"Nevermore"
By Viridian5

Started: 3/00
Finished: 12/6/01

RATING: NC-17; Fraser/Kowalski. If m/m interaction bothers you, walk away now.
SPOILERS: Especially "Call of the Wild," but this one deals with just about the whole series.
SUMMARY: After returning to Chicago, Fraser and Ray try to deal with their haunted heads and each other.
ARCHIVAL/DISTRIBUTION: Serge and Bindlestitch. If some kind person feels that this story is appropriate for DSX and wouldn’t mind posting it, that would be great as well. Anywhere else too, as long as you ask me first.
FEEDBACK: can be sent to Viridian5@aol.com.
DISCLAIMERS: All things due South belong to Alliance no matter how much I want Ray K to belong to me. Music used in the story that’s not identified in the text consists of "Superstition" by Stevie Wonder; "A Love Bizarre" by Sheila E. with Prince; "Punk Lolita" by The Heads with Debbie Harry, Johnette Napolitano, & Tina Weymouth; "Juke-Joint Jezebel" by KMFDM; "Neurozone" by Chemlab; and "I Wanna Be Sedated" by The Ramones. Blade Runner belongs to Philip K. Dick, Ridley Scott, Hampton Fancher, Blade Runner Partnership, The Ladd Company, and Embassy Pictures Corporation. No infringement intended. Suing me would be a waste of time. Besides, I’d just kick you in the head.
NOTES: Fourth in the Borderlands (One for Sorrow) series after "Amigos," "One for Sorrow," and "Long, Long Way from Home."

That bit in "Call of the Wild" where Fraser reveals the cast’s futures doesn’t work for me, even aside from Ray Vecchio coughing up an actual golden bullet, he and Stella going to Florida to run a bowling alley, and Frannie’s immaculate conceptions. So some of these were changed here. Besides, some of the futures had to unfold over years, so when is Fraser telling us about leaving with Ray to look for the Hand of Franklin? Given the holes and improbabilities, I took liberties.

The Rachel Walker here and her past with Ray are parallel to what’s mentioned in "In a Box," but "In a Box" is not part of Borderlands. That’s the way things work out when you write so many "Call of the Wild"-related stories. <g>

Thanks to LaT and Kit for beta above and beyond. Thanks to realitycek, LaT, Kass, Kasha, Beth, and Pares for support and insights. Thanks to Ladonna and realitycek for help on the mystical stuff and to my brother on the Army stuff. Kasha suggested what Walker’s tattoo should be and that they play at a yuppie pool place. The Cure’s "Watching Me Fall" influenced the parliament of ravens dream and Ray’s morning identity crisis, while the Fraser/Ray club scene was set to "Silence (Airscape mix)" by Delerium featuring Sarah McLachlan. Sometimes Fraser’s theme song is "No Big Bang" by The Heads with Maria McKee. Switchblade Symphony’s The Three Calamities is the official soundtrack for the Borderlands (One for Sorrow) series. I wish I’d discovered Poe’s Haunted earlier, because it’s perfect, but at least it had a huge role in writing the final bits and editing the whole.

===============================
"Nevermore"
By Viridian5
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"He said true things, but called them by
wrong names."
-- Robert Browning

"Devotion isn’t what it seems
(I broker off my broken dreams)...."
-- "Sanctuary (Spent Sperm Mix)" by Pig

"There is nothing like desire for preventing the
thing one says from bearing any resemblance
to what one has in mind."
-- Marcel Proust
---------------------------------------------------

As we walked down the hall, Ray jiggled his keys, making them chime in what seemed to almost be a melody, as he said, "It was weird as all hell riding in something that didn’t have a team of dogs pulling it. I miss the dogs, Ben. I know they were just loaners from the RCMP, but I got attached to ‘em."

"They’ll be well cared for."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Just not by me. It’s not the same. Y’know?" Diefenbaker nuzzled Ray’s hand, making him smile. "Yeah, I know I still have you." Ray unlocked and opened the door with a small flourish, grinning. "Home again."

As soon as he entered the apartment, Ray set his bags down on the floor and was in motion again. I hadn’t seen him this energetic in some time. He stopped at his turtle’s tank, whispering things under his breath in such a soft voice that I only made out the occasional use of the turtle’s name, "Spike." He picked up the TV remote and clicked through 67 channels at high speed.

"Ray!"

Ray turned the television off. "Sorry. Amazing how there’s nothing on, right? Or maybe not. Same old, same old."

Then Ray swooped toward his stereo, sorting through CDs at high speed. I knew he’d missed many things during our quest, but his music had to be high on the list. He turned the volume up as his first selection, something funky with guitar and horns, came on. Strutting music. As Stevie Wonder sang about superstitions, Ray’s smile was so wide it should have cracked his face in half. I saw a light in his blue eyes that had been absent for too long.

All this, and I hadn’t even put my own bags down yet. He made me so dizzy that I wanted to tell him to settle somewhere, but I also found it hard to discourage his display of fevered enthusiasm. This was Ray without the hauntings or depression, my Ray. And he was happy.

Happy in a way he apparently hadn’t been in weeks.

As I set my bags down by the door, the song’s lyrics started to disturb me even though the music itself sounded like something to dance to. "Rid me of the problem, do all that you can / Keep me in a daydream, keep me goin’ strong / You don’t wanna save me, sad is my song / When you believe in things that you don’t understand / Then you suffer..." I shook my head. I suspected that anything would sound sinister in my current state of mind, and I was being unfair to Ray. Again.

Was I really unhappy because he was happy? Of course he was happy; he was home. I didn’t deserve him if I could be so petty and miserly. Grow up, Benton. It wasn’t as if you weren’t accustomed to disappointment, and you were expecting this one.

"I’m starving." Ray picked up the phone. "You hungry? I’ve been dreaming of pizza for two months. I’d kill for a bit of pineapple." Dief barked, making Ray grin. "Well, we got one in agreement. Shoulda known he’d be back to his old habits once you got him back here."

Ray continued to pace the width and breadth of the apartment through his whole phone call, and somehow I couldn’t help remembering the protective circles he’d drawn around our camps. As if he walked the borders of his home to reconsecrate it with his own spirit.

Ray rubbed his hands together in glee after he put the phone down. "This way we get dinner, plus cold pizza for snacks later on. The gift that keeps on giving."

"Cold pizza is disgusting, Ray." When he opened his mouth in a retort, I said, "And I don’t want to hear about my milk drinking habits. You always use that against me. It’s old."

"Okay. I’ll just have to talk about how you lick stuff off the street and call us even instead." He shook his head. "You never gave cold pizza a chance. It rocks."

Ray became a dervish of action as we waited for the pizza. He crisscrossed the apartment to take out plates and glasses, unpack his bags, and change CDs. He kept switching off on these activities, leaving bags partly unpacked to go to the kitchen to bring out oregano, then returning to the bedroom and the bags. I hadn’t seen him this manic in some time, and the thought of his inevitable crash worried me.

Suddenly I had a Ray straddling my lap, looking into my eyes. "What’s up?" he asked.

"Hmmm?"

"You look down."

"Just thinking."

"The look on yer face makes me glad I don’t do much of that."

"Really, Ray."

"I tease you all the time; I can tease myself." At my raised eyebrow, he sighed and said, "You know what I mean." He was still dancing a bit, this time to a jaunty tune featuring two singers saying something about everyone wanting a "love bizarre." The saxophone especially made it quite catchy.

"Of course."

"Missing Canada?"

"No." My answer was honest... and surprising even to myself.

Ray leaned in closer, his hands on my chest. "What, then?"

"I still worry about you."

"I’m good. Hey, feel my hands." Ray put them at the sides of my face. "Warm, see? First time in months. I feel good."

Unable to resist, I stroked his hair. "You do. Feel good, that is."

Ray grinned. "That’s my Mountie." His kiss started gentle but soon ratcheted up in intensity, with his tongue stroking mine. My hand gained a mind of its own and gripped his long-untrimmed hair to keep his head close to mine. I liked it longer, the way I could wrap its strands around my fingers and take hold, a comforting thought considering how Ray had moments when he was as difficult to hold onto as a hummingbird. Ray moved away a bit to murmur, "Gotta let me go, Ben. Pizza’s here. Guy wouldn’t’ve gotten here this early if we hadn’t started making out, but we did and he did and so here we are."

"I don’t hear a--" Then I did hear the door buzzer. Yet more proof of how thoroughly Ray could distract me.

Despite his rhapsodizing over pineapple, Ray had wisely ordered ham and pineapple on only four slices instead of plunging back into eating rich food with a whole pie of it. The way he savored his pizza almost erotically would have seemed silly if I hadn’t been so engrossed in the varied flavors and textures of my own. After two months of trail food, the tangle of spice and sweetness shocked my mouth. We ate slowly but lavishly, demolishing most of the pie.

I ignored Ray surreptitiously slipping a slice to Dief. If Diefenbaker became ill later, Ray would have to clean it up himself.

Finally Ray asked, "You done?"

"I am replete."

"I’ll take that for a yes." He closed the box, stretched, and said, "I love pizza, but I hate the aftertaste of the cheese and oils. And the smell on my hands. Forgot about that."

That stretch had briefly bared his belly to me. The glimpse of skin and his obvious contentment sent my thoughts in a certain direction. I took his hand and set it under my nose. "It seems fine to me."

Ray smirked. "You’ve ‘lived among the musk ox,’ remember?"

"Perhaps I could do something about the taste in your mouth."

He had a wicked glint in his eyes. "I’m game." Ray laughed as I rushed him and pinned him to the couch, kissing him. His legs wrapped around me, but then one pulled away and kicked down. When I turned to look, I saw a closed pizza box and Dief looking very disgruntled. "Mooch was trying to take advantage," Ray explained.

"How does one develop the ability to kick pizza boxes closed without looking?"

"Long practice. Now shut up and kiss me."

I did so. My hands slid under his two shirts, immediately encountering warm skin, instant gratification. What joy to be able to do this without having to unfasten and unwrap various layers away from him first. I didn’t know if my self-control would be able to handle having Ray’s skin constantly within easy reach.

Ray’s deft fingers already had my jeans undone and slid in to stroke me. I writhed in his grip. I still couldn’t believe that I had him at last, that he knew how I felt and was mine. How many formerly impossible fantasies had involved take-out dinner and his couch? I smothered a laugh at the thought that I was here.

"Share, Ben," Ray said as he still lazily stroked me. "I wanna find out what makes you laugh."

"This couch figured in more than a few fantasies."

"My couch? Just my couch?"

"You were on it, of course."

"Good. I don’t wanna think I invited a pervert into my home. Tell me what we did on my couch."

"We ate first."

"Check."

"We mutually discovered that we wanted one another."

To my disappointment, Ray let go of me. "Another check. What did I do then? If it’s good, I wanna try it."

"It might take less time to recount what you didn’t do. I had several variations."

Ray toppled me over onto my back and started to unbutton my shirt. "This figure in any of ‘em?"

"A few. As a start."

"Cool. I wanna be thorough." Starting at my neck, he slowly kissed his way down to my penis. When he stopped there, breathing hotly on its head, he asked, "How about this?"

"Yes," I gasped. "Definitely."

He teased it with his tongue in small maddening licks.

"You did other things too," I said.

"Yeah, but we can save that for later. Right now, I’m taking advantage of your offer to help me clear the bad taste in my mouth." Then he swallowed me whole.

When I finished my shower and returned to the living room, I found him napping on the couch. While he looked rumpled, he’d pulled his clothes back together. He’d teased me about showering with me but forbore in the end, saying that we’d never get to actual washing before he passed out that way, and he wanted to clean the airport air off him.

He looked so much like Ray now, lightly clad, clean-shaven. Or at least as clean-shaven as he could get. He could have simply fallen asleep after a rough case. The stubble burn on my face, stomach, and most intimate places reminded me that things had changed, but at times our quest and all that had followed it--snow, peril, madness, tricksters, and Ray saying that he loved me--seemed like an insane dream.

Ray’s eyes snapped open, though he still looked drowsy. "Just napping." When he stood and moved in close to me, I could smell sex, sweat, and pizza on him. He made my mouth water. His nose brushed the line of my jaw. "You smell good," he said. "You always smell good, but this is a different kind. Warm, shower good."

His lips looked dark pink, and I couldn’t resist them. We kissed again, hungrily, then he sighed. "Too tired to treat you right like you deserve. Gonna shower." His hands moved to the towel around my waist, then stopped and abruptly pulled away. Ray grinned. "Gonna shower. See ya in a bit."

Once I dried myself and put on my nightclothes, I sat on the couch and tried not to listen to Ray showering, tried not to wonder if he thought of me now as I’d thought of him as I’d washed up. To my relief, the phone rang. I picked it up on the second ring. "Ray Kowalski’s residence, Constable Benton Fraser speaking."

"Benny! You still answer a phone like nobody else on the planet."

"Ray." I was so surprised for a moment that I couldn’t get my thoughts together. I hadn’t expected him to call our first night back. Truthfully, I hadn’t expected him to call at all, even though Ray and I had announced our return to several people.

Over all the time Ray Vecchio had been undercover, he’d only contacted me once, at the very beginning. Given the lack of any other communication, that one postcard had come to feel more like a slap in the face than anything else. When he’d returned to Chicago, I’d felt a distance between us, one that I hadn’t been certain could be fixed. Now he called me sounding exactly like his old self?

"Something wrong, Benny? Stanley’s not doing something weird to ya, is he?"

"Ray!" I refused to let myself wonder what "weird" things Ray thought my Ray might be doing to me. "No, he is not, and in any case he prefers not to be called ‘Stanley.’ His name is Ray. As your name is also Ray, it shouldn’t be so hard for you to remember."

Ray snorted. "Whatever. You coming to see me?"

In my resurgent surprise, I blurted, "Right now?"

"No!" Ray laughed warmly. "Damn, that must be some killer jet lag. Soon, though, right?"

"You want me to come to Florida?"

"Florida? I’m right here in Chicago. Unless you know something I don’t know."

That would teach me to take anything Detective Dewey said on faith. "You could blame it on the jet lag."

"It’s always something. So, you wanna come see me?"

My Ray had to see his parents tomorrow, and he’d mentioned a few other stops he wanted to make. "The day after tomorrow should be fine."

"How about six o’clock at the house? PM, Benny, not the morning."

"That... that sounds wonderful, Ray." Even in the moments of my deepest feelings of hurt and abandonment, I’d missed his friendship. I would grab at any chances he offered me.

"Great. See you then."

"Should I bring anything?"

"Just yourself and maybe the wolf."

"I can do that."

"‘Night, Benny."

"Good night, Ray." I set the phone down gently. I couldn’t help the feeling of warmth that suffused me, so I tried to enjoy it while it lasted.

It lasted a few minutes until I looked at the time and realized that my Ray had been in the shower for quite a while. Normally I wouldn’t worry, but he’d hardly been normal for the last month. I had to check on him.

If I transgressed, I could apologize later and live through his complaints, but if something had truly gone wrong and I hadn’t acted in time....

Clouds of steam obscured my view as I opened the door. I finally saw him once I reached the sink. "Ray!"

Looking tired and dazed, Ray sat on the edge of the tub with the water still running. He leaned his head against the tile wall as if he couldn’t hold it up on his own, and his eyes looked vague. "‘M okay. Just hit me all at once. Nice warm shower combined with the way that I was so jittery on the plane I couldn’t snooze while you were doing the Sleeping Beauty routine." As I turned off the water to retrieve him, he mumbled, "I’m fine. You don’t have to coddle me or nothing."

If I hadn’t been so concerned, I would have enjoyed the sight of his utter nakedness more. In the Territories, most of the time he’d remained almost completely covered up even during sex, simply moving the obstructive items of clothing out of the way when necessary.

I applied the towels to his skin and hair and smiled at the way it made him purr in contentment. Drying more vigorously only seemed to add to his enjoyment. It reminded me of the times I had to chafe warmth into his cold fingers. I enjoyed caring for him, making him comfortable.

"Up, Ray. You want to sleep in your bed, don’t you?"

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbled.

As I helped him stand and walk to his bedroom, I luxuriated in the feel of his shower-warm skin radiating heat at me, the brush of his damp hair against my neck as he leaned on me. Amazing how just the scent of his soap and shampoo could swamp me in such a wave of nostalgia and drown me under memories of Ray in the car in the morning as he picked me up at the consulate.

Ray fell asleep as soon as he felt his bed beneath him. Naked, smiling sweetly, he begged to be touched, but he needed his rest. He looked so defenseless, but perhaps he simply felt safe here in his own bed, in his own apartment, in his own city, in his own country.

I stripped naked and climbed in beside him to stop the thoughts whirling through my head and found a bit of success. He sighed and caressed my arm in his sleep. Unfortunately, it did nothing to stop my guilt. Not when just being here obviously helped him, while my own home simply hurt and tormented him. I couldn’t tell how long I lay there awake, stroking his hair, before I finally succumbed to sleep.

Nature called and woke me up. I smiled at Ben being in my bed with me and the fact that we were both naked. Guy was an optimist, and I loved him for it.

My sheets, my bed. Hell, the smell of my own laundry detergent.

Home. I was home, and I had Ben here with me.

I untangled myself from him, got up, stretched, and wandered into the bathroom, yawning. Seemed like taking a piss took forever, but that was okay since I took the time to appreciate that modern marvel known as indoor plumbing. You really didn’t know what you had until you were ass deep in snow trying to get to a latrine trench or outhouse.

As I turned to leave the bathroom, I caught a bit of my reflection and stopped dead. I didn’t know this guy looking at me from the mirror. I didn’t get many mirrors up north and definitely not many this big that let me see all of me at once. It let this stranger sneak up on me.

I was too skinny, and even the muscle I’d gotten from running with the sled and chopping wood only made me look stringier and gave me popping veins. After two months under a hat, my hair was so long it had gone floppy and so dark that it looked more brown than dark blond. If I hadn’t taken the beard off before we even got on the plane, I’d really be in shock now. But my eyes... my eyes were the worst. I couldn’t help thinking that I didn’t feel as haunted and strung out as those eyes said I was.

If I saw me walking down the street, I’d think about crossing to the other side to avoid me.

Holy shit, what had happened to me?

Ben came up behind me and put his arms around my waist, his head on my shoulder. "Are you all right, Ray?" he asked softly, his voice husky. He kissed the side of my neck up to my jaw.

And he was hard. Man could be an advertisement for Ever-Ready, not that I minded. He was depraved on account of being deprived for so long. And him being hard made me hard. Worked out well.

I leaned back into him and closed my eyes, blocking out the sight of myself. "I’m good. How ‘bout you?"

"I woke up when you left," he said as he nibbled at my ear. I must’ve looked okay to him, since he was hardly kicking me to the curb.

I just looked like shit to myself.

His hands slid down my stomach to my cock, which didn’t really care what I looked like in the mirror as long as it had Ben hands to make it happy. He was warm and solid at my back, a shield. I felt comfortable and safe here.

"Love you," I said. I could think about the rest tomorrow. Ben’s love, body, and totally welcome lust would keep me distracted for tonight.

The door buzzer woke me up. Door buzzers, what a concept. Who the hell could that be at... damn, 10 a.m. Me and Ben were being lazy here.

I tried to get up, but Ben held me tight. Turning around to try to reason with him made me rub against his morning wood. Wish I had time to do something with that. Still asleep, he smiled, sighed, and buried his head deep into my neck.

"Ben, I gotta get up and get the door."

"Hmmm?"

"Door buzzed."

"No such thing," he mumbled.

"Ben."

When it buzzed again, he grumbled but let me go. Who would have guessed that the only reason he used to get up so early was that he wasn’t getting any? Give him a steady diet of sex, and he’d sleep in till you kicked him out of bed. It made me smile.

As I got up and put on a pair of boxers and a robe, Dief jumped up onto the place I’d been and settled in. I hoped Ben was awake enough to know the difference. Looking in the mirror, I ran a fast brush through my hair. I didn’t have time to do anything about the stubble or the way I smelled like I’d gotten lucky. Or about the haunted look in my eyes. I pulled the robe shut tighter to try to hide the big bite mark on my collarbone.

This time somebody was knocking right at my apartment door. Jesus. I trudged to the door and opened it. Anybody who was that impatient could live with the sight of me in all my morning glory.

Instead I got a rib-cracking hug from my visitor. "Jeez, Ray, I’m glad you didn’t try to dress for company or anything," Frannie said.

I smiled but couldn’t help needling her a little. "I guess you’ve been saving up since yer real brother’s in Florida."

"Huh?"

"I heard about him and Stella going.... They didn’t, did they?"

"Who told you that?"

"Fraser, but he heard it from-- Looks like I’ll be showing up at Dewey’s comedy club after all. Damn. Making me think all that time that Stella had--"

"Well, the part about Ray and Stella being together was true."

"Wow, I’m having a great morning here."

"I’m sorry, Ray." She gave me one more squeeze, then let go.

"Nah, not yer fault Dewey’s a jerk and Stella’s moved on. Anyway, thanks for taking care of Spike, but I think you spoiled him. Now he won’t take food from me ‘cause he’s holding out for that attractive chick to come back for him."

I just hoped Mr. Bat Ears in there could hear us gabbing. Now would not be the time for him to walk out of my bedroom wearing nothing more than the marks of my lovebites.

Frannie punched me in the arm. "Oh, you...." But there was something off. She was upset about something and trying to hide it. Trying to be nice. She handed me a small paper bag. "I brought these for you. I figured you and Fraser would be tired by the time you got in, and I knew you didn’t have anything to eat in the house. They’re buttered rolls."

"We got leftover pizza, but this is so much better. Thanks."

"Fraser’s all right?"

"Yeah, he’s fine. He loved Canada, but we came back to Chicago to see what’s up."

"What’s up?" Now she started to sound upset.

"Uh, yeah."

"To see ‘what’s up’?" Frannie got this look in her eyes that usually meant she was going to go for something, full speed ahead. "I know, Ray."

"Know what?"

"About you and Fraser. God, I wouldn’t have dropped everything to stay in Canada with him even at my craziest, and you just did it, no looking back."

Not exactly with no looking back.... "It’s not what you think it is."

"You and Fraser are... are... involved with one another, a couple. Don’t lie to me about it. I’m not blind. Even if I didn’t have that whole Canada thing to go on, the fact that you have the world’s largest hickey on your collarbone would tell me. No woman has a mouth that big."

Jeez, it looked like she could definitely hack it at the Police Academy. "Frannie...."

"For the first month after I figured it out I wanted to strangle the both of you. I mean, there you were being the way you are right under my nose, and I’m throwing myself at Fraser the whole time...."

I couldn’t let her think we’d been laughing at her or anything. Time for honesty; I just hoped Fraser wouldn’t mind the cat being out of the bag with Frannie. He probably wouldn’t. "It wasn’t like that. I didn’t know myself until a few weeks with him in Canada."

"I knew that." But she looked happy that I said it. "Eventually."

"It’s true. We needed a kick in the head to see it too."

"Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me. But I started dealing with the two of you being... the way you are two weeks ago, and I think I’m fine with it now."

"I never wanted to hurt you with this." I wasn’t ever going to tell her that Fraser had been interested in her real brother; it might blow the top of her head off.

"Yeah, yeah, that’s what I figured. And I’m so over him. I mean, I figured out that if it wasn’t going to happen after so many years, it wasn’t ever gonna happen. You two happy?"

"He’s like nobody else I’ve ever known. You know. But I love him, y’know?"

"Yeah, if I’d taken the blinders off, I would have figured it out a long time ago. I knew he loved you; I just didn’t think it would be in that way...." Then Frannie cleared her head, came back from wherever, and said, "Ray, I’m not the first person in the squad room to wonder about it and put two and two together."

Fuck. Looked like I had another reason not to go down to the 27th. "People are talking about my sex life? Fraser’s sex life?"

"Yeah, and some people are being real jerks about it. I’m sorry, Ray."

It was just another reason not to visit the 27th, right? No biggie. Really. I took a deep breath. "How jerky?"

"Nasty. I’ve been defending your honor, but you can’t talk to people like that. Well, I mean, you can, but it’s not like they listen. It’s kinda like talking to yourself."

"Thanks, Frannie. Really." It took a weight off me that she was okay with us. I liked her.

She did this little pleased sway from side to side at my thanks. "But Welsh is looking out for you too. He can’t play favorites or anything, but he’s not letting people say things when he’s around. Tells ‘em it’s disrespectful, it’s not like we’re all in high school, and it’s not like the Chicago PD is paying them to stand around gossiping like teenagers at a slumber party, but I think it’s that he likes you guys too and doesn’t care who you’re messing around with."

"He’s a good guy." One of the best I’ve ever known.

"Yeah, and he’s wondering when he’s going to get to see the both of you."

"It may be a while. I have some things I gotta get out of the way first." And a lot to think about too. I had no idea where the hell I was going to be next week. Or tomorrow, even. If I went to the 27th, I’d get asked questions I didn’t have answers to.

"Just as long as you do it eventually."

"Yeah, yeah. Bossy much?" I never had a real sister before I took up the Vecchio gig, though Ray Walker had almost qualified for a little while. It wasn’t that bad at all.

Frannie grinned. "You need somebody to keep you in line."

"I often say the same," Fraser said as he walked out of the bedroom. "Good morning, Francesca." He looked perfect, every hair in place and his dark blue RCMP sweatsuit totally unwrinkled. He couldn’t have showered already because he’d have to walk out in front of us to get to the bathroom.

I mean, go figure. I looked like I’d been fucked senseless last night, while he comes out looking like Gym Teacher Ken, volunteering his time at the Y to help troubled youth.

I decided to be Zen about it and accept it as one of those mysteries of the universe. Besides, I’d rumple him again later.

"Hey, Frase," Frannie answered. She looked happy to see him but not predatory anymore. She used to look at him like he was catch of the day and she hadn’t eaten all week. It really seemed like she was over him. Good for you, Frannie. She also had this kind of smirk on her face, like she was saying that his neat, groomed look didn’t fool her for a second. "I came over with rolls for breakfast for you."

"Thank you kindly."

"But I have to go now. Work. You remember work, right, Ray?"

"Never heard of it," I said.

"See you soon?"

I gave her a friendly goodbye hug. "Sure." I ruffled the back of her hair just so she’d make a huffy protest.

When she pulled away, she looked at Fraser, realized he’d probably bolt if she tried to hug him too since he didn’t see the new her, and shook his hand instead. "Good to see you again, Frase."

Ben actually looked confused by her. I had to hide my smile.

"Ah, yes. You as well. Good day, Francesca."

She waved as she closed the door behind her, leaving one really amazed Mountie in her wake. I wondered if he’d miss his number one fan now that she’d been replaced by someone who didn’t need to maul him anymore. I mean, he’d always gotten that deer in the headlights look when she came at him, but maybe he’d miss the attention.

"Things change," I said as he turned to look at me.

"Indeed." His expression cleared, then turned smoldering as he got a closer look at me. "It looks like I despoiled you last night."

Reflex said to close the robe to hide the bite mark on my collarbone, but it made more real sense to leave it be as I leaned against the wall in what I figured would be an inviting sprawl. My dick approved and woke up even more. "I’m always up for despoiling in a good cause."

"Really." It came out as a deep purr against my neck, which was where Ben had ended up while I was talking. "Care to prove it?" His fingers slid under the waistband of my boxers.

"How do I know this is a good cause?" I felt a real pride that I managed to say a whole sentence while his hand played with me.

"I would never involve you in anything else."

"Oh sure. Meanwhile, we still have to clean up, get dressed, go see my parents-- Oh. Ohhhhh. Oh yeah, and do what yer doing right now, do a lot of that." I bucked as he started to do more things with his hand. Hot, naughty things to my dick and balls mostly.

His fingers slowed. "Are you sure?"

I pushed into his grip. "Yeah."

"You always tell me I shouldn’t be so slavish to orders." Dark, honeyed, clueless Mountie voice.

"If you pick now to try that out, you’ll go to that special hell they reserve for Mounties gone bad. And you’ll be sleeping on the couch too."

"At the same time? I wouldn’t want that. I also wouldn’t want to make us late for our visit to your parents and force you to lie about why. Perhaps I can find a compromise."

Ben dropped to his knees, pulled my boxers off with one snatch, and sucked me down. Him kneeling at my feet, looking utterly neat and unrumpled, with my cock sliding between his perfect lips as he worked me fast and dirty.... Too much. I managed to moan, "More people should disobey me like this," before I came. Maybe some day I’d ask him where he’d learn to give head like that and how many poor guys he’d left in Canada with the tops of their skulls blown off from it.

He let me slide down the wall until we were level with one another, and I tasted myself as we kissed. Then I had him on the floor beneath me and stroked his dick until he was a writhing, mindless puddle of Mountie. I also made him come in his sweatpants. Once his brain started working again, he raised an eyebrow as he noticed what a mess I’d made of him, probably thinking it wasn’t really fair since he’d sucked me off neat and clean as could be.

I grinned. "Had to be done. Now we take a shower--separately--and I start thinking what I could wear that’ll disguise the way you made a meal of me last night." Not that bad a start to my day.

As Ray had said last night, it felt odd to be traveling in something that didn’t have dogs pulling it. I missed them as well, though not nearly as much as Ray, who had seemed to bond with them, appeared to. Our ride to see his parents was canine-free, since we’d left Dief at the apartment to make sure the taxi driver would take us. I fully expected a sulking fit to greet us when we came back with Ray’s GTO.

Sitting next to me, Ray looked smaller and sleeker than my mind usually remembered him, but that was from the lighter clothing he wore in Chicago. It had only taken two months for my mental image of him to automatically include thick layers of protective clothing, making him a larger creature. Seeing him naked once in a while hadn’t changed that image at all. Now the sight of him kept surprising me, though not in an unpleasant way.

It seemed nearly obscene to see him wearing so little in public. I liked it.

The lack of bulk had returned his movements to the faster, more graceful ones he used to use. He also gestured more often again now.

Smiling, Ray stared out the window at the city. He nearly glowed in his happiness to be home. I’d hoped that the Yukon would engender similar feelings in him.... His hand rested over mine on the seat, his fingers idly stroking my skin to remind me that he was still with me or perhaps himself that I was still with him.

I’d panicked last night when I woke to find myself alone in the bed. He couldn’t have been gone for more than a minute and a half before his absence woke me. Then I’d barged in on him while he was in the bathroom. It didn’t matter that the door had been partially open; had it been closed I no doubt would have done the same, heedless of any wish for privacy he might have. I followed that by pawing him, needing to feel him.

In the Yukon, my worries would have been understandable. Ray could wander into a snow-camouflaged crevasse or a hungry animal’s path away from the camp or me. Did I expect him to fall prey to an animal attack or into a crevasse on the way to the bathroom?

If he had a hallucination instead, there was nothing I’d be able to do for him. The thought chilled me. Just because he hadn’t experienced any in the last three weeks didn’t mean they wouldn’t return. He’d continued to draw circular protective wards around our sleeping areas up to the last day we spent in Canada.

The things he seemed to see only increased my fears of losing him, mentally if not physically.

And my concern at him going off alone in his apartment wasn’t completely unjustified. He’d looked lost and upset as he stared in the mirror, and he’d thrown himself into sex with even more abandon than usual, as if fleeing something. Today I bore the signs of his passion in bruises and bite marks, as his body bore the marks of my eager reciprocation. He’d been wild, feral, demanding, as he drove me to madness. As remembering it this morning had aroused me again....

I would embarrass myself if I faced his parents while in such a state, erect and reeking of lust for their son, especially since my civilian attire lacked my uniform’s long tunic that could disguise so many sins. I fought down the memories of Ray riding me, the snug clench of his muscles around my cock, his sweat-slick skin burning beneath my fingers, the sweet sounds of his helpless pleasure--

I really had to stop this. I didn’t understand how I could still be so vulnerable after spectacular sex last night and another session only an hour ago. Surely it should have "taken the edge off," as Ray would say.

But no matter how much and how often I had Ray, I never seemed to lose my razor-keen desire for him. Like with an addiction, every taste only left me needing more.

Enough. I had a brain and a sense of propriety. It was past time for me to use them. Ray had distracted me from his troubles. I would simply have to ask him again.

Ray’s smile fled as we reached his parents’ trailer, but he quickly pasted it back on. I said, "Your parents will be happy to see you, Ray."

"Yeah. I’m just glad we’re not telling ‘em everything, not yet." Then his hand squeezed mine. "I’m sorry, Ben. We could, if it bothers you. Mum’ll be good about it; it’s just Dad I’m worried about."

"It doesn’t bother me." I understood his caution and saw no reason to give him more to fret about. He expected them to be upset enough already about him having suddenly run off to Canada with me two months ago and staying there. In any case, I saw no need to announce ourselves to everyone we knew. Our business was our own. We could deal with it as it arose.

"That’s great." As Ray paid the driver, he said, "I’m so glad to be back to American bills. The Canadian stuff looks like Monopoly money, and barter feels un-American."

Another subject change, and Ray no doubt felt that his playful jab at my country would derail my train of thought. I’d let him get away with it for now if it cheered him up. "American dollars are so unpleasing to the eye."

"They’re supposed to be useful, not pretty. Them being ugly makes it easier to figure that out."

"There’s no reason an item can’t be pleasing to the eye as well as useful."

"Government probably hopes that if they make ‘em ugly enough, people will be dying to spend ‘em to get rid of ‘em." Ray knocked at the trailer’s door. His smile faltered only a little as he saw his father and said, "Hey, Dad." I wondered if his casual air and tone fooled his father at all.

Damian Kowalski smiled, but his manner still seemed somewhat distant. His eyes, however, drank Ray in, scrutinizing him. The varying signals he put out confused me, leaving me uncertain as to his feelings about Ray’s homecoming. "Raymond. Glad yer home again."

As we walked inside, Ray seemed to loosen up a little. "Good to be home again. Where’s Mu--"

"Stanley!"

"Mum!" Ray said in greeting before his mother all but smothered him with a hug. "I missed you too," he gasped, his voice low and thick.

She clasped him tightly for a while before pushing him away a little to get an appraising look. "Did you eat at all while you were away? Come with me."

"Mum...."

"If you won’t take care of yourself, I’ll have to do it for you," she said as she started to pull him away with her. Ray gave me an apologetic look as his mother dragged him into the kitchen, but he looked pleased nonetheless. I envied him his relationship with her.

"Can I speak to you... Constable?" Ray’s father asked.

I pulled my eyes off Ray’s retreating back. "Yes, sir."

"I wanted to talk to you about Raymond."

This didn’t bode well. I played obtuse. "Yes, sir?"

"My Raymond’s a good boy."

"He’s a good man," I couldn’t help saying before I really thought. My time in the Territories with only Ray seemed to have broken down my sense of tact and subtlety. Stupid of me to bait Ray’s father, no matter how much I disliked him. Even aside from Damian Kowalski’s decision to punish Ray for becoming a police officer by withholding his love and presence for so many years, something about the man set my teeth on edge... but that gave me no excuse. Everything would be far easier if he didn’t hate me.

He only nodded. "Yes, he’s grown to be a good man. It’s my own fault that I didn’t stay to see that as it happened. But I think I still know him well enough.... He’s loyal, loyal to the point of idiocy sometimes. He’ll give ya as much as he can, then try to give more."

"He’s a good partner." I waited for the point. I feared that I already knew what it was.

"I understand him going to Canada with you, since you had a criminal to catch. Of course, if he hadn’t been with you, Canada never would’ve come into it, but all right. But then he gives a brief call to say he’s staying and doesn’t know for how long. Then he comes back two months later all skin and bones and with this look in his eyes...."

When he offered nothing further, I asked, "A look?" As much as I didn’t like the direction he seemed to pointing toward, at least by now I could be confident that he hadn’t figured out our secret before Ray was ready to tell him.

"Like he’s seen too much. Seen something he shouldn’t’ve seen." His own eyes seemed to burn into me. "I’ve seen him with you. He’ll do anything you ask. I’m asking you not to ask."

What look? I hadn’t seen any look, and I’d spent the past two months studying Ray even more than usual. How could Mr. Kowalski look at him for half a minute and come to the conclusion that I’d harmed him? "Sir?"

"Yer taking advantage of him and his loyalty. If yer a real friend, you’ll stop."

His effrontery actually set me back for a moment. "I am his friend."

"Then you’ll stop."

Outrage followed. How dare he? This man Ray idolized had thrown his son away, cutting off contact, ruthlessly punishing him for years for doing nothing other than making a decision about his future that went against his father’s wishes. The break had been so total and devastating that Ray had assumed the people at the 27th were playing a prank on them when they told him his parents were on their way to see him and wanted to talk to him.

Damian Kowalski had thrown away any right to speak about what would be best for his son years ago. He couldn’t even know what that would be. He was no kind of father to abandon his son so. Yet he found the gall to chastise me in the name of Ray’s "good."

Since Ray had taken on the role of Ray Vecchio nearly two years ago, I had become the closest thing he had to family in the absence of any true, close blood kin. Francesca became his sister for the sake of his role, but he chose me.

I was Ray’s family. As such, I had to rein in every dark impulse that coursed through my mind at this moment. I wanted to tell Mr. Kowalski that I intended to take Ray back with me to Canada where he’d never see his son again. I wanted to tell him that we were lovers and describe how sweetly and eagerly Ray welcomed it as I thrust into him....

But I shouldn’t. Must not. No matter how much dark pleasure it would give me to so upset Damian Kowalski, I would be hurting Ray as well, and I would never do that. Ray, of all people, had reminded me that confessions had proper times and places and ways.

I also understood that Ray’s father wanted me to start a fight. He would stand there and say horrible things to me in a calm, quiet voice until he won by provoking me into a fit of screaming nastiness. Ray, just in the next room, would inevitably hear the yelling and be affected by it.

Who would have thought I’d miss arguing with my own father so much?

Tension and violence just about vibrated in the air between us. We both wanted a fight; I knew that I couldn’t afford one.

Still, I couldn’t help the sharp tone in my voice as I said, "Mr. Kowalski--"

The door slamming open interrupted us. "Hey, Fraser, look at this haul," Ray said. He swung numerous shopping bags up for my inspection, then set them down on the dining room table. "Mum decided to give me half her kitchen since she thinks I can’t cook."

"I know you can cook; I taught you myself after all. I just know you well enough to realize that you didn’t go grocery shopping when you came in yesterday," Mrs. Kowalski said lightly as she interposed herself between her husband and me.

I wondered only briefly at their timing.

"You want me to be a blimp," Ray said.

"You’re too thin."

"You always say that."

"You’re always too thin. You missed Easter with us, so I missed a prime opportunity to fatten you up."

He currently was too thin. I’d have to see if I could amend that myself.

I tried to rein in my guilt at making him miss what sounded like a traditional family dinner but didn’t succeed. He hadn’t seen them in years, yet he’d missed a major holiday gathering with them to stay in Canada with me. I couldn’t help wondering if her statement had been a calculated shot at me. If so, it wasn’t completely undeserved.

The way Ray’s eyes dropped made me feel worse. "I’m sorry. I wanted to spend Easter with you, and it’s been so long--"

She looked upset at his reaction and kissed him. "It’s fine, and you had something very important to do. It’s certainly not your fault, Stanley," she said as she glanced at her husband. Damian Kowalski had the grace to look shamefaced for a moment before regaining what seemed to be his usual expression of irritability. She brightened again, and it seemed to have a reciprocal effect on Ray. "But you have to forgive your mother for wanting to make up for lost time and get some meat on your bones."

"Soylent Green is people, Mum."

"Oh, Stanley, when I say I could just ‘eat you up,’ I never mean it literally."

"Sure, that’s what ya want me to think. I’m not fooled."

Mr. Kowalski seemed as stunned by their energy and brightness as I was. Their strategy, no doubt.

Mrs. Kowalski gave Ray a big hug as she asked, "Oh, can’t you stay longer?"

"Afraid not. Have a lot of people I have to check in with. The GTO’s good to go?"

Neatly executed.

Ray’s father blinked. "Of course."

"Really appreciated you taking care of it while I was away. Thanks, Dad."

"Sure."

Ray’s mother stepped back into the kitchen and came out with a keyring that she lovingly folded into Ray’s hand. "Be good."

"Mum, I’m always good!" Ray protested but swept her into a tight embrace again. "I missed you," I heard him whisper. She smiled as he let her go.

Then, to my surprise, she hugged me. "Don’t let our son be a stranger, Constable Fraser."

Right to the heart. "I’ll do my best."

"Thank you."

Ray shook hands with his father and said his farewells. When he was done, I held out my own hand to Damian Kowalski in challenge. His eyes narrowed, but he shook my hand, squeezing painfully. When I squeezed back, his face went white. "Thank you, sir," I said blandly. "Have a good day." He said nothing as we left.

Ray put the food in the trunk then sat down in the driver’s seat with a happy sigh, stroking the steering wheel. But as soon as I settled into the passenger seat, he asked, "What did my dad say to you?"

"Ray?"

"Don’t play that with me. I can tell something’s bothering you, and you were fine until I left the room, so Dad must have been a jerk. I was expecting it even as I was hoping he’d behave. When Mum and me came out like we did just in case, I felt it in the room."

I still found Ray’s sensitivities and ability to see through my mask disconcerting. "He was worried about you."

"Yeah?" Ray actually grinned. "Really?" He sounded so surprised, so pleased.

So little could mean so much to him. The surprise in his voice made me hate his father even more. "Really."

"Okay, now get that look off your face. He can be a jerk sometimes, but I know Dad loves me; it’s just something I haven’t gotten used to again yet. Damn, I didn’t mean it that way. I meant--"

"I know what you meant," I said. I knew better than he did himself.

"Great. Saves a lot of time." Ray smiled a little. "I told Mum about us."

I felt abruptly warmer. "What did she say?"

"That if you didn’t treat me right, she’d hound you to yer grave."

"I doubt she said that."

"She said she’s happy for us and expects us to come to dinner sometime. You got any problems with that?"

"Not at all."

"That’s good, ‘cause Mum takes dinner very seriously. Now we go drop off Mum’s welcome-back food, pick up the furry guy, and get the day going."

Springtime in Chicago. I smirked at the pigeons on the make. The guys were puffed up to look twice as big as they were and did spinning, look-at-me dances on the sidewalk near any chick they could find, but the ladies weren’t interested. Knew that bit from personal experience. Didn’t stop the guys from sidling up to the next lady they saw. I knew that bit too.

A big black bird--not as big as One for Sorrow, thank God, so it was a normal raven or crow--sat on a nearby newspaper box. The crow gripped a big white thing in its beak that I took for a piece of Styrofoam but then dropped it onto the top of the box and pecked at it, making a delicate cracking sound every time. An egg. A pigeon egg, I guessed.

The crow dipped its beak into the dark hole and ripped out bloody, stringy gobbets of what would have become a baby bird, wolfing them down. Bright red stained the pure white shell. My own breakfast started to churn in my stomach at the sight and casual violence of it.

If I hadn’t already known it before, being in the Territories would have shown me that Nature wasn’t some pretty lady in a flowing robe with flowers in her hair and cute forest animals following her; she was a ruthless bitch who just didn’t care. If you were small and defenseless, that was your problem, though it wouldn’t be a problem for long because you’d pretty quickly become something’s lunch. But this... I felt like I should be doing something, but it was already too late. It had happened too fast.

The crow left the egg to fly straight at some pigeons near the curb, scattering them as it landed. Then it took off again, flying low over the sidewalk, scattering people the same way. Ben moved out of its way too, which made it a real bird, really there, but I just stood and watched as the gleaming black feathers nearly brushed my nose as it rushed by.

It didn’t return for the egg. The crow didn’t even finish off the egg, just killed it, had a light snack, and left the rest to rot. Killed it and didn’t even finish it.

No matter what kind of weird vision things I saw in the Territories, this didn’t mean anything; this wasn’t some kind of omen or anything. I mean, I once saw a crow disemboweling a rat on top of a gravestone years ago, and that didn’t lead to anything.

That I knew of.

"Ray?" Ben sounded worried and had that look that said, Ray, my friend, you wouldn’t happen to be going crazy again, would you? I must have been standing there staring for too long.

As a truck drove by, the egg rolled off the box and smashed to the pavement with a sharp cracking sound. Now only a sad pile of red-smeared white shell bits surrounding a red-black gooey mess remained of what would have become a baby bird if left to itself.

I swallowed. It meant nothing. It meant nothing. "Nah, I’m fine, Fraser. Let’s go in." I walked up the steps into the 23rd and back into the past.

Gee, I wonder if the rumors about me being gay have gotten here yet?

"Anyone who says he can see through a woman is missing a lot."
-- Mae West

I hadn’t seen enough American police district buildings to say for certain that they all looked alike, but the 27th and 23rd could have been twins. The color American officers called "institutional green" reigned here as there. The squad rooms shared a similar rowdy bustle of officers, innocents, and suspects.

Ray walked unerringly through the maze and mob but didn’t get far, immediately being stopped by a young plainclothes officer. "May I help you, sir?" the young man asked in a barely patient tone. "And you’ll have to remove the dog from the premises."

Ray quickly erased the irritation from his face, then said, "He’s a guide dog, and he stays. Me, I’m Detective Ray V-- Kowalski. Detective S. Raymond Kowalski. I worked here for a while, but I’ve been undercover for a long time. I see some of the people I’m looking for, but where’s Detective Rachel Walker?"

"I don’t know anyone by that name."

Only the restless movement of Ray’s fingers told me how nervous that statement had made him. "Sure, you do. She’s about my height but with black hair. All legs. Fidgets a lot."

"I’m afraid not." The young man looked suspicious now, while Ray seemed to be losing patience.

"Look, you--"

A large man came by and clapped Ray on the back. "Ray!"

Ray grinned at the newcomer. "Hey, Cameron. How’s it hanging?"

"Not bad, not bad. Leave him alone, Scoppa. He belongs here."

"If you say so," the young man said, doubt evident in his tone.

"Now scoot."

The young man gave Ray a hostile look before leaving. Ray just shook his head and asked, "Raphael, what’s his damage?"

"Been here for seven months, and we still haven’t rubbed all the green off him yet."

"Where’s Bernstein?"

"Transferred to Arson."

Ray’s eyes widened in disbelief. "Transferred?"

"Hey, you may be pretty, but he couldn’t wait for you forever. That’s one long assignment you had. Besides, they made him an offer he couldn’t refuse."

As I watched Ray stifle what appeared to be sadness and disappointment, I struggled myself with the thought of Ray having a partner before he’d met me. Of course, he had to have had one, my logical side reminded me, but my logical side had little to do with my relations with Ray. The way he’d spoken on rare occasions--since he rarely spoke of his professional work as Detective Kowalski during his time as Ray Vecchio--of his temporary pairings with Rachel Walker had allowed me to delude myself into thinking of him as someone who simply partnered momentarily with whomever was best for the job at hand. Never mind that I’d never seen such an arrangement in all my time around Canadian and American law enforcement agencies.

"Arson," Ray said. "Guess I’ll just have to pay him a visit there then."

"Except that I hear he’s out of town on some kind of convention for a week. The lieutenant might know."

"Yeah, gotcha. What about Gernand?"

"Transferred to Fugitives."

"Gambini?"

"Day off."

"Santiago."

"Back soon."

"Ramirez."

Detective Cameron looked down. "Shot down in a corner store a month ago. He wasn’t even on duty."

"Shit. How’s Connie?"

"She’s... doing about as well as you can expect."

"Damn. I was out of the country. Didn’t know. I’ll have to pay my respects to her." Ray swallowed. "Where’s Ray? Kid didn’t know her."

"Walker, Texas Ranger?"

"Surprised she hasn’t killed you for that yet."

"She’s a softy."

"Our Ray Walker? You gotta be kidding me."

"‘Course I am. Don’t think Irish is gonna be one of those people that time mellows out. She just finished a long-term assignment last week, so the kid never met her. She’s on leave right now. Let me tell the lieutenant you’re here."

"Sure. Announce me, Raphael."

Detective Cameron made a rude gesture before leaving us. I asked Ray in a whisper, "S. Raymond Kowalski?"

"I didn’t feel like going into the whole ‘yeah I know, Dad and Marlon Brando, I prefer Ray’ thing for the little bastard. He probably would have asked, and he wasn’t worth the time. I’m listed as ‘S. Raymond Kowalski’ on a lot of my paperwork anyway. ‘Sides, I’d already started to introduce myself as a Ray, just the wrong one," Ray whispered back.

I’d noticed that as I’d gone through his records not long after meeting him, trying to determine the mettle of the man who’d replaced Ray Vecchio. I’d seen him listed alternately as "Stanley R. Kowalski" and "S. Raymond Kowalski." The variations had made it even more important to me that he tell me his name and preferences himself.

Someone called from across the room, "Kowalski, to what do I owe the displeasure?"

Ray grinned. "Hey, Gee."

"I’ll be so glad when that show’s off the air."

"It’s a good show, and it’s not my fault you look like him. Besides, it’ll probably play on cable forever anyway."

Sporting an extravagantly long-suffering look that seemed to be standard issue for Chicago lieutenants, or at least the ones who knew my Rays, the man sighed. "In my office, Kowalski."

"Sound like him too. Can Fraser come too? He’s the guy who--"

"Both of you, then."

"I have him wrapped around my finger," Ray whispered to me.

"I heard that."

As we walked across the room, Ray whispered to me, "I call him ‘Gee’ because of a cop show called Homicide: Life on the Street. Great show. Dark show, but great. Lieutenant McNamera is a dead ringer for Lieutenant Giardello."

"Thank you, Ray." I appreciated it that he knew I’d ask, but it bothered me that I knew so little about things apparently elementary to Ray’s life.

He just shrugged, then closed the door behind us. "Ben, this is Lieutenant Thomas McNamera."

The lieutenant sat behind his desk and gave me a look that once again reminded me of Lieutenant Welsh. "So, this is the Mountie," he said.

"Yes, sir," I answered, "though I can’t see how you’d know that while I’m out of uniform."

"You still look like a Mountie."

"Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police."

Ray said, "And the dog’s a half-wolf named Diefenbaker, and before you ask, Dief’s a service dog, so he’s okay in the building. Kinda. I mean, he’s kind of a service dog, not that he won’t be okay in the building. Is Bernstein out of town?"

Lieutenant McNamera sighed. "I see you’ve been working on that problem you had with being impatient. I’m just glad no one ever got the bright idea of mainlining whatever kind of natural speed’s running through your veins."

"Just being direct."

"Right. He’s out of state at a law enforcement convention and isn’t due back for another five days, according to the grapevine."

"‘Cause you never keep up with the folks who leave your direct command."

"No reason to." Apparently Lieutenant McNamera’s gruffness covered the same large heart that Lieutenant Welsh’s did.

"Since the direct route is working so far, now I’m gonna ask where Walker is."

"Why didn’t I kill you years ago?"

"I suspect you just didn’t have any good places handy to dump a body in, sir."

"You bend real nice, so I’d only need a little hole. Nah, it’s not that. I’m probably afraid your ghost would haunt me, and that would have to be even worse. You, nattering in my ear until I die of the torture."

Ray shivered and made a quick--circular?--gesture with his hand, but his tone remained as borderline smart-ass as it had been moments ago. "Don’t know much about ghosts."

Lieutenant McNamera sighed. "It would be justifiable homicide."

"A jury of yer peers would have to decide that, sir."

"Not that it’s really any of your business, Kowalski, but Detective Walker just finished a long undercover assignment last week and is currently on leave. You could call her for more information on her current circumstances, but you know she’s not going to be able to talk about where she’s been and what she’s been doing for the last eight months."

"Gotcha."

"In fact... I would appreciate it if you’d check in on her."

"Bad one?"

"It’s not my place to say, Detective."

"Gotcha. Any of the other guys go see her?"

"A few. It’s not the same."

Ray seemed to be taking something from this conversation that bypassed me entirely. "Sure, Gee."

"Kowalski...."

"You love me, and you know it. I’ll go now to check up on Walker, just like you asked me to."

"Whenever you get obedient, I start checking my pockets."

Ray smiled. He seemed to smile at everyone here. "I’m hurt, really hurt."

"Not as much as you could be, Kowalski. It was good to meet you, Constable."

"The same, sir," I said as I shook his hand.

Looking supremely confident and comfortable, Ray waved at a few people as we left the station, while Dief and I trailed in his wake. Uncertain of the proper way to behave here, I simply followed in silence, still off-balance. As Ray had been forced to depend on me in the Yukon in unfamiliar territory, so now I was forced to rely on him. I didn’t like it much, and it gave me a greater respect for how little Ray had complained to me during that time.

As Ray unlocked the driver’s side door of his GTO a man walking by said, "Nice car, Kowalski."

Ray beamed. "Santiago. Been an age."

Santiago ruffled Ray’s hair over Ray’s protests, making me wonder if everyone who knew him apparently felt and indulged the need to touch him, then frowned. "It’s not the same when your hair’s so long."

Ray stuck out his tongue. "Do that again, and I’ll kick you in the head."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Hey, Fraser, this is Frank Santiago, who’s been with the 23rd forever. Real old fogey."

"Hey! I’m not that old."

"Fifty-something’s old. Fraser, Santiago’s the first guy who made me feel at home here when I made detective, kind of like a dad to me."

"If you were my kid, I’d take you over my knee."

"Keep yer fantasy life out of this. Santiago, this is Constable Benton Fraser."

Santiago had a firm handshake. "Never thought I’d meet the Mountie." He smiled at me. "Don’t look at me like that. The news uses you almost every time they have a slow day."

"I... see," I answered. Did Ray bring this out in everyone he knew from his old squad room?

"Hey, kid, you coming back here?" Detective Santiago asked.

Ray’s face briefly clouded, and that worried me. "Dunno yet. I’m kinda unsettled," Ray said.

"You’ve always been unsettled." At Ray’s long-suffering look, Santiago laughed and said, "We’d be glad to have you back, you know that, right?"

"Of course."

"Brat. Wish I could stand around and catch up with you, but some of us have work to do."

"Yeah, yeah. If you were smarter, you wouldn’t have to work so hard."

Santiago smiled and flipped Ray off before he went into the station. Ray’s old district seemed far more casual than the 27th. For some reason, it nagged at me. Everything about his previous life nagged at me.

But Ray already had the GTO’s door open. "You coming, Ben?"

"Of course." As I sat down in the passenger seat, I said, "I have a question for you, Ray." I had many actually, most of which I probably shouldn’t ask.

"Sure, shoot."

"I’m not sure how I should ask this."

Ray smirked. "It’s one of those questions? Just get it out."

"I’m simply hoping you won’t take it the wrong way."

"Now I’m really curious. Go for it."

I wasn’t sure which of my many questions would come out when I opened my mouth. I waited for it the same as Ray did. "I know you’re experienced in undercover work, yet you--"

"--played Vecchio as me with another name?" Ray sounded more amused than offended.

Of all the ones I could have asked, why that one? Maybe because it had been bothering me for some time. "No. Well, yes. I mean, that would be another question but not the one I’m asking. I’m asking.... Well, your emotions usually show on your face, which is actually one of the things I love you for--"

Ray grinned. "Sweet."

"But it leaves me to wonder if that might hinder you while you’re undercover."

"It’s connected to the other question. I started out the job getting a feel for Vecchio, but it didn’t take long before I realized that none of you wanted that from me, and I could get away with mostly being me. Which, lemme tell you, is a relief when yer playing somebody long term. What I usually do is become the person I’m playing. I’m not me pretending to be Joe Thug, I am Joe Thug, at least when I’m in front of other people. That way, whatever shows up on my face is the right thing. It works in my favor."

My heart went cold at the thought. "It sounds dangerous to you."

"It can be, especially over the long term. A year of being Vecchio-as-me left me mind-fucked enough on my identity; if I’d been Vecchio-as-Vecchio that long, I might be in the loony bin now."

Amazing how he could sound so nonchalant over words that left me so horrified. Horrified that his character could be so mutable, his very identity so at risk. Then I thought further about his comment that he’d changed his act as Ray Vecchio based on cues from me and the other people at the 27th and felt even worse. How far did he follow such cues? How much of the Ray I knew came from him responding to what he thought I wanted from him?

I calmed myself with an effort. Making assumptions often resulted in dangerous and self-damaging behavior.

In any case, I had no more time for my anxieties as we had arrived at our destination, no doubt the residence of the infamous Rachel Walker. Ray looked like he didn’t know whether he felt nervousness or anticipation as he got out of the car. This was the friend he had cast away completely on Stella’s say-so, and Walker hadn’t been very happy about it at the time. Understandably so. He hadn’t spoken to her in a friendly manner in years and no doubt felt anxious about the reception she’d have for him now.

I wanted to meet her myself. What little I’d heard of her from him suggested that I could learn a great deal about my Ray from observing her.

Ray pressed the call box’s button and leaned in close to listen. Not that he needed to, since the box squawked loudly before a breathless, husky voice, crackling with static, backed by pounding music, said, "Hello?"

"Hey, baby," Ray purred, grinning, using bravado to get him through. It often worked.

"What? You-- Son of a--" The voice calmed. "I’m not playing Beavis for you, Butthead."

"Yer breathing kinda hard. You involved in something," Ray paused for a long, significant moment, "personal up there?"

"I’m flipping you off. You just can’t see it." Despite her words, she sounded amicable.

"Sure, I can."

"Actually, I am involved. Get your skinny ass up here and join us."

"Uhm, I brought company. I’d have to clear it with him first."

"You let me--" She sighed. "Sorry, whoever you are. I’m sorry you have to know Ray."

"Hey!"

"I’m exercising, nimrod."

"I’m sorry, ma’am. We could come back another time," I said into the box.

"No, it’s fine. Lemme buzz you up."

After a sharp buzzer sound, Ray opened the door and motioned me to follow him down the hall. I asked, "That was a friendly conversation?" The elevator door closed behind us.

"Sure, it was. Ray’d think something was wrong if I didn’t tease. Hell, she gives as good as she gets, so it works out. It’s a... it’s a kind of brother/sister thing."

"So if you two try to kill one another, I shouldn’t worry, then."

"Pretty much."

"We should have called first."

"Nah."

"We’re interrupting her exercise program. Hmm. Are you sure you two are so much alike?"

Ray smacked my arm as he left the elevator. "Comedian." He walked down the hall without looking back, confident that I’d follow. I didn’t know whether I should have been pleased by his trust or annoyed at his presumption.

The woman who opened the door didn’t fit my expectations at all. My expectation had been a literal physical copy of Ray: short-haired, blonde. Ray had mentioned black hair while we’d been at the 23rd today, but I’d had months prior to that to form a mental picture of her. To my chagrin, for some reason I’d thought she would be more masculine. She also looked younger than I’d expected. No doubt her being sweaty and flushed from exercise skewed the first impression somewhat, but the black-haired, fine-featured woman with dark green eyes standing in front of us surprised me.

However, she was as tall and rangy as my Ray, and her presence seemed to hum with a similar energy. They dressed in a similarly casual style.

"Ray!" they both seemed to say at once.

They grabbed one another, then Ray picked her up and swung her around the living room. Once he put her down, she slapped the back of his head.

"Hey!" my Ray protested.

"You could have called. This morning. Or hell, any time over the past three years." She quickly reached under his jacket and pulled out his cell phone. "See, you can use something like this to contact people. You just press a few buttons...."

Ray grabbed his phone back. "If the cop thing doesn’t work out, you could always become a pickpocket."

"It’s my golden parachute. Where’s your manners?"

"Huh?"

"Okay, that was a dumb question. Let me try another. Who’s your friend?"

Ray introduced me yet again, his tone faster than normal. The repetitions were no doubt wearing on him. "This is Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police. He first came to Chicago on the trail of his father’s killers, and it just got weirder from there."

"Pleased to meet you," she said, shaking my hand. She had a firm grip, with calluses, and short, blunt-cut bare nails on her long fingers. They were working hands.

She did seem genuinely pleased to meet me, while I still wasn’t sure what to think of her. It didn’t help that her friendly eyes looked at me in a way that somehow reminded me of my own Ray’s. Assessing, yet not judging.

"Ben, this is Rachel Eileen Walker, formerly the other half of the Tigger Twins. Me being the first half."

"First? Ha! My tail’s still full of springs. How ‘bout yours?"

Ray smirked. "Sometimes."

"Then you’re getting old, Ray." Then she smiled back at me. "You can call me ‘Ray’ or ‘Walker,’ whatever floats your boat."

"I’ll call you ‘Walker,’ then." There was no way in hell I intended to call her "Ray."

"That’s good. Doable. ‘Fraser’ or ‘Benton’ for you?"

"‘Fraser,’ if you please." I ignored the look Ray shot me.

Dief barked indignantly, so Ray said, "And that’s Diefenbaker."

"He’s beautiful. Does he mind being petted?"

"Mind? If you pet him and feed him, we might have trouble bringing him back home with us. Give him donuts, and we’ll need a crowbar to pry him offa you."

Diefenbaker, the traitor, luxuriated under her scratching fingers just as he did under our Ray’s. I couldn’t watch.

"Wait a minute. You forgive me?" Ray asked her.

"Huh?" she asked.

"I tossed yer friendship aside and treated you like shit, but we’re buddies again just like that?"

"Disappointed?"

"No but--"

"If you want a spanking, I’ll have you know I charge for that."

"Why is everyone talking about spanking me today?"

"It must be something about you, Ray."

"Yer forgiving me like this is a guilt thing, isn’t it?"

"Hell, yeah. I want you to squirm with shame as you think of how badly you treated someone who’s as generous and big-hearted as I am. Don’t stress over it, Ray. I’ve had DIs who could reduce hardcase recruits to blubbering wrecks, so you tossing me aside, then taking your divorce out on me really doesn’t rate that high. Besides, I was on assignment away from you during most of your divorce angst anyway."

"Uh. I’m really sorry. I was a real shit to people but especially to you," Ray said, looking down at his boots. As much as I wanted to leap to his defense, I wasn’t sure if I had the right here. Or if Ray would let me.

"We all understood, and it was years ago anyway." Walker smiled and ruffled his hair. "Hey, I wasn’t even gonna get into it if you hadn’t brought it up. Make it up to me somehow, and we’ll be fine."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. We’re good. Really."

Ray slowly started to smile again. "Coolness."

Walker freed her hair from its tie, ran her hand through it, and grimaced. "I’m sorry to take off like this, but I just need a quick shower."

"We can’t stay long," Ray said. I couldn’t help my relief.

"Nah, I gotta do this anyway. Won’t take long. Ray, everything’s exactly where it was the last time you were here." As she turned to go and flexed her shoulders, the movement of one her tank top’s straps unveiled more of the black swirls of a small tattoo on her right shoulder blade, but not enough for me to decipher it.

"That was three years ago."

From the bathroom she shouted back, "So sue me. I was never one of those people who wanted to be surprised in the kitchen. No ‘Hey, where am I gonna put the sugar today?’ Look, I can be adventurous in other parts of my life."

Ray suddenly said to me, "That’s an Eye of Horus."

"Excuse me?"

"The tattoo on her back. It’s an Eye of Horus. We..." Ray paused. "We share an interest in Egyptian stuff."

I knew Ray well enough to know that he’d originally intended to say something very different. What, I wasn’t certain.

My Ray stopped at the kitchen doorway and did five chin-ups on a bar nailed in there, seemingly for just that purpose, before going in. I wanted him, but that wouldn’t be appropriate here. Diefenbaker leapt onto the couch, spun in a slow circle, then settled down and closed his eyes, instantly comfortable. I decided to take full advantage of the time alone to study Walker’s home.

While my Ray’s apartment immediately showed his personality and varied interests, what I saw of Walker’s apartment revealed very little with its light blue walls, bland modern furniture, and generic framed prints. It could have been a slightly scruffy waiting room for a doctor’s office. What was she hiding?

The lavish stereo system surrounded by CDs provided a better picture. While her selection shared some artists in common with Ray’s, some of the bands had aggressively strange names I’d never heard before.

Another small source of information came from the top of a computer desk, one of the ones you put together yourself from a kit. A plastic female action figure wielding a samurai sword guarded the laptop computer. Its molded-on outfit approximated purple-black leather midriff-baring ensemble that revealed a navel ring, stiletto-heeled thigh-high boots, fishnet stockings, and spiked shoulder guards. Its makeup painted one vertical half of its face white. A small item that resembled a straitjacket lay at its feet.

Two large, sheathed knives sat on one of the desk’s shelves. Unsheathing revealed them to be workaday instead of decorative. Well-cared-for and sharp as well.

A few framed photographs near the desk gave a few more clues to the person who lived here: Walker in a police uniform standing with an older woman, Walker in an army dress uniform standing near the same woman. One picture in particular captured my eye; it looked spontaneous instead of posed and stiff, as the others did. In it, a much younger Walker with short, spiky hair and black-lined eyes grinned as she rode piggyback on a young man who also wore eye makeup and all black. She wore a studded collar and a multitude of black rubber bracelets on each wrist. Another smaller picture of about the same age tucked into the side of the frame featured her in the same hair and makeup while wearing a schoolgirl outfit with its shirt untucked as well as a leather jacket, scuffed motorcycle boots, and torn fishnet stockings. While I’ve seen many schoolgirls who hiked their skirts up to be provocative, her red plaid remained at knee-length, its natural end.

I wondered if those two pictures made the toy make more sense.

"Fraser! I’ll be right back," Ray said. To my shock, Ray casually opened a door and walked into her bedroom, uninvited. I heard him mutter, "Huh, stars and masks are new." Still, the door was open now.... I hung back for a few moments, then looked in.

The rest of the apartment may have looked generic, but her bedroom showed character, as if she refused to show her true self to her casual guests and saved it only for those intimate with her. She had surprisingly classical mahogany furniture here. Small metal stars hung in what seemed to be patterns from the ceiling; the arrangement suggesting that the deep blue of walls and ceiling were meant to simulate an evening sky. Books and knick-knacks packed a set of shelves in one corner. A few masks hanging from the walls showed blue, green, and peacock feathers.

Ray stared at one, and I went cold at the sight of it. After the bright colors of the others, its black feathers seemed even more somber. Light from the window picked out the shine of black sequins around the eyeholes and the sheen of gold and green iridescence in the feathers. With its high forehead, pronounced eye ridges, and ear tufts it almost suggested an owl’s head, if that owl were utterly black, but it was still wrong. I tried to tell myself that at least it wasn’t designed to look like a raven; it simply sported black feathers on a generic mask.

Ray noticed me watching at last and blinked. Then his fingers combed the bottom feathers away to reveal black, plastic whiskers. "I think it’s really a cat mask," he said, and his voice almost sounded light and even. He took it down from its nail and turned it around to reveal that it truly was shaped like a stylized cat face. "They just glued feathers on it without even bothering to take the whiskers off. It’s not really a bird at all." He hung it back up and walked to some shelves, rifling through some large books, before taking one off it. "Got what I came for. Let’s stop invading Ray’s privacy and go back out."

Once he sat on the couch, Ray handed me a glass of water and opened what turned out to be a photo album. "We’re still invading her privacy, Ray."

"Yeah, yeah."

"She just--"

"The fact that she left me alone out here to look around means she trusts me and really does forgive me. We are good. It’s a big relief; I felt like shit about how I treated her." He flipped through the pages. "Hey, who took this?"

The photograph depicted a bloodied but still somehow visibly victorious Ray and Walker leaning against a car, both looking to the side at something off-camera. His leather jacket gaped enough that his gun and holster were visible, while she had her hand atop her gun in its holster. Dried blood spattered the side of Walker’s face and her white shirt. The photograph seemed to show a whole story in one iconic, captured moment with a style and compositional excellence that looked professional. A neatly handwritten caption said:
"‘Trigger Twins’ 9/16/94.
‘That’ll teach me to wear white.’ -- Rachel Walker.
Happy birthday, Ray! JH ‘95"

"Jesus, I remember that day," my Ray said. "Arrested a drug ring and saved some kids they’d been using as human shields. The standoff lasted for hours. Most of it was tense waiting with heavy gunfire now and then. Funny thing is, dangerous as it was, the worst injury our side had was Ray taking a piece of window glass through her eyebrow, though from all the blood I really thought she’d lost an eye at the time. That’s the small scar that cuts her right eyebrow in half. The picture has to be one of John Hamill’s, though. Crime scene photographer, he had a sweet spot for Ray but was too cool to say anything. Wonder if she has any more of his."

Ray started to flip again but soon stopped dead. "Damn, there’s Ramirez." The current photograph, an amateur one, showed a group of people, some of whom I’d seen at the 23rd, in a bar. Ray’s tapped one face in particular. "Can’t believe he’s gone, but, hell, the guy sitting on my other side here ate his gun a year after this shot was taken. Michael Johanek." The man had his arm around Ray’s neck in a mock stranglehold. "He was an ass, but...." Ray tapped Detective Ramirez’s face again. "Hope Connie’s doing okay. They were such a love match."

"Is Detective Bernstein in this picture?" I asked.

"Yeah, my partner’s sitting behind me, not that you can see him too good. You can make out bits of him."

I saw graying brown hair, a single brown eye, part of a nose, part of a mouth. A suit-jacketed arm holding a beer mug might be his. The man could stand in front of me now, and I wouldn’t recognize him from this.

Ray started to flip again, past more pictures of his fellow officers, vacation scenes, and people I didn’t know. I wondered if Ray knew all of them, if he’d been that involved in Walker’s life before he’d given up her friendship to appease Stella.

He stopped at another excellent photograph that had him leaning forward into the camera and grinning cheekily as he formed a perfect smoke ring while Walker, who also had a cigarette, rolled her eyes far in the background. From all the things he used to occupy his mouth--gum, lollipops, toothpicks, pens--I’d guessed he’d smoked at one time. The picture perfectly captured Ray in a giddy mood, and its caption read: "‘Blowing Smoke.’ JH ‘95"

Ray smiled and shook his head. "His work has coffee table books now. Wonder if these pics are worth something."

The album left me disquieted. The photographs showed Ray having a whole other life he’d given up to portray my partner. Every one showed him casually touching someone or being touched in turn, suggesting a network of friends and loved ones. Yet in all his time with the 27th, he’d only socialized with me or occasionally with me, Inspector Thatcher, and Turnbull. He’d seemed as much an outsider and loner as I was.

Ray snorted suddenly, inspiring me to look again. The photograph depicted Ray playing billiards, something I’d never seen him do. This picture made me need to rectify that. He leaned over a billiards table, sighting down his cue with a predatory glee in his blue eyes, generous mouth set in a dark grin, hip cocked arrogantly. He wore his glasses, suggesting a deadly seriousness about his game. Maybe it was better that I’d never watched him, because I didn’t think he could get much done then, not with what the sight of him looking that way would make me do to him. Other people, Walker among them, stood behind him, but they looked blurred, as if the camera had focused as ruthlessly on Ray alone as I did.

"That’s one of my favorites of Ray," Walker suddenly said nearby. "What?"

My face must have slipped. "You startled me."

"Uh-huh." She adjusted the towel she’d wrapped, turban-style, around her wet hair. Aside from the towel, she’d dressed up a bit in tailored pants and a blouse. I wondered if she’d done that from some assumption of my sensibilities. "If you want copies of anything, Ray, just ask and I’ll look to see if I have the negatives. Except for Johnny’s pics; you’d have to ask him for those, sorry. I can give you his number, though."

"I’m not really the picture type," Ray said as he quickly closed the book.

"‘Sokay. Looks like I didn’t need to tell you that mi casa es su casa, huh, Ray?"

"You love me and you know it."

"That’s the only thing keeping you alive. I’m glad my shower gave you enough time to poke around on your own. You could’ve gotten yourselves more than just a glass of water, though."

Ray shot Walker a look that went by so quickly that someone who didn’t know him as well as I did would have missed it completely. "It’s just that we couldn’t stay long. Sorry to interrupt yer routine and get you to shower and all that, but we have to go."

Walker nodded. "I get you." As Ray stood, she made a movement toward him that she swiftly aborted, stepping back further. "Don’t be a stranger. And it was nice to meet you, Constable."

While I walked out into the hall, Ray lingered a moment in the doorway. I heard Walker say, "I heard about Sam Franklin, and I’m sorry. I never would have guessed either. I’m glad you finally got the Botrelle thing off your back. It was good work."

"You knew that was us?" Ray asked back.

"Hey, you’re not the only detective here. Take care of yourself, darlin’."

Apparently lost in thought, Ray stood staring at the closed door until I asked, "Are you hungry, Ray?" It may have been petty to want his attention focused entirely back on me, but I couldn’t seem to help it.

He shook his head but then said, "I could eat." Ah. He’d used the motion to clear his thoughts instead of in answer.

"Chinese, perhaps?"

"As long as I don’t have to watch you eat some gross dish of real Chinese food, I’m good. The Americanized stuff is less scary."

I smiled to cover the disquiet the day had left me with. "I swear that I won’t order anything that would terrify you."

"You’ve been real quiet, Ben," Ray said as he unlocked the door to his apartment. "I had to dialogue for both of us, and when ya do that, it isn’t really ‘dialogue’ anymore, ya know?"

Indeed. Over dinner he’d told me that it had been strange but good to see his old comrades again, though it felt like forever since he’d last worked with them. He thanked me for encouraging him to touch ground with them. When I asked when I’d done that, he answered that I’d suggested it months before, during our long wait in the alley for Muldoon.

I had to learn to keep my big mouth shut.

"Simply thinking, Ray."

Diefenbaker sat at Ray’s feet with an expectant expression on his face, tail wagging. Ray smirked. "You just ate, you... you hound. Doggy bag’s for later. It’s the nature of the doggy bag. Far be it from us to fight nature, got it, guy?"

Dief made a disgusted sound and stalked off to the bedroom, probably to roll and shed on Ray’s bed in revenge, not that Ray minded all that much. Actually, Dief usually didn’t put much effort into his vengeance anyway since he knew he could wear Ray down into agreement later.

"Man, and I wanted kids once." Ray shook his head, then looked at me. "You’d let me know if something’s bothering you, right?"

Would you, Ray? Goose and gander would only be fair play. "I was worried about your behavior this morning, actually."

Ray quirked an eyebrow and set his hand on my arm in what seemed to be half comfort and half tease. How wonderful that I had someone who could touch me like that. "I thought you were really into that kinda thing, actually. Didn’t have any complaints at the time, that’s for sure."

I refused to let him deflect my inquiries by making me remember his throaty sounds of pleasure or the warm slide of his sweat-slick skin beneath my fingers and lips-- I would not. "I meant how you looked in the bathroom before that."

"Oh." Ray fidgeted.

"I ask you what you just asked me."

Ray looked miserable, so I stroked his hair. He made a small sound in his throat before saying, "I don’t know if I can explain it to someone else. Part of it came from it being like 3 a.m. or something. Everything seems scarier then. I just hadn’t seen myself for months, then there I was in that mirror and I looked like somebody different. It doesn’t sound like much now, but it wigged me out at the time."

I liked some of the changes his appearance had undergone in the last few months, like the now longer hair that I so enjoyed tangling my fingers in. However, I’d watched those changes overtake him slowly, while he’d been confronted with them all at once while in a fatigued and vulnerable state of mind.

"It was just a 3 a.m. thing," Ray continued. "You know, yer only half-awake, and you get a good look at yerself in a mirror for the first time in forever, and you don’t recognize the guy on the other side. I’m dealing with it, and it won’t happen again." Ray settled his hand on my waist. "Now, can I pounce on ya without you thinking I’m just trying to change the subject? Otherwise, you better get used to abstinence, because if I’m not giving it to you, yer not getting it anywhere else."

"You can guarantee that?"

"I can make sure. Count on it. And it seems to me that all suspicion and no sex would make Benton Fraser one really grumpy boy."

Could things really be so wrong if Ray could purr at and joke with me? "I could pounce on you."

Ray’s slow grin was sex and provocation all at once. "Prove it."

I did.

I smiled as I looked out over a pristine snowscape and took in a deep breath of pure, chill air. I felt giddy as I looked over the expanse of wilderness and clear night sky. Home. But I heard something behind me just under the sound of the wind. Whimpering. I turned to look.

Ray knelt, half crumpled, a shaking lump of black leather and moonlit blond hair against glittering white ice crystals. One hand clutched his stomach as the other clenched in the snow.

I crouched beside him and took him in my arms, holding tightly. "Ray! What’s wrong?"

"I don’t feel so good," he whispered as he shuddered. He made a sound of abject agony and shook harder. It suddenly felt like his whole body beat at me like hundreds of... wings?

Ray had exploded into hundreds of shrieking ravens, and they wanted to be free, even if they had to pummel and shred me to do so. They pecked at me in their struggle to escape, but I knew that if even one disappeared I would never be able to put Ray back together again. I struggled against the pain and held on, but they broke loose one by one, and each space gave the others more room to hit me with their glossy wings. As soon as I gripped one, two more escaped me, hurtling into the sky. Incited by the scent of blood, some of them tore my flesh and feasted before they departed. Despairing, I was left with only one raven clutched in my fists, and it promptly pecked my left eye out in an explosion of pain and blood. Cackling, it flew away.

They left me in a world gone flat and dull. The broad vistas I’d admired earlier seemed narrower, confining.

Ray was gone, and I didn’t know if I would ever get him back.

I crumpled in a puddle of blood the color of my tunic with a few iridescent black feathers clinging to my knees and hands. I closed my remaining eye and shuddered.

When I opened it again, I saw someone standing in front of me. I looked up and realized that the black-clad figure was Walker, who wore the raven-feathered cat mask that hung on her wall. The mask’s high forehead changed the dimensions of her face, making her look inhuman and pitiless, while her dark eyes, further shadowed by the pronounced eye ridges, were unreadable. One side of her face had been painted white.

Her red lips curved into a dark smile as she took a photograph out an inside pocket of her trench coat. My Ray moved, smiled, and laughed within it. Then she put it away again and exploded into a large flock of ravens herself, winging away from me and making flying shadows over the full moon above, taking my last sight of Ray with her.

I flailed out, reaching for Ray, as soon as I woke. He grunted as my hand slapped his arm in my panic but didn’t wake. He’d drifted away from me a little so he could soak up the sunbeams that reached only that end of the bed, reminding me of a cat dozing in the sun. Backlit, his head seemed to glow around the edges. The contented look on his face made my heart slow to a less punishing pounding. Tracing the angles and lines of his face further calmed me.

He was light and warmth to me. How anyone could call him "Stanley" when his chosen name of "Ray" fit him so well, I would never know.

I couldn’t sleep any longer, but he looked far too relaxed for me to wake him. Perhaps I should take advantage of this time to reacquaint myself with Chicago before meeting with my original Ray.

Remembering Ray’s reluctance yesterday to say he wouldn’t be returning to the 23rd, I had to see if anything or anyone kept me here aside from my Ray.

The thought of leaving Ray alone for however much time my pursuit took gave me a strange fear. This was ludicrous. No matter how much we loved one another or Ray joked of being joined at the hip, we could hardly walk through life manacled together. It would seem that I needed to do this alone more than I thought.

As I stood, Diefenbaker leapt up onto the bed and snuggled against Ray. "You could use a walk anyway," I said. He gave me an annoyed look and curled tighter against Ray. "We’re leaving after I get dressed." He mumbled something derogatory behind me. "Language, Dief."

By the time I returned, Ray had awakened, though he still looked sleepy-eyed. The sight of him, languid and tousled--well, more tousled than usual--made me want to crawl back into bed and let him undress me. He looked up from ruffling Dief’s fur and asked, "Vecchio wanted to meet you this early? Didn’t seem like the type."

"You’re right on that."

"Then what’s up?"

I looked for a way to say this without sounding insulting. Ray saved me the effort. "You want to see the city on yer own for a bit? I get that."

"You do?"

"Sure. Besides, we’ve been welded together for the last two months, and that’s not healthy."

It only remained my fondest dream, though I understood that Ray and I had some differences. Those differences made our relationship more interesting.

Truly.

"I’ll see you later, then, Ray."

"Yeah, enjoy yer day."

"Come along, Dief." Diefenbaker whined at me and snuggled in closer to Ray, who seemed to find it all hilarious. "Dief." He grumbled and jumped off the bed, giving me a resentful look.

I meant to give Ray a quick kiss goodbye, but it became something long and heated. I well understood why Dief would prefer to spend the day burrowed against Ray’s side. Ray had one hand gripping my collar and the other rumpling my hair. I had to stop this.

I untangled our tongues and said, "I’ll never leave if we continue this."

"I’m waiting for you to start talking about bad things."

"Ray."

"Yeah, yeah." He let go of me in a slow, caressing trail of fingertips. "Don’t know what I did to deserve someone who doesn’t mind my morning mouth. Goodbye, Ben."

"I’ll see you tonight, Ray." As Diefenbaker and I left, I realized that my hair was still rumpled from Ray’s stroking fingers.

I left it be.

Ben leaving totally woke me up, so I figured I might as well get up. Bed wasn’t as much fun without him anyway. I jerked off in the shower, dressed, and had breakfast before I realized that I had no idea what the hell I was going to do with myself for the rest of the day.

I didn’t get it. I mean, I had interests that didn’t involve Ben. Thing was, I felt so scattered and distracted that I couldn’t keep my mind together to do them.

Well, there had to be simple, stupid stuff here I’d let slide since March.... Ah.

I ended up cleaning my guns and oiling the leather of my holsters. Meditative stuff. It took me a while. Once I finished, I put one of my holsters on and fastened it, enjoying the weight and familiar pull of straps across my shoulders and back. I’d felt too light in Canada without it. Unanchored. I did my quick draw and gun-spinning tricks as I watched myself in the mirror, but it didn’t have the same vibe no matter how good it felt to have my gun again. The person looking back at me wasn’t me. He didn’t even look much like me.

I’d handed in Vecchio’s badge and identity before Fraser and I went off alone into the Deep North, but I hadn’t gotten my own back yet. It meant that I wasn’t Ray Vecchio anymore, but I wasn’t Stanley Raymond Kowalski either. I was some other Ray, but only when Fraser was around. Without him... without him I felt lost, adrift. Didn’t know who I was. I needed to touch base with myself, needed something familiar that wasn’t Fraser. Stella, was my first thought, but I smartened up quick. Not her. Hell, I did the Vecchio thing to get away from me-with-her.

Yesterday’s visit to the 23rd had just underscored how distant that old life felt. I liked those guys, but I was just going through the motions with them. We’d never been friends, really, just folks who worked together and hung out sometimes. Time might have made me more comfortable with them again, but I didn’t have that at the moment. And Bernstein wasn’t even in the state, not that Bernstein and me would’ve hung together as much if we hadn’t been partners. Besides, they were all at work at the moment, unlike me.

And unlike somebody else. I knew what I could do. I just hoped she didn’t laugh in my face.

I dialed my cell phone and enjoyed the feel of it in my hand. I could use my regular phone, but I’d missed my cell phone in Canada almost as much as I’d missed my gun.

"Hello?" Ray asked.

"Hey, it’s me. You doing anything today?"

"Hey!" Sounded friendly. "You called."

"I figured out how to use my phone."

"Good for you. Nah, I’m not doing anything. I’m working on my bills. It was nice of Charlie to volunteer to do this stuff while I was undercover, but that man couldn’t balance a checkbook if his life depended on it. Please save me from this."

I laughed. "See ya in about two hours?"

"I’ll be done with this by then, I hope, so so much for saving me."

"You always did say you could take care of yerself."

"Oh yeah, throw that in my face. See you in two."

I ran my hand through my hair. Yeah, two hours should be more than enough time to take care of this problem.

Only a rubble-strewn vacant lot remained of the building I’d once lived in. I suddenly wondered what had become of my old neighbors, where they lived now, and chided myself for never having given it a thought before. They’d been displaced as I’d been after the fire, but I never tried to find out if they’d successfully found new homes. No one else had the option of living at one’s workplace, as I had. I had lived among them, fought eviction with them, yet forgotten them completely. How could I have closed the book on that part of my life so casually? It was very unlike me.

It smacked dangerously of dissociative tendencies. At the very least, it suggested that I’d let my subconscious take more control than I realized. Was it possible that.... Ah. That could explain it.

My immediate attraction to my second Ray had frightened me so, not simply for its intensity. I feared that I was about to make all the same mistakes with him I’d made with my first Ray. And how many times had I fantasized about asking my first Ray to stay the night? In fact, one particularly long night spent pacing my apartment thinking over that very issue had compelled me to confess my feelings at last the very next day. With disastrous results.

A selfish part of me had appreciated the clean start the lack of my apartment had presented. No memories. No reminders. No temptations. I could live at the new consulate--fewer memories again--and feel unqualified to make my new Ray an offer to stay at such a hallowed place. In any case, who’d want to share a cot in my office?

Although the temptations of having him around the consulate during the Volpe case had been intense. I still distrusted how happy his time with me then had made me. It wasn’t as if he’d had a choice in the matter.

I’d avoided my former neighbors to avoid reminders of my old apartment and my mistake with my first Ray. Not consciously, perhaps, but that was what had happened all the same.

My theory made sense, and I’d have to guard against such self-delusion and selfishness in the future.

Diefenbaker whined, bored with this place that no longer had the scent of home and bored with my mental meanderings, so I started to walk again. Chicago remained Chicago, familiar even through the years’ small changes, and I saw many places I’d traveled past or investigated in my years here.

How many lives had I touched, however fleetingly, in this large city? Given the eye-catching nature of my dress uniform, I was no doubt remembered even by people I’d only walked past or stood sentry in front of. Detective Santiago had said that Chicago’s media commonly used my escapades on "slow" news days, which broadened the number of citizens aware of me, people I’d never encountered in person. How odd to think that I might have made an impression on more people in my few years here than I might have in an entire lifetime in the Yukon. The differences in population size made that inevitable, but it remained a daunting thought.

Dressed in civilian gear, I attracted little notice today, but when I stepped into a diner I had frequented while I’d lived in the area, Millie nearly bounced toward me as she greeted me with a warm "Benton! It’s been an age! Your table is free if you’re here to eat." She crouched down to scratch Dief’s ears, something he enjoyed shamelessly.

"I am indeed."

She yelled, "Joe, our Mountie’s back!" over the counter into the kitchen, then followed me to the table, stopping briefly to fill a water bowl for Dief. "Mrs. Baptista mentioned you just last week. Where did you end up after the fire?"

"It’s a long, strange story." I wondered how she’d react to my tale of living in my office.

"I have time once I take your order. Regular A or B?"

"Then I’ll have time to inquire after my past neighbors. B, please."

"Like I need an excuse to gossip. Milk or tea?"

"Both."

Millie smiled. "Thirsty boy today. And I’ll get Dief’s regular too."

"Millie!" one of the other customers shouted.

Millie dramatically set her hand on her hip. "You only had your hand in the air for three seconds before you started yelling. I know your mother taught you better." She made a swatting motion at him with her notepad, while he, apparently a regular, cringed in exaggerated terror.

My Ray would like her, and she’d appreciate another victim to mother. Then again, I didn’t know if I’d be able to cope with two people talking and moving so quickly in the same space.

After she delivered my order and refilled the other customer’s coffee, Millie stood at my table, smiled, and started, "You will not believe where Mr. and Mrs. Baptista ended up. Turns out that his son knew this guy who was friends with this one landlord in the area, and...."

Three hours later, sated on gossip and the Sage Diner’s excellent chicken, I walked out into the street and waded through an ocean of sounds and smells, multitudes of people. Over the next few hours I helped two elderly women cross the street and a young boy find his parents. It gave me an odd sense of near belonging.

Ray had said that the Territories had a different energy than Chicago. The Territories felt steady and even, like sunlight, but Chicago arced and pulsed like electricity. I found it significant and disturbing at the time that Ray had described Chicago in ways that could also describe him, but now that I was here again I felt it myself to some extent. Perhaps the masses of people made the difference.

Our walk led us unerringly to the consulate. Despite my greater fondness for this building than for the original consulate and the copious amount of time I’d spent here, this building produced almost no sense of nostalgia. My only attachment to it stemmed from memories of Ray instinctively running here to me for help and staying with me after Andreas Volpe’s murder. Ren’s vivid description of Ray sliding into the foyer on his knees screaming my name often made me regret that I hadn’t seen it myself. Given the uncertainty clouding Ray’s future at the time and Ray’s understandable distress, I’d felt guilty that keeping him in my custody left me feeling so warm and happy. I still feel guilty.

Walking in, it surprised me that the consulate looked precisely the same as when I’d left it months ago. My life had changed, so some part of me felt that it should have as well.

"Sir!" Turnbull leapt to his feet into regulation stance to salute me, then raced forward, arms outstretched. Then remembering himself, he stopped just short.

I couldn’t help smiling. Instead of the hug he’d thought to offer me before he remembered it wouldn’t be proper, I clapped him on the arms, briefly squeezing, in a comradely manner that I knew he would interpret as my version of the same gesture.

He beamed. "The consulate hasn’t been the same without you."

"I’m hardly here in an official manner," I answered.

"Ah, reconnaissance. Wise, sir. Although I regret to tell you that our new inspector is not available at the moment for you to meet first in any case."

"How is our new inspector?"

"A fine man, sir." But Turnbull’s look said otherwise. We’d perfected a kind of code between us based in glances and vocal tones.

"I see."

"I’m sure you’ll enjoy working with him."

"I may not be coming back, Turnbull."

I expected his face to fall a little, but instead he looked utterly confused. "But-- Yes, sir. Truthfully, I may not be here much longer myself."

He’d changed the subject too quickly for me to hunt down the reason for his reaction and still be polite. "Truly?"

"I’ve been considering a return home to run for office. I think I have much to offer the public."

"Indeed."

Before I could return to what I wanted to ask, Turnbull asked, "Would you like to see your office, sir?"

My office and home for nearly two years. It had never been meant to be much more than a storage room and made my Spartan apartment look luxurious by comparison. Did I want to see it again?

If I did visit that room, what would I find in its closet? I knew I would feel compelled to look if I stood at that door. I didn’t know if it would horrify me more to find the remains of my father’s office or only a tiny closet.

"No, Turnbull. That... that will not be necessary."

Turnbull gave me a searching look. "You won’t be staying here long, will you?"

The consulate? Chicago? I didn’t know what he meant. Did he know something I didn’t? It scared me that he would ask such a question and left me at a loss for words.

Then I chided myself for being so silly. He had to mean the consulate. I was simply being oversensitive to a question that had inadvertently struck at the heart of my confusion.

Turnbull turned to his desk, picked up a piece of paper and pen, and quickly wrote something down. He pressed it gently into my hand. "Forgive me if I’m being too forward, sir, but this is my address. If you need anything at all, please feel free to stop by. I would have included a phone number had I possessed a telephone."

Touched, I carefully folded the paper and placed it in my jacket pocket. "Thank you, Ren." I put as much warmth into the words as I could.

"Please feel free. I am at your disposal."

I could imagine Ray’s response to that, and it made me smile even as it made me marvel that I felt his presence even when he wasn’t with me. "Have a good day, Turnbull. I may stop by to see you again."

It may have been my imagination, but it almost seemed that Renfield muttered, "I think you will," to himself as I closed the door behind me.

"Oh, baby! I like it," Ray said as soon as she opened the door and got a good look at me.

Which was good to hear, but considering what the people she’d hung out with in her misspent youth had looked like--namely like total freaks--it wasn’t totally reassuring. Hell, some of my friends had been freaks too, so I wasn’t sure if I was a good judge either. "It’s really blond," I prompted.

Ray grinned, still taking a good look at my head. "That it definitely is."

"Really blond."

"Uh-huh."

She could leave me hanging forever, the bitch. "Okay, yeah, but my question is--"

"It can pass for natural blond. Just. You’re not in Marilyn Monroe territory."

"Thank you, and thank God. I said I didn’t want it dark anymore, but it started to look like the girl wanted my hair to glow."

Something eerie played in the background. Oh, the Rolling Stones’ "Gimme Shelter." I remembered Ray once saying she wished she could mix the best of the Sisters of Mercy version with the Stones original. Whatever, I soaked it in. I think I missed music the most during my time in the Yukon.

"Do you like how it turned out?" Ray asked.

I stroked the peach fuzz at the back of my neck. I was shaved in some places, spiked in others, and light blond in the right places. It felt good. "It’s an extreme change, but yeah, I think I will once I get used to seeing it on my head."

"Then nothing else matters."

"Thank you, Ms. After-school Special. How about we have lunch and then figure out what’s next?"

"Ooooh, take charge."

"Bite me."

"Any place in particular?"

I had to remember not to say that, because she always had the same answer. But, hell, I came here looking for the familiar, and she made me smile. "You finished?"

"Yeah. Let’s do Chicago like it’s never been done before."

As we parked, Ray said, "Jeez, Ray, you should have asked for more pita bread or let me do it if you were feeling shy."

"Not the point. The point is that I couldn’t eat that much tahini, bread or no bread. Nobody could. Adding more bread would make it worse."

"Your Mountie must not be feeding you right. The Ray I knew could eat me under the table." When I raised my eyebrow at that one, she just said, "Shut up."

"Uh-huh." I hadn’t come out to her or anything; she’d just figured it out on her own. And made an occasional comment about it. Not having to go into it had been a relief, but it worried me that so many people were picking up on it without me saying anything. At least Ray knowing without a word from me made more sense than hearing about it from Frannie yesterday.

"You know what I meant."

"Suuuuure." I decided to let her off the hook. "I ate crazy stuff up there: pemmican, lichen, blubber."

"What the hell is pemmican?"

"I still don’t know, and I’m probably better off that way."

"You’re kidding me."

"On some of it, yeah."

"Damn. You must really love this guy."

"I... never thought of it that way. He asked me to stay, and I did."

Ray rolled her eyes.

When we walked into our favorite pool bar, we saw that it had gone seriously bad. A yuppie hangout now. Billiards instead of pool. No smoking, no decent beer, no real players. Everybody all Casual Friday in clothing that they paid a lot for to look like they were wearing an expensive version of stuff the rest of us didn’t pay a lot for.

Ray looked as disgusted as I felt, but we went in and got a table in the corner anyway. Pigheaded times two, that’s us. The yuppies gave us looks, but we went into undercover mode #3, The Dangerous Psychotics, and gave off attitude. Mess with us, and we’ll fuck you up with extreme prejudice. Would’ve looked even better if we still smoked, but we didn’t need to. Our dead-eyed, crazy stare and long-legged strut disturbed them enough that they found something more interesting to do that didn’t involve looking at us.

I was kind of relieved she’d decided for pool. Extreme ping-pong was fun, but it left me beat. Ball stays in play as long as it keeps moving, no matter what it’s moving on: table, floor, walls, one of us.... It’s like a triathlon if you play it in a big room when you have to run farther for the ball. I end up wearing my glasses to protect my eyes, and she tries to bounce the ball off ‘em.

"You don’t wanna know what they have in the jukebox," Ray said as she came back.

"From what’s playing, I can guess." One of those fake earnest, fake rock bands that have one hit album then die in blessed obscurity. Then the next band comes up.... "These people need a taste transplant."

"Like the beer couldn’t tell you that. Five different microbrews, and none worth a damn."

"The Canadian stuff spoiled me. Not a word."

"I’m biting my lip so I won’t mention your Canadian hunk of burning love as we speak. I won’t even say anything like, ‘Once you’ve had Canadian, you never go back.’ Marvel at my self-control. Though those Canadian M&M kind of things you let me try sucked. Too sweet and waxy."

"I needed some version of my fix in the Great North. You gonna take a breath?"

"I am breathing, and it’s overrated." As Ray racked up the balls, she said, "I can shoot with one eye closed, seeing as how you’re almost blind. Make it more fair."

"You always shoot with one eye closed. You got that lazy eye."

"Sure, ruin a generous gesture. And I have that under control. I focus just fine."

"Yeah, yeah." She did, 98% of the time. It’s just that I’d seen her dead-dog tired often enough that I knew her right eye started to slide out of focus from her left sometimes, giving her one wall eye. It made great teasing material, and I needed all the ammunition there I could get. "I’ll wear the glasses."

"Can you stand the shame?"

"I’ll manage," I said as I put them on and bared my teeth at her.

"Then let’s get it on."

As Ray played, her eyes took on a focused predatory gleam. I could almost watch her mind working, figuring out the angles, calculating her shots. It was weird seeing these things from the outside when I felt myself doing them from the inside, but I was used to that from way back. It also made me wonder if I moved and looked like pure, evil sex when I played pool.

As she bent over the table to shoot, she flashed a fuck-me smile at some of the surrounding yuppie types. It went nice with her crazy sociopath eyes. Some of the guys looked like they couldn’t figure out whether they wanted to beg her for a go or piss their khakis.

It would be funny if she didn’t have those eyes looking a little too real.

She wouldn’t talk about her last assignment at all.

Sometimes you wore the mask so long that your face started to change to match it. My mask as Ray Vecchio hadn’t been that bad, hadn’t made me do too many things I wouldn’t normally do. I could tell she hadn’t been so lucky.

Once in a while I’d have to do a bad assignment, put on a really nasty skin that stuck to me too tightly to just cast off once it was done. Sometimes Ray and I were even in one together, coming out of it mutually fucked up. Maybe Ray was with me now to reconnect to herself, as I’d called on her to do the same for me.

So I’d have to try to be me for her, because she’d do the same, she was trying to do the same, for me. How fucked up is that?

I was still walking, lost in thought, with Diefenbaker when I heard "Benny!" shouted at me. When I turned and smiled in greeting, I was surprised to see Ray Vecchio’s head poking out the driver’s side window of an old station wagon.

Ray immediately interpreted my look and said, half-teasing, "Would’ve been nice if you could have told me about the Riv. I had to find out from Ma."

I’d forgotten entirely. A green Buick Riviera had ferried me around Chicago for two years, and I knew how much it meant to Ray, yet I’d forgotten entirely. "I’m sorry, Ray. In all the excitement, it slipped my mind."

"Yeah, Muldoon would have taken up anybody’s attention. Get in."

"It’s not six o’clock."

"It’s impossible that I might take advantage of getting more time since I happened across you this way?"

I smiled. "I’ll get in." I crossed the street and walked around to the passenger side. Diefenbaker leapt into the back seat, immediately spreading himself all the way across its length. I took my own seat in front soon after.

"It’s a lovely car, Ray."

"Sure it is." Ray sighed as dramatically as he could. "How long did it take for my Riv to catch a bullet?"

"Actually, it caught fire from a bomb planted by a performance arsonist’s apprentice and partner."

"By Motherwell’s girl, Greta Garbo. Then you took it for a swim in Lake Michigan. I know, I know. I saw the report. It was a figure of speech. What I’m asking is how long it survived having you riding around in it this time."

"A few hours."

"A new speed record." Ray sounded upset, but he also had a laughing light in his eyes that made me feel a bit better. "What do you have against the noble Buick Riviera?"

"It’s not what I ‘have’ against the car. It would better profit you to ask what Chicago’s criminal population has against your car."