This is a sequel to my Due South & Hard Core Logo slash crossover, Northern Comfort. Benton Fraser and Ray Kowalski belong to Alliance/Atlantis and Paul Haggis. Billy Tallent belongs to Michael Turner, Bruce McDonald, Noel S. Baker, and "Ed Festus Productions." Rated NC-17 for explicit boy-on-boy naughtiness (F/K), a little bad language, and a good bit of angst. There are SPOILERS for Hard Core Logo, as well as for the DS episodes "Dr. Longball," and "Ladies' Man."

Soundtrack for this one: David Wilcox's "Slipping Through My Fist." and Melissa Etheridge's "Breakdown" -- the whole CD, but especially "Angels Would Fall," "Sleep," and "Truth of the Heart." The title is taken from a line in "Truth of the Heart." (Which seems like it was written with Benton Fraser in mind. . . even though I know darned well it wasn't.) --Kellie

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No Secrets
© 1999 Kellie Matthews

        The ride from the crime scene they'd been working was uncomfortably silent. Not for the first time of late, either. Ray Kowalski was quiet, almost withdrawn, and Benton Fraser was getting concerned. No, not just concerned. Worried. Ever since Beth Botrelle had been released, Ray had seemed uncharacteristically subdued, even more than could be accounted for by his upset over the case. His normal exuberance was gone, he looked worn and distant. That distance was not just emotional, either, it was physical. Over the past three days, Ray's normal repertoire of pokes, prods, pats, and clutches was entirely absent, as were his usual invitations to share meals, and most of their customary banter. Having come to rely on those things to supply the intimacy his life was sorely lacking, Fraser felt strangely bereft without them.
        The car rolled to a stop in front of the Consulate, but not in a parking place. No, Ray was essentially double-parked. Clearly he was stopping just long enough to let Ben out. That, too, was not usual. Ray shot a quick glance his direction, then his head swivelled forward again and he stared out the windshield.
        "Here you go, Fraser, office sweet office. Have a good one," Ray said, his voice overly nonchalant.
        Fraser nodded, wishing he could think of an excuse not to exit the car, worried about Ray's state of mind, frustrated by his own inability to really help. Perhaps it was simply a reflection of his own inner turmoil, but the only explanation he could find for Ray's sudden uncommunicativeness and distance was the thought that Ray had somehow sensed his attraction. Could his awkward offer of physical comfort the other night have betrayed him? Somehow his hand on Ray's shoulder, his neck, must have given away his longing to do more than that. He thought he'd been so careful to keep his touch impersonal and asexual, yet what else might have caused Ray to retreat like this? It seemed undeniable that Ray had finally managed to see beneath his facade, and had been repelled by what he'd found there.
        Since his experiences with Billy Tallent, it had become more and more difficult to keep himself in line. He knew now what was possible, and he wanted that, badly. Very badly. He wanted to touch, to smell, to taste. To experience Ray in every way possible. It was maddening. Frustrating. Being around Ray was sometimes physically painful.
        Worse, he seemed to keep hearing Billy's voice, encouraging him to tell Ray how he felt. Twenty times or more, the words had actually formed themselves on his lips, but he'd swallowed them down unspoken, bitter as bile. He simply couldn't do it, especially not after watching Ray with Luanne Russell. That whole incident had reaffirmed to him yet again that Ray was undeniably heterosexual. Nor could he bring himself to mention their lack of closeness now, to extend an invitation to dinner himself, afraid it might be misinterpreted. He stifled a sigh and opened the car door, about to step out, when Ray spoke again, diffidently.
        "Hey, Frase, think I could borrow Dief for awhile?"
        Fraser turned, regarding his slim, wild-haired partner with bemusement. "To do what?"
        Ray stared straight ahead out the windshield. "Well, Dief likes pizza . . . ah, never mind. See ya." He shrugged as if to indicate how unimportant his thoughts were.
        Ben stared, trying to process his statement. What did Diefenbaker's fondness for junk food have to do with anything? Then he sorted it out. Ray didn't want to eat alone, and had in essence been inviting Diefenbaker to dinner. Not him. He felt much as he had that day by the lake when Ray had hit him, though this pain was far more intense.
        Blindly he pushed himself out of the car and headed for the consulate, glad of the darkness, knowing his expression would betray him. You were wrong, Billy. It was better not to feel. So much better. He heard Ray call his name on an uncertain note, heard the skitter of claws on the pavement and realized Diefenbaker was at his side. He stooped, grabbed the wolf's muzzle and spoke directly into his face. "Go to Ray. Stay with Ray."
        Dief whined, puzzled, and backed up a step.
        "Stay with Ray," Fraser repeated in a harsh whisper, then he was on his feet again, and the consulate door yielded to the key held in shaking fingers and he was blessedly inside. He went to his office, closing the door firmly, leaning back against it, dragging air into his lungs as if he'd run a marathon.

* * *

        Ray watched Fraser bend to speak to the wolf, watched him walk into the building, staring in open disbelief as Fraser closed the door firmly, leaving his companion outside. Dief stood for a moment, tail down, staring at the consulate door, then returned to the car, jumping into the seat Fraser had just abandoned, looking at Ray accusingly.
        "I know," Ray sighed. "I suck." He sighed again, and put his head against the steering wheel. "God, why do I keep falling for people who don't want me? What is with that? Glutton for punishment, I guess. But I better go talk to him. Didn't mean to hurt his feelings. Just, well, it's just hard, you know?"
        He looked over to find the wolf staring at him sagely, as if agreeing, and shook his head with a wry grin. "Damn, now he's got me talking to you too, like you're some kind of furry shrink."
        Reaching across Diefenbaker, Ray closed the passenger-side door, pulled forward into a real parking place, and killed the car. He sat for a moment, then resolutely threw open his door. "Okay, come on. Let's go see your human and the Suckmeister will try to make it right."
        He strode determinedly up to the door, Diefenbaker at his heels and reached for the handle. The door was locked. Well, that wasn't surprising, it was, after all, after hours. He knocked. No answer. Fraser must be in the can or something. He waited a few moments, then knocked again. Still no answer. Maybe Fraser thought he was someone with an emergency immigration request or something. He knocked louder, leaning closer to the door. He knew Fraser's hearing was so good he didn't really need to shout, but he did raise his voice just a little.
        "C'mon, Fraser, open up! It's me, Ray."
        Still no answer. For the first time it began to sink in that maybe Fraser wasn't opening the door because it was him, not because he didn't know it was him. His heart sank. Dief whined. Ray stood for a moment, uncertainly, then his jaw tightened. No way was he going to let this happen. Not after the last time he'd messed things up between them had nearly sent Fraser back to Canada.
        He got out his wallet, extracted the expired credit card he kept for such occasions, and went to slip the lock, only it wouldn't go in. He frowned, and squinted at the lock. It was shiny. New. One of those tamper-proof locks. Crap. He shouldn't have told Fraser about that trick, should have known Fraser wouldn't leave the Consulate poorly secured like that. He'd probably replaced the damned lock the next day. He sat down on the step, staring at the wolf.
        "Dief, what do I do now?"
        The wolf just stared back at him. Ray ran his hands through his hair, frustrated. Okay, fine. If he was going to play it this way, Ray could be stubborn as well. He leaned back against the door, and settled in to wait. Fraser had to come out sometime, and Ray fully intended to be here when he did. Stella had been stubborn too, but Ray had always been able to out-stubborn . . . He shivered. Shit. He was not going to do this again. He might be sick enough to get turned on by his own partner, but he wasn't sick enough to stalk Fraser like he had Stella.
        He lurched to his feet and headed for his car, then looked back over his shoulder.
        "Looks like you're stuck with me tonight, Dief. Come on, let's go."
        Dief hesitated, almost like a human might when given a difficult decision, then he followed, resuming his place in the GTO where Fraser normally sat. Ray closed the door, went to the driver's side and slid in. Almost unwillingly, he looked back at the Consulate, thought he saw a flicker of movement at the curtains in the front room. Hopefully, he waited for a few more moments, but when no other motion was detected, and the door did not open, he sighed.
        "I'm sorry, Fraser. It's not you. You didn't do anything wrong. It's me who's wrong. I'm the sicko."
        Diefenbaker whined softly in reply as Ray started the car, checked for traffic, and pulled out.

* * *
        Fraser listened to the knocking. Somehow, just from the timbre and pacing of the sound, he knew it was Ray. He closed his eyes. No. He couldn't face that. He simply couldn't. Perhaps he was a coward. No, there was no perhaps about it. He was definitely a coward. And Ray would be upset with him, but really, it was better this way. If it had gotten to the point where Ray was so uncomfortable with him that he would rather be lonely than be around him, then it was far too late to do anything about it.
        Another knock. Louder this time. Ray's voice, as well. God. He wanted to fling open the door, pull him bodily into the building, and show him what he was missing. But could not. That would be wrong. He knew that, viscerally. Knew that although there were ways to force a response, he wouldn't want it that way. He waited. The knocking stopped. There was silence for a while, and he found himself moving down the hallway with quiet steps, into the Inspector's office, to twitch back the edge of a curtain. The car was still there. That meant Ray was, as well.
        After a little while longer, he heard Ray speaking again, apparently to Diefenbaker. He couldn't quite make out words. Heard a car door close. Then another. He chanced another look. The car was still there and he could make out two pale shapes within it. He quickly let the curtain drop back, and moments later heard the car start, and pull away. He had thought that would bring relief. It didn't. The emptiness inside him only seemed to yawn deeper, a cold, icy crevasse in his soul. Almost automatically he reached for Dief, just to touch something warm, and alive, and then realized he was with Ray.
        That had been ill thought out. Now he would have to fetch him back. That would mean seeing Ray. Something hot slipped from beneath his lashes, slid down his face. His tongue flicked it away when it reached his lips, but it was rapidly followed by more, and he couldn't keep pace. He sank down on one of the chairs, face in his hands, and mourned the stillborn possibilities in a silence broken only by his own breathing, ragged and harsh.

* * *

        Ray stared at the reports on his desk, one hand folded protectively around the other, both pressed against his midriff as if he were holding his insides in. Which he might as well be, the way his morning coffee ate at his stomach like a pool of acid. He felt strangely cold, even though there was a warm, furry shape curled across his feet. He'd brought Diefenbaker to work, figuring Fraser would eventually come by to get him, but after the eighth person had seen Dief and asked him where Fraser was, he'd made the wolf sit under the desk instead of next to it. His attempts to phone the Consulate last night had all ended in Voicemail Hell, so he had no idea what to expect today.
        He heard Welsh's door open, and quickly grabbed a folder, pretending to study its contents. God. Six more hours of this? He'd done it before, in the early days after Stella had asked for a divorce, but it was somehow harder now. Maybe every time you screwed up your life, it got harder. It was definitely time to go do some 'footwork' on a case. Get out, go someplace where he didn't have to pretend to be a functional human being. He was so intent on the contents of the folder he held that he didn't even realize someone was speaking to him until it had clearly been going on for some time, judging by the resigned irritation in the voice.
        ". . .ective Vecchio?"
        He snapped back into the present and turned, the expanse of red that met his eyes made his heart lurch, but even before his gaze lifted to Turnbull's bland countenance he knew it wasn't Fraser, because this person smelled wrong. Nobody smelled like Fraser did. Soap, cedar, starch, wool, and . . . something. Not chemical, not perfume, just Fraser. Christ. He even knew what Fraser smelled like. How sick was that? He registered the fact that the Mountie looked a trifle annoyed at the moment. Turnbull, annoyed? That had to be a first. How many times had he called his name?
        "Sorry, Turnbull. I was deep into it, ya know? What's up?" It came to him suddenly that something might be wrong with Fraser. Why else would Turnbull be here? His fingers curled into fists, mangling the folder in his hands. "Something wrong with Fraser?"
        Something flickered in Turnbull's normally affable gaze, and he hesitated, then shook his head. "No sir. Constable Fraser merely asked me to determine whether you had finished with Diefenbaker's services."
        "Oh," Ray said blankly, staring up at the tall figure. He didn't like that pause, but Turnbull was like Fraser, and he wouldn't lie. If Fraser was hurt, or sick or something, he'd have said. So. This was it. His last card played, and useless. Fraser hadn't even come to get Dief himself. He forced himself to unclench his hands, smoothing the heavy tagboard, trying to unwrinkle the papers it held.
        "Oh. Well. Yeah, we're done. He's here . . . ." he scooted back from the desk, and Dief looked up, saw Turnbull, and growled. Ray frowned. "Hey, that's no way to act. You behave yourself. Go on. Go with him. Fraser wants you." /Not me. Not that I blame him./ "Go on, get out of there."
        With clear reluctance, Diefenbaker unfolded himself from the cave-like space and pushed past Ray to stand beside Turnbull. Ray looked at the wolf, and without looking up at Turnbull he spoke again.
        "Tell Fraser I . . . uh, thanks. For letting me . . . borrow him, I mean."
        Turnbull bobbed like a waiter. "Certainly, sir. I shall." He hesitated again, and his look was questioning, and odd. "Was there anything else you'd like me to tell Constable Fraser?" he prompted.
        A hundred things. And none. He shook his head, avoiding those oddly penetrating eyes. "Nah. Think it's all been said, Turnbull. But thanks."
        Turnbull stood there for a moment longer. Ray deliberately shifted his attention back to his file. After a moment he heard a slight sigh, and Turnbull was walking away, leaving Ray blessedly alone again. He covered his face with his hands, trying to remember how to breathe. "Oh, man, Kowalski, you are such a major, world-class screw up it's not even funny," he whispered to himself.
        A day without Fraser. A day without Fraser was like a day without sunshine. God, now he had a picture stuck in his head of Fraser with a glass of orange juice. Maybe looking tousled, like he'd just woken up. Wearing those damned red long-johns that should've looked silly but instead looked sexy . . . Christ, Kowalski. Stop it. Just stop it. And it wasn't just a day. It was. . . forever.
        "Ray?"
        Shit. Frannie. Just what he needed. He sucked some air in, managed to keep down his coffee, and looked up.
        "Yeah Frannie, what?"
        She regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, her dark eyes shining with concern. She was a pretty woman, if a little ditzy. Why couldn't he have fallen for her? That at least would be normal. Well, except that she was supposed to be his sister, so that'd be pretty sick too. Good thought. Real reassuring.
        "You don't look so hot, Ray. You got that flu that's going around?"
        "Nah, Frannie, thanks, I'm fine. Just a headache. And the coffee . . . ." He waved a hand aimlessly to indicate disgust.
        She grimaced. "Yeah, I know. It's enough to strip paint. That'd give anybody a headache. I still don't see why Welsh wouldn't let me keep the espresso machine! But anyway, what'd Turnbull want?"
        "Nothing really, he just came to get Dief."
        "Oh. Guess Fraser was busy?"
        "Guess so," Ray lied.
        She looked a little forlorn and Ray had the strangest feeling she was thinking almost exactly what he'd just been thinking himself. Why couldn't she have fallen for Turnbull instead of Fraser? At least with that particular Big Red Guy she'd have stood a fighting chance, while she was as far out of Fraser's league as . . . well, as Ray was. Suddenly she looked back at him, their eyes met, and hers widened.
        "Ray?"
        He looked away. "What Frannie?"
        "Um. . . uh. . . is . . . are you and. . . ." She stopped, bit her lip, and made a face. Then she started again, looking peeved. "Is Stella bein' mean to you again? Because if she is, I swear I'm gonna kick her skinny little . . . "
        "No," he reassured her hastily. "Stella's not being mean to me." At least no meaner than normal, he thought. And for that, well, maybe she had a reason to be. He hadn't exactly let her go, even now, when he knew he didn't, and never would, have the 'old' feelings for her again. It was like he was just holding on just to have. . . something to hold onto. Looked like he had a lot of letting go to do. Frannie frowned.
        "Ray, you really do look like crap. You sure you're okay?"
        He forced a smile. "Gee Fran, love you too. Look, I got work to do, so I'm going to go do it, okay?"
        "You sure you shouldn't just go home?"
        He glared at her. "I'm sure. Now go . . . aide somebody."
        "I was trying to 'aide' you, you moron!" she said, sounding like a sister ought to.
        He couldn't help but chuckle at that. "Thanks. But I can take care of myself."
        She snorted. "Oh yeah. Sure."
        Across the room, Huey hollered her name, and she sighed.
        "So practice what you preach, bro. Take care of yourself," she said as she headed over to see what the other detective needed.
        Ray stood up and scribbled his name on the 'out' board with a random case number next to it, and headed for the parking lot. For a while he just drove around aimlessly, but after the third time he passed the Consulate, he realized what he was doing, and forced himself to stop. Stalking again. Damn it. Maybe he ought to see a shrink. The department had one. But that would get back to people, and besides, Vecchio would never do it, and he was supposed to be Vecchio.
        So that left only one alternative. A few blocks, a few turns, and he was parked and walking into that weird joint Fraser had taken him to a few days back, taking a seat at the bar. The skinny balding bartender was there again, the one who'd been so hot to be helpful. The guy looked up and saw him, came over, nodding in recognition as he did.
        "Scotch. Double. Straight up," Ray snapped out.
        The bartender nodded, poured, and handed him the drink before speaking
        "So, how's the despondency these days?"
        Ray took three long, searing swallows and a moment to catch his breath, then looked the guy in the eyes. "Worse."
        "Thought you looked pretty bad. Want to talk about it?"
        "Yeah. No." His gaze went to the mirror, and he people watched for a moment. It dawned on him suddenly that there wasn't a single female face in the room. It also came to him what neighborhood he was in. He shook his head, suddenly amused. Leave it to Fraser to take him to a gay bar. If it had been anyone but Fraser, he'd have wondered if he was trying to tell him something, but he knew that Fraser was simply clueless. To him it had just been a convenient place to take Ray after his little episode in the alley.
        Ray's gaze moved to the bartender, found him staring back intently, and he realized suddenly that maybe the guy wanted to do more than talk, but he wasn't in the market. There was only one guy he wanted. Only one guy he'd ever wanted. And that guy couldn't even bring himself to touch him.
        "So, where's Constable Fraser?"
        "Working," Ray said shortly, staring into his empty glass.
        "Oh. He must be working a lot. Haven't seen him around here much lately."
        Ray looked up from his glass, surprised. "Lately? You mean he's been here before?"
        "Yeah, he comes in for lunch a lot. He's sort of a regular."
        "Fraser?" Ray heard the incredulity in his voice. Fraser hung out in gay bars?? No way. He shook his head. "Fraser doesn't even drink!"
        "No, he doesn't, but we serve excellent sandwiches, and he does know his herbs. And he likes to talk, did you know he tells great stories?"
        Ray chuckled. "Oh yeah. Got a story for every occasion. Well, almost. No story for. . . ." He stopped himself, shaking his head. Don't go there. He concentrated on the unexpected revelation that Fraser was a regular here. In a strange way it made sense. For Fraser going to a regular bar meant women would try to pick him up, and he wasn't into that, but he was too nice to women to want to hurt their feelings by saying no. Coming here, well, it was a yuppie gay bar at lunch time. Nobody would be obnoxious, and Fraser would be politely oblivious to any and all overtures, and there would be no problem. And he could talk esoteric herbs and stuff about warts with the bartender, what better place for him?
        Of course, this might explain how Fraser had managed to pick up on Ray's feelings, despite Ray's attempts to bury them so deeply they couldn't be seen. If he was hanging here, seeing it all around him, maybe he'd learned what to look for. Yeah. That explained a lot. And Fraser, being Fraser, would never dream of saying anything like "Ray, you're making me uncomfortable, back off." He would just do what he had done, he'd get distant, back away himself, since he couldn't ask Ray to do it. Shit.
        "You know, the first time you were in here, I thought for sure you guys were a couple," the bartender said conversationally. "I mean, it was just so clear, the touching, the closeness . . . But then last time, the vibe was totally different. Did you break up? Is that what's bothering you?"
        Ray stared at him, totally confused. "Hunh? What do you mean the first time I was here? I've only been here once before in my whole life."
        The bartender stared back at him, looking equally confused. "You were here before, remember? You guys were in here together about two months ago. You had a guitar case with you, and looked like somebody had worked you over. You were having lunch on your way to the airport, about to leave for Los Angeles, and I distinctly remember Constable Fraser calling you by name, Billy." He said that last with a pleased expression, as if that should prove his point.
        Ray shook his head, frowning. "My name's not Billy, it's Ray." He dug out his wallet and flipped it open, half afraid that he would find his license showed his name as "Billy Vecchio." Thankfully he hadn't entered the Twilight Zone. It said Ray, just like it always had. He showed it to the bartender, who read it, and looked embarrassed.
        "I'm terribly sorry. I must have mistaken you for someone else. I was sure it was you, I'm usually very good with faces. You don't have a twin brother, do you?"
        "I got a brother, but he's not my twin and he lives in Arizona. Wait a sec. . . you're telling me that Fraser was in here a couple of months back with some guy named Billy who looked like me?" His query drew a nod. He frowned. "You remember when that was?"
        The other man shook his head. "Not exactly. Sometime before Halloween, I think."
        Ray thought back. Sometime before Halloween. Part of October, he'd been in Acapulco. And Fraser had been here in Chicago, alone. Or maybe not alone. With some guy who looked like him. Named Billy. Fraser in a gay bar with a guitar-toting guy named Billy, who looked like him. For a moment something green-eyed and nasty roiled in his gut, a despairing frustration that Fraser might have given someone else what he so desperately wanted himself, then he shook it off.
        No. No way was he going there. It was just not possible. Whoever the guy was, whatever he was to Fraser, despite the bartender's comment about them looking intimate, it couldn't have been. Fraser just didn't do intimate. Not with anybody, but especially not with a guy. Suddenly the Scotch and the coffee and the jealousy seemed to ignite in his stomach, making him nauseated. He felt a sweat starting, a feverish flush of misery and embarrassment. The bartender looked at him in concern.
        "Are you feeling all right? You don't look well at all."
        Ray shook his head. "Think I got the flu," he said, telling himself that was what it was. Must be.
        "Perhaps you should go home? Would you like me to call you a cab?"
        Ray shook his head. One Scotch didn't make him unsafe behind the wheel. "Nah. I got it. I'm going." He fished a bill from his wallet, laid it on the counter, and slid off the stool. His stomach lurched. He swallowed hard, waving off the offer of change, and headed for his car. If he was going to be sick, he'd do it at home in private.

* * *

        While he'd never been particularly fond of paperwork, Fraser had always been good at it, but in the last two days he had discovered in himself a distressing tendency to sit staring blankly at the pages while thinking about Ray. Some of his memories and thoughts made him smile, others brought an ache to his chest and a tightness to his throat. As a consequence he wasn't getting much of his work done at all, and what little he had accomplished was not up to his usual standards. Even Turnbull had noticed.
        Which was why he was currently sitting at his desk with a mug of honey sweetened lemon-mint tea and a plate of toast. Apparently Turnbull had decided he was under the weather, and needed coddling. He sipped the tea absently. It did taste good, but he had no interest in the toast. Although he should probably eat it, just to make sure Turnbull's feelings didn't get hurt, or cause him to fret even more and perhaps start to push for more of an answer to Fraser's state of mind. Turnbull could be annoyingly tenacious.
        Wishing he'd thought to eat it while it was still warm, Fraser poked at the toast and was about to pick it up when the phone rang. From the ring pattern, it was a call being transferred from Turnbull's station at the reception desk. With a sigh of relief, he pushed the plate aside and picked up the phone. "Good afternoon, Canadian Consulate, Acting Liaison Officer Benton Fraser speaking."
        There was a pause, then a chuckle. A very familiar sounding chuckle. He sat up straighter, pressing the phone closer to his ear as the person on the other end finally spoke.
        "Hi, Ben. That's quite a mouthful. But then, so are you."
        Fraser's face went hot. He felt a strange mixture of disappointment, pleasure, and a disconcertingly instantaneous undercurrent of physical arousal. "Billy, please! What if Constable Turnbull were still on the line?"
        "Relax, he's not, I heard him hang up. How're you doing? You sound a little rough."
        How, after a grand total of forty syllables, had Billy managed to discern that all was not quite well in Ben's world?
        "I have no complaints," he said, because that was the closest he could get to lying without actually doing so. What had he to complain about? He was clothed, fed, sheltered, all the basics. All but one.
        "Ben." Billy's voice carried a note of warning.
        "I'm fine," Fraser said reassuringly, his voice carefully even.
        There was a moment of silence, and when Billy spoke his voice was flat. "Okay, that's how you want it? I can do that. Goodb . . . ."
        "No!" Ben gasped, suddenly achingly aware that he was about to drive away yet another friend. "Please, don't go. Please. It's not that I don't want -- I just wasn't expecting-- I'm just not ready to talk . . . about myself."
        There was another pause as that was absorbed, then Billy sighed and Ben relaxed a little. Somehow that sigh told him his desperate bid for patience had been accepted.
        "Okay, okay, Ben. Sorry. Guess I'm a little touchy myself today."
        "Is something wrong?"
        "Yeah, but I thought I'd at least say hello before I started crying on you this time."
        "What is it?" Ben asked, concerned.
        "I finally tracked Mary down and talked to her about Billie."
        Ben felt a shiver of anxiety run through him. "How did it go? Did she confirm your suspicions?"
        "Yeah, she did. Billie's mine."
        "That's good, right?"
        "Maybe in some other lifetime. Not this one."
        "Tell me," Ben said encouragingly, worried now.
        "I found out why she took off that night looking so freaked out. John told her about what happened with me and Joe, just before the band split up the first time."
        Ben frowned, thinking back to what Billy had told him. "You mean about the rape?"
        "Yeah. About that."
        "That upset her?"
        "That's putting it mildly."
        "Well, I can understand that. Clearly she had affection for you, and the idea that you were assaulted must have been difficult for her."
        There was a short silence, then Billy spoke again. "You always see things in the best possible light, don't you, Ben? That's so refreshing. No, unfortunately that's not at all what her reaction was. To put it bluntly, she's appalled that she had a kid by a fag. She wants nothing to do with me, and doesn't want me within a mile of Billie."
        "Oh my God," Ben said, utterly appalled, aching at the pain behind those flatly-stated words. "That's . . . that's reprehensible. To blame you for something you couldn't prevent, to withhold your child from you, because you were violated? No, that's worse than reprehensible, it's inhuman. Billy, I'm sorry."
        There was a choked sound, quiet, a sniffle, a cough. "Thanks, Ben. God, it feels good to talk to someone who's a real human being. I get so tired of all the fucking primates I know. But I'm thinking . . . I'm thinking I want to fight this. Is that wrong? To want to know my own kid?"
        Ben wished they could be having the conversation in person. It was so much harder like this. "No, Billy. It's not wrong to want to know her."
        There was a moment of quiet, and over the phone line Ben could hear the click of a lighter being flicked open and the sound of the flints sparking, and the indrawn breath as Billy took that first heavy drag to make sure his cigarette lit before speaking again. "You have no idea how much I needed to hear that. You're the one person I can trust in this, Ben. The one person I know won't lie to me, and will tell me straight out if I'm fucking up here. Is it still the right thing to do, even if it means dragging it all into court? Because something tells me that's where it's going to end up in the long run, if I do this."
        He was probably right. Ben considered that for a moment. On the one hand were Billy's rights, responsibilities and needs, on the other hand were the child's. He sighed. "I honestly don't know the answer to that. It will be difficult for all involved but for you especially. Undoubtedly the incident with Joe will be brought up, and you will be treated much as any rape victim would be. Your past sexual history will be brought into play, your present as well, in all likelihood. Your substance abuse issues will be brought up. You do realize that?"
        Billy exhaled slowly, Fraser could almost see the smoke.
        "Yeah. I do. I talked to my lawyer, and that's what she said, too. She gave me the name of a lawyer in San Francisco who specializes in custody cases that involve what she calls 'extreme lifestyles.' Some guy named Brian Hawkins. He's supposed to have a really good track record. She also said it was good that I joined AA. Been going pretty regularly, at least as much as I can when I'm not on the road. Haven't had a drink since, well, since Chicago." He chuckled.
        "See? You're a good influence on me, Ben. That ought to make you feel good. I started seeing a therapist too, like you suggested. Been sorting through lots of stuff about Joe, and about my past. I got to thinking about my folks, and didn't want to be like that for my own kid, so I decided I needed to do something about it. Have to get that sorted out or it'll all just keep happening, right? "
        Ben felt inordinately pleased that Billy had listened, really listened to him, and was making positive changes in his life because of that. He liked helping people. It made him feel like he actually had a purpose.
        "I'm glad you're getting it 'sorted out,'" he said quietly. "Thank you for letting me know that. As for whether or not you should fight for custody, that's your decision, and I can't really do more than say you should follow your heart."
        That's what his father had started telling him. He wondered sometimes, why his father had suddenly gone from always harping on his duty, to suggesting that perhaps there was more to life than that. That change had seemed to come on the heels of Ray Vecchio's departure, and the arrival of Ray Kowalski in his life. Why was that? If his father was simply an artifact of his own psyche, did it mean that part of him had realized all along that what he felt for Ray was deeper than simple friendship?
        Or, if as he believed, it truly was his father's ghost, did that mean his father recognized and accepted that fact as well? A strange, but fascinating speculation. Still, it was a difficult axiom to adhere to. How could he follow his heart when it led him to places he wasn't permitted to go?
        "I guess that's all any of us can do, isn't it?" Billy said quietly. He paused, then spoke again, less diffidently. "Ben, you know, don't you, if I decide to fight this, you might end up involved? I'm not going to mention you, but if they investigate me, that motel clerk might remember me, and if he does, he'll remember you, too, and there could be some speculation. That's why I had to talk to you about this. This isn't just me on the line here. It could be really bad for you. I mean, I'm not trying to be vain here, I know I'm not the most famous guy in the world, but with Jenifur being hot right now, there will be some press on this, there's bound to be. And if you get dragged in, it could get ugly, especially with you being a Mountie and all that."
        Ben hadn't considered that, and for a moment it gave him pause. How would people react to his name being linked to Billy's in such a fashion? How would it affect his relationships with his friends? His throat threatened to close up. What did that matter? Ray Vecchio had rejected him long ago. Now Ray Kowalski had as well. There was no one else he was close to. His career, such as it was, could be impacted, but he had already done a sterling job of destroying himself professionally, and there was little that could make things worse. No, his own interests were petty here, compared to Billy's. He took a sip of lukewarm tea to loosen the knot in this throat, and spoke again.
        "If that should occur, I will deal with it," he said firmly. "You mustn't let your concern for me influence your decision in this. You have to do what's right for you. I am responsible for my conduct, and for the possible consequences of my actions, not you."
        "Somehow I knew you would say that. You're something else, Ben Fraser. You really are. You know I'll do my damnedest to keep you out of things, right?"
        "Yes, I do. Thank you, Billy."
        "Don't thank me. I'm the reason there's a problem to begin with."
        "No, you're not. It was a combination of circumstances, many of which were beyond your control. You cannot blame yourself."
        Billy chuckled drily. "You sound like my shrink. But you're right, I know you are. You were right about a lot of things. There's been a lot of . . . of bad shit in my life. Hurts getting through it, remembering it."
        Ben frowned. "Are you all right?"
        There was a pause as Billy inhaled, exhaled. "Yeah. Mostly. It's easier to just not think about it. But it's got to be done."
        "Would you like to talk about it?"
        "No. That's what I have a shrink for, Ben. You don't need my crap, but thanks for the offer. So, you ready to talk yet? What's going on with you?"
        Ben rubbed at his eyebrow, then dropped his hand, annoyed with himself for that giveaway gesture, even if Billy wasn't in the room to see it. "Very little, actually. I'm processing paperwork at the moment."
        "That's not what I meant and you know it. How was your friend's trip to Acapulco? He still with that woman?"
        "No, actually, they went their separate ways shortly after they reached their destination, and Ray came back early to assist with an investigation."
        "Interesting. So, have you ever talked to him about your feelings?"
        "No, that didn't prove necessary."
        "Meaning?"
        "That he was able to figure it out on his own."
        "Ah. And?"
        "And . . . ." Ben's voice caught and he had to start over. "And apparently we are no longer speaking."
        "Shit. Wait, 'apparently?' Okay, Ben, something's weird here. Spill. Start from the top. Don't leave anything out."
        "Your long distance bill . . . ."
        "Fuck the long distance bill, we just released a CD and it's already at number four. I sent you one, by the way. Know it's not your style, but figured, what the hell. Now, let me worry about my finances. You talk."
        Feeling guilty because he was wasting Billy's time and money, and because he was supposed to be working, Ben awkwardly told him about the events of the past few weeks. When he finished, Billy sighed.
        "Ben, for a smart guy you can be really stupid. He's not the one who won't talk. It's you. He tried to talk to you. You wouldn't let him. You're so sure you've already got it figured out that you won't even let him tell you himself! Jesus, if that's not fucked up, what is?"
        "He hasn't come by or tried to call since that first night. . . ." Ben said defensively.
        "Well there's only so many times you can hit your head against a wall and keep at it, you know. Besides, from what you've told me, this guy's not exactly overflowing with self-esteem. If he thinks you don't want to see him, he's not going to push it. I wouldn't. Somebody slams a door in my face, I get the message. Bet he did too."
        Billy had a point. Ray was at times insecure, though not as much now as he had been when they'd first met. Now he stood up for himself. As he had that time on the dock, and on several other occasions Fraser could remember. Although Ben had a tendency to manipulate people, Ray normally didn't allow him to do so. Why would he, then, in this case? No, it didn't make sense. But perhaps he had made too swift an assumption . . .
        "You think I should make an overture?" he asked.
        "Yeah, I do. But like you said, you have to follow your heart. You're the only one who can say what's right for you. I just think maybe you jumped the gun on this one."
        As he started to reply, the intercom light flashed on. With an apology, he put Billy on hold to answer the other line.
        "Acting Liaison Offic. . . " he began, only to be interrupted by Thatcher's crisp voice.
        "I know who you are, Constable Fraser. It's three o-clock."
        For a moment he frowned blankly, wondering why the Inspector was telling him what time it was, then he belatedly remembered they had a staff meeting scheduled. Good lord! He'd completely forgotten. "Yes, sir, I was just finishing up with the gentleman on line one. I'll be right in."
        "Very good, Fraser."
        She hung up, and he hastily switched back to Billy. "I'm sorry, I have to go. I have a meeting."
        "No problem. But if you need to talk some more, you have my number, right? I'll be here. I stay up late. Call me."
        "Thank you," Ben said, though he knew he wouldn't. He couldn't impose like that. "Let me know how things go with Billie?"
        "I will, Ben. Thanks. I'll keep you up to date. Now, better get to your meeting before the boss gets out the cat o' nine tails."
        "She's not. . . ." Ben began.
        Billy laughed. "I know that. Good bye, Ben. Talk to you soon."
        Ben found himself nodding. "Yes, soon. Good bye."
        He replaced the phone in its cradle and stood up, straightening his tunic, and his shoulders. Time to get to work.

* * *
        Ray had given up any thought of trying to go to work when his alarm went off and he realized he'd lain in bed awake since about ten thirty the previous night. He was too good a cop to go to work in this state. He knew damned well he'd be useless to everyone like this. He'd been through it before. He knew himself that well, at least. Was learning more about himself every day.
        Like the fact that apparently he was gay. Or something close to it. He was a little confused on that score. Apparently his libido didn't care if the object of his affections was male or female, it just cared how the person made him feel. And Fraser made him feel like he was in love. That head-over-heels, all-or-nothing feeling. That heights-of-joy and depths-of-despair stuff that made him utterly crazy. Especially that despair part, which he was pretty damned close to right now.
        Crazy. That's what he was. Certifiable, probably. He ought to just check himself into Ravenswood or someplace like that and get it over with. He was in love with Benton Fraser, RCMP. Mr. So-Straight-You-Could-Use-Him-For-A-Ruler. For God's sake, how stupid could one person be? Why did he do this to himself? He had to be nuts. He really did. First he couldn't let go of Stella, now he was obsessing over Ben. That startled him. Ben. He'd never dared call him that, despite the temptation. It was just too damned. . . intimate. Calling him 'Fraser' or a variation on that kept him in a little box that said 'hands off.' No, definitely do not think of him as Ben. Especially not while lying in bed.
        God. This was what had gotten him into this mess to begin with. Just like with Stella. He hadn't been able to let her go, and he'd ended up with a new life because of it. Now instead of using that second chance, he'd just done it again. No. No more. He had to let go. Just stop thinking about him. He's not yours, he's never going to be yours, he's not even your partner any more. You've made him so uncomfortable he can't even stand to be around you. You hurt him. Just like you did with Stella. Just stop it. You're sick. You're stupid.
        "I suck," he said aloud into the empty room. His voice sounded rough and strained. "Fraser, I'm sorry."
        Idiot.
* * *
        "Hi, Fraser! What are you doing here?" Dewey asked, brushing past Fraser in the doorway as he stepped into the station. He didn't, however, wait for an answer as he kept right on going out the door.
        Since that wasn't unusual behavior for Dewey, Fraser kept on toward the bullpen. The hallways, as usual, were a chaotic swirl of humanity, and he nodded in greeting to several people before he actually managed to get to his destination. He stepped into the room, only to find to his disappointment that Ray's desk was empty. He had spent the better part of the previous night steeling himself to do this, to put aside his pain and his preconceptions to go to Ray, and apologize, and try to listen to him. To find him gone, now, was quite a letdown. Perhaps he was in the file room, or one of the interrogation rooms. He moved to Francesca's desk and cleared his throat. She looked up, and her face lit up, as usual.
        "Hey, Frase! What are you doing here?"
        Ben frowned. It seemed odd that he'd gotten that comment twice in five minutes. "I'm here to see Ray."
        Frannie looked puzzled, shooting a glance at Ray's desk. Which, now that he was looking at it again seemed unusually . . . neat.
        "He's not here, Frase," she answered, returning her gaze to him.
        "I see that. Do you know where I might find him?"
        Her frown deepened. "I guess he's probably at home. I mean, unless he's at the hospital, which I really doubt, knowing how Ray feels about hospitals."
        Fraser felt as if time had stopped. He stared at Francesca, who stared back, starting to look a little flustered. He blinked.
        "Ray . . . was Ray hurt? Is he ill?" Fraser ventured.
        "Well, yeah. Thought you knew that. Figured that was why you haven't been around the past few days. I mean, obviously there's no reason for you to be here if he's not."
        She shot him an odd, edged glance. He wondered if she thought he ought to come by simply to see her. Probably. He never had managed to make her understand that he thought of her as a sister, not a potential mate. But Ray. . . what had happened? Half a dozen scenarios flashed through his head, all of them too horrible to contemplate. Ray beaten. Knifed. Shot. He found he was clutching the Stetson hard enough to dent the brim, and forced himself to relax his fingers.
        "What happened? How was he injured?"
        She rolled her eyes. "He's not hurt, Fraser, he's got the flu. Been out since Tuesday. It's goin' around. I was thinking about calling him, seeing how he's doing, but you know he'd just get cranky with me."
        Days? Ray had been ill for days? How could he not have known that? How could he not have felt that, inside somewhere?
        "Frase? What's the matter?" Frannie's voice was gentle now, concerned. He guessed he must have looked as stricken as he felt, and struggled to find a neutral expression.
        "I've just remembered something important I need to do. Thank you kindly for your assistance, Francesca."
        "Any time, Fraser. Any time."
        The sultry tone in her voice, and in her eyes, made him want to sigh in aggravation, but he just ignored it instead. He didn't have time to play the Oblivious Game with her. His overriding concern was Ray's well-being, and nothing would prevent him from ascertaining the state of his health. Influenza wasn't something to take lightly, even in a strong man like Ray. Especially as he'd seemed worn and overtired of late.
        It had been selfish of him not to think of Ray's well being, to simply withdraw from his life like that. Ray needed caretaking, and without Fraser he had no one. His first stops would be the grocery store and pharmacy. The word 'hospital' had put knots in his stomach. Francesca was quite correct in thinking that if Ray were really ill, it was quite likely he would refuse hospitalization, since he loathed hospitals. No, even if it was painful to be around Ray knowing his feelings were not reciprocated, Fraser could not let Ray suffer because of it.

* * *

        Day three of withdrawal, Ray thought, rolling onto his back, staring at the light coming in the windows. He wondered if he was the only person on the planet who got addicted to people, instead of drugs. He'd been up all night, again, wrestling the impulse to go to the Consulate and bang on the door and yell until Fraser either answered it or had him hauled off to jail. Now that it was daylight he could sleep, because somehow that sort of melodramatic crap was unthinkable in the light of day.
        He reached for the phone, dialed, told Welsh he was still sick. Which he was. Mentally. Probably would be for the rest of his life. In any case, he knew if he tried to work he'd just end up either shooting someone, or getting shot, and he wasn't quite that far gone.
        Rolling onto his stomach, he closed his eyes, and tried to sleep. Behind his eyelids he saw a scene that was becoming too familiar of late. In his mind's eye, a little video played out, Fraser with some guy who sort of looked like him, but was somehow more. . . everything. More confident. More attractive. More interesting. They sat in that damned bar, leaning close, too close. Fraser looked relaxed. Happy. Pleasured. His stomach lurched and he opened his eyes, slamming a fist into the mattress in frustration.
        "Damn it, Kowalski, you are one sick puppy," he growled at himself. "Getting jealous of some poor schmuck who had lunch with Fraser. Hell, you were off trying to get laid, so what room have you got to be jealous? Like he's not allowed to have lunch with somebody? Disgusting."
         Yeah, he'd been trying to get laid. Desperately hoping if he could find some chick who'd have him it would make everything all better. Make him stop dreaming about making love to his utterly gorgeous and completely clueless Canadian partner until neither of them could walk for a week. Of course, the chick had figured out real quick that he wasn't into her, and had taken off for greener pastures, leaving him alone to indulge his most common fantasies.
        Fraser. The way his hair always stayed perfectly unruffled, and the way the pale, smooth skin of his neck looked so lickable, and the odd little droop to his mouth sometimes when he smiled. More. The faultless taper of shoulder to waist, the near-perfect hemispheres of that incredible ass, the bulge between those sleek, powerful thighs-- imagine them without loose wool or taut denim, instead warm and bare against his own skin . . . Christ, no wonder Fraser didn't want to be around him, if he was picking up on that vibe. Shit. He grabbed his pillow, curled up around it, his face pressed into it to hide from the light, and incidentally, to absorb the tears.

* * *
        
        Taking no chances that Ray would not let him in, especially after his own disgraceful behavior at the Consulate, Fraser decided to risk his partner's wrath by not even attempting the direct route. Arriving at the apartment building, he went directly to Ray's landlady. Fortunately she not only remembered him, but had no qualms about letting him into Ray's apartment after he explained that Ray had missed three days of work and his co-workers were concerned about his health. Holding his bag of groceries, he followed her up the stairs, feeling guilty for lying to her. Of course, it wasn't precisely a lie. Ray had indeed been absent from work for three days, and Francesca was concerned about him, if no one else was.
        She unlocked the door, whispered for him to let her know if everything was all right, then padded off down the hallway. A nice woman. He stood for a moment, uncertainly, then shook his head and opened the door. The apartment was dim and quiet, overly warm, a little stuffy. The drawn curtains filtered the light, giving an oddly ruddy glow to the room. Neither the stereo or television were on, which was rather unusual in and of itself. He could see through the open door to Ray's bedroom that there was a figure there, in bed. Apparently sleeping. Good. Sleep was the best restorative the body could have.
        He paused to set down his groceries on the kitchen counter, noted there were no dishes in the sink, and frowned. He opened the dishwasher. No dishes there either. Odd, knowing Ray's housekeeping habits, he would have expected that after three days the sink would be full of unwashed dishes. He opened the refrigerator, found as he'd half expected, several cartons of Chinese take-out there, but a look inside them told him they had been there for quite some time. Indeed, long enough for what appeared to be a rudimentary civilization to have sprung up inside the boxes. He dropped the containers into the garbage and made a mental note to take it out before the smell permeated the apartment.
        Feeling a little claustrophobic in the clutter and warmth, Ben tugged at his collar, ripping it open, then decided he needed to remove his tunic entirely if he was going to be caring for an invalid. He didn't want to get anything on his uniform. He removed the tunic, arranged it carefully over the back of a chair, and then quickly put away the few groceries he'd brought. Still too warm, he pushed up the sleeves of his henley, then realizing he was merely postponing the inevitable, he turned to face the difficult part. He had to make sure Ray was all right. Had to cross that invisible barrier he'd never allowed himself to pass before, to set foot in that most private space. He drew a deep breath and forced himself to cross the room, to go to the threshold of the bedroom.
        The covers were messily pushed to one side, exposing Ray curled around his pillow as if it were a person, and completely, gloriously naked. Fraser closed his eyes and swallowed hard against the desire to have Ray wrapped around him the way he was wrapped around his pillow. Stop that. He's ill. He needs help, not lustful imaginings. He forced himself to walk forward, to kneel beside the bed, and reach out, placing his fingers against the side of Ray's throat, just below the ear, trying to ascertain if he had a fever. Thankfully, his skin felt almost cool, slightly damp with sweat. Good. No fever.
        As he started to pull his hand back, Ray reached up, putting his hand over Fraser's, fingers curling around so he was not just holding it in place, but actually holding it. Ray murmured something incoherent, and rubbed his face against their hands much as a cat might rub the fingers of someone who petted it. His normal three-day bristles had softened, lengthened into at least a six-day growth, past the point of being stubble, well on its way to being beard. Fraser wondered what it would feel like against his lips. That thought shocked him, and he tried to pull his hand away. Ray resisted, fingers closing more tightly around his.
        "No, Ben . . . ." Ray said, then his eyes opened and Fraser was frozen, staring into their startled depths. For the second time that day, his world seemed to come to a standstill. Then Ray blinked, frowned.
        "Fraser?"
        Fraser nodded. "Hello, Ray."
        As if they belonged to someone else, his fingers moved, stroking softly against that bare, sweaty throat, enjoying the feel of those narrow fingers around his, knowing it was going to end too soon, and badly, but he couldn't seem to help himself. To his amazement, Ray didn't instantly pull away, nor did he let go of Ben's hand. He seemed to be thinking, frowning a little, but not appalled, not disgusted. They were far too close, far too close, Fraser thought, gaze dropping to Ray's mouth. Dangerously close.
        It came to him suddenly, Ray had said 'No, Ben.' Not Fraser. Ben. Did Ray think of him as 'Ben' then, sometimes? It also came to him, just as startlingly, that Ray had said that before he'd ever opened his eyes. What did that mean? The implications were, frankly, staggering.
        "Uh, Fraser, what're you doing?"
        He watched the syllables form on those beautiful lips, watched the way they moved and parted. He leaned closer. "Losing my mind, I'm afraid," he said with a regretful sigh, and leaned forward the rest of the way.
        The beard was a strange combination of soft and harsh. The lips were like silk, warm, faintly moist silk, which clung slightly to his own lips. When he would have deepened the kiss, though, Ray pulled away, eyes wide and startled. Then suddenly he let go of Ben's hand and his eyebrows lowered, eyes filling with anger.
        "I don't need a pity fuck, Fraser. You don't have to lie back, close your eyes and think of Canada to get me out of bed and back to work. You've made it clear enough you'd rather eat glass than touch me so it's not like you're real convincing here."
        Fraser stared at him, baffled. "Ray, I don't understand . . . ." he began, then stopped, shaking his head. "What makes you think that I wouldn't wish to touch you? Provided, of course, that you wished for me to do so," he amended hastily, completely confused as to what exactly Ray was upset about, since it didn't seem to be the kiss, or at least not the fact of the kiss in and of itself, but rather about Fraser's motivations in doing so, which though far from innocent certainly had nothing to do with thinking of Canada, or pity either.
        "Oh for chrissake, Fraser, I may sound stupid but I'm not. I got the picture. You don't want to be anywhere near me, and I know damned well it goes back to that night outside the Botrelle place. You practically jumped out of the car when I put my arms around you, and I wasn't even putting the moves on you. Just wanted. . . just needed to . . . oh, hell."
        Ray rolled away and lurched to his feet, grabbing at the bedspread to save his modesty, or what was left of it, but as he straightened after catching up the fabric, he suddenly went white and swayed. Fraser barely managed to catch him before he toppled to the floor. In that completely boneless state that accompanied unconsciousness, Ray was surprisingly heavy, and Fraser shifted his grip, wrapping his arms around Ray's lax form and pulling him close so he couldn't slide out of his arms and fall again. As he did Ray came back to himself, struggling. Fraser held him firmly, having no intention of letting him go until he was sure he was fully recovered. And until this whole 'touching' thing was resolved.
        "Fraser! Leggo!" Ray demanded.
        "No, Ray. You stood up and passed out, and I am not going to let you go until I'm certain it won't happen again."
        Ray subsided, frowning. "Oh." He frowned. "Oh yeah. Got a little dizzy there. Um, you can let go now."
        Fraser turned his head until he could look into Ray's somewhat bloodshot blue eyes. From this distance he could see they were flecked with gold, like sunlight on water. No wonder sometimes when they caught the light they almost looked amber. So beautif. . . no. That was not something he ought to be thinking. He needed to be clearheaded, to deal with this problem, to try to make Ray understand, without disgusting him, and then to try to understand in return just what Ray was feeling, and thinking, because he had a difficult time believing it was what it had sounded like. He took a deep breath.
        "Ray, it has become very apparent that I need to make something clear. I have no aversion to touching you, at all. On the contrary, I . . . well, in any case I'm not entirely certain what I did to give you that impression, but it most assuredly was not my intent."
        Ray pulled back a little, staring into Fraser's face with that almost angry expression he got when trying to understand something slightly out of his realm of experience. "It wasn't?" he asked uncertainly.
        Fraser shook his head. "No, it wasn't. But I need to ask you something. Based on what you said, and on how you reacted a few moments ago, do I gather that you, ah, might not be entirely averse to my touching you?"
        Color flared instantly across Ray's angular face, and he dropped his gaze. "I. . . uh. . . " A shy, sheepish smile curved his mouth, and he shrugged diffidently. "Hell. Guess it's kind of too late to put that cat back in the bag, hunh?"
        "Why would I wish to . . . "
        "It's a metaphor, Fraser."
        "Ah. Meaning?"
        "Meaning no. I'm not, like you said, averse."
        Good heavens. It was nearly too much to take in. "Ray, you do know what 'averse' means, don't you?" Fraser asked in sudden concern.
        Ray glared at him, offended. "Yeah, I know what 'averse' means, Fraser. So, um, do I take it you're not, well, averse either?"
        Fraser started to smile. "Considering the fact that I am, at this very moment, touching you, is not the answer clear?"
        "You're touching me, but you're not touching me, if you know what I mean. And I'm not touching you, except that I kind of can't help it. I thought we were talking touching, not just touching. And it's kind of hard to talk about this right now, I mean, you got about a zillion layers on and I'm wearing air. So either you start peeling down or let me put some clothes on."
        "Yes," Fraser said, feeling suddenly a little giddy. "Certainly. What would you like me to remove first?"
        He could tell by the way Ray's eyes widened that he had not expected that reply.
        "You teasing me, Fraser?" Ray asked uncertainly.
        He smiled. "Yes, Ray."
        Ray nodded slowly. Then he smiled. "Cool. So, um, you weren't kissing me so you could do the 'virgin sacrifice on the altar of Ray's demonic lust' thing just so I'd go back to work?"
        Fraser stared at him, speechless. "Is that what you thought?" he finally managed to gasp after a moment.
        "Well, yeah."
        Fraser let go of him. "Ray, that's. . . that's insulting. To both of us."
        "Yeah, well . . . ." Ray shrugged, looking apologetic, then leaned over to pick up the bedspread again. And kept right on leaning, ending up on his hands and knees. Fraser knelt beside him instantly.
        "Ray, you're ill. Please get back in bed, we can have this conversation some other time."
        Ray waved him off, sitting back on his haunches, bedspread clutched in his hands and swathed across his lap like a model's drape. "I'm not sick."
        "That's the second time you've almost passed out, Ray, clearly you're not well!"
        "I'm fine. Just kind of forgot to eat."
        Ben remembered the lack of dirty dishes, the spore cultures masquerading as take-out food. "How long?"
        "How long what?"
        "How long has it been since you ate anything substantial?"
        Ray thought about that. Thought some more. "Um, lunch, the day I dropped you off at the Consulate."
        Ben stared at him, appalled. "Ray! That was nearly four days ago! And you've had nothing since then?"
        "Had some orange juice, but that ran out. Maybe an apple. Some crackers. Water, of course."
        "Why?"
        "Guess I got hungry."
        Ben sighed. "Not why did you have some juice, an apple, and crackers. Why didn't you eat?"
        "Wasn't hungry."
        "Ray," Fraser said warningly.
        Ray looked down at his hands, resting awkwardly one in the other against the tangled blue bedspread, and sighed. "Just . . . couldn't. I didn't want to go out to get stuff, didn't want to face the world, I guess. Thought I'd screwed everything up again. My fault. Thought you must've figured out I was hot for you, and that's why you started acting weird around me the last couple of months. I tried to be so good. Didn't touch you, never said anything you might think meant something else, even stopped asking you out all the time, didn't want to be a pain, didn't want you to feel ob. . . obli. . . like you had to. Then I go and hurt your feelings . . . God, Fraser, how can you like me?"
        Ben hated the reappearence of this Ray, the one who had been bludgeoned into such a state of insecurity he felt he had no self worth. But he also understood him, intimately. So familiar. This was who he was, inside, the part of himself he showed to almost no one. The side he'd shown to a virtual stranger, but had never confessed to his best friend. God, if only he'd taken Billy's advice weeks ago, he could have circumvented all of this pain for both of them. He moved closer, caught those long, narrow hands in his own broader, blunter ones.
        "Ray. It was as much my fault as yours, actually more so. I made similar assumptions, and I wasn't honest with you. Had I been, this wouldn't have happened. But I was a coward. I was afraid to tell you how I felt, so I withdrew, and you sensed that. I should have known you would, you feel everything so intensely. I envy that in you."
        Ray looked at him like he'd lost his mind. "You envy me? Fraser, are you unhinged?"
        Fraser smiled. "Yes, Ray. I think perhaps I am. Because right now, more than anything in the world I want to kiss you again."
        Ray's eyes widened again, and he considered that, then a slight smile quirked one corner of his expressive mouth. "That don't sound unhinged to me."
        "It is, because what I really should be doing is getting you something to eat. That would be the logical thing, the responsible thing."
        "Well, like you said, logic doesn't always work."
        "True enough," Fraser said,
        "So, you going to trust your instincts on this one, Fras. . . Ben?"
        He closed his eyes briefly. Ben. Such an erotic sound said in that husky, nasal voice. "Yes, Ray. I believe I am."
        Fraser leaned in, and this time Ray's mouth lifted toward his, meeting him. This time Ray's lips parted as Ben's did, and Ben couldn't resist letting his tongue slip out to stroke that sensuous lower lip, the sharp edges of teeth, then the wet, satiny warmth of Ray's mouth. Ah, God, he'd waited for this for so long, dreamed of it. It was nearly impossible to believe it was really happening, until after a moment of hesitation, Ray's tongue met his, and the kiss deepened, and it was very, very real.
        His hands came up to frame Ray's face, feeling the soft roughness of almost-beard against his palms. Felt Ray's arms go around him, pulling him closer, then they were sliding down onto the bare floor, padded here and there by the bedspread tangled between them. A sudden panicked thought brought Ben up to check and make sure Ray hadn't passed out again, and he was reassured by the sullen frown that greeted his abandonment.
        "Hey!" Ray protested.
        "I'm sorry, I was afraid you'd fainted again."
        Ray grinned suddenly, that lightning flash of teeth. "You're damned good, Ben, but you're not that good."
        He blushed. "I didn't mean it that. . . "
        "I know."
        Neither of them seemed to know what to say after that. The silence lengthened as they stared at each other, until Ben saw Ray's eyes starting to dilate, and realized he couldn't let this happen, not now. There were far more pressing needs to take care of, and a great deal they still needed to talk about. He looked away, breaking eye contact, and addressed that issue.
        "Ray, you need to eat."
        Ray sighed. "Yeah, yeah, okay. But I'm gonna have to call out for pizza or something. There's nothing in the house."
        "Actually, that won't be necessary. Since I suspected that you might not have been prepared for an extended stay at home, I stopped by the market before coming over."
        Ray frowned suddenly. "Hey, how'd you get in here, anyway?"
        Fraser cleared his throat. "Ah, well, your landlady was most helpful."
        "I've got to talk to her about letting any bum in off the street," Ray said disgustedly.
        "Ray!"
        "Well, except you," Ray allowed. "So what'd you bring?"
        "Soup, soda crackers, juice, ginger tea, a few other things. Basic invalid fare."
        "I'm not an invalid."
        "Well, I wasn't to know you were simply malingering."
        "Mal-er-what?"
        "Malingering. Shirking your duties. Feigning illness."
        "I wasn't. I was sick, not my body, but. . . . ." His expression went achingly forlorn. "Thought I'd lost you. That was hard."
        Fraser closed his eyes, willing back the tears. "I know, Ray. It was hard for me as well." He flicked his fingertips across his eyebrow, got his emotions under control. "Now then, come along," he said briskly. "Time to eat." He got to his feet, extending a hand to help Ray up, keeping a hand on his arm to steady him until he was sure he wasn't going to pass out again.
        As soon as he let go, Ray grabbed a ratty-looking navy-blue robe out of the closet and pulled it on. Feeling greatly relieved that all that skin was finally under some sort of cover, Ben started out of the room, only to be stopped by Ray's voice.
        "Look, Fraser, I've got to make a pit-stop first. I'll be out in a second, okay?"
        With a nod of acknowledgment, Ben continued on into the kitchen as Ray detoured into the bathroom. He was just hunting in the surprisingly well-organized and equipped kitchen for a can opener when he heard a laugh from the other room.
        "Holy crap, Ben. You kissed me looking like this? Jesus! And with morning mouth on top of it? You really are unhinged! I'm going to shave."
        He heard water running. Ben thought of the way that almost-beard framed Ray's mouth, the way it had felt as they kissed, and he slammed the drawer shut and practically ran to the bathroom, coming in just as Ray was dispensing shaving gel into his hand.
        "Please, don't."
        Ray whipped around, startled, one hand full of gel. "Hunh? Why not?"
        Fraser blushed, staring at his feet. "I. . . ah, I rather like it."
        Ray eyed him narrowly, then started to grin. "Yeah?"
        Ben nodded.
        Ray chuckled. "Okay. No shaving. At least not until later." He put down the can and lowered his hand to the sink, rinsing the unused gel down the drain. "See? Promise."
        Still blushing, Ben nodded again. "Thank you, Ray."
        Ray winked. "Anytime. Now scram, I've got to use the can."
         Fraser was gently pushed out of the room and the door closed in his face. He stood there for a moment, then he headed back to the kitchen, shaking his head. God, that wink. The first time he'd seen it, from the stranger who insisted he was Ray Vecchio, he'd experienced an immediate and very disconcerting physical reaction. He'd been taken aback, never before affected like that by another man.
        Ray had taken him utterly by storm with his off-kilter approach to nearly everything, his energy, his intensity, his charm. He'd never had a chance. Ray was everything he needed. Warmth, passion, intuition, openness. In every way his opposite, and his equal. He still couldn't quite wrap his mind around the idea that his feelings seemed to be reciprocated. That seemed so completely impossible. Reciprocation was not something he had come to expect from life.
        He remembered Billy saying that somewhere inside Ben must have sensed that Ray returned his attraction. He had been right, but how could Billy have known that? He smiled, thinking about psychic hot-lines, and started looking for the can opener again. He found one in relatively short order, unearthed a saucepan from a cupboard and started heating the soup. He put crackers on a plate, as always somewhat bemused by Ray's 'Holstein' patterned dishes. He cut up an apple and some celery, added them to the plate with the crackers, and took them all out to the table with the jar of peanut butter he'd bought, along with a knife. Ray wandered into the room and reached out to grab a celery stick.
        "Fraser, I love you forever. Peanut butter," he sighed dreamily as he used his celery stick to dig out a massive scoop of peanut butter which he proceeded to lick off the celery in a truly lascivious fashion.
        Fraser stared, swallowed. Ray had a very . . . long . . . tongue. He shook himself. No. No. No. Not yet. He beat a hasty retreat to the kitchen and concentrated on getting the soup ready and into a bowl. He could hear Ray crunching celery. Thank goodness. No more licking, he thought as he put a spoon in the bowl and headed out to the table.
* * *
        Fraser placed a steaming bowl of soup in front of him, and Ray immediately abandoned the apples to attack it, guzzling down the hot, salty broth, barely even pretending to chew the overcooked little pasta stars. Chicken-and-stars. Kid food. Cute. Somehow very Fraser. Still, it couldn't have tasted any better if it had come from Ambria. God, he was starving. After a moment Ben cleared his throat.
        "You might want to slow down a little. You could upset your stomach that way."
        Ray looked at him, at his already half-empty bowl, and sighed. "Yeah. You're right. I'm a pig."
        "You're hungry, not a pig." Guilt shadowed Ben's slate-blue gaze. "Ray, I. . . I'm so very sorry. I never meant . . . ."
        Ray put down his spoon. "Fraser. Frase. Ben. No. It happens. But only when we don't communicate. Thought we learned that on the boat, but maybe not all the way. We've got to keep the lines open."
        Ben nodded. "Yes, we do. It's difficult, but imperative."
        Ray smiled a little and picked up his spoon again, resuming his meal, much more slowly. After a few more mouthfuls, he put the spoon down again, sighing. "Think I better stop. Don't want to push things." He looked over at Fraser, frowning. "You're not eating?"
        Ben shook his head. "No, Ray. I ate earlier."
        Ray studied him intently, seeing the lines of fatigue in his face, the faint darkness under his eyes. For a moment he caught a glimpse of what Fraser would look like in ten years, and that startled him. Ben always looked the same. It was hard to think of him ever changing. He frowned. "You been sleeping okay?"
        Fraser hesitated a moment, and Ray knew his instinct was to tell a social lie. He caught Ben's eye and shook his head minutely. No more of that, no more. He saw the acknowledgment of that in Ben's eyes as he spoke.
        "No, I haven't slept well in several days."
        "Me either."
        They looked at each other. Ben sighed. "Ray, I need, that is, we need to talk."
        Ray sighed back. "Yeah. We do. Not sure where to start, though."
        "I guess I should start by saying I'm sorry, I . . . ."
        "Fraser, do not do that!" Ray exclaimed vehemently. "Do not apologize. You didn't do anything wrong. At least no wronger than I did. It just happened. Stuff just happens sometimes. Like bam, a bolt out of the blue. That's what this is."
        Ben ran his fingers along his eyebrow, and smiled a little. "A more apt description I would be hard pressed to find.
        Ray smiled back, tentatively. "You too, hunh? I mean, I kept telling myself it was just a phase, I'd get over it, it was just because you were so . . . you. So different. Never met anybody like you before. But I didn't get over it. It just kept going. And getting more complicated. And deeper. Sure, yeah, you're gorgeous, I mean who's not going to be attracted and-- oh, stop blushing. You know it's true." Ray had to smile. Fraser was so damned oblivious sometimes. "You know you'd even make Orrin Hatch think twice. And look at me. I never thought about another guy before in my life, but you walked into the precinct that day, and it was like somebody hit me with a baseball bat."
        "That sounds rather painful," Fraser said evenly, his eyebrows up in his patented 'oh really?' look.
        "Yeah. It was. Especially when you started feeling me up."
        Fraser's eyes widened. "I never . . . ."
        "Oh yeah. You had your hands all over me. My leg, my thigh. Shit. There I am driving a burning car and my gorgeous but wacko Canadian partner is feeling me up. And I got a hard-on the size of a Mac truck and I'm thinking I'm going to die any second and my last minute on earth will have been spent trying to figure out how to keep you from noticing, and wondering what the hell I'm doing with a hard-on for you when I'm not even gay." He grinned, then was instantly serious again, afraid he'd said the wrong thing, that Ben would misinterpret that. "Least, I didn't think I was. Still not sure. All I know is how you make me feel, and I feel. . . ." Oh hell. This wasn't supposed to happen yet. Too fast, Kowalski. You're always too fast. Premature declaration. Thankfully that problem didn't extend to other areas.
        "How do you feel?" Ben prompted softly, his expression taut, and apprehensive.
        Ray sighed. "Don't freak out on me, okay?"
        Ben nodded. "I won't."
        Folding his hands around each other, Ray stared at them to avoid looking at Ben. "Okay. I mean, sure, I want you. Which is a lot, but that's not all of it. See, you're always there for me. You help me be a better person. You gave me that dream-catcher thing, only it's more like a dream-giver. It's like it gives me my dreams, or you do. Finding Marcus Ellery, catching bad guys in a sailing ship, hitting that home run, everything good that's happened since we met. I feel like-- like I'm not all here without you. And I know that's dumb, that I'm me no matter what, but I just feel so much for you, and that's it, that's just . . . it. That's what it's supposed to be like when you love somebody. So I guess, that's what it is, what I feel. I love you."
        After a moment of silence, he looked up, anxiously, to find Ben sitting there with his eyes closed, an expression close to rapture on his face as he nodded, his mouth shaping a word. Ray was no lip-reader, but it looked kind of like 'yes' to him.
        "Ben?"
        "Yes." The shape became a real word. "Yes, Ray. I feel that, as well. All of that. You give me light, and warmth, and you never judge me. I'm a person to you, not a . . . a cardboard cut-out who feels nothing, needs nothing. You know I have needs, you force me to feel. I need that. I need you. And I too was taken off guard that first day. You pulled me into your life without hesitation, you don't let me hold back, you . . . freed me from that image of perfection everyone, including myself, had boxed me into. I couldn't help but love you. I just never dreamed you might . . . ."
        Ben's voice broke, and Ray was out of his chair in a heartbeat, kneeling between Ben's knees and wrapping his arms around his middle, pulling him close, head against his shoulder. "Ben, don't, it's okay. Me either. I didn't either. It's not something we're good at, guys, you know. Not supposed to do this, feel this. There's no rule book."
        Ben nodded, his face against Ray's hair, and they just sat like that for a moment. Then Ray let go, and eased back a little, looking up into Ben's face. "So. Where do we go from here?"
        Ben gazed back at him seriously. "That depends on where you want it to go. It might be easier all around should we leave things as they are. Society does not look kindly on this sort of relationship. So, it could stay as it is, if that's what you prefer."
        Ray made a sound, shook his head, but Fraser went on.
        "Or it could go . . . further. Much further."
        Ben's tone was low, intimate, husky. Ray's mouth was suddenly dry, and he was intensely aware that he was kneeling between Ben's thighs, that he had been, just moments earlier, pressed tightly up against the body he'd craved, fantasized about. He licked his lips, and Fraser cleared his throat.
        "Before that decision is made, however, I believe I need to disabuse you of a misapprehension."
        Ray couldn't help but smile. "Disabuse away."
        "Earlier you said something which led me to believe you think I am. . . well. . . without experience."
        Ray stared at him, puzzled, wondering where this was headed. "Yeah?"
        Ben nodded, face pink, looking vastly uncomfortable. "Yes, well, I'm not."
        "Not what?"
        "Not a virgin, Ray. Not in any context."
        Oooh. That. He smiled. "I was joking, Ben. I don't really think you're . . . ." It sank in then, the rest of that sentence. "Not in any context? What does that mean?"
        The flush deepened, but Ben looked at him steadily. "There was someone. A man."
        A man. Oh, Christ. He flashed suddenly on that bartender. 'I was sure you were a couple.' 'Looked like you.' 'Billy.' He swallowed the lump in his throat as every fear he'd dreamed up in the past few days slammed home. "Oh." He raked a hand through his hair, trying not to notice it was shaking. "I see."
        "No. I don't believe you do."
        He moved away, stood up, and began to pace. "I don't want to know."
        "You need to know, Ray."
        Ray moved over to the windows, pushed aside the curtain and stared blindly out at the parking lot. "Why?"
        "Because it's important that you understand. We can't have any lies between us, even lies of omission."
        "You know, it's really irritating when you're always right," Ray snapped.
        "I'm not always right, Ray. I wasn't right when I wouldn't talk to you three nights ago. I wasn't right to not tell you how I felt, months ago, to make assumptions, to keep you at arm's length. I wasn't right to not trust you before, so I'm. . . I'm trying to trust you now. Please listen to me."
        Ray let the curtain fall and shoved his hands into the pockets of his robe so Fraser couldn't see they were clenched into fists. He sighed. "Okay. Fine. Tell me."
        "His name was Billy. He came to the consulate for assistance one evening . . . ."
        "Wait!" Ray interrupted suddenly. Hearing that name, having it confirmed for him that he hadn't just been paranoid seemed to suck all the warmth and life from him. He felt like curling up, wrapping his arms around himself. He didn't know if he could listen to this. Fraser needed to tell him, and he needed to hear it, but he was terrified of it too. "Just . . . just tell me one thing first."
        "If I can," Fraser said softly.
        "Did . . . did it mean anything?"
        There was a pause, then: "Yes."
        Ray squeezed his eyes closed as Fraser kept speaking, quietly, evenly.
        "It meant coming to terms with who I am. What I am. What I want. It meant I could no longer pretend I didn't know, that I wasn't sure. And it meant, unfortunately, that I had a much more difficult time hiding those feelings and that knowledge from you. He told me I shouldn't even try to hide it. He told me to tell you how I felt about you. I should have listened."
        Ray whipped around, aghast. "You told him about me?"
        "Yes. After a fashion. I told him I had a friend with whom I was in love."
        "You. . . " Words failed him. Whatever he had expected Ben to say, that wasn't it. He looked at his partner uncertainly. "You told him you loved . . . me?"
        Ben nodded. "Yes."
        Ray absorbed that, felt a sense of wonder. Somehow that made it real. Ben had told someone else. "When?" he asked, waiting, somehow sure he knew what the answer would be.

* * *

        Fraser gathered his thoughts, preparing to tell a story. Not an Inuit story. No, this one was much harder to tell. He looked down at his hands. They were strong, capable hands, but sometimes he couldn't help thinking how stubby they looked in comparison to Ray's long, slender ones. No, don't get distracted. Answer the question. He took a deep breath. "It was when you were in Acapulco. I was-- ah, I'm afraid I was very jealous. I was hurt. I was feeling . . . . well, you have to understand, that seemed to confirm that there was not even the remotest possibility that there could ever be anything between us."
        Ray groaned. "Oh, Christ, Fraser. I'm sorry. I was just so . . . messed up. I was trying so hard to pretend I didn't have it bad for you, to find something, someone, anyone else. Didn't want you to know, thought you would be disgusted. . . ."
        Ben reached out to settle his hand on Ray's shoulder, a warm, gentle pressure, feeling him startle a little. Apparently he hadn't heard Ben get up and walk over. Ben squeezed slightly, reassuringly.
        "I know, Ray. And you don't have to apologize. I understand that. Don't you think I was doing the same thing?"
        Taking a huge chance, he let his arms slide around Ray, pulling him close. When his partner didn't protest, but rather leaned back into him slightly, he felt a surge of relief, and rested his forehead against the back of Ray's head as he began to speak again.
        "He was alone, a stranger here, and in a very dark place. Someone he loved had died and he felt guilty. He needed someone, a person he could never have again. I needed you, but I thought that was impossible. So he was you, for me, and I was his friend, for him. That's all it was. But it opened my eyes. What we did helped me clarify what I feel for you, Ray. Helped me understand what it is I want, what I need, from you. That I needed to belong to you, in every way, not just as friends, but to feel you in my body, to know you, to experience every possible aspect of you."
        Ray shuddered, trying to pull away.
        "Please, I can't. . . ."
        Ben tightened his embrace. "No, Ray, please. I don't say this to hurt you, I just need you to understand. I know how this feels. I've felt it as well. Watching you with Stella, and others as well, I thought I would lose my mind. I've even been needlessly cruel to you, simply due to my own jealousy."
        Ray was silent for a moment, then he spoke, doubtfully. "You haven't. You're never mean."
        Ah. Confession time. Very few people saw the darkness at his heart, he disguised it too well. "I was," he said quietly. "With Luanne Russell I deliberately led you toward certain conclusions I knew would influence the way you saw her, because I didn't want to share you, because I was afraid she would hurt you. Then, when things fell out as I expected, I let you believe it was a flaw in yourself, rather than in me, that had brought you to that place. All that, simply to make certain you would not end up in her bed." Abruptly he let go of Ray and stepped away, hands limp at his sides, gazing at the floor. "Sometimes I'm not very . . . nice."
        Ray stared at him in amazement. "You did that? You really did that, just to keep me from doing the horizontal mambo with Luanne?"
        Heat surged across Ben's face, though he refused to look up. "Yes."
         There was a long silence. Ben waited for disgust. Finally Ray spoke.
        "Cool."
        Ben's gaze snapped up, surprised, wary, to find Ray regarding him with an odd smile.
        "Cool?" he asked, confused.
        "Funny, I was right. You were jealous, but boy was I wrong about which one of us! I thought you wanted her."
        Ben bit his lip, embarrassed, but honest. "No. I wanted you."
        Ray's grin broadened. "Yeah, I get that. Now. And yeah, it's cool."
        Ben frowned at him. "It's not 'cool' to allow oneself to be deliberately cruel and manipulative."
        The smile faded, and Ray regarded him intently. "No, but see, it was more than that. It meant you care. You said it yourself, you didn't want her to hurt me. Not that it wouldn't've been a lot better if you'd just said something, but I get it. I do. And Luanne, I mean, she was just one more shot at pretending I didn't want you. But you know, sleeping next to you in that back yard was so much better than sleeping with Luanne would've been. That was cool, and you even made me coffee. And it was just as well, because she'd have dumped me on my ass as soon as she figured I was just trying to sub her for you. Which wouldn't have taken long if it had been anything like Laura."
        "Laura?" Ben asked, trying to remember someone by that name.
        Ray stared at him in surprise. "Yeah, you remember. Bad-check girl? Acapulco?"
        Apparently he'd managed to completely block her name from his memory. "Ah, yes. I had forgotten her name. I never did really ask what happened."
        "I wouldn't have told you anyhow."
        "Forgive me, I . . . ."
        "At least not then," Ray said, cutting off the apology with a wink. "Doesn't matter now. Guess I'd been talking about you a lot on the flight down. Too much. And then we get to the resort and we're starting to get down and dirty, and I've got my eyes closed and the only way I can get interested is if I pretend she's you, which isn't working real good 'cause she's soft in places you wouldn't be."
        He stopped suddenly, looked at Ben and shook his head wryly. "Guess I shoulda tried your idea. Least with another guy you wouldn't have that problem. Anyway, things are finally starting to happen when I open my stupid mouth and out pops your name. She wasn't what ya call real . . . understanding."
        Ben felt a tiny smile lifted the corners of his mouth, and tried hard to control it. It really wasn't nice to smirk. "Really?"
        Ray pushed his hands into his robe pockets, and stared at the floor. "Yeah. Really. Kind of . . . embarrassing. Never did that before. Didn't know I had it quite that bad. So, see, I do understand, about the . . . about him. Don't have to like it, but I got no business being a jerk about it."
        Ben studied him for a long moment, trying to decide if Ray was serious, or just saying what he thought Ben wanted to hear. Finally he spoke. "Do you really mean that?"
        Ray nodded slowly, then suddenly shook his head, a hint of pain in his eyes. "No. Damn it, I know it's true, but inside. . . well, you know I'm kind of a jealous guy. It's hard for me, but I'll get over it. You didn't do anything wrong. It's like . . . past. So being jealous of this guy would be like you being jealous of Stella, right?"
        "Actually, Ray, that's a very good parallel. I have been jealous of Stella, frequently. But I believe that neither of us have anything to fear from past relationships, now, do we? Stella is in your past, Billy is in mine."
        As he said Billy's name, Ray closed his eyes for a moment, bending his head, rubbing his forehead with one hand to hide his face, but Ben saw the insecurity and hurt written on it anyway, and knew what Ray was thinking as clearly as if he'd spoken aloud; that he was second best, again. Ben couldn't allow him to think that.
        "Ray?"
        Ray turned and awkwardly pulled Ben closer, bringing their lips together. Heat flared, instant and electric. Ben's arms went around him in return, pulling him close, responding instinctively, his head tilted a little so their mouths could blend more easily. Hot breath in his mouth, hot tongue against his own. He heard/felt a soft moan, and shuddered as Ray leaned in, kissing him harder, and sensation tried to overwhelm his thoughts, then suddenly Ben realized that was exactly what Ray wanted to happen, that he was trying to change the subject, as it were, and he gently but firmly pulled away.
        "Ray?"
        Ray sighed, looking sad. "What, Ben?"
        "It's you. Only you. It has been only you for a long time. Like you, I thought anything between us was impossible, I tried to find substitutes, but none of them were right. None of them. Not one. There is no substitute for you, because no one else is you, no one else makes me feel the way you do. You're my partner, my friend, and so much more. You're like . . . like the sun, my life is dark without you." He knew he was blushing, such words did not come easily to him, but he continued, urgent, insistent. "Please believe that. If you can't believe that, I'll go, now, because I could never be with you if I thought you didn't." Ben stepped away, and the room seemed colder.
        Ray shivered and stared at Ben, swallowing hard. Ben gazed back, willing him to believe. Ray took a deep breath, their eyes locked.
        "I believe you."
        "You're not just humoring me?" Fraser asked quietly.
        Ray shook his head, still looking directly into Ben's eyes. "No. I believe you. I . . . trust you."
        Ben closed his eyes, relief flooding him. "Thank you."
        Suddenly Ray turned away, though not before Ben saw a flash of fear on his face. Ben understood that, too. In Ray's experience, trust led to heartbreak. That was Ben's experience as well. But Ray trusted him, sometimes even with his life. Had since the first day they'd met, when Ray had taken a bullet for him.
        Ben would never forget the horrified rage that had consumed him when he'd thought Ray dead, or at least terribly wounded. He'd very nearly used his lanyard to strangle the inaptly named Ms. Garbo, rather than to bind her. Nor could he forget the relief he'd felt at realizing that the creature of light and warmth who so mesmerized him was safe, and unharmed. Ray would die for him. He would do the same for Ray. Was there any surer definition of love?
        Moving closer, Ben wrapped his arms around Ray from behind, holding him quietly, his face against the curve of Ray's neck. They stood like that until Ray began to relax. With that relaxation came the realization that their bodies were touching full-length, so close that he could feel the warmth of Ray's skin through their clothing, smell the scent of him. His own body stirred, inevitably he supposed, with the object of his desire so near, and since there was no space between them he started to draw back before his interest became too obvious, not wanting to rush things. But as he tried to move away, Ray leaned back a little, pressing against him, tilting his head a little to one side, so they fit together even better.
        Could he . . . was he possibly hinting that more would not be unwelcome? He heard a sharply indrawn breath, and was startled to realize it was his own. Well, there was only one way to know for certain. He had to ask. This was not something he could make an assumption about. He gathered his courage, and spoke, lips almost touching the back of Ray's neck.
        Ray shivered, and after a moment he nodded jerkily. Tentatively, Ben slipped his hands inside the open vee of Ray's robe, fanning his fingers across his chest, feeling the resilient warmth of his skin. He just stood like that for a moment, savoring the newness of that sensation, then he couldn't resist any longer. He let his fingers move lightly across Ray's nipples, which were taut before he even touched them. Another shiver went through Ray as Ben explored those ridged nubs with his fingertips.
        Daring, Ben kissed the side of Ray's neck, letting his tongue learn his flavor, knowing that for the rest of his life Ray's unique scent, texture, and taste was going to define erotic for him. He moved his mouth upward, tongue tracing the edge of one small, oddly delicate ear, following that a moment later with the light scrape of teeth against that same spot. Ray gasped, and made a soft sound in his throat which emboldened Ben. He dealt efficiently with the knotted belt and the robe fell open.
        He leaned forward over Ray's shoulder, relishing the view. Despite the odd ambiguity of his demeanor and his intensely lovely eyes, Ray was lean, tawny-pale, and strongly masculine. Just the opposite of Ben, who, although he knew he was reasonably fit and well made, had been teased about his smooth, white skin, his lack of body hair, the fact that he was almost femininely pretty. He smiled a little, thinking about the old adage of opposites attracting. That was never more true. He had to share his feelings, though, couldn't let them go unspoken.
        "You're so beautiful, Ray."
        Ray laughed, shaking his head and Ben tightened his arms around him. "You are," he whispered emphatically, licking Ray's ear, as he brought his hands up to Ray's shoulders. Sensing the anticipatory tension in Ray's body, he slowly let his hands range down his partner's chest and belly finally brushing lightly over the arching thrust of his cock for a moment before closing around him. Ray groaned softly, eyes squeezed shut as Ben stroked him with gentle fingers. Ben couldn't look away from the thick, hard shaft in his hand.
        Imagination supplied a hint of what Ray might feel like in his mouth, what he might taste like, and Ben moaned, too. Taste. He wanted that so badly. Needed that, so badly. At his moan, Ray shuddered, his cock jerking in Ben's hand, not coming, but very close. Ben stopped stroking, it was too soon for that. He wanted so much more, but he didn't move his hand away.
        "Ben, please. Let go."
        Hearing the rough plea in Ray's voice, Ben reluctantly released him, worried that Ray was changing his mind. Instantly Ray turned, took Ben's face between his hands and brought his mouth against Fraser's, parting his lips with a maddening tongue. They rocked together, his hips against Ray's narrower ones, the unfamiliar hardness of Ray's cock against his own through layers of wool and cotton. After a few moments Fraser pulled his mouth away, gasping for air, and Ray went after his collar bone, the only part of Ben's body that was exposed at the moment, kissing it, licking it, sucking it. But that wasn't what Ben wanted, or needed. The thought of tasting Ray was nearly an obsession now. He tried to pull away.
        "Ray."
        Ray didn't stop.
        "Ray, please." He was startled by his own voice, husky, low, needy.
        Ray slid a hand down Fraser's back, cupped one of his buttocks, those long fingers spreading out, dipping just a little between . . .
        "Ray!" Ben moaned, still trying to pull away.
        Surprisingly strong, Ray wouldn't let him move as his other hand moved up to start unfastening the buttons on the henley. Rational thought began to desert him as Ray got the buttons open and licked at the hollow of his throat, hands coming up to push the braces off his shoulders preparatory to grabbing his shirt and hauling it off. Ben shuddered. No. His turn. He had to do this, had to have this. . . to taste. He had to taste.
        Catching Ray's hands in his own, he held them away from his body as his mouth met Ray's in a blistering kiss, hard, and hot, and almost painful, then he was sliding down to his knees on the floor, and leaning in and filling his mouth with the hot, hard thickness of Ray's cock. Yes. This was delight. This was what he needed, wanted, craved. The salt-sweet taste of him, the feel of him on his tongue, the satin of him against his lips. Yes. Perfect.

* * *

        "Holy . . . Oh God. . . Oh. . . fuck, Fraser! Ben!"
        Not even Ray's wildest fantasy had included this. Ben on his knees, fully clothed, one hand wrapped around his cock, pumping as he took Ray into his mouth, sucking, licking, the other hand cupped over his ass, urging him forward into that sweet, wet heat, that suction, that incredible tongue stroking the perfect, perfect spot on the underside of his penis. Ray grabbed the roll-top desk with one hand, flattened the other against the wall, trying desperately to stay on his feet as the sensations threatened to overwhelm him. He could feel the pleasure rising, and knew he wasn't going to last two minutes at this rate.
        "Ben, ohgodohgodohgod. . . please, you gotta stop, stop now!"
        He stopped. Ray dragged air into his lungs, shuddering, as Ben slowly let his cock slip from between his lips. Okay, okay, slow down. Just take it easy. He tried to think of some joking comment to tone things down, only to find himself watching as Ben brought a hand up to his mouth, very deliberately sucking on his own fingers.
        That didn't register as anything but an incredibly erotic display of orality until seconds later when those lips were back on his cock again, the dry hand was once more stroking him, and then those wet fingers were sliding between his legs, between his cheeks, and one finger was circling slickly, and then pressing in. For about a tenth of a second he was shocked, and started to tense, but then sensation kicked in and it felt incredible, leaving him wondering what it would feel like to have Ben's cock there instead of his finger. That was all it took. Pleasure exploded through him like a gunshot and he was coming in hard, dizzying waves.
        Somehow Ray managed to stay upright with only minor knee-buckling. He was very, very glad of the wall and the desk, though. He watched as Ben slowly released him, leaned back in for a moment to take the last welling droplet, then sat back. His thumb wiped from the corner of his mouth inward, his tongue flickered across his thumb, then across his lips. His eyes were half-closed, his expression stunningly self-satisfied. It struck Ray that Ben looked for all the world like Diefenbaker did after enjoying an illicit doughnut, and he realized with complete amazement that Ben had obviously enjoyed the hell out of what he'd just done.
        That was one blow too many for his still-wobbly legs. He winced a little as his knees hit the floor, then he leaned forward and sealed his mouth over Ben's, kissing him deeply, meaningfully, thumbs stroking his jaw, urging his mouth wide, searching out his own taste in Ben's mouth, finding that unbearably erotic. If he hadn't just come, he probably would have again, just from that. Finally he pulled back, shaking his head.
        "You're nuts, Ben, completely nuts."
        Ben blushed. He blushed. After what he'd just done, the man blushed? Ray pulled him close, burying his face in the smooth curve of trapezius muscle, smelling the rich, warm scent of him. Starch-wool-cedar-soap-Ben. He knew that smell like he knew his own. He rubbed his nose along the line of Ben's shoulder and sighed.
        "Love the way you smell. I'd know you blindfolded." Heat against his skin. Another blush. Ray lifted his head, looked into Ben's eyes and shook his head again. "What got into you?"
        Completely flushed and flustered, Ben's lashes came down to shutter his gaze in a look that on anyone else would have been coy, but Ray had already seen the flash of guilt in those storm-blue eyes.
        "I just . . . I just had to. I needed to. I'm sor . . . ."
        Ray plastered a hand over Ben's mouth before he could complete the word. Arranging his face into its most threatening mien, he leaned forward. "Do not, ever, say that word to me again, unless I say you can. Got it?"
        Ben nodded, wide-eyed. Ray eyed him a moment longer, then lifted his hand. "Good. I mean it. I am sick of you apologizing for stuff you have no need to apologize for." He shook his head, still amazed. "I mean, do you have any idea how it makes me feel to know that you wanted me that bad? Skinny, weird-haired me? It's like. . . I don't know, I got nothing to compare it to. It's just . . . well, fucking amazing. 'Scuse the French."
        Ben's eyebrows lifted. "I don't believe that word is French, Ray."
        "Nah, really?" Ray said trying to keep a straight face.
       &