FIC (Due South): "Like a House on Fire" (Fraser/Kowalski) - 2002. Part 2/3

[bethbethbeth]

(See Part 1 for content information / possible warnings)

---

The last time Ray could remember feeling this way - this worried he was going to do something to mess things up and this sure everything was going to be great and this stupidly happy all at the same time - he'd been seventeen years old. 1977. He'd grown fast over the past year, but he was gawky and shy and didn't have a clue about what he was going to do with his life. Every time he thought about his last report card, he wasn't even sure he was going to make it through to graduation.

Then one Saturday morning in late May he woke up and everything had changed. His dad told him to get in the car, but instead of taking him to get the haircut he'd been threatening him with for the past month, he drove him over to Bill Adamczyk's garage - lecturing him all the way about responsibility and maturity - only to stand back while Mr. Adamczyk handed him the keys to the GTO he'd been admiring for months. He was going to have to work every day that coming summer to help his dad pay it off, but it was his. His car.

Then they returned home, and when he walked in the door, there was his mom, beaming at him from the front porch. He didn't even have time to wonder when she'd started to get so excited about cars before she handed him an envelope and squeezed him so tightly he almost couldn't breathe. He read the letter and couldn't believe it. A college - a real college - had written to him to say they wanted to offer him a place in the fall. Him - with his 62 percent average.

An hour later, he got a phone call that made him forget the letter from the college. Hell, it almost made him forget the Goat for a second. It was Stella. Stella who'd broken up with him two weeks earlier saying that they were too young to be going steady and that now that they were graduating and moving on with their lives, they should start seeing other people. Stella. And she was crying and saying she loved him and she didn't want to break up with him and it didn't matter to her if he didn't go to college as long as they were together. And then she asked him to go with her to the senior prom. He just sat on the kitchen floor, wrapping the phone cord around his arm and wondering when lightning was going to strike, but thinking it was pretty much worth it even if it did, until Stella had to ask if he was still there.

Now, twenty years later, he felt like he was seventeen all over again. He wasn't sure what the hell was happening between him and Fraser, and it was almost scaring him to death, but it just felt so damned great.

Maybe too great - at least at the moment. Jeez. Another few minutes of standing here staring at Fraser, and he was going to end up jumping the guy in the middle of a stranger's living room.

"Fraser? Let's go see if Hannah needs any help."

For a minute, Fraser just looked confused, then gave him a slight smile, nodded, and started to walk toward the kitchen, but Ray held his hand out. "Lose the jacket, Benton. In fact, we might as well get rid of the vests, too; I think we're going to be here for a while."

Fraser took off his jacket, hanging it on the coat rack by the door, then he turned his back and wrestled and wriggled until he got the kevlar vest off, without ever unbuttoning his shirt. The whole thing was as big a production number as he'd gone through to put it on earlier. Finally he turned back toward Ray looking uncomfortable and slightly flushed as he tugged the bottom of his henley out of his jeans even though he'd worn it tucked in that morning, before he'd had to put the vest on.

Ray frowned. He couldn't remember more than two or three times before when Fraser had worn a shirt untucked, so why . . . okay, that's why. God. He was worrying about the way he looked. No, that wasn't quite right, this wasn't vanity. Ray knew that. This was Fraser worrying about not being the same guy Ray remembered, about being out of shape and . . . human, and maybe being a little unsure of his own appeal - the kind of worries Ray used to think Benton Fraser didn't share with the rest of the world. Maybe he could do something to help with that.

"Hey." He closed the few steps separating them and slid his hands around Fraser's waist, tucking the shirt back into place. Fraser sucked in a startled breath, going as still as a proverbial deer in the headlights. Ray didn't remove his hands from where they'd stopped, an inch below the waistband at the back of Fraser's jeans, just tugged him a little closer. "It's okay."

It was then that Ray figured out the main difference between being seventeen and being thirty-nine; he'd learned how to be patient, at least a little. No, it wouldn't have taken much to just slide his hands down a little lower, another inch at the most, until they were touching Fraser's ass - and God, wasn't just the thought of that enough to make him wish he had a paper bag to breathe into - but he didn't do it. There was a really nice lady warming up beef-barley soup no more than twenty feet from them and it wasn't like this was going to be his only chance.

Later.

Reluctantly, he slid his hands out and was perversely glad to see a disappointed expression on Fraser's face. "Come on. Let's go in."

The kitchen was like Hannah herself; it was small but practical, and with an underlying warmth that had little to do with the heat emanating from the open stove.

As soon as they walked in the room, Hannah glanced up from the table with a satisfied look on her face and nodded. "Good timing, boys. Now get yourselves washed up and let's get some food into you."

Fraser turned to look back at Dief, who'd followed them into the kitchen. "Shall I ask him to wait outside?"

"No need," Hannah said, setting the biscuit tray down. "The more, the merrier. Even got a beef bone here for him that I used to make the stock. He like bones?"

Fraser sighed. "I think you'd be hard pressed to find anything he doesn't like."

Once Diefenbaker had settled down happily under the table with his snack, they took turns at the old-fashioned enamel basin, washing their hands, then drying them on a faded pink dishtowel hanging nearby. Ray wondered for a moment if it had once belonged to Tilda Johannsen and chuckled. Fraser looked questioningly at him, but Ray just shook his head and smiled, drawing a confused answering smile in response.

Ray hung the dishtowel over the handle of the oven door to dry, which earned him a nod from Hannah. Fraser cleared his throat. "Could I be of assistance with anything?"

Hannah snorted in response. "The day I need help serving up soup to company's the day somebody'd better haul me off and plant me in one of them old folk's homes down in Regina. You just sit yourself down, Benton Fraser. And you too, Ray Kowalski. We don't want these biscuits cooling off now, do we?"

They both did as she asked, although Ray smiled to see Fraser's noticeable hesitation over sitting down before his hostess. If Hannah was anything like his mom, she'd be up and down like a jack-in-the-box until everything was just right. Sure enough, it wasn't until the soup had been served, the basket of fresh biscuits had been set down in the middle of the oak table, and tall glasses of apple cider had been placed in front of each of them, that Hannah finally sat down.

She pulled a napkin out from the brass holder and placed it on her lap, then pursed her lips. "Well, come on. Dig in, boys. You know, when my kids all still lived at home, anyone who waited around this long to start eating would've found themselves going to bed hungry. My brood used to go through meals like a swarm of locust." She fixed a glare that took in both of them at once - no easy trick considering they were sitting on opposite sides of the table - and they immediately reached for their spoons.

To be honest, Ray didn't need much encouragement to eat. It had been a long time since they'd shared breakfast that morning, and the rich aroma of the soup reminded him how hungry he was. Still, he'd only finished half of his soup when Hannah got up and reached for Fraser's bowl to refill it. Fraser began to protest, but Hannah would hear none of it.

"You don't want to insult the cook, do you? You know, there's nothing so satisfying as seeing someone appreciate their cooking, Benton. I like a man with a good appetite. You take another couple of those biscuits, too."

With a rueful smile, Fraser nodded and took the bowl from Hannah. "Thank you."

They were just starting to clear up after lunch when the doorbell rang. Hannah sighed. "He's back, and he's got my babysitter with him."

"Constable Traynor isn't a babysitter, Hannah. You know that."

"That's as may well be, Benton," she said disconsolately. "But it's what it feels like."

Fraser put his arm around her shoulders. "I'm more sorry about this than you can imagine, but we'd be derelict in our duties if we didn't make every effort to ensure your well-being."

Hannah pulled back and stared at Fraser for a second, then turned to face Ray. "Don't you just love the way he talks?"

Ray choked back a laugh. "Yeah, I do. Listen, you want me to get the door?"

"No," she sighed. "I may as well face it now as later."

The bell rang a second time. "All right, all right already," she called, walking into the living room. "Hold your horses."

Fraser and Ray placed the last of the dishes in the sink, then left the kitchen to find Hannah sitting on the couch and engaged in an animated discussion with Arden Traynor about termites. Zhertak was still standing there with a wary expression on his face, looking for all the world like he was worried the wrath of Hannah might turn back on him at any second.

"Ah, Corporal Fraser," he said, visibly relieved. He walked over to join the two men and nodded a greeting to Ray. "Sally and I were able to come up with the information you requested. The registration for the vehicle in question belongs to Crawford Jones."

"Crawford Jones? That's Lana Jones' oldest son, isn't it? I didn't know he was old enough to drive."

"He is indeed of legal driving age and has been since this past summer. The vehicle formerly belonged to his Uncle Turner, who apparently signed over the ownership to him as a birthday gift."

"I see. And his address?"

"12A Pine, Lot#3, Duck Lake."

Ray nodded. "A trailer park."

Zhertak glanced at Ray. "Yes, it is a trailer park, Mr. Kowalski, but how did you know that?"

"Well, first of all, that's Detective Kowalski, so there's a clue right there. Second, it sounded familiar. I spent the first eight years of my life in a trailer park." He paused to see if he was going to get any smart ass comments from Zhertak, but when none were forthcoming, he grinned. "Plus, I passed the sign for Duck Lake on my way into town yesterday."

Fraser had that expression on his face that probably looked all serious and business-like to almost everyone else, but looked to Ray like a guy trying real hard not to laugh.

"So, Fraser? You want to take a ride?"

"I think that would be a good idea. Constable Zhertak, would you mind keeping an eye on the detachment? I suppose I could ask Constable Traynor if you'd prefer to stay here and . . . ."

"No, quite all right, sir. Happy to watch over things. Call if you require any more assistance. Really. No trouble." He was still offering his assistance as he backed out of the door and bolted for his car.

Hannah looked up from the couch and cackled. "Scared him off, did I? Looks like you don't scare as easy, eh, Constable?"

Arden Traynor smiled. "I don't scare at all."

Ray went to fetch a sleepy wolf from the warm kitchen, and when he returned, Fraser had put his jacket on and was giving last minute instructions to Traynor.

". . . leaving Dief here to do outside reconnaissance, and we'll let you know within the hour."

"No problem, Corporal. Hannah and I will be just fine."

Hannah nodded. "Run along, boys. We'll entertain ourselves somehow. I think I'll show Arden the nest of wolf spiders up in the attic."

Ray didn't think that sounded particularly entertaining, but Traynor looked pretty eager at the prospect of crawling around in the attic looking at spiders, so who was he to judge?

Before leaving, Fraser and Ray took a quick walk around the sparse woods that surrounded the house, seeing if there was any evidence of anyone having been in the area recently. Of course, Ray knew that only Fraser'd be able to notice anything hinky; the extent of his woodlore consisted only in knowing that thing about moss only growing on the north side of trees - except that he remembered Fraser once telling him that wasn't actually true, particularly the further north you went, so he guessed his woodlore was really pretty much nonexistent.

But he wasn't about to pass up a chance to spend a few minutes actually alone with Fraser, even if they were supposed to be working. Didn't take much in the way of self-awareness to realize it was getting harder and harder to keep his hands off him, and when Fraser - his eyes still trained on the underbrush - reached over and took hold of his hand before clearing his throat almost immediately and releasing it again, it looked like he wasn't the only one having trouble keeping his head on straight.

Patience. He could be patient. Even if it was a damned over-rated quality.

Duck Lake turned out to have neither a lake, nor any ducks that Ray could see. What it did have, though, were lots and lots of electrical cables and mini satellite dishes attached to the sides of almost all the trailers in the park. The Jones home was no exception. As they approached the door, Ray could hear an all-too-familiar sound. Fraser paused before knocking on the door and frowned.

Ray laughed. "Just a 'toon losing a fight with a train, Fraser. I thought you said you'd been corrupted."

"I thought I had." Fraser smiled. "Evidently my television-watching has been missing a vital component."

He knocked, and the door was opened by a young boy wearing a wrinkled Digimon t-shirt and Nike sweatpants. Before Fraser could say anything, the boy started yelling. "Mom! Some guys are here!"

He wandered away to join another slightly older boy down on the floor in front of the television, but in a few seconds, they were greeted by the sight of a harassed-looking woman waving bright red fingernails in the air in front of her. "Colin! Bennett! I told you to turn that down or turn it off!"

Fraser tapped on the metal edging. "Lana Jones?"

She turned toward the door. "Hey! Corporal Fraser. Haven't seen you in ages. Come on in."

"Thank you kindly. I'd like you to meet my good friend, Ray Kowalski. Ray, Ms. Jones runs Lana's Hair Salon on Chesterton."

Ray looked at Fraser's hair curling over his collar and raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, I can tell you haven't seen him for a while," he laughed. "Good to meet you, Ms. Jones."

"Please, call me Lana. Everyone does," she said, looking pointedly in Fraser's direction. "Now what can I do for you gentlemen today?"

"Actually," Fraser said, "I was hoping to have a word with your son, Crawford."

"You and me both," she muttered. "What's he done, now?"

"We're not certain he's done anything . . . Lana, but we'd like to ask him some questions, if that's all right with you."

"If you can find him, you can ask him whatever you want," Lana said with a smile, pushing a lock of straight, dark hair back from her face. "That boy's getting harder and harder to keep track of these days. He took off early this morning and hasn't been back since."

"Ah. Perhaps you might let me know where he might be. Some friends, perhaps?"

Lana shook her head slowly. "I honestly can't think of anyone he might be visiting. Crawford . . . well, Crawford doesn't have many friends here in La Rouille, not like those two," she said indicating the boys still parked in front of the muted t.v. set.

Though black-haired like their mother and brother, they were round-faced and smiling. Not much like their brother, who Ray remembered as an angular, sullen young man from his brief glimpse outside Dixon's Masonry.

"He used to play with some of the neighbor kids when he was younger," Lana continued. "But these days he's either planted in front of his computer or he's pulling a disappearing act. Teenagers, huh?"

One of the boys started to giggle, and all three adults turned to look at them, which just set both of them to laughing harder.

"What's so funny, you little hyenas?"

The older of the two started to chant, "Crawford's got a girlfriend . . . Crawford's got a girlfriend," and the younger one hummed along, until Lana waved them into silence with her still-drying fingernails.

"Since when? Bennett? What's this about a girlfriend?"

The older boy giggled again. "Crawford's got a girlfriend."

"Yes, so you said," Lana sighed. "What makes you think he's seeing someone?"

Bennett rolled over on his back on the carpet. "Because he's always doing that online chat thing and whenever me or Colin get near, he threatens to beat us up, and he's started buying that stinky stuff like girls like to wear."

Fraser and Ray exchanged glances. "What kind of 'stinky stuff,' Bennett?"

"You know, like perfume stuff. Me and Colin opened one last week and, man does that stuff reek! We kept the windows in the bedroom open for three whole hours, but as soon as Crawford came home he knew we'd done it. Said he'd beat us up for that, too. Didn't do it, though."

"Would you mind showing us where he keeps this stinky stuff . . . if that's all right with you, Lana? I must warn you that the case we're investigating is actually quite serious and you'd be well within your rights to ask us to leave until a search warrant is issued by the local justice of the peace."

"No, Corporal, it's all right with me. Come take a look. I swear, that boy used to tell me everything, and now everything's a big secret."

Ray nodded. "Yeah, my mom used to say the same thing about me."

"Yeah?"

"Sure," he said as reassuringly as he could. "Happens to all of us. Well," he turned to look at Fraser and smiled, "it happens to most of us."

Lana led the way to the boys' bedroom, with the two younger ones trailing after them. She opened the door and they saw a bunk bed by the window and a twin bed along the opposite wall, plus three small dressers all jammed into the room. Colin started to open the top dresser drawer by the twin bed, but Bennett bumped him out of the way.

"Move it, pipsqueak."

"Hey! Cut it out!"

They started poking at each other, and finally Lana had to separate them. "Oh, for heaven's sake! Can't you two get along for a minute?"

She opened the drawer and took a long look. "Nothing but socks and underwear, boys. Are you sure you saw something?"

"Well, duh!" Bennett said indignantly. "There were ten whole bottles of that gross stuff in here yesterday."

Fraser looked around the room. "Do either of you boys remember if there was anything written on the label of the bottles?"

Bennett frowned, but Colin nodded, "Uh huh. CK, like my initials. Right mom? Colin Kenneth is CK."

"Right you are, sweetie," Lana said, ruffling her son's hair.

The two boys left the room and went back to the living room, presumably to go back to watching t.v., if the sudden increase in volume was any clue.

"Sorry we couldn't be more help, Corporal."

"Unfortunately, this may have been more helpful than we all might have liked. May I ask one more question?"

"Sure, shoot."

Fraser winced a little, and as he spoke, Ray realized why.

"I know most of the young men in this area hunt. Does Crawford have a rifle?"

Lana paled, her eyes searching Fraser's face. "Why would you ask that?"

"It's always good to be fully prepared," Fraser said quietly.

She swallowed heavily. "He has one, but it's locked in the gun-case in my room, under my bed. And it's staying there," she said, her voice going hard, along with the line of her jaw.

Fraser nodded. "Lana, if your son does turn up before we encounter him, I'd encourage you to retain counsel before speaking with us again."

Lana was visibly shaken, but her voice was calm. "And if you find him first?"

"I promise you we'll contact you before taking any action, if it's at all possible."

"I'm trusting you with my boy, Corporal."

Fraser nodded. "I'll endeavor to be worthy of that trust, Ms. Jones."

Still looking pale and concerned, she ushered them to the door. "You be careful on the step there, let me get the lights for you," she said, flipping a switch that lit both the light beside the door, and one at the end of the walk that was supposed to look like an old-fashioned street lantern on a short post.

Fraser thanked her, and after she closed the door behind them, Ray turned and looked at Fraser. "You didn't mention the computer."

Fraser shook his head. "No. I don't have a warrant, so confiscation would be suspect. She might have given it to me willingly, however I didn't want to chance tipping our hand."

Ray nodded. "Yeah, true. We'll just hope he doesn't get spooked and wipe it."

"Even if he does, it could likely be reconstructed by the RCMP's Computer Investigative Support Unit. Shall we go?"

Ray nodded, took three steps toward the car, and then stopped, glancing at the nearly over-flowing trash can that was set out in the street for pick-up.

"Fraser. . . we need a search warrant for that?" he asked, nodding at the can.

"No, it's on public property."

"You got any gloves?"

Fraser paused for a moment, looking at him oddly, and then nodded and went to the Suburban, opening the back. A moment later he returned, carrying two pair of latex gloves, and a couple of ziploc bags, one medium, one large. Ray accepted one pair of gloves, pulled them on, and went over, lifting out the bag of what was obviously kitchen garbage and then picking carefully through the less messy items left in the bin. After a moment he found a box and some bubble wrap. Pulling it out he checked the return address label.

"eScents-dot-com," he read aloud. "And lookee here, a packing slip and receipt to one Mr. Crawford Jones, for one dozen bottles of CK. Huh, not as expensive as you'd think. These online places have good prices."

Fraser opened the larger bag and held it out. "If you please?"

Ray dropped the box into the bag. "Thank you kindly," he said with a cheesy grin. "Let me see if I can find anything else. He turned back to dig in the trash some more, and when he glanced up, Fraser had that funny look on his face again. "What? What?"

"I. . . it's trash, Ray."

Ray looked down. "Wow, really? No kidding?"

"It's just that no one. . . I mean usually it was. . . oh, never mind."

"What, nobody ever dug in the trash for you before?" Ray asked, grinning.

Fraser shook his head. "No. Well, not without complaining."

"Well, that's why we're a duet," Ray said. "We share. Even the icky stuff." Spotting a gleam that looked like glass he reached for it, the tips of his fingers grazing. . . there. He had it. Pulled out a bottle. "Exhibit number two," he said, brandishing the empty CK bottle. "Kid's not real bright, is he? Not a hardened criminal, at any rate. He's probably just bored."

"Arson is a serious crime, Ray," Fraser said severely, opening the second bag for him. "I can't believe you're excusing his actions."

Ray dropped the bottle into the bag and held up his hands. "Not excusing him, Fraser. Just saying. . . I get it, you know? I've worked with a lot of kids, and the thing is, they're dumb about stuff. Not because they have low IQ's mostly, but because they just don't. . . think. They don't get cause and effect. That's the thing most grownups forget. You have to remember that YOU were just as stupid at one point or you can't deal with kids at all. Didn't you ever do anything stupid when you were a kid?"

To his surprise, Fraser coughed, and colored enough that Ray could see it even in the artificial glow of the nearby street and porch lights. "I. . . ah. . . ."

Sensing a story, Ray jumped. "No ah-ing allowed here, Fraser. Yes or no?"

"Yes," Fraser admitted, blushing darker.

"Hah! I knew it. Spill! What was it?"

"Well, ah. . . It involved a goldmine, a boomerang and a tank full of gasoline. But this isn't the time or place, we've a case to solve."

Ray eyed him narrowly. "Yeah. Okay. You're right. But don't think you're off the hook, Benton."

"Understood."

"So, what's our game plan? We've got some evidence, but we don't know where our suspect is. Seems like maybe our best bet would be to go back to Hannah's, find a place where we stake it out without being screamingly obvious."

"My thoughts exactly," Fraser said. "Since Hannah's daughter has custody of her van until her license is reinstated, we can probably put the Suburban in her detached garage. And as I recall, there's a small workshop above it, which Hannah's husband Mike used to use for woodworking before he passed away a year ago."

Ray nodded. "It have windows?"

"On all four sides."

"Perfecto. Let's go. Dief's probably tired of walking a beat around Hannah's."

"It's good for him. He's gotten soft," Fraser said. A moment later he sighed. "Like Mountie, like wolf."

Ray reached over and squeezed his shoulder. "Not soft, Benton. Just a little neglected." He moved his hand slightly, trailed his fingers up Fraser's neck, raising gooseflesh and a shiver. "You just need some. . . attention."

Fraser was staring at him, eyes slightly glazed, lips parted. He leaned forward slightly, and Ray found himself leaning too, and just in time remembered that there were probably at least three pair of eyes glued on them at that moment, and he pulled back, looking around guiltily. "Let's go."

* * *

It was fortunate that there was no traffic, since Fraser drove the few miles back to Hannah's with less than the requisite amount of attention on the road. He couldn't believe he'd almost kissed Ray right there in the middle of the street. What had he been thinking? A moment's thought forced him to admit that he really hadn't been thinking at all. Simply feeling. Feeling Ray's acceptance, his desire, his. . . love. Feeling all those things himself. To have Ray acknowledge and echo his own feelings, on top of the satisfaction he'd already gained by finally feeling useful, needed, and effective was nearly incomprehensible.

"You're pretty quiet there. Penny for your thoughts?"

He glanced briefly at Ray, felt, more than saw his quizzical gaze in the darkness inside the vehicle. "I was just contemplating how it might feel to win the lottery."

There was a short pause, and then Ray chuckled. "Ohyeah. I get that. This is just. . . the best, you know?"

"I do indeed," Fraser said warmly.

"God, I wish. . . ." Ray began, only to break off abruptly.

Fraser knew without a doubt what he'd been about to say. He sighed. "As do I, Ray."

The realization that Ray would be leaving the next day kept them both quiet for the remainder of the drive. Once they reached their destination, a few moments conversation netted them the use of the garage to conceal the Suburban, and the workroom as an observation post. Hannah furnished them with a large thermos of coffee and a five-pound coffee can festively decorated with maple-leaf patterned contact-paper, which was filled with sugar cookies. In addition, she gave them two Hudson's Bay blankets and the information that there were some old lawn-furniture cushions stored in the garage that they could sit on, though the furniture itself had long since fallen apart.

"All the comforts of home," Ray said, beating Fraser to it. "Thanks. This is the best-equipped stakeout I've ever been on."

Hannah beamed at him. "Well, it's the least I could do." She looked hopefully over at Fraser. "So, should Constable Traynor go home now?"

Fraser shook his head. "No, I'd like her to stay, if you don't mind. Just in case we miss anything."

Hannah sighed, and Fraser heard Ray snort under his breath.

"Shyeah. Like you'd miss anything."

He sent a quelling glance at Ray and set the coffee and cookies on top of the folded blankets he already held. "Why don't you take these, and I'll just go move the truck."

Ray grinned at him irrepressibly, and nodded, heading out the kitchen door and over to the garage. Putting down his burden, he opened the garage door and waited for Fraser to drive the Suburban inside. Once he'd parked, Fraser got flashlights and a packet of disposable double-cuff restraints out of the back of the unit. Ray, blankets draped over his shoulders and still maintaining his grip on the thermos and cookies, somehow managed to grab a couple of the green vinyl cushions off the shelf where Hannah had indicated they could be found and disappeared out the door with them. Fraser followed him a moment later, closing the garage door before ascending the staircase that led up to the workshop. Dief appeared out of the small copse to the south of the house and followed him, grumbling about the working conditions.

Ray had put the coffee and cookies down on the workbench and was in the process of rearranging several gallon paint cans, a sawhorse, and two sheets of heavy plywood into a makeshift seat facing the window which fronted on the house. That done, he put the chaise-style cushions down on the plywood and sat down for a moment, testing his construction. When it held up, he nodded looking pleased. "There. Not quite as good as the GTO's bucket seats, but hey, at least we won't have to stand up or kneel the whole time, and our butts won't get numb."

"It certainly should help, thank you," Fraser said, taking a moment to orient himself, identifying the path to the door and making sure it was clear, as well as noting the positions of the workbench, a second saw-horse, and a table-saw before reaching up to grasp the chain that would turn out the overhead light. "All set?" he asked Ray.

Ray took a look around. "Hang on," he folded one of the two blankets and put it down on the wooden floor under the workbench. "There you go, Dief. Why should we get all the perks?" he asked, and then nodded at Fraser as Dief curled up on the cushion. "All set. Go for it."

Fraser tugged on the chain, plunging the room into darkness. He stood for a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust, and then moved forward toward the window. The vantage point was quite good, showing the rear and both sides of the house, away from the porch light that flooded the front yard with light.

"Nice view," Ray said.

"It is an excellent vantage point," Fraser said before glancing back to find that even though they were on the dark side of the house, there was enough light coming in the window to faintly illumine the room they occupied, and that Ray was not looking out the window, but rather at his backside. He was torn between feeling foolishly pleased, and feeling slightly exasperated. "Ray," he said, trying to sound severe but succeeding only in sounding rather fond. "We're working."

Ray grinned. "Yeah, but that doesn't mean I'm blind, Benton. From this distance, I don't even need my glasses. And that is one world-class view you got there, I'm telling you. And as a connoisseur, I should know."

Fraser's face went hot. "Nonsense, Ray. If you're not blind, you can't have failed to notice that I'm . . . not in optimum condition."

Ray sighed, shaking his head, scratching at his stubble with a raspy sound before patting the cushion beside him. "C'mere, okay? Sit."

Fraser sat, somewhat gingerly at first until he realized that Ray's makeshift couch was sturdy enough to support him. Ray reached out and put a hand on his thigh, squeezing lightly. Fraser's entire focus seemed suddenly to be concentrated on that spot. He could feel the warmth of Ray's hand through the denim of his jeans, could make out each individual finger where it lay. He swallowed hard.

"Look, we're pushing forty here, Benton. Optimum condition left us both in the dust a few years back. Don't sweat it, okay? I'm into the whole package, not just bits and pieces. All of you. If putting up with your passive-aggressive crap back in Chicago didn't put me off my feed do you really think anything else will?"

"Passive-ag. . . I am not!" Fraser said hotly, affronted.

"Tell me another one," Ray said, his voice dripping sarcasm. "Your picture's in the dictionary right next to the definition, Benton. But that's okay, because that's you and I got to kind of like that about you. And besides, my picture's in there next to just plain old ordinary aggressive so it's not like I got room to talk. Just cop to it."

Fraser thought about protesting, but then Ray's fingers shifted slightly up and down his thigh in what could only be termed a caress, and he found himself barely able to think. "I . . . ah. . . what were you saying?"

"You're passive-aggressive," Ray prompted.

Right. Yes. That was the topic. Fraser tried to marshal his thoughts, a task rapidly becoming nearly Herculean. "I suppose. . . some people might. . . view it . . . in that light."

Ray's chuckled, fingers straying slightly higher, moving toward his inner thigh, toward the crease where thigh and hip joined. "You're breathing kind of heavy there," he teased.

Fraser lifted his gaze from the hypnotic stroke of fingers on his thigh and looked into Ray's face, shadowed, mysterious. His mouth was curved in a faint smile, his eyes shone with reflected light. He hesitated for a moment, and then remembered that Ray was leaving in the morning and he might never have the chance to do this again. That thought was. . . unbearable. He had to know. Had to. He had no choice at all. Lifting a hand, he slid it behind Ray's head, feeling the plush prickle of short-cropped hair against his palm as he leaned over, tilted his head a little, and brought their lips together.

Ray leaned into him, lips parting, breath sighing into his mouth, the hand on his thigh tightening a little, his other hand coming up, fingers threading into Fraser's hair, tugging a little to reposition him, and then Ray's tongue flicked his lower lip, slick and warm, and Fraser shivered and opened wider to let him in, shifting closer, up against Ray. He felt solid, warm, and strong. As Fraser moved, Ray let his hand slide along Fraser's leg until his thumb was resting in the crease where thigh met groin, and. . . squeezed.

Fraser let out a startled gasp which made Ray start laughing, and determined to even the score, Fraser slid a hand down Ray's back until it was resting on as much of his backside as he could reach, and he squeezed back. Surprised, Ray twitched. Okay, it was more of a jump. The movement unbalanced Fraser, causing him to shift most of his weight to one side. Suddenly the cushions, plywood, Ray. . . everything, was sliding, accompanied by the incredibly loud sounds of paint cans falling and rolling, the hollow, ringing thud of a sawhorse hitting the floor, and Diefenbaker's startled barking. Too stunned to react, they rode the avalanche down to the floor and lay there for a few seconds, trying to catch their breath, adrenalin mingling strangely with arousal. Ray lay sprawled mostly beneath him, but as he pushed up onto his hands to look around, Fraser rolled off him and sat back on his haunches.

"Sorry, sorry! God, that was stupid!" Ray gasped in apology, looking rather stunned. "What the fuck just happened?" He rubbed the back of his head.

"I have no fucking idea," Fraser echoed, rubbing his elbow where it had come down hard on the floor and still smarted.

Ray stared at him, shocked, and then started giggling. "You. . . you. . . . Holy shit, Fraser!"

Fraser found himself laughing too, it was irresistible. "That sums it up nicely."

"I think. . . Dief, shut up, okay? You're going to give it away if we haven't already!" Ray snapped. "I think one of the paint cans fell over and it kind of. . . snowballed from there."

Fraser surveyed the devastation. "I believe you're right."

Introducing the subject of sexual orientation really did seem something of a moot point at this stage of the proceedings, but Fraser couldn't quite keep his need to question entirely at bay. "So . . . you're . . . what I mean to say is . . . have you always . . . ?" He struggled to find the right words, but Ray just looked as if he was finding the whole situation more and more hysterically funny every second. "Ray, if you'd just stop laughing for a moment, I could . . . ."

"You could what? Finish a sentence?" Ray lay back down on the floor, wheezing with laughter. "You really think you need to ask what you're trying to ask? Now?"

It did sound a bit stupid, after all, but he was nothing if not persistent. "Perhaps not, but if I were to ask, would you say you were . . . ."

He laughed. "Well, if I'm not, I'm going to have to have a serious discussion with my dick because it seems to think I am."

Fraser blushed, but smiled back at his friend, then paused for a moment before saying, "Ray?"

"Yeah?" Ray grinned.

"Aren't you going to ask me if . . . ."

"Believe me, I've got nothing to ask you, Octopus Boy." And then Ray, still lying on the floor, started to laugh again until Fraser couldn't help but join him.

After they got their laughter almost under control, they picked themselves off the floor and put the makeshift bench and their supplies back to rights in fairly short order. Diefenbaker, however, was not so quickly settled. He pranced around the small workroom over and over again, stopping occasionally to vocalize in a manner that sounded suspiciously like laughter - and not even Fraser's quelling glare had any discernable effect on his behavior.

As he began his fifth circuit of the room, Ray reached over and stopped him in his tracks. He placed a hand on either side of the wolf's head and turned him around to face him. "Yeah, so me and Fraser are both idiots. I think you've made your point already, don't you? Or do you have more to add to this discussion?"

Dief shook his head free of Ray's hands, looked over at Fraser, and barked sharply before lying down on the blanket and curling up into a ball.

Fraser sighed. "I don't know where he acquired this unfortunate need to always get the last word in."

Ray glanced at him. "Well, it's not from my side of the family."

Fraser frowned, unable to understand for a moment why Ray had said that - and with such a serious tone of voice. Then he saw the corners of Ray's mouth start to curl up into a grin, and he relaxed into the almost forgotten rhythms of the easy banter that had once been as familiar and welcome as the purple saxifrage that carpeted the Northwest Territory each spring in his youth.

He turned to Ray and raised his eyebrows. "I certainly hope you're not suggesting this trait comes from my side of the family."

Ray's grin grew wider. "Hey, if the shoe fits."

"It doesn't."

"Does too."

"Does not."

"See?" Ray laughed. "You're doing it right now. Can't let it go, can you?"

Unexpectedly, Fraser found himself unable to respond. Ray's words, spoken without rancor and clearly joking, were suddenly far too reminiscent of an earlier - and not at all funny - exchange three years ago on the shores of Lake Michigan. The sudden memory of angry words and punches traded on that day spawned an unwelcome sense of foreboding. They'd come so close to ending their partnership that day. And how close they were now to the time that Ray would have to depart for Saskatoon and leave him once again without a partner. Alone.

He could feel rather than see Ray's worried gaze on him, and he knew he should say something to lighten the mood, but he couldn't find the right words. Ray began to fidget on his end of the bench, but he remained silent, giving Fraser time to pull himself together. It wasn't until he heard a soft whine from Diefenbaker that he was able to shake himself out of his own silence and face Ray again.

He offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and Ray returned it with a small smile of his own.

"You okay?"

"Yes. I was . . . I'm sorry, Ray. Perhaps I'm a bit . . . shaken."

"Yeah, falling on your ass in a pile of paint cans and cookies can do that to a guy."

As he forced himself back to normal, he considered how ironic it was that when it looked as if he was finally reclaiming a passion for the work he'd always loved, now he also had to contend with his passion for one Raymond Kowalski as well.

It wasn't as if he had never encountered this state of affairs where Ray was concerned, but back in Chicago he had believed that the hope of anything coming of his desire for his partner was firmly in the realm of fantasy, and so it was fairly simple to find a balance between thoughts of Ray and attention on his work.

But now, the discovery that Ray returned his interest - and apparently in no less intense a way - tipped the scales so far that maintaining any kind of a balance was all but impossible.

Ray picked that moment to reach over and take Fraser's hand in his own. He squeezed Ray's hand automatically, but followed that almost immediately by pulling his hand away, leaving Ray looking visibly unhappy.

Fraser sighed. "Ray."

"Nah, it's okay. If you're not in the mood, you're not in the mood. Been there, done that, got the tattoo."

"Ray."

"I said I get it, Fraser."

"Ray!"

"What?"

"It isn't that I'm 'not in the mood,' as you put it."

Ray remained silent, but turned to face him.

"The truth is, I think the exact opposite is the case. I'm too much in the mood, and every time . . . every time you touch me I lose all sense of where I am and what I'm supposed to be doing. We're supposed to be working, Ray," he said, pleadingly. "I can't . . . you're too much of a distraction."

"Oh." Ray frowned for a moment, but then he started to smile. "Oh. Okay. Okay, I get that." He laughed explosively. "Boy, do I get that. Yeah. We're on our best behavior, both of us. Hope that kid shows up soon," he said a little plaintively.

"As do I."

They both stared out the window for some time, watching intently.

"You really think he's going to show?" Ray asked, out of the blue.

"It's the logical assumption. Ms. Moss' property fits all the requirements."

Ray looked out the window, thoughtfully, then turned back to Fraser. "You know, he's not going to show if those lights stay on. They'll scare him off."

Fraser looked over at the house, nodding. "You're probably right."

"You got her phone number?" Ray asked, pulling out his cellphone.

Fraser nodded, and got his own phone out. "I do, but put that away. There's no point in you making a long-distance call from ten yards away," he said, dialing.

Ray laughed, closing his phone and sliding it back into his pocket. "Yeah. For a second there I kind of forgot we weren't back in Chicago - it feels like old times."

Ray's words brought home, yet again, the fact that tomorrow he would be going back to Saskatoon, and the day after, back to Chicago, and Fraser would remain behind and his life would go back to what passed for normal. Before he could think of anything to say, Hannah picked up her phone, and Fraser pushed away his personal pain to deal with the matter at hand. After asking her to turn out the lights in the house, he closed his phone and put it away. A few moments later the porch light winked out, followed a moment later by the lights that shone in the windows, one by one. The last one to go out was on the upper floor, Fraser assumed it was Hannah's bedroom.

"That'll help," Ray said softly, as if the darkness also required quiet.

Fraser nodded, then realized that in the lessened light, he probably couldn't be seen. "Yes, it should. Good idea." He fell silent then. Ray didn't speak either. After a few moments, Fraser realized that while they could see the house, he couldn't hear a thing. He reached over and found the catch that locked the window and opened it, then slid the window open a few inches.

"You figure freezing our butts off will keep us from jumping each other's bones?" Ray asked, sounding amused. "Kinda like a cold shower?"

"I'm afraid we'll have to rely on will and good sense for that," Fraser returned. "I just thought it would be helpful to be able to hear the approach of a vehicle, or a person on foot."

"Smart. You get the east window, I'll do the south and west ones."

A few moments later they had all the windows open a small amount, and the ambient temperature in the room had dropped precipitously. Ray shivered and opened the coffee, pouring some into the cup-lid, taking a couple of gulps, then handing the cup to Fraser who did the same, wanting to share that with Ray, though the contrast of heat in his mouth and the cold air against his face actually seemed to make him feel colder. He shivered a little too, as he handed Ray the empty cup, which he put back on the thermos. After a few minutes, Ray picked up the blanket, Fraser could see the pale wool plainly as he shook it out, and then wrapped it around himself, holding one side out like a wing.

"Come here, we can share. I promise not to get fresh."

Fraser nodded, and moved into Ray's space, taking that side of the blanket from him to hold it around them.

"Better," Ray said after a moment. "We didn't exactly dress for a stake-out this morning."

"No," Fraser allowed. "In retrospect it might have been prudent to go home and change."

"Yeah, but it wouldn't have been us," Ray said. "What time is it?"

Fraser shifted his arm until he could see the luminescent hash-marks on his watch. "It's about nine-twenty."

Ray sighed. "Bet he doesn't show until after midnight."

"I don't bet."

Ray chuckled. "Yeah right. Sure you don't."

His laugh was warm, intimate. His voice more so. The right side of his body warmed the left side of Fraser's. When he breathed in he could faintly smell the warm, spicy scent of him . . . and warmth began to build inside him. Heat. Fire.

"Damn it!" He stepped away, out of the warmth, trying to stop thinking about how Ray's skin had felt under his hands, about what he had tasted like, the complete uninhibited response he had shown to Fraser's touch.

"What?" Ray asked, sounding startled, reaching to grab the trailing side of the blanket.

"I. . ." he paused, casting around for an excuse, and found one. "I'm an idiot. I need to call Dave Byrnes." He pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened it.

"Why?"

"If our suspect actually does manage to set a blaze before we get to him, the fire suppression unit will need to be here as quickly as possible." He dialed, waited as it rang, and then explained the situation to Dave, who agreed to put a skeleton crew on standby, just in case. Ending the call, he glanced at his watch. A whole six minutes had passed. Lord. He was never going to make it through this. It was torture.

"You done?" Ray asked impatiently.

"Yes."

"Good, then get back over here, I'm cold."

Fraser hesitated.

Ray sighed. "That's too much, too, huh?"

Fraser scowled, annoyed with himself. He wasn't that big a 'wuss,' as Ray would say. "Certainly not," he said moving back to Ray's side, and sliding an arm around his waist.

"Better." Ray relaxed against him, and they stood looking out at the house. After a few minutes, Ray fidgeted a little. "You know, this was easier in Chicago. At least there we could play the license plate game to keep sharp. And there were convenience stores handy, most of the time. And I wasn't having such a hard time keeping my hands to myself."

Fraser told himself he absolutely would not whimper. It was beneath him. "There are cookies and coffee," he pointed out, steadfastly ignoring Ray's suggestive comment. "Though I'll admit that even if we were out where we could see the road, the odds that we would encounter any license plates other than Saskatchewan ones are slim to none."

"'S what I thought. Guess we could sing songs or something."

Fraser looked at him, wishing he could see his face. Surely he was joking. "Sing?" he asked cautiously. "Wouldn't that 'give it away' as you put it earlier?"

"Well, I don't mean sing sing, not like belting out Broadway show tunes. Just sort of. . . I dunno. Hum? Whisper the lyrics?" He thought for a moment, and made a face. "Okay, forget it. Dumb idea. Guess we'll just have to . . . sit here."

Fraser nodded, sighing. "As you say."

"Well, look at the up side here. You won't have to hear me sing Kum-Ba-Yah."

Fraser shuddered eloquently. "Thank God. I believe that could be considered grounds for justifiable homicide."

"Oh, yeah, you're a funny guy, Fraser. And yeah, for once I do mean 'funny ha-ha.'" Then Ray nudged his knee into Fraser's leg, pulled the edge of the blanket more tightly, pulling Fraser in closer to him in the process. "Of course, 'funny weird' hasn't been taken off the list yet, so don't get too excited."

"Don't worry, I'm not excited," Fraser said, laughing a little, only to find himself gasping slightly as Ray's hand slipped beneath the blanket and rested on his knee, fingers curled on his inner thigh.

"What was that you were saying about not being excited?" Ray asked, running his fingers lightly up the inseam of Fraser's jeans.

"Ray!" He said, trying to sound stern, but succeeding only in moaning his name in an embarrassingly loud manner. "I thought we'd agreed to . . . oh, God. Ray, could you . . . oh, you're. Oh, yeah. Just another millimeter and . . .mmmm."

Ray's fingers lingered for a moment, but then he pulled his hand away and Fraser wanted nothing more than to have that hand back where it had just been. Amazing. He had no control where Ray was concerned. None whatsoever. He leaned over, elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands, but no more than two seconds later, Ray reached over, took Fraser's face in his hands, turned him slightly, and gave him a quick, hard kiss on the mouth before returning his hands to hold the blanket.

"Sorry. I'm . . . okay, I'm not sorry I touched you, and I'm sure as hell not sorry I kissed you, but . . . I know, I know. Not yet. We got a job to do and we're professionals, damn it."

Ray sighed, then wrapped his arm around Fraser's own arm and leaned his head on Fraser's shoulder. For a moment, Fraser continued to sit upright, but the temptation to lean slightly against Ray's head finally proved to be too much.

He couldn't have said how long they sat there, holding each other - leaning against each other - but this time, almost miraculously, he didn't find the close proximity to Ray a distraction. Yes, he remained aware of Ray - of everything about the man beside him, in fact. The tickle of spiky hair against his temple. The familiar, and probably unconscious, tapping of Ray's foot on the softwood floor. The puffs of breath that could be seen in the bright gleam of moonlight spilling into the small, chilly room.

However, this once familiar hyper-awareness of his surroundings which had been all but dormant for far too long and which was now waking up with a vengeance, didn't stop with his awareness of Ray. The whisper of wind - barely audible on this still night - rustling through the branches of the birch trees outside. The faint smell of pine needles coming from somewhere beyond the stand of birches. The faint sound of leaves, half buried in the light dusting of snow, crackling underfoot . . . underfoot?

"Ray," he whispered. "I think we have a visitor."

Ray sat up, instantly alert. "Where?" he whispered squinting out the window.

"Not sure yet, I heard. . . just a moment. . ." Fraser strained his eyes, saw a vague movement near the back porch of the house. He waited tensely, knowing it was as likely to be a deer or elk as a person, but a moment later the shape resolved into a human figure as the visitor stepped onto the porch and was silhouetted against the side of the house. "Back porch."

Ray nodded, watching intently. The shadowy figure squatted down, and began to make splashing and pouring motions around the area where the wooden porch joined the house.

"Got him," Ray whispered, rolling gracefully to his feet, the blanket falling unnoticed to the floor as he picked up one of the flashlights.

Fraser surged to his feet as well, grabbing the other light, and followed him to the door. Dief leaped up as well, dancing excitedly, though for once quietly, at their feet. They stood for a moment, still watching, as a sudden flare of light on the porch illuminated the figure. Fraser realized that he had flicked a cigarette-lighter into life. "Go!" Fraser growled, and put his hand against Ray's back, urging him forward.

Ray was already in motion. He pushed the door open, and headed down the stairs. The sudden creak and squeal of the door's hinges sounded as loud as a scream in the quiet night. The figure on the porch whirled, still holding the lighter. Its fitful flicker illuminated Crawford Jones' pale, scared-looking face as he stared at them, mouth agape.

"Shit!" Crawford yelped. The lighter went out, and the sound of breaking glass told Fraser he'd dropped the bottle of after-shave.

"RCMP, remain where you are!" Fraser called out, not particularly hopeful that Crawford would obey him, but he had to try.

As he'd suspected would happen, his words triggered movement, not stillness. He saw a dark blur and could hear running steps, moving away in fast, hard thuds against the hard ground, the sound interrupted by a periodic crunching sound as Crawford hit patches of snow instead of winter-dry grasses and earth.

Already halfway down the stairs, Ray yelled, "Oh no you don't! Freeze, you little dickweed! Chicago PD!"

There was a brief interruption in the sound of running feet, like as not while the boy tried to process both Ray's colorful phrasing and the command he'd probably never expected to hear outside of an American television show. Ray took advantage of the moment to vault over the railing to the ground. Instantly Crawford took off again. Ray landed, rolled, and was up and running after their suspect before Fraser even made it down the rest of the stairs. Realizing that their suspect was heading for the trees behind the house, and guessing that he had parked his vehicle on the old logging road on the other side of the copse, he calculated the best way to cut him off.

"Dief, stay with Ray!" he ordered, as he swung to the south to take a diagonal track through the woods and cut Crawford off. A light flared on some distance away, swinging wildly, and he realized it was Ray's flashlight, tracking Crawford and also illuminating his own path through the stand of trees. Smart. Ray was far less likely to injure himself if he could see roughly where he was going. It also showed Fraser that they were quite a bit further ahead than he had realized.

He had to get ahead of them or Crawford might be able to get to his car before Ray caught him, and too many people, both guilty and innocent, had been killed in car chases for him to let that happen here. He didn't want Crawford hurt. Or Ray. Or Zhertak. Or some family heading home late from a gathering up on the Reserve. He could do it. It wasn't that far. Three-quarters of a mile, perhaps. An easy run, really. He ignored the breath catching in his chest, tearing at his throat, making him feel like he was fighting for air. Ignored the burn building in his thighs, the ache in his knees. Kept pushing himself. Faster. Faster. Just one thought in his head. I have to get there first. He stumbled, caught himself with both hands, wincing as they scraped on twigs, rocks, and crusted snow.

Pushing himself upright he saw the flicker of Ray's flashlight, closer now. Heard Dief barking. Heard the sound bounce a little. Echo. He had to be close to the road, to hear that, because the trees would deaden and mute the sound if he were still deep in the forest. Almost there. Almost there. He sucked air into his laboring lungs and put every once of determination he owned into his run. He broke out of the trees, the moon-silvered gravel of the road stretching ahead of him. Seconds later a lanky figure burst into view a hundred yards down the road, heading for the beat-up old Gremlin parked beside the road. Not quite tall enough and too skinny to be Ray. Crawford.

One last time. One last time. His heart was trying to pound itself out of his chest. His lungs burned. His legs ached. Every muscle he owned felt like jelly. The gravel slid beneath his feet, trying to make him fall, but he dug the cleats of his boots into the scree and managed not to, running low and flat-out, arms pumping, and the distance closed, vanished, as he flung himself forward and tackled Crawford like an American football player would, taking him down just seconds before he reached the car.

The gravel tore through his jeans and bit into his knees, scraped the backs of his hands raw. He ignored the pain and hung onto his prize doggedly as it kicked and flailed.

"R. . . C. . . MP. . . ." he panted. "You're . . . under arrest."

"Fraser?" He heard Ray call from behind him.

"Here!" he gasped.

Fraser heard running steps on the gravel and Ray was there beside them, the flashlight illuminating the scene. "Restraints. . . pocket!" he managed.

He felt Ray's fingers trail over his backside as he hunted for them, and thanked his lucky stars that he was in too much distress to respond to that touch. "Jacket!" he snapped.

Ray's hands moved, locating the packet of interlocking plastic loops. Pulling out a set, he grabbed one of Crawford's hands and snugged the band securely, but not painfully, around that wrist. Crawford kept kicking, and flailing around with the other hand.

"Give it up dickhead!" Ray growled, threading his fingers into Crawford's long dark hair, holding him by it, not quite pulling. Yet. "Or do you want to add resisting arrest to the arson charge?"

One last flail caught Fraser in the ribs and stole what little breath he had recovered, but then Ray did yank, and Crawford subsided sullenly.

"Ow man!" he whined. "That hurts! Police brutality!"

Ray snorted. "You think that hurts, you ought to try my patented head-kick." he said, taking his hand out of Crawford's hair to loop the restraint snugly around the boy's other wrist as neatly as a cowboy roping a calf.

"He threatened me!" Crawford bleated.

Fraser levered himself off his legs and sat up, sucking in deep lungfuls of cold air, desperately trying to re-oxygenate his system, shivering a little as his sweat cooled him down too much, now that he was stationary.

Crawford looked at him scornfully. "What's the matter, Corporal? Too many hash brown casseroles and cream pies from the Ladies' Auxiliary?"

Fraser felt heat flare across his face that had nothing to do with exertion. He didn't reply, because the only reply he could give would be 'yes.'

Ray reached down and smacked Crawford lightly on the back of his head. "Yeah, well he caught your skinny ass, didn't he?"

"Ow!! He can't do that! Can he do that?" He asked, looking at Fraser, then back at Ray. "Who are you anyway?"

"Detective Ray Kowalski," Ray said.

"Kow. . . wait! You're one of the guys from Chicago! I remember you. You were on the ghost ship!"

"Yeah. That's me. Corporal Fraser's partner. . . and friend." He shot a look at Fraser that was full of warmth, then looked back at Crawford, his gaze narrowed and glacial. "And you're in a world of hurt here, Mr. Jones. Arson. Attempted murder. You might think about that next time you're tempted to sass the Mountie."

Crawford's mouth dropped open. "Murder?" he squeaked. "No way! I never hurt anybody!"

"Sheer luck," Ray said ominously.

"Indeed," Fraser said, finally having enough wind to speak coherently. "I'm afraid Detective Kowalski is right. Had you succeeded in lighting that fire tonight, you could have killed Mrs. Moss."

"She's not even home!" Crawford scoffed. "Everybody knows she goes up to the Reserve to visit Mary on the weekends."

"If that's so, then you'd think that 'everybody' would also know that she didn't go up this weekend," Fraser said without trying to soften it as he usually would, anger at the sheer thoughtlessness of the boy's actions pushing him to make Crawford aware of just how big a mistake he'd nearly made. "Mary is ill and Hannah stayed home."

"Really?" Crawford stared at him, looked at Ray as if to request confirmation. Ray nodded. And suddenly all of Crawford's flippancy and attitude vanished, melting away as tears welled in his eyes.

"I didn't know!" he wailed. "I swear I didn't know! I thought she was gone! I wouldn't have. . . I didn't want to hurt anybody!"

Tears washed streaks through the dirt on his face, acquired, no doubt, in his wild run through the woods. Maybe he'd fallen, wiped his sweaty face with his dirty hands. He no longer looked like a young man, but like a little boy. Fraser heard Ray's voice, not aloud, but a memory: 'You have to remember that you were just as stupid at one point or you can't deal with kids at all.' His anger seemed to evaporate. He'd done plenty of stupid things in his life, hadn't stopped doing them once he hit adulthood, either, as his current physical state eloquently reminded him. He reached out and gently put his hand on Crawford's shoulder.

"I know you didn't. Come on. Let's go back to Hannah's. I suspect you have something you'd like to say to her. And then we're going to call your mother, go to the detachment, and have a serious discussion about what you've been doing and what we're going to do about it."

Crawford nodded, sniffling, unable to even wipe his face because his hands were restrained. Fraser pulled a clean handkerchief out of his pocket and did it for him, even holding it so he could blow his nose, like the child he suddenly seemed. Small and scared, never mind that he was nearly as tall as Ray. He glanced at Ray, who nodded at him approvingly, and he felt a warm glow in his chest as he helped the boy to his feet.

A sudden flare of light and the crunch of tires on gravel brought them all around to watch as Constable Traynor pulled up in the Suburban and set the brake, leaving the engine running and the lights on as she got out and headed their way. Ray switched off his flashlight and Fraser frowned, fingering the keys in his pocket.

"Constable," he said.

"Sir," she responded formally. "We heard. . . I mean, I thought you might need assistance in rounding up the suspect."

He almost winced at the further proof that his subordinates felt he was incapable of doing his job, but somehow managed not to show his dismay. "Thank you, but Detective Kowalski and I have matters well in hand. Er, how did you. . . ?" he nodded at the vehicle.

She looked a little sheepish. "I, ah, hotwired it, sir."

He gave her a long look, and she cleared her throat. "I'll put everything back to normal when we get back to the detachment."

"Yes, you will," he said, refraining from further comment. "Well, as long as you're here, you can drive us back to Mrs. Moss', and then we'll head back to the detachment from there. And since you're carrying a radio, would you also call in the arrest and have Constable Zhertak request that Mrs. Jones and her attorney meet us at the detachment?"

"Yes sir!" She pulled out her radio and made the call as Fraser escorted Crawford to the Suburban and put him in the back seat, getting in beside him. Ray let Dief into the cargo area and then took the passenger side front seat himself. A moment later Traynor joined them, getting in and putting the vehicle in gear as she released the parking brake. None of them spoke, though Crawford still sniffled periodically.

* * *

Ray paced restlessly outside the detachment, feeling unfairly excluded, halfway wishing he smoked so he'd have something to do besides bite his nails. He'd killed some time helping Traynor put the Suburban to rights in the big, heated garage that took up most of the back side of the detachment building. She hadn't really needed any help, but had let him kibitz, probably just to be nice. Once that was done she'd taken him inside and offered him some coffee. Cop coffee was the same no matter where you went: Thick, black, bitter, and super-caffeinated. Which probably explained why he'd started pacing in front of the main desk for a while, until he got tired of Traynor and Zhertak looking at him like they half expected him to pull out a rubber hose and push his way into the interrogation room where Fraser, Crawford, Crawford's mom, Crawford's lawyer, and even Diefenbaker were all sitting around yakking in that calm, polite Canadian way.

It didn't quite seem fair that he had to stay out when he'd been in on everything else, but the lawyer had insisted and Fraser had asked him to wait outside. What was taking so long in there anyway? How hard could it be to book the kid and come out so Ray could take Fraser home and show him some real appreciation. Which apparently no one around La Rouille ever bothered to do, or at least hadn't until now. Zhertak had been almost annoyingly respectful and admiring when they brought Crawford in. Ray was still sure that the too-buff constable had designs on Fraser. And Fraser wasn't open for designing. He was Ray's.

He paced some more. Shivered a little. It was pretty damned cold outside when you weren't being kept warm by the adrenalin pumping through you as you chased a suspect through the woods in the dark. He finally decided he was being stupid standing around outside freezing his nuts off, since he had plans to use them later. He headed back toward the doors just as they opened, Fraser holding them open so Lana Jones and Crawford's lawyer could walk out. Judging by the looks on their faces they weren't happy, but they also weren't completely torn up. Must've come to some sort of arrangement about the charges, though it looked like Crawford was definitely spending the night. No surprise there. He was, after all, an arsonist.

Ray lifted his eyebrows at Fraser who put a finger to his lips and then pointed at the Suburban. Ray nodded and headed for it, getting in and starting it as Fraser and Dief escorted the two over to their car, waited until they had started it and pulled out, then they came across the parking lot to join Ray. Fraser let Dief in the back seat and then opened the front door, pausing for a moment before he got in, eyeing Ray in the driver's seat.

"You think you can find your way back to the house?"

Ray rolled his eyes. "Benton, this town's the size of my old neighborhood in Chicago. I think I can manage, especially since I've done it once already. Besides, you know I can't stand to go more than twenty-four hours without getting behind the wheel of a car. Get in."

Fraser chuckled and nodded, getting in. "True. I wouldn't want you to go through withdrawal."

Ray waited for him to buckle up, and then headed for the house. "So what happened?"

"Crawford confessed to setting both previous fires, and to the attempt tonight. He's in a great deal of trouble, but we're hopeful that the Stevensens and Mr. Dixon will see their way clear to letting Crawford attend a sentencing circle instead of going through the court system. He is genuinely remorseful; discovering that Mrs. Moss was home tonight came as a great shock to him and made him realize how dangerous what he was doing is. He's offered to lay information against Zoltan Motherwell as well, which should help us shut down his access to the Internet and possibly prevent repetitions of what happened here."

Ray nodded, chancing a glance at Fraser. "What's a sentencing circle?"

"It's an aboriginal justice program in which the perpetrator is required to face his tribal elders and receive a sentence at their hands, in lieu of going through the regular court system. It's been shown to be quite effective, especially with youthful offenders like Crawford."

"Sounds like a good idea." He tapped his fingers on his thigh, and looked back at Fraser. "You know, what I can't figure out though, is how the heck Crawford got hooked up with Motherwell of all people to begin with. It's one hell of a weird coincidence."

Fraser sighed. "Actually, it's not a coincidence at all. I'm afraid it's my own fault. I was invited to give a talk on careers in law enforcement to local high-schoolers, and in an effort to enliven the proceedings, I used several anecdotes from my time in Chicago."

The light dawned. "One of them being our first case together?"

"Indeed. And as the assembly was mandatory attendance, Crawford was there. Later he grew curious about Mr. Motherwell and looked him up on the Internet, and the rest, as they say, is history."

Ray snorted. "Dumb kid. I can't believe he was stupid enough to think he'd get away with it, considering he was following the m.o. from a case he knew you'd already solved."

"That we solved," said Fraser quietly. Ray glanced over at him, but Fraser's eyes were closed and he was leaning against the passenger side window. "As you said yourself, Ray, young people often seem even less likely than adults to consider the possible consequences of their actions. Crawford's finally been forced to take a hard look at himself and his behavior, and hopefully he'll be able to make better choices from here on out and live a life he's proud of." Fraser paused, and laughed softly. "And, Ray, if I start sounding like a bad religious pamphlet again would you kindly shoot me?"

Ray laughed. "Yeah. You got it."

As Ray turned the Suburban onto the main road, he thought about what Fraser had just said. Yeah, if everything worked out right, this would probably jolt the kid into making some changes, but whether they were going to be long-term changes or not was another story. Down at the detachment, it sure seemed that Crawford's mom loved her son, but if that was the case, where the heck had she been when her kid was getting into this mess to begin with? How could anyone pay so little attention to someone they cared so much about?

He sighed. Two other kids, a full-time job, and a loner son who'd hit the age where everything had to be a big secret: that's how Lana had missed the signs. No big mystery there. Maybe the real mystery was how he had managed to miss seeing so much about his own best friend for so long.

Ray turned into the drive, put the car into park, and shut off the ignition, but Fraser didn't move. His eyes were still closed, and he'd slumped down a little in his seat, clearly asleep. He looked so completely exhausted that Ray almost felt guilty waking him up, but he sure as hell wasn't going to leave him out in the car all night. He unbuckled his seatbelt, then turned in toward Fraser.

"Hey," he said, laying his hand on Fraser's shoulder and shaking him gently. "We're home."

Fraser smiled in his sleep and turned his head slightly toward the sound of Ray's voice, rubbing his cheek against the knuckles of Ray's hand in the process. "Mmm . . . nice."

"Yeah, it's nice," Ray said, sliding his thumb along Fraser's cheek. "But it'll be nicer inside."

He walked around to the passenger side and opened both doors. Dief, who'd been curled up on the backseat, stretched himself awake and slipped out of the car. Fraser wasn't quite so fast. Eyes still closed, he unbuckled his own seatbelt, but he sat for a moment before finally answering Ray's smile with a bleary-eyed grin of his own. He groaned a little as he began to straighten his legs, and stopped to test his weight on each knee before releasing his hold on the roof. He took a deep breath, then shut the car door behind him, and headed slowly for the house, Ray walking close beside him.

They entered the warm kitchen. Ray held his hand out for Fraser's jacket, and took it into the living room to hang up on the coat rack along with his own. When he returned to the kitchen, Dief was lapping at a bowl of fresh water, and Fraser was still standing in front of the sink, holding his hands under the running water and wincing slightly.

Ray reached over and turned Fraser's hands over, palms up. No gravel imbedded in them, but it looked like he'd done a number on both his hands sometime during the chase in the woods. "Kind of messy. You got any of that pregnant mucus stuff here?"

Fraser smiled. "I'm afraid not, Ray. There should be some antibiotic ointment, however."

"In the bathroom? I'll get it for you."

"You don't need to do that, Ray."

"It's not a problem. Trust me when I tell you I was heading that direction anyway." Ray grinned. "I'll bring the ointment and some band-aids or something out with me when I'm done, okay?" Fraser nodded, and Ray left him fixing a bowl of food for Dief.

Fraser was sitting on the couch, his boots and socks removed and placed next to him on the floor, when Ray joined him in the living room a few minutes later. He was leaning against the back cushion, eyes closed, and breathing in the steam from a mug he held in his hand.

"Hey," Ray said, laying the tube of ointment down on the coffee table. "I found a bottle of aspirin in the medicine cabinet. Looked like you were walking a little stiffly when you got out of the car. You might want to take a couple of these before you go to sleep; it'll help if there's any swelling."

"Thanks, Ray." He took the aspirin, and swallowed the tablets dry, as if he'd forgotten he was holding a drink in his other hand. "I heated up some chicken soup in the microwave," he said, indicating the second mug sitting atop a magazine on the table, "but if you'd prefer a more substantial meal, I'll see what I can come up with."

"Nah, this is good." Ray reached for the cup and took a careful sip. "I think I'm too tired for anything more ambitious than instant soup."

Fraser opened his mouth to reply, but it was swallowed up in a yawn. "As am I, apparently."

"Yeah. Looks like it's time for Doctor Ray to do his thing. Give me your hands."

"Ray, I'm perfectly capable of putting antibiotic ointment on my own hands."

He sat up, but Ray pushed him backwards again. "Just go with it, Fraser. I'm in the mood. You don't want to come between a man and his mood, do you?"

"Good lord, no," Fraser said with a grin, relaxing back against the pillows as Ray applied cream to his hands and covered the worst of the scrapes with band-aids.

"Okay," Ray said, taking the empty mugs from the table. "Be back in a second."

When he returned from the kitchen, Fraser had fallen asleep again, his head tilted to one side. He laughed to himself. Whatever fantasies he'd been having about a night of hot monkey sex were obviously going to have to be put aside for the time being. He was pretty tired himself, but Fraser looked like he was just this side of lapsing into a coma.

He knelt down on the couch and put his arm around Fraser's shoulders and squeezed gently until he finally stirred.

"Come on, let's get you to bed."

Fraser looked away. "The couch is fine, Ray."

"For Dief, maybe. Unless . . . ." Huh. It hit Ray that maybe he'd been making a few too many assumptions. A little groping in a cold garage didn't necessarily mean that Fraser wanted to be sharing a bed with him. "You know, I'm not going to boot you out of your bed again. I can take the couch if you don't want to . . . ."

"No!" Fraser's said instantly, with a stricken expression. "That's not what I meant at all!"

"Oookay." Then Ray waited, hoping Fraser would add something that would help him figure out what was going on, but after about twenty seconds passed - which had to be the longest damn twenty seconds Ray had ever sat through - he gave up. "So . . . um, you want to tell me what you did mean?"

Fraser opened his mouth to reply, then lifted his hands helplessly before letting them fall again and said wryly. "You know, I don't have the faintest idea what I meant. I'm so tired I'm babbling."

Ray grinned. "Okay, that's progress - sort of."

Fraser smiled back at him through tired eyes, then pushed himself up off the couch and held his arm out in the direction of the bedroom hallway. "Ray, my very good friend - would you do me the honor of sharing my bed with me tonight?"

"Yeah, see . . . that's better! You've got the 'formal invitation to give a guy a sleeping-with-a-Mountie alibi' thing down pat."

Fraser smiled, and Ray stood up, and almost instantly his spot on the couch was taken over by sixty pounds of wolf, who curled up in the warmth left by the two men.

"Well, he's looking comfy. How about you and me go follow his lead?"

"If you insist, Ray," Fraser said, eyes bright with humor. "But I hardly think there's enough room on the couch for all three of us."

Ray rolled his eyes. "Did you get any sleep last night?"

Fraser sighed. "It doesn't appear that I did, does it?"

"Nope. Hey," Ray said, looking back at Dief. "The wolf's already snoring."

"Yes, well . . . he isn't often allowed to sleep on the couch. I think he's availing himself of this rare opportunity while he can."

"Smart wolf. So . . . bed?"

"Bed."

Within minutes, the living room and kitchen lights were shut off, and the two men were finally heading in the direction of the bedroom, but Ray halted Fraser's progress with a quick tug on his sleeve as they passed the bathroom.

"What is it, Ray?"

"Hang on a second. You got anything like Ben-Gay or Aspercreme in here somewhere? Coming out from the car, you looked a little stiff . . . ."

Fraser snickered, and Ray shook his head.

"You been watching Beavis and Butthead? I didn't mean that kind of stiff."

He didn't even make an attempt to look confused by the reference, just smiled and said, "Top shelf of the medicine cabinet, I believe."

Ray walked into the bathroom and found an unopened tube of Aspercreme where Fraser had said it might be. "Got it. You want to go on in to the bedroom?"

"Actually, if I could have a moment to myself here . . . ."

"Huh?" Ray looked around the room. "Oh. Oh, yeah. Let me get out of your way. Just let me know when you're done, okay?"

Fraser nodded, and Ray walked back out into the hall, shutting the door behind him. He supposed he could give the man some privacy, even if just having a bathroom door closed between them felt like too much of a separation at the moment.

He went into the bedroom and put the Aspercreme down next to the lamp on the window side of the bed. Not exactly the kind of stuff in a tube he'd been hoping they'd need to have handy on the bedside table, but, yeah, it had been a long day, and it wasn't just Fraser who was wiped. He probably wouldn't be good for much except sleep right now, either.

Ray sat down on the edge of the bed and removed his boots and socks. By the time he'd taken off his sweatshirt, undershirt, and jeans, Fraser had appeared in the doorway.

"The bathroom's free, Ray."

"Thanks. Just going to go wash up and brush my teeth. Be back in a second."

Ray's words were spoken easily - casually - like it was no big deal for the two of them to be getting ready to sleep together, but inside . . . well, inside was a different matter entirely.

The thing of it was that this should have been no big deal. Even before their Arctic trek, they'd shared sleeping quarters - even the same bed - more times than he could count. And on the quest, well . . . there usually wasn't more than an inch or two separating them most nights after they'd set up camp. But this was different. This was sleeping together with intent, even if they were collectively too beat to really get down to business. Kind of scary, even if it maybe shouldn't have been. But scary in a good way, like when you're at the top of the first hill on a roller coaster and you know there's no way to stop the damn thing and you're really, really looking forward to the heart pounding rush that's going to come any second.

Ray broke some kind of land-speed record getting in and out of the bathroom, but by the time he returned to the bedroom, Fraser was already under the covers and looking a little freaked out. Okay, he was damned if he was going to get into the bed while Fraser was looking this nervous.

"Hey."

"Hi, Ray."

Okay, he was still capable of talking. That was a good sign.

"You put any of that gunk on yet?"

Fraser glanced over at the bedside table. "No, however, I don't believe I really need to use any tonight. I'm sure by morning, I'll . . . ."

"Let's take a look."

"Excuse me?"

"Let's take a look. Slide your legs out of the bed and we'll see."

"It really isn't necessary, Ray." Fraser gave him a small smile, but at the same time he clutched the blanket even closer to his chest than he'd been holding it a minute before. Frightened virgin routine? No way. Not after that scene up in Hannah's workroom. So what was this all about?

"It's necessary for me, Fraser. Don't you get that by now? Don't you get how much I care about you?"

"I . . . ." Fraser closed his eyes for a moment, then slowly slid his legs over to the side and out from under the covers.

Even with the awkward way Fraser was sitting, he kept the blanket held against him as much as he was able to do while still showing his legs, and it probably wasn't about being cold or anything since the house was nice and warm. Besides, if anyone was going to be cold on a late fall night in Canada, it was more likely to be him, but he was standing there in nothing but briefs and felt perfectly comfortable while Fraser was still wearing his long-sleeved henley and looked - well, Ray wouldn't exactly say it looked comfortable.

What was with him? Wasn't this the same guy who'd practically broken the public decency laws of two countries the day he'd smuggled files into the consulate for Ray? He could still remember how weird it had been watching Fraser peeling down in front of him and Turnbull a little more enthusiastically than he'd ever seen anyone get half-naked. When he'd started flinging clothes right and left to get to the folders he'd hidden down his pants, Ray'd thought if Fraser ever wanted to change professions, the Lucky Horseshoe over on Halsted would probably be happy to hire him for Ladies Night.

Ask him? Don't ask him? Maybe it'd be better to stick with not asking him. After spending over a year pretending he didn't notice Fraser talking to thin air; pretending not to notice this particular weirdness would be a piece of cake in comparison. Maybe it was just that now with everything out in the open, he was a little nervous about getting. . . out in the open. That was probably it.

Smiling a little at that thought, he crawled across the bed and grabbed the tube of ointment off the table, then sat down beside Fraser on the edge of the bed. Turning the bedside lamp up to its highest setting, he took a look at Fraser's knees. No broken skin, which was a good thing, but they were swollen and bruised. Fraser was probably going to be one hurting puppy come morning, maybe even with the Aspercreme.

It struck him as funny, all of a sudden, that this was the first time he'd ever gotten a really good long look at even this much of Fraser's bare skin, and he was wasting time thinking about some over-the-counter medicine. Tired or not, this was pretty ridiculous. He should at least be doing something about getting his hands on those legs.

"Doesn't look too bad, but this stuff's going to help. Lay back against the pillows, okay? I'll put some on for you."

"Ray, I can . . . ."

"Fraser, what did I say about wanting to do this?"

Fraser sighed resignedly, then edged back on the bed until his back was touching the pillow and both legs were stretched out in front of him. Ray crawled over his legs, sat down cross-legged in the middle of the bed, and flipped open the cap.

He sniffed. Not bad. Smelled sort of sweetish. Not like a doctor's office, at least, or the rotting-stuff smell of whatever that crap was Fraser had used on him once upon a time. A little aloe or something, maybe, but that was all he could smell.

He squeezed some of the cream on his palm and put the tube down by his side on the bed. Then he dabbed a little on each of Fraser's knees.

Okay, he'd been right to think this was going to be a little weird.

It felt nice, actually. Nice to be touching Fraser's warm, smooth skin finally. But . . . knees? He had to start with knees? Wasn't exactly on the top ten list of seduction fantasies that'd been running through his head for the past twenty-four hours.

He started to move his hands up a little on Fraser's bare thighs, but he could feel a slight tensing in his muscles, so he decided to head the other way for the time being. He rubbed some of the cream into Fraser's calves, relieved when the tension that had surfaced began to dissipate. As Ray worked the cream in, Fraser let out a small groan, and relaxed more fully against the pillow.

"Thank you, Ray." Fraser said quietly. His eyes were closed, but a contented smile was playing on his lips. "This is nice."

"Yeah? Good." Ray slid his hands slowly up the calves and then past Fraser's knees to the outsides of his thighs. He rubbed gently now, slow strokes up and down, feeling the slight crisp-rough texture of hair shift beneath his hands. "So . . . roll over, okay?"

Fraser's eyes went wide, and he stared at Ray.

"What? You got a problem with my seduction technique? Damn. It's always worked before," Ray cackled. "No, you goof. I was just thinking I'd give you a back rub before we go to sleep, if you want, I mean."

Fraser hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. "That would be nice, Ray."

"Good. So roll over, and give me credit for a little finesse," he muttered as Fraser, somewhat reluctantly, complied, lowering the blanket about midway down his back.

Ray shook his head. He knew there was no way that was going to be enough. Ever since he'd met him - but more frequently after the Scarpa case - Fraser'd had intermittent back spasms, and they were almost always in his lower back. If Ray knew him, the pain he felt there every so often would probably be enough to send anyone else screaming for a chiropractor or a surgeon or something, but Ray had learned to look for more subtle clues than screaming when it came to Fraser. A wince. Leaning on the edge of a desk when he could have been standing. That sort of thing.

He couldn't get over how much he'd noticed about Fraser even before he'd figured out what it was he was feeling for him - or how much he liked the fact that there was finally something he could do to make him feel better. Who didn't like getting back rubs? He tugged the covers down some more, and got started.

A minute later, he wasn't sure that Fraser actually fell into the 'liking back rubs' category. First off, it was kind of hard to give a good back rub through a shirt. Second, every time Ray's hands strayed lower than the bottom of his ribs, Fraser tensed up again. And it wasn't just when he touched his lower back. The same thing happened when his hands traveled over to Fraser's sides, no matter how high up on his back they were, and he knew Fraser was not ticklish. It was like trying to give a back rub to a squirming plank of wood.

He was just about to give up when he inadvertently slid his hands down along Fraser's sides to his waist and Fraser stiffened up like he'd gotten an electric shock or something. No, it was more than that. This was someone who used to stick his tongue into electrical outlets. Willingly. Electricity and him had to be old friends by now. Ray paused - his hands stilled on Fraser's waist, with Fraser trying his damnedest not to breathe, near as he could tell - when his instinct finally kicked into gear and he figured out what the hell was wrong.

It was the same thing that had been going on for the past two days. Fraser turning away to put on the Kevlar. Leaving his shirt hanging outside his jeans. Well, fuck that, Ray thought, though he had the sense not to say it. He left his hands where they were and leaned down, kissing the back of Fraser's neck, the little knob at the top of Fraser's spine, and then started working his way lower, at the same time letting his hands slide up and down Fraser's sides in a rough caress.

"Ray!" Fraser choked.

"Shut up, Benton," he said against the small of his back. "I'm gonna get offended here if you keep thinking I'm a shallow dickwad."

"Ray!" This time Fraser sounded shocked in an 'I can't believe you just said that' way, instead of in an 'I'm freaking out' way.

Ray laughed, and moved up to nuzzle the back of Fraser's neck, kissing him behind his ear. "What's the matter, that word not in your approved vocabulary?" he whispered into Fraser's ear. "I've got a ton of 'em. I could make a sailor blush, but I'll settle for a Mountie. Now would you just relax and let me do this for you?"

Fraser nodded. Ray started over again, this time putting a little cream on his hands and pushing them up underneath Fraser's shirt. After one initial flinch that Ray thought was more surprise than self-consciousness, Fraser began to relax into his hands as he rubbed the cream into the skin he couldn't see, but he could feel. The thing that got to him was that Fraser didn't feel all that flabby or out of shape. Just. . . solid. The weight he'd put on was distributed so evenly over his frame that he didn't have much in the way of a gut or anything, just some love-handles that even Ray had fought off and on himself. They ran in his family. He figured he'd lose the battle one of these days.

Fraser made a sort of contented almost-purr as Ray worked his fingers around his shoulder blades, and he turned his head, settling onto his pillow a little more with a sigh. That was followed a few moments later by a jaw-cracking yawn. Ray suppressed a chuckle and kept working, until Fraser reached back, awkwardly, and caught his hand, tugging a little to pull Ray down closer.

"What?" Ray asked quietly.

"C'mere," Fraser muttered.

Ray leaned closer, his nose nearly touching Fraser's, so he could hear whatever it was Fraser had to say. To his surprise, Fraser didn't say a word, just turned his face up, searching blindly until their lips met. Ray smiled against Fraser's mouth and returned the awkward kiss. When their lips parted again, he eased himself down alongside Fraser, one arm across his waist, their heads on the same pillow. It felt good. Felt good. Everything finally felt right again, after being all wrong for two damned years. He had no idea what they were going to do about it, he just knew that he didn't want to give it up again.

* * *

Warm. Comfortable. Horny. Pretty typical way to wake up, Ray thought, except that he hadn't woken up to the unmistakable presence of another person in bed with him in so long that when he got conscious enough to realize it, he kind of jerked a little, startled. The deep breath he took as he did was full of a familiar scent, though, and he remembered where he was and who he was with, and settled back again. Fraser was spooned up behind him, actually wrapped half around him, one thigh across his, an arm around his waist, nose buried in the crook of his shoulder. And if the hard-on poking him in the ass was any sign, Fraser was feeling warm, comfortable and horny too. He grinned. Bonus.

"Benton?"

"Mmmm?" Fraser responded, sounding both sleepy and cautious. An odd combination.

"Just checking," Ray said.

Fraser's head lifted and his arm tightened around Ray's midriff. "You have to check to see who you're in bed with?" he demanded, sounding outraged.

Ray patted the hand on his stomach. "Nah. I was just checking to see if you were awake yet, so settle down," Ray said with a chuckle. He shifted his hips, just a little, and was rewarded with a swift intake of breath and a similar shift of hips against his.

"Ray?" Fraser's breath was warm against his ear.

"Yeah?" Ray said, encouragingly.

"I'm in. . . I want . . . I . . ."

His hand closed around Ray's shoulder and he shifted backward, pulling Ray back too, until he was lying flat on his back looking up at Fraser. Sleep-wrinkled, hair sticking up every-which-way, patchy stubble, but eyes brilliant with everything he couldn't say. He was beautiful.

"Yeah, me too," Ray said, his voice thick. It was hard to swallow for a moment.

Fraser's mouth came down on his, gently at first, in a sort of 'hi, nice to meet you' kiss. But after they both figured out they already knew each other, it warmed up fast. Pretty soon they were back to where they'd had to leave off the night before when they were interrupted by a minor avalanche. And just as quickly past that point. Fraser was apparently just as perceptive in bed as he was out of it, because when his fingers brushed Ray's nipple and it tightened and Ray gasped, Fraser went for the little nubs like there was a neon sign on them or something. Stella had always thought it was weird that Ray liked to have his nipples played with more than she did. Clearly Fraser didn't find it weird at all.

With his few functioning brain cells, Ray realized that he could finally do what he'd wanted to do last night, and got both hands on Fraser's ass and squeezed. Fraser, in the middle of raking his teeth across one of Ray's nipples, bit down almost too hard, and Ray barely managed not to yelp. Once he was sure Fraser's teeth were clear, he petted again and Fraser moaned breathily against his chest, clutching his shoulder as he rocked his hips, pressing the hard length of his cock against Ray's thigh.

Ray pushed up, finding Fraser's hip, rubbing against it the same way Fraser was rubbing on him. "Yeah," he muttered. "Good."

Fraser nodded, clutching at his hip, and lifted his head to bring their lips together again, tongues stroking. When the beeping sounded, for a minute Ray thought it was the smoke detector and he had a muzzy thought about that being appropriate, considering the heat they were generating. But then it dawned on him that Fraser had gone still. Was pushing away from him, turning toward the night-stand. . . oh. Whew.

"Shut that thing off, okay?" he growled, reaching for Fraser. "We're up already."

Fraser silenced the alarm clock, then he sat back, flushed, breathing heavily, and with the most. . . lost. . . expression on his face.

"We have to stop," he said quietly.

Ray stared at him, jaw dropped. "What? Why?"

"It's Monday."

Ray still didn't get it. "There some law here against sex on Mondays?" he asked, baffled.

Fraser sighed deeply. "You should leave here in an hour if you're going to make it back to Saskatoon in time for your court appearance this afternoon."

Saskatoon. Court. LeBeau. "Shit," he moaned, covering his face with his hands. "But. . . we could. . . we've got time. . . I can speed!" he offered, incoherently.

"Please, Ray. I . . . let's just leave it here, all right?"

Something about Fraser's voice made him uncover his face and look, really look, at Fraser. He looked. . . about as miserable as Ray felt.

"This isn't about. . . ." Ray stopped. How the hell could he ask if it was because Fraser didn't feel attractive without making it sound like Ray thought he was acting like a fifteen-year-old girl? He couldn't. And he didn't want to push. Pushing was bad. He swallowed down his disappointment, and nodded. "Okay. Okay, no problem," he lied. "I . . . um, don't suppose you want to go to Saskatoon with me?"

Fraser sighed again. "I'd love to, but I'm afraid I can't. Duty. . . ."

"Yeah. Arf." Ray sighed too. "Okay. You, um, mind if I get a shower and shave?"

"Of course not!" Fraser actually looked appalled. "Be my guest."

Ray managed not to comment that 'guest' status wasn't exactly what he'd been hoping for, as he sat up and swung his feet over the side of the bed. Standing up, he was glad now that he'd worn his briefs to bed, because they made it at least a little less obvious that he had a woody he could pound nails with.

He walked out of the bedroom, but Fraser calling his name brought him up short. He turned, hoping maybe Fraser had changed his mind about not having enough time before he had to leave, that maybe he'd figured out that what happened next between the two of them was more important than any damn clock or court. But all he saw was Fraser - somber and silent - holding out a fresh towel for him, and that fantasy bit the dust.

Who was he kidding? This was Fraser. Nothing was more important than justice. And that was right, really. He knew that. Plus, it gave them a reason to stop, and something in him thought maybe Fraser wanted that. Maybe this was all just a little more than Fraser had bargained for. Fraser had been lonely, hungry for human contact. And Ray had been there and he was . . . safe, in a way no one else was. Especially last night when Fraser was tired and hurting and his brain wasn't firing on all cylinders.

But now in the cold light of morning things looked different. Yeah, he knew the name of that tune. There'd been a couple of mornings right after he and Stella'd called it quits where Ray couldn't figure out what the hell he'd been thinking the night before. Mornings when he looked across the kitchen counter and the near-stranger he was sharing coffee and toast with was so obviously not what he'd imagined her to be the night before - not what he'd wanted her to be - that he'd just sit there wishing that grown-up life had do-overs the way kids' games did.

It didn't look like there was going to be any do-over this morning, either. This wasn't a game - and he and Fraser weren't kids. They were adults and they were friends, and he had to let this go, had to be what Fraser needed him to be, even if that meant letting whatever he thought they'd been building up to over the past two days just fade away.

Fuck! He grabbed the towel from Fraser's hand and stalked out of the room, feeling stupid and angry with himself. He could almost feel Fraser's eyes boring into the back of his head as he walked away. He knew if he were to turn around he'd be met with one of those "Why are you so angry with me, Ray?" looks that Fraser used to give him a lot back in the early days of their partnership - before he'd figured out that an angry Ray didn't necessarily translate to angry at anyone but himself.

He shut the bathroom door behind him, managing not to slam it by sheer force of will. He leaned heavily against the sink, fingers curled tightly around the edge of the basin. He was going to have to get himself under control or he'd never be able to leave the bathroom and face Fraser. It wasn't his fault. There was no reason to take out his frustration on the one person in the world he least wanted to make unhappy. This wasn't all about him.

He stepped into the tub and pulled the curtain all the way around so that the floor wouldn't get soaked, then took the quickest shower he could remember taking in his life. A little colder than he usually liked it, too, not that he really needed much in the way of cold water dick-wilting. Frustration and anger had done a good enough job of taking the starch out of him that he wasn't going to have to worry about being in pain all the way back to Saskatoon. Not in physical pain, anyway, unless he counted the lingering embarrassment over yanking the towel away from Fraser and stomping out of the room like a little kid. After drying off and putting on his briefs, he stared at himself in the mirror for a moment, blew out a long sigh, and set his jaw. Okay. Time to face the music.

Returning to the bedroom to get dressed, Ray found Fraser was nowhere to be seen. He got that. No reason for him to just sit there waiting for a second go-round at being treated like shit. It looked like Ray was going to have to do a little fence mending, make sure Fraser knew he still wanted to be his friend. No matter how much he wanted more than friendship from Fraser, the thought of not even having that much was way too crummy to think about.

He tossed his suitcase up on the bed and started pulling out the last of his clean clothes. He gave the trousers an assessing look. Not bad. A little wrinkled, but he'd be sitting in the car for five hours in any case. He could probably get away with wearing them down in Saskatoon since they'd told him he wasn't going to be asked to appear in open court. Of course, if they changed their minds about that, he was out of luck. Welsh would have him on traffic duty for a month if he embarrassed the department by looking like he didn't have the proper respect for the Canadian judicial system.

As Ray started to zip up his bag, his eye was caught by the sight of Fraser's henley lying on top of the dresser. What were the odds that he'd be able to get away with 'accidentally' slipping the shirt into his bag and taking it with him when he left? He could always send Fraser a new shirt to replace the one he'd taken, and besides, Fraser had plenty more where this came from, and. . . okay, if he was really going to swipe the shirt, he should just do it and not try to justify it. Because there was no real way to justify it, nothing that would make sense to anyone but him. He just . . . wanted it.

Furtively he slipped the shirt in with his own, then zipped the bag shut. Leaving the bag in the bedroom for the moment, he went out to the living room. Neither Dief nor Fraser was out there either, but he could smell something cooking, so he followed the scent into the kitchen where he found Fraser standing in front of the stove.

"Ah, Ray," Fraser began a bit hesitantly. "Breakfast is nearly ready. You've a long drive ahead and I didn't want you to have to set out on an empty stomach."

"Wow," he said, glancing over at the table. It was set with green place-mats under the two plates. A pot of freshly brewed coffee and a bowl of mixed fruit with yogurt spooned over the top occupied the center of the table. A short stack of french toast sat on a plate beside the stove, while Fraser finished cooking the last two pieces. "You didn't have to go to all this trouble," he said, feeling even more guilty. "A cup of coffee and a leftover bannock from yesterday would have been fine."

"Yes, I'm still familiar with your eating habits," said Fraser wryly. "But, well, you're. . . I wanted . . ." He shrugged helplessly, a very un-Fraser thing to do, then turned back to the pan on the stove in front of him and removed it from the flames. "Sit down," he asked, his back turned. "Please?"

"Yeah. Yeah, sure." Ray pulled the chair out and sat down at the table. Place-mats? Cloth napkins, even? Jesus, how the hell was he going to get through this meal? He was having enough trouble just swallowing the coffee. He gave himself a good mental shake. For god's sake, take it like a man, Kowalski. Grab that bottle of real maple syrup and choke down the damned french toast and stop being such a wimp.

"Is the coffee all right?"

"Huh? The coffee?" He took another sip and actually tasted it this time, looked up, surprised. "Yeah, it's great. What did you put in it?

"It's Dutch Mocha. I thought you might like it, though I'm sure it'll never transcend the experience of M&M's in your coffee," said Fraser with a crooked grin.

Ray smiled back weakly. It wasn't fair. Why couldn't the man just act like a shit? Or better yet, go back to the distant act he'd been so good at back when they'd first met? Why did he have to be so nice and so thoughtful and so fucking gorgeous - even in an old t-shirt and sweatpants - that Ray wanted to jump him right here on his kitchen table?

God. He had to get the hell out of there before he did just that.

Fraser sat down and forked a piece of french toast onto his plate, then looked pointedly at Ray, who hastily stabbed a couple of pieces, slathering them liberally with syrup. Fraser nodded and turned his attention back to his own meal. Ray shoveled in some food, not really even tasting it. It sat in his stomach like a lump of lead, and once he'd eaten enough that he didn't think Fraser would be offended, he took his dishes to the sink and rinsed them. Finally, with a deep breath, he turned slowly to face Fraser, taking a long moment to look at him. His friend. His partner.

"I. . . uh, thanks for the breakfast, Fraser," he said finally. "It was great."

"I'm . . . I'm glad you enjoyed it, Ray."

Almost a minute passed where neither of them said a word. Ray looked down at his watch.

"Well, guess I'd better be hitting the road if I want to get to Saskatoon on time. I figure Canadian judges don't like to be kept waiting any more than American ones do."

"No, no, they don't. Can I help you take your things to the car?"

Ray shook his head. "Nah, just have the one bag." He smiled a little. "Lot less of a load going back."

Fraser nodded. "Please give my thanks and best wishes to everyone. I'll send notes, of course, but considering the respective postal services involved, I suspect that you'll arrive long before they do."

"Yeah. Unless they decide they need me to stick around in Saskatoon for a few." Ray winced a little at the eager note in his voice. "Anyway, I'll go get my stuff. Where's Dief? Can't leave without saying goodbye."

"Outside. I'll get him."

Ray went to the bedroom to get his bag while Fraser opened the kitchen door and called Dief. He picked up his bag, stood there for a moment with it, staring at the bed a little blankly, and then shook his head in exasperation and headed for the front door. Fraser was standing there next to Dief, waiting. His expression was carefully pleasant, so Ray put on what he hoped was a similar face as he knelt to ruffle Dief's fur. "Hey, you take care of Fraser, okay? Don't let Zhertak hit on him. Well, unless he wants him to, I mean," he amended, suddenly realizing he might be sort of out of line there. It was none of his business who Fraser went out with.

"Ray! I don't. . . ." Fraser began, sounding dismayed.

Ray waved a hand, cutting off the protest. "I know, I know. You don't think Zhertak has a thing for you. I got that." He scratched Dief's ears, staring at him because he knew better than to look at Fraser right then. Dief whined, and did a worried looking eyebrow-thing at him. Ray made a face. "Don't worry, I'm good. No more fruit tarts, okay?"

Dief grumbled, but shoved his nose under Ray's hand and Ray figured that was an agreement. He stood up, his bag in his left hand, and put out his right hand, sort of staring past Fraser's shoulder, trying to make it look like he was looking at him. "Well, thanks for everything. It's been real, Benton."

Fraser hesitated for a moment, then clasped his hand. His hand felt cold. Ray couldn't ever remember that happening before. Fraser's hands had always been warm, even on the coldest days. Before he could really process that, Fraser was pulling him in close, wrapping his arms around him, tight, so tight he could barely breathe. Against his ear he could feel Fraser's warm breath as he spoke.

"No, Ray, it hasn't been real at all."

He thought he felt the brush of lips against his cheek, and then Fraser was pulling back. The shock of it made him forget he wasn't going to look at Fraser. Their eyes met. Fraser's were shadowed and full of regret. Ray flinched, looking away. God, and he thought it had been bad the last time. He lifted a hand, reaching out, then let it fall again before he could touch Fraser.

"Sorry," he whispered.

"Me too," Fraser echoed hoarsely.

For a moment they stood there, unspeaking, then Ray cleared his throat. "Well. Guess I'd better. . . get at 'er."

"Indeed," Fraser acknowledged, opening the door.

Ray extracted the rental's keys from his pocket, and stepped out into the cold morning air. He didn't stop until he got to the car. He unlocked the door, opened it, tossed his bag into the passenger seat, and started to get in. Before he did, though, something made him turn back and look. Fraser was gone. The door was closed. He swallowed hard.

"Well, that's that, then," he whispered, and got in.

* * *

As Ray lifted his bag and turned away toward the car, Fraser could feel his deliberately neutral expression begin to crumble. However, for Ray's sake - and for his own, if he were to be entirely honest - he couldn't allow himself to show how difficult this was for him.

From the very start of their partnership in Chicago, Ray - outwardly brash and aggressive though he was - had permitted Fraser to see far deeper inside him than he allowed the rest of the world. In particular, the still-raw wounds of his broken marriage and the pain caused by his long estrangement from his father over his career were so close to the surface that he'd sometimes imagined Ray's pain was actually being spoken aloud, even when his partner said nothing at all about it. In many ways, Ray's quip about being a poet on the inside had been true.

Gradually the dynamic of their relationship had changed, though, and Fraser started to allow himself moments of vulnerability with Ray. It didn't take long for him to learn that Ray's sensitivity went both ways - or at least it did where he was concerned. Over time, Ray's rough care and understanding had dragged more honesty of emotion out of him than he had felt comfortable showing to anyone since his youth. Unfamiliar as revealing his feelings was at times, Fraser had come to believe that as long as there was some sort of balance in the relationship, as long as he was still able to provide something in the way of support to his partner, it might not be a sign of weakness to accept the concern that Ray offered him.

This weekend, however, there had been no balance. Even while working the case, it was clear Ray's primary concern had been for him, and while that wonderful on one level, on another level it was almost as humiliating as realizing his subordinates clearly had severe misgivings about his ability to do his job. How could he have spent the past two days doing little but bare that unhappiness to Ray, over and over again, when he could have spent the time more enjoyably? It seemed incomprehensible now that he could have been oblivious to his own unhappiness for so long, but the last thing he wanted, after everything Ray had given him this weekend, was to fall apart and make Ray feel guilty for leaving.

That was why he'd let the ring of the alarm that morning put a stop to their lovemaking, even though he'd desperately wanted it to continue. As Ray had touched him in ways he hadn't been touched in years, his feelings were so intense that he knew if they'd gone any further - if they'd moved even an inch closer to completion - it would be impossible to keep his need, his desire, his love for Ray in control. And despite his apparently immense capacity for denial and self-delusion, he was still well enough grounded in reality to know that was simply not an option.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. Surely he could keep his emotions in check long enough for Ray to walk from the house to the car. He had a lifetime's experience with repression - how was this different? When Ray reached the car, he could wave goodbye and Ray would wave goodbye in return - and the two of them would be able to carry on as if some aspects of this weekend had never happened.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he fought down the urge to go after him. The problem was, he didn't want this weekend to be forgotten. He didn't want his time with Ray to come to an end at all. But it had to; he knew that. Ray had responsibilities in Saskatoon and back in Chicago, and he had responsibilities at the detachment. They couldn't be together. That was the simple truth, painful as it might be.

When Diefenbaker moaned softly beside him - the sound an uncomfortable echo of the ache growing inside him - he broke. Turning, he blindly opened the door, and both he and Diefenbaker slipped inside the house. He shut the door, closing himself off the only way he could, because he was just far too open in every other way right now. He closed his eyes and leaned against the door, chest pressed to its cool surface, his head against his crossed arms, and stood there for a long time- barely breathing, eyes still shut, simply existing, trying not to think - but when he was finally able to force his eyes open and move to the side window for one last look at Ray, he was gone.

Four minutes. The clock on the mantle showed that only four minutes had passed from the moment Ray said he'd had to go until now. How could only four minutes have gone by? He took a deep breath, then headed for the bathroom. He was being ridiculous. Maudlin. His father would be appalled. There was no point in spending any more time thinking about this. He just had to accept that Ray was gone and get on with his life.

Of course, telling himself he wasn't going to think about Ray being gone was far easier said than done. He remembered all those times in childhood when his grandfather would tell him to think about anything he wanted except a caribou sitting at the kitchen table - and how for the rest of the day, he was able to think of nothing but the imaginary caribou he'd been trying so hard to ignore. And thoughts of Ray were far less easy to ignore than thoughts of the caribou had been, particularly now that Ray had actually been in his home, and everywhere he turned, there was yet another reminder of his partner.

Even showering brought its own set of problems. The soap in the holder at the side of the bathtub was still wet and slightly lathery from Ray's shower earlier that morning. As Fraser rubbed it over his torso, he imagined Ray's hands on his body instead, sliding over his wet skin, down over his hips, rubbing lightly across his thighs. The fantasy continued until he could feel Ray's long fingers teasing at the base of his penis, at its head, fingertips stroking down along its hard length, wrapping themselves firmly around his shaft, sliding up and down. He started to breathe harder, could feel his penis stiffen and thicken in Ray's hand.

No. Not Ray's hand. His own. Ray was gone. He squeezed more tightly, holding onto himself as he'd wanted Ray to hold him. Stroking. Up and down, his hand firm and tight along his foreskin, up and down and missing Ray and desperately wanting this to be Ray's hand on him. He kept stroking over and over until his body finally yielded, catching the come in his free hand, sliding it over his stomach as Ray might have done, gasping out Ray's name as the final pulses of orgasm drove through him. As the sensations faded he slid down along the tiles and knelt, hunched over slightly in the tub, warm water raining down on his head, streaming down his face, letting him pretend that was all it was.

* * *

He couldn't stay in the shower forever, no matter how much he wanted to. He got out, dried himself off with the same towel Ray had used earlier that day, shaved - carefully enough to avoid more than a single, rather painful nick on his jaw - and then picked up his used t-shirt, sweatpants, and boxers.

Once in his bedroom, Fraser opened the hamper in his closet and threw in the clothing he'd picked up from the bathroom floor, then turned to get the henley he'd been wearing the previous day to add it to the hamper. He thought he'd put it on top of the dresser, but as distracted as he'd been last night, it could be anywhere. He searched the living room, checked the bathroom again, and finally took a quick look in the kitchen just in case he'd left the shirt hanging on the back of a chair, but it was nowhere to be found. He frowned, wondering where on earth he'd left it. Was it possible Ray had mistakenly packed it? It seemed unlikely after having seen Fraser wearing it all day, but perhaps Ray had been distracted too.

Fraser shook his head. Why was he obsessing about a shirt? It would turn up eventually. He got his blue uniform out of the closet, looking a bit wistfully at the red serge tunic as he did so, and dressed for the day, then he and Diefenbaker got into the car and drove down to the detachment.

Although it was still early when he arrived at the office, Sally was already at her desk and talking to somebody on the phone. She nodded as he walked in, though, and handed him a stack of telephone messages before returning to her own conversation.

Fraser paused at the door to his office. Ray was right; it was laid out nearly identically to Lieutenant Welsh's office in Chicago. He wondered, for a moment, if he'd had an unconscious wish to make things as familiar as possible, or if the similarity had been purely coincidental. He sat down and sighed; either way, now that his attention had been drawn to the resemblance, it was going to be impossible not to think of the 27th District every time he came to work - as if he could ever forget. He was going to have to rearrange the furniture.

As he was saying goodbye to Henry Cooper, the elder who'd called to set up a preliminary meeting regarding the sentencing circle - he heard a soft knock on his office door and looked up to find Bose Zhertak standing in the doorway, holding a mug in his hand. "Good morning, sir. I . . . uh, Sally just made a pot of coffee. I thought you might want a cup."

"Thank you kindly, Constable. That's very thoughtful of you."

Zhertak flushed, but brought the mug over and placed it on his desk. "Sir? Um . . . do you have a moment?"

Fraser nodded. "Of course. Take a seat." He waited until Zhertak had sat down. "What can I do for you?"

"On behalf of all . . . well, me, really, I'd like to apologize for my behavior over the past few days. I realize that my actions yesterday almost succeeded in scaring Crawford Jones away before you were able to come up with any proof of his involvement in the fires, and for that, in particular, I'm truly sorry. I've taken the liberty of drafting a reprimand for my personnel file, and . . . ."

A sudden feeling of deja vu swept over Fraser; God, had he ever been so young? "Bose, that won't be necessary," he said gently. "However, we don't want to see anything like that happening again, do we?"

"No, of course not."

"No, and since we don't, would you mind telling me why in the world you came out after me without hearing from me first?"

Even as he asked the question, it struck him that perhaps Zhertak's answer wouldn't be anything he wished to hear. He was almost ready to tell him to forget it, when he heard a slightly mumbled response.

"Could you repeat that, please? I don't think I heard what you said."

"I . . . um . . . I was jealous, sir."

"Jealous?" His jaw nearly dropped. Had Ray been right when he suggested that Zhertak had a more than fraternal regard for him?

"Not . . . not jealous in the sense of being jealous. I mean, in the sense of . . . um . . . I mean, well, do you know what I mean, sir?" Zhertak asked, turning a spectacular shade of red.

"Not precisely. Perhaps you'd care to elaborate," he said, rather hesitantly.

Zhertak took a deep breath, then said, "I wanted to be working with you. I'd read so many things about you before I came here this year, and . . . sir, did you know I requested this posting just so I could work with you?"

Fraser was sure there was a dumbfounded expression on his face, but he couldn't do anything about it. "No, I don't suppose I knew that."

"Oh yes. We'd all heard so many extraordinary things about you through the Depot grapevine. You're . . . you've become rather a legend, sir, if you don't mind my saying so."

It was Fraser's turn to flush. He rubbed his thumb across his eyebrow and dropped his gaze to his desktop, trying to find something to look at besides Zhertak's uncharacteristically earnest expression, but apart from the phone messages, there was nothing to see except . . . except the rubber duck, which he immediately slipped off the desktop and held in his hand, down below the edge of the desk.

"But then I arrived and . . . well, permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Of course."

"It's just . . . well, you didn't seem exactly as I'd imagined you'd be." Zhertak bit his lip and took a deep breath before continuing. "I'm sure it's my own fault for being taken in by tales that never sounded entirely plausible. I mean, tracking a litterbug over 1700 kilometers of wilderness? Honestly, sometimes I can't imagine how somebody as naive as I must have been was ever allowed to become a member of the RCMP. But the stories were always so fascinating, and then the part about having a deaf half-wolf turned out to be true, so . . . ."

Fraser nodded. "It was just that the rest seemed a bit disappointing, didn't it?" He glanced down at the rubber duck he still held in his hand, thumb rubbing across the smooth yellow surface with careful pressure, not wanting to make it squeak. Not attraction, Ray. Hero worship. And sadly misplaced hero worship, at that.

"Not disappointing," Zhertak exclaimed, beginning to sound a little worried that he'd gone too far. "And La Rouille isn't exactly a hotbed of criminal activity, so I can see why you weren't . . . anyway, then the fires took place, and . . . I have to admit that none of us believed it when you suggested that the first one might have been set deliberately."

"I understand your reluctance to believe that, Constable. At that stage there was neither any hard evidence, nor a pattern, and . . . ."

"No! That's just the point. You didn't have any hard evidence at all, and yet somehow you still knew it was arson! And you wouldn't let it drop . . . wouldn't let it go."

This is what engendered the sudden burst of hero worship? A combination of intuition and obsession? "You know, Constable, much of the . . . credit for solving this case has to go to Detective Kowalski. Without his appearance in La Rouille, I'm not at all certain I'd have pursued the case with the same . . . fervor."

"I have no doubt you would have, sir," Zhertak said emphatically, an intense look in his eyes. "Although . . . ."

"What is it, Constable?"

Zhertak's gaze fell. "Detective Kowalski. There was finally something to investigate here and, well, you seemed so happy to be working with your former partner again. I'm not certain 'jealous' is the right word, but I certainly envied his position. We all did, sir."

Fraser shook his head. How disconcerting to discover that his subordinates weren't concerned he couldn't handle the investigation, but that they had simply wanted to be a part of it - to learn from him. God. How could he have read them so inaccurately? He suddenly felt guilty. He'd failed them as O.C. It was his job to include them on investigations, to teach them, not to let an outsider usurp their duties.

And to find out that he was actually being admired for being obsessive? He'd have to set them straight about that, at least. Obsessions rarely worked out the way one might wish, all evidence from this case to the contrary. He looked back down at the rubber duck in his hand, still finding it difficult to believe that he'd actually stolen the toy from Ray's desk, just so he'd have something tangible to remember him by. If being obsessed and unrelenting was all it took to get what you wanted, he and Ray would be together. No, it also took . . .

For God's sake.

It also took saying something!

Ray wasn't a suspect in a criminal investigation. The point wasn't to pursue him without his knowing anything about it.

He thought back over the past two days. Had he ever, at any point, said anything to Ray that would have let him know that he wanted to be with him on an ongoing basis? Had he indicated in any way the depth of his feeling? That he. . . loved him? How in the name of God had he expected to know whether Ray reciprocated those feelings if he never actually said anything? No. He was doing it again. Not communicating. When he knew better.

What sort of evidence had he been looking for from Ray before he'd be willing to risk saying something? God knows he had more hard evidence of Ray's feelings for him than he'd had for the possibility of the fires being set intentionally - and yet he pursued the arson investigation despite an almost complete disbelief from his colleagues that the two fires were anything more than a coincidence.

Ray had kept in contact with him for years when all his other friends and acquaintances from his time in Chicago had apparently lost interest. He 'stopped by' La Rouille because he was 'in the neighborhood,' when that was patently untrue. He was . . . he had to admit it, Ray was clearly attracted to him despite his less than splendid condition. And Ray cared about him. So much so that he'd been clearly desolate when he'd had to leave . . .

. . . so much so that when he had left this morning, he'd taken Fraser's henley. That hadn't been an accident; Fraser was suddenly dead certain that it hadn't. Ray had taken the henley for the same reason that he, himself, had taken the rubber duck - to have at least something to hold onto if he couldn't have the whole person.

Call it intuition. A hunch. Extrapolation based on personal knowledge of the suspect. Call it whatever you want. But he was damned if he was going to let the most important person in his life just disappear without finally telling him that this wasn't just about being bored and lonely, or thinking Ray attractive, or caring for him as a friend, but that he loved him and that he wanted to be with him. Forever, if possible. Why had he been trying to keep his feelings from Ray? Was he an idiot?

"Sir?"

God. How long had Constable Zhertak been trying to get his attention?

"I'm sorry, Constable," he said, pushing his chair back from his desk and standing up. "I don't mean to be rude and I'm sorry to leave in the middle of our conversation, but you've just reminded me of something vitally important I have to do immediately."

"Um.. . . quite all right, sir," Zhertak said, standing as well, looking completely confused.

"Thank you for being so understanding. Sally?" he called as he grabbed his jacket off the coat rack and went out into the reception area, indicating to Dief that he should follow. "I have to leave, and I'm not sure when I'll be returning. Take my calls, please, and I'll have my cell phone on if you have any emergencies." He turned back toward Zhertak. "Constable?"

Zhertak popped his head out of Fraser's office. "You have an appointment, sir?"

"Of a kind. I'm leaving you in charge until I return."

"You are?" Zhertak sounded positively astonished.

"I am."

Fraser was halfway out the door when he heard Zhertak ask, "Can I use your computer?"

He turned back and smiled. "Use my computer. Sit in my chair. Draw with my colored pens. Whatever you like, Constable."

Zhertak gave a surprised-sounding laugh, then managed to assume a serious expression and nodded. "You can rely on me, sir."

"I'm sure I can, Constable." Fraser said, still smiling. "Dief?"

Dief trotted out the door Fraser held open for him. Fraser followed and stood for a moment, taking a deep breath of the crisp air, and then headed for the Suburban. Realizing he was still holding that damned duck, he laughed a little and shook his head, putting it up on the dashboard. Settling in, he buckled his seatbelt, glanced at his watch and winced. God. He was never going to catch up with Ray, who had an hour and a half head start. He pulled out of the parking lot and headed east, trying to plan out his route, trying to anticipate Ray's movements. Ray wouldn't be speeding, he was too smart to risk that with marginal road conditions and an unfamiliar route. Even so, he must be a third of the way to Saskatoon by now. However, if he knew Ray, which he did, he would likely stop in Weyakwin to get gas, use the restroom, and get more coffee. That would delay him for somewhere between ten and twenty minutes. Not nearly enough time, but a start.

He knew a shortcut that would take a good twenty minutes off the drive, and then once he hit the highway, well, the Suburban was better equipped for the road than Ray's Taurus, and he was more than familiar with the route, so speeding wasn't an issue. And it wasn't exactly proper use of RCMP equipment but he did have a lightbar and this was an emergency . . . of sorts. But no matter what, he'd still be behind. He might well have to chase Ray all the way to Saskatoon. The thought was daunting, but he wasn't going to let it stop him.

Stop him. Hmm. He glanced at the radio and thought for a moment about calling in a stop and hold order on Ray's rental car, but just thinking about Ray's reaction to that put a halt to that line of thought instantly. Even if he didn't get suspended for pulling such a stunt, Ray would probably kick him in the head. Turning, he glanced at Dief. "Hang on, this is going to be a rough ride."

Dief just grinned at him, tongue lolling.

His teeth were still rattling in his head a good ten minutes after he'd left the graded dirt road across Sam Steele's back forty and gotten onto the CanAm. His brain was definitely rattled as well, although some of that rattle had less to do with being shaken like dice and more to do with the speech he kept trying to put together for whenever he actually did find Ray. Between that, and concentrating on the road in front of him, he nearly missed the lone blue Ford Taurus that passed him going the opposite direction. If Dief hadn't suddenly barked, it might not have registered at all. He slammed on the brakes, his eyes going to the rear-view mirror. Blue Ford Taurus? What on earth? He looked at Dief.

"Are you sure?"

Dief snorted, his expression was disdainful.

"No, I'm not questioning your eyesight. It's just. . . well, he's going the wrong direction! How could anyone manage to get completely turned around on a straight road with virtually no exits?"

Dief made a sound suspiciously like a laugh, and Fraser felt his face warm. "That's a fallacious comparison. I'm talking about driving," he growled, cranking the wheel around as he hit the brake, doing a 180 and leaving a season's worth of tread on the road. Reaching down he flicked on the lightbar and siren, and floored it. Ahead of him he saw brake lights flare, and a sudden wash of near-panic flooded him. God, what if it wasn't Ray?

The Taurus pulled to the side of the road ahead, and Fraser pulled in behind it. The rental sticker on the back of the car reassured him, but panic returned a moment later as every potential sentence he'd composed for the moment deserted him. What the hell was he going to say? Mouth dry, he opened his door with a quiet admonition to Dief to stay put. Walking toward the car where Ray waited, he could see that Ray had the window down, fingers tapping impatiently on the door. He almost laughed at that, and he suddenly realized that Ray hadn't really looked at the person approaching his car. He didn't know. He certainly wouldn't expect it to be anyone he knew.

Some perverse impulse made him fumble his ticket book out of his pocket, and take out a pen, actions Ray would expect from anyone who pulled him over, and he took up a stance next to the car that would prevent Ray from easily seeing his face unless he leaned down and craned his head back to look past the roof-line.

"Hey, sorry about the speeding," Ray said before he could speak. "I can't seem to get that KPH to MPH conversion thing down. How bad was it?"

"I'm afraid it's worse than that, sir," Fraser said. "Grand theft is an extremely serious offense."

There was a moment of silence, then Ray swore, opening his door, forcing Fraser to step hastily aside to avoid getting what Ray once called the 'Orsini treatment,' and then Ray was out and pushing Fraser up against the car with his hands fisted in his coat lapels.

"Benton Frickin' Fraser," Ray growled.

"Assaulting a peace officer is a serious offense as well," Fraser said a little breathlessly as Ray braced himself there, just inches away.

Ray snorted. "Assault, yeah," he said, bringing up one hand to cup Fraser's jaw, fingers caressing it. "What the fuck are you doing out here?"

"I might ask the same," Fraser said, grinning foolishly. "Especially seeing as how you're headed in entirely the wrong direction. Were you lost?"

Ray's eyes met his, grave and intent, almost gray, reflecting the cloudy sky. "Yeah. Lost, and getting loster every minute farther away I got."

A shiver raced through him as the meaning of Ray's words sank in. So familiar. "God, yes. Exactly."

Ray's gaze sharpened, curious. "Exactly what, Benton?"

"Lost, and getting loster," he said. "Ray. . . I . . . ." he had to swallow down the lump in his throat before he could go on, could say the words he'd never said to another living soul. "I need you."

Ray leaned in, his weight coming full against Fraser, touching from knees to groin to chest, solid, warm, unbearably . . . near. "That hard to say?" he asked, his tone strangely conversational, in contrast to the intensity of his gaze.

"You have no idea," Fraser grated, his voice barely functioning, unable to look away, mesmerized.

"Yeah, I do," Ray said, his eyes drifting closed as his lips brushed Fraser's. "I know exactly how hard it is. I. Need. You," he whispered, punctuating each word with another brush of lips, the last one prolonged as his hands came up to cup Fraser's face, his long, oddly-jointed thumbs lying along his jaw, stroking slightly, holding him still for a kiss that was deep, and sweet, and no less hot for all that sweetness. When he pulled away, he smiled. "Not just for that, either," he said meaningfully. "You know that right?"

Fraser nodded. "Yes. But that's part of it."

Ray nodded back. "Yeah. It is. Kinda scary, huh?"

"A little," Fraser admitted, since Ray had.

"Too scary?"

"No." Fraser let his hands slide around Ray's waist, pulling him closer, feeling the hard length of his cock pressed against him, knowing Ray could feel his own arousal nudging at his hip.

Ray sighed, and rocked against him a bit, then a little harder, before dropping his forehead down against Fraser's shoulder with a soft groan. "Jesus, Benton, I can't do this again. I'm gonna have the bluest balls in Canada." He laughed a little. "Well, except for you."

A wave of heat swept into Fraser's face and he cleared his throat guiltily.

Ray looked up, shrewd eyes assessing his face, and then he gave a strangled-sounding laugh and thumped his head against Fraser's shoulder several times, hard. "Oh, that's just not fair, it's really not."

Fraser got a hand under his chin and tipped his face up. "It was awful," he confessed.

Understanding filled Ray's eyes, and he nodded. Fraser pulled Ray in again, and this time he initiated the kiss. Ray responded instantly, eagerly, holding nothing back, nipping and licking and sucking until Fraser grabbed him by the hips and twisted, pushing Ray back against the car as he had just been, using his weight to pin him there, thrusting against him. Ray spread his thighs, bracing himself, his hands coming down to rest on Fraser's backside, kneading. Fraser choked a little, moaning, one hand sliding between them, reaching for Ray's zipper, tugging at it, needing to feel skin, needing to touch, to taste, to smell, prove to himself this was real. An annoying repetitive sound finally penetrated his consciousness.

". . .ser! FRASER!"

He jerked back. "What?"

"Is that an engine?" Ray asked, breathing hard.

Fraser listened. "Mmmhmm," he agreed, leaning back in, not really understanding why Ray wanted to know. Ray pulled back slightly, lifting his eyebrows, so he clarified. "Yes. Eighteen wheeler by the sound of it. Probably the weekly resupply for Robinson's Trading. About two miles off, I'd say. Sound carries well here."

"I . . . um. . . don't guess it would be really good for them to drive by with us making out here. You being in uniform and all."

"Probably not," Fraser agreed, reluctant to push away.

"If he's two miles away and going sixty he'll be here in two minutes," Ray said, annoyingly practical.

"Right you are." Fraser let go of Ray's waistband, stepping back with a sigh, reaching down to adjust himself to a slightly less uncomfortable position.

Ray watched him, then looked up, slowly, his gaze smoky. "Do you have any idea how close you are to getting molested in the back of your damned Suburban?"

"I don't believe it's considered molestation when both parties are of age and consenting," Fraser said huskily.

"Fraser," Ray said warningly.

"Right, right," Fraser said, closing his eyes, trying to think. Where were they? He'd passed the turn off to Weyakwin not five minutes before he'd seen Ray. He opened his eyes. "I think we could safely take a short side-trip without negatively impacting your arrival in Saskatoon. Follow me."

"Got a plan?"

"I do indeed."

"It involve a pirate ship?" Ray asked, trying not to smile.

Fraser shook his head. "No pirate ship," he assured Ray solemnly.

"Count me in."

Fifteen minutes later he pulled into the parking lot of the Kisseynew Cabins & Campground and got out. Dief jumped out, looking at him knowingly. Fraser looked past the lodge to the woods beyond, and then back down at Dief. "I don't suppose you'd like to take a long exploratory walk in the woods? Perhaps see if you can scare up a rabbit or a squirrel?"

Dief whined.

Fraser shook his head. "I certainly will not. That's bribery."

Dief turned his back and looked at Ray's car, pulling into the lot.

Fraser sighed. "Please, Dief? I'd very much appreciate it."

Dief looked back at him and pushed his nose under his hand for a moment, and then bounded off toward the woods. Fraser stared after him, somewhat stupefied by his own success, as Ray parked next to him, stared up at the sign above the lodge office, and shook his head.

"No. Just. . . no. I'm not doing this in a motel called 'Kisseynew,' Fraser! I'm just not."

"It's a lodge, not a motel."

"Motel, lodge whatever, it's still Kisseynew. It's. . . cute." He shuddered eloquently.

"It's not cute, Ray, it's Cree."

"Cree?"

Fraser nodded. "Yes. It means 'it flows swiftly.' Well, actually, it could also mean 'they salted it down' or 'it is old' or 'old number four;' no one really seems to know for sure any more."

"Uh-huh." Ray looked dubious.

"No, really, Ray. It's named after Lake Kisseynew in Manitoba. When Rollie Thompson decided to open a second facility here, he didn't want to pay to have new matchbooks and pens printed so he used the same name as his other location in Manitoba."

Ray chuckled at that. "You know, that I can believe. Cheap is the same all over. That's all right then. I thought it was one of those cutesy things like 'Dew Drop Inn,' you know?"

"I would never subject you to such a thing," Fraser said, trying not to smile. "Shall we?"

Ray nodded and got out. "Wait. We're just going to walk up there and get a room, straight out, with you in uniform and all?"

"Yes, Ray."

"Huh. This place rent by the hour?" he asked dubiously.

"Not normally, no." Fraser walked up the three steps to the office porch. "Coming?"

Ray nodded. "You bet. This I got to see."

Fraser opened the door and motioned Ray in, then followed him. The desk was empty, so he rang the bell. A moment later Clydene Waters came out of the back room. Fraser heard a brief moment of television dialogue and determined she had been watching a soap opera.

"Hi there, what can I do for you gen. . ." she began, then she realized who she was addressing and looked surprised. "Corporal Fraser! What's this about then? There a problem?"

"No reason to be alarmed, Clydene, my colleague and I just need a quiet place to have a conference for an hour or so."

"Conference?" She frowned thoughtfully. "Well, we don't exactly have a conference room but there's the poker room in the back of the bar if you want."

"Actually, one of your standard cabins would be do nicely," Fraser said evenly, hoping that he was feeling warm because of the ambient temperature in the lodge, not because of a blush. This was harder than he'd thought.

Clydene looked from him to Ray and back, narrowing her eyes. Fraser wondered if he had beard-burn. Ray had shaved that morning, but he did stubble up awfully quickly. "Yeah?"

"Yes," Fraser said firmly. "Quite sufficient."

"Okay, if you say so," Clydene said with a shrug, reaching for a key.

Ray leaned closer. "You got anything kind of in the back? I'm undercover," he said confidentially. "Can't have anyone see me or listen in."

"Ohhh," Clydene said knowingly, eyes wide. She put back the first key she'd picked up and got a different one, waving it at Fraser, though her eyes were still on Ray. "Here you go. And don't worry about a thing, I understand entirely."

"I sure as hell hope not," Ray muttered, sotto voce, as they walked out of the office.

Fraser choked on a laugh, wanting badly to kiss him. It was nearly impossible to wait until they had picked up Ray's bag and were safely inside the cabin, drapes drawn, before he could pull him into his arms and give in to the urge.

Ray kissed him back, laughing, peeling off his coat and dropping it next to the door, then walking Fraser backward toward the bedroom with its queen-sized bed. "Conference?" he asked between kisses, grinning. "Conference? Is that what they call it up here? Gotta remember that. That mean phone-sex lines are conference calls?" He wrestled Fraser's jacket off, dropping it beside his own, and then started unbuttoning Fraser's shirt with one hand, pulling the tails out of his trousers with the other. "You know I love a man in uniform, but the clothes have to go, because I really need to have a serious conference with your dick."

Ray steered Fraser backward until the bed caught him behind the knees. He grabbed Ray's shoulders as he lost his balance, pulling Ray along with him as he fell. They hit the bed and bounced a little, and Fraser took advantage of the moment to flip Ray onto his back and push himself up a bit so he could look down at him. "Honestly, Ray, I don't see that undercover is much of an improvement," he teased.

Ray grinned, shaking his head. "No, not much. But hey, between the two of us, it worked. One-two punch, just like old times."

Fraser looked down at Ray and felt his smile fade, suddenly serious. "Not quite like old times," he said, moving a hand to the second button on Ray's shirt, the first already lying open. His fingers shook as he eased it from its buttonhole, then moved to the next one, opening it as well, baring Ray's prominent collarbones, and the almost triangular indentation of his sternum.

"No, not quite," Ray agreed, just as serious. He lifted one hand to slide it beneath the fall of Fraser's open shirt, fingers trailing the curve of his chest, down to one nipple, barely brushing it through his henley.

Fraser gasped, startled by a shock of pleasure out of proportion to the lightness of the touch. Ray touched him there again, more firmly, framing it between two fingers, then pushing his shirt aside with his free hand so he could bend his head and touch his tongue to it. Fraser arched, fingers fumbling on the next button of Ray's shirt, tugging impatiently until the button popped free and spun away, falling silently on the carpet. It was all he could do not to grab Ray's shirt in both hands and rip. He wanted him naked. Now. Sooner than now.

He managed, somehow, to get the other buttons open, to undo belt and button and zipper and plunge his hand below all those maddening layers of fabric to find a familiar, yet strangely unfamiliar length of flesh, gripping it in his palm with a growl of triumph.

"Benton, God!" Ray gasped, his whole body tensed, shaking, as Fraser stroked and squeezed with calculated roughness.

It wasn't enough. He wanted it all. Letting go, he sat back on the bed and manhandled Ray out of his shirt. Ray squirmed a little and he heard the telltale thumps of boots hitting the floor, then he was squirming more. Fraser helped Ray shimmy out of his pants, leaving only his boxer-briefs. He slipped his fingers under the waistband and hesitated a moment, nervous, until Ray reached down and pushed with one hand, helping. Fraser took over from there as Ray lifted his hips to make it easier.

"Oh yeah," he sighed, sliding a hand down Ray's chest, down his abdomen, spreading his fingers to comb through the thick, sand-colored curls that surrounded his cock, which arched hard and strong, the head damp and shining already. He licked his lips, and watched Ray's whole body respond to that with a jerk like he'd been shocked. He looked up, meeting Ray's eyes.

Ray pushed himself up onto his elbows, and as Fraser gave ground he sat up all the way and looked at him evenly. "Your turn," he said, his fingers not much surer as he helped Fraser peel off his shirt. He looked a little startled when Fraser tugged the shirt out of his hands and tossed it on the floor. He started to grin as Fraser discarded each successive piece of clothing on the floor beside the bed, and when he pitched his boxers halfway across the room, Ray started to laugh.

Rolling over on top of Ray, Fraser kissed him, tasting the curve of his mouth and the tang of his amusement. As he settled in against Ray's long, bare body the laughter faded, and the brilliance in Ray's eyes shaded to smoke. One of Ray's hands swept down his back, came to rest on his hip, and tightened a little, pulling Fraser closer against him. Fraser was shaking, felt it echoed in Ray, though it wasn't cold in the room.

It was so different from what he remembered, only the feel of warm, satiny skin against his own gave him a point of reference. He was glad of that. Nothing to remind him. Just Ray, known, and dear. Long legs rough with hair, big feet, big hands, strong hands, wide chest and shoulders. He was all planes and angles, or mostly. Even Ray with his boundless energy and racing metabolism had softened some over the years. Somehow he hadn't noticed that last night. It made him smile. Ray reached up and touched the corner of his mouth with a finger.

"What's that for?" he asked.

"I'm . . . happy," he confessed in a whisper, feeling as if saying it might somehow make the gods jealous and they'd take it away from him.

Ray's mouth curved upward too. "Me too." He put his other arm around Fraser and squeezed, hugging him close. The action brought their groins fully together, and they both shivered. Ray nuzzled his throat, making a sound not far different from a purr. "'S nice, Benton. Do it again."

Fraser obliged, though he thought 'nice' was a feeble way to describe the kiss of flesh on flesh. He rocked slowly, dragging his cock along Ray's. Ray groaned and clutched at his hip, proving that 'nice' was an understatement for him as well. His free hand moved up from Fraser's shoulders to his hair, fingers tangling in it, pulling Fraser's mouth roughly down to his at the same time he thrust upward against Fraser's hip. Fraser growled into Ray's gasp, and ground against him, needing the pressure, the friction, the closeness.

Ray arched under him sliding one leg to the side and then hooking his calf over the back of Fraser's thigh and knee. The intimacy of the act astonished him, and he bit hungrily at Ray's mouth, thrusting faster, feeling Ray echo his pace, and oh, God too soon, too soon, he felt the rhythmic clutch of orgasm seize him, shake him, each spurt almost painfully wonderful.

"Christ, oh, Christ, Benton. Yeah. . . ." Ray pumped against him, his cock gliding now in the slick, hot mess between them, once, twice, and then the mess wasn't just his own and Ray was shuddering silently in his arms, his teeth caught in his lower lip, his hands clenched bruisingly tight on Fraser's hip and pulling at his hair hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. At least he told himself that's what it was.

The scent of sex was strong in the air, his own familiar smell, and a new one layered with it, rich and strange. He wanted to imprint the moment on his senses, to call up on future lonely nights when he needed comfort. The sound of Ray's breathing, the feel of his sweaty, spunky skin, the taste of his mouth. The taste of his throat, and his collarbone, and . . . Fraser turned his head to pull free of Ray's slackened grip and slid down his body, licking a swath through the thick, pale fluid coating Ray's belly where they'd been pressed together, savoring the salt-bitter-sweetness of their mingled flavors, feeling the swirl of wet hair against his tongue as he cleaned Ray off.

"I should've known you'd want to lick something," Ray said, gently amused.

Fraser smiled at that, then leaned in to tongue his cock. God, the skin was so smooth, soft, silky. Emboldened by Ray's easy acceptance, he slid his fingers under the softened length of Ray's cock and lifted it, taking it into his mouth.

Ray gasped, and gave a whole-body twitch. "Jesus!" His hand found Fraser's hair again, lightly this time, stroking. "God, that feels. . . wow. . . but, I. . . uh, don't think I'm going to be good for much at this point," he said apologetically.

Fraser soothed a hand up and down his thigh, and shook his head a little, not wanting to let go long enough to use words explain that it didn't matter, he just needed to do this. Fortunately, he didn't have to.

"Yeah, okay. Got it. Knock yourself out," Ray said, chuckling a little. "Long as you're not expecting anything." After a moment he sighed and relaxed, still stroking Fraser's hair. "You know how long I've wanted to get my hands in your hair?" he asked, fingers sliding through the disheveled waves. "I like it longer like this. Course I like it short, too." He laughed softly. "I pretty much just like you any old way."

Fraser felt a flush rise in his face. Ridiculous, really, considering the fact that they were naked and he, at least, was sticky with semen, and he had Ray's penis in his mouth, but he couldn't help the embarrassed delight Ray's words gave him, every bit as amazing as the physical pleasure he'd just supplied. With one last lick, Fraser let Ray go, and pillowed his face on Ray's thigh, one arm across his belly. Ray kept stroking his hair, his caresses slowing gradually, and under his arm he felt Ray's breathing even out. He found his own breathing slowing to match Ray's, the petting almost hypnotic. He closed his eyes with a sigh, completely relaxed for the first time he could remember.

---

Click here for part 3

Comments

lPWSOrhGHafVajlRbvU

[(Anonymous)]

Thank you Daniel! We both love our e-session pictures so much! You have such a wodrunfel talent at what you do. We, too, can't wait to see our wedding pictures! eons means forever ♥