. Gotta get a shower." 
         "I know," he says, and I can tell he's getting himself back under
control.
         "A cold one," I add with a wicked grin. He looks surprised.
         "Of course," he says matter-of-factly.
         We are quiet for a moment. He puts the guitar back in its case.
He doesn't look at me as he says, "About last night . . ."
         Oh, no. I forgot about it. And should have known he wouldn't.
         "Have I mentioned how well I thought you handled it?" he says.
         "Huh? Oh, hey, she was a nice kid." But I can't help the glow of
pride I feel at his words. One look at his face, and that thought goes
flyin'. "I'm sorry, Frase. I hoped you'd missed it. I knew it would upset
you."
         "Didn't it upset you?" he asks quietly, and I can tell by his
voice that he's hurting again.
         "Jeez, Frase, you know how cops are. I sure as hell do." I try to
keep it light.
         "I know," he says after a minute, in a dead voice. "Sometimes I
find wolves preferable. I am missing Canada today, Ray."
         What the hell does that mean?
         "Fraser, I should've expected somethin' like that. They'd've done
that to anyone. It wasn't personal." It probably was, since Vecchio made
that crack about my bracelet, but no point in going there. It's over, it's
done with.
         "I'm not entirely sure that makes it better, Ray," he says, still
in that remote voice. "That is possibly even worse." And then he adds, in
a low, sad voice that strikes terror in my heart, "Perhaps this was indeed
a mistake."
         No! No! I grab him by the shoulders, make him look at me. "Ben,
don't! Don't say that! How can it be? How can the way I feel . . . the way
you feel . . . be a mistake? We're not hurting anybody!" I just got him
back. I can't go through this again. I think it would kill me.
         He searches my face for a moment. "But the possibility of someone
being hurt - that is to say, you - is a very real one," he says slowly.
         I should have known. Should have known the responsibility would
kick in any time now. "First of all, Fraser, I don't think so. Second of
all, I already told you, I don't care. You're worth it."
         "Then I have to care for you," he says, getting to his feet. I
stand up too. 
         "Yeah, but you can't make my choices for me," I say. "And this
one's already made." I lean over to kiss him lightly. "So there."
         That finally gets a tiny smile out of him. He kisses me back,
also lightly, his hand moving down my arm to slide a finger under my
bracelet, before turning and saying, "I'd better get my shower now."
         He comes out in a few minutes, towel around his waist, hair damp
and standing up where he towelled it off. I've finished the boots and I
hold them up for inspection. "Thank you kindly, Ray," he says as he puts
them on his bed. He goes to his closet and begins taking clothes out. Our
eyes lock across the room. I know he knows what I'm thinking. God, he's so
beautiful he takes my breath away. So I take a deep breath and scoot
closer to Dief, pattin' him on the shoulder. I swallow hard and say,
without looking at him, "You need a ride, Fraser?"
         He stops in the middle of pulling on his undershirt. "I thought
you were coming to the wedding, Ray."
         "Nah, but I can drop you there," I say.
         "Ah."
         I risk a glance at him. Big mistake. He's only got his boxers and
undershirt on and he's sitting down to pull on his socks. I gulp, and look
away again, try to make a joke. "Don't think I ever wanted Stella as much
as I want you. What, do you Mounties get standard issue pheromones plus
extra or something?"
         "Not that I'm aware of," he answers me, almost absently, and I
know he's thinking about why I don't want to go to the wedding.
         "There's no reason," I say quietly, trying to get that frown off
his face. "I'm not upset. And it's not like Elaine and I are buddies. It's
not like you and Vecchio. I just wanna be alone." Thinking of you. Away
from cops, for a while.
         His face lightens. He understands alone. "I don't blame you,
Ray," he says earnestly. He's pulling on his pants now, pulling up his
braces. He sits, again, to put his boots on. "I have been thinking . . . I
believe I am going to ask for some vacation time on Monday. After Ray
Vecchio gets back, of course. I need to go to my cabin, to be alone too.
Away from people."
         I try not to hurt. Try to breathe. My chest hurts. He's told me
that's what he needs, sometimes.
         "And you've never seen it," he continues. "But I hope . . . I'm
not sure . . . do you have any vacation time?"
         And I still can't breathe. I look at him. I don't know what he
sees in my eyes. But I can see what's in his. "Yeah," I say. "I got
plenty."
         "There's no running water," he warns me. "And even in a month
there will still be snow."
         "Will you be there?" I ask, grinning. And love him, love the way
he grins back.
         "Always," he says, and it almost sounds like a vow.
 
         ~~~
 
         I do not reenter the reception hall with the rest of the party
after seeing Elaine and Carl off. I need to be alone. I need to think. I
am looking forward to a brisk walk. I must think sensibly, clearly, but my
love for Ray is like a drug. I felt this way before, with Victoria, and
made a terrible mess. I must ensure that does not happen again. But on the
other side of my brain is the vision of Ray in my cabin. My two homes, in
one place. And my chest feels tight.
         I look around and see Lieutenant Welsh watching me. "Need a
ride?" he asks quietly.
         "No, thank you, sir. I am very much looking forward to my walk
home," I say as firmly as I can and still be polite. 
         He studies me a moment longer. "You've been looking run down,
lately, Constable. Not my business, but I think you might wanna consider
asking for some time off."
         "Thank you, sir. In fact, I've already decided to do so. Not
until Ray returns, naturally."
         "Naturally," he agrees.
         "And of course it depends on Inspector Thatcher's schedule." And
realise I am beginning to babble. I am unaccustomedly nervous. I think he
knows. I don't know why I think that. And don't understand how he can,
what I've done to give myself away.
         He must see something in my eyes. He takes a step closer to me
and says, quite quietly, "Not all cops are alike, Constable. Some of us
believe that people deserve to be happy. That's all."
         "I . . . I too believe that, sir," I say, trying to remain
collected. "Unless, that is, it's a question of duty . . ."
         "Constable, your personal life is your own. Not my business. Not
Thatcher's. You just remember what's important. And tell Kowalski he needs
some time off too, whenever the Consulate can spare you."
         I am stunned, and panicked.
         "Fraser," he says, and then stops. He heaves a sigh, then starts
again. "You're a man with a lot of sense. If anyone can pull this off, you
can. And if you can't it's not the end of the world. Take him to Canada
and be happy there."
         "If he would be," I say, and then stop abruptly, horrified at my
admission.
         He sighs again. "It's not as if you'll be assigned here for the
rest of your life, you know. The Mounties'll forgive you eventually. I'm
assuming. I realise you have trouble trusting people. With good reason, I
think. And ordinarily I would just keep my nose out of your business. But
you're alone, Fraser. I'm trying to tell you what I think, what I hope,
your father or mother might have told you. We don't get many chances at
happiness. You've got a better chance than you had with that Metcalf nut
case. That's all. Understand?"
         "Under-understood, sir," I manage to say, as he turns and walks
away.
         I begin to walk home, my head spinning, my heart filled with
hope, desperation, and confusion. How did he guess? How can he guess, and
not Ray Vecchio? Am I deceiving myself? Us? Anyone? My common sense then
reasserts itself. I know that no one has guessed, except, for some reason,
the lieutenant.
         I hardly notice the walk. I have calmed down considerably by the
time I reach my apartment. And again I see a light under the door. This
time Ray is awake. The remains of a pizza are on the table and he's lying
on my bed, Diefenbaker stretched beside him, reading again. "Hey, Frase.
Y'know, you need a TV, man," he says with a mischievous grin. Next to my
knapsack, I see a battered Army surplus backpack and I know that without
being asked he has read my mind, that he is settling in for the next two
weeks. I am so grateful, and glad, that I can't move. I just look at him,
my fingers automatically unbuttoning my uniform. He looks back at me, his
eyes shining.
         "We safe?" he asks, in his peculiarly husky voice. 
         "Yes, I believe so." I walk over to sit on the bed beside him
after hanging my tunic on the back of a kitchen chair. I hesitate. He
senses my concern and a shadow crosses his face.
         "I have just had a conversation with Lieutenant Welsh," I say
finally. 
         "Yeah?" he says, studying my face. 
         "I think he knows. That is, I think he guessed. Now he knows." I
cannot prevent my head from dropping slightly, not wanting to see Ray's
eyes; but before I can say any more, he says casually, "Yeah, it figures."
         I can't speak.
         He looks over at me, forcing my eyes to meet his. "Welsh is a
good man, Fraser. I don't think he'll take it out on me."
         "No," I say, "I know he won't. He told me to tell you that you
need time off too. After he told me, that is, that I need time off. To go
to Canada."
         Ray's eyes widen in surprise. He begins to laugh. "Well, who
woulda thought?" he says. "He's a romantic, huh, Ben."
         "Yes, Ray," I say, smiling slowly. "Yes, I think he is."
         We share a long kiss but Ray breaks it off too soon.
         "Hey, Frase. I . . . I kinda got you something."
         He's embarrassed. He avoids my eye as he reaches down to the
other side of the bed. As he hands it to me, he mutters, "I didn't think .
. . I don't think you have one. I don't know anything about them but one
of my friends told me about this one in that pawn shop down near . . .
well, anyhow. It's a Martin. He said that was cool." 
         He hands me a guitar case.
         "Oh, Ray . . ."
         "If it's not . . ."
         "Ray, it's . . . perfect." And, ridiculously, I feel my throat
swelling with emotion. How did he know? Giving Elaine her guitar back was
a wrench. "I had one, yes, but it was destroyed when my father's cabin
burned." I can't keep my hands off it, tuning it automatically, revelling
in the smell and the feel of it, in the look of the dark red wood. "And,
yes, a Martin is very, ah, 'cool.'"
         Ray has relaxed, embarrassment at an end. He's grinning now.
"What it really was, Fraser, is that you look so damn hot holding a
guitar, you know that?"
         "Ulterior motives. I should have known."
         "Oh, yeah. You do. You do, you know."
         "Ray, thank you."
         "Shit, Ben, don't get all serious and . . . and . . . just don't.
I . . . been thinking about it, is all, and it all kinda came together.
I'm glad it's okay. I mean, that it's an okay guitar."
         "Ray, I can't not be serious. Thank you. I love it. And you."
         "Fraser, I told you . . ."
         I capture his chin in one hand and make him meet my eyes. "Thank
you, Ray. It's not just the guitar. It's that you thought of it, of me.
This is only the second present I've ever had that wasn't books or
clothes."
         He swallows once or twice and says, rather thickly, "So go on,
give it a spin."
         "I'd rather kiss you."
         "Nuh uh, Frase. You wanna thank me, give it a spin. I love to
watch you play."
         Two kinds of passion war for a moment, but I already know that I
will give in to the musical one, for the nonce.
 
         ~~~~
 
         Oh, God. He liked it. Finally getting something right. He's been
kinda tuning it on autopilot even while he was thanking me. I like
watching him do that, the serious look on his face, the half-closed eyes
because sight distracts from sound. 
         He fingers the strings experimentally, a not-quite-smile on his
face. It's more a look of disbelief, of still and deep delight that a
smile wouldn't come close to expressing. "Any requests?"
         "You know Stairway to Heaven?"
         He holds my eyes with his own and picks out the first few notes. 
         "I should've known."
         He grins, then, and says, "No, I don't. Not really."
         "Good. Because if you did, that would've kinda scared me."
         "Unfortunately my repertoire is mainly what you'd call folk
music."
         "I don't get the 'un' part, but whatever, Ben. What about that
thing you did at the rehearsal? The blue Alberta skies thing?"
         He grins and blushes. "I admit to a particular fondness for that
one."
         "So whaddaya waiting for?"
         He turns to sit sideways on the bed, bringing one knee up, and
plays a few more notes, just messing, while he gets comfortable. I pull
his pillow up behind me and lean back against the wall. He runs through
the chorus first, without singing. I put my hands behind my head and think
about his fingers. About the Mounties. About the fact that no one's ever
given Ben presents. Damn. Stella and me . . . well, even in the first few
years when money was so tight, we saw something, even a couple bucks, we'd
surprise each other with it. One time it was just red foil wrapped candy
hearts. She almost cried. Come to think of it, no one gave Stella a whole
lot of presents either. Things, yeah, cars, jewelry, her parents never
blinked an eye. But stuff she liked, wanted, was interested in, no, not
much of that . . . and she was pretty good at reading me too. Spent a
week's pizza budget once on PJ O'Rourke's latest in hardcover and we ate
grilled cheese instead. I wait for the pain to hit, now, after the memory
. . . and it doesn't. The memory's good. And that's all. Thanks to Fraser.
Intangible, but, yeah, a present too.
         He's starting to lose himself in the music, lose his
self-consciousness, as he sings a few words here and there like he did
when we were working on his uniform. Singing more sentences now, a little
louder, messes up a chord or two but keeps going, that's pretty cute to
see him mess up and not get freaked out.
         Cute. Christ. I'm, like, a Mountie groupie. He's in the last
verse now, I got the chorus down already. 
         "Run like stink?" I say as he flattens his palm over the strings.

         He grins. "I'll have to get you a Canadian dictionary. Ray, it
has excellent tone."
         "So do you."
         We look at each other for a long moment, our smiles slowly
fading.
         "Any more . . . requests?"
         "Uh . . . think you could fit a . . . kiss in there somewhere?" I
lean forward. He does too, and our lips meet somewhere over the guitar.
"Yeah," I whisper. "You, a guitar, a bed. It doesn't get much better, you
know, Ben?"
         "I know," he whispers back, and then licks my lips with his
tongue before plunging it into my mouth, not gentle at all now, hard, hot,
demanding, and I feel the guitar push into my ribs as his right hand goes
around my back to pull me closer.
         "Jeez, Ben, you're gonna squash your guitar," I say finally,
pulling back a little. "Come on, let's hear more."
         "I don't know whether to feel offended or flattered," he says.
"You'd rather listen than kiss?"
         "Well, see, Fraser, the thing is I'm learning patience. We got
two whole weeks. We can do both."
         "Both . . ." he echoes, and then smiles, and then pivots, leans
back against the wall, making me move down the bed a little, one booted
leg on the Hudson blanket, as he starts an unfamiliar song.
         "Mind if I, uh, help you lose the boots?"
         "Feel free, Ray."
         I untie the laces at the top and start loosening them all the way
down the boot as he starts singing again.
 
        "Sunset is an angel weeping
         Holding out a bloody sword. . .
 
         Okay, he's no Pavarotti, but I could listen to him forever. I
think he's got the most beautiful voice I've ever heard. And the fucking
song . . . Jesus . . . where does he come up with these? 
 
        "I've proven who I am so many times
         The magnetic strip's worn thin
         And each time I was someone else
         And everyone was taken in."

         Try not to read too much into this. It's just a song, Kowalski.
But yeah . . . seems like all Ben does is prove himself, to everyone, over
and over, and no one really knows him. They all see what they want to see
and he doesn't know if what he is inside is enough for everyone else to be
satisfied with.
         There's one boot done, and I hang over the side of the bed to
start working on the other boot. 
 
        "I never knew what you all wanted
         So I gave you everything."

         This is getting freaky. Yeah, that's Ben. Always giving, never
sure if it's enough. It never has been enough . . . wasn't enough for
Victoria, wasn't enough for Vecchio, wasn't enough for the Mounties, maybe
even wasn't enough for his dad. It's enough for me. Enough for us. It's
gotta be.
         He misses a note or two when I tap him on the knee, a signal to
raise his foot so I can pull.
 
        "Sometimes the best map will not guide you,
         You can't see what's round the bend."

         No shit. Bet he never thought we'd be here. I know I never
thought we'd be here in the first place. I turned a corner . . . took a
bus . . . went two blocks . . . through a door . . . and ended up here.
And where are we gonna be next week? Next month? Next year? Scary
thoughts. Too scary. Think about those later.
 
        "Sometimes the road leads through dark places."

         Yeah, Ben, but I'll be with you on that road. You're not alone
any more.
 
        "Sometimes the darkness is your friend."

         I got a hot feeling in the back of my eyes and my throat's tight.
I bury my face in the scratchy wool covering his calf.
 
        "Today these eyes scan bleached out land
         For the coming of the outbound stage
         Pacing the cage
         Pacing the cage."

         He plays a few more notes and then I feel his hand in my hair.
"Ray?" he says softly.
         "That's . . . that's good, Ben, what . . . what is that?"
         "A Canadian. Bruce Cockburn. Why are you upset?"
         "For you, Ben. Alone. Just . . . stupid, okay?"
         "I'm not alone now. We're not alone, Ray."
         "Yeah. I know. I said it was stupid, okay?"
         "Ray. Come here."
         "No. No, it's okay. Play some more."
         "I'm not sure I should."
         Finally raise my head, look him straight in the eye. "I loved it.
I love hearing you. Play some more, damn it."
         His hand on mine pulls me, firm, gentle, up to him. Long kiss,
not passionate, just sweet. I move my mouth down to kiss his neck and rest
my head there for a second, his hand still moving in my hair. "Here,
Frase, got an idea. Lean up." I push him forward, climb between him and
the wall, put the pillow at my back, pull him up against me, Ray body
pillow. "There. Let me hold you. Play. Will this work?"
         He twists to look at me, a quivery kind of smile on the corner of
his mouth. "Ray . . ."
         "Take it that's a yes." And it's a big old yes for me, because I
got both arms around him, I can feel him breathing, smell him, I can even
lean forward and lick the back of his neck, rub my nose in his soft soft
hair.
         "Ray, that's rather . . . distracting . . ."
         "Sorry, Frase."
         "You don't sound very sorry."
         "Well, I'm not really. I'll be good though."
         "You're always good, Ray."
         "Heh heh." Lean my head back against the wall, loosen my arms,
rub my thumbs against his ribcage a little. He makes a murmur kinda sound
as he fiddles with the tuning pegs again. It sounded fine to me. That's
probably the Fraser guitar equivalent of thumb to eyebrow. We shift our
hips a little together, getting comfortable, and I close my eyes as he
starts playing again, another unfamiliar tune, another beautiful tune.
Like holding him like this, feeling his whole body relax into the music,
the involuntary muscle tension when he hits a difficult chord or maybe not
difficult, maybe just one he's not sure he quite remembers. Feels good.
Feels close to perfect. I put my head back against the wall and smile. 
         ~~~~
 
         I'm almost asleep, and I'm pretty sure Ben thinks I am, because
he stiffens suddenly and then carefully gets out of bed, trying not to
wake me, and goes to the window. And to my utter amazement, I hear him
talking. I snap back to consciousness in a hurry, trying to listen. I know
he's practically certifiable. I mean, I know he thinks Dief really
understands him. And I've seen him carry on some pretty weird
conversations with Dief. But Dief's under the bed and there's no one by
the window. And then I think I hear him say, "Dad." I get a cold shiver up
my spine. Is Ben really nuts? Holy shit. He's talking, and waiting for
responses, like there's someone there I can't see.
         "Frase? Who you talking to?"
         Now he's quiet, standing stiffly by the window for a moment. He
mutters something but all I hear is " . . . lies . . ."
         So I say again, "Who you talking to? There's nobody there." I'm a
little spooked.
         "Well, yes, there is. Or was." Fraser walks over to the bed and
sits down, rubbing his eyes with his hand in a familiar, weary gesture.
"I'm never quite certain which verb tense to use . . ." 
         "Who's there, Fraser?"
         "Actually- " he hesitates, then says firmly, " - my father, Ray."
         "Your father's dead, Fraser," I say carefully. Maybe the
incredible sex has unhinged his brain. I mean, he's kept himself bottled
up for, what, years? Maybe it's dangerous to have it so good. "'Member?
You came to Chicago on the trail of his killers? Sound familiar?"
         "Yes, I am aware of that, Ray." He sighs. "Unfortunately, being
dead has not, to date, prevented him from putting in appearances in my
life, usually at the worst possible moments."
         "You mean he warns you of danger 'n stuff?" I ask, trying to get
a grip. Ben sounds so serious. But he's gotta be putting me on. Or else
he's crazy.
         "No, because that would be helpful." Fraser sounds exasperated,
almost sarcastic. "Generally it's just pointless chatter. And annoying
advice." He pitches his voice louder, as if he thinks someone else is
listening and he wants him to overhear.
         I pull the scratchy blanket up around my chest. "I see. Um, can
anyone else see him?"
         "Oh, Maggie, of course," Fraser says matter-of-factly. "And
Sergeant Frobisher. I don't know why, but he can. Partners, I supposed.
Possibly Gerrard as well, although my father never cleared that point up
for me. He rarely answers any questions, you know. " 
         Yeah, I know, Frase. Sounds familiar. Then the rest of what he
said hits me.
         "Maggie?" Now I'm freaking. Maggie seemed pretty levelheaded.
Whacked out, like Fraser, but levelheaded. Of course, I only have his word
for it. But I don't think there'd be much point in lying about something
like this. I try again.
         "Do you . . . do you see him often?"
         "Of late, no." Fraser sounds incomprehensibly cool with this.
"This is the first time, really, in months. He says he's been busy."
         "Uh, Fraser, he's dead," I can't help pointing out. "How busy can
he be?"
         "Exactly my point," Fraser says, again pitching his voice louder.
"See, Dad? Now if you'd said you were at the cabin, fixing it up, I could
understand how you could lose track of time. If you have time, where you
are." He looks back at the window, listens a moment, then shrugs.
         "Now if I'd said that," he says to thin air, "you'd blink out in
a huff. Of course I know you can't really fix up the cabin. You're dead.
But that didn't stop you from building an office in my closet at the
consulate, did it?" He thinks his dad has an office in his closet at the
consulate. If he really does think that, it explains a helluva lot. I
don't know how many times I've caught him talking to himself in that
closet. He listens again, gets to his feet, walks back to the window. My
heart is pounding. My throat is dry. I can't move. Can't think. Either
Fraser's really, really crazy, or I am. And to prove that I am, I squint
at the window to see if I can see what he sees.
         "Yes, you do," he's saying now. "You quite often leave in huffs.
There's no point in denying something we both know happens."
         "Is there a point, Dad?" Sounds like Fraser and me when he gets
going on his Inuit stories. Maybe his dad's telling him one. 
         "Okay, Frase," I manage to say, forcing the words through my dry
lips, "quit it. Not funny."
         "There, now see what you've done," he snaps - Fraser snapping,
can't take that in - at the window. He turns his back and stalks into the
kitchen. I hear water running. "I'm not leaving in a huff, I'm getting
some tea, " he calls. Another pause. "Feel free, Dad, but you're dead. You
can't drink tea." He comes back in the room and looks soberly at me. I
can't speak. Dief slides out from under the bed, feeling something in the
atmosphere. He whines at Fraser.
         "Ray," Fraser says, kneeling in front of me, his eyes worried,
"I'm sorry. I'm not insane. I wish you could see him." And says to the
air, in that same snappish voice, "It's a miracle I'm not insane, Dad."
Dief follows Fraser's glance and stares with him at the same point.
         Suddenly I wish I could see him. And think that's a perfect
example of Fraser's crazy world, that I actually wanna see a ghost, which
I don't believe in for a minute, just so Fraser feels better. And with
that thought look up, past Fraser, to see a shimmer in the air. The
shimmer moves and it seems to be in the right places for Fraser to be
talking to. I can't hear anything or make out anything more. I fall back
on the bed, close my eyes, and think: This is NOT happening! I followed
him into some pretty crazy places. But this . . . no way. I open my eyes
again. The shimmer is still there. Fraser is still talking to the shimmer.
         "What's he saying now?" I ask. I can't help myself. Dief makes a
noise between a snort and a grunt and flops down on the floor, still
looking from Fraser to me to the shimmer.
         "He's talking about the cabin. He wants me to go up there, visit
Maggie." He raises his voice. "I will, Dad. I've already planned to ask
for some time on Monday, perhaps make it there before the last snowstorm."
Dunno why he sounds happy about that. Canadians and snow: it's a special
relationship we Americans just can't understand.
         "Yes, she will, Dad."
         "No, I won't, Dad." And he glances back at me. The nonexistent
ghost just mentioned me.
         "What'd he say about me?"
         "He said not to tell Inspector Thatcher that you're coming along
if I really want my request for leave granted." He leans over and
whispers, "He's a little upset about her. That's who he picked out for
me."
         This conversation is not happening.
         "So he's not happy about us?" Why am I asking? Why do I care what
a nonexistent ghost thinks?
         "Oh, no, Ray. Actually he took it quite well. He made the
requisite complaint about grandchildren, of course."
         "Of course," I echo faintly. He looks at me worriedly, and leans
forward to kiss me. I think about the shimmer and duck my head. "Not . . .
not now," I whisper. What the hell is wrong with me?
         He stops dead, looks at me. Looks uncomfortably over his
shoulder. "Ah," he says, kind of noncommittal. The tea kettle begins
whistling and he goes to get his tea. 
         I stare at the shimmer and squint and wish I had my glasses
handy.
         Fraser comes back in the room with his tea. Looks at the shimmer.
Looks at me. "Thank you, Dad," he says quietly. "I know." 
         He comes and sits down on the bed. "He's gone." And sure enough I
don't see what I thought I saw, although I'm not sure I ever saw it to
begin with.
         "Just don't, Ben. I don't know who's crazier, me or you." I lay
back on the bed and stare at the ceiling. "I used to know. I mean, I knew
you were crazy. But now I think hanging with you has made me just as bad."
         "'There are more things on heaven and earth than are dreamt of in
your philosophy, Horatio,'" he quotes at me.
         I snort. "Yeah, well, he really was nuts, so don't go there,
Frase."
         He breaks into a grin, the big, happy grin, the one I don't see
too often. It lights up his face, the whole room, me. "All right, Ray, we
won't. Although it is a common misconception that he was the insane . . ."
         "Fraser." I'm thinking, the wheels in my head doing double time.
He stops. For once.
         "Fraser, on that mini-sub thing . . . was he there? I mean,"
remembering my cop psychology, "did you think he was there?"
         He looks at me. Amused. "Yes, he was, Ray."
         "Oh. So why didn't he tell you to take that transfer?"
         "Actually, Ray, he was the one who was encouraging me to stay. I
thought it odd, at the time. After all, it was the logical career move."
He stops talking, sips his tea, thinking. 
         And I'm quiet. I can't think of anything else to say, and it's
way late. And there was a ghost here. And Ben wants me to go to Canada
with him. Way past weird. Way past cool.
         "Tell me about your dad, Frase," I hear myself say. We got time.
We got all the time in the world.
         "Really?" He looks up, surprised. 
         "Yeah, Frase. You know. When did you see his ghost?" Not that I
believe in ghosts, not for a second. "And is that where you keep his
journals, there in that chest? And can I read 'em, some time?"
         I don't know how he does it, but now he's lit from inside and
he's so beautiful, so happy, so adorable, I can't take it all in, not in
one glance, and so I just have to stare at him. "Ray, you . . . you never
cease to amaze me," he says, touching my cheek gently. And then he starts
to talk, and I listen, and he talks, and just like before we fall asleep,
still talking.
 
         ~~~
 
         I am surprised to find that I awaken, slightly later than usual,
at five-thirty. Upon reflection, I realise we did get to bed rather early
so despite the ghostly visit I have had my usual amount of sleep. And I
look down at Ray with unutterable affection and gratitude in my heart. His
face is on the pillow beside mine, tucked in between my neck and my
shoulder, and one arm is still holding me. It takes every ounce of
self-discipline I possess to quietly remove myself from his embrace and
allow him to sleep. I am looking forward to a brisk shower, this morning,
to help me keep myself and my wanton desires under control. What I really
need is a roll in the snow. And I tamp down the flare of delight that
thought brings, accompanied as it is by the thought of Ray, my Ray, at my
cabin. Soon.
         The water is almost, but not quite, cold enough to simulate snow,
and I feel refreshed as I cross to the closet in search of clothing.
Diefenbaker whines but doesn't get up. I eye him coldly. "Slothful," I say
quietly. He looks away with another whine and after a moment gets up and
walks restlessly to the window, catching my eye. "In a moment," I tell
him, pulling on my jeans. "Do you think I might be permitted to put the
tea kettle on first?" He whimpers, averting his gaze. I go to the kitchen
to put the kettle on, then sit down in a chair to put my socks and hiking
boots on. It is a chill Chicago morning but it looks as if it will be a
beautiful day, if the dawn sky is anything to go by. And somewhere in my
brain, unbidden, rises the thought: Two weeks. 
         Diefenbaker is really quite restless this morning so I pour the
hot water into a travel mug with the tea bag and indicate to him that we
are ready. It won't be a run, for me, of course, with tea and boots, but
we should manage a few brisk miles before Ray wakes.
 
         ~~~~
 
         The sounds of Fraser moving quietly about his apartment, talking
to Dief the way he always does, are wonderful to hear, as I lay not quite
awake breathing in the smell of him on the pillow. Love waking up with him
like this. No urgency, no worry. I slit my eyes and see him pad barefooted
into the kitchen, hear the kettle go on the stove, then see him sit down
to put boots on. Dief is sitting by the door, head cocked. Fraser joins
him, mug in hand. I stretch and yawn a huge yawn. "Jeez, Frase, is the sun
up yet?"
         He looks over in surprise from the door. "Good morning, Ray," he
says, a worried tone in his voice. "I'm terribly sorry to have woken you.
Please go back to sleep."
         "Whatcha doing?"
         "Exercise. For Diefenbaker." He is almost short with me, and I
stare at him, trying to see what's wrong. His voice softens. "Please, Ray,
go back to sleep. I - I'll be quieter in future, I promise."
         I get it. Guilt. Thinks he woke me. Doesn't realise I'm too happy
to sleep. Sit up. Dief whines.
         "Fraser! I'm not mad! I'm just awake!" I say angrily.
         "You're starting to raise your voice," he points out.
         "You're making me crazy, that's why!" I yell. "Did you ever think
I might wanna get up early? Might wanna go for a run or walk or whatever
with you 'n Dief?"
         "At six in the morning? No," Fraser says honestly, a troubled
look on his face.
         I can't help smiling at that and I'm not mad anymore. I stumble
out of his bed, pat Dief on my way to the john. "Just let me splash some
water on my face."
         "You can shower, if you like," Fraser calls. Dief whines and then
barks. "Diefenbaker," I hear Fraser say sternly as I close the door. So I
do hop in the shower and almost jump through the ceiling. Fraser left it
set on ice. He is just too unbelievable for words. He probably finds cold
showers refreshing. And I smile at the thought of his wonderful lips
shaping that sentence. When I come out five minutes later, it's to the
smell of coffee. Fraser's made me a travel mug of coffee to go. What a
guy. "M & Ms?" I ask, cheekily. 
         "No, just Smarties, Ray, and I'm afraid it's only instant," he
answers, shaking his head.
         "Some customer service." I pull on my jeans, my socks, my boots,
my shirt and jacket. Can't find my briefs. Don't care. I see Fraser
watching me, his eyes wider than ever. As if he can't help himself, he
says, "Ray, er, isn't that uncomfortable? Doesn't that hurt? I have some
boxer shorts . . ."
         I laugh at him. "Fraser, I got briefs. I'm just in a hurry! And
no, it doesn't hurt, not as much as those starched things of yours
probably do. It's kinda fun. You should try it sometime. Well, maybe not
in wool pants . . ."
         He gulps and goes crimson, opens the door. "Come along,
Diefenbaker," he says without looking at me again. I grab my coffee and
run after them. "Wait up, Frase!"
         When we get back to Fraser's place, I head to the GTO. "I gotta
run back to my apartment, Fraser. Can't face two weeks without noise."
         He laughs, a little nervously. "Not . . . not a TV, Ray?"
         "Nah, I know how you are about the noise. Just my boombox. Can't
believe I forgot it." I slow down, turn, as a thought occurs to me. "If .
. . if it's okay with you."
         He catches up with me and says, "It's more than okay, Ray. You
know that."
         I'm touched. Can't let him see that, he'll think I'm so mushy.
"But no TV, huh."
         He grins. Knows he's being teased. "I'll get a short-wave radio,
if you want noise."
         We stop for breakfast on the way over to my place, and so it's
about 8:30 before we finally get there. On the way to my place he decided
he has to go to the consulate, something he says he forgot to do. Right.
         "It's Sunday, Fraser, get a life," I toss over my shoulder,
heading for the bedroom to get my boombox. He follows me. "Bring some - "
he says. 
         "I'm bringing the whole case," I say. 
         "I knew that," he says with a grin and reaches to kiss me. After
a minute I drop the boombox and the CD case on my bed so I can put my arms
around him too.
         "You think you know everything," I whisper against his mouth. And
he probably does. About me, anyway. 
         After a few minutes I've forgotten about the CDs, about the
boombox. That's the effect the Mountie has on me. He's the one who
finally, reluctantly, says, "This isn't what we're supposed to be doing."
And reaches down to pick up the CD folder as he begins to walk out of the
bedroom. I don't know about him, but I know what I wanna be doing, and it
does not involve the Canadian Consulate in any way, shape, or form.
         "Think I'll change," I say after him. He stops dead. I turn half
away from him, pretending not to see him slowly turn, and start
unbuttoning my jeans, using one foot to pull the other foot outta my
boots. It's not like I think I'm sexy or anything but Fraser does, so
okay, I'll go with that, and I shrug outta my jacket, pull my shirt off
one-handed, and drop it on top of my jacket on the bed while my other hand
keeps unbuttoning buttons, kinda slow, at my crotch.
         "Stanley Raymond Kowalski," Fraser says from just behind me, and
I almost jump because I hadn't realised he was so close to me, "you are
not attempting to induce me to dereliction of duty, by any chance?"
         "No, not at all, Frase. You go on to the Consulate, do what it is
you gotta do. I'll maybe grab a shower, catch up with you later. Want the
keys to the GTO?" I get the last button unbuttoned and put my hand up to
the waistband to start pushing the jeans down. I'm still not looking at
him. I can hear him breathing harder though. And close my eyes in a mix of
triumph and passion as I feel his hand slip in between my jeans and my
skin, touching my rear, helping me push the jeans down.
         "Uh, keys are in the pocket, Frase," I say, putting my left hand
into the pocket, not without difficulty, to pull 'em out. And finally get
them out and turn to face him, holding them out with as innocent a face as
I can muster at this point. 
         He gets it and the damn Mountie takes his hand off my ass, takes
the keys, and says, "Thank you kindly, Ray, I'll try not to put any
scratches on it."
         I hold his eyes a minute and then with both hands push my jeans
down a little further.
         "You're welcome, Frase. I'll see you later."
         Long, pregnant pause. He's never looked sexier than at this
moment, passion warring with humour in his eyes, his face trying so hard
not to smile, and have I mentioned how great he looks in that leather
jacket? 
         He slips the keys into the pocket of his jacket and begins to
turn. 
         "This one o' them Canadian stand-offs, Frase?"
         He whips back around and grabs me, fast, kisses me, hard. OH
yeah, and I could almost come then and there.
         "I expect you would find the term Polish stand-off pejorative,"
he says with a chuckle, lowering his head to my neck. I shudder
involuntarily as I feel his teeth for a brief second. 
         "I could handle Polish-Canadian stand-off without feeling too
excluded," I say, a little breathless. "In fact, that'd be pretty
inclusive right about now . . . but I'm not too sure about the standing
part. Lose the clothes, Fraser." I already got the jacket off him and I'm
working on the buttons on the shirt. Fumble with them - he's got two
shirts on again, never met anyone who wore so many damn clothes at the
same time, but on the other hand he's never sick so who knows - and he
pulls me over to kiss him again, pulling the shirt off himself, and I hear
buttons go flying. And feel, a few seconds later, a hand in my jeans,
pulling my cock out, pushing my jeans down further, as he turns me around,
licks my spine, bites almost hard on the back of my shoulder where it goes
into my neck, God, how the hell did he get so good at this? Feel him lick,
bite, lick, stroke, and . . .
         "Oh, shit, Fraser, I'm sorry!" and I'm coming all over his hand,
the carpet. He whispers in my ear, "Don't be sorry, Ray, you are
incredible," and I feel his bare cock against my ass, thrusting, holding
me up somehow because I'm not too steady right this second. Then he pulls
me backwards so we fall onto my bed, our legs tangled in our jeans down
around our knees. I twist around to kiss him, close my teeth on his neck,
hear him groan, find his cock with one hand, and try to drive him crazy
with a fast, steady stroke. 
         "Ray," he moans, not quite a whisper, "your mouth . . . oh God,
Ray, please . . ."
         "Great minds think alike, Frase," I say, my mouth watering
already, love the taste of him in my mouth, and I'm getting better at it,
at least I think so, because he must like it if he actually asks for it.
Even love the smell of him, he smells like Ben and sweat and semen and
altogether guy and I think I love to take his balls in my mouth just to
taste that smell that drives me insane. He's moaning soundlessly,
thrusting up into my hand and I can't resist that smooth soft iron cock in
a velvet glove any more and tease myself just a minute more by licking up
one side and down the other before lowering my head all the way.
         He stops the wild thrusting as soon as he feels my mouth close on
him, trying to maintain control, and he rubs my shoulder, can't stop
himself from making miniscule little thrusts off the bed. "Yes, Ray, oh
yes," he whispers, and I suck, lick, suck, then slip my mouth off him,
under his balls, to lick and tongue the muscle beneath. He almost jumps
off the bed at that and as I lick back up to his cock I feel him tighten
and start to spasm . . .
         "Oh, Ben, yeah, I want you," I say hoarsely, and with a wild
groan he thrusts up hard into my open mouth. I close my mouth over him,
fast, so I don't miss a drop, hot bitter fluid hitting the back of my
throat and Ben moaning those helpless moans, life doesn't get a whole
helluva lot better than this, right here, right now. Swallow, swallow
again, and move up to push a hand through his hair, kiss his closed eyes.
He smiles at my touch and gotta lean down and kiss those lips too.
         He murmurs something against my mouth, something I don't quite
hear. Raise my head, cock it at him. He opens his eyes and pulls me back
down. 
         "I said, you were right. Having you is even better than wanting
you."
         "Oh, yeah, Ben. Absolutely." Breathe a sigh. "Absolutely."
 
         ~~~~
 
         Late afternoon, I'm making no headway on the counterfeit ring
that's been dropped in my lap and Vecchio's nowhere to be found. I bug out
early, call Ben. We've been spending more time at my place lately anyhow -
Vecchio has trouble coming up with reasons to drop in on us there so it's
not as rough as it is at Ben's place - so he's not surprised when I tell
him to meet me there, I'll get Chinese, Dief'll get his walk. 
         He's not surprised but he protests anyway. "I'll just go home,
Ray; last time was too close." 
         "We won't answer the fucking door, Fraser." 
         "That will simply make matters worse, Ray." 
         "Dinner, come on. Watch TV. Nothing else." 
         A sigh and he says with a smile I can hear, "That would be an
acceptable compromise. I'll see you in a little while." 
         Little while's too damn long because the Chinese is ready way too
quick and I can't settle. He opens the door and says to Dief, "See? I told
you. Kung Pao Chicken. Hello, Ray. How goes the case?"
         I can't answer him, I'm too busy trying to climb inside his
flannel shirt, inside his mouth, inside his pants. He lets me, for a
minute, before pulling away regretfully. "No, Ray, too dangerous," he
whispers, shutting the door hard and locking it. "Not now."
         "You're right," I say, sighing heavily. "Dammit. Can't wait to
get to that cabin of yours, Ben. It's far away, right?"
         "Oh, yes," he says, and his eyes sparkle, those incredible eyes
like a stormy summer day, those eyes that can look into your soul. "Far,
far away."
         "You know you're the most annoying man in the world? How you can
stand there and look like that and expect me to keep my hands off you . .
."
         "Yes, I believe I've heard that mentioned from time to time." He
smiles at me and suddenly pulls me into his arms again, and there is very
little that is gentle or tender this time about his kiss, and I know that
he wants me just as bad. But again he is the one who pulls away, both of
us breathing heavily, leaning against each other for support.
         You got it bad, Kowalski, I think, and then realise I said it out
loud. Fraser looks at me with a tiny frown.
         "Ray?"
         "Yeah, Frase?"
         "Explanation?"
         "I got it bad for you, Fraser. Means I want you. Can't think
about anything but you. Don't tell me you never heard that before. Where
you been living, under a rock?"
         "Sometimes I think so, yes. And, Ray - " he stops me as I head to
the kitchen for some space - "I have it badly too."
         I'm supposed to walk away from that smile? I don't think so. And
suddenly we're kissing again. This time when we come to our senses we're
on the couch. We look at each other, guiltily, and then we both start
laughing. "I'm gonna make some coffee, Fraser. We can watch some cable or
something. You can solve the case just by sitting here thinking, right,
Sherlock?"
         "I believe I would like some tea, as well, Ray." He follows me
into the kitchen and leans against the counter, not talking, just watching
me as I put coffee on, and water for tea.
         "You know where the mugs are," I say, nodding at the cabinet
behind him.
         "Yes, I know." He doesn't move, just keeps watching me with that
half-smile.
         "And the tea," I say, trying not to look at him. I start rinsing
off the plates in the sink and next thing I know he is behind me, his arms
around me, kissing the back of my neck, my ears, and I drop the plate I'm
holding as I reach up to cover his hands on my chest with my own and hear
the plate break and don't even care.
         "Sorry, Ray," he whispers but he doesn't sound very sorry. He
buries his head in between my neck and my shoulder and breathes my name
out on a sigh as he hugs me. "I enjoy holding you," he says into my neck.
"Thank you."
         What's he thanking me for, breathing? Knowing him, probably. But
I can't get a sarcastic response out 'cause I'm enjoying this so much. So
we stand like that for a few minutes, his head in my neck and my head
tipped back to give him access, his arms around me and my hands around his
arms. It feels so damn good, so safe, so warm. I feel so loved.
         "Never figured you for the cuddly type, Frase," I say, blinking,
wondering why on earth I feel like crying when I'm so happy. Gotta get
cool again.
         His only response is a murmur into my neck, and his arms tighten
just a little more.
         "Uh . . . gotta breathe, Frase."
         "No, you don't. I'll breathe for you."
         There is only one thing sexier than serious Mountie, and that's
silly Mountie. Somehow I twist around in his arms so I can look at him,
face to face, see that incredible grin that stretches from here to the
North Pole. Which, I've been told, is really in Canada. Sure, whatever.
Those Canadians think they have everything. Think they know everything.
But then, if it wasn't for them I wouldn't have Ben, so they're welcome to
put the North Pole any damn place they want. He tilts his head up from my
shoulder to look at me and then raises it to kiss me. We're almost the
same height. We're a perfect fit.
         "Would that be some mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, Frase?" I say
softly. 
         He clears his throat. "Actually, Ray, that would require a prone
position." And then blushes. Okay, there is one thing sexier than silly
Mountie and that's red Mountie.
         And we both begin laughing at the same moment. 
         He leans in to kiss me again and I meet him more than halfway.
Doesn't get much better than this.
         Coffee's finished and the water is finally boiling for Fraser's
tea. Reluctantly he releases me and gets down two mugs while I scrabble
for his tea. Can't believe I actually bought chamomile tea. We take our
mugs and head for the couch where the tube is still on. I switch to ESPN.
Fraser turns the light on and settles down with the phone book, the yellow
pages this time. I lay down on my back with my head butted up next to his
thigh. "Got an idea?" I ask.
         "No, nothing really. I'm simply trying to familiarise myself with
some of the locations and companies that may be involved in this case."
         "Tell the truth, Fraser, you can't stand not to be reading
something."
         He grins at that but doesn't comment. I've already discovered
that he spends a whole lot of time at the library. Where he is, of course,
everybody's favourite patron and where he is spoiled almost as much as
Dief, who somehow seems to have been accorded some kind of seeing eye dog
status or something because he walks in like he owns the place. But it
makes sense. Know Fraser loves to read, know Fraser loves knowledge for
its own sake, not 'cause he likes to impress people. He doesn't worry much
about impressing people. For someone so polite, he doesn't worry much
about what people think of him, say, talking to the wolf in public. I like
that. And like to read, too, but not as much as Fraser. Haven't had much
time to read, the past few years. I'm finding more time now. Fraser's just
a bad influence all around.
         "All in all, Ray, there are signs of a certain rudimentary
strategy. In the late afternoon, the personnel are relieved at the
approach of the end of the day. There is quite often a late afternoon rush
and the employees may not be paying as much attention to events that are
unusual as they normally would. And to add the stress of an armoured car
delivery to that mix is simply incredibly poor planning on any bank's
part. At least two people will need to be called away to verify the
shipment and secure it in the inner vault, thus leaving even fewer people
to wait on customers and note possible fraudulent activity."
         "Jeez, Frase, you rob banks on weekends?"
         "Oh, no, Ray. I simply have had many, many opportunities to spend
time in banks in the late afternoon in Chicago. It's somewhat difficult to
cash a cheque in Canadian funds in America, you know, even if it is a
government cheque. Generally it seems to require the assistance of at
least one head teller, an assistant manager and quite often a manager as
well. In addition to the international teller, of course."
         "You need to switch banks, Fraser."
         "Oh, they are always very polite, Ray. And quite helpful, once
it's established that the procedure does in fact exist."
         "You go to different banks, Fraser? Every time?"
         "No, of course not, Ray. That would be silly."
         I get it now. They just like the Mountie. Yeah, I can see the
whole setup. Gotta go with him some time. Must be pretty funny. I look up
at him upside down. He raises his eyebrows at me.
         "You're a pretty nice guy, Fraser."
         He blushes. Of course.
         "You're gonna blush like that, I'll have to give you something to
get red about, Mountie." 
         He opens his mouth to say something as he puts the phone book on
the table and his attention is caught by the TV. I look over and see the
magic words cross the screen. No, not college basketball. And don't even
think about pro ball. Curling? Ha. No, it's a pre-Iditarod special. One
look at Ben as he watches some stock footage of dog sledding and I know
he's lost to the world. "Something to be said for TV, after all, huh,
Frase?"
         "Mmmhmm." He doesn't even blink. I sigh, and turn the volume up
for him, turn over, scoot up and put my head on his leg, and watch it with
him. Feel his hand on my back, and it's interesting to feel him tense and
relax as he watches the footage. He's probably thinking how they could
improve this or that. He probably knows all that stuff they're talking
about, about harnesses and frames and lashing. And all about the dogs.
Even Dief is staring at the screen, almost as intently as Ben.
         Commercial. Finally. "You ever done the Iditarod, Frase?" I know
he hasn't, just making conversation.
         "No. No, Ray. It requires time and dedication. You can't just buy
dogs for that kind of race. Although I remember once having to purchase
two - " and he's launched into a story about how he had to find an Inuit
village with no food left and down by four dogs and came across an igloo
in the middle of nowhere with some incredible dogs. He is animated and
happy and even though I just wanna go to Canada to be alone with him, it
sounds exciting, adventurous, and I can't wait to see this place that
Fraser loves so much. It's gotta have Ottawa beat by a sky-high mile.
         The programme comes back on and he doesn't even seem to be aware
that he is resting a hand on my leg, now, as if he can't stand not to be
touching me. Yeah, I can kinda get behind that, and after a few more
minutes I turn back around and put my head on his leg again, and he rests
his fingers in my hair, moving them absently, gently through it. And then
his fingers trail down to my ear, and then to my cheek, and my jaw, and
begin to work their way back up my face, brushing my lips, touching the
bridge of my nose, smoothing my eyebrows, and stroking up my forehead back
into my hair. And I am amazed that something as simple as a touch can be
so tender and so erotic. 
         And I feel his breathing quicken and his hand trembles a little
as it starts down my face again, and I open my eyes to look up at him. He
has lost interest in the TV, that much is clear, because he's staring down
at me with love and more in his eyes. He holds my eyes with his own as he
moves his hand down my jaw to my neck and then further down to my chest,
under my shirt. His hand makes a side trip to one of my nipples, and I
gasp and close my eyes reflexively as he brushes it. He smiles, a little
unsteadily, as his hand finds the other one, with the same effect. And
then he brings his hand back up, so slowly, back up my neck to my chin, to
my mouth, lingering on my lips for a moment before continuing up my nose
to my forehead, and back to my hair. 
         I push myself up on my elbows, pushing further back so that my
head is resting on his other leg now and my shoulders are on his right
leg. He brings his left hand up to my hair to move his fingers in it as
his right hand begins its journey again. We have still said nothing, our
eyes still locked together. This time, he brushes my lips with his fingers
as they descend to my neck, stopping at my collarbone, and then continuing
down, over my shirt this time until the fingers reach my waist, and then
they begin to pull up my shirt and his fingers find my nipples again, from
the bottom of the shirt this time. And he continues to stroke my chest, as
if he is cataloguing my muscles, my bones, my skin . . . and then his
fingers slip down beneath my waistband and back out, in and out,
tantalising me, and almost unconsciously I begin to move my hips towards
him, wanting more contact, but he strokes back up to my chest and then to
my face again and I wonder how he can be so big and so gentle.
         "Ben . . ." I whisper, hardly aware that I've even opened my
mouth.
         He smiles again, and sends his hand down in that excruciatingly
slow journey to my waist, and this time he slides his whole hand under the
waistband, and then back out, and then in, and I suck in my stomach to
give him more room, wanting him to continue. But he pulls his hand out,
and then puts it in again, until I growl in wordless frustration and reach
down to unbutton my jeans. He puts his hand over mine and helps me, and
all I can hear is my heartbeat and the sound of his breathing, almost
harsh, with a tremour overlaid. Finally my jeans are unbuttoned but then
he moves his hand back up my body to my face and my hair again, ignoring
my thrusting hips. He takes a deep breath and sends the hand down again,
slower than ever, stopping at the nipples for longer than before, finding
my hipbone under the jeans, before continuing further down, further,
further . . . and then a jolt of electricity as he touches me, at last, at
last, and I gasp his name as he strokes, lightly, and then firmly, and he
leans down to kiss me as I come about thirteen seconds later.
         "God, Ben, what was that?" I say, when I can breathe again. 
         He smiles, shakily, and says huskily, "I enjoy touching you."
         And I turn my head towards his body, intending to kiss his
stomach because I can't reach anything else right now, and he jerks
involuntarily at the sudden pressure, his head going back, his face
dissolving into a look I know only too well and I feel his cock surging
against my cheek beneath his jeans. All it took was a touch, a movement.
That not only shakes me, it is so sexy that it would turn me on again if I
was sixteen, which I'm not. So I settle for putting a hand up to Ben's
face. His eyes are closed and at the touch of my hand he smiles again.
         "Love you, Ben," I whisper and I turn over on my side, buttoning
my pants, ignoring the sticky mess, too tired and happy to care, my head
still on his legs, facing his body, and I put one arm around his back and
close my eyes. Just to enjoy the closeness. Just to enjoy the feel, the
warmth, the musky smell of Ben's body beneath my head. And after a moment
his arms go around my shoulders to hold me too.
         He sighs and then pulls me a little closer. And I feel a chill on
my body as he takes one hand away, but it's only to turn off the light,
and then it's back, and he settles back into the couch, watching the TV
with unseeing eyes and a remote smile as he holds me . . . and sooner than
soon I'm sleepy, 'cause it's almost as good as being in Ben's bed, in
Ben's arms. I'm in his arms anyhow. How did I function a few short weeks
ago, sleeping alone every night, waking up even more alone every morning? 
         Which I do, the next morning, covered with the comforter from my
bed, an innocuous note on the coffee table: "Thank you, Ray." Leaves a
smile on my face that pretty much compensates for the ache in my back from
sleeping funny. 
 
         ~~~~
 
           I don't see Fraser at lunch. Probably a good thing, because
today Vecchio's taken it into his head to do the limpet thing with me. He
manages to piss off two of the guys I'm trying to get to talk and we end
up having a shouting match in an alley. He stomps off and I want to punch
him, the wall, something. He second guesses me at every turn, and I don't
know if it's to annoy me or to stake his claim on this cop gig again or
what but I'm getting tired of the whole cannoli.
           This makes me not in the best mood when I pick Fraser up and I
go right to worse mood when he says, "Mine," in response to what's become
a nightly question. That means no sex, no groping, no fucking kissing
because Vecchio has no manners and Fraser's too worried about spilling the
beans to tell Vecchio to get some.
           He knows I'm pissed; I don't try to hide it. So he does his
patented Mountie subject changing thing and asks about the case. Wrong
turn. The mood goes from worse to downright bad. Can't talk about Vecchio
too much because he doesn't like that, but the truth is Vecchio hasn't
given a shit about this counterfeit ring from day one - I guess it doesn't
have enough Mob connections to interest him - and Fraser's been too damned
busy to work on it much with me either. So I'm feeling kinda sorry for
myself and I snap at him a little.
           "It's not my fault, Ray," he says. "I didn't annoy your
suspects."
           "Only because you weren't there," I mutter. "What do you want
for dinner?"
           "We'll order a pizza," Fraser says absently. "Ray, have you
thought that perhaps there might be a Mafia connection?"
           "If there was Vecchio would have sussed it out already," I say
between my teeth. "What, did he call you and tell you what to say to me?"
           "I haven't spoken to him - "
           "Really? He stuck to me like a burr all day. Lay you odds he's
in your neighbourhood tonight too."
           "It's poker night," Fraser says. "And I don't wager. Has anyone
analysed the patterns of distribution?"
           "Fraser. Do I look like a graduate of the Willison Po-leece
Academy?"
           "I simply thought - "
           "I got it all at the 27th. You wanna go there instead of your
place? We might have some privacy that way."
           "No," he says simply. Dief whines.
           But he won't let it go. He brings it up twice more in the rest
of the drive home, no mean feat considering he lives less than fifteen
minutes' drive from the Consulate; and I'm going from bad mood to
downright pissed. The sight of Vecchio's Riv parked in front of Fraser's
place makes a slow burn start inside me, and Fraser's fucking manners put
the fucking lid on. I sulk through pizza and I make no excuses or
explanations when Vecchio finally, reluctantly leaves, waiting for me to
go with him, like I usually do. Tonight I don't budge; I just say I got
some private things to discuss with Fraser and I say it in about as mean a
voice as I feel, so he's really confused and Fraser's worried and I can
see myself doing this and I can't seem to stop myself. And when he finally
leaves, I cut loose, knowing that it's not Fraser's fault, knowing it's
not my fault, knowing we're just stuck in a mess and still I can't keep my
mouth shut, have to get it off my chest.
 
           ~~~~
 
           Fraser shakes his head, that mulish look on his face. Even
though we've already spent most of last night arguing in between sleeping,
I lose it again. "God damn it, Fraser! You think I can't do anything by
myself?" I yell at him.
         He flinches at that, of course. "You know it's not that, Ray," he
says, almost wearily. "I had hoped to impress on the lieutenant the fact
that - "
         "You think I can't tell him that?"
         He sighs. "Not as well as I can, no, Ray." Tell me again how I
appreciate his honesty. He sits on the bed, rubs his left eyebrow with the
back of his thumb. He takes a breath and then, incredibly, backs down.
Never seen that happen. Never. "All right, Ray," he says quietly, not
looking at me. "If I could perhaps just go over two or three key points -
"
         "Fine," I snap. He raises his eyes to mine, briefly, and then
looks back down at the floor. Dief whines at him and then trots over to
put his head on one of Fraser's knees and looks back at me over his
shoulder. I hate how dogs - wolves - whatever - do that. Especially Dief,
who manages to look reproachful and mad at the same time right now. Yeah,
I gotta get into a relationship where a damn wolf manipulates me. And
realise now I'm finally over the edge, I'm jealous of the wolf too.
Fraser's hand goes to Dief's head so slowly that Dief whines again.
         "Yes, I know, " he says in an undertone.
         "You know what? Now you expect me to believe the wolf talks too?"
I say, still mad, still trying to hurt him. God, why am I trying to hurt
him?
         He looks up at that, no expression in his clear blue eyes. "No,
Ray," he says. Just that.
         We're both quiet for a moment. The only movement in the room is
Ben's hand in Dief's fur. 
         "Fraser!" I say roughly.
         "What?"
         "Don't do that. Don't stop being who you are just so I don't get
mad, okay? If you think you should come with me, then tell me that. Argue
with me. I get mad a lot. There's nothing you can do about that."
         "I know that your temper is very mercurial, Ray."
         I bite back the retort that rises to my lips and instead say,
"Fraser. I mean it. Don't you ever get mad?"
         "Upon occasion," Fraser says, after considering for a moment.
         "Not so's anyone would actually notice," I say.
         "Shouting is not in my nature," Fraser says. "It's simply not,
Ray. And admit it, you would not be happy if I were to start yelling at
you."
         "It's not like I'll get the chance to find out!"
         "Ray. Why are we arguing about this?" And he drops his head into
his hands, rubbing his eyes with the fingers of both hands and then
continuing through his hair
         "I hate that, Fraser," I say. "You just can't be rational all the
time! It's not normal!"
         He actually chuckles at that. A real, warm, from-the-toes
chuckle. "I am a freak, after all, Ray." Then he sobers and adds, "Despite
your conviction, I am not rational all the time. And I am still trying to
find a modus vivendi with you. I don't know how much compromising I will
have to do, and how much you will have to do, to make this work."
         "You don't have to compromise who you are, Fraser. I'll get mad
at you but I'm not gonna hate you 'cause you stick to your guns. And I
don't . . .I don't use my anger, Frase. You know that."
         He looks at me. Puzzled. 
         "I don't use my anger to make you do stuff, or not do stuff. I
just get mad."
         His face clears. "Ah. Yes, I see. You don't utilise your temper
to manipulate people and situations. I know that, Ray. I knew that," he
adds softly. "You are honest to the bone. Thank you."
         "For what? What are you thanking me for now, you crazy Mountie?"
         "For offering me love with honour, Ray."
         And suddenly I feel a rush and I can't look away from him and I
remember I haven't kissed him in hours, and somehow I'm at the bed, on my
knees in front of him, and we're crushing Dief in our embrace, who whines
disgustedly and wriggles out from between us.
         "God, Fraser, you make me crazy," I whisper.
         "Er, ditto, Ray," he whispers back.
         "What time did you have to be at the Consulate?"
         "Soon," he says firmly. "You are very distracting, Ray, but-"
         "I'd rather be distracted," I say, and then kiss him, hard,
demanding. And I feel his instant response through his whole body even
before he opens his mouth to return my kiss wholeheartedly.
         "In point of fact, I don't have actually have to be at work until
ten o'clock," he says into my mouth. And I can feel his heart pounding
against my chest and his hands gripping my back as he pulls me onto the
bed with him, and I lose myself in his mouth.
         We get cleaned up fast, if I cut corners I'll make it in by nine,
Fraser at least will be on time.
           "Watch Vecchio be on time for the first time in a week," I say
as we pound down the stairs. "Think he'll believe I was at the
warehouses?"
           "You're not a very good liar," Ben says, that twitch at the
corner of his mouth that's almost irresistible.
           "Yeah. I could just tell him I was sucking you off. He'd die of
a heart attack and all our problems would be solved."
           "That's not funny, Ray."
           "Sorry."
           "Ray Vecchio is not the cause of our problems."
           "Yeah, yeah, yeah, society, whatever, Ben."
           "No," Ben says quietly.
           "Oh, I'm looking forward to seeing how you can blame yourself
for snoopy no-mannered Italian cops," I say with a snort, hitting the
brakes in front of the Consulate way too hard.
           He sighs. It's a tired sigh. I feel tired too. Like a gerbil on
one of those little wheels. It's never-ending. Ben, guilt, responsibility,
Ben, guilt, responsibility.
         "I'll pick you up at six," I say.
         "No, I'll be working until eight," he says. Hell.
         "'Kay, I'll pick you up at eight."
         "There's no need, Ray . . ."
         "Fraser. Shut up." He stops. "Fraser, when I said you could argue
with me this morning I did not give you blanket permission to argue with
every statement that comes outta my mouth. I will pick you up at eight.
Just say that. Just say, 'Ray, my friend, I will see you at eight.'"
         Obediently he says, "Ray, my friend, I will see you at eight."
And then smiles that smile at me. 
         "Better wipe that grin off your face before the Ice Queen sees
it," I tell him, with no doubt an equally foolish grin on my own face, and
put the GTO into gear.
 
           ~~~~
 
         Things progress sideways at work, as they usually do, and I'm out
nosing around for witnesses on a hunch at a liquor store hold up that I
think was really a hit, when the situation gets ugly and Dewey and I get
taken by surprise in a back room. Goddamn clerk gets me in the side of the
head with a bottle of Jack Daniels but I manage to pull my piece and get
him in the leg as he runs. Dewey isn't in much better shape, except his
was Jose Cuervo. Nice to know that my hunch was probably right if we can
get the clerk to roll. Dewey calls a bus while I call it in, watching my
blood drip on the floor as we wait. Can tell it's gonna need stitches.
Have to restrain myself from kicking the guy in the face. And I know I'm
gonna be lucky to make it to the Consulate by eight. And then reflect on
the fact that that was a rookie mistake and we'd both be dead now if the
asshole had had a weapon. Abruptly I sit down.
         Welsh comes in with the uniforms. He always shows up when he's
got officers down. Stands, scowling, getting in the paramedics' way.
"Sloppy work, Dewey, Kowalski. I'm not impressed."
         Suddenly I'm too tired to get attitude with him. "You're right,"
I say.
         He looks surprised for a second. "Yeah. So be careful 'cause if
you get killed I'm gonna bust you back down to uniform," he says, still
trying to sound mad. 
         Dewey makes that disgusted noise with his mouth that he always
does. "You too, Dewey. You too. At least Kowalski got his weapon out. How
about you?"
         "Guess you'll be busting both of us," I say, trying to get Dewey
to lighten up. He glances at me with a quick smile, too quick for Welsh to
notice, he thinks. But Welsh pretends not to notice.
         "And don't think I won't," he growls. "Where's that damn Mountie?
Never around when you need him."
         "He has a life," Dewey says. "You know? The big place that says
Canadian Consulate? The pigeon roost?" 
         Which gives me time to overcome my own panic, panic at the
thought of unarmed Fraser being caught in the crossfire, being whacked
with a bottle and then with a gun, the red of his uniform hiding the red
of his blood . . .
         The vision is so real, and surreal, that I gasp out loud. I guess
I go white 'cause the paramedic pushes me down on my back. "You didn't
lose a lot of blood," he says, "but I guess you're going to try to go into
shock. You cops, always craving attention." He starts taking my blood
pressure again.
         "Yeah, that's us, the life a' the party," I agree, my head
spinning. "Will you sew me up already?"
         "Nah, man, you know I gotta let the hospital do that."
         I repress the thought that Ben would do it, with a needle and
cotton thread, without a fuss, and close my eyes.
         "It's just a goddamn scratch," I say a few minutes later. "Just
butterfly it and let me go."
         Welsh steps in. "It needs stitches, Kowalski, so shut up."
         "Ah, shit." I need to see Fraser. Need to see he's alive. Need to
tell him to stay the hell out of the bullet's way. What the hell did they
give me? The panic makes me clearheaded for a moment. Shit.
         "Lieutenant!" I hiss, motioning him closer. "They gave me
something. Make 'em put me out. Don't let me talk. Shit shit shit . . ."
         "Don't worry, Kowalski," he says in a loud voice. "They're taking
you in."
         I act up, playing along.
         "Hey," Welsh says to the paramedic, "I think he needs a little
more. He's getting kinda panicked."
         The paramedic sighs and the last thing I see is a wicked long
needle. I'm not sure if I faint or if it's just a really really fast
sedative.
         
 ~~
         
         It is, predictably, a long day at the Consulate. I have guard
duty from eleven until one, and then again from three to five, and
innumerable reports and scheduling and other incredibly boring tasks for
the hours in between and after. And today I don't wish to think during
guard duty. During my first shift I manage to ignore the thoughts
clamoring for my attention by meditating. During my second stint of guard
duty I am unable to reach a peaceful center, and I open my mind to the
thoughts.
         Despite my best intentions, Ray and I are off to a rocky start.
Part of this is the Ray Vecchio problem but on the whole I think the real
problem is that we are tiptoeing around each other, or at least I am
tiptoeing around Ray, most likely out of fear that this is too good to
actually be true and therefore he will leave again. I have also never
lived with another person. I am not sure if I can, if we should. We both
are private people. We both need room. I believe however that I need more
solitude than Ray. And I realise that of course we can't openly live
together. Two apartments will have to be maintained. But then, I feel a
great joy in waking up with him each morning, having him there.
         So I am being overly serious with Ray. Right now I should simply
be enjoying the fact that we're together and worry about tomorrow
tomorrow, but unfortunately it's not in my nature. I always feel better
when I have a plan, even if it's not a particularly good plan.
         And last night was hell. I would never have thought I could have
a sustained argument, ranging over so many subjects, for such a long time
with someone I love as much as I love Ray. I think perhaps that the
argument was a cover for something deeper, something we both worry about
but never express to one another. And I set myself to try to discern what
that worry is, for me at least, soon.
         I know too that Ray resents my interference. He understands . . .
he must . . . that it is not in my nature to stand by and watch. However,
this part of my nature is admittedly one that has annoyed him since the
day I met him so it's rather naïve of me to think that love will change
that, conquer all, make me perfect. Ray Vecchio once told me that it was
hard to have a saint for a friend. I imagine it's even more difficult to
have a perceived saint as a lover. 
         And what can I give to Ray besides my love? I endanger his life,
frequently in bizarre ways; I annoy him; my wolf gets his car all wet and
covers his clothes in wolf hair, although Ray doesn't complain about that
as much as Ray Vecchio did and does; I read extensively, a solitary
pursuit; I don't follow American sports; my apartment is cold and has no
television. Is love enough? Is a relationship possible? What about a
lasting relationship? And how long can we hide it? Will I ever get back to
Canada? Will I want to go to Canada, when an opportunity presents itself?
I have already turned down a promising transfer, and we weren't even
lovers then. Will Inspector Thatcher aid me in moving up the ladder in my
present position? Her attitude in the past year has changed and she is
beginning to treat me as a trusted aide, of real value to her. Is that
likely to continue? Especially if I have to tell her? And if it does, will
I begin to follow her from posting to posting, as I have seen happen in
other situations?
         Thankfully I am interrupted from these self-pitying ramblings by
the clock chiming five. I can get a bite to eat, stretch, engage in
something that passes for conversation with Turnbull, say good evening to
the inspector, before sitting down with my endless reports.
         It is getting late, almost seven-thirty, when my desk phone
rings. Constable Turnbull has long since retired to the private quarters
in the consulate. It's Lieutenant Welsh. I try to control the panic as he
tells me not to panic.
         "Seven stitches, minor abrasions. He'll be finished up in another
fifteen minutes or so. You want me to drive him home or you wanna come get
him? They gave him a lot of anaesthetic. They wanted to admit him for
observation. I said he had friends who would observe him."
         "Thank you, Lieutenant. Which hospital?" I say, pulling my
uniform coat back on and buttoning it. I write a quick note to Turnbull
who will undoubtedly wonder where I've gone, since he generally makes us a
small bite to eat on these evenings when I work late. And reflect, as
Diefenbaker and I begin a steady trot to the 27th to get Ray's car, that I
really ought to get an automobile since taxis are so rigid about the
transportation of wolves.
         Francesca is waiting there with Ray's key, and she casually says,
as she hands it to me, "Ray ought to make you one, Frase."
         "That's quite a sensible suggestion, Francesca," I say. "I will
certainly mention it to him."
         "You do that, Frase," she says, with a look in her eyes that I
can't quite place. Not quite love, not quite jealousy, not quite sadness,
and yet all three and more. "I've already seen him and he's fine, Fraser.
Ticked that they wouldn't let him leave. He'll have a nice romantic scar."
         I smile. "Yes, I can imagine the ladies in the precinct will
appreciate that. Thank you kindly for bringing me the key."
         "You're always welcome, Fraser," she says, with a return to her
old flirtatiousness.
         I make it to the hospital without exceeding the speed limit more
than once or twice. I see Lieutenant Welsh first, standing in the corridor
of the entrance. 
         "Quick work, Constable," he says as we turn and begin walking
towards the waiting room. Detective Dewey is there, a large bandage on the
back of his head. "Your brother not here yet, Dewey?" He sounds as
irritable as ever. 
         "He's coming, he's coming."
         "remember to tell him that you need observation. Kowalski too,
Fraser. That means observation. Wake them up every couple hours, make sure
both pupils are the same size, responding to light . . . the doctor has a
handout."
         "I am familiar with the side-effects of concussion and head
wounds, sir," I say.
         "I am amazed to hear that, Constable," Lieutenant Welsh says
drily.
         "I thought perhaps you might be, sir," I reply. 
         "Jeez, this is stupid, I can walk!" I hear Ray before I see him.
He's in a wheelchair, white as a sheet. It takes every ounce of control I
possess to smile calmly at him. He sees me and gets even more vocal. "Tell
'em, Frase. Tell them I can walk!"
         "Certainly, Ray," I say, humouring him. "You can walk from the
wheelchair to the car, how does that sound?"
         "The car? Oh, God, you didn't let Frannie drive the GTO, did
you?" he says, panic in his voice.
         "I'm not certain who drove it, Ray, so there's no point in
worrying now. It's fine." And why do I keep striking up unlikely
friendships with men who have such deep relationships with automobiles? I
don't understand the passion. But I also recognise that he is recovering
from a sedative as well as shock, so I can't really hold his feelings for
his car against him at the moment.
         The horrifying prospect of Francesca driving his car keeps him
quiet until we reach the doors. Then he stops them with a raised hand. I
recognise the look on his face and step forward in case my assistance
should be needed. He walks to the car and opens it, slides into the
passenger seat so quickly I expect his knees were buckling. "There, you
see? I told you. Wheelchairs. Holy shit."
         Lieutenant Welsh says, "remember, keep him awake, keep him under
observation."
         "Yes, sir, I know," I say as I walk around the car. And I think I
see something like approval in his eyes. I am curiously heartened. If Ray
can control himself at this time of all times, we are in much better shape
than I thought.
         "I'll call Thatcher, tell her we need you for your liaison duties
tomorrow at the district," he adds.
         "Ah. Well, thank you, sir."
         "Don't thank me. Think how much money we're saving keeping these
two rookies outta the hospital. Sheesh."
         We are both silent as I pull away. I grind the gears. Ray
flinches. "Oh, please, Fraser, I can drive, I promise."
         "This is your punishment for your rookie mistake, I suppose," I
say.
         "Fraser," he says quietly, then stops. 
         I wait.
         "Frase, I'm really okay. I just had Welsh have them put me out. I
didn't wanna babble. It hasn't all worn off yet."
         "I can see that," I say, as calmly as I can. And I am filled with
wonder and with joy at his incredible mind, his quick thinking, his
reactions, and his instincts that he has learned to trust. And I want to
tell him this but I don't know how. "Good thinking," I say instead.
         He turns his head, uncertainly, to look at me. And then in the
darkness of the car our hands clasp. I try to show him with my touch how
frightened I was, how happy I am to see him. "Yours or mine?" I ask.
         "Yours,'' he says instantly. He leans back and closes his eye.
His bandage extends from his cheekbone up into his hair, which is now more
experimental than ever. I comment upon this. He smiles in response but
says nothing.
         The steps to my apartment almost do him in, but he says under his
breath, "If you sling me up and carry me, Fraser, I will sock you." But I
do have to almost carry him to the bed. He falls onto it, heavily, with a
huge, gusty sigh. "Home, Fraser. You got any caffeine in this place?"
         "I have tea . . ."
         "No, how about some Coke? Coffee?"
         "Yes, of course, coffee, Ray." It might help. I go into the
kitchen to put water on. I really ought to get a coffee maker.
         "And stop tiptoeing around, Fraser," he says irritably. "I'm
feeling no pain and the coffee'll take care of the sedative. It's just
seven lousy stitches."
         "Very impressive, though. And I will have to annoy you, I'm
afraid. Check your pupils for dilation, and so on," I say, coming back in
to sit on the floor by the bed. "Of course I realise that sometimes I
annoy you just by breathing."
         "No, talking, Frase," he corrects me with a grin, and puts his
hand out to touch my lips, almost curiously. I can't hide my intake of
breath. It is a reflex. His smile grows even wider at that and he pushes
the tip of his finger into my mouth and then quickly withdraws it. I hear
a guttural sound and realise with shock it is emanating from my throat as
I lean over and pull him into my arms.
         "That's better," he says in a satisfied voice against my mouth.
"This close enough for you to keep an eye on me, Fraser?"
         "Ray," I say unsteadily, pulling away, "we do too much of this.
And not enough talking."
         He sighs. "We talked all night last night. This is just a lot
more fun, Frase."
         "We didn't resolve anything."
         "What's to resolve? I love you, you love me. I want you, you want
me. I annoy you, you annoy me. Your wolf whines at me, I whine at your
wolf. Where you going with this, Ben?"
         And incredibly I begin to laugh. The world according to Ray. If
it were only that simple. And I repeat that thought, aloud.
         "It is, Ben," he says quietly, seriously. "All the rest is just
crap."
         "But I feel that I have nothing to give you except love," I say
in a rush. It's very difficult to express these things.
         He gapes at me. "Did you - did you forget to mention your
incredible good looks?" he teases. Then sobers again. "Love's all I want,
Ben. That's what I'm in it for. Thought you were too. And the sex, of
course." He grins wickedly. The sedative has not worn off. He is more up
and down than he normally would be and the caffeine may not help. At any
rate, I can't expect a serious conversation while he's in this mood,
although his words do bring warmth to my heart. And his actions bring
warmth to other portions of my anatomy . . .
         I wake at three o'clock, startled. I have been dozing, with the
light on. Ray is draped across my chest, breathing evenly, a smile on his
face. He doesn't appear to be in any distress, but I waken him anyway,
check his pupils. He squints up at me, his voice raspier than usual. 
         "Keep telling you, Fraser, I got a hard head."
         "That is not a revelation," I say. "Would you like some water?
Some aspirin?" I am on my feet and heading for the kitchen.
         "I think the headache was taken care of already," he says with a
satisfied grin and stretch. "Come back here." He pats the bed. I lie down
and he drapes himself across me again, his right hand resting on my left
arm. "Ben, you're the most comfortable person to sleep on," he murmurs. 
         "Mmm," I say.
         "Ben?"
         "Hmm?"
         "What you said before. All you have to give is love. I feel like
that too. I take and you give. Don't know what I have to give you." His
voice is getting quieter and quieter. I am stunned. Ray, you have given me
so much. You have allowed me to love you. And you love me in return.
         I can't get the words out. He sighs. "But love's enough, right,
Ben?"
         "And sex," I say unsteadily. He chuckles at that.
         "Yeah."
         "Ray?"
         "Yeah?"
         "You let me love you. That's what you give me."
         "Fraser?"
         "Hmm?"
         "Turn out that light and kiss me, damn it."
         "You swear too much, Ray."
         "You talk too much, Ben."
         
 
         ~~~~
 
         I wake to see sunshine streaming in through the window. Ben's
already awake. He's got one hand behind his head as he stares at the
ceiling. The other arm is around me, still holding me. He held me all
night. I work my jaw, pulling the muscles of my face down tentatively.
Feel the stitches pull but not too badly. A little stiff. I yawn and his
arm tightens around me as he looks over at my face.
         "How do you feel?"
         "Never better, Frase. I think your observation technique's got
the hospital's all beat to heck."
         He answers my grin with a rueful chuckle. "I'm quite sure that
the hospital would be dismayed to learn of your undoubtedly ill-advised
activity."
         "Well, jeez, why'd you think I wanted to come home?"
         The grin fades from his eyes and mouth. "Home, Ray?"
         I can't get him. "Yeah?"
         "Wolf hair? No television? No furniture?"
         "Cold as ice," I finish. I see where this is going. "At least you
got a bathroom now." I've heard Vecchio go on about the communal bathroom.
"Yeah, home, Fraser. Unless . . ." A cold thought strikes me. Is this his
way of saying he needs space? 
         He sees the thoughts on my face almost as quickly as I think
them, and he pulls me over to kiss me. "I think I need to find a larger
place," he says. "More furniture. Perhaps a larger bed?"
         "Oh, your bed is just the right size," I say wickedly, happy
again. "And then there's always the bedroll thing." We are about to kiss
again when another thought strikes me. "But I still need my own place,
Frase. I mean, you know, we can't like actually move in together."
         "No, I am aware of that, Ray. And we can go there to, er, watch
television . . .I simply wondered which place was 'home.'"
         Well, I'm not stupid. I know how to answer that. And I do, with
tongue, hands, all stops pulled out.
         Later he says, "You have a most detrimental effect on my
character and my wolf's. It's eight in the morning and Diefenbaker is
still asleep."
         "Hey, maybe the wolf likes to sleep in too."
         "Undoubtedly."
         He is silent for a while and then says in a voice that he is
trying to keep calm, "I've been thinking."
         "Mmmhmm?"
         "I have been trying to discern the cause of our argument the
other night." I sigh heavily. It doesn't stop him. "I believe I have
determined one cause." He rolls over and looks right at me. "I think I am
afraid of losing what we were, although what we have now is . . . is . .
." He stops, then whispers, hoarsely, "beyond words." His tone sends an
eerie shiver up my spine. I don't know if I'm happy or scared to be
responsible for that much feeling.
         "What we were before? You mean, friends?"
         "Friends."
         "Partners?"
         "Partners."
         "Best friends?"
         "That as well."
         "Oh, Ben, why do we have to do the heavy stuff before coffee?" I
groan. He smiles at that and slips out of bed to put the kettle on. Then
he heads to his closet to pull some clothes on. I'm too warm and
comfortable to move. I'm starting to like that scratchy Hudson blanket. 
         He feeds Dief and by then coffee is ready and he brings me a mug
and sits down with me, sipping his tea. "I'll take Dief for a walk and
then fix breakfast," he says. "A quick walk." And frowns at Dief, when he
raises his head from his dish to whine.
         "Sure, Frase."
         "I feel compelled to remark that a few stitches seem to improve
your ordinarily prickly disposition."
         "I think it was the observation period," I say, happily,
sleepily. Caffeine hasn't kicked in yet.
         "Ah. Well, at any rate, don't try to shower until we return."
         "Fraser!"
         "I'll help you."
         The thought of that stops me dead in my tracks. He knows it, too.
         "Okay, but first thing I'm gonna show you is the hot water
faucet," I say, trying to sound grumpy. "That's obviously a new concept.
Guess they don't have hot water in Canada. Get outta here, freak. Take
that wolf for a run."
         And I sip my coffee and think about last night and the day to
come. A few stitches are a small price to pay for this happiness. But next
time it could be worse. Push that thought away. After all, Dewey's not
involved with a crazy Mountie and he made the same mistake. But I know,
all the same, that that wasn't like me. On the other hand, I have gotten
kinda used to the Mountie watching my back. But then again I gotta be able
to function on my own. Can't get too dependent on Fraser, when I never
know if he looked at Thatcher cross-eyed and might get unscheduled guard
duty at the drop of a hat. And Vecchio, who at least can be depended on to
watch my back, much as he hates doing it, is gone for two weeks. Two whole
weeks, give or take. Yeah. And I can't stop the grin from coming back.
 
         we move like cagey tigers 
 we couldn't get closer than this 
 the way we walk the way we talk 
 the way we stalk the way we kiss . . . 
 
         into the sea 
 you and me 
 all these years and no one heard 
 I'll show you in spring 
 it's a treacherous thing 
         "The Lovecats," Head on the Door, The Cure
 
         It is quite a while after the shower before either of us can
speak coherently. Oddly - because, after all, sex has never been a large
part of my life before and I have never needed it to be - I can't get
enough of the physical side of our relationship. Or perhaps it's because
of the lack of that particular kind of activity in my life up until now
that I can't. It's an interesting conundrum.
         Ray is dozing again, on my chest, of course. I will need to
prepare lunch soon but for now am content to just be, with my partner, my
friend, my best friend. Involuntarily my arm tightens around him at that
thought.
         He grins a sleepy grin. "Hey, gotta breathe, Frase."
         "Sorry, Ray. How are you feeling?"
         "Fishing for compliments, Mountie?"
         To my dismay, I feel a blush. How can he still make me blush,
after all we have done together? "Er, no, Ray, I meant your stitches."
         "What stitches?" He stretches and yawns, languorously, then turns
over on his front, on his elbows, and regards me almost seriously.
         "It was a rookie mistake, Fraser," he says quietly.
         "So I was given to understand. Was it because of me? Us?"
         "How do you do that, Fraser? How do you read my mind?" He sounds
almost angry, somewhat scared.
         I tell the truth. "I don't know."
         He sighs, a deep sigh, and is silent for a long time.
         "I don't know either. I think it was, and maybe it wasn't. Dewey
made the same mistake and he's not sleeping over with a crazy Mountie and
a deaf wolf. Is he?" He grins at me wickedly. I love that grin and I have
to kiss him.
         "Fraser! I'm trying to get serious and now you're getting
sidetracked."
         "You sidetrack me, Ray. Please continue."
         "I mean, I don't think it was 'cause I was thinking about you or
something dumb like that. But you know I'm not used to working with Dewey.
Used to you, watching my back. And Vecchio. I never thought I could work
with him but on some level we understand each other. An important,
cop-type level. I'm not saying I could ever understand him otherwise."
         I say nothing.
         "But you gotta be able to work with everyone, when you're a cop.
I guess I was just too comfortable - "
         "Complacent," I interject. He sighs.
         "Comfortable, I said, with us. A groove."
         "Ray, we are partners. A groove is important." Whatever a groove
is. "As long as it's not a rut."
         He flashes a quick grin at that. "I think it got over being stale
a long time ago. Not that it ever was. I just said that to tick you off."
He is silent for a moment longer.
         "You said partners. And friends?" His words are almost shy. I
don't know what he means for a moment, and then remember this morning's
conversation.
         "I think so. I hope so."
         "We said, this morning, best friends?" His voice is tentative,
his eyes dropping to the pillow.
         "I can't think of a better way to describe it, Ray."
         He looks up at that and his mobile mouth curves into a delighted
smile. "Best friend with benefits, huh, Frase." Obviously a secret joke.
         "I admit to enjoying the benefits," I say solemnly. "Would those
include being called a crazy Mountie every five minutes?"
         "Oh, yeah." And his hand moves firmly down my abdomen, so
unexpectedly that I gasp, and a moment later, moan. "And this would be
another one, Ben," he says throatily as he leans down to kiss me. I can't
wait for Ray Vecchio to return, to watch my Ray's back again, but ten days
suddenly seems far too short a time to enjoy this bliss, unafraid,
unworried. 
 
         A solid bond in your heart 
 It's what's missing from this life
 And the trust you need to ignite
 Any dream worth holding dear
 When that dream is so near 
         "Solid Bond in Your Heart," Singular Adventures, The Style
Council
 
         Fraser's looking a little confused when he comes into the
bullpen; that could be my fault because I left the message with Turnbull,
who was less than coherent. It's the usual uproar times ten, and it's a
mostly happy uproar. We just cracked a counterfeiting ring, nineteen
arrests, and with good solid evidence that ought to make Stella Kowalski's
part in this go like a knife through butter. She's there and she's looking
about as pleased as I've ever seen her, even smiling and from time to time
making a comment to Kowalski, whom she generally ignores or cuts down.
Fraser makes his way over to our desks and makes polite with Stella, says,
"Hello Ray, hello, Ray." He always does that. Canadians got the weirdest
senses of humour I ever saw. 
         "Hey, Benny! Did Turnbull give you the message? We made the
arrests today - nineteen of them."
         "So I gathered," Fraser says, looking around, obviously enjoying
the hubbub. "That's an impressive number. You must have caught most of
them."
         "I think so, Benny. All the big fish, anyhow, and that's the
important thing."
         "Yeah, Fraser, and we got the stash, complete, right where you
thought it would be," Kowalski chimes in. " And Welsh was looking for you
earlier."
         Stella Kowalski speaks up. Sounds politer than she usually does.
"So you figured out that they were using that abandoned coal plant? Nice
work. We ought to be able to put most of them away for a while. We got the
books, the contacts, even some of the engravings although most ended up in
the river. But everything's pretty much intact."
         "Well, I'm pleased to have been of service," Fraser says. Doing
that modest Mountie thing he does. Except he means it. I know that smile.
Hey, cops like arrests. It's what we do.
         By this time the lieutenant has caught sight of Fraser's coat.
He'll never have to worry about being mistaken for a deer in that thing.
Not that he has to worry about that in Chicago. He opens the door to his
office and yells, "Vecchio! Kowalski! Red! Front and center!"
         Yeah. This is gonna put the kibosh on my contention that Kowalski
and I shouldn't be partners. That was the little cloud in my own personal
silver lining.
         I hear Kowalski sigh. He knows it too. And see Stella pat him on
the shoulder. It's an affectionate little gesture but he doesn't look too
happy about it. Kinda looks right through her. And I remember Fraser
telling me that he's still in love with her. Fraser, standing nearby,
catches his eye, and in a misguided effort to rescue him, says, "After
you, Ray," and steps back.
         Stella looks at him and then back at Kowalski, with a little
hostility towards Benny vibing out. She's never seemed too keen on the
Mountie despite the fact that usually women can't stay away from him. Come
to think of it, Louise never liked him either. But hell, she didn't like
anyone. Fraser seems unaware of the hostility and smiles and nods at her
as he falls into step behind Kowalski. She sits back against Kowalski's
desk, trying to see through the Mountie to Kowalski.
         Welsh is being unusually jovial, which is to say that he only
makes two or three comments on how badly the arrests were handled and the
evidence was bagged, and then he gets down to the serious business. 
         "Vecchio, Kowalski, I'm pleased at how this partnership is
working out. I think you can consider this assignment permanent." 
         Oh, yeah, great news, sir. I try to look pleased. Try not to look
at Kowalski. He's not so good at hiding his emotions. But I look anyway
and he looks neutral. Well, that's better than I thought. He's a better
partner than I thought too. Goes a little too much on hunches, but I can't
complain about that because before my assignment I trusted those hunches
rock solid. But I've learned to plan. Maybe I should take up chess.
         "Vecchio, better than solid work. This kind of thing is going to
look good at the promotion boards. You're getting organised.
         "Kowalski, I'm impressed that no motorcycles or other police
vehicles were utilised in your own inimitable fashion during the arrest.
You're showing restraint." Kowalski grins at that, a comfortable grin, not
his usual sarcastic one.
         "And Constable Fraser, once again, despite the fact that I'm
never entirely sure what you're doing here, you have managed to lick or
sniff or deduce your way to the main printing press." Welsh is a whole lot
different, at least around the Mountie, than he was before I left, but
I've had time to get used to it. In fact, it's not bad.
         Benny's turning bright red, his finger in the neck of his
uniform. "Not at all, sir, just a fortunate happenstance that I recognised
the ingredients of the dye used in the money, an uncommon combination and
difficult to both come by and reproduce. After that the rest was quite
easy to figure out with some leg work and in fact most of the work was
done by Detectives Vecchio, Kowalski, Huey, and Dewey."
         "Well, write yourself a commendation and put it in the file with
your reprimands," Welsh says, grinning broadly. "I'll make it official
with Inspector Thatcher. Big operation, gentlemen. Makes the department
look good. Good work today. Go home."
         That wasn't too bad, except the partnership thing, but I knew
that was coming. Unfortunately Kowalski and I work well together except
when we have to worry about protecting Benny who was, thank Mary, Joseph,
and Jesus, safely in the Consulate today during the actual arrest.
         Fraser's still doing that thank you kindly thing as Kowalski
heads back to our desks. Stella's still sitting on the edge of Kowalski's
desk. Yeah, I didn't think she'd leave. She wants to get Kowalski alone.
         "You want to go get a drink?" she asks Kowalski in a low voice.
He was way ahead of us. Don't know where he gets that energy. He doesn't
answer right away and then she sees me and Fraser coming up behind
Kowalski, realises I overheard, and instantly widens the invitation
smoothly. "Come on, guys, my treat. This case is good and solid. I owe you
one."
         Kowalski looks at Fraser, then at me, trying to gauge our
reactions. Fraser makes no move that I can see but I know him and I know
he doesn't want to go, but he's also not going to make that decision for
Kowalski. He always makes you decide for yourself. One of his more
irritating traits, I've always thought. Making you see the best and worst
of yourself even when you don't want to see it. I shrug at Kowalski though
because it's not like you wanna be on the assistant state's attorney's bad
side and we're already there enough because of Kowalski being her ex.
Before the silence gets too long he says, "Sure, Stella, why not? I could
use a cold one."
         At the bar Stella's trying to do a little reminiscing but she's
hampered by the fact that Kowalski is not playing along. After the third
awkward silence, which oddly Benny, who's usually much more talkative in
these sorts of situations, does nothing to breach - he really doesn't like
her, I realise - I pick up the ball. 
         "What was with Welsh's crack about police vehicles?" I ask
Kowalski.
         He grins, relieved. Slightly embarrassed. "I tried to wreck a
uniform's motorcycle on one of our cases."
         "How many guesses do I get to find out how Benny got you involved
in that?" I ask.
         Fraser meets this sally with a chuckle. "Actually it was not my
fault that time. I know you're surprised to hear that, Ray. My friend
Quinn and I were kidnapped from the Consulate under Turnbull's very nose.
The, er, criminal was trying to retrieve some stolen jewelry and he
thought perhaps my friend knew where it was. I just happened to be there."
         "You usually do manage to be there, Benny," I say. "Also not
surprising."
         "So it deteriorated into a bad hostage situation," Kowalski says.
"I didn't think we could wait for the SWAT team."
         "Kowalski, once I heard the words Benny and kidnapping you don't
even need to tell me that it deteriorated. Just tell me he didn't blow up
your GTO."
         "That was before I got the GTO back," Kowalski says, with a
startled grin. Doesn't understand how I can joke about the Riv. Me either.
         "So what about the motorcycle?" Stella asks. "I thought you'd
given up that hobby, Ray."
         He glances at her. "Yeah, I did. You know that. But, jeez,
Stella, I can still ride one." He actually sounds a little impatient with
her. And she was trying to strike up some intimacy there, some "I know
more about you than these guys" conversation. Lovely. Now my official
partner AND my unofficial partner are both ticking off the assistant
state's attorney. I can't blame Benny though. He seems oblivious and
perfectly polite, cool and proper, and she comes across as a little bitchy
in contrast.
         "And so he did," Fraser says, finally getting into his
storytelling voice. "Right through a large window in the warehouse. And he
nearly landed on top of the, er, gentleman threatening us. It was quite
foolhardy. As I believe I've mentioned more than a few times." And he
quirks his eyebrow at Kowalski, who just grins.
         I'm just staring at Kowalski. And here I thought Benny was the
weird one, the leap before you look one. "You better not try that stuff
with me or this partnership is over," I say, teasing him. 
         He gets a little defensive, not as much as he would have a couple
weeks ago. "Guy was threatening to shoot someone, and then we heard shots.
There just wasn't time. You know how fast something like that can go down,
Vecchio."
         "Benny's right. Foolhardy. What were you thinking, Kowalski? That
you hadn't used up all of your nine lives?" 
         He looks down at his beer, quickly, and then back up with a grin
firmly in place. "Hey, you know, that's a . . . that's a thing I do. Act
first, think later."
         Ooooh, leaving himself wide open for one from the ex. But she
doesn't take the shot. Just smiles at him. He's not looking at her so he
doesn't notice.
         "Foolhardy and also courageous and undoubtedly Quinn and I owe
him our lives," Fraser says lightly. I happen to look up at that second
and see Kowalski look at Fraser with something uncomfortably like warmth
in his eyes as Fraser takes another sip of his orange juice and misses the
look completely.
         I'm trying to make sense of that look as Benny finally gets his
manners out and begins asking Stella about this case. She chats for a
while with Fraser and me, mostly; Kowalski's polite but doesn't seem
interested although she seems to be coming onto him in a more than subtle
kinda way. She's a looker. Wonder how he can pretend not to be interested.
Either he's still way in love with her and doesn't want her to know it or
else he's not in love with her at all and doesn't care if she knows it.
But Fraser said Kowalski told him that he was. So I don't know what to
think. The body language is wrong for both of them.
         Finally Stella finishes her gin and tonic and gets to her feet,
not quick enough for Fraser, who as usual is already standing by the time
she's halfway up. She looks a little surprised and nods at him, then asks
Kowalski, in a way that doesn't allow a no, to walk her to her car, which
is still parked up the street at the station.
         Fraser watches them go with little frown as he sits back down.
         "She's making a play for him," I say. "She do that often? I
thought it was over."
         He looks back at me. "No, she doesn't do that often. And yes, I
too thought it was over. The last time she was this nice to him was after
we, er, arrested her, er, boyfriend, a city councilman, for fraud, about a
year and a half ago. She was being stalked at the time by someone else."
He grins before I can say it and says, "No, not Ray. Actually someone was
trying to kill her and we found a bomb in her apartment."
         "So she gave him a warm happy outta gratitude?"
         "I really can't speculate on such a thing, Ray," he says firmly,
blushing.
         "Well, guess he needs to take his career a little more seriously
if he wants her back and that's how to get her interested," I say idly. I
see a flash in Fraser's eyes, too quick for me to recognise or define.
Almost a flash of anger, but Fraser doesn't get angry. He does seem a
little protective though. And I know he doesn't like Stella. Maybe he
doesn't like seeing Kowalski get his chain jerked.
         "I think he does take his career seriously," Fraser says.
         "Yeah, I guess. Motorcycles through windows, I dunno, Fraser. He
sounds like the perfect partner for you. How did you two survive? At least
you only jump out of them."
         He grins. "He is less impetuous now than he was then."
         "Guess it's your influence, Benny." Not that I've seen any
evidence of that restraint Welsh was talking about. Almost the worst part
of going out with them together is trying to keep an eye on Kowalski. When
he's around Fraser he acts crazy. They've been working together long
enough that he ought to know Fraser can't resist sticking his nose into
every dangerous situation in Chicago, but Kowalski seems to take it
personally. I shake my head and finish my beer. "I'm gonna head out. It's
too nice a day to be sitting in a bar. See if Laura'd like a walk in the
park."
         "Excellent idea, Ray. Undoubtedly Diefenbaker is thinking along
the same lines." Fraser gets to his feet as well. Guess he's not gonna
wait for Kowalski. If Kowalski has any sense he'll play kiss and make up
with Madam Assistant State's Attorney if gratitude is her thing.
         "You want a ride, Benny?"
         "Ray, you just finished telling me what a beautiful day it is.
What do you think?" And he smiles at me.
         "Yeah, you got me, Benny. Have a nice walk. See you tomorrow."
         "Likewise, Ray." And we turn in opposite directions outside the
bar, Dief bounding ahead of Fraser. He knows they're heading home. I'm
almost back at the station when I see Stella take off in a screech of
tires. She looks pissed. Kowalski's standing in the parking lot looking
uncomfortable. Guess he's not into kiss and make up. 
         "That good mood didn't last long," I say, walking past him.
         "It never does, with me 'n Stella," he says, kinda quiet, falling
into step with me almost automatically as we walk down the parking lot.
Then out of the blue he says, "I wish Ange was my ex."
         "Yeah, I could tell. You were pretty generous over that alimony,
Kowalski."
         He grins back at me.
         "But she's a nice ex," I say.
         We stop by his car. He looks around, like he's noticing where he
is for the first time. "Where's the Mountie? Did he go home?"
         "Yeah. Said Dief wanted a walk. You ought to go home too, enjoy
your afternoon off."
         "Yeah, Dief probably would." He sounds a little lost, a little
forlorn.
         I look at him curiously and he won't meet my eyes. I stop and
think a second. I start putting pieces of the puzzle together. Organised.
Yeah. Finally. He looks at me at last and his eyes tell me all I need to
know. Panic, fear, and blazing anger. 
         "It's not Stella," I say slowly. 
         "Just shut up, Vecchio!"
         "You're not in love with her any more. But you told Benny you
were."
         I'm thinking out loud. And to myself. Why would a guy look at
another guy like that? Why would a guy drive a motorcycle through a
freaking window?
         "Hell, yes, I'm still in love with her," he says, still angry,
very uneasy. "Anyone can see that."
         "It's Benny," I say slowly, thoughts flying through my head.
"It's Benny you want. And you told him that so he wouldn't know. So he
wouldn't know about you."
         "What, are you nuts? Jesus, Vecchio, I'd take Stella back in a
heartbeat if she really wanted me but she doesn't. She just likes to yank
my chain."
         "I don't think you would. I think I'm right."
         "Well, what you think leaves me cold, Vecchio, 'cause you're
wrong about all of it!"
         "No, I'm not. Jesus, Kowalski, are you nuts? You know how cops
are about that kinda stuff!"
         "What kinda stuff? My ex-wife's the assistant state's attorney?
No one has a problem with that but me."
         He's almost as good at deflecting as Fraser.
         "The fact that your feelings for Fraser seem to be a little more
than friendly," I hiss, remembering we are in the parking lot right next
to the station and keeping my voice low.
         "He's a guy, Vecchio. Like, duh! I was married!"
         "And now you're not. And she makes a play for you and you act
like you got ice water in your veins."
         He's so mad now that I can see the effort it takes for him to
open his mouth and talk. "Yeah, I'm finally getting smart about Stella.
She wants it on her terms. I can't do that. Thought I could, thought it
would be enough, but it's not."
         That does sound like the truth, but I think there's more to it
than that. It's hard to worry about an ex-wife who usually treats you like
dirt when you got a crush on your partner. Seen it happen before. Doesn't
usually end happy. And it's even worse for two guys. Two guys. Fraser.
Benny. And the pity I was starting to feel drains away almost instantly.
         "Well, if I were you I'd rethink that. You and Stella got
feelings for each other, work through them and leave Fraser the hell
alone."
         "I got nothing to do with Fraser!"
         "You know what, Kowalski? I've been a cop for a long time. I
never met a partner who'd drive a motorcycle through a window!"
         "You blew up your damn Riv for Fraser!"
         "That was different! I had no choice. You did. You could've
waited for the SWAT team."
         "The guy was nuts. You weren't there. He was on my cell phone. He
was firing at them. Ben was - they would've been dead by the time the SWAT
team bothered to show up!"
         "Fraser would have been dead," I say, watching him narrowly.
         He pales, flinches.
         "Oh, shit, Kowalski, you are a goddamn stupid asshole!"
         He whirls on me, his fists almost flying. I duck instinctively.
"You think I wanted this?" Kowalski snarls at me. "I was married, man! You
think I like having to admit this to myself? To anyone? Especially you?"
He's right up in my face, so mad he's shaking. And I am good and mad in
return.
         "Yeah, I do," I say, angrier than I've been in a long time.
"'Cause I can't imagine the Mountie coming up with this kinda thing. And
I'd've thought if you really cared, you'd've left him alone. An' you
better leave him alone, before this goes any further. Fraser's straighter
than an arrow. You're just letting the both of you in for a bad time all
around. He'll transfer back to Canada faster than you can say Stella
Kowalski."
         His hands are balled into fists. There's a vein throbbing in his
temple. He jerks his eyes from mine, looks at the ground, then looks back
at me. "You're right." He's still mad. But now he sounds sorry. And for
some strange reason, Fraser's damn Code pops into my head. Dunno why.
Refuse to believe that Kowalski could possibly be shielding Benny. Benny,
who probably doesn't even know what two guys do together! He's not gonna
make me believe that Benny came up with this. That Benny loves . . . can't
get that word in my head . . . that Benny wants a guy. 'Specially
skinny-ass Kowalski. Jesus, Benny had Victoria, who was mean as a snake
and crazier than all get out, but she was beautiful. Then the awful
thought pops into my head that maybe Benny did come up with this. After
all, Kowalski's about as far as you can get from Victoria. "I'm not like
this," he mutters. "Stella was all I ever wanted." 
         I can't look at Kowalski. I feel sick. "If you let him alone," I
say unsteadily, "he'll find a nice girl and settle down." I wanna puke.
         "I'm not bugging him," Kowalski says stubbornly. "He wants to
find a nice girl, more power to him. But you - you stay outta this. You
tell him, I'll cap you. That's all."
         And for a minute, I believe him. In fact I'm a little shaken by
the utter certainty in his eyes.
         "Stay outta it," he repeats. "Fraser doesn't need this crap."
         But I have a new quest. I gotta find out. I got an insatiable
curiosity, what can I say? And then there's just the minor little fact
that I could be watching my best friend's life go down the tubes and did
nothing to stop it. And so I watch 'em. Closer than I ever have before.
Benny seems oblivious. He smiles at Kowalski, smiles at me. Touches
Kowalski on the arm, touches me. Includes me in Kowalski's invitations;
includes Kowalski in mine. I see Kowalski look at him with that warmth in
his eyes, but I know about that. And I can't tell if the warmth in Benny's
eyes is a response to that or not. And I take to dropping in on Benny more
than I ever did, day and night. Kowalski's at his place a lot, like
always. But they're always dressed. And they always seem to be talking.
When I can't find Benny I scrutinise him and Kowalski for signs the next
day. I don't see any more hickeys though. I know he's always spent a lot
of time at the library, could be there. I got no excuse to cover dropping
in on Kowalski. Play darts, billiards - who the hell plays billiards?
What's wrong with pool? After I run into them by accident a couple of
times I can tell Kowalski is getting madder and madder at me. One morning,
after Fraser leaves the station for the Consulate, he leans over my desk
and hisses, "Let up on him, man! I told you, it's my problem! You think he
doesn't know you're watching him? He notices everything, Vecchio. He's too
polite to get mad at you, but I'm not. And how's he gonna feel when he
realises what you're thinking?"
         But I'm too mad, too worried to think about that. What I do know
is that Benny is happier than I've ever seen him . . . and it coincides
with Kowalski's return. Too many things are falling into place. So is it a
buddy thing for the world's straightest Mountie, or is it more? Any normal
guy . . . but Benny's not normal. Hell, would Benny even think that sex
with a guy was abnormal? I mean, aside from him possibly thinking that all
sex is abnormal, after the working over Victoria gave him. I wonder what
the Inuit think of it. If his grandmother covered that topic. I shudder.
It's entirely possible up there in the frozen north that no one cares who
you're with as long as you're warm. Euwww. I just can't make my mind go
there. 
 
         ~~~
 
         The strain is beginning to tell on Ray. He's nervous; he jumps at
every noise. But he's fiercely, stubbornly loyal. It's his fault Ray
Vecchio guessed, or so he believes, but he will not take the ultimate
step, the step that I believe we will have to take, because he doesn't
know Ray Vecchio as I do. This will never die, will never be dropped until
Ray Vecchio is convinced, one way or another, that he has found out the
truth. And yet despite the danger we cannot stay away from each other, and
I am mostly to blame for that, as well. Having found love, I can't give it
up. It's difficult enough to have to conceal it, every minute of every
day, rarely being allowed to relax and be comfortable in it; to revel in
it, as we did while Ray Vecchio was away. But I know that I should, and I
must, end this, either by telling Ray Vecchio the truth or in a way that
will let Ray Vecchio think that he has found out the truth; and salvage
Ray's career in the bargain. For I have no illusions about the treatment
Ray Kowalski will receive at the hands of the Chicago Police Department.
And I can't allow someone I love to be destroyed for loving me. 
         I am torn between confessing all to Ray Vecchio - and trusting in
his friendship, his warm heart - and accepting a transfer to Ottawa. The
problem with the first solution is that I don't know, exactly, how
homophobic Ray Vecchio is. That is a large variable. The problem with the
second is that protecting Ray Kowalski from Ottawa will be difficult, not
to say impossible. Even if I leave, Vecchio might still start rumors.
Might, in fact, take out some of his anger at my departure on Ray Kowalski
by doing so. A third option - staging some sort of not-quite-confession
for Ray Vecchio to overhear - is more than distasteful to me, and I'm not
entirely sure that Ray Vecchio would not see through it anyway; if, that
is, Ray and I could be convincing. However, the thought of my cabin,
awaiting us, entices my thoughts from these knottier problems. I am
determined not only to have Ray accompany me, but to do so with Ray
Vecchio's assent.
 
         ~~~~
 
         "I'm going to invite you to go with me," Fraser repeats
stubbornly.
         "Yeah, right, Frase. In front of Vecchio. It's too dangerous."
         "I'm not going without you. And I think he would be much more apt
to suspect something if you disappear on vacation at the same time.
remember the purloined letter."
         "Fraser, he's never gonna buy it."
         "Keep in mind that he has an exceptionally warm heart, Ray. And
he thinks that I'm a big, dumb Mountie." It does amaze me that Vecchio
doesn't see Fraser's dry sense of humour, that he doesn't realise that
Fraser observes everything including people's behaviour and reactions.
Fraser grins at me, almost wickedly, like he's copying me. "Just follow my
lead. Look wistful."
 
         ~~~
 
         "Really, Frase?" I say, surprised. Because, like, he never takes
time off. I mean, we tried, that time the plane got hijacked. And I know
he went up there right when I took the undercover assignment. But that's
been it.
         "Well, yes, Ray. I haven't been there in a while. It still needs
work." He just raises that eyebrow at me. "And I have promised to visit my
sister." I see Kowalski look up from his desk across from mine, at me,
then him, a frown on his face. Keep forgetting Fraser has a sister. 
         "It needs a lotta work, Fraser. Wish I hadn't just taken time
off. I mean, not that I wish I didn't just go on vacation, of course. Just
that I'd go with you, help you out a little. I'd like to meet your sister,
too."
         Fraser's looking at me, smiling, and I know he's remembering. "I
don't know if my cabin could take another one of your visits, Ray," he
says. "Still, I wish you could."
         "Hey, you blew up my car. Obviously I saw that coming. That was
prior revenge."
         "That's just silly, Ray. You blew up your own car."
         Kowalski's clearly feeling left out. He mutters something about
lunch and gets up. Fraser looks over quickly. Oh, no, Fraser, I think. No,
no, no! Don't do it! But strangely I feel better. There's no way Fraser
would invite Kowalski along if they really were, well, anyway, he would be
worried about how it might look. Possibly. So maybe there's nothing to
worry about after all, at least on Fraser's side.
         "How about you, Ray?" Fraser asks hopefully. Then looks
uncomfortable. "Not that you'd want to spend your vacation time in a cold
cabin with no indoor plumbing," he says, sounding dejected. "I did,
however, build a small addition with real toilet facilities and a back
door," he adds, hopeful again. "Not running water, no, but a very nice
composting toilet." But he's giving Kowalski an out. I glare at Kowalski,
who looks at me, then back at Fraser. Then at me again, and drops his
eyes.
         "You're right, Frase," he says. "I'm not into cold."
         Fraser looks crestfallen for a moment before he remembers his
manners. "That's perfectly understandable, Ray. Americans just don't
appreciate the snow. Do you know the Inuit have over sixty - "
         "I like snow, Fraser," Kowalski interrupts, getting mad for some
reason. I never know what'll set him off. "You're always sayin' stuff like
that! I even know how to ski!"
         "Do you like to ski, Ray?" Fraser asks eagerly. The big lug wants
someone to go with him. That's what it is. Why can't he find a nice
willing woman to take with him? I bet I could put him on a street corner
with a sign, Going to Canada, Would Like Company, No Running Water, and
there'd be fifty women inside of five minutes arguing over who gets to go.
"Alpine or cross country?"
         "Both, Frase."
         "I could teach you to snowshoe," Fraser offers. Again Kowalski
hesitates. I know he wants to say yes, I know why, but it seems like he
really does want to learn to snowshoe and go to Canada and be cold and
ski, for what reason I will never understand. Probably something to do
with all that energy he has. He looks at me, almost pleading. Like he's
trying to tell me something with his eyes. But he waits too long to answer
and Fraser looks down at the floor.
         "I'm sorry, Ray. It's impolite to keep reiterating an invitation.
Shall we get some lunch?"
         I can tell Fraser's feelings are very hurt, but it's for his own
good. 
         Over lunch Kowalski manages to bring up mountains somehow. Or is
it glaciers? "They have glaciers in Canada, Frase?" he's asking.
         "Of course, Ray. Why wouldn't we?"
         "Yeah, and Inuit women hang out on 'em giving birth," I
interrupt. That was a mistake. Benny corrects me - "That was a glacier
field, Ray," like the difference is important, and starts telling Kowalski
about the most courageous act he's ever seen in his life. Kowalski looks
almost . . . wistful.
         "But it's cold up there," I remind Kowalski. He looks away. 
         "Yeah," he says shortly.
         "My cabin is actually quite warm, now that it's rebuilt," Fraser
says defensively. "And the drafty bullet holes are gone."
         And as Kowalski opens his mouth to ask, we both start telling him
about the seven snowmobiles and Gerrard and frozen caribou. It's pretty
fun and I realise that I really would like to go back there some time,
maybe in summer, if, that is, they have summer in Canada, which I doubt.
Kowalski's been hanging on every word, even mine, and as we finish up, he
looks at me again. If it were possible, I'd say he was pleading with me.
And trying to tell me something with those eyes, those eyes that are
really very similar to the Mountie's. I can't stand it any more. I shrug
at him. I'm stupid. But that looked like a promise to me.
         "Perhaps one of you will be able to come next time," Fraser's
saying. 
         "Uh, Frase . . . if you still want me . . . I'll give it a try.
Like to see those glaciers. Mountains. Snowshoe. I got lots of vacation
time."
         Fraser looks absolutely delighted. "Are you sure, Ray? Did I
mention the fact that there is no running water?"
         "Yeah, Frase, I think Vecchio mentioned it about twenty times. I
been camping. It's cool." And he looks wryly at me, thanking me with those
eyes. I try to give him a warning with mine, and he drops his. Later I get
him alone.
         "remember. You just keep your hands to yourself. And everything
else."
         "You think I wanna hurt Fraser?" he growls at me. "I know he's
the world's straightest Mountie. And I know you don't wanna believe this,
but I'm straight too. I just gotta deal, that's all." After a minute, he
adds, "Besides, I did wanna see Maggie again."
         Normally I would never have a conversation with him now that
doesn't involve police work or Fraser, but I'm curious. And something in
the way he says her name makes me think that there was something there for
him, too. So I actually open my mouth and ask, "What's she like?"
         He considers for a moment. "A lot like Fraser. Lot smaller, of
course. She licks stuff too." He pauses a moment at that, with a small
smile and I'm even more curious. "Knows everything. And of course she's
gorgeous. Little whacked out. Doesn't have a wolf, or at least she
didn't." He shrugs. "She reforms people, too."
         "That's pretty scary," I say. "Two Frasers. Whoa."
         "Yeah, I didn't think the world was big enough," he agrees. And
for a minute we almost bond. Don't like it.
 
         You're the best listener that I've ever met
 You're my best friend
 Best friend with benefits
 What took me so long
 I've never felt this healthy before
 I've never wanted something rational
 I am aware now...
         You've already won me over in spite of me
 Don't be alarmed if I fall head over feet
 Don't be surprised if I love you for all that you are
         "Head over Feet," Jagged Little Pill, Alanis Morissette
 
         Knowing that Ray is a self-professed "city boy," I am amazed at
how well he is dealing with the wilderness, and the cabin, and the
solitude, and, of course, the snow. He is determinedly learning to
snowshoe. He's begun to learn some dog sledding with my team that a nearby
Inuit keeps for me. Really, by now, they are his dogs, but I like to think
some of them remember me, and Diefenbaker keeps them running well in
harness. We keep the woodpile stocked to the crashing sounds of someone
Ray refers to, almost reverently, as The Boss, whose music, unfamiliar to
me as it is, does, I must admit, make the work go faster and adds a
certain primal urge to the night. We work on the cabin, too, building more
shelves, some furniture. And every night . . . every night, and sometimes
in the day, we take solace in each other, enjoying our freedom in the
silence, the solitude. 
         He is writing away at the table as I sit with my thoughts. He has
begun keeping a journal. He is thrilled that I do. He enjoys reading my
father's journals. He wants to have adventures like that, he says, but
meanwhile he is writing down some of the adventures we have already had on
the Chicago streets.
         I would never have dreamed that Ray Kowalski, bundle of energy,
could be at peace in the wilderness with no electricity, no television, no
phone, no noise. Except for the aptly named boombox. He wouldn't leave
that behind, and I think half his bag was batteries for it. I think idly
about rigging the generator to run again. It hasn't been used in years,
more than four now, but we might be able to get it going. And bring myself
back to the present, back to contemplation of Ray. 
         He may be at peace but he is not still. He is never still. Even
now, writing, he is tapping his booted foot against the leg of the bench
in time to the song he is listening to, and singing with, almost under his
breath. " . . . no retreat, believe me, no surrender . . ." His hands, his
expressive, slender hands, are rarely still either, and right now one is
tapping the pen in time. He sees me watching him and looks up. "What?
What're you sitting over there grinning about, you big dumb Mountie? I
know I can't carry a tune in a bucket." And grins wickedly at me. I know
it's an invitation.
         "Yes, you can, and I'm looking at you, of course," I say to no
one's surprise. "I suppose . . . it's that I have never seen you so at
peace, Ray."
         He squirms uncomfortably. "I guess . . . I guess I can kinda see
where you get your . . . your center, Frase. Why you're so peaceful. You
can't not be, here."
         "No television?" I tease. "No Chinese? No pizza?"
         "Well, jeez, Fraser, I'm not saying it's perfect here! But your
cooking isn't so bad and I'm so hungry all the time it doesn't matter
anyhow."
         "Thank you kindly," I say, raising an eyebrow. He laughs at me. 
         "Cut that out. You know what I mean."
         "Yes, I do. You have quite an active metabolism, Ray." He shakes
his head and sighs. I laugh in return.
         "That's not what I said."
         "No, I know, Ray." And I can't hide the complacence and happiness
in my voice. He bounces up from the bench and crosses the floor in two
swift strides.
         "Well, if you're gonna laugh at me, you're gonna have to kiss me
to make up for my hurt feelings," he says, dropping to the floor beside
me, and turning my face to meet his. 
         "You laughed first," I feel compelled to point out, but the rest
of my sentence is lost in his mouth.
         
         We've just settled down to some serious kissing and stuff in
front of the wood stove when we hear the dogs go off. It's late afternoon,
not quite dark yet. Dief raises his head, looks at Fraser, and then at the
door. Selective deafness, I always think. Fraser gets to his feet in a
swift, smooth motion, reaching for the rifle on the mantel, his eyes
darkening. That's what Chicago's done to him. I feel a little panicked, a
little left out. He's looking so serious. And I don't even have my boot
gun: had to leave 'em all at the border. He looks down at me, motions me
to crawl over to the other window, and he crosses to the door in a rush.
         We can hear someone yelling but can't make out anything. The wind
is picking up. But Fraser relaxes enough to cross the room again and
replace the rifle. Then he opens the door, with enough sense at least not
to stand fully in the opening, but to one side.
         It's another dog team, with sled and rider. He pulls his boots
and his coat on almost in one swift motion. "I don't know those dogs," he
mutters, almost to himself. Yeah, I bet he thinks he knows every dog in
the Territory. "And there's a storm coming." The snowstorm he's been
promising me. Oh, yeah, I'm excited. "Who would be - "
         "That stupid?" I finish, but he's already stepped out the door,
pulling his Stetson on. 
         I'm not going out there. I finally just got warm and dry. And I
was looking forward to some before-dinner snacks. So I grumpily pull my
boots and coat on and follow him. Whoever it is, Fraser knows him, and he
hugs him, which surprises me 'cause Fraser's affectionate but he's not
touchy-feely, not even with me. By the time I get out there, they've
headed to the barn with the dog team. I know from watching Fraser that the
first thing they're gonna do is feed and water the dogs.
         I'm pretty sure I know who would be nuts enough to come all this
way on a sled with a storm brewing by this time and get a hug from Fraser
to boot, and I'm right. It's Maggie Mackenzie. She and Fraser are talking
a mile a highly-technical minute about her lead dog by the time I get to
the barn, her hood back, her cheeks flushed, and she's so gorgeous and I
don't even notice. That's pretty sad, Kowalski, I tell myself.
         She greets me with a handshake, and then with a hug, although I
know she's no more touchy-feely than her brother is. And I wonder if she
knows. 
         "We were planning to visit you," Fraser's saying.
         "This is going to be a big storm," she says. "It would be just my
luck that you'd be snowed in until your holiday was over."
         She doesn't know. Being snowed in with Ben would be the icing on
the cake for my own personal vacation experience.
         Her dogs are wolfing their food. Her lead dog finishes first as
Maggie and Ben stand around him watching him eat. They're talking about
bloodlines and the Iditarod winner. Maggie's hoping to compete in it next
year, I gather.
         "Something I've always wanted to do," she ends. 
         Fraser smiles. "Yes, so have I." He clears his throat. "Someday,
perhaps. It takes time to build a team like yours."
         "I'll let you give them a try tomorrow," Maggie promises.
         "Does your lead dog come in?" Fraser asks politely. I gotta grin
at this, the Yukon equivalent of "May I take your coat?"
         "No, I don't think Dief would like that," Maggie says. "He'll do
fine in here."
         "Then let's get some tea on for you," Fraser says, and we all
walk back into the rapidly gathering darkness. I feel some snow starting
to swirl down. Fraser and Maggie both cock their eyes at the sky with
almost identical eyebrows. "About sixteen hours," Fraser says.
         "Probably," Maggie agrees.
         "Sixteen hours of what?" I ask.
         "Snow," they say together.
         I can't believe my ears. The snow is already level with the
porch, although I've heard Fraser say that it was a cold winter. "Um,
that's a lot more snow, there, Frase."
         Fraser looks at me, smiling affectionately. "Snowed in? What did
you think it meant, Ray? That we wouldn't be able to shovel a path to the
sidewalk and school would be closed? That's why we chopped and brought all
that wood in today."
         "But . . . but . . . but . . ."
         "It won't be the first time," Fraser assures me.
         "You're endangering my life in wildly bizarre ways again, Frase,"
I grumble as I follow them to the cabin.
         "Oh, there's no danger, Ray. None at all," Fraser says
cheerfully. "I would be surprised if it wasn't over by morning."
         Yeah, I've heard that before. "Suffocation by snow. When does it
stop snowing in Canada? July?"
         "Sometimes," Maggie agrees, with the same deadpan expression I
see on her brother's face a lot.
         We're about finished with dinner - Maggie's a better cook than
Fraser and made some kinda pan bread to go with the stew - when Fraser and
Maggie both start interspersing their conversation with longer pauses. I
listen and think I can hear a third conversation going on in between what
we're talking about and I look around for that nonexistent shimmer. Might
be over by the wood stove. I get up, reach for the plates, forestalling
Fraser.
         "You go talk to your sister 'n whatever," I say, jerking my head
towards the rug by the stove. "It's my turn for K.P." He looks at me with
an indrawn breath, so happy, so handsome, so beautiful, that it's all I
can do to keep from grabbing him right then and there and to hell with his
sister and the nonexistent ghost. I pinch myself. 
         "All right, Ray," he says. "Thank you." He touches his fingers to
mine briefly before turning to pick up his mug of tea, motioning to the
wood stove with his head. "Shall we, Maggie?"
         I finish the dishes and I put the kettle on 'cause I know
Fraser's gonna want more tea soon. Then I go to get more snow to melt in
the big pot. They really weren't kidding, which I knew. The snow is
halfway up the door when I open it, and they pause to look up and see when
I do. Then they listen and I imagine I can hear their dad saying something
Mountie-like like "It reminds me of the Great Blizzard of . . ." and I
smile to myself. I wipe down the table and I pull out my boombox and put
on some music, quiet, and get out my journal and my pen and sit an' think
for a while. The drawbacks of a one-room cabin. I can't give them any more
privacy than that. And Fraser and I sure won't have any. Wonder if we
could build a bedroom, I think, and lose myself in happy daydreams. 
 
         ~~~
 
         I watch Maggie and my father converse. He is telling her about
tracking a bandit through a late spring blizzard like this one. I have
heard the story. I allow my mind to wander. Maggie has taken in the fact
that there is one bed and one bedroll, but other than a flicker in her
eyes there is no comment. I have already written to her and explained, as
best I could, the rearrangements in my personal life. I was not sure how
she would react. But she is here, and she seems comfortable with me, so
evidently she is able to accept it, in theory, of course. I doubt very
much she could handle any actual displays of affection, and it is
difficult to remember that I can't touch him and kiss him, as we have had
the freedom to do in the past week. However, it is good to be reminded
since we must return to Chicago, and our life of careful subterfuge, soon.
         I pull the guitar over to me and start tuning it quietly. Maggie
is laughing out loud at something our shameless father has said. Still,
the stories are fresh, to her. I should make copies of his journals. She
would undoubtedly enjoy them.
         Dad sees me with the guitar. "That's right!" he says. "Some real
music, not that electronic stuff, in boxes!"
         Maggie smiles. "What songs do you know, Ben?"
         "He knows 'em all," Dad says. "Play the train song, son. Maggie,
did I ever tell you about the Great Yukon Double Douglas Fir Telescoping
Bank Shot?"
         By train song he means of course "Blue Alberta Skies," which, as
I have admitted to Ray, is a personal favourite, so I begin playing it.
Maggie doesn't know all the words, but Dad and I make up for it and soon
she is managing the chorus. We move on to various Mountie favourites, and
soon are making far too much noise for Ray to continue to tactfully
ignore. He jumps up and in two or three strides has joined us on the rug. 
         "'S nice, Frase," he says. "Keep going." And unfortunately we can
neither of us hide the warmth in our eyes from Maggie, who looks away, a
trifle embarrassed.
         I start on "Oh, Canada," which is guaranteed to calm Maggie down
and annoy Ray. Dad sings with great feeling and Maggie is pretty happy
too. Ray looks disgusted. He gets up to refill our mugs.
         "Yank's a good man," Dad comments, watching him walk to the
stove. "Tactful."
         "Sometimes," I concur.
         Maggie says nothing, and I cannot read her eyes. "Any requests?"
I ask her. She smiles at me then.
         "Just keep doing what you're doing, Ben."
         Ray returns with all three mugs. "The cage one, Frase." 
         I think for a moment and then I remember. I haven't played that
since the night Ray gave me the guitar. His reaction to it was . . .
disconcerting. But he looks hopeful. Abashed. And he doesn't look away.
Maggie clears her throat, which breaks my stasis, and I start to play. I'm
not very surprised that Maggie knows the song, and she sings quietly with
me. Ray has rolled onto his stomach and is staring at the stove, at
nothing, his head turned away from us. My father is being unusually silent
. . . ah. He's disappeared again. By the time we've finished, Ray is
resting his forehead against his clenched fist, which is resting on the
floor, tension evident in his shoulders, the corner of his eye that is
visible squeezed tightly shut.
         "Ray?" Maggie says softly.
         "Yeah," he says, huskily, not looking at us, not opening his
eyes. "Love that . . . love that song, Frase. Keep doing more. You know
any more by that guy?"
         Maggie and I look at each other and I shrug. She reaches a
hesitant hand out and smooths it across his shoulders. I see the crease
appear in his cheek, evidence of a grin. "I'm good, Maggie. S'okay. Bet
you can't do 'I've Been Working on the Railroad."
         As usual, Ray manages to break the tension and we both smile as I
strum the chorus.
         It's quite late before we have exhausted my current repertoire.
Maggie has returned from the bathroom and is breaking out her bedroll. I
look at Ray. He grins at me.
         "Maggie, usually I sleep in the bed," he says. "Not like your
nutty brother and his bedroll thing. But you can have the bed for tonight
if you want and I'll do the bedroll thing." Naturally we don't mention the
fact that the bedroll usually ends up occupied by both of us in its normal
position by the bed.
         There is some heightened colour in her face, but that could be
because of the exertion. "No, thank you, Ray. I prefer the floor too."
         "Two nuts," Ray mutters as she unrolls her bedroll on the other
side of the wood stove.

         ~~~~
 
         Fraser is up at dawn, as usual, and I'm kinda surprised Maggie
isn't, although we were up pretty late last night. I wake up too, which is
just proof of what a bad influence Fraser is on me. Fraser is getting
ready for his snow shower or whatever he calls it. I can't even face that
idea. Brrrrrr! He says it gets your circulation flowing and increases your
skin's respiration rate and a bunch of other stuff. I guess. But I like to
watch him out there rolling in the snow, stark naked.
         He has to tunnel a little out the front door. Dief's already done
some of the work. The snow isn't quite up to the tops of the windows so I
can see a little bit of the sky, which is still cloudy and grey. He comes
in, strips down, heads back out. He's back in a few minutes, red, glowing,
happy and so beautiful I feel an instant response. He gets dressed
quickly, then gets his snowshoes. "I'm going to check the dogs," he mouths
at me, hefting a gallon-sized thermos of hot water over his shoulder. I
nod and smile. After he leaves I head to the john - well, it's really a
composting toilet but it's apparently a great improvement over the
previous option, which was an outhouse - and get dressed. Find my boots
and my snowshoes and head out to see what the snow looks like. And realise
why the Inuit have over sixty words for snow.
         I can see Ben digging his way down to the barn and I follow him
over. At least I only trip every third step now. The dogs are barking as I
get nearer. They know someone's come to feed them. And it occurs to me
that now I know why all the doors open inwards. That's pretty cool.
         "Hello, Ray," Fraser says, flushed, happy, his eyes bluer than
blue against the snow. "I didn't think you'd be able to get out of that
warm bed."
         "Well, hey, never been snowed in before. Gotta at least see it.
Need help?" 
         He leans into the hole for a moment. "No, thank you, I'm almost
there. It's a dry snow. Easy to shovel."
         "Yeah, I keep hearing it's a dry cold, too. Don't see how that
makes a difference."
         And he starts to tell me about humidity, and then goes on to
temperature inversions and the Elias Mountains and by that time we're in
the barn. I start feeding them - you gotta do each one individually -
while Fraser pours the hot water into another big pot of snow to make more
water for them. Then he helps me fill their bowls and we get to the last
one at the same time. I grin at him and he turns from dumping the food in
and grabs me in almost the same motion and we're kissing and it's been so
long I can't think or hear anything except the blood pounding in my ears
and all I can feel is the warmth of his lips on mine.
         "Ray . . ." he moans into my mouth. "You are a drug, you know
that?"
         "You too, Ben," I whisper. "You too."
         While I'm talking the incredibly efficient Mountie has unfastened
both our jackets and then he kisses me again, moaning, those moans that
drive me outta my mind. "I wanna climb inside you, Ben," I mutter, kissing
him back just as hard. At that he groans, shivers, and I know what he's
thinking and then I feel my back against a wall as he kisses down my
throat and back up again, his hands - how can they be so warm? - moving on
my chest. All too soon he tears himself away, steps back, gulping.
         "Sorry. I'm sorry, Ray."
         "I know you just want me for my body, Ben," I tease him. And am
taken aback by the look in his dilated eyes.
         "God, yes, Ray," he whispers and pulls me to him again as if he
can't help himself. "And your smile, and your energy, and your - your
outlook on life - "
         "Shut up and kiss me, Ben," I whisper. And reach out to kiss him,
feel his lips again, his tongue dancing with mine . . .
         It's the dogs whining that bring us to our senses. Even a
Yukon-born Mountie isn't gonna get it on in a freezing barn, but we both
kinda forget that for a few minutes. 
         "Maggie's coming," Fraser says, checking out her dogs, which are
staring at the door. We reassemble some disarranged clothing, fasten our
coats again, and look, I hope, pretty normal, by the time Maggie comes in.
Fraser's starting to put his dogs in harness. I'm poking around by the
generator. It doesn't look too bad. Wonder if we could get it going again,
next time. And the thought of a next time thrills me more than anything
else except maybe the thought of Ben's kisses. 'Cause now I know crazy is
catching and I am starting to, hell, already do, love this place in spite
of no TV, no modern conveniences, and endless cold.
         "Good morning," Maggie says cheerfully. "How are they doing?"
         "They're rockin'," I say, and she and Fraser share a glance of
puzzlement. I just grin.
         Maggie shrugs, and picks up the stake out rope. Fraser leads his
team out the door and stakes them out, twenty feet apart. Maggie appears
in a few more minutes to do the same, and then we stand together, watching
the dogs for a while.
         "I was thinking pancakes, this morning," Fraser says finally.
         "Sounds wonderful," I say. Maggie nods. She checks her team out
and then we all head back to the cabin together. She doesn't have her
snowshoes so Fraser carries her back despite her protests.
         "I am a Mountie!" I hear her saying. He laughs.
         "Yes, Maggie, I know. Allow me the indulgence of spoiling my
little sister, please." 
         And I watch him stride along on the damn things with his hands
full of water bottles and Maggie Mackenzie and I can't even go two steps
without tripping and I think that he is in his element here. He seems
complete here.
         The pancakes are great. Maggie makes them. The real maple syrup
is kinda different but it's not bad. The Canadian bacon . . . well, it's
okay on pizza. Hard to get used to by itself. I'm starving though so I
don't pay much attention.
         Fraser washes the dishes while we sit around and chat. Maggie's
telling us a little about her latest posting. I realise from things that
she and Fraser are not having to explain to each other that they must
write to each other. I didn't know that. I feel a little left out. Jealous
of everybody 'cept the wolf, I think, and smile to myself.
         After breakfast, we all go outside again. I can't stop looking at
the snow. Fraser's right. It's not white. It's so many different colours,
shades of blue and white and grey and green. They head to the barn to get
Maggie's team set up. I start up a nearby ridge and sure enough by the
time I get to the top Fraser's already on the sled. I know where I'm
standing will give a good view of the whole area. Soon I see Maggie
heading up towards me. She snowshoes as easily as her brother does.
Perfect goddamn Mounties, I think.
         We watch Fraser in silence as he dwindles to a speck, then
disappears altogether.
         "He needs this," Maggie says, almost to herself. I nod. Then I
wonder if she's saying he needs this, not me, not Chicago. But I don't
ask. 
         "How are you, Ray?" she asks, looking into my face.
         I'm embarrassed. "Just fine," I say, looking away. "This whole
wilderness thing isn't as bad as I thought."
         She smiles at that. "You look happy," she says but doesn't seem
to expect an answer. After a while she adds, "So does he."
         Oh shit. She does know. I do not wanna have this conversation.
         "He deserves it," she says.
         Now that I agree with. "Yeah, he does."
         "It's strange, being his sister," Maggie says quietly. "I never
thought I was particularly competitive. But I feel a little with him. And
it's quite unnecessary as well as being fairly useless."
         "He is, after all, perfect," I say, grinning.
         She doesn't grin back. "Is he?"
         "So are you, Maggie."
         "Do you think so? I don't."
         "Fraser doesn't think he's perfect either," I point out.
         She stares out over the ridge into the distance. Without looking
at me she says, "The worst part is having to compete . . . or knowing that
there is no competition . . . that I never had a chance . . ."
         What is she talking about? I turn to look at her. She looks away
again.
         "With you," she clarifies.
         I'm stunned. Feel a sinking sensation in my gut. "Oh, God."
         "I'm not saying I'm in love with you, Ray," she snaps. Guess that
wasn't the most flattering reaction.
         "I'm sorry," I begin.
         "Just that I . . .I might . . .could have been. Some day."
         "I'm sorry," I say again. Helpless. "Maggie, you know there was
an attraction. On my side, I mean. But . . ."
         "Ben had the advantage of being on the spot. And, of course,
being Ben." And incredibly, she smiles at me. I relax a little.
         "He's kinda hard to resist," I say.
         "I can see that." She pauses a moment, and then says, "I'm glad
you like it here. Make sure he spends more time here, Ray."
         "Yeah," I say. "I already thought of that."
         "Thank you," she says, and leans over to kiss me on the cheek.
Her lips are soft and warm, just like Fraser's. I turn my head to meet her
lips. No passion, just a kiss. After a moment she kinda sighs and pulls
back. "Thank you," she says again, and stares fiercely out into the
distance. 
         After a minute she gives herself a shake and says, "Let's try
Fraser's team."
         Oh, great. Now I gotta be coached not only by Mr. Perfect but
also by Mr. Perfect's Perfect Sister. 
         But Maggie is surprisingly patient with me and I start to relax
and listen to her. She doesn't talk as much as Fraser, but she makes
sense. "Enunciate," she shouts into my ear.
         "Why? They're not all deaf," I say. "And anyway they can't see my
mouth."
         For some reason she finds that so hilarious that she forgets to
lean into the turn she just called and we tumble, me landing in a pile on
top of her, both of us gasping for breath and laughing. "I'm sorry, Ray,"
she says breathlessly, sounding uncannily like her brother. "That was
entirely my fault."
         And for some strange reason I just grin at her and lean down to
kiss her lightly on the lips. She goes very still alluva sudden and I
think, What the hell am I doing? 
         I get off her in a hurry. "I'm sorry, Maggie." I can't look at
her. "I'm not trying to tease you. I just like you, you know? And Fraser's
got me in this habit of kissing every Mountie that happens by, I guess."
         Her voice is quiet as she answers. "It must be difficult, Ray. I
know you were married. And I know you love Ben. And I resemble him. It
must be . . . strange."
         "I am all over that!" Why the only person in the whole world who
understands me is a whacked female Mountie in godforsaken wilderness in
Canada I do not know, but I'm so relieved that all my words spill from me
in a rush. "I mean, yeah, fooled around in high school. A lot of guys do,
doesn't mean much. And Stella. Wow. Stella was it. I thought. But when Ben
kissed me that first time . . . it was even more intense than it had ever
been with Stella. It blew my mind. And I just had to not think about the
fact that, you know, he was a guy, and just had to think about how he made
me feel, how he was my best friend . . ."
         "With benefits," she says, that quirk in her eyebrow, just like
Fraser's, and then smiles. Guess she likes some of the same music I do.
         "Oh, yeah." And I lean over and hug her hard. She hugs back.
         "I didn't mean to interfere, please believe that, Ray."
         "Hell, no, Maggie, I know that. It's me. It's me. Don't know who
I am . . . what I am . . . any more. Just that I think Ben is it. And you
. . . you look like him, you sound like him, you almost smell like him,
and I ought to want you."
         "But you don't," she says, more matter of fact than sad. "Let's
get this team untangled." She heads up the line, pausing to switch two of
the dogs. Coming back to the sled, she's talking as if I'd been listening
the whole time. " . . .Not exactly pulling his fair share, so if you put
him closer to the sled, he has to do more work and it's also a sort of
demotion and therefore discipline . . ."
         She really is a whole lot like her brother, which is strange
considering they've grown up without knowing each other. Know Fraser'd go
into details about heredity and genes. Oughtta ask him about it. 
         "They do better with Dief," I tell her, but of course Dief went
with Fraser.
         We get the team back together and continue the lesson. But we're
back and have Fraser's team staked out before we see a speck that is
Fraser getting larger again. "Thank goodness," she says. "I thought
perhaps he was on his way to Nome."
         As he gets closer we see something piled on the sled. A big
something. A freakin' caribou.
         Maggie's laughing so hard tears come to her eyes.
         Fraser's calling to us, all excited. "Guess who I met," he's
saying. "Tom. He insisted. I couldn't resist. Wasn't he generous? And Ray
hasn't had caribou. You can take the rest with you, Maggie." Yeah, that's
Fraser's world. Just happens across someone with an extra, presumably
legal, fresh dead caribou in the middle of nowhere. I guess we're lucky he
didn't come across a maniacal killer or a poacher fishing over the limit.
"Oh, Maggie, what a team! I am downright jealous. I think you can do it!" 
         She's already down the slope. I'm slower, of course. By the time
I get there they are disagreeing about skinning techniques. I turn and
head for the cabin. City boy, all right. Don't wanna see this.
         I spend the afternoon digging out the woodpile. They spend much
of the afternoon skinning and then cutting up Fraser's gift. Dogs are
gonna love the fresh meat, or so Fraser says. And we have caribou steaks
for dinner, while Maggie and Fraser, and probably their dad, argue about
the best ways of curing hides and making pemmican and so on.
         Fraser settles it finally by saying, "It doesn't matter what I
think, anyway, Maggie. It's your skin. I can't cure it in Chicago."
         She laughs. "No, I suppose you can't."
         After dinner we are settled down on our stomachs in front of the
stove. I'm staring at the flames through the open door, and they are
talking about smoking meat and more pemmican recipes, and I lean my head
over onto Ben's shoulder, forgetting until I hear his sharp intake of
breath. But Maggie smiles. "I think I can handle seeing you and Ray touch
each other, Ben," she says calmly.
         Fraser blushes red, starts to babble. "Of course, Maggie, I
didn't think . . .that is, I didn't want . . ."
         "Shut up, Fraser," I say, and put my head back down on his
shoulder. It feels so damn good to just touch him, feel his body against
mine. Later they are still on their stomachs, still talking - those
Mounties never seem to run outta big words - and I have rolled over onto
my back, resting my head on Ben's back while I read through some of my
journal. And think I could live like this forever. And then wonder what's
wrong with me, and think of Chinese take out, and pizza delivered to your
door, and television, and . . .
         Maggie gets to her feet and says she needs to wash her hair. I
look at Fraser. He looks at me. We both look at her, our mouths open.
         "I'm serious," she says with a grin. "It takes a long time to
dry. I can't wash it in the morning."
         And we watch in fascination as she gets pots of water, a towel,
and shampoo. 
         She goes into the john to change into her robe and comes out,
dunks her head into one of the pots, begins soaping. Fraser and I look at
each other in confusion and then smile as we both shake our heads. He
rolls over and I get my elbows under me just in time to keep myself from
falling backwards onto the floor . . . and then I feel his hand, feather
light under my hair, and I know that I wouldn't have. I close my eyes in
happiness. And then feel Fraser's lips, also feather light, on mine. Very
briefly and by the time I open my eyes he's up and heading towards the
kitchen stove, mug in hand. Maggie's still in her pot, thank God. And I
can't believe Fraser took that risk. I stare into the fire, my chin on my
hands, and I don't dare look at Fraser when he rejoins me.
         He's talking, normally, and I try to listen. " . . .The central
chimney is undoubtedly large enough to put in a second wood stove, or
perhaps a fireplace, for the addition."
         Oh, yeah, he and Maggie were talking about an addition. 'Bout
time. Wonder if we could get it done tonight.
         "Sure," I say. And then he shifts his weight so that our heads
are almost touching as we stare together into the fire. Maggie's still
splashing behind us. In a breath in my ear Fraser says, "I love you, Ray."
         I jerk and turn to look at him and his face is so close to mine,
his eyes, his breath, his mouth, that I'm disoriented for a second and I
lean into the kiss.
         The splashing has stopped and the absence of sound is enough,
thank God, to bring me back to my senses. It's a good thing, because
Fraser's lost all of his sense. His eyes are closed, his beautiful lips
are parted, warm, and soft, and I think I see his tongue moving inside.
         "For God's sake, kiss him," Maggie says disgustedly, and I hear
her pick up a pot of water and head to the door. With almost a growl
Fraser agrees with her and leans further in, his hand going up to my head
to cradle it, and he kisses me, so tenderly, so happily, so freely that I
can't help responding. In the back of my head I hear Maggie come back and
get the second pot and head back to the door.
         "Jesus, Fraser!" I break free from Fraser and get to my feet. I
brush past Maggie, her head in a towel, her eyes bright and her face
flushed, and I grab my boots, my coat, pulling it on as I head out the
door into the cold, blissfully cold, snow. And as I leave I hear Fraser
say, "Oh, dear."
 
         ~~~~
 
         Maggie joins me at the wood stove in her robe and pyjamas,
combing out her hair. 
         "I'm sorry," I say. "I usually have myself under better control."
         She smiles at that. "I know what it's like to be in love. I admit
it's rather odd to see a man want to kiss another man, but the love is
unmistakable, Ben."
         "I don't want to cause you discomfort, Maggie. And quite frankly
I find it hard to believe that I feel this way about another person again,
let alone another man."
         "But you do. And there's nothing intrinsically wrong with it,"
she says thoughtfully. "Just certain cultural mores and so on."
         "It cannot, however, be comfortable to observe, Maggie. And I'm
sorry. You have after all been raised with those same mores."
         "I think Ray was the one who was uncomfortable. He was trying to
protect me, Ben."
         I sigh and roll over onto my back, staring at the ceiling. She's
right, of course, and we will last all of five minutes in Chicago if I
can't get myself under control.
         "Ben."
         "Yes, Maggie?"
         "What are you waiting for?"
         I look at her, startled, and she smiles at me and nods at the
door.
         "I thought he might need some time alone," I say, puzzled.
         She shakes her head. "You're pretty green at this, Ben."
         "Oh. Oh!"
         "Don't forget your coat," she says, laughing.
 
         ~~~
 
         It's amazing how many stars there are, up here. Hard to believe
we're under the same sky that we can see from Chicago. I know Fraser would
talk to me about the city glow, the atmosphere, and lots of other things
but the real point is that there are a lot of stars out and they are big
and close and beautiful. You can almost see them reflected in the snow.
The snow is crusting over and is pretty easy to walk on now. I start up
the ridge. There are some rocks there, usually not snow covered, good to
sit against and look out over the valley. It's still and clear and as I
climb I think I can feel the temperature becoming warmer. That inversion
thing.
         As I walk I try not to think of the cabin, of Maggie, of how
stupid and rude Fraser and I are being to her. Don't wanna think about it.
Especially after this afternoon. And at the same time I wanna kiss him,
all over, suck him until he loses it completely and comes hard into my
mouth and God I'm sitting in freezing snow and I don't even feel it . . .
         I hear snow crunching after a few minutes. Even Fraser can't walk
silently on snow. Unless it's Maggie. But I listen harder and can tell
it's Fraser by the way he walks. He's heading up the ridge towards me. He
knows everything about me. I'm scared. I don't want to face him, don't
want to talk to him, know I made Maggie even more uncomfortable by running
out.
         "Ray," he calls softly. And comes into my view, carrying his
coat. What kind of nut carries a coat in this weather? Yeah, I know, the
same nut who never closes his window in Chicago. The same guy who sounded
disappointed today when he had to break the news to us that it was going
to dip above freezing. 
         "Ray," he calls again. "If you want me to go away, I will. But if
you want to talk . . ."
         I sigh. Something inside me breaks in half and I feel a deep warm
liquid start to fill me from my toes up. "Over here, Fraser," I call.
         There is relief in his voice as he says, "Hello, Ray." And
stands, uncomfortably, by my rock, looking down at me with that absurd,
little boy innocent look. 
         "I'm sorry, Ray, about the kiss in the cabin. It won't happen
again. I agree with you that it must make Maggie uncomfortable no matter
how much she says it won't."
         I am left with nothing to say.
         "Ray?"
         "You left me with nothing to say," I say. And I smile up at him.
With a kind of crunch he lands beside me in the snow and he's kissing the
hell outta me . . . or am I kissing the hell outta him? Hard to believe
that it's only been a day without this and I can't live without it. It's
scary. I push that down. Don't wanna think about tomorrow, about Chicago,
about anything but Ben's lips, his tongue, his hand . . . his hand
unbuttoning my pants . . .
         "Ben, it's freezing out here!" I hiss. 
         He kisses me again and his warm hand is inside my jeans now,
covering me, setting up a rhythm I am only too familiar with. He's moaning
those moans into my mouth and I'm returning them and I don't feel anything
but his lips, his tongue, and his hand. And then he moves his head down to
take the place of his hand and I can't believe this, the rock is digging
into my back as his warm, wet mouth covers me and my hands tangle in his
hair, and his tongue is licking me and I'm groaning his name and then I'm
coming and I can't think of anything but the stars and Ben's eyes . . .
         He carefully buttons my pants up, his hands shaking a little, as
he reaches up to kiss me again, wrapping his coat around me. 
         "A little late for the coat, there, Fraser," I say, trying to
tease him, knowing I sound too satisfied to be convincing.
         "Oh, Ray," he breathes, "I'm - "
         "If you say you're sorry again, I'm just gonna sock you, Ben.
Fair warning."
         " - happy. So happy. To be here, with you."
         "Oh. Well, then. Me too, Ben."
         And he reaches over to kiss me again, tenderly, gently, worrying
my lips apart with his tongue. And it feels so good I don't care if I'm
freezing my ass off and there are lumps on the rock sticking in my back.
And then he falls backwards in the snow, pulling me on top of him. That's
a lot better. He's so warm, so big, and I can feel his hardness against
me. Without the cold snow to distract me, I can enjoy him a lot more. I
kiss him hungrily, kiss his neck, bite his ear, stroke him through his
jeans. He jumps at that, groans into my mouth, and suddenly I'm as nuts as
he is, fumbling with his pants, trying to get inside, but my hands are
freezing and I don't wanna do that to him. He senses that and suddenly
pulls my hand up, puts my fingers in his mouth to warm them. 
         "Oh, God, Ben." And I feel hot, so hot, and I reach down and
stroke him while I almost straddle him, kissing him so deeply I feel like
I'm almost inside him. I don't want him to get cold but I gotta taste him,
gotta make him lose control, and so I part his pants just enough to let
the tip of his cock out. I keep stroking with my hand and lick and suck
the top of him and hear his moans increase, look up to see his jaw
clenched with the effort to keep the sound inside. I stop and whisper,
"Hey, Frase. There's not a moose for miles. Let it out, man." And I bend
my head back down to the sound of his wild groan. And then I feel his cock
get even bigger as it tenses and he tenses and a growl, a groan, so deep
and loud it sounds as if it's torn from him, bounces off the trees as his
cock lets loose into my hungry mouth. I take him all, my head bent up kind
of awkward, watching him come . . . which is my favourite part of making
love with Ben, his face when he comes, and then I say, "See, Ben, there
you go, that's it."
         He is still recovering but he hears that and the bliss on his
face is suddenly combined with a grin as he tries to choke back a laugh.
"It would serve you right," he says breathlessly, "if there were a bull
moose around."
         "Serve you right, you crazy Mountie. What kinda nut gets it on in
the snow, for Pete's sake?"
         "But, Ray, you said you liked snow." His eyes are half closed and
his smile is heartbreakingly beautiful.
         "Well," I say gruffly, "it's got its good points." And I lean
down to kiss him, his lips, his jaw, his perfect cheek, his perfect
eyebrows . . . "Love you, Ben."
         "I love you, Ray," he says, suddenly opening his eyes and looking
right into mine. 
         "No doubt, Ben, no doubt," I say before leaning down to rest my
head on his chest. After a while I say, "I like your world, Ben." 
         His arms tighten around me. "I like you in my world, Ray." We lay
that way for a little while longer and I feel his chest rumble beneath me
as he opens his mouth and begins to speak. "I went to the woods because I
wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life,
and see if . . ." 
         I join in, quietly, thinking that here is paradise on earth,
little cold, but it works for me, " . . . if I could not learn what it had
to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived." His
voice has trailed off until at the end I am speaking alone and he is
laying underneath me in stunned surprise. "We're living, aren't we," I say
softly.
         "Is Thoreau required reading for the Great White North?" he asks.
         "No, Ben, for the Great Red Mountie."
         And he laughs at that, and hugs me hard, and I hug him back,
until I remember he is lying in the snow and must be freezing, Mountie or
no, because I'm still covered in his coat. I reach down and fasten his
jeans, giving him a quick kiss on the mouth before I heave myself off him.
"C'mon, Fraser, before we get pneumonia out here."
         "Oh, Ray," he says, "I could stay here all night with you."
         "It's cold out here, Fraser. You are insane, you know that?"
         "I can build a fire," he offers innocently. I shake my head and
give him my hand and he sighs and comes to his feet with the quick grace
that is such a part of him, using my hand just to steady himself.
 
         But the world outside's still raging
 You said, and I didn't know the way
 I want to sleep beneath the peaceful skies
 In my lover's bed
 With a wide open country in my eyes
 and these romantic dreams in my head
         "No Surrender," Born in the U.S.A., Bruce Springsteen
 
         We spend the next day doing more of the same. About halfway
through the afternoon I realise I haven't even had my watch on in days. I
wonder if I know where it is. Fraser and Maggie and I all seem to get
hungry at the same time. We eat. We go back out. Cut wood. Maggie and
Fraser go out together with her team. I practise snowshoeing and take some
more wood into the cabin. I could live like this. I start a stew. I've
been watching Maggie, and there's plenty of caribou to use. I get my
journal out and change CDs. Been on a Springsteen kick lately and need a
change. Put on some Dolby although I know how Fraser'd react to that.
Worse than TV, probably. With a wince and a headache, if he'd ever admit
to such a thing. And I grin at the thought of his face and settle down to
write.
         Just gotten two or three pages written, doing more thinking than
writing, and the CD's playing a song I've always associated with Fraser,
when I hear the dogs barking in the distance. Head to the door to see
what's up. Fraser and Maggie are back and there's a snowmobile following
them, far behind. Well, hell, we already got no privacy, what's one more
person? And I'm glad I made a lot of stew. Put my boots and coat on, head
to the barn to meet them. The snowmobile is still on its way in when
Maggie and Fraser get her dogs into the barn, and to my surprise, Fraser
takes me around the corner and plants a quick one on me before doing
anything at all with the dogs. He is cold and warm and smells of snow and
sweat and Canada and I get one more kiss, a passionate one this time,
before his conscience starts bothering him and he goes back around the
corner to help Maggie. Compose myself for a few seconds and head to the
dog food to start dishing it out. Maggie is carefully avoiding our eyes,
trying not to laugh. She whispers something to Fraser that turns him
bright red but makes him grin and hug her.
         So I'm not surprised when she heads over to me with a mischievous
look in her eyes. Try to head her off. "So where'd you go? Is Fraser gonna
do the Iditarod with you?"
         That does stop her. She stops dead, shakes her head a little, and
blinks. And looks so much like Fraser with that dumbfounded face that I
wish I had a camera.
         "Um, that's a possibility. Actually I was hoping that you and I
could go out tomorrow, if I promise not to make any moves on you."
         Mr. Bat Ears hears that and is involuntarily startled into
glancing at us, forgetting his perfect manners. 
         "Gee, I dunno. You Mounties are pretty sneaky. And you always get
your man."
         "That's assuming the man is lost," she says, a little quieter, a
smile in her voice. "I don't think you are."
         Fraser relaxes, remembers his manners and starts talking to the
dogs, who are now barking at the sound of the snowmobile. 
         "Who's that?"
         "Eric," Fraser calls out the door at that moment. Maggie looks at
me and shrugs. "So, about tomorrow? Because after that I have to head
back. I only got a few days' leave."
         "Yeah, Maggie, love to. I need to learn more about these dogs and
stuff. If Fraser wants to race and stuff."
         The mischievous look is back in her eyes. "And, Ray . . . you
don't need to hide in a corner to kiss him. I'm okay with it. Guess I
spent too much time with the Inuit and not enough time with southern
society while I was growing up."
         "No, Maggie," I say. "Guess the truth is you have the same open
mind and heart as your brother."
         She blushes bright red and stammers something.
         "And the same complexion," I say, cocking my head and looking at
her critically. She recovers fast, gives my arm a little shove, and heads
over to her lead dog to check his paws. Still too embarrassed to talk.
Wonder if that kinda frontal assault would work on my Mountie. Hmmm. 
         There's an influx of snow, the rest of Fraser's dogs, and, well,
the only word for it is personality, as Fraser and this Eric guy come
through the door. He's tall, taller than Fraser is. Good-looking. And,
like Fraser, you can see the spirit shining out of his eyes. He looks like
he could do just about anything, again like Fraser, and I can see there's
a bond there. And try not to be jealous. Ben said I was the only guy. I
know that. And me and Ben, we connect too on a basic level. Well, more
than basic, more than physical, I mean. And don't know what I mean and go
over to meet Eric.
         He sums me up for a while and says to Fraser, "Quinn told me." 
         Fraser looks at him with that little puzzled frown between his
eyes. Then he seems to get it and raises an eyebrow and grins.
"Interesting. Evidently he knew before I did."
         Eric shrugs. "Sometimes you can be dense, Mountie."
         I instantly feel a strong liking for this guy. 
         Maggie finishes checking her dogs' feet and joins us. "Dinner?
I'm starving," she says.
         "I got some stew on," I say. 
         They all look at me in surprise. I roll my eyes and stomp out of
the barn. Mounties think they're the only ones who can do anything around
here. Fraser catches up with me. "Thank you, Ray."
         "Welcome."
         "Ray, Ray, Ray - "
         "Whaddaya think, Fraser, I can't watch you and learn?"
         He stops, stock still, and then grabs my hand and starts heading
back towards the barn. Maggie averts her eyes with a grin as we go by and
Eric just watches us curiously.
         "Ooh, Mr. Tough Mountie," I say as he pulls us both inside and
closes the door. The dogs look at us curiously. And Dief whines from the
other side of the door. Fraser has to open it again to let him in. Then he
closes it carefully and looks at me.
         "What I think, Ray," he says, seeming to choose his words, "is
that you like it here. And that surprises me a lot. And that your stew is
probably better than mine. And I am not good at saying things like that so
I undoubtedly trample all over your feelings."
         I cross my arms and lean back against the door. "You're doing
pretty good so far. At trampling and at saying things."
         He looks at me for a long moment. 
         "Well, Mountie?" I say.
         "Stanley Raymond Kowalski, are you trying to provoke me?"
         There's a thought. But I'm too mad to pursue it right now.
         "Did you not listen when I told you I liked snow? When I told you
I wanted to come up here? Do you think I've been sitting in there sulking
for a week, Fraser? And what's so goddamn hard about frying some meat and
throwing some vegetables and some broth in a pot?"
         "Actually, Ray, you'd be surprised - "
         "Fraser. Focus. That is not the point."
         "What is the point, Ray?"
         "The point is that you've been feeling guilty about dragging me
up here, jumping my bones in the snow, probably, and that Eric guy's
right, you are dense. Didn't I tell you I liked your world? And then you
think I can't make dinner?" Still got my arms crossed. He starts to look
defensive, turns halfway from me and then back again. "What am I, a
guest?"
         "I have not been feeling guilty about dragging you up here. I
have been feeling excited, apprehensive, anticipatory, and finally,
delirious with happiness, but not guilty. And I plan to jump your bones,
as you say, in the snow again tonight. Or tomorrow. Or both." He's not
smiling as he says that. He looks dead serious.
         And somehow I can't stop the grin from breaking out across my
face. But I stay leaned back, arms crossed tight. 
         He gets the message, doesn't move, although he smiles in
response. "And I will eat every single bite of your stew tonight and,
furthermore, I will expect you to make some more tomorrow."
         "Nope, I'm going out with Maggie tomorrow to get my bones jumped
in the snow by her. Gotta take a rain check."
         He hesitates, clearly dying to follow that trail, but looks at me
again and sighs. "Then I will make dinner tomorrow and whichever of us
feels like it can make it the next night. Satisfied?"
         "No, Frase." I uncross my arms and take three steps forward to
pull him towards me for a kiss. A nice long kiss. "There. Now I'm
satisfied. For now."
         He backs me up against the door again. "I'm not," he says in that
husky sexy voice he gets. "I'm a long way from it." And kisses me again.
         "What about dinner? And your guests, Frase?"
         "Ray."
         "Yeah, Frase?"
         "Shut up."
         "Make me."
         After some serious groping we make our way back to the cabin. I
know I got all flushed but if Maggie doesn't care, and Eric, then why
should I? I gotta talk to Fraser about these Canadians. Are they all like
this? So accepting? Because if so I never want to leave.
         Maggie and Eric have found some mutual acquaintances to chat
about and Maggie's getting those pan biscuits of hers off the stove while
Eric sets the table as we come in. "Just in time," Maggie says, handing me
the plate with the biscuits. Fraser goes to the stove and starts dishing
up stew in the stack of bowls. He does his last of all and catching my
eye, makes sure that I see it's filled almost to the brim. I grin at him.
         We talk about Quinn over the stew, which is at least edible, with
salt added, and the biscuits, which are more than edible, and pretty soon
Eric and Fraser are playing "do you remember" with Fraser of course doing
the bulk of the talking. I gather Eric's a little older than Fraser, and a
lot more reticent, if that's possible, but when he does speak it's usually
a damned insightful observation that often clicks another piece of the
puzzle that is Fraser into place for me. I look at Maggie and she's
enjoying this too, getting to know her brother in some kinda way that
isn't just today and tomorrow. There probably aren't a lot of people who
can tell stories about Fraser, or who can get him to tell stories about
himself. His dad, from what I can gather, just wasn't around much to have
those stories, and his grandparents and mom are all dead, of course. Bet
Quinn has some good stories too and I hope that we run across him some
time.
         Later on Eric hands Fraser his guitar and uses a log to thump out
some rhythms, and they do some chanting, some Inuit stuff or something,
that kinda puts weird thoughts in my head and stirs my blood. Pretty cool.
I bet Eric's a shaman. 
         "The guitar is a nice touch," Eric says to Ben, finally, and I
realise that Fraser was just making that up, playing along. Is there
anything the guy can't do? And try not to wonder what the hell it is he
sees in me, after all.
         It's getting late. Eric makes a crack, which I recognise not
because I overhear it, but because I'm clued in to Fraser's reactions and
I see him get a little defensive. Then Eric goes outside and Ben goes to
the closet and pulls out his sleeping bag, the one he takes when he's on
the road, or the sled, or whatever a Mountie calls it. The one that's good
to 60 below, in American temperatures. He comes over to me and Maggie. 
         "My manhood has been called into question," he says. I do a
double take but then realise pretty quick that Fraser has no idea what he
just said in American. "We're sleeping out tonight." 
         "Chicago's made you soft, huh," Maggie says, clearly accepting
this without a second thought. 
         "It definitely has. And Diefenbaker, you'll be sleeping out too,"
Fraser says. The wolf, sitting by the door, yips. Fraser gets a
groundsheet from under the bed, hesitates, glances at me, glances at
Maggie. Maggie grins and sits down. Fraser mutters something under his
breath and says, "Good night, Maggie. Good night, Ray."
         "No good night kiss?" Maggie asks sweetly. Fraser almost glares
at her and then walks over to drop a kiss on her cheek. I'm trying not to
laugh. Seeing which one can outstubborn the other. 
         "Night, Fraser," I say. "Sleep well. In the snow."
         "Good night," Fraser says again, and leaves.
         I look at Maggie. "He's pretty damn stubborn," I say.
         "Yeah." She shakes her head. "I'm severely outclassed."
         "Do you sleep out?" I ask her.
         "Sometimes," she says.
         "Think I'm gonna have to learn?" I ask.
         "Quite possibly," she says, after thinking for a moment. 
         "Shit," I say. And we look at each other and start laughing at
the same time.
         "Put some music on, Ray, and we'll tell each other Ben stories,"
she says. "Well, actually, you'll have to tell me some Ben stories,
because you know my only story."
         So we get ready for bed and roll out the bedrolls, one on either
side of the stove, and I put some Sarah on - figure she'll like that - and
blow out the lanterns while she puts some more wood on the fire, and we
start talking about Fraser. Almost a perfect ending to an evening, and we
fall asleep still talking, just like Fraser and I have done before.
 
         ~~~
 
         Eric is, as always, rather taciturn. He teases me, in his own
way, about my softness in needing a ground sheet and a cold weather bag.
And we fall silent, watching the stars. From time to time Eric says
something. Imparts a small bit of information about his village, his
family, his people. He expects nothing more from me than inquisitive or
affirmative sounds, and it is relaxing to be able to do that again. I
hadn't realised until now how much people talk, in civilisation, and how
much I had missed the silence.
         At last he turns the conversation to me.
         "You need a sweat lodge," he says first. This is a way to gauge
many things. How long I am staying. When I plan to return. If the RCMP has
forgiven me enough to allow me to be posted here again. And, in fact, a
way to tell me that he, or his people, have missed me. That is a good
feeling.
         "In the summer. We're planning an addition." 
         "Let me know." His whole family will be here to help. And I will
end up with a real sweat lodge, I can tell.
         After a while he speaks again.
         "You seem happy."
         I am startled into looking at him. "I am happy."
         Another long silence. I am in fact dropping off to sleep, my nose
cold but the rest of my body and indeed my senses exulting in this night,
this feeling of being home, exulting even in the coldness of my nose, when
he speaks again.
         "You still fear love," he says, and rolls over, his back to me, a
signal that he is finished talking.
         I am too tired to feel more than faintly resentful of and puzzled
by those words and it is with a firm conviction that I will tell him
tomorrow how wrong he is that I drop off to sleep.
 
         ~~~~
 
         Maggie and I both sleep in next morning. I can tell by the sky
when I wake up. She's still asleep, on her back on her bedroll, just like
Fraser sleeps. I get up, go to the front window, pulling on my jeans.
Fraser and Eric are already up; in fact, Fraser's rolling naked in the
snow again and a few feet away, so's Eric. I go to get them towels. Not
just the Mountie who's damn crazy. But I'm gonna have to try that. These
sink baths are for the birds.
         Look back over to see Maggie watching me. "Heads up, " I say,
"Incoming nudity."
         She grins and dives under her covers as the door opens and Fraser
and Eric implode into the cabin with a lot of "Huff"'s and "Brrr"'s. I
hand them the towels and Fraser says, "Thank you, Ray." Eric grunts and
smiles and then heads to the can with his knapsack. Fraser pulls on some
boxers and a henley and says, "Okay, Maggie, you're safe," as he continues
pulling on his jeans. She sticks her head out. "Thanks," Fraser says,
grinning at her.
         "No problem," she says, getting out of her bedroll. "We all slept
in. Looks like oatmeal for breakfast."
         "Ooh, ick," I say.
         "Oh, crumbs," says Maggie, and then doubles over with laughter.
Fraser and I look at each other.
         Maggie shakes her head. "Ben, how could you grow up without
television?"
         Fraser shrugs. "I did."
         "Well, you missed out."
         "But he can quote Paradise Lost from memory," I say. 
         "And that proves my point," Maggie says, putting the kettle on
and a saucepan with water.
         Eric comes out of the can and heads to the door to put his boots
and coat on. "Got any pemmican, Maggie?"
         I bet they only eat the stuff when there's an American around.
It's a giant Canadian Northwest Territories practical joke. Who would eat
pemmican for breakfast if they didn't have to? Maggie hands him a couple
of pieces. 
         "Come on," he says to me, motioning with his head towards the
door. Me? What's he want with me? Fraser looks at Eric and then at me and
then goes to get out the tea. No help there.
         I pull on my boots and coat and grab the water thermos for the
dogs. Eric is already halfway to the barn. He's already feeding the dogs
by the time I get there and I start melting snow for water for them.
         Eric finishes and so do I and we watch the dogs for a few
minutes. "You are strong," he says finally. I look at him, puzzled.
         "Stronger than the Mountie."
         "Uh, right. You been smoking something?"
         "Not lately," he says, with a very attractive grin. "Stronger
inside."
         "You're more confusing than the Mountie, I'll say that for you.
Fraser's one of the strongest people I know."
         He doesn't answer that. We watch the dogs a little while longer.
         "Like it here?" he says.
         "Yeah."
         "Coming back?"
         "Hope so." Guess terseness is catching.
         "Good."
         Another silence. I don't know if I like it or it makes me
nervous. Both, probably.
         "It's not everything you think it is," he says in the longest
sentence I've heard yet. "But it's better than Chicago."
         I don't know what he's getting at. But he's right about that, I
think. And then remember Chinese take-out and shake my head to get some
sense back into it.
         "Oatmeal should be ready," I say. "Come on."
         "Hmm," he says. Now I know where Fraser gets it. But he does
follow me back to the cabin, although he doesn't eat the oatmeal. I don't
like oatmeal, but I don't like pemmican more, and I can tell it's a no
nonsense morning for Maggie, so I don't complain.
         Fraser and I go out to get the wood together. Eric chops for a
little while and I carry, and then he heads up the ridge to the east. I
take over chopping and Fraser ferries some more wood into the cabin. "You
need two axes, Fraser."
         He grins at that, a faraway grin. "I have another somewhere. In
the barn. It's probably rusty, though. That should be enough, Ray. Let's
go get the dogs hitched up."
         "Oh, are you allowed to touch Maggie's team?"
         He grins at me. "We'll start with mine. I think Eric wants to go
somewhere."
         "What's wrong with the snowmobile?"
         Fraser shrugs. He and Eric got some kinda wordless communication.
But I'm not jealous. They're old friends. Or something. And I learned last
night that Eric saved Ben's life with Gerrard. So I can't be jealous of
him.
         As soon as we get into the barn, though, it's obvious that
hitching the dogs up was a clever Mountie ploy as I end up against the
door again (smart thinking, there, too, Fraser, so we don't get taken
completely unawares), his tongue in my mouth before I have a chance to do
more than open it.
         We're both pretty warm from the wood chopping and it doesn't take
us long to ditch our coats and gloves to get closer to each other. He
moans and grinds his groin against mine, making my own cock get even
harder, straining against my jeans, trying to get to his cock, his mouth,
anywhere but where it is.
         "Even the damn snow is starting to sound good," I groan as he
licks and then bites down my neck.
         "Snow is probably a very good idea at this juncture," Fraser
says, bringing me closer in a hug, his voice and his arms a little shaky.
"I'm sorry, Ray. I tend to forget my physical reactions to you . . ."
         "Are you saying you just can't help yourself? Heard that line
before, Mountie." 
         He grins and leans down to kiss me, not passionate, just a good
Fraser kiss, warm wet mouth, tongue barely flicking mine, lips moving
softly against my own. 
         "Love you, Ben." Suddenly it seems important to remind him of
that.
         "I know, Ray." And he hugs me, and then holds me for a minute. I
hold him too, feeling his physical presence like a benison to my body and
my soul. Benison. Benton. Yeah. And I grin to myself.
         "What?" He senses my changing mood.
         It sounds pretty sappy and I'm a little embarrassed so I duck my
head and mutter it into his shoulder.
         "What?"
         "I said, benison, Benton!"
         "Oh, Ray."
         He doesn't sound like he's laughing at me. I sneak a look. He's
not. He's just looking at me, a half-smile on that perfect face.
         "It's a nice pun too," he says finally. "Or it will be in deer
season."
         That gets a grin out of me, as he intended, and I can return his
kiss with equilibrium.
         We hear Eric shouting, somewhat impatiently, "C'mon, Mountie!"
         One last kiss, and we start sorting out Fraser's dogs, hitching
up his team. Maggie joins us halfway through and starts hitching up her
own. Fraser leaves, with one last squeeze of my hand, and I help Maggie
finish hers.
         Eric and Fraser are already a ways off when we finally get out
there. Maggie's making me hitch them up, decide which ones to put where,
and get them connected to the sled. I do pretty good, considering I don't
know her dogs as well as I know Fraser's borrowed team. Good enough that
all she says is "Hmm," instead of "Ah."
         She slings a pack onto the sled and follows it. She's letting me
drive by myself? 
         "Let's go east," she says, and snaps her goggles in place. I snap
mine in place too and yell to the dogs. 
         She's pretty quiet for an hour or two, mostly just giving me
directions, a couple of times correcting the dogs when we hit terrain I
don't know about. Finally she calls them to a halt and climbs out,
stretching. I'm sweating and winded and even pemmican sounds good right
now.
         "You haven't been drinking," she says exasperatedly.
         "Been concentrating too hard, Maggie," I say with a grin, before
trying to swallow a quart of water at one gulp. Doesn't work, of course. 
         "You have to start looking at the terrain. It gives you clues.
You can see from the shadows and the ridges where the snow will be softer
and where it will be harder."
         "I think you gotta be born here to notice stuff like that," I
say.
         "No, Ray." She sounds a little tired. "There are lots of people
who race the Iditarod who come from places like Australia, you know."
         "Lucky for me I'm not racing the Iditarod then," I say.
         "You're doing well, considering you've never done this before.
You have good balance and you're quick to react and to figure things out."
         I don't know what to say. Thanks, I guess. "Thanks."
         She pulls out some thermoses. Hot stew from last night, more
pemmican, some biscuits.
         "Much as I eat here, doesn't seem to fill me up," I say.
         "You're burning quite a few more calories than you do in
Chicago," she says, almost absently. 
         That's true. Working muscles I never knew I had, and those at
least are filling out. 
         "You should eat more pemmican."
         "Now, that, you gotta be born here to appreciate, Maggie."
         She smiles and then leans back against the sled, her eyes
closing. She seems a little off today, a little more quiet than usual.
Short-tempered. Wonder if it's me, or if it's me and Ben.
         Silence for a while and then I see a tear roll down her cheek.
"Maggie!"
         "Sometimes I just miss him so much," she whispers. "Just someone
to be with."
         Yeah. Me and Ben. I know. Part of being with Ben is the 'with'
part.
         Without thinking twice I pull her into my arms for a hug. "Sneaky
Mountie way of jumpin' my bones, there, Maggie."
         That makes her laugh. I hoped it would.
         "You got two brothers to be with now, too, Maggie."
         She pulls back and looks at me, a small frown on her face. Just
like her brother. "Is it permanent, Ray?"
         "Howcome it's always the chick who wants to bring up the
commitment thing?" I say, grinning so she knows I'm kidding.
         She doesn't grin back. Just frowns.
         I sigh. "I think so. For me. Never felt this way about anyone
else, even Stella."
         "I think it is for him, too," she says softly, the frown
clearing. "That's good."
         "You're not hearin' any complaints from this corner, " I say, and
get up, help her to her feet.
         "Your turn," she says, pointing to the sled. "We are going to
talk about terrain."
         "Oh, joy," I say drily.
         She grins at that and taps the sled. "Come on, Kowalski, we don't
have all day."
 
         ~~~~
 
         As the time to leave approaches, I grow increasingly impatient.
Neither of us wants to talk about what we know we must: Chicago, Ray
Vecchio, the amorphous, uncertain future. I try to outline some of the
choices that I feel we have, that we must make: tell Ray Vecchio because
he will find out; or have me transfer out, see each other on weekends. Ray
is happy with neither option. He is less happy with the transfer option. 
         "I didn't go through all this so I could only see you once in a
while," he says. "Wanna wake up with you every morning, Ben, you know?"
         However, he knows that I am convinced that Ray Vecchio will not
understand, will never understand, and he does not want to be responsible
for the loss of yet another person from my life. He tells me this at three
in the morning, and he's trying hard not to cry, not to let me see the
wetness in his eyes. We have been camping out on my bedroll by the wood
stove, which is about the best place to divest oneself of clothing in this
climate.
         So I bring up the Ottawa option again, and see panic in his eyes.
Suddenly he blurts out, "You know, Vecchio already knows how I feel about
you, so you going to Ottawa isn't gonna change that. 
         "What?" I ask, and know I sound sharp.
         He shifts uncomfortably.
         "When he confronted me, that time. I told him I had feelings for
you. And that I didn't want to, and I was straight, and I would leave you
alone, and deal. So he already knows about me."
         This is worse than I had suspected. Ray Vecchio holds Ray
Kowalski's future in the palm of his hand. And then I think that perhaps
he doesn't realise it. But might, if we confess to him, reveal it in a fit
of anger. Or perhaps the thought won't even cross his mind. As I said, he
is quite warm hearted. But his time undercover has changed him, given him
a hard edge that he did not have before. I sink my head into my hands, not
wanting to think about the future, but knowing I must, knowing I must
somehow save Ray from disaster, from ruin, from the consequences of loving
me. 
         Ray stares into the fire in the wood stove. He often leaves the
door open so that he can. I stare at my hands. They seem like such capable
hands. But I cannot think my way out of this. All I can think of is Ray,
staring with his blue eyes into the fire in my cabin. I look up at him
again and see something wet and shiny on his cheek and I'm taken aback.
         "Ray, Ray, Ray," I say softly. "I'm sorry. I'm worried about you.
I think you handled that well. I didn't realise that he knew that much,
and I wasn't taking that into account."
         "Fraser," he begins, "don't talk about Ottawa. About leaving me,"
and then stops. He sounds tired. 
         I wait, listening. After a moment he continues.
         "I never gave much thought to - to homosexuals. Just thought they
were weird, you know. And thought that a lot of 'em do stupid things,
stupider than straight guys. Well, mostly." 
         "In point of fact that's probably an accurate perception, Ray.
Statistically we encounter, in our jobs, an age range of 18 to 30, coupled
with male hormones, which together can make risk-taking a way of life and-
"
         "Fraser. I'm trying to say something here."
         "Sorry, Ray," I say.
         "But y'know, I've never actually, like, hated 'em or anything.
Just couldn't understand why. Why they had the feelings they did. And
figured probably that they couldn't understand why I had the feelings I
did for Stella. And I don't know why so many people just hate them - us, I
guess - for being."
         His voice trails off to an embarrassed close.
         I had never expected to have this conversation. I should have
done so. Ray says what he's thinking. And he trusts me implicitly.
         "I admit to having similar thoughts," I say. "On the other hand,
Ray, I don't consider myself to be a practising homosexual."
         I see the pain and shock in his eyes at the perceived rejection.
         "Ray," I say softly. "I love you. I would love you if you were
female and named Elise. What I meant was that I am not drawn to men, in
general." Or women, either, for the most part, but there's no point in
bringing that up at this juncture. "Just one particular man."
         I see relief on his face, and something more. Excitement. "Yeah,
that makes sense, Fraser! Me either! I mean I've always been attracted to
women, not guys!" He breathes a huge sigh. "But us . . . it's kinda like
it doesn't matter. For me, anyhow." He motions with his hand towards his
chest. "Souls or somethin', I dunno."
         And I know what he's trying to say and I am touched and delighted
and excited and my breath suddenly becomes faster, shallower. I can't
speak for the emotions that have welled up in my throat. I finally manage
a fairly innocuous, not to say lame, "Me too." And reflect that my grammar
is deteriorating.
         And then he adds, "And I think it's for keeps, Ben."
         And there's a fountain inside me of happiness, bubbling and
sparkling with joy. 
         "Me too," I breathe quietly.
         "So don't talk about transferring to Wet Otter or wherever to get
away from me, " he says gruffly.
         That brings me back to earth with a thump. 
         "Ray, I don't want to be a wet blanket, but I won't, at least I
hope I won't, be attached to the Consulate forever."
         "Then I'll go with you," he says simply. 
         "To Canada? What will you do?"
         "Whatever I have to. Fix snowmobiles." He looks at me, calmly,
his jaw set. "I already told you, for keeps, Ben."
         I try to ignore the shiver of delight that statement sends up my
spine. "Ray. If you think for one second I would let you sacrifice your
career, all of your hard work, all of that just to follow me around Canada
on a dog sled . . ."
         He shrugs nonchalantly. "Hey, we're partners. And I can't be a
partner without you. Don't wanna be. I can be a cop without you. But I
can't be me without you." He studies me for a moment, unblinking, solemn.
"Besides, Ben, you belong here. Not in Chicago. Dief belongs here. Being
here is so different from there. I don't know how you did it."
         "I had Diefenbaker. I had Ray Vecchio. And I had you," I say.
         He snorts. "Yeah, well, you c'n keep Vecchio."
         "I hadn't realised that you were thinking so much about this."
         "Yeah, well, you're not the only one who can make plans," he
says, a little sulkily. 
         "Evidently," I concur. And realise it is an excellent lesson for
me. I am not in this alone. I have no right to all the decisions. In fact,
some of the decisions are not in my hands. I should feel powerless,
panicked at the loss of control that I know I need. Oddly I feel
delighted.
 
         We made a promise we swore we'd always remember
 No retreat, believe me, no surrender
 Blood brothers in the stormy night with a vow to defend
 No retreat, believe me, no surrender
         "No Surrender," Born in the U.S.A., Bruce Springsteen
 
 
  
 Part III is Near Wild Heaven.