Pairing: F/K
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money is being made from my use of these characters who belong to Alliance/Atlantis.
Acknowledgements: Thanks to Denise Raymond, AuKestrel and Kellie Matthews for commentary and beta and for providing extensive hand-holding and for enduring, I'm sorry to say, a certain amount of whining.

Summary: This is a sequel to Pack. This story involves Florida, Ray V., Stella, camping, bowling and a brief respite in a pool house. Sometimes to go forward, you must first step backwards. In Native American lore, wolves are often referred to as pathfinders.

Pathfinders
by
Journey

        The sun in my eyes wakes me. I squint against the light and roll over on my back away from it. Fraser's still asleep. I keep rolling and end up on my other side and just look at him. Hair tousled and damp already at the edges with sweat, he's flat on his back, one hand resting on his stomach. His fair skin, so different from my own, is starting to flush as I look at him. The heat? Or maybe, and I grin to myself, a really good dream. I look down between his legs to gauge...yep, I'm going with the dream theory. His cock is about half hard already. I can just see the tip peeking out from the foreskin. I decide to wake him by climbing on top of him.
        He wakes with a full startle, but I hang on and ride it out. Then I push myself up on my hands. “Hiya, Frase. What's up?” I grin at him.
        “Good morning, Ray.” He looks down my body. “It would appear that you are up.”
        I laugh. “Yeah, now, but it wasn't me who got up first. You getting up got me up, too.”
        The flush starts somewhere near his navel and heads upward quickly. “Really, Ray. I can hardly be held responsible for my body's involuntary reaction to you.”
        My ears get hot.
        “Why, Ray. Are you blushing?” He grins at me with that dimple showing. To shut him up, I lean down and kiss him good morning. Our mouths open and meld together immediately. Damn, he's good at this. His tongue slicks against mine, rubs against the roof of my mouth and reads each and every tooth. His fingers trace my collarbones and slide lower to my nipples. My elbows start to quiver.
        I shift my hips and slide my cock against his. He groans into my mouth and thrusts back against me. His cock is hot and hard and leaking already and suddenly I want to know what it tastes like. I tear my mouth from his, drop down and kiss my way down his chest. At his right nipple, I pause, then use the flat of my tongue to swipe a broad stripe over it from the bottom up. He arches under me and his hands clench the bedroll.
        “Like that?” I whisper.
        “It's true that there are numerous nerve endings in the human nipple, stimulation of which often provokes a ....positive reaction.”
        “Positive reaction, huh? That what you call it? Wanna know what I call it?” I lick the same broad stripe again and then blow on the wet spot before latching on and sucking. He closes his eyes, hyperventilates, arches his back , scrabbles at the bedrolls again looking for purchase to hang on. I stop. Then I whisper. “I call it hot.”
        “H-h-h-hot?” His eyes have rolled back down and his back has relaxed but he still looks as flummoxed as I've ever seen him.
        “Yeah, Frase. Hot. Ball-tinglin'-head-spinning-cock-filling-almost-coming Hot.”
        “Well, actually, Ray, that would seem to be an adequate description as well.”
        “Sign it, seal it, put it in a box marked done.” I rest my head on his chest and just listen to his heart.
        “Ray?”
        “Yeah, Frase?”
        “Are you all right?”
        “'Course Frase. I'm just....” I feel kind of corny but I say it anyway. “Happy. I'm happy I'm here with you. That we're, uh...pack.” I close my eyes and turn my face into that soft spot in the middle of his chest and nuzzle him. His hands come up and thread through my hair, stroking lightly. We stay that way for a minute and then he tugs on me.
        “What?” I turn my head and look up at him.
        “I'm happy, too.” He's suspiciously shiny-eyed. But I decide not to mention it.
        I raise my head and wipe my nose on my arm, and grin at him. “Good. Gonna make you happier.” I wink and slide down further to kiss his navel. I trail my tongue down and slide again to get lower. Just as I'm licking the valley between his groin and his thigh, I become aware of a strange tickling feeling on my calves. Startled, I jerk my head around to check it out.
        The tent. The tent flap is tickling my calves just below the knees. Relief spreads over me, and I turn back to what I'm doing. Just as my tongue gets busy, it occurs to me that if the tent flap is tickling my knees, then my feet (bare, like the rest of me) are outside the tent. Where anyone (like a park ranger) driving by can see them. Which might not be so bad except for the moaning.
        And any park ranger worth his salt who sees bare, obviously male, legs sticking out of a tent and hears obviously male groaning would certainly have probable cause to enter the premises....True, we're pretty much alone out here just now, but still. I whip my feet into the tent and get up into a crouch all in one motion. Fraser looks up from his wanton sprawl in a daze. “Ray, what is it?”
        “Shhhh… just gotta, gotta change position here. I was feeling... a draft.”
        He looks surprised at that and then I see his eyes shift to the flap. Comprehension dawns. “Ah.”
        Climbing and crawling I maneuver myself until I'm lying diagonally so my head is where it wants to be and my feet are somewhere over in the corner next to Frase's head. I put my head down and take his cock in my mouth. His breathing stops, then starts again in a big rush. I lick over the slippery head with a light touch, then grip him at the base with one hand and play with his balls with the other. Slowly, I relax my jaw, open wide and take him in. His reaction is certainly positive. Just as I get a good sucking rhythm going, I feel him shifting under me. He wrenches my hips up onto his chest and I'm suddenly engulfed by his warm, wet mouth.
        I forget what I'm doing. I forget where we are. I don't think I even remember my own name. Oh, yeah. That's right. That's good. That is so good. His cock pops out of my mouth as my head falls down onto his thigh. I'm panting and so close to the edge my eyes are closed, when he stops and says something.
        “Wha-, wha-, what?” My mouth almost remembers how to form words as my cock searches vainly for that hot wetness again.
        “I said, it's all right if you achieve climax first. Please feel free.” My brain struggles to understand. His mouth goes back to what it was doing.
        With a Herculean effort, I put it together. That was a challenge, issued Benton-Fraser-style.
        “Hey.” Mouth is forming words. Go, Ray, go. “That wouldn't be, you know, polite. You first.”
        He sucks just enough for me to see stars at the edge of my vision, then lets go and says. “No, Ray, really. I think it's been well established that in this partnership, I'm the one with self-control and you're the one who goes on impulse. Please, follow your impulses.”
        “Oh, yeah, well I'll show you an impulse, B-buddy.” I take him in with one gulp and pump at the base. At the same time, he sucks me back in and starts rhythm my body immediately understands. Instinctively, I start a distinct pattern of sucking. Suck-suck-suck-release. Suck-suck-suck-release. I repeat it again. After the third time, he catches on and gets into synch with me. Oh, yeah. The feeling of being sucked off with his cock in my mouth is like sucking myself off. Hot doesn't begin to describe it. Already, I can feel the end approaching. I know he's close, too, but maybe not as close as I am. Inspired, I rub my finger over the slick and wet parts of his cock that I can reach and slide it in between his cheeks. Immediately, he bucks underneath me and explodes in my mouth. I try to swallow, which is hard since I'm simultaneously trying not to pound too hard into Fraser's mouth and then I can't seem to do either because the world explodes around me in a vast rush.
        When I can notice things again, I notice that I've pretty much collapsed on top of Fraser and that my face is buried in his thigh. I nuzzle and kiss the soft inner skin there and roll off of him. Using all the energy left in my normally hyper body, I sit up, then flop right back down next to him.
        He opens his eyes and rolls on his side to look at me.
        I look back.
        His hand lifts and I feel his thumb rubbing at a wet spot on my cheek. He brings his thumb to his mouth and licks it.
        “I always did say you'd put anything in your mouth.” I grin at him.
        “I could now say the same of you.” He grins back.
        “Not anything, just you.”
        He puts his hand behind my neck and presses our foreheads together. His eyes close. Feeling his breath on my face and his hand warm on my neck, I'm pulled back down into sleep.
        Later (much later) we head to town for breakfast, uh, brunch. Just inside the city limits we find an International House of Pancakes. After we sit down and order, we discuss the plan for the day.
        “So, Frase. What's up?” I stir the coffee the waitress provided immediately upon our arrival and wait.
        “Well, Ray, as we stated last night, the whole point of this journey is to see Ray Vecchio. To that end, I propose that we call him after we eat and set up a convenient time to visit.” He reaches into his shorts pocket and hands me a bag of Smarties. I look at him. His head is down a little and he's looking back at me through his lashes with wide, hopeful eyes. Jeez, if he had a tail, it would be wagging.
        “Thanks, Frase.”
        “You're welcome, Ray.”
        I dump six of the candies into my coffee and stir it some more.
        We sit a minute in silence. The waitress comes back with Fraser's tea. Then I say, “Do you want to try to go to the beach? Last chance for a while.”
        He picks up his tea. “Maybe. Let's see what we can set up with Ray first.”
        “Yeah, yeah, right. We'll do that first.”
        I'm not looking at him, but I can feel Fraser eyeing me over the top of his tea mug.
        I ignore that and listen for the piped in music every restaurant plays during serving hours. It's hard to hear over the clash of knives and forks but I catch the rhythm of whatever song is playing first in my fingers and then in my knee. I've just gotten a good beat going, when out of nowhere I feel a hand on my knee, stopping the movement.
        “Fraser! What? I got the beat going here.”
        “I know, Ray. So do the people in the booth behind you and so do the people in the booth behind me.”
         Oops. Guess the banging silverware and footwork got a little loud. I look down at the table and say, “Oh, too much, huh? Stella used to...”
        Fraser interrupts me (Fraser interrupts me?) to say, “Not too much for me. Never too much for me.” I jerk my eyes up in surprise to see his eyes burning into mine. His hand tightens on my knee. I feel something quiet inside me and I can look back at him steadily.
        “Okay, Fraser.”
        He squeezes my knee once more and releases it. “Good. Ah, it appears our breakfasts are imminent.”
        Sure enough, the waitress arrives just then and plops our plates down in front of us. I eye mine with relish. I notice Fraser eyeing it with disbelief.
        “What? What's that look for?”
        “I.... I... I'm at a loss.”
        “What? What's that mean?”
        “That is what you are having for breakfast?” He sweeps his hand over my plate, taking in the chocolate syrup, chocolate chips and whipped cream in a wide gesture.
        “Yeah, Fraser. Chocolate chip pancakes. This is what I'm having for breakfast.”
        “Ray, I seriously doubt that any of the ingredients used to create that are even listed on the USDA Food Pyramid.”
        “Oh, yeah?” I point at the whipped cream. “Dairy.” I point to the pancake. “Bread.”
        “Ray, classifying either of those things as nutritious is stretching quite a few points. That is not a healthy breakfast.”
        “Well, neither is yours.”
        “Eggs, toast and bacon are all natural foods that are certainly more healthy than....”
        “Heart Attack on a Plate, Fraser. Think about what those things are doing to your cholesterol. And you're pushing forty, you know.”
        His mouth opens but no words come out. I can practically see the steam coming out of his ears. I go on. “Besides, I know what you're really saying.” I lean forward and say softly, “You want some of what I got.” Then I lean back and take a bite of pancake with whipped cream. Some of the cream gets on the outside of my lip and I lick it off. He flushes red but his eyes follow every move my mouth makes.
        “No, I don't,” he tries.
        “Yes, you do.” I sing-song back. I take another bite of whipped cream and lick my lips again, slower this time. His eyes stay glued to my face.
        “I do not.” His mouth is twitching.
        “Tsk. Tsk. And I thought good Mounties never lied. Or maybe,” I lean forward again, “you're not so good?” I use my tongue to search for any last traces of whipped cream and keep my eyes on his. His face gets redder, he shifts in his seat and his own tongue comes out to mirror mine.
        “It's possible....” His voice sounds strained. “Perhaps we could work out a trade?”
        “Oh, yeah? You got something you think I want?” I lean back to get another bite and he leans in accordingly. It's almost like dancing.
        “My...bacon.” He looks me right in the eye as he says it. I stop with my fork halfway to my mouth. No way he just said....”What's that?” I ask, my voice shaking.
        “My bacon, Ray. My Canadian bacon. Do you want it?”
        I totally lose it. Lay my head down on the table and laugh like I haven't laughed in years. I think I might even be giggling. Damn Mountie. Turn my own game around on me. He's laughing, too, like I've never heard him do before. I feel like we're nine years old and laughing over fart jokes.
        “You, you, you....” I gasp finally.
        “Well, Ray,” he chokes out. “Is it a trade?”
        “Take it. Take the whole damn plate. It's worth it, just to hear you make a joke with innuendo.” I push my plate at him in defeat. But I make sure to snag his bacon before bringing my hand back.
        He makes the call right after breakfast from the pay phone in the IHOP parking lot. I watch him, leaning on the GTO. He's wearing the Summer Uniform. Six months ago, I might have just shaken my head. Today, knowing more about how his mind works and knowing that he does have a sense of humor, I just grin. The high-tops look good.
        He hangs up the phone and comes back to the car. He stops in front of me and stands almost at attention.
        “He said we should come by the bowling alley at two o'clock. He'll have time to talk then.”
        I nod then ask, “What time is it now?”
        “Forty-five minutes after eleven. That gives us a little over an hour to walk on the beach, if you'd like.”
        “Yeah. That sounds good.” I push myself up from the car and walk around to the driver's side. I open the door and have one leg in when I notice he is still standing motionless by the passenger door. “What?”
        “You know, you can tell me anything. And if you are feeling somewhat nervous, it may help to know that I, too, am experiencing some...ambivalent emotions at what is about to take place.” He looks right at me. Well, at my sunglasses, anyway. I wonder if he can see little Fraser images reflected in the lenses. I look away. It's not too surprising he's picked up on my skittishness, but his voice is oddly tentative, like he's not sure how I'll take being called on it. And it's true with anyone else I'd be copping an attitude about now. But this is Fraser. And I guess he's a little skittish himself.
        I look down at the car and then back up at the day. Fraser, nervous and admitting it. “That almost scares me more, Fraser. You scared and admitting it.”
        He looks away from me, then back. I take off my sunglasses. “I'm often scared, Ray.” I cock my head at him. He rubs his eyebrow and gets in the car. I slide in, too and look at him. “I just...never told you before,” he finishes all in a rush. He runs his fingers along the groove between the dashboard and the glove box. I turn frontwards again and stare straight ahead.
        “Had to preserve that Mountie Mask, I guess?” I ask the steering wheel.
        His fingers still on the dashboard and then he drops his hand to his lap. “Perhaps, I did, at that,” he says like he's been thinking about it. “But...” and he turns toward me now, “I'm abundantly glad that I don't have to do that anymore.”
        And there in his eyes is the real guy underneath that Mountie façade, the real guy who gets nervous, and wants to be loved by his friends and family like we all do. And there, too, is the fear that Vecchio will reject him and me and our pack and not listen to the apologies that Fraser so desperately needs to make.
        I put my hand on his thigh and squeeze it. His hand covers mine. “Whatever happens today,” my voice is husky, “whatever that may be, it's not going to change what we are. I'll watch your back, Fraser and you watch mine, and there's nothing that can touch us.”
        “Right you are, Ray.” And I lean over and risk it: a hot, hard kiss. Trying with my mouth to show him that I'm here, that I'm not going anywhere and that I'll take care of him.
        “We'll take care of each other,” he gasps, like he's been reading my mind.
        “Because that's what we do,” I agree.
        “One of our little things,” he says back.
        I grin and start the car.
        Back at the campground, I do a cop-look around and don't notice anything out of place. I strip off the short sleeve shirt I wore over my tank top to the restaurant and toss it in the tent. The sun feels good on my shoulders and the breeze feels good everywhere else. I turn in time to catch Fraser pulling off his red shirt, leaving him bare chested.
        “Uh, Frase, that's a great look on you, trust me, but if you're going to go topless you need to let me rub you down with some sunscreen.” My mouth is watering. Fraser's chest. Sunscreen. Rubbing sunscreen on Fraser's bare chest....that walk may never happen.
        “I'm planning on wearing a tank top, Ray.” He doesn't look up from folding his shirt and the tips of his ears turn red.
        “Better let me get some lotion on your shoulders still. Hang on a sec.” I try to stay matter-of-fact because I know he's embarrassed, but my voice is husky. I duck into the tent and dig in my duffel bag for the SPF 30, calling back out to him, “You wanna do this in here?” I clear my throat.
        “I think it would be best to do it...out here.” His voice catches.
        “And why is that?” I stick my head out of the tent flap to look at him.
        “I'm not sure I'll actually take that walk if I come in there, Ray.”
        “That's what I'm shooting for, Fraser. That you'll come in here. Should I tell you what that look you got just now does for me?” His eyes darken with desire. “Or should I just take care of it myself?” I wink and duck back into the tent and flop onto the bedroll. I reach down and adjust myself just as he comes in. I like the look in his eye. He hunkers down next to me, but doesn't say anything. “What? You want to watch?”
        “Yes.”
        One word and I'm hard enough to pound nails. “Y-you do?”
        “Yes.”
        “You want me to...”
        “Yes.” If he says it one more time, I'm going to come just from the sound of his voice.
        “Right now?” As opposed to what, Ray? Ten minutes from now? Tonight?
        “Now.” He moves over me on all fours and stares down at me before lowering his head and licking my mouth. I open up and he clamps down on my upper lip, slipping his tongue inside to rest against the roof of my mouth and holds me.
        “Going for the alpha thing in a big way here, huh, Fraser?” I gasp when I can speak again, trying to tease, but my hands are already moving, sliding my shorts and boxers down and off my legs.
        His eyes go immediately to my cock which is aching. He moves off me to hunker again at my side. I'm pleased to see his chest is heaving.
        “Like what you see?” I'm turned on and nervous and my voice comes out breathless, like I'm running a marathon.
        “Yes. Very much.”
        “What now, alpha boy?”
        He tears his eyes away from the equipment to smolder at me. “Touch yourself.”
        Keeping my eyes on his face, I slide my hand down over my tank top and take hold. I almost have to close my eyes at the feel of my own hand, no matter how familiar, my arousal is that high.
        He moans slightly and a red flush creeps up his chest. “Don't move.” His voice is hoarse. He stares like he's memorizing me, getting more and more flushed.
        “I've thought about you, you know, doing this,” I say through gritted teeth, trying to distract myself from the need to pump and pump hard.
        “Move now.” I obey gratefully. “You've thought about me masturbating?”
        “No. Well, that, too, but I meant, I've thought about you while I was doing it.”
        He's up on his knees now and his hand is in his shorts. “Tell me,” he growls.
        “I'd tell myself not to, but I always got you in there somehow and when I did, it was so much hotter.” My hand is moving steady now and he's picked up my rhythm.
        “Tell me.” He's leaning back on one hand now and his hips are thrusting counter point to his strokes. He's shoved his shorts down to get better access and I can see everything now, his red, thick cock and that pale hand wrapped around it. God, he's beautiful. All the times I jerked off with him in my head, I never dreamed it would be this hot.
        “Trade you,” I gasp.
        “What?” he moans. His hand is moving harder now and he's having a hard time keeping his eyes open.
        “Back and forth, I tell you, you tell me.”
        “Uhn, understood.” He has thought of me. I groan and almost lose it.
        “First, I was doing some chick and you were watching.”
        “Mmmmm, kissing you, open mouth.”
        “Teaching you to dance.” I pause to breathe.
        “Tasting you.” He pauses. “Everywhere.”
        I groan and pump harder imagining his tongue everywhere, manage to grit out the next one. “Sucking you off on a stakeout. My head in your lap. You in your serge.”
        “Sucking you off on a stakeout, my head in your lap.” He sounds almost done, his eyes shut tight now, his head thrown back.
        “You sucking me, while I suck you. Guess we got that one.” I can feel the rush starting in my feet. But then he does me in.
        “You...inside me.”
        My whole body tightens up and explodes and all I see is white light against my eyelids. I'm vaguely aware that Fraser is making some unearthly noises next to me and then I feel him drop down next to me. I really want to hold him, but my arms and every other part of me are too limp to move. I may never move again. But I need the connection so I scrabble at his arm, sliding my hand down his arm to find his. I lace our fingers together and squeeze with as much strength as I can find in my limp noodle muscles. After a moment, he squeezes back.
        I doze for a while holding Fraser's hand. I don't know how long it's been when I finally open my eyes. I close them again immediately against the sun. I roll over on my side and I can feel him looking at me. “You're still watching,” I say with my eyes still closed.
        “Yes.”
        I'm so far gone on him that my cock twitches at that yes. I feel his breath on my face. I lick my suddenly dry lips and feel him move closer. Suddenly, I've got two tongues and my lips are being licked in a whole new way. I open up and kiss him back.
        We make out slow and lazy. His hand goes down my back, sliding over my crumpled up tank top and coming to rest on my naked ass, where he grabs a handful and holds on. He deepens the kiss and attempts to familiarize himself with my tonsils. His hand pulls me closer and closer, until...
        “No,” I tear my mouth from his and gasp out the word, planting my hand on his chest.
        “No?” he asks and gives me a wide-eyed hurt look that makes me feel like I've kicked a puppy. Well, a wolf cub.
        “No. God, you've made me come twice already today and it's not even one o'clock. I need a break!”
         “Then perhaps now would be an excellent time for that discussion.”
        “What discussion?” I'm exasperated now but he won't stop staring at me.
        “I want you to tell me.” Steady look. I meet his gaze but can't hold it. I look away. I look back and he hasn't moved, hasn't shifted, same look of determined patience on his face. I roll onto my back and rest my hand on my belly. My naked belly. Right.
        “If we're going to do this, at least let me get my shorts on,” I grumble, feeling more like prey than pack. He just waits silently, suspecting, perhaps, that this is a stall.
        “Fine! Fine! Just hang on a sec!” I scrabble around and come up with my boxers and shorts, get my feet in them and kneel up to shimmy into both at the same time.
        I look at Fraser just in time to catch him drop his eyes to my cock.
        “Huh,” I half-chuckle and feel a whole lot better suddenly. Back to pack. His eyes shoot back up to mine that implacable gaze returns, but I can see the tips of his ears are red now. “See something you like, Benton?” I grin and wink at him.
        His face gets pink but he answers readily enough. “Yes. Very much. But I still want you to tell me.”
        Right. Prey again. “What is it you want to know?”
        “Why are you so nervous about the meeting today?”
        I sigh. “It's not that exactly–” Now his face changes. One eyebrow slides up. “What?”
        “Ray, you are undoubtedly nervous–your heart rate and respiration increased every time I mentioned this afternoon, your palms are sweaty–” He takes my hand in his warm, dry one.
        What? He thinks I'm lying? “Didn't say I wasn't nervous, Fraser. I started to say I wasn't nervous about Vecchio.”
        Another change in that face now. Confusion then understanding. “Then, it must be–”
        I don't want him to say her name yet, so I interrupt, “You thought I was nervous about Vecchio?”
        Eyebrow rub. “Ah, yes, actually, it was, I believed, the most likely of the two possibilities.”
        “Why?”
        “Because, he and I were partners and now you and I are...together...And I was afraid you might feel some sense of...that is–perhaps, you feel a little, shall we say, competitive with Ray.”
        I roll over on top of him and kiss him. He still has a dazed look when I pull back, but that didn't keep him from responding. Damn. My lips are burning for more. “I” *kiss* “Am not. *kiss* “jealous.” *kiss* “of Vecchio.” Long kiss.
        “You're not?” he says when he can speak again. “Why not?” And believe it or not, there is a plaintive note in his voice.
        “What?” I say, grinning. “You think I should be jealous?”
        “No, no, no, of course not, Ray. I just thought you might be.”
        “Did you or did you not tell me I was pack?”
        He relaxes under me and his hands come up to rest on my ass. “Yes, Ray.”
        “Is Vecchio pack?”
        “No, Ray.”
        “ 'nuff said.”
        “Yes, Ray.”
        Long, slow, lazy making out again then and his hands aren't resting so much as grabbing, pulling, and kneading my ass by the time he pulls his mouth away. “So, Ray.” I love how he is gasping. “Why are you nervous then?”
        “Ah, well, that's a whole other story.”
         “I gathered,” he says dryly. “Perhaps, you could tell it to me.”
        I rest my head on his chest for a moment. “Stella.”
        “Ah. Well, that was option b.”
        “See, we're down here cause you have to tell Vecchio that you're okay and you've got a pack and he can stop worrying about you. But at the same time I have to tell my ex-wife that I'm in love with my partner, who is a guy and that I'm moving to Canada to live with him.” I roll off him and lie next to him on my back again.
        He rolls onto his side and rests his head on his hand. “Are you worried how she will react?”
        “In a word, Fraser? Yes. We got some history here.”
        He just looks at me then, doing that steady waiting thing and wham! I'm back to prey. But then he lifts his free hand and lets it rest on my stomach under my shirt and I know I'm pack, too. “What are you afraid of?”
        “That she'll say 'I told you so.'”
        Silence. Then...
        “She....knew?”
        “She suspected, I guess. In fact, she clued me into it.” I try a grin, laughing at the irony, I guess.
        Fraser doesn't smile back. He never does when the irony is turned in my direction.
        “May I ask what happened?”
        “Fraser. You can ask me anything.” That gets me an eyebrow rub, but, damn it, I hate it when he backs off into formality like that.
        “What happened, Ray?” His hand stays warm on my stomach.
        “We were taking this young hotshot lawyer out for dinner, kind of recruiting him for the State's Attorney office, you know? The Attorney General's office was after him, too, so the SA wanted his office to look good.
        “He'd been at the office all day following Stella around, talking with the SA, meeting all the Assistant SAs and the dinner was, you know, to make the deal look even better over a good cut of beef.” I try another grin, but he's just listening now in that intense way of his which lets me know he's memorizing every word.
        “So, we go out. I'm wearing a tie, Stella's in one of her power suits and we go get the guy, Jackson Wyatt, from his hotel.
        “At dinner, at first it's all Stella wheeling and dealing and I'm just enjoying the meal. But then Jackson starts dragging me into the conversation, little things. 'Do you like Chicago, Mr. Kowalski?'
        'Call me Ray,' I say.
        'Ray, do you follow the Cubs?'
        “You know, little by little he's making me talk more. Then it gets interesting. He knows about boxing, he likes Classic Cars. And I'm thinking, hey, he's not just a stuffed shirt like the others. Pretty soon we're talking a mile a minute and Stella's plate is empty.”
        That hand on my stomach is rubbing now and those eyes haven't left my face.
        “And he was funny. He had a kind of quirky way of looking at things and he made just dead-on observations about the suits at the office that were really hysterical. Although from the way he kept cutting his eyes at Stella, I figured he was restraining himself.”
        “So you liked him.”
        “Yeah.” I look him in the eye.
        “But you didn't know he was gay?”
        Leave it to Fraser to put all the pieces together faster than I can get them out of the box.
        “Right again. But Stella did.” He winces. “Exactly. So we get home and she calls me on it.”
        “On your attraction to Jackson Wyatt?”
        “Oh yeah. Said I was giggling and had that 'gonna get some' look on my face, said I was..” I stop and put my arm up over my face. I feel him waiting. “....glowing,” I say into my arm.
        “I know that look.”
        I peek out from under my arm. He's...smoldering at me. “Cut it out. I don't glow.”
        “On the contrary, Ray. Your smile, it lights up your whole face...you have no idea...it takes my breath.” His voice has dropped to a whisper and there's a catch in it.
        He's serious. God. My face gets hot and I'm having my own trouble breathing. I get up on one elbow into his space, his hand slides to my ribs and I stare at him before running my thumb under his eye. “Freak,” I whisper.
        “Yes.”
        “My freak.”
        “Always.”
        “We pack?”
        “Without a doubt.”
        I kiss him then, long and deep and slow. His mouth opens up immediately and things get sloppy and wet like I like. I've got him on his back before he can think enough to tear his mouth from mine and gasp, “Ray. God. What you do to me.”
        I rest my forehead on his cheek feeling his hot, labored breathing against my jaw and ear. My own breathing is no better.
        He shoves me until I lift up again, then he slides one arm out from under me and pushes me down and to the side until my head is on his shoulder. “Now finish your story.” He gives a great big, gusty sigh and threads his fingers in my hair.
        Like that's going to help me concentrate.
        “Okay. Well, okay, so, Stella gave me shit about Jackson and dinner–kind of teasing, kind of not, you know?” I shrug against him. His fingers tighten in my hair. “So I start thinking about it. At first, I'm like 'she's crazy, no way' but then I try The Test.”
        “The test?”
        “Yeah, Fraser. The Test. You know, where you imagine some girl naked and doing things to see if you might be interested.”
        “Wouldn't that be readily apparent?”
        “Sometimes. Sometimes it is. But other times it's not so obvious.”
        “For the sake of expediency, I will refrain from exploring this Test more thoroughly at this time.” But the tone told me we'd be discussing it later. It was a long ride back to Chicago....
        “Right. Okay, Fraser. So, now I try The Test on Stella first.”
        “As a control, no doubt.”
        “Uh, right, whatever. Anyway, there I am, on the sofa now, Stella's stormed back to the bedroom, so I close my eyes and imagine her naked, her breasts, his hips, her fine ass–”
        “Ray.”
        I shake myself. “Right, anyway everything seems to be in working order, I'm ready to bat, so to speak.”
        “So to speak.” Did his eyes roll? I believe they did.
        “So, I thought about kissing a guy, any guy.....and got...nothing. Good, I thought. But, I was still a little pissed and had no desire to go back to the bedroom and face the 'all-knowing-Stella.' So I stayed where I was.
        “And suddenly, I'm thinking about kissing Jackson. Thinking that his beard stubble would be rough, and his lips soft. Then, I'm like considering: How do guys do it? Well, I knew how, I hadn't worked Vice all those years for nothing. But....I started wondering how would it feel.” I stop and smile into Fraser's chest.
        Fraser cranes his head a little and tries to meet my eyes. “What did you think?”
        “I thought it would more like wrestling, you know, you could hold tight and push hard. Then I tried to imagine Jackson doing the things I'd heard about and suddenly I'm looking at a picture in my mind of Jackson doing me....”
        “Your turn at bat again?” His voice is soft.
        “Yeah. Turned out Stella was right all along.” Finally, I look at him and try a grin that doesn't quite work.
        “Ah.”
        “Yeah, 'Ah'.” I scoot closer and rest my chin on his chest. “It was weird, but....not surprising, you know?”
        Fraser looks at me seriously, then drops his head back to stare at the tent ceiling. “I do know.”
        “Yeah.” We sit in companionable silence for a moment. Then, I go on. “Anyway, so there I was married to Stella, totally in love with her, but popping a boner for somebody I hardly knew, and a guy I hardly knew at that. I was freaking.” Fraser's hand starts tracing a path up and down my arm giving me goosebumps. “But the longer I thought about it, the more I realized that this wasn't such a big shock. Some part of me just...accepted it. And, I could even look back and see where a guy here and there could have or might have caused the same reaction, I'd just been too focused on Stella to notice.”
        “To let yourself notice.”
        “Yeah, probably...”
        “Hmmm... so what happened with Jackson?”
        “Huh?” With an effort, I jerk my thoughts back to the here and now. “Oh!” I push myself up to sit cross-legged, getting a little jolt from remembering. “That's when it got weird, Fraser.”
        “In what way, Ray?' Fraser, using just his abs, sits up, too and mirrors my position so our knees are touching.
        “Well, okay, so after dinner I do the whole couch and Test thing, light bulb goes on, spend a few minutes dealing with that and then I finally drag myself off to sleep with my wife whom I love and on whom I will not play around despite who I may or may not be attracted to, right?”
        “Right you are, Ray.”
        “Right. But the next day at work, I'm at my desk and suddenly, 'Poof!' There's Jackson.”
        “Poof?”
        “I was into the work, Fraser,” I glare at him.
        “I'm certain you were, Ray, “ He blinks innocently.
        I have my suspicions but go on with the story. “Anyway–”
        “Did he actually say the word 'poof?'”
        Caught by surprise, I stop and answer. “No, Fraser, he didn't.”
        “Ah.”
        “As I was–”
        “I just thought it would, of course, be interesting if he actually had done so, since 'poof' was a slang term used to describe homosexual males during World War I, and I believe it is still used in Britain today.”
        “Oh, really? How interesting, Fraser. Can I go on here?” Unwillingly and despite my best efforts, I know I'm about to laugh. Who else would know that?
        “Of course, please continue.”
        “Anyway, as I was attempting to say before I was so rudely interrupted, not once but twice, Jackson came to see me.”
        “The next day?” he clarifies.
        “Yeah, Fraser.”
        “Did you two have an appointment?”
        “No, we didn't.”
        “Had you invited him to drop by?”
        “Nope.”
        “I see.”
        “He said he was in the area and happened to remember where I worked, so he stopped by to see if I wanted to go to lunch.”
        “Was it lunchtime?”
        “It was nine forty-five, Fraser.”
        “Was the State's Attorney's office in the area?”
        “All the way across town.”
        “Ah. So he was pursuing you.”
        “And you didn't even have to lick anything.” A comment which gets me Fraser's tongue in my ear and along my jawbone. I shove at him. “Goof. Lay off. More to go here.” I swipe my hand across my face. “Well, you got it, but I didn't, not really. But I say, thanks, but no thanks, got the job, can't just take off for lunch so early. Unfortunately, he takes that as encouragement.”
        “Oh, he did?” Fraser's voice is cold. “So, he..”
        “Said he'd come by again in a little while, and then he asked where the restroom was.”
        “I see.” His voice is now several degrees chillier.
        “Right. So there I am on Wheel of Fortune, the puzzle's all laid out in front of me but I haven't bought a vowel, so I got no clue.”
        “Did he return?”
        “Yeah. Came back at 11:30, said surely it was lunchtime now and as luck would have it, I was actually free.”
        “So you went to lunch...?” He sounds a little incredulous.
        “Yeah, Fraser. I started to.”
        “What were you thinking?”
        “Not sure I was. I was...curious...to see if the reaction I'd had the night before would be the same, to see if I had read the whole thing wrong. I had no intention of cheating, I was just...trying to figure things out.” Fraser nods at me sort of blankly. “I'm not real proud of that decision.”
        “Hmmm...it's true also that he was pursuing you quite aggressively, Ray.”
        “Yeah, that kind of became clear in the men's room, Fraser.”
        Pause. “You went into the men's room with him?”
        “What? I go into the men's room with you all the time!”
        He doesn't answer me with words, but his left eyebrow slides up.
        “What? Well, I did it with you all the time before,” I wave my hand vaguely to convey our altered circumstances, “all this happened, you know!”
        His face stays exactly the same.
        “Oh, shut up!” I growl, but I let it go. “We were talking! And he just went in without hesitating and I just followed...” I know I'm red, I can feel the heat from the crown of my head to my navel. “Okay, it was stupid! But don't forget, Fraser, I'd only been bi for about twenty-four hours. I hadn't gotten my handbook yet!”
        “I know, Ray and so did he, and he took shameless advantage. He was certainly...sure of himself to make a pass at the husband of someone with whom he could possibly be working.”
        “Yeah, well he went with the Attorney General's office.”
        “Ah. And you think that that decision had already been made prior to meeting you?”
        “Probably. So he figured he had nothing to lose.”
        “What happened in the bathroom?”
        “Nothing except a meaningful look and an attempted grope.”
        “He attempted to....fondle...you...in..” Now Fraser's face is red, but I don't think he's embarrassed.
        “Well, he tried, but somebody punched him.”
        He looks at me for a minute, then says, “How unfortunate.”
        “Yeah, that's what he thought,” and I grin and he grins back and then we're laughing and everything's all right again. Pack.
        It's dark in the bowling alley. As the door bangs shut, I fumble at my sunglasses not wanting to be caught off guard in the dimness. Getting them off my face, I promptly drop them on the floor. “Fuck!” I hiss and go to reach for them, but Fraser's faster.
        He rises up out of his crouch and holds them out to me. When I reach for them, he covers my hand with his free one. “Easy, Ray.”
        “Yeah.” I exhale gustily. “Thanks, Fraser.”
        He smiles at me with his eyes and then his gaze flicks down to my mouth and I know he wants to kiss me. I want it, too, but this isn't the place. Although some part of me (the one below my waist, I figure) whispers that it would make explanations unnecessary if we were caught...I shift closer.
        The crash of a bowling ball against the pins makes us jerk apart. He lets go of my hands and we drop the sunglasses again. We both go for them, but I snag them first. I don't know about Fraser, but my heart is pounding. I chance a look at him. His cheeks are red, and he's breathing hard. He catches my eye and grins–not a Constable Fraser smile at all, it's pure Benton. I grin back loving him so much my heart feels like I just bowled a game of strikes.
        And that's how Vecchio comes upon us–grinning at each other like fools, but with a respectable distance between us.
        “Benny!” The pleasure in his voice is real.
        “Ray.” Fraser's smile changes–still real, still wonderful, but not the smile that he just gave me.
        They shake and embrace. Vecchio's still smiling as he greets me. “Kowalski.” We shake but don't hug. “Penguins didn't peck you to death?”
        “Actually, Ray,” I say in my best Fraser voice, “penguins are indigenous to the South Pole so it is unlikely we would have encountered any at all on our adventure.”
        “Oh, God, Fraser, you've spawned. He sounds just like you.”
        “He sings, too,” Fraser says with a twinkle.
        I drop the act and point my fingers at Fraser. “That's enough of that.”
        “Oh, that's too good to be true.” Vecchio shakes his head. “This I've got to hear.”
        “I'm sure that Ray will be happy to oblige you...”
        “No, Ray will do no such thing,” I interrupt. “There will be no singing on this trip.” I speak emphatically but am ignored.
        “I can't wait! You'll come for dinner tonight and stay with us. You can sing for your supper.” Vecchio looks as if someone just gave the cat the keys to the catnip vault. I shift uncomfortably and feel Fraser beside me doing the same thing such that our shoulders bump together, but Vecchio goes on without a pause, speaking now to an old guy behind the shoe rental counter. “Hey, Jimmy, tell the boss lady when she comes in that we've got visitors and to meet us in the snack bar.”
        “Will do, Mr. Vecchio.” Jimmy hardly looks up from the magnifying glass he's using to read the paper.
        We fall in line behind Vecchio and cross over to the snack bar. “You want something to drink? Murray!” He calls to someone behind the counter.
        Another old guy shuffles up. “Yeah, boss?”
        “Grab one of those bottles of spring water from the cooler and pour me a Coke, please. Kowalski?” He looks at me.
        “Uh, yeah, Coke's fine. Thanks.”
        “Two Cokes, Murray, okay?”
        “You got it, boss.”
        We go sit down at a table for four. Fraser and I sit next to each other, Vecchio sits across.
        Vecchio shoots me a look that seems to say he wishes I'd give them some space, but I pretend not to see it. No way I'm leaving until Fraser's said what he needs to say. I figure I need to be around for the pieces: the ones I might need to pick up and the ones I might have to break Vecchio into.
        “I gotta say, Benny, I never expected to see you in Florida. And in shorts!”
        “Well, for both you have Ray to thank. He drove us down and he convinced me I needed to outfit myself appropriately for this venture.”
        “Yeah, well, I knew he must be good for something.” I look at him sharply, but he's just cutting bait. Sure enough, he slants a look at me before grinning at Fraser.
        Fraser doesn't grin back. I can feel the tension radiating off him. Moving carefully, so as not to attract Vecchio's attention, I slide my foot until it's touching Fraser's. I'm trying to think of some smart-ass comment to make to defuse the situation when the most unlikely thing happens.
        Fraser, and I mean Constable Benton Robert Fraser, RCMP, stick-up-his-ass (in a good way), opens his mouth and in a tone of voice that sounds exactly like warm honey pours says, “Oh, I've found he's good for lots of things.”
        My jaw drops.
        My face turns red.
        My ears are ringing.
        I look at Fraser. My mouth is still open but I can't seem to close it. His face is red, too, but he holds Vecchio's eyes steadily and without shame.
        I look at Vecchio and decide that whatever shock I'm feeling is nothing–NOTHING! zip, zilch, nada–to the jaw dropping, stomach clenching, fetal-position-producing kick in the balls Vecchio just got.
        Suddenly I feel great.
        So sue me.
        Months later, Fraser told me he'd simply seen an opportunity to tell Vecchio of our altered circumstances and taken it.
        I nodded along with him, like I was buying that garbage, then said, “And besides, he horked you off because he tried to slam me.”
        And he nodded back before he finished hearing me, then froze and tried to backtrack. “Now, Ray, it was simply an appropriate avenue–”
        “Benton lost his temper! Benton lost his temper!” I sang.
        He went on, as if he hadn't heard, “–through which to introduce some new information–”
        “Benton lost his temper!” I continued the song, but it was the dance steps I added that really got him. Then he got me.
        Afterward, when we were lying tangled up and comfy in our bed his head on my chest, I made him admit it. “Admit it, Fraser,” I said. “You know and I know you would have led up to that particular revelation with tiny, little baby steps and all the tact in the world except for the fact that he dissed me. And when he did that, you lost your temper and told him straight –ha, there's a word–out, no holds barred with no tact whatsoever. 'Cause you love me.” I finished smugly.
        I felt him smile. “I will admit that the fact that he seems to hold you in such low esteem bothers me. He should see you as I do.”
        “Benton, nobody will ever see me or has ever seen me like you do and I can assure you that no matter how much you value me, Ray Vecchio will never see me the same way you do.”
        Silence. “He'd better not.”
        “What's this now? Jealousy? You say you want him to see me like you do and now you say you don't. Now who's unhinged?”
        “A great many unfortunate people, I imagine.” He snorted into my chest.
        “And at least one's in this bed.”
        “Really, Ray. I'd hardly call you unhinged.”
        “Neither would I, Fraser. It's you who's making contradictory statements here.”
        “On the contrary, Ray. It's like Goedel's theorem–”
        Things deteriorated rather quickly after that, giggling was involved, but I made sure to get him back.
        Anyway, so Vecchio's looking like he's been hit in the face with a trout on his birthday when Murray comes shuffling up with our drinks. He clunks the tray down on the table and Fraser thanks him politely.
        “You're, you're yanking my chain, right?” Vecchio sounds like he's really hoping that's true. I've got news for him–it's not his chain Fraser wants to yank.
        “No, Ray.” Fraser's voice is quiet.
        “What the hell...”
        “He's pack, Ray.”
        “AND WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT MEAN?” Vecchio's voice rises and cracks, and his face is red.
        “I love him.” Fraser's voice is soft and I don't think Vecchio can hear the tremor in it. But I can.
        “Love him? Love him? How can you say that? You don't know anything about love. Some guy–” he flicks a sneer at me, “yanks your dick a few times up in Freezerland and you think it's love. Well, I've got news for you: love and desperation are not the same thing.” Vecchio and I are both up on our feet now, fists clenched. I want to smash his face so bad, I'm amazed I'm not doing it. The sneer in his voice intensifies. “It all started the same way with Victoria and you thought you loved her, too, didn't you? And we all saw how great that turned out.”
        Fraser's face goes completely white. He does not stand up, he does not respond in any way, except to wrap his arms around his middle and sit so still he could be turned to stone. All that he's feared has come true here. I start to climb over the table.
        I've actually got my foot on the seat when Fraser's hand on my ankle stops me. Vecchio looks at Fraser's hand on me and turns away. “I had to shoot you in the back last time to get you to see reason, don't expect me to do it again.” And he walks away.
        I look at Fraser. The hand around my ankle is shaking. His face is still white and his eyes look dead. I drop back down to the seat, and wrap my arms around him, not caring about the fact that Murray is watching avidly from the snack counter or the fact that he's been joined by Jimmy.
        I bump my forehead against his. “Hey.”
        His eyes are closed, and he's breathing hard from his nose, like maybe he's afraid to even open his mouth to get a breath because of what might come out.
        “Hey,” I say again.
        A muffled noise escapes his tight mouth.
        “Hang here a minute, cause there's something I gotta do.” I'm filled with a definite purpose. There is no way that this is going to end here.
        His eyes open at my comment. And underneath the pain, I see some honest concern at what my plan might be.
        “Shh. We're pack, right?” I put two fingers over his mouth. He nods again. “Then trust me to get this right for you. Okay? Trust me?”
        He closes his eyes again, buries his head against my shoulder and nods again.
        Watch out, Vecchio, here I come.
        The door to Vecchio's office is locked. I take great pleasure in kicking it open. It crashes against the wall.
        Vecchio's standing behind his desk fists up, body tense. Reflexively, I drop back into a defensive stance myself.
        “Get the fuck out of here,” he growls at me.
        “No,” I answer, almost pleasantly except for my bared teeth.
        “I'm calling the police, b and e, assault, battery.”
        “I haven't hit you...yet,” I point out. “But I sure will have before the police get here, you can count on it. So go ahead, call.” I wave my hand at the phone. “Tell them how you were arguing with your gay best friend and his lover when you became insulting and abusive and stalked back to your office.” I can tell by the look on his face what he thinks about saying that. “Then tell them that shortly afterwards, your best friend's lover decided to pay you a visit during which time he pounded on your face ten or twelve times to emphasize his point. Is that what you're going to say? That you got beat up by a faggot?”
        “If that's what you came here to do, then do it.” His chin is up and he's asking for it, I think he's hoping for it.
        “Nah.” I stand up straight and wave him off casually. “That's not what I came here for. I just came back here to encourage you to come back and finish your conversation and maybe bowl a few frames.”
        That gets him. He stands up straight and those green eyes are blazing. “You-you-you want to bowl?” His voice rises incredulously.
        “No.” I let some of the anger I feel toward him seep into my voice. “I want to pound you into pieces.”
        “Yeah, well maybe I want to pound you, too. Damn vulture.” His voice is positively venomous.
        I stare at him, my hackles going back up. “What's that mean?”
        His eyes light up and he comes around the desk to stand in front of me. “You know what it means.”
        He's pissing me off again. “No. I don't. What the fuck are you talking about?”
        “You and him, which makes me sick even to think about. You took advantage of him.”
        “I took advantage?” Just to be sure I'm clear.
        “Oh, yeah. I can see it plain as day. Off in the wilderness, ex-wife doesn't love you anymore, you haven't gotten any in ages. Shit, I bet even a polar bear would look good to you.
        “And Benny, he just screams loneliness when you get to know him. And you used that, you used that to get a piece of ass, you fucker, just 'cause your ex-wife wouldn't do you anymore and no other woman would have you.”
        That's when I punch him. A nice, solid hit across the cheekbone. He takes it pretty good and comes back swinging, catches me on the side of the head which makes my ears ring but probably won't show.
        In the back of my head, I'm thinking, “not about you, not about you.” I catch his next punch and swing him around to get that arm behind his back. I push him face down on his desk and lean on him for good measure.
        “Listen, you goddamned idiot. I would happily go ten rounds with you right here, right now. But right now my priority is not what I want.
        “You are his best friend. He still wants that. It's important to him. It'll kill him if you reject him. And knowing a little bit about what it feels like to love Benton Fraser, I know it will kill you too.”
        “Like you care about that.” He's pretty mouthy for a guy with his face in a desk blotter. I let him go and back off but stay alert.
        I make sure he's looking at me and then say, “It's not you I do it for.” I hold his eyes wanting to make it perfectly clear that I do not give a rat's ass what Raymond Vecchio wants in this world. Because I'm looking so intently, I see his eyes widen and the step back he takes on his sudden indrawn breath.
        Finally he nods at a bowling bag by his desk. “Just let me, change my shoes and use the can.” I nod too and go back out to the alley.
        Thankfully, Fraser is still sitting where I left him. “Come on.” I tap his shoulder as I walk by, headed to the shoe rental counter. Somewhat surprisingly, he follows. Maybe he thinks we're leaving. He comes up short when I stop by the register. Jimmy's doing his best to hustle over from the snack bar.
        “Ray, what?”
        “Tell Jimmy here your shoe size. We're going to bowl.” I toe off my sneakers, pick them up and slap them on the carpeted counter. “Ten and a half,” I say to Jimmy.
        Bemused, Fraser kneels to unlace his high tops and take them off. He puts them on the counter and starts to tuck the laces neatly inside. I roll my eyes and yank them out of his grasp and shove them at Jimmy. “Eleven,” I tell him. Jimmy shuffles off.
        “Really, Ray. You can't mean we're going to bowl?”
        “Yes, Fraser. We are going to bowl. You and me and Vecchio. We are going to bowl and you are going to finish your conversation.”
        “But why the bowling? It seems so...nonsensical.” He tilts his head and tugs at his ear, the way he does when he's struggling with something he doesn't understand.
        I sigh heavily. “The bowling part is so you and Vecchio each have a large, heavy object to throw at something defenseless and suitably noisy while you work this all out.” He stops tugging his ear and just stares. “What? I figure it will keep you from whaling on each other.” He's still staring, but this time it's like he's Dief and I'm a doughnut. “What?” I snap.
        “That's a....good idea, Ray.” He looks surprised.
        “And that's so surprising, that I'd have a good idea?” I grumble at him.
        “No, no, no, no. I'm just....glad you had it.”
        I flush. “Yeah, well, it was Plan B,” I mumble.
        “Dare I ask ...?”
        “Better not.”
        “Understood.”
        We find chairs and sit down to put the shoes on. Vecchio stalks out from the back hallway and does something behind the counter. The score screen over Lane 13 flickers on.
        I look back in time to see Jimmy say something to Vecchio and Vecchio not answer. He finishes whatever it is he's doing and heads our way. As he passes us, he snarls, “If you wanna bowl, then let's bowl.”
        Fraser just sits, hunched over, elbows on his knees, head down.
        “Fraser? You good to go here?”
        He nods.
        “Cause I'm good either way. The way I see it,” he turns just his head and looks at me “between you, me and these butt-ugly shoes, we have two options: we can go over there and bowl and attempt to talk sense into the suckmeister over there,” he drops his head again and snorts a little. “Or, we can stand up and make a break for it. The way these shoes slide, we'd be halfway home before old Murray there could get to the door.”
        Tentatively, I put my arm over his shoulders, buddy-like, and squeeze when what I really want to do is take him back to the tent and suck him until his eyes cross and he hasn't got any breath left and he comes so hard that all his pain is overcome by pure pleasure. Then I lean down and whisper, “Whatever you want, Fraser.” I let my lips rest on his hair lightly.
        “We gonna bowl here, or what?” Vecchio sounds more pissed now than before.
        “We're going to bowl.” Fraser's found his voice again. He braces one hand on my shoulder and stands. He squeezes my shoulder hard, chooses a ball from the rack and joins Vecchio in Lane 13.
        At first we just take warm-up shots. Nobody's talking, but the bowling balls are being flung down the alley with some serious intent. Vecchio's up for his second ball, when Fraser says, “I thought you went with Plan B,” referring, I guess to the bruise on Vecchio's face.
        I feel myself flush. “That? That's not Plan A. That's Plan Almost-but-not-quite A.”
        “Almost, but not quite?” He sounds incredulous.
        “His nose isn't broken,” I point out.
        “Ah.”
        He moves off to take his own warm-up. I get a ball from the rack. When it's my turn, I notice that Vecchio has very not-so-kindly typed 'Stanley' into the computer so there's no confusion as to which Ray is up next. Prick.
        We're ready to start for real when Vecchio speaks up. “You know, you could give us some space here, Stanley.”
        I point my fingers at him. “I surely could not. For right now, Vecchio, Fraser and me? We're a matched set. You want Fraser? You get me, too. That's the way it is. You don't like it, go sulk in your office.”
        “Could you call off the guard dog, Fraser? He's worse than Dief.”
        “I'm afraid I can't do that, Ray. He takes his responsibilities very seriously. And to further the point, I want him here,” Fraser replies.
        “Oh, the big bad Mountie needs his teddy bear,” Vecchio snarls. “What? Afraid I might hurt your feelings?”
        “He's here as much for your protection as for my support. “ Fraser's voice is mild, but there's a note in it, I haven't heard before. Then I get it. Fraser's pissed. He's pissed off at Vecchio and he's actually showing it, which must mean he's seriously pissed. Oh, wow. If I was wearing the Stetson, I'd be holding on to it now.
        “Yeah, right, Fraser. Like you get angry.” Vecchio turns and gets his ball. “I'm so scared.” He stands, steps up and flings the ball down toward the pins. Before it hits them, he spins around and comes back. “Whatcha going to do, lecture me?”
        “I assure you, Ray I can get quite angry. I'm afraid of what I might decide to do once you make me as angry as you apparently want to.”
        Behind Vecchio, his ball knocks down seven, no, eight of the pins. He's oblivious, his attention is totally focused on Fraser. “No way, not you, you're Mr. Nothing-Fazes-Me, not even ratting out the entire division and letting Zuko off ruffled your feathers.” He's back around and bowling again, steps not smooth at all, and the ball practically bounces when it hits the wood floor. The last two pins aren't in any danger at all.
        He stomps back and throws himself into a chair. Fraser stands stock still for a moment.
        “Your turn, Fraser,” I say quietly.
        He looks at me briefly, then moves to the ball return. Vecchio stares at his shoes. I watch Fraser.
        After his first ball is rolling pinward, Fraser turns back to Vecchio. “Zuko wasn't guilty. Convicting him of that crime would have been...a miscarriage of justice. You are well aware of that.”
        “All I know is that Zuko was slime and anything that could have gotten him off the street would have been a good thing. But that wasn't important to you. No, you, Dudley-Do-Right, you had to go and talk to all the neighbors, get their statements, find him an alibi. All in the name of fucking-justice. Let me ask you, did Justice ever buy you pizza? Drive you around in a Riviera?”
        I know this story, and I know that Fraser was right in what he did....but I also know that it can seem like Fraser only cares about truth and justice and not people. So I know where Vecchio's coming from. But there's more to the story than Vecchio knows.
        Fraser's watching the ball again, watches it knock all the pins down: Strike. He comes back to us, sits down heavily next to Vecchio. “You were important to me. Your career.” He puts his elbows on his knees and leans over, head and hands hanging. “You should have done what I did. If I hadn't questioned those neighbors, which was an obvious thing to do, than the defense attorney would have and the fact that Zuko was home the night Gardino was killed would have come out. You would have been sued for false arrest, lost your badge.” He sits back up and scrubs at his face. “If you don't think it was hard for me to do it, then you're wrong.”
        Vecchio doesn't look at him. Doesn't say anything to Fraser, but growls, “Your turn, STAN-ley,” at me.
        I roll my shoulders out, pick up my ball and slide down to the alley to release it. Nice and smooth....and into the gutter. Great. I hear Vecchio snort behind me. I wait for the ball to come back waving my hand over the blower. Vecchio sighs heavily. Fraser looks at the floor. I'm still pissed about the gutter ball. Oh, we're a happy bunch. Over by the rental counter, I see Jimmy has been joined by Murray and they're both watching.
        My ball comes back with a thunk and I heft it up to try again.
        “The object is to roll it down the middle of the lane, Stanley.”
        “How 'bout I roll it down the middle of your ass, Vecchio?” I growl back.
        “Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?” His voice is taunting. Like I'd like to do anything to his ass other than kick it from here to Canada and back.
        “Shut the hell up, Vecchio, or I'll go back to Plan A.” I grit my teeth, stepping up and releasing the ball. Oh, yeah, baby, there it is. The sweet crash of all the pins going down at once resonates in my ears.
        “Dot it, file it, stick it in a box marked done.” I saunter back and stand in front of Vecchio. When he gets up, I slide into his seat. “Your turn.” I grin snottily up at him.
        Without warning, Fraser puts his arm around me and pulls me up against him. “Good job, Ray.” He smiles at me, but his eyes slide up to Vecchio and his face gets defiant. I get a funny feeling in my stomach.
        Not too surprisingly after that little display, Vecchio turns and stomps back to the ball return. As soon as his back is turned, I shake off Fraser's arm.
        “What's wrong, Ray?” His attention's all on me now and his eyes are worried.
        “Look. You want to hug me, cause we're pack, cause you like me, then hug me, anytime any place and I'll hug you back. But, you want to hug me to hork off an ex-partner who's already horked off at you, then piss him off some other way.” He flushes. “Don't use us, Fraser. I've been used before and it doesn't work long-term.”
        He looks down and rubs his fingers on his eyebrow. “Understood. And....I'm sorry. I'm rather upset and I suppose I'm not thinking clearly.”
        “Yeah, well, there's nothing cloudy about us, Fraser. So don't go murky-ing stuff up. Got it? You clear?”
        “I know. I'm clear, Ray.”
        “Good.”
        A crash alerts me Vecchio's thrown the ball down the alley leaving a solitary pin in the back row. “Ooooh...think you can pick that up, Vecchio? Or you want I should give you some pointers?”
        Vecchio twists and comes back down to the chairs to get in my face. “What you pick up, Stanley, I don't want.”
        “Does that include me, then?” Fraser stares at Vecchio unblinking. I feel like a rat trapped between two big alley cats.
        Vecchio straightens up and stares back, then turns away, turns back and throws out his arms. “How can you be gay?”
        Fraser shifts his weight and pulls on his ear like he does when he's about to contradict someone. “Well, technically, Ray....”
        Vecchio doesn't wait. “You're a Mountie, Fraser. The Mountie! Loyal, smart, concerned with truth, justice and the Canadian Way of politeness and decency. 'It only takes an extra minute to be courteous, Ray!' How many times did I hear that?
        “You're perfect! You are supposed to be perfect! You're everything I...a guy's supposed to be!” His shoulders slump and he spins around. He grabs his ball and throws it down the alley, smashing the remaining pin into the wall.
        And then I get it. Vecchio's all caught up in the Mask. The Mountie Mask that Fraser wears so well. The Mountie part of Fraser is perfect...or wants to be so badly he used to be willing to die trying. Vecchio doesn't know Fraser at all.
        Fraser bowls his next frame. After releasing his second ball, he stands with his hands on his hips and watches it roll down the lane. Then he looks at the ceiling and sighs before going back toward the chairs. He doesn't sit down.
        I bowl my frame quickly, wondering what's going on in Fraser's head. Just as I finish, Fraser moves to stand in front of Vecchio's chair. Vecchio gets up to bowl but Fraser puts one hand up almost touching Vecchio's chest and refuses to give way.
        “What? What are you going to do?”
        “It's what I'm not going to do, Ray.” Fraser voice is...resigned but determined. His face is set.
        “What now, Fraser?” Vecchio shifts his weight and throws out his hands.
        “I'm trying with every atom of my being to not apologize for being imperfect. But because, as you say, courtesy is an ingrained feature of my psyche, it is very difficult to refrain. Simple courtesy would seem to demand that I apologize for failing you, for not being what you want me to be....” He drops his head and rubs his eyebrow. I get up and stand behind him, close enough that he can feel the heat from my body. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Murray and Jimmy are sitting at a snack table directly behind us. I see they have popcorn now too.
        Fraser's still talking. “But it's an impossible standard, Ray. One I've spent most of my life trying to attain. First, trying to be good, so God would give me back my mother, trying to act like a man so my father would respect me, come back home....” He steps back toward the ball return, nearly stepping on my foot, and fingers the balls that wait there. It's Vecchio's turn, but Vecchio's not moving.
        “When I joined the RCMP, it seemed so clear. 'Act this way, behave that way,' they said, 'and you will be successful.' One's place was defined in a clear hierarchy yet it was also true that one could do certain things, complete certain tasks to effect change, move up, earn more respect. It was just the kind of place I was looking for. A pack, if you will.” He looks down at the balls again and I know it's coming just seconds before he does it.
        With a savage grace, he grabs a ball at random and throws it as hard as he can down the lane. It bounces twice before it crashes into the pins then slams into the back drop. The second ball follows shortly after. He's about to do it again, when I grab his arms hard from behind, tightening my hands around his biceps, pushing my chest against his back, weaving my feet between his. His whole body is taut. He's not breathing. He's poised on the edge of some seriously fucked-up behavior.
        I forget Vecchio behind us, I forget the by now open-mouthed stares of Murray and Jimmy, 'cause this is all about him. Pushing even closer, I start to hum. He doesn't react at first, so I make my voice stronger. He remains still and then, faintly, I can feel his arms relax. I keep humming and I try to rock him a little from side to side. “Ah, for just one time I would take the Northwest Passage...” His shoulders come down and he lets out a breath. His right hand comes up to touch my hand and I go on, “To find the Hand of Franklin reaching for the Beaufort Sea.” He holds mine and sings under his breath. “Tracing one warm line through a land so wide and savage, and make a northwest passage to the sea.”
        He drops his head again and brings my hand to his mouth where he rubs it across his lips. Not a kiss exactly, more a ...reconnection, maybe. He turns in my arms and put his hand behind my neck to bring our foreheads together. His eyes burn into mine.
        Suddenly, I'm remembering a conversation by a campfire next to the Beaufort Sea. That man was frozen. He's not frozen now. Must be that hot, Florida sun.
        That, or all the sex.
        We break apart and turn back to Vecchio, who looks shaken. “It...it...it was my turn.”
        Despite myself, I snort. Fraser, predictably, apologizes. “Yes. I'm ...sorry, Ray. You can take my turn.”
        There's a bit of a delay while the machine works out what to do with the two balls. The computer scores the first one, but ignores the second, so the knocked-down ones are swept away and those that remained standing are set up for a second attempt. Both balls are sent back.
        When the machine is still, Fraser looks to Vecchio inquiringly, but Vecchio waves him on, so Fraser, in a much calmer fashion, rolls the ball down the alley. He manages the spare.
        “Thanks.” Vecchio's voice is quiet.
        “It seemed the least I could do,” Fraser answers. Vecchio just shakes his head, and I think I catch the hint of a smile.
        This time when Vecchio gets up Fraser does not interfere but comes back and sits down heavily next to me. He rests his elbows on his knees. When he drops his head onto his hands, I can see his hands are shaking. We've still got a ways to go yet.
        Vecchio comes back from his turn and I glance at the computer screen up by the ceiling to see he's managed nine pins on his own. I get up and he slides into my seat. “My dad,” I hear him start, “my dad, he wasn't what you'd call a really great dad. Didn't teach me all that much about being a man, except in the negative sense.” I make a show over stretching my knuckles and using the hand dryer to stall for time to hear more. “I mean, all I really knew when I grew up about being a man was that I wanted to be the kind that wasn't anything like the kind of man my dad was.” He pauses and I grab and throw the ball quickly, not even really looking at the arrows. I don't watch the ball roll down the alley, I'm so anxious to hear what's coming next.
        Vecchio's gone on a bit. “...what it boiled down to was that I didn't know anything about being a good man, I only knew about being a bad husband, father, whatever. I wanted to know about the other, so I started looking. Looking at men I liked who seemed to be good guys, who seemed to know what it was to be a good man. I started working, walking a beat, so I ended up seeing a lot of men.”
        “A wide variety of men, I imagine.” Fraser's voice is encouraging and he's lifted his head off his hands to listen intently.
        “Well.” Vecchio's mouth pulls into a rueful sort of grin. “You lived in Chicago a while, you worked my beat, so you know the kind of men I was seeing. A lot of trash, a lot of gang bangers, a lot of guys with no more idea what a good man was than me, and even more with no desire to ever be anything resembling a good man.
        “Thing was, once in a while, I'd run across someone who seemed to be a good guy, another cop, or assistant state's attorney or even some Joe Blow caught in some legal tangle, so I made a point to talk to these guys carefully. See if I could figure out how to be that kind of man, if there was more to it than just not doing whatever my father did.
        “And....” His voice trails off, he raises his hands and scrubs tiredly over his head. “It turned out, there was always....something. Something weird, or dirty, or perverted or illegal or something about every one of them. Every damn one.” His voice lifts at the end like something's funny, but he ain't laughing. “No matter where I looked, I couldn't find one. Not one just plain honest, decent good man anywhere.” He turns and looks Fraser in the eye. “And then, just when I'd given up, just when I figured I'd just have to keep doing whatever it was my dad wouldn't, I met you.”
        Fraser's head jerks up and he stares at Vecchio. Then, without moving any other part of his body, his eyes close.
        “Don't do it, Fraser.” I'm down in front of Fraser before I know I've moved. His eyes are still closed. I hold his grab his hands with mine and shake him a little. “I mean it. Don't do it.”
        “What shouldn't he do?” Vecchio sounds curious, but not inflammatory.
        I stand up, still holding Fraser's hands. “He shouldn't apologize for not being perfect, you idiot, just because you were looking for a father figure.” Vecchio blanches, and Fraser actually leans in against my leg. I move one hand to his hair.
        “I didn't want him to be my father!” Vecchio roars. “I just wanted him to be...one of the Good Guys. A truly good man. “
        “He is a good man!” I roar back. “He's the best man you and I will ever know, we'll never even come close to being how good he is, but he's not fucking perfect. He's never going to be perfect, I wouldn't want him to be perfect.” My chest is heaving. “If I could,” and my voice is shaking, my lower lip is shaking, but I go on anyway, 'cause Vecchio needs to hear this, “I would take away every moment of the loneliness and sorrow and pain in his life that made him think he had to be perfect to find a pack, to find someone to love him. And I will spend every day of the rest of my life telling him I do love him just like he is.” My fingers are threading through his hair now and I feel a suspicious wet spot on my jeans that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with thawing out.
        “I'm not the one taking advantage of him here, Vecchio. You are. You are taking advantage of all the sorrow and pain in his life that made him work so hard to make that Mountie Mask, all the loneliness he must have felt to put it on day after day. And you are asking him to wear that Mask for the rest of his life, just so you can have someone to look up to, to teach you how to be a man.”
         I look away from Vecchio and lift my hand out of Fraser's hair to rub my nose on my sleeve. I glance up at the computer scorecard and check out my score. What do you know? It's a strike.
        “And another thing, Vecchio. He's more than man enough to teach you how to be a good man. He's good, he's decent and he tries harder than anyone I know to do what's right.” I shift my weight and scooch my leg under Fraser's face a little closer to him. “Yeah, I know, sometimes he makes mistakes. I'm doing my best to make sure that loving me isn't one of them.” Fraser's hands tighten on my leg. “But the ones he does make, he owns up to them, he faces them, he takes responsibility for his actions. Why do you think he's here today?
        “We coulda just moved to Canada, let you wonder, never told you. Let you put the pieces together yourself, or just never addressed it.” My hand's on the back of Fraser's neck now and I let it rest there, warm and solid. “But he couldn't do that, he knew it wouldn't be the right thing to do. And there are some mistakes he made a while ago that he thinks he needs to apologize for so he's here to do that too.
        “So, he's not perfect, and, yeah, now he's gay. So what? That's not a mistake, that's just part of who he is. He could teach you how to be a good man. All you have to do is listen. Listen to him. Listen to the man he is, not the cardboard cut-out you want him to be.”
        When I'm through talking, Vecchio just leans forward and checks out the points of his shoes.
        I pat Fraser on the shoulder and tug at him a little to let him know it's okay to sit up and wipe his face, which he does. With his handkerchief. Then he excuses himself to the restroom.
        I turn to Murray and Jimmy and ask if they need anything. Hey, if we're going to be the floor show, we might as well be courteous. It only takes an extra second after all. They say, no, they're doing fine, but Jimmy does assert that if we were to speak up a bit, that would be fine, too.
        I turn then and collapse in the seat Fraser just vacated. I can still feel the warmth of his body on the backs of my thighs, a nice contrast to the coolness of the drying wet patch on my shorts. I finger that patch and think about Fraser. Silence reigns for a few minutes. I stare at my leg. Vecchio, as far as I can tell, stares at the floor.
        I don't know what Vecchio is thinking about but I'm thinking about the tent, the way the light came through the nylon this morning and made Fraser's skin glow. I rub my hand over my chin and wonder suddenly if I left beard burn on his belly. I suppress the urge to go find out right now.
        Instead I nudge Vecchio. “Your turn.”
        He startles a bit and then sits back. He drops his head back and looks at the ceiling before turning to look me in the eye. “I'd say it was,” he says significantly.
        “What's that mean?”
        “It means that you've just had a pretty long turn yourself here and how it's my turn to say a thing or two.” He gives me a hard stare.
        Oooh. Like I'm shaking. I can still see the outline of my knuckles on his cheekbone. “Yeah, like what?”
        “I don't expect him to be perfect.”
        “Yeah, you do.”
        “No, I do.”
        “Yeah, you do.”
        “I do not! For one thing, I know he's stubborn as hell. And he thinks he's always right.”
        There's no way I can let that go by even if it is true. “Well, he usually is.”
        “I know. But he's not always right. So he's not perfect.”
        Okay so he has a point, maybe he doesn't think Fraser's perfect but still.... “Fraser thinks you expect him to be perfect. He thinks that's what you want from him, what you expect. He thinks he's not enough just as he is. That true?” I stare at him steadily. He flushes and looks away.
        “I know he thinks that,” he concedes finally. “I know that now.” He looks back down the alley. “And maybe...I do work pretty hard to make him match this image I have of what a good man should be, maybe.....” His voice kinds of trails off. Then, oddly, he sits back and rubs his eyebrow. “I just need to know I can count on him to be that way. I want him to be a constant.”
        “You can.”
        “One time I couldn't.”
        I sigh. This really isn't my story to tell. “Why do you think he acted the way he did with Victoria?” I ask, invoking the name of the she-demon. I feel like I should cross myself.
        He just looks at me, his brows knit. “He was...in love, I guess.”
        “Did you ever once ask yourself why he thought that was love? Why he let that bitch use and manipulate him into something so alien from what he really is?”
        “You ask him,” he grates out and stands up and stomps over to the ball return to take his turn.
        “Ask me what?” Fraser's back from the restroom, all traces of his mini-meltdown wiped away.
        “You'll have to ask him`.” I jerk my thumb at Vecchio, who's delivering his first ball. “He's the one with questions.”
        “Ah.” Fraser's eyes follow Vecchio's movements as he prepares for his next throw. “And you,” suddenly his gaze is on me pinning me against the chair. “Do you, too, have questions I need to answer?”
        I feel my eyebrows pull down as I contemplate him. He looks back pretty steadily but his arms are crossed tightly against his belly. I look closer and I see he looks a little like a guy who's half expecting that everything he cares about will be taken from him in one fell swoop.
        “Me? I've got no questions, no questions at all. At least,” he tenses again, “no questions that you're not the answer for.” I let my gaze drop to his crotch, then grin at him. Despite himself, he can't help grinning back. His shoulders seem to relax a tiny bit and his expression is less tense. Good.
        A crash from the alley alerts me that Vecchio's managed another eight pins in some combination. He stalks back to us and looks at Fraser. I feel my hackles go up, but force myself to sit still.
        “You have questions, I understand.” On the surface, Fraser's the picture of cool, calm collectedness. I wonder if Vecchio even notices how nervous Fraser is underneath that mask–how tight he's holding himself, how he's sweating at his hair line, how his voice is shaking.
        “Yeah,” Vecchio's voice is belligerent, but with my newly-trained x-ray eyes developed to read the world's most inscrutable man, I can see that Vecchio's nervous, too. He can't seem to keep his hands still and he's actually rocking, shifting his weight from his front foot to his back one over and over. “You–you really screwed me over with Victoria.” He looks down and exhales. Then he spins around to look at the alley, then he spins back about as fast. “Why'd you do that, Be-Fraser?”
        I sit up and rub my hand over my face. Not calling Fraser Benny is significant, I know. From the way he's gone all white, Fraser knows it too. From the way they've shifted up in their seats and are practically leaning over the divider, even Murray and Jimmy know it.
        “I–I thought she was pack, Ray.” Fraser gets the words out in a rush, then crosses his arms and drops his head to pinch the bridge of his nose. “After I'd turned Gerrard in, stood witness at his trial, I felt a sense of personal satisfaction, it's true. And by hunting Gerrard and the men that worked with him, I felt I was being true to the code, to the principles of the RCMP. So, one might believe I would feel a satisfaction in a job well done, as well. As you know, the RCMP felt...differently.”
        Vecchio snorts and nods. “Yeah, we all know they shafted you there, Fraser.” It's hard to tell from his tone if he's being supportive or just impatient. From the way his head jerks back up and the way he speeds up his words, I can tell which Fraser thinks it is.
        “I was told that while my actions were justified that there would be many who would not see it that way and I should lie low for a while, take the post in Chicago and try not to make any waves.” He stops and looks up at the ceiling gathering himself. Vecchio's still now, trying, I hope, to really listen.
        “I was...distressed by this. I knew the rules, I thought I understood them, yet I was being punished for adhering to them. Those things that I had been taught were the principles of the RCMP, maintain the right and all that, didn't seem to be the real code of the pack at all. The actual code of the pack was unwritten and seemed to involve primarily simply being loyal to the pack, whether its members were acting in a moral or ethical way or...not.
        “Being in the pack was so important to me, believe it or not, Ray, that I struggled to learn this lesson. Even though now, and probably then, I see it for the shallow justification that it is.” He takes in a shaky breath. “When...Victoria and I were stranded in that snowstorm, we formed a connection, a sense of belonging together, if not in life, than in death, I suppose, or something else equally melodramatic.” He flaps a hand, as if to ward such feelings away. “Then, of course, we survived and got back to town and formed a brief, intense connection in life, as well. Despite which, however, I immediately turned her in upon reaching civilization.” He looks down again. “Rationally, it was the only thing I could do. Emotionally...” His fingers pinch his nose again.
        “Anyway, when she came back to Chicago, I felt I had been given a second chance. She'd supposedly paid her debt to society, we could, perhaps, begin again...I could, perhaps, dispel the guilt that had haunted me since I'd turned her in.”
        Vecchio looks incredulous. Fraser looks sick. Vecchio says, real quiet, “Why didn't you tell me about her from the beginning?”
        Fraser looks at him steadily, but he still looks sick. “I had...tried to talk about her before. To you.” At Vecchio's look of surprise, Fraser's mouth twists in a half-grin. “One time, on a stake-out, you went to sleep. Another time, you asked me about love, but then answered yourself before I could reply.”
        “What did I say?” Vecchio's looking a little pale under that tanned olive skin.
        “You said, 'What's a Mountie know about love?'” Direct hit. Vecchio stumbles back and sits heavily next to me. He has no reply, which is probably good with me sitting right here within head kicking distance and all.
        Fraser goes on. “Once she was here and in my apartment and in my life weaving what I now know was a web of lies, but what I then desperately wanted to believe, my judgment became impaired. I did believe she was pack and I worked desperately hard to be loyal to her regardless of whether or not I believed, deep down, she was acting in a moral or ethical way.” His fingers rub over his eyebrow and he shifts his weight uncomfortably. “To question that, to question her morality, seemed to be disloyal in itself.
        “So I simply did not allow myself to question it. And that is what led, of course, to my downfall and, to my great shame, almost led to yours.” He's swaying now, so I get up, grab his biceps and steer him into my vacated chair. Then I sit on the floor, near his legs, but not touching him, to hear the rest.
        “And that is what I cannot forgive myself for.” His voice is a whisper. “I could have dealt with sacrificing myself to her. In a way, I think I was almost looking for it.”
        “You weren't the only one getting sacrificed, Fraser.” Vecchio's voice is shaking.
        “I...know...” Fraser's voice trails off and his eyes close. His arms get even tighter around his ribcage like he's holding himself together by sheer force. “I am ashamed of what...almost happened.”
        Vecchio's holding himself pretty tight, too. “It...didn't happen, though.”
        “No.” Fraser's head shakes, agreeing. “Because you shot me.” I reach out and wrap my hand around his ankle. His legs are shaking. I squeeze tight, tight like the bands of sympathy and empathy around my heart. What a fucked-up scene that must have been. I honestly don't know how they got through it and continued to work together.
        “Didn't mean to, you know. I was aiming... for...” Vecchio's shoulders are shaking now, his eyes are shut tight. “I thought she had a... gun, Benny. I thought she was going to...”
        ...shoot you, I finish in my head. I want to crawl in Fraser's lap, hell, I want to crawl in stupid Vecchio's lap and hug him even, their pain is so real and so anguished. I settle for leaning my head against Fraser's knee and closing my own eyes, a grieving witness to their sorrow.
        “In the hospital, I was enough of a coward to wish she had.” Fraser's voice is flat, and I can feel he's started to rock back and forth. “It was... that hard to face you.”
        “I never wished that. Ever.” Vecchio's voice is stronger now. “But it was hard for me to even talk to you. I felt so...guilty. I had been so mad at you. Really angry. And then.....and it was bad, you almost died.” He gets up and I open my eyes to see him pacing angrily. “I even went to confession, because I was afraid...I was afraid...” He stops and his chest heaves but he finishes. “I was afraid I had shot you because I was mad at you. Sort of subconsciously.”
        Fraser's head is up, he's stopped rocking. Guess the revelation that Vecchio has been wallowing in guilt surprised him. “You were protecting me...” he starts, moving automatically into the comfort mode he's so good at.
        “Yeah, I was, Fraser. But I was also extremely pissed off at you.”
        “Because of how I behaved?” Fraser asks.
        “Yeah, and, you know, feet of clay and all that.” He reddens a bit at the admission.
        “Ah. Well, I'm....”
        “Don't!” Surprisingly, Vecchio's voice is just as loud as mine.
        “I simply meant to say...”
        “Don't do it, Fraser. Really.” I'm gripping both legs now, terrified that he'll apologize for not being perfect which would be a big step backwards as far as I'm concerned.
        “I shouldn't have expected you to be an image, Benny. You're just a guy. I know that. A really, really good guy, but still a guy.”
        “If I may be allowed to continue.” Evidently Fraser's found a little starch for his spine, judging from the snap to his voice. “I want to say that I apologize for my behavior. While it's true that I still do not want to apologize for not being perfect as if I should be that, it is also true that I behaved most shamefully toward you, Ray, the one who had offered his friendship and family to me at a time when I had no one, who offered me a place in his pack. I treated you most unforgivably.” Fraser stands up, shakes off my hands and goes to stand at parade rest in front of Vecchio, taking refuge, or comfort maybe, in formality. He takes a deep breath and continues.
        “I do not ask for forgiveness, but I must not return home until I tell you how very sorry I am for almost leaving you in the lurch.” Another breath. “And how sorry I am for letting that go unacknowledged for such a long time. I am sorry, Ray. More than you'll ever know.”
        He stops talking and stands completely still, waiting like all of us, for Vecchio's reaction.
        The alley is quiet. All I can hear is the hum of the ball return and the muted grumbling from the snack table behind us as Murray messes with his hearing aid.
        Then, Vecchio sighs. He puts his hands over his face for a moment and then scrubs them over his head. He puts a hand on Fraser's shoulder and looks him in the eye.
        “You screwed up.”
        “Yes.”
        “You screwed up big time.”
        “Yes.”
        “I screwed up, too. Putting you up on a pedestal, trying to make you stay there.”
        “Uh....” I hit Fraser in the back of the legs to remind him that's true. He half-turns, and then resumes position. “Yes.”
        “So, you forgive me and I'll forgive you. Capisce?”
        “Yes.” And I can hear the gladness in his voice. And I can feel it in my eyes.
        “So you can be part of my pack any time, Benny.”
        “That means a lot, Ray, but...” and he cuts his eyes at me. “I've got my own pack now.”